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Loretta

By: Just Plain Bob



I wonder what it is that makes some men get the hots for pregnant women. The opposite side of the coin is what is it about being pregnant that turns some women into cock hungry sluts. It's a question that I have asking myself for about a month now; ever since I found out my wife of three years, who is seven months pregnant, has been getting fucked by other men. Not just a lover, but by a lot of other men.

Loretta was by no means a virgin when we took our wedding vows. She'd had other lovers before she met me and in the interests of having an honest relationship she told me all. We lived together for two years before we got married and I'm almost positive that during that two year period, as well as the three years of our marriage (at least until she got pregnant) that she had been faithful. I probably never would have known otherwise if I hadn't overheard a conversation at a friend's house that I obviously wasn't supposed to hear.

Loretta and I were attending a birthday party at a friends house when the birthday boy himself came up to me and asked me if I would mind running to the liquor store for him. He had underestimated the amount of beer drinkers and had run out of suds. I said I'd do it and he gave me a credit card. I went out the front door and got in my car and then realized that I'd been to dumb to ask and he he'd forgotten to tell me what kind he wanted. I went back in the house and spent several minutes looking for him and then someone told me that they thought they saw him go down into the basement. I started down the steps to the recreation room in the basement and hadn't gone three steps when I heard a voice say, "Have you fucked Loretta yet?" 

There were no other Loretta's in our social set so I froze. 

"Not yet, but I'm hoping to. God does she look sexy now that she's pregnant."

Another voice said, "She always looked sexy, but you could never get to her before." 

The first voice, which I recognized as the birthday boy's, said, "Yeah, but it is a different kind of sexy now. More of a come over here and fuck me right now kind of look. I fucked her three times this afternoon and got my cock sucked twice." 

Another voice said, "I fucked her the day before yesterday. All you have to do is tell her how radiant and sexy she looks now that she's pregnant and then follow her hints. She doesn't come right out and ask you to fuck her; she'll ask you to stop by and move a piece of furniture or something and when you get there she will be wearing next to nothing. All you have to do is make your move. I'm seeing her again tomorrow." 

Birthday boy said, "If you want to hit on her now would be a good time. I just asked Charlie to go to the store and get some more beer so you should have a clear shot." 

Another voice laughed and said, "Yeah, if there isn't a line" and they all started laughing as I quietly made my way back up the stairs and left the house.

If there had been any doubt in my mind that it was my Loretta they were talking about it was gone now. I was the only Charley that birthday boy had sent out for beer. I still didn't know what kind he wanted, but out of spite I was going to get him the worst stuff I could find. When I got to the liquor store I told the guy behind the counter that I wanted some really bad beer for a gag gift and I asked him what was the worst stuff he had. He told me and I told him to give me five cases of it. I also got two bottles of Bailey's Irish Cream and the two most expensive bottles of wine in the store and paid for it with birthday boy's credit card. The Bailey's and the wine were going home with me and I'd be waiting for him to ask me what the hell I was doing. Once I got back to the party I was not surprised to see three guys standing around Loretta. I watched her until the guys drifted away and then I went up to her, "Having a good time?"

She smiled and said, "Yes I am. I'm really glad we came." 

"So am I, but not for the reasons you might think. The party is about to get real good for me, but not so good for you I think." 

I left her standing there with a confused look on her face and I walked over to birthday boy and handed him his credit card receipt. He looked at it and frowned, "What's all this?" 

"What? You expected I'd let you fuck my wife for free?" 

His eyes got big just in time to see my fist coming at his face, but not in time to send the signal to duck. I nailed him right on the chin and he went down like a sack of cement. Clara (his wife) came running over, "Charlie! What have you done?" 

I pointed at him on the floor and said, "It looks like I knocked him on his ass."

About that time Loretta came up and said, "Charlie, have you gone mad?" 

I gave her a look that should have caused her knees to quake and said, "No my dear I didn't go mad - I got mad, and there is a difference. 

"Charlie" Clara said, "What in the world is wrong with you?" 

Okay, I thought, why not, "When I heard your husband bragging about fucking my wife this afternoon (and I saw Loretta's face go pale) I got a little upset and so I hit him." Then I looked around the room and said, "And there are a couple of more here that are going to get the same as soon as I find out who they are." 

I grabbed Loretta by the hand and started heading for the front door. "Charlie, what are you doing" and she snatched her hand away from me. 

"I'm going home. You can either come with me or stay here with your lovers and frankly I don't give a shit which one you choose." 

Loretta looked around the room; her gaze fell on Clara and she said in a weak voice "I'm sorry" and then she hurried after me.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It was a very quiet ride home. Loretta stared out the passenger window and said nothing and I stared out the windshield at the road in front of me and was quiet. When we got home I went into the den and turned on the TV. I sat there channel hoping, not because I was looking for anything in particular, just to have something to do with my hands while my mind churned with what I'd found out. I swear I almost could have accepted Loretta's taking a lover, but giving it away to anybody who told her she looked sexy being pregnant? No way could I even remotely accept that. But what was I going to do about it? I couldn't just throw her ass out - she was the mother of my unborn child for Christ's sake. But how could I live with her now? How could I look at her and not hear birthday boy saying "I fucked her three times and she sucked my cock twice." Besides, I loved her. She had made my days sunny and perfect since the day I had met her and had done so right up to the minute I heard those voices in the basement tell me what a fucking slut she was. My thoughts were interrupted when Loretta opened the door and came into the room. 

"You coming up to bed?" 

"What? You expect me to sleep with you after what I found out tonight? I listened to three men discussing having sex with you and talking about how they plan to keep on doing it and now you come in here and say come on up to bed dear like my finding out you are no better than a common whore is no more than a common, every day occurrence? I'm supposed to just trip on up the stairs like nothing at all has happened?" 

Loretta cocked her head to one side and I wasn't sure whether she was contemplating me or what she was going to say. Then she said, "Why not? It didn't hurt you last night or any of the other nights after I'd had sex with some one else. The only thing different tonight is that now you know and your ego is getting in the way." 

I stared at her, astonished by her attitude and she said, "Don't expect me to get all weepy eyed and plead for forgiveness Charley. It's done and I can't undo it. The first time was a stupid mistake that never should have happened, but it did and I liked it so I did it again. I liked it that time too so I did it some more. It didn't hurt you, it didn't hurt me and it didn't hurt the baby. I'll probably stop now that you know, but you may as well know that I don't really want to. I was having the time of my life with all those men lusting after me. I felt like some almighty sex goddess and they were worshiping at my altar." 

"My God woman, didn't you give any thought to us, to what this would do to our marriage?" 

"No. Why should I? You love me and I love you. Why should that change? I had some fun, so what? Think about it Charlie, has it cost you anything? It's been going on for two months now; have I been any less loving or affectionate during that time? Have you gotten any less sex from me? No, in fact you've gotten more. In case you hadn't noticed Charlie, we went from twice, maybe three times a week before I started fooling around to an average of five times a week. For some reason I'm always horny after I've been with some one else. No Charley, all that's a problem here is your ego. Someone else used something that you considered yours and you had no say in the matter. It's either that or you think I let someone else have me because you weren't man enough for me."

She saw the look on my face. 

"That's it, isn't it? You think I needed some one else because you weren't getting the job done." 

She walked over and touched my cheek, "Oh baby, it's not you, it's me. I got to thinking that I was fat and ugly and I was feeling really down in the dumps and one day, and I'm not going to tell you who, came up to me and told me that since I became pregnant I had never looked more radiant and sexy. I thought he was just trying to be nice and so I led him on just to see if he meant it. Well, things got out of hand and it happened and then he wanted more and I gave it to him and soon he was fucking me almost every day of the week. And then he told some others and I liked being desired in spite of my condition and things just went from there. I do love you Charley. Come on to bed with me baby and I'll prove to you that you're man enough for me." 

Loretta reached out and took my hand and led me from the den and up to the bedroom. My mind was in turmoil over what I'd just heard. How could my wife have come up with such a casual attitude toward sex? How could she possibly rationalize away what she had been doing as hurting no one, costing no one anything? Still, if she had been doing it for several months now she was at least right in saying that I hadn't suffered from any lack of affection. She was also right in that I hadn't minded the increased frequency of our sex life. I didn't know what the fuck to do. I wanted her to be happy, but if it took other men to keep her happy did I really love her that much? Sadly, I guessed that I did. Could I mentally handle her being with others? My thoughts were interrupted by a tingling sensation and I looked down to see that while I had been lost in thought Loretta had started sucking my cock. Her mouth was sliding back and forth and her eyes were looking at me as if to say, "See? I'm still yours" and I pushed her back on the bed and returned the favor. We made love three times that night and fell asleep in each other's arms.

Loretta was already up and fixing the coffee when I stumbled down the stairs the next morning. I was staring into my coffee cup, my mind still roiling with the events of the previous night, when I became aware that Loretta was talking to me. "What?" 

"I said, what do you want me to do today?" 

I must have gotten a confused look on my face (not surprising because I was) because she said, "About today, what do you want me to do?" 

I still didn't have a clue what she was talking about, "Come on Charley. What we talked about last night - it's your call." 

And then it hit me - she was asking me if she could continue with what she had been doing - I was being asked to tell her if it was all right for her to fuck another guy today. 

"Charley, unless you say no I'm going to do it." 

I didn't know what to say. The whole thing was too way out and weird for a simple guy like me, "Loretta, I don't know. It's too much too soon and I'm going to need to think on it for a while. This isn't like making a decision on buying a new couch or getting new carpeting." 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I got up, kissed her and headed off to work, but halfway there I thought, I didn't tell her no. I didn't tell her don't do anything until I have a chance to think it over. And she had said, quite frankly, that unless I said no she was going to go ahead and do it. Would she keep her assignation today since I hadn't said no? Suddenly that became the most important thing in my life - to know if she was going to meet one of her lovers today.

I stopped at a Wal-Mart and got a large thermos, hit a convenience store and filled the thermos with coffee, got both daily papers and a USA Today and headed back to our neighborhood. I parked down the street where I could watch the house and settled in to wait. I used my cell phone to call work and I told my secretary that I was making customer calls and that if she needed me she could reach me on my cell. It was a long wait; I had gone through all three papers and the thermos was empty before a car pulled up in the driveway and Brad got out. I wondered why I hadn't recognized his voice last night when he said he was going to see Loretta today. No matter, just one more so called friend stabbing me in the back. I wondered how he would like it if I fucked his wife Judy. For that matter birthday boy's wife Clara wasn't all that bad looking either, but no, I really wasn't interested in either of them, not even as revenge. I waited fifteen minutes to see if Brad would come back out and when he didn't I went on in to work.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

That night when I got home nothing was said by either of us about what she had done that day. But out of curiosity, when we went to bed that night, I made as if I was going to go down on her. Would she actually let me eat her pussy after spending the afternoon with another man in it? She made no move to stop me and I couldn't back off without having to admit I was only testing her. She didn't taste any different than she normally did and I worked on her for about two minutes before she said, "You didn't think I would really do that to you, did you?" 

I looked up at her, "I douched and showered after he left Charley. I wouldn't let you eat me after somebody else fucked me and came in me" and then she giggled, "Unless you wanted to. Would you like that Charley? Would you like to suck another man's cum out of me?" 

The she laughed, "Oh come on Charley, I know you too well. I called your office around eleven to see if you had given our situation any more thought and when your secretary told me you were calling on customers I had a pretty good idea what you were doing. I looked out the window and saw you parked down the street. You don't have to do that you know. You could watch from the closet and I'll bet it would turn you on. I'm getting really horny thinking about it. Come on Charley, fuck me, make me cum." 


While I fucked her I actually did think about how she would taste after fucking someone else and I did think about what it would be like to watch her from the closet. The more I thought about it, the hotter I got, and for the first time in years my cock stayed hard after I came. 

"Oh Charley" Loretta moaned, "What's got into you. Whatever it is I like it. Don't stop honey, don't stop. That's it baby, that's it, oh God Charley, fuck me baby, fuck me." When I finally fell on the bed next to her she cuddled up to me, "Please Charley, please let me do it. I promise I'll be a good little wife after the baby comes, but for now let me have my fun." 

I fell asleep my head full of visions of watching her from the closet.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

That was two weeks ago and since then I have watched Loretta from the closet six times and I have eaten her each time after her lover had gone. There have been four of them and I find it interesting that each one of them leaves a different taste in her. My watching her and her fun will end next week when she enters her eighth month. She doesn't know it yet, but I have no intention of letting her go back to being a good little wife, not unless she insists on it, and somehow I don't think she will. Surprising Loretta and even myself, I had her call birthday boy and invite him over (he doesn't know that I had her do it - or that I watch), but I felt a little guilty about hitting him and not doing anything to the others. Loretta threw her arms around me, "Oh thank you Charley, thank you. He is my favorite because he has got the biggest cock. It isn't as long as yours, but it is fatter and it feels really, really good." 

The most surprising thing about all this is how much it has turned me on. I'm fucking Loretta every night, sometimes two or three times and when I'm at work I'm always walking around with a hard on thinking about what she is doing at home. So, all you guys out there with pregnant wives, better keep an eye on them because you can bet someone will come sniffing around and if you let her get to where she is feeling fat, ugly and undesirable somebody just might get lucky.

Loretta



I married my second wife, Loretta, because she is the complete opposite of my first wife, Margie. Loretta is plain, plain as white bread. Her features are not ugly but she does nothing to enhance them so she comes off as a 'Plain Jane'. I have never even seen her wear lipstick. Her clothes are non-descript and usually covered by a bulky cardigan sweater. There is nothing stylish about her at all and that is exactly why I married her. 

Margie was a party girl, beautiful, vivacious and the sexiest dancer I ever met. She was stylish and wore the shortest dresses and tightest sweaters possible. She also had the figure to go with them and she loved to flirt. She was the center of attention where ever she went and had all the guys drooling over her. I don't know why she was attracted to me but I was the proudest GI in the army when she was on my arm and I was head over heels in love with her. I had enlisted in the army when I graduated from high school because my parents could not afford to send me to college. I thought the army would but it didn't work out that way. I met Margie at a USO dance during my second year at Fort Bragg. We went to bed on our second date and got married after the fourth one, two months before I was deployed to Kuwait in the First Gulf War. I was in the Quartermaster Corps and got there five months before the war began to make sure that the supplies got to the right places at the right time \I was there for almost a year after it was over to salvage the leftovers. When I got back home I was met by my loving wife and a two month old son. We had exchanged loving letters, emails and even video phone calls and never was a pregnancy mentioned. I loved her but was not about to raise someone else's bastard and that was the end of Margie.

When my enlistment was up I left the army and looked for a job. I found one with a large discount chain that was building warehouses as a center piece for their big box store expansion. That was right up my alley because of my army experience. Within two years I was the manager of their newest warehouse in a small town in Alabama and it was there that I met Loretta. She ran the local library and I talked to her the first time when I was looking for a particular book. She was helpful and friendly and I was new in town so I asked her to go to dinner with me. I got a polite refusal. I could see that her face was pretty but her figure was hidden by her clothes. The cardigan was bulky and the skirt came down to her calves and the flat shoes did nothing for her legs. After Margie, this was the kind of girl I wanted. I persisted and after my third request she consented to go out with me and over dinner I told her about myself and found out about her. She was the only child of an evangelical pastor brought up in a very religious home. She never dated in high school and rarely at the small southern bible college she attended. Her degree was in Library Science, what ever that was, but it got her the job in this town and away from home. She was lonely too. I courted her for over a year before I was able to kiss her and she was a virgin until our wedding night. Sex with her was plain vanilla and I could never even get her to take off her night gown when we made love. It wasn't the an exciting marriage but then again I knew she would never cheat on me like Margie did. We now have two children in college and Loretta is still working at the library. 

We live in the house we bought when we got married twenty three years ago. It is on a quiet street in the best neighborhood in town and our closest neighbors are the Johnsons, an elderly couple in their eighties who I help out when ever they need me. Walt suffered a stroke a few months ago and Jesse, his wife, has been struggling to take care of him. A few days ago I realized I had not seen or heard from them for two days and that was unusual. I went over there and saw no signs of any one. I was worried so I called the cops and when they came we broke in a window and found them both dead. The coroner ruled it natural death for both and Loretta said it was nice of God to take away together. They had a son, Pete in the Marine Corp and on a Sunday morning, about a week later, he showed up on my doorstep.

"I want to thank you for everything you did for my parents while they were alive and everything you did afterwards."

I invited him in and we sat on the patio to talk.

"We didn't do anything special, they were good neighbors and I was always glad to help out."

Loretta came out and I introduced her and she inquired if we wanted any refreshments. He answered,

"Yes get me a beer."

It wasn't a request; it was more of a demand. She looked at me and I shrugged and nodded, so she brought out two.

We talked for a while and he told us that he was in Afghanistan when he got the news of his parent's demise. We talked of our military experiences, mine in the Gulf and his in Afghanistan and Iraq. We hit it off like two old buddies. Since he was so close to the end of his enlistment he was going to take his discharge and retire. He would be here until he settled the estate and would then be on his way to the west coast. I noticed Loretta hanging on his every word and watching him intently. I didn't think anything of it at the time.

Loretta***********

I don't know why but Pete Johnson fascinated me with his confidence and self assurance. He reminded me in his behavior of my father who always maintained that he got his authority from God. Two days later at nine in the morning there was a knock at my door.

When I opened it, there stood Pete wearing a sweat soaked T shirt and athletic shorts.

"I want a beer." he demanded, and he walked into the house and into the kitchen.

"Pete, you just can't barge in here and raid my refrigerator."

He opened the beer and took a long swig.

"I saw you staring at me Sunday."

"I wasn't staring I was just following your conversation with my husband."

"You are lying and liars get punished."

He grabbed my wrist and as he sat down he pulled me across his lap. I weigh 110 ponds and he was a giant compared to me. My skirt went up and my plain white cotton panties were torn off of me. With the first strike of his hand, my back side exploded with pain and I remembered how my father had spanked me when I was twelve years old. He had caught me in a lie then also.

"Please don't do this. You have no right." I was sobbing.

The blows stopped and he spread my legs and his hand covered my vagina. My father had done the same thing and I was wet now just as I had been then. Pete snickered and said,

"I thought so."

He lifted me up, turned me to face him and sat me on his knees, facing him with my legs straddling his knees. There was a gap between us and my house dress had ridden up almost to my waist. I was completely open to him. His huge hand easily held the two of mine and the other went between my thighs and covered my sex. I moaned,

"No Pete. This isn't right. I'll scream."

"Go ahead, no one will hear you."

Two fingers entered me and his thumb was rubbing on my clitoris. The fingers inside found a special spot and the thumb was working on another. I had the strangest feeling building inside of me. My hips started moving by themselves and I was making animal like grunts when it happened. I had an internal explosion. This was something special, something wonderful that had never happened to me before. Then I screamed but it wasn't for help. It was my first orgasm. I had been married for twenty three years and I had never experienced anything like this. In my parents home sex was synonymous with sin and I had no knowledge of how good it could be. Ray, my husband, performed the act to relieve himself once or twice a week and I looked at it as I wifely duty with no expectation of enjoyment.

He let go of my hands and I didn't move. I couldn't move. I was still enjoying the pleasure filling my body and my mind. He peeled off his sweat stained T shirt and I had to touch his almost hairless chest. It reminded me of the pictures I had seen of Greek or Roman statues and it felt just as hard as the marble they were made of. He was unbuttoning my house dress as I caressed him and when he removed it; my hands went back to his nipples. That's when he found mine. It felt even better than when I was nursing my children. He alternately squeezed them and then kissed them and I experienced my second orgasm. I was delirious now,

"Please, please."

"Please what?" 

"I want you inside of me."

I was begging!

"Get off me and kneel in front of me."

It was a command. I would have jumped through hoops for him.

"Pull down my pants and take them off."

I knelt and he raised his hips off of the chairs and I peeled his shorts down to the floor.

I was his servant. My eyes were fixed on his penis. I was fascinated. I had never seen one before, not even my husbands. Ray was always in bed before me and I turned the lights out before I joined him. I never, ever touched it even when we had sex. I just pulled my night gown up and he pushed himself into me until he climaxed and pulled out. 

"Touch it," Pete commanded

I reached out and took it in my hand. It was stiff and yet the skin was soft and warm. There was a little drop of moisture on the tiny slit at the tip.

"Make love to it."

I didn't know what to do so I petted it and stroked it. I bent my face to it and rubbed it against my cheek and the tip across my lips. I could taste the salty fluid on the tip and I wished I could get more.

"Come back up here."

I rose to my feet and straddled his legs again only this time he pulled me to his chest and my breasts flattened against him. My clitoris was against his penis and I was rubbing myself on it. I couldn't help myself. His mouth was beside my ear and mine was along side of his. He whispered, 

"Are you going to be a good girl and do every thing I tell you to do?"

"Yes, yes I will."

"And you will come to me every time I call for you?"

"Yes, yes I will."

"Do you like what has happened to you today?"

"Oh yes."

"And do want more?"

"Yes, yes, please."

He put his hands under my buttocks and lifted me, my arms went around his neck and I kissed him. He lowered me slowly on to his penis and I felt it fill me. He was not much larger than Ray but in the context of what was happening it was the most exquisite feeling I ever had. This is what I was missing from my life. And then it happened, welling up from inside of me a fountain spraying from his penis into my womb. It triggered an orgasm beyond the two I had already enjoyed. I had read that the French called it 'Le Petite Mort', 'The little death' and they are right. I could have died happy right then and there. I had actually passed out and if he had not been holding me so tight I would have fallen to the floor. He tried to lift me off his lap but I didn't want to let go. He finally pried my arms from around his neck and set me on my knees in front of him.

"You will come to my house tomorrow morning as soon as Ray leaves for work. Wear only your house dress and shoes. The door will be unlocked and when you enter you will obey my every wish or I will send you home and we will never do this again. Do you understand?"

"Yes I understand."

He pulled his pants on and walked out the door. He left me standing there, naked, everything he had put in me was dripping down my thighs and I knew I would be there tomorrow morning.

I looked at the clock and I saw that I barely had time to shower and get to work before the library opened at noon. I just made it in time and I sleep walked through the day. As I walked home I had time to think, what had I done? There was no doubt in my mind that I loved my husband and I knew that my time with Pete would end when his business here was finished but there was an irresistible pull on me to go to him tomorrow. I had broken every vow I made at our wedding and every one I made with God and my upbringing, with my actions this morning and strangely I did not feel guilty. I apologized to Ray in my mind before hand because I knew I was going to Pete tomorrow. Ray leaves for work every morning at 7:30 and I was inside Pete's door by 8:00 o'clock. I didn't see him or know where he was so I just stood there saying timidly,

"Hello, hello?"

After about ten minutes he came into the room,

"Why are you wearing your dress and shoes? Take them off and put them on the floor there. Don't you ever wear clothes in here again. I should send you home now."

I quickly stripped. 

"Please Pete, don't send me home."

I didn't have an ounce of pride.

"When you come in this is how I want to find you."

His hand went to the back of my neck and forced me to my knees. He placed my arms behind my back and put my hands on my opposite elbows.

"Now arch your back. Show me your little titties."

It was true, my breasts are small and I was humiliated by his treatment and description of me but I was driven by my desire to please him so that I could experience that wonderful orgasm again.

"Today you training begins."

I learned a lot that day. I learned his penis was a cock and my vagina was a cunt. I learned how to lick and suck his cock and how to swallow his cum. I learned how to say words I had never heard in my life and I even learned how to beg for permission to have my own orgasm. It was the most exciting day of my life up until then and the two climaxes I had when he fucked me (that was a new word too) were mind shattering. I was hooked. We spent the rest of the week, including all day Saturday (Ray worked a full six week) with me learning to accommodate him in every position he could think of. I would have been exhausted if I hadn't have been so exhilarated. He left me that afternoon with the instructions to practice what I learned with my husband and I thought to myself,

"How in the world will I ever be able to do that?"

Ray***********

Some thing is going on, I don't know what, but my wife has changed over the last three weeks. I just hope it is not Margie all over again. She was always the quiet mousey type, never extroverted, never demonstrative, and never sexual, in fact that's why I picked her out. The last few weeks she has completely changed. She gets into bed naked, she snuggles up against me and tries to entice me to have sex with her and when I do she is very vocal and uses words that would make a sailor blush. She has changed the way she dresses and is showing off a figure that even I didn't know she had. She is even wearing makeup now. When I ask her what is going on she smiles enigmatically, just like the Mona Lisa. 

This morning instead of leaving for work at 7:30 I sat at the breakfast table drinking my third cup of coffee. Loretta come in and said.

"You're late. Why haven't you left for work?"

"Because I want to see what's going on here."

"Nothing is going on here and won't be because you will be alone."

Before I could say anything she was out the door and I watched her walk next door and into Pete's house. What the hell was going on here? Was he fucking her? Should I go over there and confront them? I knew if push came to shove that Pete out weighed my by fifty pounds and I would probably end up on my ass stretched out on the side walk but at least I would still have my pride. I was just about to walk out the door when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Ray, it's me, Pete."

"What the hell is going on Pete? Why is Loretta over there?"

"Calm down Ray. It's not what you think. Well maybe it is, but you won't mind. Please just give me an hour and then you come over. Just walk in and promise not to say a word. Just watch and listen. I promise you won't regret it."

I was fuming. That son of a bitch has my wife there for an hour. God knows what he is doing to her? What is she doing to or for him? Do I have another Margie? I was going crazy watching the clock. Finally the time was up. It was all I could do to keep from running. I opened the door and walked in and saw Pete looking towards the dining room.

He looked at me and put his finger to his lips to silence me and I looked past him to see my wife suspended by her wrists in the archway between the two rooms. Her hair, no longer in the bun, was hanging in front of her face; her body was striped with welts. He said to her,

"Why have you been punished?"

"Because I am a slut."

"How were you a slut?"

"I let you use me and fuck me."

"Why did you let me do that?"

"Because I was a repressed bitch."

"Do you love me?"

"No I hate you. I love my husband."

"Will you ever fuck anyone else but him again?"

"Never, you showed me how wrong I was..."

Pete took my arm and pulled me into the kitchen and closed the door.

"What the fuck have you done to her Pete?

"How was your sex life the past few weeks?"

"It was better than it has ever been but I don't understand what happened."

"I took advantage of you and your wife to make things better for you. My folks always told me how much they appreciated all you did for them over the years and I wanted to do something for you."

"Don't you think you went a little bit over the top?"

"Ray, when I met the two of you for the first time I saw a mousey, repressed, sexless woman who couldn't satisfy the needs of any red blooded man. I knew I could turn her into what I thought you would want." 

"My first wife was a hottie and I ended with a bastard son. I don't want that again."

"Damn, I didn't know that but I know she won't run around on you. Come back in there and take control of her. I am sure she will make you happy."

We went back and I looked at her, my heart almost broke. She was covered with welts and shiny with sweat. Her hair hung limp and wet over her face and she had lost control of her bladder and was standing in her urine. I lifted her face and said,

"Loretta, why are you here?"

"Oh Ray, I am so sorry. I cheated on you and I am being punished. I deserve this."

"Do you love me Loretta?"

"I love you more than I ever have and now I know how I can show you how much."

I turned to Pete and said,

Right now I don't know whether to thank you or kill you for what you have done to her but if I ever see you near her again I will kill you."

He looked at me sheepishly and replied, 

"I am leaving this afternoon for California and I never expect to return."

I took Loretta down and took her home. I bathed her and put her to bed and she slept until nine in the evening. When she woke she called for me and asked.

"Can you ever forgive me?"

"You are going to have to convince me that I should."

Her arms went around my neck and she made love like she never did before. I never answered her question and every night she asks again and tries again to convince me.

I might forgive Pete though. 



Loretta Lariat: Alone in the Wilderness



[This may conclude the series ... or maybe not] 

1.

Loretta Lariat has reinvented herself once again, or she's trying to. It's an ongoing process. A slow evolution. 

She's become a bounty hunter. Or she thinks she's going to, one of these days. Soon. Not quite ready just yet. Another week or so. Next time she goes into a town, and can look over the current wanted posters, that's when she'll officially make her new start. 

For the last several weeks, she'd been traveling pretty much at random along the frontier and beyond. Wandering the wild all by herself. Thinking a lot, at the beginning, and then gradually reaching a state of mind where she was no longer thinking much at all. Just existing. Experiencing things without contemplating them. The idea was to look at nature, both of the world and of herself, without judgment; it was a deliberate meditative process. She was trying to open her spirit to the spirit of the wild, letting its powers wash through her and cleanse her, as the shaman Talks-to-Shadows had been trying to teach her. Loretta can't quite do it yet, or she doesn't think she can. Nonetheless she feels the closest to contentment and stability in her heart that she's felt for a very long and very wearying stretch of months. And along the way she's built up her tracking and hunting skills quite a bit from where they were. Which in all honesty had hardly never been much good. Not like they should have been back in her proper marshal days. 

She's different looking than she used to be. A bit, anyhow. Thinner, browner, though her hair is lighter than it was. Bleached by the sun from its original golden to a more silvery-white shade. From a distance, if you couldn't see her face in detail, you might think she was an old lady, not her actual age, which is still barely over twenty. She wears a full suit of Indian buckskins—tunic and leggings—but retains a cowboy hat. Except its black again instead of white. She mostly stays barefoot, and rides her horse without a saddle. She carries lots and lots of guns and knives, and she's recently taught herself to use a bullwhip. Ain't very good with it so far. Keeps practicing. Hopes to get better with a lasso too, and finally fully live up to that damn silly nickname of hers. At least in the sense it was originally meant. The name has acquired another interpretation ... and sadly, one that much more accurately matches certain realities of her nature. Realities she's never succeeded in altering, try as she might. 

In their last conversation, Talk-to-Shadows advised her to strive instead for acceptance of those realities, in place of change, since time and time again, changing them had proved unachievable. That acceptance isn't something she's figured out how to manage any better. Not as yet. 

2.

Loretta was desperate for a wash. It was driving her nuts. Just yesterday she'd got to have a bath, and (despite a scary interruption in the middle) it was a real good one, first in over a week. Felt wonderful. Now already not twelve hours later she was filthy and stinking again. Actually filthier and stinkier than she was before yesterday's luxurious cleansing. 

There'd been a thunderstorm just before dawn, real brief but violent, and it had flooded this stretch of pine woods that she was in the middle of riding through. Not a terrible flood as floods go, but enough of one to ruin her day. She'd tried every possible direction. Either the ground was knee deep in muddy water, or ankle deep in watery mud. Both remained passable; you just had to grit your teeth and splash along through. It was just awkward and laborious and messy, was the thing. Muck got spattered all over her, brown and black and green. 

Her horse got it the same, and was unhappier about it all than she was. Loretta had to dismount and lead the beast by the bridle. Practically drag him behind her, more like. Damn horse kept fussing and snorting and grumbling—it was eerie how human he started to sound, like an ornery old grandpa. It made her feel bad. Like she was being a cruel person and mistreating the beast. Wasn't her fault there'd been a storm and a flood. Damn bastard wouldn't be any better off if she let the foolish creature stand still sulking in this filth. If he'd cooperate with her, she'd get them out of here. In time. Hopefully. 

The flood had made Laura go against her usual habit of staying barefoot, though more and more she was thinking that had been a foolish mistake. She'd dug her moccasins out of her saddle bag, but the shoes weren't keeping her feet dry, and once she was finally out of this region—it couldn't go on forever like this—then the crusted muck would wash off her feet far easier than it would from the soggy leather. All she was doing was ruining the damn things. Too late now; the damage was done. 

And it had been one of those summer storms that didn't cool you off at all, just made the heat and humidity worse when it was finished. There wasn't a shred of cloud left in the sky; the sun was scorching. The pines were tall and thick and gave her a lot of shade—everything was dim and grey around her—except somehow that wasn't helping much either, like she expected. Felt like she was trapped inside a stove, or maybe (yeah, this was a better analogy) wading through a giant stewpot with the lid on. 

Eventually at last the ground started to slope upward and got rockier, the steeper it went, until most of the trees and most of the mud got left behind. Then the slope split into a series of wide, sharp-edged shelves, like stone stairs for giant. They weren't stacked evenly—some were knee-high and easy to clamber over; others were as tall as her head and would have blocked her progress except they had sunken gaps eroded in them, providing rough ramps for her and her horse, though they were slippery and treacherous with gravel and loose pockets of grass. Loretta kept climbing. Atop the shelves and further inward were more gaps of erosion like that, round scooped-out pits of varying sizes and depths. And they were all filled up with water. Not sludgy like under the trees; these were clean, clear pools. Soon as she saw a good size one she could fit in, which was also provided with a bit of shade from the edge of the next shelf above, Loretta decided to put it to use and hobbled her horse beside it. Then while the horse was drinking, she undressed. Everything but her black cowboy hat. 

The water in the pit was very warm, and the smooth rock surface supporting her bottom, even under the shade. Just the same as all the stewpot muck she'd been wading through in the forest. It still felt refreshing, since it was at least clean and she could fully submerge herself in it. Then all the thick filth off her body and her hair rapidly clouded the pool and spoiled the sensation. Loretta noticed another neighboring one about the same size and decided to move over to it. Then she could stretch back and close her eyes and relax and soak for a good long period without feeling like a pig in a steaming brown wallow. Her horse continued to drink noisily from the first, not noticing or caring about the murk she'd added. That was another reason to move—all his obnoxiously loud slurping, right next to her shoulder. At least his mood had improved. They were happy, contented slurps, loud as they were, replacing all his pitiful whines and snorts and grumbles, trying to lay a guilt trip on her (and succeeding, in all honesty).

The short stretch of dry whitish stone she had to cross between the pools was darn near hot as a blacksmith's forge, or seemed like it was. Scorched her poor bare feet as she scrambled over it, and made her screech. It was an embarrassing noise. Like a little girl, or a rabbit when it's caught in a snare. She hated hearing herself make noises like that. They contradicted her self-image. At least one of them—one she preferred and tried to keep hold of. Other less comfortable, less assured versions were probably closer to her true nature. Yet that's the same for everyone, isn't it? We're all weaker and sillier than we think we are and we try to be. At least we are when our guard's down.

The bottoms of her feet continued to throb after she got them under water again in the second pool. Christ, she must have fried them pretty bad. It had only been a few quick steps. Jesus! Owee. She rubbed them with both her hands, keeping them submerged. That helped, when she squeezed them hard as she could. In fact that felt quite pleasant. So she kept massaging them and squeezing them that way. Breathing a long low sigh.  

Whenever she did this—bathing outside, that is, not just rubbing her tootsies and sighing—Loretta never undressed absolutely. She kept two large knives on her person, one strapped inside her left forearm and the other on her leg, down next to an ankle. Her greatest fear, when she was travelling alone like this—perhaps it wasn't her biggest one, but definitely high on the list—was the thought of somebody creeping up on her while she was undressed and distracted in the water, and trying to take advantage of the fact. Stealing her things, at the very least. So she made sure to keep weapons with her—and not just one. In fact she would have kept her gunbelt on, if water wouldn't render the tool useless or at any rate undependable. Someday some smartypants would design a gun that water couldn't hurt—and she'd be one of his first customers, if she was still around when that happened. 

To a degree, her caution was somewhat excessive, even flat-out paranoid. As far out in the unsettled wilderness as she'd ventured, the chances of anybody stumbling upon her while she was in the middle of a brief little swim were quite small. It's a big damn country. She stood in greater risk of molestation from predatory animals than wicked men—and that more realistic danger was still in itself rather minimal, as a general rule. Wild animals would leave her be if she left them be; that's how wild animals are, the whole world over. There were wolves and bears in these parts, but the land was plentiful and they had plenty of other game to feed on. So altogether, she often felt a tiny bit ashamed of herself, for worrying as much as she did about that particular scenario—being attacked while she didn't happen to have any clothes on. It's always good to be careful, no doubt about that, yet it's morbid and silly to fixate too much on one specific threat, especially since she tended to imagine it with a great deal of vivid, lurid, frankly unnecessary detail. Allowing herself to get quite powerfully worked up in the process. She would wash herself either with great giddy furious speed, to get the job over with as rapidly as she could, or else she would huddle down as low and hidden in the water as she could, and scrub herself very, very slowly, so as not to make much noise, constantly checking around herself every few seconds, to make sure she was still alone and safe. She'd turn as a skittish as a rabbit. Once the glimpse of a tiny squirrel dashing along a treebranch in the corner of her eye had made her screech like it was a grizzly jumping on her. Another time, even funnier, her horse farted and she dived under water thinking it was a gunshot, and then burst up on the shore a few seconds later with both knives drawn, determined to sell her life dearly ... while of course the three hulking bad guys she'd thought she spotted from beneath the pond surface, waiting to grab her when she came up for air, all turned out just to be bushes. Her horse had glanced over and then literally rolled its eyes. She'd swear to that, hand on the Bible.

And as much as it scared her, Loretta still took a lot of baths. Much more than most people bothered to. Pretty much any time she found a water source large enough to immerse herself, she would strip down and put it to use, whether she felt dirty or not. She liked swimming, or at least she liked the idea of it, and she liked to be clean. She liked to be undressed too, outside in the sun and the breeze, despite how scary that always was for her. It was a nice feeling. At least it could be, so long as she knew she was by herself, with nobody evil leering at her and lusting for her and judging her for it. Also she told herself that all these baths as a regular habit were good for her as a means to keep confronting her fears and grappling with her weaknesses, not just a decadent physical indulgence. Every time she bathed again outside and nothing bad happened to her, no matter how nervous she kept getting, that counted as another personal private victory. A new good memory to cover some more of all the ugly embarrassing bad ones, from the dark depraved periods of her life and career. And hopefully, this ongoing process would lead to an overall toughening up of her spirit and character. 'Til eventually her paranoia would die off. Or if it never did, if that was too much to hope for, it wouldn't matter—she wouldn't let the fear stop her from swimming like that, nude and natural and free, and enjoying the sensations of the act, or at least trying to. Every single time another opportunity presented itself. 

