" Stripped Senoritas " by Knobarius

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esercito sconfitto
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" Stripped Senoritas " by Knobarius

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STRIPPED SENORITAS

By Knobarius


I. A Sentry Girl Switch!

Pablita entered the hut quietly. She was barefoot, rawhide sandals left behind in her own hut, pistol holstered at her hip. She removed her straw sombrero and approached the bed on which the black cowgirl lay naked on her back under her blanket, bosom bared, seemingly asleep. Seminole Jill, out scouting the bandits’ stronghold – patrolled by members of the dread Captain Chiquita’s personal bodyguard -- looking for stray bandit girls to kill and carry off for the bounty in Texas, had been surprised by Pablita and the Apache girl Chata, who had grabbed Jill while Pablita knocked the black girl unconscious with her blackjack. Then the two guards had slung her limp form over a horse, brought her into camp, and stripped her nude – Pablita had enjoyed that -- before chaining her to the bed by her ankle in one of the adobe houses. The bandit queen, Captain Chiquita, had kept Jill there for the last three days, debating with herself whether to form a firing squad or to ransom Jill back to whatever Yanqi friends she might have a few miles away across the border. She had appeared only once, to question Jill briefly – a tall young woman with Indian complexion and flashing black eyes, her face concealed below them by a black silk handkerchief used as a mask.

Seminole Jill opened her eyes cautiously, and smiled. Pablita had proved a very good lover during her tours of guard duty – a lovely young Indian girl, very innocent it seemed for a murderous bandit. The girl removed the pistol belt from around her waist and hung it from a peg on the wall along with her sombrero, then crawled barefoot onto Jill’s bed. She removed the covers and lay down beside the naked black girl, and they began to kiss and embrace.

Jill had learned enough from the guards’ overheard talk to know that Chiquita had made her decision. She stroked Pablita’s hair, looked into her lovely dark eyes, and spoke in a husky whisper. “The captain plans to have her new recruits finish me off soon, doesn’t she?”

“Si, pobrecita, two new girls to come this afternoon. They never kill nobody ‘fore they join bandits. Captain Chiquita have them shoot you, knife you, they get dagger tattoo.” She pouted sadly.

“Pablita,” whispered Jill, running her finger down the Mexican girl’s face, across her parted lips. . “If they kill me, take care of my dead body.”

The girl brightened, nodding her head with a smile. “Si, Jeel. I tell them no shoot in face, head. You die nice from shot in breast, or dagger under here” – she indicated her armpit. “Then I take your body, strip you naked, wash you down, put you warm in my bed for long nap with me, sabe?”

“I sabe,” whispered Jill. “Gracias, Pablita – “

The Mexican girl gasped in surprise as Jill seized her by the throat and tightened her naked legs around her victim’s thighs, using her left arm to hug her close and pin Pablita’s right arm against her side. Breast to breast they lay, the hapless guard vainly trying to pull Jill’s hand away from her throat with her free hand, able only to make tiny choking noises. Finally her anxious, puzzled face grew more relaxed, the lids beginning to slip over her slumberous brown eyes, her hands falling away. Her eyes closed; she sighed and went utterly limp. Jill relaxed her grip, let Pablita’s beautiful head slump onto her own bare breast with a kiss of slack lips, catching her breath, allowing her hand to caress the sentry girl’s splendid backside under her skirt. There was no hurry: the guards were quite regular about their shifts, using watches plundered from dead victims to keep track of the time. She had timed the bandits’ routine while observing their camp – only one other sentry was normally posted, to scan the pass from which any intruder would normally come -- and taken note of the shifts guarding her for the days since her capture. Almost two hours until the next one, and she knew which girl it would be.

She rolled the guard’s limp body off her. Naked, she straddled the girl’s unresponsive form, and silently pressed her thumbs into Pablita’s lovely throat with steady force for almost a minute to make sure that she was dead. Then she leaned back to survey her handiwork. Pablita lay on her back, with eyes closed and luscious lips parted to show her white teeth, her black hair spread out on the pillow, her fine breasts barely covered by her white blouse. Jill leaned forward again, and kissed those warm lips tenderly. “Sorry, baby,” she whispered. “But I’ll take good care of you while we ride to Texas. Too bad I had to silence you. We’ll have to have that nap in my bed instead – at the hotel, before I turn your body in for the bounty tomorrow morning.”

She began to search the dead sentry’s body, plunging her eager hand between the girl’s warm breasts and pulling up a thin steel chain with a single key attached – the key to her leg iron. She lifted the girl’s head and unlooped the chain from about Pablita’s dead throat, unlocked the cuff, and rubbed her ankle vigorously. Searching deeper down in Pablita’s cleavage, she found another prize – a lead-filled, leather-covered sap with a short, flexible handle, perhaps of whalebone, doubtless the same one Pablita had used to knock her out three days before. Running her hand up Pablita’s skirt, she felt her smooth brown leg and the concealed dagger strapped to her thigh. She pulled the skirt up – the dead girl wore no underwear – and unbuckled the scabbard straps. Drawing the weapon, she admired the very slim, straight Spanish blade, ideal for silencing more sentries, with a single well-placed thrust required for each.

She looked at the small gold watch pinned to the left breast of Pablita’s blouse as she lay with skirts up to expose her sex – a watch taken, the girl had said, from the dead body of a lovely gringa hooker she had killed with her blackjack during a stagecoach robbery. Jill could take her time about the stripping. She slowly unbuttoned the slain guard’s low-cut blouse, exposing her magnificent breasts, and rolled her over onto her belly. Pablita’s arms flopped, one arm dangling over the side of the bed as Jill pulled off the blouse. The skirt followed, and Jill smiled as she gazed down at the tiny tattoo of a red dagger at the small of Pablita’s back, tip pointing downwards, just above the crack of her buttocks. A nice kid, but a genuine member of the Cuchillo Rojo bandit gang. She caressed her temporary lover’s bottom. “I’ll have fun being you,” she whispered.

