Sarah's Playmates

by Virginia Wade

  “Sarah!” It was Millie’s voice.

  “I’m here!” We continued to move, a fresh spray of dirt flying at me. Smoke filled the car, hindering visibility.

  “Isabelle?”

  “Goddammit!”

  I smiled. She was just fine. “Is everyone all right?”

  “When is this damn thing stopping?” asked Isabelle. “I’ve had enough now!”

  Another loud boom was followed by a cacophony of screams. The passengers were suffering in the derailment, and many lives would be lost. Where was Edmund? He’d been in the dining car in the middle of the train. Our car was towards the rear. Then I heard something that sent a chill down my spine. There were a series of shrieks and whoops that had nothing to do with the passengers or the train derailing. The sound reverberated on all sides, punctuated by the continuing roar of splintering wood, shattering glass, and metal grating. When the car finally skidded to a halt, I let go of the bottom of the bed and held my arm, wincing. It throbbed unpleasantly, the feeling centered near my wrist. I prayed it wasn’t broken.

  “Millie!”

  “I’m here. Can you stand?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Let’s find a way out.” Her hands were on my shoulders. “Up with you.”

  “I’m not wearing shoes.”

  “I’m not either. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Shit!” spat Isabelle. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

  “Are you hurt?” I asked.

  “Shit on all of this! Goddamn shit on a stick!”

  “I think she’s fine,” I muttered. Once the smoke had cleared, it was easier to see, but fires burned in another part of the train.

  “Let’s get out on the end,” said Millie. “We’ve separated from the other car.”

  I stepped on something sharp. “Ouch!”

  “Be careful. There’s glass everywhere.”

  “Those Goddamned Indians did this!” hissed Isabelle. “They crashed the train! Now we’ll be kidnapped and raped.”

  “Let’s deal with one thing at a time,” said Millie. She grabbed me. “Lord, girl. Your face is a mess.”

  “Glass got me.” She held my arm. “Ouch!”

  “Is it broken?”

  “I don’t know.” I sounded miserable.

  We made our way towards the opening in the back of the car, as strange whoops and shrieks froze my blood. Hollow sounding thunks and pomphs pinged around us, as arrows lodged in the wood.

  “Oh, great. The goddamned Indians,” muttered Isabelle.

  We managed to climb down from the wreckage. Rocks dug into the bottoms of my feet. Gazing towards the front portion of the train, I knew I would never forget this disaster. The cars had landed haphazardly on their sides; some had piled up on one another. Plumes of smoke filled the sky, with intermittent fireballs blazing with red and yellow flames. It looked like a scene from Dante’s Inferno. There were bodies scattered around us; some had burned, while others had fallen victim to arrows lodged in their chests, protruding grotesquely. This was indeed hell.

  Something viselike grabbed the back of my head, tangling in my hair, and forcing my gaze upwards. In those breathless and unbelievable seconds, I saw the face of a man, his dark eyes flashing with hunger, lust, and triumph. I had just met the devil. I was in his clutches…and then I saw nothing, as my overwrought senses succumbed to merciful blackness.

  Chapter Ten

  I don’t know how long I had been slung over the backside of a horse, but when I began to realize my situation, it was still the dead of night, and I was most assuredly in the clutches of a devil Indian. I wore my nightgown and nothing else, my hair falling in my face. The sound of female crying forced my head up. Millie sat on the next horse; her rider was fearsome to behold, wearing only a breechcloth and fringed leggings. My kidnapper wore the same type of leather over his legs. There were no stirrups and no saddles, only rope for a bridal.

  I struggled to move, because I ached in this position. Sensing that I had woken, my kidnapper reached for me with impossible strength, dragging me to him. I straddled the horse, the abundance of material on my nightgown allowing for this, but now the bottom portion of my legs were bare. I was able to see what was happening around me. Isabelle and Millie were on other horses, in the clutches of dark skinned and determined Indians. Glancing back, I caught sight of smoke, the evidence of the train wreck we had left behind.

