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Original story based on the main character in the 1950’s TV series “Cheyenne” starring Clint Walker.

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1. Morning after 2

2. Rescue 3

3. Freedom 5

4. Night 7

5. Tighter! 9

6. March 11

7. Curiosity 12

8. Family 13

9. Staked 14

10. Pinned 16

11. Silenced 18

12. Tables turned 20

13. Come nightfall 22

End 23

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1. Morning afterA sharp jab in the leg brought him to himself. Suddenly a range of sensations hit him altogether. It was warm, he realised. And the woman was still lying next to him. It was hotter than he’d usually come-to at dawn. So warm that in his sleep he’d thrown his blanket off. Exposing his upper body to the warmth of the sun. He’d over-slept. Unusual for him. Then he remembered the night. She certainly knew what to do with a man. Hardly surprising he had slept longer after the rigours of the night.

She was still there. He could feel her alongside him. But not asleep. He could feel a tension from that side. A tremble? Did she just shake? The body that had been hot, giving and passionate in the night was stiff, shivering. That didn’t make sense, the sun was up.

The jab jarred again into his thigh. Making Bodie throw open his eyes. Instantly blinded as he looked up into the sun. He threw up an arm. Squinting Bodie glanced around his upheld hand. Trying to work out who had woken him up.

In an instant he knew. His eyes watered as he stared into the light, forced to slam them closed again. But he had seen enough. Framed against the glare of the light, he’d seen the man. Around his protective hand, Bodie’s eyes had squinted into the barrel of a rifle. And behind it, a powerful body. Muscular chest, a stomach like built of small rocks. The brave had come back. Come back for his squaw. Lying alongside Bodie.

To his other side, she trembled again. Her man had come back. The man she had been given to had come back for her. The brave Bodie had rescued her from last night. Standing over Bodie’s now-alert body down on the earth. Rifle menacing his bare chest.

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2. Rescue“That’s no way to treat a lady”.The Indian had spun round. Obviously unaware that someone had come close. Too intent on beating up the woman. He’d pulled himself up to his full height. He’d stared back at Bodie. Unconcerned that his violence against a woman had been seen.The brave’s head snapped over to the side. “Go”. His head made it clear for Bodie to get lost. His every muscled fibre defied Bodie to dare be watching as he slapped the woman around. In return Bodie defied him to do something about it. They stared at each other. The Indian indignant at this interference. The cowboy not going to be intimidated and ordered around.“Go!” he repeated. “Not for white-eyes”.Bodie stared down at him from his horse. With his height, with his build, he looked intimidating enough on foot. On horseback, most would back-down, no-questions-asked. Not this Indian. He glared back. In his bearing ordering Bodie to leave. Not bothering about the woman that his hard fist had just knocked to the dirt.

“I’m making it my business”. Bodie’s answer came slow. Forceful. Telling the Indian he was not going anywhere. Not standing around while the Indian punched a woman in the gut.Bodie had heard the shouting and yelling through the dying light. Rounding a clump of rocks he had come across the Indian with his hand in the squaw’s hair, slapping her hard across the face. Repeatedly. Gripping her by the hair so there was no escape and cutting stinging slaps across her face. She was crying out with the sting of each slap. But that only seemed to spur the brave on. The sound of the slaps across the bright red cheek came cutting across to Bodie through the evening air. Bodie had not been expecting to come across any such thing out here in the prairie. When the crippling punch to her stomach made Bodie act.

The brave was big and strong. He wore a sleeveless top that showed off the power in his shoulders. As he swung his fist into the woman’s stomach, Bodie caught sight of the tight waist and powerful stomach. He still had hold of her by the hair. His fist disappeared into the folds of her shift. The woman crumpled under the force of the punch into her stomach, her legs collapsing under her. But the brave yanked her upright again, right into another killer punch to her shift. All her wind was forced out as crying she fell on her side into the dirt.

Bodie was not one to interfere in other’s fights. But knocking a woman around ... A powerful Indian brave knocking his squaw about was .. too much.

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Unacceptable. But the brave just glared back at Bodie seated high on his horse. Not daunted by the size of the man. Not ashamed at being caught out being so brutal to his squaw.“I’m going nowhere”, Bodie responded. “But you are. Get outta here”.

The brave’s eyes flashed over to his rifle. But he hadn’t moved when Bodie’s gun was out. “Now”, he emphasised. “And leave the rifle”.Bodie felt the brave’s eyes cutting into him as he rode past leaving. He had somersaulted onto his horse with the movement of a dancer. All strength, all grace. But his whole body bristled with muscled fury as he reined his horse to one side. Strength twitched in anger as he walked his horse slowly past Bodie. Undaunted. Not intimidated by anything except the gun that was forcing him do as he was told.Bodie should have known better. That look had said they’d meet again.

