Fiction: Power Couple

Holly Valentine let out a big sigh. She was stripped naked and bent over a stool. Her ankles and wrists were tied to the legs of the stool. The duct tape they used to secure her hands was thick and industrial strength. She had been bound by experts. Not even an ace reporter like her was getting free any time soon.

“I am very disappointed,” a voice said. Despite her predicament, Holly felt a shiver of excitement. That cultured distinct voice was world famous. It was Branna Kolie, actress and humanitarian. Even though Holly had been captured by Branna’s own security forces on Branna’s African estate, Holly didn’t think she would actually meet the beautiful movie star herself.

“It is a sad statement about today’s media,” another voice said. Holly’s pussy instantly became wet. The voice belonged to Angelus Witt, the handsome movie star husband of Branna and world hunger activist. Holly never thought she would be in the same zip code as Angelus, much less butt-naked in the same room with him.

“Why won’t the paparazzi leave us alone?” said Branna, the model-turned-actress-turned-United Nations-spokeswoman-turned-one-woman-advocate-for-education, poverty reduction and civil rights-turned A-List-celebrity-marriage-partner. “We adopted a poor child from a little known African province and we simply don’t want him exposed to tabloids. Is that so much to ask?”

Branna walked in front of Holly. Holly whimpered at the sight of Branna’s famous pouty lips. The redhead reporter was 80% straight but she would happily move to a gay marriage friendly state if she could have Brianna’s lips on her pussy one night a month.

“He’s just a four year old kid,” Branna said.

Holly’s reporter instincts overcame her lust and allowed her to respond.

“With all due respect, your new adopted child is not just a kid,” Holly said.

“What do you mean by that?” Angelus said. The ruggedly handsome star stepped into Holly’s view. Holly felt her thighs clench as she looked at Angelus’ dreamy blue eyes. Cripes, she had a sudden urge to mount his face.

“Is this because he’s Somalian?” Branna said.

“He’s got wings!” Holly snapped. “I saw them! Big feathery wings growing out of his back! A circle of light is around his head! When I took a picture of him, my camera melted and I had to pop the memory card out! Just looking at the kid brings tears to my eyes! That isn’t some poor orphan; you found some kind of divine baby from heaven!”

Branna and Angelus looked at each other. “He’s still an orphan,” Angelus said.

“You found an angel!” Holly said. “That is news! Do you have any idea how big this is?”

Branna grabbed Holly’s hair. She wrapped the long red strands in her fist and jerked Holly’s head up. Holly gasped as she saw the icy steel in Branna’s eyes.

“He is a child, and he will not become some sort of religious catalyst!” Branna said. “He might be a genetic mutation, he might be the last survivor of some lost race or he might actually have descended from Heaven but I don’t give a shit! Walter is just a kid and he needs a mother and a father! He doesn’t need a fucking media circus!”

Angelus squatted down till he was eye level with Holly. “The orphanage demanded a lot of money for him. I don’t know where they found him, but they just saw him as a commodity. Branna and I know how that is. We know what it is like to be used. So we adopted him and we are going to give Walter the best normal life a winged kid who sometimes heals small animals can have. Do you understand?”

“Fuck,” Holly said. “It is against my principles to help cover something up, but it just a kid. Okay, you can have my memory card. I hid it by the pond, where the giraffes eat.”

Angelus smiled. “I knew you would see reason.”

“We’re still punishing her, right?” Branna said.

“Punish?” Holly asked.

Angelus shrugged. It was an amazingly boyish gesture for the millionaire actor to make. “You did invade our home and take pictures of Walter. Your contrition is nice, but a punishment does seem appropriate.”

“Plus it makes great foreplay,” Branna said. Her fingernails scratched down Holly’s bare back. “Punishing paparazzi has really helped our marriage.”

“What kind of punishment?” Holly said.

“You know, the painful kind,” Angelus said.

Before Holly could respond, Branna pressed a ball gag to Holly’s mouth. The ball gag forced Holly’s jaws apart as Branna strapped the leather around Holly’s head. Holly recognized the gag as the same one used in the Branna movie, ‘Grave Robber’. Holly was actually a little excited that it might be the same gag that had been in Branna’s mouth.

