Warstar is born

By Curtis D. James

Warstar beats up a hillbilly 



   Within a scant few days of her legendary thrashing of the townie 

tough-girls, Winona found herself being honored by her tribe.  It was an 

unprecedented tribal ceremony inasmuch as no woman had ever had the 

title "warrior" conferred upon her before.  But there she stood, 

complete with the symbols of bravery streaked across her cheeks. 

   And Winona led a proud procession through the reservation in the 

traditional buckskin garb of the warrior.  Henceforth, Winona Seventrees 

would be known by a different name.  Tears of joy glistened in her dark 

eyes as the tribal chief proclaimed her to be WAR STAR. 

   War Star then announced that she would be returning to the 

reservation to finish her schooling.  But she made it clear that her 

decision was on her terms alone.  She also reaffirmed her pledge to 

continue fighting injustice and persecution whenever and wherever she 

found it.  Her withdrawal from Scofield High was perceived by many of 

the town's bigots as a sort of victory.  

   But War Star had not capitulated.  And she did not rule out force or 

violence against those who menaced either herself or other members of 

the tribe.   And the good townsfolk of Scofield would not be spared her 

wrath if they persisted in their bigoted ways.  

   Actually, she was quite relieved that the pressure of living among 

the rednecks had been lifted from her shoulders.  Besides, she had more 

important considerations now that the honor of warrior had been bestowed 

upon her.  

   Building her warrior's body was now her primary concern.  Daily five-

mile runs through the woodlands of the reservation served to improve her 

wind and develop her already impressive legs.  But most of her excercise 

came in the form of necessary chores that were essential to sustain life 

on the reservation.  

   Conditions were still primitive by the white man's standards, but War 

Star was not ashamed to be a part of that tradition.  She learned to 

wield an axe as proficiently as any man as she felled trees in the 

forest and then split the timber into kindling for the old-fashioned 

wood stoves.  And her body responded well to the rigors of her arduous 

routine.  Her shoulders widened and her back became striated with thick 

cords of muscle. 

   When she expanded her chest, her rigid pecs and stoutly rounded 

breasts swelled to nearly fifty inches.  Of course, even her arms showed 

a dramatic increase in size as her biceps grew from a mere fifteen 

inches to well over seventeen inch peaks when flexed. 

   But it was in her thighs that held the real hard evidence.  Those 

countless miles of running over the wild terrain transformed her already 

powerful thighs from twenty-five to a full and solid twenty-eight 

inches.  Her astonished friends would shriek when she entertained them 

by placing a football between her massive quads.  Then, with a seeming 

effortlessness, she would squeeze the pigskin until it literally 

exploded at the seams. 

   As spring gave way to summer, War Star was rightfully pleased with 

her progress.  All in all, this sulty Indian beauty had truly become the 

warrior.  Packing some 160 pounds on her 5-4 inch frame, she was indeed 

a formidable foe for anyone foolish enough to challenge her. 

   Normally, at the conclusion of each day, War Star would walk the 

three or four miles to Lake Spearhead located on the edge of the 

reservation.  Here, she would strip down to only her bikini bottom and 

bask her body in the warmth of the summer's sun.  Lake Spearhead 

provided her with an opportunity to relax and unwind.  And it afforded 

her the privacy to plunge her nearly nude body into the revitalizing 

coolness of the its water. 

   Or so she thought. 

   For it was here in the waning daylight of a July afternoon that War 

Star faced her first challenge as a warrior.  Standing at the lake's 

edge, she gazed down at the crystalline image of her muscular form as it 

was reflected in the water.  She smiled approvingly at what she saw.  

   She ran her fingers over the hardened washboard of her abdomen, and 

then continued probing in an upward motion until they carressed the 

protruding firmness of her large, bronzed breasts.  Then she swept her 

hands back over her shoulders and brushed them against the blackness of 

her hair.  Admiring her tremendous torso, she suddenly brought her arms 

into a classic double-biceps pose.  Several times, she flexed her 

biceps, watching them rise and fall dramatically in the watery mirror. 