  Then I made the mistake of looking at the man who held me. My long, blonde hair lashed us both, yet his was equally long and braided on each side. His face was clean-shaven, his cheekbones implausibly high, his nose gracefully straight, and those eyes…

  …oh, dear…

  They seemed to burn through me, leaving a scorching hole on the other side of my head. I’d never been this close to a man before, and I could feel the heat of his naked chest through the sheer cotton gown. His arms tightened around me, and I grimaced. My arm throbbed, reminding me of the horrors of the train wreck and how we should have all died. He seemed to sense my discomfort, lessening his grip. We rode for another hour, until the horses slowed, trotting side by side.

  The Indians spoke, the language sounding bizarre and guttural. It seemed as if they were deciding on something, and there was a slight disagreement. My rider tensed, his anger evident in the clipped tones he uttered. The second rider capitulated, slowing even more. We stopped a short while later. My kidnapper dismounted, reaching for me. I glanced at Millie. Her face was smudged with coal.

  “Glad you’re finally awake, Sarah.”

  “And what a wonderful thing to wake up to,” I grumbled.

  “Oh, honey. You better brace yourself. If you can get your soul to leave your body, I’d do it now.”

  What had she meant by that?

  I slid from the horse and straight into the heathen’s arms, moaning in pain. “Ouch.” He held my arm, although I tried to snatch it back. His fingers pressed into my wrist, working their way to my elbow. It hurt where he touched me, but it wasn’t unbearable. He seemed to be ascertaining the extent of my injury, and, when he had assured himself it was nothing significant, he let me go.

  “Don’t touch me!” Isabelle smacked her rider, hitting him across the face. He seemed stunned by her behavior, stepping back a foot.

  My rider laughed then, the sound deep and rumbling. I glanced at him, glowering and wishing him dead. His humor continued as he stared at me, taking in the unruly mess of hair, my bloodstained face, and God only knows what. How was I supposed to know what this Indian was thinking? Then he shocked me.

  “You’re not hurt.”

  “W-what?” I could understand him!

  “Your arm. It’s not broken.”

  “You speak English?”

  There was something forbidden and mysterious in that smile. “A little. It’s good to speak the language of your enemy.” His accent was pronounced.

  “I’m not your enemy. I’m a traveler whose train you’ve sabotaged. You killed so many people. Take me back this instant!” Why was he smiling like that?

  “Do they all speak English?” asked Millie.

  “No,” the Indian said. “Just me.”

  His tone was pleasing, and so were his features, which bothered me immensely. That chest…naked…hairless…contoured with muscles…but I wasn’t going to think about that. I wasn’t even going to look at it anymore. “What’s your name?”

  His smile revealed straight, ivory teeth. “Laughing Hawk.”

  “The hell with this!” spat Isabelle. She’d gotten on a horse, grimacing. “If you think I’m staying to be raped and murdered, you got another thing coming. Her heels dug into the mare’s flank. “Ha!” she shouted, sending the animal into an all out gallop. The hooves flung dirt, as she thundered in the other direction. I stared at her with my mouth open, amazed and in awe.

  One of the Indians laughed, smirking at his friend. Then he jumped on Millie’s horse and followed Isabelle, who hadn’t looked back. I doubted her escape would last much longer, yet
I envied her spunk and courage. Distracted as we were with their sudden departure, Millie took the opportunity to dash into the field, quickly being swallowed by wild corn, which reached nine feet into the air. Her captor, who grinned broadly at Laughing Hawk, followed her leisurely, sauntering into the foliage, as if he were on a Sunday stroll. My sister-in-law and my chaperone had deserted me! Feeling useless and abandoned, I too darted into the corn, but strong hands grabbed at my nightgown, the sound of fabric ripping filling my ears.

  “No!”

  “You can fight, pretty woman. I don’t mind.”

  “Ooh! Stop that!” I struggled to gain my freedom, my arm suddenly aching. “Ouch!” I dropped to my knees, hopelessness seeping into my bones, and began to cry. I rocked back and forth, uttering, “I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe this is happening.” I had just survived a horrific train crash that had probably killed scores of people, and now I was about to be brutalized by a heathen. A sense of despair had me shivering. His arms went around me. “No!”

