The Long Ranger

The High-testosterone Men

First of two Parts:

PART 1 - THE LONG RANGER

Anvil Stone was horseback riding along with her older cousin Janilyn Lewis. Anvil is a 20 year-old girl, slim, tall, perfectly groomed, and with that typically English prettiness. She was on vacation in the farm house of her uncle Anthony and Carol Lewis in Sedalia, Missouri.

Ambling side by side with each other, they were discussing about boyfriends and penis sizes. Suddenly, Janilyn felt she wasn't feeling good.

"Oh gosh! My curse came. Anvy, I gotta go back and change. I'm sorry I'm spoiling our afternoon ride," Janylin said .

"It's alright, you go ahead and I'll just linger around a bit and pick up the view. It's so lovely here. I'll see you later," Anvil said breathing the spruce-scented breeze.

"Don't go too far Anvy. I'll tell Rick to watch over you."

"I'm a big girl now. Don't you worry about me. I'll be okay," Anvil soothed her.

"Ok, take care, be back before dinner. Uncle Herbie will be cooking roasted lamb chops and remember I'm gonna fix you your favorite Margarita."

"Fine. You hurry now before you get too bloody mess up."

"Let's go Chitty," Janilyn turned around her horse and galloped swiftly back home.

Anvil's horse, a bay colored Hackney, paused and peed. She tilted and peered down and watched a bit. "Gee whiz, isn't there a horse that's not well-hung?"

Soon as the animal was relieved, she heard an oncoming rider. Is that Rick? How he'd come so fast. Rick is Janilyn's older brother, who more or less takes care of the whole farm. The horse was galloping fast on the trail and kicking behind a cloud of dust. She steadied the rein on her braying horse and waited to meet Rick.

But the guy was wearing a mask; sort of like Lone Ranger. Is he real? Does this phantom law and order enforcer exist in this part of town? She was bewildered.

His horse strayed from the path and was now coming toward her direction.

"O-oh, I better head back," she instinctively thought and pulled up the reins of her horse. But it was too late. Like a flash of lightning, he swooped down on her, grabbing her waist and snatching her off the saddle.

Anvil was shocked beyond belief. A strange, masked horseman was kidnapping her! His arm held a firm grip around her.

"Hi! Ya' riding beauty!" He spoke.

"Hey! You bastard! How dare you!"

"Stop bitching lady, you're with the Long Ranger?'

"I don't care who the hell you are, just get off me!"

"Sorry lady, you ain't seen nothin' yet. Behave like a lady."

"You're kidnapping me! How can I?"

He laughed. "No, I'm savin' ya"

There's no point fighting the man. Anvil realized how helpless she was. Instinct told her that she had to abide by his way and just think later on for a way out. His arm was powerful. Anvil is 5' 7" and yet she seemed like a ragdoll in his arm. Through her bleary eyes, the rider was a big hunk of a guy, garbed in that body-hugging light blue Lone Ranger uniform. Still she wanted to put up a fight and so she grabbed and pulled his red scarf to strangle him and make him stop the horse. But he quickly crushed her with a kiss and she let go of the scarf.

"Lady, we're almost there," he said after kissing her.

"Where are you taking me?"

"A place called lonesome shack,' he said half smiling."

The horse slowed down, brayed and raised its front feet, and the masked man finally dropped her on the ground. She fell on her feet first but lost her balance and tumbled on her butt.

"Oww!" she cried and staggered up but she couldn't do as quick. The masked man dismounted his gray horse and patted its back and it run up to a shelter where there's water to drink.

The masked man loomed over her, hands on hips and ordered her to stand. Flushed with anger she heaved up and moved her hand to slap him but he caught her hand fast.

"I told you to behave," he said sternly and pinned her right hand behind her back. His right arm went under her left arm, pulled her pony-tailed hair back, making her leaned back and kissed her lips, long and torturous as if he was sucking her soul. Her free hand clutched on his shoulder. She managed to push her lips away from him and he released her. She pedaled back her feet away from him.

"What do you want from me?"

"Your body."

"Who are you?"

"A man in a hurry to get laid," he said as he began to remove his black gloves.

"What?"

"You heard it right, lady and I mean it."

"Over my dead body," she seethed.