   She completed her personal exhibition with a slight laugh and then 

waded waist-deep into the blue chill of the lake.  Growing accustomed to 

the shock of the water's coolness, she dove headlong into the blueness.  

Moments later, she resurfaced and gasped as she clutched her bare chest 

with her arms. 

   For perhaps a half-hour or so, War Star continued her playful swim 

unaware that strange eyes were observing her. 

   Then, when the sun had lowered to a point just above the horizon, War 

Star made her way reluctantly back to shore.  No sooner had she steppped 

back on dry ground then she became extremely uncomfortable.  She glanced 

around in confusion for her missing t-shirt and levis.  And she felt an 

increasing unease as she sensed the presence of someone unseen. 

   It was a clear and unmistakable sensation, and she froze for a moment 

as her eyes searched for the intruder.  Her uneasy suspicion was finally 

confirmed when she heard a taunting voice booming out from behind a 

cluster of pines. 

   "YOU LOOKIN' FOR THESE?" 

   The intrusive voice was that of a MAN. 

   War Star's body tensed with embarrassment.  

   "YOU CAN HAVE 'EM BACK IF YOU WANT 'EM." 

   Then, shuffling out from his hiding place, the man with the twangy 

voice showed himself.  War Star's embarrassment quickly turned to anger 

as the image of the young backwater hillbilly sauntered toward her.  He 

held her missing clothes in his grubby hand as he grinned goofily.  

   "Nope, don't guess you'd be leavin' without these," he yammered with 

a nasal drawl.  

   Too furious to speak, War Star waited for the hillbilly to come to 

within striking distance.  And true to form, the fool walked right up to 

her and deposited the stolen garments at her feet. 

   'You sure is a healthy loookin' squaw," the young hillbilly squeaked 

as he began to realize his terrible mistake.  "It weren't nothin' but a 

joke . . . I didn't mean no . . ." 

   But his lame explanation was cut short as War Star sprang forward and 

landed a thudding blow to his belly.  Doubled over in pain, the 

hillbilly gasped for air.  His grease-stained baseball cap then bit the 

dust as she took him by the hair and straightened the slacker out.  

   "STUPID ASSHOLE, I OUGHT TO RING YOUR NECK." 

   But instead, she merely slugged the culprit in the mouth with a crisp 

right-cross which buckled his knees and sent him spiraling into the 

dirt.  Then, War Star scooped up her clothes and stormed off while the 

dazed hillbilly sat in the dirt groping at his bloodied mouth. 

   The brief skirmish would have certainly ended right there had the 

redneck possessed an ounce of prudence.  But he didn't.  And he 

escalated matters by hurling a rather large stone which struck the 

Indian squarely between the shoulder blades before she had walked more 

than twenty feet. 

   More irate than hurt, War Star wheeled around and started back to 

finish business. 

   "YOU BLEW IT, STUPID.  AND NOW YOU'RE GOING TO PAY." 

   War Star slowly circled her prey as the hillbilly uncorked a wild 

haymaker.  But the Indian surprised him with her power and quickness as 

she snagged his wrist in her iron grip and in a single motion, whipped 

his arm behind his back in a hammerlock. 

   He yelped in pain as she wrenched his arm higher against his back, 

almost ripping it from its socket.   His pained cries suddenly became 

choked as War Star wrapped a thickly muscled forearm around his 

windpipe.  Moments later, they both pitched forward into the dirt as War 

Star maintained the choke hold. 

   Controlling his head, she easily muscled his body between her brawny 

thighs.   Then she locked her ankles and straightened her legs.  The 

hillbilly squirmed in agonizing pain as her scissoring thighs 

constricted repeatedly around his ribs with jolts of intermittent power.  

He fought to scream, but her chinlock clamped his jaws tightly shut. 

