:: Sliptongue Magazine

Cassidy Trench Always Gets Her Man

by Jo McCoy

Cassidy was doing what she always did round about dusk: dozing with her scuffed leather clad dogs up on her desk. Errant chestnut curls fell onto her brow, which creased prettily as if even in her dreams there was something just waiting to vex her. The sound of movement in the field outside snapped her awake so suddenly she almost lost her loose grip on the half-full glass of whiskey which had been resting precariously on her knee. . Grasping her revolver, she strode silently outside to see who thought that sneaking up on her bungalow in the evening hours was a wise decision.

If she had been out strolling of her own accord, Cassidy might’ve given mind to how lovely it was outside. Maybe she would have noticed how, as the sun prepared to bed down behind the distant mountains, it layered the sky in pinks and blues. Or, perhaps she would have felt the evening’s ease spreading over her as the rare cool breeze swayed through the long grass, just soft enough to give relief without stirring up the grains of sand that lurked just under, itching to be released. However, right now all the sunset meant was low visibility. The breeze was just a means of conveying her scent to anyone lurking out in the dusk.

She kept her gun at her side, so as not to frighten Gracie or the farmhands if they were just coming up to deliver a message or do some chore that had been neglected during the day. But since she had not heard a horse’s approach and no one, not even her ladylike bookkeeper, would waste time by walking the two miles from the front buildings to her place, Cassidy’s fingers held firm. Right now, Gracie is probably doling out mash to ol’ Timmet Seaver and Schooly, complaining that she just doesn’t understand why they can’t have real china. Poor Gracie had to contend with the same old tin plates that Cassidy had hauled along with the cattle train nearly twelve years ago. “Poor Gracie, Broh Gulch ain’t Cincinnati. That’s for sure.” Cassidy couldn’t help but smile at such an understated thought.

She paused at the corner of the house and peered around the peeling clapboard siding, allowing time for her breath to settle. A horse’s surprised whinny curled across the pinking horizon near the south corner of the big fence. “Goddamn there ain’t nothing I hate more than rustlers.” she muttered under her breath, though she had to amend that statement immediately. “At least ones that steal from me.” She wasn’t exactly innocent of dealing with thieves. She bought her favorite stallion from a Chickasaw bandit named RedEye and would buy another if the price were favorable.

Staying low to the ground, she crept through the high grass. The blades whipped at her face as she made her way swiftly toward the field. She was certain that the noise had come from this area but it was empty, save a few horses chewing in the distance. Cassidy crouched with one knee in the soft dirt, waiting. Then something caught her eye in the trees that created a perforated line at the far edge of her property. She sped through the grass once again to get a closer look. What she saw was unmistakably a pair of legs which slid out the lonely scrabbly little apple tree. The sight stopped her short. Horses she’d shoot a man for, but apples? All that tree ever gave were piddly little sour orbs that only her animals seemed to care a thing for. What would possess someone to take such risk? Would she kill someone over a little pucker of an apple? She stood there with the words “what on earth” hanging in her mind for a moment before deciding to stow her gun and reach for the whip that always hung waiting at her left hip instead.

It was a beautiful piece of work. Malleable leather that had been braided and dyed a muted red - it was soft to the touch, but was rough enough to cut strips out of the hide of anyone who challenged its authority. She ran her thumb over the handle, in an absent minded gesture of affection.

The apple theif dropped to the ground with a shirt tail full of fruit. His smirk staggered and then collapsed when he took in the figure of Cassidy Trench striding across the plain in the deepening dusk. He turned to run but she was quicker than he had anticipated. Her bullwhip unfurled, closing the distance between them almost lazily. He felt its braided rope wrap around his leg and the cracker smack against his ankle and less than a moment later he hit the ground, red dust springing into his eyes and turning the world into a burning, watery blur. He felt the crush of apples being mashed beneath him, their juice seeping through his clothing.

“Just what on earth do you think you’re doing, bud?”

He turned his head to peer at his captor, in disbelief that the lilting drawl belonged to the same person who had sent him sprawling.

Cassidy could feel the familiar sensation of scrutiny taking in every inch of her frame. This happened every time she encountered someone unfamiliar, but it never ceased to irritate her. She knew he was taking in her conventionally feminine face and doing the mental calculus that involved adding her clothing to the equation. She was dressed as she always was when working the ranch; button up work shirt stained various shades of sepia due to sweat and dirt, covered by a fitted men’s vest equipped with pockets for various tools, well worn brown breeches that hugged her lush hips and made for easy climbing, running and riding, and her tall brown boots layered with a decade’s worth of blood, tears and manure. As usual the equation just didn’t add up for the apple thief and he finally said the words they all say.

