SCARLET RED - Sex Stories

SCARLET RED

... Whores and other ladies of the night occasionally dropped in. Where did this place Scarlet? She was neither a whore nor was she a lady of the night. Yet, this young woman was shunned by all other women in the Three Forks of the Wolf hills and valleys. Perhaps the facts of her two killings and her participation in writing sexual filth accounted for her shunning. Just to spite her shunners, this young woman began to go bad. Scarlet frequented taverns, she gambled, she raced horses, and she and her grandfather fucked like demons possessed by lusts. (2) THE RACE Wait a minute! There was a strange man in the tavern. He was tall yet he had no attributes to say he was handsome. Scarlet felt the same ominous chill run up her back again. She turned her back on it, gathered up her saddlebags filled with whisky, and then headed for the door. The tall man blocked her path. He held out his hand for introductions. Scarlet refused the hand. Not to be put off lightly, the man asked, “Are you the girl who works with your grandpa to write dirty stories?” He continued, “I’m the man who owns the place where you send them. My name is X.N. Nophest. You and some of your grandpa’s friends are giving my place a hard rap recently. I asked my staff to draw a random name so that I could call on the writer and hear his side person-to-person. May I accompany you home where you, your grandfather, and I might talk?’ Scarlet reluctantly said two words, “I reckon.” The country girl threw her saddlebags over ...

... the pommel of a tall, sorrel, mountain-bred mule. The man mounted a sleek, dark, Kentucky thoroughbred. Despite her hesitance, Scarlet asked, ‘What’s his name?” Mr. Nophest answered, “He has not yet been named. You could say I’m riding a horse with no name.” Want to race?” Scarlet asked. She added, “I’ve always wondered if my mule RedWing could beat a lowland thoroughbred horse.” Mr. Nophest was taken aback. Absolute certainty steeled his words, “Why gal, you will never see a day when a wilding mule will outrun a thoroughbred!” A crowd had gathered. “You ‘chicken’, Mr. Nophest?” was a chant repeated. “I’ll race!” was his reply. “At what stakes? How about this? When I win, you and your grandfather will agree to stop bitching about what I do on my very own site!” “HA!” exclaimed Scarlet. “And, if you lose, you will publically acknowledge that the ‘free’ stories you get are worthy of more attention and that you will treat your writers better. And you will agree that this site ‘belongs’ to the writer’s as well as to you!” The quarter-mile track behind the tavern was used. Scarlet stripped her mule of its cargo including its saddle. She mounted bareback (a position she often used in her granddad’s bed). RedWing barely felt her weight. Mr. Nophest weighed twice as much as his opponent. He lost no confidence because he was sitting atop a horse with no name. A shot rang out. The race was on. The thoroughbred leapt and was off. Scarlet’s mule ran like a jackrabbit on steroids. RedWing ...