It had been a hot and dusty ride from Kansas into Colorado en route to my new posting as the postal agent and sutler at Fort Hayden. I'd ridden my mare all day with the Rocky Mountains tantalizingly near without having reached the river they told me was still more than a day's ride out from the fort. I now saw the river ahead, cool and inviting, but I knew I wasn't going to make Fort Hayden today. So, I rode down the side of the river for a couple of hours, thinking about one more night on the trail and about how hot, dusty, and smelly I'd gotten. I wanted to make a good impression--to be clean and squared away--when I arrived at my new job.
The river beckoned to me--clean and clear and shallow enough to be safe. At last I gave in, deciding to camp out for the night at a place where the land gently slanted down to a quiet section of the river well away from the central current. There was a small grove of cottonwood trees to one side and smooth rock outcroppings to another side, where I could lay my clothes out to dry. I'd come equipped with what I'd need to overnight in the open.
I tied my mare to a tree in the cottonwood grove and laid out some food and water for him. I set up camp at the edge of the grove and laid my rifle up against a tree there. My saddle had gotten pretty smelly, so I scrubbed that down good and dropped it in the sun between the rocks and the grove to dry. Next I stripped off all my clothes, scrubbed them real well, and stretched them out on the rock cropping to dry.
After that, it was my turn. I dove into the river and luxuriated in the cool, clean water rolling over my body. I splashed around a good bit and did some whoopin' and hollarin' out here in the world all by myself and eventually stood and walked up out of the water until it just reached my knees. It was time to get serious. I took up the bar of lye soap I'd used on the clothes and then soaped myself up real well. I felt so good when I got to my cock and balls that I did some extra soaping there and pulled on my rod for a few minutes, enjoying the moment of freedom after weeks in the saddle as well as surfacing fond memories of my romp in the sack with that cowboy in Abilene that night not long ago.
I heard an unfamiliar horse whinnying, and I froze solid. I looked up at the riverbank. There, fanned out before me between the rocks and the cottonwood grove was a small band of Indians riding fine-looking horses bareback. I have no idea how long they'd been watching me, but they'd had the drop on me for some time.
There were five of them, all young bucks--any one of them with enough muscle to easily handle me. Besides that, the one who evidently was the leader, a particularly impressive looking bronzed specimen, was holding a bead on me with a rifle. The other four strapping bucks had bows and arrows at various stages of readiness.
They weren't wearing paint, so at least they didn't appear to be on the warpath about anything. In fact, they weren't wearing much of anything beyond loincloths, moccasins, and thin beaded bands with leather fringe at the top of their bulging biceps and calves. The apparent leader, though, was also wearing a breastplate made of feathers and turquoise beads held together with silver wire. My immediate assessment was that they were a hunting party that had been attracted by my foolish cavorting in the river. That didn't mean that they weren't hunting for me. I'd been told to be on the lookout for small bands of renegade Indians in these parts ready to pick off the lone white man. I'd been told that a couple of the bands were made up of young queer braves who had be expelled by their tribes and were preying on lone men they caught.
There couldn't be a more lone and naked white man around than me at this moment. I was standing in the altogether in the shallows of a river.
I held my arms out wide in supplication, which may have been a mistake considering what happened soon thereafter, and slowly walked up the shore, sidling a bit toward the cottonwood grove and my rifle. My mind went to the warning about a renegade band that rode other men when they found them. This looked like it could be that case. I didn't mind having sex with men, but not necessarily with a group of them and certainly not knowing what they might do to me in the process or afterward.
The leader of the tribe raised his rifle a bit and gave me a look that told me in no uncertain terms that it wouldn't be a good idea to go for my gun. I was a little surprised that he was grinning at me, but then so were the other four. I soon found out why they were doing that. I had indeed been found by one of those bands of renegade queer braves I'd been told about. I'd half thought the rumors were myth. Turns out they weren't.
The leader slipped off his horse and halved the distance between him and me in long, deliberate strides. One of the others in the band rode up close to him, and the leader handed off his rifle. Then he pulled strings at the hips of his loin cloth and the scanty covering fell to the ground. Oh God, was my first thought. It had just been my luck to have run across a band of Indians that swung in my direction. My second thought was that this Indian, at least, swung real well. He had a cock and set of balls that equaled or surpassed his other collection of well-tone muscles. And my third thought was that he must have really enjoyed my unintentioned performance with the soap, because his horse-hung cock was standing straight out.
Unfortunately for me, he was such a fine specimen of manflesh that my cock reacted in similar fashion to the situation.
