"Huhh!" the Indian again grunted, punctuating his growl with the toe of his moccasin-clad foot.
She looked up at the man. He barked at her, short, sharp sounds which might have been either Spanish or an Indian tongue. She shook her head, showing incomprehension, and the Indian stalked away. She looked more closely at him as he scuffled around the wagon. He wore a pair of moccasins with attached leggings which came up almost to his knees. A leather thong circled his waist, catching up the flaps of skin which hung down, front and rear. Apart from these and a battered hat that might have come from the U. S. Army, he wore nothing. His war club hung from a wrist, attached by a rawhide lace; a tattered knife peeped from a sheath hanging on his waist string. He looked to be of medium height and was powerfully built.
Gloria wondered why she had been spared; it was quite clear that every other member of her train had been killed, though she could see no bodies. The Indian stalked around the wagon, muttering under his breath and rustling through boxes and trunks before coming back to her side. Then it became clear why she too had not been killed: the Indian unfastened the thong around his waist and dropped his breechclout aside. Gloria gasped aloud when she saw his cock, already half-erect and thoroughly menacing.
The Indian grinned, a cold expression without humor, and reached down to tear the skirt from her dress. She attempted to lift a foot and kick him in the groin but he anticipated the move; he caught her ankle and pressed her foot down to the ground, dropping a knee across her shins as he ripped the clothing from her body. When she was completely naked from the waist down, except fof the heavy shoes she wore while on the trail, he stepped back to survey his achievement.
Gloria's face turned scarlet and her heart pounded heavily. She pressed her thighs together, though she knew that she could hardly prevent him from doing whatever he chose; she could not tear her gaze away from the rapidly stiffening prick at the base of his belly. It was the first time she had ever seen an Indian's sexual equipment, naturally, and she could not help remarking to herself how similar it was to Henry's tool. To be sure the coloring was not the same, but otherwise there was very little difference. If anything, the Indian's cock was larger, and certainly his balls were constructed on a more massive scale; they looked to be the size of hen eggs and hung down several inches.
The Indian grunted, obviously elated at her frightened reaction, and came toward her. Again she drew back a foot to kick him but he evaded the blow with ease, catching her aakle and holding it with a grip like a bear trap. He mounted her, forced her knees apart with his own and aimed the head of his prick into the mouth of her cuat.
"Oh, no! Please don't!" she moaned, closing her eyes and throwing her head from side to side. "Oh, don't do it to me, you can't!"
Her words counted for nothing, of course; she later came to realize that he had understood nothing she had said. He pressed down upon her, relentless and powerful. She tried to shrink away from his prick but there was nowhere to go-she could not prevent him from sheathing the coppery projectile in the mouth of her cunt. He grunted, a sound of animal lust, when he felt her cunt close around him. Although she was far from aroused the opening retained enough of the natural lubricant she had generated earlier in the morning, when she had tormented herself with thoughts of Henry, and he slipped easily into the tunnel leading up into her body.
"Agghh! Don't! You're killing me!" she moaned. "Oh, no, you can't be doing this to me!"
Seeing that her struggles were having no effect, she willed herself to relax. If she could not resist him, she told herself, she would show her displeasure by feigning unconsciousness. This tactic worked no better than resistance, however. To her shocked dismay, she discovered that her body was responding to the Indian's brutal assault! She refused to believe it at first but there was no mistaking the symptoms; her pussy was gaining in feeling and her clitoris was beginning to swell angrily as the Indian's cock pistoned back and forth in her cunt.
No, it can't be! she told herself, horrified. Why, he killed your husband! You can't be wanting to fuck him now!
Although she did not know whether this Indian was the one who had killed Henry or not, she did not distinguish them in her mind; they were all savages and killers to her. This made it all the more incomprehensible when she felt her body heating up and answering the fierce, driving thrusts that brought the swollen head of his prick spearing into the mouth of her womb.
