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Custer's Little Big Horn

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Barbaria1

Rebel Leader
Staff member
Custer's little big Horn

Summer 1876, Dakota Territory

1. Great choking clouds of yellow-brown dust billow from under the spinning wheels of our rocking and lurching stagecoach. The thundering hooves of four galloping horses and the exhortations of the driver make conversation inside the nearly empty coach difficult.

Across from me sits a lone gentleman ... dapper looking, ruddy-faced, with a big drooping mustache and a long cigar. He has been regarding me curiously for some time now, and finally leans forward to shout, "I say darling, where are you headed?"

"Fort Abraham Lincoln," I reply after a moment’s hesitation, "and you, kind Sir?"

"The same, ma'am ... Rupert Wragg's the name."

"Barbara Moore," so pleased to make your acquaintance," I say, extending a white-gloved hand and smiling sweetly at him from under the long brim of my summer sun bonnet.

"Tell me now, what's a pretty young thing like you doing all on your own out here in the Wild West?" he continues, shifting over to sit next to me and tapping a dusting of gray cigar ashes on the dark floor of the coach.

"Well I am a very independent type, Mr. Wragg. If you really must know, I am a writer on assignment for a big Chicago daily. I am on my way to meet and write a feature story about the great Indian fighter, Colonel George Armstrong Custer. It's all very exciting, you see. This is my very first assignment and I hope to make a success of it. Now tell me, what do you do for a living, kind sir?"

"Ahem ....well my dear, back home I am lord of the manor. Quite upper crust, as you might imagine. It's called Cruxton Abbey. We Wraggs have held it for generations. But here in the colonies ... I mean the States ... I seek adventure. I am a man of chance, you might say. I am a master gambler, you see. In fact I am on my way now to the town of Deadwood, where I plan to make a killing. I was just run out of ... no, pardon, I mean to say I just departed the town of Omaha after a most successful tour of the saloons and gambling dens there."

"Oh, I see."

"By Jove, Miss Moore. We seem to be gaining speed here; and I swear I just heard a gunshot. What was that thing that just flew by the carriage window?"

"Well, it appears to have been the driver. I think we must be under attack. Tell me, don't those look like bandits out there riding alongside the stagecoach?"

"Yes, and they have guns. They must be highwaymen and this must be a hold-up. The driver has been shot, and they are bringing the team to a halt!"

"Oh, how thrilling. Perhaps my editor would like a first-person account of this too!" I exclaim, rummaging in my bag for a notebook and pencil.

The stagecoach slows and quickly grinds to a halt. Someone has jumped onboard and reined in the team of horses, shouting "whoa" repeatedly.

"I think the gentlemen would like us to step out, Miss Moore," observes my companion, "Follow me if you please. Here let me assist."

"Why thank you Lord Wragg." I coo, offering him my hand.

We step down to confront our masked attackers, two of whom look down at us from their heavily lathered and rather skittish mounts, six-shooters drawn and leveled menacingly. Our driver lies in a heap alongside the road a good distance back. Two more outlaws are un-harnessing the team of horses from the stagecoach and shooing them away, shouting "hee-haw" and slapping the horses' rumps with their hats.

"Your money and your jewels," growls one of the masked bandits, waving his revolver first at Wragg and then at me.

Wragg points at his satchel, and then retrieves it gingerly from the coach. One of the bandits grabs it away from him; reaches inside, triumphantly extracts a wad of greenbacks, and whistles.

"And now you miss!" snaps the bandit leader.

"I really don't have any money, "I stammer," perhaps a dollar or two."

"Then your fine city clothes, bitch! All of them! Strip now!"

When I protest, he cocks the hammer back on his six-shooter, leans forward over the neck of his horse, and presses the muzzle to my forehead. His horse whinnies nervously.

Slowly I comply, removing my clothing piece by piece ... first my bonnet, then my shawl, then the bodice of my dress ... dropping them on the ground, where they are immediately scooped up by one of the bandits.

My slow stripping continues until I stand stark naked under the blazing sun, nervously covering myself as best I can with arm and hand. Thank goodness my long brown hair, which I had let loose when I removed my bonnet, partially covers my bare breasts and tumescent nipples.

"Raise your hands and turn around slowly now," orders the one with the gun.

"Bastards!" I hiss as I pirouette, exposing myself fully to their leering view.

"Nice bush and tight little ass!" chortles the man holding my clothes admiringly.

"I say now gentlemen. I know what you are contemplating and I really must protest," pipes up Wragg. "Miss Moore is a lady, not a saloon floozy, I must remind you."

"Shaddup or I'll put an extra hole in your head, barks the horseman irritably."

The sky darkens. A late afternoon thunderstorm is gathering. Ominous rumbles of thunder can be heard approaching.

"Looks threatening, let's get out of here," says one of the bandits nervously. The leader nods.

"Wait," I say, "you can't just leave us out here like this! May I at least have my clothes back please?"

"Yes, You have our money and you got a good gander at our dear Miss Moore in the altogether. Let's be civilized about this shall we now," adds Wragg soothingly.

