Date: Fri, 19 Oct 2007 13:57:36 -0700
From: Jon Hold <jonhold@earthlink.net>
Subject: Other Little House 29-30

OK, so I lied. Here's part three...[PS Actually, that note was the truth,
a long time ago]


Part III

Creating a Life



Chapter 29
Alone Again



We got Oleg and Sam off early enough that they could get home well before
dark. It made me sad to see them go. They had become very good friends in
a very short period of time. I felt proud when Oleg shook my hand
good-bye just like I was a grown up adult. Sam and I tried to do the
same, but ended up in each others arms, crying and promising to see each
other again as soon as possible. In my heart, it was as if Sam really was
my brother, and we were being split up by cruel and heartless devils. Sam
made me promise to come to town as soon as possible and Brent and I told
them that they were family now, and always welcome to visit -- for a day
or a decade.

Brent put his arm around my shoulders and we stood there and watched them
until the wagon was lost to sight. Brent pulled me up tight against his
side and then leaned over and kissed me. I was a little teary-eyed, but
Brent just hugged me closer and smiled.

"Is the stove hot?"

"Uhhhh..." The abrupt change of direction confused me for a second or
seventeen. "Uh, no. It just has a banked fire in it and has probably
cooled off by now."

"Humm? Well, let's go heat it up I have some cooking I want to do."

That was odd. Brent had left the kitchen strictly up to me ever since I'd
shown up, evincing no interest in cooking at all. I followed him up to
the house (like I had any choice, tucked under his arm like that),
wondering what he was going to cook.

When we got into the kitchen, Brent tested the cook surface of the stove,
first with a forefinger wetted in the spittle from his mouth and then
with the flat of his hand. I reached up and tested the surface myself,
and it was just-warm from the banked fire.

"That seems about right."

I wondered what the hell Brent was planning on cooking on a barely warm
stove, but my guesswork was soon waylaid by reality. Brent bent down and
hooked his arm behind my knees and lifted me up on top of the stove.
Pushing me back across the spotlessly clean cook surface, he quickly
unfastened my pants and pulled them down to my knees, trapping my legs
together. Holding my legs up with one hand, Brent reached up past my head
and scooped a load of bacon fat out of the can I kept at the back of the
cooksurface. I heard him slopping the grease on something and got the
idea that he was planning on showing me how to make a low-temperature
version of 'Piggy-in-a-Blanket," with Brent's pink porker doing the
poking. He soon disabused me of that idea however, when all my squealing
attested to the fact that he had invented a totally new dish called,
'Piggy-on-a-Stick'! I was soon aware that there was such a thing as
'cooking ability', which I had, and 'the ability to COOK!', which Brent
had in spades! As far as his ability to COOK! went, Brent was a Master
Chef!

When Brent had me pretty well done on one side, my having self-basted
myself several times, he flipped me over on my belly and showed me how he
made the appropriate side-dish for 'Piggy-on-a-Stick." He called it
'Cornhole', and I'm here to tell you that it is infinitely better that
the best cornpone I've ever made. There was something about laying spread
across MY warm and smooth new stove in MY bright new kitchen, being
cornholed by my big stud lover that sent me into emotional spaces I'd
never visited before. I kept begging Brent to take me, to show me how to
REALLY cook as I sensuously made love to the rough/slick iron underneath
of me, cumming several more times as Brent really basted my ass with two
huge loads of his special sauce.

After dosing my ass for the second time, Brent realized that he had
started something that had gotten a bit out of hand. He was sweating and
panting, his dick getting a bit soft and I was still groaning and urging
him on as I wiggled all over the stovetop. Brent pulled me off the stove
and set me on my feet, his plump roll of meat slithering out of my hot
oven in the process. I started to protest that this was one hell of a way
to run a kitchen, and what the hell sort of chef did he think he was
anyway --- leaving the meat half-done. Brent just silently continued to
strip me naked as I bitched and complained. I was just starting in on how
you were supposed to dress meat in the kitchen, not undress it when he
took me by the arm and led me over to the white painted table I'd set up
against the back wall. I had cleaned up two ladderback chairs and painted
them white so that Brent and I could eat in the warmth of the kitchen on
cold winter days. Brent pulled out one of the chairs and turned it
around. Sitting down in the chair, he pulled me down across his rough
denim trousers in one smooth movement.

Pulling my arm behind me and holding it in the small of my back
effectively pinned me in place as his other big hand cupped the tight
mounds of my roundly curved behind. Without wasting any time on fancy
procedures, Brent directly proceeded to, first, get my attention, and
then, secondly, to keep my attention individually focused on him and his
heavy hand and what it was doing to my hiney. He spanked me good and hard
until I could feel the heat radiating from my ass. When I started begging
him to go easy on my poor butt, he just grunted and told me to shut up.
He continued to warm my ass until any chef would have referred to my
burning cheeks as 'blood rare.' Then he changed pace and started in with
a long series of much slower, but deeper penetrating strokes of his hand
against my tight boy bottom, like he was trying to tenderize it to be
served to a king.