Her body always used to be so pale when she didn't have clothes on. Shiny and glistening in bright sunlight like polished ivory or fine hotel stationery, fresh out of the drawer—at least once she got sweaty. And hell, she most always was in this climate. You darn near never stopped perspiring, day or night. Unless rain was drenching you instead, hardy har. Now her flesh had acquired the permanent toasted brown look all over like Injuns did. Including her privates. All the secret special parts of herself that civilized folks never let get exposed to the sun. Hers did—and plenty often. Well, she wasn't civilized no more. Far from it. Gave up pretending otherwise. 

During yesterday's bath, there had been an occurrence. An interruption, and one of a dramatic nature. Looking back upon it, and in consideration of how it concluded, Loretta remained at present undecided whether the event was best classified as unfortunate or the reverse—fortuitous. It was a bit of both, like most things in life. 

On the one hand, her phobia had proved justified. It was a harrowing ordeal while it was underway. Yet the fashion it finished—the fashion she finished it—left her not traumatized but invigorated. Loretta had been tested, and for once she hadn't faltered or failed. She hadn't let herself down. 

About damn time.  



3.

The man had a gun. Well, of course he did. He thought that trumped her knives. Laughed at her when she showed them to him. "Ain't no good against this, is it?" he'd said, waggling the barrel at her, "Come on out of there."

He'd been a rather handsome bastard. Handsomer than most of the evil assholes she'd tangled with. He had a well-groomed reddish gold beard, quite good teeth, and striking devilish eyes. 

"No," was her answer, "I'm not scared of your gun. You won't shoot me. That won't get you what you want, will it?"

"I guess you're right," he admitted, and holstered it, "Guess for that, I'll have to go in there myself and getcha." 

"Looks that way to me," she told him. 

"Well then," he said, and started undressing, "You any good with them knives?"

"I'll show you." 

"Here I come then. You ready?" 

He had waded into the river, straight toward her. Never taking his eyes off hers as he approached, and he never stopped smiling either. He hadn't hurried, as he closed in. Instead, the way he took his steps, you'd have to say he had ambled or moseyed, slow and steady, but jaunty too, until the water line was just above his waist, same as it was for her. Covering his cock, though she'd still been able to see it, just under the surface. The water magnified it. And then when he halted, he still kept himself a step or two apart from her. Then he'd widened his stance, to plant his footing better, and he'd hunkered slightly and raised his hands in front of him. Not really reaching for her, just getting himself ready and being theatrical and playful about it. He had wiggled his fingers at her, teasing. 

Then for a time he didn't make any further move. A good long while went by like that. Hard to say exactly how long it was. Felt like an hour or a year, with them both poised and staring at each other, waiting ... waiting ... watching and waiting ... Him still smiling and chuckling a little, every few seconds; her, in perfect contrast, frowning so fierce it made her face ache, and breathing hard and fast through her nostrils in time with her pounding heart. Obviously he was waiting for her to freak out and attack him, so he could grab her wrists when she got close, trusting to his strength and speed to disarm her. She wasn't going to be that dumb. She'd decided she would wait on him to make the first move, regardless if she had to wait the rest of the whole damn day. She held her position. 

His patience finally gave out before hers did. That smile finally dropped, and he made an exasperated noise, a kind of explosive sigh, and then he lunged at her. Loretta didn't try to dodge his hands or retreat. She just went right for him with all her strength. Plunged both her knives at the middle of his body as hard and fast as she could.

It was all over in about ten seconds after that. 

He blocked the blade in her right hand with his left. Maybe he tried to slap it aside. That didn't work out very well for him. The knife went straight through the middle of his palm. Made him scream.

He did a little better with his right hand, at first. For a moment. He got a good firm grip on her left wrist, just like he intended. Only then despite how tight he was clutching her, it didn't end up helping him. He couldn't stop that hand driving the knife it was holding into his belly, all the way to the hilt. Though he looked so much bigger and tougher than her, either her arm had been moving with too much momentum, or getting his other hand impaled was too much of a distraction. 

"Well, shit," he had said, "Shit. Shit. Ah shit. God. Ah Goddammit. Shit." 

He let go of her wrist after she pulled the knife from his stomach. She couldn't pull the other blade out of his left hand—when she tried, it was caught on the bones inside there. His right hand clutched at the hole in his belly; that was why he let go of her arm. Like he thought he could hold his blood inside himself and squeeze the hole closed if he pressed the spot hard enough. It's hopeless and pathetic but everybody does that kind of thing, when they're wounded—it's a reflex. Would have used his other hand too if it wasn't stuck on the other knife, same as the other knife was stuck on it. 

Since her left hand was free—and hell, if he'd still been clinging to her wrist he wouldn't have been able to stop her, when she chose to do this, any better than he could the first time—she took the opportunity to stab him again. Not in the belly that time; she went for his neck. Stuck him straight through the windpipe. Wasn't strictly necessary—the belly wound was surely going to kill him. But stabbing him up there in the throat had certainly speeded things along. 

Once the asshole was dead and she got her other knife loose from his hand, which took several minutes of wriggling and swearing before it at last popped free, she swung him around and pushed him on his back toward the much deeper middle of the river and let the current carry off his body. It was gone out of sight in twenty more seconds, swept around the next bend of the river. Later she had second thoughts about doing that. Might have been worth some good bounty money if she'd brought the body to a town and turned it over to the law. A productive start to the new career she was planning. And it would have given folks a new story to spread around about her, as a bonus, a story of the kind she could take pride in, unlike the vast horribly popular majority of them. 




Loretta Lariat: Alone in the Wilderness



Then again, the hassle of hauling his corpse all that distance, in this weather ... It would have been a pain in the ass, not to put too fine a point on it. Especially not knowing for certain there was a decent size bounty on the man. There probably was, if he was who she thought he was. Didn't recall his name, yet she was fairly certain she knew his face from wanted posters. But since she hadn't known an exact figure, it was money she could shrug off without too much of a qualm. And anyway she still didn't feel ready to return to civilization yet, nowhere near. 

Not then and the same today. 

She was right in the middle of a fucking spiritual quest. Needed another few weeks' work at the very least. It wasn't some goofy lark, after all, that made her come out here this far, all by her lonesome in the wild. She had a serious purpose. Important personal exploration. And growth, and things. 

4.

Loretta fingered herself in the pool. 

At first she barely realized she was doing it. When she began, she was only scratching an itch high up on her inner thigh. A tiny bugbite, perhaps, or a spot where her mud-caked leggings had been chafing in the sticky heat. But soon her fingers wandered higher, as if doing it of their own accord, and she didn't stop them. She let them wander. 

She was thinking about the man from the day before while she did it. At first she was thinking about killing him and how good that had felt. To beat him. To win. To have saved herself. Quite a thrill. 

Only she couldn't keep thinking about those things. Pretty soon she started imagining what would have happened if he got the knives away from her like he thought he could. If he was quicker with his hands, and stronger than he'd proved to be. If she'd lost and been captured again. Naked in the river. 

Such a handsome bastard, he'd been. Those devilish eyes. That arrogant smile. 

The man would have ravished her, of course. He wouldn't have wasted any time about it. He would have dragged her to the shore and pinned her down on the grass and had his way with her. And he would have kept on ravishing her over and over. He probably would still be ravishing her again right this present moment. If he'd defeated her, if she'd messed up again and let him lay claim to her. He would have bound her with ropes. He would have whipped her with his belt or with a stick. They always did, when they captured her. To make her cry and make her beg. 

She knew exactly what it would feel like. All of those things. She could conjure them vividly in her mind. She'd been enslaved like that before. More than once. It could happen to her again all too easily. If she had messed up and allowed that to happen, she knew she would have given in completely, once the man laid claim to her. Once he had her helpless, naked, bound. It would not have taken long.

Instead of her slim middle finger strumming gently in and out of her gash, she would be feeling the man's cock. Much larger, pushing much deeper. And of course he'd be doing that much speedier and more forcefully ... Like this. Yes. Not that her finger felt the same. Because of its size. Not even when she made it thrust as hard and as fast as she could. Because after all it was just her own middle finger, not a cock. 

She could simulate the feel of a cock with greater accuracy if she used more than one finger. If, say, she used three together. Yes. Yesss ... That was indeed much more like his cock would have felt, if he had captured her and he was ravishing her right this moment ... 

She would have come for him, when he ravished her. She would come and come, every time. That didn't mean she would be happy about it, because she wouldn't be. She would hate it, she would lose her mind. It would be horrible humiliating agony. She knew she would still come and come and come ... She had weaknesses. She had dark depraved proclivities. The hate and the horror and the humiliation and the agony would make it happen to her, just as much as all the physical tactile things the handsome wicked man would have done to her body with his ropes and with his whip, and with penis and with his mouth. 

Such a dreadful disgusting prospect. But Loretta couldn't stop imagining it while she fingered herself in the pool. Not until she made herself come ... "Oh. Oh shit. Oh no. Oh God. Oh. Oh. Uhhnn. OH!" And not even afterward. She kept doing it, weeping. Coming that first time had only left her wanting another one. A larger one. She moved her hand much harder this time, making big splashes in the pool. Making herself cry out again, and again, much louder now. Not like a woman no more, but like an animal. 

"Unnhhhuuuhhnn! Uhhrruuhh!"

Also she knocked the brim of her hat down over her eyes, blinding herself. Her eyes were closed anyway—but she'd been seeing red instead of black, on account of the sun on her eyelids. Her hat brim blacked out the red. And then that blackness helped her see the pictures in her mind more vividly. They'd been pretty damn vivid and convincing already. 

It wasn't that she wanted the man to have captured her and enslaved her. It wasn't that she regretted slaying him. She did not. It had been a glorious and liberating moment for her. Only now, she wanted to come ... she needed to ... and thinking of the man, thinking of him ravishing her and forcing her to come and come was making that happen. She was only using the idea of the man like a puppet in her mind to do it. Forcing the pleasure out of her body like he would have done. 

She'd noticed a log, if only vaguely, a little distance away from her pool, propped up against the wall of the next shelf behind her. Looked like when it was tree, it had been growing on the edge up there before it toppled to this level. It wasn't a particularly thick log—it had no branches and most of its bark was gone. It was bleached yellow white like a bone. 

Now it occurred to her that if the man she'd killed had still been alive, if he'd been here with her, if she was his prisoner, it was likely he would have tied her in her nakedness to that very log. Face down, probably, straddling it. The log was ideally positioned and proportioned for such a use. A perfect mounting place, for whipping a captive upon, and then ravishing her without mercy from behind ... 

Loretta straightened her hat, climbed out of the pool and pranced over on her tiptoes to the log. The stone outside of the water still burned her toes—she just bit her bottom lip and put up with it. In her present state of mind, the excessive stinging heat down there had turned enjoyable, in fact. It hadn't been before but now it was. When she groaned, it was a groan of pleasure. Of keen desire. 

"I'm so turned on," she mumbled, "Oh shit, I'm so turned on. This is crazy. Ahhuhh. What am I doing? What am I gonna do?" 

Then she straddled the log and stretched herself across the length of it, and embraced it tight, fitting her wrists together as if her arms were tied around it. She mashed her breasts and her nipples against the dry wood—not quite as scorching hot a surface as the stone under her toes, but nearly so—and mashed her thighs upon it the same, and also, of course, her cunt ... Why did she do all this to herself? Because she needed to. Why did she need to do this? To feel it—to feel what it would be like. She'd already known—it was as if she wanted and needed to make sure she was right. And she was. It felt exactly like she'd imagined it would feel—or rather, remembered. It was a painful, straining, disgraceful pose. And it felt delightful—electrifying—intoxicating. 

"Oh God," she moaned, "Oh help me ... Someone. Somebody. Please! I can't stand this! I can't! It feels ... it makes me feel so ... Oh God save me! These feelings! It's too much! I can't fight it! Please!" 

There was no one to save her, nobody to stop her. Nothing to hold her back. 

She was captured and utterly helpless. Again. Naked (except for the crooked black hat) and gasping and steaming, shivering on her tiptoes and clenching inside and soaking wet, dripping that moisture all over the slanted column of sun-scorched wood she'd posed herself upon, and the stepped shelves of flat white stone supporting them—dribbling dark spatters and speckles all over them both with water from the pool and with her body's oils, from within.

"I should be punished for this. I need to be punished!" 

Loretta used one of her hands to spank herself. She kept her other arm around the log, holding herself in place, pretending she was bound. 

"Uhh! Uhh! Fuck! Uhh! Fuck!"

And she did. She humped the log as she beat her own bottom with the palm of her hand. She moaned and screamed. "Fuck it! Fuck! Fuuuhhhaahh!" She no longer used her fingers on her cunt—that was no longer necessary, not while she was spanking herself and humping—no, fucking the log. This provided much greater and more satisfying stimulation. It felt much more like it really would if she was actually being ravished again. 

She wasn't just dreaming about it now. As much as it was possible, Loretta Lariat was actually ravishing herself like the man would have done. Making the fantasy real. Or feel real. Almost. Not completely a hundred percent ... but as close as a girl could safely manage all on her own. In the proverbial pinch. 

It was an ugly and awful thing to do to herself. A dangerous destructive fantasy to indulge in. It made her feel guilty and degraded and ashamed. She was weak of will and corrupt of spirit. But a nicer fantasy—something healthier, more romantic and gentle and safe—could not have made her come as strong. A gentle, safe sexual fantasy will only bring you to a gentle, safe climax. Those couldn't satisfy her. She needed stronger, harsher ones. Climaxes of wicked shattering force. Only matching fantasies of wicked shattering force could bring her those.

"Ohhuuh! Ohhaarrhh! Huuhhoohh!" 

This was the woman she was, because this was the life she'd led. It could never be cured—this wickedness within her, these unanswerable needs. She had to keep carrying them with her, and accommodating them as best as she could, day by day and night by night. She had no power over these feelings, these desires, these needs. The only way to calm the urges when they kindled was to give in to them, to strip down and soothe them with her fingers ... they never went away for good, or for long. They always returned just as powerful as before.

"You slut!" she screamed at herself, "You filthy ... depraved ... desperate ... slut! This is what you want? This is what you need? This? Take it then! Fuck yourself! Fuck that hot cunt! You slut! SLUT!" 

Her horse raised his head and stared at her like she was crazy. Well, fine. She was. 

At least the man only got to tie her up and fuck her in her head. And he'd never know it happened, 'cause she'd killed the evil shitface in real life. He could have enslaved her—she was wanton and obsessive, and he would have dominated her absolutely if he'd won. She would have come and come for him. She would have screamed and wept and begged him for more. But he hadn't got to claim her. She hadn't let him do it, she hadn't let herself surrender. She only yielded everything up to him in her imagination, and only after he was safely dead and would never know a thing about it. So there.

It wasn't a total victory. It wasn't perfectly honorable. Better than nothing, anyhow. Better than she usually got. A girl's gotta make do. Gotta appreciate what you can get. She'd still beat the fucking guy, when it counted most. She still won. She still saved herself. 

And her body and her cunt belonged to her and nobody else. She could do whatever she wanted with them. When she wanted to come, she could imagine anything she liked, to make it happen. Nobody else had the right to fucking judge. Or even if they did, it didn't matter. She was all alone out here in wild and nobody knew. No one could see what she was doing. No one was watching. (Except her stupid ornery horse and he didn't count.) She was safe (for the moment) and she was free, and so she could charge ahead and enslave and abuse herself as much as she liked, and now she about to come ... she was a crazy slut and she needed this and she was coming ... coming ... Yes! Yes! Now! Right now! She was coming! She was coming!

"I'm coming! I'm coming! Ahhuuhhaahhhuuhh! Coming! " 

Fuck the rest of the world and everybody in it.



Loretta Lariat: Bushwhacked



expanded a bit further just for fun 1/14

1.

Just another one of the durn days when it seemed the whole durn world was out to get her. 

Little over an hour ago, couple no-good shameless bushwhackin' rascal sonsabitches tried to assassinate her. Burst in her hotel room while she was in the middle of taking a bath, guns blazing soon as they kicked the door open. 

Luckily at just about the last possible moment, she'd got warning. A third member of their party had been posted to guard outside her half-open window. She had its shade pulled down, only the steady breeze kept pushing it aside again and again, making it thump the wall. The dirty stinker lurking out there, hearing her splash around and humming to herself, must have got under his skin. The blackhearted dog just couldn't resist taking a peep over the windowsill at her, and gave the whole game away, 'cause she'd spotted the bastard doing it. Saw his big black hat, and that the lower half of his face was masked with a blood red handkerchief. Instantly she realized what was about to happen, and lunged for her gunbelt which she'd left draped with the rest of her things across the back of a chair right next to the tub. Loretta always made durn sure, wherever she was or whatever she was doing, that she kept a weapon or two in close reach. In preparation for unfortunate circumstances exactly like this one. Thus, despite her state of undress, she had herself armed and ready when the pair of villains charged through her door. Still hunched over in the bathtub, though, where she'd set it up dead center in the middle of the room—hadn't been enough time for her to clamber out completely and take better cover. 

Should have probably had her dead to rights, if they'd been any good at their jobs. Only they was too chickenshit, and in too much of a rush. Both bastards were shooting wildly when they charged in. So they didn't hit nothing. Loretta did better. Killed one outright with her first shot—got him in the throat. Then winged his comrade in the shoulder or his arm, not sure which. He retreated into the corridor, hollering pitifully, but kept firing into her room, shooting through the wall over and over while that third peeper turdface crouched at the window stuck his gun in at her as well. She swung over that direction and blasted him next. Pretty sure she nailed him dead through his left eye. Quite a nice shot, if she did say so herself. 

Only then she felt a bullet from the fucker in the corridor buzz past her ear, and a second later another just about parted her hair on the top of her head, and she just about pissed herself. And after that she heard the man yelling to somebody else to come help him. "Getcher asses in here, both of ya! Back me up!" Both, he'd said ... That would indicate he probably wasn't talking to the shithead she'd just killed at the window. At least two more bad guys were about to join the attack from the direction of the doorway. 

The gunfire intensified. Like the wounded man, his reinforcements kept their wicked asses out of her view in the corridor, shooting blindly through the wall. Peppering it all to hell. Whole durn thing would need torn down and replaced after this. Knew she was bound to get hit, sooner or later. Didn't matter how lousy their marksmanship was, not when they kept pouring in as much lead as this. Loretta had to get out of that room toot durn sweet. So she jumped from the durn bathtub and then jumped out the durn window. Moment she was outside in the alley, she scrambled to her feet and ran around to the front of the building, fast as she could, to attack her attackers from the rear. She'd take them completely by surprise and finish this business then and there. 

She had been still absolutely stark naked, obviously. Except for the soapsuds all over her. Actually, the white foam was clinging thick enough to the right spots of her person to almost keep her decent. More or less. Anyway, in the giddy red heat of combat, she didn't have time to feel embarrassed at her exposure. And luck was on her side—at this hour of the morning, nobody was out in the main street to see her run around like that to the front entrance of the hotel. Or else, more likely everybody had taken shelter at the sound of the shots. Perhaps some citizens were watching her from other surrounding windows and various outside vantage points, such as crouched behind wagons and barrels along the street ... But in any case, she didn't see anyone seeing her. Thus Loretta could pretend to assume that nobody had, at least for a while ... And if there were in fact hidden witnesses, she was grateful not to have to face their shocked and judgmental expressions, in that immediate moment. Would have thrown her off. Distracted her from what still needed doing. The unfinished business at hand. 

2.

Two of them had ended up getting away from her, by running into her room and then jumping out the window she'd just jumped out a minute ago. And then they made it to their horses and fled the town. 

Loretta straightaway pursued them on her own steed. She didn't hold back for a second. Not even to put any clothes on first. 

Yes, that sounds ridiculous. But it's what she did. What she felt she had to do. 

For one thing, she was too caught up in battle-madness. A real frenzy had come over her. She was so furious that the scoundrels had dared to ambush her in this particular lowdown weasely way, she wasn't really capable of thinking straight at that stage. The only thought in her thundering head was that she wasn't letting any of these fuckers get away from her. She wasn't quitting today until she'd shot them all. 

Also, one of the desperadoes, before he leaped out the window, had the presence of mind to grab her shirt and trousers from the chair next to the tub and carry the things off with him. No doubt hoping this would stop her from following them, or at least significantly delay her. Even if she'd wanted to take a few minutes to get dressed before she mounted her horse, she couldn't have, because she didn't have a spare set of clothes with her. Not clothes she could ride in, anyway. She had a nice frilly dress in her bag, and a nightgown, but nothing else suitable for chasing bandits through the wilderness in. She would have had to purchase or borrow new masculine garments. 

And of course that would have meant facing the townspeople about what had just occurred. Further hassle and delay—and humiliation—answering everyone's foolish questions, well-meaning or otherwise. From painful past experiences, Loretta knew there would undoubtedly be a number of citizens who would feel she had brought the damnable attack on herself. Furthermore, they would view the conduct of her self-defense to be almost as reprehensible as the actions of the assassins, or possibly more so. A respectable woman, after all, would have allowed herself to be shot, rather than engage like another criminal in bloody gunplay, as well as lewdly exposing her unclad body in the public street in broad daylight—as if martyrdom for the sake of honor was a social obligation, at least for a well-bred, properly raised female. Not everyone in town would take that ghastly kind of perspective. But more than a few would, whether or not they ever said so to her face. They would sneer and titter at her behind her back, and there would be nothing she could do about it. It would be horrid. That twofaced bullshit always was. 

Later she considered, perhaps it might turn out better if she never returned to that town at all. Just kept on riding further out on the frontier, after she'd caught those baddies and dispatched them. Provided she could recover her stolen garments, why not leave the citizens to sort out the mess she'd left behind her and let them all think whatever they liked about her behavior and character. Wouldn't make a difference to her, so long as she never had to see or speak to any of those people again. It was only one more dinky little town like countless others she'd passed through in her wanderings. And while probably the story of the ambush and her, um, unusual departure would soon spread to other towns, so fucking what? It wouldn't be worse than half the other tales that already circulated about her, far and wide. That was a plain irrefutable fact. 

And then not long after she'd brought herself to that conclusion, still pounding at a full gallop across the dusty open yellow plain with all the power and urgency as she could drive her horse to give her, there was a further unexpected complication ... A new experience she discovered herself to be completely and utterly unprepared for. 

It was because she was riding the horse naked. She'd never done that before.

She must look quite a picture ... Imagine: Her hair, waist-length now, unbraided, streamed and rippled behind her like a golden angelic banner. The bathwater and soapsuds had completely evaporated from her body by then, but she'd already from top to toe become more soaking wet probably than she was when she leaped from the tub. Only this was all greasy, itchy sweat drenching and dripping from her flushed fair skin, and her heaving breasts (hurting a bit from the forceful unsecured flopping this mad gallop was subjecting them to), and the wild, wind-tangled mess of her hair. 

The feeling was strongest, inevitably, below, between her legs. The texture and the motion of the saddle beneath her, and against her ... You might not think it would make a great deal of difference to the sensation, not having any pants or underwear on. Some, sure—but not an enormous change. Pants and underwear together are only a couple relatively thin layers of cloth. They don't provide an enormous amount of physical protection and cushioning for one's crotch. Only a little. Yet trying to ride that horse without those two little layers ... it was turning out much more problematic than she would ever have predicted. In fact not for one moment when she saddled up and started out had it occurred to her that this factor might become an issue, as the trip progressed. 

Right then, though, it had become an issue. A serious and troubling one. 

She should have mounted sidesaddle, perhaps. But Loretta never rode a horse that way. Always thought that was absurd. 

Was her cunny always stretched so open, each time she straddled a horse like this? If it was, she had never noticed before, when it was safely shielded and cushioned by clothing. Without any, Loretta found she couldn't think of anything else. The sensations from down there and inside there swamped out the rest of the world. The gaping aching oozing stretched openness, fitted to the hot upward curve of the front of the saddle, and its horn. Which the galloping of her horse was compelling her stretched-openness to bounce and grind upon. Again and again. Endlessly. The stimulation of the impacts—the pleasure they triggered—causing her to expel and drench the saddle and its horn with her juice, her sexjuice, more gushing out of her each time she bounced and clenched, each time she was jolted again with another surge of the maddening sensations. Soon her whole saddle was soaked with the stuff, and all down both her thighs. The leather of the saddle was made to darken and yet to glisten in the blazing sun, and started squeaking every time she moved on it. She feared she'd slip off the horse altogether, stirrups be damned. They were hurting her bare feet, too, the durn things, cutting into the arches from the pressure of her legs straining against them, and from curling her toes too tight. But she couldn't make her legs ease off, or her cramped toes. It was impossible. 

She hadn't been able to slow the horse. Couldn't remember how to control the beast. Couldn't remember a damn thing about anything. The sensations were too strong. All she could do was cry out. All she could do was groan and curse in useless protest. 

"Oh. Oh shit. Oh God. Oh." 

Exclamations helped her cope with the intensity, for a time. More so when she let herself do it louder. "Oh. Uhn. Uhrr. Ohhrr." And yet she realized they also added to it all somehow. Should have known that would happen. Like opening a window or a door. Voicing the feelings was an admission, and in turn, a yielding to them. "Oh. Ohh. Oh!" They only continued to strengthen, the louder and more embarrassing she allowed her vocalizations to be. "Shit! God! I didn't know this would happen ... I didn't know ... Oh my God! Ohhoohh!"

Could the men ahead of her hear these words? These pitiful shouts? They were tiny figures, still a great distance off, almost on her horizon ... Probably they couldn't hear her. Or only angry yelling; they wouldn't be able to make out the actual words. The pleas they were turning into, as she succumbed to desperation. God she hoped she was right about that. If they had understood her cries, and then turned and saw her like this ... If they could figure what was happening to her while she tried to chase them down ... They'd fall off their fucking horses, the pair of them, just from laughing at her. God, the shame alone would strike her dead on this spot. 

She was being fucked by her own horse, or at least by her saddle. Or was she the one fucking it? No, she had no control, not anymore. Or even if she was the one doing the fucking, she was being made to do it. Like a puppet, or like a horse herself. Like the saddle she was riding was riding her.

"No. No. Get a-fucking-hold of yourself. Dammit! Oh shit! Ohh! Concentrate. Calm down. You've got a job to get done. You're got a gun in your hand and you're riding into battle. Doesn't matter that you're naked. It's not important." But it was, because it made her vulnerable to these atrocious unstoppable feelings ... God, why did she have to be so keenly sensitive? Why hadn't she been prepared? Why hadn't she mounted sidesaddle, instead of spreading open her cunny and mashing it against the horn like a damn fool whore? But how could she have known it would feel like this? It was never like this with pants on. Or was it? Never near this strong of course but still ... It was always a pretty durn great feeling, wasn't it? Galloping along as hard as you could go ... She'd just never fully acknowledged to herself how excited that would make her. The root of the thrill. "God! Shit! Fuck! Get your head right, girl! Damn you! Dammit! Damn youuuhh ... uhh ... uuhhhrrnn ... " 

It was so crazy and it was so inappropriate and humiliating. Made her feel weak and idiotic and perverse. Another disgraceful mistake. Thinking she could stay naked and it wouldn't matter—it wouldn't screw everything up. Why didn't she realize something crazy like this would happen to her, after all the other crazy sinful shit she'd put her body through? If she'd known it was going to feel like this and do this to her ... But she didn't like to admit her vulnerabilities. Like they'd vanish if she just pretended hard enough that they didn't exist. She wanted to have changed! The point of this ride wasn't just to make another lewd and indulgent spectacle of herself! Or had it been all along, under the surface? Had she been deceiving herself again? God, she was a law officer on a mission of justice. Pursuing murderous ruffians. She hated allowing herself to succumb this way, to mindless wantonness that would turn her away from her righteous purpose. But that was exactly what was going to happen. She couldn't prevent it. It was fucking too late. Her nakedness had enabled the feelings to awaken and overwhelm her spirit. They had erupted too sudden, and too strong. Lust had conquered her ... again. Her duty and honor must give way to it. 

She just had to orgasm. One big one, at least. That was the fundamental thing. Had to just get it done and get it over with. Get it out of her system. Clear the craziness, settle her hungers. Then she could get her head back to her true purpose. Hopefully. Maybe. 

"All right. All right then. Fine. Fine." She closed her eyes, let her head tilt back ... "I'll do it. I'm doing it. I'm just gonna do it ..." She let go of the reins so she could use that hand to pinch and tug at her nipples, while she fired her gun off a couple times into the air straight overheard, just for the fuck of it. A kind of punctuation. "Oh God. Oh now! Now! Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh God! God! GuuuhHOD!" 

Unfortunately, in the midst of the transcendence, she dropped her pistol. And then when it hit the ground, it went off again. And by just absolutely wonderful luck, it shot her horse. Bullet went straight up through its lower jaw into its brain. 

It was a miracle she didn't get her neck broke, when the horse tumbled and catapulted her off. 

3.

She lay spread-eagled, spent and stupefied in the prickly yellow grass, staring up at the sky and gasping like a landed fish, trying to figure out what on Earth had just happened to her ... Couldn't seem to sit up or move. Was she paralyzed? Thought for a few seconds she was dead and floating up into Heaven ... that her spirit had abandoned her body altogether ... but then gradually she became aware of the itchiness of the dry, sharp bladed grass on her back and bottom. Plus she could feel a tiny beetle of some kind crawling over her hair. And she found she could wriggle her fingers and toes, though her arms and legs still felt too heavy to shift. Not numb. Just much too heavy, like they'd turned to stone. 

Her cunny felt swollen, and sore, and leaky. She needed to pee, and also realized she'd got very thirsty and a little hungry too. Her tummy rumbled. 

She smelled bad. She reeked of sex. Sweat and cunny juice. 

Hoof beats. Getting louder, getting closer. 

The men she'd been chasing. God, they were riding back toward her. 

That got her to sit up. But already they were too close. No chance of escape. And she couldn't see her weapon anymore. (Later turned out to be under the corpse of her steed.) How could she defend herself? The answer was: she couldn't. No way. She was Hell and Jesus with a pistol, and as she'd just proven, could scare the daylights out of bad guys regardless of her unclothed state, chasing them clear across the country like Vengeance Personified, a Fury out of ancient myth ... but without iron in hand, Loretta was powerless. Instantly reduced to just a mere damsel in distress, same as any other ordinary untrained female. A pair of big frightened blinking blue eyes abrim with panicked tears, a pair of big quivering sweat-beaded titties she cradled in her hands, and a lily-white ass with broken yellow grass stems stuck across its cheeks. A figure of delectable prey for hungry predators. Bait in the field. 

She heard herself whimper, which made her pissed at herself even more than she already was, but the rage still didn't stop her from starting to cry. She struggled up to her feet and started to run back toward town. Useless and undignified, but she ran anyway. If the villains caught her like this, totally stark naked ... Oh God, it was unthinkable, the things they'd do to her, the things they'd force her to do. Oh God oh shitshitshit Jesus God Noooo! NOOO! How could she have done this to herself? How could she been such a suicidal idiot? Her stomach was cramping and her legs had turned rubbery and she could barely breathe. If only her legs could race as fast as her heart was pounding now ... But they couldn't. 

She saw a clump of trees she could try to hide in, maybe, if she got that far ... Off to her left, to the south. Could she make it?

The answer, of course, was no. A lasso dropped over her head before she was close to halfway there. She screamed as the loop jerked tight around her belly, the scratchy rope pinning her arms to her sides, lined up perfect at her elbows when it closed to trap them.

She was bound! She was captured! 

"Noooo! Nooo! Dammit! Damn you!" She fell to her knees, bawling. Blubbing like a little schoolgirl, couldn't stop. Christ, she was such a pathetic mewling crybaby when things didn't go her way. Hated how weak she was. How easily she broke. "Lord save me! Someone help! Please God!" 




Loretta Lariat: Bushwhacked



"Howdy, Marshal." Loretta was surprised to hear, the voice addressing her was female. No one she recognized, however. Far as she could recall. "Why you runnin' off in such a lather? Before, seemed like you wuz so durned determined to catch up with us. So durn determined, the fact you didn't even have no clothes on didn't give you pause. Hell of a thing to see. Kind of scared the heck out of us both, I don't mind admitting. Now, though, it's funny, you don't seem quite so scary no more. Looks like you changed yer mind about catchin' us. All the sudden. I expect it's just on account of you lost yer horse and lost yer gun. Am I right? Had yerself an unfortunate accident back there, looks like. Welp, don'tcha worry about that stuff now. Me an' my pardner, we'll look after ya. Trust us. We're gonna take good care of ya, girl. Real good care."

4.

"I'm gonna kill you," Loretta announced, with all the certitude she could muster, "I'm gonna kill both of you varmints. I'm giving you my solemn word on thaAAAHHUURRRHHHAAHH!" 

"How you expect yer gonna get to do that?" said the female bandit, who had revealed her name to be Macey McDamon. 

The only answer a very wide-eyed and red-in-the-face Loretta could give, as she bounced and juddered on her straining tiptoes, was "Huuhrrh!" and "Ahhuuhhnn!" and "Gawwhhd!" On account of the big black bandit cock ramming her captive cunny from behind. Filling it, stretching it. Pounding it, punishing it. Taking complete possession of her with the exquisite agonies it inflicted inside her. "Nuuuhhaarrrhh!" 

"She's so ... fuckin' ... wet," the man grunted, clutching her hips as he thrust and thrust and thrust, "Can't believe how ... fuckin' ... wet ... she is!"

"Yep, I can hear it! Golly." 

Loretta could hear it too. Squitch-squitch-squitch ... Disgusting. Jesus, why did it have to sound so loud? Why did it have to feel like this? Squitch-squotch-squitch-squotch ... She couldn't bear it. Couldn't resist. She was so weak and corrupt and lewd. Couldn't stop hollering. 

"Fuckin' Hell!" the black man bellows, "That's a sweet goddamn snatch!"

She knew it was. He had no right to lay claim to that secret sweetness. "Stoppit! Stop!" Dirty bastard didn't deserve to get to experience it. And to make her experience him. And it was an experience. The cock, at this angle, was hitting her most sensitive place inside. The top of her passage, and the front part in there, God, oh God, right under her clit. ""You can't—Guhhrr! Do this—to me!"

"Sure we can," said the girl in front of her, pinching and twisting both Loretta's nipples.

"Ahhoowwahhrr! Kill you! Gonna kill you!"

"You ain't in no position to make threats, Marshal." 

And that was very true. Loretta wasn't. 

They'd taken her to that same clump of trees she'd been trying to flee to. And then set up camp in the middle of it. Nasty little extra way to rub her nose in her failure to get away. The trees turned out to encircle a pretty little pond. Good place to refresh their horses, and themselves. The bandits had even bathed together, briefly, in front of her. They hadn't allowed Loretta to wash or to drink anything, except a couple shots of foul whiskey the man had. He got a kick out of how it made her sputter. And though she hadn't actually swallowed much, she could still feel that little bit that had got down her throat getting to her, already. Making her head spin, and her belly churn. Strong shit, whatever it was.

Of course those feelings of vertigo and nausea weren't all from the liquor, oh no. Most of it was the result of plain simple off-the-shelf terror, with a heady full-throated accompaniment of shame and self-disgust to add zest, and heat, to these proceedings. 

They'd tied her upright between two trees at the wrists and ankles, with her arms and legs stretched out sideways far as they could reach. Her cunny was forced to spread itself open again. Already once more it started oozing, as they posed her for their fun. She wasn't sure if either of the bandits had noticed that fact. Couldn't they smell it? Loretta certainly could, or at least imagined she could. Soon it would probably start dripping on the dirt and dead leaves between her feet. She was so screwed up. But this was what always happened to her when she was stripped and bound and helpless. It made her horny. Couldn't help it. Didn't matter that the people that had done this to her were her enemies and that they were loathsome and vile. Or actually, it did matter—that fact made her hornier. If it was someone she genuinely cared for and trusted doing something like this to her, like as a game—as the Indian shaman Talks-to-Shadows had done, from time to time—it didn't affect her nearly as powerfully. Those games had been at their best when she first met him, and still thought him dangerous. So the games hadn't felt only like games. Because she hadn't known for sure they were safe. 

At least only one of them had a prick to shove into her. Loretta's only remaining hope was that they wouldn't manage to make her spend for them. Probably they would, though, in light of her history. The dreadful conditioning she could never completely erase from her nature. From her first initiation into the world of sex, she'd been schooled for slavery, and her body had learned those lessons terribly well. 

Oh God. Oh sweet Jesus. The man was colored and she'd never been with a black before. Indians, but no blacks. She wondered if he had ever been a slave himself. Strange and eerie idea, to be made a slave by a slave. His cock wasn't the biggest she'd ever dealt with, but it was pretty durn big. She knew exactly what that was going to feel like, and what it would do to her ... and what it would make her do. Oh God.

In a fair fight, or even an unfair one, she could outshoot these wretched villains in a heartbeat. Just like she'd done with the rest of their gang. The only reason the last two survivors had been able to capture her wasn't 'cause they outsmarted her or outfought her or tricked her. It was only because that naked gallop chasing them down had overstimulated her cunny and driven her out of her mind. Her own uncontrollable sensuality had delivered her into the clutches of her enemies. Completely unfair and disgraceful. 

She'd asked them, while they're washing: "Why did your gang try to murder me? Who was it hired you?"

