Apache Ass Beating
Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: not recorded
Billy dug his heels into the flanks of his horse, pounding across the plain with a band of wild Apache warriors whooping and screaming only a few hundred feet behind him. In fifteen Pony Express runs, the slim youth hadn't before run into Indians. Tempted by the money -- ten dollars in gold for every run! -- he'd discounted the warnings of the Pony Express recruiter. Now, with the bloodthirsty redskins gaining on him, Billy wished he'd never seen that handbill posted up in the general store.
Behind the wildly galloping young white rider, one of the Apache braves whirled a sling over his head, then let fly a fist-sized rock. The missile whistled through the air and caught Billy a glancing blow on the back of his blonde head. The boy slumped forward in the saddle unconscious, the lathered horse slowing to a stop without the urging of a rider.
Slowly Billy opened his eyes. The pounding in his aching head made him nauseous, and he could barely make out the dim outlines of several figures standing around him in the dim light. A light breeze blew, and as it touched his skin, the white youth realized he'd been stripped naked. He tried to move his hands down to cover himself, but couldn't move them -- they were securely tied to a post above his head as he lay on his back. The dim figures moved forward when they saw Billy move, and began to talk to each other in some unintelligible Apache dialect. But as the cobwebs cleared from Billy's brain, he knew the talk boded no good for him. It was loud, and boisterous, and full of contemplatory cruel laughter.
One of the braves signaled to the lone woman in the group, and she immediately rose to put more wood on the smoldering fire. As the flames blazed up, Billy saw a young brave with a face as sharp as a tomahawk approach, a length of rawhide in his hands and an evil smile on his lips. He knelt down between the young white lad's legs, pegged apart by a sturdy branch tied to both ankles. Without warning, the redskinned warrior's hand shot out and gripped Billy's almost-fully-developed scrotum, squeezing it hard. "UUnnnnnggghhh!" the savage crush of the grip wrung an agonized groan from the white boy. The brave laughed, looking back at his comrades. He looped the rawhide around Billy's ball sack high up, just under the white youth's hanging cock, twisted it to form a knot, and pulled it tight, HARD! "Aaaaaaaaaaahhhh!!! DON'T!!", Billy screamed into the desert night as the rawhide thong bit into the tender skin of his scrotum. The woman by the fire squatted and turned away, her hands over her ears.
Ignoring the white youth's cries, Red Hawk grabbed both of the boy's balls and pulled down, stretching the flexible skin of the ballsack, then began wrapping tight turns of the rawhide thong around and around, down the distended ball sack, until he had stretched it nearly three inches. Billy's balls bulged at the distended end of the bound scrotum, the skin over them stretched so tight it shone like bluish glass. Red Hawk stepped back, laughing with the others at the skinny white boy writhing and screaming on the ground with his testicles stretched to the middle of his thighs.
Billy couldn't believe the crushing pain shooting from his tortured genitals. Why didn't they just kill him and get it over with? He knew better, even through the mind-numbing agony. Apaches didn't kill whites quickly or cleanly -- they tortured them to death. "Oh god, what worse could they do?" he wondered. He was soon to find out.
From the middle of the guffawing group of warriors, Crazy Wolf stepped forward. The others parted, their laughter dying, as the powerfully-muscled brave advanced on the boy. One had to be careful around Crazy Wolf -- his mother, bitten by a foam-mouthed grey wolf a few weeks before his birth, had brought her son into the world while she herself shrieked and foamed, held down by midwives of the tribe as she gave birth in the throes of rabies. There was something -- different -- about Crazy Wolf. Something that frightened even the bravest of the warriors. He felt nothing. Once he'd disemboweled a young Pony Express rider, then wrapped the boy's intestines around his neck and worn them until they dried into a hideous necklace.
The laughter stopped completely when the others saw what Crazy Wolf held in his hand. The strange warrior's sister, against all tradition, had taken as her mate an Oglala brave from far to the east. Learning of Crazy Wolf's strange propensities, the Oglala warrior had included among his gifts a lorunta. Rarely made and even more rarely used, the lorunta was the broad thick tail of a beaver, stripped of hair, carefully cured over a slow smoky fire. Flexible as water, heavy as stone, rough as gravel, it amounted to an incredibly vicious paddle. Now Crazy Wolf advanced on the moaning white youth with that paddle in his hand.
He gestured to the braves behind him. They rushed to drag Billy upright, and, at another gesture from the powerful warrior, they quickly had the naked white boy securely tied upright to a thick post planted deep in the earth. Looking from side to side, Crazy Wolf spotted the thick mail pack Billy had carried. He snatched it up and forced it between the white boy's hips and the sturdy post, forcing the youth's buttocks outward even as it added to the pain in Billy's groin.
