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Stormclouds on the Reservation
by Author Obscure 1981 (address unknown)

***

An Oglala Lakota Indian happens on a young 
anthropologist broken down way out in the wilderness
on the reservation and he offers to help her out. (MF, 
oral, anal, intr, rom)

***

My name translates as Stormclouds Gather As He Walks. 
My friends, referring to my temper and the effect 
sudden thunderstorms have upon young dogs, 
transliterate this into "Puppy Scatterer." Wasichu, 
those who are not Indian, call me simply: "Storm." I am 
a warrior among my people. Or as close to being a 
warrior as a man can be these days.

During what the Wasichu refer to as "working hours," I 
teach computer science at the local junior college. 
Most of my students are from "the Rez," young Indians 
eager to learn the Wasichu technology so it can be 
utilized to assist in the fight against Wasichu 
ignorance and intolerance.

I spend my free time participating in ceremonies and 
wandering the back reaches of the reservation.

As I am doing this Friday afternoon. Wandering, that 
is. An old blue, flopped hat -- complete with eagle 
feather -- protects my head from the sun. A hiking 
staff, decorated with buffalo fur and owl feathers, and 
topped by a carved blue Grandfather Rattlesnake, 
assists me keep my footing over the rough and broken 
ground. Faded jeans and jeans jacket, a denim shirt and 
blue leather boots complete the picture of a modern 
Indian searching for meaning in an ever-changing world.

Several months ago, I found a little used trail and 
followed it to a shaded meadow near a clear stream. I 
erected a (modern) teepee here and laughingly refer to 
it as my "hunting camp" - though I have yet to take any 
game, or even fire a shot. This is my eventual 
destination.

"Damn! Hot today!" I pause to drink from the canteen at 
my hip. "Wonder what I'll find out here this time?" I 
shift the knives in their piggyback sheaths to a more 
comfortable position, replace the canteen, and continue 
deeper into the Rez.

It is late in the evening when I finally approach my 
campsite. "Something isn't right! I think I may have 
visitors." The Plymouth Voyager parked nearby provides 
the clue other eyes might have missed.

I approach the vehicle cautiously, pistol in hand. It 
isn't a rez van - too new. It has to be Wasichu, and 
that usually bodes ill for us reservation inhabitants. 
Too many kids joyriding and shooting up the place; too 
many drunken rednecks wanting to assert their macho 
image by driving through The Rez and picking fights.

As I approach, I notice three things. First, the car 
carries tags from the local state university. "Oh, 
shit! Another damned anthro!" Second, from the size of 
the oil stain on the ground, the vehicle isn't going 
anywhere. Third, the rounded buttocks under the soft 
skirt sure as Hell do not betoken any macho redneck 
bullshit from this visitor! I must have made a noise 
because she straightens at the same time I catch sight 
of her sweet ass.

"Hello. Are you going to shoot me, or help me?" she 
asks. Her voice is soft and husky, breathless with her 
exertions.

"Haven't made up my mind yet. Do you have a 
preference?"

I am rewarded with melodious laughter. "At this point, 
no. Just as long as you shoot the damn car first!"

"Car isn't going anywhere. I don't shoot helpless 
vehicles." I walk past her, stoop, and enter my lodge. 
I cross to a pile of wood and begin selecting branches 
for a fire. Cedar shavings and tobacco, a little sage, 
and a fire is soon burning in the pit in the center of 
the teepee.

"Mind if I come in?" She stoops in the doorway.

When I don't answer, she enters.

Her knowledge of Indian etiquette surprises me as she 
walks sun-wise around the fire, passing behind me, and 
seats herself in the "Woman's Place" at my left hand.

"My name is Sylvia Pettrow and I work for Doctor Wilson 
at the university." She knows enough not to extend her 
hand. "Are you hungry?"

Taking my silence for assent, she continues, "I could 
fix some supper if you'd like."

I motion at the kettle behind her. I rise and, taking 
the bucket from just inside the entrance, walk to the 
stream for water.

"It's good," I say as I reenter and hand her the 
bucket. "Do you need anything else?"

"If you have some fresh vegetables, I can make a nice 
stew. I have some meat and a little wine. You round up 
some potatoes and corn. I have onions and tomatoes in a 
cooler in the car."

