Shane McQueen squinted as light filled her tiny prison. Dust motes stirred by the opening of the door swam before her eyes, lightly obscuring her sight of a slender man, impeccably groomed, with shiny black hair and a mixture of distaste and amusement in the dark eyes that glittered over the handkerchief he daintily pressed to his nose.
"Oh, Rusty, darling, this won't do."
From the look on his face, Shane could tell that he was referring to the smell emanating from her having spent hours in the close, stuffy closet. Well, if it was annoying him, that was nothing compared to what it was doing to her.
She'd finally, after two hours of tendon-straining effort, managed to get her right leg up and over the rope that was tied to the hook on the wall above and behind her. That had left her too exhausted to care about the sweat running into her eyes, and soaking her clothes. For a long time, she hung by her bound wrists, working up the strength to try to free them from the hook, but there had simply not been enough room to move her body that far. She had to half-crouch, half-kneel, to keep from putting all the strain on her shoulders; she'd pissed herself half an hour before her captors had opened the door, but had at least gone no further. Still, it was hardly news to her that she smelled.
"Now, Blackie," the red-headed madam began. "We can get her spruced up in two shakes."
"Well, see that you do." The fastidious man took the handkerchief from his face, revealing a neat black mustache. "The smell would put my guests off their food,"
The man called Blackie paused for a moment, regarding the U.S. Marshal who was now his captive. "We'll converse later." He turned on his heel, and was gone.
As he left, his place in the doorway was taken by two familiar figures: Little Jill and Sweet Lorraine.
"Howdy, Marshal." Little Jill gave her hips a little twitch, just to be certain that Shane could see that Jill now wore the marshal's fine matched set of pistols. Lorraine didn't bother with a greeting, but the predatory look on her face would have put the fear up a coyote.
"All right, girls," came Rusty's chortle. "You heard Blackie-- get her presentable." The closet dimmed for a moment as Lorraine stepped in to unfasten Shane's bound hands from the hook. The marshal tried to gauge her chances of somehow overpowering the tall cowgirl, but not only was she hampered by the bondage, she had no way to face down Little Jill and her guns. MY guns! First my horse, now my pistols! As she was dragged from the closet by her bound wrists, Shane swore to herself that she'd make both these women regret that they'd ever interfered with a U.S. Marshal... that was, assuming she lived to do so.
Shane blinked more dust from her eyes as she stumbled behind Lorraine into the light. Though she hated giving her captors the satisfaction of complaint, she groaned into her gag as her legs came to their full extension for the first time in hours. Lorraine responded with a laugh, and the toe of a boot to the seat of Shane's filthy denim trousers.
"C'mon, blondie," the big woman gloated. "We gotta get you all nice and clean... which means that first we gotta get you all nice and nekkid!"
Shane did her best to ignore the lewd taunt, and instead tried to discern more information about her surroundings.
The hallway she was being led down was thickly carpeted, and several rooms opened off of it. She had the feeling that the stairway must be behind her, meaning she was unlikely to find any sort of escape route in her current direction.
One of the rooms they passed had its door slightly ajar, and Shane could see that it was a lushly furnished rendezvous, though with a few enhancements: the corners of the bedposts were festooned with leather straps and cuffs, and there was an assortment of leather crops and similar implements on a table nearby. She suppressed a shudder at the thought of the perversions that were doubtless practiced within; the heavy curtains and wall hangings would help muffle any sounds.
At the end of the hallway was a large indoor bathroom, with a big wooden tub in its center. As they approached the bathroom, Shane couldn't help notice that more than one of Rusty's hired guns was suddenly finding himself with business in the hallway.
"Bet she cleans up right nice," grunted one of the lounging villains to his mate.
"You keep your peckers to yourselves," Lorraine growled at him. "She ain't for you." The tone in her voice left little doubt as to who she did think Shane was intended for.
"Ah, hold yer water," the man snarled back. "Ya cain't begrudge a man a little free show now, can ya?"
Lorraine shrugged. "Long as you keeps yer trousers on." And she decided that a few extra sets of ogling eyes might provide just the right touch of humiliation to the proud marshal.
The door to the bathroom stood open, and the large wooden tub was being filled with hot water from a bucket, by a woman that Shane took to be one of Rusty's whores; several more steaming buckets sat nearby. Another young woman stood beside Lorraine now, with a large cloth sack, holding it open to receive the marshal's clothing.
