Cutlass 7

The Horseman – Part 1

by Mr. K.

Click on images to enlarge.

Mother Night gasped when the rope snapped tightly around her ankles. The moment before the rope snapped around her ankles, she had been taking flight. She had been using the magic she had used a thousand times to defeat villains and fly between the stars. With her arms stretched out she left the ground and began to soar.

She was free and flying for thirty seconds.

When the Horseman’s lasso reached out and found her legs, when it snapped tight around her ankles, she felt her thick quads and calves spasm. She felt her whole body become heavy, tight and racked with a sudden sick pain.

She heard her own voice, throaty and strained as she cried out in pain. The world was a blur and then the sudden shock of her body – long and lean in a black catsuit – striking the ground. She heard the pain come through her body as deep and gravelly groan.

She was Mother Night yanked from the sky.

Mother Night lay on her back. She lay on her back with her arms spread wide, her legs pinned together and wave of weakness breaking over her. She tried to move. She tried to reach down and undo the rope that held her ankles together. All she could do was let The Horseman have her.

“Hey there, little lady,” he laughed. He had affected the whole cowboy routine. He sounded as though he came right from an old Western movie. He knelt down beside the prone woman.

“That … was more …” she started, then had to stop, breathless and exhausted. Mother Night collected herself and drew a deep breath. “That was more than some rope … from the hardware store. Mind … telling a girl how you got her to … fall for you?”

Her legs were already pinned together, so part of the work was done. The Horseman spoke as he took possession of her long, legs, scooping them up and pulling them against his side. Mother Night felt him wrapping the other end of the rope one, two, three times around her knees. He would wrap it, then pull it taut, and wrap it again. She could hear him huff a bit with each coil, exerting himself to make sure the redhead was properly bound.

“Nothing much. Just got a coil runnin’ through it that’s got The Frequency in it. You know ‘bout The Frequency, don’cha’?”

She nodded, wincing as he stopped, pulled the length of rope a little tighter. He captured a handful of slack and yanked it up against her knees. He spent a few brief moments securing the coil of rope. Mother Night felt her lower legs growing numb.

“I do,” she huffed. “It finds and neutralizes … a superheroine’s power, no matter what sort it is. It neutralized my magic.”

“Sure did, little lady.”

He was narrowing his eyes and moving slowly as he wrapped his next length of rope just below her breasts. She took a shallow gasp as he tightened the first ring of rope under her bust and around her body. There was a pause in his movements, in his focus, then he started back with a new vigour. In almost one movement he captured both of her arms, pulled them behind her back, and pinned them there, looping the rope tight under her bust again. He made it a point, a fierce and powerful point, to pin her forearms together and wrap them in the coils of rope. She cringed and sucked air through her teeth as he pulled tighter and tighter.

He scooped one arm under her, around her waist, and lifted her hips towards him.

“Them boys that captured you in the prison in space made sure to drown you in cum. Right? Made you eat an’ swallow cum from ‘bout a thousand prisoners, ain’t I right?”

Her eyes were wide and she fought to collect her breath as he made the cords secure across her body.

“Didn’t they?” he asked again, squeezing an arm, and crushing her around the waist.

“Yes,” she groaned, she gasped.

“No,” he grumbled. “I want to really hear you say that they drowned you in their convict semen, and made you eat it, and shipped ...”

He crushed her again and lifted her again.

“I … they … I ate so much … so much of their cum. They drowned me in … it … It was ...”

For a moment, she struggled against her bonds. He answered her futile gesture by seizing her vulva between the knuckles of his right index and middle fingers. He ended up with her long clit and her big, right labia trapped between the calloused knuckles.

He smiled. Mother Night’s screams were throaty. She had a type of voice he liked in a woman – Hollywood husky. They came up from the diaphragm and reminded him of a 1940’s starlet. He let go of her bound woman’s sex, watching her head drop back. The grass and the mass of her thick, red hair cushioned her.

