The Deer Woman

Orson Calloway studied the Indian woman as she bathed in the stream. Refilling his canteen was his original intent, but when he saw her, he hid his horse and scrambled up a nearby tree as quickly and quietly as he could. She looked to be cooling off from the heat, but it could have been a trap. He knew all too well that it was odd to see an Indian, especially a woman, alone. Outside of the woman, the nearby shrubbery and trees showed no signs of life. Patience had become second nature for Calloway since he arrived in this territory. Having the skills to catch prey were useless without the will to wait.

He eyed his surroundings, making sure no one was around. Listening had also become more important to his survival. Besides a slight breeze blowing against the greenery, no horses or footsteps were audible. Calloway turned his attention back to the woman. She was beautiful. More than likely in her mid-twenties. Slim, but shapely. Her black hair came down to the middle of her back. She ran her hands across her bronze skin, cleaning herself and cooling off from the scorching sun. She occasionally faced Calloway's direction, oblivious to the voyeur in the tree, revealing pear-shaped, perky breasts and a thick patch of pubic hair around her womanhood.

Unaware, Calloway licked his lips and rubbed his groin. It had been four weeks since his last release and the curves of her body and the color of her skin were too much to resist. He had to have her warm body against his, whether she was willing or not. Easing down the tree, he made his way back to his horse, devising his new plan along the way. His usual charm probably wouldn't work, but he could start with that. Then, if necessary, he'd grab her. The lasso, taken from a cowboy he had spent the night with, would make capturing her easier. A good throw while she's off guard would do it. Another idea popped into his head. He pulled a couple of rags from his bags and tied them together, a makeshift gag to keep her quiet.

Unbuttoning his shirt, he made his way back down to the stream, approaching cautiously. Again, her back was to him, her buttocks nice and round. Closer and closer, he crept, almost at a tiptoe. The grass was noiseless under his feet. When he was close enough, Calloway hid the lasso behind his back and cleared his throat.

"Well, hey there little lady," his voice was husky and deep, but mellow. The woman turned in a flash, her brows furrowed, and her mouth was twisted with horror. She instinctively turned to get away, attempting to swim away in the shallow stream. Calloway pulled the lasso from behind his back and spun it over his head like a tornado. There was no place for her to go. He threw the loop over her head with precision aim and pulled the rope tight. It bound around her upper arms, pinning them to her sides. She thrashed and kicked as he pulled her to land. Calloway grinned as he reeled in his catch. Triumph and anger filled the air. A look of satisfaction covered Calloway's face as he drug her closer. He stood over his prey, and she kicked again, her foot met his groin. A loud groan escaped his lips as he doubled over in pain.

Pushing herself up to her feet, the woman tried to run away again. Calloway regained his composure and caught up to her, shoving her to the ground with his shoulder. With a loud thud, she landed flat on her stomach. A seething pain radiated through his lower body as he knelt down and tied knots around her hands and feet. Surprisingly, she never made a sound. Hatred emanated from her as he gagged her with the rags.

"Just in case," he looked her in the eye as he stood straight up, catching his breath. He paced around, listening for any possible interlopers. The only noise around them was the breeze. His groin was still on fire, but he couldn't worry about it right then. Hanging around too long could be trouble too. Calloway hoisted the woman up onto his shoulders and carried her to his horse. It was time to move away from the area, and fast. He put her across his lap and rode off.

Struggling to survive in the West could age and change anyone. It had changed Orson Calloway. After a failed bank robbery, he had to flee Missouri. His two partners, the bank's owner, and three deputies ended up dead, but he was able to get away. With a bounty on his head, he stole a horse and fled to the western territories. Eventually, an area of the Wyoming territory became his home. He stuck to the wilderness, and over time, his dark side emerged. Going into town was too risky, but he needed some release. Luckily, an opportunity finally came, and it started with a man. A traveling salesman was washing himself and his clothes in the stream, just like the Indian woman in his lap. As he came across the salesman, something stirred inside of him.

Clean shaven, the salesman looked to be in his late twenties. He was slender, with a cute, boyish face, wet blonde hair clinging to it. A trail of light brown hair ran from the center of his chest to the base of his limp dick. With his pink nipples and supple ass, he looked more like a woman than a man. Calloway hadn't been with a woman in a long time and something about the naked man felt right. With his steel-grey eyes and chiseled physique, he simply stripped down and joined the man. The salesman was startled at first but welcomed the company. Later that night, as the two laid naked together, staring up at the night sky, Calloway reached over and began running his hand up and down the salesman's body, giving an earnest speech about how men have needs and travelers should help each other out. It wasn't long before Orson was jamming his cock inside the bent over traveler, bucking wildly until they both came. They slept together that night, and Calloway buried the traveler at an abandoned farm two miles away the next morning. He couldn't risk letting the salesman mention the man out in the woods to a marshal.

Over the last nine months he had been in the territory, he had been with multiple men and women, traveling between Kansas and Oregon. He only had to charm them, an act to easy for him. No one could resist the tall, tanned skin man, riding up on his dark brown horse, caressing the black mane of his steed. Muscles rippling through his shirt. A friendly smile framed by light stubble. Brown hair spilling from under his Stetson hat. His voice was low and gravelly, but it came out smooth and calming. They fell for him every time, but the Indian woman was the first he had to take by force. She was mumbling something under her breath, made in audible by the gag in her mouth.

She wiggled around in his lap as they rode down a trail parallel to the stream for a few miles, no travelers in sight. Dusk was setting in, and the air was getting cool. The trail was breaking away from the stream by a thick stretch of trees. Calloway knew the area well. This stretch of trees went on for three miles, with a mile between the trail and the stream. Calloway grinned as he steered his horse into the trees. The thick bushes would provide great cover and conceal his fire. Surrounding a large oak tree was enough space for him, his horse, and the woman. He thought of a name for her.

"You seem like a Natalie," he grinned, smacking her on the butt.

After making a fire and tying Natalie to the oak tree, Calloway planned the rest of his night. Once the sun was completely down, he'd have his fun. He looked over at Natalie. The easiest way to tie her up was to put her in a sitting position. The light of the fire lit up her features. Even with the intense stare she gave him, her brown eyes flickering, she was beautiful. A heart-shaped face peaked out under still damp hair. Small but perky breasts, adorned with dark brown nipples, moved slowly as she breathed. Full lips framed the gag in her mouth. She was still murmuring something. The grunts and mumbles were beginning to annoy Calloway, so he decided to see if she had something worth saying. Moving the gag away from her mouth, he warned her before she parted her lips.

"If you got something to say it better be in English," he said, "and scream if you want no one's around to hear it."

In broken English, she said, "She, she... Will...Get You."

"She who?" Calloway sneered.

Natalie craned to look up at him, "she,... the woman."

"What woman," a smirk came across his face, "what's a woman gonna do to me?"

"She gets evil men like you," anger burned in her eyes.

"Ain't nobody coming for you little lady," Calloway laughed, putting the gag back in its place. He stood up and continued his thoughts. Before he did anything with Natalie, he wanted to clean himself up. It had become a ritual when he was able to. Tonight, it was necessary, if not mandatory. Not only was this the first time he'd taken someone by force. It was his first Indian. Though she'd end up buried like the others, this was still special. He wanted to be clean, to really enjoy it. He didn't want to smell himself, the days of aimlessly riding around. He wanted tonight to last for hours.

Thanks to months of riding in the empty wilderness, Calloway knew no one would be around to spot him or Natalie. He made the short walk under a canopy of oak trees and made his way down to the stream. The full moon illuminated the night. A gust of wind blew against the trees and made the grass flutter in its wake. The air felt cool, but pleasant. Orson stripped. His skin tingled in the breeze as he draped his shirt, hat, and pants on a bush, his boots in front of them. He waded into the stream, splashing water on his hairy chest and arms as he pushed farther in. When he was a little more than waist deep, he began using bigger handfuls of water to wash the trail dust away. He submerged himself, popped back up, and ran his fingers through his brown locks of hair. As he washed, he thought about the Indian woman back at his camp. It had been so long since he'd been with a woman.