While Branna did that, Angelus stood up and walked behind Holly. The reporter’s mind raced. She knew that ever since Angelus had starred in that gritty movie, ‘Kill Club’, the actor had developed a taste for extreme sports. What punishments would they inflict? Hot pokers? Poisonous snakes? Conservative talk radio?

A fast slap on her ass gave her the answer. Angelus’ hand smacked into the curves of her ass with bad boy authority. The blow was so hard that Holly nearly fell forward on the stool. Only Branna’s hand in her hair kept her upright.

Holly also almost climaxed from that slap. Angelus Witt was slapping her ass!

“You can do better than that,” Branna said.

Angelus laughed. “I’m getting warmed up.”

The second hit to Holly’s ass was much harder. So was the third, the fourth and the fifth. Angelus was wailing on her ass like she was every tabloid who ever combined the names of a married couple. The action star slapped her ass like she was the consumer public that didn’t like art films. Most of all, he slapped her ass like she deserved it.

Each blow sent shockwaves through her body. Her poor ass took the brunt of the slaps but the force traveled her body. Her pale tits jiggled off the side of the stool seat. Her wrists and ankles pulled at the duct tape but they were going nowhere. She kept trying to bite down on the ball gag but the unrelenting rubber forced her mouth open. The stool seat was becoming soaked with Holly’s desire, reminding Holly of how insane this situation was.

Branna reached down and grabbed a tit. Her fingers were surprisingly strong as she mauled Holly’s breast. Holly had forgotten that Branna had performed all the stunts on ‘Grave Robber’ herself.

“Angelus thinks he’s tough,” Branna whispered to Holly. “But he has never received a spanking from a group of models high on coke and Japanese diet pills. Once he has your ass nice and tender, then it will be my turn to punish you.”

Holly felt her orgasm come wonderfully close before the pain of the spanking drove it away.

“I am going to own your ass,” Branna whispered. “I am going to take my favorite brush and give your bottom the beating of a lifetime. I’m going to finger myself while I do it, and you know the worse part?”

Holly shook her head.

“You won’t see it,” Branna said. “I am going to finger my pussy and you won’t see any of it.”

Holly felt despair wash through her and oddly enough, she almost climaxed again.

The spanking stopped. Holly almost didn’t notice at first. Her ass certainly hurt enough that spanking it was almost redundant.

Branna let go of her hair. Holly let her head relax for split second before another grip yanked her head back up. Now she was looking into Angelus’ face.

“I hope you are learning your lesson,” Angelus said.

Holly tried to swear her apologies but the gag muted her into an incoherent balle.

“Uh oh, Branna’s got the hair brush,” Angelus said. “She only does that when she wants to masturbate during a spanking. I should warn you, this is going to hurt.”

WHACK! It did hurt. The brush impacted into Holly’s already tender ass like a meteor. No, like a falling star. Holly tried to scream but the gag silenced her, reducing her cries of distress into a faint moan of acceptance. There would be no escape.

The hair brush returned to Holly’s ass. Each cheek of her buttock was struck in turn. Around and round the paddle struck and no inch of Holly’s red ass was spared. With divine precision, the hair brush set Holly’s ass aflame with heat and shame.

Worse was the idea that Branna was masturbating. She knew it was no idle bluff. Heck, Branna was known to wear her brother’s semen in a vial around her neck and she kissed her mother with tongue at an award’s show. The famous humanitarian and adopter of orphans was well known as a kinky bitch. Holly never thought married life would tame Branna.

Holly tried to turn her head but it was no use. Holly struggle against the duct tape but there was no release. Angelus kept a grip on her hair. She was forced to look straight ahead as Branna abused Holly’s ass while simultaneously abusing herself.

“I bet you would be great at sucking cock,” Angelus said.

Holly frantically communicated that she was as best as the gag would allow.

“You know, Branna and I have an open marriage,” Angelus said. “We’ve added men, women, and couples to our love making. Heck, we once had sex with an entire Eskimo village. That’s how we roll.”

