Date: Sat, 30 Jun 2018 23:30:26 -0400
From: Milford Slabaugh <tommyhawk1@aol.com>
Subject: The Battle for Lonely Rock, Chapter 4

                    THE BATTLE FOR LONELY ROCK
       Chapter Four: Upon My Duties at the Confederate Camp
                      By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
                  WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM

     They put a pair of slave's manacles upon my feet, a hobble chain, it
did not prevent me from walking but only in a shuffling, half-step way and
the weight was uncomfortable. Then I was put into a wagon and hauled off in
the direction of the hills where King Carson had his silver mines. The
sheriff had been right, the Confederate force was here to protect the
silver mines from the Union forces who were less than a hundred miles away
to the north...assuming they were respecting the border at all, that is, no
solid assumption in these days of the war. But soldiers were spread as thin
through the West as any other white men, it may be days or weeks after
Union forces had entered Confederate lands before the Confederates would
learn of their presence.
     Or maybe not, for the reason the Confederate camp had been placed
where it was. Water. There were men who needed water and their horses, and
that was not something to find anywhere in this scorched, unfriendly
land. The Confederates were by Jackrabbit Spring, an oasis of green land
that reached down one slope of the hill and onto the shallow canyon between
two arms of the hills, and from there the water wended its way
downhill. Only when the rains were very heavy did this water go all the way
down the streambed to Archer Creek, that drained into the Big Blue
Creek. These days, it was already a trickle when it got to the bottom of
the hill, the thirsty ground drank it up. But Jackrabbit Spring was there,
and so were the Confederate force.
     They had maybe a hundred men here. This particular force was financed
by the land barons about, so they were better supplied than most of the
rebel forces. Their tents were uniform white camping tents, aligned in neat
precision. There were three cannon and what appeared to be an ample supply
of shot for them. There were horses, enough for each man to ride. To me, it
figured that a Western garrison outfit would be supplied like this, while
in the East General Lee was having trouble keeping his men in shoes, much
less matching neat uniforms such as these men sported.
     The men were idle, the driver called to them. "Got us a Yankee here,
boys!" he shouted. "Won't nobody have to dig the shit trenches while he's
around."
     That earned a few catcalls as the wagon stopped and I stumbled out,
looked at them. These were not the volunteer force that King Carson had
been putting together, these were all strangers to me.
     "Hoo-eee, so that there's what a Yankee looks like." one of them
said. "Think you got enough men guarding him? This'un doesn't look big
enough to be out of diapers!"
     I was small for my age and almost used to this by now, I also wasn't
going to backtalk anyone with manacles about my feet. I was wearing
prisoner's clothing and slave's manacles, and if I wasn't careful, that was
how I'd be treated. I should have been grateful they weren't planning to
hang me.
     "Is that why I'm here? I asked him.
     He started to answer, but someone hissed, "Here comes the sergeant."
and the men suddenly lost interest and moved away as a large man with a
beard and a wide-brimmed hat (the only marks of his rank I could see; all
the other men wore forager caps, small flat-topped things with a visor to
shade the eyes but nothing to protect the ears and neck from the sun) came
up.
     "Is that why I'm here?" I repeated to the sergeant. "To dig trenches?"
     "Somebody has to do it." he said. "You'll haul water and clean the
camp and yes, dig a new trench every day and cover up the old
one. Sanitation is important. If you find someone has not used the trench,
you are to report it to me. Some men just squat outside their tents and we
can't tolerate that. If dysentery gets a hold in a camp, it can take out a
third or more of the men. So report it right away."
     "Yes, sir." I said.
     He smiled and said, "You keep yourself useful, son, and you'll get out
of this in one piece, if the men have to smuggle you to safety themselves
to do it." His smile was surprisingly gentle and friendly through that
beard of his, a lush full wrath-of-God beard that made me think of the
pictures they passed around in Bible study class of the prophets, or of the
bankers and businessmen back in Boston or Hartford. His eyes were a warm
blue, his eyebrows thick and brushy, I bet he was just as hairy all over
the rest of him. No man grows eyebrows that thick unless he's got hair on
his back and arms and legs and buttocks, so that hugging him naked would be
like hugging a bear.
