Two Gun Love

Two Gun Love

The morning mas - that wonderful food, the great equaliser, the crown plant of botany. It's the life blood of the working and upper classes alike, the beating heart upon which the City Turmaric stands. Truthfully, I don't care for it.

With lethargic reluctance I set the kettle to boil on my sole gas ring and retrieved the tin of mas from the rickety cupboard. The tin was square, old and fairly battered, the smiling sun logo of the Wu-Shan Neo-Botanic Farm scratched almost to the point of being unrecognisable.

I grabbed up a handy spoon and levered up the lid. It opened with a pop. The mas lurked inside, my morning nemesis. It looked like a dry grey powder, corpse dust, but despite that I added two heaped spoonful's to a deep pewter bowl. The kettle started to whistle so I added the water too, stirring as I did.

The mas turned into a thick grey mush and the rising steam carried a faintly musty smell. I'd probably have to buy a new box soon. It wasn't something I looked forward too. Fresh mas (or at least the fresh mas I could afford) had a slight sour taste that was hard to mask. It lessened with time, only to be replaced by the must. I preferred the must, but wait too long and it would turn toxic.

Keeping a wary eye on the bowl lest it try something dastardly like jump in my mouth unsweetened, I flipped closed the mas tin, gave it a hard bang to seal the lid and placed it back in the cupboard. In its place I withdrew my tin of treacle. It was the good stuff, extra virgin, and about the only thing which made a mas breakfast palatable. I pried open the circular lid and ladled out two spoonfuls, careful not the spill a drop.

It dripped golden into the grey mas, a far cry from the black tar they mined from the ground and worth every livre. I stirred, weaving traceries of gold evenly throughout the bowl. The steam turned sweet, the musty scent disappearing under the caress of the sugar. I sealed my treacle and hid it back away.

Breakfast ready, I returned to my bed to eat and settled cross-legged in the middle of the matrass, the horsehair sagging under my weight while the iron bed stand creaked slightly. The treacle gave the meal a rich sweetness but could do nothing for the gunky texture of the mas.

Early Decaday light shone through the dirty windows, and I looked outside as I ate. All I could really see was the tenements opposite, soot-stained redbrick houses home to people as poor as me but with more mouths to feed. Old Smith's Lane was no Back Barrows or Beggars Market, criminal cesspits all, but it wasn't an area of wealth and affluence either. A ratty one-legged pigeon settled on the window ledge opposite and looked at me with a beady black eye. I ignored it and continued eating.

The light made all the dust in my small apartment stand out in stark contrast, reminding me I really needed to give the place a thorough cleaning. My thaumaturgic library looked particularly sorrowful, not that it really deserved the term library - shelf at most. Roseguard University had entire buildings dedicated to thaumaturgic law. I had a single peace of scrap metal bolted to my wall; it held all of six books.

About the only thing to escape the squalor was my pistol case. It was a lovely piece - polished to a sheen and together with its contents, possibly the most valuable thing I owned. It was made from real wood, not chipboard or the new resin fakes, and that showed in the rich hues and dark veins.

I finished the last of my breakfast mas and crawled over to the case. Delicate brass clips held it closed. I unfastened them and pushed the case open. Two flintlock pistols nestled inside, held in velvet lined depressions by tight straps. Small pouches and bands held the other accoutrements of black powder weaponry - powder and primer horns, bundles of mas fibre squares, cleaning and lubricant oil, spare flints, a bag of lead shot and more. Everything a young woman needed to protect herself when away from home.

I picked up the smaller of the two pistols, a pocket piece, and wrapped my fingers around the grip. It felt at home in my hand, almost like an extension of my arm, and brimmed with power. The tension of the spring, the slumbering primer in the pan, the lurking menace of the main charge - all stood ready. At a pull of my finger, all that bundled energy would loose and the pistol would vomit forth a small lead ball fast, enough to kill a man.

I flipped the weapon around and drew my index finger across the handle, feeling and reading the words engraved there. "To my ever curious daughter whose thirst for knowledge has taken her away from me," it said, "stay safe."

My father had given me the weapons over ten years ago, on the day I left for Roseguard University. We'd had money then, and status. That was gone, murdered along with him in the bloody revolution which birthed the Free Republic. An iron grip tightened on my throat, and I put the weapon away.

The case shut with a click. At the same time, a knock echoed at the door.

The sound made me jump and without thought my hand rushed back to the pistol case. The smooth wood served to steady my nerves. My pocket pistol was loaded, ready for cases like this.

