The Last Command – Consuelo’s Fate, Chapter 3

Just like her sisters, Rose-Anne gets brutally violated by the Mexicans in the sacristy.

Chapter 3: In The Sacristy

Earlier...

Rose-Anne and her twin sister Mary screamed in each other’s arms as they saw the three Yankee men enter the sacristy and desperately try to make their defence against oncoming Mexican soldiers, who quickly overwhelmed and surrounded them. As per the no-quarters orders, the soldiers wearing the cobalt-blue uniforms killed them as the women watched and shrieked in horror.

The Mexicans bayoneted them, and made sure they were dead by piercing their throats. There was a very young man who thus met his demise along with Marvin the blacksmith and Jeremy, an honest man who had tried to kiss Rose-Anne two weeks before, but she had pushed him away as he was old and unattractive to her, and Davy Crocket had entered the room and disciplined the 40-year-old militiaman.

Jeremy died while looking intensely at Rose-Anne; she felt his ultimate gaze on her bosom and it felt to her as if he was still trying to grab and kiss her. She didn't have much sympathy for him, not even as he died. Maybe she was a bad, rotten girl, but it was the truth.

As for the blacksmith, he suddenly hollered, “Meg Blyth! I love you!” and the bearded man was no more. Meg’s gaze met his already-dead fish eyes.

A short girl in a dark blue dress rushed at the dying figure of the youngest one.

“Miguel!!! MIGUEL!!!” she screamed.

Mexicans soldiers put their hands on her as the others all stared at the Yankee women, mostly forming a shy smile. They all stared at them with battle-intense eyes. Their eyes were filled with some form of embarrassment, curiosity and cruelty, and perhaps some measure of sorrow in a few cases.

For one brief moment, Rose-Anne started to believe that those Mexicans would behave like gentlemen and treat the women with honor. Yet she trembled as she tried not to think about the other course of action they could take.

But then, the short girl who was crying over the corpse of the boy she loved was grabbed and forced up to her feet by soldiers who immediately began kissing and groping her, stooping down since the top of her hair only reached their chest. Poor Isabella! So young for this happening to her! Rose-Anne remembered well when she gave her a kiss and her best wishes of happiness on her fourteenth birthday, just days before.

Isabella began to wail and asked them to please stop this, telling them she was still a virgin, and really too young for this as she tried to lie about her age. Those shako-wearing vile men clearly didn't care.

Rose-Anne recognized that girl with light-brown hair—Isabella, who kept shouting Miguel's name as soldiers were already attacking her blue dress with knives, and the screaming girl froze in terror as they began ripping her dress off.

Unable to believe what was happening, Rose-Anne saw Isabella’s white petticoat materialize at her chest, and a sun-baked hand grabbed its top and jerked it down and opened it just enough for one of Isabella’s nipples to materialize amid the jeering soldiers. It was as pale as a pink rose petal on an all-white knoll that jiggled along with the wench's terror.

“Noooooooo!” Rose-Anne screamed as she realized that her own wrists were being restrained and more hands pressed her sides, her breasts, her butt through her garments… "NAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" she shrieked as it dawned upon her that she was to share that same fate. The sacristy was now filled with the shrieking, wailing and screaming from a dozen girls about to get defiled.

She realized she was separated from her sisters, alone in a sea of cobalt-blue uniforms and grinning faces under black shakos.

“Meg! Meg! Mary! MARY!!!”

She looked all around her, desperately hoping to find her twin sister. Everywhere she looked, she only saw Mexicans with olive faces under their black shakos. They looked so hellish and ugly!

They jeered at her in Spanish, calling her a “Yankee puta” in the middle of a maelstrom of male celebration and female shrill screams of distress. The lack of space in the crowded sacristy made everything close and confused. Two men close to her told her they were the Hernandez brothers; as if she cared! She tried to spit in their face and cursed.

"Bastards! Filthy bastards all of you!"

Somewhere in that tumult of cries, squeals and jeers and sweat, there were words followed by a scream… “…on your honor! Aahh, noo… Noooo!”

"Honor! We're going to honor your beauty, señorita!"

Rose-Anne recognized Meg’s voice.

“Meg! Meg! Help me! Mary!”

She called Meg and Mary her twin sister, but there was no sign of them. Rose-Anne was alone—and positively terrified—amid stern-faced Mexicans. Soldiers around her were jeering and mocking her.

"Ha! ha! Ha! Ha! Look at this lovely catch we just fished here!"

"Yeah, I wanna kiss and lick her breasts! Let's disrobe her! Disrobe!"

"Oh, sweet wench! You look like a virgin about to be made a woman! Ha! ha! Ha! Ha! Sweet victory for Mexico!"

Rose-Anne looked imploringly at each of them, looking for a leader, but they were all Privates. She found nothing but a cold resolve and lights of evil joy in their faces; their skin was warm-looking; it ranged from almost pale to medium brown.

They were pressing themselves against her, their hands like tentacles exploring her as she spiritually and literally swam in their musk. One of them was gently stroking her hair and grinning with a grin that was the travesty of a smile.

“Muy bonita, señorita,” the man gently said, making Rose-Anne shudder.

“No… No… Please…” the sobbing girl blurted out, her lips trembling as one soldier promptly took her brown shawl off her shoulders and with his eyes, he devoured the alluring shapes of her breasts through her dark-green dress.

One man behind her grabbed her arms and held them along her sides, while two others promptly lifted her dress and found her white petticoat, which they tore at, loving the ripping sounds as they lifted the undergarment along with her dark dress all the way up to her waistline while Rose-Anne, barely able to breathe, begged, “Please… No…”

She bitterly sobbed as she felt the air hit directly her most intimate body part; they were looking directly at the secret bush of hair that she herself was usually too shy to look at. They were running their hands along her legs and clearly liking it.

Her lips trembled. Tears freely rolled down her pale cheeks.

“Pl, please… No…”

The man holding her arms at her sides kissed her neck from behind and called her a “Yankee putana” and took a long whiff of her long dark hair.

The man facing her grabbed her head and forced his lips against hers. And this became Rose-Anne’s very first kiss from a man other than her father.

Rose-Anne felt his mustache and she missed her father all the more. He pressed his lips even harder against her and she felt his tongue coursing around her lips. His hands were pressing her tits through her dress and petticoat, causing her to pant hard with an unwelcome sense of arousal as she mentally prepared to bite his tongue if he got stupid enough to push it inside her gaping mouth.

Someone was now between her legs and kissing her cunt, under her tucked-up garments along with hands, many hands that burned the pristine skin of her legs, where only her father’s hands had gone before.

Rose-Anne bitterly sobbed amid the forced kissing, the groping and the cunt kissing. The loud noises of wails and protests from the other women told her the Mexicans weren’t giving quarters—they had killed the men, and now they were going to rape the women and the lasses. Especially the lasses.

