Losing Wickes Town of whores caused quite a stir of resentment in the surrounding townships. There were plenty of men who were happy to pay for a few sweaty minutes of pleasure with something other than their own good hand. Having an honest to god, flesh and blood woman spreading her legs for them was like a slice of heaven itself, and far better than the alternative that gave some sheep farmers a bad name... least according to the cattle barons.
Chris had been one of those men who'd shown an interest in the whores in Wickes Town, taking a fancy to Lydia on his first trip out there and going back for seconds when he realized he could lose himself for a few hours with no strings attached. At least, that's what he had believed right up until she rolled into town with a bunch of whores, looking to escape Wickes's brutality.
Well, Wickes was gone now, and so was the tent city of whores, scattered across the territory. Chris knew most of those women would end up whoring elsewhere, hopefully under better working conditions than the one they just left. Even the ones that Ezra had tried to educate had headed out, looking to turn their livelihood into a thriving business in the city, and Chris was relieved that Lydia had left with them.
Problem was, he was now back to using his hand for some temporary relief unless he was prepared to make a round trip to Purgatory. It didn't help none that Mary had taken even more of a shine to him since he rescued her from Wickes, half-expecting him to start courting her once her rival--Lydia--rolled out of town. He liked Mary.... but she was no Sarah. He couldn't see himself settling down with her and raising horses and children. Hell, he couldn't see that happening with any woman after having that dream with Sarah, and losing her and his boy.
Part of him wished for the uncomplicated days of his youth, before he met a certain fiery-haired woman who stole his heart away, and looking back on those times with a likely mistaken sense of nostalgia. He recalled the years before he met Sarah, moving from town to town as a hired gun, slowly honing his skills. It wasn't enough to clear the gun from his holster faster than the other man, he had to shoot straight too. Take the man down before he was taken down. It was why he was still alive when the occasional man who was faster than him was pushing up daisies in the local cemetery. In that split second they missed, and he didn't.
Chris sank down on his bed and pushed his hands through his sweaty hair. It was hot today. Too hot for working on Josiah's church or even for sitting on the porch outside the sheriff's office. There was no breeze to clear the smoke and heat from inside the saloon, leaving it like a furnace, though he felt too jittery for sitting around drinking whiskey anyways. His body was sparking with coiled tension, and he knew of only one sure way to take the edge off. Problem was, every time he took himself in hand these days, letting his mind drift over the curves and other delights of a woman he'd known intimately, his fantasy turned sour on him. Having a real woman made a difference. The scent of perfume and feminine sweat overpowered his senses, and the real curves and skin beneath his hands swept away the memories of what he'd lost, letting him sink into the moment.
He glanced across at the closed door, knowing he'd locked it, and made a decision to at least take off the clothing that was sticking to his skin in this damn heat. He pulled off his dusty boots and set them close by before pulling off his shirt and pants. His underclothing was soaked in sweat so he stripped that off too, standing naked in his room. Even though he felt no breeze from the slightly opened double hung window, he felt better for losing the clothing sticking to his sweating body.
It was then that he caught his reflection in the long dressing mirror stood in the corner of the room. Slowly, he touched himself, gliding a hand over his almost hairless chest and surprising himself by a shock of pleasure when his callused trigger finger rubbed over a nipple. He tried it again, rubbing over and over the tight bud in small circles, fascinated by the sight of his cock filling, lengthening and slowly tilting up until it was standing proud from his body. Keeping his eyes firmly on his reflection, he smoothed his other hand down across his belly, feeling the muscle tighten in response, slipping down with fingers trailing through the thickening curls of dark blond hair to his groin. Slowly he stroked one finger along the length of his cock from the base, rubbing over the sensitive head until a pearl drop of come beaded at the tip. He smeared it over the head, shuffling a little to spread his legs wider for better access to the heavy sac hanging below. He moaned softly as he cradled the weight of his balls, gently squeezing them. In the reflection of the room, he saw the tin of gun oil within arm's reach and, decision made, he grabbed for it, flicking open the lid and scooping out two fingers worth. He smeared it along the length of his cock then wrapped his fingers around the shaft, letting the heat of his skin and friction of his palm and fingers warm the oil until his hand was gliding up and down smoothly. Pinching hard on the nipple, he watched the reflection of his hand as if it was a stranger's, feeling the pleasure tightening in his belly and thighs, building quickly as the painful pinches crossed the boundary into pure pleasure... forcing his eyes to stay open as he fucked his own hand harder and harder until spurts of come splattered against his belly and over his busy hand.
With legs trembling from the intense release, he staggered back and sank onto the edge of the bed before falling backwards onto the mattress with his feet still flat on the floor; he stared unseeing at the ceiling above him as his body sang with pleasure. After a while, he ragged breathing slowed, and he began to grin until a strange thought occurred to him.
He wondered if anyone would think it strange if he put the mirror on the ceiling?