Storiesonline.net ------- Outlaw's Redemption by Darkniciad Copyright© 2006 by Darkniciad ------- Description: A reformed outlaw finds redemption with the aid of a beautiful genie named Laresa.This is part of a chain story I wrote for another site. The story is self-contained, and you don't need to read the other chapters to understand what's going on. Codes: MF fant tears rom cons mag het ------- Laresa awoke from her rejuvenative sleep, once again restored so that she might walk the world outside her ring when the call came. Relaxing amongst her cushions, she hoped that call might be some time in coming. The nature of her most recent Masters had given her little desire to anticipate the call. Her servitude to Famke had been pleasant, and lasted throughout the woman's life. Famke had died peacefully of old age — her many children at her side — far from her controlling stepfather. The following three Masters to command her were far less pleasant individuals. All had immediately succumbed to their baser desires, using her body before even considering any other wishes. Naturally, they had left her unsatisfied — an all too common occurrence. A common lie, one Laresa had discovered was easy to draw from a Master without breaking the rules of her servitude, had freed her from their control as well. Each man had denied he was married when asked the question, sending her back to her ring and across the face of space and time once more. Lying back, Laresa parted her thighs and let her fingers play over her velvety folds. She had done so frequently over the last eighty years, always dreaming of another Master who would think of her needs and give her release — perhaps even one who would ask how she might be freed from bondage. She dreamed of that now, as her pleasure mounted. In her mind's eye, she lay with a handsome man because she desired it, freed by his wish from an eternal life of servitude. Shuddering, her cries of pleasure echoing off the walls of her prison, Laresa reached her peak. When she opened her eyes, the daydream faded in the face of reality. Sighing in a mixture of satisfaction and resignation, she sank back to the cushions to await the call of a Master. ------- Hillsboro Texas — 1877 The townsfolk shied away with good reason when Clint Hendershot lurched out of the Old Rock Saloon, two bottles of whiskey dangling by their necks from his weathered right hand. None knew the name of the man — or his reputation — but one look at his scarred, square-jawed face — and the free hand near his gun — marked him as a dangerous man. Clint scowled at the frightened folk, his deep-set, green eyes squinting in the sunlight after being inside the dim saloon for several hours. He'd been of a mind to celebrate after he and the rest of the gang had taken the stage, and this was the first place he'd come across when they rode away from each other after the robbery. Each man's share of that poke was enough to live the good life for a few years, and not a one had trusted the others with so much money in their pockets. Damn town fulla sheep, and not even a damn whore to be found, Clint thought, as he stumbled across the boards to his horse. He stowed the whiskey in his saddlebag and stepped up into the stirrup. "You're a dead man, thief!" The voice rang out from somewhere behind him, and Clint immediately spun, drawing his gun. Drunk or sober, he could shoot the fangs off a rattler, and he planned to kill whoever was gunning for him first. His hand started to tremble when he discovered he had drawn down on a boy, no more than twelve years old. The lad could have been a twin to Clint's younger brother, taken by the pox at about the same age as the wide-eyed boy now wetting his pants across the rutted dirt street. Clint's arm fell to his side, and the boy fled as soon as the barrel of Clint's Walker Colt pointed away from him. Ashen and trembling, Clint watched the boy run off. He could see an image of his younger brother, blood pouring from a bullet hole, standing in front of him with a betrayed look on his face. Holstering his gun, Clint turned back to his horse, leaning up against the animal, and noisily retched up the liquor he had drunk. