0 comments/ 26247 views/ 4 favorites Cowboys and Cannibals By: SEXY G. PART I: The Lady & the Cowboy/Ambush at Lost River Canyon Lady Isadora Lindsay-Hogg, distinguished photojournalist for a major European news service, scion of a prestigious British family, and all-around "bon vivant", peered into the LCD display of her Canon EOS 20D digital SLR camera, one of many tools with which she plied her trade, at the brightly-colored barrel cactus flower, using her considerable photographic experience to compose an aesthetically-pleasing shot. She was on the open prairie of Northwestern New Mexico, U.S.A., and trying to decide exactly how much she was actually annoyed by, rather than possibly attracted to, her host here on this particular leg of her long-awaited working vacation. That would be the slightly middle-aged, tall drink of water, with faintly-graying dark blonde hair, rather insolent grin, and blue eyes that matched the color of his faded Levis, complete with chambray work shirt, requisite dusty cowboy boots and dark Stetson hat - one Dan Wakefield, a.k.a. "Cowboy Dan", as he'd first introduced himself to her. "Just call me that, everyone here who knows me, does.", he'd claimed in an ingratiating manner as she had arrived on his property, the Devil's Gate Ranch*, just outside of the little one-horse town named, charmingly enough, Arroyo Diablo**, about a half-hour due west of Gallup. She'd been referred to him through the local branch of the state tourism office, as a life-long expert on the local flora, fauna, and natural rock formations, from which she'd hoped to acquire enough fresh nature photographs to replenish her portfolio. The unyielding desert sun beat down on her now, in her casual fatigue clothing, reminding her of the far distant, dangerous place she'd just recently returned from, hoping to find some solace from the horrors of a brutal foreign war in more pleasurable pursuits. Still, it didn't take very long for Cowboy Dan's too-modest, "aw, shucks" routine to wear a bit thin, making her wonder if he was as laid-back as his manner indicated - if he, in effect, was an actual, true, old-fashioned cowboy, here at the dawn of the 21st century, as he put on? My God - the man even wore a Western movie-style holster, complete with a Colt "six-shooter" - how droll, if it hadn't been for the plethora of firearms & other weapons she'd come to loathe after her just-ended stint in the Middle East! He just couldn't be for real? And yet - was it his pretentiousness or lack of same that she somehow found so intriguing? He stood over her, watching with casual interest as she tried to assess the photogenic quality of the cactus. After a moment's silence... "I never did see anyone who approached the subject of takin' pictures of desert plants with such seriousness - you must be as good as they say?" "I get paid well for my work, Sunshine - let's just leave it at that." She informed him a bit testily. "Okay, that's good enough for me! Just kinda' noodle around with an old Kodak Instamatic myself these days, takin' snapshots n' such. Never got the hang of those fancier cameras, those digital jobs, and all them bells n' whistles ... " "I'm sure that's quite interesting, that must amuse them down at the OK Corral, or wherever it is that you spend your free time, cowboy - " "Dan - just call me 'Cowboy Dan', everyone around here that knows me - " "Yes, I know - 'everyone here calls you that'! Well, I'll call you whatever I like, and what you are to me at present, is just a distraction, I'm trying to work here, and you 're in my light, as well!" Isadora glanced up at him from intense dark eyes with a withering look that normally shriveled men's privates, but Cowboy Dan just kept looking at her calmly, placidly, as if he was cock-sure of his innocence in any offense that she might have imagined of him. Which, of course, only annoyed her all the more. Seeing him standing there, casual as you please, right beside his trusty horse Trigger - no, actually, his name was "Cal", if you could believe it, a rather handsome paint palomino with platinum-blonde mane and tail, wearing a intricately-tooled Western-style saddle and bridle. Even he regarded her with little more than passing interest. Completing the trio was a rather friendly German shepherd introduced to her earlier as Shadow. "Okay, fine with me! Didn't mean no harm, just thought maybe you could use a little polite conversation - I know when to clam up!" Somewhat pacified, she returned her attention to the cactus flower and, after adjusting the white balance for the bright desert sunlight, snapped a few frames and then straightened up to leave. "Isadora - ain't that an I-talian name? And - you're English, right?" "Cowboy Dan - isn't that a kiddie TV-show name?" she muttered under her breath, before retorting, "Actually, I'm British, not just 'English', but that's a rather long story ... " "I was just gonna' tell you, about some nice saugaro cactus - or, is it cacti - over yonder by the southern fence-line - yucca, too - that I thought you might be interested in, if you really wanted more pictures of them - " "Would you please? I can find my own way over there, no need to tag along, I wouldn't want to keep you from punching some cows, 'riding the lower forty', or something similar? I'm sure you must have more important things to do, than just to keep me company!" She hopped into her rented SUV, stowed her camera gear in the back, and started the vehicle, wheeling off towards the direction he'd indicated, leaving the laconic Yank and his horse in her dust, glad to be alone with her thoughts once again. Just what was it about him that she was allowing to get under her skin in such a manner? Usually, it took a bit longer - say, an hour or so - for her to take a dislike to someone new; he was one of those rare exceptions to the rule. Or - was it really annoyance after all, and not something else instead? Roaring down the ranch's main road, Isadora calmed down a bit, until she reached the approximate area where he'd indicated, and found a number of the proffered desert plants waiting for her, in varying shapes and sizes. Parking the vehicle, she got out with her gear, and proceeded to set the camera up on a tripod, in order to get a series of exposures. Not long after she had accomplished this, as she was bending over the viewfinder again, she thought she heard the sound of approaching hoof-beats, and an all-too-familiar shadow of a horse & rider fell onto the ground beside her. Not daring to look up, she knew whom she'd find waiting there, just as leisurely as he'd been before, from almost two miles away now. Sighing, she gave into temptation, and glanced behind her. Cowboy Dan, the Marlboro Man, smiling just as calmly as you please, seated on Cal the Wonder Horse, watching her again from only ten feet away, along with his trusty canine companion Shadow. "Made good time, I see! Does he fly, like Pegasus?", she quipped, trying to keep her irritation reined in. "Pega-whosis? Cal? Shoot, no' M'am, he's just good at what he does, which is being a good range horse, he can cover a mile of open flat-land in just under six minutes, not even at full gallop!" He paused before continuing. "Hope I'm not in your light here?" "No, Cowboy Dan - you're not 'in my light', here, but you are most certainly getting on my nerves, instead! Why do you American men always have a terrible time grasping the obvious - and, no, I'm not playing 'hard to get', here! I've just come back from an especially hellish war-zone created by your people, and having barely survived it, I'm here