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Things were usually terribly boring at White Stag Ranch. You woke in the morning, mucked the barn, bathed and brushed the horses, put out sweet feed for the mares and hay for all the other livestock. You cleaned the water barrels and kept up all the records for breeding and put in orders for more leather, or oats, or whatever the ranch needed. It could be a drag. That was, until you had found a man at the far end of the ranch, injured and unconscious. You had drug him back to the big house, his wounds leaving dark stains on your horse’s hindquarters.
The stranger was tall and handsome. He had a bold, almost-too-large-for-his-face nose that ended in a slightly upturned point with a crease just at the end of it, a unique, austere feature that would have stood out on its own were it not for his eyes. In the dull light of the lantern, they looked green, but as you pried one open to get a better look, you realized it was a deep azure blue with a pupil ringed all in gold. His hair was golden brown, almost blonde and his stubble matched it.
“Get him up on the table,” your sister said clinically, checking for injuries aside from the obvious – the bloody gunshot in his side and the welt atop his head. Someone had shot at this man, and hit him to boot. No telling why, though the two guns on his hips were a strong hint that he was a man up to mischief. Your eyes glittered up at your sister.
“He’s handsome,” you observed. She let out a little chuckle.
“I think there are a few more important things to focus on at the moment, Y/N,” she admonished. She fancied herself a doctor with all those books she read on binding wounds and curing ailments. “Hand me that cloth, would you?” You did so obediently, running a hand through his soft hair.
“He’s clean too,” you pointed out. Your sister put her ear to his chest, listening to his heart, his lungs.
“What are you suggesting?” she teased you. Before you could respond, your boss, the ranch owner Mr. Hull, flung the door wide.
“What in the hell is going on in here?” he demanded.
“Found an injured man. Gonna patch him up,” your sister responded innocently. You mimicked her look, though you had more lustful thoughts regarding the stranger.
“Looks like an outlaw,” Mr. Hull murmured darkly.
“He needs help,” your sister insisted.
“Fine,” he griped. “But once he’s up and on his feet, he can work or he can leave. Period.”
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Turned out the stranger was willing to work. You watched as he wiped his brow with his black bandana, taking a deep breath and ladling water from the bucket to his plush pink lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, smacking his lips and giving a satisfied sigh before dumping another ladle-full of water over his head, letting the water dampen down his hair, running down his neck and over his shoulders, sticking his wet shirt to his body tightly. You swallowed as well, ignoring the fresh wave of lust that settled over you. You had things to do, stables to muck, horses to bathe.
But that man…Arthur Morgan…he incited a kind of want in you that you were unable to control.
He was young, perhaps in his late twenties, and he carried himself with an air of someone who was willing to take things that were not willingly offered. He had confidence in his gait and his mannerisms, his big hands things of beauty on gates and ropes and shovels as he worked, the light greenish blue veins along the backs of them tracing a line of life over firm muscle and bone. But his eyes…his eyes were full of sadness. Loneliness. You wanted to lighten his load, make him feel wanted, but he was, above all else, a man of few words, disinterested in your company, or the company of your sister for that matter.
Morgan kept to himself, all quiet stoicism and friendly, though few words.
“Ma’am,” he’d say in the morning, tipping his hat to you. Often it would be the only word you’d get out of him all day. You weren’t sure how long he’d be staying, but Mr. Hull seemed determined to make him pay for his bandages and your sister’s work keeping him alive with hard labor. He tamed horses, and he was damned good at it too, all gentle words and soft motions. It made you melt as you watched him.
“I would climb that man like a tree,” your sister commented, walking up and handing you a tin cup of steaming coffee. You burst out laughing.
“[Sister’s name]! You can’t just say things like that!”
“Watch me,” she giggled. “Just look at that ass. Those thighs. He surely does fill out a pair of jeans.”
“We’ve got chores to do,” you commented, though you whole-heartedly agreed with your twin sister’s assessment.
