614 lines
29 KiB
Plaintext
614 lines
29 KiB
Plaintext
Archive-name: Bondage/indians.txt
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Archive-author:
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Archive-title: Stormclouds on the Reservation
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Part I
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My name translates as Stormclouds Gather As He Walks. My friends,
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referring to my temper and the effect sudden thunderstorms have upon
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young dogs, transliterate this into "Puppy Scatterer." Wasichu, those
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who are not Indian, call me simply: "Storm." I am a warrior among my
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people. Or as close to being a warrior as a man can be these days.
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During what the Wasichu refer to as "working hours," I teach computer
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science at the local junior college. Most of my students are from "the
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Rez," young Indians eager to learn the Wasichu technology so it can be
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utilized to assist in the fight against Wasichu ignorance and
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intolerance.
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I spend my free time participating in ceremonies and wandering the
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back reaches of the reservation.
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As I am doing this Friday afternoon. Wandering, that is. An old blue,
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flopped hat--complete with eagle feather--protects my head from the sun.
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A hiking staff, decorated with buffalo fur and owl feathers, and topped
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by a carved blue Grandfather Rattlesnake, assists me keep my footing
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over the rough and broken ground. Faded jeans and jeans jacket, a denim
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shirt and blue leather boots complete the picture of a modern Indian
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searching for meaning in an ever-changing world.
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Several months ago, I found a little used trail and followed it to a
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shaded meadow near a clear stream. I erected a (modern) teepee here and
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laughingly refer to it as my "hunting camp" - though I have yet to take
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any game, or even fire a shot. This is my eventual destination.
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"Damn! Hot today!" I pause to drink from the canteen at my hip.
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"Wonder what I'll find out here this time?" I shift the knives in their
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piggyback sheaths to a more comfortable position, replace the canteen,
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and continue deeper into the Rez.
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It is late in the evening when I finally approach my campsite.
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"Something isn't right! I think I may have visitors." The Plymouth
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Voyager parked nearby provides the clue other eyes might have missed.
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I approach the vehicle cautiously, pistol in hand. It isn't a rez van
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- too new. It has to be Wasichu, and that usually bodes ill for us
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reservation inhabitants. Too many kids joyriding and shooting up the
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place; too many drunken rednecks wanting to assert their macho image by
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driving through The Rez and picking fights.
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As I approach, I notice three things. First, the car carries tags
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from the local state university. "Oh, shit! Another damned anthro!"
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Second, from the size of the oil stain on the ground, the vehicle isn't
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going anywhere. Third, the rounded buttocks under the soft skirt sure as
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Hell do not betoken any macho redneck bullshit from this visitor! I must
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have made a noise because she straightens at the same time I catch sight
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of her sweet ass.
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"Hello. Are you going to shoot me, or help me?" she asks. Her voice
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is soft and husky, breathless with her exertions.
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"Haven't made up my mind yet. Do you have a preference?"
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I am rewarded with melodious laughter. "At this point, no. Just as
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long as you shoot the damn car first!"
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"Car isn't going anywhere. I don't shoot helpless vehicles." I walk
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past her, stoop, and enter my lodge. I cross to a pile of wood and begin
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selecting branches for a fire. Cedar shavings and tobacco, a little
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sage, and a fire is soon burning in the pit in the center of the teepee.
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"Mind if I come in?" She stoops in the doorway.
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When I don't answer, she enters.
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Her knowledge of Indian etiquette surprises me as she walks sunwise
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around the fire, passing behind me, and seats herself in the "Woman's
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Place" at my left hand.
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"My name is Sylvia Pettrow and I work for Doctor Wilson at the
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university." She knows enough not to extend her hand. "Are you hungry?"
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Taking my silence for assent, she continues, "I could fix some supper
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if you'd like."
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I motion at the kettle behind her. I rise and, taking the bucket from
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just inside the entrance, walk to the stream for water.
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"It's good," I say as I reenter and hand her the bucket. "Do you need
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anything else?"
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"If you have some fresh vegetables, I can make a nice stew. I have
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some meat and a little wine. You round up some potatoes and corn. I have
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onions and tomatoes in a cooler in the car."
