The Hunters Tale Ch 02

The back door creaked open with a whine as a pair of heavy boots descended down the wooden steps.

Leather soles touched down on the ground as the moon loomed high above.

A lazy sway of the hips gave away an unmistakable feminine saunter.

Wearing a white nightgown with a plunging neckline, her arms were bare save for a single metal bucket held by the handle.

Swinging the empty pail along effortlessly, the woman walked on her lonesome along a single unwinding path under the cool lunar light.

Dark black hair flowed down her shoulders as she walked towards a familiar destination.

Away from the crickets chirping and grass rustling.

Closer towards the sounds of cattle.

Humming a soft tune to herself, she soon turned her head and half-inspected a stretch of barbed wire fencing to her left.

Beyond the barrier, there was a sizable pine tree with branches gnarled and almost barren of leaves.

It had been on the land as far back as she could remember.

A lifetime for most. But she could remember when it was still a seedling sprouting from the soil.

Back when the land still belonged to the native peoples with their bows and bison.

And then, when those peoples belonged to them.

Smirking at the faint nostalgia, the woman kept walking.

Even closer to the sounds of livestock in need.

Closer and closer...

______________________________________

A door opened up once again.

The nighttime air crept in as her silhouette, sultry and suggestive, filled the doorway.

In one hand, she still held the bucket. In the other, an oil lantern filled with an orange kerosene glow that revealed the stables and hay inside.

Brandishing her handheld light over the gradually retreating darkness, the woman walked forward.

Walking past metal shackles on the ground. Branding irons hanging from walls.

And finally stopping at one particular stable.

She turned her head and spoke, "You still awake in there, Bessie?"

"Mooooo," came the acknowledging low of her cattle.

A smile wide and wicked grew as she raised the lantern up to illuminate her face. "I thought so."

The light also revealed two visible horns coifed against her hair.

Reaching over the stable door with her bucket hand, she ran her fingers along the crossbar of the gate, tapping her fingertips against the wood.

Her cattle reacted to the sound with a subtle excitement.

One shared by her as well- only of a different kind.

"Hope you've been saving up a plentiful since the last yield. Satan help you if you come up short again."

"...moooo." A fearful whining was detected there.

Opening the gate, she sauntered inside the stable, letting her lantern eat away at the pitch black until more was revealed.

More of him.

Naked. Afraid. Aroused.

Such was the natural state of any human inside this barn.

Any human who desired to live, at least.

He was shackled and cowering in the corner as she sat the lantern down on top of a barrel before pulling up a round stool from close by.

The woman then seated herself, much to the cattle's audible anticipation.

"Y'know, Mama's been mighty upset tonight. But not at you, oh no. Mad about someone trying to mess with our business."

Setting the bucket down in front of her feet, she stretched her hand out, feeling up solid flesh mere inches away.

A rustling of chains caressed her ears as her fingertips danced up a red-blotched thigh, making the skin tremble as it neared its phallic destination.

"Mama..." the creature groaned out.

"That's right, sweetheart." With a savoring grin, she wrapped her fingers, one by one, around his carnal flesh.

"She...in t-trouble?"

"No no, Mama's gonna be just fine. She's just worried is all. Worried about this man." The woman gently tightened her grip, and then gave him a stroke.

He moaned. "M-man?"

"Yeah, a man. You used to be one of those once, remember?" She gave him another stroke.

"...r-remember..."

"Don't be remembering too much now." Reprimanding him sharply, she stroked him again. And again. "Now this is a bad man, Bessie. Someone who wants to take Mama and me away from you."

"...b-b-bad man."

"Yeah." She kept stroking him, a perfected rhythm in her wrist flicks and flourishes. "Mmmmm, you're right hard as a rock. Been thinking about me coming here all day, haven't you?"

He responded with a pleading groan.

She chuckled, then continued- both stroking and speaking. "Anyways, Mama sent this man after one of those wolves I was telling you about. You don't need to worry yourself about what happened after, just that Mama's fine. I'm fine. And you're fine. We understood?"

"Y-yes..."

