In my fantasy I’m an Indian warrior’s woman, but not his wife. This means I must service not only him, but other braves who demand that I bow down to be fucked. The men were brutal, taking great pleasure in my pain. They knocked me to the ground, pulled back their breechcloth, and rammed their rigid hatchets into me doggy-style. When they came, they let out victory whoops so the other men knew that they just got some pussy. I was left dripping with their cum, not knowing if they had knocked me up. Not even a pregnant girl was safe. They, too, were thrown to the ground right on their pregnant bellies while their unborn papoose was rammed with jackhammer force.
I loved being an Indian fucktoy. As a white woman, I was abused much more. They yanked my long red braids viciously while they fucked my pussy and ass. Often, they used me to train the virgin braves. Young boys were allowed to experiment freely, torturing me, ramming sticks and tomahawk butts into my scarred cunt. I had no value. What they didn’t know was that this shit got me off. I would often provoke a warrior, making him weak and powerless with need. I had been a saloon whore before I was captured and had known many cocks and much brutality. I knew how to please a man and I used this to full advantage when teaching them about cocksucking. Cocksucking was believed to remove a man’s lifeforce, making him a poor warrior. But after my full lips sucked them dry, they no longer cared.
Wanna be my Indian lover? Put me in a fringed dress with no panties underneath. Wrestle me to the ground and spill your seed deep inside me. Make me your Indian princess and let me attend to your savage needs. I’ll ride your baloney pony and you can let out a war whoop as you raid my Indian pussy.
Rebecca
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