Bedourie Bulls: Sophie Dunne erotic adventures, #2

By Kelly McCloud

Sophie has left Malperra Station and has taken a job at the little school in Bedourie on the edge of the Simpson Desert. She's soon involved with a parent of two of the boys at the school, the local cop, and life gets interesting. Add in a local crim, a bent detective who knows her from her call-girl days and things start to get interesting. The sort of interesting that could cost her her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Len Arthur Publishing
• Release date: Jul 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519903785

Kelly McCloud

Hi there, my name is Kelly McCloud, and I write because I enjoy it.  I was born in Central Queensland and grew up on a cattle property near the little town of Dingo. Dad was the manager there and us kids, two older sisters and a younger brother, spent as much time as we could helping in the running of the place. We didn’t get paid much more than pocket money but we learned a hell of a lot, how to climb windmills and check the gearbox still had oil, fixing leaking troughs, pulling dying cows out of boggy dams, fixing old cars so they ran properly, we all learned to drive before we were twelve. We were in there with the mustering crews, riding from sunup till dark. We branded the new calves, castrated the males, did the vaccinations and the drenches and sprays, you name it and we were in it. Is it any wonder I married into the same industry. I started writing as a bit of therapy really. My children are old enough to be pretty well independent these days. Yes, I’ve had four kids, just like old mum and dad, but I had three boys before I got a girl. Boys are hard work and I was thankful when they grew up enough to kick them out the door and say, “Go and tell your dad he wants you.” I like to think it was the stress of the boys but I went through a bit of a mid-life crisis, not knowing what my purpose for existing was. Then a friend suggested I try a writing group, at which I just laughed. I mean, I really did laugh quite loudly and rudely. It was ridiculous. Me, write! I started with a little group, all women except for one old fellow who was probably more interesting than the whole lot of us together. We wrote about our lives, our loves and our dreams. In particular I wrote about life on the land and about the people I’d met along the way. A lot of my stories will never be read but they were part of the journey, part of the therapy. Eventually I started writing about the most alive and exciting part of life, the sex. I like sex. I like sex an awful lot. Life without sex would be pretty bloody boring. And I found writing about it was almost as sinful and wonderful as doing it. It excited me and made me want to write more.

Book preview

Bedourie Bulls

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Kelly McCloud

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PUBLISHED BY:

Len Arthur Publishing

Copyright © 2015

www.kellymccloud.com

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All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced in any form without the prior written consent of the copyright owner and publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

This is a work of erotic fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased is coincidental and unintended. Sections of this book may offend due their graphic sexual.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter One

I got in a fight almost as soon as I landed in Bedourie. It was a hot afternoon and I wanted a beer desperately so I propped myself up on the bar at the roadhouse and proceeded to demolish two Fourex heavies and settled in to nurse the third. There was a big red headed girl half way down the bar and she’d given me a Gidday, how ya goin’ type greeting when I’d lobbed up but nothing after. That is until the old bloke came round with the first meat raffle for the evening.

He said, Either of you ladies like a ticket in the meat tray?

I sort of muttered under my breath, Not many ladies round here, thinking there had never been a time when Sophie Dunne could ever have been confused for a lady. Unfortunately the fat redhead overheard my little witticism and thought I had been talking about her.

Well you can go and get fucked, she slurred at me and I realised she was pretty well oiled and on the way to being fully pissed.

I was buzzing on the full strength Fourex and replied unconsciously, Well you can get fucked too, you fat cow. That is if anyone would want to fuck you.

Well, I can tell you, it was on. They don’t back down in Bedourie and the fat bitch came at me like a freight train. I got a few good ones in because I’m not bad with my fists. Had one of her eyes closed in no time. But it was only a matter of time and skill had nothing to do with it. What she lacked in the punching department the big heifer made up for in the kicking, gouging, scratching and wrestling departments and I knew I was in for a hiding. For a second I considered smashing her in the face with a bottle but as we were drinking cans knew it wouldn’t have the same effect.

She got me in a bear hug and I could feel my ribs popping, she was strong and twice my weight. I smacked her as hard as I could across the nose with my forehead nearly giving myself an aneurism while blowing her nose into a flattened bleeding mess. She roared, spat blood all over me and kept on squeezing and I felt the lights start to go out. I lifted a knee in a last desperate effort and slammed her right in the cunt. She let go with a shriek and I drove a weak fist into her already shattered nose and she went down.

Hello, hello, hello, what’s all this then, a strong voice from outside the bar says in a stupid parody of an old English comedy. I was about to meet the Bedourie copper and my fortunes were about to change again.

Mill Dennis was an unlikely looking copper. He stood not much taller than I did, had a mop of blond hair that you couldn’t have straightened any straighter with a hair straightener and was almost as wide as he was high. Well, that was an exaggeration, but he was what you would call very chunky. He’d arrived just in time to stop the redhead from stomping my arse for good because she came up off that floor like she wanted to tear my head off, and she probably would have.