Holly trembled with sexual energy. The hair brush continued to berate and enflame her ass.

“Someone as adventurous as you would make for a fun night I think,” Angelus said. “Would you like that?”

Holly nodded her head as much as Angelus’ grip would allow. She tried to speak her desire through the frustrating ball gag. She pleaded with her eyes and begged with her clenching thighs. She could think of nothing she wanted more.

“Okay,” Angelus said. “Oh wait, you tried to take a picture of my Walter. So I guess the answer is no.”

Holly howled with frustration. Behind her, the paddling stopped. A different kind of howl came from unseen Branna. The cry of her climax did delicious things to Holly’s much neglected sex.

“The guards will let you out,” Angelus said. “I have to go now to fuck my unbelievably amazing wife.”

Holly moaned with denied pleasure.

Dirty Movies: Sucker Punch

Sucker Punch is an awful movie. You probably have heard that by now. What is really amazing is that it is so bad that I keep thinking about it. I dissect it as I try to identify every little thing wrong with it. My core problem is that the story is shit and I have literally seen better character development from stories told by children on the playground. It is stunningly awful.

Phantom of the Pulp wrote a really great review of it where he identifies all of the major issues. His identification of why games shot like video games doesn't work is dead on, but this other observation is my favorite takeaway,

"Sucker Punch is the Barbie crotch of action movies. It has no taste. It doesn't kick or moan when you stroke it. It doesn't get wet. It doesn't get nasty. And when you suck it, it tastes like plastic."

So why do I bring up this awful movie at all? I have been in a creative personal slump. Work stress and health stress has eaten away at my creativity and like all insecure artists, I started doubting my ability to tell a story.

Then I see a trashy abortion like Sucker Punch and realize, "Fuck, even a Internet porn writer like myself could do better shit than this."

Terrible shit is an important part of an artist's diet. We all have doubts and we all worry about our skill levels but when you see a fucking mess like this mess, the artist realizes that he isn't nearly as bad as he thought he was. In fact, movies aren't just proof that a director has less talent than the artist. Production companies signed off on this. An editor worked on it. Actors looked at the script and thought it was keen. Hundreds of people worked on this abomination of story telling and none of them could fix it.

Heck, do this one little exercise. Watch Sucker Punch and then come up with ways to make it a better movie in one sentence or less. You can do it! It's easy and it makes you feel like a genius compared to the writer of this schlock.

I give it Zero Pam Griers out of Five.

*Picture is of Jamie Chung, the only character I liked, who incidentally didn't have a personality but did have a role as a pilot in all of the dream sequences which I guess makes her the most developed character in the movie.

Fiction: Tight Security

Katie Delman stripped off the last of her clothes. She placed her lab coat, stockings, dress, underwear and even her glasses in the sliding drawer. Somewhere, trained specialists would soon go through her possessions and search for spy devices, microscopic robots and possible quantum venereal diseases.

At Von Madd Laboratories, they took security very seriously. On Floor 23 of the erotic science laboratory, they took security fucking seriously.

Katie stepped into the security chamber. Bright lights surveyed her body. She kept her eyes open for the retinal scan.

This time she didn’t jump when the robot tentacles came out. Two of the tentacles coiled around her breasts. She groaned as the tentacles tightened around each breast. Tighter and tighter they squeezed while the tip of each tentacle attached itself to her nipples. Suction pressure pulled on her nipples.

“Breasts constriction and nipple reaction matches employee, Katie Delman” a voice declared.

A tentacle came for her mouth. Katie opened her lips as the smooth rubber tip entered her mouth. She relaxed her throat as the rubber pushed deep into her throat. Just when she was about to gag, the tentacle pulled out.

“Throat depth matches employee, Katie Delman,” the voice declared.

Katie took a deep breathe. She was familiar with the next phase. It was always best to just relax and take it.

A squirt of warm liquid splattered against her ass. A rubber tip pressed against her anus. The warm lubricant aided the tentacle as it slowly pushed her ass open. Katie leaned forward to help, relaxing her ass so the probe could go as far as it needed to.