“You know,” she murmured, “I haven’t been able to get him alone. He’s kind of a prude, I think.” You snorted.
“A prude? That man? Please. He carries himself like a prize stud horse.” Your sister cackled.
“Maybe if one of us can’t stoke his interest…?” she let her sentence fade alluringly and you grinned.
“Are…are you suggesting?”
“Look, I’m just saying I’m bored. And that’s a fine looking man. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it before,” she teased you, slinging an arm over your shoulders. “Two sisters taking advantage of a man.” You tilted your head to the side, meeting her eye with a little smile.
“You’re too much.” She quirked a brow.
“If you’re not interested, I guess you’ll just be left out of the fun,” she taunted. You pulled away and put your hands on your hips.
“Alright then. We’ll wager on it. Five dollars says I can convince him to bed me first.”
“Ten says I can,” she raised you. You considered for a moment. A month’s wages, very nearly. You extended your hand.
“You’ve got a deal.” She grinned.
“Good, finally something other than chores to think about.” You parted ways, you heading to the barn, her to the cookhouse. You both made little attempts to win his attention. Small flirtations at first, but you grew bolder and bolder. Much as your sister may be willing to suggest lewd and lascivious activities, it was you who was truly willing to up the ante to make those activities happen. You made a habit of letting the top button of your shirt “accidentally” come unfastened around Morgan, made a point of bending down to pick things up so that he could get a good look at your pert backside, at your hips and legs. You would let your hair flow down around your face and shake it out, meeting his eyes as you gathered it back up and slung it back into a bun, your lips slightly parted, him staring for a moment before looking swiftly away. He was frustratingly one-minded, you found.
Morgan was already hard at work today, a full three months since he had come here, and a full two weeks since you’d made the bet with your sister. He brought a new filly into the round pen, plying her with carrots and peppermints. You watched from one of the stall windows, ignoring the bay gelding that was nibbling at your sleeve. Morgan had stripped down to just his jeans, his chest and its soft golden-brown hair gleaming in the sun. It was a hot day and he didn’t know you were in the barn. He was awfully modest for a man, careful to keep himself concealed and fully clothed if he knew you were around. But today the top of his green union suit was tied at the sleeves around his waist, exposing the soft, pale skin of his torso and shoulders. He had shucked his gun belt and his hunting knife and his cotton suspenders were the only thing on the upper half of his body, aside from his hat. Not that he needed the suspenders, you thought appreciatively. That fine ass and those thick thighs of his did that job just fine.
“Easy, girl, you’re okay,” he assured the mare, and for a moment you allowed yourself to close your eyes and imagine his words spoken close to your ear. “Easy, easy now, go slow,” he prodded the mare as she trotted around the round pen by a halter and a long lunge line. He didn’t need a whip, he just slapped his hand against his thigh, giving a soft kissing noise with his lips. “That’a girl, keep at it. That’s good, real good. Easy, easy. Sloooooow now, eeeaasy.” Absentmindedly, you imagined his lips against your ear, his hand raking through your hair, those words spilling from him as you rode him, your arms draped over those wide shoulders… “Woah, girl, easy now!” There was more urgency in his tone now, and the cadence of hoofprints increased.
Your eyes snapped open when you heard a loud whinny and a grunt. The filly had spooked and knocked Morgan on his ass, clipping around the pen and leaping over the fence with an impressive vertical leap before she took off toward the back corner of the pasture.
“Goddammit,” he mumbled, picking up his hat and jamming it back on his head with a swift, angry motion.
“You alright, cowboy?” you called, laugher in your voice. His head snapped up and his gaze met yours. He went crimson and plucked his hat back off his head, using it to cover the vast majority of his chest, one of his pink nipples just peeking out from beneath the wide brim. Your gaze slithered over him, want filling you. It had been a good long while since you’d had a roll in the hay. Good, hard working men were rare around these parts, and there was the matter of that wager.
