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konstantyaTitle: Sharp As Glass and Twice As Bright
Fandom: Original Work
Genre: Western, drama, romance?
Characters/relationships: Outlaw Heroine/Deputy Hero
Rating: R
Word count: 734
Summary: They really should have gagged him. That would have been the sensible thing to do. (An original piece inspired by a pulp magazine cover. Image also included inside the fic on AO3, along with full content warnings.)
Now has a follow-up piece!
If you’d like to leave a comment, please do so on AO3!
They really should have gagged him. That would have been the sensible thing to do.
“I swear I’ll hunt you down and see you hanged for this,” he seethed. Utah’s rifle, trained on him from across the room, was probably the only thing that was keeping him from full-on shouting the words. Even so, he struggled valiantly in his bonds, the chair creaking beneath him, hard lines decorating a face that would—under other circumstances—be surprisingly attractive. He’d have rope burns around his wrists, Evie noted absently, from the way he was twisting his hands behind his back.
Sheriff Harper, his boss, lay dead on the floor in front of him, a bullet wound in his chest.
Evie paid no mind, to either the body or the fierce glares being sent her way. Julio was free, that was all that mattered. And in another minute, when Bear found those papers, they’d be gone.
That deputy, however, simply would not be quiet.
“Don’t think that just because you’re a woman, they’ll go easy on you,” he snarled. “I’ve seen it before, I’ve—”
It was remarkable, the way a gun could shut a man up. She hadn’t even had to pull the trigger, just deliberately press the barrel into the hollow between his shoulder and throat. He immediately fell silent and his gaze gained a hint of wariness, despite himself. The fact that it was the same weapon that had shot down Randolph Harper might have had something to do with it. Ultimately, though, her grudge had been with the late sheriff, not his men; unlike some people, she didn’t go around killing indiscriminately if she could avoid it.
“You know…” she purred, “I like your mouth a lot better when it isn’t talking.”
He swallowed and stared at her defiantly, his nostrils flaring as he took deep, angry breaths. Indeed, up this close, he was attractive. Thick, dark hair; well-shaped lips; high, proud cheekbones; eyes the color of the afternoon sky. He’d probably make some girl very happy someday, assuming he was the marrying type. For a brief moment, Evie envied the hypothetical other woman.
“Got it,” Bear said, closing a desk drawer. Utah audibly sighed in relief.
“Well, handsome,” she drawled, “I guess this is it. Not that I think you’ll forget me, but just to be sure…” And at that, she propped herself sideways on his lap, scraped the fingers of her free hand through the hair at his nape, and kissed him.
She could feel his whole body tense. He knew better than to resist, what with her gun still pressed against him, but his lips were hard under hers, his head futilely trying to tilt away, and his arms literally shaking as he fought to keep still. She shifted in his lap, angled her mouth more fully over his, and drank in the feeling of his broad chest and the hard thighs under her rump. It was too late for her to deserve paradise and she knew it, but oh, sometimes it was nice to pretend. And eventually, her efforts were rewarded—his lips quivered uncertainly right before his cock twitched traitorously beneath her.
Evie pulled back with a smirk, and his shoulders heaved in disgust—either at her or his own body’s reaction. Then he spat off to the side—off to the side, not directly in her face, she noted with a measure of curiosity. Perhaps he’d had a momma who had actually raised him right. What an absolute novelty among men these days. It was almost a pity he’d gone into law enforcement.
Triumphantly, she slid off his lap, and as she holstered her gun, he vowed through clenched teeth, “I’ll get you. I swear I’ll get you, you—”
She yanked the bandana off from around his neck and stuffed it in his mouth. “Utah, rope,” she ordered, and in another minute they had him gagged, after all. He looked positively murderous, as if he’d like to strangle her right then and there with his bare hands, and a dark thrill of satisfaction traveled through her at the thought.
Evie bent down and tapped his sun-bronzed nose. “You can call me all the names you want in the future, darling,” she softly mocked. “If you can find me!” And with that, she straightened, tucked her auburn hair back up under her hat, and then they were gone.
-----
A/N: In case you’re curious about “Gang Girl,” the Harlan Ellison story advertised on the magazine cover, I actually hunted it down, hoping it might be related to the image, and sadly it isn’t. The story itself is a cautionary morality tale, about a ’50s good-girl teen who falls in with a street gang and eventually gets arrested after seeing her boyfriend killed in a knife fight; nothing even close to the image on the cover ever happens, though it does have a lot of now-hilariously-dated slang and I found it pleasantly lacking in male-gaziness, despite essentially being an exploitation thriller. Anyway, I kept thinking the cover art was really too good to go without an accompanying story or text (femdom is rare to see on pulp covers, let alone an example that’s so relatively classy), so here we are. Unfortunately, I don’t know who the artist is/was. :(
All other fics can be found here.