"Attaboy." She brought her milking hand up to her mouth, running her tongue along her digits before re-wrapping those slick fingers back around his shaft.

She stroked faster. Intensifying the sound of her fingers sliding and gliding down his rod.

"P-please..."

"No more words now, sweetheart. Mama would put me to the wall herself if she caught wind that I was letting you speak in complete sentences," she chastised him like a schoolteacher to a student speaking out of turn. "Now what do you say?"

"M-moooo..."

She grinned with relishing delight. "Gooood boy."

Even faster her hand worked his throbbing shaft.

The chains rustled more and more as he shook and shuddered, reacting to every pleasuring pump.

"Almost there." And she continued, not stopping. Not pausing.

"Mooooo..."

The lantern continued to burn bright, showing her hand becoming a blur of focused, feminine intent on his penis.

Stroking and stroking, faster and fast-

"MOOOOO!!" Until finally he was brought to rapture, exploding needily in her firm grip.

Streams of seed would patter noisily against the metal pail as the woman tilted his shaft down to direct his carnal eruption.

He gasped at the raw release, grunting and moaning wordlessly as she continued to milk her cattle through the ensuing orgasm. Through every last drop collected.

"That's it, come on dear." Her expression glowed against the flaming light, a look of pure satisfaction dominating her features as he gave her everything he could...this turn, at least.

Soon the downpour turned to a trickle, and then, just drops wringed out with lazy flicks of wrist and hand.

Clearly, his dripping appendage had felt it had given all it could give in this moment.

However, she felt otherwise.

After waiting a bit, she said, "As good as that one was, I think we can squeeze a few more out of you. You'll be a good boy so I won't have to wake the others up, won't you?"

She went right back to stroking him without hearing his response.

And he went right back to shaking, shuddering, and ultimately shouting...

___________________________________

...the last of said verbal outbursts echoing in the mind of the brunette as she sauntered away from the barn, bucket still in hand.

It was near full to the brim with milky yield straight from its captive source.

As she walked, she again hummed and smiled before arriving back at the house.

Sauntering back up the steps to the rear entrance, she opened the door and let herself in.

Candles along the windows illuminated the kitchen area she walked into.

Large and expansive like every other room in the house, there were pots and pans and plates neatly assorted atop countertops and stove surfaces.

The brunette woman placed the bucket on a large round table, right next to other buckets that had also been filled with the same contents.

Bending down, she reached under the table, her dainty fingers finding an empty pail.

Sliding it out into the open, she stood up and then turned to continue her usual chores for the nig-

Knock knock.

A sound came from the front of the house.

She paused, then reacted.

Placing the bucket on the table, she moved swiftly.

Opening the door that revealed a narrow hallway, the woman passed by pastoral paintings on the walls.

She walked past rooms containing chairs outfitted with metallic constructs with mechanical designs taken straight from novels of science fiction.

The woman's only stop before reaching the front door was at a grandfather clock ticking against a stairwell that led to the upper levels of the house.

Reaching behind the rectangular mahogany, she retrieved something also made of wood.

But far, far deadlier.

Casually, she tucked under her near arm a double-barreled shotgun.

Two rounds already loaded. One finger on the trigger.

Now armed, she made her way over to the front door.

Looking through the peephole, she saw who it was on the other side.

And once she did, her entire body relaxed.

Propping the gun in the corner, she undid all the hatches and opened the door wide...

"Ma'am."

...revealing a deputy of the law, the man respectfully tipping his hat in her presence.

"Officer, we weren't expecting company this time of night." Face lit up with a distractingly delightful smile, she greeted him kindly, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The man looked briefly over his shoulder at his duty horse standing idly in the yard before turning back to her with a look of stoic concern. "I need to talk to Mama."

______________________________

A warm fire crackled in the hearth of the house.

The floor was smooth, clean from a thousand scrubbings by human hands.

Atop the fireplace, there was mounted on the wall a skull that was both man and monster.

Its facial proportions resembled that of a male human, but above its ears, there were protruding horns that curved upwards.

A blonde woman sat in one of two chairs facing the fireplace.