Katie’s ass expanded around the probe. It was going deeper this time. Katie bit her lip as the probe pushed, prodded and forced it’s way into her ass. Katie moaned. It had to stop as some point, didn’t it?

“Anal penetration has exceeded penetration on file for employee, Katie Delman,” the voice. “Applying Von Madd’s coefficient for natural anal experience, penetration is found to be within acceptable identifiers for employee, Katie Delman.”

Katie let out a sigh of relief. If she was rejected, then she would have to go through the test again. Katie wasn’t sure if she would be able to sit if she had to take it a second time.

The last tentacle went to her sex. Katie spread her legs as far as she could and still stay standing. The metal tip was already vibrating before it slipped into the folds of her pussy.

“Holy shit!” Katie said. She had worked long enough at Von Madd Laboratories to recognize the vibrator as a Type VI Hanzo. The women in testing nicknamed it the Thigh-Quaker. Powerful vibrations emanated from the tentacle and sensitized her pussy in seconds. She dripped onto the floor with instant arousal.

Katie grabbed her breasts. She had to hold onto something. She bit her lip. As the wonderful tentacle thrust and fucked inside her pussy, Katie hallucinated random sexual images. She pictured Dr. Von Madd eating her sex. She visualized horses fucking. For reasons that only her therapist knew, she imagined a rapid game of checkers.

Katie Delman climaxed. Her cry of pleasure filled the security booth. As soon as she came, the tentacle withdrew. She held onto her breasts as her knees shook.

“Time to orgasm within expected predicted parameters for employee, Katie Delman.” The voice said.

The door opened. Katie let go of her breasts and tried to walk. On shaky legs, she walked into a room where her clothes were waiting. She sat down on the bench and began the slow process of redressing. Behind her, the security booth closed to prepare for the next one to come through.

Katie shook her head. “It is amazing how much security they put into protecting new ideas for erotica.”

Fiction: Public Servant

“Shit like this is not supposed to work,” Holly Valentine said. Yet here she was, outside a motel room on the outskirts of the state capitol. She was minutes away from having an interview with the most controversial governor the state had ever had.

Governor Alan Runner had campaigned on the usual things that Republicans ran on. He swore to cut down government, make jobs and kill any terrorists that he saw. Two days into office, Governor Runner had unveiled a budget plan that fired teachers, made government employees legalized indentured servants and gave a massive bailout to Victoria Khan, the richest billionaire in the state. What the bailout was for was never really made clear, but the Republican controlled state legislature passed it into law.

Flush with victory, the Governor wasn’t taking interviews. Teachers were protesting the capitol and state employees were filing for permission to leave their work pens. Governor Runner was the most sought out interview subject in America and he wasn’t answering anyone’s calls.

That’s when Holly Valentine, reporter for INX, did something that shouldn’t have worked. Out of frustration and perhaps the influence of three Mai Tai’s, Holly had called the Governor’s press secretary and claimed to be Victoria Khan. Affecting a ludicrous Austrian accent, Holly managed to bluff her way to the Governor himself.

“Arrangements have been made. Meet me at the Nap and Tickle, room twenty-three, at midnight.” Governor Runner had said. That was it.

So here Holly was. She was outside room twenty-three wearing a big trench coat, a wide brimmed hat and a pair of sunglasses at night. The trench coat couldn’t hide her immense bosom peaking out the top. The wide hat couldn’t contain her long flaming hair that followed her like angel fire. The sunglasses did hide her lovely eyes, but not the cocky smirk on her full lips. The one thing that was cleverly concealed was the tape recorder that was threaded through out her coat. All good reporters have coats wired for digital sound.

Holly Valentine knocked on the door.

“I am ready!” spoke a voice. It was unmistakably Governor Runner.

Holly opened the door. She almost closed it back again. Inside was a man, stripped naked except for a leather strap around his eyes. He was glistening with oil over his surprisingly frame. He was kneeling on the floor, knees spread wide with his back straight and head lifted high. His cock was trapped inside some devious steel contraption.