“You’re a woman.”

“Why, yes that appears to be so, yet that don’t answer the question I put to you one bit.” Cassidy shifted her weight to her left leg and placed a dainty hand on her hip.

The man continued to stare, his gaze riding up and down her body on a slow and endless track until she jerked her whip loose and ordered him to his feet. As he stood up, absentmindedly patting the dust off of his pants, Cassidy couldn’t help but notice his tall and wiry frame and the way his rolled-up sleeves revealed his solid looking arms.

“Well, if you won’t tell me what you’re doing, at least have the decency to tell me your name.”

“Jack.” he mumbled still looking at her in wonder.

“Alright, Jack. My name is Trench and this is my ranch and those, “ she gestured to the lumps littering the ground, “are my apples - now why on earth are you climbing my trees to run off with a few measly apples? Are you not aware that people routinely shoot thieves?”

“Yes’m.” his dark eyes were lingering around her slim waist, as if he were transfixed.

“So….why?”

He shook his head, as if to shake away his befuddlement and finally met her gaze, “I .. . I’m just passing through Mrs. Trench. I’m headed out west and I just wanted a bite to eat. That’s all.”

His face was so open that she couldn’t help but soften a bit. He had a face that was almost sweet to look upon, his full lips and long dark lashes would look feminine if they weren’t contrasted by his strong chin.

“Well Jack, I am nobody’s Mrs. And if you wanted food there’s two houses by the front gate that you could’ve asked at.”

“You’re right and I am sorry. I just didn’t want to trouble nobody.” He was looking at his feet like a scolded child.

“Well, you did trouble somebody. You went and caused me the trouble of thinking I was coming out here to deal with horse thieves not to mention the fact that you woke me up. I should be resting up for tomorrow not out here dealing with a grown man who likes to climb trees instead of simply asking for food from those that would spare it in exchange for some honest work.” He continued to examine his boots through her tirade, as if he just had to bide his time until she ran out of steam. “Gee-sus man, you will look at me when I speak to you!”

His eyes lifted momentarily and then darted away. “I beg pardon, uh, ma’am but I…I have never seen a woman dressed like you.”

Cassidy rolled her eyes heavenward, “Yeah, I get that a lot.” she said sardonically, “Just cause I don’t traffic in petticoats and bloomers and nonsense doesn’t give you the right to disrespect me.”

His expression darkened, “I AM being respectful Miss Trench! If I look at you, dressed the way you are….well, I can see your shape!” He was glaring at her indignantly now as if she were wearing her clothes just to torment him rather for the comfort and practicality they allowed.

She took a moment to actually look over this stranger. He was clearly agitated, his chest rose and fell quickly with breath as if he were overcome by the sight of her. His hair was sun bleached and the way it fell in a forelock over one eye reminded her of a particularly headstrong colt she used to own. His eyes were so dark that in gloaming she couldn’t quite make out where his pupils ended and iris began. His sharp jaw was covered with stubble and Cassidy was surprised by a sudden urge to touch its prickly surface.

Cassidy Trench had not felt that compulsion in years. Not since that cattle drive. Not since that goddamned rattler stole July away from her.

Suddenly Cassidy saw his eyes widen a fraction, and he smiled at her - a broad smile which showed his lovely teeth. His grin filled her with feelings she couldn’t quite describe, but she could tell she had given something away - something she would have to grab hold of quickly before it slipped away from her for good. Stuck in the path of Jack‘s smile like a dandelion rooted in the path of a stampede, Cassidy felt as though she were losing control. She had fought tooth and nail for the respect and control she had, for her ranch and the right to decide things for herself and she would be damned before she let some random man come in and think for a moment that he could hold jurisdiction over her or her life in anyway.

However, she couldn’t deny the tugging she felt deep within her. She felt like having someone else’s lips on hers, his lips - especially his lush bottom lip that jutted out ever so slightly. It had been too long since she looked at anyone and felt that and that was something that needed to be honored just as much as her need for autonomy.

She moved quickly. Cutting the distance between them in an instant and before he could comprehend what was happening Cassidy was pushing the trespasser up against the tree, her forearm lodged squarely against his throat. At first he chuckled in surprise but his smile slipped when she asked gruffly, “What the fuck are you grinning at?”

The cocksure grin was completely erased from his face and he barely had a chance to mutter, “Nothing Miss Trench! Honest! I was just,” before she flicked her whip to the side. Out of the corner of his eyes he watched it make its graceful arc upward before cracking back, sending a chill up his spine and silencing him completely.