His mind drifted to Annabelle Davis, the last woman he was with. Calloway had been watching the Davis farm for two days to see if there was anything worth taking. He'd seen her and a man he assumed was Mr. Davis, working around the farm. Watching from a hill, Calloway knew he could take Mr. Davis. The man was about his height, but lanky, moving awkwardly from the barn to the house or to the pig pens. Annabelle, on the other hand, was shorter than her husband, but looked like she could beat him in a fistfight too. On the third day, Mr. Davis loaded up the wagon. The two had been arguing all morning and Davis rode out that afternoon. Calloway took this as his opportunity to ride down to the farm. He rode up to her with a tired, disheveled look on his face, and her eyes brightened as he got closer, a wide grin on her face.

She treated him like a king that day. Annabelle made him two meals and let him bath on her back porch. Later, she revealed that her husband had gone into town, supposedly for supplies, and wouldn't be back for a few days. She also revealed her displeasure knowing that while he was in town, he visited whore houses. Calloway ranted on about finding Davis and killing him for his actions, about leaving such a beautiful woman at home so he could play in the filth of society, and she fell for him. For the rest of the night and the next day, if they weren't asleep, his cock was inside of her.

Orson stroked his cock as he thought about Annabelle. Days of working in the sun had tanned her skin. She admitted that when Mr. Davis was away, she roamed about in the nude. Curly, auburn hair rested around her shoulders. Thick eyebrows and long eyelashes accentuated her blue eyes. She was a bit chubby, but by no means fat. During the time they spent together, his hands or his mouth were attached to her big full breasts. Eyes closed, Calloway pumped his cock, remembering how he ran his fingers through her thin pubic hair as he pounded her insides. Her smaller, sweaty frame felt tantalizing against his body. He almost felt bad about getting rid of her and her husband when Mr. Davis returned.

Suddenly, there was a noise, like a hand brushing against a tree branch. It was subtle, but enough to snap Calloway out of his reminiscence. His eyes popped open. It was still night, but it seemed brighter. There was nothing in front of him. Panic-stricken, he spun around.

Calloway was greeted to the sight of anther Indian woman, standing a mere rock toss away. Calloway's eyes widened. Where the girl back at his camp was beautiful, she paled in comparison to the woman before him. She stood tall, fists planted on her hips, greedily smiling down at him. Lighter skinned than Natalie, she radiated the night. She was the reason it was brighter. Though a thin, red skirt, held together by a knot at her hip, flowed from her waist to just below her knees, she wore no shirt. She was bare-chested in the night, her large breasts prominent. A gold necklace hung around her neck; a strange pendant rested on her breasts. Long gold links connected the necklace to bracelets on her wrists. Her eyes were a fiery gold color, an eye color Calloway had never seen before. Black hair fell past her shoulders, and some rested on her immaculate breasts. Light brown nipples poking through. Most peculiar was her headdress. Instead of feathers, antlers protruded from her headband, one large branch just above each ear. She matched what Calloway imagined an Indian goddess might look like, an awe-inspiring figure.

Calloway froze. He had no idea where she came from, but he couldn't take his eyes of the beautiful woman in front of him. The night was silent as they held each other's gaze. He wanted to charge at her, rip off her skirt, and plow her till she screamed, but he couldn't move. A strong wind blew against his back and blew through the woman's hair. It pressed the skirt against her body. Calloway noticed something strange. An odd imprint formed against the skirt. The shape was long and extended from her waist. Calloway knew it had to be a knife, albeit an odd way to carry one.

The goddess finally beckoned to him. Her hips swayed as she backed away from the water. Calloway hadn't thought about it, but he could feel his legs moving, walking out of the stream. Feet on dry land and cock at full attention, Calloway stood before the goddess. She towered over him. She reached out and ran her fingers down his chest. She didn't utter a word, but somehow Calloway could hear her voice.

"You've been a very bad man," he heard. Confusion set over him. Her mouth never moved, but he could clearly hear a woman's commanding voice in his head. Furthermore, there was no way for her know what he had done. His tracks were too well covered. There were no witnesses to his escapades or crimes. Deep down, however, he knew she was somehow communicating with him, and aware of his misdeeds. The voice came to him again, "You must be in their shoes."

Another breeze blew, this time stronger. Strong enough to blow the woman's skirt off. It wasn't a knife. To Calloway's surprise, the antler-headed goddess had a cock. It was impossible.

