Posted by Cindy on July 10, 2005 at 12:48:08:
Doe Eyes had undergone a total transformation since the brutal slaying of her sister, Viper Fangs. Gentle, soft, feminine, beautiful, avoiding conflict at all costs, she’d been the antithesis of her fierce, warrior sister. But something snapped inside her when she found her sister’s nude beaten body, pinned beneath a fallen rock wall, bruised from multiple blows, still bleeding where spurred cowboy boots had punctured soft, bare flesh.
Only three months before, she’d found the bullet-riddled bodies of her two brothers, sprawled stark naked on the hard ground where they’d been surprised and ambushed after bathing in a nearby water hole, and then shot to pieces by a cavalry detachment. Doe Eyes couldn’t help but notice the cluster of gaping bullet holes in her brothers’ naked groins and genitals, and she knew that the riflemen had made a sport of aiming for the unarmed braves’ exposed manhood.
She’d reconstructed the shooting in her mind, and guessed from the horse hooves and boot imprints that at least a dozen fully armed cavalrymen had taken part in the killing. Her naked and unarmed brothers clearly didn’t stand a fighting chance against the fusillade of metal slugs. She’d found Little Wolf lying face upwards, totally nude, arms and legs spread wide, and saw from the shocking damage to the young brave’s body that he’d taken at least fifteen bullets at point-blank range in the groin, genitals, lower belly and both nipples. The tip of his penis had been shot off – an obvious bull’s eye for one of the cavalry marksmen – and a jagged, bloodied stump, blackened with gunpowder, was all that remained of Little Wolf’s once proud manhood. Broken Arrow lay face down a few feet away and had clearly tried to flee, because more than 20 bullet holes peppered his bare buttocks, low back and sides. Broken Arrow’s rectum was a bloody, gaping hole where well aimed heavy metal slugs had penetrated and shattered his anus.
Does Eyes had repressed her rage and her grief then. But fierce Viper Fangs had always been her protector, and her killing now left Doe Eyes totally alone – and bent on revenge. She knew that her sister had been slain by two vicious cowgirls, both renowned Indian fighters whose families had been murdered by Indians, and who alone had already killed at least 50 of their tribe. The two women were known to ascribe faithfully to the motto that “The only good Indian is a dead Indian,” and they’d made it their business to make sure there were as many good Indians as possible, slaughtering the Indians wherever they found them.
They were also among the best shots in the West, rivalling any man for accuracy. Chrissy had earned the name “Hip Shot Chris” and had achieved notoriety for her penchant for firing her first shot into an Indian’s hip, severing his flimsy loincloth, and then shooting the shot-stripped Indian in the balls and belly – usually leaving them writhing on the ground in agony till they bled to death. Chrissy’s trade-mark was well known throughout the West, and all knew she was near wherever dead Indians were found totally nude, with three shot gun holes in the hip, genitals and low belly. Jill was less discriminating, but enjoyed close combat, relishing the feeling of her fists, boots, rifle barrel, and long Bowie knife finding their targets in unprotected Indian flesh.
In a solemn vow before her tribe, Doe Eyes now swore to kill the two cowgirls. Though she had no combat experience, the rage in her belly more than compensated for her lack of fighting skill. Ceremonially, with her tribe watching, Doe Eyes stripped off her blouse, short skirt, and moccasins till she had nothing on but a tiny, loose hanging G-string that barely covered her clitoris. Like the rest of her tribe, she too would fight near-naked in any weather. The tribe had decreed that she could take with her five braves and five maidens. All were similarly unclothed – the braves naked but for thin, flimsy loincloths barely covering their penises, the maidens clad like Doe Eyes in nothing but G-strings.
The braves brandished wooden tomahawks, the maidens short knives. Doe Eyes stepped forward and picked up the ceremonial battle axe in the centre of the circle. “I will return,” she vowed, “with this axe reddened with cowgirl blood, or may I die a hideous death like my beloved siblings.” Her eyes, once so placid and gentle, now burned with hatred and vengeance.