"Agghh!" she groaned, feeling her clitoris tingle with all the urgency and insistence it had ever showed when Henry had been driving his own cock into her cunt. "Unngghh! Ooohh!"
Gloria writhed beneath the Indian, still trying to get away from him; her efforts to escape his brutal thrusts only succeeded in heightening her response to his assault. The reek of stale sweat, woodsmoke and stale animal grease radiated from his body and she found the gorge rising in her throat. Fighting down the impulse to retch, she struggled all the harder against him. Gradually, however, her writhing efforts to escape took on a rather different "character. First she clutched at his thick, muscular thighs with her knees, holding him between them; then she began answering his steady thrusts with tentative movements of her hips. As her body grew ever more responsive to his attack the movements became quicker and stronger until at last she was rubbing her pussy against his loins with abandon.
Bound and helpless though she was, she could not keep her lithe, hungry body from growing ever hotter and more finely attuned to the Indian's relentless motions. Shrieking out a despairing cry, she locked her heels together behind his knees and flung her hips upward, driving the mouth of her cunt down the shaft of his prick until her clitoris scraped his belly and slid into the bristly hair growing around the base of his cock.
"Agghh! Aiieee!" she wailed, twitching convulsively and tossing her hips from side to side as her passion mounted inside, knotting her belly into a solid mass of sexual tension.
The Indian paid no attention to her cries, of course. Nor did he seem to be fucking with her benefit in mind. Rather, he simply drove his prick into her cunt again and again, pistoning the meaty rod back and forth in an effort to give himself pleasure. Despite his lack of concern she felt her loins growing warmer and warmer; she felt the hard knot of tension growing ever tighter until it seemed that a gigantic spring was being tightened within her midsection. Suddenly the Indian grunted and lurched forward, driving his prick even further into her body. He snarled out a guttural phrase and held himself close against her; she felt his thick, muscular body quiver and then his cock began spurting out a thick stream of hot gruel.
Her mind registered shame and consternation at finding herself able to achieve such fierce pleasure with a murderous savage but her body knew nothing of shame; her physical self knew only the jolting, pulsating pleasure which exploded within her belly and spread outward in long, rolling waves that left her whimpering weakly. The Indian held himself within her until his prick and balls had ceased to move, then extracted the tool quickly. He wiped the moisture off on her belly, grunting softly as he did so. She looked down, saw the sperm-dampened rod moving over her belly and felt another shudder of pleasure.
"Huhh! Fuck good!" the Indian muttered, nodding his head energetically.
"What? You speak English?" she gasped, startled to hear the words.
"No English," he growled, shaking his head. "Fuck good! 'Sta bueno!"
Gloria had already picked up enough Spanish to understand the approval carried in that phrase. She found it no comfort, however; she was immediately overwhelmed with a vast sense of shame at what she had done.
"Oh, you utter bastard!" she whispered, her voice twisted with loathing and self-contempt. "You've killed my husband and all these men and then you've raped me! And what's worse, you made me come-oohh, I'll look forward to seeing you dead!"
The Indian ignored her as he fastened the breechclout around his waist and settled the sheathed knife into place. Her heart nearly leaped into her mouth when she saw his fingers touch the heavy, fringed scabbard; she exhaled gratefully when she understood that he was merely adjusting its hang. He moved away and whistled for his horse. The shaggy pony came up to him and he leaped onto its back with a single, easy bound. He caught up the rawhide thong trailing from the animal's lower jaw, dug his heels into its flanks and clattered away. Gloria twisted around in an attempt to determine what he was doing but could not follow his path once he had disappeared behind the wagon.
She eased herself back onto the ground, conscious now of the Indian's sperm trickling out of her pussy. Though it reminded her of the shame which had been forced upon her, she could not help remembering the way her belly and thighs had reverberated with her own pleasure. Though it tore at her conscience to admit it, she could not hide the truth: she had come with a full, mighty rush of feeling, exactly as she had done when it had been her own husband between her thighs!