Lorraine then began to unwrap the bonds from Shane's wrists. Little Jill caught Shane's eye, as if to remind her that she stood ready to throw down on Shane with her own guns. As if I could forget.
Shane flexed her muscles carefully as the ropes came free, making certain not to do anything that would set off any of the gun-toting animals leering at her. She did her best to look casual as she raised an eyebrow to Lorraine, to ask if she might dispense with the gag.
"Go ahead," grunted the big cowgirl, and Shane struggled to undo the buckle from behind her head, and pulled the sodden rag from her mouth.
"Don't stop there," Lorraine commanded. "Keep goin'."
There was a round of appreciative chuckles from her audience as Shane realized that she was not to be allowed the privacy of a closed bathroom in which to disrobe. She gritted her teeth, in hopes that this would somehow curb the flush rising to her cheeks, and began to unbutton her sweat-stained shirt. Whistles and jeers greeted each button's removal, and when there was still one button left to go, Lorraine reached out a big hand and yanked the shirt free, popping the buttons at the cuffs.
"Move it along, girly," she jeered, and held one hand to her nose, mockingly emphasizing the ripeness of the shirt before she dropped it into the waiting sack.
There was scattered applause from the onlookers as Lorraine then reached to the top button of Shane's fly.
"Take 'em off, or I'll do it fer ya." To more catcalls and whoops, Shane peeled off the filthy britches, and deposited them, with her underwear, in the sack.
Now, Shane McQueen stood naked amongst her captors. The cowboys were nearly drooling on themselves as they took in the trim, muscular buttocks and full, firm breasts. The display, punctuated by their coarse suggestions, went on for a minute or two. Shane did her best to hold her head upright, trying to give them no more satisfaction than they were already deriving, when she felt a sharp pain in her scalp.
"C'mon, marshal- in ya go!" Lorraine twisted her grip in Shane's sweat-matted hair, and dragged the naked captive into the bathroom. Shane tried to reach for the hand in her hair, but before she could get any purchase, her head had been thrust under the steaming water, and she gurgled as she tried to avoid inhaling. She felt a sharp smack on her naked rear, then was yanked back up by the hair, spluttering water from her mouth.
"Just like bobbin' fer apples," Lorraine jeered, and she raked her fingernails across Shane's exposed breasts. "Course in this case, it's these here melons that're bobbin'". At the laughter that provoked, Lorraine gave another yank on Shane's hair, then lifted her up bodily and threw her into the huge wooden tub.
Water sloshed on the floor as the marshal tried to pull herself away from Lorraine's grip, but the cowgirl kept her feet firmly planted as she ducked Shane's head under the water again. Lorraine grabbed up a bar of soap as she pulled the sputtering marshal out of the water, and began to apply the soap to her captive's wet skin.
"Goddam it!" Shane couldn't remember the last time she'd been angry enough to curse… and regretted that she'd done it this time as she found the bar of soap now jammed between her teeth.
"You watch yer mouth, honey," Lorraine laughed. "Or you can spend the day suckin' down this stuff." She released Shane's hair and her large hands began soaping the marshal down with vulgar motions that made Shane want to vomit; she could hear the shuffling of feet as the cowboys outside clambered to get a closer look. At least the big cowgirl had the decency- or laziness- to soap her more private areas under the water, though the feeling of the rough fingers exploring her so intimately nearly ended Shane's resolve not to resist. Hopeless though it would have been, she was within seconds of bashing the grinning harpy in the face, when Lorraine put down the soap, picked up one of the buckets, and doused the soapy blonde with the now-lukewarm water.
"C'mon out!" her captor grinned, but offered no hand for support. Instead, Shane was forced to bend down to steady herself, the swaying of her breasts providing more entertainment for Rusty's bastards, and finally stood flat-footed, water dripping off her hair, her skin wet and glistening.
The cowboys simply gawped. Employed though they were by the owner of a bawdy house, none of them had ever seen a female form of such perfection displayed for their amusement. Shane raised her head as defiantly as she could manage, and did her best to drill the onlookers with a steely gaze. A couple actually looked embarrassed, but that was more due to the uncomfortable shifting they'd had to do to their pants than to any sense of shame.
