Paul Longfellow - Can_t stop the sex

The thought, and others like it, conspired to put added life into her hot-lipped pussy and she edged around on the wagon seat in an effort to find a more comfortable posture. By leaning foward, she knew all too well, she could press that tingling organ almost down to the seat of the wagon and bring it into contact with the bunched up material of her dress. More than once she had done this with astounding success, rubbing herself until she felt that fatal explosion which left her weak and gasping. Alternatively, as she also knew, she could cross her legs and tighten her thighs, forcing them to squeeze her pussy more tightly; that would also produce a satisfying blast of sensual delight in short order.

Neither of those alternatives appealed to her that morning. For one thing, the memory of Henry's massive prick was too fresh in her mind; she felt somehow disloyal each time she gave in to her body's demands and satisfied herself. She had to keep reminding, herself that she was a grown, married woman now and that she must put aside, her childish ways, including the devices she had discovered for dealing sexual pleasure to herself. She resolutely spread her knees slightly and leaned back on the seat as she set herself the task of ignoring the tingling flesh at the base of her belly.

Due to their early start they reached the crossing shortly after midmorning. The wagons pulled up at the bank, giving Magee time to explore the bottom of the river and to check the opposite side. Gloria pulled the mules up beside the other teams, wrapped the reins around the brake and stood up. Looking around, she saw a broad, sweeping plain dotted with brush. A long line of hills, hazy in the distance, lay to the north; farther off, to the southwest, another blue mass lay against the horizon.

"And this is that famous crossing we've been hearing about?" she said to Henry, who had ridden up beside her. "It certainly doesn't look like much!"

"Magee says people have been using this almost as long as there have been people," Henry stated. "It's supposed to be the safest way to get across this river. You can see that it's used frequently; see how the grass and bushes are beaten down ail around?"

Gloria now noticed a definite difference in the landscape. For perhaps a mile in almost any direction on either side of the crossing there was very little vegetation to be seen. The wind erased all signs of tracks but now that she looked more closely she saw dotted piles of animal dung here and there.

"Just drive right in and on across," Magee called out, riding back across the river, which was no more than kneedeep on his horse. "Good bottom all the way and an easy pull on the other side!"

He rode up beside the Cramers as he watched the first wagon edge down the steep slope.

"Nothin' to it, ma'am," he said. "That's why this is so good a place to get across. It's a good, hard bottom, easy to get into and out of. That river'd have to be kicking up a storm before you couldn't get across here!"

"I suppose it's a favorite Indian crossing too; 1" she asked.

"It's everybody's favorite," he said. "But it ain't likely we'll see a redskin this time of year. Now was it August or September, you'd be likely to find a herd o' Comanches, that's sure enough; they come down this way on their way into Mexico, you see. But right now they're more likely to be chasing the buffalo up north. Still, that's not to say ye oughtn't to keep both eyes open and not stray too far from the rest of us, ye understand!"

"I'm not going anywhere," she said with a shiver. "Er, are those really mountains over there to the southwest?"

"Sure enough," the wagonmaster replied. "Them's the Davis mountains, ma'am, and we're gonna cut right through 'em. It's an easy run now that they've got the road. We'll spend a few days at Fort Davis, resting up and getting the wagons in shape, and then we'll push on through the mountains. Then it's out into the flats, over to the river and right on up to El Paso."

Gloria marvelled at the matter-of-fact way he stated the route, as if he might be describing the path from a farmhouse to the barn. She knew that they were a good three hundred miles from El Paso and that much of the route would be travelling of the hardest, dryest sort, yet he made it sound easy and uneventful.

She waited until the third wagon was safely across the river before slapping her own team into action. Having seen the other wagons make the pull she now felt easier about it, although Henry had offered to drive; the mules took the water without hesitation and the crossing was far easier than she had imagined. They pulled out on the other side and, after a quick check to make sure that nothing had come loose, set out again.

It happened barely an hour after they had crossed the river. A shot rang out, puncturing the desolation with an angry report. She looked around, thinking at first that one of the outriders had spotted game, but then she saw one of the teamsters on a wagon ahead crumple to the ground. At the same time a series of blood-curdling whoops rang out to the side; looking in that direction she saw a group of ponies dashing toward them. At first they appeared to be riderless but then she saw the dark shapes clinging to the sides of the hurtling mounts.

"Indians!" Magee bellowed, spurring his own horse toward them at a rush.

Gloria looked anxiously to her left, where Henry was riding; she saw him set the spurs to his big Morgan gelding and guide the animal toward the advancing attackers, shotgun at the ready. She whipped the mules harshly, aiming them toward the other wagons as Magee had taught her to do in time of trouble. One of the teamsters had already pulled to a halt and was bringing his rifle up; she saw an Indian rise out of the brush at his side and hurl a long, steeltipped lance. The weapon lifted the teamster clear of the wagon and thew him to the ground.

Magee and Henry now began firing, again attracting her attention as she whipped the mules even harder. The boom of Henry's shotgun echoed across the plain and an Indian and his pony went rolling; another, however, closed and loosed an arrow into his chest at the same moment he fired the second barrel. Both he and his killer-for Gloria did not doubt that the arrow had struck home-tumbled to the ground. Magee disappeared into a cloud of dust, firing rapidly. Gloria drew up beside the one wagon with a teamster in it; he was already crouched behind the box with his rifle at the ready. She pulled the mules up short, wrapped the reins around the brake and got her own rifle out. Her heart ached for Henry but her instinct for survival was even stronger.

There was nothing to be seen for a moment, then the Indians appeared from another quarter. There were three of them and they were no more than fifty yards away. She triggered off a shot with no effect, then another that hit the pony and knocked him sprawling; the rider remained crumpled on the ground where he had fallen. Her fellow teamster shot another as they rode their shaggy little ponies up to the very edge of the wagons but the third leaped into the wagon, brandishing a stone-headed axe. He caught Gloria squarely on the chin with a backhanded swipe of his free hand, then brained the remaining teamster. She fell on top of the pile of goods, ears ringing and groggy; she weakly searched for her rifle but could not make her fingers obey her brain's command. Then she succumbed completely, sinking into a black pit of unconsciousness.

When she came to she was first conscious of a dull, throbbing pain in her head and a certain numbness in her jaw, where the Indian's iron fist had caught her. Then, trying to put a hand to her forehead, she discovered that she could not move. Opening her eyes and looking about, she found that her hands had been circled with a strip of rawhide and made fast to the wheel of a wagon. They extended above her head as she lay flat upon the ground.