The tall brave raised his arm, the thick bicep gleaming in the firelight, and slammed the beaver paddle with all the force he could command across Billy's naked buttocks, dragging the rough surface of the lorunta across the smooth white skin as he finished the stroke. The vicious whack of the beaver paddle sounded in the night like the crack of nearby lightning. "YYEEEEOOOWWWOOOO!!" Billy screamed as the lorunta slammed into his naked bottom. The pain was unimaginable, worse than anything he could envision -- like being sat down bare-assed in the coals of a blacksmith's forge!
Behind him, the Apaches muttered and pointed at the result of the single paddle stroke. The young rider's naked backside instantly colored to a deep crimson, and tiny droplets of blood appeared on every inch of skin contacted by the lorunta. The braves held their breath as Crazy Wolf drew his arm back for the next stroke. The woman, who had peeked briefly when she heard the sharp CRACK! of the paddle-whack even through covered ears, hunkered down still further with her eyes squeezed shut and her hands pressed even more tightly over her ears.
WWHHHAACCKK! WWWHHHAACCKK!! WHHHAACCKK!! With a steady and unrelenting rhythm, Crazy Wolf slammed the beaver paddle over and over again across the screaming young white boy's naked buttocks. Blood streamed down Billy's thighs as the thin skin of his smooth bottom was flayed off by the weight and roughness of the lorunta. His wild shrieks echoed in the desert night, but had no effect on the big warrior wielding the paddle. He meant to "spank" the boy to death!
Billy passed out at the forty-sixth stroke of the beaver paddle. Yet Crazy Wolf went on beating the helpless bared buttocks until they were simply two humps of bleeding raw meat, sixty, seventy, eighty strokes. Suddenly the big warrior flung the lorunta to one side. He stalked to the blazing fire and took up a glowing branch by its unburned end, the tip still flaming. Walking slowly back to Billy's slumped form, he drew the glowing coal of the branch across Billy's raw buttocks, with a sizzling sound and wisps of smoke smelling of cooked meat. The white rider jerked upright, screaming uncontrollably at this new hell of pain. Crazy Wolf smiled and cast the branch aside. The boy's oozing bottom was crudely, if effectively, cauterized by the flaming branch.
Crazy Wolf jerked his loincloth aside. The other braves gasped and held their breath, though many had seen the warrior do this before. Jutting out before him like a small cannon, Crazy Wolf's hard cock dripped a steady stream of glistening droplets in glutinous strings. He stepped up behind Billy and pointed the thick plum-colored head at the young rider's flayed bottom.
His brain spiraling in a haze of agony, Billy hardly noticed it when Crazy Wolf put the hard cock between his raw buttocks -- but then the muscular warrior planted his feet wide apart and shoved roughly forward. "YEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHGGGGHHH!!!" the white youth screamed, as all nine thick inches of Crazy Wolf's flint-hard erection ripped his tight virgin hole open, and the warrior buried his cock right to the balls on the very first thrust. The boy's sphincter, torn by the savage cock-stab without any lubrication, sent new waves of pain through his brutalized ass. Crazy Wolf laughed, his aching dick buried in the shrieking white youth, and cruelly ground his powerful hips against Billy's flayed backside to renew the agony. Then the strong brave pulled his cock free of the boy's torn hole -- and again roughly rammed it straight to the hilt, forcing another choking scream from Billy. Again Crazy Wolf pulled all the way back -- and slammed all the way in. And again. And again. And again!
Finally the redskinned warrior, with a guttural grunt, rammed deeply into BIlly's raw bleeding ass as stayed there, his body twitching uncontrollably as he poured streams of scalding semen into the white youth. After a moment Crazy Wolf pulled his cock, dripping blood and come, free of Billy's ass. He turned from the band of warriors and stalked off into the prairie night.
The Apaches untied Billy, bound his wounds as best they could, and let him go -- Crazy Wolf had claimed the white rider. They dared not kill him now, that was for Crazy Wolf, if he wanted.
And so it was that forty years later Billy -- now "Bill" -- regaled his saloon-mates with his horrifying tale of torture at the hands of the Apaches. No one ever questioned the incredible story -- not after the time one newcomer had sneered disbelievingly, and Bill had turned, dropped his dungarees, and showed the nauseated group the ropy mass of scar tissue completely covering his buttocks. "Yer boy's don't think a whuppin's somethin' to worry about? Tell 'em ta come see me!" Bill laughed, and downed another shot of rye.