“Ain’t a cowboy, ma’am,” he said, his tone a bit venomous. He was clearly embarrassed. “I don’t wrangle cattle. I train horses. Sometimes.”
“Now, now,” you assured him, letting your tone slip into something sultry and suggestive. “I imagine you could wrangle anything you wanted if you asked nice.” Morgan’s gaze flicked back up to meet yours once more. He assessed you, taking in your soft cotton shirt, your flowing pants that looked nearly like a skirt when you were standing still. His lips twisted.
“Don’t let me keep you from your work, ma’am.”
“Hard to come by a man who thinks his talents will keep me busy all afternoon,” you teased, raising a brow. Morgan sucked in a surprised breath at that. Taking a different, less direct tack, you jerked your head toward the inside of the barn. “I’ve got a pitcher of lemonade made up in the tack room if you want to take a break. Mr. Hull’s out and my sister… well, she’s off somewhere.”
“You’re Y/N, right? Or are you [Sister’s name]?” You rolled your eyes.
“We’re twins, but we don’t look that much alike,” you groaned. He grinned and you could tell he was toying with you, giving as good as he had gotten. Morgan stepped forward, a little smirk staying painted onto his handsome features. He leaned on the gate of the stable you were in, resting his arms across it with an easy motion. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a smashed, half-burned cigarette, relighting it with a match struck on the sole of his boot. He took a drag and gazed at you with an air of someone who was deciding on a thing. “Mr. Morgan,” you said softly, leaning forward so he could get a good look at your cleavage down your shirt, “did you want some of that lemonade or not?”
“I reckon I’d like a taste,” he murmured.
“Just a taste, Mr. Morgan?” He grinned, showing teeth and your heart fluttered in your chest.
“Arthur,” he acquiesced. “And no. I’d drink the whole pitcher if you’d let me.”
“Hmm,” you hummed. “Why don’t you follow me inside, get out of that sun?” He did so and you saw a hungry look cross his features. This might be easier than you had thought. He was staying out in the bunkhouse with several other men, all burly, ugly brutes who were more likely to be rude to you than to try to seduce you. Arthur though, he was a man you wouldn’t mind tasting your lemonade, you thought with a little smirk. Arthur himself probably didn’t get much in the way of alone time, surrounded at night by a dozen other men…
You led him to the tack room and, true to your word, you offered him a tin cup full of lemonade. He drank it greedily, wiping his mouth on his bandana, which he had pulled from his back pocket. His eyes met yours, a question there.
“Miss Y/N?” He asked. You’d been staring. That stubble. Those scars. Those eyes. You knew next to nothing about him, but you were infatuated with him.
“You have the most beautiful eyes, Mr. Morgan, er, Arthur,” you correctly, twirling a strand of hair around your finger with a coy motion. “Has anyone ever told you that?” He blushed in favor of answering and drained his cup, the tips of his ears staying crimson. You poured more lemonade into his cup and then pulled a small flask from your pocket.
“Might make the day a bit easier to abide,” you suggested, tipping a small amount into your own cup. He chuckled.
“You’re quite a character, aren’t you?” Arthur commented, seeming both surprised and amused. He also looked a little uncomfortable. Was he a prude, as your sister had said? Or was he just holding himself back out of some personal code of honor?
“I do try,” you assured him, shaking the flask tauntingly. He tipped his cup to accept some and you poured liberally into it. He knocked back the entirety of it and looked not the bit worse for the wear. Clearly you did not have enough alcohol for this method to be an effective means of seducing the stubborn man. You decided honesty was the better part of valor. Already he had spoken more to you than he had the entire time he had been here. “You’re hard to read, Arthur. You show up here, wounded, but no explanation to me or anyone else as to what happened to you. You work hard, but you don’t chat with the men more than you have to, and you’ve hardly spoken to me, or my sister, for that matter.”
“I’m just tryin’ to pay off my debt so I can get back to my business,” he told you frankly, his tone firm.
