Cutlass 8

by Mr. K.

Click on images to enlarge.

Mother Night slept in the dirt. She slept in the dirt behind The Horseman’s horse. Mother Night’s offensive powers were shut down, but the durability of her body, her ability to take punishment, was still intact. The drag back to the ranch would have killed a regular woman.

Mother Night was unconscious, bound in ropes, and lying behind The Horsemen’s steed. The other men and women in their old-west get-ups gathered around. They came out of the old-wet saloon set that served no alcohol. They came from the boarding house and they clapped their hands as they surrounded the prone form of the woman in black.

“She got us and messed up our plans. Now, we got her and we get to mess her up a little!”

There was whooping a laughing. Guns were fired off into the air and hat where waved.

“First of all folks!” yelled The Horseman as he moved into the crowd a bit. People pulled back and happily gave him room. Dust still settled around all of them.

“First of all, this heffer is dirty. Look at her!”

He indicated the captive woman by delivering a kick into her side. The woman’s body moved with the sudden impact, but she did not wake.

All eyes fell on the large-breasted, long-legged woman who lay bound in the dust. The gloss of her sleek, black catsuit was muted below a thick layer of dirt. Her hair was tangled and woven with the soil of an unfinished road. She breathed easily with her eyes shut.

“Someone take this redhead bitch to the well and get her cleaned up!”

And a woman yelled “GET A ROPE!”

She was unconscious as a storm of hands reached down for her. She wouldn’t feel how they took control of her body. She wouldn’t feel how they untied her and how every part of her body fell under the control of grabbing hands. She didn’t know that a woman used both hands to grab her hair and lift up her head, while the woman’s wife grabbed one of her thick thighs. She would never see the strong men that grabbed each arm.

She would never know that they carried her like a hunting trophy.

Mother Night awoke when the townspeople were reconfiguring her ropes. She was no longer bound to the saddle of the horse, and her skin ached from the rope, the beating, and the drag. She moaned as the men freed her, then rebound her.

She groaned as ropes were wrapped and tightened and wrapped again above her breasts. She couldn’t tell, exactly, which of these angry people was leading the way, but whomever was tying her was skilled. They were linking and interlinking the ropes so that her arms were pinned, and her upper body was tightly framed.

The Horseman had stepped back, and was grinning ear-to-ear as he watched.

“They ain’t none too happy with you, Mother Night. Don’ worry. They gonna’ getcha’ cleaned up.”

A woman kissed her.

A man slapped her with his cock.

Again, all of the people lifted her. This time, they took her down the grassy slope to the well. It was as though they carried a tall lush-bodied rag doll. They made it a point to shake her, invert her, pass her back and forth just to see her big breasts shake and her thick quads tense, then shudder.

Mother Night didn’t struggle against the ropes as they moved her into place. She watched and she waited as they took the cover off of a well and spooled out the rope that was wrapped around the winch. A woman with braids and rough hands took hold of the heroine’s shoulders and flipped her over. Mother Night lay face-down in the grass.

There was the iron smell of dirt and the pungent smell of sweet grass filling her nose as the woman trussed her up. She was skilled in her knot-tying and rope-looping. Mother Night was already bound at the knees and the arms. She already had a corset of rope wrapped tightly around her torso. She already wore a tight necklace of rope. Now, other cowboys and girls joined the woman in tying the well’s damp rope to the cocoon of cord that already encased her.

“Ok! Take her up!”

Tall, busty, red-headed and helpless, Mother Night felt the ropes tighten as a man in a Stetson cranked the winch. And cranked it. And cranked it. Two of them took hold of her thickly-muscled legs and guided her body as it cleared the side of the well. Now, she hung suspended over the black pit.

“Well, clean her up.”

Mother Night forced herself to breathe normally as she was lower down past the mouth of the well. Darkness enfolded her and she inhaled the sweet, musty scent of the old passage. Her lungs tingled as they took in the damp air of the well.

The water folded over her head.

The timer started in her lungs. In her mind. With her powers at full strength, she could have stayed down there forever. With them neutralized, she was just Mother Night holding her breath at the bottom of a well.

She was Mother Night drowning.

As the burning in her lungs took charge of her, and she started to convulse in desperation, she felt the pull of the rope. She gasped and gulped air when her head broke the surface. Her ragged breathing echoed in the stone cylinder of the well as she slowly ascended. When she finally came up, the townspeople were quietly smiling, and The Horseman was waiting for her.

“How’d you like that? Nice an’cold, huh?”

She panted and looked at him through the soaked tangles of her red hair.

“Now, I’m gonna’ fuck you for the whole town to see. I’m also gonna’ broadcast it. You got that?”

She nodded.

“Tell you what I’m gonna’ do. Imma’ let you pick how I get to rape you. You pick out how the world will remember the raping of Mother Night.”

He paused and listened to her breathing, panting. Watched the heaving of her big breasts, her wide bust. She stared straight ahead, water dripping down her face.

“I know whatcher’ thinkin’. You’ll just let me torture you to death instead of givin’ me what I want. That’s fine. But, you know, next thing I’ll do take that pretty little Cutlass. She’s been lots of fun so far. You do play along …”

She was already nodding.

“So, think about how yer’ gonna’ please me. Give me good ol’ run down.”

She felt the winch begin to roll and un-spool itself. Mother Night gasped as her body prepared itself for the assault of cold and the loss of oxygen.

