NOTE: The incredible number of misspelled words in the following text are as they were printed in the original pocketbook. Only misspelled words created by the scanning process were corrected.
CHAPTER ONE
The year was 1851, just after the first excitement of the California gold rush. The news of gold in the San Joaquin Valley had brought thousands of settlers from across the still primitive unexplored country. Many such wagon trains perished either of hunger and thirst, such as the ill-fated Donner expedition, or died as the result of attacks by marauding Indians who resented the white invasion and occupation of their hunting grounds.
This is the story of a group who set out from the East with high hopes for a golden future, only to find degradation, shame, torment and-for some-a new life at the hands of the savage Cheyenne Warriors....
The Eastland expedition had departed from St.
Louis in bleak March, swung through Illinois, then took the trail skirting the Dakotas to avoid warring Sioux. By September, they had reached a point forty miles from what today is the city of Ashland, Montana, and on this warm September evening had stopped to camp before resuming their journey at dawn.
John Eastland had sold his dry-goods store in Joplin, and at the age of fifty was eager to make a new life in California. Because as a young man he had fought the Indians, he had been chosen as the leader of this wagon train. Sixty-five men and women and children in all composed the party, which numbered 16 covered wagons and two additional wagons containing supplies. Accompanying the bearded, sturdy leader were his wife Mary, a boxom brown haired, still quite handsome woman of forty and her two daughters, Estelle and Martha. Estelle Eastland was twenty-four, betrothed to young Jason Forden, two years her senior and a surveyor by profession. They were to be married as soon as they reached California, but the long journey had whetted their sexual appetite for each other already. Yet because Jason Forden was a man of honor, he had refrained from fucking Estelle and taking her cunt until the proper words could be said over them. But that was not to be said that he and Estelle had not already sampled some of the delicious pleasures which go with marriage.
Estelle was about five feet, five inches in height, with heart-shaped face and long dark brown hair which fell to her waist. Her skin was creamy, her eyes were large, widely spaced and of a soft blue that was sweet and feminime to the very core. Her mouth was full and ripe, moist and swollen for kissing, which denoted a passionate temperament when fucking time would finally be legal for them. Her nose was daintly snub, with thin and widely flaring nostrils. But under the homespun gown and three petticoats and stays which she wore, her body was ripe for bed. Sometimes, very late at night, when she knew her parents and Martha were asleep, she would steal out to the bushes at the clearing of the camp where Jason would be waiting for her. They would lie in the grass, in each other's arms kissing and foundling each other. Estelle, though virgin, had already watched dogs as well as cows and bulls fucking back in Missouri, and she was boldly eager to service Jason just as the animals did. But the righteousness of her parents and the training she had as a girl forbade such lustfulness, so she had to content herself with putting her hands into Jason's breeches and foundling his stiff hard cock while he reciprocated by plunging his hands under her petticoats and into the slit of her pantaletes to frig her thickly furred virgin cunthole.
Thus the lovers had often attained mutual climaxes by these manual caresses while their tongues delved deep into each other's mouth. Last night, indeed, Estelle had been so passionate that she had twice given down her virgin cream to Jason's expert finger-frigging and she had sighed, "Oh, my darling Jason, I cannot wait until the journey is over so that you and I can be naked on a soft bed and the door locked and enjoy each other!" And he had replied hoarsely, "Nor I, my beloved Estelle! But there is a great deal of risk in meeting out here at night, for if your father or mother should come upon us, we should both be disgraced. We must have more courage and strength of character. The longer we wait to be bedded, the more wonderful it will be."
"You are right, of course," Estelle pouted as she lovingly squeezed the head of Jason's prick between her soft thumb and forefinger. "But I am already much older than a girl ought to be for marriage, because until now I had never found the man I could love and my dear parents did not urge me to leave their household. So you see, Jason dear, I have saved myself for you and I am dying to have you love me hard with this big hot red thing of yours. But you won't think me too shameless in acting and talking as I do, dear Jason? Perhaps when we get to California, you will think me only a wicked hussey who is trying to trap you into marrying her."
"You must not say such things, my belover Estelle," he gallantly retorted, his voice thickening as his right hand slipped under her bodice and cupped one of her juicy round canteloupe-like titties. "Besides, there is much about my nature that you do not know. I myself harbor lustful and wicked thoughts about you."
"Oooh, Jason!" Estelle excitedly whispered wiggling closer to him, and sliding her fingers down to his velvety hairy balls which she tickled delicious-ly.
"I dare not until we are wedded, my beloved, for fear you think me a wicked lecher! You would be afraid if you heard me express myself in the vulgar words that many men use to describe the exquisitive pleasures of being with a lovely woman like yourself. But come, it is very late, we must get back to our wagons before we are missed."
"A last kiss, then Jason, till tomorrow night," Estelle Eastland had murmured and their lips had fused together, and her nimble pink tongue had delved deeply into his mouth making him groan with lust.
They had rearranged their clothing and then silently crept back to their wagons. They had not seen, they had not heard, hardly a stone's throw away from then and farther in the bushes a crouching half-naked being who resembled a demon of the forest. He wore only a breechclout and moccasins. On his chest and face were painted weird designs in red paint made from the juniper berry and the bark of the cedar tree. Around his bald skull there circled a band made of a rattlesnake's skin, and three Eagle feathers thrushed up from it, their white ends painted red. He was Cheyenne Warrior named Black Wolf, and he was the son of a minor chief who had been sent to scout the wagon trains which were passing throughtribal land. His eyes had glittered with lust, as they had beheld the unsuspecting lovers, and he had coveted Estelle Eastland, for he had as yet no squaw. Though four years younger than the elder daughter of the Eastlands, Black Wolf was already a brave hunter and had killed a dozen white men with arrows and tomahawk in raids made against previous wagon trains.
He hated the white squaw because her bold and shameless passion recalled to him his disappointment at losing Little Deer, the beautiful daughter of Running Bear, who was the chief of the tribe. Little Deer had just been bought by Crooked Nose for six horses and two rifles taken from a scalped white settler a month ago. This very night Little Deer was lying naked with Crooked Nose in their teepee, her long slim legs and supple arms wrapped around him, and they were fucking and rubbing noses and Crooked Nose's goni was buried to the roots in Little Deer's cusu. Aiii! The very thought made Black Wolf clap his hands to his breechclout because his own goni was sharp as a tomahawk blade and longing to root itself in some tight, hot, sweet cusu.
Running Bear had ordered Black Wolf to scout these wagons and to report their strength, their weapons, as well as how many women and girls there might be. There were many warriors, the chief had exclaimed, whose many squaws had died of hunger last winter. Manitou must send them new squaws so that the tribe might grow in strength. New warriors must be born. And since this roving band of Oheyennes had no love for their other brothers throughout the Cheyenne nation, white squaws would be welcome, though their ways were as children....
Martha Eastland was nineteen, slim, black-haired, with a pert oval face, her glossy hair fixed into two long thick braids which fell nearly to her waist. She was the despair of her father and mother, for she showed no interest in young men, although there were a few in the wagon train who had already asked for her hand in marriage. Martha was like a tomboy, coltish and saucy with a pert insolence that sometimes made her father want to turn her petticoats up, lower her pantalettes and take a razor strap to her naked ass. She knew very well what Estelle and Jason were doing there in the bushes. Last month, when Deron Jackson and his fat wife Emily had wondered off into the bushes, she had spied of them and watched them fuck. She had grimaced with distaste. If that was what marriage meant, she wanted no part of it. To have a man stick that ugly, swollen, bony thing into her tender slit-why, the very idea made her want to puke! But because she was very fond of her sister and thought Jason Forden a nice enough man, her curiosity had led her to spy on them too. She had heard them promise last night to meet again tonight. She would wait until her parents fell asleep and then go out to watch them.
Martha Eastland really wished that she and Estelle might have a wagon all to themselves. Estelle was so lovely, her body so soft and full and delicious. When they had been little girls, they had slept together, and Martha had remembered the accidental excitement she had had when she had lain spoon-fashion up against Estelle's behind and found herself rubbing her little almost hairless muff against Estelle's bare bottom, for the night shift had lofted and exposed Estelle's bare skin. She had almost fainted from the hot explosion between her legs, and felt the sticky juice oozing out of her slit. What she wouldn't give to have Estelle with her now! She would show Estelle that a girl could be even nicer than a fellow....
The moon was behind the cloud and it was midnight. Estelle and Jason were lying on their sides facing each other in the bushes just beyond the last wagon of the train. Martha, her heart pounding widly, hid in a thicket a few feet away, lying flat on the ground and staring avidly at the lovers.
And a few feet further into the woods, Black Wolf and his friend Tanokee, which is the Cheyenne word for Long Bow, crouched, tomahawks in hand. They had learned to speak in sign language, and Tanokee now asked his friend, "Do you see the young one off in that thicket who thinks herself invisible? I have two squaws, but I would willingly take her into my teepee."
In the same language, moving his hands swiftly, Black Wolf replied, "Take her and welcome. The one who lies with her man is mines. She has much flesh and will warm me in the winter. Her blood runs hot, that is easily seen. The younger one is probably still unfledge."
Estelle Eastland, her tongue buried between her lover's lips, her right hand fondling his aching prick, panted, "Oh, Jason darling, I want you so much, I wish you could do it to me right now!"
"Estelle, beloved, I can feel your sweet little slit getting wet and hot against my fingers," Jason gasped. "If only I dared love you as I want to!" His forefinger had burrowed inside the lips of her plump, quivering pussy and was now gently tickling the little button of her clitoris.
"Aaahh, Ohh, Jason," Estelle moaned arching to him, her fingers convulsively tightening around his aching prick, "since we know we are going to be married and it is only a few months away, please let's do it! I want you to take off all of my clothes and love me good! I want to feel that big hard thing of yours deep down inside of me, in my little hot slit! Oh, have me, please, Jason, have me right this minute!"
At this very moment, a hunting knife thrown with unerring aim buried itself to the hilt in Jason Forden's back, just as, about to yield to his betrothed's plea to be fucked, the young surveyor had unbuttoned his breeches to liberate his prick. He uttered a choking little groan and lay very still. And before Estelle, almost swooming with her lust to be fucked, his tomahawk brandished above her face, as he muttered in English," No make sound, or you die quick!"
Tanokee had crept round the thicket where Martha was hiding. At almost the same moment, he fell upon her, his left hand reaching under to press hard against her mouth, and, the point of his sharp knife pricking the back of her neck, ordered with a sibilant hiss, "You come, you be quiet, or Tanokee kill now!"
The two sisters had fallen into the hands of the merciless renegade Cheyenne, the most dreaded of all the Indians along the rugged trail that led from the East to golden California!
CHAPTER TWO
Frantic with terror, brunette Martha and brown-haired Estelle Eastland struggled with their Cheyenne captors Black Wolf and Tanokee. But the almost naked, wiry young braves were experts in capturing prisoners in just such scouting forays as this, and had snared many a straggler from previous wagon trains. Each warrior, lifting his tomahawk to the face of his terrified victim, his other hand clapped over her mouth to prevent an outcry, brandished the gleaming weapon. Black Wolf muttered open in broken English, "No talk, or you die quick! Now come!"
Numb with fear, the two sisters stumbled through the woods, their Indian captors keeping their hands over the girls' mouths lest they give an alrm that would wake the sleeping camp. It was not till they had gone nearly half a mile to the west that Black Wolf and Tanokee at last released their prisoners, and Black Wolf roughly ordered. "You kneel down now, put hands behind back quick!" and enforced his command with the gesture of sweeping down his tomahawk.
"Oh, dear God, what are they going to do us?" Estelle groaned as she obeyed.
"We better do what they say, Estelle," her sister whispered as she too complied "If you and Jason hadn't been so hot to be at each other, this wouldn't have happaned!"
"You shut up about Jason-oww! Oh, you-brute, to strike a woman!" Estelle suddenly recoiled, a hand to her reddened cheek. Black Wolf had bent down to her and backhanded her viciously: "No talk, white squaw!" he snarled.
Muttering something to his companion, who grunted agreement, Black Wolf proceeded to unwind the rawhide lacings round his calves and bind Martha's wrist tightly behind her back, while Tanokee imitated him and fettered the older sister the same way.
"Now we go," Black Wolf commanded. "Not far to camp, you go fast, white squaws!"
Peeling a switch from a nearby clump of bushes he whistled it through the air and applied its length across the backs of Estelle's round swelling thighs whose enticing curves not even the homespun dress and petticoats could not, completely hide.
Estelle squealed in pain, glancing back at her tormentor, and hastened her steps. Tanokee, huskier and slightly taller than his companion, roared with laughter at Estelle's discomfiture and hasten-ed to rip off a switch for himself, with which he cut Martha across her slim shoulders, gesturing with his tomahawk in the other hand. She glared at him but didn't cry out, stumbling now and then in the thick grass over a rock or fallen log, since the moon was still hidden by a cloud and the thick darkness of night blanketed everywhere.
"I still say," she managed to whisper to Estelle as the two made their way towards the Cheyenne camp, "if you hadn't been lollygagging with Jason, all this wouldn't have happened!"
"So what were you doing out by yourself, Miss Smarty?' Estelle sneered. "Spying on us, I'll be bound!" Then she uttered a plaintive wail; Black Wolf had slashed the flexible withe across her back, with an angry "You no talk, white squaw! Go fast, no talk."
"You're real brave," Martha jeered at him, "hitting a girl when she's tied up!"
Tanokee, who had been lustfully admiring the lithe young brunettes graceful body as she walked quickly, spoke and understood less English than his friend Black Wolf, but here intervened. Reaching out his left hand, he seized the sheaf of Martha's thick black hair and yanked it cruelly, tugging back her head, and snarled, "Squaw shut mouth, or Tanokee .teach good! You walk quick now!"
Martha Bravely kept from crying out, but tears of pain stung her dilated dark brown eyes as she stumbled on. Glancing at her sister, she grimaced with hatred: if Stella hadn't been so filthy and disgusting, they wouldn't be taken to the redskins' camp. What would happen to her and Stella? She'd heard some of the scouts talking about Indians ever since they'd left St. Louis. They said some of the redskins tortured their captives at the stake, mutilated them, while others made them squaws ... made them get married and go to bed with them and ugh-do the filthy thing Stella wanted to do with that randy Jason Forden.
Martha closed her eyes and Shuddered. She'd rather die than let a filthy redskin put his ugly thing between her legs and-poke her. Anything would be better than that ... anything!
Exhausted by their enforced quick march, Estelle and Martha Eastland almost welcomed the sight of the Cheyenne camp. As they came out of the woods into a clearing, there were long lines of wigwams and teepees. The camp was at the base of a high bluff, atop which a warrior stood on guard to give the alarm in case of attack. A mongrel dog came out barking, leaping at the girls' ankles, but Black Wolf, with a guttural command, drove them off. Tanokee, plunging his left hand into young Martha Eastland's thick black hair, uttered a war-whoop. In the dead of night, it had an unearthly, hideous sound, and Martha shuddered and ground her teeth to keep from showing her real fear. Then there emerged from the first few wigwams about a dozen hideausly painted braves, whose only covering was a breech lout. Some brandished tomahawks, others knives and still others ancient rifles which they had stolen in raids years before.
"You come see chief, he make powwow, you talk straight," Black Wolf growled at brownhaired Estelle. Seizing her by one of her thick braids, he marched forward, forcing the older girl to hurl along, tears running down her cheeks. Oh God, she thought to herself, if only Jason and I'd been married, we'd be back in our own wagon fucking, and now maybe I won't ever see Jason again or ever get to have him fuck me!
Now the women of the camp, roused by Black Wolf's warwhoop, crowded out of the teepees. Many of them were fat and stolid, their black hair sticky with buffalo grease, dressed in the skins of buffalo or bear or wolf or coyote. Jeering at the two white captives, and with the instinctive malice of females towards prisoners of their own sex, they picked up pebbles and clods and flung them at Estelle and Martha. One young squaw, her long black hair plaited down to her hips, who was hardly more than Martha's age, seized a leather strap and, rushing up to the slim brunette, struck her across the backside. Tanokee cuffed her and angrily drove her off.
Bruised, their clothes disheveled, panting for breath from this quick enforced march, the two sisters came at last to the huge teepee of the chief, old Running Bear. Their captors roughly pushed them through the opening, and Tanokee and Black Wolf, seizing Martha and Estelle by the scruff of the neck, forced them down on their knees before Running Bear.
He was fat, stolid, with narrow, cruel beady eyes and a huge bulbous nose on the end of which was a huge wart. A war bonnet of feathers, whose tips were painted alternately red or black to denote both his high rank and his stand for war against the whites, bedecked his bald head. Behind him, standing against the wall of the teepee, were his four wives, of varying ages. One was a girl of not more than fifteen, slim and tall and clear-eyed, wearing a jacket and short skirt made of buffalo hide. Another was perhaps Estelle's age, short, plump with sensual full lips and sparkling, lustful eyes which gazed spitefully at the two helpless sisters. The third was in her early thirties, perhaps the handsomest of all, with magnificent full closely set titties and luscious haunches, wearing the headband with two white feathers designating her a favorite. The last was perhaps fifty, like her husband, but lean and tall, her face pitted by smallpox as a young girl.
In his own tongue, Black Wolf related how he had captured the two sisters and described the wagon train from which they had come. Running Bear grunted, and looked behind him, holding out one hand. His favorite wife hastened to kneel before him and offer him a long clay pipe into which he packed tobacco. As he put the pipe to his mouth, the teenaged wife, with a glance of hatred at her older rival, hastened to the small fire which burned in the center of the teepee, picked up a burning brand and lighted the pipe. The older woman hissed something at her, but Running Bear bellowed out a command, and both wives hastily resumed their places behind him.
Black Wolf turned to Estelle. "Chief say, you tell how many men in wagons. How many guns. Chief say you tell where you go. You got urn firewater?"
"Don't tell them anything, Stella," Martha whispered fiercely. 'They'll attack the wagons and kill everybody, just like your Jason! After getting us into this mess, the least you can do is keep your big mouth shut!"
Black Wolf stooped behind the kneeling, fettered Estelle. Seizing both her braids in his left hand, he yanked them viciously and cuffed her across the mouth. "You talk quick, or chief make you talk!" he growled.
But Running Bear had decided to hasten the proceedings. He made a gesture, and Black Wolf dragged Estelle to her feet, crying out in agony as he tugged at her braids. Brutally, seizing her by an elbow, he hustled her towards the heavy wooden tentpole in the center of the teepee. Tanokee came up to help him. In a moment, Estelle found herself bound to the pole, with a rawhide thong around her waist, another binding her wrists and another lashed round her elbows. With his hunting knife, Black Wolf cut away her homespun dress till it fell in tatters about her. The four wives, perceiving the crinkly white petticoats, brust into excited whispers, but an angry grunt from Running Bear silenced them. The fat chief made another sign.
Grinning evilly, Black Wolf squatted down and, seizing the hems of the petticoats, tried to lift them to determine what they were and how best to strip his victim. With a hysterical cry, Estelle kicked out at him. But Tanokee, kneeling behind her, reached out his powerful hands and gripped both her ankles, immobilizing her. Black Wolf then ripped and tore the petticoats off one by one, till Estelle Eastland appeared in the scanty attire of white pantalettes and stays which buckled round the camisole concealing her superb canteloupe-like titties.
"Oh my God, what are you going to do. Oh please don't hurt me! I'll tell you anything you want to know!" she cried as Black Wolf straightened and began to tug at the camisole.
"You talk?" he growled. Estelle hysterically nodded and said, "Yes, yes, oh please don't peel me down bare oh please not that!"
Her plea availed her nothing. With a mocking laugh, the young Cheyenne warrior ripped off the camisole and Estelle's creamy naked titties sprang into breathtaking view. They were full and firm, panting with her agonized emotions, and their aureoles were wide and dark coral, in which voluptuous, ripe, crinkly pink buds grew. Mockingly, Black Wolf seized one of these tidbits between left thumb and forefinger and cruelly pinched it. Estelle threw back her head and uttered a piercing shriek: "Aiiieeeowww!! Oh, don't, for God's sake, don't you hurt me so!"
Tanokee now approached Running Bear, and whispered something into the chief's ear, jerking his thumb back at Martha, who, her dark brown eyes huge with terror, stared at her helpless half-naked sister at the tentpole.
Running Bear grinned and nodded, and turned his head back to his wives and uttered a command.
The four of them fell upon poor Martha, dragging her to her feet, pinching and slapping and cuffing her while she struggled uselessly. In a few moments, two of then women had ripped off her dress and petticoats, and the youngest wife, kneeling down while the oldest wife locked her arms round Martha's thighs from behind, tore down the young girl's pantalettes.
"No! Oh God, don't take my clothes off-oh what are you going to do? Oh, help me, help me, Stella!" It's your fault all this happened-if you hadn't been whoring with Jason, we'd be back safe with our folks! Oh, what are you going to do to me! Oh, stop, I'm all naked-help me!"
Martha Eastland had been stripped naked as the day she was born. Her titties were shaped like ripe pears, widely set apart and high on her olive-sheened chest, with narrow brownish-coral aureoles and perky dark coral tips. Her sleek, flat belly was dimpled with a wide and shallow niche, and at her lower abdomen the silky black fur began to grow, luxuriously thick over her virgin cunthole, and continuing, though more sparsely, along the shadowy groove which led to her dainty asshole.
Each of the wives now seized a limb; the teen-aged wife of Running Bear held Martha's left wrist, the oldest her right, while the other two wives grasped her ankles. Rudely they flung her down on her back near the tentpole, spread eagling her hugely, so that the delicate pink lips of her maiden cunthole were glimpsed through the thick tendrils of black pussyhair. Mad with shame and revulsion, Martha struggled with a desperate agony, her body twisting and writhing like a snake, her beautiful firm titties jiggling, the muscles of her long supple, gracefully sculptured thighs rippling and flexing under the warm smooth satiny skin.
Running Bear raised his right hand. Tanokee threw off his breechclout and was naked in his moccassins. Sturdy, with heavy chest and thick muscular thighs, he stood looking down at the naked younger girl, his teeth bared in a rictus of savage lust. His prick was fully eight inches long, with an extraordinarily broad plum-shaped head, and his balls were thick and gnarled and hairy, tensing and lifting as a spasm of anticipation surged through his loins, heavily laden with burning spunk.