“Hmm.” You eyed him up and down, finally sidling up close to him, tucking a stray lock of hair back behind his ear. You met his uncertain gaze as he leaned subtly away from you. “Just because you’re alone doesn’t mean you have to be lonely, Arthur. I wouldn’t mind some company in my bunk sometime.” His eyebrows rose in shock.
“Ma’am, I, it wouldn’t, you shouldn’t, we, I,” he spluttered, turning beet red and you laughed softly.
“Don’t work yourself into a state, Arthur. Not all little ladies need a husband and a household before they’re willing to bed a man. It’s boring here. And you’re handsome and you look lonely. I don’t bite. Hard,” you added with a smirk. He stared at you for a long moment.
“Reckon I oughta get back to work,” he insisted, his broad shoulders stiff as he walked away. Disappointed, you scowled and got back to work yourself.
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It was rare you went into the barn after dark, but there was a mare very near to foaling, so you grabbed a lantern and pulled on your robe over your clean pajamas. It wouldn’t take you long to check the mare.
“Headed to check on Flicker?” your sister asked you, knowing you were looking forward to having another foal to work with.
“Yeah, she hasn’t been eating much today,” you answered. “I think she might foal tonight or maybe tomorrow.”
“I’ll come with you,” she said, “I’m all done with my work here.”
“Alright,” you agreed. The two of you made your way to the barn in your pajamas and robes and you pulled the door open. Stepping inside, you tripped suddenly over a thick pair of legs, nearly dropping the lantern as you went down, your hand landing solidly in someone’s gut. There was a soft “oof!” and then a curse. You handed the lantern to your sister, who hung it quickly so the two of you could determine who this person was and if they were a threat.
It was Arthur.
You laid there for a moment on the ground, your palm still on his warm belly and your torso halfway across his legs.
“Mr. Morgan,” you greeted, surprised. He was lying on his bedroll on the ground. There was a large blanket beneath it, leaving a wide space protected from sand and hay. His belongings were all stacked there, from his boots to his satchel, as though he was prepared to escape at any time. Arthur was, you realized as you assessed the scene, wearing nothing but his union suit and some wool socks. He looked deeply embarrassed and started to scramble away.
“What on earth are you doing out here?” your sister asked him. He scratched the back of his head sheepishly.
“Don’t much like bein’ caught in a building with a bunch of other folk. I prefer to sleep here, with the horses.” You grinned.
“I knew I liked you, Arthur.” He stared at you for a long moment, and you suddenly leaned up to plant a chaste kiss on his lips, pulling away to gauge his reaction. You smelled whiskey on his breath, but he wasn’t drunk. He was, at best, buzzed, and it seemed to relax him. His hand went to your hip, but it pushed against it instead of pulling it toward him.
“Miss Y/N,” he slurred slightly, “this ain’t proper.” His hand was trembling on your hip. You looked over your shoulder to your sister and winked. She smirked, nodding in agreement at your obvious intentions and dropped her robe from her shoulders. Arthur’s eyes had gone wide when you looked back to him.
“It’s about to get even less proper, Arthur,” you promised him, running a hand up his thigh to the bulge hanging low between his legs. Behind you, you heard your sister slide the barn door closed and bolt it. She joined you on the blanket, coming up alongside Arthur and tipping his chin so that she could kiss him.
“Ladies,” he murmured softly, and you could tell there was a battle raging inside him. He was torn. He wanted this, you could see it in his eyes, but he was holding himself back.
“Arthur,” you whispered close to his ear, “just relax.”
“Let us take good care of you,” your sister added. She kissed him deeply and you began to unbutton his union suit, running your hand inside of it and grasping his stiffening cock. He let out a hard whine when your hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently back and forth as you lowered your mouth to engulf his cock, bringing it to urgent hardness now.