Before I could have a fourth thought, the tribe leader was at me like a pouncing cat. While he moved, the other four Indians came off their horses and gathered around fairly close to us in a semicircle. The Indian leader wrapped a hand around my neck and brought my face to his in a lip lock that showed me he did a lot of this. The other hand went to vice-like grip around my balls and the base of my cock. The squeeze there brought tears to my eyes and me to my knees in front of him just as soon as his lips and tongue released mine. This put me at a convenient level for him to stuff his hard cock between my lips, which he proceeded to do.
He was face-fucking me real well and grunting at the realization that I knew how to suck a man off when I managed to look around and notice that the four others had paired off and were fingering each other in shared excitement. This meant no one had the drop on me with anything but a hard and pumping penis at the moment, and I realized I might have reached the closest point to escape and survival that I ever was going to get. I knew I couldn't get to my own rifle or horse in time, but the Indian leader's horse, a gorgeous big golden palomino stallion, was standing unattended within striking distance.
So, I seized the moment and made a break for the stallion. Miraculously, I was on the horse's back and getting him to start into a trot before the Indians recovered. But then my luck ended. The Indian leader merely whistled, and the horse stopped in its tracks. I thought I was dead now, that they'd just pull me off the horse and rip me to shreds. But the Indian leader did something completely unexpected. He leaped up on the horse behind me, yelled something the horse understood, and we were off, two naked men on the back of a quivering horse, thundering across the plain beside the river. The Indian was wedged behind me. He grabbed my wrists and forced my hands into the flowing mane of the horse, where I wrapped my fingers in the white mane and held on for dear life. The Indian's beaded breastplate was digging into my shoulder blades, and his raging hard was rubbing up and down my lower back as we were tossed and turned in the charge across the rolling countryside.
I was scared, but that rubbing dick of his and the whole wildness of the situation was turning me on, too. We hadn't ridden far before he made his move. His thighs had been just behind mine, with both of us hanging on to the horse as best we could with them. But in one swift, dexterous move, he took those powerful thighs of his, lifted them around and in front of mine, and flipped me forward onto the neck of the horse. This tilted my pelvis up as well, and I screamed in fear and then in surprise and pain as I felt his cock head slide down my lower back. It held briefly at my asshole as a much too-large a peg came into a much too small a hole. And then the rough rolling of the horse's gait solved the Indian's problem, and with one excruciatingly painful lunge, he had breached my asshole and split me in two with his ramrod, which just kept on screwing up into me as the motion of the horse's gallop naturally stroked his cock and my ass canal together.
I screamed into the wind and struggled against the powerful embrace of the Indian chieftain as we thundered on. But there was no saving myself. With the aid of the motion, he was pumping me deep with the natural interaction of our bodies. He grunted his pleasure at realizing that my channel was well used and stretched quickly to his need.
I realized not only that I was aiding the wild fuck myself with my struggling but also, after the shock of being taken started to wear off, that I now was enjoying this incredible invasion of my body. In addition, I realized and that, once fucked, there wasn't much else for me to do but make the best of the situation. The hunky brave was realizing how quickly and fully he could get is pleasure out of me as well. The trembling of my body started to decrease, I slowly stopped struggling against what was happening to me, and I started going with the motion of the horse's gait and the rhythm of fuck it created.
He wasn't just taking me by force now. We were partnering in the fuck. We were both taking a full measure of pleasure from this.
If I was going to die from this encounter with this band of queer and randy Indians, I would do so gloriously. I could imagine how harrowing this would be for a man who was straight. But I wasn't. Beside the danger of the situation, this was an encounter I only could have dreamed of enjoying. I might as well take the good with whatever bad might follow.
This submission to the inevitable--and suddenly quite pleasurable--must have been what the bronze hunk had been waiting for, because as I quieted down and my body started to go with the rhythm, the horse started to slow down, until we finally were standing still, beside the river, not that far from where we'd started. The Indian's body was covering mine closely from behind, and the pattern and depth of my breathing was beginning to come into synch with his. His cock was still buried deep inside me, but he slowly decreased the thrusting of his hips so that he wasn't pumping me anymore. He still held my wrists in his steeling grasp, and I still had my fingers wrapped in the white hair of the golden palomino stallion's mane. The horse was breathing hard from the wildness of the gallop, but it responded instantaneously to the Indian's indecipherable verbal commands. It now stood very still, it's strong legs rigid, and it remained so until the bronze stud commanded it to move again.
