"They Call Us Gypsies" (closed)

[DeadManTyping]

"They Call Us Gypsies"

(closed)​

The Model T flew down the county road at over 40 miles per hour, the Clark County Deputy Sheriff behind the wheel trying to push the brand new vehicle to its top speed of 45. You might have thought he was in a hurry to get to a crime scene. But the truth was that he was simply trying to impress the young beauty sitting to his right. She was a dance hall girl that a fellow Deputy claimed had a habit of shedding her clothes after the excitement of a high speed drive, and he wanted badly to find out if that were true.

He'd been listening to her alternate between long giggles of joy and sharp squeals of fear, the latter occurring often, particularly after the Ford had slid from one side of the oiled gravel road to the other. As they topped a small rise beyond which stood a grove of trees that flanked the road -- casting it in deep shadows -- the woman suddenly pointed a hand forward and screamed out in terror.

The Deputy had been glancing often at the young woman's bosom, taking note of how the excitement of the ride sometimes caused its beautiful curves to swell ... and, as a result, how he himself swelled below his belt line as a result. But her sudden fear caused his eyes to instantly go back to the road, and in an instant he had his feet solidly upon the brake and clutch.

The 1500 pound vehicle slid out of control but thankfully almost directly forward, covering more than 200 feet of semi-loose rock before finally coming to a rest just twenty feet short of the Vardo that was parked in the cool shade of the middle of the county road.

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As a billowing cloud of brown dust swallowed the Model T, the young woman sitting on the steps of the Romani wagon seemed to barely register it or the horrific accident had only been avoided by the scream of the now crying woman.

"Why in the world are you in the middle of the road?" the Deputy hollered with venomous anger after he was again able to see the woman and the Vardo through the cloud.

"Because it's cooler there in the shade..." a male voice answered.

The Deputy looked to his left to find a second Gypsy wagon sitting in a gap between some additional tall trees. And sitting upon the wagon's tongue was the source of the deep voice that added, "...and we weren't expecting you ... at least ... not so soon."

https://i.imgur.com/QMyxZAA.jpg?2​

The Deputy simply stared at the man for a long moment before telling the still crying woman beside him, "Shut it! It's over! You're fine!"

As she woman to his right shifted from high pitched cries to softened sobs, the Deputy swung the door of the Ford open and stepped out. Without hesitation, his right hand went to the butt of the revolver on his side.

"Who are you?" the lawman called, adding, "Where'd you come from?"

"They call us Gypsies," the Romani answered, standing slowly. He moved with just as much caution in the direction of the Deputy as he completed his answer, "And we come from ... else where."

When he saw that the lawman's grip on his sidearm was tightening, the Romani slowly redirected his route toward the woman in the Vardo. "I am Gregorogosovic Murtorovanni..."

He saw the other man's eyebrows raise tall at the quickly spoken eleven syllables. He smiled, gave a low bow, and said, "But you can call me Gregor."

The Romani peeked past the other man to the woman in the car and found that her emotional state was very rapidly changing. Her sobbing was coming to an end, and over the moments to come, her face would come to be graced by a growing smile as she eyed the handsome Gregor. At 6'2" with a slim, muscular fit that his tight fitting pants and mostly-unbuttoned shirt revealed, he was more the woman's type, despite driving a vehicle that typically travelled at about 3 miles per hour. The dark wavy hair, dark skin, and equally dark eyes gave him a look that often attracted to him women who should never be in the same county as him, let alone within arms reach.

"And this is Inga ... my cousin," Gregor said, waving a hand toward the dark haired beauty with a sort of ta daaa presentation wave. He asked as he got closer to her, "Is she not the most beautiful creature upon whom you've ever laid your eyes?"

The face of the woman in the car quickly tied up tight in an unappreciative expression. Gregor laughed, giving her an even more exaggerated bow as -- with his eyes and devilish smile aimed to her -- he corrected, "With the exception of your traveling partner, of course."

The woman beamed again, noticeably blushing. She may have been amused but the Deputy wasn't. He flicked the snap on the leather strap holding his revolver in place and drew the weapon.

"Move away from the wagon!" he demanded, pointing the gun at Gregor, then gesturing it toward the Model T. "Move over here! Hands on the fender!"

Gregor only stared at the Deputy, his lips spread in a knowing smirk. The lawman repeated his demand, then again as he began to show his growing nervousness. He wasn't very old -- perhaps 25 -- which meant his career in law enforcement couldn't have been a very long one. Gregor wonder whether or not the young man had ever draw his weapon before.

"Is there a problem here, officer?" a second male voice asked, surprising the Deputy, who spun his gaze and gun both in the new direction. The reaction of the second man -- very much older and grayer than the first -- to having a firearm pointed at him was to simply lean his head with a curious expression and ask, "Have we done something wrong?"

The we the second Gypsy spoke of turned out to be more members of his family. The Romani had taken a break here to water the horses in a creek that paralleled the road here, feeding the roots of the thick, lush grove that sat in an otherwise stark landscape. And at the sound of the approaching motorized car and the subsequent -- and now angry -- conversation, the men of the Romani Family began assembling from just about every direction.

The Deputy's eyes grew as 16 men came into his view, some of them now carrying actual or improvised weapons in their hands. Oh, they didn't flaunt them to the lawman: they simply dangled by their sides or tossed over their shoulders the axes, shovels, sledges, machetes, clubs, and pitchforks that they'd retrieved out of instinct at the approach of strangers.

The lawman took a better look around the area and identified all or part of a half dozen previously unseen Vardo parked in or beyond the grove. There was no way of knowing how many more were parked in the shade in or on the far side of the trees.

"They call me Papa Don," the older Romani continued the conversation. He glanced about himself as some of the Family's women and children began appearing. "I lead this band of misfits. And I'm sure that I could find someone who would love to find you and your friend a cool drink ... or ... maybe something that tickles the throat as it goes down perhaps?"

Papa Don was careful with his description. Prohibition was at its height, and the mention of the alcohol they had hid through the caravan could bring down upon them a wrath from the authorities from which they'd need years to recover.

Most of the Romani other than the on-guard men remained partially behind cover or behind those men. They were very aware of the Deputy's handgun, shaking a bit in trembling hands but still pointed dangerously at them. Papa Don nodded toward the revolver and said with a calm tone, "I assure you, officer ... that's unnecessary. I'm not a firearms aficionado myself, but I believe you only have 6 shots anyway. And..."

He glanced about himself at the men of the Family, who all shifted their weapons just enough to make sure that the Deputy took note of their number and variety. Papa Don looked back to the lawman and finished, "...I believe there are more than 6 of us."

The Deputy knew he was in trouble. He knew who these people were: Gypsies! Oh sure, they called themselves Romani or some such nonsensical name. But he knew what they were: thieves, murderers, rapists, whores, and witches. But in addition to all that, they were one other thing that was more relevant at the moment. They were in greater numbers.

The lawman backed away to the driver's door of the still running Model T and stepped back inside. With his pistol sitting in his lap, he slammed the vehicle into gear and shot it forward, cranking the steering wheel hard. He took the car off the road, bouncing it through a very shallow ditch and over a bush that would rip up at the root and remain stuck in the undercarriage all the way back to town.

And as he hurried the car away from the Vardo caravan, his traveling partner looked back over her shoulder to Gregor ... then raised a hand to her lips and blew him a kiss. In response, the Romani flirt reached a hand down to conspicuously cup his groin, smiling to once again laughing woman.

"Let's get back on the road again," Papa Don said casually. Quickly, the horses were harnessed back to the carts, the other stock animals that had been taken to the river -- cattle, goats, horses, and more -- were tied to the Vardo or lifted up into them or put away in cages. Once everyone was set, Papa Don ascended the steps of his granddaughter's home and said to her with a sly smile, "It's fun meeting new people, isn't it, Inga?"



Five hours later, Gregor -- mounted upon the mare he simply called Horse -- reappeared from the west with the slowly dropping sun just over his head. He met the westward bound caravan, finding Papa Don now mounted upon his own mare who sported an equally elaborate name of Black.

"I found someone to let us set up for a few days," Gregor reported as the two pulled away to the shoulder and watched the caravan continue past. "Bachelor farmer ... twenty acre field on the roadside ... mostly open, but some shade. And water not far. A well."

"Bachelor farmer?" Papa Don asked with a knowing tone. "I assume you made some arrangements that will keep him happy?"

Gregor smiled broadly, looking to the woman gently slapping the reins of a passing Vardo upon the flanks of the mules pulling it. She'd heard Papa Don's question, and Gregor's wink to her led her to rub her finger tips together in a familiar gesture. Gregor nodded, confirming that she'd get paid coin for her efforts, then looked to Papa Don and confirmed his question with an affirmative answer.



An hour later, the Romani camp was all set up. Gear and goods were unloaded, children were running about with joy, women were already performing chores, and the men were doing their own work while also making plans for the guests they knew would be making their way here from either or both of the small towns that were within car, cart, or horse ride ... or, for the truly desperate or curious, within walking distance.

One guest was already here, of course: Jason Townsend, the bachelor farmer. From the moment he'd been told what his compensation would include, he hadn't left the sight, eager to begin cashing in. Gregor fetched him from the road's edge, where he was very willingly informing Papa Don all about the locals the law, and the opportunities.

"I'd like to introduce you to someone if you aren't too busy, my good man," Gregor told the 40-something man who -- as often happened in hard times -- looked to be closer to 50-something.

Gregor walked the man over to and through the circle of Vardo until they were standing just beyond the front of their destination. Gregor gestured toward to woman to whom he'd earlier smiled and reassured payment, then told one of his favorite lies to Jason, "Marla lost her husband three years ago ... and she yearns for the company and conversation that only a man such as yourself can offer."

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Gregor thought the farmer's eyeballs were going to pop out of his head. Marla stood, turned, and entered her home, hesitating inside to smile back to the man she was going to service in the interest of the Family. Gregor reassured Jason that this was legit, then urged him forward. Marla waited for Robert to pass him, then leaned back to close the door. She smiled again to Gregor and said with confidence, "I could hold my breath longer than it's gonna take to finish him off."

Gregor laughed loudly, then turned to go get ready for his own money making activities.

 

[heartofcourage]

The peaceful tranquil quiet of the spot that the encampment had stopped at was broken by the roaring of an engine. Inga's light brown gaze rose from the book that she had been reading, tilting her head as a car crested the hill quickly, skidding to a halt almost violently just a short distance away from her. The two people in the vehicle seemed much worse for wear than she was. It wasn't that she was uncaring of the situation. Instead she knew that if something were to happen to her or her vardo, the entire group would have come together to ensure that she was avenged. It was simply the way that they had lived since the day that she was born twenty two short years ago.

Inga Murtorovanni never even flinched as the Deputy got from his car, screaming at her as if she were hard of hearing. Her gaze was cool and almost blank, not betraying anything of how she was feeling right then and there. If it had, she would have torn him up and down with a terrible tongue lashing. Instead, her cousin stepped in, taking over the conversation seamlessly.

