One last story from the old blog. This one was posted in 2000 there, and I'm resisting the urge to edit it now. You'll tell me if it needs anything, right?
He was clad only in a deerskin breechclout and moccasins, and he was hanging from a thick limb of an old oak tree a long way from town. His brown body twisted slowly in the light summer breeze that also blew through his long dark hair. His wrists were bound with rawhide behind his back, and his fingers were now curled and stiff above his ass.
The posse who lynched this Indian rode off a short while ago. I was watching them from a nearby ridge. I don't know any more about why they strung him up, except that he was Indian and the posse had it in for Indians. They stuck around long enough to make sure he was dead, then took off for town. I waited until I knew they were at least a quarter mile away before I made my way down to the hanging tree.
It was eerie quiet, which made the creaking of the noose-rope even louder. The toes of the Indian's moccasins pointed almost straight down to the ground that was about 3 feet away. He was a good-looking guy, with long straight black hair and a slender, sinewy brown body that was a little dirty from the roughing-up he got from the posse before they strung him up. His head was cocked to one side by the knot in the noose, and he was slack-jawed and staring with blank eyes at the ground. I dunno why, but it was exciting to be there, this close to the dead Indian, even though I was afraid the posse would come back, or worse, the Indian's friends maybe.
I got closer. His crotch was at the height of my head. I reached up and touched his firm, still-warm belly, tentatively at first, then a little more bolder, stroking it a little down as far as the thong of his breechclout. The clout was tented out a little and looked slightly damp underneath the flap. My hand fell farther down and patted the bulge in his crotch. I should never be taking this sort of liberty with a guy's package, especially a dead guy, but I couldn't stop. I reached up under the flap and felt the dampness there. He must've shot a load while he was hanging from the rope. Damn! I got in close and could smell his spunk and the muskyness of his crotch and the deerskin. It was a heady smell and it made the crotch of my jeans bulge.
I carefully worked the leather breechclout open so I could take a look, making him move a little while I did. He'd shot a big load into the soft deer hide, and it was starting to dry and kind of stick to his meaty uncut cock. I got my nose in there and sniffed around his cock and balls, trying to work up the courage to get a taste. I'd had Indian cock before - a friend I used to know a couple of years ago would let me suck his long pecker, and I know he liked it about as much as I liked doing it. I was a real horny dog now, but something made me stop. I backed up a step and looked around. Nothing. The dead Indian stared down at me. My guard relaxed, and I started thinking about going back to what I was doing.
Then I felt something whiz by my head, and I looked to see an arrow newly embedded in the oak tree. Suddenly there were five Indians surrounding me, all bare-chested and fierce, a couple with guns. I panicked, thought I could run. But three of them jumped me and had me down on the ground. I tried fighting them off, but they had my wrists tied with rawhide faster than I could react. They even had my pants pulled down around my ankles, which hobbled me pretty good. They got in some good licks, and even as they were getting up off me one of them kicked me hard in the ribs with his moccasined boot.
Two of the Indians went over to the rope where it was tied around the trunk of the oak tree, untied it, and let the dead Indian down to the ground. One of them with the guns was standing guard over me, the rifle pointed at my chest while I lay on the ground, propped up somewhat so I could see. There was a sixth Indian a little distance away, holding the reins to some horses. The ones tending the dead man carefully laid him out, first untying his hands and then removing the noose. They spoke little, and what they said I couldn't understand. I knew they were angry and sad, though, and I knew I was in trouble. I wondered why they didn't cut the rope instead of untying it, since they all had knives. But then I found out.
There was a short discussion. One of the Indians, who looked a bit like the hanged one, maybe his brother and definitely the leader, was gesturing toward me and holding the rope. Soon, they'd come to an agreement. I watched as they slung the rope back over the tree limb, and just as I was realizing what was happening, two of them came over and dragged me to my feet, over to the noose. I struggled a little, shouting that I didn't do it. But I don't think they understood me anymore than I understood them, and maybe by now it didn't matter. The two held me tight while the brother pulled the noose over my head and cinched it tight around my neck. I was tied, half-naked, and noosed, and this band of Indians meant to see that I paid for the death of their brother.
I was shaking and maybe crying a little, but I didn't say anything, trying to be brave so that things maybe didn't go worse for me than they already were. The leader looked into my eyes and reached down to my crotch, grabbing my cock and balls hard. He said something to the others and they all guffawed roughly. I could only imagine what they said, but in my mind I thought it had something to do with what I was about to do to the hanged Indian only a while ago. I stopped thinking about that as much when the leader started squeezing hard. The pain made me double over, but the rope was tight and I couldn't go far. This made the group laugh even more.
The leader finally let go, but the pain lingered long after he did. He backed up, so did the two who were holding me. I couldn't have gone anywhere, anyway. I glanced around. Two of them had hold of the long end of the rope. Everyone was tense, ready. I saw the dead Indian lying on the ground where they'd left him for the moment, his clout riding low on his loins. I knew I was going to be like him in a few minutes.
The leader gave the signal. The two pulled hard on the rope. I scrambled to get on my toes as they held me there, gagging against the rope, trying to support my weight on the toes of my boots instead of my neck. A couple of the Indians grinned. Then the rope was pulled again and I was off the ground, swinging free. The rope dug into my neck and tightened as the other end was re-tied around the tree trunk.
All the Indians watched me as I rope-danced where their comrade had done the same thing just hours before. I struggled to get my hands free, but the rawhide holding them tight behind my back just chafed my wrists. I couldn't kick much because my pants were bunched around my boots, and that meant my cock was bouncing around as I fought the rope in plain sight of the Indians. My chest was heaving as I tried to get one more breath. But the rope wouldn't let in even a bit of air. Buzzing started in my ears, loud and getting louder. I was gonna die, I knew it, and I was panicked. But the more I fought, the more the rope tightened till it felt like it was trying to separate my head from my body.
I saw the Indians watch me through the growing haze. They pointed at my crotch and laughed as my cock grew. Even as I was strangling to death, I was still a horny dog. The familiar feeling started spreading from my crotch, only it was a lot stronger till finally it flooded over me, even replacing my panic over not getting air. My cock shot a thick rope of cum, and followed that with even more shooting down my legs, onto my boots, and onto the ground. It was the most euphoric orgasm I ever had. By the time it finished, I could feel everything fading and I didn't care. I felt myself relaxing into the rope. My head started falling forward and everything became utter darkness.
The Indians watched my body twitch weakly and then come to rest. When they were sure I was dead, the leader directed two of them to load the body of their dead brother onto the back of a horse. While they did that, he came up close to my dangling body, probably to make sure I was dead. He was eye-level with my crotch and I'm sure he took a look at my fat meat dangling between my naked legs. But then he turned away and with the others headed back in the direction opposite where the posse had gone. Soon I was all alone, growing cold and stiff hanging half-naked from the oak tree instead of the Indian, waiting for night to fall.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment