From: annd55@nyc.pipeline.com(Ann Douglas)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.gay
Subject: The Ballad Of Wrangler Jane (ff)
Date: 15 Jul 1996 21:24:20 GMT
Organization: The Pipeline
THE FOLLOWING IS A REPOSTING OF A STORY
FROM THE ANN DOUGLAS MAILING LIST. READ
NO FURTHER IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18
OR IF YOU FIND YOU ARE OFFENDED BY GRAPHIC
DESCRIPTIONS OF SEXUAL ACTIVITY. (IF SO, WHAT
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-The Ballad of Wrangler Jane-
- An F Troop Tale-
Part One
by Ann Douglas
"Honestly, Wilton Parmenter, sometimes I don't
know why I put up with you." The pretty blonde woman
thundered as she stormed out of the Captain's quarters.
With a quick leap, she threw her leg over the chestnut mare
tied outside and hopped up and onto it. A strong pull
against the reins unhitched her.
"But Jane....." Stammered the young man in cavalry
blue who followed her out the door a few seconds later,
only to be cut off as he tripped over a loose floorboard on
the porch. Falling forward, he somersaulted over the
hitching post and into the dirt street, knocking himself
unconscious.
"Captain!" Cried out Morgan O'Rourke, the troop's
senior NCO as he ran across the compound, followed close
behind by Corporal Agarn.
At the sound of the Sergeant's voice, the buckskin
clad woman turned the horse she had just mounted and
looked down on the sprawled officer.
"Is he all right?" She asked the Sergeant as he bent
down and examined his commanding officer.
"Don't you worry your pretty little head, Wrangler."
The Irishman said. "He just had the wind knocked out of
him. A little cold water will bring him right around."
"Do me a favor O'Rourke." She said as she jerked
the reins and aimed her horse at the main gate. "Give me a
few seconds to get out of here before you do."
With that, she spurred her horse and galloped the
length of the fort. She didn't even look back before she
disappeared out the main gate.
"She was sure fired up about something." O'Rourke
noted.
"Guess we'd better wake the Captain up." Agarn
said.
O'Rourke pointed to the nearby horse troth and the
Corporal responding by filling his light colored hat up with
water from it.
"You know, if we put the troth back over there,"
He said, pointing to the empty space in front of the hitching
post with the water filled hat. "He'd at least have something
to break his fall. At least it always used to."
"Good idea, Agarn." The taller man replied. "Have
Vanderbilt and Hoffenmeuller move it right after lunch."
"Sure thing, Sarge." He answered as he poured the
water onto the face of the unconscious Captain.
"Blluu....bluuu...Jane...I..." Wilton Parmenter
gasped as the icy coldness snapped him awake.
"Easy sir," O'Rourke said as he and Agarn helped
the now soaked Captain to his feet.
"Where's Jane?" He asked when he noticed that her
horse was gone.
"She shot out of here madder than a bear in a
hornet's nest." Agarn said as he slapped his now wet
headpiece against his trousers. "That must've been some
dilly of an argument the two of you had."
"Agarn!" The Sergeant snapped in reproach.
The Corporal quickly shut up. It wasn't often that
Morgan O'Rourke lost his temper. But when he did, the last
thing Randolph Agarn ever wanted was to be on the
receiving end of it.
"To be honest, she was somewhat angry, Captain."
O'Rourke said in a milder tone. "But she did make sure that
you were ok before she took off."
"It really didn't start out as an argument." Captain
Parmenter said. "We were just chatting and then out of the
blue Jane suggested how much nicer it would be if she just
moved in here with me."
Both NCO's just listened quietly. If the Captain felt
like sharing his problems, then they'd be more than willing
to listen. The same would be true if he just wanted to be left
alone.
"I quickly explained that it was impossible. I mean,
we've only known each other a little over a year now. It'll
be at least another year before we even get engaged. What
would people think if they knew we were living together?
What would my mother say? They all think we
were...well....you know."
O'Rourke was genuinely surprised at the Captain's
admission. He wondered if he was misinterpreting it. Since
the Captain had brought it up, it seemed only fair to inquire.
"I take it then that you and Wrangler have
never...what I mean is that the two of you..." The broad
shouldered Irishman asked.
"Certainly not." Parmenter said quickly. "We'd have
to be married to do that."
O'Rourke took a deep breath and could see the same
thought reflected in Agarn's eyes. Wilton Parmenter was
naive about a lot of things. He had become the
commanding officer of F Troop and Fort Courage based on
his turning a retreat into a successful cavalry charge in the
closing days of the civil war.
