Showdown at the Laredo - Second Version, by Cat
(The following was inspired by Showdown at the Larado by GW which appears on this website. The author expresses sincere gratitude and appreciation to GW for his splendid story. Without it, this version would not have been written.)

Nude Models Tanya Danielle portays Belinda Peterson and Nina Mercedez as Consuela Haggerty
Tall, blond, curvacious, downright beautiful -- Belinda Peterson had to be the most unlikely sheriff in the entire west. A legend in her own time folks said. Throughout her teen years in a fancy eastern finishing school she'd dreamed constantly of going west and, 10 years ago, her wealthy parents finally sent her. During an overnight stay in Cottonwood Junction her party was entertained by Jim Peterson, owner of the biggest ranch in the county. It was love at first sight and, even though he was nearly 20 years older, they married the very next week.

For the 5 wonderful years that they worked the ranch together, Belinda proved herself as capable and fealess as any man. Their love and mutual respect grew stronger every day. Then, considering it his civic duty, Jim became sheriff of the lawless town. The young wife feared terribly for her beloved mate. In less than 3 months he was dead, shot in the back, the crime never solved. His devastated widow was sure that Consuela Haggerty, stunning, hard as nails young owner of the Laredo Saloon, was responsible. Jim had been investigating the strange coincidence of the former owner's disappearance at the very time that 24 year-old Consuela announced her purchase of the saloon.

In the hope of bringing the killers to justice Belinda reluctantly agreed to succeed Jim as sheriff. Even though she never could, in less than 5 years, she'd closed down or cleaned up every saloon, gambling joint and bawdy house in Cottonwood, except the Laredo. With powerful friends who profitted from the saloon's operation (and admired its canny and seductive owner), Consuela had thwarted her every attempt. The sheriff was on her way to take care of that right now. Then she'd quit this job and go back to running her ranch, the love of her life now that Jim was gone.

At 11 a.m. on July 15, 1892, Belinda stepped through the Loredo's swinging doors prepared for a confrontation. The proprietress (blackhaired, dark skinned, dark eyed), a true beauty in her own right, was expecting her. "Well sheriff, what's on your one track mind this morning? Ya come to tell me agin how yer gonna shut my saloon? I love the way ya say it -- always sounds so purdy." Her pouty little-girl lips that drove the men crazy belied a ruthless, greedy heart. Yet the woman was so thoroughly imbued with her mother's Latin beauty and her father's Irish charm that, in spite of herself, Belinda always found Consuela attractive -- until she opened her mouth. The local folks had accepted Jim Peterson's young wife even with her high class, eastern ways. Not Consuela. Every time they spoke she showed her contempt by using the coarsest local dialect.

"I'll get right to the point," the sheriff began.

"Good," the younger woman interrupted, "I got work to do. Don't need no lazy law woman under foot Belinda."

"Sheriff Peterson to you, girl," Belinda shot back.

"Miss Haggerty to you, girl." Consuela returned the volley. Who the devil did this no account floozy think she was? Nobody (but Nobody) got away with sassing the sheriff. Involuntarily Belinda's hands went to her 6-guns. "I ain't wearin' no guns, Sheriff Bitch. Ya gonna gun me down in cold blood?"

Bitch!!!? The sheriff's fingers ached, but she bridled her anger -- her time would come. "Listen Consuela, either you'll swear to clean this place up or...."

Again Consuela interrupted, "Or what?," she broke in belligerently.

"Or I'll close it down and run you and your so-called 'ladies' out of town."

"Oh, I'm shiverin' in my boots. Big tough sheriff gonna run poor little Missy Haggerty outa town."

"You better watch your mouth, girl," Belinda called as she turned on her heels. "I'll be back in two hours. You be ready to give me your word, or else be gone."

"Come back if you think your tough enough," challenged the saloon keeper, "and we'll just see who gets run outa town." She could almost see the steam rising from Belinda's neck. "An angry sheriff is a careless sheriff," thought Consuela. It was a risk, but a calculated one.

Time passed slowly for both women. After making her rounds of the town, Belinda went back to her office where she changed into lightweight jeans and a thin cotton shirt. The day was already getting warm. She adjusted her gunbelt on prominent hips making sure that both 6-guns slid out freely. The sheriff was ready for anything. Back at the saloon Consuela's preparations were more elaborate. Black leather riding breeches and a black shirt suited her nicely, but some accessories might come in handy. She slipped a riding quirt inside one boot and a thin, razor-sharp knife into a sewn-in sheath in the other. Even though she'd be no match for the sheriff in a shoot out, she strapped on her gun belt, just in case. Then she made sure the saloon was empty and her ladies (whores) were still in their rooms. They worked late and slept late. Nothing else to do but wait for the invasion.

On her way to the Laredo Belinda passed an old drunk, a good customer of the saloon but also a great admirer of the magnificent sheriff. "Watch out for the shiv sheriff," he mumbled.

"Shiv? What shiv?," she wondered turning her attention back to the mission at hand, resolving to watch out for everything with this conniving woman. Once more checking her guns she called out, "Consuela, if you're in there, come on out." No reply. Again she called, "Consuela, come out of there." Nothing.

The saloon woman smiled to herself, "come out so you can put a bullet in me? You must think I'm stupid, bitch." Picking up a bung starter kept in the saloon for emergencies, she positioned herself close to the door, back pressed tight against the wall. "O.K., blondie, come git me," she whispered.