“Papa!” she squealed as she remembered the way her father would take her with him to his bedroom when all her sisters were asleep. He loved to take her chemise off and caress her everywhere; she would lie there, frozen and feeling all weird as her own father would kiss and lick and touch her everywhere.

She both hated and craved this. It had all started by the time she turned fourteen, so she was well old enough to understand that her father was feeling lonely and missing his dead wife; she herself and her twin sister looked a lot like their late mother. This had been going on for two years.

In addition to those men worshiping her from head to toe, Rose-Anne was aware of many more that formed a ring that isolated her from the rest of the noisy crowded orgy of rape and defilement. Rose-Anne knew she was going to get raped repeatedly. She had no idea what to do about it. She only knew she couldn’t prevent it. Her heart felt empty of all hope, like one passing the threshold of Hell.

“Now, señorita, now. Time to make a woman out of you!” the mustached soldier spat out through his teeth, grinning.

He barked an order at the other men, and the one who had been kneeling under her and kissing her cunt was gone. More hands joined the man behind her in firmly restraining her arms and wrists.

Rose-Anne noticed that the tall mustached man facing her was in his mid-thirties. He wore two red epaulettes with fringes, which meant he was a Sergeant.

He spat on the floor and pulled out his knife.

“¡Desnuda! ¡Desnuda!” some soldiers chanted. The men at her sides kissed and licked both sides of her face.

Rose-Anne sobbed bitterly, but didn’t put up any resistance. Resisting, she felt, would only make them angry and violent, and then things would get even worse. It was already bad enough as it was. So bad she couldn't begin to imagine anything worse.

The mustached Sergeant kept grinning, and Rose-Anne noticed that one side of his mouth was slightly higher than the other and his olive face carried several scars, one of which was wide and unsightly.

He took his knife and buried it between her chest and the upper part of her dress, from the top where he made a clear dent in the strong fabric, accentuating the paleness of her skin against that dark green dress. Rose-Anne felt the cold steel against her skin and stopped breathing, her heart pounding. She realized she was soaking wet and greatly confused, but mostly terrified.

The Sergeant strained with his knife. Rose-Anne heard the sound of her dress giving way to the Mexican blade. He kept straining, this time lower. Rose-Anne let out a loud wail as she heard the laces of her petticoat give way along with sharp sounds of tearing fabric as soldiers helped their Sergeant in undressing the Yankee señorita.

Rose-Anne felt the strength in their hands and the lust, the hellishly intense lust in their eyes as the last front laces of her supple petticoat gave way.

Then, the Sergeant handed his knife to a soldier near him. And then, Rose-Anne yelped and shook with dread as her mind anticipated the terror of being topless amid those pigs.

The Sergeant with a scarred face grabbed the top of her petticoat and pulled it off her bust! Her perky tits were suddenly right there, surreal and glorious in their pale splendor! Riding high and naturally pushed out of her chest, as if they independently wanted to be easily touched. The dark green curtains of her cut and torn dress made their display intensely pale and tragic.

Her nipples looked shocked to be visible as her tits moved along with the shuffling movements of her torn petticoat, downward only to immediately bounce back up before settling in their natural display, forming the slender bust of a maiden in the spring of her life.

The Sergeant and his men pushed down the ruins of her petticoat, all the way down to her waist, loving the sudden sight of her navel, loving how slim she was as they tore some more of her forest-green dress to make more room for the immoral display of her breasts.

They loved how pale they were! They learned that this Yankee señorita had pale brown nipples with areolas that faded beautifully into the pure-white knolls of her bust. Yes, a fine fish they caught! With legs that seemed to belong to a mermaid who just morphed into a girl.

“¡Aaaahhrr! ¡Que bonita!” the Sergeant exclaimed as Rose-Anne spotted a powerful bulge at the front of his light-grey trousers under that hated cobalt-blue uniform.

The Sergeant plunged his face onto Rose-Anne’s tits and began licking them as if he had gone years without seeing a woman. He gave her long tongue strokes that went upward and lifted the underside of her orb, pushing it up like some divine paste of silky skin.

“Rrrhh, rrmhrr, mmhhh rrhrr – ¡Que bonita!”

The Sergeant sounded like a dog with his slurping sounds and grunts as he gleefully licked Rose-Anne’s tits, covering them with a coat of slobber. She loathed the man, yet her tits were basking in a heated sense of arousal. They started to swell as her face blushed in absolute shame and hatred. She hated them all! If only she could kill them!

He suddenly rose and gave an order. Rose-Anne saw the deadly resolve in his face. She knew this was it. Her heart turned to water. She bitterly sobbed, thinking of her father. She felt angry at him. He had done nearly everything with her, except taking her virginity. And now, because of him, Rose-Anne was to have her virginity brutally plucked away. It was so unfair! She was a good girl!

Soldiers grabbed and lifted her legs. They held her with her dress tucked up at her lap and her legs wide open, and the Sergeant presently walked into the in-between space while unbuttoning his trousers.

Rose-Anne strained in their grasp, trying to free her arms as she instinctively fought to prevent what was to happen.

“Nooo! Stop this! Stop this, nooo! NAAA-AAAAA-AAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaa…”

Her little fists were clenched where she vainly tried to wrestle her wrists out of their grasp. But those men had strong hands. Too strong.

Rose-Anne arched her back as she kept struggling. The Sergeant laughed. She felt his hands caressing her bare thighs. Then, something suddenly pushed into her entrance, and a rush of fiery pain radiated inside her.

She yelped, sobbed and kept wriggling amid the soldiers. She saw the expression of pure delight in the Sergeant’s scarred face. His mustache and his eyes formed the black center of her terror as she became aware that he was straining and pushing himself inside her.

“AAAAAAAHHH NNNHAAAOOOOOOOOOO You can’t… You CAAAAANN’T! NNAOOOOO OOOOOOO!!! Aaa aaaa aaaaaaaaa…”

Rose-Anne understood with a shock that she was no longer a maiden. She was being raped by the ugly Sergeant.

He grabbed her thighs more firmly and she felt the brushing of his uniformed sides against her inner legs. He was inside all the way. He began pounding her, looking down at the wonderful, surreal sight of her jiggling tits.

They looked Yankee pale against the open curtains of her dark torn dress. The Sergeant felt it was a beautiful rape. How could it not be? The girl was gorgeous. And it was so much fun to rape the enemy’s women after a won battle!

Rose-Anne’s lovely hair was bobbing rhythmically amid the grinning soldiers as they held her in place for the grunting Sergeant, her legs wide open and folded and her shoed feet clean off the floor with her dark wool socks visible up to mid-shins. Her thighs were forced to keep brushing the Sergeant's uniform as he raped her on.

Her head bobbed on and on, in pace with the Sergeant’s powerful strokes. Her waving hair kept caressing the faces of the soldiers holding her arms. They loved her dark hair. They kissed her moving face whenever they could. “¡Bonita señorita! ¡Muy bonita!”

