Mad Spaghetti Amazon Ch. 05

Things are quiet. Things are too quiet out in the deserted wastes of the Lone Star region, but she's fine with that. She's happy with it, even though she'll never smile to show it. It's just the way that she likes things to be. To someone like her, being alone is preferable to being around people. If she could spend the rest of her life without seeing another person, she would.

The bounty hunter smirked dryly to herself, then crouched down close to the ground to examine her quarry's tracks. She could spend the rest of her life like that, but it wouldn't be much of a life -- not for its piss poor quality, but for the impossibility of surviving in the so-called Land of the Free without relying on others in one way or another. As much as she hated it, she lived in a society and had to be a part of that society. She had to be a part of that society, even if their culture was anarchy and chaos, with any real civilization or democracy quickly overtaken by the true, cruel and avarice-fueled nature of human beings.

She was a hunter, after all, of men and women. And a few things between the two, so long as they were bipedal (or occasionally tripedal; she didn't discriminate against mutants). If the bounty hunter knew how to run a farm or a ranch, she would have been happy to take her riches and purchase one. But even then, she would need other people. Tools would have to be made and repaired. One set of hands wouldn't be enough to plant and harvest crops or herd animals while defending it against raiders. Vehicles needed their fuel, and what was she going to do, drill her own black gold? Press her own bullets? She didn't know how to make gunpowder. Fuck, the best she could do was sharpen and polish her own knives.

No, being a hunter was just what made sense to her. It was all she had ever known, and it just made sense with her abilities. The dark-haired woman sucked on her cheek, then pushed against her thick thighs to lever herself to her considerable height. In the dead of night, the wastes could get as cold as mythical ice, cold enough to freeze a poor fucker and kill them if they didn't have a fire to huddle around or another body to cling to. No one in their right mind would be outside without adequate covering -- hell, without one of those treasured vehicles whose heated seating still worked.

"Hn." The bounty hunter followed her quarry's tracks. If anyone was around to see her, her appearance would have boggled them. Adequate covering? She might as well have been naked, her thick ass squeezed into a pair of daisy dukes so tight that they most likely restricted her blood flow. They were so damn tight that she couldn't even zip them up all the way, leaving a constant glimpse of the neatly trimmed black hairs that thatched her pussy. And she didn't exactly go out of her way to cover the rest of her long, long legs.

Her spurred cowboy boots went up just past her knees, superfluous belts serving as improvised bandoliers for the baker's dozen knives she kept at her ankles. The bounty hunter's mentor taught her a great deal, and she owed him everything, but his most valuable lesson by far was that you could never have enough knives. Most of hers belonged to him, not that he left them to her. She took them off his body after she killed him. Wasn't like he would need them.

If the bounty hunter could get away without wearing a top, she would. Not that anyone really complained about her buxom, unfairly perky tits being out in plain view; the open tricow-skin vest she wore gave constant glimpses of them and her prouder than proud nipples as she moved around, its hem only reaching down to the flare of her hips. It didn't do shit to hide her pale, toned belly. She was pale all over, as though the sun didn't dare glare down on her body and darken her skin, though the truth was it wasn't for a lack of trying. The vest wasn't there to give her any semblance of modesty. It had hidden pockets for a few more knives.

She really didn't think she could have enough. One of the bounty hunter's first purchases was a repeater, and the first piece of custom work she got done on it wasn't on the gun itself. Its strap criss-crossed her body, running between her tits. Was it practical to turn her repeater's strap into a bandolier for another thirteen knives? Fuck no, but she wasn't like normal people. She didn't notice the weight, and the tiny cuts and scratches the blades gave her usually healed within minutes.

"You're a busy bitch, Savvy Sharpes," she mused to herself, toeing at a corpse with a telltale hole in its head before stepping over it. "Ain't nothing but bodies with you." Without looking at the others, she knew they would all tell a similar tale. They would be a waste of time, and bandits seldom had anything worth taking off their bodies. Nothing of real quality, anyway, and the bounty hunter did well enough for herself that she didn't bother with anything less than the best. She continued up to the battered truck, glancing over it briefly. Something big and angry had smashed into it with enough force to dent it, and then went on to cut itself while breaking open the windshield.

