Frontier Woman Taken by Indians

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I realize the Native Americans taking a frontier woman story is a cliché and that the lesbian story line might not be realistic. Apologies to any readers who are offended or have any complaints about accuracy/authenticity.

Sarah Winston and her husband Tom were young homesteaders in the Midwest in the late 1860s. They were in the mid-20s and had recently been married after Tom had returned from fighting for the Union in the Civil War.

It was late summer. Tom was wrestling with the plow towed by one of their horses. Sarah was in the one-room plank-and-sod house they had built together.

Sarah was sweeping the rough-hewn plank floor when she heard shouts. She looked through the open door and gasped at the sight of half-a-dozen Indians on ponies closing in on her husband. She watched as he unslung his musket and fired. It missed. In seconds, the Indians were surrounding her husband, who swung his musket like a club in a futile attempt to defend himself. One Indian clubbed him from behind; he fell to his knees and another Indian buried his hatchet in his chest.

Sarah stifled a scream with a clenched fist. She pulled the door shut. Their other horse was tied out back. As she reached the back door, she glanced through the viewing slit and saw three braves untethering the horse.

She grabbed her husband's other musket and the bag of shot and powder. They had built a shallow trench under the floor as a root cellar/storage area. She lifted the plank in the floor and laid down in the hiding place that was barely large enough for her body.

Sarah's heart was pounding, and she was breathing in gasps. She clutched the musket with both hands, her palms sweaty. After what seemed like an hour but was only a few minutes, she heard the front door bang open and the footsteps of the invaders. They pillaged, gathering whatever they wanted to carry away.

Sarah lay in the dark of her hiding place, listening to their voices, their yelps as they discovered whatever treasures they considered valuable. But then the voices stopped. "Were they about to leave," Sarah wondered, her heart leaping with the hope of survival.

Unbeknownst to her and to her misfortune, when she climbed into her hiding place a small section of her dress remained visible between the planks. A sharp-eyed brave had noticed this and signaled for silence.

Two Indians positioned themselves at each end of the plank and worked their fingers so they could lift it. With a quick move, the plank was removed. Sarah blinked at the sudden light and tried to bring the musket to bear. Before she could, one of the braves grabbed the barrel and yanked it from her sweaty hands. She looked up from what she assumed would be her shallow grave.

Nine bronzed-skinned braves looked down at her. Some were wearing buckskin breaches, others only loin cloths. All were wearing war paint. Sarah's eyes revealed her terror as she glanced at the Indians who had murdered her husband and who now controlled her fate.

Two of the braves leaned down and each grabbed Sarah by the forearms. She yelped as they yanked her out of the trench and on to her feet.

Sarah Winston was about 5-2 with light brownish-blonde hair which she had pulled back and secured with a ribbon. She was pretty but not beautiful. Her hips were wide, and her breasts were round and full. As she stood there, surrounded by her captors, the front of the blue gingham dress rose and fell as she gasped for breath, her breathing accelerated by fear.

The leader of the war party grunted a few words and another brave grabbed Sarah's arms and yanked them behind her back. Her wrists were tied with a leather cord, and she was led outside.

The Indians mounted their ponies. Sarah was tossed onto the leader's mount, and he climbed on behind her. One arm encircled her waist, the other his pony's halter. He dug his heels into the animal's sides and the war party took off at a gallop.

Sarah was terrified on several levels. Not only was she a captive but as the horses galloped along, she felt like she could fall off at any minute. Without her hands, Sarah could only grip the pony's sides with her legs and thighs.

Her bottom was jammed back against the Indian's crotch, and it wasn't long into the journey that she started to feel something hard jabbing against her soft ass. She heard a chuckle in her ear. Then the Indian's hand moved up from her waist and Sarah gasped as he cupped her right breast, squeezing it as they galloped along. Sarah felt his cock grow larger and harder as it pressed against her.

The group rode for hours across the flat terrain. Sarah's riding partner stopped groping her and his cock seemed to lose some of its hardness. She hoped that perhaps she would be spared any further indignities.

As dusk fell, the Indians came upon a stream which had a small stand of trees. They stopped to make camp for the night. Sarah was pulled off the horse and told to sit under a tree. A brave watched her as two others set up camp. The others rode off and just after dark returned with a few dead rabbits slung over their ponies.