As she prepares the dinner, I survey my uninvited 
guest. She is dressed in a soft, ruffled silk blouse, 
buttoned to the neck. In addition to the full skirt, 
she wears boots that reach her calf. From time to time, 
as she shifts to reach an ingredient or to stir the 
stew, I catches a glimpse of her extremely feminine 
white slip and a hint of red satin panties. Long 
earrings and a multi-strand necklace, all of "Silver 
Rain," complete her outfit. Long blonde hair falls over 
her eyes, partially hiding her face, as she cuts up the 
vegetables.

She catches me staring at her legs. "Not very 
practical, are they? The stockings, I mean. My work 
clothes are back in camp. I was just headed into town. 
I had planned on doing some partying, square dancing. 
So I dressed for it. Anyway, can you take me into town 
later so I can make arrangements to get that thing out 
there running? I'll pay."

"No car. We'll have to walk. In the morning."

"In the morning? I can't sleep in the car..."

"No need to. Plenty of room here. You'll be safe." I 
dismiss the girl from my mind as I kick off my boots 
and reach for a cedar flute. Soft strains of flute 
music provide a relaxing background and I am soon lost 
in my music.

* * *

"No wine for me. Thanks." Dinner is over, the dishes 
are in the kettle boiling over the fire. I fish the 
kettle off the fire and move it outside the lodge. 
"It'll keep 'til morning."

Sylvia pours herself another glass of wine. The warmth 
and the flute music have begun to relax her and the 
wine is finishing the job. From time to time, she 
appears to nod off to sleep, catching herself before 
she falls over.

"Sleepy?" I pull a buffalo robe over the pile of fresh 
pine branches that serve as my bed. "Sorry. I am not 
much of a host. This is for you. I have blankets, if 
you want one."

"No. This is Okay. Thanks." She moves to the robe and 
sits on the improvised bed. "Ummm. Warm. I don't think 
I'll need a blanket." She stares into the fire as she 
drinks the last of the wine. "This is unfair!" she 
announces. her speech is somewhat slurred by the 
effects of the wine.

Her outburst catches me by surprise. "Huh? What? 
Unfair?"

"Well, you know me. My name. And I don't know you. 
Yours."

"Call me Scatterer," I laugh. "Or, Storm. Whatever is 
easy." I explain my names and how I came by them. I 
finish, "So, when Runs With The Deer saw me yelling and 
watched the children and dogs run for cover, he said 
'Now there's a real puppy scatterer!' and the name 
stuck."

"I like that. And I shall call you 'Storm.'"

A pause. Then, "Storm, would you help me take these 
damned boots off?

I think I'm ready to go to bed now."

I move to the side of the lodge and kneel at Sylvia's 
feet. She places a foot on my thigh and pulls her skirt 
back so I can grip her boot. In the process, a long 
tanned thigh is exposed and I get more than a hint of 
red panties. I also notice that Sylvia wears stockings, 
not pantyhose. And no garter belt.

She notices my gaze. "They're called 'Thigh-Highs,' 
Storm. The lace tops are elastic and hold them up 
without garters. I call them prostitute stockings 
because they have no visible means of support!" She 
giggles with the revelation.

Holding her calf in my left hand, I remove her boot 
with my right. I do the same with her other boot. Her 
foot remains on my thigh. She pulls the skirt a little 
higher, exposing the panties hugging her crotch. "Well? 
What do you think?"

"I think you are just a little bit tired and a little 
bit drunk. I think you are asking the wrong questions, 
Sylvia. Or, at least, sending the wrong signals."

"No. I know what I'm saying. I know what signals I'm 
sending. I know what I want. I want you. I want you 
now!"

* * *

Leaving her right foot resting on my thigh, I run my 
left hand up her leg. I enjoy the play of her muscles 
under my hand, and the feel of the nylon stocking 
against my fingers. My fingers reach the lace top of 
Sylvia's stocking. I trace the edge of the lace around 
her thigh. She shivers as my fingers touch the inside 
of her thigh, and my thumb nudges her pouting vulva. 

I glance at her face. Her eyes are closed. Her lips are 
parted. Her breathing is heavy. As I watch, the tip of 
her tongue darts out and moistens her lips. The 
firelight illuminates her face and brings out golden 
highlights in her hair. I place my right hand against 
the inside of her left thigh and, exerting pressure 
with both hands, move her legs farther apart. The red 
satin of her panties reflects the fire's glow. It seems 
to me that her crotch is bathed in flames. 

