Caution: This Western Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft, Mult, Romantic, Historical, Western, Interracial, Slow, Violent, Nudism, .
Desc: Western Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A man, riding through the old west on an unremarkable day, hears a scream and discovers a rape in progress. Little does he know how his act of kindness will change his life...
It was an unremarkable day. The early afternoon sun bore down from an almost cloudless sky, with just a few scattered wispy clouds breaking up the blue of the sky. While not as hot as it would have been a couple of months earlier at midsummer, it was still more than just warm.
The landscape was unremarkable too. The arid landscape was made up of a mixture of sparse clumps of grass, scraggly-looking bushes and a few stunted trees. While not flat, the ground undulated gently although, in the distance, larger hills led back to higher mountains, indistinct due to the heat haze and dust in the atmosphere.
That dust was being stirred up by the hooves of the horse. Not much, as the horse wasn't moving very fast. Ambling rather than walking, it was holding a steady path across the hard ground which was covered by a layer of fine, dusty sand. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the horse either. A bay stallion of a decent size, he had a white blaze on his nose and a white sock on his left foreleg. He didn't look particularly tired, it was more that he was used to this steady gait which must have been going on for some time and would likely continue for the rest of the day, eating up the ground at a measured rate.
Sitting on the horse was a man. Not moving, except to sway with the steady gait of the horse, he was dressed in the style of the time and place. Pants that had been dark blue once were now faded, the colour further muted by the dust in the air. A check shirt, probably originally red and white, was worn with the sleeves rolled halfway up tanned and muscular arms. A buckskin vest, plain and unadorned, covered most of the shirt. A Stetson-style hat, which probably started life black, was pulled down at the front, shading the rider's eyes and concealing his face.
He sat on what seemed to be a western-style saddle but, for the first time, a knowledgeable observer could notice something unusual. The horn, commonly protruding high on the front of the saddles of working cowhands so that they could fasten ropes to it, was smaller and less prominent. And the stirrups seemed to be a little further forward than convention dictated, although with the rider's legs in the way and his high heeled boots in the stirrups it was difficult to tell for certain. However, this did not seem to be a saddle for working cattle, but one designed to spread the rider's weight more evenly on the horse's back, and allow him to shift his weight forward when covering a lot of ground quickly.
Behind the saddle was a bedroll, tied on, and a rifle could be seen carried in a boot on the left side with its butt angled forward and upwards, so it would avoid the horse's neck.
Seated as he was, it was impossible to accurately judge the rider's height. He seemed to be matched for size with his horse but, as he sat upright although slightly slouched in the saddle, a better measurement was impossible.
The horse continued moving forward at a steady pace. There was no obvious guidance from the rider, but the horse knew what general direction he was taking and carried on at a reasonable pace, his hooves just kicking up the dust.
--:-- A scream broke the silence of the afternoon. High pitched, and seemingly not too distant, it was cut off as suddenly as it had started.
The rider's head jerked up, looking over towards the scrub to his right from where the scream had seemed to come. At the same time, the horse's ears pricked forward and he too turned his head towards the source of that shocking sound. Moving as one, horse and rider wheeled to the right and plunged into a gap between two of the bushes.
No sooner were the pair in the bushes than they stopped and the rider swung down from the saddle. He didn't want to ride into possible danger without knowing what he faced. Dropping the reins, the two unattached pieces hung down towards the ground. He knew that his horse, a travelling companion for many years, wouldn't move far.
Reaching under his vest with his right hand, he drew a revolver from a cross-draw holster mounted on his left side. Cocking it, the trigger, which had previously been concealed, sprang into view underneath. Walking carefully, the man pushed forward into the undergrowth.
As he started to emerge from the other side, he could take in what was happening. A man was standing in a clear area which was partly covered by scrappy grass and partly bare dirt. Scruffily dressed, he was looking towards an area of small bushes and rough grass on the far side of the clearing.
Two horses, still saddled, were tethered to a bush behind him. Further to the left, two unsaddled horses were standing beneath a small tree.
