A Tale of the Old West (Isabelle & Master Machiavelli)

[Master Machiavelli]

Prologue

Spring 1880
He rode alone across the vast expanse of the Kansas prairie, the tall grass brushing along his chaps and the flanks of his sorrel mount. The wagon trail lay perhaps a half mile to the south, Mal preferring to keep off its deeply rutted track. He was on the hunt, and stalking his prey meant keeping out of sight until he was ready to pounce. He rode along, listening to the sounds of the breeze as it slipped thorough the grasses. It reminded him a bit of the surf in Galveston. A wisp of a memory from childhood slipped across his mind only to be broken by a muffled crack carried on the wind.

He knew the sound instantly and wheeled his horse upwind, in the direction of the trail. A second shot and then a third. Malachi spurred his horse while effortlessly drawing his Winchester repeater from its sheath and brought it to the ready. Riding over a low crest he saw the wagon with one shattered wheel lifted off the ground in the process of being repaired. Slumped in a heap next to it was the figure of a man, the ruby red stain of blood soaked through his shirt and covering his back.

Mal saw three men, two with pistols and on foot, the last mounted and armed with a rifle. His horse was closing quickly and the former cavalry troop used his knees to slow the mount while he took careful aim at the rifleman- his only real threat at this range. He was one with the horse, Malachi’s body moving in concert with the beast beneath him. Squeezing the trigger as he had a thousand times before he watched down the barrel as the spray of blood exploded from the man’s head and he tumbled from the saddle and he quickly chambered another round. He was nearing the wagon now and saw a second man lying on his back, dead in the grass alongside the road and a woman; pioneers.

The remaining gunmen, now alerted to Mal’s presence sought cover, behind the wagon. Mal fired again, striking one in the shoulder and pirouetting him around. He dropped the rifle to the ground and drew his pistols, never leaving his horse. Bullets sailed past him, angry buzzing through the air, but he paid them no mind. He’d faced walls of Union rounds hurled at him during the War of Northern Aggression- this was nothing. He fired again and again hitting the third gunman square in the chest. Everything was quiet, it had only taken seconds and three men lay dead and dying around him. He dismounted, holstered his pistols and retrieved his rifle.

A man cursed and his head popped up from the deep grass, as he clenched his hands together in pain. A scream followed- shrill and terrified and like a jackrabbit a small girl burst up and started to run. The attacker, seeing his quarry escaping turned to stop her. It was all the time Mal needed. His rifle found its rightful place in the pocket of his shoulder and it barked once as flames erupted from its muzzle. His round hit her attacker square between the shoulder blades and his arms splayed outward, before he collapsed face first into the dirt.

Malachai whistled and his horse trotted to him and he slipped into the saddle. He rode the girl down, but dismounted before reaching her. “Stop.” He called to her. “It’s over- you’re safe.” He squatted down in front of her, bringing his 6’ frame to her eye level. His hair was a dark blond, his eyes ice blue and his face was tanned from days spent on the open prairie. “I’m Malachai, but you can call me Mal.” He said with a voice so soft it belied the violence which he had just dealt. “What’s your name?”

He buried her parents, taking the small cameo necklace her mother had worn and fastened it gently around the girl’s neck. She was nearly as old as he’d been when lied about his age and joined the Confederacy to fight the “Blue Bellies.” After taking their guns and horses Mal left the thieves for the vultures. He’d intended to take her back to Wichita and put her on a train back East. But three days later, when they reached the dusty town, he just couldn't bring himself to do it, and Stella didn't seem to want to leave his side. So they rode on.

 

[frizzy[dot]izzy]

"Stella Blakeston," was all the small rabbit of a girl could answer with. The moments just prior still fresh in her mind. They were making a trip to Oklahoma state to start a new hospital in a rural area, when they were ambushed by gunmen. Her father had stupidly, or bravely, tried to settle things by stepping out of the carriage. Guns fire. Stella had been sitting closest to the open door, and witnessed first hand the death of her father.
"... I want my families papers and money." She whispered, keeping her gazed locked with his. The blood of her father splattered on her dress and smeared over her face, contrasting her fair skin and causing her own ocean blue eyes to look that much more vibrant. Her eyes were rimmed with red from crying. After her father had been shot, her mother was quick to hide Stella underneath the seat. Since it was day out, the carriage was shadowed, and impossible to look into. The ruckus of step could be heard loud and clear. Stella could see a large figure approach the door,

"Mm, looks like I found myself a strawberry, a little out of season, but still sweet enough..."
Her mother was a red head, and bestowed this to Stella, with cream white skin, and a petite figure. Being the age of thirty-two, she still held youth to her. The man grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her mother out. She kicked, and screamed, hollered and hit, but to no avail. The man persisted to get his strawberry jam. Her cries had left Stella mortified. The sound of gunfire ended it all though. As the other two gunmen grew bored of her screams.

Then... then... more gun fire.

The sound of pounding hooves, meant a second person had joined. Stella slid out of hiding, crawling out of the window, and dropping to the uneven floor before taking off. Bunny was the nickname her mother called her when she was scared, for she was gentle and nervous as one, and boy could she ever run!



The year was 1885 now, five years had passed. From a twelve year old child grew a young woman. The moment the pendant pressed itself against her breast, her heart burned with a hatred towards criminals. This same pain, grievance, anger, sorrow, or frustration spurred her onto her path which followed so closely to Malachi's. He taught her all he knew; how to read the wind, to track, to hunt, build a fire, make a single satchel of water last two days, and most importantly, how to shoot.

