Posted by vorgous on November 08, 2005 at 12:22:55:
This is another in the series of highly politically incorrect western stories that relate to the Cowgirl Jill series in which cowgirls battle and decimate indian warrioresses and warriors. Obviously, none of this resembles the true west. I plan to post the same story, but with some photos interspersed to illustrate http://groups.yahoo.com/group/WestStuff/ an unfortunately (or fortunately depending on your outlook) inactive group. The prior stories are both in the archives here and in that group. I don't know if there are other places conducive for this type of story, which features not only defeated females but males, or not. If there are, please advise. Anyway, here is the continuation and possibly the last installment.
Were I casting the roles, I might imagine the following as a possibility:
Wanton Thorn -- Laura Gemser
Cindy -- Drew Barrymore
Jess – Madeleine Stowe
Wendy – Mary Stuart
Wanda – Ashleigh Kizer (Dolly of Deadwood)
Kate – Annie McDowell
Carmen – Rene Zelwegger
___________________________
The End of Wanton Thorn
Word of the mutilation murders of Mabel and Bertha spread through the countryside, both among settlers and indians. Several indians had left their tribes to join Wanton Thorn's war party bouyed by her vengeance upon the Sisters' Brigade and a new-found hope to rid their lands of the white interlopers. Her renegades now numbered nearly 20 bitter indians, including several women. Initiation was simple -- a squaw had to prove her prowess as a warrioress by bringing the severed penis of a white settler. Braves had to accept without question the leadership of the Eurasian renegade Wanton Thorn and pledge unfailing loyality. Each brave also had to display an unfailing virility when bedded by Wanton Thorn. She wanted no weak tribal members, only the most savage and virile male and female indians. Strong specimens of human muscle and flesh whose very presence and near-nakedness would strike fear during raids.
In a short space of time, several ranches had been burned to the ground, the livestock slaughtered, and the settlers tortured and mutilated. In the dead of night, fires had been set to town buildings causing great damage. Stagecoaches had been waylaid, the passengers killed, mutilated, and left for animals to feed upon. The cavalry had been ineffective -- in fact, several soldiers had been victims of Wanton Thorn's renegades.
Hope had turned to the Sister's Brigade, the twelve cowgirls who had wiped out the large renegade stronghold at Digger's Canyon. Unfortunately, many of them were not around. Three of them, in fact, their leaders, had left for adventure across the Atlantic unaware that ferocious renegades had reformed into the very picture of violence. A fourth, Belinda, had gone east to visit family almost immediately after the Digger's Canyon battle. Two others, of course, had been bushwacked by Wanton Thorn, herself, and had been brutally raped, mutilated, and slaughtered by her growing pack of savages.
That left only half of the original brigade. Two of them, however, Carmen and Kate, had left for a hunting trip and their whereabouts were unknown. Nevertheless, Jess, Cindy, Wendy, and Wanda met up at Jill's ranch which Jess and Cindy had been looking after while Jill and Chrissy were overseas. Jess was a slim attractive brunette, and Wendy a shorter redhead. It was believed that years earlier these two, along with Kate, had ridden for a time with a group of outlaws. However, it was not something that the three of them ever spoke about. Cindy was a blond, impish firecracker; she was born and bred in the settler lands and saw the indians as vermin to be eliminated. Wanda was a big girl with a sad face. It was said that she had been a whore in a South Dakota mining town. Taller, heftier, and stronger than the rest, her shirts did nothing to obscure her large breasts, particularly since she often kept the top buttons unbuttoned. Rejected by many, she had been befriended by these other cowgirls.
As the women sat on the floor in a circle, Jess spoke. "Sure, it would be best were there more of us, but there's not. What we've got though is smarts, and that'll win us every time -- that and our blow 'em all to hell firepower." The others laughed. What she was referring to was Jill's gatling guns and dynamite. In the months of previous fighting, Jill had obtained a storehouse of weaponry, some of which rivaled what was available to the cavalry. In fact, she had obtained both dynamite and matches, both of which were recent inventions.
The next morning the foursome loaded up the wagon with rifles, ammo, one of Jill's gatling guns, and several sticks of dynamite. Wanda drove the wagon, while the other three accompanied on horseback. The plan was to locate surviving settlers near recent attacks and try to figure out the hideout of this new band of renegades. That or run into the renegagdes themselves and take them out.