"Noooo!!! Oh God, don't let him do that to me-Stella, Stella, tell him anything he wants to know, but don't let him have me! I'd rather die! Oh no, please, please, don't touch me-it's horrible-no!" Martha shrieked, as the naked warrior knelt down between her hugely straddled thigs and began to run his hands over her belly and titties, pinching and slapping her quivering soft flesh, grinning lewdly at her. Raising her head, turning her contorted, crimson face back towards Running Bear, Martha screamed stridently, "I'll tell, I'll tell you everything, but don't let him do it to me! Please, dear God, don't let him touch me, don't let him ruin me!"
The teenaged bride of Running Bear, digging her sharp nails into Martha's slim wrist, bent her face down towards the brunette's contorted, tearstained visage and taunted her: "Paleface no need worry, Tanokee goni not so big as Running Bear. Mebbe so you give Running Bear better fucking than Tanokee, or he punish you good, you see!"
This mocking threat served only to render poor naked Martha Eastland the more desperate in trying to escape the loss of her maiden cherry; summoning all her strength, she jerked at her wrists and ankles, twisting herself this way and that, her bare bottom grinding furiously against the beaver skins which were strewn on the ground where she lay to form a kind of bed. But her eyes remained riveted, with horrible fascination, on the massive prick of the kneeling Cheyenne brave, whose fingers squeezed and pinched her jerking, velvety-naked thighs and now began to play with her pussy hairs. Playfully, the rut-swollen Indian began to tweak and pull aside the thick curly black tendrils of Martha Eastland's cunthair, till he at last bared the twitching, delicately prismed pink lips of her virgin quim. Now, planting his sinewy fingers over her cunt, he shoved aside the thick mossy curls to expose that tempting orifice. Meanwhile, the two women, grasping Martha's ankels, viciously yanked them out still further, painfully straddling her and at the same time gaping her love-cleft to extreme. One could see the dainty little button of her clitoris just emerging from its soft pink cowl of pussyflesh, at the top of the inner labia of her virgin slit.
"Oh please, oh no, no, oh, you-you speak English, beg the chief not to do this to me!" Martha hysterically implored the young girl who stared down at her with greedy eyes and viciously smilingly lips.
"Me Latakee, youngest wife of Running Bear. He fuck squaws best in all tribe, you see, you find out. Tanokee just get you ready a little for Running Bear. You wait! And if Running Bear not like the way you fuck, paleface, I, Latakee, make you run gantlet!"
At this moment, Martha uttered a shrill yell and raised her head, straining with all her might to free her limbs. Tanokee, while keeping her cuntlips pried apart with the thumb and middle finger of his left hand, had slyly introduced his right forefinger just inside the yawning petals of her virgin cunthole!
And at the same moment, with a triumphant shout, Black Wolf rapped off Estelle's pantalettes!
CHAPTER THREE
Bound to the pole in the middle of the huge teepee, brown-haired Estelle Eastland saw everything that was going on. Stripped naked now except for her shoes and coarse cotton stockings which rose only to her knees and were held up by elastic garters, her magnificent creamy body gleaming with terror-sweat, she watched as the Cheyenne wives of Chief Running Bear disrobed and spread-eagled her younger sister before her. Agonized at the thought of what would be her own fate, Estelle nevertheless could not take her eyes off the sturdy naked Indian who knelt between Martha's writhing, yawning thighs ... and her eyes fixed on the ferociously swollen emblem of his mighty prick. Her lips were moist and trembling, her nostrils twitching and contracting as she beheld Martha's virginal torment For she knew that her sister had never so much as willingly kissed any man on the train, though there were many who had lusted for her brock-furred cunt and those perky pear-shaped titties and the clasp of those lithe, long and beautifully chiseled thighs to wrap round them in the embrace of fucking. And yet, despite her own horror and her compassion for her helpless younger sister, Estelle could not help shuddering with a secret, perverse lust at the sight of that massive, plum-headed tool which thrust boldly and gigantically forward from the warrior's hairy loins. Her tongue crept over her trembling red lips as she saw Tanokee's finger tickle the outer rims of Martha's quim. She felt warm tremors race up and down her round creamy naked thighs, felt her nipples stiffen and ache with a forbidden longing. This was what she had wanted from Jason, her husband-to-be, to be spread and bare before him and to slake his rut in the furry crevice between her round thighs, to feel his hands squeezing her round big firm titties until the pain was ecstasy! And now, oh dear God, Jason was dead! And she wanted to die too....
Yet it was this subconscious envy and lust which moved her to beg for Martha's reprieve, rather than a sisterly compassion as she hoarsely shouted: "For God's sake, leave her be, you dirty brutes! Take me instead, do it to me, but let her go, she's too young!"
Black Wolf, whose rightful prisoner she was, and who, by tribal law, would be the man to fuck her and to have every right over her naked charms, backhanded her across the cheek and growled: "Me take you, you feel my goni all you want, paleface squaw! Mebbe so you want tell chief how many guns, how many warriors with your people!"
"Yes, yes," Estelle shouted, as she saw Tanokee dig his forefinger into Martha's quaking cunthole till it encountered the virgin seal of her cherry, "Let her go and I'll tell you everything!"
Martha, tears streaming down her cheeks, her face twisted with a frenzied horror and loathing, arched her body against the grip of her female captors, and screamed, "No, no, no, Stella! You can't do that, they'll kill everybody! It's better we suffer than everybody in the train!"
Running Bear held up his hand and grunted something in the Cheyenne tongue. Tanokee waited, his forefinger pressed up against Martha's cherry, his glittering eyes fixed on the heaving turrets of her olive-sheened titties.
"Chief say, you talk now, mebbe so let other paleface go," Black Wolf directed, as cupping one of Estelle's beautiful round bare titties, he squeezed it slowly and deliberately till Estella uttered a wild cry of pain, her head turning from side to side: "Eeeeyarrrrhhhh!! I'll tell, I'll tell! Oh let go of my breast, oh, you're hurting me, I'll tell, please!"
"Talk quick, then," Black Wolf menaced, his thumb and forefinger pinching the dusky, crinkly bud of her nipple. Her eyes filled with tears, her gaze imploringly fixed on his sinewy fingers and her panting bubbie, Estelle Eastland stammered, "Tell-tell h-him there are about sixty in-in our train."
Black Wolf spoke rapidly in Cheyenne, and Running Bear grunted in reply, pointing a stubby finger at the helpless naked brownette at the tentpole. Black Wolf turned back to her, tightening the viselike grip of his fingers against her nipple till she again cried out in torment: "Chief say how many long guns, how many men? You not speak quick, I hurt bad, you see!"
As his fingers slowly tightened, a searing wave of pain shot through her naked tittie. "Ohhh, oh please, no, no, oh God, let go! I'll tell you all I can, but I'm only a girl, I don't know all about those things!"
"Talk quick," Black Wolf sadistically urged. He lowered his right hand to Estelle's writhing naked thighs, his fingers tangling in the thick dark brown bush of her cunthair, and he tugged at one of the luxuriant sprigs. "You talk now!"
Her body arching against the excruciating torment which both his hands caused her virgin body, Estelle Eastland wailed: "I-I don't know exactly. Oh, please-don't hurt me, I'm trying to tell you-I think-I think about thirty-five men and they all have guns, but that's all I know, I swear it is! Oh let us go now, oh please!"
Black Wolf eased the tension of his fingers, his eyes laving Estelle's shuddering nakedness. His fulminating cock, almost as formidable as Tanokee's, thrust out his breechclout violently, and Estelle's tearblurred eyes saw the protuberance.
He translated her answer back to Running Bear who nodded and then seemed to issue an order, brandishing his fist above his head.
Black Wolf grinned viciously.
"Chief say, he send warriors now to capture other squaws. Many of our braves need squaws to prufu with their goni. Me prufu you good, you my squaw now! But first, I send warriors."
He strode out of the teepee and Estelle bowed her head, shaking with violent sobs of shame and anguish, knowing that she had betrayed every man, woman and child on the expedition. But the pain of that dirty redskin's fingers on her spot and on her bubbie had been so terrible that she couldn't bear it, and she couldn't bear watching poor little Martha getting poked by that dirty naked brute who was still kneeling there between Martha's straddled legs and putting his finger in her spot. Oh God, if only she and Jason had been man and wife and lying back in their own wagon and having fun, all this wouldn't have happened!
* * *
But her sacrifice had been in vain. Now Chief Running Bear rose and walked towards the center of the teepee. Folding his arms, he stood staring down at the naked brunette whose wrists and ankles his wives dragged out so tightly. Martha's dilated tearfilled dark brown eyes fixed on his stolid coppery face in a frantic supplication. Her peartitties rose and fell erratically in the stress of her terror and shame at being thus straddled and bared to the lustful eyes of these hideously painted Cheyenne. The chiefs squat heavy body was wrapped in an Army blanket, taken with other spoils, guns and sabers in an ambush of a cavalry unit several months before. He let the blanket drop from him and stood only in his breechclout and moccasins. Then slowly he reached back and untied the thongs of the leather pouch which encased his prick, and it fell. Estelle uttered a stifled cry, echoed by Martha's hysterical: "Oh God, no, oh please, no!"
He was even more formidably equipped than Tanokee. His ramrod was thicker and broader, the head of it elongated. In his ferocious rut, the foreskin was stretched tightly and the puckering lips of his cockhead twitched and clenched with the savage urge to spurt hot gismic jet. His favorite wife, who clenched one of Martha's slim ankles with both her hands, giggled and said something in Cheyenne which made Running Bear emit a dry chuckle and nod his war-bonneted head. Then he made a sign to Tanokee.
Tanokee ran his hands up and down Martha Eastland's flexing olive-sheened thighs, then plunged his fingers into the thick raven curls of her pussyhairs and tugged them to expose the dainty pink cleft of her virgin cunthole. The moment had come. Grinning like a fiend, the naked Cheyenne warrior slowly lowered himself upon Martha's wildly straining naked body. Turning her contorted face towards her sister at the pole, Martha shrieked: "Oh, tell them not to do it, please, Stella! You told them everything, they weren't going to hurt us! Tell the chief, oh for God's sake, don't let this dirty brute do it to me!"
Then she uttered a shriek as the sturdy naked brave slid his hands under the ovalshaped, spacious satiny cheeks of her virgin ass, his fingers digging into the resilient flesh, with gloating possessiveness. His brawny, hairy chest mashed down the heaving pears of her shuddering titties, and she felt his massive, hot, swollen prick prodding against her groin. With all her might, she twisted and wriggled against the grip of the Indian wives, crying out wordlessly in her agony and revulsion.
For a few moments, Tanokee amused himself by lying immobile over the slim naked brunette virgin, squeezing and kneading the velvety cheeks of her beautiful olive-sheened ass till the pinching torment of his strong fingers made her arch and squirm her hips in a desperate attempt to rid herself of her assailant. The head of his prick rubbed against the juncture of one thigh and her furry crotch, as Tanokee sadistically prolonged the moment of violation, savoring with all his Indian cruelty the mental as well as physical torment of the lovely naked white captive beneath him.
The four women who held Martha's wrists and ankles now began to taunt her in their own tongue as well as to exhort Tanokee to show as much prowess as their virile chief and lord. Latakee, the slim teenaged fourth wife of Running Bear, jeered at poor Martha: "You see, Running Bear prufu your cusu more better than Tanokee! Mebbe so if your cusu please his goni, Running Bear take you for squaw. Then you be after me, Latakee, and I beat you good so you be good squaw for Running Bear."
But Martha Eastland paid no heed to this lewd taunt, for Tanokee's prick was prodding her lower abdomen, then each of her inner thighs, and even the inner edges of her contracting asscheeks as he cruelly prolonged the fearful suspense of her first fuck. She felt the hot throbbing organ press and rub and gouge against her shrinking tender naked flesh, and her eyes bulged with indescribable horror and loathing.
With a hoarse chuckle, Tanokee edged one of his heavy fingers into the humid, warm shadowy groove between Martha's bottom-cheeks, till the tip of his finger brushed her delicate, sensitive, crinkly lips of her maiden asshole. A shriek of despairing agony burst from the tormented brunette, who tried frantically to swerve her hips and loins away from her ravisher. But Tanokee persisted, and suddenly Martha's head rose, her mouth gaping in a wild raucous plaint as she felt his fingertip press between the clenching lips of her bumhole and forage inside her hitherto unprofaned Sodom-cleft. At the same moment, Tanokee inserted the broad head of his swollen prick between the outer lips of Martha's virgin cunthole. Thus doubly besieged, the frenzied naked girl struggled with every fiber of her being, jerking at her gripped wrists and ankles to avert the inexorable and brutal pillaging of her supple naked body.
Through her feverish-twistings, she was able for a moment to disengage Tanokee's prick from its yearned-for chalice, but he was only deliberately playing with her as a cat does with a mouse. Now, burying his finger half way up her bumhole, he drew a strident scream from the unfortunate beauty, and in her wild archings and wrigglings, he managed with a deft thrust to pry apart the lips of her cunt with the savagely rutting head of his massive tool. Another lunge brought him up against the barrier of her virgin cherry.
Running Bear squatted down on his heels, his black eyes narrowed and glistening with lust as he watched Martha's ordeal. Estelle watched it too from her pole, petrified and fascinated by the evil horror of this obscene profanation.
'Wo-oh, please-oh dear God, don't do it to me-take your finger out of there-oh, Chief, have mercy-my sister told you what you want to know-oh, spare me-no man has ever had me, no, I don't want him to! Please no, don't do it, don't do it!" Martha babbled, tears running down her cheeks.
She felt against her tight virgin seal the throbbing heat of Tanokee's prickhead, as he gave her tiny, little stabs which caused her searing twinges and foretold her virgin doom. Her nails dug into her sweating palms, her face was livid, and her eyes bulged in her agony. She seemed to immobilize her naked body now, sucking in the muscles of her belly, trying to shrink herself back from the menacing goad of Tanokee's prickhead up against her cherry. Her perspiring olive-sheened skin rippled and tautened with incessant flexions, as the water of a pool is ruffled by gusts of wind. The smell of his naked body, rank with animal fat, made her nostrils shrink and twitch in revulsion. His burrowing finger up her bumhole made the muscles of her sphincter clench and contract involuntarily, and her teeth chattered in her near-hysteria at the odious brutality being visited upon her sensitive virgin flesh.
Running Bear reached out his hand and cupped one of the lovely pear-shaped titties, as Tanokee, supporting himself now on his right thigh just beyond the naked hip, arched himself up to stare down gloatingly at his beautiful victim. Martha turned her hideously contorted and tearstained face towards the ugly chief of the Cheyennes, her trembling lips forming a supplication for mercy, yet unable to utter a word in her crisis of torment.
His lips wreathed in a hideous smile as he hoarsely exclaimed: "Prufu!"
It was the order for the doom of her cherry. Tanokee grunted assent. Then, laying himself back down with his heaving chest atop poor Martha's shuddering olive-sheened naked titties, his right hand returning to grip one of her bottomcheeks, he drove his embedded left forefinger to the hilt inside her narrow, humid asshole. Even as she uttered a clamorous scream of pain and loathing, he thrust himself mightily against the virgin seal of her cunthole. Her head rose, her eyes exorbitant and glassy with tears, her nostrils flaring, her lips gaping in a frenzied yell of indescribable torment. The thick hymeneal membrane had given way to the force of Tanokee's prick-lunge, and he had perforated her cherry. The force of his lunge carried him up to the hilt of his mighty spear and she was harpooned and transfixed in both her clefts. Her body twisted and jerked madly, as the Indian wives laughingly jested over her contorsions and screams and tears. Latakee mocked her: "Goni of Tanokee only a baby's toy, not like Running Bear, you find out soon, paleface squaw!"
His face twisted with rut, the Cheyenne brave now began to fuck Martha with rapid deep digs that made her body shudder and jerk as his heavy lance drove violently into the tight-channeled passageway. Blood oozed down along her thighs from her maiden loss, and the sharp twinges of the laceration made her cry out in agony, but the pitiless Indian rapist took no heed of her lamentations, now being at the zenith of his lust. Wriggling his finger back and forth inside her asshole, his other fingers digging into the shuddering globe of her bare bottom, Tanokee rammed himself to the hilt now at every violent thrust, drew back almost to the brink, only to plunge back with increased fury.
Martha's head turned from side to side, her maddened eyes staring up at the roof of the teepee. Her stiffened, darkened tittiebuds rasping against Tanokee's burly, hairy chest as her involuntary starts and wrigglings rubbed her naked flesh to weld against his.
And then with a bellow of triumph, he forced himself to her roots with the final merciless dig, and Martha felt his hot bubbling spunk explode in the deepest recesses of her cunthole. Her head rose again, her mouth agape, and then she fell back inert, her eyes closed, in a merciful swoon ... a swoon, alas, whose reprieve was only to be temporary!
CHAPTER FOUR
The dozen warriors assigned by Running Bear to the merciless task of massacring the men and capturing as many of the young girls and women as they could before an attack could be mustered against them was finished in less than twenty minutes. For this band of renegade were wasters at their craft of working noiselessly and swiftly, striking terror into the hearts of their captives. Only a few faint muffled outcries rose from a dozen wagons before the Indians hurried off to the wood with their captives. Eighteen men lay dead, knifed or tomahawked or pierced with arrows. A dozen men, wakening at last to the curious sounds that emaneted from wagons near theirs, seized muskets and long-bore rifles or Colts and fired wildly into the thickets. One of the braves was slightly wounded in the hip, and his handsome, Junoesque captive, a Mrs. Emma Bellairs, thirty-eight and the mother of four children, was instantly killed in the fusillade. The wounded Cheyenne, assuring himself that his own wound was merely a scratch, bent and ruthlessly scalped the dead woman, and thrust the bleeding, grisly trophy under the rawhide thong around his waist which connected with his breech-clout.
Black Wolf, after his capture of three of the females he had ferreted out of their wagons, had made a swift foray into one of the supply wagons and had come away with three new rifles, a box of cartridges, and a jug of whiskey.
The twelve Cheyenne warriors, hilarious with their triumph, certain to be praised by their chief, hooted and jeered at their unfortunate victims, whom they drove on with willow switches and with unceremonious kicks when the girls and women faltered or lagged behind.
By the time the moon was high this next night, there would be feasting and the division of spoils and delicious tortures of these paleface beauties. Black Wolf, despite his youth, was in high regard in the tribe, and some spoke of him as being even a candidate for Running Bear's supremacy when the latter should go to the happy hunting grounds. Thus he was able to prevent his companions from falling upon their luckless captives and fucking them then and there.
An hour later, he and his men lashed their captives, stumbling, groaning and sobbing, into the Indian village which was so well camouflaged. At his order, all of the captives were gagged with strips of their own petticoats or dresses, blindfolded as well, with the same stuff, and their wrists and ankles lashed together tightly with rawhide thongs. These women, now in the hands of the pitiless Cheyenne, were dragged into a huge and empty wigwam, before which two of Black Wolf's companions squatted as guards, tomahawks in their hands. Their eyes sparkled as they whispered between them of their pleasures in the night to come. They cared nothing for sleep now, for the exhilarating triumph over this large party of palefaces with those long-bore guns that could send the warriors to the happy hunting grounds with a single pull of the trigger had restored all their savage energy....
Black Wolf strode into the teepee of Running Bear. Two hours had passed since he had been sent on the raid with his companions, and now he returned to claim his own prize, beautimul Estelle Eastland, who, sagging at her tentpole, naked save for stockings and shoes, had fainted out of sheer agony and exhaustion....
After Tanokee had fucked poor weeping naked Martha Eastland, he had dragged his blood and gism-stickied cock from her ravaged cunt, and hammered his chest as he emitted a hoarse bellow of victory over a fallen foe.
But Running Bear, fat, squat and bald, naked and lecherous all "this while, now claimed his own turn with the weeping, brunette. And bidding his four Indian wives resume an even tighter grip of her wrists and ankles and drag them even farther apart so that she would be straddled hugely for his probing, the chief of the renegades had squatted between Martha's writhing olive-satiny thighs and greedily prodded her naked flesh with his pudgy fingers. Whimpering, revolted by the brutal piercing of her maiden cherry, Martha had hysterically babbled a plea for mercy, once again hysterically telling the grinning old chief that her sister had given him the information he wanted and therefore it was only right that they be spared.
Running Bear understood only a few words of English, and it would have made no difference anyway had he understood every word. What he did comprehend was the torment and shame and terror of the lovely young naked victim, who reminded him of his youngest wife, the fifteen-year-old beauty Latakee. She of all the four, save perhaps his handsome and buxom favorite Kootah, gave his goni the most pleasure when he wished to prufu. But this paleface might be as nimble and fiercy on the blanket as his darling Latakee. He would give her to Latakee as a slave. It would be amusing to see this paleface dance under a switch in the hands of his young bride, whom he knew that Kootah feared and hated because, though older and still his favorite, she believed that the younger girl might one day surpass her in the admiration of the great chief of the Cheyenne.
The dark blue veins along the shaft of his swollen cock threatened to burst through the taut skin as he pinched and squeezed Martha's shuddering naked thighs, all along the tender insides, on up to the blood-smeared black muff of her deflorated pussy, by digging his thumbpad into the wide shallow nook of her navel and pressing down hard and then letting the flesh spring up resiliently, while Martha continued to weep and supplicate for mercy. Then his hands had roamed to those panting peartitties, pinching and kneading and squeezing them to his heart's content; then he played with the nipples till they grew stiff and swollen to twice their normal size, exquisitely sensitized by this violent and lustful carressing. He had watched how Tanokee had made poor Martha arch and twist and weave her satiny hips by inserting a finger into the crinkly little rosebud of her virgin asshole; he gave an order now, and to Martha Eastland's abject and stupefied horror, she felt the Indian woman lift her in the air, then turn her over, and lower her till she lay face down. Playfully, Running Bear put out both hands and with his thumbs and forefingers took hold of the base of those spacious oval bottom-cheeks and pinched them viciously. Martha threw back her head and cried out shrilly: "Oh, oh please don't, oh let me go now, haven't you done enough to me already? We've told you all we know, oh don't, not any more!"
