Naked, of course!

I suspect that in the story Alison read that the redskin brave tore away the pilgrim girl's frock and shift, but I haven't forgotten that this is a borrowed costume, and that Alison might have a hard time explaining to the youth minister why the dress was torn open at the neck. Instead I choose another sexy way to get what I want.

“Dress no good.” I grunt as I poke at it with my costume tomahawk. “Off.” The blush that already colors her cheeks gets even darker and she pulls her bound wrists tightly under her chin fearfully. With a few quick flips of my hand the coils of rope are loosened, and she is able to pull her hands free.

“I beseech you, you can't ... I couldn't ...” But of course, not only could she, but my lovely English colonist had no option but to slowly unlace her bodice and one item at a time remove her clothes. It takes a while, because with each new layer she hesitates and fidgets, but I am in no hurry and her **** and nervous modesty is part of the appeal of this scenario. I could hardly expect a Puritan like her to eagerly shuck her clothes. Even in the confined space of the 'tent' I set up in the living room, Alison's performance is easily as sexy as any strip show I've ever gone to. The very last thing to go is her white bonnet and when she is completely naked, she backs away to the far side of the tent and waits timidly as I check her out.

“Good.” I grunt and untie the cords that hold up my fake leather loincloth relieved to be able to free my erection from its confined space. When she sees my swollen member spring free her hand comes up to cover her mouth and her already big eyes open even wider. I smile a little at her overacting, after all she's seen this same prick quite often over the past few months, but I appreciate the effort on her part. When I crawl closer she raises her hand in one final **** attempt to stop the inevitable.

“Wait! You're a heathen.” I wonder if part of the taboo eroticism of this fantasy of hers was because the warrior who claims his prize is a 'pagan savage'. I have not forgotten Alison's early sexual experience with Ursula and her maids falling to the Huns. “Will you take the Lord as your Savior?”

“Fuck that.” I doubt those are the words he would have used, but there is no doubt in my mind that the sentiment was spot on. “You my squaw. Now we make you fat with baby.” This last reminder of the natural consequence of what is to come brings on another round of frantic struggling, but it does not take long before I have her on her back with her legs spread open. Damn this just doesn't get old.

“No!” Her protest is weak and lacks any real **** and when she feels my manhood pressing into her tune quickly changes. “Ohh ... please, aagh ... oh!” The surprise she pretends to experience as she is claimed and opened is quickly replaced with much more needy moans as any pretense of roleplay is forgotten. “Yes, like that ... harder Mr. P, you're a vicious savage, not some sweet lover.” Following her prompts, I catch her wrists and press them to the piled bedding over her head holding her down as I pick up the pace of my ****.

“That's good, girl.” I growl, “Take my red cock in your pale pink pussy. You my woman!” This added bit of **** at the end is all it takes to bring Alison to the climax that makes her scream out in passion. I had originally planned on holding back, maybe even changing positions so I could put her on her hands and knees but the heat and spasming of her inner muscles is too much and with a loud grunt I unleash my cum into her.

It takes a few minutes for our breathing to return to normal and Alison smiles up at me from inside the cradle of my arms. “Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. P.”