Gregor knew of her fiery temper. He had been the one to encourage it from time to time. She had been raised by her grandfather after her parents died when she was very young and he had always encouraged her to find her strength and speak her mind when she had the chance. It had come in handy as she helped to run the boxing matches for the family as well as her own various side businesses.

"And this is Inga ... my cousin," Gregor said, waving a hand toward the dark haired beauty with a sort of ta daaa presentation wave. He asked as he got closer to her, "Is she not the most beautiful creature upon whom you've ever laid your eyes?"

At his sweet words, Inga leveled her brown eyes on the deputy, letting him see that she thought nothing of him in that moment. He was too young, too plain, too jumpy. She enjoyed a man that had some adventure in his blood and the sniveling young man that had his hand tightly wrapped around his gun was most definitely not the one to light that spark within her.

As her grandfather stepped into the situation, she let out a sigh and tucked her book away, watching as the rest of the clan pulled in tightly to defend their little village if the deputy decided to get a little too jumpy. She was standing as he was set running on his way, Gregor teasing the young woman in the car as her grandfather climbed the steps of her vardo to join her.

"Let's get back on the road again," Papa Don said casually. Quickly, the horses were harnessed back to the carts, the other stock animals that had been taken to the river -- cattle, goats, horses, and more -- were tied to the Vardo or lifted up into them or put away in cages. Once everyone was set, Papa Don ascended the steps of his granddaughter's home and said to her with a sly smile, "It's fun meeting new people, isn't it, Inga?"

"It wasn't my decision to come here, Papa. I wanted to go north." Inga answered smartly, looking at her grandfather as she moved to secure her animals, petting the black cat that was curled into a ball, sunning himself on the front seat of the vardo. "There's more money to be made up there anyway. However, no one ever seems to listen to me."

The night was drawing in as they set up their camp on the stretch of land that the farmer had allowed them to stay on. Shortly after Marla disappeared into her wagon with the man, Inga was there, a finger pressed into Gregor's chest as she looked up at him with a look that was very displeased. She was only 5'3, much smaller than her strapping cousin, but she could take him down with a withering glance.

"You listen to me, Gregorogovisic Murtorovanni. I refuse to let you fuck any hapless girl that comes this way. It's because of you that we've had to leave the past three locations and I'm tired of it. I would like to get my tent set up and actually make some money this time before we're forced to flee." Inga hissed in her quiet way, always looking out for her cousin's best interests but infuriated by him most of the time.

 

[DeadManTyping]

Gregor had taken less than half a dozen steps before Inga was right there in his face, jabbing his muscular chest with a finger as she warned him about keeping his cock in check during this stop.

She was right, of course. Well, sort of. He had, in fact, found one or more lovers at the last three stops they'd made. That wasn't uncommon, of course. And he had had some trouble that resulted from his interactions with said lovers. That wasn't uncommon either, though, these times the results had nearly been catastrophic.

At the last town, the Caravan had had to pack up and quietly depart in the middle of the night after Gregor's latest target -- the wife of a retired General -- had learned of his wife's indiscretions with the Gypsy scum. As if back in the Great War again, the man had very skillfully raised an army of townsfolk and had been about to lead the mass in an assault the Romani camp.

The only thing that had saved them was a warning from the General's daughter, with whom Gregor had also been bumping uglies behind her mother's back. The Family had blocked a bridge between the town and the camp with a burning hay wagon, packed up, and disappeared into the night without a punch thrown, a club swung, or a gun fired.

The other two incidents had been unique in their own way but similar in one: Gregor had been trying to do his job ... but hadn't done it well.

"I assure you, Inga," he told his cousin, "I'll be sure to find a woman this time around who I know won't cause problems in my bed."

He grasped Inga and pulled her body firmly into his own, wrapping one arm around her upper back as the other reached lower, its hand finding and clutching at a firm, young buttock. It was an intimate embrace that would have caused the good Christian folk of the nearby town to shutter with disgust.

But honestly, such physical interaction between Romani first cousins wasn't really that uncommon. The Gypsies, like people of many cultures or nationalities, tended to look within for potential spouses or -- for more immediate needs -- bed partners. Gregor's paternal grandparents had been first cousins; and his maternal great-grandparents had been an uncle-niece pair. They hadn't considered it incest. They hadn't considered it wrong. It was just the way it was.

Gregor had long lusted for his cousin Inga. She was younger than he by several years, so he'd been well into his adult life and sexual activities by the time she began showing herself as a beautiful, erotic young woman. It was no secret that the men and young boys often watched the women bathe when the caravan stopped at creeks or lakes. Hell, for that matter, many of the young women and girls did just the same.

And it was no secret that Gregor had often looked longingly upon Inga at times when she was standing knee deep in the cool water Mother Nature provided. He'd been caught often over the years, and sometimes he'd even pretended to feel guilty about having been spied upon as he spied.

But he'd never approached her about becoming lovers. First, although he'd often asked her teasingly whether she'd ever had an interest in opening her legs to him, he'd always made it clear to her that he was only joking. And second, she'd never shown any sign of being interested in being his lover. He credited that standoffishness to the fact that one of his primary contributions to the Family was putting his cock in other women.

Now, though, as she attempted to fight off the much stronger Gregor, he ignored Inga's attempts to pull away until he'd landed a kiss on her cheek. He released his grip on her and backed away quickly, not knowing whether or not to expect an open hand or even a close fist to come sweeping toward his face.

"I'll be good this time, Inga my love!" he called out as he backed away quickly, adding, "I promise ... you'll make pocket after pocket full of coin this stop. [I[Trust[/I] me!"



By the time the sun had fully disappeared and the nearly moon was anxiously making its way toward its zenith above them, the Romani had made themselves very comfortable in the center of their paid for field. The Vardo were arranged in a circle, but unlike the western expansion era of America -- when the wagon trains formed a closed circle of Conestogas arranged end to end -- the Vardos were arranged such that the traveling homes' front doors -- sometimes at the Vardo's front end, sometimes at the back -- were all facing the inside of the circle.

In the middle of the circle, a huge bonfire was already blazing, burning wood collected from the road side or from the host farm. Carcasses roasted near the flames, from ducks to chickens to rabbits to ... well, sometimes it was better not to ask. It wasn't much of a feast this night, but tomorrow night's meal -- after the Romani had had a chance to see what the neighboring farms and ranches had to offer -- would be a meal fit for a king.

 

[heartofcourage]

"You don't need any woman in your bed, Gregor. Focus on your fists this time around." Inga groused, gasping as he suddenly had her wrapped up in his arms, a hand cupping her ass in an overly familiar way.

She wasn't a virgin, nor was she shy about sex. It simply wasn't how she was raised. She had warmed many beds in her time and had broken just as many hearts, but she had never considered Gregor as anything more than an annoying older brother. He was handsome, perhaps more than any man had any right to be, but she would never share his bed. She cared for him, that was true, but it never extended to anything serious.

As he released her, she spat after him, knowing that her fist wouldn't reach him in time. "I don't think you have it in your to be good, Gregor." Inga countered, chasing him away before she was forced to tend to her own wagon.

All the Romani took deep pride in their way of life, tending to the wagons as anyone would their own home. Each was painted in a unique style, polished and furnished with elaborate carvings. Inga's wagon was full of gifts bestowed to her by a doting grandfather. Her cat, Koshki, even had a place of honor by the end of her bed, his little nest richly appointed in silk and velvet. She adored that cat, especially since he seemed to feel the same way about Gregor that she did.

It was relatively quiet that evening as the meat cooked on the open fire, only interrupted by the occasional sounds coming from Marla's wagon. It seemed that she was enjoying the attentions of the farmer as she had been in there for what seemed like hours. Inga glanced up from her work as her grandfather approached and she let out a long sigh.

"You need to do something about Gregor, Papa. He'll only hurt himself in the long run the way that he jumps into a different bed every evening." Inga muttered. "Or end up with a bullet in his skull from a jealous spouse."

 

[DeadManTyping]

"You're right, you're right," Papa Don agreed. "But I'd more easily prevent the sun from rising than keep women out of your cousin's bed I believe, my pisoi mic."

He'd finished off with a bit of Romanian, his first language. Papa Don had been calling Inga his little kitten her entire life, so often and completely, in fact, that as a toddler she'd believed for some time that it had actually been her name.

Papa Don didn't speak Romanian often. A great many bad memories accompanied his use of the language. Papa Don had been born in Moldavia at a time when the Romani were still enslaved by the hundreds of thousands by the State, the Church, and the nobility, called the Boyars.

Full abolition arrived by the late 1850s, so Papa Don -- born Donielle Petrescu -- had been too young to feel and understand the effects of slavery personally. But the former slaves and the families they spawned would suffer from poverty, discrimination, and abuse for decades to come, and Donielle had been old enough to remember that.

After his parents died in a house fire, Donielle's grandfather packed the two of them up and boarded a ship bound for America. They traveled with family members -- Romani from Moldavia and neighboring Wallachia -- to America. And over the years to come, they incorporated American and Canadian Romani into their numbers. Today, they were the Family that was now assembled here in the Townsend pasture.

Papa Don, as he came to be called, would leave Romania and the Old World behind him. He would abandon the language, except for those two beloved words. And he would never talk of the life he'd led before prior to that first step onto the boat docks at Castle Garden, the immigration predecessor to Ellis Island.

Inga knew nothing about her grandfather's previous life. Nor did Gregor. Nor did any of the other Family members. No one knew. Well, no one except for Connie...



As Papa Don was reassuring Inga that Gregor was Gregor and that was that, followed by downing his evening sleepy tea and accepting his granddaughter's assistance in getting into bed, Gregor was aiding his eldest male relative into his own bed in the Vardo they shared, currently parked on the opposite side of the camp from Inga and Papa Don.

Aside from Donielle Petrescu, Constantin Vidraru was the only remaining Family member today who hadn't been born here in the New World. Connie had been of the Romani from Wallachia and -- despite being almost two decades older than Donielle -- had very quickly become the younger man's best friend.

His advanced age and an addiction to Laudanum that had taken decades to kick had left him a shell of his former self. Connie had once been a skilled and unbeatable bare knuckles fighter, but today he spent all of his waking hours sitting motionless in his rocking chair, staring out at nothing in particular.

Gregor pulled the blankets over the man he called Father but who was actually his great-grandfather. Pulling a bottle of Gin from a secret drawer, Gregor made his way out to the Vardo's front steps to survey the camp. Despite it being almost midnight, there was still a great deal of activity within the circle created by the 16 wagons. The bonfire still reached for the sky, though not nearly as eagerly as it had earlier. The children were absent, all tucked away in their beds by now. But there were still men chopping wood, unpacking crates, or discussing the next day's business opportunities; and there were still women performing any number of tasks and chores, as was the nature of being female in nearly every culture across the planet.

He glanced across to Inga and Papa Don's Vardo, recalling the embrace that had caused him a bit of swelling below his belt line, then the warning Inga had given him about his active sex life. She'd told him he needed to put more effort into his other primary source of income: fighting.