Cherokee Jill seized Pablita’s pulseless wrist and lifted the dead guard’s limp brown arm, holding it next to her own. The coloring was a near match, close enough for dim light. She let the arm flop back to dangle over the side of the bed, and addressed the naked girl. “Now, dear Pablita, I must steal your identity. But, being dead, I don’t think you’ll complain too much.” She donned the longish skirt, put on the blouse – nicely warm from the dead girls’ body heat -- retrieved Pablita’s straw sombrero and revolver, and examined herself in the cracked full-length mirror on the wall. Sitting on the bed, she hauled the nude Pablita into a sitting position, her lovely head lolling sleepily against her shoulder. She lifted up her victim’s chin for better comparison, looking at the two faces in the mirror. There was no way she could pass for her if anybody got a good look – even her close-cropped kinky hair was a contrast to the dead girl’s luxurious, straight black mane. She clapped the sombrero onto Pablita’s head, and let her chin fall forward onto her ample bare bosom; the movement shaded the dead girl’s face in the mirror, obscured her features. “I’ll just have to keep my head low,” she said, and grinned. She lowered Pablita’s body to the bed and arranged her tits-up on the bed, head on the pillow. “Sleep,” she whispered, kissing her.

II.“La Gringa Negra” Silences, Strips, and Stashes

She was waiting outside the door – head down – when Lupe, the black Mexican girl, walked up in the twilight, raising a hand in silent salutation. In the crook of her other arm Lupe cradled a Winchester .44-40 repeating carbine – Jill’s own. She returned the salute with her own hand, before quietly drawing Pablita’s blackjack from her belt. The new guard went in through the open door, presumably to inspect the prize before assuming her post outside the door, and Jill followed her, stalking her prey barefoot. She watched as Lupe unexpectedly went to the bed and seized the blanket, yanking it back to find not a sleeping prisoner, but the naked body of Pablita. “Caramba!” she whispered, and suddenly wheeled to face Pablita’s killer.

She stared full into Jill’s face and opened her mouth as if to cry out. Jill snatched off the guard’s felt sombrero with one hand and blackjacked her with the other. “Uh!” Lupe’s body swayed, her eyes closed, her Winchester clattered to the dirt floor. She moaned, and Jill spun her around before hitting her again on the back of the head. The guard sighed, fell onto her knees, arms at her sides, and pitched forward to lie motionless, upper body on the bed, head slumped against Pablita’s bare belly. Jill leaned forward, bracing herself with her left hand against Lupe’s shoulder, and struck her twice more, until she was dead.

She straightened up and looked down at her slain enemy, feeling a warm feeling of satisfaction. It was more enjoyable than the necessity of killing poor Pablita. She paused for awhile to catch her breath, and to close the door before returning to the bodies. She searched the dead girl’s rear pockets and patted her shapely arse.

“Now get off my girlfriend,” she whispered, and grabbed the newly silenced sentry under the arms, pulling her upward and dragging her limp form across the floor. She laid her out at full length in a corner and turned up the lamp to inspect her second prize of the evening. Lupe lay dead, a luscious, buxom young black girl in dirty light-tan cotton trousers and open vest, with naked chest criss-crossed by two cartridge belts stuffed with rifle ammunition fitting Jill’s Winchester. At her waist, also filled with matching cartridges, was a pistol belt – also Jill’s own, she noted with delight, pulling the short-barreled, dark-blued Colt .44-40 revolver from its holster and gaining comfort from the feel of the worn ivory grips. Jill knelt to feel her victim’s breast, then thumb back an eyelid and feel the pulse at her throat. “Dead,” she whispered. “But at least she was nice and quiet about it.” She searched the guard’s corpse carefully, then stripped herself out of Pablita’s blouse and skirt as a prelude to getting the dead Lupe out of her clothes. “I liked Pablita better,” she whispered into Lupe’s lifeless ear, leaning naked above her. “So you should be quite flattered that I’m taking your clothes and identity.” She kissed the black girl’s full, sullen lips, turned her face from side to side, compared her own skin color with that of Lupe’s rich bronze. An almost perfect match! “This will be easier – even when the light gets better. I’ll fool those other bitches like I fooled you.”

She slipped the rawhide sandals from Lupe’s limp feet, then unbuckled her cartridge belts to liberate her ample breasts. She rolled the dead Negress over, slipped off her vest, and let her bare arms flop into the dirt. Then came the trousers, revealing the red dagger tattoo against her dark skin. Soon Lupe’s buxom form lay stretched out nude and face-down on the floor, and Jill was standing above her, almost fully dressed, adjusting her cartridge belts, one bare foot resting on the girl’s warm back as she admired her tight buttocks. She slipped on the dead girl’s sandals, looked into the broken mirror, clapped Lupe’s sombrero on her head, and smiled.

