The Cowboy and the Indian Girl (or Kenna Takchawee)
(M/g spank reluc romantic)

Written by cc


Dedicated to Kenna, who was very kind to poor old cc

	[THWACK!] "AAAH!" the cry was forced from the lips of the little Indian girl as the strap smacked against her bare thighs, leaving a bright red mark that faded slowly, joining the other signs of this 'discipline' session. She had tried to remain stoic, tightlipped, barely allowing a grimace to her face or a whimper to her lips. But she was only a little girl of nine or ten summers after all, and eventually her tormentor managed to achieve the satisfaction of wrenching a cry from her as he strapped her again and again.

	She stood naked before him, a slender child with long straight black hair parted in the middle, held in place by a head-band. Her breasts were mere buds topped by nipples, now erect in her anxiety, her chest heaving in her distress. Her bottom was round and smooth, but all ready bore the marks of the strap, red lines criss-crossing the cheeks, and even diving in between them towards her anus. The fronts of her slim thighs were now receiving the punishing attention, stroke after stroke as she quivered and yelped. Framed between them was her unfledged girlcleft, with puffy lips and prominent clitoris.

	The man wielding the strap shifted his aim, now bringing the end of it to bear full upon her mons and vulva, [SMACK!] "AAAIIEEE!" she fairly wailed, dancing in place as he disciplined her so strictly and on so intimate a place.

	After a few more strokes he tossed the strap aside and laid his hands upon her, mumbling something about 'checking to see if she was properly punished', clearly just an excuse to fondle her, his hands running over her little breasts and buttocks, then spending some time fingering her cleft and clitoris.

	Once again the little Indian girl tried to maintain her composure, but she was unable to prevent the moisture from gathering between her legs, or her hips from rocking gently back and forth as he stimulated her so lasciviously.

	Finally he released her, with a last contemptuous [SMACK!] to her bottom, as she scurried to gather her little buckskin dress and pull it on, covering her nakedness.

	"Get back to work, Injun girl," the man called out, and she trudged off to continue the many chores assigned to her at the outpost store.

	Her name was Kenna Takchawee. Kenna was a Scottish name, and probably was given to her by or because of a white man who had been perhaps her grandfather; she didn't know. Takchawee meant 'doe', and her mother had called her that when she was born. 

	She was one of the last of a dwindling tribe, a proud but peaceful people all ready driven from their ancestral lands by the more warlike tribes long before the White Man had come to the West. Her father she had never known. Her mother had died when she was young, leaving her in the care of a distant cousin. That woman had had other mouths to feed, and in turn sold her a few months ago to the man who ran the outpost store, who bought her to have another pair of hands to do the many odd jobs that he was too lazy to do, reckoning that he wouldn't have to pay or even feed her much. He had also found a most satisfying (for him, at least) pastime in making up reasons to discipline her, then punishing her naked body, enjoying the spectacle, and the feel of her slender charms in his hands.

	On this day he had had an audience. A trader paused in his perusal of the goods on display to watch the little naked Indian girl moan and writhe in time to the strap. After the 'show', he casually approached the storekeeper. 

	"Watcha want for that little Injun gal?" he asked, seemingly disinterestedly. 

	"I dunno, never thought about it. Couldn't take less than a hunnert Yankee Greenbacks; why, she's like a daughter to me!" the other replied.

	They haggled for a while, and finally settled on seventy dollars, the storekeeper's greed outweighing his lust and laziness.

	The trader hustled the little Indian girl out the door and onto his mule, and headed south. He knew of a Mexican grandee who would pay well for a slender, pretty, young girl, even if she was an Indian; the Mexicans weren't as particular about such things as most white men.

	Kenna was slumped, dispirited, in front of her new owner. At least he had not molested her beyond letting his hand trail along her bare thigh as the mule loped along. Her life had been hard and drab and cruel, and she feared that it was about to get worse. The only comfort she had ever known was the dim memory of her mother, and the kindness of a preacher and his wife at the mission outside the fort her cousin had moved her family to for a while; under those gentle souls' guidance she had learned to read, and had even converted. She would have gladly stayed with them, but her cousin forced her to come away, probably all ready planning to sell her at the first opportunity.

