Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The actress... Anna Maria Alberghetti in 1955.

Now set the clock back to the days of high adventure in Texas.

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March 6th, 1836.

The sun was already up and bright. It was half past seven in the morning.

Consuelo didn’t sleep much that night. Second Lieutenant Jeb Lacey had gone in the dark of the night in an attempt to reach the U.S reinforcement brigade and warn them about Alamo’s desperate situation. Consuelo liked this young man, but she was truly in love with Colonel James Bowie, the man who was in command of Fort Alamo’s small garrison against overwhelming odds.

General Santa Anna had crossed the Rio Grande at the head of a brigade consisting of a full regiment of infantry with a cavalry regiment that had almost succeeded in staging a surprise attack here at Alamo Mission, a convent that was turned into a makeshift fort.

Only luck and heavy rain had prevented the disaster by making the nearest river un-fordable for the 300 heavily armed cavalrymen. This was on 23rd of February.

Under the siege, the Yankees had held their own for two weeks, but now the wind was blowing for the Mexicans as their strong columns lined up with their loaded muskets in their bright powder-blue jackets and light grey flannel trousers.

Their warm-olive faces were shadowed under black shakos, a tall, cylindrical military hat with the all-important visor for protection against the intense sun of Texas.

The womenfolk of Fort Alamo, about thirty wives and lasses, stood by their husbands or fathers as they watched those young Mexican troops with dread. There were far too many of them! They knew it. But they couldn’t desert their men, and who knows, maybe those reinforcements would show up! Or maybe the Mexican General would be merciful and make sure the women were treated with honor and dignity. Although this was unlikely.

All girls inside Fort Alamo had their stomach tight and some actually retreated to vomit as the unsaid terror took hold of them. What was going to happen to the lasses was written in the sky, in unspoken letters of horror clouds that looked innocently pastoral.

As she stood near her father over the white, sunlit wall of harsh stone, Consuelo de Quesada thought a bit about Lieutenant Jeb Lacey, who was twenty-two years old, much closer to her in age and so very handsome and nice and all that, but then, in her mind, Jeb paled next to Colonel James Bowie. James was strong in the face of adversity; he had lost his wife and children to a plague of cholera four years before. If someone could make the miracle happen, it was him!

Colonel James Bowie was strong-faced with a thick, square jaw; his eyes were always filled with fierce resolve. Consuelo couldn’t help it. He was more than twice her age, but she felt so insanely attracted to him! She was nineteen, almost...

On the two occasions she was alone with him, her body had wished he’d make a pass at her and she knew she wouldn’t be able to resist him. James was a true gentleman; he had kissed her, only kissed her and caused her to almost pass out!

Colonel Bowie made Miss Consuelo de Quesada weak in her legs. Now she stood proud under the bright sky, her figure decently covered under that pale-rose dress of subtly plaid fabric that she wore so well, but she was now going to change into an older dress, a dress that was Italian brown—Tierra Sienna, a dress she could afford to stain with blood as she was going to attend to the wounded men in the chapel, in the innermost part of the fort, protected behind that all-important inner door.

Consuelo de Quesada, a noble-born señorita, watched the enemy with unfathomable dread, powerless to stop that Mexican infantry regiment as the shako-wearing soldados boldly advanced with their loaded muskets, drums rolling, on Fort Alamo along with their 300-strong cavalry regiment.

General Santa Anna had close to 2,000 troops under his command with six field cannons, which he had used to bombard and weaken the stubborn Texan fort that was now manned by only 150 Yankee soldiers under the joint command of Colonels Davy Crockett and James Bowie, who was himself wounded badly in one leg and lay in sickbay along with several others.

The Yankee garrison, already thin to begin with, had been weakened over thirteen days of unabated fighting and anxious watches.

Again, toward the end of the night, they had successfully thwarted an attempted surprise attack, but now General Santa Anna was growing impatient. He had to take that fort before the U.S reinforcement brigade showed up. He was attacking all out! A great many Mexican soldiers would die that day, but it was worth it. Going against his principle of honor in war, he had promised his men all the women inside the fort. "Take it and you can have them all for two full days and three nights!" he had told them.

Many of those Mexican young men looked up at the wall and spotted the women from afar—their ultimate prize for when they would throw down that Texas rebel flag and hoist the Mexican flag in its place. That red on the Mexican flag was going to echo the hymen blood of Yankee daughters!

Consuelo de Quesada felt their far gazes on her and experienced a surprisingly intense arousal. She realized she had gone through the trouble of changing into that nice dress not only to look good in front of James, but also… also to look attractive to ALL men. Female pride!

Colonel Bowie had met the General a week prior. Santa Anna had ordered him to surrender so he would spare the men, women and children; on his word of honour, he would let them all go peacefully once they had surrendered their weapons.

Bowie had stubbornly refused.

Now, under the intensifying morning light, drummer boys with light-brown hands let speak their young drums as files and columns advanced toward the stubborn Fort, with the field artillery being rolled into a deadly close position while the cavalry maintained safety patrols around the attacking force.

Some cavalrymen were part of a special troop that would storm inside the first wall after it would be overrun.

At a safe distance, General Santa Anna sat high on his white horse, supervising the final deployment before the all-out assault.

The Yankees were waiting for reinforcements that he knew would come too late, and now they were almost out of gunpowder and were getting low in their stocks of paper cartridges to feed the mouth of their rifles, but those Yankees were dead shots.

That U.S brigade was still at three or four days of marching, maybe two if they hastened their pace and took the risk of getting ambushed, but even then, they would be too late.

The Yankee garrison was too weak and those mission walls were good against attacks from Indians, but not against a modern army with artillery. That small garrison was doomed.

As she stood on top of that wall next to her father, Consuelo de Quesada watched the troops as they stood at attention. Along with Mrs. Dickinson, the wife of Lieut. Dickinson, Consuelo de Quesada had refused to be evacuated. If Colonel Bowie was to fall, then she’d fall with him.

She wasn’t alone to have remained. Captain Blyth had four daughters, including twins, and all four of them had been ill, and now it was too late. Ann, Mary, Rose-Anne and Meg were aged between thirteen and eighteen, each one an unmarried lass. Each one very attractive and feeding the unspoken dreams of two thirds of that small garrison, right up to Davy Crocket himself. Consuelo shuddered as she thought of all those things the Mexicans could do to these poor girls if they won—when they’ll win.

She trusted General Santa Anna and knew he was an honorable gentleman. She had met him a few years ago when she was growing up into a maiden in San Antonio.

Consuelo looked for Jeb, but there was no sign of him. She was about to go down to sickbay and see James for perhaps the very last time. Tears welled in her eyes.

She remembered the enemy General as a most social and amiable man in his forties; he used to be friends with her father in San Antonio. But now, as she saw him from afar, he looked fierce and warlike; he almost looked like a stylish brigand wearing a bicorn and a Navy blue uniform with golden epaulettes and much adornment, as was fit for a full General.

The General on his horse was looking through his long-view and he spotted Consuelo where she stood next to her father while looking down at the besieging troops—all those powder-blue uniforms with black shakos, standing disciplined at attention as the drums kept beating.

Consuelo watched those brown-faced soldiers with paralyzing fear. She knew instinctively that unless some miracle happened, they would win.

Her legs shivered! Her hands trembled! She felt a huge ball of terror inside her. She couldn’t speak. Her heart was racing; she was almost panting as she saw those long ladders the Mexicans carried.

Colonel Bowie was wounded and lying on a bed. She had paid him a visit the night before in sickbay. She had offered herself to him, but he was a gentleman to the very end. He had refused, said he wouldn’t do this unless they were married. He still talked about that farmhouse on that prairie while they both feared, and perhaps knew, this wasn’t to be.

Consuelo was crying in silence, tears gently rolling down her spotless face while the light breeze played with her dark hair. She felt her breasts inside her corset and felt those enemy soldiers were already way too close! But the General was a honorable man. She had nothing to fear, actually. She was sure the General and his officers were going to behave.

She was still a virgin. The seductress within her felt a bit curious about knowing what if would be like to have a man inside her.

The drums stopped rolling.

Amid the Mexican army stood a pole, a 12-foot-high pole where a flag was hoisted. The blood-red flag. Crimson without hope. No quarters!

No quarters will be given! The Yankee men would all be massacred…

Mrs. Dickinson and all the other women were quickly ushered to the inner fort.

Consuelo de Quesada was already in sickbay. She kissed the man she loved and cried bitterly in his arms. Colonel James Bowie sternly ordered her to go and get ready to attend to the wounded men. They both prayed for a miracle.

In the inner fort, Mr. De Quesada took his post near a small cannon loaded with canister and pointing straight at the inner door. He had a loaded pistol and thought about saving the one ball of lead for his daughter to spare her from the outrage when the fort would fall, but he knew he couldn’t bring himself to kill his own flesh and blood. He was going to fight like a man against all odds. Right to the bitter end.

***

Lieutenant Dickinson stood near Colonel Crocket when the Mexican cannons started to speak their language of iron, gunpowder and destruction. Small impact craters appeared on the already-damaged stonewalls of Fort Alamo, with dust and smoke filling the air; the first Yankee casualties of the day fell with a cry and a grim thud.

The Mexican bugle boys let their brass instruments blow their antique winds of war. The entire Mexican regiment advanced as one man.

“¡Viva la república!”

“¡Viva la república!” the Mexicans yelled as they advanced and fired their shots. It was life or death.

The Americans fired a deadly accurate rifle volley, while the canister-loaded cannon on their outer wall was waiting until the bastards got close enough.

Some thirty to forty Mexicans fell in the first lines. A Major dropped like a sack of potatoes with a rifle ball in his head. Their comrades fired back and the resolute Mexicans charged on. A few Yankees fell while all were reloading as fast as they could.

The final volley of American muskets was the deadliest and it came with the canister fired at only 20 yards! That canister dug a hole of carnage and twisted flesh and dismembered bodies through a whole platoon of advancing Mexicans. Many other attackers fell like tumbling playing cards along the ranks and files as the rifle balls hit them.

Two Mexican officers fell, another was hit through the eye by a ball and collapsed amid a heap of agonizing soldiers. The Yankees were shooting the officers first.

A Mexican Colonel raised his sabre and gave the order to charge on, and more and more attacking soldiers ran all the way to the wall!

Mexican ladders hit the white walls and soldiers got started on the deadly climb. Whoever was first inside the fort and survived the battle would get the first pick when they’d gang-rape the women.

Most of the first climbers were met with bayonets and sabers and rifle butts; they fell down the wall and into the dirt, but some made it to the top and used their bayonets with deadly effect.

Soon, the fight got close and deadly. Man to man! A primal struggle of life and death… Bayonets flashing at sunlight! Guts spilled in a bloody mess. An officer’s pistol fired! A screaming Mexican falls holding his face with both hands… Two new Mexicans suddenly there, and the Yankee officer tries to pull out his sabre, but he’s too late and he dies with stupor on his face and two bayonets inside him.

The screaming and shrieks of dying men are deafening.

Davy Crocket shot and killed that leading Colonel with his last remaining pistol, before five Mexicans charged him and skewered him with bayonets and cracked his skull with their rifle butts for good measure.

Only Mexican muskets were fired now as the defenders were slaughtered and shot. More and more Mexicans climbed those outer walls. The outer fort was overrun!

The enemy was inside! They now stormed the low building. They opened the main gate and the cavalry troop rode right in and started to hunt down the surviving Yankees. This was when Captain Blyth slew a young cavalry Lieutenant with his saber before succumbing himself between two soldiers who skewered him with their bayonets through his belly and his back at the same time. His final thought went for his daughters; the dying man knew what was going to happen.

"I'm sorry... Sorry..." Captain Blyth whispered as he fell asleep forever. His ultimate thought was his then-young-and-alive wife flashing her breasts for him as she undressed on their wedding night. She was waiting for him.

Most of the defenders now lay in the dust. Corpses. Flies already buzzed in that same dust. The defeat was already settling.

In sickbay, Colonel Bowie spent both his pistols on the two first soldiers who came through that door, but more soldiers stormed in, led by a fat officer, his ugly face looking like a Spanish rat as he brandished his saber.

James Bowie used a desperate knife and slashed a man’s face, before Captain Botez—that was his name—sank his blade inside him and three bayonets also stabbed James through the chest and through his neck in a blood bath. Every other wounded Yankee in sickbay was similarly slain or butchered.

Bowie died while reliving his last kiss with Consuelo. He died with a monstrous erection as he pictured Consuelo barefoot and naked amid the victorious soldiers. He died regretting not having taking her last night when she was giving herself to him. Honor... Marriage... Morality... What good did it do him?

***

Inside the inner fort, Mr. De Quesada was waiting by the canister-loaded cannonade along with the last surviving defenders. Not far off to his right, Consuelo and Mrs. Dickinson were holding each other as men shut and bolted the inner door.

Consuelo suddenly ran to that closed door and was restrained by Yankee defenders, who were dazzled by how lovely she smelled as she cried James’s name…

“James! James! Noo! James! James! Let me out! Let me out! James! Oh, James… Aaa-haa-haa-hhaaaaa Haaaa-haaaaa-haaa! James…”

In tears and wailing, Consuelo was carried into the chapel, where one of the Yankee defenders groped her butt. This greatly shocked Consuelo, who noticed, but said nothing in her distressed state.

Not long after, there was a loud “BOMM!” that shook the inner doors with dust under the intensifying sun. The Mexicans were masters of the outer fort, and there was no sign of Colonel Crocket. No Yankee officers remained standing in that inner fort. Mr. De Quesada was now assuming command as a highly respected civilian, made an acting Major by silent acclamation for the final stand.

“BOMMM!!!”

The inner doors began to show weakness, already!

Outside those doors, the battle-mad Mexicans were using their battering ram under the orders of that same fat Captain who had just killed Colonel Bowie in sickbay. They were putting all their might into those battering strokes. Victory was just beyond that door! Victory and the enemy's women.

“BOMMM!!!”

“¡Vamos, soldados! ¡Fuerte!”

“BOMMM!!!”

“¡Fuerte! ¡Fuerte! Remember! Their women will be ours! The General told me himself!”

“BOMMM!!!”

KKRRRRRRRKKKK kkkrr…

The inner door gave in as the bolt broke.

Shouting Mexicans stormed in through that broken door; the cannonade roared its deafening shot of canister, and most of the foremost men were turned into an unsightly mess of blood; one of them fell with his head half-ripped apart and brain matter dripping down along with his blood.

More Mexican soldiers charged inside the inner fort as the last Yankees made their stand while their women tried to hide inside the chapel.

At the chapel’s door, Consuelo shrieked in terror along with Mrs. Dickinson as she saw her father and the few remaining defenders being encircled by a great many stern-faced Mexicans under their black shakos.

The place was now crowded with enemy soldiers. All was lost!

Mr. De Quesada was de facto commander of those last survivors. He yelled, “For our yellow rose of Texas!”

He fought like a lion! Shooting one young soldier with his pistol, then pulling out his thin sword and killing another man, before that fat Captain fired his own pistol and shot Mr. De Quesada in the belly at point-blank range.

Mr. De Quesada fell like a hero, with a raging erection under his trousers as he heard the panic screams of his daughter.

All the Yankee survivors were slaughtered, systematically, without mercy, as more and more of these powder-blue uniforms stormed inside the inner fort.

A bugle was heard, announcing that Fort Alamo had fallen.

The fat Captain and many soldiers suddenly realized they had won. They cheered! “¡Viva la república!” “¡Viva la república!”

The Yankee women were now defenseless.

Inside the chapel, Consuelo desperately tried to hide along with Mrs. Dickinson and the other women including the Blyth daughters. They didn’t want to show themselves before they were sure that General Santa Anna was there to honor his promise of a safe conduct.

The chapel was the first place where Captain Botez and his men looked for the women.

No higher-ranking officers were present to guarantee honor and safety; the Yankee men were dead shots and had killed or wounded most of the Mexican officers.

The twisted result was that now, those victorious troops were but a band of brigands led by that fat, depraved Captain.

While soldiers were making sure all the enemy men on the ground were dead, as per the red no-quarter flag, the small church was filled with shrill screams of female panic as the fat Captain and his men began assaulting the women!

Consuelo bit a man’s hand and ran swiftly away and found her way outside, where she was promptly spotted and encircled by shako-wearing Mexicans, who began to catcall her and jeer, calling her a nice little señorita and a dirty little tramp.

As she ran in panic like a cornered hen, she pulled out a small pistol, but her trembling hand was too unsteady, and her legs were also trembling.

The pause she took to pull out the pistol was enough for the Mexican troops to rush at and grab her! Oh, God! She was so lovely to touch, even through her dress! And she smelled like heaven to those jeering men with dusty, sweaty faces of sun-baked skin.

Someone easily wrestled that pistol out of Consuelo’s hand as many men grabbed her and groped her all over her butt, hips, legs and bust…

The soldiers were now laying down their still-hot muskets and relieving themselves from any burden that would be unnecessary for the fiesta about to happen! Girls were shrieking inside the chapel as they were found and pulled out from their hiding places.

“¡Ven aquí, señorita!” a fat, ugly man said as he stole a kiss from Consuelo, sickening her with his breath that reeked of aguardiente.

That fat officer holding and kissing Consuelo ordered the men to bend her over as he began to loosen his trousers and promptly unbuttoned them to let out a jutting erection! This was the first time Consuelo de Quesada saw that thing for real!

Horrified, Consuelo screamed to the point she only heard herself as she saw that thing of his and noticed that the vile man was a Captain. How could an officer behave like this?! She tried to run back to the chapel, but she was stiffly restrained by many men who were telling her how they were going to fuck her deep and hard.

“¡Padre! ¡Papá! ¡Papá! ¡James, ohh, James!” she called out, then wailed and begged them to let her go as the grinning Mexicans forced her into a bent-over position while groping her everywhere at once, violating her dignity through her bright maroon dress of Tierra Sienna that added a touch of warmth to her hourglass figure.

They undid her belt and threw it away. Consuelo de Quesada felt their urgency, their madness! They were going to rape her! All of them! Nothing would prevent it! She was still a virgin at nearly nineteen years of age.

“Noooooo! Please! Naaaaaaa-oooooooo! I’m a maiden! Pleee-eeeeze DON’T! DON’T! Ahhhh Nnnaaaaaaoooooo! NaaaaooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! ¡Papá! ¡Papá! … James! James…”

Consuelo de Quesada begged and pleaded and wailed, reverting to her native Spanish and pointlessly trying to fight those men off.

The pack of grinning Mexicans called her a lovely young señorita and firmly restrained her arms and shoulders, holding her in that bent-over position as per the Captain’s orders, while a man stood right behind her, and she felt he was lifting up her maroon dress along with her ivory-white petticoat.

Her shawl of grey cashmere fell off her and lay in the dust, and was soon trod on by the overexcited Mexicans.

There were loud catcalls as Consuelo felt the soft breeze directly hit her bottom. She realized that all those Mexicans were now seeing it! Her buns were naked; male hands running all over them! No man had ever seen her intimate curves before.

Consuelo de Quesada almost died of shame as a forest of Mexican hands felt her pure-white buttocks and ran all over its contours. Through her bitter sense of loss from knowing James was no more, she realized she was wet down there, and then someone sank a probing finger inside her pristine pussy.

Captain Botez de San Toro loved the sight her butt… heart-shaped curves with all that fullness filled with light as the Texas sun showed it bright and crude! Pristine too, and pleasingly wide against her slim waist. The obscene crack of middle shadow highlighted how incredibly soft and pale she was. This was so surreal! He must be dreaming!

As the jeering soldiers restrained her in position, ready to be fucked, the sight of her legs gave a finishing touch to his nearly painful erection.

Captain Botez de San Toro pushed urgently against her visible entrance as soldiers kept her bent over and cheered on for their capitán.

Consuelo de Quesada screamed her outrage!

“aaaaAAAAAHH! NAAAAOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! NOOOOO I BEG YOU, DON’T! SPARE MY HONOR… My honor… AAAHHH NAAOOOOO… JAMES! JAMES, AHH JAMES, aaah-aaa-ahhhaaaaaa-aa aaaaaa…”

Consuelo wailed and begged! This couldn’t be happening! All the brave Yankees had died trying to protect her. Maybe James had died because of her!

With a primal grunt of pure elation, Captain Botez rammed himself inside Consuelo, very urgently, finding her entrance surprisingly wet and sliding. It gave way! He growled with joy as he realized he was inside her all the way, right to the hilt!

Consuelo screamed in agony!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH! NAAAOOOOOOO! NOOOOO! NOOOOOO-OOO—- AAAAAAHH-AAAaaaaaaaaa, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa… Naaaoo-ooohoooo ooaaaa… Rrhaaaah-aaaah-aa aaaaaaaaa aaaaaaa… Stop this, bastard… Bastards!”

The fat Captain grabbed her slim waist, reveling in her shrill screams as he began raping Consuelo de Quesada, standing behind her, his legs a bit wide apart in order to take her with the right angle for his own pleasure.

He didn’t care about her, but he loved the way she screamed and whimpered as he violated her! Today was a lovely day for her to lose her honor! An even lovelier day for him to take it!

“¡Oh Dios! ¡Oh Dios! ¡Oh Dios!” he uttered as he repeatedly hammered Consuelo and slammed himself like a grunting baboon against her white buttocks, raping her with her maroon dress tucked all the way up while holding that wonderfully supple waist of hers!

Raped and deflowered amid the jeering Mexicans, the señorita kept on screaming and wailing, her vagina on fire, in great pain as the fat Captain tore inside her, learning to know her in her full depth; he took from her what she had intended to give Colonel Bowie on their wedding night, which was never to be.

A full pack of grinning soldiers, now without shakos, had gathered around Consuelo de Quesada. They immensely enjoyed watching her being raped while still fully clothed, with her dress and petticoat tucked up and fully exposing her butt and her goddess-like legs.

“Let’s strip her naked!” a Corporal shouted.

“Yes, naked! ¡Desnuda! ¡Desnuda!” a soldier yelled.

Soon enough, the soldiers were all chanting, “¡Desnuda! ¡Desnuda!”

“¡Desnuda!”

The fat Captain kept bucking Consuelo de Quesada from behind, grunting and panting with a thick flow of slobber gushing down his wide-open mouth as he took his unfathomable delight from her!

It was even better than he had thought. His powerful erection delightfully grew even more inside the señorita.

The pot-bellied capitán loved how she wailed and whimpered under his unrestrained assaults!

She kept calling after a man named James. He didn’t care. He revelled in her brown hair and watched the virgin whiteness of her butt as she kept repeatedly colliding with him! Raping her felt so good! He remembered seeing her atop that wall. Now she was his!

A thickly bearded Sergeant, a massive bear of a man, stood over her and was using a knife to cut Consuelo’s dress right down to the small of her back while jeering soldiers restrained her arms, groped her, touched her hair, touched her everywhere they could! All at once as she whimpered from the Captain's relentless strokes.

They kept her in that same bent-over position, firmly so, with her lovely face looking down while the huffing-and-puffing Captain took his pleasure with crazy eyes of disbelief amid his fat olive face. He felt even more disbelief upon realizing how long he was lasting inside the pretty lass. She was indeed the prettiest one he had ever seen.

The conquistador Captain, his fat shaking under his uniform jacket, the thin threads on his epaulettes swaying along with his demented fervor, increased the pace of his strokes into a demented barrage of absolute madness as he passed his edge.

This felt so fucking good! He was just about to ejaculate!

Consuelo’s white butt kept banging on him ragingly as he concluded the brutal rape. His face was grinning like a demon! His entire being shivered! With a delight he never thought could exist, he exploded inside Consuelo! Shamelessly. She took it sobbing, amid the jeering and catcalling soldiers… “¡Viva la república!” “¡Viva la república!”

“AAA, AAA-aaaaaaaaaaaaahhh… yaaaahhrRRRRnnnnnRRRRRRRHHH Oohhh Dios!!!” the Captain yelled in absolute bliss as he spewed his load!

“¡Viva la república!” soldiers shouted. Their own turns drew nearer as they witnessed the relief of their Captain.

His cock took a life of its own as bolts upon bolts of sperm shot out of him with a strong tide of swimmers that got lost past Consuelo’s torn hymen and into her womb as Captain Botez felt his legs go wobbly under him.

Consuelo realized she had just taken that revolting man’s full load. She wailed with a piercing cry, as the bearded Sergeant who had cut her garments on her back opened Consuelo’s maroon dress on her ivory-white corset! All men around her cheered and catcalled!

“¡Viva la república!” “¡Weepa!” “¡Weepa!”

“¡La violamos en orden de rangos!” (Let's rape her by order of ranks!)

The bearded Sergeant then promptly slashed the corset’s back laces with his sharp knife, while a tall First Sergeant, stern-faced with a thick black moustache, took the Captain’s spot behind Consuelo, grabbing her bare butt…

The stern-faced First Sergeant loved the softness of her skin as his mocha-colored prick touched the naked bum of Consuelo de Quesada. He had darker skin as he had native blood. He was more brown than olive. He looked a lot more like a deadly brigand than a career soldier.

"Aaahhhrrrrrrr NNooooo!" Consuelo groaned, her voice huskier as she felt this second man inside her violated pussy. His hands took command of her hips and completed her sense of mortification.

Holding the crease of her hips, the First Sergeant was raping the noble señorita like a Mexican stallion, his legs wide behind the much shorter girl, while the bearded Sergeant urgently tore and discarded her destroyed corset and he avidly uncovered her pure-white backside by ripping off her petticoat! Under the troops' loud cheers.

The ripping sound of tore linen was music for the Mexicans. What a white-skinned prize she was! A noble señorita all right!

The troops loved the ungodly contrast of her pure skin against her black hair.

Consuelo, raped urgently with her dress now half-torn off, felt a confusion of pain, fathomless shame and notes of unwanted pleasure as that tall Mexican kept pounding her in silence. He just raped her savagely, grunting loudly.

She felt his hands around her waist; he had a commanding grip and didn’t seem ashamed of what he was doing to her.

He shook her right down to her core amid the deafening jeers and catcalls from the lust-filled soldiers.

It was a brutal, primal rape where the brigand-like First Sergeant enjoyed her with his mouth wide open and frothing saliva dripping down his chin as he ravaged her and felt the quick surge of delight.

Her waist felt so supple under his hands! She had the loveliest butt he had ever seen. He loved to bounce those loaves of fleshy sunlit light against him! The fathomless pleasure! He was urgently raping the noble señorita in the aftermath of the hard-fought battle, right on the spot! Amid the dust, with the shrill cries of Yankee women being raped as well in the background, inside that chapel.

The pitiful groans of agonizing Yankee men met Consuelo’s forced whimpers and yes, her moaning.

Consuelo’s youthful body was now forcing her to moan as it was quickly adapting to the shaking assaults and flooded her womanhood with juices.

Her head of long brown hair, now loose and free-flowing, kept bobbing while she felt all those enemy hands running through her hair; they seemed to really like her hair. Ever-shaking with her head down in that bent-over position they imposed on her, Consuelo closed her eyes, red with tears, and tried to think she was being bucked by James. He was dead!

“James! Oh, James… Aaaahh naaaooo! Nooo! Aaahh-aaaaaahh, James… Aaa-haaa… aaaaaa, aaaa, aaaAAAAHH NAAOOO! AOHH, aooh, ooh, oohh…” she moaned.

That brute of a First Sergeant came inside her. He erupted! Like a volcano! Flooded and warmed her with his load, a big one, as he groaned with utter satisfaction! What a prize for taking Fort Alamo! So many of his friends lay dead in the dirt. She had to pay for this!

The First Sergeant pulled out of her and let go one last bolt of seed. It landed smack on Consuelo's snow-white butt!

He watched the ensuing scene with absolute delight and kept his trousers unbuttoned as the remaining soldiers completely drowned her in their collective musk as they now completely removed her cut and torn dress. Any remnants of her petticoat was ripped off her bright-white torso and discarded. Every last part of her was left uncovered, barring her shoes.

They took immense pleasure in the unthinkable act of publicly stripping her naked. They kept hearing the sounds of tearing fabric, in the present and also in their mind as they dwelled in the freshly happened past.

Consuelo kept screaming and begging them to stop as the victorious soldiers stripped her.

They were all smiling and laughing, calling her a lovely little tramp. They were now having Consuelo de Quesada! The Mexicans tossed those rags away, leaving her in the nude except for her ankle-high leather shoes and her wool socks that still covered her lower legs. She now stood naked amid them!

Nude amid all those grinning lowly soldiers, amid the rank-and-file, Consuelo de Quesada wailed and cried out, feeling such humiliation as she never thought could be felt.

They whistled and catcalled as they enjoyed seeing Consuelo de Quesada in the nude! A noble señorita! She flooded their eyes with the blinding grace of her white butt and the refined lines of her legs. They commented on the length and shape of her cunt hair. It formed a lovely black triangle of violated honor between the loveliest pair of white thighs those gross men had ever seen. Their imaginations were too poor to even think of such grace and beauty. Their cocks were hard all the same.

The celebrating Mexicans forced her to stand amid them in her leather shoes, holding her and groping her everywhere while kissing her all over! The bearded Sergeant kept reminding them it was his turn now.

Consuelo’s full and perky breasts hit all the nearby men with something they never thought they would ever see.

They rushed at her! The lucky ones avidly cupped and kneaded and otherwise played with her breasts. The less-lucky ones cursed and sometimes shoved and pushed.

Many of them remembered seeing her from afar when she stood on top of that white wall. They were now unable to believe they were touching and kissing her forbidden splendor! A noble señorita… The wine of her brown nipples were supposed to be unattainable! But now... Now the soldiers were drinking her skin wine! How great it felt when those soft orbs yielded under their gunpowder-dirty hands! She, so pure! They, so dirty! Dirty-faced and hungry for more! They grinned at her, knowing she was theirs.

They were all going to gang-rape her, again, again and again!

With horror, Consuelo saw Mrs. Dickinson half-naked with her blue dress wide open and her tits jiggling as she shook under the most vigorous assaults from a young soldier, who smiled down on the blonde widow and grunted like a sick bear as he gave her his best strokes.

Mrs. Dickinson took him between her legs, legs that were forced wide open by other men; legs all too visible with her dress and petticoat tucked up all the way to her waist... She was gang-raped too. No exceptions were made. All the lasses and widows found inside the fort would share that same fate. It was a grim horror that Consuelo realized was all too frequent during war.

Consuelo watched, unable to look away even amid the press of men who kept kissing and groping her; she felt aroused by the rapist’s olive buttocks between Mrs. Dickinson’s pale legs.

Mrs. Dickinson took the rape in silence, sobbing quietly as her head kept bobbing on the dirt with her long golden hair now undone and making a blanket of bright waves under her ever-moving head.

