It is now high summer as I pass through badlands. To my reckoning I’ve turned 18 summers but just when that was is lost in time along with the distant images of my previous life. As I pass through these badlands I avoid travelling around noon and try to keep within the limited shade of the rocky escarpments as much as I can. But the thing about doing that is it puts you close to where all sorts of varmints can hold out, rattlesnakes, cougars and… indians…
I’m on my horse at walking pace when I notice some debris falling down the sedimentary wall I’m alongside. As I look up I’m already too late to react to the coppery bronzed form of a semi naked indian leaping like a cougar at me. His momentum throws me from my horse and we both hit the ground and roll to a halt. We quickly get to our feet and I draw my knife at him only to find he has a grin on his face. Then… >THUUUNK< as an arrow buries itself into the ground at my feet. I spin around to find another indian with his bow drawn and ready to fire another arrow into my body. I desperately try to recall native words from my distant boyhood, “Shoshone! Shoshone!… peace… Shoshone friend… parley… speak.” The one that jumped me at first looks puzzled but then his expression turns to one of anger. He snarls as he asserts, “SHO-sho-nee not your friend, there is no peace, Shoshone kill enemy of Shoshone!” I come to the realisation that these indians are my people, they are Shoshone. I slowly put my hand to my chest and, patting it, say, “Me Shoshone, you Shoshone, we Shoshone.” There is a long pause before both Shoshone start laughing, the first one approaches to within a few feet of me and abruptly stops laughing and then forcefully gestures for me to drop my knife; not having much choice I comply. Then he places his left hand on my naked chest and puts the tip of his knife into my navel and pushes me back against the rock wall. We are in close eye contact and l am looking for those telltale signs that he is going to actually stab me. He then says, “Green eyed false tribesman not Shoshone, I gut you for false tongue!” I start to feel his knife’s tip turning in my navel accompanied by an intense visceral sensation in my belly which uncontrollably causes my manhood to respond. The Shoshone looks down at my moving loincloth and calls back to the bowman, “The green eyed one likes my knife in his belly.” They both start laughing again and the bowman gets closer to see for himself. The knife wielding one takes his left hand off my chest to reach down and then pulls my loincloth away fully exposing my excited and now drooling manhood.
This engaging moment allows me time to take in some detail of my attackers. They are both older than me at around 25 summers and the knife wielding one has less muscle than the bowman. They each have a leather headband, hide loincloth, moccasins and armbands; both, like me, have straight long black hair. Their cheekbones and foreheads are adorned with lines of green and red warpaint. They are lightly armed with sheath knives and bows with quivered arrows.
Just then he starts to put some pressure on his knife and begins twisting it inside my innie navel which almost makes me lose control of myself. He then touches the tip of my cock to wet his fingers in my cock-drool which he holds up for the other to see. As I feel even more pressure being exerted I see in his eyes he is about to thrust his blade into my guts. I immediately headbutt him which momentarily stuns him long enough for me to reach for his knife and turn the blade towards his own belly. As he realises what is happening I feel his strength trying to turn the blade back at me. All the while I have one eye on the bowman who is now rapidly moving his bow attempting to target me without hitting his own tribesman. The knife is now held in a struggle between our bellies as the Shoshone snarls into my face and I feel his warm panting breath on my cheek. However, I am stronger and inevitably I manage to thrust his own knife deep into his navel with an audible >SPFLITTT< as he cries out, “AAARRRGGGHHH!”. I immediately pull the blade from his guts to throw at the bowman but see he is about to release an arrow at me so, grabbing the Shoshone before he falls, I turn him towards the bowman whose released arrow penetrates deep into the centre of his back with a dull thud and a grunt.