Sarah's hands were re-tied so that she could eat. After she consumed some of the meat, one of the braves led her to the stream. She knelt down and cupped some water in her hands to drink and wash her face.

The Indians prepared to sleep. Again, Sarah's hands were retied behind her back and her feet were also bound. The brave trussed her hands and feet together and then tied that binding to a tree. The leader approached with a blanket from his pony and threw it over her.

Sarah was exhausted and fell into a deep sleep despite her fear and the awkward manner in which she was forced to lay.

The next morning, she awoke to voices and the sound of water splashing. She opened her eyes and looked toward the stream. The braves were in the water, some squatting, some standing. They were all naked. They appeared to be bathing.

One of the braves noticed that Sarah was awake and said something. The Indians climbed out of the water and headed for Sarah. She could see that some of their cocks were erect, while the other cocks were semi-hard.

The leader walked over to the horses and then returned holding a knife. He bent down behind Sarah and cut her bindings. She groaned as she tried to move her stiff muscles. The leader reached down and grabbed the collar of her dress and yanked Sarah to her feet. There was a ripping sound as part of the collar tore from the force.

She was dragged/led to a spot between two small trees that were about 10 feet apart. She noticed that two braves were tying a rope around a branch of each tree. They then tied her wrists so that her arms were spread and at shoulder level.

The war party formed a semi-circle in front of Sarah. The leader approached her. She could see that his large cock was erect; it bobbed as he walked toward her.

He brought his hand up to her face. His rough, calloused fingers traced over her cheek and her lips. She jerked her head away. He frowned and reached behind her, taking a handful of hair in his hand to hold her steady. The knife was in his other hand. He brought it up and placed the sharp tip against her cheek. There wasn't enough pressure to draw blood, but she understood the meaning.

The leader's free hand returned to her face, touching and stroking skin that was softer than he was accustomed to. He ran his hand through her thick hair and reached the ribbon. He yanked it and her hair came free. He had a faint smile on his lips.

A woman with fair skin and blondish hair was something the Indians had rarely encountered. Their raids had sometimes resulted in the capture of women, but most had been dark haired and worn down from their time on the prairie. Sarah was a prize.

The leader ran his free hand over her dress, along her arms, over her body. He squeezed her breasts. "Nooooooo. Pleeaaassee."

He handed the knife to one of the braves. His strong hands grasped the neckline of her dress and yanked. The material parted with a loud ripping noise. "NOOOOOO GAAWWWD PLEASE. LEAVE ME ALONE."

He pulled and ripped the bodice until it was in tatters at her waist. Her white cotton camisole was revealed. The braves could see the material clinging to her twin mounds.

The leader reclaimed the knife and slipped it under the thin cotton material between her breasts. He pulled down and away from her body and the camisole spit in two. He brushed it aside, exposing her breasts that were capped with dark areolas and two pinkish nipples.

The remaining Indians approached and hands began yanking at the back of her dress, tearing it away from her sleeves and down her back, splitting it to the hem so that it fell away. All that remained were her white cotton bloomers. The knife blade and many grasping hands made short work until the ruined garment was around her ankles. Other than a few shreds of clothes -- her camisole still hung from her shoulders -- she was naked.

Her wrists were untied, and she was pushed to the ground. Her arms were being grasped and her legs were yanked wide, exposing the hairy bush above her mound.

"GAAAWWDDD PLEASSSEE NOOOOOOO. DON'T DO THIS. DON'T RAPE ME. LEEETTTT MEEEEE GOOOOO."

Her screaming pleas were ignored. The leader was kneeling between her legs. His fingers pushed against her vaginal lips; they were dry. He spit on his palm several times and slapped saliva on her mound, his fingers massaging the moisture into her gash to lubricate his target.

There were hands combing through her hair and massaging her breasts. Then two braves leaned over to latch their mouths on her hardening nipples, sucking them to further erection.

Sarah squirmed and struggled. "AHHAGGGRRAAA NOOOOO. STOP, PLEASE." She was exposed and vulnerable.

The Indian kneeling between her legs lowered himself, one hand holding the base of his erect cock. The foreskin covered the knob. He pushed his erection against her labia and his cock forced its way toward its objective. Sarah rocked her hips to try to dislodge the invader.

"NOOOO... NOOOO."

Despite the resistance and the tightness of her vaginal opening, the man's cock head finally popped inside. He immediately thrust his hips and impaled Sarah with his hard fleshy staff.

