Posted by vorgous on April 13, 2005 at 20:06:21:
With cannon and gatling guns, it is dificult to see how the injuns have a chance at any hand-to-hand, face-to-face, skin-to-clothes combat before being dispatched to the happy hunting grounds. As I seem to share your fascination with this type of politically incorrect story, I had continued the Chrissy/Jill scenarios from some weeks back. Here's the first-half of that next installment. Let me know if you want (or if anyone else wants) the second-half. Bear (bare?) in mind that this first half contains far more exposition and background than the second-half which is all battle, etc.
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Chrissy and Jill were taking the wagon to do a bit of gold digging. As Jill drove the wagon over the rocky, dusty terrain of Fetterman's Pass on their way through and into Mulligan's Mountains, the two cowgirls discussed their recent indian encounters. Running alongside the wagon was Rex, their German Shepherd dog.
"Sure done killed a mess of redskins back at our ranch," Chrissy smiled. "Yep, sure did," Jill replied, "too bad Rex was out roaming about. He missed all the fun -- fun except for poor Jane's misfortune." "Yeah, I'll miss Jane. How many, you reckon,"Chrissy asked. "Don't know," Jill said. Math had never been Jill's strong point. "Been thinking that we could do our own sort of scalping, Chrissy said, "you know like them injuns do, 'cepting we could scalp their pricks." Jill laughed, "But you can't do much with a bunch of dead pricks. And, how would you keep track of them warrior squaws we killed?" "Hmmm, let me think on that a piece," Chrissy nodded, and seemingly seriously became lost in thought as they continued on their way.
Unknown to the two cowgirls, on the ridge above them they were being trailed by an Apache brave.
Cow's Ears crouched as he looked down at the two cowgirls. This bronzed half-naked indian, wearing only a simple loincloth tied about his waist with a strip of rawhide could feel his loins bulging as a blood lust surged within him.
Both cowgirls were dressed like cowboys, but they were clearly women. Other than hair color the two long-tressed cowgirls were attired similarly. The auburn hair-colored female, who was driving the wagon, wore brown trousers and a red shirt. Her trousers were tucked into brown leather square-toed boots. She had on a long tan duster coat and the outfit was completed by a black wide-brimmed cowboy hat. The other cowgirl, the slightly taller brunette, wore jeans tucked inside black cowboy boots. She had on a blue and beige shirt with a red bandana tied around her neck. A tan cowboy hat and duster coat completed her outfit. Both women wore holsters.
Jill's holster contained one of her beloved Webley Bulldogs; Chrissy's holster carried a Colt. At Chrissy's ready was her powerful and reliable Henry repeater rifle. Jill's Winchester 66 was within arm's reach if necessary.
That these were women, though, was plain from their long hair waving behind them in the wind and the two ample mounds that stretched the fabrics of their shirts and bounced as the wagon made its way over the rocky trail.
Cow's Ears correctly believed that these women were part of a small group of females that had humiliated his people and had somehow defeated many brave warriors. Cow's Ears, if his aim were true, could easily defeat these she-devils. All he need do was loosen two arrows. His shafts would penetrate the devil females and end their lives in agony.
Imagining the victory aroused the warrior -- so quick and so easily could he take them. But he could not do it. Chief Battle Scars had declared that he, and only he, was to take the life of the white woman who recently had killed Apache Ursa. Since Cow's Ears did not know which of these females was that woman, he could not risk making a mistake. No, his mission was clear -- track the two females and get word back to Chief Battle Scars of their whereabouts.
Jill and Chrissy continued towards their secret prospecting location within Mulligan Mountains. There, off-and-on over the months they took a bit of gold. Chrissy had pretty much given up on the idea of scalping souvenirs from squaws. "Maybe I'll just take my souvenirs from the redskin bucks," she said. "Well, I just don't see the value of a limp dick," Jill laughed. "I don't know," Chrissy replied, "it sure was fun ramming that dead injun's prick up the cunt of that squaw we staked out in front of our cabin. She squirmed for two days, and but for the flies and worms and ants all nipping at her and crawling all over her and all I kinda think she enjoyed it." "Not every twitch and moan is an orgasm," Jill retorted, "just cause she was all a-twitchin dinna mean she was a-cummin."
