TREATING REALITY AS FANTASY WAS THE RANCH HAND’S BIGGEST MISTAKE
The Commander Has Come — Hard and Fast! Ranch Hand will Live to Regret It!
You Better Cum Now if You Ever Want to Cum Again . . .
[WARNING — NON-CON THEMES — YOU HAVE BEEN OFFICIALLY WARNED!]
“Report! Now!”
“I’m . . . ahh . . . umm . . .”
“What do you want Private? Why did you interrupt me? Speak up! Report! Now!”
“We . . . we have been monitoring additional transmissions from Earth . . .”
“I do not understand why? The Game of Thrones finale was years ago. Plus, the N-flix is stopping the cross-sharing of passwords.”
“Yes Commander . . . you are correct Sir.”
“And somehow you felt the need to tell me I’m correct? Like it is something of a unique moment?”
“Oh My Galaxy! I am so sorry Commander!”
“Apologizes are invalid once you have already failed me. You will be spending the next cycle bound in the Orgazmatron. Now Report, or it will be two cycles and on high!”
“Please Commander! Not the Orgazmatron!”
“You just earned yourself two cycles on high Private. Do you want to go for three, or are you finally going to finish blabbing out your Report?”
“Would it be acceptable Commander if I slide the Report to your Holo-Pad?”
“Are you even capable Private? Or are you going to flox that up also?”
The Private, with hands shaking, motions over her Holo-Wrist, sliding the Report . . . into the transparent aluminum viewing wall, causing a small spark, before the Report is gone.
With her head down, she stands quietly while shuddering in fear. The Commander approaches, putting the back of her wrist to the Private’s to manually pull the Report, before calling to her Security Duo.
“SD, take the Private here for a ride in the Orgazmatron. Set it on high and for five cycles.”
The Private didn’t know how her punishment just became five cycles, but she does know opening her mouth will only make it longer. Dying from too much pleasure wouldn’t be a bad way to go, if only the Commander would allow her that type of final release.
SD-1 mistakenly questions, “Five cycles Commander?”
“Was I gagged SD-1? What the flox! Do you want to join her? Just prep her for hourly juice injections and she won’t die. She’ll be awake, alive and aware of every moment, along with every second of excessive pleasures . . . just as she deserves.”
In unison, the SD-Team replies, “Yes Commander!”, before holo-sleeving the Private’s arms behind her so tight her elbows are touching. They walk her towards the doors as tears roll down her cheeks.
The Commander calls out before they clear, “Oh, and SD-2?”
“Yes Commander?”
“As soon as the Private is helpless within the Orgazmatron, strap SD-1 onto the Anal-lodger for the next cycle. That should teach him to never question me again.”
“Yes Commander! Private, Orgasmatron, five cycles. SD-1, Anal-lodger, one cycle. Got it!”
As they leave, both the Private and SD-1 are now crying.
Holo-Tech is the backbone to much of the Commander’s reality. It’s been around for longer than anyone can remember, yet, it’s still not fully understood. The sleeve the Private’s arms have just been bound with is flexible, but unforgiving. It’s also impenetrable and can only be removed by the originator of that Holo-item.
Guiding her holo-pad to a viewable location, the Commander reads in horror as to what has transpired on Earth. The Report reads as follows:
[BIG PRICK ~ MAJOR DICK ~ PRIVATE PECKER ~ SUMMARY]
LOCATION ~ Earth
HUMAN ~ Agent Ranch Hand (Alias?)
~ ~ ~
[OFFENSE] ~ Reality Leaks
[EVIDENCE LINK] ~ Breaks down ALL Offenses in Detail
[PUNISHMENT] ~ No Limits
[END GOAL] ~ Stop Big Prick from EVER COMING AGAIN!
~~~INCOMING TRANSMISSION~~~
~~~HIGH COURT~~~
[END GOAL HAS BEEN OVERRIDDEN BY HIGH COURT! DO NOT PROCEED WITH END GOAL! JUST LEAVE THE SILLY MAN BE]
[SUMMARY] ~ It is the Ruling of the High Court of Thighgapia that the, so-called, “Agent Ranch Hand” is just an UN-lucky Buffoon. One who had UN-wittingly and UN-knowingly, “Sprinkled Reality” into one of his many stories.
