Jenny White Feather

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Author: Western

Circa: 6 December 1866 one year after the end of the Civil War.

The Indian wars were not as dynamic as the penny novels would have people believe, but there was strife between the whites and the Indians. Occasional skirmishes touched the daily lives of average people not involved in the great wars between famous chiefs and famous generals.

The War Between The States had just ended when Jenny’s parents decided to leave their failing estate in Georgia. Jenny had just become of marriageable age and was distraught at moving, just as men became interested in her. With the end of the war the sudden influx of marriageable young men thrilled her. She became the center of attention in no time, and had even been the reason for several fights for her attention. Jenny thrilled at all the excitement, her father didn’t.

In the 1800’s when a father said we are leaving, the family left. After a long bout of despondency, Jenny was again thrilled when they stepped off the stage at St Louis and she saw hundreds of young men for as far as she could see. The hustle and bustle of a wide open country being settled left her many choices for dating, necking, and other adventures. Unfortunately, her father and mother kept a close eye on her and she seldom found the freedom to sneak away on her own. But when she did, it was wonderful.

The trip west was horrible. The wagon was unbearably hot, the dust coated the wagon, Jenny, and everything else in sight continually. She bathed liberally, whenever she could. But the unreasonable wagon master would not allow her to bathe when water was short. She usually found a damp rag to wipe down her golden body each night. It was not the life she had pictured for herself just a few short weeks before. She wanted tubs of sweetly scented water, bright gas lights, the plink of a piano, and voices raised in joy and laughter. Her father was taking her farther and farther from all these things she loved, and forcing her to endure unbearable conditions. Jenny was outraged, but helpless to act.

Tip Wilson was a young, dashing man on a white horse. Any westerner would have told Jenny that only a damned fool rides a white horse in Indian country, but Jenny knew nothing about western ways. So when Tip offered to take Jenny away from all this and take her to Los Angeles on his white horse, Jenny found his offer perfectly reasonable, and breathtaking. She accepted his offer and managed to sneak away on a warm August night. Things began going wrong on the very first night.

Tip had packed enough food in his saddle bags for a week of travel. He planned on shooting game on the way to make their precious supplies last. On the first day they saw Indians. This made shooting, and returning to the wagon train, impossible. Tip lit out on his white horse with Jenny bobbing in the rear, holding on for dear life. She suddenly found that saddles were not designed for two people and riding double was probably the most uncomfortable way to ride in the world.

They finally stopped for the night by a river. Tip made several attempts at starting a fire and failed. They ate cold fried chicken and biscuits, while huddled in the darkness watching the skyline in fear.

“Tip, why don’t we go back?” Jenny begged for the seventh time.

Tip wanted to go back but two things were stopping him. He badly wanted to sample Jenny’s lith, shapely body first, and he was afraid of the Indians which he knew were between them and the wagons. If he was right, the Indians were keeping an eye on the wagon train and would intercept him before he could reach the train.

“Don’t give up, Jen. We are only about a thousand miles from Los Angeles. We can make it in two weeks.”
“I don’t think we will ever make it,” Jenny moaned. “It hurts to ride behind that saddle.”

“Come on, let’s get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning,” Tip said eagerly.
“But there are only two blankets and you’re using them both.”
“We can snuggle for warmth.”
“You mean to tell me that you only brought blankets for you?” Jenny was outraged.

“Oh, come on Jen, we can share,” Tip said in his nasal whine.
“Tip, you ride on by yourself in the morning, I’ll wait here for the wagons to show up and go on to San Francisco with my parents,” Jenny said resolutely.

She sat against a cottonwood and hugged her knees with her arms. Tip called several times, but she ignored him. Jenny knew what Tip wanted now, she was surprised that she couldn’t see it before. The bad thing was that Tip was willing to risk their lives to get it, and that was unforgivable.

Jenny actually fell asleep by the cottonwood tree some time during the night. So it was with complete surprise and terror that she awoke to see a painted Indian face before her. She jumped up, but the Indian tackled her and wrestled her to the ground. Tip stood up and shouted, then screamed when an arrow pierced his chest going clear through his body and protruding from his back. He fell to the ground sobbing and until a stone axe fell across the top of his head. Tip buckled to the ground without a sound. As his legs kicked in the dirt, Jenny realized that Tip was really dead. She had never see a dead person before. It was horrible.