Near midday the cowgirls reached the Farlow farm. They reached it too late. The farm house was a burned-out hulk. A dead farmhand was inside -- from all appearances he had been tied to a ceiling after before the fire had been set and left to live out his final moments in agony from the heat and smoke. Farlow's battered body was found in the swine pit covered with muck. His wife was tied spread-eagled and naked in the chicken coop; the poor women was being pecked at by the few remaining chickens. Jess was sure the woman had been defiled in that stinking chicken excrement-smeared shed. The cowgirls buried the three corpses and continued on their way.
Late that afternoon, while crossing desert lands, they came across five soldiers. The soldiers were all naked, and all severely injured. The cowgirls provided them with comfort and water, but there was little that could be done. The soldiers' wounds were fatal and they had been injured in a fashion to maximize their pain and lengthen their suffering. The cowgirls made camp, but by morning all five solders had died. In the morning, the cowgirls buried them. What the cowgirls were told by the soldiers was that they, and ten others, had tracked a group of indians near Fetterman's Pass, but were discovered, and overpowered. The other soldiers were killed in the initial battle, and these soldiers wounded. This group had been stripped, tortured, and then brought several miles into the desert and released. While the cowgirls were skeptical that redskins would release fighting soldiers under any conditions, it was clear that these men had been tortured; among other injuries, three of them had been castrated, two others had had their ears severed.
But the cowgirls at least had a clue, however imprecise, of the indian hideout. They made their way towards the Mulligan Mountains where Fetterman's Pass was located.
Twenty miles from that destination, Jess noticed clouds of dust in the distance. She suggested that they stop and prepare themselves for battle. Whoever it was was coming quickly in their direction. The cowgirls were surprised when the clouds of dust turned out to be Kate and Carmen.
Carmen explained, "We got word of what you were up to and we were heading towards Jill's ranch when we ran into an injun raiding party. Well, Kate, here shot a male red devil straight through his navel, and as he lay all a squirming on the ground, she plumb shot his balls off. I killed a second devil right off his horse and he broke his neck when his own horse trampled him after he fell. The third was a squaw. We caught her alive and tied the bitch up. We dragged her through the dirt and dust over to her dead heathen comrades and did some persuading. She coughed up the location of the rest of them devils, after coughing up a bit of blood from the pounding we gave the near-naked bitch. Anyways, we figured we'd find you heading there and catch up with you."
"Glad you found us. What happened to the squaw?" Wanda asked. "Well, we propped her up, tied her between two trees, stripped her bare-naked, took a redskin bow and some arrows, and took some turns at target practice -- till she stopped her twitchin'," Kate said. Carmen added, "Yep, Kate here, got a couple of bulls-eyes square in the right tit -- dead center. I got a couple of tummy hits, and Kate got one square in the navel. She a good shoot." "Hey," Kate laughed, "you forgot the one that went right between the bitch's breasts, right into the cleavage."
Kate and Carmen detailed their information about the indian hide-out and the cowgirls proceeded to a secluded rocky, hilly area to camp for the night and prepare their attack.
Basically, the indian camp was near a place known to the cowgirls, not more than a quarter-mile from the spot where Jill and Chrissy had told spoken of a battle against a group of renegades some months earlier. The spot was at the base of one of the Mulligan Mountains, at a point where large rock formations and the steep mountain slope provided good cover for the indians. A river, separating the mountains from the desert the flowed by that area, also made an approach from the desert difficult at any point after Jonas Falls, a mile south and downhill from the spot described by the squaw.
The plan was a simple one. They expected sentries by Jonas Falls. So, one of them would strip and put on the dead squaw's animal hide skirt and vest that Kate and Carmen had kept as a souvenir. Just before dawn the next morning she would ride bareback to the falls and kill the sentries. Then, she would ride back to and signal the group, and after she changed garments, they would gallop to the indian camp, surprise them and use the dynamite and gatling gun and decimate the rest of the indians. It was a risky plan.
Kate volunteered; the indignities she had endured at Digger's Canyon some weeks earlier festered within her and she hated all indians, and all things indian. Nevertheless, her long dark hair made her the best choice to impersonate an indian squaw. When the time to go came, she stripped off her duster, boots, blouse, pants, and undergarments and put on the short animal hide skirt and loose vest. The pre-dawn, morning air was still cool and she shivered a bit. The only weapon she took was a hunting knife tucked in the waistband of her skirt. Her horse was also stripped of saddle and reins.