As the bowman reaches for another arrow from the quiver I release the dying Shoshone and lunge towards the bowman with the bloodied knife. On seeing my action the bowman drops his bow and quiver and pulls his own knife at me. This Shoshone is lithe with defined abdominals and channel leading to his outie navel; although I am not as defined as him we are about evenly matched. Crouching we start to circle each other looking for any signs of weakness or distraction in our adversary. As the full blood Shoshone crouches I admire how his muscular belly arches down to disappear under his loincloth. But… oh fuck!… the distraction of this is all he needed as he is now springing at me. We clash like rutting stags as we each manage to defensively grab the other’s knife arm and start a deadly struggle to get cold steel to slice into our opponent’s hot vitals. As our naked bellies make contact his war painted face is contorted as he bares his teeth at me. We seem to be at stalemate when I notice a raised flat rock slab just behind him. I muster all my strength and force him to back up towards it until… tripping he falls backwards onto the slab of rock with me atop of him. We are now in full body contact with bellies and loins squirming together. His knife trying to enter my chest and mine… my knife… during the fall my knife has entered his left side. I now see pain in his eyes and feel the squirming power of his abdominals against mine as he writhes under me. I exploit this advantage and twist the knife in his side, “AYIIIEEEE!” This weakens him enough for me to force his knife arm back against the rock slab. I look into his pained eyes and say, “Now you feel knife in your navel.” With that I pull the blade from his side and slightly roll to expose his belly and place the tip of the blade into the centre of his raised navel. I start to twist and catch the blade in the ridges of his navel until I hear a low guttural growl from him as his writhing becomes more rhythmical. Suddenly the tip of his glistening manhood is exposed from under his loincloth to make direct contact with mine as our cock-drool is mixed together. I try to relax my grip on him to calm him down but as soon as I do he again tries to use his knife against me, so I firmly push the knife’s blade through his navel and underlying muscle into the soft guts below. He cries out, “URRRGGGHHH!”as he writhes, his tight abdominals trying to stop the blade’s descent into his viscera. I feel a hot gush against my belly and gradually feel his resistance wane.
The sight of the two dead Shoshone warriors, my people who wanted to kill me, sends a shudder through me. If my own people do not accept me then who am I? what am I? I take a bow and quiver of arrows, an extra knife and a pair of leather armbands and, on recovering the Appaloosa, continue my journey across the badlands.
The following day, as I ride inside a short canyon, there is a sudden single gunshot that ricochets off the canyon walls spooking my horse and causing it to gallop away with me trying to regain control. On reaching the end of the canyon I manage to turn the Appaloosa into a circle which soon brings him back to walking pace. But who was shooting at me? From behind an outcrop I scan the canyon area but cannot see anyone. I decide to hitch up the Appaloosa, gather my bow and arrows and, crawling on my naked belly, work my way slowly up the slopping canyon wall. The heat of the exposed rocks burn against my belly as I keep low. Then I hear a metallic click, the click of a revolver hammer being primed to fire…
Instinctively I roll towards the cover of a boulder as another shot ricochets near to me with rock shards stinging my side. I notch an arrow to my bow and crouch low looking for a way out. Then I hear a familiar voice “Come out from there Breed or I’ll come in firing!” It’s the blacksmith’s son, Sam Tweed, the powerful 19 summers SOB who beat me into submission by squeezing my balls and then tried to string me up. “BREED!” Sam shouts. I can see no way out that wouldn’t get me shot in trying so I drop my bow and arrows and, raising my hands, slowly walk out from behind the boulder. Standing there is Sam with his revolver pointing right at my belly as he slowly walks towards me. He then pushes the revolver’s muzzle right into my navel and says, “Make one move and I’ll blast your guts out of your back.” He then reaches for my knife and places it inside his waist belt alongside another one which I find strange because he already has a further sheathed hunting knife hanging from his belt. He then slowly moves behind me and orders, “Put your hands behind your back savage!” I comply and then he grabs my wrists to bind them behind my back. He says, “Breed, there’s a price on your head and I’m aiming to collect, now move!” With that he jabs me in the back with the revolver and pushes me towards a gap in the rocks. Then we emerge into a clearing and I see his horse tied up and there, hog tied, is a loincloth clad full blood indian wearing an empty knife sheath on his waistband. He looks about a couple of summers older than me and is lean, his black hair is braided in a fashion I cannot recall. As we approach this indian I see he seems disturbed, of Sam I guess but on getting closer I see he is fixing me with a look of hate and fear.