“You dirty bastards,” Jenny yelled, kicking at anyone who approached her.

They laughed and circled around, then one Indian came up behind her and pushed her to the ground. Before Jenny could pull her face out of the dirt, she felt rough hands lifting the back of her dress. Her pantaloons were ripped from her body, cold hands gripped her bare ass, and fingers probed her rectum.

Screaming in outrage, Jenny kicked and tried to get up, but firm hands held her down and parted her soft white legs. Suddenly, painfully, she felt a huge throbbing prick at the entrance to her pussy. Her eyes widened as it pressed relentlessly into her virgin loins, tearing and smashing her virginity away in cruel, savage strokes.

Jenny gasped, feeling the painful fire shoot between her legs. She tried to scream but her face was pressed into the dirt. Finally, she stopped trying. The Indian thrust his prick in and out of her, then grunted and plunged the prick into her helpless ass, spurting his load and wilting across her back.
As he got up another Indian took his place. The first Indian wiped his leg with his hand and held it up with a laugh, saying something that obviously meant that Jenny had been a virgin.
She felt no pleasure in what the Indian did to her, or the six that followed. She only wanted to die, but first she wanted the seven Indians to die. She vowed to see it happen some day.

Jenny awoke the next morning unable to breath. She found herself draped face down over the back of a horse, with her hands and feet tied under it’s belly. Her pussy was hurting, her face was filthy and sweat was drenching her body in the hot sun.

Gasping for breath Jenny struggled to get free. Sensing her difficulty, the Indian stopped and cut the rope, then grabbed her by the hand and pulled her up on the horse in front of him. He yelled in his savage language and the horse bound forward. She gripped the horse with her legs, fearful of falling since there was no saddle. She vowed to never complain about riding behind a saddle again, this was far worse.

The group plodded along until late afternoon without stopping. They were traveling farther and farther up into the mountains. For the first time in weeks, Jenny saw a pine forrest that seemed to go on forever. In a huge valley between two mountains the Indians rode up a hill and stopped to look at a lake and Indian village below. It looked peaceful.

The Indians suddenly screamed and spurred their horses at a dead run. The horses leaped forward and Jenny hung on desperately to the horse’s mane. She nearly fell once, but the Indian behind her pulled her back on the horse, growling in disgust.

As they entered the village the Indians pulled their horses to a halt and slid off their backs. Jenny found herself roughly pushed off the horse. She landed heavily on her back in the dirt. In outrage she jumped to her feet and grabbed the leg of the Indian, still on the horse. She pulled and he went flying over her head to land in the dirt. Before he could rise she gave him a good kick with her small toed boot. He cried out and scooted out of the way, amid a great deal of laughter.

Jumping to his feet he raised his hand. It held a huge stick. Before he could strike an older woman stepped into his way and barked at him. Jenny understood nothing they said, but his every action was saying, “yes mother” as clearly as if they were speaking English. Jenny became the woman’s property on that day.

“Broken White Feather, Lame Horse approached me today. I think he wants a mate,” Jenny said as she washed her sleek body in the river.

Her adopted mother, Broken White Feather, bathed beside her. Jenny had been with the tribe so long, she hardly remembered the life she had left behind.

“Do you like him?” Broken White Feather asked slyly.

“No, but I like the attention he gives me. Others have taken an interest too. But I never want a man to touch me.”

Broken White Feather waded to a flat rock at the edge of the river and sat, spreading her legs. She bathed her open pussy with handfuls of water, then thoughtfully touched her clit with a fingertip and gently rotated it. Jenny was hardly embarrassed by such open displays of sexuality. At first she had been outraged, but gradually it seemed normal. Jenny sat on the rock next to Broken White Feather and washed her own pussy, then massaged her clit as Broken White Feather was doing. It felt wonderful.

“Others feel the way you do, especially former captives. My son was stupid for treating a woman so badly, then bringing her to the camp. He should have killed you, or left you untouched.

Now he has ruined you,” Broken White Feather said as she closed her eyes in pleasure. She was breathing heavily. Her finger moved more quickly now, occasionally it dipped into her vulva to lubricate her pussy for her finger. A dry finger was no way to get an orgasm, it tended to burn the clit and make it hurt for days.

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