Arizona

Aponi was at the museum celebrating her people's culture. She worked long hours for little pay trying to keep everything in order. The stories of her ancestors are displayed in great detail thanks to her. She regularly cleaned everything and organized the supplies as well as made sure everything was in order.

She did every job she could for the museum dedicated to her people, the river people. It made things a bit tight for her financially, as despite all the different jobs she did, she was only paid for one, but in the end it was worth it. She got to make sure everyone heard the same tales of her people that her parents and grandparents had told her.

She had a display showing a map of the primitive canals they dug that were 200 miles long. They had delivered water through the Arizona desert, allowing for vast farms to grow crops. She had another display showing the different gender norms within their people. As it was the women that worked the land and the men who weaved.

They had a display of the baskets the men made that were world-renowned for how tight and intricate their designs were. Another display showed their earlier version of hockey that the woman played, which was called "taka" by them. Another display showed what they survived on during a bad crop season, which was jackrabbits and sweet mesquite trees.

She double-checked everything, as it was early morning and they hadn't opened yet. She swept and washed several things a second time to be safe. She adjusted a few of the displays so they could hopefully get attention more frequently. Once she was sure everything was ready, she turned the closed sign to open and went to the front to welcome in visitors and collect the entrance fee.

It was a quiet morning; a few earlier, risers visited, paid the fee, and wondered about the display taking pictures. They went to the gift shop that sold a few honest River People products but was filled mostly, to her shame, with cheap knockoffs. A lot of the cheap knock-offs were bought. She wanted to say something as she always did, but the money from those sakes kept the museum afloat, so she kept quiet in the end.

It really slowed down in the afternoon with the early risers gone on to other things; she was left with the other usual customers. The more laid-back go-with-the-flow tourists and the townspeople, which could be broken down into further groups. Among the town folks that visited there were the supporters, who were people who wanted to help her preserve her culture's history and stories.

Then there were the wanderers, people who'd lived in town their whole lives and had no idea this museum was even here. Then there was the final group of them—people who were angry at her. For one reason, another usual thrusting to call the cops, who were tribal officers, got them to back off and go away.

Though there was one among that group that did not go away when she threatened tribal police. An older man called Noah, who was always coming to the front desk drunk and slurring at her. He never attacked her, nor did he do anything besides yelling at her about his problems and how her people had caused them. Which was technically true to a degree.

He'd lost his farm due to the fact that part of one of the old canals her people had dug had been found touching his land. It didn't work; it was damaged further up some part of it, so he never saw a drop of water from it, hence why no one knew it had been there. The moment it was discovered, his land had been declared tribal and seized. It had left him homeless and forced him to beg for money to survive.

Once again, much to her annoyance, Noah was coming through the front clearly drunk and swaying back and forth as he came to the front desk. "One adult!" Noah slurred out drunkenly, swallowing her as he never bought a rocket inside. He showed he had the entrance fee in the form of a few dirty bills. So money in hand, she had no choice but to take it and let him through.

Noah found himself stumbling past one of the damned injuns who were taking everything from him. One has broken dry as bone; a canal was found twenty feet near his land, not even on it, and they have taken everything from him. He fought with everything he could, but by the end it hadn't been enough, and his lawyers had taken what little the insurgents hadn't.

So he'd gone from a fifth-generation farmer to a bigger one. He had no prospects of spending his entire life trying to be a better farmer. So he had no skills outside of it, and him fighting the injuns to keep what was his had soured everybody's opinion of him, so no one would hire him to be something basic like a stocker.

On this day he got the usual free boos from a friend who had access to a lot of boos. He could only do that for him, though, giving him free alcohol to make the days last shitty. As any public support would cause the guy trouble for his business. Today though, his begging had landed him a lot of money, as the tourists were filling extra sympathy for some reason. He thought of paying his buddy back for all the free boos, but then he thought about that damn museum.

The place was something he hated with a passion. It represented the reason and proof that the injuns had every right to take everything from him. Today he was going to see that proof. It was the least he needed, as it would give him the why that nobody had ever told him. He paid the entrance fee and walked inside. He followed the signs, having to shamb his head a few times into them so his eyes would be close enough to read them.

Eventually, after half an hour of drunken stumbling, he found the damn map. The one with all their damn bullishit canals on it. He couldn't make heads of the damn thing. It just looked like a bunch of funny lines to him. He stared at the damn thing, trying to make sense of it but couldn't. He eventually gave up and stumbled around the museum till he found another display that had him seeing red.

It was about how strange and queer the river people were. One fact was written on the display; he'd barely made out. Enraged, he went to heights he'd never been. It was about how the woman farmed and the man weaved. "I lost everything so that a grandma could pretend to be a farmer!" Noah roared out, not entirely correct but to agree to care.

He roared at the display, causing it to come out and punching it a few times. All the noise brought the woman from up front running over. "Stop it, you inbred retarded redneck." Aponi roared at him. Which was the last thing she should have done. He was drunk, angry, and horny—not a good combination in most cases, but especially now.

So as she got closer, Noah proved he still has farmboy muscles. In one swift motion he picked her up by her throat. In the next motion with his other hand, he tore off her clothes. He then looked deep into her terrified eyes and roared. "You're mine now, you injun bitch!" Noah said with rage and eagerness, pinning her against the wall.

He then, in one swift motion, pulled his zipper down and pulled his cock out. The poor girl could hardly breathe, much less fight back, so with no resistance from her, he shoved his long eight-inch-long and an inch and a half thick white cock into her. She gave a yelp and moan that was muffled by the hand around her throat. Noah without mercy, Jack hammered into her pussy.

In and out and back in again. Slamming her against the wall again and again by thrusting his cock deep into her. This went on for a while with Aponi blacking out a few times from the hand choking her. Noah, after Jack hammered into her so many times, couldn't hold it in anymore and blew his load with a roar. "Tahe, it all, you stupid injun bitch," is what Noah roared out. He walked away after he was done leaving a naked cum-filled Aponi on the floor of the museum.