	The pride of her tribe still coursed through her, and she forced her mind to relax, to enjoy the beauty of the desert and the fresh air, the strength of the mule between her legs.

	Suddenly she heard a loud buzz, like a large bee, and felt a shock from the trader's body. He slowly slid from the mule, dragging her with him. She heard the whoops, and scrambled into a nearby thicket just in time to hide herself from the Comanche who rode up on their pintos.

	There were four of them. The trader was dead. She could tell because he didn't even jerk when they scalped him. One of them was rifling through his pack, tossing things around. One of the others, who seemed to be the leader, motioned to the other two to look around. Of course: if they had seen enough to shoot the trader, they had seen her. Now where was she? She huddled deeper into the thicket, but had little hope of escaping their search.

	Indeed, after a brief bit of hiding and scurrying through the undergrowth, one of them snagged her heel and hauled her out into the open. The leader glanced at her. "She is not Comanche, she is of the ******," he said. "Tie her, and we will all use her so as to dishonor her tribe. Then we will sell her to the comancheros."

	She fought, but she had no strength to match them. Soon she was naked, spread-eagled on the ground, tied hand and feet to pegs in the ground, her little mind almost shut down, numb with shock and fear. One of the Comanche all ready had his manhood out, erect, leering at her.

	Then she heard the clop-clop of a shod horse. The Comanche spun around, clearly surprised, and chagrined at having been taken unawares. Sitting on his horse, against the westering sun, was a tall man. Kenna could not see him very well, but she could perceive that his face was hard, and drawn, and had a scar across the cheek. A fleeting thought crossed her mind, "He is like them, only he is white."

	The Comanche turned to face the man. The one with his breeches open hastily stuffed his shrinking member back in. They feigned joviality, speaking broken English mixed with Spanish:

	"Hey, senor, that a fine horse, you sell him, hey? We give you good money, hey? You give us some whiskey, we let you have this fine girl, hey?" the leader called out.

	One of his followers muttered, "When we done with her, hey?" The others laughed.

	The man said nothing. He just leaned to the side and spat. The Comanche leader's eyes hardened. Suddenly, without an apparent signal, all four rushed at the man with knives. One had a spear. 

	Kenna, to the extent she was conscious of the proceedings through the numbing haze that had mercifully fallen over her brain, assumed he would be dead in a moment. But, like greased lightning, the Navy Colts he wore one at each side were in his hands, booming out two shots apiece. The Comanche all fell back, dead on the spot.

	The little Indian girl trembled as the man approached her. One cruel man, or four, what did it matter? But if he was cruel, why did he swiftly cut the bonds on her wrists and ankles? And why did he pull a cloak out of his pack and tenderly drape it around her, covering her slender nakedness? And why did he lift her gently and put her before him on his horse, and give her a drink from his canteen, and smooth the hair back from her forehead, and speak softly to her?

	Overwhelmed by the events, she was nearly asleep as they rode away from the dead Comanche. She roused just enough to ask him, "Shouldn't we bury them?"

	In reply he shot another squirt of spit on one of the bodies, and said, "Buzzards got to eat, same as worms," and rode on. She was asleep in a few seconds.

	The next day she woke to find herself warmly wrapped in a bedroll. The man was sitting nearby, cooking over a fire. He noticed she was awake. "Hungry?" he asked. She nodded vigorously and scrambled to her feet, gratefully accepting a wooden board as a plate, piled with bacon, and a slab of bread with a piece of cheese. She scarfed it down, slowing only a bit as the man warned her, "Take it easy. Looks like you ain't had a decent meal in a while. You'll get sick if'n you don't slow down."

	After she had eaten, and scurried behind a rock at his direction to relieve herself, she sat near him, looking up at him and wondering. He glanced back down at her.