O'Rourke himself had risen to the temporary rank of
Captain during the war, only to drop back to Sergeant
following the peace. He had preferred it that way.
Parmenter, on the other hand, was the youngest son of one
of the premier Army families. His medal had been big news
and with it came the promotion and F Troop. Yet, from
what he had heard from someone who had actually been
there, that order to charge had actually been a sneeze.
Still, even knowing his background, O'Rourke found
this new piece of information unbelievable. Over two
thousand miles from his Philadelphia home, the Captain was
still trying to live by the rules of polite society. Out here
in
the badlands, there were few white woman available. Far
fewer that looked as desirable as Wrangler Jane . There
wasn't another man in five hundred miles, O'Rourke
included, who wouldn't run to her bed if she had offered.
Yet she had offered far more than that to the Captain, and
he had turned her down. Incredible.
"If you like Captain, we could have Dobbs and
Duffy ride out after her." The Sergeant said, changing the
subject. "She was headed away from town, out towards the
Hakowie camp. It'll be dark in a few hours."
"No, better let her get it all out of her system." The
Captain said as he turned and headed back into his office.
"She'll be all right. After all, she rides and shoots better
than
any man in the troop."
With that, he closed the door to his quarters behind
him.
Morgan O'Rourke stood there for a minute, staring
at the hard wood door. He didn't say a word until Agarn
reminded him that they had to get the latest shipment of
O'Rourke Enterprises souvenirs off to Dodge City.
"Incredible." O'Rourke softly repeated to himself
before talking off after Agarn towards the NCO club.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
An hour or so later, Wrangler Jane was watering
her horse alongside the banks of the small river that defined
the edge of the Hakowie Reservation. She had ridden the
mare much too hard in her dash from the fort. It would be
at least another hour before she headed back. She was still
angry. Both at Wilton and at herself. At Wilton, for his
stubborn refusal to abandon his families old-fashioned idea.
At herself, for letting him get away with it for so long.
"I don't even care if he never married me, Sparkle."
She said to her mare as she gently stroked it. "I know his
family would never approve of me. I only wish that he'd
give me what I need."
Jane knew that Wilton was a virgin, he had told her
that. He never asked her if she was, it wasn't the sort of
question a gentleman asked. If he had, she wondered if she
would give him the answer he expected, or the truth. She'd
had her first man when she was 16. It was a totally
forgettable experience, but it had gotten her out of her
home back east. For the use of her body, the man had
gotten her as far as St. Louis. From there, it was easy to
find men willing to take her further.
A few of the men had been memorable, but she had
always felt something had been missing. No man would
deny she was attractive, but most were put off by her
assertiveness. They wanted nothing to do with a woman
who could out ride, out shoot and was in many other ways
more man than they were.
That was one of the reasons she had to get away
from her family back east. They kept trying to get her to fit
the mold of what a proper young lady should be. A role she
felt she was born to rebel against. A lifetime ago, she had
been Jane Angelica Thrift. The Thrifts of course were
welcome in the finest homes of New York, Boston and
Philadelphia. That girl had died in the bed of a man who's
name she couldn't even remember. In her place had been
born Wrangler Jane.
If she had been born a man instead of a woman then
her life would've been much different. Then her qualities
would have been appreciated. She sometimes wished that
she had been born such. She would've been much better off.
Of course then Wilton would've had to have been born a
woman instead as well. But that might've suited him too.
He would make a better woman than man.
A sudden sound from behind the long row of bushes
caused her to crouch down and pull out her six-shooter.
The quick fluid motion of which was the envy of every man
she knew. Tying Sparkle's reins to the shrub, she carefully
moved to higher ground.
Stepping slowly, she silently climbed an outcrop of
boulders, giving her a view of the riverbank below.
Looking down, she saw the source of the noise.
Standing naked in the shallow edge of the water was
a young Indian maiden. Her long black hair stretched down
to the cheeks of her ass. She was very pretty by both white
and Indian standards. Small but full breasts stood firm in
the late afternoon sun. Her entire body was a sun kissed
brown, showing that she spent a great deal of time like she
was now. Between her legs was a small batch of black hair.
Jane wondered if the smallness of the area was natural or if
the maiden trimmed it as Jane did her own. She couldn't
have been, Jane guessed, more than 16 or 17.
