Date: Fri, 19 Oct 2007 13:57:36 -0700 From: Jon Hold 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---