The Sergeant increased his pace… he was soon deflowering Rose-Anne in absolute frenzy, with frothing slobber dripping down his open mouth as he felt the upcoming conclusion.

He suddenly pushed deep, painfully deep inside Rose-Anne and she felt his hands hard on her thighs as he clenched them. He looked frightening!

He looked like a madman in some sort of shamanic trance. Rose-Anne saw the straining in his scarred face. She felt his head was about to explode like a fuse bomb!

“AAAAaaaa, HHNNN NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN NN!!!”

That primal groan told Rose-Anne he was done. She sobbed, knowing she was deflowered, never to be the same again.

Stuffed with Mexican semen. Stuffed like a cheap “putana”. She sobbed, very bitterly. She was surprised to find it didn’t hurt as much as she had feared. The Catholic Irish girl thanked the Lord for that. The worse, by far, was her sense of absolute shame and debasement.

“¡Gracias, señorita! ¡Muchas gracias!”the Sergeant said as he pulled out of her.

He was immediately replaced by a soldier who wore just one red epaulet with fringes as opposed to the simpler epaulet on the other side.

This was a Corporal. Rose-Anne understood they were having her by order of rank.

“¡Buenos diaz, señorita! ¡Es un día maravilloso!” he told her in Spanish and gave her a quick kiss on the nose.

He found her entrance and pushed. Rose-Anne was surprised of the little pain she was now experiencing. It was now more like discomfort along with notes of pleasure, but not much pleasure. She hated him so much!

The pounding resumed. Her head bobbed on and on amid the soldiers. After just a short while, the Corporal looked into Rose-Anne’s eyes with wide-open eyes and she thought they were going to surge out of his face!

“Hrrr! – Hrrrr-nnnnhh uuh – uggh, señorita…”

The Corporal then got out of Rose-Anne. The deflowered girl realized he had dumped his load.

The next man was a Private.

He lost no time. He punched inside Rose-Anne and began to rape her gently while looking at her breasts and only her breasts. Rose-Anne felt that gaze on their jiggling display and felt a bit of arousal out of this. She hated him too!

The rape itself produced more discomfort than anything else, but that man’s avid gaze on her uncovered tits and nipples forced her to respond with whimpers as he gave her his all.

Her head kept bobbing and was getting achy from the repeated motions. Then, someone cupped her left tit, and soon another hand grabbed her other one, which was slightly larger, and they began to knead her breasts while she kept being raped by the Private.

Rose-Anne felt wild specks of arousal with her tits as the epicenter; her tits under Mexican hands. Kneaded. Played with. She hated them! The men and her own tits! Why did they turn against her? They were swelling in their hands! She hated them! Hated herself for feeling arousal in their arms. She was a good, decent girl! She sobbed as she realized she was no longer marriageable.

She saw the mustached Sergeant next to her. She saw the scars on his face. He was playing with her right tit, presently stooping down and engulfing her nipple in his mouth as her head bobbed on and on. So this was what it was like, to be taken by men.

The Private exploded inside her. “¡Aaahhh! ¡Dios! Hrrr, hrrr, hhrnnrrr…”

She felt his insane rush inside her. She moaned from the Sergeant’s tit sucking. Her body loved having this done to her. Her father knew this. This was how he kept Rose-Anne under his control. Rose-Anne feared he’d do likewise with Mary, so she submitted as a way to protect her beloved twin. She bitterly cried as she thought of her twin sister. She had no doubt Mary was being defiled as well. And Meg. And even Ann. Poor Ann!

Another soldier was already inside her. Her head was bobbing again. Again, that same vaginal discomfort. Again, the hated pleasure from having her breasts sucked and kneaded.

She screamed her hatred as her head kept relentlessly bobbing amid the Mexicans, who were laughing at her.

"Bastards! I'll have you strung up for this! My 'pa is gonna kill ye! He'll kill ya! All of ya! Naaaoooo! Nnnaaaaaoooo aaaah aaaaahh AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH RRRRRHAAAA AAAA HAAAA HAAAAAAAAAAA please stop this I beg ya..."

“Aahh, our little señorita likes being taken by many men, doesn't she?” the Sergeant said to her ear in English.

The Sergeant laughed out loud. Very much amused, he said something loud in Spanish.

Suddenly, Rose-Anne had two privates at her tits, with their faces pressed against them and feeling the unique imprint of her nipple against their sun-baked mug. They lost their shakos in the delightful skirmish as Rose-Anne arched her back and screamed out a loud series of high-pitched whimpers and wrapped her rapist inside her legs, without even realizing she was doing all this as she powerfully climaxed while being gang-raped by those men she hated.

The soldier let out his final growl and filled her up with some more spunk.

Rose-Anne was gone blind and climaxing.

In her altered state, her body forced her to revel in the bobbing motions of her renewed rape.

“Haaah. Haaah. Haah. Haaah. I’m a trollop, father! Haaah. Haaah. Father… Haah. Haaaaah. Why aren’t you there to, haaah… to witness my, haaah… To prevent this! I hate you!”

The privates kept sucking her breasts, and this caused her to tense up again and hit another climax.

The soldier exploded inside her. Another man was there. She didn't care who it was. She didn't even care who she was anymore.

“Haaah. Haah. Hhaaah. Haaah. Haaah, father… Haah. Haah. Haaah, naoo. Haah. The fort has. Haah. Fallen. Haaah. This. Now. Haaah, happening. Haah. Haah. Not in books. Haaah…”

“Señorita! Already a little puta! You love this, don't you! Now, let’s see how you like being naked in the middle of Mexican men!” the Sergeant bellowed, covering the loud sounds from the crowded sacristy.

“¡Desnuda! ¡Desnuda!” soldiers chanted.

“Nooo… Please…”

As soon as the current rapist had shot his load of delight inside Rose-Anne, they gripped the ruffled dress at her shoulders, and one of the men was so taken by elation that he rushed at Rose-Anne and kissed her while he violently pulled down the sleeve of her torn dress. The Sergeant did likewise for her other arm while a soldier forced her to drink tequila from a bottle and a man cupped her tits from behind. Someone was at her lower legs and unlacing her shoes.

“Aaaaaaaah NOOO, stop this!” Rose-Anne squealed, and then she screamed in shrill panic as she saw a balding man who had just lost his shako. So disgusting! That man was so ugly! So old!

Rose-Anne bitterly cried, wailing long and plaintive sounds of horror as she felt the gaze from that sickening man with a shiny ball of head instead of hair!

She recognized the Sergeant’s grunting amid the tumult of strong hands, arms restrained, as the soldiers roughly lowered all her garments and the dark green fabric of her dress suddenly gave way to the nubile play of her legs – her sharply contrasting triangle of cunt hair, her beaver, seemed to be dancing in panic between her slender legs as she cried all the tears she had left.