Two more hours to go. She spent some of it hauling Lupe’s body onto the bed to lie tits up beside the slimmer Pablita’s, playing with both – especially Lupe, since she hadn’t enjoyed her before. “Now don’t get jealous,” she admonished Pablita in a whisper, leaning close to her sweet face even as she twiddled Lupe’s stiffened nipples. “I told her I like you best.” She kissed both girls, then got back to business. It was time to secure the bodies of both dead sentries. She hauled Pablita’s nude form off the bed and placed her on the floot, the soles of her naked feet facing the head of the bed. Then she pushed down on her bare shoulders, shoving her until her lovely head had almost disappeared. Jill knelt down at the foot of the bed, reached under to grab Pablita’s bare feet, and pulled her naked corpse down further to complete the concealment. As for Lupe’s body, she repositioned her in the center of the bed, snapped the leg-iron around her dead ankle, and covered her with the blanket, leaving her shapely feet exposed and facing the door so that anybody who chanced to look in would assume that the light-colored soles were those of la gringa negra, not of their own black bandit girl, knocked on the head and dead. “Sleep tight, sister,” she whispered, and kissed Lupe’s warm slack mouth before placing the blanket over her beautiful face.

III. A Savage Sentry’s Last Smoke

It was early dawn when the Apache squaw Chata showed up, Jill hearing her approach and opening the door to pass her as she took her accustomed position to one side. The woman was naked from the waist up as she leaned against the wall, her long black hair bound by a red band of cloth around her brows, her only other garments a dirty white loincloth, a cartridge belt with knife scabbard and holster for her Colt’s revolver, and deerskin boots. She had set her Winchester rifle against the wall as she herself leaned against it, smoking a cigarette rolled in a cornhusk. She smiled and inhaled luxuriously as Jill began to pass her, then suddenly raised her head.

There was a sharp intake of breath as Chata saw the face of the prisoner and not that of the guard now lying dead and naked in her bed. Then Jill covered the Indian woman’s pug nose and half-open mouth with her hand, and deftly slipped Pablita’s needle-like dagger into her chest, just under her full brown left breast. Chata tried to cry out, grabbed Jill’s arms, stared wildly. But she quickly weakened, her eyes dulled and slipped shut, and she sighed, her bare arms jangling down to hang limp at her sides. She was dead on her feet. Jill removed the dagger from her breast and let the girl’s body slide slowly down the wall, her booted legs spread wide. Jill smiled; it was a rare thing to sneak up successfully on an Apache.

The cowgirl released her hand from the dead squaw’s slack mouth, and a thin stream of smoke issued forth sensuously from between her parted lips, mingled with her last breath. Jill put a foot in her victim’s groin for leverage and pulled off both rawhide boots, Chata’s bare feet thumping to the dust, then arranged her muscular naked legs so that the dead woman seemed to be sitting cross-legged. The Winchester she placed across Chata’s bare thighs, and positioned her limp hands on the rifle. Then she examined her display. She gave the Indian woman a deep kiss while caressing her copper-colored breast, and left her there after carefully putting her dropped cigarette, still lit, between Chata’s dead lips. If anybody saw her, they might think that she was still on guard duty at that hour -- and not even assume that she was sleeping on duty. Anyway, there was no chance of Jill successfully impersonating a half-nude Apache.
IV.Simply Dead in Bed

The lone sentry guarding the pass was out of sight of the camp, and she knew that the captain and her aristocratic Castillian lover – known as Betty Azul -- would not be awake until late that morning. So she decided to dispose of the two bandit girls in the adobe next to her own. She slipped off the dead Lupe’s sandals and crept barefoot into the next adobe. Two women lay in a broad bed, one on her belly, on the left of the bed as it faced Jill, and the other on her back, a single sheet covering only the first girl’s bottom and the second girl from privates to breasts. Jill saw a few empty tequila bottles lying on the floor, and there was a mild clink as her foot struck one of two that she’d overlooked and knocked it into the other.

The Indian girl on the right, Esmeralda, sat up suddenly, sleepy-eyed, the sheet falling away from her dusky breasts. “Quien es?” she asked – who is it?

She gasped with the thunk of Pablita’s thrown dagger imbedding itself between her ripe melons, her eyes opening wide. Then her eyes closed and she sighed with surprising sweetness as she flopped back lifeless onto her pillow. Esmeralda looked as though she had gone back to sleep – except for the hilt of the dagger between her breasts. Jill moved silently up to the bed, covered the girl’s open mouth cautiously with her hand, and gently pulled out the dagger, wiping it on the sheet. The girl made no noise; she was already safely dead. Jill slowly removed her hand from Esmeralda’s sweet mouth, then paused a moment to arrange her long dark hair on the pillow and position a small gold locket at her throat so that it covered the dagger’s neat puncture. She caressed the Indian girl’s left nipple idly while considering her next victim.

The other girl slept on – the Chinese bandit girl May Lee, who wore her black hair cropped boyishly short. Too much tequila, thought Jill. She paused to admire her flawless skin, too lovely to mar with a stab in the back. So she pressed the girl’s bare shoulder firmly down and thrust the needle-like dagger with precision into the base of her neck, sliding it upwards under her hairline. The girl gasped and arched her head back slightly, eyes opening, her naked legs arching back with quivering toes pointed almost straight at the ceiling, May Lee breathing in with a long rasp. Then she relaxed, eyes half-open, head falling again to the pillow, legs flopping back to lie still, her breath quietly sighing out through parted lips. Her bare left arm, flopping down to dangle off the bed, twitched once. Then she lay still. Jill smiled and withdrew the dagger, wiping it on the sheet, and also sighed, caressing the naked back of the Oriental beauty. She took pride in the fact that the small, bloodless wound was not even visible, concealed by the girl’s hair. Without really needing to, she took the pillow from beneath her victim’s head, checked the pulse in May Lee’s neck, closed her eyes, then gently lifted up one almond eye with her thumb, and held her dagger against her sweet lips. There was no frosting of breath. “That was easy,” she whispered. “Still a couple of sleeping beauties.” She smiled as she lowered the sheet a bit, down from May Lee’s splendid ass, and saw the red dagger tattoo. She bent to kiss the dead China girl on the cheek, and on her back. “Good-night, yellow gal. You can stay off duty now.” She stood up gracefully and suddenly yanked the sheet from both bodies, leaving them lying wanton and nude. She closed the door quietly behind her.