“Go on. Tell me now.”

“It filled my lungs. It drowned me.”

The words came out in a rush.

“Then they packed me in cum and ….”

She bit her lower lip. Her powers were gone and the pain from her lower lips was still rolling through her.

“They shot me back to Earth.”

“Humiliated.”

“Humiliated.”

She was heaving now, trying to catch her breath as he wrapped the rope again across her midsection, then deftly wrapped the rope up to frame and capture her large breasts. Again, he pulled with both hands in either direction, making her wince as grind her teeth. He pulled with both hands, framing her breasts, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain.

“Ain’t that right, old girl?”

“Yessss...” she hissed, surrendering the moment to him. She could really feel it now. She could feel the power of his supernatural gift. He could have crushed her to death if he had wanted to.

“You gone and humiliated me. Seems like it was only right, bitch. Same goes for Cutlass. See, lots of the people whose lives you ruined before you retired heard about them beating you, fucking you, humiliating you up in that space jail house. Those boys took a whole helluva’ lotta’ shots of you. Did some nice videos. They made whole websites … You a porn star, old girl. You know that?”

“I know … I know they filmed everything.”

“Sure did. So, me an’ma’girl sat and watched hours of how they tortured you with cum. Loved it. Whole lotta’ other people you call ‘villains’ seen it to. That’s the trend now; torture a heroine with as much cum as you can. An’ if you get your hands on Mother Night – tough ol’ bitch that she is – give a good ol’ cum drink or two.”

He interwove her breasts with the lengths of rope that he was wrapping around her torso. And he made then tight. When Mother Night moaned, he nodded and made his next loop.

“Good. Hurts, right? That’s just you getting what you deserve, Mother Night. You ruin a man’s cattle business, you pay the price.”

He was able to capture her neck and bust with one more weaving sweep of the length of rope.

“Those … were humans … that we freed,” Mother Night retorted. She was breathless and struggling to speak as he wrapped rope across her chest, her upper body, her shoulders. He framed her large breasts with a layer of rope, and then another as he explained “Can’t take a man’s work and say it was righteous. Got a bone to pick. So does, Honey. Honey Reacher wants some time wit’ ya’. Everyone in town is mighty mad….”

Unable to expand her chest, to take a deep breath, Mother Night strained out the next words.

“There is no … town! There are no … ‘townsfolk,’ and you aren’t … aren’t a cowboy … Horseman! You were … all re-enactors until … Vixen gave you … superpowers”

His fingers were suddenly in her mouth.

“Hush your mouth, whore!”

The thickness of his fingers pressed and pinched as though he was trying to press them through her tongue. He twisted and pulled, watching her eyes grow wide and hearing her gag. He smiled as she emitted those short, sharp choking sounds. He twisted and pulled rotating those thick gloved pictures. She tasted sweat, dirt, and leather. Her throat revolted, trying force his big fingers out of Mother Night’s mouth.

“‘S wrong? Cat got çher tongue?”

She convulsed and lurched as her body fought open her throat, to live free of gagging. Her breasts were large and had the firmness of an athlete’s. Still they shook and heaved as her body revolted.

His laughter filled the woods around them. He released her tongue, and crammed one, two, three more fingers into Mother Night’s mouth. Her eyes were wide and her body shook with pain of suffocation. Those fingers grabbed her tongue again, this time using all of his fingers to squeeze the thickness at the back of her throat.

The Horseman had his hand crammed into her mouth. The Horseman claimed her tongue as an object.

At the moment that the heroine’s eyes rolled up into her head, he let go. She let her tongue retreat back into her mouth and he brought his right palm soaring up to collide with the side of her face. Her large, blue eyes squeezed shut and her face snapped sharply to the right.

“Just so you remember that lesson, bitch.”

He let the gasping woman in black fall backwards. He moved to her legs. Mother Night – Constance – had the thick, lean legs of an athlete. They had that quality of feminine strength – curvy, and powerful. The Horseman claimed them as his own.