"Well, it don't mean she weren't. Anyways, all her moaning and twisting and and arching and stretching sure enough gave me a thrill. And, the sloshing all around of them redskin breasts and all her squirming and twitching where that penis was rammed into her with its head all a sticking out and bouncing. Yep, sure gave me a thrill. Gives me one now all a thinking 'bout it." "Well, maybe we oughta strip you and stake you out for a bit and let all sort of slimy things crawl all over and peck at you apiece," Jill said. "Ooohhhhhhh," Chrissy moaned, "just too bad we got no injun dick around -- exceptin' I think I'd want it still connected to some nekkid, sweaty sinewy injun." "Alive or dead?" Jill asked. "It makin' no difference if the injun's a stiff -- just so long as the injun dick is stiff," Chrissy answered, puckering her lips.
Cow's Ears continued to follow the two cowgirls unnoticed. Eventually, the cowgirls reached a open area where the the trail forked. They turned down the right fork and stopped their wagon off the trail after a few yards. The two stepped off the wagon and stretched. Their wagon was by the mountainside, which rose up steeply about 100 feet to the ridge where Cow's Ears was following. Between the paths where the trail had forked was about 30 feet of small trees, bushes, and other vegetation. On the far side of the other path was 150 foot slope leading down to a river. The river, about 20 feet across, was moving at a good, but not too speedy, clip. The slope between trail and river, quite muddy near the river, was composed of boulders, as well as trees and other vegetation. On far side of the river was a wooded area. Surprisingly, less than a couple of miles away a hot desert blazed.
"Time to set up camp," Jill said, "and then perhaps a bit of gold-finding in our private mine." "Fine by me," Chrissy replied. Although Cow's Ears was too far to hear them, he saw the cowgirls unload some gear and begin to gather campfire wood. The indian figured it was time to report back with his information.
It was well after nightfall when Cow's Ears made it to Chief Battle Scars. When he said that he had information regarding the white she-devil his audience grew to include other visitors to the indian village -- visitors with the same burning desire to avenge the death of Apache Ursa as the chief. For in the village was Viper Fangs, Apache Ursa's twin sister and a statuesque warrioress equally as vicious and as imposing as her dead sister. With her was her mate, a 6'7" giant of a man, muscular and bald, with the savagest of features and known as Gargtomo. Gargtomo's chiselled body was a mass of battle scars -- scars he displayed proudly. One ran several inches across his back. Another stretched down his left side. Several were on his chest. But the most noticeable ran diagonally across his face from left forehead across his nose and down to his right jaw.
These two warriors were accompanied by a half-breed with a reputation for viciousness to prisoners. This half-breed was a dwarf named Squinto. It was said that no one could deliver more pain in torturing white victims than Squinto.
When Cow's Ears had finished his story, the chief and his visitors agreed that one of the two cowgirls had killed Apache Ursa. They decided to dispatch a party of warriors to avenge her death. The next morning the chief, Viper Fangs, Gargtomo, Squinto, along with 10 braves and two warrior squaws set forth on the blood feud -- with Cow's Ears showing them the way. The braves were dressed in little more than loincloths, though the bare-chested Gargtomo wore golden arm bands on his upper arms. Chief Battle Scars wore a feathered headdress. The women wore leather-fringed skirts and vests. Viper Fangs wore armbands similar to those that adorned Gargtomo. Squinto, the half-breed dwarf, wore trousers -- ragged at the knees. Most of braves carried a bow and a quiver of arrows. Squinto and two of the braves were armed with muskets. All rode with anticipation and a rising blood lust.
Jill and Chrissy's gold lode was in a secret cave obscured by vegetation along the mountain near where they had camped. Having extracted a few nuggets with a pick and an axe, they obscured the cave entrance and returned to their campsite, falling asleep near the campfire -- little dreaming of what the next day would bring.
