They were gathered to bury Jackson Redclay, one of their own. His family stood grim-faced and unmoving, lost in their own thoughts while the words of the white preacher fell uselessly among them. Soon, it was time. Emmett Redclay knelt, and dropped a feathered amulet upon the casket. A scattering of shredded tobacco was followed by a thin, streaming handful of sandy soil, picked up from the pile beside the open grave. Melba Redclay stood with her husband, her face a cold mask. Tears ran in streaks down her cheeks to be flung away by the cold wind.No sound other than low murmurs was heard among the nearly two hundred tribal people gathered. The Redclay family moved away from the open grave and trudged down the slope to their car. Others followed and dispersed. This was not a funeral to celebrate a life lived long and full among the people. This was the grim silence of loss; the loss of a young life torn away with all its strength and promise from a community that had so little to. His pelvis slammed against hers with an audible slap every time he bottomed out inside my wife. I was amazed by his stamina. I usually finished in a minute or two, but he fucked her non-stop for a good half-hour, changing positions every five minutes or so, each time directing me to do something different to help him fuck my wife. Half way through their marathon fuck, without even touching myself, I was spewing my own seed, perhaps the biggest load of my life, all over my wife’s little tits. Lynda had four wild orgasms before he finally pushed in deeply and held himself there, announcing, “Here it cums! I’m pumping it in!” Jeff eventually finished and rolled off to the side. “That was truly amazing, Lynda,” he complimented, “That was like fucking a virgin. You may remove the condom now and clean me up.”I was surprised, after our earlier discussions about sucking cock, that Lynda didn’t insist I take care of that. She obviously wanted his big dick in her own mouth and wasted no time.
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