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Urotsuki-dojo. A Fistful of Tentacles	By : Nickamano Category: +S to Z > Urotsuki-doji Views: 1276 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Urotsukidoji, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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El Sobre looked down across the shallow rocky valley from his position on the balcony of the villa. He could see Federal soldiers like ants climbing, struggling and marching up the craggy landscape in loose straggling lines toward the walled haçienda. One the opposite side of the valley, not far away, was the already deserted village. And beyond that was a short line of four medium sized pack howitzers.
Better than any binoculars or spy glass, he used his Makai eyes to looked further, more closely. In the village, seated behind a small table placed on the top step, in front of the open doorway of the village church was Colonel Culebra. Standing around him, dressed in ill-fitting Federal soldier’s tunics and hefting repeating rifles, were some familiar faces. He recognised the Scandinavian Salonen twins, as well as shapely Sharon Chisholm and the tall slender O’Rourke, the redhead school teacher.
Luna Expósito was also there. Sitting naked, on the church steps with a long length of chain around her neck. The other end was in the Colonel’s gloved grasp. She looked battered and bruised and raw. Colonel Culebra stared back at him with a little half-smile, he raised a glass of red wine from the table and raised it in a mute toast. El Sobre grinned back and recognised the offered toast with a telegraphed nod of the head.
He turned his attention back to the advancing enemy soldiers. In amongst the rank and file and the officers advancing across the valley he noticed a few more familiar faces, including Roland the Blacksmith. However, it was time to take in the bigger picture, the battlefield in its entirety. Now the first stage of their friendly competition was to begin.
He had put his best shots on the roofs, his men back behind the walls inside the walled in haçienda and behind the buildings throughout. He had scattered all of his score and more Soldaderas in amongst the second line of troops. The American, Carlton, was also ready to put his paired six guns and his skills to the test. Though he had been tasked to lead the reserves, which he had ordered to hold back for in case the Federals gained access to the haçienda’s interior.
The Howitzers started to fire. They were aimed at the outer wall, and would be attempting to topple those exterior wall defences first and create multiple breaches that the rebels within would be unable to defend all at once. The first shots fired fell short, but they were designed to find the correct range and elevation. To begin with the shells slammed into bedrock a few metres short of the outer wall.
El Sobre glanced down at Miranda. She was obediently kneeling at his feet, her hands tight on his idly thrusting buttocks, her head jerking rapidly back and forth along his big cock, obediently taking him deep.
She was working her very hardest to urge the spunk from his balls. Partially so she could end this humiliating duty and be allowed to get into the fighting. It was where she belonged, behind a rifle with the enemy in her sights and bandoliers filled with ammunition across her shoulders. However, he had ordered her to stay and suck him, saying it would calm him and make him think more clearly. And though she hated the ridicule in the eyes of the rest of his army and showed as much on her pretty tanned face, she knelt down as ordered, opened his trousers and got to work without complaint.
“Miranda.” He asked suddenly.
Wisely, she lifted her gaze and he looked down at her, with one fist encircling her twin plaits at the back of her head, however, she didn’t stop or even slow in her cock sucking duty.
“Your rifle, my Soldadera. Is it good? An accurate one?”
She almost pulled her face of his cock but his hand squeezed in her hair. Instead, she just nodded, holding his eyes, though her vision was blurred by tears of exertion.
“Once you have finished with me, swallowed everything I have, go and fetch your rifle. I would like to borrow it… Just for a few minutes… you will get it back. Be quick though, with both tasks, or many of our forces may be lost to his imminent artillery barrage.”
Miranda immediately intensified her hard labour on his big cock, deep throating it, pumping her face back and forth rapidly, sucking hard and humming when she could, everything to get him to climax. While he enjoyed her efforts, El Sobre watched the pack howitzers on the far hill. They were quickly getting their range. The last three shots had struck the just below the foot of the haçienda’s wall. One more adjustment should do it.
He felt Miranda’s hand on his balls, palming and squeezing them. Her mouth slid back to his crown and laved it with her tongue, washing around and around, before thrusting her tongue at the urethra, flicking at it. She whipped her tongue back and forth against the sensitive under side. Finally, with a deep, throaty hum providing an additional explosive caress, she ploughed her face forward hard, right into his wiry pubic hair, driving him balls deep into her throat and repeatedly swallowing around him. The excitement of the coming battle combined with Miranda’s expertise with her lips and tongue brought him to a sudden and intense climax. He came in great explosive eruptions that slammed her gullet, bruising her and making her gag and let out muffled squeals of shock. Of course, he held her firmly in place, nose crushed against his abdomen while his hurriedly testicles emptied their contents again and again into her throat.
It was almost five minutes before Miranda, still half drowned and fighting to unclog her airway and nostrils of his thick hot spunk, returned to his side and handed him her rifle.
“Stand in front of me. I want to use you as a barrel rest. Keep still now.”
“What are you aiming at, Señor?”
“The gunners.” He answered, distractedly.
His answer had been so casual that Miranda laughed. His attention locked in on loading the rifle and adjusting the sights didn’t waver.
“An impossible shot. From this distance.”
“Judge the distance for me.”
“Hmmm… close to the full two thousand yards. I’d say, Señor. The men appear as little more than sand-coloured blobs from this distance, even against the grey of the mountainside. Then you have that northerly wind to contend with. Nothing but a waste of ammunition.”
“Let me worry about all that, woman. Just stand there and remain still.”
“Of course, Señor.”
“Perhaps we could make a wager. If I fail, I will promote you as my number one advisor. But if I do not fail, you will surrender yourself to Colonel Culebra.”
“What?! Señor! I could not accept such a wager… I could never…”
“Then you think I might hit my target after all? Or do you not wish to be my advisor?”
Miranda heard the metallic clunk of the bolt being slid home. The sound of the rifle round being chambered. She felt the barrel placed gently on her shoulder.