“Greetings, Ms. Kahn,” Governor Runner said.

Holly took a deep breath. She had expected to argue and fight for an interview once the Governor realized she was a reporter. Instead, this politician was giving her the access of a lifetime.

“Hello,” Holly said. She coughed as she realized she had forgotten to do an Austrian accent. “I mean, Hello, Governor.”

The Governor trembled. “Ms. Kahn, you have never honored me with my title before. This unworthy worm is grateful!”

Oh boy. Holly tried to recall everything she learned about Sadism when she went undercover at the NRA. She had to get into character and fast.

“Silence, worm!” Holly snapped.

Governor Runner trembled. His cock throbbed helplessly inside its steel cage.

“I have been watching your progress with the budget bill,” Holly said. Her fake accent thickened with each word. “I am moderately pleased.”

“Thank you, Ms. Kahn!” the Governor said. “I did everything you asked. I destroyed the Teacher’s Union for giving your daughter a ‘C’. I also enslaved the state employees so they will quit and you can replace them with your imported Indian workers that you will subcontract to the state.”

It was Holly’s turn to tremble. The Governor’s confession was being recorded by her coat. This could be the scoop of the century! Well, at least till some actor went crazy and said stupid shit.

“Does that please you, Ms. Kahn?” the Governor asked.

“Yes,” Holly said with lust. The lust didn’t need to be faked. This was Pulitzer material.

“But,” Holly said with measured venom. “I am concerned that your methods make enrage the peasants.”

“Fuck them!” Governor Runner said. “I will personally strangle anyone who tries to stand in our way!”

Another delicious tremor of excitement ran through Holly. Few things aroused her like a politician digging a deeper hole for himself. She stood next to the kneeling Governor and ran her fingers over her thinning hair.

“And what about the voters?” Holly asked. “Some people are talking recall.”

“Fuck the voters!” Governor Runner said. “I will sodomize each and every voter who tries any of that recall shit!

Holly moaned. She gripped his hair and tilted his head back. Her panties were soaked.

“And my bailout?” Holly asked.

The Governor whimpered. “I know you asked for seventeen billions dollars, but the state budget only had room for 16 billion. You deserve every penny. You are wealthy and powerful. Every cent the state has should belong to your glory.”

“Damn right,” Holly said. She opened her coat. The reporter should really take her info and run but shit, this was intoxicating.

Holly lifter her skirt and pulled her panties to the side. Some people say that power was an aphrodisiac, but watching power incriminate itself was better than a vibrator and a Hugh Jackman marathon.

She swung her leg over Governor Runner’s body. The politician lifted his head and opened his mouth. He had done this before. As Holly stood over him, Governor Runner ate her cunt.

Because he thought he was licking the cunt of his principal backer, Governor Runner ate the hell out of Holly. The reporter had a new appreciation for why the rich and powerful bought politicians. A pussy eating like this was worth a few million dollars. The Governor used his tongue. He was damn careful with his teeth. Even though his neck was at an awkward angle, he opened wide and tried to reach deep inside Holly. The man even paid just the right amount of attention to her clit.

“Give me that tongue like you gave me a completely unnecessary bailout!” Holly said.

Governor Runner licked faster.

“Make me come as millions of state employees lose their expensive benefits!” Holly moaned.

Governor Runner licked harder.

“Eat that pussy, you paid for sack of shit bought politician!” Holly said.

Governor Runner moaned with submission. The vibration of his lips did wonderful things inside Holly.

“Fuck yes for bribery!” Holly cried as she climaxed. She clenched the Governor’s face to her pussy, riding every last bit of her orgasm on his mouth.

Finally, Holly let go. She stepped away from the Governor’s kneeling body. His face was coated in her juices. Holly pressed a button on her coat and a picture was taken by a sewn in camera. Later, when his career was ruined, she wanted to remember him like this.

“Ms. Kahn,” Governor Runner said. “Please unlock my cock. I want to come so bad. Haven’t I served you well?”

Holly smoothed her coat down. “Not yet, you haven’t,” she said.

“What more do you want?” the slave asked.