     The sun was near to setting. "Very good, sir." I said. "What should I
do first?"
     He smiled. "You've had a busy day. We'll bunk you down and let you get
fed and some sleep and start you early tomorrow. You hear that bugle call,
you jump right out of bed and I'll put you to work."
     "Where will I find you, sir?" I asked him.
     He smiled. "As the man in charge of prisoners, I'm putting you in the
tent next to my own. You'll take your meals with me. I hope you can cook."
     "I can try, sir." I said.
     All the men did their own cooking, the quartermaster would dole out
the day's rations and they'd have to cook it themselves. It made sense when
you realize that any cooking had to be done over an open fire. Can you
imagine the conflagration it would take to cook for a hundred men?
     So I cooked for the sergeant and his tent-mates, and ate with them and
even talked with them. Save for my clothes and the chains about my legs, I
was treated as a part of their group, a junior and subordinate part, but a
part just the same.
     A bugle call awakened me when the first fingers of dawn brushed the
eastern sky. I rose, went to the sergeant's tent and was sleepily handed a
portion of hard-tack to serve as breakfast. "Chew on that and then get to
fetching water for the horses." the sergeant ordered. "After that, come see
me."
     "Yes, sir." I said and began the arduous task. The horses were watered
from buckets, and each horse seemed capable of draining a bucket dry. I
toted water fast as I could, carrying four buckets, two in each hand, until
my arms ached. The spring was up a small, rather steep cliff-face, pouring
out of a horizontal slit in the strata of the earth there. The water was
quite cool and I wondered what drove it; most water that jets like that is
warm to some degree, for it springs from deep within the earth and travels
out at near boiling temperatures.
     I don't want you thinking I accepted this life thrust upon me. I still
planned to escape, but not here, not from an encampment with chains about
my legs. If I was trustworthy, they might let me off the chain after a
while. I'd see how the horses were held so I could maybe take one and light
out for Lonely Rock. The Salcedo brothers would help hide me....
     As the morning wore on, the camp began to stir. I had just about
finished with the horses' water when, coming down the cliff side with two
buckets of water, I found two soldiers coming up. One was the man who had
sneered at me the day before.
     "Well, if'n it ain't the Yankee again!" the man said. His face was
covered with a brushy beard and he wore today a wide-brimmed hat much like
the sergeant's, but there the resemblance ended. This man was no banker;
his hair made him seem bestial, akin to the animals. Where the sergeant's
beard was clean and neatly trimmed, this man's was curled, tangled,
unkempt. "They keeping you busy, Yank?"
     "Yes, sir." I said, hating to give him the title, but not wishing to
make any disturbance. As I said, I wanted a reputation as a trustworthy
camp aide, and from there I could escape. That included saying "sir" to
every one of them down to the rankest private. "Fetching water for your
horses, sir, and about finished."
     "Don't look so tough to me, do he, Hank?" he said to his partner.
     The other man (Hank?) was younger and clean-shaven, but the lack of
beard didn't make him seem kinder. His face was hard and angular, with a
shelf of brow overshadowing his eyes, his mouth was set in grim, solemn
lines. "Not much, Luke." he agreed.
     "Yep." Luke said, his grin piercing out from his beard like a knife
stabbing through an eagle's wing. "He don't look tough, but he sure do look
pretty."
     "I hear tell this un's Colonel Carson's boy." Hank said, and his mouth
didn't grin in the least. "And that the Colonel is snorting steam to get
him back again for his own self."
     "Really?" Luke said. "Why don't he get a woman instead?"
     "Not many women to be had out here. You done seen that. So they go
after the young uns, like this one."
     "A fine gentleman like that snorting after a Yankee boy's butt? Who
would'a thunk it?" Luke shook his head in mock pity.
     "Even tried to make this Yank a part of his own regiment of
volunteers." Hank went on, slowly and solidly, like a boulder rolling down
a hillside, crushing the bushes that lay in its wake. He was heading
somewhere with this, and I didn't like the way it was coming right at me.
     "Do tell?" Luke was egging him on. "Ain't that a damn shame, the
Colonel losing his boy like that?"