I lower my head and kiss her thigh. My lips move up, 
and around, to her thigh. My tongue traces a path 
around her stocking top, up the inside of her thigh, 
and into the satin of her panty covered vee. I sense 
the movement of her hands and look up to see her 
stroking her breasts through the material of her 
blouse. She is none too gentle about it, pulling and 
kneading and squeezing. Within seconds her nipples are 
fully aroused, extending the silken material as if they 
were to tear holes in it. I am amazed at both the 
intensity of her ministrations and the size of her 
nipples.

"Damn it Storm," she breathes huskily, "Don't stop now. 
And don't be so damned civilized. Show me how a white 
woman should be treated!"

"Too many 'Dances With Wolves,' Sylvia. Women, all 
women, are to be treated gently, and with respect."

"Fuck that shit, Puppy Scatterer! Show me the 
thunderstorms! Take me! Rape me! Now! Damn it, now!" 
Suiting actions to her mood, she slaps me across the 
face and scuttles away from me across the robe.

My face darkens. I grab her arm with my left hand and 
draw the right back and forth across her face in a 
stinging series of slaps. Her head rocks with the force 
of my blows and, stunned, she falls onto her back. Her 
skirt rides up to her waist, and her hair covers her 
face. She lies there, unmoving, silent. I grab her 
wrists and quickly bind them together with a strip of 
rawhide. I raise her arms above her head and tie them 
to one of the lodge poles.

Sylvia is unconscious from the combined effects of the 
wine and my blows. She lies on her back on the buffalo 
robe, wrists bound, arms tied above her head. Her skirt 
is above her thighs, exposing a white satin and lace 
half slip. The red satin panties which attempt to hide 
and protect her sex are clearly visible. Her dark 
nylons contrast with the white of her thighs. Her hair 
is in disarray, half hiding her face. The position of 
her arms thrusts her breasts against her silk blouse. 
It is obvious to me that she is not wearing a 
brassiere.

"Well, you did ask for this."

There is no reply. I seat myself beside the bound 
beauty on the edge of the robe. I look at the helpless 
female for a long time. Finally, I bend and begin to 
massage her firm breasts. Through the silk, I can feel 
her distended nipples. The movement of silk upon silken 
skin excites me.

With one hand I brush her hair away from her face. My 
fingers approach her sensuous mouth, and I trace the 
outline of her lips with one finger. Aroused now, I 
part her lips and explore her mouth. My fingers seek 
and find her tongue. I play with tongue and breast 
simultaneously, each hand pursuing and finding and 
attacking independently of the other.

I pause long enough to stand and strip off my clothes. 
I throw another log on the fire and fan the flames. The 
increased illumination heightens my passion as it 
bathes Sylvia's form in a red glow.

Once more I sit beside her. I shake her shoulder. 
"Sylvia! Wake up."

I lightly slap her face. She begins to come around 
then.

"What? My God! You've tied me up!"

My smile silences her. She realizes from my expression 
that this is precisely what she had asked for, and that 
she is and will be totally at my mercy. Her breath 
catches in her throat as she also realizes I am naked.

Before she can utter another syllable, my mouth 
descends brutally upon hers. My tongue invades her 
mouth with a raping intensity that takes her breath 
away. I ravish her mouth with teeth, lips and tongue 
for several minutes. Her breath comes in labored gasps 
through her open mouth.

I withdraw and smile down at her. I shift my hips until 
my engorged member is inches from her panting mouth. 
Her eyes widen as she realizes my intentions.

To her surprise, I stand and move to my seat by the 
fire. I sit, and draw a blanket around my shoulders. 
Once again, flute music fills the inside of my lodge.

"What are you doing?" I can hear Sylvia's incredulous 
voice above the plaintive notes of my flute. "Don't 
stop now. Oh, please. Don't stop now."

I ignore her.

Eventually, she realizes the futility of her pleas. Her 
breathing soon becomes less ragged and she drifts off 
to sleep.

I again awaken her with hands and fingers attacking her 
breasts and mouth. Her passions are aroused to the 
breaking point. As she approaches her release, I stop 
abruptly and leave her begging for more. I rise and 
resume my place by the fire. Again, the flute.

During the first few hours of the night, I continue her 
sweet torture. Sylvia is alternately permitted to sleep 
and then is awakened and brought to the brink of 
climax. She soon loses count of the number of times the 
erotic cycle is repeated. She moans and begs me for 
release.

* * *

Sylvia sleeps. Exhausted from the cycle of arousal and 
refusal, she sleeps soundly. Silently I approach her 
for the final time and seat myself beside her.

