In the Bordello

DISCLAIMER: The characters of Cort, Ellen and Herod are not mine. I have taken the liberty of writing an extension of the story line they portrayed in the film, The Quick and the Dead. I make no claim on them or it, and have no purpose other than to provide a little enjoyment. The story begins with the bordello scene from the movie that was included in the European version (portion in italics) but was cut from the American version. Note: If you haven’t seen this movie and plan to, story contains some spoilers. Copyright 2001 by Darcy.


In the Bordello

The Lady pushed him into the room and slammed the door behind them, bolting it with the flimsy lock. There was a look in her eyes that was unmistakable; he had seen it often enough in his previous life to know what it meant. Thoughts flashed through his mind, the memory of his promises to God--one already broken now--and his vow of abstinence until marriage. He began talking nervously of the Bible, about beating plowshares into swords and telling her that he thought God had placed him in Redemption for some purpose, whatever it might be, he did not yet know. He hoped desperately that she would listen and not tempt him, for he knew he was weak. She ignored what he was saying and began removing the wet clothing she wore; not because it was wet, but because she wanted him. Oh, yes, she wanted him and Cort knew he would not be able to stop himself from having her. The whores Herod’s men had been trying to entice him with were nothing, but this woman was no whore. This woman---so cool, so sure of herself, so beautiful--- was temptation itself.

She undid her shirt button; the collar gaped open to her breastbone. His eyes took in the smooth skin glistening with moisture, saw the swelling roundness of her breasts and the dark nipples that showed plainly through the wet cotton. His groin tightened, his blood began to pound in his veins.

“Oh, God,” he said, so low she barely heard him. He licked his lips as she came near him, and flicked his eyes at hers. “Why are you doing this to me?” he asked, desperation in his tone, as she pulled off the cravat at her throat and moved even closer.

“Because. We could both be dead tomorrow,” she said quietly, staring hungrily at his mouth.

She was right; they could both be dead by tomorrow night. The way she stared at his mouth, as if she could already taste it, fired him wildly and he asked himself, Did he really want to die without loving a woman one more time? Did he want to go to heaven and face his God with his promise kept, or did he want to go to heaven now?

He raised his chained hands and slipped them over her head. He wanted heaven now.


Her hands in his hair, she tipped her mouth up and slowly, slowly, he lowered his for the first taof hof her, so sweet, so hot. He slipped his tongue between her lips and licked at her teeth. “Sweet”, he thought, “So sweet.” She sucked gently on his tongue and holding her hips, he pulled her into him. She swayed away, already tearing at her shirt, trying to get it off. He hauled her hips toward him again, needing the contact. Her movements were frantic; he had never seen a woman react to a kiss so strongly. She became more aggressive, forcing him back against the wall, kissing and sucking at the skin of his throat and chest while behind her back, he fumbled, trying to lift the wet shirt over her head. Reaching down, she tore the fabric up, exposing her breasts, pressing them against him. He licked her face, and her hands, frenzied and rough, ripped his shirt open and bared his chest. She pressed her breasts to him again, he felt their naked heat and softness, and he couldn’t help himself; his chained hands grabbed her ass roughly and lifting her to his groin, he ground against her.
She raised her lips from his and whispered, “Promise me. Promise you’ll leave Herod for me.”
He made no reply; he didn’t want to think of Herod now. She dropped to her knees in front of him and began tearing at the buttons of his trousers. His head fell back against the wall; she was making him weak just at the thought of her taking him in her mouth. He looked across the room with heavy-lidded eyes to where a mirror reflected them. He felt her hand on him, then her tongue. His flesh jumped eagerly. Gently, she licked the head of his cock and then closed her lips over it while he watched in the mirror. Her mouth was hot and wet and his cock throbbed again. Pressing her tongue solidly against the underside, she slid her mouth down over him, taking all of him until he could feel the back of her throat. He raised his eyes to the ceiling, half-closing them, reveling in the ecstatic gratification of feeling her mouth upon him. He couldn’t help himself, he groaned and began to fuck her mouth, his chained hands gentle on the back of her head, his hips thrusting. She let him have his way for a while, and then she pulled back, rubbing her cheek against his groin.