“Y/N,” he cried, “[Sister’s name], please,” he shuddered, but he wasn’t pushing either of you away. Instead his fingers had tangled in your hair where you were pleasuring him with your mouth. Your sister pushed him down hard and kissed him gently, pulling off her soft cotton pajamas. You did the same, leaving the two of you naked above him. You released his cock from your mouth with an obscene sounding pop and it bounced against his leg, the head red and the vein running along its underside standing abruptly along the silky steel organ. You tugged his clothing off and climbed atop him, looking at your sister shyly now. You had never done this together before, but the very idea of you and her dominating this man, making him lie back, his heart beating hard in his chest, his eyes wide in shock at his good fortune…it had you dripping wet already.
You looked down to meet Arthur’s eyes. He was panting, open mouthed, his nipples standing hard on his chest with his arousal. The soft thatch of hair on his chest gave his muscles a gentle haze in the light of the lantern, and you ran your fingers through it, down to the matching thatch above his cock. Now you met your sister’s eyes and she leaned forward, kissing you gently, all for Arthur’s enjoyment. She deepened the kiss and without looking, you ran your hand down to grasp Arthur’s cock again, pumping him, hearing him grunt and gasp beneath you as he no doubt stared at the two of you kissing for his entertainment.
Your sister ran a hand up the side of your face and you let out a soft moan as her fingers tangled in your hair, the two of you moving against each other for no better reason than to torment Arthur, than to tease him. You finally broke away from the kiss, looking to Arthur. The poor man looked like he was about to pass out with arousal. His cock was leaking sticky precum onto your hand and his own belly.
Grabbing your sister, he tugged her down and buried his nose in her folds, lapping and sucking at her as you watched, grinding yourself on his thigh, leaving a trail of your own arousal on his leg. He pushed your sister off his face long enough to reach a hand down and hold his cock up stiffly, an invitation for you to sit on it.
“If we’re doin’ this, we might as well do it, darlin’,” he husked, his pupils blown wide with arousal and his cheeks red with heat and lust.
Willingly, you sank down onto his cock, moaning at the stretch of him. He wasn’t out of proportion, but he was very thick and he filled you deeply, pressing against your core with the slight upwards curve of his member. You felt him let out a rumbling growl as you sheathed him within you, rocking your hips to adjust to the thickness of him.
Your sister, meanwhile, rubbed her hips back and forth over his face, letting out soft gasps and moans as you watched. You felt a small streak of jealousy flood you. You wanted Arthur’s face between your legs, wanted to feel the roughness of his tongue and the thickness of his fingers, but for now the thickness of his cock was just as good. You slid up and down it, letting out a throaty mewl as it rubbed in all the right places.
“Oh Arthur,” you called, knowing how men love to have their name called during sex. There was nothing quite like it to inflate a man’s ego, and you got the sense that Arthur needed the confidence boost. Indeed, as soon as you cried his name, he began to pop his hips up and down, helping you seat onto him, bumping against that bundle of nerves inside of you that made the backs of your eyelids go white. You felt pleasure bubbling up from the tips of your toes, felt it streak through you and you gasped, your orgasm coming swift and unexpectedly quick as you rode him, spilling your juices over his thick cock, easing the way to continue riding him.
Your sister had cried out at almost the same time as he suckled and rubbed her clit, his thick fingers mimicking the work his cock was doing within you. Arthur pushed her hips up, gasping for breath and he pushed her gently off, grabbing your hips and flipping the two of you so that he could fuck you hard into the ground, his hips slamming against yours, his breath hot against your cheek. His face looked almost agonized and you nearly laughed. He was feeling guilty about this, even as he was participating in it. You bumped your lips against his, kissing him gently, your tongue seeking entrance to his mouth, stroking his wide tongue with your own, your teeth clicking together briefly in the urgency of your meeting. Pulling back, you met his eyes, stroking your fingers through his soft hair.
“Arthur, it’s alright. There’s nothing wrong here. We both want to be with you. We both want to make you feel good,” you assured him, and he let out a desperate moan, slowing his pace, but deepening his strokes and you wondered for a moment what was happening to him before you realized that your sister was behind him, taking his balls into her mouth and sucking as he fucked himself into you. Arthur’s eyes went wide and you felt that she was using her tongue experimentally in all places now, lapping between his legs as he buried himself inside of you.