Macey had only shrugged as she splashed and scrubbed her freckled face. "You'd have to ask the boss. Not sure if it was all his own idea or if somebody else put him up to it. Seemed like a decent plan, either way. Guess it wasn't exactly up to scratch, considerin' how things played out. Far as who to blame, guess we'll never know for certain now. Boss can't settle the question 'cause you already shot him back in town. Now you're gonna have to pay for that. Are you ready to start paying?"

"I was only defending myself," Loretta said, "I don't have to justify myself to you." 

"We don't have to justify ourselves to you neither, Marshal." 

Macey had started cutting herself a switch ... Loretta started weeping again ... But just when the whipping was about to begin, Macey's "pardner" stopped her. "Nah, hold on. I wanna fuck the Marshal 'fore you do that stuff. While she's still got spirit."

"She's spirited, all right. Still talking to us all goddurn arrogant, trying to pretend like she ain't shit-scared. I wanna whup that arrogance out of the bitch." 

"Sure you do, and you will. But I wanna have her while she's still got it. That arrogance entices me."

"Hell. I know you. You'll fuck it out of her. Won't leave me nothing left to take." Despite her complaints, Macey set the switch aside and then made Loretta bend forward, far as she could, by dragging her head down by her hair. Made her screech. 

That was when Loretta had spoken her vow to kill them—and when the black man behind her had penetrated her.

Then proceeded, in mere moments, to pound her cunny to the brink of ultimate subjugation. 

It was horrible how good it felt. Irresistible stimulation. A torture of undeniable delight. God, why couldn't they have whipped her instead? A proper no-nonsense punishment. Outright bloody agony. Like a girl is supposed to feel when she's taken against her will.

"Uh. Uh. Uhhn. Ohhoohuuh. Stop! Stop it! Stop it or I'll—I'll—I swear to God I'll—"

"What?" Macey teased, "You'll do what?" Then she stopped pinching Loretta's nipples, so she could tickle her clit instead. 

Well, that was it ... 

"Haarrhhuuhhnn!" 

The violent spasms of her climax brought the black man to his. "Jesus! Jesus!" He pulled away and she felt his spunk splattering across her ass and up her back. She was grateful he hadn't pumped it inside her.

Further humiliation. Macey continued to finger her. Half a dozen brilliant sparkling aftershocks. Kept her writhing and gasping, whimpering too ... Juices splashed all over ... 

"Uhhnn nooo! Wait! No! Huuhnn! God! Please! Please!" 

Macey liked that. She was waiting for that word. Well, the baddies always were. "Yes, good girl. There you go, Marshal. Beg. Beg me for mercy."

"Please. Please. Mercy! I beg you! No more! It stings! You're making it sting! Can't take no more! Please! Oh please spare me!" 

"All right, fine. You can have yerself a little rest. Since you asked me so politely. Just for a spell." 

The black man staggered to the pond, huffing and puffing, but giggling like a child at the same time. Threw himself into the water with a huge splash. 

Some of it splattered Loretta's front. Deliciously, blessedly cool. Made her moan like she was having another orgasm, just about. "Ooohaahhh." 

5.

They're riding onward toward the sunset. Loretta shares a horse with Macey, seated in front of the girl. 

She knows they still have her clothing, yet they wouldn't let her put the stuff on. Her hands are tied behind her. She is still completely naked. She's probably going to have an awful sunburn tomorrow, all over every inch of her. That will be terrible. Already she's starting to get itchy. 

There's dried spunk all over her cheeks and chin, and on her breasts and in her hair. It's not visible any more, but of course she can still feel the sticky residue. More streaks and spots on her back and bottom. Macey had made her lick her cunny, and then she had to suck the black man's cock. Messy business, satisfying the pair. She's exhausted from it, sore all over, inside and out. 

She is their absolute slave, for the present. There's no question of it. The bandits have turned her into a sex slave. Back into a sex slave, rather. 

Loretta's most surprised how familiar it all feels. Then again, shouldn't she have expected that to be true? It feels comfortable, almost, or at least normal, ordinary, natural ... Not to say she's glad about this or that she's happier this way—she most definitely isn't. Even so, no matter how hard she tries, it's like her career as a marshal is only a mistake she keeps making, or just for pretend—a childish dressup game, a delusion. When the clothes come off, she's her real self. Like now, like this. It's terrible, but it's just the way things are. This is how God made her, if there's really a God. Because He's cruel and nasty and perverse, and He made a cruel and nasty and perverse world. 

They're riding at an easy, steady pace. It's still having the same effect on her body as before. In fact it's worse this time. Because she's bound, and because of sharing the saddle with Macey. That's making her cunny and clit get crushed against the saddle horn, with no relief at all. The pounding pressure never eases off. She's practically impaled on the damn thing.

"Uhhnn. Ohhmmm." She keeps moaning. Can't stop. Makes no effort to hold the noises in. Why even try? Macey and her pardner sure don't mind hearing this. "God. It's happening again ... Oh God. It's already ... happening ... Gawwwd. Ohh. Oh!"

Loretta's spent twice again since they started off, and another one is almost upon her ... Her legs kick desperately, her muddy toes clench. She has absolutely no control over them. 

"You are so silly," Macey whispers in her ear, with a chuckle, "And you are so fucked."

She certainly is. Both things. She squeezes her eyes shut and throws back her head on her captor's shoulder. "Please ... pinch my nipples again, like you did before. Please. Pinch them again while I'm about to spend." 

"Like this, you mean? You like this?"

"Ahhuhh! Yes! Harder! Please! I beg you! Ahhaahhaah!"

"You slut. You crazy filthy slut. Come on then. Come again. Lemme hear ya. Come!" 

"Uhhn! Uhhrr! Uhhuuhhrrnn! Uhhaahhrr!" 

The orgasm quiets her down, for a while. But they all know that won't last for very long. 

"Never believed all the crazy stories I used to hear about you, Marshal," says Macey, "Now I'm startin' to think different."

"I can't help it. I can't help how it feels. I can't stop you doing this to me. I lost my gun. If I hadn't lost my gun ... but I did. You tied me up and you won't gimme my clothes back and I can't stop you making me feel it. I can't fight how it feels."

""Cause you love it so much, you slut. You love to be tied up naked and fucked."

"No. I hate it! I hate it! But it makes me come. I can't help it. I can't stop it making me come."

"'Cause you're a slut, Loretta."

"No I'm not. I'm a slave. I'm a sex slave. I can't help what was done to me. I was made this way. Evil scoundrels did this to me long ago and I've never figured out how to undo it." 

"I guess I admit there's maybe something sensible in what you're sayin'. Maybe it was kind of the same for me, after a fashion. Evil scoundrels didn't turn me into a slave; instead they learned me to be evil like themselves."

Too damned convenient, Loretta thought. Just wants to push the blame and guilt for all her wickedness on other bastards. But wouldn't that mean the same applied to herself? Hell. 

Macey giggled. "Heard you was kept as a slave by a bunch of Indians for a while. Heard you finally got away from 'em one night by fuckin' the whole entire warband into exhaustion. A dozen bloodthirsty bucks, all too worn out in the end to chase after you when you ran. Any truth to that tale?" 

"None whatsoever," was Loretta's answer, as she shakes her head against the images filling her mind like a thunderstorm. "It never happened." A dizzy jumble of faces, cries, firelight, filth. Lightning-flash memories that blaze and pound inside her skull, and down in her belly too. 

You could tell from Macey's laugh, she didn't believe her one bit.

Loretta had triumphed that time ... That was the fact you had to cling to, best as you could. Her desperate, reckless, shameful strategy had succeeded. She'd taken on not a dozen but nearly twenty of the greedy brutes, in actual fact, and after a little over three hours, mastered them all to recover her freedom. Outlasted all their combined power and violence, and finally stood up alone and walked away once it was all done, the only person on the scene still capable at that point of rising up, the only person there that was still conscious (more or less). Well, to be honest, it was more a weaving shuffling stagger than a walk ... And you couldn't call it a clean getaway, oh no. She must have left a trail of reeking slime behind her, if any of the savages had possessed the strength to follow it. None had, thanks to her efforts, and she got herself home, finally. Hell of a business. What a way to save oneself. Not the kind of victory a sensible civilized woman could brag about, afterwards, to her friends and neighbors. And of course inevitably one way or another, the story had still ended up getting spread around all over the whole damn frontier. 

"Where are you taking me?" Loretta asked, to change the subject. 

"We're headin' to a little wee town tucked up in the mountains called Lawless."

"Oh Christ." The name alone is the same as a punch in the throat. "Not there. Don't give me to them. Please. Just kill me." 

"You've heard of it? As the name of the place signifies, they're in a need of a peace officer. Has to be someone special, though, to satisfy the particular requirements of the citizenry. I think you've got what it takes."

"Oh no. No. Please." Yet as terrified as she is, picturing what's in store for her at that dreadful destination, the horror is not all she feels. There is a twisted, sickening thrill, mingled with it. A stirring, leaping giddiness ... It almost might be called anticipation. "At least let me put some clothes on. Just a shirt, at least. I'll do anything. Please. Don't take me there looking like this." 

"Looking like this is what makes you the ideal candidate, Marshal. Naked and wanton." She toyed some more with Loretta's nipples. "The naked wanton Marshal. Can't even stop yerself moaning yer purty blonde head off for more fuckin'."

She's right—Loretta can't. And she's squirming and kicking again. "Oh God. Ohhh God. It's not right! It's not fair! I can't help it! Ohhhohh. You did this to me! You made this happen! I'm a slave and it's not my fault. Uhhhh no no uhhuuhh."

"Yep," says Macey, in her ear, "Lawless is gonna be durn perfect for you." 

To Be Continued ... Loretta Lariat: The Law of Lawless 



Loretta Lariat: First Defeat



Loretta Lariat: Her First Taste of Failure

>> It's about durn time I fleshed out a proper beginning to this mad and filthy little series ... with repeated thanks to the CG web artist called Thew, if he's still out there some place. 

>> Edit: 10/14: I decided to replace the anachronistic underwear. Minor detail, I know, but it started to bug me. 

1.

It had been just a common sort of business to take care of. Nothing especially tricky, nothing that would take long for her to settle. A simple retrieval. There was a possibility of violence, of course. That was nothing unusual in her line of work. If it happened, it happened. She'd put the men down and shed no tears. If that was how they decided they wanted it, that was how it would be. 

When she rode out there that morning, she felt no concern or worry about how things might play out. None at all. Not the slightest whisper of trepidation or doubt. She'd done this sort of thing a hundred times before. 

She was essentially untouchable. Chosen. Gifted. An agent of righteousness. 

Her name was Loretta Leighfield—better known as Loretta Lariat. Yes, a rather silly nickname. She was a fair hand with a rope, but that was by no means her greatest skill. One time she'd happened to lasso a fleeing cattle rustler, and then when she pulled the man from his horse, his flailing legs kicked one of his partners in the face, 'cause they'd been riding too close together, and so that second villain ended up falling off his horse at the same time. And since he'd been firing his gun when he got kicked over, he managed by pure mischance to shoot a third villain clear on the far side of the field, just before that last sonofabitch could shoot Loretta from behind. She hadn't realized he was back there. Would have blown her head clean off, more than likely, except his got blown off first. But in the end of it, she'd brought down three varmints all at once, with her rope. Just a crazy bit of luck. Only as the story spread, people made out like she'd known exactly what was gonna occur, when she threw her line. Like somehow she'd magically planned out the whole silly trick in advance. Hence that nickname. 

And all that happened about half a year before she got her special gun, and then afterwards became the lawman of the town, even though she was just a young woman, just over twenty. And still looked younger than that. 

Now she was a marshal. Well, that was the rank or title she chose to call herself and have other people use when addressing her. She was never officially sworn in as a U.S. Marshal and probably never would be; in her view that didn't matter—'cause she herself answered to a higher authority. She was a Marshal of the Lord. 

Damn near a legend, too. There were already a good few dime novels about her, or so she'd heard, and some other idiot composed a song about her. A pretty durn silly song, though it had a nice tune. It would not to be honest to claim she didn't take pride in these facts. A great deal of pride. Wasn't such a bad thing to take pride in, was it? She was doing good in the world. A force for justice. She was a heroine. 

An angel had appeared to her. That was how it all came to pass. She was riding alone at dusk, inspecting the fences of her father's property. Then a man with wings flew down from the sky. She almost fell off her horse. 

He'd given her a shining silver pistol. Told her it was a blessed weapon of the Lord, and that she'd been chosen to wield it because of the innocence of her heart and the purity of her soul. She was commanded to dedicate the rest of her life to fighting evil. 

So that was what she went and did. Wasn't a decision she struggled with. Didn't tell many people about the angel; they would only have thought she was touched, and not in the good way. But the gun she'd been given never missed a shot and never ran out of bullets. At that time her town, which was called White Buttes, had fallen entirely under the power of a dozen notoriously unscrupulous and violent men. A few would-be heroes had dared to challenge them, only none of those men proved successful. They had died bloody or been driven away. Then Loretta set to work and got rid of the whole bad lot, one after another. Took her less than a week to clear them out. 

It was obviously no common thing for any town to have itself a female peace officer in those days. Even now that she'd established herself, it continued to raise eyebrows across the territories. Yet nobody could honestly dispute Loretta's talent, nor her record. She never got officially elected or appointed by any of the townspeople. All the same she'd settled herself in the empty sheriff's quarters of the town jail—nobody else had occupied the building for months and months, on account of the bad times—and no objections were ever made to her continuing presence there, or to any arrests she had made since then. Or to the shootings, when such actions were required. Loretta had shot down quite a good few since her law career began (or a bad few, perhaps we should say) but never a man that anyone else would want to raise objection over.

Earlier in the week, her latest arrest had been the Maddox brothers. Twins. A wicked pair, since childhood, and they only got worse and worse as they aged. She never bothered remembering their first names. Their land, which was in fact officially owned and administered by their elder sister, was on the extreme edge of her jurisdiction. The family rarely ventured into the town proper. Still, they remained her responsibility. She jailed the brothers for cattle rustling ... then they escaped. Not from her jail, but from the train taking them to the closest judge for trial. She knew they were both stupid and stubborn enough to just head straight home. Thus it was her duty to ride out there and arrest them again. 

A tedious chore on a particularly humid summer day Yet she expected no difficulty. 

God was on her side. Literally. In her holster. 

2.

The elder sister—which made her sound like an old lady, but she wasn't—stood waiting for her on the front porch of their house, as Loretta rode up to it on her white horse and smoothly dismounted. 

"Morning," the Marshal said, and tipped her hat. 

Angie was the sister's name. Took Loretta a moment to recall. She was a handsome woman, if somewhat fearsome. Quite tall, all in black. A long skirt, a jacket with jutting shoulders. She wore gloves up to her elbows, despite the summer heat. Her hair was elaborately arranged. Fancier than one would expect on a lonesome frontier property like this. Her face was very striking. Yes, quite a striking face. A queenly, imperious, haughty expression. With an odd cast to it. Odd, but not ugly. Not exactly. It should have been ugly, perhaps. Her eyes were much too large and prominent, and her cheekbones, and her lips, also. So puffy they were almost ridiculous. It was like she was always making a kissy face at you, without meaning to. Or else it was her nose that was the problem, too small and flat beside the other features. 

Her brothers weren't in sight, of course. There was another man with her, just behind her shoulder on the left. Dark chap all in black like Angie. Bushy sideburns. No sign of a gun on him, but any fool could tell at a glance he was a gunman, or at least fancied himself one. Just from his stance, you could see it. And the crooked line of mouth. Nonetheless, Loretta didn't favor him with much attention. He would not be a problem for her. She'd dealt with his kind countless times before.

"What can I do for you, Marshal?" asked Angie. 

"Where are the boys, Miss Maddox? Best for everyone if they just come along quietly now. Believe me." 

"My brothers are not here, Marshal. You shall have to look elsewhere for them. I would suggest for your own sake that you go and do so, immediately." 

"That's not the kind of tone you should take with me, Miss Maddox. I'm an officer of the law. You would do well to remember and respect that fact." 

"I see the shiny star on your shirt, and the gun in your belt. And yet somehow I still find it hard to fathom that those things truthfully make you representative of the law in this part of the country. I'm afraid you just don't look the part, little girl." 

"I'm no little girl, I assure you. Should you test that assurance, you will regret the cost."

"Your spirit impresses me. I'll allow you that. Yet I still cannot take you entirely seriously, despite all your fine bold words. I think more than anything else, it's just the way you're dressed. Frankly, I can't help but find the sight of a woman—especially a young skinny slip of a thing like yourself—in such close-fitting masculine garments to be objectionable. Highly objectionable. And I know for a plain fact that I'm not the only member of the local population to possess that opinion."

Loretta sighed and rolled her eyes. Yes, she had heard this sort of old-fashioned hidebound nonsense several times already. Did her best to find it amusing, rather than insulting. "I dress in a manner that's practical to my line of work, and the environment and the climate in which we've settled. Your particular opinion of the matter, and anyone else's, means less than two beans to me." 

"You're quite a lewd little creature, aren't you?" said Angie. "That's the whole point of your career, isn't it? The whole business is only an excuse to prance around these parts displaying your figure in that salacious costume. I wonder why you don't go even further. You should just not bother putting on anything at all. There's no point, Loretta. We're all wise to you. We see right through you."

Salacious, she had said. Jesus. Was this woman serious? Loretta wore the same sort of outfit she always wore, most days. An ordinary white shirt and jeans, her boots, her hat and a neckerchief. What was wrong with that? Yes, it was a man's costume. Hardly to be considered salacious when men were dressed this way. Yet somehow otherwise sensible people genuinely seemed to believe that the spectacle of a woman in clothes like this could cause insanity and riots. 

That never actually happened. Surely she would have noticed by now. 

Interesting that it was always only women that made an issue of this. No man ever made this kind of complaint or accusation to her. Not even the worst wickedest criminals when she was arresting them or shooting at them. Funny.

Occasionally Loretta would leave a few too many of the top buttons of her shirts undone, on hot days like this one, thus exposing a tiny bit more cleavage than was acceptable in polite society. That was the one little bit of actual lewdness she was sometimes guilty of, and only when she got too hot and sweaty. She would own up to doing that, if someone ever called her out about it. No one ever had, so far—not on that specific act. She only did it when she was in private, however. Like when she was just sitting at her desk inside the jail all by herself, or when riding alone out of town with no one else in view. She was careful. Always made a point to button herself up to her collar again whenever she was going to meet someone or be around a crowd. 

Except the few times when she just happened to forget. Which, she felt slightly embarrassed to discover, this present moment happened to be an example of. Shit. Still, it was only a couple buttons. Let's not overstate things. She wasn't exposing much more than that little notch between your collar bones. Wasn't like her boobs were completely swinging loose all the way in the open air like the naughtier prostitutes sometimes did, leaning out the upper windows of the Squeakin' Bedspring to advertise their wares to passersby ... 

"Angie Maddox," Loretta said, "I'm tired of this nonsense. I'm going to give you one last chance to bring your brothers out peacefully, and then ..."

"Oh hush. Let me turn that offer around. I'm giving you one last chance. Get back on your horse and ride your little lewd hiney in those too-tight trousers off my property, where I don't have to look at you no more. If you don't, I'm going to lose my temper. And if that happens, I'm going to administer some good ol' fashioned corrective discipline on you. Which is definitely a thing you didn't get near enough of as a child." 

"Did you really just dare to threaten the person of a law officer? Do you want me to take you to jail with your brothers? Is that your aim today?" 

Angie gestured to the man at her shoulder. "Captain Shrike, disarm this brat." 

"As you command, m'lady," said the gunman. 

He drew. Loretta already had. They fired simultaneously. She was sure she hit the man through his heart, but he didn't fall, or even stop grinning. 

Meanwhile, her shining silver weapon was suddenly no longer in her hand. It was over in the dirt, some distance behind her.

Her hand was stinging, throbbing. But there was no blood. There was no wound. It was just that her fingers had all got a nasty wrenching. Like a horse had kicked her hand.

That wasn't what had happened, of course. 

"What the—" she sputtered, and then "How didja—I don't—What? What?" 

The gunman had shot her enchanted weapon right out of her hand! How was that possible? It was magical! It was blessed! 

She looked at his big black gun, pointing at her. And then realized that except for the color, it was an exact match to her own. It had the same distinct pattern of funny swirly lines and symbols etched all over it. 

Captain Shrike, Angie had called him. Loretta looked in his eyes. They flashed at her. They literally flashed tiny flames at her, just for an instant. Just as the angel's had done, when it came to her. The first time she looked into its eyes. But the angel's eye-flames had been golden. Captain Strike's were blood red. 

"What are you?" she gasped. 

"You already know," said the demon. 

"The women of my family have some special knowledge of these matters," announced Angie, "Passed down through many, many generations. When my brothers returned, I knew you'd be coming after them. And I also knew about the kind of power you've been gifted with, and the source of that power, whether or not you really deserve it ... In fact I believe I understand the true nature of these matters much better than you do—or ever shall. I've been observing your curious adventures at a distance for some considerable while. So yesterday evening, I thought things over, and then I decided to perform an old, dangerous ritual. Risky but rewarding. Summoned special help for us. All the same, I'm surprised he just defeated you so easily. You know, I'm a little disappointed. Thought I'd get to watch much more of a show. But I suppose we can still make that happen. Plenty of time. It'll be a different kind of performance. Hopefully you'll handle yourself better."

"I have my doubts," said Captain Shrike.

"As do I," Angie agreed. 

The front door opened behind her and her brothers emerged on to the porch, roaring drunk, laughing their heads off and slapping each other on the back. 

"You got her! You really pulled it off, just like you said you would! Unbelievable! The one and only world famous Loretta Lariat! You got her disarmed and completely at our mercy! Hot damn and buggery! What a sight!"

Loretta was still too stunned and stupefied to say anything. She just stood there at the base of the porch steps sheepishly blinking up at them, clutching her hurt hand in front of her against her belly. Realized her mouth was hanging open. 

She felt no fear, not really—not yet. Only numb all over—everywhere except for her gun hand, and in her belly. Deep in there, in the very center, it felt like a brick had appeared. A big hot brick. Popped into being out of nowhere. Filling her belly completely and stretching it. But much, much too heavy for her stomach to support. Felt like it was just about to rip out through the bottom of her. Only it didn't. It stayed where it was somehow. Sort of hovering. But yet without taking any of its weight away, so it still kept feeling so impossibly heavy and painful and horrible. And burning hot. 

Then Angie said to her brothers, "You boys, you go on down there and grab a good hold of her. Grab her arms. Real good and tight."

And they did. She didn't try to run away. She didn't struggle. Didn't even occur to her. Stupid. 

"What next?" asked one of the brothers, at the same time the other on her other side was asking "Now what?"

"Let me go," Loretta said, but her voice came out very weak and small and soft. A strangled squawk, almost impossible to hear. "Let go of me. I'm a Marshal! I'm a Marshal! You'll bring down the wrath of the law! The wrath of Heaven too, I wager! You'll lose everything, all of you, if you persist in this lawlessness!" 

"We ain't gonna lose shit," said one of the brothers. 

"You're about to lose a few things, though," said the other, "Ain't she, Big Sister?" 

"She sure is," said Angie, "Starting with her illusions ... Just got done telling her those tight-fitting men's clothes offend my moral sensibilities. Disgusting to see a girl behave this way, in this modern day and age. Especially when she professes to uphold the law and the standards of the land! She don't deserve to keep that badge she's wearing pinned to her shirt. Take it off her, right now! In fact, while you're at it, why don't you go ahead and tear off her whole damn shirt!"

"No!" Loretta cried, "You wouldn't dare! Don't you dare!" 

"Oh, I dare, all right," said one of the brothers. 

"Both of us do! We're gonna dare a whole bunch more than that, I reckon!" 

Her shirt was torn away. She screamed and fought, but it didn't help. Barely slowed them down. It only took them moments. The only thing her struggles accomplished was to make her hat tumble off the top of her head, and cause her ponytail to start to come undone ... 

"Look at her pretty lacey corset, Big Sister. Ain't that nice?"

"I'm surprised she's wearing one," remarked his twin, "'Specially a fancy expensive-lookin' one like this." 

"How else she gonna hold her tits up and keep 'em secure?" replied the other, "Big pair she's got, too. Fair bit of weight to support right there." 

"Now you boys," Angier cut in, "don't you be unseemly with such talk. Ain't proper for either of you to be gawking like you are at the girl's private articles. Why, an intimate item like that's liable to enflame your base desires and make the pair of you lose control of yourselves. You best unlace that dainty piece and pull it off her. Hand it over to me and I'll stash it away behind my back out of view. Then it won't be a temptation to your eyes no more." 

"All righty, if you say so. Whatever you think is for the best. Here we go then. Assist me, brother."

"Stop! Stop that!" Loretta wailed, "No! You animals! Animals! Stop!" 

They ignored her, obviously. "Hell of a lot of knots to undo. I declare, it tries a man's patience."

"I don't mind," said the other, "I find I enjoy the task." 

"Oh God! God! Oh no!" Despite the number of fastenings down the back, it didn't take them long to open the thing up and remove it, not when working together. Loretta never bothered tying it very snug, anyhow—only the minimum pressure to keep it in position—and the corset possessed no shoulder straps to hinder them further. She was not fond of having to wear it, and often wished someone would invent a better, less complex and restrictive undergarment to comfortably secure a woman's chest. Each evening at bedtime, it was a great relief to take it off. Of course this was a very different sensation, to have it removed in the present circumstances. "No! God! No-ohhoohhoohh!"

Her breasts were exposed! Unsupported, her struggles made them swing wild circles in the air like they wanted to fly free from her body. The men had completely bared her torso in broad daylight like a prostitute. How had she let this happen? It was unthinkable—and so mortifying she couldn't help but break out in hysterical tears. They could all see her boobies! Loretta couldn't even cover them with her hands! She couldn't deal with this—she would swoon! It was too horrible!




Loretta Lariat: First Defeat



"Noohhoohh! Stop looking at me! Gimme my corset back! Right now! I can't believe you had to audacity to ... And God, you ripped the lacing! The seam too! Look how bad you tore it! You ruined it! This isn't fair! This is crazy! You vile wicked bastards! Release me! Stop staring at me!" 

"Angie," pronounced one of the brothers, "these snug trousers she's wearing. The way they show off her legs, I'm afeared they might have the same dolorous effect on my sinful masculine nature as that decadent corset could have had. Maybe just to be safe, we should remove them, too. Put them out of sight like the other thing."

"Don't you dare!" Loretta wailed, "Don't! Don't! Not them too!" 

"Yes, I agree," was Angie's reply, "Go ahead then. You'll have to remove her boots first. Those pants are much too tight on her to pull them off over the things. Plus she's got those spurs on." 

"If we do that, Angie, we better remove both her socks, as well, don'tcha think? So they don't get dirty or have holes torn in them, out here in the front yard. Wouldn't wanna ruin them for her, would we?"

"No, indeed." 

"You bastards! You vile dirty scoundrels! Stop this! Stop it! God! Oh God!"

Took them longer to get that part done ... A clumsier process. She nearly wriggled out of their clutches more than once during it. But nearly wasn't good enough to save her. Nearly was worthless, in plain fact. So finally her boots were pried from her feet, one after the other, and then her socks got peeled away, followed swiftly by her trousers. 

Now they'd reduced her to her panties. Except for her neckerchief, for all the help that did her. 

They weren't proper panties, actually. They were a simple plain pair of men's drawers. She owned no womanly panties. Could never find herself a pair that fit right inside men's trousers. Mostly they always seemed to be made too poofy, with excess layers and folds, and they'd bunch up inside her pants. While the ones that weren't like that were altogether too wispy and frail instead and you may as well not bother putting them on. 

She couldn't believe this was happening to her. It was like she was trapped in a nightmare. Things like this didn't happen in real life. Not to someone like her. She was chosen by the Lord! A soldier of justice! She was supposed to be special and protected! What had gone wrong? What had she done, or hadn't done that she was supposed to do? There must be a reason! Why else would God have forsaken her so suddenly and completely? She couldn't understand or accept it.

She was weeping still. Sniveling like a little child. That was almost the most humiliating part of it. 

No, not really. That was a weak and foolish lie, trying to tell herself that. 

The most humiliating part was having her clothes torn off her body and not being strong enough to prevent it. To be stripped almost completely naked by these wicked dirty shameless villains. Making her feel utterly helpless and powerless and disgraced, and then, when she couldn't help but wail with horror, mocking her for it, without the slightest tiniest shred of forbearance or compassion. They were inhuman. They were monsters. And she was their prisoner. Totally in their power. It was terrifying and it was shameful.

She'd never been undressed this much out of doors before. Not even once, far as she could remember. And she'd certainly never been this exposed in front of other people. Especially men. Not even relatives. (She had no real family left anyway, since her father recently passed.) Now for the first time men were getting to see her boobs, let alone all the rest. And to have them be men like these! The foulest imaginable! Two brute cattle rustlers and a gunman that was actually a demon from Hell! The injustice! The shame! Her nipples had swelled twice their normal size, and stiffened just from the shock. They'd got so hard they actually hurt. They were aching like they'd been pinched, even though none of the villains had touched them—not yet. Oh God. She was a virgin and she was always chaste, despite the nasty rumors low people sometimes saw fit to circulate about her, usually after misinterpreting the reasons for her manner of dress just as Angie had decided to do, or was more likely only hypocritically pretending to do, in order to play this sick and twisted nasty little game ... In actual fact, Loretta had considered it a sacred duty to preserve her chastity, on account of her holy mission, though the angel had never given her specific instructions on that point. She had intended to remain a virgin her whole life. After all, no man she'd yet met had ever appealed to her romantically, anyhow. Not even a little. Not so far. Meeting an actual angel had set impossibly high standards for her, no doubt. 

Now her purity and chastity was being violated and she couldn't stop it happening! She couldn't get away! She was going to be ... despoiled! No! It couldn't be! She mustn't let them! She would not submit! Somehow she must escape! 

Her whole body felt like it was on fire. Some of that sensation was just from the intensity of the summer sun, striking so much more of her pale skin than it ever normally would. But this roaring heat was pulsing from inside of her as much on the surface. Seemed like her cheeks were about to melt off her face. Her ears were burning too, just as bad. Like bees had stung them. Loretta had never been this completely hugely conscious of every part of her body all at once, every physical sensation from the top of her head to her tiptoes. Revealing all of herself to the wide world had flipped a switch in her system and exaggerated every feeling a hundred times. The grass, for example, prickling the soles of her feet—that sensation alone—she felt that prickling and tickling with such intensity now that all the sudden she could barely stand it. Literally! She couldn't bear to stand on the stuff! Had to lift up on her toes high as she could stretch to lessen the teasing jabs on her heels and arches. Simply having to stand barefoot on this dry yellow grass had turned into a terrible humiliating torment. Just because the rest of her was bare and enflamed. She knew the ground wouldn't bother her at all if she still had her pants and shirt. 

She could barely breathe, and her heart was trying to pound itself out of her chest. 

Then finally, snickering, they pulled her drawers off. Of course they did. She'd expected it. It still made her scream again—her loudest and shrillest yet—and shudder all over, like she was being electrocuted. She would have fallen over, if the ghastly brute brothers weren't clutching her so painfully tight.

They could see her privates now—her most private privates! They could all see her bush. They could see her slit. They were all staring and grinning. All four of them. Staring straight down at her ... her cunny ... her bare burning cunny ... 

(And when she used that silly crude forbidden word, silently inside her head, it made her clench down there. She felt the lips of it squirm together, fearfully. And it had every reason to fear, oh yes. She didn't do that, though—she didn't make it clutch and squeeze—it had seemed to react by itself. And yet it tickled inside, too. But then it always did, when she got embarrassed. Every time. For any reason. Shame always made her feel that irritating itchy tickle inside her crotch. Just never this strong before.) 

"No! No! No! Give them back! Give them back! Gimme my drawers! Gimme my drawers! You can't do this to me! You can't do this! I'm naked! I'm NAKED! Oh God! You've stripped me naked! Give them back! I'm a Marshal! You're criminals! I hate you! I hate you! Give them back! Please! Please! God!"

They just laughed and laughed, all of them. Howling like wolves.

She wanted to die. Just fall down and die. Why couldn't she just die? 

3.

"What are you doing to me now? What're you going to do now?"

"I told you before," said Angie. She had something in her hand. Loretta had trouble seeing what it was. Couldn't twist her head around far enough, the way they'd positioned her. Angie swung it through the air around her and it made some little whistling sounds. Then finally Loretta got a glimpse of the thing. Oh God. It was a riding crop. 

"You can't! You mustn't! How can you be so cruel? How can you treat me this way?" 

"Like this," said Angie, and applied the crop across Loretta's upraised buttocks. 

They'd bent her over the top rail of the fence in front of their house. Face down, and far enough over that she was straining on her tip toes, still. The top of the rail pressing her tummy was scorching hot and gritty, with jagged, sharp-edged cracks all over the surface. She was afraid it would stick a bunch of splinters into her stomach, if she moved around too much. Then they'd tied her there in all her nakedness, very tight. She didn't resist them as they did it. After the tantrum when her drawers were taken, she'd quieted down again. Only sniffled and whimpered a bit more. Felt drained and disconnected. The sense of fuzzy unreality came back. 

She could almost believe none of this was happening—and wanted to. Clung to that illusion as long as she could. It all felt so much like just a dream. And at this point that dream had become so extreme and bizarre, it almost wasn't scary anymore. Too plain ridiculous and elaborate. She'd always known it was vaguely possible that some villain might best her one day, whether by random mischance or genuine skill. The forces of evil should not be underestimated. The frontier was full of villainy; they didn't call this country the Wild West for nothing. A day might come when she'd have to take a bullet. Thought she was prepared for that. The idea of death in the line of duty held no terror for her. She would be taken up by the angels. Yet a situation like this would never have occurred to her, not in a century. She'd never imagined an enemy doing anything else to her besides killing her, with no fuss. This shit instead was almost turning comical. Loretta even snorted and giggled for a second as they were binding her to that fence post. She could barely wriggle after they were finished. Only kick her legs behind her. Not that doing that did her any good. Didn't manage to hit any of them back there. 

She kept doing it, all the same. Kicking both feet high as she could every time she was struck. Not trying to strike back at Angie, though. It was a mere reflex. Must look pretty silly. Pretty undignified and childish. You just can't help kicking your legs like that, like a panicked frog, when some cruel witch keeps whipping your ass with a riding crop. Especially when your soft and sensitive lily-white ass is totally bare and defenseless.

The riding crop brought tangible reality back to her consciousness in vivid crystal clarity. Pain's real good at doing that. Killed the sense of floating disconnection; no more foggy sleepiness while this was going on. And all the comedy in the situation instantly evaporated, the moment Angie started. 

"This isn't fair! I'm a law officer! Stop it! I'm a grown woman!"

"You sure don't sound like one, carrying on like that. You should be tougher if you're as grown up as you think you are. Kids take whuppings like this every day. Way of the world. I know me and my brothers took our share, when Pa deemed it necessary. We learned to take our licks without raising a ruckus. Guess you never did, little girl. Didja?" 

In fact Angie was right on the money about that. Loretta never took any kind of beating like this before. Nothing even close. Never had to. Her father never spanked her, not once. Even when she might have deserved it some as she was growing up. Didn't believe in that sort of discipline, because his own drunken parents used to do it to him much too much, he used to say, and much too hard, when he was little. He'd vowed not to pass that needless suffering on.

"Oh God. Why is this happening? I don't deserve this!" 

"You durn well DO! You got all naked, Marshal! Right in front of me! Stark nude, like the day you were born. But you ain't got the body of no innocent babe no more. It's bad behavior and I won't stand for it. Not right for any unattached woman to show herself off all naked and lusty outdoors in front of strangers," said Angie, panting. "It's an incitement to lechery!" 

"You made me! You did it! Not me! You took all my clothes!"

"Shouldn't have allowed that to happen. But you did. You're weak. Too weak to be a Marshal."

"It was two against one! Two men against a lone woman, near half their height. Your brothers are brutes and bullies! I wish I could have shot them! They'd be dead in the dirt now if your demon hadn't disarmed me! I didn't know what I was facing. Took me by surprise!" 

"'Cause you're no good. No good at all."

"Yes I am! I'm good! I'm good! I've been good and fought for good all my life!" (Well, not all of it, strictly speaking. The angel only came to her a relatively short time ago. No need to bring that up. Let's not split hairs.) 

"Your intentions are nice, I'll allow you that. And you're fairly courageous—or you were so long as you had that magical gun to depend on. Made it too easy for you. Real problem is, your manners. You ain't properly civilized, like a modern woman should be. You're saucy and sinful and savage and you need correction for your wayward nature. So here it is. I'm administering EXACTLY what you deserve, little girl, and EXACTLY what you need."

"Nuuhhahhh! Gaawwwdammit!" 

"Don't you swear at me!"

"Aaayyahhhrr!"

She tried to say silent. She wanted to endure her torment with patience and stoicism and measured, cool disdain. But it was just too hard. It was impossible. The dreadful crop was just too painful. She couldn't bear it. It scorched her naked ass like lightning bolts. Every single stroke made her kick and holler. 

She knew perfectly well it was useless to beg for mercy. Such humiliating pleas would only give her tormentor further entertainment and satisfaction. 

If she managed not to beg like that, it would be a slight comfort. One small surviving victory. One last tattered shred of her dignity that she would have managed to hang on to, in spite of all else that had been lost or surrendered or spoiled. In the future she would still be able to tell herself, "Angie didn't take that from me. She got everything else she wanted ... She stripped me and whipped me and shamed me more than anyone else ever made me feel in my whole entire life, but she didn't manage to make me beg her. She didn't lower me as low as that."