She was quite the useless travel companion until her fourteenth year when she started picking up the pistols dropped by his dead foes. Stella would stand there, trying to get her small hands to wrap about the handle, cock the latch, and pull the trigger all at the same time. These guns weren't always the best made, and would require a great deal of effort to use, especially by a small girl like herself, but once she got the hang of it, she would shoot off into the distance, before dropping it to the ground, climbing back up onto her horse, and following after Malachi.

When she was fifteen, Stella used a greater portion of her family's money to buy herself a pair of .45 colts, double action. They were beautiful, with ivory handles and engraved with floral details, as the little lady had instructed. "They are my angles, and I don't wanna ever mix 'em up for another lousy colt." They sat on her smooth hips in a caramel leather holster, lined with soft suede to keep them shinny, and free of debris.

Perhaps they were the reason for her nickname, or the fact that Malachi had trained her so hard, which ever it was, Stella was formidable in battle.

Two long days had been spent tracking, and finally the duo had caught up to the criminal. This time it was another gun for hire who quite literally killed the wrong man. He had shot the son of a rich farmer to east of here, and Stella was just getting a bit of vengeance. The sun was beginning to lower on the horizon, turning the skin into a fascinating gradient of warm yellows, bleeding up to oranges and pinks, before purples and blues of night began to merge. Stella rode ahead, her steed Watson was fast and agile, and with someone light-weight as Stella, he had little issue carrying her at faster rate. Her gear rattled as they stormed off, acting as an alert.

The man heard this, and drew his own rifles. But he was already too late. Stella had let of the reigns, using her fine legs to steer Watson. Her hands busied themselves by wiping out her angels. Without hesitation, Stella shot Tom Bleene in the elbows and knee caps as she drove her horse around him.

Malachi's little apprentice was nicknamed Sharp Shot Stella.

Now at seven teen, she became proficient with her colts, and her horse Watson. And while she never killed anyone she shot, she did cause them great pain by taking out their knees and elbows, preventing them from moving or harming her. Slipping one colt into its rightful place, Stella could now use her free hand to calm Watson into a trot. The two turned around and made there way to Tom.

The man lay on the ground crying in pain, his hands trembling as they tried to manoeuvre the gun. Watson came to a stop, and Stella hopped off. "Well Mr. Bleene, you have some explainin' to do to a certain Mister Perrins, whose son you killed four days ago."

He grunted, "Get away you little bitch!"

Stella glared deeply at him, "That is certainly no way to be talking to a lady. Now if you are done with this, I will be taking it away," Stella reached forward, and grabbed onto the barrel of his riffle. With a yank, she pulled it away. Stepping back, she called out, "Papa! Could you rope him for me? I don't feel like dragging this one today.."

 

[Master Machiavelli]

Malachi Jefferson watched his prodigy with all the pride her "papa" could muster. He'd watched her ride ahead, putting the sun to her back, as he'd taught her, with his trusty Winchester at the ready. Stella wanted to bring the man in and their agreement with the farmer was that they bring him back alive. Buck, the 8 year old sorrel, the only horse Stella had ever known him to ride plodded easily forward.

Mal watched as their quarry reached for his own weapon and shook his head at the man's poor decision as he caught a glint of silver flash from Stella's hip followed by the gout of flames as they erupted from the pistols muzzles and a moment later he heard the report from the weapons and Tom Bleene found himself minus an elbow and a kneecap. Bleene had never actually been a threat to his little girl, but now that he was in the dirt and unarmed, Malachi allowed himself a breath and tapped Buck's flanks, causing the horse to close the distance.

"Get away you little bitch!" Tom yelled at her through the pain. Mal was close enough and he flipped his rifle in his hand, catching the barrel and swinging the but end like a polo mallet at Bleene's jaw. He smiled at the satisfying crunch it made on contact and the spray of blood and teeth which burst from his mouth. It wouldn't kill him after all.

"A touch of respect for my girl, dog. Or I'll have her whip you again." His voice was level and hard, but Mal managed a wink in Stella's direction. He pulled the lasso from the opposite side of his saddle and easily caught one of Bleene's ankles. A couple quick turns over his saddle horn and a half a step forward from Buck, and Tom Bleene was in tow. Satisfied he wasn't going anywhere he slid his carbine into it's sheath.

"Beautiful shots my sweet one." Mal complimented his beauty, And what a beauty she'd grown into. He guided Buck alongside Watson, picked up his reigns and offered them to his little girl. "Careful down there Mr. Bleene," Malachi offered as almost an afterthought. "These horses have a tendency not to look closely at where they plant their hooves. Wouldn't want to see you trampled, now would we? You're already having a pretty bad day."

All Tom Bleene had to offer was a garbled grunt filled with blood and pain from his broken mouth. "You did everything right sweetheart!" The pride was evident in his voice. "He couldn't get a bead on you 'cause you put the sun at your back; I could see him squinting for that second right before you plugged him." Mal tapped Buck's flank and the horse began to walk off. "Probably best not to trot back to Mr. Perrins I suppose. I don't know how much more your prisoner could take."

 

[frizzy[dot]izzy]

Stella truly had grown into a beautiful desert flower. Her red hair grew more intense in colour, resembling a bright shade of blood. When she wore it loose the sun would highlight it in such away which caused it to look so glossy and smooth. Her locks had a slight wave to them, curling only at the tips. However, with the help of a wide brimmed hat her white skin never spoiled with freckles, which kept a beautiful contrast with her deep blue eyes.

She was his beauty.