strictly on vacation, to pursue some leisure activities before re-entering the 'real world' once again! And, I'd like to enjoy this time to myself alone, if you don't mind?" "I hear you there, lady - I've done my tour of duty, as a soldier in Uncle Sam's Army, as well! I was over in 'the Big Muddy', in 'Nam, '71 - '74, left just before the fall of Saigon. An Luc, Nha Trang, Dien Bien Phu, the Mekong Delta - I was 'in country' so long as a youngster, I'd seen things that'd curl your short-hairs, they would!" "Trust me on this, cowboy - this isn't the same kind of conflict, different territory, fresh new horrors as well! You Yanks never learn from history, do you? You keep repeating the same mistakes over, and over - all for the sake of a cheaper gallon of gasoline, this time around! Backfired, though - didn't it?" "Well, boy, howdy! You're a opinionated gal, I can see that! I like a woman who speaks her mind!" Isadora rolled her dark brown eyes at this, thinking it not worthy of a response, then attempted to return to her subject. After a few moments, she thought she saw a strange, circular shadow on the ground, growing ever closer - just right before she felt a sudden tightness about her shapely torso, just taut enough to jerk her backwards a little, away from her camera. She glanced down, to see - a rope! A lasso-noose, of all things, that the damned man had adroitly thrown around her, right from his horse! She felt him tug gently but firmly upon his end of it, bringing her about to face him, as he hopped down out of his saddle, and calmly approached her. "What you need to do is relax a little, you're wound way too tight - take it easy, and slow, like we do out here! I can tell by looking at a woman, what she really likes, deep down inside! I could show you some real rope tricks, some fun n' games, if you'd just co-operate a little - " He tried to bring her distinctive face, with its' angular good looks, close to his. Furious, the Irish in her blood boiling, she managed to free her right hand in order to slap him senseless - all the while, trying hard to fight off the undeniably-erotic sensation of nonconsensual bondage. "Why, you presumptuous, cheeky bastard!! How dare you!!" But, before she could strike him, he quickly and firmly grabbed her wrist, holding it motionless, while he stepped back and tipped his hat apologetically at her. "Hold on, there, Honey! Sorry - thought you were sendin' out different smoke signals is all! No harm done - just foolin' a little with you, alright? "Well-said, you cowboy dunce! It quite obviously takes a fool, to try a stupid, juvenile stunt like that! Now, if you'll just get this rope off of me, I'll try to remember not to press sexual harassment charges against you with your local sheriff, or whomever passes for competent law enforcement in this rural backwater!" Quick as she could say this, he flicked his wrist upward, slackening the lasso just enough to flip it off of her, and then coiled down by his side. Trying her best to hide her flushed complexion, she straightened up, recouping her dignity, and hastened to pack up her gear. "Since I've obviously outstayed my welcome to your little spread, here - would you be so kind as to point me in the direction of the Lost River Canyon? I was told that there were some unusually-picturesque rock formations and outcroppings that just beg to be photographed, and I'd like to get to them before nightfall." She waited, as he resumed his almost lackadaisical former attitude. "Sure thing, Ms. Great Briton. You just follow this here road you came in on until you reach the main state highway, follow that west apiece until you come to the sign sayin' 'Lost River Canyon exit". Turn off onto that - you'll run out of paved road in about a mile or two - then, follow that until you reach a gully that turns into a dry wash, then gradually becomes the Canyon. But - I wouldn't advise goin' in there alone, especially as you're a woman. There's been some trouble lately over at the nearby reservation, some of these Apaches - the Jicarela and Mescalero - have gone renegade, land disputes with the federal government n' such, and have taken up some of their old ways again! Some of them might be holed up in there." She rolled her dark brown eyes again at this, unbelieving. "Oh, give me a break, John Wayne! You're telling me that actual Native Americans have 'gone on the warpath, against the white man', here and now - in the start of the twenty-first century?! Save your tall tales for some of the local kiddies, mate - I've both seen and been in the midst of some real savages, recently, and I don't scare easily!" The lanky Westerner only shook his head. "Some of those boys still like to practice their old customs, especially where an attractive white woman like you's concerned. If I were you, I'd keep on goin', till I got out of the county before dark." Isadora regarded him derisively. "I stand forewarned - and, I'll still take my chances with them over you, any day, Cowboy Dan! If I truly need any help, I'll just use my cell phone to call out the cavalry! Thanks so much for your Western hospitality, pardner - and, goodbye!" As the proud, fiery British woman got back into her SUV and peeled out towards the main road in a cloud of yellow dust, the laconic cowhand stared after her, while Cal and Shadow both watched. He glanced down at them as he spoke. "Now, I tell ya', boys - there goes a woman who's either beaucoup crazy, got a passel of guts, a bushel of nerve - or maybe any combination of the three, I dunno. But, I do know this - " (smiling) " - she's a real piece a' work, ain't she?" His horse neighed assent, as the dog barked, and wagged his tail in agreement. * * * Isadora gunned the Hyundai Santa Fe down the rock-strewn dried-up riverbed leading into Lost River Canyon, then finally settled down as she slowed for a closer look at the surroundings, still angry over the nerve of the amorous cowboy who took such liberties with her. Yet - despite her annoyance - she somehow found his outdated chauvinism rather disarming, even charming, perhaps? And, the masterful way he handled her with that lariat ... Oh, now, stop that, Dora Pig, she scolded herself, get a grip! You're a strong-willed, competent woman of the world, much too mature to fall for such juvenile, macho posturing. After her numerous affairs and relationships with men in the past, there was but one thing above all else she had learnt about them, a hard lesson indeed - they always thought with their dicks, not their hearts - they were simply not to be trusted! A "free agent", is how she saw herself these days, and all the better for it! Stopping the vehicle and shutting off the engine, she got out and ventured forth to view the rugged scenery. Wow, she thought - not bad, not bad at all? Might fit in well with the rest of her shots to date for a nice coffee-table book. She went around to the lift-gate in the rear, to access her Canon and tripod, fitted the camera with an appropriate zoom telephoto lens, and proceeded to set up shop again, with a view of some simply gorgeous red rock cliffs and shale outcroppings, their burnt sienna, golden brown, and crimson hues standing out in stark contrast to the spare, turquoise sky. As she busied herself with this task, little did she know that her every movement was being scrutinized at a safe distance from discovery by pairs of stealthy, furtive dark eyes - male eyes. So, it came as a complete surprise when she turned at a soft, almost imperceptible footfall too late to avoid her savage attackers - five strange, swarthy men of varying ages, with