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve afterward, Clint unsteadily mounted his horse and rode out of town. A few miles out, he hurled the two bottles of whiskey to the ground and rode away from them. ------- Somewhere in Kansas — 1880 "You'd be Clint Hendershot," the young man said, staring hard at Clint, who was emerging from the corn stalks in his garden. Clint froze, resignation washing over him. What he'd feared these last three years had finally come to pass. Somebody he'd wronged in his old life had found him, and come to kill him. "Pardon?" Clint said, hoping to dissuade the teen that he'd found the man he was hunting. "I said — you'd be Clint Hendershot, the man who kilt my Paw on a stage outta Cheyenne twelve years ago. The man who kilt my Paw for two bits an' a pair of boots. The man I come to kill, so my Paw can rest in peace." Slowly raising his hands, one holding a wooden pail filled with ears of corn, Clint responded, "You've got me confused with somebody else, Mister. My name's William Westwood." "You're a damn liar, a thief, and a murderer," The sandy-haired young man accused, drawing a pistol, cocking the weapon, and taking aim. Clint hurled the bucket at the boy and dived toward the horse. Luck was on Clint's side, because the sudden action spoiled the young man's aim. Clint took a glancing hit to his arm, painful but not dangerous. Reaching up, he grabbed the other man's coat and jerked him from his horse. Luck wasn't so kind to the unseated rider, because his boot caught in the stirrup, hurling him headfirst into the ground. Snatching up the pistol that had tumbled to the ground, Clint panted for breath and stared at the young man. After a few moments, he nudged the boy with his boot and got no response. A closer look told him the kid was breathing, but he was obviously unconscious. Blood was starting to trickle out from where he had had hit his head on a rock in the tumble. Clint stared at the gun — the only real solution to the problem that was lying on the ground before him — and sighed. He couldn't do it; he wasn't a bad man anymore. That terrible moment three years ago had broken him of drink and viciousness forever. Tucking the pistol into the waist of his pants, Clint leaned down and grabbed the boy under his arms to drag him into the house. ------- Clint had taken and treated enough wounds to know how to sew the slice in the teen's head up, but he was no doctor. He had no idea why the kid was still unconscious, or if he would ever wake up. Rifling through the young man's pockets and saddlebags hadn't helped much either. The only unusual thing Clint had found was a ring, gold with a big amber stone. It didn't tell him anything about who the boy was, or what to do about him. Spinning the ring between his fingers, Clint stared at the boy on the bed across the room. If he ever woke up, it was the end of Clint's new life. He'd have to go on the run, because he wouldn't kill the kid for seeking revenge upon the man who had taken away his father. Even if the story that brought the kid here was all twisted up, and Clint hadn't actually shot the young man's father, surely he'd killed somebody else's and deserved a bullet or a hanging for it. Taking a sip of water from a dented tin cup, he stared at the ring again. He'd spent nearly all his money buying up this place and livestock. If he were going on the run, he would need money. Otherwise, he would have to go right back to his old life. Clint shook his head, put down his cup and thought, Takin' this now, or takin' something else later, it's all the same. It's either death, or goin' back to wickedness. The gold band looked like it might fit, and that thought distracted him from his dark musings for a moment. Sliding on the ring, he found that it did fit, although it felt a little tight. Clint twisted the ring back and forth, and then started when wisps of smoke swirled and gathered between him and the bed across the room. The ring on his finger also grew alarmingly warm. Standing up, he jarred the table and sent the chair crashing to the floor behind him. The tendrils thickened and then coalesced into a beautiful woman. Stumbling backward, Clint stared at the woman with fearful surprise — and desire. The woman had hair that was impossibly light, looking almost as if it was spun of silver in the faint light of the room. The sparse clothing that covered her displayed her womanly charms well. A thin vest barely constrained her well-rounded bosom, leaving her stomach bare. Billowing pants — made of some material Clint had never seen — hid her body, while the airy fabric gave tantalizing hints of what lay beneath. Laresa sighed inwardly, recognizing the time in which she once again walked the world outside her ring. The last time she had visited this period, she had been enslaved by a man of ill demeanor, with no care for personal cleanliness. The man before her, and the rough surroundings, gave her little hope that this visit would be any different from the last. "You summoned me, Master. How may I serve you?" Clint's eyes narrowed when she spoke, and he asked, "Who are you? How'd you get in here?" "My name is Laresa, and you summoned me, Master," she responded with a slight bow of her head. Looking down at the ring — still warm and flickering with a slight glow