Belinda pushed through the swinging doors and took several steps into the room, eyes adjusting to dimmer light. The floor creaked an instant before Consuela slammed that bung starter against the back of her head, tumbling her 10-gallon Stetson to the floor. Fireworks exploded in the sheriff's brain as she sank to her knees groping for her guns. But Consuela got there first, slipping them out of their holsters while ramming a boot squarely between her shoulder blades, sending her sprawling to the saloon floor. Belinda rolled over just in time to see her guns fly through the air and disappear behind the bar. Consuela grinned down at her frightened face, "Don't worry sheriff, I ain't gonna shoot ya. Ain't lettin' ya off that easy." To her dismay, the blackhaired woman unbuckled her own gunbelt, "wouldn't do fer ya to get hold o' these now would it," she chuckled, tossing her belt over the bar on top of the sheriff's guns.

Shorn of her 6-guns, infuriated at the way the young girl had disarmed her, Belinda didn't realize just how badly she'd been hurt. She should have retreated. Instead she advanced -- just as Consuela planned. "You're asking for it girl and now you're going to get it," the sheriff threatened.

"Here I am sheriff, come git me if ya can," the smaller woman taunted. Accepting the invitation, the blond bore down on her foe, fists swinging. Miscalculation number 2. Consuela had no intention of slugging it out toe to toe with the powerful sheriff. Other saloon fights, with women bigger and stronger than she was, had taught the 125-pound girl to rely on speed and guile -- not slugging -- boxing. Instantly she shifted into perpetual motion, ducking, dodging, weaving, blocking, parrying, slipping left then right then left again, backing off, darting in. Wherever Belinda punched, the blackhaired phantom was somewhere else. Sometimes she even showed up behind her foe as if they were playing a merry game of tag. Fists jabbing constantly into the sheriff's face closed her eyes, mashed her lips, jarred her head back time and time again, now and then whipping in from right or left to knock Belinda's head abruptly sideways. Had she really met her match in this no account saloon floozy? She had to find a way to stop the spitfire before it was too late. And then, unexpectedly, the blond got her first break. Consuela misjudged a roundhouse right. Propelled by the sheriff's formidable 140 pounds, her fist crashed into the demon's jaw, rattling her brain, spinning her 180 degrees. Before she could react, Belinda's arms imprisoned her from behind, crushing her breasts cruelly.

The sheriff's powerful hold was quickly forcing the air out of Consuela's lungs. She had mere seconds of consciousness to escape. Suddenly Belinda felt a hand inside her pantaloons. She cried out in shock, "get away damn you!" Instead, long fingers clawed downward mingling with her lady's pubic bush. The saloon woman yanked up -- hard! With a shriek Belinda released the crushing bear hug, yanked the hand out of her pants and dashed Consuela to the floor. She stood over the devil tenderly massaging her own pubic region. "Well, that's a little better. Not so sassy now, are we? Get up," she commanded, "it's time to learn some manners."

Ever-so slowly Consuela rose to her knees gulping draughts of air, arms cradling her suffering breasts. "Up," insisted the towering blond, "or shall I haul you up here by your hair?" Crouching at the sheriff's feet Consuela swayed unsteadily, searching for an opening. Head hanging, the downed woman drew one foot up underneath her. Mustering every ounce of strength, she uncoiled like a tempered steel spring, driving her fist upward between the sheriff's legs, upward into her crotch. Lightning bolts knifed up into her vagina. Pain-laden knuckles ripped and gouged horribly at ultrasensitive feminine organs. In excruciating agony the squealing sheriff plummetted to the floor, hands racing to extinguish the white-hot blast that this one punch had ignited. "Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!" she blubbered, convulsing in pain, frantically massaging her brutalized womanhood.

Moving in close Consuela wrenched the blond's head back by the hair and gazed at her grotesquely contorted features. "You think you're so tough Mrs. Uppity Sheriff. How 'bout makin' a little wager," she challenged the writhing woman. "If you beat me (fat chance), I'll shut the Laredo, leave town and take my ladies. But if I beat you, you'll git the hell outa here and never bother us agin. Got it? Ya have just 2 minutes ta stop that snivelin' and whimperin'-- then I'm gonna give ya a beatin' ya'll never forgit as long as you live -- if ya live."

Dropping Belinda's hair, Consuela backed off to lean against the nearby bar. As soon as the pain stopped choking her the blond whispered, "I'll take that bet," surprising even herself. But she would win, she had to. Even now every advantage was hers.

The saloon woman's, "On yer feet, Sheriff Bitch," came all too soon. In spite (maybe because) of the holocaust ripping her entrails apart, Belinda was more determined than ever to run this harlot out of town.

The devil woman came in fast, fists lashing out. Having learned the hard way that headlong attack spelled certain disaster, the sheriff went on the defensive, blocking, ducking, retreating, countering when she could. She took some jarring shots, but nothing like before. And some of her own punches landed with telling force. Belinda loved it. Best of all, that superior smirk was gone, replaced by an expression of serious concern. A solid right cross buckled the saloon girl's knees. Instantly Belinda ripped a bevy of left-right combinations up into ripe young breasts as the dark beauty staggered backward into a wall. The sheriff attacked her lower body with battering ram blows. "Got her now," she rejoiced. But no. Somehow the she-devil escaped and mounted a counterattack that again forced Belinda on the defensive. Consuela's punches hurt, but the sheriff was landing some pretty good shots herself. For several minutes the fight raged back and forth, first one panting beauty then the other seizing control. Sounds of fists driving into face and body, of grunts and squeals and yelps, ricocheted about the saloon.