Fandom: Original Work
Genre: Western, drama, romance?
Characters/relationships: Outlaw Heroine/Deputy Hero
Rating: R
Word count: 734
Summary: They really should have gagged him. That would have been the sensible thing to do. (An original piece inspired by a pulp magazine cover. Image also included inside the fic on AO3, along with full content warnings.)
Now has a follow-up piece!
If you’d like to leave a comment, please do so on AO3!
- Sharp As Glass and Twice As Bright -
They really should have gagged him. That would have been the sensible thing to do.
“I swear I’ll hunt you down and see you hanged for this,” he seethed. Utah’s rifle, trained on him from across the room, was probably the only thing that was keeping him from full-on shouting the words. Even so, he struggled valiantly in his bonds, the chair creaking beneath him, hard lines decorating a face that would—under other circumstances—be surprisingly attractive. He’d have rope burns around his wrists, Evie noted absently, from the way he was twisting his hands behind his back.
Sheriff Harper, his boss, lay dead on the floor in front of him, a bullet wound in his chest.
Evie paid no mind, to either the body or the fierce glares being sent her way. Julio was free, that was all that mattered. And in another minute, when Bear found those papers, they’d be gone.
That deputy, however, simply would not be quiet.
“Don’t think that just because you’re a woman, they’ll go easy on you,” he snarled. “I’ve seen it before, I’ve—”
It was remarkable, the way a gun could shut a man up. She hadn’t even had to pull the trigger, just deliberately press the barrel into the hollow between his shoulder and throat. He immediately fell silent and his gaze gained a hint of wariness, despite himself. The fact that it was the same weapon that had shot down Randolph Harper might have had something to do with it. Ultimately, though, her grudge had been with the late sheriff, not his men; unlike some people, she didn’t go around killing indiscriminately if she could avoid it.
“You know…” she purred, “I like your mouth a lot better when it isn’t talking.”
He swallowed and stared at her defiantly, his nostrils flaring as he took deep, angry breaths. Indeed, up this close, he was attractive. Thick, dark hair; well-shaped lips; high, proud cheekbones; eyes the color of the afternoon sky. He’d probably make some girl very happy someday, assuming he was the marrying type. For a brief moment, Evie envied the hypothetical other woman.
“Got it,” Bear said, closing a desk drawer. Utah audibly sighed in relief.
“Well, handsome,” she drawled, “I guess this is it. Not that I think you’ll forget me, but just to be sure…” And at that, she propped herself sideways on his lap, scraped the fingers of her free hand through the hair at his nape, and kissed him.
She could feel his whole body tense. He knew better than to resist, what with her gun still pressed against him, but his lips were hard under hers, his head futilely trying to tilt away, and his arms literally shaking as he fought to keep still. She shifted in his lap, angled her mouth more fully over his, and drank in the feeling of his broad chest and the hard thighs under her rump. It was too late for her to deserve paradise and she knew it, but oh, sometimes it was nice to pretend. And eventually, her efforts were rewarded—his lips quivered uncertainly right before his cock twitched traitorously beneath her.
Evie pulled back with a smirk, and his shoulders heaved in disgust—either at her or his own body’s reaction. Then he spat off to the side—off to the side, not directly in her face, she noted with a measure of curiosity. Perhaps he’d had a momma who had actually raised him right. What an absolute novelty among men these days. It was almost a pity he’d gone into law enforcement.
Triumphantly, she slid off his lap, and as she holstered her gun, he vowed through clenched teeth, “I’ll get you. I swear I’ll get you, you—”
She yanked the bandana off from around his neck and stuffed it in his mouth. “Utah, rope,” she ordered, and in another minute they had him gagged, after all. He looked positively murderous, as if he’d like to strangle her right then and there with his bare hands, and a dark thrill of satisfaction traveled through her at the thought.
Evie bent down and tapped his sun-bronzed nose. “You can call me all the names you want in the future, darling,” she softly mocked. “If you can find me!” And with that, she straightened, tucked her auburn hair back up under her hat, and then they were gone.
-----
A/N: In case you’re curious about “Gang Girl,” the Harlan Ellison story advertised on the magazine cover, I actually hunted it down, hoping it might be related to the image, and sadly it isn’t. The story itself is a cautionary morality tale, about a ’50s good-girl teen who falls in with a street gang and eventually gets arrested after seeing her boyfriend killed in a knife fight; nothing even close to the image on the cover ever happens, though it does have a lot of now-hilariously-dated slang and I found it pleasantly lacking in male-gaziness, despite essentially being an exploitation thriller. Anyway, I kept thinking the cover art was really too good to go without an accompanying story or text (femdom is rare to see on pulp covers, let alone an example that’s so relatively classy), so here we are. Unfortunately, I don’t know who the artist is/was. :(
All other fics can be found here.
