Episode 2: Posse Whipped

Waking up at the crack of dawn was never easy. The mountain air chilly but refreshing helped. Especially when your attic apartment had no furnace to warm up by. Merely a space heater on the floor. One that Stacy Puma rarely used for fear of catching her happy home on fire. Sleeping under multiple blankets including a large beaver fur comforter that was passed down from her great grandmother when she passed away it kept her warm. It gave her history meaning. Her Apache heritage meant a lot to her. Yet, the modern ways of the white man consumed her. She could live without possessions, but it was nice to have. The fur was so warm and cozy Stacy hated getting out of bed.

She knew she had too, committed to her three-mile run each morning. Sometimes accompanied by her brother Griffin, when his job with the police department allowed it. She never knew when he would join her though. Being a local police officer kept him busy. Between that and his white ass girlfriend Bree. For the most part Stacy was on her own.

It was a rough life though. Her apartment above her brother’s old barn was tiny but heartfelt. Decorated with tribal memories. Photos on the wall of her family in better times. She loved her parents, but they were rarely around as she grew up. Alcoholics both, they spent most of their off time drunk and high. She managed to avoid that curse. However, she liked the occasional cigarette to relax by. With no real income she chose to make a single pack last two weeks. One week ago, she brought home $200 from her first online show. That helped her habit. A carton bought would last her a month or more.

Food essential but again she rarely ate much anyway. Growing up with parents that blew their hard-earned cash on themselves taught her to survive without. That favor helped her maintain her body weight. She loved her body, especially her piercings which she opted to put back in yesterday. Both nipples having realistic looking arrows shot through them made her laugh. From her belly button dangled a knife and tomahawk that she herself made. Her heritage important she loved to promote. She wanted to get her clit pierced when her money allowed it. Image important to her she knew she had to share her wild side more to attract a loyal fanbase. No more, Little Miss Nice Squaw! Stacy Puma was on a mission. Some might call it destructive; she called it life.

A nude sleeper she crawls from bed finally and stretches. Opening up her only window let the fresh air revive her. She would smoke her morning cigarette from her hay bale door which propped wide but had a rope to draw it closed once done sending up smoke signals. Every aspect of her actions she often made fun of herself using her native family traits. Her exhibitionist tendencies led her down a back staircase on the outside of the barn, the only real entrance. Her brother had fashioned an outdoor shower for her. Water running from the house. A cold reminder of her less than thrilling life. Standing beneath a cold rain she shivered and closed her eyes. Cleansing her spirit was something she learned from her great grandfather. That and the shrill native cry of “HOLY SHIT!”

Washing away her past life she dried off and pinched her arrow impaled nipples good morning. She loved exciting herself. Griffin’s house was to her left yet out of direct view of her shower. He had put up a curtain, but the winds kept knocking it down. Finally, she convinced him to let the world see. She loved her freedom. Although a cop who could object to her indecent exposure, he allowed it. He loved his baby sister. The one thing he didn’t agree with was a wide-open toilet. He built a shower curtain fence around it and gave it a roof in case of rain or snow. During the winter he would allow her the use of the home he and Bree lived in. Sure, she could use those facilities anytime she wanted. But Stacy needed independence. Only during the cold months would she agree to shower in the house.

Within the proverbial outhouse he built a basin. However, it was a large bowl. She would have to fill her bowl from the shower using a plastic pitcher to use to wash her hands or brush her teeth. A tiny handheld mirror hung upside down over the basin. As she brushed her teeth, she motivated herself for her morning run. At least the cigarette taste was gone. Stepping from her outhouse Stacy smelled coffee. Turning to her left she found her source.

“Morning Streaker.”

“Hey Bree. Griffin going running this morning?”

Her brother’s girlfriend was a stunning redhead with lily white skin. Her long red hair curly and full. Brilliant green eyes sparkled at all times. Thin with long legs and a meager 32C set of tits. She had brought Stacy a mug of coffee freshly brewed.

“Not this time. He had to cover a late shift. He needed sleep. Coffee?”

“Thanks Paleface.” Claiming the steaming mug, she sipped then blew into it to cool the brew down.

“I’ll never get used to your hatred of clothing.”

“In time. I love my freedom. Besides we don’t have any neighbors behind the property.”

“Not behind. But we do beside us. You do know Kahane watches you when he’s home.”

Kahane Bridges was an elder African American male. Discharged from the Army back in the 90’s when he lost his legs due to a mortar attack in Afghanistan. He lived the quiet life resorted to tooling around in a wheelchair. He was harmless.