I was grunting and sniffling, but somehow, Brent was giving me exactly
what I needed. The more he worked on my butt, the more I knew how much he
needed me, and how much I needed him. Somehow, through some hidden
communication or awareness, Brent knew exactly how to spank me to make me
feel loved and needed and fulfilled. How hard. At what rhythm. An when.
More importantly, he knew exactly when to stop. My wanting him to stop
had nothing to do with it. He knew when the spanking had done the job
that particular spanking was intended to accomplish.

I was crying pretty good when he stopped spanking me this time. I hardly
noticed that he had stopped until I became aware that the continuing
warmth on my ass was coming from the hand resting on my fanny. When I
managed to get my crying mostly under control, Brent gently rolled me
over and held me cradled in his arm like a suckling babe. My outside leg
automatically lifted as his questing hand glided down between my legs
seeking entry with one, and then two of his long, blunt fingers. I
quickly relaxed into a totally peaceful half-slumber, nursing on Brent's
swollen pap as he gently massaged my man-sheath  with those long, lingam
replacing, soothing, fascinating fingers. I was mesmerized. Retreated
into an age where the world was totally safe and secure within the warmth
of my mothers protection. But now it wasn't my mother, or even the father
I never knew. This was my lover. A man who had become so important in my
life that I already knew that, no matter what his feelings might be, or
might become, I was dedicated to him for the rest of my life.

Brent kept me very close to him for the rest of the day as he worked on
this or that project. I felt very dependent upon him, much as a small
child with an older brother to watch over him. Brent was bare-chested,
but wore his boots and Levi's to work in while I remained in my innocent
nakedness. Somehow, I was reliving parts of a childhood that I had never
had. In my mind, I became that totally innocent and trusting child.
Sitting on the floor of the barn, playing in the packed dirt, petting the
chicken's as they searched around me for the food they seemed sure I must
have. One hen in particular would sit warmly in my lap as long as I was
willing to scratch her head and neck with a fingernail.

Brent caught me later playing in the wallow with the pigs and, after
washing me off, tanned my bottom good. I stayed close to Brent after
that, somehow feeling like a little kid tagging along after his big
brother. It started to get hot in the middle of the morning and I started
getting fusty. Brent swatted my bottom a few times and told me to be good
until he was done with his work. I kept pushing to get more of his
attention and he finally gave it to me --- grabbing my arm and making me
dance on my toes as he blistered my bottom good! There was something
about being spanked like that, naked in the barn with the animals
casually watching as I danced like a puppet on jerky strings. About Brent
not holding back at all as he let me know just how upset he was at having
his chores interrupted to deal with one of my whims. About being a little
kid again really unable to resist his Daddy/Big Brother/Lover who was
very male, and very much in charge and very dominating --- and very much
in the right. About letting Brent know how much I trusted and needed
him...

When Brent decided I'd had enough he picked me up and carried me up the
ladder to the hayloft. Sitting on a bale of hay, he put me in his lap and
let me cry it out against his bare chest. When I'd calmed down some I
reached down between Brent's legs and started popping buttons on his
jeans. Brent tried to resist me, but I just single-mindedly kept going
until I'd managed to release his rampant organ and snuggle myself down on
top of it. To complete my security blanket, I laid back against Brent's
solid chest and nursed on his now protuberant nipple. Brent held me
snugly in his arms, stroking my head and back and gasping for control
every time I'd hiccup, driving both the raw nerves in his sore tool and
my sensitive insides into fits of sensation.

Being held and loved like this finally calmed me enough so that Brent and
I could talk. Brent admitted that he was just as scared as I was. Both of
us wanted this relationship to work and were terrified that something
would happen, that we might do something --- to ruin what we had. I tried
to tell Brent how much I needed to take care of him, and to have him take
care of me. How I needed him to be my Daddy, My Big Brother, My Lover, My
Friend. But, most of all, how I needed him to love me.

Brent, in his turn, tried to tell me how much he needed someone in his
life. Someone to make all his work make sense, to have meaning. How he
needed someone to care for and take care of and to cherish, love and make
love to. He said that he never wanted to hurt me.

We discussed what that meant and I made it very clear this his spanking
me, disciplining me, being the Alpha Male was not, could not, hurt me.
That sometimes that was what I needed, and that we both knew that. Brent
said that sometimes, he might need me to be in control also.

I clenched my ass muscles so hard he had trouble getting his breath.
"What makes you think I'm not in charge?" I challenged, as I proceeded to
rape him. Of course, he insisted that it was all his idea and that he was
in total control the whole time, but I'm here to tell you that no man,
pants around his knees and arched backwards across a hay bale with is
dick out of sight as he begged God for deliverance is in control of much
of anything! A most satisfactory lesson as far as I was concerned. In
charge indeed! Humph!