Drenched with sweat, the sheriff's shirt clung to her full breasts like a second skin as if she were naked. Maybe the sight attracted Consuela or else she craved revenge for Belinda's recent attack on her own vulnerable busom. She seemed to give ground. Then, suddenly, she unleashed a furious offensive to the imposing mounds. Except for that devastating punch to her crotch, nothing had ever hurt Belinda like this before. No man had ever dared hit her breasts and the other women she'd fought didn't punch like this demon. Now it was her back against the wall. As Consuela closed in, the blond managed to drive a bootheel flush into her midsection. It worked! OOOOOFFF! blurted the girlish madame stumbling backward, almost going down. Her breasts aflame Belinda ached to turn tail and run. But, goaded by pride and courage (and her rash wager), she charged, fists flying. In spite of her pain, Consuela ducked underneath the assault and, burying her shoulder into the oncoming belly, straightened upward launching Belinda into the air. The blond's own momentum did the rest, flipping long legs and body up and over. Then gravity took the handoff, hauling her 140 solid pounds down, down, down to a crash landing flat on her back. A giant shudder radiated throughout the room. Blackness enveloped her.

As she opened her eyes the blond instantly sensed that her shirt was gone. Consuela was seated on top of her, enjoying the view. Sarcasm floated down from above. "Well lookie here. That sexy lace chamisole really suits our big tough sheriff now don't it?" Even though she was pinned flat on her back, Belinda's full, pulsing nipples all but bored right through the sheer silk.

She stiffened as Consuela produced a wicked-looking knife from her boot. Her mind flashed, "Watch out for the shiv." She heard herself yell, "NO!"

The saloon girl smiled, "I ain't gonna cut ya -- yet anyways."

As she pulled the lacy chamisole upward Belinda pleaded, "No, No, you can't. I'll be stark naked!" (It was bad enough she'd already lost her shirt, but not this.)

"Well, good for you sheriff. Ya figured it out. I didn' know ya was that smart," Consuela snickered. Belinda groped for her arm. "Careful, this here knife's razor sharp. If I was you I'd be layin' mighty still right now." The blond trembled as she watched the knife slice her frilly garment from top to bottom, laying bare her thrusting breasts. A pair of snips through narrow shoulder straps completed the coup. With one quick jerk the saloon keeper stripped her victim naked to the waist.

Belinda nearly swooned from embarrassment as the brazen woman oggled her prominent busom, frankly shocked by its youthful pulchritude. As Consuela reached out she slapped the hand away yelling, "Don't you dare touch me!"

"Oh, I'll touch you all right," came the response. "Before I'm through with ya, I'll touch everything ya got and more. I'll touch ya until ya know the feel o' my hands damn near as well as I do," Consuela threatened while alternatively kneading and pinching her exposed breasts. The sheriff's heart went stone cold. "Com'n Sheriff Bitch, up on yer feet so's I can knock you down again. Ya sure ain't much without them 6-guns. Who knows, I might even kill ya."

"Like you did my Jim," Belinda snapped.

"Like hell I did," Consuela countered, "besides, that worm weren't worth killin' nohow." The blond's eyes blazed. Whatever might happen to her, this dirty little harlot wasn't going to insult her husband's memory.

For once, Consuela was unprepared for the fury of her attack. The irate blond swarmed all over her, again summoning her weight advantage to drive the devil backward, slamming home powerful punches, scoring to face and body with the kind of wicked shots that had Belinda in agony only a few short minutes ago. Now it was the saloon girl who blurted out her pain. She fought back, driving punches into her attacker, but the blond avenger was impervious. Pinning the girl against a wall and dropping her two-fisted attack down below, the sheriff ripped blow after blow into Consuela's suffering belly. UH!, NUH!, UH! rang out as rock-hard fists sank deep. Suddenly the big blond yanked her forward, hoisted her into the air like a rag doll and dashed her to the floorboards -- THUD!. On her back, even Consuela couldn't move fast enough to evade the human cannonball. Knees rammed into her unguarded breasts, a perfect two-point landing. Now it was her turn to convulse, "UUUUGGGH!" she bellowed, her legs and lower body leaping off the floor then dropping back again writhing in anguish. Straddling Consuela's wounded body, arms pinned securely beneath her knees, Belinda slapped the enemy's face back and forth until she pleaded for mercy, tears gushing.

"Well now, this is much better," she pronounced. "You've got just one chance to quit before I give you a real beating. And I assure you it won't be pretty.

Consuela spat blood, "Quit? Pretty good sheriff, but nowheres near good enough." Without warning, the supine victim transformed into a thrashing, bucking, kneeing, flailing wildcat. In seconds she unseated the sheriff and the two rolled across the floor struggling for some advantage. The bar girl came out on top clutching one of Belinda's breasts in each hand, nails digging deep.

Thrashing wildly, both hands desperately prying at the diabolical instruments of torture, the blond screamed, "Oh God!, let go!, let go! God damn it, let go of me!" She dragged the offending hands from her breasts screaming all the more as Consuela's nails clawed and gouged her tenderized flesh. Nails bloody the triumphant girl jumped up to admire her writhing victim.

"Well now, this is much better," she mimicked, sarcasm dripping. "Now you've got just one chance to quit. Whadda ya say blondie, had enough?"

More than anything in the world Belinda wanted to crawl away and hide somewhere -- forever. But, even now, her pride wouldn't let her. "No!, Never!," she bawled, still rolling back and forth at Consuela's feet, clutching her breasts.

"Good, cuz now I'm really gonna give you a beatin' and it ain't gonna be purdy," she mimicked again. "I'm surprised sheriff. Here I thought ya was the meanest fighter anywhere -- couldn't be beat. Why you ain't barely nuthin' more than pitiful. Ya need some boxin' lessons fer shur and I'm the one ta give 'em ta ya. Now git up and git ready." Afraid to disobey, the blond hauled her suffering body off the floor swaying on unsteady legs, arms craddling her breasts. "That's pitiful," Consuela sneared, "git yer guard up." As Belinda raised her hands a few inches, a jab shot between them, flattening her nose. More followed in rapid succession, introducing her head to the punching bag bounce. "No, no, block, block. Watch the right," Consuela warned. "Crack!" the fist wrenched her head sideways. Belinda saw every punch coming, but her heavy arms just couldn't move fast enough to block them.

