Sep 192012
 


My name is Henry Bardin, and my story began the night that the vampire women took my wife.

I awoke to screams. Out here in Texas, it was not that uncommon. Between the Apache attacks and the red wolves, not even people in towns are safe. I got out of bed and grabbed my rifle. Someone was in trouble.

“Wait,” my wife, Ethel, said. Her nightgown was still open from our lovemaking and I was awake enough to appreciate the swelling curves of her breasts.

“Town’s in trouble,” I said.

“I know,” Ethel said. “But the screams sound wrong.”

I listened. Someone screamed and then another. The screams came from different directions, their echoes covering each other in terror. I shivered and then I realized what was wrong about those screams. It was all men’s voices. 

Now I have heard men cry out in pain before. I moved out here to Texas two years ago and even in that short time, I have seen the horrors that a man can suffer. Even a mundane thing like getting kicked by a horse can destroy a man’s insides and make him scream like a wounded calf for days. This was different. These were screams of terror and despair. People weren’t dying. Something worse was happening.

I looked out the window. I run the general store and my home was above the store. The street was bright from the flames of burning buildings. There were riders in black coats running down men in the streets. Although the townfolk were armed, I didn’t see anyone fire a shot at the terrible riders.

“Don’t go,” Ethel said. A lock of her brown hair fell across her bare breasts and I wanted to kiss her so damn bad.

“I have to,” I said. In those two years, the people of the town of Dead Grass had helped a city slicker like me many a time. It was the only rule the people of the West seemed to follow and that was to help your neighbor. I had to help.

“I know you do,” Ethel said. Frustration and admiration sparkled in those blue eyes.

I went downstairs and out the front door.  The smell of the dead struck me in the face as I waited outside the door. Only when Ethel bolted the door behind me did I step out into the street. The moon was full and a shade of orange that I had never seen before. Things flew in the night but their wings were not those of birds.

There was a corpse right in front of my store. It was Sheriff Bill, and his throat was a mess of red gore. His gun was still in his holster.

“Run!” someone yelled at me. I turned and saw Jimmy from the stables. He was running towards me in stark terror while a rider in black chased him on her horse.
That was when I saw that the riders were women. They wore black coats but the coats were open to reveal unnaturally pale naked bodies. I watched in fascination at her bouncing pale tits as she came closer and closer to him.

She reached down and grabbed him by the neck. She yanked him up as if she was going top put him in her saddle with one hand. With a sickening rip, the head came up but the body did not. I watched Jimmy’s body run another two steps before collapsing.

As for the rider, she simply stopped and laughed. She brought Jimmy’s head to her mouth and drank the blood from his neck as if he was a canteen of water. The blood splashed over her and her blonde hair as she lapped at the blood.
I took aim with my rifle. I had no idea what these riders were but this wasn’t right. I sighted her just like I had been taught and let out my breath. I squeezed the trigger.

Except I didn’t.

There was something so damn wrong about her. She was a monster, drinking blood straight from the head of a man, but she was also beautiful. The pale body had never seen the sun of a hard day’s work. Her blood splattered breasts were full and terrible. She laughed like a young girl playing with her first sweet but the sound of her laughter was like a demon.

“Are you going to shoot that thing?” a voice said beside me.

I spun around. Four of the black riders sat on their horses outside my store. The leader was a redhead that looked at me with curiosity. Blood was drying on her bare breasts.

I lifted my rifle again and took aim. The other riders hissed but the redhead just looked at me. I focused on her bare chest and tried to pull the trigger.

I couldn’t.

My heart pounded. My finger itched to pull the trigger. My teeth clenched but I could not fire.

The leader brought her horse right up to me and kicked me. I fell to the ground as her companions laughed. As I tried to stand back up, the leader leaped from her horse and landed on the ground. She swung a pale leg at me and kicked me in the face with her boot. My nose shattered and blood sprayed her white leg.

“I should make you lick that off,” the redhead said. Her voice was dirty and wrong, like sex in a church.

“Fuck you,” I said and reached for my rifle. One of the pale women jumped down and stepped on my rifle before I could lift it. I looked up at her dumbly. She was a Chinawoman with long black hair. I was surprised that she had gotten off her horse so fast. It was like I blinked and she was there

“No,” the redhead said. “Let him try.”

The pale Chinawoman laughed and took her foot off the rifle. I swung it around at the redhead. It was pointed right at her chest. At this range, even I could hit someone.

That was if my fucking finger would just pull the damn trigger.

The redhead smiled. Two fangs framed the sides of her mouth, like some sort of human rattlesnake. She took the end of my rifle and pressed it to one of her pale breasts. Her nipple was an unsettling dark red on such a white breast.

“Pull the trigger you meat sack!” one of the pale women said. My eyes darted away from the redhead to the voice. It belonged to an odd looking girl who had her hair in pigtails. She was barely marrying age but she was eager for bloodshed.

“Look at me,” the red head said I did. She stroked the rifle like it was a cock. “Fire.”

I wanted to. I feared her. There was something so unsettling about her that I couldn’t stand to be this close to her. She was evil. I felt that down in my gut. She was also wickedly beautiful and I felt that deep down in my hard pulsing cock. I wanted to kill her. I wanted to fuck her. I couldn’t obey either instinct.

“There is a woman inside,” one of the other women said. She was a freakishly tall woman with flat breasts. She got off her horse and she looked like she was seven feet tall.

The redhead looked at me. “What is your name?”

“Henry Bardin,” I replied. I wasn’t even trying to pull the trigger anymore.