When we both had recovered Brent took off his pants and then put his
boots back on. He cleaned up his work area as I ran up to the house and
made us sort of a picnic lunch. Brent had built a small bench that sat in
the afternoon shade of the barn between the cattle pen and the horse
corral. We sat here and ate our sandwiches and cold tea. I'd brought down
plenty of extra celery and carrots to share with the horses. The milk
cows saw what was going on and I soon had two sets of soft brown eyes
entreating me for, "please, we're starving. Just one tiny little sliver
of celery, just an inedible bit of carrot, anything you can spare,
Please..." All this accompanied with slobbery soft mouths pushing at me
to get my attention. It was impossible to get mad at them, and the
genteel way they took my offerings and so rapturously chewed on them made
me laugh.

Blackhawk came right up to the fence like he expected nothing less than
that Brent was there to hand feed him Brent's entire lunch. Dancer
quickly put the kibosh to that idea. Putting her ears back and whickering
at Blackhawk did little more than cause him to bob his head and snap at
her with his big chompers. She squealed and turned around so she could
start trying to kick his ribs in. Blackhawk backed out of the trap in a
flurry of churning legs. Dancer immediately turned and took his place at
the fence, a totally innocent look on her face that said, "Yes? You were
about to offer me something?" Brent laughed and handed her a carrot as
Blackhawk stood off to the side, bobbing his head and trying to regain
what he could of his male dignity.

I took one look at Brent and burst out laughing. He got flustered, which
made me laugh so hard I fell off the bench. Brent just barely managed to
save our lunch and tried to remonstrate with me, but broke up laughing
himself which scared both horses so that they backed up in alarm. One of
the Jerseys stuck her head through the rails and nuzzled me, getting
slobber all over the side of my head, as if to say, "OK, enough of this
frivolity! Got some more food?" That made me laugh even harder and I
thought Brent would split a gut watching me try to get the slobber off
the side of my face.

We finally managed to get our act back together and start acting like at
least semi-sane people. Brent picked me up in his arms and held me
against his chest, saying, "You bring so much joy into my life!", before
he joyfully, and then passionately -- kissed me.

Some unimaginably long time later, I noticed that I was about to pass out
from lack of sufficient oxygen. Not that that was all that bad an idea...
but I thought there might well be more productive ways to spend the time
with such an eager and ardent admirer. Struggling against Brent, trying
to push away and complaining that this was one hell of a way to run a
rape, I finally managed to get my feet back on the ground. The horses had
their ears perked up in interest and Blackhawk had let his penis slide
out of the sheath in preparation for what he thought might be coming. The
two Jersey's were looking at us with the half-bored, half-hopeful look of
someone trying to calculate their chances of getting some more of that
wonderful celery (that was, unknown to us, going to flavor our milk for
the next several days). Brent finally swatted my ass and told me to mind
my manners, he was a working man and needed his nourishment. So I ended
up sitting on Brent's lap with him feeding the both of us as I kept the
animals from starving to death.

Brent was picking his teeth with a sliver he'd cut off one of the corral
posts. "What's for desert?" he asked.

"Uh..." I thought outloud. Holding out a piece of celery to him, I said,
"Want some celery?"

"Naw." He said. "I've got a better idea."

He half picked me up and stuffed my head between the bars of the corral,
hanging me belly-over the middle bar. Hawking up a big lugie, he spit
between my buttcheeks and started feeding dick up my ass. Blackhawk got a
definite gleam in his eye and his huge dick slammed up against his round
belly. Dancer, who had be pushing him around mercilessly during lunch,
got the same look in her eye that I had in mine. You know, the one that
says, "Uh-oh!"

Now, I'd been fucked before, and I've been fucked since then. But that's
the only time I've ever been fucked watching a stallion cock fuck a mare
less that eight inches from my face while trying to hold my full belly up
off a wooden fence rail so I didn't puke while a big randy cock was
reaming out my asshole at the same pace the owners horse was using to
fuck my mare. Both Dancer and I were squealing and bobbing our heads and
trying to pretend that it wasn't the greatest fuck we'd ever had.

Brent wasn't using any finesse at all... he was fucking me, pure and
simple. If he could have gotten to my neck he'd have been biting me the
same way Blackhawk was holding Dancer in place with his teeth. Instead,
Brent had my hips in a death grip and was leaning back so that his loins
were forced harder and harder into me. I managed to get both of my legs
up to the bar with my feet holding them up and out in a total split (told
you I was flexible!, at least back then). I'd a fallen into the pen if
Brent hadn't been holding onto me so tight. I took one hand off the bar
and put it up over Dancer's hip to help hold myself up. I could feel
Brent jiggling my whole body with his thrusts and now I could feel
Blackhawk sending impact ripples through Dancers body as he fucked her.
Without really considering what a vulnerable position I was in, I reached
up between Dancer and Blackhawk with my other hand and felt of his huge
balls.