Her chest strained the top she wore, with a cross thread barely containing her cleavage.

Below the waist, her hips were shrouded in a long skirt, her legs otherwise bare as she sat cross-legged.

Her eyes continued to stare into the kindling flame as the brunette woman entered, followed closely by the deputy.

"Mama, this handsome gentleman in uniform wants to talk to you."

For a moment, only the crackling of wood from the fireplace filled the room.

"He can," the apparent matriarch of the household finally said without turning around. "Fetch him something sweet for coming all this way, will you dear?"

"Yes ma'am." Smilingly knowingly, the brunette turned on her heel and promptly left for another area of the house, leaving the lawman in the firelit room.

Taking off his hat in respect, he gingerly approached, sitting down in the other empty seat right next to her.

She continued to pay him no mind.

After a breath, he said what he came here to say, "She's dead, Mama."

"Of course she is," came her scoffing response. "I'd expect nothing less from someone of his...profession."

He hesitated, dreading the next batch of words now on the tip of his tongue.

But ever so delicately, he forged ahead, "After he left the saloon, I tried to come with him. He told me he worked alone. I couldn't press it too much or else he'd get suspicious. And Mama had I been there I would've made sure he never walked out that church."

"I know you would've, sweetheart." She turned to him now, her reassuring gaze bringing a visible wave of relief over him. "Now tell me, how did he end that little whore anyways?"

"Shot her up real good," he told her, wiping at his already sweating forehead. "Right before he burned the body, he let us see. She got one right between her eyes. Figured that was the one that did it."

"When I was younger, beheadings used to be all the rage," she chuckled to herself, her expression suddenly darkening as she looked up at the mounted skull above the kindling fireplace. "Savages..."

The lawman wisely held his tongue as perhaps a more unpleasant memory played across her beautiful features.

It lasted only seconds before a more inquisitive hue lit up her eyes. "Did he say where he was going next?"

"Where the wind blows, I reckon. Told the sheriff and me he was going out further west. Maybe to some of those new towns near Colorado."

"He'll be back," she surmised, leaning back in her chair. "He's seen me. Seen the farm, too. They'll never stop until they take everything from me."

The deputy nodded in understanding. "Just tell me what you need me to do, Mama. I'll kill him dead the second I see him in town."

"No, we can do better than that. Much better." Looking back at the fire, she suddenly remarked, "That gun of his, it's a mighty crude instrument, isn't it?"

He again nodded, not quite sharing her same understanding this time. "It's a respectable design. A Colt, just like the one my father brought home from the war against the Mexicans. It's a man-killer for sure."

"Sweetheart, that weapon doesn't just kill your kind," she stated, her words devoid of their usual sultry quality.

"Only a gun like that can kill a pretty thing like me," she explained to him. "But you wouldn't want that to happen, now would you?"

"No Mama." He leaned forward, devotion and determination lighting up his face. "I'd rather die first."

She smiled at his eager statement. "Of course you would. Such a sweet boy. Ain't he just divine, Darling?"

"Oh yes ma'am." The brunette woman had seemingly materialized right next to the deputy, holding a cup in hand.

The man of the law nearly jumped as he realized her presence right next to him for the first time, as if she had always been there.

"Now drink up," Mama cajoled him on. "Darling got you that straight from the tap, didn't she?"

"Yes yes, thank you." Taking the cup from the woman apparently known as Darling, he grasped it with both hands.

And as he looked down, his hands were shaking anew as something threatened to come over him. Something that threatened his very self-control with every second gone by.

"Don't let it simmer now," the matronly blonde reminded him, looking at him directly now.

Nodding with hands still shaking, he brought it to his lips, ever carefully. Ever gingerly.

And then...he took a sip. Then another one.

The fire cast Mama's face with a particular glow, one of great satisfaction.

He drank, and drank. And drank.

She slowly undid the thread holding her top together.

"You need me anymore, Mama?"

"No, we'll be just fine. Go on and finish up what you were doing before. We'll talk later."

"Yes Mama." Smiling, the brunette turned on her heel and left.

He tipped his head back and finished the cup, swallowing needily. Greedily.

