Your erotic stories

1.

When she was nineteen, two bandits dressed-up as Indians killed Molly Sheridan’s father and her three younger brothers, and burned their ranch. They carried her off, but hadn’t tied her hands properly, perhaps because they’d got so drunk, perhaps only because they didn’t imagine she could give them any trouble, bound or no. Thus as they were riding, she was able to get hold of one of their pistols, and shoot the men dead.

She would later regret that she had done the deed too quickly, and neither of the villains had any notion of what had occurred. There could be no satisfaction in that.

Sheriff Fane had proposed marriage to her, the following day. She had refused him. He was a cruel man, who delighted in whipping his horses and smoking cigars, and he had a particularly odious mustache. Molly did not hate all mustaches—but his she found unbearable. Perhaps it only seemed so, not because of any quality of its own, but because of the hateful face it grew out of, and the savage, staring eyes that went with it.

So he had taken her to town and left her in the charge of Cyrus Malley, proprietor of the Creaky Springs. In his view, there was nothing else to be done with her. She had nowhere else to go—”Excepting Hell, that is,” he’d remarked, thinking his wits quite sharp.

Her mother had been taken a year since by fever of one sort or another, and Molly had no remaining relations in this world. Since she had not accepted the Sheriff’s “protection,” at the price he set for it, she was left with no other option but outright prostitution … save starvation or perhaps suicide.

The hard realities of frontier life. There were rather few women in the West, at this date, and most of those that were, were whores.

But Molly Sheridan had not accepted those realities. She stole herself a horse and a rifle, then fled into the wilderness. She’d always had a knack with horses, as well as with firearms. Her daddy and her brothers thought it baffling, but now she’d put those gifts to use. It would prove her salvation.

She made herself a mask, out of one of the black stockings they’d given her to wear at the brothel. She became an outlaw.

Before long, she discovered she had talent for it. Being good with horses and with guns was obviously part of that, but only part. It also took a head for planning. For management.

Everybody knew who she was, from the very beginning, but she kept wearing the mask anyway. It seemed to give her power. She wasn’t just a girl with guns, when she wore that mask. It made her frightening and formidable, and mythic, too. She was the notorious outlaw, Sheridan Shooter.

2.

She soon found a partner—a woman her own age named Swift-as-a-Snake. She was not an Indian, though she had an Indian name and wore Indian clothes. She claimed she’d been abducted as a little girl by Comanche’s, raised up as one of their own, so she had no memory of her original family. But then a year before, and just days after she had been married, she got angry at her husband and killed the brave, and then was banished from the tribe. Like Molly she had chosen to become an outlaw.

She was a useful companion—skilled in tracking, and living off the land, and the very Devil in a scrap. But Molly didn’t entirely believe Swift’s story (she only ever called her Swift—the rest made too much of a mouthful). Something about her costume, and the way she spoke—it didn’t quite ring true. It had a stagy quality. Once in a gully they’d spied on other Indians, around a campfire, and Molly had asked Swift to translate their talk, in order to find out their plans … and she couldn’t do it. Claimed she couldn’t hear them clearly, though Molly could, and she’d been right beside her. And she’d been certain they were Comanche’s. So if these were the people that brought her up, how come Swift didn’t know their language?

Plus she was a huntress and a warrior. And as far as Molly knew, Indians didn’t train their women to fight or to hunt—that was the braves’ job. The squaws were s’posed to tend camp and the babies, and cook and sew, all the usual womanly things … and Swift was no good at all at any of that stuff.

She would never confront her about it—it actually didn’t make a difference to their partnership—but secretly Molly was convinced Swift was just another runaway, like her. Or else she was crazy. Maybe she’d got away from some lunatic asylum, back East. Or maybe she’d been an actress in one of those traveling troupes … Those types were all little better than vagabonds. Molly could pass hours speculating about it, turning over various ideas and possibilities. But she was careful never to let Swift know her suspicions.

For a while—a period of weeks—they picked up a third “associate,” and became known as the Sheridan Shooter Gang. An actual gang! With her as the leader! Their third member was a black man who called himself Horace Coal and said he’d fought for the Union in the War Between the States. He’d been captured and lynched by Sheriff Fane and his men. Molly and Swift had avenged him by lynching Sheriff Fane.

Molly was interested to meet his replacement—wondering what kind of fellow the new sheriff would turn out to be. A better opponent, or a lesser? She just had to wait and see.

A week before his ignominious death, Molly had given her virginity to Horace Coal. Swift had suggested it. She had herself been coupling with the man, at every opportunity. Molly had made no comment and done her best to turn a blind eye to it, as much as possible. But obviously she had been fully aware of what was going on. It had been rather embarrassing. Finally Swift had asked her outright why she never took a turn with the man. Molly hadn’t really known how to answer, especially with respect to the obvious delight Swift partook in the act. Soon she found she was allowing Swift to convince her to give the whole strange sticky business a try.

It had been intriguing, more than anything else. Not a wholly satisfying experience—but not unpleasant. Yes, there had been pain, and a little awkwardness—but not half as much as she’d prepared herself for. Horace had been very careful with her—Swift had threatened to scalp him if he finished too quick, or hurt her more than was avoidable. Uppermost in her mind, immediately afterward, and whenever she thought it over since then, had been a desire to repeat the experiment. To try the act anew, and find out how the second time compared to the first. Now that she had a clearer notion of how it was performed. But then Horace had the inconvenient misfortune to get himself arrested and executed. And she had no one else on hand to explore the matter with.

She wished bawdy houses existed for the exclusive use of women. It was ridiculous, in her view—insufferable, in fact—that society had not addressed this need. As if it didn’t exist. Of course it existed and always had—but all the fucking men suppressed it, the whole world over. And they always would, at least as long as silly women let the smug bastards get away with it.