I'd felt some big balls before, Brent has a pair that are nicely
wonderful that way --- but I'd NEVER, EVER felt a set like these. HUGE! A
fully packed bag with two solid and heavy ovals of prime juice factory
held inside of a hot, smooth and velvety feeling cover that tightened and
then relaxed as my hand gently felt of the wonderful package. Fear swept
down my spine and I looked up. Blackhawk hadn't let go of Dancers
withers, but had rolled his eye until the white showed. He was watching
me and letting me know that I was his owners person, and that what I was
doing was okay, at least so far, but that if I hurt him back there he'd
be more than willing to take the time to reach down and bite the whole
side of my face off before he stomped me to death. Carefully, gently, I
massaged his left nut and he just squealed and fucked Dancer even harder.
I think he liked me playing with his nuts as much as Brent did.

My hand worked up through the slick horse juices until I could feel how
Blackhawk's thick cock, thicker than my arm, as thick as Brent's arm...
until I could feel how it stretched Dancer's pussy so wide and how it
didn't have any loose skin to ride inside of but plunged, skin and all,
back and forth in Dancers, clasping, grabbing womanhood. I couldn't
believe how awesome that was. My legs came off of the fence rail and
snapped back behind Brent's ass, my heels kicking against his back as I
tried to force him to fuck me harder.

Blackhawk and Brent started pumping cum into Dancer and me at the same
time but Brent was still inseminating me when Blackhawk (a fuck'um and
leave'um type) slid off of Dancers back, his heavy cock sliding across my
hand and leaving a mixture of horse sperm and cunt juice in my palm.
Blackhawk, still looking right at me, stopped backing out for a second
just as he throbbed and the big flare at the end of his fuckpost dumped a
load of his cum right into my cupped palm. Totally disinterested after
that, he dropped back onto his feet and started lipping up wisps of hay
from the paddock dirt.

I couldn't believe it! One light expulsion, nothing like the ones I'd
felt going into Dancer, and cum was filling the cup in my palm and
running over both sides of my hand to the ground. It must have felt
awesome to Dancer to have that much cum pumped up into her.

Brent lifted me and pulled me back through the fence, taking my wrist so
I lost as little of Blackhawk and Dancer's juices as possible. "You like
that! Huh?" he said, taking my hand and wiping stallion juice all over my
face and then forcing my fingers into my mouth. His cock had been
softening as he spooged up inside of me but it suddenly became rock hard
again and he started fucking me with it while he still was still cumming
and using my hand to wipe all the horse juice off my face and put it in
my mouth. I went crazy with the wild sensations and started jumping
around on Brent's plunging cock as my totally untouched dick started
spraying white cum all over the place. Brent felt and saw and smelled me
shooting and started pumping a whole new orgasm into me with a dick that
hadn't even finished the previous orgasm.

Panting and groaning for dear life, we both held onto the fence as if it
were the only thing between us and oblivion.



*****



The rest of the afternoon was pretty quiet. Brent and me working quietly
together. Brent didn't put his pants back on, working in just his boots
and the bandana around his neck. I stayed completely naked so that Brent
could feel of me whenever he wanted, and he let me touch and feel of him
often as well. A couple of times he gently pulled me aside and quietly
fucked me, just letting me know how much he loved me and needed me. I
return I pulled him aside once and kissed and licked and sucked at him
until he surrendered a tasty treat to me.

I milked the cows a little early (lovely, celery tasting milk) and went
up to the house to prepare a meal fit for two starving and deserving
young men.

After dinner, Brent asked me if I was truly serious about wanting to help
develop the ranch. I got up and walked around the table and punched the
totally unsuspecting (silly him) Brent in the side so hard he doubled
over sideways trying to stop the pain. I grabbed a handful of his hair
and jerked his head back. "You can throw me out of here any time you want
Brent. It's your place to do that. But if you ever ask me a question like
that again I'll beat you black and blue.

Brent looked into my eyes and grinned at me (he was as tall sitting as I
was standing). He damn near ruined the leftovers, but I got him to take
me down on the floor instead. Afterwards (No! I'm NOT going to tell you
about that one. A girl has to have *some* secrets after all!).
Anyways.... Afterwards we talked about Brent's hopes for the ranch and he
told me that right now was the best time of the year to get good prices
on the livestock he wanted. Either that or we could just wait until next
year. We decided that it was best if he got the stock as soon as
possible. It meant a trip of a month or more to get to the railhead,
travel back East, find and buy the stock, load it on a train and then
drive it from the railhead back to the ranch. I was adamant that I would
stay at the ranch and take care of things until he got back. He tried to
insist that I could go with him but we both knew that it would be better
if I took care of the place and put up canned goods and such. He held me
very tightly that night as we slept.