Her friends oohed and aahed at the sight of the nearly-naked Kate walking about in indian garb. Wendy laughed, “Hey, we got herself a real injun here. Maybe we should just string her up.” She playfully pushed the disguised Kate. The others joined in the joke, pushing and grabbing at Kate. Kate responded in a seething voice, “I'm starting to see what my injun brothers and sisters see. You white cunts watch it or I'll cut out your tongues and slice your overripe breasts off.” Then she laughed. Kate mounted her horse and began a solitary ride to Jonas Falls. The others would not follow too closely, although even were they spotted the story would be that the “squaw” (Kate) was being tracked down by vicious white soldiers.
As daylight began to break, Kate neared the falls. The sensation of bouncing up and down on the horse over the few miles had not been unpleasurable; in fact, she enjoyed the sensations immensely and the freedom of riding unemcumbered by layers of clothing her hair flying in the wind and her breasts loosely bobbing. Anyway, as she neared she slumped forward against and holding the horse's mane as if injured and barely able to stay atop. Her horse walked at a slow gait towards the stone passage to the mountain path over which the falling water flowed. Hopefully, the sentries, if any, would see her, believe her to be injured, and investigate. Kate hoped that there would not be too many of them and that she would not be overpowered.
Running Mouth was with Missing Toe at the falls. Running Mouth was a typical young muscular brave selected and approved by Wanton Thorn. Missing Toe, too, was a young and eager Wanton Thorn recruit. One of the raiding parties was overdue, and while waiting for their comrades, the two indians had spent the night having bouts of vigorous friskiness with each other. At one point, Missing Toe had pretended to be a white female stagecoach passenger, and Running Mouth was an attacking brave. Running Mouth had pushed the squaw to the ground and stood above her. Missing Toe, pretending to be a fearful white woman had pretended to plead for her life and dignity. “Oh, muscular, virile brave, do not hurt me. Please let me live. Please do not harm me. You smell so strong, look so strong. There is nothing I can do to stop you. Please do not harm me.” Running Mouth had laughed, “Pathetic white woman, I will do with you as a please. And, when I am done, I will toss you away like yesterday's garbage. You are no match for strong, indian warrioresses, much less a brave.” Then Running Mouth had jumped upon Missing Toe and the two had rolled about and had vigorous sex.
At the moment, though, they were talking about Wanton Thorn's recent victory over a group of soldiers. "Can you believe it," Missing Toe gushed, "Wanton Thorn and just two braves thoroughly beat those soldiers. The arrows flew true and struck three dead as they stood. And, when her braves made war cries, them soldiers believed there were many of us. They dropped their weapons and several tried to flee. They were all struck dead by arrows flying true to their backs. The rest raised their arms high." "Yes," Running Mouth continued, "the white soldiers had no honor. All but five were killed on the spot. The five yellow-bellies who surrendered were stripped. Wanton Thorn then sliced off and added the members of the largest to her collection. Sport was had with them all and they were brought with dishonor into the desert. The white dogs were not worth killing. She let them suffer in the desert like the animals they are. Wanton Thorn may not be born a redskin but that is her heart." Missing Toe pointed towards the desert and said, "There is something out there. A lone rider. Could it be Rushing Lamb? Where are the others?" "I do not know. I will check the squaw," Running Mouth replied.
As Kate reached the stone tunnel passage over which the falls flowed and then created the river she heard voices. Plainly, she had been spotted. She was approached by an indian brave. The muscular warrior was naked except for his loincloth. A tomahawk was tucked in its thin waistband.
Running Mouth horse and rider. The light was still dim. The squaw did not reply to his greeting. He placed his right hand on the horse's mane to steady them. He put his left hand on the rider's back so she would not fall. He suspected nothing.
The indian was so close to Kate that she could feel his sweat, sense the heat of his body, and smell his indian breath. Kate did not wait. With a swift, certain motion, she took her hunting knife which had been secreted between her body and the horse, and with the brave's body close against her, she slashed his neck.