As they took their vows before the assembled tribe, a bitter late autumn wind cut into the warriors’ exposed flesh like a thousand knives, but they did not flinch. These Indians had always scorned the white settlers for the layers of heavy leather clothes they wore to protect them from the elements – a sign of their weakness and inability to withstand hardship. The Indians, too, mocked the pioneers’ reliance on firearms that could kill from afar as a sign of their weakness in hand-to-hand combat. But Doe Eyes had begun to question that wisdom, having evidence now that her sister had been totally defeated in a hand-to-hand battle. She’d carefully examined her sister’s naked body and seen for herself the punishment that fists and heavy boots had wreaked on bare female flesh, and the jagged wound in her sister’s stomach where Chrissy had smashed the rifle barrel into the unprotected Indian.
Secretly, Doe Eyes now knew that her tribe mocked the settlers’ guns only because they couldn’t get any themselves. Having seen dozens of her friends mowed down naked and defenceless by the withering firepower of the booted, blue-clad soldiers and cavalry, she knew how useless wooden axes and knives were against six-guns, rifles, buffalo guns, shotguns, cannon, and the newer Gatling Guns that spewed countless bullets almost simultaneously into bare Indian bellies, backs and chests. No matter, she thought, she wanted to bring her axe down personally on the heads of the two cowgirls who had killed her sister – nothing else would do! Guns be damned, she swore.
Barefoot, the eleven Indians left the ceremonial circle, and walked into the surrounding forest in search of their prey. They knew exactly where to go. Indians may be hopelessly out-gunned and out-clothed by their enemies, but they had good scouts who knew the country perfectly and moved noiselessly. The two cowgirls had last been seen just a half-day’s walk from the Indian camp, and Doe Eyes led her brave squad determinedly in that direction, her mind able to think of nothing else than splitting open the heads of the two white women. Less than two hours from camp,
Yellow Eagle, who had scouted ahead, ran back breathlessly to the small group. “White man, camping – just in front,” he whispered motioning. “Alone?” asked Doe Eyes. “Alone” said Yellow Eagle, “but big and armed.” “Good,” said Doe Eyes, “we kill white man.” White Fawn, a lovely, petite maiden, 20 years of age, just 5 foot 4 inches, with small, rounded breasts and slim belly, stepped forward. “Let me have him,” she demanded, motioning her knife across her throat. “No,” said Yellow Eagle. “He too big and strong for you, White Fawn.” “I will kill him,” said the girl. And before anyone could stop her, she slipped off into the forest.
Less than a hundred yards away, White Fawn saw her prey, busy stoking a fire and preparing his dinner in a small forest clearing. Yellow Eagle was right. The man was huge – 6 feet 5 and muscular, clad in leathers, high, spurred cowboy boots over his jeans, a vest and leather jacket buttoned with metal tight over a long-sleeved western shirt, broad cowboy hat, a wide leather belt and metal buckle holding two big holstered six-guns, with an ammunition belt and bandanna to complete the ensemble. A heavy-gauged sawed off doubled-barrelled shotgun lay by the fire.
White Fawn noticed with dismay that she’d have to abandon her plan to slit the man’s throat – the collar of his leather jacket was pulled up high to his ears and buttoned to his chin to protect the cowboy from the chill wind – and protecting his throat completely from the vengeful maiden. But her body filled with fury and her eyes with tears as she remembered the naked bullet-riddled bodies of so many of her blood relatives, and she felt her own exposed flesh quiver with excitement at the thought of the kill she was about to execute. But where was the cowboy’s vulnerability? She couldn’t find any, she wasn’t strong, and the big man’s layers of leather and metal protection would easily stop her small knife penetrating.