She hated being seen by that balding man, more than anything else!

The Sergeant then grabbed her arms and forced them out in front of her while others were holding her waist, and Rose-Anne had no other choice than to bend over as she wailed and sobbed.

The pure white of her backside was offered as a playing field along with the fascinating mass of her dark hair.

They lowered her garments down her hips and Rose-Anne’s light-filled buttocks came into sudden view, causing strong erections.

“¡Por la madre de Dios!” men exclaimed, their erection raging and pushing their pants as they felt the visual effects of Rose-Anne’s butt! She couldn't be already 20! Only a true wench had such erotic power in her bum.

Rose-Anne squealed in horror as she felt many hands on her booty, while the Sergeant kept his firm hold on her arms and shoulders, her face looking down while his men let her garments fall down and around her feet, which were still encased in her ankle-high shoes. Her lower legs were covered with teal socks.

“We will have immense pleasure in taking the Yankee señorita from behind! And see my Mexican cock!” the Sergeant yelled on top of the loud tumult.

His trousers were still unbuttoned. He took his erection out as other men restrained her arms. He took its base and began tapping Rose-Anne’s face with his hard wiener!

“Aaaaahhhhh!!!”

Shrieking, the terrified girl looked away and recoiled as if that cock were a rattlesnake.

“Ha, ha! Don’t be shy, señorita! My wife, she was about your age when I took her by force and we married next morning. You’ll get used to it! From now on, you are under the protection of Sergeant Fernando Guerrero!”

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh! Nooooooo-oooo…”

Rose-Anne jerked amid the men’s collective grip as one of the soldiers behind her punched his prick inside her. He strained and hammered valiantly, with a delight that Rose-Anne felt through his hands holding her waist while she screamed her shame and hatred.

The man hammered her, without restraint, calling her a “Yankee dos pesos puta” all the time amid his grunting, and Rose-Anne was shaken almost as if she were being forced by a horse! That man behind her was so raving mad that the other soldado beside him told him to calm down and leave some of the girl for the others.

The repeated bumping of her bum against his lap was insane! Those young buns with their soft paleness were feeding his erection inside her, making it fuller and feeding Rose-Anne’s demented whimpers.

He smiled a mile wide amid his olive face. “¡Yankee puta! ¡ Yankee puta!” he kept yelling, very proud that he was forcing the young señorita to whimper like she was about to pass out from excessive abuse. All girls loved being forced this way. He was used to do this to his wife and his wife's sister.

Rose-Anne was so wildly shaken, imprisoned in a realm that smelled of man’s sweat and spunk and shame-filled whimpers! Whimpers from her, and also whimpers from her fellow Yankee lasses.

The man pressed himself behind her, cupping and pressuring her tits as he leaned on her back while pressing himself against her like a dog taking its blissful relief inside a bitch. She felt how intensely he was shivering as he emptied himself inside her.

A man was caressing her hair.

“Good Yankee girl! Fernando is happy! He’ll give you another Mexican ride!” that same Fernando bellowed.

Another man was already behind her with his hands on her waist. And she was rocked again, in that same bent-over position where she stood with her arms restrained out in front of her, amid that loud jeering and grunting.

That man was punching urgent jabs inside her; his hands kept moving up and down the contours of her booty as he took his turn.

Rose-Anne, in her rocking and moving field of vision, saw other girls being dishonored amid the crowded confusion.

She saw flashes of Isabella. She was on the floor, her tiny tits jiggling like under a storm as a man was raping her with his torso propped up on straight arms, and he was banging her very vigorously as her naked legs kept brushing his sides and another man held her hands together near her bobbing head.

Isabella had lost her dark blue dress and let out deafening outbursts of screaming misery, shouting “Miguel! Miguel!”

The short girl with light-brown hair, who looked so tiny and innocent, had to endure the unbridled barrage of cocks from the celebrating Mexicans. Her marriage to Miguel was never to be. Miguel had died a virgin because they had been waiting for their wedding day. Isabella was being wed by the Mexicans instead.

Rose-Anne felt someone at her feet.

The man raping her suddenly clenched and pressed her butt from the sides, as if it were a large peach the juice of which he was trying to extract. His jabs were fast and furious and she felt the high tension in his fingers as they sank into her flesh. She instinctively knew he was enjoying his final flourish.

As the next man took possession of her rear-end, Rose-Anne looked down at her feet. A short and small man wearing a different uniform was in the act of undoing her shoes and lowering her wool socks. He looked up and her gaze met his.

With a shock, Rose-Anne realized she was looking into the baby-soft face of a boy who had the unbearded face of an angel with manly strength in his hands where he was touching her…

“You’re very beautiful, Miss!” the drummer boy said in English, just as loud for his words to make it to her in spite of the loud pandemonium. He was looking at her tits as they were hanging from and moving along with her bent-over torso.

Screams from elsewhere made any more words impossible…

“Aahhhh! Señorita Americana!” “Viva la Républica! Wou-ou-ou-ouH!”

“Wepa… Wepa!”

That came from the man behind her, Rose-Anne wasn’t all too sure. She kept looking down at the boy and felt his hands on her lower legs as he pulled her shoes off her feet and took her socks off, and she felt her naked skin exposed, more and more.

The short young man was looking at her legs and feet with a transfixed expression of joy, and he started caressing Rose-Anne’s feet.

“You’re, ooh, too, ooh, very young for this, drummer boy!” Rose-Anne said amid the relentless back-and-forth dance she was forced to perform.

The man raping her growled behind her and emptied his stores of El Paso sludge inside her, and as he did so, Rose-Anne felt horror mixed with curiosity about that handsome boy who clearly looked younger than herself.

With shock and stupor, she realized that his hands on her feet and ankles were actually arousing her. Was she going insane?! Rose-Anne knew that if he partook, she’d accept his boy’s prick and would let him rape her. She pictured herself with her legs wrapped around him and felt very guilty and ashamed as she realized she would almost like this. But she was all so confused with her body hurting everywhere...

“I’m… I’m Rose-Anne, what's your name? How old are you?” she told the boy, who looked up back at her with amazement. She felt very curious to know where he learned English.

Another soldier forcefully entered her, grabbed her waist and got busy with bumping her buttocks repeatedly while skewering her destroyed virginity.

How many of them would she have to endure? An entire platoon? Rose-Anne had lost count of her rapists from being the epicenter of such a massive earthquake or rapes and Mexican ejaculations. She was dead within her soul, yet there was a sense of curiosity about that drummer boy, as if trying to have a sane interaction with him was her attempt at keeping her sanity amid the horror she was going through.

The handsome man was worshiping her feet with his hands, those same hands that had rolled his drum to a tune heralding death and mayhem when the assault began—the fateful attack that had led to her own gang-rape. And her sisters’. As he kissed her feet on and on while she was being raped on and on, she felt the nascent stubs of his beard on her feet, a clear sign this drummer boy was actually a young man. He was just short and of a small frame.

