Ward Wardwell was a respectable man as they could come, with his respectful wife, Chastity, and their children, Wardley, Wilda, Winston, and another on the way. Despite his young age, he had made himself a wealthy member of the London company which would soon invest in the exploration of the New World, which he had unfortunately been selected to partake in. There was nothing to be done- he simply would have to take a months or year long voyage, and hope it brought him prosperity. He was used to more comfort.
Still, he was a working man, and ready for plenty- a respectable man.
He kept a tight journal and good track of himself during the journey. His brown hair, cut evenly and brushed smoothly back, had grown into a messy bush of curls that complimented his puff mustache and beard. He’d even document how it grew, and intended to keep himself occupied in the Virginia colony with his hairstyles. It helped that he didn’t have a wife to nag him.
There was one thing that he’d never write in his journal though- the story of why he eventually had to leave Jamestown, why he left all his wealth and ****** for what history would define as his true calling, something told only from memory (with edits for modern English, of course.)
Alas, I am Ward Whitman Westerley Wardwell, and this is my true story of how I colonized a Powhatan girl.
It all started in 1621, when I was presiding over a significant share of the Virginia Company's dealings outside Jamestown. I was also in charge of dealing with the savages who wanted rights to the land, as if I’d give it to them. I saw these people before this town had gone up, one of the many on the coast that had sprung up recently. Only the English could have accomplished something like this- these natives couldn’t even read or write, and they often refused to even wear clothes, instead exposing their small, ugly bodies. I had nothing but dislike for these people.
For some odd reason, this made the native women adore me.
The greatest slut of theirs was one who ‘coincidentally’ made it a point to see me often, even interrupting my work times with her unseemly arrivals, named Nadie. I always thought it sounded European, but it meant ‘wisdom’ in the language of the Northeastern sub-race of red men. She was not a wise one, just a lustful one. I could easily have that whore Nadie- even Chastity, through all those years of marriage, was still nervous when faced with my size, and all women I knew were charmed by the confidence I must admit it gave me. But this was not for red, dirt-covered native sluts.
She wore deerskin overwear to go through town, but when she entered my office, she’d take it off very soon to speak with me.
Under it, she wore a tiny little strap of clothing around her round, red breasts, hugging the globes tight with that bone pin on her back. She wore nothing but a loincloth for her bottoms, and made no effort to conceal her round, curvaceous ass at all. She’d even rub it against me, the whore.
Her long, silky black hair was far too inviting, going down her back to her wonderful bronze ass, which I have to admit triumphed over my wife’s meager behind. Even her breasts were far bigger, with Chastity often requiring a wet nurse to make up for her unimpressive production. As filthy as it was, I soon found myself wanting this slutty native girl.
She was much younger than me, eighteen to my over forty, younger than Chastity was when we married, and far more of a Venus. When we talked she would grind her crotch against my arm, and, over the summer, wore smaller and smaller loincloths until a breeze could show me her bushy pubic hair. I also noticed it was wet.
One day, I was fed up with her harlotry, or so I told myself. I asked her, “why do you even talk to me, whore, when you have many more native men you should be spending time with, instead of intruding on English business?” My voice was harsher than it ever had been with her, at least since she learned English.
“I- I am sorry,” she choked, thickly accented, “I assumed you like me- my breasts and ass.”
“And native men won’t?”
She gulped, kneeling politely, “Sir- I think you seen native men, or, um-“ she smirked besides herself- “native boys are quite underendowed, and I hear rumor that white men… very large.”
I refused to look smug, hearing nothing I didn’t already know. Especially that this little red whore was completely enthralled with me.
“And what do you make of that?” I ask, crossing my leg and sitting proudly over her.
“Well-“ she stared at the triangle made by my legs, at the bulge in my breeches, “Red man endowment… gets job done,” her rust colored face somehow turner even redder, “but white man.. I’ve heard… feels like feast. Filling and pleasurable.”
“Stupid harlot,” I sneer, “you’re a whore, you know that, right?”
“Yes sir!” She prostrated herself before me, “I am wanton, but I want you!” She admitted.
“You want me”
My little red slut froze. “I-“ she looked at me with those black, inferior eyes. I wanted to hit her, show her how little she meant to me, and I knew she’d enjoy that. “I shouldn’t have said that sir.”
