Moon Dancer lay in waiting.  He knew that the pale haired woman who worked at the Bar R ranch as a children’s teacher always came this way on Sunday mornings to go to church in town. 

He had seen her several times before, in town shopping or going to church.  He’d been struck by her pale skinned beauty, her blond hair and sky blue eyes.  He felt his organ stir at the thought of having her as his mate.

This morning she was running late and that worried him a little because sometimes the rancher and his family would go to town with her and that would ruin his plans.

Finally, he saw her buckboard coming out of the Bar R gate and driving fast up toward his hidden position.  He nocked his arrow, checking once more that it was a Crow arrow instead of one of his own tribe’s, then got into position behind the rock next to the trail.

Ten minutes later the buckboard topped the rise and he took his shot.  The big gelding stumbled and fell in the traces, the arrow having pierced him through the heart.  The buckboard slewed around the dying horse, throwing the young woman out onto the ground.  Before she could know what had happened to her he had his fist in her hair and his knife against her throat.

The trail back to his camp was long and torturous even though the actual distance covered was less than ten miles.  With her head in a potato sack and her arms bound together behind her back, there was no way for the white woman to know that he’d taken a long circuitous path that had the additional advantage of being on hard rock most of the way.  He knew that an Indian tracker could possibly follow him but doubted that any white man could do it.

His camp was in a small box canyon that no one seemed to know about.  Sheltered by high surrounding cliffs and watered by a small spring, the canyon had everything Moon Dancer needed, food, water, shelter and now companionship.  The trail that led into it was hard to see as he’d spent a long time disguising it with transplanted bushes and cacti.

His captive had, by this time, given up struggling and protesting.  She now lay limp over his horse in front of him, smelling wonderful and making his organ swell with pent up need.  He slipped off of his horse and pulled her down with him.  Letting the horse go to graze, he carried the helpless woman over to a cottonwood tree, stood her up on her crossed and bound feet and tethered her there with a hanging noose so that she could only stand in precarious balance as he cut away her clothing, leaving her mother naked below the potato sack hoodwink.

He wanted to take her, then and there but instead he retied her ankles out to two exposed roots to force her into a sex exposing splits, then went back out to make sure that he’d left no tracks that would betray his camp to the rescue party he knew would soon be combing these mountains, looking for her. 

He untied and removed the potato sack, simply because he wanted to see her pretty face, then held his canteen to her parched lips, letting her drink for the first time since her capture.  She looked up at him in hopeless defeat and said something he could not understand other than it was in a pleading tone.  He reached out and felt the fullness of her milk white breast, smiling and rolling her already erect nipple between his hard fingers.  She screamed and tried to pull away only to tighten the noose around her throat causing herself to gag until he loosened it for her again.  He then snapped a fingernail against the nipple as punishment before sliding his hand down her front to explore her fear lubricated sex.  Finding her labia swollen and her maidenhead intact, he wondered at these strange white people.  A Sioux woman of this one’s age and looks would have several children already. 

He decided she had waited long enough.  He untied the noose rope from the tree and pulled it down from the overhead limb so as to pass it down between her back and arm bindings.  With her ankles still tied to the roots she was not going anywhere.  This time when he pulled the tether rope tight and cinched it around the tree trunk the captive was forced to bend over, her arms levering her body down, her bare bottom up.

Pulling aside his loincloth he positioned his big organ at the open flower of her womanhood and slowly began to stretch her open.  Gasping and choking, the white woman felt her hymen stretch and then rip, letting him enter her clutching vulva.  She tried to scream out her anguish but the noose turned it into a choking, gasping fit of coughing.  She could not get enough air.  She could not stop his thrusts from lifting her toes off the ground.  She could not defend herself in any effective way.

Her maidenhead’s blood staining his organ, Moon Dancer began fucking his captive in earnest, only his grip on her big breasts supporting her enough that she could get any air at all.

Before long the teacher became aware of something strange going on within her tortured body.  Something was growing within her, something strange and new.  It was like a kind of excitement, a growing need, a strange inflating feeling within her nether regions.  She had heard that some women experienced pleasure during the sex act but had always thought that was just the pleasure of being with someone you loved, of being inseminated.  She did not love this murderous Indian, did not want his children.  Far from it, she hated him and everything about him.  But inside her vulva she found herself gripping on him, her hips humping and seeming to be trying to milk him.