Iowa

Kiowa: A Story Of Rape And Redemption

This is part of a longer adventure story about life on The Great Plains before the arrival of the White Man. Contains scenes of violence and sexually explicit material.

The young warrior slid wearily off his pony’s back and crouched on a rocky ledge overlooking the devastated village. His throat felt dry from the acrid smoke of the burning lodges and now that the fighting was over, every muscle in his body seemed to be aching. In the distance he could hear the shrill yells of his companions in the distance as they celebrated their victory, but he wanted no scalps to flaunt his bravery dance when they returned home in triumph –he could find no honour or glory in the butchery of women and children. Although he had reddened his war lance with the blood of many Kiowa, he had not killed in the heat of battle, but with a detached, cold-blooded precision. Grief and anger had left little room in his heart for any thoughts of mercy.

Below him, one of the burning lodges collapsed, sending clouds of greasy black smoke rolling over the still forms scattered around the entrance. Roused from their sleep, they had been confused and disorganised when his war party had swept through their village at dawn, easy prey for his arrows and the merciless force of his lance. He could feel no remorse as he looked down at their blood-stained bodies -the carnage was only too familiar to him. His own village had looked much like this one on the terrible day he had returned to find his wife and baby son lying dead in the smoking ruins of their home. In the dark days that followed, only a burning thirst for vengeance had kept him sane, but now that the day of retribution had come, revenge had not brought him the peace of mind he so desperately needed. Sick at heart, he waited for his companions to take the long trail homeward.

**** *****

A rattle of loose stones behind him made him swing round, just in time to see a flash of movement on the crest of the hill. He pounded up the slope in time to see a running figure, only a short bowshot away. The woman’s long hair fanned out behind her and her buttocks heaved under her shapeless dress as she fled for her life. Driven on by her terror, she almost outran him, but he was finally able to grab hold of her by her hair and spin her round. As they stumbled forward, he felt a sharp pain in his arm as she slashed out wildly at him and he grabbed at her wrist, twisting it savagely until she gave a scream of pain and the bloody knife span from her grip into the long grass. Still she fought on like a cornered animal, using her nails, teeth and wildly kicking legs to such good effect that he needed all his strength to subdue her frenzied body. Gradually her strength ebbed away until he was finally able to pull free from her grasp and lash his forearm savagely across her face. Her screaming changed into low moans of pain as she fell back, stunned, a thin tendril of blood trickling from her mouth. The young warrior scrambled to his feet and picked up his lance, ready to thrust it into her gasping throat -one quick stab and he would end yet another hated Kiowa life.

He stared down at his victim, ready to strike. Her violent struggles had dragged her dress over her hips, revealing her brown belly and the thick triangle of hair between her ample thighs. She was no longer young, and her body had already begun to thicken from hard work and constant childbearing, but the sight of her naked body reawakened a desperate need in him. He had sought no other woman since the death of his wife, but the throbbing ache in his loins would not go away, however much he tried to ignore it. Relief from his torment lay at his feet, spread-eagled and enticing. His gentle wife had been raped and murdered by this woman’s people – possibly even by her husband or son, so why shouldn’t this Kiowa bitch know the humiliation of being violated by her enemy before she died? What would it matter to her? She was just more meat for the keen blade of his war-lance.

The woman opened her eyes wide in terror as she felt the cold blade prick her throat, but she was quick to notice the look he had given to her naked body and realised that her only chance of survival lay in diverting him from his deadly purpose. Forcing her trembling lips into the travesty of a smile, she spread her legs wider, and slid her hands slowly down her belly to part the lips of her vagina for him in mute invitation. He was no different from the men of her own tribe, she thought scornfully as she watched him fumble with the thongs of his belt and fling his breechcloth aside. Most Kiowa men valued their ponies more highly than their women, and from an early age, she had been treated as a mere chattel, to be traded or gambled away at the whim of her husband. Her body had endured the frantic lust of many men and boys and she knew from bitter experience that she would be safe while this young brave took his pleasure of her. Perhaps she could even make her escape in those final moments of madness that blinds all men to everything else. Anxious to please him, she pulled her dress up to her chin and cupped her heavy breasts in her hands, offering them to him, but he paid no heed –this would be no act of love for him. Her violent struggles had forced a thick stream of whitish fluid from her gaping cleft and the young brave watched with amused contempt as it oozed slowly into the folds of skin between her legs.