“Why do you call me sir? I’m not your master, nor your father,” I also could tell that she would easily renounce her father for me. I realized I really was enjoying this. Enjoying it as much as I did fucking my mistress back in London, a young, poor maid who served the custodian, and me. I haven’t heard from that blonde little piece of ass since I got here. Nor had I thought of her.
“Sir…” Nadie began, “I think you are. Few red man will admit, but red woman say all time, how white men bigger, taller, farm better, build stronger houses, can sail in harsh sea! White man scares us, but some have fear become lust. I feel much lust for you sir.. my mother says white man would make good husband. I wish to be first in my ****** to lay with one of you.”
The admission did not surprise me at all. I wished to meet this girls mother, but that would come later. I figured it would be prudent to lock the door, my only regret being that I missed the lovely slut’s face when she realized what I was doing. As I turned, I asked her, “have you ever lain with a red man?”
She shook her head vigorously, sending her straight hair into a fan, “No sir, I am pure,” she put her hands to her chest, as if this wench could be chaste, “but… I know many women who have. They all say native men… unsatisfying.”
“What does that mean?” I asked. I have experienced my fair share of indecent whores, but I at least appreciated it when they were honest about it, “Be honest.”
She gulped again, sweat making her round face shine, “Their.. Penises, sir,” she pinched two fingers together, “Small.”
I laughed, right in her face. Would it really be this easy to get these women to deride their men? This continent was going to be ours in a decade, easily.
“And what do you think of white men, Nadie?” I tapped my foot at her knee, sending her to lower her posture, smothering the air in between those thick thighs.
“I.. think many things. But think of you most, sir.”
“What do you think?”
She meeped. “I think… about me. And you. together…” she rubbed her smooth, bare shoulders, “About leaving my tribe for you.”
“Not for me,” I stood up, “For you. It is your lust. Not mine.”
She nodded earnestly, “I know! And I am sorry but.... I have thought of you every night for weeks. I cannot take any more. And I don’t want anyone satisfy me… but you.”
“Your lust,” I repeated.
“Yes. My lust. I am lustful, imprudent, a harlot for white men! For you! It is my lust, the worst lust I have ever felt!”
“Quiet,” I hushed, undoing my belt, “This is all your lust, and not at all mine.”
“Yes sir…” she hushed, “I accept responsibility for you, sir. As long…as you pleasure me. I beg…” she ran her fingertips down her brown, flat belly down to the sinewy band of her loincloth, “I beg for you to give pleasure.”
“Pull it down,” I beckon at my legwear.
“Pull?”
“Yes. If your lustful, whorish little self wants pleasure, you know what to do.”
She shoved both her hands down in between her thighs, biting her lower lip as she shifted her weight. “Yes sir!” she piped.
Large, black eyes looking up at me, her hands and face went towards his hips, grabbing tightly at the soft, expensive fabric I wore, pulling everything down at once.
Out, right in front of her, was the very cock that she had fantasized about for months. As she looked over it, it’s firm, wide veins filling my round, fat cock, its red head swelling as it brushed against her hand. I’d later learn from her exactly what she thought as she stared deeply at it’s hardening length. A thousand filthy, traitorous thoughts ran through her mind, about how easily she would abandon her life with her ****** to run away for me, to be hidden away from any people, only to be used by my for pleasure, to live a life with nothing but white cock giving her meaning. She didn’t belong to her tribe or mine- only with my dick.
She would tell stories, to arouse me when I was being more prudent than she (which was often, that little slut), of how she would sneak away from her tribe at night to go and masturbate herself thinking of being a sex slave for white men. It had become her addiction. At times, in the summer, she would simply sleep in the warm streams, orgasming in the water. Other women of her tribe would happily cover for the addicted young whore.
Back to our first time- it took her a while to gather herself after first laying eyes on me, but in those black orbs, I saw something new, as she took the soft, fleshy meat of my cock in her tight hand, unable to even fit her whole hand around it, and raised it to her mouth to sloppily lick all around the head and hole.
I saw love.
That was also when I realized that these people, even the most lustful and foolish of their women, really could love. I think it was that that made me instantly hard as my fat cockhead sat in her full lips.