	"What's your name, young'un?" he asked. 

	"Kenna. Kenna Takchawee," she replied, "What's yours?"

	"My name is J**** W****," he told her, "You got any kin 'round here?" She shook her head. "Anyplace you want me to take you, or anyone you want to be with?" She hung her head, and shook it again. No one wanted her, at least no one decent wanted her. This man, for all he had been nice so far, would probably just leave her to fend for herself. Why shouldn't he?

	"Well, then, I reckon you'll just have to stay with me for a spell, if'n that's all right with you, little Kenna. You mind doing some riding for a week or so? I've sort of got a real need to get clear of these parts, get to Texas."

	She looked with surprise and gratitude at him, and said, "Thank you, Mr W****, I would be grateful to ride with you." For all her stoicism, tears stood in her eyes at his kindness. He pretended not to notice.

	"Well, then, let's pack up and git on the trail."

	Under his direction she helped to break camp, and they were on their way. As the days went by she managed to wheedle some of his history from him. He had been a farmer in Missouri, with a young wife and a baby on the way. The raiders had come from Kansas, during the troubles just before the War Between the States. He had been out in the fields, and had run back to the house just in time to see his wife fall back into the burning building, shot, his old flintlock falling from her hands. Then one of the raiders had sabered him and left him for dead. That was how he had gotten the scar.

	He had taught himself to shoot, and joined one of the Missouri bands as the War had broken out. At the end, most of his regiment had been shot or captured, and only he had escaped, the 'bluebellies' still on the watch for him, for he was the famous outlaw J**** W****, Mr Greased Lightning.

	Now all he wanted to do was to get away, go to Texas, where he knew of a place he might be able to settle, where the 'bluebellies' were not likely to look for him, take up life as a rancher, a cowboy.

	She told him all of her own sad, short story, leaving nothing out, even the treatment she had received at the storekeeper's hands, and her own reaction to it. As she spoke, he couldn't help his mind casting back...

	She had been very young when they married, barely fourteen. He was older, well known to her parents; they had basically arranged the marriage. One might almost say they had sold her to him, as he was obliged to provide two good mules and a small amount of cash money as her bride-price. However she was not unwilling: he was a handsome man, a farmer with a good stretch of land, a hard worker.

	She was still a child in many ways, mischievous, and occasionally thoughtless. It was common practice for a husband to administer a spanking or a whipping to an errant wife. He had seen his own father many times strip his mother naked and take a strap to her bottom if she had misbehaved. In fact, his father had disciplined his mother on a regularly scheduled basis, calling it 'maintenance discipline'; every Friday evening, whether she had misbehaved or not, she would be stripped and whipped, to remind her to behave. He saw no reason not to do the same for his own young teen-aged wife, and she gave him ample reason to do it!

	Multiple times during most weeks she would 'sass' him, or shirk her duties in some way, and he would bend her under his arm, toss up her skirt, and deliver a brisk, business-like spanking on her bare bottom as she moaned and danced. Often he would lay her face-down on the bed with her bottom bared, and use the strap, or a wooden spoon from the kitchen, reddening her buttocks.

	On Friday evenings he would give her her maintenance discipline. For these sessions he would order her to strip completely. Even though they were married, it still embarrassed her at fourteen to be naked in front of him. He would command her to stand in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind her neck, her chest heaving in anticipation and anxiety, her nipples erect atop her small teen breasts, her only barely-fledged cleft framed by her slender thighs. 

	He would take the strap to her, smacking the backs of her thighs as she yelped, then the fronts. Then he would lay stripe after stripe across her bottom as she cried out and danced in place. Then, to her deep embarrassment, he would swing the strap-end across her nipples, bringing a fetching flush to her breasts and fresh cries to her lips. Finally he would bring the strap up sharply between her legs again and again as she nearly screamed from the intensity of her discipline.

	He was careful when he punished her; his father had never left any mark more significant than a mild redness that faded slowly, and he had no intention of treating his slender wife any differently.