Her back arched and her mouth opened wide with a wailing scream. The Indians also yelled in triumph, whooping and laughing. Their hands and mouths were mauling her jiggling tits as their tribal brother continued his conquest.

The pleasure of a white woman's pussy was arousing, and the brave's taught ass clenched as he pounded his prick in and out. He soon growled in satisfaction as his cock spurted its seed deep inside Sarah's pussy.

"AAHHHGGGGAA... NOOOOOOO," Sarah's eyes closed, tears leaking down her cheeks as she howled in disgust at her defilement.

The Indian pulled his cock free and moved aside, his place quickly taken by another brave who quickly embedded his cock inside the captive's sex. The fleshy sheath was slicker for this second fucking as Sarah's body was betraying her and the first man's cum further lubricated her pussy.

"UHGHH... UGHHHHHH... ARRHHHGHHH." Sarah grunted as the second man pounded his hips against his, his prick sliding in and out. After waiting his turn and witnessing his predecessor's pleasure, the second brave felt his ball sack tighten and groaned in pleasure as his cock throbbed with its orgasm.

Sarah felt a second load of hot cum spurting inside her. She knew it wouldn't be the last. Her brain couldn't process the fact that her body was being used by the savages who had killed her beloved husband. She wished they would finish with her and kill her, too.

The Indians all took their turns sating their desires. By the end, there was no need for them to hold her down. The last brave had grabbed her legs and pushed them up and back in order to pile drive her for a different angle for his cock. Once he finished, he stood up. The Indians surrounded Sarah, looking down at her full breasts and her well-fucked pussy that was leaking their cum.

Sarah opened her eyes and looked up at the nine men standing around her. Dark skinned, naked, their cocks dangling. All those male appendages had violated her body. She rolled on her side and curled into a ball, ashamed that she had lived through the ordeal.

The leader spoke and four of the braves stooped toward Sarah. They grabbed her wrists and ankles and carried her toward the stream, dropping her into the water.

She gasped, the cold water making her shiver. It did feel good, though, to feel some of the grime leaving her skin and nine loads of cum starting to leak out of her pussy. Her hands rubbed over her sore mound, her fingers probing. Sarah had rarely touched herself; she had been taught it was wrong. But it felt pleasurable to rub her labia. Her nipples were hard and not entirely because of the cold water.

Two braves kept watch on her while the others went about breaking camp. At a word from the leader, the two waded in the water and led Sarah back to the others. She was handed her split camisole and her tattered dress. Grateful for any covering, she slipped on both, though they did little to cover body. A brave draped a blanket around her shoulders.

She was boosted on to one of their spare ponies. Sarah moved part of her dress to keep her bare crotch from rubbing against the coarse hair. The pony's bridle was attached to a rope held by the leader. The group trotted off. Sarah was surprised she was still alive.

+++

The journey continued for what seemed like hours to Sarah. They stopped once to water the horses at a small stream. She didn't dismount; they passed her a water bag to slake her thirst.

Finally, they arrived at their village of teepees and lean-tos. There were a few dozen men and women greeting the returning warriors. Sarah was helped off her pony. She clutched the remains of her clothes and the blanket around her body.

The women surrounded her, curious about the fair-skinned woman with the yellow hair. There was much jabbering and shouts as the men recounted their raids and the loot they had collected that was secured on four captured horses.

Only one of the native women was wearing war paint like the men. She approached Sarah and stood just few feet away. Sarah noted three blood-red marks on the woman's face -- one on her forehead and one on each of her cheeks. The woman's face was angular, with high cheek bones and dark, almond-shaped eyes.

After the ordeal of her assault that morning and the long ride, Sarah was exhausted, and her mind was spinning at the recent turn of events. She was surprised that her dulled mind noted that the War Paint Woman had a beautiful face.

Two of the warriors led Sarah to one of the larger teepees. Once inside, she was given a water bag and some jerky. The two men left, closing the flap. Sarah was alone. She ate, drank some water and then noticed some large furs. Wrapping herself in her blanket she laid down and fell asleep. Exhaustion allowed her a deep sleep, but her dreams were troubling. They echoed versions of being assaulted and ravaged.

Sarah awoke to darkness. She had to reorient herself. Her ripped garments that revealed more than they concealed reminded her of her situation.