“No Señor. I believe it is impossible, but still…” She stammered. “But to be your advisor would be the deepest of honours…”
“My chief advisor… Very well.” He laughed. “Perhaps we will be defeated and you will end up a Federal prisoner after all…”
“Please, Señor. Do not say such things.”
“Be still now… Perhaps later, if you are still here and still alive, I will put it up your ass. I think I would like that…”
She heard him take a deep breath, then let it all out slowly.
“Of course, I’m sure you would not... But that hardly matters. does it not?”
“No Senór.” She whispered. Trying to stay still yet shocked by his words.
He took another breath this time letting half of it out, holding the remainder. And then the gun cracked, jerking back against her shoulder, the forward sling mount biting into her collar bone. With his Makai eyes, El Sobre saw the bullet had gone wide and low. Fortunately, it had ricocheted off the barrel of the cannon to the right of the one he had aimed at. The ricochet had flipped up and pierced the crown of one of the six men manning that gun.
“A hit,” El Sobre laughed. “One down, twenty-three to go. You will have to take my word for it, woman. At least until you can hear for yourself that the guns are being silenced one at a time. If you wish, fold your vest up and put it over your shoulder, or it will soon bruise. I need a little more height anyway.”
The howitzers had gone silent within the next five minutes. El Sobre killed or wounded man after man. He intended to continue until there were too few active men to keep the guns firing. However, once he had killed or incapacitated half their number, his being the only rifle firing at the time, the remaining artillery men abandoned their posts and ran.
Issieki used his eyes again to look over toward Colonel Culebra. He was standing behind his table giving El Sobre slow a round of applause. Then he reached up to the throat of Luna Expósito and unlocked her chain.
Issieki reverted his vision to El Sobre’s, then turned to grin at Miranda. She was standing there in profile looking back at him with awe, even adoration.
“Senór. That was unbelievable. Impossible! To silence the enemy’s guns with nothing more than a single rifle. They will write songs of this Señor, they will be speaking of this day in a hundred years. Five hundred!”
“If you are still alive later Miranda, you can show me how much you adore me.”
“I will do whatever El Sobre desires. Gladly!” She gushed.
He grinned, looking her up and down while she unfolded and pulled her striped vest back on. He turned his attention beyond her, back toward the battlefield.
“You may regret offering such generosity, woman. Go now, and take your place, do me proud with your rifle… For the revolution.”
“For the revolution!” She gushed, invigorated, taking back her offered rifle. “And for El Sobre!”
Blushing, she swept passed him and hurried down a short flight of steps out of sight.
Forward of the villa, though still a part of the overall haçienda, were around a score of outbuildings. Servant’s cottages, stores, sheds, a long, low stable. And the gardens, of course.
So far, only three howitzer shells had successfully struck their target which had resulted in a single additional hole in the haçienda’s outer wall. It was nothing to spread the guerrilla forces out to cover the additional entrance.
El Sobre came to the edge of his balcony, he climbed onto the stone balustrade, swinging one leg and then the other over it. He sat casually on the smooth white stone, arms braced beside his narrow hips. He already had many of his soldier’s attention, but he raised his voice high so he could be heard by all his troops.
“I grant you, this is not the way we Guerrilleros fight. This siege warfare is alien to us! But! Those Federals out there, they are coming to take our women! And yet we are going to stop them. We are not going to let them take away our women. These women of ours, these Soldaderas that stand and fight alongside you, that cook your food, that clean and mend your clothes, organise and tidy... And fuck like drunken harlots!” He paused to let the loud and ribald laughter and shouting die away. “They are our women! Ours! And we will keep them and defend them to the last man!”
There came a great cheer, and another and another. El Sobre waited again.
“And yet, there are never enough women to go around. Well, what if I told you this Colonel Culebra we face, also has his own
women soldiers. And they are right now ascending the slope of the valley, coming here to meet us. And so here are my orders. Kill the men! As many as you can as fast as you can. But the women are to be taken alive! They are to be taken and dragged back here. We will add their numbers to our ranks. We will make Culebra’s women our women!”
Another great cheer, more ribald and shot-through with plenty of excited laughter, reverberated around the walls of the buildings.
And then came the first shots. From the front line of the advancing Federals. Soldiers aiming at the few visible snipers on top of the low roofs. However, they were shooting up into the sky and it was easy for the snipers to keep their heads down and not make themselves targets. Though they would occasionally pop up to snap off a shot in return.
Still, with their heads mostly ducked down, they were unable to pick off the frontline officers as they were supposed to. It allowed the Federal officers to order their men onwards and upwards, and the lines of soldiers were gaining more and more ground by the minute, closing the distance between them and the wall of the haçienda.
Soldiers advanced in tightly packed columns toward the breach and the official entryway. The bare legs of the females made them easy to spot. The Guerrillas at the walls, the entrance and the breech, were careful with their shots. While soldiers fell to the ground, the females were never among the wounded. The momentum of the advancing column continued to push them forward toward the wall.
The men they were partnered with would fall and the women soon found themselves with an empty rifle. Some even ran straight toward the wall, perhaps hoping for a quick death, but they simply ran into the haçienda and vanished. As they rushed screaming toward the wall defenders, hoping for a clean death, they were grabbed and dragged out of sight. Once inside the walls they were knocked to the ground, pinned by men’s weight while they were tied up. A few who struggled were beaten into submission and then dragged away toward the villa.
At the breach, half a dozen women were captured. And then there didn’t seem to be any more in sight. That was when the real fighting started, Federal soldiers massing and advancing with continuous volleys, to keep their momentum going. The defenders, less than half the number, though aided by walls, buildings and firing from doorways and windows and from the roofs, slowed the attack down but the wall was eventually breached by the Federals, which forced a partial retreat by the guerrillas.