“My name is Symonne. You didn’t run screaming which makes you a rare man indeed. I will grant you mercy.”

The pigtail woman giggled. She could have been a schoolgirl caught discussing a lewd joke.

“Die,” I said to the redhead. I tried to pull the trigger again but this time I was distracted by her eyes. My God, they were red and not the red of a long night of drinking. They were ruby red. They were as red as a woman’s cunt and twice as deep.

“Not tonight I won’t,” Symonne said. “My mercy will be that you will live while I take your wife.”

“Fuck you,” I said. I gave up on the trigger and swung the butt of my rifle at her. Those evil red eyes widened in surprise but she ducked my attack easily.

I had no such luck ducking her fist that barreled into my stomach. I fell back into the Chinawoman who clocked me about the head. I stumbled forward and the tall woman kicked my legs out from under me. As soon as I hit the ground, the redhead kicked my other leg and broke it right below the knee. I screamed out in pain and thrashed on the ground. The redhead lifted her boot again and this time aimed for my face.

“You did give him mercy,” the Chinawoman said.

Symonne put her foot down slowly. “Shut up, Jia. Someone go bring me his wife.”

Pigtails jumped off the horse. She ran at the door and kicked it in like it was made of paper. I screamed at them and reached for my rifle again. This time Symonne kicked it away from me and then stepped on my broken leg.

I screamed. The edges of the world grew dark and I knew I was going to pass out. I fought it with some hidden strength that I shouldn’t posses.

Ethel was screaming as Pigtails brought her out. Her nightgown was torn and ugly bruises decorated her precious body. Pigtails threw Ethel through the air towards Symonne and the redhead bitch caught her easily in one hand. She slung my wife over her shoulders like a saddle pack.

“You have a year to live, Henry Bardin,” Symone said. “One year and I will be back to fuck this town again and take your life as well. Keep that in mind, you sorry excuse for a man.”

Symonne climbed back on her horse. She did it with my wife on her shoulder just as easily as if she was carrying a scarf. The red-eyed bitch looked at me and shook her head in disgust. The other pale women mounted their horses and didn’t spare me a second glance.

Ethel looked at me as they rode off. The disbelief in her eyes hurt worse than my broken leg.

A lot of good men died that night. A lot of better women were taken away by those strange pale women. The evil riders took any girl that was pretty or slim and for some reason, they took Big Helda who was neither.

Some of the townsfolk found me in the morning and patched me up as best they could. It was only later that we realized that I was the only man who lost a wife who was still alive. That didn’t sit well with people. The way a Texan thinks, if a man doesn’t die protecting his wife then maybe he didn’t try all that hard to begin with.

Even the next day, people didn’t want to talk much about that night. It was unnatural. It was impossible to believe even to people who lived it. Women weren’t supposed to be that strong, that wicked or that beautiful.

Ten months later, Dead Grass was doing okay. New families had moved in to replace the ones that died. The crops were doing well and we made a lot of money off the cattle drives that come through. Even my leg got better though I walked with the limp of an old man. It took awhile, but the town recovered. 

I didn’t recover though. I grieved for my wife and I missed her something fierce. Every time my cock got ideas and started growing hard, it died as soon as my fingers wrapped around it. I saw Symonne in my mind. I saw her mocking smile. I saw her cruel eyes. I saw those wonderful tits that belong to a she-devil. I moaned but my cock wilted in fear.

Ten months is a fucking long time to go without coming. I made up for it with rifle practice. I went out to shoot every day. I had the time. People in town stopped talking to me, probably because they thought I was a coward and let the riders take my wife. A broken leg isn’t enough reason for a man to let someone take his wife. Since I still owned the general store, people had to give me money for goods, which I used to buy more bullets.

I vowed that the next time I saw Symonne, I would pull that damn trigger.

When newcomers asked about that night, the town told them that it was Injuns. No one talked about the pale women and no one sure as fuck told any strangers about the red eyes and the strange teeth.

No one thought the pale riders would come back. I knew different. She would come back for more women. Shit, she would come back just to humiliate me some more. A bitch like that would wait all year just to make me feel more like shit. I had been practicing all year so I could shoot her but she wouldn’t come alone. I was going to need help.

Texas is full of hired guns. Every day, new cattle hands come through and tell us stories of Will Bill, Mad Dog Jordan, Dirty Feet McCalla and Three-Hand Johnny. Granted, someone like Will Bill probably wouldn’t do no better than me being on account that they are just a man. A man just can’t stand up to terrible demons with bloodstained lips that are so fucking kissable. It was going to take a woman to shoot another woman. It was going to take a Hell of a woman to shoot someone like Symonne.

Three months ago I had heard of such a woman. Her name was Texanah. The cowboy who told me the story was Irish so he was most likely lying with every third word but the other two words told a hell of a story. She was some sort of gun for hire and even though she was a woman, she had cleared out a tribe of half-train engine, half Cherokee Indians. Like I said, the cowboy was Irish so I didn’t understand half of what he was saying but the point was, Texanah was a tough woman. She had guns and she knew how to use them. She might have just been the kind of woman that Dead Grass needed, whether they knew it or not.

One month later I closed my general store. I had a pocket full of money and my rifle. Better yet, I heard that Texanah was nearby. She was holed up in Black Mud and was only a day’s ride from here. I had to go see if she would help.  

See, I knew the pale riders would be back. I could feel them. When the wind blew a certain way, I smelled that stale dead stench. The town might have been able to lie to themselves but I couldn’t. I had to kill those pale bitches. 


I had to kill them for Ethel.


To be continued in Seven Magnificent Sluts

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