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Custer's Little Big Horn

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Thanks for the appreciation. Actually, apart from the time travelling Mrs. Thatcher (she was coincidently in London that year for visiting the painter Dante Gabriel Rossetti:D), I took my inspiration from the very troubled relationship between Grant and Custer, the months before the battle of Little Big Horn.

As reads Wikipedia:

"The expedition against the Sioux was originally scheduled to leave Fort Abraham Lincoln on April 6, 1876, but on March 15 Custer was summoned to Washington to testify at Congressional hearings. These concerned the corruption scandal involving U.S. Secretary of War William W. Belknap (who had resigned March 2), President Grant's brother Orville, and traders at Army posts in Indian Country, who were charging troops double what they would have paid for the same goods in Bismarck, North Dakota. Soldiers were required by regulations to purchase goods from the traders. Belknap had been selling trading post positions.[35] After Custer testified on March 29 and April 4 before the Clymer Committee, Belknap was impeached and sent to the Senate for trial. Custer left Washington on April 20, but instead of immediately returning to Fort Lincoln, he visited the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia and planned to travel to New York to meet with publishers.[citation needed]

Custer's testimony was a sensation because of what he said and because he was the one saying it. Custer was sharply criticized by the Republican press and praised by Democratic editors.[36] President Grant held up Custer's departure from Washington. Grant and Custer did not get along. Earlier Custer had arrested Grant's son, Fred Grant, for drunkenness. Now Custer was accusing Grant's brother and Secretary of War of corruption. Custer was writing magazine articles criticizing Grant's peace policy towards the Indians. Brigadier General Alfred Terry determined there were no available officers of rank to take command, but Sherman refused to intercede. Stunned that he would not be in command, Custer approached the impeachment managers and secured his release. General Sherman advised Custer not to leave Washington before meeting personally with President Grant. Three times Custer requested meetings with Grant, but was always turned down. Custer gave up and took a train to Chicago on May 2, planning to rejoin his regiment.[37] On May 3, a member of Sheridan's staff greeted Custer in Chicago. President Grant had ordered Custer's arrest for leaving Washington without permission. President Grant had designated General Terry to command the expedition in Custer's place. Custer took a train to St. Paul to meet General Terry.[36]

Brigadier General Terry met Custer in Fort Snelling, Minnesota on May 6. He later recalled, "(Custer) with tears in his eyes, begged for my aid. How could I resist it?"[citation needed] Terry wrote to Grant attesting to the advantages of Custer's leading the expedition. Sheridan endorsed his effort, accepting Custer's "guilt" and suggesting his restraint in future. Grant was already under pressure for his treatment of Custer. His administration worried that if the "Sioux campaign" failed without Custer, Grant would be blamed for ignoring the recommendations of senior Army officers. On May 8, Custer was informed at Fort Snelling that he was to lead the 7th Cavalry, but under Terry's direct supervision.

Before leaving Fort Snelling, Custer spoke to General Terry's chief engineer, Captain Ludlow, saying he would "cut loose" from Terry and operate independently from him. Custer presented Bloody Knife, his Arikara ("Ree") scout, with several gifts. Custer told Bloody Knife and some Arikara scouts that this would be his last Indian campaign. Custer further stated that if the scouts helped him win a victory, he would become president and look after the Arikaras from the White House.[38] Some doubt has been cast however on this story of Custer telling the Arikaras that he would become president.[39"

And I thought I was taking a risk putting my faith in Jolly to save us; now I have to worry about Custer too .... come to think of it, my encounter with Custer at Messaline's Saloon and House of Ill Repute back in Deadwood can hardly be described as providing me with a good character reference for the Colonel. After all, what did he do? He won me in a card game, had me spreadeagled nude on a bed and whipped me mercilessly; and then left without saying good-bye and he knows that I possess a damning secret about him. Now I wonder if that whole episode was about him taking his anger with Grant out on me? I also have to wonder now whether his expedition to save Siss, Messaline and me is nothing more to his vanity-warped mind than a "death ride"?

Well, we will just have to see how this plays out, won't we? Keep checking here, everyone, for new episodes. Next one coming soon.
 