Another girl was tearing the air with her pitiful wails…

“Aaaaaahahhhh! Please! Nooo! Noo-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO NNAAAA-AAAAA-AAAA-AAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!!”

It was Ann! Ann Blyth, daughter of Captain Blyth. They wouldn’t dare! She was so sweet and innocent! Yes they would. Ann Blyth was only thirteen, but this clearly didn't deter the overheated soldiers, and now, little Ann was forcibly "married" to the Mexican regiment.

Consuelo only saw flashes of her, for she was deep amid a jam-packed crowd of eagerly waiting men who were either pinning her down on the ground or masturbating.

Consuelo had no time to think about the others. Her numerous circle of Mexicans catcalled and jeered as they contemplated or touched, kissed and licked the defiled beauty of her tits, of her butt, her legs… her face and hair…

The uniformed Mexicans clapped their hands and kept calling her a “noble señorita” as they enjoyed her naked assets, unable to wrap their heads around how beautiful she truly was in the nude.

***

A bugle boy, wonderfully handsome without the slightest sign of beard, was frantically undoing her shoes while Consuelo was now forced by her rapists to lean with her back against that same cannonade that had fired canister when they first charged in the inner fort.

Consuelo felt the still-warm cannon, skin on steel, against her bare back as they pinned her there.

The bugle boy finished taking off her shoes and swiftly pulled her socks off. He began touching and caressing her feet, in a way she liked. Consuelo looked down at him and was struck by the fact he was surprisingly short, even though he was clearly a young man with nicely muscled shoulders; and he looked so handsome! He had the face of an angel! He clearly was younger than fifteen. This aroused her in a way she never imagined…

But then the lad was tossed aside, brutally, by the same bearded Sergeant who had cut the laces of her corset.

"My turn now!" the bearded Sergeant yelled in a tone that gave no allowance for any contestation.

He had his grey uniform trousers down and Consuelo saw how big he was!

He was so stout and broad-shouldered, with a fat-brown face, a tequila-drinking gut and an incredibly big cock that he was holding, showing it to Consuelo as he grinned from the depths of his thick, pitch-black beard. She couldn't believe she was about to be raped by such a savage brute! She had no idea such a fate could exist for her!

“Noooo! Nno, nooo! NOOOOOOOO STOP THIS! STOP! MY HONOR! NOOOOOOO! James! James, aaahh, James, aaaah-aaa aaaa, James…”

Consuelo screamed, wailed and begged as jeering soldiers restrained her limbs and reveled in her beauty, keeping her pinned against that fallen-silent cannonade.

The Mexicans forced her legs wide open. Every man had a raging erection as they contemplated that intense triangle of black hair between her pale legs—ohh, Dios! What a sweet cunt for such a lovely señorita!

So gorgeous were Consuelo’s legs and her dainty feet! Oh, it was so wonderful to see her barefoot! Victory went with such a sweet prize. About one man in three had that strong thing for a girl's feet.

The burly, black-bearded Sergeant wedged himself between her legs and stooped down. He filled his nostrils with her magic scent as he let the anticipation sink in. She was now going to get platoon-raped with her back against that cannonade! A fitting aftermath to Fort Alamo's fall.

Amid the savage jeering, amid the soldiers who exclaimed, “¡Viva la república!” the Sergeant kissed and sucked Consuelo’s tits, the most gorgeous pair he had ever seen, and then he rose and licked her cheek as she looked away in disgust, and the stout Mexican caught a silky shuffle of her hair on his sun-baked face.

He smiled, covered in sweat under the hot sun. The moment was priceless.

He then pushed his cock inside Consuelo’s cum-drenched pussy and sank inside heaven, contemplating the penetration of his own flesh inside her lovely cunt of black hair.

“AAAHRRRR…” the black-bearded Sergeant roared, looking down at her with his expression filled with the most primal satisfaction as he felt himself deep inside her!

Filled with his throbbing dagger, her pussy distended, Consuelo yelped and winced with pain, her pretty face suddenly distorted and looking as if she had just swallowed a dozen of bitter lemons as he began to give her a relentless barrage of deeply felt strokes. He had a big dagger of flesh and she was now painfully feeling it. With pain. With forced pleasure too. Her humiliation was unbearable. Why couldn't she just die?

The bearded Sergeant hammered her with a pleasure that could only be conjectured.

Her tits were so lovely to watch as they jiggled along with her bobbing head, with her long black hair now loose and shaken in dark waves of violated mystery! She was well worth the trouble of fully undressing her!

The stout Sergeant found her silky thighs and he cupped her butt for added leverage, holding her hard and high, feeling his hands and fingers sink in the softness of her buttocks as he got deeper inside her, stroke after stroke. She felt so young and tight!

The stout Mexican Sergeant raped her with his face right over the surreal display of her jiggling tits, violating Consuelo de Quesada right against that grim-black cannon in a crazy dance that marked her deflowering, under the bright sun of Texas.

He loved that bouncing display of her intensely white tits with shadows underscoring her wine-brownish nipples and the perfect circles of her contrasting areolas, where subtle goose bumps were to be seen. The rest was white and spotless. A noble maiden gang-raped once the fort was taken. Eve-nude amid a pack of horny soldiers.

***

General Santa Anna stood by, saying nothing, doing nothing. He drank sips from a bottle of tequila and watched with great delight as that stout Sergeant kept pounding her, grunting like a mating bear as he raped her amid a crowd of Mexican soldiers with her back pinned against that dead-silent cannonade.

Consuelo’s father was still breathing. The critically wounded man wasn’t spared the horrific scene! He wished he were dead.

Her beloved daughter… Gang-raped with her back against that cannonade and whimpering under that gross Sergeant as her aristocratic legs were forced to brush the sides of his powder-blue uniform.

The black-bearded Sergeant raped Consuelo with his mouth wide open as he urgently pounded her and intensified his thrusts, holding nothing back as her wonderful tits jiggled in their full glory under that harsh Texas sun!

He twitched inside the señorita, who bitterly wailed and cried, her face deformed with pain and shame as her gaze met her father’s and she realized he was still alive!

She wailed loud in the brute’s arms…

“AAAAAA-AAAAAAAAA-AAA-AAAaaaa aaaaaa… Rhhaaaa-haaa—hhhaaaaaa-aaaaaaaaa…! Naaahaaaaooo-hhooo oooo aaaaaaa… Naaoooo! Naooo! AAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAA aaa…”

“¡Mi hija!¡Mi querida hija!” the mortally wounded father exhaled as he was himself ashamed of his half erection from seeing the savage display of her breasts under that stout man, amid that platoon of lowly men... her bright legs against that hated uniform...

Then, the Sergeant looked up into the sky and looked like a broken automaton as he frantically pounded the naked señorita.

Time stopped. The black-bearded Mexican shouts a patriotic war cry as he blissfully empties his stores of semen inside Consuelo…

“¡Viva la república! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARARRRRRHH NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGHHDDJDJ Uuggh… ¡Oh, Dios!”

Consuelo died morally, in front of her father, as he filled her up with his hot sludge.

That bear of a man, panting and profusely sweating, pulled out and watched his own semen dripping out of her dark-hairy pussy.

General Santa Anna took a sip of tequila as he watched the unthinkable scene. He was loving this! He noticed her father was still breathing and looking at his gang-raped daughter. That would teach him not to stand against the Republica of Mexico!

Consuelo saw the General, who just stood by and drank his tequila. She was shocked! Why wasn’t he ordering his men to stop?! Didn’t he have any honor?!

“¡Viva la república!” shouted several soldiers.

“¡Viva la república!”

“¡Viva la republica!”

The patriotic soldiers screamed, and some were stripping themselves naked, as they contemplated Consuelo de Quesada in her naked glory.

Her breasts were full orbs and slightly pointy; her brownish nipples were looking at them from those graceful orbs that had just the right amount of shadow underscoring their sunlight-filled splendor!

Consuelo’s pale tits were now swollen from the forced pleasure she had experienced in the arms of that stout hairy Sergeant, and also from the brute sexual force she was now shamefully experiencing from feeling all those Mexican gazes on her bust. And yet she was bitterly crying and begging them to please stop. Please give her some clothes...

Her breasts wonderfully broke the natural slenderness of her figure and seemed to say, “this is what we look like! Didn’t you know? Now you do!”

She realized with a shock that her father was looking at her… at her bust! And this flooded her with waves of immoral arousal. How could she be feeling this?! This was so horrific! What a monster she was becoming! She realized that her forced pleasure was greatly magnified from feeling her father's gaze on her.

The Mexicans kept avidly sucking, licking and kissing her on every inch of her body, looking like a pack of heathens who desecrated the Catholic señorita. They were forgetting their own religion!

Consuelo de Quesada remembered the way her tits felt inside her corset when she stood over that wall and looked down on those same soldiers. And do what she will, her body now forced moans out of her as her bust and the rest of her received all their heated attentions. They were caressing and kissing her everywhere. Someone presently fingered her pussy. Others were worshipping her feet with hands and mouth... Many hands coursing all along her legs...

The chapel seemed alive with the shrill screams of girls being gang-raped. All heard them clearly from outside.

One man was now fingering her fully exposed cunt. She looked down, past the head of another man who was sucking her tits, and she realized that the man fingering her was more a boy than a man. It was that bugle boy who had removed her shoes before caressing her feet; she could only see his black hair as he looked down at her black carpet of velvety cunt hair. Maybe this was his first time seeing a señorita from so close.

Again, she felt intense arousal from having this done to her by such a shorter boy who looked like an angel. He was smaller than her and this drove her nuts! Her body wanted that graceful boy inside her! It was the truth. Even amid such horror.

“¡Viva la república!”

“¡Viva la república!”

k’POW! k’POW! k’POW! k’POW! k’POW-pow-po-po-k’POwhh!

Ten or fifteen Mexicans fired a musket volley into the blue sky as they celebrated the capture of Fort Alamo. The fallen fort was now filled with grunts from victorious men taking their prize inside the women who endured the orgy of rapes either silent and despaired or loudly screaming. Most of the rapes happened inside the chapel. But some did outdoors, with the lass screaming toward that blue sky of Texas.

As she was being fingered amid those deafening cheers and catcalls, Consuelo de Quesada felt the gaze of her dying father upon her naked, fallen grace.

She heard the shrill screams of Ann Blyth being violated again, again and again, the brown-haired maiden lost amid that pack of animals. She felt so bitterly sorry for the young maiden!

Consuelo de Quesada felt a deep sense of loss and despair, yet her body betrayed her as she felt that bugle boy’s finger inside her.

She knew she was close to her edge.

The bugle boy rose to his feet, and Consuelo, panting, saw he was shorter than herself. The humiliation she felt out of this caused her to literally implode with arousal and also disgust with herself. What sort of tramp was she to allow herself to feel that way when her father was dying, when the man she loved had just been killed?

Encouraged by his taller comrades, the small young man looked into her eyes; he looked shy. He nonetheless grabbed his raging erection and tried to enter inside her.

Consuelo couldn’t help it. She moved herself in such a way as to meet the boy’s cock; she felt so curious to know what it would feel like to be raped by such a small lad who was even shorter than herself! It was so preposterous that she almost forgot where she was.

The angel-faced boy suddenly found the way to his joy and entered her, causing Consuelo to scream out in absolute forced pleasure as she wrapped her legs around him and he began raping her with his light-grey flannel trousers down.

Consuelo de Quesada moaned like a puta in a Mexican brothel as she tightened the wrap of her legs around that dream boy, who found a steady rhythm in his novice strokes, yet he was forceful inside the señorita. He loved being inside her. He had no idea this would be so amazing! He could hardly breathe!

He was so short that his face was right at her breasts, and he began kissing them as he kept taking her deep and forcefully while other soldiers held her in position for him with her bare back on that same cannon.

Consuelo felt the cold steel against her back and moaned louder and louder in the boy’s arms, feeling his kisses and his tongue on her nipples…

Suddenly, Consuelo de Quesada screamed and exploded in a girl’s heaven amid the Mexican soldiers, who all laughed.

Her father watched from where he lay in the dust. His soul was forced to love the display of her dainty feet where she crossed her ankles behind the boy, imprisoning him inside her legs. His cock got some definite stiffness from witnessing this.

The bugle boy suddenly shouted, “AAAAAHH YYYYAAAAHHHHHHHHRRRRRRR!!!”

Consuelo took his hot relief, deep inside her, with intense waves of pleasure rolling all throughout her, like a mystic drum roll, causing her to moan out loudly as she clenched her fists where soldiers restrained her wrists on either side of her open-mouthed face, her long hair making immoral waves as she arched her back against that cannonade and powerfully climaxed anew. Many men laughed as they heard.

She had heard his relief, had felt the throbbing of his exploding dagger inside her. This was his first time; she was sure of it.

The General looked at the scene and smiled. He had lost so many men in the assault, but it was worth it. She was worth it.

Still holding his bottle of tequila, he walked toward Consuelo and unbuttoned his trousers as the soldiers respectfully made way for their bicorn-wearing General.

General Antonio López de Santa Anna grinned as he saw that Mr. De Quesada was still breathing and gazing at his daughter.

Now, he was going to rape Consuelo de Quesada with her father watching. Fate was giving him the satisfaction.

Chapter Text

Earlier…

“BOMM!”

“BOMM!”

The Mexican battering ram struck home as a big Latino fist against the inner door that was guarded by the last platoon of Yankees with a cannon loaded with canister.

“BOMM!”

The Blyth daughters were cowering in the chapel. Ann was in panic and pressed herself in the arms of her eldest sister, Meg or Britannia by her nickname.

Rose-Anne and Mary, the in-between twin sisters, held each other, crying, tears rolling down their gorgeous look-alikeness, in the dimly lit sacristy.

The Blyth daughters were deeply concerned with their father’s fate and also what the Mexicans would do if they won. Their dread stuck right under their skin.

Mary felt a weird sense of arousal; she realized she was wet, a bit like when she silently played with herself in the dead of the night when her twin sister, who always shared her bed, was sound asleep. She felt so ashamed! It felt as if her own body was deciding things on its own.

“They will take you, Mary! They are strong grown-up men, Mary! They’ll do all they want, Mary!” an inner voice kept telling Mary, thundering in her mind like an ominous storm. Maybe it was just her terror finding this shameful channel as a way to cope.

“BOOMM!!!”

Outside, there was a loud storm of clamours and a thick salvo of cracking muskets. The cannonade shot its one load of canister and it did kill several brave soldiers, but a running tide of cobalt-blue uniforms stormed into the inner fort as more and more Mexicans ran through that broken double door, yelling their war cry and sensing victory.

Loud and deadly fighting erupted with gunshots and war cries and clashes of nations.

“¡Viva la república!”

***
Kk’PoOW! k’k’k-PpPOWWW!!!**

But the loud fighting soon abated, leaving the cries of agony from the dying men. The last Yankees fought from inside the chapel, but Mexican balls cut half of them down. Another loud salvo was fired and the Mexicans charged en masse! “¡Viva la república!” 

The women were all cowering in the sacristy, and they ushered the young children in the priest’s private quarters. That Catholic priest from Mexico now lay dead in the dirt, at the foot of that white wall, with a Mexican musket ball in his heart.

A couple of Yankees made a running retreat to the back of the chapel. They had no time to reload and were using their rifles as staffs, striking with the butt as a great many Mexicans stormed the chapel.

Those last Yankees were hopelessly outnumbered; they ran to the sacristy, where they were surrounded by the Mexicans and mercilessly bayoneted right in front of the screaming women!

Mary saw a fat Captain who skewered the last Yankee with his sabre, near the spot where Consuelo was grabbed by soldiers who jeered at her as they strapped their hot muskets on their shoulder.

With a cry of panic, Meg Blyth took the lead in seeking a hiding place.

“Quick! Ann, Mary… We must hide! They must not see us until the General arrives!”

The four Blyth daughters ran around the crowded sacristy, ran and ran in that sacristy that was soon overcrowded with Mexican blue uniforms and shakos as Yankee wives and maidens ran in panic like a stampeding herd and were promptly seized by grinning soldiers.

Rose-Anne shrieked as she got grabbed by two young soldiers, who greeted her in bad English… “Hello, Yankee girl!” “We, Hernandez brother!” and they began groping her along with other men who pressed themselves around her and urgently buried their hands under her dress and her petticoat. For the first time in her young life, the maiden felt men’s hands caressing her legs. She froze in panicked silence, tears running down her cheeks as other maidens and women filled the sacristy with deafening screams of terror and shame and grief.

A man was licking her face and calling her “bonita señorita” (pretty young lady). Rose-Anne was shocked at how quickly she was getting acquainted with her enemy, whose hands felt like disgusting tentacles running up her legs and pressing her bosom through her dress. Her body shut down, overcrowded with too many sensations at once.

Mary, her twin, had miraculously made it back to the church’s nave. She tried to hide under the altar, but two girls were already hidden there.

The Mexicans were hunting down the women all around the church, led by a comically fat officer, who grinned at the running señoritas as they desperately tried to hide in the cool shadows of the house of God.

Mary saw no sign of Meg nor any of her other sisters.

She did see soldiers rushing at and trying to grab Consuelo de Quesada, who nimbly evaded them, was caught by the arm, but bit the man’s hand before miraculously making her way through the open front door, into the sunlight and dust.

“Ann! No! Stay here! Ann…” Mary cried out as she suddenly spotted the fast-running figure of her youngest sister, but it was too late!

Ann Blyth ran like a deer and before the soldiers could do anything, she was outside too, but several soldiers ran after her.

Mary knew that her little sister was doomed. Out there in broad daylight, any girl was sure to get spotted and taken by the Mexicans; she knew it instinctively.

The Mexicans didn’t mean to spare the women’s honor. They were grabbing and assaulting any women they found, Yankee or Hispanic. The chase was urgent and extremely intense. Mary felt it and felt crushed under an unbearable sense of terror and tragedy as she found a hiding spot behind a statue of the Holy Virgin. She started to pray. The Holy Virgin would protect her, but she asked for a miracle in her frantic prayers; she asked for a miracle that would allow her little sister Ann to remain unscathed.

She saw Mrs. Dickinson and her golden hair, recognizing her sky-blue dress, just as a group of soldiers grabbed and dragged her outside the chapel. "Noooo! Noo, please don't! Ddoooon't!" Mrs. Dickinson screamed, the normally dignified woman in her thirties now a disheveled mess that looked around her like a trapped animal as the soldiers dragged her. Mary wasn’t stupid. She was still a virgin, but the sixteen-year-old lass knew exactly how the Mexicans intended to celebrate their victory. Her legs trembled as cries and pleas from panicking girls now filled the nave as the soldiers urgently assaulted them.

Sounds of tearing fabric told Mary an unthinkable story of forced undressing that intensified her own sense of dread. She actually felt surprised this wasn't happening to her as well. Perhaps the Holy Virgin was going to save her after all.

Heavy steps got dangerously close. Men’s footsteps. Mexican boots.

Mary screamed as she was found and grabbed by Mexican hands. They dragged her from her hiding place. She felt a hand groping her butt as other hands felt her corset through her simple dress.

“¡Ah, señorita! ¡Ven aquí, dulce rosa de Texas!” said a ruffian-looking soldier who then forced-kissed her, raping her by taking away her first kiss ever. Mary felt crushed! She had so badly wanted to have that first kiss with Jeb, the dashing young Lieutenant who was, alas, infatuated with Consuelo. Beyond the grossness of having such a lowly man steal that first kiss, the worst for Mary was to know she was going to be raped. She dreaded the pain, but most of all, she dreaded the shame.

An authoritative voice ordered the men not to let her go, but to hold her firmly and bend her over. Hands violated the dignity of her virgin legs as they executed the order and also raised her dress, then her petticoat. Mary screamed so loud that she felt all was silent around her. Silent like the heart of a hurricane when all hell breaks loose.

They tucked it all up, her dress and her petticoat, all the way against her waist, burning her exposed skin with humiliation as they whistled and catcalled, calling her a beautiful puta of Texas as they caught sight of her pristine buttocks.

Mary felt the leader's presence behind her. She shrieked as he put his hands on her hips and then shrieked even shriller and louder when he put something inside her. She realized it was his finger. Soon after he pulled out and she knew this was it.

"NOOO NOOO PLEASE NO! I'm virgin! I'm a maiden! Aaaaaaaaaah aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!"

The leader pushed himself against her untouched entrance and he viciously strained, forcing his entry and pushing one inhuman shriek out of Mary as she felt her sharpest pain ever down there. Worst than the pain was the shame.

He pushed hard! He sank deeper and deeper, hammering himself inside her taken virginity as she felt the others's hands on her. They held her bent over, touching her everywhere they could as they cheered on their Capitan.

Her rapist was now all the way inside her. He began to pound her, holding the crease of her hips and using her like Ajax probably used Cassandra against her altar when Troy fell. The rape was urgent, a primal song of loud grunts while the others kept calling her a little puta from Texas and a yellow rose only good for entertaining Mexican soldiers.

Why did they call her a yellow rose? Her hair was dark. Then she remembered. She was wearing her favorite dress, which was of some golden that hinted on light brown. One of the soldiers said he had first seen her when she stood on top of that white wall, and her dress did look very much yellow under the bright sun.

"Let's drag her outside! I wanna see her tits under the sun!" said a Corporal.

"Are you loco, Enrique? If we pull her outside, we'll have to share her with the entire regiment! Better to keep her here inside and have her between the four of us! She's first rate! How old are you, sweet little angel?"

Mary didn't answer. She didn't even heard the question. She was too busy shrieking in shame and pain as the Captain got done with her. He gripped her waist and put on a spectacular rush where he pounded her in absolute frenzy, until his eyes lighted up like firecrackers and he yelled his bliss as he exploded inside her.

The Corporal who wanted to drag her outside immediately took his officer's place and proceeded to inflict on Mary a barrage of strokes using his hard, throbbing dagger. If he cared about disrobing her and seeing her breasts under the bright sun of Texas, he clearly cared a lot more about taking her pussy, which he did like an absolute savage, bucking her like a stallion as his grunts and moans seemed to stick on her.

He raped the sobbing girl in a short, intense session at the end of which he shouted, "AAAAAHHHHHRRRRR WE WON!!!"

The Corporal and the Captain kindly held Mary for the two eager Privates, who took their turns by order of seniority. The first was a peasant from Durango, about thirty years old. During the short-lived rape, while he held the crease of Mary's hips, he prayed aloud, asking God to forgive him, for he was having a girl outside the holy bonds of matrimony and also cheating on his beloved wife and his two equally beloved mistressed waiting for him in Durango as the Captain laughed and made fun of his mock piety.

Once that Private had relieved himself, the youngest Private took his turn. This one was a half-blood Indian about Mary's age. The 20-year-old man was the most brutal, by far. Mary was in deep pain and constantly screaming while the Captain made fun of her, calling her a lovely little tramp.

With the Corporal, he firmly held her by the arms while her face kept looking down at their boots and her long dark hair waived along with her brutal rape. At one point, the Captain stuck out his half-flaccid cock and used it to whip her face as she cried, wailed and weeped, holding her wrist with one hand, and slapping her face with his cock as the half-blood Apache kept repeatedly striking home inside her until he finally let out one loud "WEEPA!" and gleefully spewed a big load inside the broken-in maiden, who had no tears left to cry.

Feeling horny again, and very surprised to be growing a new erection already, the Captain kept his cock close to Mary's pretty face while ordering his men to force her down on her knees. Once this was done, the dry-weeping girl had her nostrils filled with the gross smell from his dagger as the officer masturbated close to her face.

She tried to struggle, but the others kept her down on her knees, jeering and mocking her futile efforts. She tried to look away, but they forced her to look directly at that growing cock that stank and reeked of shame and debasement.

"How do you like it, little tramp? How do you like it? Are you the daughter of an officer? Yeah, I bet she is! Look at her fancy dress! Aaooaaahh God! This is so good!" the Captain uttered amid his grunting, masturbating hard and now poking her face with his gently olive cock, which was now a pulsating pillar of manhood. He carefully avoided to stick it inside her mouth, fearing her teeth and also not wanting to be forced to kill her as an example for the other girls if she did bite. He kept masturbating while the others held her down on her knees and forced her to look at it.

And then came the blissfull relief... "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHRRR UUGGHH!!!"

Mary took three or four shots of sticky heat, all plump on her face, where she was being kept down on her knees at the feet of the Holy Virgin. They raped her fully clothed. Maybe this was all the Virgin could do for her in the way of protection. God clearly wanted her to suffer.

*** *** ***

In the sacristy, Meg got separated from Rose-Anne and cried bitterly as she heard her shrieks and knew her sister was being harmed by those pigs.

Meg was suddenly face-to-face with a Mexican wearing a black shako over his sun-baked face. She screamed and called her dad.

“¡Aaahh! ¡Bonita señorita!” he said, smiling gently at Meg as two other soldiers walked right at her and grabbed her arms; they immediately lifted her dress and began to tear the lower parts of her white petticoat. Meg screamed, “No! Let me go! Nooo!”

“¡Bueno, señorita!” another man hollered, taller than the others. Meg noticed the one epaulette with strands on his right shoulder while he had the regular strand-less epaulette on the other side; those epaulettes were scarlet red. He was a Corporal in the Mexican army; her father had taught her this.

“Please, Corporal,” she said, trying to control her trembling fear, “please, we surrender to you, but please don’t harm us! I rely on your honor! Ehh, noo… Noooo!”

Meg tried to flee, but her arms were already firmly restrained.

The Corporal pulled out a knife and pressed it at her throat.

“Now, señorita! You, legs, open!” the brown-faced Mexican said in his thick accent.

Meg froze! That man had a scar on his cheek and looked like a bandito. Something in his eyes positively terrified her. She didn’t even try to resist as the men forced her to lay down on the sacristy’s wooden floor. Her eyes noticed that the room now had more light.

Another soldier, grinning cruelly, held a knife at her throat while that bandito-looking Corporal was unbuttoning his light-grey trousers, and his erection jutted out from under his cobalt-blue uniform while two other men swiftly tucked up her dress and her petticoat right to her waist, crudely exposing her virgin’s hairy cunt.

“¡Abre tus piernas! Your, legs, Yankee girl, open!” shouted the Corporal, louder than the deafening screams from the other girls being assaulted everywhere around.

Meg promptly obeyed, terrified by that cold blade on her neck.

“¡Ahh, muy bueno!” the terrifying Corporal said as he laid himself on top of Meg. She heard the loud pandemonium.

Many girls were shrieking and bawling as loud as if they were being eviscerated alive. They were clearly being raped. She saw no sign of her young sisters but she knew they were no doubt screaming in that hell.

Through her veil of bitter tears, Meg spotted Isabella, a delicate light-brown-haired girl. Grinning soldiers were holding her firmly off the floor as a kneeling officer wearing insignias of rank and golden thin-strand epaulettes was forcing himself inside her as she shrieked her life out, begging them to please not do this!

***

Then, Meg saw nothing else than the Corporal’s terrifying face above her as she was crushed under his weight and felt him brutally push into her entrance. She jerked in the men’s grip and shrieked, feeling their strong grip hurting her wrists and ankles. Her cunt felt like melted steel was being poured into it! The pain was unbearable!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaHHH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA NNAOOOOOOOOOOOOO-AAAA-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA…”

It got even worse! The cruel Corporal licked her face and kept calling her “bonita señorita” as he brutally forced her cunt open, little by little, getting deeper with every thrust.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH! NOOO! STOP THIS! STOP IT! STOP IT! Please, don’t! DON’T!” Meg squealed, shaking her head frantically as the dark-faced men holding her wrists laughed and jeered at her, saying many things among which she only understood the words “puta” and “Yankee señorita”.

“Aaahh-yaaahhhrrr! ¡Ay Dios!” the Corporal thundered in loud victory as he sank deep inside Meg Blyth and began to pound her Irish pussy.

He pounded her very hard, licking her face, raping her nostrils with his sickening body odour as he kept calling her “bonita señorita”.

“¡Viva la República!” shouted one of the men holding her wrists. She noticed how dark his skin was and shrieked in horror.
That man was so dark that he looked like a Native! He was going to have her too! This was impossible! She wailed, calling her dad and mom.

“¡Aah, Yankee señorita!” the Corporal groaned right at her face, panting heavily as Meg was shrieking in agony while experiencing a weird feeling, something close to arousal as the grown-up man kept pounding her deep and hard while licking her face and repeating “¡Yankee señorita!”

“¡Viva la República!” “¡Viva la República!” “¡Viva la República!” shouted many soldiers amid the thick storm of shrill-screaming girls. They had found and lighted extra oil lamps in order to have more light and enjoy a better view.

“¡Aah, Yankee señorita!” the Corporal shouted in her face as he then buried his face into the mass of Meg’s chestnut hair and erupted inside her with a big load of Mexican semen.

He remained there, panting, crushing her under him, as he kept kissing her and licking her face.

Meg tried to wrap her head around what just happened. Why was she feeling some degree of arousal by the end of this? Why? She hated that man! Hated what was being done to her!

“¡Gracias, Yankee señorita!” the bandito-looking Corporal bellowed as he got up.

One of the soldiers who had been restraining her ankles immediately took his place. This man was about thirty-five years old. The age difference alone was enough to scare her senseless.

The man spoke to her with affection as he laid himself down on top of her. Meg didn’t understand Spanish, but she felt the tone of his words and gathered he was very sorry for doing this to her.

He then kissed her very tenderly and stroked her hair. “Muy bonita, muy bonita,” the man said, kissing her neck as he suddenly punched himself inside her entrance, and this time, it didn’t hurt as much. She was soaking wet with the spent cum and the juices that her young body had urgently produced during that brutal invasion from the Corporal.

Meg could tell he was as gentle as possible. He looked at her from up close, right into her eyes, and she was both horrified and fascinated by that sudden intimacy with that complete stranger, much like a bird fascinated by the eyes of a snake. She saw in his eyes that he felt sorry and very guilty.

“Muy bonita,” he kept saying as he kissed her and thrust deeper inside her, gently, causing her to yelp out of pain and scream her shame as she found his cock horrifically warm inside her body.

The man went silent, just grunting in a quiet rhythm. He kept kissing her neck as he began pounding her, gently, yet a bit more vigorously now, and Meg was now unable not to moan. That man was trying to be kind as he raped her. Unknowingly, he was rubbing her womanhood in a way that forced more juices inside her.

But he got more and more vigorous as he kept blissfully grunting and exploring her broken-in virginity. At one point, he raised himself and Meg saw a degree of disappointment in his eyes as he put his hands on her bosom.

In that confusion of sensations, Meg gathered that he was disappointed that he couldn’t see her breasts. He nonetheless cupped her tits through her dress and corset, and she felt a sense of horrific weirdness at the notion of her being made topless amid the Mexicans.

The man was no longer pounding her. He was just remaining inside her, where she felt the heat and mass of his swollen erection. She was moving, and with a shock, she realized she was moving her own pelvis in some sort of mechanical reaction.

