"Oh, fucking
mierda
! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" The Kid started to scramble back into the truck's cab as best he could with his hands zip tied before himself, which wasn't particularly well. It really didn't help that his pants were down around his knees. It was really just a lot of frantic backward butt scooting. He couldn't take his eyes off the brushcock that was charging towards them. It was maybe twenty, thirty seconds away and once it reached them...
Well, the Kid would probably be safe in the cab if he kept his head down and covered his ears while the common chicken's descendant picked Savvy apart with its claws and its cruel beak, cum-splattered face at all. He could crawl out when it left and rush away so long as he figured out where
not
to look to see whatever remained of his savior. However, the Kid's quick mind quickly realized his plan had two big problems.
First, his hands were still bound with the plastic
whatever the fuck
zipties were. The black cord was tight enough that he couldn't get it to loosen up as much as he tried to twist his wrists around. The skin beneath it was growing white, and the way Savvy had put them on him had the cord's teeth digging into him; his attempts to escape them were futile and frankly, all they were doing was scratching up his wrists.
It would be hard for him to do anything with his hands like, say,
close the truck's door.
That would be big insofar as escaping the brushcock went, but not impossible. Afterwards he would need to open it as well -- and what then? Did he just wander through the desert hoping he might bumble into someone who could cut him loose, or a sharp rock, or--
Really, it was just a no go. He wasn't even sure he could get his pants back up with the zip ties still on his wrists. Sure, he could pull them up but the Avila-Cruz cartel didn't care about making sure their cacti farm slaves had fitted pants. His pants (and really, calling them pants was
generous
) were terribly loose and baggy, and without the dexterity to tie his rope belt around his waist again he'd be going through the desert with his pants around his ankles.
The second problem was a lot more simple.
"What the fuck're you-- goddammit, this stings," the psycho cowgirl slash self-declared Lone Ranger cried out with a voice full of irritation, rubbing desperately at her cum-splashed eye. She stumbled forward and propped herself against the side of the truck as she worked to clean the Kid's jizz out of her peeper. He was sure that she accomplished nothing but smearing it deeper in there, making her problem all the worse. "What're you cussin' about? Did you fuckin' cum in your own eye, too? Serves you fuckin' right, fuck! Ugh. Goddamn. Shit!"
The Kid's father wanted his kid to grow up to be a good man. The rarest kind of man in Old-Old Mexico's desert, and he would wager the rarest kind of man in the Land of the Free as well after his short time over the border. He wanted the Kid to have a conscience, to treat others with respect and give them the benefit of the doubt instead of assuming the worst from them. At least most of the time.
"Always trust your gut, kiddo," the Kid's father used to say. Of course the Kid's father trusted his gut when he took in Legless Luis and that didn't exactly turn out well for anyone
except
Luis, nevermind the fact the Kid scrambled his brains just a few days ago in a sudden panic. Right now the Kid's conscience told him he owed the so-called 'Lone Ranger' his life and he couldn't just abandon her after that. His gut feeling agreed with that assessment. Without her, he was probably fucked whether or not he survived the brushcock's coming rampage. With her, he stood a chance and was
still
likely to be fucked, considering she started sucking his cock within five minutes of meeting him.
That last part wasn't really his gut talking. Apparently, his cock and balls got a vote as well. The only thing voting against saving her was his brain -- she was a
psycho.
She literally went down on his cock within five minutes of meeting him, and even now her tits were leaking milk, a sure indication of her mutation. Even though there had been a constant flow dribbling out of her nipples this entire time, her breasts didn't seem to have gotten any smaller. It was fucking ridiculous.
Three to one was majority rules, though, and the brushcock wasn't getting further away from the two sitting ducks it was charging. The Kid swallowed, then quickly squirmed around to get his legs under himself so he could wobble forth on his knees to the open door. "We've got a brushcock coming. You gotta get in, quick," he shouted at Savvy.
"A fuckin'-- are you fuckin' serious? Goddamn," she kvetched, fumbling blindly in the wrong direction for the door into the truck's cab. He must have cummed in both her eyes. His petty revenge really wasn't worth it, but there was no point in thinking about that anymore. The sudden urgency to her movements had the mostly exposed blonde moving in
very
enticing ways that he certainly didn't have the time to appreciate. Still, he was painfully aware of his cock getting stiff again in spite of their predicament. He didn't even like blondes, but her
tits...
He needed to focus. "To your right, dumbass," he shouted, thrusting his bound hands out towards the fumbling cowgirl. Her fingers gripped the edge before finding the Kid's sweating digits, grabbing them tight and hauling on him as she pulled herself up. The brawny woman's sheer strength took him by surprise when it really shouldn't have, but he set himself and pulled against her tug to help get her into the truck. The climb wasn't easy with her pants and lacy black panties around her knees, but the side step used to get in and out of the truck made it possible.
It was also broken, with one jagged end curling up. The sharp point caught on both her bottoms, and as she got into the truck the denim and lace loudly ripped, rendered nonfunctional for any practical purpose in a moment. Neither of them had the time to worry about that sort of thing, though. In a few more seconds the brushcock would be upon them. "The DOOR, DUMBASS!" the Kid shouted. The Lone Ranger reached blindly behind herself, managing by sheer luck to grab the door's handle and slam it shut.
Seconds later, the entire vehicle gave a mighty lurch as the brushcock slammed into its side, squawking its fowl rage at being denied its meal while its heavy body dented the metal truck. It reared back, crowing and cucking at the sky before backing away from the vehicle and the pair's emergency shelter. The Kid watched it, his heart pounding so fast that he was irrationally worried it might beat its way out of his chest altogether. "Oh, god," he groaned as he slowly scooted back in the truck's cab, resting his back against the driver's side door.
Savvy didn't get comfortable. By the way she was still groaning and rubbing desperately at her eyes, the Kid wasn't sure she would ever get comfortable again. Another bit of wisdom from his father came to the Kid's mind, however, whenever he whined or complained about feeling too sick to work or being too injured from the farm's many hazards. "If you feel well enough to bitch, you're feeling well enough to work," his father said each time, never taking it seriously unless his kid was suffering in silence.
"Goddamn fuckin' asshole cums in my eye," the Lone Ranger complained, half-curling as she scrubbed and scrubbed away, picking up right where she left off as though the brushcock tackling the truck had never happened at all. She was going to be fine given some time or a little help in getting the cum off her peepers and out of her pale blonde lashes. "Lordy, this fuckin' burns!" The Kid took a moment to just breathe, letting his panic and adrenaline fade away with each steady exhale. When he felt calm, he took a look around the truck and quickly found a waterskin and a canteen hanging off the rearview mirror -- or at least where the mirror had been, the glass long since removed for whatever reason.
"Hold on," the Kid muttered, doing his best to block out the sheer senseless noise all her whining and cussing made as he got the waterskin down and clumsily uncapped it. He sniffed its lip and was immediately glad he had. Whatever alcohol it held was strong enough that its stench hit him like a wall and made him flinch back. If he had splashed
that
in her eye, she would probably kill him by