Chapter Text
Josephine Conway was not yet 20 years old but already her life had taken a drastic and unwelcome turn. With her mother's untimely passing still fresh and the grief still weighing heavily upon her, Josephine now found herself being unceremoniously shipped off to a distant convent by her father - a man who had seemingly grown tired of his daughter in her time of greatest need. The long, arduous journey to the nunnery lay ahead, Josephine trapped for hours on end in the confines of a stuffy old stagecoach alongside their town's overbearing, judgmental parish priest. It was a bleak and isolating situation, made all the more disheartening by the knowledge that back home, the recently widowed Mrs. Beech was already busying herself with plans to move into Josephine's former home, clearly intending to marry the girl's father and insert her own brood of snot-nosed children into the household. In many ways, the cold, lonely halls of the convent presented a preferable alternative to that prospect. The world no longer held a place for her, it was the thought she kept coming back to as she wrung her hands in the faded lilac fabric of her skirt. As the stagecoach rumbled on towards her uncertain future, Josephine could only hope that the nunnery might offer her some respite from the grief and anger.
As their journey continued, the priest droned on and on, as he extolled the supposed virtues of a life dedicated to the service of the divine. His eyes, however, betrayed his true inclinations, repeatedly drifting down to linger lecherously upon the gentle curves of Josephine's chest. Clearly focused on more than just the silver necklace of her mothers that she now wore. As the carriage jostled along the uneven road, the priest's knees would occasionally brush against hers, the brief, unexpected contact sending a shiver of repulsion down her spine. There were still many hours on the journey remaining and as the pious platitudes continued tumbling from his lips Josephine could only hope the priest’s roving hands would remain still.
She had never been someone of great faith, holding little belief in the divine, but even she found the priest's flagrant hypocrisy deeply abhorrent. How could one who claimed to have dedicated his life to the service of God and all that is good exhibit such blatantly lascivious behavior? The dissonance was almost too much for her to bear, and she longed for the journey to be over, if only to escape his unctuous presence.
The priest's homily was mercifully cut short when out of the blue the coach shuddered to a halt. Josephine watched with barely restrained relief as he called out to the driver, inquiring as to the reason for their unexpected stop. In that moment, she cared little for the answer, simply grateful for the reprieve from his false piety and unwanted attentions. She had always detested insincerity in any form, much preferring honest dishonesty to dishonest honesty.
However, Josephine's momentary relief was short-lived, as the unmistakable crack of gunshots suddenly pierced the air, swiftly followed by a dull, ominous thud from the driver's perch above. The priest, his noble ambitions clearly abandoned, immediately dove beneath the stagecoach seat, cowering in fear as a shadowy figure approached their carriage door. Josephine, left exposed and vulnerable to the unknown threat that now loomed before her. Her heart pounding in her chest as she braced for the confrontation to come, her blue-green eyes wide with panic. At least, she comforted herself, she might be seeing her dear mother once again, far sooner than expected.
The coach door opened and the figure was revealed to be a man with shoulder length blond, unkempt hair and thick moustache obscuring much of his face, while his piercing blue eyes inspected the stagecoach interior. A pair of ornate, revolvers hung poised in his hands, their deadly muzzles aimed directly at Josephine's trembling form. She tried to steel herself against the fear that threatened to overwhelm her, but the dark, foreboding expression on the man's face left little doubt that they were in grave peril.
"Alright, you two," the man drawled, his voice laced with danger, "hand over all your valuables." His menacing demeanour heightening the sense of panic that gripped Josephine's chest like a vice. The priest, still cowering beneath the seat, let out a whimper, his hands shaking uncontrollably.
With a snort of laughter, the outlaw prodded the cowering priest with one of his weapons. "Come on, padre," he drawled, his voice laced with disdain, "I didn't expect a man of your sort to be so yellow. You're supposed to be a man of God, ain’t you? Well, you ain’t look like much but a slimy worm."
Josephine watched as the outlaw grabbed the priest by his collar and hauled him roughly out from beneath the stagecoach seat. The priest, his face beet-red, struggled futilely against his captor's iron grip. "Please," he wheezed, his voice trembling with terror, "I-I can be of service to you. I can help you."