“Surprise me,” Holly said as she went out the door.

Erotica Threat Level: Pussy Pink

Months like these I wish I had an all powerful deity to blame for my woes. Non-divine shit, I have had a rough month. We are in day 63 of Work Super Project and it should wrap up sometime in April(!) I pray for death but sweet release never comes.

In the meantime, I read and watch porn.

My own writing has dribbled into a limp parody of itself. I exhausted the last of saved stories last week. I did manage to cough up a Holly Valentine story for Wednesday due to some topical inspiration. I have to tell you, overwhelming work stress just facefucks the Muse. It is hard to get inspiration when you are gagging on Excel sheets.

One thing that I have been inspired to do is work on the Farmer's Daughter Almanac as a book for 2012. The idea of doing an entire book was daunting but it occurred to me that if I invited other people to contribute, it wouldn't be the massive pain that it could be. I have asked a few writers already to submit some articles and hopefully by December, I will have a full book to publish.

Because everyone is contributing, I decided we should sell the book on Lulu at cost. That way anyone who wants one can buy and no one makes a profit. It is just an exercise in creating a completely unnecessary book.

Writing a guidebook for the sex lives of farmers and farm wives has been way too much fun. The key is to not write for real farmers, but mythical farmers. The kind of farmers who worry about Bigfoots, Satan and city folks. The kind of farmers who can grow sex toys in their gardens. The kind of farmers who engage in salcious Cucumber Queen festivals. These farmers have as much to do with real farmers as the Island Princess does with Hawaii.

At this level of work stress, something as ridiculous as the Farmer's Daughter's Almanac is a welcome relief. I love to make shit up. Coming up with a new story for the Librarians can be tricky, but coming up with a fake history for the man who spread bondage through the farmlands is as easy as apple pie.

If you would like to contribute fake articles for a fake almanac, drop me an email and I will send you the submission guidelines. You will get a writing credit and since this is porn, anonymity will be completely respected.

Fiction: Hundred Ass Salute

The shuttle doors opened. Four members of the Queen’s Whips marched out and took their positions. The masked women were clad in red leather that revealed tempting curves, but everyone’s eyes were on the Vortex rifles they were carrying. One trigger squeeze and an artificial black hole was going to permanently alter the landscape.

After a tense minute, Queen Erishella emerged. She was dressed as a conqueror. Black metal encased her body and left only her face exposed behind a shimmering diffraction field. The power armor she wore glowed as various weapon systems came online. Spikes studded every inch of her body, including a mountain range of deadly points across her breasts.

“Greeting, My Queen!” a tall man said. He stepped forward, wearing a simple white tunic. The only clue to his wealth and power was the twinkling of diamonds sewn into his tunic.

“I am Count Garve the Second,” the greeting man said. “On behalf of Pyritia, I welcome you as the rightful conqueror of our Gem Moon.”

Queen Erishella looked down on the man. “And why are there a hundred female asses bent over and exposed to me? Is this some sort of subtle insult?”

The man’s smile never faltered. “Nay, My Queen. When we decided to surrender to your army before hostilities could begin, we were not sure how to properly show our submission. I decided on this little ceremony.”

Count Garve clapped his hand. A hundred servants stepped forward and raised wicked paddles in their hands. As one, a hundred paddles came down and smacked a hundred asses. The cries of the women were drowned in the thunder of continued paddling.

Queen Erishella smiled. “I was disappointed when you surrendered to me. I very much enjoyed drowning the Gem Moon of Touramali under its melted polar caps. I was looking forward to perhaps igniting the atmosphere of this moon.”

Count Garve bowed his head. “If you give my people a chance, I am sure we can find other ways of entertaining you. I would like to point out that each ass being spanked today was chosen according to the Six Principles of Euphorian Anal Beauty. Each servant wielding a paddle has had their neural pathways configured for the optimal spanking swing. Each paddle was hand crafted by sadistic teachers of wayward students.”

The paddling continued. The sounds of beaten flesh filled the night air.

