Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Saloon Girls (Cotton/Emmy, m/f)

“Em. Love? Are you ready, baby?” Cotton tapped his foot, impatient. They were going to be late for the party, and there were supposed to be all sorts of folks there – media, sponsors, guys. It was a big Western dress-up shindig and he’d promised folks he’d be there. He was all dressed up, even, in his old timey get up, brown slacks and a vest with a pocket watch, a bandanna.

The bathroom door opened and his lady stepped out, hair pink and purple, teased to the ceiling, eyes painted up, little sparkles all around the edges. That wasn’t what made his lips about as dry as Arizona in July. It was that dress – the top cut down to there, barely covering her assets with black ruffles. Those assets were held up with a bright pink corset and there was a black full skirt pulled up, showing off her legs, the fishnets disappearing into high-heeled lace up boots.

“I. What. You. That.” He sputtered.

“Saloon girl.” She winked, smiled at him. “If I’m naughty at the party, will you arrest me, Sheriff Cotton?”

He gaped. Good lord and butter.

“Woman. I. You.” His cock was battering at his costume, more than happy to ponder a wicked Emmy. “Shit, girl. I’m the one gonna get arrested, if one single man lays eyes on you.”

Her giggle made him groan. He was in for one hell of a night.

She leaned forward, left a quick kiss on his cheek, her perfume sweet and light. “Let’s go play, baby. Dillon says he’s driving, so I can indulge.”

Please, God, Cotton prayed. Please, let me not beat anybody down tonight.

At least not anybody he liked.

(You can find Cotton and Emmy in City/Country on Amazon)

copyright 2012 BA Tortuga

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

Pansy Fetches (Coke/Dillon, m/m, pg, snippet)

Pansy came out to the backyard, just about the time Coke was pondering whether to go in or go get another set of floodlights. The new pizza oven was looking less like a mess and more like something on purpose, but he wasn’t nowhere near done and…


He loved how his Pansy sounded like she was really telling him something. “What, baby girl?”

She looked back toward the house, the warm light coming out of the kitchen where he could see Dillon making something, then back at him. “Yarp!”

His lips twisted. “My cowboy tell you to come fetch my ass?”

She stomped her big basset rhino butt toward the porch, stopping again to wag, bark, then push through the doggie door.

Coke reckoned, if whatever Dillon needed was important enough to send one of the dogs, he probably ought to check it out.

Just about then, Dillon appeared at the backdoor wearing nothing but an apron and holding a bacon sandwich and a beer. Huh.

Night air wouldn’t hurt them rocks, none…



Copyright BA Tortuga 2012