“Stop,” she commanded. “I want you inside me.”

His breathing was ragged and coarse and he didn’t want to stop, not now. But she rose, ducking her head under his chains, taking her mouth away from him. She began to unfasten the buttons of her own pants, then toed off her boots. She slid the pants over her hips slowly, deliberately tantalizing him, never taking her eyes from his face. He tried to keep his eyes on hers but the show was too exciting to miss; he dropped his glance to her waist and lower, hissing through his teeth when he saw the light brown hair at the junction of her legs. Now it was his turn to go to his knees, his turn to press his face to her sex, his turn to use his tongue and lips to drive her mad. She moaned above him, and held his head to her. His tongue speared her, parting her lips, stabbing, seeking. He found the center, the hard nub of her clitoris and licked it, ever so softly. The Lady ground her hips into his face, and he began to suck the nub, at first gently, then harder, then licking it again until he could tell from her moans that she was close to fulfillment. She began to sag to the floor, her legs too weak to hold her upright, and he followed her down, never taking his mouth from her as she fell back and spread herself for him. He lay between her legs, pleasuring her with his tongue until she screamed out her coming and bucked against his mouth. Without giving her a chance to catch her breath, he rolled over and pushed his pants the rest of the way down over his legs until they bunched at his ankles. He pulled at the laces of his brogans, threw his shoes, then his pants, across the room, rising to his knees before her. He didn’t know if it was the lady hs wis with, or the knowledge that this could be his last time, but his cock stood upright against his stomach, harder tht hat had ever been in his life, he thought. He took it in his hand and stroked it several times, then guided it into her, watching as it disappeared into heat and wetness so unbelievably good he could have wept. His hands, awkward because of the chains, slipped down to her hips and lifted her to him. He held her there, resting her ass on his thighs, and slowly, slowly, he began to fuck her.

She writhed against him, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him eveghteghter against her pelvis. Cort pounded into her, gripping the cheeks of her ass and staring at her breasts as they bounced in time with his fucking, silently cursing the chains that kept him from running his hands up and down her body, kept him from holding her breasts, from squeezing them. She must have felt his frustration, for she uncoiled her legs from his w and and slid from his thighs. She rose to her knees and gently forced him down, onto his back. She mounted him, her knees on either side of his hips, and lowered herself onto his cock. Reaching for his chained hands, she placed them on her breasts, sighing with pleasure when he squeezed them, when his fingers pulled at her nipples. His eyes, glinting silver-green in the lamplight, watched her avidly as she threw back her head and md. Td. The sight inflamed him, he raised his hips and thrust strongly into her, grunting softly, rhythmically, knowing he was close to coming, knowing she was too. He lowered his hands and slipped a finger between the lips of her sex, finding her clitoris and stroking it. He could feel her muscles contracting around his cock, milking him sweetly, and his thrusts became more powerful, his breathing harsher. He came, his seed spurting powerfully into her as he moaned, low in his throat, the sound of his pleasure blending with her incoherent murmurs. Above him, the lady cried out and arched her throat, hovering a moment in mindless bliss, and then lowered herself to his chest. He raised his chained hands and then slipped them down over her, resting his hands on her back. Gently, he stroked her hot skin, and when she moved as if to disengage, he quickly grasped the rise of her buttocks and forced her to stay. After such a long time of abstinence, he was not willing to end their lovemaking so soon. If he could, he would stay with her all night, love her all night. Because as she had said, they could both be dead tomorrow.

“Not yet. Don’t leave me yet,” he whispered, thrusting gently to prove that he was still ready, still hard inside her, still hard for her.