Over at the main entrance, a different tactic was employed with regards to the females. The old gringo gunslinger, Carlton, with his pair of double actions drawn and ready, had pulled together a number of experienced horse breakers from his reserve forces and sent them to the stables for lassos. The American placed two semicircles of riflemen one standing, one kneeling to cover the advance of the Federal soldiers. Though their advancing position had a smooth road leading to the arched entryway, the road was sloped and rather steep so the advancing soldiers appeared headfirst over the slope of the road, and snipers and the better shots in the guerrilla’s rank and file started to kill them before they could have much chance to return fire.
Even so, the soldier’s advance continued to close the gap, their column meeting the twin crescent of guerrillas who were laying down a constant barrage with their repeater rifles, so quick that, to the Federals, they might as well have been a maxim or gatling gun. Whenever a rifle was emptied it was passed back to other soldiers to the rear, immediately replaced with a fully loaded gun, while the empty was hurriedly reloaded.
At opportune though very dicey moments, the American would shout a cease fire order and his lassoers would step into the line and snag any standing female they could see. Once ensnared they were dragged off their feet and across no man’s land and into the hacienda. Sometimes as many as seven or eight men dragging on the ropes, hauling the screaming, struggling women across the hot, blood-spattered ground, over spent shell casings and bodies.
After the second occasion of this ‘capture of the enemy’, the Federals realised that had an opportunity and they waited for the time and started to fire into the crowded entryway, hitting guerrillas who were temporarily incapable of firing back, a couple of times hitting the women as they were being dragged into the Haçienda.
Once the captured women were beyond the twin arch, the guerrillas quickly formed up and brutal, close-range exchanges of fire started up again, eventually forcing the Federal army into a retreat into cover.
Issieki watched with excitement from the villa’s balcony. This was so much fucking fun! He watched Dokuhebiki before his church, receiving updates from horse messengers. He was looking equally amused and engaged in the current turn of the battle. At the moment his advance was certainly ongoing and it would be fair to call it at least a partial success. However, so far Issieki had more captured females. And that was how this wargame was scored. All he had to do what keep his winnings and minimise his losses and he would be declared the winner. At least, Of this first round.
He wondered if Culebra had given his men the same orders to take any female guerrillas alive to be sent back to the rear. Of course, the alternative was just as viable, to kill as many of Sobre’s Soldaderas as possible while keeping his own Federal Soldaderas alive. The result in superior numbers would be the same. However, they were Makai and the idea of killing females without first having taken as much pleasure from them as possible, would be as close to what the Jyujin and humans would call immoral as they could get. Issieki couldn’t envision Dokuhebiki taking on that particular method, it more or less defeated the real sense of victoriousness - to have the biggest number of living females in their army as possible. Though so they could fuck them, rather than have them wastefully killed on a battlefield. That was what he had suggested, that had been the message Luna had taken to him.
He shifted his elevated position over to his left, to where the breach had been overrun. They were fighting building to building as more Federals poured in, by this time barely hindered by guerrilla fire. He could see a small cluster of his forces trapped in a building that was all but surrounded by Federals. He could also see another four of Culebra’s females in that vicinity and he suddenly felt desperate to have them under his control, as well as safe and away from the fighting. They hadn’t laid down any ground rules about getting involved in the fighting themselves, but with Dokuhebiki remaining to the rear he felt it might be unfair? Then again, he had already involved himself by taking away the Federal artillery. And the Federals probably outnumbered his own forces three to one.
A scent on the wind, sudden yet subtle, caught Issieki’s attention. It was sweet and fresh and utterly tantalising. And, though distant and mostly buried in all the closer and more powerful scents suffusing the air, it was mouth-watering. He froze, completely mesmerised, like a child witnessing his first thunderstorm. And he wept.
<><><>
Miranda couldn’t believe how badly this was turning out. After El Sobre had silenced the Federal guns, she had been absolutely certain of an easy victory. However, already their position was overrun. She was trapped in a building with six of her fellow revolutionaries, they were all well-armed with well-maintained rifles and plenty of ammunition. However, who knew how many soldiers were right outside the walls of the small, single room, store house.
Someone kicked the door in. It was only a matter of time before some soldier came looking, either for their enemy or for loot. Miranda had been the first to react and had sent a bullet through the man’s nose and out the back of his head, perhaps killing whoever was behind him too. But the door was hanging off its hinges now, and their presence was known. This would not go down well. Her first thought had been, when she died here in this storage shed it would mean her not seeing El Sobre again. Never to see that alluring smile or, perhaps less of a regret, to carry out the order to satisfy his manly desires. She would have married the man in a second, had he asked her. The prestige alone would set her up for the rest of her life. But she knew men well enough to see that he was not the type to ever wish to marry, and he was certainly not the type to ever settle for just one woman. No, he would fuck everything he could get his hands on for as long as he could. Still, to be in a position where she would never again be able to please him, she found upsetting.
Another soldier appeared in the doorway. He manged to get a shot off before he was thrown back into the crowd a stream of blood following him, from where a guerrilla bullet had punctured his chest. But now they were down a man too. And three more Federals with their Mausers came around the doorway to target those inside. And two more of her comrades fell.
The Federals didn’t seem to be targeting her at all, instead they were taking down the guerrillas on the outside of the cluster of which she formed the middle. Seeing an opportunity, she raised her rifle and started to pick the men off. Killing one and wounding a second before they had ducked back from the doorway.
A bullwhip snapped through the air and caught the back of her trigger hand, the pain lanced through the back of her hand and zipping up her arm. It was like catching your funny bone, she thought. The Winchester tumbled from her grasp. She bent to retrieve it as another barrage of Mauser bullets raked the storeroom above her head and another two men went down.
