Neri

Death in Boca Caliente

Variation n. 4

AI (and Ferdinando BDB)

Sheriff Brian Blacks stood naked in his room on the first floor of the saloon, his body tense as he awaited his fate. The air was thick with the heady scent of lavender-scented water from his bath and the acrid tang of gunpowder, a dissonant blend that mirrored the turmoil within him. He'd always known this day would come—the day Dan Bearhunter, the notorious gunslinger, would make good on his promise to end the sheriff's life. But not like this, he'd never imagined it would be like this.

The sound of spurs jangling against the wooden floor announced Bearhunter's arrival, his cocksure swagger carrying him across the threshold like a harbinger of doom. The outlaw's eyes smoldered with a predatory hunger that made the sheriff's heart race with a potent mixture of fear and arousal.

"Well, well, Lawdog," Bearhunter drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Fancy meeting you here... in nothing at all." He chuckled darkly, running a hand over his chiseled jaw, riddled with a day's worth of stubble.

Brian's hands trembled. He'd sworn an oath to uphold the law, to protect the innocent, but here he was, about to break every vow he'd ever made. His haunted eyes met Bearhunter's, and for a fleeting moment, he saw the ghost of a man lurking behind those cold, dead orbs.

In defiance, Brian locked his gaze with Bearhunter's. "Go to hell," he spat, clenching his jaw. Tears of humiliation and fury stung his eyes, but he blinked them away. He'd die before he'd give this monster the satisfaction of seeing him beg.

"Do what you gotta do," Brian added, clenching his fists at his sides. "Just get it over with."

Bearhunter's lips curled into a sadistic grin. "Oh, lawdog," he purred, "I always knew you'd be the submissive type." With a quickness that belied his size, he grabbed Brian by the arm and threw him onto the bed.

The air rushed out of the sheriff's lungs as the mattress groaned under their combined weight. The sharp coarse texture of the sheets scraped against the sheriff's exposed skin as Bearhunter positioned himself above him. Bearhunter chuckled, his breath reeking of stale whiskey and cigar smoke. "Oh, I'll be enjoyin' this," he sneered.

Brian's heart pounded in his chest, the rhythm echoing in his ears louder than the ticking of the clock on the wall. His thoughts raced as fast as the stallion he'd ridden in on, but the inevitability of the situation settled over him like a suffocating blanket. This was it—the end of the line.

Bearhunter's hand trailed down Brian's ass, sending shivers down his spine even as his skin crawled with revulsion. "It's time to pay the piper, lawdog." He purred, his hot breath on Brian's neck making the hairs on his nape stand on end. With a predatory growl, Dan pushed his hard cock inside Brian's asshole, stretching him mercilessly. The invading heat and girth tore through any remaining barriers of resilience, reducing the usually stoic lawman to a whimpering mess.

In the shadows, their encounter unfolded with a brutal intensity, a collision of bodies and wills that blurred the line between violence and desire. Sheriff Brian Black’s mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, each touch both a torment and a release. The air inside the dimly lit sheriff's office was thick with the scents of sweat, leather, and the lingering remnants of the lavender.

Dan Bearhunter's hands, rough and calloused, leaved a trail of fire wherever they roamed, while his deep, sensual voice taunted and seduced, preying on the sheriff's weaknesses. Brian's chest heaved, his breath ragged and uneven.

As the agonizing pleasure consumed him, Brian's mind reeled from the betrayal of his own body, craving more of what he knew was his downfall. He cursed himself internally with each moan that escaped his lips, yet he couldn’t find it within himself to stop. Fingers gripped handfuls of the coarse blanket beneath him, nails digging into the fabric as he clung to the last shreds of his sanity.

Bearhunter's hips, relentless in their brutal rhythm, hammered into the sheriff's ass, each thrust driving him further into the depths of depravity. The outlaw's grip tightened on Brian's hips, branding him as his own, a prize to be claimed and discarded at will. The room echoed with their primal grunts and the wet, obscene sounds of their copulation, exposing the basest desires of both men.

Brian's climax loomed closer, a dark, swirling vortex in the pit of his stomach. His cock, semi-hard and aching, throbbed in time with Bearhunter's thrusts. The conflicting sensations of pain and pleasure mingled, creating a potent cocktail of sensation that threatened to send him over the edge.

The sheriff's struggle ceased as his orgasm crashed over him, his seed spurting on the blanket below. His cries of release mingled with the desolate howl of a distant coyote, their fates intertwined in the vast emptiness of the West.

Bearhunter's grunts grew louder, his breathing ragged and unsteady. With one final, savage thrust, he withdrew his cock from Brian's abused passage, his seed coating the sheriff's thighs. The outlaw's chest heaved as he caught his breath, his hardened length pulsing in the cool night air.

The two men laid there, panting and spent, their bodies entangled in a web of betrayal, lust, and violence. For a fleeting moment, they were no longer enemies, but two men brought together by the harsh realities of their world.

However, the moment was fleeting.

Bearhunter's cold, calculating gaze returned and he rose to his feet, leaving the broken sheriff lying on the bed.