"Here--" a towel was thrown to Shane from behind where Lorraine was standing. Little Jill had been watching the show with detached amusement. She didn't share Lorraine's special "enthusiasm"; Jill had lain with women when it served her purposes, but had no great passion for it. What she had thoroughly enjoyed was seeing this high-falutin' bitch taken down a peg or three. She was impressed to see that the blond head was still high, the blue eyes still sparking defiance. That won't last, honey-we're not done with you by a long chalk.
As Shane was toweling herself dry, Rusty came up behind the group of leering gunmen.
"Show's over, boys. Work to be done. We'll take care of the little lady from here." Amid a chorus of grumbles, the hallway emptied, leaving the naked Shane with Rusty, Jill, Lorraine, and the man called Blackie, who stepped closer to Shane, and let his eye travel up and down, taking his time with his appraisal.
"Funny, I had thought we had some sort of dangerous gunslinger in our midst… looks to me like what you have here, Rusty, is simply a piece of prime girl flesh." As Jill and Lorraine snickered, Shane desperately tried to suppress the flush that suffused her features at the man's insolent appraisal. For an instant, she tried to calculate the odds on some sort of escape attempt-but no. Not only were Jill and Lorraine heeled, but there was a good chance that Blackie had some sort of weapon concealed on his person-he looked the sort of sneak that would keep it hidden until your back was turned. Plus, even if she were to get past them, the small army of slavering cowboys that had watched her earlier were probably still in the house. I have no idea why they cleaned me up… but it wasn't to kill me. Just have to endure this, Shane ol' girl… and wait.
"What do you think, Rusty?" Blackie went on. He grabbed a fistful of Shane's still-damp hair and gave her head a shake. "I know something about horseflesh, and it seems to me that a thick mane like this one speaks of prime stock. Think you could make some coin out of this?"
Rusty snorted. "Not likely. That one'd play possum for a week, then cold-cock a customer and burn the joint down." The green eyes met Shane's. "Nope, I wouldn't risk it."
"You're probably right," mused Blackie as he released Shane's hair. "Pity. Still, maybe I'll find a chance to try and break this filly. I've ridden some tricky ones in my time."
Shane growled, pushed near to the limit by the man's coarse analogy. Blackie laughed. "Hear that? Our proud beauty rises to the challenge." He turned to Rusty. "Get a bridle on her, and get her bedded down for now. Maybe we'll see how she does in the quarter-mile later on tonight." At that, Shane felt Rusty's strong, short fingers clamp on her arm, and she was marched down the hallway to the open door she'd seen earlier.
The whore's room was pretty much as it had seemed from the outside: all pinks and frills, furs and soft cushions… with the extra trimmings of leather as a reminder that Rusty was willing to cater to all manner of "pleasure".
Jill had drawn one of Shane's revolvers, and was casually pointing it at the captive, leaving Shane with no option but to lie down on the bed as instructed. Lorraine took the leather cuffs at the head of the bed, and used them to fasten Shane's wrists in place, pulling on the marshal's arms until her shoulders began to ache. Similarly, Rusty had clamped leather cuffs about her ankles, stretching her legs wide, so the blond marshal was now spreadeagled on the bed, feeling even more vulnerable and exposed than she had in the bath.
Lorraine leaned over her, now, holding a leather strap with a thicker pad of leather sewn into in its center. "Bridle you?" she laughed. "I think what you need is a muzzle." Shane did her best to suppress her revulsion as the thick pad of leather was jammed between her teeth; Lorraine seemed disappointed that the construction of the gag wouldn't let it go far enough down her captive's throat to choke her, but she still managed to wedge the pad firmly in Shane's mouth, and buckle the strap tightly behind her head.
"Now don't you just look good enough to eat," the big cowgirl grinned. Shane's eyes flickered back to Jill and Ruby, in the hopes that one of them would get Lorraine to exercise some restraint. Jill caught the look, but only smirked; Ruby missed it, but said, "All right, ladies-we'll leave her here for now. Got to get ready for tonight, and she's not going anywhere!"
Lorraine shrugged, Jill gave a polite laugh, and within minutes of their departing, Shane McQueen, bound, gagged, and exhausted, fell asleep.