Date: Sat, 16 Jun 2018 21:48:57 -0400
From: Milford Slabaugh <tommyhawk1@aol.com>
Subject: The Battle For Lonely Rock, Chapter Two

                    THE BATTLE FOR LONELY ROCK
         Chapter Two: I Briefly Join the Confederate Army
                      By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
                  WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM

     My efforts to consider this new predicament of my situation (Union or
Confederate) was broken by the cacophony that erupted down the street; it
was "Dixie." I turned along with everyone else, to see a small musical band
dressed in crisp, neat Confederate gray uniforms marching down the
street. A banner held aloft on two poles said, "To Join The Confederate
Army, Follow Us." There was a small group of people following and the men
gathered about the store all trooped down to join them save for a several
old geezers and some uncomfortable-looking young men...I guess I counted as
one of the latter.
     "You boys better go on down and sign up." one of the geezers said in
the air of knowledge. "They's a draft going on and it's better you come
forward on your own afore they come looking for you."
     "But I can't!" one man said. "Without'en me, Ma ain't got nobody to
care for the ranch."
     "And I got four kids." Another man said. "Can't just hike off and
abandon them."
     "You can hire a substitute." one man said. "Somebody who don't have to
join, like this young'un here" he indicated me "can go in your stead."
     "So I don't have to go?" I said, relieved.
     " Course not, if'n you's a Union boy." the old geezer said. " Course,
they may also decide you're a spy for the Union and take you down to
Amarillo and the prison they got there." The old man winked. "Think you
know a couple of fellers there now, don't you?"
     Yeah, the two men who had rap ed me on my trip in to Lonely Rock. Word
had trickled back a week or so ago that they had been convicted of murder
and were now in the prison there awaiting execution.
     "I hear they are commuting sentences to those who'll join up." another
old man chipped in.
     "So they'll get you that way, or keep you until the war's over." the
first old geezer said.
     "You boys better go talk to King Carson." the second man said to the
two with reasons not to join. "He's going to be the commanding officer, he
can probably write you out a letter of hardship so you won't have to go."
     One of them allowed as he'd best amble along after the others, then,
so he could talk to whoever he needed to, and the rest of the young men
followed him. I thought about doing the same, but declaring my pro-Union
stance in a crowd of enthusiastic volunteers didn't seem to make a lot of
sense; I decided to go to the King's Palace saloon to speak with King. He
wouldn't be there, but maybe I could do some private talking instead of
public talking.
     As much bad as you've heard me talking about King Carson, I want to
mention here that I didn't feel any personal sense of danger around
him. His actions were indirect, and he left his dirty work to his
henchmen. And as I've said, he was taken with me, so I didn't worry about
his henchmen coming after me, either. King wanted to own me, but to own me
because I had given myself to him. It was a fencepost-walking act I was
doing by living here in Lonely Rock, but as Hunter had pointed out the last
time I'd seen him, it gave me a certain immunity and I could maybe do some
good.
     But I wouldn't be worth a damn to Lonely Rock in the Confederate Army
or worse, buried six feet under.
     So time to move on down that fence and meet King Carson again face to
face.
     King wasn't there, and I hadn't expected him to be. He'd be wherever
that band had been heading, helping sign the men up. I expected to sit out
most of the day there, drinking beer and talking to Elo and whoever
happened by.
     To my surprise, the next person who walked through the door was King
Carson! Dressed as he always was, in a finely tailored gray suit, his blond
hair short and cleanly arranged under a wide-brimmed hat, classically
handsome features, blue eyes that could melt stone, a fine-looking figure
of a man. Alone, and looking a little downhearted. He looked at me, smiled
and came over. "Hello, Ben." He said to me, like we were old friends. "Buy
you a drink?"
     My glass was nearly empty. "Why, sure, thank you." I said.
     He gestured to Elo and said, "What are you doing in town?"
     I shrugged. "Just came in for a visit, only I find everyone's busy
joining up."
     "That they are."
     I ventured to bring the subject around to why I wanted to see him,
little by little. "I thought you were the one doing the signing up,
actually."
     "So did I." King Carson shrugged as he took his drink. I got a beer,
King Carson had his own private stock of wine which was served to him.