Petite in every way from her hands, to her face, and all the way down to her feet. A delicate tea cup, with a heart-shaped face that fit so well into the palm of his hand. Such a pretty little creature. Although her curves had filled out to the brim it seemed. With full breasts, a tiny waist from years of wearing a corset, and round rear, Stella made the perfect traveling companion. Often times she would have nightmares of the events from her childhood, and would crawl into Mal's sleeping roll, and warm her body to his; squishing her soft bits to the side of his body as she held him in a gentle embrace.

But at this moment, Stella's eyes were open wide in shock as she both saw and heard the deafening crack which came from Bleene's jaw. She cried out,
"Papa no!! We were suppose to bring him in for questioning!"

She cringed as the poor man spat out a mixture of blood and teeth. That was something she could never get use to that sight... Stella turned her attention to Mal who dismounted Buck. Skillfully her papa roped up the man, his hands forcing him over, or the rope under, tying knots here and there to ensure the man would not move. With a great heave he was able to place Bleene on Buck's back by himself, before sending tahim off. A small smile appeared on her face. Stella moved over to Mal, taking him by the arm,

"Thank you for the kind words, but it all comes from what you've taught me, papa."

Her little arms gave his larger arm a small hug, pressing it to her chest. Even in work cloths, Stella was a sight for sore eyes. Her hair loose and wild, her duster's collar high to her cheek before fanning out like a great cape; a single slit up the back to allow for her to ride easier. Her creme blouse confined her chest, and it was further confined by only another brown ladies's coat; riding and shooting in corsets mixed in with desert sun simply did not do. She wore a fine pair of cream bloomers underneath a big, billowy, brown skirt made of the same fabric as her coat. The skirt came just to her knee, so often when she rode, it would fly up, and flash her naughty bloomers. But she was a good girl, and would wear stockings aswell, which tucked nicely into her caramel steeple boots; the same colour as her holster.

With a happy giggle, she leaned her head against his arm, and watched that setting sun for a moment longer. "It really is pretty isn't it?" She muttered, before answering him, "Ah! Yes, well, I'd rather my captives no being able to run off, but if they are freed from whatever crime they committed, they can get better." She smiled, "There will be no death held on my conscience! God would certainly be proud of me for that." Stella made a kissing sound with her lips, calling Watson over. "Shall we head back Papa? It will take us a while, and at this rate, it will be dark soon..."

 

[Master Machiavelli]

Mal knew how his little Sure Shot felt about his occasional use of excessive force, but the man had brought it on himself and so he was at peace with his actions. He made quick work of Bleene, between the gun wounds and his busted jaw, there weren't much fight left in the man and Mal hogtied him as efficiently as if he was one of the thousand or so calves he'd roped and tied in his childhood.

"Don't go falling off now Bleene." He offered the captured man before turning back to his little darling.

She took his arm easily as she had a thousand times before and pulled her small body into him. Mal sighed contentedly- this was easily the best part of his day. He watched the sunset and how Stella's hair seemed to burn with an added intensity as the fading rays of light illuminated her face and the dark red hair he loved so much.

He shifted his battered Stetson back on his head using his free hand, covered in a thin calfskin glove he wore to better appreciate the setting sun. Both were equally stained with sweat from the hot days and Mal hadn't ever given much real thought to his attire. He wore what was comfortable and necessary for the job, owning in the way of clothes only what he was able to keep in his saddlebags. He too wore a duster, his a thick canvas with a wide leather dyed a deep brown. His face was perpetually tanned from far more years in the saddle and it only served to make his ice blue eyes seem all the brighter, brought on by the contrast.

Around his neck was tied a black bandana, he'd never wear blue- the color of the Yanks. It served as a collar and helped keep the perpetual dust from getting beneath his linen shirt to irritate his skin. Everything he had served a purpose. He'd spent more nights of his life sleeping on the hard earth than in a proper bed, and the ones where he got to feel his little girl curled up beside him, nestled into his chest for warmth and comfort... well they made him happier then he'd ever imagined he could be.

As Stella grew older and her body began to develop, Malachi became more and more aware of the fact that she was becoming a woman and he'd worried silently to himself if she would at some point decide not to join him beneath his bedroll. But it never came to pass, and Mal hoped it never would. He loved the feeling of her soft and full breasts pressed against his chest, her arm stretched out across him and his running along her spine coming to rest in the small of her back. The feel of her breath on his cheek and the small noises she made while she slept. He was never so content as when he was with her.

"It really is pretty isn't it?" He heard Sure Shot say and it brought Mal back to the present.

"Not half as pretty as you are my sweet one." Mal said softly, moving the arm she clutched around her waist and pulling her closer to him. He tried to burn this moment into his memory. Like every day since he'd rescued his beauty. Mal knew that someday, she'd likely find another and these memories would be all which remained.

He didn't allow himself to linger in the melancholy of it long. It was time to get going and Mal slid his hand from around his little girl's waist, his hand brushing absently along the delicious curve of her bottom.

"Yeah, I wish we could dally longer, but you're right Sure Shot- it's time we got going." Stella was already calling Watson and Buck hadn't moved a muscle since Mal had hoisted Bleene aloft. He saddled up and pointed Buck back towards the ranch. They'd likely arrive just in time for supper and at the thought of it Mal's stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since dawn.

 

[frizzy[dot]izzy]

Stella took a sharp breath when she felt his take her by the waist. His large fingers were so strong that a slight squeeze would cause her to expel that very breath. Stella's cheeks became rosey as he held her there for that moment longer. Her eyes staring up into his baby blues. Something she had grown so used to. No woman had been so privileged before, or thought of as an equal, but her papa was a fair man, and gave her such respect. She did earn it well though. This moment with them so close was rather intimate, and had it been another pair, perhaps a kiss would have been produces.