Only then it happened. 

She didn't mean to do it. Never consciously decided to do it ... Only suddenly became aware that the sounds she was making were not wordless exclamations anymore. Instead, almost as if she was hearing another person, she heard her own voice as if from a great distance saying "Please, Angie! Oh please oh please no more! I can't take anymore! Spare me! Mercy! Have mercy! I beg you! I beg you! Please!"

And then she heard Angie laughing at her again. Laughing in triumph. "Not just yet, little girl. First you must apologize. Say yer sorry for trespassing on my property and hassling my brothers!" 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Never again! I swear! Never! I promise! I'm sorry for everything!"

"Very good. One thing more. Apologize for your lewdness! Apologize for dressing like you do and parading yourself around like such a sex-crazed wanton slut." 

That was too far, too much, even then. At least for another moment or two, it still was. "I'm not! No way! I never was! I promise! I swear! I never—Ahhuuhhaarrhh! Huuhhuurr! Gawwd no please I'm SORRREEE! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'll say it! I'm saying it! I'm sorry!"

"Confess it all, outright. Confess to your lewdness! Admit you're a wanton slut!"

No, she told herself, Never! Never! I'll die first. But out loud: "I do! I admit it! I'm lewd and wanton! I behaved like a no-good slut and I'm sorry and I swear I'll change! I'll never act like a lewd wanton slut again!"

"Ah hell, Loretta. There's nothing you can do about that. That's nothing you can change. Your soul is corrupt and it always will be. I just needed you to face the truth square, finally. I just wanted to hear you admit it out loud for all to hear. What's spoken can never be unsaid, however many times we might try to deny it afterwards." 

No. It wasn't true. She hadn't meant any of it. Only said that shit 'cause she was forced. Only lied to make the pain stop. 

But God oh God she wished she hadn't spoke those awful lying words aloud. God oh God she wished she could forget the sound of her own voice saying those things, as if she believed them, as if they were true. Sounding so convincing, because she'd known she had to. They had to sound that way or Angie would have kept whipping her bottom until Loretta said them right. 

And now just like Angie pronounced, true or not, those words could never be unsaid. She could deny them the whole rest of her life, but never really take them back. Never erase this moment. Killing Angie and her brothers and the demon (if that was possible) in the future wouldn't do it. Even dying herself wouldn't change the fact that this had happened. God oh God. 

4.

They didn't rape her. Angie wasn't as much a hypocrite as that, thankfully. The shame-game concluded after her "correction." 

"You've had your sport," Loretta mumbled, once they let her loose from the fence. She hadn't the strength to stand up straight. Neither the strength of body nor of will. She just huddled meek and pathetic in the grass at Angie's feet, shivering despite the heat, and had curled her body up to hide her privates as much as possible behind her folded legs. She hugged her own knees with one hand to help hold the pose while the other rubbed the burning stripes across her bottom. Which didn't soothe them at all—made them hurt worse, in fact. But she didn't stop rubbing them. She couldn't. That hand was out of her control. The grass was still dreadfully prickly between her clenched cramping toes. She was pretty sure she'd peed herself, a little, during her beating. She could feel the residue of trickles between her thighs, and she could smell the urine. At least she hadn't sprayed out an enormous amount all over the place. She was gonna need to poop soon. Real soon. Hoped it wouldn't hurt too much. It probably was going to. Oh God. Oh Jesus. She felt bestial. As filthy and low as a farm animal. A dog or a pig. But at least she wasn't raped. They dishonored her but didn't steal her chastity. They left her that. "You ... you've humbled me. You triumphed over me completely."

"I know," Angie said, "And it's good to know you know it too. It's also quite nice to hear you admit it so openly. Well spoken, little girl."

"I'm not a little girl. I'm not. You beat me but I'm not a little girl. Stop calling me that." 

"What are you then? Can you honestly still call yourself a law officer, at this point? Not with a straight face. You got no badge no more, and no fancy magic gun neither. You don't have nothing, do you, except painful red stripes all across your bare little white hiney. What's that make you, huh?"

"I don't know. I don't know anymore."

"Didn't we just get done teachin' you? Need a repeat lesson already?"

"No. No!" 

"You sure? Boys, maybe we should put her ass back over the fence again. You can lash her this time—my arm's worn out."

"Please! Please, no. Not again! I can't bear it again! My bu-bu-bottom hurts so much! So much!"

This made the brothers guffaw, when she stuttered. "Listen to her, 'my bu-bu-bottom' ... You mean your ass? Christ's sake, call it what it is." 

"My ... my ass. Oh God. Dear God, my poor ass! Please don't whip it again. Please! You don't need to. I swear I've learned my lesson and I'll prove it to you. Listen ... I'm—I'm a little ... little ... punished ... sinful slut. I'm a sinner and slut and I guess I got the punishment I deserved, for my wanton ways and lewdness. You punished me enough. I'm so ashamed of myself. For everything. I swear I learned my lesson. I've learned humility. I swear to you. Please believe me." She slumped to her knees, and pressed her hands together in prayer, though of course that exposed all the parts of her body she wanted to keep hidden. Not that it made any difference now. "Don't whip me again! I'm begging you! I'm a sinner and I'm a slut and I admit it and I'm begging you not to whip my poor sinner slut ass again! Please!" 




Loretta Lariat: First Defeat



"That's good. That's better."

She held the pose of prayer, sniveling. "Will you let me go home now? Will you let me go free?"

"Sure, if you like. We're done with you." Angie and the rest all turned away to go into their house. 

"Wait! Wait! Will you let me have my clothes back now? Please? I promise I'll never come back here and make any trouble for your family ever again. I swear to God. Please let me have my things back."

"Can't do that, silly. Remember, it was those clothes that got you in so much trouble in the first place, wasn't it?" 

"Then ... then ... would you give me a dress or something? Or loan me one, I mean?"

"Don't think I have anything that would fit you, little girl."

"A towel! A sheet!" 

"Nope. We've none to spare. And even if I did, I wouldn't be able to abide your filthy sweaty stinking body spoiling and ruining any of my things. Not so much as a single tattered dishrag. No, you're gonna have to stay as you are, looks like. Nothing for it. 'Til we take you back to town. We'll escort you." 

"What? But ... but I ... you mean ... you're going to ... while I'm still ... Angie, please! No! Not that on top of everything else! No! Please! Everyone will ... the whole damn town! Not still naked! You'll kill me! If the whole town sees me this way ... God! And they'll see the marks on my bottom! I'll never live it down. Never! It'll kill me!"

"Nah," said Angie, "You're making too much of a thing out of it. You'll bear up just fine. I'm certain of it."

"But my ... reputation! Angie! God no! My good name! Everyone will see me and think ... God, they'll think ... I don't know what they'll think!"

Angie smirked. "Well, I do." 

>> Our tale continues in Loretta Lariat: Peace Officer ...



Loretta Lariat Gone Bad



This dark sketch follows Loretta Lariat: Peace Officer.

1. 

She was calling herself Loretta Shrike now. It was a sort of dark private joke. Very dark, and very bitter. Not that she had talked to many people in the last few weeks, since she rode away from White Buttes. 

Her plan for vengeance had been successful. Not entirely, but mostly. The Maddox's were no more. Their ranch was burned to ashes. 

She had meant to see the town destroyed, as well, but that hadn't happened. Loretta hadn't been able to push things that far. Perhaps for the best. 

Angie had saved the townspeople, whether she knew it or not. It was her last act on this earth. She had slain Captain Shrike, the very same instant he'd slain her. She'd banished the demon back to hell, and left Loretta a widow. And as much as she'd loathed the evil bitch, and delighted in her death with all her heart, Loretta would always retain some gratitude to the woman for that last deed. 

She still wasn't free of the demon entirely. She feared she never would be. But bad as things were, they would have been worse, if Angie hadn't shot the creature down. 

The best part, and the worst: Angie Maddox had used Loretta Lariat's enchanted sixgun to do it. 

Then afterward, when Loretta tried to take the weapon back from Angie's dead hand, it had burned her. She'd had to fling it away, screeching. And then, before it even landed on the grass, it had dissolved into silver smoke, in midair, before her eyes. Gone forever. Taken back to heaven, no doubt. Because Loretta was no longer worthy of the gift. She had befouled herself. 

Her alliance with Shrike had bought her vengeance, but at the cost of rendering herself unclean. 

Loretta then found she could pick up the demon's gun. That had been another mistake. Once she picked it up, she found she couldn't throw it away. Or rather, she could—she had, on a few occasions—but then she always ended up changing her mind, and going back for it. Because it was too powerful a weapon to abandon. Giving it up would leave her feeling too vulnerable. Too ordinary.  

It worked almost exactly like her old gun had. It was black instead of silver, and it was a larger, heavier thing, with a longer, thicker barrel. But like the old gun, it never ran out of bullets, no matter how many times you fired it, and it never missed. Whatever you shot at, you were bound to hit. Even if you fired it with your eyes shut, or pointing in the exact opposite direction. Didn't make a difference. 

That was deeply troubling—how similar it was, to the other weapon. Her old gun was a weapon of light, and this was a weapon of darkness. A tool of shameless unrepentant predatory wickedness. And yet it seemed in no way inferior to the other gun. Evil isn't supposed to be as strong as good. Evil is supposed to be fundamentally flawed and unsound. Yet Shrike's gun didn't seem to be. It seemed just as good as the good gun—only it was bad. 

Except it tormented her. The weapon had a whispery voice—very similar to Captain Shrike's, yet still not quite the same—and a twisted sense of humor. It was a whimsical device. And perverse. 

She had angered it, those couple times she tried to throw it away. So now it made demands on her, when she needed to make use of it. If she didn't do what it wanted, what it told her, in its whispery voice, it simply wouldn't work. It wouldn't fire. The trigger would lock. 

It had become ritualized, almost. To use the gun, she had to perform two ritual tasks. One before, and then the second afterward.

How many times had she performed those absurd, demeaning rituals? She tried not to keep count. She tried not to remember. But it wasn't the kind of thing you could forget. In the last few weeks, she'd had to do this business on four separate occasions. It was getting easier, each time. That was the scariest part. It kept getting easier. She didn't fight it anymore. She didn't fuss. She just did what was necessary, keeping the damn thing happy.  

She thought of herself, half joking and half in guilty shame, as Captain Shrike's widow. No longer Loretta Lariat. No longer a heroine of the west. Now instead she was one of the bad guys, an outlaw. The widow of a demonic gunslinger. She'd given herself to the horrid creature, to turn him against the Maddox's. He'd killed all three of them for her, just as she had desired, but then been killed in turn. Even so, maybe she wasn't properly widowed. Maybe she was still wedded. Not to the dead demon, though. She was wedded instead to the tool he'd left behind for her. The devil's evil gun. 

2.

Horsemen were chasing her. Eight men with rifles. 

They were dressed as Indians, but she doubted they really were. Maybe some of the bunch. Didn't matter. They were bandits and villains, whatever their race. Up to no darn good, no sir.

Loretta knew she couldn't stay ahead of them for much longer. It looked like she was going to have to kill them all. It was tedious and annoying, but it shouldn't be difficult. It wouldn't take her much time, at least. Not with the demon gun.

In fact for a few minutes she contemplated taking on the men without using the thing. She had several other ordinary weapons in her possession. The risk would be greater, of course. As opposed to it being no risk at all. In the end, as she always did, she discarded the notion. Men like these weren't worth the trouble. They didn't deserve a fair chance. Not from her, not from anyone. Hell could have them, with her compliments. 

So she pulled up her horse behind the next stand of trees, and dismounted to tether the beast and make her preparations. At least on this occasion they were out in the midst of the wild. Last time she had to do this, she was on a crowded train. A couple bad men had recognized her from her former life, and decided to murder her on the spot—she had, if she remembered their faces correctly, killed the leader of their outlaw gang and chased the rest of the bunch over the Canadian border, the year before last. The Mounties were supposed to have got them all, but that pair must have slipped away. 

Well, she'd put both the stinking bastards down for good. But of course she had to make quite a shocking spectacle of herself before all the other passengers, in the process. Nice to know that this time she wouldn't be troubled with bystanders. Those people had been more aggrieved with her actions than they felt toward the dastardly villains that started the affair. It was this kind of behavior that turned her more and more against the vast majority of so-called civilized society. They weren't worth protecting. 

Loretta doubted she would ever again consider settling herself in any substantial towns. Too much hasty judgment and hypocrisy. She was quite capable of condemning herself for her own idiotic mistakes and misdeeds, and more than willing to do so. Eagerly, in fact. She didn't need self-righteous crowds of others to do it for her, especially when it was clear they took so much greedy, giddy pleasure in the business. More and more, in fact, she'd been fantasizing about joining one of the friendlier Indian tribes, such few that remained. If she could find her way to one, and get them to accept her ... It seemed the best means to put her whole past behind her irrevocably. She'd reinvent herself as an Indian. Many more whites had willingly chosen that path than the so-called civilized world would ever realize, or dare to accept. So-called race traitors. She felt she understood their motivation now. If she didn't go through with the idea, it would only be because she didn't feel herself worthy of any such absolute renewal. She was probably much too tainted, at this stage. Too far gone into the consuming darkness. 

Of course she was only thinking through those inclinations again to distract herself as much as possible from her present activity ... which was the removal of all her clothing, while she was briefly screened from the outlaws' view behind the trees. For the demon gun would only allow her to fire it when she was undressed. Entirely nude. That was the rule. The first of them.

In her former life, Loretta Lariat only ever wore white or sky blue. Now because she was a widow and because she was cursed, all her clothes were black. Even her underthings, when she still bothered putting any on. Which was rare. She had none on that day. Saved her having to remove them. No socks either. She had decided she was through with socks, in this life. Plain fed up with them.  

The gun didn't mind if she kept her hat on, or her boots. She kept the hat but left the boots off. Her pants were too close fitting for her to take them off without taking off her boots first, and she didn't take the time to pull the damn things back on, once her pants were out of the way. Took too much struggle. Anyway, she didn't mind going barefoot. She preferred it, in fact. She always had, but it was only recently she was able to admit that to herself. And that she'd go everywhere barefoot, if it was allowed. If it wouldn't draw attention to herself. In fact, the inclination went even further ... if it was allowed, she probably wouldn't bother with clothes at all, most of the time. Only when the weather got cold. 

It was part of the reason she dreamed about living with Indians. Of course the stories about them were exaggerated. They didn't go around as naked as people claimed. Not all the time. In their own way, most of them kept covered up just as much as whites. But she liked to imagine herself going around with a tribe of her own in just a loincloth, with a headband for her hair, with a few pretty feathers in it. Maybe some nice beaded necklaces and bracelets, but nothing else at all. And nobody minding, because they would all go around that same way all the time. It would never be a cause for embarrassment. It would always be innocent and clean and feel safe. No sin in it, no sex. Wouldn't that be marvelous? Except when she didn't want it to be like that. Because there would be times she wouldn't. There were times she liked to imagine it differently—with the whole tribe having sex all the time with her. Just none of them caring if it was a sin or not, because they were all heathens and lived like animals, without God or guilt. That sounded so nice, sometimes.

It used to mortify her, to be undressed. After everything Angie and her brothers had subjected her to. The sensation of exposure—and defenselessness. It reduced you to your weakest and most vulnerable. Even thinking about it alone could terrify her. Well, it still did. But she'd got used to the feeling, kind of. Or rather, she'd got used to not being used to it. Loretta could never feel comfortable like this anymore, not even for a minute, not even when she was safe somewhere out of sight, all by herself—the condition of nudity always flooded her whole body with anxiety and embarrassment, making her quiver all over with the intensity of those feelings. And that intensity never eased, not even a little. Just taking a bath had become a trial. But now she missed those feelings when they were gone. She'd got hooked on them—that keyed-up state on the teetering edge of hysteria. With clothes on, she felt safe—but also muffled. Diminished and less alive. A kind of numbness settled over her spirit. Everything felt too ordinary. Colors seemed dimmer and food lost its flavor. And she hated it. But she also hated herself for feeling like that. She was always fighting the desire inside herself—the desire to get naked again. And to stay naked. To open herself and abandon herself utterly to this wild madness which it immediately ignited in her soul, every single time. 

While she was still their prisoner—their slave, in fact, to put it plainly—the Maddox's kept her completely naked on their ranch, the entire time. It was only a few days, before she turned Captain Shrike against them and brought it all to an end. But it seemed to go on much longer. 

This was after Angie had whipped her in the town square, in front of all the citizens. They had left her there, tied over a barrel on the gallows platform, when Angie was finished with the show—using Loretta's public disgrace to reaffirm her power and untouchability across the territory. And none of the townsfolk would go up there and untie her, after the Maddox's rode off. They were too scared, and they didn't pity Loretta. They thought she'd got what she deserved. She'd had to wriggle loose on her own. Took hours. And then she didn't go home. She stuck to the crazy plan she thought up before her punishment began, and walked out of town all the way back to the Maddox's. Took her most of the night. Presented herself at the front door, knocking meekly. Still stark naked, covered in dust from the road, her buttocks completely purple with bruises and throbbing and burning so fiercely she couldn't stop whimpering or rubbing at it, even though that only worsened the agony. 

"You've come back again?" Angie had said. 

"Don't send me away. Please don't send me away. I can't stay there in town. Not now. You know I can't. No one could bear it. No one could face those people again." 

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to do with you?"

Loretta had knelt down for her, on the porch steps. As if she were a queen or an empress. "Whatever you choose," she had said, "Mistress."

"Don't call me that. I'm not fond of that word. You call me Boss." 

"Yes, Boss," she had said. 

So they made her a maid, sort of. Angie already had a few other servants. But Loretta was kept separate from them—never spoke to any of them. She slept on straw in the stables and was fed only oatmeal. During the day she was put to drudge work, scrubbing the floors in the house, or shoveling manure from the stables. Whitewashing the chicken coop. She stayed naked the whole time she worked.

And of course Angie's brothers made sport with her, a great deal. Off and on, all through the days. She spent much more time performing for them than on any of those other lowly chores Angie assigned her. Whenever she satisfied them, it only bought her a few hours of peace, before they'd get the hankering for more and come calling for her.

They never actually fucked her. Angie had forbidden them that, for some reason. Mostly she was made to pleasure them over and over with her mouth. Though one of them liked to play with her feet. He liked to make her pump off his cock with her toes, or between the arches. She'd got rather good at that, from so much practice. The other never made her do that stunt, but he nevertheless enjoyed watching her do it again and again for his brother. 

They would finger her cunny to make her spend too. But only if she asked them too. Only when she pleaded for it. She always did. Every time. Which was most shameful of all of it. She had tried to swear if off, between sessions. Tried telling herself she wouldn't ask them for that anymore. But then the next time they'd have another go at her, the flavor of their cocks, or the tickling slimy friction of one under her toes, would spark the urge anew for a release of her own, and it would soon build up too strong again until she'd have to yield to it. 

But they never put their cocks into her. She didn't get to feel what that was like until Captain Shrike did it to her, on the third or fourth day. After she made her pledge to him. 

Hadn't hurt at all. She'd thought it still would, but it hadn't. 

Killing her eight pursuers only took moments. She just walked out from behind the trees, waited another minute 'til they got a little closer, and then blew them all away, one after the other. Just that easy. None of the bastards even tried to shoot back. They must have seen that she had her gun ready, but they hadn't readied theirs. Just rode up smiling to their deaths. Because she was a woman and she was naked, except for her hat. Well, this would teach them. 

It wouldn't, though, since they were all dead. Idiot bastards. Brought it on themselves. It's dangerous out here in the wilderness. You gotta think twice, before you start hassling someone. 

She was a cold-blooded murderer now. Liked this much better than being the damsel in distress. Felt nice. You don't have to be scared out here in a place like, when you're the scary one. The predator instead of the prey. Doesn't matter if you're all alone.

And she wasn't, actually. The demon was always with her. 

Time for the second part of the ritual. The payoff.                               

To begin, she held the steaming gun barrel up to her lips and gave it a kiss. Then she put out her tongue and licked it up and down and all around until the entire length of the barrel was shining with a thick bubbly coat saliva. Then she stuck the end of the barrel into her mouth and sucked on it, noisily, like it was a lollipop. Like it was a cock. 

After firing as many times as it had, the barrel was hot. It was still steaming, after all. It should have still been hot enough to burn her mouth, badly. But it didn't. Or if it did, it didn't hurt her. Or maybe it did, but she didn't mind the pain. Because it felt good to her. It shouldn't have, but it did. 

Sometimes the gun made her suck on it a very long time—once as long as two hours. This time it only made her do that for a minute or two. Now the next part, she heard it whisper, in her mind. Now. The voice of the gun was a curious blend of Captain Shrike's and her own. Like both of them were talking over each other in sync. She pulled the gun from her mouth and lowered it down between her legs. Then she penetrated herself with the barrel. She pushed it all the way into her cunny, deep as it would reach. It wasn't difficult for her to do, despite its size and its heat. She'd got a great deal of practice at this. And her passage was very wet and ready, to receive the weapon. It always was, when she did this. 

Do it! urged the gun ... Do it! 

"I am," she answered out loud, her voice shifting into that petulant whine she hated so much to hear from herself. But she couldn't help it, when it did that. "I'm doing it! I'm doing it!" She pumped her hand to fuck herself. She fucked herself with the devil gun. The sensations were excruciating. But also exquisite. "Hoohrrh! Heewwrrhh!" Always made her make such funny noises. Like a dying animal.  

-- Do it harder! Do it harder! Push it deeper! Deeper!

"It's as deep as it can go! It is! I swear!" At this point, in the ritual, she always changed her position. She unfolded her legs and sat down, bare bottomed on the prickly grass, leaning back—never lying completely flat, but supporting herself with her other hand, propped behind her. Her hat fell off on the ground, but she didn't retrieve it. Couldn't break her rhythm now, oh no sir. She stretched her legs as wide as they could go, pointing her toes to increase the strain. Which always tightened her cunny inside and heightened the feelings.   

-- Spend on it for us. Make yourself spend. Do it now. Do it hard.

"I will! I am! I'm doing it! I'm doing it! I'm going to ... I can feel it ... Soon ..." 

-- Moan your pleasure for us. Let us hear it. We want to hear your moans. 

Yes, she was waiting for that—it always did. "Ohh. Uhh. Ohhoohh huuhhnn Huuurrrhhnn ... I'm gonna spend soon ... You're making me spend ..."

At this point, just before the first climax, things would always change. She would be able to take her hand off the gun, but it would continue to move against her, by itself. And then a devil would appear, lunging over her. Massive and muscular, with blood red skin and coal black eyes. He had horns and wings and a tail, a proper devil. But he wore a black cowboy hat, the horns jutting through holes in the brim. That hat was the only thing he wore. Its face was not Captain Shrike's. Similar but not the same. 

The devil gun was attached to him right at the crotch, in place of a cock. So now the monster itself was fucking her, as a man would. But still with the gun—the weapon did not transform into a penis. It stayed the same. 




Loretta Lariat Gone Bad



She wondered if anyone else could see the creature, or if it only made itself visible to her. She was fairly certain no one back on the passenger train had been able to see it. That whole time, all those people watching her had thought she was doing all of these things to herself. Making the gun move even without her hand on it. She wondered how they imagined she accomplished it, especially when the devil made her change positions. It always did, after her first orgasm. It was never satisfied with only one from her. Demanded at least a half dozen, before it would allow her to rest.

"You are mine," pronounced the devil.

"I am yours," she agreed. "Ohhoohh! Ohhuuhnn!"

"You used to serve the law."

"No more. I renounce the law. I serve you, Master. Only you! Ohh!"

"You are my whore," he added, as he always did, "You whore yourself for my power and my protection."

"Yes. I am a whore. A devil's whore. You keep me safe."

"My weapon gives you pleasure, too, does it not? Do you deny it?"

"No. Never. So much ... pleasure ... Ohh! So much pleasure ... it makes me ... you make me ... scream! Make me ... have to ... scream!"

"Scream then. Scream for me, whore." 

She did. Again and again. "Master! Ahhyyuuhhrrr! God!"

"Don't call to God! Don't you dare! You are mine, not His!"

"I'm s—sorry! Sorry! Master! I didn't mean anything! I am yours!"

"Bitch! Pathetic filthy weak-willed bitch!"   

"Yes," she answered, "Yes. I am! All those things! I am your bitch. Yours forever!"

"Ready to take it like a bitch, bitch?"

"I'm ready! I'm ready! Please!"

It grabbed her ankles and twisted her legs over its head, to flip her around on to her belly. It did this without pulling the gun barrel from her. Then it fucked her from behind, speeding up its pace. Not exactly doggy style—she was not up on her hands and knees. The demon kept her pressed flat to the ground, when it took her this way. Ironing, she's heard other whores call this ... Except it would pull her head back, by her hair. And often she would bend her knees to curl her feet up behind her, as far as she could stretch them. Because again, she'd found that stretch always increased her pleasure, when she took it from this angle. As did, somehow, the sensation of having her hair pulled.

This time when he did that and her face was tilted back, she saw a tiny lizard watching her from atop a rock, some little distance away. She saw it blink at her. She wondered what it thought of her, if a lizard was capable to thinking anything. And then she realized that the lizard was not the only spectator. Behind the lizard, hazy against the sun, she could see another tall dark figure walking up towards her. 

It was an Indian—a real one, this time. A young man with a serious face. Most Indians had serious faces like that. He wore only buckskin trousers and moccasins. No shirt. His exposed torso was broad and impressively muscular—almost as much as her devil's. 

She wondered what he was thinking, seeing her this way. Naked on her belly in grass, but her head tilted back so she was looking dead on at the approaching brave, with her legs spread wide and her feet curled high behind her. Her body jolting under the thrusts of the devil gun in her cunny. Making her give out another shrill yell for each and every stroke. "Hahrr! UhhHAAHRRuhh! UhhHAAHRRuhh!" She could feel sweat dribbling off the tip of her nose, and drool dribbling off the tip of her chin. She was going to spend again any moment. She could feel it surging through her ... 

She couldn't tell what the Indian was thinking. It wasn't like the passengers on the train—she could tell exactly what they all thought of her. But now this young Indian brave was as impossible to read as that tiny lizard on the rock in front of his feet. He wasn't even looking directly down at her. 

Then she realized what that meant—he could see the devil on top of her! He was looking at the devil's face!   

"Are you jealous, savage?" the devil asked him.

"Foul spirit, you do not belong in this world." He wasn't talking English, but somehow Loretta could still understand what he was saying. 

"I was summoned," replied the devil, "I only ... come ... when I'm invited." 

When he said come, Loretta felt him doing that inside her. There would be no visible seed—but she could always feel it, when the devil came. And she, with a howl, came with him, again, as she had been conditioned to do. She didn't try to hold it off or hide it. Loretta was almost beyond the capability of feeling shamed, having a stranger watch this happen to her, and hearing her cry out like that. A clear confession of unrestrained ecstasy—it was not an exclamation that could be misinterpreted for anything but what it signaled. "Huuuhhhrruuhhhhooohhh." This had all happened so many times to her now, exactly like this, in front of so many different people. Almost it couldn't distress her anymore ... Almost but not quite yet.  

"I will not allow you to abuse this woman further," the Indian announced. 

"Brave words, heh heh. You want her for yourself. I understand. Fucking her is delightful. She surrenders herself so completely. And yet the shame she feels, even now. The shame is my favorite part. She used to be a lawman, can you believe it? Look at her now, grunting for me in the dirt. Isn't she beautiful?"

"Guh! Guuhhn! Gaahhahhrrnn!"

"Your cock is hard too. I can see it bulging in your buckskins, boy. Loretta will spend for me again, when I penetrate her ass."

"I will slay you, dark spirit, and set the woman free. This I vow upon my name. Talks-to-Shadows."

"You will not free the woman. You only want it to be your cock in her ass instead of mine. So take her from me, if you're man enough."

The Indian thought this over, for a moment ... while the devil continued to fuck Loretta, not even slightly slackening its pace. And she continued to jolt and to yell, but never taking her eyes off the Indian in front of her. What would he do now? 

What he did was draw a knife from his belt, and then he attacked. 

3. 

It was all over so quickly. Everything was suddenly changed. This one young brave changed everything. 

The Indian killed the demon. He cut off its head with his knife in one stroke. The demon didn't defend itself. The Indian was too fast for it. How was that possible? He told her later he was a medicine man. Seemed too young for it. He admitted he was still new at it. Still learning. But clearly he was gifted. 

The gun crumbled into ashes, with the rest of the demon's corpse. She was free of it now. But she hadn't asked the brave to free her. She hadn't wanted this. She wasn't grateful, not even a little. She wasn't ready for this. 

Without the evil gun, she was powerless again. Normal and weak. No longer a fearsome unstoppable killer. She would always have to be afraid again. Already she could feel it. The returning dread. 

The Indian led her back to her tethered horse and her piled things, but did not permit her to dress again. He only let her put her hat back on. She wasn't surprised by that, or when he tied her hands in front of her. She did not resist. How could she? No point in trying.  

"Shall I suck your cock now?"

"What?" He gave her a look like she'd just farted. 

She lowered herself to all fours. "My ass, then. All right." 

"Get up!" he snapped, jerking the rope. "Follow me."

"Please go slower, if you won't let me put my boots back on. The ground is stony here." 

He didn't answer, but he did slow down a little. 

"You don't need to keep me tied like this."

"You are not yourself. You cannot be trusted."

"I promise I won't try to run off. Walking is painful enough. Where could I go like this? I'm naked!"

"I am well aware of the fact," said the Indian, "You needn't keep reminding me of it." 

He led her and her horse down into a close by gully, the edges screened with thick brush—five minutes' walk away, but the kind of place you could ride right past without ever realizing there was any break in the scruffy flatness of the landscape around you. There was river in the bottom, and a fair sized cave in one of the gully walls where the Indian had made his camp. 

He unbound her hands and pointed to the river. "Wash," he commanded. 

She washed. 

She figured he would rape after she was clean. But all he did was give her another suit of buckskins to put on. They fit her pretty well. Felt nice on her skin.     

4. 

"Is it because of the devil, that you don't want to take me?" she asked him. So strange. Not only strange but aggravating. In fact she felt almost insulted. She'd never a met a man that didn't want to have her, before. Never in her life, not a single one. Old or young, tall or short, fat or slim, married or otherwise. They had all eyed her figure in the same sinister way, whether they realized she noticed or not. Even long before she'd finally and fully been made to understand everything that look meant—everything that it entailed—she'd always feared it, instinctively. And felt shamed by their regard. Simply ignoring it as much as was possible. Now, for the first time, here was a man she wouldn't mind getting that look from—and he didn't give it to her. He would scarcely look at her at all. "Do you think I've become tainted?"

"Yes," he answered, as he prepared a meal for them. No hesitation. 

It was what she expected, but that didn't make it any easier to hear. "You're a medicine man, right? Can you fix me? Can you purify me somehow?" 

"No. You must purify yourself." 

"How do I do that? Tell me. Is there a ritual or a chant I'm supposed to do?" 

"Nothing like that. If you were one of my people, it might be different. But you are not. Indian ways will not save you. You must return to your own people. You must win back your pride." 

"I don't think that's possible for me anymore. I don't think I can. I've fallen too far." 

"You must try. This time, without magic. It is a trap." 

"I agree with you. The first gun was as bad for me as the second. Just because it was shiny I thought it was a gift from the Lord. But it wasn't. It was temptation. A test. And I failed. It wasn't an angel—it must have been another devil, in disguise. I wonder if it was Captain Shrike himself, right from the start. Setting me up for my fall into despair and corruption."

"You speak of angels and devils—but I think it is simpler than that, and also it is more complicated. They are all the same thing, is what I think. Only spirits. They take countless forms, to suit their games and stratagems. I think they answer only to themselves. Or to us, when we are wise enough to see through them and strong enough in our own spirit to defeat their tricks."

"Well, no offense, but you're a heathen. So of course you'd see it like that. Can't help yourself, I imagine, on account of how you were brought up with the wrong religion, out here in the howling wilderness."

"Yes. True." For the first time, she had made him smile. He thought she was ridiculous and deluded. Perhaps she was. How could anyone know? 

"I hope you're wrong, is all. Maybe you're not—you're definitely wiser about these matters than I could ever be—but I sure hope you are. Be nice if there are really are such a thing as angels somewhere—proper angels, I mean. I hope there are. Then maybe I'll get to meet a real one, one of these days. Probably not 'til after I'm dead, though, like everybody else. Up in Heaven. That was my principal mistake—thinking I was better than everybody else. So I didn't have to wait. That was what let the devils trick me, like they did." 

The Indian did not dispute her opinion. "You should go to sleep now. It is late."

5.

She had trouble. Took all the buckskins off, telling herself it was only because the cave was very hot inside, even without the fire still going. 

She kept rolling over and looking at the Indian, across from her. Fast asleep on his back, stiff as a statue. 

Not just his figure. Yes, in his pants. She could see it jutting up, under the buckskin. 

He didn't wake right away, when she finally crawled over there and shimmied his pants down very slow and put her mouth on him. He didn't wake for several minutes. But his cock got larger and larger, in her mouth. She expected him to spend, before he woke. But that didn't happen. She was glad. She didn't want him to spend until she got to ride on him. 

"Stop that," he said, suddenly grabbing her hair. "Stop that at once."

She did not. She kept right on with it. Put all her strength into the task. If he was going to spurt too soon for her, she wanted it to be now, before things progressed any further. But he didn't spend. And he didn't pull her off of him. He kept hold of her hair, but didn't try to pry her away. 

"You are trying to bewitch me. You are wicked. Your wickedness will possess me in turn, if I don't stop this—I can feel it happening. I can feel the wickedness taking possession of my spirit. Oh! My forefathers! You must aid me! If you do not come to my aid, I fear I shall be overwhelmed! Ohh! Huhhnn!"

There. Hearing him groan like that, she knew she'd won. She had him at her mercy. A delightful rush of triumph suffused her being. Made her giggle. She stopped sucking him, so she could straddle him and take him inside herself. Then she could fuck him properly, and bring herself the release she craved. She was giddy with eagerness. Couldn't wait to feel him. It was going to feel so wonderful. She would spend and spend on top of him. And she would be in control of it, for the first time ever! 

But he didn't let her enclose him. Quick as she tried to be, she didn't move fast enough. When she took her mouth off his weapon, he got back control of himself. And he wasn't going to let her take that control away again. He shoved her off of him, and then leaped to his feet. Then he grabbed her by the wrists and jerked her upright. 

"Ow! What are you doing?"

He marched for the cave entrance, dragging her behind him. 

"Where are you taking me?" But she didn't resist. Not much. "Where are we going?" 

He didn't answer, but he snatched up the coiled rope from beside his saddle on the ground, just before they went outside into the night. 

She thought it might have turned chilly, but it hadn't. It felt hotter than the day had been. 

It wasn't very dark. The moon was high and shining brilliant. Not full but nearly so. The same silvery-white color as her magic gun used to be, when she was a heroine. When she thought she was chosen by God. 

Talks-to-Shadows bound her wrists in front of her with one end of the rope, same as he had before, then flung the other end of it over a tree branch, over their heads. 

"Oh," she said, quietly, resigned to it, "You are going to beat me now. Why won't you just fuck me? Please just fuck me." 

"You are wicked," he said, pulling on the rope to haul her arms over her head. "You tried to bewitch me." 

"Yes," she admitted. The Indian kept pulling on the rope until she was stretched up tight on her tiptoes. "I suppose I deserve this, don't I? I've earned myself punishment. Go ahead and punish me then. Punish me real good, you heathen savage son of a bitch." 

She discovered, as she watched him cutting down another tree branch to use as a switch, she was actually looking forward to it. Somehow she really was. She needed this, and in two separate ways. Because for one, she truly did believe she deserved to be punished. She felt genuinely ashamed and guilty for what she'd tried to do to the Indian. But also, on top of that, she knew she was going to enjoy the beating. Her body had learned how to take pleasure in this kind of pain. If Talks-to-Shadows wasn't going to fuck her, at least he would give her this stimulation, instead. It would get her off just as well. Or possibly, in the state she'd reached, this might end up even better than ordinary sex.

And for him the same, perhaps. 

"You like to make me scream, don't you? I'm a good screamer. You're the same as all the others. You've got a good heart in you, for a savage. But deep down you're the same as Maddox's. Deep down you're just as bad."

"Shut up, witch! Be silent!" 

"You don't want me to be silent or you wouldn't keep lashing me. Yahrrhooww!! See? You know I'm right! Guuhhhnn! And I can see your cock. I can see how hard it still is. I can see how bad you wanna shove it in me. Why don't you just give in and do it? Haahhrraah! Doesn't matter. I'm going to spend soon either way, whether you fuck me or just keep whipping me. Do whatever you like. Gaahhoohh! It's still fucking—you think you're punishing me but you're still fucking me. You're just doing it with that stick instead of your cock. I bet you'll still spurt too, in the end. I bet you will. Just watching me come for you. Just watching your whip make me come. Yahhaahhuunnh!"

6.

When she awoke the next morning, he was gone. But he hadn't taken her horse or any of her supplies. Left her the buckskins he'd given her, as well. She wouldn't have to put on her old black outfit again, if she didn't want to. 

Did she, though, or didn't she? Which clothes should she put on? Which Loretta was she going to try to be, after last night? 

She would have to think it over. She would take another swim in the river, and think about the Indian for a while, and probably finger herself. No sense pretending otherwise. And then after that she'd decide what to do next. Depending how she felt once that was done.



Loretta Lariat: Law of Lawless



EDIT May 2015

1.

