Song's arms were bound over her head by her wrists to a rafter of the drafty log cabin. he old rope was thick and fraying and rough on her skin. The feeling intensified the rest of her senses. Being bound made her mind go places that she did not want it going, and the pain made that even that much more delicious.

She hated that her pussy reacted the way that it did while her owner grunted into her from below. He had a nice enough cock, but he had no idea how to use it and he always finished entirely too soon. Thunder Song felt like she was in a constant state a sexual need, craving an itch to be scratched that was only ever given I'll light grazing by the men that Jebediah thain forced her to be with.

But that made her clench down on the invading cock, her channel getting wetter and wetter as Thane pumped into her, his rough hands grasping her hips. The calyce's were too rough in his grip was too tight. What should have been pure pleasure offered a healthy mixture of pain as well. Somg was sure that only made her want it even more, and she hated that. The hate that long since turned inward to a self-loathing, and the loathing itself had begun to get her heart racing and her juices flowing which only perpetuated the cycle.

The cock inside of her it started to twitch and buck and the man that was attached to start at the groan and thrust his hips harder into hers. She could feel the orgasm building and as always she wished that she would finish before her owner. She could feel the wave coming and she wanted it so bad that it felt like she was pushing it away as she felt blast after blast of jizz erupting into her depths. She loved the feeling, and she moans trying to push herself over the edge, but she never makes it. Not this time, not any time. It leaves her breathless and wanting and she can feel her juices flowing freely along with a ludicrous amounts of cum from Thane.

It was the only thing that she admired about her owner. It was one of two things that her pussy craved from him; is thick rod was the other. He had no other redeeming qualities, and Song constantly thought of ways to kill him. She knew that would lead to other problems. She knew that if she failed she would be killed instead.

She knew that if she killed her owner that the pain, the humiliation, the dehumanization of slavery, and the constant degradation might end. While her heart yearned to be free, something below her heart, something that was now swimming in her owner's ejaculate, had such a craven need for all of those things that the thought of them going away filled her with a crushing hopelessness.

Thane pushed Song off of his lap and his wilting cock slurched out of Song's quivering cunt. She could feel the mixture of their juices flowing freely from her stretched channel and she could hear them splattering on the sheet covering the rough straw mattress. He slapped her ass hard enough for the smack of flesh to echo in the tiny cabin. The fire of impact radiated from the handprint on her taut backside. Her body betrayed her mind again and she couldn't suppress a moan as the pain radiated through her body making her deaths, her clit, and her nipples tingle with the need of a starving beggar.

She needed to get off, and she was so close, and she hated herself all the more for the need.

"Chore time, squaw," Thane said. His deep voice seemed to radiate through the room. Coming from a different man it might have made song swoon, but from the repugnancy that was Jebediah Thane, it only made her skin crawl. It only drove her closer to having her itch scratched. She hated the man, his voice, and that word.

She needed it, and she needed it more than water, more than breath, even more than her freedom.

"Get yourself down and get the chores done so you can cook me my breakfast," he said to her, pulling on his pants. He didn't bother with underwear, it would just be in the way later when he took her again. The still proud Lakota woman sometimes questions why he even bothered with the shirts and pants at all, and every time she did she was reminded that is pale skin burned easily in the sun. She hated him for that weakness, too.

Thunder Song's fingers were cold and weak from the blood flow being cut off. She fumbled with the knot that had her suspended from the rafter, her legs weak with need and the exertion of riding her owner. The knots were familiar but the task was difficult. This, however, was not the first time she had done it. It wasn't the tenth time. It wasn't even a hundredth.

She hated Thane. Every twist and pull of the rope as she untied the knots made her hate him even more. The heat overrode everything in her, everything except for her lust and need.

When her hands were finally free, she grabbed the scratchy horse blanket that Thane gave her for a poncho. She slid the coarse blanket over her head and pulled her waist length hair through the hole. She tied it back using a ribbon of fraying pale red cloth. It was the last thing she had from before the attack and being sold to Thane. She was the last of her people, and the ribbon was the last evidence of their existence besides Song.

Naked and barefoot, the Lakota slave began her morning routine of chores with one item already crossed off the list. The reminder of its completion was streaming down her thighs and dripping between her feet as she walked.

She hated her life. She loved her life. She hated herself. She yearned to be free. She craved every moment of her life. She was terrified of change.

Everything had to change. Everything needed to be different. Everything could be better, and that thought made songs pussy clench and the fresh rush of heat and wetness radiated from the junction of her thighs