How could you? she asked herself, shaking her head in wonder. A brute, a savage, and you allowed yourself to come just as though it had been Henry! Are you so complete a whore that you can come with any man? Have you no shame at all?
She was not given a great deal* of time in which to contemplate her'fatal' weakness. 'The Indian soon returned, herding several horses in front of him; she recognized the big Morgan Henry had ridden, along with the sturdy bay gelding belonging to Magee. When the Indian swung down from his own pony she saw that he had Magee's pistol and rifle, as well as two bows and a quiver full of arrows. He dumped these into a pile and rode off again. When he returned the second time he carried Henry's shotgun as well as the silver mounted revolver which had been given him as a wedding present; her heart throbbed piteously when she recognized the weapons and knew that Henry was indeed dead.
The Indian now went around the wagons, picking out all the weapons and a few other articles which he fancied, Finally he dumped them all into a pile and began fashioning them into a pack. When he had the bundle securely lashed with a rope he had taken from a wagon he threw it onto a mule, tied it down as tightly as possible and surveyed the scene one last time. It was only then that Gloria saw the scalps hanging from his waist thong: they were only small patches of hair with a piece of bloody skin attached but she recognized them for what they were. Looking closer, she saw that one of them was undoubtedly Henry's; her heart sank even lower when she recognized the rich, curling chestnut hair.
"Wh-what are you going to do.'" she murmured when the Indian came toward her, drawing the knife from its scabbard. "Oh no, not…!"
Instead of plunging it into her heart, as she had feared, he slashed the thongs binding her hands to the wagon wheel and motioned for her to get onto her feet. Replacing the knife in its sheath, he motioned toward the horses, obviously intending her to mount one of them. She took a tentative step toward the Morgan belonging to her husband and, seeing the Indian's nod, felt a surge of joy.
"Wait a moment," she said, "I must repair the damage you've done."
He growled impatiently but she went to the rear of the wagon and selected another stout cotton dress, rolling it into a compact bundle, and picked out a stout woolen skirt, which she stepped into and fastened around her waist. Having thus covered her naked legs, she went to the Morgan and swung into the saddle. The voluminous skirt made it difficult for her to straddle the mount but she tucked up the skirts so that they afforded her thighs a minimal amount of protection.
The Indian nodded and again pointed to the south, kicking his pony forward as he did so. They set off at a fast trot, then changed into a gallop. The Indian drove the extra horses before him; he had gathered all the mules and horses into a bunch, along with the ponies his companions had ridden. Gloria followed him for a time and then gradually allowed the Morgan to fall behind and edge to one side. Her shift was quickly noticed, however, and brought its own retribution: the Indian steered his pony back toward her, brandished his stone-headed club in a menacing fashion and pointed toward the herd of horses. Gloria nodded meekly, all too aware of his meaning, and kicked the Morgan into a faster pace. The Indian grunted approval when she was again close to the galloping herd.
They rode for the rest of the day, keeping to a generally southerly direction. The Indian made one long detour back to the east; Gloria suspected that this change was to take them well away from Comanche Springs, the nearest settlement. Otherwise they kept their backs to the debacle they left behind. Gloria soon discovered that her skirt was not designed for riding astride; it persisted in hiking up around her thighs and by midafternoon she could feel the beginnings of a sunburn.
The saddle chafed the insides of her thighs. Since she had not taken the time to don any underclothing her naked flesh rubbed against the leather and soon began to complain. Furthermore the load of sperm which the Indian had deposited in her cunt continued to dribble forth, inundating the seat of the saddle and setting up an added irritation. She dared not complain, much less stop. The Indian drove the horses before him with ease and occasionally looked over to make sure that she was keeping up.
By late afternoon they could see a line of peaks rising far to the south. At first Gloria had thought them to be storm clouds but as they covered mile after mile across the rolling prairie the sharp, jagged outline became clearer. They shortly altered course again, heading back to the west, and dropped down into a broad sink. A clump of green bushes in the center of the bowl indicated water and they rode toward it. The Indian approached cautiously but, once he had assured himself that no one else was nearby he rode up boldly. He dismounted and filled the canteens he had taken from the wagon train; Gloria's stomach turned when she saw the green slime covering the pool of water in the center of the bushes. Once the canteens were full the Indian led the horses up and let them drink their fill.