With her face in his neck, she lay quietly for a moment, and then slowly began to move her hips, rocking back and forth while she sucked on the skin of his throat. He felt her body grab at his cock, the interior muscles squeezing delicately. It responded, almost leaping to life inside her. He rolled, lifting her easily to lay her on her back. Chains rattling gently, he pinioned her hands above her head with his own, and began to stroke her deeply. She raised her legs and locked them around his waist, and he lowered his head and kissed her, thrusting his tongue between her lips in rhythm with his hips. She almost whimpered under him, her tongue dancing to meet his, twisting and licking. She caught his lower lip between hers and sucked gently. Above her, Cort shivered, and drove himself into her relentlessly. He shifted his position, kneeling upright, and grasping her knees, pushed her further back onto her shoulders. He slid his hands up her calves and hooked them over his shoulders, and with his next thrust, felt her shudder with uncontrollable spasms. He was buried in her, his cock in to the root. He turned his head and kissed and sucked at the flesh of her leg, all the while driving, driving. Beneath him, the lady screamed softly, mindlessly. Her arms were flung out to the side, her hands clenching and unclenching into fists, her face flushed and sweating. The sight of her passion was too much for him; it pushed him over the edge. Cort shuddered violently as he came, the spasms of pleasure wracking him, lifting him, spending him. He slowed his thrusting, now just gently stroking, and at last, pulled out of her body. He sank down beside her, and drew her close to lie in the crook of his arm, his chains like a necklace across her breast. She lay her head on his chest and listened as his heartbeats slowed to a normal rhythm. For all his nervous chatter before, now neither of them seemed to have anything to say.

After a while, the Lady got up from the floor and went to a washstand in the corner of the room. There was a washbowl and a pitcher of water there, as well as towels and a sliver of French milled . Sh. She poured some water into the bowl, and used one of the towels as a washcloth. She dipped it in the cold water and flinching, began to bathe herself, wiping her face, drawing the towel across her breasts, up into the pits of her arms. Cort raised up on his elbow, supporting his head on his hand, and watched her with hooded eyes. She dipped the towel again and, arching her throat, wiped at her neck. Once more the towel was trailed down over her chest and breasts, and then to her flat belly and lower. She bent slightly at the knees, and Cort’s breath caught in his throat as she began to wash her sex. Disbelieving, he looked down at his cock. It was stirring to life again, hardening in response to her ablutions. She raised a leg up onto the washstand and he almost groaned, remembering how he’d kissed it just scant moments before. He wanted to kiss it again, and kiss her sweet ass, too. It was there before him, white-skinned, smooth, heart-shaped. Yes, and he wanted to kiss her pussy again, taste the sweetness, smell the intoxicating woman-smell he had denied himself for so long.
He must have made some sound, for she looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes glints of blue, cat shaped, incredibly beautiful. With deliberate movements, she turned back to the washstand and carefully poured the water out of the bowl into a slop jar. She brought the bowl over to where Cort lay on the floor and set it down, then returned with the pitcher of water, the towels, and the soap.
She out out her hand to him and said softly, “Kneel up, preacher-man.”

He knelt facing her, and she dipped the towel into the bowl of water and began to gently wash his face, his throat. She trailed the cloth around to the back of his neck, across his shoulders and down over his chest, scrubbing at his nipples, smiling with a bare upturn of her lips as they hardened in response. Sheped ped the towel again, ran the soap over it until she had worked up a lather, and, lifting his arms, washed them and under them, where the soft brown hair grew. She kept at her work even when he tried to capture her lips with his, evading his mouth and scolding him gently for interrupting her. The towel was dipped in the water once more, and then she was wiping at his taut belly, going lower to his groin where his cock was throbbing, aching for her touch. She washed it gently, pulling back the foreskin and cleaning him expertly. She dipped her hands in the water and laved him with gentle motions, sliding under his scrotum, up and over his cock repeatedly, until he was twitching under her hands and almost growling with need. He wanted to fuck her again, but this bath at her hands was so exciting, such sweet, agonizing pleasure, that he didn’t want it to end. She finished with his cock and dipping the cloth again, moved behind him to wash his back and buttocks. He stood up to make himself accessible, felt her hands and the towel caressing his back, his buttocks, his thighs, his legs. He stood like a horse being shod, first on one foot and then the other while she washed him, and by the time she had finished, he was rampant and panting.