deep in the gem's facets — Clint understood that there was some magic in the ring. Looking back up at the woman, he asked, "What are you, then — a witch?" "I am a genie, Master, not a witch," Laresa responded, hints of irritation creeping into her melodious voice. This was yet another thing she disliked about this time period, being constantly associated with dark magic and child-stealing crones. Vaguely, Clint recalled the stories he had heard from other children before his family had moved west. Genies granted wishes, anything a man could desire, if he could believe what he had always thought to be whimsical stories. Looking at the woman, he felt a stir in his loins. She was beautiful, and with so much soft flesh bared to his eyes, his body was responding naturally. Wishes, huh, he thought, I wish that kid had never found me. I wish he'd find some peace and go on with his life, so I could go on with mine. "As you command, Master," Laresa said, and the boy vanished from the bed. "The he... Where did he go?" "I have returned him to his home, as you desired. He will have no memory of having found you, and in his heart he believes that the man who murdered his father is dead," Laresa explained. "What about that knot on his head? Did you wake him up?" "He is in perfect health, Master, exactly as you desired." Clint bent down and picked up the chair he had upended in surprise upon Laresa's appearance. Sitting down, he blew out a long breath of air and stared at the woman, "So, you can do anything I ask?" "There are limits, Master." "Like what?" "I cannot return the dead to life, nor can I change events, such as wars, that affect many people throughout the flow of time. I can alter memories, but I have no power over feelings." Again remembering the stories, Clint muttered, "So I got two wishes left then." Laresa rolled her eyes. She hated those stories and the misconceptions that came with them, "No, Master, your wishes are my command for as long as you desire, or until you break the rules." "Then call me Clint, it makes my skin crawl bein' called Master. Ain't no man owns another. What are these rules?" "I will not abide a lie. If you speak falsely to me, I shall vanish, never to return." Clint grunted by way of acknowledgment, "It sure would be nice to have this place fixed up, and have water that didn't taste like it came out of a swamp." Laresa was a little perplexed by the image in her Master's head. He only wished for what he had to be like new, for the soil to bring forth a bountiful harvest, his water to be clean, and for a porch he could sit on in the evenings while drinking coffee and smoking his pipe. With a thought, Laresa made his dream a reality. Clint started, but then smiled and laughed, looking around. Even his clothing was clean and new. Picking up the tin cup, now free of dents and full of clear water, he took a sip. He shuddered and sighed, "Like it came straight from a mountain stream." "Is this what you desired, Clint?" Laresa's voice betrayed that she had expected more from his wish. "I reckon this is exactly what I was thinkin' of. I've been a bad man, and I know that havin' too much attracts too much attention." Raising one eyebrow, he asked, "You can hear what I'm thinkin'?" "I can see your desires in your mind. You need only speak your wishes in simple words, and I can make your true desires come true." Clint winced, remembering what he had been thinking about while looking at her earlier. "Well then, ma'am, I'm right sorry for what you saw in my head earlier then. It ain't right for me to be thinkin' them thoughts about you." Laresa smiled, "I am unashamed of my body, and unashamed to be desired." Laresa could see the darkness in this man's soul, but it was darkness buried. He had truly turned his life around, turning his back on the wickedness of his youth. Clint's apology for desiring her was heartfelt, and honest. "Can you do for the other folk I hurt in my youth, when I was fulla beans and drink, like you did for that kid? Can you make right the wrongs I done?" "I cannot breathe life back into those who perished by your actions, but I may do much the same as I did for the youth who lay sleeping here." "Do that then. Them folk all deserve better'n I gave 'em." Laresa sifted through Clint's memory, finding it difficult at times through the fog of liquor that clouded most of the memories. She found each action he had taken that hurt someone else, and did what she could to make it right. Widows found money they needed desperately. Men healed from crippling injuries. Women forgot his violent, whiskey driven advances. "It is done," Laresa said, as she opened her eyes. "Just like that, huh?" Laresa nodded. Clint shook his head and smiled. If not for what he had already