-The Ballad of Wrangler Jane-
-An F Troop Tale-
Part Two
by Ann Douglas
Wanting to get a better look, Jane carefully
shimmied down the rocks. The girls back was now
to her so she took a chance and bolted to the edge
of the bushes. Stepping on a dry twig, Jane was
certain that she had given herself away. But the girl
never turned.
Now secure in her new vantage point, the 25
year old sat quietly and watched. And as she
watched, old familiar, but long buried feelings, once
more surfaced.
The soft skinned girl ran her wet hands up
and down the length of her body. She pressed the
roundness of her breasts, rubbing the small nipples
until they were hard.
Under her buckskin blouse, Wrangler felt her
own nipples stiffen. That was the unspoken reason
she had felt home. Aside from being more man than
many men she had met, she also sometimes felt a
man's attraction for a woman. It was years before
she learned to accept those feeling. Even longer
before she had acted on them. One night in Dodge
City she had paid a young prostitute to sleep with
her. It had been one of the most exciting times of
her life. But she had been determined not to become
a frequenter of whores. She remembered all too
well the look of disgust the harlot had given her
when she left her room the next morning. Still, the
unnaturalness of the act hadn't prevented her from
taking the money.
Instead she had buried the urges. It had been
easy enough. After all, most of the women she met
out here in the west were either whores or settler's
wives. Neither of which held much attraction for
her. Of course there was always the occasional
daughter that would catch her fancy, but those
opportunities usually never presented themselves.
They wanted husbands, the sooner the better. Most
nights she would satisfy herself with their images in
her mind.
Then she had found Wilton Parmenter. A
man feminine enough to not be bothered by her
masculinity. It only he wasn't so tied up in the
propriety of things.
The small hands of the Indian girl were now
situated between her legs. Wrangler knew that if
she could get closer she would be able to see that
the girl had her fingers up inside herself. The look
on her face was proof of that. The wetness there
must be the equal of Wrangler's own.
Finally, not able to keep still any longer,
Wrangler slid her own hand down into her trousers.
A soft moan escaped her lips as she gently stroked
her moistness. It felt so good. Memories of that girl
in Dodge filled her mind's eye. Those and the
thought of how much more wonderful it might be to
actually touch the warm softness of the girl before
her.
Standing up, she took a few steps out into
the open. The Indian maid was again turned away
from her and didn't see her at first. Then out of the
corner of her eyes she saw the buckskin clad figure.
Yelling out something in a language
Wrangler didn't understand, the Indian dove down
towards a loose squaws dress left on a nearby rock.
Rather than trying to cover herself, she emerged
from the pile with a long knife in her hand and
assumed a combative stance.
Wrangler reacted automatically to the
appearance of the knife and had her gun in hand
without even thinking about it. There they stood,
less than a dozen feet apart, with weapons drawn.
"This is silly." Wrangler thought as she
looked down at the gun and then at the knife in the
maiden's hand. "And it could turn into something
dangerous very fast."
With than she reholstered her weapon and
held both her hands up and palms outward. She
shook her head and left her hat fall free, revealing
her long tied blonde tresses.
"You are a woman." The maiden said as she
lowered the knife.
"My name is Wrangler Jane."
"The trading woman from the fort. I know of
you." Came the reply. "But I always thought you
must be old and ugly to have such a name."
"Hardly." Jane said dryly.
"I am Singing Deer, daughter of Roaring
Chicken of the Hakowie."
Jane thought for a moment and remembered
meeting the old medicine man at some function or
other at the fort.
"I've met your father." She said.
An awkward silence held for a few seconds
until Singing Deer said.
"I have never seen hair such as yours, the
color of the sun. It is very beautiful."
"Thank you." Wrangler said.
With that she reached up and pulled out the
leather thong that held it in place and let her hair fall
around her shoulders.
"That is much better." Commented the
maiden.
"I'm didn't mean to disturb your privacy,"
Jane said, trying to think of something to fill the
void. "I didn't think that I was that close to the
Hakowie Camp."
"The camp is still two hours walk from
here." Singing Deer said as she dropped the blade
and stepped closer to Wrangler Jane. "I sometimes
come to this place to be by myself and think."
"And to please yourself." Jane said without
thinking as her gaze shifted from the small brown
breasts to the dark wet patch below.
Singing Deer paused for a moment and then
continued.
"As the daughter of the medicine man, I am
promised to whoever becomes the next Chief of the
Hakowies. But as Crazy Cat will most certainly tell
you, it will be many many moons before Wild Eagle
goes to the happy hunting ground. Until that time, it
is written that no man may touch me."