The big cowboy bent down to tend the fire. His back was to White Fawn, and she knew this was her chance to surprise him. Without thinking, White Fawn dashed from the bushes, knife raised, and leapt across the clearing. The cowboy pivoted around, caught the girl’s bare knife arm above the elbow with his muscular right hand, and plunged his left fist hard into the Indian’s bare belly. Winded and breathless, White Fawn struggled to hold on to her knife, but she was no match for the big white man’s fully-clothed power. The cowboy quickly brought his booted leg up hard between the girl’s bare legs and under her loose-hanging G-string, the studded leather smashing into her exposed privates, and knocking her to the ground. The big cowboy landed heavily on top of the near-naked Indian girl, and smashed his fist again into the girl’s bare right side. The small knife clattered harmlessly to the ground.
White Fawn tried to tear at the cowboy’s face with her finger nails, but he quickly turned her over, pulled her arm roughly behind her back with his left hand, tore off her flimsy G-string with his right, and then punched her bare back and sides mercilessly with his right fist till she lay still, exhausted, breathless, and totally nude. The white man straddled the beaten Indian, quickly drew one of his long pistols, and shoved the steel barrel hard into the naked girl’s waist. “Now get up, redskin, and don’t try anything funny. One wrong move, and it will be my great pleasure to fill your lovely body with hot lead.” He rolled White Fawn over on to her back and stuck the gun barrel hard into her naked pussy “…starting right here” he said.
The cowboy dismounted the Indian and motioned her with his pistol to get up. White Fawn, still short of breath, stood. “Reach for the sky, injun” he barked, shoving the gun into her bare solar plexus between her ribs. White Fawn raised her bare arms in total surrender, acutely conscious of her utter nudity and vulnerability next to the cowboy’s boots, jeans, leather jacket and guns, and completely defeated by her enemy’s armed and fully-clothed power. But her hatred burned stronger than ever. Nothing to lose, she spit angrily at the cowboy, but she was so much shorter than him that her spittle landed not in his face, but square on a metal jacket clasp.
“Big mistake, redskin,” he barked slamming his left fist with all his strength into the Indian girl’s soft bare belly, once, twice, three times. White Fawn staggered backwards from the blows, her arms still raised above her head, leaving her exposed body an easy target for her adversary. “You Indians sure like to ask for it,” bellowed the enraged cowboy, smashing the gun barrel hard into the girl’s bare right breast. “I might plug you right now for that.”
He grabbed the girl’s bare right shoulder, and spun her round in front of him, pulling her naked back up hard against his leather-jacketed front, so that she would be a human shield in case any of her friends still lurked in the bushes. He could not rule out that this slightly built girl was just a decoy for her warrior friends. He shoved the pistol barrel firmly into White Fawn’s soft left breast. “You got any friends out there, injun?”
As if to answer the question, two of Doe Eyes’ warrior braves rushed screaming from the bushes, tomahawks raised for the kill, and determined to rescue their blood sister. At the same moment, two knives were hurled by Indian maidens hidden in the scrub. One knife flew wide, and the second bounced harmlessly off the metal buckle of the cowboy’s wide ammunition belt. With one motion, the cowboy shoved White Fawn roughly to the ground, drew his second pistol and fired both guns simultaneously at point-blank range into the naked bellies of the advancing savages, stopping them both in their tracks just inches in front of him. One slug hit Red Eagle three inches below his belly button, opening a bleeding, gaping wound in his bare lower abdomen just above his loincloth. He staggered, dropped his tomahawk, and clutched his belly with both hands. The other gun shot caught Crazy Dog in the right side of his waist. The gunpowder burned his bare flesh, but he held on to his tomahawk, swayed unsteadily on his feet, and looked down as if in surprise at the bleeding bullet wound.
In a single, smooth move, the cowboy, a veteran Indian fighter, holstered both pistols, stepped back towards the fire, picked up his double-barrelled shotgun, and aimed it at the now unarmed and bleeding Red Eagle. “You redskins need to feel some real firepower inside those bare-assed bodies,” laughed the big frontiersman, relishing the moment. “You want to fight naked, well, you asked for it. Here’s some slug-power your bare body won’t ever forget,” he said, aiming the shotgun carefully and deliberately at the Indian’s navel. “Great target,” he laughed. “Say good-bye, injun, and join your buddies in the happy hunting grounds.” No more than four feet away from the doomed, defenceless, and near-naked Indian, the cowboy squeezed the trigger. The shotgun belched its double load of metal and fire into exposed and unprotected Indian flesh. The force of the blast lifted the Indian right off the ground, shredded his loincloth, opened up a gigantic, ragged hole where his belly button had been from which blood and innards now poured, and knocked him flat to the ground, totally nude, spread-eagled on his back, arms and legs flung wide, his dead eyes staring at the sky. “There’s another good Indian,” the frontiersman smiled.