Her eyes widened with a little jump as her virginal lips felt my member harden tight in the cushion of her lips. Still looking at me, she showed she knew what to do despite her age, as she leaned forward, parting the soft pucker of her lips to allow my bulby cockhead to enter her native mouth. She pushed down, insisting on taking me all. When I felt how hot slimy her perfect mouth was, I let her. It opened wider and wider until her lips started closing again as she got past my bulging midsection. On her fist damn time. Probably the wild animals she ate, the little savage.
She sure sucked like a savage, like some beastly animal that didn’t even need to breathe, instead surviving by how much of her own saliva she slurped from my dick. The redskin was the first girl who could ever easily deepthroat me, and I could tell no one had ever even come close. Every swallow of my length, she chucked it all back like an oyster, gagging on the fleshy tip leaking deep down her throat, before pulling it all the way out again, covered in ropey, gooey spit. She’d do this over and over again, pulling on the soaked skin, forcing her tongue over its fat curve, stretching her cheeks as it sat in her mouth.
It was more tongue and throat fucking than facefucking, as those where what I felt most- how that round muscle flattened under my cock, how her esophagus expanded with the force she thrust on my meat, savoring the taste and the sensation as it filled her head.
I felt the valves in me pump, swell and rush towards my golden haired crotch. I grabbed her silky raven hair as I forced this Powhatan emissary to take her first load of white cum from a man over twice her age.
The same thick, white fluid that was reserved for my wife and mistress was now shooting onto the back of Nadie’s stretched throat. I saw her eyes once again widen as she felt the hit liquid pour down her throat, surely desperate to feel every last powerful dollop all the way to her stomach.
She pulled me off from her mouth with an efforted, clinging pop, leaving it to once again bounce in front of her as she showed off her mouthfull of my seed. “Were you satisfied sir?”
I looked down at the girl I had just emptied myself into. “No.”
Her smug, naughty face changed into the uncomfortable face her kind often made when I looked at them.
I smiled, “Not yet.”
She returned the face, standing up to face me- or try, as she was more than my head and shoulders below my height, and about half as wide at most- grabbing my arms as I kicked away my garments, only wearing my white ruffled shirt. Her hands feeling very small against mine, she moved my hands under her arms, on top of the deerskin band she used to cover her breasts with the tiniest possible modicum of modesty.
I felt the soft underside poking out above and below the rougher hide of the band, her ribcage underneath it, and her well-matured breasts upon that. They were soft, smooth, warm as their burnt red color, and already mostly exposed by her choice in dress.
Her doe eyes looked up to me as if she was asking if I liked them. I gave each a squeeze just to show that I did, pushing the fleshy fruits together. She clearly liked that.
As much as I would deny it, the truth was that I often looked lustfully upon her figure and exposing garments, which is why I knew exactly how to undo the skin band that held her the crowning jews of her breasts from my eyes.
The long rectangle of tanned hide fell alongside my much more substantial pile of clothes, being dwarfed as she was in front of me. But I didn’t focus on that- all I could look at were her beautiful upper works.
They were round as full of honeydews, large on a woman but small against my groping hand, filled with youthful flesh, keeping the roundness firmly up against her chest, capped off by the warm brown hue of her small and unused bee-sting nipples, pinched between my rough fingers. Her eyelashes fluttered.
“Take me, master,” she moaned, talking like one of the negro slaves, so devoted she was to me. Not devoted- obsessed. I was her obsession, her fantasy, the pinnacle of every lust. From her first, youthful masturbatory orgasm to today, I was what her carnal drives was aiming for. I let it fill me, the powerful, smart, wealthy white colonist who would ravage her virgin sex, with the utmost, but not unjust, arrogance.
Obliging generously, I took her. I grabbed around her back, pulling her towards me and lifting her up to lay with her on my luxury rug, pinning her under my weight, letting her breasts jostle as she landed roughly. Her only response to that pain was her kittenish smile.
From her globes, I ran my free hand down the flat, borderline thin stomach of a maiden, right down to that crotch she had teased me with and used me to tease so much before. It was still perfectly smooth before my fingers reached her waistband, a twine line around her hips that served to hold up her incredibly minimal excuse for a loincloth, which seemed to do nothing but ride up and expose the ditz. I did away with it, snapping it off.