Stella never truly thought of Malachi in such a manner. Sure she was curious about men, and the pleasures of the flesh, but her knowledge was so little on the subject that she had little boundaries with Malachi. It was never improper or immoral if he had seen her in her nightgown or bloomers, or if she saw him in his drawers. She still much a child in that regard. His little peach. Ripe and juicey, perfect for picking, and sinking into, then lapping up all of its sweetness.

Instead, she smiled up at him, "Alright then!" With one final hug, Stella broke free, and spun about to face Watson. She stoked his nose, whispering a little prayer to him for a safe journey. She dragged her flat hand across his neck, and along his shoulder to her saddle. Pulling herself up, she settled herself nicely, taking the reins in her hands. "Nice and slow for our passenger, or should we hurry this up papa?"

 

[Master Machiavelli]

Malachi gave Buck a touch of his spurs and the horse broke into a canter. "The sooner we get this piece of filth back to Mr. Perrins, the sooner we can get paid, have a meal and get a good night's sleep." Mal looked backed over his shoulder as Stella quickly caught up with him. The ride back took over an hour and by the time they approached the ranchhouse the sun had already set well beneath the horizon. Waiting on the porch as they approached stood Mr. and Mrs. Perrins'. The look of concern was evident on her face as Mal approached with their prisoner strapped to his horse. Mr. Perrins' on the other hand looked well pleased.

Mal tipped his hat to Mrs. Perrins with a soft "ma'am" and turned his attention to the Southern gentleman turned rancher. "Sir, where would you like me to deposit our catch?"

Mr. Perrins looked at Sure Shot and Mal and nodded happily. "My men will take your horses and your cargo." He waved a hand and a couple of ranch hands appeared to lead their horses away. "Come inside, get yourselves cleaned up and we'll get you both a decent meal." Mrs. Perrins seemed to reemerge from her stupor.

"Yes, indeed. Where are my manners? Please, come in at once." She shooed her hands towards them, beckoning them to follow her inside. The ranch house was spacious and open and Mrs. Perrins led them down a short hallway and opened the door to a large bedroom. "You two are our guests. We can't thank you both enough for what you've done...for our boy." They saw the tears begin to rise in her eyes and she quickly turned away, adding quickly. "There's fresh water in the pitcher and towels on the table there. If there's anything else you need," she was nearly out the door. "Please don't hesitate to ask." With that, she was gone.

Mal looked around as he pulled off his hat and duster and hung them from a peg board on the wall. "This is really nice, huh Stell?" It was the nicest room he could remember ever staying in. He unbuttoned his shirt revealing his broad and well muscled chest and he reached up to untie his bandana. "Why don't you wash up first sweetheart?" He offered as the knot came loose from around his neck and he found a chair to sit on to pull off his boots. "I reckon I'm far dustier then you are, so you get started and I'll replenish the water." He filled the basin for her and then stepped back to pull off his boots.

 

[frizzy[dot]izzy]

Stella slowed Watson down to a trot when they neared the ranch. She too could make out the figures of Mr and Mrs. Perrins. As always, Stella let Malachi do the talking, as she had learned the hard way that men find comfort in doing business with men. Besides, who would ever believe that a sweet little creature such as herself was the one to do the most damage to Mr. Bleene? Certainly not the Perrins. They had heard the rumours of Malachi's traveling companion, but her physical appearance typically disproved them to some degree. A few very wary people would question their relationship, and Stella would bluntly explain that her parents were killed by crooks, and he took her in as his apprentice. Then Ellie would make some sort of small demonstration, shooting off hats or hitting cups seemed to be quite popular in getting the point across.

Stella climbed off of Watson, unfastening a sack from him. Swinging it over her shoulder, she started towards the three of them, only to stop just short. Stella spun about, giving Watson a gentle rub on his nose before placing a small kiss between his eyes. In responce, he nudged her chest with his great head, wanting more affection then what they had time for. Stella was indulgent though, "You did good today, Watson!" She scratched along his jaw up to ear. He let out a neigh of content before one of the hands took hold of his reigns. She would pamper him a bit more before bed. Facing Malachi and the Perrins, Stella walked towards them. The gentle roll of her hips, the sway of her skirt. Today, they all did good.

But naturally, a wealthy couple raised down in the south would never pry into such relations. No. Mrs Perrins simply lead them to a lavish guest room which was furnished with two beds, dressers, and armoirs. Stella looked at the beautiful oat furnishings, a twinge in her heart. She had a dark secret, one she knew she could never ask Malachi for, but, she wanted to settle down and fill one of these up with dresses and different outfits. As it was, she owned three. And three was a greater deal than most. Her work outfit, an extra set of bloomers for sleeping, and her sunday best. "Thank you, ma'am," Nodded Stella as the woman left, closing the door behind her.
Stella looked over to Malachi, watching his fingers work away at his buttons. She took him in for perhaps a moment too long before responding, "Alright Papa, if that is what you want." With that, Stella opened her sack and pulled out a lovely sky blue dress. Setting it out on the bed closest to the basin, Stella closed the gap between the two. Her own fingers working the buttons and hooks it took to fasten her outfit. Without much of a thought, she stood in her bloomers and under shirt. Taking a face cloth, she began to wipe away any dirt and grime off of her. All the sweat came off too. Feeling refreshed, she ringed out her cloth and set it to dry. Picking up her dress, matching sky blue corset, white stockings, and simpler shoes, Stella relocated behind a chinese devide. Humming to herself she began to dress. It was easy for one to tell when a lady was putting on her corset, for suddenly her breath became short, staccato like, as if someone was fucking it out of her. It was hard to do up one's own corset, so once it got to a more difficult stage, she called out,
"Papa! Could you tie me up, please?"