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3. Freedom“You can go now”, Bodie had looked over at the woman. She had struggled to her feet, the beating she had taken was written on her face as she got up, no matter how much she tried to cover the pain from the punches to her stomach. She’d looked confused at his words.Thinking she understood no English, Bodie indicated out into the plains. The man who had beaten her up had gone. Kicking his horse into a gallop to hide his shame. Taking out his anger by punishing his horse.“Free. He’s gone, you’re free”.Still a lack of understanding came across her features. From his mother Bodie still had some Indian words, he tried that. In a mixture of languages and gestures and smiles, Bodie repeated himself. She shook her head.“Go?” she asked. “Where?” .Actually Bodie didn’t know, he hadn’t considered that. “Free. To your family”, he said. Suddenly wondering who was the man who had been slapping her around. Stranger, husband, family? Wondering what he had got himself into here.She shook her head. “No. Not possible”.

The light was dying, he needed to make camp. And suddenly Bodie found himself with a woman on his hands. As she made a fire, he managed to piece together in a confusion of signs and languages that her tribe had been attacked and over-run. He gathered she’d been given to the brave. Her tribe could not take her back, she was given in tribute . She’d be sent straight back if she went home. Payment for her tribe being taken in defeat. Sent back to the man who had knocked her about. Not her man, her master. Bodie had rescued a squaw, he had set free a slave. And she had nowhere to go. He was lumbered.Yet he was heading for a cattle-drive. A job for the next month. No place to take an Indian squaw. Feeling a sense of panic rising at what he’d got himself into, Bodie opened his saddle-bags. Offered her food to prepare. Retreating into indecision. Deciding to let the night pass, waiting for the coming of dawn to find out what to do.

Sleeping, he had heard a rustle nearby, jarring into his slumber. Going for his gun. Before falling asleep, Bodie had offered her the blanket, he’d sleep clothed on the other side of the fire, waking up in the night to keep the flames going and fend off the cold. A sound in the night meant danger, a wild animal attracted to their scent. His hand had already rushed for his gun before his eyes opened.

To see a pair of bare legs. A shift draped around her feet. His eyes travelled up. She was naked. The glow of the fire flickering on her skin. His eyes

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travelled up and got trapped at the scene of her full glory. It took a moment before his eyes moved upwards to see her looking down at him. What was happening was clear. She was doing what she did. She was a slave, a captive to the brave, she knew her role in life. She was saying, Thank you.“It’s OK”, he said. Aware of a tightness in his throat. “Not necessary”. But she was beautiful,The words stuck in his throat like a bone. They seemed so cheap, they felt unclean. Suddenly realising he might not actually know why she was standing alongside him. Had he mis-understood? Had he just offended?

He hadn’t. She lowered herself to his side, she rolled him back onto his back on the earth. Her hand caressed his cheek. She was doing what she did. She was a slave. Bodie’s slave.

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4. NightBodie didn’t know how she wove such magic. But after her hands had roamed the extent of his broad chest, after her fingers coaxed the eager man out of his hard stomach, it seemed the most natural thing to do in the world. He was eased up off his back from the earth. With her help, his shirt was shucked effortless over his head and he was lying back on the ground. Shirtless, looking up at her.

She was beautiful. The reddening from the slapping had left her cheeks. The swelling from the cut lip seemed to evaporate from his sight. Her bare breasts swayed gently as her hands massaged his bare chest. The tips on her breasts had hardened temptingly in the cooling night air. She was firm, strong, still young, no baby had yet sucked her dry. Fascinated, her finger played longingly in the pelt on his front. Mesmerised by a sight she had never seen before. A man with a strong covering of black long hair on his chest. Her finger tips circled him, the fingers combed him. Wonderment at this miracle of manliness. Straddling his hips, her nakedness was a dance of feminine perfection before his eyes. Her skin bewitching in the glow of campfire flames. Tightening inside the breadth of his chest. Clutching at his throat in wonderment. Hardening in amazement at the heat of her seated over his pants.

She needed help. Unused as she was to the complications of a belt. And the buttons on his pants. But where this was going was beyond doubt. There was no stopping this, this most natural sequence in human nature, it seemed. Naked, the pair of them, she rolled over him, feeling him already strong for her. Her heat prickling and tingling on his readiness as she rocked above, her fingers still tangling in fascination in the thick hairiness of his chest. When man’s nature bade him make a move, she resisted, pushing him back. She was in control.

The excitement of a woman making the moves on him kept Bodie hard. He had never known a woman take over like this. In all his encounters the woman had played her part, letting his strength take control. Letting him play the man. Suddenly here was a woman in charge. But he was still the man. She was servicing him. Pleasuring him. For Bodie to play the man.

Again and again he played the man. She was out of his normal experience, though. Normally, he’d start with a tentative kiss, he’d show affection in the way he thought a woman desired. As a way to making himself respond. This time not once had their lips touched. Not once had he risen off his back or taken her like normal from on top. Her fingers did the work. Her hips did

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more, - played with the strength of him inside. His energies soared. Used to a woman being the submissive, not used to having a woman work him over. That kept him hard, she kept him where it counted. Every move she made, she did it to please. To please him. He was the man. It was her job to make him strong.

Repeatedly she made him strong. Strong and hard. Till he thought he ached. Till his loins longed to rest. A pleasurable aching like he’d rarely known. When he fell back on his back to sleep, his chest was rising strong and content, his eyes full of the sparkle of stars overhead in the cloudless sky. Having second thoughts about rescuing her were gone. Aware of the squaw lying beside him. Aware that if he stirred in the night, she would be there. Her touch would be stroking him and coaxing him back into sleep. Or to some place else.

