Fancy Ranch

Fancy Ranch

The stalker couldn't believe his luck. Like a fragile black butterfly, his quest was sipping tea at the cafe having finished her morning errands. Finally alone!

“Ah, My Dear, so nice to see you again. You look as lovely as ever even though you are still wearing that dreary black gown which doesn't fit your vibrant personality. Are you still mourning that long dead husband?” The man sat next to her without an invitation. “Allow me just a moment. You must grace my dinner table this evening. I insist. You will be the most mouth watering dish available, to be sure!

Dumbfounded, the pulchritudinous young widow stared at the large rude man dressed in a rough, brown corduroy jacket. His pigish face and white goatee rang no bells.

“Oh! You do not recognize me. Of course, so many business dealings were happening at one time when we first met. Let me reintroduce myself.” He stood up and clasped her hand in his as he bent low to plant a kiss on the back of it then lingered to reach his fingers up along her wrist as if testing her pulse.

With some difficulty she extracted her hand, er, arm, from his exploring grip, “Ah, yes, Mr. Von-Baron, I do remember you now. It was an eventful day and I apologize for taking a moment to recall. I bought a few head of cattle from you. Thank you for the invitation but I have to decline.”

“Since you are all alone let me offer you my protection and company. A refined lady like yourself should not be having to do manual labor working at your stagecoach crossing that creates such callouses on her soft hands as I found on yours just now.” He sat himself beside her again. “Please let me be of assistance. I am a man of vast abundance. I can offer you the finest things money can buy and am ready to admire all the beautiful things about you. Let me ease your burdens. As a savvy woman maybe you would consider a mutual business merger.”

He pulled a gold locket out of his pocket and started dangling it in front of her eyes. “Just look at this bright bobble. It is very pretty, isn't it, but it doesn't hold a candle to your beauty. See how it sparkles in the light, but your eyes sparkle more even in dim light. It is worth a lot of money but you gracing my dinner table would be worth so much more. Let me give you this pretty gold locket, watch how it shines. See how it catches the light. See how you are getting very sleepy. Your eye lids are becoming heavy. Very heavy.” His voice droned on and on. She couldn't keep her eyes focused.

He slipped a small flask from his pocket and poured her remaining tea from the pot into the flask which had been laced with laudanum. He encouraged her to take a sip to fortify herself. He leaned her head upon his shoulder to rest for a moment. His diabolical scheme was working like a charm.

He tossed some coins on the table, led her out to his hooded carriage and lifted her in. If anyone in this sparse, parched town neither of them lived in noticed they would testify they looked hand in glove, very familiar and intimate. He continued to monotonously speak directions to her.

“You will obey all instructions I give you. You must pleasure me. You love only me. You want to be my wife. You willingly give yourself to me. You will fulfill me.”

When alone on the road he eased her out of her black widow garb to create make-shift bridal attire by draping a white shawl around her sugary-sweet porcelain shoulders (he couldn't resist sampling). A long, lacy white head scarf resembled a veil over her golden curls. The neckline of her silky white petticoat undergarment plunged nicely in the front. He would take that plunge later this evening after a judge pronounces 'til death do us part'. He found that judge in the next town to make her legally his bride. Now she belonged to him.

Her hazel eyes glazed over as he professed her deep love for him. He exclaimed her happiness. He droned on as they rode on into the shank of the evening. He plied her with ample doctored tea. They traveled on.

At long last he droned, “You are home now. You will live in luxury. You will be happy. You will share my bed tonight. You will willingly give yourself to me. All of yourself to me. You must pleasure me. You must fulfill me. You love me. You are so happy.”

The buggy had stopped at a low, brown ranch house on the edge of dry, brown prairie dotted with dusty, brown cattle with wide, sharp horns. Her new husband carried her over the threshold into the drab, brown interior. A hearty meal of brown beef, brown potatoes and brown gravy was spread before them. Four of his brown-dressed boisterous men joined them.

“Meet my new missus, Boys.”

They corralled around her a little too close. “She looks good enough to eat. Like candy on a stick. You gonna give us all a lick?” They remembered other trollops he had brought home as wives that they could all share. But this one looked somehow much classier - and younger. Bet he didn't find this one in a saloon.

“She belongs only to me. She loves me and only me. Here, Buttercup, have a little sip.”

Ready to cut into the rare prime rib the men clanged together their forks and long, sharp steak knives in front of her. “Who did you say we are carving up tonight?” one crusty cowboy asked. Clink-ching. Clink-ching.

“Oh, it's that sweet little heifer, Hazel. Been roasting all day. Nice piece of prat there. She'll be good and tender. Dig in.” said the Big Boss, the ranch owner. Uh, her husband.

She must love him. She must pleasure him. She must willingly give all of herself to him. She must fulfill him.

She watched as the men scraped their knives again sharpening them more. Clink-ching. Clink-ching.

What had one of her friends commented at that first business encounter about her being on the baron's plate and him looking ready to devour her? He had a huge table muscle.

Her mind just wasn't focusing right. The knives loomed bigger and sharper, closer and closer. Clink-ching. Clink-ching.

She imagined herself trussed and bound, choice cuts clearly labeled in blue ink on her pale skin, laid out on the platter. “Please, don't devour me!”

“Don't worry, Little Lamb Chop. It's just Hazel, the heifer. Why we ate Bongo, the bull; and Sanford, a steer; and Calvin, the calf. We are cattlemen. It's just our silly way of having a little fun. Don't worry. Gentlemen, help yourselves to Hazel and to the brandy. I'll take my wife to my room. She must be hallucinating.”

