Paul Longfellow - Can_t stop the sex

"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.