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5. Tighter!Suddenly Bodie remembered that under the blanket he was naked. The brave had returned and had Bodie covered with a rifle. He snapped at his squaw. Flicking with his eyes, Bodie saw her unfold herself out of the blanket they had shared through the night. Rising to her feet alongside him. Naked. Unfazed by showing herself in the light of day. The brave had seen her like that hundreds of times.

The brave snapped out an order. Bodie whipped his eyes back at him. Squinting into the sun. Peering through slitted eyes at the shape framed against the glare. Seeing the barrel of a rifle fixed on his chest. The brave’s foot did the talking. A toe jarred under Bodie’s thigh, pushing upwards. The rifle moved slightly to move it clearer, gesturing Bodie to roll over onto his front.

Bodie wondered what to do. His own gun was not far away. What to do? Roll onto his front, - the blanket would fall away. He had no choice, the rifle willed it so. But when he did so, he’d prove it to the brave. He couldn't be in any doubt what had been happening here, not when she’d come out from under the blanket with nothing on. When he rolled himself free, - Bodie would be rubbing his nose in it. Bad enough to suspect, worse when the brave's eyes saw the truth. On the other hand, unencumbered, free of the blanket, Bodie was more ready for any chance that came. He could go for his gun.

He made his choice. He rolled over, Bodie uncovered his bare ass. Confirming what he’d been doing all night with this squaw after he’d driven the brave away. Bodie waited for the anger to burst, heart in mouth. Defenceless as a new-born. Sure the sight was going to spike a proud brave’s anger. Squashed underneath himself what the brave knew for certain Bodie had been using on his squaw all night. But, while turning, Bodie had spotted his gun, now he only had to stretch for his holster.

Within reach. But the cold touch of the rifle against the back of his neck ruled that move out for now. The brave’s voice barked out. Something Bodie did not understand. But he felt the squaw drop by his side, take his hands and place them in the middle of his back. He was about to be tied. Limiting his chances to go for his gun.

The rifle muzzle jarred into his neck. In case Bodie got any ideas. Again the brave snapped out something. The squaw crossed Bodie’s hands in the middle of his back, one over the other. Something dropped on his backbone. Her hands started binding it around his wrist. Rope. Looped around and around. Again the muzzle jabbed harder into the back of Bodie’s neck. Crushing his face into the dirt. As if reading Bodie's mind, warning him against even

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thinking of going for his own gun. Pinning him down while he was being tied. Again the brave spat out words. Giving Bodie’s neck another sharp jab. The loops on Bodie’s wrists tightened. Biting into skin, scraping at flesh. Like she had been instructed not just to play at it. Tie the white eyes up. And properly. Bodie knew now this was thin cord, rawhide. Unbreakable. Looped round and round his wrists, pulled tighter, bitingly tight, digging into his flesh as she had been as ordered. Like she had probably done before. Following the brave into the hunt. Tying up a young bison killed, its legs bound with tight unbreakable leather, her following on foot while they dragged the prize back to the tribe. Like Bodie. A beast caught and bound. To be taken off somewhere. Not meant to break free.

Bodie’s head was racing. Trying to work out what nest. Face down in the dirt, his arms were tied behind his back, the cord so tight his hands were already going dead. A muzzle digging in his neck was pinning him down. The heat of the sun was beginning to warm his bare backside. The brave had come back, surprised him, taken Bodie prisoner. Not just come back for his squaw. He was after Bodie as well. Come back to ease his injured pride.

The pressure on his neck move. Suddenly a foot was jarring him in his side. Pushing Bodie over, rolling him over onto his back. Bodie didn’t need any bidding. All the better to see what was going on. The brave looked every bit the warrior. You did not get to look like that without intending to use such force. The leather top he wore was open down the middle. Showing a tight waist cinched with hard-corded muscle up to his ribs. Topped with a defined chest. All strength, all power. And by the look of him, all blind determination. In a fight, Bodie would take him on, sure his height and weight could match such power. But even without his arms bound behind, Bodie knew he could be taking on something tough.

Another angry snap broke at the air. As Bodie sorted himself out with his arms underneath, he saw the squaw going over to release Bodie’s horse, ordered to go and get his horse. History, it seemed, had reversed itself. The woman had generously been making love to Bodie all night. Making all the moves on him. Yet her master had returned. Now she was taking orders from the man who had slapped her around. Before Bodie had chanced upon them and foolishly set her free.

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6. MarchBodie was well tanned. When you looked that good it seemed the natural thing to do to work shirtless even if some simple folk thought it was not seemly. But there were parts of him that never did see the sun. His bare-butt yanked by the neck over the plains for a full day in the glare of the sun, he was smarting. Bright-red and burning in parts. Even his broad tanned shoulders stung as the unforgiving sun irritated at his skin and taught him a lesson for interfering.

