Neri

Death in Boca Caliente

Variation n. 3

AI (and Ferdinando BDB)

Sheriff Brian Blacks squinted against the harsh sunlight, the taste of dust coating his tongue. As he crested the hill overlooking Boca Caliente, a grim sight greeted him: two naked bodies sprawled in the dirt, vultures already circling.

"Damn it all!" he muttered, spurring his horse forward.

The corpses came into sharper focus as he approached. Brian's stomach churned, recognizing the distinctive bulk of the Bigbear and the leaner frame of the Dutch. Two of the meanest bounty hunters this side of the Rio Grande, now reduced to carrion.

He dismounted, boots crunching on sunbaked earth. The stench of death assaulted his nostrils as he knelt to examine the bodies. Multiple gunshot wounds peppered their flesh, the killing shots delivered at close range.

Bigbear's corpse was turned on his stomach and cum and blood had flowed from the asshole. The killer had fucked him and then shot him in the ass

"Bearhunter's handiwork," Brian thought grimly. "Brutal bastard."

A vulture swooped low, emboldened by Brian's presence. He waved it off with a snarl.

"Give 'em some dignity, you damn scavengers!"

But even as the words left his mouth, Brian knew dignity was in short supply out here. He'd seen too much, done too much, to believe otherwise.

With a weary sigh, he remounted and continued toward town. The weight of his badge felt heavier than usual, a constant reminder of the thankless task that lay before him.

Boca Caliente shimmered in the distance like a mirage, promising respite from the unforgiving desert. As Brian rode down the main street, wary eyes peered from behind dusty windows. He tipped his hat to a group of women huddled in the shade of an awning, their hushed whispers following him like ghosts.

The saloon loomed ahead, its faded sign creaking in the hot breeze. Brian tied his horse to the hitching post and pushed through the swinging doors.

The bartender, a grizzled man with one cloudy eye, looked up from wiping down the bar. "What'll it be, stranger?"

"Room for the night," Brian replied, his voice hoarse from the trail. "And information, if you've got any to spare."

The bartender's good eye narrowed. "Information don't come cheap 'round here, mister."

Brian placed his badge on the counter. "How about now?"

A flicker of unease crossed the bartender's face. "Ah, hell. Shoulda known you was the law. Room's upstairs, first on the left. Bath'll cost ya extra."

"I'll take it," Brian said, tossing a few coins on the bar. "Any word on Dan Bearhunter?"

The bartender's hand stilled on the glass he was polishing. "Now that's a name best not spoken 'round here, Sheriff. Man's got ears everywhere."

Brian leaned in close, his voice low and dangerous. "Two men are dead on the hill outside town. I aim to make sure no more join 'em. Now, you gonna help me, or do I need to start asking more forcefully?"

The bartender swallowed hard. "He was here. Three days ago. Headed west, last I heard."

Brian nodded, fatigue settling into his bones. "Much obliged. I'll be taking that bath now."

As he climbed the creaking stairs, Brian's mind raced. Bearhunter was always one step ahead, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. The lawman in him demanded justice, but a small, traitorous part of his soul whispered of the futility of it all.

In the cramped room, Brian stripped off his sweat-stained clothes, wincing at the grime caked on his skin. The copper tub beckoned, promising momentary sanctuary from the horrors that lurked beyond these walls.

As he sank into the steaming water, Brian closed his eyes, allowing himself a rare moment of vulnerability. "What am I doing out here?" he wondered, not for the first time. The faces of those he'd failed to protect flashed behind his eyelids - a grim parade of ghosts that haunted his every waking moment.

But even as doubt gnawed at him, Brian knew he'd rise again tomorrow, strap on his gun, and continue the hunt. It was all he knew, all he had left in this godforsaken world.

The water slowly cooled around him, a stark reminder that even moments of peace were fleeting in this unforgiving land. Sheriff Brian Blacks sank deeper into the copper tub, letting the warm water envelop his aching muscles. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across the weathered walls of the room. He exhaled slowly, feeling some of the day's tension finally start to ebb away.

A creak on the staircase jolted Brian from his reverie.

He sat up straight, every nerve on edge. That's when the door creaked open.

Dan Bearhunter's imposing silhouette filled the doorway, revolver already drawn. "Well now, what do we have here?" he drawled, a cruel smile playing at his lips. "Well, well, well, lawdog," drawled Dan Bearhunter, sauntering into the room. "Fate is a funny bitch, ain't she?"

A slow, malicious grin spread across the outlaw's lips, a goddamn grin as if he'd been expecting this, as if he'd been waiting for this very moment.

Brian froze, heart pounding. "Bearhunter," he growled. "You here!"

"Oh, I go where I please, lawdog." Dan replied, sauntering closer. His eyes raked over Brian's exposed flesh. "And right now, I'm exactly where I want to be."

Brian's mind raced, searching for an escape. But Dan was between him and the door, and his own gun now hung mockingly from the outlaw's finger.

"What do you want?" Brian demanded, struggling to keep his voice steady.

Dan's grin widened as he began unbuckling his gun belt. "I think you know exactly what I want, lawdog."

A chill that had nothing to do with the cooling bathwater ran down Brian's spine. He'd heard whispered rumors of Bearhunter's appetites, but never imagined...

"Don't do this," Brian said hoarsely, hating the edge of pleading in his voice.

