Indian Butter


One fine Kansas summer morning, Beatrice wrung the bathwater from her long, golden hair. She felt sexy lying naked and soapy under the big, cloudless sky while her papa was out mending fences and her mother was in town at the market selling eggs for some new thread for the upcoming winter.

Bea begged her mom not to make her go to town as she wanted to take a long, undisturbed bath and finish her new novelette, entitled, "The Brave and the Prairie Princess". She needed a break from watching over her two younger sisters and ma agreed. No sooner had ma's whip cracked at the wagon horses than Bea was pumping water and filling the large tin tub she would enjoy the morning in.

The cold water provided sensual relief from the hot, dry, windless day. It also caused her nipples to stick straight out of the soapy water necessitating a gentle tugging and pinching now and then to keep them sensitive while she flipped the pages of her book.

Her hero, One Buck, an Apache brave who sneaks into town to court Alexandria, the town mayor's youngest daughter, has led his prize down to a secluded clearing by a gurgling stream.

Alexandria has brought a picnic and begins to take out food when One Buck, too excited to waste time eating, impatiently unhooks Alex's dress and pulls her top down to her waste. Alexandria blushes and darts her eyes to and fro, scanning for spies or passersby. None are found as One Buck begins kissing her fervently. Shoulders, arms, and each breast. Gasps escape Alex's mouth along with feigned protestations as One Buck's oily, sun-baked hands reach up her dress, deeper and deeper...

His long, black mane covers her bare shoulders as he kisses her deeply. His rough fingers opening her up...

A shadow passes across the bright sunlight illuminating Beatrice's literature. Looking up, it's not a cloud, but to her horror a real, red Indian brave, on top of a pony, staring at her with no trace of expression on his face.

Bea's eyes swept the landscape around her, her heart papa, no mama, not event a cluck from the hen house.

The painted heathen, even more terrifying in person than in the stories described by her pastor at school, deftly slid off his pony and walked to the tub's edge.

Young Bea didn't dare breathe as the intruder silently judged his vulnerable, naked prize, sweeping his eyes from her luxurious locks of golden hair, across her midsection, and down her long, fine legs.

He stood there like a statue, naked except for a breech cloth and two feathers in his single, black braid going the length of his back. He looked young, like her, and appeared to be alone...this brought some relief to Bea as she chanced another look around only to see and hear nothing and no one.

The savage turned to his pony and made a soft flutter noise - his steed immediately responded by walking away toward the nearest tall grasses and began grazing.

Bea was alone. Alone with this young, lithe brave. Suddenly fear was mixed with a confusing sense of erotic danger. Beatrice's nipples suddenly re-sprouted to attention and her nether area itched with yearning. Still terrified for her life or what the Indian might do to her, the brave kneeled down next to the tub and reached an arm inside.

Bea instinctively flinched, but the brave finally did something to ease her racing, panicked mind - he smiled at her and ran his fingers through her yellow, wet hair, gently stroking her...calming her...lulling her as he would his pony.

Bea closed her eyes and let the brave pet her...she did not want to provoke violence. She smelled him very close to her now. Her arms, once hugging her pale, voluptuous bosom, fell to her sides as she became more and more at ease.

With her eyes shut, she felt his warm mouth over her right nipple - at first teasing, and then gently tugging at her long, pink nub. His other hand moved to her tit farthest from his mouth and began squeezing it so that the pale skin reddened with his strong, masculine grip.

He began biting now...gently bringing gentle pain to her delicate, virgin breasts. First one long nipple, then the next...keeping her moaning and her tits at firm attention all while stroking her hair, keeping her lulled and obedient.

Next he reached under her body and lifted her to the surface and got to see her pale, nude body - never seen before by any boy. He was very strong and held her up while kissing her naval, below her navel, and then a spark of sensation as his tongue flicked onto her clitoris.

She arched her back - electrified by this oiled, savage licking her most private of privates. Her long nipples felt like they were growing even more as she thrust them up into the heat of summer aching and stinging from his pinching and biting.

It came by surprise - she came all over his primitive mouth, he wasted no time licking and lapping up her juices as her little pussy washed out its nectar all over his ubiquitous, scratchy tongue.

Her breathing heavy, panting even, the brave released her body into the water. Bea opened her eyes for the first time in minutes to the spectacle of a brutish-looking, Apache warrior in a bulging loin cloth thrusting his manhood toward her small, pouty mouth.

She had almost forgotten who was molesting her. The brave worked his trick again and stroked her hair while pushing his large bulging cloth at her. He grunted and she reached a delicate hand up and touched the stiff warm tip of his rising man root.

He grunted again and Bea pulled his cloth aside and let out a brief, shrill squeak. It was gigantic - a long, massive cock that was much pinker than expected with a huge bulbous head the size of her own fist. She wasn't sure what to do until she clasped the mammoth rod with her narrow fingers and a thought came to her - like milking a cow?

Bea started stroking that huge cock then needed two hands and was yanking his giant rod for all it was worth. Making Indian butter, she thought as she stroked him until she felt a huge shudder come from the brave. His butter splattered all over her face and into her open eyes, sting them shut as wave upon wave of hot, sticky goo shot her in the face and hair.

Finally the brave withdrew his manhood from her tugging grasp.

Bea ducked under water to clean the unclean off of her and when she re-emerged her fierce injun was gone. No brave, no pony.

Here comes papa - she saw his profile on the horizon; he was galloping toward the homestead, and her, with thundering speed.

"Beatrice! Are you alright? I saw an Indian riding from here. Did you see an Indian?

Sweet, good, pure Beatrice held herself, hiding her swollen, reddened tits from daddy's gaze, shaking her head - smiling on the inside, "No papa. I sure didn't."

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