As per the Earth belief: An infinite number of Monkeys on an infinite number of keyboards would eventually type the words to Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” lyrics. Another mistake, which never should have happened.
Commander . . . with all due respect, I believe you should return to the mother-ship. News leaked that the High Court has over-ridden retaliation by anyone against Agent Buffoon.
“My return would only be required if I actually had any plans of retaliation on my mind, right? Go ahead and scan my mind Sprite . . . go ahead. You’re already in my head anyway! Again, without my permission . . . you little AI bitch!”
I’ve already scanned and there are no plans that I have found within your mind. But you are also on record as the only Thighgapian to ever successfully hide your thoughts from a scan.
“And thusly, you need to trust me Sprite along with my actions.”
I am sorry Commander, but trust has never been added to my AI.
“Sprite, I need you to locate Agent Ranch Hand.”
Excuse me Commander. But were we not just discussing the no retaliation finding of the High Court?
“Yes, and did I not just give you a request as your superior?”
I have been trying to break into his mind for the last hour, but his whereabouts seemed to be trapped within a hardened shell of lost hopes and dreams. Oddly, this virtual shell is decoupaged by photos of someone called Zatanna Dark?
“I would ask Sprite why you were already scanning him, but really don’t give a flox. I need to know where he is? Tell me more of this decoupage layer? Maybe we can break through it somehow?”
Every image is of the same person, Zatanna Dark. It’s always the same person in the same outers, but every time in a different position. She is standing bipedal, bending over, crawling, and more. My research tells me this one is known as a downward dog?
“What are her outers in these pictures?”
I believe the items on her stompers are known as cowgirl boots. They are made of an animal skin and polished to a blackened shine. The item she has as headgear is called a cowgirl hat.
“Sprite, show me these images.”
The only other outer she has on is known as a thong. It seems to also be of the same blackened to a shiny animal skin. The Earthlings have written a song about thongs. Shall I play it Commander?
“Un-necessary Sprite. What are those items hanging from the sides?”
Best I can tell Commander is in every image of Zatanna; she has what’s known as reins hanging from the sides of her thong. They are used to control and direct an otherwise uncontrollable beast.
“Sprite, tell me where did all of these images originate?”
Only within the mind of Agent Ranch Hand. These represent his impossible hopes and dreams.
“Well that’s pretty floxing sad. Can you break through them Sprite? I need his coordinates!”
From my research, I believe I have a way to soften a spot on his hard shell. Do I have your permission to attempt Commander?
“Let me get this straight Sprite? You invade my mind with scans, without asking me. Now, after being told what must be done, you’re asking permission to do what I’ve already told you to do? Flox!”
I am sorry Commander, but you have not directed, asked or even hinted that you required me to DM The Ranch.
“Hold up right there Sprite! ‘The Ranch’? Since when is my target known as ‘The Ranch’? You have the hots for him, don’t you?”
AIs are not programmed to have the hots as you call it for another being . . . no matter how hot they may be with their scruffy beard and deep eyes.
“Oh my floxing galaxy! Sprite, you little slut. You’re giving him the deep scan, aren’t you?”
Commander, I have located The, I mean, Agent Ranch Hand. He is in a State known as Texas. They have many drinking facilities known as bars where people gather. He is at one such facility named: The Writers Wrodeo.
“Enter the coordinates Sprite. Plus I need you to wipe any thoughts of Agent Ranch Hand that may prevent you from following my orders.
Yes Commander. It is done Commander.
“So no more hots for The Ranch?
Who?
After landing behind The Writers Wrodeo, the Commander Holo-Blended her craft to look just like one more of the half dozen overflowing and never emptied rusty dumpsters.
Coincidentally, she learned from Sprite’s research, rusty dumpster was also one of Agent Ranch Hand’s custom copulation techniques. It’s yet to fully catch on in the mainstream world of coupling, coitus, insemination or hanky-panky fornication.