The outlaw, merely laughed derisively, his mouth twisted into a cruel sneer. "Oh, yeah? And how's that?" he drawled, waving his revolver casually in the air. "You gonna pray for dear Micah Bell’s soul?" He gestured to himself, presumably Micah Bell, before giving the priest a rough shove, sending him stumbling back against the coach. "You almost ain’t worth the bullet it'd take to put you out of your misery."
Before Josephine could say or do anything to help, the priest made a sudden pathetic lunge for one of this Micah's revolvers. With a cold, detached expression, Micah raised his other weapon and pulled the trigger twice in quick succession. The shots almost deafening at such close proximity, but Josephine still heard the dull, meaty, thuds as the bullets found their mark. The priest's body jerked violently before he crumpled to the ground with a gurgling moan.
The outlaw, Micah, seemingly unphased by the brutal act he had just committed, turned his attention back to Josephine. His piercing blue eyes bored into her murky blue-greens, and, to her eternal shame, she felt a shiver of excitement run through her. "Well, missy," he drawled, his voice as cold as ice, "I guess that leaves just the two of us now." He gestured to the fresh bloody corpse at his feet with one of his revolvers. "It seems that our friend here weren’t much of a help after all."
As he spoke, Micah inched closer to Josephine, climbing into the stage, his body language and proximity growing increasingly intimidating. She could feel the heat radiating off him, and his intoxicating scent mixed with gunpowder and coppery blood filled her nostrils. She forced herself not to tremble, determined not to show him any weakness. He was undoubtedly older than her, but something about his confidence, his dominance, was enticing.
Micah kept moving closer, reaching out for the silver chain that had been her mother’s. Josephine flinched when the rough pad of his finger brushed against her delicate skin as he lifted the fine metal, twisting it round before suddenly yanking it free from her neck. The motion pulled her forward, their faces now mere inches apart. She couldn’t help but stare at him, the scar that ran down his chin, the coarse blond hair, his icy blue eyes. Those eyes watched her with something like amusement, he saw her looking at him, surveying him. Josephine felt her face heat as she dropped her eyes back down, focusing on her hands clasped nervously in front of her. Micah reached out and almost softly brushed a strand of her mousy brown hair away from her face, before tilting her head back up to meet his gaze, his touch igniting an unwelcome warmth in her. "You're a pretty thing ain’t ya?" he murmured, his voice low and raspy. "A real prize."
His scrutiny traveled down her body, taking in her gentle curves, and Josephine couldn’t help but lap up the feeling of being desired by this man. It felt so different to the priest’s lechery. She had never been with a man before, let alone even met one anything like this dominant and utterly ruthless outlaw. To her disgust, she wanted him. Wanted to feel his rough hands on her skin, his chapped lips on hers. She shouldn’t want it, and yet she had to fight not to lean closer.
Micah moved closer instead. Moving forward until their bodies were pressed together, his broader chest against her soft breasts. Futilely, she pushed at his shoulders, her delicate fingers straining to put distance between them, but Micah refused to relent, his arm snaking around her waist to pull her against him. Their bodies flush in the confines of the coach. She could feel the heat emanating from him, his scent filling her senses, making her head spin. He lowered his head, his lips brushing against her ear, and whispered, "You know what I want, don't ya?"
Josephine could feel her heart pounding rapidly, her mind nearly numb with conflicting terror and thrilling anticipation. Overwhelmed at the prospect of what this dangerous outlaw intended to do to her. Nodding mutely, she breathed out a barely audible "yes," knowing full well that she was powerless to resist the man’s advances.
Micah's grip on her body further tightened, his fingers practically clawing into her dress. He pulled her impossibly closer, grinding himself against her with a smirk, and she could feel the hard length of his arousal pressing against her. "You're gonna give it up for me, ain’t you?" he growled with a mischievous glint in his eyes. She knew deep down she should be afraid, that she was in the clutches of a ruthless criminal, a man who had just committed murder right in front of her, but his touch ignited a fire within her that she had never experienced before.
“I…I haven’t ever…” Josephine struggled to find the words, looking up at his face from beneath her lashes.
Micah's grin widened, a gold tooth flashing in the dim light of the stagecoach as he eyed the young woman before him. "A virgin, huh? Well ain't that somethin'," he practically purred, his words dripping with a vicious hunger. His coarse hands began to wander over her body, calloused fingers mapping out the delicate curves hidden beneath the fabric of her dress, as if staking his claim on this innocent prey. With a swift, forceful motion, he maneuvered her back onto the worn seat, his grip on her hips tight and unyielding, trapping her in place. Josephine's eyes went wide with shock and distress, a small, frightened sound escaping her lips as he physically demonstrated how completely at his mercy she was.