The brave had got the woman to knot Bodie’s own lasso into a noose and put it around Bodie’s neck. Still lying on his back on the earth, his broad chest lifted up by the push of his bound arms underneath, Bodie could see she was a different woman. The squaw that had made him feel a hundred bucks in the night was now her master’s pliant slave again. No matter what she had done to please Bodie the night before, she knelt by his side and slipped the rope under his neck. Slipping the knot into his throat and dutifully handing the other end to the brave. Handing Bodie over. Doing her master’s bidding. Who stood staring down in domination over the white-eyes who had dared steal his woman. And had shamed him A moccasin placed domineering in the middle of Bodie’s hair-covered chest made the point without words. And the rifle pointing straight into Bodie’s face. The message was quite clear. The brave was not just claiming the woman back. He was laying claim to Bodie as well.

He had mounted his horse in the same athletic move. Leaping from standing onto the horse’s back, his end of the rope trailing back down to his prisoner. Without a word he kicked the horse on. Bodie had had to get to his feet fast so as not to be dragged by his neck.

For a day, they had marched like that. Bodie forced into following behind the horse’s backside. Burning up as the sun rose higher, skin going raw and blistering. The woman trailing behind him, walking with Bodie’s own horse. No water for him or for her. Plenty of time for regret. Tempted into second thoughts. What had he been about? He’d come across a man and a woman having a fight. He’d interfered, look where it had got him. Stumbling parched and naked in the heat behind the brave he had insulted. And the woman he had rescued was walking docile behind. Where had this rescue got them? Him and her? What had Bodie achieved?

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Even after the sun was falling from its peak, harsh rays of sunlight cut like knives into his back. Roasted him on the inside of his head like a bread-oven. But what choice had he had? The man was beating her up. The brave was big and strong, he’d acted like a brute. She had had no defence - except Bodie coming along and putting a stop to it. Would he do it again? He hoped he would. He hoped he might get another chance, he knew what Indians could do to their captives. Sweat had caked to dry salt on the breadth of his back stinging at the scorched skin. Crusted in thick clumps on his pelt of hair in front. A silent caravan making its way across the emptiness of the plains. To heaven-knew-where. To heaven-knew what. Except it was not going to be a church-picnic.

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7. Curiosity Nothing like it had been seen by the kids before. They’d rushed out in welcome when they saw their brave returning. Everyone knew the story, he had returned late the night before and after a blazing row with his brother, he had left immediately armed with a fresh rifle. Back to claim his property. Coming back now with the white-eyes’ thief.

Cheers welcomed the strange procession as it returned. Cheers which turned to ogling murmurs when they saw what he had brought. When the captive was close-up. A giant, - the brave’s words had not been lies. He said he had been overcome by the power of a giant white-eyes. But what a giant. Naked, they had never seen a white-man so big. Or so covered in hair. In wonderment, they watched as he passed between them, pulled by their brave by the noose on his neck. Towering above them, his back broad like a bull’s. Burning red and blistering. But most astonishing the covering of hair on his front. Strong chest, lifted, hard-muscled. And covered with an astonishing pelt of hair. Like a giant bear. Down the centre of a hard flat stomach it ran. Spreading out there over muscle that push out hard against skin. And lower still, spreading like a triangle as it joined forces with the bush at his manhood. Young women bit their lip at the strength of his bare legs. Moving tree trunks, doused with a generous covering of hair. They bit their lips in wonderment at the sight of legs covered with long black hair on the outside of hard muscled thighs. A giant of a man, a magnificent beast. Truly, the brave had proven himself to take captive this bear.

Bodie could have made a run for it. No one had their hands on him. Stood in the centre of a ring of Indians, the noose around his neck hung loose. But he was out-numbered, massively. By the time he elbowed his way through the crowd of women, by the time his mighty weight cleared a path through the ogling girls, the male warriors would be on to him. Against a half-dozen - he’d stand a fighting chance. Against a dozen - with his arms tied behind - he had no chance. A couple of dozen, eager to prove themselves, armed with Bodie-knew-not-what, he’d be battered to the earth. And get what they thought he deserved. Not a chance.

Bodie stood in the centre of the village, surrounded. Encircled by women and by braves. Tired, weakened by the sun. And cringing. Their eyes on him. On his nakedness and discomfort. Women and men. Looking over their heads feeling embarrassed as he saw women cock their head over to one side to observe more closely what lay in the hairiness at the top of his legs. To escape the awkwardness, he cast his eyes back to his captor. Wondering yet again what they had in mind for him as he saw the brave dismount and enter a tepee. The chief’s.

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8. FamilyThe likeness was unmissable. The two men standing side-by-side - you couldn’t miss the fact. Brothers. The chief and the brave. Bodie felt his back prickle. Family pride - things had just got worse. There could be no doubt, the squaw Bodie had rescued had been indentured to the chief’s brother. The man Bodie had stupidly shamed was younger brother to the chief. Bodie’s insult went wider than to the brave alone.