 

[Master Machiavelli]

Mal watched absently as his little girl undressed before him as she had done a thousand times previously but this was somehow different. He watched as her long and delicate fingers worked the hooks, buttons and fasteners which held her clothes together, and then as her clothes slipped away and Stella moved to the basin, he became more aware then ever of how she moved, and he took in each curve of her body, from the ample and creamy mounds of her breasts, tucking downward and inward to her thin waist before slipping back around the curve of her hips. And how her hips moved. Mal caught himself, relieved by the fact that his little peach hadn't noticed he'd been staring at her.

He worked off his boots and glanced up for a moment as Stella ran the cloth over her face and arms. The seat he'd taken provided him a perfect vantage point to see the reflection of his sweet girl's beautiful face, framed in firey locks as well as her cleavage, all reflected in the mirror as she stood over the wash basin and once again he caught himself staring perhaps a moment too long. Again he returned to his own affairs as Stella placed the washcloth aside and picked up her clothes and dipped behind the divide. The man shook his head. What was he thinking? His little Sure Shot had grown into a gorgeous young woman, right under his eyes and now he had caught himself seeing her as a woman and no longer his little girl. He ran his fingers through his short and silvering dark blonde hair as he took it all in.

Malachi stood and walked to the basin, poured the water into a nearby bucket and refilled it; Stella had left him enough to wipe down as well. He wiped the dirt from his face, enjoying the cool feeling of the water evaporating on his skin before dipping the cloth and running it over his muscular chest and arms. Just then Stella asked for his help and he looked over to the blind, just able to make out the trace of her silhouette behind her.

"Of course, my peach." He answered softly and moved to join her behind the curtain. Her sky blue corset had looked pretty enough lying on the bed, but now, wrapped around Stella's middle, the color of it complimented everything about her. Her hair, her eyes and most certainly her body. Malachi moved slowly, taking the cords from the top as Stella held the garment in place, lifting and pressing her perfect breasts together. He tightened them slowly, moving through each eyelet as he did and marveling as the corset drew her already amazing figure into one that no man could help but admire. finally reaching the last set of eyelets he cinched the cords tight and tied them off. Then, unconsciously his hands came to rest on Stella's hips and he pulled her back into his chest, breathing in the scent of her hair, before wrapping his arms around her waist and hugging her tightly.

"I'm going to look like a carpetbagger alongside you Miss Blakeston." He whispered lightly in her ear. Mal rarely used Stella's last name- there never seemed to be a need. He held her for a moment longer before breaking the embrace. "I...I suppose I need to get myself as gussied up as I can manage. He stepped back and left her there behind the curtain as he found his saddlebags and his Sunday Best suit, a black ditto suit with grey pinstripes, a clean white shirt and collar and a four in hand tie. He couldn't actually remember the last time he'd worn it and judging how dirty and scuffed his only pair of boots were, he was sure he'd make a poor escort for his beauty. While Stella was still behind the curtain, he turned his back to it and quickly dropped his underwear, briefly revealing his well muscled thighs and calves and more before he slipped on a fresh pair and reached for his pants.

"I don't think I've had anything to eat since breakfast." He offered, "This is a really nice place they've made for themselves...The Perrin's have. Don't you think?"

 

[frizzy[dot]izzy]

Stella stood there in her half-tied corset, white short bloomers that ended just after her bottom, and a white pair of stockings. She greeted him with a smile before he took his presence behind her. Stella gasped as the silken garment squeezed every single ounce of air out of her. Surely it was not healthy to wear such things! But this did not stop Malachi. No, every eyelit, he pulled, and the same reaction came across. He fastened her up, leaving her to recuperate. Her breasts which were already plump to begin with, squished together to create a deep crevasse of cleavage, which grew with every short breath she took. Stella managed a small, "Thank you papa," before he pulled him against her.

Her pink cheeks turned a shade far more rosey as he whispered in her ear. Her skin became bumpy as a shiver was sent down her spine. Having him mention her last name like that, brought her to the reality that he was not her father, nor was she his daughter, and there was something very wrong in being seen in undergarments, especially at her age. Stella shook her head of the idea. Instead, her lethe arms brushed against his as she returned the embrace. Closing her eyes, she rested against his strong chest, relishing in his scent. Dreamily, she responded, "Mhmm, I don't think it is quite possible for you to get gussied up," Oh! How she loved to tease him. Breaking the embrace, Stella swayed over to her dress and began to pull it on. In that same time, Mal left to dress himself.

She heard him through the devide, and nodded in agreement, "Yes they have. Maybe someday, when we've collected all the bounties here in the west, we will have enough saved up for a place of our own!" With that, the young miss came about from the devide. Her head of curls naturally devided on the left most side of her head, leaving a long fringe to tuck behind her ear as it came across her forehead. Stella wore her hair half up, half down, as this was appropriate for evenings. She never wanted to put her hair up, not ever! Leaving her hair down was a sign of her youth and freedom, two things she never wanted to give up, not even at 110! Her heels made a soft clicking sound on the floor, but were impossible to see as the length of her dress touched the floor. Stella moved with elegance towards Malachi, extending a hand, "So, shall we meet with the Perrins? Supper should be ready now..." Stella offered a sweet smile to her papa.

The two of them made their way out of the guest room, walking arm in arm to the dining hall. Staff of the household running about, a few whispers on their lips as the duo passed by them. The Perrins had a family of five children, now down to four. Three boys, and one girl. Perhaps some of their off spring would be the same age as Stella? Then she could have someone to talk to about those... young... people things with. The doors to the dining room were opened by staff.