"Who is it?" I said.

"Guess who," said a very familiar voice.

"Elisabeth!" I sprang to my feet, scrambled to my door, pulled it open, kissed Elisabeth quickly, yanked her inside by her outstretched hand, looked both ways for anyone who might have seen and slammed the door shut.

"Still ashamed of me?" asked Elisabeth with a teasing smile.

I shoved her shoulder, my cheeks on a low burn. "You know it's not that."

"I know." She reached up and gave me a passion filled kiss, far deeper than the mere peck I'd given her. It curled my toes and quickened a fire in my chest, one of life and vitality. We broke apart long seconds later, with me gasping for breath.

She reached up and pushed a lock of hair from my face. "Much better. Now, what do you want to do today? I assume you have it free."

I nodded at her question, then glanced at my pistol case. "I want to shoot something."

Elizabeth smiled and set a hand on her street rapier, blue eyes sparkling. "I do like a woman with fangs."

---

The streets of the City Turmaric go forever in all directions, filled with people, homes, shops, factories and botanic farms. Nations exist in that forever, carved out sections of city ruled by kings, princes, senates, committees, chancellors and more.

Walking down the street arm in arm with Elisabeth, I couldn't help wonder where this road would take me if I just kept on walking. Out of the Free Republic, for sure, and away from the people who murdered my parents, but also away from my sister and people like Elisabeth. Beautiful, beautiful Elisabeth. I kissed her cheek, blushed and giggled all at once.

Her walk could only be called a strut, so confident, so powerful, so sexual. With each step she flicked her narrow hips. The motion couldn't help but give me completely inappropriate ideas, such as lifting her up and shoving her against the rough wall of the nearest building. It wouldn't be hard. She was small and lithe, even for a woman, reaching five foot three inches or one hundred and sixty centimetres in the metric of the new government.

Over her small boyish body, she wore men's clothes - shallow heeled boots, tight jodhpurs and a frilled dress shirt. Her rapier hung from her hip, a deadly razor sharp length of steel. Blonde hair tumbled to her shoulders and she watched the world through blue eyes that always held amusement. For all that I have the more classical hour-glass figure and wore dresses, she always made me feel slightly unworthy in the quiet moments of our relationship.

"So where do you wish to bare your fangs?" she asked and motioned at the pistol case I carried.

"I have a place," I said. "It's quiet. We can be alone."

"Why Ms Clement," said Elisabeth and fanned her face in imitation of a partial swoon, "that is quite improper. I couldn't possibly be alone with such a ravishing sexual creature as yourself. What of my reputation?"

I giggled at her joke and pulled her onwards. "This way."

Carriages, wagons and horse drawn buggies filled the middle of the street. They creaked and rattled as they rumbled over the cobblestones. The pedestrians moved along narrow pavement-sidewalks, raised slightly above the cobbles and the muck of horses. People of all types moved in all directions - from the new rich in splendid suits and dresses to the dispossessed poor in rags. Street children prowled in loose packs, searching for pockets to pick, and green uniformed police officers moved in pockets of free space created by the weighty truncheons they carried.

I tugged Elisabeth between momentary small gaps, down a side street, right at a backstreet cross roads, over a bridge made from a fallen support bean, up a rusted iron ladder, across a roof covered with rubbish, down an ancient set of stone steps, between two walls that looked shear at any angle but straight on and into a hidden quiet place between four buildings.

A tree grew in the centre, tall with wide green leaves and gnarled roots. A raven roosted in the branches. It gave me the evil eye. The sun shone bright overhead, cutting through the grime of the city to infuse the air with a vibrant vitality.

Elisabeth stiffened and looked at the tree warily.

"A superstitious libertine?" I said with a smirk. "I thought libertines were all about freeing us from the shackles of outdated morality? Isn't that what you said when you tried to talk that little redhead Noémie into a threesome last Quintiday?"

I knew trees could be dangerous, especially if their roots broke through the stone of the street to the deep earth beneath. But I knew this tree, had since I'd found this place as a girl. Then, youthful innocence told me it was safe. Now, my thaumaturgist's senses did a much better job. The tree grew in a deep bowl of stone filled with mulch made of years of water and city grime. All told it wasn't very different from the innumerable plants which grew under the glass domes of botanic farms the city over.

"It's safe?" she asked, rapier half drawn. Did she plan to stab it? It was a tree, which are pretty unstabable as these things are judged.

