Clovers World The Story Ch 01

Synopsis : In a post-apocalyptic world, Sheriff Rebecca Lawson stands alone against the perverse! Protecting the dusty desert town of Ashtown, she butts heads with an enigmatic new gang leader named "Clover" and her world begins to change forever.

Author note : The following story is the beginning of an ongoing, multi-part series.

It is a work of fiction. All characters, places, etc are completely made up, as is the plot.

-------

Chapter 1 : The Sheriff of Ashtown

-------

Situated in the expansive deserts of the post-apocalyptic wasteland, Ashtown is a beacon of hope and prosperity in an otherwise bleak and lawless world.

Fashioned after the old-west towns of a bygone era not by design, but by necessity, the tiny village is largely isolated. Though it trades with nearby towns and roaming gangs, it is largely self sufficient by design.

By my design.

My name is Rebecca Lawson ; Sheriff of Ashtown. Together with my loyal posse of deputies, I keep Ashtown free from the depravity and lawlessness that grips the rest of the world. Where other groups have devolved into gang like violence and petty chaos, my iron grip has forged Ashtown into a stalwart beacon of success.

I suppose I should clarify a few things for those of a curious mind.

First of all, nobody knows how the old world fell, so don't ask. Whatever war, or ecological disaster, or societal collapse happened... it's long been forgotten. Honestly, nobody really cares anymore. It happened, it's over, everybody's moved on.

Second of all, for reasons nobody really understands, men are a rare sight in this new world. Women comprise the vast amount of the population, and in Ashtown's case, the entirety of its population.

How is society reproducing? As with most things of that nature, nobody really knows, or cares. Maybe there's some secret underground bunker somewhere, hatching new women. Or maybe there are communities out there that still reproduce the old way, sending children out into the world to populate the desolate space.

Nobody remembers their early years anyways, so what's the point in caring about all that stuff? Besides, we've all got more important things to worry about.

The point is, we all inhabit this new world, and swim through the sea of chaos together. Brutal slaver gangs roam the countryside, buying and selling girls like currency. Moonshiners and drug kingpins lay claim to vast swaths of territories, running their businesses like empires. Techno-clans commit sinful acts with technologies from a lost age, and the innocent are caught between it all.

But Ashtown is safe, stable, and peaceful, and it's all thanks to me.

Yeah, I know I mentioned my deputies earlier. But honestly, they're just tools I use to extend my own control. I'm the real do-er around here. I'm the toughest, meanest, take-no-guff girl in town, and I've made quite the name for myself.

It was me who singlehandedly fought off the barbarian gangs of the north. I kicked the moonshiners out of the hills, tossing their asses into the swamp lands.

I keep the techno-clans out of our territory, and the slavers from plundering our homes.

I forced the surrender of the insidious Clarence Sisters, and burnt their bandit network into ashes.

I'm a legend around these parts, if you don't mind me saying so.

Tall, blonde, and beautiful, I'm a shining star in a sky full of duds.

Even my look is iconic. My lean, fit body is honed into a fine instrument of battle. I've got piercings, two hoops in each of my ears, and a ring through my lip and eyebrow.

My eyes are an incandescent blue. My long blonde locks are silky smooth and the envy of every girl in town.

So are my tits, I'll just add as a matter of fact. Big, heavy, and perfectly perky, my chest is one of my best features, and I enjoy knowing people notice it. It makes it all the sweeter, knowing they'll never have a chance to see me without my jeans and Sheriff's garb.

Hell, if I wasn't a Sheriff in an apocalyptic world, I could have been a supermodel.

Yeah, I sound full of myself, I know. And maybe I am. But I deserve to be! I'm Rebecca Lawson, Scourge of the Criminal underbelly ; Savior of the Civilized world!

When people see me, they shrink away in fear. The mere sight of my rugged cowgirl hat and dusty trail-jeans sends vagrants scurrying for the hills, lest they take a laser-accurate bullet from my silver pistols.

My Sheriff's badge, a shining brass star I wore over my left breast, was known throughout the land as an implacable symbol of my authority.

I was a Goddess of the Wasteland.

Of course, that's what I used to think. Things have changed for me lately... and not for the better.

I guess I'll start at the beginning...