The last man, a coward, screaming, threw down his rifle and dropped onto his knees, hands in the air, sobbing and praying as loud as he could. In between lines of prayer, he shouted pleas to the soldiers who were now aiming their rifles at him. Six of them shot him through the heart at almost the same time, the hole in his chest was wide and ragged, a couple more shots might well have been enough to tear him in two. Horrified and enraged Miranda screamed and fired her rifle again. The six men had already ducked back away from the door but there were so many khaki uniforms running past beyond that rectangular space that she couldn’t miss hitting someone. However, the second the crack of her Winchester had joined the myriad rifle cracks already filling the air, soldiers burst into the store room.
She quickly worked the lever to load another round but as she brought the barrel up to the horizontal there was a hand already on it, it was wrenched vertically and her last shot hit the ceiling. The rifle was wrestled from her grasp and then men’s hands were on her. Pulling at her, twisting her. She screamed and yelled curses but there was nothing she could do, whenever she lashed out with an arm or leg, even when she connected with flesh, nothing came of it. Even the one or two times she struck gold, hitting a guy in the nose or blindly finding a pair of testicles with her booted foot and the man crumpled in pain, another one was immediately in his place.
Her hair was fisted and yanked, forcing screams from her lips. Hands gripped her arms and legs pulling her everyway at once, fingers digging painfully into the flesh and muscles beneath her blouse. More meaningful hands squeezed her breasts and buttocks with a savage cruelty, snatching more screams from her. Numerous hands rubbed at her crotch. Someone was foolish enough to stick a couple of fingers into her mouth. She bit down hard, chewing, feeling the flesh pull away from tendon and bone. And at that moment she wasn’t the only one screaming. She heard the tearing of fabric, felt it. Felt fresh air on her buttocks and the tops of her thighs. Felt fingers pressing urgently between her buttocks, and no longer was there cloth between her flesh and theirs. She was penetrated vaginally, fingers pushing in deep, painfully hooking and scratching. Then her anus too was made to accommodate multiple fingers.
She was hoisted high and then found herself no longer sheathed in the shadows of the inside of the store room. The sun blinded her, the air with thick with smokeless powder and stale sweat. More ripping fabric joined the din of shouting, cries and gunfire. Her skirts disappeared. Then her favourite colour-striped vest was violently torn from her back, the fabric biting into her shoulders and hurting her savagely before it tore and then fell away. The buttons of her blouse didn’t stand a chance. There were already multiple hands on her breasts pinching, squeezing, fisting. Suddenly there was nothing but cool air there too. No fabric barrier. Her nipples were grabbed between fingers and thumbs and pinched and brutally, the shocking white-hot burn as her teats were stretched out away from her bosom, was intense and agonising. She gritted her teeth and whimpered and snarled. Tears flowed freely but she bit back the desire to sob, holding onto her rage instead. Her nipples were released by one set of fingers, a blessed moment of painlessness, before other fingers grabbed her and pulled just the same and just as sadistically.
She was hoisted up and above everyone’s heads and almost all of the abuses blissfully halted, apart from hands on her buttocks, squeezing savagely, fingers digging in, ragged sharp nails scratching. Some of them, perhaps the tallest of the Federals still managed to penetrate her anus and vagina but, as she was passed from man to man, the fingering came and went quickly.
Miranda lay there on her back, blinded by the brilliant azure sky, hauled up over the heads and atop the uplifted arms of the hated Federal soldiers. It was as though she was being carried aloft atop the frothy surf of a great wave. She was sent inescapably backward, through the breach in the wall and then off down the slope of the valley.
<><><>
El Sobre threw himself from the balcony into the melee. He had only a heavy sabre he had taken down from a wall display inside the dining hall of the villa. However, he could move faster, see more clearly and react more quickly than any of those trying so desperately to kill him. And it was a whole mass of fun. He positioned himself, killing a couple of soldiers, allowing one to get a bead on him and fire his rifle. The instant his finger squeezed the trigger the Guerrilla leader would duck, dodge or dart, avoiding the bullet, which would slam into the head or body of another. Then he would grab the bare legged female he had wanted and fling her to the rear where a band of his best men were waiting and guarding, under specific orders, the females already herded.
The sabre would slash, more savagely and with more force than any human could bring to bear, easily cleaving bodies in two, filling the middle ground with great cascades of blood. He hacked and slashed his way through to another female and another. Each time grabbing and launching them over toward his guardian force. Once he had grabbed all the Federal Soldaderas he had counted from his balcony perch. El Sobre leaped up onto a rooftop and called for the retreat.
Behind them, beyond the flatland the hacienda occupied, were the mountains that his men loved so much. They knew the goat tracks, the caves and hollows. And from there they could disappear from the pursuing Federals, and they would have the high ground and cover adequate enough to rain down lead onto their pursuers, to halt their advance and force them back down into the valley.
A bullet snapped the air by El Sobre’s head but he simply turned and laughed. Then he leaped back down to the ground and issued orders for his Guardian Force to begin the orderly retreat. The captured and bound females leading the way, followed a group of watchful guards while the rest of the force marched literally backwards, guns up and still firing at anyone who came at them. The reserves would catch up and pass by the rear guard, heading up into the mountains, along with any survivors from the front lines. Then the rear guard would continue their own slow, controlled retreat.
El Sobre called out to the American. But there was no reply. He could hear the lighter, faster firing of his paired revolvers zinging off to his right, and raced over that way. Carlton appeared to have a bullet wound in one thigh, but he was still on his feet and was protecting his men’s own orderly retreat. Their own captured females, many of them bound by the coils of the same lassos that had ensnared them, were being marched toward the rear of the villa. Some were hurrying of their own accord, some forced at rifle point. The remainder of the reserves followed them, slow and steady in retreat, keeping the advancing Federals at bay. Buying their comrades time and distance.
The rebel leader drew his sabre again and ran forward to stand beside the American, they both looked the same, alive and invigorated with the love of battle, though El Sobre did not display the note of grimness the American did. Though of course, he was not wounded.
