Chapter 2
Shortly after sunup the next morning they were on their way again. Gloria sat comfortably on the box of her wagon and thought of her husband as she allowed the mules to pick their own way. She had found it difficult to keep her hands off him as they had lain under the wagon the night before, rolled in their blankets; it had been almost as difficult to keep from thrusting her hands between her own thighs as desire gnawed at her flesh.
I don't know whether it's better to grab a chance like the one we had yesterday or not, she mused as the mules followed the other wagons along. I always wake up the next morning wanting it so much more! It will be different in Arizona -- there I'll be able to enjoy a good fuck in the morning. Perhaps one before breakfast and one after, too!
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 forward, 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 all 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 knee deep 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?" 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 marveled 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 traveling of the hardest, driest 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, steel tipped lance. The weapon lifted the teamster clear of the wagon and threw 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.
"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 swiveled 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 for 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 ankle 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 cunt.
"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 wows. 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.