There was no bed in the room, only a ladies’ fainting couch over near the mirror. He turned, grabbed her roughly and lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her with bruising force, but she only moaned in pleasure and met him with force of her own. Bending, he lifted her as easily as a child and carried her over to the couch, laying her down, following her down. He pressed his lips to her forehead, then extending his broad tongue, licked her in one long swoop from her jaw line to her belly and was gratified to feel her hips rock against him. Crawling backwards, he ran his large, square hands over the smooth skin of her thighs, pressing them apart. Her sex was opened before him, glistening wetly, showing pink. He breathed deeply of her scent; the essence omanoman, of unbridled carnality. She smelled of all the things he had sworn to give up in sacrifice to God, the things he had traded to buy back his soul. He lowered his head and kissed her sex almost reverently, thinking only that God must understand a need such as his, and take pity on sinners. He licked and kissed and lapped and sucked at her until she came again, screaming, streaming into his mouth. He turned her over onto her belly, pulled at her hips until he had her positionee wae way he wanted her, and began to kiss the skin of her ass. It was so beautiful and smooth, like fine white satin under his palms. His hands glided over her back, to her shoulders and down along her sides, the chains dragging across her spine and making her shiver. He spread her with his knees between her legs and slipped deliciously into velvet wetness, feeling at home, feeling like he belonged there. He waited, throwing back his head and closing his eyes, savoring the warmth and tightness and the sheer pleasure of being inside her. She began to undulate against him, silently begging him for more. Cort drew back and thrust home, establishing his rhythm, grasping her hips and slamming her back against his pelvis. He gave it to her hard and she reveled in it, moaning, dropping down to rest her forearms on the couch, hanging her head between her shoulders. He kept tight hold of her hips and before long, he heard the now familiar sounds of her coming. He let himself go, spending himself inside her and at last, felt that he was satiated. He lay on his side and gathered her into his arms, making her his prisoner with his chains.

“Tell me your name,” he whispered into her hair, his fingers lazily caressing her arms in a slow stroking motion.

“Ellen. My name is Ellen,” she said lowly, and capturing his hand, pressed her lips to his manacled wrist.

“Ellen,” he breathed. “I love you.”

“And I love you. For tonight.”

They slept.

It was still dark when Cort started suddenly awake, every sense screaming. There was something, a change in air pressure, or perhaps some slight sound, that had brought him to this fever pitch of awareness. He heard it then, an almost indiscernible shuffle of feet just outside the door, a tiny click as the knob was tried. He nudged Ellen awake but placed a warning hand over her mouth until she realized what was happening.

“Where did you leave yours?” s?” he whispered, so quietly she barely heard him. Spreading his arms so that the chains were stretched tightly enough to keep them from rattling, he slipped his arms over her head and slid from the couch. She padded before him and found her holster by the window, handed it to him. He could see Ellen plainly in the half-light of the moon coming through the window and knew she could see him just asl. Hl. He motioned to her to get down on the floor behind the couch, then drew a revolver frhe hhe holster and cocked it, not caring that the sound reverberated loudly enough to be heard outside the door. With his body flat against the wall he growled in a hard, commanding voice that sounded nothing like a preacher’s, “Get the fuck out of here, or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