It is time to see this beauty, to see all of her 
charms. She has asked to be treated as a Wasichu 
captive, and I have every intention of doing just that. 
In the Old Times, when a warrior our People would 
capture a Wasichu woman, he would hold her captive for 
many nights. Her hands would be bound over her head and 
she would be placed fully clothed in the warrior's 
lodge on his buffalo robe. For several nights the 
warrior would toy with her, bringing her to the brink 
of orgasm, and then retreating from her. He would 
continue, allowing her no respite until she begged him 
for release. Only then would the warrior strip her 
clothing from her and deign to make love to her.

I run my eyes over her bound body. Her movements, as 
she sought release from her torture, have succeeded in 
raising her skirt to her thighs. Taking the hem of her 
skirt in my hands, I pull it down to her calves. She 
doesn't stir.

I place a hand on her cheek, shifting her head so that 
she faces me. One by one, I unfasten the buttons of her 
blouse. It gapes open. I pull it from her skirt and 
open it to either side of her. I stroke the swells of 
her upper breasts, and move my hands down to her 
nipples. Her aureoles are dark red, and her distended 
nipples are brown. I toy with her nipples, pulling and 
twisting them. She sleeps soundly.

I begin to run my hand down across her breasts, down 
over her rounded stomach, to the waistband of her 
skirt. I open the buttons of her skirt -- all save the 
two on the waistband. Moving between her feet, I grasp 
the hem of her skirt and spread it to either side of 
her hips and legs. The satin and lace half-slip is 
fully exposed. I lean forward and stroke her hips and 
thighs through the satiny material of her slip. 

My hand presses into her abdomen, and moves down to cup 
her vulva. She shifts her hips, and my fingers graze 
across her furred slit. I can feel the definition of 
her lips through slip and panties. My breath quickens. 
I grasp her slip by the hem and pull it down over hips 
and thighs. Slowly, I remove the garment and toss it 
aside. The fire illuminates the sleeping woman, 
throwing her sweet curves into red-tinted highlights 
and dark shadows.

She lies there, legs slightly spread. Her denim skirt 
is spread open, permitting me to look at her red panty 
covered crotch and the thigh-high stockings hugging her 
legs. I bend down then and begin kissing and licking my 
way up the inside of her thighs. My cheek rubs against 
silk-clad thigh as my lips and tongue find the satin 
protecting her vee. I can smell her, now. Her previous 
tortures have caused her juices to stain her panties, 
and the smell of her, mixing with the perfume she had 
applied to the inside of her thighs, is intoxicating. I 
press my face fully into her vee and bite at the lips 
hidden there.

She awakens with a soft cry. In one coordinated motion, 
she locks her legs behind my head and raises her hips 
from the robe. She presses her crotch into my face and 
seeks my lips with her nether lips as I continue to 
lick and bite at her.

"Damn it, Storm. Take these things off me," and she 
empathizes her demand with another push at my face with 
her crotch. I disengage her legs from my neck and reach 
alongside the bed. My knife is where I left it. Her 
eyes widen as I hold the knife before her eyes. 

With one hand, I slide the knife along her thigh and up 
under the elastic leg band of her panties. With one 
motion I cut the material from leg to waist. I shift 
the knife to my other hand and repeat the action at her 
other leg. Grasping the ruined panties in my free hand, 
I rip them roughly from between her thighs exposing her 
blond furred vulva.

I push my face into her exposed vee and plunge my 
tongue into her vagina. I lick the length of her slit, 
thrusting my tongue in and out, drawing her sweet 
juices into my mouth. She bucks like an untamed mare, 
thrusting her hips up, pushing her vulva into my face. 
I bite her lips and blow gently into her. She moans and 
thrusts at me. All the time, I am gently sliding the 
point of my knife over the exposed flesh of her abdomen 
and stomach.

"Now! Oh! Now! Do! It! Fuck! Me! Storm!" Her words are 
forced from her one at a time. Her hips move and she 
strains at her bonds. "Oh! Damn! Untie! Me! Storm! 
Please! Untie! Me!"

I lift my head from her sweet pussy and stare down at 
her flushed face. "No!"

Smiling at her, I reach down and bring the point of the 
knife to bear against one exposed nipple. I press 
against it until she moans with pain. I move the knife 
around her breast and across the cleft between them to 
her other breast. I press the knife against her other 
nipple. Still holding the knife against her nipple, I 
lower my head to her breast and take the nipple between 
my teeth. She moans as I increase the pressure. 