     "Wonder what it's like to have what a rich man's been having?" Luke
said slowly. "And I wonder how a boy's butt is different from a whore's
pussy?"
     "Reckon there ain't much difference." Hank said. His eyes were wild
and jumped about like flies darting over a dead bird, small black dots that
moved here, there, up, down, back, up, and forward again. He was watching
me, Luke and several other things at once.
     "Be nice to find out." Luke said in that slow, hard way of his. "And
seeing how he's a prisoner here, who's going to complain?"
     "I'll tell the sergeant on you." I threatened. "He's waiting on me
right now. I'll tell him. I'll tell him about both of you."
     "Now why'd you have to go and say that fur?" Hank mourned.
     "Means we'll have to kill him if we take him." Luke mused. "Kill him
and hide the body somewhere's, say he's escaped. Then that we shot him when
we found him."
     I looked down at the camp, desperately, but the hour was still early,
the men were moving about, but down by the tents, dressing, shaving,
cooking, eating breakfast. I was well away from them, I could call and
maybe they'd hear, maybe they wouldn't. But I wouldn't get a second shout.
     Luke watched me look about for help I wasn't going to get. "You going
to be stupid, boy?" he asked me.
     "No." I said and bit my lip.
     "You wouldn't go and report us, would you?" Luke said again. "You
could get us in trouble, even maybe get us shot, but then there's our
friends who would take care of you. We got lots of friends here, fighting
for a year does that. Who you got here who's your friend?"
     Nobody, I realized. Maybe the sergeant would discipline them, but as
he said, he had friends who would even the score. Frontier justice is rough
that way, it's not always fair, it's like it's...balanced...by the way
people looked out for the ones they liked against the ones they didn't.
     Like a set of scales, and I had nobody to put on my side to balance
out these two and their friends.
     "No, I won't report you." I said.
     "That's a good Yankee." Hank said approvingly, gleefully, like a child
looking at its birthday present. I wondered about his mind, he didn't seem
to be all there.
     "You need friends here." Luke said. "You take care of us, take care of
our friends, maybe when the time comes, we'll take care of you."
     "You understand us, Yankee?" Hank said.
     "Yeah." I said bitterly. "Yeah, I understand you."
     "Good." Luke said. "Maybe you gonna live after all, Yank." His hands
went down and with that same, deliberate slowness, he undid his fly. "Now
take it out." he said.
     "Yeah, grab hold of his dick." Hank practically slavered. He was
bestial, all right, he was a dog, a large, slobbering, lickspittle dog,
doing whatever Luke wanted, including tearing my throat out.
     I reached out and, loathing this, I slid my hand into his open fly. It
was hot inside, hot, wet, foul-smelling. Inside this morass of fetid swamp,
his cock lay like a water mocassin, coiled about and I caught hold of it,
pulled on it, and it unrolled and unkinked a sharp bend, to pop the head
out into the open air. It sat there like a pink-headed mole peering out at
the daylight, then slowly it oozed outwards as the shaft filled and
fattened.
     "That's the way, boy." Luke said, turning "boy" into two
syllables. "Bo-ah." "Now lick it for me. Gonna need some spit on it to get
into that butt of yours."
     "Yeah, come on, suck him, suck him." Hank jabbered. "Come on, come
on!" His words were sharp and hard-edged, like a dog's bark. Arf-arf!
Arf-arf!
     I knelt down onto one knee. God, it was bad enough being taken
prisoner by the Rebels, but to be turned into the regimental whore! I
wasn't going to be able to wait for them to trust me, first half-decent
chance I got, I was getting out of the place!
     His cock was malodorous and not very clean. A sharp, nasty smell hit
my nostrils as I moved in close to it. I gingerly touched my tongue to it,
and felt nauseated when my tongue found a salty ooze there, a heavy, rank,
foul thing that clung to my tongue when I pulled it away.
     "Come on, boy, get to licking it." Luke growled at me. "Ain't got all
day."