There was a sudden rush from the Federals, an excitable Sergeant having gathered a small cluster of trusty regulars and raced forward through the entrance archway and then spread to either side planting themselves behind the first of the outbuildings, already badly pockmarked with bullet holes.
El Sobre was itching to rush their new found position and take them on at close range, and he knew Carlton would be up for the challenge, but he had to give the American the chance to reload his revolvers first.
He suddenly found himself flanked by two of his Soldaderas, young fierce women, one with a torn blouse and a cut across an exposed upper breast and the other all but covered in blood, her own blouse sticking to the naked flesh beneath and showing off everything she had up top. He felt an odd though powerful solar flare of pride at their sheer bloody-minded courage. Though perhaps they felt nothing more than a personal desire for vengeance for murdered loved ones, or perhaps stolen chastity and honour. More than likely both. However, these two were far too valuable a commodity to be wasted on a simple bit of fun. He ordered them to retreat with the others. Yet they refused, asserting their strong desire to stand at their beloved leader’s side and fight to the last. So, grinning, he came to each of them, took them in a robust embrace and kissed them hotly on the lips, driving his tongue into their mouths while his free hand gripped a buttock and squeezed firmly. His lusty passion left the both of them breathless and even a little teary eyed. The he called a unit of his guerrillas and had them physically dragged off to the rear.
Carlton was reloaded, a cigar between his yellowed teeth, a hatband with its own buckle now belted around his thigh just above the bullet hole, staunching the blood loss. Pistols gripped in his hands, he caught El Sobre’s eye and gave a nod of readiness. And with a shout and a laugh, the rebel leader swung the sword around his head once and the two men rushed forward.
<><><>
Megumi couldn’t be certain that the three men approaching her were bandits, but it was a safe assumption. She had travelled for miles in the wilderness, it was a rather desolate landscape, very rocky, though not quite arid. There was a certain amount of yellowed greenery and she had crossed numerous rivers and streams. One river had been too deep and fast flowing for the horse, and it had found itself in dire straits part way across. Megumi had quickly picked the struggling beast up out of the water and flown it across to the southern side. Fortunately, no one had seen her.
In fact, she hardly saw anyone, certainly not close up. There were a few little farming villages, but many of the places she came across were all but deserted, only occupied by a scattering of struggling old types, and a few young children. No adults of any kind. Though there appeared to be many fresh graves dug into the earth near each of these places.
On a couple of occasions, she had slipped quietly into a village after dark to explore. Using her preternatural senses, she had picked out which homes were occupied and which weren’t and had taken temporary possession of a deserted house, mainly so she could sleep in a proper bed. As well as give the horse some straw and a little safe enclosure to sleep in which is seemed to have appreciated. Though, overall, the horse had proved to be pretty self-reliant, there was enough grass to munch on and the streams and rivers gave her plenty of water and Megumi didn’t push the mare too far or too fast. Just a steady southerly pace was fine. She could still smell the Makai. They appeared to have settled somewhere southwest and she was getting that little bit closer each day.
Once during one of these village stays, she had awoken to find her mare being brushed down by some child, and there was a meal ready for her outside the door to her borrowed home. Often wary of strangers these surviving villagers had been surprisingly generous to her. But she hadn’t asked for anything and though she muttered her thanks, she offered them nothing in return, not that she had very much to offer. She rode out an hour after breakfast.
In another village, she had woken up to find her horse had been taken and her saddlebags ransacked. However, it was nothing for her to use her nose to sniff out where the mare had been hidden, in a small storage shed at the opposite end of the village. The horse wasn’t injured. It was harder to find the missing items from her saddlebags, namely the spare shells for her revolver. Remembering the generosity of the previous village, she decided not to simply start killing people until she had her things returned, but she did threaten the old man she did find. In response to her threat, he called out to some wet nosed tyke. The kind of child who, in England would have been working in the mills, especially in the northern half of the country. She supposed here, if the remainder of the adults had been present, he would have been working the fields with his parents. The old man ordered him to return her stolen bullets. He appeared to be arguing with the elder and, Megumi not being in the mood, had strolled over to the kid and casually broke his arm.
He ran bawling, cradling his broken arm out of the small domicile and came back, ace ruddy, eyes still wet and sniffling, his arm in a makeshift sling. He was accompanied by a girl. She was a little older than him, perhaps eleven or twelve, and carrying the boxes of bullets. She was also in tears and shaking all over as she handed them back. Megumi simply gave her a cold “Gracias” and then saddled her horse and went on her way. That had been the last contact she’d had with humans. Until now.
She had first seen the three of them as she had navigated an uneven path along a narrow gorge. They had been shadowing her from the top of the gorge on her right. Of course, she had smelled then from a few miles away, but she often smelled humans on the wind and tended to avoid coming into close contact. The scents of these three remained and she soon realised that they had obviously spotted her and were keeping an eye on her. When the scents started to intensify, she realised that they were following her and closing the distance.
The high side of the gorge started to slope down while her trail sloped up to meet it. They were waiting for her where the trail grew level with the gorge.
“Oh, pretty China doll!” One of them said, grinning. “What are you doing out here, in the middle of goddamn knows where, and all on your little lonesome?”
The speaker was American and spoke with a Texan accent, the other two were locals. The Texan was rough, unshaven, his clothes filthy and sweat stained, he had a pot belly and a round face. His dirt speckled skin was tanned, even sun damaged, his blonde hair darkened by sweat. However, his striking blue eyes sparkled, the exact shade of blue as the overhead sky. They were not handsome eyes. He had one hand casually resting on the dark wooden grips of what looked to be a ‘75 Remington revolver. The older of the two Mexicans was a big guy. Tall and broad. Long, lank brown hair, big bushy whiskers and big sombrero. A longer than usual leather vest hung from his broad shoulders, half covering his sweat-stained white shirt and tan trousers, the latter covered by dark leather chaps. He had a Henry repeater gripped in one hand, balanced across his saddle.