Rose-Anne suddenly spotted Meg through the sweat-and-spunk crowd of soldiers.

They were holding Meg on the floor with men kneeling and standing above her on their knees while holding their stiff erections above her bare torso. Meg’s snow-white skin acted as a beacon of splendor for those brutes. Meg was in the nude and imperially white; she was Britannia all right.

A man knelt down and obscured Meg from her view.

Through the rocking movements of her own rape, Rose-Anne tried to see Meg in that forest of men, who all seemed to be shivering and caught in a trance.

Their trance became more violent. They all seemed to be attending to something very important that was happening at their groin area.

One of them shook and was taken by some seizure, looking as if he had just been struck by a musket ball. Another man did likewise. Then another. And another…

As those men started getting back up to their feet, Rose-Anne saw Meg again. Something had changed. Meg had something glossy that coated most of her breasts and nearly all her face.

Rose-Anne suddenly understood. Those men had dumped their spunk on Meg!

As the man behind her kept giving her the breeding stallion ride, Rose-Anne began to moan… Loud!

“HAAH! HAAH! HAAH. HAAH. HAA-AAH. HAAA-AH…”

She couldn’t un-see the sight of Meg’s tits and face covered with semen. It drove her wild and forced her to moan like a trollop.

And the handsome young man… The drummer boy was now kissing her legs, his hands reaching as high as they could on her hips while Rose-Anne’s rapist was busy holding her by the sides of her blossoming hourglass shape.

That man twitched inside her, and dumped his load. Those hands from the drummer boy!

“HAAH! HAAH! HAAH. HAAH. HAA-AAH. HAAA-AH…”

Rose-Anne couldn’t stop herself from moaning. The boy was now kissing her upper thighs.

He took the opportunity when the man exited her. His hands went higher on Rose-Anne as he stood up.

No more men seemed to be coming to buck her. The boy was now licking her buttocks!

Rose-Anne felt his tongue strokes! It was him! The boy! She kept moaning with her cunt dripping full of Mexican seed. The boy was licking the wide curves of her butt as if it was all coated with honey.

She heard the Sergeant, Fernando, as he told something to the boy. The noise and pandemonium had abated a bit, so she heard and gathered the little Spanish she knew to understand he was telling the boy to use his fingers and explore her pussy.

The boy did.

Rose-Anne felt the hesitation in his small fingers. She reacted very strongly, with a loud moan. This wasn’t possible! He was just a short drummer boy! Barely a lad, more like a schoolboy!

“HAAH! HAAH! HAAH. HAAH. HAA-AAH. HAAA-AH…” Rose-Anne moaned like a young woman to the boy’s ministrations.

She felt a quick surge of hotness inside her as his fingers insistently stroked the walls of her pussy…

“HHaaaaaaaaaah! Hhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh… The drummer boy, haa-aaaaahhh… Hhhaaaaaaahh. Oooh! Ohh! Oohh, my God! Aaaah, the drums! The rolling drums!”

Rose-Anne arched her back and experienced a jerking orgasm from the lad’s relentless fingering. Fernando was still holding her arms in front of her, keeping her in that same standing bent-over position.

She knelt down and looked behind her. Her gaze met the boy’s. No words were spoken. The handsome drummer boy understood she wasn't going to resist. He could have her if he wanted.

Fernando, upon seeing her in that state, let go of her arms, curious to see what she would do of her own volition.

"His name is Pedro Garcia. He's fifteen years old and very small, like all our musicians, but he's as strong as an ox and very brave!" the Sergeant said with pride in his voice. "He's also my son."

Rose-Anne let her forward weight rest on her elbows and offered her protruding butt, the small vastness of it, to Pedro Garcia and his male gaze.

She kept looking at him as he unbuttoned his trousers. The nearby men formed a close circle where red cavalry uniforms were to be seen now.

The boy let out his erection, which wasn’t all that big, but it was quite something for a muchacho of his size. Rose-Anne waited for him with curiosity in her eyes, her weight on her elbows. She then started to cry again. She was sexually surrendering to them! To those scum! To that rabble!

***

There was a sudden dispute!

An officer of the cavalry, a junior officer wearing golden epaulets without fringes, was telling Pedro to get out of the way, but Sergeant Fernando started arguing with him while still respectfully calling him “Teniente”.

The Lieutenant looked very angry and ready to strike the drummer boy. Sergeant Fernando stood right in front of him and kept arguing, his face only inches from the Lieutenant’s.

Rose-Anne knew just enough Spanish to understand that the infantry Sergeant was telling the cavalry officer that he and his infantrymen had been among the force that overran the inner fort and as such, his boys were entitled to the first picks of the enemy's women.

Other cavalrymen rallied behind their officer and the situation got explosive as infantrymen took their stand beside their Sergeant. The cavalrymen were on the verge of pulling out their sabres as they were outnumbered.

Rose-Anne realized that they were no longer paying attention to her while that drummer boy stood near her and kept gazing at her beauty.

She quickly got up to her feet and took the boy in her arms. He was so delicate! She wasn’t that large of a girl, but he was smaller, yet he stood about the same height as her. He was a thin boy who had the grace of a young god.

Rose-Anne loved the proximity of his angel’s face. She ran her fingers in his black hair and pressed her lips to his. Her lips clang to the boy. He felt like an oasis of love in a desert of war. Why was she doing this? How could she be such a tramp? Maybe she was trying to recover the magic of that first kiss. She had lost it forever when those awful men forced-kissed her, but as she clung to the boy, she clung to the crazy hope of making herself "whole" again, like one trying to repair a broken cup of china.

She twirled her tongue against the boy’s lips, which were shut as the boy looked at her with saucer eyes, petrified.

“Well, drummer boy, aren’t you going to rape me?” Rose-Anne said with tears in her eyes. She couldn’t tell where she took the strength to do this after being raped so many times. Strange things happen in war. For her, it was either this or sinking her fingers in her eyes and blinding herself. She preferred to keep her eyes. She was still young and maybe life wasn't over for her, although it sure fell like it now.

She kept twirling her tongue against his lips, and this time there was a small gap in his mouth. Rose-Anne forged in with her tongue. She hugged him and began kissing him with a full-blown sexual tongue play, just like her father had taught her.

Rose-Anne put all the surviving shreds of her dignity in that kiss. The naked girl was brushing her lap against the boy.

Around them, the quarrel had died down.

Rose-Anne looked around with curiosity mixed with dread. The men were now all staring at her as she held the drummer boy in her arms and kissed him again and again.

The Sergeant offered a bottle of tequila to the Lieutenant, who accepted it and took a swig.

Amid the circle of their onlookers, Rose-Anne began to unbutton the boy’s dark blue uniform. Her agile fingers made short work of the brass buttons. The soldiers brought hate and debasement. She was fighting back with love. Only for that boy.

