Previous Chapter Back to Content & Review of this story Next Chapter Display the whole story in new window (text only) Previous Story Back to List of Newest Stories Next Story Back to BDSM Library Home

Review This Story || Author: von Hentzau

The Colonel\'s Wife

Part 2

Author’s Note: Apologies for being so long in picking this story up again

Author’s Note: Apologies for being so long in picking this story up again. I’ve been busy with Part II of the Dorado Cay Saga, “Punishment Day on Dorado Cay”,  under my other pen name, Aubrey Wylde.






The Colonel's Wife

Part II



They left her tied, spread eagled in the sun, while urine dried on her face and chest and semen and blood dried on her private parts, until she thought she’d go mad. Then two of the braves came and untied her. She struggled weakly to her feet. Neither brave made any effort to help her.


One of the braves gave a command, a harsh, barbaric sound. She looked at him uncomprehendingly. He spoke again and gestured towards the stream that ran a few yards away, behind a screen of willow trees. She took the meaning of the command to be that she should clean herself up.


She walked down to the stream, the two braves following, one carrying a switch he’d snapped off one of the willow trees. She found pool, knee deep, and waded out into the cool water. Aware that the braves were watching she turned her back to them while she splashed water on those places no one but her husband and doctor had seen since she became a grown woman.


She considered the possibilities of escape. She turned and looked at her guards. They were watching her with the intensity of a snake watching its prey. If she made a dash for it the stream would slow them down for seconds at most. And she was barefoot, naked, in country unknown to her. She gave up on any possibility of escape for the time being.


Reluctantly she left the comfort of the water and climbed up the bank. The braves led her to a spot under a large cottonwood where the lower branches had been removed. It was about thirty feet from the rock shelter. One of the braves returned to the shelter where he picked up a coil of leather rope. One end of the rope had been soaking in a bowl.


Coming back to Martha he quickly looped the wet end of the rope around her neck. He tied it behind her neck. At first she was worried that they intended the wet rawhide to slowly strangle her as it dried, but they left sufficient slack that that wouldn’t happen. With that end of the rope secure the other brave scaled the tree and was handed the other end of the rope. He tied it around a branch well above Martha’s reach.


She understood their reasoning. The rawhide would dry so that the knot in the neck loop would be all but impossible to untie. The odds of her climbing the tree and untying the other end without one of the Apache spotting her were almost non-existent. She was fastened as securely as a dog on a leash. Like a dog she was free to move within the narrow circle described by the length of the leash.


The afternoon wore on. From her tree Martha had a view of the encampment under the rock. The women busied themselves with camp chore while the men came and went. Late in the afternoon the women kindled a small fire under the shelter of the overhanging rock and began roasting strips of meat on sticks. The men came in a few at a time to eat, then left again. Martha assumed they were keeping guard. The smell of the roasted meat reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since the stage had departed the station in the morning. She wondered if they intended to feed her.


Finally the last of the men had eaten and the women prepared strips for themselves. When they’d finished and Martha was beginning to give up hope of having something to eat one of the women prepared two more small strips and brought them to her. They were scorched and blackened on the outside and bloody on the inside and Martha couldn’t get the thought out of her head that these strips of food came from a horse that just this morning was pulling her stagecoach, but she managed to choke it down anyway.


Since the campsite was at the bottom of a canyon the daylight faded away quickly after her barbaric supper. They were soon in complete darkness except for the small fire and the dim red light on the surrounding ridge tops. Martha huddled beneath her tree, knees drawn up against her chest, arms wrapped around her legs.


Two of the Apache men came towards her, carrying short pieces of rope. Her first thought was that they intended to bind her for the night. Instead they jerked her first up onto her feet, and then forced her down onto her knees. Then one of the men grabbed her behind the neck and forced her to bend forward while the other bound her wrists to her ankles.


She felt pressure against her private parts, and then one of the savages was forcing himself inside her. He thrust vigorously and came quickly. Then the other took his place. They left her tied for what seemed like hours as men came and used her at their whim. Finally, one of the women came and untied.  Martha was grateful to be released from the awkward, humiliating position, but as she startd to rise up the woman gave her a vicious kick in the side and sent her sprawling. Martha crawled closer to the trunk, as if it could give her some protection, curled up and slipped into the sleep of exhaustion.


The next day dawned. Martha was left mostly alone beneath her tree through the morning. The Apache men seemed to have gone somewhere, but the women were still there. They were busy cutting the horse meat into thin strips and hanging it up to dry. Crude racks were set up around the camp area, and the women were often out of her sight, behind bushes or small trees. But Martha noticed quickly that one of them was always positioned where she could watch Martha. If Martha had managed to free herself from the leather rope tether an Apache woman would have been on her with but a few long strides. She’d seen enough of them to realize that there was no way she could out wrestle either one of the women, much less both of them.


In the afternoon she was given a meager meal of charred horsemeat. Later she was again bound, made to kneel down and then forced to bend over until her wrists could be tied to her ankles,  and most of the men again raped her with a casualness that was almost more humiliating than the act itself, as if they considered her of no more importance than a simple beast, to be used and abused at their convenience.


At mid-afternoon of the second day two of the Apache men came into the camp. Another had come in earlier, carrying a small deer, which the Apache women were now butchering. The man had relieved them of the duty of watching Martha so they could concentrate on this new duty. The new arrivals went and sat next to the deer hunter.


The men were talking among themselves, laughing their strange, barbaric laugh. Martha noticed they were frequently looking at her. She had the uncomfortable feeling that whatever they were talking about concerned her and that it wouldn’t be anything good.