The cowboys raised a toast to him, “Here's how to ya! May she last longer than your other ribs that just wasted away. Ha, ha, ha!” They slapped each other on their backs and turned back to feast on the beast. They reminisced as they dug in.

“Hey, hey. Ya'll 'member pleasingly plump Penelope? Lot there ta grab hold o' on that one! Or how 'bout wanton Wanda. She was wiry but she would ride us like the wind, again and again,” chuckled cowboy number one.

“My fav'rit' was luscious Lucille. She lasted the longest. He'd picked her out o' a line down Laredo way,” added hand number two.

“Wonder what's in the air out here they don' e'er survive,” chortled the crusty guy.

“This here new one's so fine think we should call her 'Fancy'. Can't wait to play a round o' poke her,” chipped in number four as they all guffawed.

The pot-bellied rancher carried his new bride into his brown bedroom. He stripped away the excess layers of white until he could admire her supple nubile flesh. So smooth. So enticing. So inviting.

He reminded her how much she loved him. How happy she was. He helped her drink from the flask again. He took off his brown jacket, unbuckled his huge belt buckle with the protruding sharp, wide cow horns and let it clunk to the floor. He loomed over her. Everything about him was huge. She knew him not yet she was told time and again how much she loved him and how happy she was.

He bent down to caress her face and capture her lips with his huge, hungry lips. Then his swinish snout rooted into the base of her neck to test the tempting, pulsating artery there as it throbbed its toothsome promise. He laid her across his big brass bed immobilizing her beneath his huge chest.

She must pleasure him. She must willingly give herself, all of herself, to him. She must fulfill him. How happy she was. She trembled.

“Oh, I can feel how excited you are. Your heart is racing. Don't worry we will soon be one. Just relax and enjoy. This won't hurt a bit. You must pleasure me. It'll feel so good! You love me. You must fulfill me.”

Oh, he could barely control himself. She was just where he wanted her. He had dreamed of having her all to himself from the first time he saw her. Planned how he could take her. But he would take his time. Enjoy all of her. She belonged to him now.

First, yes, first, he must satisfy his gnawing, overwhelming blood-lust. He had already thought it out and would only sip a little each time so he could enjoy her again and again. He imagined the pleasure she was about to give him. So exciting! Just a small 'x' in that throbbing, pulsating spot and he would have free flowing access. Such a small poke would easily heal and he could help himself to more whenever he wanted more.

Now where is his little folding pig sticker? Aha, the horns on the buckle should be sharp enough.

She felt his glutinous fingers roam all over her. She felt the quick prick and was mesmerized as his gaping, gluttonous mouth descended hungrily upon her punctured throat and started sucking her life blood out of her. Greedy, greedy sucking. He grinned up at her with blood-red teeth dripping and reminded her how much she loved this. Then he bent to the task once again.

Only a little more this time around. Mm, she tasted so good! Just as he knew she would. Mm, bittersweet and warm. Mm, he had waited so long for this. She was willingly giving and giving with every beat of her heart. He moaned his contentment. Mm, so satisfying. She pleasured him. She was fulfilling him. There was a lot of him to fulfill. She was graciously granting her goodness to him as it gushed forth into his guzzling, gulping gullet. Giving all of herself to him.

“Mm-mm, good,” he mumbled with a mouthful, “mm-must mulmill me.”

Humm, wonder...how much blood...does human body...hold? How long...would it take for him to completely...drain my blood? He seems...intent...on completely...draining me.

His huge hand found a helpful handle above her heart to squeeze the pumping muscle so it would spurt out the thick vital fluid even faster. He set up a rhythm. Squeeze-spurt-slurp. Squeeze-spurt-slurp. Slurping up every drop he was devouring her very essence.

Devouring-her-essence. De-vouring-her...

Squeeze-spurt-slurp. Must-give-self. Squeeze-spurt-suck. Must-save-self. Squeeze-spurt-slurp. Save-must-live. Squeeze-spurt-slurp. Breathe-must-breathe. Squeeze-spurt-slurp. Much-too-huge.

He rag-dolled her into a new position so her head flopped back giving him a better angle to relentlessly ravish his willing victim. Her hand fell upon a small hard object. Squeeze-spurt-slurp. Although she felt faint she instinctively knew it was the gift from her late husband, a little firearm hidden in her cloth handbag tossed on the bed as he undressed her. Squeeze-spurt-suck. She only needed to sting him enough to distract him so she could get away. Squeeze-spurt-slurp. Somehow she managed to pull the trigger through the fabric. Squeeze-spurt...

Once released the tiny ball had a mind of its own and zinged its way through his side, through the tallow, through the liver, spleen and stomach. Never touching a bone it plunged itself like a stake into the center of his plaque plagued heart, immediately fatal. His body collapsed upon her blood soaked air-pipe, her precious blood still pumping into his puckered pie hole. With all of the strength she had left she screamed and screa...

The lusty revelers in the next room heard her cries and laughed figuring Big Boss was pirooting that perky little piece of Calico to her delight. Boy, wouldn't they like to join in!

Oh, why not? Sounded like he had had his fun and in the past he had shared a rib or two. They would give it a go. So they barged in and found...bloody carnage!

“Can't find nary a mark on 'im,” the bunkhouse buddies realized, “it's all her blood, none his. Lucky stiff must have suffered a heart attack from all the frisky frolicking.”

“Someone apply pressure on her wound. Draw straws. Short one rides for the doctor. The rest o' us can start a game o' poke her wit' the new Fancy Ranch heiress.”