Brushcock? Brushcock. For a moment, the hunter ignored it, crouching down and glancing under the vehicle. Her smirk returned at what she saw, caught on a rock and likely blown there by the wind. She eased down a bit further, then reached her arm under to grab the familiar hat, giving it a brisk little shake to beat the dust off it before examining it. It wasn't just cold in the wastes, but it was pitch dark too. The bounty hunter could see as if it were a sunny afternoon.

Savvy Sharpes wasn't just another bounty for her. It was business, sure, but business that aligned with her personal interests. With pleasure. The hunter lifted the hat and pointed a finger gun at the hole of the bullet that knocked it off her head; she could picture nothing else that would make the so-called Lone Ranger of the Lone Star Region abandon her precious hat. "Pchew," she hummed out as she 'fired' that bullet, imagining the shot. She could see Savvy's reaction vividly in her head.

"MotherFUCKER!"

The hunter let herself have the pleasure of a smile after all. She turned the hat around and put it on her head, then eased up slightly to look into the truck. For as long as Savvy had been wandering the Lone Star region, that hat had been her only constant. She had a habit of losing her clothes almost as quickly as she got them, and not always of her own volition. Pretty often of it, though. The hunter sniffed sharply at the torn pants and panties inside the truck, picking up on the familiar scent. She hazarded a guess that Savvy didn't lose a Texas Fold-'Em to the brushcock, and probably didn't decide to fuck it.

Her blue eyes meandered to the stains on the seat. Shifting, she crawled in and leaned down, sniffing at them before ducking her head down and licking at it. The hunter furrowed her brows, then licked again. "You fuckin' horny bitch," she whispered to herself. She would never forget the taste of Savvy's milk. This was distinctly cut with cum, some of the nicest cum the hunter had ever tasted. She licked again and narrowed her eyes, shifting to sit upright afterwards. Normally, the hunter could tell what someone had eaten for the last few days from their cum, but those distinct notes faded with the passage of time. What she did taste... "Hn."

Whomever shot that load had a bad diet. They missed meals. Water and cactus jerky? Seasoned cactus jerky. She narrowed her eyes, folding her arms under her tits as she considered. Shaved soap? No, that was cilantro. No one in the Lone Star region grew cilantro anymore -- and they weren't far from the border. She closed her eyes, going over what she had learned so far. A group of bandits circled up around someone, and Savvy jumped them. If they weren't psychos or mutants, they wouldn't stand a chance against her.

Popping her eyes open, the hunter glanced out of the truck and down at the ground. Whomever Savvy saved hid under the truck during the fight. She coaxed or dragged them out, then -- she started sucking their cock out there, didn't she? Then things continued up in the cab of the truck, until the brushcock arrived. It was probably chasing whomever Savvy was fucking, or else the hunter would have noticed its trail. The hunter snorted quietly and unfolded her arms, scooting to the edge of her seat and hopping out of the truck altogether.

Savvy and fucking brushcocks. Ridiculous. Somehow, Savvy and her new boytoy escaped the truck. It only took the hunter a moment to find their tracks. "Small feller, ain'tcha," she breathed to herself as she considered the size of his footprints.

He was malnourished. Underdeveloped. Small or not, if Savvy sucked him off twice, his cock had to be worth something unless she was damn desperate -- and the bounty hunter already had a hint of its fine taste. Probably an escaped slave from Old-Old Mexico. Licking her lips to remind herself of his taste, she smiled once again. If he was still with Savvy when she caught up with them, oh, she was going to enjoy herself.

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A few hours later, elsewhere...

The Kid groaned miserably as he woke up, his head aching like that fucking brushcock was stampeding through it. This had to be the shittiest wagon ride in all of Old-Old Mexico, bumping all over the place as its wheels bounced and bumped on the pothole-filled road.

His first thought went to his father, as it often did, of the tall tales the man used to tell about something he called 'municipal government'. Of democratically elected officials who were paid to sit around, fuck their secretaries and nominally be responsible for the maintenance of any given settlement, using money taxed from those that lived there. These officials, these 'city councilors', supposedly made sure every pothole was filled. The Kid's father never lied to him, but he was absolutely certain that wasn't true. It was bullshit. There were too many potholes for any of them to have ever been repaired.

... I guess because we haven't had a municipal whatsit in a long time, the Kid realized. Maybe his father wasn't full of shit. The roads had to come from somewhere; plenty of people believed cement and pavement was naturally occurring stone, but the Kid knew better. As he had his epiphany, he opened his groggy eyes and stared up at the -- sky.