V. Another Sentry is Relieved

With both girls killed in their beds, it was time to attend to Chata’s corpse, since guards were never posted outside Jill’s makeshift prison too far past full daylight. So (after appropriating for herself the cigarette between Chata’s still-warm lips) she seized the dead Indian girl under the arms and dragged her heavy body into the house, naked heels scoring trails in the dust, head lolling forwarded sullenly on her breast, then back with mouth agape.. She was a muscular, fleshy girl, and Jill liked the feel of her nearly nude, womanly body as she lugged her across the floor and laid her in the corner. She stripped off her loincloth and headband, slapped her meaty, naked breasts, and took her leave. Behind her, eyes closed and mouth slack, Chata lay dead on the floor, nude save for her pistol belt, from which Jill had removed her Apache war club, with its stone head wrapped in leather.

The single guard looking out over the valley pass could not be seen from the adobes; Jill had to slowly and carefully climb up the crest of a ridge, then descend and walk up another rise to an adobe ruin – really just a corner of two walls with a bit of flat roof still above it. Normally the sentry would simply stand near the corner to her right and look through the paneless window in the wall to her left, out over the pass below. Jill needed to advance carefully, in case the guard – Huh, the slimmer, younger of the two Apache squaws – turn around and spy her coming up the trail. She started out, skirting the grove of trees to her right, then ducked in among them as she saw a nearly naked, well-formed figure walking barefoot down from the ruin.

He was Huh’s Navajo slave boy, and lover, returning from a tryst. About eighteen summers, she thought, and boyishly handsome, as well as naked save for headband and loincloth. He bore no weapon, save a small sheath knife at his waist. As he passed, Jill struck him smartly on the head with Chata’s warclub. He turned, staggered, eyes closed, face already relaxed, and rather than risk a potentially deadly second blow Jill spun him around and wrapped one arm around his throat, using her other hand to press against the back of his neck. He struggled briefly, arms flailing, bare toes flexing, then relaxing in her arms with a sighing groan. She dragged the boy back from the path with only his naked heels touching the ground, and laid him out, sheltered by the trees. She inspected him, tearing away his loincloth and grinning at the way he had sprung erect while being strangled. “Boys like this always look cute when they’re unconscious,” she told herself. No need or time to tie him up just yet: instead she would hurry to silence Huh quickly and permanently and then return to use him for her pleasure and business. So she left him there naked.

She slipped off her stolen sandals and drew Pablita’s, still unwilling to risk a shot. But she held the knife along the barrel of her Winchester carbine, keeping her head down and behaving as though she was examining some defective portion of the mechanism. Glancing up cautiously, she saw Huh looking at her from about fifty yards away – a beautiful, bronze-skinned girl, nude except for a loincloth and headband, a single streak of blue war paint bright across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Then the squaw turned away. She really thought I was Lupe, mused Seminole Jill, coming to relieve her. Well, she’s half right, at least! She smiled to think of Lupe haplessly impersonating her as her luscious nude corpse lay in Jill’s bed, a leg-iron around her dead ankle.

She had to negotiate piles of adobe rubble from the collapsed roof very carefully in order to avoid a noise that would give her away. When she was almost within striking distance, Huh was gazing calmly out the window, her Sharps rifle standing in the corner along with her deerskin boots. Her Colt revolver was at her waist, along with a butcher knife. Her bare back was very inviting. But Jill decided instead to reverse her grip and use her knife icepick-style.

Jill jumped off a mound of broken adobe to land just behind her victim, clapped her hand over the sentry girl’s mouth, and pulled her back as she drove the slim dagger down inside her collar bone. Jill’s nose was filled with an odor of sweat and smoked leather as the young Apache struggled, her bare feet kicking, breasts jiggling, her arm grabbing Jill’s as she tried to cry out, producing only muffled cries and gurgles. But she quickly weakened, and with a final sensual sigh went limp in her enemy’s grasp, her copper body held close, curled toes relaxing and canting outward. Jill slowly removed the knife, breathing deeply, and gently hissed “Shhhh…..” into Huh’s ear. She dragged the nearly naked body of the sentry back away from the window over a pile of adobe rubble and gently laid Huh out near the wall, carefully removing her hand from the comatose girl’s silent lips. “Now die quietly,” she whispered, which Huh did very soon afterward. “So much for this barefoot girl,” Jill muttered.“I’ll just leave her here toes-up.”

Huh lay sprawled out sadly with back arched over the fallen adobe rubble, mouth agape and eyes closed, copper body marked by splashes of white dust. Jill admired her magnificent chest and muscular abdomen. She felt Huh’s left breast and throat, just in case, and stood over the young sentry, stretched out.in death. “Now that you’re off duty, I’ll expect you to keep quiet,” Jill whispered. “Like my Injun mama always said, there ain’t nothing more fun than killin’ a pretty sentry girl quiet-like.”

And Huh was surely one dead Indian girl. Jill left her there safe and silent, and then went back to where the unconscious Navajo lay. She grabbed him under the arms and slung him over her shoulder, carrying his limp – save for his still-tumescent organ, hard against Jill’s breast -- body to the adobe ruin, laying him near Huh’s corpse. She tried to wake him, but he was unresponsive until she stripped naked – save for her pistol belt -- and mounted him, ravishing him, mixing business with pleasure, impaling herself, but stifling her cries – and his too, clamping a hand over his mouth when he started to awaken and groan. His eyes opened, surprised, and he tried to talk.