Ashtown had been firmly under my grip for a long, long time. Though threats from the outside were largely under my control, internal dysfunction was an ever present threat. With nobody on the outside able to resist me, greatest problem had become the very citizens I'd made it my mission to protect.

Though they could plainly see the effectiveness of my strict laws and stalwart enforcement, it didn't stop the insolent citizenry of Ashtown from trying stray from the immaculate path I'd laid out.

Drinking alcohol, partying, indecency... these were the things I abhorred, and I was on an ever-marching crusade to stamp them out.

Those things led to chaos, and I would not stand for chaos.

Gods forbid the empty-headed bimbos of Ashtown understood this simple principal. At every turn, I would find girls violating my rules. Smuggling drinks into town, partying into the wee hours of the night, or worst of all, fucking each other at every opportunity like horny animals with no self control.

Nobody wanted to see two drunk girls fucking each other out on the street, I knew! This was a place of order, and if I let the girls in town slip for even a minute, there would be no restoring control!

For their own good, I clamped down harder with every infraction, eventually going so far as to ban all forms of indecent fun and lewd behavior. I didn't tolerate public fraternization any more than I tolerated talk of smut or criminal activity. I enforced a strict yet utterly simple dress code ; cover your damn private parts!

Porn? Banned. Liquor? Banned. Anything I felt was beneath my own personal standards? Banned.

I was determined to keep order in Ashtown. The outside world lived like animals. We would not.

Ashtown grew to hate me for my iron handed tactics, sure. But what did I care? If anyone got out of line, they'd find themselves locked behind the iron bars of my jail cell.

Every day, I'd haul a new crop of disobedient wretches into my cells, letting the ones from last night out in an endless rotation.

My Sheriff's Office, also serving as my home, was my fortress. I ran all of the town's business out of it, signing trade deals and writing up new laws as I saw fit.

When my jail cells were full, I had stockades constructed.

Eventually, I found the stockades to be a far superior form of punishment. The humiliation of being locked outside as a public display for all to see was a divine instrument of justice. If my girls were going to act like depraved, insolent little brats, they'd be displayed as such as a warning for others not to imitate them.

For those who grew too used to simply being locked up in the wooden stocks, I increased the punishments accordingly. Eventually, I grew quite adept at using a brass cane to tan the asses of those who needed a reminder to behave.

It turns out, a bright red ass locked in a stockade for a couple days was a pretty good warning for others to toe the line.

Anyways, fuck it. I was a tyrant, OK? I know that, now. I've learned my lesson.

Remember when I mentioned the roaming gangs that would threaten my town from time to time?

One particular gang had been growing in popularity for a long while.

They called themselves simply "Clover's Gang".

At first, they'd been a small outfit. New gang start ups were common in the wasteland. Some were profit based, like the moonshiners or druggers, and some were criminally oriented, like the bandit clans.

Clover's Gang was part of another category, something I liked to call 'New-Worlders'.

'New-Worlders' were groups that thought they'd found some awesome new way of living.

To me, the gang sounded like typical slavers. Dominate, or be Submissive ; that was their guiding principal. According to the gang's rumored philosophy, all girls were, weather they knew it or not, either Sluts or Mistresses, and should act accordingly on whatever urge claimed them.

Insanity!

I knew better, of course. Though I was certainly dominant to everyone around me, I could never imagine a world in which a currency of sex and debauchery ran rampant. Plus, I could not possibly comprehend anyone wanting to be submissive to someone else.

Certainly everybody around me did my bidding, but that was through force of will, and threat of punishment. They didn't enjoy it, I knew, and why should they? To imagine someone willingly submitting themselves to another was abhorrent to me, and I knew better than to try to find some underlying logic to the gang's insane structure.

But for whatever reason, the fledgling band of hooligans began to grow, and spread around the outer borders of Ashtown.

Their enigmatic leader, known only as Clover, seemed to have a knack for spreading her unique lifestyle principals to others.

Rumors were rife in any town, and Ashtown was no different. The stories were that girls from the countryside willingly submitted to Clover and her band of sexed up hussies. Other gangs of girls, bandits and loners and formerly benign groups of who I'd previously considered allies were becoming voluntary sex-toys. Those who didn't submit to a Mistress instead joined the ranks as dominant gang members, collaring willing, submissive sluts for themselves.