	He had only been a child, of course, when his father had disciplined his mother, and he had not been aware or privy to such things. Still, subconsciously he had probably realized that the discipline she received ignited passion that was enjoyed by both his parents. He found this to be true for his young wife as well. After even a simple spanking, and doubly so on the evenings of her maintenance discipline, he found her nearly wildly eager to be touched, and probed, and taken masterfully as she came noisily. In fact, he soon realized that she would deliberately misbehave so as to earn a whipping, wiggling her bottom lasciviously as he strapped her. 

	So they had enjoyed their brief time together. Until that day...

	He shook his head to clear his mind. Some things did not bear remembering. Many had died in the War. Almost everyone had lost something or someone. He looked down at the little Indian girl in his arms. Maybe he had found someone now.

	They came to a small town. He needed supplies, so he scouted briefly from a hill nearby; there seemed to be no 'bluebellies' around, so he and the girl rode in. There was an inn and saloon of sorts, as there was in most Western towns large enough. There a man could buy his wife a meal, or a cowboy could get drunk, or gamble away his earnings.

	He took Kenna inside. Some tables were empty, some were occupied: a couple of cowboys here, a table of gamblers there, a quiet, respectable-looking man with his wife at a table near the swinging door to the kitchen, from which wafted a pleasant smell of roasting beef.

	He approached the bar. "Some grub for me and the girl," he said, and turned to sit her down at a nearby table.

	"Hey!" the barman shouted, "Get her out of here! We don't serve no Injuns here! We aim to keep this place clean!"

	W**** slowly turned, putting Kenna behind him. He twitched aside his coat, the handles of his Navy Colts showing plainly at his hips. A hush fell throughout the room and the color drained out of the barman's face. 

	Kenna tugged at his coat and whispered, "Please, Mr W****, let's just leave. Please!" W**** thought for just a moment. Despite his cold fury he knew that it would be wrong to let things get out of hand; he had a responsibility now. He could not blithely court death anymore. He turned on his heel and headed for the door with Kenna in tow.

	Before they had gone more than a few steps, however, the quiet man and his wife were standing in their path. "Why don't you and the girl come home with me and my wife, mister? My name is Jones, and this is Mandy, my wife. She's a fine cook, finest around, I only brought her here 'cause our little girl's visitin' with a friend of hers. We'll go pick her up and y'all come out to our place, it's not far, mebbe half hour by buckboard. I'd be honored if you'd come and bring the little girl. Not everyone around here's sech a fool as ol' Henry there." A low chorus of assent and nods could be seen and heard around the room. 

	"Thank ye kindly," W**** said, "I reckon we'll take you up on that offer." So he swung Kenna up in front of him, and they followed Mr Jones' buckboard as he went down the street. He hollered at a storefront, and a little girl about Kenna's age scurried out and climbed up. Soon they were at Mr Jones' ranch.

	The Jones' were very pleasant company. Hearty home cooking and a house at peace were like balm to W****'s and Kenna's souls. 

	A house at peace, that is, until, a few hours after dinner, while Mr Jones and Mr W**** were enjoying a pipe of 'baccy on the porch, and Mrs Jones was puttering in the kitchen, a loud crash was heard from the back of the house, followed by hastily stifled squeals from the girls.

	Kenna and 'Becca, the Jones' girl, had quickly become friends. 'Becca was a mischievous little girl, however, and soon roped Kenna into a scheme involving a bucket of whitewash and the family cat. Soon Mr Jones had 'Becca by the arm while he loudly berated her for her misbehavior. "Get them clothes off, girl, and bend over that railing, and I mean now!" 

	"Oh, but Papa! Not in front of Mr W**** and Kenna!" 'Becca whined. 

	Mr Jones spun her around and gave her a smack on her bottom, saying, "You should have thought of that before, girl, now git at it!" Glumly 'Becca complied, too experienced with parental discipline to bother to protest further. Her mother nodded with a grim smile, satisfied that justice was to be done, and returned to the kitchen.