The younger Mexican was a kid, handsome and wide eyed. A little bit fresher and smarter dressed than his companions. He wore typical work pants, a blue shirt with a black vest over it, a black American style flop hat and a flashy pistol rig, tooled black leather with white stitching. It was a dual rig, with two holsters though they did not match, either each other or the belt. He was carrying a new and well-polished Colt SAA in blued steel with bone or horn grips in one brown Mexican style holster and an older, what looked like a Smith and Wesson Model Two on the other hip in an old brown leather slim-jim holster.
Of the three he was certain easy on the eye. In fact, he almost reminded her of the Jyujin palace guard whose mouth had entertained her while her brother had been meeting their Elder. His sombrero was hanging down against his shoulders, having just casually flipped it back from his head. It revealed the dark curls of hair that danced around his crown and swept down towards his large brown eyes. His nose was small and squat, but his lips were full and sensual. He was slender built but filled his shirt, hinting at fitness and concealed muscle tone.
The older Mexican looked her slowly and smoothly up, down and up again. He muttered something through a rotten toothed grin. The Texan laughed along with him, then spoke to Megumi.
“Ain’t seen one better than this piece, young though she may be.”
“You understand me China girl? Understand English?”
“Yes, and though it’s none of your concern, I’m heading south.”
“Well! Ain’t you one of them snooty, thinks she’s better than everyone else, English type whores.”
The Texan leaned over to one side of his saddle to spit onto the ground. Then he looked back at her again. His other hand casually rubbed at the crotch of his rough canvas trousers. The older Mexican spoke again, guttural back of the throat and indecipherable, at least to Megumi. The Texan laughed, the younger Mexican grinned but looked a little embarrassed or perhaps uneasy.
“Well we’re gonna be taking your horse, your pistol, your saddlebags… and you, little China girl.”
The kid hadn’t said a thing, and he even looked surprised by the Texan’s assertion. But otherwise, he didn’t react. The older Mexican was grinning, his eyes all over her again. Megumi frowned. But said nothing. The Texan continued.
“We’ll be keeping you for a few days, make some good use outta your holes. Then we’ll sell you on to some folks we know. Actually there’s a few options…”
The older Mexican grinned and added a comment, that the Texan seemed to take up with glee.
“Sure, there’s the miners to the west, they’d pay for you in gold I’ll bet, gets pretty lonely in some of them mountainous regions. Then there’s trappers to the east, same deal, different currency. And there’s a couple’a whorehouses I know in Chihuahua that’d pay for someone with your looks. Even after we’ve worn you out a little, even being a little China girl.”
“All interesting options.” She said, casually. “But I can’t see your plan coming to fruition.”
The Texan suddenly seemed to lose all interest in the back and forth, his smile faded. The older Mexican tensed. They were barely three metres apart. The Texan, suddenly snatched his revolver from its holster.
It was silliness. Not even a challenge. By the time the Texan had gripped his revolver’s handle, trigger finger finding its rightful place, Megumi had reached across her slender waist, grasped her own Double Action, cleared leather, and was aiming at his gut. The Texan’s motion continued, his reaction time that of a tortoise compared to Megumi’s hare, and by the time the bandit had cocked his Colt and was sweeping the barrel upwards through its arc, Megumi had shot him twice. First in the heart and then through the right eye.
The barrel of her Smith and Wesson was on the older Mexican before he had even brought his repeater up to bear. She put two slugs through him too, both two his heart. Her double trigger squeeze was so quick that the roar of the pistol’s dual detonation sounded like a single crack and the second bullet entered the entry hole the first had made, though in the microsecond between the two bullets, his body had twisted a fraction so the exit wound was more like a figure of eight between the blades of his shoulders.
His horse reared in sudden shock and the dead man slid back out of the saddle and hit the ground heavily. The horse bolted but only about a hundred yards, before calming and coming to a stop by some grass, which it began to chew on.
Megumi’s pistol was now covering the kid, but his hands were well away from his pair of holsters, in fact they hadn’t once strayed toward them. He slowly raised his hands above his head.
“Two shells left for you boy, or would you rather surrender? ...Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Miss. I speak English.”
“Interesting. Dismount, please. And strip.”
He barely even hesitated. He was obviously afraid, but not only of being shot dead. He was afraid of her. And rightly so. After climbing from the saddle, He stared up at her for a moment, she could see his hands shaking, his eyes were wide. She motioned with the barrel of her Double Action revolver. He unhooked the chin strap from around his head and tossed the sombrero aside, then moving slowly unbuckled his pistol belt. Megumi have him a little nod as he moved slowly and carefully, slid the belt from around his waist and then tossed it aside. His vest and then his boots came next. The latter were a bit of a struggle and he had to sit down on a rock and get both hands to the heel and toe of each boot, dragging his feet out from inside them.
“I’m Ángel Gabriel Martinez, Miss. May I ask your name?” He asked, almost conversationally.
Megumi took a moment of consideration, then offered him the Mexican interpretation of the Japanese language approximation of her actual, and in human terms unpronounceable, Jyujin name.
“If you must know, Señorita Bendición De Celestial.”
“A beautiful name, Señorita Bendición.”
“I like to think so. Please, continue.”
While he remained seated, he worked through his shirt buttons and then the fastenings of his trousers before peeling both garments off. Under the trousers, the only garment still covering him he wore a pair of drawers. He stopped there standing, arms away from his sides and looked up at her.
“Not done quite yet, are we?” She said.