Lawless wasn't a real town and never had been. Just a little rinkydink rundown mining camp on the piney shoulder of a lopsided mountain called Drunk Uncle Dick. One steep narrow street, more like a track, that was all it had, with a switchback in the middle, so the camp was on two levels. Half a dozen crumbling shacks ranged along each. The actual mines up around there were all long played out, never profitable to begin with; the camp had got abandoned for a couple years until various gangs of bad guys started using the place as a hideout. Only off and on, at first. Then enough of them eventually happened to congregate there at the same time that it evolved into a sort of convenient trading center for criminals. A safe-ish secluded place they could make swaps between themselves, and cook up schemes. Lick wounds, when necessary. Some asshole saw his chance to make money off everybody else and opened up a makeshift tavern in the largest of the shacks, and soon after that another guy organized a brothel right next door. 

Imagine the bad stretch of an ordinary town, without any of the good parts that normally went with it. Like somebody scooped up this one disgusting street from another place, folded it in half, and dumped it on this mountainside where they wouldn't have to look at it or hear its ghastly noise. See, the rowdiest and most notorious western settlements still have plenty of ordinary folk living and working there. General stores and barber shops and churches and hotels and liveries ... Bad as human nature tends to be, you don't see any towns that are just saloons and gambling hells and whorehouses, without all the rest of the stuff balancing matters out, or attempting to. A town couldn't survive if all it had was the bad shit. The bad people needed the good people to fleece, if nothing else. 

Lawless was the proverbial exception. It only worked as well as it did 'cause nobody really lived there, not permanently. 

Why hadn't any marshals or the army or whoever come along and cleaned this loathsome shithole out? Well, eventually that would happen, provided the "town" didn't just self-destruct on its own. (Sanitation was a serious issue. Plagues were bound to strike; only a question of when.) So far nobody'd got around to taking the issue in hand, was all. For one thing, the baddies up on the mountain weren't hurting anybody up there but themselves, or didn't seem to be, no matter how rowdy they got. For the most part, far as anyone could see. Better maybe just to let them keep doing their stuff up in isolation for as long as possible rather than force the whole blackhearted crowd to disperse again and take their nasty behaviors back among civil society. And there was another factor. The so-called mayor of the town (the tavern keeper) had just hammered out a treaty with a small but particularly mean spirited Indian tribe inhabiting the dense pine forests around the feet of Drunk Uncle Dick. Supposedly (the entire story might have been horseshit) this fierce tribe, called the Yeller Teeth, had agreed to defend the mountain in exchange for a steady supply of firewater. 

The Yeller Teeth might not really exist, a mere spook story; those pine woods might be perfectly safe, or as safe at least as any other untamed frontier forest. But no lawmen or soldiers had been willing to put the question to the test. Not yet. Maybe next year, or the year after ... 

2.

Now ... White Butte's singular female Marshal (though she didn't live there no more and hadn't, in point of fact, for quite a good while), the blonde and beautiful Loretta Lariat, famous across the wide west in story and song (or infamous, depending on exactly which of those various tales and ballads you might be familiar with) was trapped in that place. It happened like this: A pair of villainous gunslingers, as the result of pure misfortune and a tiny bit of misjudgment on her part, had got the better of the Marshal and rendered her a captive (a state of affairs she seemed sadly prone to—one can only sigh.) The bandits had amused themselves for a period with the taking of certain liberties upon her person, and once satisfied with such sport, they had then chosen, alas, to carry her off to Lawless against her will, planning to show her off to that nefarious community of their criminal brethren, bound and helpless and humiliated. And also, as well, very much in what one might graciously describe furthermore and hitherto as a State of Nature. Daisy bee, you sometimes heard Frenchies call it. That is to say, in a condition of undress. Or, in plainer words ... or starker terms ... to state the bare unclothed facts ... Loretta Lariat was in the nude. 

The naked prisoner of an entire town full of baddies. Yes, it wasn't a huge settlement. Not a real town. Just a grubby camp of grubby no-goods, under the leadership of a fat, self-important bastard with delusions of grandeur (Mayor Jolly). All told, the whole present population could add up to no more than two or three dozen souls, at the very most. Still, that particular figure remained a large enough number to leave her feeling very, very small. Very, very alone. 

Very, very naked, indeed.

She's been stuck in this place for three whole days. And the nights between them, of course. Though given the choice, she'd prefer not to mention those, or to remember them. 

Mayor Jolly had appointed her the town's lawman. She was declared the official law of Lawless. He gave her a star and a gun, too. 

The gun had no bullets in it. The belt she got along with it had cartridges stuffed in every loop—and then every single one turned out to be just a spent, empty shell. While her new star was rusty and bent all out of shape, like a big damn horse stomped on it, or maybe it had got partially melted in a forge or on top a stove. God knows, not that it mattered. And she had to wear it pinned to her belt. 'Cause she didn't have a shirt to fix it to. 

The mayor let her have a white hat (though the one the fucker picked for her was too big for her and didn't sit properly on her head) and a pair of boots, with spurs. That was where he stopped. That was how he wanted her to stay. 

She was to wear the hat and the boots and the gunbelt buckled on with its spent cartridges, malformed badge, and the empty gun in the holster (a big damn gun, too—quite a hand cannon, if she'd been able to fire it). That was it. Nothing else allowed. Almost worse than having nothing at all. Turned her from a pitiable figure of cringing distress that anyone with a heart would feel compassion for (not that any man in this town fit that description) to an obscene laughingstock. A piece of living pornography to display in the street. The shiny buckle of the belt had an obscene engraving on the front of a nude woman on all fours coupling with a wolf or a coyote—some nasty-looking dog. Surely it was only her imagination that the face of the woman had been based on her own. When, for brief periods, she could force herself to think rationally and objectively about it, she knew the carving was much too small and too crudely done to realistically resemble anyone at all. Still, whenever she looked down at it on her waist, she saw a picture of herself. The expression on the wretched girl's face seemed to be the exact same O-face she imagined she must make when she was succumbing to passion. Because you could also see how ashamed and angry the girl was and how much she was hating herself for giving in to the unspeakable pleasure beneath the rutting of that loathsome beast. Nobody else's eyes would see it that way, probably, but that was how the image would always look to her. 

Mostly all she'd done during the past three days was fart around. Drift aimlessly up and down the street. Walking patrol, har har. Trying to keep her mind as blank as possible. Drinking quite a bit, to help with that. Every time she passed the tavern, hiking up or hiking down, she'd go inside for a minute, drain another tall glass. She didn't have to pay. The Mayor kept her covered. She'd rather he was covering her skin instead of her tab. Since she wouldn't get the one, she'd make do with comforts of the other. Fuck it and fuck him. Fuck all these brutes and bastards. 

So yeah. Let's not sugarcoat this either—she's barely eaten, the past three days. Couple bowls of beans, here and three, little bit of fried chicken. Made her fart a lot. Compared to the amount of liquor she's been downing, no contest. Loretta's been entirely sloshed the whole time she's been here, and she ain't letting herself sober up anytime soon. No siree. Keeps hiccupping. 

People mostly haven't messed with her, except for the times when they did ... 

The Mayor had made a big proclamation, on her first morning. She was supposed to be off-limits. Nobody was allowed to abuse the new Marshal. Nobody was supposed to touch her. Lawless's first established law. Except it wasn't. The Mayor had kept repeating this was only a "request". Surely. 

"Think of it just as a nice favor from all of you to me," he had boomed, "and also to her. Goes without saying. An extended courtesy. For the good name of our community. You're cooperation is not compulsory, of course. We don't operate that way and we never will. I'm only making a polite public request. Abide, and you'll have my deepest appreciation, affection, and regard. If you don't wish to, well ... It's your decision. My feelings will be hurt, I shan't pretend otherwise. But we won't discuss that further unless it becomes a necessity. You all remember I prefer not to dwell on unpleasantness."

Obviously her so-called status was meaningless. Or rather, it was just meant as a sick twisted joke. 

She wasn't really expected to try to keep the peace or arrest anyone or settle down disputes or do any damn thing substantial or remotely sheriff-like. All the Mayor actually wanted was for her to parade herself around the town in her disgraceful not-quite-an-outfit as a figure of constant amusement and salacious stimulation, a sort of captive prize on display, like the Romans used to do with conquered barbarian monarchs. She was almost the town mascot. Symbolized the criminals' freedom and their bullshit self-serving ideal visions of themselves, their sense of rebellious prowess and cleverness and entitlement up on this fucking filthy mountain. "You'll give a special and invigorating ambience to our atmosphere," said the Mayor. "Just your presence. Just the sight of you." She was a living, walking embodiment of the forces of law and justice brought low and subjugated. Rendered powerless and absurd. 

Quite a job, huh. Real rewarding. Put a girl in touch with her individual importance and value in this world. 

Yet she should count her blessings. There was another major one, besides all the endless mind-numbing liquor she was permitted to drink. And that was the boots she'd been given. Thank God for those boots. Well, thanks to the fucking fat Mayor, anyhow. She was genuinely grateful to him for these boots, for real, no bullshit or backpedaling. In her book, at least one of the blowjobs he made her give him had been earned fair and square, no hard feelings afterward. Maybe even two. Strike those off his list of sins. Not that it noticeably shortened the list. But a fair accounting should be kept. 

Loretta had sensitive feet and she was sensitive about them. Her body had its fair share of, shall we say, weak spots—her feet were one of the weakest. She had learned that the seemingly trivial difference between having no clothes on except footwear and no clothes on whatsoever was actually not a trivial thing at all. Barefoot nudity is a thousand times more vulnerable and dangerous and harder to handle than nude-except-for-your-tootsies. Not to say you aren't still pretty durn seriously vulnerable, when you're nude-except-for-your-tootsies. But not like you are when you're nude all the way. She had learned this several times. The degree of difference had been dramatically illustrated for her.

And the one street of the town, holy God, it was no street at all. More like a sluggish, oozing, green-brown creek ... Slimy, steamy, ankle-deep muck, only semi-liquid and smelling so bad it was enough to knock you over. Made your eyes water and the inside of your nose and throat burn. The muck was composed of horse shit, human shit, piss and vomit. There might theoretically have been some regular mud mixed in there too—particles of plain honest healthy mountain dirt—but that dirt had got dirtied up by all the dirtier dirt. Everything all churned together. Those particles would never be plain or healthy again. 

Loretta would cheerfully walk a barefoot mile over gravel, hot coals and broken glass before she'd willingly dip a single unprotected toe into that stuff. And Thank and Praise the Lord, she didn't have to. All these rascals and scoundrels and mountebanks could see as much as they wanted of her big swaying sweaty boobies and their spiked nipples, and the whole gorgeous stretch of her ass, up and down its slopes and side to side, both glistening peachy perky cheeks and the provocative crack between them, and they could also see every tight blonde curl of her primly groomed bush ... Hell, if the fuckers squinted real close and keen, they might even be able to spot the tiny glassy trickles on her upper thighs, that never for a second quite stopped seeping from the swollen strawberry-pink lips of her fevered treacherous selfish greedy cunny ... But dammit, her dainty white feet were safe and clean and secure and dry inside a pair of good, tall, sturdy cowboy boots. And that was something. One damn thing still in her favor. Put a little warmth in her tummy, every time she took another splashy step through that devilish filth. 

3.

Each evening after dinner, while they smoked cigars, Mayor Jolly would play a game of chess with the owner of the brothel beside his tavern. He'd named his place the Watering Hole. The brothel next door—in fact the two buildings were conjoined—was called the Northwest Passage, and its owner was a towering, pinch-mouthed, dead-eyed old man who went by the name of Mr. Gothcastle. The sight of him alone made Loretta shudder all over. He plain scared the bejesus out of her. Stank of excessive cologne. Made your eyes sting almost as bad as the street did. 

Whichever of them won the chessmatch, she had to spend the night with. The first night the Mayor won; the next one went to Gothcastle (though from observing the game, she suspected the Mayor let his buddy have that one, to keep him happy). God knew how things would turn out this coming evening. 

Needless to say, she was allowed little rest, either night with either asshole. 

Going to bed with the Mayor was like bedding a bear. Except a real bear might have turned out better fun. He was the hugest man she'd ever encountered, built like a planet, and covered all over with shaggy reddish hair. His appendage turned out to be nothing special, however. Which was a relief, when it was revealed. And then he had showed little stamina for the act itself. Fucked her just once, and not for long. That one time didn't really finish him off for the night, only everything else that was done after that, it was with her doing all the work. Jolly just lay flat on his back and kept still, with his eyes shut and a boyish smile on his face, breathing sighs of contentment as she clambered and bounced about on top of him, huffing and puffing and sweating like a stevedore. It was fairly easy and painless to bring him to a few more completions. Still tiring work on account of the number of repeat performances he wanted, and no real pleasures were given to her the whole night. The Mayor was the first of her ravagers she could recall that proved incapable of forcing climaxes from her—as well as uninterested. He just finished too soon, and only wanted satisfaction for himself. Had none of that wicked desire to prove to her how skilled and irresistible he was which she'd got so familiar with from other maniacal conquerors. Left her flustered, frustrated, breathless, sore and annoyed. Then inevitably she got madder at herself for getting mad about that. 

Then when it was his turn, Gothcastle didn't end up touching her or even taking off any of his clothes. He just sat himself in an armchair in the corner of his room smoking another cigar while he watched Loretta go several rounds with three of his working girls, on a big fancy Persian rug in the middle of the floor that must have been worth a fortune. The patterns on the rug reminded her more than anything else of spaghetti and meatballs, but maybe only on account of how little good food she'd got to eat since her enslavement. 

Those three clever giggling whores made up for the Mayor's treatment—but also changed her mind about it, at the same time. Made her look back on his bed almost with nostalgia. The girls were far more concerned with her orgasms than getting any from her for themselves. Only they showed no kindness or gentleness about the business. Quite the opposite. It quickly became a crazy contest for them ... which of the three wildcats could make her spend the quickest, and the loudest, and the messiest, and the most often. Loretta herself lost track long before the finish. Not sure which of the damned girls ended up the victor. She was not properly conscious by then. They never allowed her to pass out completely, but by the end of the game she could no longer have called herself sane. Could hardly remember her own name. Couldn't see straight, couldn't talk coherently. They left her a babbling, writhing wreck. If she had to guess, she'd say their game probably ended up as a tie. None of the trio seemed any better or worse than the others. To her, they were all equally skilled, and equally merciless, and equally appalling.

The thought of another encounter like that ... Well, it was unthinkable. She dare not imagine.

All she could do for the present moment was keep drinking, keep walking, and pray when it was finally time for that evening's chessmatch, the Mayor didn't hold himself back and beat the pants off Gothcastle again like he did the first night. She was pretty certain the fat smug fucker could keep doing that as often as he liked. How often would he feel diplomatically obliged to lose? 

She should stop thinking about it. Totally useless. 

And of course the dreadful pictures wouldn't go away. Couldn't think of anything else. Couldn't stop seeing them, not for one second. Didn't matter if her eyes were goddamn open or shut. 

4.

Two women over at the billiard table were giving her funny looks as they played their game. Not to say no one else was—the funny looks never stopped. A nude female marshal might be defined as the perfect mechanism or engine for the generation of funny looks from everyone around her ... Those women's particular looks only stood out from all the other fuckers' because first, they were female, which obviously was rare (them being armed outlaws themselves, not just another couple whores in frilly dresses) and secondly, they were kind of familiar to her, or seemed like they were, or should be. Except Loretta couldn't put names to neither face. Pretty sure the more she racked her brain, she'd never come across either character before. How could they seem familiar then? Didn't make sense, yet the feeling persisted. Unless it was only another symptom of her drunkenness and deteriorating sanity. 

One looked a fair bit like Macey McDamon (the bitch that had brought her to this place) but just at first glance. And Macey and her black partner had rode out the day before, recruited to join another large gang for some train job ... This girl had lighter hair, anyway, and she was shorter. Also she was wearing a black mask. A ridiculous affectation. No need for that sort of shit around here. Besides, it was the sort of mask (a domino, if she remembered the name right) that really didn't much hide your identity for shit, any better than a pair of spectacles might. Any fool would be able to recognize the girl's face without it. Was it intended to make her look scary? Like a hardcase? Well, it didn't work for that either. It looked childish, was all. Little girl playing dress-up. 




Loretta Lariat: Law of Lawless



The other one was just as silly. No, worse. A white girl in an Indian costume, buckskins and moccasins. Even had herself a beaded headband with feathers in it. Impressively long hair—the braids reached almost down to her knees. Bad luck for her though if some asshole caught hold of those. An outlaw should know to watch out for shit like that, if she had half a brain. More sensible to keep her hair hacked short like her masked partner did. 

It came to Loretta all the sudden—the cover of a dime novel. The illustration on it had depicted these two female outlaws. That was why she recognized the pair. Some kids had it. This was quite a while back, in happier times ... She'd just happened to notice the boys flipping through the booklet in an alley next to the general store back home in White Buttes. She'd taken a minute to chase the scamps out of there because they were supposed to be in school. Confiscated a whole big stack of books like that from them, including one or two of the set that had been written about her. (The nicer, cleaner ones, in those days, before her fortunes took their first major downturn.) 

Sheridan Shooter and Swift-as-a-Snake. That was their names. Hadn't thought they were real people. But then in fairness she knew the same thing was often said about her.

Then another fellah came creeping up on his tiptoes on her other side, swaying a little, with a goofy expression on his mug ... Thinking she wasn't aware of him. He wasn't gonna be the first sonofabitch that tried to lay his hands on her, despite the Mayor's "request". Though the pistol at her side was empty, it still worked mighty fine as a club. She was naked and she was dishonored and she was drunk, but she wasn't bound and she wasn't toothless, not entirely. The other assholes had found that out. And one of them ended up genuinely toothless, when she got done pounding on his face. This fellah would get his taste of the same medicine, in another moment ... 

Only then rather than lunge at her like she was preparing for, he drew himself up tall and coughed to attract her attention, like some rich prick's butler. "'Scuse me, Marshal," he said, with exaggerated politeness, "Could I trouble you for a brief minute of yer time?"

She shrugged. "I don't seem to be otherwise occupied at present. What is it you want?" 

"Settle a bet for me, if you don't mind. 'Tween me and my boys over there in the corner there, in that booth. See 'em wavin'? Sure you do. We got to havin' a discussion, or a debate, after we saw you come up to the bar again this time. And what we was debatin' was this ... See now, we all remember what the Mayor said. But I don't believe this qualifies. Not if I'm askin' you directly, is what I mean. Makin' you a fair and gentlemanly offer, face-to-face." 

"Asking me what exactly? You seem to have skipped right over your offer itself, friend." 

"Did I now? Ha! Well, it's real simple and straightforward, matter of fact. Goes like this ... See, me and the rest of my compadres couldn't help but notice that you don't seem too happy or comfortable in yer present circumstances. You go around with a sort of mournful slump to your shoulders, and a downcast gaze. Hope you don't mind me pointing that out. Also you have this tendency to twitch your arms, and shudder all over. Kind of sad to see. It's still in the middle of the summer, but I guess you must get pretty chilly in this mountain air, all the same. We're pretty high up, aren't we? Perhaps I can help you out some. If say, I was to give you this here good flannel shirt off my back, would you in turn agree to come on over to our corner right now and let me have a good screw with you on that tabletop? Just me now—my boys will keep their hands to themselves, you got my word. They'll just wanna watch us, is all. And only on account of ensurin' the sub-see-quent transaction is truly and satisfactorally concluded. So they'll know for certain it really took place, is what I mean. I'm afraid they wouldn't just take my word for it, if I start suddenly boastin' I got to make sport with the legendary Loretta Lariat. Especially in light of the Mayor's grand decree. What say you? How's that sound?" 

Sounded damn disgusting and offensive, of course. Not that she was gonna say so. 

Because after all ... 

A shirt! A good thick flannel shirt! Big enough too, she could tell, its tails would hang down clear to her knees, just about. 

But who was she kidding? "The Mayor won't let me keep it," she said. 

"I don't see as he'll have the right to butt in. This is a matter 'tween you and me. I ain't been tryin' to go takin' no unwelcome liberties, have I? We're makin' this deal out in the open and fair and square in front of loads of witnesses. Not just my boys, but all the other bunch of folks in here right now. So if later on he decided to try takin' away somethin' nice I've given you—well, sold to you, rather—I imagine I'm gonna have somethin' to say to him about that. And so would my boys. And maybe a number of these other gentlemen, too. They might also have an opinion on the matter they'd be inclined to express." 

Pretty bold words. Probably bullshit. Loretta very much doubted a guy like this would actually go so far as challenge the Mayor, if it came to that. He'd back down, or more likely disappear from town altogether once he'd got what he desired ... Loretta wouldn't get to wear his shirt for long. 

Still, even if she only had it for a little while. Just the rest of the day, at the most ... 

It would be bliss while it lasted. To be warm and to be covered. It would be Heavenly. 

"Hand it over," she said, "Give me the shirt first. Then I'll let you have as much fun as you want with me." 

"Wonderful," he said, beginning to unbutton himself, "Only hold on, wouldn't it maybe be better if I gave it to you after we got done? It's just I won't be able to see what I'm doing any good, is all." 

"But then how do I know you'll hold your end up? I'm afraid this isn't gonna work unless you let me put it on right now. Otherwise we can't do business. Only I guess I won't button up the front until afterward. That gonna work for you? You'll still be able to see ... well, every damn thing. I'll just have my arms through the sleeves. But I'll have established my possession. I'll know it's mine and it's on me and that'll make me happy. Fair enough?"

"Yeah, that'll do. That'll be just fine. Here you are, Marshal." 

"Thank you, sir." 

"Name's Bob. If later on you feel an inclination to moan ..."

"Hm. Well, sure. I'll keep that in mind, if such an inclination arises." 

Un-damn-likely. Courteous enough chap. Still didn't save him from being an asshole. And a goofy one, which was worse for him. For this sort of thing ... His face was just too plain goofy. Impossible to imagine a man with a face as goofy as that ever instilling enough passion in a woman to make her have to moan his name out loud. A harsh truth, but there it was. Only in his wildest dreams. Poor fucker. 

Should she do it anyway? Just pretend? Fake it, for a second or two? Wouldn't be tough; wasn't so much to ask. Was she grateful enough to him for that? 

Fuck no. Why would she even consider that, even for half a second? Christ, what was wrong with her head? She really was losing her mind in this town. All he'd done was ask her to whore herself for a goddamn flannel shirt. Better than trying to jump on her back, like those other sonsofbitches. Yet hardly the actions of a knight in shining armor. Let's not get carried the fuck away. 

5.

She sat on the edge of the table, propped upright on her hands behind her, and with the brim of her hat tilted back far as it could slant without falling off. She'd have preferred to keep it pulled low, but Bob had flicked it up out of the way like that, so he could stare soulfully into her eyes, for Heaven's sake ... He held her legs on either side of him, from under her knees, with his own trousers pooled around his ankles. Sawed away feverishly, red in the face, as his pals pounded the table around them with their fists in time to his thrusts. Her hands and arms kept getting splashed by their jumping beers. 

He had the happiest smile on his face she'd probably ever seen on a man. Almost heartbreaking, how happy she was making this piece of shit. 

She could hardly feel him inside her at all. Well, she could—but there was no response happening. She wasn't numb in there—and he was big enough to fill her adequately. But none of his motions were triggering any pleasure. No hurt neither. Just movements. Meaningless pumpings. It was a bit weird. Even the fat Mayor had stirred up the usual sex-craziness in her—only then he hadn't pushed it to fruition. With Bob, she might have been watching this happen to some other woman. Except that might have got more of a charge out of her, from sympathy if nothing else. 

She wasn't even experiencing her standard emotional flood of embarrassment, guilt, despair and self-recrimination, despite the large villainous audience. Not only Bob's group, up close, but all the other assholes in this crowded tavern. Big and rowdy as the place always was, it wasn't near so big nor so noisy that everybody couldn't see and hear exactly what was underway over here in this booth. Yet somehow none of this was bothering her like it normally would. With Bob it appeared she'd finally achieved the professional detachment and indifference she'd seen so many whores display. 

How about that. 

But then he spoiled it. 

It was her boots. The smelly muck caked all over them, plus he kept accidentally jabbing his ribs with their jingling spurs. Put him off his stride. 

"Let's just slip these off, shall we?"

"No! No! Don't! Don't you dare!"

"It's just 'til I'm done. Don't fret. You can have them right back. They stink too bad and I keep stickin' myself. Quit kickin' and let me pull the damn things off, all right? What's the big deal?" 

She probably shouldn't have made such a thing out of it. They were just too important and precious to her. "No! Take your hands off 'em! You leave 'em goddamn be!" 

And she kicked his face. Didn't exactly mean to. Cut a nasty slash down his cheek with her spur. 

"Jesus! You bitch! What the fuck!" 

His comrades grabbed her, from all around. Seized her arms and her legs and the collar of the damn shirt. One of them grabbed her hair behind her, after her hat fell off. Together all at once they dragged her further backward across the tabletop, pinning her all the way down flat on her back, and spread-eagle. 

"Now I know you didn't mean to do what you just done," said Bob, panting. His dick was still all the way inside her, believe it or not. "But this was exactly why I toldja we gotta take off these damn boots! So that's what we're gonna do!" 

And off they went, one right after the other. She moaned with despair each time. "Oh God! Oh no!" And after he tugged them free, he hurled them clear across the room over the batwing doors into the street. She faintly heard them splash out there. Christ. How could she get them back now? She'd have to wade into that shit ... Unthinkable. And even if she grit her teeth and did, the boots would more than likely have got the muck inside them. Probably both filled with it. Ruined forever. Oh hell. She started to cry. 

"What's the matter with you? Why make all this fuss? You got some nasty horrible green fungus growin' in your toenails? No, they look just fine to me. Your feet look perfect. Why you carryin' on so bad? Are you ticklish? Is that what you're scared of? Maybe that's the problem. Let's see here." 

And he started tickling her feet. One gripped in each hand, using just his thumbnails, mainly. While his cock was still planted in her all the way to the root.

So much for professional detachment. 

She went goddamn nuts. Thrashed around as much as she could—wasn't much, with all those men's hairy sweaty hands clinging hot and strong to her in umpteen different places. Her hysteria also made her clamp inside—her cunny. It went into wild squeezing spasms on his cock. Tight as it could press. She couldn't stop it. 

And she wasn't just feeling meaningless movements in there anymore. Full and meaningful responsiveness had been instantly reactivated. Her interior surfaces had leaped back, in a blazing flash, to their original level of overeager sensitivity. And it was like she was feeling not just the intruding dominating fullness of his cock in there, but both his tickling thumbnails at the same time as on the soles of her captive feet. Somehow tickling the bottoms of her feet was letting him tickle inside her cunny too. 

That was it seemed like. And of course it was excruciating. It made her scream and scream. 

All of her usual accompanying emotional responses surged back to life as well. The horror, the shame, the guilt, the hatred ... the whole familiar torrent, blasting through her system. Determined to make up for lost time, it appeared.

"Oh! Oh! Ahh! Ahaahaahh! Ahuuhhn! Ahhuuhhnn! Ahhaarrhuurrh!" 

"Holy shit!" cried Bob, "Mother of God almighty!" 

Started bucking his hips again. Now she was responding to it for real. Didn't matter no more how damn goofy his goofy stupid face was. Now his goofy face was gonna get the fuck he wanted. A real fuck. And he didn't let up her feet. 

Got to hear her moan his name, too, the bastard. And mean it when she did. No faking. "Bob! Baawwwbb! Stop tickling me! Stop tickling! Please! Just fuck me and stop tickling! Just fuck me! Bob, listen! Please pretty please LISTEN! BOB!"

"Can't," he gasped and groaned and grunted, "Can't. Sorry. Can't. This is—this is—Shit! Oh shit! So much! Better! So! Much! Jesus! Jesus!" 

"Stop! Bob! Please! Please! Stop! Stop! Please! STOPPIT! STOPPIT! PLEASE! PLEASE! STOPPIT! STOP!" 

He didn't ... not even after he spent. Even after he'd gone pretty much totally limp, he kept his cock stuffed inside her and kept on tickling her feet, and she was forced to keep on wriggling and clamping on him. Stretched out his climax like that almost a full minute and a half. Screamed his head off all through it, just as loud and out of control as she was ... Only difference was he kept screaming "Jesus!" and "Mother!" while she kept screaming "Please!" and "Stop!" (Or "Stoppit!" Kept switching back and forth, for some reason, or no reason at all.) 

"Jesus! Jesus! Mother! Jesus! Mother!"

"Please! Stop! Please! Stoppit! Stoppit! Please! Stop!"

6. 

Bob passed out cold on the floor and had to be carried from the tavern by his pals. But before they did that, the whole group around her had all whipped their pricks out of their pants and jerked themselves off all over her on the tabletop. 

They left her the shirt, though. And none of the jizz had landed on it, since the front had been completely unbuttoned and spread itself out to her sides, when they'd pinned her flat. All the assholes had aimed their discharges on her boobs or her face. 

(Well, almost none got on it. Noticed a couple splotches, a bit later, here and there.)

Bob hadn't brought her to climax. Damn close but not quite. She rapidly finished herself off with her fingers while the other evil men just as rapidly pumped themselves to theirs. The group were still holding her pinned flat—but not near as firmly, not gripping her in as many places. Only one hand each instead of two. So with a little wriggling, she was able to wrest an arm loose from them, in order to take care of her own need. Thank Christ for that, anyhow. 

Loretta Lariat enjoyed the feel of thick scalding jism showering crisscross streamers over her skin. It was yet another of those things she hated enjoying, yet could never prevent. In her mind, that sensation—together with the hate that went with it—these torturous feelings inside and out were inextricably linked and intermingled with the explosive sensations of orgasm. She could not feel one without remembering and wanting to feel the others ... Experiencing them simultaneously again in real life, as it always did and always would, enhanced and extended all. 

"God!" she yelled, "Oh God you bastards—you assholes! You wicked vile beasts! You're coming all over me! All over me! You're covering me all over ooohhh GodGodGod OH GOD OHHuuhhhooohh oh oh ohhhh ..." While the spurting shitheads surrounding her yipped and yelped like coyotes, beasts indeed, as they drained themselves upon her. 

The pleasure. The release. The submission. The hate. The pleasure. It was all one thing, altogether. It was everything ... the only thing. While it lasted. 

After it was all over and the gang had exited, Loretta didn't bother trying to clean her face or her torso. When she pulled herself to her feet, she left the shirt unbuttoned and hanging loose. She'd wait until the mess on her had dried before she fastened the front. Most of the slime would completely evaporate, she knew, and it wouldn't take very long.

There was much more of it than she'd bargained for, however. So she was taken by surprise again when she stood up straight and gravity did its work. Heavy stretching strings of the stuff drizzled down off her chin and her nipples to the floor and the tops of her toes, while a few thicker streams, clinging more solidly to her skin, ran down her belly to collect like heavy pearls inside her navel and the curls of her bush. And more of the stuff—Bob's share—escaped from inside her. Making its way steadily towards her knees, a matching parallel trickle for each inner thigh. She was fucked and filthy and gross. 

Some of the other outlaws in the room snickered, some whistled, some cheered and applauded and fired guns at the ceiling. 

Her cheeks heated anew with fresh blushes. She hung her head and put her hat back on, tucking her hair on the sides behind her ears and then tilting the oversized hatbrim as low as possible to shadow her eyes. "Oh fuck," she muttered, "All you bastards. You brutes. Mock me now all you like. I'll get you all one day. I swear I will."

But she wasn't fooling anyone, not even herself. In her heart, in her gut, she knew she'd never get to keep that vow. What she was right now, this was all she'd ever be from now on. The naked wanton Marshal, enslaved for sex. Powerless and humiliated and covered all over with reeking jism. All she was good for was fucking and laughing at. 

Her cunny had made Bob pass out, from the pleasure of fucking it. The pleasure of her spasms upon him when he tickled her feet and made her beg him for mercy. The further pleasure from overwhelming her bored contemptuous diffidence and successfully triumphantly dominating her—such heights of bliss that he in turn himself was dominated and overwhelmed, at the cost of his senses. And she even felt a strange sort of pride in that fact, almost. Tried to tell herself it was her way of getting back at him a little, for what he'd done. But it was hardly much of a revenge, was it? Knocking him out with the greatest orgasm imaginable. Yessir, that sure musta taught him a thing or two. 

"Hey, Marshal." 

It was the masked bandit girl, Sheridan Shooter. She'd walked over with her billiard stick propped over her shoulder, and handed Loretta a fresh drink (which she didn't hesitate to drain). "Come over and have a game with me, for a spell. Get your bearings back. My partner went to retrieve your footwear." 

She was in no shape to accept any sort of kindness, true or feigned. "Probably no point. Ruined."

"Maybe not. If you're right, we can find something else for you. Swift's got spare moccasins. You ever wore moccasins? More comfortable than boots, most of the time. Usually just as durable, too. People don't think so, but they don't know what they're talking about." 

"If you give me new shoes, that mean I'm gonna have to bend over the billiard table right now and let you shove that stick up my ass? Or what?" 




Loretta Lariat: Law of Lawless



The bandit girl laughed and snorted and spat on the floor. "Blunt, aren't you? Well, I s'pose it's understandable. But no, Marshal. That kind of thing's not really to my taste. Just come and have a meal with us, in a bit. Not in here. We've got a tent set up for ourselves up the mountain a little ways above the town. Tucked out of sight among the trees. We'll head up there together when Swift comes back. Have ourselves a talk. How's that sound?"

Loretta only shrugged. 

How much more horrid could things get? Actually in an odd way, she was almost genuinely curious to see. Nothing else to look forward to.   

7. 

"You say you wanna help me? Are you joking?"

Sheridan and Swift, in their tent, were offering her bullets to load her gun. It would give her a chance to get a horse and get away. 

"Why are you doing this? You're outlaws like the rest of them." 

"We're bandits, sure," admitted the girl in her silly mask, "but we ain't bad. Well, not all bad. Not like the rest of these mean nasty fuckers. We're the good kind of bandits. The fun kind. Back home, people think of us as folk heroes. Well, heroines, I guess I should say. Anyhow, way we operate, we're like Robin Hood, you know."

"Robin Hood's just a fairy tale."

"Well, yeah. I'll tell you what, though ... Personally, I didn't used to believe the crazy stories I would hear from time to time about this real young, real purty female lawman that was super-talented with her pistol, and caught and jailed like two hundred bad guys singlehanded, and also blew away practically another two hundred or so, again fighting all by herself every time, only despite how good and powerful she was she turned out to have this one funny sort of weakness she didn't know about at first, where if any bad guys ever managed to capture her and tie her up and take all her clothes off, then she just completely gradually went to pieces and lost her mind with lust and turned into an insatiable sex-fiend and the bad guys could do anything they wanted to her and make her do anything they told her to. And she'd obey all their orders no matter how demeaning and disgusting and take just as much pleasure in the acts as the bad guys would! Can you imagine a story crazier and dirtier than that? Frankly freakin' absurd! You'd never think such a girl would really exist, wouldja? Aw now, don't blush like that. I don't mean to hurt your feelings. Keep trying to tell ya, me and Swift wanna help ya get out of here! We're gonna give you a chance to save yerself!" 

"But I don't understand? What's in it for you?"

"You will create a distraction," said the pretend Indian girl. 

"Ah, all right. So what will you two be getting' up to, while I'm doing that?"

"Robbing the Mayor," announced Sheridan, with that bright beaming smile of hers, "And that creepy Gothcastle fuckface, too."

"And then you expect me to believe you're gonna take all that money and give it to poor needy folks. 'Cause you two are just like modern female Robin Hoods."

"Exactly right, Marshal. Just minus certain personal expenses. Bandits gotta eat like everybody else, good or bad." 

8.

They gave her lots and lots of bullets, filling the loops of her belt as well as the gun itself. But refused to let her have other clothes, when she asked. Just her boots back. Turned out they hadn't got as mucked up in the street as she had feared would happen. 

Their rationale for that was not wanting her to attract extra attention to herself before she made her escape attempt. She still had the shirt (buttoned up at this point). Everyone in town by now knew how that had happened. If she suddenly reappeared in the street with a pair of pants as well, everyone would want to know where she got them and how. Everyone would be looking at her pondering the question, unless instead someone or a bunch of someone's marched straight up and started interrogating her about it. 

"If that happens, I'll pull out my gun and start shooting. They won't expect that!" 

"Listen, you're gonna stand a much better chance if you don't draw extra attention to yourself 'til the last possible moment, when you snatch some fool's horse and take off." 

"I'm always drawing attention! Are you crazy? The whole point of keeping me in the town this way was for all these assholes to stare at me! And they do! They never stop!" 

"Maybe not. But they're relaxed about it. They've already got used to you. You're part of the local scenery. Point is, keep shuffling yourself along with your head slumped, lookin' all woeful and forlorn and pathetic. You march down there lookin' determined again, with your spirits all fired back up—the look you got on your face right this second—you won't get away! You'll end up fucked again, before you know it. Us too. Literally, Loretta! You gotta be sneaky about this."

"Fine," she grumbled, "Fine." 

And then Swift-as-a-Snake had said, "Perhaps before we give her the bullets and send her on her way, we should make her lick our pussies for a while. Perhaps we should give her a spanking, too." 

Molly Sheridan had got red in the face and made exasperated noises. "Swift! Come on now. Cut that out! She's a soul-in-distress!" 

The fake Indian girl had shrugged. "It would help her to maintain the right frame of mind. To keep in character when she heads back into the town ahead of us." 

"You and me, we're supposed to be good guys! I just got done tryin' to convince her! Good guys don't go around treatin' captives like that! There's s'posed to be a Code! Code of the West!" 

"Phooey. She is still a lawman. Remember when lawmen stripped us naked and tied us to a tree and gave us both whippings? Do you remember what that felt like?" 