A murmur of anticipation had shivered in the crowd as the chief came out of the tent. Tall, strong in the shoulder, broad across the chest, dressed in just buckskin pants. Instantly his gaze had whipped like rawhide across Bodie’s front. Stern-faced. Not a man to be messed with. He stood about two paces away, arms folded authoritatively across his bare chest. Sizing up the prisoner brought to atone for his crime. Assessing Bodie in silence. A silence which had settled heavy over the watching tribe.To Bodie he looked like the kind of warrior who led from the front. He’d go into battle leading, inspiring the raiding part to follow the muscled hardness in his back. In a fight, one-to-one Bodie would have taken him on. His height would have given him advantage. But this chief looked like one who never took anything on with the idea of not winning. He was built to prove it. And, to a naked man awaiting punishment, he looked mean.

To Bodie he was also the kind of man you had to stand up to, so Bodie too was standing his ground. Surrounded and out-numbered, hands bound by tight cord behind his back. Standing as naked as the day he was born. But no way could you let a man like this chief see your nerves. That could only bring out the worst in a man like this. Bodie looked back into the scorn as eyes roamed over the thickness of his chest. He returned look-for-look as a steely gaze fingered at the hardness of his shoulders. Not flinching as the chief’s stare lowered and played over the toughness of his stomach, the tightness of his waist. Almost seeing in his own head the sufferings the chief was seeing inflicted on Bodie’s bare torso.Eventually the scrutiny was over. The chief spoke into the silence. Addressing the tribe. But his eyes never once leaving Bodie. Three sentences he spoke, Bodie did not understand a word. Then a pause. Followed by a few more words. Men in the crowd shouted out. Again, a collective yell, in agreement. That Bodie did understand. Sentence had been passed.

The man did not move. Knotted arms folded across a thick-muscled chest. But braves did. As if they knew just what to do. Pushing Bodie backwards, back till his shoulders hit the post, his sun-burnt flesh scraped against the upright, hands against this hard chest pinning him up against the pole. He could have resisted, Bodie could have tried to fight. But numbers were against

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him, massively. Determination was against him, they were out to give their own his revenge. Retribution for the insult to the chief’s name. And hands tied, there was nothing Bodie was going to do. He resisted, they’d do him over. By the time they’d finished with him, he wouldn’t even feel better about putting up the token resistance. Resisting would be stupid, the beatings would only weaken him. But it hurt to play docile - as they bound him for some punishment to the post. Bodie’s gentlemanly heart pounded in his chest.

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9. StakedWhat chance did he have? Only to try and negotiate his way out of this, Bodie decided. In their eyes, he was the thief. He had stolen a brave’s slave. He had taken her and bedded her, caught in the act. He had robbed a man of his rifle, - probably more precious to him than that squaw. And worse, Bodie had sent him back to his tribe, shamed and humiliated, the brother of a proud chief. Dishonouring their chief. You couldn’t blame them, in their eyes Bodie was in the wrong. Rescuing the squaw - a stupid move!

They made short work of securing him to the stake. The noose around his neck was looped around the back, pulled tight into his throat, jamming his head into the post. Burnt skin scraped painfully against the pole as his own lasso was bound around his chest and pulled tight. Rope digging into the hardness on his torso. Rope burning into the red-rawness on his powerful chest. Bodie kept an eye on the brothers throughout. They’d be watching him for signs of weakness. Both looking the part, strong warriors, injured pride bristling on muscled flesh. The craving for public revenge twitching in their every move. Watching with impassive anticipation as Bodie’s lasso cut across his waist jarring his back firmly to this stake where they meant to see him punished. No getting away.

He could apologise, the brave understood some English. Bodie could offer to work for them, Work off his mis-deed by doing heavy labour, building work, digging, fetching water. Bodie wasn’t afraid of hard work. They could do with a man of his strength around. His head worked on what to say, how to say it simply, not sounding cowed or scared, - even while he felt hands at his ankles, tying his feet either side of the stake. Securing him, no getting away. But not now, this was no time to negotiate. Courage was being tested, his life was at stake.

The chief gave a slight nod, indicating satisfaction, the braves who had tied Bodie up peeled back. For a long time, the chief stared across the eager anticipation hanging in silence over the centre of their camp. If Bodie had not already been naked, he would have felt the stare was stripping him of his clothes. The eyes cold and scrutinising. On his face, lingering long over his chest. Imagining the punishment this thief deserved for what he had done. Head cocked to one side in close thinking observation, the gaze lowered over a hairy belly and wandered down below. Bodie had enough Indian in him to know the threat to his body down there. For what he had done, he’d done it with the brave’s woman. Only one way such minds might turn. Feeling nervousness prickle on his skin. A whiff of anxiety drifted off his chest.

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His walk towards Bodie had been slow, magisterial. The chief knew the impression he made. On his people watching on in rapt silence. Trying to impress Bodie, making it plain they meant nothing lenient with him. Bodie still feeling unsure of the timing, when to make his offer, not wanting to speak too soon, not spoil any chance of negotiating his way out. He’d have to impress them in return, make an impact on them with his courage. Weakness and fear was not the way to go. The chief stopped less than an arm’s length away. Eyeing Bodie up close, eyes cold and fathomless. Like looking into a rattler’s stare.