  I was forced on my knees, my nightgown thrown over my back, exposing buttocks and thighs. I wasn’t able to form a coherent thought before something hard pressed against my pussy, demanding entrance. Never having had anything larger than two fingers inside of me, I screamed when he thrust, burying his tool to the balls.

  “Stop it, you pig!”

  He grunted, thrusting; the feeling was not entirely unpleasant, but I wasn’t aroused in the least. My fingernails were dirty from the soil and weeds I gripped to steady myself. He was insistent and brutal, hammering my tight sheath, over and over, until he groaned, stiffening. Tears fell blinding me, the dam bursting, and I cried, while the brute enjoyed the virginity he had stolen. When he let me go, I collapsed to the ground in utter despair, feeling used and violated. I just wanted to lie there and die from shame, but it wasn’t to be.

  He grabbed me, dragging me to my feet, and we walked to where his horse was. “Sit,” he barked. I sank to the ground, miserable and trembling.

  Wetness slid down my inner thighs, a reminder of what had happened to me. I would curse God, if I fell pregnant. He busied himself making a fire, while in the distance I heard a woman scream. It was either Millie or Isabelle. They were experiencing exactly what had happened to me, or perhaps something even worse, but I doubted that was possible. There was a slight coolness to the air, but the fire quickly remedied this, the blaze burning brightly. Laughing Hawk untied a rolled up blanket that was attached to his horse, tossing it on the ground.

  “Come with me.” He held out his hand.

  “No.”

  “You have blood on your face.”

  “What do I care?”

  He grabbed me, pulling me to my feet and dragged me to a line of trees. I stumbled barefoot towards the sound of water. At the river’s edge, he tore off a portion of my nightgown and dunked the material, ringing it out. “Hold still.” He wiped my face, but the rag quickly dirtied. I hadn’t realized I had bled so badly. I touched my forehead, feeling the wound.

  “Take your clothes off.”

  I bristled. “I will not.” He looked at me in such a way that I knew, if I disobeyed, he would shred the garment. Then I would be left with nothing to wear. “Oh, fine!” I whipped it over my head. “Are you happy now?”

  “Wash. There’s too much blood.”

  The water was cold, but it felt wonderful. It wasn’t deeper than two feet, so I sat, freezing, and rinsed my face. He stood and watched, predatory and formidable. I hadn’t had time to process the fact that this heathen stole my virginity. If I thought about it, I would surely cry again. My hand slid to my abused pussy, washing away the evidence of his seed. I stood and wrung out my hair, casting him a hateful glance. The coldness of the air had me shivering.

  “Are you happy?”

  His dark eyes roamed from the top of my head to my face. From there he went to my breasts, lingering for a long moment before lowering to my stomach and beyond. Lust flared in his look, and the front of his breechcloth began to rise.

  Oh, great. He’s going to…do it to me again.

  “Come here.” Having no choice, I stepped from the stream. He took the cloth, dabbing my forehead and examining the wound carefully. “Hold this firmly to stop the bleeding.”

  “Give me my nightgown.”

  “No.”

  Oh! You disgusting pig!

  He led me up the small embankment through the trees. Stars like diamonds glimmered over our heads, a decorative curtain for the moon, which was partially hidden behind wispy clouds. When we reached the fire, I sat on the blanket, wet and shivering. I glared at my captor, wishing a snake would bite him, but then I panicked, worrying the same might happen to me. To my growing horror, he began to remove his clothing; the leather was decorated with paint and beads. His buckskin leggings were untied and tossed to the ground. When he was naked, an image of muscled perfection approached, and I moved to the edge of the blanket. He reached out touching my hair, and I slapped his wrist away. He laughed at that, the sound rumbling in his chest, and then he dragged me to him, forcing me to sit on his lap.

  “No!” At that moment, two different sets of female screams sounded, from opposite directions. “You horrible Indians. Horrible.”