In the '60s and early '70s (1960s and 1970s- not the 1800s) when Tree was going to grade and high school history was taught in grade school when our minds full of mush could not comprehend what they were telling us anyway and what they were was from what today would be an unacceptable very slanted Anglo-American point of view. Custer was a hero cut down in his prime and the Indians were slaughtering savages. Today they teach that the white man was slaughtering savages and the Native Americans were innocent lambs wiped out by robber barons that controlled the government. The truth lies somewhere in the middle. I have a PM thread where things political are discussed (civilly) and to avoid polluting this fine thread if anyone care to join PM me. It certainly doesn't have to stay with American politics and has the usual 'off the rails' discussions that we have here'. I will be out much of today as real life interferes so if you do PM me I will get to you... patience please!!!

T
 
And I thought I was taking a risk putting my faith in Jolly to save us; now I have to worry about Custer too .... come to think of it, my encounter with Custer at Messaline's Saloon and House of Ill Repute back in Deadwood can hardly be described as providing me with a good character reference for the Colonel. After all, what did he do? He won me in a card game, had me spreadeagled nude on a bed and whipped me mercilessly; and then left without saying good-bye and he knows that I possess a damning secret about him. Now I wonder if that whole episode was about him taking his anger with Grant out on me? I also have to wonder now whether his expedition to save Siss, Messaline and me is nothing more to his vanity-warped mind than a "death ride"?

Well, we will just have to see how this plays out, won't we? Keep checking here, everyone, for new episodes. Next one coming soon.
Be assure Tree waits with bourbon bated breath!!!
 
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I remember as a high school student I read a biography of Custer and did a book report. Interesting fellow, he was. Graduated at the bottom of his class at West Point. Had a reputation of galloping at full speed on his horse with his golden locks flying. And that worked for him several times. He didn't wait for reinforcements because he wanted all the glory, which eventually cost him his life and all his men.

Reminds me of a certain blond guy running for president. Sorry, that probably wasn't politically correct to say on this site.
 
8. After two long days of travel ... draped face-down and naked over the back of a horse ... we enter the great Sioux encampment on the banks of the Little Big Horn. The size of the tribal gathering is enormous. Teepee lodges stretch as far as the eye can see, and the entire encampment buzzes with activity.

We are taken down off the horses before entering camp, and forced to walk the last half mile or so, led by a rope looped around our necks. Our hands are tightly bound behind our backs, forcing us to walk with our chests thrown out.

I am in the lead, followed by Siss and Messaline. Wragg ... the only one among our little group of captives still wearing any clothing ... brings up the rear, muttering something to himself about Queen Victoria and his desire for a good stiff drink.

Walking alongside me, the warrior who calls himself 'Hanging Tree' tells me in a low voice how sorry he is about what is about to happen to me and my friends. The Sioux and Comanche women have been promised revenge, he explains, for what the 'blue jackets' did to so many innocents at Sand Creek. We are to be turned over to the squaws, and can expect to suffer horribly at their hands.

And as if to confirm his words, we are surrounded as we trudge through the encampment by milling hordes of angry old women, who jabber excitedly among themselves while hurling at us, in their own language, what can only be insults and threats of horrors to come.

We wind through the encampment until we are brought to what seems to serve as the central gathering space ... a piece of open ground on one side of which a number of poles have been driven, spaced evenly apart, into the hard ground.

We are brought to a halt and lined up facing a raised mound upon which the great Sioux chieftain, Sitting Bull, takes his place, arms raised to command the attention of the great mass of his people gathered all around.

"What is he saying?" I ask Hanging Tree, who along with several other warriors hold the four of us firmly in their grip.

"He is calling on the spirits, and taking personal credit for taking you and your friends captive so that a revengeful justice may be taken on the deceitful murdering Whites, who despoil our land and destroy our way of life."

"Sounds like a politician."

"He is."

Sitting Bull concludes his fiery speech and everyone begins chanting to the rhythm of beating drums. The din is frighteningly loud and ominous in tone.

We are shoved forward toward the waiting poles. Helping hands tie us to them by our wrists and ankles, so that we are stretched spreadeagled between pairs of poles ... Messaline on the far right, Siss in the middle, and me on the left ... except, unlike the other two, they stretch me between the poles upside down, my long brown hair hanging in the dust. Wragg is left sitting on the ground to watch.

The ordeal begins with the torture of Siss, who is chosen first perhaps because of her blonde hair and blue eyes, which seem to fascinate the savages. Excitement rises. The tempo of the drumbeat increases and the chanting and howling reaches a fever pitch.

An old stooped woman ... her face so leathery and wrinkled by weather and time that she looks like she could be a hundred ... approaches Siss with a bramble branch in hand. She surveys her helpless victim for a moment; then vigorously brushes the thorny ends, again and again, across the front of Siss' nude body, leaving dozens of long thin, cris-crossing scratch marks and specks of blood all over her bare breasts, tummy, mound and straining thighs. Siss throws her head back and cries out, and the old hag grins in wicked satisfaction.

Dropping the branch, the old woman comes closer, extending a bony hand down to cup the blonde girl's crotch. Then, as the gathered savages howl their approval, the old squaw rudely forces her gnarled digits between the lips of Siss' open pussy, and begins to finger her vigorously. As she adds to the general uproar by wailing a lament in her high pitched voice, the squaw's fingers dart in and out furiously, causing her helpless victim's hips to twist and buck wildly ... juices flowing down her thighs.

As Siss orgasms with a throaty groan, followed by a long drawn-out scream, the woman keeps going, laughing and curling her fingers deep inside Siss' pussy. The poor blonde girl’s belly spasms and ripples uncontrollably ... juices spurting and gushing with each ripple until she finally faints and hangs limp. Before walking away, the squaw takes her cum covered hand and smears the slimy milky fluid, mixed with blood and sweat, all over Siss’ breasts, and tummy.

She bows and melts into the crowd as another old squaw steps forward to wreak here vengeance on Messaline.

TO BE CONTINUED


Special thanks on this one to Siss for her extensive help with plotting and writing.
 
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I remember as a high school student I read a biography of Custer and did a book report. Interesting fellow, he was. Graduated at the bottom of his class at West Point. Had a reputation of galloping at full speed on his horse with his golden locks flying. And that worked for him several times. He didn't wait for reinforcements because he wanted all the glory, which eventually cost him his life and all his men.

Reminds me of a certain blond guy running for president. Sorry, that probably wasn't politically correct to say on this site.

Don't worry I make a habit of saying things on this site that get me in trouble. The worst that can happen is that you will be crucified.
 
Wragg ... the only one among our little group of captives still wearing any clothing ...

.

Well, I suppose I'm glad that little bit of discrimination works in my favour....maybe Her Majesty put in a good word for me ;)

Walking alongside me, the warrior who calls himself 'Hanging Tree' tells me in a low voice how sorry he is about what is about to happen to me and my friends. The Sioux and Comanche women have been promised revenge, he explains, for what the 'blue jackets' did to so many innocents at Sand Creek. We are to be turned over to the squaws, and can expect to suffer horribly at their hands.
.

Ah, at least there's one decent cove amongst these savages! :cool:

The ordeal begins with the torture of Siss,

As Siss orgasms with a throaty groan, followed by a long drawn-out scream, the woman keeps going, laughing and curling her fingers deep inside Siss' pussy. The poor blonde girl’s belly spasms and ripples uncontrollably ... juices spurting and gushing with each ripple until she finally faints and hangs limp. Before walking away, the squaw takes her cum covered hand and smears the slimy milky fluid, mixed with blood and sweat, all over Siss’ breasts, and tummy.

She bows and melts into the crowd as another old squaw steps forward to wreak here vengeance on Messaline.

.

Some of these tales of torture leave me quite overcome! :very_hot:
 
Well, I suppose I'm glad that little bit of discrimination works in my favour....maybe Her Majesty put in a good word for me ;)



Ah, at least there's one decent cove amongst these savages! :cool:



Some of these tales of torture leave me quite overcome! :very_hot:

maybe Her Majesty put in a good word for me

Some people are delusional :rolleyes:
 
8. After two long days of travel ... draped face-down and naked over the back of a horse ... we enter the great Sioux encampment on the banks of the Little Big Horn. The size of the tribal gathering is enormous. Teepee lodges stretch as far as the eye can see, and the entire encampment buzzes with activity.

We are taken down off the horses before entering camp, and forced to walk the last half mile or so, led by a rope looped around our necks. Our hands are tightly bound behind our backs, forcing us to walk with our chests thrown out.

I am in the lead, followed by Siss and Messaline. Wragg ... the only one among our little group of captives still wearing any clothing ... brings up the rear, muttering something to himself about Queen Victoria and his desire for a good stiff drink.

Walking alongside me, the warrior who calls himself 'Hanging Tree' tells me in a low voice how sorry he is about what is about to happen to me and my friends. The Sioux and Comanche women have been promised revenge, he explains, for what the 'blue jackets' did to so many innocents at Sand Creek. We are to be turned over to the squaws, and can expect to suffer horribly at their hands.

And as if to confirm his words, we are surrounded as we trudge through the encampment by milling hordes of angry old women, who jabber excitedly among themselves while hurling at us, in their own language, what can only be insults and threats of horrors to come.

We wind through the encampment until we are brought to what seems to serve as the central gathering space ... a piece of open ground on one side of which a number of poles have been driven, spaced evenly apart, into the hard ground.

We are brought to a halt and lined up facing a raised mound upon which the great Sioux chieftain, Sitting Bull, takes his place, arms raised to command the attention of the great mass of his people gathered all around.

"What is he saying?" I ask Hanging Tree, who along with several other warriors hold the four of us firmly in their grip.

"He is calling on the spirits, and taking personal credit for taking you and your friends captive so that a revengeful justice may be taken on the deceitful murdering Whites, who despoil our land and destroy our way of life."

"Sounds like a politician."

"He is."

Sitting Bull concludes his fiery speech and everyone begins chanting to the rhythm of beating drums. The din is frighteningly loud and ominous in tone.

We are shoved forward toward the waiting poles. Helping hands tie us to them by our wrists and ankles, so that we are stretched spreadeagled between pairs of poles ... Messaline on the far right, Siss in the middle, and me on the left ... except, unlike the other two, they stretch me between the poles upside down, my long brown hair hanging in the dust. Wragg is left sitting on the ground to watch.

The ordeal begins with the torture of Siss, who is chosen first perhaps because of her blonde hair and blue eyes, which seem to fascinate the savages. Excitement rises. The tempo of the drumbeat increases and the chanting and howling reaches a fever pitch.

An old stooped woman ... her face so leathery and wrinkled by weather and time that she looks like she could be a hundred ... approaches Siss with a bramble branch in hand. She surveys her helpless victim for a moment; then vigorously brushes the thorny ends, again and again, across the front of Siss' nude body, leaving dozens of long thin, cris-crossing scratch marks and specks of blood all over her bare breasts, tummy, mound and straining thighs. Siss throws her head back and cries out, and the old hag grins in wicked satisfaction.

Dropping the branch, the old woman comes closer, extending a bony hand down to cup the blonde girl's crotch. Then, as the gathered savages howl their approval, the old squaw rudely forces her gnarled digits between the lips of Siss' open pussy, and begins to finger her vigorously. As she adds to the general uproar by wailing a lament in her high pitched voice, the squaw's fingers dart in and out furiously, causing her helpless victim's hips to twist and buck wildly ... juices flowing down her thighs.

As Siss orgasms with a throaty groan, followed by a long drawn-out scream, the woman keeps going, laughing and curling her fingers deep inside Siss' pussy. The poor blonde girl’s belly spasms and ripples uncontrollably ... juices spurting and gushing with each ripple until she finally faints and hangs limp. Before walking away, the squaw takes her cum covered hand and smears the slimy milky fluid, mixed with blood and sweat, all over Siss’ breasts, and tummy.

She bows and melts into the crowd as another old squaw steps forward to wreak here vengeance on Messaline.

TO BE CONTINUED


Special thanks on this one to Siss for her extensive help with plotting and writing.
From all my experiences of living in Europe I think you will enjoy the 'poles'.... tee hee.... (well I think you will, I just wish I was with you... you know that....!!!)
 
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