	Mr Jones had ignored Kenna, who had crept to Mr W****'s side. Her eyes widened as she realized what was to transpire. Then she looked up at him. "I?I should be whipped, too," she said simply, looking straight into his eyes.

	W**** looked back for a moment, then said, "I reckon so." Without another word Kenna walked over to her new friend and began to take her clothes off as well. A quick hand squeeze from one to the other, a nervous, grateful smile, and soon both little girls were naked, bent over the porch railing, their little bottoms fully exposed, their anuses bared and unfledged clefts easily seen from behind. 

	W**** and Mr Jones pulled their belts off. W**** glanced over at his host. "I think about ten should be enough, that all right with you?" Jones inquired.

	"I reckon so," W**** answered.

	[SMACK-SMACK-SMACK!] went two belts on two girls' bare bottoms, and "AAAH!AAAH! AAAH!" two little girls cried out as they were disciplined, jerking and dancing, their anuses clenching with each stroke. After ten their buttocks were fetchingly reddened, and they were allowed to straighten up. 

	"Becca, you stand over with your nose to that wall for a bit with your hand behind your head, and no rubbing!" Mr Jones commanded. The nude, red-bottomed girl complied. Meanwhile W**** had enfolded Kenna in a hug, comforting her, proud of her for standing with her friend, gently rubbing her glowing bottom as the little girl buried her face in his shirt, staining it with the few tears that had leaked out during her whipping. 

	After a minute she slipped out of his embrace and joined her friend, nose to the wall, hands clasped behind her head, two little red bottoms on display. Jones and W**** sat back down on the glider and resumed their pipes. After a bit Jones pulled his out and just said, "Cute little things, ain't they?"

	"I reckon so," W**** replied. Indeed he found both girls, and especially his little Indian girl, quite fetching, and the experience of having disciplined her highly...stimulating.

	"All right, girls, you can get dressed and go play. But mind you behave yourselves or you'll get double next time!" Jones admonished them. 'Becca scurried to pull on her dress, turning away from W**** and her father. Kenna moved more slowly, seeming to almost purposefully display her nakedness to the men. But her eyes were fixed on W****...

	Soon W**** and Kenna were on their way again. Sincere entreaties from the Jones' for them to stay for an extended time, perhaps find a place to settle down in the area, were gratefully acknowledged, but politely declined. W**** knew that only in Texas was he likely to be able to make a clean break with the past. 'Becca bid Kenna a tearful goodbye, and made her a gift of one of her readers. Kenna treasured it and promised she would write as soon as she could.

As they rode off into the West, Jones said to his wife, “Do you think…?”
 His wife nodded, replying, “They’ll be married by the time they get to Texas, I expect.”
 ‘Becca just stared in astonishment, then said, “But-but…Kenna’s only ten, and Mr W**** is…old!”
 “He ain’t all that old, girl,” her father replied, “And if I knew a man like W**** I’d be inclined to marry you off to him tomorrow!” His wife nodded her agreement, looking sharply at ‘Becca, who quickly became very quiet.

	The trail was hard, and long, and it took much effort to make the trip. The camp had to be made and broken; at times W**** had to hunt for food. They were constantly on the watch for hostile Indians or bandits.

	W**** found Kenna to be a very satisfying traveling companion. She spoke little, and intelligently when she did speak. She was a hard worker, and would try to help in any way she could. However, she was still only a little girl, after all; she could not avoid mischief or carelessness completely. But instant and complete obedience was necessary; danger was everywhere.

	He admonished her the first time she transgressed. The next time he just said, "That's it, girl, you need a good spanking!" He sat down on a nearby stump, pulled her across his knee, tossed up the hem of her dress, and rained spank after spank on her bare bottom. Her little legs kicked and she couldn't keep little yips and yelps from escaping her lips as he reddened her buttocks.