It was all gone so soon. Too soon.

And when he was done, the deputy looked forward, and shuddered.

"Now my dear..." The holstaur had bared her breasts to him, each plump, powerful orb an oral feast for his eyes.

It made his already pounding heart nearly burst through his chest. Made his mouth water with an ungodly thirst.

With one finger, she beckoned him forth.

"Come to Mama."

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"And the gospel of the Lord says, 'The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.' So it was said by God, now it has been repeated by man. Praise the Lord, saints."

"Amen."

Half the pews in the church were filled on this day.

Dressed well in Sunday's best, the preacher proclaimed with great enthusiasm the works of his heavenly Father from mid-morning to noon every week.

And whether it was dying old men seeking assurance of afterlife in their final years on Earth, or sinners seeking to make right with their maker for past transgressions, he had certainly never lacked for an audience.

They all sat on dusty pews, breathing in stale air, all while occasionally affirming his impassioned recitals from the Good Book.

But for all the years the preacher had been preaching, there was one man who seldom said a word throughout the entire hour and a half.

One man who sat in the back. Without speaking. Without even clapping.

But always listening.

As the service concluded, there was a line to shake the preacher's hand.

"That was a mighty fine sermon you gave."

"Looking forward to the message next week, reverend."

"Blessings be unto you,

señor

."

The preacher shook every hand. Bade every farewell.

Until there was but one left in line.

Bringing up the rear, it was none other than the man with the striking scar on his face.

Dark-haired and solidly built, he had on his usual jacket, vest, pants. Belt with a loaded handgun.

The Hunter.

"By His grace and mercy..." Clasping his hands together, the man of God with his white collar, and all-black suit greeted the slayer of monsters. "Still alive."

"For now," came the Hunter's weary yet willful response.

"The Lord's not yet done working through you, my friend. Such is the burden-" Pausing mid-sentence to shake hands, the preacher finished, "- of the righteous man."

"Ain't nothing righteous about this work. Just doing what need be done," he shrugged, before making his report. "I killed a succubus in the next county over about three days ago. Got back in town this morning."

The other man briefly bowed his head, muttering a few words in silent prayer.

Somberly bringing his gaze back up, the man of God asked only one question, "How many did she take?"

"Too damn many," the Hunter told him candidly. "She'd had her fill of the population for some time before I came. Made her sloppy. Made her dead."

The preacher nodded, taking it in.

"She said she wasn't the only one out there. Said there were others. Sisters," he also added.

"Been a while since you hunted a pack of those godless creatures," the preacher pointed out.

"I ain't rusty on the draw if that's what you're implying," came the Hunter's sarcastic response, before then telling him, "Before I put her down, I ran into a holstaur."

"How deep was she?" inquired the preacher.

"Deep enough that I couldn't put a bullet in her then and there. From what I could tell, she's got a whole operation in play, one I intend on shutting down completely. But I'm gonna need to visit Abernathy first before I come back around. Anyone come here praying for deliverance lately?"

Nodding, the preacher told him. "There was a young lady who came around yesterday. Seemed like you two had a history."

"I got history with many women. You'd have to get more specific," he smirked.

"Black hair. Eyes green as grass," the preacher further painted a picture, eliciting a raised brow from the Hunter but little else. "Said you'd remember her from whatever happened up there in the canyons. Also, she said she had some information that may be of interest."

Those final two statements got the slayer's curiosity.

"About?"

Taking a deep breath, the man of God revealed to him, "About where the red-haired demon might be."

Now, he had the Hunter's full attention.

_____________________________

The innkeeper did indeed know of a woman with raven locks and emerald green eyes who recently checked into his establishment.

As did the bartender in the local saloon.

She was once here. But now she was there.

Never was she where they thought she was.

But the Hunter knew.

Walking just behind the telegraph office, he arrived at a post where he had hitched the reins to his horse.

It was there that he saw her.

Beautiful at a distance and even more close-up, the woman was affectionately caressing the mane of his stationed steed.

She wore a brown hat. Vest. Denim pants. Leather boots.