Even Estelle, heedless of her own peril at the tentpole, awaiting her own as yet unknown fate, joined her sister in these lamentations. Tanokee understood them, and translated them into Cheyenne for the benefit of his chief who grunted and grinned with sadistic pleasure. The palefaces were too lovely to burn at the stake or to die under the torture knives and spears and the burning brands. Of course, if they were not obedient, if they did not let their cusus satisfy the gonis of the warriors, then there would be the delightful entertainment of fixing them to stakes, of dancing the death dance around them, and of torturing them with iron and fire. No, they would not die, though they might wish they would and could a thousand times over! They would become the wives or slaves of Running Bear and his warriors.
But this slim one, Ayee, how she twisted and wriggled like a fish under water! She needed taming, this one, as Latakee had done her first night in his teepee. It had been Kootah, his favorite, who had been in charge of initiating the adolescent Indian girl as to her duties with the great chief Running Bear. Kootah had bound Latakee with her wrists thonged behind her back, and her plait of glossy black hair drawn up to the top of the wigwam with a long cord and her ankles straddled hugely and corded to the base of the wooden pegs which circled the walls of the wigwam. Then Kootah had taken a thin willow switch and lashed Latakee over her titties and cusu until the girl had begged for the honor of being fucked by the great Running Bear. And while he had stod there and taken her mainden-head, Kootah had stood behind his new bride and flogged Latakee's bare bottom and well in between the tensing, wriggling cheeks of the young girls copper-sheened bare seat to quicken her responses to her lord and master....
He barked a command now and Tanokee passed him a willow switch. For a long moment, Running Bear amused himself by rubbing the tip over Martha's back and shoulders and down along her spine to the chinkbone. Then he had grazed her naked sides on up to the side curves of her titties till she had turned her contorted, tear-stained face and pitifully begged to be spared any more pain and suffering and shame.
But then, his passion mounting savagely, he had begun to prick her bottom with the switch, here and there, amusing himself to see in what haphazard places all over that spacious ovalcheeked backside of hers the flexible withe would make angry bright pink streaks and splotches. Warming to his task, he had lifted his arm and with full force brought the switch down across both dancing wriggling naked bottomcheeks. His four wives had all they could do to hold poor Martha down as, her flesh burning under the sadistic switching, her head flung back and her eyes exorbitant, she had shriepingly implored mercy.
He gave another sign now and Tanokee squatted down to Martha's left, extended his sturdy hands and forced apart the girl's bottomcheeks The crinkly little orifice of her virgin asshole tried to shrink and contract itself. Running Bear raised his arm and darted down the switch till its tip lodged exactly in that exquisitely sensitive crevice. A piercing, almost inhuman scream, tore from the naked victim: "Ahrrreeeooowww!! Oh my God, oh my God, not there, for dear God's sake, not there! Do anything to me, but stop whipping me, in the name of mercy!"
"Let her go, let my poor little sister go, take me instead, Estelle Eastland sobbed, futilely jarking in her bonds at the tentpole, her eyes fixed with fascinated horror on the scene before her.
Once again the switche descended into that exquisite rosy gape. Martha nearly managed to kick one leg free, and Running Bear gave the errant wife an agry glare, which made her shiver for the reckoning that she knew would come at a later time. Martha's bottom reared up, swung from side to side, then she flattened herself and ground her pussy against the hides and blankets which made this bed for her virgin martyrdom. Again she shrieked, but this time worlessly and for a long while under the ferocious and inhuman kiss of the darting switch.
The lips of her bottomhole were swollen and darkened from that excoriation. Tanokee maintained her bottomcheeks yawningly apart, awaiting his chief's next order. With a grunt, Running Bear crawled forward on his knees, leaned out over the girl's squirming, sweating naked body, planting his palms on either side of her shoulders, and then jabbed the massive head of his turgid prick against the swollen petals of her maiden asshole.
With all her strength, Martha tried to twist herself away from that ignoble and hideous profanation: "Oh God, oh no, not that, oh don't do that to me!"
"Oh Martha, the filthy beast is going to put his thing into your bumhole, oh God, stop him, oh Chief, I've told you everything, let my poor sister be!" Estelle wailed as the tears flowed down her cheeks.
The women realigned their hold on Martha's wrists and ankles, steadying her with all their strength, not wanting to brave the wrath of their lord and master. Tanokee took a deep breath and managed to force apart Martha's bottomchteeks still more lewdly, till her asshole was exaggeratedly distended.
Then with a bellow, Running Bear thrust his prickhead against that swollen and contracting crevice, pried between the swollen, burning lips of her maiden bung, and forced himself just inside the sphincter muscle-ring. Martha was shaken with a convulsive jerk, her head flung back, her eyes maddened with suffering and her mouth gaped in a raucous shriek: "Nooo!!! No, not that, not that, kill me instead!"
To no avail! His face a mask of vicious lust, the bald, squat chief of the renegades pammed forward till half his massive, swollen emblem burrowed inside naked Martha Eastland's narrow, contracting rectal sheath. The Indian women had to call upon all their strength to hold the frenzied captive down as, her head twisting from side to side, her mouth gasping and her teeth chattering in the exorbitant agony and torment of this pederastic unmaidening, she strove to free herself from the ignoble brunt of Running Bear's turgid harpoon.
He felt, to his groaning delight, the muscular spasms of her bottomhole's clenching walls, which only served to augment his ferocious rut. With another loud grunt, supporting himself now on his palms like an athlete over her writhing naked body, he drove himself home to his balls, which slapped against the velvety olive-sheened cheeks of her ravaged backside, and drew another even more prolonged and inhuman shriek from the naked young martyr.
Back and forth he labored now, with hoarse gasps and grunts, like an animal burrowing into a dark cavern hitherto unexplored. Martha's fingernails tried to dig into her captors' hands; failing that, she buried them into her sweating palms to the very blood, her throatcords standing out and almost bursting through the satiny sweaty skin, her eyes glassy and hugely dilated, her nostrils widening and clenching in the rictus of this unholy buggering.
Estelle at the tentpole was nearly numb with horror and loathing, for although she was passionately hot to be fucked, she had not even conjured that a man could so possess a girl by that nether channel. Latakee greedily savored the tortured plight of her beautiful paleface rival: "Me tell you, paleface, how good Running Bear goni be for prufu. You not feel it yet in cusu, but when he do it there, you for sure want him husband you!"
Martha Eastland was beyond hearing such mocking taunts. The infernal switching of her virgin asshole prior to its browning by the brutal old Indian chief was such exquisite torture that she could not even faint, for each new rasping dig and in-and-out maneuver of his turgid prick chafed and rubbed those swollen bumhole-petals and exacerbated her torture.
Now he began to quicken his digs as his final climax neared. Latakee tenderly, as she continued to clutch one of Martha's wrists with her left hand, extended her right hand and patted her adored spouse on the shoulder to encouraged him to greater conquest of this lowly paleface. But even though he was being carried away by his passion, Running Bear was still the master of this camp of renegades, and his angry order to her to make certain that Martha did not break loose of her captors' grip made Latakee pale and lower her eyes humbly as she obeyed his edict.
Now his hips jerkel convulsively as with fierce rapid thrusts he eviscerated her narrow anal channel with his ploughing. And then, with a hoarse shout, he announced his climax as he sagged his full fat weight upon her, crushing her titties down against the blankets and hides, and she felt the bubbling hot shoot of his loathsome gism like hot lava deep inside her bowels.
As he drew out with a noisy "Plop!" she uttered a moan, and her body sagged inert in another merciful swoon, which, like its predecessor was destined to give her only the shortest of reprieves from her tragic fate!
For Martha Eastland's ordeal was not yet done. Running Bear had decided to honor the bravery of his young warrior Black Wolf by leaving Martha's naked sister Estelle inviolate until Black Wolf's return. Yet now he wished to let his wives amuse themselves with Martha.
At his order, the unconscious girl was rolled over onto her back, and Latakee was sent for a bucket of slops which she slung into Martha's contorted tearstained face. Meanwhile, the other wives hastened to drive wooden pegs into the ground, and when Martha was at last revived, she wanly found herself tethered by rawhide thongs at wrists and ankles to these pegs, spreadeagled again and helpless before the infamous lust of, this time, not only the Cheyenne men, but their even crueller womenfolk.
CHAPTER FIVE
Martha Eastland whimpered and weakly jerked at the thongs which bound her wrists and ankles to the pegs. Her tear-glassy eyes stared piteously up at Kootah and Latakee, the favorite and the youngest wives of Running Bear, who stood looking down at her, their eyes sparkling with cruel anticipation. The two other wives of the chief of the Cheyenne would also take part in this new torment of the slim, oliveskinned captive. Still bound to her tentpole, Estelle sobbed softly, realizing now that no appeal for mercy would be granted by their merciless redskinned captors.
Tanokee, meanwhile, who coveted the luscious, ripe, older Eastland sister, knew that Black Wolf had won her and that he dared not ravish her. But this did not prevent him from moving over to the tentpole and cupping both Estelle's ripe titties with both sinewy hands and squeezing till the unfortunate victim threw back her head with a shriek of pain. He slid one hand down her belly to her burry crotch and panked at a spring of pussyhair, chuckling sadistically as Estelle uttered another woeful lament. Then, lifting his right hand, he slapped her full across one of those juicy titties, making it bound and reddening the beautifully smooth creamy flesh of that sensitive loveglobe. Again Estelle cried out in pain, tears running down her contorted flushed cheeks.
But a growl from Chief Running Bear made him desist, for the former was reminding him that the victim belonged by tribal law to Black Wolf. Reluctantly, Tanokee squatted with his bottom against his heels to amuse himself by witnessing the new torture of Martha by the squaws.
Latakee squatted down beside the helpless girl and lifted up a long strand of thick bufalo grass. Martha's agonized eyes fixed on it uncomprehendingly. But a moment later, her naked body arched and twisted violently as the young Indian girl viciously tied the sharp blade of grass around one of her nipples and made a knot. The soft coral bud now protruded, swollen with blood and twice its normal size. A moment later, her other nipple was thus bound and cut by the tough yet sharp verdure. Then, playfully, Latakee bent her head and let her tongue rub slowly over each of those swollen tidbits, exacerbating poor Martha by the waves of excruciating pain which seared those sensitive buds.
Meanwhile, Kootah amused herself by squatting between Martha's straddled thighs and, with her slim coppery fingers, began to yank out the black glossy curls of Martha's cuntfur. Piercing cries rang through the teepee as the tormented naked beauty wildly jerked at her thongs, tried to twist her hips this way and that to avert Kootah's diabolical ministrations. Her dilated eyes fixed on the smirking face of Running Bear's favorite squaw, watching those supple fingers, and Kootah added to Martha's agonized suspense by lifting her hand so that poor Martha could see, and then slowly descending it towards that vulnerable, gaping pussy, gently taking hold of a tendril of black soft silky lovefur and tensing it till Martha's body stiffened and shuddered ... then with a sudden and vicious tug, yanking it out by the roots and drawing a new cry of pit-ful suffering.
Estelle again began to plead with Running Bear for her sister's pardon, but to no avail. The two men watched greedily at Kootah continued this depilation until at last the pink twitching cuntlips appeared denuded of their protective silky covering, swollen and inflamed from this savage method of removal.
Meanwhile, the second wife, who was about Estelle's age, plump and short and not at all unattractive, squatted behind Martha's head and seized the girl's two long braids in both hands. She began to jerk at them, capriciously tugging first one and then the other, or both at the same time, sending twinges of atrocious pain through Martha's sensitive scalp, while Latakee taunted the moaning and writhing captive: "Mebbe Seetola scalp paleface squaw good!"
But the oldest wife was not to be outdone in her inventiveness; her name was Monara, and she had her own satisfaction, having been the very first wife of mighty Running Bear, who had abducted her, when she had been a girl of only fourteen, from a Nez Perce camp. And though she knew that his aging passions had cooled towards her and that he sought fulfillment on the blanket of his teepee with younk Latakee or voluptuous Kootah, she could still console herself on those infrequent but still exciting occasions when he would summon her to lie beside him and to be fucked. Ayee, he was still as vigorous as when he had first ploughed her cusu with his goni!
She had taken a small willow switch, about eight inches long, and now began to flick the supple withe over Martha's sweating smooth lissome belly.
Once agin, Latakee bent her head and now sucked at one of Martha's swollen tittiebuds, then nibbled at it with her sharp white teeth. A wild scream of pain tore from the captive as she arched her belly up, only to be met with a wicked slash from Monara's little switch. Meanwhile, Kootah began to pinch the raw, depilated cuntlips of the helpless brunette, and Seetola continued her capricious yanking of Martha's thick braids.
Beside herself with pain and shame and agony, Martha Eastland implored mercy: "Aahhh!! Ohh God, top it! It'll do anything you want, but stop hurting me so, I can't bear it, I can't! Eeeeyarrhhh! Oh, have mercy on me, I'm only a girl, I can't stand this any more!"
Running Bear now lifted his hand, his black beady eyes narrowed to pinpoints of ignoble rut, and barked out an order in Cheyenne. His perverse teenaged bride Latakee knew his penchant, for she had herself invented this lustful play only a few months ago with one of the mature female captives brought in on a similar raid upon the pioneer wagons crossing through the territory of the Cheyenne. She cupped Martha's contorted, tearsoaked face with her slim hands, bent her head down, rubbed noses mockingly with the naked prisoner, and then hissed, "Now you see me prufu you gool! Mebbe make Running Bear want prufu you again good, you watch!"
Rising now, she unfastened the thongs which held her tannedhide skirt and left it fall to the floor of the teepee. Then swiftly she cast off her beaded jacket and was naked, a copperyskinned nymph, with thrusting, closely-spaced, pear-shapted bubbies, a sleek flat belly with wide shallow navel, and a luxurious black fleece covering the lips of her delicious quim. Running Bear gazed at her with almost fatuous admiration, but Tanokee kept his eyes lowered to the ground, for it was not mete that a warrior should gaze upon the squaw of his chief unless so bidden. But Running Bear now invited Tanokee to enjoy the sport which would next follow, and only too willingly the Cheyenne warrior stared with glittering eyes at the supple, longlegged beauty of young Latakee.
Seetola continued to tug at Martha's braids as she squatted behind the unhappy girl, but Monara left off flicking Martha with her little switch, after adding a last few cuts across the abdomen and inner thighs which drew new plaints from the agonized victim.
And then Latakee stretched out over Martha's straddled body, her slim fingers pinching and gouging into Martha's exuberant pear-titties, as she began to grind her own furry cunt against Martha's depilated quim. The friction was agonizing, and Martha's face turned from side to side as tears streamed down her face, her nostrils wildly dilating and clenching, babbing hysterical pleas to be let off.
Latakee's tightly compact jouncy bottomcheeks contracted and yawned as the Indian teenaged bride began now to girlfuck the paleface captive.
And yet, despite her suffering, and her violation by the chief and Tanokee, despite the torment flaming in her scalp as Seetola continued to yank at her braids, and the aching agony of her bound and swollen tittieburs, Martha Eastland closed her eyes and shuddered as she felt the treacherous wave of sensuality invade her cunthole. For the truth was that innately, just as she had been draw to her own sister Estelle by an incestuous, Lesbian yearning, so now the friction of Latakee's pussyfur and the delicate lips of the Indian girl's quim grinding against her bare cunthole had begun to produce exquisitely licentious sensations that somehow solaced her for all her torture.
Latakee looked back over her shoulder to watch her mighty chief and lord approve her maneuver, and his crooked grin told her that he applauded her inventiveness. Thus inspired, the slim copperyskinned teenager redoubled her efforts to shame and abuse the helpless naked paleface under her. Her hips jerked and twisted, the muscles of her thighs and bottom surging and flexing as she rubbed herself with accelerated fury against Martha's sensitized crotch. The perversity of this scene made Estelle cry out in wordless, sickened horror and despair, but she could not keep her eyes from it. Slim young Latakee mounted over her sister's straddled body as if the former were a man, now sliding her left hand under Martha's bare bottom to dig her fingers venomously into the resilient, jouncy flesh of Martha's bare ass, her right hand under Martha's neck, and now began to hub noses with her unwilling noses in the very mockery of Sapphic fucking.
In her own tongue, Latakee mocked and vilified Martha, though fortunately, the unhappy girl could not understand a single word. The Indian girl promised her long nights of such infernal suffering for the pleasure of the great Running Bear, threatened her with running the gantlet of all the warriors in a double line, two hundred sturdy braves who would switch and thrash her till not an inch of her paleface skin would be left untouched. Yes, ayee, and then they would all prufu her cusu and her ardah (asshole), and then they would burn her at the stake by sticking pine needles into every inch of her body and lighting them from the fire!
Her eyes closed, her body writhing and quivering, Martha Eastland now began to feel the treacherous surging of her own pentup, long-denied pussy-passion. She had many a night frigged herself thinking of beautiful Estelle all naked and near her and eager for girlloving. She had never before mated with anyone, though she had dreamed of what it would be like to have her burning flesh rubbed against Estelle's creamy satinly body. And that was why, even in the midst of all her intolerable suffering, the constant grinding of Latakee's pussy against her own began to awaken within her all those fantasy-yearnings.
Now little gasps and moaning cries escaped her trembling lips. Her nostrils yawned and clenched incessantly. Her bottom squirmed and twisted as Latakee's slim long fingers gouged its tender contours. Now suddenly she felt Latakee's forefinger delve into the dainty crevice of her bottomhole, already sensitized by her buggering. She uttered a piercing cry and squirmed madly to try to eject that delving finger, but to no avail. Now Latakee drew back her hand from under Martha's neck and began to pinch and slap the girl's bare side and the outer curve of one lustions tittie. With her teeth, Latakee insidiously attacked each swollen nipple-bud, as she quickened her girlrubbing over Martha's raw, tremoring cunthole.
Her finger pushed farther on, beyond the protecting sphincter muscles, until Martha's eyes bulged in exorbitant agony, her face averted to one side, drowned with tears, yet fixing on her sister at the pole.
And then suddenly her flesh betrayed her as Latakee began to gouge her finger back and forth inside Martha's bumhole, as the Indian girl's love-fleece rasped and scratched against that depilated cunt, Martha Eastland suddenly uttered a low hoarse cry: "Oh dear God, no-oh, oh, oh I'm dying, oh God-aaahhh!!!"
The pentup passion in her sheath had become unbearable; now there was an explosion, lifting her against the pegs to which she was so pitilessly straddled. Her bubbies heaved wildly, her hips jerked and swerved from side to side, and the muscles of her bottom clamped against Latakee's prying finger, as in a final burst of flaming lust, Martha Eastland achieved a hot girlcome under Latakee's squirming coppery body.
The two Cheyenne males roared with bawdy laughter to see this palaface girl brought to climax just as if a man had ploughed her. Running Bear praised his young bride for her cunning, and then ordered that Kootah emulate her.
Latakee rose, panting, not yet herself satisfied, but her eyes were glowing with pride at her chief's commendation. Now it was Kootah's turn, and swiftly the voluptuous, big-tittied, ripe-bottomed favorite stripped herself naked and flung herself down on Martha Eastland.
Determined to outdo her younger rival for Running Bear's fucking favors, Kootah imitated what she had seen palafaces do when they made love: she put her mouth to Martha's and made a smacking sound like a kiss, which sent Tanokee and Running Bear into paroxysms of laughter, as it did the other wives, even jealous Latakee.
Then, with even more furious abandon, she began to grind her thickly furred cunthole against Martha's, while both her hands glided under Martha's squirming bare bottom as she dug her fingers into the inner edges of those spacious bottomvals, squeezing cruelly and making Martha jerk and squirm and writhe in her moaning anguish.
But as the two men watched and as Estelle, almost fainting now in horrified incredulity from the tentpole, beheld the subjugation and degredation of her younger sister, Martha Eastland once again felt her body betray her. Grinding her teeth, closing her eyes, stiffening herself, she fought off the madden-in gurge to respond to Kootah's girlgrinding. But in vain. With a sob, she felt herself churning all inside her cuntsheath, and once again with a wild hoarse cry, she announced her capitulation: "Oh God, not again, oh I can't help myself-oh, Stella, Stella, save me-aiii!!!"
Once again her body tumultuously jerked and squirmed as it merged against Kootah's ripe nakedness. And then there came the seeping of girlcream out of those twitching, swollen naked pussypetals as Martha Eastland gave down her Sapphic dew.
Vaguely Estelle Eastland comprehended what had happened to her sister, and she felt mingled with her agonized compassion for poor Martha a kind of horrified disgust to learn that the younger girl was tainted with this deviate passion. But her ordeal had been almost too much to bear; for although she had not really been touched yet, she had endured a veritable eternity of agony in watching what was happening to her sister and in believing that from this she could judge what too would be her fate. So with a moan, she slumped in her bonds at the tentpole, just as Black Wolf entered, flushed with his victory over the wagon train!
CHAPTER SIX
Black Wolf strode into his wigwam with Estelle Eastland's naked body in his arms. Her wrists were still bound behind her back, and her creamy flesh was blotched at titties and belly and inner thighs from the lustful fingerings of her Cheyenne tormentors.
She bit her lips as he laid her down on a heavy blanket to one side of the wigwam, strode back to the opening, and laced it shut against intruders. It would not be many hours till down, but the young warrior was tireless, goaded not only by his crafty raid over the wagon train, but roused in all his virile and savage young manhood by Estelle's naked charms.
He stood before her clad in only his moccasins, his coppery body stalwart and lithe, staring down at her. A wave of furious blushes suffused her cheeks and she lowered her eyes before his intense gaze. Betwen them, as old as tim itself, was the eternal challenge between dominant and potent male and tempting, defiant female. She knew that she could not stand much more torment, and she knew also the merciless cruelty of the Cheyenne if she continued to resist, but some perverse spirit urged her to continue to hold out, to cherish her cherry to the very last possible moment and to make him win in the hard way, no matter what it might cost her in suffering and shame and degradation.
But for his part, too, Black Wolf contemplated the creamy, quivering body of his voluptuous paleface captive in a new light, now that the two of them were alone together and he was not subjected to the mockery of Running Bear's sharptongued wives. He lusted for her mightily and he meant to fuck her till she begged for mercy and proclaimed that he was a man among men-for thus he could boast to his fellows how he had made this proud and ripe paleface squaw submit and acknowledge him as her master, as him whose goni could powerfully prufu her cusu. But he also admired her courage, as all Indians admire that virtue, even grudgingly in their enemies. Because he was still young and unwed, though he had proved himself to be a mighty warrior on many an occasion, Black Wolf found himself smitten with the odd and nonsensical desire to have this lightskinned squaw respond to his fucking with all the passion that her luscious body suggested she could give a man.