Bodie jerked slightly in shock when the chief snapped out a word. A single word, an order. And held out an arm. An old squaw came forward. And placed something in the impatient out-stretched hand. Curious in his nervousness, Bodie broke the glare and flashed a glance at what the chief held up between the fingers of his hand. Hearing a murmur from the crowd. A murmur of approval. They knew what the gesture meant. What was coming down the line.

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10. PinnedBodie tightened against the stake as he felt the chief’s hands on his chest. He held his breath, impossible not to look as the cactus needle slipped across his chest, slowly sliding inexorably through the undergrowth of black hair, its end evilly intent on seeking Bodie’s teat. Convinced this was not the time, sure that if he tried to talk his way out of this, at this moment of tension, they’d think him bargaining out of weakness, out of fear. He knew enough about Indians, they expected courage. Any sign of weakness, - he’d only make things worse. And things could get worse, that he knew. Negotiating at this time of testing would only convince them he was scared. Trapped against this post and by the need to buy favours, he had no choice, to suffer this torture that the chief had in mind. He’d have to tough it out, for now. There was enough Indian in him to know, they were going to test him. They put his courage on trial, to the full. Betraying weakness, giving them the idea he was scared would only deepen the scorn these men already held for him. And heaven-knew-where that route went.

The chief looked up, briefly, to assess. Looking for signs of fear. Diverting his intent gaze briefly from following the path of the cactus tip through the forest of hair. Looking up into Bodie’s face when it met the nipple flesh. Sizing up the captive as the needle pricked meaningful on the erect mound. Looking hard and deep into Bodie’s eyes. Doubting his courage, wondering at the white-eyes’ strength-of-will to face pain.Then looking down and slowly pressing.. Lifting up his hand slightly so the tip dug in, into the chest, in under the hard nipple flesh, the tip pressing at skin. Watching through the hairs, the skin turn white a moment, pucker and resist. Till the flesh gave way. And the needle claimed victory, sliding in slowly under the nipple, cutting its way out to the other side. Feeling the chest under his other hand tighten as pain claimed the flesh. Sensing the captive tighten in his throat, catching the slightest sound of tension there. A sense of satisfaction - this hairy giant was learning Indian pain. Only looking up when the needle broke through the other side. Catching the wince of pain across the captive’s mouth. Bowing to the inevitability of Indian justice.

Bodie was breathing into the top of his chest. Snorting lightly through his nose. Jerking slightly as his tormentor slowly pushed the needle further through, painfully twisting as it went. Scraping at the flesh inside. Bodie looked down, observing the chief’s concentration on watching the needle push right through his nipple. Seeing a cactus needle the length of his own long fingers slowly piercing his quivering flesh. Painfully scraping its way, tensing

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at the pain, feeling the edges tearing at his skin as it came out the other side. A droplet of blood forming.

The chief’s hand was up in the air. A glow of satisfaction at noting how the prisoner’s eyes followed the gesture. Dread covered up with bravado. Letting the moment rest in the air. Till he clicked his fingers and demanded another needle for the job. Bodie was forcing himself to calm down. Breathing slow to manage the burning gathering on his chest. He’d been hoping against hope that he had satisfied. He’d been hoping he had passed the test, their test his courage, his ability to withstand their pain. But the ordeal was destined to go on.

The chief’s eye’s stayed in place. Daring Bodie to stand up to the onset of further pain, cold gaze full on Bodie’s face. Knowing his victim was feeling the slide of the needle coming up from underneath. Targeting on the same nipple flesh. Slowly picking its way upwards through chest hair till it pricked at the pain-hardened nub. Pain-meaty and tension-solid from the first piercing. Only now did the chief look down. Adjusting the needle tip. Pressing it into the heart of the nerve-pumped nub. The sharp tip pricking right into the solidness of tortured flesh. Crossing over the top of the other needle that already had Bodie’s nerves prickling on his skin.

The chief looked up. Straight into Bodie’s gaze. Holding the stare. Waiting, biding his time. Watching him catch his breath, fire up his courage. Warning his victim this was just the start. Pushing the needle in. Gripping the needle between finger and thumb, he pressed his tool of torment in further. Into the pain-aroused nipple flesh. Pushing his victim up a level, piling on the pressure, making this thief claw his white-eyes’ way through to a higher level of Indian pain. Cutting the needle’s fear-laden path through the pain-hardened flesh of a pain-solid nub.

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11. SilencedThe chief turned his head to the side. Looked at his brother. Not a word passed, not a gesture. But the brother knew. Bodie was his. As the brave approached Bodie at the stake, the chief spoke a few more words to the crowd. Another cheer from the men. The deal was done. Bodie was set up for punishment.

The brave had approached Bodie, they were close up, only an arm’s length apart. Bodie decided, this was his chance, the man he had offended, He had to try, to negotiate. He bravely looked the brave straight in the eye. Realising suddenly he did not know what he was going to say but the moment could not pass. But he made to talk. Not a single word had passed, though, before the hand lashed out. A smarting slash tore across Bodie’s cheek. Cracking his head to one side. Bodie now knew what the squaw had felt when he had stumbled on the pair and saw this brave beating up a woman. A cowardly act. The man was strong, his slaps stung. The woman had hurt.He whipped his head back, glared angry through a teared eye back at the brave.“No”, the brave hissed. “No talk”.He emphasised his point by another backhander that tore stinging across Bodie’s face. Bodie held his face this time despite the force behind the hand, despite the sting burning at this cheek. Bodie was not going to talk his way out of this one fast. Even as he stared unblinking into the cold face opposite, Bodie saw the chief glance over Bodie’s shoulder and snap something out. No talking, it seemed. He could but hope he could impress them with his endurance before things went too far.