“I’ll ...” She was trying to gasp and speak at the same time. “I’ll suck your cock. You’ll … “

Gasping.

“Cum in my mouth ...”

“Beg. Gotta’ ask right, whore.”

She knew there was no way she would stop him from lowering her. She was Mother Night, at his mercy. She felt herself being lowered back into the well.

She gulped air as she passed down the dark gullet of the well. The Horseman stood above, in the light, cranking and smiling. He heard the sound of a large-breasted woman – a woman with thick muscular thighs and a tight, fit middle, a woman in a black catsuit – being lowered into the water. He knew when she was underwater.

He waited.

He took deep pulls of air and laughed. He was drinking in air and filling his lungs while she was struggling to hold her breath. Her body was probably shuddering – her muscles were shuddering and shaking. If her powers had been in their fullest, she could have broken those ropes, beaten or killed all of them, and ended this whole issue. Ended The Horseman. Ended the The Town.

She would have been Mother Night, a force of nature.

Now, with The Frequency having drained her, she was lush-bodied woman in her middle age, drowning.

When the woman was back up, he smiled. He looked. He listened. Her face was completely covered in soaked red hair. Her broad mouth – still glistening with the brilliant red lipstick that she wore – was open in a wide and desperate gape. Her nipples were hard.

“You got big tits, Mother Night. You got big tits, doncha’?”

“Yessir.”

“You got whore titties. What size are you, heffer?”

“36C, sir.”

“And your nipples are hard, ain’t they? Cold got to ém.”

“Yessir.”

“Now, you was tellin’ me about how you would suck my cock. Tell me ‘bout that.”

“I’ll … I’ll start with the glans, sir.”

“The what now?”

“The glans. That’s …. That’s the head. I’ll circle the head with my tongue for you. I’ll … I run my tongue up and down … the underside.”

“Ok, now we’re getting somewhere. What else you gonna’ let people see you do? Think about it.”

She closed her eyes this time as the darkness and the water closed over her.

“See how some good ol’ well water can fix a lot?”

The townspeople in their 19^th Century get -ups clapped and approved.

She felt the tension of the ropes pull up against her just as the first of the water had started to invade her lungs. As sunlight and air flooded back into her, and she convulsed and spat out water, she was already spinning a yarn for him.

She was able to spill out words around her choking gasps. She coughed and gasped as she struggled to give him what he wanted.

“You’ll … fuck me … in the … You’ll fuck my ass. You’re … Your cock … it’ll stretch my … arsehole. You’ll cum … up my ass … my face … everything ..”

They applauded as the curves and the red hair, long legs and the full lips disappeared into the darkness of the well again. They waited. And waited. And cheered when the woman was winched back up.

“Your men … Your ...” She paused and collected her breath, her thoughts, her words. “All of you are on Vixen’s Power Serum, yes?”

She saw him frown and cock his head.

“Uh huh. Yeah,” he said.

“Right … Ok, so you are producing … 150% more semen than you were as average men. You are constantly about it … you need to cum. Even if you raped Cutlass, it isn’t … Listen.”

She still heaved, but she spoke in more measured tones.

“Your guys can have me. Just … just drown me in it. They … will run a train on me. My arse .. my arse … my cunt. Whatever they want. Your … Your men … will just drown me in cum.”

“Say it.”

“They will run a train on Mother Night.”

Soon, cold water surrounded her feet, her ankles, her calves, her knees. Her muscles tremored and tensed and the cold flowed through them. Soon, her nipples grew even harder as icy water overcame her bust. Soon, dark, cold water folded over her head.

The Horseman waited. He waited. He waited until something in him told him that the time was right. He pushed the winch away from himself, rolled it through, then pulled it close again. The Horseman paused, then rolled it through again.

He stretched out his arms and felt the thick muscles of his back work. When his arms pulled back, and he breathed out, he saw the mess of red hair come up from the shadows of the well. It was matted and the head that held it sagged forward.

She was still alive, but her body had given up. She was Mother Night, drowned.

Mother Night coughed as she spat water. She let her them roll her on her side, and she let her body void the water that had tried its best to kill her. She took deep breaths as they retied her and rolled her on to her back.

“Welcome back, bitch,” laughed The Horseman.

She looked up at him from where she lay tied up on the grass. The ropes were as tight as ever, and she could only wait, soaked and gasping as he lifted his foot above her. For that moment, she was no longer a super woman who could fly in the vacuum of space. She was no longer a scientist who could summon up magical powers. She was a submissive treat for a powerful villain who could crush her like a bug.

The Horseman raised a foot and slowly lowered it down to press on her crotch. He pressed into the thick wedge of her camel toe. She bit her lower lip and squeezed her eyes shut. He made a circle with the toe of his boot.

Mother Night groaned.

There was pressure, then more, then a bit more as he pushed down, then forward a bit. He pushed forward, then down a bit, and she moaned. He pushed, and rolled and pushed and pushed his boot with more vigour. Again. Again. Again.

Her eyes sprang open and Mother Night screamed. She flung her head back and screamed as The Horseman raped her with his boot. She flung her head back and screamed as The Horseman raped an orgasm out of her through the second-skin of her costume. She flung her head back and screamed as he ground his boot on her clit.

She came, and he ground harder.

When the storm broke – when Mother Night lay heaving, her big breasts rising and falling – he tucked the toe of his boot under her chin. He tilted her face up so that their eye could meet.

“Let’s work on that arsehole of yours, Mother Night. You need to be a little less uptight.”