“Listen here, I know just what you were grinning at. You were thinking that you could have your way with me. Weren’t you?” Her face was very close to his now. They were chest to chest. Her arms were at her side now, his windpipe was free but her body pressed against his held him. She could feel his ragged breathing on her cheeks as he looked down at her.

“I was just,” he began hoarsely.

“Don’t lie to me now, it just isn’t a good idea to lie to an armed woman.” her voice was low and husky, “You were looking at my - what did you call it -shape earlier, were you not?”

When he spoke it was in a whisper, a plea, “Yes.”

“Well, Jack, you are NOT going to have your way with me.” With two swift motions he found his wrists held fast in front of his chest, the whip wrapping a figure eight around them, binding them together.

“You see feller, this is my ranch and that means that I ALWAYS have my way.” With a grin she tossed the handle over the nearest branch and pulled until he was standing at his full height, toes just touching the ground enough to give him some steadiness but not enough to use any of his strength. She passed her whip over the branch a few more times and then began to climb.

The bark of the tree was rough beneath her hands and her boots slipped a bit on the way up. She hadn’t climbed a tree in ages - maybe not since that St. Germaine Days picnic back home.

She was six years old and was all gussied up in an elaborate frock her mother had placed her in. It was a stuffy pink affair with scratchy crinolines and numerous bows. Before the pie was served Cassidy stripped down to her bloomers right there in the midst of the celebration. It was a logical move, she needed to get rid of the fluff in order to more effectively climb the fifty foot oak that stood in the center of town. Unfortunately, her mother didn’t see it that way, she wept in frustration among the roots popping out of the ground. Papa stormed and raved that this was not lady-like as he watched his small daughter disappear into the upper branches.

It was in this way, sitting there, at the very apex, elaborate ringlets floating on a rare July breeze, that the young Miss Trench announced to the world that she would not put up with the nonsense of propriety - especially if it got in the way of her plans. Plans that were and continue to be precise.

Cassidy took her time tying a knot in the whip to her specific requirements. Jack looked up at her, suspended in body and mind. Her strong legs spread across the wide limb as she worked and her boots dangling on either side put him in mind of a school girl - but last he checked most school girls don’t go about trussing men up to apple trees. Of course, Miss Trench had already proven in a thousand other ways that she had little in common with the majority of her sex.

She leapt down from the tree like a cat, landed soundlessly and began to admire her prey. Cassidy had to admit that he was a sight to behold, his face all anxious anticipation. As she allowed herself to drink him in a low ache formed inside her and she forced herself to push aside her thoughts and try to tap into her instincts. It had been such a long time that part of her lingered, trying to recall how to proceed. All those nights with July seemed like they belonged to another lifetime - one in which he had always been in charge.

Moving slowly, careful to take one step at a time, she gave the illusion of assurance, but just below the surface her mind was racing, replaying scenes with her lost lover. What would he do if he had her so compromised and at his mercy?

She deftly unbuttoned his shirt revealing an inch of goose prickled ochre skin at a time. The well worn flannel was a soft as satin as she made her way down, button by agonizing button. Cassidy became aware of things she had missed now that she stood so close to a man. The scent of him on the breeze was delicious and she closed her eyes to focus on the sensation.

When finally each button had been parted from its button hole she stood back to admire his naked torso. His shirt hung open like curtains around a lovely view. The setting sun’s rays reflected off him, gave Jack a firey glow. Cassidy took it all in, her eyes swooping about his body, lighting on his throat and stomach and the fine hair surrounding his navel creeping downward past the belt line.

She took one finger and placed it on his lips. Jack closed his eyes and savored the sensation of her fingertip tracing his chin and neck, making it’s way in a straight line down his stomach. Cassidy lingered for a moment in the downy forest that grew there and then journeyed past his belly button until she was separated from him by the tyranny of his pants. He opened his eyes and saw her looking up at him with twinkling eyes, her finger resting on the copper button above his fly.

“Now, this is an important step, dear Jack.” she said in a whisper, a crooked smile leaving her mouth slightly agape. “Let’s see what you’re working with.” With a look of pure mischief she slid her hand down his pants and grasped the whole of him. Jack let out a groan and she felt him stiffen instantly filling her palm with firmness.

“Oh yes, you will do just fine.” she purred, letting go and skimming her fingernails across his sensitive skin. He felt an immediate loss, bereft without her skillful grasping him. But as hard as he tried, he could not will her hand—or other parts—back to the throbbing ache in his jeans.