The next morning I tried to keep my spirits up as I fed Brent and made it
look like I was eating too. I prepared trail food for him and then went
down to the barn and helped him finish getting ready to go, trying to act
like he was just going out to check some fence or something like that. We
both tried to act normal and then he gruffly kissed me and shook my hand
and told me to take care of myself. He swung up on Blackhawk and started
off but Blackhawk got fractious when he realized that Dancer wasn't
coming along. She, for her part, quickly realized what was happening and
started trying to kick the corral fence down. I got a halter on her, but
she started rearing and plunging around and, after a quick wave good-bye
to Brent, I had to take her inside the barn where she couldn't see
Blackhawk leaving. I leaned up against her neck and bawled as she and
Blackhawk kept whinnying to each other as Brent rode off, leaving us on
our own.

In less than an hour, Brent was back. Blackhawk was proving impossible to
handle. Brent changed his saddle to the brown gelding and rode off
cursing about a damn horse that couldn't leave his pussy behind for one
fucking month. Blackhawk just stood in the corral next to Dancer, looking
smug.



Chapter 30
Indian Country



Three days into Brent's absence and things were starting to settle down
into a pattern. Waking up at daybreak was made special that day by the
gentle sound of rain on the roof. I quickly climbed out of bed and
climbed down from the loft. I opened the dampener on the stove and tossed
in a couple of pieces of firewood that started to catch fire almost
immediately. I opened the door to see the rain. There was a beautiful
soft glowing morning sky blurred by rifts of falling water. Sticking my
hand out I felt gentle pellets of warm rain wet my hand and arm. I loved
the rain and my body followed my arm and I was soon dancing and splashing
nakedly through the rain puddles. I looked down towards the barn and,
laughing, ran down to feed the animals. All the stock was inside,
watching the rain with distaste. Somehow, that seemed very funny to me
and I talked and chattered to the animals as  I fed them.

Mrs. Glutton (another word I'd had to explain to Brent), the pig, wanted
to know what was so damn funny about the rain and I had to give her neck
and back a good scritching before she'd quit grunting and eat. The
chickens were quite happy to stay inside and eat from the barn floor, but
the horses didn't come inside until they heard me forking fodder into
their mangers. The mules had managed to get wet enough to stink like
mules, but were grateful for the hay I gave them. The cows were already
in their stalls waiting when I started forking in their share of the
morning feed, and milking them was no longer a problem, but a pleasant
task soon accomplished. Leaning into the warmth of a cows flank as I sat
naked on my little stool, pulling ringing streams of steaming milk into
the tin buckets gave me time to think, organize my day, and enjoy the
simple pleasure of being alive.

I fed the calves the excess milk and ran back up to the house trying to
keep the two buckets of milk from filling with rainwater. I barely got
through the door when a bolt of lighting flashed the world into
brightness. Thunder soon followed attended by a switch from gentle warm
rain to a cool downpour. I stood there amazed, holding the dripping
buckets of milk, as  I stared out into the sudden fury of the storm. I
finally realized what I was doing and kicked the door closed just in time
to keep a sudden wind from blowing the rain into the house. I spent the
rest of the day starting a new batch of cheese, sewing, and staring out
the windows at the awesome fury of the rainstorm. I filled the milk
buckets with a hot mash for the animals and used some towels to keep the
rain out. I decided to keep my clothes dry and stripped naked before
running down to the barn.

The animals greeted the mash with loud sounds of approval and I spent
some time standing between Dancer and Blackhawk rubbing down their coats
as they chewed their hay and nuzzled me. Brent had told me that he'd
scratched and rubbed Blackhawk between his back legs ever since he was a
colt as a special treat. I tried it and found out that not only was
Blackhawk tolerant of me touching him back there, but moved his feet to
stand spraddle legged and enjoyed me rubbing his balls enough to run his
dick out of it's sheath and let it hang there about half hard. Daringly,
gently, watching Blackhawk carefully for his reaction, I let my curiosity
get the best of me and reached down and took his black and pink cock in
my hand. Lifting it a bit to look at it better, I was amazed at how heavy
and hot it was. Blackhawk looked back over his shoulder at me and
nickered gently. Kind of like he was saying, "Nice one, huh? So? What are
you going to do with it now?"

Embarrassed --- by a horse --- I let go of the biggest cock I'd ever
handled and started to pet Dancer. She tossed her head at me so I moved
up and started scratching around her head, something she loved for me to
do. Blackhawk returned the favor by pushing against my back with his
velvety soft nose, using his chin to rub over my shoulders and giving me
a wonderful massage (little did I know at the time that he was scent
marking me as his personal property). I suddenly turned on him and
slapped his nose when he nipped my ear, which really hurt. He danced a
little on his forefeet and I looked down and saw that he was fully erect
and that he'd been trying to move me into position so he could screw me
like he'd been screwing the no longer interested Dancer. Flustered,
suddenly red-faced, I ducked under Dancer's neck and climbed out on her
side of their stall. Blackhawk put his head over the top board and
nickered at me as he bobbed his head, trying to entice me to come back to
him. Still flush-faced, I grabbed the milk-buckets and rushed up to the
house, not even noticing the downpour diluting the milk. Radiating heat
into the cool room, I dried myself off and pulled on the terry-cloth robe
I'd made myself that day, managing in the process to knock the cut-out
pieces for Brent's robe onto the ground.