He knew that she was passionate because he had watched her cuddling and wriggling with that man whom he had killed, the man who had very nerly fucked her. Well, since he was the stronger and a far greater warrior than that puny paleface, why should she not recognize his superiority and submit herself eagerly and jojously to him?
Enervated by the long ordeal which had begun by being compelled to watch the martyrdom of her younger sister Martha, Estelle Eastland knew that she could not hold out very much longer. Her thighs were clenched as he squatted down before her, studying her titties and the sweet rounded goblet of her belly and the soft velvety thighs and that dark-brown-furred aperture which was her virgin cunthole.
She sat up now, suddenly, taking him by surprise, and twisting herself, she showed him her bound wrists. She said contemptuously, "Is this the way you make war on helpless women? Aren't you stronger than I am? Must I be tied because you are too weak to take me like a man?"
She dared greatly in such a bold speech, but she had also hit upon the only psychological course that was to save her from the torture stake and the common lot of the other halpless females taken this night by the Cheyenne warriors. Black Wolf understood enough English to understand the essence of what she had just said; more than that, he read her attitude from the curl of her lips and the flash of her eyes and the insolent twist of her body as she had shown him her tethered wrists.
Automatically, he raised his hand as if to strike her, but this time Estelle did not shrink, and once again she had unerringly taken the proper step towards making her savage captor a kind of ally who could grudgingly respect her bravery. Nevertheless, she was trembling violently as she saw his hand loom above her. And then, with an angry oath in his native tongue, the naked young warrior reached behind her and slashed the thong binding her wrists with his hunting knife.
Then he thrust the blade into the earth up to the hilt, and turned back to her. He knelt down and seized her by the shoulders and flung her back down on the blanket.
With an angry cry, Estelle Eastland tried to strike at his face, tried to draw up her knees against him, inciting him to even greater prick-valor. Ruthlessly he thrust a fist between her clutched creamy thighs and forcibly separated them, then lunged atop her, his left knee thrusting down to force her legs apart as he bore her flat on her back on the blanket of his wigwam. His hands gripped her writs and thrust them out on either side of her. She twisted and arched, trying to free herself, panting hoarsely, her magnificent titties rising and falling vehemently. She twisted and weaved her bare bottom ceaselessly as she tried to prevent his perforating her furry niche with that emblen which thrust out so adamantly between his sinewy, coppery thighs. But he was the stronger, and his body was greased with animal fat, whose rancid smell made her nostrils crinkle and made her turn away her face in aversion. She felt the scraping of his hard still cock along her inner thigh, seeking its way to her cunt. With-all her might, she jerked her hips to one side to avert that disaster, and Black Wolf was momentarily frustrated. But then, without warning, he drew himself back from her body, and, gripping the backs of her knees with both hands, suddenly lunged her knees back up against her titties, putting her naked creamy ass up in the air and distending the soft pink plump lips of her virgin pussy. Then, with a cry of triumph, he thrust the huge plumhead of his prick against that dainty slit, prying between the outer petals of her cunt and ramming up against the seal of her virgin cherry!
Completely taken by surprise, her body at such an awkward angle that she could not gain leverage to fight him off, Estelle felt his hot thick cockhead bang against the portals of her vaginal sheath. She cried out hoarsely, "No, damn you, no, you shan't have me!" And she tried to strike at him with her fists or to claw at him with her sharp nails. But his fingers bruised her tender kneehollows as he patilessly crushed her titties down with her own knees, keeping her thus upturned and upangled while with a mighty heave of his loins, he sent himself up against the barrier to fucking bliss!
Estelle Eastland uttered a shriek as she felt her hymen give way, lacerate and tear before his huge animal vigor. The membrane was rent asunder and Black Wolf's thick hard cock dug to the very roots inside her unvirgined cuntsheath.
But he maintained her in this ignoble and shameful pose, because she was absolutely hampered from freeing herself. Drawing back partway, he lunged back again nil their hairs met and his balls banged against the velvety creamy base of her naked ass. He repeated this maneuver several times, and each time his heavy cock rasped along her matrix, Estelle Eastland uttered a cry of pain, for the laceration had been deep and severe and her cherry, tough and resistant.
He paused now, his chest heaving, as he strove for masery and control, knowing that he had conquered her and that there remained only the complete subjugation to make her his humble paleface squaw.
The soft tender flesh of her kneehollows was cruelly squeezed and bruised by his digging fingers. But to her own despair, she felt-just as Martha had felt under her unwilling surrender to girlfucking-that her body had begun to betray her ... that the healthy ardor of her own sensual nature had been wildly aroused and that deep inside her churning cunthole, she began secretly to yearn to be fucked until all the juices within her womb spurted out in ecstatic fulfillment.
Once again he drew himself back inside her tight and contracting cunthole, and Estelle Eastland grimaced and groaned as the twinges of pain from her maiden laceration seared her tender nook. He drew back, back, back to the very brink of her pussy, till the tip of his cockhead was just lightly rubbing the inner rims of her slit. She cried out with angry impatience at this daliance, feeling herself used and treated like a plaything by this painted, naked savage. And yet, from a deeper sourse than she had ever known before, vaguely and yet almost distincly, she could feel herself churning and all of her juices bubbling and seething within her as her naked wanton young flesh began to respond to her violator.
Then with a ferocious lunge, Black Wolf dug himself into her cunthole up to his balls, and Estelle uttered a gurgling cry, her face turning from side to side, her eyes rolling back in their sockets, her teeth bared in a rictus of comingled pain and sensual ecstasy. He had rasped against the nodule of her tickler in that last savage decimation, and this had sent new waves of lascivious desire quaking through her entire womb. She tried to reach him with her fist, to sit up, but his relentless strength forced her knees always back against her squashed round creamy titties, intensifying the throbbing, burning pangs of the lashing he had given those luscious lovefruits with the rawhide strap.
Then he began to fuck her vigorously, but he paused each time his cock returned whence it had come, to rub lightly and lingeringly against the inner rims of her twat, so that she began to shudder and to shiver in expectancy of that exquisitely torturing moment, just before he would ram himself back to his full length within her inexorably warming cunt.
He paused again, to control the furious urge he had to shoot his gism deep into her hollow. He could feel his cock throb and jerk, feel the warm humid walls of her sheath clamp around him. He grunted with satisfaction; savage though he might be, he nonetheless comprehended by this flesh-symbol that his captive could not long deny his manhood, could not long hold back her response.
Deftly, arching himself, he rubbed the tip of his cock against the little cowl of pink pussyflesh in which her clitoris grew. Estelle's body jerked fitfully as if a current of electricity had passed through her. Her eyes widened, her lips bared in a deepening rictus of sensual wakening.
Now her fingers clawed the blanket as he forced himself home to his balls, then drew back slowly to the rims of her orifice. Now again, in his maddeningly deliberate thrusting back to the hilt within her, Black WolFs cocktip rubbed the stiffening, quivering button of her cunt-emotions.
She uttered a groan as she felt him dig inside her to his roots. Her bottom squirmed and then jerked and contracted, the crinkly little rosette of her virgin asshole twitching and clenching as nervous spasms seized her most secret flesh.
Her muscles began to ache from the unnatural and exaggerated stress of this shameful position. Her breasts ached too, from the crushing they received from her own bare dimpled creamy knees. Her nails tore at the blankets as he drew himself out so deliberately that she wanted to scream to him to hurry and end it; then as slowly returned until she felt his thick shaggy pubic mane grind and friction hers.
Now, again changing his tactics, Black Wolf began to fuck her with furious speed, shaking and joggling her naked, contorted body with every eviscerating thrust. Her face again turned restlessly from side to side, her eyes dilated and humid with tears, unseeing as the sensitivity was exacerbated like a fire being kindled deep within her womb and slowly spreading into a furious conflagration.
She clenched her fist, digging her nails into her palms, and she closed her eyes, to shut out the hideously contorted face of her ravisher. The bleeding of her martyred cherry had stopped, but there was such exquisite and delicate terrain which his prick scraped against that she could not help groaning and whimpering each time he thrust himself with what seemed increased fury into her ravaged love-hole.
Once again Black Wolf drew himself back to the rims of her cunthole, mocking her with a grim, his black eyes glittering with lustful malice and joy. She arched herself unconsciously, as if begging his prick to return to her burning sheath. But he teased her by holding himself back, by nuzzling the tip of his prong right up against the stiffening button of her tickler.
"Oh my God, finish it. you dirty beast-I tell you, get it over with-oh dear God-aii-oh I can't stand it, stop it, you filthy heathen beast-arrrhhh-oh God, I can't help it, oh my God-" she babbled.
Hardly had she finished her last words when, with all his might, Black Wolf lunged himself to the roots inside her quaking sheath. A scream of combined torment and ecstasy burst from Estelle Eastland. She felt her juices drawn by an imperious command over which she had no will or power any longer. She arched and squirmed herself, and at that moment he dragged her legs down and flung himself full length upon her naked, twitching, wriggling body. His hands gouged under her shoulder blades, digging into her soft creamy back. He now began to fuck her with an incredible swiftness. At the very nethermost recesses of her matrix, Estelle Eastland felt the gathering momentum of her own summoned-up lust. She twisted her face to one side and closed her eyes as tightly as she could. She felt his forefingers dig into her sweating armpits, his mouth against her neck, and the fetid animal smell of his naked body nauseated her, but the powerful sinews and thews of this young Cheyenne warrior had now definitively shattered her control, summoning forth the most secret passions she had believed to have reserved for poor Jason Forden.
Now he rode her as a warrior rides his pony to battle. Head flung back, a grin of victory on his fierce young face, his eyes blazing, he forced himself back and forth with pitiless zeal deep into the well of her seething cunthole. And suddenly, with a wild sobbing cry, Estelle Eastland forgot that this was her mortal enemy, a pagan, an animal, and a ravaging brute who had the power of life and death over her naked, squirming body. She locked her arms around him, she clamped her thighs over his bottom as she arched herself up to implore each new vicious thrust deep withing her cunthole.
Not a word had been spoken between them since the beginning of this onslaught. She was moaning now, and butting and squirming and wriggling each time he thrust himself home to the balls inside her cunt. He slipped his hands down to her haunches and squeezed them viciously as he applied a last two or three mighty plunges to the balls inside her twat.
Estelle Eastland uttered a wild, careening cry, her head rolling from side to side on the thick blanket. And then her body quaked and jerked and twisted as the earthquake shattered all her aplomb and young womanly poise. She felt the dam burst way at the back of her womb, and the sticky, warm liqueur of her cuntjuices began to seep down against his throbbing, rooting cock. With a last mighty heave of his loins, he crammed himself in her to the roots, and then she felt the sudden explosion of his weapon, felt the hot lash of his gism pelting and smashing against the deepest walls of her quaking womb.
He was no longer an Indian, no longer her executioner, no longer her torturer; he was only a virile, powerful young man who had wakened her out of this brutal rape into attaining the most delirious spend she had ever known; not even her own affection for dear, now-dead Jason Forden had been whetted to such blind, insensate lust. She shifted her bare legs over his bottom (before he had begun to fuck her, he had wrenched off her shoes and stockings to leave her as bare as Eve herself) and her hands clenched against his shoulders, feeling his muscles surge and flex at each furious lunge that buried him to the hairs inside her moist and quaking pussy.
She uttered a last wordless cry, which described her horror at finding herself so wantonly and eagerly yielding to the man who had slain her beloved husband-to-be. And the rockets burst within her brain, and her titties heaved and the nipples ached and throbbed with longing, and the muscles of her thighs rippled under the perspiring creamy skin as Estelle Eastland gave down her cunnydew. Black Wolf had mastered her and made her his abject naked loveslave. He coursed her down as he gasped out his pleasure, the last driblets of his spunk flooding her cunthole till she felt the sticky liqueur oozing down along the insides of her upper thighs.
Now the sweet blank Nirvana of aftermath purged her, made her sink into a kind of swoon. Their bodies coupled like animals, he atop her on that blanket in the Indian wigwam, Estelle Eastland somehow knew that she could not hate Black Wolf for having made a woman of her, as he so truly had!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Inside the wigwam were the captive white girls and women huddled in their bonds, trembling and weeping, others trying to sleep and forget the awful nightmare of their capture from the Eastland wagon train, Beatrice Brendt tried to restore her aunt, Mildred Munson to consciousness. Her beautiful auburn haired aunt had been stunned by the blow of a tomahawk at the time of the raid upon the wagon train, and her Indian captor had been compelled to carry her in his arms a good part of the journey back to Cheyenne village, growling at the woman, he had promised her in broken English that she would pay him back for that service, and the terror which that threat had created had made poor Mildred Munson lapse into a swoon as soon as she had been flung down into the wigwam with the others.
At about noon of the next day, two squaws, the stolid, fat wives of Snapping Turtle, entered the wigwam with bowls of hominy and jerked beef to feed the captives. Had they been men, they would not have received such excellent fare, but since these girls and woman were destined to become squaws and slaves, the Indian women had had strict orders to care for them until they should be alloted to the warriors.
In all, counting Estelle and Martha Eastland whose fate we have already witnessed, there were eighteen extremely attractive young women and girls, which number included buxom mature Mary Eastland, the mother of Estelle and Martha and herself a most desirable piece of pussy.
Just before sunset that evening, the two squaws returned to lead in turn each captive out of the wigwam and allow her to exercise by walking back and forth. Since her wrists were bound behind her, the prisoner had no chance to escape; moreover, Snapping Turtle's squaws had armed themselves with thick hickory switches and the slightest evasive movement was punished by a good cut over their bottoms. Jetoorah, the first wife of Snapping Turtle, a woman in her late thirties, short and squat, spoke a few words of English, and she took gleeful delight in promising each captive: 'Mebbe tonight you run ganglet. You run fast, mebbe no get hurt much. But it not matter how you run, they prufu you good, you see!"
When Beatrice and her aunt were brought out in the clear warm air of the twilight, Jetoorah smacked her lips at the sight of slim, copperyhaired Beatrice. Reaching out her free hand, she pinched the girl's bottom and with a hideous cackle, pronounced, "Snapping Turtle prufu your cusu hard, he got big goni make you many papooses!" When the lovely girl indignantly twisted away, Jetoorah gave her a cut across her lovely tightly-set oval ass cheeks, drawing a piercing wail of pain from the adolescent beauty. Beatrice had been taken from the wagon train in only her nighties, whereas her aunt had been captured stark naked; the squaws had brought Mildred Munson an old skirt of buffalo hide and a tattered jacket to cover her magnificent nakedness. But again Jetoorah had cackled and told the woman, "you not keep clothes on long tonight, you watch!"
Black Wolf and Tanokee had conferred late that afternoon with Running Bear as to the ceremonials of the evening and the night, which would be dedicated to feasting, torture and to the division of the spoils-which meant that the fate of all those tender warm palefaced cusus would be decided, Black Wolf relinquished all claims to any other squaw, being more than satisfied with Estelle, who had succumbed to his ardent fucking and had tasted hot girlgush in his virile embrace. As for Tanokee, he was delighted with the acquisition of Martha, and his two squaws were already excited at the prospect of training her to be a slave to them and to her noble Indian master.
So there would be sixteen paleface squaws to be awarded as prizes to those warriors who had distinguished themselves in the Cheyenne camp. Snapping Turtle, who had seen Beatrice and her aunt making Sapphic love, had told Running Bear what he had observed, and the chief of the renegade Cheyennes had decided to offer his braves and the squaws a delightful and unusual spectacle.
Snapping Turtle was called to the chief's teepee to hear about this event, and roared with laughter when he heard Running Bear's decree. The pale-faced women would be spared the gantlet, for instead they would be bounded together naked and whipped until each of them achieved climax by girl-rubbing. "Let them be bound to the overhanging branch of a sycamore tree," Running Bear declaimed, "thongs about their waists and necks. They will caper under the switch and the rawhide strap, and it will heat their bottoms so that they will wriggle, and when they wriggle cusu to cusu, we will see how the paleface women shamelessly make love to each other."
"And after that?" Snapping Turtle anxiously asked.
Running Bear grunted and shrugged. "Then each warrior, according to our custom, may stake his claim to the palefaces. But I will tell you this, Snapping Turtle, since we have more warriors than paleface brides, he who has the fewest squaws and has shown himself to be the bravest of our warriors shall have first call upon these captives. I have spoken!"
* * *
Beatrice Brendt uttered a cry of terror and huddled close to her beautiful, mature, auburnhaired aunt, Mildred Munson. "Oh, Lordie, Aunt Mildred," she gasped, "what are they going to do with us? Oh, don't let them hurt me, please, Aunt Mildred!"
"I'm afraid they are going to hurt us, and you must be very brave, Trice dear," the beautiful, auburnhaired spinster replied, her voice unsteady as she perceived the glittering, beady eyes of the Cheyenne squaw fixed upon her. Jetoorah chacked her hickory switch in the air and demanded imperiously again, "You, Chief Running Bear, put you at stake. Mebbe burn, you not do what Jetoorah tell you!"
With a groan of apprehension, Mildred Munson rose to her feet, looking extremely provocative in the Indian costume of hide skirt and jacket which had been given her to clothe her nakedness when she and her niece had been captured in the wagon girlfucking. Beatrice wore a long, decorous nightie which clung to her voluptuous young body in the most revealing way, outlining the superb pears of her magnificent young titties, the sensual jut of her sleek young hips and the jouncy of her firm young ovalshaped ass. As they followed Snapping Turtle's squaw, they saw the warriors dancing, waving tomahawks and brandishing bows and arrows; and as they came closer to the center of the camp, they saw fires which cast diabolical shadows on the ground, shadows made by the teepes and the savages who danced around them.
If their wrists had not been bound behind their banks, Mildred would have comforted her lovely young niece, but this was impossible. Jetoorah turned and gestured with her switch.
"Go on, quick," she commanded.
Mildred Munson paled, and her eyes widened. They had come to a kind of circle, whose boundaries were set by a half dozen of the largest teepees, a circle with a radius of some fifty feet. They had walked through a lane of jeering squaws and children, gathered to witness the ceremony by which all white captives were demeaned and humbled and made willing slaves to the noble people of the plains, the Cheyenne. Chief Running Bear had forbidden women or children to fling rocks at the captives or harass them with sticks or switches; he wished their energy saved for the ingenious and diabolical torment which the beautiful young teenage squaw Latakee had concocted.
In the center of this huge circle, there stood a heavy pole about eight feet high, driven into the ground. It had a top beam projecting at right angles about four feet beyond it, like a kind of gibbet. From the end of that beam, there dangled a long, pliant rawhide rope. Chief Running Bear sat near the post, his arms folded, his war bonnet resplendent, his ugly face aglow with lustful anticipation. To great joy, young Latakee had been permitted to attend this ceremony of trial and torment, along with Kootah, his favorite. The two squaws sat with their legs folded under them, their arms across their titties, behind their sovereign, the leader of the renegade Cheyenne. Snapping Turtle, puffing out his chest with pride in this moment of pride and recognition before his chief (whom secretly he wished to overthrow and replace with himself) stood ready, awaiting the captives. His moccasined feet were planted well apart, his arms folded across his naked chest, clad only in his breechclout and a headband with three eagle feathers thrust into the front.
Beautrice and Mildred halted as both of them saw the post with its crossarm, and exchanged a terrified glance, not quite comprehending what was about to befall them.
Chief Running Bear's eyes devoured the bodies of these two luscious captives. The young squaw, he thought to himself, would drain a man's goni of all its sap before the dawn, yet the older paleface squaw also had much to offer. However, since Beatrice still wore the clinging nightgown over her nakedness, it was to her trembling and shrinking body that his gaze constantly returned as a silence fell over the assemblage. With her hands bound behind her back, Beatrice's titties stuck out in the most boldly tempting way, the dark, pert buds standing out, and one could almost see the thick triangular thatch of crotchhair between her long, trembling thighs. She whimpered at the malevolent gaze of the savages, and turned to her aunt and whispered:
"Oh, golly, Aunt Milly, I'm awfully scared! Can't they just let us go? We didn't do anything to them."
Mildred Munson was about to speak, but Chief Running Bear made a gesture with his tomahawk, which he held in his right hand, and its blade had been painted blood-red. It was a signal for the commencement of their martyrdom.
Snapping turtle strode forward with a grunt of pleasure and, seizing Beatrice's bound wrists with his right hand, gripped her by the scruff of her neck with his left and forced her forward under the post-gibbet's crossarm. She struggled and cried out plaintively, while Mildred Munson, sick with dread, sank down on her knees, the tears running down her cheeks, stammering, "Don't hurt her-she's only a young girl-what have we done? Don't hurt us, please!"
Snapping Turtle released his captive, who stumbled to her knees and began to cry like a frightened child. Reaching up, he took hold of the long rawhide rope, gave it a tentative yank to test it, and then reached down and dragged Beatrice to her feet, his left hand gripping the thick plait of her coppery hair and making her scream in pain, her face twisted with agony at the searing torture inflicted on her tender young scalp.
Taking his hunting knife from the rawhide belt around his waist, Snapping Turtle cut the thongs which bound her wrists, and quickly brought them both into his left hand while his right hand, tossing the knife at his feet, bound her hands with the end of the dangling rawide rope. It was now clear that this rope had been conveniently plaited so that another strand unwound from the main strand. The purpose of this was seen at once when Snapping Turtle brought Mildred Munson to her feet in the same way he had raised her niece. After cutting her wrist thongs, he dragged her arms above her head and wound the second section of the rope's end around her wrists.
Now the two women stood facing each other, almost having to arch on tiptoe, for Snapping Turtle was fully five inches taller than either of them, and the rope had been carefully measured before being adjusted to the crossbeam.
He now made a sign, and Latakee, with a cry of joy, came forward to bring him several pliant rawhide ropes, which she placed at his feet and inclined her head in respect to his maleness and stature as a warrior of her tribe, then took her place again behind Running Bear. The silence was terryfying now. Only the crackle of the council fires at the edge of the circle of central teepees could be heard, and the macabre hooting of an owl. From the south came the cry of a lonely coyote, and the captives shivered and groaned. Beatrice whispered softly to her aunt, "What are they going to do to us? Oh, Aunt Mildred, what in tarnation's sake are they going to do to us? Oh, don't let them hurt us, Aunt Mildred! I can't stand pain-you know I can't!"