3.

One day they robbed a stagecoach, or tried to, only to find out some other bandit had beat them to it. Cleaned out the dang-gone thing.

“Young feller, he were,” said the driver. “Stopped us not ten minutes back. Damned saucy rascal.”

Molly knew this driver quite well, though not by name. He was a civil old bugger. She had robbed his stage many, many times, and they had gradually established an easy rapport. Two people going about their jobs, trying to make the transaction as simple and hassle-free for the other as possible.

“He made me give him one of my gloves,” put in one of the passengers, a pretty young lady, “To remember my face by, he said. He called me a Vision of Radiance.” She did indeed appear to radiate, as she repeated that. And you could hear the capital letters.

“Impertinent scoundrel,” growled her sour-faced chaperon. When her charge sighed wistfully, she earned herself a cruel slap from the stout old woman. “Hussy!”

“Now, now,” said Molly, “No more of that.”

“Don’t presume to—”

“Hush,” Molly said, putting her gun to the old woman’s face. But she relented, when the silly girl she was sticking up for only burst into tears and pleaded for the harridan’s life …

“Don’t hurt Aunt Maverly! Oh please don’t hurt my dear old auntie!”

“Blast and tarnation!” Molly exclaimed, after they’d sent the coach on, “Hellfire and Jesus!”

“I track him,” pronounced Swift, “I catch him, chop his pecker off. Keep it for trophy. ‘Remember his face by,’ like he told the foolish girl.” She smiled her crazy smile, eyes sparkling.

“Never mind his dang-gone pecker,” Molly countered, kicking at the dirt, “I want that dang-gone loot!”

“We go then. We get it.”

4.

His real name was Lyle Leigh—he had decided his bandit name would be Wily Wildman. Wily not Willy. Perhaps he’d better spell it Whiley or Wyleigh, so there would be no confusion on that score, when it was printed on Wanted posters and in the newspapers, and perhaps even in the dime novels, if he was fortunate enough to become famous enough for that. Or infamous enough, rather.

Today’s had been his first robbery. It had gone quite well. Not only had he secured for himself a nice haul, but he felt he’d made a fine impression on that pretty young lady. (She had certainly made a fine impression upon him.) Hopefully the story of his gallantly asking for her glove as a souvenir of her loveliness would spread far and wide, and furthermore he hoped it would do so with alacrity.

He had neglected to mention his new name, however. Hadn’t occurred to him, until it was too late. The question had never come up. Everyone in the coach had been exceedingly cooperative—suspiciously so. None of them had bothered challenging his demands, the way he’d always imagined would be the case: “How dare you, sir? Just who do you think you are?” “They call me Wily Wildman,” he’d planned on replying, “Scourge of the West!”

Well, perhaps next time.

That girl, though … Good Lord. He couldn’t get her visage out of his mind. Pretty as a picture.

He should have abducted her, maybe. Just for the evening, anyhow. He wondered if she would have come, if he had asked—or rather, when he ordered it. You don’t ask a girl’s permission, if you abduct her. Wouldn’t work, would it? How much fight would she have put up? He liked to imagine it wouldn’t have been much of one.

But realistically he’d never have dared. No sir. It was nice to think about, but actually trying it would have been too much to take on. Especially on his first durn job! Even if he’d managed to carry her off, he wouldn’t have known quite what to do with her—how far to go. What if she had started crying or something? Believing he meant to kill her … He wasn’t the sort that would enjoy that. His fantasy was to seduce her—not torment a girl like that with ghastly, unspeakable fears … No, the whole thing would have turned into a horrid and frankly ridiculous mess.

Still he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

5.

“What in tarnation?” said Molly, “Hell’s he doin’ to himself over there?”

“Can’t you see?” said Swift.

“Sure I can see. I just don’t dang-gone understand it.”

“Men do that plenty. All damn time. Whenever they be alone.”

“Why?”

Swift just looked at her like she was an idiot. And the more she thought about it, perhaps it was a silly question.

She rubbed her own private parts, sometimes, in her bedroll. Before she fell asleep, or sometimes first thing when she woke, before she really got up … but it had never occurred to her that other people would let themselves do that, except lunatics in asylums, like she was taught as a child. A schoolteacher had told her that, as she recalled, and once she had overheard the town minister saying something similar to somebody. So she had always assumed it was something wrong with her, a perverse weakness of her nature she couldn’t personally overcome—and she had been ashamed of it, whenever she did it. But she hadn’t been able to help herself—nor did she try very hard. For after choosing the life of a bandit and murderer—even though every son of a bitch she’d killed had damn gosh well deserved it—some extra sinning along such lines as those couldn’t mean much, measured against all the rest.

Evidently other people outside of asylums couldn’t help themselves, any better. Actually, it felt rather wonderful, finding that out. She wondered if Swift did it to herself, too. Probably she did. She wondered how often … Funny to think the girl had maybe been doing the same stuff the same time she was doing it, at night or in the mornings, on the opposite side of their camp fire. But both of them hiding it from each other, under their blankets.

They’d tracked the other outlaw here—and it hadn’t taken long; Swift really was extremely good at that sort of thing—to this creek in the woods, where he was bathing. But not really bathing … he was sitting on the shore with his back against a log and his pants around his knees, and he’d put on the long white glove he’d taken from the pretty girl in the stagecoach. He was cranking his engorged manhood, with that gloved hand.