Brian's mind reeled, grappling with the consequences of his blurred allegiances, of the fine line he'd willingly crossed. He was sworn to uphold the law, to protect the innocent, and yet here he was. He'd allowed a wanted criminal, a cold-blooded killer, to reduce him to this... this base depravity. His once unwavering moral compass felt like shattered shards of glass.

Brian waited for Bearhunter to kill him, but the outlaw got dressed and headed for the door.

“That was nice, lawdog!”

He laughed and left the room.

"Goddamn bastard," Brian muttered, spitting bile. The taste of whiskey and shame burned his throat.

Two hours later the sheriff Brian Blacks staggered towards the center of town, boots scuffing the packed earth. Sweat trickled down his spine, soaking the red cotton shirt that clung to his muscled frame. The dark blue denim of his pants felt like sandpaper against his thighs.

A dog barked in the distance. Brian's hand twitched towards his empty holster.

"Where's your gun, Sheriff?" sneered a voice from the shadows. "Lose it while bent over for that outlaw?"

Brian's fists clenched. He wanted to lash out, to feel bone crunch beneath his knuckles. Instead, he kept walking.

The sun climbed higher, baking the town. Brian found himself in the dusty plaza, alone save for a few mangy dogs. He gazed at the cracked fountain, its dry basin a mirror for his parched soul.

"What have I become?" he whispered, the words carried away by the hot wind.

The echo of Bearhunter's laughter rang in his ears. Brian closed his eyes, remembering calloused hands on his skin, the knife's edge of pleasure and pain. He shuddered.

Almost staggering, he returned to the saloon. When he entered his room, he looked at the blanket and sheets stained with his seed.

“Shit!”

He approached the bed, bent down to smell the traces of his cum, then slowly undressed. He stroked his cock, until it was hard. He took his gun and stuck the barrel up his ass. He gasped.

"If I was a man, I should shoot myself. But I'm not a man, I'm just a faggot, a bloody faggot."

He removed the gun and lay down on the bed.

When Brian opened his eyes again, only a little light could be seen on the horizon: dawn was near.

Brian Blacks got dressed and left the saloon. There was no one on the streets: the city was sleeping.

The sheriff knew where Dan Bearhunter was: in the old barracks.

A new day was going to dawn, but it would bring him no comfort. Only the certainty that his world had tilted on its axis, sending him tumbling into an abyss of his own making.

The acrid taste of bile burned Brian's throat as he stalked towards the barracks, his red shirt clinging to his skin. Each step sent jolts of pain from his ass through his body, a constant reminder of last night's violation. His fingers twitched, aching for the familiar weight of his revolver.

In front of the barracks Brian stood motionless, a solitary figure etched against the whitening sky. The promise of violence hummed in his veins, a dark tide rising to drown what remained of his tattered morality.

"Gonna end this," he muttered, his voice a ragged whisper. "Gonna make it right."

The barracks loomed before him, a squat adobe structure baking in the merciless sun. Brian's keen ears picked up no sounds of life within – the soldiers were gone, just as he'd heard. His lips curled into a feral grin.

As he approached the latrine, the stench of human waste assaulted his nostrils. Brian's stomach roiled, but he pressed on, driven by a cocktail of shame and rage. He heard a low whistle from inside – Bearhunter.

The sky was just beginning to lighten when Dan Bearhunter had entered the latrine of the old barracks.

The stench of human waste assaulted his nostrils as he settled his muscular frame onto one of the splintered wooden seats of the latrine. A thin sliver of light pierced through a crack in the ramshackle structure, casting an eerie glow across his scarred hands.

"Fuck me," he muttered, his low drawl echoing in the confined space. "Even takin' a shit in this godforsaken town feels like dyin'."

As his bowels emptied, Dan's mind raced with possibilities. The sheriff was close—so tantalizingly close. He could almost taste the fear that would flood those pretty blue eyes when Dan finally made his move.

A grim smile twisted his lips. "Poor bastard don't know what's comin'," he mused, reaching for a scrap of rough paper. "But he will. Oh, he will."

The wood creaked ominously beneath him, and Dan tensed, years of outlaw instincts kicking in. Was that footsteps approaching, or just the desert wind playing tricks? His hand instinctively moved to the knife concealed in his boot.

Silence stretched, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric as Dan adjusted his position. He exhaled slowly, allowing the tension to seep from his muscles. Not yet. The time wasn't right.

"Patience," he whispered to himself, the word dripping with dark promise. "Good things come to those who wait. And you, sheriff, are gonna be real good."

Dan's fingers traced the outline of his knife, anticipation building in his gut. Soon, the blade would taste blood, and Dan would savor every moment of the sheriff's final breaths. But first, there was a dance of desire and death that made Dan's pulse quicken with savage glee.

Brian burst through the flimsy door, his eyes wild. There stood Dan Bearhunter, pants around his ankles, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips.

"Well, well, lawdog," Bearhunter drawled. "Come back for more?"

Brian's vision went red. He lunged forward, grabbing Bearhunter by the throat and slamming him against the wall. The outlaw's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed with cruel amusement.