seen, he wouldn't have believed her. As it were, he found it difficult not to believe this woman. "I reckon I'll sleep a lot better at night now." Looking at Laresa, Clint asked, "Do you eat? If I'm not askin' somethin' improper." "It is not needful to me, but I have found enjoyment in it during my times outside the ring." Thinking about what he would like to prepare for her, by way of thanks for removing some of the burden upon his soul, Clint tried to work around what he was missing in his mind. "Allow me," Laresa told him. Everything he had envisioned, perfectly prepared and steaming, suddenly filled the table. Clint looked at her and chuckled. The revealed swell of her breasts, barely hidden beneath the vest she wore, drew his eyes again, and he closed them, turning away slightly before re-opening them. "Can you..." He saw the change happen in his peripheral vision. When he looked back at Laresa, she wore a blue summer dress that covered much of her body. It did little to disguise the fact she was a woman, but it did hide the tempting skin that her previous clothing had revealed. Laresa sat down in a second chair that she created on the opposite side of the table from Clint, and they started filling their plates from the feast before them. ------- Several hours later, Laresa sat in a rocking chair, opposite Clint in one of his own, on his new porch. The full moon and the stars lit the night after a fabulous sunset had dazzled Clint's senses. He took another sip of his coffee, and then placed the stem of his pipe back in his lips. Both the coffee and the tobacco were above and beyond anything he had ever tasted. "I hope I ain't been botherin' you with my talkin'. I don't see folk out here very often, and I don't seek 'em out. I ain't talked to a soul 'cept the animals in months." In truth, Laresa liked his earthy, well-reasoned philosophy. Having walked a dark road for so long, Clint had become a deep thinker in the years of solitude after giving up lawlessness. "I do not mind, it is quite pleasurable." Clint laughed, "Folk would be lookin' at us all odd if they saw us. You all beautiful and young, me all scarred up and older than dirt." "None save you can see, or hear me, Clint." His brow furrowed, "What if I wished folk could see you? I wouldn't want folk to think I'm not right in the head — talking to myself and all." "Since such is your wish, it shall be so. Others shall see me even as you do now." A thought flitted through Clint's head, wishing he wasn't so scarred and weather-beaten, as he looked at the beautiful woman seated in front of him. Laresa smiled, and produced a mirror from thin air. She handed it to Clint and his pipe dropped to the porch when he saw his face, unlined, clean-shaven, and missing the scars that had always cut across it. Laresa's blood stirred looking at him, because he was ruggedly handsome beneath the years of neglect and hard living she had just removed from his face. Remembering the pipe lying on his new porch, Clint bent down and picked it up, putting down the mirror. "I know you could see what I was thinkin' when I thought about this. I can't help but think about it, because you're a handsome woman." "It does not cause me discomfort, for you to think so of me," Laresa responded, hints of the building desire within her evident in her voice. Her tone inspired greater arousal in Clint, and those thoughts, in turn, increased Laresa's desire. The sexual energy crossed the void between them for several minutes, and then Clint cleared his throat before asking the question he could no longer keep from his lips, "I'd be right happy if you would let me pay court to you, Miss Laresa." Laresa, of course, knew what he was thinking long before he said it, and knew too what he had left unspoken in his request. She stood up from the rocking chair and said, "Those are the ways of your world." Fearing he was being rebuffed, Clint winced and asked, "An' what are the ways of your world?" Laresa stepped forward and replied with only one word, "This." She then leaned down and kissed him. He stiffened at first, surprised and a little lost as to how to kiss an honest woman. Her soft lips and his natural instinct soon took over, and he returned the passionate kiss with equal fervor. Laresa could read in his thoughts that he had never truly experienced the pleasure that a man and woman could share. He had turned to the life of an outlaw early, and thus knew no more about the act than rough rides on prostitutes, and the rougher rides of drunken rape. Standing up straight again, Laresa shed her dress, while looking down into his eyes and smiling. Her firm breasts, surmounted with pale pink tips, emerged first from beneath the cloth, to meet his enraptured gaze. His eyes went