Soon enough, she had also undone his linen shirt, and she looked at him with intense curiosity as she bared his shoulders and removed his shirt along with the jacket of his uniform. There were no laws in effect for the immediate aftermath of a battle. There was just what mankind could physically do.

Rose-Anne went down on the drummer boy. She kissed the nipples of his chest and satisfied her maiden's curiosity as to how this felt when done with a boy about her own age. With each kiss she landed, she realized more and more that what her father did with her was wrong and evil. It was perhaps even worse than raping girls after a won battle, in a sense.

The boy was breathing hard as the soft skin of his chest was explored by her tongue. He had no idea she was going to do this! But he loved this.

Then, she lowered herself and laid herself down on the sacristy floor. She spread out her legs for the drummer boy, giving him what she thought was his first show of a girl’s paradise door. Little did she know he had partaken in the gang-rape of a wife when elements of his company attacked and burned down a ranch not long after crossing the Rio Grande.

As the boy readily went down and made himself home on top of her, Rose-Anne realized he had already done this. So young!

Rose-Anne moaned out and found herself purring as she felt his tongue on her breasts. He was slightly younger than herself, and this brought a sense of weirdness in her that made her feel strangely erotic in spite of her nightmarish debasement. She was going insane!

The boy licked and sucked Rose-Anne’s tits just long enough to keep the souvenir of her fragrance and the personality of her tits, the way they softly yielded under his tongue, against his nose, under his face… He was too young to understand how fresh doing this to Rose-Anne would feel to a grown man. But this was the first time in his life that a girl was actually giving herself to him.

The Sergeant prompted his son to get down to business as other men were waiting.

Rose-Anne almost screamed from the burst of anticipation that literally cooked her body with heat. Her pussy was sore and achy, yet she was soaking wet.

“HAA… HAA-AAAAHH!” she moaned as the boy found her entrance and overran her intimate fort.

Rose-Anne screamed on that floor and she wrapped her legs around the boy, who fucked her with his trousers down. She was powerless! Her body loved the feel from his handsome cock.

He was inside her! She was being fucked by the drummer boy! She felt so dirty, so ashamed, yet she felt weightless as the boy kept taking her.

He took her so gently! He kept pecking her neck with sweet-boy kisses as he ravished her in a way that greatly astonished Rose-Anne; he had clearly done this before.

“You, aah, very hermosa, aah, very pretty, ahh Dios!” the drummer boy said amid the gentle session of measured strokes.

His “pito” kept jabbing in a steady rhythm. Rose-Anne found the intercourse very comforting. She wasn’t afraid of him. She liked him. She kissed him back just as the boy suddenly made a loud yelp, as if in pain, and he entered into a feverish fest of unbridled strokes as Rose-Anne locked him inside her wrapping arms and legs. She felt hands touching her feet as she did so. Someone said “preciosos pies!”

The drummer boy burst inside her. He looked at her with wide-open eyes, his face transfixed with joy and he kissed her as he gave her the full heat of his seed, proving her that he wasn’t too young to fill her up nice and proper.

Rose-Anne hit a diffuse climax that brought her more joy than bliss as she kept thinking about this boy being so young, yet able to give her a man's love and affection.

Then, the boy was lifted off Rose-Anne, whose field of vision was brutally filled with the red uniform, golden epaulets and the cuirass of that same cavalry Lieutenant who had argued with Sergeant Fernando.

Rose-Anne hated the sight of his rat face! He looked mean and cruel, and way too old for her; at least thirty-five if not forty. Old to be a Lieutenant; he was either promoted from the ranks or was a bad officer. Neither was good news. He was no gentleman!

“¡Abre las piernas, Yankee señorita!—¡LAS ABRE!”

Rose-Anne realized she had brought back her legs together, without thinking, as she froze with fear in front of the grown man.

He then laughed and began running his hands all along her legs. Rose-Anne saw the other cavalrymen; there were three of them and they all unbuttoned their ivory-white trousers to show her their men’s “vergas”.

Those three so-called “caballeros” began to masturbate while respectfully waiting their turns, as the officer was now kissing Rose-Anne’s navel, making her shudder in disgust.

After being fucked by the drummer boy, she realized the horror of being raped by older men while she was still so very young herself; she was a broken maiden, a fate worse than death! This also made her further question her father’s morals; it wasn’t right for a man to take advantage of his adolescent daughter, yet Rose-Anne had learned to like the warmth of her father’s dagger.

Rose-Anne shuddered even more when that horrible officer, in his upward exploration of her sweet-smelling belly, reached her tits and began to worship them with tongue and slobber.

He cupped them and gently pressed them down while grinning at her, his eyes deadlocked on hers as he slightly twitched his hands, and she screamed, thinking he was about to crush her breasts under his hands.

Sergeant Fernando barked something in an angry voice.

The Lieutenant freed her tits at once and looked behind him at the tall, well-built Sergeant. He asked him for something Rose-Anne understood as “aguardiente”.

The bottle of aguardiente was handed to him. Rose-Anne felt the liquid on her tits and caught the strong smell of alcohol as the rat-faced Lieutenant gave aggressive tongue strokes to her breasts.

Rose-Anne found an unforeseen sensation, a pleasing one – she felt the way her supple breasts yielded under his forceful tongue as he licked the aguardiente off her tits. He was emitting low grunts, loaded with glee as he licked on.

Rose-Anne presently felt his hands on her sides and became aware he was turning her around. She felt far too exhausted to resist.

The man rolled her to her side, then some more. She felt his hands on her buttocks and heard that same low grunting. Then, liquid was poured on the tight vastness of her bottom.

“¡Aguardiente por la señorita!” the Lieutenant said in his savage joy.

Rose-Anne then felt his now-familiar tongue strokes, those same aggressive strokes, except now he was licking her liquor-soaked butt.

She hated him! This was so humiliating! The very loathing she had for that officer was now adding to an unwanted sense of arousal as he kept licking the aguardiente off her bum.

Then, there was movement behind her. Rose-Anne braced herself for the upcoming penetration, confident that her poor pussy was about to undergo even more abuse. Thankfully, her body was young and resilient, which also meant she was going to suffer a lot more and a lot longer if they chose to gang-rape and beat her to death.

What came next… She had no idea something could feel so painful!

Rose-Anne screamed like an Irish banshee as the man brutally pushed into her butt-hole!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAnnnAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!”

The man began hammering hard, now grunting loud and fierce as he pushed, pushed and pushed and strained. He was determined! Rose-Anne kept shrieking as he invaded her rectum. She felt his vicious and sadistic sense of elation through his anal strokes.

It was agony! Each second… like a suspended eternity.

The man kept hammering. The beam he was trying to enter inside her rectum was gaining, only by the quarter inch, but progress was there.