"Thought I told you to shaddup, Tinhorn," barks the lead bandit, before proceeding to make poor Wragg dance a little jig with a fusillade of shots into the ground around the terrified Englishman's feet.

Laughing uproariously, the four bandits wheel their mounts about and gallop off in a cloud of dust.

I look at our useless horseless carriage, at the dead driver, glance up at the darkening sky, and survey the treeless expanse of nothing going off to the horizon in all directions.

I turn to Wragg, sigh, and say with as much sincerity as I can muster given our situation, "Sorry about your money. How much did they take?"

"All of it," he replies, eyes roaming a little too intently over my nakedness, "sorry, about your clothes."

"Stop staring at my tits!"

He takes off his coat and with a gentlemanly flourish, drapes it over my shoulders and says good-naturedly, "now never you mind Miss Moore. It will be fine; we will get it all back, including some new finery for you to wear, as soon as we get to Deadwood, and I can fleece a few of the locals. Come on then, let's start walking, shall we?"

Together we trudge off, following the wagon ruts, as a bolt of lightning flashes across the sky, followed by an earth-shattering clap of thunder and the first heavy drops of rain impact the dry earth at our feet.

TO BE CONTINUED
 
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Original untouched picture presented here...
apache.jpg
"Paleface squaw me Chief Longdong. Chief's balls need to be milked!!!"

"I don't suppose you could cut me open and rip my heart out first?"

"No, not surgeon! But first I give you magic potion on my pouch. It is Joan Tree Horny Dust. White squaw beg Chief Longdong fuck her after sun walks the sky!"

This really isn't going well...
 
Tree wishes to note that his side comments have no relationship to Barb's story and fully expects to get a 'KNOCK IT OFF' 'cease and desist' order any moment now...

T

We now return to the regularly scheduled story...
 
Original untouched picture presented here...
View attachment 341967
"Paleface squaw me Chief Longdong. Chief's balls need to be milked!!!"

"I don't suppose you could cut me open and rip my heart out first?"

"No, not surgeon! But first I give you magic potion on my pouch. It is Joan Tree Horny Dust. White squaw beg Chief Longdong fuck her after sun walks the sky!"

This really isn't going well...

00028156.Little.Caprice.jpg Chief Longdong? :confused: Really? :rolleyes::p
 
Tree wishes to note that his side comments have no relationship to Barb's story and fully expects to get a 'KNOCK IT OFF' 'cease and desist' order any moment now...

T

We now return to the regularly scheduled story...

kim-kardashian-nude-role-model__oPt.jpg Ok, enough already ....
 
View attachment 341953
"The pale face woman look good in the buff"

Those are Hekawi indians.
As in :

"Many moons ago, tribe leave Massachusetts because Pilgrims ruin neighborhood! Tribe travel west, over stream, over river, over mountain, over mountain, over river, over stream! Then come big day... tribe fall over cliff. That when Hekawi get name. Medicine man say to my ancestor, "I think we lost. Where the heck are we?"

Anyone else remember F Troop?
 
Those are Hekawi indians.
As in :

"Many moons ago, tribe leave Massachusetts because Pilgrims ruin neighborhood! Tribe travel west, over stream, over river, over mountain, over mountain, over river, over stream! Then come big day... tribe fall over cliff. That when Hekawi get name. Medicine man say to my ancestor, "I think we lost. Where the heck are we?"

Anyone else remember F Troop?
"...Who says I'm dumb?!?!?!"

WE really should not hijack this thread... Goodnight, friends...

T
 
Those are Hekawi indians.
As in :

"Many moons ago, tribe leave Massachusetts because Pilgrims ruin neighborhood! Tribe travel west, over stream, over river, over mountain, over mountain, over river, over stream! Then come big day... tribe fall over cliff. That when Hekawi get name. Medicine man say to my ancestor, "I think we lost. Where the heck are we?"

Anyone else remember F Troop?

F-Troop-Agarn-Arrow-Through.jpg :)
 
2. It's nearly nightfall. Bedraggled and hungry after hours of seemingly endless trudging, I trail Wragg at a short distance as he saunters down Deadwood’s Main Street. I am naked except for his gentleman's waist coat, the open front of which I hold tightly to my chest. It more or less covers me down to the top of my thighs.

"Wragg! I'm hungry and tired," I call after him, "when are we going to stop? Can’t we find a room for the night?"

"Hold your horses, Miss Moore. Stop complaining just for once! You get on my nerves. We have no money, remember? Be patient, now. I am looking for just the right place. Ah, found it. This should do very nicely."

He comes to a halt in front of a two-story, false-fronted building … a sign over its swinging front door reads: "Messaline's Last Stop Saloon and House of Ill Repute". Loud piano music and boisterous voices drift out onto the nearly deserted street through half-open swinging doors.

Hitching up his trousers and throwing out his chest, Wragg squares himself and marches into the place as though he owns it. I follow meekly behind, clutching his waist coat closer to my chest.

The place is full of men … lined up to drink at the bar or seated at tables engaged in games of cards or chance. A dense cloud of tobacco smoke hangs in the stale air, which also reeks of alcohol and sweat.

A number of scantily-clad, heavily rouged young women flit about the room … delivering drinks and flirting with the customers, while deftly avoiding pawing hands. Another girl prances about on a makeshift stage, strategically covering her nudity with a pair of feathery fronds.

Messaline, the proprietress of the joint, sits at a table near the door, counting money and flaunting her long lovely legs.

Wragg pulls out a chair at an empty table, seats himself and slaps down a deck of shiny new cards. I wander over and stand behind him, trying my best to look inconspicuous even though half the place is looking at the place where his waist coat barely covers my tight little bottom.

After a while a thin man, almost skeletal in appearance, walks up to Wragg’s table and says, "mind if I join you … name’s Jolly."

Wragg waves him to a seat, grunting "Wragg, here.”

Soon a second dude shuffles over ... tall, wearing dirty jeans, a well-worn coat and a yellow hat. "Tree," he says as he pulls out a chair and sits. He leans back and lights a cigarette, and looks me over with a practiced eye. I feel as though he has stripped away my waist coat even though I still clutch it to my chest.

A third man approaches ... sporting flamboyantly flowing long blonde hair, a fringed buckskin jacket, and a cavalryman's high shiny boots ... "Custer," he announces loudly, adding "Colonel, U.S. 7th, commanding, at your service. Five-card stud, gentlemen?"

I gasp. There he is in the flesh, the very man I came out west to interview. I start to open my mouth, but Wragg flashes me a quieting look.

"Stakes," says Mr. Jolly, placing pile of banknotes and coins on the table.

Tree produces a leather pouch, blows a ring of smoke, and says, "gold dust."

Custer says "I'm good for it." No one argues. They all look at Wragg.

"I'm good for it," Wragg says smiling broadly.

"No, you ain't stranger,” all three chorus, “show us something or leave.”

"Well, then I stake my girl," Wragg says nonchalantly, waving his hand in my direction.

"Well now. That's a might irregular. Can he do that?” wonders Jolly out loud.

"Sure. Why not? Get her up on the table and show us what she's got," drawls Tree.

The piano stops playing. Conversations stop. Everyone in the room turns, almost in unison, to watch as two cowpokes seize me from behind and lift me up onto the table. I protest at first; then give in, standing in the middle of the table, legs slightly apart, still clutching Wragg's waist coat to me.

"Well?" grunts Custer, tilting back in his chair and looking up at me, “bare it honey!”

Wragg catches my eye, and nods with a “please do this for me now” expression on his face. I look at him in disbelief. What does he think I am? Then my hungry tummy groans. I sigh, shut my eyes, and slowly release the waist coat, which slides down my naked body to the table top, where it gathers in a heap at my ankles.

The place erupts into a cacophony of shrill whistles, applause and catcalls as I stand on the table totally nude. Doing my best to play my part, I place my hand on my hips and toss my hair back. "I can take this for a few minutes,” I think to myself, “but you had better use those gambling skills of yours fast, Mister Wragg.”

"Deal," roars Custer, rocking forward on his hair and peering up between my legs with a shit-eating grin on his face.

I blush with embarrassment at his leer, instinctively move one hand over to cover my mound and gash, and close my legs a bit.

Tree reaches out and gently forces my ankles apart again.

I grimace, but accept my fate, returning my legs to their former spread. Leaning over and craning my neck slightly, I try to see what Wragg has dealt himself, but he holds his cards close to his chest and shoots me a warning look.

The scene is tense now as each of the four players discards and draws.

Jolly sighs, folds his hand, sits back in his chair, and declares himself out.

Tree studies the poker faces of his remaining two opponents, eyes my bare breasts, grins ruefully to himself and folds.

It's come down now to Custer vs. Wragg. New clothes and a hotel room hang in the balance. Time to show. Wragg lays his cards out on the table, gleefully announcing a full house, King’s high.

Custer smiles knowingly, and lays down four-of-a-kind, all Aces.

"Wragg!" I scream, "How could you? You were supposed to win! You said you were going to fleece the locals and win us some cash. I trusted you, damn it!”

Wragg jumps to his feet, face red in anger and confusion. “You cheated!” he shouts at Custer, “two of those cards aren’t even from my deck!”

Custer draws his gun.

Wragg shrugs and sits down quickly, muttering, “Oh, I guess they are from my deck after all.”

“Oh shit!!!!!” I hiss under my breath.

Custer pushes back his chair, stands and reaches for my hand, announcing "Guess she's mine, gentlemen. Winner takes all."

As he helps me down, I reach for the waist coat.

"Leave it there darling, where we are going you won't be needing it," he whispers to me with a sly wink.

Turning, he signals Messaline and announces in a loud voice to the cheers and applause of everyone in the saloon except a dejected Wragg, "Messa, the keys to your best room upstairs please, and throw in a good bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses too! It's party time for me and my new little friend here. Goodnight all!”

Spinning me around, he grabs me at the waist, throws my nude body up and over his shoulder, slaps me across my tight little ass, threads his way across the crowded room, which has broken out into loud “hurrahs” and cries of “save a little for the rest of us”, and clumps up the stairs as I helplessly kick with my feet and pound on his back with my little clenched fists.

TO BE CONTINUED
 
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