Gregor was the Family's premiere bare knuckles fighter. He'd won every match he'd ever been meant to win. That didn't mean that he won every fight, though. Fisticuffs for the Gypsies wasn't about winning the bouts: it was about winning the money. And sometimes, there was more money to be won by throwing a match.

He didn't like losing, of course. But Gregor liked money more than victory, so...

Inga was right. He needed to concentrate on the fights. He sucked down a gulp of Gin, looked at the bottle as he thought Shouldn't do this, she'd say, and put the cork back into it. He took one last look across the camp, leaning a bit to peek around the flames in an attempt to see if Inga was still up and around, then headed back inside to strip for bed. He masturbated to the fantasy of his cousin congratulating him on his most recent win with a bang in a hayloft, then fell asleep to enjoy more erotic dreams with women he didn't know.

 

[heartofcourage]

Grace Townsend: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/5f/f5/24/5ff52481d5d3320abd82c8845d4f274a.jpg

Jake Townsend: http://attheloft.typepad.com/.a/6a00e54ecca8b98833017ee73609f6970d-pi

The sun wasn't even up and Grace Townsend had already been hard at work. Recently married, she had listened to her husband's list of demands on her wedding night instead of enjoying an evening filled with passion. Jake Townsend was a hard man, one that provided her financial security being the local district judge, but not much else. He was young, still older than her by a decade, and handsome, but he had an uninterested look on his face most of the time.

They probably never should have married. She was the daughter of a poor farmer, barely able to make ends meet with seven other mouths to feed and a wife that was sick more often than not. Grace's own mother had died in childbirth with a brother that hadn't survived and her father had moved on quickly to her stepmother, siring another six children before too long. She had been desperate to leave the house, not only to lessen her father's burden but also to find her own peace. Jake had offered her all of that and more, the financial security that she craved and a nice home. All on his own terms, of course.

Jake had needed a wife to tend to his large house and to cook his meals. It was strange that he had never gotten married by the age of 35, but Grace had seen a violent side to her husband that he didn't show many others. He could get angry in an instant, pinning her to the nearest surface while she cowered in fear. He was a brawny 6'3 and he outweighed her by twice as much, but as long as she followed his rules she had nothing to worry about.

Grace turned from the stove to look at her husband as he read the morning paper. The electric lamp above his head made his dark hair look silver. It was going silver at the temples, but the rest of it was still thick and black. His suit was tailored, dark grey wool and it gave his grey eyes a bit of depth to them. It was clear her had court that day, which is why they had started their morning so early. However, she was concerned that he hadn't touched his eggs and bacon.

"Is something wrong?" Grace asked softly, afraid that he hadn't liked what she had cooked. "There's more coffee if you want."

Jake looked over the top of the paper at her for a long moment before he glanced down at the plate that he hadn't touched yet. "Guess I'm not hungry."

"I can make something else." Grace said quickly, concern furrowing her pale brow. "Anything you like."

Jake blew out an aggravated sigh and folded his paper, placing it on the table and looking at his wife. "I don't have time. I'll get something at the diner if I get hungry. We'll be having dinner at my brother's farm tonight, so no need to cook anything else."

Grace simply nodded as he stood and donned his coat, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he left the house. She knew he most likely was having an affair. With her stuck at home more often than not, she knew that there was very little chance of her ever discovering who the woman that he was seeing was. As the sound of his car reached her ears, she let out a long sigh and relaxed. Peering out the window, she saw his car retreating down the lane, the sun just starting to peek up over the horizon beyond.

He had been born from a farming family, his brother tending to the original farm while he had bought his own. The farmhouse was large, meant for a big family which they had not even discussed beginning. He didn't like children. His brother had never married. It didn't seem like there would be another generation of the Townsend family at this rate.

Grace left the food on the stove and table, moving instead to sit on the front porch to look out over the fields as the sun started to bathe everything in golden light. It was beautiful that time of day, her flaming red hair illuminated by the sunlight. With no other meal to cook that day, it seemed she had a bit of reprieve. However, she had no idea what to do with herself. There was little time to relax these days, it seemed.

 

[DeadManTyping]

The sun had been up more than two hours before Gregor was. He was a night owl, of course: his money making activities -- whether they involved him banging his fists into a man's body or his cock into a woman's -- tended to be after dark sort of fare. And to be honest, 8am was actually quite early for him.

But the first day at a new camp was always an early day. There was work to do, work that involved set up and construction; and that set up and construction meant a need for shopping. Of course, the Gypsies had their own way of shopping, a way that wouldn't be appreciated by the store owners in town.

"Marla, time to go!" Gregor called out as he pounded a fist upon the side of her vardo. She opened the door and gave her long-ago lover a happy smile, but Gregor could see the exhaustion in her eyes from the marathon fuck-fest she'd had with their farmer host the previous evening. Gregor smiled broadly, asking with a suggestive tone, "Are you up for this, swee'art...? Or, shall I get one of the other girls?"

"You know me better than that, love," she told him with a wink, heading back inside to find and don a shawl. She took his offered hand to descend the steps, then slipped an arm in through the crook his elbow as she asked, "Hardware or dry goods this morning, Greg?"

"Hardware," he responded, leading her to a buckboard wagon that had mysteriously shown up in the camp during the dark of night. It was from a ranch to the east of the camp, which was the reason they were going shopping today in the town to the west. There were a pair of adult men and four boys ranging from six to ten already aboard, and , "If we have time and don't attract any unwanted attention, maybe we'll have time to do some girls shopping as well."

"Can we?" Marla almost squealed as Gregor helped her up into the front seat. She looked down at the four or five necklaces -- each made of different materials in differing styles -- and said, "I'm in need of something new to wear for the dance, Greg."

Marla was one of only a few Family members who called Gregorogosivic by the shorter version of his name. He'd like it initially, during the time in which they'd been lovers back in her mid-teens. And though he would never tell her stop using it now, he wished she wouldn't. It was her way of reminding him that once upon a time she had offered him not just her body but -- as his bride -- her heart and soul.

Gregor hadn't been looking for a wife then, or even a steady lover. And while he often considered taking a wife now, in his mind the Marla bridge had already been crossed and burned. It wasn't because she was a prostitute. Hell, he was a gigolo. It was ... well, it was just the history between them. Gregor had hurt Marla, taking advantage of her at such a young age and then -- when he learned how much women with coin in their purses longed for him -- casting Marla aside like so much rotted meat.

He was ashamed of himself when it came to past with Marla, but not so much so that he wouldn't ask her to do her part in today's shopping in the town just a mile down the road. He reached up under her dress to tickle the inside of her knee, causing her to flinch in surprise then giggle loudly.

"You don't need something new to wear for the dance," he told her. Some of the males in the wagon glanced his way or hers; some of them ogled Marla's shapely form; some of them winked to Gregor. The dance specifically referred to Marla's exotic show that she would be putting on tonight for the men from the town and neighboring countryside. Gregor finished, "The only thing your fans want to see you wearing tonight ... is a smile."

The others laughed, Marla playfully chastised, and Gregor mounted his horse, simply named Horse. And off toward town they went. The buckboard had been altered to reduce the chances that it would be identified: the sideboards had been removed, some colorful decoration had been added, a large trunk -- upon which some of the boys sat -- was roped down just behind the seat, and of course it was being pulled by two of the Family's own horses.

The group of 8 Romani had just reached the edge of town and begun getting glances from the residents when Gregor caught sight of a woman stepping out onto the porch of her house to perform one chore or another ... or, maybe, just to watch the Gypsies which she may or may not have heard were setting up just east of town.

She was the most incredible creature upon whom Gregor's gaze had ever fallen, and he couldn't help but slow Horse from a trot to a sudden stop, just before the gate of the picket fence surrounding her home. He didn't mean for his appreciation of her to be so very obvious. And when he realized just how conspicuous his ogle was becoming, his lips widened in an embarrassed smile ... he nodded, almost bowed, if such a thing could be done on horseback ... and tapped his heels into Horse's sides to spur him onward again.

And yet, even as he rounded the corner to catch up with the others, Gregor's gaze was still set upon the woman. Once out of sight around the next house, he stood tall in the stirrups and -- without concern for who might see him -- reached conspicuously to his groin to rearrange the still hardening erection that had been swelling at an awkward angle within his tight fitting pants.



"I'm in need of some things," Marla told the hardware store clerk as she wandered about the store, her hips gently swaying to and fro as the man stared at her back end. She reached her long fingers out to toy with some items on the shelves before spinning quickly to face the 20-something man with a big, flirtatious smile. She stepped close to him, now reaching out to toy with his bow tie and she said softly, "Only ... I don't have any money. Maybe..."

She got closer to him yet, licking her painted lips conspicuously while seeing the effect of her perfume as it wafted all about him. As she continued explaining her predicament, she pressed a hand to his chest and let it caress slowly down his front side toward his waist, "...just perhaps ... you could think of a way that I could ... compensate you for what I need ... hmmm?"

The young clerk's eyes were huge by now, and his mouth opened in shock as Marla's hand continued downward until it was resting gently atop his rock hard cock. "I, um ... I, um ... um..."

He wasn't getting anywhere like this, and the group was in sort of a hurry to finish their shopping before they attracted any unwanted attention, particularly the kind that came with a badge and a gun. She took hold of the clerk's belt and backed up, leading him toward a side room filled with overflow goods.

The clerk barely managed to get out, "I, um ... I have to, um ... watch the store--"

"Can't you lock up?" Marla asked with a sad, begging tone as she released her hold on him and began untying the ribbon at the front of her dress. The man looked hesitant, until Marla's bosom suddenly came out for some air. She added with pouting lips, "Please?"

He wasted no time: he grasped his partially unfastened pants, hurried to the door, locked it, and returned to the back room door through which Marla had already backed. In less than a half a minute, the pair of them were going at it, he sitting on an old creaking chair with his pants and underwear about his ankles, she in his lap with the lower hem of her dress pulled up around her hips and the top half of it pushed down around her waist.

The action in the backroom wasn't the only action taking place in the store, of course. Even before the pair had slipped out of sight, Gregor had jimmied the locking mechanism of a store room window and lifted one of the smaller children up and inside. With the cross bar of the bar door removed, it was now just a matter of Marla keeping the clear occupied while the others did their shopping.

They filled bags, pockets, and arms with every thing from rope and wire to nails and screws to grain and smoked jerky, taking from the backs of the shelves when possible to minimize the obviousness of the store's sudden loss of goods. And all the time, Marla gently rocked the shelving she'd grasped on either side of her and her lover, producing additional noise to accompany the sounds of sex and cover the thievery happening just out of their view.

The clerk grunted with satisfaction far too early, though. But ever the professional, Marla kept the man engaged with compliments of how he was such a beast, the biggest cock she'd ever had in her, and that they couldn't stop until he'd driven her to heights she'd never seen before. She kept the man and his already deplete and shrinking cock occupied for another few minutes, until a light tink, tink, tink of metal on the store's front window told her that the coast was clear.

"Je-sus...!" Marla called out dramatically, slumping against the man's chest. She panted hard and heavy for a few minutes, stood to redress as he did also, and made her way back out into the store, asking with the tone of just another average shopper, "Do you have any shiny beads ... for necklaces ... and some narrow gauge wire?"