"Can't be much fun." Jane said.
"It is not." The young girl said softly.
"Well I can understand that." Jane said
sympathetically. "But maybe I can help."
The tall young woman looked confused as
Jane's smile grew brighter.
"I may not be touched by a man, not even a
white man." She repeated, thinking that Jane was
planning to take her into town.
"But I am not a man." Jane grinned, thankful
for the first time in her life that she was able to say
that.
Softly rubbing her hand against the moist
mound between Singing Deer's long tanned legs,
Jane quickly replaced the look of confusion with one
of delight.
Taking the quiet moans as encouragement,
Jane removed her hand and reached up and undid
the laces of her blouse. Singing Deer watched in
fascination as it fell away, exposing the large pale
pink breasts beneath. Even more fascinating to her
was the blonde bush that was revealed when
Wrangler's pants joined her shirt on the ground.
Jane sighed as Singing Deer reached out and
placed her hands against her mellon sized mounds.
The nipples were rock hard and the touch of her
slender fingers sent shivers through Jane's body.
The younger woman experimentally ran her fingers
back and forth across them, delighting in the soft
sounds emanating from the white woman's throat.
Wrangler looked into the girl's eyes, quickly
loosing herself in their deepness. She hesitantly
lowered her mouth to the Indian's. It was a light ,
tentative kiss at first. She knew the Hakowie, like
most Indian tribes, had never had a kissing tradition.
She was unsure how Singing Deer would react.
Feeling the soft pressure of her kiss returned,
Jane pressed her tongue against the opening of
Singing Deer's mouth. The younger girl opened her
mouth instinctively and quickly tongue met tongue.
While their tongues slide back and forth,
Jane cupped Singing Deer's breasts. Then she bent
down and replaced her hands with her mouth. The
caress of her warm mouth sent a string of words
running from the Hakowie that Jane didn't
understand. The tone however, was unmistakable.
That and the slight pressure against Jane's head as
she was again guided to the hard dark brown
nipples.
Wrangler nuzzled at each breast for a while
longer, then began a journey downward. A light
film of saliva marked the trail of her tongue as it
moved down Singing Deer's stomach and across her
belly button. Lower she went, nibbling her way to
the girl's womanhood.
Reaching the now thoroughly saturated
patch, Jane took a moment to relish the aroma. An
aroma she hadn't savored for a long time. She
kissed each thigh, again and again, before moving on
to her prize.
It began as a flicker. Then a touch. Finally a
long loving caress. She could feel Singing Deer's
body react to each stroke as she ran her tongue
across her clit over and over.
Singing Deer began to buckle and spasm as
Jane increased the intensity of her tongue's attack.
She slid her free hand down between her own legs
and slid first one, then two and finally three fingers
within herself. She quickly matched the tempo of her
fingers to that of her tongue.
Sweat ran down the Indian's body as she
shook with each new ecstatic jolt. She could feel
the rising crest within her and knew that her first
orgasm at the hands of another was near.
Wrangler darted her tongue in and out of
Singing Deer's tunnel of love, causing the waves of
pleasure cascading up and down the younger girl's
body to double. The harder Jane moved her tongue,
the faster the waves repeated
Faster and faster the waves washed over
Singing Deer, each bringing her closer to an
explosion . Tears ran down her cheeks as she tried
to delay the fire within her so that she could enjoy
each second.
With a yell, the Hakowie maiden climaxed
as she had never done by her own hand. Her small
body shook for endless seconds as she took in
every aspect of her rapture.
Jane followed with her own orgasm
seconds later as her fingers covered with her
wetness. A much softer cry on her lips.
Both women collapsed to the ground,
entangled in each others arms. Silently they laid
there, caressing and kissing each other's body.
Time passed slowly as the rays of the sun
faded on the horizon. The silver moon replaced
the golden sun in the sky and a chill appeared in
the air.
Singing Deer built a fire and Jane produced
a couple of blankets from her saddle roll.
Together, they huddled naked beneath the
blankets, keeping each other warm.
The spend the night talking and making
love once more. This time Singing Deer brought
the same pleasure to Jane that Jane had brought
her.
By early morning when Jane dropped her
newfound lover off within a five minute walk to
her home, they had already made plans to meet
again in a week. In that time, Singing Deer planned
to teach the other women of her village what she
learned.
Wrangler Jane on the other hand had made a
promise to herself that one way or another, Wilton
was going to give her what she was due. Even if
she had to tie him down first to do it.
End
--
Ann Douglas