	As he spanked her, W**** couldn't help becoming aroused. He also noticed that Kenna was moving in a most unusual manner for a child being spanked. She seemed to be deliberately pressing her pelvis against his swelling member as he disciplined her.

	After ten or twenty spanks he let her up, saying, "Now behave yourself, y'hear me?" She just nodded vigorously, rubbing her bottom and peeping up at him through her eyelashes. He looked down at her for a moment. She was altogether adorable to him. He picked her up and held her close, sliding his hand under her dress to gently rub her tender buttocks as she sighed and snuggled into his shoulder. Even as he caressed her he felt her pelvis rocking slightly, pressing her little sex repeatedly against his side.

	Her behavior improved somewhat over the next few days.  In addition, W**** was a little surprised, but very pleased, to find the Indian girl more physically affectionate, often leaning against him as they sat around the fire, kissing his cheek, pressing her head back against his chest as she rode in front of him.

	But there came a day when food was scarce. W**** was forced to leave her for some hours while he hunted for rabbit and deer. Although he made camp in a thicket, he ordered her to remain in an even deeper pocket of brush, well hidden, until he returned. 

	Hours went by, and eventually even for the little Indian girl, used to privation and hardship, boredom overpowered caution. She left her hiding place and snuck back to the campsite. Digging through her small pack, she found the reader 'Becca had given her and lay down on the soft fur W**** had bought for her to sleep on to read it. Before long, however, the book had slipped from her hands as she drifted off.

	She awoke suddenly, or thought she awoke, to a sensation of menace. It was nearly completely dark. She thought she saw the outline of a man standing very near her. Suddenly another figure collided with it. Something like a rope landed across the blanket she had pulled over her. The figures vanished from sight, and the sense of menace dissipated. With a brief thought that it was only a dream, she fell back asleep.

	She awoke fully, with a start. It was morning. She sat up, and saw what looked like a streak of blood across her blanket. A few feet away her alert Indian eyes told her that something like a body had been dragged away. Across the campsite W**** sat on a log, staring at her with a grim expression.

	"It was a Comanche," he said. "I reckon he'd spotted the signs of our camp and waited for dark. If'n I hadn't got back when I did?Don't you know how horrible it would've been for you if he had taken you? How bad it would've been for me to know you were taken?!"

	In a nearly subconscious flash of understanding she realized that not only did he care for her deeply, but also, if he had lost her, it would have been even worse for him because he had lost his young wife in the War.

	She sprang up, ran to him, and flung herself against him, sobbing, "I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!" He put his arms around her slender form, gathering her into a warm embrace, rocking her, nuzzling her silky hair.

	After a while she calmed down. She pulled away from him a bit, looked him steadily in the eyes, and said, "I should be whipped, shouldn't I?"

	He looked back at her without expression. Inwardly love, admiration, tenderness, and desire roiled together. "I reckon so," he finally replied.

	She stepped away from him and pulled her buckskin dress off, leaving her nude in front of him except for her headband and her deerskin moccasins. She was beautiful, a slender, copper-skinned preteen Indian princess, with the face of an angel in despair as she awaited her discipline, breasts that were mere buds topped by nipples, slim hips, and an unfledged girlcleft with puffy lips and prominent clitoris, framed by her gleaming thighs.

	W**** took up a leather strap and swung it across her bottom, [SMAK-WHAK!]. Kenna had not wanted to give the storekeeper the satisfaction of hearing her when he had whipped her, but she loved and trusted W****; she didn't mind if he heard her cry. "AAAA-AAAA!" she yelped, and "Oh, sir, please!" as he continued to discipline her with stroke after stroke, reddening her round little bottom as she danced in place. He also strapped the backs of her thighs, leaving faint red streaks that faded slowly as she yelped. He moved around and began strapping the fronts of her thighs. Her cries became a bit more?impassioned as her discipline verged on the sexual. 