"Body!" the devil warned an instant before her fists plowed time and again into undefended breasts. The sharp WHHUMP! WHOMP! of her punches greeted by the blond's unfailing yelps, coupled with the delicious feel of her fists slashing into succulent flesh, set Consuela's spine atingle. Every time her fist smacked into one of those generous nipples, she exclaimed, "BULLSEYE!" By now sounds of the massacre had assembled her whores on the balcony. They soon took the cue and joined in, hollering in unison each time a fist drove, "SPLAT!," into a full oreola. Punches slammed into the sheriff's busom from every conceivable angle. Knuckles rammed home, flattening breasts into quivering pancakes, ripped in from one side or the other, drilled upward from underneath with lethal force. Mammories leaped and jumped, squashed and recoiled in every direction as fists buried incessantly into soft feminine tissues. Whenever the blond's arms covered her busom Consuela uncorked a barrage of blistering shots to her head or belly forcing her to defend these outlying territories, opening those prime targets to renewed attack. Now the sheriff's stonewall midsection was crumbling under repeated triphammer blows. She responded to each battering ram gut punch with a loud OOOFF! or WOOFF! or UUGGH! as every last particle of air burst from her lungs.

For the next eon or more the devil's fists staggered Belinda backward around the saloon, bouncing off walls, tumbling, flipping over tables and chairs, grunting, blurting, cursing. "Oh?, cursing now?," Consuela chided, "and I thought ya was a lady." Every time she went down under a hail of punches Consuela forced her back to her feet and renewed the beating. When at last the sheriff could barely stand at all, the saloon girl unleashed a sizzling uppercut that lifted her clear off the floor, dumping her among a stack of tables and chairs. Furniture clattered and broke as the stack collapsed with Belinda right in the middle.

A whore who'd been counting knockdowns cried out, "Number Nine!" The others cheered.

"Oh, poor dear," Consuela taunted, "that must have hurt," as if her incessant punching hadn't. "Let me help you." Yanking her up by the hair and one arm Consuela pivoted several times, pulling the stumbling blond around in dizzying circles, then launching her at a dead run to crash into the bar. The stunned sheriff slid to the floor, but, as if possessed, she clutched and clawed her way up the side and had clambered on top before danger sirens tripped in Consuela's brain. "Shit! The guns!" With a desperate leap she snagged Belinda's ankle just before it disappeared over the bar.

There ensued a brief but titanic tug o' war, both women straining with every ounce of strength as if their very lives depended on it (as well they might). Thrashing her free leg wildly, the sheriff kicked Consuela's face and body, but the saloon keeper hung on. She knew full well that, even battered and exhausted, the sheriff with guns in hand would be invincible. Finally the blond lost her grip on the back edge of the bar. Slowly she slid, clawing in panic at the hardwood surface. No use. One last desperate grab at the raised front edge failed and she was airborne -- but not for long. Her hands clutching in vain for the lost bar, Belinda's breasts took the full impact of her fall.

UUUMMPH! she bellowed.

The blackhaired fiend dragged her victim across the saloon, rough wooden planks scraping and grating at naked flesh, agonized cries flooding the room. "We'll make sure ya don't try that little trick agin," the girl promised.

Rolling the sheriff over, Consuela straddled her, facing her feet. Gazing upward into the her crotch and beyond, it looked as if the smaller woman was 6 feet tall, maybe more. Belinda gasped as broad haunches descended toward her, closer and closer, until leather-clad buttocks enveloped her face. Both arms were immediately clamped behind the crooks of Consuela's knees -- useless. Frantically she kicked, heaved, strained with all her might, but failed to unseat her assailant. Clutching both wrists, the saloon girl rode her like a champion bronc buster, crushing her hopelessly -- escape inconceivable. Defeated, she resigned to the inevitable. It came. Supple leather breeches molded into every contour of her obscured features, inundating her in the sweltering oven of Consuela's buttocks -- smothering, suffocating. Gyrating round and round, full hindquarters ground leather down into her imprisoned face, the devil delighting in her muffled protests, "Mmmmph, Nnmmmuh, Uuummmp."

Raising her bottom slightly, Consuela demanded, "Whadya say?"

"Can't breathe!," she rasped.

"Well, why didn' ya say so," Consuela laughed. "Ya know what we're gonna do now, big, tough sheriff?" Belinda shook her head, nose grazing the leather backside just above her. "Yeah, that's what I thought. With all that fancy eastern schoolin', ya ain't too smart, are ya? "Well, yer about ta find out." Leaning forward the saloon girl deftly unbuttoned Belinda's jeans, shoving them and the pantaloons beneath down below her hips. She eyed the cream-white belly before burying her fist squarely in its center. Then another and another and yet another, each blow coaxing a most unladylike grunt from the sheriff's bleeding lips.

Satisfied, Consuela moved to Belinda's feet, grabbed both pant legs and, laughing at her now pitiful kicking and grabbing, hauled them off, sailing them across the saloon. Next she pulled the pantaloons down long, shapely legs (exposing a thick blond pubic bush) and sent them flying, stripping the sheriff stark naked but for her useless gunbelt and boots which only accentuated her nudity. "Oh God, Oh God," the mortified woman blubbered. Since childhood no one had ever seen her like this, not even Jim. "At least let me keep my pantaloons," she begged.