White Fawn had used the moment to crawl into the bushes and make her escape, nude and weapon-less now, but at least not wounded – not yet! Crazy Dog was not so lucky. He dropped his tomahawk and turned to run. The cowboy wheeled around and fired again, but the moving target was harder to hit than Red Eagle’s body which had faced him, as if waiting for the bullets that would extinguish his life. The double shotgun blast caught the now disarmed Crazy Dog in his naked left buttock, just as he dashed behind some thick scrub and forest cover. He screamed as the shotgun slugs tore into the soft flesh of his vulnerable rear-side, with one slug severing his loincloth and dropping it as he ran. Bleeding heavily now from multiple bullet wounds, Crazy Dog summoned all his remaining strength and kept running. Another roar from the shotgun grazed Crazy Dog’s left side and left powder burns on his bare skin, but the bullets did not enter his body.
The cowboy did not follow, knowing he had plenty of time to finish off these defenceless Indians, and knowing too that Chrissy and Jill were not far away and would want their chance to plug some redskins too. Doe Eyes’ band had gotten off to a bad start. Regrouping a half-mile away by a small stream, the Indians tried to treat Crazy Dog’s bullet wounds. They tore off his loin cloth to staunch his bleeding waist wound. Two other warriors gave up their loin cloths to tie around the shotgun wounds in Crazy Dog’s left buttock. One maiden took off her G-string, and wet it with water from the stream to cool the powder burns on Crazy Dog’s left side.
Doe Eyes surveyed the damage from this first encounter and did a quick mental count. One Indian had been shot dead; one was shot multiple times and wounded badly enough that his fighting power was sapped; and White Fawn’s nude body was so bruised, pummelled and beaten by cowboy fists and boots that she was still gasping for breath. That left eight of them not yet shot or beaten. But they had also lost three knives – White Fawn’s and the two hurled uselessly at the frontiersman – and Crazy Dog’s tomahawk. This meant they had only two knives and four tomahawks left for ten Indians. Four of the Indians, including three girls, were effectively unarmed now – with nothing left to fight with except their bare hands – scant protection against the arsenal of guns, swords, bayonets, and knives of the well-armed cowgirls they were soon to fight, and which they knew from their scouts that the white women possessed in abundance.
As well, she noted that three braves and two maidens were now totally naked – White Fawn’s G-string having been ripped off and Crazy Dog’s loincloth shot off by the cowboy. As well, two warriors and one maiden had surrendered their flimsy covers to staunch and treat Crazy Dog’s wounds. Blood-covered, they could no longer be used. It concerned Doe Eyes greatly that fully half her band was now completely nude. This may be hard to explain to white folk, but for Indians that tiny sliver of cloth is very important – providing at least symbolic protection for Indian genitals and privates, and the only thing between the Indians and total vulnerability. Suddenly the Indians felt much more defenceless. As if to emphasize the point, the cold late-October wind suddenly picked up and whipped sharply through the Indians’ bare bodies. Doe Eyes shivered involuntarily and clutched her topless body and rounded, naked breasts tightly.
Still – she remembered her vow before the assembled tribe and determined to press on to find and kill her foes – her sister’s killers. She knew they were now no more than five miles from the cowgirls’ camp and wondered if they had heard the gunshots at that distance. She hoped not, because surprise was the only weapon the Indians now had. That, and the fact that they still out-numbered the cowgirls ten to two. “Let’s go,” she announced with grim determination. “Let’s get them and let’s kill them.”