Loretta Lariat Rides Again!

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1.

"Hands in the air!" she cried, "All you rascals!"

She'd tracked Silas the slaver to a narrow desert canyon with the obscene name of Crooked Whore's Gash, where the villain intended to auction off half a dozen unfortunate female captives. Two of those women Loretta had come to know personally in her new home, a small mountain town she'd chosen for herself just one month earlier because of its name, which was Hopeful Prospects.

A larger crowd has assembled for Silas's nefarious auction than Loretta had anticipated. She counted over a dozen wagons, while another dozen potential buyers had ridden in on horseback. In addition, Silas had six gunmen accompanying him in the front to guard his captives. The odds were not favorable, to put it mildly. Yet Loretta remained confident, not only in her own skilled marksmanship, but in the eight men she'd brought with her. Striking the right tone of authority and certainty right from the start—that would ensure the majority of these men, especially the crowd of hopeful buyers, wouldn't dare offer any resistance, in the face of her shiny tin star, and backed up by their drawn weapons.

"You all, disperse at once!" she called out, and fired a shot over the assembly. "Any of you still in this canyon in five minutes time will face arrest and prosecution, along with these vile slavers!"

"Don't leave us yet," called Silas, from the stage his men had erected, "Stay for the rest of the show. I give each of you my word, as a gentleman, you shan't regret it, if you do."

"You're no gentlemen, sirrah! And your shameful show ends now!" Loretta countered.

But Silas did not stop smiling, "We shall see." His teeth were very large and white in his swarthy face. Teeth like a tiger or a shark.

"The only thing you're going to see from now on is the inside of a jail cell, Mister. I'm going to see to that personally."

Most of his prisoners were caged in the back of a wagon, behind the stage. But one of them, one of Loretta's new friends, had been brought out on to the stage before Loretta and her men had arrived, and she was standing there right next to Silas. It was Catherine O'Mara, the town's pretty schoolmistress. Presenting a dreadful, disgusting spectacle ... She didn't look up at Loretta; she kept her red-cheeked face cast down in shame. Too mortified by her condition—Loretta could see even at a distance that the teacher was trembling all over, and her heart went out to her. Made her stomach swim, in addition, like she might have to be sick. Loretta knew all too well the abject humiliation the girl must now be experiencing ... Her arms were cruelly bound together at the elbows and wrists behind her back, looped to the top of a waist-high post sticking up from the middle of the platform. To keep her fixed in place and upright, preventing her from cringing. They had let her keep her spectacles on, but only in mockery, for in the sweaty heat of the day, they'd slid down to the very tip of her upturned nose and sat there askew, looking ridiculous ... the wicked men had taken everything else from her. Every scrap of clothing—every measure of dignity. Forcing the poor ruined young woman to display her entire body in a state of absolute animal nakedness, head to toe, before this crowd of lusty men, gathered close shoulder to shoulder at the base of the stage to leer upon her charms, and hoot and whistle, and drool. To these horrible men, they were no longer gazing upon a fellow citizen deprived of rights and honor, an innocent schoolmistress in need of rescue and compassion—they saw only what they wanted to see, a sexual prize. A thing to be used, an object to be purchased. Like a lowly beast of burden, with no soul that counted—in fact, Loretta had learned, Silas and his gang, and his customers too, had taken to referring to all their victims as "plowhorses". Not as a code; just a crude appalling joke. But no more. Loretta was putting a stop to this obscenity.

"Unbind that woman at once from that post, you fiend, and give her something decent to cover herself."

"I shall do as you ask. She's a fine looking piece—but not so fine as you, Marshal. I very much look forward to you taking her place."

"Are you delusional? You don't seem to appreciate your situation, Silas."

"My dear girl, it is you that does not yet appreciate the situation. But that will soon change. And then I shall take this ..." and he gestured to the bullwhip, coiled at his belt, "and give your astonishingly lovely form, once it is divested of those inconvenient clothes, a good and thorough thrashing. It will be quite a spectacle. Our audience will be dazzled."

She wished she could have laughed off the words. Instead she felt them hitting her like slaps. Loretta lifted her weapon. "If you value your life, take that whip off your belt and drop it on the ground."

He took it off his belt but he didn't drop it. Instead he lashed it in the air over his head. "I can see in your eyes that you fear my whip, and you are right to do so. We both know it has a special power for women like you."