Underneath was her unkempt mass of soft pubic hair, an uncivilized bush. It was one of the few imperfections the red girl had- she flaunted her more arousing legs, larger breasts, and bigger ass than my wife could ever hope to have, but couldn’t match the pristine smoothness she maintains herself at, even as she aged.
No matter though. Nadie was mine, all and only mine, laying under me as my arm held her, straining to look down as my fingertips inched through her forest, like the trek she would make every day to meet me. Whose destination was sweeter would be anyone’s guess.
I ran my fingers over the smooth, fleshy entrance if her lips, avoiding her little bean as I pushed further into the small little folds, letting her eyes roll back as I pushed into them, feeling the little squelches of her coming juices, albeit a tiny taste.
I climbed up on her, trapping her under my figure, holding her down from below and above with my arms, each wider than her neck. She whimpered softly, either in fear or anticipation, or both. My dick was at full mast again, and she could feel it, the soft head in between her virgin hole and my rock-hard beardsplitter, fulfilling its purpose as it slowly creeped in. When I saw her eyes open, I slammed myself all in
She screamed, letting her arms flare around on the floor with a continuous moan as she realized just how deep I was, just how much she was stretched out. I slammed my palm over her mouth, and got to work.
I struggled to fully fit each inch of my member inside of her, feeling her insides compress and clench as it fought against my firm taking of her virginity. She cried as I bottomed out, not how much she could take, but how I could go- all the way.
Her crying eyes turned to rolled-back, glassy orbs of bliss. I took my saliva-soaked hand off her, and she was quiet, besides the humming that was accentuated by each blunt thrust. I had to slam my hips into hers to achieve the desired effect, otherwise her tight hole would have either strangled me or just popped me out. It was like a battle between her walls and my dick, and I was winning.
My body, golden hair sleek with sweat, kept slamming into this wet, orgasmic little whore, spreading her legs apart as she accepted her fucking, still cradled by her back and head in my arms. As I lowered the arm beneath her, she arched her back, allowing me to better reach those flushed pleasure spots in her deflowered canal.
Her hair moved and her head bobbed as if she had passed out from the pleasure the white cock inside her gave her, but the way she held onto my arms, pulled herself deeper onto my swollen dick, told me that she was perfectly awake and wanted more.
Her tiny body became increasingly desperate, clinging to me sloppily- not as sloppy, though, as the mess she made. I lubricated her insides more than enough with pre ejaculate, but she went the extra mile, as if her virgin self couldn’t take how she was being fucked. Her cunt practically flowed with womanly liquids and lubes of all sorts. At first I thought I could’ve burst her hymen, but this was much more fluid than any small native girl could afford to lose in blood. It trickled down my balls, onto the carpet, even some onto the floor my rutting had pushed us onto.
I would’ve mocked her coldly for it, but I was far too busy, and far too hot. Soft “Ah”s began to escape her lips as my little native slut drew her head up to lay in my neck and scream as her legs wrapped around mine. I felt what was coming.
Sitting up, still bouncing her used body on my cock while on my knees, I held her head as I felt her hips shake, the insides of her gaped tunnel vibrate, and then it all impossibly contract as she felt her first ever orgasm brought on by a man.
A white man.
Struggling to keep herself quiet, she looked like she was going to yell orgasmic obscenities whether she wanted to or not. However, she felt a swooning orgasm, a rush of hot liquid over my shaft, balls, and legs, and a collapse of her spine’s nervous stiffness. Still fat inside her, my dick shot thick ropes into her without hesitation, making this redskin one of only three women I ever paid that honor to. The way her eyes fluttered to it told me she enjoyed it.
I held my new lover gently the rest of the afternoon, figuring I deserved a day off.
While she clearly adored me, I planned on enjoying her not as I did my wife or mistress, but as an inferior toy. I told her this as she rested, waking her up with the biggest smile.
“Do you mean it sir?”
I looked down at her in more ways than one, replying, “Why wouldn’t I.”
She stared at the floor, “That… so wrong. So, awful wrong.”
I raised an eyebrow. She played with a drop of cum sliding out of her slit as her face transformed into manic joy.