"Don't you worry, darlin'," he murmured, his tone oscillating between a threatening growl and a deceptively soothing croon. "I'll take reeeeal good care of ya."
Kneeling on the hard floor of the coach, he pushed apart her trembling legs and positioned himself firmly between them, his large, calloused hands sliding up her legs in a way that was simultaneously rough and tender. Slowly, deliberately, he reached beneath her skirts, even as Josephine tried in vain to hold them down, to preserve what little modesty she might have left. But he easily carried on, his hands reaching higher before pushing aside the delicate fabric of her undergarments. She tried to close her legs, to deny him access, but with him wedged between them, there was no hope of escape. His fingers found her most intimate place, stroking the length of her folds with a gentle touch that belied his rough exterior. Josephine bit down hard on her lip, torn between the excitement and the creeping fear that gripped her, unsure if she wanted him to stop or to continue.
Leaning in closer, Micah inhaled deeply, as if savoring her scent, eyes filled with unbridled desire, before lowering his head and beginning to lavish her with the tantalising caress of his tongue. The sensations that rippled through her were a heady mix of pleasure and unease, leaving her helpless to resist.
As he worked her with his mouth, Micah's rough hands continued to roam up over her body, pushing aside fabric and decency alike, caressing her backside, her stomach, her still trembling thighs. He moaned into her, his hot breath fanning her delicate skin, driving her wild with a desire she knew she should not feel. His tongue found a rhythm, swishing over her most sensitive spot, teasing her with each pass across the throbbing bundle of nerves. Josephine arched her back, instinctively pressing herself against his face, desperate for more, her inhibitions crumbling in the face of this relentless, predatory assault on her body.
Micah's piercing gaze held Josephine captive as a wicked grin spread across his rugged features, the coarse scratch of his facial hair adding a tantalising sensation to the overwhelming stimulation of Josephine's body. With a deft touch, he used two calloused fingers to pry open her intimate folds, exposing the glistening, sensitive flesh within. Josephine shuddered as Micah slowly pushed his warm, wet tongue past her quivering entrance, the muscle pulsing rhythmically as he explored her most private space. The intrusion elicited a gasp from her, she squirmed at the somewhat uncomfortable feeling, but Micah's strong arm clamped firmly across her hips, pinning her in place as he delved deeper, his tongue stroking and probing her inner walls. Josephine could only grasp desperately at the edge of the coach seat, her fingers clenching so tightly it bordered on painful, as the overwhelming sensations threatened to consume her.
Micah let out a dark, rumbling chuckle, the vibrations adding to the torment, before scraping his teeth teasingly against Josephine's tender flesh, drawing another shuddering gasp from her lips. Still holding her open with his fingers, he shifted his focus to the swollen, sensitive nub at the apex of her sex, running his teeth over it in a threatening caress before closing his lips around it and suckling hungrily. Josephine's world narrowed to the relentless, pulsing pleasure radiating from that single point of contact, her mind reeling from the onslaught of sensation and the reckless impropriety in which they were engaged.
The tension continued building inside her, the tightness in her core growing near unbearable. She cried out, her hands moving to grip at Micah’s hair, her hips trying to buck against his face as the wave of pleasure washed over her. Micah growled in satisfaction, lapping at her as she peaked, his rough hands holding her steady, his tongue never ceasing its ministrations.
When the tremors of her climax finally subsided, Micah pulled back, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand and tilting his head as he gazed upon Josephine's exposed, swollen sex with undisguised admiration. “Look at that, bet ya been walking round with this pussy dripping for years just waiting for someone like me to come and ruin it.” Micah's words sent a shiver down Josephine's spine. He moved up and leaned over her, his lips finding her ear. His teeth traced the delicate curve, teasing her. His hands moved from her hips, up her sides, cupping her breasts through her dress. He roughly chaffed her nipples through the fabric, eliciting a moan from deep within her that coloured her cheeks red. As he continued to explore her, his fingers never still, his mouth never far from her skin, she felt herself leaning into his touch. Her body ached for him, wanting him inside her, everything felt so new, so different. She pushed against him but this time pressing her breasts into his hands, instinctively offering herself up to him.