The Perrins were all waiting for them. Mister Perrins grinned, seeing the two out of their work outfits. The lovely Stella, and the strapping Malachi. Together they made quite the handsome pair. "Ah! Our guests of honour, please sit where ever you please. We've all waited patiently for our supper tonight!"

 

[Master Machiavelli]

He agreed with Stella's statement, perhaps this was as dressed up as he could manage. But he didn't mind the teasing because he knew there was no malice behind her words and he finished dressing. Silently he nodded at the idea of putting down their guns and settling down on a piece of land of their own. But there would always be another bounty, always another job and Mal wondered as well if he had it in him to stay in one place for long. Perhaps. For the right woman, the thought slipped though his mind as he pulled his jacket on.

Stella stepped out from behind the screen and Mal's breath caught in his throat. She was a vision and he smiled warmly as she began to offer her hand which he readily accepted and tucked into his arm. "Let's to supper then my dear." He said as they made their way out of the room and down the hall to the dining room.

The doors swung open and they were received by the entire Perrins family already seated and awaiting their arrival. As soon as they stepped in, all of the men rose and stood. Mal nodded lightly and noticed Mr. Perrins sat at the head of the table with his wife to his right and his eldest son to his left. The seat to the right of his son was vacant as was the seat at the other end of the table. Malachi escorted his fair Stella to the seat beside the younger Perrins, and the gentleman took the initiative to pull out her chair before Mal had the chance. He watched her slip into the seat and made his way to the far end and took his seat.

The servants brought the wine and Mr. Perrins rose to toast Mal & Sure Shot for the great service they'd done for his kith and kin. All drank to the toast and as soon as Mr. Perrins took his seat, the first course was served, a hearty soup full of vegetables, chunks of beef and barley. Mal enjoyed every bite as he savored the meal, and looked up as Mr. Perrin's asked him a question.

"So how long have you been doing this sort of thing Mr. Jefferson?"

He did the math in his head. "Well, since about '68, so going on twenty years now." His eyes grew distant for a moment. "You know how things were... after it ended. Not much work for a man who wore the grey, so I sort of kept doing what I was good at." He smiled. "But I've been lucky along the way to meet some nice folks like you all."

Mr. Perrins nodded contemplatively. The war had taken so much from him as well, but he'd been able to rebuild in the west. Brandon, the Perrins' eldest son leaned in to Stella. "And you Miss Stella? How long have you been doing this sort of thing?

 

[frizzy[dot]izzy]

Mister Malachi Jefferson. That was his proper name, wasn't it? Stella was so used to calling him Malachi, or rather papa... It was never uncommon for her to be called Miss Jefferson on the occasion they had spent a night in a hotel, but recently it was becoming common that inn keepers would call her Mrs Jefferson, rather than miss. But in every situation, it was almost instantly remedied. Surely the eldest Perrin did not want to assume the same fate when he asked his question, so Stella sought to bring him piece of mind, as well as the rest of his families.

Stella had been sipping on her wine when he had asked her his question. She may have gotten used to the taste of whiskey on cold, hard nights, or evenings of celebration with Malachi and their other cowboy brethren, but still the alcohol warmed her, and brought that beloved rosey colour to her cheeks. Her bottom lip pressed to the glass as she tilted it away from her mouth, brushing against it lightly for a moment to pick up any residue of wine. She was not one to waste a drop. Placing it down gently on the table, her finger tips ran about it gently. "My position surely is a most curious one," She begun, looking back to Brandon, her fingers trailing down to its stem where they finally rested. "I was taken into the guidance by Mr. Jefferson at the age of 12 when my parents had both been murdered by bandits. My affinity for guns and arresting those criminals started when I was 14, so it has been three years. It isn't as much time as my partners, but having such a skill full instructor makes for fast learning,"
She gave him one of her sweet-as-lemon-meringue-pie smiles, before bringing her glass back to her silky lips for another sip. Surely a woman as experienced as she was in the field of krooks was far too exciting for him, a lad who never ventured off the farm. After a small sip, she posed him with a question,
"Now, what about your field of work? I would quite like to know,"

Before she could manage to give him another smile, Mrs Perrins could not help but interject. "You dear child! To have lost your parents at twelve, certainly this was a hardship! And a burdence on Mr. Jefferson!"

Stella gave a small smile, knowing this would have come up, "Yes, the loss of my parents is a grievance that I will always carry, but out of it I found the generosity and kindness. My father was a doctor you see,---"

Once again, Mrs Perrins interjected, "A child of status as well? My dear girl, have you been received into society?"

Stella gave a small shake of her head, "No, ma'am, I have not."

A great smile spread across her face, and that of her 15 year old daughter, "Then, as thanks for your efforts, we shall hold a ball. And you may announce yourself into society!"

Stella was torn. She was being offered a chance to meet a rich rancher or someone of status to have that life she dreamed of, or to continue on the dusty trail she had grown so accustomed to. Putting on one of her most cheerful smiles, she nodded in accordance, "I would be most greatful, but I do not know how much time we will have here in Bedrock," She looked to Malachi with a smaller smile.

 

[Master Machiavelli]

Malachi listened as the conversation unfolded on the other end of the table and noted Brandon's obvious interest in Stella. A blind man could have seen it just as plainly as Mal's ice blue eyes did. He took another spoonful of his soup as the youngest boy asked Mal about the Colt .45's he wore on his hips and how many 'bad men' had he killed.

"Less then some. More then most." It was all the gunslinger offered as an answer, trying to pay attention to the adult’s conversation. He heard Mrs. Perrins’ exclaim the burden Stella must have been to him.