"Not a chance sweetheart. Cover yerself with what ya got left," grinned Consuela to the giggles of her whores. "Now git up." Her lower lip quivering like a little girl, Belinda stood, striving to hide her nudity. She couldn't. There was just too much of it. She cowered in the middle of the room unable to anticipate what torture Consuela had in store. After merciless teasing at Belinda's fruitless arm and leg crossing, the saloon girl laughed long and loud. "Legend in her own time," she scoffed. "Ha! A few good punches and ya go to bawlin' like a frightened school girl. Why ya oughta be ashamed o' yerself." And the sheriff was ashamed -- mortally. She still could not comprehend what had happened to her.

Placing a hand on Belinda's chest, Consuela commanded, "back up!," a shove sent her stumbling backward on buckling legs. Then another shove, "git back!," and another. More stumbling and Belinda fell backward against the bar, too demoralizeded now to try again for her guns. The devil pressed her tight up against it with a choking throat hold. For several moments she critically surveyed the whimpering blond. "I gotta hand it to ya girl. Even beat up as ya are, yer a hell of a good-lookin' woman. Why don't ya quit that law-woman shit and come ta work fer me? You'd do great. Hmmmmmm," she mused, suddenly pensive. Belinda neither could, nor would she dare, imagine what that Hmmmm implied. Again Consuela surveyed her trembling body. Belinda could feel those dark, piercing eyes boring deep into her soul, laying bare every last one of her sins. Worse than naked, she was exposed. A long, God-fearing tremble shook her from head to toe.

"Ladies," called the demon, "come down please, I need yer help."

"Don't look like she needs no help with nuthin'," said one whore as they came.

"Now tell me," Consuela queried the whores, "do ya think this here fancy eastern finishin' school lady got anythin' differnt than us ordinary Cottonwood Junction ladies? Take a good look."

For a moment the whores hesitated. Then, as if by common consent, they swarmed all over her. Eagerly they peered at her, pawed her hair, rubbed their hands up and down her, pushed and poked, tweaked and mauled, even examined sweaty armpits. Some jostled her breasts about, shoved them upward to examine underneath, squeezed and twisted swollen nipples, minutely explored generous oreolas. Some tested the smell and taste of her sweat-soaked skin. "Salty," pronounced one. Wishing she were dead, Belinda whimpered, squealed, sobbed, sputtered in hatred and revulsion. She wanted to throw up all over them. Finally one whore concluded, "don't seem no differnt ta me. I got all that equipment too." Others concurred. "But yer right Miss Consuela," added one, "it's mighty well put tagether."

"Thank you ladies, that's just what I thought," Consuela agreed. "Now if ya'll give me some room,..." As her whores backed away she spun the blubbering sheriff around and slammed her belly-first into the bar, draping her upper body across its surface, her boots still reaching the floor. "Spread 'em," she barked and the sheriff obeyed, displaying her private parts to the amusement of all the saloon scum.

"Oh God!, Oh God!, Oh!, Oh!" The shame was even more horrible than the worst of the beating she'd already suffered. It was more than the proud sheriff could bear. Yet, bear it she did. She had no choice.

Belinda girded herself for more pain. Instead, the gentleness of Consuela's touch amazed her. Fingers skimmed over the sheriff's sweat-drenched body vaguely reminiscent of Jim's loving touch in their darkened bedroom. She fought back the vision of those beloved times. Wandering round and round, darting here and there, Consuela's fingertips explored her shivering haunches. Nimbly they chased rivulets of sweat down the backs of widespread legs, then climbed up milky inner thighs. Now Belinda experienced the true meaning of ignominy as the saloon girl caressed her burning, quivering thighs while the whores cheered. All too soon probing fingers found their way into the crevasse separating her rotund buttocks. Next they were cruising back and forth between her sodden labia. "No!, No!, No!, NO! I'm a lay," (Consuela's fingers suddenly clamped down -- hard!), "DEEEEE!!!," she shrieked as the vice-grip twisted, yanked, wrenched her tortured lips.

"Well good for you," her tormentor mocked. Shall we see if ladies bounce?" Ignoring Belinda's feeble protest she hauled her off the bar and flung her to the floor. "Well I'll be, it seems they do," she giggled as the lush body plopped down for the second time, coming to rest face to floor.

Before the debilitated sheriff could move Consuela's knee rammed into her back mashing savaged breasts against the boards. At the same time the devil rammed both arms up behind her back in a paralyzing double hammerlock. Hands driven all the way up between her shoulder blades the sheriff pleaded, "My Arms!, Oh God, my arms! Let go!, Oh, Please let go, I can't stand it!"

"Poor dear, she can't stand it. What's the matter, do us saloon trash play too rough for the delicate little sheriff?" She shoved the wrists even higher.

"Oh God, Oh God, you're breaking my arms."

"Good," shot back the saloon keeper, "that way ya won't be comin' after me with them precious 6-guns o' yourn -- if ya ever git' 'em back. Now, tell me who's the winner o' that little wager you made?"

"You -- you -- win," she whined.

"Well don't ya fergit it," the dark woman jeered. "Now apologize to me and my ladies fer all the trouble ya been givin' us the last five years."

"Yes, Yes. I apologize to you and your ladies...,"

Consuela interrupted, "lovely ladies. Say it!"

Belinda choked, "I apologize to you and your lovely ladies for all the trouble I've given you," she cried.

"And ya won't never give any of us no trouble agin," prompted Consuela.

"No, No, never again, I promise. Please let go of me."

The devil kept at her, "and if ya do, ya pray yer soul goes ta hell. Say it!, or by damn I will kill ya."