“Little whore ain’t ya?” He smirked, and she should feel offended but Josephine only wanted more. Wanted him to speak to her so harshly, in this way that no one ever had before.
Josephine gasped as Micah's rough hands found her hips, pulling her down from the seat and laying her back against the hardwood floor of the stagecoach. Her dress shoved higher up around her waist, leaving her pale, soft thighs and smooth stomach exposed. The dim, flickering lamplight inside the coach cast long, ominous shadows across Micah's rugged features, making his eyes appear to glow with an almost feral, animalistic hunger as he loomed over her.
He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her neck. "You're so fuckin’ eeeeasy," he growled, his words cutting through her like a knife and making her stomach twist with a mixture of fear and shameful arousal. His fingers began tracing tantalizing patterns along the tender flesh of her exposed thighs and stomach, teasing and taunting her, as she lay helpless beneath him. Meanwhile, there was the faint, telltale rustle of fabric as his other hand hastily moved to unfasten and shove down his pants, freeing his straining manhood in preparation for what was to come.
Josephine leant up, blue-green eyes wide and mouth agape, as Micah sat back on his haunches, one hand wrapped firmly around his thick, turgid length. Veins pulsed visibly along the swollen shaft, the skin of the weeping tip looking impossibly tight, almost painful. Josephine had never seen a man in such a state of arousal before, and the sheer size and girth of his exposed member left her both fascinated and deeply intimidated. Micah watched her reactions like a hawk, a smug, predatory smirk playing across his rugged features as he began to slowly, deliberately stroke himself, putting his throbbing, engorged flesh on shameless display.
Her breath came faster as he leaned in closer, his hot breath tickling the sensitive skin at the base of her throat. He lowered his lips to her ear, his voice a low, menacing growl that sent shivers down her spine. "You're gonna take all this, ain’t you?" His fingers dug into her hip, the pressure close to painful. "You're gonna take all of my fat cock in that tight little pussy," He punctuated each word with a long, slow stroke of his erection. His body hanging over her in the cramped space of the stagecoach.
Josephine couldn't speak, could barely breathe as she nodded, her eyes fixed on the sight of his hand moving up and down his thick length. She felt herself growing wetter at the thought of feeling him inside her, of being penetrated and stretched by his size. Her hips rolled upward, automatically seeking more contact, more friction.
Micah chuckled darkly, his hand moving faster as he watched her helpless reaction. He leaned down, his lips pressing against her neck, sucking and nipping at her skin, clearly wanting to leave a mark. "Gonna make ya take all of it." His free hand moved down between her legs once more, roughly parting her folds. Josephine let out a muffled moan as she felt the hot, firm pressure of his calloused thumb teasing mercilessly against her throbbing clit, her body on fire with lust.
She couldn't believe how much she wanted this. Wanted him. His rough hands, his harsh words. She arched her back further, her hips bucking upward in a plea for more. "Please, Micah," she whispered, her voice hoarse and unrecognisable.
He growled in response. Leaning in even closer, his hot breath against the sensitive skin of her neck. "Look at how much ya fuckin’ want it," he whispered, his voice rough with desire. "An’ I'm gonna make sure you remember who did these things to ya." He rubbed the thick head of his length against Josephine’s core, teasing relentlessly. Josephine squirmed, desperate for more, overcome by sheer need.
With a sudden, powerful thrust, Micah pushed himself inside her, stretching her in one motion. Josephine cried out, the sting of pain quickly giving way to a sensation so overwhelming she wasn't sure if it was pleasure or agony. His rough hands dug into her hips, holding her steady as he began to rock slowly back and forth, each stroke sending shockwaves of sensation through her body.
“Shit ya even tighter than I expected,” Micah panted, slowly grinding his hips against hers before starting to thrust into her in earnest.
He growled with each thrust, his hips colliding against her with almost brutal force, driving himself deeper inside her. One of his hands moved to grip her shoulder, holding her immobile as he took her roughly, relentlessly. The sounds of their flesh slapping together echoed in the confined space of the coach, and with each passing moment, Josephine could feel herself once again growing closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.
Micah's thrusts grew faster and more intense, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he fought to control his own mounting pleasure. He leaned forward, his weight pinning her down, and his lips found hers, crushing her mouth beneath his, his tongue thrusting roughly inside, teeth scraping at her lips. Josephine did nothing but lay back and take it, completely overwhelmed. Legs spread for this outlaw who didn’t even know her name.