  “Your people have killed mine. You shoot children. You rape women. You burn villages. You’re the enemy.” Anger flared in his look.

  “I didn’t do it! I’m from England! I was born in Africa! I’ve never even been to America before.”

  His face was in my neck. “You’re white. You’re the enemy.”

  “That’s a rather slim way of classifying things, isn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s like saying all white people are bad.”

  “You say all Indians are bad.”

  “No…I don’t.” But I had. I had thought of them all as murdering, scalping heathens. “You derailed the train. You killed so many people. My fiancé is probably dead.” Tears blurred my vision.

  “You’re in our land. We stopped the metal beast. Maybe no more will come now. Today has been a great victory for my people. Now we celebrate.”

  “You’re horrible. You took my virginity.” He brushed away a tear, and I was mildly surprised by this show of compassion. “You’ve no right to touch me.” His gaze settled on my lips, and I perceived his intentions. “No!”

  Strong hands gripped my face, holding me immobile, as an aggressive tongue plunged into my mouth, despite my protests. His desire to subdue me had turned into a battle, because I fought him, pushing and struggling, trying to escape those insistent lips. The cock beneath me was rock hard and ready to assault my virgin pussy...again. Determination renewed my struggle, and I redoubled my efforts to fight him off, biting him.

  “Ach!” He shoved me to the blanket, his face twisted in anger. There was blood on his lip. “You’ll answer for that.” I lifted my knees, preparing to kick him away, but he brushed my legs aside, astonishing and worrying me with his strength. “This time you’ll like what I do to you, white woman. When my cock dances inside of you, you’ll scream with pleasure.”

  I swallowed nervously.

  Chapter Eleven

  The stars in the heavens bore witness to my seduction, and, as I stared at them, I marveled at what the Indian was doing to me, his face buried between my legs. I had tried to fight him off…I truly had…but…after his tongue slid across my clitoris, I lost the battle. From across the cornfield came the distinct sounds of a woman’s moans, and it was Millie. Her Indian had seduced her as well.

  Laughing Hawk’s skill at cunnilingus wasn’t to be underestimated, and, as he speared me, I closed my eyes. “Ooohh…no…” I had never had a man touch me like this before. Their tongues were stronger and longer than females. His thumb grazed my nub, flicking gently, yet persistently, against the inflamed mass. It was shameful to be writhing and trembling at the hands of a bloodthirsty heathen, but my young, lustful body wouldn’t obey my mind. “Stop
it now,” I breathed, sounding less than convincing.

  He kissed my inner thighs, leaving a moist path, while he pressed against my clit with his thumb, maintaining the sensual path I was on. I didn’t want to feel this good, my body quivering and my tummy fluttering. Sensing the condition I was in, he came between my thighs, his cock extended. The light from the fire flickered off his skin, revealing a lean body rippling with muscles. I felt him at my entrance, hard and demanding, and with one thrust, he was in deep, slapping my pussy with his balls.

  “Oh, my!” This felt so much better than when he had taken me before. This time I was prepared for the intrusion; my juices had slickened the tight passage, allowing him to glide effortlessly. This sensation, coupled with his previous attentions, left me panting, my heart racing wildly. I hadn’t expected it to feel this good. I didn’t want to enjoy it. I should fight him off…I should…but…the tingling in my center began to blaze uncontrollably. From experience, I knew I wouldn’t last long. “No!” I gasped. “Ooohhh…God…nooooo…” I shuddered, biting my lip, as wave after wave of sensation swept over me. “Oh, you dirty heathen!” It was marvelous having a penis inside of me. What a revelation! What a magnificent instrument.

  He uttered something in a language I didn’t understand, thrusting vigorously. Then he stiffened, emptying his seed in measured squirts. His eyes were closed, long black lashes sweeping his cheeks. The expression on his face was an amalgam of pain and rapture. Something moved behind him, a flash of white, and then a loud thump registered. He gasped, and he looked as if he were going to say something, his mouth forming an O. Blood trickled down the side of his neck, but, instead of speaking, he collapsed on top of me. I struggled to breathe. He was heavier than he looked.