By the time the chief had cruelly pierced both his nipples, sweat had been glistening on Bodie’s stubbled face. Pain had wrenched unwanted twitches out of his face, biting on a bottom lip. A sharp intake-of-breath had been forced out of him as cruel cactus tore at tortured flesh. A reluctant grunt as the needle was sawed back and forth through his second nub, to test his courage , to assess his endurance of pain. His breath had turned heavier, harder, louder. But still he had returned the chief’s stare. Still up-close, their hard-muscled chests nearly touching. Bodie returned the chief’s cold look with stoic defiance. Showing back he might be surprised off guard by the shock of a pain, but he was man enough to take this ordeal. Annoying sweat had tickled on his neck. But he had held his tormentor’s gaze. Bodie had held the tribe in awe watching him in silence.

Now the brother had taken over. Bodie snarled at his touch. A hand down below. The back of fingers that stroked at his cock. The brave knew, Bodie

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knew, both knew the effect of that kind of torture on a man. Bodie knew what that tension was doing to him without bending to look. He knew what annoying magic those needles had wrought. And pinned naked to the stake, everyone watching was going to know too. The fingers groping at him confirmed the truth. These men had seen it often enough before. The nervousness, the pain - what that would do to even the bravest of braves. Fingers stroking at the white-eyes’ man-flesh firming, stiffening, feeling it growing. The brave’s eyes had not left, Bodie had not yet spoken a single word. Still holding his captor’s cold bottomless look in his own gaze. Yet the fingers spoke where the brave’s lips had no need. Warning his captive this was only the start. And telling a white-eyes that bedded a brave’s squaw, he must surely know how he was going to pay.

Suddenly the groping fingers moved. Lower, encircling Bodie’s balls. Clenching on them hard. Bodie jerked in surprise, head back against the stake, surprised jaws forced open by the sudden painful squeeze. Shocked even more when something passed before his face, a flash of arms from behind. And leather cord was yanked across his gaping mouth. Pulling his head jarring back into the post. Eyes popping in shock and pain as cord creased hard across his mouth, cut into his flesh. Gagged. Adding insult to injury. His tongue crushed down in his mouth. Options closed, nothing for it, just have to tough this one out. There’d be no talking his way out of this.

At the sight of the white-eyes bound and gagged, a brave in the crowd gave a whoop. At seeing the victim forced into getting hard men jeered. Pain and shock working on his manhood against his will. Others joined in. Laughing, men smirking knowingly. Mixed with women’s giggles. Pointing at him firming up, thickening, a slave to their command. Pierced, gagged into silence. Bound to endure their punishment. His offending manhood made prisoner to the brave’s injured pride. Men whooped to cheer at the chief’s pronouncement of the white-eyes’ ordeal. Handing over to his young brother. Victim of the white-man’s insult. Stepping forward to demand settlement, dignified, out to exact retribution. Justice.

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12. Tables turnedThe brave had snapped out a word. Nothing had happened, no one moved. He snarled this time. Hesitantly the squaw shuffled forward, nervously edging her way out of the crowd to the front. Jostled and cursed by an older woman, her face full of loathing for the slave-squaw. Another snarl from the brave commanded her into the centre of the ring. He threw something, she failed to catch it. Bodie saw a length of cord land at her feet. Then with a disdainful jerk of his head towards the stake, the brave barked another order.

It was natural, there was nothing he could do against it. Getting him hard, that was they had intended, there was no defence. But the cackling women, the jibes of the men - it offended, embarrassed. But nothing he could do, nothing now to protect himself. Gagged, no chance to offer to work off his crime. No way to show respect. Nothing to do except to take what came, to impress these men with his courage and his mastery over pain. Enough of an Indian to know such sights could impress. Standing up to their pain could make an impact. He had no choice anyway, bound to the stake, hand-and-foot. His own lasso wrapped around his neck and chest held him firmly in place. She was on her knees in front of him, the squaw to whom his gentlemanliness had come to the rescue. Bodie had cringed at the touch of her hand pulling his ballsack forward from between his open thighs. His hands had clenched together behind his back in understanding when he felt her looping the cord behind his balls and wrapping it over the top of his cock. There was no defence against nature, there was only his manly courage. To show that he was not to be bullied. Bodie stared steadfast and with anger-slitted eyes at the brave. He had moved back, supervising the punishment, to get a better view. Starting where it seemed right. On that part this white-eyes had used to fuck his slave.

Bodie gave a slight jerk when the first knot was pulled tight. Cutting into skin, biting into sensitive flesh. But his anger did not flinch, his hate-filled gaze did not waiver. Not even when the brave snapped at her. The next loop around him bit harder, cut tighter. And again another loop, obeying her master. Crossing the thin cord over the top and pulling it on Bodie bitingly tight. It was inevitable. He felt himself beginning to react now even stronger before the last of her cutting five loops had imprisoned his blood.