She screamed so loud that she felt her voice as it changed and turned hoarse.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaa oaa ooooooaaaaaaaaaaaa…”

Suddenly, her Texas rosebud gave way. The Lieutenant, grunting loudly, was inside her rectum and began to sodomize the broken maiden. He was now grunting almost to the top of his voice…

“HRRR! HRRR, HRRRR, HRR HRRR HRRR, HRRR, HRRR, HRRR HRRR…”

Rose-Anne tried to evade her pain while the man was punching downward inside her anus as she lay on her stomach, his lap striking her butt with each stroke. She looked around her.

The Sergeant seemed shocked. Why wasn’t he arguing against her mistreatment? She was being sodomized like a girl in Gomorrah!

Those cavalrymen kept masturbating and looking at her while the infantrymen were now smiling between each other, sharing aguardiente and enjoying the show.

Rose-Anne suddenly caught sight of something grotesque.

Aunt Anna was lying flat on her back with a thin man who looked a bit small and lost on top of her. His naked body sharply contrasted against Anna. He had fair skin while she was a portly African woman.

Aunt Anna was Mrs. O’Hara’s cook and all-purpose servant. Anna would always be seen helping Mrs. O’Hara in tightening her corset by pulling the laces in her back.

The dignified servant had been stripped out of her maid’s clothes, completely. Her mud-brown body was now flat on the ground while the fair-skinned Mexican was on top of her, between her ponderous legs, offering her the same ride as each and every white woman in the sacristy.

Rose-Anne saw Anna’s rape through the rocking motions of her own anal rape. She was desperately trying to evade the unbearable pain, which now came with notes of deep pleasure that Rose-Anne wasn’t expecting to find in that hell of Sodom.

She kept watching Anna’s rape as much as she could in that forest of Mexicans.

The man raping Anna was looking at another rape—Mrs. O’Hara’s.

Rose-Anne saw it too and it surprisingly aroused her.

Mrs. O’Hara was a strikingly beautiful woman with dark hair and porcelain skin. Her features were a chef-d’oeuvre that seemed painted by a genius from the previous century, perhaps the same painter who had done a portrait of Madame de Pompadour.

The beautiful wife, now a widow, was lying down on her elbows with her legs half-folded and the surreal whiteness of her butt slanting to the left, with a grunting soldier on top of and inside her.

Trying to ignore her own painful anal rape, Rose-Anne observed the man on top of Mrs. O’Hara, whom he explored with deep interest in that position that made him look like a lazy dog who just gave his strokes while relaxing the rest of his body. That man had peculiarly dark skin, yet he wasn’t African. He clearly had a lot of Indigenous blood.

Rose-Anne was fascinated by that point where that man’s prick was visible and dark outside Mrs. O’Hara’s pussy. It looked like a monstrous protrusion out of her pussy, a shadow brown pillar that owned the white officer’s widow. His dark brown skin against the white softness of her perfect bottom! Such immorality that was only seen in war.

Even from where she was, Rose-Anne saw the man’s face and the fury he put into each one of his strokes, his dagger looking like a big slab of blood milk pudding that furiously moved up and down and kept sinking inside her pussy, acting like a most pressing visitor with Mrs. O’Hara’s buns as the troubled neighbors. Her butt crack looked fascinating in that context.

Rose-Anne was shocked to see that dark dagger buried inside such a derriere that ought to be only seen by some select white gentlemen. She wasn’t shocked to see Aunt Anna raped by a white man, but she was utterly shocked and deeply horrified to see Mrs. O’Hara being raped by a Mestizo man with very dark skin.

Rose-Anne suddenly became aware that the officer was no longer topping her, while her anus was still writhing in pain, no doubt filled with the man’s sauce.

Out of experience, she braced for the next man.

He came and settled himself on top of her. Soon enough, Rose-Anne screamed with a hoarse voice as the man painfully hammered himself inside her sore butt-hole. His entry was much less brutal, but she screamed nonetheless from the pain. He was following his officer's lead.

The man found his rhythm. Soon, Rose-Anne had her face buried inside the elbow of his red sleeve, where she had whiffs of horse and stable as the cavalryman grunted into the dark depths of her hair while exploring her distended rectum. He had strong size.

He was on top of her, pressed against her as if shielding her from some exploding fuse bomb. The only explosion was hers. Exploding pain mixed with uninvited jolts of arousal inside her.

The man soon exploded, and dutifully followed his Lieutenant’s example as he stuff-creamed Rose-Anne’s Texas rosebud with his sludge from Chihuahua.

He loved copulating like a dog with a white lass! Rose-Anne wasn’t his first bitch since the Mexican brigade had crossed the Rio Grande. But she was the one he liked best.

The next man did likewise, and Rose-Anne, under the relentless barrage, had ample time and leisure to learn what it felt like to be sodomized by several men.

The man after him flipped her around like a tortilla on the fire. Rose-Anne found his face gaunt and long under his cuirassier’s helmet, which he was still wearing for some reason.

He took her ankles and propped up her legs, and then he proceeded to kiss the point of her feet. Rose-Anne was almost glad to be handled with such gentleness after her brutal session of sodomy. That man had a mustache. She felt it as it brushed her toes. That Mexican mustache would normally have remained far from her with Alamo’s wall separating her from the likes of him, but now, the fort had been won and Rose-Anne felt that mustache on the soft skin of her feet in the most preposterous encounter that could be seen. At least, her rapist looked pure Hispanic.

That man was very kind and affectionate in the way he caressed her lower legs. Rose-Anne saw his impressive erection where it stuck out of his open trousers; it looked like a stick of mocha against the ivory white of his trousers.

Then, the man took hold of her ankles again and put her feet right at his shoulders as he moved himself into position, to where his loaded erection was jutting just above her bushy triangle of dark velvet, between her propped-up legs.

As the man settled himself on top of her and entered her in a way that told her he had a long experience of this, Rose-Anne felt her feet where her soles were pressed against the cold steel of his cuirass.

Rose-Anne let out a sharp whimper as he penetrated her, and the man raped her like this, with her legs folded and propped up, her feet resting against the top of his cuirass and his prick deeply exploring her wide-open cunt.

Rose-Anne would never forget that cold sensation of steel under her feet as she whimpered under the intense rape, the man’s mustache making him look like a twisted father figure to her. She indeed had some daddy issues.

Getting raped by a man wearing armor made her feel like a noble mademoiselle being raped by an enemy knight in a fallen castle. She began to sob anew, bitterly so. There was nothing romantic in her predicament. She hated the man and his armor, but she didn't try to remove her feet from that shiny cuirass as he kept plowing her under the tawny lamplight. Never will she forget that dreaded feel of cold steel under her feet!

Rose-Anne was now whimpering out of control, in long bursts of unstoppable fire, answering to the horseman’s grunts and sobbing under her crushing sense of humiliation. He was raping her with joy in his eyes, his mouth wide open and letting drip a steady supply of frothing slobber that fell on her jiggling tits as he did his utmost to let it last.