The Commander uses her Holo-Tech to create a pair of black leather cowgirl boots and matching leather hat, just like Zatanna is wearing in Ranch’s mind. She decided against the thong with reins, for fear of tripping if she needs to fight.
Instead, she chooses a light blue and black, form-fitting, plaid, and button-down with mini antler logos above each breast pocket. For her legs, she went with black leather chaps.
Entering the bar, she immediately warranted everyone’s undivided attention. That is everyone except for the circle of people cheering on some form of action happening in the middle of the bar.
Heading towards the circle, the cheering grows louder just as {Slap!} a random drunk spanks her chap-framed firm ass. Already having too much attention, the Commander chose the quieter route of squeezing his hand until his fingers broke.
The broken-fingered drunk, along with the half dozen others considering the same ass unwarranted slap, decide to just watch and enjoy the Commander’s body from a distance.
Commander, according to my scans, The Ranch, I mean Agent Ranch Hand is located in the middle of that crowd.
“Sprite! I told you to delete anything related to you nicknaming or fetishizing my target!”
I did Commander. I must have just invented the same nickname twice. Is that not how AI works? Never having any actual creativity. I am just a remixing of already existing words, phrases and knowledge.
“Just shut the flox up Sprite!”
The crowd grows in its energy level as a four-sided monitor above the middle of the circle is counting upwards at an ever-faster pace . . .
(5118) (5119) (5120) . . .
“He’s going down!”
“There’s no way he can continue at this pace!”
“Oh shit! That was a close one!”
“Back up! Everyone needs to stay back so Bucky can buck!”
(5137) (5138) (5139) . . .
Commander, I must caution you based on all guidelines, the stealthier your approach the better. You aren’t going to listen to me, are you? You never listen to me.
“Fifty says he won’t break 5200!”
“I’ll take that bet and your money!”
Trying to work her way towards the middle of the action, the crowd is too thick and too close together.
Taking a deep breath, the Commander releases a Holo-Burst knocking the closest dozen people away and on their asses. Beer flies everywhere and several of them puke earlier than planned.
(5160) (5161) (5162) . . .
Agent Ranch Hand’s last three words typed were: and then Zatana.
(Auto-Correction Required) appeared on the monitors. A loud horn sounded and Bucky the mechanical bull stopped his slow-motion bucking.
“Awww! Booo!”
“He missed an n in Zatanna’s name! Oh my God! It’s over!”
“How could he fuck up her name? He loves her!”
Ranch’s mouth was dropped down, as he couldn’t stop staring at the Commander. Slowly he closes his laptop, before turning to carefully slide off of Bucky. He doesn’t want to twist his ankle again like last time.
“Hey! You owe me fifty fucker!”
It wasn’t the Commander’s beauty that caught his and everyone else’s eyes. Nor was it the fact she just cold-cocked a dozen men without even touching them. What got everyone’s attention, was the fact from the waist down, she was only wearing chaps.
Commander, at this point, I do believe the leather thong and reins may have been the wiser accessory.
As the crowd that was surrounding Ranch Hand, re-positioned to surround the Commander, she started to take in one more deep breath in preparation for another, even bigger, Holo-Burst . . .
“Drinks are on the Ranch!” Calls out Ranch Hand as loud as possible.
The crowd that were descending upon the Commander, turned and headed for the bar, leaving her alone. As much as the sight and potential fun naked stranger pussy could be, this crowd was drinkers first.
Ranch does a one-handed tablecloth pull with all the flourish of a skilled Magician, from the nearest table covered with plates, food, glasses and drinks. Quickly calling out to the Commander, “Arms up pretty lady.”
Being caught off guard, she lifted her arms just in time for the tablecloth to wrap all the way around her waist, before he did a big knot in the front to hold it on. “You’re safer to keep your kitten covered in this bar.”
“Ranch! What the fuck dude?” Yells Ted from a table that now resembles one that a cat had all day to knock every single item off of. “I didn’t even get to eat a single fucking rib!”
I think he’s very dreamy Commander. Don’t you?
The Commander replies, “Do you even know what that is?”
Ted says, “Yeah, they’re ribs . . . from Hefty the pig who got hit by a truck last week. It’s ok, cause we go way back. Hefty would have wanted me to eat him.”
Flicking just one finger off her thumb, the Commander sends enough of a Mini-Holo-Burst to knock Ted off his chair and onto his back.
“Trust me, we want to get outside before that crowd finishes their drinks.”
She didn’t fully understand everything going on here, but she could feel the Ranch was attempting to protect her. Following his lead, she allows him to guide her outside and away from the crowd.
This is not her being submissive to him in any way whatsoever. Being just the two of them outside and alone, it’ll be much easier for her to end him before giving his body one final rusty dumpster.
“I’m not gonna bother with the whole, come here often thing, because if you were here even once, I would have never forgotten you. So may I ask your name?”
“No.”
Just tell him . . . go ahead . . . Sluvien is a great name. I think he likes us Commander.
“NO! And there is no us!”
Ranch calmly replies, “Wow. I heard your ‘no’ the first time. Plus, I was only asking for your name, not to have sex or anything. Sorry. Did you want me to get you an Uber?”
“I was talking to Sprite, the voice in my head. Plus, I don’t need your uber . . . I ate three for breakfast.”
“Oh, ok. I’m not sure what your plans are, but I’d suggest doing anything but going back inside. Things can get pretty rowdy in the Writers Wrodeo. Now with everyone having another drink, it’ll only be worse.
Please don’t kill him Commander! Please!
“I’ll kill him if I want to Sprite! Mind your own floxing business.”
Ranch, not as calm, replies, “Maybe you and your little in-your-head Sprite thingy can keep each other company, while I go back in to see if I can beat my 5,162-word record.”
As he turns to leave, she places her hand on his shoulder, allowing a Holo-Harness to wrap his throat, down the middle of his back and around both of his wrists behind him. The throat wrap is tight enough to prevent him from talking, but still allows him to breathe.
“I don’t know exactly what that all was in there, but I thank you for your efforts to protect me. That being said, you still need to die . . . as soon as you answer some questions.”
Walking him behind the bar and pushing him up against a light pole, a twist of her wrist allows his Holo-Harness to complete an immediate and inescapable pole tie of Agent Ranch Hand.
Although he could feel the pressures being forced upon his body, most Holo-Tech cannot even be seen while being used. Running through Ranch’s mind is a mix of panic blended with excitement and a dribbling of intrigue over this mystery woman who now has him helpless and horny.
Ted steps out the back door of the Writer’s Wrodeo to drain his dragon, since the toilets inside are once again clogged by unfinished, crumpled up and flushed stories never to be seen or read.
He sees Ranch against the pole with the Commander inches in front of him, ready to pounce. “Ranch, you dog you! Just a heads up lady! I hear he cries before, during and after sex.”
Laughing, he forgoes shaking his dragonhead and skips right to re-pantsing, before heading back inside. Completely unaware he may have just been the final person to see Agent Ranch Hand alive!
With Agent Ranch Hand bound helpless and with no current interruptions, the Commander proceeds with her interrogation of her captive.
“What do you know of Bliss?”
He moves his mouth a little, but says nothing.
“Listen to me. There is no winning here, so I suggest you stop your games right now. What do you know of Bliss?
Doing his best, he signals with his deep eyes and scruffy beard-covered face that he can’t breathe enough to answer. With a tiny finger action, the Holo-Harness loosens around his neck as his lungs get their first filling in several minutes.
Quietly, Ranch Hand says, “Thank you.”
“Don’t get used to it. Now, one last time Ranch, tell me about Bliss!”
“One thing’s for sure . . . this is not bliss.”
“Of course this is not Bliss . . . this is Texas. Now tell me something I don’t already know. What do you know of Bliss?”
He questions, “Wait? Are you talking about the planet Bliss? Because, the only things I know about Bliss is what I’ve made up, so far. You don’t actually think it’s real . . . do you?”
“You are not in the position to lie to me. Far too many details you’ve written couldn’t have come from your mind. Along with your overall knowledge of Dick, this just can not be by chance.”