Mill, I didn’t know that was his name at the time, stepped in between us and in a perfect rugby flat hand fend held the red head off while she tried to swing at him. She had blood and snot running down her face and she was screaming every sort of obscenity at me, and some I’d never heard before and that was saying something. She swung really hard, missed, and Mill swung her around and in one smooth move clapped a set of cuffs on her and marched her into the corner of the bar. The old biddy who was serving the bar shrieked when the redhead’s head smacked into the corner of the room, causing a photo of Elvis to bounce alarmingly on the wall.

Settle down, Molly, the copper said and smacked her head into the corner again for good measure.

Okay, okay, she shrieked and then slumped in the corner sobbing.

The cop looked at her for a second but she wasn’t getting back up. Then he turned on me. Who the fuck are you?

Hold on a minute, mate, I didn’t start this, I said.

She fuckin’ did, the Redhead shrieked.

I did not, I shrieked back at her.

The old bloke, who hadn’t made a sale yet by the look of his ticket book, was standing over by the pool table, a tray of dodgy looking meat covered with glad wrap behind him on the table and an expression of extreme unhappiness on his face. The copper turned on him next.

Okay, Reg. What are you doing in here? I thought I told you no more meat raffles. The old bloke wobbled for a bit like I thought he was about to faint and go down but he rallied and stared back at the copper without answering him.

You can take your meat tray and fuck off, Reg, he was told in a matter of fact sort of way. And if you try it again, mate, I’ll arrest you. Now who started this fracas?

Well, the old fellow drawled, his head on the side, looking from Molly to me as if assessing who was most likely to take an adverse comment the wrong way. That one there, she did say something that upset Molly. But ah, but ah, but ah, Molly, she did throw the first punch. You know. She did throw the first punch.

Molly looked beaten now but she did appeal to the cop, dragging the first word out way longer than it should have been said, She, said I wasn’t a lady, Mill. And when I objected she called me a fat cow. And she said nobody would want to root me. At that she burst into tears, fat cheeks wobbling in the most pitiful display I’d seen in a long time. For some reason this poor fat slob had taken my last throw away comment to heart in the worst way possible. Mill walked over and crouched down beside her and patted her on the back then put his arm across her meaty shoulder. She probably needed a hug but with all the snot and blood he wasn’t getting any closer than that.

Come on, Molly, I’ll take you home, he said softly. When she finally staggered to her feet and started moving toward the door with Mill, the copper, I stepped back to give them room. Molly didn’t lift her head but the cop did give me a nasty look as they went past.

As they were going out the door he looked back and said, Don’t go anywhere, I want a word with you. And, Reg, go home.

With shaking hands I finished my can of beer which was still pretty cold. The old girl who was serving the bar wiped the already clean counter for about the fifteenth time. She was almost as rattled as I was. Eventually she came right up to me and said, I heard what you said, love, and I think she took it the wrong way, you know. Molly is a little bit stressed out at the moment and she’s been drinking a bit more than she usually does, which was way too much anyway. But she’s just had a nasty split with her boyfriend and she’s very sensitive.

Yeah, that would explain it I suppose, I said putting the empty can back on the bar. I was feeling as sober as a judge right then, amped up with adrenaline, and I wanted another drink. I’ll have another one thanks, dear.

Sergeant Mill Dennis walked back in when I was half way done on that can and stepped up beside me. I could tell he was an old hand because he didn’t put himself in a position where I could give him any grief. He stood off my left shoulder and said, Would you like to accompany me down to the station, miss. I have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind.

I did mind but I’d had enough beer by then and wasn’t feeling too good so I got up off the stool and followed him out into the car park. My bags were sitting beside the door where I’d left them and I picked up my overnight bag and extending the suitcase handle started dragging it toward his blue and white Landcruiser wagon.

He turned around and asked, That all your gear?

Well, whose do you think it is? I asked in exasperation.

Chuck it in the back, he said opening the back door which had a firearms locker and a big pack of vehicle extraction gear already in there. I slung the overnight bag in and tried to lift the suitcase but I’d underestimated the effect the fight had had on me. I couldn’t lift it. Mill pushed me away and with one hand lifted it in effortlessly. The bastard was bloody strong, or I was feeling bloody weak.

Down at the station he unlocked and led me into the office which was hot and stuffy from being shut up. He hammered a switch on the wall for the air-conditioner before leading me through to the back past what looked like his desk covered in papers and a laptop computer. He sat me down at a steel legged table in an uncomfortable straight backed timber kitchen chair before going behind his desk to pick up a pad and pen and to roll his swivel chair across. During the short trip across to the station and till now he hadn’t asked me anything or said anything.

He sat down and tapped his pen on the pad and then looked me in the eye. Close up like this he didn’t look too bad but I’d never had much joy out of coppers and I didn’t think this one was likely to be any better.

What’s your name, he asked.

Sophie Dunne, I told him. What’s yours?

Oh, sorry, he said. My name is Sergeant Mill Dennis.

What, your parents named you Sergeant? I snorted.

He smiled at me then. It was a smile filled with good humour and for some strange reason I found myself liking the bloke. After all he was only doing his job and he could have been some uptight sort of bastard who would have objected to my crack.

Just Mill will do, he said.

What’s Mill short for? I asked.

Millford, he said. I raised my