"Be brave, my poor little darling! Oh, if only I hadn't come to the wagon, if only I didn't love you so much, this wouldn't be happening now. It's all my fault-oh, I want the chief to punish me, not you, my dearest Trice!" Mildred Munson whispered back. For her guilty shame at knowing that her lustful girlfucking had plunged them both into such a burning rut that they had not heard or seen their Indian captor creep upon them, was now uppermost in the mature spinster's mind, and she wished secretly to take the brunt of the punishment, whatever it might be, if only Beatrice could be spared.
Snapping Turtle now put his heavy, thick fingers to the back of Beatrice's nightgown, and with a harsh, mocking laugh of triumph, ripped it down as far as the girl's pale, milky-skinned, ovalshaped asscheeks.
"Oh, no, not that! Don't peel me bare! Oh, please, I didn't do anything-don't do this to me! Not bare! Not in front of all those awful Indians!" Beatrice wailed, turning her head over one shoulder to stare piteously at Chief Running Bear. But Snapping Turtle stepped to one side and tore again at the nightgown, and this time it was ripped away from her slim, delicioas body. She was as naked as the day she was born before the assembled leering savages. A shriek of despair, shame and terrow came from her lips as the young copperhaired virgin huddled closer to her aunt, trying to cover from the greedy eyes all around her the most intimate part of her being, her virgin cunthole and the downy, dark coppery pussyhair.
This was only a momentary reprieve, which all the spectators hugely enjoyed, because they now began to whisper and chuckle among themselves, speculating on what delightful entertainment their great chief Running Bear was going to provide for them.
But now Snapping Turtle picked up his hunting knife and stepped behind the aunt, who was sobbing, squirming, and trying to comfort Beatrice. For a moment he amused himself by running his fingers through the thick sheaf of her dark auburn tresses, yanking at it from time to time to jerk back her head and draw stiffled groans and gasps from the trembling victim, while the warriors and the women in that great circle all around the pole of degradation-for such it was!-called out lewd suggestions.
Then, tightening his fingers in her hair till she caught her breath with the twinge of pain that burned her scalp, Snapping Turtle deftly cut away the jacket with his hunting knife and let it fall to the ground, baring her to the waist. A shout of admiration rose at the revelation of that tawny-sheened, deeply hollowed naked back, and at the curves of her generous, ripe, round and closely spaced, full firm titties which now grazed Beatrice's pale milky tittiepears.
"Oh God, what are you going to do?" Mildred Munson panted, turning her face around toward her tormentor. Snapping Turtle grinned evilly, twisted his fingers even more deeply in her hair and jerked it viciously. Then, as she cried out under this pain, he released her hair and now, putting the fingers of his left hand to the top of her hide skirt, used his knife again to cut carefully and without touching the tender naked skin, slicing the skirt away from her naked loins and luscious ass and cunthole. It too fell, and now a roar of lustful admiration burst from that terrifying circle of painted half-naked warriors, of women who shook their fists vindictively in the air, of young Indian children who mocked the shame and degradation of these palefaced victims!
"Oh my God, they've made us both naked-oh, what are they going to do to us, my poor darling?" Mildred Munson panted. "Come as close to me as you can to cover yourself. It's not right that a girl so young should be naked in front of all those hideous animals."
"Oh, Aunt Millie, I-I've got to peepee. Oh my gosh!" Beatrice whispered.
"You mustn't dearest Trice," Mildred Munson whispered in anguish. "They'll see and they'll hurt you. Oh, I'm so afraid for you! Hold it back, my dear."
"I'll try, but it burns me so. Oh, my spot is just burning from it, Aunt Millie. Oh, what are they doing now? Oh, don't-Oh, please don't-I'll be good! I'll be such a good girl if you only won't hurt me!"
Beatrice's voice rose in a piteous, frightened, tearful cry as Snapping Turtle now bound a supple rawhide rope around the naked waists of the two female victims, tying it with a cruel, heavy knot which made the rawhide fairly bite into their tender naked skin. But most important of all, and this was the whim of young Latakee, suck pinioning forced their bodies to merge together in an unholy unison: they locked, indeed, as if they were about to girl-fuck, just as they had done in the wagon that fatal night before this.
Now, teetering on their toes, their arms stretched above their heads, their waists lashed together by the tightening rawhide thong (which had earlier been soaked in a solution of rancid fat and lye, so that it would gradually contract and chafe the naked flesh and thus force poor Beatrice and Mildred more tightly against each other), the two naked beauties waited, still not knowing the extent of their ordeal.
Latakee and Kootah now hurried into the circle and towards the swaying, groaning, naked captives. Each was armed with a thin sycamore switch, while Snapping Turtle removed his breechclout, his massive prick already savagely erect and turgid, the dark blue veins along his thick, heavy shaft glistening against the taut skin as the light of the fire touched this scene of depravity and savagery.
Latakee chose the mature woman as her victim, for it delighted the young Indian girl to command the attention of all these mighty warriors and of their master, the great Chief Running Bear. But most of all, the thought that she could bring suffering and shame to this woman who was old enough to be her mother excited her to the most diabolical cunning and cruelty. Truly it has been said that there is no executioner so cruel, so inventive, so merciless as a woman who deals with her own tender sex.
Kootah, on the other hand, was, quite happy to select Beatrice as her victim; there was a similarity between the paleface girl and her hated young rival for the chiefs affections. Both were slim, rather tall and supple. But the paleface had a soft, tender, pale white skin with rosy flecks, skin that had never known the kisses of the twitch, skin that only a few hours ago had quivered to the kisses and tonguings of Mildred Munson. So, by punishing Beatrice, Keetah imagined her longed-for supremacy over beautiful young Latakee, whom Beatrice represented in her mind's eye.
Running Bear raised his tomahawk again to signify the start of the ceremony. Sucking in her breath, Latakee drew back her switch, held it aloft for a long moment, and then brought it down and straight across Mildred Munson's firm, round, naked asscheeks. A stiffled groan of agony was the telltale sign that this first lash had been atrociously painful. Even more convincing, however, was the angry, bright pink welt that sprang up across those luscious hips. Taken by surprise at the fiery pain, Mildred Munson lunged forward, and her dark auburn-tinted cuntcurls ground against her niece's delicious virgin snatch.
At almost the identical moment, Kootah applied her switch diagonally over Beatrice's tightening assovals. A loud scream of pain was instanly torn from the young girl as she lunged forward, and both naked captives flattened their titties together, and each felt the rubbing, chafing pressure of the other's hardened tittiebuds. Stepping out to the left, the two wives of Running Bear synchronized their cadence. Their arms drew back, the switches hovered in the air a moment, then whistled forward to crack with angry impact against the bare bottoms of their writhing victims. By the time each squaw had inflicted half a dozen cuts over the naked bottom offered up to her sadistic charge, both Beatrice and Mildred had begun to cry for mercy, tears running down their cheeks, their faces twisted with pain, looking back over their shoulders in cringing terror at their executioners. Their panting titties rose and fell, rubbing together in the close constraint of their pinioning. Their loins and bellies, so tightly merged together, bore the brunt of the agitation caused by the repeated fiery kisses of the sycamore withes.
Now the pace quickened. Where before the squaws had applied the switches at the rate of about forty seconds apart, making their victims shudder and cringe in suspense while still feeling the burning anguish of the previous cut, Kootah and Lakatee quickened the tempo to about every fifteen seconds now. The flexible withes danced and curled and cracked across Beatrice's and Mildred's writhing, weaving, jerking asses, inflicting atrocious suffering, striating the pale milky, rosy-fleshed skin and the tawny, smoth flesh with furious discolorations.
Beatrice shrieked now at every stinging kiss of the lash, her face constantly turned back, her tear-dilated eyes fixed in mute appeal on her Indian executioner. Mildred Munson threw back her head each time the withe cracked across her magnificent bare ass, long shudders shaking her voluptuous, ripe naked body, and then her hips twisted and jerked from side to side as she ground her furry cunt against her niece's lovethatch.
Snapping Turtle's turgid prick had reached its zenith of tumescence. The foreskin had tautened, and the long, thick, knobby shaft of his virile cock jerked and throbbed and trembled as he stood with folded arms, his glittering eyes missing nothing of this delicious scene. By the time the switch had leaped twenty-five times over Beatrice's flesh, one could see the weals decorating the luscious naked ass from the slope of her hips to the tops of her naked thighs. Both women seemed to be executing a weird dance on tiptoe, heads flung back, their buffies straining forward and flattened together, the swollen nipples kissing one another in a lewd embrace, their bellies rubbing, moist with agony-sweat, and most of all, their furry cuntholes frictioning as each burning welt added to their naked bottoms brought new, augmented torture.
Beatrice's voice was hoarse now from her shrieks and pleas. Mildred, though older and more stoic, had also given way to the fiery slashes of the sycamore withe applied to the most sensitive spots of her naked ass as Latakee, a female herself, ferreted out the tenderest places of all.
Now the Indian women paused, glancing to their chief for another sign, which was given at once.
Lowering their implements, Latakee and Kootah leaped the switches up between the victim's naked thighs. Beatrice and Mildred seemed to stiffen, arching themselves upward so their feet almost left the ground. Their heads flung back again, their mouths agape with a wordless shriek of indescribable anguish: "Eyaaahhhrrr!!!"
There was a long pause and a deadly silence had fallen on the spectators, but now it was a silence tinged by hoarse breathing as the sight of those two naked, wriggling bodies made the warriors' pricks swell and throb under their bleechclouts.
Once again the two squaws lowered the switches and then leaped them up between the victims' shuddering thighs. "Oh, God, I'm only a poor woman! Don't whip me on my bottom, not between my legs
-in God's own dear name," Mildred Munson screamed.
Her hips twisted from side to side in an agony spasm. Her thick dark auburn pussycurls rubbed and ground and frictioned over Beatrice's silken snatch. But Beatrice herself, mad with suffering, tugged with frenzied zeal at her bonds overhead, her titties panting convulsively, her belly rubbing madly against her aunt's.
A third time the fiendish, supple switches danced up between those slender, shapely thighs, attacking the soft lips of those virgin cunts which even the abundant pussyfur did not protect from the venomous caresses of the sycamore withes.
Latakee again lowered her switch and for the fourth time brought it sharpely up into Mildred Munson's furry crotch. "Ooowwwwhhharrrrr! Not there! In the name of God, not there! Oh, have pity, have pity! You're a woman like myself! Spare me!" Mildred histerically pleaded as she turned her contorted face back to her young tormentress. Tauntingly patting Mildred's naked welted ass with the tip of her switch, the Indian girl giggled, "You and young squaw, you rub cusu hard now. Mebbe you do prufu just like men! You get switch till you do, savvy?" And once more the diabolical switch leaped up into Mildred Munson's virgin cunthole.
The naked aunt of weeping young Beatrice understood, and now her lovely face was suffused with fiery blushes as well as with tears of pain. "Beatrice, oh my poor little sweet! You've got to do what they want. You've got to, or they'll go on whipping you there between your legs. Oh my poor darling, if only you could escape all this!" she groaned.
"W-wh-what must I do, Aunt Millie? Oh, it hurts so bad, and I still want to go peepee even worse-oh, I can't help myself, I'm in such pain, Aunt Millie," Beatrice moaned.
"Listen to me, Trice! You-Owwweee!!! Oh God, not there again-oh, I'll do anything you want, but not there, not there! Give me time to tell my poor niece what you want!" Mildred Munson shrieked as the switch bit home to her throbbing cunthole, straight to the mouth of that plump, soft virgin crevice.
"Oh, what do they want? Oh, make them stop!" Beatrice sobbed as Kootah sent her switch delving up into that tender maiden twat. Again their naked bodies jerked and ground cunt to cunt; but this was no girlfucking, rather a mad desperation, a fierce attempt to evade the evil caresses of the sycamore switch. The weals on their naked bodies were darkening, and every maneuver was sheer agony.
"You-you have to rub against me until we come, my poor darling," Mildred Munson whispered to her niece. "You have to, or they'll whip us till we do. Oh, I can't bear to see you suffer-please do it-I love you so!"
Beatrice uttered a sobbing cry, and forced her mouth against her aunt's. Feverishly, panting and sobbing, she began to rub her cunthole against her aunt's with a jerky, repetitive grinding.
The two Indian squaws were applying now slowly spaced and very light blows of the withes over their victims' naked thighs and calves. But by now the fiery pain of the switching seemed to work like a dose of Spanish fly on the seething cuntholes of the beautiful, mature aunt and her lovely niece. Oblivious to alPelse, their lips fused together, Mildreds tongue in Beatrice's mouth, lapping eagerly and persistently at the sweet nectar therein; they rubbed and twisted in their bonds, their cuntholes becoming inflamed, the lips becoming moist with the prelubricatory dew of eventual hot girlgush.
Now at another signal from Running Bear, the two squaws lifted their switches and cruelly slashed Mildred and Beatrice across their quaking naked thighs. Their cries responded, but were muffled and trembling, proving that the two captives were now caught up in the maelstrom of girlfuck. Suddenly Mildred uttered a sobbing squeal: "Oooohhhh, oh Auntie Millie, I'm going to give it down! Do it to me hard! Oh, hurry! I'm going to burst! OoooHhhh, I love you so!"
Her body seemed to be twisting and wriggling like a Nautsch dancer's. Her tongue furled deep into Mildred Munson's mouth, her peartitties rubbed and ground into Mildred's succulent buffies, and she jerked in spasm after spasm till Mildred Mun-son felt her niece's cuntjuice flow down into her own thick pussycurls.
But she herself was at the pitch, and as Latakee gave her another vicious cut over her shaply naked calves, the auburnhaired spinster thrust her mouth to Beatrice's, arched her titties hard to merge with her niece's sweet pear-globes, and with a desperate and convulsive burst of feverish wriggling, ground her furry mound furiously over her niece's snatch. Her time was at hand. She uttered a woeful cry, her head falling back, her glassy eyes rolling back, her body sagging against her niece's while her own abundant pussy-liqueur began to ooze out and pour its creamy seepage into Beatrice's quaking and fulfilled young cunthole!
CHAPTER EIGHT
A roard of derision and lecherous delight went up from the watching Cheyenne braves and squaws as the two naked captives, niece and aunt, suspended from the crossbeam and bound round the waist to each other, naked as the day they were born, their velvety bottoms and thighs streaked with the marks of the switch, jerked and wriggled in the final spasm of their girlfucking orgasm. Kootah and Latakee giggled with pleasure at having provided the warriors of the tribe with such lewd entertainment through their own expert application of the hickory withes.
It was a fantastic scene here in the clearing which was camouflaged by the dark hills which circled it and by the thick and almost inaccessible forests of sycamore and fir and pine which helped to make the camp of the Cheyennes isolated and unknown to any save other Indians. Only a few miles away, the other settlers of the Eastland wagon train were just now gathering to determine their losses of both human beings and supplies. There were tears and wailing from many of the women over their dead and, what was still worse, over the females who had been abducted and were now in the hands of the pitiless Cheyenne. And yet if they but knew it, having halted all through that long day that followed that first unsuspecting night, the missing girls and women were not far distant from them.
The scouts of the train had urged that a searching party be sent out to find tracks of the victims, but others argued against that; to go into that uncharted forest in search of the savages might mean massacre and torture at the stake, and for the women, who would be left helpless and without their men to save them, unspeakable tortures and degradations. Gloomily, Theodore Elwell, whose wife had been one of those abducted by Black Wolf's raiding party, pronounced in a doleful tone: "I love Margaret dearly and I'd die for her, but it would be useless. We're tenderfeet along this Montana trail and those red devils would take us in ambush and wipe us out in a few minutes. All I can pray for is that they give Margaret a quick death. I've heard what Indians do to white women. I wish to God I'd never come on this journey."
He lied. He was a bearded, self-righteous man of forty-five, a storekeeper in Joplin. He had married Margaret Lacey when she was only twenty, two years ago, because her father had owed him a large debt of money which he had canceled by taking Margaret as his bride. Her father had died a year later of the flu-some said, really of grief. Margaret detested her husband, and had married him only to save her father from disgrace and imprisonment as a debtor. She loathed Theodore El-well's hypocrisy and sanctimoniousness. He pretended to be a moral, God-fearing man, yet no sooner had they gone to bed on their wedding night than he had been at her like an animal in rut. Picking up her modest ankle-length nightie to her waist, he had flung himself over her and, ruthlessly kneeing apart her shuddering thighs, had thrust his massive, swollen prick through her cherry without the slightest concern for her agony and tears and her tender, humble supplications to be gentle with her and to teach her what she must do-for of course she had been a pure virgin.
And during the two atrocious years of bondage which had followed, Theodore Elwell, under pretext of chastening her rebellious spirit and her ignorance as to the duties of a proper and obedient wife, had hung a cowhide whip from a wooden peg hammered into the wall of the bedroom in their log cabin back in Joplin. Like a satyr, in his long flannel underwear, unbuttoned to liberate the bulging turgidity of his enflamed cock, he had forced the trembling beauty to leave a candle burning by the bedside and had ordered her to remove her nightie and await his pleasure. Gloating at her ivory-skinned nakedness and forbidding her the modest gesture of putting one hand over her furry cleft and the other arm over her shuddering titties, he had drunk his fill of her helpless, shrinking flesh. And then, her-monizing her upon her passiveness and her lack of dutiful affection for her husband whom she had vowed before the minister to cherish and to honor, he would take the cowhide from its peg and lash her titties and her belly and the insides of her tender thighs until, wailing for mercy and dissolved in tears, beautiful Margaret would roll over onto her belly, only to be met with a flurry of whistling, burning lashes that streaked the ivory globes of her voluptuous naked ass until she at last, in the despair and helplessness of her torment, begged him to fuck her and promised to show him that dutiful tenderness which he complained was lacking in her.
He had sold his shop and gone on the Eastland expedition because of his greed for gold. His secret desire was, once they arrived in California, to dispose of Margaret, perhaps through one of the brothels which he knew were always recruiting fresh girls in San Francisco, and find himself some naive and tender fledgling, perhaps an indentured maid about fifteen or sixteen, whom he could break in from the very beginning and indulge his sadistic and brutal domination.
For Margaret Elwell, despite the thrashing and the sermons and the rapes, had managed somehow through sheer strength of character and will to keep from yielding her passion to this bearded brute of a man. What he really wished for was to feel her buck and weave and plunge and jerk under him, to feel her naked legs enclasp his hairy buttocks and her fingers dig into his sinewy back as she gushed her girldew out to meet his torrent of bubbling spunk: he wanted to make a wanton whore out of her, a bed-slave who, out of terror of that cowhide, would perform the most depraved and debased sexual acts at his bidding. And he had failed.
Once he had flogged her nearly to the blood and until she fainted, simply because she had refused to kneel down on her palms and bow her head humbly and suck his cock. Another time, just a week before they had departed on this ill-fated expedition, Theodore Elwell had brutally told her that she still had two cherries left, those of mouth and asshole, and that they belonged to him as her rightful spouse. He had commanded her to kneel on the floor of their cabin, her forehead bowed down, and with her own hands to open up her bottom to offer up the maidenhead of her dainty, crinkly, pink-velvety asshole to the prodding and perforation of his massive whang. Margaret had indignantly refused, saying, "Mr. Elwell, I am your wife and I will do what I must do as my duty, but I would rather die than be party to these filthy depravities, and there is nowhere even in the Bible which says that a wife must suffer such disgusting treatment from her husband."
That defiant speech had cost her thirty lashes of the cowhide across her naked bottom, for he had bound her wrists to the bedpost and, standing over her in his boots and underwear, his prick bobbing with every stroke, applied the cowhide viciously over the ivory hillocks of her writhing bare bottom. When she still would not submit to this odious sacrifice, he had uncorded her wrists only to force her to kneel facing him and with her wrists drawn behind her head and again bound to the bedpost. Then the cowhide had cracked against her jutting ivory titties, till her shrieks and prayers for mercy had rung through the cabin and until her head swept forward in a merciful swoon.
He had revived her by dumping a bucket of water over her, then had flung her down on the bed and while she lay still, half unconscious, had fucked her mercilessly. But there had been no satisfaction for him even in that, for she had lain limp and unresponding throughout it all.
And so, perhaps of all the eigtheen captives stolen from the Eastland wagon train, Margaret Elwell most of all resigned herself to that abduction and told herself that perhaps she should be grateful to be thus taken from the monster who was her husband....
And as fate decreed, it was Margaret Elwell herself who was chosen to be the next victim. Running Bear, roaring with ruttish laughter at the lascivious squirmings of the naked aunt and niece, had indicated that their destiny would be put off until several of the other captives had run the gantlet. The first gantlet would be composed of braves, all naked except for breechclouts, their painted bodies glistening in the lights of the flickering fires which fringed this huge circle. A hundred braves, divided into two opposite rows of fifty, awaited the arrival of the next victim from the wigwam where all the Eastland train captives had been incarcerated. In their hands, they carried peeled hickory switches or sycamore withes, though some had knotted cudgels and others thorny branches from the Northern pine and fir trees which grew in such abundance in this rugged land.
Running Bear explained the terms under which the next two victims would run this gantlet; each female would be stripped naked but unbound. If she reached the end of the line, she might have her freedom, but that freedom would not mean liberation from the Cheyenne: no, she would then be permitted to chose a warrior of her own volition, for she would have won the right to such an honorable mating by her own courage. If she could not complete that terrible run through the double line of warriors but begged for mercy, she would be the slave, not the squaw of the man who had last struck her. If on the other hand, she failed to complete the course and did not cry for mercy, but fell unconscious or weeping or wounded, she would be turned over to the squaws as their slave and thing, to do with as they would, and should be fucked only by those old men or the cripples or the young braves who wore no feathers in their tribal headband.
A roar of approval went up at this wise judgment from the ugly squat chief of the renegades. Monara, who spoke English passably well, was charged with the mission of going to the wigwam to select two paleface captives to run this gantlet and to explain to them the terms under which they must take that perilous course.
As she pushed aside the flaps of the huge wigwam and entered, her crafty eyes studied the huddling and sobbing victims. But Margaret Elwell sat there, her hands bound behind her back, wearing only the nightshift in which she had been taken.