Sam says, “Well lookie here I’ve got myself my own injun tribe!” Then Sam notices the look the indian is giving me. “Breed, I don’t think this here buck likes you.” “I was gonna kill him when I caught up with you but now I think we’ll have ourselves some fun first.” Sam points at the indian but looks straight at me as he says, “That’s how I tracked you Breed, or at least your horse, it takes a savage to find a savage so I first caught me a pure bred redskin to find you.” I continue to say nothing. Sam suddenly pushes me to the ground and, still holding his gun at me, takes a few steps back. He then proceeds to take off his shirt exposing his pale skin, his deep chest and slightly rounded belly belying his abdominal muscles hidden beneath a layer of fat. His firm biceps and forearms forged from his blacksmith labours. Dark body hair covers his chest with a trail of hair from his outie belly button disappearing under his low slung waist belt. Sam then says, “You see Breed I enjoyed wrestling you and making you submit but what I really wanted to do was kill you as you were getting quite a reputation for being a fighter when you’re just a savage animal”. “So here’s the thing, the price on your head, for what it’s worth, is alive or dead!” “I’m gonna fight you again but this time I’m gonna kill you Breed, but before I do I think this here buck wants a piece of you but don’t worry as I’ll kill him if he tries to take my reward from me, let’s just call it your warm up fight!”
Sam draws a knife and comes over behind me and cuts my bindings and then steps away saying, “Now remove your loincloth, untie the hostile and get him to do the same.” Upon removing my loincloth I approach the indian to which he stiffens his body up against the canyon wall. I make eye contact, my green eyes to his brown and then I reach down to untie him and quickly step back. He uses his hands to massage each wrist and leg in turn and then slowly stands up into a stance of defiant pride. I again speak native words from my past but upon each utterance he sneers at me. Then, to my surprise, he starts speaking in a native tongue somewhat different to what I was using yet still comprehensible to me. “You may be a cub of the wolf and the coyote but I still see you as one of the Snake people, a Shoshone and enemy of the Cheyenne!” He continues, “This paleskin wants to kill us both and I know I am to die but it shall be as warrior in battle against sworn enemy, You!” Sam interjects, “What are you two yammering away at?” “Get the hostile naked!” Before I can say anything the Cheyenne, in understanding, removes his own loincloth. There we stand facing each other naked with just a leather thong carrying empty knife sheaths at our waists. His coppery bronzed skin tone against my bronzed brown. Sam, holding his revolver at us, shouts, “FIGHT!”…
We lock hands and try to overpower each other but neither gives, so we separate and try again. This time the Cheyenne manages to grab me around the waist and uses his legs to overbalance me. As I fall to the ground he’s upon me and we wrestle, naked, on the ground in front of a gun toting Sam and I can’t help notice that he is actively rubbing his crotch as we squirm and slide against each other…
Going through puberty the only physical contact I had was one of violence so my manhood would very often respond during a fight, much to the amusement of those betting on the outcome. Yet I saw many, like Sam, touching themselves while watching me fight naked. Although my opponents wore jeans they could not hide their swollen and often drooling manhoods from my intimate contact with them. So it is no surprise that as we wrestle naked both the Cheyenne’s and my own manhood respond to the stimulus.
Soon the Cheyenne’s belly is exposed to my fist so I let fly and a dull slap is heard as my fist is met by the firmness of his abdominals, the impact causing his engorged cock to flick up and hit my hand. The Cheyenne let’s out a “OOMMMPH!” and has a surprised look on his face. As we continue to wrestle it becomes clear that he is unfamiliar with the art of fist fighting and my numerous punches are starting to weaken him. We both become exhausted from both the wrestling and the giving and receiving of punches, so we both fall back onto the ground with our chests heaving to breathe and the Cheyenne rubbing his tender belly.
Sam suddenly shouts, “KILL HIM BREED!” as my own knife lands in the dirt next to me. I roll onto my side and immediately grab at it and, as I do, I see the look the Cheyenne is now giving me, one of acceptance as he sits up onto his haunches. I sense what he is about to do so I shake my head at him but… too late… as he springs forward at me with both of his hands going for my throat. As he lands upon me he lets out a long,“UNNNGGGHHHH!” as his lower belly is impaled by my knife. Yet he is still trying to strangle me so I know I must end this for him and follow through by slicing my knife from side to side in his lower guts until he is still. I then roll the Cheyenne’s naked form off me and see he is still alive as his bleeding belly heaves and quivers. His eyes open and his hand reaches out to touch mine as if in a gesture of thanks… >BANG< as I see the Cheyenne’s body violently jerk when a bullet hole appears in his chest. I turn to see Sam lowering his gun and I realise I am feeling both sadness and anger over the death of… an enemy? My mind is too overloaded to work through these alien emotions so I just roll back onto the ground, my chest and blood covered belly heaving from exhaustion.