She’d been ordered to shuffle back on her knees. Letting the brave see her handiwork. Giving sight to the crowd who now gestured and laughed. Watching with close scrutiny. Watching the big white manhood firm and thicken. Rise before their eyes out of a hairy crutch. Gesturing and commenting as he rose. The murmuring growing to taunting chuckles as the

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cock lifted out of its thick black bush. Bodie was forcing himself to breathe deep. Not to let this get to him, staying strong.

Another snapped order caught his attention again. Another strip of leather cord had landed by the squaw’s side. Like she knew what to do, she shuffled forward on her knees towards Bodie. He was suddenly acutely aware of himself naked and erect sticking right into her face. Again she was making him hard like last night. But not to move on him for any pleasure this time. The girl he had rescued from cruel abuse was where she belonged. The tenderness of the previous night, gestures to offer Bodie her thanks, - that was past. Here today she belonged to her master.

Bodie winced as her hand circled his tightened ballsack. He twitched backwards slightly as thumb and finger encircled his balls and forced them uncomfortably down into smaller space. Jerking upwards as if moving out of the way as another squeeze jabbed pain into his ballsack. But staring in growing hate at the brave who commanded this squaw. Commanded her to begin the punishment of the white-man who had dared set her free.

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13. Come nightfallThe tight gag around the stake cut across his mouth stopped Bodie from looking down. But he didn’t need to. He knew how he looked, he could feel it. And he could see himself mirrored in the looks of the crowd. In the way they sniggered at him and mocked. Whatever he told himself about this being natural, it was still god-damned awkward. He could feel her enforced tightness pulling on his taut straining skin. Five times she had looped the leather cord around his ballsack pushing him down. Each time more painful, his balls stabbing as they were crushed into his tightening sack. Cord carelessly catching tight skin in the loops. Hair yanked out and making him wince. No matter he had determined not to show any reaction, they could all see it. By the time she had finished, Bodie was fully hard. Poking forward straight at the squaw’s face. Pushing into her gaze the very body part she had worked over so well in the night. Those pleasures now an age away.

The day was dying, the light was fading. No lights had been lit, though, it seemed there were too many enticing sights to stop for torches, too much anticipation filling out loincloths around this ring of sniggering on-lookers. Bodie kept himself staring across at his tormentor, his cold eyes now unwaveringly fixed on Bodie’s imprisoned cock. His stare reserved for that part the brave had had imprisoned, bound and made hard awaiting cruel sentence. Behind Bodie caught sight of the older brother, the chief, looking on, his face impassive. Not even a reaction at Bodie’s embarrassment. Impassive in the face of Bodie’s enforced shame. The man looked mean. His face looked like it demanded one thing. Bodie’s pain.

As the brave approached, Bodie caught sight of something in his hand. With more cord dangling down. Standing next to the squaw, still on her knees, her face full of Bodie’s tormented cock, the brave stood glaring into Bodie’s face. Standing full-on in Bodie’s face, his chest touching Bodie’s arm. No need to gloat. He was sure of getting his revenge.

The brave looked down at the squaw. Derisive he snapped out another order. Then his eyes tore back across Bodie’s face. “A start. This - just the start”, he informed Bodie.With some dread Bodie felt the squaw’s hands fumbling again against his thighs, what now? The back of the brave’s hand was hot, down by Bodie’s stomach, his bare muscled arm feeling firm against Bodie’s side. Their hair on Bodie’s belly instinctively prickled at the closeness of unknown threat. Their eyes clashed, their hatred fought in bitter combat in the air. One out for revenge, the other intent on not showing fear.

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“Night. Chief says. When dark. It begins”, the brave’s lips curled into a snarl. Like he couldn’t wait. His brother had decreed night-fall was right for Bodie’s punishment to begin.

The fumbling around his legs had stopped. The brave shot his eyes down. Spat out a hateful order, full of contempt. Not even bothering to look when the woman hastily scrambled to her feet and shuffled away. Back to the crowd. Where Bodie saw her jostled and spat on by older women looking on. The brave’s eyes had returned to Bodie, taking up eye-to-eye combat again. Standing close, nearly touching. So close Bodie could feel the heat off his arm against his belly.The brave spat. Full in Bodie’s face.“When dark - ”, he repeated. “ - we begin”.

Bodie yelled. Pain popped out of his eyes. Shocked stabbed him in the head. Something had ripped his balls off, it seemed. The crowd roared, they yelled at his shock. Men punched the air. The brave had let go the rock, they bawled approval at the white-eye’s pain. At the sight of the white giant jerked forward at the yanking on his balls. Throttling himself at the neck. Cutting himself across the mouth. A rock hung swinging off his balls. Bound to his crutch. Slapping against white hairy thighs. Pain was slashed across the white-man’s stubbled face. Gagged mouth wide open in a shocked bawl as the weight yanked on his hairy balls. Tugged agony out of the bear’s arrogant body.

When dark, his punishment would begin.

End

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