But Dan was already stripping off his shirt, revealing a torso crisscrossed with scars. "Now, now, lawdog. No need to make this difficult." "Shoulda known you'd find me, sheriff," Bearhunter drawled, his voice dripping with malice. "But you ain't leavin' this time."

Brian struggled to speak. "Dan... not this… why?"

Bearhunter's laugh was cold and mirthless. "Why? 'Cause men like you can't let men like me be. It's the natural order, Brian. Predator and prey."

As Dan advanced, Brian's thoughts whirled in frantic circles. How had it come to this? After all his years of service, was this to be his fate? Rage and fear warred within him as Dan's shadow fell across the tub.

"Remember, this is your secret too," Dan purred, his breath hot against Brian's ear. "You've been aching for this."

Brian closed his eyes, resignation washing over him in a bitter tide. Dan was right. He'd fantasized about this moment for years, imagined the thrill of giving up control to such a dangerous man. His cock betrayed him, hardening in anticipation.

Dan growled in approval, yanking Brian to his feet. "That's more like it, lawdog. Time to show me who's really in charge."

Brian gritted his teeth as Dan pushed him back against the wall, heralding an invasion both physical and psychological. The outlaw's cock inside his ass, the outlaw's hands on his body, Brian felt dragged by a vortex of pain, pleasure, humiliation. His cock was as hard as a gun barrel. With each savage thrust, he prayed to whatever gods still cared to end his humiliation quickly.

But the agony didn't last long. In a blur of movement, Dan withdrew and spun him around. "Now, clean me up, bitch," he sneered, shoving his shit-stained cock in Brian's face. Brian's pride rebelled, but his body betrayed him once more, kneeling obediently before the outlaw. He took Dan's cock into his mouth. He cleaned it, he sucked it. When Dan began to piss in his mouth, Brian drank every drop of the outlaw’s piss.

Dan pushed him away violently and reached for the gun. Brian looked at his killer, strong, powerful, big cock half hard, gun in hand, a grin on his face.

Brian gasped, his vision blurring. Was this how it ended?

"You know," Bearhunter mused "I almost respect your persistence. But respect don't keep a man alive out here."

"There's... still good in this world," he choked out. "Someone... will stop you."

Bearhunter's face twisted into a sneer. "Ain't no one can stop me, lawdog. I'm the stuff of nightmares."

The outlaw raised his gun, his eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. "Say goodnight, lawdog."

The crack of gunfire shattered the oppressive silence of Boca Caliente's dusty streets. Sheriff Brian Blacks staggered backward, as the first bullet tore through him. His weathered face contorted in shock and pain.

Dan Bearhunter's eyes glinted with savage glee as he advanced, pistol blazing. "How's it feel, lawdog? To be on the wrong end of justice for once?"

Brian's mind raced even as his body failed him. How had it come to this? After all the years, all the battles...

Another shot rang out. Brian's legs gave way and he crumpled to the floor. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.

"You were always too slow, old man," Dan taunted, standing over him now. "Too caught up in your precious morals to see the world for what it really is."

Brian coughed, struggling to speak. "The world... is what we make it, Bearhunter. You've made yours a living hell."

Dan's boot came down hard on Brian's nuts, crushing them. "Hell?" he snarled. "I'll show you hell."

The outlaw emptied his gun into Brian's prone form, each impact driving the life from the sheriff's body. As darkness crept in at the edges of his vision, Brian felt a final, cruel violation - the cold metal of his own Colt pressed against his asshole.

“Don’t… not this…”

Dan pushed the barrel of the gun into Brian's ass, and he gasped.

"Here's your justice, lawdog." Dan growled.

Three more shots rang out, and Brian Blacks knew no more. As death's cold embrace closed around him, his last thought was of the irony that he'd finally found the release he'd always craved in his final moments.

The darkness claimed him, and Sheriff Brian Blacks was no more.

Bearhunter holstered his smoking gun, surveying his handiwork with cold detachment. He hauled Brian's lifeless body from the bloodied floor, dragging it unceremoniously down the stairs and out into the scorching heat of Boca Caliente.

The sun beat mercilessly upon the barren hills, its unforgiving heat searing the very bones of the land. The Mountains and the Desert stretched out in every direction, a vast expanse of unyielding harshness that had claimed countless souls. In this unforgiving landscape, the naked body of Sheriff Brian Blacks lay discarded like so much refuse, his once-proud form now a twisted testament to the cruelty of the frontier. Dan Bearhunter had left his mark, and it was as violent as it was cruel.

Brian's lifeless body, riddled with lead, splayed grotesquely atop the baked earth, his skin already beginning to blister and blister in the scorching heat. The vultures circled overhead, their impatient caws echoing off the surrounding peaks as they waited for their grisly feast to begin. His badge, usually a symbol of justice and authority, lay several feet away, now nothing more than a tarnished reminder of his failure to bring the notorious outlaw to heel.

The stench of death and decay hung heavy in the air, mingling with the coppery tang of blood that pooled around the sheriff's violated form. Beneath the relentless glare of the noonday sun, every gory detail was laid bare for the world to see: the auburn hair on Brian's chest and belly matted with sweat and crimson, the chest and belly tainted with shame and agony. It was a bloody tableau that spoke volumes of Bearhunter's depravity and the depths to which men could sink in this godforsaken land.

In the distance, the dusty Mexican town of Boca Caliente shimmered like a mirage, a broken oasis in a sea of violence and desolation.