Running Mouth saw the steel too late. Shock set in as his neck was slashed. He could not utter a sound. And then that shock was followed by the final sensation of Running Mouth's life. Kate thrust the knife deep into the indian's gut and twisted the knife. “Stinking savage,” she breathed. Running Mouth felt as if his very innards had been crushed. His entire body tensed for a moment, and then there was nothing. He now was nothing but a hulk of dead flesh. No sound emanated from the dispatched brave. Putting her arm under the indian's shoulder and around the indian's naked back to hold him up, she slid off the horse. To any observer it appeared that the brave had pulled Kate off the horse and was supporting her. In reality, Kate was supporting the carcass of the dead indian.
In the early light Missing Toe had not noticed anything amiss. But she decided to assist Running Mouth when she saw what she thought was him helping the injured rider.
Kate saw a squaw approach. She was attired similar to Kate, except her vest was open and her full, firm, ample breasts clearly visible and bobbing. She said something Kate did not understand. Hoping that there were no other indians nearby, Kate pulled the brave's tomahawk from his loincloth waistband and let his corpse crumble to the ground.
When Running Mouth's body fell Missing Toe was startled. Her mind did not register what had happened. She stared not comprehending when the "injured rider" lifted the tomahawk and forcefully threw it. In what seemed as slow motion the tomahawk arced through the air towards her. She watch the tomahawk slowly move towards her.
And then, in an instant, reality returned. Missing Toe felt as if she had been punched in her chest. She looked down. Embedded deep between her wonderful breasts was Running Mouth's tomahawk, blood flowed from between her breasts, along her stomach and onto her skirt. The squaw's eyes opened wide; she stared straight at Kate. She tried to move forward towards Kate. But she moved no more than a couple of steps before she fell forward, landing hard on the tomahawk, embedding it even deeper in her chest.
Kate quickly surveyed the area. There were no more indians. She bent down to look at Missing Toe. The squaw's unseeing eyes were wide open as if peering at Kate. Kate dragged the two indian corpses off the path and left them intertwined in some bushes so that they were out of sight. Then she rode back towards the other cowgirls, who were but a half-mile distant to advise them that the way was clear. Joining her friends she quickly changed back to her cowgirl clothes and refitted her horse with saddle and reins. Then the group prepared to attack the indian camp.
Carmen went to the wagon and removed several dynamite sticks and boxes of matches. She handed them out to the other cowgirls. “All right,” Cindy said, “We ride hard and fast to the indian camp, shooting and blowing up them redskins when we get there. We give them savages no time to think or regroup. No escape for them. Wanda will drive the wagon there, and fire the gatling gun when she catches up with us. Time to get us some fucking redskins.”
With daylight upon them, Cindy, Jess, Kate, Wendy, and Carmen, rode fast uphill towards the indian encampment. Wanda drove the wagon as quickly as possible behind them. This would be a day to remember, she thought. She would prove herself to her friends and to the settlers. She would no longer be thought of as “that whore.”
Riding uphill on the widening path with the mountainface to the left and a steep slope to the river on the right the cowgirls neared the indian camp.
With daylight upon them and the strong sun beginning to bear down, Wanton Thorn's renegades had begun to stir. They were oblivious to what was about to happen. Wanton Thorn, herself, had had an enjoyable night initiating two new braves into her group. She was up and was strolling through the camp naked except for loincloth she favored rather than the skirt worn by the other squaws. Wanton Thorn wore no vest; as her braves she was proud of her body and displayed her chest to all. The camp had no tents; rather, the indians were scattered amongst the large rock formations by the mountainface and amongst the several trees and the vegetation and bushes in the camp area. Several squaws and braves remained entertwined behind rocks and in tall grasses. There were a few small campfires. Some indians had started their day's work.
Something bothered Wanton Thorn; she could not tell what it was, but she sensed that all was not right. Whatever it was, her body briefly shivered. Then she became aware of the sound of horses approaching fast. “Something is wrong,” she thought. "Be alert," she cried out.
Before Wanton Thorn could say more, five riders on horseback came around the bend and upwards towards the camp. Gunshots were fired. A naked brave relieving himself in the bushes was hit by a bullet in the stomach. The naked indian, still holding his prick, staggered out into the open and onto rider's path. He continued to urinate as he tried to call out a warning, then fell on the ground.
Jess laughed at the sight of the astonished naked redskin pissing about in all directions as he collapsed and died. As he lay on the dirt a puddle of urine flowed out from under him.