The Corporal barked at the man, who began pounding her again, this time fast and furious, with his hands always pressed on Meg’s bosom.

Meg moaned out loud and clear, feeling his hands through her dress and corset. Her tits were swollen inside her garments and she moaned, moaned and moaned, louder and louder as she blushed and sweated.

In her mind, Meg pictured herself topless amid the Mexicans, under the sun in broad daylight, and gang-fucked right beside a silent cannon. Meg suddenly jerked, propping up her clothed bust in her involuntary burst of bodily delight, just as the gentle soldier growled and exhaled loudly…
“¡Aah! ¡Aah! ¡Aaaah! – ¡Yankee señorita! ¡ Yankee señorita! Muy bonita…” he uttered amid his exploding ecstasy.

He forcefully shot a thick and creamy supply of semen that joined the Corporal’s left-over spunk inside Meg.

Then, the other man who had been holding her ankles urgently replaced him. His trousers were all the way down.

His face terrifying with mad joy, he made himself home on top of Meg and gleefully sank inside her, straining a bit and sliding home.

“Aaa-aaahh noo!” Meg yelped in deep pain.

He began to pound her with all his weight behind his strokes, holding nothing back while Meg was in deep pain and in an altered state of arousal as well.

Feeling her legs free, she didn’t try to kick. She bent her legs and wrapped them around the man, as she knew instinctively this would place her at a slightly better angle to receive the man’s furious assaults. She did this to make the rape less painful and it worked to some degree. Her mind imposed the daylight fantasy where she was being gang-fucked next to a cannon, naked amid the victorious enemy.

The pain subsided a bit and she let the man have his way, whimpering under his barrage of strokes as she crossed her ankles on top of his buttocks and clenched her feet inside her ankle-high leather shoes. She felt the sense of weirdness right down to her feet. A corner of her mind told her she better get used to this as she was no doubt going to be kept as a whore by those soldiers.

She instinctively felt that those men now wanted to take her shoes off and start kissing her feet. Meg knew that the notion of seeing her barefoot with her naked ankles for all to see was extremely erotic to those men. She then started to cry, struck with guilt, fathomless guilt. How could she be having such depraved thoughts while his father was probably dead and while her sisters were…?

“Aaaahh, nooo! Noo! Noo! Nooo!” Meg wailed as she broke down in tears, under the barrage of brutal strokes from the Mexican.

The man grunted his delight in Meg’s face, licking the tears on her cheek as his nostrils were flooded with the scent from her chestnut hair.

He let out a long-winded series of grunts as he filled her up with his cock deep inside her, right to the hilt as it seemed to keep shooting bolts of hot seed almost forever. It was so intense!

Meg wailed in despair and shame, clenching her little fists in rage where grinning Mexicans held her wrists as she received that man’s load.

As soon as her spent rapist rose back to his feet, one of the Privates above her went from holding her wrist to lying down on top of her faster than it would take to say it.

With just one man holding her wrists together now, the Private easily wedged himself between Meg’s legs and knelt right over her wide-open lap. He then pulled out his knife and stooped down and grabbed the front of her dress, which he cut and violently tore as Meg screamed in terror upon seeing that blade so close to her…

TshrrrrrrrIIIIIPP!

The sound of tearing fabric hit Meg’s ears and a huge tide of horror and weirdness took hold of her as she understood. They were disrobing her!

The devil-faced Mexican frantically tore her thick salmon-coloured dress all the way down to her waist. Satisfied, he put back his sharp knife in its sheath at his white belt, and then he pulled the sleeves of her dress down her shoulders.

The other man above her head released her wrists and the Corporal also helped them in sliding her sleeves down and off her arms along with the gentle soldier, whose eyes were mad with the anticipated joy of finally seeing her breasts!

The salmon-coloured fabric of her patterned dress gave way to the blinding paleness of her shoulders and arms along with the beige of her corset. Her skin had a warm glow of pale gold under the bright lights from the lamps.

Meg cursed and threatened the men. Her father was going to have them shot! They laughed as they attacked her corset, which was white and fan-laced from the front.

The Corporal’s knife flashed in front of her eyes and she screamed in terror, and then he cut all the laces while uttering a loud grunt of lust-filled anticipation, knowing that her tits were worth the trouble.

They then urgently opened her corset, and the man kneeling between her legs grabbed her chemise and with a grin of devilish satisfaction, he roared in absolute victory, “AAAaaarrrhhh!” as he strained and ripped her undergarment wide open in a loud “shrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr” of tearing fabric…

“Naaooooooo! Noo! No!” Meg yelped, flooded with forced arousal from head to toe as she felt their gazes burning her suddenly displayed tits.

“hermosas tetas!” the Corporal exclaimed as he cupped them from where he knelt at her side.

Then, Meg felt something at her cunt. It wasn’t a cock. It was something else, warm and gentle, a bit wet too. It added a new layer of madness to her shame-filled terror.

The Corporal now stooped down and began to lick and kiss her tits. She felt his tongue on her nipple and yelped in a burst of unwilling delight, while picturing herself outdoors and having this done to her next to a cannon, with an entire platoon of Mexicans watching and cheering.

But then he pinched her nipples very cruelly and she yelped, this time in pain, while that special thing was being done to her cunt, where something hot and nimble entered her pussy. And Megan realized that a man was now eating her pussy!

The gentle soldier yelled at the Corporal, who got angry, quickly got up and struck him!

The man kneeling between her legs and eating her pussy noticed that the field was clear. He arose, went higher on her, enjoying the bright view of her pristine navel area as he moved forward to her chest, where he sank his head between her tits while the other man, kneeling and stooping over and past her face, shared the booty and began kneading her tits while the other man from the south of Rio Grande pressed his face against her nipple and felt its delicate imprint on his forehead.

Meg had now her face buried against the upper soldier’s chest, where she smelled the rancid odour of two weeks’ worth of sweating along with the peculiar zest of gunpowder. That man who had perhaps killed her father was now kneading her left tit while the soldier kneeling between her legs now gently pinched her other nipple between his lips.

She suddenly realized her hands were free. Was she going to reach and grab a knife at a man’s belt?

Meg was confused between trying to attack those men who had stole her innocence away and doing nothing, but she remembered the Corporal’s cruel face and the cold steel of his knife. She let her hands rest on the wooden floor and did nothing.

The man kept playing with her tits while the other man kept sucking her nipples and she let them have their way, whimpering from the tongue-stroking carnival going on inside her pussy.

The sacristy was filled with whimpers mixed with the men’s grunts of victory. The Yankee wives and maidens were all getting loads of Mexican semen inside them and nothing could prevent it. How could God allow such a horror to happen?

The Corporal came back to Meg’s side and barked an order. The man kneeling by her head grabbed her arms and held them together above her pretty head while the other one laid himself down on top of her.

Meg yelped in a burst of sudden pain as he punched inside her. And the now-familiar cycle of pain to forced pleasure repeated itself.

That man raped her while supporting his weight on his elbows, where he could enjoy the sight of her jiggling tits as he took his pleasure.

The rape was done in grim silence with the squeals and groans from elsewhere as a background as the Private kept pounding Meg almost angrily, until she soon saw his eyebrows raise as his expression went quickly from grim aggression to pure joy as he shouted, “¡Viva la República!” and flooded Meg with his Rio Grande pudding.

“¡Aaah, Muy bueno! Muy bueno!” the Corporal shouted with a cold expression of cruelty that belied the joy in his words.

He cupped her breasts again while the last man, the one who had been holding her wrists together during that last rape, moved to where he took hold of her legs, and Meg realized he was unfastening her shoes, all this while the Corporal pressed her breasts down and Meg hated this, even though this amplified her mechanical juice flooding inside her.

“Aaaaahh! Nooo!” Meg groaned as she felt the first shoe being pulled off her right foot, then he pulled the sock off her lower leg, down her ankle, then off her now-bare foot.

The man did the same to her other foot and gleefully kissed it once the shoe and sock were gone.

Meg felt her bodily urges drown in an ocean of horror as the disgusting Corporal played with her tits. He was now sucking them. All this as she felt the intense heat on her feet… heat and fervour from a man’s kisses on her dainty feet. Being barefoot in the sacristy was so preposterous! It was like being a nun gang-raped in a convent.

More men were gathering around her, a great many of them, all wearing their full uniforms and their high shakos, and Meg realized that she was almost naked amid them. The only garments she had left were the confused remnants of her dress and petticoat, now all tucked up against her waist and lap.

They deafened her with their whistles and catcalls, and she felt their burning gazes on her legs, her feet, her tits, even her hair. Some Mexican fingers were running through her hair in that loud and confused orgy where she was literally drowned in Mexican lust and spunk.

Amid their chaotic movements, Meg suddenly caught sight of her sister Rose-Anne and the distressed waves of her dark hair, which was alive with hellish lights from the sacristy’s oil-lamplight.

Rose-Anne was nude—except for her shoes and her knee-high socks of dark-green wool that intensified the paleness of her complexion—and she was held bent over by jeering soldiers restraining her arms in front of her as a solidly built Sergeant was holding her waist and raping her while still wearing his black shako!

In the brief flash of blinding light, Meg saw her from profile, as the man with red epaulettes held Rose-Anne’s naked waist and took his pleasure with an expression of extreme contraction that looked as if he were trying to lift a 1,000-pound stone off the ground.

The Sergeant suddenly seized up and trembled! He looked like some demented automaton as he frantically pounded Rose-Anne, her dark hair swaying like a black sail under stormy winds as he got so carried away that his shako fell off his head, and his Mexican head of coal-black hair was suddenly hatless as he clenched her waist, holding Rose-Anne there as if for dear life while she sobbed and squealed, shaken as he kept bucking her without restraint.

And with that same expression of extreme strain, now mixed with pure bliss, the hatless Sergeant pressed himself hard against Rose-Anne’s white buttocks as he relieved himself and shouted, “¡Aaahh! ¡señorita! ¡Aaahh NNNNNNNNNNNNNNHHRRR!”

Meg was so horrified! Rose-Anne’s pale complexion against her dark hair reminded her of her own nickname—Britannia, which her father had given her thanks to her own pure-white complexion.

The scene indeed made her think of Britannia, an allegory personifying Great Britain being raped by a Mr. Mexico wearing that same cobalt-blue uniform. Mr. Mexico was raping her as a reminder that Great Britain had no business in America.

Meg then thought of Consuelo. A soldier, somewhere amid that jam-packed orgy, shouted, “¡Viva la República!”

Meg knew that Consuelo de Quesada, a noble señorita, was getting gang-raped by other soldiers somewhere in the fallen fort. In her mind, Consuelo personified Spain getting gang-raped by a great many Mexican soldiers who filled her up with their revolutionary anger and spunk while shooting their muskets in the air and shouting, “¡Viva la República!”

Meg’s view was obscured again by soldiers just as another man, this one a Private, with no strands on his scarlet epaulettes, stood behind Rose-Anne and resumed her ordeal.

Meg heard her sister’s sobbing even amid the loud brouhaha where female whimpers clashed with the men’s loud cries of victory.

“¡Viva la República!”
“¡Viva la República!”

“¡Aaahh-hhrrnnggh! ¡Yankee señorita!”

“¡Viva la República!”

***

The entire sacristy was taken by a hurricane of debauchery!

Red cavalry uniforms and chest-protecting cuirasses of shiny steel now mingled with the infantry’s blue uniforms. The men were loudly celebrating and getting drunk from too much aguardiente.

For some, simply watching the Yankee lasses getting defiled was satisfying enough; many were concerned with the risk for venereal disease. Syphilis could kill. Most of these men had a wife and children.

Yet, the men were all overexcited from the deadly battle they just fought. They felt the need for a relief. Most were angry against the Yankees as they had lost too many friends in the final assault that took a heavy butcher’s bill in their ranks.

Those Yankees had to pay. And their women and daughters were right there and defenseless.

Meg was now being raped by the Private who had been kissing and licking her feet. Before lying down on her to rape her, he had gleefully grabbed all the remnants of her dress and her torn petticoat and slid it all along her slender legs, immensely enjoying the act of disrobing her completely as the disordered shuffle of her torn garments passed her lovely feet.

The young señorita was suddenly Eve-nude under him!

Many new soldiers came near and unbuttoned their trousers. She was gorgeous in the nude! For a lot of them, this was the first time they were seeing a Yankee señorita in the nude. More than one began to masturbate.

The cruel Corporal was kneeling right above Meg and holding her wrists together over her distorted face as the Private who had finished stripping her was now kneeling between her legs. He lifted her hips off the floor and brutally penetrated her while holding her waist right there above the floor. She was so sore in her waist!

Meg was thus raped with her hips raised above her high-riding tits. They were jiggling along with the urgent rape while she felt all the men’s gazes that followed the demented dance of her rosy nipples.

Meg moaned out loud, unable to stop her extreme arousal as the kneeling Private pounded her, holding nothing back.

She looked into his eyes and found the same straining expression she had seen on that man in the act of raping Rose-Anne.

She felt the intense brushing from his uniform against her inner legs and also felt the leather of his belt as he took his pleasure, straining hard as he kept her butt off the floor.

His strength was immense at that moment. Meg felt it and she suddenly jerked and climaxed again as someone was pouring some liquid on her tits. She smelled the liquor—aguardiente!

“¡Viva la República!”

Amid that shaking confusion, Meg was suddenly aware that the Corporal was forcing her hands around something that felt hot and throbbing. It felt like flesh. It had soft skin; very soft skin.

And then, Meg screamed in disgust and tried to remove her hands from there, but the Corporal above her was too strong. He was forcing her to caress his erection!

Meg was punished hard and good with her body nearly upside down as she arched her back again while wrapping her legs around her rapist and offering an unreal display of a maiden’s beauty, with her feet together behind the infantryman’s blue jacket as she became a slave to her own arousal! She was a Yankee whore for the Rio Grande rank-and-file. Horrible! Disgusting! She was disgusting!

The Corporal yelped, almost in pain, and Meg received something hot and creamy and sticky right on her face! She shuddered!

It was his load of spunk!

Then, the kneeling Private got tired of holding her hips off the floor and, as he lowered her, he passed his edge as he accidentally exited her cunt. He urgently grabbed his exploding erection and fired long bolts of creamy spunk that formed undisciplined lines of glossy semen all over Meg’s spotless abdomen, gracing her navel area as the Private growled his long-winded relief.

One of his bolts of glossy seed landed as far as Meg’s tits!

A group of men knelt down all around Meg, who became aware and horrified of their erections as all those men were urgently masturbating right above her, kneeling as if in prayer, their light-grey trousers wide open, some of them wearing a cavalry cuirass over their torso and Meg was struck by their red uniforms that contrasted against that cobalt blue she was never to forget.

The men let out a loud collective series of grunts and groans as they began to dump their loads all over Meg’s face, hair and titties! They were covering her Irish beauty, ruining her pristine whiteness under their heated sauce!

Meg felt that clammy heat all over her, absolutely disgusted!

Someone was now vigorously massaging her tits while a big pack of that hot sludge fell on her feet, and she realized that a soldier was ejaculating on her bare feet.

She felt engulfed and lost in a sea of pure manliness, lost amid the enemy’s most secret fantasies as the cruel Corporal—yes it was him—kept pressing and massaging her breasts, forcing the sensitive flesh to yield under his will as he spread all that semen evenly on her Yankee-white tits.

“¡Muy bonita! “¡Muy bonita Yankee señorita!” he said as he gave her skin a polish of spunk mixed with aguardiente.
“This… Very bueno for the Yankee señorita!” he added, unable to take his hands off Meg’s titties.

She felt indeed like Britannia, the allegory of England getting Mexican semen spread all over her Imperial-white tits as an insult added to injury.

Somewhere out there, Consuelo represented Spain being toppled upside down by her Mexican rapists. Meg began to sob. She felt a strong sense of solidarity with Consuelo, finding in her the big sister she herself needed now that all her little sisters were being shattered by Mexico’s Republican troops. This felt a bit weird since Meg was eighteen like Consuelo, but Consuelo was a noble señorita while she was just a Yankee girl.

Then, someone grabbed her forcefully by her hair and forced her up on her knees. Meg had just enough time to see he was a cavalry officer wearing golden epaulettes on his red uniform, before he rushed something fleshy and hard against her face.

“Open your mouth, Yankee woman!” he barked in flawless English, sounding like a well-read man.

She saw the cruel Corporal who stood by among the onlookers, almost standing at attention, and she understood this must be a high-ranking officer, at least a Major.

“Don’t you think of biting, Yankee woman! If you do, I swear to Dios I will take that pistol you see here at my belt and I will use its butt to knock off all your teeth one by one!”

As he made his threat, the terrified girl obeyed and the Mexican officer began to rape Meg’s face.

He pinched her jaw quite painfully, holding her head in a way that greatly limited her ability to bite as he thrust himself home, filling her mouth with his cock and causing her to cough and struggle for air.

Meg felt his soft skin as it brushed her palate and caressed her tongue as the man began to groan. She didn’t try to resist. She was far too afraid, and something of the curious girl inside her made her go along with that gross act of depravity.

She was kneeling at the Major’s feet, her head forced back and forth, causing her tongue to slide to and fro, coating his cock with her Irish spit.

She was suddenly aware of other men very close to her, also kneeling in some weird form of worship. An army of hands were caressing her everywhere at once, from her hair and her backside right down to her legs and feet, but mostly around her buttocks as the officer kept his painful hold on her jaw and violated her mouth, calling her a “Yankee puta”.

Meg felt assaulted by waves of shame from all those hands exploring her Eve-nude beauty while her pinched jaw was killing her. She was too busy struggling for her breathing to think of much else. That cock inside her mouth became her entire universe.

She was so frightened and aroused that she didn’t taste much of its rancidness.

The man, now grunting intensely, released her jaw and grabbed her hair. She felt the pull from his grip and did her best to follow the pace as he repeatedly slammed her face against his crotch while grunting like a rutting bison.

Meg still felt the pain in her jaw, but she went back to her outdoors fantasy as she tried to think of anything else, and her thoughts kept returning to Consuelo, whom she pictured being gang-raped with her back pinned right on a cannon, amid a platoon of Mexicans who held her spread-eagled and furiously took their turns between her legs and raped her while admiring the jiggling display of her white tits under the Texas sun!

Meg moaned against that cock inside her mouth, causing her tongue to vigorously massage it, and the Major grunted and kept using her hair as handles to violate her face, grunting louder and louder. She could tell he was close to his boiling point.

The notion of Consuelo being Eve-nude amid Mexican soldiers greatly aroused Meg, who suddenly became conscious of something she had always known, but never was able to confess to herself—she felt strongly attracted to Consuelo.

That Major kept grunting loudly as he took his pleasure while pulling her hair and slamming her face against his wide-open trousers, forcing her to pleasure him.

And as he did so, Meg realized that she would love to kiss Consuelo and to know what her nipples would taste like. She would even love to see Consuelo taking Mexican cocks in her lovely singer’s mouth and get her pretty face splattered with their Republican cream of immoral gloss.

That’s when the cavalry Major growled and burst out with a big load that Meg was forced to bitterly swallow in order to keep breathing. She almost passed out, yet she felt a wild thrill as she pictured Consuelo doing this—swallowing the sperm of a gross-looking Mexican as she knelt in the glorious display of her aristocratic beauty, Eve-nude amid all those blue uniforms. Those fantasies kept her from becoming insane.

The Major shouted, “Aaaahh- aaaaahhrrrnnnn señ, or, i—ta!” as he relieved himself deep inside her mouth.

As soon as he was out of her, he let go of her disheveled hair and stood back and put his softening erection back inside his trousers, which he quickly buttoned back as he put himself back together and a Cavalry Sergeant offered him a bottle of aguardiente.

The Major smiled and nodded at Meg, wearing the same polite expression as if they were in a fancy ball and they just waltzed together.

Meg was then grabbed by the soldiers who had been surrounding her and covering her with their kisses and caressing hands.

They moved her where that gentle soldier—the one who had been sorry to rape her—was spreading out her own discarded garments like a blanket, and there, they nudged Meg into kneeling on all fours, on her discarded garments, and she readily obeyed, terrified and sensing that resisting would be pointless.

Meg was picturing Consuelo amid Mexicans in that same position, like Spain being whored by her revolted colony. Her body was out of control as she anticipated this—one by one, all those men surrounding her were going to fuck her like breeding stallions. She also shuddered and tremble at the thought of the Mexican baby that might come as a result.

As the first of her “suitors” put his hands on her butt, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to stop herself from moaning.
She blushed with shame, her body covered with sweat, in the desecrated sacristy. Their gazes were all over her, she felt them. She felt those manly hands on her white buttocks. Again, she was Britannia getting colonially raped. She hated them! Hated them for arousing her.

The hated cock came. Meg was the centre of so much male attention! A dozen men were waiting their turn and masturbating! The sacristy was overcrowded!

Then, her collective rape resumed. This time, the man was behind her and mounted her like a Mexican stallion!
Meg felt his hands around her waist, and the urgent bumping of her buttocks against him. She was unable not to moan.

She suddenly caught briefly sight of her sister Rose-Anne. They were still raping her from behind right where she stood, except that a gorgeously handsome boy, a musician, was presently kneeling at her feet and in the act of undoing her shoes and pulling her socks off.

Then, aguardiente-drinking Mexicans obscured her field of vision and at any rate, she was now far too busy being urgently shaken by that “suitor” who painfully held her sore waist.

She looked down at the floor and let her head bob freely, in complete surrender as she felt that man who furiously ploughed her like a reproduction stallion, and she panicked. What if she became pregnant?

Her thoughts where a chaos of confusion. She kept looking down at that floor, forced to moan by her overheated body as the man twitched inside her and urgently clutched her waist while shouting, “¡Viva, la, aaahhhh, República! Aaa—AAAAARRRHH!!!”

He was done. She knew it. Meg was becoming very adept at knowing when a man inside her was reaching his inglorious conclusion.

Predictably, she was grabbed by the waist as another soldier knelt behind her, and she soon had him inside her.
This would go on unabated. Nothing could prevent it. She was being raped by an entire platoon, just like Consuelo in her mind.

She was indeed Britannia being defiled and whored by those young and strong Republican soldiers. For Mexico. Hostile. Hated. Hot inside her.

She felt surprising anger against her father and the entire Yankee garrison. They had lost and it was their fault! And she was now suffering and had lost her honor. Because they had lost.

As yet another man filled her up nice and proper, Meg once more broke down in tears. The next man entered her as she was bitterly sobbing. He didn’t care.

Where was Mary? Did Ann manage to avoid the worst fate for a maiden? As she endured the relentless rapes, Meg prayed to God, asking Him to watch over Ann. If her youngest sister was spared this infamy, then there would be some light of hope.

For herself and Rose-Anne, it was already too late. Meg suddenly felt very old.

“¡Viva la República!” the unknown lover shouted as he gave the Yankee señorita a hot supply of fresh seed, compounding her risk for a bastard pregnancy.

Meg kept sobbing, even more as the soldier got up and she noticed he was one of those Mexicans with dark brown skin that oozed with Native legacy. She felt horrified at the idea of delivering such a dark baby!

Someone poured aguardiente on her buttocks before a new rapist resumed the fiesta. It was their fiesta. The Yankee señorita was the main attraction in it.

Chapter Text

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! Her fourteenth birthday, only two days before. Rose-Anne remembered it well, for she had given her a kiss and her best wishes of happiness.

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 fourteen, two years 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.

Chapter Text

Anne, or Ann as she insistently wrote, was a very short girl who had always lived in a world that was a stage with the good folks and the bad people. She dreamed about becoming a stage actress, the best Shakespearean actress. She didn’t care about this being a despised profession, especially for a lass. That’s all she always wanted to be—an actress. That’s all she ever thought about ever since she reached the age Juliet was when she died in the arms of Romeo.

Even her outfit had something artistic in it. Ann had seen a painting when she was in Saint-Louis with her father, mother and sisters. The painting featured an Italian maiden wearing a dark blue skirt with a rye-white petticoat under a delicate bodice of a gentle laurel green, but what had struck Ann the most was the deep-rose sleeve coverings; rose like the deepest rose petal! Ann had pestered her father so much that then-Lieutenant Blyth ended up buying the painting for her tenth birthday, which was only three weeks away.

Ann had then begun wearing her long dark hair arranged à l'italienne. She worked her heart out in making the very same outfit for herself, with her mother's help. They made it extra large so the growing girl would enjoy wearing it longer. Her mother was always economical and full of forethought.

"What a fine young lady you will be, my dear Anne! I'm so proud of you!" her dear departed mother would say, oftentimes, when they did chores together or when she helped with her schooling, mostly teaching her Spanish or working her written English through excerpts from Shakespeare or Sir Walter Scott. They also owned an English translation of Schiller's Wilhelm Tell. "This Wilhelm is not a man, he's an endless well of proverbs!" Ann commented one day, shortly before she and her mother were struck by cholera.

Ann was very ill for a full year. She eventually rallied and recovered, but due to her illness or simply through her natural constitution, the blossoming maiden grew but little in size, just enough so that her beloved Italian-style garments fit her perfectly when she reached her current height, which really wasn't much. And now she had almost reached fourteen years of age and this was still her favorite outfit. Her mother was gone, but the dress remained---It was her most precious memory of her.

***

To Ann, theater was reality, and reality was but a distant play she didn’t know much of nor cared much about. There was a boy in San Antonio who cared a great deal about her. Esteban. But Ann was never really interested in boys up to this fateful day when General Santa Anna and his brigade overran Fort Alamo.

And then, after the inner fort was overrun and the Mexicans stormed the church, Ann found herself in a most bizarre role. And a most terrifying one.

When these three last Americans were bayoneted in front of her, Ann still didn’t want to believe that the evil men had won. She had kept believing that her father and the other Yankees, and the Hispanic men fighting alongside them, would prevail, since they were the good and rightful rebels and God wouldn’t allow the Mexicans to win. Texas was American. God knew this.

Ann’s head was spinning as she tried to make sense of what she was witnessing, just as Isabella was sobbing on her lover’s dying body and Mexicans grabbed her while all their fellow soldiers went after the Yankee women! With something horrible written in their suntanned face; greed and lust and something even more repulsive. Evil. If the priest had been present and had tried to protect the women, they would have skewered the holy man too and reddened the sacristy floor with his blood. She was sure of this.

With a shock, Ann realized that it also greatly concerned her! For some reason, those evil men saw her as a woman and not an actress who lived life like an ethereal dream. A couple of them set their lust-filled eyes on her!

“Quick! Ann, Mary… We must hide! They must not see us until the General arrives!”

It was Meg’s voice.

Ann felt someone grabbing her hand and that person led her into a panicked run amid the crowded sacristy, amid other fleeing women with Mexicans running after them, after her!

Ann saw it was Mary who was holding her hand, then she bumped into someone and lost her.

Those evil men were now crowding the sacristy with their grinning and jeering while chasing and grabbing screaming women! The Mexicans had stern or grinning faces; they seemed extremely happy and determined to catch the women. Ann was shocked to see how badly those brigands wanted the women!

“¡Buenos días, señorita! ¡Es un día maravilloso!” soldiers hollered as they seized Mrs. O’Hara by the wrists and waist and she tried to fight them off, her pretty face looking just as distorted as if she just drank India pale ale. Ann knew Mrs. O’Hara hated beer. Mrs. O’Hara was starting to cry and begged the men to please behave like gentlemen, but she spoke English to Mexicans who didn’t understand a word she was saying or they simply didn’t care.

They kept their hold on her. A thickly mustached soldier silenced the fair-skinned brunette with a kiss she desperately tried to turn away from and lost her bonny hat in the scuffle while no less than three other men pressed themselves around her. Ann saw their hands… They were touching Mrs. O’Hara on her… on her bottom? And on her breasts as well, while that mustached man with a dirty face kept forcing his kissing on Mrs. O’Hara, the respectable wife of a Yankee Sergeant. His olive skin looked like corrupt leather against Mrs. O’Hara’s angel-pale face.

A woman suddenly ran past her in a maroon dress—Ann saw her long dark hair and caught a glimpse of her noble figure; Consuelo! A comically overweight Captain was chasing Consuelo along with soldiers as she sprung over the fallen Yankee men and ran into the nave.

“Consuelo…” Ann started to shout, but her voice was drowned in the tumult.

Ann realized she was lucky; she was still free; her small size was her ally as the Mexicans were first spotting and seizing the taller girls such as her older sisters.

Ann started to cry, thinking of her sisters. But Consuelo…

Ann ran like a deer between two groups of soldiers in the act of carrying women outside the overcrowded sacristy. She sprinted! She jumped above the friendly corpses and ran after Consuelo in the nave. Her instinct told her she’d be safe if she stayed with Consuelo, so she ran after that figure in a maroon dress.

Consuelo had been grabbed by the arm, but she bit the man’s hand and scampered through the open front doors and into the bright sunlight, running like a scared rabbit.

Why did the soldiers try to grab Consuelo? She was a noble lady! Ann could understand that the soldiers would grab and hold and kiss the common women, but someone as noble as Consuelo?! God wouldn’t allow it!

“God! The light! I’m saved!” Ann told herself as she ran through the nave, oblivious to everything else.

Ann ran faster than she ever did. The light! If she reached the light, then she was safe! Her father would be there and somehow, there would be a miracle… She heard a familiar voice just before she ran through that front door. Was it Mary? She ran on. A formidably large and tall Mexican soldier tried to block her and she stooped down and passed through! Feeling the brush of his hands.

Ann Blyth was flooded with sunlight and blinded by the sun as she came out into the open, from the shadowy nave to Texas broad daylight. Outside! She was outside where a blur of cobalt blue uniform met a cobalt blue sky and the dusty wind hit her face as she ran, ran ran!

***

All was dust, blue sky and many loud voices speaking Spanish… Jeering in Spanish! “¡Hola! ¡Ven aquí pequeña señorita!” (Hey! Come here, little lady!)

“¡Pequeña señorita!” (little Miss!)

“¡Aaa qué bonita!” “¡Qué bonita!” (Ooh, so pretty! / So pretty!)

“¡Ven aquí! ¡Ven aquí, putita! ¡Wou-hou-hou-hou…” (Come here! Come here, little tramp! ...)

Running blindly among the jeering and whooping soldiers, Ann tried to locate Consuelo, but then she was grabbed herself by a great force and lifted off her feet!

She was being carried away! Were they angels sent from Heaven with their swords of fire to save her and her sisters? Saving Consuelo too? But why would Consuelo need to be saved? Wasn’t she a noble lady with honor?

Ann wanted to believe this as she was being carried, her body now more horizontal than otherwise. Many men were very close to her. Too close! Her nostrils were violated by their smell, a mix of sweat, musk, gunpowder and urine plus something even fouler. One of them smiled directly at her with bad teeth and his face was covered with blood!