wide when the dress fell to the boards below, revealing her sex, surrounded in soft, white-blonde curls. "You're a beautiful woman," Clint whispered, amazed that this enchanting creature was coming to him without the promise of coin or marriage. Laresa knelt down before his chair, reaching up to the waistband of his pants. He lifted his hips just enough for Laresa to slide the concealing cloth down, revealing his manhood. Clint was well endowed, his thick organ fully swollen with desire. Never having experienced it, Clint was stunned when Laresa leaned over him and suckled the head of his cock. "Lord, Laresa," he groaned as her mouth caressed his glans. He continued to mutter quietly and groan as Laresa's mouth engulfed him, rapidly drawing him toward a release denied now for years. Reaching down, Laresa rubbed the tips of her fingers against her moist labia, and then slipped the two digits into her heat as she sucked Clint toward orgasm. Too long denied, Clint could not resist the expertise of Laresa's warm lips and tongue. With a sharp groan of release, his seed filled her mouth. Laresa continued to suck him as he pulsed against her tongue. She swallowed his thick cream and felt it settle warm in her belly. When he ceased to spurt, she released him from her mouth's hot embrace and looked up into his eyes once more. Clint's body went limp, his senses reeling from the feeling of a willing woman giving him pleasure for pleasure's sake. When he recovered enough breath to speak, Clint asked, "You just doin' this because I wished it?" "I desire it as well." "It's gonna be a while 'fore..." Clint began, trying to find inoffensive words to tell Laresa that it would be some time before he could get hard again. "Not so, if you wish it," Laresa suggested. "I do. I ain't never laid with a woman what wanted it before." Blood surged into Clint's manhood the moment he expressed his wish in words. Within moments, he had risen to full erection once again. Laresa smiled and rose to her feet, walking back into the house. Clint rose up on wobbling knees and followed her, pulling off his shirt and hat as he walked. Laresa slid onto the bed, lying back and beckoning him with her eyes. Clint kicked off his boots and climbed onto the bed with the sensual genie. Laresa parted her legs, and Clint moved between them. Years of sporting with whores that wanted nothing more than to get his money and get him off them, and women struggling to escape him, had taught Clint how to find her wet folds without a glance. He couldn't help but look as his cock slid into her velvety embrace, however. Clint groaned as the tight squeeze of her virgin-like canal wrapped around him. Laresa shuddered as his manhood pushed into her depths, filling her full and sending jolts of pleasure to every fiber of her being. Pausing, buried to the hilt inside her, Clint said, "I want you to get yours 'fore I come up. I dunno how long I can go with you squeezin' that tight and bein' so hot inside." Laresa moaned quietly before replying, "It shall be as you wish. It is my wish that I reach my peak before you release your seed deep inside me as well." His hips rocked slowly at first, entranced by the sight and feeling of his cock sliding in and out of her hot sex. In time, her steadily increasing vocalizations of pleasure drove him to greater efforts, increasing the speed of his thrusts. Laresa moaned and yelped as the pressure of her orgasm built within her. His thick cock felt wonderful as it pressed deep inside her, driven by the need to give her release. Her powers held back his seed, though it allowed him to feel the ecstatic pleasure that immediately preceded orgasm for several minutes, until she too reached the top of her mountain. With a loud scream, Laresa came. Instantly, Clint's buried cock swelled and released its hot cream into her womb as well. The joined pair collapsed to the bed as their orgasms released them from the initial shock of pleasure. They continued to twitch and gasp for quite some time before their climaxes subsided. Clint was almost asleep when he realized something and asked, "You'll be here when I wake up, won't you?" "You may twist the ring upon your finger and say my name at any time to summon me, to fulfill all your needs and desires," Laresa answered. Clint nodded, the sheepish smile on his face looking almost comical in contrast to his rugged features. In short order, he was asleep next to the amazing woman who had entered his life. ------- The next day, Clint summoned Laresa back to his side. He never remembered his dreams, but he remembered the one that had awakened him this morning, vividly. "You could find folks what were havin' troubles if I asked, couldn't you?" "Of course," Laresa replied. "You think