When she rejoined the others in an alley down the street, Marla wasn't surprised to find the buckboard riding a couple of inches lower. She smiled up to Gregor, who winked at her appreciatively. He asked her, "Did you get your necklace ... or ... will you be wearing just a smile tonight?"

She ignored him, taking an offered hand from the man in the buckboard and ascending to sit beside him. She nodded toward the east, saying only, "I'm good. Let's go home."

They left town by a different route, just in case the Law was waiting for them. But at the edge of town, Gregor told the others to go without him and turned back. He set his route to take him past the home of the redheaded goddess, but when he was again out before the gate, she was no where to be seen. He searched the house's windows and was about to depart, his spirits dashed -- but his cock again swollen -- when he caught sight of her and stood taller in his saddle, smiling broadly.

"Good day to you, Miss," he said tipping the hat he'd stolen from the hardware store minutes earlier. "Beautiful morning."

He didn't know whether or not she would respond: he was a stranger and a Gypsy, though Gregor couldn't know if she'd ever seen one before or even knew what a Romani traveler was.

That finished, he rode off toward the camp at a slow gallop, already remembering what Inga had told him about staying away from items of danger -- women -- and sticking to things that were much safer for him -- fighting.

 

[heartofcourage]

Jason Townsend: http://www.chicagonow.com/everyday-me/files/2015/02/Bradley-Cooper.jpg

Grace's morning after dawn was full of cleaning. The windows of the house were opened to let the cool breeze in and she had begun on Jake's laundry. He insisted on everything being just so, his shirts starched and pressed until they practically stood up on their own. She was just exiting the house with a load to hang on the line when she saw a group of strangers passing through on a buckboard. It was then that she saw him riding a horse, looking more handsome than any man had the right to.

He made eye contact with her, slowing his horse to a stop. Perhaps she looked at him a little too long, but soon a blush covered her cheeks. She looked horrid that morning, her red hair tied back in a kerchief to keep it clean while she worked. Her face was red from the hot steam of the laundry and her clothing shabby. Jake would have been embarrassed to see her out in public like that, but she did what she had to do. It seemed that this man didn't mind, an embarrassed smile breaking out on his face as he gave her a slight bow. Then, he was gone. Far too quickly if she was honest.

She gathered her thoughts as she moved from the porch to the clothesline. Her barn animals could be heard just beyond the yard, the chickens clucking softly as the pigs rooted in their pen. Why Jake insisted on keeping animals he didn't care for himself, she had no idea. He hired an old cowboy to come by to take care of everything every single day. Maybe it was a way to keep in touch with his roots and show people that he wasn't a dandy. It would help him if he ever wanted to run for office, or so he always used to say.

She thought back to the man that had bowed to her just a few short moments ago. He looked at her as if he had never seen another woman like her before. It was a breath of fresh air compared to her husband. He looked at her as if he could care less. She worked to pin the first few shirts on the line, sighing as she thought about Jake.

He was a mystery. She had met him at a church event and she had instantly been smitten with him. He would never win awards for being friendly, but he had treated her well. Her father had highly encouraged the match, especially since a rich son-in-law meant that he might see an increase in his own fortunes. Jake had paid for a new house and some livestock as a wedding gift, but nothing else had come to the family in the six months they had been married. She hadn't even seen her family in that entire time either, Jake swearing that they would sooner or later.

Sex with him was another matter entirely. He had...voracious...appetites. She had been a virgin when he bedded her the second night that they had been married. He hadn't exactly been kind to her either, demanding so much and her pleasure be damned. In fact, it had only been last month that she discovered that sex wasn't supposed to hurt and that she could, in fact, achieve an orgasm. That very thought made her sad to even think about.

She was startled when she looked up and saw the man back again. She hadn't heard his approach, but he had slowed as if he were looking for her. As she turned away from the finished laundry, scooping up the empty basket, he caught sight of her and grinned again. The smile made her heart flutter in the most unusual way.

"Good day to you, Miss," he said tipping the hat he'd stolen from the hardware store minutes earlier. "Beautiful morning."

"Good morning." She said back in her soft voice, her blue eyes taking in everything about the stranger.

Then, he was on his way, almost too quickly for her liking. She watched him go until she couldn't see him any longer and she was forced to turn back to her chores.

That evening, Grace had put on a new dress that Jake had purchased just two weeks earlier. Her hair was expertly styled in ringlets and her makeup was minimal. Besides her wedding band, she wore a gold necklace with a diamond studded locket on the end. He expected her to look the part of a judge's wife when they were out and about, even if it was just dinner with his brother. Jason Townsend had always been nice to her, being younger than his brother and a lifelong bachelor. He was much more jovial, always ready to have a good time and perhaps be a little reckless.

In fact, even before dessert had been served, Grace found herself in the awkward position between the two brothers as they yelled back and forth about the group that had taken up residence on part of Jason's farmland. Jake was livid that his brother would allow something like that to happen, especially to a group like the travelers. Grace simply kept her head down, pushing food idylly around her plate as Jason tried his hardest to appease his brother.

"They've minded their own business the entire time. I get a little something out of it as well. What's the big deal?" Jason said, trying to get Jake to calm down. "It ain't like they're hurting anything."

"They're a group of thieves, Jason. Do you not know that's what they do? They've probably already robbed you blind!" Jake raged. "They're gone by morning, do you hear me?"

"Awe, Jake, I'm not going to kick them out. They just need someone to take pity on them for a while." Jason said, that charming grin of a younger sibling taking over. "Besides, if they give me a few things in return, what's the harm?"

Grace glanced towards the open kitchen window as Jake countered with another raging argument. She could hear the sounds of a celebration outside, people laughing and exotic music drifting in on the breeze.

"It sounds like a festival." Grace mentioned softly, looking over towards her husband. "Jake, nothing like this ever happens here. I think Jason's right. What's the harm? If it gives everyone in town a reason to get out and have a good time, then I think it's a good thing."

Jake looked between Jason and Grace as if they had both lost their minds. How dare either of them oppose him on this. This was their family farm. Their father's land and his father's before that. If something happened, anything bad, it would reflect badly on the Townsend name.

"I will run your ass out of town is anything happens out there that comes back on me." Jake growled at his brother, turning his gaze onto his wife. "And as for you, if you think this is a good thing, let me take you out there and show you just how these kinds of people live. You'll be whistling a different tune pretty quickly."

Grace gasped as Jake rounded the table and jerked her out of her seat, his hand tightly gripping her upper arm. Jason averted his gaze as Jake pulled her from the house, the screen door slamming as he pulled her towards the sounds of the wild festival beyond. Before they approached the people, however, his hand released her and he took her arm in a more civilized manner. Grace knew she was in for a world of hurt later from tense way he was holding himself. She shouldn't have said anything, she mentally chided herself. She was too terrified to even enjoy anything that she was seeing.

 

[DeadManTyping]

I get a little something out of it as well.

Jason cringed as soon as he spoke the line to his brother and brother's wife. He'd planned on lying to the pair about why he'd allowed the Gypsies on his land, if it became necessary. He would say that they were doing some work and chores for him, or he might even claim they were paying him actual money.

But the way he'd said it ... well, it just sounded like the truth: Jason had gotten his brains fucked out! He just didn't want anyone -- particularly them! -- knowing that he had.

His brother and brother's wife weren't stupid people, nor were they ill-informed people. Jake had heard the stories of how every Gypsy woman old enough to have her period and tits spread her thighs for coin. And Jason was sure that Jake or Grace or both of them was now thinking that he had spent some time last night with one such naked Romani.

He had, of course. My God, had he. The gypsy, Marla, had driven him to four orgasms -- FOUR! -- over an unbelievable, six hour long marathon fuck'n'suck. No woman had ever done anything like that to him before. Of course, Jason had only had sex with two women before last night, and neither of them had been a professional. So, he really had no one with whom to compare Marla. Incomparable, he thought to himself.

Jason was relieved when neither Jake nor Grace commented or made knowing expressions at his faux pas.

Jake probably thought the Gypsies were paying Jason rent. Jason's brother was all about the money. Money, money, money ... more, more, more. It probably would never had occurred to Jake that Jason let the Gypsies stay on his land just for giving his cock a shine.

And Grace...? Did she catch Jason's error? He hoped not. She was young and less worldly than either of the men, so there was hope.

But soon whether they had or hadn't became moot. As Jason watched in silence, his brother grasped Grace and towed her out of the house behind him. Jason stood quickly, fearful for his sister-in-law. He knew what Jake could be like when he was mad. Although he'd never seen or heard anything to make him believe that Jake was being or had been abusive to Grace, Jason didn't doubt that it was possible.

He fell in behind the pair as they headed across the yard, out the gate, and into the field in which the festival was occurring...



The carnaval was in full spring by the time the sun fell beyond the foothills in the west, and already there were nearly 100 visitors milling about the camp. There were a lot of things in which the guests could find interest.

There was casual entertainment: a juggler tossing flaming sticks while a monkey sat atop his head smoking a cigar; a man spitting fire into the air above his head; a clown standing atop 10 foot tall stilts, lighting hanging lanterns with a torch; and a woman leading an alligator around on a chain attached to a body harness.

There was food and drink of all sorts, familiar and exotic. And while it was hidden away in a more remote tent because of the Prohibition laws, there was also a tent where Gin and beer could be found.

A semi-circle of tents that were encountered immediately upon entering the field offered services from tarot cards and palm reading to tattoos and piercing to jewelry and clothing sale. Food tables, booths, and tents offered familiar foods including local roasted meats and candied fruits -- much of it from ingredients borrowed during the night from local farms, including Jason's; to the more exotic offering, including Romanian sarmale, Russian solyanka soup, and Hungarian nokedli.

And if a patrol took a walk through the ring of Vardo to a second grouping of tents on the far side of the camp, they just might find gambling games, alcohol ... and other forms of entertainment that only the Romani could provide in this part of the country.

It was back here that Gregor could be found. Taking Inga's advice, he was going to earn some money the easy way tonight, with his clothes on. Well, some of them anyway. He wore loose fitting, ankle long pants and boxer's leather shoes. From his waist up, he was bared, showing off his fit, muscular body as Papa Don led him through the crowd, promoting him as Gregor the Great.

"Never in more than 500 bouts...!" the Family's patriarch lied in a loud voice, "...has Gregor been defeated in the ring!"

As Inga's grandfather continued, Gregor danced about on nimble feet, bobbing left and right, punching at the empty air before him.

"Who amongst you has the strength ... the stamina ... the courage...! Papa Don continued, looking from one strong farmer or laborer to another, "...to be the first ... to put Gregor the Great on his back?"

Papa Don's taunting challenge went unanswered for not one, not two, but three passes through the crowd. "Please...! There must be at least one man amongst you who will uphold the reputation and honor of such a proud community--"

"What do I win?" a deep male voice called out from deep within the crowd. Faces turned toward the unseen source of the question, and the man clarified, "What do I win ... if I put him on his back?"