He pulled the legs together, tucking them tightly against his side, and quickly wrapped them in layers of rope. He wrapped her at the knee, going slowly when he needed to, then moved to her ankles. She squirmed against the dirt, but waited helplessly.

Once he joined all of the wrapped ropes together, he secured a lead line.

“Long-legged heffer, ain’t ya’? Y’er lots like that Cutlass bitch we got back at the ranch.”

She lay on her back on the dirt road as he stood.

“I own you. I’m taking you back to the ranch … let you spen’ little time with that Cutlass whore”

He scoffed.

He climbed on to the horse. She watched as he wrapped the rope around the saddle horn.

“Cutlass started off the day as a superheroine. Now, she’s a subheroine like you.”

He made that clicking sound that a man on horseback makes when it is time to move, and the sky slid away from her. Looking up from where she lay bound on the grass, she saw the clouds begin to shift. She felt the ground’s friction against her back. She felt her legs hoisted into the air and the occasional punishment of a rock.

“A regular woman would get killed by a trip like this!” he yelled down at her as they rose on to the rough relief of the dirt road. She was Mother Night being dragged behind a horse.

They had Cutlass hanging in the barn. At one point, they had kept her in the blacksmith’s shop, upside down in chains. That was when they thought the whole thing would go quickly and without much pomp. They ought to have known better. The Blacksmith was a true craftsman. He had been a superpowered villain longer than they had; he knew that superpowered craftsmanship took time and loving care.

“Not yet,” Blacksmith said when they dumped her lush curves on his workshop floor. His voice resonated from behind that mask and the cowboys did as told. They gathered the long, thick tresses of her red hair.

“Hang her in the barn while I get ready for her. Give her time to think. She still has too much moxie. Take her to the wheel after she hangs for a bit. Let it hurt her for awhile. Let her hang in the barn to contemplate the pain she just had. Cook her in the semen after that. Show her that we aren’t above being part of a trend.”

They were already dragging her out by her hair. One had a fistful of natural red close to the woman’s scalp. The other had made a rope of it, and had extended it out as far as he could. Still, it was tightly wrapped around his fist twice.

“Give her some cooking time. I think she needs some cooking time. First, the barn, then the wheel.”

So, they bound her in the barn. They carried Cutlass like an object, her head flung back and her body limp in their arms. Cutlass was a lean and well-muscled woman. She was fit and large-breasted. Still, beaten and drained of her powers, she was nothing but a woman in purple and black at the mercy of two big men. She sighed as they laid her on the rough surface of a table. Each man was massively powerful and had massive, rough hands. Still, as they wrapped her in rope around her wrists, they seemed almost gentle.

“Feel her costume,” said one to the other.

“Like silk,” said the other. She heard the words as his hands kneaded her left buttock.

Cutlass’ skin-tight catsuit did feel like silk, and it conformed to her body as thought it were fluid. In the same way that it nestled itself around the camel toe of her crotch, it settled between the hemispheres of her ass. It gently wedged itself in the cleft of her ass, distinguishing the two firm muscles.

“I don’t know what it really is. But … wow.”

She felt them separate her buttocks, and soon a thick, male finger was pushing through the material . She felt one of them fingering her ass, searching for the sensitive pucker of her asshole. Cutlass bit her lower lip and simpered.

“I can feel her asshole through it.”

“Can you? Yeah?”

“Sure can. Nice little asshole, right there.”

Cutlass bit her lip and simpered as he pressed harder and drew circles around the tight hole’s outline.

“Gimme’ a hand here. I wanna’ try something. I’m gonna’ rim her.”

“Lick her through the silk. Yeah. Ok.”