“It felt so good.”
I smile back, “That’s what I wanted to hear. What feels good?”
“White men…” she admired my nude form, hands spreading my cum over her own, “I love white man dick.”
Still, he was a working man, and ready for plenty- a respectable man.
He kept a tight journal and good track of himself during the journey. His brown hair, cut evenly and brushed smoothly back, had grown into a messy bush of curls that complimented his puff mustache and beard. He’d even document how it grew, and intended to keep himself occupied in the Virginia colony with his hairstyles. It helped that he didn’t have a wife to nag him.
There was one thing that he’d never write in his journal though- the story of why he eventually had to leave Jamestown, why he left all his wealth and ****** for what history would define as his true calling, something told only from memory (with edits for modern English, of course.)
Alas, I am Ward Whitman Westerley Wardwell, and this is my true story of how I colonized a Powhatan girl.
It all started in 1621, when I was presiding over a significant share of the Virginia Company's dealings outside Jamestown. I was also in charge of dealing with the savages who wanted rights to the land, as if I’d give it to them. I saw these people before this town had gone up, one of the many on the coast that had sprung up recently. Only the English could have accomplished something like this- these natives couldn’t even read or write, and they often refused to even wear clothes, instead exposing their small, ugly bodies. I had nothing but dislike for these people.
For some odd reason, this made the native women adore me.
The greatest slut of theirs was one who ‘coincidentally’ made it a point to see me often, even interrupting my work times with her unseemly arrivals, named Nadie. I always thought it sounded European, but it meant ‘wisdom’ in the language of the Northeastern sub-race of red men. She was not a wise one, just a lustful one. I could easily have that whore Nadie- even Chastity, through all those years of marriage, was still nervous when faced with my size, and all women I knew were charmed by the confidence I must admit it gave me. But this was not for red, dirt-covered native sluts.
She wore deerskin overwear to go through town, but when she entered my office, she’d take it off very soon to speak with me.
Under it, she wore a tiny little strap of clothing around her round, red breasts, hugging the globes tight with that bone pin on her back. She wore nothing but a loincloth for her bottoms, and made no effort to conceal her round, curvaceous ass at all. She’d even rub it against me, the whore.
Her long, silky black hair was far too inviting, going down her back to her wonderful bronze ass, which I have to admit triumphed over my wife’s meager behind. Even her breasts were far bigger, with Chastity often requiring a wet nurse to make up for her unimpressive production. As filthy as it was, I soon found myself wanting this slutty native girl.
She was much younger than me, eighteen to my over forty, younger than Chastity was when we married, and far more of a Venus. When we talked she would grind her crotch against my arm, and, over the summer, wore smaller and smaller loincloths until a breeze could show me her bushy pubic hair. I also noticed it was wet.
One day, I was fed up with her harlotry, or so I told myself. I asked her, “why do you even talk to me, whore, when you have many more native men you should be spending time with, instead of intruding on English business?” My voice was harsher than it ever had been with her, at least since she learned English.
“I- I am sorry,” she choked, thickly accented, “I assumed you like me- my breasts and ass.”
“And native men won’t?”
She gulped, kneeling politely, “Sir- I think you seen native men, or, um-“ she smirked besides herself- “native boys are quite underendowed, and I hear rumor that white men… very large.”
I refused to look smug, hearing nothing I didn’t already know. Especially that this little red whore was completely enthralled with me.
“And what do you make of that?” I ask, crossing my leg and sitting proudly over her.
“Well-“ she stared at the triangle made by my legs, at the bulge in my breeches, “Red man endowment… gets job done,” her rust colored face somehow turner even redder, “but white man.. I’ve heard… feels like feast. Filling and pleasurable.”
“Stupid harlot,” I sneer, “you’re a whore, you know that, right?”
“Yes sir!” She prostrated herself before me, “I am wanton, but I want you!” She admitted.
“You want me”
My little red slut froze. “I-“ she looked at me with those black, inferior eyes. I wanted to hit her, show her how little she meant to me, and I knew she’d enjoy that. “I shouldn’t have said that sir.”