Two of the braves got up and walked away from the camp. The third remained, watching Martha. After a short while she heard the sounds of someone chopping something. Then there was the sound of something being pounded. Whatever they were doing, it sounded ominous to her.



The two braves returned. They came towards Martha. One of them reached up to untie the leather leash and then the three of them led Martha away from the camp and up the creek. They went only a short way before they came to a large cottonwood tree. A stout branch projected outwards about fifteen feet above the ground. Beneath the branch a stake, two inches thick, had been driven into the ground. It reached up to waist level on Martha. She noticed the end had been carved not in a point but into a rounded knob. A rope dangled from the branch over the stake.


The brave who was waiting near the tree barked out a short command. One of the braves escorting her grabbed her arms and crossed her wrists. Another bound them together with a leather thong. They led her to stand next to the stake. The dangling rope was tied to her wrists, then two more ropes tied to her ankles.


As she watched them tie the ropes to her ankles she noticed movement around her feet. An ant crawled up on to one foot. She looked around and saw more ants. The stake had been driven into an ant nest.


The women came over to prevent any resistance on Martha’s part while all three braves went to the rope. With one hard pull they jerked Martha off her feet. After several more jerks on the line Martha had been raised up to the level where her crotch was just higher than the top of the stake. And then the two women, each holding one of her legs, were positioning her directly over the end of the stake. In horror Martha realized that what in the back of her mind she had feared they were planning, but had been unwilling to consider as possible, was now happening. They planned to impale her on the stake.


The braves began to lower her, slowly. The two women guided Martha’s hips, so that the rounded knob forced its way into her vagina. She sucked in her breath and braced herself for the pain she knew was coming, when the stake would reach the end of her vagina and start to tear into her. But they stopped lowering her when the stake was fully seated. The rope was tied off. The ankle ropes were used to spread her legs as wide as possible, then also tied off.


One of the women approached. She was holding a jar, most likely looted from the stage coach. She stood in front of Martha, opened the jar and dipped a finger in it. The finger came out covered in thick, red gel. Strawberry preserves, Martha thought. The woman crouched down and rubbed the sticky substance along the stake, creating a trail leading up to Martha’s crotch.


She dipped out another glob and spread it over Martha’s mound, spreading it onto her labia. She dipped out more and spread into inside her slit and on her clit. More was spread on her buttocks and around her anus. Then a trail was laid from her mound to her breasts and onto her breasts and nipples. Before the woman was finished the first ants had already found their way to Martha’s crotch.


It didn’t take long for the ants to swarm up the stake. Within minutes her crotch was covered with hundreds of ants and more were working their way up her belly towards her breasts. She was grateful that they weren’t biting her. They seemed to be content for the moment lapping up the sugary jam. But just having them scurrying over her most sensitive areas was a torture. Martha closed her eyes and prayed for endurance. She was certain the thousands of tickling feet crawling on her would drive her insane long before death freed her from the ordeal.


She flinched when she felt the first bite, and then she realized the full devilishness of this torture. The unyielding wooden stake was seated deeply inside her. If she jerked suddenly she’d do herself a horrible injury. She had to keep still or condemn herself to bleeding slowly to death.


More ants bit her. They were deep inside her slit and around her anus. They were on her breasts as well, swarming around her nipples and beginning to bite there too. Martha fought to control herself, but she knew it was only a matter of time before she lost control and began to fail uselessly, and finally rip herself open.


She heard a harsh command barked out. Even in the alien language it sounded angry. She opened her eyes to see Anselmo standing a short way away. He was glaring, not at her but at the braves. One of them answered back, almost meekly. Anselmo growled out another order and she was being raised off the stake, then lowered to the ground and untied.


When she was free Anselmo gestured towards the creek. “Go. Clean yourself,” he ordered.


Martha walked with difficulty down to the stream. All her joints ached and she felt as if some serious injury had been done to her hips. She eased herself down into the cold water. It felt good. Dozens of ants were soon floating on the surface of the stream.


She stayed in the water as long as she could, but eventually she started to become chilled and realized she had to get out. Anselmo was up on the bank, watching her. She walked slowly towards him.


She didn’t know what impelled her to do it. Anselmo said nothing, gave no sign. He was the only one of the Indian men who hadn’t yet raped her. He had stopped the others when they were torturing her with the ants. She knelt down before him, turned around and leaned forwards, offering herself to him.


Instead of taking her he gave her a hard kick on the hip that sent her sprawling. She squealed and looked back up at Anselmo in surprise.


“I have only one use for you,” he said. He glared at her and paused, his face inscrutable. Then he spoke again.


“When I was a boy, white men took me. They gave me to the mission fathers.” He spat on the ground. “They thought to tame me. Make me a good Indian, to work the land for them like a slave. I escaped. They sent vaqueros to catch me and bring me back. I escape again. They bring me back. Again I escape. They thought to tame me, like a horse.” He reached down and pulled his breechclout aside, revealing a penis that seemed smaller than those of the other braves. And where there should have been a scrotum there was a mass of scar tissue. “They thought to tame me, to geld me like a horse. But I escape again and this time they don’t catch me. My family, dead. Killed by white men. I find others of The People. We go back to the mission. I kill the fathers and the vaqueros and take their cojones. I made a vow then. I will take the cojones of every white man I find.”


To be continued……..


Copyright is claimed by the author. Permission to copy is granted solely for personal, non-commercial use.








Review This Story || Author: von Hentzau
Previous Chapter Back to Content & Review of this story Next Chapter Display the whole story in new window (text only) Previous Story Back to List of Newest Stories Next Story Back to BDSM Library Home