	W**** could not resist. Memories of how he had disciplined his young wife and how she had responded, mixed with Kenna's reaction to her recent spanking, broke down any hesitation. He swung the strap across her little breastbuds and nipples as she gasped and cried out wildly. Once he had reddened them fetchingly he strapped her full upon her mons, cleftlips, and clitoris, again and again, reddening her little underdeveloped sex. She nearly screamed, rocking her pelvis back and forth as he disciplined her so sternly and intimately.

	Finally he tossed the strap aside and swept her up in his arms, kissing her hair, her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. She kissed him back through her tears, clinging tightly to him, her slender legs wrapped around his torso, her pelvis pressed firmly against his waist. He sat down on a log and rocked her back and forth as she shuddered and sobbed, her face buried in his shirt, staining it with her tears. He began to caress her, soothing her, rubbing her reddened bottom, the faint red streaks on her thighs, then sliding up to gently massage her nipples and breastbuds as she tipped her chest out, inviting his hand to continue. Soon she was moaning softly. He let his hand drift down, down?then he was there, gently and then more insistently rubbing her puffy cleftlips and clitoris, pressing the nub against her pubic bone, squeezing, pinching, twisting, punctuating the molestation of her preteen sex with sharp spanks that made her jerk and cry out. Her hips were rocking farther and farther, her back arched, and finally she was coming in his hand, a precious preteen's orgasm, crying out, "AAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAH!" She collapsed into his arms, sobbing out the last of her climax, then drifted off to sleep.

	When she awoke he was still holding her, rocking her. She stretched, and looked up at him. He looked down and said, "I reckon we'll have to stay together, young'un. You know I love you; will you be my wife?"

	Kenna just nodded enthusiastically, her eyes wide and solemn. But W**** wanted to be sure.

	"Do you really know what that means, girl?" he asked.

	Kenna looked down, then peeped up at him through her long lashes. "It means you'll put your...your...thing inside me," she whispered.

	"That's right. It'll probably hurt at first; can't help that, you bein' so small. Are you still willin'?" he asked.

	Kenna nodded, gulping a little bit. "I-I'll just think of it like it was a whippin', or somethin'," she said softly. W**** gathered her to him and held her close, rocking her. He had been so unused to feeling...joy for so long that he could hardly believe he was feeling it now.

	At the next town he inquired after a preacher. Fortunately the circuit rider was in the area, and soon they were standing in front of him, saying their vows. Little comment was made of the fact that Kenna was only ten; 'age of consent' considerations were nearly unheard of at that time of the old West, and if a girl was old enough to say "I do" and know what she was saying, she was considered old enough to be married. The only protection girl-children had against exploitation was their families, as it has been throughout most of human history. Kenna had no family, and W**** clearly loved her and she loved him, so the preacher had no hesitation in pronouncing them man and wife.

	They headed into Texas, and found the place W**** was looking for: a beautiful homestead that had never been lived in. The man who had built it had been in W****'s outfit in the War. He had saved W****'s life, and W**** had saved his, but in the end the man had suffered a fatal wound, dying in W****'s arms, with his last breath giving him the deed to the house and land with his blessing. W**** hadn't known for sure the place even existed until he saw it.

	They settled into domestic life together. Kenna loved having a home of her own, her own bed, land that she could look forward to raising a family on. Most of all she loved W****, feeling so grateful that he had saved her from a life of pain and degradation, that he loved her so dearly.

	W**** deliberately did not immediately take Kenna completely, to consummate their marriage. He thought it best to build up to it. But he made it clear to Kenna that the routine of their domestic life included domestic discipline. Kenna was conflicted, of course: part of her was embarrassed to be stripped naked in front of him, and the strap or switch stung as he snapped it against her naked bottom, or thighs, or other places. But part of her longed to feel that sting, and the moistness that sprang between her legs, and the sensation of his hands as they meandered over her nakedness afterwards.

	He gave her a good, bare-bottomed whipping every Friday night, as her 'maintenance discipline'. She was always naked for these. At other times he would discipline her for any minor infraction, carelessness, backtalk, etc. For these he would usually bend her under his arm, toss up the hem of her dress, and give her a brisk, business-like spanking as she moaned and danced.  