“Why do you call me sir? I’m not your master, nor your father,” I also could tell that she would easily renounce her father for me. I realized I really was enjoying this. Enjoying it as much as I did fucking my mistress back in London, a young, poor maid who served the custodian, and me. I haven’t heard from that blonde little piece of ass since I got here. Nor had I thought of her.
“Sir…” Nadie began, “I think you are. Few red man will admit, but red woman say all time, how white men bigger, taller, farm better, build stronger houses, can sail in harsh sea! White man scares us, but some have fear become lust. I feel much lust for you sir.. my mother says white man would make good husband. I wish to be first in my ****** to lay with one of you.”
The admission did not surprise me at all. I wished to meet this girls mother, but that would come later. I figured it would be prudent to lock the door, my only regret being that I missed the lovely slut’s face when she realized what I was doing. As I turned, I asked her, “have you ever lain with a red man?”
She shook her head vigorously, sending her straight hair into a fan, “No sir, I am pure,” she put her hands to her chest, as if this wench could be chaste, “but… I know many women who have. They all say native men… unsatisfying.”
“What does that mean?” I asked. I have experienced my fair share of indecent whores, but I at least appreciated it when they were honest about it, “Be honest.”
She gulped again, sweat making her round face shine, “Their.. Penises, sir,” she pinched two fingers together, “Small.”
I laughed, right in her face. Would it really be this easy to get these women to deride their men? This continent was going to be ours in a decade, easily.
“And what do you think of white men, Nadie?” I tapped my foot at her knee, sending her to lower her posture, smothering the air in between those thick thighs.
“I.. think many things. But think of you most, sir.”
“What do you think?”
She meeped. “I think… about me. And you. together…” she rubbed her smooth, bare shoulders, “About leaving my tribe for you.”
“Not for me,” I stood up, “For you. It is your lust. Not mine.”
She nodded earnestly, “I know! And I am sorry but.... I have thought of you every night for weeks. I cannot take any more. And I don’t want anyone satisfy me… but you.”
“Your lust,” I repeated.
“Yes. My lust. I am lustful, imprudent, a harlot for white men! For you! It is my lust, the worst lust I have ever felt!”
“Quiet,” I hushed, undoing my belt, “This is all your lust, and not at all mine.”
“Yes sir…” she hushed, “I accept responsibility for you, sir. As long…as you pleasure me. I beg…” she ran her fingertips down her brown, flat belly down to the sinewy band of her loincloth, “I beg for you to give pleasure.”
“Pull it down,” I beckon at my legwear.
“Pull?”
“Yes. If your lustful, whorish little self wants pleasure, you know what to do.”
She shoved both her hands down in between her thighs, biting her lower lip as she shifted her weight. “Yes sir!” she piped.
Large, black eyes looking up at me, her hands and face went towards his hips, grabbing tightly at the soft, expensive fabric I wore, pulling everything down at once.
Out, right in front of her, was the very cock that she had fantasized about for months. As she looked over it, it’s firm, wide veins filling my round, fat cock, its red head swelling as it brushed against her hand. I’d later learn from her exactly what she thought as she stared deeply at it’s hardening length. A thousand filthy, traitorous thoughts ran through her mind, about how easily she would abandon her life with her ****** to run away for me, to be hidden away from any people, only to be used by my for pleasure, to live a life with nothing but white cock giving her meaning. She didn’t belong to her tribe or mine- only with my dick.
She would tell stories, to arouse me when I was being more prudent than she (which was often, that little slut), of how she would sneak away from her tribe at night to go and masturbate herself thinking of being a sex slave for white men. It had become her addiction. At times, in the summer, she would simply sleep in the warm streams, orgasming in the water. Other women of her tribe would happily cover for the addicted young whore.
Back to our first time- it took her a while to gather herself after first laying eyes on me, but in those black orbs, I saw something new, as she took the soft, fleshy meat of my cock in her tight hand, unable to even fit her whole hand around it, and raised it to her mouth to sloppily lick all around the head and hole.
I saw love.
That was also when I realized that these people, even the most lustful and foolish of their women, really could love. I think it was that that made me instantly hard as my fat cockhead sat in her full lips.