There was movement over on the far side, where the first man was looking. Something pale was moving, but the rider at first couldn't work out what. He could hear grunting too, and panting, and some more high-pitched noises. Suddenly there was a curse, and another man reared up into view.
"She bit me," he shouted, while at the same time someone else let out a wail and another scream. The man's arm rose and fell, there was the sound of a loud impact, and the wails stopped abruptly.
"Give it 'er good," encouraged the scruffy man standing in the clearing as the rider watching from the bushes worked out what he was seeing. The pale movement was the second man's bottom, and he was raping someone underneath him!
Pushing clear of the undergrowth, and holding his revolver in front of him, he shouted out so both men could hear him: "Stop that right now."
Spinning round, the observer in the clearing reached for some kind of pistol at his belt. "Who do you..." he started, but that was all he had time for as the rider shot him in the chest. A puff of dust showed where the bullet struck him, and he fell over backwards.
The man on the ground lurched up and turned over. He too made a movement the rider didn't trust, reaching for some kind of weapon, and another shot rang out. The man continued rolling over onto his other side and stayed still.
A hush descended on the clearing. Nothing moved, and even the local wildlife had been frightened into silence by the sound of the shots.
Treading carefully, and keeping his cocked revolver held ready, the shooter moved over to the first man, lying on his back in the centre of the area. Trying to watch both men at once, he took a quick look down. One glance at the open mouth and staring eyes told him that this one was no further threat.
A few more cautious paces took him to the second man. His face was turned away into the dirt, but a kick rolled him back so that his sightless eyes came into view. This one would not be causing any more trouble either. He lay on his back, scruffy and unshaven from the waist up, with his pants pulled down to below his knees. His penis, now lying limp and largely covered by rough hair, looked damp and messy.
Lying alongside the man, and equally still, was a girl. Totally naked, she lay in the dirt with pieces of cloth and buckskin scattered around. She seemed young, with long hair in disarray and pale brown skin.
Looking once more around the clearing, alert for any more movement or threat, the man crouched down beside her. She was breathing, but had obviously been knocked unconscious by the blow he had witnessed earlier. Her skin was scratched and blotchy in several places and her face was starting to swell and darken. Her groin too was wet and messy. She had obviously been used recently, although that was obvious from what the observer had seen earlier.
The man stood and looked around the clearing again. He could see the girl, and the two dead men, but there were four horses. That reminded him, so he gave a loud whistle. There was some crashing in the bushes, and his horse emerged looking for him. Walking over, he stopped next to his rider.
Patting his ride on the neck, with a quiet "good boy", he walked over to look at the other horses. The two saddled ones had clearly belonged to the dead men. Working cow ponies, they seemed tired and uncared for.
The other two were smaller and, judging by the droppings behind them, had been standing where they were for some time. Simple rope bridles were tied to the low braches of a small tree. The girl must have been on one of these horses. But why were there two?
Leaving the horses where they were, he continued to search. Around the corner of a clump of undergrowth, concealed from where he had first entered the clearing, was what looked like an overnight encampment. A small stone fire circle contained a burned out fire, a couple of blankets were on the ground, and across them was another body. Face down, this one was dressed in buckskin and had black hair with a headband tied at the back. He had moccasins on his feet, and a dark red stain across his back. Obviously, this was the fourth rider.
Turning him over revealed a young Indian, probably in his early twenties. His face was covered with sand from where he had lain, and he had a necklace of small white stones and carnivore teeth. He had been dead for some time.
Not taking time for more than a quick glance around, the man uncocked his revolver and holstered it under the left side of his vest again. There didn't seem to be any more danger and his concern was now for the girl. He grabbed one of the blankets and made his way back to her.
She hadn't moved, but was still breathing shallowly. Apart from being unconscious from the blow she had taken, and the obvious scrapes and bruises, she didn't seem to be seriously injured. He wrapped her carefully in the blanket and, lifting her up carefully, he carried her back to the campsite where he laid her down on the other blanket. Fortunately the dead Indian hadn't bled on it. Pulling the blankets straight, he considered what to do next.