	At other times he would simply seize her and discipline her at will, so that she would understand that she was to be submissive to him at all times. These sessions would take many forms, often evolving into extended sexual discipline. For instance, he might order her to sit on the edge of the bed. Then he would take the shoulders of her dress down, exposing her little breastbuds and nipples as she shivered. He would seize them, kneading and working them, pinching and twisting her nipples as she gasped and moaned. Then he would swing the strap across them, [SNAP-SNAP!]. "AAAH- AAAH!" she would cry out as he reddened her top. The he would strip her completely, running his hands lasciviously up and down her slender naked preteen body. Often he would skip spanking or whipping her bottom, and go straight to a front-spanking, seizing and massaging her buttocks while he smacked her sternly on her mons, cleftlips, and clitoris, [WHAP-WHAP-WHAP!]. "OOO-OOO-OOOH!? she would cry out wildly, frantic at being so sternly disciplined on such a private place. Soon her little hips would be rocking as her sex was reddened, and he interspersed pressing her clitoris excruciatingly against her pubis between spanks. Finally she would come in his hands, writhing and bucking, yipping and yelping as pleasure mixed with embarrassing discipline.

	Within their first two weeks together, however, his frustration had built to the point that he had to have relief somehow. After punishing her to orgasm one evening he told her he wanted her to learn how to service him with her mouth. He had her kneel in front of him on a soft rug and told her to open his trousers. She shyly undid his fly and his rod sprang out, pointing skyward. She looked down, trembling. He tipped her chin up with his fingers, saying, "Put it in your mouth and suck on it, girl. Something will come out when I'm done and I want you to swallow it. Don't worry, it's not pee," he said, to her evident relief. She timidly took his manhood between her lips, her eyes closed in embarrassment.

	The feel of the soft lips and warm, moist mouth of the little preteen Indian child-wife on his member was one of the most pleasurable sensations W**** had ever felt. He held her head and gently worked in and out as she sucked, and in no time he was groaning and emptying himself in her mouth. She spluttered a bit, but tried to swallow the unexpected rush of hot liquid. Some spilled out of her mouth and dribbled down onto her chest. After he slipped out of her mouth with a contented sigh, he took up a soft cloth and tenderly wiped her, then kissed her long and sweetly.

	On a day not long after that, he lay on the bed with her after a sweet discipline session. She was shivering in his arms, sighing and sobbing out the last of her precious preteen orgasm. As her trembling subsided, he was startled to feel her little hand slipping unbidden down to his trousers, releasing his rod. She climbed up and straddled him, putting his member between her legs, looking at him steadily, stolidly, waiting. W**** could hardly speak. "Go ahead, girl, if'n you're willing," he managed to croak out. 

	Kenna guided his manhood between the lips of her unfledged cleft and pushed down as hard as she could. As she gave her maidenhead up to him she screamed once, shortly, arching her back, spasming, then collapsed on his chest, sobbing. He hugged her and rocked her, kissing the top of her head, stroking her hair, her shoulders, her back, whispering to her how much he loved her. All the time he was acutely conscious of the sensation of his rampant rod buried deep within her little preteen girlhood, so tight, so warm, so soft. After a while her distress died down to the occasional sob and sniff. He held her hips and began to move her up and down on his chest, thrusting into her again and again, penetrating her as far as her small size would allow his manhood to go as she moaned and writhed in his arms. 

	Having spent himself so often in her mouth, he was able to continue to ravish her for some minutes, reveling in the exquisite feeling of taking her and taking her, finally letting himself go, emptying himself at her cervix with a groan.

	And the cowboy and his little Indian girl lived happily ever after.

	The End

	By cc

Kudos and hurrah to the readers who can identify the name of the man and the movie from which I took the character, and the name of the actor who played him; extra credit for pointing out any of the bits of dialogue and action which I cribbed. 


	As always, all comments desperately longed for!

ccccc12345@lavabit.com