"Pa-yah!" the Indian grunted, motioning to the big Morgan and jerking his hand further to the south.
Gloria sighed heavily at the signal but obediently climbed back into the saddle. She had taken advantage of the respite to squat in the shallow part of the pool, with her skirt hiked around her waist, and to splash up hand-fuls of water onto her pussy and thighs. The warm water eased the burning sensations somewhat, but as soon as they were mounted and riding again she found that the relief had only been temporary.
They rode until almost sundown. The Indian signalled her to a halt, gathered up the horses and mules and began hobbling them for the night. He twisted short lengths of rawhide around their forefeet with a few dexterous turns of his fingers and unsaddled his own animal. Gloria tugged at the saddle on the big Morgan, finally getting it off; the horse whinnied his pleasure at being relieved of the burden.
"Ko-may," the Indian grunted, reaching into a saddlebag and bringing out a greasy buckskin pouch.
He reached into it and brought out a strip of dried meat, covered with corn meal, then tossed the bag to Gloria. She nearly retched again when she beheld the greasy, filthy condition of their food sack, but her hunger was strong enough to overcome her repugnance. The meat was surprisingly good, though stringy and tough, and the meal, she found, was pinole-a mixture of corn meal, pinon nuts and sugar. Alternately chewing and sipping water from her canteen, she ate until the Indian reclaimed the food sack and put it away in his saddlebag.
"Doh-mit-ka!" the Indian muttered.
Gloria looked blankly at him but when he began unfastening the thong holding the flaps of his breechclout she understood the meaning of his words. He dropped the garment aside and seized his prick, working the foreskin back and forth over the turnip-shaped head. She shuddered, but one scowl from his evil face was enough to set her fingers to work unfastening the front of her blouse and the tastenings of her skirt. The Indian's face creased into something resembling a smile when she had disrobed and stood before him meekly.
He came toward her and nodded approvingly as he reached out to run a hand over her full, red-tipped breasts. Gloria shuddered and could not disguise the feeling of revulsion which swept over her at that moment, but he paid no attention. He continued to feel her breasts, cupping them and squeezing the big nipples; despite her disgust, the contact sent tiny darts of sensual feeling racing through her body. The Indian caught her right hand and moved it down, to his cock; he grinned and nodded happily when she grasped it.
The feeling of the man's cock in her hands worked a slow but definite change in Gloria. Even though she hated herself for feeling anything but disgust and hatred for the one who had killed her husband, or who had certainly helped to do so, his rapidly stiffening cock caused her pussy to grow warmer and wetter. It was almost as though she had no control at all over her body's responses in sexual matters. Perhaps, she thought, as she fingered the Indian's prick, Henry had taught her all too well! Perhaps he had unleashed forces in her animal nature which even she could not now control!
The Indian grunted out another guttural phrase and pointed to the pile of blankets. She understood what he meant and spread one upon the thick grass; as soon as she had done so she fell upon it and lay on her back. The Indian pounced upon her and hurried to stuff his cock into her pussy. Gloria closed her eyes and shuddered when she caught a whiff of his strong scent, but the feeling of sickness soon passed, leaving her with a definite hunger located between her spreading thighs. She grunted aloud with pleasure when she felt the man's thick cock scrape against the lips of her pussy.
"Oohh! My God, it can't be happening again!" she moaned.
It was happening again, there could be no doubt of that. The feel of the Indian's cock sent strong thrills of unearthly joy pulsing through her body and she tilted her hips upward as he burrowed into her cunt. His cock spread the tender orifice wide, forming it into a perfect circle; she quivered excitedly when he pushed inward and sent the head of his prick slithering into the opening of her cunt.
"Unngghh! You're tearing me apart!" she muttered.