She felt one of them take hold of her left ass cheek and one of them take hold of the right. Cutlass – Tina – moaned as she felt them separate her buttocks some more, and then some more. It felt as though the sensitive skin of her backside, still clothed in her costume, would tear. She was gasping and squeezing her eyes shut when a thick, male tongue began probing its way across the slickness of her costume’s material. It sank into the warm valley of her ass. It moved slowly.

It wandered the crease from the low end to the high end as he raped her ass crack with his tongue.

“There you go, brother. Look at her squirm. Think she likes that?”

Cutlass squirmed and worked her jaw. She felt his tongue stiffen against her asshole. She felt the tongue of a man she did not know – a faux cowboy with rough whiskers and hot breath – stiffen against the pucker of her anus. Cutlass – the red-haired witch named Tina – felt it push as though it was trying to make its way through the material and into her ass.

Her thick legs were starting to shake. She pulled against the rope that held her wrists, not with power, but with the impulse of a woman who was losing control of her body. With her superpowers gone, Cutlass’ body was merely a receptor for her captor’s will.

“You findin’ that A spot, bro! She ain’t want it, but she got it!”

She dropped her head down between her arms and her legs trembled as he slowly circled his tongue in her ass. The material gave him just the right amount of slickness, just the right amount of barrier to carry the swirling pressure through to the nerve of her anus.

Cutlass’ legs became rigid and she screamed into the wooden table. The muscles in her arms flexed, tensed, and pulled against that rope. As though she were trying to capture his tongue, her buttocks tried to clench. The cowboys had hold of them, though, and they still held them apart.

Cutlass screamed and bucked. Her nipples were hard and they sent electric shocks through the curves of her body as they pressed and rubbed against the rough wood of the table. All of the currents flowed together and out from between her thighs.

“She wet her pants? You made that girl wet her superheroine tights?”

“Gave her an ass orgasm and she gave me a pussy squirt anyway!”

She felt his tongue come away. There was a moment of cool air rippling across the wetness of her ass crease. Someone moved, adjusted, then the weight of a man was on her legs. She would never know which one it was, but his legs pressed down on hers, the thickness of a massive cock laid itself in the wet canyon of her ass.

He used her ass as thought it were a split roll and his cock were a wurst, a sausage. She could feel the weight of a big man, his whiskey breath on her neck, and the huge mass of his cock settled between her buttocks.

Cutlass – Tina – scrapped her finger tips against the table’s surface as he started his rhythm. She could feel how powerful he was, how much muscle and weight he put behind his thrusting as he drove his cock forward, then pulled it back.

She could tell he was absorbing the slick wetness of her silk-swathed ass crack. He wasn’t penetrating her, he was sliding back and forth in her cleft.

“Superheroine Cutlass is a just a subheroine, ain’t she?”

They laughed as the girth moved up and back, and up and back, faster and faster. He grunted and moaned as two massive hands reached forward and clutched her throat and her hair. He squeezed and wrenched and twisted her hair, her throat, her face.

He growled and pulled back as her ass crack was suddenly filled with a mass of hot, thick wetness.

Cutlass screamed. They let go of her ass cheeks and she could feel the cum mass – the cream pie filling – in her ass. She heard them giving high-fives.

“Get some rope, man.”

There was a certain joy in the work of their hands. There was greedy frenetic flurry as they grabbed rope from the walls and the overhead hooks. They started with her ankles, binding them together, cinching them tightly as her thick legs were pinned. They ran the rope up to her knees and bound her there in layers. They laughed something about running the line upwards. Cutlass couldn’t understand them, but she soon felt the rough texture of a length of rope in tender skin between her ass cheeks.

One of them moved in front of her as the other pulled the rope in her ass tighter, then tighter still. She squealed and quivered as the rope ran its coarseness across her anus and the skin of her cleft. She was almost unaware of how the other man was pulling her arms behind her back and hoisting up.

Soon, though, she was suspended, bent over, rope embracing her and waiting for the next torment.

“Hey,” said one cowboy, just as they finished.

“I do believe I see the boss riding back draggin’M other Night.”