The blond screamed, "No, I can't!" Still more pressure drove both hands all the way up behind her head 'til, crazed with pain, she eagerly abandoned her last ounce of control, "Oh, yes, yes, I pray my soul goes to hell," she blubbered the blasphemy. With one last vicious shove the demon released her hold. Twisting Belinda's head around, staring into her eyes, Consuela delivered the final bombshell.

"Well, sweetheart, yer public's waitin' out there. Ya wouldn' wanna disappoint 'em, now would ya?" The blond cried out in disbelief. In Cottonwood Junction (1892) no lady would dream of presenting herself in public one stitch less than fully clothed. Her naked body had already suffered the detestable indecencies heaped upon her by the saloon scum.

She knew she was hopelessly beaten. But to be placed on display, naked, like a side of beef -- NO! "No! Consuela No! You wouldn't do that. No, you wouldn't -- YOU CAN'T! I'd rather be dead!," Belinda pleaded through bitter tears.

"Suits me, smiled the devil. 'Good riddance', I'd say. But first, we got some more business here." Turning away she began giving her whores instructions.

No way could Belinda face the crowd assembled outside. The back door was only a few yards away and her stallion tied behind the jail. If only she could get through that door and make a run for it.... Slowly, silently she drew both knees up under her. "Shhh," she cautioned herself. Ever-so slowly she pushed her body upward. "Thunk!" Out of nowhere Consuela's stiff boot rammed down on the back of her neck, mashing her face cruelly into the floor. "This boot could break your neck," the saloon girl sneared, "and I'll see that it does if you so much as move a muscle. Don't even breathe." Knowing that she could and would, Belinda froze.

Consuela ordered a whore to fetch the errant pantaloons. "Ya made such a fuss about these, I'm gonna give 'em back," she chuckled.

"Thank God, a shred of decency," the blond gave thanks. Wrong. Consuela twisted them around several times and slipped one leghole over each boot, hobbling Belinda's ankles. Meanwhile, each whore having armed herself with a wooden slab, they formed a gauntlet ending just short of the swinging doors. "On yer feet Sheriff Bitch," Consuela ordered. "I can't," the sheriff whimpered. "Then crawl damn you." Her bootheel drove into the blond's upraised behind propelling her toward the aisle between a dozen eagerly waiting whores. Belinda harbored no illusions about her fate. She'd given every one of these women ample cause to dispise her. It was payback time.

(Outside, the entire town had gathered across from the Laredo, waiting for Sheriff Belinda to bring out her vanquished prisoner. From all the shrieking and hollering it was clear that someone was taking a dreadful beating, but not clear who? True, the whores were cheering, but, as much as they hated the sheriff, they didn't like their hard-hearted, penny-pinching boss much better. Poor Consuela must have put up a fight and was paying dearly for it. Mayor Roberts and the Reverend briefly considered going to her rescue but knew better than to interfere with the sheriff making an arrest. "She knows what she's doin'," they agreed.)

Back in the saloon Consuela had prodded, poked, kicked and shoved Belinda into the gauntlet. WHACK!, the first slat exploded against the sheriff's naked rump. With a shriek she kept going as the same woman let her have it again, even harder. Another shriek. The second paddler weighed in with a couple solid belts of her own. Flames of agony shot forth from Belinda's besieged butt. "That's it," cheered Consuela, "really drive them boards into her fat ass. I want to see welts, big welts!" Sorely impeded by her hobbled ankles, the sheriff crawled as fast as she could, the incessant WHACK! SMACK! THWAK! WHACK! of the slats exploding against her behind. Some of the bigger, stronger women sent her sprawling heavily, blurting OOOMPH! The whores giggled while Consuela hauled her back up by the gunbelt ordering, "git goin', girl," delivering a slap or kick of encouragement -- as if she needed any.

The beaten sheriff yowled in agony as hazing slats reddened, bruised, then blistered her full buttocks. At last, after an eternity of suffering and nearly delerious, she collapsed before the swinging doors. Behind her, wielding the trusty bung starter, Consuela prodded, "O.K., out ya go deary," rubbing the starter up and down Belinda's crack.

"No, No, I can't. Everyone's out there. You can't make me go."

"Oh I can't, can't I? How'd ya like 6 or 8 inches of this bung starter handle up yer pretty pussy?" Horrified Belinda scrambled up onto her hands and knees heading for the doors as fast as they'd take her. Before she could lurch out of range Consuela rammed the handle into her -- only a couple inches but the sheriff, howling in terror, burst through the swinging doors collapsing heavily to the wooden sidewalk, her naked body wretching for all the town to see. Following her, Consuela looked like she'd been in a fight for sure -- hair disheveled, face bruised, torn and sweaty shirt clinging seductively to her sensual busom -- but, with her clothes pretty much intact, she looked relatively unscathed.

As if cued by an orchestra conductor, the crowd emitted one giant gasp of disbelief. Then the saloon gang broke into wild cheers while the good ladies of the town groaned in dismay. "Good Lord, it can't be," they stammered. Others, too refined to view such a sight, simply averted their eyes. But there it was, their invincible sheriff lying buck naked before them in agony, even fear. Their men, equally incredulous, took the shock differently, chuckling under their breath as they licked their lips at the sight. They wouldn't say so before the womenfolk, but secretly, deep down inside, they couldn't be more pleased. Sure, she was their best sheriff ever. Sure, every last one of them secretly coveted her. But, at the very same time, they hated her. It was bad enough knowing that this tall, aloof, voluptuous beauty could outride, outrope, outshoot and outfight darn near every man in town without having their noses rubbed in it day after day. It was simply more emasculation than these men could stand. Now they just stood there shaking their heads.