Kate held a dynamite stick as she rode; she lit it then through it amongst the boulders of the indian encampment. Seconds later it exploded and redskin bodies flew through the air and lay draped over boulders. The other cowgirls continued to fire. Carmen and Wendy each threw lit dynamite sticks amongst the indians. A brave tried to pick one up and raised his hand to throw it back at the cowgirls. Cindy fired, striking the stick and detonating it in the astonished indian's hand, blowing it and him to bits. As the indians collected their wits, some gathered their bows and fired arrows at the cowgirls, nearly striking them. One knocked off Jess's hat. Another embedded itself harmlessly in Kate's saddle.
By now, Wanda had arrived with the wagon. She quickly stopped her horse and got into the back of the wagon where she immediately began firing round after round into the encampment, mowing down the indians. One squaw was struck repeatedly in the chest; her body grotesquely danced as each bullet pummelled her flesh, turning her in all directions. A brave, trying to flee was struck repeatedly in the back and fell forward, mortally injured. Moments later, Carmen's horse trampled over his dying body.
More explosions battered the indian camp. Half-naked bodies flew into the air to rest dead on the ground and over one another. Wanton Thorn saw a chance to even things up when Wanda had to reload the gatling gun. She quickly made her way to the wagon and jumped on it and upon the back of the much larger Wanda, knife in hand. Wanda grabbed Wanton Thorn's wrist to prevent the knife from doing damage. Then Wanda purposely fell backwards, using her large frame to ram the unclothed Wanton Thorn into the wooden side of the wagon.
Meanwhile, two braves, unaware of Wanton Thorn's effort, had taken arrows, lit them in a campfire, and fired them into the wagon. As Wanton Thorn and Wanda struggled, the wagon caught fire. Smoke began to rise in the air about it. Thrown backwards into the wagon, Wanton Thorn dropped her knife. Naked but for her loincloth, the indian warrioress was bruised and battered by Wanda. Wanton Thorn wildly grasped for something. Grabbing hold of Wanda's shirt she ripped it open, causing the fullness of Wanda's massive breasts to be exposed. Then, Wanton Thorn was able to grab Wanda's face, and poke her eyes, dazing the large cowgirl. Wanton Thorn then pulled Wanda's head down and viciously kneed her in the face. Then the renegade pushed Wanda forcefully causing the cowgirl to lose her balance and fall backwards into a corner of the wagon. Meanwhile, the fire grew stronger and larger; smoke enveloped the wagon.
Wanda tried to regain her footing, but the horse, scared of the smoke and fire started to gallop down the slope towards the river. Wanda again lost her balance and fell against the corner of the wagon. Wanton Thorn grabbed hold of the gatling gun to steady herself. As the wagon, in smoke and flames, bounced and bumped towards the river, Wanda again tried to stand, her breasts bouncing openly through her torn shirt. Wanton Thorn, however, aimed the gatling gun at the cowgirl and began firing. Bullet after bullet riddled Wanda's body, many went into her open chest dotting her flesh with red blotches; others penetrated in her abdomen and lower torso. Her body spasmed with each deadly shot. As the horse reached the river he stopped. Wanton Thorn stopped firing, grabbed her knife, and jumped through the fire and smoke out of the wagon. The poor cowgirl, now a bloodied corpse, lay in smoky, burning wagon and what had become her funeral pyre.
The rest of the cowgirls had pretty much decimated the indian camp. Redskin bodies lay everywhere. Four braves and a squaw had their hands raised in surrender.
Wanton Thorn saw that her indian renegades had turned coward. She cut the scared horse loose from the wagon and jumped atop him to flee. As she rode the fire reached two sticks of dynamite left in the wagon. The wagon, containing the poor cowgirl's body exploded. Cindy turned, saw the devastation and saw the fleeing indian. She motioned towards Jess. The two cowgirls then galloped after the renegade.