When  I bent over to pick up the mess I'd made, I poked myself in the
belly with my hard-on and was suddenly crying. I ran to the ladder and
threw myself into bed, sobbing all over the pillow without even having
noticed climbing the ladder. I cried in confusion and anger and for a lot
of other reasons, but mostly because I missed Brent so very, very much. I
finally put myself to sleep by hunching Brent's pillow until I spent
against the soft, smooth cloth that I stayed curled around for the rest
of the night.

It rained solid for the next four days. I went to the barn only long
enough to feed and clean up after the animals and to collect the eggs and
milk. Mrs. Glutton decided to have her piglets the third night of the
rainstorm and I stayed with her until very late. Petting her and talking
softly to her as, one after another, she delivered 14 fine piglets. At
least two more than I thought she could comfortably raise, but, cute as
they were, I decided that roast suckling pig was pretty cute as well and
started planing my welcome home dinner for Brent. I decided that night to
let all but two of the hens go broody, so that the flock would be much
larger when Brent got home.



*****



I woke up feeling that something was seriously wrong. I had to crawl over
the the edge of the loft and look all around before it dawned on me what
it was. The early morning sun was shining through the windows! The storm
was over! I ran outside and danced and jumped up and down, splashing
water and mud all over the place. Enjoying the warm sun and celebrating
the end of the rainy doldrums.

I ran down to the barn and fed all the stock, giving all the milk to the
calves and Mrs. Glutton, who sucked it up with great glee. I checked
around the barn, and then the house for damage, but everything seemed to
be okay except for a few plants in the garden that had been beaten down
by the rain. I wondered if the bathing hole was okay, because a bath
sounded like a really good idea, so I walked down to the river to check.

The river was in spate. Hugely swollen and brownly rushing with uprooted
plants and dead animals. I'd never seen anything that looked so angry to
me. Seeing something struggling weakly down at the waters edge, I picked
up a broken tree limb to put the poor animal out of its misery.
Cautiously moving closer, I saw that it was no animal, but a human laying
in the mud. The rushing water threatening to wash him away at any time. I
grabbed his arm to pull him out of the water but quickly saw that it was
badly broken, the bone sticking whitely out into the air. I laid his arm
back down and just then a tree floated by and his leg tangled in a limb
and the tree started pulling him out into the river I grabbed the mans
long black hair in both hands and the force of the river against the tree
started pulling him and me both into the river. I pulled for all I was
worth and heard the mans leg break with a loud 'Snap!' as the tree
finally released him. Falling into the water, I quickly deposited us both
onto the bank.

Still panting for breath and shaking with fear and reaction, I moved to
check out the injured man. He looked up at me with pain filled eyes and
said something in a guttural language that I didn't understand and then
passed out.

A quick inspection showed that he had a compound fracture of the upper
right arm and a high fracture of the left tibia and a low fracture of the
left fibula where they'd broken between the limb and trunk of the
floating tree. All he was wearing was a leather loincloth and he was very
cold. I was wearing nothing, so that was of no help. I used the knife
around his waist to cut the leather belt holding on his loincloth and
used it for a tourniquet to stop the bleeding from his arm. His face was
badly distorted, and I was afraid that his jaw was broken. I carefully
felt, and his jaw wasn't broken, but it was dislocated. He was out cold
so  I thought, "No time like the present!"

I had no one to help me, so I sat on his chest --- he'd just have to take
his chances with broken ribs --- and used my feet to hold his head. With
all my strength, I pulled the jaw down and back and suddenly heard a loud
double "Click!!!" as the jaw snapped back into place. The man jumped
under me and let out a squall of pain, but never actually came too.

I got off of the man and looked him over carefully to see if there was
anything else I should do immediately. That was when it finally dawned on
me that the man was an Indian, and a very well-hung one at that.  I shook
my head to clear it and realized that Brent had been gone only a week,
and already I was dick crazy! "Well," I said to myself, "I never told
him  I was a virgin!"

There was nothing else I could do here, so I ran up to the house and got
my first aid supplies. Running back down to the barn I managed to get
both horses excited by moving too fast as I got Dancer hooked up to her
travois. I closed the gate on Blackhawk so he wouldn't get in the way and
ran back down to the river with Dancer following closely behind. Dancer
whinnied loudly as we came around the turn out of the trees. She'd seen
the wolves advancing on the unconscious Indian at the same time I did. I
went yelling at the hungry beasts, swinging my pack of first-aid supplies
around my head, and they backed off. Dancer was trying to back out of the
clearing but the travois wouldn't let her move much. I stood panting over
my prostrate patient as the wolves quickly regrouped and started to
advance towards us menacingly, heads lowered and teeth bared.

