textfiles/sex/EROTICA/I/indians.txt

Archive-name: Bondage/indians.txt
Archive-author: 
Archive-title: Stormclouds on the Reservation


                                 Part I

   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 sunwise
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.

                                 * * *



                     STORMCLOUDS ON THE RESERVATION


                                Part II


   "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 garterbelt.

   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!"


                                 * * *





                     STORMCLOUDS ON THE RESERVATION


                                Part III


   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 pantied 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,
exdenting 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 brassierre.

   "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.


                                 * * *





                     STORMCLOUDS ON THE RESERVATION


                                Part IV


   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 halfslip 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 pantied 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 emphathizes 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 eleastic legband 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, duelling 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 upthrust 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.


                                 * * *





                     STORMCLOUDS ON THE RESERVATION


                                 Part V


   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 contenedly off
to sleep.


                                 * * *





                     STORMCLOUDS ON THE RESERVATION


                                Part VI


   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 wiith 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 lenghthens 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 lenghthens 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.


                                 * * *





                     STORMCLOUDS ON THE RESERVATION


                                Part VII


   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-
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