long, dark hair ringed by patterned headbands, war-painted visages, calico blouson-style shirts, buckskin leggings, armed with antique rifles and long, wicked-looking knives in their belts. At once she recognized them, as they pounced upon her and held her immobile by her arms, gesturing threateningly with obviously hostile intent and grunting in an unknown, guttural language. Cowboy Dan's last words instantly came back to haunt her. These thuggish brutes were unmistakably Native American - Indians, possibly Apaches! Long-ago old Western movies from her girlhood, and the terrors that such individuals usually visited upon helpless women captives, especially white women, came flooding back almost instantly - and, she felt a delicious, submissive thrill at the memory of them! Before she could utter a word of outraged protest, or reach for the pepper spray or cell phone in her kit, they tied a dirty rag across her mouth tightly for a gag, and then bound her wrists & ankles the same way behind her. Next they tied her by both ends to a long, roughly hewn wooden pole that they'd been carrying, so that when two of them grabbed either end, she was suspended horizontally like some trophy game animal, instead of a human female. At the same time, one of the two younger braves had discovered her camera and tripod, examining it with a mixture of wariness and amusement, until he'd seemingly figured out what it was and how it worked, and trained it on the three of them, as they all laughed and shook her on the pole while the first one snapped off shot after shot. Despite her fear and excitement, the lady photojournalist was incensed - how dare these heathens manhandle her precious equipment in such a manner - they wouldn't know an F-stop from a CCD! The sextet of captors and captive moved to where the Indians' horses were tethered to scrub trees behind some huge boulders, and as they all mounted their unsaddled steeds, the two guarding Isadora held her pole between them, so that they could keep her crude prison horizontal as they all galloped off in a group, shouting war whoops and cries as they rode away. Uncomfortable as it seemed, she secretly admitted to herself that such capture & bondage was a huge turn-on, as evidenced by her rapid pulse and panting breath. After a few dusty miles of hard riding, the group came upon a box canyon deep inside the larger one. From her skewed perspective, Lady Isadora saw what appeared to be a wooden post about seven feet tall, carved out of a tree trunk perhaps, sunk into the cracked, sun-baked earth nearer the back wall, with a circle of sticks and branches spread out around the base of it, a faintly familiar sight somehow, as if just waiting for ... it dawned on her suddenly with the force of an electric shock! They were going to treat her to a "slow burn" at the stake, just like in all those old Western movies! Again, another, even more surreptitious shudder overcame her. Oh, how quaint! And, exciting! As they came to a stop and dismounted, the two that held her by the pole brought her down a bit roughly, standing it on end, as they unbound her. Still threatening her with the rifles and knives, the savages proceeded to strip the fair Englishwoman of all her clothing, from her casual expedition shirt, pants and boots, to her socks, and underwear, until she was left totally nude under the burning Southwestern desert sun, more vulnerable than she could ever recall. Even though of a tall, athletic build, she could not fend off the five pairs of rapacious male hands poking, prodding and examining her everywhere, even in her most intimate spots, as the men evilly laughed, chuckled, and ogled her naked beauty from her dark hair, to her nether regions, as if crudely commenting on her meat quality. Harder still was the effort to remain furiously outraged & indignant, while inwardly thrilling to their touch, even finding herself growing wet in secret places. Sensing that she should well put up more of a believable fight, Lady Isadora struggled gamely, but was carried off over to the upright stake, upon which they proceeded to bind her securely, with a series of rough, coarse ropes, from her ankles to her breasts. In light of all that had just happened, this actually took her by surprise - despite having her nude & helpless, they weren't even going to have the decency to properly "tenderize" her, before the hot stake part? How unspeakably rude, and wasteful to boot! She was about to protest to this effect when one of the natives removed her cloth gag, but quickly replaced it with a round, orangish fruit of some type shoved securely into her open mouth. The taste was strange, yet not unfamiliar - not an apple, as she'd always secretly hoped, but - a persimmon? Following this, a couple of others brought over a metal bucket full of a brown viscous liquid, and began sloppily applying it to her bare flesh with both lascivious, sadistic grins and crude wooden-handled brushes, covering her from her feet on up to her neck in the thick, spicy-scented mixture that made her pussy lips, breasts and nipples tingle with arousal. What was this - some ancient recipe for Indian barbeque sauce? Cowboys and Cannibals The finishing touches to all of this came when the two youngest Indians came forward with small lit flame torches, and applied them to the pile of kindling at her feet, setting it alight and licking their lips at her. Within minutes, the fire began to catch and spread all about her, setting her toes to wriggling in response to the increasing heat. The heathens then all jumped onto their war ponies, and began to gallop around her in a circle, waving their rifles and giving out wild, savage cries while their helpless white female captive steeled herself for the coming ordeal of being flame-cooked alive for their brutal amusement, perhaps even dinner? Oh, now you've really gone and done it this time, Dora Piggy!, she exclaimed to herself. Here you are - Lady Isadora, world-famous globe-trotter, cognoscenti, and highly-in-demand, cannibal-fetish pinup girl, about to end a brilliant career and adventurous life by winding up in the bellies of these renegade savages, here in the former Colonies, of all the luck! She sighed - well, it's what she had secretly wanted for so many years, ever since early childhood; it's just that she'd always imagined something a little more consensual, even - dignified, perhaps? Like being properly prepared by gourmet canns? She swooned in delight at the prospect, before doing a quick reality check. Wait a minute here, ducks - what's actually happening with all this, then? This just can't be real - I must either be dreaming this, or having a nightmare, can't tell which at the moment? It was during this wanton display of barbarism, that the figure of the lone horseman and his trusty steed, accompanied by his faithful dog, appeared on the near rim of the box canyon, silhouetted against the clear afternoon sky, aiming his weapon at the scene below, and the sharp craack! of a rifle shot split the still, dry air, echoing off of the canyon walls. All of the action came to a sudden halt, save for the slowly growing fire that was advancing toward the vulnerable, statuesque body of the striking British woman on the stake. They glanced immediately upwards to the figure on the horizon, as Cowboy Dan Wakefield lever-ejected the spent cartridge from his Winchester 73 .30 cal. rifle, his steely blue eyes sighting down the barrel at the group of alert Indians, and tersely announced in a commanding voice, devoid of his previous leisurely drawl: "RELEASE THE WOMAN - NOW!! OR PAY