“If it gives him a thrill, I’m all for it. He’s a sweetheart.” Stacy shrugs with a coy smile.

Bree merely shook her head, “Anyway! What’s on your agenda today? Job hunting?”

“Most likely. I’ve shot out a dozen online job applications in the last three days. Nobody wants me. Well, they want me, want me.”

“Ego much?” Bree smirked, “You are beautiful, I can understand why. They need to see you in person. I never had faith in faceless applications.”

“Right. I’ll head into the city later and shake my booty. Just need to get my morning run in first. Thanks for the coffee, Creamer.” She razzed the redhead for her milky white flesh. Bree was used to her put downs. They were never ending.

“Any time. I’m off Dispatch today. Need a ride?”

Stacy offers a expression of deep thought while puckering her lips, “No. I plan on being out all day. Determination.” Shaking her head again Bree grins at her future sister-in-law. She knew the girl well enough to see mischief in her eyes.

“Okay. Good luck.”

“I’ll need it.”

Stacy heads back up the wooden stairwell and finishes her coffee. The mug left on her TV tray end table beside a beige loveseat. Going to her small ass three drawer dresser to choose what to wear she decided upon a pair of extremely short skintight grey cotton shorts. Those shorts were so high on her thighs that they revealed her ass cheeks in all of their curvaceous freedom. They were so tight they crept up inside her cheeks leaving a sweet shadow that would stop traffic for a better look. Swearing off panties she had a cameltoe that smiled hello to everyone. Loving her firm tummy, she wore a matching grey tank style bra. It was made of t-shirt cotton material and held up by micro thin shoulder straps. Her chest was made to bounce. Firmness didn’t bother her a bit. Let the girl’s dance. Her pain threshold was so advanced that even after a three-mile run her chest barely ached. No pain no gain she thought. Pink striped gym socks reached her kneecaps. Pink tennis shoes her final touch. For an Apache warrior she did like girly things. A Denver Broncos ballcap turned backwards on her head finished off her attire.

Ready to run she snatched up her cell and tucks it into her shorts directly over her arrowhead pubes where it was constricted the most. On vibrate if anyone would call her to capture a thrill. The tightness of her shorts would keep it from falling out. Tiny iPod with earplugs inserted she chose her jams and headed down her staircase. Reaching the end of the gravel driveway she looks up and down the street. No traffic much in this area of town outside of homeowners. Heading East on the sidewalk she looks over to see old man Kahane sitting on his porch in his wheelchair. Waving on her way by she blew him a kiss to make his day. He loved to watch her shake her ass. That was one fine booty.

Rocking out to Led Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song she puckered her lips and worked up a healthy sweat. The neighborhood was middle class for the most part. Run down homes for sale everywhere she looked. Mostly a Mexican population mixed with whites. Not so much Gangbanger’s as wannabes. Regardless the men loved her when she jogged by her titties bobbing wildly, nipples erect and pointing at them. Even without hearing them directly she knew damned well they expressed wolf calls and crude sexual comments. She shook her head seeing them act out fucking her from behind. On her way by she wiggled an index finger to behave. Her smirk and fuck you finger salute letting them know differently.

She loved her solo runs. If Griffin was with her, she would straighten up. She was fearless but respected her brother. Never worried for her safety because he had taught her how to defend herself, Griffin was a third-degree black belt. Even before his enlistment in the military. She might not have been a black belt herself, but she had a mean right hook. If it wasn’t for ruining her looks, she might have joined some small-scale version of the MMA.

Reaching a park with bike paths she switched directions and followed them. Other runners were out in force. Very friendly runners. Very expressive runners. Some would turn and jog backwards just to see her bare cheeks dancing on her way by. Others oncoming huffed their cheeks at her chest and offered a squeezing motion with extended hands. She stuck her tongue out and kept on going. To those she found cute she would reach in front of her and lift her bra to let them see her bouncing beauties as she went by. She was always met with happy faces. If she liked them enough, she would pull her bra back into place then move her hands behind her to drag down her shorts for a full-on moon. All while leaving them behind to get off later.

Knowing her mile markers she stopped to catch her breath and stretch. Touching her toes from side to side as men ran by, arching her chest out for their viewing pleasure. In her mind every single one of these guys came out each day just to see her. She recognized almost every guy she came across. Teasing was so much fun. In her stretching she feels her cell vibrate over her lower tummy. She shivered at the sensation so close to her clitoral area. Runners watching her hand go down the front of her shorts had to laugh once she revealed her phone. Wiggling it for her viewership with a chuckle she examines a text.

“That Xander dude.”