Oh, hey, now she got it. He was imagining it was the girl—the girl’s hand on him, in the glove. He was jerking himself really hard—rubbing it like he was trying to set the thing on fire. She was surprised he wasn’t hurting himself. You’d think his poor thing would tear right off. Did he actually like how that felt? But he must or he wouldn’t be doing it.

Swift stood up to attack him, but Molly caught her by the arm to stop her. “Wait. Just hold on a minute.”

Swift snorted. “You want see him spurt?”

“No,” Molly said. But then realized she was lying. That was exactly what she wanted.

“You like him?” asked Swift.

“No,” Molly answered again, “Of course not!”

“He is good-looking boy,” Swift said. “You not agree?”

Well, now she put it like that …

“You want to make sport with him?” Swift asked.

“What? What?” But shocked as she was at the suggestion, there was no confusion—she knew exactly what Swift meant. For that was Swift’s personal euphemism for all activities of the mature and carnal nature. She only referred to them in that particular fashion. Making sport.

“Before I cut off his pecker,” Swift went on, “Might as well put it to some good last use.”

For a little bit, all Molly could do was gawp at her, with her mouth hanging open, shaking her head. “You are one crazy bitch, you know that? Do you realize how completely durn crazy you are?”

Swift just shrugged, and then her brow furrowed in thought. “I should stop him now, before he make himself spurt. Don’t want him to spend all his strength, before we get hold of him.”

“Jesus! We’re not gonna—”

But Swift shushed her. “I go tie him up now. Make him ready. You wait here.”

“Swift, don’t you dare! Swift!”

But true to her name, she was already springing from the underbrush where they’d been crouching, to race silent and menacing toward the unsuspecting bandit, oblivious in his own bliss. Rather than a snake, though, she was more like a wolf bearing down upon a rabbit.

The young bastard was actually moaning a little, with his head thrown back and his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open, as much as Molly’s was. He looked like he was about to die. But happily.

Swift was just two steps away from him … He didn’t stand a chance.

6.

“Oh Jesus! Oh dear lord Jesus, save me! Save me! Jesus!”

Listening to the kid carry on and on like this had only been amusing for a minute or two. Now it just made her feel embarrassed, as well as a little sick in her stomach.

Molly wanted them both to get gone. They could just leave the guy tied up here. They had all the loot now, such as it was—not much of a haul. And they’d made their point. They’d unmanned this guy, catching him so quick and easy—he wouldn’t cross them again. Even if he tried to get back at them, he wouldn’t pose a threat. He was too young and too stupid and too weak. Now that fact was established, Molly had lost any interest in Swift’s crazy games. Not that she had much enthusiasm for any such nonsense of this sort to start with. But she hadn’t told her partner yet. She knew the girl wasn’t gonna take it well. Swift was quite clearly still enjoying herself very much. You could see the gleam in her eyes.

Well, Christ. This was going to be awkward. What a mess. Some days nothing in tarnation turns out like it’s supposed to.

Swift had tied the boy to the top of the log he’d been sitting against, when she captured him, with his arms stretched over his head and his legs bound straight together at the knees and ankles. His pants were down around his calves and she’d also unbuttoned the front of his shirt. Now she was toying with his exposed nipples with the tip of her knife.

“Maybe I slice off one of these. Keep for souvenir. Maybe I take both.”

“Please don’t! Please just don’t! Please don’t hurt me! Please!”

“Maybe I take something else.” She lowered the knife to his crotch. His pecker wasn’t hard anymore, no sir. It had shrived up in terror. Molly hadn’t known a grown man’s pecker could shrink that small. It made her feel sad for him. It wasn’t as nice to look at it as it was before, in its state of excitation or whatever you preferred to call it.

“You’ve got all my money, I don’t have anymore. If I had anymore stashed some place, I swear I’d tell you—but I don’t! This was my first ever robbery! I’m new in the territory! That’s why I didn’t know about you and your partner! You have to believe me! Please be merciful! If you let me live I swear I’ll go far away and never come back to these parts! I swear to God! Please, I’ll do anything! Anything you want! Tell me what to do! Just tell me! Please!”

“If it was my decision alone,” said Swift, “I would cut your throat.”

“Oh God! Oh no! God no! Please!”

“Hush. My partner doesn’t want me to. My partner has taken a liking to you, when she saw you.”

“What? Really? What do you mean?”

“Swift, don’t put words in my mouth! I never said nothing like that. Cut it out!”

“She is shy about these matters. But don’t be fooled by her denials. I know her better than anyone else. We might keep you alive, if you can make yourself useful. How does that sound?”

“Useful?”

“Yes. But look at your little pecker now. It wasn’t this little before.” She sheathed her knife and then fiddled with his piece with both hands at once. It failed to get any bigger or stiffer, though. Swift gave the boy her most menacing frown. “What good is this to us? No good at all. May as well just cut it off, if you can’t make it hard again.”

“Give me a minute. You gotta give me another minute. It’s hard like this.”

“No it isn’t. This is the problem.”

“I meant it’s hard for me—in these circumstances. You got me too scared and frazzled. Won’t you untie me?”

“No.”

“I’m not used to this kind of stuff.”

“You mean you are virgin?”

“No, I meant, being tied up and bossed around like this. Look, how about this … My cock’s no good, but I’m good with my tongue. Come up here and I’ll show you. You’ll probably like that more anyway, if you’re like most girls.”

Swift’s frown became a smile. “You will be useful after all, it seems. But it’s not me you must show. It is my partner.”

“Yeah, so you said. Well then, I’m ready. Bring her over. I’ll make her smile.”

“Come, Molly. Put yourself over his face.”

“No! I’m not gonna do that! Yer dang crazy!”

“Why you still act this way? You will like this. I promise. Trust your partner. Try and see.”