Her eyes widened with a little jump as her virginal lips felt my member harden tight in the cushion of her lips. Still looking at me, she showed she knew what to do despite her age, as she leaned forward, parting the soft pucker of her lips to allow my bulby cockhead to enter her native mouth. She pushed down, insisting on taking me all. When I felt how hot slimy her perfect mouth was, I let her. It opened wider and wider until her lips started closing again as she got past my bulging midsection. On her fist damn time. Probably the wild animals she ate, the little savage.
She sure sucked like a savage, like some beastly animal that didn’t even need to breathe, instead surviving by how much of her own saliva she slurped from my dick. The redskin was the first girl who could ever easily deepthroat me, and I could tell no one had ever even come close. Every swallow of my length, she chucked it all back like an oyster, gagging on the fleshy tip leaking deep down her throat, before pulling it all the way out again, covered in ropey, gooey spit. She’d do this over and over again, pulling on the soaked skin, forcing her tongue over its fat curve, stretching her cheeks as it sat in her mouth.
It was more tongue and throat fucking than facefucking, as those where what I felt most- how that round muscle flattened under my cock, how her esophagus expanded with the force she thrust on my meat, savoring the taste and the sensation as it filled her head.
I felt the valves in me pump, swell and rush towards my golden haired crotch. I grabbed her silky raven hair as I forced this Powhatan emissary to take her first load of white cum from a man over twice her age.
The same thick, white fluid that was reserved for my wife and mistress was now shooting onto the back of Nadie’s stretched throat. I saw her eyes once again widen as she felt the hit liquid pour down her throat, surely desperate to feel every last powerful dollop all the way to her stomach.
She pulled me off from her mouth with an efforted, clinging pop, leaving it to once again bounce in front of her as she showed off her mouthfull of my seed. “Were you satisfied sir?”
I looked down at the girl I had just emptied myself into. “No.”
Her smug, naughty face changed into the uncomfortable face her kind often made when I looked at them.
I smiled, “Not yet.”
She returned the face, standing up to face me- or try, as she was more than my head and shoulders below my height, and about half as wide at most- grabbing my arms as I kicked away my garments, only wearing my white ruffled shirt. Her hands feeling very small against mine, she moved my hands under her arms, on top of the deerskin band she used to cover her breasts with the tiniest possible modicum of modesty.
I felt the soft underside poking out above and below the rougher hide of the band, her ribcage underneath it, and her well-matured breasts upon that. They were soft, smooth, warm as their burnt red color, and already mostly exposed by her choice in dress.
Her doe eyes looked up to me as if she was asking if I liked them. I gave each a squeeze just to show that I did, pushing the fleshy fruits together. She clearly liked that.
As much as I would deny it, the truth was that I often looked lustfully upon her figure and exposing garments, which is why I knew exactly how to undo the skin band that held her the crowning jews of her breasts from my eyes.
The long rectangle of tanned hide fell alongside my much more substantial pile of clothes, being dwarfed as she was in front of me. But I didn’t focus on that- all I could look at were her beautiful upper works.
They were round as full of honeydews, large on a woman but small against my groping hand, filled with youthful flesh, keeping the roundness firmly up against her chest, capped off by the warm brown hue of her small and unused bee-sting nipples, pinched between my rough fingers. Her eyelashes fluttered.
“Take me, master,” she moaned, talking like one of the negro slaves, so devoted she was to me. Not devoted- obsessed. I was her obsession, her fantasy, the pinnacle of every lust. From her first, youthful masturbatory orgasm to today, I was what her carnal drives was aiming for. I let it fill me, the powerful, smart, wealthy white colonist who would ravage her virgin sex, with the utmost, but not unjust, arrogance.
Obliging generously, I took her. I grabbed around her back, pulling her towards me and lifting her up to lay with her on my luxury rug, pinning her under my weight, letting her breasts jostle as she landed roughly. Her only response to that pain was her kittenish smile.
From her globes, I ran my free hand down the flat, borderline thin stomach of a maiden, right down to that crotch she had teased me with and used me to tease so much before. It was still perfectly smooth before my fingers reached her waistband, a twine line around her hips that served to hold up her incredibly minimal excuse for a loincloth, which seemed to do nothing but ride up and expose the ditz. I did away with it, snapping it off.