With an enraged squeal, Blackhawk was suddenly in the middle of them,
kicking and stomping and biting to save his pregnant mare. Three wolves
quickly died before the rest managed to figure out what was happening and
scatter, whinning and howling with their tails between their legs as they
ran. Blackhawk reared up on his hind legs and neighed, challenging them
to come back and fight. Apparently the wolves had no interest at all in
accepting his challenge as that was the last time I ever saw them around
there.

Trembling with reaction from charging a pack of hungry wolves --- and
then being saved from my foolish action by Blackhawk, it took me several
minutes of controlled, deep breathing to calm myself to the point where I
could deal with the equally excited Dancer and Blackhawk. Dancer quickly
quieted down, although Blackhawk stayed edgy and very alert. Dancer
helped me load the Indian on to the travois by holding very still, even
though she kept looking around like she expected the wolves to return at
any second. Unconscious, the Indian was still very solidly muscled and
heavy. It took all my, not inconsiderable, strength to move him as
carefully as possible onto the travois. Dancer made short work of moving
him back up to the barn.

Rather that try to move him into the house by myself and risk hurting him
even worse than he already was, I made up a pile of straw in the middle
of the barn floor and lead Dancer over the top of it and simply released
her from the travois. The leather of the travois made an excellent
bedsheet over the hay and didn't require moving the Indian any more than
necessary.

While he was still unconscious I tied a rope around his chest and under
his arms, padding it with some burlap bags before tying the other end
around one of the big posts holding up the roof. I put a piece of heavy
leather strapping between the Indians teeth and then used that rope and
one of my bare feet carefully placed in his groin to hold the indian in
place while I carefully reset both bones in his lower leg. They fit
together very nicely with a minimum of trouble, I used several of the
thin laths that Brent had  made me for building a spice rack and other
small shelving in the kitchen  to bind the leg stiffly into position. I
quickly rigged one of Brent's small lifting pulley's to a convenient hook
and used a small piece of cord and a sash weight to put enough tension on
the leg to hold it above the Indians head and to keep the muscles from
cramping.

I started a fire in Brent's small forge and quickly had water boiling in
the hot charcoal. Putting a couple of towels under the broken arm, I
carefully opened the wound where the bone was sticking through and
cleaned both bone and flesh as completely as possible with a special
tisane I made with various healing herbs and the hot water. I crushed
some boneset and comfrey leaves and used the thick, slippery,clear juice
to coat the end of the protruding bone. Watching the Indian's face, I
used my finger to probe the wound, making sure no muscle nerve or blood
vessel was in the way, coating the passage and the other end of the bone
at the same time with the slippery juice. I wiped my hands dry and put
one foot against his shoulder and the other in his armpit. Saying a small
prayer, I smoothly leaned back and, using all my strength, lined up the
broken bone and let the ragged ends come together. I checked the bone and
it was not set right. The arm was bent at an awkward angle. Feeling
through the muscle, feeling with my inner eye, I "saw" were the bone
needed to be. Holding my hands above and below the break, I extended all
my chi and with a grunt, pulled and twisted the bone and was rewarded
with a solid clink-thunk sound as the bone seated itself properly.

Sitting up, I moved to wipe the sweat off my forehead and saw two black,
expressionless eyes staring at me from a clench-jawed, sweaty face. I
froze in consternation as the piercing orbs read my soul. On the
precipice of passing out, I gasped for breath as the glowing black
examination ended with a satisfied nod and a silent drifting away of the
driving intelligence behind that hard demeanor. Shaking with reaction, I
KNEW that my life had been in the balance. Broken body or not, the man
behind those eyes would have died trying to kill me rather than submit to
unwanted attentions.

I cared for the unconscious body for the next three days, barely leaving
him except to take care of necessities. One thing that I found very
necessary was the solution to a problem I'd been facing. I wanted to make
winter wear for both Brent and myself. I knew that the fur of the wolves
would shed ice and frost and would dress up the parka's I wanted to make.
Dancer would really have disliked having to haul the wolves, so I skinned
them down by the river and pushed the carcasses into the rushing water to
find their own rest. I spent a large part of my time the next three days
scraping and salting the hides while I was watching and caring for my
unexpected guest.

The second day dawned warm so I heated some water and uncovered my
patient. His body, though bruised and abraded by it's mistreatment, was
magnificent. The only hair growth was the strong black growth on his
head, his finely arched eyebrows, a few wisps of fine darkness in his
armpits and a deep, springy cushion surrounding the top and sides of a
heavy and demandingly masculine shaft, the smoothly pendulous mansac
showing not the slightest hint of hair. I washed the glorious body most
carefully and thoroughly, putting healing salve on the cleansed wounds
and finding no hair at all on the solid torso, arms or legs. His organ
began to ascend towards tumescence as I washed under the foreskin, but
quickly acquiesced as I laid it back between the muscular thighs with a
little pat of regret.