But still she hung back. “I just couldn’t do it, Swift. I’m sorry but no. It won’t work. Certainly not with you watching me.”

Swift looked half-offended and half-amused. “If that’s all it is, fine. I shall leave you in peace.” Her mock-Injun accent had slipped for a minute there, but Molly saw her swallow and then she’d got it back. “I go check horses,” she pronounced, and then stalked off through the trees.

“Swift, wait! You don’t have to go! That wasn’t what I meant!”

But she didn’t come back.

“Aw Hell,” Molly said to herself. She looked at the boy and the boy looked at her. He didn’t look terrified anymore—instead he actually grinned at her. But it was a sheepish grin, not a cocky one. And he was blushing!

“Well now,” he said, “Um. Well now. Gosh.” He licked his lips. “I really will give it my best, you know, just like I told her I would.”

She told herself not to glance down at his pecker again and then that was exactly the next thing she did. It was getting stiff again, now that Swift and her knife were gone. “Aw Hell,” she muttered again.

Then she had an idea, tugging off her neckerchief. “I’m gonna blindfold ya. With this. A’right?” Christ, why was she asking him? She was supposed to be in charge here.

He looked disappointed but he said “Whatever makes you most comfortable, Miss.”

“Fine then.” So she tied it across his eyes. And then she started unbuckling her gunbelt. Her hands were shaking, and her knees too. But it was from eagerness as much as nerves.

She intended at first just to lower her pants down around her knees. But she couldn’t get her legs far enough apart like that to straddle the log. She considered sitting down on his face with her feet up on his belly, maybe bracing herself with her hands behind her, over his head—but that wasn’t going to be comfortable, holding her balance, and the spurs on her boots might cut him up down there, if she wasn’t careful. So she went ahead and took off her boots and pulled her pants and underwear off completely. With her shirt hanging down loose to her midthighs, she still wasn’t actually exposed very much. Which was good.

“Righty-oh,” she said, “I’m ready now. Get ready yerself. You set?”

“All set,” he replied, “Lower away!”

She couldn’t help but chuckle some at that, as she swung her leg over his head and then squatted down a bit, to bring her crotch down on his mouth. She didn’t have to squat very much at all, to make the contact. His tongue was already sticking out and wiggling around, to receive her.

At first it was just a weird tickling feeling. Kind of gross. Not what she expected. But that changed pretty darn quick. “Whew,” she went, “Jesus.” It got nice and then it got nicer. Pretty soon it almost got too nice. Became real tough for her to stay still. She would bounce on her knees and kept jerking away from his mouth. Couldn’t help herself, couldn’t control it. Had to dig her toes down deep and tight into the leafy, prickly ground to anchor herself. She was glad she’d removed her boots, so she could do that. It was a nice feeling, in a funny way. Fed up through her tense trembling legs into the nicer feelings his tongue was giving her girlparts. “Easy now. Go easy.” She was talking to him like he was a horse. She even clicked her tongue at him, and then giggled. He giggled back, muffled beneath her. She felt his tongue slow down a little—but only for a few seconds. Then he sped it right back up like before. But she didn’t tell him to quit.

Except then she decided she wanted to turn herself around. When she straddled his head, she’d done it facing toward the top of it. So the rest of his bound body was behind her back, out of view. Ahead of her was nothing but his upstretched arms tied down and the rest of the log beyond them. She wanted to be able to see his body—and see his thing. Not sure why this suddenly became so appealing to her, as well as important, but it did. And she didn’t fight the impulse. So she swung herself around to face the other way, down the length of his body.

His pecker stood tall before her, twitching. She could see goo beading out from the tip and leaking down the top of the head, making it glisten. Molly decided she wanted to touch it. So she leaned forward and grabbed hold of it. Made him moan, when she squeezed it. Made her moan too, in response. Partly she was mimicking him—mocking him. How helpless and desperate his moan had sounded. But only partly. Because she was starting to feel the same way, if she was honest. Overwhelmed by the sensations. The passion. This was what passion felt like.

She wanted to hear him moan some more like that. She wanted him to make her moan some more the same way. So she pumped his manhood with her hand, and pinched one of his nipples at the same time with her other one, to see how he fancied that, while also grinding her crotch harder against his mouth and that speedy devious tongue of his, hard as she could press, and not just mashing herself downward but also sawing forward and back as well, to see what that would do—and once she tried that she couldn’t stop, because God oh Holy Christ that felt incredible when she did that.

He didn’t moan again, though, like she intended—instead he yelled. And she found she was yelling too. And then his pecker started spewing up in the air like a geyser. The stuff rained down mostly all over her forearm and his belly beneath it, but she also felt some splashing on her shoulders and the brim of her hat. She hoped the stuff wouldn’t leave stains on it.

Molly hadn’t come yet. She was almost there but not quite. It was gonna take her another minute or so. But then they were interrupted.

Gunshots. In the distance—but not a big distance. Not very far off at all. And then she heard horses neighing, and a girl scream. It was Swift. It could only be Swift.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Now of all times. Well, sure. Way of the fucking world.

She leaped off the boy, grabbing for her things. “What is it?” he said behind her, “What’s happening?”

She shushed him, tugging up her pants, cramming her feet into her boots. God, it took too long! Swift needed her and she couldn’t go until she got her fucking boots on and her belt buckled. But her hands were shaking too much and she also realized she needed a piss. Painfully. The urge hit her real bad, out of nowhere. Well damn. She was just gonna have to hold it.

“What about me?” he said, “Please don’t just leave me here helpless like this.”