Then Sam barks, “Get up Breed, I reckon you’re ready to take me on again.” As I slowly get to my feet I see a shirtless knife wielding Sam and it dawns on me that my anger was not against the Cheyenne but towards this sadistic bastard. Sam adopts a classic knife fighting stance and slowly moves towards me. I just continue to stand there, Cheyenne blood from my belly dripping off my manhood. Sam makes a tentative, almost teasing lunge with his knife but I don’t react. Sam Tweed starts to smile as he looks at me, from his perspective he sees an exhausted and soon to be defeated savage animal in need of culling. However, after years of abuse and violence, knowing when to react has become an instinct in me. Sam moves in for the kill but as he lunges I suddenly grab his knife arm and, using his own momentum, spin him around twisting his knife arm back behind him until he is forced to drop the knife. From behind him I use my left forearm to put him in a tight choke hold which makes him use both hands to attempt to free himself. I then bring my knife around his waist and lunge inwards towards his belly… The blade enters his lower belly just above his belt buckle and directly into the trail of hair leading from his navel to his cock with a loud >SPFLITTT< as he cries out, “AAARRRGGGHHH!” I then start cutting the blade upwards through fat, muscle and hair following the hairy trail to his outie navel, “URRRGGGHHH!” “UNNNGGGHHHH!” His bucking and writhing against me soon turns to a shudder as I start to hear the slapping of his entrails sliding from his opened belly cavity and hitting the ground. When I release my choke hold his eviscerated body slumps down onto the pile of his own steaming guts.
Eventually I set about finding my Appaloosa and collect anything of use, such as the revolver, ammunition and supplies. I do not take anything belonging to the Cheyenne to avoid a revenge attack. I unhitch Sam Tweed’s horse and let it loose to find its own way home. Later I find a source of water for the horse and me to drink. As I cleanse myself I have the strong sense I am being watched… Then I hear a native tongue, “Brother Shoshone I am in need of your help.” I spin around with my knife at the ready but see no one. I say loudly, “SHOW YOURSELF!” Then from behind an outcrop appears another Shoshone warrior who is clearly injured with deep lacerations across his chest and upper abdominals. He is almost in a state of collapse so I go over to him and help him to get to the water. This warrior is older than the other two I encountered, maybe 30 summers and but for his injury would be a formidable opponent. I help him to drink and to bathe his wounds and as sunset approaches I decide to light a small fire and share the rations I had found in Sam’s saddlebags. I sit cross legged opposite him at the campfire and see he is now stronger and in less pain; he also studies me with a calm look. I say, “What beast caused your injuries?” As I suspected he replies, “Cougar!” He continues, “I was with two young warriors when I was attacked but they just left me to die after it ran off.” Realising he is referring to the two I had killed I become uneasy and say, “Why did they not help you?” He replies, “They are trouble for our people as they just want to kill all non Shoshone which will surely bring the Blue Coats back for revenge upon us.” When I hear this I am flooded by distant memories of the soldiers’ attack upon my village. He continues, “I was trying to convince them to change their ways for the good of the Shoshone people but they would not listen to me.”Then I ask, “Why do you call me Shoshone?” He gives me a puzzled look and replies, “Because I see you as Shoshone!” “It is not uncommon for those of mixed blood to be treated as Shoshone as long as they choose to be so.” “It has alway been so between other tribes as it is now, even between the Paleskins.” I say, “I killed the two Shoshone of which you speak because they tried to kill me.” He replies, “They were as mad dogs, had it not been you then our tribe would have had no choice but to kill them, they chose their own path!.” “I am Ta-Nay, how are you known?” I struggle to find an answer but reply, “I am known to the Paleskins as Breed but it does not yet feel right for me to answer to my tribal name of Tontoo.” I see in his eyes a look I take to be of confusion over my response. Ta-Nay then says, “Until you are ready I will not call you other than Warrior but know this, you are more a Shoshone than those two mad dogs you killed.” “Warrior, will you help me get back to our people?” Before responding I pause for a while and then simply nod my head.
The next morning I help Ta-Nay to mount the Appaloosa and walking alongside head off as directed towards the Shoshone camp.
I am Breed! I am Shoshone! I survive!
Custom image courtesy of Ras Roleplay
