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."