"You first, you come," Monara pointed a lean finger at the young woman. With a long sigh, Margaret Elwell rose, holding her head high, squaring her shoulders. Yes, death would be infinitely preferable to going back to sadistic husband. She only could pray that it would be swift and that she wouldn't be tied to the torture stake and perhaps burned alive. Perhaps, if she discovered that that was going to be her fate, she could try to run, to escape, and then, perhaps an Indian arrow would give her the merciful release for which she prayed.
Monara, without a sign on her passive, leathery face, silently approved the courageous bearing of this paleface captive. Ayyyeee, she had the courage of a Cheyenne in so conducting herself. That was good. Perhaps this one was worthy to become the bride of one of Running Bear's fine warriors. And so, out of grudging respect for this silent resignation and courage, Monara did not use her sycamore switch on the magnificent, thinly clad body which moved quickly and almost eagerly out of the flaps of the wigwam and walked onward, head still held high, towards the circle which opened for her. The jeers of the squaws, the grunts of the warriors who studied her magnificent physique, greeted her.
Monara now put her hand to the neck of Margaret's nightshirt and ripped it from her creamy body. A shout of admiration and lust rose from the waiting braves in that double line, and Margaret closed her eyes and bit her lips, her cheeks burning with the blush of outraged modestry. Nevertheless, she stood there proudly, her shoulders straight, her head high, making no attempt to shield the thickly furred triangle of her tempting twat. And only the agitated rise and fall of her magnificent titties proclaimed her distress at being thus revealed to all these hostile eyes.
Monara nodded with satisfaction. Yes, this paleface had much courage. She would help her all she could. And so, as she took a knife and began to cut the rawhide thongh which bound Margaret's wrists, she muttered, "See buffalo fat in bowl there near great Chief Running Bear? You run, take some, rub it all over. Then you run gantlet fast, very fast Some braves try catch you, hold you, beat you hard. Fat make their hands slip, you savvy?"
"Yes. Thank you. G-God bless you," Margaret murmured faintly as she felt her wrists free. The clay bowl which Monara had indicated rested on the ground a few feet away from the squat chief of the Cheyennes. Margaret suddenly ran to it, stooped and plunged her hands into the greasy, rancid and stinking stuff. Straightening, she began to rub it over her thighs and belly, her haunches and sides, reaching back to her shoulders, then around her back and buttocks. An excited buzz of conversation, of impatient shouts from the double row of warriors broke out. But Running Bear held up his hand, grinning crookedly. He too could admire courage. The paleface should have her cusu united with the goni of a brave warrior. Ayee, this one was good to look upon. If it had not been for the tribal law, he would want to prufu her himself. Now he lifted his hand, his signal that the gantlet was to commence.
Monara cackled her pleasure at the quick comprehension of the naked brunette. "Good, you do good. Now, you see braves waiting for you? You run very fast, head down, keep straight ahead. Mebbe you not get hurt much. Cheyenne like courage, even when paleface show it. You go now!"
She put her hand to Margaret's bottom and gave the young woman a shove. Margaret took a deep breath, then suddenly sprinted like an athlete, head down, fists at her sides, and entered between the double row as a roar of acclaim went up from the assemblage.
Taken by surprise at the swiftness of their victim, the first three or four warriors failed to slash at her with their switches and clubs, and she had gone past nearly five men on each side before the first whistling cut of a sycamore withe circled round her slim waist like a searing brand of red hot fire. She uttered a startled cry, twisted her body to one side and, panting, her titties bobbing with each rapid bound, lunged forward. Here and there the switches fell, a cudgel glazed the edge of her right hip, a thorny branch slashed across one of her calves and drew an agonized gasp from her clenched lips. The ground was hard and firm, sure to her footing. Her magnificent white body gleamed in the firelight, the jouncy cheeks of her round voluptuous ass undulating and rolling from side to side as her long round thighs carried her on. Halfway through the line, two hickory switches cracked over her shoulders and middle back, drawing strident cries of pain, and though she stumbled momentarily, Margaret Elwell recovered herself and, panting, lunged onward.
To protect her face from the blows, she had now lifted her clenched fists to the sides of her heads to protect her eyes. She leaned forward more to diminish her body but at the same time she jutted out the tempting curves of her juicy naked ass, and half a dozen stinging cuts from birch and sycamore and hickory switches leaped over those luscious globes, imprinting angry, blazing red wheels and making her hips jerk and twist in the most libidinous way. Then a cry went up; one of the warriors, a scarfaced brave in his thirties, had thrust his cudgle between her legs, and Margaret Elwell lost her footing and fell full length on the ground. Instantly the switches rose and slashed down at her defenseless nakedness. Gritting her teeth, groaning in pain under the fiery assault of the lashings, she managed nonetheless to get to her knees, and then, suddenly summoning all her energy, leaped forward and continued her sprint.
She was three-quarters of the way past now, and the braves who awaited her, watching her jiggling titties and the black furry thatch between her supple round creamy thighs, felt admiration for her. Their blows fell lightly over her back and buttocks, and at last she was beyond them. She sank down on her hands and knees, her head bowed, gulping in the air. The fiery welts all over her naked flesh throbbed cruelly. But the ordeal was over; she had won the right to chose her own savage mate.
Rising from his place of honor, Running Bear strode to the end of that line and, plunging his left hand into the streaming curls of the croutching naked brunette, jerked back her head and stared down at her with a lewd grin: "You pick man now, quick. He prufu you good, we all see! Mebbe you give him papoose damn quick. You pick man now!"
Margaret Elwell knew that she must obey and that the alternative would be far more dreadful. She nodded, and Running Bear relaxed his grip of her tumbled red hair. Slowly she staggered to her feet. The braves lifted their weapons and uttered a roar of approval. Then they began to make obscene gestures at her. The two men who were now at the very front tore off their breechclouts to exhibit their massive pricks in violent erection, gesturing to them as if to tell her that each of them would fuck her properly if she would but chose.
Running Bear gave her a shove, "You go down line. You pick man damn quick!" And so, naked, her body burning from the darkening welts which marred the perfect alabaster of her back and thighs and asscheeks, Margaret Elwell stumbled slowly down that gantlet of painted, almost naked, Cheyenne warriors. Halfway through the line she paused. The face of the man to her left seemed least cruel and hideous. He was middleaged, about forty, but sturdy and tall, and his headband had four eagle feathers painted red and black, denoting his courage in battle. She could not know that he had had but one squaw for fifteen years, who had been buried in the hill to the north only a month ago. His name was Komiss. And his eyes were gentle as he stared upon her naked body. In his hand he held a thin sycamore switch. Beyond her, the braves she had not yet inspected sent up an angry clamor, each vying with the other to outshout his neighbor and win the favor of this beautiful naked paleface squaw.
Margaret put her left hand on the shoulder of the sturdy Cheyenne warrior. "This one," she said in a trembling voice that fought for steadiness.
Running Bear, who had followed her down that line, grunted his approval: "You make good choice, paleface. Komiss brave warrior, have no squaw. She die a moon ago. Now, you his squaw, before all crowd he prufu your cusu. No warrior but Komiss then can prufu you. You do it with him now!"
Margaret Elwell did not understand the Indian words for cunt and fuck and prick, but she did understand from the broken English of the chief that she was to be the wife of this man she had chosen of her own accord. Koomiss took her by the wrists and led her down the double line, which widened even more to give the two of them room. He led her then to the huge circle in the center of which poor Beatrice and Mildred still dangled, whimpering and sobbing in the aftermath of their atrocious whipping which had drawn them to the most obscene performance of hot girlgush.
Komiss spoke no English, but he saw by the widened eyes and the questioning, anxious look of this naked paleface squaw that she was in doubt as to what was now expected of her.
Monara still stood near the pole with its crossbeam from which sagged the tethered bodies of the lovely niece and aunt. He knew that she spoke this paleface tongue and he had seen her talk to the young paleface before she had run the gantlet. In Cheyenne he said to Monara, "You know that I must do, Monara, but this one not know. Tell her, she very brave, she make good squaw for Komiss. She let me prufu her so all see she accept my goni as her man. Then nobody hurt her, you tell her that."
He released Margaret's wrists and stepped back, putting his hands to the thongs which bound his breechclout between his buttocks and formed a pouch of hide over his prick. It fell, and he was naked in his moccasins and his cock had already begun to harden and prod with desire for the sleek ivoryskinned nakedness of Margaret Elivell's beautiful, switch-welted body.
Margaret stood, her fists clenched, tears of pain in her eyes from her thrashing, but grimly determined to show no sign of pain or cowardice before these savages. Intuitively, she had guessed the very way to win their respect and to save herself from hideous degredation and bondage. Monara whispered into her ear, "Chief say you take Komiss now, then you his squaw. But all must see you do fuck-fuck with him. It's Cheyenne law. You savvy?"
At last Margaret understood the obscene and pub lie spectacle that she must now give of herself ... to let herself be ravished by this naked Indian before all those eyes. She trembled and a furious blush rose on her cheeks, her temples, even to her dainty earlobes. Her bottom throbbed furiously from the switching she had taken during that run for freedom. Curiously, it reminded her of those hellish nights alone in the cabin in Joplin with her brutal husband because he had never ... done it ... without first whipping her. And yet now, strangely, inexplicably, the feeling was different. There was a curious throbbing in her loins, along her inner thighs. Even the nipples of her titties seemed to have hardened and to be aching, though they had not been touched during her run through the gantlet.
Well, let it be so. At least she was free of that horrible animal. A naked Indian could be no more vicious, no more depraved than Theodore Elwell. Let it be so, and let it be over quickly.
"I-I'm ready. What must I do?" she whispered to Monara.
"You make Chief Running Bear happy, you show you thank him he not kill you. You go kneel before great chief and bow your head down to ground three times. Then you lie down right here, open legs and arms for Komiss. Then he fuck-fuck you good. You his squaw for sure."
Margaret Elwell shuddered. And then, with tremendous courage, she drew a long breath and turned to Running Bear, then sank down on her knees and bowed her head to the ground three times. A wondering murmur of approval rose from the watching braves, even the hostile squaws. Then she rose, and went back to where Komiss stood, hands on hips, legs parted, his thick heavy prick thrust out boldly from his crotch, and she saw with a curious fascination the thick gnarled hairy balls contracting and twitching in the fierce animal rut of his desire for her. Yet his body was cleaner, sturdier, less hairy than her husband's. And this was done to save her life; she had to surrender herself.
She sank down on her knees on the ground then, and with a feline movement, rolled onto her back, parting her thighs and spreading her arms in cross. It was the symbol of sacrifice by which she acknowledged the right of Komiss to thrust his massive prick deep into her cunthole, the primitive ritual by which she took a Cheyenne husband with every lordly right over all her treasures of virgin asshole and unresponsive and hence, in a symbolic sense, virgin cunt also.
She closed her eyes, stiffening herself, and the muscles of her inner thighs twitched violently in an instinct of hopeless defense. She told herself that she would endure it to the bitter end because it was the only to save her life, and that at least she would be spared the brutality of her rightful husband.
Komiss sank down on his knees, steadying the beautiful naked captive. His eyes dwelt on the shud-deringly rising and falling globes of her beautiful titties, on the sleek mound of her naked belly with its exquisitely provocative wide, shallow navel-nook, and then on the thicket of glossy black curls which covered the lips of her palpitating cunthole. His hands wonderingly brushed over her flanks and sides, glided round to her waist and thence upwards at last to cup the heaving turetts of her ivory bubbies. Margaret turned her face to one side, digging her nails into her palms, her toes curling and rubbing together in her anticipation of the hideous moment when she would feel that hard implacable root of a man's turgid prick plunge itself ruthlessly and painfully into the depths of her tenderest, most intimate channel.
Her body glistened with the buffalo fat which she had rubbed upon herself, and the firelight danced over her ivory nakedness. A hush had come over the spectators now, and only the sounds of the whimpering of Beatrice and Mildred rose in that fascinated circle.
Komiss had put his left hand on one of her panting titties while his right glided down her belly, her abdomen, and then at last to the thick forest of lovecurls which shielded her quivering quim. She uttered a faint gasp, "Please-please hurry-do it to me and get it over with, for God's sake!"
Komiss did not understand the words, but he sensed her meaning. For all his primitive and elemental nature, he was by comparison with the rest of the Cheyennes given to compassion and he had loved his dead wife and mourned her.
This was not the time for wooing, as he would do a maiden he yearned to take as his squaw. This must be done fiercely and manfully before the chief and all the tribe. If he did not wish to hurt this brave paleface squaw. There would be nights in his teepee when he could show her that his goni could give pleasure, even if it would not be pleasure for her now.
His fingers pried under the thick curls of Margaret's cunthole, touching the pink delicate twitching lips of her slit, and a shivering gasp exuded from her and her heels dug into the hard ground as she awaited the imminent moment of her fucking.
Then he stretched himself out upon her, his big hard cock with its somewhat elongated head cramming against the tangles and tendrils of her pussy-fur. His sinewy fingers gripped her by the shoulders, almost painfully, and she was glad of it, for that pain distracted her from what was going to be done so shamefully and obscenely to her female parts.
She closed her eyes very tightly, she took a deep breath, and then she felt his cockhead prod between the lips of her cunt and enter her sheath. Her body stiffened, for this was not the way her husband had fucked her. Slowly, massively, his ramrod delved deep into her channel, distending the walls of her quim apart, rubbing the tender secret crannies of her vagina. On, on, on, till at last she felt herself stuffed up by him, engorged with his mighty ramrod, penetrated to the very matrix by his hot throbbing prick.
Then he began to fuck her. Vigorously and with measured cadence, in and out, without once withdrawing the tip of his prick from the brink of her twitching cuntlips. Margaret's titties began to rise and fall, flattened down by his heaving chest. Her face turned to the other side, her nostrils dilating. A stifled moan escaped her as she felt his tool gouge to the very roots, grinding his hairs to hers, deeper and deeper until her very body seemed to be vitalized and responsive to the hard root of his manhood, till all her pulsating and tingling sensations centered within her cunthole and the massive object that was chafing and rubbing and gouging into it.
Her head twisted to the other side now and for an instant her eyes opened, glassy and dilated. Her palms were wet with her own agony-sweat and her nails scored them fiercely. Komiss, stretched out over her, held her fiercely and possessively, yet proudly, by her bare dimpled creamy shoulders. His face was a mask of concentration, he did not kiss, because it was not the custom of the Cheyenne warrior to act like a paleface papoose. But secretely he was overjoyed that she had chosen him of all the warriors. Ayeee, but she was tight and hot in her cusu! She made his goni ache as if to shoot forth all his sap and yet he knew he must not till the final moment. He drew himself out to the very bink of her twat. Felt her squirm under him, then drove back slowly and inexorably until he was at oneness with her. The muscles of her thighs and calves rippled and flexed uncontrollably now. Her naked, welted, burning bottom began to squirm against the hard cold ground. Another long gouging thrust which sent his shaft inside her narrow, quaking cuntsheath to his balls and Margaret Elwell arched and groaned. For the first time in two years, in a loveless, odious marriage, she had begun to feel the stirrings of womanhood and of lust inside her tender cunthole.
But Komiss did not have the bull-like endurance of a younger brave like Black Wolf or Tanokee. He felt his gism burning in his balls and along the canal that led to the lips of his thrusting prick, feverishly goading him into shooting forth all his essence deep into this tight warm clamping cusu. He began to quicken his digs inside Margaret Elwall's pussy. And now, gasping and whimpering, oblivious to the faces that stared at her from all around that infernal circle, her eyes wide and startled by the tumult of unknown sensations that had begun to seethe within her innermost recesses, she instinctively flung her arms round his shoulders and arched herself to meet his long deep quickened prickthrusts.
A shout of indecent acclaim at this sign of acceptance by the paleface squaw rang out from the watching warriors. Now Komiss had reached the very culmination of his urge to fuck; with long ferocious thrusts one after the other he dug his way along that quaking channel, and Margaret's bottom now began to buck and weave and twist and gyrate, until finally she clamped her legs around his coppery, muscular calves and, turning her face to one side, her eyes wide and staring, uttered a sobbing cry: "Oh my God, oh my God, what are you doing to me-ohhh-ahhhhh!"
At that precise moment Komiss emitted a bellow of frenzy; his body stiffened, and then the volcanic lava of his gism burst along the channelway of Margaret Elwell's quaking cunt. She unleashed all the damned-up feverish lust that was latent within her, lust which her sadistic husband had longed to waken and yet had never once achieved.
Madly, in the throes of animal ecstasy, rutting like the savage who was mounted in her saddle, the beautiful ravenhaired youg wife of Theodore Elwell crossed her calves over Komiss's naked bottom and ground herself to him, her body jerking and twisting like an eel on a harpoon as she gave down her first woman-gush in ecstatic climax.
CHAPTER NINE
It was now the turn of a second captive to run the gantlet. Monara was sent to the wigwam where the other paleface captives still huddled in their terror of the unknown. Monara chose Betty Dorson, the twenty-year-old dark-brownhaired beauty who, like Margaret, was eagerly courageous to her fate; though unlike Margaret, she was not a virgin. "You come, you!" Monara declared. Betty Dorson rose. She stared at Monara as if trying to read her destiny on the inscrutable face of the mature Indian squaw of Running Bear. "What-what are they going to do?" she murmured, her lips dry and trembling. "Tell me, so I can know and be brave."
Monara took her by her bound wrists and made her stoop and get out of the wigwam. Then, because she sensed that this paleface had as much spirit as Margeret, she swiftly in her broken English told Betty Darson what would be expected of her.
The beautiful brownette's hazel eyes widen, and then a furious blush redden her carnation-tinted rounded dimple cheeks. She had been captured before she had had a chance to undress for bed the night before; she wore two petticoats over her pan-taletts, and a camisole which covered her pert, small but delightfully apple-rounded titties, shoes and stockings.
She was led out to the circle, and Running Bear asked his oldest wife if the paleface had been instructed as to her obligations. Monara made an affirmative sign; then, at her husband's bidding, she lashed the thongs bounding Betty's wrists, as she did so, she whispered, "you want brave not beat you hard, you show you not afraid. You take off clothes now, get all naked for gantlet yourself. I let you do it, they think you very brave, savvy?"
Betty's eyes had beheld the double row of half naked warriors awaiting her with switches and clubs and thorney branches, and she had shivered, in spite of her courage. Her mother had often taken a strap to her beautiful ovalshaped bare ass until, old as she was, she had had to cry. Those awful switches and branches would sting a great deal more than a slipper or strap. And since she knew that she was going to have to choose a man or else be a slave and given over to the sadistic vindictiveness of the old squaws, she wisely decided to win mercy by showing herself ready to submit at once.
Impatient at the delay because the captive's beauty made his prick throb with lust, Running Bear made an angry sign to Monara to prepare the paleface. But Betty Dorson calmly unbuttoned her camisole and took it off her torso. A loud gasp from the spectators greeted this unexpected gesture by their victim as her small delicious apple-rounded titties surged out, rising and falling with her quicken breathing. She blushed, bit her lips, and then untied the strings of each petticoat in turn, letting them slither down to the ground, until she stood only in her pantalettes, stockings, and shoes. Now a growing roar of approval encouraged her. She took another deep breathe, and began to unfasten the pantalettes, wriggling out of them and letting them flounce upon her ankles. A clamorous shout of lustful pleasure approved this heroic act of self-sacrifice. The eyes of the warriors glittered with rut as they fixed on the thick shaggy triangular fleece of dark brown pussy hair which completely covered Betty Darson's delicious cunthole. She had long willowy shapely thighs and sleek, highset calves. With the flickering light of the fires tinting her body, her carnation-satiny skin rippled and flowed and shivered in the night air. The cheeks of her jouncy bottom clinched and yawned with nervous spasms. For a moment, she hesitated as to the practicality of removing her shoes and stockings, but decided against it. The ground might be uncertain, and her shoes would let her run with less miscalculation.
"You go quick, you run!" Monara hissed at her.
Betty Dorson stood there for a moment, letting all of them feast their eyes upon her nakedness. Her stocking rose just above her knees, with rolled garters holding them up. And suddenly, clutching her fist and lowing her head, she bounded forward like a frightened deer, scampering to the beginning of the double line before her executioners could realize her intent. Amused laughter came from the squaws and even from Running Bear himself. And now the switches began to sting her long shapely thighs, her saucy asscheeks, the small of her back, her tender sides, some of them even flicking out to scorch her titties, wriggling and twisting, her head still bowed, Betty ran with all of her might. But because they admired her unexpected bravado at stripping herself naked before she entered that ordeal, the Cheyenne warriors struck with a light hand, their lustful pleasure in seeing the bright pink marks of their switches on that fine smooth skin overcoming their vindictive hatred of the paleface.
She reached the end of the gantlet with a hoarse cry of relief. Running Bear strode toward her, and Monara followed him at a respectful distance.
"You brave paleface squaw, now you choose Cheyenne warrior to be your man," the chief ordered.
Betty Darson nodded, fighting to regain her breath, her beautiful small round titties rising and falling furiously. The stinging weals left by the switches made her skin prickle and the tips of her nipples were swollen; unknowingly, she was already stirred to the acceptance of the lustful destiny which captors intended for her. She walked slowly down the line, blushing at the leering looks and the hoarse unintelligible words by which her tormentors expressed their eagerness to fuck her. She went down almost the entire gantlet before she stopped and turned to her right. There was a young slim brave, his head shaved nearly bald except for a scalp lock, with a head band in which only a single white eagle's feather was thrusted. He was a stripling of nineteen, and he had won his feather by killing a bearded settler whose rifle shot had wounded him in the thigh; heedless of his wound, he had leaped upon the man and stabbed him to death, and scalped him. He had no squaw, and his name was Bartaka. His face was proud, thinlipped, and his forehead high. He grinned at her, and Betty Darson felt a tingling in her pussy, the kind she had felt in the hayloft some years ago when she had yielded her cherry. This would be her man. He was about her own age, and he did not have the brutal savage look to him that these others did. She put her hand to his naked chest, look back at Running Bear and said, "I'll take him."
"That good, Bartaka have no squaw, he make you squaw now. Now he prufu paleface quick!" the chief commanded with a grin.
With a whoop of delight, the young Cheyenne brave seized Betty the wrist and ran with her toward the circle, the beautiful brownette following, her titties bouncing and dancing, her asscheeks jingling as she tried to keep up with his long swift strides.