“To the contrary, ma’am.” He was only just able to interject. He meant to continue, but Mrs. Perrins’ hadn't seemed to have heard him, paying closer attention to Stella and her story.

And then suddenly there was talk of a ball and announcing Stella into society. His head didn't move, but his eyes missed nothing. Mrs. Perrins was a powerful woman and would not be refused. Mr. Perrins, wanting to show his largess would happily put on the event to further concrete his position in their community. Brandon was obviously thrilled with his mother’s proposal as he shot a small glance at Stella, and imagined himself on her arm. Lastly his gaze fell on Stella. He could tell she was conflicted and that was all he needed to know.

Malachi took a sip of the fine wine as Stella’s eyes met his and the sight of her smaller smile in his direction made up his mind. He would willingly give her anything she wanted. Mal swallowed the wine, although his stomach roiled at the thought of losing her and the wine now tasted of vinegar, but his bright eyes never dimmed.

“We’ll stay as long as you’ll have us Mrs. Perrins.” His father had been a wealthy rancher in Texas, so he understood these Southern folks well enough. “And it would be a great honor to have Stella presented into polite society.” He nodded and smiled at his little Sure Shot, shooting her a little wink as he did.

Mrs. Perrins couldn't have been happier with the news and immediately began to speak of putting together the menu, guest list and a hundred other things which needed to be done, and in short order. For his part Mal tried to make peace with the idea of it all.

 

[frizzy[dot]izzy]

Although she seemed poised, sitting straight with a gentle smile on her face, Stella was reeling in her seat. She couldn't handle the verbal assault that Mrs. Perrins released onto her. She spoke of many things---of shoes and invitations, lemonade and dresses! It was all rather---confusing. Stella was used to tracking men and animals, such frivolous things were new to her. Yes, they interested her a great deal, but she simply could not keep up with Mrs. Perrins! So, Malachi's little sweet heart simply nodded as the lady of the house continued.

Her husband seemed content as he continued to eat his soup. And master Brandon... Stella looked to him for a moment from the corner of her eye. He was surely no more than three years older than she, and he was quite handsome of face. It made Stella feel quite nervous. She shifted, and then---he spoke. Stella blushed just a touch, as she looked down the table towards Malachi. His voice was so strong and clear that it silenced Mrs. Perrins words. Stella's worry settled as she heard her papa's kind words. Oh! How she wished she could go to him and hug him! He was far too sweet.

Mr. Perrins then struck up a new conversation with Malachi, as dinner continued. The soup course ended, and they were quickly greeted with a plateful of ham and a variety of vegetables. It had been a long time since Stella had such a fine meal. Brandon still posed her with small talk. He was a sweet man. Dinner finished, and everyone disbursed. After eating so much, Stella felt the need for a long sleep! Malachi escorted her back to their room. Once in the safe confines, she was able to strip out of her outfit.

There was quite a ruckus of rustling fabric coming from behind the devide as she removed every article that hugged her body. Along were the subtle gasps, and sighs of relief as she was released. Stella was always much more successful at undoing her own corset, rather than tying it up. Standing infront of the dressing mirror in the nude, Stella looked herself over. She certainly was not twelve years old any more. Pulling on her bloomers and tank top, Stella took care of cleaning up the area, folding up her dress and packing away her corset. She smiled softly, seeing Malachi shaving himself. "Is it exciting, papa? I haven't been dancing for so long!" She drew nearer, holding her hands behind her back, sticking her unbound chest out that much more. Oh, how perky they were when they were free!

 

[Master Machiavelli]

Dinner progressed and it reminded Malachi of an earlier time in his life, when he was 'Brandon,' only a few years younger, just before he ran off to the excitement of the war. Some excitement it had turned out to be, and when he returned everything had been swept away by the Yankees and their 'terrible swift sword.' The meal was excellent- so much better then the usual vittles he and Stella usually rustled up each night. As the meal ended Mr. Perrins invited Mal to join him in a cigar, but the bounty hunter politely declined.

"It's been a very long day sir, we've both been up since well before dawn. But if you'll allow me a rain check, I'd like to enjoy a cigar with you perhaps tomorrow night?" The east Texas lilt of his voice slid across his lips like honey with a little southern accent, rolling beneath the stronger twang of the west. Mr. Perrins had no choice but to accept his apology.

Back in their room, he pulled off his jacket and vest and put them on a hanger- the first time in months they'd been properly hung. Next came his shirt which he draped over the back of the chair. and he sat down in it, pouring fresh water in the basin and drawing out a shaving mug with soap and brush and a long, straight bladed razor. He sat on a chair as he heard his sweet girl rustling behind the screen and smiled contentedly before dipping the brush into the basin to wet it and then into the mug to build up the lather for his shave.

He dabbed the brush across his whiskers, rough as sandpaper and the thin lather coated them in preparation for the razor. He looked over and smiled as his sweet girl turned the corner of the screen and asked him about the ball.

He nodded as he smiled and admired her as she so easily crossed the room. "It is. It will be a wonderful night. The Perrins' are a good southern family and they will sure know how to throw a ball." Stella's exclamation on dancing made him realize that he couldn't remember the last time he'd danced either. So as she approached him, her hands behind her back, perfectly perky breasts leading her advance, Mall placed the mug down, stood and took a step towards his little girl. His strong hand easily found the small of her back and he pulled her slightly closer to him as he offered his other hand. He was smiling through the shaving lather and his ice blue eyes were full of life.

"Then may I have this dance?" He asked in a soft voice and took her hand. The bounty hunter was still capable of surprises, even after all of these years.