"Perfectly," I said. "Watch." I walked forward and put a hand on the trunk. The bark was old and rough against my palm. "See, no problem. It doesn't bi-" I fell back screaming, waving my hand as if on fire.

Shock and fear flashed across Elisabeth's face, but she didn't let it slow her long. Her features morphed to resolve, she drew her sword and rushed forward.

That's when I cut my act and doubled over laughing. "You should have seen your face," I said between racking sobs.

"I don't think it was funny at all," she said, full of affronted pride.

Perhaps I had gone a little far. I straightened up. "Listen. I have seen really bad stuff. Black magic and demons. Horrors that give me night terrors. This tree isn't one. It is perfectly safe. It's... It's special to me. I want us to share this."

Elisabeth took a breath and let it out. "Fine, but no more games, okay?"

"Enclose my heart and hope to die," I said. "No more games." I set my pistol case on a nearby stone ledge and opened it up. "Now I believe someone wanted to see me shoot."

I set my two pistols out on the ledge and readied the other necessaries. Once done, I walked to the other end of the small space, found a piece of corrugated scrap metal, set it against the wall and drew a target with a stub of chalk - a large circle for the outer target and a smaller circle perhaps three inches across inside.

As I set to loading the larger of my two pistols, Elisabeth asked a question. "You said this tree is special?"

"Yes," I said, as I tramped down the ball and mas fibre patch with the ramrod. "I use to play in these streets as a girl. I found this place one day and it became my secret space. You can be alone here. Listen how quiet it is." The sounds of street traffic and city life rumbled just at the edge of hearing but were muffled and easily ignored.

"You lived near here?"

"My family lived on White Stone Row. It's a few hundred yards that way." I pointed at one of the walls.

"They're rich then?"

Something lodged in my throat but I pushed it down. "Were. They're gone now. Let's not let the past spoil our day. Come stand close; I'll show you how to shoot this."

I handed her the pistol and stood behind her, pressed close so I could feel the heat of her body. She always burned hot, like a jeweller's forge. I put my hands over hers and raised the pistol so it pointed at the target. My heart beat him my chest.

"Breathe out," I said, "and fire."

She let out a breath, and we pulled the trigger together.

The piece of flint held in the cock arced forward and drew sparks off the steel frizzen. The sparks fell into the now open flash pan. The primer in the pan ignited and shot through the touchhole into the barrel proper. The main charge ignited and threw the lead ball forward.

The pistol kicked in our hands. The shot went high, punching through the sheet metal a few inches above the target circle. The smoke hung in the still air of my secret place, a bitter haze. The raven squawked and erupted into the air.

Elisabeth let out a slightly strained breath. "That was fun, but I think I'll leave the pistols to you. But why don't we make this more interesting." She passed the gun back to me and moved off to the side. "Hit the bullseye, and I'll give you a kiss."

"Just a kiss?"

"Oh, it will be a very good kiss."

"Sounds like a bet."

I moved back over to my equipment and started reloading my pistol. The pocket piece was already loaded but the longer barrel and stockier construction made the other gun better for target shooting. The steps came rote and easy. Check the flit in the cock was properly napped. Pull to half cocked. Add powder to the shot-measure and load into barrel. Tramp with ramrod. Wrap ball in mas fibre patch and place in muzzle. Again use ramrod. Open frizzen. Prime flash pan with primer. Close frizzen. Check the sliding bracket safety is off. Pull back cock. Ready.

"Where's my shooting line?" I asked.

Elisabeth drew her sword and marked a line in the earth, a yard or two back from where she'd shot from. "How about here?"

The distance wasn't too great, so I nodded my head. "Perfectly acceptable."

"When you're ready."

I raised my pistol, sighted over the hammer and squeezed the trigger.

Bang. The ball punched a hole straight through the bullseye and lodged in the wall beyond.

"My prize?" I asked, as a wisp of smoke rose from the muzzle.

"I am a woman of my word."

I raised her chin with a finger and captured her lower lip between mine. We kissed, long and deep. Her mouth was hot and sweet. She plastered her body against me, and I felt her nipples press into me.

There's erotic perfection in an open hearted kiss. I felt a pleasure grow within my chest, like a balloon of tingling sensation which slowly expanded. I prickled from the inside out and the mundane world faded away as Elisabeth became my all. With one hand, I reached round her body and pulled her closer still. With the other I reached up and massaged her breasts.

She pushed me away panting and broke the kiss. "Now, now, none of that. If you want something you have to win it."

"And how do I win the chance to play with your perfect bosom?" Flush stained her cheeks and I could see her nipples were hard nubs. She wanted this as much as me, but she wanted the game more. Libertines liked their games.