     "You aren't an officer in the Confederate Army now?" I asked him.
     "I certainly am." He said. "I'm a colonel with my commission papers in
my pocket." he patted his chest. "Seems to be the rank they give somebody
when they want to use them in some way."
     "What do you mean?"
     "I've been assigned right here to Lonely Rock." He said. "My job is to
keep the silver flowing. The army has to be outfitted and paid, and without
silver, there's nothing to pay with."
     That's why the Union forces were heading our way, I thought to
myself. "So you're doing your part by staying where you are."
     "Yep." He said and drank his wine pensively. Before I could think of
the next thing to say, he asked, "So why are you here?"
     "Can't a fellow come in and have a drink?"
     "Sure, only you're not here for that." He said. "Are you?"
     "No." I said after a pause. "I'm here because I can't fight in the
Confederate Army."
     "No?" He said.
     "No." I said firmly. "My family all live in New England. And I haven't
lived here three months yet. Not to mention I don't believe in the
Confederate cause."
     "You should head back home, then." he said. "Be some trouble but not
much to cross back into the United States."
     "But I don't want to leave." I said.
     "Better make up your mind." King Carson said to me. "Either this is
your home or it's not. If it is, you should be willing to defend it. If
it's not, you shouldn't be around making trouble."
     "I'm not making trouble." I said. "I just don't want to go to war
against my own kinfolk."
     "So you came to me." he said.
     I shrugged. "You were the one in charge, or so I thought. I guess I
need to talk to someone else, though. Going to have to go over where
everyone's signing up after all."
     "Wouldn't do that if I were you." King Carson said. "They'd lock you
up for sure."
     "Why?" I asked.
     "A Union sympathizer in a war zone, it's standard procedure." he
said. "We're under martial law now."
     "Oh." I said.
     "You can swear an oath of loyalty to the Confederacy." he said. "But
then they'll want to put you in the army."
     "Jail or the army." I said. "Not much choice, is there?"
     "You have one other choice." He said.
     "What's that?"
     "I'm a colonel. A colonel is entitled to have an aide." he
said. "Someone to help with his paperwork and personal duties, run errands,
make himself useful."
     His aide. Damned if I shouldn't have seen that one coming! But I had
come to ask him for help, and this was help, of a sort. Of course, it put
me under his thumb and in his control, just as he wanted, but really, what
other choice did I have? And it would keep me in Lonely Rock, as he said.
     "Well." I said. "All right. I'll do it, and thank you."
     "Be good to have you with me." He said softly. The next thing I felt
was his hand as it reached over and cupped my buttock.
     King Carson wanted me, it was part of my protection from his
gunslingers. I had counted on it when I'd decided to stay in Lonely
Rock. Stay to help fight King Carson.
     Well, where is a better place to know what he was up to, than right by
his side? I'd known all along the best way to get next to him was to let
him into my bed. If I'd spent the last few weeks on the Salcedo ranch, it
was because I was avoiding the necessity of being King Carson's
bedmate. Which had left me isolated and uninformed of what was happening in
Lonely Rock, the entire war had caught me off-guard, at least as far as
this little piece of it was concerned.
     So I let him keep his hand there, let him squeeze my ass like a
farmer's wife testing out a plump melon for ripeness, let him pull my body
up to his, lifted my face and his lips came in for mine.
     They were gentle on me. Whatever King Carson was going to do, he
wasn't trying to rap e me. He didn't mind tricking or even forcing me into
his bed, but once there, I had to give myself to him, he wouldn't be
satisfied with anything less. He wanted to own my soul as well as my body,
as the living embodiment of everything he'd ever wanted and didn't have.
     Except for Elo, we were alone in this saloon. It was cool, dark,
comfortable, decorated with cut-glass windows and a stained-oak bar and
shining brass spittoons, and a painting of an undeniably beautiful nude
lady lounging all artistic-like above the bar. A small stage and a piano
against the wall nearby represented his efforts to bring some entertainment
to Lonely Rock though he hadn't succeeded at that, yet. This saloon spoke
his intent, he would take care of what he owned, take very good care of
it. To get that care, all a thing had to do was come up and say, "I belong
to you completely."