"You know nothing! Put it down!"

"I know your history, Loretta Lariat. I know the true meaning of your name. If I struck your friend with this whip, she would scream in agony. Just as you will scream. But it will be a different kind of scream, with a different quality. Once you are bound, and uncovered, your agony will not be the same as hers, will it?"

She was so angry now she could barely make a coherent reply, and her hand was shaking. An annoyance, but it wasn't happening bad enough to spoil her aim, thankfully—not at this range. "This is your final warning. Drop that weapon or I shall shoot you dead, between the eyes."

"Go ahead and try. See what happens."

Loretta fired. The gun went off, but Silas did not fall. He did not stop smiling. Her hand must have got shakier than she realized, after all. Hell. She steadied her aim with her other hand, gripping her wrist, and fired again. Same result, which was no result. She made an involuntary exclamation of frustration and bafflement, just a wordless gasp. Then she fired again and again until her pistol was empty, and when it was, she drew her other one and emptied that at him. But he did not fall. He did not die.

She couldn't understand how it was possible. This was like some mad dream. Or were supernatural forces once again interfering in her life? The thought was so ghastly her head spun—she thought she might faint. But luckily she was not alone out here. She looked to the man at her shoulder, for aid. Marcus Lyons, was his name. The first and best of her deputies, and always a cool hand under fire. "Shoot him for me, Marcus. Something's gone wrong with my guns. Something's gone terribly wrong."

"Well, miss," he replied, "I'm afraid I have a confession to make. You see, I am responsible for this. Nothing's wrong with your guns, by the way. It's the bullets. I switched them all out last night with blanks. All the ones in your cartridge belt too."

"What? But why?"

"On account of I was paid to. By him, you see." He pointed to Silas. "I'm afraid I work for him, as do all the rest of the men that rode out here with us today."

"That's crazy! That's impossible!"

"No, just a lowdown dirty scheme. We set you up, to bring you here."

As he was explaining these things, in his offhand, folksy manner, Marcus had taken handcuffs from his belt and fastened Loretta's wrists behind her back. She was so stunned by the turn of events, she didn't even try to resist. She was still clinging to her useless guns, as her hands were locked together. At the snap of the cuffs closing, and the feel of them biting deep into her wrists, she cried out in horror and started to struggle, but by then it was too late. Of course, it had been too late from the moment she rode into this canyon, with this pack of devious traitors. She let her guns drop from her hands. They thumped to the ground behind her spurred heels. Then Marcus led her by the arm toward the post in the middle of the stage, which Catherine O'Mara had vacated. For while Marcus was cuffing her, another of Silas's gunmen had unfastened the school teacher from the post and led her back to the cage in the wagon, with the other captives.

She was shaking so much as she was propelled forward that her spurs were rattling and her hat tumbled off her head and rolled off the front edge of the stage, landing upside down in the dirt under there. Without the hat to restrain it, her blazing blonde hair was spread out wild as she writhed and trembled, falling forward over her shoulders and face, where some strands clung stubbornly to her cheeks and lips, because of the sweat streaming down them. And the tears.

"How could you do this to me, Marcus? You're my deputy? Why would you betray me?"

"Money, mostly. But also I admit I got a strong hankering to see you naked, and to see everything else Silas plans to do to you. I got a hankering to see if the funny stories that circulate about you have any truth to them."

"They don't. It's all lies. All of it! You can't possibly take any of that filthy nonsense seriously! Not you, of all people! You work under me. You know me"

"I'm afraid I don't entirely believe you, Loretta. You're not a very good liar. You try too hard. Seems that way to me, anyhow. One way or another, we're about to find out."

He'd tied her to the post, now. She couldn't see exactly how she was secured, but something had tightly hooked the chain of her shackles to the top of the post. It stuck up too high behind, so the pressure on her arms forced her to lift up slightly on her toes. Not on tiptoe, but high enough that her spurred boot heels no longer rested on stage.

"This is the part where I undress you," Marcus announced. "Golly I've been looking forward to this. Are you ready?"

"Don't do this to me, Marcus. You know this is wrong. You're a better man than this."