Reading the text he writes, “Stopping by the library today?” Instead of texting she just calls him. Three rings he answers.

“Wassup X-Man?” She chuckles.

“Wow! I didn’t expect an actual call. How’s it going ApacheSlut?”

“Great. I’m getting in my morning run. Three miles every day.”

He sounded impressed, “Haven’t been jogging in over a year. Too busy with college. Sounds fun though. What are you wearing?” He had to ask.

“Don’t start breathing heavy, Paleface.” She giggles.

“And she’s racist. Go figure.”

“Not really. I just like torturing guys.”

“Saw that up close and personal. Tortured me pretty good.”

“Oh, yeah? Beat off after I left?”

“Hell yes. Are you complaining?”

“Your hand. Your time. Hope it was good for you.”

“Good enough. Are you always so cocky?”

“24/7! Comes with the genes. Ever know an Apache to not be arrogant?” She hisses playfully.

“Guess I haven’t met many Apache’s. Especially hot ones.”

“That’s not a smoke signal you see in the sky. That’s the steam coming off this sexy body of mine.” Laughter fills the airwaves.

“You never answered me. What are you wearing?” She smirks noting a pair of guys jogging her way. A buddy system. They were checking her out with awe.

“Give me a minute I’ll send a selfie.”

She puts her cell on mute and sets up her cell cam. Waving at the two men she motions them over. They glanced at each other chuckling at unheard words yet joined her without looking too eager. They were though.

“Morning.” One spoke.

“Can I ask a huge favor?” She sheepishly grins.

“Sure. What do you need?”

“This guy I’m talking to wants to know what I’m wearing. Could you take a few pictures of me?” Both men peak their eyebrows and nod their consent.

“Great. My cell is on mute so he can’t hear us. Take one of me posing. Ready?” The taller man holds her cell primed to snap her photo when she told him too.

“Say Cheese.” He ushers. She begins to stretch forcing her breasts to bulge in the process. Offering a devastating smile she whimpers, “Cheese.” Photo taken she turns her back to them and bends over slightly. Her ass round and solid. Her palms caress her cheeks as she peers over her shoulder.

“Say Spank Me.” The shorter man jokes. Stacy in reaction winks and slaps her cheeks to signal the photographer. Another photo taken.

“Need any more?” The photographer offers.

“Sure. Any ideas?”

The shorter man puffs his cheeks, “That’s asking a Lion not to pounce.”

She giggles, “My last name is Puma. So, I love pouncing. Just tell me what you want.”

Both men agree, “You naked.”

She hops in step her back still too them. Before their eyes she yanks her shorts down and steps out of them. In bending over her clam shell popped into view. Her shadowy butt hole puckering to please. Over her head her bra is removed, and she finally looks back at them with a devilish grin.

“Say Seduce me.” The shorter man huffs admiring her stunning caramel colored flesh, nipples darker than some gals due to her mixed DNA. This bitch was smoking hot. Both men popped a hard on instantly. Picture after picture he snapped. Every time she chose another pose. During the photo shoot a number of other joggers approached. Some that had passed her earlier. Seeing her nude, they stopped and watched with interest. This made Stacy very, very wet.

Waving at the guys she calls them over. Surrounded by five now she plans a strategy. Explaining to them what she wanted. Switching photographers Stacy applied their assistance more intimately. A sixth man joined them during discussion. Coaxing the first two assistants to come toward her she addressed their arrival.

“One on each side of me. You behind me.” She points to the shorter gentleman,” I want you to reach under my armpits and palm my tits. Like a human bra. You can squeeze them.” Crouching low he hides his face behind her. Her tits were soft and playful. He had to roll them around a bit. Stacy giggled and enjoyed his attentions. As fearless as ever she wasn’t worried of this getting out of hand.

“Okay! You kneel beside me but do your best not to be in the picture.” She guides the taller guy, “I only want your hand in it if possible. Reach under my legs from behind and place your palm over my pussy. I want it to look like your hand is my underwear.”

The tallest of the two complies crouching next to her and hesitantly moving into position. Fingers closing over her inner thigh he immediately feels her wetness.

The surrounding guys were entertained by her ideas. After weeks of seeing this young lady jog past them they were putty in her hands. Each of them had formed some fantasy since first noticing this sweet young thing. With her two handymen in place and as hidden from the camera as much as possible the new photographer takes his best shot. Zooming in on her from the upper thighs to the top of her raven black hair. She had moved her hands up to frolic amid her locks, fingers fanning her silky strands for a more seductive pose. Lowered chin she peered over her brow with animalistic expression. The Puma was stalking her prey.