Her breasts bouncing, naked but for her loin cloth, her long hair blowing in the wind. Wanton Thorn urged the horse to speed faster. But the horse was no match for the steeds ridden by Jess and Cindy. Soon the two cowgirls reached and came alongside Wanton Thorn. Wanton Thorn refused to give up, gritting her teeth as she urged her horse to race forward. It was then that Jess jumped through the air, grabbed hold of Wanton Thorn, and knocked the renegade off-balance. Both fell hard onto the muddy riverbank. Wanton Thorn, whose unprotected body had hit the ground hard was in agony. Jess, though bruised, had had the protection of her clothes and Wanton Thorn's body beneath her to prevent serious injury. Cindy stopped her horse and quicky dismounted, six-shooter drawn and aimed at the savage. Wanton Thorn, like a cat, and despite her agony, was on her hands and knees ready to pounce. Her teeth gritted, she resolved not to surrender to these white devils - not like her miserable braves had done.
Wanton Thorn had lost her knife when knocked from the horse. It lay several feet away. She pounced onto Jess, ignoring Cindy and her gun. The two rolled about in the mud. The warrioress tried to reach for Jess's holster. Because she was well protected by her clothes, Wanton Thorn's efforts to scratch and claw Jess were ineffective. Jess's elbow jabs and knee kicks against Wanton Thorn's flesh were far more punishing. Never before had Wanton Thorn felt such agony.
Wanton Thorn was now atop Jess. Their faces inches from one another, they glared at each other. "You'll pay for what you did to Wanda" Jess seethed. "That fat whore," Wanton Thorn breathed and spat in English, "she was nothing. She now is nothing but bits of burned flesh and bone. But the other two white devils, oh, they were fun to kill and for my men to rape."
It sunk into Jess and Cindy that this was the renegade leader, the one responsible for Mabel and Bertha's deaths. No mere squaw, this was leader of the redskins terrorizing the settlers. Cindy approached Wanton Thorn who was atop Jess. Cindy stomped her boot hard into Wanton Thorn's raised bare back, then the cowgirl viciously brought her booted foot under the renegade's abdomen and kicked her off Jess.
Wanton Thorn rolled onto her back, her pain was intense. Cindy began stomping and kicking the warrioress. Jess stood, as angry as Cindy. She got on the other side of the indian, and also began stomping the indian. Wanton Thorn was in too much agony to protect herself or fight back. Each way she rolled she was met with another vicious blow.
After a few moments, Cindy roughly pulled Wanton Thorn to her feet. Staring at the warrioress face, she seethed, "You vermin cunt; you will pay." Through half-closed eyes Wanton Thorn saw the anger in Cindy's face, but was too battered to respond. Cindy spit in the renegade's face, the pushed her hard backwards to the ground.
Jess got behind Wanton Thorn and lifted her up. Holding the renegade up, Jess told Cindy to release her anger. With a fury of blows, Cindy repeatly punched the renegade in her chest and abdomen. Jess then threw Wanton Thorn hard forward, and she landed roughly face down on the ground.
Wanton Thorn knew her injuries were severe, maybe fatal. Every breath sent rivers of pain throughout her being. But she would not surrender to these white devils. She would not give up. Hatred consumed her very being. She saw her knife on the ground, some 20 feet away. Slowly, she crawled, scraping her flesh against the ground towards it. The blade glistened in the sun. Inch by inch she crawled.
Cindy hated this renegade, but nevertheless was in awe at the determination shone by this beast. Did she not know it was over? Did she not realize that Jess and Cindy would never let her reach the knife? Did she not know that even were she to reach it, she would not have the strength or chance to use it?
The cowgirls watched Wanton Thorn in fascination as she slowly slithered to the knife. "Only a few feet more," Wanton Thorn thought, "only a few feet more." She was nearly delirious from the pain. The knife was almost within her grasp, just a few inches more.
And then, just as her outstretched hand almost had the glistening blade in its grasp Cindy stomped her boot heel on Wanton Thorn's hand, crushing it against the ground. And Jess gave the renegade a vicious kick to the head sending her into temporary oblivion.
The cowgirls dragged the barely breathing indian to the horse she had taken. Cindy grabbed a length of rope from the saddle bag onher own horse and looped it about the wagon horse's neck. She brought the other end to Wanton Thorn's prone body and tied the renegade's long, black hair to it. Then she said, "Back to the wagon," and smacked the horse's rump. The horse trotted back towards the scene of the battle dragging Wanton Thorn by the hair behind him. The warrioress bounced up and down against the ground as she was dragged. Her loincloth ripped away from her body leaving her completely naked. Had she been conscious the pain would have been unbearable.