”Wake up, kid,” she whispered. “Your mistress and all the guards on duty are stone-cold dead! But I’ll give you your freedom if you help me take care of their warm bodies…” She turned his head so he could look at Huh, lying snugly next to him, her lovely painted face relaxed in death. “Sabe?”

She released his mouth, and the boy grinned. “Si, Senorita Jeel.”

She climbed off him, and both stood up. “Good.” She nodded toward Huh’s nearly nude corpse. “First take your dead mistress here and carry her body down to the hut where they were keeping me. Stay clear of where anybody in Chiquita’s hut can see you, though I’m sure she’s still asleep with that blonde bitch of hers. Now, off with la muerta…” The grinning Juan nodded, knelt to give the dead Huh a light slap on each side of her face and to check her cooling breast before removing her loincloth; then he grabbed her arm and slung the virtually nude female body over his shoulder, dusty feet and hands dangling limply. He looked like a prehistoric man, carrying an enemy tribe’s woman back to his cave to ravish after knocking her unconscious with his club.

VI. The Captain Loses Her Boots

As she watched Juan proceed down the path with his limp burden and step to the side to disappear among the trees, Jill prepared to kill Chiquita. She dressed again in the dead Lupe’s clothes, then, with her own familiar Winchester in hand, waited until she saw the captain and her blonde lover and lieutenant stroll outside. Then she walked down to the bandit queen’s adobe. Late risers, she thought with a grin. They were in each other arms when she approached them – both girls wearing smart, tightly-fitting charro costumes consisting of a black silk neckerchief, white shirt, waist-length jacket, and equally snug trousers with flared bottoms over polished black boots with big silver spurs; the captain’s hat, trousers and pants were gray, her lieutenant’s black. Their groping hands were still clad in exquisite kid gloves. They had removed their silver-trimmed hats, letting them hang down their backs by their cords, so that they could better kiss each other – blonde, blue-eyed young Betty Azul, her flaxen blonde hair pulled back and plaited into a single thick braid at the back of her head, and Captain Chiquita, with her black hair pulled back into a bun, her high cheekbones, her magnificent black eyes and brown complexion, handsome straight nose with flaring nostrils, and lush lips in a well-shaped bow.

They separated to face Jill as she approached, imitating the late Lupe’s gait. Though she made sure that under her sombrero brim she could still keep both girls in sight, she again had her head down as though inspecting her Winchester’s loading gate – then raised her head. The blonde looked into her face, her blue eyes widening, mouth gaping open in surprise. “La gringa negra!” she cried, drawing her pistol at the same time and raising the pearl-handled, nickel-plated Colt’s double-action .38 to level the barrel at Jill’s head..

Jill fired from the hip, and as Betty grabbed her chest and arched her back with a sharp cry, her involuntarily fired bullet whizzing past Jill’s ear. The black girl swiveled on the balls of her sandaled feet as she levered another round into the rifle’s chamber. Even as her blonde lover fell to her knees and began to pitch forward onto her lovely face, Captain Chiquita, snarling and with black eyes snapping fire, had drawn her own gold-mounted Smith & Wesson .45. Jill shot again and sent the Winchester’s flat-nosed 44-40 slug into the bandit queen’s chest. She slammed up against the mesquite tree, head thrown back and mouth open in a choked cry of pain, before beginning her moaning slide into a sitting position, eyes closed, booted legs spread wide, head slumped forward pouty-lipped on her bosom. Her pistol lay loosely in her gloved, nerveless hand.

Jill shot a glance toward Azul. The luscious blonde had fallen face down virtually at her lover’s feet, her black sombrero resting on her back, and now measured her length in the dirt, gloved hands at her sides, pale cheek plopped into the dust. She sighed softly; her left foot kicked out feebly twice, and then was still. Jill relaxed as she checked the pulse at her neck; the girl was dead.

Jill knelt to fondle her victim’s adorable tight ass and to lift her head, removing the hat cord around her neck; then she rolled Betty Azul over and gazed into her beautiful face. Her blue eyes were half-closed, her pink lips dusty and parted. Jill caressed her cheek, and searched her warm body carefully without removing any clothes, finding a .22 derringer and a Spanish clasp knife. She unbuckled the blonde’s gunbelt, then wiped the dust from her lips and kissed her. “A nice white Spanish girl,” she whispered. “No use trying to pass as you, honey.” She took Betty in her arms, kissed her again, softly and sweetly, then lowered her to the ground and closed her eyes gently with thumb and forefinger. “Sleep.”

She turned her attention to the inert body of Chiquita. She removed the pistol from her limp hand, unbuckled the girl’s exquisitely tooled gunbelt, then planted a bare foot in her groin and began to pull her left boot off before repeating the process. The bandida’s naked right foot had just dropped into the dust to touch Betty’s cheek when Chiquita moaned, and her eyes began to flutter open. “Betty,” she whispered, “mi amor…” Jill, surprised that she was still alive, crouched down at her left side.

“Sorry, chica. Blondie’s lying dead at your bare feet.” The bandit queen’s lovely black eyes opened, tried to focus.

“You kill Betty, no?”

“You bet, chica.”