That was exactly what she’d intended. But no, it was too damn harsh. She jerked the blindfold down off his eyes and loosened the knots around his hands. He would still have to undo the other ropes around his waist and his middle, by himself, once she was gone. “You get yerself out of here. Don’t let us catch ya round these parts again. Don’t let anybody else catch ya neither.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Don’t call me Ma’am.”

More shots and another high-pitched yell.

Molly straightened her hat and her black mask, drew both her pistols and ran towards the noise.

7.

“My name is Hamish Strake, and as you have probably surmised already, I’m the new sheriff in these parts.”

A big hulking bear of a man. His sideburns were bushy, and fiery red. His hat was black—never a good sign, and he was brandishing a walking stick, with a handle in the shape of an eagle head. He had six other men with him. They all looked like desperadoes, not lawmen. Filthy, shaggy, leering men in raggedy clothes. Half of which were solider uniforms, or the remains of them.

They had captured Swift, and now they were displaying her to Molly, with her hands and elbows bound behind her and—far more frightening—a noose around her neck. They’d pulled the rope tight enough to keep her suspended on her tiptoes. She didn’t look scared, Molly was proud to see, only furious.

They’d torn off her buckskins—hadn’t stripped her completely but darn near enough, the bastards. They’d pulled the buckskins down around her knees and left them bunched there. Two of the vile men were fondling her. One lovingly caressed her breasts and petted her bush while the other pig, behind her, leaned close over her shoulder to nibble at her earlobe. Swift was doing her best to utterly ignore everything they were doing to her.

Sheriff Strake pointed his cane at Molly. “Throw down your weapons and surrender. You’ve no choice. If you don’t give yourself up, I shall hang your friend, right now in front of you. The work of a moment.”

“Don’t do it, Molly!” cried Swift, “Don’t you do it!”

“You men” said the sheriff, “step away from the girl a moment.” After they did, he lashed her across both her bare breasts with his walking stick. She shrieked. Molly had never heard her make a sound like that—God, it was dreadful to hear. Because it was so pitiful. Molly couldn’t stand it.

“Last chance. Yield, or she hangs!”

“No, Molly! You mustn’t!”

“Shut up, bitch! I won’t tell you again!”

Again she was struck, same as before—the cane left livid red stripes over her breasts—and again she screamed like she was dying, but still right afterward she persisted in defying them, and trying to convince Molly to flee. It was unbearable! “Don’t listen to him! It’s no good! You can’t help me! Just go! Avenge me later!”

What the hell good would that be? “But you’ll be dead!”

“That’s right,” said the sheriff, “That’s the nub of it, yes sir.”

Molly dropped her guns.

Swift screamed as if she’d been hit again—but she hadn’t. The sheriff and his gang burst out into laughter. Then Swift let her head droop, and she moaned. That was a worse sound than any of her screams. It was a sound of absolute despair.

There was no need to explain, or there shouldn’t have been, but somehow she couldn’t help trying. After hearing that awful moan, Molly felt a desperate need to justify her decision. “I just couldn’t do it, Swift. Can’t just abandon you to die. How could you imagine I would think of such a thing?”

“But now he has us both! Now we’re both doomed! You fool! How could you be so foolish?”

It had been foolish, on the face of it. Swift was absolutely right. But Molly clung to the fact they were both still alive. That was the main thing. And it meant there was still some hope. It was slim, against these odds—but things might turn around. Some chance might present itself. She just had to keep herself ready for it. She’d given in to the men—but she must not give in to despair. Even if things got very bad, in the next few minutes. And they would.

“I’ve had enough experience with villains like you” pronounced the sheriff, “to know you’ll have other weapons secreted about your person. Knives and things. Perhaps even a derringer or two.”

“No I don’t,” Molly said, “I swear.”

“I’m no idiot, so I shan’t take your word for it.” He was right not to do so, for she was lying. She had no derringer, but she did have some knives hidden in her boots, and another smaller one in a sheath in the small of her back, out of sight under her shirt. “I’m going to need you to undress yourself now. Completely. It’s the only way we can make damn sure—you must strip to your skin. Do that now, Molly. And do it quick.”

“But … can’t you just search me in the ordinary way? All you have to do is pat me down.”

He shook his head. “I don’t like the thought of putting myself or any of my good men here at such risk yet, by getting too close to you. Not ’til we’re certain you haven’t any means left to strike out at us. And I prefer the thoroughness of this method.”

“I won’t do it. It’s not right of you as a lawman to ask such a thing. I defy you.”

“Well, if you won’t cooperate and remove your things yourself, then I’ll be compelled to have my men do it themselves instead, regardless of the risk. But they’ll be rough about it, when they do the deed. And either way, you’re going to end up the same, which is to say, stark naked. The choice is yours. Strip yourself bare, or be stripped bare by my men. I’ll ask you one last time—which shall it be?”

“You leave me a choice that’s no choice at all. I’ll—I’ll have to do it myself, then.”

“Very good. Get to it. Start with your boots. And then don’t you dare stop until you’ve taken off everything. Yes, before you ask—that includes your underthings, and even your socks.”

“Even my socks? But what do you think I could hide in my socks?”

“I wouldn’t venture to guess.”

“This is nothing to do with searching me for weapons! You’re only doing this to torment me, for your amusement! You might be a peace officer, but you are wicked and black-hearted!”

“I’d advise you to watch your tongue, bandit girl.”

“I’ll not. You are a villain, sirrah! I may be a criminal and a sinner, but at least I can confess it honestly. How can you bear to wear that badge on your shirt, and act as you do? What of your oath? Have you no honor or conscience at all? Men like you are a perversion of everything that star is supposed to stand for!”

“Fine words, Molly. You should have quit the bandit trade and run for congress—in fact the careers have far more similarities than differences. But let’s not delay matters any longer with pointless conversation. You seek to shame me—but I’ll not relent! Do as you were instructed!”