She crawled to the teepee's opening and pushed her head through the flap. One of the men was sitting on guard duty. He rose, walked away and soon returned with another man carrying firewood. They shooed Sarah back inside the teepee and then quickly stacked the wood inside a small circle of rocks. They left without lighting it.

Within moments of their departure, a lone figure ducked inside, carrying a small torch. Sarah recognized War Paint Woman. She used the torch to light the fire, then snuffed out the torch.

The woman approached Sarah, grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet. Tapping her chest, she quietly and slowly said, "Wu-shon-ee... wu-shon-ee." Then she poked her finger at Sarah.

Her mind wasn't working. She could feel her heart beating and the smoke from the fire inside the tent was making her light-headed.

War Paint Woman tried again. "Wu-shon-ee ... wu-shon-ee... wu-shon-ee." Each time she uttered her name, she poked her own chest and after the third time her finger poked Sarah so hard she almost fell.

"Sarah," she said quietly. "Sarah."

"Sar-uh... sar-uh." The woman smiled.

Wushonee gazed at the captive woman. While her face was smudged with dirt and her blonde hair was a tangled mess, she was intrigued. Her reputation as the toughest female, as a brave warrior, had sparked Wushonee's sexual interest in women. She had often thought about taking a captive as the male warriors liked to do. This was her first opportunity and she had informed the braves she was not to be disturbed.

"Sar-uh," she said again, in a soft voice. Her hand moved to Sarah's face and lightly caressed her cheek. Then her hand moved to her blonde hair, her fingers tangling in the messy strands.

Sarah appreciated the gentle touches. She was confused at the interest this Indian woman was showing. "Maybe she's just curious," she thought.

Wushonee was far more than curious. Her hands moved quickly to grab the blanket Sarah had draped around her, yanking it free and tossing it aside. Sarah clutched her torn camisole and tattered dress, trying to cover her body.

Two strong hands grabbed Sarah's wrists and yanked them down to her sides. When Sarah moved to return her hands and arms to hide herself, Wushonee lightly slapped her face. Her other hand wagged a finger in front of Sarah's eyes. She dropped her hands to her sides and kept them there.

Her ruined camisole and dress hung open, barely covering Sarah's full breasts and not covering her crotch. Wushonee's fingers gripped the garments and pulled them down and off. Sarah was naked but for the stockings sagging below her knees and her boots.

Sarah let out a slight gasp as her body was revealed. Wushonee's eyes glinted at the sight of the white woman's body.

Wushonee's fingers worked on the ties at each shoulder of her buckskin dress. When they came untied, her dress easily slipped down her body to puddle around her feet.

The flickering firelight played over the women's bodies. Sarah's eyes roamed over Wushonee's upper body. She saw that her breasts were small but firm, her nipples hard. Her torso was toned, her stomach flat. Her slender legs were muscular.

Wushonee's hands cupped Sarah's breasts, causing her to moan. Her fingers were calloused, but her touch was light. Her hands roamed over the mounds, pushing, molding and lifting them. Wushonee muttered words Sarah didn't understand as she explored.

Her pink nipples were of particular interest as they contrasted with Wushonee's brown nubs. The woman's fingers lightly brushed and fondled Sarah's hard buds. She shivered at the gentle stimulation.

Wushonee then took Sarah's idle hands and raised them to her small, pert tits. She whispered a few words and then closed her eyes. Sarah's palms covered the firm mounds and erect nipples. A hiss escaped between Wushonee's clenched teeth, and her hands grasped Sarah's wrists, forcing her hands to press harder.

Sarah was in a trance. She had been captured, gang raped and now was in a teepee with her hands on a native woman's breasts. Wushonee's hands moved to recapture Sarah's mounds. Their eyes met. Sarah's were wide and filled with wonder at the pleasure she was feeling. Wushonee's eyes sparkled, and her eyelids narrowed slightly.

+++

Wushonee ended the breast play by taking Sarah by the wrist and leading her to the furs where she had slept the night before. Wushonee kneeled and pulled Sarah down. Wushonee's leg pushed between Sarah's, her firm thigh firmly against her partner's crotch.

Wushonee placed a hand behind Sarah's neck and pulled it toward her chest, placing her mouth on her breast. The hard nipple pushed against Sarah's lips. Wushonee murmured a few words and pulled Sarah's head harder against her tit.