She screamed! Someone touched her legs under her dress. Another hand felt her breasts! She screamed even more and wriggled in the arms of those laughing brigands. Now the miracle would happen! Now the angels would come and save her. They had to! Or else...

Then, she was shoved down onto the dirt. It was a hot morning in Fort Alamo. The sun hotly kissed her face before the men and their tall black shakos hid her from heavens under a blanket of shadow that came with their smell and their evil intent.

Ann realized she was unable to raise herself, pressed by their hands. She was alone in the middle of those loud soldiers. Awful! They pinned her to the ground, alone in the middle of their many sweating faces; men with varying shades of olive and brown in their rejoicing mugs; all men wearing that hated cobalt blue uniform with those ominous tall hats. All men grinning. Dirty and smelling worse. Grinning and looking at her in a way she was never looked at. What sort of play was this? Where were those angels? On their way to save her? Her heart began to race as she hung to the hope of being saved.

Ann’s senses refused to acknowledge those touches on her bosom as they were now pulling at her garments. She felt a large pull at her chest and heard a loud ripping sound where they... They just tore her collar! They were going to destroy her outfit! The very one she made with her late mother!

“Noooo! Stop this! No! No! Leave my dress alone! Leave my dress... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAA Aaaa NNNNNNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH..."

Ann screamed and begged and pleaded, tears filling and rolling down her dark eyes, her head wildly shaking from side to side on that dirt as the brigands were fiercely tearing and pulling at her clothes. She felt a rush of panic and overwhelming confusion as their hands kept ripping at her dress and pressing her bosom. She kept begging and begging! "No! No! Stop! My dress! Not my dress! I'm not even pretty! I'm so small! Nnoooo stop this pleeeeee eeeze!"

She felt a strangely pleasing sensation from her breasts under their hands, through her torn petticoat as one soldier used a knife to get rid of her bodice. Not her beautiful bodice! The brigand slashed it! He ripped it off! No! No!

“I’m only, stop… Find some bigger girls to play with!—no! Please! Leave me alone…”

They didn’t hear her or wouldn’t. Their mad faces positively frightened her. And then it got worse. One mad-looking man, the one with his face covered with drying blood, grabbed her damaged petticoat and tore it wide open, uttering some animal-sounding grunt as her small tits came into sight in a sudden display of erotic light that burned the men's eyes with absolute lust! She felt the air on her intimate skin. This had no right to be!

"AAAAAAAAA NNHAAA AAAAAAA you're destroying my dress! Aaah aaah aaaaaa mother, mother! Call those angels to save me.... Mother! Mother! Naaooooo ooooooo lemme go!"

They didn't hear her. They were drowning her in their catcalls, jeers and whooping sounds as the soldiers near her unbuttoned their trousers. Two men were holding her firmly pinned on the ground, one of them on top of her and gleefully sucking "those fine girly tits". His olive face enjoying her Irish paleness. Something broke inside Ann's soul as his tongue began swirling around her left nipple.

"Out of the way, Rinaldo!" said the voice of a leader, a stentorian voice filled with lust and a clear intent to have his way.

What were those angels doing? Weren't they coming? They had to! They had to, now! In her panicked mind, Ann hoped with all her will for a pair of angels who would attack and scatter those men with flaming swords-- and then she would reward those angels by giving herself to them if they wanted her. For only God knew her secret. She was no true virgin.

"Now you stay quiet!" the man near her face told her in clear Spanish that she understood. The cold blade at her neck was even better understood.

Men were arguing between themselves as to "who's gonna fuck the virgin lass first". Hands were holding her wrists and ankles so hard it was hurting her. Someone was bunching up her dark blue skirt along with the lower part of her petticoat. They were going to shame her! Where were those angels? Why weren't they coming? Someone was painfully pulling her ankles. She understood in that flash of pain that they were removing her shoes while two men began punching each other amid a chorus of shouts, yell and laughter.

Something was poured on her bare bosom and she smelled it. Tequila. A bearded man was then on her and began to lick her breasts after smiling at her and saying "Salud!" She shook her head, her little fists clenched where a jeering man held her wrists as she shuddered under this new humiliation. She felt his beard as it brushed her sensitive breasts. She hated this! Most of all, she hated those angels for not coming to save her. Why was God letting her down? Didn't she pray every night before going to bed like a good Catholic girl?

Those men arguing kept saying the same words, such as “bonita”, “pequeña señorita” and “desnuda”. Did some of them want to see her in the nude? To humiliate her? That must be it.

Ann suddenly jerked left and right in a desperate attempt to break free. “Father! Con… Consuelo! Consuelo!” she shouted amid the thick forest of hands holding her down. Her voice hit the loud Mexican wall of their jeers. They were so loud! So determined! It was as if there was a treasure worth a king’s ransom under her dress and they were arguing as to who was to see this treasure first. All those men holding her down, arguing between themselves with madness-filled eyes! It was so terrifying!

She freed her left ankle and tried to kick, but they grabbed her leg again. She kept jerking and wriggling, crying and shouting as she felt someone was kissing her feet and even licking them. Some tickling sensations spiced the burning pitch of her terror.

The air and the sun hit her face directly, while a dirty legion of hands kept cupping and kneading her breasts. Faces jockeyed for position as her nipples remained under a near-constant flow of kisses and tongue strokes, often broken by competing hands and words of arguing in fast-spoken Spanish. Ann shrieked in panic as her small body was assaulted by waves of shame and a host of sensations that were foreign to her. That dirt under her bare feet gave her a weird feeling of sensuality mixed with earth-kissing debasement.

Why were they so fond of her small breasts? They kept touching them. Others seemed to be also very fond of her feet and ankles as there was never a shortage of hands touching them. Ann felt the air directly against her legs and realized her dress was being tucked up all the way against her waist, along with her petticoat! She cried and wailed, rivers of tears on her blushed cheeks as she felt their gazes on that small patch of hair she had between her legs. It was so humiliating!

“Please… Find a bigger woman… Let me go… Lemmo goo...” Ann cried out.

“But you are a woman, little señorita! At least we’re going to make one out of you! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”

The man who had just answered her in English was in the act of lying down on top of her. He was wearing a better-quality uniform with golden epaulets. Ann wanted to push him off her, but she was firmly pinned, and now spread-eagled, and she was now getting tired of straining and resisting.

“We go make little señorita mother!” the officer added in bad English before repeating his words in Spanish, which sparked a round of laughter. Ann noticed his golden epaulets with thin fringes, from up close, meaning he was a junior officer. He wasn’t a very big man, but to her he was heavy.

A mother?! A baby?!

"No! Nooo! Noooooooooooooooo! I wanna be an actress! You've ruined my dress I hate you--aaahh naaaaoooo!"

Deeply lost and nearly crushed under the officer, Ann tried to jerk and break free in one writhing burst, but all her tired efforts didn't seem to matter to this olive-faced officer with a thin mustache. He forced-kissed her, then he went at his belt and did something with one hand while odiously stroking her nose where his other hand fell as he supported himself on his left elbow. All this amid all those loud Mexicans whose terrifying voices and faces confused her deeply. Ann shrieked in sudden pain. Something horrible was pushing hard between her open legs…

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

Ann’s shriek broke her voice. The pain tore her soul. It was fire! Fire from Hell! An entire world of forgotten pain was cracked wide open. The same thing was happening again. That evil thing those two men did to her a few years back and she thought she had almost forgotten. She had almost forgotten how bad it hurts.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA NNAAAOOOOOO it hurts please… St… op…”

That something kept pushing harder, stubbornly, as that officer directly above her sounded and felt like he was straining under great exertion. He kept pushing even harder. Stubborn! Ann almost passed out! She was in the heart of a hurricane of the loudest demons she ever heard. Demons spoke Spanish.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAA – AAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA…”

That stubborn something kept pushing inside her. It got deeper and even more painful! Deeper. More pain. Hell! Something pushing…

Ann felt the searing pain, causing her to shriek even louder with her now-hoarse voice as that Big Something was now far inside her, and the officer with the thin mustache was now grinning only inches above her, looking into her eyes with the gaze of a madman as he pulled back, as if to exit her… Then he came ramming back inside her, deep! She cried out and yelped. It recoiled again, only to come all the way down again, and even deeper! Ann cried and wailed.

The up-and-down movement became a rhythm. A rhythm of crushing pain that answered to the panting and grunting from that officer whose heated breath she felt on her neck. It hurt so bad!

“St… Stop. Please, Sir… Stop! It hurts! Ooh, it hurts too much!”

“Don’t, aah, worry, aah, little maid, ohh, ahh, you’re, aah, ¡Santa Madre de Dios! You, are, ahh, going to like, aahh, this!”

The officer spoke no more. He kept crushing Ann under his weight as he viciously accelerated and kept hammering her.

Ann was in agony! Albeit her pain did become a little more diffuse. All around her, Mexicans were laughing at her under their black shakos, jeering at her and calling her a “putita yanqui”. She understood “Yankee”, but whatever “putita” meant, she’d rather not know. It must be a filthy word, the opposite of the Holy Virgin. A whore.

Suddenly, the man inside her sounded as if he was hurt. He sounded like, “Aahh—aahh, aaaaahhh… NNNNNNNNNNhhhhrrrrr…”

Then, he remained, crushing her under him. His hot breath, panting, was intensely baptizing her neck along with his sweat, and this was the only sensation that Ann found a bit pleasing. This and the brushing of her nipples against his bosom. This brushing was weirdly pleasing, even though she loathed that man. Clearly, the Mexican officer had found doing this extremely pleasing. Throughout her pain, Ann felt the sheer intensity of his joy. She then began wailing and pummeling the man's back with her little fists as she realized all those men were going to give her that same searing pain.

"Get off me! Get off me lemme go take me to Consuelo lemme goo... Aaaaa aaaaaaaaaaa m'ma!"

“Now, Señorita… Now you woman! Little Yankee tramp! Yanqui putita!” the officer said before he kissed her tenderly, as if he were her own father rewarding her for a good deed!

"Just as you say, little whore!" said a forty-something Sergeant with his blood-red epaulets as he helped his officer back on his feet, before kneeling between her legs and reaching down inside her sex.

"See! She was a virgin!" the middle-aged ruffian said as he showed two bloodied fingers to the pack of dirt-faced men. Then he got rid of his shako and dropped his trousers before immediately getting down on top of her, and then he punched inside her, causing her to yelp in her renewed pain as he covered her and he himself took her tiny wrists and kept them pinned in the dust.

Then he began to pound her, his eyes burning with devil-pit pleasure as he reveled in the jiggling of her breasts, a short and nervous jiggling since Ann's were small ones.

"Aah yeah, yeah! I love this! Just white as a lily she is, hrrnn! Oh, Madre de Dios! A good good fuck, ahhrr! Better than this, uuh, this farmer's wife, hrrr, wife with skin just like, aahrr, brown squaw, rrhh... Now this is the real deal, ahhrr Dios! A virgin lass!"

"No no no! Get off me! It hurts! aaaaa- aaaaaahhh you disgusting old man-- nnhaaaaahaaa AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA... RRRRHHAAAA AAAAAAA AAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!!"

"Aaah yeah, I love this when they scream! Aaah aaaahhh! Take this, little tramp! This! This this and this, hrrrhh! No escape, white princess of Yankee land! Cinderella is now in rags! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! In rags, and her feet hitting the dust! Ha! Ha! Haarrrh yeah! Yes! Yes! Oohh God I feel so big inside herrhh!"

Ann was forced to remain flat under him, looking away from his leathery face, and---through the veil of her tears and amid the rocking motions from the ramming pounding---she looked around her and all she found were eyes loaded with evil intent, evil faces that ranged in skin color from light olive to dark leather, and nothing but Yankee-defaming jeers and mockery. And men showing her their thing!

The Mexican Sergeant grossly licked the side of her face as he urged his pace to an unbridled frenzy, slobbering her face, then raising himself again on straight arms where he got hypnotized by the short jiggling of those maiden tits---so ungodly white! He had never seen such paleness in nipples before---and as he got lost in contemplation and slowed down his terrible strokes, as he loved the subtle shadows marking those dancing nipples, the man blissfully exploded inside the young lady!

In this supreme moment where he was erupting inside her, his eyes told her he was having a hard time believing this was actually happening and there was a bit of guilt there too.

Ann bawled and began pummeling his back with her fists as soon as he let go her wrists. "AAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA YA MONSTERS! AAAHHHHHHH I HATE YA!"

She kept bawling as the dirty old man got lower down and gently pinched her left nipple between his lips while cupping and pressing the other breast. Ann tried to gouge his eyes, but he seized her little wrists and tossed her hands away, and then he slapped her hard!

"I know you love me, señorita, but be patient! I'll be back soon enough to give you more, but my men have to try you out first! And rejoice, girl! They risked their skin to capture this shit-hole of a place, just so they could have you! Yes, wench, we came here just for you! Just to see how white your titties really are!" said the depraved Sergeant in surprisingly good English.

He then lifted himself from her. He picked up the gold-adorned shako he had lost during their encounter and was gone, vanishing behind the thick moving wall of a great many soldiers in powder-blue uniforms; all grinning down on her from what seemed like mountain-high above her, where the sun hit their sun-baked faces with their shakos casting warlike shadows, perhaps hiding the sense of guilt some of them felt under the boiling heat of their lust for the Yankee lass. She was too white to be true!

The dusty sun made her nipples look even paler amid her sunlit breasts before their moving forest of shakos cast a shadow on them.

***

The Mexicans had won and were happy and playing with her. But it hurt! Physically, spiritually. It hurt so much! There was movement around her. Men were arguing again. Through that forest of legs, Ann looked off to her right and she saw…

She saw Consuelo. Consuelo!

Consuelo was held in a bent over position, her dark hair hanging loose and swaying back and forth under her noble figure, with a man holding her arms out in front of her, amid a pack of laughing soldiers wearing that same sickening blue uniform and those same shakos. Behind her stood that comically overweight officer she had seen in the church. He was holding her waist and playing a game that consisted of forcefully thrusting his lap into her bum! She couldn't believe she was seeing Consuelo like this, out in public!

He seemed to greatly enjoy doing this. He was smiling a mile wide! But it was Consuelo all right. Ann recognized her fancy maroon dress where it lay on the ground nearby, badly torn. A Sergeant holding a knife was mocking her while the fat officer kept pounding her like a breeding stallion, his pudgy face speaking volumes about how he was loving this.

They had stripped Consuelo out of her dress! How could they do this to a noble lady like Consuelo? God wouldn’t allow such a thing! Those brigands in uniform… They wanted to humiliate Consuelo?! How could this be allowed to happen?!

Ann’s gaze was hypnotized by the fat officer’s buttocks and his ever-renewed thrusts against Consuelo’s all-white derrière. Ann acknowledged with a shock that Consuelo was indeed being raped! Gang-raped.

Then, the fat officer moved frantically and he stooped down a bit; he seemed hurt? It was as if some thunderbolt from Heaven just struck him. Indeed, the ugly officer looked up toward the sky and he seemed to shout something at the heavens, although Ann didn’t hear from where she was, being herself amid so many loud Mexicans.

Then, she was grabbed by the head and a man’s face was pressed into hers. Something wet was now licking her lips, her nose, her cheeks… Ann realized with disgust… His tongue. This was his tongue! Disgusting!

That man was on top of her. Again, she was crushed under him. He too wore red epaulets with fringes; a Sergeant, albeit a younger, handsome one with pitch-black hair and hate in his eyes. He no longer wore his shako. Ann saw he had some white hair.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH! Not this again! Please, Sir! Nooo! It hurts so bad! Nooo—oooo AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!”

Again, the agony! Excruciating!

That Big Something was pushing hard! If anything, it felt even bigger than the two men before!

The man was straining on top of her. Ann shrieked in absolute agony as he hammered himself deep inside her, always with that same hate in his eyes. He was now groaning on top of her, sounding very much pleased as that Big Something was once again moving up and down inside her. Ann felt the pain slightly become better.

Ann cried. It was so humiliating! Consuelo… Having seen what was being done to Consuelo filled Ann with an all-encompassing sense of horror. Even the noble lady! They were playing that hurtful game with Señorita Consuelo! They were truly evil!

She lay under the ever-painful hammering, under the Sergeant. If they were doing that big something to Consuelo as well, then they were doing this to all the women in the fort. Her sisters… Her sisters?! Meg?! Rose-Ann?! Mary?!

Ann began to sob anew, very bitterly. Her poor sisters...

“Stop! Stop thi—iis! Aaa—aaaa—aaaaaahh!”

The Sergeant was now grunting madly, pounding hard inside her, frantic and insane on top of her. He sounded like some human monster trying hard to imitate a machine from Hell…

“HNN—HNN—HNN, HNN—HNN, HNN, HNN, HNN HNNN HNNN HHNN-HHNNN… HHNNNNNN!”

It was terrifying!

Then he sounded hurt! Just like the older Sergeant before him, except he sounded a bit differently, something like, “Hhmmnnn… Nnnnhh UUGGHH!!!”

He was quickly gone. She felt weightless without him on top of her.

Another man came. This one only wearing one red-fringed epaulet. A Corporal. They were raping her in order of ranks. Just like she had once heard the Comanche Indians did to any girl they captured---from the leader of the war party to the braves, the senior ones first, then right down to the youngest tomahawk among them, and the poor girl would see them brandishing the scalps of her father and brothers with her farm house burning in the background. Ann bitterly cried as the Corporal killed her with every stroke he gave her. Why wasn't she born in Europe? Why did God see fit to have her live in this land of savages?

Red was evil; a Yankee Sergeant would have worn three chevrons; three for the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, as her father had told her many times. Ann would have willingly played that game with a Yankee Sergeant; a Yankee man would have felt warm and nice inside her. Those evil men hurt because they were Mexicans, the enemy. Devils from the Pit!

As the rapes went on, and more Corporals came, and then the Privates, Ann desperately looked around her, looking for a Yankee Sergeant, looking for a Yankee officer... Where was Davy Crockett? Father… where was he? All she saw were Mexican uniforms. How could have they won when they were the bad ones?! It didn’t fit with how the world was like.

The Private topping her now was still wearing his pitch-black shako. Ann braced herself for that Big Something she knew was going to hurt her deep, and burn like boiling pitch inside her. Those shakos were so evil!

“¡Las violamos en orden de rangos! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Weepa!” someone said amid the loud jeers. (We're raping them in order of ranks! ... ...)

“¡Buenos días, señorita!” the next soldier said as he moved himself in a way she began to know and dreaded. On top of her. To give her his sperm. Her only purpose in this world. But wasn't she an actress?!

She tensed and braced for that boiling pitch inside her…

Sure enough, that Big Something was there, painful as hell, but this one felt nervous and jabby. He was hammering her in fast jabs, and sinking deeper as she shrieked in pain and was filled with shame. Yet again. Was this ever going to end?

The pain was so fiery and intense! That man just hammered and jabbed inside her, putting all his weight into it! He didn’t care one penny about her being hurt and screaming. After this man died inside her, another one came. Then, again, the Big Something was inside her, up and down, up and down. Ann felt the boiling pitch. Was she getting used to it? It was now duller. More manageable. Just slightly more manageable.

Ann thanked God that none of her sister was seeing her like this. And father… Where was he? Was he…?

Ann broke down in tears once again, with the joy-filled man straining and sweating on top of her. He kept ravaging her virtue.

Ann wailed and cried out and began to curse at her captors…

“Aahh! Matate a mi padre! I hate you! I’ll kill you all!” Ann shouted in a confused mix of her native language and bad Spanish. Those evil men had killed her father!

The men just laughed around her, some drinking, while their mate kept intensely straining on top of her, licking her face amid his grunts, losing his shako in his relentless barrage of hammering jabs. She felt how much he was enjoying her suffering.

Ann realized her body wasn’t only suffering like her soul. The uncovered tips of her breasts were directly brushing against the Sergeant’s uniform. She felt the sensitive skin of her nipples against the wool of his Mexican military jacket, and this caused waves of pleasing warmth to radiate and somehow make their way all the way down to her navel, then her hips, her buttocks where she felt her weight and his weight against the dirt… Those waves of pleasing warmth even made it down to her womanhood.

Her cries underwent subtle changes. There was something else in the sound of her wails, of her swearing and cursing. She was beginning to whimper as well.

The man was presently shaken by what felt like a powerful storm of frenzy where his jabbing thrusts became inhumanly fast. Then came his long growling finish... "AAAAOOOOOOONNNNNNNNHHGGGH!"

Ann closed her eyes, crying and shaken with sobs, shaken harder by the convulsions of that pig growling right against her face, polluting her with his sweat and slobber, not to mention his load of filth inside her. Then, she realized she was arching her back and moving her bosom in a way that caused her tits to be compressed a bit more against the exhaling man.

Then, he went lower on her, panting. Ann felt his hot breathing directly against her breasts and she was suddenly taken by what felt like a big ball of bonfire that acted so arrogantly as it pretended to fight off that hell of suffering she was in. The bonfire did its thing inside her and there was some measure of heat in her whimpering, and she did hear men saying "the little puta's loving this" or "they all love a good shaking". They were wrong!

This little burst of carnal mirth was soon sent back to his room like a little boy caught playing with weapons he shouldn't be using. She felt the man’s tongue on her nipples. He cupped her small tits, but all shreds of pleasure were now gone. It was as if all joy was killed inside her amid the loud thunder of Mexican laughter.

The man was then lifted off her. Another man was already settling himself down on top of her. This was a big man! It was that same formidable man who had almost caught her at the church's entrance.

Ann felt his weight bearing down on her, and with this she braced herself for yet another session of that Big Something hurting her from within. Her wrists and ankles were so sore! She quit trying to break free, but they held her so tightly that it still hurt!

The man was so much bigger and heavier than the previous ones! She was literally disappearing under him! Ann only stood four feet and nine inches. She had long stopped hoping that her bosom would also grow along with the still-childish curves of her hips. She often felt jealous of her elder sisters. Now all of those petty things from a maiden's vanity were gone. Hope itself was gone. All she knew now was pain, suffering and feeling beyond humiliated. Why did God abandon her? Why didn't He send his angels to save her? Why were there so many of those awful men around her?

Ann braced for the upcoming pain. She hoped this wouldn’t be as painful as the previous times. Perhaps she was getting used to that grim dance, but then... a big fist of searing fire informed her that for some reason, this was the worst!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH NAAAOOOOOOO OOOOOO ‘t hrts!”

This time, the Big Something was truly Big.

“Aahhh! Santa Maria!” the Private exclaimed as he mercilessly penetrated Ann, whose shrieks were deafening!

"Let's go, Big Pedro! Show this Yankee wench what it's like to be on the losing side!"

"Tell us if this youngster is better than Consuelo!"

"Big Pedro got his turn inside Consuelo de Quesada?! The lucky bastard!"

"Yes! And Big Pedro is already going again! He's the pride of our regiment! The strongest man in all Mexico!"

"No, it's the large Antonio from my own village!" "It ain't so!" "Yes it is!" "You dirty scumbag liar!"

The big man raping Ann, grinning like a sun-baked devil, his mustache like black pitch, impatiently hammered himself down inside her, while the bickering pair began trading punches and pesos wagers were quickly taken by half-drunk men.

Big Pedro raped her with his torso propped up on straightened arms as he kept up the his repeated groove of torture inside her, dishing out great pain and suffering to the maiden, who kept whimpering in agony as she felt his gaze on her freely-moving tits. Amid her suffering, an ironic thought took shape--They did like her tits... Then she must be pretty in her own way, but... Ahhh it hurt so badly, aahh!

Ann was in too much agony to do any thinking. God be damned if He was testing her virtue! Ann was certain that that pain was even worse than what Christ endured when the Romans crucified Him on that skull-shaped hill called Golgotha. Christ was a man and therefore had no idea of the pain a woman could endure!

"YEs! Yes! Ooh yes! The little lady! Her skin lily white! So pretty, aaah aaaa haaaaa aaaa yeah yes! AHHHRRRNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGH!!!"

After dumping a massive load inside her, Big Pedro picked up his shako and got back up on his feet, where he was met with his mates patting him on his wide and massive back, some of them having their faces blackened by gunpowder.

Ann wanted to raise herself, but her wrists and ankles were held all too firmly. That hurt too! Where were God and his guardian angels? Swords of fire were there all right, in the form of their penises that were tainted by her menstrual blood when they pulled out of her. She was no virgin even before they lay their hands on her. Only she knew. She had never told anyone. So only she knew...

Mirabile dictu, she smiled a bit as the next man made himself home on top of her. She wore that faint smile because they thought they were having a virgin, while they weren't and only she knew.

"Now that I've won the fisticuff, I take my prize and pleasure inside you, little lady! Oohrrrh Dios! You're a tight little robin! Ooohh God! This... This is so good! Hhrrryaaarrrhh!"

Ann quit trying to resist. Her head bobbing in the dust, she tried to ignore all those filthy hands on her, for they never stopped touching her everywhere they could. Another one who said she had beautiful feet! How strange! She had no idea some men worshiped this body part to such an insane degree.

This man proved a long laster. She kept vaguely enjoying the small edge she had over them in knowledge. So they thought they were deflowering a maiden!

Little did they know she was raped once before, a few years back, by a pair of ruffians when she was in the woods to get some pecans. They had probably followed her. It happened and was over so fast! It's a pain a girl never forgets. They didn't even take her pecans! She went back home, dutifully carrying her pecans, and never said anything about it to anyone. After this, she always wanted to remain indoors and got further lost in her world of dreams. She even sometimes got hit by her father for refusing to go get something outside and always insisted someone come with her. Ann found her safe haven with Shakespeare.

Ann felt ashamed and guilty. Maybe it was her fault if she was pretty. Maybe it was her European-style outfit she used to wear with so much pride! Hubris! She was a little tramp all right, but God would forgive her weakness just like He had forgiven Mary Magdalene, the prostitute who had turned her heart to the love of Jesus. Aahh, she felt so confused! What sense was there to find in this play from Hell?

The man raping her presently grinned and his mustached face became a distorted mask reflecting something like pain and joy, all at the same time. Ann felt him as he twitched inside her, then he let out a long-winded growl while grinning at her with insanely joyful eyes. She realized she was already familiar with the feeling of a man emptying his sacks of sperm inside her. She was a little tramp all right.

He then suddenly moved himself back up on his feet. Ann saw what looked like a horn of flesh that stuck out of his light-grey trousers, half-flaccid and covered with a thin shade of her blood. She realized this was his thing. How confused she was! But she wasn't supposed to be seeing this while still a maiden, a damsel who had yet to marry!

Ann let out one wild-goose cry! This was too much! And this looked so disgusting! Men were disgusting! Even her own father! Did he do this inside her poor mother? No wonder she died! She began to cry like a little girl, calling her name. Diana! Diana my dear mother! And then she had flashes of memory where Mother and Father were smiling at each other. Smiling and kissing. Father was happy with her. And she happy with him. Why? Her mind shut down, too confused to think.

Another man laid himself down on her. He was looking down and away from her, as if embarrassed by something. Ann’s senses shut down. She already knew what he was going to do. The worst was the sharp pain that surged inside her and radiated throughout her legs when the man pushed inside her. She already felt that pain in her mind! Was he already inside? She no longer knew her own body!

They always pushed it so deep! Why so deep? Poor Consuelo! She must be in great pain too! And Meg, Rose-Anne, Mary, Mrs. O’Hara… It was so horrible! Why were they so evil? Why?

Because it gave them great joy, Ann realized as she saw the joy on that man's face as he took his joy inside her. They loved doing this to her. They all loved doing this to all the women inside the fort.

The man did his business inside her. It ended with that same awful groan. Then, sure enough, another soldier was there. An officer?! Yes. Golden epaulets. This fringes. Was this the same one? She was too confused to know for sure... All she knew was that he felt painful inside her. Her eyes rolled aimlessly as her aching head kept bobbing, her black hair all dusty on that ground as she took the unthinkable inside her.

It still felt so painful! Yet Ann kept arching her back so her tits would brush against his wool uniform and she could cling to that one tidbit of suave sensations in the middle of that hell of pain and Mexican jeers. Just like a half-naked girl would cling to any shred of torn dress to hide her modesty amid a crew of pirates who just captured the merchant ship she was on, and killed her father.

“AA—AAA AAAaaahhh… Why are you doing this? Why? Why? Whyy—AAAA—AAA—AAAAAA—AAAAAAaaaahh… Rrhaaaa—AAAA—AAAA AAAAA AAAAAAA I’m so disgusting now! Full of filth! AAAAAA—AAA-AAAAA-AAAAAAA—AAAaaaa …”

So many men raping her! Were they going to kill her after? Why didn't they stop?

She was letting them do their thing, trying to manage the pain, her teeth clenched, her head bobbing and no longer caring about anything they were doing. It felt she was going to spend the rest of her life doing just this… being used as a little strumpet by the Mexicans.

*** *** ***

Ann became aware she was being moved; and her garments, whatever was left of them, were being ripped and pulled off her. She was barefoot. Barefoot?! She had no recollection of anyone undoing her shoes, but there she was, barefoot.

As they were violently tearing and ripping and pulling her ruined dress off her along with the white dirty rags that used to be her petticoat, Ann felt their army of Spanish-jeering hands all over her. Ann bitterly cried over her destroyed dress. It was like grieving her mother all over again!

There was the caress of the dirt against her feet and her lower legs as they flipped her around while catcalling her and calling her all sorts of names such as “texana señorita” and “Yankee putita”.

Ann had so many hands on her! Especially on her legs, her feet and her bum, yes, her bum!

They seemed to love touching her, especially her bum. Which the theatrical girl would call her derrière in her mind.

They kept touching her, even though her curves were so modest around her hips, even though her tits were so small compared to her sisters. Ann was so far from looking as womanly as her sisters, and yet those men were on her like flies on a pool of honey… It felt like being wrapped in a blanket of Mexican hands. They were everywhere on her!

Ann felt fingers inside her as well. Then she felt hands on her backside, rough fingers through her dark hair, callused hands reaching under her for her tits as she vaguely realized she was down on all fours. All of this done to her! So revolting! Couldn't they have the decency of at least doing their thing neat and swift?

She felt many wet tongues on her bum. Liquor was poured there. Tequila, aguardiente... They just kept licking her butt! Her legs, her feet... They worshiped her as if she were a little goddess, all this after reducing her to less than filth.

She could tell they were taking immense joy out of it. But why? They ought to find some bigger woman; she was so small everywhere! Yet they didn’t seem to care. They began calling her their lovely little shepherdess.

Amid that press of men, Ann suddenly caught a glimpse of Consuelo, who was presently Eve-nude amid a large pack of soldiers, some of whom were Adam-naked!