"Those were bad corrupt lawmen, and they're all dead and in Hell now, where they belong. And of course I remember what that felt like! That's exactly why I'd never do a thing like to another woman, even if she really was my enemy!" 

"But this woman is different than you, Molly," replied Swift, "It would not feel the same as it was for you then. We have seen the kind of woman she is. It would be more like the games you play with Wyleigh. She would enjoy it, mostly, and so would we." 

Molly Sheridan's face managed to get even redder. "Me and Wyleigh back home, that's a whole different matter. And I don't appreciate you bringin' up personal private business like that in front of a stranger." 

Swift shook her head. "I keep trying to tell you, it is foolish of you to always allow yourself to become so embarrassed and frightened by these matters. Except you prefer to be, it seems. This Marshal is the same, I think. She tortures herself the same way. She is addicted to that torture."

"You know nothing about me, squaw." 

"I know if I spanked you over my knee, you would have another orgasm. The more you tried to resist it, the sooner and stronger it would overwhelm you." 

"So damned sure of yourself."

"Yes, Marshal. I am." 

"Now, Swift, that's enough!" Molly shrieked, "Tarnation! You two are gonna have me tearing my own hair out in another minute. This woman needs our aid and we're in a position to give it to her, and benefit ourselves and lots of hungry people-in-need back home into the bargain, so that's what we're gonna do, and that's all we're gonna do! That's final!" 

9.

Loretta made it out of Lawless. Never found out how the supposedly good outlaws' robbery went, while she was making her break. Not until she finally met that pair of characters again, but that was a good distance in her future ...

She used most of her bullets. Killed a whole lot of bad guys. Deeply gratifying. Her final tally included a few Indians in the woods at the bottom of the mountain, so it seemed there was at least some truth to the Yeller Teeth tales. They didn't manage to stop her or slow her down. She'd picked a good horse to steal. Probably the best the town had on offer. 

Little bit of trouble again with the saddle, same as she had before. Since she was prepared for it this time, it didn't mess her up too much. In fact it may have aided her escape. Fed into the thrill of the chase and the combat. Kept her energized. 

You'd expect a series of ongoing orgasms to throw off her marksmanship. That wasn't the case, somehow. Seemed to improve her shooting. And the shooting in turn, every time she scored another hit and took out another of her pursuers, added an extra kick to her climaxes. She was spending as much from the pure mental and spiritual stimulation of killing and victory, as from the powerful but mundane physical stimulation of the bouncing saddle horn upon her cunny and clit. 

Howled and hollered so much that after her escape, when the story was told, people would say what enabled her to get away from her captors wasn't just that somebody unknown took pity on her and gave her ammunition for her weapon ... No, instead it was claimed that she'd been possessed by an Indian spirit creature and turned into an unkillable werewolf.

Loretta rather preferred that version herself. And hoped folks far and wide would continue to believe she possessed such supernatural powers. 

10. 

Reaching the town of Seven Spoons, she snuck into the back of the older, crummier livery on the edge of the settlement, and found a stableboy she knew, Tim. Not that he was a boy anymore. He'd grown to manhood since she last met him. Still pretty simple in the head, like he'd always been since a horse kicked him. 

She convinced him to fetch a pair of pants for her so she wouldn't have to ride into the heart of the town without any. 

Waited over an hour, huddled with her horse in the back corner stable. Her anxiety increasing by the minute. Had to piss in the corner three times; her bladder kept magically filling itself up again. While she kept telling herself just to give up on the boy ever returning and get out of there, while she still had the chance. But if she did leave, where would she go then? All the way to another town? Still pantsless the whole trip? 

The young man finally returned with jeans, but he'd brought a friend with him. A nineteen year old shitheel named Jake with a pockmarked face. It quickly became apparent her friend Tim had not betrayed her, or not willingly. The other fellah had noticed him grabbing the pants off a washline and then bullied the reason from him. 

Now snide sneering Jake wanted a blowjob from Loretta, and another afterwards for the simpleminded Tim, before he'd let her have the jeans. If she refused, he'd run back into town and fetch the sheriff, who she recalled was himself a hard-drinking, unscrupulous man, more often than not. She'd end up having to blow him too, to keep herself out of his jail cell. 

She pulled her pistol, though she only had one bullet left. Jake just laughed. "You daren't fire. This town's too small and bunched too close together. The shot will bring the sheriff running, and probably every other citizen too! You'll only make things worse for yourself. Whole town will discover your condition! Exactly what you were aiming to avoid, I warrant, when you sent Tim out to steal for you." 

"You can see I'm a woman all alone in distress. Yet you threaten me with public disgrace. How can you treat me so cruelly? Have you no chivalry, sir? And do you know, if you'd simply done as I asked, I might have offered you exactly what you wanted of my own accord, as a reward for your assistance."

"Is that a fact?" 

She shrugged. "No doubt you've heard the stories of my wantonness. How else would I have come to be stuck here hiding in this stable, without any pants to cover my womanhood? But now you'll never get to know the pleasures that a wicked woman like me could have brought you, if you'd simply been kind to me and earned my favor."

"Oh, but I will. I'll know those pleasures. And I don't need to worry about earning them to get them. Not from a foolish sassy slut like you. Put that gun back in your holster and get on your knees, Loretta Lariat." 

"I'll ask you just one last time to look in your heart and relent." 

"Ha. And I'll ask you just one last time to kneel and suck my pecker. Or I yell for the sheriff!" 

With a sad sigh, and a sniffle, she holstered her gun and knelt down before him in the straw.

"Take off that shirt, too," he ordered, as he opened his fly, "I want you all the way naked. Well, you can leave your hat on and those boots, and your gunbelt too—you can keep it 'cause I know it's useless to you, ain't it? You know it is yourself. Tell me. Say it out loud."

"Yes," she admitted, "You're right. It's useless to me, at the moment."

"I gotta see yer big tits. Take off that durn shit and show me those big purty titties of yers. Shake 'em for me. Make 'em jump around. And when I spend, that's where I'm gonna put it. I'm gonna drench 'em for you. Just you wait and see." 

"You're a scoundrel and a sonofabitch," she said, but in a mild, matter-of-fact tone, much as she could manage, as she unbuttoned the shirt and shrugged it off and tossed it aside to Tim. It would be nice to say she was able to do that without a pang. If only that was true—even a tiny bit true. Her voice quavered a little. She'd got so much practice losing her clothes against her will, over and over again, you'd think a girl like her would have grown perfectly accustomed to it by this time. Sheesh. 

"So beautiful," Tim groaned. He'd taken out his cock at the same time Jake had. It was bigger than Jake's, and he was beating it harder than Jake was beating his. He'd probably make himself squirt before she had to suck him. "You're so beautiful, Loretta."

"Thank you, Jake," she said. 

"Don't smile at him. Look at me now. Shake those tits like I toldya! Yeah! Make 'em shake!"

She did it, grunting from the slightly painful feel of it, sneering hatefully at him. Perspiration poured off her face. 

"Sneer at me all you like, bitch, I don't mind at all. You're just as sexy when you sneer. Maybe more. Now lean backward some and scoot your knees further apart. More! Far as you can! Stretch those thighs! Yeah!"

And Loretta, for the moment, continued to obey ... She was afraid she'd end up jabbing her hiney all to hell on her spurs. A foolish thought. That wasn't going to happen, she had plenty of room. Damn things didn't stick up that high back there, did they? 

"Put your fingers down there and spread your coochie-lips! Show me the inside of that slick shiny honeypot!" 

She didn't want to obey that order too. But he still hadn't moved in close enough to allow her to do what she'd decided. If her plan was gonna work, she'd have to play along subserviently for him a tiny bit longer. 

"Is it wet? It's wet and shiny, isn't it? Tell me!"

"It ... it is." Unfortunately. 

"Rub it! Rub it hard! Harder! Rub it harder!" 

Dammit, how much longer was he gonna hold himself aloof? When would he finally step close enough for her to grab him by his goddamned nutsack? Didn't he want her to blow him? Why the hell then was he still holding back out of reach? 

"Huuhn," she went, "Huuhn. Nnhhn. Hhn. Hhn. Huuhn." Getting harder to concentrate. 

"You can do it harder than that! I know you can! Do it! Do it! You're afraid to, aren't you? Why's that? Huh? Why's that?"

Yes, it was true, she was beginning to get scared. Well, more scared, rather. Properly scared, for real. Her determination was wavering, and her concentration ... Her plan was a good plan! But it wouldn't work if she had to keep doing this to herself. She couldn't keep rubbing herself so hard this way like he wanted to watch without ... 

"Hhn. Nnnhhnn! Hhn!Hhn!Huhhuuhhn!"

"What you scared of? Say it! Tell me! You're gonna get off, aren't you? You're gonna get yerself off! You just can't help it! I'm gonna make you do it! Tell me!"

"Nuuhn! Huuhhn! Huuhhhaaahrr!" 

"Now STOP! Hands UP! Tim, here! Quick! Grab her wrists! Help me! Grab her! Hold her! Hold 'em high! Don't let her go! Don't let her touch herself no more! Hold her still!" 

"Ahhaahuuh! Wait! Bastard! God!"

"Right on the brink, weren'tcha? Weren'tcha? Admit it!"

"God! Oh God! Uhhrrnn."

"Now suck me! Suck me!" 

He pushed his cock at her lips. She turned her face away so it only rubbed across her cheek, smearing it with goo. "No! No! I won't! I told you I won't!" Her hat had been knocked off again. He grabbed her hair and tried to force her head around. "I won't! I'll bite it off you! I swear!"

"Suck me right now or I won't let you come!"

"I don't care! Damn you! You'll never get me to do it! You'll never get to feel it! I swear!"

She'd been planning before, when she knelt and took her shirt off, to grab him by the balls, when he leaned close enough. She was planning to force him down over her knees and spank his ass black and blue. Teach him a lesson he'd never forget! She was sure she could do it. He wasn't too strong for her. She'd take him by surprise and make him pay dearly. He'd be too humiliated afterwards to challenge her any further. Or if he did dare, then she'd pull her weapon and pistolwhip the bejesus out of him. Bash his fucking skull in, if she had to. She doubted it would have to go that far. Then, either way, she'd grab the jeans and her shirt and get back on her horse and go. That was the plan she'd come up with. 

Should have worked and would have worked. Only then he held back longer than she thought he would. Made her rub herself too much. Screwed everything up. She missed her moment. She hadn't been ready when he shouted and lunged. Too close to the brink. Too busy trying to hold herself back from it. She didn't want to let him take that from her. This mean nineteen year old jerk was not gonna join the list of laughing villains who had forced an orgasm from her! No way was she letting that happen! 

Only now ... she was so wet ... he'd made her get herself too worked up ...

"Suck me, damn you! Shall I call the sheriff?"

"You won't! If the sheriff comes, he'll take me from you! And you know it! Ha! I'd rather suck his cock than yours, if that's how it has to be. So long as you get nothing!" 

"Shit! Shit!" He pondered a second. Had she outwitted him? Was he gonna give up? Then a new look of resolution dawned on his scarred flushed face. "All right. We'll try this. Keep a good hold of her wrists, Tim! You keep her steady in this position now! Don't let her lower her arms or wriggle from off her knees!"

"All right, Jake. If you say so, Jake."

"Good boy." Then he hunkered low, eye to eye with her. "You said before you didn't care if I didn't let you come. But I'm not sure I entirely believe you." 

He started to probe her dripping cunny and her swollen clit with his fingertips. Gentler than you'd think he'd be. 

"Stop! Stop! Tim, don't let him do this! Don't let him touch me like that! Tim, please! It's—it's too—Uhhn! No! No! Nuuhhnn!"

"But he's making you moan," said Tim, "He's making you moan so sexy. I like hearing you moan like that. Keep doing it. Keep making her, Jake!"

"Huuhhhnn! Nhhuuhhhrrggh!" 

God, it wasn't fair. She was too worked up. Too sensitive. Jake's teasing fingertips were unbearable. And he always knew when to pull away, to keep her from spending. To keep her dangling helpless and increasingly desperate on the giddy brink ... He could tell from her face and the noises she made. She couldn't hide it from him. She couldn't fool him.

She couldn't fight anymore. She had to face the facts now. 

"Uhhn! Nuuhhrrnn! God! God! Dammit! Huuhhn!"

Only one way to end the punishment. Total surrender. 

"You sure you don't wanna get off, Marshal? You sure you haven't changed your mind?" 

"Damn you! Dammit! Please! Please!" 

"If you won't take my pecker in your mouth, maybe you'd prefer it down in here, instead? What do you say to that idea?"

"Fine. Yes. Do it. Just do it."

"Ask me nicer, if you wanna get to come."




Loretta Lariat: Law of Lawless



"Fine. Fine. Please." She was enslaved again. "Do it. Please do it. Put it in me. Fuck me, bastard. Please!"

"You wanna come? Tell me. Say it! Beg for it!"

'Yes, I wanna come. Please. Fuck me. Please. Make me do it. Make me come. Pleeeease!"

"You beg good. You've had a lot of practice, haven't you? Naked on your knees."

"Pleeease Jake! Please don't torture me no more! Please! You've defeated me! I surrender!" 

But the torment continued ... He was having too much fun. "You really are a wanton dirty slut, aren't you, Marshal?"

"Yes. Yes I am. I'm a wanton dirty slut. Fuck me. Fuck me hard. You've got me ... you've got me desperate for it. You've got control of me now. I'm yours, you wretched bastard. All yours. Put your dirty cock in me and fuck the shit out of me." 

"Suck it first. Just for a minute. Don't you dare bite me now. If you do ... Well, I'll just torment you like this a whole bunch more. On and on! Never let you get relief." 

"All right. I'll do it for a minute. I won't bite. I promise. You win. I give up and you win."

"One more thing. Tell me you're sorry for giving me sass." 

"I'm ... I'm sorry I gave you sass." 

"Promise to make it up to me? Promise to suck me real good?"

"Real good. Just for a minute but real good. I promise."

So he stuffed his cock in her mouth and of course ten seconds later he tugs it away and explodes all over her chest, laughing as he does it. 

"You fucker!" she screeched. "Nooo! Uggghh!" 

"Ah now, don't fret about it," Jake replied, "Tim can still take good care of ya."

And he did, actually.

First, though, he made her take off her boots and her gun belt.

"Why do you want me to take my boots off? You're not gonna tickle my feet, are you? You can do anything you want to me but that, okay? You can lick 'em if you like doing that, and I'll even jerk you off with them. If you go for that. But no tickling. Promise?"

"I promise." Then he grabbed a coil of rope from a hook off the wall. 

"Christ, Tim," she said, as he bound her arms behind her, "Guess you've heard some of the bad stories about me, huh. Not so tight, all right? Please? Hey! Uhhn!"

He had just slapped her ass. "You bad Marshal," said Tim, "You bring shame to your badge."

"I know it," she said, "I do. Have pity on me. I try my best, I really do, but somehOWWW! Owwhee! Jesus!"

"You misbehave," said Tim, sitting on a heap of straw and making her bend over his lap—and his jutting cock, too, squishing it under her tummy. "I punish you." 

"Ahaahh! Shit! Please! Not so hard! Tim!" He kept spanking her until she begged for mercy, kept spanking her until she begged him to fuck her, kept spanking her until finally, she had an orgasm. Then he made her stand up straight and swivel around, to straddle his legs and lower herself on to his cock.

"Oh my God, Tim!" she cried, as she slowly impaled herself, "God that's a big cock! Tim! Oh God! Tim! I don't think I can take it all! I don't think I can!"

"You can. Easy, easy. Keep going."

"I'm scared! I'm—TIM! I can't go any further! I can't! Wait! Don't make me!" But of course, pressing down slow and steady on her shoulders, he did. "AhhuuhhHHAARRHH!" 

"Ride 'em, cowgirl!" he crowed, bouncing her up and down. 

"Shit! Shit! Oh shit!"

"Faster, Marshal! Faster!" 

"I'm trying! I can't! I can't go any—Uhh! Uhh! Uhhrrnn!"

After she got off again that way, twice, they got down on the ground together to do it once more doggy style. 

"Haven't you punished me enough? God!"

"No. More! Not done! More!"

"But you made me spend for you three times! Please! Let me rest some, just a few minutes ... let me just suck you. Let me just HUH! HUH! God. Oh God. Ohhh shit! Okay, fine. Fine. FUUUCK!" 

Jake provided further encouragement, not that it was needed. "Give it to her, Tim! She made you steal for her. Show her no mercy! Show her who's BOSS! Fuck the slut into the ground!"

Tim shushed him, which made her chuckle a little. 

He'd grabbed her feet after he penetrated her, making her curl them up against the sides of his belly. 

"No tickling! Hey! You promised! You promised! Hey! Huuhhaahh!" 

"No tickle," he said. And kept his word, more or less. Never let go of her feet, but only rubbed and squeezed them as he fucked her, and used them for leverage. Kept her in suspense that way about it the whole time, whether he meant to or not ... 

He fucked her so good it got Jake hard again, from watching them and hearing her. "Ohh Tim! Tim! Jesus, Tim! Ohuuh Ohhuuhh Ohhhuuhh OhhuuhhHAAHRR!" Then Jake only lasted another ten seconds, soon as he plugged into her. Tim's second turn turned out better than his first. 

She yelled far too loud. The sheriff's deputy appeared at the stall door. The sheriff hadn't come himself to investigate because he was too intoxicated. Sleeping it off in his own jail cell. 

The deputy was perfectly willing not to raise a further stink in town, so long as he got to take a turn of his own with Loretta on the straw, and if she stayed tied while he took it. Loretta agreed so long as he first held Jake still while she kicked him in the balls as hard as she could, twice. The deputy didn't mind meeting this condition at all. 

He turned out not as good at screwing as Tim, but much better at it than Jake. She got to come another couple times before he'd satisfied himself. 

Another hour and a half later, she rode from the livery, fully dressed again at last. Didn't head into town for the hotels, like she'd originally planned. Headed back out into the open country instead. She'd sleep under the stars again that night. 

Seven Spoons was one more little frontier town she'd do her best never to come back to, if she could help it. Another name she'd never be able to hear without blushing crimson and squirming in her seat. 



Loretta Lariat: Peace Officer



This tale was first conceived as a fanfiction based on a short erotic web comic by a guy called Thew, called Lightning Lily. As an experiment, I'm giving it the "50 Shades" treatment, so to speak—changing all the names and some other stuff to see if it flies as my own thing. Thew didn't provide an origin story for his version of the character, for example. And the plot progresses not only further, but darker. 

Who is Loretta Lariat? 

Daring, beautiful, and virtuous, she's a figure of legend, a heroine of the Wild West. Marshal of a little frontier town called White Buttes. How on earth did such a young, pretty blonde slip of a girl like her get to be a peace officer, despite the prejudices of the time? Because she had unearthly help—magic! An angel (or at least a creature Loretta believed to be one) gave her an enchanted pistol, and charged her to combat the wickedness of the world. But now, after many grand adventures, bringing an impressive number of dastardly desperados to justice, Loretta's fortunes have taken a shocking downturn. For a proud landowner called Angie Maddox, with knowledge of witchcraft passed down through the matriarchs of her family, enlisted the aid of a demon, after her two not-very-bright younger brothers were caught red-handed, horse rustling, by Loretta. Taking the form of a gunslinger with the name of Captain Shrike, the demon freed Angie's brothers, and then took Loretta herself captive when she pursued them to the Maddox ranch, not at all prepared for the supernatural foe that awaited her there ...

With contemptuous ease, the fiendish creature shot her enchanted weapon out of her hand, with his own black counterpart! Afterwards, Angie and her brothers made cruel sport with the marshal. They made her take her clothes off, tied her up, forced her to bend over a fence rail, and then subjected her defenseless flesh to a merciless thrashing with a riding crop. Bad as it was, they did no lasting harm to her—it was only a child's punishment (at least by the standards of the age) to make a mockery of her. Still, Loretta did not manage to endure the abuse with the fortitude and cool stoicism she aimed for. And they took the humiliation further. For afterward, Angie herself escorted Loretta back into town, draped over an old nag. She was still tied up, and none of her clothing was returned to her. In this helpless and degraded state, Loretta had been paraded by her captor several times up and down the streets before the entire astonished populace of the town. And then Angie finally left her locked weeping in her own jail cell—confident the marshal's spirit was too shattered to ever trouble her again. 

But perhaps she was wrong about that.

And now ... 

1.

Loretta had two choices. Only two. 

She could leave White Buttes and never return—try to start her life anew, someplace far away where no one would know what had happened to her, and so no one would sneer and snicker at her anymore. Or she could take the frightening risk of going back to Angie Maddox's ranch, and try to put things right. Try to recover her enchanted pistol, and her dignity, and her sense of self-worth. 

The mayor had come to her, and regretfully asked her to turn in her marshal's star. She hadn't been able to hand it over, because Angie still had it, back at her ranch. No doubt keeping it as a prized souvenir of her victory, as well as Loretta's magic gun. 

Didn't make things look any better for her, did it? On top of everything else. No sir.

What good to anyone was a peace officer that allowed herself to end up locked in her own jail? Without a stitch of clothing on, to boot? After it happened, Loretta had waited alone in there, shivering all over despite the oven-like heat of the cell, and sniveling pitifully in her miserable disgrace, for well over three and a half hours, until a couple citizens finally worked up the nerve to creep into the law office just after sundown and set her loose from the cell, using the spare key in her desk drawer (Angie had ridden off with the other) ... Two young rascals, it ended up being, that worked in the neighboring livery—frequently intoxicated, and that evening was no exception. Still, they'd helped her when no one else dared. She knew they'd been motivated not by real pity for her, or at least that wasn't their principal motivation. What they'd each both really desired was another eyeful of her body in that humiliating state of exposure. And the lads certainly got what they wanted, yes sir ... before finally bringing her a blanket. Hadn't bothered to bring one with them in the beginning. Didn't occur to them, somehow—one had to run and fetch one, and they didn't think to do that until after they got her out of the cell and got her untied. Actually had themselves a brief argument over which one would go, at that stage. God. 

All this was past now. Unchangeable. Pointless to keep dwelling on it. 

The town leaders felt sorry for her, or so the mayor claimed, and she was "in their prayers," but even so they had no more confidence in her ability to uphold the law and protect the citizens. Angie had made her into a laughingstock. For the greater good, she would have to be replaced. It was a sensible move, worse yet. She couldn't rationally argue with the decision. 

Unless she could restore their faith in her. Surely everyone's opinion of her would reverse again, provided she could bring Angie and her brothers to justice, as she had originally intended. As well as the terrifying Captain Shrike, whoever or whatever exactly he was, if such a thing was even possible for a ghastly supernatural creature like he appeared to be. Surely her enchanted gun could bring him down, so long as she got a chance to fire it at him. Which meant she couldn't let him get the drop on her again, as he had before. But she knew what she was up against now—she would be properly prepared.

First, though, she would have to get the gun back. And that would mean sneaking inside Angie's house. If she dared to make the attempt. 

She thought about trying an open, straightforward assault. Imagined charging the house on horseback, shotgun blazing. It was an appealing idea. She liked picturing herself that way—it would restore her pride. But it wasn't likely to succeed. Not with Captain Shrike to contend with—not if she would only have ordinary weapons to use. So a more cautious, stealthy approach felt like the better route to go. 

She would have to break the law, in order to succeed. She would have to commit burglary to recover her weapon. This realization gave her pause. But she could think of no way around the problem. She would simply have to compromise her integrity on this point. Surely it was not too great a price to pay. Angie and her men had proven themselves to be thoroughly and irredeemably wicked. They must be stopped, whatever the cost. God would forgive her a minor crime, in pursuit of that end. Or if later on her conscience continued to trouble her about it, thus informing her that He hadn't let it go, after all, she would seek out a good means to atone for the act, letting her spirit guide her ... But that was a matter for the future. There was no sense worrying any further about it at present. 

2.

Watching the ranch through a spyglass from behind some bushes, she saw the Maddox brothers riding off together. That was good. She wondered what they were up to and how long they'd be gone. They were heading the opposite direction from town. Well, knowing them, they were about to do some more cattle rustling. And if they weren't stealing somebody's cattle, that only meant they were stealing horses instead. 

Angie herself sat on her veranda sipping lemonade and smoking a cheroot, of all things. What an unspeakably foul woman she was! Just the way she was sitting was disgraceful, slouched back in her chair with her both her black boots propped up high on the veranda rail, like she was a man—even though she was wearing a skirt! Shameless! 

But where was Captain Shrike? And then he appeared, next to Angie. He didn't step out from the door or around the corner, not as far as Loretta saw. He was just suddenly standing there. It was frightening. 

They had a brief argument, it looked like. They were too far away of course for Loretta to hear any of what they were saying—but she could tell just from their faces and gestures. Angie stood up and kicked her chair over, and then she flung both her lemonade and cheroot out on to the lawn. Captain Shrike folded his arms across his chest, and tapped the toe of one of his boots—becoming a cliché caricature of impatience that would have been amusing if it was any other figure. Then Loretta saw Angie roll her eyes and breathe a theatrical sigh, and she shrugged off her jacket and started unbuttoning her blouse. And then she knelt down in front of Captain Shrike, very close to him. So close in fact that her face was right up against his crotch. And Captain Shrike grinned. 

It took a few more moments for Loretta to realize what was happening, even after she watched Angie unbuttoning the fly of Captain Shrike's pants. Such a thing was almost beyond her imagination. But after Angie's dark-haired head began to bob, the truth became unmistakable, even for as unworldly a woman as Loretta took such pride in keeping herself. 

It seemed employing a creature like Captain Shrike had certain shameful costs. Well, of course it would. 

But this was Loretta's chance to sneak inside the house, while Angie was occupied. Loretta ran for the back entrance, fast as she could.

3. 

She found her gun upstairs in Angie's bedroom, mounted in a tall glass-fronted cabinet. The clothing she had been wearing on that dreadful day was all displayed inside there as well, every bit that Angie had taken from her, from her white hat to her boots. God, even her underwear! And none of it was folded—it was all spread out, instead.

How did it happen? She couldn't understand how she allowed it all to happen to her. It still didn't feel real. Too bizarre to have actually occurred. Just a ghastly ridiculous nightmare she hadn't managed to wake up from yet ... It wasn't the fact that she'd been defeated. That part she could face and deal with; there was no shame in it. (Well, some, but not too much. Not in comparison.) She'd been taken by surprise—bushwhacked, essentially—and her foe hadn't been a natural creature. Nobody else in her place would have fared any better against a monster like that, not without fair warning. Yet even after she lost her weapon, she shouldn't have let the rest of it happen. Not if she was truly the kind of woman she'd always believed herself to be. Shouldn't have let them do what they'd done to her. The demon should have had to kill her. That should have been the only way to make her stop fighting them. Instead, at gunpoint, she'd frozen up, turned yellow ... Then meekly followed Angie's orders, no matter how disgraceful they became. Surrendered all her clothing, allowed them to bind her arms, and then to beat her, like a wayward child. Angie ordered her to bend over a fence rail, and she'd complied. Why? Why hadn't she just ran? Or tried to kick Angie or jump on top of her or something—anything! It wouldn't have worked, but she should have made the attempt anyway. Rather than simply tamely yielding, like she'd done. After the whipping was finished, in the end, she'd even danced a clownish jig for them. A .44 Waltz, Angie had called it—the demon shooting the grass around Loretta's feet, to make her hop around the yard until she lost her balance and collapsed on her face in absolute exhaustion. Why hadn't she just forced them to shoot her? They probably wouldn't have dared go that far, if only she'd had the spirit to defy that last command and pressed the issue. She had not. 

Her honor and dignity should have meant more to her. But somehow those things hadn't, when she was put to the test. 

In the moment, she remembered, she'd kept telling herself she was biding her time. Lulling her captors into overconfidence. Waiting for the opportune moment to flip things around. Only no such moment ever appeared. She waited too long. Let things progress too far. Should have realized, as soon as she was told to take her shirt off. Once she let them go further than that until they got her completely undressed, and then roped, she had no chance at all. She'd allowed them to put her entirely at their mercy. How could she have been so idiotic? Such a pathetic pushover? 

Obedience had saved her life. Too high a cost. Much better if she'd perished with her nobility intact, and her reputation. A clean death in service to the law. No shame. No scars.

Also, she hadn't realized how bad it would hurt, when they thrashed her. That was maybe the other reason she hadn't fought them harder. As affronted as she'd been, when Angie announced her crazed intentions, Loretta hadn't been afraid. Or not as afraid as she should have been. Not properly scared. Only offended at the idea. The absurdity and unfairness of it. She never would have guessed it would turn out hurting that much. She'd thought she could just grit her teeth and tough it out. Laugh if off afterward, to show Angie and her brothers up. Turn their filthy-minded mockery against them. Thought it wouldn't have been that big a deal. Children got thrashed the same way, after all, when they deserved it, and it wasn't the end of world. Only then, for her, it had felt like it was. Absolutely unendurable torment. No laughing that off, never in a million years, no chance. She had screamed and squealed. She had even begged for mercy, and got none. Just more punishment, more fiery stripes. 

Achieving vengeance would help her recover. Perhaps not enough, though. That, at present, was her greatest abiding fear. Jailing the Maddox family would not erase what they'd done to her—what she herself in her cowardice had let them do. Justice would be served, yet it would not balance the scales between them and her. Defeating the bunch would still not make them feel the depths of shame and self-loathing they'd inflicted upon her. Villains as blackhearted as they'd shown themselves to be were immune to such emotions. Or if they weren't, they'd been carrying them around all their lives and had got used to them. Loretta was certain she never would be. 

The cabinet door was locked. She tried to pry it open, but it was built too strong. She would have to smash the glass—but the noise! Did she dare? What other choice was there?

Footsteps clumping up the steps behind her. Oh God, she was out of time. Angie was coming!

She should have broken the glass immediately and grabbed the gun. But she dithered too long and then panicked. It wasn't only her fear of Angie. Loretta was afraid of cutting her hand real bad—for she'd seen that happen, when a drunk cowboy punched out the front window of the hardware store and almost ended up bleeding to death—picking out the shards from his skin had been the most disgusting thing she ever witnessed—and then she couldn't think what else to use, instead. Her spyglass? But that might damage it ... Somehow, believe it or not, she never thought to use the butt of the derringer she'd brought. She was too frightened to think clearly, and besides, as soon as she saw her magic gun, she forgot all about the ordinary one in her pocket. It was absurd, but that's what happened. Instead, like a moron, she looked around the room for something else to grab ... but shit, she was out of time now! Angie was in the hall, just about to come through the door! 

Loretta flung herself flat and crawled under the bed, to hide. Like a child. Shivering. 

She stayed hidden there while Angie Maddox undressed ... she was going to take a bath. And Loretta knew why she must feel the need so urgently. Maids carried in a tub for her, and buckets of steaming water to fill it. 

"Shall we scrub your back for you, Madame?"

"No, I want to be alone. I just want a good long soak. I can scrub it myself, if I decide it needs scrubbing. You've brought up my long-handled brush? Good, fine. You're dismissed, all of you."

Once she was splashing around in the water, Loretta recovered her courage. For now she knew Angie was naked and defenseless. She'd be taken completely by surprise. Loretta looked forward eagerly to the scream of shock she'd make ... And the derringer! She finally remembered she had the derringer! So she pulled it from her pocket, and cocked it. 

Angie heard the click. "What was that? Is someone in here?" 

"I am!" Loretta cried, rolling from under the bed and springing to her feet, "Now freeze! I've got you covered!" She brandished the derringer. "Where's the key to that cabinet? I've come for my things." 

Angie just threw back her head and laughed. Loretta was stunned. This wasn't the reaction she'd bargained on, not at all. 

"How can you laugh? I'm holding a gun on you! Are you mad? Have you lost your wits?"

"Not I, Loretta, but you seem to have. Put that silly thing down. You're only making a fool of yourself. If you fire that thing, all it will do is summon Captain Shrike, with the noise. A bullet from a normal gun won't hurt me now—not so long as Captain Shrike works for me. He's much too fast for normal bullets. He'll grab it out of the air before it reaches my skin. If you don't believe me, go ahead and fire." 

Loretta didn't. Maybe she should have. Maybe Angie was lying. But Loretta was a marshal, not a killer. She couldn't bring herself to shoot an unarmed, unclothed woman, no matter how bad she might be. Doing a thing like that would only make her as wicked as Angie. It would damn her soul. 

Angie knew her too well. Loretta should have realized—she never stood a chance of frightening a woman like her. 

"Are you going to put down that weapon? Or do I have to call Captain Shrike to take it away from you?" 

Trembling, her cheeks burning hot, Loretta lowered the derringer, though she didn't drop it. Angie stood tall in her bath and stepped out of the tub, dripping all over the fancy rugs and with soapsuds all over her, but otherwise, of course, entirely nude. Yet she showed not the slightest flicker of concern, in revealing herself to Loretta in this way. It was like she was fully dressed. And not in ordinary things, but in a glorious ballgown, like she was a queen or an empress, covered in jewels. No sign of embarrassment or vulnerability at all. Loretta stared at her wide-eyed, and with her mouth hanging open. How could she get up out of the water like that, so perfectly easily? And so brazenly bold? What was the secret? 

"Close your trap, before you catch flies. And hand me that robe, off the chair behind you." 

Loretta did. Angie pulled it on and tied it closed, not bothering to dry herself at all before she did. "Now, what are we going to do about you?" 

Loretta gulped. "I'll go. I'll just go." She couldn't think of anything else to offer. 

"No you won't, not yet. It's not gonna be that easy. I warned you about coming back on my property, didn't I? But you were too stubborn to listen, it seems. I almost admire that, a little." 

There were sounds of horsemen approaching, through the open windows. 

"That'll be my brothers. Back sooner than expected. But that's good. They'll both be pleased to see you again." 

Panic seized her—its grip so tight it squeezed the breath from her lungs. She felt her knees start to shake, as well. She had to get out of there! Immediately! "Please, Angie. I'm sorry I came back. It was a mistake. Just let me go and I promise I'll never come back again." This time she really meant it. 

Angie shook her head. "Take your clothes off, Loretta." 

"What?"

"You heard me fine. You knew this would have to happen, if you came back here. Well, it's time for you to get yourself naked again. For punishment." 




Loretta Lariat: Peace Officer



"No. I won't."

"You will. Or my brothers can do it for you, if you prefer. Or Captain Shrike. Which shall it be? You'd rather do it yourself? Fine with me. Strip."

"Please. Don't make me. I can't—I can't go through this again." 

"You can and you will. Every damn stitch, this time." 

Loretta started to lift the derringer again, though only half-heartedly. And Angie just snatched it right out of her hand. "Weak little fool." Then she slapped Loretta across the face, knocking her hat off. "Do you want another one?"

Loretta shook her head. "No. Don't hit me again. I'll do it. I'm doing it." The blow hadn't hurt very much, or if it had, she had already forgotten the pain, but everything felt cloudy and unreal now, like she was only dreaming. She looked down meekly at the buttons of her shirt, and began to fumble with them. But it felt like she wasn't doing it herself—she was only watching her hands do it by themselves. As if they weren't connected to her at all. God, her hands were shaking so much they almost couldn't get hold of the buttons. Her legs were still trembling too. Much worse already than when they started. She could feel her knees literally knocking together. She couldn't make them stop. 

She took off her shirt and handed it to Angie, who flung it aside contemptuously. "I don't want your shirt. Toss your things on the floor. What are you doing now?"

Loretta was pulling her pants down ... 

"Take your boots off first, you fool! Those jeans are much too tight to take off over your boots. No, don't pull your pants back up. Leave 'em around your knees." 

Loretta sat down on Angie's bed, to pull off her boots—but Angie didn't like that. "Don't you sit on my bed, hussy. Sit your ass on the floor, if you have to sit down. Not on my nice rugs, neither—sit on the bare part over there, against the wall!" 

Loretta obeyed. 

"No socks again?" She hadn't been wearing any again, under her boots. "Don't you have any socks?" 

"They—they all have too many holes. I haven't got around to buying any more."

"You've got handsome little feet, I noticed last time. Very well shaped, good trim nails, no tacky paint. You're feet are prettier than mine. Mine are too big and bony, and my toes are all crooked. Yours are all perfectly even, aren't they? I betcha like scamperin' around barefoot, don'tcha? That's the real reason you don't wear socks. I betcha you chuck yer boots off, whenever you get the chance. Tell the truth now."

She did, actually. When she was at home, when she was by herself. She was just more comfortable that way. Or at least she had used to be—before her humiliation. It was no longer true, was it? She didn't do that any longer. She might never be able to feel comfortable and safe in an unshod condition ever again, after everything that had happened—and now was happening once more. "What's wrong with that? Why do you care?" 

"My Pa always said only trashy poor ignorant farm girls that don't know no better went without stockings. Well, them and lewd corrupted sluts in the towns and cities, and also the Heathen Injun squaws in the wilderness. Only benighted lowly creatures of one sort or another, was his point. Only females who were no better than they should be went without stockings. That's what he would always tell me. I preferred to go bare-legged myself, under my skirts—especially in the prickly summer heat. Pa always beat me for it, when he caught me. To make sure I'd grow up civilized."

Loretta couldn't imagine how Angie wanted her to respond to this revelation. "I'm sorry." 

"Well, I suppose at least you don't have to give them up, since you ain't got any in the first place. What are you waiting for now? You can get those pants off now. Don't stop. All the rest. All of it, I told you!"