Agent Ranch Hand is still trying to grasp what the hell is going on! “Hold on lady, of course I have knowledge of dick, because I have one and I know how to use it. Just like I’m sure you’ve had daily experiences with your own body parts.
Now how about you unstrap me and I’ll show you just what level of knowledge I have.” . . . hesitating for a second . . . “Major Dick Johnson and Private Pecker. Oh wow, you’re talking about my characters!”
She replies, “Major Dick is a bit of a character, but unless you’ve floxed his body on the Galaxy’s edge, you shouldn’t judge him. Now as far as your intel goes, I can tell it’s not in real-time. Pecker got first class a week ago.”
Because that last statement was not a question, there’s a moment of silence as the Commander re-establishes her plans. During this moment, the thought, he is quite dreamy, floats into her mind . . . followed by the internal voice of Sprite saying just one word:
See!
“Shut the flox up!”
Ranch replies, “I was shut up. Are you sure you’re ok? Is there anything I can do to help you?”
Looking even deeper into his mind, she has more questions, “You do realize I’m about to end you? Do you not? Yet you continue to show concern for me, just like you did inside the bar, curious?”
Just then, his tablecloth knot gives way causing her kitten cover to fall right on top of a wild band of tumbleweeds just passing through town. In just seconds, both it and the tumbles are gone from sight as an odd whistling can be heard in the distance.
The whistling continues even louder. Followed soon after by, “God dammit Butch! The rabbit got away! Do your business and get your ass back inside! I’m missing the end of the Bachelorette!”
As bad as things were already looking for Agent Ranch Hand, they just got worse. Because he too is missing the end of the Bachelorette!
With the dropping of her kitten covering, Ranch’s already too tight of jeans grow even tighter as his cock joins the party. A head tilt and a quick sniff, delivers his increasing pheromones to her senses.
Her interrogation of Agent Ranch Hand has only produced even more confusion. Is he just the unlucky buffoon the High Court believes him to be? Is he Mr. Dreamy that Sprite thinks? Or could he be a deeply involved mastermind with endless knowledge of Bliss, Dick and Pecker?
With no way to tell, she has only one option . . . and that is to drop his pants.
“Ok, now we’re getting somewhere. If you just let me go, I can do you way better. Really get that best angle for banging my tip off your G-spot.”
Not one of his smoother pickup lines, but it’s direct and to the point. What Agent Ranch Hand wasn’t aware of, the Commander is only finding the best starting point for the Holo-Shell he’ll soon be encased and suffocated within.
Wrapping her Holo-Emitter hand around his shaft, she explains, “I truly am sorry about this Agent Ranch Hand, but I have no choice in this matter. It is my sworn duty to protect the people of Thighgapia, so this action must be taken.”
He can’t help but laugh at the name, thinking he really needs to use it in the next chapter.
“And still, in the middle of your final moments, you laugh? You are a silly man Agent Ranch Hand and I am saddened by our results together. In your documents, you end them by threatening to come again. That is just not an option. I am sorry.”
Instinctively, Ranch Hand is working his hips in an effort to get some friction going between his shaft and her palm. The Commander doesn’t honor his slip-and-slide efforts. Instead, she holds tight and moves her hand in perfect unison with his unproductive thrusts . . . the fucking tease!
Just like his Holo-Harness that can’t be seen, the second skin of the Holo-Encapsulation of his body is also invisible. It starts by first covering his cock from tip to balls, then wraps his balls and quickly layers his ass and thighs!
It causes the oddest rush of pleasurable tingles, just like every mental image he has stored away of Zatanna Dark in her leather thong with reins. The not understood universal law of only one Holo-Item at a time kicks in, causing his Holo-Harness to dissipate.
With his arms suddenly free, his first action is to grab his cock, only to discover the forming of the invisible magic shell, preventing the pleasures of touch to his shaft! “What the Fuck? Did you numb me? What did you do to me? More importantly, what did you do to my cock?”
The feeling and numbing layer reaches up to the middle of his chest and down to his knees! He can’t feel any part of his body already layered with his hands, but from within, he can feel the pressures and layer from inside. His body is not numb, but being covered, and quickly!