Queen Erishella grabbed the Count’s chin with her gloved hand. Tiny spikes bit into his flesh. The Count grimaced but he kept smiling.

“And what if I said that I wanted your ass spanked for my pleasure as well?”

“I thought you may,” the Count said. “So I took the precaution of having my buttocks sculpted by a body surgeon for optimal visual pleasure.”

Queen Erishella laughed. She released his face.

Count Garve let out a sigh of relief. It was cut short as someone forced him to the ground. A swift kick to the stomach made him get on his hands and knees. One of the Queen’s Whips ripped his tunic from his body.

The Queen put a spiked heel to his neck. Count Garve obediently put his head to the ground and lifted his ass as high as he could.

“I am going to enjoy this world,” Queen Erishella said. “I may make this Moon my personal Pleasure Palace.”

Before Count Garve could respond, the air was cut with the whistling of a paddle. Blistering heat exploded on his ass. His submission, as well as his people, was just beginning.

Fiction: Showdown at Brown Mud

The West might have been Wild but in the little town of Brown Mud, we had no trouble. Part of it was because we had no gold mines, no train tracks and a healthy crop of strange tobacco that kept everyone mellow. The other main reason we had no troubles is because the baddest bad ass of the West would come by once a month to fuck our local sheriff, Johnny Lumber. Her name was Texanah.

Texanah was a wildcat. Long blonde hair, big grand tetons and thighs that could crush a steel caboose made her the proudest woman ever to call herself a Texan. The woman rode around and righted wrongs, killed those needing killing and fucking the shit out of most everything. That gal was a real American.

Now her and Johnny Lumber had an understanding. It was a bit complicated but it went something like this: When Texanah was in town, no one better commit a crime because Texanah was knocking boots, boobs and pussy with the Sheriff. If someone did commit a crime, why Johnny and Texanah would shoot them seventeen times and hang them for the interruption.

It was a right good arrangement and it kept the people of Brown Mud well protected. Texanah usually came around the 22nd of every month like clockwork, though some of the lady folks hint that it was some sort of internal clock that kept Texanah coming back around that time. Whatever the reason, she always came on the 22nd.

The problem came when Texana showed up early on the 16th one month. She rode into town and saw that there was another horse tied up outside the sheriff’s office. Even worse, she could hear the sounds of crazy sex coming from inside the building. Sheriff Lumber was giving his wood to someone else!

“You got ten seconds to get your whore ass out here so I beat the brown mud out of you!” Texanah yelled. The crowd applauded her clever way with words in how she worked in the name of the town. Some cowgirls just have style, you know?

Seven seconds later, out came the woman in question. It was Meximaria! She was the meanest, toughest and most attractive woman south of the border! She had long black hair that she wore under a tassled red hat. Her great tits were the color of dark tea smothered under her white blouse. Leather chaps encased thick thighs that could hold onto a raging Republican.

“What the Hell are you doing here, chica?” Meximaria said.

“What the Hell are you doing with my man?” Texanah said.

Meximaria walked out into the street. Texanah stood her ground but turned to face her. The people of Brown Mud got the fuck off the streets to give them some room.

“Your man? You have a lot of nerve coming here and saying that, punta!” Meximaria said.

“I don’t know what that means, but I am not surprised that a whore like you might know foreign dirty words!” Texanah said.

Johnny Lumber came out of the sheriff’s building. His pants were still around his ankles. His piece was swinging between his legs and everyone understood what exactly the fight was about.

“Hey gals, there is no need to fight!” Johnny said.

“Shut up!” both women yelled.

Jophnny Lumber stood there silently like a good boy.

“On the count of three, draw,” Texanah said to Meximaria. “Or do you not know American numbers?”

“I am just surprised that you can count to three,” Meximaria said.

Texanah narrowed her eyes. Meximaria flexed her fingers. Both girls had their hands inches away from their guns. I started to play a little whistling tune on my flute to set the mood.

“One,” Texanah said.

“Dos,” Mexmimaria said.

“Three!” Texanah said.

Lightning quick hands went into motion. Both ladies whipped their pistols out of their holsters and started shooting. Lead was flying thicker than a mess of hornets.