findin' them folk and helpin' 'em could erase the blackness I done when I was taken by the devil and drink?" Laresa smiled, "That is not for me to determine, but it seems a noble life." Clint considered her words for a moment, and then said, "Nothin' can take away the wrong I done, but I reckon that's about the best a man can do to take back the mistakes he's made." "Is that your wish, Clint?" "I reckon so." "Then that is what shall be." His decision made, Clint Hendershot felt a sense of peace already beginning to settle over him. Along with that peace came realization that Laresa was once again dressed in the revealing garb he had first seen her wearing. That summoned up memories of the night before, and caused need to swell within him. Laresa smiled, his unspoken wish coming to her long before the words. "You want to..." Laresa led him to the bed. ------- The years passed, a decade of travel throughout the country on the wings of wishes. Each day, Laresa sought out someone in dire need of help, and she took Clint there to see that help given through her power. With each life saved, with each wrong righted, the burden on Clint's soul lessened. After each journey, they would explore the nearest town, Laresa on Clint's arm. Then as the night crept upon them, they would return to his humble home — and his bed. Laresa hoped each day that perhaps Clint might think to ask her how she might be freed from her bondage to the ring, prevented from broaching the subject herself by the shackles that tied her to the piece of jewelry. She yearned for freedom, and Clint seemed the perfect person to give it to her, if he were but to ask. She was content to be at his side, however. He was a kindly Master who demanded nothing of her. His every wish was a request, not a command. It amounted to the same thing to Laresa, but his intentions made a great deal of difference to her. He was also an attentive lover, ever willing to satisfy her in any way she hinted would please her. This night they walked the streets of a small town in Wyoming, their task the healing of a young widow with six children. Clint had posed as a doctor, and asked Laresa to work her healing magic in such a way that the woman appeared to recover from the disease gradually, but quickly. Before he left, the 'medicine' he had given her appeared to have already started restoring the young woman's strength. A powerful thunderstorm threatened to overtake the town shortly, and thus the townsfolk were absent from the streets. Clint turned to Laresa, his thoughts revealing to her that he wished to return to their home before he even spoke the words. The words never passed his lips, because a blast of laughter from between the two buildings they were passing distracted him. Three men stepped out into the fading light. Clint knew them for what they were from the moment he saw them. Red faced and stumbling, they were drunk and looking for trouble. Instinctively, Clint's hand twitched toward his gun — a gun he no longer carried. The largest of the men slurred to Laresa, "What's a pretty filly like you doin' with this old sumbitch?" "Going home," Clint said with a note of warning in his voice, tugging on Laresa's arm gently. He doubted that walking past the men and ignoring them was going to prevent what he knew in his heart was about to happen, but he had to try to get out of this without a confrontation. "With me!" The man laughed, and grabbed Laresa's dress. He didn't think — he just acted. Clint turned and charged into the man holding Laresa, knocking him over into the muddy street. Reactions honed in a lifetime of misdeeds served him well, and Clint was back on his feet before the other man had time to realize what had happened. His quick action didn't stop the bullet, however. The man who had shot him holstered his gun with a laugh and grabbed Laresa, even as Clint fell to his knees. Through eyes dimming with pain and loss of blood, Clint saw the man tear Laresa's bodice, exposing her breasts. His brain a fog, his heartbeat slowing, Clint latched on to the first clear thought in his head. Sucking in a shallow breath, he gasped out, "I don't love you, Laresa." Just as the light left his eyes, Clint saw Laresa dissolve into misty tendrils of smoke, the lie causing her to vanish just as she had told him it would, so long ago. He collapsed into the street on his back, dead before he hit the ground. The three would-be rapists jumped back when their victim simply vanished. They cursed and scanned the street around them. The only thing they saw was a dead man wearing a content smile, with a pale band around one finger where a ring had encircled it only moments before. ------- The End ------- Posted: 2006-09-15 ------- http://storiesonline.net/ -------