Bartaka pulled off his breechclout, and Betty saw a hugh long prick with elongated head, the lips of which were twitching with gism-urge. She knew the time had come. She sanked down on all fours, and rolled over onto her back, and almost before she had taken that position the naked young warrior mounted her. She uttered a gasp as she felt his hard prick gouge through the forest of her pussy-curls. And then she felt him enter her, with a single savage dig that set him in her to his balls.
With a groan, Betty Darson clamped her arms and legs around her young Indian mate, and gave herself up to the primitive and animalistic zest of hot fucking.
Her switching, which had already exacerbated her hypersensitive feminine nervous system, had acted as a kind of love potion. From the very moment he rammed himself to his balls inside, Betty Darson began to wriggle and to squirm and thrust herself up at him to receive the full onus of his digs. "Oh yes-aaah-Oh, my God-Oh, it's good-give it to me! Ooohh-aaahh-Oh God, yes, yes, do it, do it!" she panted.
And even before he could shoot his furious gismic load deep into the narrow recesses of her straining cunthole, Betty Darson's loins shuttered and quaked in the upheaval of hot girlcome.
Rolling over and over, making like dogs in heat, the naked indian and the carnation-skinned paleface brownette fucked before the amused circle of the Cheyennes.
CHAPTER TEN
It was dawn after the second hideous night which the captives from the Eastland wagon train had endured, bound and huddling together in the big wigman by the edge of the renegade Cheyenne camp ... seeing their number pitilessly reduced from eighteen to nine, .the torturing suspense and throat-choking agony of waiting those long hours and hearing the warwhoops and jeers and lustful shouts outside the wigwam and wondering what was happening-for the captives taken out to the clearing or the gantlet did not return to the wigwam of the remaining prisoners ... wondering who would be next when one of those redskin squaws opened the flaps of the crude door and peered inside to scrutinize their faces and select the next for the infernal orgies ... would it be death, or torture, mutilation or a slow lingering agony for the sport of these murderous devils who had stolen them from the Eastland wagon train?
After Mary Eastland and Sue Hames had been buggered and fucked by the gaunt wolf-dog Loka and then by the line of cripples and old braves whose prize they had become, both fainting naked captives were taken to a teepee at the opposite end of the camp. They, with Laura Fairfield, would be doomed as Lodly slaves, to serve the ancient squaws in the most menial tasks, subject to flogging or worse if they were lax or disobedient or rebellious, Laura, indeed, all this day long before the events of the second night which we have just related, had begun her servitude. The goldenhaired, haughty 19-year-old beauty, wearing only a short skirt, of fawn hide and a narrow jacket with beads that scarcely hid the juicy just of her big ripe closely spaced pinksheened titties, her feet bare and scratched by the gravel and harsh earth, had been wakened shortly after the dawn which had preceded this one, and two old crones had prodded her with cudgels, urged her to her feet, then driven her out to a stream with heavy pannikins made of bark to bring water for cooking. When she had sobbingly pleaded for rest, one of the women had seized her by her golden hair, cuffed her about the face and her companion had tauntingly smacked Laura's ripe round bottomcheeks a few times with her hand, as she had once seen a white settler woman do to a child.
After the evening meal, she was led to a small teepee by one of her tormentresses, her hands bound behind her back, and shoved onto a pile of dirty stinking hides, the squaw gesturing that she should go to sleep.
But Laura Fairfield now had only one burning desire: to escape, to get somehow back to the wagon train and to tell the survivors where she and the other captives had been taken. It was plain this was a permanent camp site for the Indians, so well hidden by the bluffs and forest; hence if she could only get back to the wagon train, perhaps men with guns could stalk by night and take the murdering, cruel redskin beasts by surprise and avenge her, yes, and the others she had seen so hideously tortured ... like Beatrice Brandt and Mildred Munson.
She jerked at her bound wrists. The rawhide thong was damp, and the squaw had not inspected it too carefully, also believing that in Laura's cringing terror and exhaustion-ayee, Loka had prufued that paleface cusu and ardah well last night!-the prisoner would not even dream of attempting to escape.
She rolled onto her side, squirming towards the temntpole of the teepee; she rubbed her wrists against this sturdy beam, and the rawhide thong began to slip and give a little. Exultantly, her heart pounding, Laura tugged and jerked with all her might ... the thong slipped off, and she was free!
Outside, she could hear the warwhoops, the cries, the hoawls of glee as new victims were being dragged into the clearing and set to torture. Perhaps everyone was there watching ... as they had last night when ... when that filthy, horrible animal had ... had ... ohh, the very thought made her womb cum wit loathing!
Her back still'burned and twinked from the claw marks of the hideous brute; oh God, she was sullied forever, no decent man would ever want her to wife, not when he knew that an animal had ... had gone into her ...'s ... spot ... an....
But this was no time for tears. Cautiously, she crawled to the flaps of the teepee, and, holding her breath, drew a corner to one side, peered out into the black night. As she did, a roar of acclaim came from the spectators over at the clearing ... they were preparing for the second night of tortures and fucking, at which the nine remaining prisoners would meet their fate, as she had met hers last night. The warrior whose slave she was to become-Monara had told her that this morning, coming by at the pause for the noontime meal of maize and water; the compassionate oldest wife of Running Bear had shaken her head to see Laura's dissheveled golden hair, the marks of the switch on her bare legs, the painful, awkward way the white captive limped, and had said gently, "You be brave, you live. Chief say, you be slave to women for a moon, then the warrior claim you. Not as his squaw, for Loka has had you, and this warrior is honored at the council fire, he lose face if he take you for squaw. Do you lie with him on his blanket when he wishes it at night, during day you be slave-" that sullen-faced brute was nowhere in sight. Oh God, give her strength, Laura prayed as she crawled out of the teepee.
Luck was with her. It was dark near the teepee, no warrior or squaw guarded it. For all were agog with impatience to see the entertainment Running Bear would offer this night. There would be nine more paleface squaws to be divided upon among those warriors who were without a mate for their blankets. Even the brave whose slut-bitch Laura was ordained to become was watching the spectacle.
She made her way into a clump of bushes, her heart pounding wildly. Then, drawing a long breath, crouching low, she ran as she had never run before, in the direction she supposed to be that whence she had been brought by her redskin captors. She did not know it, but she was going in exactly the opposite direction-and yet destiny would guide her. Laura Fairfield, pampered, insolent virgin, now a dishonored slave-bitch who had been mated with an Indian hunting wolf-dog, was to save the prisoners who were in the hands of the pitiess Cheyenne!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Joanne Curtis was the first victim of this second night of triumphant celebration over the Eastland wagon train. Jetoorah led her out, defiant, head high, her nightshift ripped at the bodice to expose the inner curves of magnificent ripe, round hard titties set close together on her tawny chest. Joanne was twenty-nine, had been married four years to Steven Curtis, a schoolteacher back in Joplin who, a dozen years older than his wife, had realized the emptiness of his life and was pitifully eager to head West where there was gold for the mining. Joanne hadn't complained too much. She'd loved Steven because he was a gentleman, so different from those who'd used to pinch her bottom or slide their hands down her bodice when she'd worked in the Busby Tavern. Joanne had been an orphan born out of wedlock, and made an indentured servant to the Busbys, old Ebenezer and his cranky, spiteful wife Kediah. She'd had the strap or the switch from old Mrs. Busby from the day she was ten and first indentured. And, developing into a superbly ripe and fuckable young girl, she had been forced by scrawny old Ebenezer under threat of a cowhiding or worse to creep into bed with him the day after her seventeenth birthday. And she had had to accommodate him whenever he felt the urge, which, thank God, had been less and less frequent with the advancing years.
And then Steven Curtis had seen her outside the tavern one fine spring day, polishing the brass handle on the log door, and talked gently to her, and had bought her off at three hundred dollars. She'd been twenty-five then, and she'd wept in secret because she knew she'd been little more than a whore to old Ebenezer, who was then past sixty. His wife still strapped her, even at that advanced age, when she found fault with Joanne's chores.
So Joanne had gone to bed with her husband in trembling gratitude. Ready to give him the best fucking this side of the Mississippi and then some, to thank him for taking her out of bondage to the Busbys. But he'd been a weakling, no real man at all; a few minutes of shoving in his cock and then he'd spurt it off and sag on her and mumble apologies. And yet, she couldn't ever be forgetting his kindness and book learning and teaching her to read and write at her advanced age. and giving her a home. So, she hadn't minded when he'd said last spring he was tired of trying to reason with stupid brats who would never amount to much more than tavern loafers or farmers or storekeepers. Maybe, she'd thought, a change of scene would help make him more of a man. For God, how she wanted to be fucked!
Ebenezer Busby hadn't been much better, so far as self control and holding back his spunk till a girl's dander got raised up, for that matter. But at least he'd kept trying, which was more than she could really say for Steven. Maybe, as Ebenezer had lecherously accused her, she got "your hot twat from your bitch of a mother who bore you as a bastard, Joanne girl. For squawk all you like, I can tell you like feeling my prick burrow all the way down in that hot tight little fuzzy nest you've got between those juicy big round legs."
It was true, even though she wept to herself when Busby had left her bed to go back to his snoring old crone of a Kediah. Joanne was hot for fucking, but, with Steven, she knew she didn't dare look at any other man, even though he wasn't much good to her of a warm summer night when the flesh of her inner thighs was crawling and her pussy lips pouting and itching for some big hard whang to drive clean through and come out of her honeyhole.
So when they led her out before Chief Running Bear, and the squat ugly leader of the Cheyennes stared at her with his beady eyes, she threw back her head and exclaimed scornfully, "Look all you want, you dirty savage, you never saw anything as good as that in all your born days!"
He did not comprehend her, naturally, so he summoned young Latakee, who had brought him great pride and the plaudits of his warriors from last night, the way she had had the two paleface women tied together from the crossbeam and then the two others over the spit, ayee, what sights those had born! "What paleface say?" he demanded of the supple teenager. Latokee shrugged and told him in Cheyenne, "I do not understand every word, but I think it is that she is better to profu than any of the squaws in the tribe!"
"Ugh! She says that, does she? Tell her, she shall feel the goni of every warrior of my tribe till she asks mercy-and then she shall feel the switch and be mated with Loka!"
Latakee nodded, eyes shining with evil joy. She walked insolently up to Joanne, who stood with Jetoorah behind her holding her bound wrists and the scruff of her neck, and said in her clumsy English, "Chief say, you fuck-fuck with all warriors, when you want fuck-fuck stop, you say! Then Chief punish you for insult to us. We Cheyenne squaws make warriors happy always on blanket."
She then whispered to Jetoorah, who, with Kootah, dragged Joanne into the clearing. This night, two stakes had been driven into the earth, about four feet apart. Latakee followed and when the two older squaws turned Joanne to face Running Bear and the circle of warriors, the young Indian girl ripped off Joanne's nightshift, and she stood stark naked amid a roar of approval.
She was of medium height, her auburn hair drawn from the top of her head and back down into a thick gathered sheaf which she had bound with a red ribbon. That ribbon was a symbol of her freedom; Ebenezer Busby, when he had come to fuck her the last night before she left her indenture and went to marry Steven, had given her that pretty as a token of his appreciation, and he had guffawed as he settled himself over her and shoved his stiff old cock into her furry slit, "Wal, gal, guess this is 'bout the last time I'll be pokin' your twat, so let's make it a humdinger, eh? That Steve Curtis, now, if he don't know how to service a hot-watted piece like you, Joanne, you just tell him to see old Ebenezer Busby. I'll tell him how you buck and jerk your ass when you feel me good in your hotbox, ha ha ha!"
So that ribbon reminded her of her final sacrifice.
But her big full closely set bubbies with their narrow dark brownish-coral circles and the plump crinkly tidbits in their centers, the dainty-dimpled goblet of her belly, the full solid womanly thighs and shapely round calves, the juicy bigcheeked round tightly set posterior, and the shaggy ringlets covering her cunt, made naked Joanne Curtis a mouthwatering and prickhardening prize; and the warriors shouted their desire for her, as soon as Snapping Turtle had announced to them the wise decision of mighty Running Bear!
A spike had been driven into the top of each stake, and Joanne's wrists were tightly bound with rawhide thongs which in turn were looped round the head of the spike and then redoubled on the stake itself. Kootah and Jetoorah now squatted down, each taking hold of one of Joanne's shapely bare ankles, and bound them with other thongs and then round the post, thereby straddling the naked young matron to extreme and gaping the plump mouth of her twat, scarcely perceived through the forest of thick dark auburn cunt curls.
Arms stretched out on either side of her in cross, thighs hugely spread, naked in all her lush, mature young beauty, she awaited her ordeal ... which, in our modern, vulgar time, could best be characterized as being a "gangshag"!
A single line of strapping young warriors faced her, all of them having stripped off their breech-clouts. She sucked in her breath, eyes widening, at the realization of what awaited her. But proudly her head was held high; her shoulders straightened back, which projected out the juicy melons of her beautiful firm titties, unmarried, unsagging, never having suckled a child.
Running Bear raided his hand. A shout rose as the first brave in that fucking line trotted forward, brandishing a tomahawk, his big stiff inflamed prick jiggling and bobbing in the air as he approached the naked captive at her stakes. Joanne's hazel eyes widened at the sight of his organ. It was at least eight inches in length, with elongated, narrower head, so that the meatus looked as if it had been joined separately to the thick, dark-veined shaft. His balls were big. heavy, hairy, laden with copious spunk, and they danced and jiggled obscenely as he came towards the stakes.
To taunt and agonize the naked paleface captive, the young brave circled behind her, let out a hideous whoop that drew an echoing stifled gasp of surprise from Joanne Curtis, and then laid the cold blade of the tomahawk against her naked ass.
She stiffened, then exclaimed in a hoarse voice, "Go ahead and kill me, you dirty redskinned coward you!"
Her courageous demeanor, while it would not spare her from this exhausting orgy of mass rape, would at least save her life. The warrior came back round the stakes to face her, lifted the tomahawk above her head. She stared at him defiantly, even though she was visibly trembling; the night air had turned chill, and the traction on her thighs and arms, the balance of her naked body on the edge of her bare heels was an ordeal in itself.
With another whoop the warrior flashed his weapon down past her face, and Joanne closed her eyes but did not stir. Lifting it again, he flung it down against the earth near her right foot, burying it in the hard ground. Then, with a grunt of lust, he cupped the ripe hard gourds of her swelling titties, and, stepping against her, thrust his big long prick, without more ado or any preliminaries, into the shaggy-fleeced crack between her yawning thighs.
Joanne Curtis bit her lips; it had been fully three weeks since Steven had last fucked her, and then in the dark, his nightshift on and hers on too, for he was prudishly shy almost to the point of morbidity, and he had even sometimes muttered words of apology for having "used" her after he had clambered off her unsatisfied, squirming body, having dribbled out his seed much too soon once he had felt himself lodged in that snug, warm, humid cavern.
Thus her cuntlips were dry, there was no amorous lubrication to aid her in this first assault. She bit her lower lip as she felt the Cheyenne's cockhead pry between the plump pink lips of her twat, then steeled herself as he grunted again with pleasure and crammed himself forward with a single mighty heave of his sinewy ass. His cockrod dug along her sheath until he was imbedded, hairs to hairs. His wiry fingers' squeezed her titties violently, painfully, and she ground her teeth to stifle any outcry, not wanting to give her tormentors the least satisfaction.
It hurt her, nonetheless; the thick long weapon which harpooned her dry cunt was rampant with rut, its owner in his prime of youth and vitality, and she winced at the rasping, chafing friction of his prong along the sensitive volutes and crannies of her pussy, so seldom used to be conditioned to this kind of avid usurpation.
Now the warrior's hands left her bubbies, to grasp the cheeks of her squirming velvety bare ass, and Joann closed her eyes and gritted her teeth; the position was torture because his boring into her forced her back against the bonds that lashed round her ankles and wrists, constantly giving her the sensation of being endangered by falling backwards; and even while his fingers gouged and sank into the warm full ripe naked satiny flesh of her voluptuous, opulent ass, she had the illusion that if he suddenly withdrew his grip, she would fall.
A shuddering, lustful silence had fallen on the witnesses: they stared with avid, gleaming eyes at the panoramic tableau of a naked coppery skinned young brave glued to the straddled, standing figure of paleface squaw with arms in cross and legs hugely yawned apart, her head fallen back and turned to one side with eyes tightly shut, submitting passively to the jerking thrusts of his rutting prick burrowed to the balls inside her dry, tight cunthole.
Lips clenched, teeth ground together, Joanne Curtis compelled herself not to groan or sob, though each savege, relentlessly rapid dig of the young Cheyenne's prick was indescribable agony to her, digging as it did down the atrophied, tightened tract of her cuntsheath which had been so relatively unused as to be practically virgin.
She understood that her antagonist wanted to prove his skill and power to the rest of the tribe; that was why he held her asscheeks in a punishing, pinching grip and gouged her to the balls with each hard fast lunge of his whang. Idiotically, she wished she knew his tongue, so she might tell him that she did not bear rancor against him for this brutal rape, but only wished him to realize that she wanted to be fucked just as much as he wanted to fuck her; if only he would put a finger to the button of her twat, halt his frenetic lunges and go slowly, deeply, into her pussy, she would churn inwardly to be his eager, willing victim.
Her fucker's big hard rooting prick rasped cruelly along the tender, chafed crannies of her cuntwalls, making her jerk involuntarily each time he frammed to the balls. Her panting gasps could no longer be supressed; her head turned to the left, her eyes stILl closed, her naked tawny body gleaming with perspiration-globules.
His grunts and gasps indicated that he was nearing climax; Joanne was furious with him for having hastened this her first real fuck in many a week. It could have been so thrilling, yet it was painful because he went at her without finesse. And his hard sinewy fingers were bruising her resilient satiny ass very painfully.
Suddenly he emitted a yowl and glued himself to her. The furry thicket of her bush, which grew up as high as her lower abdomen, rubbed against his loins; she felt the drench of his bubbling, hot gismic outburst shoot deep into the recesses of her quivering quim, and then he pulled out and strode away, grinning triumphantly at his fellows.
Drops of his thick, copious spunk began to trickle down one naked thigh as Joanne Curtis groaned softly and slowly lifted her head, opening her eyes to stare at her next assailant. She told herself she was helpless to avert by one iota whatever cruelties they planned for her; thus there was no sin, even to Steven, since this was done by coercion and against her will.
The second warrior was hurrying towards her already, and she had barely time to stiffen herself for the onslaught when his hands had gripped her by an asscheek and a tittie, and. forcing his hard lean but long cock into her slot with a hard jab, he imbedded himself to his hairs against hers, and grinned cruelly into her sweating, flushed face.
He fucked her like a jackrabbit; there was not the slightest pleasure for the beautiful young matron as her ravisher dug repeatedly back and forth inside her buttered bun, and at last discharged his bubbling load, which now ran down her shaking wide-straddled thighs, and left sticky gobbets in the thick mass of her curly pussyhair.
He disengaged his limpened prick with a sticky "Plop!" and, with a mocking laugh, cuffed her across the cheek, then swaggered back to his fellows to hear their praise-while the third in line for Joanne's Cheyenne gangshagging was already hurrying to her.
He had a huge prick, monstrously thick as if bloated but with the cockhead narrow and oblong; and his balls seemed full of liquid, judging from the heavy way they sung back and forth between his lean, muscular copperyskinned thighs.
He was surly of features, with three feathers in his headband signifying his valor. He was also a sadist, for he began to mause himself by plucking sprigs of moist dark auburn bodyhair from Joanne's distended, perspiring armpits, making her wince and jerk her hips this way and that, all too conscious of her yawning cunt and the sticky gism which began to overflow and plash to the ground or down her shaking thighs.
Closing her eyes, and sucking in a deep shudder-ign breath, she rallied her strength to withstand this onslaught. Her third fucker now began to pinch and slap her juicy, velvety bare ass, then cuffed her across the mouth when he caught her eyeing him stealthily with a curl of her lips that expressed her contemptuous resignation. He muttered something in Cheyenne, cuffed her again, and then went behind her.
Her eyes widened; she tried to look back over one shoulder, but even as she did, out of the corner of her eye she saw the fourth warrior running towards her. He cupped her bubbies with both hands, and without hesitation dug his cockhead against the moist chafed outer lips of her gaping snatch; violently, he rammed himself to the hilt, his belly grinding to hers. But Joanne ignored him; her face renamed turned back over her shoulder, for the third Cheyenne was pulling open the luscious big round cheeks of her tawny sheened naked ass and digging the tip of his prick against her contracting virgin asshole!
"Oh not in there, oh please, not in there!" she heard herself cry out hoarsely. Then she groaned, for the man in front had drown back to the brink of her quim, then lunged himself to the roots ... and at the same moment, the man behind her was prodding the elongted hot gouging tip of his prong against the contracting portals of her virgin honeycavern. She tried to arch forward, but that was impossible; the man fucking her only grinned and tightened his fingers against her heaving round titties, and thus she could not budge, could not avert the disaster of being doubleholed!
"Oh God!" she shouted hoarsely as the warrior behind her rammed his prick ruthlessly forward, fully halfway into her brownie; she had never felt such a sensation, and the rasping, distending, scraping vigor of his prick seemed to split her apart, to create the most contradictory sensations: she had the urge to defecate, as if to expel this bestial and unnatural invader, yet at the same time a warm throbbing had commenced in her loins and asshole which blended and merged into a gradually mounting force that left her helpless. Like a puppet-doll between two energetic naked men, Joanne Curtis was thrust forward as the man buggering her lunged to the hilt; and then as she wriggled and groaned, glancing back with widened, tearblurred eyes, the brave who was fucking her-having drawn somewhat back from inside her tensing sheeth-crammed himself up to the hilt in a hard-digging poke, and then she felt the thin partition between her erotic caverns almost rent asunder and the two holes truly made one, so that all she felt and knew and lived by was hot hard rooting prick!
Now, capriciously to taunt and plague her, as well as to show her their male mastery of her weak flesh, the two warriors would simultaneously pull out till the tips of their pricks were just inside the lips of cunt and bumhole; then, even as she squirmed and tried to jerk her hips and disengage both harpoons, they would utter a shout of laughter and cram back home to the hilt inside her two throbbing channels, once again banging up against the narrow barrier that separated cunt from bumhole, drawing a convulsive jerking spasm from her teethered, straddled body as well as a sobbing groan.