 

[frizzy[dot]izzy]

For a moment, Stella forgot how big Malachi actually was. Having him stand up in front of her was daunting enough as it was, but the idea was cemented into her mind until he stepped that much closer to herself. She innocently tilted her head up, so she could look onto his face. Ah! Such a sweet view he was blessed with. His free-spirited little girl appearing so meek and petite as any young lady should. With pink cheeks from a slight blush which had never been truly seen in his presence, and those large eyes filled with wonder. Her hands slipped from their grip, falling to her sides for a moment. A smile took over her face as Stella snapped out of her dream-like state. Taking a gentle hold of his hand, her own surprisingly soft for such a life she lead with Mal. Her opposite hand came and found a resting place on his shoulder. With his hand on the small of her back, he pulled her in closer.

Stella was encased by his musky scent; something she had grown so used to. She loved resting her head on his chest at night, and just relishing in his smell. With her smile still plastered on her face, Stella began counting, "And 1-2-3! 1-2-3! 2-2-3!" The two slowly began to waltz around the room, switching off counting numbers so the other could laugh. Being with Malachi certainly was fun!

 

[Master Machiavelli]

He smiled as she settled into him and felt her small, warm hand on his shoulder. Malachi moved easily as Stella began to count the time and his feet remembered days long past when they used to dance. As he led he was amazed at how effortlessly Stella responded to the slightest pressure of his fingers on the small of her back, the seemed in perfect harmony. Looking down into her deep red tresses as he felt her breath on his chest was heaven- something which he hoped to never lose.

Before long the counting stopped and they simply danced in the quiet of the room, enjoying one another and the music they created themselves. With a final motion Malachi took Stella's hand on his shoulder in his and twirled her slowly and as she returned to face him he sat back down on the chair he'd started in, drawing his beautiful girl down and into his lap.

 

[frizzy[dot]izzy]

The possibility of them being like this forever could very easily happen. Wether it was a night, or early in the morn, with her curled right up to him, her plush cheek to his chest, her steady breathing. A gentle embrace. Dancing like they did now. Or even much more deviant pass times. Which ever had her breathing against his chest. She gave him a slight nuzzle, like she did soft when she slept. It was so pleasant to be like this with him. Not having to worry about someone coming in the middle of the night and robbing them, or trying to worse. No... They could just simply be. Sure Stella had known Malachi for a long time, but how much did she really know?

Eventually their dancing came to an end, but their hands still remained holding onto the one another's. Stella wore a small smile on her face as she swayed from side to side while her papa took a seat in the rather large chair. His strong arms gave a gentle tug, and she knew all too well what he meant by it. Carefully she moved forward, slipping one leg over his lap. Eventually she sat on him, her legs stradling his sides. Shifting forward, Stella reapplied the cream, just because she found it fun to do so. Taking the blade in one hand, she sharpened it on a piece of worn leather. Stella had this habit of humming whenever she worked. Eventually she was leaning her plush little body up against his as she began to shave his neck.
"Papa, when was the last time you went to something like this?"

 

[Master Machiavelli]

His smile broadened warmly as his little Sure Shot slipped into his lap, straddling him and he moved his neck and head to give Stella an easier time lathering his neck. The soap was warm against his skin and the brush, with it's soft bristles massaged his face as her expert hands worked it. His fingers wrapped around her small waist and he held her sides as Mal watched placidly with his ice blue eyes as Stella drew his cutthroat razor back and forth across the leather strop before turning back to him. He trusted her implicitly.

The edge of the razor touched his throat and Mal was oblivious to it, feeling instead Stella shift forward on top of him. Her thighs pressing lightly into his to keep her balance as she leaned forward and more exquisitely the touch of her nipples covered by the thin fabric of her shift as they brushed against his chest. He inhaled softly through his teeth, knowing she was unaware of the effect she was having on him. He worried as he felt his dick awaken in response to feeling her sex as she absently rubbed against his. His hands moved from her waist, across the small of her back and over her perfect ass, each wrapping itself around the curve of her ass. Despite himself he held her there, savoring the feeling of her sex as it played against his. He wanted to kiss her, as a man kisses a woman- explore her mouth with his tongue and excite her as she excited him.

But her question brought him back to Earth. "It's been a long time my sweet." He answered, his voice lower and draped in desire. "During the war... I was a Lieutenant by then," he reminisced as she drew the razor in a long stroke up his neck. "Not much older then you are now- youngest in the Division as a point of fact." Mal opened his eyes and his smile only grew warmer at the sight of his beauty before him.

"We were in Savannah, down in Georgia. Things were bad at that point, hardly anything left provisionswise. Most of what we got we had to raid the Yanks for. Anyway, we rode into Savannah, maybe three hundred of us cavalry and a bunch of infantry and the mayor... well the mayor wanted to do something for the people and for us. Grant was makin' his way towards Atlanta and people just needed something to take their minds off things- they needed to remember the old times, the good times. So they threw a big dance, and what a sight it was. We all got our uniforms cleaned up nice, found polish for our boots and really made a fine night of it." He paused as the memory washed over him. "Two days later we headed towards Atlanta, trying to stop ol' US Grant, but that never came to nothing." He ended his tale with a softer smile then before he'd begun. It had been a dark time for the man. He shook it off as he gazed into Stella's blue orbs and reached up with his left hand to stroke her face.

"That was the only time I've ever been to one of these sorts of things baby. But I've danced a time or two since then as well- although I can honestly say I've never had a better partner." The razor ran along his cheek, removing stubble as she went stroke, by long stroke. "We'll need to find you the prettiest dress in the territory... you're the Belle of the ball!"