"Step out, my good man!"Papa Don called toward the voice. He gestured the unseen man forward, asking with excitement, "Have we found our man...? Our hero...? Step out my good man. Show the people their champion!"

The crowd began to part ... and Goliath stepped out. The man was another three inches taller than the 6'3" tall Gregor. But that wasn't even the most noticeable feature of him: he was a walking rock of a man, a boulder of muscle outweighing the 180 pound Romani by at least 60 pounds. If he'd wanted to hold his arms flat against his sides, he couldn't: his biceps and triceps were simply too big.

Papa Don immediately began complimenting the man as being the biggest, strongest, more indestructible man the town could possible offer to the ring, building up the crowd's hopes in the man. He and Gregor were urged by Papa Don to stand face to face, and the crowd simply went nuts with the comparison. Listening to those speaking, you could hear a couple of dozen variations of Gregor the Great's gonna get killed.

"What do I win?" the behemoth of a man asked, looking down at the puny Gregor. "Not that I need winnings to fight ... him."

"What does he win?" Papa called out, not to the man but to the crowd as he walked around the pair. "What should he win?"

The crowd began hollering out dollar figures, ranging from $25 to $1,000. Papa Don let them chant for a bit, then called out, "To the victor ... ALL of the gate receipts. EVERY penny goes to he who stands in the end."

"To the ring, everyone!" Papa Don called as the crowd raved about the purse. He waved them to follow toward the biggest tent of all, located farthest from the entrance as could be. "To the ring!"

He led the two fighters, and the townsfolk fell eagerly behind them. It was only when they arrived at the entrance that they saw the sign overhead that read $1 entrance, $1.50 for couples. It was a steep price for a bare knuckles match, and many of the people found it just too steep. But enough filed inside, paying the men flanking the door, to make the purse substantial.

 

[heartofcourage]

Grace had never seen anything like the gathering that she and Jake stepped into. It was like a carnival, but so completely different. Glancing up at Jake's features, she could see that familiar, emotionless mask. It was so hard to tell if he were displeased by anything, but the grip he kept on her arm told her that he certainly wasn't happy. Looking over her shoulder at Jason, she saw the slightly worried look on his face as well. If he had followed them, he had his concerns that Jake might lose his cool over the entire situation.

"Jake, let's just go home." Grace said softly as he continued to march forward, pulling her after him whether she wanted to go or not.

She was surprised as they stopped short in the midst of a crowd, a prize fight being announced between the man that she had seen earlier that day and a local blacksmith. Gregor seemed to be the mysterious man's name who had stopped and spoken to her that morning. The blacksmith, a mountain of a man, would absolutely slaughter him.

"Let's go." Jake muttered, pulling her towards the tent entrance with the crush of people.

"I don't think I want to see this, Jake." Grace begged, already too late as Jake paid the entrance fee and she was dragged inside.

"You wanted to see how harmless they were. Well, here's your chance." Jake spat back as they entered into the dimly lit tent, no seating to be found around the makeshift ring.

"Place your bets!" Inga cried from the center of the ring to the men that were rushing forward to put their money down.

The exotic beauty had changed into her typical attirefor when she was reading fortunes, but whenever a match was called, she was always front and center to gain men's attention. They would never have to know that she was Gregor's cousin. She was simply something pretty to look at.

"Gregor has a glass jaw. Take it on my advice." Inga commented as she took the willing men's money, grinning at each as they were eager to possibly win something from this fight.

"Jake, please, I want to go home." Grace begged, not wanting to stand there and watch someone get pummeled to a pulp.

Jake said nothing, looking over the crowd with a steely gaze. He'd tell the sheriff in the morning what he had seen that night and who he had seen. It would be up to him to decide whether it was worth tracking them down for illegal activities.

 

[DeadManTyping]

Gregor stepped into the ring. It wasn't anything official, like the boxing rings in which you might watch Fireman Jim Flynn or Jack Dempsey Gunboat Smith. Four corner poles had been beat into the ground until about five feet of their length remained above the ground's surface. A single rope was stretched between the poles at about waist height; and a line extended from each pole outward to a stake pounded into the ground to prevent them from being forced inward, should one of the fighters fall upon or lean against one.

His opponent stepped in after Gregor, telling Papa Don that his name was Carl Carson. The Romani patriarch announced the bout, giving the blacksmith his fight name, Carl "The Club" Carson. The moniker seemed to please Carl, as it did the crowd, too.

"Place your bets!"

Gregor looked off beyond the rope to Inga, finding her as delicious as ever. He knew men would place bets simply to be face to face with the beauty for a moment. The excitement of the crowd told Gregor that this was going to be a profitable night, whether he won or not.

He looked to The Club again, watching Carl stretch out and flex his muscular body. Oh, this is gonna leave a mark, he thought to himself.

"Gregor has a glass jaw. Take it on my advice."

"Hey!" Gregor called out at his cousin, feigning disappointment in her lack of confidence of him. He looked about the crowd as it got tighter around the ring and taunted, "I can beat this guy! He's got brawn, but I got brains."

The crowd erupted in laughter after someone hollered out, "If you had any brains, you'd run for the hills, Gypsy."

Gregor made a rude gesture, then repeated Carl's flexing but with far less impressive results.

"Jake, please, I want to go home."

Despite the rumble of dozens of people all about him, Gregor recognized the woman's voice off to his left. He turned and scanned the faces, and just one row back from some men who were enthusiastically cheering Carl, there she was: the redhead from town.

Gregor's eyes set firmly on the beauty for a long moment, during which his lips spread in a smile. He maintained his gaze on her until she, too, looked to him. His smile spread a bit more, and -- as he had on Horse earlier in the day -- Gregor performed his respectful bow.

Behind his brother and sister-in-law, Jason noticed the gesture and couldn't help but think it was aimed at Grace. He didn't think much of it: Grace didn't know this man, and this man didn't know Grace. So, it was just anonymous flirtation by a Gypsy. Right?

Gregor was lost in his wonder of the stunning redhead and had lost track of what Papa Don had been saying. He only knew that the Patriarch had announced the start of the fight when The Club's fist clubbed him in the face, sending him on unsteady feet toward and into the crowd. Gregor caught the rope between his waist and knees, tumbling head over heels to the ground.

He was stunned for a long moment, but for how long he wasn't certain. He was conscious and his eyes were open, though clouded with moisture, obscuring his vision. He felt a pair of hands lifting him back to his feet, and was suddenly aware of the increased volume of cheering and jeering from the crowd.

Wiping his eyes clear, Gregor found himself face to face with the redhead of his dreams. He smiled to her, a conspicuous gesture that couldn't be missed by the family men flanking her now. He turned his head a bit, showing the pained cheek as he asked with humor in his tone, "Whatta ya think? Will this leave a scar?"

But before he could get an answer from her, several men were directing him back to and over the rope and into the ring again, where The Club was making slow circles with his hands high over his head as if celebrating victory.

"Not so fast, tiny," Gregor said, lifting his own fists before him. "Let's see how you do when my back isn't turned."

 

[heartofcourage]

Inga glanced towards her cousin as he feigned offence at her words. She gave him a small smirk as she turned towards the next man that was ready to place his bet. It would serve him right to get the ever living hell beat out of him. Maybe it would slow him down and humble him to know that he was merely human. It didn't seem that Papa was ever going to be able to reach Gregor. In fact, that thought was driven home as Inga glanced up and noticed Gregor staring at a beautiful redhead in the crowd.

"Not this again." She muttered under her breath as she declared the betting closed and moved to take her position next to the ring.

Grace only noticed the man staring at her when she felt two eyes boring into the side of her head. Glancing away from her husband for a moment, she was suddenly greeted by a dark heated gaze, one that made her cheeks flush as they had that morning outside of her house. Dimly she was aware as Jason came to her side, flanking her as the fight suddenly began.

She let out a cry as the blacksmith's hand crashed into Gregor's face with a punishing blow. She had never seen something so brutal in her life and it made her stomach turn. She turned her head against Jake's shoulder, blocking her view of the fight as she buried her head against his dark wool suit. He wasn't the kind of man to comfort her, but if he wouldn't let her leave, she certainly didn't have to watch.

The dark haired man tumbled head over heels until he was standing just in front of her, a grin on his face as she cautiously turned towards him. Her eyes met his again as he casually asked her whether the mark on his cheek would stay or not. She had no words in that instant, but it didn't matter as he was turned and pushed back into the ring by the crowd.

Inga watched in silence as Gregor seemed to showboat for the young redhead. It made her furious and she soon gave her cousin a sharp whistle that could be heard over the crowd. It was to tell him to focus, to not lose sight of why he was there or else he was going to lose his head.

 

[DeadManTyping]

"Badge!"

From where he was watching the townsfolk entering the field, Harold looked in the direction of the warning called out by one of the boys watching the road. The youth waved, then pointed toward a Model T coming slowly up the road, it's headlights going dark as it neared a line of fiery torches lighting up the fence line. Although the vehicle's roof was up now, it was obviously the same motorized car they'd seen out on the State Road the day before.

"Pass the word," Harold told a second young Romani before sending him off to warn the others that the Law had arrived.

As the boy raced off, the man who served a lot of functions but tonight was a carnaval version of a bouncer walked over to greet the Deputy. The man who stepped out of the car wasn't the recognized junior police man though. Harold watched from the fence line as the man surveyed the surroundings, greeting a few people as they walked past.

This was the local Sheriff. Harold knew that without even seeing the badge he'd be wearing that identified him as the top law man in town. The bouncer didn't like this development: first not, top cop? They didn't often get that kind of important attention the first night.

"Greetings, Sheriff," Harold said with a big smile as the lawman began his way. He turned ninety degrees and swept a hand toward the field, telling him with a joyous tone, "Enjoy the carnaval ... and, should you require anything you can't readily fine ... just find a boy and send him to find me. I am your servant."

The Sheriff shot Harold a disapproving glare. The enforcement officer knew that the Gypsy was referring to -- offering up in fact! -- the kinds of things from which the townsfolk should be staying far away: gambling, prostitution, intoxication. But he said nothing to Harold, instead only adjusting the revolver on his hip and continuing ahead, greeting those who were bold enough to say hello and glaring at those respectable types who shouldn't even be on the grounds, let alone enjoying the festivities.



Inside the big tent, Gregor was dancing about the ring, trying to keep out of Carl's reach. The Club was turning out to be far more nimble than the Romani would have expected: in the time that Gregor had landed just two ineffective jabs to the man's face, Carl had already landed four left jabs and a destabilizing right swing to Gregor's face, as well as a half dozen punches from each hand to his torso.

Oh, the Romani was making the punches seem more effective than they were, of course. The betting depended upon his subterfuge. But even so, Gregor already knew that tomorrow was going to be a day of slow movement and deep pain.

The crowd was getting more excited with each punch, landed or not. After Carl threw a bit punch that missed and fell forward almost to the rope, Gregor faded back far enough away to shoot another glance to the redhead. He only got a moment to meet her eyes, and yet the smile he donned -- bloody this time -- was obviously for her.