     I moved in closer and his hand came down and grabbed me, shoved my
mouth over his pud. Now the nasty thing was inside my mouth and Luke held
it there, held it shoved to the back of my mouth, over half that ill-washed
length resting on my tongue and fouling my lips, filling my nose with the
stench of his unclean flesh.
     "Come on, boy, get to working it! Damn!" Luke grunted.
     Reluctantly, I gripped that foreskin with my lips and I pulled it
forward over the glans, shuddering as the motion poured more of that heavy
precome onto my tongue.
     "Unh!" Luke groaned. "Yeah, boy, that's it, come on, suck me now."
     "Yeah, come on, suck him." yapped Hank.
     There was nothing else I could do. Despair gave me a certain amount of
shielding from this, I had to do it and it didn't matter I didn't want to,
just do it and get through it. I began to work my lips on Luke's prick,
milking the pungent shaft, feeling more of his prejizz boil out of him. He
was getting into this, I realized, this outpouring of pre-coital fluid and
the heavy, feral grunts he loosed as I moved on him, made me realize that.
     If I couldn't make friends here, maybe I could make something like
friends. People who would do what I wanted them to. People to use.
     That gave me added courage, and I began to use my talents honed upon
those lovely Hispanic pricks in the morning, the long hours sucking those
Latino dongs, bringing them to delightful fruition, now this was a skill
that would save my life. I closed my eyes and dreamed that this was Alonso
or Ignacio. Those groans that Luke was making, they sounded much like
Alonso when I would suck him.
     "Uh, uh, yeah, boy, yeah!" Luke moaned and his words spoiled the
fragile illusion. I opened my eyes, looked up and poured my anger through
my eyes into him. He grinned at my look, he understood my feelings, he
understood and he didn't care. "Yeah, boy, you're a damned good
cocksucker." he panted. "I bet that shit-ass Colonel Carson makes you suck
him every night and twice in the morning. Uh, uh, damn!" he threw back his
head and moaned as I plied my expertise on him, looking up at him with hate
in my eyes.
     He was getting closer, I knew, a few more minutes...and his hard hands
yanked me away from him. "That's good enough." His heavy breaths heaved the
words at me like so many rocks. "Now, let's try out that butt of yours."
     "Can I have him suck me while you do it?" Hank panted out. Damn, why
didn't the guy loll out his tongue and wag that saber at his side like it
was his tail!
     "Sure thing." Luke agreed. "He's going to like having two rebel dicks
in him at the same time, won't you, Yankee?"
     I unfastened my trousers in silence.
     "Won't you, Yankee!" Luke snarled at me. The anger, the raw cruelty in
that voice, cowed me, and in that moment of timidity, I answered.
     "Yes, sir, I'd like that a lot." I said.
     "Now turn around and bend over." Luke ordered.
     Hank was fumbling at his trouser buttons, and I knew then he was
mentally deficient in some way. Maybe it was shell-shock, or battle
fatigue, or maybe he was born like that and since he could march, aim and
shoot a rifle, his fellow soldiers didn't care. He got his trousers open
and waggled his hard uncut cock at me like it was a sausage he was trying
to sell me. "Here it is, come on, come on!" He coaxed me.
     "Go on, suck it!" Luke snarled at me. "Bend way over and suck on it!"
     I bent over, cursing myself for my weakness, my desire to live
outweighed every principle I had, every ounce of my self-respect.
     Hank, at least, was clean, he had bathed, if not this morning, the
night before. He had this sole virtue in his side. He smelled of rough soap
and a slight amount of clean sweat, nothing worse. I could deal with
this. Gratified, I sucked his dong inside and didn't even mind that he
hadn't washed the soap away very well and tasted of it still, a rough lye
taste, caustic...but not foul. I began to work my lips in all their skill
on Hank's dong, and he was almost giggling as I did it. "Hot damn!" He
said. "Got me a Yankee sucking my dick!"
     I felt Luke's pud pushing against my anus, and I prayed that I had put
enough saliva on it to ease that hard passage. It wasn't a question of
would he be gentle, only how badly would he hurt me?
     Quite a bit. His cock found my anus and he pushed it in, hard, it
ripped into my bowels and I groaned, closed my eyes, tears leaking out of
the corners. I didn't have to like this, I only had to endure....