All of these rumors and tales painted Clover's Gang as a sort of Utopian, sex crazed paradise. Everyone was free to do whatever they wanted, and live in whatever depraved way their sordid minds desired!

It sounded like anarchy to me, and I quickly branded this so-called "Clover" girl as Public Enemy Number One.

Talk of Clover's gang in any capacity was branded a crime, and soon my cells and stockades were full of girls I'd suspected of sympathizing to Clover's cause.

While I clamped down on the growing dissent, I monitored the group's growth, digging through reports in my Office, watching as they moved ever closer to Ashtown's borders.

I could feel the seams of my peaceful world straining to contain the stirring feelings of the girls in town.

Dispatching my deputies to restore order had little effect. Even among their ranks, I suspected a growing feeling of resentment towards my obviously-superior set of morals.

I knew something would have to be done. Though Ashtown had faced similar threats before, this situation felt different.

Whoever this "Clover" bitch thought she was, she needed to be taught a lesson, and I was the girl to do it.

I set to work tracking her down. My deputies -- the ones I still viewed as loyal -- reported gang movements in the outer badlands, and I kept my ear to the ground, listening around town for any hints of her whereabouts.

As I mentioned before, Ashtown was constructed very much like the old-west towns of an age long past. Its dusty strip was dotted with shops and facilities, including mechanic depots and even a library.

Its saloon, un the center of town, acted as a sort of community hub. Though it served non-alcoholic beverages exclusively, and was subject to to the town's early curfew laws, it was still a popular destination for a number of Ashtown's less desirable citizenry.

I'd made it a point of making unannounced visits to the saloon, to keep its rowdy patrons on their toes.

It was during one of these visits, on an otherwise slow, routine day, when my world truly began to change forever.

I couldn't have possibly known it at the time.

Strutting into the dusty, dimly lit premises with a confident swagger, I'd immediately found what I'd been looking for.

Two girls, a dimwitted pair of punked up bimbos I knew all too well, had been sitting in the corner of the bar, talking excitedly among themselves.

It was obvious what they were discussing, even if I'd not been tipped off in advance by one of my deputies as to the specific nature of their meeting.

"Talking about Clover, or her depraved gang of harlots, is a top level crime," I said, making myself known to the two women.

They looked surprised enough. Clearly, they'd been unprepared for my sudden arrival.

I'd caught them red-handed, gaily discussing the vile gang's recent expansion into Ashtown's outer territory.

But these two particular girls were different. I'd received a hot tip from one of my many informers that these two brainless hussies knew the whereabouts of Clover herself.

How did they know such things? I didn't know. But their faces gave them away before they could even deny my accusations.

"Alright, you two bitches, you're comin' with me, and you're gonna tell me what I want to know," I ordered, brandishing my pistol as extra incentive for them to listen.

I hauled them out of the saloon, practically kicking them through the rickety, swinging door. Outside, I'd collected a few of my deputies for good measure.

Together, we hauled the two girls into the main square, where they found themselves shackled up in my infamous stocks.

"I hear you two have been sneaking off at night," I said, pacing around them as a crowd drew near, "Fraternizing with Ashtown's enemies!"

There was a snicker in the crowd, but I silenced it with a stern glare.

"This is no laughing matter," I announced to the crowd of gathering girls, "Clover's Gang is a group of criminals. They want you to join their ranks of depraved sluts. They want to turn our town into an orgy of sex, alcohol and partying!"

I said the last part expecting gasps of horror, but instead, I got nothing.

My townsfolk are being seduced by nefarious evils, I thought, staring out at the mindless crowd. They should be horrified at the thought of partaking in the lewd doings of Clover's operation, but I knew most of them were tantalized at the thought.

Stupid, empty headed fools, I screamed inside.

This is exactly why I had to stamp out Clover's Gang as quickly as possible.

Turning to the two captive girls in the stocks, I demanded to know Clover's location.

As always, they protested -- trying to feign ignorance, but I knew better.

It took some work to get the truth out of them, but I enjoyed the effort.

I stripped them naked, hoping to humiliate them into compliance, but the two lost souls only seemed to get off on the ogling eyes of the townsfolk.

So I turned to my more severe methods.