Suddenly releasing her nipple with my teeth, I draw it 
into my mouth and suck on her breast. The knife falls 
forgotten to the ground. At the same time, my left hand 
slides between us and my finger strokes the length of 
her furred lips. Gently I ease first one and then a 
second finger into her. Exerting pressure against her 
mound with my hand, I slide the fingers deeper into 
her. Into her. And out. Up the length of her labia. 
Down, and into her once more.

I finger fuck her for several minutes, bringing her to 
the brink of orgasm. I stop and remove my fingers 
before she can experience the release she so 
desperately seeks. Shifting my position, I press my 
engorged penis between her breasts. I rest lightly on 
her lower ribcage as I move my penis between her 
breasts. With one hand, I press her breasts around my 
throbbing prick. With the other, I cup her chin and 
turn her head so she can see the glistening head as it 
surges back and forth, nearing her half open mouth and 
retreating. She licks her lips. I press my organ 
against her lips, and withdraw it. 

Again. And, again. She moans.

I shift my hips forward and approach her mouth again. 
And again she moans. As she does, I thrust my cock deep 
into her mouth. Her moans become deeper and muffled as 
the thick penis forces her jaws wide. She sucks me deep 
into her mouth. Her tongue engages my penis as I fuck 
her face. It turns into a duel, questing tongue versus 
thrusting cock. I stroke her face, feeling the 
hollowing of her cheeks as she sucks me. 

I place one hand behind her head and, grasping her hair 
in my fist, pull her face even further onto my impaling 
organ. I stroke her face, and move her head in time 
with my thrusts. Removing my hand from her face, I 
again pick up the knife and cut her wrists free. Her 
hands immediately grasp my hips and pull me deeper into 
her mouth. The head of my cock rests against the back 
of her throat as she takes over and brings me to the 
brink of explosion.

I am now the one that can stand it no longer. I push 
her head away from me and withdraw my penis from her 
mouth. I shift my hips until I am once again between 
her legs. As I pull my hips back and raise them, I 
guide my penis between her labia. I lower my face to 
hers and lick her lips. I can taste my own juices on 
her lips. Her tongue thrusts into my mouth as her hips 
surge upward. I thrust downward at the same time, 
thrusting my cock deep into her overflowing cunt. 

Her vaginal muscles contract, squeezing my intruding 
penis and trying to draw it deeper within her. Her hips 
rise in time to my thrusts. 

My tongue rapes her mouth, dueling with hers, as my 
penis rapes her warm and grasping vaginal recesses. She 
is breathing heavily now. Her tongue ceases its attack. 
Her head falls back, but I pursue it and keep my mouth 
fastened to hers. She moans deep within her throat. Her 
hips pump furiously as I thrust deep into her warm 
channel. 

She moans again, and arches her back. I bite down on 
her lips. I move my hips back, retreating until my cock 
head is at the very edge of her pussy lips. And with 
one final thrust, I ram deep within her up thrust 
vagina. Shudders wrack her as her orgasm coincides with 
mine. Her hips vibrate with the force of her climax. I 
thrust and spurt deep into her. My release and hers are 
perfectly timed.

* * *

The smooth warmth of her mouth on my penis awakens me. 
I am fully erect and buried to the hilt in the hungry 
mouth of the blonde kneeling between my legs.

Her hand cups my testicles and moves slowly over them. 
She squeezes, and I lift my hips, thrusting deeper into 
her welcoming mouth. Her tongue assails the small 
entrance in my cockhead and attempts to enter. The pain 
is enjoyable and I feel myself beginning the cycle that 
can only end with overwhelming release.

I reach behind my head and pull a pillow under me so I 
can watch as this lovely thing sucks me dry. Her long 
blonde hair covers both her face and my hips. Her white 
silk blouse, still buttoned at her wrists, hangs open 
and her breasts lightly brush my thighs as she 
ministers to my growing need. Her skirt is pulled back 
from the sweet swell of her hips, exposing her rounded 
buttocks and stocking clad legs.

I can see one of her hands snaking down to her crotch. 
From the motions of her hand and her hips, I can see 
she is attending to her own needs. Her body shudders, 
imparting an intolerable sensation to my thrusting 
organ. Her head moves back and forth; her lips close 
tightly around the head of my penis as her teeth nibble 
lightly at it. She closes her lips tightly around me 
and sucks me deeper into her mouth. Her head moves 
forward. The tip of my cock nudges the back of her 
throat. She withdraws and begins the cycle once more.

