Chapter 3

For some time after her sordid affair with Rose, Pony-Girl was concerned with her sexuality. She was beginning to worry that she was perhaps one of those girls that only chased after women and ran away from a hard dick at first sight.

She really like Rose and they continued to be good friends but they both knew their interests were really in finding a suitable cock to give them dependable servicing on a regular basis with some degree of faithfulness that would give them confidence in his sincerity.

Strangely, she found that combination in the person of Alfie Brown.

Alfie was not really a citizen.

He had actually overstayed his visa and was in the country illegally but that didn’t bother Pony-Girl at all because in her mind her life on the reservation was not subject to borders or rules and regulations for the non-Indian Americans living outside the Reservation in a separate world of high-tech and hedonistic society.

Alfie was unusual because he was big, he was strong, and he didn’t mind taking orders when they made sense and didn’t conflict with his agenda on any given day.

Pony-Girl was in lust with Alfie’s big dick the very first time she saw it under the cold shower behind the stable for the farm animals and visiting horse riders.

Not too many of the reservation residents used that facility because the water was as cold as shit and your teeth would start chattering before you could get dried off. It was a lot easier to use the schoolhouse shower or the one at the shelter paid for by the Federal Government in the event of some drastic event. She had used it a couple of times against her best judgement because she suspected some of the horny schoolboys were peeking at the girls showering after a long day of working in the vegetable fields.

Poor Alfie was all embarrassed but he certainly had nothing to be embarrassed about because the shadow of his cock was like a long lance on the ground pointing in her direction and making her look down and not directly in his eyes so he couldn’t see the lust hidden in her sinful soul.

Pony-Girl decided to “go for broke” and she shed all her clothes and got into the shower stall using her own soap because she had the nice brand from the white people’s market off the reservation proper. She checked out Alfie’s equipment and saw that he was in a fully extended mode of operation. He let her get right in the center and covered her heart-shaped buttocks with his friendly weapon up close and personal to the point that she thought he might stick it in her poop chute like one of those perverts all charged up on firewater on a Saturday night.

Instead, he slid right up her baby-making channel and she had never felt so stretched and full before.

They did the Indian rain dance under the cold water and she took him all the way inside like a girl doing it for cash money or for losing a bet.

She had never sold her pussy and didn’t intend to start anytime soon. As far as betting went, she would only bet on a “sure thing” and in her humble opinion that was a once in a lifetime situation.

The big Indian worker was coming down the home stretch of his pounding technique and she was beginning to see things a lot clearer because she knew her chimes were on the edge of getting rung with a vengeance and an orgasm that she would remember for a very long time.

The big man started to drain with an imitation war-whoop to signal his winning at the carnal derby with no other runner anywhere near his almost perfect performance.

Pony-Girl ignored the cold water and tried her best to contain her orgasm to a ladylike dance of joyful release. At the edge of the tree-line, she was certain she saw several young men watching her shameful demonstration of how not to behave in mixed company.

The strong and silent Alfie left her standing there with no words of appreciation for her gift of feminine favors given at random and with an attitude that wanted nothing in return.

Her calendar had the first Monday of the next month written for hosting the delegation from the Indian Affairs Bureau and she knew that there were many unanswered questions that the common reservation dwellers had been asking for almost an entire decade.

This time she hoped they would be more forthcoming because the central government had undergone a complete change of party and it was rumored that some of the unkempt promises from the previous administration might be attended to in this iteration of reservation management.

Pony-Girl had no confidence that the supposed sympathetic new bureaucracy would be any better than the failing and corrupt past ones, but she was, at least, willing to hold a remnant of hope that change was flickering on the horizon with a promise of a better future for the forgotten people.

The reservation Council Police Chief Danny Deepwater was doing his best to shape up the less savory tribal citizens into neutral lumps of humanity at least for the duration of the fact-finding visit. He was one of those strange full-bloods with a lot of time in the American Nation military and even some study time at the State University. He had no less than three wives, Dorothy Sweet Bottom with her focus on anything that gave her blanket time needs substance on a cold winter’s night, Mary Jumping Eagle with the two half-white babies that made her less than welcome in the sweat lodge when the reservation women went there to swap wild stories about what the reservation males were up to, and last, but not least, Ms. Prim and Proper, Marjorie Morningstar, with her romantic foolishness and writing ways that seemed to make her a victim every time the over-sexed Police Chief mounted her right in front of his other envious wives each time he drank too much beer watching the crime shows on television.

Pony-Girl had turned down his proposition that she bend over the schoolhouse desk for him when the children were out in the playground learning how to co-exist with each other in a chaotic world. It wasn’t because she didn’t think his dick was unworthy of her sometimes lonely blanket-sharing time, but because he already had a half-dozen ninos running around his double-wide like rug-rats with no sense or desire to listen to anyone fully grown.