“Your man must have taken his fill of you last night.” He snarled. “Perhaps it was his last pleasure in this life!” She nodded at him eagerly, not understanding his words. He stared down at the sticky flow with mild surprise -surely all that had not come from just one man, he thought enviously. If the stories he had heard were to be believed, she might well have gone on to service the other males in her lodge once she had satisfied her husband. The notion of a father and his sons each taking their turn to mount her in the darkness tantalised him and he grasped his erect cock and plunged it deep into her with a single savage thrust, his path eased by the slippery products of her recent coupling.

In spite of her fear, the woman could not prevent her body from responding and her hands strayed up to stroke her nipples as she matched his eager rhythm with fierce upward thrusts of her own. She studied his face closely as he heaved and panted above her, seeing from his glazed expression that he was rapidly approaching his moment of climax. In a pretence of passion, she locked her legs over his heaving back and reached out stealthily to grasp the hilt of her discarded knife.

Just as the young warrior collapsed onto her with a groan of satisfied lust, she twisted her body sharply and swung the knife in a wide arc across his heaving chest. He gave a shrill yell of pain as a crimson line gashed his body from one brown nipple to the other. Cursing his stupidity, he struggled to his feet, clasping his arms tightly to his lacerated chest. His own knife lay out of reach beside his loincloth and as he groped for it, the Kiowa woman saw her chance and sprang up, ready to plunge her knife deep into his unprotected belly. He noticed her at the last moment and threw himself sideways, kicking at her legs and sending her sprawling at his feet. He heard the breath leave her lungs with a loud whooshing sound as he flung himself on top of her, and she gasped with pain as his nails scrabbled between her breasts, searching for the deadly knife. He was weak from his recent climax and the pain of his wound and she almost succeeded in rolling out from under him, but he slammed his body down on her once more with all his remaining strength, using his weight as his only weapon. She gave a sharp cry of agony and her struggles ceased abruptly. Fearing another trick, he slid off her and stood up, alert for any sudden movement, but she lay still, her breath gurgling strangely through her open mouth. Cautiously, he turned her over and caught his breath in shock. The front of her dress gaped open, sodden with blood, while her fingers still fluttered feebly at the knife buried deep into the flesh above her prominent hip bone.

He had seen many knife wounds before and knew at a glance that there was nothing he could do to help her -the wound was clearly fatal and if he removed the knife it would only speed her end. He knelt and lifted her gently in his arms and she gazed up at him, her eyes wide with pain and fear. To her amazement, she saw that all the hatred had gone from his face and there was a gentleness in his expression as he held her close to him, trying to comfort her last moments of life. She whimpered softly and raised her arm with an effort, trying to draw him closer, pleading him with her eyes. He understood and bent to kiss her with a tenderness he had not felt since the death of his wife, uncaring whether it was the salt taste of blood or tears that he could taste on her lips. She stroked his cheek before her hand fell limply onto her breast and all life left her large brown eyes forever.

Her implacable enemy laid her gently back onto the grass and straightened the bloodstained dress over her naked body, folding her arms over her breast. As he bent to tidy her long hair over her shoulders, his eyes suddenly blurred with tears as he remembered how he had done the same thing for the body of his own beloved wife only a short time ago. The death of this unknown, unattractive, Kiowa woman had been equally tragic and pointless, but somehow it had managed to unlock all the grief and misery he had kept hidden for so long and he could finally begin to grieve for his lost family.

There was a new purpose in his stride as he gathered up his possessions and walked down the hill towards his waiting pony –this time he didn’t look back.