“Oh, oh Christ,” he moaned, and all motion stopped. “I gotta stop, oh shit,” he hissed, and he forced himself to take a deep breath. “I’m tryin’, ladies, but this, you, I,” he let his stuttered sentence drop abruptly, going crimson. You knew what he was saying. It was so arousing he was trying very hard not to blow his load right at the beginning of the evening. You pulled away from beneath him, his cock sliding out of you. You got on your knees in front of him, kissing him lightly and your sister came behind him, massaging his shoulders, his back, hands roaming to his asscheeks and his thighs, but neither of you touched his cock, giving him the opportunity to calm himself. “Are you to shoar this is alright?” he asked, so unsure of himself and you barked a laugh. His cock had already filled you, his fingers and tongue had already been inside your sister and still he couldn’t believe that this was okay.
“It’s fine, Arthur,” your sister assured him and the two of you kissed him, you biting his jaw and nibbling his ear as your sister sucked on his tongue, her lips moving against his. You each grabbed one of his hands and your sister sucked on his thumb as you nibbled and sucked the index finger of his other hand, meeting his astonished eyes.
“Where on earth did you two come from?” he murmured happily, his voice a little high with adrenaline and surprise.
“Hush,” you ordered him, lying back on the bedroll with your legs spread. You tugged his face down and he obligingly bit and nibbled the insides of your thighs, his wet fingers trailing along your slit before sliding home as he licked circles around your clit, making you gasp. Your sister laid beneath his hips, sucking his cock professionally, making soft wet sounds accompanied by the noise of suction and Arthur moaned into your folds, his eyes closing in ecstasy.
“Come here,” she beckoned him, adjusting so that she was on her hands and knees and like a stallion in rut, he sank himself inside of her, looking over his shoulder at you. You had read some of your sister’s medical books, and you had come across some of the filthy magazines the ranch hands often had. You knew that men could experience pleasure from the back end and you smirked, spitting into your hand and rubbing your finger against Arthur’s hole as he fucked your sister. He moaned.
“Sweet Jesus, what are you doin’?” He demanded. You chuckled and pressed your finger inside of him. He clenched, but then relaxed as you ran your hand down to massage his balls, moving with his hips so he could continue fucking your sister hard and fast as she squealed beneath him. Your finger slid deeper inside him and he suddenly cried out, throwing his head back. You had touched a bundle of hard nerves within him and experimentally, you ran your finger over it again, feeling him twitch around you. “Oohoho Christ!” he cried out, letting loose a squeaked grunt of pleasure as his own motions into your sister ceased. Gently, so as not to hurt him, you slid your finger from within him and quickly cleaned yourself with a rag.
“Seemed like that was a bit too much,” you murmured in his ear. His eyes were unfocused and he looked overwhelmed. You kissed him gently on the cheek. “You alright, cowboy?”
“Ain’t a cowboy,” he insisted, beginning his urgent movements back into your sister.
“What are you then?” she asked breathlessly, sliding her hips up and down to aid in the motion, her cheeks red and her eyes glittering with enjoyment.
“I’m a bad man,” he assured the two of you, “an outlaw.” You didn’t think you could get more aroused than you were at that moment, but something about the idea of taking advantage of not just a big, strong man, but a dangerous man had you shuddering. Arthur met your eye and gave a half grin. “Come here,” he told you, flipping your sister and himself and then spinning her in place. She rode his cock with her back to him and he pulled your hips down to eat you out again, his tongue insistently pushing between your folds, his lips sucking you and his fingers massaging within you until you came and came and came again, whining out his name as your sister did the same.
Arthur pulled out of your sister and tugged your head down so he could kiss you, meeting first your eyes and then your sister's.
“If it…oh, I can’t ask this,” he said dismissively.