Cindy and Jess mounted their horses and rode up to guide the wagon horse back.
When they arrived, they discovered that their friends had been busy. There were two young trees, only two feet apart. One naked brave was tied to each of the trees. Each brave stood straight up facing forward, his arms pulled back around a tree trunk and his hands tied at the wrists. They were also secured around the neck, and their feet tied to stacks so that they were forced to stand with their feet apart. In this way they were fully exposed and unable to to move. Kate stood between the two redskins, smiling. One of her hand clasped the penis of one of the braves, the other hand clasped the other brave's penis. “Look what I got me,” Kate laughed, “I got me some injun meat.”
Two more braves were a ball of flesh suspended by rope 30 feet above the ground. Looking closer, Jess saw that the naked indians were tied such that each brave's head was pressed against the groin of the other brave. Ropes bound them about the neck and mid-sections. Fifteen feet above the suspended indians, on the mountain ledge was Wendy. She had secured the rope holding the suspended indians to a large boulder, and from her vantage point she was pushing and pulling on the rope, causing the bound braves to repeatedly bounce into the mountainside. And, on the ground, nearby there was still another bound prisoner. A squaw was kneeling on the ground next to her, and her hands tied behind her back and to her feet so that if she moved she would topple over.
There were no other prisoners; the area was littered with the bodies of mostly dead redskins. Here and there rather than a corpse, a mortally wounded redskin, dying on the ground or draped over a boulder groaned.
Cactus Top and Tree Branch could not believe the fate they had suffered. First, they had faced the shame of surrendering – an act of cowardice. But these cowgirls had overcome them with exploding fire sticks that must have been created by the devil himself. Then there was the giant gun of devastating destruction. Caught in the early morning by surprise and with such overwhelming death around them both indians had become cowards. How different it was now from the time when not long before they captured and killed the two white she-devils. Now, they would be forever shamed. Then, even greater shame had taken place. The vixen bitches had stripped them of their loincloths and made them lay on top of one another on the ground, forcing each to take the other's member in his mouth. Then they had been tied tightly so that each could not move his head. The shafts of probing flesh thrust in each indian's mouth made each feel about to choke. There was no escape from this shame either. Then further bound about the mid-section, the braves were dragged along the ground by a cowgirl bitch on horseback. They had been dragged up a trail until they had reached the mountain ledge some 50 feet above the camp.
Dragged and bouncing, more then once each had bitten into the member of his brother brave. Muffled yelps of pain sporadically occurring. Try as he might, Cactus Top could not ignore the penis inside his mouth, his saliva wetting it, his tongue and lips sliding and rubbing against it. Try as he might, Tree Branch, too, could not ignore those sensations. Nor could either ignore the wetness and sliding and rubbing occurring to his own member. In some odd, shameful way, each of the braves members hardened and grew inside the mouth of the brave. Each member became engorged. And, as they did so, each brave felt more and more as if he was about to choke, and as they did so the bumping bites became ever more painful. For now, in addition to saliva and wetness exuding from the penises themselves, each brave could taste the blood of the other brave.
Bear Tooth and Red Dust were in no better shape, they, too, had proved themselves cowards by surrendering. Now, they had been tied to the trees, their pricks held by a white devil vixen. Against their wills, the cowgirl's touch had caused the indians' members to harden. But they had hardened not with mere lust, but with hatred. Hatred for the cowgirls and shame for themselves. Shamed by their own surrender, they were further being shamed by this cowgirl who held their manhood in her hands and toyed with them.
Meanwhile, once dragged up the mountain, the cowgirl had stopped her horse tied the rope to a boulder and rolled Cactus Top and Tree Branch over the edge. Suspended in the air, they swung back and forth, striking and scraping the mountainside repeatedly. And, then Cactus Top could bear the sensation of Tree Branch's mouth upon his member no longer. The rubbing, the wetness, the saliva, the lips, the tongue, caused Cactus Top to ejaculate, his semen spurting down Tree Branch's throat. Tree Branch gagged and choked, instinctively biting hard on Cactus Top's member. Tree Branch thought he was going to die from the choking. Cactus Branch in agony, bit hard on the thick, engorged member thrust in his mouth. Tree Branch's own agony transformed into a release, and he also ejaculated, choking and gagging Cactus Branch. All this happening as their naked redskin bodies swayed to and fro in the hot sun above their former camp below.