Ann could only see that Consuelo had her legs wrapped around a man who stood and kept thrusting himself inside her with great effort. Consuelo’s dark hair was swaying amid this storm of forced sensuality. Consuelo’s pale legs were imprisoning that man’s blue uniform as he thrust again and again inside the noble señorita. They were having Consuelo with her back pinned against a cannon!

Ann saw her no more as men moved and obscured her field of vision, but she would always remember the way Consuelo was moving under that man’s assaults while the others men held her in a position where the man could have her while standing. All those men so eagerly waiting for their turn inside Consuelo de Quesada! Ann would never forget that look of greed and lust on those dark olive faces! Those soldiers were nothing but a bunch of Mexican bandits wearing uniforms. Their General must be just as bad.

Ann felt unexplainable heat from that scene, from the way Consuelo seemed to be entertaining and somehow controlling all these men; Ann felt shreds of heat between her legs as the men kept her on all fours while stroking her everywhere at once with their sensual orgy of greedy hands.

Then there was a strong pair of hands that grabbed her waist. She instinctively knew what was about to.... Aaahhhhr no! It hurts! It hurts so much! Ann loses her grip on anything but that pain. Nothing but the present moment as that man keeps thrusting his greedy lust inside her. Too deep and too hard!

Ann felt her bum, her derrière, as it repeatedly collided with that older man behind her; he was standing on his knees and just kept bumping against her bum. Exactly like what that fat officer had done with Consuelo! Ann felt weirdly proud. Proud of being treated a bit like Consuelo, a noble señorita!

She hated what they were doing to her, but she liked being treated like a noble señorita. Ann de Quesada! She loved the ring of it. It rang like a special Christmas bell and took her soul in a Spanish castle while her body was being defiled on Texas dirt. Only a raped girl knew the lengths her soul would travel in her attempts to escape reality.

Ann somehow got used to this derrière-bumping dance, as her pain somehow got duller. She just tried to let this flow of evil go on her until the end. But then, the man lent onto her—she felt him on her entire back—and he cupped her tits from behind as he pressured himself against her, as if trying to glue himself to her forever.

Ann almost screamed as she felt her nipples literally explode with bursting sensations. Pain and also some sort of mechanical pleasure... She heard the man growl and felt him exhale against the side of her face. He shivered against her, and was no doubt filling her with that milky slime she had seen dripping from the head of a man’s thing earlier.

There was a warm caress on her bum, then the man was gone. Another man came. It began all over again. This one didn’t lean over her. He was very quickly done. When he got up and walked around wearing a smug smile, she saw with horror that he was really old, bald and ugly with scars of small pox on his flabby face. He wore civilian clothes and probably belonged to the enemy supply line.

The next man inside her was painfully big, and really large and strong.

"Pedro! Big Pedro again!"

"The pride of our regiment! The Yankee bruiser!"

"Let's go, Pedro! Flatten those white buns! Let's hear how high she can sing!"

Big Pedro shook her to the point of making her feel nauseous. He shivered with glee as he rode her; she felt it through his large hands where kept caressing her sides. His grunts were so loud this was the only thing she heard amid the ocean of cheers and catcalls.

Were they going to find a cannon and use her on it like Consuelo? Maybe only the highest-ranking ladies had the right to be played on a cannon. While Big Pedro proceeded to rock her very thoroughly and proved how long he could last and remain stiff and hard inside a wench, Ann was getting used to the pain, or perhaps there were just too many sensations at play inside her at that point, like an orchestra playing too many different things. It was a sensual cacophony amid her painful exhaustion.

She suddenly realized that this big man had her tits in his hands while he was taking her very deep indeed. Ann heard a loud, “UUUUUUUNNGH—UUUUUUUUUHHH!” She knew it was over.

The next man pushed her hard against the ground and caused her to lie flat on her belly.

Then, out of nowhere, his Big Something struck her OTHER entrance, the one she used when taking a shit.

Ann felt so surprised! She was unable not to scream from the unbearable pain. She had no idea that hole of hers could also be used for their play.

If she thought this was the worst pain she could ever experience, then she realized she was sorely mistaken.

It got hellishly worse as the Big Something was hammered relentlessly inside her anus, always going a bit deeper in her rectum. Then the pain grew tenfold or a hundredfold. A life-altering pain!

Ann became deaf and blind to her own shriek. There were tiny notes of subtle pleasure in the mix. Ann couldn’t believe she was really experiencing this array of tiny notes of bliss while being in such a great pain.

The men around her were so loud in their cheers and catcalls and jeering, but she didn’t hear anything, not even her soul-tearing shriek. She only heard her pain, from that devil behind her.

But she felt his extreme pleasure through his hands where he was painfully clutching her sore waist while bumping against her bum, relentlessly. Impaling her rectum! She was no doubt being ripped apart!

She kept screaming against that crowded wall of jeers and catcalls, deaf to her own screams and made numb to her own suffering. Her distended anus became her whole universe. Where was God? What was He?

It took her a while to realize that the man was gone.

Ann found herself hoping that the next man would take her usual hole, yet she felt curious, very strangely and morbidly curious about experiencing those notes of bliss again. She knew instinctively that having her anus painfully distended was the only way to such flecks of pleasure. Maybe she would get used to the pain and only the notes of bliss would remain…

The only thing she was sure of was the great number of privates and newcomers around her. The play was far from over.

Ann Blyth wanted to become a stage actress. They gave her a part to play, Eve-nude amid them as they now took her from behind, thus treating her like a noble señorita, like Consuelo. If she was a really good girl, then perhaps they would promote her to using her on a cannon, with her sensitive tits under the sun for all to enjoy…

She was in the role of a slave, flat on her belly, her face in the dirt, her feet being kissed, as one private after another took his pleasure inside her. She had no idea whether she was in the second or third act of that painful, life-altering play. So very far from the final Exeunt. She was enduring a never-ending Ineunt.

Chapter Text

Now, in the inner fort, the many soldiers around Consuelo de Quesada had taken their pleasure. With her mortally wounded father watching and fate refusing to cut the thread of his life, so he had to keep watching as the General's well-shined boots hit the dust and stirred it into puny clouds with each victorious stride he took toward her, while his men washed the naked señorita with tequila.

General Antonio López de Santa Anna walked calmly to Consuelo de Quesada, whom the grinning soldiers held in position for him, her back no longer upright as she sang to the piano in his father's mansion, but bare and pressed onto the cold steel as she lay naked on that last-defence cannon that was now silent. The very soldiers that were aimed at with cannister had taken their rightful revenge by gang-raping her on it. This gang-rape was already becoming a legend that would be spoken of right down to Mexico City.

In the background, the other women were all being gang-raped by the victorious troops, in the church and elsewhere. Their soul-tearing screams and wails sailing under the serene sky.

Consuelo had been much used at this point. The General had taken unfathomable pleasure from watching an entire platoon defile her. With her not-yet-dead father watching it all.

Santa Anna had cursed for having missed her disrobing, but could he blame his men for this? Many had died during the final assault and it was their rightful reward to urgently rape Consuelo. Now she lay slanting with her wonderful legs half-folded and her lush triangle of black hair entertaining the men from that all-Venus place between her statuesque legs. All over her, beads of sweat were like bright tiny pearls under the sun, and some semen was still escaping out of her abused entrance. Until they washed it with tequila and caused her to scream in pain as the liquor set her bruised pussy ablaze.

The men had interrupted her ordeal, sensing the rise in interest from their General. They drank aguardiente or smoked a pipe and listened to the lamentations of their enemy's women. The shrill screams from the defiled daughters pleased them the most. The entire church seemed to be breathing those screams out.

The noble señorita felt she was dead out of shame as those Mexicans grinned at her from their sun-baked faces, many still wearing their shadowy shakos, as they told her what a great fuck she was. Their vile, earth-dirty hands frictioning her sensual nakedness with tequila, each new hand stroke sinking her further down in debasement.

Bathed by sunlight, Consuelo's breasts rode high on her arched torso as the exhausted señorita feebly struggled against the men, who restrained her small wrists where she made lovely little fists of powerless rage on either side of her picture-immortal face, her dishevelled hair flowing down her shoulders and upon the cannonade, in waves and strands of dark silk, moving strands that were gently caressed by the Texas wind and defiled by Mexican hands. Amid fat laughter and tobacco-smoking joking and drinking and some extra pouring of aguardiente on her.

General Santa Anna loved her alluring lines and the unfathomable triangle of her hairy pussy. He looked at the naked señorita, her features retaining their nobility in spite of her debasement, perhaps even intensified by it. He remembered the proud maiden who stood atop that white wall before the final assault, and now this. The two images were forever etched in his mind like two opposite faces of a coin.

Consuelo de Quesada had stood so very proud and defiant on top of that wall before the final assault. General Santa Anna had seen her himself through his spyglass from afar. He had first met her when she was only a blossoming maiden a few years back in San Antonio, and he could see for himself that she had truly blossomed into the loveliest young lady he could imagine. But what he liked the most was the expression he had seen on her face when he looked at her through his spyglass. Such defiant pride! With a bust that tantalized his eyes beneath her pale rose dress and seemed to say "I'm waiting for my conquistador".

"Well, now you have found your conquistadors, young lady," the General said for himself as he removed his sword belt and sash and handed it to a bugle boy who also acted as a servant. He also gave him his unloaded pistols. He longed to join his sweat to Consuelo's. He had to have her! There were risks in raping a woman who had already been used by so many, but he couldn't help himself.

The Mexican soldiers had successfully attacked and taken Fort Alamo, and now was the unspeakable aftermath, the sort of which has taken place in nearly all cases since the very dawn of times—the urgent and systematic rape of the enemy’s womenfolk.

"Yes yes, we're raping them all!" the General repeated in his thoughts and thus fed his raging erection. Violación. Rape. This was a key word that stirred his lust. He especially loved to rip a girl's clothes off. He had missed this pleasure with Consuelo and he was planning to remedy this later, but first... Rape!

Those tits that had always stood proud and well-protected inside her corset were now crudely exposed in their savagely flaccid beauty, her clothes-freed nipples like dancing shadows under the bright sun.

The nearby soldiers were holding her on that cannonade with her legs spread out for their General; they were still groping and caressing those wonderful tits they had risked their lives to conquer, all this while the other Yankee girls and women kept on squealing and whimpering, naked amid dozens of uniformed Mexicans while the corpses of their husbands and fathers were still warm. The tang of blood was there all right and keeping company with the last whiffs of spent gunpowder, telling the tragic tale of the lopsided battle and already attracting carrion birds.

Mrs. Dickinson was now Eve-nude with the powder-blue remnants of her dress lying on the dirt, where it made the dusty ground dustier. She was on her knees and elbows, face sliding on that same dirt, with her well-loved feet also showing dirt while the sun kept kissing the magnified golden of her long hair, also lying on that dirt. She was being bred by a well-built Mexican, still wearing his shako while he was on his knees, deeply enjoying the blonde with conquering hands around her waist -- a waist that was still just as slender as she was on her wedding night.

His heavy grunting and the slobber dripping down his half-open mouth said it all about how the dusty-faced man was enjoying this. The grinning man drove deep strokes inside the alluring widow, often slowing down, fully enjoying his time and making it last, holding and caressing her priceless buttocks -- pale curves of forbidden smoothness that carried those subtle notes of honey so typical of blondes.

The soldiers who had stumbled in her had first found her a bit old, but from the moment her long golden hair got undone and loose, and her blue dress got ripped off her and her corset got brutally snatched away by the screaming, lust-filled hands, they had all felt their cocks harden and morph into potent tomahawks! Then all their thoughts had been bent on raping her savagely. And they did just that. They had been dreaming of such a moment since they first laid siege to Fort Alamo.

The man raping Mrs. Dickinson gleefully kept a steady rhythm. Each of his punishing strokes gave the wailing widow something to remember as she cried tears of grief for her dead husband. The Dickinsons had been the closest-knit couple in Alamo.

Several soldiers looked on and drank as Mrs. Dickinson kept taking the punishment with the sobs of her grief, while also whimpering from the natural process of the coitus. The surprising youth in her body greatly impressed the General. She was known to be in her thirties with three children still alive after five pregnancies, but every inch of her body belied this.

"This husband of hers died a lucky bastard!" a Corporal said to a senior Private, who stooped down and tapped Mrs. Dickinson’s derriere, then he poured some aguardiente on those curves and laughed. The soldier bucking her presently pulled out of her. His eyes in full contemplation of those liquor-shimmering buns, the man let go a sharp groan and one rich splattering of jism landed on her round butt, gracing her milky smoothness with a generous gloss of Mexican seed.

Consuelo saw this and shuddered at the thought of Mexican soldiers ejaculating on her. She would die of shame if those apes got the crazy idea of spewing their semen on her face and her tits! And yet, if she was to be deadly honest with herself, a tiny dark corner of her mind was already thinking of things of that sort when she was looking down on the advancing regiment before that fateful assault. She couldn't help it but think there would be some specks of eroticism in such a horrific, gross debauchery; but this was only in her thoughts before the unthinkable actually happened.

Now that it had happened, she was overwhelmed and crushed by the sheer horror of it.

Laughing, the contented man massaged Mrs. Dickinson’s butt and spread the semen all over it, saying it was nice and proper for a quality lady. "Your husband is most likely dead, Milady, but I can bet a thousand pesos that his ghost is watching this right now!"

The exhausted widow broke down in tears once again under these vicious words. Demons spoke Spanish and the Yankee widow just couldn't take it any longer. Consuelo looked at her with nothing but compassion in her eyes. The Mexican laughed, happy to see the widow was now broken. He got up and left his spot to a young musician, and the boy took his turn inside Mrs. Dickinson and he soon ejaculated inside her, perhaps losing his virginity upon screaming his eyes out after a very brief, but intense burst of urgent strokes.

***

Consuelo also heard cries and screams she recognized as belonging to Ann, the youngest daughter of late Captain Blyth, and for a fleeting moment, through a moving clearing in the press of soldiers surrounding the poor girl, she saw Ann's body. Small, superb in her tininess. Surreal in her pristine paleness, unbelievable in her small beauty, Ann was on all fours with one dark-haired, dark-faced Mexican kneeling behind her and holding her tiny waist with his earth-dirty hands. He was of course in the act of violently taking her amid cheers and catcalls and leers. So shameless! His face looked radiantly joyful, just as if he were just crowned the king of the world, and then the press of men hid Ann from her sight, but Consuelo did hear some loud grunting and knew the man was emptying his balls inside Ann Blyth.

General Santa Anna now stood towering above Consuelo, with his bottle of tequila in hand as the fat Captain formally saluted him, grinning with his eyes always locked on the naked señorita.

Consuelo de Quesada raised her weary head, her neck aching from her long bout of relentless bobbing... She saw Santa Anna smiling down on her, his eyes feasting on her defiled beauty like a swine. She felt pained and bruised everywhere and took some scraps of satisfaction from knowing that those purple bruises smearing her grace were depriving the General from seeing her in her original beauty. She hoped he wasn't going to bother with raping her himself now that she had been left in such a debased state.

“Your Excellency must be very proud now!” Consuelo snarled.

Her pretty face had frowning eyebrows, although very fine and delicate eyebrows that were the polar opposite of that lush carpet of hair she had down there, between her intensely pale thighs that seamlessly ran into her child-bearing hips, with a slim waist that now carried dark bruises where men had violently held her while they took their satisfaction. Their forced kisses had long erased the fancy rouge on her lips.

“Oh, Milady… You must know that I’m always proud of following military traditions,” General Santa Anna replied with a mellow tone and casting a very amused gaze on the helpless señorita.

In the background, Ann Blyth tore the air with a shrill and deafening scream. “Take her deep in her little asshole, Pedro! Yes! Yes, that’s the way!” Consuelo heard in her native Mexican Spanish.

The young maiden let out another shriek of agony amid the cheering troops gathered around her. All this while her father lay dead in the outer fort. They were sodomizing Ann. Consuelo couldn’t believe it!

"They sure know how to treat those little Yankee tramps!" Santa Anna commented.

“Shame on you, General! May you rot in hell with the fiends of the Pit!” Consuelo spat out, spitting toward him, but he was a bit too far and he grinned.

“Oh, calm down, señorita! As I told you, I pride myself of being observant of all military traditions, and I can assure you that all the young children are being treated with the utmost care, but all the señoritas fall under the unwritten laws of war prize!” the General replied in articulate English as a way to further humiliate Consuelo, whose father had fought on the Yankee side.

“You wear that rich uniform, General, but you’re nothing but a vile brigand!”

Uncaring of Consuelo’s hot words, General Santa Anna threw off his bicorn, showing her his dark hair, still all black into his early forties. Now feeling the freshness of his sweat under that wayward wind, he rushed at her like an avid pirate, filled with lust for the señorita’s colonial-white titties!

“Noo! Nooo, don’t you touch me, filthy pig!”

"Santa Anna! You won't get away with this!" Consuelo's father said from where he sat and lent prostrated against the wall of a building.

Consuelo spat in the General's face, and he just smiled and sank between those lovely orbs he had guessed through her dress, and ardently desired, when he was looking at her through his spyglass before the assault.

He filled his nostrils with her youthful scent. She was intoxicating! He then took his bottle and generously spilled tequila on Consuelo’s breasts! He loved the proximity of her nipples. Gorgeous under that sun!

And he began to lick them, tasting the tequila mixed with her girly essence and scent!

"AAahrrr! Consuelo de Quesada, I have waited a long time for this!"

Consuelo writhed and cursed at him as the olive-faced soldiers holding her had a good laugh while their General took one of her nipples in his mouth and caressed the tiny texture of her bud of rose through his tongue. He learned that Consuelo de Quesada had brownish nipples and subtle goose bumps on neat areolas that were perfectly circular. She was aristocratic everywhere. She even retained the natural pride in her looks even after a platoon of his men had rolled over her in their collective lust.

Consuelo screamed and squealed as if she had a venomous rattlesnake biting that nipple! But there was diffuse warmth and pleasure that started to irradiate from that side of her bust.

As the General gleefully sucked her left nipple, he cupped her other tit and gently pressed it, forming a cone of silky paste in his sun-baked hand. He held it and felt how it yielded to his gentle grip. He loved the contrasting milky whiteness of those tits he was now seeing from so close!

“Ahh, Consuelo! You have a lot of power over my men! If I had not allowed them to rape you, they would have mutinied and raped you anyway! I can hardly blame them,” the General said in English.

Consuelo was angry at herself, but she was powerless to stop the notes of pleasure that now radiated through her entire torso. And this was happening while James Bowie lay dead with his blood still warm! She called James's name, because she would have wanted him to save her, and because deep down, she would have wanted him to watch and partake.

Consuelo felt so ashamed! So guilty! How could she be thinking such things?!

“Aaaahh, naoooo! NOOO! NOOO! You filthy pig! Brigand! Pirate!” Consuelo snapped, but every time she cursed or screamed, her forced pleasure grew within her and reached a new level of whorish debasement.

Consuelo de Quesada was now a whore for the entire regiment, a plaything to do as they please with, and that notion drove juices of savage arousal in her womanhood. She found, raging against herself, that it felt ungodly erotic! She hated the General! Hated his men for violating and twisting her soul. Her young body was no longer hers. But it was only reacting as a way to lessen her pain and pang. As a way to survive.

“Yes, bonita señorita! Yes! You are now the tramp for myself and all the brigade! You and every single señorita within these walls!” General Santa Anna taunted her.

As he spoke, he went lower and licked the underside of Consuelo’s divine breasts!

She tasted so lovely! It was that precise spot where shadows gracefully highlighted the noble shapes of her breathing, moving bust. The heat emanating from her sweaty body made the General sweatier. She was no marble statue; she was flesh that yielded readily under his touch, and she was far more graceful than Pygmalion’s statue that once took life to give all her love to her maker.

“You, devil! Filthy devil! Noo! No! Don’t! Please, no! Stop this! Noo!”

Consuelo kept cursing at the General, who was now licking and kissing her navel and abdomen, all just as graceful as the rest of her. The old shark had an uncanny ability to deduce and understand her most secret desires.

She felt he knew that each time she cursed and protested, she was deepening that mechanical arousal in her. This was priceless! The General loved those moments that no power nor money could ever buy. He congratulated himself for his crossing of the Rio Grande. His campaign could prove very costly, but it had brought a priceless side-result -- the taking of Consuelo!

Feeling his raging erection as it pushed hard at the front of his trousers, General Santa Anna went further down on Consuelo's unwilling abdomen. He felt her writhing and enjoyed it. Heard her father's powerless threats and liked them even more. First washing her skin with tequila, he let his tongue mark his territory with slobber right down her navel and he went further down, all the way to Consuelo’s cunt bush of luxuriant hair that matched the shadow of her aristocratic hair, now loose and free under the Texas wind as she lay naked against that cannon, her wrists and ankles prisoners of his troops, who all anticipated the pleasure of watching their General take the fort's most prized girl.

When the General started to directly wash her muff with tequila, Consuelo de Quesada detonated with a loud series of high-pitched moans and screams! The General smiled as he began covering this shadow bush with kisses. He had wooed this wench a few years back when Consuelo was only fourteen, even though he was married, when on a visit in San Antonio. Her father had showed him the door upon finding his daughter being courted without honorable intentions, by a married man old enough to be her father.

Now forty-two while Consuelo was nearly nineteen, the General tasted the sweet taste of revenge as he buried his tongue inside her! Hearing the loud sobs and protests from her mortally wounded father, he ignored the vile taste of semen from the previous rapes, also tasted the tequila and was fully taken by a sense of absolute conquest and victory. His erection was stiff and raging as his tongue rimmed Consuelo's pussy and forced moans and whimpers out of her.

He gave Consuelo a skillful cunnilingus as she moaned and begged and screamed amid the laughing Mexicans, who steadily kept her pinned to that cannon.

Consuelo learned that there had been a further step down for her to sink as that round of laughter deafened her and blew in her crimson face as she tried to keep herself from whimpering and failed miserably, her exhausted body ruling over her will as the General's tongue kept insisting right where she usually touched herself when alone.

She heard the outcries of her father! And she felt so ashamed! And guilty. As if it were her own fault. As if she were the one to blame for being so beautiful, so wildly desired by men. She wasn't stupid. She knew since a very young age what power she had.

And now her mind imposed its world of shameful fantasies.

"I'd rather be taken by a Negro slave than by a swine like you!" Consuelo snarled.

Her eyes moved to the spot where her father lay with a ball in his gut. She felt his gaze on her! The General's twirling tongue inside her, now another pouring of tequila on her breasts, now they were getting cupped and kneaded by that same stout Sergeant who had previously raped her -- the bear of a man began to suck them! She felt his thick beard brush her skin and it added to her forced arousal. Santa Madre de Dios! The devils! They were about to make her orgasm against her will!

Consuelo began screaming and groaning... “NNNAAOOOOOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! STop!!! STop this please no! NOT IN FRONT OF FATHER... FATHER... I'M SORR... aaaaAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa nnNNNAAOOOoooooo!!!”

And she powerfully climaxed, her tits swollen under the thickly bearded Sergeant sucking them! She squirted and gave Santa Anna the unfathomable satisfaction as he knew she was having it!

General Santa Anna got his chin and mouth wet with her juices as Consuelo came in the arms of her rapists.

“Now, señorita! Now!!!” Santa Anna said as he stood up and quickly unbuttoned his ivory white trousers under his Navy-blue jacket that was adorned with a full General’s epaulets and much gold at the bottom of his sleeves. More gold too where his buttons were neatly fastened over his handsome build.

"Now señorita! Oooh, I've waited for this moment for a long long time..."

The General let out his jutting erection, which was veiny and of a warm olive complexion with an uncircumcised, very Catholic punching head that seemed specially made to ram Consuelo.

“NOOOO! General! Nooo! Think of your honor! Noo, please…” Consuelo squealed, her eyes rounded with horror as the older man grabbed her legs and caressed her wonderfully silky skin, unable to get enough of her alluring lines.

He propped her legs all the way up and, grabbing her ankles, he brought Consuelo’s feet right at his face, where he kissed her toes and brushed the sensitive skin of her lily-white foot against his deeply olive face, enjoying her pure girliness as he began licking those dainty feet and sucking all their wonderful taste.

General Santa Anna adored a señorita’s feet. He had planned doing this from the moment he had spotted and recognized Consuelo through his spyglass as she stood by her father. Sweet victory! God had let this happen! Whatever the price fate had in store for him in exchange for this joy, Santa Anna was willing to pay. She was worth it! No other feet had such a powerful effect on him!

His men and the stout Sergeant held her for him with her legs propped straight up, where those divine feet were kept hovering near the General's face, always keeping her pinned where her back was gracing that dark cannon. Most of the soldiers restraining her had an ungodly raging erection, once again, as they enjoyed her scent and beauty, and they knew their General. When he’d be done, he would let them rape her all they wanted, again, again and again for something like two hours more. The soldiers worshiped him, and now they worshiped Consuelo even more.

“Now, señorita, now!!!” Santa Anna repeated. He showed her a condom made of sheep gut. "I could have used one of those, señorita de Quesada, but no! (He throws it away.) No, I want to feel you for real. You're worth the risk! And what if I get you pregnant! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Consuelo detonated in a fit of cursing and swearing. In thirty seconds, she said more foul words than she had in her entire life to this day. His father cried and bawled like a baby, knowing there was nothing he could do. Even God was against him by refusing to claim his life and forcing him to remain there to see THIS.

Keeping Consuelo’s feet by his face, General Santa Anna penetrated the noble señorita and felt her vagina as it tightly enclosed his cock! Oh God!!! He rammed himself deep inside her, right to the hilt! He relished this! Felt his cock expanding inside that pussy he had been wanting to know above all else. Maybe he had embarked on this whole campaign with her in mind.

And he began to gleefully rape Consuelo de Quesada, loving her predicament, re-watching in his mind the unthinkable scene where his troops gang-raped her with her back on that cannon! He kissed her feet, pressed one against his face as his men held her tightly for him while he hammered her with steady strokes, enjoying the quick build-up of pressure and knowing he wasn't going to last very long inside her!

He knew he was going to be very unwilling to release her after two days, like he had promised to James Bowie, on his honor, when they met in the General's tent a week before to discuss terms of surrender. James Bowie had refused his terms, but the General had renewed his promise. The women would all be freed after two days and two nights. Bowie was a dear friend of his. Santa Anna was grieving him. He truly meant to honor his word spoken to his fallen foe and friend. But as he approached his point of no return inside Consuelo, he realized this was going to be challenging to do.

Stooping above her and taking hold of her waist, the General watched the pale dream of her swollen tits. Her brownish nipples were dancing in silence, dancing in surreal light under the bright sun, dancing with a shimmer of tequila and his men's slobber... Yes! Yes! This was happening!

"AHrrrr! AAHRrrr! The daughter is raped! She's raped! Raped! Raped! Raped!! HaaYYaarrrh! Raped!" the maddened General kept uttering against the moving dreams of Consuelo's feet, which he kept close to his face, holding her ankles as he now pounded her with all-out urgency, while repeating the same thing in leitmotiv... "Raped! Raped! The daughter is raped! ..."

His men grinned and firmly kept her in position. Consuelo was clenching her fists above her head of flowing dark hair, tears flowing down her reddened face as the General kept pounding her while repeating "the daughter is raped" ad infinitum.

This was priceless! Without words. At last!

He bucked her with her legs up and her ankles resting on his heavy-golden epaulets. Consuelo was moaning and whimpering like a trollop in an open-sky San Antonio brothel. She suddenly arched her back, propping up her jiggling breasts as her body forced her again to climax, and she did climax, groaning and screaming, “Noooo!” Full of sweat all over...

The General had slowed down a bit, trying to gain a bit of that priceless liquor of time, but he couldn’t hold it any longer. "The daughter is raped! Raped! Raped! Raped! AAhhyyyyyAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRH I command here!! UUUGGH UUGHGHG UUNNdjhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhRRRR!!!"

Bolts upon bolts of hot semen shot deep inside Consuelo, who wailed and screamed, looking away from her dying father as the General took his relief.

The force of this explosion! The General's lower lip was trembling in the same way his legs were shivering as he found himself panting, pressing one of Consuelo's feet on his face while basking in the heat of his own semen inside her.

"General Santa Anna... shame on you!" she managed to blurt out amid her tears.

“Aaahh, Consuelo… ¡Gracias! ¡Gracias, bonita señorita!” General Santa Anna taunted her as he pulled out of her and looked down at her, taking full delight in her debasement. Her ankles slipped from his epaulets and her legs sank down, and he took the full leisure to contemplate the generous triangle of black hair between her thighs. His own semen was now leaking in a rivulet down her inner thigh on his left side. The victory was complete. Now he had really taken Fort Alamo.

Consuelo kept bitterly crying, looking away from her father’s prostrated figure.

General Santa Anna looked at Mr. De Quesada and smiled as he saw that the man was still alive and breathing.

“Mister de Quesada! I am so very sorry! Your daughter is too beautiful and I couldn’t help myself!”

Mr. De Quesada swore at the General, feebly in his dying condition. He was in great pain. The fat Captain had shot him right into his lower belly, and his bowels were now torturing him, more and more as time went by.

He was bleeding on that dirt in the middle of Texas, but fate refused to give him a swift death. He was forced to witness the inglorious defilement of his own flesh and blood.

The Catholic father started praying, asking for God’s forgiveness, but then he pictured the Holy Virgin in the shape and form of his daughter, in the nude, and in his mind, he was raping her with her back pinned on that cannon with her virginal tits jiggling under the sun. Consuelo was so much like her late mother at the same age!

The General put himself back together, then he nodded at his men, who rushed at Consuelo!

Her ordeal under the collective rape was resumed. She screamed her anger against fate as a tall, well-built Corporal sank inside her with absolute satisfaction. And she was forced to face his effort-twisted mug for the next couple of minutes before she felt the now-very familiar sensation of the man twitching inside her, along with the equally well-known sound of a man's final groan of relief.

Men from the country; poor men; gang-fucking her, a noble señorita. It was overwhelmingly erotic to them. And what a sense of revenge for their fallen brothers! They were gang-raping her on the very cannon that had shot canister on them!

“¡Viva la república!”

“¡La violamos! ¡La violamos!” (We're raping her! ...)

Chapter Text

Now it was a Sergeant's turn. The Sergeant stood proud and tall between Consuelo's legs, and after his round of bliss, after feeling the softness of her thighs in his hands, he half-closed his eyes and yelled one loud patriotic cry… “¡Viva, la, república!” So amazing to take her naked on that cannon!

With this liberating cry came the liberating load of jism. Each bolt of hot seed brought the unfathomable satisfaction of doing this to a noble señorita who would normally never get even close to.

Consuelo felt so powerless! They were holding her nearly horizontal! Four men on her at all times! Playing with her tits! Leering at her! Pouring liquor on her. Asking her how she loved getting gang-fucked by Mexican soldiers! And her back always warming the cannon’s steel. She now knew perfectly every little detail on that cannon.