"Uh-ah," He shook his head. "'Course not. 'Cuz you won't feel it when you're dead. And you don't wanna die young, do you?"

"Depends on the situation. I'd rather die bein' run by a cart of ore than be molested by a pseudo comic hero incarnate."

"Take off your clothes," his voice sounded menacing.

"No!" she shouted.

"Lady, don't bring out the madness in me and rip your clothes off like I strip off the skin of a porcupine."

Anvil recoiled in horror but more so of the thought that her new expensive shirt would get whacked.

"Don't waste my time lady. You gotta have to show me your secret possessions, tits and all under those clothes."

"What! I'm not takin' off any of me clothes to some foul-mouthed maniac, who hides his identity behind a phony two-bit mask and forces his ripshit macho mentality to get what he wants!"

"Frankly, I do get what I want," he said, quickly drawing a knife from the sheath on his left side hip and throwing it in a flash towards her direction. The bladed weapon swooshed below the fork of her legs before she could scream.

Anvil jumped back with surprise and saw the knife stuck with dead on accuracy on a big copperhead snake on the grass. Anvil screamed like for an hour.

The masked guy walked forward, bent down and pulled up his knife from the dead reptile, wiped off the blood on the snake's skin and put it back in the sheath. Anvil finally stifled her scream with her hands, bug-eyed.

Suddenly, Anvil's disgust of him was melting away. She's never met a man like this before and her knees weakened.

With a dash, the aggressive masked man scooped her body by the crotch and lifted her on his shoulder and walked up toward the shack.

"Get me down, you brute!" she yelled beating his back with her fists but she was no match to the power of this man. She was tempted to pull his knife out but she knew she couldn't stick it to him. He opened the door, walked in and dropped her on a single bed like a sack of potatoes. Her eyes wandered around and the little shack made of logs was not bad at all. It was neat and tidy.

The masked man stripped off his clothes except the bleached beaver hide hat with that characteristic braided hatband and pencil-rolled rim and the velvety black mask. Anvil hadn't seen a man with a devastating V-shaped body packed by well-cut muscles, perfectly tanned, animalistic face but in no conventional sense handsome; not to mention a studly package. Anvil's jaw dropped like she'd just seen Ali Baba's treasure as she recoiled in bed.

She put up a fight when the masked man started clawing on her clothes but she realized there's no way to stop him. He tore off her shirt, tipping her breasts out of her bra before dragging it from her body, leaving her breasts totally exposed. Like a mad man, he kissed her all over.

"Oh, please don't get rough on me," she admonished, her white expensive shirt getting ruined. But he was undeterred. When her jeans and St. Michael's panties had come off, he stood on the floor and held her body upside down against his with his head buried in between her thighs. There was nowhere for her hands to hold on but to his dick. "Suck me," he commanded. Surprisingly she found herself not refusing and tasted him in her mouth. It was quite a mouthful. Her left leg shot out straight off his back when she exploded to orgasm.

Panting, Anvil was rolled on her back across the bed. He hoisted her right leg upon his left shoulder and fondled her at the fork of her legs insinuating a teasing finger on the seat of her desire. Then he felt the masked man entered his manhood in her slick cock alley.

She gasped and pushed a hand against his abdomen.

"Slowly please, I'm not used to extra-large." The masked man obliged and slowed down.

Anvil gasped a lungful as his thrust hit to the hilt swelling up her female center. When he increased his pace, steady and exquisite, she began to love it. Every thrust matched a moan from her making her thoroughly excited.

"Oh God... I'm coming again, I can't believe this...oh, oh yeah!" Anvil cried out with pleasure. The masked man giddy-yapped his pumping to the tune of the Lone Ranger overture if only it was playing. Her body responded to his cadence until she convulsed to another mind-boggling orgasm.

When she opened her eyes the masked man's face was leaning towards hers, his teeth gritting, his breathing ragged. She shut back her eyes as he kissed her hard and let the hot lust penetrate deep into the recesses of her soul. She heard him grunted and he rammed deeper into her accompanied by spurt after spurt of hot liquid sensation flooding into the pit of her gloving warmth.

When she regained her composure, the masked man pulled out from her and walked up to a cupboard and took a bottle of scotch. He poured on a glass and took a hefty swig.

"Hey lady, want one?"

