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.