She struck a pose, hips cocked, eyes sparkling. "Another bullseye, of course."

As quick as I could, I reloaded my pistol and returned to the firing line.

"Back a half meter if you would," she said and motioned with her hand. "I think that's a little too easy for you."

"As my lady demands." I backed up, raised my pistol and fired again. The sound of the shot echoed off the walls and a second hole appeared in the bullseye, a third of an inch above the first.

"How private is this place?" asked Elisabeth as her fingers toyed with her collar.

I smiled. "Private enough for that." The walls were high and no windows looked inwards. Someone lying on a roof might spy but they'd need to know to look.

She smiled back and undid a button, then another, then another. They popped open one by one until her shirt hung loose across her narrow shoulders. I could just see the side of her breasts, soft half swells. The gap extended down over her tight, flat stomach. With a roll of her shoulders she removed the shirt completely, baring herself to me. Her breasts were small but well-formed and each tipped by a vivid pink nipple. Her areolas were dark circles, the size of livre coins.

I set my pistol aside and approached Elisabeth in my best coquettish sashay. She grinned wickedly and pushed her chest forward, offering up my reward.

"Miss," she said, voice quavering. "I'm all alone and have lost my shirt. Won't you help me?"

"Oh, I'll help you," I said as I took a breast in each hand and rolled her sweet nipples between my fingers. She bit her lip and moaned, still playing the bashful maid. I half bent and took her left nipple in my mouth. It tasted of clean flesh with just a hint of salty sweat. I crushed it between my lips and drew my tongue among the puckered flesh.

"Oh Miss," she said, "we mustn't. We're not married."

I pushed her back against the brick wall. She hit with a thud, and I continued my assault on her body. Her breasts were perfect, stolen from the finest sculptures or artworks. I bit down with my teeth, just a touch, and a ripple of tensing and releasing muscles ran through her body, head to toe. Erotic perfection.

With scarcely a break, I switched nipples and attacked her right breast. At the same time, I ran a finger up the seam of her jodhpurs and across her covered sex. It boiled with heat, radiating off the furnace of her passion. Beyond the mundane, the power pressed against my thaumaturgist's senses. There was energy there, a lot of energy. It brimmed just under her flesh, the power of life made manifest and just waiting to be used.

I breathed in that power, then pushed it back. She bucked her hips and muttered, "Punk gods." I smiled around the nipple in my mouth and did it again - battering her like waves of scented water in a hot bath.

"Like this?" I whispered and place my hand flat against her sex. It almost burned, and I could feel the thundering beat of her pulse. I massaged it gentle, a soft pressure and release to complement my thaumaturgic ministrations.

Evidently she did like it, but with a groan she pushed me away all the same. "Gods, that was good," she said and shook her head to clear her lust glazed eyes. "But if you want more you have to earn it."

"And what's my next prize?" I said, accepting this momentary break in our fun.

"My best pussy licking," she said, letting the sentence drag out like sharp nails against sex charged skin. "Orgasm guaranteed." She met my eyes and extended her tongue through a wicked grin. She touched tongue tip to nose.

My knees wavered slightly at the emotion in her eyes, and I nodded, perhaps a touch too eager. I reloaded my pistol and looked back to Elisabeth. "Another half meter?"

"If you would," she said, naked from the waist up and flushed with sexual excitement.

I took up my new position.

Bang! The ball blasted another hole through the bullseye.

"There," I said with satisfaction and blew on my pistol, disrupting the last of the smoke. "Now, I believe I've won myself quite the prize."

"That you have," she said and drew a finger down her breast, making the flesh bounce and quiver. A faint sheen of sweat covered her skin; it shined in the bright sun light. "And you could take the pussy licking... Or you could let it ride."

"Let it ride?" I asked, though I thought I caught the shape of her evil idea.

"Oh yes. Think of it as double or nothing. I could lick your pussy or the virgin maid could. You could trick the innocent with your fiendish seductress wiles and tempt her to do the most depraved thing to that oh-so-sinful place between your legs."

Her words brought a wave of heat to my skin, but she wasn't done.

"Can you see her eyes," she said. "They're so wide and blue. She's never thought of sex before. She's been sheltered. And there you come. You've tricked her out her clothes and now she's naked. You can see the goose bumps on her skin. She's completely vulnerable. But... You can see the devil stirring within her. There's a flush on her skin, her breasts have swelled the tiniest amount, her eyes are glazed and her pupils are deep dark voids. It wouldn't take much to get her to do anything. Anything."

