Futanari Stable Ch. 02

Then the fear had set in.

But unlike the futanari I had found in the wheat field, I didn't run off half-cocked. No, my awakening had been different than all the other futanari. They became submissive. Even without the drug, the Pleasure Palace, Nero and his wife, took care of the futanari on staff. We were more expensive and able to deliver a very specific sexual experience.

But not me. Being a slave was the last thing I wanted. It awoke something inside of me. I became diabolical. For the next two days, I worked on my escape.

I stole a security guard's pistol after dinner one night. I had noticed that he liked me. Some men have a weakness for certain type, and this fella seemed to like tall, strong women who knew what they wanted.

He backed me up against a wall and kissed me. He had been fascinated with the fact that I was futanari. He hadn't noticed when I pulled his pistol from his holster and slipped it into my bag.

The next two evenings, I drew maps of the Pleasure Palace. I counted how many guards there were and their shifts. And when none of the other girls were around, I took the pistol apart and put it back together over and over. I scratched the only name I had ever heard and loved into the metal along the barrel, Becca.

The eventual escape involved a death. On the official warrant for my arrest, they called it a murder, but he fell.

It wasn't like I killed him. The fall killed him. But they didn't smile on me after they heard the testimony of the Pleasure Palace's owner's wife, who saw me push her husband down the stairs when he personally tried to stop my escape.

I could have shot him. Probably should have. I mean, I had been holding my gun, when he fell down the stairs.

Then a security guard had taken my gun, had snatched it right out of my hand.

Then I had pushed him down the stairs too. I had been running ever since.

Now here I was again, across from a different person who had the gun, my gun. But this time, I wasn't trying to escape anything. The woman in front of me might have saved my life. Because if the bullet hadn't killed me, the bots that were coming for me probably would have.

"You saved one of ours," she tipped the bottle back against her luscious lips and took a long sip of sassafras soda.

"Well, you saved my life," I motioned toward my shoulder. I wanted to ask exactly what happened, but I didn't want her to ask too many questions. I was wanted. Had been for a long time, and I could already tell. Little miss Ivy didn't need or want any of the trouble I had following me.

"Who shot you," she looked me dead in the eyes.

We had scratched through to the metal pretty quick. I set my glass down and stood at the crossroads of truth and lie.

"Lady by the name of Haversine, her men anyway." I stretched my arm and the pain bit into me.

"What did you do?" She crossed her arms and leaned against the fridge.

I laughed. "How do you know I did something?"

She smiled but she waited for an answer.

"It was a situation where I was had to make a decision, and I did. One of her men died because of it. She thought it was only fair that I join him in the afterlife."

It wasn't an easy sentence. The entire time my mouth was moving, I kept remembering.

The little kid had been standing in the doorway, eyes as big as dinner plates. His dad had already been shot dead on the front porch. His mom had been tied over a horse, she was coming back to Haversine's with us.

Montana and I had been going through the family's things. Montana had been standing next to me when the boy ran from somewhere in the little back room of the house and appeared in the doorway.

It had surprised both of us. No one had ever said anything about a kid but there he was.

The moment stretched out. I looked at the fear in the boy's eyes. He was so little, six maybe seven. His hair looked like he had been wrestling with a tumbleweed.

Then Montana had turned his gun toward the kid.

And I made the decision.

My fingers slipped around the warm grip of my pistol. The weapon slid free of the holster just as the boy's eyes had turned to watch his death.

I pivoted my elbow, swung my arm across my body, and squeezed the trigger.

The gunshots thundered inside the little room and Montana flew into the wall.

I looked around knowing that someone had seen what had just happened. And I was right, Little Tim was standing next to his horse. "What the fuck?"

I took two steps forward and reached for the little boy. But he was gone.

Then something had hit me from behind and I had woken up back at Haversine's.

"So, you're wanted?" She took a sip of the soda.

"Not for that," I chuckled.

Ivy looked at me like she was still trying to decide what to do with me. "I didn't call the doctor," she said still looking at me. "There were men in a truck."

The words hit me like punches in the gut. Haversine's posse.

"You're lucky I got you in the wagon. The gunshot saved your life and got my futanari back." Her eyes searched mine. She wanted to know everything, but I wasn't ready for all that.

"How long until your father gets back?" I put my cup in the sink when I saw the realization cross her face. She had never mentioned that he was gone.

"He's not gone, he's just in Denby."

But I heard her voice crack. She wasn't a great liar. It takes some practice. "Level with me, Ivy." I turned back toward her. "You're not a great liar. How long is he gone for? Are there hands here?"

"He's in San Francisco," she confessed. "Should be back in a few days. We don't have any ranch hands. We don't do cattle anymore." She finished her soda.

There was this weird moment when it seemed like neither one of us knew what to say. I desperately wanted to ask about the truck, about Haversine's men, but she apparently had things she wanted to keep to herself too.

"You should stay until that's healed. Dad won't mind." She pointed at my shoulder. "Doc's going to have more questions than me and there's a marshal in Denby." She tilted her head a little and looked me over, like she was almost decided on what to do, but maybe not quite.

I didn't like being inspected, but I also didn't have another plan. Ivy was young, but she wasn't dumb.

"Do I get my gun?" I looked down at the 1911 .45 tucked into her belt.

"Do you think you're going to need it?" She pulled it out and looked at the barrel, the name I had etched into the gun metal. "You named it," she ran her fingertips along the scratches and I remembered the hours I had spent scared and plotting my escape.

"You're sleeping in the barn," she pulled the slide back, caught the shell that popped out, dropped the clip and handed the empty weapon to me.

I took it and stared at the clip and shell in her hand.

Ivy grinned. "We have wolves, coyotes, and there's been a few men roaming the countryside for the last two days looking for a tall guy named, Frankie." She handed me the clip.

I slipped it back into the gun, chambered a round, and pressed the safety before all with my bad hand. Then I tucked it into the holster. "I'll work for my keep," I said.

"I need to clean out the horse stalls," she stood up and we started for the barn without another word.