     And so his lips were gentle on mine, filled with the fire of his need
but it was a burning, honest flame, and it's amazing how much difference
that makes, it gave a dignity to this embrace, placing value into what
could have been cheap and vulgar. I was giving myself to him, and he was
grateful for it.
     A strong, powerful man of the Western plains, the sort of man I had
dreamed about in so many ways for so long, my own emotions didn't bear too
close scrutiny at that time. All I'll say about it is that my body felt
good pressed against his, even as his hands encircled me to contain me,
even as his body contacted mine to claim me, even as his sighs of pleasure
into my mouth demanded more, more. My cock was against his thigh, a line of
warm, warm contact and I couldn't help but grind it against him, grind
against this power, grind against this master of the world about me. My
sworn enemy, my lover, my best friend's killer, my heart's desire. The
conflicting emotions clashed inside me and yet it seemed that their clash
did not diminish either of them, but combined them into feeding my
pleasure, igniting my joy, fueling my passion. I had to have this man
again, had to feel his cock inside me as it had been that one time before,
my body the losing wager in a crooked poker game (I knew now what I hadn't
known then, when King Carson played, Elo watched from the bar and signaled
the other player's hands to King Carson, who bet accordingly. Elo, King's
elder half-brother, his bartender, and his stooge, had brought me to that
pass, lain upon the poker table and King's hard dong rammed into me as his
men watched and hooted their delight at seeing their boss fuck the naive
Northern city boy.
     But there had been great pleasure for me in that prior time, and it
was here again, for King was a desirable man whatever his scruples and
intentions may have given me pause, and so my arms went about him in fully
requited desire, I returned his kisses with my own burning ardor, I clung
to this powerful man, master of life and death, owner of land and men,
leader of all he surveyed, conqueror of everything he chose, and he had
chosen me and I had surrendered to him.
     In my surrender, of body if not of objectives, I slid down in his
arms, I knelt before him and I bowed down my head to meet his hands
fumbling at the front of his trousers, nearly tearing with urgent fervor at
his buttons, forcing them apart rather than unfastening them, I wondered
that they gave way rather than tearing the cloth, his hands were so rough,
and then the material was parted and beneath it was pale thin cotton, and
his fingers dashed inside the flap of these underdrawers of his and brought
forth in triumph, as the handmaidens lead the bride to the groom's bed, his
glory and his manhood to stand in majestic, raging splendor before me.
     I wet my lips and reached forward to take this lengthy, fiery serpent
into my mouth, and the cockhead was salty and slimed with crystal desire
spewing from his slit, it poured onto my tongue as my lips squeezed the
shaft slightly, gushing forth like homesteaders staking a claim with the
lonely spike bearing their government number upon it, as the new owner
rushes back to register his deed, so was this spot of salty prejizz left
upon my tongue as I moistened his glans and then drew back to work up more
saliva and then returned to my task of swallowing this magnificent pillar
of flesh, of the town's most powerful man.
     Looking up into his passion-stained eyes, I knew that this was how he
wanted to take me this time. Later there would be the discrete pleasures of
his bed, but now, he wanted me immediately and this was as good a place as
any.
     "Mmmhh!" King Carson groaned as my lips milked down the musky honey of
his shaft and it poured onto my tongue. "Mh, ah, yes!"
     His hands came up to cradle my head on either side, not forcing me or
even guiding me, but there, registering possession of me, and I was left
free within their confines to work my mouth's magic upon his cock, in slow
rocking motions I worried his prick with my lips and tongue and now I had
coated this massive pud with a coat of my spit, now it was slick and
slippery and agile upon my tongue and lips.
     King Carson was leaning back on both elbows upon the bar, and his eyes
were closed in ecstasy and his body was a smoothly curving arc of pleasured
manhood bent like the bow to sent forth the arrow of his masculinity into
me. His every breath was tinged with delight, his features were softened
with passion, his brow was moist with the heat of desire that can bring a
body into sweat on even the coldest days, with minimal motions and
exercise, still the body exudes the cooling water, and the only heat to
soften is that of passion.
     I squirmed on the floor, and then I let go and stood up. "More, more."
murmured King Carson.
     "This floor hurts my knees." I complained. "A bed would be better."