Now it was a senior Corporal who was soon to be promoted. They were once more raping her in descending order of ranks, as per tradition.

With her father still alive and watching.

Mrs. Dickinson was still getting raped on all fours with her noble face sliding in the dirt as a Lance-Corporal of the cavalry pounded her in all urgency, and presently looked up at the cobalt sky and let out a groan of absolute delight as he dumped his load.

“Aaah, yes! We won!”

An African drummer boy replaced him. Mrs. Dickinson started yelling and protesting as the lad knelt behind her. She was not going to allow a negro inside her! She tried to get up, but a nearby cavalryman hit her and forced her to stay down on her knees and elbows, face first in the dirt with her butt high and protruding.

The boy forcefully entered her. With his African hands on the loaves of her butt, the boy raped Mrs. Dickinson deep and hard, making her feel that he had already done this before. This greatly shocked her, for he was indeed just a boy, not conceivably older than thirteen or fourteen springs!

The blonde widow got shaken in spat-spat-spat sounds, the sensual vastness of her pale butt striking him against her will, in urgent strokes, as the short boy raped her in complete frenzy, his face distorted in an expression of glee that bordered on pain. His mouth losing slobber as he quickly reached his flourish.

“AAAa, aaaAAAAAAAAAAHH!!!” the boy let out, loud and clear as he emptied his balls inside Mrs. Dickinson, his mud-brown hands clenching the crease of her white hips.

He got up and was given a bottle of tequila, from which he took a swig, but the lad coughed violently as the men patted him on the back and laughed. A Private was already renewing Mrs. Dickinson’s tour of compulsory sex duty.

Ann Blyth was no longer screaming. She was whimpering loud and clear, subjected to a rolling rotation of cavalrymen and infantrymen, who were deep into what looked like a heated contest to see who could rape her the hardest and longest. She looked so ridiculously light and fragile amid them, and yet that little body seemed to withstand the never-ending punishment.

The little Milady was now flat on her stomach and each man raping her was delightfully bouncing on the exposed display of her boyish-looking butt. Her face was eating the dry dirt of Texas under a serene sky as the forenoon sun rose and the wayward wind seemed to stop by to watch. This would be a day to remember in history.

***

Consuelo de Quesada had now been moved by two cavalry Lance-Corporals, who had watched Mrs. Dickinson being mounted from behind and were very eager to learn what Consuelo’s white butt looked like under the sun.

They bent her over the cannon, with her chest resting on the thick barrel as the senior Lance-Corporal ran his caressing hands around the contours of those heart-shaped buttocks where she usually sat when playing the piano in her father's neat hacienda.


Such a fine young lady they were having! What a booty for taking the fort! The red-coat cavalrymen were savagely aroused by her hourglass shape, their minds unable to believe they were just about to sink inside this superb señorita. The negro drummer boy was right there, close by and masturbating in a frantic attempt to bring back life in his cock, for he wanted to try her too -- today he was enjoying white pussy.

Consuelo felt that Lance-Corporal as he sank deep, leaning on her and burying his sun-baked face in her hair. He was horribly large inside her! She was forced to moan as he took her waist and began to bump her buttocks against his red-uniformed frame.

She looked around her and saw she was surrounded by cavalrymen each wearing his cuirass that shone bright under the sun, where she could see the reflection of her own rape, where she was kept leaning on the cannon, while the man behind her basked in the act of breeding the noble maiden from behind and make her groan and whimper like a common whore.

He now stood tall like a bishop in a game of chess and raped her with his eyes sunk into the fascinating display of her wide curves that seamlessly blended into her narrow waist. He looked at the cannon over which Consuelo was bent and this reinforced the fact she was war booty. General Santa Anna and the cavalry Colonel both looked on and nodded in approval.

The Lance Corporal suddenly erupted inside her. He literally died! His dying scream of glee shot throughout the fort like a cannon as he dumped an epic load. This felt so good! So God-damned good! After this battle! The Negro drummer lad kept masturbating, looking at Consuelo's feet in the dust, then up along her legs, his dark eyes violating all of her right to the all-European contrast between her fair face and her long hair of shadows.

The other Lance Corporal followed suit while the privates, an entire platoon of them, were eagerly waiting their turns. The Negro already had a semi-erection, but he also knew those white Mexicans were going to force him to wait until each of them was done.

Every man from the rank-and-file was thinking of a vast array of ways to humiliate and debase the noble señorita, but first, they all wanted to empty their stores of sperm inside her. They were brave Catholics who were afraid of going to Hell if they sodomized her. Proper military tradition called for a vaginal rape first.

The second Corporal was now grunting like a frantic baboon. It looked as if his entire reason for existing lay in the way he was bouncing Consuelo’s white bottom against him and how deep he could fuck her.

Consuelo, her tits pressed on the cannon, moaned like a cheap tramp as the barrage went on unabated…

“aaaahh, aaaahhh… Oh, Dios! ¡Por favor para! Aaahh, noo, aaaahh aaaahhh… Aaahhh Dios! Aaahh… James… ¡James! Aaaahhhh! Aaa-aaaaa…”

Consuelo shivered from head to toe, her feet planted in the sun-warm dirt, her beauty caressed by the Texas wind as she was hit by God’s finger!

The nearby men all burst out with laughter as they heard her long series of whimpers.

The junior Lance Corporal filled up the señorita in a manly way that did honor to his regiment. General Santa Anna smiled as he watched.

The cavalryman kept bouncing her against him and shook her all the way through his painfully hot ejaculation, unable not to scream as he gave Consuelo several bolts of jism. A tribute to her beauty.

Then, at last, it was the rank-and-file’s turn!

Consuelo feared for her well-being. So many men who had yet to go inside her!

She took a quick glance at her father, who lay nearly motionless. Her eyes met his. He was breathing hard. Still alive. Still watching her and so very much ashamed for having failed in protecting her from this.

Consuelo de Quesada braced herself for another session inside her sore pussy when the oldest Private of the pack lowered his light-grey flannel trousers and urgently entered inside her well-drenched cunt. They kept her in that same position where her breasts remained flattened against that cannon, so the Private took her from behind.

He had had sex with many girls over the decades, but Consuelo was in a class of her own.

The old Private soon screamed his bliss. He was replaced with another Private wearing that same cobalt-blue uniform. Once that newcomer was done with bumping Consuelo’s butt against him, he pulled out and left his spot for the next man, smiling a mile wide. That new man also proceeded to rape Consuelo from behind until he transferred his real estate of swimmers in her favour. Each man's groan was a new humiliation for Consuelo.

Many more men were still waiting and masturbating. This was going to be a very long day for the señorita. Cavalrymen had returned from their patrols, and now she was raped on and on amid a mix of blue and red uniforms.

She could even see the reflection of her face in a well-polished cuirass whenever a cavalryman stood near her face while she bobbed on and on from the relentless rapes. Consuelo wasn’t sure she knew the young woman she saw in that reflection from the shiny cuirass of a perfect stranger who was soon going to know her intimate depth.

Her father was still there to watch. God refused to let him go into the light. He kept him there in hell.

General Santa Anna sipped some more tequila and offered some to the fat Captain who stood by, grinning and basking in his post-pleasure glee. Raping Consuelo de Quesada had been delightful and he couldn’t wait to be able to do it again.

The Captain congratulated his General on his magnificent victory as he respectfully accepted the tequila and took a polite sip, his face sweating under the sun of Texas, which belonged to Mexico just as Consuelo belonged to the victorious regiment.

“The fortune of war is on our side, capitán!”

Both the Captain and the General remained there, until the last one of the rank-and-file had taken his pleasure inside Consuelo. At that point, she was down on her hands and knees, her bobbing head looking down as strokes after strokes were given her for free. Each of the remaining attackers took her from behind, finding endless renewed pleasure in those heavenly shocks from her forbidden buttocks. Consuelo was no longer singing a fancy tune while playing the piano. Her butt was no longer sitting on a fancy leather-cushion bench. She was now singing a groaning tune of despair as her butt kept striking those Mexican uniforms against her will, as each man took his delight, gunpowder still in their face, eyes like lights of disbelief as they each gave her an explosion of sperm.

Loads of them called her a tramp and made their final statement by shouting "¡Viva la República--AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

A few of them reminded her of all those times they had seen her as she stood on that wall, out of reach when they were besiegers. They did so by uttering "¡Por fin! ¡Por fin! ¡Podemos violarla!" (At last! At last! We can rape her!)

General Santa Anna wouldn't ever have tried to stop his men. They would have mutinied and raped Consuelo anyway.

The last of the rank-and-file, some unfortunate lad whose face had been hopelessly disfigured by a blast of gunpowder that had nearly killed him when a cannon malfunctioned and exploded. He knelt and licked Consuelo's angel-soft bottom in long, avid strokes of his tongue. His fellow soldiers watched him and gave him all the time he wanted, out of respect.

The disfigured lad turned Consuelo around and proceeded to suck her breasts while cupping and kneading them in his demented hands. The señorita screamed in terror when she saw his face. He silenced her as he forced-kissed her under a loud wall of cheers and catcalls from the soldiers. Her dying father watched, sunk in a state beyond horror where words had long failed.

Finally, the lad pushed his trousers down and penetrated Consuelo. Señor Don de Quesada watched his youg, soft buttocks as he began to pound her. A Lance-Corporal from the cavalry pulled out a pistol and pointed it at her head. He commanded her to "wrap her legs around her lover".

Terrified, Consuelo obeyed. As she did so, the lad inside her felt powerful and very hot. It was hopelessly painful, but knowing her father was there and watching, and horrified by this horrible face all too close, the señorita felt a dangerous mixture of loathing and arousal as she unwillingly tightened her legs around the lad and kept him a prisoner of his own lust as she crossed her ankles on top of him.

She felt the heat of his panting breaths on her face, then at her neck, and he suddenly shivered all over and yelled his bliss in her face... "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn..."

Then Consuelo felt something hot and gooey on her feet. She recognized the voice as the man groaned...

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHH MILADY! Milady, I love ya. Always had! hhhNNNHHH..."

It was Sam! The black slave had broken free and ran to her. The Mexicans had no doubt understood his intentions and no doubt thought this would be fun to watch. The Negro had been unable to wait and had ejaculated over Consuelo's feet, shouting his love for her in broad daylight as he gave her a glistening blanket of African spunk. To her father's horror as the General watched in fascination.

"This is even more fun than I had anticipated!" Santa Anna observed.

"Yes, the lady has refinement in the way she squeals. What a lovely pair of feet she has!" the fat Captain replied as he looked on. "I have the honour to have been the first man inside her, Your Excellency."

Then it came to the Negro drummer boy, whose erection was now an impressive tomahawk from Africa.

"Time for the lady to taste some slave cock I daresay!" Santa Anna said. "Hey, Mr. De Quesada! How do you like this? Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Consuelo's father knew he shouldn't look at this unreal scene, but something even fouler inside him forced him to look at that boy. He had stripped himself naked, revealing a wonderfully handsome frame that looked like dark polished leather. Dark! Like the lowest of the slaves. And there it happened. The young Negro knelt at Consuelo and motioned to her.

"On your hands and knees, white tramp!" he ordered with his boyish voice, looking comically small under his shako. Everyone laughed as Consuelo obeyed.

Santa Anna motioned at two black slaves. Both Negroes smiled as they understood. Soldiers undid their bonds and both slaves walked to where Consuelo was on all fours near the cannon, amid a thick ring of catcalling soldiers where she gave the bonniest show of aristocratic nakedness.

The Negro drummer lad knelt behind the noble señorita and put a hand on her pristine bum! He held his stiff cock, letting time stop for a fleeting moment. He immensely enjoyed this sense of dominance where he watched his African tomahawk over those pale buttocks he should never have been allowed to see.

The two slaves let loose were both strong and tall Negroes. Consuelo raised her head and realized she knew them! Thomas and John McTavish. Their master was of course dead. During the siege and even before, Consuelo had sometimes caught them looking at her. She knew they had always wanted to fuck her.

But her thoughts were put into a blur.

The drummer lad thrust his brown tomahawk inside her! Her father let out a howl of despair as he witnessed the Africanization of his own flesh and blood! Nearby soldiers mocked him! Others said she was secretly enjoying it. Most of the nearby men watched with fascination as the drummer boy began pounding Consuelo, who had long quit resisting at this point. Mr. de Quesada noticed hom submissive she was. Could it be that she was secretly finding some pleasure in this? No! This couldn't be!

Consuelo took the pounding stoically, very submissive indeed. Immorally submissive. Consuelo was weeping. She was utterly crushed by her shame. Now a Negro! Why not a dwarf with a leg missing! Something within her had broken. Her will to resist was broken.

Soon enough, the Negro exploded out of sheer delight inside her and he screamed his absolute bliss! "EEEEEEHHYYYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRH!!!"

It was so wonderful to ejaculate inside her, knowing who she was! This boy was from San Antonio! Every night when he was free from his chores, the slave boy would remain near the Quesada house and listen when Consuelo played the pianoforte while singing with the voice of a siren.

"What do you know, General Sir! A young Othello inside Consuelo de Quesada!" said the fat Captain, who found Consuelo even more erotic because she was raped by a Negro. With two taller and stronger ones waiting their turns!

“The fortune of war is on our side indeed, capitán!”

"I fear God may punish us for this. This is too beautiful a sight to go without a price."

"Don't speak like this, capitán!"

"Sorry, Your Excellence!"


***

... when Consuelo played the pianoforte while singing with the voice of a siren.

Chapter Text

There were twenty-five if not thirty male black slaves in Fort Alamo, most of them young and strong. They now belonged to the Mexican victors. Everything inside the fort belonged to the Mexican Army. Those slaves were used to obey orders from white folks, including children. Most of them had suffered all sorts of vexations from white women, some of whom loved to exert power over them as a way to alleviate boredom. A few women in the fort had even used them for sex. Mrs. O'Hara was the one they hated the most.

All the women who had been gang-raped in the chapel were herded outside while Consuelo was still being raped by the rank-and-file near the cannon. Consuelo's whimpering and begging sounded pitiful, like a lost soul, while the soldiers continued their fiesta, each one making her feel his full weight. The rapes by the Mexicans were relentless, unabated, but now the initial enthusiasm was no longer overflowing in bursts of brutality; it had taken a steadier, more methodical beat as one soldier after the other pounded her, most of them looking at the jiggling of her tits and the dancing wine of her nipples, with utter fascination, their eyes turned into white-bright lights amid their dark gun-powdered faces. Soon the man's final burst came, immediately followed by the next private who grinned and grunted as he took his turn in renewing her searing pain.

The defenseless señorita whimpered on as she got relentlessly gang-raped with military efficiency, sometimes back on the cannon, where her back warmed the wartime steel, sometimes on the ground again where dirt dirtied her feet and made them look even more precious white. With her father forced to look on by soldiers who "most kindly" attended to the long-dying man.

It was now high noon with the shortest shadows of the day. The three elder Blyth sisters, Mrs. O'Hara and all the others were less than phantoms of the proud white girls and wife they had been to this day, before they lost all they had and more inside the church. The Blyth daughters were half-naked sisters, like the three dark-haired sisters of Fate, just as mercilessly gang-raped as any other girl, now trying to hide their breasts with whatever shreds had survived from what used to be pretty dresses; their pride was nearly dead, and yet somehow recoverable, to a modest degree, due to their being so very young.

Mrs. Violet O'Hara, the widow of Staff Sergeant Patrick O'Hara, stood amid these phantom girls. Once a proud Milady. Her rich complexion hinting at her soft intimacy, which she only managed to partially hide with the surviving pieces of her ripped-open dress.

Mrs. O'Hara's pride had been obliterated beyond any hope. The beauty, her artistic black hair a mess where several Mexican hombres had wiped their cocks on, was gathering the torn remains of her dark red dress and hiding her erotic assets, accentuating the white of her skin and her figure of vulnerability as the soldiers made fun of her, looking at the bright nakedness of her legs whenever she covered up her bosom, or letting her feel their sacrilegious gazes on most of her tits whenever she hid her legs as her phantom dress failed to cover everything at once. As she did so, her panicked eyes---their emerald green light made even more intense by her very debasement---looked all around her as if hoping to find her husband or some Yankee company of saviors. But only Mexicans---and black slaves who hated her---met her eyes, with scorn and amusement. The widow displayed every sign of a girl looking for a tree and a low branch where to hang herself. The high-noon sun made her black hair intensely magnetic for all men present.

A wide-faced Sergeant, displaying the grin of one who could just as well be the leader of brigands, walked at Mrs. O'Hara and forced a kiss upon the outraged countenance she tried to make, but failed to, due to sheer exhaustion. Then the ill-shaven brute ripped the shredded remains of her once-proud dress and bared her free-moving breasts, which took the bright sun full-on and looked supernaturally white, with sun-pale nipples, sun-faint areolas, against some lost shreds of dark red fabric. He then laughed, and while soldiers laughed and whistled around her, he completely disrobed her until she was exposed from head to toe and forced to cover her pubic region with both hands, her face flushed with shame and tears, while the numerous brigands laughed their brown faces out as their gazes feasted on the unthinkable: her butt---two pale sunlit buns of female moonshine that looked out of place in broad daylight and in public display. Complete with the thin butt-crack that was to be expected of such a delicate lady who fancied herself glamorous.

This thin line of shadow was a statement confirming her all-white nakedness: it amplified the lady's curvy ass against her slim waist and the fun of her hourglass shape, with the marvelous dream of her bosom, where shadows magnified the pushed-out beauty of perky breasts that summed up some Yankee version of a make-believe Venus whose black hair looked shiny, and yet too ignorant to know that the real Venus is flava: blonde! Mrs. O'Hara only read common English, but the troops didn't care about her literary prowess or the lack of. Her ass gave their flaccid cocks a priceless feel of desire along with a sense of having missed out on this splendid opportunity to fuck a girl with such an unforgettable ass. Some of them even regretted having raped Consuelo twice!

The Sergeant---it was the same one who had first raped Consuelo immediately after the fat Captain---pushed the naked widow toward his men, who each began to forced-kiss Mrs. O'Hara, be it on her face, her breasts or her buttocks, each man taking his piece of her sensuality before pushing her away again, and again as the widow was forced to remain running in circles amid the jeering mass of black shakos and shadowed grins, alone and naked and marking Fort Alamo's ground with her bare feet, where her gentle footsteps met her dead husband's blood, as she bitterly sobbed amid the jeering assembly of infamy. Mrs. O'Hara now regretted being young and beautiful, knowing those dogs would have left her alone were she an old desiccated witch.

"Yankee witch! Yankee witch! We must punish her!" one Corporal shouted.
"Yes, but we have no more cactus milk! Too bad we all spent it inside the noble señorita de Quesada!"

"Too bad indeed!" replied some private who just had put his shako back on after indeed relieving himself inside Consuelo.

"Let's give her to her own slaves!" the Sergeant suggested. "Give her to her slaves and let's watch!"

"Yipee! Hurray for our Sergeant! Give him tequila! Weepa!"

"Weepa weepa! The Yankee witch to her own slaves!"

"Why? Give this fine lady to niggers?! What a waste!" hollered a few men.

"Come on! It will be fun to watch!" said more soldiers. General Santa Anna nodded, grinning under his gold-lined bi-corn, standing tall in his dignified uniform, golden epaulets and all, his presidential presence giving official approval to the upcoming monstrosity.

"Fun and interesting!" "Very interesting this will be!"

The Sergeant smiled wide, his unshaven face a focal point of evil, and he nodded at a group of strong slaves, about six of them, whose faces lighted up with smiles that only made their faces more African as they understood and grinned at Mrs. O'Hara, their eyes beads of dark revenge as they closed in on their naked Milady. She had nowhere to go! Mexicans were restraining her, their faces grinning as always under their shakos while she panicked! The niggers were closing in! No! She blushed as she remembered she was naked. Naked in front of her slaves!

"No... N-no! Y-you, you can't be serious!" Mrs. O'Hara stammered as she looked all around her, meeting the revenge-filled gazes of the slaves, two of whom used to belong to her husband.

"You no longer own us, Violet!" said the elder slave among them, a man old enough to be her father as attested by the silver in his woolly hair. Her former butler just called her by her first name! Unthinkable! Only her husband and her close family members enjoyed this privilege!

"Hold your tongue Henry! Or I'll have you whipped for your ins... Hey noo!"

Hilroy her former stable boy had just patted her butt! And then the whole pack of hostile niggers rushed at her! Calling her Violet and Milady at full leisure as she screamed out whatever was left of her dying sense of self. She confusedly heard the loud laughter and catcalling of the enemy soldiers who watched as the slaves---two of them her own servants---concentrated a forest of wet adoration of thick kissing lips and of heated dark hands that further intensified the pure white of her skin as they violated her in a way that defeated any attempt at depicting it with words.

Mrs. O'Hara took refuge in wild bursts of anger and cursing. "Damn you, slaves! I'll have you all hanged for this! DON'T TOUCH ME!"

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Milady is naked! Milady is in no position to threaten her good loyal Negroes!" Hilroy laughed. Hilroy was still shy of twenty years of age. He was her former stable boy, now proudly showing her a cock that one would describe as the pride of Africa. Something that belonged to a fierce Zulu warrior, something wild.

"All right, Henry you're the oldest one so you go first!"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"Shut up, Violet! All right, let's lie her down. We're all going to give her our sperm!" the ex-butler hollered, shattering any will of hers to remain noble and dignified.

"Milady's going to enjoy this! Secretly enjoy this while she screams so loud! Milady, I love your voice! Make more music for us!"

"Let's go, slave boys! Bake a brown baby inside her oven! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!" the Sergeant bellowed, cheering the niggers on as his men whistled and catcalled for "the Yankee tramp who loves Negroes deep down".

The more Mrs. O'Hara cursed and screamed at her former butler, the more Henry grew aroused. When he promptly removed his livery and showed her his athletic build without a shred of civilization hiding anything, Violet shrieked in panic, her body forgetting how exhausted she was as her eyes widened and her gaze zeroed in on Henry's cock.

With the other Negroes holding her down and spread-eagled while playing with her breasts or stroking her long dark hair, further profaning her, Violet had no choice but to endure Henry's gaze on her pussy. The sun showed the poetic triangle of her satin-black pubic hair, plainly and in the most vulgar way.

And then, the enemy's catcalling increased to a deafening cacophony as Henry made himself at home on top of his Milady, and with his stiff branch, the slave penetrated her, forcefully, without mercy, hoping to make her suffer as much as she had humiliated him and the other slaves, and Henry felt both elated and disappointed upon finder her pussy was soaking wet! She groaned in pain, but alas for the tormentor, the penetration slid easy and went all the way. But he loved it! He was now deep inside Violet, deep inside this lass he had known and desired during all those years! At last he was fucking her! Deep and brutal hard! He had to make this count!

Then it happened fast! Milady's empty threats. "Nooo noo you're all gonna hang, you bloody niggers! aaaahh aaah naaaooooooo!" Henry's grunting. His inhuman scream of relief after maybe one minute of intense pounding. The next nigger! Pounding her. More empty threats from her, more sunshine on her lost emerald eyes as she received another round of African thrusts inside her. The man's groaning relief! Then the third slave on top of her! The command to her, getting told to wrap her legs around her brown lover! She shaking her head in refusal! The former stable boy pulling her ear viciously, making her shriek while the third man raped her with a vengeance, and she obeying, her pride hopelessly crushed, as she wrapped her legs around her rapist, showing the pack her legs and feet, all bare! To her own slaves!

"Aaaaaah nnaaaaooooo a noo! Noo this can't be! Noo! God help me!"

"AAAH AAH AAAH AH AAAHH AAAH YEAHH! Milady! Good fuck! Oaaahh there it is!!! Aaaahhhh NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!"

After the third man came, the fourth was already there, already hammering her as she saw the wicked lights in his eyes. The gang-rape went on, shattering any remaining barrier between her and her former slaves. Her new masters grinned as wide as their newfound sense of freedom. The fourth man soon burst with bliss inside Violet. The fifth man, an African Apollo, gave Violet the added shame of betrayal from her own body as she got near to a climax under the nigger! More nigger sperm was dumped inside her as the black Apollo came. His slave eyes lighted up as he spat a great deal of frothing slobber on Milady's face, and he saluted how pretty she was by licking the said face with long amorous strokes as he filled her up down there, with one loud cheer from the gathered Mexicans, some of whom commented on the solid way the nigger had raped her.

Hilroy the stables hand, sensed Milady was close to her ultimate shame. When the fifth relieved man made way for him, the youngest one in the pack, Hilroy knelt by her side and used his index finger to stimulate her pussy, and then he lowered himself further where his elated mouth met her heated nipple, and as the young buck pressed his Negro face on the yielding mound of her breast, Milady moaned loud as she felt his thick lips meet her flesh where she was most sensitive, not to mention the index that slaved her pussy and forced her to moan and moan some more, louder and more intensely for all to hear.

"Now Hilroy will take you with his big cock, Violet!"

"No, Hilroy! No aaah aaah aanoooo Hilroy! Hilroy it's for-haa forbidden!"

The young African buck shifted himself to where he could see the pink entrance to her white-girl paradise. He propped her legs up, since he had always dreamed of fucking Milady with her legs up where her feet would salute his face. And with this close proximity to the socially forbidden grace of those dainty white feet, the Negro took her with her legs up and pinned under his brawny arms.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH NOO!!!" Violet uttered as Hilroy penetrated her with all his pent-up desire, and she felt how badly he had always wanted her. She was on the very brink of catastrophe but felt there was no stopping it. "NOOO THE FORT'S OVERRUN No I can't aahaaa nooo I can't be! Aaahh I'm the Milaaa aaahhdy! Can't be had, by my own slaves you're all hang nnaoooo! Aaaaa aaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaahh..."

Hilroy hammered her, feeling the glee of her vagina. At last! At last! Her white legs pinned under him! Her feet pointing up at the blue sky as she received the full brunt of his piercing love! She detonated hard and unwilling, long-moaning like a whore as she climaxed! Under his brutal pounding. Her pink pussy filled with his proud and swollen cock, filled with the pride of Africa! This while the Mexican mostly had a good laugh, with a few of them quite discontented to see a fine white lady being wasted on niggers.

The Texas sky soon echoed with Hilroy's screaming relief. He ejaculated inside Milady and she was all he had ever dreamed of!

The family reunion was concluded with all six slaves kneeling around Violet's helpless body, naked and covered with the sweat from her final shaming. Her eyes looked around her, terrified in their green light as she realized she was surrounded by six hearty cocks, each of them stiff again. Each one browner and darker than the other. Mahogany or dark coffee. Henry's was the oldest and also the darkest. Hilroy offered a warm mocha that Violet unwillingly felt like holding for a fleeting second. Then Hilroy let go of a salvo and his hot ropes of sperm soon pooled on and coated Milady's pretty face under his finishing touch of sound--his groaning!

Left and right, the five remaining slaves shot their loads! On her face, her tits! All of them groaning and grunting with their sense of fulfilled revenge! The last one, one slave named Wilbur who used to drive her coach, urgently flipped her around and propped up her butt, very crudely so, and instinctively, Violet shifted herself and rested her weight on her knees and elbows so as to avoid too much discomfort in her knees against the sandy ground of the fallen fort.

Wilbur then knelt behind Violet, and smiling like a king of the jungle, the slave turned into a proud Zulu warrior as he celebrated his victory over Europe by holding the crease of her hips and enjoyed the fantastic vastness of Violet's white butt as he rammed inside her and gave her some mighty strokes to remember for ever and always, watching those curves flatten against him with each shaking wave before he felt himself go weightless and uttered his final victory yell and erupted in raging bolts of cream as he shot an epic load inside the very Milady whose coach he used to drive quietly as she sat in it, dignified in her dress, her black hair neatly arranged under a green hat that matched the pride in her eyes, not even aware of his existence as a human, only seeing him as some trained dog---Her lady's pride was all gone now and this well-trained dog had bred her like a black stallion.

Violet's groaning face slid in the dirt along with Wilbur's bursting strokes. Naked for all to watch. Free for all to enjoy. Filled with nigger sperm. From the fanciness of her dainty feet to whatever remained of the artistic sleekness of her dark hair, Milady O'Hara was a very moving sight for the Mexicans.

The ill-shaven Sergeant and many of his men had been masturbating as they watched her getting gang-fucked by her own slaves, so forcibly that the sky stood still. This had operated a miracle. Now many Mexican tomahawks were ready for her!

Together, the band of uniformed brigands with smiles as wide as a watermelon, took and carried Violet to the cannon, where they treated themselves to the sweet surprise of a bonus gang-rape!

"Don't worry, little darling! We're gonna rape you by order of rank, with me first!" the Sergeant told her as he softly kissed her cheeks and gave her cause to learn the difference between abuse from her own slaves and the same from Mexicans. Her head was spinning and aching under the sun as the Sergeant sucked her soft white tits, learning the minute colour and details of her nipples and circling her areolas in a thorough exercise of military reconnaissance.

Then he took his trusty cock and planted it between her legs. And Violet was given an extension to her bout of whimpering and empty threats as her head got bobbing and the troop made her feel the steel on which her back was pinned as the small mob jeered at her. The Sergeant gave her a few long minutes of suffering before he gave her to see in great detail how his jaw trembled and how he sang low and cacophonic, like a bad baritone, as he exploded inside her. And the Corporal took her and gave her more of this.

Three or four more enthusiastic young fellows properly raped her just like they had Consuelo on the cannon with her fine breasts jiggling bright under the sun, their splendour a sufficient cause for their bursting loss of sperm. After she was thrown on the ground where she looked like the wretched wife of a ship Captain's wife, stripped naked on the beach by a mutinous crew who finally got to see what she looked like in the nude. With her feet lovely beacons of sanded skin, her butt a more primitive version of when she sat with a small glass of brandy, her hair a chaotic take on her black-haired Venus air of make-believe glamour. She was the wife of a dead Sergeant. A very pretty widow.

Just like Consuelo de Quesada, Violet O'Hara was one lady they never would hope to touch in normal circumstances, not even look at her too long, and now! Now they could do whatever they pleased! Those proud tits! They loved watching them in a tumult under the sun, her nipples like treasures of brown sugar as she begged them to please stop, for she was hurting. They didn't care. Those proud tits! They would press them under their hands and feel, nay drink those nipples through their hands, through their avid mouths! Those charms normally hidden, now in full bloom under the sun! Such a prize for taking the fort!