“What?” your sister breathed, beating you to the question. Arthur burned bright red as he described what he wanted to do. Your eyebrows rose in surprise and you met your sister’s eyes with uncertainty. “I’m alright with it,” she said. “We’re just here to have fun. Y/N?”
“Sure, okay,” you agreed. You lay on your back and Arthur once again slid himself home, sheathing his fat cock within you so swiftly that it was almost uncomfortable and you let out a small squeal.
“You alright?” he breathed.
“I am…just fine,” you moaned, smiling up at him. Your sister kissed you gently, lapping inside your mouth and then grasping at your breasts as Arthur had requested. You did the same to her, kissing her, your eyes half closed as you moved together, Arthur grunting and plunging himself within you with hard slaps of his hips against your own. After a few moments of this, he tugged your sister away from you and to his face. He tilted her head back, biting her lower lip, lapping within her mouth and you knew that now was the next part of his fantasy, something he had requested in bits and spurts, shy and embarrassed to ask something that he felt was so filthy. Your sister bowed her head to be at your hips and Arthur slid out of you, fucking hard into your sister’s mouth for a moment and then plunging back within your slit. He continued this back and forth, his breath coming in hard, ragged gasps as all of you moved together, bringing him pleasure in the half darkness of the stables.
At last, he slid from you and you got onto your knees alongside your sister, both of you sliding your lips over his twitching cock, you lapping at that thick vein, her sucking on the head. You engulfed his cock in your mouth and she took his balls between her lips, running a finger briefly along his taint and across his puckered hole, making him shudder again, though she wasn’t brave enough to finger fuck him as you had.
You rolled as one, him lying on his back, you on one side of him now and your sister on his other and he took turns kissing each of you, his arms over each of your shoulders, pulling you on top of him. You bit him hard on one of his big pec muscles, leaving pink teeth marks in the flesh and drawing a short howl of pain from him, and his eyes burned at you.
“C’mere,” he growled, wanting to punish you for the stinging wound. You fumbled back, but he caught you with those huge hands of his and he rammed you down onto him again, your sister kissing around the wound on his chest, her fingers threading in his hair, massaging his neck as he pumped himself into you once more. You tightened around him with a moan as he cracked his open palm against your ass, certainly leaving a hand-shaped print there.
“Arthur!” you cried and he chuckled this time, having found his confidence.
“C’mere,” he ordered your sister now, again making her sit on his face as he growled and grunted beneath you both. He escaped her thighs for a shuddering breath. “If I must go to hell, then I shall surely guarantee that it is for good reason,” he purred and you laughed. You felt his balls tightening and you pulled away from him regretfully.
“We can both finish him,” you urged your sister and the two of you got on your knees as Arthur scrabbled to his feet, stroking himself and sucking in short, raspy breaths as his climax finally took him, his release spurting from him. The two of you lapped it away, some of it hitting your faces as he pumped into his own hand and first you and then your sister sucked the head to take all of him, and you lapped him clean. Arthur collapsed back onto the bedroll with a gasp, his eyes wide.
“God Almighty,” he rasped out, looking at the two of you as though he was still astonished at his good luck. You wiped your face delicately and kissed him on the forehead gently. Your sister kissed him on the cheek and pulled her pajamas back on.
“Sleep well, Arthur.”
“Sweet dreams,” you bid him with a small smile, dressing and heading to finish the task you had actually come to the barn for.
In the morning, he was gone, but the memory of him stayed with the both of you. He had left a small sheet of paper folded neatly within your saddlebag.
“Ladies, last night was a pleasure that I am sure will have me blushing for the better part of my days. I thank you for your GRACIOUS hospitality. This morning my legs are as wobbly as that newborn colt’s and though my heart longs to find myself between both of your gorgeous legs again, my business at White Stag Ranch is at its end. Rest easy knowing that last night is one evening this cowboy outlaw will never forget. Yours, Arthur Morgan.”