It occurred to her then, as if it was a new and unexpected thought—as if she hadn't been carrying this plain fact around in her mind all along—that Loretta had never fully undressed herself since the last time Angie Maddox and her brothers had abused her. Close to a full week ago, now. She just simply hadn't been able to. Not even to bathe. This was not to say she hadn't washed at all—but only in pieces. Retaining a shirt, while she scrubbed herself beneath it, or when she was changing her trousers. And then only changing her shirt while she had pants on. Never taking off all of her things at once. Even in the secure privacy of her bedroom, she couldn't do that. It hadn't felt safe. And the spectacle of her bare body in her looking glass was too dreadful to bear. The livid stripes of her beating. She couldn't look at herself like that. In the state Angie and her brothers had reduced her to. Utterly helpless and powerless and disgraced. Seeing herself that way brought all of it back. All at once. She would relive the whole ordeal, in her mind, over and over. And not just in her mind. She would feel it in her flesh, too, somehow. All over. Her whole body would relive the punishment and the shame. 

And now ... Oh God! Oh God help me! Save me! Spare me! 

How could she possibly survive this? She couldn't, of course. Not again. Nobody could, in her place. That was the only answer. It was too much. This was just too dreadful. 

She thought she would swoon. She didn't, though. Why didn't she? If she fainted, all of this would stop. It was the only escape open to her, even if it would only be temporary. Why couldn't she do it, when she needed it this much? How did you go about it? What was the damn trick? Other women seemed to swoon all the time. 

"Please let me keep my underwear. Please!" She got on her knees—painful, on the bare wood—and pressed her hands together, praying. It would do no good, but what else could she try? "Please, Angie! Don't take my underwear again! I beg you. Please! I don't have any other corsets at home. This is my only other one!" 

"Too bad for you. You should have thought of that before. It's joining my collection."

Noises on the stairs again ... Clomping footsteps, loud guffaws ...

"Oh listen, here come my brothers. Better be quick, Loretta. If you're not done before they come in, I'll let them finish the job." 

"No! No! I'm doing it! There! It's done! It's all off!"

For the first time in a week, she was naked again. Fully exposed once more, at the feet of her arch enemy, in all her shame and weakness. Oh God. Oh dear merciful Jesus. Yet it was almost fitting, wasn't it? Who else could get her undressed like this, if Loretta could no longer do it herself at home? Who else would have this dreadful power over her but Angie Maddox? Cruel and irresistible as a queen or an empress. Yes, it was fitting. It was a bitter but it was true, wasn't it? Felt like it was. This felt right that Loretta be naked and kneeling now. She deserved this to happen to her—since she hadn't had the will or the smarts or the strength to prevent it or evade it. All she'd needed to do was stay away, after all ... why hadn't she just stayed away, like she'd been told? Because she was a fool. That was why. She hadn't learned her lesson. She needed it taught to her again. And it was going to be. Oh Jesus. Oh dear God. 

"Good girl. But put your hands down. Don't try to cover yourself."

Loretta didn't want to obey again, but she did, all the same. 

The men barged in. Hadn't bothered knocking.

"Angie, is someone with you? Oh my! Lookee here!"

"God Be Praised!" the other exclaimed, "Our favorite marshal's back!" 

Loretta moaned out loud, piteously. She couldn't help herself. Couldn't contain her despair. "Ohhh ... God. God. Oh no. Ohhh ... It's all happening again. It's all gonna happen again." Angie wouldn't let her cover her tits or her bush, but maybe she'd let her keep her face covered? So she hid behind her hands, sobbing. Angie made no objection. 

"She wanted to give you boys another good look at her bouncy creamy knockers. And the stripes we put on them."

"Yessir, you can still see 'em plain as punch. The marks have barely faded at all. Are the ones on her cute little round butt the same?"

"I'd imagine so. Turn around and show 'em, marshal."

"You're all so mean. You treat me like an animal. You're so cruel to me." But she turned and showed them, like they wanted. 

"Yep. There they are. Ain't that pretty?"

"More stripes on her ass than on a zebra's! Har har!" 

"But I guess she wanted some more, huh? Only reason I can imagine she'd come back for another visit so soon. Didn't get enough last time. Are we gonna oblige the woman?"

"Yes. I think we certainly shall." 

4.

It had all gone wrong again. Oh God, how did all go so wrong? Why had she come back here? She had made the wrong choice. It had felt like the right thing—because it was the brave thing. The heroic thing. But she was no real heroine, was she? She was only a deluded fool. Why did she take the risk? How could she have been so idiotic? 

She was at their mercy again, and these criminals had none. They were going to torment her, just like before. But even worse this time. Angie had thought up a way to make it worse. A million times worse. 

"I'm going to finish my bath," she had told her brothers, "Meanwhile, I want you boys to tie up this hussy same as we did last time, and the sling her back across the same old nag. Don't wait for me. You take her on back to town, the two of you. And when you get there, go to the gallows in the town square and put her up on the platform, high up so everybody can get a good view. Get a barrel or something you can tie her down on, bent over nice. You know the position I want. Make sure her legs are loose, so she can kick. I want everybody to see her kick. When you've got her ready, gather up all the citizens. Hell, most of them will have gathered on their own, when they see what you're up to. But if they haven't, you round everybody up. Make announcements in the taverns, if it's necessary—but don't take too many drinks while you're doing that. You can take a few, but only a few. Now then, I'll be arriving myself just before sundown. And then I'm going to administer another good healthy dose of corporal correction on the marshal. This time, the whole damn town is gonna watch me do it." 

"No! Oh no! You can't! You can't!"

"You'll find I damn well can. And what's more, I'm going to enjoy it, thoroughly. And I'm sure I won't be the only individual that does so." 

"The townspeople won't let you do it! They'll stop you!"

"If you think that, you're an even greater fool than I thought you were already. Hell, all they'll do is cheer me on, most of 'em. They'll know you're only gettin' what you've asked for, with your own stubborn foolishness. And any few that don't agree, they still won't dare cross me. Not for your sake. They don't respect you no more, Loretta, not a one of 'em. You've turned into a shameful blight on the town's respectability. Most of them think you're a wanton. Don't you understand that?"

"What? Never! You're wrong! You're crazy." 

"No, you're the one that's crazy, if you've never realized the truth. In fact they all thought that you was lust-crazed even before I bested you, the last time—just from the immodest mannish way you dress—Hell, you never button the front of your shirts properly—and on top of that, the high-minded saucy manner you've always dared to present yourself. They think you enjoyed it when I made you display your nakedness in the streets. I think they're right about that, too, whether you can admit it to yourself or not. It's the real reason you came back on my land, isn't it? So I'd make you do it again. Well, congratulations. Your wish is granted. Take her away, boys."

"No! It's not true! Don't! You mustn't! Let go of me! Let go!"

She struggled as much as she could, but it did no good. It only seemed to make it more fun for the brothers. They laughed and laughed, as they deflected her weak feminine punches, then caught her arms and with infuriating, scornful easiness, forced them crossed behind her back. In moments, rope was looped over and over around her torso and elbows, and she was bound tight. They tied her legs together as well with a separate length of cord just beneath her knees. Carried her sideways downstairs and out of the house like a piece of furniture. 

And now the three of them were on the road, riding easy. They couldn't go fast, even if the brothers had wanted to, because her nag hadn't any wind. One brother rode in front, leading the nag with a rope. The other rode behind them. 

Even if she hadn't been entirely naked in the blazing hot sun, it would have been a painful ride. The cruel hairy ropes chafed her skin, her shoulders and elbows were burning inside, from the strain, and the jostling saddle was practically kicking her in the stomach, over and over, because of how she was slung across it, face down. Her skull was throbbing so much from her head dangling upside down it felt like it was about to explode. She tried to tell herself to relax as much as possible, in order to save her strength for later when it might do her some good. But she couldn't keep still. It was useless but in her wild desperation she couldn't stop fighting the ropes. Nor could she keep quiet. She knew doing this was even more useless than trying to wriggle the ropes loose, but she kept pleading with the brothers as they rode along. She couldn't help herself. She hated the way she sounded—the childish whine her voice had turned into—but still somehow she just couldn't stop doing it. 

"Please listen to me! Please have mercy! Oh please! Take pity on me! Please won't you just stop for a minute and think about it? Will you listen?"

"There's nothing more to say, Marshal. Hush now."

"But please! Oh God! Oh please God help me!"

"Hush up, I said."

"Now, now, brother" said the other one, "No need to be like that. Let her carry on, if she likes. I don't mind listening to her. Fact is, I rather get a kick out of it. Don't you?" 

"I suppose I do, when you put it like that." 

"Don't take me into town! Please! Please! I can't bear the thought! If you want to punish me, do it here! You can do anything you want! But not in town in front of everyone! That's too horrible! You can't be so cruel and heartless! Not even men like you! Have pity! I'm begging you! As a woman—not as an officer of the law, I'm not a real marshal any longer, but just a helpless woman—I'm begging you! Listen to me! I'm begging you!" 

"Very moving, don't you agree, brother?"

"Yes indeed. Breaks my heart. But it's not for us to say, Loretta. Angie decided, and Angie's the boss. It's always been that way. She's the eldest and the smartest and the toughest of us, even if she's a woman. That's why Pa left the ranch in her name. Whatever she says goes. It's how things have to be. How on Earth do you imagine you could talk us into disobeying her? The very idea is plain foolishness. She told us to take you into town and put you on display in the square, and that's exactly what we're gonna do. And after we get done with that, we're gonna hit all the taverns and spread the word and make durn sure everything and everybody's ready for when Angie arrives to put on a big show with you, at sundown. So that's what's gonna happen. That's how it's gonna be. Time you got started getting' yerself used to the idea."

"I can't! I'll go mad! I'll go mad! Oh God, I'd rather just die. Just kill me! Pick one of these trees and lynch me right here!" 

"We ain't gonna do that. How could you even suggest such a dreadful notion? We ain't murderers." 

"And killin' you wouldn't be any fun. Not for us and not for anybody, no how. Or at least nowhere near as fun as watchin' what Angie's gonna do to you—again."

"But I can't bear it! I won't be able to bear it! Not again! Not naked again! Not in front of the whole town! Oh God! Oh please don't let this happen! I'll do anything! Anything! Please!" 

"There's nothing you can do. There's nothing you can offer that's gonna getcher pretty bare hiney out of this." 

"What if—what if I suck your cocks? What if I suck your cocks, right now?"

Well, that stopped them. The brothers both drew their horses up and looked at each other with raised eyebrows. "Did she just say what I think she just said?"

"Hard to believe. But I think she did, unless my ears have gone bad. Say that again, Loretta. What was that you just offered to do?"

"Will you let me go, if I do it? Would that be good enough for you to let me go?" 

"Do what exactly? Let's make sure there's no durn confusion." 

"You heard what I said. You both heard me just fine. If I—If you let me go—if you untie me—then I'll suck your cocks. Both your cocks. Right now."

"Right here, by the side of the road?" 

"Yes. Or we can go back behind the trees, if you want, if that would be better." 

The brothers pondered the offer carefully, studying each other's expressions again. "What do you think about this?" 

"Hell. Gosh. Never would have imagined ... but I mean to say, well, shit."

"My sentiments exactly."

"To have her do it willingly, you know ... Not to have to force her, but ..." 

"Yep. Might really be something." 

"Well then. I figure, what the hey." He turned to Loretta. "Now you better listen good. If we're gonna do this, you better do it real good. You better make it worth our while. If you don't do it good enough, or if you try to bite us or any bullshit like that ..." 

"I understand. I won't try anything like that. I'll do it good. Good as I can." Not that she'd ever done anything like that ever before. But how hard could it be? It would be disgusting, but so long as she closed her eyes and tried to think of other things, she should be able to get through it. It wasn't a complicated procedure. All she had to do, basically, was let them stick the filthy things in her mouth and then suck on them, like on a lollipop, until they were satisfied. She would just have to pretend she was doing it to a couple of large, ill-flavored lollipops.

But oh God, they were outlaws! A pair of vile dastardly villains that she wanted more than anything to lock behind bars forever, and instead she was going to have to defile herself for their lust ... 

They left the road and went in among the trees, and then they dismounted and pulled her off the nag, but they didn't untie her arms. There was some grass here, but still the ground was rough and prickly under her unprotected feet, from twigs and dried-out leaves. Her head was spinning, now that they had straightened her up—she thought she might faint. "I'm gonna fall over. I can't balance myself. Let my arms loose. You said you'd release me." 

"Afterwards. Not before. And only if you do a good job, remember. Now you ready to get started? You better be. Get on yer knees, Loretta. You won't feel dizzy down there. Let's see what you can do with that purty mouth of yers, besides fuss and moan."

She knelt down, with a sorrowful sigh. 

"Hey now, if that's how you feel about it ... If you don't feel up to this, after all, then we can go ahead and put you right back on the nag and proceed as planned. Is that what you want?"

"No. No, I'm sorry, I'll do what I promised."

"Are you sure? You still sound awful reluctant."

"Of course I'm reluctant, you bastard! If you had any human decency, you'd set me free without putting me in this ... position." 

"You put yerself in that position, not me. Trespassin' on our property. Admit it."

"I was trying to get my things back! That's all! Everything you stole from me!" 

"Yer motivations ain't significant to the issue at hand," he pronounced, loftily, "Admit we caught you trespassin'."

"I won't! I won't accept blame. Don't you dare pretend you've any natural right to treat me like this." 

"You'll admit the truth once Angie gets started on you. Come on, brother-of-mine. Let's put her back on the nag."




Loretta Lariat: Peace Officer



"Wait! Stop! Don't do that! What about the ... the bargain we made?"

"Hell, it ain't worthwhile. You ain't gonna do this any good. You wouldn't even know how, I wager. You're just wasting our time, marshal. Rather stick with the original arrangement. See you get the licking you deserve. I know that'll pay off properly."

"No, let me do this! Let me try! I'll do it good! I promise! And ... I admit I was trespassing, all right? Does that satisfy you?" 

Said the other brother: "Hey now. Hold on. Let's not be hasty. We may as well let her give it a try, at least. Just for a minute or two." 

"Yes! Listen to him!" Loretta cried, "Give me a chance!"

He pretended to think it over. "Ask nicely, first. You pissed me off. Now you wanna change my mind again, you gotta ask me real nice."

"Please. Please let me do it. Let me just ... just get it over with."

"Do what? Say it plain, Loretta. I know you think it's disgusting. But you were beggin' us before. I wanna hear you beg again. Beg to do this disgusting sinful act for us. Do it now, and say it proper, and make it sound good, or else you go right back over the nag." 

It was hardest thing she ever did. Even harder than when she made this ghastly offer in the first place. She'd been so desperate then, she'd said it without thinking. Now, kneeling for them, this time it was so much harder to force out the dreadful shameful words. To talk like a filthy sinful whore. But she had no choice. She was powerless. 

"Please, I beg you, let me ... let me s-u-uck ... let me suck on your ... on your ... on your cock. I promise I'll ... suck ... on it good. As long as you want. Until you ... until you sp-spend. If you promise not to let Angie beat me again. If you promise to set me free. I'll ... suck on your cock good to make it spend."

"That's good, Loretta. You said that real good." 

"She sure did, brother. I love the way she blushes. And how she kept stu-stuttering. So adorable." 

"Have you sucked a lot of cocks, Loretta Lariat?"

"No, I never have." 

"I ain't sure I believe that, after what you said before. How did you know how to say it that way, if you've never done this?"

"I swear I've never done it but I saw a whore doing it once, in the livery in town." And then also she'd witnessed Angie doing it for Captain Shrike, if only for a moment and at a considerable distance, but it would probably not be smart to mention that fact to the brothers now. "They came in the stables while I was rubbing down my horse. It happened in the stall across from mine." 

"Did they know you were watching?"

"I don't know. They were both very inebriated. I couldn't decide what to do. I was only half done with the horse—I couldn't leave her like that. I tried to ignore the two but they made a lot of noise together. It was difficult. But that's how I learned how to talk like I expected you wanted, and how to do this thing. To make you ... make your cock spend." 

"My word! Just listenin' to her talk like that is almost enough to make me shoot in my durn trousers!" 

"You hear that, Loretta? If yer lucky, you might only have to do this for me. Here you go now."

It wasn't as big as she expected, but it was uglier and the smell was terrible. And worse, he wouldn't let her keep her eyes closed. "Oh no. You keep lookin' at me, Marshal. Look right up here at me."

It was so disgusting. So hard to do. Both things. Taking it in her mouth. Gazing up into his mocking eyes. It made her so ashamed. 

"Suck it harder. Much harder. Take a breath and try again. Gotta take it deeper, to do it properly."

She followed his instructions, best as she could, though it made her whimper and choke. 

"Good girl. You remember back to the day you arrested us? You were so high and mighty. Not anymore, huh?"

Answering provided an excuse to pause. "I was only doing my duty. As an officer of the law."

With a laugh, he slapped her cheeks with his cock and then stuffed it back into her mouth, shoving it in deeper than before. >> Fwack! -- "Ahhnn!" >> Fwick! -- "Uhhrr! Uhhnnn—nnuhn—nummrruuhhmm ...

"Come on now, be honest with yourself. Don't pretend you weren't proud of yourself that day. Heck, you had every right to be. Taking us both in all by yerself, and so easy, so quick. Looped yer lasso 'round us both easy as pie, livin' up to yer nickname. And lookin' so lovely and radiant as you did it. I hated you so much. Not really for arrestin' me, though. I hated how beautiful you were. Struttin' down the street, cock of the hoop, yer face as shiny as yer tin star, or even shinier, as you towed us along like lowly beasts. You looked down your nose at me like I was dirt, and maybe you were right to do that, because maybe I really am. You loathed the sight of me, but you still looked like an angel to me. It made me burn inside. Did you know that? I bet you did. Didja enjoy making me burn? Betcha did. And now look at yerself, Marshal. Now it's you that's roped like a beast, isn't it? Nice and tight. Suckin' my outlaw cock on yer knees to me. Feels good, Loretta Lariat. Feels real good. Which of us is dirt now? Well, maybe I still am. Always will be, I expect. But yer down here all tied up butt nekkid in the dirt with me, ain'tcha? How's it feel, Marshal? How does it taste?"

She wished he would stop calling her that. She was no marshal. No more. Never again. 

5.

Half an hour later ... Half an hour later that felt like a hundred years ... 

Loretta lay panting, curled on her side in the grass. The brothers, meanwhile, because it was so boiling hot here, despite the shade in this little patch of woods, had both taken off their shirts to rinse themselves down with water from their canteens. "God damn," one remarked, "I'm sweatin' like a field hand." 

"You and me both, brother. Whewee!" 

"She durn near made me pass out. Durn near." 

"Looks like she's about passed out herself, don't it?"

They were standing right above her, but it felt like they were miles away, on top of a cloudy mountain. She was in a daze. She felt muddled inside. Not just in her mind, but inside her belly, and in other places deeper down. A churning, surging sensation—like breakers pounding a beach, inside her. 

It had been a very strange experience, the thing she had just done. The things they had done to her in return ... She had known it would be hard, and scary, and disgusting. It had been all those things, though it never became quite as bad in any of those respects as she had thought it would. What she had not been at all prepared for was how strange it became. She had thought she understood the world. At least as well as anyone could. Now she felt she didn't understand anything at all. Not a single part of it.

The whole time she had kept wondering if husbands made their lawful wives do this for them with their mouths, or if only unfortunate whores had to do it, because they were whores. She couldn't get the question off her mind ... and she had kept trying to figure out who she could ask. Someone who wouldn't take offense at the question, and at the same time could give her accurate information. But she couldn't think of any single person she could trust that much for either part of it. Every one she thought of either wouldn't tell her or wouldn't know what they were talking about any better than she did. 

And the longer it went on, the longer she kept sucking—listening to all the funny slobbering sounds her mouth made, as she worked, and the gasps and grunts of delight from the man she was working on—she had begun to feel a burning sensation in her privates. A kind of cramp. But it didn't hurt. It tickled inside, instead. She couldn't control the feeling or ignore it. Nothing was touching her there—so what was causing the feeling? It had to be what she was doing—but how was it affecting her down there, inside her? Everything she was doing, she was doing with just her mouth. And she was hating every second of it. This was the ultimate humiliation—except no, it was better than being whipped, in front of an audience. Much better than that, which was the whole reason she was doing this—but it was still bad. Yet that badness itself somehow started to make her burn and cramp and tickle inside. Why? Why, in God's name? It didn't make sense! 

And then when she finally finished with the first brother—and the sticky fluid he squirted out on her chin and on her tits was like white paint—before the second brother made her start on him, he told her to stand up, while he crouched down in front of her, instead. "I wanna check on somethin' down here," he announced, and then he started prodding at her privates with his fingers. 

"What are you doing?" she had exclaimed, "This wasn't part of the deal. Wait. Don't! Gahhuuhh!" He had pushed two of his fingers all the way inside of her, up to the second knuckle. It didn't hurt her, though. It was horrible to be violated like that—but it didn't hurt like she would have predicted. 

"Yep. Good 'n' greasy. It's gettin' to you. The atmosphere. But this hussy's no virgin, brother." 

"I am! I swear! I've always been chaste! I've been a good girl all my life!" 

"Like hell you have." 

"Now, now. She's probably tellin' the truth, even if she ain't plugged in there no more. You've seen the way she rides her horses. Same thing happened to Angie, remember?" 

"I s'pose you're right." 

"Take your fingers out! Take your fingers out of me! Please! This wasn't part of the deal."

"Just a minute. I'm still checkin' somethin'." And he continued to rub her inside. He rubbed the little bump at the top—the one she liked to fiddle with sometimes, when she was taking a bath, or by herself in the swimming hole ... But she'd never let herself rub it as hard as he was doing then. She was afraid he would hurt it, sensitive as she knew it to be—but he hadn't. It only swelled and twitched, pressing back against his fingertip. So humiliating. "Does that tickle? I bet that tickles in there, don't it?" It had—oh God, it certainly had. 

"Stop it! Why are you—Stop! It hurts! You're hurting me! It hurts!"

He hadn't believed her. "No it don't, Marshal," he'd said, speeding up the motion. "See?" 

"It's—it's gross! It feels nasty!"

They had both guffawed at that. "Oh stop! Please! Ohhuuhooh! What do you want?" She'd been so afraid it would make her have to pee. Was that what he wanted? Was that what he'd been trying to do? She lifted up on her tiptoes as high as she could stretch, but it did no good, there was no evading him. He jerked his wrist, pressing higher and harder. It made her tits bounce and wobble, droplets of sweat flying off them—her whole entire nude body was bouncing and wobbling, in fact, impaled on his torturous wriggling fingers, compelled to writhe and dance. "Stop! Oh! Why won't you stop? Please!" She tried pressing her thighs together as tight as she could make them squeeze, in hope of trapping his hand, forcing it to keep still if she couldn't force it out of her altogether. But it didn't work—all that did was press his hand tighter within her cleft, and his fingers were still perfectly free inside her to wriggle around. "Gahhgghh!" So then she flung her knees wide, to ease the pressure—but of course that only gave her a moment's respite, before he took advantage of her opening so wide, to push his hand in even deeper! "Ohhuurrhh! You bastard! Stop! Why won't you stop? It feels—It feels—hhhhuunnh!" 

"Yeah? How's it feel, Loretta? Tell us."

But how could she say it? She couldn't even think. "What's happening? I don't know what's happening to me!" 

"Don'tcha?"

It was the same tingling as she felt in the bath or the swimming hole, but magnified a thousand times. She couldn't bear it—it was terrifying. What was this going to do to her? "Please stop! I'm frightened. I beg you! I'll go crazy! I'm going crazy! I can feel it! You're making me lose my sanity! Oh please! It's too much—it's too much!"

"We like seein' you go crazy, Loretta. We like it when you beg. You better keep doin' it, Marshal." 

"Please! I'm begging! Like you want! I don't know what's happening! Spare me! I beg you for mercy! I think I shall scream! I shall have to scream!"

"So go ahead, Marshal. Scream away. Scream your head off, if you want." 

She did. "Ahhhaaaarrrhh!! Ahhuuhhuuhh!! God help me! GODDD!" 

He kept rubbing it, and further inside her too, until suddenly the feel of it became so enormous and explosive that she couldn't make any more sounds—she could no longer shriek or speak or even breathe, nor could she see or hear or think, and then she couldn't keep up on her feet anymore. Her legs gave out beneath her and she had toppled to the grass on her butt with a jolt. 

"God!" she gasped, after it had finally passed and faded, whatever it was ... 

The brothers both snickered. 

She thought maybe she'd fainted. She'd never fainted before, so she wasn't sure what it felt like. But if it wasn't a faint that made her legs give out, she didn't know what else it could have been. Or if she did, she didn't want to. She wouldn't accept that these villains had been able to do that to her. If it had really been what it might have been. Already it was hard to remember how it had felt. Only that it had been such a strong burst of sensation she thought she might have been going to die. She had thought it might have been a stroke, like the doctors said had killed her pa when she was little. But now she knew, whatever it had been, it hadn't been a stroke.

And she knew it would have been a glorious, rapturous sensation if it hadn't been so dreadful and terrifying, at the same time. If she could have allowed herself to embrace the experience, rather than resisting it with all her will and power, such little shreds as remained to her ... If it hadn't been these vile criminals, doing it to her, and only to defile and shame her in her powerlessness. But now perhaps she finally had a better understanding of how so many women allowed themselves to fall into sin and submit to the degradations of prostitution, against all good sense and religious teaching. 

The second brother had made her suck on him after that. She was almost grateful when he made her start. Because while she concentrating on that, she could stop wondering about the thing she'd just experienced. And what it might mean ... That was what she had hoped, anyway. Actually it hadn't helped very much. Once you got the hang of sucking a cock, it didn't occupy your mind much. Your thoughts could wander all over the place, and they did ... They seemed to wander all the places you didn't want them to go ...

When he got done, he sprayed out more goo than his brother had. It took longer to finish pumping out of him. And it seemed to have a thicker consistency. He aimed the majority of it at her tits, rather than her chin and cheeks. Covered both her nipples completely. Again, she was astonished how scalding hot it felt landing on her skin, for the first few seconds—but then it turned just as shockingly chill, making her shiver. Both sensations made her moan again, the heat and then the cold. "Ohhnn. Uhhuhh." She wished her hands were free, to wipe it away. But the men wouldn't let her do that. They'd made her dirty and they wanted her to stay dirty. They wanted to keep looking at her with the foul stuff splattered all over her, and dribbling down in strings. So now some of it had oozed down to her belly and her thighs. So disgusting. Why did they find it so delightful, to make her slimy and stinking like this? Why wasn't it grotesque to them, as it was for her? 

Then the vile man had asked her: "You want me to touch you inside again some more, like my brother did? Would you like that, Marshal?"

"No," she had answered, appalled. "Don't." How could he think she would want that? But no doubt he was only taunting her. "Not again. I couldn't bear it again." Would it feel the same as before? Or would it become even stronger? 

"Liar," he had said, snickering. 

"No! I'm not!" Yet just then she'd realized she was squirming her thighs together, as she contemplated it. Swaying on her knees as if she was being rubbed down there, but nobody was. She could almost feel it happening—but it was only in her head. The memory of before. 

"Are you sure?" 

She hadn't been. She hadn't been able to say anything else. 

"Suit yourself then," he had concluded, and then asked his brother to pass over the canteen he was guzzling from ... 

So it wasn't done to her again. The moment had passed. Her ordeal was over. 

She'd got through it, bad as it was. She'd found the strength to do what she promised. At least the ghastly task was complete. She must concentrate on that fact. The deed was done. 

She had earned her freedom. That was the main thing. It had all been a means to this end. She only did what she had to do, to save herself. There had been no other alternative. This disgrace to spare herself a far more terrible and agonizing one. It had been the right choice and she would not regret it now. It would be pointless, above all else. 

The brothers had finished cleaning themselves, and they'd buttoned their shirts back on and put on their hats. 

"Time to get a move on, Loretta."

They crouched down on either side of her. She thought they would untie her ropes. She rolled over on her belly, so they could reach the knots better. But all the brothers did was lift her off the ground, together. Then they carried her to the horses, breathing hard. 

"What are you doing? What are you doing?" 

They were slinging her back on to the nag. Putting loops around her knees and shoulders again—in addition to the ones she was already wearing around her arms and torso—to keep her secured sideways and face down on the saddle, same as before. 

"You said you'd let me go! We made a deal! I just sucked both your cocks! You promised to let me go!" 

"Well, I know we did. But we ain't going to. Sorry, but that's just the way it is. Angie would skin us both alive, if we let you loose."

"But you said you would! You promised!" 

"Did we? I'm not sure I ever gave you my word on it. Did I ever give her my word, brother?"

"Not so far as I recall."

"No! God! You can't do this! Not after everything I just put myself through!"

"Look, Loretta, I thought it over carefully. Honestly. I really came close to lettin' you go. I thought maybe I could tell Angie you escaped. Or that maybe—I thought this was a better idea—some Injuns turned up and took you from us—she couldn't blame us for that. Problem is, I just ain't never been any good at lyin' to Angie. She always sees right through me. Besides, we don't have no clothes to give you. Imagine what would happen if we left you out here all nekkid on yer own, like you are. Without a horse, and barefoot, you probably couldn't make it back to town before nightfall. Imagine how hard a time you'd have, trying to get yourself back home with these purty feet of yours totally unprotected from the harsh and stony ground. Just lookit how soft and delicate they are." To illustrate the point, he prodded at one of her upturned arches. Scraping his fingernail in rapid circles to tickle her there. "Coochie-coo, Marshal." She squealed—but could scarcely even kick against him, with her legs bound as they were. 

"Stop it! Stop it! Oh you bastards stop STOP! PLEASE!! PLEASE STOP OH!OH!OHAAH!" 

"See, this is what I'm trying to explain." He finally relented, releasing her foot. "All sorts of terrible things might happen to you." 

"But I—I whored myself for you! I just made myself into a whore! I let you ... I let you put your cocks in my mouth! I let you spend all over me—I can still feel it crusted all over my skin! And now it was for nothing? Nothing!?" 

"Hell, you weren't all that good at it, Loretta. Not to say you was awful, but you wasn't spectacular neither."




Loretta Lariat Rides Again!



Edit 1/15

1.

"Hands in the air!" she cried, "All you rascals!"

She'd tracked Silas the slaver to a narrow desert canyon with the obscene name of Crooked Whore's Gash, where the villain intended to auction off half a dozen unfortunate female captives. Two of those women Loretta had come to know personally in her new home, a small mountain town she'd chosen for herself just one month earlier because of its name, which was Hopeful Prospects. 

A larger crowd has assembled for Silas's nefarious auction than Loretta had anticipated. She counted over a dozen wagons, while another dozen potential buyers had ridden in on horseback. In addition, Silas had six gunmen accompanying him in the front to guard his captives. The odds were not favorable, to put it mildly. Yet Loretta remained confident, not only in her own skilled marksmanship, but in the eight men she'd brought with her. Striking the right tone of authority and certainty right from the start—that would ensure the majority of these men, especially the crowd of hopeful buyers, wouldn't dare offer any resistance, in the face of her shiny tin star, and backed up by their drawn weapons. 

"You all, disperse at once!" she called out, and fired a shot over the assembly. "Any of you still in this canyon in five minutes time will face arrest and prosecution, along with these vile slavers!" 

"Don't leave us yet," called Silas, from the stage his men had erected, "Stay for the rest of the show. I give each of you my word, as a gentleman, you shan't regret it, if you do." 

"You're no gentlemen, sirrah! And your shameful show ends now!" Loretta countered. 

But Silas did not stop smiling, "We shall see." His teeth were very large and white in his swarthy face. Teeth like a tiger or a shark. 

"The only thing you're going to see from now on is the inside of a jail cell, Mister. I'm going to see to that personally."

Most of his prisoners were caged in the back of a wagon, behind the stage. But one of them, one of Loretta's new friends, had been brought out on to the stage before Loretta and her men had arrived, and she was standing there right next to Silas. It was Catherine O'Mara, the town's pretty schoolmistress. Presenting a dreadful, disgusting spectacle ... She didn't look up at Loretta; she kept her red-cheeked face cast down in shame. Too mortified by her condition—Loretta could see even at a distance that the teacher was trembling all over, and her heart went out to her. Made her stomach swim, in addition, like she might have to be sick. Loretta knew all too well the abject humiliation the girl must now be experiencing ... Her arms were cruelly bound together at the elbows and wrists behind her back, looped to the top of a waist-high post sticking up from the middle of the platform. To keep her fixed in place and upright, preventing her from cringing. They had let her keep her spectacles on, but only in mockery, for in the sweaty heat of the day, they'd slid down to the very tip of her upturned nose and sat there askew, looking ridiculous ... the wicked men had taken everything else from her. Every scrap of clothing—every measure of dignity. Forcing the poor ruined young woman to display her entire body in a state of absolute animal nakedness, head to toe, before this crowd of lusty men, gathered close shoulder to shoulder at the base of the stage to leer upon her charms, and hoot and whistle, and drool. To these horrible men, they were no longer gazing upon a fellow citizen deprived of rights and honor, an innocent schoolmistress in need of rescue and compassion—they saw only what they wanted to see, a sexual prize. A thing to be used, an object to be purchased. Like a lowly beast of burden, with no soul that counted—in fact, Loretta had learned, Silas and his gang, and his customers too, had taken to referring to all their victims as "plowhorses". Not as a code; just a crude appalling joke. But no more. Loretta was putting a stop to this obscenity. 

"Unbind that woman at once from that post, you fiend, and give her something decent to cover herself."

"I shall do as you ask. She's a fine looking piece—but not so fine as you, Marshal. I very much look forward to you taking her place."

"Are you delusional? You don't seem to appreciate your situation, Silas."

"My dear girl, it is you that does not yet appreciate the situation. But that will soon change. And then I shall take this ..." and he gestured to the bullwhip, coiled at his belt, "and give your astonishingly lovely form, once it is divested of those inconvenient clothes, a good and thorough thrashing. It will be quite a spectacle. Our audience will be dazzled." 

She wished she could have laughed off the words. Instead she felt them hitting her like slaps. Loretta lifted her weapon. "If you value your life, take that whip off your belt and drop it on the ground." 

He took it off his belt but he didn't drop it. Instead he lashed it in the air over his head. "I can see in your eyes that you fear my whip, and you are right to do so. We both know it has a special power for women like you."

"You know nothing! Put it down!" 

"I know your history, Loretta Lariat. I know the true meaning of your name. If I struck your friend with this whip, she would scream in agony. Just as you will scream. But it will be a different kind of scream, with a different quality. Once you are bound, and uncovered, your agony will not be the same as hers, will it?" 

She was so angry now she could barely make a coherent reply, and her hand was shaking. An annoyance, but it wasn't happening bad enough to spoil her aim, thankfully—not at this range. "This is your final warning. Drop that weapon or I shall shoot you dead, between the eyes." 

"Go ahead and try. See what happens."

Loretta fired. The gun went off, but Silas did not fall. He did not stop smiling. Her hand must have got shakier than she realized, after all. Hell. She steadied her aim with her other hand, gripping her wrist, and fired again. Same result, which was no result. She made an involuntary exclamation of frustration and bafflement, just a wordless gasp. Then she fired again and again until her pistol was empty, and when it was, she drew her other one and emptied that at him. But he did not fall. He did not die. 

She couldn't understand how it was possible. This was like some mad dream. Or were supernatural forces once again interfering in her life? The thought was so ghastly her head spun—she thought she might faint. But luckily she was not alone out here. She looked to the man at her shoulder, for aid. Marcus Lyons, was his name. The first and best of her deputies, and always a cool hand under fire. "Shoot him for me, Marcus. Something's gone wrong with my guns. Something's gone terribly wrong." 

"Well, miss," he replied, "I'm afraid I have a confession to make. You see, I am responsible for this. Nothing's wrong with your guns, by the way. It's the bullets. I switched them all out last night with blanks. All the ones in your cartridge belt too." 

"What? But why?"

"On account of I was paid to. By him, you see." He pointed to Silas. "I'm afraid I work for him, as do all the rest of the men that rode out here with us today."

"That's crazy! That's impossible!" 

"No, just a lowdown dirty scheme. We set you up, to bring you here." 

As he was explaining these things, in his offhand, folksy manner, Marcus had taken handcuffs from his belt and fastened Loretta's wrists behind her back. She was so stunned by the turn of events, she didn't even try to resist. She was still clinging to her useless guns, as her hands were locked together. At the snap of the cuffs closing, and the feel of them biting deep into her wrists, she cried out in horror and started to struggle, but by then it was too late. Of course, it had been too late from the moment she rode into this canyon, with this pack of devious traitors. She let her guns drop from her hands. They thumped to the ground behind her spurred heels. Then Marcus led her by the arm toward the post in the middle of the stage, which Catherine O'Mara had vacated. For while Marcus was cuffing her, another of Silas's gunmen had unfastened the school teacher from the post and led her back to the cage in the wagon, with the other captives. 

She was shaking so much as she was propelled forward that her spurs were rattling and her hat tumbled off her head and rolled off the front edge of the stage, landing upside down in the dirt under there. Without the hat to restrain it, her blazing blonde hair was spread out wild as she writhed and trembled, falling forward over her shoulders and face, where some strands clung stubbornly to her cheeks and lips, because of the sweat streaming down them. And the tears. 

"How could you do this to me, Marcus? You're my deputy? Why would you betray me?"

"Money, mostly. But also I admit I got a strong hankering to see you naked, and to see everything else Silas plans to do to you. I got a hankering to see if the funny stories that circulate about you have any truth to them."

"They don't. It's all lies. All of it! You can't possibly take any of that filthy nonsense seriously! Not you, of all people! You work under me. You know me"

"I'm afraid I don't entirely believe you, Loretta. You're not a very good liar. You try too hard. Seems that way to me, anyhow. One way or another, we're about to find out." 