“Oh….” The Indian girl’s large eyes showed dismay. Then she was unconscious again. Jill stepped back to survey the scene, with Betty’s pale face lolling against Chiquita’s bare foot. She grabbed Betty under the shoulders, dragging her toward the tree and leaving her propped against Chiquita’s thigh, with her lovely blonde head resting in her lover’s lap. “There,” she said.

Chiquita’s eyes opened again. She caressed her slain lover’s cheek, touched her hand to her own lips, pressed her fingers on the slack mouth of Betty to transfer the kiss. Then she looked at Jill. “You kill her, no?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. And you too.”

“You take my boots off. No good.”

“Sorry, honey, but you don’t get to die with your boots on. Anyway, I need them. And the rest of your clothes too.”

“You – you strip me naked?” She nodded as though answering her own question, but really just trying to keep her head up.

”Yeah, baby. And I’ll be wearing your clothes and mask when I kill those two new girls you were going to have execute me. You’ll be lying dead and naked in the hut with the others.”

“Others? You kill all?”

”Uh-huh. Poor Pablita, the other guards, and that Apache squaw you had looking out over the valley. Plus the two girls I knifed in their beds.”

Chiquita nodded. “Si. You kill me,” she whispered. “Now you kiss me.” Jill took her into her arms, embracing her tightly, their lips meeting, “Mmmmmm…..” Chiquita embraced Jill, squeezed her tightly, then relaxed as she went limp in Jill’s arms, her arms falling to dangle at her sides, her warm lips stilled. Jill lowered her inert body, keeping her arm between her shoulders and the tree. She kissed her on the forehead, and the Indian girl slowly opened her eyes.

“O.K. you strip me naked,” she pleaded in a whisper, “pero por favor, no strip Betty. No strip -- .uhhhh…..” Chiquita’s body relaxed as she sighed her last and her jaw dropped in death, her lovely black eyes staring and her mouth half open – dead in Jill’s arms. Jill carefully removed her arm from behind Chiquita’s back and let her back rest against the tree again, her head lolling to the side, dead gaze away from her.

“Sorry, honey, but you and your lover are both going to end up dead and naked over the back of a horse.” She took the dead girl’s chin and turned her face toward her, kissed her slack lips again. Then she gently closed her eyes, kissed her once more, and let Chiquita’s lovely head loll away from her again. She patted her reassuringly on the shoulder.

Juan had appeared as though out of nowhere, a Winchester in his hands. Jill smiled. “Take care of the bodies – except for these two. You’ll find Pablita nude under the bed. We’ll put ‘em all in my little prison hut.” She grinned. “Wash them off a bit too. It’s time for a siesta, and then some breakfast and coffee.” Jill retrieved Betty Azul’s black sombrero and placed it gently over the blonde’s dead face as she lay with her lovely head in her lover’s lap.

She slept for a while, still dressed in the dead Lupe’s clothes, sandals kicked off, seated against the tree with her head on Captain Chiquita’s warm, gray-clad shoulder, the dead bandit girl’s rosewater perfume in her nostrils, Chiquita’s head leaning against her own. Then she awoke, yawned, kissed Chiquita’s cooling brown cheek, and rose. Juan had made a fire nearby, and she drank some sweetened coffee and ate some tortillas and bacon. Then came the task of collecting the bodies. First she stripped naked save for her gunbelt, and paused to consider again the pleasing sight of Chiquita lying dead and barefoot against the tree, with Betty Azul still lying fully dressed and slumped against her. She removed the dead blonde’s sombrero from her face and admired her victim’s beauty. Now all eight bandit girls were accounted for.

Seminole Jill grabbed Azul under her armpits and dragged the black-clad blonde toward the hut where she had been held prisoner, her big spurs jingling as they scored twin trails in the dust, back pressing against Jill’s bare breasts. She was a pleasant burden to lug, but Jill felt relief when she finally dumped her on the floor, her blonde head now against the dead Chata’s brown bare breast. They made a nice contrast, paleface and redskin. While she slept Juan had taken care of the other bodies, lugging the two dead sleepers in from the second hut and also collecting several clean shirts from the dead Chiquita’s wardrobe. The slain women lay piled up limply in a corner as though taking a cozy nap, a pleasant spectacle of bare flesh and lifeless limbs, bare legs straightened and outstretched in death – though Jill noticed that Juan had left his dead mistress Huh with naked legs spread wide to reveal her sex, shaming her in death as she lay with eyes closed and sensuous mouth agape. But he had also tenderly washed the paint from her face, and the adobe dust from her magnificent young body, after stripping away her headband.

Jill walked back to where the captain lay peacefully beneath the tree, lips slightly parted, as though she still breathed. “Siesta time’s over, honey.” She stooped, grabbed Chiquita’s gloved wrist, and slung her svelte body over her bare shoulder, the girl’s gloved hands tickling her back, her bare feet dangling. She patted the dead girl’s gray-clad bottom as she strode along nude, enjoying the utter limpness of her defeated enemy’s body.

Inside, she gently laid the captain’s barefoot body beside her fully dressed lover, turning their faces gently toward each other, both girls with eyes closed and lips parted as though waiting for a last kiss. So Jill provided it for both of them, turning first Betty’s and then Chiquita’s faces towards her to do so, then turning them back toward each other. There was still plenty of time, since the new recruits were not due until that afternoon – and every girl who had posed a threat here in the stronghold was now lying dead at her feet.

