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Thursday 9 January 2014

The Marshal Page 6

Page 6
"Guess I'd better bring a couple of hands along in case somebody tries to break it up," Viking said.
"No, don't do that. He's respected but not much liked and nobody will interfere. Fact is, more than
a few will enjoy it. But if they think its more than man on man, they'll expect me to step in. And if I don't they will.

                                                           Chapter 6

The hitching posts out front of the hotel and saloon were full and Viking had to go away along the street to tether his horse. He was wearing a snug-fitting buckskin shirt, open to then navel and his tightest levis. Walking along the sandy street, he enjoyed the feel of the rough denim rubbing his rock-hard cock and the looks it was attrracting. He saw that a big man was standing, legs wide spread, in front of the saloon doors. As he came up the wooden steps the man said,
"Sorry mister, you can't enter unless you've got business with the town committee."
"I've got business with the Marshal," Viking snarled and roughly shoving the man aside, pushed
open the saloon doors.

The six guys that made up the committee, sitting at a long table, stared at Viking and the men seated at round tables scattered around the huge room turned their heads to gape. It had gone so quiet, you could have heard a flea fart fifty yards away. Viking stood feet apart, arms held a foot or so away from his hips, and glared at Bradburn, who sat with Corky near the long table. The Marshal fixed his eyes on the hand, with fingers curled, so near Viking's gun, and, also holding his arms away from his body, slowly stood up.
"What the fuck do you want, Ohlson?"
"I came here to give you a thrashin'," Viking replied and began to unbuckle his gunbelt. "Shootin's too good for you."
Bradburn made no reply, but his hands went to his buckle. Viking threw aside his gunbelt and watched the Marshal undo his. Neither man was wearing chaps and Viking could see that the bastard was fully hard.  Awesome though the sight was, it was the massive bulge of Bradburn's  bollocks that interested him most. Brawling had taught Viking a lot and he saw that as the key to besting this smaller but immensely strong man.

Bradburn dropped his gunbelt on the table and, stepping around it, moved out to face Viking. He had a moment to sense that Viking was a harder and meaner man than when they last had fought, before he had to duck a punch to his head. In the same instant, he stepped forward and drove his fist into Viking's belly. The blond cowboy grunted and it seemed that he would fall back. But it was a feint and, as Bradburn moved forward again he took a tremendous blow to the side of the head. He staggered sideways and received a hard punch to the mouth. His ears still ringing from the first blow to his head, Bradburn stepped back but Viking moved in again with a hail of punches. Twisting and ducking, Bradburn dodged or deflected most and delivered a hard left and then a right cross to Viking's head. Now with his ears ringing, Viking drew back.

Warily the two men circled each other, trading punches and Corky felt a stab of excitement each time Viking's huge fists struck home. He saw that by keeping Bradburn outside his longer reach, Viking was able to deliver punches with impunity. But again and again, Bradburn managed to get in close and deliver hard telling blows before Viking could drive him back. Both men were now bleeding and weakening but sported rock-hard erections, as probably did most of those watching, Corky thought.

Viking knew that he had to let Bradburn in if he was to deliver the deciding blow. And this was proving difficult and dangerous. The bastard, close to, was devastating. Bradburn surged forward and slipped on the blood that was beginning to splatter the wooden floor. He was momentarily off balance and Viking, seeing his chance, drove his knee up into the bulge between Bradburn's wide-spread thighs. The force and viciousness of the blow drew a collective gasp from the watching men. Bradburn gave an explosive grunt and as he bucked forward, Viking swung up his fist, with all his weight behind it, in an uppercut to his chin. The Marshal's head snapped back and the power of the punch lifted him off his feet and flung him backwards. Unable to contain his excitement, Corky leapt up as Bradburn crashed to the floor and lay spreadeagled on his back. Stepping forward quickly, Viking stamped down on the Marshal's groin and ground his bollocks under the heel of his boot.  Bradburn's roar of pain was drowned by a huge cheer from the watching men, most of whom were now on their feet.

Reaching down, Viking yanked the badly dazed Marshal to his feet. "Now you're gonna get the thrashin' you deserve," he snarled. But only Bradburn heard above the din. They squared up again
and Viking threw a haymaker. Bradburn ducked, flung a return punch, missed and took two jabs in the belly and a hard right cross that made him reel. He deflected the next blow to his head but took a flurry of jarring punches to the body. He drove a punch at Viking's jaw but the blond cowboy rode it and moved in again with two blows that rocked B|radburn's head from side to side. The Marshal stumbled back and stood swaying on his feet as his world tilted alarmingly. Viking's body thrummed with excitement and elation sang in his blood. Beating a man was better than an orgasm and he'd only just started on this big-dicked ape. His fist made a loud wet thud as he drove it into Bradburn's spunk sodden package and the Marshal skittered backwards, tripped over a chair and crashed to the floor again. Viking hauled him up by his shirt front, and slammed him hard against one the bar's ornate wooden pillars and pinned him to it with a beefy forearm across his throat. As the weakened Marshal struggled to dislodge the choking arm, Viking looked down at his target, the bulging groin. Bradburn's massive rock-hard cock was held at right-angles by the tight damp denim giving Viking a clear view of the truly impressive bollocks. "You've had this coming for years, you bastard," he hissed and drove his fist hard into them. Bradburn gave a loud bark of pain and as he sagged against the pillar his thighs spread wider. Now Viking slammed his fist into the fully exposed balls and felt them spread under his knuckles. Bradburn fought desperately for breath, and as he tried to tear away the arm that was crushing his throat, took two more hard punches in the balls. He was losing consiousness and he slumped further down the pillar as his balls were savagely pounded. Finally Viking's straining arm could no longer support the weight of the sagging muscular man and he drew back. Bradburn slid down the pillar onto his knees and pitched forward on to his face.

Like all bullies, Viking underestimated his victim. While he smiled around at the cheering men, Bradburn pushed himself up onto his knees. His world steadied and ignoring the pain of his battered balls, he reached into himself, seeking strength. He found rage. It boiled up, engulfing him, and when he looked up, he saw the preening Viking through a red mist. With a roar of fury he came off the floor
and charged. He slammed into the gaping cowboy and they both crashed to the ground. Bradburn pinned Viking down with his thighs and delivered a series of hammer blows to his head. Struggling

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