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!