"'Fraid not, my dear. Let's start down here." He hunkered down to pull her boots off. She couldn't prevent herself from whimpering, as she felt them jerked away, one after the other. She had no socks on. Now her slim delicate toes and the balls of her bare feet felt the gritty scorching surface of the stage's rough wood planks. That sensation alone—the first exposure, insignificant and subtle though it was—still it was enough to begin the change. She could feel it beginning. Flooding her whole body and being with crashing fiery waves of terror and despair ... and also expectation. It was all so overwhelming and even worse, so dreadfully familiar. Soon she would succumb completely. Again.

"Oh no. Dear God. Please not this again. Not like this. Not with everyone watching!"

Without raising up from his crouch, he unbuckled her belt, unbuttoned her jeans, and tugged them down around her feet. She moaned as they slid down her legs, whispering down her pale skin. "Nooo ... Not my pants ..." And yet meekly when they were around her feet, she stepped out of them without having to be told. "No underwear, Loretta?" he remarked, "You surprise me."

Weeping, she shut her eyes and didn't answer. She had no corset on, either.

"Hey now," he said. She heard him standing up and leaning close to her face, nose to nose. "Don't be like that. Don't be a coward. Aren't you stronger than that? Open your eyes and look at me."

She did, biting her bottom lip. He would only do something painful to her if she didn't give him what he wanted.

The moment she opened her eyes, meeting his own, just inches away, was the same moment he tore open the front of her shirt. She cried out again. As if he'd penetrated her, almost. She almost felt as if he had. Just the sensation of having her breasts revealed to him against her will, in the blazing desert sun, and not only him, but Silas laughing behind him, and everyone else watching so avidly below.

"Oh God," she cried, "Oh God save me."

She knew she had remarkable breasts. She was proud of them. Though at the same time she was ashamed of that fact. It was a base, scornful thing to take pride in. The sin of vanity. And also of lewdness. Still, she treasured them. She liked knowing how much they excited men, to see them and to fondle them. She liked how much those things excited her.

Now these awful men were getting to see her treasures, and soon their sensitivity would be used against her, and she knew she couldn't stop that from happening, and it was so unfair and demeaning.

He pushed the shirt over her shoulders and down her arms—left it hanging there behind her, over her hands. He couldn't take it away completely without tearing it further, and he didn't bother. It wasn't necessary. He'd already got her as naked as it was possible to be. All she had left was a narrow red neckerchief. But then he pulled that away as well. "Souvenir," he said, and pocketed it.

"You've ruined everything," she said, "I was better. I was doing better finally. Now you're ruining it all."

He took her breasts in his hands and squeezed them. He kneaded them like dough, while his thumbs flicked in circles across her oversized nipples to make them swell and tighten, until the pair stood out stiff and tall as they could stretch, aching with heat. Then, soon as he had them stimulated to the fullest peak of vulnerability, he pinched them and twisted them and tugged on them. Not very hard—he didn't hurt them, he was careful, methodical—but hard enough all the same to make her gasp at the sensations he was triggering. Forcing explosive pulses inside of them which then surged outward through the rest of her body, and inevitably, as it continued and the feelings grew and spread, more and more, worse and worse, she found it was no longer enough only to gasp ... she had to squeal, and then to whimper, and then to howl.

"What adorable noises you make," said Marcus. "I've wondered for quite some time what sort of sounds you would make, when I touched you like this. And like this. Or like this."

"Guhh! Stop! Stop that! Hahrrhuhh! Oh stop! You can't do this! It's not right! It's not fair! Oh! Ohaah! Marcus, don't!"

"Don't you like how that feels? You're flesh is so ... what's a good word for it? Responsive! What is this doing to you? Tell me. Tell us all."

"You're torturing me! This is so cruel! You're evil! Stop this! Oh, my poor breasts! My nipples! Let go! Stop pinching! Please! No more! You bastard! I can't bear it! No! Ahhuurrnnhh!"

"If I flicked my fingertip down across your slit right now, what do you think I would find?"

"Don't. Just don't. Not that. Not there. Not now. Please don't, Marcus."

"What are you afraid of, Loretta? You look so afraid."

"Step out of the way now," Silas commanded. "Let us all get a good look at our prize."

"Yes sir."

The audience applauded and cheered. Loretta shuddered all over, squeezing her thighs together and curling her toes in as tight as she could, and hung her head in abject shame, just as Catherine O'Mara had done. Her sweating, tear-streaked face had pinkened the same as hers, as well. Now she was the prize to be coveted. Now she was the plowhorse, to be purchased and ridden.

