Her Indian Bravebyshandal©
Written and unwritten rules may govern our lives, but passion rules our hearts.
A woman and a man, both of different races, defy the rules of the times.
I hope you enjoy, and please feedback, as without your thoughts I cannot improve.
And I write for you.
She lay on the grass, her naked body absorbing the sun, the rustling of the trees above her, the sound of bird's song relaxing her mind as she waited, waiting, always waiting.
Looking up at the bright blue summer sky, the soft white clouds moving above, little puffs of white, like the smoke from a pipe that her daddy used to smoke, back somewhere in her memory. The grass under her hand as she moved it, back and forth, tickled her palm, the blades of green, long and moist left over from the heavy morning dew, a bed for her to lie upon, to wait, to dream.
She arched her back, loving the feel of the freedom, her ragged skirt and blouse piled under the tree, twenty feet away, her curly blond hair unbound, spreading about her head like a crazy halo.
Sighing she raised a knee, running her hand up her body, feeling her unbound breasts, the small globes topped by hard tight nipples, and touching one, felt it harden in anticipation, waiting, waiting for him. Waiting for him and his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, his hands.
The smell of the earth filled her nostrils, elemental, it reminded her of him. His musky scent, mixed with the smell of the land would soon fill her soul, another memory she would keep hidden inside of her, secret and precious, until the next time. Until they would meet again, here in the little valley meadow, five miles from the wooden shack that she called her home.
A breeze blew across her pale white skin, kissing where it touched, and her eyes fluttered closed, as she remembered the last time, the feel of him as he touched her, his dark and calloused hand stroking her body, arousing her with his touch. Soft and reverent, as if in awe.
And still she waited, there in the meadow, amongst the small yellow flowers, amongst the tall trees, she waited for her silent lover, in peace and quiet, the birds her only companions.
She felt the sound of the hooves vibrate through the ground minutes before she heard or saw him, astride the piebald pony, tall and straight, his black hair flying, his body dark and hard framed against the bright blue sky.
He pulled the prancing pony to a halt, and sat staring down at her, laying there wanton and waiting, the silence between them deafening. The sound of her heart pounding out a beat, her breath catching in her throat she looked up at her dark warrior lover.
And then he dismounted and strode over to where she lay, still and waiting, whilst he looked down upon her. His dark brown eyes almost black with wanting, he stood and drank in the sight of the woman that lay on the grass, naked and still, one hand upon her breast, the other spread out to her side, hair like the golden waterfall he set up camp near each fall.
Slowly removing his buckskin from around his loins, he knelt down next to the waiting woman, and smiling into her eyes, talked with silent words. For neither spoke each others language, except the language of love, but each knew what the other said, through gestures and touch, emotions flaming from their looks, as they conversed in silence, telling each other that they were here for now, to love and be together. Here in their meadow. Here where their different races meant nothing.
Where all that mattered was the passion and the love between them.
Bending to kiss her belly, the man started to worship the woman, her pale white skin a contrast against his darker hue, his black straight hair, dropping forward to stroke her torso as he continued to kiss a trail up her body, towards her small pert breasts, facing up, pointing at the bright orange sun, high above them.
Arching even more as his mouth closed over one hard tip, she ran her hands through the course black hair, a sigh escaping her pink lips, her eyes closing against the wonderful moist feel as her nipple was sucked up into the warm cavern of his mouth.
Two large hands enclosed the firm round globes, the rough fingers gentle and tender, as his body started to cover hers, the feel of the sinewy muscles of his back under her hands as she swept them down his spine, pulling him towards her, feeling him press down, the pleasure of the weight anchoring her to the hard ground under her back.
Rising up to meet his groin she felt his manhood, hard and strong, and wrapping her legs around his thighs pressed up to offer herself to him, open and wet, wanting and needing, her womanhood waiting to accept its mate, muscles ready and tight, waiting to grab and milk the very essence from the man above her.
Slow and deep he moved inside her, bodies straining, pleasure building.
His mouth moved up, sucking at her long pale neck, his face burrowing in her sweet silky hair, his nose absorbing the clean flowery smell of the stands as it tickled the skin of his face, his high well defined cheekbones and high brow, lost in the golden locks, making him tremble with the beauty of the feeling.
She was his, for this moment in time, his to hold, to kiss, and to be inside. But not his to have as he would have liked, for he knew if ever he took her back with him, her life would be so hard, his tribal custom to make white woman slaves, and for him she could never be a slave, always free. Free to wait for him in their little meadow to love and hold and build the memories of love between them.
Slowly they rubbed their entwined bodies together, in a dance as old as time, skin against skin, mouth against mouth, hands stroking and touching, sighs and moans joining in with the birdsong, the breeze cooling their heated bodies as they made love there on the green dew kissed grass, two people a world apart, joined together as one.
In the afterglow she knelt beside his languid body, stroking him with a blade of grass, long and thin she moved it up and down his torso, glistening before her, hairless and strong, small scars marring the ribs, where past foes had managed to wound.
He raised a hand and cupped her face, his eyes warm, a small smile on his normally hard straight mouth, revealing white teeth, that had worried her skin only a little while before.
Leaning down she kissed his neck, and lay her head against his chest, listening to the strong beat of his heart against her ear, her golden hair laying over him like a tangled blanket.
They lay in peace, together for a while, and then the man moved, rolling up, standing with the woman at his feet, glorious in his nakedness, and looking down at her as she lay upon the ground, the green grass that had been their bed framing her pale body, he held up the five fingers of his hand, and then pointed down to indicate where they should meet and when.
Five sunrises from now, here in the meadow, here in the grass, together.
And then he was gone, grabbing his buckskin and putting it on, he swung up onto his pony and left, no backward glance at the woman watching him with love in her eyes, knowing she would be waiting for him here when he returned.