THE PRICE!!" Lady Isadora couldn't believe what she was both seeing, and hearing. She felt as if she was living out a stereotypical plot from an old John Ford Western - all that remained was for the Cavalry itself to come bounding up behind him, and a bugler to sound the charge! She glanced at her captors, who were eyeing the lean cowboy with a mixture of obvious enmity, and contempt. One - the apparent leader of this raiding party, a somewhat middle-aged bloke himself, raised his voice to retort to this challenge in his native tongue, a harsh statement in short-syllablic words and a glottal intonation. She didn't need it translated - probably something on the order of "We got her, she's ours, we're gonna' party - come and get her, then!" They seemed unbowed and determined. Cowboy Dan issued one last warning, rifle aimed, trigger-finger ready: "I said, CUT HER DOWN - LET HER GO, NOW!!" Without further ado, the same Indian warrior gave forth a blood-curdling yell, and charged his paint forward at full gallop, aiming his rifle in return. Yelling "HIEEYAH!", the cowboy spurred Cal into action, rearing up on his hind legs, whinnying, forelegs pawing momentarily in the air, then landed and raced downhill, reins in teeth, holding his rifle at the ready, Shadow by their side, barking furiously. As they rapidly approached each other, weapons at the ready, they both fired in sequence, narrowly missing the other, the whine of bullets ricocheting off the canyon's rock walls. As they neared, the Indian slid back his rifle bolt to prepare for another shot, but Cowboy Dan swung his Winchester at him, catching him square in the face with the wooden stock, and knocking him off his mount onto the ground. The savage snarled and got up, rifle in hand, fixing to fire, but the cowboy was too quick, and shot him in the chest, obviously killing him, as he cried out and fell down. Next one of the other two raiders came at him full speed, and as he fired a shot that whizzed by Cowboy Dan's head, he returned the same, the impact knocking the brave off of his horse, and he lay motionless on the dusty ground as well. The two younger men held back from the fray, while the rancher quickly dismounted from Cal, and raced over to the imperiled Isadora, who was watching all of this, enthralled, while keeping an eye on the growing fire now about to lick at her shapely feet. He poured some water from his canteen onto the flames in an attempt to douse them. "Hope I'm not interruptin' something here? I gotta hand it to you, lady - you really got quite a pair on ya', walking straight into an ambush like this, then gettin' all trussed-up like a Thanksgiving turkey ready for dinner!" He popped the persimmon out of her gaping mouth, as she instantly worked her sore jaw muscles anew. "Well, it's bloody well about damn time you showed up, Sagebrush Sam!! These lads had just made plans to put 'Roast Isadora' on their menu!!" Her dark eyes cast a glance above them. "Look OUT!" As he drew out his Bowie knife to cut away her rope bonds, the third adult renegade leapt down from his hiding place above a rock overhang with a savage cry onto the cowboy's back, his war knife at the ready. The two combatants wrestled on the ground, first the Indian with his knife to Dan's throat, then quickly turning over for him to hold his at the other's, until after a fierce struggle, the assailant lay dead with his own blade in his chest. One of the remaining two tried to grab his faithful steed by the reins, but Cal the Wonder Horse fearlessly reared up again, and with a whinnied warning, lashed his sharp hooves out at him, while Shadow growled and snapped at the last one, holding him at bay, until finally the pair got on their painted mounts, and without so much as a backwards glance, high-tailed it out of there, leaving both the white man and woman, and several dead of their comrades, behind them in their dust. With an expert single slicing movement, Cowboy Dan cut away the last of the ropes still holding her, taking her down from her perch as the now-roaring fire rose even higher up the pole. Grabbing a nearby Indian blanket, he wrapped her sweaty, sauced-up body into it, giving her his canteen to drink from, then holding her, he whistled for Cal, and quickly but carefully placed her across his saddle, leaping up behind her and with a firm tug on the reins and another "YEEHAH!!" they fairly flew in a blaze of tangled hooves away in the opposite direction from the scene. As they put enough distance between them and the scene of the crime, Cowboy Dan felt free enough to speak plainly. "Tell me somethin' here, 'Lady Knows-it-all' - do you always do the exact opposite of what somebody warns you not to? It's a wonder you're still alive to tell the tale, then!" Her excitement and arousal abating a bit, the British gentlewoman swigged greedily at the water, then regarded him somewhat archly, her previous haughty manner returning. "Well, for Christ's sake! Who in their right mind would've thought something like that was still possible, in this day and age? Hostile, renegade Indians? With cannibalistic tendencies, yet?" She suddenly remembered what she'd been doing, just before her capture and short-lived torment. "Wait - we have to go back! The rental car - my camera equipment - my clothes!" "Don't worry 'bout all that - we can come back for 'em tomorrow, nobody's gonna' bother them way out here. We can get you some fresh clothing, I've got extra jeans and some shirts back at the ranch house should fit you, soon's we get you showered off, and some proper medical attention. You might still be in a state of shock, after all that!" He chuckled a bit, then said: "S'ides, Ms. 'Isadora long-piggy' - everyone knows that burnin' at the stake's no way to properly cook a woman; all's you wind up with is a whole lotta' scorched, blackened meat! Now, a down-home old-fashioned Southwestern barbeque - you got yourself a real meal, there!" Something in his manner - she thought she noticed a slight twinkle in his sky-blue eyes - made her instantly wary. She shuddered even in the late afternoon sun's heat, as she tried to read his tanned, weather-beaten face. What exactly did he know, or suspect, even? "Why - wh-whatever do you mean, mate?" "C'mon, now, just who are you foolin', lady?" This was like ice water in her face, as he continued. "I know your dark little secret - I had your number the moment you laid eyes on my cattle in the corral, like you'd wished you were one of 'em! You're not the only one who's 'been there, done that', y'know! You act like you've been rode hard, and put up wet! " He felt under her blanket with a free hand, till he found her soaked pussy, and chanced a stray finger there, then pulled it out, and - actually licked it in front of her, grinning widely, outraging the British lady even more! "HA - thought so!" She sputtered like a mad duck. "OH! You impertinent son-of-a-BITCH!! " "We have a saying out here - 'talk is cheap'! So - 'put up or shut the hell up', and open your pretty mouth!!" Before she could resist, he brought his arm around her mid-back, and drew her against him, hard, his mouth meeting hers. She struggled, but to no avail - giving in as his searching tongue found hers, kissing greedily, hungrily. She moaned after a moment or two of this, then slid forward a bit till her bare legs could find purchase on his jean-clad ones, hooking her feet behind his boot heels, her fingers searching for what she knew they'd find straining against his zipper. She opened it, releasing the hot, hard, meaty shaft, and slipped it easily inside her cunt, bucking against his groin, riding him just as they were both riding the gentle horse, the motion only adding to the ecstasy as she managed to keep him inside her for almost the whole way back to the Devil's Gate Ranch, coming again and again. Both the horse and dog understood what was going on, but paid little attention, only knowing that two healthy, mature human animals of opposing genders, who'd been lonely for far too long a time, were at long last enjoying themselves as nature had intended. After a piece, Cowboy Dan Wakefield let go of the reins, trusting in Cal to find the way home, as a good cow-poke's horse always does, Shadow trotting happily alongside. * * * About this time, back at the canyon ... Young Cody and Frank Yazzie were returning on their painted ponies, to where three "dead" men still lay where they fell. Frank dismounted first, walked up to them, and announced: "Okay, guys - show's over, coast is clear - you can get up now!" McKinley County Sheriff's Deputy Darryl Redfern, the second gunshot victim, stirred himself first, raising up on his elbows, then carefully standing up, feeling his sore back. "'Medic, MEDIC!' Oh, man, am I gonna' be glad to see my chiropractor tomorrow! I'm getting too old for this shit!" Charlie Yazzie was next, helped by both his sons, as he dusted himself off, removed both the trick knife and the longhaired wig he wore, and surveyed their surroundings as if contemplating regret. "Yeah, I know what you mean - sure hope none of this gets out to the Tribal Council, they'll be burning us at the stake! Two hundred years of social progress, new schools, businesses - we even have our share of the state gaming market with the new casino now! All shot to hell in a matter of an hour or so!" Sheriff Wesley Crow had by then recovered fully, taking the fake blood-squibs out of his blouson shirt, and removing it to reveal his uniform, and badge. He regarded them all with a huge grin, laughing so hard he could barely stand. "What're you guys gripin' about? I'm the one who got whacked in the head with a rifle-butt, here! Besides - where's your sense of humor? You all act like you never got to play 'cowboys and cannibals' with the girls when you were kids on the reservation!" Darryl shot him a sharp glance. "Don't ever say that again - not even in joking!" Charlie spoke up as well. "Yeah, I know we all owe old Dan there a debt of honor that we've never really repaid him for; still - is this really the way to go about it? 'Nam was a good while ago, now - just another page in the history books." Wesley stood his ground. "Maybe to some; to the rest of us ... " He just let it trail off, as they knew what he meant. "Besides, did you see the look on that gal's face? And Dan's as well - I haven't seen him this excited about anything since Lee Ann passed away! It was worth it!" Cody chimed in, "Yeah, that was some hot lady, wouldn't mind sinking my teeth into her! Do you suppose she's typical of most English women? Maybe I should've applied to be an exchange student over there my senior year in college?" Frank regarded his younger brother a little worriedly. "Still - what if this all falls apart, and she presses charges against us? We did actually abduct someone here, and all..." "Don't worry, if I know Dan-o, he's probably got her eating out of his hand, like a newborn colt, right about now! Besides - if a crime was committed ... " Sheriff Crow looked at them all officiously. "Raise your right hands - I'm swearing you all in as temporary deputies!" As they did, he continued. "Alright - who're the witnesses to this alleged abduction? Right! Now - who're the most likely suspects? Right again! Okay, case closed for now, we'll handle the arraignments later! In the meantime, help me get these horses rounded up and back into the trailer; we still have to get these costumes and stuff back to the rental place in Gallup before they close. Get a move on!" As the rest complied, Wesley Crow studied the far horizon a moment, in the direction that his good friend Dan Wakefield had headed off in. And softly, to himself ... "Well, Danny boy - go for it, enjoy yourself! Remember - 'failure is not an option'!" * * * PART II: Sweetheart of the Rodeo/The Last Roundup Meanwhile, back at the ranch ... It didn't take very long for Lady Isadora to become a semi-permanent fixture around the place. After they went back for her abandoned belongings at the canyon, and returned the rental car, she had much more of her working gear and personal items brought over from England, moving in lock, stock, and lens-barrel. She'd notified the notoriously-difficult editor of her news agency that she wouldn't be returning to Great Britain in the foreseeable future, but would instead stay on there in America, sending back as much of her photographic output on a regular basis as she could manage, claiming that she'd found "new opportunities to pursue", as a more mobile free-lancer. Cowboy Dan even had installed a T-3 line and darkroom in the main house, to better accommodate her work output, and facilitate uploading it to the 'Net, to send back to London. He returned to his ranch duties with a renewed vigor, tending the beef cattle herds but making as much effort as possible to travel with her on her treks, acting as her guide and occasional interpreter, displaying his considerable knowledge of the history, geography, and customs of both his beloved home land, and its' native inhabitants. And so she spent her remaining days there during the next eighteen months shooting more of the magnificent desert scenery surrounding them, as well as the colorful local events and peoples, traveling from one end of the state of New Mexico to the other, covering almost the entire Four Corners region of the Southwest. She viewed the majestic Shiprock, a huge natural rock formation in the shape of its' namesake, where she'd shot several rolls of film and maxxed-out a digital memory card or two, and not only photographed, but climbed the White Mountains in the state's NE corner ("So much like the cliffs of Dover back home", she'd marveled). They traveled south to Santa Fe, where she bought prints of many of Georgia O'Keefe's famed landscape paintings at her museum, and visited the Ranch in Taos, where her fellow Brit expatriate and iconoclastic author D. H. Lawrence lived out his days, with his own lusty lady, Frieda. She photographed colorful Navajo sand paintings and high meadow wildflowers, and the spectacular caverns at Carlsbad. They followed the original Santa Fe Trail, retracing the steps of famed frontier scout Kit Carson, as he brought the first white European settlers to the then New Mexico territory in the mid-1800's . Later that autumn he took her down southeast to Lincoln County, locale of the later famed cattleman wars that brought those legendary adversaries Sheriff Pat Garrett and William H. Bonney, nee' Billy the Kid, to their final showdown, and visited their gravesites. They saw as well the spots where the Army took down both Cochise and Geronimo, the great Apache war chiefs, and viewed their final resting places. Thus she gradually came to truly know the meaning behind New Mexico's state motto: "The Land of Enchantment" ("Yes, it really is!"). She taught him an appreciation of Beethoven and Fleetwood Mac; he got her to love Patsy Cline ballads and the Eagles. She tutored him in the finer aspects of single-malt Scotch and Italian wines; he got her to try Lone Star beer and snockered on mescal tequila, even to swallowing the worm at the bottle's bottom. He'd taught her how to both ride and shoot Western-style, and she