     Inward and inward. It was like a cannon muzzle was being crammed in
there, a huge round cylinder thrusting my buttocks apart, invading my
intestines, filling me beyond full, into the realm of insanity.
     And he stopped, he was inside me, his hips chock-a-block against my
buttocks, and he wormed around like that, new areas of pain, but then,
thank God, my bowels began to adjust. Blood greased the way, the folds of
my innards straightened out to give more room...and I could accommodate him
now. I was used to being fucked. I was able to take a man's cock under even
these coarse circumstances. Thank God!
     "Thank God!" I breathed out around Hank's dick. Luke's hands caught me
by my hips and he began to hunch at me, driving that dong in and out of
me. But I could take it.
     I began to suck Hank's cock anew, the clean cock, I could pretend it
was Ignacio's cock I was sucking, clean and flavorful and warm and gentle!
I was home, I was back with the Salcedos, home with them, and they were
fucking me from both ends like they always did, and it was good, it was
good!
     "Damn, I think the Yank's getting into it." Luke said as I moaned with
rising lust. "I think we done turned this Yankee boy on. Yeah, boy, you got
Confederate dicks in you, boy! We all gonna fuck you boy, every boy in gray
going to use your butt! Yeah, boy, yeah!"
     Luke fucked my butt now with rampant carnality, he was getting into
this, he was fucking me, and in fucking me, fucking every Yankee who ever
tried to take the slaves away from him and his family. He had reasserted
his mastery over the human race once again, he was again part of the upper
class, part of the masters, part of the rulers.
     Hank was just enjoying the fuck, I don't think he would have cared who
was sucking him, he would have taken man, woman, boy, dog or tree knothole
with equal pleasure. He was moving his hips in slow, fluid motions, an
absurdly gentle treatment, while I was being forcibly ravished from behind,
in front I was given consideration of a sort, for he let me use my own pace
and my own motions, letting me stay in control, and taking what I gave him
with gratitude and delight.
     With hard, animal grunts and growls, Luke was plunging into me
frenetically, with no finesse now, just a hard ramming into me any way he
could, I mattered nothing to him, I was less than nothing to him, and that
let him fuck me any way he felt like. He rode his hard bestial rut to its
height, and with a cruel roar like a lion pouncing on its prey, he gave a
few hard jabs to me and then shoved it in deep and held it there, and that
was how he came, holding stock-still, letting it flow deeply into me while
he quivered and held still. His cock pumped a load into me and even then,
as his cock softened, he didn't let go of me, he held me tightly still,
panting onto my back, making me feel his weight and his sweat and his
slippery, sweaty dong inside me.
     Hank was moaning now, urging me like that with his sounds into
servicing him faster, grateful for some boon of dignity, I gave that speed
to him, sucking at him harder, swifter, and he moaned, like a baby moans in
its sleep, and those moans were his only warning, and his sperm poured into
me in a long, slow, gentle river.
     In that unexpected kindness, my own passion took fire from the heat on
my back and in my ass, I moaned, my hand caught my dong and began to pummel
it and after a few dozen swift motions, I shot my seed onto the hard, hot
rocks.
     "Yeah, the Yankee likes being fucked." Luke panted as he let go of me
and rearranged his clothing. "Come on, Hank, get yourself buttoned
up. We're going on patrol today, they'll be sounding the make-ready any
minute now."
     "Okay, Luke." Hank said and his bearded, too-bright eyes looked at
me. "You were good."
     "Thanks." I said.
     "We'll do it again tonight." he promised me and turned to follow his
comrade.
     Tonight? Not if I could help it.
     But I couldn't, unless I was very careful and a bit more than lucky. I
pulled up my own pants, picked up the water buckets, and walked on down the
hillside toward the waiting horses.
     Maybe if I stuck close by the sergeant, I wouldn't be caught alone by
those two.
     But what about the others, the ones they would tell about the new camp
whore? How many men would be visiting my tent tonight? I shuddered at the
thought of it.
     But should I risk telling the sergeant? And would he even care if I
did?

                             THE END
               Comments, complaints or suggestions?
             E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
                  WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM