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Custer's Little Big Horn

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Wragg134 said:
In enterprise of martial kind,
Whenever there was fighting;
He led his regiment from behind,
He found it less exciting. :rolleyes:
Click to expand...
Well, you're behind Messaging in the lineup, and you might get to show some leadership. I'm (allegedly) on the way with the regiment. As to the excitement level, we must take it as it comes, I suppose. :devil:
 
9. And all attention turns to the defiant and worldly Messaline, owner of Deadwood's most notorious saloon and brothel, but now spread-eagled naked between two posts awaiting torture by the angry women of the Sioux-Comanche encampment at Little Big Horn.

The old squaw who had tortured Siss sits down and is replaced, not by another old hag, but by a young maiden who promptly strips herself naked ... save for a triangular doeskin loin cloth tied to her hips with tiny leather strips. She kneels by the fire to paint her bronzed skin with streaks of dark gray drawn from blackened ends of cold embers lying about the fire pit and with red-brown circles of grease scooped out of an earthen pot.

As the tempo and the intensity of drum beats and chanting escalates, she draws two long brightly glowing iron needles from the fire and advances on Messaline. Cupping the helpless French woman's left breast in one hand, the maiden squeezes its pliable softness so that the nipple protrudes, and then slowly pushes the red hot needle point into and through Messaline's pink areola just below the nipple. I have never heard a scream so loud and animal like!

Quickly the second hot needle is produced and run through the same areola, this time just above the nipple, eliciting the same echoing cry of pain and a trickle of blood that runs down the curve of the French girl's breast before spreading delta-like over her panting ribs.

The maiden returns to the fire pit to pull two more needles from the flames, and as she repeats her cruel little torture on Messaline's other breast, I notice on the horizon ... despite hanging upside down ... a distant dust cloud that appears to be growing and coming nearer.

It must be Custer and the 7th Cavalry coming to our rescue! Jolly must have gotten through! I think to myself that we must be brave now and do everything we can to hold the attention of the Indians in hopes that that they will not notice Custer's imminent arrival until too late.

Meanwhile Messaline is thrashing and wailing so violently and loudly now that the very poles to which I am suspended are shaking. The maiden has moved on from torturing the poor French girl's breasts to making small bloody slices in random places on Messaline's sweat-sheened belly and pubic mound with a small razor-sharp knife blade.

Screams, drums, and chants rise to a crescendo as Messaline's torture climaxes with a flaming branch from the fire thrust between her legs! I cannot watch, and turn my head away ... only to spot Wragg crawling away on hands and knees toward a nearby copse of undergrowth, unobserved by the gathering which appears to be totally transfixed by Messaline's suffering.

But now the attention shifts to me, the third and last of the squaws' victims. I now realize why they have spread-eagled me upside down as two older women come forward carrying a short stout wooden pole with a sharpened end. One of them dips her hand into an earthen pot to extract a glob of hot bear grease that she smears over my pussy, working it into the folds of my labia. The hot grease stings my tender membranes; the excess flowing over my mound, and running down the crack between my ass cheeks.

Then she holds the pole upright between my straining legs, with its sharpened-end pressing down on and working its way between my labia … while the other squaw raises a large stone over the top of the pole, pausing momentarily prior to bringing the stone crashing down. I brace myself and cringe in horror at the prospect of my impending impaling as a distant bugle sounds.

TO BE CONTINUED
 
Barbaria1 said:
9. And all attention turns to the defiant and worldly Messaline, owner of Deadwood's most notorious saloon and brothel, but now spread-eagled naked between two posts awaiting torture by the angry women of the Sioux-Comanche encampment at Little Big Horn.

The old squaw who had tortured Siss sits down and is replaced, not by another old hag, but by a young maiden who promptly strips herself naked ... save for a triangular doeskin loin cloth tied to her hips with tiny leather strips. She kneels by the fire to paint her bronzed skin with streaks of dark gray drawn from blackened ends of cold embers lying about the fire pit and with red-brown circles of grease scooped out of an earthen pot.

As the tempo and the intensity of drum beats and chanting escalates, she draws two long brightly glowing iron needles from the fire and advances on Messaline. Cupping the helpless French woman's left breast in one hand, the maiden squeezes its pliable softness so that the nipple protrudes, and then slowly pushes the red hot needle point into and through Messaline's pink areola just below the nipple. I have never heard a scream so loud and animal like!

Quickly the second hot needle is produced and run through the same areola, this time just above the nipple, eliciting the same echoing cry of pain and a trickle of blood that runs down the curve of the French girl's breast before spreading delta-like over her panting ribs.

The maiden returns to the fire pit to pull two more needles from the flames, and as she repeats her cruel little torture on Messaline's other breast, I notice on the horizon ... despite hanging upside down ... a distant dust cloud that appears to be growing and coming nearer.

It must be Custer and the 7th Cavalry coming to our rescue! Jolly must have gotten through! I think to myself that we must be brave now and do everything we can to hold the attention of the Indians in hopes that that they will not notice Custer's imminent arrival until too late.

Meanwhile Messaline is thrashing and wailing so violently and loudly now that the very poles to which I am suspended are shaking. The maiden has moved on from torturing the poor French girl's breasts to making small bloody slices in random places on Messaline's sweat-sheened belly and pubic mound with a small razor-sharp knife blade.

Screams, drums, and chants rise to a crescendo as Messaline's torture climaxes with a flaming branch from the fire thrust between her legs! I cannot watch, and turn my head away ... only to spot Wragg crawling away on hands and knees toward a nearby copse of undergrowth, unobserved by the gathering which appears to be totally transfixed by Messaline's suffering.

But now the attention shifts to me, the third and last of the squaws' victims. I now realize why they have spread-eagled me upside down as two older women come forward carrying a short stout wooden pole with a sharpened end. One of them dips her hand into an earthen pot to extract a glob of hot bear grease that she smears over my pussy, working it into the folds of my labia. The hot grease stings my tender membranes; the excess flowing over my mound, and running down the crack between my ass cheeks.

Then she holds the pole upright between my straining legs, with its sharpened-end pressing down on and working its way between my labia … while the other squaw raises a large stone over the top of the pole, pausing momentarily prior to bringing the stone crashing down. I brace myself and cringe in horror at the prospect of my impending impaling as a distant bugle sounds.

TO BE CONTINUED
Click to expand...
Just too much! Hard to decide who I'd rather be... all sounds so rather wonderful! The cavalry can go hang! I want more of the young squaw's attention!
 
Barbaria1 said:
9. And all attention turns to the defiant and worldly Messaline, owner of Deadwood's most notorious saloon and brothel, but now spread-eagled naked between two posts awaiting torture by the angry women of the Sioux-Comanche encampment at Little Big Horn.

The old squaw who had tortured Siss sits down and is replaced, not by another old hag, but by a young maiden who promptly strips herself naked ... save for a triangular doeskin loin cloth tied to her hips with tiny leather strips. She kneels by the fire to paint her bronzed skin with streaks of dark gray drawn from blackened ends of cold embers lying about the fire pit and with red-brown circles of grease scooped out of an earthen pot.

As the tempo and the intensity of drum beats and chanting escalates, she draws two long brightly glowing iron needles from the fire and advances on Messaline. Cupping the helpless French woman's left breast in one hand, the maiden squeezes its pliable softness so that the nipple protrudes, and then slowly pushes the red hot needle point into and through Messaline's pink areola just below the nipple. I have never heard a scream so loud and animal like!

Quickly the second hot needle is produced and run through the same areola, this time just above the nipple, eliciting the same echoing cry of pain and a trickle of blood that runs down the curve of the French girl's breast before spreading delta-like over her panting ribs.

The maiden returns to the fire pit to pull two more needles from the flames, and as she repeats her cruel little torture on Messaline's other breast, I notice on the horizon ... despite hanging upside down ... a distant dust cloud that appears to be growing and coming nearer.

It must be Custer and the 7th Cavalry coming to our rescue! Jolly must have gotten through! I think to myself that we must be brave now and do everything we can to hold the attention of the Indians in hopes that that they will not notice Custer's imminent arrival until too late.

Meanwhile Messaline is thrashing and wailing so violently and loudly now that the very poles to which I am suspended are shaking. The maiden has moved on from torturing the poor French girl's breasts to making small bloody slices in random places on Messaline's sweat-sheened belly and pubic mound with a small razor-sharp knife blade.

Screams, drums, and chants rise to a crescendo as Messaline's torture climaxes with a flaming branch from the fire thrust between her legs! I cannot watch, and turn my head away ... only to spot Wragg crawling away on hands and knees toward a nearby copse of undergrowth, unobserved by the gathering which appears to be totally transfixed by Messaline's suffering.

But now the attention shifts to me, the third and last of the squaws' victims. I now realize why they have spread-eagled me upside down as two older women come forward carrying a short stout wooden pole with a sharpened end. One of them dips her hand into an earthen pot to extract a glob of hot bear grease that she smears over my pussy, working it into the folds of my labia. The hot grease stings my tender membranes; the excess flowing over my mound, and running down the crack between my ass cheeks.

Then she holds the pole upright between my straining legs, with its sharpened-end pressing down on and working its way between my labia … while the other squaw raises a large stone over the top of the pole, pausing momentarily prior to bringing the stone crashing down. I brace myself and cringe in horror at the prospect of my impending impaling as a distant bugle sounds.

TO BE CONTINUED
Click to expand...

OHHHHH! :very_hot:

What a relief! :very_hot:

Bless you, Messaline! :bdsm-heart:

You see, there comes a time in a chap's life when he has no option, after a while, but to make a bee-line for the bushes! :oops: :doh:
 
Wragg134 said:
OHHHHH! :very_hot:

What a relief! :very_hot:

Bless you, Messaline! :bdsm-heart:

You see, there comes a time in a chap's life when he has no option, after a while, but to make a bee-line for the bushes! :oops: :doh:
Click to expand...

If you escape, and if I never make it out of this alive Wragg, I hope you will write it all up in your Chronicle and send it to my editor at that big Chicago daily. ;)
 
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