On the afternoon of the third day the man's temperature began to increase
and he became fitful, finally waking, obviously uncomfortable. The
stiffening of his manly organ told me what the problem was as he
struggled to free himself from the bedding and the ropes suspending his
broken arm and leg. One hand on his chest easily quieted his attempts to
rise as my other hand took a firm grasp on the shaft of the indians heavy
organ. Letting go of his chest I picked up a large mason jar that I had
ready just for this purpose. Pulling the shroud back from the end of the
wide cockhead, I nodded to the Indian, who grunted and then, with a sigh
of relief, began pissing a heavy stream into the mason jar. He surprised
me by damn near filling the large mason jar but luckily he ran out of
water pressure right at the beginning of the neck of the jar. I milked
down the shaft to express the last few drops and felt the tissues filling
with blood. Grinning at the Indian, I shook the last drop off his pecker
and then covered him back up before going outside to empty the jar.

When I got back he was unconscious again and shaking from the imagined
cold of a high temperature. I replaced the used tea leaf and moldy bread
poultice around his arm and checked his leg bindings for swelling. I
couldn't get enough covers on him to keep him from shivering, so I
stripped naked and crawled into bed with him and shared my body warmth
which seemed to help. For the next two days I got little sleep. I was
either holding the very sick Indian or nursing his wounds and trying to
get enough fluids into him to keep him from totally dehydrating. Early in
the morning of the third day, I did doze off only to wake up right at
dawn snuggled up against the Indians left side with my upper arm and leg
wrapped around him. The Indians arm was around my back and my head was
cradled comfortably in the crux of his shoulder. I looked up and a pair
of black, inquisitive eyes were staring right at me.

'OK!' I thought to myself. 'Here you are, naked, in bed, with a man two
feet taller than you, easy sixty pounds heavier than you, obviously some
sort of primitive hunter/warrior who probably has six or eight or twelve
wives or something, and you're poking him in the side with your hard-on!
Fucking brilliant, Jason! Why don't you smack him in the face with a dead
fish while you're at it? OK, fine,,, it's time to get up anyway...'

Carefully, so as to not excite or hurt my Indian patient, I disengaged
myself from the warmth-giving embrace and eased out of the straw bed.
Rushing outside, I tried to get my thoughts together as I relieved myself
into the grass. Just as I was shaking off the last drops I heard the
Indian making some sort of uncomfortable noise and was ashamed of myself
for getting flustered and not realizing that the Indians bladder must
have been as uncomfortably full as my own. I quickly got the mason jar
and went in and knelt by his side. Blushing at the way he was looking at
me, I gently lifted his penis and pulled back the foreskin, aiming him so
that his stream would hit the side of the jar.

He released his flow and my hands started to tremble and get sweaty as I
felt his eyes watching me as the heat of the filling, warming jar soaked
into my hand. It felt like the jar was getting very heavy and was going
to slip through my fingers! I pushed the jar against the bedding, bending
and pulling on the big penis in my other hand, until my grip was
secured.

I had averted my eyes, thinking to avoid embarrassment and suddenly
realized to the Indian, it looked like I was staring at his dick.
Blushing, ashamed, I quickly looked up at the big man and thought  I
would die. He was watching me with a knowing look in his eyes. He reached
up and ran his hand lightly, so lightly I could barely tell I was being
touched, softly down my hair and across my cheek. With two fingers he
reached down and touched my hugely tumescent cock, causing a spasm in my
loins and a burble of clear juice to gush out of my slit. Reaching back
up, he touched his dry fingertips to my lips and I saw the smallest of
tiny, knowing smiles flit across his visage. I just sat there in shock.

He lowered his hand and looked down at himself. It took me a while, but I
glanced down also and realized that he had finished micturating.

I carefully flicked the final drop off of him and smoothed his foreskin
back into its normal position as I removed the nearly full jar. He
motioned for me to set the jar down and I did, mechanically, as if I were
one of those German automatons. He reached back up and gently stroked my
hair again, as if he were trying to calm a wild animal. I felt the power
of the man encompassing me, overpowering me, making me willing to do
whatever that was necessary to keep his attention focused on me. Gently,
softly, his fingers touched behind my head and invited/directed me to
bend over, only if I wanted too, and use my lips to push back the thick,
loose foreskin and take the thick bulb into my mouth for cleaning and
nurture. His penis never swelled up at all, but I could feel the approval
coming from him. Two fingers lifted my chin until I was eye-to-eye with
him and he invited me to release him and lay down beside him again.

We didn't need words for me to understand exactly what he wanted, or
expected me to do. Reluctantly, I sucked his foreskin back into position
over his wet cockhead and carefully laid the soft appendage down on his
leg. Gently, I moved back up alongside of him, lying there stiffly until
he indicated that he expected me to be comfortable and wrap myself around
him again. I did so, and he sighed a deep release of contentment and
safety and drifted off to sleep.


---eof---