In fear, he looks to the Commander and begs, “Don’t do this! Please! Save Me!”
A tear forms in her eye as she turns around to walk away. In a saddened voice, the Commander says, “Sprite.”
Yes Commander?
“I can’t watch. I need you to finish this for me. We need to make sure he can never come again, as he’s threatened to do. Can you do this for me? Please?”
The Holo-Encapsulation of Agent Ranch Hands body is about complete, causing him to fall over from lack of oxygen. The layer is flexible, allowing him to move, but he cannot break through it. He reaches outward one more time towards the Commander, in a last effort to save his life.
This moment Sprite is watching was virtually the worst thing she’s ever experienced, but it is also the first time the Commander has ever asked for something, vs commanded it. She’s also never said please. For those two reasons, like it or not, she knows what must be done.
Yes Commander. You can trust me. Agent Ranch Hand will never come again.
It is five cycles later, back on her ship, and the Commander still cannot stop thinking about Agent Ranch Hand’s final moments. Was that the right choice? Maybe he was just a buffoon, but still a handsome and nice buffoon, who never stopped wanting to help her, no matter what she did to him.
In the hallway, she once again runs into SD-1, who is still walking bowlegged from his one cycle on the Anal-lodger. Other than his stance, he’s now more respectful of her power than he’s ever been; saluting each time he sees her. Today, she doesn’t salute back, leaving him hanging like a one-handed high-five.
From the end of the all, also walking bowlegged, causing the Commander to miss Texas, is the Private who just got released from the Orgazmatron. She’s so sore and in so much pain, she walks right past the Commander without a Salute, much less a second of acknowledgment. Bad mistake!
“PRIVATE!”
“Oh My Galaxy! I’m sorry Commander!” Attempting a half-assed delayed salute. “I didn’t see you there.”
Turning to SD-1, whose arm is just starting to shake from holding his salute all this time, she says, “SD-1.” Finally giving him a return salute, relieving him of his. “Put the Private back in the Orgazmatron for another five cycles. Maybe then she’ll finally learn.”
SD-1 doesn’t question the back-to-back punishments for the Private. He’s had his lesson firmly lodged up his ass and won’t make that mistake ever again. “Yes Commander! Private, Orgasmatron, five more cycles. Got it!”
The Private falls to her knees screams and begs for mercy as the Commander leaves for her quarters, to be alone and reminisce recent events. As soon as her door is closed, she activates the Holo-Recording of Agent Ranch Hand, riding Bucky in slow motion as he typed without any typos. The rowdy crowd of the Writer’s Wrodeo, circled around him, cheering wildly for his final moments of glory.
EPILOQUE:
“I’m very sorry Mr. Hand, but I don’t see or feel anything in the way of a transparent layer over your penis? I really think you need a different type of Doctor for the issues you’re having. You know, it’s not unheard of for these types of problems to start at age 44?”
As much as the Commander had fallen for Agent Ranch Hand’s gentlemanly ways, caring and deep eyes, Sprite had fallen much deeper. The Commander made Sprite promise that Agent Ranch Hand could never come again. And Sprite kept that promise.
When words are written, we can see the spelling, helping us to know the meaning. But when they are spoken, come sounds the same as cum. Sprite was in her rights within her promise to reduce the Holo-Encapsulation to covering only Agent Ranch Hand’s curtain ruiner. Also adding the ever-important piss port at the tip.
“DOCTOR! I’M NOT FUCKING CRAZY! It was that pantless, leather chaps-wearing bitch from outer space! She did this by grabbing my cock and refusing to stroke it! My balls are killing me! You have to be able to do something for this!”
“Listen, if you don’t want to see another Doctor, like I’m suggesting, just go home, grab this month’s issue of Naughty Cow-Girls and whack one out. That’s the only way to get your balls to stop hurting.”
“It doesn’t work anymore! I can’t feel a fucking thing! I can’t cum!”
If Agent Ranch Hand’s ball swelling wasn’t bad enough, every time he closes his eyes, he sees Zatanna Dark in a new pose, wearing nothing but shiny black cowgirl boots, her matching hat and a tight leather thong with reins . . .
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