She felt that legion of tiny fuse-bombs go off all at the same time under her skin, and she looked like some demented doll trying to break free, her limbs shivering with violent spasms. Rose-Anne was experiencing her most extreme orgasm ever. She hated him so much for doing even this to her! And that steel under her feet! She was like the baroness of a burning castle, gang-raped by enemy knights.

"I hate you! Rot in hell!" she screamed against his slobbering grunting, against that wall of jeers and catcalls and laughter around her. She looked for Pedro, but he was nowhere to be found.

The cavalryman raping her was now looking into her eyes with astonishment, as if to say, “I’m I really inside you now?”

His mustache was now making him look childish and grotesque because he kept looking at her with same expression of joy as a little boy inside a candy store. Her feet against his cuirass were anchoring her soul to what was both destroying her and keeping her alive through those myriads of unwanted sensations. Her ankles felt hot under his touch as he kept pounding her.

Then, he yelled, “Aaahrhrr! Yankee! YANKEE Señorit--aaa… Uunngghh! – Oohh…” he uttered while enjoying his liberating relief inside her, his hand mad-gripping her ankle where her feet were still pressed to his cuirass.

He pulled out of her and stood up. Then another cavalryman hurriedly grabbed her feet and blissfully shot thick bolts of seed that gave a hot coating that felt sticky; it was followed by two more ropes of seed that guaranteed that Rose-Anne’s dainty feet were well coated and now smelling like Mexican spunk.

The man was screaming as he ejaculated on her feet, looking at Rose-Anne’s sweet face and sounding almost like a dying man as he gave her feet his ultimate drops.

Then, the red-sleeved cuirassier and his steel helmet were gone.

Another man came, this one wearing a cobalt-blue uniform with two fringed epaulets—a Sergeant’s red epaulets.

Rose-Anne felt so exhausted that she was beyond crying and being horrified. It was Fernando, now kneeling to take his second ride of joy inside her.

He too propped up her legs and feet, and moved her into that same legs-folded, wide-open position. She knew he wanted to experience that position, and as she saw the movements of his fringed epaulets, she felt horrifyingly curious to know what that infantry uniform would feel like under her feet.

“Lovely señorita! Very lovel… Aaahhhrrrrr! ¡Que bueno!”

With those words of joy, Fernando renewed the bliss of being inside Rose-Anne!

He indeed took her ankles and made sure she was in position with her feet pressed against his shoulders. This was a position where she found the rape was least painful and most shameful—shameful because it made her whimper under the enemy. How could a decent girl like her act like this?! She looked up to the ceiling, her aching head bobbing and let him have his way.

Fernando had plopped outside her during the movements. He calmly reinserted himself, smiling at her with his black mustache and very glad she was now so submissive. A good girl!

“Sorry, Milady! Sorry to keep you waiting!”

With those words of wisdom, Fernando began to pound Rose-Anne, who resumed her litany of forced whimpers as she pressed her feet against Fernando’s cobalt-blue jacket where she sometimes felt the brush of his epaulet fringes on her toes while Fernando kept pounding her in intense short motions, along with the motions of his head and his large torso.

Rose-Anne felt the wool of his uniform pressed under her feet. This drove her nuts! What a tramp she was! Her most depraved side seemed to feed from the impossibility of their encounter. This was never supposed to be!

Gently rocked under the grunting Sergeant, her back pinned against the floor, Rose-Anne thought back of that moment when she stood next to Consuelo and observed the advancing regiment with great concern; all those sky-blue uniforms! Hundreds! Two thousands!

She was now having her feet planted in that same uniform, feeling a Sergeant’s epaulets through its fringes as it caressed her toes along with the rocking motions of her never-ending rape.

He was panting with a stream of spit flowing down his mouth and chin. He seemed entirely bent into the deep exploration of her cunt.

Rose-Anne thought of Consuelo and pictured her naked and having the same—raped with her bare feet pressed against a Mexican uniform. Consuelo must be having a great many men taking their turns; she was so elegant and ladylike! Yes, she must be gang-raped by even more men than her! Poor Consuelo!

She felt the sharp contrast between the memory of herself clothed and respectable and far from those uniforms, versus herself naked and whored with her feet pressed against that uniform. It caused her to lose control and go into a loud whimpering climax, and the imagined scene of Consuelo’s rape flashed in her mind. And that odious Sergeant kept pounding her.

Fernando exploded inside the lovely little señorita. The proximity of his mustached face to her feet was an added keg of powder to his life-altering explosion.

After his long-winded relief, Fernando pulled out of her and looked down on her with that same weird expression Rose-Anne would see when her father had just cummed on her face or tits after she pleasured him.

“Fernando likes you, señorita,” he said with an altered voice as he covered her feet with heated kisses, not bothering about the thick crusts of drying semen that coated them. These were no maiden feet; they belonged to a nymph, the echo of a man’s most secret dreams.

Then Fernando was gone.

Rose-Anne found herself in the middle of infantrymen, now kneeling and forming some circle of worship around her. In them, she recognized all her first rapists.

Their daggers were outside of their trousers. They were all stiff and masturbating. They weren’t holding her. She was absolutely submissive and remembered Meg.

She understood their intention; they were about to do the same with her as she had seen done on Meg. This made her feel weirdly proud. She was good enough to be treated like Meg!

Rose-Anne spotted the drummer boy among them. He was naked and masturbating just above her face.

She reached out and her hand jockeyed with him for position as she finally took the boy’s prick. It was so soft! Silk! Like an angel’s skin.

Soon enough, Rose-Anne was pleasuring the boy with a firm hand.

The boy was whimpering in the same fast pace as her right-handed hand job… “Ahh, aah-aah-aah-aah-ah-haa…”

Rose-Anne’s dainty hand soon proved too much for the boy, who let out a wild scream of ecstasy and shot a very hefty load plump on Rose-Anne’s face!

She opened her mouth under that rain of boyish spunk and she caught and swallowed as much of that goo as she could.

As she swallowed his fresh pudding, Rose-Anne found it gooey and delightfully disgusting as she remembered the rolling drums when the Mexican besiegers were gathering for the final assault.

The Mexicans had won. The Yankee women were getting their spunk.

One by one, the masturbating soldiers encircling Rose-Anne shot their relief on her.

She saw the milky bolts as they surged out! They flew left and right, landing on her face, her breasts, her navel, her cunt, her legs, her hair, her feet…

The Texan girl lay naked under Mexican heat.

She caught a glimpse of Mrs. O’Hara and her fair Irish beauty, on her knees and hands while getting a violent ride from a stout cavalryman who took her from behind and gave her the honor of him acting as a thoroughbred stallion. He was indeed pounding her fast!

The Mexicans had a solid field artillery… with rolling fire in spades.

TO BE CONT'D