He obediently stripped off his drawers and stood up, trying to appear proud and confident and yet failing miserably. Even so Megumi wasn’t left particularly disappointed. He was as she had anticipated, slender with toned, lean muscles. A line of dark wiry hair from between his legs crept up to his navel, a sprinkle of more across his chest. Though his lower legs and forearms were quite dark with body hair, his thighs, upper arms and shoulders were hairless. It was quite an attractive body, the member between his legs would fill one palm just about but the threat on his life had kept it soft. There was a definite lozenge shape though and beneath the foreskin, the rounded mushroom of his glans was well defined and taking up close to half the overall length. As she stared it did actually start to swell slightly. He came half way to cupping it with his hands but stopped himself. Instead attempting to show some pride under her attentions.
“Seems adequate.” She commented. “Let’s play a little game, whatever your name was. The rules are easy enough. You’re going to fuck me. If you go soft, or can’t get hard, I shoot you. If you climax before me, I shoot you.”
He had been repeating his name under his breath, but he baulked, shock and terror masking his handsome young features.
“I’ll give you a helping hand to start you off, but after that it’s all down to you.”
<><><>
Paola De la Reguera had spent all her life in Agua Del Sueco. She had dreamed of marrying the grandson of the town’s elder and had made the mistake of throwing herself at him, making herself available. He had taken her virginity after showering her with affection and vows of undying love. But afterwards he had decided instead that he should marry Lucia Gonzalez, a year younger than Paola, far prettier, and in his words ‘pure’.
Paola had been heartbroken and angry. He had used her, betrayed her. In the weeks that had followed, she had actually poisoned the cheating bastard, though in secret. Unfortunately, he had only become sick, spending a couple of unsuspecting days in bed.
Putting aside the shivering fear of what might have happened if she had been caught, along with her grief and anger, and the realisation that she had failed to extract her revenge, Paola had taken the first proposal that had come along. Pedro, a farmer’s son. He was fun, charismatic and handsome. He was also a drinker and gambler and quick to anger. It hadn’t been a pleasant marriage. Though, within a year, Pedro had angered the wrong man, a bandit it was suspected. And during an illicit poker game, while he should have been working out in the fields, he had been accused of cheating and shot dead.
Paola had even lower prospects now, a widow. Fortunately, she had not given her husband a child yet and she was still pretty and not yet thirty. She had accepted another proposal of marriage. His was the only proposal and it was this or finding work on her back. She knew it was her only chance. He was also called Pedro. He was neither a rich nor attractive man, in fact he was downright ugly. However, this had been his only chance to get a pretty wife so he idolised her and treated her like a queen. He was not an imaginative sort and was a serious man, but he was a hard worker and completely dedicated to his new wife. On the one hand Paola felt grateful to her husband for her last chance, but she was also angry and bored and found it easy to wrap Pedro around her little finger, making promises without delivery, lazing around the house while he worked hard from dawn to dusk, treating him poorly, showing him no affection. She only realised what she had lost when he was taken from her.
The Elder’s grandson had started to show her attention again and she had been receptive to his gifts and suggestions. It had been exciting and he had played on her vanity and that she felt Pedro was beneath her and she deserved someone like the elder’s grandson. Handsome, rich and powerful. However, Pedro heard about the other man showing his wife attention and surprisingly had stood up to him. He had challenged him to a duel. And had been killed. Barely a week later, Colonel Culebra had marched his men into the village.
Every man, including the Elder, his son, and grandson were shot, stabbed or burned alive. And every woman between fourteen and forty was imprisoned and then forced to become the Colonel’s playthings, girl soldiers as well as personal concubines, generously shared out among his men of course.
Now Paola marched up the shallow slope of a hillside toward a walled hacienda, wearing only the blood-stained tunic of a deceased Federal soldier, a scarf to protect her hair from the sweltering sun, a pair of boots that were too big for her. Then there was the rifle with its single bullet.
Alongside her was a big foreigner called Mag. He didn’t speak her language. English was not his first language either. Not that Paola knew any English. He marched alongside her and was apparently carrying her ammunition and would pass her only one bullet at a time. And from what she had been informed, unless she was requested by Colonel Culebra, she now belonged to this big, pale skinned, square jawed blond brute. She was to cook for him, clean his clothes, sew, clean his equipment, his rifle and his uniform. Plus, he was entitled to make use of her body however and whenever he pleased.
Ahead of them, besieged in the haçienda, were the rebels of the revolution and they were meant to kill them. The instinct was to make a break for it and try to get in with their forces. After all she felt as though she should be on their side. They were her people. However, Paola, like every villager had heard the rumours, the dark whispers that the rebels often came to the villages for supplies and fighting men. While they liked to use the women too, for their pleasure. There were plenty of stories that villages were emptied out of men and women, anyone old enough to carry a gun were forced to join the rebels. And for the women it was not good. Not good if they joined though often worse still if they did not.
Would she be better off being raped and forced to cook and carry and clean for the Federals, or do exactly the same job for the Rebels. At least the rebels were fighting for her kind, the poor, the farmers, the working classes. At least they had her sympathies. But how could she get in there without getting shot by either side? Surely if she ran forward, she would simply be shot in the back as a traitor. And if she marched with the rest up to the wall, she would become just another Federal for the rebels to shoot.
Perhaps she should march up close to the breach in the wall, then play dead and wait for an opportunity to surrender to the revolutionaries? She expected she should be pretty enough that they would want to keep her alive to enjoy her and so they wouldn’t just kill her on sight.
Though to make matters worse, Mag had a hold of her by the rough fabric at her collar and was keeping her apace with him. Ahead of them were three lines of soldiers, a few other women like herself, scattered throughout their number. It wouldn’t be long before they were up at the wall and would have to start firing, or running forward to surrender and hope not to get shot first.