Seeing there wasn't much he could do for the girl until she came round, he decided to tidy up. The dead Indian he dragged to one side. Apart from his buckskins, moccasins and necklace, he had nothing on him.
Before he started on the other two bodies, the man unhooked a water canteen from his horse's saddle and took a quick drink. He would need water for the horses, and probably for the girl when she woke up. Why had the dead Indian made camp here? The number of bushes and trees meant there must be a water source, so he walked around behind the camp. There was a small stream – not much but it was better than nothing in this arid country. Crouching down, he carefully tasted the water. It was warm, but seemed clean and untainted.
With that problem solved, he went to deal with the other two bodies. The one who had been raping the girl was as scruffy as his partner. Unshaven and with dusty and dirty clothes, the man could smell him even as he lay there. His gunbelt lay to one side, he had obviously taken it off as he raped the girl, and it had been that which he was reaching for when he was shot. A pistol was in a holster on one side, a single shot percussion pistol of indeterminate make. On the other side was a useful-looking knife in a leather sheath. A search of the body itself revealed a few coins, and nothing else.
Dragging him to one side of the clearing, the man left him there.
The other body was similarly armed, so the man helped himself to that gunbelt as well. A few more coins were added to the collection, and in searching the body he found that the pants weren't fastened properly. Had this man raped the girl as well, he wondered? How long had they been using her?
With that body also pulled off alongside the other, he returned to check on the girl. She was still out, still breathing and in no obvious danger, but showing no signs of coming round. So he went to check on the horses.
Untying each, one at a time, he led them to the stream and let them drink. He then retied them so they could reach some of the rough local grass and at least get some nourishment. The two Indian ponies were in good condition and seemed untroubled by what had gone on. He dragged the heavy saddles off the other two and gave them a rub down where the saddles had been with a handful of vegetation. Neither horse was in the best condition, but they looked as though some good feed and some rest would restore them to good health.
His own horse the man unsaddled and led to the stream. He left him there, knowing that the trailing reins and his training would keep the horse from wandering, but give him the freedom to drink what he wanted and to feed off the grass on the bank of the stream.
The two men's bedrolls gave up a couple of blankets, a spare pistol and powder, shot and percussion caps for the pistols which were all of the same calibre. There was some beef jerky, a couple of canteens, and a couple of none-too-clean spare shirts.
The Indians' belongings were by the campsite and included a bow and several arrows in a fringed buckskin bag, an ornate set of buckskins with impressive stitching and beadwork, another blanket, and a couple of pots. A knife lay to one side, as though the Indian had dropped it when he had been shot.
He gathered some wood and kindling and restarted the fire. Then, taking his coffee pot from his own pack and all the canteens, he went around to the stream, patting his horse's neck as he walked past. Making sure he was upstream from where the horses had been drinking, he filled them all with fresh water. Returning to the camp, he put a pot of coffee on the fire.
None of the packs had anything similar to a shovel. However, the ground under one of the trees wasn't too hard and the Indian's had a metal bowl, so he started to dig out a shallow grave. It took quite some time, and was hard work so he stripped off his vest and shirt and hung them on a low branch. He would never get down six feet, but he did get down far enough to cover one body. He dragged the Indian over and into the grave, and then filled it back in. It wasn't a great job, but he found a few rocks to cover the mound and hopefully prevent the local wildlife from digging the body back up again.
The other two he would leave out in the open for that wildlife to enjoy, once the girl had recovered enough to be on her way. But he did cover them over with their own threadbare blankets.
He went back to the fire, and poured himself a coffee into a tin mug he took from his pack. Spreading his own blanket, he looked to see how the girl was doing. Seeing no change, he wandered back to the tree to recover his shirt, then went to the stream to swill off the dust and sweat from his digging. Wandering back to the campsite, buttoning his shirt as he went, he paused to look down at the girl who, still wrapped in her blanket, hadn't moved since he laid her there.
Her brown eyes looked back up at him...