as he shot his seed
into her and held his cock inside her for long, trembling moments. Undone and
astonished, she undulated her hips against his and asked for something more,
she knew not what.
He pulled out of her. She saw his cock, slick but still
hard. “I must mark you this way too.”
With one arm around her, he rolled her to all fours. There,
he covered her like male animals of the forest took their mates. He whispered
wild words in Comanche that fired her blood and had her pushing back against
him for more of his fine cock. Grunting, he kissed her nape and praised her in
English. He sank two fingers in her cunt and ran his still swollen rod along
her slippery slit. There, for long delicious moments, he toyed with her flesh,
pierced her with his randy dick and brought her up to the bright sunlight once
again.
She sank to the hides, his body blanketing hers. There,
exhausted but still hungry for his hands and mouth upon her sensitive tissues,
she lay on her back and let him suck her and lick her until waves of fulfillment
once more rippled inside her tender flesh. And then the two of them drifted to
sleep.
* * * * *
All through that deep and dreamless night, while braves
danced, whooping and stomping to the beat of drums for my success and in grief
for Knows Brown Bear’s death, I took my bride in my arms over and over again
and branded her as mine. Each time, she came to me, eager for more. Each time,
she let me eat her juicy pussy, tug at her nipples and toy with her frilly
female petals. She was as passionate as I had foreseen in my dreams. More. She was responsive to my every touch, ravenous for my every caress, each kiss,
each new excitement I lavished on her.
In my years as a warrior, I had taken two women to my tent
as wife. Both had been good women and kind. One had been funny. One had been
pretty. But neither was like Shining Moon. None craved my cock. None wanted to
be consumed by my manly fire. None impelled me to make her scream or sigh or
melt or burn with me. This one, this Anglo woman with the pale skin and the
gleaming flaxen hair, let me love her as I would with raw lust. To ram her and
make a mark upon her as my own.
Each time she had awakened, I had shown her new ways to see
the sun.
As dawn broke, I gazed up at the hole in my tipi to watch
light erase the shadows inside. Propped on one arm, I licked my lower lip as I
examined my wife’s beauty. My sleeping woman lay in careless abandon upon my
hides, one hand thrown up against her chin like a child. I tugged away the hide
with which I had covered her last night after my last claim of her. Her full
breasts flattened against her chest with their weight. I smiled, admiring her
pink, pebbled nipples that I had nipped and bitten and pinched to fine, hard
points so many times last night. Her belly was taut, her hipbones prominent,
and her pussy—that beautiful bush of hair—was still coated with the wet
evidence of our union. Today I would have the honor to shave her there. For her
compliance, I would be most happy to reward her and fill her up once more with
my male flesh.
Unable to stop myself, I reached out to caress her plump,
wet pussy. She was a prize, this lovely Anglo blonde. My prize.
“You are grinning, husband,” she said in a husky morning
voice as she reached up to cup my cheek. “Were we good together?”
“I cannot remember. Let me see,” I whispered as I thrust one
finger, then two inside her swollen cunt.
She arched. Her eyes glistened with desire for me.
“See how you are mine,” I said as I held up my fingers,
tinged with her maiden’s blood.
“Bull Elk, please, fill me again.”
I knew what she wanted, but tradition demanded I take her
outside at dawn’s light of our marriage night. It tore my heart not to plant my
cock once more up inside that slick cunt of hers, but my people and their
Spirit had to be served.
I stood, donned my breechcloth and stared down at her.
Lovely, naked creature that she was, she
into her and held his cock inside her for long, trembling moments. Undone and
astonished, she undulated her hips against his and asked for something more,
she knew not what.
He pulled out of her. She saw his cock, slick but still
hard. “I must mark you this way too.”
With one arm around her, he rolled her to all fours. There,
he covered her like male animals of the forest took their mates. He whispered
wild words in Comanche that fired her blood and had her pushing back against
him for more of his fine cock. Grunting, he kissed her nape and praised her in
English. He sank two fingers in her cunt and ran his still swollen rod along
her slippery slit. There, for long delicious moments, he toyed with her flesh,
pierced her with his randy dick and brought her up to the bright sunlight once
again.
She sank to the hides, his body blanketing hers. There,
exhausted but still hungry for his hands and mouth upon her sensitive tissues,
she lay on her back and let him suck her and lick her until waves of fulfillment
once more rippled inside her tender flesh. And then the two of them drifted to
sleep.
* * * * *
All through that deep and dreamless night, while braves
danced, whooping and stomping to the beat of drums for my success and in grief
for Knows Brown Bear’s death, I took my bride in my arms over and over again
and branded her as mine. Each time, she came to me, eager for more. Each time,
she let me eat her juicy pussy, tug at her nipples and toy with her frilly
female petals. She was as passionate as I had foreseen in my dreams. More. She was responsive to my every touch, ravenous for my every caress, each kiss,
each new excitement I lavished on her.
In my years as a warrior, I had taken two women to my tent
as wife. Both had been good women and kind. One had been funny. One had been
pretty. But neither was like Shining Moon. None craved my cock. None wanted to
be consumed by my manly fire. None impelled me to make her scream or sigh or
melt or burn with me. This one, this Anglo woman with the pale skin and the
gleaming flaxen hair, let me love her as I would with raw lust. To ram her and
make a mark upon her as my own.
Each time she had awakened, I had shown her new ways to see
the sun.
As dawn broke, I gazed up at the hole in my tipi to watch
light erase the shadows inside. Propped on one arm, I licked my lower lip as I
examined my wife’s beauty. My sleeping woman lay in careless abandon upon my
hides, one hand thrown up against her chin like a child. I tugged away the hide
with which I had covered her last night after my last claim of her. Her full
breasts flattened against her chest with their weight. I smiled, admiring her
pink, pebbled nipples that I had nipped and bitten and pinched to fine, hard
points so many times last night. Her belly was taut, her hipbones prominent,
and her pussy—that beautiful bush of hair—was still coated with the wet
evidence of our union. Today I would have the honor to shave her there. For her
compliance, I would be most happy to reward her and fill her up once more with
my male flesh.
Unable to stop myself, I reached out to caress her plump,
wet pussy. She was a prize, this lovely Anglo blonde. My prize.
“You are grinning, husband,” she said in a husky morning
voice as she reached up to cup my cheek. “Were we good together?”
“I cannot remember. Let me see,” I whispered as I thrust one
finger, then two inside her swollen cunt.
She arched. Her eyes glistened with desire for me.
“See how you are mine,” I said as I held up my fingers,
tinged with her maiden’s blood.
“Bull Elk, please, fill me again.”
I knew what she wanted, but tradition demanded I take her
outside at dawn’s light of our marriage night. It tore my heart not to plant my
cock once more up inside that slick cunt of hers, but my people and their
Spirit had to be served.
I stood, donned my breechcloth and stared down at her.
Lovely, naked creature that she was, she
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