There was a moment of tense silence, and then quick footsteps retreating down the hall. Cort waited a minute and then unlocked the door and carefully peered out. There was nobody in the hall; it was deserted and silent. He looked at the candles flickering in the shaded sconces placed at intervals on the walls. They were almost gone, some even beginning to gutter. It had to be close to dawn. No doubt it had been one of Herod’s men, one of the pathetic bastards who had taken such perverse pleasure from tormenting him, from trying to force him to bed a whore last night for their amusement. When he could not be persuaded, not even with the whore’s tits in his face, they had begun to use their fists, punching him repeatedly, until Ellen had burst in the door and taken him away at gunpoint. He reckoned those men were getting pretty worried by now, since he had gone missing all night and it would soon be time to continue the quick draw contest. Herod would kill them if Cort didn’t show up, but they needn't worry. He was going to show up, all right. He was going to show up and kill Herod, rid the world of his dark presence and let this little town and its people live in peace. He was going to kill him for Ellen. She wanted him dead--he didn’t know why---but grateful for what she had given him last night, he was willing, even eager, to kill a man for her.

Perhaps he was wrong, perhaps God would never forgive him for the murder, but he believed now that this was why God had brought him to Redemption, to be His instrument. God was going to strike evil down, using Cort as His weapon. So be it. Strike he would, with his lightning quick draw, the draw he knew Herod was not fast enough to beat. He would use his skill as a killer, God-given as surely as any other skill was, use the aim he knew was lethal and sure. As of today, John Herod was a dead man.
He turned and looked at Ellen as she rose from the floor and sat upon the couch. She was still naked, her blond hair streaming wildly over her shoulders and down her back, her eyes heavy- lidded with sleep and satiation. He could feel himself responding to the picture she made but he knew there would be no more lovemaking. The night was over; the priceless gift had been given.

She lifted her eyes to his and said quietly, “I asked you for a promise last night. You didn’t give it to me. I’m asking you again, now, to leave Herod for me. I intend to challenge him today.”
Cort shook his head. “I can’t promise you that. Leave him to me; I’ll kill him for you, never fear.”
She said softly, insistently, “You don’t understand. I want to do it. I need for him to die by my hand.”
Cort ran a hand through his hair, frustration clouding his eyes. “Ellen... I...I’m afraid to let you try. While I believe you to be a fast gun, I have no doubt he is faster. I know I can beat him.” He spoke soothingly, convincingly. “Why not let me kill him; he’ll be just as dead either way.” He reached out and touched her lips gently with his thumb. “I want to do this for you.”

“When I was a little girl,” she began, looking at him with strange, haunted eyes, “a gang of outlaws came to town. My father was the sheriff and they went after him right away. Everyone thought they would just shoot him, but they didn’t kill him; they strung him up, just like they did to you. Do you know how he died, Cort?”

He was staring at her, knowing that what she was going to tell him would be dreadfud shd shocking.

“How, Ellen?”

“John Herod gave me a gun, and told me to shoot him down, the same way I shot you down in the saloon. Only I was just a little girl then,” she cried, suddenly dropping her face and keening into her hands. “I had never touched a gun before. Herod forced me, told me my Daddy would die if I didn’t try to save him. And all the while, Daddy was encouraging me. “You can do it, Ellen,’ he said.” She burst into sobs, her shoulders heaving. “But I couldn’t. I tried, I aimed at the rope, but I ended up shooting Daddy in the head. I’m the oho kho killed my father!” she cried plaintively. “I killed him!”

“May God damn his black soul to everlasting perdition,” breathed Cort, his eyes cold and unforgiving. Her pain was so strong, he felt it in his own heart. He sat next to her and slipped his chained hands over her head, gathered her into his arms. Tenderly, he kissed her hair.

“You did not kill your father, Ellen,” he said firmly. “Herod killed him, as surely as if he pulled that trigger himself. Your guilt is foolishness; a child cannot be held responsible for the actions of a madman.”

“But....”

“No buts. I am absolutely certain.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry your life has been ruined... “

He kissed her eyelids. “...so very sorry. Let me make it up to you,” he begged. “Let me set you free, set this town free from him.”