And boy, the sky was moving awfully fast. He wasn't in a wagon, and he wasn't in Old-Old Mexico either. His brows slowly furrowed, and he tried to sit up, only to quickly find that he could barely wiggle. Hell, he could barely feel his arms. Shifting and glancing down, he quickly realized why. The groggy fugue that hung over his head began to fade away. "Ah, mierda," he mumbled to himself. He was tied up... in a fucking sleeping bag, of all things, rope lashed tightly around it. Squinting, he could recognize the character on the sleeping bag's stained surface.

It was a legendary figure from the old world, from the world before everything went to shit. No one remembered its name. A rodent with enormous hands in white gloves and a head anyone could draw with just three simple circles, one for his face and two for his ears. It was always grinning. The Kid felt a chill go up his spine. The rat could pop up anywhere, on cups, blankets, coasters, shirts... some people thought he was cute. Family friendly. Back home though, people avoided the Three Circle Rat at any costs.

He was the icon of the Cult of Capitalism, the sickest fucks in Old-Old Mexico by a long shot, even more terrifying than the Church of Cane Sugar Cola or their rivals, the Brotherhood of the Holy CoCo Bottle. The Kid had never seen them, but he knew they were worse than the devil himself. Everyone knew that, even though no one could honestly say they had encountered the Cult and lived to tell the tale. Anyone who did was a kid spinning yarns, or a drunk trying to get laid.

Had they kidnapped him? And... Savvy? The Kid swallowed, glancing around quickly. Try as he might, he couldn't remember what happened or how he got there. He wasn't in a wagon at all; now that he was more lucid, he recognized the pitiful groans coming from the jeep's engine as it protested another hard mile. He was on its back seat, barely secured with one of the seat belts. WIth some worming and grunting, he managed to roll over enough to get a glance out the side of the vehicle. The unfamiliar countryside sprawled out before him, with equally unfamiliar flora and fauna. A decrepit highway sign blurred past -- he didn't recognize the words it said, but he could tell the difference between Old American, Old Spanish and the far more civilized modern Spanglish. He wasn't in Old-Old Mexico.

That was good. He was still in the Lone Star region. The Kid wriggled again, glancing up at the cracked glass in the rearview mirror, hopeful that he would see Savvy's green eyes in it, the stupid little freckles that bridged over her nose, and her plush lips. Especially her plush lips. The Kid could already feel his cock growing hard. Just as his eyes got there, the driver glanced up at the same mirror and saw that he was awake.

Her eyes were brown like whiskey, not green. She had freckles, but way more of them than Savvy had, spanning her face and probably the rest of her body. It wasn't Savvy. It wasn't anyone the Kid knew at all. The woman's face was a bit leaner and its features a bit sharper than the Lone Ranger's, and though her lips weren't as plush as Savvy's, they were still thick enough to have their own pouty appeal. Some bastard had given her a small scar at one point, tugging the left side of her mouth into a natural smirk. It would be an absolute shame if she didn't suck cock.

... Shut the fuck up, the Kid groaned inwardly at his libido. This wasn't the time to think with his dick, but the stupid thing only got harder. He couldn't help it. She was a natural redhead, her straight hair cut in a bob that went just past her chin. Having only known brown and black haired women his entire life, anything different was exotic and hot as well. Her lips twitched, her smirk growing by degrees, and she brought her eyes back down to the road. "Mornin', sleeping beauty."

The Kid spent another moment trying to will his cock down, but it was no use. He closed his eyes and drew in a breath. He had to remind himself he probably wasn't in a great situation, tied up in a stranger's vehicle. At least they didn't seem to be going back to Old-Old Mexico. "Who are you? Where are you taking me?" he asked her, finding his voice hoarser than he expected it to be.

"Can call me Robin, kiddo." She glanced at him through the rearview again. "And... well. I shouldn't say nothin', but I'm bringin' you home to meet my mom. Don't worry, you're gonna be alright." She fell quiet again, eyes once more on the road. The Kid expected her to elaborate, but a minute went by without her glancing at him again.

