RANGES OF RAVISHMENT: THE LASCIVIOUS SKEDADDLING OF LULU AND HER SHERIFF
By Quillon42
Traversing along the thousands-trodden trails was that demigoddess of diabolical gambling now, she who embodied an apotheosis of a maiden residing within the perimeter of a most seething salacious pasta panorama. Connoisseurs of Canasta could not hope to gain any sort of victory over this mistress of malicious money contests, she who ostensibly traveled with a darling son in tow but who was in fact a shifty dwarf underneath her precious petticoats. What made the matter even more ostentatiously obscene was that both the vertically challenged varmint and his convexly advantaged vixen were reveling with revolvers and never hesitated to hush out such hardware on any warranted wry occasion.
Transpiring near to the border by which so many wayward brazen ones had made their bid to break into the United States, Lulu and her lewd, lewd little conniver had been fixing to score saliently against another convocation of cardsharps such as herself. For certain no nefarious comers would be able to espy the surreptitious secrets behind the successes of her sketchy hands, when there were so many other portions of her phallus-thalamus-stimulating figure upon which to focus.
Then, though, just as she was about to goad her miniature maven into making for the saloon once again, Lulu happened to her bitchy birchbark irises upon the most beguiling and becoming caballero this side of the ever enterprising ponderosa upon which she plied her illicit trade.
In actuality, it was not the unctuous undercover cad named Carlos who wormed his way into the heart of the Hearts-hustling hussy ever so oleaginously. It was not that Carlos, the freakish Frenchman who had then made like a Mexican, all within the convoluted context of Texan conflict converging between disarrayed armies, and had seduced the spurs off of the sepia-maned siren. It was not that Carlos, whose various seedy images had become superimposed upon a montage of urgency when, in the mainstream timeline of this narrative, Lulu rushed across the wilderness upon her steed in hopes of rescuing the slovenly scoundrel.
Nay indeed, in this rendition of the story, the heroine had been far more discerning in her tastes, and as such she fell never for the baddest Chads who failed to foster their feces together and craft coherent lives for themselves. Instead, this delectable deceptress devoted her desire to that Sheriff who kept the municipality in as much order as he could afford—he who had actually served causes other than those involving his own personal ends.
Now in the lateness of a lurid Lone Star afternoon, the solitary lawman led his horse along the town limits in an effort to catch that devilish rascal Red, who had terrorized the population to pilfer their guns and gold. Unbeknownst to the Alamo avenger, the crimson miscreant had already fallen thanks to the efforts of the Euchre enchantress herself, she who had also in the process so freed the whiny womanchild Rosie as well as her indolent, impotent beau Jean. Now the horse-riding hoyden was incidentally bound in the direction of the deputy employer, she sporting sinopia shocks of Red's scalp in her hand as proof of her victory while grasping her mount's reins simultaneously.
Once Lulu had beheld the Sheriff in her path,
[NNNNNNEEEEEEIIIIIIGGGGGGHHHHHH]
she made her American Quarter equus rise on its two forelegs, all while a certain intimate extension of his had similarly ascended within the denim dungarees of the pasture policeman opposite.
Sensing that the man could not mouth any semblance of sentence upon witnessing her contumacious curviness once again, the prurient princess of Pinochle ever addressed him presently.
"Are you wagering you might catch one Red villain out past the edge of town today, Sheriff?"
For a stint the one spoken to was lost within the white linens of the Deuces damsel's dauntingly diaphanous dress, as well as the tawny flesh that occupied the intermittent openings.
Then honing in on his hoarse inflection at last: "I…I intend to find the same."
This was met by a cascade to the dusty earthen surface of fulvous follicles culled by the mahogany-haired mademoiselle.
"Justice has already become so visited upon that moocher of money and muskets," mused Lulu, who here again had never even known the aforementioned afroed Latino Carlos given that in this iteration he had thankfully been blasted out of existence (if by accident) courtesy of the revolutionary General, that raucous rebel leader of Tamulipas. "Given that all aspects of business here have been exhausted, I was going to quit this quaint post rather pragmatically…"
And then something in the light of the late day had made the lady exchange a stare so solidly saturated with starvation for something more replenishing than remuneration or renown, something yet more for prevailing over men in games involving pressing Piquet hands or punishing pistol grips. And this beguiling girl of the gulch savvied Sir Sheriff was giving back an identically hungry gander in turn.
Even as the man gazed back ever garroted with longing, he almost subconsciously roped out the rialto that was resting at his side. Rather than lash out with the vindicating ligature decisively, though, he coiled the implement up and tossed it to the dexterous debutante. "For catching my quarry when I could not accomplish such in so many months; I commend you."
Steadily the thread-surrendered Sheriff started off toward his own stallion. Then a glint of something buff before his eyes, followed by the sensation that his retreat had so ceased against his will.
Tightly between the tender hands of the itinerant miss had been her end of the lasso with which she instantly ensnared the country constable. "I won't let you depart from here before I do."
Then jumping down from her own filly was the femme, she bending down before the other ahead of her while the latter was beginning to register it, she reaching down for something secret and pulling gingerly upon it with no protest whatsoever from the gaucho opposite.
"You must accept this gift, for all that you have done for me in this vicinity."
She deftly reached with delicate digits and undid that article of clothing which the ever-vigilant vaquero had hoped for epochs that she would divest.
Verily, it was the beatitudinous binding of that tenuous frontier-tony ghost-gossamer garter that Lulu now let undulate from the cappuccino coscia that was her caramel-colored thigh. This the mistress of the mesa slid down the impossible Oregon-Trail trajectory of her left lower limb, to settle in a corresponding parmesan-toned palm and pass breathily to the broad-chested champion before her.
With narrow eyes the icon of integrity around these parts closely scanned the clothing article. Then, in this version, he hushed away the thought of storing the article as naught more than a hobby (although of course the man would preserve the alembicated item for any moments alone in the future). For now, at any rate, the Sheriff became much more invested in wresting more than just mere apparel from this contessa of the cavallard.
As such, upon measuring a matching wavelength of wanting from the woman's eyes, this haughtiest hoss secured the suggestive present, then dashed out with his opposing paw and drew the dame quite a mite closer to their collective liking.
"I had thought you would never ask for that deserved reward as well…"
Then Lulu lacked the capacity to continue such paltry parley, as she found her mouth now so mined by the most passionate prospector possible.
Fully into the evocative facial embrace did the lady lean, much moreso than any interaction she had in the official onscreen actions regarding this story (as this author recalls that her kisses with Carlos were obscured away from the foreground and thus most probably falsified). Charily did the courageous cowperson chase the cozy caboodles of this country courtesan's chapless macaroon legs. Roughly did said Sheriff rustle his tongue across the ravishing range of the ristretto rear so vast which belonged breath-batingly to the vamoosing vagabond. Then ever authoritatively did this brash bastion of civic beneficence brush his femme-famined lips against the biscotti banquette of her belly, the baxin bodega of her back, the bombolone bonanza of her breasts.
By the time the Sheriff had completed his grandiose graze of the sensuous signora's shape, he set himself to drowning anew in the fawnest furrows of that wandering woman's eyes; when she reflected back the rapture he had radiated, it was decided.
Quickly and quietly did the coach so skedaddle now from the small city, with these lascivious lovers eternally in tow.