Suddenly Ellen raised her eyes to his face. “Dear God! Cort, were you here, that day? Is that why.....did you......have anything to do with....” She couldn’t finish, could not put that thought into words. It was too devastating.

He looked steadily into her eyes. “I wasn’t there, Ellen. But take no comfort from that. I rode with Herod; I was an evil man. I may not have killed your father, but I killed other men, other fathers. I am guilty of enough.”

He raised his hands over her head to slip the chains, and stood. “We’ll play it like this: I will challenge Herod today. He’ll fight me, sure enough; I know exactly what to say to goad him into it. But once he’s dead, the contest is over. The killing stops. You and the Kid can split the prize money; I don’t care about it.”

She stared up at him and his heart turned over. He didn’t care about the money, but he cared very much about Ellen. They were alike, a good match, with lots of past to overcome and not much future to look forward to. It could be that was enough to start from. Could be that once the gunfight was over, he could win her heart. Perhaps, with God’s help, they could have a normal life, give up this worthless existence and begin again together. For a brief moment, Cort allowed himself a dream, a wish, for the future. He thought of himself and Ellen married, of having children, having a home. He thought of her love filling the aching, empty hole in his heart that God had not been able to close, and permitted himself to hope. It lasted only a moment, until Ellen shook her head and dashed his dreams to the ground.

“It has to be me,” she said flatly. “I’ll never be able to sleep at night if I don’t kill him. I’ve been waiting for this day since I was eight years old. Can’t you see, I need vengeance. Not for you, not even to avoid certain death, will I back down from this.”

“Ellen, please. Please don’t.” He grabbed her hand, and turning it over, kissed the palm passionately and laid it against his cheek. “I cannot abide the thought of you dead at his hands,” he murmured, his voice so low and deep and pain-filled that it tore at her heart. “Sweet Jesus, I think I would rather kill you myself than let him have the satisfaction he would take from shooting you down.” He raised his eyes and she saw the determination there, the absolute promise. “I swear to you, I will kill him,” he said. “Believe me, he’s as good as dead now.”

She touched his cheek gently, then pulled her hand from his grasp. She said nothing, just picked up her breeches and drew them on, and Cort knew he had lost. He watched sorrowfully as Ellen took his dream away from him, and for the thousandth time, marveled at the mysterious way God worked, shaping his life. With his heart heavy in his chest, he began to dress.

When they were ready, Cort approached Ellen and one last time, slipped his chained hands over her head. For a long minute he looked into her eyes and then d hud hungrily at her mouth. Slowly, he lowered his lips to hers, tenderly, he kissed first her upper lip and then her lower, before taking her entire mouth into his. He kissed her longingly, trying to convey his gratitude to her for last night, and the unbelievably powerful feelings she brought to life in him. He tried to show her he could love her, hoped desperately that she would believe his lips more than she had believed his words. He pulled back and looked into her eyes, searching them to see if she had felt what he’d tried to tell her. She gazed back at him, her expression soft and sorrowful. He saw that she understood, but nothing was changed. He could have wept for what he was losing.

They left the haven of the room in the brothel and walked down the stairs to the saloon together, both with their heads held high, their eyes daring anyone to comment. Nobody did. Herod’s men were waiting near the bar and they closed around Cort immediately, but there was a difference in the way they treated him this morning. No one touched him, no one swore or taunted. They simply escorted him outside, and shackled him once more to the post. Ellen went over and kissed him, and then turned toward Herod’s house. Neither she nor Cort thought to look at the chalkboard where, throughout the week, each day’s contests had been listed. It never occurred to either of them that the Kid would have upset her plans with his own challenge, but out of desperation to gain his father’s respect, he had. There on the board the pairs for the day were listed: the Kid versus Herod in the morning, the Lady versus Cort for the afternoon’s contest.

To get to Herod, Ellen would have to go through her preacher man.

End