Gonna be alright? The Kid knew better than to trust a good samaritan in the desert, and that was without them tying him up in a sleeping bag. He didn't trust her. Well, his dick did, but his dick was willing to trust anything that looked warm and womanly. "How's that?" he asked, wetting his cracked lips. Was he naked beneath the sleeping bag? ... Yeah. That seemed right rather than unusual. He never replaced his pants after Savvy ruined them. Fuck, how long have I been just bumbling around buck-ass naked with her?

"Well," Robin drawled, giving the Kid another glance through the rearview. "The way I see it, you and that kickstand of yours got a good life ahead of yourselves." The Kid squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted his cock to go away, not become the subject of their conversation. "It's been a hot minute since I got Mom a new fuckboy. Honestly," she grumbled, "it's kind of fuckin' bullshit. I'm a grown ass woman with my own fuckin' wheels and my own fuckin' gun, but I still gotta bring any cock I find back to her before I get any cock myself." Clearing her throat, she continued more even-keeled as the Kid stared at her reflection in the cracked glass. "So anyway, I take you back there. Mom tries you out and decides if you're just a fuckboy or worth bein' one of her husbands. Now, you almost certainly ain't her type, so that isn't somethin' you gotta worry about."

There wasn't a hint of humor or malice on her face -- a bit of irritation, maybe, but other than that? The way she was disclosing the details to the Kid made it all sound downright casual, like an everyday thing. "Are you fucking kidding me?" the Kid groaned softly, then grunted as they hit a rough bump in the road.

Robin grunted too, but she carried on speaking, drumming her fingers on the jeep's wheel. "Yeah. So, since you ain't gonna be one of her husbands, she'll decide if she wants you to be a fuckboy or if she's gonna marry you off to me or one of my sisters. A cousin, if you ain't lucky." She ticked her red head one way, then the other, adding mildly, "Or maybe she'll adopt ya, so she can marry some other girl into the family. Don't think she's got anyone waitin' around, though. Either way, you'll be a part of the family and ain't gotta worry about nothin' but fuckin' or gettin' fucked. Like I said, ya got a good life ahead of you."

"... as a fucking sex slave," the Kid whispered. Other men in his position might find the idea of being forcibly fucked into a matriarchy enticing, erotic. The Kid wasn't like those men. He came to the Land of the Free for one reason, to escape his life as a slave. The last thing he wanted was to go back to being a slave, even if it was in a cozy, titty and cunt-filled cage. He needed help, but he was a stranger in a hostile land. What help could he get?

He already knew the answer to that.

"I mean..." Robin paused. "We don't like usin' that word, and I really recommend you don't go usin' it around Mom, but yeah. More 'er less. All we really care about is your cock and your spunk. Anythin' else you come with is just a nice bonus," she explained. She gave the Kid another glance in the mirror. "You don't happen to be any good at fixin' shit, are you? I swear, this fuckin' gold guzzler is gonna die soon," she said, slapping the jeep's dash. "Our last feller who could fix it got cut up real bad, so if--"

"SAVVY!" the Kid screamed out desperately, cutting Robin off and making her blink in surprise. "SAVVY, WHEREVER THE FUCK Y--"

Another bump in the road interrupted the Kid, shutting him up as his kidnapper snorted at him. "Listen, kiddo," she said as she began to pull over on the road. "Your lady friend, she ain't comin'. Fuckin' brushcock chased her off and she left ya where ya were. You're shit out of luck, and really, your new life ain't gonna be so bad."

"Fuck you," the Kid growled out, before yelling out again. "SAVVY! I'M RIGHT HERE! FOR FUCK'S SAKE, COME HERE!"

"Shit," Robin grumbled, getting out of the jeep's driver side door. "You're a fuckin' piece of work, you know that? Ain't never met a man who wasn't happy to be told he was gonna get fucked." She crossed around to the back seat door near the Kid's head and popped it open. He looked at her upside-down, baring his teeth at her like a wild animal -- and not a particularly menacing one, at that. The Kid got his first good look of her body, all long and lean limbs and slender hips.

Unsurprisingly, she was dressed in the piecemeal fashion that most bandits adopted. A fishnet top was tugged taut over her upper body, failing to really cover any part of her sunkissed freckled body. Not that it really needed to; her breasts were slight swells on her chest, laughably small when stacked up against the likes of Savvy. A sole pauldron was secured to one of her rounded shoulders, fit to her feminine silhouette and held there by a leather harness that also secured her six shooter's holster.