“I shall. But one day you’ll answer for it. I hope you know that.”

“Oh, I do. I assure you. Problem is, I can’t bring myself to care. I’ve no fear of Hell, you see. It won’t be any uglier than this world in which we live. I’m certain of that.”

“It’s only as ugly as it is because of men like you!”

“True, true. But I am as the Lord created me, if such a fellow exists. No more stalling now. Get moving! Strip!” He fired his gun into the air, for emphasis.

“I’m doing it. I’m doing it.” But she didn’t start with her boots, as he’d ordered. Instead she started to pull off her mask.

“No, no,” he said, “Stop. Leave the mask alone. I’ll let you keep that piece. You needn’t remove that.”

She was genuinely puzzled by this decision. “Why?”

He shrugged. “We already know who you are. But you’re right, there’s more to it. In fact, the mask is your real face, isn’t it? Without that mask, you’re just an ordinary girl. Nobody would realize you’re a criminal. Nobody would be able to tell how bad you are, if they didn’t know any better. But I do. I know your true nature—so keep your mask on, Sheridan Shooter. But only that.”

So that was what she did. She began to weep, and to whimper. She couldn’t stop herself, once it started. That shamed her far more than her nakedness.

“She’s much more bashful than her partner, isn’t she, boys? Listen to her carry on like that. Look at how she’s blushing now! God, she’s turned darn near purple!”

It was true, she was painfully shy about her body. She could not maintain the same aloof dignity of Swift. Molly thought herself too scrawny, and she didn’t like the freckles on her skin. Her chest was too flat, especially compared to Swift’s. And she’d never been completely naked in front of men before. Not even Horace Coal—they’d kept most of their clothes on, when they made love in the dark of the night, and under a blanket. How horrid that the first men to stand in judgment of all her charms, such as she had, should end up being vile sneering rascals like these. No better than jackals.

“I’ve done what you wanted. You’ve had your fun and humiliated me. You’ve taken my knives. May I put my things back on now?”

“I’m afraid not. Hold your hands out towards me now.”

“Why?”

“Two reasons. One, I don’t want you to keep covering your privates like you’re trying to do. And two, I’m going to tie your hands. We’re going to string you up on your tiptoes, right next to your partner here.”

“You’re going to hang us? Just like that?”

“Not at all. If that were the case, I’d be tying this rope around your neck, wouldn’t I? Not your wrists, silly girl. I’ve something else in mind for you. Grab the other end of the line, boys. Pull her up tight now. There you go. Yes. That looks fine. Very fine indeed.”

“You bastards! Oh! It hurts! Oh you bastards it hurts! It’s tearing my arms! Oh, it’s too high! Not so high! Please! I can’t keep my balance! I can’t! Oh God! Let me down! Let me down! I can’t take this! Please!”

“Oh hush, don’t be such a crybaby. You’re supposed to be tougher than this, Sheridan Shooter. You bandits never live up to your grandiose reputations. It saddens me.”

They hadn’t strung her up the same way as Swift. She was dangling from her wrists, instead of from the neck. Her arms were stretched as high as they could reach over her head. So tight that though she was a fair deal shorter than Swift, their faces were level now, eye to eye, when she looked over at her. Usually her eyes were level with the tip of Swift’s nose. Her feet were barely touching the ground at all, just her tiptoes scraping the dirt. Not enough to hold herself still and take any of the weight off her poor arms and wrists and shoulders. Her entire naked body kept constantly swaying and swinging around, and spinning in circles too.

“Oh God! What do you want? Why are you doing this to me? This is torture! You’re torturing me! You have no right! This isn’t lawful! You’re supposed to be a lawman! Let me down! Please! Just a little!”

“This isn’t torture, Molly. This is punishment. Now you’re gonna answer for all your transgressions, Sheridan Shooter. Now you’re gonna learn once and for all why girls like you should stay at home where it’s safe, and behave themselves, and mind their manners.”

“You’ve no right to do this to me! There’s supposed to be a fair trial in a court of law. This is a subversion of justice! You have no authority to do this! I’ve had no trial!”

“This is your trial, Molly. But like they had in the old days, of knights and castles. You ever read about those times? Maybe you didn’t get enough schooling. A trial by ordeal, is what they called this.”

“You bastard! You scoundrel!”

“It’s not safe out here in the wild. You should know that by now, living the life you lead. If you live a bad life, bad things happen to you. It’s just a matter of time. Now your time has come.”

“No! No!” But he was raising his arm, lifting his stick … “Don’t you dare!” Still, he held back, making her wait for it. Drawing out the anticipation. Making her shiver all over with dread. She nearly lost control of her bladder. “No! Oh no!”

“Yes,” he answered, “Oh yes!” And then finally swung his arm down, and the stick.

CRACK! Striking straight across both her clenched buttocks, like a bolt of lightning.

“Haayoowwhhrr!” she screamed, “Holy God Almighty! Help me Jesus! Jesus!”

And there went her bladder, inevitably. Right at the very strike.

She had known this would be bad, obviously—but it turned out so much more terrible than she was prepared for. She knew in an instant she would not be able to endure this punishment—not as well as Swift had been doing. Her spirit would break—it was already breaking, it might already be shattered utterly, after only that first blow. Even the thought of another was too much to stand. “I can’t do this! I can’t take this! This can’t happen to me!” She might even go mad. She was going to disgrace herself. She was going to start bawling, like a child. Not just weeping anymore but absolutely bawling. No, she realized she’d already started.

“Courage, Molly,” Swift urged, beside her, “We must be strong. We must endure.”