Kate had had enough. The two redskins tied to the trees were fully aroused and engorged. She had not done what she had done for their enjoyment. She was going to take her revenge for the indignities she had suffered at Digger's Canyon when she had been stripped and almost raped. She was going to take her revenge for the mutilations done to Mabel and Bertha. She was going to take her revenge on these savages for poor Wanda, riddled with bullets and burned and blown up in the wagon, who had been robbed of a decent funeral. She grabbed the members of these braves tightly and, with all her strength, she forced these hardened, engorged, penises downward, breaking the muscle tissue at the base. Then she released her grasp. Bear Tooth and Red Dust screamed in desperate, hopeless horrifying agony. They looked down. The penises were broken at the base, the still engorged members pointed straight down not up, and hard, useless, rods of flesh were slowly swinging back and forth.
The other cowgirls stared at the sight of the two naked redskins, standing with their useless, dangling penises. The captured squaw gasped at the fate of the braves; not too much earlier she had had the pleasure of Bear Tooth's shaft within her. Kate turned to Red Dust and lifted and then let drop his member. She did the same to Bear Tooth. “Yes,” she said, “what goes up must go down. And will never go up again.”
Cindy said, “These redskin savages deserve no better for what they've done to many a settler. But, it is time to finish this off. Is there any dynamite left?” Carmen produced a remaining stick that she had kept. Cindy and Jess dragged the still unconscious Wanton Thorn towards the mountain wall. Putting stakes in the ground, they tied her so she lay on her back spread-eagled, her arms and legs apart. She was positioned below the braves suspended high in the air. The cowgirls called for Wendy to lower the braves, and they were lowered until the whimpering braves were but ten feet above the naked warrioress.
Carmen and Kate then untied the two braves with the cracked penises and at gunpoint pushed them to walk to where Wanton Thorn lay, their pricks dangled loosely as were walked in agony. Each was forced to kneel on the ground on either side of Wanton Thorn, and tied neck and hands to feet so he could not move away.
“You worshiped this bitch, now you will pay fully for it,” Cindy sneered. She took the stick of dynamite and thrust it several inches deep within Wanton Thorn's cunt so that only half stuck out. Then she shook Wanton Thorn to consciousness.
Wanton Thorn awoke to agony. Her body was bruised and broken. She was tied fully exposed on the ground. Looking up, she saw the naked package of flesh swinging above her. She noticed the two bound braves on either side. “Cowards,” she spat, “redskin cowards. I saw you surrender. You surrendered from fear. You are shameful. We do not fear white bitches. We do not show fear to these bitches.”
And then Wanton Thorn felt something inside her. Something hard was thrust deep within her cunt. She looked forward and saw the dynamite stick sticking out from between her legs. Cindy bent down and lit the fuse. Then she and the other cowgirls quickly moved out of range, dragging the kneeling squaw captive with them.
Wanton Thorn struggled and squirmed. She saw the lit fuse burn closer. She felt the fire stick thrust deep within her. She knew that in moments her vibrant, wonderful body would be no more than bits of flesh and bone. The two braves by her screamed in fear. The two braves above her cried in muffled tones, each time biting the other and sending waves of agony into each other.
And then, for the first time in her life Wanton Thorn was afraid. She was scared. She was terrified. She squirmed and squirmed trying to dislodge the rigid shank within her. She pushed and pushed with all her might. She felt the stick within her rubbing her vagina, feeling the pressure and friction. Aroused and scared at the same time. And, she screamed in fear and terror. She was afraid. And, by displaying her fear she was ashamed. And, it was when she realized that she had shown shame, that she had displayed dishonor, that she had betrayed herself as no warrioress, that she would not be allowed to enter the heavens of warriors, that she would be dishonored forever, that she had shown herself to be worthless, in that moment of terror and shame, her body exploded and she was no more.
The explosion killed the bound, spread-eagled Wanton Thorn. It killed the indians above and to her side. The explosion burned the binds of the two indians above her and their seered corpses fell hard on what was left of Wanton Thorn's flesh. The kneeling braves, killed as well, had their bodies thrown by the force into the air.
The captive squaw looked at the cowgirls. She wondered in terror what was in store for her. She did not know that the cowgirls had decided to let her live, at least for the moment, to be their servant.