It was shortly after dawn when the war-party reached within a half-mile of the cowgirls. Gargtomo and the chief discussed their plan. Three of the braves would go with Cow's Ears up the mountain and be above the cowgirls. The rest, except for the chief, Gargtomo, and Viper Fangs, would travel by foot along the river and climb up by fork. This group would be led by Squinto. Chief Battle Scars, Viper Fangs, and Gargtomo would approach along the trail by horse.
If possible, the cowgirls should not be killed. Rather, they should be captured so that they could endure a painful, slow death.
Chrissy and Jill were awakened by Rex, who had detected the approaching indians. Alerted by Rex, they armed themselves with pistols and rifles and retreated to inside their hidden cave. They then concealed the entrance behind them.
From above, Cow's Ears team could see the wagon and horse, as well as a smoldering campfire. But there was no sign of the two cowgirls. Nor, as the other two groups converged, did they see anything other than the wagon and the remains of the campfire.
Inside the cave, Chrissy signaled Rex to be quiet. Then she whispered to Jill to climb through the cave's passageway upwards to its other exit.
Having converged on the cowgirls' campground, and aroused by impending final vengeance the nearly naked warriors were confused by the scene. The four indians above looked all about, but saw no sign of the women. All they could see were their bronzed colleagues below moving all about the scene, looking for signs of where the cowgirls had gone. Chief Battle Scars grew angry in his frustration. From atop his horse his rage was palpable. Gargtomo, towering above all, showed no emotion. He sensed that all was not as it seemed.
The cowgirls and Rex carefully made there way up the winding passgeway. It brought them to the same level as the four braves and the cave's other hiddent entrance. From it Chrissy could see the indians near the edge of the ridge looking down, their backs to the cowgirls. "Time for some injun stomping," she whispered. She and Jill drew their six-shooters and fired. Rex, meanwhile, ran towards the warriors. Chrissy's first shot nailed a brave in the lower back. He twitched, grunted once, dropped his bow, reached back to grab hold of the bullet wound, teetered briefly, then fell forward off the edge of ridge. His nearly naked body somersaulted in the air and he landed on his back with a large flop just in front of Chief Battle Scars horse. His eyes, wide-open stared straight up in face. His erect member, a product of the blood-lust of the hunt, created an upward bulge in his loincloth. The chief's horse lifted its front legs in surprise.
Meanwhile, in rapid succession, Jill had fired twice. The first shot had hit a glancing blow to the right side of a brave. Ironically, it had hit waist-high slicing not only flesh, but also the rawhide belt to the injun's loincloth. The indian spun about and as he did the loincloth fell to the ground. As he faced Jill, his engorged member erect, Jill fired a second time striking the indian right by his navel. Whether or not the wound was fatal, Jill would never know. In trying to move, the indian tripped over the loincloth at his feet and fell off the mountain. Twisting an turning in the air, screaming "aaaaiiieeeeee," he landed below with a loud thud. Ironically, he landed face down on top off and perpendicular to the first indian. The force of the landing literally crushed and broke the hard penises of the two now certainly dead indians. Startled, the chief's horse bucked one more time.
Chrissy, meanwhile, having dispatched the first indian with a single shot, mortally wounded another brave with her next shot. The bullet passed through the neck, severing the carotid artery. This indian fell to ground, and with large amounts of blood spurting out, writhed on the ground for a few moments before expiring.
This left Cow's Ears, the indian whom Rex first bounded for and then lunged at. Rex's strong jaws grabbed hold through the loincloth of the injun penis. The indian cried in pain as the dog vigorously shooked his head in all directions as he chomped down on what had been the penis of an aroused and excited indian and tried to pull it from the injun's torso. Nothing that the indian could do halted the violent attack. In moments the loincloth was shredded to nothingness. The two fell to the ground and rolled about for a bit, the indian all the time screaming at the top of his lungs. After what seemed an eternity, Rex jumped off the indian, a bloody ragged souvenir in his mouth. Blood spurted all about from the naked savage's nether region as anguished screams continued from his mouth. He tried to stand, but fell back and collapsed face up and silent. The german shepherd jumped about and pranced to and fro proudly carrying his prize.