taught him the English way. They rode sidesaddle, and she, cowgirl-style - both in, and out of bed. "We made love betwixt sweated sheets all night long, till sun-up sometimes!" "We fucked like two horny desert jackrabbits, under a hot July moon!" They spent carefree days and endless nights, racing along the back country roads in his meticulously-restored antique Ford Mustang convertible, top down, hot desert wind in their hair, laughing and singing along with the CD playing all of the pop/rock songs of their youth, like kids again. She discovered the joys of whitewater kayaking on the Rio Grande, and they took long camping trips by horseback, sleeping out under the desert sky ("The air's so clean here, and the stars, my GOD - I never saw them so clearly as here, even while in the Middle East!"), listening to the night sounds of owls, crickets, and coyotes, howling along with the latter sometimes after they'd both gotten gloriously drunk around the campfire. At the State Fair and Rodeo in Albuquerque, Dan entered the Bareback Bronc Riding event for the first time in over ten years, and came away with a blue ribbon in the Senior Category, while Lady Isadora herself entered the Cowgirls' Barrel Racing event, outperforming many of the younger gals, and winning an award for herself, along with accolades from the crowd. Soon afterwards, that first Christmas, she bought him a new Canon film SLR camera; for her present he bought an spotted Appaloosa mare from the Apache reservation, as fiery and spirited as her mistress, who soon named her "Patches", and they became fast friends, as inseparable from each other as Dan and ol' Cal. They would sometimes spend their evenings at the Boot N' Saddle, the best cowboy dive bar in Arroyo Diablo, where she would both drink any man or woman under the table, and dance the night away with a number of randy young buckaroos, but Cowboy Dan always knew, that it was only one special cowpoke's bed that she would warm when they went home together after last call. That winter, they went to the Taos Pueblo, to view the ruins of the pre-Columbian Indian inhabitants, and he told her the story of the lost civilization that inhabited it - the Anasazi, or "Ancient Ones" - who, from recent archeological evidence, had apparently practiced cannibalism. Later that night, in bed together, when naked truths usually follow nude lovemaking, Cowboy Dan told her the story of how, once upon a time very long ago now, he'd been simply young Danny Wakefield, straight off his daddy's ranch in Farmington, then a fresh-faced 24 year old. Lieutenant. in the U.S. Army 75th Infantry Rangers Co. B, the Kit Carson Scouts - their motto, "Failure Is Not An Option" - toward the close of the Vietnam War. Cowboys and Cannibals On one particularly-harrowing night recon patrol, he, Wesley Crow, Darryl Redfern , and Charlie Yazzie along with the rest of their unit, had gotten caught in a sudden firefight with the V.C. during which their C.O., a captain, had been killed, and they'd inadvertently fled twenty clicks "over the fence", into Cambodia, where they were overtaken by a tribe of native Highlanders that the Intel boys back in Saigon had apparently never known of before. Regarding them as unfriendly interlopers, these primitives gave them the choice of joining them in a particularly-gruesome funeral feast, consisting of the dead body of one of their own killed in battle - a young woman - or else suffer uncertain consequences. Finding himself thrust into a command position, and with the lives of the men under him at stake as well as his own, young Dan had to make the decision of simply "cowboying-up", and took the first bite, heeding his father's advice that "whatever don't kill you, can't be all that bad", thereby truly earning the nickname that would follow him home. And, consequently discovered that indeed, eating human flesh really wasn't all that bad - might even be fairly-appetizing under the right circumstances - though it was the one and only time to date that he'd ever tried it. After they'd gotten safely back home to base, word had leaked out among the top brass of what they'd done, who were aghast and gave them the choice of either a court-martial or psychological discharge, for propriety's sake. Once again, Lieutenant Wakefield had volunteered that he was the only one who'd participated in the atrocity, and took the fall for the rest, returning home to less than a hero's welcome. Undeterred, he resolved to go back to a normal civilian life, buying the Devil's Gate property and marrying his high-school sweetheart Lee Ann Thompson. Though their married years were pleasant enough, she had tried time and again to give him the one gift he'd wanted above all else - a son - and, after repeated attempts and fertility treatments, she'd finally done so, delivering a still-born baby boy, which had cost her own life soon afterwards, just over fifteen years ago now. Since then, Cowboy Dan had stayed to himself most of the time on his spread, tending his herds and trying to forget the troubled, tragic past - until the day she entered into his life. Isadora was both moved and touched by this tale, and related her own youthful involvement in the cannibal-fetish underworld, describing the many times she'd role-played with only-too-willing male "cannibals" and female "meat-girl wannabes", and the extreme sexual thrill it always gave her. She'd often thought of actually being either cooked or roasted alive as the perfect way to end her life, once all that she'd wanted to do & achieve had been fulfilled. And as is usually the case, out of such shared confidences, definitive plans began to be made... * * * PART III: "... for Auld Lang Syne."/"Shoot the Moon" The following year went much like the previous six months. The intrepid British lady photojournalist continued her workload output, sending the pictures almost daily back to her editor, and getting some occasional shots published in local area periodicals as Horizons West, and Santa Fe Magazine. She even had a photo exhibit of her own at the Georgia O'Keefe Museum, and some toney little art galleries in and around Albuquerque. Her cowboy lover was right proud of her, as she finally taught him some of the finer points of both art, and journalistic photography. Finally, her long-awaited volume on the Southwest came out, and it soon wound up on all the art book lists, even making the London Times and New York Times Book Reviews. Meanwhile, their sexual style grew wilder and more extreme. Though outwardly refined, Lady Isadora loved to play rough behind closed doors. Cowboy Dan even got around to showing her those "rope tricks" he'd first kidded her about, chasing Isadora around the main corral late at night wearing nothing but their hats and boots, cornering her and calf-roping her into tight bondage, where he had his way with her just as she liked it. For his birthday that year, she got him a magnificent sterling silver and turquoise belt buckle; for hers, he had a special miniature branding iron cast just for her, and after he fire-heated it, he lightly branded her on her right buttock with the mark of his ranch - a "DG" inside a circle, split by a vertical bar, denoting her as part of his own personal stock. When the dry season began that August and September, bringing with it the ever-present threat of brushfires, she'd even joined Cowboy Dan and his fellow McKinley County volunteer firefighters, donning the heavy gear of their work and pitching in alongside these seasoned, weather-toughened cowpokes, earning their respect and admiration, cheering them on. It