As she felt herself beginning to approach the brink, she rocked her hips, pressing her body against his, her nails now digging into his shoulders, bucking wildly in rhythm with his thrusts. She could feel the pressure building inside her, the sensation of her body about to explode with pleasure, and with a hoarse cry, she came, her body convulsing around him, her inner walls clenching tightly on his still thrusting length.
Micah growled in response, feeling her orgasm nearly trigger his own. He fought the urge to come, not yet ready to end this. He held her pinned beneath him, their chests heaving, breaths coming in ragged gasps. His hands moved to her hair, tangling in the soft strands, he pulled, urging her to look up at him.
Her eyes were glassy with pleasure, her lips swollen from his bruising kisses. He could see the lust still burning bright in her gaze, and it sent a shiver down his spine. "You're a fuckin’ animal," he breathed, his voice rough with desire, “so I’m gonna fuck ya like one.” He pulled out and flipped Josephine over, grabbing her hips to pull her up onto her knees.
She cried out weakly as she felt his length slide back inside her, still so wet and slick from their combined arousal. Micah growled in approval, thrusting harshly, the force of it making her backside clap against his hips. His hands gripped tightly to her thighs, holding her still as he took her so possessively.
He began to move faster, his hips colliding against her with near brutal force. She could feel him stretching and filling her, his weight pressing down on her back, holding her in place. The sounds of their flesh slapping together filled the confined space of the coach, and with each passing moment, her body was overcome with an unyielding need for release once more.
Micah's grip on her thighs tightened, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he fought to control himself. He leaned forward, his chest pressed against her back, his lips brushing against her ear. "That's it," he growled, "take it all." His hips bucked roughly, driving himself deeper inside her with each thrust.
The stagecoach rocked with each of his thrusts into her, the wooden planks below creaking beneath their weight. Josephine could feel her body begin to tremble on the edge of yet another orgasm. She could feel him, feel the way he filled her, how he owned her. She cried out, her nails digging into the wood beneath her as she was consumed by the sensation of his relentless pounding.
And then he pulled out, sliding free from her wet heat, leaving her aching and empty. She felt his hot seed splash across her backside, painting a wet line up and down her lower spine. She let out a groan of frustration as he held her hips steady.
“What’s that?” He chuckled breathlessly, “ya still want more?” He flipped her over again, onto her back, spitting onto her sex and running his fingers through the damp mess of her.
She gasps as he presses two fingers into her, circling her clit with his thumb. He began to move his fingers inside her, matching the rhythm of his thumb as he teased her sensitive nub. Her hips bucked upwards, meeting his thrusts as she tried to get closer to the edge of pleasure.
She cried out, her body arching off the floor as her final orgasm crashed over her. Her inner muscles clamped down on his fingers, her hips bucking wildly as she was consumed by the pleasure. He kept up his relentless pace, his thumb pressing harder against her swollen nub as she came down from her high.
In an almost dreamlike state, Josephine reached out for the silver necklace still twisted in Micah’s fingers. Micah snorted and let her take it, “Guess you earned it,” he shrugged.
Josephine watched as Micah backed away from her, his movements brisk, straightening his disheveled clothes as if the encounter that had just transpired had been nothing more than a minor diversion. Without a word, he turned and made his way back out of the confines of the coach, leaving Josephine to hastily rearrange her own rumpled, disheveled appearance before exiting.
As Josephine emerged, her gaze was immediately drawn to the lifeless form of the priest, still lying motionless where he had fallen amid the churned-up dirt of the secluded roadway. It was a jarring sight, a stark reminder that the surreal, almost dreamlike quality of the immediate past had in fact been all too real. Josephine found herself momentarily disoriented, as if the world had shifted beneath her feet - how could everything have changed so dramatically in such a short span of time? Yet there was the evidence, plain as day, in the form of the fallen clergyman and the stickiness on her lower back. Josephine hesitated, uncertain of her next move, as she watched Micah mount a dark steed and prepare to depart, clearly intending to leave her alone to contend with the aftermath of his violent intrusion into her journey. With a growing sense of trepidation, she called out to him, unsure of what else she could possibly do in the wake of this unexpected turn of events.