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As she prepares the dinner, I survey my uninvited guest. She is
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dressed in a soft, ruffled silk blouse, buttoned to the neck. In
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addition to the full skirt, she wears boots that reach her calf. From
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time to time, as she shifts to reach an ingredient or to stir the stew,
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I catches a glimpse of her extremely feminine white slip and a hint of
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red satin panties. Long earrings and a multi-strand necklace, all of
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"Silver Rain," complete her outfit. Long blonde hair falls over her
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eyes, partially hiding her face, as she cuts up the vegetables.
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She catches me staring at her legs. "Not very practical, are they?
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The stockings, I mean. My work clothes are back in camp. I was just
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headed into town. I had planned on doing some partying, square dancing.
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So I dressed for it. Anyway, can you take me into town later so I can
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make arrangements to get that thing out there running? I'll pay."
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"No car. We'll have to walk. In the morning."
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"In the morning? I can't sleep in the car . . ."
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"No need to. Plenty of room here. You'll be safe." I dismiss the girl
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from my mind as I kick off my boots and reach for a cedar flute. Soft
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strains of flute music provide a relaxing background and I am soon lost
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in my music.
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* * *
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STORMCLOUDS ON THE RESERVATION
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Part II
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"No wine for me. Thanks." Dinner is over, the dishes are in the
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kettle boiling over the fire. I fish the kettle off the fire and move it
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outside the lodge. "It'll keep 'til morning."
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Sylvia pours herself another glass of wine. The warmth and the flute
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music have begun to relax her and the wine is finishing the job. From
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time to time, she appears to nod off to sleep, catching herself before
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she falls over.
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"Sleepy?" I pull a buffalo robe over the pile of fresh pine branches
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that serve as my bed. "Sorry. I am not much of a host. This is for you.
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I have blankets, if you want one."
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"No. This is Okay. Thanks." She moves to the robe and sits on the
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improvised bed. "Ummm. Warm. I don't think I'll need a blanket." She
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stares into the fire as she drinks the last of the wine. "This is
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unfair!" she announces. her speech is somewhat slurred by the effects of
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the wine.
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Her outburst catches me by surprise. "Huh? What? Unfair?"
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"Well, you know me. My name. And I don't know you. Yours."
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"Call me Scatterer," I laugh. "Or, Storm. Whatever is easy." I
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explain my names and how I came by them. I finish, "So, when Runs With
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The Deer saw me yelling and watched the children and dogs run for cover,
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he said 'Now there's a real puppy scatterer!' and the name stuck."
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"I like that. And I shall call you 'Storm.'"
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A pause. Then, "Storm, would you help me take these damned boots off?
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I think I'm ready to go to bed now."
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I move to the side of the lodge and kneel at Sylvia's feet. She
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places a foot on my thigh and pulls her skirt back so I can grip her
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boot. In the process, a long tanned thigh is exposed and I get more than
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a hint of red panties. I also notice that Sylvia wears stockings, not
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pantyhose. And no garterbelt.
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She notices my gaze. "They're called 'Thigh-Highs,' Storm. The lace
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tops are elastic and hold them up without garters. I call them
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prostitute stockings because they have no visible means of support!" She
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giggles with the revelation.
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Holding her calf in my left hand, I remove her boot with my right. I
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do the same with her other boot. Her foot remains on my thigh. She pulls
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the skirt a little higher, exposing the panties hugging her crotch.
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"Well? What do you think?"
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"I think you are just a little bit tired and a little bit drunk. I
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think you are asking the wrong questions, Sylvia. Or, at least, sending
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the wrong signals."
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"No. I know what I'm saying. I know what signals I'm sending. I know
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what I want. I want you. I want you now!"
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* * *
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STORMCLOUDS ON THE RESERVATION
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Part III
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Leaving her right foot resting on my thigh, I run my left hand up her
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leg. I enjoy the play of her muscles under my hand, and the feel of the
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nylon stocking against my fingers. My fingers reach the lace top of
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Sylvia's stocking. I trace the edge of the lace around her thigh. She
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shivers as my fingers touch the inside of her thigh, and my thumb nudges
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her pouting vulva. I glance at her face. Her eyes are closed. Her lips
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are parted. Her breathing is heavy. As I watch, the tip of her tongue
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darts out and moistens her lips. The firelight illuminates her face and
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brings out golden highlights in her hair. I place my right hand against
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the inside of her left thigh and, exerting pressure with both hands,
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move her legs farther apart. The red satin of her panties reflects the
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fire's glow. It seems to me that her crotch is bathed in flames. I lower
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my head and kiss her thigh. My lips move up, and around, to her thigh.