was in the autumn of that second year that she finally made her decision - she'd accomplished all that she ever set out to do in her life, traveled just about everywhere, interviewing celebrities and covering foreign wars, climbed most of the major mountains, did just about everything a person could do in this world, and she figured she'd "go out with a bang", in style, the way she chose, while she was still at the top of her game - before the infirmities of age gradually overtook her. Naturally, her cowboy lover tried his best to talk her out of it, hoping that they would grow old together, watching the gorgeous New Mexico sunsets from the front porch. However, she was as fiercely independent and strong-willed as ever, adamant about this, until at the end, he reluctantly gave in to her wishes. His compromise was that she'd wait until the year's end, during the Christmas holidays. Both of them would see the old year out; only one likely to see the New Year in. The cover story to her editor would be that she'd finally exhausted her supply of photo opportunities, and wished to take an early retirement here in the States. What little family she had left in the British Isles wouldn't be likely to inquire after her. And so, all during that October & November, while the aspens and cottonwoods transformed their leaves into scarlet and golden shades to match the ochre hills, the happy couple traveled to, and dined at, many of the finer restaurants and inns from Albuquerque to Alamogordo, Socorro to Santa Fe. They compared and contrasted the more traditional Southwestern cuisine with the newer Tex-Mex, and other fusion ones, researching recipes, poring through local cookbooks and gourmet magazines, and visiting expensive wine shops, until they were sure they got it right. And they continued in their other happy pursuits as well, interrupted only by a brief stay in the Gallup General Hospital for Isadora, and the attendant recovery period that followed. As November waned, and Thanksgiving drew near, Cowboy Dan and his luscious lady decided to hold a sort of "dress rehearsal" for the main event, and role-played for the holiday dinner with Wesley, Darryl, Charlie, and a few other invited guests who were let in on their little secret. Just before the mesquite-roasted turkey was brought out to the hungry diners, Isadora herself, nude & bound-up in classic poultry-roast fashion complete with apple in mouth, and carrot "stuffing", was served up to them on a huge silver platter, wheeled out on the serving cart, to appreciative cheers and laughter, before being released in time to dress and join in on the real feast. For their last Christmas together, Dan and his lover gave each other the gift of their own intimate company, spending almost the entire week between Dec. 25th and the 31st in residence at the only four-star, four-diamond, elegant old-style hotel, in the heart of Downtown Santa Fe - the Eldorado, right next to Santa Fe Plaza. There they enjoyed casual days strolling arm-in-arm through the picturesque streets of the historic old district, lingering over authentic Southwestern crafts and delicacies, and long, passionate nights spent between luxurious silken bed sheets, making love yet again with a renewed fervor and purpose. As New Year's Eve drew nearer, they opted to stay in their sumptuous suite more, the genteel British woman pampering herself with massages, facials, body waxes and manicures/pedicures, ordering their meals from room service. They knew their time together grew shorter with each passing day now, as they held each other close, murmuring promises in the dark... Being an election year, the incumbent won his seat back in the Capitol, and as Cowboy Dan was always a faithful voter and contributor to his campaign, he and his lady were invited to the Governor's Inaugural Ball on the evening of Dec. 29th. For such a gala occasion, the ol' cowpoke rented one of those fancy formal black Western tuxes, which his favorite hat accented quite well, and Isadora chose an antique-white, chantilly lace Southwestern fashioned evening gown, with low, revealing decollage', that contrasted well with her dark tresses and fair skin. As they danced to the strains of the orchestra, playing everything from Strauss waltzes to "Desperado", many envious male and female eyes were on them on the dance floor. It was the very last time they were to be seen together in public... * * * On the morning of December 30th, the two of them woke up in the ranch house with the realization that things were much more serious, now. Isadora began her fast, taking only a little broth and soup, along with dry crackers; Cowboy Dan began to check on other preparations for their New Year's Eve feast, calling the caterers and reminding them to deliver the rest of the ordered side dishes early in the afternoon, lest they discover just who the main dish was destined to be. His attitude was a good deal more somber, which she noticed and tried her best to joke him out of, with limited success. Later that afternoon, they took one last long ride around his property on both Cal and Patches, drinking in the warm Southwest sunshine and the pleasantly chill desert air. Following a bedtime enema, which he helped her with, they turned in early, passing up sex for just the opportunity to hold each other, naked and warm, in their arms, one final night. On New Year's Eve, they rose early, dressed casually, and went about seeing to the festive decorations in the outer courtyard, where the night's dinner would be held. A large, open BBQ pit was just off of the veranda, complete with grilling rack and rotisserie frame, and the charcoal and mesquite wood all ready to be fired up soon. After much thought and debate, they'd agreed on spit-roasting the lovely British woman Southwestern-style, then just after she'd expired, quartering her for final grilling separately, to order, for their invited dinner guests. Elegant, engraved invitations had been sent out months in advance to not only Dan's old Army pals, but various other local dignitaries with whom she'd become well-acquainted during her stay, such as the mayor of Arroyo Diablo and some town council members, other local ranchers and their wives and girlfriends, and just generally any close friends who'd been carefully screened and advised never to speak to another soul about what they were about to partake in. Sheriff Crow had requisitioned some extra deputies to stand guard just outside the ranch's main access points, to prevent any possible gatecrashers from spoiling their plans. That afternoon was another dry, clear, sunny one as both busied themselves with stringing up colorful crepe banners and Mexican-style paper lanterns, even a piñata filled with party gifts for a little pre-dinner entertainment. The overall theme was to be that of a typical Southwest fiesta, as light-hearted and gay as could be - complete with a genuine Mexican mariachi band, all of whom were sworn to secrecy as well. She'd wanted her last night on earth to be as pleasant and life affirming as possible, just the way she'd tried to live her own amazing, accomplished life. Inside the kitchen, Jesus the ranch foreman and his wife Pilar, the cook, attended to Isadora's needs and preparations prior to being fastened to the spit, while an apprehensive Cowboy Dan supervised. She'd already received a second thorough internal cleansing that morning, and had kept her fair, alabaster skin as hairless and smooth as possible for days now. She held steady, self-assured even whilst nude, as the three of them began to trace a familiar pattern all over her fit and toned body with black grease pencils, to prepare the mature beauty for her "coming-out" party ... In the late afternoon, just as dusk began to fall, their guests started arriving, greeting the cowboy heartily, with early New Year's greetings and well wishes. He mustered a bit of his usual cocky nonchalance when asked where his Lady fair was: "Busy in the kitchen, gettin' tonight's chow ready", is all he'd tell them, to bemused chuckles. After they'd all been seated, he fired up the cooking fire, then ducked inside to check on things, re-appearing minutes later wearing an immaculate white chef's apron, holding up an antique triangle bell, striking it a number of times to get their attention. "Ladees and gentlemen," he drawled, "presenting tonight for your exclusive dining pleasure, an imported delicacy from across the Pond, for one night only - the most delectable, delicious dish this side of the Rio Grande - and, I should know!" He winked at them all, as they caught the joke with knowing laughter and loud catcalls. "The most mouth-watering meat you're ever gonna' sink your teeth into! 