Now when men shoot each other, they stand real still. I think it is because it makes them look good but women understand that standing still makes you easier to hit. Texanah and Meximaria was dancing and weaving like a june bug crawled up their snatch. The two women were shooting and dodging, shooting and dodging.

They weren’t hitting each other but they were coming close. A bullet went right through the shoulder of Texanah’s vest and her tit popped out. A bullet went through the side of Meximaria’s pants and her chap leg fell down. Texanah barely dodged a bullet to her crotch but she lost her belt buckle. Meximaria stepped out of the way of one bullet but it shot the button off her blouse and popped it open.

The smoke of gunpowder hung in the air. It was as thick as the smoke around harvest time. We held our breaths as we waited to see which one of the two ladies survived. When the smoke finally cleared, both ladies were still standing. Their clothes were in tatters around their feet. All they had on was their hats and their boots!

Texanah and Meximaria kept pulling the triggers but their guns were empty. Men might have reloaded but these two hellcats couldn’t be bothered. They tossed down their guns and ran straight for each other. They were going to settle this by hand.

I once saw a prostitute bathe in whiskey but I ain’t never seen nothing more beautiful than those two running at each other. Texanah with her lovely canyons and Meximaria with her dark melons were like proof that God was a man. Why, if they ever invent the moving picture, they would just film those two running all day.

The two women collided into each other. They then bounced off each other as their breasts crashed together. Both ladies shook their heads and then dived at each other again.

This is when things got real ugly. Or real pretty depending on your place on the street. Those two witches tore at each other with their fingers and teeth. They scratched each other’s tits, pulled on each other’s bushy sex hair and bit each other’s thighs. They rolled around on the dirt and since we just had a good rain, they were getting good and muddy. Somehow they managed to keep their hats on, but what would you expect from such legendary cowgirls?

They rolled and tussled and they bit and shoved. They rolled down one end of the street and back up it. Around and round their tits and ass went and they were kicking, screaming, scratching, biting and hissing the entire time. Shit, I wouldn’t mind watching that every Saturday night.

At some point the screams were started getting personal. It sounded a lot like moans. Instead of scratching, it looked like some fingers were stroking and pinching. Hands went to private parts and stayed there, but more importantly, it didn’t seem like the other was trying to push them away. Biting of tits turned into sucking of nipples and kicking with knees turned into straddling of thighs.

They stopped rolling and were right in front of the sheriff’s office. Texanah had her head between Meximaria’s thighs, while Meximaria had her head right up on Texanah’s cooch. They were kissing each other right there on their sexes! It was the wildest thing I had ever seen. I guess only a woman could stand to eat that!

“What they doing?” Sheriff Lumber said.

The ladies kept eating at each other.

“It is some kind of lesbianism!” Molly, the school teacher said.

“Lordy!” Sheriff Lumber said. “Isn’t that how women get the vote? We got to stop it!”

Sheriff Lumber went over to the horse trough and grabbed a bucket. He filled up a bucket of water and came back to the kissing ladies. That bucket of water emptied right on them and doused them all wet and shiny.

“Oh Hell, no!” Texanah said. She stood up in all her wet naked glory.

“Madre Fuckero!” Meximaria said. She stood up in all her wet naked glory.

Somehow, both ladies were wearing the other’s hats.

“This woman is ten times the man you are between my thighs!” Texanah said.

“This senora can get between my legs any time she wants, but you never will again!” Meximaria said.

“Now hold on ladies,” Sheriff Lumber said. “I’m sure we can go inside and talk this out. Maybe we can invent the threesome!”

What happened next was too fast for the human eye to follow. Sheriff Lumber fell to the ground with two black eyes. Texanah and Meximaria spun around from the force of their swings. They looked at each other and whispered something.

No one knows what they say, but the two gals walked straight to the hotel and got themselves a room. They had wild loud sex for a good week before they were done. When they finally finished, the two rode off in different directions, swearing to meet back next month.

As for Sheriff Lumber, well we elected Molly the school teacher to his job and things have been quiet ever since.