The sun dipped low in the horizon, casting a fiery hue across the dusty streets of the small, unsuspecting town of Cactus Flats. The air had the smell of gunpowder, the echoes of laughter and triumphant yee-haws resonating through the saloons and abandoned storefronts. Tillie Hinton, a woman with a heart as fiery as her hair, stood atop the saloon's balcony, her legs astride the railing, one hand on her hip and the other clutching a bottle of whiskey. The Wild Riders, her loyal band of female outlaws, gathered around her, their eyes gleaming with a mix of greed and lust as they surveyed their latest conquest.
"Look at this haul, girls!" Tillie roared, her voice a siren's call to the winds of chaos. "We've got more gold, silver, and jewels than we can shake our sticks at!" The Riders hooted and hollered, their raucous cheer shaking the very foundations of the saloon as they piled their looted goods into a cart that groaned under the weight of their ill-gotten gains, no one left to oppose them in this town.
Sheriff Marie, the once proud protector of Cactus Flats, was now nothing more than a humiliated mess, stuffed into a barrel with the shredded remnants of her panties sticking out of her tight, round ass like a flag of defeat. Her legs kicked feebly, a pitiful attempt to escape the indignity of her situation, her cheeks flushed with a crimson that matched the setting sun. The Riders had torn through her drawer, each one taking their turn to rip a different pair of her panties up her ass until they had shredded her entire underwear drawer.
Madison, her young, ambitious deputy, was not spared from their cruel jests. Despite her fiery spirit, she had been swiftly overpowered, her lithe body pinned to the ground by the stronger, more experienced hands of the Wild Riders.
Now, Madison hung from the sheriff's office sign, her legs dangling in the breeze, the crotch of each pair of her panties wedged so tightly between her cheeks that she could feel the material dig into her tender flesh. Half of her underwear drawer was covering her face via atomic wedgie, muffling her groans while the other half of her drawer was suspending her off the ground. Each time a pair ripped, she got ever so slightly closer to the ground but it would take hours for her durable undies to rip.
Every woman in town, from the rich socialites to the hardworking barmaids, had been subjected to the same fate. Their once dignified figures were now a spectacle of contorted agony, petticoats and bloomers pulled high above their heads, exposing their bare bottoms to the scorching sun and the lecherous gazes of the few remaining men. The air was filled with the sound of fabric tearing, the occasional yelp of pain, and the unmistakable thwack of a palm meeting a reddened, wedgied butt.
Mrs. Jenkins, the town's schoolmarm, had been caught trying to hide her savings in the schoolhouse. Now she swung from the gallows, her petticoats fluttering around her ankles, her favorite pair of lace underwear ripped up to her neck and leaving her in a hanging wedgie. She was shocked by just how durable her lace undies were but really wished they weren't as they were like a razor cutting into her butt.
The saloon's owner, a voluptuous woman named Dolly, found herself draped over the bar, her legs held apart by two burly members of the gang. Seeing the large bloomers she had on, they poured an entire pot of chili down the poor woman's underwear then took turns pulling her bloomers tight, her plump cheeks bulging obscenely with each pull, and chili being shoved up her butt, the food staining her white bloomers beyond recognition.
Even the town's seamstress, Miss Elara, wasn't spared. Her delicate, nimble hands that had once crafted the finest lingerie for the town's ladies now trembled as she gave herself wedgies in her own hand crafted panties, showing them off to the howling raiders as they whistled and hooted at her.
Delighting in the torment they had inflicted, Tillie took a swig from her whiskey bottle, her eyes sparkling with a sadistic glee as she surveyed the carnage. The map in her hand was a testament to their conquests, each town marked with a crimson 'X', symbolizing the fate of the unfortunate souls who had crossed their path. The last town, Whispering Willows, remained untouched by their raiding. Two of her trusted scouts, Luna and Starla, had been dispatched there earlier to assess the situation and lay the groundwork for their grand finale.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author