Someone whistled loud again, and Gregor was almost certain it was Inga. Caught ya flirting, he told himself, dodging another of Carl's powerful jabs before taking another hard punch to the gut. He wrapped his arms around the big man, clenching, trying to contain him for just a moment. But The Club shed him like an unbuttoned cloak and another big punch sent Gregor into the crowd.

 

[heartofcourage]

Inga watched everything closely, popping into the ring as soon as Gregor was sent into the crowd for the second time. "Take a break!" She called out, glancing over towards the stranger as she sent him back into his corner with a wave of her hand. "Before you absolutely slaughter him, of course."

She then turned as Gregor was shoved back into the ring by the crowd. It was obvious that they were rather bloodthirsty that night. They came to watch a man die and if he didn't start taking things seriously, that man would be Gregor.

"If you spent as much time focusing on him as you do on that redhead, you would have won this fight by now." She hissed at her cousin as he came close and she shook him by the shoulders. "She's married, for Christ's sake, Gregor. Her husband is right there with her. Do you really want to entire into that fight so soon after this one?"

Her voice was low enough that no one else could hear, but it was clear Inga was upset about something. Grace stood tense next to Jake, her fingers clenching his suit sleeve tightly. She desperately wanted to leave, but even if he had agreed, there was no way they could make their way back through the crowd to the exit. She didn't like anything about this and she also didn't like the way that the man in the fight kept looking at her with a grin on his face.

 

[DeadManTyping]

"Take a break!"

The crowd lifted Gregor to his feet again, hurrying him back to the rope to continue his beating. His cousin stressed his need to pay attention, and despite knowing that she was right, Gregor couldn't help but glance past her, trying but failing to find the object of his lustful thoughts.

When she was finished with him, Gregor waited for her to turn away ... and reached out slap her firmly upon the ass. He backed away, as he knew he must: Carl might not knock him out tonight in the ring, but Inga could catch him now or anytime in the future and do him some serious damage.

"The young lady wants me to quit!" Gregor called out loudly to the crowd as he began a slow turn to share his lies with one and all. He continued, "She's afraid that this ... this brute...!"

He looked to Carl and winked to him, unsure of whether the man would find it humorous or antagonizing. The Club only smashed one fist into the open palm of the other hand as he growled at Gregor.

"Should I quit?" the Romani hollered to the crowd. There was a mixed response: some were concerned for Gregor as was Inga, while others were only concerned that they weren't going to see The Club beat the Gypsy permanently to the ground. He continued spinning in the ring, keeping an ever watchful eye on Carl as he repeated at the top of his lungs, "SHOULD I QUIT?"

This time, those in the crowd wanting to see a slaughter overwhelmed the others with calls for the fight to continue. Gregor repeated his question again, and then a fourth time until the crowd was almost seething.

"PLACE YOUR BETS!" Gregor hollered, still turning. He pointed to Inga, continuing, "You want to see me get pummeled...? PLACE ... YOUR ... BETS!"

The crowd went crazy, with many of them fighting to get to Inga. All around the ring, with less conspicuousness, a dozen other Romani were taking side bets from anyone with their money out. Gregor turned his attention back to Carl, and the two of them began circling around the ring again. Fists jabbed and punched, with most of the successful ones coming against Gregor's head and torso.

But as we was allowing The Club to pound him, Gregor was listening. Not to the crowd, though. He was listening for a particular sound: a whistle, a specific whistle. And when he finally heard it, Gregor knew that the Romani in the crowd had gotten about all the significant bets on their fighter as they were going to get.

Gregor let Carl land a couple of more punches. Then, with some fancier foot work and body movement, Gregor avoided several punches. Carl's face showed his frustration, and he increased the ferocity of his attacks. But all that did was leave him off balanced.

And that was when Gregor struck. Then again. Then again! Soon, the entire match was shifted, with Gregor landing three or four punches, Carl throwing one or two ineffective ones, and Gregor landing more once again.

The mood of the crowd was shifting, and when The Club threw his last big miss and Gregor landed a fierce punch straight upon his forehead, dropping the man unconscious to the packed grass and dirt, the sound of the crowd was like nothing that had been expected when Gregor had first been tossed into the crowd.

There were those who had been rooting for the Gypsy, and they hollered out their delight while simultaneously collecting their bets. The Romani collected their money as well, as did Inga. Gregor for his part only hunched over with his hands upon his knees, fighting for the return of his breath ... before looking up into the crowd with one last desperate hope of finding the woman with the fiery hair.

 

[heartofcourage]

"This is what they do, Grace. They lie, they cheat, they steal, and they fight. Every single day of their lives is like this. So much for not doing any harm, huh?" Jake hissed against his wife's ear as the fight ended, the crowd going wild as the petite red head quaked beside him. "Not so magical and light-hearted."

Jake could feel eyes upon them and glancing up, he saw the Gypsy in the ring looking their way yet again. In a moment of pure rage and possession, Jake reached beneath Grace's arm and cupped a small breast, squeezing it until she let out a gasp and looked up at him in alarm. His eyes never left the other man's, letting him know in no uncertain terms that this woman was his.

"Jake, what are you doing?" Grace stammered, looking up at her husband as she pushed his hand away as quickly as she could, her cheeks heating scarlet in embarrassment. Anyone could see the motion. Hell, she was positive Jason had probably seen. It seemed that her husband didn't care, however.

"Let's go." He said, taking her arm in his to escort her out of the tent, his little brother scurrying after them.

Inga was mobbed by the men that came to get their money. She would be a very rich woman at the end of the night with her own bets and the tips that a few of the men insisted that she keep for good luck. She simply grinned at each one, made them feel some kind of special, and directed them to go and enjoy a night of drinking, food, and games. Perhaps even a few turns in bed with a lucky lady. It was all to be found there in their encampment.

Grace felt like she could finally breathe as soon as the trio left the tent. It was as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders, even if she were in for hell at home. Jake had a narrow focus as he caught sight of another familiar face, steering her in his direction.

"Evening, Sheriff." Jake said casually, drawing a glance from the man that was as straight as an arrow. "I expected you to show up sooner or later. My wife had questions as to how harmless this entire thing really was. As she can see now, it's not harmless at all. Right, Grace?"

Grace felt him glance down at her, his burning grey gaze telling her that she had better agree. Instead of putting her thoughts to words, she simply nodded and glanced down towards the ground. It was an action of pure submission, hoping that Jake would forget the entire incident before they reached home.

"As for this setup, you will probably have questions for Jason. After all, he's the one who has allowed them to camp here." Jake said, passing the entire thing off on his brother without a care for the trouble that he might be in for.

 

[DeadManTyping]

"This is what they do, Grace. They lie, they cheat, they steal, and they fight. Every single day of their lives is like this. So much for not doing any harm, huh?"

Gregor wasn't near enough to hear the man over the still loud crowd. But he caught the gaze of one of his Family standing near the Townsend trio. He looked toward Jake, then back to the Romani, then reached up to tap his ear. The other gypsy nodded his head, confirming that he could hear what the man was saying clearly.

The fighter and the bet winner would get together soon, and Gregor would know all that the local district judge had said about him and his people. And Gregor would have been fine with learning this all later and letting his flirtations with the goddess of a redhead end for now. But then -- while staring menacingly at the fighter -- the man who was obviously married to the seemingly sad beauty reached up to grope a tit. He was staking his claim -- no, confirming his claim -- should the rascal gypsy get any ideas that he might one day enjoy the conversation, company, or comfort of Grace or anyone respectable woman like her.

"Jake, what are you doing?"

Gregor didn't need a little birdie to listen in that comment and tell it to him later: he heard Grace's exclamation even over the crowd. He stood taller and locked eyes with the man. He wanted to cross the ring, leap the rope, and smash the man's forehead with a solid punch, just as he had The Club.

But Gregor knew the kind of trouble that would result. He glanced to Inga and caught her glancing his way with an expression he didn't immediately understand. Had she seen the rude bra pawing, too? Was she just recalling how his distraction has nearly gotten him defeated with the first punch? Or was she just thinking about the match and how much money she'd raked in from his surprise and unexpected victory.

Of course, despite the size of Carl, the fight's conclusion had never been in doubt. At least, not to Gregor. He'd beaten men bigger than The Club before. As the redheaded angel and her husband -- as well as the bachelor farmer who appeared to be with them -- turned for the tent's exit and pushed through the still milling crowd, Gregor looked to his defeated opponent -- now again on his feet -- and didn't feel sorry for him for a moment...

A pair of curvaceous gypsies were lovingly aiding Carl toward a flap in the back of the tent, telling him they were going him to their tent to tend to his wounds and then compensate him for his heroisms in the ring. This consolation prize was not uncommon after Gregor had dispatched an opponent with such subterfuge: Papa Don would rather pay the pair some coin from the Family's treasury for their otherwise free servicing of The Club rather than to have the local fighter angry about the trickery and searching for Gregor and a rematch. Hell, sometimes the Family was even able to engage a formerly defeated fighter in a little bit of fight throwing later in the stop, to pocket some additional coin as well.

But right now that wasn't what was on Gregor's mind. The only thing about which he was thinking was the redhead and the man who had treated her so unfairly. After all, Grace hadn't been flirting with Gregor. As far as that went, now that he thought back, Gregor thought that the beauty might have resented his paying her that kind of attention. Dumb, he chastised himself as he searched the departing crowd for her. Just dumb of you.

"Evening, Sheriff."

Barlow Baker looked for the familiar face that accompanied the familiar voice and found Clark County's District Judge approaching him. His obviously upset wife was in tow and his concerned brother -- the land owner for whom Barlow had been searching -- was following close behind, a concerned expression on his face as he eyed the not-so-happy couple.

He nodded to the man who was half his age but otherwise returned no greeting. Barlow didn't much appreciate Jake Townsend, though he was very good at hiding such feelings. Jake was an up'n'comer, type, a mover'n'a'shaker, a man who was going places. Clark County was too small a pond for this big fish, and Barlow knew that the man had higher ambitions: a State Court judgeship, maybe the State's Supreme Court, the Governor's mansion ... maybe something even bigger, like Washington D.C. or even the White House.

Barlow had been born in Clark County, had spent his entire life in Clark County -- except for his 2 years in France during the Great War -- would spend the rest of his life in Clark County, and would one day be buried right here in Clark County. He had no use for people whose only thoughts were about getting somewhere better than here, because Barlow Baker didn't believe there was anywhere better than here. And he would have expected such feelings from a man like Jake who had also grown up here, despite having the talent, education, and experience to go anywhere in the Country that he wanted.

"I expected you to show up sooner or later."

Barlow listened quietly as Jake ranted on and on about the harm the Gypsies were obviously going to cause. Jake was right. That wasn't the issue, of course. Barlow had dealt with the Romani in the past, and while they typically weren't as bad as Jake was letting on, there had in the past been deaths attributed to the travelers, whether legitimate charges or not.

"As for this setup, you will probably have questions for Jason."

