By Alex Ironrod
This is a tale of an imaginary traditional Old West in the 1870s-1880s, with modern BDSM elements. The Native Americans are fierce and brave and so are their opponents in the US Cavalry. The setting could be Southern Arizona. This story, and its longer novel sequel, are dedicated to the memory of the late film director John Ford, whose Westerns inspired them.
His arms were tired; he’d been pulled along at the end of a rope behind the pinto horse for several hours, wrists bound with rawhide – chafing despite his heavy yellow deerskin gauntlet gloves. And his feet hurt. He cursed himself for wearing his good cavalry boots and spurs- they made him look great in the saddle, but pinched after an hour or so of stumbling along rocky trails. And his head ached from the bullet graze, which had got him into this mess.
He looked over his left shoulder at his companion. Sergeant Bright seemed to be faring better than his lieutenant was, although he too was bound behind another Apache horse. But Bright was rugged after years in the cavalry, and, at 6’ 2” topped Tom Spaulding by a good three inches. There was a sudden commotion, as the sergeant tripped over a rock on the narrow path and was being dragged along, scraping chest and legs over the uneven ground.. The leader of the Indian band of raiders snapped out an order and Bright was able to scramble to his feet, blood seeping down his arm again.
“U-ughhhh…” I groaned softly through my ballgag as I blinked my eyes open. My neck had a crick, and my jaw ached terribly.