Paul Longfellow - Can_t stop the sex

"Huhh!"

Looking up at the harsh grunt, she saw a squat, thick-chested Indian at the tail of the wagon. He was going through her trunks, flinging dresses and underclothing aside with careless disdain. She swivelled her head around but could see no one else; they appeared to be the only survivors of the impromptu raid. She felt a sinking sensation, a mixture of fear, terror and despair, and closed her eyes.

"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.