'Chez' Devil's Gate' proudly serves up for you, tonight's main course - 'Isadora Long Piggy'!!" And, with that cue, Jesus and Pilar smilingly wheeled out the delectable Isadora, kneeling upright on a serving cart, still nude save for her cowgirl hat and beef-cattle-diagram markings, mimicking the classic old "Cattle Baron Steak House" naked girl poster from the late '60's, with a juicy Washington State red apple in her mouth. The mariachi band broke into a lively rendition of "La Cucaracha" as they made a complete circuit of the greatly-appreciative guests who gave her a standing ovation, many calling out which cuts of her meat they'd request once she started cooking. She seemed more pleased and happy than he'd ever seen her, he thought, as she raised up and waved her hat at them all, thanking them for coming, laughing along with them. "Soon to be 'Roast Isadora'! See you all later, on the open range - oh, I mean - grill!" Once back inside the kitchen, final preparations were to get underway, as they carefully removed every last trace of the grease pencil. By this time, Artemis Grey Owl, the local Apache shaman, had arrived, and they greeted each other warmly. Wanting to spare his fair lady as much pain as possible, Dan had recruited him through his good friend Wesley Crow to prepare a special sedating medicine, combining a mild hallucinogenic from native mushrooms and peyote buttons with natural herbal analgesics, which he produced from a plastic bottle and poured into a handmade, decorated clay dish, chanting over it a few ritual words in his people's tongue before giving it to Isadora to drink. If it had its' intended effect on her, she'd be able to stay alive long enough to both feel, and smell her own meat cooking over the coals. The next step was for her to soak in the marinade that had been mixed up the day before and held in the refrigerator, then poured into a long, open wash-basin, set inside a larger tub - actually, a converted water trough - filled with ice. He led her to it by the hand, and she gingerly sat down in it for about an hour and a half, to let the cider vinegar, lemon juice, tomato sauce, pepper, liquid smoke, and other spices soak into her skin, flavoring her. As she rested, and the medicinal potion took effect, the British woman looked herself over, and gazed about her surroundings. Wow, she thought, so this is what it's like to be raw meat in the kitchen, just passively waiting to be cooked alive for adoring, hungry dinner guests - finally, for real? What a turn-on! Just like I'd always imagined, during so many countless role-plays. Even though she'd never shown the slightest reluctance at being internally skewered, either vaginally or anally, with the roasting spit, her cowboy lover had insisted that her body be simply tied to the spit securely, at select intervals. This important implement was lying upright against the wall nearest her, and when the kitchen timer went off, he came back inside from tending to the fire and helped her out of the marinade, allowing for some of it to drip before wiping the excess off her. As per her instructions, Cowboy Dan brought over to the work area both her favorite Canon SLR, and a digital camcorder as well, set up on tripods, arranging them to cover the entire work area, and instructing Jesus how to operate both, capturing the last moments of Lady Isadora as living-female-human-meat for posterity. Then, taking the spit down and laying it on the prep counter, he helped her climb up and onto it. Bringing some strong cooking twine from the shelf, the two of them set about to tying both her wrists and ankles to the spit's crossbars, both above her head and below her waist, stretching her tall, athletic frame it's entire length, careful to secure her to it without cutting off circulation. Then came the moment of truth, as he stared into her deep dark eyes, looking for ... perhaps, a reprieve from this fatal course of action. Though wide-pupilled already from the drugs' effect, they returned his gaze unswervingly, as he picked up the large, scalpel-sharp ceremonial gutting knife, holding it poised above her flat, trim belly. She already knew what he was thinking. "C'mon, Danny-boy - you can do it, I know you can! 'Cowboy-up' one last time! Do it for me - for Isadora!!" "I ... I can't, darlin' ... I don't want to! This has gone far enough, joke's over! I love you, you know that!" "OH, you self-obsessed man!! It's always about you, isn't it?! You've learned nothing in all our time together! What about me - respecting my wishes? You promised! If you truly love me, then - you'll do it!!" These were words that would haunt him the rest of his life. A moment of indecision, of internal struggle ... the knife held poised, in mid-air ... an eternity of doubt. Grey Owl began to chant again, a consecration of some sort, as Dan gave her both a dram or two of Glenfiddich, and an antique bullet to bite on, then - plunged it downward, into a spot just below her sternum, and sliced sharply across and down perpendicular to it, as crimson ribbons began to rapidly ooze out of the crude incision, in stark contrast to her fair alabaster skin. She gasped in sublime pain, but held steady, as he worked quickly to cut away at her now useless internals, remembering how he'd often watched the M*A*S*H surgeons during the war perform "meatball surgery", under much worse conditions, on shrapnel and gunshot wounds. He removed her stomach, liver, both kidneys, and spleen, saving them in a separate plastic bucket, aware of her wish to use as much of them as possible in future dishes such as pate', sweetbreads, steak and kidney pie - she even wanted haggis made! He cauterized the major arteries as best he could with a hot poker from the fire, she shuddering almost in ecstasy with each application. Then, according to the agreed-upon recipe, Pilar brought over a huge bowl of cornbread, Mexican rice, chipotle peppers and pinon nuts stuffing, and after soaking up as much of the blood and gore with thick towels as he could, began filling her hollowed-out abdominal cavity with plenty of the warm, spicy, fragrant mixture, up to its' capacity. He took some of the stuffing, and pushed it up into her vaginal cavity, grinning at her as she writhed in wanton pleasure with each handful, moaning. Isadora watched with some heightened awareness as her cowboy lover took a large, husked ear of fresh sweet corn, and poised it for insertion into her smooth, hairless pussy, now leaking wetness.