Posted by vorgous on December 20, 2004 at 21:01:35:
In Reply to: Cowgirl defeats Indian - of course! posted by Cindy on December 19, 2004 at 09:35:50:
A bit raw, but another campfire demise ---
Jill was driving her buckboard through Coyote Canyon, a desolate, desert. She was on her way to Short Hills corner in Nevada, carrying farm supplies and other provisions. She was riding alone and stopped to give her horse, Belle, a break. Jill got off and gave the horse a drink of water.
Behind a rocky sand dune nearby, Jill was being watched by lone Sioux warrior. The nearly naked indian, with a fierce look in his face was dressed only in a loincloth. He glared at the white woman, and he filled with the desire both to have her, and when finished, take possession of her horse and wagon. She was alone, and he was a warrior. It was no match. He wondered what this white woman looked like beneath her clothing. He would tear apart her blouse and rip off her pants. He creapt closer ready to make his attack. He drew his knife from the then leather belt that held his loincloth to his bronzed body. Closer he came to her, approaching the buckboard from Jill's back.
Jill heard a sound. She was well-trained and was not unprepared for the dangers of travelling alone in the desert. Without betraying her awareness she reached in for her trusty rifle.
The indian attacked, quickly approach Jill. Jill swung around. The timing was such that the metal barrel of her rifle struck the indian in the midsection. He growled from the pain and bent forward. Rather than waste precious ammunition, Jill raised the rifle, and brought the metal barrel hard down on the indian's head. He crumbled to the ground.
Jill looked at the prone indian, unconsciousness on the desert sands. She laughed at how easy it was to defeat the nearly naked savage. She spit on him. "Let's teach this savage a lesson," she said. She dragged the indian to where some small cacti were. "Let's see what you've got under your little piece of cloth," she said. She tore the loincloth from the indian's body, then she laid him out in the form of an X. Stretching his arms out she tied each with pieces of the loincloth to cacti. Spreading his legs apart, she did the same with other cacti. She smiled at the completely vulnerable redskin. She ground her boot into his groin. The unconscious indian jerked involuntarily. "This'll teach you a lessen, you stupid injun," she laughed.
Jill went back to the buckboard. She took the indian's knife as a souvenir. "Time to get a few more miles before making camp for the night," she thought.
In the heat of the afternoon sun, the indian regained consciousness. He struggled at the ropes. His groin ached with pain. He was overcome with thirst. He pulled at his bindings. He had been well-tied. The more he struggled the tighter his bindings felt. Suddenly, he felt numerous pinches, as if he was the victim of many bites. He looked down at his body. Red ants were crawling over him, biting all over his lower areas, on his legs, his arms, his penis, his scrotum. Numerous red ants, crawling over him and feasting, one tiny pinch at a time. He looked up. Buzzards were flying around as if in wait for him to expire.
The indian felt anger -- anger at himself for being defeated so easily by a mere white woman and anger at the woman for having beaten him so easily. He swore that he would have his revenge on her. With a mighty pull, he wrenched from its roots one of the cacti to which an arm was tied. The pain was beyond belief. He quickly untied his bindings, and hit at the red ants, trying to kill as many as possible. He turned on his stomach, grinding himself in the sand to scratch the red ants from him.
Then he stood up. He screamed at the heavens. He shook his member, vowing to have his revenge with it on that white woman.
He saw the wagon tracks. He followed it. It was well into the night when the naked indian came upon Jill's campsite. A small campfire crackled into the night air. The indian saw Jill. He was not going to let her get him this time. His loins filled with desire; his member hardened at the thought of what he was going to do to the lone cowgirl.
The suddenness of the attack surprised Jill. She heard and indian cry of "Aaaaiiieeee" and was grabbed and pushed back against the wagon, near the front wheel. She recognized the indian, and regretted that she had let him live. The indian grabbed at her blouse, tearing it, exposing an ample breast.
Jill saw the fierce expression of pure lust in the indian's face. She was not going to let this savage get the better of her. "Yes, he's close enough," She thought. Jill said, "Belle, kick." Immediately, Jill's horse snorted and kicked up a hind leg, catching the indian in the side with her hoof. The indian was startled. In almost the same moment, with the indian off-guard, Jill, deftly, swiftly, and hard, brought her knee up into the indian groin -- crushing her knee against the indian's erect member. The indian yelped with pain, and let go. This was all the time Jill needed. She reached into the wagon and pulled out a pitchfork. "I only like big men," she cried, thrusting the pitchfork deep in the unprotected indian, an inch or two above his groin.
The indian stared down in terror and disbelief at the long-handled pitchfork that thrust out like an erect penis from his body. And, Jill sneered, grabbing the handle and whipping the indian around, "I like my meat hot."
With that she pushed the wholly vulnerable indian at the campfire. He fell towards it, the pitchfork slowing his descent as it cut through his innards. The indian was suspended above the flames, feet and pitchfork handle keeping the flame inches from his erect penis. The indian stared in horror, arms flapping, grabbing at the ground trying to prevent his descent. The heat of the fire flowed through him, his body burned not with the desire of having his vengeance upon the white woman, but with his utter, and humiliating defeat. Even in the death that was about to envelop him, his penis, hard and erect, strained and throbbed. Throbbed as the agonizing flames grew closer and closer, illuminating his vulnerable red skin and redder member. Throbbed unbearingly as the indian's body, suspended by feet and pitchfork slumped closer to the heat of the campfire.
Jill cackled at the stupid, naked, vulnerable injun. She laughed at her would-be attacker's doom.
The indian's throbbing penis burst in one final ejaculation, as hearing the laughter, the pitchfork, cutting through his insides no longer held him above the fire, and with his final release in the flames, the indian expired and landed groin-down straight into the center of the burning campfire.
A moment or two later, satisfied at the result, Jill kicked the dead injun unto his back, pulled her pitchfork from the smoldering nether region, and looked at the indian's face, eyes vacantly staring upwards, face frozen in a mask of horror.
She spit at the indian. "Rot in hell," she muttered, kicked him a couple of times, then grabbed his feed and dragged him away from camp, leaving him as the carrion he was for the wild beasts to feed upon.