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Death in Boca Caliente Variation n. 1 AI (and Ferdinando BDB)
In the sheriff's quarters, Sheriff Brian Blacks stood naked before the
mirror, his weary eyes reflected in the dusty glass. The dimly lit room,
usually a sanctuary, now felt suffocating. His chest heaved as he breathed in
the musky scent of their encounter, his body still aching from the savage
violation, drops of cum and blood flowing from his ass. He had allowed it to
happen, allowed Dan Bearhunter to defile him in
every way imaginable. Disgust and self-loathing churned in his stomach, but
he pushed it down, as he'd done countless times before. Brian dressed in his red shirt and dark-blue pants, donning the attire
of the protector, the enforcer. But the fabric, once a source of pride, now
felt like a shroud, constricting around his betrayal. He strapped on his gun
belt, the familiar weight of the Colt .45 offering little solace. With each
step he took, the spurs on his boots sang out a tune of doom, heralding the
end of his watch over Dusty Creek. The Mountains and the Desert had borne witness to countless
atrocities, and today would be no exception. Brian trudged through the barren
landscape, his boots kicking up puffs of fine sand as he went. The relentless
sun beat down upon his balding head, the heat searing his skin like the
flames of hellfire. He knew it was a fitting end for a man who had broken his
oath, who had violated his badge and the trust of those he swore to protect. In the distance, Boca Caliente waited like a mirage, its ramshackle
buildings offering no solace in this Godforsaken land. Brian's heart pounded
in his chest, the weight of his betrayal and impending death weighing him
down with each step. His fate was sealed as soon as he'd accepted Dan Bearhunter's terms. The latrine of the barracks, a place where men relieved themselves of
their burdens, was now the stage for his final act. Brian's hands trembled as
he unbuckled his gun belt and slowly undressed. He was naked, his hairy belly
and chest glistening with sweat, his cock half-erect. He heard the steps. He
turned to face his executioner, his nakedness both literal and metaphorical.
Dan Bearhunter stood in the doorway, a Colt .45
leveled at Brian's belly. "Well, Sheriff," Dan drawled, his words laced with the scent
of whiskey and tobacco. "I knew you would come here. Time to pay the
piper." Brian closed his eyes, the stench of the latrine filling his nostrils.
His life, once so full of promise, now reduced to this, a sorry end in a filthy
outhouse. It was what he deserved. "Do it," he whispered. The gunshots echoed through the barracks, silencing the flies and the
ghosts that haunted this accursed place. The sun continued its relentless
march across the sky, as if nothing had happened, and the cycle of violence
and betrayal continued in the dusty streets of Boca Caliente. |