Her arm moves faster now, thrusting her fingers deeper 
into her vagina. Small moans escape from her lips. They 
grow louder, as her need grows.

I can feel myself ready to unburden and grasp either 
side of her face with my hands. I pull her head tighter 
against my groin. Her nose is buried in my pubic hair 
as I thrust into her face. She groans and sucks harder 
as I begin to release my juices into her waiting 
throat. She sucks me willingly, and I hold her face in 
my crotch. Her hand attacks her flowing pussy and her 
hips shake with the intensity of her orgasm. Once. 
Twice. Three times she climaxes and I hold her face 
tightly against me. My hot sperm shoots into her mouth. 
She swallows most of it. Some escapes and flows down 
her face onto my thighs. The fluid is warm and 
strangely welcome.

I release my hold on her face. She moans again, and 
falls forward on my hips. Her mouth works spasmodically 
and her lips remain around my relaxing penis. Her 
tongue gently laves the length of it as she licks the 
last of my juices from my now-flaccid prick. She sighs 
and idly scratches my chest. Her mouth never leaves me 
as I drift contentedly off to sleep.

* * *

The fire has died down to glowing embers. It is still 
warm in the lodge, and there is more than enough light 
to see the blonde sleeping spoon fashion beside me. She 
still wears the stockings and the blouse. Her skirt has 
been wadded into a ball and thrown to one side.

I bury my face in her long silky hair and inhale 
deeply. The sweat from her exertions this night mingles 
with her perfume. The smells combine to immediately 
arouse me once more. I nibble at her ear, and gently 
stick my tongue into it. She sighs, and presses her 
buttocks back against my groin. My penis immediately 
lengthens and springs to attention. I nudge her gently 
with it and she presses back even harder.

My lips and tongue continue searching her shell-like 
ear. I move one hand across her back and under her arm, 
seeking her breast. I find the nipple and caress it 
through her blouse. It hardens and lengthens like a 
miniature penis. I pinch her nipple lightly, and slide 
my hand up across her breast and up her neck to her 
mouth.

My fingers trace the outline of her lips and enter her 
mouth. I find her tongue and play with it. I pull her 
head back against my face and continue raping her ear 
with my mouth. My other hand travels across her stomach 
and down to her vulva. Parting the fur-covered lips, I 
press a searching finger into her moistening cunt. Her 
hips arch, and she presses forward against my questing 
fingers. I press my fingers deeper and pull her hips 
towards my engorged cock.

She is torn between the insistence of my cock between 
her asscheeks and the explorations of my finger in her 
warm pussy. She moves her hips back and forth, between 
cock and fingers. Slowly, insistently, I press the head 
of my penis against her sphincter. She gasps in pain, 
but presses her hips back against me, forcing my penis 
past the resisting opening and into the warm tight 
channel of her ass.

Three orifices filled and she enjoys every touch, every 
thrust. She sucks on my fingers, running her tongue 
over and between them. Her teeth nip at the ends of my 
invading fingers. She sucks them deeper into her mouth, 
inviting me with tongue and teeth to continue. The 
walls of her vagina clamp on my fingers and she 
manipulates them as they manipulate her. Her ass 
presses back against my groin, and the tightening and 
loosening of her muscles provide a sensation that 
threatens to overpower me.

"Oh! Now! Storm!" she mumbles around my fingers. "Fuck 
me! Fuck my ass! Deeper! Harder!" And she screams into 
my hand as her release comes.

Shortly after her climax, I thrust deep into her still 
spasming hips and my release comes. I shudder as I pump 
one after another portion of juice into her anal 
opening. She wiggles her hips and thrusts back against 
me. With one hand still in her mouth and the other in 
her flowing pussy, I pull the willing wench back into 
me, thrusting into her ass the whole while.

"Oh, yessss! That's what I wanted. The thunderstorms of 
lust. That's how I always dreamed an Indian would treat 
me, Storm." My cock remains in her ass as she snuggles 
back against me and goes to sleep once more.

* * *

Again, I waken. Something is different. Missing. I sit 
up. She's gone! Sylvia's gone. I look outside. Her 
car's gone, too. The only evidence that she had been 
here are the ruined red satin panties that hang from 
the doorway of my lodge.

And the empty can of oil on the ground where her 
station wagon was parked.

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world 
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per 
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 64