Those men who were physically sturdy enough took and enjoyed the opportunity. Violet's butt made a long-enduring show of pale-golden soft buns under the sun as most men in the rank-and-file chose to have her from behind. Her whimpers were just as adorable to hear as all the rest of her! Their fatigue gave them extended endurance, so the gang-rape was deeply felt for longer, and it usually ended with long creamy shots of sperm from South of Rio Grande. The ill-shaven Sergeant was the one who had come up with the idea of giving her to her own slaves. Now he had her for another round, this time taking her from behind like a brigand enjoying the softer side of his trade. His creative thinking was rewarded by a bonus eruption of superbly hot burst of sperm! She had a gorgeous ass that made such miracles happen.

And a sperm-magnet face that proved quite true when the tired Mexicans pushed Milady back to her former butler and the other slaves, who had true cocks and hard-working arms that they put to good use as they gave her another run for her money. Money she no longer owned as her husband was dead and for the second time, her slaves and their four brothers of color gave solid shapes and hearty thrusts to their most secret fantasies as they enjoyed Violet's soft intimacy. She had soft peachy cheeks for sure. But her ass was softest. They gave her six solid good fucks that tortured her sore pussy, before giving her showers of sperm that tortured her soul as it all landed on that same pretty face they knew so well for having seen her a proud Milady every day for years. Her green eyes and wonderful complexion drew longer, heavier shots.

***

A half company of Mexicans had just returned from a patrol around the fort. The newcomers grinned as they looked at Consuelo's naked figure and then compared with the phantom girls who had just been herded out of the chapel, this while they saw one beauty of a Milady in the nude being surrounded by Negroes who looked to be her former slaves taking revenge.

The newcomers and the young Lieutenant leading them compared Consuelo to these girls. They settled on the girls, sensing their state was a bit less exhausted than Consuelo's. Although a few of them couldn't let pass the opportunity of getting acquainted with Consuelo. They dismissed the Milady instantly and left her to her loving Negroes.

One could not say the Blyth sisters were in any sort of fresh state. But they looked comparatively less exhausted and more usable than Consuelo to the Lieutenant's young and sharp eyes. General Santa Anna nodded in approval, noticing the junior officer's good taste and marking him for a promotion to Captain---Half of all his officers had fallen to the defenders and their fine marksmanship when Davy Crockett made his final stand.

Each of the elder Blyth sisters was being helped to stand by another equally wretched sister. All their clothes were hopelessly torn. They covered their intimacy as best as they could, but what was the use? Rose-Anne had a tit showing. So did Meg. All were barefoot. Mary looked around her and saw dozens upon dozens of Mexican soldiers grinning at her. There were so many of them! And what was more concerning, they all wore their full uniform and a shako---newcomers! Fresh men! Each girl knew her ordeal was far from over. They would be raped on and on for at least two days, unless the American brigade showed up unexpectedly. Rose-Anne looked down as she heard the renewed praise on her being "so pretty it was a shame to rape her".

The Blyth sisters saw Consuelo being raped on all fours by half-drunk soldiers. They saw Mrs. Dickinson, naked, reclining on the dirt amid the ruins of her torn dress, barefoot with her bare legs folded under her. Worst of all, they heard Anne's pitiful whimpers and then they saw glimpses of her being raped amid a press of other Mexicans, some of them dark-skinned thanks to some Native blood.

The three elder sisters hugged each other and cried as they knew their baby sister was sharing the common fate. They had hoped she had managed to hide, but now those hopes were shattered. Each man made sure the small girl got properly deflowered again, and yet again. From the way they were going at it, Anne was going to die under sheer numbers. Anne was now silent, her head quietly bobbing as she lay on her back with only shreds from her defunct dress while each new man took his vile turn, sometimes for the second time. The very air was filled with musk from Mexican cocks.

"Aahyyaaaaaaaahhh... Small girl, big load!" one of them shouted amid the press as he dumped a biblical-scale load inside Ann, who lost her final E as she wept on, her face kissed and licked by the much older man who just filled her up. Ann would always remember those final grunts when he spewed his load inside her. He sounded like a pig sniffing the ground for truffles. And so did the next man who enjoyed her.

Then Mary Blyth noticed the drummer lad as he knelt behind Consuelo. A Negro! All sisters witnessed the Africanization of Consuelo, their world shattered with each stroke from the drummer boy against Consuelo's pale curves. They were hypnotized by those mud-dark hands on her! Their eyes refused to believe this.

The worst came when the boy passed his edge and bucked Consuelo in baboon-frenzy, his mouth wide open and screaming as he dumped his sludge inside her! The Blyth sisters watched in horror. Meg. Rose-Anne. Mary. Their world collapsed. They no longer knew who they were or what or where they were.

More horror came. Prompted by the General, the two waiting slaves, who had watched while masturbating, now came down upon poor Consuelo as her dying father watched. Don de Quesada wanted to close his eyes, wished to be dead, but some wild madness inside him compelled him to watch.

Rose-Anne immediately recognized the tallest of the two. Thomas, for she liked him and would always be friendly with him. Once, as she just had a bath and was by herself, barefoot in a clean dress, Thomas had happened to enter in the barn while carrying something. He had pretended to drop the saddle at her feet, and as he apologized to "young Milady" he picked it up, and while doing so, his hand had touched one of her bare feet as if by accident. She had always known this was no accident. Thomas fancied her. He had strong arms that Rose-Anne would sometimes watch when the slave wasn't looking.

That same Thomas was now holding his impressive erection as he knelt behind Consuelo, who let out a long, soul-crushing groan as the strong Negro shoved his battering ram inside her. Time stopped.

Rose-Anne saw this point where the slave's meat was inside the noble señorita. She opened her mouth and looked on in silence. All present women watched in silence and with disbelief. Except Mrs. O'Hara who was busy getting filled up by her own slaves.

Thomas grabbed Consuelo's waist and began to pound her, giving her sufficient cause to whimper. Each one of his strokes inside her made a powerful, butt smacking statement. This could happen! This was happening! Consuelo took the pounding while looking down, trying to understand her fate.

The other slave had knelt down near Consuelo's face. He grabbed her by the hair and forced her to look up at him, at his erect cock. Meg yelped in shock. He was so big! She would perhaps have been aroused, perhaps she might have, but she was far too exhausted and numbed by all the rapes she had endured inside the sacristy. She only felt shock upon shock as she watched the scene, where Thomas grunted like a sniffing pig as he bucked Consuelo and another Negro held her by the hair with his dark erection making her face strangely whiter and even prettier, in a grotesque way.

Consuelo felt the ground under her hands and knees as her delicate nostrils caught a whiff from this slave cock so close to her face! Its owner held her by her hair, painfully, and said, "Now, Milady! Now!" And he began to poke her pretty face with his cock! Masturbating, grinning and poking fun, but fearing her mouth.

The king-size cock put its brown stamp around her eyes, like one big piece of blood milk pudding on her tiny nose, on her cheeks, her closed eyes, her lips, this while her whole face and body got rocked on and on, by Thomas from behind. Consuelo felt lower than dirt upon feeling those cock stamps that destroyed her entire conception of social order. This while Thomas kept grunting like a breeding deer as he bucked her hard and good, intensifying her vaginal throbbing pain.

"Aahh Naaooo no! Please stop this, noo-nooooo... please... enough... I'll take you tomorrow but please, please have mercy!"

"Singing a different tune, aren't we, Milady? Now open your mouth and make me a happy Negro! Open your mouth I say! Open your mouth!"

But Consuelo kept her mouth shut. The slave poked her shut mouth with his mad erection, forcing her to kiss his staff! She saw all those veins from up close and felt a mad urge to take it in her hand! She was losing her reason! Raving mad! But she had never seen the cock of a slave and had heard stories about how big they could be. This one was indeed a manhood that lived up to the tall tales about it. The Negro was big! Gigantic! Each poke from it on her face seemed to lessen the pain inside her pussy as she felt her rocked body was drifting toward another unstoppable climax as the other man kept fertilizing her from behind.

Her father cried out, "Nooooooooooo! Consuelooooo!"

Watching this big fat cock at her face while Thomas kept raping her proved too much. Don de Quesada prayed for God to take his soul and end the torture, but his eyes were open and he kept breathing hard, the horror of the scene making him forget the torture in his bowels where he had been shot.

"Oh yeah! YEAH YEAH YEAH! CONSUELO! This is so good to fuck you! Aaaaaahhh! I love Milady's white butt! I've always wanted this! To fuck Milady! YEaahhh! Fuck! Fuck-fuck-fucking her!" Thomas uttered between his teeth as he kept enjoying the hot glove of her rich-girl pussy!

"Milady is a wonderful fuck! Thomas has always known this! Uughh ugh uhhh uhh Oh God and Heaven this is good! So good to fuck young Milady Quesada!"

Consuelo had to endure this praise from Thomas while having her hair pulled by the opposite Negro, who kept constantly poking his cock on her shut mouth. Then, be it fatigue or worse, some morbid curiosity as to what a slave's cock tastes like, the noble señorita opened her mouth and the grinning slave shoved it deep inside! Throat deep. Consuelo now had two niggers inside her. Mouth and pussy.

The elder Blyth sisters had no more leisure as the dashing young Lieutenant, his uniform dusty, yet impeccable, and his pack of hungry wolves civilly invited all three of them to a new carousel of forced sex in the dust. The other damsels and widows were also invited, each last one of them, by the horny soldiers, whose thirst for aguardiente was only second to their thirst for Yankee pussy. Even the older widows were put to the Mexican cocks, and some of these respectable ladies felt a weird, dark sense of joy as they found themselves the center of lust for several young men. Much to the joy of their conquistadores, those older ladies often had well-preserved assets! These brave soldiers got rid of their muskets and shakos and very urgently raped them, all of them, with quiet efficiency, and with the utmost speed, seldom removing their remaining rags, only taking their pussies and quickly bursting with sweaty eyebrows inside them, usually five or six men to a girl, while the wenches couldn't help but whimper in pain and watch Consuelo's ongoing Africanization as load upon load was spent inside them by those soldiers who came late to the party.

Rose-Anne looked at this, shaken motionless by the Lieutenant's quiet efficient strokes, eyebrows raised, mouth wide open like one big Ohhh God! For half a second, she could almost swear she felt jealous somewhere deep under the coat of semen and debasement left by the Lieutenant's First Sergeant. It covered much of her face. Crusts dead-dry under the sun, now topped by some fresh creap like hot whipped butter that stuck to her skin. And yet her eyes retained some faint life, a life linked to this fantastic Negro cock that was now filling Consuelo's mouth! Along with Thomas who was taking her like a breeding champion and making it last. His stamina was phenomenal So was the other Negro, whose cock filled her mouth Consuelo as she made muffled whimpers against that cock filling her mouth, while Thomas won much general praise with his long-enduring prowess, even from some jealous Mexicans who felt giving the señorita to dung-face slaves was a waste.

***

General Santa Anna watched in deep fascination, Rose-Anne and Meg and Mary watched in horror while being raped and platoon-fucked themselves by more soldiers from the fresh half company, as Consuelo got spit-roasted long and good by the epic pair of Negroes, whose grinning faces said it all as one held her hair and kept calling her "a good little señorita" while the other kept his hands clenching her white contrasting hips, while she relentlessly suffered with each new shock wave on her curves. Both slaves fed her more thrusts as they grinned in a nightmarish mug of shimmering skin, their teeth white under the sun as they experienced worlds of bliss tight around their cock! Milady's pussy. Milady's mouth!

Consuelo, Eve-nude, on all fours between two slaves. A moment to be remembered in infamy or in history depending on who was writing the ledger. The well-read señorita, whored by ape-men who signed their name with an X.

This was going too far, her father thought. The Mexicans had won and could do as they pleased, but there were moral limits. Don de Quesada knew, but had refused to truly admit the fact, that Consuelo would be raped along with the womenfolk when Fort Alamo would be overrun, but THIS!

"You ought to be ashamed, General Santa Anna! Allowing THIS!"

"Shut up and die!" Santa Anna replied as he grinned.

"Aaaj aaaajddd Nnnhhyyyyyyyy uuUUGGHH! M'lady fuckhh!!!" uttered Thomas as he shot long, unstoppable bolts of semen inside Consuelo, while his brother slave kept using her face as something to vent his lust with. Rose-Anne shuddered... What if Thomas raped HER? She'd scream, but scream out of what? Rose-Anne hoped to avoid such degradation. But her hope faltered as she watched how Thomas shivered and how tight he was holding Consuelo's curves. The sight was so strong Rose-Anne felt it was her who was in the hands of Thomas! This while three compadres from the fresh troop kept her on all fours and took their urgent turns inside her, keeping her ruined dress tucked up at her waist and treating her like a young wench ought to be treated in a fallen fort.

Thomas pulled out, but he remained near. He lingered, stooped over Milady and kissed her backside, his cock dripping with the seed he just gave her tribute with. Consuelo felt those thick lips there on her skin. Thomas ran his hands along her legs, then caressed her ankles, her heels, her feet. While he covered her bottom with kisses galore. The slave looked at those white legs and feet in deep disbelief. Did he truly just enjoy her?!

"Up on your knees, white tramp!" the other slave said.

Consuelo obeyed the command, out of exhaustion and also out of fascination at being given commands by a man she was ordering around only yesterday.

Thomas ran his brown hands all over her backside, often insisting on her bottom as the señorita knelt and sat on her heels, her mouth always filled with the other slave's cock.

Sam, the second slave, stood tall and proud with Consuelo at his feet. He went crazy and raped her face like a demented ape, grunting as he kept his grip on her hair and forced her to sway back and forth, like long grass under the wind, like a siren who just morphed into a maiden only to find herself raped by pirates on the beach. One of them a big son of a gun with a strong brown face and a cock incredibly enduring as he raped her face! Then he slowed down his spicy pace and spoke again.

"Not giving me orders anymore, aren't you? Now take it in your hands and give me a good mouth job and I'll go easy on you! Do it now, white tramp!"

With unfathomable satisfaction, Sam saw and felt Consuelo take his cock in her hands, her eyes in shock as she realized how huge it was.

"Kiss it! Yeaahh! Good white girl! Now start licking it and say you love niggers! Say it!"

"I... I l-love ni--n-niggers..." Consuelo blurted out as she massaged Sam's epic erection and gave it long hot strokes from her tongue. She felt it throbbing under her hands, almost as big as a loaf of bread. It was on the very brink of exploding. She was doing this?! Life as she knew it was over. Just one long piece of chocolate bread. Hard bread.

"Say it louder! We want to hear you loud and clear!" the slave commanded.

"I... I love niggers!"

"That's better. But louder!"

"I LOVE AFRICAN COCKS! YES YES I LOVE THEM!"

As she shouted this, Consuelo began to lick and slobber the slave's cock in a wild frenzy, working its full length with mouth and hands. She no longer knew where she was. He entire world was this big brown cock she was pleasuring. Maybe they'd go easy on her if she gave them some affection. And yet there was something else deep down within her. There was perhaps too much truth in the words she just uttered. There was also Thomas and his heat upon her.

Thomas kept running his hands all over her, from her derrière to the perky yielding softness of her tits, which he presently pressured from behind while giving pelvic thrusts upon her buns, feeling incredibly aroused in spite of his spent cock. And yet the scene was so fantastic that the tall slave already felt something stirring down there as he felt the unbelievable imprint of Consuelo's nipples in the palm of his callused hands. A slave's erection is easily up when social order gets upended and a rich girl becomes less than a slave.

Consuelo felt her sensitive tits in the hands of Thomas. They were forced to swell as her body took a fire of its own, and she knew this was unstoppable! She felt the urge of taking one of her hands and self-pleasure herself to give her body the climax it wanted, but she resisted it. She was not going to do this in front of her father. She refused to give Santa Anna this further satisfaction. She kept licking and caressing the throbbing cock as the slave commanded her to work faster.

"Faster! Faster! Lick lick lick, Milady! Aaah yeahhh! YEs! Sssoon soon it come!" the Negro said, caressing her heavenly hair as she quickened the pace of her tongue and kept up the gentle pressure of her hands around the massive thing.

And then it burst in glorious shots of semen! All over Consuelo's surprised expression.

Consuelo received his groaning praise in this pungent form of African cream! Her eyes closed as the shots rained down and landed and smeared her left cheek and her forehead with glistening sludge, with another shot gracing her ajar lips as she remained frozen in her surprised expression as if this mask of heat had turned her into a living statue. All this under the nigger's groans...

"AAAA AAAA AAA AAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!" He sounded like a dying man. He was dying out of sheer joy. Every little note from him was a full-blown mark of pure satisfaction. At last he gave his sperm to Milady, the prettiest one in San Antonio.

The slave screamed far and wide as he felt as if being cut in half by the massive burst of pleasure. And with unrestrained delight, he watched the sludge as it landed plump around her nose, covering her ajar mouth as she looked at him with astonishment and fascination, eyes closed as the last big pool of spunk landed directly on her nose and her left upper cheek, compounding the initial shot there.

Thomas had gained an unexpected second wind. He now bucked Consuelo in a demented fury where his hands became vises, where he painfully gripped her hips, his grunts raging on and his forehead profusely sweating as he greatly exerted himself, cursing at her, that she had been out of reach for the likes of him, tantalizing them forever! Not so now! Now she was fodder for niggers! A dump for Negro semen! She was so greatly shaken that her breasts jiggled wildly under her as she endured the barrage on her elbows and knees, forced to offer the nigger the debauchery of her protruding buttocks, that now the slave beheld like something hypnotizing him into a trance. The repeated slaps from her curves striking him on filled the place with resounding echoes. She made him look darker while he made her even whiter.

Everyone watched in silence, the soldiers and the wretched girls who could, the clothed and the half-naked. Silence. Only broken by Thomas's intense grunting. Like every Catholic, free or slave, Thomas was preter-mortally afraid of sodomy, so he didn't practice it and his large slab remained busy in Consuelo's natural hole for conception---where she was quite mortified at that point.

His final groan finally detonated and Consuelo's face blanket was thickened by a second load of seed from a bugle boy who had rushed and frantically masturbated.

Consuelo almost climaxed as she received Thomas's sperm while taken by a fit of heated moans. In addition to this renewed shame, she knew that the rapes were soon to be resumed, and then she'd be unable to keep herself from climaxing. Her father kept groaning where he watched. God refused to send Iris to cut the thread of his life with her falchion of eternal silver as his soul reverted to paganism.

"Thank you most likely, Milady Consuelo. I love your butt!" Thomas said as he rubbed his spent cock against her well-coated face, then used her hair to wipe it. But then some cavalrymen came and pushed him out of the way. And a pack of Negroes who had hoped to take their own turn inside Consuelo, backed off and kept a fear-filled distance from those Mexican privileged men that formed the cavalry---Cavalrymen usually thought they were better than everyone else.

Indeed, the cavalry Colonel rushed at Consuelo, unable to hold it any longer. He forced her down on all fours and urgently raped her, slamming her Negro-touched buttocks repeatedly against him as he filled the air with grunts that hugged her, while calling her a cheap tramp and telling her she ought to be ashamed to let Negroes fuck her, and he kept up his grunting madness until he soon was forced to utter some series of inarticulate sounds as he relieved himself. Thinking of his hacienda near Chihuahua and his wife waiting for him over there --- thinking some band of brigands would come and raid the hacienda and rape his wife along with his two daughters. Secretly imagining their brutal undressing at the hands of the desperados as he filled Consuelo with his Chihuahua pudding.

The Colonel was followed by the Major. Consuelo had no time to observe the difference in rank. She had her buttocks flattened and her swollen labia forced open again to a renewed bout of pain as the Mexican officer took her, on all fours, while the rest of the squadron waited to take her in order of rank. Consuelo's father knew the rapes would go on all day long. She knew it all too better.

***

While the cuirass-wearing Colonel was bucking Consuelo, General Santa Anna, seeing that the half company was already done with the wretched girls in phantom clothes, ordered all slaves to be let loose on them!

Rose-Anne, Mary and Meg didn't see this coming. They had hoped they'd be taken to some place where they'd be kept under custody or something. But...

Twenty-five Negroes charged forward and grabbed the prettiest women, preferring to be several on one lovely girl instead of having to make do with some older widow. Those niggers would have made fine soldiers. The result was the unthinkable before one's very eyes.

Rose-Anne shrieked as she was surrounded by slaves she all knew by name and face. With faces morphed into something demonic, they made short work of her already-torn dress and stripped her naked amid them. With disbelief in her distended eyes, she felt their hands everywhere on her. She was naked amid a bunch of slaves and not even touching the ground! She felt the sun warming her jiggling tits as one of those savages entered inside her swollen-red entrance and she shrieked in pain as the gang-rape truly began.

Meg and Mary were summarily stripped naked as well. The whiteness of their skin was soon devoured by slave hands. It was an orgy of screaming girls, shaking heads, jiggling tits under wide-eyed niggers and utter disbelief in their eyes.

Some other girls were taken as well. One cursed and yelled as she recognized an older slave, Thomas's father, as they greying Negro tore her ruined dress apart and his gone-crazy gaze suddenly basked in the pale light offered by the fun curved in her anatomy as he ragingly tore the rest of her rags off her and learned the exact shape of her patch of pussy hair, a subtle gold, for she was a blonde, this along with the sleek lines of her damsel legs in addition to the jiggling play of her freely moving breasts, small with the forbidden grace of some shepherd girl in apple blossom time---taken by animals! White breasts soon yielding under a forest of mud-dark hands.

Rose-Anne was already being raped by the second slave. Micheal, a slave in his early thirties. His jaw loose, his eyes out of their mind, he learned how tight Missie Blyth was while other slaves held each of her limbs and let her enjoy the ride without a single part of her touching the ground. She shook her head and nearly vomited. This was happening to her! She'd rather have a whole regiment of Mexicans take their turns inside her!

"Not this! Please not this! Not this!" Rose-Anne screamed as she clenched her little fists where grinning slaves held her wrists and gave her body something it never thought it would experience. A Negro's forceful touch. Only her butt-hole was protected, by religion and the strong belief that sodomy was a ticket for Hell.

The second slave was already done. Another one took his place. Rose-Anne was shaken all over again. She heard Mary and Meg. Both were screaming their life out in the hands of slaves they used to interact with and give orders to every day.

Meg's pale butt fed their erections now as they repeated the unthinkable. With glee! No shame! Just revenge and the liberating relief inside her! She was shrieking and begged them to stop, that she was hurting. Not their concern! They kept her standing and bent over, and on and on, they all emptied their nigger balls inside Milady. Her porcelain-white butt kept colliding with their savage heat while Meg went crazy!

Mary, so pretty in how she looked exactly like her twin sister, was laid down, properly naked, not a shred of clothes left on her, and she received the homage of no less than four slaves, each spending a minute of glee on top of her as she was given ample amounts of musk to arouse herself with. Now she knew what a Negro smelled and sounded like when he fucked. So did Rose-Anne her twin.

"Use them! Take your pleasure!" General Santa Anna shouted as loud as he could on top of this hurricane of rapes. "Take them! Take them. After this you'll help us clean up the fort!"

Abraham, Thomas's father, lost a great deal of frothing slobber that fell on some young widow's fancy-tea-drinking face as he uttered a long litany of baboon-sounding grunts and properly filled up the lovely widow, both his hands pressing her breasts during his finale as he told her it was "too bad your husband can't be here to see this!"

Adam, one big fat and strong slave, lost an equal amount of slobber through his mad-open mouth as he kept giving strokes to Meg's pristine curves, unbelieving he was beholding her naked butt! And driving hard inside her pussy! She was clearly in pain, but he coudn't stop! The girl had gone down on her knees and the fat slave gave her the time of day by punching deep and deeper inside her as she squealed under the brutal storm. Meg was crushed forever when she heard and felt Adam's final flourish. He sounded like a wounded animal that somehow found happiness in his suffering.

Mary shrieked and lost her mind when the fourth Negro came on top of her. It was very painful. But the humiliation was the worst. The slaves had made her wrap her legs around the naked man, and she suddenly felt something hot and goey on her feet. It was Abraham! The old slave, his wide open mouth letting a film of slobber drip down his ugly mug, was yelling some yell of victory, half human, half animal as he showered the dainty display of powerful beauty in her feet, with his sperm.

"Now, sweet little Milady, you're Africanized right down to your feet! Sorry for this inconvenience! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Rose-Anne was now being raped while lying on her back. She screamed, her breasts hurting as one of the satyrs pressed them hard as he gave her his punishing thrusts. Her aching head bobbed on and on as the short rape felt like an eternity.

The Negroes were so highly aroused that most of them gave the girls two or even three rounds of forced sex. The rapes were urgent and barbaric, the slaves acting with the fury of revenge and the hurried ways of men knowing they had but little time left before they became slaves again under their new masters. At the end, Meg, Rose-Anne, Mary, Mrs. O'Hara and a couple other girls lay naked, covered in sweat and beyond broken, beyond sobs. With Texas dirt blackening the soles of their feet.

General Santa Anna felt Meg was so lovely to watch, reclining and leaning on one side of her hips with her legs folded and her feet in plain sight, her face wearing a crust of drying semen, her eyes like ghosts wondering what the hell just happened. The General found her so lovely, that he felt like raping her immediately, but if he did this, his men would follow suit and another orgy would ensue. It was time to clean up the place and sort out the corpses.

"All right! You had your fun! Now get to work!" the General shouted for all slaves to hear.

"We'll clean up this place, and tonight we'll have a fiesta! ¡Viva la república!"

"¡Viva la república!"

The infantrymen unwillingly obeyed, their hearts filled with gratitude for their good fortune of war, but their minds lonely and longing for another meeting with Consuelo, the naked señorita, now being gang-fucked under the sun, very unwillingly, next to that same cannon who had shot its ultimate round of canister in the final moment when her father was shot in the gut by the same fat Captain who had been first inside her. And now she received the increasingly painful homages of nearly an entire squadron of cavalrymen, who were privileged and exempt of such menial tasks as gathering the bodies of Yankee defenders who had died like heroes. With the same result that was nearly always seen whenever a fort or a town fell with womenfolk in it.

Chapter Text

Don de Quesada was still alive. Barely. He prayed for dying soon. It wasn't the pain in his shot bowels. It was the prospect of being forced to watch his daughter subjected to more degrading acts. Had he not suffered enough already? He had seen an entire platoon taking their turns inside Consuelo while keeping her pinned to a cannon, and this had been just the beginning. Santa Anna himself--the bloody bastard!---had raped her as well. And then, the butt of the black joke... Consuelo had been taken by slaves!

And yet, Don de Quesada looked at Meg's naked figure and felt he'd love to have her before it's too late. He watched on as her figure looked like a bright beacon of pure grace, albeit with an air of absolute exhaustion, amid those devils raping her under the sun, when she and her sisters were being gang-raped by the returning half company. Fresh Mexican cocks to make their Yankee pussies feel the heat from the Rio Grande. Rivers of sperm inside her. Oceans of love for her body, and a world of pain and hatred for who she was---the enemy woman to be raped and humiliated now that the battle had been won.

Don de Quesada visually worshiped Meg's breasts as a jiggling pair of eye candies that filled his sense of guilt with light. In light of his sinful disposition on the very doorstep to the great Hereafter, Don de Quesada appreciated the vile distraction, since watching Meg and Rose-Anne in the arms of those newcomers with fresh shakos spared him the indignity of watching his daughter Consuelo with dust on the soles of her bare feet where she lay under yet another wave of grinning soldiers who kept yelling "viva la Republica!"

Rose-Anne was flattened under some force of nature, barely able to breathe, his wide brown-sugar face one fat smiling mask as the big soldier profusely sweat on her while calling her "bonita rosa" or "rosa de Texas" as he took great exertions inside her and kept torturing her wretched pussy, her virginity now a weirdly distant, and fading, memory, as her head bobbed on under the painful and boring torture from that heavy beast of a man.

They called him Big Pedro as they cheered him on. The young officer who obviously led them was now smoking a cigarillo and kept dusting his cobalt-blue uniform, visibly proud of the golden linings adorning his jacket and of his lone epaulet with cheap golden fringes. He was no gentleman, but most definitely fancied himself as one.

Pedro's gorilla-like grunting took most of her attention. So impossible was their encounter! His grunting gained in force and intensity as he reached this proximity of his edge. Rose-Anne had crash-gained more than enough experience to know he was soon going to be done. But it felt as if time slowed to a crawling standstill and became some shit-smelling celestial snail.

Pedro's disgusting face is what she keeps looking away from, the smallness of her dainty face constantly reminded to her by his gross voice as he kept calling her his sweet "rosa de Texas" amid that brown sun-baked face of his---a brigand's face that belongs south of the Rio Grande. Her skin is too fancy, too pure a scene for the likes of him. And yet such brutal encounters do happen when the fortunes of war feel like it.

It's an eternity written in too heavy a weight for anything to breathe. Even the words get choked under such gross enormity. The soldiers cheer him on. Pedro! Pedro el ladrón! El campeón! The young Lieutenant keeps smoking his peasant's cigarillo while still dusting his uniform and fancying himself a gentleman, already forgetting that some musket ball had missed his head by a hair during the assault. The lad has just learned he's up for promotion since his company captain was shot by Davy Crockett. Right between the eyes.

After what seems an eternity in the dirt, Big Pedro yells "AAAAAAAAAH YANKEEEEE!!!" and explodes inside Rose-Anne, who's still half-naked where her torn dress has just been crudely tucked up by and for several men who took their short-lived and urgent pleasure inside her, including Big Pedro, a Corporal who had been second inside her. Big Pedro, an illiterate peasant from Chihuahua, is now enjoying the well-read girl for the second time, this time for a bit longer. But alas for him, and merciful heaven for the young lady, everything must eventually come to an end.

Rose-Anne remained there, lying exhausted in the dust with her sisters Mary and Meg, where they formed a poignant picture of half-naked damsels with some breasts showing pale like death's milk, against the wide-open curtains of their Yankee-girl dresses, reclining and barefoot amid the fat laughs from the Mexicans.

Then came Santa-Anna's orders and Rose-Anne felt her eyes were leaping out of her face as she saw a small mob of dark-grinning slaves approaching her, their faces nearly coal-black against their evil grins as she recognized every single one of them. She tried to scream, but the massive knot inside her gullet kept her in silence as the Negroes closed in.

A pack of too-familiar faces closed the distance and she felt the unthinkable grasp around her white wrists! Raped by those men whom she had known for years... They were no longer their old selves. The new situation had turned these obedient slaves into personifications of a white girl's worst nightmare, golems that gave flesh and life to whatever dark dreams that had lain low, all along, beneath their secret thoughts when they obeyed orders from her father and the other white men, now no longer there to protect her.

And now their hands were upon her! They urgently ripped the remaining shreds of her dress! Their eyes opening wide as her tits jiggled in broad daylight, as they at last discovered her secret bush of dark hair along with her curves of child-bearing fun as they urgently disrobed her. Rose-Anne imploded as she recognized Thomas just as he engulfed her left breast inside the heat of his mouth, just as she felt another pair of thick lips covering the other one with kisses. Who was she now that Negro's tongues marked their territory around her areolas? Now that a jungle of hands silently said she was theirs? From head to toe.