Barlow wasn't surprised when Jake turned his venom toward his brother. The two men were so very different: Barlow sometimes couldn't believe they were of the same blood. But Jake was right: Barlow did have questions for the farmer.

"I'll speak to the Patriarch," Barlow said, offering his hand out respectfully to Jake. He spoke of Papa Don by his title, lending some credibility to his understanding of these people that he hoped Jake would take as meaning he was serious about the issue the man had raised. "You have my word, Judge. I'll keep an eye on these gypsies--"

He spoke the last word with a tone of disapproval, continuing, "--and ensure they don't cause any problems in town."

He turned his attention to Jason with a raised eyebrow, telling him with a firm authoritarian tone, "And you should have come to me first ... before you let these people set up. There are rules ... permits, ordinances..."

Jason's lips spread in a bit of a smirk at the law man's chastising. He was far more familiar with Barlow Baker than was Jake, despite the connection between the two men's professions; and Jason had a feeling that all this smoke Barlow was blowing was for the judge's benefit.

"Yes, sir, sorry, Sheriff," Jason said, containing his humor with the situation. "Maybe I come to your office in the morning ... do the paperwork."

"First thing," Barlow demanded. The Sheriff offered his hand to Jake once more, guaranteed him results, made his farewells to the judge and his wife with a tip of his hat, and watched them head for the house. He gave Jason another sharp look, then turned his attention toward the big tent, saying, "So ... take me to this Patriarch ... so that he and I can have a discussion."

The two headed off looking for Papa Don, never having realized that Gregor had been hiding in the shadows just a few yards away, listening in on all ... and watching for signs that his new lust interest was in any kind of danger from her beast of a husband.

 

[heartofcourage]

Grace said nothing during the conversation, instead staring at the dirt beneath her pretty new black shoes. Her heart was hammering in her chest, so incredibly confused about what had happened. Jake could be prickly, but he had never groped her the way that he had in the tent. It upset her greatly, even if she couldn’t voice her upset just right then.

As the Sheriff took off with Jason, Jake steered her back towards the farmhouse. Her husband's long gait ensured that she practically had to run to keep up. She was hurrying beside him, stumbling a few times on the way to their car.

“Jake, I’m sorry.” She said quickly, breathless as her husband said nothing and continued to drag her. “I know it’s not my place to say anything about things between you and your brother.”

As they reached the car, Grace let out a gasp as he practically tossed her against the side of the car, his hands pressing against the metal on either side of her head. His expression was absolutely unreadable as he stared down at her. Her breath came in short gasps and she shivered in spite of the warm summer air. She didn’t like that look in the least, especially as he reached down and opened the door, pushing her inside until she was seated in the back.

Then he was on her, his hands ripping at the fabric of her dress until she was exposed to the waist and her skirt was pulled above her hips. “Jake. Please stop.” She whimpered, reaching to cover herself in such a public setting.

 

[DeadManTyping]

Gregor watched as the furious man practically dragged the redhead -- obviously his wife -- away from the carnavale and down the country road between the rows of motorized cars, buckboards, carriages, and carts linking its shoulders. He followed at a safe distance almost to the field's gate before suddenly being surrounded by a mob of people who recognized him instantly from the fight they'd just watched. Men reached their hands out to shake his; women smiled up to him, sometimes with lust, sometimes with arched backs to emphasize their bosoms; someone -- presumably a female -- gave one of his ass cheeks a squeeze, causing him to give out a surprise cry before pretending it hadn't happened at all.

He thanked them all and -- when asked about another bout -- promised them a fight in the days to come before the carnavale concluded. And all the while, Gregor was trying -- but failing -- to keep the departing couple within his view. When he finally broke free of the crowd and rushed to the road, Jake and Grace were nowhere to be seen. Gregor searched for a vehicle that looked like it might be departing but saw nothing.



"You're my wife!" Jake growled at Grace as he used his hands, elbows, and knees to get her into just the position he wanted. She was on her back, stripped from her neck to the waist with her knees up and out as he hurried unbuckled, unsnapped, and unzipped his own clothes. As if those three words were enough to explain all that he was feeling -- about her, about the Gypsies, about the carnavale, and about life itself -- Jake repeated as he began groping under her dress for her womanhood, "You're my wife!"

He got about as close to being able to get inside her as he could when his fingers found the seam line of the last layer of cloth covering her. He gave it a hard tug and felt her undergarment rip open. A moment later, his fingers were at the sensitive folds of flesh between Grace's thighs, poking and prodding and swiping over them in an attempt to get her wet enough to take him.

Jake bettered his own position, moving his cock to his wife's opening, then shoved. He didn't get far, of course: she wasn't ready for that kind of intrusion. But Jake didn't give up. He pulled back a bit, pushed, repeated, then again and again. And soon enough, as Grace's natural lubricant wetted her husband's shaft to allow it to sink inside, Jake was ramming her hard, deep, and every faster. He grunted without concern for anyone overhearing him ... and obviously without concern for whether he was hurting his wife, physically or emotionally.

The pleasure -- enhanced by Jake's anger over the evening and his belief that this was his right as Grace's husband -- built quickly within him, and as one hand pressed against the seat to hold his weight over her and the other grasped the door frame to aid him in his assault of her, Jake gave out one final long, loud grunt as his fully inserted cock began leaping within her, spewing forth his seed ... and his satisfaction with having corrected the ills of the evening in this fashion.

"You're my wife," Jake again repeated after the euphoria had made its way through his body and he'd slumped down to rest heavily upon Grace's body. He lay there for the longest time, feeling his heart pound in his chest and his already softening cock still twitching occasionally as if not done for the night. Eventually, he pushed up from Grace, pulled out, and rolled to his haunches to put his own clothes back together. He glanced to her one last time before he got out to drive them home, repeating yet again the only thing he felt was necessary to say: "You're my wife."



Gregor hadn't seen all that had happened in the back seat of the couple's car. But he'd seen -- and heard -- enough to know that Jake had essentially raped his wife.

Gregor had first heard the couple's voices from a distance and turned to walk ever faster that way. He knew in his heart that the redhead was in danger, and he felt as though he needed to do something about it. But try as he might, he couldn't locate them: Jakes' car had been parked a bit farther off the shoulder, and a delivery style van was blocking Gregor's view of the already furiously rocking vehicle.

When he finally discovered the district judge's motorized car, Gregor ran as fast as he could toward it, determined to save Grace from...

From what...?

When he got close to the car and saw for certain that Jake was forcing himself onto his wife, Gregor's mind -- still sharp even after his recent beating -- reminded him that the man was forcing himself on his wife. Despite being wrong for so very many reasons, what Jake was going to Grace wasn't illegal in this day and age. Jake was the husband; Grace was the wife; she was his to with as he pleased.

Gregor had seen this so many times in so many places, and regardless of the locale, men who had done what Jake was doing had never seen any sort of punishment befall them. Oh sure, Jake had been drunk the Sheriff could have arrested his for public intoxication and lewd behavior; or if Jake had slapped or hit Grace, he could have ended up in a local cell overnight to contemplate what he'd done.

But in the end, at sunrise, the Sheriff would have booted Jake out the door and told him to go home to apologize, then go to work to earn a living. In the end, nothing would change.

Gregor had gotten close enough to the car to clearly see Jake slamming his body downward and Grace's raised knees moving with each violent intrusion. And he'd been contemplating interceding despite knowing that Jake would face no punishment. But Gregor's second bout of the night was with knowing that if he was to interrupt the man, it would be the lovely redhead who would be punished come tomorrow. If Jake was like most abusive husbands, he would take Gregor's valiant efforts out on Grace tomorrow, beating her for something of which she herself wasn't responsible.

Before Gregor got a chance to make a decision, though, he was being manhandled away from the scene by Harold, the carnavale bouncer, who had seen the fighter heading off into the night and -- knowing the man well -- knew he'd better follow and keep an eye on him.

"Leave it!" Harold growled in a whisper, using his extra height and weight to urge Gregor back up the road. As Gregor struggled, not wanting to leave without doing something to help the vulnerable woman, Jake let out his great moan of satisfaction behind them. Harold growled, "It's over. It's done. We need to leave. Now!"

The bouncer managed to get Gregor turned back to the field and the camp, keeping a firm grip on him all the way to Gregor's vardo and the bottle of gin waiting to help him forget the night.

 

[heartofcourage]

“Jake, please!” Grace cried, terrified at her husband’s sudden possessiveness.

He had never treated her like this before, never torn at her clothing like a wild animal. He had demanded from her sexually in the past and though she was reluctant, she had always consented. In that moment, Grace didn’t want to consent. She didn’t want to be used against her will in the middle of a field where others might happen upon them.

She let out another cry as he tore open her panties, his fingers rubbing roughly against her sex as he tried in vain to stimulate her. Then it didn’t matter as he simply drove himself into her body as she let out a sharp yelp. It burned like fire and she tried to push him off, but he was far too heavy. Instead, he rocked viciously against her until the car creaked on it’s suspension. Through gritted teeth he told her again and again that this was his right because she was his wife. That certainly didn’t make any of this any better.

She was sobbing in earnest as he finally found completion, his body dropping heavily on top of her own as he painted and throbbed within her. She couldn’t even bring herself to look him in the eyes as he finally pulled away and righted his clothing. She was a mess, her hair and makeup askew and her pretty dress ruined. Slowly, she straightened her legs and curled into a ball, pulling her tattered gown around her chest to preserve some form of modesty as he slammed the door and got behind the wheel.

The next morning, Grace woke early. Jake was slumbering beside her, his form wrapped up in their linen sheets. Her night hadn’t been over when they got home and as she got out of bed, her muscles protested. Her body was a mottled mess of bruises, showing on her wrists and along her breasts where he had gotten a little too carried away. Her eyes felt gritty like sand from all of the tears she had shed and all she wanted to do was get away from Jake.

She threw on a robe and hurried out of the room, gently closing the backdoor as she made her way down the steps. She settled on the bottom on, shivering as a chill raced down her spine and she huddled against the fabric of her robe to get warm.

 

[DeadManTyping]

Gregor nodded to the two young Romani girls sitting patiently with him in a small grove of trees. They hopped up and exited the thick foliage, emerging into the large back yard of the house that Gregor and the pair had been watching since shortly after dawn.

The two began quickly picking flowers, laying them in the baskets they carried. They didn't do this quietly or inconspicuously: it was their job to attract attention from the home owner. And, as desired, the pretty redhead with the swollen, tear filled eyes did see them ... and she did chastise them and tell them to go away ... and -- when they only giggled and continued pulling up her prized flowers -- she did come chasing across the perfect lawn to run them away.

Oh, this hadn't been Gregor's original plan, of course. The girls' baskets had contained fresh baked pastries, and the original plan had been to wait until the man of the house departed so that the Romani girls could come to the front door with the hopes of selling said pastries ... thus allowing their male escort to have a friendly word that wouldn't attract the protective attention of any the neighbors.

But, this worked, too.

As Grace got closer to the girls, they faded back farther toward the woods while continuing to pick her flowers ... closer and farther ... closer and farther...