     "Can't." King Carson said. "Colonel Chadwick will be here any time
now. Have to be ready for him."
     "I'll bend over." I offered.
     "No." King Carson said. "Just hand me that chair." Mystified, I did,
and he stepped onto it and from it onto the bar top. Standing there, he
said, "Now, my new aide, you don't have to bend over."
     Far from bending over, I had to step onto the footrest at the bottom
of the bar and clutch the slightly raised edge of the bar with my hands so
that I could be high enough to let King's prick return to my mouth. I had
not improved my lot, replacing aching knees with a ludicrous posture, but I
didn't complain the more but turned all my efforts into servicing his dong.
     King Carson liked this pose, standing well above me, me straining to
reach him, my lips letting loose grunts of effort which sounded like grunts
of eagerness, he gave a throaty chuckle of his delight at my predicament,
hunched his hips at my mouth when I faltered and I merely held on while he
fucked at my face, his hands came down and now they clutched me tightly and
controlled my head, his grunts took on a more insistent air and his cock
burned my throat, his hips were driving the piston of his manhood into me
and his groans of pleasure rose, mixed, clenched...and he was then shooting
a hard load of salty, heavy jism into my mouth and down my throat.
     I don't think I've ever tasted something with come as thick and heavy
as King Carson's, it was like swallowing glue it was so thick, I was
grateful that most of it jetted into my throat, where it clung and choked
me but was at least past the barrier of my tongue's interior rise. When his
groans of pleasure stopped and he was done, panting above me, I held his
cock in my mouth while I struggled to consume his come, knowing that he
would take remiss any spitting out of his sperm no matter how poorly it was
positioned in my mouth, I had to work and worry it up onto my tongue and
then down my throat.
     Done, sputtering, choking some, I took a beer that Elo handed me
without comment and drank it, washing down the thick load and King Carson
refastened his trousers and sat upon the bar, still panting, he chuckled
again at me as I looked up into his face, the eyes burning still but now
with possession, with control. He owned me now, he was sure of that, and
that gave him a great satisfaction. I did what I could to return an air of
quiet submission without defiance...he didn't own me entirely!...and he
said, "Well, that's a fair start to your duties." He cocked his ear. "And
just in time. Here comes Colonel Chadwick and his cohort."
     I turned to see a handful of gray uniformed men enter the saloon. King
Carson slid down to the floor with as much dignity as anyone can in that
position, and he said, "Ah, Colonel, how did it go?"
     "Not bad." Colonel Chadwick allowed. He was a man in his early
forties, with a strong black beard covering most of his features, he was
gray uniform, beard and eyes and nothing else. "We signed up one hundred
and twenty-seven men, all of whom seem to have a fair knowledge of firearms
and most with their own rifles. We'll have to drill them into a unit,
though, for now they're only a mob of men fired with adventure and ready to
see the elephant of war." His eyes fixed upon me. "And who are you?"
     "Colonel, I'd like to present my choice of personal aide for the
Confederate Army's consideration. This young man is Benjamin Mott."
     "Pleased to meet you, sir." I said, wondering if I should salute. I
didn't, but maybe I should have.
     "Mott." Colonel Chadwick frowned. "My report on Lonely Rock has him
listed as a Northerner."
     "He is, sir, but he has moved here and wishes to remain. Though he is
uncomfortable in fighting those who may well be his close relatives, he
will serve the Confederate cause as my aide here in Lonely Rock. With your
permission, of course, sir."
     "I'll take the loyalty oath." I volunteered. "This is my home, now."
     "That would be a clean, neat solution." Colonel Chadwick said. "But
tell me, son, do you know who is commanding the Union force which crossed
into Confederate territory two days ago and is now marching this way?"
     "No, sir." I admitted.
     "Lieutenant General Edgar Mott." Colonel Chadwick informed me.
     "My uncle?" I said.
     "Yes." Colonel Chadwick said. "So you can see, Colonel Carson, why I
must decline your request for this man as your personal aide, he must not
be trusted with any secrets." Colonel Chadwick motioned to his men. "Take
this young man to the local jail and lock him in. We'll figure out what to
do with him later."
     And so ended my brief stint as the personal aide of Colonel King
Carson.

                             THE END
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