Western Tail

(Part 1 from 2. Fiction.)

(The inspiration for this tale is a recent poll in which the most fantacized experience for gays was being fucked on horseback.)

It had been a hot and dusty ride from Kansas into Colorado en route to my new posting as the postal agent and sutler at Fort Hayden. I’d ridden all day with the Rocky Mountains tantalizingly near without having reached the river they told me was still more than a day’s ride out from the fort. I now saw the river ahead, cool and inviting, but I knew I wasn’t going to make Fort Hayden today. So, I rode down the side of the river for a couple of hours, thinking about one more night on the trail and about how hot, dusty, and smelly I’d gotten.

The river beckoned to me—clean and clear and shallow enough to be safe. At last I gave in, deciding to camp out for the night at a place where the land gently slanted down to a quiet section of the river well away from the central current. There was a small grove of cottonwood trees to one side and smooth rock outcroppings to another side, where I could lay my clothes out to dry.

I tied my horse to a tree in the cottonwood grove and laid out some food and water for him. I set up camp at the edge of the grove and laid my rifle up against a tree there. My saddle had gotten pretty smelly, so I scrubbed that down good and dropped it in the sun between the rocks and the grove to dry. Next I stripped off all my clothes, scrubbed them real well, and stretched them out on the rock cropping to dry. After that, it was my turn. I dove into the river and luxuriated in the cool, clean water rolling over my body. I splashed around a good bit and did some hoopin and hollarin out here in the world all by myself and eventually stood and walked up out of the water until it just reached my knees. It was time to get serious. I took up the bar of lye soap I’d used on the clothes and then soaped myself up real well. I felt so good when I got to my and balls that I did some extra soaping there and pulled on my rod for a few minutes, enjoying the moment of freedom after weeks in the saddle as well as surfacing fond memories of my romp in the sack with that cowboy in Abilene that night not long ago.

I heard an unfamiliar horse whinnying, and I froze solid. There, fanned out before me between the rocks and the cottonwood grove was a small band of Indians riding fine-looking horses . I have no idea how long they’d been watching me, but they’d had the drop on me for some time.

There were five of them, all young bucks—any one of them with enough muscle to easily handle me. Besides that, the one who evidently was the leader, a particularly impressive looking bronzed specimen, was holding a bead on me with a rifle. The other four strapping bucks had bows and arrows at various stages of readiness.

They weren’t wearing paint, so at least they didn’t appear to be on the warpath about anything. In fact, they weren’t wearing much of anything beyond loincloths, moccasins, and thin beaded bands with leather fringe wrapped around their limbs at the top of their bulging biceps and calves. The apparent leader, though, was also wearing a breastplate made of feathers and turquoise beads. My immediate assessment was that they were a hunting that had been attracted by my foolish cavorting in the river. That didn’t mean that they weren’t hunting for me. I’d been told to be on the lookout for small bands of renegade Indians in these parts that were ready to pick off the lone white man. And there couldn’t be a more lone and naked white man around than me at this moment.

I held my arms out wide in supplication (which may have been a mistake, considering what happened soon thereafter) and slowly walked up the shore, sidling a bit toward the cottonwood grove and my rifle.

The leader of the tribe raised his rifle a bit and gave me a look that told me in no uncertain terms that it wouldn’t be a good idea to go for my gun. I was a little surprised that he was grinning at me, but then so were the other four. I soon found out why they were doing that.

The leader slipped off his horse and halved the distance between him and me in long, deliberate strides. One of the others in the band rode up close to him, and the leader handed off his rifle. Then he pulled strings at the hips of his loin cloth and the scanty covering fell to the ground. Oh God, was my first thought. It had just been my luck to have run across a band of Indians that swung in my direction. My second thought was that this Indian, at least, swung real well. He had a cock and set of balls that equaled or surpassed his other collection of well-tone muscles. And my third thought was that he must have really enjoyed my unintentioned performance with the soap, because his horse-hung cock was standing straight out.

Unfortunately for me, he was such a fine specimen of manflesh that my cock reacted in similar fashion to the situation.

Before I could have a fourth thought, the tribe leader was at me like a pouncing cat. While he moved, the other four Indians came off their horses and gathered around fairly close to us in a semicircle. The Indian leader wrapped a hand around my neck and brought my face to his in a liplock that showed me he did a lot of this. The other hand went to vice-like grip around my balls and the base of my cock that brought tears to my eyes and me to my knees in front of him just as soon as his lips and tongue released mine. This put me at a convenient level for him to stuff his hard cock between my lips, which he proceeded to do.

He was face-fucking me real well, when I managed to look around and noticed that the four others had paired off and were fingering each other in shared excitement. This meant no one had the drop on me with anything but a hard and pumping penis at the moment, and I realized I might have reached the closest point to escape and survival that I ever was going to get. I knew I couldn’t get to my own rifle or horse in time, but the Indian leader’s horse, a gorgeous golden palomino stallion, was standing unattended within striking distance.

So, I seized the moment and made a break for the stallion. Miraculously, I was on the horse’s back and getting him to start into a trot before the Indians recovered. But then my luck ended. The Indian leader merely whistled, and the horse stopped in its tracks. I thought I was dead now, that they’d just pull me off the horse and rip me to shreds. But the Indian leader did something completely unexpected. He leaped up on the horse behind me, yelled something the horse understood, and we were off, two on the back of a quivering horse, thundering across the plain beside the river. The Indian was wedged behind me. He grabbed my wrists and forced my hands into the flowing mane of the horse, where I wrapped my fingers in the white mane and held on for dear life. The Indian’s beaded breastplate was digging into my shoulder blades, and his raging hard was rubbing up and down the small of my back as we were tossed and turned in the charge across the rolling countryside.

I was scared, but that rubbing dick of his and the whole wildness of the situation was turning me on, too. We hadn’t ridden far before he made his move. His thighs had been just behind mine, with both of us hanging on to the horse as we could with them. But in one swift, dexterous move, he took those powerful thighs of his and lifted them around and in front of mine and flipped me forward onto the neck of the horse. This tilted my pelvis up as well, and I screamed in fear and then in surprise and pain as I felt his cock head slide down the small of my back. It held briefly at my asshole as a much too-large peg tried to enter a much too small hole. And then the rough rolling of the horse’s gait solved the Indian’s problem, and with one excruciatingly painful lunge, he had breached my asshole and split me in two with his ramrod, which just kept on screwing up into me as the motion of the horse’s gallop naturally stroked his cock and my canal together.

I screamed into the wind and struggled against the powerful embrace of the Indian chieftain as we thundered on. With the aid of the motion, he was pumping me with the natural interaction of our bodies—his, mine, and the horse’s.

I realized not only that I was aiding the wild fuck myself with my struggling but also, after the shock of being taken started to wear off, that I now was enjoying this incredible invasion of my body. In addition, I realized and that, once skewered, there wasn’t much else for me to do but make the best of the situation. The trembling of my body started to decrease, I slowly stopped struggling against what was happening to me, and I started going with the motion of the horse’s gait and the rhythm of the fucking it created.

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