Consuela determined to do something about all this disbelief. Planting a knee in the small of the sheriff's back she grabbed a handful of hair and yanked, pulling the blond head upward cruelly. "Tell the good people I beat ya fair 'n square," she demanded loudly.

"Fair and square," sobbed Belinda, "if you call smashing the back of my head with a damn bung starter, stealing my guns, ripping off my clothes and having her whores beat me half to death with wooden slats fair and square."

The good ladies latched right onto this, "you see, them connivin' scum didn't give the sheriff a chance."

"Those bitches," a few said, forgetting in their confusion that they were ladies.

A voice from the Laredo crowd called out, "Why'd ya let 'em do all that stuff to ya sheriff?"

Another chimed in, "Yeah sheriff, what was ya doin' while that little gal was rippin' all yer clothes off?" The Laredo gang erupted with laughter and, to the consternation of the good ladies, many of their own men chuckled lasciviously. Even some of their women were secretly glad to see Belinda deflated.

"Well, whadda ya got ta say ta that?," Consuela spat, hauling back even harder on the sheriff's long tresses, arching her upper body back painfully, displaying her sumptuous, battered breasts for all to gawk (the men did some mighty powerful gawking, you can be sure). Except for more sobs, Belinda had nothing whatever to say. "Now you tell 'em, loud and clear, I beat ya in a fair fight," ordered Consuela.

"But Consuela ...," Belinda sobbed."

With a tug that seemed sure to tear her hair out, jerking her head roughly from side to side for good measure, the devil hissed, "from now on, you address me as Mistress Consuela, ya hear? Now tell 'em, Consuela beat me in a fair fight." As the sheriff squirmed, her tormentor drove the knee in even harder and yanked her hair 'til she thought her neck would snap.

"But Consuela ...," she complained again.

"Mistress Consuela!," the woman interrupted -- "say it!"

Even now, witnessing Consuela's total control over their sheriff, the townfolk couldn't believe their ears as she pleaded, "Mistress Consuela, please, please stop, you're hurting me." But, instead, Consuela applied still more pressure, pulled even harder, repeating, "say it! Consuela beat me in a fair fight." The sheriff was helpless, the humiliation more than she could bear as she blurted, "yes, yes, Consuela beat me in a fair fight. Now please, please Mistress Consuela, please let me go." The good townfolk were thrown into utter confusion. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be -- but it was.

"First we got some things to show these folks. Then maybe I'll let ya' go -- and maybe I won't," the devil sneared. Leaning down close to the sheriff's ear, "don't worry sweetheart, the worst is yet to come." With that, Consuela stood up and, hauling back on her hair harder than ever, pulled the suffering woman onto her feet. "Now let's take a walk," she ordered. Hobbled by the pantaloons, Belinda could barely manage an awkward shuffle. Stopping at the sidewalk's edge she debated how to get to the street a few feet below. Consuela helped. A hard shove launched the blond into space, dropping her face first into the dirt -- gasps and groans from the townfolk, cheers from the saloon crowd. "Git up and walk," she commanded.

"I can't Mistress Consuela," whimpered the shaking blond.

"Git - up - and - walk!," Consuela repeated. No results.

Pulling the quirt out of her boot Consuela whipped Belinda from shoulders to seething behind and back again while the sheriff screamed, "All Right! All Right! I'll Walk! Just Stop Hitting Me!"

Consuela demanded, "Stop hitting me what?"

Dutifully Belinda sobbed, "Stop hitting me Mistress Consuela. Please!"

Struggling to her feet, the sheriff shuffled down Main Street kicking up clouds of dust. "Faster, cow," the saloon woman demanded. She tried but the pantaloons were too constricting. With a hefty shove Consuela toppled her headlong into the dirt.

"I can't," Belinda sobbed.

"Then crawl," Consuela barked, whipping the blond's rump. Bawling out her pain, she began crawling as fast as she could. "No, no, that's no good. We'll be here until dark. Get up and walk." By now, the sheriff's sumptuous bottom was a mess --- angry red bruises turning to black and blue, blisters and welts everywhere. On her feet again, she struggled to make some headway as Consuela gave her yet another taste of the quirt.

The mayor's wife had seen enough. "Clarence," she scolded, you stop this beating right now."

The mayor shrugged, "now Maudy, don't git all huffy, they're just gettin' even for all she done to them." True, running sheriffs out of town was a favorite Cottonwood pastime although none of the others had ever been stripped naked.

"Well I'm goin' home and so are you," she pulled at him.

Breaking loose, he insisted, "I'm the mayor o' this here town and I gotta stay." Maud headed for home, knowing full well that his compulsion was unrelated to official duties. Most of the other ladies left with her, the more strong willed among them towing their reluctant husbands.

"Isn't anyone going to help me?," wailed the shattered Belinda. The plea fell on deaf ears. Charlie, her loyal deputy, would do anything for her. For a fleeting moment one hand went to his 6-gun, then dropped as he envisioned the anonymous letter his wife would surely receive if he tried anything. There wasn't a man in that crowd who didn't have good reason to fear the ruthless saloon keeper. She just knew too much about who'd done what with which of her whores.

The quirt cracked like pistol shot against Belinda's throbbing rump as Consuela drove the thoroughly chastined sheriff down Main Street, eyes so full of dirt and tears she could barely see where she was going -- staggering, weaving, stumbling. The pantaloons wouldn't slide down over her boots and whenever she tried to pull them up vigilant Consuela applied the quirt liberally. As they went, the blackhaired tyrant alternated between shoving her face down into the dirt and beating her until she got up to stumble crazily, straining against her unyielding underwear. The Laredo crowd preferred crawling to walking. They loved the way her ass waddled like a big duck. When at last they reached the end of the street, in front of the new hotel, Consuela dumped the exhausted, tearful sheriff on her face one more time. "Hey Sally," she called to one of her whores, "Go tell Carson ta herd his guests out here."