As if she had no knowledge of what lay below his belt line she began at his neck, nibbling kisses along his throat pausing between each peck to give him time enough to be left wanting. Her tongue made paths over his chest creating lazy circles around his nipples. He felt the points of her teeth along his shoulder, the brush of her silky hair then the cushion of her lips on his stomach and finally, the agonizing massage of her palms across the outside of his pants. He raised his eyes to the night sky, amazed at how acutely he felt everything as he hung helpless and bound by the whip.

For her part, Cassidy reveled in the taste of his salty flesh. She had to admit he was beautifully made and smelled of the sun and sand. At last, she kissed him and allowed herself to be kissed back - truly kissed with no artifice. Her inner monologue - that voice she had lived for so long with as her only real companion- was silenced, and the only word in her mind was a low, thrumming “yes”.

Her chest filled with light, she felt confident and assured. She had power over this man. She could do whatever she wished with him - and what was it she wanted? Control. She had that, but she wanted even more - the full measure of her control would only come when she had forced him to lose his control.

Flashing a wicked grin into his pleading eyes, she descended, slowly tracing his abdomen with tickling licks and scrapes from her teeth. Jack’s moan skirted the frontier in that range between ecstasy and torture. When she brushed her mouth along his fly, applying a gentle but firm pressure his hips bucked seemingly without his permission. “Miss Trench,” he managed to whine, “please let me down.”

Cassidy sat back on her heels and admired her victim squirming in her web. “Well, if you insist.” She jerked the slip knot loose with one swift motion and he was let loose, with a thud.

Jack recovered quickly, “I don’t want to be forward or nothing but could you untie my hands? I……I just long to touch you.”

She laughed out-loud as she freed his wrists, “Oh Jack, you better do much more than touch me.”

Once unleashed crazed as he was Jack tried to maintain some decorum. He began to kiss her gently only to be pulled into a fevered kiss full of probing tongues and bitten lips and from there all manner of control was lost to him. He jerked open her shirt, and her buttons flew from their threads spinning into the dust, lost. He paused, surprised to discover a bandage wrapped around her torso. Cassidy felt embarrassed. But she covered it with her usual bravado, “I hate those ridiculous under things they want women to wear.” she said, “This is just easier.”

Jack undid the knot and began to unwind the wide fabric as Cassidy marveled at the gentleness of his touch. After three turns her breasts bounced free into the cool evening air, and she heard a quick intake of air as Jack gazed in appreciation. His fingers were warm as they made quick little passes along her chest. It felt as if her breasts were growing larger with his every touch, her blood coursed through her going only those two points. The ache between her thighs was growing more persistent with every connection between them and soon she had to stop him before she lost her mind.

Cassidy pushed him to the ground and yanked his pants down. Her hands flew over him sliding up and down, willing him to lose his control, to feel the urgency she felt. Jack closed his eyes, “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Then show me.”

“I don’t even know your first name.” he said between gasps

“My name is Cassidy .” She declared before leaning down and breathing the words directly into his mouth, “Let’s screw.”

The phrase was like a spur kick. Before she could utter another syllable she was flipped onto her back and Jack was throwing her pants to the side sending scarlet particles of dust leaping in wisps. He was like a blanket covering her, his gentleness abandoned. His fingers curled into her hair and tugged her lovely wet mouth to his as he descended oh-so-slowly from above.

Soon Cassidy found that she couldn’t control the volume of her moans and filled her mouth with the round of his shoulder to keep the farmhands from running up to see what was wrong. Her body clenched and released rhythmically, almost without her permission, pulling him deeper. The build was blindingly fast, her ribs felt like they were a cage of fluttering birds, fighting to be freed so they could pull her into the sky. She dissolved into a liquid world just as he collapsed on top of her.

For a moment she just held him there, held him like she had not held anyone in years. Her vision glistened for a moment with tears for poor July, but she wiped them away hastily and pulled this new arrival’s face up from her chest.

“Welcome to the Ranch, Jack. Put your britches back on and we’ll get some food in you. We work for our supper around here so be prepared for tomorrow.”

“Are you hiring me?”

She smiled one of her rare girlish smiles, “If you want to be hired. I am willing to take you on. We need another hand since spring brought us some new colts that need training up.”

“Well, Miss Trench. I believe this was the best interview I have ever had.” he grinned tucking his shirt in.

Cassidy looked at the way his pants hugged his body, his messy hair and dimpled chin and thought, “Oh Cass, what have you gotten yourself into now?“

“Where’s the grub, boss lady?” He teased. As he offered her his calloused hand, she could tell things are about to get mighty unproductive around the ranch.

_______________

Jo McCoy is an errant writer of erotica looking to dampen the petticoats of her fellow historical fiction enthusiasts.