The Rustlers

Two bikers search for grub.

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						Rustlers

	They appeared just over the horizon on their two bikes.  
Dressed in black body-hugging leathers and opaque black helmets, 
they casually dismounted in front of the canteen and strolled in 
amidst the tiny dust devils of the hot, afternoon winds.  One wore 
a small black leather backpack, and the taller one had a long Bowie 
knife riding on her languid hip - suspended by one of the many 
silver chains they both adorned.  Their firm, well-proportioned 
figures were highlighted by the shiny fabric that stretched so 
unmercifully against their skin.  The knee- high leather boots 
clattered noisily against the hardwood floor as they entered the 
dark, smoke filled room.
	Charly was the bartender that day; an older man in his late 
forties who had seen it all, and thought about doing it all, but 
was content with his thoughts.  Over in a particularly dark corner 
sat Mel, the only full-time patron of the canteen.    Many a night 
Mel had slept within the four weathered walls, too pickled to find 
his keys much less his trailer house a mere stones’ throw from the 
entrance.  Besides the two, the place was deserted save for the 
occasional scurrying of one of the resident sand lizards.  The 
flash of light that accompanied their entrance was almost blinding.
	Strolling up to Charly, the shorter one said:

	“A little late for this one; probably can’t get it up much 
less find it!”

	“Yeah,” responded the taller one, “Let’s see what he’s got.”

	The shorter one leapt over the hardwood bar in one smooth 
motion, catching Charly off guard and sending him backwards to the 
dusty floor, while the other surveyed the surroundings and spotted 
Mel with his face buried in his moth-eaten sleeve.    

	“Great place - for a mortuary,” said the shorter one, as 
she caught the duct tape the taller one tossed towards her.  With 
swift motions, she forcefully wrapped the tape around Charlys’ 
head, covering his mouth now wide open in surprise.  Biting and 
tearing the tape, she repeated the forceful binding to his wrists 
and ankles.  The taller one withdrew the knife, and with swift, 
purposeful motions, sliced away his weathered jeans and off-white 
underwear.  His withered manhood lay hidden within a  white mass of 
pubic hair. 

	“Where the hell is it?” asked the taller one, as she 
fumbled in the backpack to withdraw a lined leather pouch and a 
tube of deep heating rub.

	The other felt around the hairy mass until she found it and 
pulled it outwards unmercifully, stretching the weathered skin to 
its limit amidst Charlys’ muffled protests.  Unscrewing the 
ointment, the taller one applied a small line to her fingertips and 
massaged it delicately into his glans and foreskin.  Within 
moments, the flaccid organ began to enlarge with life, growing 
rapidly from the unique sensations of her warm massage.  Capping 
the ointment, they both paused to observe his manhood continue to 
grow to its full potential and emit a small droplet of semen before 
the warmth of the ointment became unbearable.  His body was 
quivering, and his hips were rolling from side to side from the 
stinging in his groin, as his muffled moans became higher and 
louder. 
	The shorter one winked at the taller one as she withdrew a 
two-foot length of piano wire from the backpack, and carefully 
positioned it around the base of his throbbing genitals.  With a 
swift motion, and a high-pitched muffled scream from her victim, 
the once proud tribute to male sexuality plopped to the floor 
amidst a rapidly expanding pool of blood.  Within moments, Charlys’ 
brain reacted violently to the loss of oxygen and shut-down its 
activity as his muscles jolted in one final and violent spasm.  The 
detached organ was gently placed in the lined pouch and zipped 
closed.  They both stood and strolled over to Mel, and pulled his 
pickled carcass onto the creaking floor.  
	The taller one pressed unmercifully at the unshaven skin 
along the side of his jowls forcing his mouth open.  She then 
forced the half-full bottle of bourbon into his mouth, and grabbed 
the duck tape circling it around his chin and the top of his head 
several times.  Instantly sober, Mel frantically struggled to 
escape, but the taller one immediately sat on his chest, forcing 
the air from his lungs, while the shorter one sat on his knees; 
cutting away his filthy clothing with the back edge of the knife.  
Every time Mel tried to protest, the whiskey in the bottle bubbled 
violently, but nary a sound could be heard.  With his genitals now 
fully exposed, the taller one grasped the wire from the 
outstretched hands of her companion, and  with a swift and well 
rehearsed motion, wrapped it around the flaccid organ and quickly 
pulled the ends together.  It plopped to the floor amidst a spray 
of blood, and the taller one scooped it into the open pouch, being 
careful not to drop the two loose gonads.
	With a swift motion, the both stood up simultaneously, and 
surveyed the canteen once more to insure it was deserted.  The 
shorter one then pulled open the silver zipper on her crotch and 
squatted over Mels’ carcass, now quivering in its’ final throes.  
She released a long steady stream of urine on his bloody torso, 
being careful not to soil her boots.  Once drained, she wiped her 
shaved lips on his hairy thigh, and rejoined the taller one who was 
now wiping her wet pussy lips on Charlys expired chest.  With a 
quick check of their possessions, they casually strolled from the 
canteen and back to their wheels, disappearing over the opposite 
horizon from whence they came.  
	Later that evening, as they savored the last morsels of the 
days labors next to a campfire started by the ships lasers, they 
planned their next days journey, grateful to have found a planet 
where it was so easy to rustle up a meal.