Starting with my bare hands, I began a series of smacks on each of their exposed asses. The spanking began light enough. Perhaps it had even been enjoyable to two sluts such as these women were, but I increased the tempo, and power, until I was sure it caused more pain than pleasure.

When my hand began to grow tired, I upped the effort by switching to using the brass rod.

This did the trick. Only a few whacks in, one of them broke.

"Ok!" She squealed, "You absolute cunt of a bitch! I'll tell you where she is!"

I smiled, listening to her as she'd revealed Clover's last known whereabouts to me.

I was surprised to hear she was camped out not far from the town's borders, only several miles out. That tempestuous gang leader sure was brazen to stray so close to my sphere of influence.

It was her mistake, I thought with a grin.

Thinking I'd gotten all of the info I needed from the two disciplined whelps, I left them locked in the stocks, and told my deputies I was headed out to deal with Clover.

I didn't need backup, I'd told them. I'd take care of Clover myself, and haul her back into town for punishment. Hell, I was almost hoping for a fight. I had the fastest draw in the wasteland -- damned be any fool who tried to stand in my way.

I'd make a point of Clover that no one would soon forget, I thought grimly, imagining her locked in my stocks for weeks on end.

Such was the level of my overconfidence that I drove off in my desert on my own. My old, retro-fitted hot rod blazed effortlessly through the rugged desert terrain, its crimson paint job slicing through the dust like a knife through hot butter.

My car was an extension of myself, I often thought. As one of the only running vehicles in Ashtown, the old vehicle -- I think it was once called a Charger? - was my pride and joy, and its roaring engines were often enough to send criminal scum scattering even before I hit the brakes and hopped out.

I was armed with only my pistols, but that was all I needed. The two girls in town had told me where Clover had been, and I knew where she'd be now. The rolling plains around Ashtown were known to me like the back of my hand.

My plan was simple. I'd cut straight to the heart of the gang, and apprehend Clover herself, bypassing a confrontation with the rest of her girls. Once she was in my custody, I'd break her for all to see. That alone would probably be enough to disband her group, I figured.

Gangs like hers were fickle. They were full of uneducated, stupid individuals... and could be broken apart as easily as they formed. I'd had many experiences in doing just this... and I didn't foresee any issues with my present course of action.

Many girls had tried to rise up and take control of my town. A good public caning and a week or two in the stocks for all to see was always enough to remind their followers what awaited any who opposed me.

Of course, I know now that I'd made a serious error. But at the time, I had no way of foreseeing the trouble I was driving towards.

Even as I arrived at my destination in the desert, I had no inclination of the calamity that lay ahead.

Leaving my car in a safe location, I continued on foot, following a set of foot prints in the dry sand.

These tracks were made by two people, I figured, and there was no evidence of anybody else around.

This might be easier than I thought, I remember thinking. How naive I'd been...

If it's too easy, it's trap. I should have known.

Cresting over an innocuous ridge, I'd finally spotted Clover for the first time.

She was with another girl, I noticed immediately.

Amy, the Ashtown librarian, was tied to a stick that was planted in the ground. Her hands bound above her and her bare chest exposed, she was in a tantalizing position, clearly squirming in the hot, merciless sun.

Clover, who I recognized from the descriptive reports of my informants, was pacing circles around her, evidently about to have her way with the poor girl.

Clover was shorter than I'd expected, and not nearly as imposing as the rumors had implied.

She sported a dyed green blob of hair, and wore a revealing set of clothing that left nothing to the imagination. On her face, she had an incandescent stripe of bright green face paint.

Such a look was common amongst wanna-be warlords, I knew. They thought it made them look cool, and edgy.

I thought they looked ridiculous.

Nevertheless, Clover was quite sexy. Even from a distance, I'd immediately been able to see why certain individuals might flock to her. She exuded confidence, and as I watched her fondle poor Amy's sun-drenched tits, I could tell that she was an ultra-authoritative type.

To confess, I actually spent several minutes from my hidden spot on the ridge watching her. At the time, I'd told myself I was studying my enemy for weakness, but the truth is, there was something captivating about Clover. The way she moved, so controlling and commanding... it was like nothing I'd ever seen before. The way she cocked her hips as she walked, the way she brushed her long bangs away from her violet eyes.