<><><>
Senorita Bendición, rode young Ángel Gabriel Martinez, hard and fast. At first, she had gone easy on him. She had stripped off her own clothing. Peeling off the leather trousers proved to be more difficult than anticipated, but soon enough she was revealing her taut athletic physique to the boy. She saw it all reflected in his expression, his slack, drool flecked mouth. The ass that was simply perfect, small yet jutting globes of perfectly-rounded peach. Breasts that were larger than they had appeared inside her blouse, all the while remaining proportional to the rest of her, supremely firm, perkily upthrust and proudly jutting. The sight of that golden, sun kissed nakedness, as well as her stunning if foreign facial features, had kept him fully erect and fiercely throbbing, the shaft maintaining a healthy forty-five-degree angle throughout.
She had slid in close and kissed him, felt his muscles, rubbed his solid cock. Her forwardness had urged him onwards and he had marvelled at the feel of her, the softness of her firm, pliant breasts and her hardness of her smooth buttocks. He had slid a hand over her pubic mound and splayed her vulva with a probing finger. She had pushed him to the ground and knelt over him.
Using her best oral technique, she brought his already three-quarters hard cock to full mast in a second. However, plunging him and out of her throat, she had felt his sap rising almost at once, smelled the churn of his seed within those nice, palm sized testicles. Another ten seconds and she would have been swallowing his seed. Which given her rule, would have been unfair, so she had released him from her mouth. Despite his closeness to death, he had let out a great whimper of sorrow and disappointment at the loss of her lips.
She climbed onto him, planting herself astride his hips. Her hot, tender pussy lips pressed down against his penis, trapping the hard shaft between their bodies. At first, he had remained sitting up, hands and mouth gorging themselves excitedly on her smooth, tight, golden and unblemished flesh. She had pushed down on his chest, pressing him back onto the dusty earth, while her other reached over to her left and retrieved her revolver.
“Remember, lose the erection or climax before me and I shoot you dead.”
“Certainly, no chance of the former. The latter… all I can do is my best…”
She read in his eyes a certain confidence, amusement, though just for a moment. Perhaps he felt a lack of concern as though getting killed at the point of climaxing in a such a lovely ‘China girl’ would be a good death. He didn’t know the half of it.
She rocked her hips gently back and forth on his erection. He reached up to cup and squeeze her breasts. He played hard, gnarled thumbs across her puckered nipples. They stiffed until they ached and she couldn’t help but let out a little whimper of pleasure. She reached behind her, beneath her buttocks and caught hold of his testicles, palming the sack and manipulating it gently between her fingers, adding little gentle squeezes. It was his turn to moan. He breathed a little curse in Spanish. Something religious. Humans and all their religions, always so far from the truth.
Enough was enough. Bendición lifted herself, elevated his cock so it was jutting upright, allowing that hot, blunt crown to nudge her inner lips, adding a little downward pressure so it spread her soft labia and then lowered her weight and took him inside her. She lowered herself with inextricable slowness, not even an inch at a time, a millimetre. The deeper she slid herself onto him, the more noise he made. Halfway down, his body was quivering and she swung the revolver threateningly into his face. The wide, .44-inch muzzle pressing against his lips.
He froze, eyes bulging from his skull, mouth agape. She knew she was tight and knew even though he was only average in length and girth, it still felt marvellous sliding down his meat, being stretched and filled by the stiff, slick, hotness of him.
The gun in his face, that numbing fear, allowed Ángel the chance to get used to the exquisite feel of her enveloping channel. The slick grip of her, the heat that induced delicious tingles throughout his groin. As though afraid that too much contact, that too much of the physicality of her would be too much for him, he let go of her. First of all, his hands relinquished their tender cupping of her full breasts. Instead, he gently lay both palms onto her the tops of her smooth muscular thighs. However, almost at once he let go of even that part of her the skin feeling impossibly smooth and cool under the heat of the summer sun. Finally pressing his hands into the warm dry earth at the outside of his thighs, he left them there.
He closed his eyes, his brow furrowed, while he murmured little curses and oaths in Spanish. Revelling in only the pure senses of touch and sounds as though another sense would send him over the edge. She fucked him, slowly and intimately, her palms on his abdomen, her thighs working her hips and delectable buttocks up and down, emptying and filling herself again and again. Her moans were high and soft and almost certainly adding to his pleasure. His sense of prowess.
It would have made her smile but she was already feeling it. Her hips were moving more quickly as the delicious heat started to build rapidly in her core. The friction between his body and hers, between the gripping though lubricated walls of her vagina and his solid hard meat, was exquisite. And for her any sex was good. Well, any cock was good, as long as it stayed hard enough for long enough. And she was always quick to cum. Plus, she hadn’t fucked anyone since that Palace guard in her own realm.
All of a sudden, she was on the brink, just not quite there. Infuriated and tantalised, she worked herself harder, dipping into a little more of her power, fuelling the rapid pace of her bouncing and gyrating hips. She threw her head back and let out a long soft moan, feeling his shaft lurch inside her in response, but he didn’t cum. Lucky for him. She reached up to cup her breasts, crushing their fullness and enjoying their softness in her hands, pinching and twisting her ensnared nipples, making every effort to bring herself over the summit. At that moment Ángel hit his own peak.
The friction, her pace and the sounds she was making, the clap of her hard flesh on his, like a machine gun. His erection bulged, the muscles inside his slick foreskin tensing sensually, pressed firmly against her gripping, flexing walls. A second later, the solid shaft leaped within her and with a loud, grunting moan, the young Mexican spurted suddenly, spraying deep into her.
His orgasm was intense, thick sprays of hot, salty liquid. And to her tunnel walls it felt delicious, like caresses of molten gold. It instantly set off Bendición’s orgasm.
She wailed, a high-pitched sound. Her genitals gushing her own sweeter, watery juices. Though above and beyond that minor liquid explosion, there came a sudden build and release of orgasmic chi. An orb of pure sexual power, part physical, plasma-like, and part psychic energy. It enveloped them both in an expanding orb of solar-core white, to which only she was immune. When it faded, after a second, she was revealed seated astride a shallow pile of ash. All that was left of Ángel Gabriel Martinez.
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