Underneath was her unkempt mass of soft pubic hair, an uncivilized bush. It was one of the few imperfections the red girl had- she flaunted her more arousing legs, larger breasts, and bigger ass than my wife could ever hope to have, but couldn’t match the pristine smoothness she maintains herself at, even as she aged.
No matter though. Nadie was mine, all and only mine, laying under me as my arm held her, straining to look down as my fingertips inched through her forest, like the trek she would make every day to meet me. Whose destination was sweeter would be anyone’s guess.
I ran my fingers over the smooth, fleshy entrance if her lips, avoiding her little bean as I pushed further into the small little folds, letting her eyes roll back as I pushed into them, feeling the little squelches of her coming juices, albeit a tiny taste.
I climbed up on her, trapping her under my figure, holding her down from below and above with my arms, each wider than her neck. She whimpered softly, either in fear or anticipation, or both. My dick was at full mast again, and she could feel it, the soft head in between her virgin hole and my rock-hard beardsplitter, fulfilling its purpose as it slowly creeped in. When I saw her eyes open, I slammed myself all in
She screamed, letting her arms flare around on the floor with a continuous moan as she realized just how deep I was, just how much she was stretched out. I slammed my palm over her mouth, and got to work.
I struggled to fully fit each inch of my member inside of her, feeling her insides compress and clench as it fought against my firm taking of her virginity. She cried as I bottomed out, not how much she could take, but how I could go- all the way.
Her crying eyes turned to rolled-back, glassy orbs of bliss. I took my saliva-soaked hand off her, and she was quiet, besides the humming that was accentuated by each blunt thrust. I had to slam my hips into hers to achieve the desired effect, otherwise her tight hole would have either strangled me or just popped me out. It was like a battle between her walls and my dick, and I was winning.
My body, golden hair sleek with sweat, kept slamming into this wet, orgasmic little whore, spreading her legs apart as she accepted her fucking, still cradled by her back and head in my arms. As I lowered the arm beneath her, she arched her back, allowing me to better reach those flushed pleasure spots in her deflowered canal.
Her hair moved and her head bobbed as if she had passed out from the pleasure the white cock inside her gave her, but the way she held onto my arms, pulled herself deeper onto my swollen dick, told me that she was perfectly awake and wanted more.
Her tiny body became increasingly desperate, clinging to me sloppily- not as sloppy, though, as the mess she made. I lubricated her insides more than enough with pre ejaculate, but she went the extra mile, as if her virgin self couldn’t take how she was being fucked. Her cunt practically flowed with womanly liquids and lubes of all sorts. At first I thought I could’ve burst her hymen, but this was much more fluid than any small native girl could afford to lose in blood. It trickled down my balls, onto the carpet, even some onto the floor my rutting had pushed us onto.
I would’ve mocked her coldly for it, but I was far too busy, and far too hot. Soft “Ah”s began to escape her lips as my little native slut drew her head up to lay in my neck and scream as her legs wrapped around mine. I felt what was coming.
Sitting up, still bouncing her used body on my cock while on my knees, I held her head as I felt her hips shake, the insides of her gaped tunnel vibrate, and then it all impossibly contract as she felt her first ever orgasm brought on by a man.
A white man.
Struggling to keep herself quiet, she looked like she was going to yell orgasmic obscenities whether she wanted to or not. However, she felt a swooning orgasm, a rush of hot liquid over my shaft, balls, and legs, and a collapse of her spine’s nervous stiffness. Still fat inside her, my dick shot thick ropes into her without hesitation, making this redskin one of only three women I ever paid that honor to. The way her eyes fluttered to it told me she enjoyed it.
I held my new lover gently the rest of the afternoon, figuring I deserved a day off.
While she clearly adored me, I planned on enjoying her not as I did my wife or mistress, but as an inferior toy. I told her this as she rested, waking her up with the biggest smile.
“Do you mean it sir?”
I looked down at her in more ways than one, replying, “Why wouldn’t I.”
She stared at the floor, “That… so wrong. So, awful wrong.”
I raised an eyebrow. She played with a drop of cum sliding out of her slit as her face transformed into manic joy.
“It felt so good.”
I smile back, “That’s what I wanted to hear. What feels good?”
“White men…” she admired my nude form, hands spreading my cum over her own, “I love white man dick.”