Until finally Gregor stepped out into Grace's view. Her reaction wasn't unexpected, but he tried to reassure her by holding his hands to his sides in a sort of surrender gesture while very quickly saying in a quiet voice, "Please! Don't be afraid. I'm not here to do you any harm. I was just..."

He hesitated for a moment. He had to be careful of what he said. Gregor knew -- or at least presumed -- that letting the woman know he'd witnessed her being raped by her own husband would not be something that might bond them in friendship ... let alone get him between her thighs some day in the future either.

"I saw you at the fight," he continued. As if fearful that she might not recognize him, Gregor turned his head a bit to show her the big bruise on his face and -- with the same familiar though less flirtatious smirk -- repeated his question from fight night, "Do you think it will leave a scar?"

One of the girls -- merely 5 years old and cute as a button in her Romani dress and bonnet -- approached Grace and held out her basket of flowers. Gregor explained, "They were picking them for you to decorate your dinner table."

That wasn't true, of course, but if it helped keep Grace here for a moment later without screaming, Gregor was willing to give from his own pocket the coin that the child would have earned selling the stolen flowers on the street here in town.

"I saw you at the fight," he repeated, his hands still up, "and I was concerned. Are you alright, Miss? Are you safe?"

He took just one small step closer to her and lowered his hands most but not all the way. He asked with obvious sincerity, "Is there anything I can do for you."

Why a Romani traveler would care one lick about the safety for a woman he'd never met had to be on the woman's mind. She was probably thinking Gregor just wanted to get her alone and fuck her wildly. And he did, of course. But, there was more to it than that. From the moment he'd seen her on the front porch the day before, Gregor had known he had to meet her ... had to talk to her ... had to hold her close ... had to make sweet though passionate love to her...

And now ... now he knew he had to protect her ... in anyway that he could.

If that meant killing her abusive, bastard husband and taking her away from this place...

Gregor could do that.

Gregor would do that!

 

[heartofcourage]

Grace was still trying to wrap her head around what had happened the evening befor even when a commotion caught her attention. Two small girls were in the garden, helping themselves to the flowers that had painstakingly been planted. She was up in an instant, her robe held tightly around her as she went to stop the girls.

“Girls, please don’t.” She murmured, watching helplessly as they continued without a care towards her. “Please don’t destroy the garden.”

She felt panic in her veins as the girls nearly destroyed several plants before they scurried off. She followed, unsure of what she could do to them. They were too young to understand but Jake probably would lose his cool is she didn’t at least attempt something.

She came up short when the man from last night appeared from the trees. She pulled the robe further around her body as if it might protect her. He did husband best to remind her of who he was. Of course she knew who he was. It still didn’t make this situation any better.

“Leave me alone.” Grace said softly. “Just, please, leave me alone. You’ve done enough.”

It was unfair to blame him for what had happened but she couldn’t help feeling ill will towards him. His constant staring had gained Jake’s attention and that had led to what had happened to the night prior.

“My husband will be very angry to see you here and to see what was done to his garden.”

 

[DeadManTyping]

"I'm sorry for this," Gregor apologized quickly, looking about himself. The girls hadn't been too awfully careful in either their rampaging through the garden or their jerking free of the flowers that had caught their interest. Gregor smiled and shrugged, trying to alleviate the redhead's dismay with a little humor, "They're children, so... Perhaps you could blame it on a neighborhood dog perhaps...? Rather than these sweet, innocent faces?"

The girls were true Romani, and despite their young ages were well trained in improvising and taking the leads offered by their elders. They both looked to the woman who'd chastised them and stuck out their lower lips with a pouting expression filling their faces.

"My name is Gregor," he said, taking just a tiny step closer to her. He remembered the introduction the previous evening and quickly clarified, "Just Gregor. Not Gregor the Great or anything so pompous."

He edged just a bit forward again and offered his hand out to her. He didn't expect her to take it for two reasons: one, he was a strange Romani male standing in her garden just shortly after sunrise, while she herself was a married woman in her night gown with a husband presumably in bed asleep only a couple of dozen yards away; and two, there were still at least fifteen feet between them, so one or both of them was either going to have to move forward or grow really long arms.

Gregor tempted another step forward, but he would stop in an instant if she showed any further sign of being fearful of him. He just wanted to know her name ... and then ... if she told him to leave or left herself, Gregor would be content with how very far he'd gotten on this first real encounter with her.

 

[heartofcourage]

“You don’t know my husband. He can smell a lie from a mile away.” Grace muttered, looking over her should back towards the house. “You need to go. Please. Before he wakes up.”

She didn’t want the children to get in trouble for what they had done to the flowers but she also didn’t want to be caught talking to the man that’s had obviously upset Jake the night before. She didn’t know if she could take that.

Glancing back at the man as he introduced himself properly, Grace wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted from her. She was married with a very jealous husband. It was a life she had made for herself and one that she had to live.

“I really need you to leave.” She said again, a sadness creeping into her gaze as she heard noise from inside her house.

“Grace!” She flinched at the sound of Jake calling her name.

“I have to go.” She said as she turned from the trio and made her way back towards her home as Jake stepped out on the back steps, dressed in a pair of trousers and a white under shirt.

“What are you doing?” He asked, looking down at her as she had her arms wrapped around herself as if she were cold.

“There were some children in the garden and I was sending them on their way. They tore up a few things, I’m afraid.” Grace said softly, hoping that he believed her.

Jake’s steely grey eyes stared down at her fragile figure for a moment before he let out a breath and nodded. “Get dressed. I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

It was all he said as he retreated, the only small apology that she might ever get from him over what had happened the night before.

 

[DeadManTyping]

“I really need you to leave.”

At her request, Gregor stepped back a bit instead of further forward, again emphasizing his non-threatening surrender gesture.

“Grace!”

The male voice -- obviously her husband's -- caused Jake to back up yet again, the dark of the thick foliage hiding him. He gave the little Romani girls a quiet pffff sound -- as effective as a whistle but only loud enough for them -- and the pair quickly spun and ran not just for the dark of the forest but beyond him, heading for Horse.

“I have to go.”

The still unidentified redhead hurried off toward the porch and the man waiting there for her. Gregor wasn't going to get her name this morning. He listened to the exchange between them, able to hear just enough to know she wasn't revealing his presence. That would have been bad for Gregor, but -- despite innocence in the matter -- it would have been even worse for her.

“Get dressed. I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

Gregor watched the pair disappear into the house, then simply stood there in the shadows for a long moment. One of the girls had snuck back to him and now tugged at the hem of his shirt.

"Yes, yes," he told her, handing her a coin. She ran off, and Gregor followed, being intercepted by the other girl with her hand out as well. He skillfully slung himself up onto Horse -- he had no saddle or stirrups, only a blanket, reins, and bridle -- and then leaned over to grasp one girl, then the other and pull them aboard to sit before him. They giggled and laughed most of the way back to the Romani camp, bouncing upon the trotting and sometimes galloping Horse.



Jayson clenched his fingers tightly around the ends of the arm rests of his favorite chair, his knuckles turning white as his head tilted back and he stared upward at the ceiling of the old farm house. He should have been outside doing chores. There were always chores for him to do, particularly with no wife and passel of children to help him, and particularly so early in the day.

But the work could wait ... could wait ... wait for ... for just ... for just a bit ... a bit longer...

He groaned out in ecstasy as his cock began leaping, spewing forth its contents into the mouth of one of the Romani prostitutes. Marla -- who had so thoroughly wore him out two nights earlier in her vardo -- had introduced Jason to the petite, darker skinned, black haired beauty last night after he'd watched over his brother discussing the future -- or lack thereof -- of the Romani in Clark County, asking, "Perhaps she could swing by in the morning to negotiate for some things the Family needed."

Jason had, of course, agreed. And for the last many minutes, the gypsy had been proving her negotiating skill while on her knees between his thighs. The clenching of Jason's hands and tensing of most of his other muscles relaxed as the ejaculations faded and the euphoria swept through him. He'd thought Marla was skilled with her mouth, but this woman...

He slumped back into his chair as the young woman cleaned him up with her tongue, then stood to say firmly, "Two chickens and a goose."

Jason would have given the Romani his entire farm and every creature upon it right now for a promise that this woman would visit him every morning from now to the end of time. But, he knew that his brother would have him committed, then would have the ranch seized, then would have the Gypsies run out of the county.

"Two chickens ... no goose," he countered, already knowing this wouldn't be the end of their negotiation.

She cocked her head, studied him, smiled ... and began raising her dress up toward her hips. Tall boots were revealed -- they were from two different pair, Jason noticed with a wide smile -- followed by long, lean legs that had been recently shaved for the benefit of the men she knew she'd be servicing during the carnavale.

"Three chickens ... a goose," she herself countered, moving forward to position herself upon Jason's lap, with his dutiful assistance. She grasped his cock -- still stiff and wet -- and moved it into place at her welcoming hole. "And a pair of rabbits ... buck and doe ... so I can breed them."

Jason fell his bulbous head being toyed at her warmth and wetness and moaned in anticipation. He nodded agreement, and a moment later they were themselves engaged with the same eagerness as the rabbits he'd have to pick out for her after they were done. As there bodied began moving together to drive him toward ecstasy once more, Jason murmured, "Just ... just promise me ... this'll last longer than the rabbits--"

She interrupted him with a wet, erotic kiss, whispering when their lips parted, "I promise."



Gregor returned with the children and went on a search for Papa Don. He found him talking to a pair of men who had their hands full of three chickens and a duck. Gregor warned, "If we keep stealing our benevolent landlord's stock..."

"They were earned," Papa Don reassured him.

The patriarch didn't have to explain: Gregor had a pretty good idea how, though the who could have been Marla or one of the other two regular prostitutes who earned their share of the Family's income with parted thighs and opened mouths.

"What did the Sheriff have to say?" Gregor asked. "You met with him last night?"

"Yes," Papa Don answered, taking a moment to speak to a couple of teenagers with a question about whether or not they were allowed to go find work in town. Papa Don warned them no trickery so soon in the stop, sent them on their way, then returned to Gregor, "Gave him the standard tour."

Gregor smiled. The standard tour had a great deal more meaning than those two words would imply. It meant that as Papa Don escorted the law man about, things changed just moments before their arrival. At most of the tents where legal services were being provided -- such as the fortune teller or face painter -- the signs demonstrating prices would be turned around to show a significantly lower price or even the phrase "Free, gratuities accepted if you like your service. Those tents where services that weren't legal -- such as those providing alcohol and intimate services -- were suddenly emptied of patrons and service providers both, and with the removal of just one ground stake and the pull of a line, would collapse into a pile to appear as nothing more than a business that was yet to set up. Sometimes, an innocent looking sign was laid near the heap to expand on the story, such as Story Teller or Hair Braiding.

"And how did the evening end?" Gregor continued his inquiry.

Papa Don nodded his head toward a vardo, toward the ever productive Inga, who was pressing a coin into the palm of a child and giving her a shopping order to fill when she and others made a visit to town later. The patriarch answered Gregor with, "Go ask your cousin. Last I saw the Sheriff, he was speaking with her."