"How could a woman have a man's penis?" he thought to himself. More intriguing was the fact that it was bigger than his own. Where his had an upward curve with foreskin and a pinkish head, hers jutted straight out, a thumb-length longer than his own, in an even tan color.

Unaware at first, he dropped to his knees. He had never had a cock in his mouth. He'd never had his own sucked. Felicio was too taboo, left to the French, but he wanted this one in his mouth. Greedily, he opened his mouth wide and licked the head of her cock before devouring as much of it as he could. It was a different sensation, but it felt right. The taste was kind of sweet. He placed his hands on her thighs and bobbed his head up and down, slurping up and down. Drool slipped from his lips and dribbled down his chin, wetting the balls that were bouncing against his chin. Pleasing his sexual partners had never mattered to Calloway, but he looked up at the goddess for reassurance. He was met with those piercing gold eyes and an intrigued smile. Soft hands gripped the sides of his head. She pushed herself deeper into his mouth and held him there. A burning feeling built in his chest as he strained to breath. However, he quickly figured out how to breathe through his nose.

His senses were on fire. The goddess smelled like wildflowers. The breeze danced across his skin. The beautiful woman before him was taking his breath away, in more ways than one. He could hear the sound of the cock sloshing around in his mouth and the taste was simply wonderful. He had decided that the taste was similar to berries, though he couldn't determine what kind. The twitching cock between his own legs was dying to be touched. He reached down and began to stroke his cock but, after a few quick pumps, the goddess yacked hers from his mouth. He had no time to react.

In the blink of an eye, she pushed him onto his back and his legs flew in the air. She caught his legs before he completely rolled over and held him up until only his shoulders and head were on the ground. A mixture of shock, terror, and excitement filled Calloway. The goddess smacked her cock against his hole. Another first for Calloway. He had never been penetrated. Male partners had begged him in the past, but he had never allowed it. But, in this one instance he wanted nothing more than to be impaled by this strange, yet alluring goddess. Her antlers towered over him, and she pressed her cock into him. He yelped as it slipped inside his ass. It happened so easily. Where it took a good deal of effort with men, and the women who would let him do it, her balls were already pressed against his crack.

She began to ram her cock into him, plunging in and out at a rapid pace. The sensation was unfathomable. His screams echoed about in the night. His sounds of joy could have been mistaken for pain were it not for the stupid grin plastered across his face. The antlers on her headdress swayed over him, hypnotizing him. Everything around him began to change. The goddess had more of a fiery look in her eyes. Her smile was more devilish and sultry now. The sky above changed too. Instead of the black night it had been, the sky was blood red and the trees over him were black. The tree limbs swayed over him like arms worshipping the powerful goddess as she slammed her cock into his ass. Calloway panted, making a small shriek every time she pushed in. Gripping his cock, he began pumping it as hard as he could.

Love had always been a foreign concept to Calloway. He had never let anyone in his life long enough to love him, and the idea of loving someone else sounded like horse shit in his mind. He had no use for love. It couldn't be spent or traded. It was useless to him. However, on his back, held up by his legs by this mystique goddess, something changed inside him. Now, he wanted nothing more in life than to be at this woman's beck and call, to please her, to be her footstool if she decreed it. In his heart, a life without her seemed like a prison sentence. The goddess interrupted his thoughts as he pumped away.

"You love me, don't you?" the voice was low, primal. He nodded vigorously. Calloway was enthralled by the goddess, ready to do anything she asked. "Show me how much you love me. Show me." Calloway understood immediately. He pumped his cock as hard as he could. One hand jerked his cock, while he used the other arm as leverage. The goddess lifted him higher, leaving only his head against the ground. His hands were cramping, but he could feel heat rising. He wailed as he came. It erupted across his chest. A shot even hit his chin. His cries filled the night. He smiled up at the goddess, looking for her approval. Her voice filled his mind again.

"Do you really love me?" the voice asked. He nodded dumbly, unable to udder any words. She slowed her pace. She gave him a hard thrust every few seconds. "Do you want to see me again?" He nodded. He wanted to speak, to tell her that he wanted to spend every waking moment impaled by her cock, but no words would leave his mouth. "Then you know what you must do," the voice said.