"I'm gonna kill you," Brian snarled, pressing his forearm against Bearhunter's windpipe. "Gonna blow your cock and balls clean off, then dump what's left of you in this shithouse where you belong."

Bearhunter's laugh was choked but unmistakable. "Oh Brian," he wheezed, "you don't have the stones. We both know who's really in charge here."

Brian's grip tightened, his resolve wavering. The memory of Bearhunter's touch ghosted across his skin, igniting a fire he couldn't quite extinguish. He hated himself for it.

Brian looked at Bearhunter, heart pounding. He knew there was no escape now.

Dan's eyes glittered dangerously in the dim light. "Strip," he commanded, voice low and menacing.

With trembling hands, Brian began removing his clothes. His mind raced with a mix of fear and desperate longing. *This is madness*, he thought. *But I came here for this. To feel something, anything, before the end.*

"Faster," Dan growled, impatient.

Brian hastened to obey, shrugging off his shirt and kicking away his boots. When he was fully naked, he stood exposed and vulnerable before the infamous outlaw.

Dan's gaze raked over him hungrily. "On your knees," he ordered.

As Brian sank down, he felt a perverse thrill of anticipation mingling with his dread. *Is this how it ends for me?* he wondered. *Debased and destroyed by this monster I've hunted for so long?*

Dan grabbed a fistful of Brian's hair, yanking his head back painfully. "You want this, don't you lawdog?" he taunted. "You are greedy for it."

"Yes," Brian gasped, shame and desire warring within him.

Without warning, Dan shoved him face-first onto the rough wooden floor. Brian felt the other man's weight on top of him, pinning him down.

"This is gonna hurt," Dan whispered in his ear, voice thick with cruel promise. "You know, you picked the wrong outlaw to chase, lawdog," Dan growled, his breath hot on Brian's neck.

Brian struggled, but Dan's iron grip held firm. "Don’t," the sheriff gasped, "Don’t."

Dan laughed cruelly. "You wanted it. And now you'll pay the price."

With savage force, he thrust himself into Brian. As Dan entered him violently, Brian bit back a cry of pain. His body tensed, fighting the intrusion even as part of him welcomed it, his mind reeling in shock and agony. How had it come to this? Years of upholding the law, reduced to this moment of utter degradation.

*At least I'll feel something before I die,* he thought grimly as Dan pounded into him mercilessly. *One last moment of twisted passion in this godforsaken wasteland.*

"Look at the mighty lawdog now," Dan taunted. His fingers dug painfully into Brian's hips. "Not so high and mighty with my cock in your ass, are you?"

Brian said nothing, shame burning through him hotter than the merciless sun outside. He fixed his gaze on a crack in the wall, willing his mind elsewhere.

Dan Bearhunter fucked the sheriff like an animal. Brian felt his cock stiffen, despite the violent pain rising from his ass. With a grunt, Dan finished. Hiss hand shot out, crushing Brian's testicles in an iron grip. White-hot agony exploded through the sheriff's body.

Then Dan spun Brian around roughly, shoving him to his knees. "Clean me up, you piece of shit!" he ordered.

Brian hesitated, revulsion twisting his stomach.

"I said, clean me up," Dan repeated coldly.

Defeated, Brian obeyed. As his tongue touched Dan's flesh, he tasted bile in the back of his throat. How much more would this monster take from him?

"Now on your feet."

Again Brian obeyed. He no longer had a will of his own. He just wanted to finish.

The gunshots echoed through the latrine, each blast reverberating off the wooden walls like thunder. Dan Bearhunter's hand steadied as he fired round after round into Sheriff Brian Blacks' belly and chest. Brian's eyes widened in shock and pain, his mouth working soundlessly as crimson bloomed on his body. "Shit" he finally croaked, blood bubbling at his lips.

Brian tried to speak gain, to curse the man who'd violated his body, but only a wet gurgle escaped. His legs gave way and he collapsed to the floor, his blood pooling on the worn planks.

"How's that feel, lawdog?" Dan drawled, his words dripping with cruel satisfaction. "Bet you wish you'd stayed outta my way now."

Dan's lips curled into a cruel smile. "It’s what you wanted, lawdog."

The outlaw's words cut deeper than the bullets. Brian's mind raced, Yes, it was what he wanted.

"You know," Dan drawled, circling the dying man like a vulture, "It’s so good." He laughed, a harsh sound devoid of mirth. "It felt good to fuck you, knowing you'd die by my hand."

Dan holstered the smoking gun and grabbed Brian's ankles, dragging him across the room. The sheriff's nails scrabbled weakly against the floorboards, leaving crimson trails in their wake.

"Time to take out the trash," Dan grunted, heaving Brian's body towards the latrine. The stench of waste and decay filled his nostrils as he kicked open the door.

With a final burst of strength, Brian grasped at Dan's boot. "Rot... in... hell..." he gasped.

Dan's response was to hoist Brian up and unceremoniously dump him into the fetid pit. The splash echoed in the cramped space as the sheriff's body disappeared into the muck.

"You first," Dan sneered, slamming the door shut on Brian's final resting place.