Elisabeth changed her stance, and her hair fell in a slightly different way. That was all it took to bring the maid into the world, an innocent beauty who yet promised passion.

My heart hammered in my chest, and I was no doubt showing many of the signs of arousal she had just described. "Let it ride," I said and set to reloading my pistol. My hands shook at first, but the practised routine of reloading calmed me down.

I took my position another half meter back and aimed down the barrel. My heart thundered in my chest and shooting straight seemed all but impossible. With a deep exhalation, I pulled the trigger.

Bang! The shot hit the bullseye, just inside the target. Yes! I'd done it. I turned to Elisabeth and saw she was smiling too.

"Ooh," she said. "You're such a good shot, miss. I'm sure there's so much you can teach me. I'll be ever so attentive. Unless... You want to let it ride again. In which case maybe I'm a bad, bad girl. Maybe you need to tie me up."

She leaned back against the wall and crossed her hands above her head. She let out a deep, throaty moan.

"Mmm. I can feel the ropes. They would dig into my soft never-been-touched skin. Can you see them? They're dyed red, red like blood. You have me completely at your mercy. You could do anything to me. I couldn't run away at all."

She drew her arms down, and sketched the lines of her body. Her bare breasts shifted as her muscles moved. Her nipples performed a hypnotic dance.

"Where will you tie me? My wrists to make me vulnerable? My legs? Perhaps my breasts?" Her eyes went comically wide. "Would you tie up my little titties, miss? My poor titties. Can you see them? Framed in bright red ropes. You can look at them as you lower your wicked dripping pussy down on my poor, innocent tongue. Will I lick it for you? Will I lick it for you until you cum all over my pretty face?"

My throat was bone try, and I nodded, struck dumb by the sight. Not even the practised motions of reloading my pistol could still my hands this time and the primer scattered everywhere as I tipped the measured charge into the pan.

I took my place to shoot, almost at the wall, and aimed. My pistol shook in my hands, the muzzle wondering across half the sky. I'd shot straighter while drunk.

Bang! Through more luck than skill, the shot hit the bullseye. In fact it was my best yet, a dead centre hit.

"Ooo," moaned Elisabeth. "I am a bad girl. I can feel it." She bucked her hips and crushed her own nipples between her fingers. "But how bad am I? I could be really, really bad. Maybe you need to punish me."

She turned and leaned again the wall, hands splayed on brick as her shapely bottom pointed towards me. The jodhpurs clung to every curve.

"Will you need to punish me, miss?" she said and cried out, a sharp in draw of breath as if struck. "Will you spank me? I'll be all tied up. I couldn't stop you. And I need it." She turned back around and wonton lust showed in her blue eyes. "Maybe I like the pain. Maybe it's the only way I can be controlled. Maybe I'll fight you until you prove you own me. All you need to do is let it ride one final time and find out."

I spilled powder everywhere as I tried to load my pistol and sent a dozen lead balls scattering across the ground. Elisabeth came up behind me, and I could feel her hot breath on my neck. She blew gently, and I all but collapsed. A blazing fire burnt between my legs. There was no way I was loading a true shot in this state. I set the longer of the pistols down and picked up the pocket piece. It was still loaded and loaded well.

Elisabeth pointed to the far wall, eyes dark, the maximum possible range available in my small hidden place. I put my back to it and raised the small flintlock pistol.

She came up beside me, the weight of her presence pressing down. She blew gently, ruffling my hair. I ignored her provocations and aimed as best I could. My hands were oddly steady, as if I stood in the eye of my storm of lust. The space between me and the target dwindled to nothing. The great tree disappeared. The mulchy earth vanished. All I saw was the target and the bullseye at its centre. It looked close enough to reach out and touch.

She licked around the curve of my ear and whispered, "Will you spank me by hand or use your horse crop?"

My heart jumped. The pistol erupted in my hands. The ball shot towards the target and clipped the side with a metallic clang - well wide of the bullseye.

"Oops," said Elisabeth as she skipped away. "You win some, you lose some. Game's over."

"Over!" I cried, wheeling on her.

"Well, I suppose I might reconsider... If I had a virgin maid of my own to play with." Her eyes sparkled with wicked glee. "I hear she's a bad girl who likes pain."

I gulped as a rock lodged in my throat. Despite the impossibility of precognition, I saw my future in her eyes. It involved blood red ropes and sweet, sweet agony. Elisabeth owned a riding crop too.

The End

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