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My tongue traces a path around her stocking top, up the inside of her
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thigh, and into the satin of her pantied vee. I sense the movement of
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her hands and look up to see her stroking her breasts through the
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material of her blouse. She is none too gentle about it, pulling and
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kneading and squeezing. Within seconds her nipples are fully aroused,
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exdenting the silken material as if they were to tear holes in it. I am
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amazed at both the intensity of her ministrations and the size of her
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nipples.
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"Damn it, Storm," she breathes huskily, "Don't stop now. And don't be
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so damned civilized. Show me how a white woman should be treated!"
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"Too many 'Dances With Wolves,' Sylvia. Women, all women, are to be
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treated gently, and with respect."
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"Fuck that shit, Puppy Scatterer! Show me the thunderstorms! Take me!
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Rape me! Now! Damn it, now!" Suiting actions to her mood, she slaps me
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across the face and scuttles away from me across the robe.
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My face darkens. I grab her arm with my left hand and draw the right
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back and forth across her face in a stinging series of slaps. Her head
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rocks with the force of my blows and, stunned, she falls onto her back.
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Her skirt rides up to her waist, and her hair covers her face. She lies
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there, unmoving, silent. I grab her wrists and quickly bind them
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together with a strip of rawhide. I raise her arms above her head and
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tie them to one of the lodge poles.
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Sylvia is unconscious from the combined effects of the wine and my
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blows. She lies on her back on the buffalo robe, wrists bound, arms tied
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above her head. Her skirt is above her thighs, exposing a white satin
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and lace half slip. The red satin panties which attempt to hide and
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protect her sex are clearly visible. Her dark nylons contrast with the
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white of her thighs. Her hair is in disarray, half hiding her face. The
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position of her arms thrusts her breasts against her silk blouse. It is
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obvious to me that she is not wearing a brassierre.
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"Well, you did ask for this."
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There is no reply. I seat myself beside the bound beauty on the edge
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of the robe. I look at the helpless female for a long time. Finally, I
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bend and begin to massage her firm breasts. Through the silk, I can feel
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her distended nipples. The movement of silk upon silken skin excites me.
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With one hand I brush her hair away from her face. My fingers
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approach her sensuous mouth, and I trace the outline of her lips with
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one finger. Aroused now, I part her lips and explore her mouth. My
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fingers seek and find her tongue. I play with tongue and breast
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simultaneously, each hand pursuing and finding and attacking
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independently of the other.
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I pause long enough to stand and strip off my clothes. I throw another
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log on the fire and fan the flames. The increased illumination heightens
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my passion as it bathes Sylvia's form in a red glow.
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Once more I sit beside her. I shake her shoulder. "Sylvia! Wake up."
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I lightly slap her face. She begins to come around then.
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"What? My God! You've tied me up!"
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My smile silences her. She realizes from my expression that this is
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precisely what she had asked for, and that she is and will be totally at
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my mercy. Her breath catches in her throat as she also realizes I am
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naked.
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Before she can utter another syllable, my mouth descends brutally
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upon hers. My tongue invades her mouth with a raping intensity that
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takes her breath away. I ravish her mouth with teeth, lips and tongue
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for several minutes. Her breath comes in labored gasps through her open
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mouth.
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I withdraw and smile down at her. I shift my hips until my engorged
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member is inches from her panting mouth. Her eyes widen as she realizes
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my intentions.
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To her surprise, I stand and move to my seat by the fire. I sit, and
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draw a blanket around my shoulders. Once again, flute music fills the
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inside of my lodge.
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"What are you doing?" I can hear Sylvia's incredulous voice above the
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plaintive notes of my flute. "Don't stop now. Oh, please. Don't stop
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now."
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I ignore her.
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Eventually, she realizes the futility of her pleas. Her breathing
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soon becomes less ragged and she drifts off to sleep.
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I again awaken her with hands and fingers attacking her breasts and
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mouth. Her passions are aroused to the breaking point. As she approaches
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her release, I stop abruptly and leave her begging for more. I rise and
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resume my place by the fire. Again, the flute.
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During the first few hours of the night, I continue her sweet
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torture. Sylvia is alternately permitted to sleep and then is awakened
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and brought to the brink of climax. She soon loses count of the number
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of times the erotic cycle is repeated. She moans and begs me for
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release.