Now to attain her ultimate victory: the stripping of the dead Chiquita! She began by searching her enemy’s body systematically, patting her down, feeling under her armpits, between her legs, under her bosom, inside the legs of her pants above her bare feet, exploring her pockets, feeling her groin – finding on the dead girl’s person a few gold coins, tobacco and matches, a gold watch, and a small silver-handled folding knife. She untied the black cravat from about Chiquita’s throat, and unbuttoned her snow-white – save for a small red stain around the .44 bullet hole -- shirt bosom, plunging her exploring hand between the dead woman’s warm brown breasts. She carefully stripped the kid gloves from her nerveless hands, and then rolled the body over. First she removed the jacket from the limp form, so that Chiquita lay face down in her white shirt and gray trousers, barefoot. Then came the shirt, leaving her lovely back bare. Savoring the moment, she stood up, planting her own bare foot on the Mexican girl’s ass, revealed well by the tight trousers. Then she sat down on the bed and smoked a cigarette as she gazed at her victim’s still body.

Finally she rose, and knelt to caress Chiquita’s bare back. She rolled her over, and unbuttoned her trousers before roughly stripping them off, leaving the dead girl utterly nude. She donned the pants, a fresh shirt, the well-cut jacket, the black cravat, the silver-trimmed gray sombrero. Now she was Captain Chiquita! Jill looked at herself in the mirror, then down at the beautiful nude body of her enemy, laid out dead on the floor, tits up, bare toes canted outward, hands at her side, palms up. She surveyed her from her toes up to her trim ankles, her shapely legs, inviting belly, magnificent breasts, beautiful face like an Aztec princess, regal even in death. A small, neat bullet hole showed beneath her left breast. Jill triumphantly placed a bare foot on her victim’s warm chest. “Now the finishing touches.”

She sat down on Chiquita’s tight belly and pulled on the dead woman’s spurred black boots, then stood up again. “Time to get ready to greet my new recruits.” She saluted the dead body of her beautiful and brave opponent, tied on Chiquita’s black silk kerchief as a mask, and stepped outside.

VII. Two More for the Pile

The two new girls arrived an hour later, Rosa and Lolita, olive-skinned mestiza girls in brownish charro costumes, from across the Texas border. Seminole Jill stood facing them, as though she was the bandit leader, hands on hips, exuding cool arrogance. Rosa, on Jill’s left, was a big-figured, pretty wench with boobies obvious under her short jacket, Lolita a slim, fresh-faced girl with a winning smile.

The two girls sat on their horses side by side, and touched their sombreros respectfully to the gray-clad bandit queen who had summoned them to kill the black cowgirl. “Viva Capitan Chiquita!” they cried in unison.

Then Jill removed her mask.

“CUIDADO!” yelled the big girl, pulling her pistol as Jill leveled her own .44 Her friend followed suit, but Jill’s Colt blasted out twice, sounding almost like one shot. She fired at arm’s length, aiming quickly, both bullets hitting home. The two girls cried out as their shots went wild, kicking up the dust well behind their target. The smaller girl tumbled backward off her horse to lie sprawled out with arms and legs spread wide. Rosa pitched forward and slowly toppled from her horse to lie prone in the dust. Jill fired another shot to stampede the two horses and clear the field of battle. She stalked toward the two fallen girls, smoking pistol in hand. Their wide sombreros and pistols lay in the dust near their bodies.

Lolita lay as though dead, but then sat up, bleary-eyed, head lolling as she tried to focus on the gray-clad figure before her. . “Que…?” Jill holstered her revolver – then put a dainty .22 bullet from her new derringer between the girl’s eyes to join the .44 slug in her chest. “Uh!” Lolita flung up her arms and fell back with an erotic moan to sprawl like a starfish, her drawn-up legs sliding out and spreading wide, eyes closed and mouth open to show her splendid white teeth.

Juan approached the big girl as she groaned, face down in the dirt, her hand near her fallen pistol, eyes closed. He knelt, pulled her head back, seized her chin, and twisted her neck with a crack. The girl opened her eyes and yelped as though in surprise. Then her face instantly relaxed as Juan quickly released her head; her cheek hit the dirt, her mouth slack, brown eyes half open beneath slumberous lids. Now both young recruits lay dead. Juan proudly placed his naked foot on the girl’s shapely bottom.

Jill surveyed the body of the big, curvaceous mestiza beauty. “Close her eyes,” she told Juan. “And after you carry her into the hut, strip off her clothes and put them on. She’s a big girl, so they should fit – even her boots.”

The boy grinned. “Si, senora.” He rolled the big girl over, closed her eyes with thumb and forefinger, and slung her heavy body over his bare shoulder with a grunt. When he returned to get the other girl, Jill looked up from systematically searching the dead body of the recruit. Juan was now the picture of a well-dressed vaquero, pistols at his silver-trimmed belt, sombrero at a rakish angle. Only a tiny bloodstain on the jacket’s front and a little dust marred the picture. Jill grinned, thinking of the voluptuous naked corpse lying inside the hut, and drew her hand from in between Lolita’s breasts.

Juan waited until Jill’s search of the dead girl’s person was completed. Then they took the fresh-faced Lolita under the arms and knees and carried her booted feet first into the hut, where Juan helped Jill strip her naked – seeming to enjoy his work -- and laid her out to join the others in a voluptuous heap in a corner. But first Jill had him roll both recruits’ nude corpses over. She checked the two young girls’ buttocks as they lay side by side and face down, and found that they were indeed bare of tattoos – as well as everything else. Then she rolled them onto their backs again. Lolita had a neat bloodless bullet hole in her breast, and a smaller, even neater one in her forehead. “Nice shooting,” muttered Jill, “if I do say so myself.” She bound the dead Huh’s red headband neatly around Lolita’s forehead, and kissed her young mouth tenderly. Lolita’s dead comrade had no visible wounds on her impressive boobies, since Jill’s bullet had caught Rosa true and deep in her well-formed navel. Jill squeezed the big girl’s tits merrily.