But she couldn’t—no chance. The second strike proved that to her. CRACK! “GUUhaaarrhh!” It was irrefutable. “God no! I can’t! It’s too terrible! I don’t have the power! Not for this!” CRACK! “Huhhnn! Please! Please no more!”

Again, Swift tried to stop her. “That won’t do any good—you’ll only urge them on. Scream as much as you need—but you mustn’t plead with them.” And then she got a lash herself. “Yuuhhuuhhnn!”

Molly knew she was right—but she couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t hold back the pleas, once they started pouring out of her. Not against this. Not naked. “I beg you! I’m begging! I’ll do anything! Anything! Mercy! Have mercy on me! Please! Please be merciful! I’ll do anything you want!”

“Is that so?” replied the sheriff, “Anything I want, eh?”

“Anything! I swear! I swear it!”

“Don’t, Molly. You mustn’t!” CRACK! “Nuuhhrr!”

Molly got another herself. This time, the sheriff struck her across her tiny tits instead of her ass again. “GOD! Dear God! Please no! Please! PLEASE! Ohhuuhuhhuuhoohh …”

“I bet you regret talking so saucy to me before, don’tcha?” asked the sheriff, “Bet you wish you hadn’t taken on such a high and mighty tone.”

“Yes! Yes, I regret it! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Forgive me!”

“Bet you wish you’d never chosen the life of crime. Bet you wish you’d been a good girl.”

“Yes! I regret everything! I do! I’ll be a good girl from now on, I swear! I swear to you!” She hated having to say these things, of course. But they had to be said. Even worse, though—she believed them, in that moment. Almost. Not completely. But almost he’d made her believe those awful things about herself—the whipping forced her to accept them. No argument was possible, against the agony of the whipping. “I’m so sorry! I’ll do anything you want! To earn forgiveness!”

“Listen to me carefully, bandit girl. Widen your legs for me now—open them as wide as you can stretch. Now stick your ass out towards me. Yes, I know you’re afraid to. But do as you’re told. If you don’t stick it out like I’m telling you, I’m gonna lash it again. Harder than before. But if you’re a good girl and obey, I won’t use my stick on it anymore. Instead I’m gonna stuff my cock up in there. What do you think about that?”

“Oh God. Dear God. Why is this happening to me?”

“Are you gonna cooperate, like you promised, or do I gotta thrash you some more?”

“Don’t do it, Molly. Don’t make it so easy for him. Try to hold on.”

“I can’t, Swift. I’m sorry but I can’t. They’re gonna do it to us, anyway. They can do anything they want. There’s no stopping it. What’s the point of trying to fight?” She widened her legs as much as she could, as she was ordered, and bent at the waist as much as the rope allowed her to—which wasn’t much at all—to stick out her ass for the sheriff. She could hear him opening up his trousers, but she didn’t look over her shoulder at him. She didn’t want to see the cock that he would soon be stuffing into her bottom.

She wondered if God was punishing them, because of what they’d done to the other bandit. But that didn’t seem fair, because this was so much more terrible than what they actually did—even so, it was still the same kind of crime. He would have felt the same despair and horror she was feeling, at least at the beginning, when Swift was threatening his cock with her knife. Maybe if she hadn’t let Swift do that, their luck wouldn’t have gone bad like this.

I’m going to be raped now, she thought. She’d been fearing a moment like this most of her life, and now it was happening. I’m going to know what it’s like to be raped. It’s so unfair. How did I let these men reduce me to this? I don’t deserve this. Or do I? All she had left to hope for was that getting fucked up her ass wouldn’t hurt quite as much as being whipped. Not such a great tradeoff, was it?

But then a voice said: “Stand away from them, you dogs!” She didn’t recognize the voice, not right off. She should have, but she didn’t.

The men must not have listened. Somebody must have made a go for their weapon. Because shooting started. A whole lot of shooting.

8.

By chance or design, she’d never know, a bullet severed the rope over her head. She dropped flat on her face in the dirt, but had the presence of mind not to stay there. She scrambled away on all fours, heading for the closest bushes, fast as she could. Her hands were still tied together, but at least they were in front of her. And she was able to grab a gun off the ground, when one of the sheriff’s men fell dead directly in her path, with a bloody hole in his forehead. Molly crawled right over top the corpse without slowing down, just scooping up his weapon as she went.

The battle that followed was a lengthy, drawn-out, awkward affair. The sheriff and all of his followers but two had managed to scatter into the surrounding woods. So the only one left out in the open clearing under that one tree in the middle was Swift, all by herself. Still noosed to her branch and helpless, teetering on tiptoe. She stayed there through the whole fight, and what followed. Any of the baddies could have shot her dead, if they’d just taken a moment to do so. But nobody bothered. Well, the sheriff wasn’t really interested in killing them. If he did that, he couldn’t keep playing with them the way he’d been doing.

For a spell, everybody just blazed away in all directions, from their various hiding spots—Molly included. Everyone was shooting blind. Including her would-be rescuer, who she realized now was the boy bandit. He hadn’t fled like she told him. He must have snuck up behind her to help.

Too bad he hadn’t intervened a few minutes earlier. But she shouldn’t fuss, in that fashion.

Eventually all of them started crawling and creeping around in the undergrowth, hunting for each other. It would have been smarter to say put and keep quiet, but Molly found she couldn’t hold still any longer. She was too angry and her ass hurt too much. Her principal motivation was not revenge, you may or may not be surprised to learn, but the hope of getting herself new clothes. She had a spare shirt and some longjohns in her saddlebags, if she could make it to where the horses were tethered. Without getting shot along the way, or when she got there. If any of their enemies had any brains at all, they would lie in wait for her by the horses. So it would be smarter not to try this. But it had started to rain, all the sudden, really hard. It was ice cold, and it was turning the ground into yucky mud. She simply couldn’t bear to stay out naked in this.

