Paul Longfellow - Can_t stop the sex

"Hah-Io-pay!" the Indian grunted, gesturing for her to rise.

Gloria struggled back to her knees, uncertain of his intention. He seized her by her long, matted hair and forced her face toward his cock. She struggled for a moment but found herself powerless in his grip. He had tremendous strength in his hands and arms and he easily brought her face until it brushed against his prick. She tried to turn away but could not; the stiffened length of hot meat brushed against her lips.

"Oh, no! You can't mean that!" she gasped in horror.

The Indian persisted and made his meaning perfectly clear: Gloria was to suck his cock! She stubbornly held her lips closed for-a moment, but a ringing blow from the Indian's rough hand dazed her. When she had recovered her senses she found that he had forced the head of his prick into her lips and was fucking her mouth.

"Mmmm! Glllbbb!" she grunted as she tried to force the tool from her lips.

The scent of sweat and grease was overpowering, but there was another scent which was even more effective. Gloria quickly recognized it as the same aroma which wafted up from between her own thighs after a night of lusty exercise with her husband: it was the scent of dried come and pussy juices! This discovery brought her near to retching but she managed to quell the impulse. Gradually the revulsion left her, to her surprise, and she found a different feeling taking its place. The scent ot sex, together with the salty, cunty flavor of his prick-it was not so very different from Henry's sperm, after it had dripped from her cunt-inflamed her brain with sexual desire and she began lapping him wildly. Her tongue curled around the big shaft, digging into the groove between the head and the shaft, and she began working her head back and forth along the tool.

"Hunnhh!' the Indian grunted. "Mah-kee-loh!"

His words were evidently exhortations to continue, judging from the way he grasped her head and began fucking himself in and out of her mouth. His cock speared deep into her throat as his passion mounted higher. Suddenly he stiffened his entire body and thrust deep, rising onto the balls of his feet as he did so. Gloria felt his cock swell suddenly and then expel a thick jet of scalding come. At first she wanted to spit the wad of salty gruel out but his prick was in the way; she could do nothing with the come but swallow it. To her surprise she found that the distinctive taste fired her own lusts even higher and she began drinking it eagerly. The Indian's balls quivered in their sack as they continued to pump out streams of sperm. Gloria sucked him to the last and would have continued except that he pulled his prick from her mouth and stepped back.

"No, you can't take it away!" she blurted out. "I want it; I need it! I've got to come too!"

The Indian ignored her pleas, which he did not understand, and left her alone. She fell back onto the blanket and clapped her hands to her pussy. Writhing in sexual anguish, she worked her fingers deep into her hot, juicy cunt and began fingerfucking at a speedy pace. She cupped one hand over her lovemound, bringing her palm down hard against her clitoris, and began humping with a quick, driving rhythm. Panting and moaning, she worked her way to the climax.

"Ahhhh! Ooohh! I'm coming again!" she wailed.

The Indian went to sleep shortly afterward. Gloria dozed for a while and then lay awake for an hour. She tried to comprehend all that had happened to her since they had crossed the Pecos but her dazed brain could not encompass all those drastic changes in situation. More than anything else she could not understand how she could have become such a depraved, whorish creature. To have knelt before a murderous, filthy savage, even if pressed to do so, and to have sucked his prick until his sperm was washing down her throat, was something she could hardly believe she had done. Yet there was the salty aftertaste of the man's come in her mouth; there was no getting around that harsh fact. And the way she had thrilled deep inside when he had spread his body over hers and shoved his cock deep into her cunt-that also mystified her.

I couldn't have done all that, she told herself. But I did! And what's more I came! I'll swear it was almost as good as when Henry did it to me! Oh, how could I have done such things!

She finally gave up trying to understand herself and her reactions to her captor. Turning onto her side, she pulled the blanket over her naked body and drifted off to sleep.

The Indian had them up and moving early the next morning. They worked their way through the broad pass and came out onto a broad, flat plain. Another range of mountains loomed up far to the south. The Indian gestured with his hand and nodded approvingly.

"Mejico!" he grunted.

Gloria's heart fell even lower within her breast. She had supposed that they were making for that country and she knew that many tribes habitually wandered back and forth between Mexico and the United States. A Mexican journey had not been part of her itinerary, however, and she emphatically did not want to go with this savage. Just as they were ready to gig their horses down the slope leading out onto the plain she heard a sharp, popping noise and then a thud. The Indian gurgled deep in his broad chest and clapped a hand to his throat, where a fountain of blood had magically appeared. The crack of a rifle followed hard upon the heels of the popping noise. Gloria sat rooted to her horse, unable to move for a moment. Before she could make up her mind what to do she heard a voice.

"Just sit there, ma'am, I'll be there in a minute!"

It took her more than a few seconds to realize that the voice had spoken in English -it had been almost three days since she had heard her native tongue spoken aloud. She continued to sit her horse and looked about. The Indian fell from his mount, tumbling to the ground in a limp heap without moving. Finally Gloria saw a movement in the rocks off to the left front. Straining her eyes, she saw a man moving down the rocks, rifle in hand.

Then she realized that she had been rescued, that her ordeal was finished.

"Howdy, ma'am," her savior said when he had ridden his horse up to where she sat. "Dick Logan's the name. I reckon you're from that wagon train that got hit back at the Horsehead Crossing, eh?"

"Y-y-yes, that's right," she said, fighting to keep back the tears of relief. "I… I'm Gloria Cramer."

"I come up on the wreck a while after it had all happened," Logan said. "It was pretty clear from the sign; I could tell that one of the Indians had taken a captive off to the south, probably a woman. I took time out to bury the ones I found and then I took out after you two. I'd have gotten you sooner but I had to ride around and get in front-pretty hard to sneak up on an Indian from the rear like that."

"And you were waiting here for us.'" she asked, scarcely comprehending all that he had said. "You knew we'd be coming through here.-'"

"Wasn't hardly no other way you could have come," the man said with a grin. "Unless you wanted a real hard ride and that didn't seem likely, since the Indian was in something of a hurry. I figured that if I lay out there about two hundred yards off the trail I'd get a pretty good shot. Nice I had this old Spencer along; it made it pretty easy."

Gloria noticed the short but heavy.56 caliber Army carbine he carried; it certainly had a lethal look about it. Gradually she began to realize that she had been rescued by an exceptionally handsome man, at least in comparison to her most recent travelling companion. Logan stood about six feet tall, she guessed, or somewhat taller than her late husband; he was powerfully built and exceptionally thick through the chest and shoulders. His dress was a mixture of frontier and army; the trousers were out of a stout gray material and the shirt was a dark blue cavalry flannel. He wore an army hat, considerably the worse for the wear, and a Navy Colt was holstered at his side, along with a heavy knife in a beaded sheath.