"No," she said and watched with almost veneration the way he swaggered with his manhood defying deflation. He slumped himself in a low vintage bath tub with his arms and legs out while he took his drink leisurely. He was looking away from her drinking his second shot until Anvil hopped out of the bed and walked up to the tub. She stood tall and bosomy at the side of him. He raised his chin and watched her with delight even with her messed up hair. His eyes ran from her legs up.

"Must you always wear your mask and hat even when having sex?" she asked looking at his brown and yellow eyes which she thought had strong physical pull.

"Different strokes for different folks, my lady," he simply answered as his hand run the back of her thigh, up and down eyeing her tawny pubic hair that looked like the feathered butt end of an arrow, barely concealing the twin spongy lips he chomp away awhile ago.

"Straddle my face, lady I can't get enough of you."

She smiled getting used to being called a lady.

She straddled him facing his body and let herself succumb to the pleasure he was so eager to work out. She felt the sting of his scotch-tainted tongue swabbing her precious bodily part. Anvil quivered and moaned as she brought again to that point of no return.

Out of the tub, the masked man continued his wanton pursuits standing up. He was behind her holding up her right thigh. Anvil was bent forward leaning on her hand on top of her left lunging thigh. The man gripped her tattered shirt behind her with his other hand, her breasts hanging out loosely. His butt flexed as he pumped her ferociously.

"Ow, shucks," she gasped as the saber-shaped tool of his drove in and out of her with sticky noises. It's wild and liberating. The masked man was apparently bringing Anvil to blurring heights of pleasure. No matter how surreal the happening was she found herself enjoying every second of it.

He held her legs like a wheelbarrow, as he drilled her before shifting her to bow-wow fashion and other half-turned variants of coupling. "I'm coming again, oh," Anvil exclaimed in short gasps.

Anvil never realized she would enjoy this as her body craved with utter desperation. The masked man now on top of her looked at her and she was beyond beauty taking in all the pleasure.

"Let me get on top, please," she croaked. He obliged and rolled under her without disconnecting himself. She began to ride him, facing him while enjoying her freedom of movement. She'd gone circularly with her hips astride him. Her climax came and the masked man rolled over on top of her pumping away until he was satisfied.

Later, they were lying on the bed, he on his back while she was snuggled to his side her head resting on his shoulder.

"You're really a man eager to get laid," Anvil said.

"Been a while. I'm tired of rescuing ladies in distress. When I got you I knew you were looking for a good lay." he replied.

"And I didn't expect to get it from a comic incarnate or whatever you call yourself," she said, tracing his sensual lips with his finger.

"I'm sorry I ripped off your shirt," the mask man said.

"That's alright, I just had the best fuck of my life that I won't ever live down."

"I'll give you a nice Indian shirt."

"Gee thanks,"

"You have to go." He said and swung out of the bed. Anvil looked disappointed. How could he dismiss her like that? But she tried to understand.

Later, Anvil was wearing the tan Indian buckskin shirt with tassels.

"This is cool. You want me to be your Tonto girl?" she cackled.

He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead with his fingertips, the gentlest gesture he did to her.

He didn't speak. But he cracked a wicked sexy grin that Anvil immediately fell for.

She kissed his lips to which he responded with passion. She didn't mind another helping if he'd ask her. But he didn't and pulled on his uniform.

"Let's go lady," he said taking her hand and leading her out of the shack. He made a whistle and his horse trotted toward them. He assisted Anvil mounting his horse.

"You're letting me go?"

"Yes," he said simply.

"Will I ever see you again?"

"Maybe."

"Kidnap me again."

"It's a date, Lady Anvil."

"You knew me? How'd you know my name?"

"From your personalized monogram on your shirt."

"I don't even know your name."

"Long Ranger, that is."

"Long Ranger my ass, give it to me and stop pretending."

"That's what I am, my lady."

Being called his lady was sweet music to her ears. He mounted the horse behind her.

The horse spurred forward and galloped into an incredible speed. No sooner did they find her horse grazing grass on the prairie.

When Anvil finally reached the farm, the Lewises welcomed her with astonishment.

"What happened to you? Where'd you get that Indian stuff?" Janilyn asked in wonderment.

Anvil was filled with an aura of beauty, enthralling to say the least.

"From the end of the rainbow. I just had the most wonderful experience of my life."