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* * *
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STORMCLOUDS ON THE RESERVATION
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Part IV
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Sylvia sleeps. Exhausted from the cycle of arousal and refusal, she
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sleeps soundly. Silently I approach her for the final time and seat
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myself beside her.
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It is time to see this beauty, to see all of her charms. She has
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asked to be treated as a Wasichu captive, and I have every intention of
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doing just that. In the Old Times, when a warrior our People would
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capture a Wasichu woman, he would hold her captive for many nights. Her
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hands would be bound over her head and she would be placed fully clothed
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in the warrior's lodge on his buffalo robe. For several nights the
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warrior would toy with her, bringing her to the brink of orgasm, and
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then retreating from her. He would continue, allowing her no respite
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until she begged him for release. Only then would the warrior strip her
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clothing from her and deign to make love to her.
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I run my eyes over her bound body. Her movements, as she sought
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release from her torture, have succeeded in raising her skirt to her
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thighs. Taking the hem of her skirt in my hands, I pull it down to her
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calves. She doesn't stir.
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I place a hand on her cheek, shifting her head so that she faces me.
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One by one, I unfasten the buttons of her blouse. It gapes open. I pull
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it from her skirt and open it to either side of her. I stroke the swells
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of her upper breasts, and move my hands down to her nipples. Her
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aureoles are dark red, and her distended nipples are brown. I toy with
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her nipples, pulling and twisting them. She sleeps soundly.
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I begin to run my hand down across her breasts, down over her rounded
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stomach, to the waistband of her skirt. I open the buttons of her skirt
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-- all save the two on the waistband. Moving between her feet, I grasp
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the hem of her skirt and spread it to either side of her hips and legs.
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The satin and lace halfslip is fully exposed. I lean forward and stroke
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her hips and thighs through the satiny material of her slip. My hand
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presses into her abdomen, and moves down to cup her vulva. She shifts
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her hips, and my fingers graze across her furred slit. I can feel the
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definition of her lips through slip and panties. My breath quickens. I
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grasp her slip by the hem and pull it down over hips and thighs. Slowly,
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I remove the garment and toss it aside. The fire illuminates the
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sleeping woman, throwing her sweet curves into red-tinted highlights and
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dark shadows. She lies there, legs slightly spread. Her denim skirt is
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spread open, permitting me to look at her red pantied crotch and the
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thigh-high stockings hugging her legs. I bend down then and begin
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kissing and licking my way up the inside of her thighs. My cheek rubs
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against silk-clad thigh as my lips and tongue find the satin protecting
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her vee. I can smell her, now. Her previous tortures have caused her
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juices to stain her panties, and the smell of her, mixing with the
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perfume she had applied to the inside of her thighs, is intoxicating. I
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press my face fully into her vee and bite at the lips hidden there.
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She awakens with a soft cry. In one coordinated motion, she locks her
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legs behind my head and raises her hips from the robe. She presses her
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crotch into my face and seeks my lips with her nether lips as I continue
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to lick and bite at her.
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"Damn it, Storm. Take these things off me," and she emphathizes her
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demand with another push at my face with her crotch. I disengage her
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legs from my neck and reach alongside the bed. My knife is where I left
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it. Her eyes widen as I hold the knife before her eyes. With one hand, I
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slide the knife along her thigh and up under the eleastic legband of her
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panties. With one motion I cut the material from leg to waist. I shift
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the knife to my other hand and repeat the action at her other leg.
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Grasping the ruined panties in my free hand, I rip them roughly from
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between her thighs exposing her blond furred vulva.
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I push my face into her exposed vee and plunge my tongue into her
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vagina. I lick the length of her slit, thrusting my tongue in and out,
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drawing her sweet juices into my mouth. She bucks like an untamed mare,
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thrusting her hips up, pushing her vulva into my face. I bite her lips
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and blow gently into her. She moans and thrusts at me. All the time, I
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am gently sliding the point of my knife over the exposed flesh of her
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abdomen and stomach.
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"Now! Oh! Now! Do! It! Fuck! Me! Storm!" Her words are forced from
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her one at a time. Her hips move and she strains at her bonds. "Oh!
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Damn! Untie! Me! Storm! Please! Untie! Me!"
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I lift my head from her sweet pussy and stare down at her flushed
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face. "No!"