"He'll jest throw me out like always," objected Sally.

"Oh no he won't, not this time," the saloon keeper predicted. And she was right. Pretty soon, about 15 or 20 visitors, mostly men, appeared on the hotel porch. "Ladies and gentlemen," Consuela addressed them, "In case you don't know, this lovely lady is Mrs. Belinda Peterson, sheriff of our modest town." (They knew -- and several of the men knew Consuela too.) "She's a legend in her own time. Some legend. I want ta show ya how well trained she is, like a puppy dog." Pulling Belinda to her knees by the hair, she continued, "Sheriff Bitch, you git down there and kiss my boots." The guests gaped as Belinda obeyed. "Again -- and again -- and again," she ordered, each time shoving Belinda's head down roughly, mashing her lips into dust-covered riding boots. Then she turned the sheriff around (still on her knees) treating the guests to a full view of her naked buttocks, and more. "I want ya all ta tell everyone back home what ya seen here taday. And remember, the name is Belinda Peterson, P-e-t-e-r-s-o-n."

"Now ladies," she addressed her whores, "please herd this fat cow back to the saloon and we'll finish our business." After a few words from Consuela, 2 of them held the sheriff while a third pulled the filthy pantaloons from her legs.

"Thank God," sighed the blond. She should have known better. Twisting them into a makeshift rope the third whore tied Belinda's wrists securely behind her back. Hauled upright she headed toward the Laredo, the whores amusing themselves by pushing, prodding, poking, jostling her from all sides. With her legs set free, she staggered and stumbled more easily. But she never took more than several steps without one of the whores sticking a foot between them, toppling her heavily to the street, almost always squarely on her seething breasts. Laughing happily, they pulled their devastated victim back up and goaded her onward until another foot between the legs felled her again with a gutteral NUHHGH!! as her distended breasts plowed into the street.

At last, after far too many minutes of this new torment, Belinda tumbled down before the Laredo, her bountiful body shuddering, convulsing, wretching. "Git her up girls," instructed Consuela, "ain't right for the sheriff to be lyin' face in the dirt." The blond stood swaying precariously back and forth while a whore retrieved the remains of her shirt from the saloon floor. Ripping the badge from tattered material Consuela turned to her. "Suppose I jest pin this right on your nice big nipple sheriff," she threatened.

"No!, please no," Belinda stammered backing away, turning to shield her breasts.

"Girl," she mocked the sheriff again, "you ain't in no condition to be sheriff of this town." Cheers. "By the power vested in me by this here crowd, I hereby relieve you of your duties as sheriff." More cheers.

"Now just a darn minute," the Mayor interrupted, "town council's the only body empowered to replace the sheriff." Consuela turned moving both hands diliberately to her guns.

"You, Mr. Mayor, for once in your life, shut your big mouth. I'm runnin' this town now. Undertand? Your precious town council 'll do what I tell 'em." The Laredo crowd laughed.

The Mayor gulped, "yes, Miss Consuela."

She turned to a lanky man in the crowd, "Harley, how'd you like to be sheriff?

Answer, "Why, I'd like that fine, Miss Consuela."

She pinned the badge on his shirt saying, "Harley Dover, as sheriff of Cottonwood Junction, do ya swear to report to me and do everythin' I tell ya?" Laughter.

"Yes, Miss Consuela, I do."

She looked over at the Mayor, "Ya got any problem with that Mr. Mayor?"

With a smile he responded, "no, Miss Consuela."

Turning again to Harley, "Jest don't you forgit who's yer boss. And here's yer first job." Pointing to Belinda, she demanded, "take that woman down ta the jailhouse and lock her up."

Surprised, Harley asked, "on what charges Miss Consuela?"

"Well, to begin with, indecent exposure. Just look at her." (Harley was already looking as hard as he could.) "This floozy's been paradin' all over town in nothin' but her boots and gun belt fer near an hour. I ain't never seen no more indecent exposure than that."

"But, but," sputtered Belinda. She never got it out. In one movement, Consuela spun around and lashed the back of her hand across Belinda's face sending her sprawling yet again into the dirt.

"Shut up you," she commanded, "I'm talking to the sheriff, not you. And, if that ain't enough," she turned back to Harley, "there's destruction of property. Take a look at my saloon, you'll find evidence aplenty."

"I'll replace anything that's broken," wept the blond, "I've got the money."

"I don't want your rich bitch money. You're gonna work this off and it'll take a good long time, you have my word on that. And the sheriff has free accommodations for ya down at the jail. Harley, you git this naked floozy off the streets o' my town -- now." Pulling Belinda up Harley headed off toward the jail holding her by the arm, rubbing the back of his hand into her swollen breast. Before blundering into the Laredo that afternoon she would have dropped the impudent cur with her gunbarrell across his head. Now she stifled her sobs and bore the indignity in silence. "Harley, you have that woman in my office at 10:00 tomorrow mornin', ya hear?"

"Yes ma'am Miss Consuela," Harley called over his shoulder.

"And Harley, you can git some clothes for her to wear -- or not. Use your own judgment, you're the sheriff." Stumbling along in Harley's grasp, her naked, sweat-soaked body caked and streaked with dirt, hair matted and filthy, head bowed in abject humiliation, the totally demolished woman was a sorry sight to behold.

Mr. Skin