But because her cunt had been flooded by these previous gismings, the sturdy prong now belaboring her vaginal sheath was somewhat eased in its burrowing to and fro; also, in route to the depths of her tingling lovechasm, the organ rubbed over her clitoris, and began to stir indefinable-and for her, new-feelings of helples agitation. Her titties rose and fell furiously, the nipples darkened and flint hard. Then they slackened their gait, and now the man fucking her commenced a furious, jerky in-and-out cadence, while the man whose prick was stretching her tight and quaking asshole to a size she would not have dreamed possible continued to brown her to the hilt with a slow, inexorably surging tempo.
Her eyes closed now, but the lids fluttered spasmodically to betray her frantic lust-tumult: for that was what it was, building cumulatively in her secret parts. Though she abominated what was being done to her and in so heinous a public exhibition, Joanne Curtis secretly realized that she was being swept to the brink of woman-rut by those two goading, gougling, scraping pricks and that there was no need to bewail her sin or her shame, since she was powerless to avert it. So, giving up the struggle of maintaining a stoic demeanor before the rows of glittering eyes that fixed on her and her ravishers, Joanne began to surrender herself, a little more each time one of those tireless pricks journeyed to its full length inside her churning cunt and asshole.
Now, as if they somehow sensed her resignation to the inevitable, her two Cheyenne "lovers" slowed themselves-which spoke greatly for their self-control at this advanced stage-and, timing their movements, they synchronized their entry, slow progression to the hilt, then he lingering withdrawal. Never before in all her life had Joanne felt such domination over her woman-flesh; a sobbing moan answered from her lips each time the brave standing cupping her heaving titties drew his prick back to the twitching, wet pink opening of her cleft, each time the man behind her retreated his whang to that lobby just inside where the sphincter muscles exert their most forceful contractions.
Now, as she writhed and jerked to and fro, directed by their pricks as if she were a marionette on strings whose movement controlled her every motion, Joanne suddenly felt a hot seething radiation surge from the bottomless pit of her womb, sending interminable spasms and flutterings all up the volutes of her quaking cunt.
At that moment, the man buggering her chose to give up the agonizing yet ecstatic battle, and with a bellow of lust, drove himself in her bunghole to the balls, whereupon his hot steaming flood of spunk swept violently down her rectal canal.
"Oh God, oh my God!" Joanne shouted, her head falling back, her eyes open now, and rolling exorbitantly in the turmoil that beset her panting nakedness. The man facing her took hold of her passion-swollen tittiebuds between thumbs and forefingers, and pinched them savagely. She emitted a stident cry of pain, and then she felt him lance her cunt with all of his shaft, which was throbbing and about to burst ... and then she felt the torrential jet of his gism lash the innermost crannies of her womb.
Her head bowed forward, her chin resting on her fucker's left shoulder; then her thighs jerked frenziedly, long rippling tremors racing up along from calves to thighs and thence into the round resilience of her bottomcheeks. Her fingernails clawed her palms, and her head flung back, eyes wild, glazed, staring, as a raucous "oh now, oh now, I'm going to burst, oh ohhh ohh Steven forgive your poor wife, she can't help it, oh God, you've killed me!"
It was the sweet momentary death of orgasm that assailed her now; annihilating all her will, her modesty, her innate sense of decency. Her body twitched, vibrated, shook and twisted this way and that, and as the spectators goggled at the sight of a paleface lustfully attaining climax just as her ravishers had done, Joanne felt the molten lava from the crater that had been her dried-up, neglected cuntsheath trickled down to the mouth of her pussy and mingle with the viscous turbulence her fucker had just shot into her twitching cunt.
The two men pulled out of her quaking holes, and the man at the head of that row of intended ravishers bounded forward with a guttural cry of impatient joy.
He was more fastidious than his fellows; squatting, he opened the swollen, pink-chafed lips of Joanne's still twitching twat, saw the gobbets of spunk which already paid such hot sticky tribute to her tight cunny-confines, then beckoned to Kootah, who hurried up with a narrow red corncob. This he thrust deep into Joanne's cunt, drew it out, and repeated the process several times, removing the greater part of the gism, before he moved behind her, and, despite her wild shriek and frenzied forward lunge to escape it, opened her bottomcheeks and "cleansed" her stickied, throbbing, chafed rectal scabbard the same way!
But the very pain and shock of this "double-holing"-which differed in that now a corncob substituted for a prick inside her narrow humid tingling asshole-was precisely what enervated and destroyed her chaste repugnance of what was being done to her. Warmblooded, ripe for bedfucking and dalliance, Joanne Curtis had been denied the release of animal passion all her married life and well before that, as an adolescent girl when the holder of her indenture of servitude had enslaved her to his lusts without once being able to lead her to response. So now, in this atrociously exhausting orgy in which she was to serve all these bigpricked, rutting Cheyenne males, she found herself drastically altered into nothing more than a body of trembling, fragile womanflesh, used and abused repeatedly till all the world of reality became only prick and prick and more prick shoved greedily and harshly into her throbbing cunt and her hitherto unprofaned bumhole.
The squeezing of her titties was gnawing pain now, coupled to the dull aching torture of her stretched, rasped corncob-impaled asshole; these two divergent assaults on her senses sharpened all the latent lust-fever in her inherently ardent nature, buy the vigorous ploughing of her wet quivering cuntsheath by the brave's massive whang drew her inevitably to kingdom come. She felt her thighs shake and flex and writhe each time he dug homeward to the hilt with a shout of "Eeewahh!" and in the jostling of her naked tethered body backwards, the corncob up her brown seemed to shift-her contracting spasming muscles agitated its position in her rectal tract-and once again her two holes felt merged into one continuous cavern dedicated now only to the obscene and primal usage to which it was being put by her savage captors!
Now his hands left her bubbies-oh thank God, she moaned to herself-but only to grip the edges of her sumptuous young hips and dig his dirty fingernails into the sweating flesh. These twinges of pain made her asscheeks jerk and contract a new, aggravating the irritating placement of the buggering corncob. Whimpering now, eyes rolling to the whites, nostrils widely flaring and clenching, Joanne Curtis did not know that her body had begun to jerk back to her ravisher at every lunging thrust of his digging cock.
Then, as she struggled, face contorted in shame at this obscene spectacle he was making of her, the Cheyenne warrior with a taunting laugh, shoved the corncob back into her tender, chafed, excoriated asshole, as far as it would go!
"Ohhh, ohh, take it out, ohh it scratches me, it tears, oh, please, please, take it out!" she wailed, throwing herhelf to and fro as far as the tethering thongs at wrists and ankles would permit.
The brave about twenty-five, with four feathers, a stalwart fighter often praised by Running Bear and whose squaw had been stolen by a raiding party of Chickishaw renegades a year ago, stark naked in moccasins and headband, face grotesquely painted, lean and strong, arrow-wound scars on his thigh and shoulder and a livid gash from a knife thrust along his left jaw, seized Joanne now by the titties, and squeezed then slowly, grinning at her to watch her maddened eyes widen and glow with agony. As she twisted and jerked, babbling hysterical, sobbing pleas to be spared, avowing shamelessly in the tumult of her ordeal: "Oh God! Do it to me, but just don't hurt me! Please, yes, yes have me! Take me, I'll not resist, but for God's dear sake, stop hurting my poor breasts!"-her ravisher jabbed at her moist swollen cuntlips with the broad plumshaped head of his stiff, dark-turgid-veined prick, and entered. With a shout, he burrowed to his balls in a violent lunge that sent poor Joanne back as far as the sturdy rawhide thongs permitted. Then he began to fuck her with a savage, vindictive fury that showed his hatred of the palefaces as well as his own angry mourning of his kidnapped squaw. Joanne's tender vaginal sheath, not used to such rough and reiterated ploughing, quaked and throbbed, while the corncob imbedded all the way up her narrow bungcanal caused her the most atrocious torment, making the muscles of her velvety round juicy naked ass clench and spasm as if in the throes of a bowel movement. Head flung back, beads of sweat glistening in her distended, bared armpits, her titties still mauled and fondled by the rapacious hands of her ravager, she shook and jerked as he thrust himself mightily and ruthlessly to and fro inside her soft twitching, tingling, throbbing cunthole! sensations culminating in her martyred cunthole began to claim their way with her.
Thus the squaws and warriors and the chief of the renegade Cheyenne saw the incredible spectacle of a handsome young white matron at the spreading stakes shoving her cunt forward as if in frantic anticipation to meet the next eviscerating thrust of her rapist's prick; saw her face contorted and flushed and turning from side to side, saw her straddled thighs shake and jerk with fitful starts and surgings, and finally, as the brave quickened his rutting tempo with mighty, rapid heaves of his muscular bare ass, heard her wDd, careening yell: "Ohhhh ohh yes, yes, now oh dear God, oh I'm bursting, ohh, take me, yes oh harder, harder, give it to me good ,oh Steven, oh my dearest, oh I wish it was you giving it to me now instead. Eeeyaa! Aiiouuooowwwwweeeeee!!!!"
As the Cheyenne warrior gushed his ferociously hot bubbling spunk to the bottom of her womb, Joanne Curtis uttered a frenzied bellow, that of an animal in the throes of unspeakable physical dures, and her titties bounded and jiggled like mounds of jelly as she glued her loins to her Indian ravisher's and felt the explosion of her own hot woman-come seep into the torrent of his own bursting spurt!
CHAPTER TWELVE
Laura Fairfield was out of breath, scratched by bushes and brambles, her heart beating so fast she feared it would stop at any moment. How far, how long she had gone since fleeing the camp of the Cheyennes, she did not know-but it had been well over an hour. And trying to throw any possible trackers off her scent-for she had been told that Indians hunted by all their senses-she had doubled back and made many circuitous maneuvers. Now she was lost, without knowledge where the Eastland train could be.
She had come into a little clearing off the woods, and there was a pathway, crooked but visible. Which way to go? She had never learned to tell direction from the North Star which burned brightly overhead. She began to sob with the frustration that welled up in her. Oh God, she just had to find them so they could save all those poor girls!
Suddenly she uttered a cry. Along the path came a horseman, with a racoon-skin cap whose tail hung down the back of his neck, and who wore a rough shirt of beaver hide and breeches of the same soft skin. He was grizzled, perhaps fifty, with shifty, eyes, broken nose and thick lips. His name was Jediah Carwood, he was despised by both Indians an whites because he was a bounty hunter and poacher and had taken a Chickishaw wife. He lived in a log cabin a dozen miles from the Cheyenne camp, and was out this evening hoping to shoot a deer. He had been captured by the Chicki-shaws fifteen years ago and was at the torture stake ready for burning when he had talked himself out of death by asking to be given the trial of a warrior and to take a squaw before he died. Jediah had killed his adversary, a stolid, brawny warrior, by breaking his back, and this had won him his life and a buxom squaw, Nantookah. Since then he had added two more squaws to his cabin, one a mere child of fourteen but who, like Latakee, was precociously talented in fucking.
"Hew now," he drawled, shoving his racoon-skin cap back from his forehead, "what's this. If this here child's eyes don't mistake him none, it's a white gal!"
"Oh, thank God you've come along," Laura Fairfield panted as she stumbled out of the bushes in which she had been crouching at the sound of oncoming horses's hooves. "You've got to help me!"
"Well now, how'd that be, little lady?" Jediah's squinty little eyes, like those of a pig, obscenely stripped the goldenhaired Cheyenne captive bare as a worm and he licked his lips with relish.
"I-I was on the Eastland wagon train on the way to California, and some of those horrible Cheyenne came at night and captured me and a lot of other girls and women and killed some of the men, and the last two nights, they-they've been doing awful things to us-I-I got away, I'm trying to get to the camp and warn them where the Indians are. Oh,'s ... sir, couldn't you take me there? Then the men could get guns and come save the others-please!"
"Wal now, might be disposed to help a little lady git back to her folks," he grinned. "Jist where is this train you been talkin' about, M'am?"
"I-I'm lost-I don't know exactly, but-but we were on the plains heading west."
"Oh, sure now, I recollect, that's the Big Fork Road all the wagons take. Think they're where you was taken from them, or might't they have gone on ahead?" ri-I don't think so-(I-I'm sure they'd be looking for us-I-for one thing, they captured Mrs. Eastland, the wife of the head of the train."
"So now, as I gits it, you want me to ride you off there'n so's you kin bring back help, that about it?"
"Y-yes, sir-I-I'd be ever so grateful-it would be a good Christian thing to do!" Laura quavered. The man's shifty little eyes were glittering as they studied her. Despite her exhaustion and fear and the remembered terror of her fucking by the Cheyenne huntjng dog Loka, Laura could not help blushing at that persistent, leering gaze.
"No doubt' t'would, little lady. Howsomeever, you jist see a man who's a born natcheral provider, out to shoot himself a deer for my squaws. Now, you wouldn't want to let a family starve, would you, little lady?" Jediah mockingly drawled.
"N ... no ...'s ... sir ... b ... but please, oh dear God, isn't it more important to have human lives than to shoot a deer? Oh, please, I'm begging you to help me!" Laura Fairfield sobbed, joining her hands in fervent prayer.
The man dismounted, tethered the bridle of his horse to the branch of a tree, and approached Laura, licking his lips. "Look now, little lady," he said hoarsely, "I jist might help you out. 'Course, now, tit for tat, you gotta do somepin nice fer me if I help you and inconvencience myself ... now ain't that right?"
Laura, who had aged into a mature woman from a pampered, haughty young girl in scarcely more than 48 hours, bit her lips and lowered her eyes; she had read in the man's beady little eyes the glittering light of rut ... she understood what that was now. "Y ... yes ...'t ... that's right's" she said in a low voice, "and-and I wDl do ... do whatever you want, if you'll just promise to help me get back to my people."
"Now that's the proper spirit, gal. Tell you what. I got a coupla squaws, they aren't too bad when the light's out on 'n they're on the blanket, but you take a nice young piece like you, little Missy, a man'd be crazy if he didn't want to see what it was like poking a tasty young twat like I know you just must have got."
Now Laura made the supreme sacrifice. Think of others for the first time in her life and not her own self, she stammered, while a furious blush suffused her tearstained cheeks, "I-I'll let you have me ... if ... if that' what you want-but only if you promise on the Bible that you'll take me back to the wagons afterwards."
"You got yourself a deal!" he excitedly gasped. "Peel off them duds now, lemme git a squint at whatcha got to offer a man that's been hiding out in this wilderness 'n don't know what pussy looks like no more!"
The goldenhaired beauty shuddered; but then, raising her face, she forced herself with magnificent bravado to unfasten the hide blouse and let the skirt crumple to the ground, and was stark naked.
Jediah whistled his delight, smacked his lips." Mmm, now, that's what I call real pussy, real choice eating stuff, that is. Now you jist hunker down while I peel down and we'll have ourselves a high old time, won't we just!"
Quickly, he divested himself of his breeches, under which he was naked, hairy, unwashed. His prickhead was broad, the lips puckering in anticipation, the short not overly long, but remarkably thick and the veins stood out again the tight-drawn skin with a blue, dark savagery.
Laura had lay down in a small grassy knoll off the path, arms at her sides, awaiting her moment of sacrifice. Tears edged from under her eyelids as Jediah strode to her, naked from the waist down, his prick bobbing as he came.
Kneeling down, he ran his calloused, dirty hands over her panting titties, "Say, there, gal, you sure got marked up plenty. Sure your old man didn't take a hickory switch to you for bein' so 'commoda-tin' to strangers out on the road, heh heh heh?"
"I ... I ... was tortured by the Cheyenne," Laura murmured dully, her eyes closed as she awaited his seizure of her naked, shivering body. "They-they tied me and had ... had ... a ... big gray horrible dog ... d ... do it to me ... I couldn't stand it any more, I ran away ... they still have a lot of girls and women there, they were starting to torture them-oh please, d-do what you want to me-but then let's hurry!"
"Sure enough, litle lady. Now you jis open your laigs real purty-ahh, that's the way,-so old Jediah can poke your little fluffy twat good'n hard-my stars, you give a poor old wilderness huntor conniption fits comin' along here outa nowhere 'n offering a good fuckin' for his services to guide you, heh heh ... mmmm, don't that feel good-can't remember when I've put my pego into a white gal's gash, not for years it's been-"
Groaning with pleasure once his cockhead had pried the swollen, twitching cuntpetals of Laura Fairfield's slit apart, Jediah flung himself over her and with a shout of rutting pleasure, drove home to the balls. Then, slipping his dirty hard hands under Laura's bruised, blotched and tender naked asscheeks, he squeezed them while he rammed to and fro into her with the speed of a man who believes he is about to enjoy his very last fuck on earth. Laura sput her arms round him, and tried to show herself cooperative, even though the nauseating stench of his hairy unbathed body almost made her faint. But he, not knowledged enough to understand her innermost feelings, properly mistook this passive surrender for pleasure, and kept asking her, each time he gouged to the root inside her cunt, "Now, don't you gotta admit this is the choicest hot fuck you ever took between your randy legs, litle miss? Ain't that good now, 'fess up!"
"Oh-y-yes-ah-ohh love me-and then-oh please, let's not waste time, I-I'll do whatever you want later, I swear I will, but just help me save them," Laura panted. She felt his stiffen, then felt the hot burst of gism down her twat. She closed her eyes. Now it was over ... and oh, dear God, let her sacrifice not have been in vain, was her prayer....
"Damn but that was a nifty poke you gomme, little miss. And I'm a man of my word, is old Jediah. So git your duds back on, and we'll mount up and try to see if we can find those settlers you're prattling about...."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Thirty men with rifles and revolvers crept slowly towards the Cheyenne camp of mighty Running Bear. It was midnight. The old hunter-scout Jediah had ridden Laura back to the bluff where the Eastland wagon train was still in armed camp.
By now, Joanne Curtis hung faiting from between her straddle-stakes. She had been fucked and buggered by some thirty-two warriors ... brought to girlgush a dozen or more times-the last, while a youth of nineteen summers with two eagle feathers in his headband, was buggering her, so furiously had her capacity for prick been roused by all this gangshagging.
Jetoorah and Kootah and had out Sally Sanders, 26, chestnuthaired, slim of figure, married four years to Jeremiah Sanders, a minister of the gospel, and mother of a little two-year-old-boy. Sally had been stripped to shoes and hose and she and Cora Day, the 32-year-old tall blackhaired spinster schoolteacher from Joslin, had been tied in a curious, cruel and obscene way.
Two new stakes had been thrust into the ground, a spike driven into the top of each that stuck out horizontally. The naked victims' ankles were tied with rawhide cords, their fingers tied to each other's, as well as their long tresses, and lifted into the air so that the cord from their ankles could be fixed round the heavy head of, the spikes ... and thus left to form a living hammoack, faces to the ground. The balance of their bodies, gleaming in the firelight, was exciting-and hellish torture, for the least movement tugged at their scalps. Cora, whose saucy ovalcheeked ass and perky peartitties suggested a young girl's rather than a spinster over thirty, sobbed and begged Sally's pardon for moving, she couldn't help it, and oh how it hurt.
The squaws were now set upon these two naked captives, armed with pinecons and switches; they amused themselves rubbing Sally's and Cora's bub-bies and pussies and bellies with the sharp scratchy cones and flicking their switches up into the furry cunts of the two helples, wailing martyrs. Latakee informed the captives that either might be spared if she would ask to be fucked by Loka, but Sally and Cora heroically held out.
While this was going on, Myra Fawcett, 18, dark brownhaired, with superb milky skin, small apple
-round titties and a saucily highset, widely spaced pair of round boyish-like asscheeks, was stripped naked and fixed on all fours to the pegs where Mary and Sue had been dog-fucked the night before. A dozen warriors, these with only one squaw, were told they had every right over her cusu and ardah and that he who made the paleface most cry out and jerk about while being fucked or buggered should be her mate.
The two young sisters, Madge Paine, 15, wheat-haired, with big round full titties that belied her tender years, and her 17-year-old sister Dorothy, light brown haired and slim, were also taken out to the celaring, forced to undress themselves stark naked under switches wielded by Kootah and Jetoorah, and then made to kneel side by side, hands bound behind their backs, their ankles fixed by thongs to pegs set in the ground, a long rawhide lariat binding the hair of each weeping girl and fixing to another peg set behind her, so that they faced another gantlet of rutting braves with thighs straddled, kneeling, their heads painfully erect, their titties thrust out tautly.
Melody Brannan, 20, blackhaired, who nourished and unholy Lesbian lust for 35-year-old Wilma Mug-ridge, the chestnut-haired fullbosomed widow, and whom Jetoorah had found huddling against Wilma for protection when she came to drag the captives out to their ordeals, were stripped naked and bound back to back, ropes round their waists, their hair dragged up and suspended by laraits fixed to the overhanging heavy branch of a popular tree that stood outside Running Bear's teepee; arms behind their backs, wrists and elbows corded, they were to be fucked simultaneously by another dozen braves, these who had two squaws and had won feathers of valor; and while each sobbing naked captive was being prickcrammed, her bottom lu-briciously rubbed against her companion's-a mockery indeed of Lesbian affection!
The last victim, Ella Sturges, 16, blackhaired, ripe of titties and bottom and thighs, was not a virgin-her own brother Ted, a year older, had taken her cherry, and she had earned to French him-and she was stripped naked and reserved for Latakee, who, doffing her costume, stood supple, coppery skinned and naked, as she stared down at the sobbing girl, who had been spreadeagled on her back on the ground, wrists and ankles bound to pegs. "I fuck-fuck you, girl-style," Latakee giggled as she slid down to mount Ella's wriggling body....
* * *
The sound of rifle shots and cries broke up this mass orgy. But it was too late.
Running Bear was shot between the eyes by Buck Marder, a virile 35-year-old farmer, and Snapping Turtle, trying to knife one of the Eastland wagon train scouts, was himself knifed in the belly. Fifty of the tribe's bestwarriors lay dead, the others fled to the hills beyond. Only the squaws and children remained.
The captive were reunited ... all save Betty Dorson, Margaret Elwell, and Estelle Eastland. They had vanished, no one knows where.
But, years later, Army scouts tell of a band of roving Gisiki Cheyenne, the terror of the plains, raiding wagon trains and even staging daring ambush on soldier patrols. With them rode three handsome squaws ... and from the descriptions, it could have been none other than these three who, under the rooting pricks of their savage captors, had learned to find carnal ecstasy which in a white civilization they would have been denied....