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Smiling at her, I reach down and bring the point of the knife to bear
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against one exposed nipple. I press against it until she moans with
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pain. I move the knife around her breast and across the cleft between
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them to her other breast. I press the knife against her other nipple.
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Still holding the knife against her nipple, I lower my head to her
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breast and take the nipple between my teeth. She moans as I increase the
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pressure. Suddenly releasing her nipple with my teeth, I draw it into my
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mouth and suck on her breast. The knife falls forgotten to the ground.
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At the same time, my left hand slides between us and my finger strokes
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the length of her furred lips. Gently I ease first one and then a second
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finger into her. Exerting pressure against her mound with my hand, I
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slide the fingers deeper into her. Into her. And out. Up the length of
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her labia. Down, and into her once more.
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I finger fuck her for several minutes, bringing her to the brink of
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orgasm. I stop and remove my fingers before she can experience the
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release she so desperately seeks. Shifting my position, I press my
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engorged penis between her breasts. I rest lightly on her lower ribcage
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as I move my penis between her breasts. With one hand, I press her
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breasts around my throbbing prick. With the other, I cup her chin and
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turn her head so she can see the glistening head as it surges back and
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forth, nearing her half open mouth and retreating. She licks her lips. I
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press my organ against her lips, and withdraw it. Again. And, again. She
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moans. I shift my hips forward and approach her mouth again. And again
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she moans. As she does, I thrust my cock deep into her mouth. Her moans
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become deeper and muffled as the thick penis forces her jaws wide. She
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sucks me deep into her mouth. Her tongue engages my penis as I fuck her
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face. It turns into a duel, questing tongue versus thrusting cock. I
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stroke her face, feeling the hollowing of her cheeks as she sucks me. I
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place one hand behind her head and, grasping her hair in my fist, pull
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her face even further onto my impaling organ. I stroke her face, and
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move her head in time with my thrusts. Removing my hand from her face, I
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again pick up the knife and cut her wrists free. Her hands immediately
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grasp my hips and pull me deeper into her mouth. The head of my cock
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rests against the back of her throat as she takes over and brings me to
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the brink of explosion.
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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
|
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once again between her legs. As I pull my hips back and raise them, I
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guide my penis between her labia. I lower my face to hers and lick her
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lips. I can taste my own juices on her lips. Her tongue thrusts into my
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mouth as her hips surge upward. I thrust downward at the same time,
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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
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mouth, duelling with hers, as my penis rapes her warm and grasping
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vaginal recesses. She is breathing heavily now. Her tongue ceases its
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attack. Her head falls back, but I pursue it and keep my mouth fastened
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to hers. She moans deep within her throat. Her hips pump furiously as I
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thrust deep into her warm channel. She moans again, and arches her back.
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I bite down on her lips. I move my hips back, retreating until my cock
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|
head is at the very edge of her pussy lips. And with one final thrust, I
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ram deep within her upthrust vagina. Shudders wrack her as her orgasm
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|
coincides with mine. Her hips vibrate with the force of her climax. I
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thrust and spurt deep into her. My release and hers are perfectly timed.
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* * *
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STORMCLOUDS ON THE RESERVATION
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Part V
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The smooth warmth of her mouth on my penis awakens me. I am fully
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erect and buried to the hilt in the hungry mouth of the blonde kneeling
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between my legs.
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Her hand cups my testicles and moves slowly over them. She squeezes,
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|
and I lift my hips, thrusting deeper into her welcoming mouth. Her
|
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tongue assails the small entrance in my cockhead and attempts to enter.
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The pain is enjoyable and I feel myself beginning the cycle that can
|
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only end with overwhelming release.
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I reach behind my head and pull a pillow under me so I can watch as
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this lovely thing sucks me dry. Her long blonde hair covers both her
|
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face and my hips. Her white silk blouse, still buttoned at her wrists,
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hangs open and her breasts lightly brush my thighs as she ministers to
|
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my growing need. Her skirt is pulled back from the sweet swell of her
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|
hips, exposing her rounded buttocks and stocking clad legs.
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I can see one of her hands snaking down to her crotch. From the
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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.
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|
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|
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.
|
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* * *
|
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|
STORMCLOUDS ON THE RESERVATION
|
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|
|
|
Part VI
|
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|
|
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-
|
|
--
|