She surveyed her prizes: one pale blonde, one black girl, a Chinese beauty, and seven Indian or mestiza wenches, including the two slain Apaches. In all, ten bandit girls lay dead at her feet.

She strode over to the pale body of Betty Azul, who lay in all her naked beauty with a bullet hole in her upper breast, piercing her wicked heart, still beside the lovely bronzed form of her lover. Jill had taken special pleasure in stripping the deliciously dead blonde against the dying bandit queen’s wishes – though she had left about Betty’s neck a slim gold chain with a heart-shaped locket, containing her lover’s photograph -- and now nudged Chiquita in the ribs with her booted foot. “Now you’re too dead to be of use to your sweetheart,” she mused aloud, “and I’m the one who’s killed you and taken your clothing and black mask.” She knelt beside the dead, naked blonde, leaned over her, lay atop her, whispering. “Forget about that dead India lying naked beside you. Now I am Captain Chiquita. Now it is I who am your lover.” She kissed Betty Azul’s warm lips, parted as though in anticipation, and held Chiquita’s limp hand as she did so.

VIII. A Cartful of Muchachas

Juan appeared near the hut driving a small cart drawn by two mules. After they had placed in it some extra saddles, weapons, and other plunder, including blankets for cushioning, it was time to dispose of the bodies of Chiquita’s dead bodyguards. First came Chata, Jill taking her dusky bare legs and the grinning slave grabbing her under her generous breasts, the dead Apache girl seeming to pout sullenly as they bore her to the cart and laid her inside sitting up with head sunk on her impressive chest. Next, Huh got the same treatment, lying beside the other wild, but now very peaceful Indian girl, Jill carefully letting her head rest on Chata’s bare shoulder. Third was black Lupe, as naked as the two slain Apache girls, her head thrown back, sensous mouth slack in death, bare feet resting against Chata’s belly. Fourth was sweet Pablita, Jill doing the job herself, slinging the naked corpse over her shoulder and relishing the feel of her lover’s warm satiny flesh as she approached the cart. She laid her in quite tenderly. The grateful Jill was careful in arranging her brown body so that her head rested on Lupe’s dark breast. She looked fresh and innocent, and rather than bear her away totally nude, Jill had had Juan support Pablita in a sitting position while Jill placed a serape over her head, leaving her beautiful bare limbs still exposed. Then, after Juan laid her back against Lupe’s dark bosom, Jill kissed her, and placed a freshly picked cactus rose between the girl’s teeth.

“Thanks for knocking me out, honey,” Jill whispered to the dead girl. “Instead of picking off some stray bandida slut, I got to wipe out the whole gang from inside your stronghold!”

Esmeralda and May Lee were added to the cargo, the Chinese girl carried romantically in Juan’s arms.and placed with lips against Chata’s full bare breast. Esmeralda was eased in so that her cheek rested nicely against Pablita’s neck. Now all the dead guards were accounted for. Jill stood with hands on hips and surveyed the beautiful, cooling bodies. “Six. That’s enough for the cart,” she said. “You drive. But first…” She kissed the former slave boy fiercely on the lips. “We must attend to the others.” Juan threw a big tarpaulin over the contents of the cart, seizing a bare foot (Esmeralda’s) dangling over the cart’s side and tucking it under the cover.

Four more cooling female bodies would be strapped to horses. The dead, naked Betty Azul made a satisfactory fleshy slap as they slung her fair blonde form over the horse, her bare flesh warmed by his bare back. The fallen blonde’s fair skin showed the red tattoo on her backside particularly well. Jill carefully lifted up her lifeless head by her braid, gazing into her sleepy, slack face. She bent to kiss the dead blonde on the lips, tenderly, lingeringly, before releasing her hair and letting her head flop back, the thin gold chain dangling from her dead throat. She unwove the thick braid and let Betty’s flaxen hair fall about her face. Next came the two new recruits, with their smooth tan bodies bearing no tattoos at all. Jill frowned. Would she be able to claim them as Cuchillo Rojo members? The only way to find out was to lug the corpses in and see, she decided with a sigh of resignation, and slapped Rosa’s meaty buttocks.

Chiquita’s magnificent brown body was last, dragged over by Juan with his hands under her breasts. She hung limp and naked in Juan’s arms, sleepy-faced, lips parted, white teeth showing, supported almost as though standing up, and together he and Jill slung her over the saddle bow of her own horse. There was a groan ---“uhhh” --- from between the girl’s parted lips, but it was only some air in the body, for she was quite dead. Jill caressed her enemy’s dangling legs and feet, then tied her big toes together with thin rawhide cord. A leather lariat was tightened around her dead ankles and drawn under the horse’s belly before being looped around her lovely limp hands. Jill raised Chiquita’s head, kissed her as she had Betty, then gently lowered her head so that it hung limp. She kissed her bare back. Then Jill put her booted foot into the stirrup and swung herself into the saddle. She looked very good dressed in Chiquita’s gray charro suit, and felt even better, while on the saddle before her was slung the naked corpse of the bandit queen who would have killed her. “Now I get to play you, chica,” she mused, her hand resting on Chiquita’s cooling buttocks, “and you get to play dead. I’ve got your clothes and your body too!” She tied the triangle of black silk kerchief about her mouth and nose again, and untied the black silken ribbon confining Chiquita’s hair in a bun. A shower of long jet-black hair came down around the girl’s dead face as she hung with head down.

Now if they could only avoid the Mexican army outpost near the river crossing….or bluff their way through….

FIN
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