Chapter 4

One rock woman was uncommonly filled with the blood-lust of the warrior clan.

She knew it was not the role of a female cave-woman to be out there breaking heads and generally fucking up enemy fighters from opposing tribes. Her new role of defending the home territory came from a sense of horror at the way some of the other tribes treated the captive women and children from the losing tribes.

The strong and beautiful woman was more inclined to savor the pleasures of taking it from behind like an obedient blanket humper but the shortage of men necessitated her call to duty as a rock-thrower on the front line.

Her blanket sharers were the twin tiger-killing warriors that enjoyed sharing her in a way that the other cave-dwellers found delightful to watch from a safe distance. She accepted their complete dominance over her whenever she was on the pile of warm furs that lined the dark corner of the large cave used by the band of raiders that scoured the coastline for food and captives to bolster their numbers.

One-rock woman had been originally been taken captive from a passing boat run aground by the fish-eating tribe. They had not treated her well and she was happy when the rock-throwing tribe liberated her for duty as a new blanket humper and service as a worker for the good of the tribe. Her intense concentration in pleasuring the male members of the tribe was received with a warm welcome and she was accorded a degree of respect that many life-long members had yet to achieve.

She was dressed only in the leather loin cloth that covered her privates and her breasts were free to the sun and the elements like ripe fruit pointing to the sky.

Her famous rock-throwing device was slung around her neck like symbol of authority and she carried a full dozen rounded surface rocks in her pouch on her back. The other younger male members of the tribe had recently attempted to change their ways of simple hand throwing to imitate her style of fighting because she was able to kill the enemy a much further distance than they had ever thought possible.

The stream on the other side of the grassy hill was filled with the sounds of grunting women working in the water to wash the dirt from their meager garments and kill any little insects that had gotten into the furs and leather and infiltrated their long hair with painful bites.

One-rock woman hated those little critters and she went to the river to bathe every morning in a way that the other rock-throwers found amusing to watch.

Fortunately, there were no children in the group below and that meant this little bonus prize of female flesh was prime for taking back to their home cave for blanket duty and other labors of the menial kind.

One of the young warriors crawled up behind her and softly molded his long muscular body into the welcoming mounds of her posterior flanks. It was a bit disrespectful since she was a recognized fighter in her own right and should have been considered above such foolishness on the dangerous trail for finding needed food and new blood for the tribe to bolster their ability to defend their territory.

The young man’s hardness was under her flap now and he was grunting like a pig in heat. She feared that his ardor was a danger to the raid and she simply opened her legs and took him inside so deeply that she now had him captive in her womanhood like fly inside a spider’s friendly web with no place to escape from his fate.

One-rock woman pushed up into the young fool’s groin with practiced ease and she knew that her tight interior muscles would soon have this impulsive fighter draining his load without any ability to hold back and make unnecessary noise that might give away their position. The other fighters could hear them but she managed to service him and calm him almost immediately and he rolled off her satiated like dog with a bone all chewed and eaten.

She recognized him as the son of milk woman and remembered his name was dog-boy because of his obsession for rear humping females on other blankets when their men were off fighting or hunting for food. He was a bit young for a long-range patrol of this nature but he was a good rock-thrower and followed orders without questions most of the time.

The petite woman wiped her legs clean and made a vow that he would discover her wrath later when he least expected it. That was her key to survival in such matters and she generally bent with the wind like a reed in the river rather than stand up bravely against the storm and wind up broken on the ground good for nothing except starting a fire when she rotted to the proper dryness for flame.

They swooped down on the women in the river and swiftly hustled them off down the hillside to the cover of the forest only minutes away from the river that led straight to the other tribe’s den.

There was no sound of pursuit and only the heaving breathing of the captives could be heard in the suddenly silent woods.

The entire party moved deeper into the forest and One-rock woman backtracked with her tiger-killing husbands to scout the trail for possible pursuit. She was the first one to see the small detachment of about a half-dozen enemy tribe members looking for signs on the ground and when the leader stood up, she hurled her best rock at him killing him instantly with a blow to the center of his forehead. The war-painted man dropped like a stone to the ground and the others scattered in every direction not knowing how many enemy they faced in the fading light of the late afternoon sun.