Chapter 6

Margaret was down on all fours not far from the fire. The mountain man called Kit was a dead weight on her tail bone and he was humping her about as hard as she had been humped by a non-Indian male to the best of her recollection.

His juice flooded her down below giving her the energy she needed to fall asleep and charge up her battered body for the trials and tribulations of the next day’s stress. She was unable to see it in the dark, but his cock must have been overly large because her womanhood was stretched in an unusual manner, and she had that sense of fullness in her posterior that generally came from the need to take a dump out of sight of any other humans in close proximity. He had accidently gone in the wrong entrance in his haste to pump her full of his mountain man joy-juice, but thankfully had retreated to the correct female entrance with a single word of apology for his error.

Truthfully, she missed the anal fun her husband at given her with his drunken orgies at the Fort. Her experience with the Indians was that they carefully stayed away from rear door sex because of some superstition about posterior loving that came from so long ago nobody remembered where it came from. She had always been a bit partial to it because it made her feel like she was being bad and that gave her an edge over the males that seemed to find it desirable enough to beg her to grant them her anal favors for extra food or gifts to make her more receptive to their advances.

She remembered the Frenchman was addicted to the anal fun and games and she enjoyed being his receptacle for his copious spunk in the dark of night.

Margaret was sad the Frenchman lost his chance of owning her at the auction, but she put it down to fate and accepted it because she had other plans than being a slave for the rest of her life.

The mountain man’s retinue was haphazard to say the least but they were loyal to the core. The former slaves worked willingly and shared in his profits when he sold his furs. She knew she was the new female in his bed and they put up with her because they were not sure how long she would be around the camp because things were constantly changing. Kit gave her a pony of her own.

It was one of the Indian small horses.

She called him Randy.

It was an inside joke to her because she had nicknamed her husband’s dick “Randy” because all the females at the Fort would use the term to describe any soldier with a need to use his cock for sexual relations. In the military lifestyle, that was a scenario that was more frequent than rare, and she was constantly aroused by the feel of the pony’s muscles between her legs as she rode him bareback without a saddle. In the Indian world, saddles were a luxury and a nuisance used only by the white people and an added unnecessary weight on their horse’s back at a time when speed was the difference between life and death.

She still had her hide-out gun hidden underneath her clothing, but she only had the two rounds for it. It they got to a town, the first thing she would do would be to buy spare ammo for the gun that she cleaned every night before going to sleep. The mountain man also gave her a spare “buffalo” gun that was used to take down the huge animals one at a time using only one bullet in the right spot right behind their hairy ears.

Margaret knew the time of the buffalo had passed but the Indians refused to leave their timeless hunting grounds from the force of sheer habit. Their way of life was changing rapidly, and they blamed the invasion of white settlers for their worsening conditions.

She considered the possibility of moving along on her own, but she felt a bond of loyalty to the mountain man because he had been more than fair with her, and she liked him despite his advanced years and cranky ways. She coupled with him a few times, but she could tell he was ashamed of his inability to get it up for proper copulation, and he told her point blank all he wanted to do was just relax and have a normal conversation.

They cut trail on other trappers late the next day and Kit told her, “They are having a big pow wow down by the fork of the rivers and we should probably head there because there will be buyers for our skins as certain as the Sun will come up with each new day.”

She thought there might be a chance of getting one of the younger mountain men to hump her with a proper attitude and she went to the river to primp up her hair and other feminine parts to encourage some action of the carnal variety. Kit knew what she was doing but he didn’t care because he was unable to function in that way any longer and he wanted her to have a good time.

They came up on the encampment suddenly on the far side of the fast rushing river. Kit told her they had to go down river about a mile to reach a less stressful fording place and she was all in favor of that caution because her swimming ability was severely lacking.