   She toyed with him on and on as her huge brown thighs reduced him to 

a pale whimper.  Verging on unconsciousness, the hillbilly grasped at 

her hair in a desperate effort to free himself.  He'd found a vulnerable 

spot, and he tore at her tresses with all the strength he could muster. 

   War Star reacted to the pain and grabbed at her head.  This allowed 

the redneck to wriggle free of her thighs.  She realized her mistake as 

the hillbilly leaped to his feet and planted a size twelve clodhopper to 

her temple.  Stunned, War Star toppled to her back while he kicked her 

again and again to the head and body. 

   Thinking she was ripe for the kill, he moved in for a final stomp.  

But War Star's resilience was amazing as she took hold of his ankle and 

twisted him to the ground.  He went down hard on his back and she 

pounced on him. 

   Then she straddled his chest and began pounding his face with a 

flurry of unrestrained punches.  Rocking his head back and forth, the 

hillbilly's face was soon a mass of bruises and blood as War Star 

threatened to beat him lifeless. 

   But feeling just a tinge of mercy, War Star suddenly stopped pounding 

him.  Then she looked down at her battered victim and asked the obvious 

question. 

   "Are we through here?  Or do you need some more?" 

   "You ain't whipped me yet,"  was his defiant reply. 

   Incredibly, War Star rose off his chest and stepped aside.  Then she 

waited for him to stagger to his feet.  And she shook her head almost 

sadly as the redneck lowered his head and charged her like a blinded 

bull. 

   He had intended to strangle her as he went for her throat.  But he 

soon found his arms hanging uselessly at his sides as War Star took him 

into her arms.  Not only that, but she took his breath away as her 

bearhug crushed down on his already aching ribs.  She gave him a willful 

smirk as she poured on the pressure.  The hillbilly's clodhoppers 

thrashed in midair as War Star's bearhug hauled him off the ground.  

   The power of her bearhug was indeed breathtaking as the purplish face 

of the hillbilly could attest.  Clawing at her relentless forearms, he 

desperately struggled in her arms.  And the pain finally proved too much 

as he blacked-out altogether.  

   When he finally regained his senses, he found himself pinioned on his 

back with War Star riding astride his heaving chest.  He peered into her 

face, his blurred vision making her appear even more massive and 

powerful than before.  A sudden wave of fear rolled over him as he 

attempted to arch his back and buck his rider off. 

   But the nearly naked Indian girl only giggled in amusement as she 

captured his wrists and staked them to the ground above his head.  

Pinned beneath this female warrior, the hillbilly enjoyed a brief moment 

of pleasure in his helplessness.  This came as the fullness of her 

breasts brushed against his face as she lowered herself upon him like a 

blanket of steel.  But this erotic moment was cut brutally short when 

those same breasts became rock-hard boulders flattening his nose and 

mashing his mouth.  

   Then, a stabbing pain ripped through his groin as War Star grapevined 

his legs.  He thought his ankles might simply snap and his knees began 

to throb under the pressure.  Wrenching at his neck, War Star forced his 

face deeper into her chest as he let out with a muffled cry.  Now, it 

was his neck that was on fire as War Star strained to stretch it.  

   But before the hillbilly could suffocate or his body be splintered, 

War Star suddenly began thrusting her pelvis into his solar-plexus.  The 

redneck's body shuddered violently with every devastating thrust of her 

pelvic jackhammer. 

   He couldn't move.  He couldn't breathe.  He could not even scream as 

War Star's unrelenting grapevine sapped what little resistance remained 

in his throughly beaten body.  Finally, after slamming her 160 pounds 

into his belly some dozen times or so, she felt his body go limp.  The 

hillbilly had at long last escaped the pain.  

   The outcome had never been in doubt.  And he had endured more 

punishment than was advisable without surrender.  War Star crouched over 

him, making certain that he was still breathing.  Satisfied that he was 

at least alive, War Star left him to sleep off the beating of his life. 

   And sleep he did, in the growing shadows of that brutal summer's 

evening.