She still hadn’t been able to get her wrists untied. Tried using her teeth on the knot, but that didn’t work.

And when she checked, there was only one bullet left in her gun. Damn.

She crawled around a tree trunk and found Sheriff Strake standing there, with his back to her, clutching a wound in his arm and breathing hard. She should have been able to hear him before she saw him, except she was breathing just as hard herself. She lifted the gun, but her hands were shaking too much to get off a good shot, and she had made an involuntary noise when she saw him. She went “Oh!” in surprise. And he spun around too fast for her. Stamped down on her hands and forced the gun into the mud. It went off, but without hitting him. Her only shot, wasted.

“No! Dammit! No!”

“Thought you had me there—but you just blew your chance, Molly. Let go of the gun. Or I’ll crush your hands with my boot.”

She let go of the gun, moaning in despair, and he took his foot off her hands and kicked the gun away.

“Now raise up on your knees. Hold your hands up so I can reach the end of your rope.”

She didn’t move. She kept herself flat on belly. Her sniveling face pressed in the mud. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t bear seeing his expression, and having him see hers.

She didn’t think he still had his stick, but he did. It had been propped next to him against the tree trunk. He snatched it up and lashed her ass with it.

“Yawwhharrhh!” She would have to obey him. Whatever he ordered. She pushed herself up on her knees and held up her bound hands. But she kept her face turned away and her eyes shut. She felt him tugging the loose end of the rope. Where the bullet had split it, the remaining part was still long enough for him to tie it around another of the tree trunks. At least this position was less painful than the previous way she’d been tied. Felt more humiliating, though. Hard to believe that was possible, but somehow it was.

She thought she was saved! And now she was captured again! She’d never felt this horrible in her life. Not even when her family was killed. She wanted to die.

“Now you wait right there for me like a good girl,” he told her, “While I find this other fucker, whoever he is. After I kill him, I’m gonna come back here, and you are gonna suck me cock. You think about that, while I’m gone. I’m still gonna take your ass, by the way. But you’re gonna suck my cock, first.”

She didn’t respond. She still couldn’t look at him. But she knew she’d have to do what he wanted, when he returned. No getting out of it again. Oh God.

She heard the sheriff turn away, and then there was a gunshot. She heard him go “Oof!” and then topple over. He wasn’t dead, though. He thrashed around in the muck, groaning.

Now she could look at him. He was clutching his belly, gutshot. The boy bandit stood over him with his pistol.

“You shouldn’t have hit her again like that, you son of a bitch. I wouldn’t have been able to find you if you hadn’t made her yell again.” He kicked away the sheriff’s gun, the same way the sheriff had kicked hers away just a moment before. “The name is Wyleigh Wildman, if you were wondering.”

“Christ you bastard … Christ … You’ve killed me … Christ …”

“You’re not dead yet. I’ll let Molly finish you off.” He stepped around the sheriff to untie her hands. “Don’t worry about the other guys,” he said, while he was prying at the knots. “I just saw two of them shoot each other by mistake. The rest have ran off. Here you are.” He was offering her his pistol.

She took it and pointed it at the sheriff’s gasping face. But then she lowered the barrel. “Let him die slow. And I want him to watch something while he’s doing that.” She looked up at Wyleigh. She was still down on her knees. “Take your cock out.”

“What? Now?” He looked at her like he was genuinely afraid he’d arrived too late and she’d lost her sanity. Probably she had.

“Don’t argue. Do it. You just rescued me. Now I’m gonna reward you.”

“You don’t need to—”

“I want to. And I want the sheriff to watch me doing it, while he dies. And anyways I was gonna do it for you before, when this asshole interrupted us and ruined everything. Let’s pretend that never happened. Let’s pick up right where we left off, like all this horrible shit never even happened. Can we do that, please? Can we try?”

“Whatever you want, whatever you need.” She was afraid the boy might let them down, having trouble getting hard again, like he had earlier under pressure. But this time that didn’t end up being a problem. “Oh yes. Oh dear Lord yessss. That is good. This is damn good, Molly Sheridan. Does this make me an official new member of your gang, from now on?”

“Uhhmm-hmm,” she murmured. Why not? He’d earned his place.

“Christ,” groaned the sheriff, “Uhhuugghhnnn. Christ. I’ve shit myself. I can feel it. Shoot me, damn you. Someone. Ohhoohh shit this hurts. Jesus Christ. End this. It hurts too much.”

“Are you watching, sheriff? Are you seeing this? God, if you could feel this—you can’t imagine. You really can’t. And I didn’t have to tie her down. She chose me! But I’m handsomer than you are.”

“Fuck you! Fuck you both!”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m gonna fuck her all right. If you hang on long enough, you might get to see some of that. So long as I can hold on long enough too. Can’t promise you that, though.”

Bit presumptuous of him, thought Molly. But as she considered the matter, well, perhaps … Anything to take her mind off her aching ass for a few minutes. God, she hoped there were no scars on it.

“Christ—bastard—please kill me.”

“I already have. The dying is up to you. Oh God! She just started sucking me even harder! Ohhuuh!”

“Hey! Hey!” That was Swift, yelling from the clearing, “I can hear you all! Don’t forget about me! Someone come cut me loose! Hey! Dammit! Molly!”

Shit. Molly should have thought of that. She went to pull her face away, but Wyleigh caught hold of her shoulder and her hair and stopped her.

“Just a minute!” he called back to Swift, “Just wait one … more … minute …”