A lovely young peace offering.

“I have an Indian maiden costume ...” Alison looks up at me tentatively letting me have the final choice, “if you'd like that.” What's not to like? We eat breakfast together talking about how covid is ruining everything and how nice the fall weather is, and when she finishes her cereal, she tells me that she promised her friends she'd go out with them, but that she'd see me this evening. I send the day puttering around the house and raking the maple leaves that have started covering my lawn, but it is hard to keep my thoughts from wandering to Alison dressed as a native squaw.

I am in the kitchen that evening, warming up some apple cider that I got at the supermarket when I hear her door close and the creak of the steps as she comes downstairs. I go to meet her with a mug of spiced cider in my hand. The look is as good as I had hoped for complete with a black wig and headdress and beaded moccasins on her small feet.

My efforts were far less impressive. I did change into a loose-fitting white shirt and black pants instead of my usual khakis and I see Alison smile a little as she takes in the look. We stare at each other for a few seconds before I break the silence.

“Do you understand me?” Alison nods, but her heavily accented answer makes it clear that this Indian maiden's speaking would be very limited.

“Little Inglis.” That's OK with me, I wasn't really planning of a lot of in-depth philosophical discussion anyways.

“I'm Master Patterson.” I place my hand on my chest like I'm a character in a Cowboys and Indians movie from the 60's, and Alison mimics the gesture and with the slightest hint of a smile responds.

“You Master, me Shawni.” I have to grin a little at how she addresses me, but that's pretty much what I want anyways, and Alison certainly must know that by now. Before I can get another word out, 'Shawni' slips the braided leather strap that is holding up the dress and with a shimmy of her shoulders the outfit slips off her shoulders and slides down to her hips. In spite of her fading tan, Alison's fair skin is a far cry from the coppery coloring of a native, but with her wig she doesn't look like herself either. I'm looking forward to this change both in appearance and persona that seems to accompany the new name.

The surprise on my face is not acting. Here I am trying to figure out how to get my 'peace offering' to relax enough that I could get my hands on her, and she is already stripping for me. I guess I'm not going to have to struggle with this lovely thing. When I step forward and lift her chin, she obediently lifts her mouth so I can kiss her; it is easy enough to push the dress the rest of the way off her hips so by the time we break apart Alison is completely naked except for her wig and headband and her buckskin moccasins.

“You can do anything you want with this Indian maiden, Mr. P.” Alison breaks out of character, clearly excited by where this is going. “She's young and doesn't have much experience with men, but she's been told that she has to do whatever you want to keep the peace between your peoples.” Alison's body is close enough to mine that she feels the bulge pressing against her belly harden and she bites her lower lips playfully before she lifts her mouth to whisper in my ear. “She's your personal sex **** ... to use however and whenever you want.” Another kiss follows, this one quite a bit more demanding than the first. I push my leg between her thighs and my hands roam over her body grabbing handfuls of her toned ass and soft tits as she squirms in my arms.

“Oh God, Mr. P.” Alison is clinging to me eagerly when our lips finally separate, her pelvis grinding against my leg. “You're going to fuck her so hard, aren't you?”