In her absolute nakedness, she could physically feel the eyes of all the men upon her. Scurrying over her fevered skin like a thousand hairy spiders. No one was touching her, in that moment—yet it was like all of them were touching her. All at once, and everywhere. Fucking her with their eyes. Yes, it felt like the whole audience was already fucking her. She moaned. And hearing herself, she knew it was the exact same sound she made when she felt a cock penetrating her, or when it was erupting its seed upon her flushed face ...

"Ohhhohh. Ohh God. Oh you vile bastards. How can you do this to me? How can you treat me this way? How dare you? I'm a law officer!"

Silas cracked the whip in front of her. "You've no badge. You've no weapon. You don't look like the law to me. You know what you look like? You know what you are?"

She looked up at him, biting her lip again, sniveling like a child. "Please let me go. Please don't do this."

"I told you and all these men watching I would have you on my post. You didn't believe I could do it. But here you are. All gloriously naked and glistening with sweat in the sun. How does it feel? To be unable to cover your beautiful body? To be displayed, as a prize, as a slave? Do you like the feeling?"

"Oh God. Oh no. Please no. Please. I beg you."

"Yes, I hear you. But call me Master, when you beg me. Because I own you now, until I choose to sell you. Don't I?"

"Yes. Master."

"Say it."

"You own me. I am ... You've made me ... naked ... helpless ... a slave ... again ... Oh God. I can't bear this! Please let me cover myself. I beg you, don't let everyone keep looking at me like this."

"I fear you're going to have to bear much, much worse than this, before we're finished. You should not have come here, Loretta. You should not have tried to disrupt my business. Now you are my plaything."

"I apologize. I won't do it again, if you let me go free. I promise you. I swear. Have pity."

"You were foolish to challenge me, woman."

"Yes I was. Very foolish. I'm sorry. Please. I'm powerless now. I've learned my lesson. You've proved your point. You've proved you're stronger than me and cleverer than me. You've shamed me and taken all my pride. You can afford to be merciful now. Please be merciful. Think how much greater that will prove you to be."

He laughed. "Very good, Loretta. A very good performance. Shrewdly argued. But I will not spare you."

"But ... but ... listen, you don't have to whip me. Just ... just fuck me. Any way you want. I'll suck your cock, if you want me to. Right now. I'll do whatever you say. You don't have to whip me to make me obey you. Or to make me scream. All you have to do is put your cock in me. Look. Look down here." She widened her legs for him. And for everyone else watching. "I'm already wet. My cunny is dripping wet. You were right about me. All the stories. All my weaknesses. Because I'm a wanton. I try to keep it hidden and secret. But all you have to do is capture me and humiliate me. All you have to do is tie me up and take my clothes away, and it makes my cunny dripping wet. See? You can see it! Then after he fondled me ... with all of you watching ... my breasts ... my poor defenseless nipples, they're always so sensitive ... and I couldn't stop him or fight him ... Oh God, it's got so bad, I feel it streaming down my legs, and it's burning hot inside! I can't control it. Once the feelings start, one you get them started like this, they take me over. I can't fight it off. All I want ... all I want now is to spend. I'll do anything you desire, if you'll make me spend. Please! Silas the slaver—I am your new slave! Let me prove it to you! Untie me from this pole, so I can kneel down and suck your cock. I wanna suck your cock in front of everyone! I'm very good at that, I swear to you. Please!"

"But what I want, Loretta, is to see you spend for my whip," Silas said, and then he lashed her right on her cunny. Right on her clit.

And at the strike, she threw back her head and obeyed his command, with a piercing wail, followed by a jet of fluid from her passage that left a great shining pool on the planks of the stage in front of her dainty clenching toes.

Afterward she hung forward so slack from the pole most of the spectators believed her to have fallen unconscious. But if one listened close, one could hear her breathlessly gasping "Oh God—oh my God—God—my God—ohhhoohh... I'm a slave ... Ohhh no. God. Ohh. "

"Loretta Lariat," Silas remarked. "You live up to your legend. You may fuck her now, Mr. Lyons. Give her furrow a good plowing. And then the rest of your party may take their turns."

"Yes sir," Marcus said.