He'd tied her to the post, now. She couldn't see exactly how she was secured, but something had tightly hooked the chain of her shackles to the top of the post. It stuck up too high behind, so the pressure on her arms forced her to lift up slightly on her toes. Not on tiptoe, but high enough that her spurred boot heels no longer rested on stage. 

"This is the part where I undress you," Marcus announced. "Golly I've been looking forward to this. Are you ready?" 

"Don't do this to me, Marcus. You know this is wrong. You're a better man than this."

"'Fraid not, my dear. Let's start down here." He hunkered down to pull her boots off. She couldn't prevent herself from whimpering, as she felt them jerked away, one after the other. She had no socks on. Now her slim delicate toes and the balls of her bare feet felt the gritty scorching surface of the stage's rough wood planks. That sensation alone—the first exposure, insignificant and subtle though it was—still it was enough to begin the change. She could feel it beginning. Flooding her whole body and being with crashing fiery waves of terror and despair ... and also expectation. It was all so overwhelming and even worse, so dreadfully familiar. Soon she would succumb completely. Again.

"Oh no. Dear God. Please not this again. Not like this. Not with everyone watching!" 

Without raising up from his crouch, he unbuckled her belt, unbuttoned her jeans, and tugged them down around her feet. She moaned as they slid down her legs, whispering down her pale skin. "Nooo ... Not my pants ..." And yet meekly when they were around her feet, she stepped out of them without having to be told. "No underwear, Loretta?" he remarked, "You surprise me." 

Weeping, she shut her eyes and didn't answer. She had no corset on, either. 

"Hey now," he said. She heard him standing up and leaning close to her face, nose to nose. "Don't be like that. Don't be a coward. Aren't you stronger than that? Open your eyes and look at me."

She did, biting her bottom lip. He would only do something painful to her if she didn't give him what he wanted. 

The moment she opened her eyes, meeting his own, just inches away, was the same moment he tore open the front of her shirt. She cried out again. As if he'd penetrated her, almost. She almost felt as if he had. Just the sensation of having her breasts revealed to him against her will, in the blazing desert sun, and not only him, but Silas laughing behind him, and everyone else watching so avidly below. 

"Oh God," she cried, "Oh God save me."

She knew she had remarkable breasts. She was proud of them. Though at the same time she was ashamed of that fact. It was a base, scornful thing to take pride in. The sin of vanity. And also of lewdness. Still, she treasured them. She liked knowing how much they excited men, to see them and to fondle them. She liked how much those things excited her. 

Now these awful men were getting to see her treasures, and soon their sensitivity would be used against her, and she knew she couldn't stop that from happening, and it was so unfair and demeaning. 

He pushed the shirt over her shoulders and down her arms—left it hanging there behind her, over her hands. He couldn't take it away completely without tearing it further, and he didn't bother. It wasn't necessary. He'd already got her as naked as it was possible to be. All she had left was a narrow red neckerchief. But then he pulled that away as well. "Souvenir," he said, and pocketed it. 

"You've ruined everything," she said, "I was better. I was doing better finally. Now you're ruining it all."

He took her breasts in his hands and squeezed them. He kneaded them like dough, while his thumbs flicked in circles across her oversized nipples to make them swell and tighten, until the pair stood out stiff and tall as they could stretch, aching with heat. Then, soon as he had them stimulated to the fullest peak of vulnerability, he pinched them and twisted them and tugged on them. Not very hard—he didn't hurt them, he was careful, methodical—but hard enough all the same to make her gasp at the sensations he was triggering. Forcing explosive pulses inside of them which then surged outward through the rest of her body, and inevitably, as it continued and the feelings grew and spread, more and more, worse and worse, she found it was no longer enough only to gasp ... she had to squeal, and then to whimper, and then to howl. 

"What adorable noises you make," said Marcus. "I've wondered for quite some time what sort of sounds you would make, when I touched you like this. And like this. Or like this." 

"Guhh! Stop! Stop that! Hahrrhuhh! Oh stop! You can't do this! It's not right! It's not fair! Oh! Ohaah! Marcus, don't!"

"Don't you like how that feels? You're flesh is so ... what's a good word for it? Responsive! What is this doing to you? Tell me. Tell us all." 

"You're torturing me! This is so cruel! You're evil! Stop this! Oh, my poor breasts! My nipples! Let go! Stop pinching! Please! No more! You bastard! I can't bear it! No! Ahhuurrnnhh!" 

"If I flicked my fingertip down across your slit right now, what do you think I would find?"

"Don't. Just don't. Not that. Not there. Not now. Please don't, Marcus."

"What are you afraid of, Loretta? You look so afraid." 

"Step out of the way now," Silas commanded. "Let us all get a good look at our prize."

"Yes sir." 

The audience applauded and cheered. Loretta shuddered all over, squeezing her thighs together and curling her toes in as tight as she could, and hung her head in abject shame, just as Catherine O'Mara had done. Her sweating, tear-streaked face had pinkened the same as hers, as well. Now she was the prize to be coveted. Now she was the plowhorse, to be purchased and ridden. 

In her absolute nakedness, she could physically feel the eyes of all the men upon her. Scurrying over her fevered skin like a thousand hairy spiders. No one was touching her, in that moment—yet it was like all of them were touching her. All at once, and everywhere. Fucking her with their eyes. Yes, it felt like the whole audience was already fucking her. She moaned. And hearing herself, she knew it was the exact same sound she made when she felt a cock penetrating her, or when it was erupting its seed upon her flushed face ... 

"Ohhhohh. Ohh God. Oh you vile bastards. How can you do this to me? How can you treat me this way? How dare you? I'm a law officer!" 

Silas cracked the whip in front of her. "You've no badge. You've no weapon. You don't look like the law to me. You know what you look like? You know what you are?" 

She looked up at him, biting her lip again, sniveling like a child. "Please let me go. Please don't do this."

"I told you and all these men watching I would have you on my post. You didn't believe I could do it. But here you are. All gloriously naked and glistening with sweat in the sun. How does it feel? To be unable to cover your beautiful body? To be displayed, as a prize, as a slave? Do you like the feeling?"

"Oh God. Oh no. Please no. Please. I beg you." 

"Yes, I hear you. But call me Master, when you beg me. Because I own you now, until I choose to sell you. Don't I?"

"Yes. Master."

"Say it."

"You own me. I am ... You've made me ... naked ... helpless ... a slave ... again ... Oh God. I can't bear this! Please let me cover myself. I beg you, don't let everyone keep looking at me like this." 

"I fear you're going to have to bear much, much worse than this, before we're finished. You should not have come here, Loretta. You should not have tried to disrupt my business. Now you are my plaything."

"I apologize. I won't do it again, if you let me go free. I promise you. I swear. Have pity." 

"You were foolish to challenge me, woman."

"Yes I was. Very foolish. I'm sorry. Please. I'm powerless now. I've learned my lesson. You've proved your point. You've proved you're stronger than me and cleverer than me. You've shamed me and taken all my pride. You can afford to be merciful now. Please be merciful. Think how much greater that will prove you to be."

He laughed. "Very good, Loretta. A very good performance. Shrewdly argued. But I will not spare you."

"But ... but ... listen, you don't have to whip me. Just ... just fuck me. Any way you want. I'll suck your cock, if you want me to. Right now. I'll do whatever you say. You don't have to whip me to make me obey you. Or to make me scream. All you have to do is put your cock in me. Look. Look down here." She widened her legs for him. And for everyone else watching. "I'm already wet. My cunny is dripping wet. You were right about me. All the stories. All my weaknesses. Because I'm a wanton. I try to keep it hidden and secret. But all you have to do is capture me and humiliate me. All you have to do is tie me up and take my clothes away, and it makes my cunny dripping wet. See? You can see it! Then after he fondled me ... with all of you watching ... my breasts ... my poor defenseless nipples, they're always so sensitive ... and I couldn't stop him or fight him ... Oh God, it's got so bad, I feel it streaming down my legs, and it's burning hot inside! I can't control it. Once the feelings start, one you get them started like this, they take me over. I can't fight it off. All I want ... all I want now is to spend. I'll do anything you desire, if you'll make me spend. Please! Silas the slaver—I am your new slave! Let me prove it to you! Untie me from this pole, so I can kneel down and suck your cock. I wanna suck your cock in front of everyone! I'm very good at that, I swear to you. Please!"

"But what I want, Loretta, is to see you spend for my whip," Silas said, and then he lashed her right on her cunny. Right on her clit. 

And at the strike, she threw back her head and obeyed his command, with a piercing wail, followed by a jet of fluid from her passage that left a great shining pool on the planks of the stage in front of her dainty clenching toes. 

Afterward she hung forward so slack from the pole most of the spectators believed her to have fallen unconscious. But if one listened close, one could hear her breathlessly gasping "Oh God—oh my God—God—my God—ohhhoohh... I'm a slave ... Ohhh no. God. Ohh. "

"Loretta Lariat," Silas remarked. "You live up to your legend. You may fuck her now, Mr. Lyons. Give her furrow a good plowing. And then the rest of your party may take their turns." 

"Yes sir," Marcus said. 




Loretta Lariat Rides Again!



"Oh no! Not him!" She looked up with huge pitiful pleading eyes as he stalked toward her. He'd already opened his pants, his jutting cock clutched in one hand. With his other he lifted Loretta's right leg as high as he could stretch it, propping her heel on his shoulder. The toes of her trembling foot curled tight.

"Now, Marshal, I'm gonna explain some things to you," he announced, "about my feelings for you. All my life, I've never been much good with words. I trust the actions I'm about to take will do the job better. Make matters perfectly clear between you and me." 

She moaned his name as he stretched her open that way, and then said it again when he jammed himself into her. But the second time it came out a shrill shout. "Marrrcusss ... MARCUS!" And she kept shouting it out that same way, each time he pounded her. With long low agonized ohh's in between, each time he was pulling back for his next thrust. 

"MARCUS! Ohhhhuuhh MARCUS!" At first her shouts were enraged, accusatory, defiant. Soon, though, the tone had changed. Her spirit failed her, and her voice dissolved to sorrowful beseeching. The wails and whining of a lost little girl in the hungry wilderness. "Ohhhuuhhh MARCUS! I trusted you ... OHHuuhnnn I thought you respected me and all this time OOHHHuuhh MARCUS! This is what you really thought of me MARCUS! This is what you wanted OOHHuuhhrrhh! God ohhhooh God! MARCUS!"

He had to stop himself after just a few thrusts. "Holy Jesus, you're gonna make me shoot so fast."

She smirked at him, sheepishly. "Is it as good as you imagined, then? Is this how you imagined it would be, when you were jerking yourself off ... when you imagined humiliating me ... enslaving me ... raping me ... Well, is it? Huh?"

"Holy Jesus. Uhhrruugghh."

She felt him spurting inside her. "Treacherous bastard. You've had me now. You've plowed me and planted your wretched seed. I am despoiled. You've despoiled me. But you didn't make me spend, like Silas did. You could have—the men I hate always make me spend the strongest. Especially when their cocks are as big and mean as yours. You were fucking me deep—right on the spots that take ownership of me. But you couldn't hold out long enough. Too bad. Missed your shot. Maybe the next criminal asshole will do better."

"I'm not done with you just yet." He dropped her leg and pushed down on her shoulders. "Bend over. Take it in your trash-talkin' mouth and make it hard again."

"I can't! I can't bend like this! I'm tied too tight! You're tearing my arms!" He had to unhitch her hands from the pole, so she could kneel. He took the opportunity to tear the useless shirt hanging loose behind her from around her wrists, and then flung it to the audience. 

"Now suck my cock, Marshal!" He held her by her hair and whapped it across her cheeks and nose. 

"Ahh! Ow! I won't do it! I refuse! Shove it in my mouth, I swear to you I'll just bite it clean off!"

But he was already hard enough again to fuck her—he didn't need her to blow him to stiffen him back up. Just the act of forcing her to her knees had been enough to do that, it seemed, or else smacking it on her face while it still drooped limp ... or both those things together ... 

"If you won't take it in your mouth and treat it nice in there, then I'll try putting it in your ass instead. See how that turns out, for both of us. Does that idea appeal better to you?" 

Glumly, she closed her eyes and accepted him between her lips. 

"I won't finish so quick, now the edge is off," he proclaimed, as she serviced him. "This time I'll own you. Just you wait." 

"Hey now," protested the man behind him. Marcus drew his gun and shot him through the heart.

"Patience is a fucking virtue, pal."

She thought she'd bested him and drained him dry. But in only half a minute his cruel loathsome weapon stood tall and mighty and eager for her body as before. Now it had absolute possession of her mouth and throat. Though the rough wooden stage planks were painful to kneel on, and he was pushing himself too deep and choking her, and it was the saltiest, smelliest cock she'd ever suckled, she was determined to keep her mouth on him until he spent a second time, and worked her tongue and lips upon it with all her skill and strength, hoping to defeat him again that way, or at least weaken his resolve. Only he saw through the scheme, pulling away. He raised her back upright with a jerk, fastened her to the pole again, and then lifted her foot to his shoulder the exact same as before. 

"No," she whimpered, though she didn't resist as he positioned her, "This isn't fair. You had your chance. I bested you." 

"Maybe you did, but you won't again." And he filled her. 

And God ohhhoohh God, it felt bigger than before. It was drilling deeper. Twice as big, it seemed, somehow, and twice as deep. She had been foolish to taunt him. She felt genuine regret now, and repentance—yet a strange sort of satisfaction at the same time. Her self-destructive side was delighted to have awakened so much new power in him. To have driven him to such a crazed determination. Marcus punished her with his cock, and he punished her good. There was no pain in it, though—or perhaps there was, but it was pleasurable pain. Familiar agony she'd long ago grown accustomed to. 

All the same, it forced her to scream his name again, and to beg. It was going to force her to orgasm. 

"Please don't make me. Please not you—my own deputy. With all these vile fuckers watching us. They shouldn't get to witness it. Oh God you're so hard again—you're fucking me so hard again. Please Marcus. It's so shameful. You're hitting those spots again and I'm ... I'm ... giving in to it ... They're all going to see me give in ... Ohh noo please ... I don't want to, you lying backstabbing bastard! Ah God!"

"I love to hear you beg. Bossing me around everywhere all prim and arrogant, these last few weeks. You're much sweeter when you take my cock and it makes you beg me like a whore." 

"I didn't mean to be arrogant or insult you. I thought we understood each other. Oh God. I thought you admired me for my leadership. Why didn't you tell me how you felt? Ohoohh whyyyy? Damn you, Marcus Lyons! MARCUS! You didn't have to take me by force. If you'd only told me what you wanted, I might have given it to you willingly."

"That's a damned lie. Not when I was working for you. You wouldn't have thought it was right. And you wouldn't have thought I was good enough for you. Admit it, Marshal!"

"Marcus! I don't—I mean I think I would have tried to—Ahhuhh! Ahhuurruhh!"

"Admit it, I said!" 

"Ahhaahhrr! I don't—I don't know! Honest I don't AHHAAHH! God! Marcus! All right! All right! Maybe I—maybe you're—Gaahhuuhh! I never thought—never guessed—Uuhhhrrnn! Bastard! Villain! I hate you! I HATE you! Ahhaahhuuhh!" 

"This is better anyway. I'm glad this is the way it happened. Even if it didn't have to be, after all ... You burn so hot inside—you're so damn slick. You wanton hussy. You love this cock, don'tcha? Tell me how much you love getting fucked and overpowered by your enemies."

"No! Oh please! No!" But it was true. Everything he was saying was true. "Shouldn't ... Shouldn't happen like this ... God! I'm too ... weak ... God! Corrupted! Uhhuhh ... why am I so weak? Why? Marcus please!"

"Who owns you now? Tell me who!"

"Marcus ... Marcus ..." Couldn't fight it anymore. "You ... oh you do ... you .. your big cock ... owns my cunny now ... owns it! Ohhrrnn!"

"Say yer sorry for talkin' shit to me last time! Ask for forgiveness!"

"I'm sorry, Marcus. Forgive me, Marcus. You proved yourself this time. You win."

"Give it up to yer deputy, Marshal. Give it all up for my cock!"

"I give up! Make me spend, Marcus. I wanna spend for you. Please make me spend." 

She would have. But just then an arrow hit him in the throat, and another went through his eye. 

More arrows were raining down on the assembly, from all sides.

An Indian raid! 

2. 

At first, because of the paint on his face, Loretta didn't recognize the brave standing in front of her now, after he'd just finished scalping Silas. He'd tried to slice off the slaver's genitals, but turned out the villain had already lost his in some earlier misadventure. Explained a lot about the guy. 

"It is good to see you once again, Loretta," said the Indian. Now she knew who it was.

"Talks-to-Shadows! You're rescuing me again."

"I had a vision. But it is not quite that simple this time." 

"What do you mean?"

"I could not do this alone. Had to bring many warriors. There is a price."

She understood, after a moment's thought. "You're not gonna free Silas's captives. Your men wanna keep them for themselves." 

"Yes. They will be better treated than Silas would have done. But they will not be allowed to return home. They will become wives. Eventually."

"What about me?"

He shrugged. "You are different. I will release you soon. But not right away. I must maintain appearances, before my people." 

She nodded. "Fair enough. I owe you so much. But you must be disappointed in me."

"A little. You gave in to these men too easily."

"I've been trying to be good. I really have. It's so hard, though." 

"I know, Loretta."

"I think about the bad things all the time. I try not to. But you can't help remembering how good the bad things feel, once you've had these ... experiences. I want to go back to the way I used to be. But I can't. I haven't had any sex in two months. Well, until today. It was driving me wild. I just couldn't think about hardly anything else. Tried to keep myself busy. But I've been still touching myself a lot. Too much. I can't trust myself to be alone. I have to keep other people around me, so I can't do it. And now today I set out to accomplish something noble and it all went wrong again. I let down my friends. Catherine O'Mara and the other girls. I was supposed to free them but I failed."

"Yes you did." 

"Your men are gonna carry them off and fuck the Hell out of them and they'll never be heard from again, back in civilization."

"Yes."

"And it's my fault. This wouldn't have happened if I hadn't let Silas and Marcus trick me. I walked right into the trap without a clue. I was so blind! Did you see what they did to me?"

"Yes." 

"Silas made me spend in front of everyone with his whip. But before he did that he made me beg him to fuck me and I meant every single word while I was saying it!"

"I heard you." He was loosening his buckskins, though Loretta had her eyes closed and was too swept up in her recitation to notice ...

"And then the bastard let Marcus step right up and take me. He didn't take me completely, not quite—I mean he did by ordinary standards but at least he didn't force me to spend again, which I know isn't much of a victory over him but when it's all you got, you can't help but cling to it. But if you hadn't showed up to stop him he would have kept right on assaulting me and I probably would have surrendered in the final way before much longer. The truth is—I am so ashamed of this—I wanted to surrender. I wanted him to make me. It's so powerful when you hold it back as long as you can, and then they force you to give it up for—HUUNNHH!" 

Talks-to-Shadows had just crammed his cock inside her, to the root. Taking her completely by surprise.

"Oh God! Wait! Oh wait! Ohoh OH! OHH!"

"Loretta, this is not just another fuck. This is a punishment for your disgraceful failures today. You are my captive now until I release you. You are my slave and you must obey my commands. My first command is that you are forbidden to spend now."

"What? But—Wait! AhhHUH! God!"

"If you spend against my wishes, I will have to whip you, after I have spent myself."

"But—Talks-to-Shadows! I can't! I won't be able to—Oh please! You're so big in me. So deep. You fuck me good. You always fuck me so good. And I'm still tied up ... You know I'll fail again! I'm gonna ... fail!" 

"Yes, Loretta. I know." 

"Oh God! You're gonna whip me! There's no escaping it! It's gonna happen again!"

"Yes. But you are permitted to spend for the whip as many times as you like." 



Loretta: Redux



Loretta. by Just Plain Bob © with the ending re-written by the Toesman

[I have become quite a fan of Bob's work, especially after I read his open letter in the Literotica BB forum. Of all his stories, however, perhaps of those stories the ending I didn't care for, the two whose ending I found most problematic were "Camryn's Baby" and "Loretta", especially with the attitude expressed by the cheating pregnant wives. When I wrote Bob and expressed these thoughts, with his permission, I decided to write my ending to "Loretta". To make this ending make sense, you should perhaps read his entire story first. I've incorporated various parts of his story, from the beginning to when Charley puts the 'birthday boy {whom I've named "Tom"} on his ass, then leaves the party, and continues from there. Bob, thanks for your permission to do this re-write of a new ending, hope my version does not offend your writing sensibilities. The Toesman

....
"Charley" Clara said, "What in the world is wrong with you?" 

Okay, I thought, why not, "When I heard your husband bragging about fucking my wife this afternoon (and I saw Loretta's face go pale) I got a little upset and so I hit him." Then I looked around the room and said, "And there are a couple of more here that are going to get the same as soon as I find out who they are." 

I grabbed Loretta by the hand and started heading for the front door. "Charley, what are you doing" and she snatched her hand away from me. 

"I'm going home. You can either come with me or stay here with your lovers and frankly I don't give a shit which one you choose." 

Loretta looked around the room; her gaze fell on Clara and she said in a weak voice "I'm sorry" and then she hurried after me.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It was a very quiet ride home. Loretta stared out the passenger window and said nothing and I stared out the windshield at the road in front of me and was quiet. When we got home I went into the den and turned on the TV. I sat there channel surfing, not because I was looking for anything in particular, just to have something to do with my hands while my mind churned with what I'd found out. I swear I almost could have accepted Loretta's taking a lover, but giving it away to anybody who told her she looked sexy being pregnant? No way could I even remotely accept that. 

But what was I going to do about it? I couldn't just throw her ass out - she was the mother of my unborn child for Christ's sake. But how could I live with her now? How could I look at her and not hear birthday boy saying "I fucked her three times and she sucked my cock twice." Besides, I loved her. She had made my days sunny and perfect since the day I had met her and had done so right up to the minute I heard those voices in the basement tell me what a fucking slut she was. My thoughts were interrupted when Loretta opened the door and came into the room. 

"You coming up to bed?" I turned off the TV, and looked at her with rising indignation and anger.

"What? You expect me to sleep with you after what I found out tonight? I listened to three men discussing having sex with you and talking about how they plan to keep on doing it and now you come in here and say 'come on up to bed dear,' like my finding out you are no better than a common whore is no more than a usual, every day occurrence? I'm supposed to just trip on up the stairs, like some ignorant fool, like nothing is different, that all is well in my world?" 

Loretta cocked her head to one side and I wasn't sure whether she was contemplating me and what I'd just said, or what she was going to say in response. 

Then she said, "Why not? It didn't hurt you last night or any of the other nights after I'd had sex with some one else. The only thing different tonight is that now you know and your ego is getting in the way." 

I stared at her, my astonishment and anger growing by her attitude and she said, "Don't expect me to get all weepy eyed and plead for forgiveness Charley. It's done and I can't undo it. The first time was a stupid mistake that never should have happened, but it did and I liked it so I did it again. I liked it that time too so I did it some more. It didn't hurt you, it didn't hurt me and it didn't hurt the baby. I'll probably stop now that you know, but you may as well know that I don't really want to. I was having the time of my life with all those men lusting after me. I felt like some almighty sex goddess and they were worshiping at my altar." 

"Are you absolutely out of your mind, woman, have you not given any thought to us, to what your cheating on me, if I found out about it, would do to our marriage?"

"No. Why should I? You love me and I love you. Why should that change? I had some fun, so what? Think about it Charley, has it cost you anything? It's been going on for two months now; have I been any less loving or affectionate during that time? Have you gotten any less sex from me? No, in fact you've gotten more. In case you hadn't noticed Charley, we went from twice, maybe three times a week before I started fooling around, to an average of five times a week. For some reason I'm always horny after I've been with some one else. 


My astonishment grew, as did that core of anger that I'd been trying to hold down; after all, she was my supposedly faithful pregnant wife.

"So, let me see if I've got this straight. You've been slutting around, fucking at least 3 other men, for at least two months now, that you'll admit to. Your supposed explanation is no explanation at all, it's really not even an excuse, let alone a reason. You've shown no indication of any remorse or regret for you've done, you've stated that you're not going to ask for forgiveness; you just told me that you didn't give any thought to what this might do to our marriage; and most of all, you've not even said that you're sorry." "Is there anything that I left out of that little speech that I just heard?"

Loretta's face turned a little pale as I finished speaking.

"No, Charley, wait please, just listen to me for a minute. If you want me to say that I'm sorry, I will, because I don't want this to blow up into a major league problem with our marriage, because it shouldn't be that. Charley, you know that I love you, that I'm just having a little fun; I believe that all that's a problem here is your ego. Someone else used something that you considered yours and you had no say in the matter. It's either that or you think I let someone else have me because you weren't man enough for me."


She saw the look on my face. I'm sure that I flushed as a surge of almost white-hot fury flashed through me. Loretta had started toward me, but then stopped.

"That's it, isn't it? You think I needed some one else because you weren't getting the job done." 

"Loretta, if you think that's my only problem with what you've done, then we've got a bigger problem here than you ever dreamed of."

Without apparently realizing what I'd just said, she walked over and touched my cheek, "Oh baby, it's not you, it's me. I got to thinking that I was fat and ugly and I was feeling really down in the dumps and one day, somebody, and I'm not going to tell you who, came up to me and told me that since I had gotten pregnant I had never looked more radiant and sexy. I thought he was just trying to be nice and so I led him on just to see if he meant it. Well, things got out of hand and it happened and then he wanted more and I gave it to him and soon he was fucking me almost every day of the week. And then he told some others, and they came by the house, let me know that they wanted me too; and I liked being desired in spite of my condition and things just went from there. I do love you Charley, only you, I don't love them. Come on to bed with me, baby and I'll prove to you that you're man enough for me."


Loretta reached out and took my hand. Just as quickly, I jerked my hand away.

"What a deal, Loretta, I'm so thrilled; so now after hearing Tom talk about fucking you 3 times this afternoon, you're going to let me have 'sloppy seconds' or would that be 'sloppy fourths', how wonderful for me!"

Loretta had reached back for my hand, but now she froze in place, and started shaking her head 'no'. 

"Charley, do you really believe I would do that to you, don't you know that I would have cleaned myself, douched and showered after he left?'

"You know what Loretta, I don't what you would have done, to tell you the truth; I'm not sure that I even know who you are anymore."

"After you sucked Tom's dick, did you brush your teeth, and gargle also, before kissing me hello when I came home? "And Loretta, tell me this. Did you fuck Tom in our bedroom, in our bed?"

Loretta had opened her mouth to respond to my first question, but with this last question, now Loretta flushed, then just as quickly her face turned completely white. She looked at me, with a strange, almost disbelieving look. She seemed for the first time to become aware of my attitude, my now clearly apparent anger. I waited for her to respond, as the seconds ticked away, in the almost dead silence of the room. Loretta made an imperceptible nod of her head; but then without looking at me, she replied in a low, almost inaudible voice, "yes"

"Well, just so we understand one another on that one point at least. I'll never get into that bed, sleep in it, and certainly will never make love with you in that bed, ever again."

I left her standing at the foot of stairs, as I went into our former bedroom, cleaned out my drawers and bathroom cabinet of my toiletries. Without saying another word to her, I went into the guest bedroom, and locked the door behind me. I went to bed, but my mind was in such turmoil that I lay awake for some time. 

At some point after I'd gone to bed, I was aware that Loretta had tried the doorknob, and finding the door locked, had knocked softly, calling out my name. "Charley, please let me in, we need to talk, please Charley." I ignored her, and eventually fell into a troubled sleep.


Loretta was already up and fixing the coffee when I stumbled down the stairs the next morning. I was staring into my coffee cup, my mind still roiling with the events of the previous night, when I became aware that Loretta was talking to me. "What?" 

"Charley, about last night and what all has happened, we need to talk about it, and where we go from here. What do you want me to do about today?" 

I must have gotten a confused look on my face (not surprising because I was) because she said, "About today, what do you want me to do?" 

I still didn't have a clue what she was talking about, "Come on Charley. What we talked about last night - it's your call." 

And then it hit me - she was asking me if she could continue with what she had been doing - I was being asked to tell her if it was all right for her to fuck another guy today. 


My anger flashed to white-hot just that fast. I answered her, my anger and bitterness evident in my voice. "Well, Loretta, you've managed for the last 2 months to make unilateral decisions about the course and conduct of our marriage, about the sanctity of our wedding vows, so I'm not sure why you're bothering to ask me what to do now."

Loretta flinched, then she said, "Please Charley, don't be upset with me; please let me do it. I promise I'll be a good little wife after the baby comes, but for now please let me have my fun. It has nothing to do with us, with my love for you, you must know that you're the only man that I love. "But, Charley, please, unless you say no, I'm want to keep that date." 

"Loretta, you are just astonishing. You seem to be making those decisions anyway, so I guess you're going to have to decide what you want to do. "I'm not even sure that telling you 'no' would matter in any event, regardless of what I say. So I'm not going to say anything one way or the other to you about your fucking other men, other than this. "Maybe, just maybe, if it never happened again, I'll be able to get by what you've done so far, after all, you are pregnant, aren't you, with my first child?"

"So, you do whatever you think you should do about today; and when you've made that decision and acted upon it, I'll let you know what kind of marriage relationship we have after today, or whether we have any kind of marriage at all. "As my sainted Mother used to tell me, 'let your conscience be your guide'."
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I got up, and without saying another word or making any gesture to her, I headed off to work. Halfway there, however, I thought, I didn't explicitly tell her 'no'. And I was certainly left with the impression that she had indicated, frankly, that unless I said 'no' she would probably go ahead and do it. 

Would she keep her date with one of her fuck-buddies today, despite what I'd said to her about the state and status of our marriage? If she did, would she do it again in our house, in our bedroom, in our bed, regardless of what I'd said to her last night. Suddenly to know the answer to that question became the most important thing in my life - to know if she was going to meet one of her lovers today.

I stopped at a Wal-Mart and got a large thermos, hit a convenience store and filled the thermos with coffee, got a daily paper and a USA Today and headed back to our neighborhood. I parked down the street where I could watch the house and settled in to wait. I used my cell phone to call work and I told my secretary that I was making customer calls and that if she needed me she could reach me on my cell. It was a long wait; I had gone through both newspapers and the thermos was empty before a car pulled up in the driveway and Brad got out. I wondered why I hadn't recognized his voice last night when he said he was going to see Loretta today. 

No matter, just one more so-called friend stabbing me in the back. I wondered how he would like it if I fucked his wife Judy. For that matter birthday boy's wife Clara wasn't all that bad looking either, but no, I really wasn't interested in getting revenge with them in that way. I would wait to see just how the next fifteen minutes or so came out, and if my marriage was over, then there would be time enough to see what my future might hold.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


After about 30 minutes, Brad hadn't come back out of the house, so I had the answer to my question after all. I got out of my car, got my digital camera, and walked down to our house, letting myself in, quietly, through the back door. I walked through the house, and up the stairs toward the master bedroom, where I could hear the sounds Loretta and Brad were already making, as she begged him to fuck her harder, to make her cum like he could always do. Loretta had not even bothered to completely close the door, so either she assumed that I was not coming back to check up on her, or maybe after all she just didn't really care.

I got the camera ready, with the flash attachment on, and pushed open the bedroom door. With the automatic focus feature working, I snapped half a dozen shots before either Brad or Loretta even seemed to notice me. When Loretta at last looked toward the doorway and saw me, a really strange look came over her face, not horror or even surprise, more like for the first time, regret and even sorrow. Brad had already pulled out of her, and had gotten on the far side of the bed from me, and was stammering away, while trying to get dressed.

I continued to take a few more shots of both of them, nude, as it was obvious what they had been doing. Then looking at him I said, "Brad, hey don't sweat it, man, I'm not going to beat your ass. No, I'm done here, so you'all just knock yourselves out; finish up whatever you want to because I don't give a shit anymore, I'm leaving now. "And Loretta, don't try to contact me, all the talking from now on will be through the attorneys."

Now Loretta finally started sobbing, and her attitude and tone had completely changed from last night, as she tried to get off the bed and reach for me. "Charley, please don't go, please stay, Brad's leaving. We have to talk. Charley, I'm so sorry, I know that I've really screwed up here, I should have listened to you; but please, think about the baby, don't leave us; I'm really sorry, please let me talk to you and make this right."

"Loretta, you should have been thinking about the baby all along, if you weren't going to at least think about your wedding vows, so don't even go there." "I'll come by tomorrow evening and pick up some clothes and other things of mine. Please do not be here when I come back; I don't want to see you, I don't want to hear anything you have to say; what part of 'our lawyers will do the talking' did you not understand?"

After I left the house, I called my office, and told my boss that my wife and I were having personal problems and I needed the rest of the day off. After that, I got a small studio room at a residence inn, and got enough stuff from Wal-Mart to set up temporary housekeeping. 

Among other matters that I handled that afternoon was to hire Sally Bernstein, a local divorce attorney, who had the reputation of being a shark for her clients. I had already been told that in our state that adultery by the wife was grounds for the husband not to pay alimony. I showed her my digital images, including the ones that I took of Brad and Loretta after he got off her. She assured me that with those images, she believed that I would not have to pay any alimony. We could wait until the baby was born, to do a DNA test to confirm that I was the father, before worrying about child support.

Well, there is really not much more of this sad cautionary tale to tell. Of course, now, after the fact, Loretta, through her attorney to Sally kept leaving me messages: it shouldn't have happened, it was just sex – it didn't mean anything; she was so sorry; she had stopped seeing other men; she was remorseful; she wanted to assure me that it would never happen again; she had learned her lesson; she loved, wanted and needed only me; she loved me, those others didn't mean anything to her; she really needed me and the baby really needed me; blah, blah, blah. It was all too little, too late. Like I gave a rat's-ass now. 

Despite all her pleas, I only finally agreed to meet with her once after I left that day, and that was to talk about the baby and child support and custody issues. She had had the baby by then, a little girl, who I didn't believe particularly looked like my side of the family. Her lawyer wanted to resolve child-support issues, as Loretta and her lawyer had seemingly agreed to a settlement with no alimony, if my lawyer and I would drop any suggestion of adultery in the final decree. 

Loretta and I met briefly before the attorney's came in the room; and she once again begged me to reconsider the divorce. She swore up and down that she had not been with another man, since I caught her with Brad, and she was not going to be with anyone else; she was going to wait for me to come to my senses, forgive her for her mistakes, and come home so that she, I and the baby could be a family.

"Loretta, I told you that day to consider what you were doing, to 'let your conscience be your guide'; and despite that you welcomed Brad into our house, into our bedroom, into our bed, and then into your body. You fucked him again, despite what I'd said to you, you made the decision after I warned you that doing so could mean the end of our marriage. "So, I don't want to hear it, you made that bed, so if you're in it alone, you deliberately made that choice, so you can live with the consequences. "There will absolutely never be any reconciliation; never!"

I made it clear to her, and to her attorney, when he came into the room that my goals in this meeting were to insure, one, that I was the father of the baby, and, two, that Loretta's promiscuous life-style changed for the better. As to custody, I made it clear that if she screwed around in the house where the child could see it, or be harmed, in any way whatsoever, that I wanted custody. That presumed that the baby was even mine, which started a whole new round of name-calling by Loretta, who was apparently incensed that I would even presuppose to the contrary. Yeah, right, like she had proven so was so faithful to me during our marriage; NOT!




Loretta: Redux



Well, as the DNA tests proved, Janie was my child, which to me made Loretta's cheating all the more egregious. She was actually pregnant by me, but had made it clear that she had been slutting around for more than two months regardless of what might happened if and when I found out about it. And if I had not overheard what I did that evening at Tom's birthday party, I would have been the poor ignorant fool.

Of course, I agreed to support my child, but I ended up not having to pay any alimony based on the pictures that I took, and the fact that Loretta did not want the divorce to be based on "adultery" grounds, so she agreed to a settlement for child support only. That was the last time that I saw Loretta until several years later, as she did not appear at the divorce hearing, since there was really nothing to contest anymore with a property agreement in place.

EPILOGUE: Real life, as they say, can sometimes be stranger than fiction. I had known Judy, Brad's wife, longer than he had, or than I had known Loretta, as Judy and I had gone through high school together. There was no way that I was going to let Brad get away with what he had done, not only to me, but to Judy as well. I called her from my cell phone as I was driving away from my former house, and told her about what I had just witnessed and about the pictures that I had taken. I told her also that I was on my way to see a divorce attorney, as far as I was concerned my marriage was over.

After that I met with her to give her prints of the pictures that I had taken, and after several more weeks, Judy and I started meeting once a week or so, for supper to console each other with what our respective spouses had done to us. Judy started divorce proceedings against Brad based upon my pictures and his admission that he had done what the pictures showed. Then, after our divorces were final, we started, rather cautiously as friends, seeing each other. Granted, it was a bit tentative for both of us at first, but within six months, we had gotten very serious. So much, in fact, that about a year after Judy's divorce was final, we flew to Las Vegas and got married in a small ceremony. 

After Judy and I got married, we arranged to start seeing my daughter Janie on alternating weekends, by picking her up at Loretta's mother's house for the visitation, as I still had no desire to be around, or even see Loretta.

I was not to actually see Loretta again, for more 2 years. Some nine months or so after Judy and I married, when Judy was obviously pregnant with our first child, we were shopping at our local Wal-Mart, when we literally ran into Loretta's buggy. Loretta saw me first, and started to smile at me, then when Judy walked up behind me, and when Loretta saw Judy and Judy's condition, the shock and dismay was evident on Loretta's face. Loretta then started crying and abandoning her buggy, she ran out of the store. 

All I can say is, the consequences of cheating can be such a bitch.