"Milady! Young beautiful Milady"

"Yipeee we gonna fuck her!"

"At last! At last! I'm so hard it's painful!"

"Missie gonna feel my black hickory, little white tramp!"

"Thomas! Philip! Adam! Sam! Stop this! It's wrong!!!" Rose-Anne pleaded, her voice broken and husky as she felt all those previous rapes had been but a prelude to this---her real actual humiliation and breaking. Her moral death. Unclean! Her feet were going to burn if she even took one step inside a church! But they were like beasts! They had to know what it's like to violate Rose-Anne Blyth, the daughter of that stern Captain who had treated them like dogs for so long!

Rose-Anne found herself floating amid the horde of vociferating slaves. Each man spurred the other. She noticed some guilt in Sam's features, but with the others leading him on and prompting him to hold one of her ankles, Sam was soon calling her "a lovely little Milady he was going to fuck".

She felt Sam's grasp on her ankle and then felt hands stroking her cunt as Thomas commented on the silky softness of her hair down there. She braced herself as they pinched her nipples with the promise of pinching harder if she didn't spread out her legs. Confusedly seeing that her sisters Meg and Mary were both already bobbing their heads under repeated rapes from other slaves, Rose-Anne opened her legs for them and prayed they would make this short.

"Let's so if Rose-Anne Blyth is tighter than Consuelo de Quesada!" Thomas bellowed for all to hear as he spat on his valiant cock, whose veins and the bulging head spelled terror for the Yankee lass, who gazed at it, fascinated by this terrifying snake where the sunlight gave it a nice shimmer of slobber.

"Aaaaahhh! The master's dead! Let's take his daughters---hnnrrrrggh!" Thomas uttered as he strained and sank inside Rose-Anne, forcing a yelping scream out of her where she was held fast amid the forest of laughing hands.

Her heart sank further down in the bottomless abyss as she heard cries from Anne her beloved baby sister. They had brought her up to be raped by slaves too. And as Thomas made a forceful entry inside her, Rose-Anne couldn't help but seek her young sister... She found Anne amid a group of slaves where Abraham, the old slave who was Sam's father, was smiling with a smile to make Satan jealous as he put his hands like smears of dark mud on Anne's boyish bottom while other Negroes bent her over, and then Abraham held the small girl with such force that she stood on the tips of her toes when the old slave penetrated her, very horrifically so, and amid the vociferating, white-tramp calling confusion of her own rape, Rose-Anne saw this! Something that God should be shamed for allowing it to happen. Abraham's cock was exploring Anne! And the Negroes held the petite girl, bent over and tip-toeing with her black hair waving like a lost ship's sail under the sun.

Loud cries, grunts and cheering and catcalling assaulted Rose-Anne's ears like a loud broadside during a naval battle. Rose-Anne tried to convince herself she was in the high seas amid a pirate crew who had just captured the merchant ship she was passenger on. But she knew them all! Thomas gazed at her with laughing eyes, his head nodding at her amid his frowning efforts, nodding on, as if telling her "Do you feel me, Milady? Do you feel how deep I'm fucking you? Do you? Well, do you, tramp?" his thick lips trembling as he shot his load inside her, as she felt his hands around her waist, felt other hands on her breasts and knew this was Philip's voice as she heard the comment on her tits being just the right size for a Negro's hand and so ungodly soft. She knew this was old Abraham groaning as he came deep inside Ann.

Rose-Anne was kept floating amid the carousel from Hell as Philip, Sam and the others began passing her on between them. The worst was knowing Ann was also being passed on amid another pack of men who used to be good obedient slaves.

It was an urgent rape, beastly where everything she never thought could happen did happen.

When the Negroes were done with them, Rose-Anne, little Anne, Mary and Meg lay naked, in no particular order, in close proximity of Violet O'Hara, who was also observing the dress code--Eve nude. Eve nude and hiding her raven-black sex under trembling hands as she cried without tears and tried to her utmost to conjure whatever shreds remained of her lady's pride and deportment. Negro semen was ebbing out of her entrance. A state now shared by all young ladies.

Aunt Jemima, the portly slave who had been stripped nude and humiliated by Mexicans after they got spent from abusing Consuelo, now took her lady in her big mama's arms and Violet let her loyal servant hug her against her house-wide bosom. It was quite a sight to see---Aunt Jemima, the big naked slave with buttocks that could satiate a whole regiment, now consoling Violet, whose slim figure and white skin were polar opposites. Aunt Jemima consoled Violet as if she were her own daughter. Both of them embraced by the afternoon sun under the wayward wind.

***

A short while later, as Mexican soldiers and the satisfied slaves got busy and began to sort out the dead bodies and clean up the battle's aftermath, Anne, sobbing, her head cast down, was brought to Consuelo's father by a pair of young, grinning officers. A Captain de la Bragueta proudly announced this was his own idea while polishing his long curved mustache. To give one last sweet to a dying brave man.

Don de Quesada was still alive, barely, reclining on a wall, in great pain, but his eyes were full of lust and --- mirabile dictu --- he opened his trousers and produced a vigorous erection. Ann... De Quesada had always had a soft spot for young ladies. He indeed longed for Ann's boyish butt. She was kept standing in front of him, naked, the black triangle of her cunt a magnet of sin. He knew this was sin, that he'd go to Hell. He was terrified by the prospect, but he wanted so much to touch Ann and feel her young flesh!

Ann saw it --- Mr. Don de Quesada's erection, the same mast that sired Consuelo. She felt beyond disturbed. Beyond exhausted. No way in hell she was going to fuck him! Blood was all over him. It was disgusting! Positively disgusting! And he was far too old!

The two Mexican Captains tried to tell her not to worry about the blood, that she was going to get a bath right after! But she balked and tried to run, although she did so feebly, since she had been violated so many times it was a miracle she still could stand, barely.

The pair of Captains got angry and gave her a choice between having sex with Don de Quesada or getting a rifle shoved up her ass with the bayonet first. They pointed at a pair of sentinels who smiled at Ann, their eyes reminding her she was naked.

Reluctantly, Ann nodded and tried to look at Don de Quesada, whose lost soul had him smiling at the naked girl. She blushed faintly, loathing him with whatever energy she had left --- she had some weak sense of pride for still being there after going through so many rapes, but she had no idea who or what she was now. He looked at her from head to toe, wincing in pain from his shot gut, but nonetheless felt turned on by what he saw --- his last time having sex.

Don de Quesada was leaning against the wall, reclining. He lowered himself a bit more so his lap would be more easily accessible while his head was kept up against that white wall, where fresh ball impacts reminded Ann about the battle just fought. About her father's demise and her subsequent rapes. About her violated sisters. About this man's failure to prevent this from happening!

She hated him! Loathed him. But the Mexicans persuaded her with the strength of their arms and even better, with the threat of anally raping her with a bayonet. And soon enough, Ann was squatting down on Don de Quesada with her legs apart, where he saw his erect cock against her hairy cunt, along with the surreal sight of her breasts and all the rest of her luminous charms, her neck spiced up by the profusion of her shadow hair. He suddenly saw something strange and terrifying in her, as all his senses were enhanced by the close proximity of death.

Feeling horribly ashamed and hoping that sparing her the indignity of looking at him would save him from eternal damnation, the old fool asked Ann to turn around, the real reason being he was terrified of her face, terrified of what he now saw in her. The damsel did so, and when she squatted down again upon his lap facing away from him, Don de Quesada enjoyed the magic sight of her long raven hair against the light-filled contrast of her slim lower back, which he touched with glee as she lowered herself upon the mast he was holding for her while one of the Captains brandished a pistol and threatened to shove it inside her mouth if she failed to be a good girl.

"At last!" Don de Quesada whispered, his voice broken by his pain. "At last!" he repeated as he lovingly took Anne's waist, felt the hot tight glove of her pussy, and the young damsel began to slowly give some rhythm to his eternal damnation, her small butt strangely wide against her waist, her legs caressed by the sun as he kept his hands on her and felt his cock's growth and expansion inside her, and the natural effort tortured his mauled abdomen, and yet he kept going, knowing this would be his very last opportunity for a flourish inside a lady. Ann, her lovely figure! Ann, her lovely feet! He fell to his damnation with his cock tall and proud inside her as she gently kept up her gyrations on his lap.

"F-aa... father... are... aren't you... ashamed?!" a broken voice was heard. Consuelo's.

Don de Quesada turned his gaze. He saw his daughter, naked and down on her knees between a pair of cavalry officers, their shiny cuirass of well-polished steel where he saw a strange miniature of his own reflection---some strange old dying man on whose lap a small girl with long raven hair was bouncing herself in short quiet strokes, looking down, like a specter of doom whose only visible features were the mass of her shadow hair and the deadly white of her skin. She was Nemesis.

Don looked down toward the blood-stained dirt, greatly ashamed in front of his beloved Consuelo as he felt Ann's pussy nearly choking his throbbing erection to a deflating defeat, but for that one final hurray, his meat soon regained potency and he ran a hand on the forbidden gentleness of her leg, and she was so soft in her skin! Like fucking a young shepherdess with baby skin! On a bright summer day. Near a pond where a swan quietly remained still under a blinding sun. Then his hand met the heel of her dainty foot and as he caressed it and felt the dust on its sole, he flourished like a dying geyser inside her. Inside Nemesis! He yelled one final "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH FRGVE ME!!!" as the raging bolts of hot semen filled the girl, whose raven hair kept on their quiet, reluctant dance in a visual concert of shimmering sunlight.

Ann still felt that odious hand as he kept caressing the heel of her right foot while she kept on with her gentle cowgirl dance, under the jeers from both Captains and the sentinels, who had come closer. Another pair of soldiers, and then General Santa Anna himself, along with the fat Captain, had come along where they watched and observed the expression of horrified disgust on Consuelo's tired face as she saw the wicked joy and the air of sorry beaten dog on her father's face as he felt the ultimate drops of his relief, inside the face-down girl with that hanging mass of shadow hair.

At long last, Ann stirred and then found some unsuspected strength to get up.

"Proud of yourself now?" Ann sneered at Don de Quesada.

She then fainted as she realized she was talking to a corpse.

Consuelo stood there, standing weightless and unsure whether she should get down and cry on her father's body or stay away from a man who just raped Ann Blyth right in front of her.

General Santa Anna nodded at the sentinels, who rushed at and grabbed Consuelo, soon forcing her to bend over where one man, the most junior of the two, held her arms and kept her down and looking at the dirt, while the leading private was already dropping his light grey trousers and producing his hungry cock, for he had been another soldier late to the party and he smiled a mile wide upon the opportunity.

"Don't worry, Señorita de Quesada," the General grinned as he stooped down and put a gold coin inside her father's mouth while the leading private emitted a loud grunt as a statement of glee as he penetrated the señorita and began to pound her from behind, and followed her down as she sank on her knees, his eyes feasting on the full charms of her child-bearing hips. He had heard about Consuelo de Quesada and her beauty, but this was even better than legend had it! He was hard as a breeding bull as he kept pounding her, reveling in those shock waves of milky skin that his repeated rams kept going on her butt. Noble señorita all had incredibly white skin. The Private was happy. At last, he was having one señorita from the ruling class.

"Don't worry, Señorita, your father will have an epic funeral, a pyre! And here it is, a gold coin for the eternal ferryman!"

Each word from Santa Anna hurt her even more than those awful painful strokes that doggedly insisted inside her, where she was being used like a breeding bitch, naked and down on all fours right next to her dog-dead father.

The very last thing Don de Quesada heard as his soul departed for the Styx River was the whimpers from his daughter as the sentinel took his delight inside her, his olive hands on her intensely white curves, and soon to be followed by his conpadre.

Chapter Text

Consuelo was given the opportunity to "pray", near her departed father, with her bobbing frame rocked and locked to a steady pace, down on her knees, her hands flat on the ground, while receiving shocks from Captain de la Bragueta, while hearing his satisfied grunts and being spared the sight of his twist-mustached face and his arrogant expression. She took the abuse while looking down and stoically waiting for him, and possibly a couple others, to be done. Her world view was now all-encompassing now that she had fallen from the elite rank of noble señorita down to a regiment's favorite whore. She had fine fingers used to play the pianoforte, and dust on her hands and feet.

General Santa Anna himself felt like raping Consuelo again, but he didn't want to further debase himself in front of his men and officers. But he did masturbate, and once the last soldier present had dumped his load inside her, the General had the fat Captain pulling the señorita by her hair, forcing her up on her knees, just in time for Consuelo to receive a most generous load of Mexico pudding from the General, and it coated her peachy features with gloss, with a not-so-refined groan as an audible bonus.

The fat Captain followed suit and completed the glossy mask of heat on Consuelo's face by adding his own grain of salt, in the form of heartfelt shots of cake icing. He smiled wide as he watched the semen landing on her dog-tired face. Consuelo was always so pretty! He really loved the expression of despair and dejection she made when receiving those face shots. Adorable! He was going to have her sing all night long with an extended repertoire.

Now that Ann had fully consummated her union with Consuelo's father, she was pulled away by two soldiers, who turned out to be a Captain and a private. Ann remained silent and stoic as the gentlemen took their turns in having her on all fours, just like Consuelo was being had nearby. Ann saw this as an honor, in a very twisted way. She constantly moved between conflicting emotions as she received the pain from both men, whose hands on her seemed something freakishly familiar now as more strokes kept gently shaking any chance remnants of innocence out of her. When would those rapes come to an end?

The rapists themselves were getting bored and tired. Any sense of novelty had long faded; Ann could tell from the way they were using her. It was a lot less urgent, more similar to something a husband would give his wife after ten years of married life where he fucked her daily. She felt she had indeed endured the worth of ten years of sex in one fateful day. Her painful, swollen labia could attest to this.

The swirl-mustached Captain was done with watching the repeat collisions against Ann's bottom, and now that Consuelo had been used one more time as a semen dump and given to personally smell the sperm from the enemy General, the noble señorita and Ann were handed over to a group of cleaners tasked with washing all that sperm off the young ladies. Warm baths had been readied by men Consuelo suddenly recognized. Laundrymen from San Antonio, every single one of them Chinese. They all knew her! They knew Ann and her sisters too.

Mr. Yuan and his two adult sons smiled at Consuelo while their eyes surveyed her naked charms. It felt so strange for her to be naked in front of such men! Men in whose laundry joint she had been now and then, to go fetch the clean laundry and pay for their services in her father's behalf, as Consuelo liked being serviceable. This was the very first time she actually looked at them as men. What she now saw in Mr. Yuan was something positively ugly.

This man with a serene-looking face of light brown skin leaning on yellow, his features glowing under the sun and highlighted by his silver beard, was now looking at her in the same way a customer would size up a whore he just paid for. His two sons were tall for Chinese men, meaning they were average in height. Both laundry boys looked at the naked señorita the same way their father did, with something stretching the front of their jade-green trousers under their bright pineapple-yellow shirts with flowing sleeves.

All three chinks remained silent as they gestured Consuelo toward one of the bathtubs. Mr. Yuan came at her and gave her his usual businesslike nodding smile, pretending to be his humble servant as he gently led her by the hand, and his sons helped her as the poor exhausted señorita couldn't walk by herself. Soon, Consuelo felt the sons and their caressing hands upon her, then, once the foursome stood near the bathtub, Mr. Yuan suddenly grabbed Consuelo and forced her to share a lover's kiss with him!

What followed was another one of these situations where social order gets turned upside down during a catastrophic event, in this case the capture of San Antonia and Fort Alamo by Santa Anna's brigade. The poor, the beggars and the humble foreigners who serve the well-off citizens with the utmost deference, suddenly turn out to be something different, something to be feared.

Whatever was in Mr. Yuan's mind, beneath his benevolent, subservient expression whenever Señorita Consuelo de Quesada came into his humble laundry-shop, making that little bell chime at the door as she walked in with grace and dignity, wearing a dress that was a delight to see on her where her natural charms were hinted at by a thin waist and a dress that fell on her child-bearing hips, then it came out as the naked truth. Whatever his two adult sons would whisper about her, only between themselves, then it suddenly came to be! In broad daylight. General Santa Anna allowed it. He meant to punish and humiliate those folks who dared oppose him! He regretted having come too late in the inner fort, for he would have kept the last few defenders alive so he could mortify them through the defilement of their women. He had at least done so with the late Don de Quesada.

"May his ghost be kept here by devils where he can watch all the rest!" the General said aloud for himself.

Santa Anna himself along with a group of grinning officers, such as the fat Captain and the cavalry Colonel, watched while smoking and drinking, as Mr. Yuan and his two sons gave Consuelo the feel and taste of their secret-most fantasies involving her person.

Mr. Yuan kissed and played with Consuelo's tits in such a thorough way that she nearly climaxed from this alone, unwillingly and fueled by this sense of transgression. Mr. Yuan's touch was both firm and gentle. He was so sweet and loving in the way he assaulted her it was really terrifying. He was forcing her body to feel more at ease with his soothing touch, and it was raping her soul.

In some surprising ways, being forced into intimacy with Chinese men felt even more shocking than being at the hands of negroes---Because she had never even thought about it, not even once! To her, those plum-faced men had only existed to wash her laundry and her father's. So it felt profoundly strange and fascinating, and surprisingly degrading, even more so than being subjected to the brutally terrifying experience she had with Thomas and the other negroes. Being raped by negroes was a señorita's worst nightmare, but this had been grimly whispered in a recess of her mind as the predictable result of a successful slave revolt, but Chinese men? They were the unknown.

Mr. Yuan ended up on top of her and fucking her tits while his two sons were respectfully waiting for their father to be done, by covering her legs and feet with their good-fortune kissing and their hands! Their hands kept caressing her legs so gently as if she were a porcelain relic, and yet those laundry boys were firm, but firm in a way she failed to describe with words. This while the father, smiling down on her with this same benevolent smile, kneaded her tits so gently, yet strongly and... and with a touch that just felt... foreign. She felt the heat from Mr. Yuan's cock, plump on her cleavage, she felt shocked to find it there where there ought to be a corset marking a respectable distance, this while the sons kept wrapping her legs and feet in a passionately foreign blanket of loving affection.

Mr. Yuan then began the sexual act itself. There was no sneering, no mocking from him. Just the pleasure of doing what he had always dreamed of doing with Señorita de Quesada, the loveliest client who had ever graced his humble joint with her dainty footsteps. At last! At last, he had tasted those lovely tits that were hinted at by her bourgeois dress, now free of any corset, free to be played with and yes, fucked! This was Mr. Yuan's favorite. He began to emit slight grunts, yet heavily loaded with never-hoped-for delight as he steadily established his groove in this tunnel of pressed tits. He loved the silkiness of her skin, almost as baby-soft as a proper Chinese girl, and the way these pastries both yielded, and the fact the one in his right hand was slightly fuller than the other one, and this whiteness of skin he was never supposed to touch...

While she was having her tits fucked, Consuelo looked at what was going on around her. Chinese laundrymen from the competing joints in San Antonio, along with old street beggars and some hobos from the city's bottom-trash---perhaps men Santa Anna had just freed from jail to press them into replacements for his dead soldiers. She and the other ladies of Fort Alamo were a signing bonus.

Ann Blyth was being mounted by some old beggar who had no teeth left and a missing forearm, and yet he twisted one arm in her back using his one remaining hand as he punished her with what was something respectable given her squealing whimpers, and her black hair formed a wide blanket where she took her first hobo deep and hard, her squealing face sliding on the harsh dirt.

Rose-Anne was having her butt kissed and licked by a man who looked like he had been dug out from a graveyard pit. Meg was under a Chinese laundryman wearing a purple shirt with his pitch-black hair arranged into a long braid that seemed intensely alive as he bobbed on along with the fury of his thrusts, Meg closing her eyes and looking away from his chink's face as he covered her rosy features with frothing slobber and branded her ears with the disgusting sound of his relief, this while another laundryman of a similar description was eagerly waiting. Mary was screaming her life out as a group of hobos of dubious character were urgently taking their turns inside her, smiling like demons as they enjoyed their small-time revenge on society.

Mrs. Dickinson was being pulled by her golden hair by another hobo who mounted her with immense fulfillment written all over his old leather face, this while the tension in her hair forced her to keep her head up, where her mouth was filled by another ruffian who knelt in front of her and brutally face-raped her while his buddy enjoyed her bottom curves the usual way, while still complaining over the fact all the younger prettier ones were already taken.

Mr. Yuan's grunting grew by a notch as he upped his pace while pressing Consuelo's tits more actively, turning back her attention to him. She spotted pearls of sweat on his forehead as his breathing further increased in depth. He was now giving full-on sweeping strokes between her pressed tits and this felt weirdly gross... and good. The constant kissing and caressing that the sons treated her legs with felt equally gross and good.

Looking to her right once again, Consuelo saw that Rose-Anne was now being bucked on all fours by that hobo whose shirt was so dirty it was dirt itself. His smile punctured a hole of joy in his dirt-crusted face as he grunted in echoes filled with the very essence of unthinkable, while Rose-Anne begged the General to have this stopped!

"Yes yes, young lady, but not before you all get punished as I see fit!" the General answered, smiling like no fiend ever did. "But don't worry, young lady, I told them to go easy on your sorry lot, knowing you're all so weak and lazy! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

As he spoke, General Santa Anna walked to the spot where Rose-Anne was getting served by the filthy hobo, her butt repeatedly forced into impactful contrasts of rolling skin against his dirty thrusts, and as he laughed, the General poured the remaining half of his glass of tequila on those Yankee buns, and the hobo hit his jackpot, looked high above at the blue sky and yelled his dazzled joy out loud for all to hear! Both his filth-crusted hands marring her curves...

"AAAA-YEEEAAAAAAAAAAAH YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!! Thank you General! I'll be your most loyal soldier!"

And with his cock spent and plopping out of Rose-Anne, the filthy hobo licked all the tequila off the fascinating vastness of her buttocks, until another hobo pushed him out of his way and proceeded to powerfully rape the young lady, and he soon had her squealing like a dying fox when he changed holes and gave her a painfully prolonged bout of anal torture, his frantic hands pressing those fun curves that used to be hidden under her Sunday dress where she sat before the sermon, by a priest whose body was now being picked up by Mexicans, and whose sacristy had been the theater of Rose-Anne's deflowering. Her naked butt curves were now being slammed against one of San Antonio's trash. This while Mrs. O'Hara was being raped with her legs propped up and pinned under the arms of a vigorous laundry chink who screamed like a whooping monkey as he filled her up with all his plum sauce, screaming, "Wou-ouhhouuuoouhh--Yeaahhh! Feels so good inside a white girl!" in Cantonese.

Mr. Yuan now heavily sweated, grunted like a rutting panda as he vigorously massaged Consuelo's tits, bringing her to the last extremity of her moral defenses against the indignity of climaxing under a chink. The silver-bearded laundryman lost his small rounded hat amid his final convulsions, grunting louder and more urgently, and then he detonated! "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNGGHH!!!"

He spewed an epic load! Ropes upon ropes that creamed Consuelo's neck, chin and her lower face with good-luck charms from the land of Confucius. Now she knew how badly he had desired her all along, how tantalizing her bosom and the rest of her dressed-up figure must have been to this humble man, usually so civil. How could she blame him? Those chinks worked so hard to keep her dresses clean! Maybe they deserved to gang-fuck a nice and well-bred señorita once in a blue moon?

Then his two sons were upon her! They gave her more opportunities to explore the notion of how badly the Chinese laundrymen had been slobbering over her and the other privileged ladies of San Antonio. In front of amused Mexicans, they bucked her like breeding studs in whatever position that first occurred---plain flat under the elder son, who said his name was Chang and he was happy to truly meet her, just before he nearly passed out from the sheer bliss of exploding inside her pain-riddled pussy. Then, powerfully from behind by the younger son, who said his name was Tong while reveling in the heated bumping her ass against him, deeply fascinated by these heavenly impacts against her, by the heart-shaped generosity of curves prompted by that same civil slimness of waist he had instantly noticed the first time he saw her. Tong did his utmost to keep going until he half-closed his eyes and surrendered to his bodily trance as he emptied the sack of his compound dreams inside the due place.

Mrs. Violet O'Hara, known in the city for fancying herself as a lady of glamorous deportment, was now groaning into a paroxysm of agony as four inmates encouraged each other to "give it deep inside her rosebud! Make her shit come out of her mouth!" as they all took turns in enjoying the incredible tightness of her rectum. And the shit remaining from her last breakfast with her now-gone husband got milked by the semen from men fresh out of jail.

***

The afternoon was growing old, with the sun going lower over the western side of Texas. General Santa Anna grinned and gave the order to give those girls the baths they needed, that enough fun was enough. But the hobos and the laundrymen didn't give the slightest sign of abating their orgy. They had been denied such extravagances for so God-damned long!

"Shall we call the guards and disperse this rabble, Your Excellency?" asked the fat Captain.

"No, not in the least, Captain Botez, not in the least. And by the way, Captain, I heard you were the first officer who made it inside the inner fort this morning. You're a Major from now on. Congratulations, Major! But do not disappoint me."

Not looking at the fat Major who nearly kissed his boots in a profusion of thank yous, General Santa Anna ordered to bring forth a pair of girls he had kept hidden up to that point.

"Captain de la Bragueta, bring forth those chink girls!"

The swirl-mustached Captain de la Bragueta, leading a squad of guards with Big Pedro as their Corporal, was all too happy to execute the order and bring forth two lovely Chinese girls he and his men had been groping while keeping them silent for quite a while.

Mr. Yuan turned ashen white as he saw his two daughters. Li and Yan, twin sisters. Wearing the dark green robes he had given them on their fifteenth New Year. He was so proud of his daughters, both hard workers who devoted themselves to their family as a proper daughter ought to. Both with luminous skin, black hair and onyx eyes like a proper Cantonese girl ought to. Those proper-girl eyes were now filled with anguish and distress.

"Now Mister Yuan," the General bellowed in plain Spanish, speaking as slow as he would to a six-year-old child. "Tell your fellow laundrymen and all the others that the party is over! Make them stop or else!"

The General grinned as he saw Mr. Yuan desperately try to stop the orgy still in full bloom. But no matter how active he was or how angry he got, Rose-Anne's face kept bobbing on from the repeated rapes from chinks and hobos, and so did all the ladies present. Even aunt Jemima was shamed and forced to copulate while her Mistress Violet kept receiving it "deep and hard inside her arse"!

Mr. Yuan's sons were no more successful in their attempts of saving their sisters' honor. They ended up getting angry and then getting beaten up by jailbird hobos.

General Santa Anna fired his pistol! The shot rung through the air. Everyone stopped.

"Now, Mr. Yuan! If you can't do a simple errand, what use do I have for you?" the General said, grinning like a devil. "If you can't obey my commands, then I'll punish you and make an example out of you! All right! The sons will be shot dead and the daughters will be raped!"

Li and Yan filled the air with piercing shrieks as the Mexican soldiers around them seized them and attacked their dresses! Mr. Yuan squealed and pleaded like a wounded dying panda as he was quickly restrained and could only watch in horror as Li and Yan were urgently made topless, their brown nipples jiggling out of their loudly torn dresses amid the shrill-screaming fracas of their dying honor, their pale tits in a striking free-moving contrast against the shreds they now had for half-dresses, amid devil-grinning soldiers, while his two sons were promptly seized by another squad of Mexicans, this one led by the fat Major, then were lined to the nearest wall and summarily shot. The fat Major checked the bodies and shot one stirring son through the head while Li and Yan kept shrieking their honor out as Captain de la Bragueta and Big Pedro finished stripping them both naked.

Mr. Yuan was a ghost of his former self as he was brought closer, where he could plainly see how the swirl-mustached officer got on top of Li while soldiers were holding her down for him and commenting on "their first time seeing a chink girl in the nude". He also saw Yan's diminutive figure nearly disappear under that enormous Corporal, who soon had the girl shrieking in pain as he broke her in.

The silver-bearded man had lost his two sons. Now he witnessed the defilement of his two daughters. General Santa Anna had known full well that the man would prove unable to stop those frenzied rapes. He had planned for this, to instill fear in his new men, to show them who he was and also for the fun of watching a couple of Chinese girls get their nakedness publicly shown and made pleasure of.

Once the Captain and the ponderous Corporal had taken their relief, came the others. The Mexicans smiled over the spotless moons Li and Yan had for a butt. The constant squealing from both girls gave added charms to their curves, added girth to the invasions inside them too. The Mexicans felt there was something profoundly fascinating in this debauchery of baby skin that was almost white. Almost. Almond white, intensified by the ink of their long silky hair. And cause enough to draw a lot of sperm from all the men.

Once the squad had passed on both daughters, Mr. Yuan was himself forced to either fuck one of his daughters or die. After he doggedly refused, the General had him seized and brought to the same spot where his son now lay, and he shared their fate.

Yan, gathering herself on the dusty ground, hugging her deep-crying sister and sharing her naked distress, watched in silent stupor as her father was summarily executed and the four-musket volley tore the air, with one definitive ball through the head four seconds later from the fat Major. Li wailed in a most pitiful cry under the slightly fading daylight, as the wayward wind carried her father's ghost to a hopefully better world. Both girls were Catholic, horrified to have seen their brothers and their father die without a confession to a priest. And they had just gravely sinned with that cheap white tramp.

Then the General pointed at Li and Yan to all the rabble he had just recruited, knowing he had to drive them hard with a carrot-and-stick discipline. He sternly ordered them to get it done with the baths for the ladies of Fort Alamo, as they had to be ready for the funerals at twilight time. He then promised them they would be allowed to have both these girls to spend the night with, and threatened to hang anyone who would think about deserting or disobeying. He was going to pay them good, in pesos or in kind.

***

Consuelo remained in a state of deep stupor the whole time a pair of hobos laughed and smiled at her as they washed her entire body, laughing louder whenever they insisted on her breasts or her buttocks, which they did often. It felt painfully nice to be fresh again, but the hands washing her were the filthiest. She felt a weird sense of sorrow for Mr. Yuan and his sons---how could she blame them? They were victims too. One day, Santa Anna and his army of pigs would pay for all this! Her thoughts returned to her dead father. She was now the head of her family. Consuelo de Quesada felt alone in the world while the ugly, teeth-missing smiling hobos washed her most thoroughly. She looked at Meg, whose naked figure graced the next tub where a pair of hobos of a similar description were washing her. She tried to smile at her, an empty smile for a damsel with empty eyes. The Blyth sisters were Consuelo's only real family left now.

The corpses had been gathered, the dead Mexicans to be buried with full military honors. The dead defenders to be burned on pyres.

One lone bugle boy stood high on a tower as he trumpeted a solemn salute for the dead as long lines of soldiers stood at attention, even saluting the falling defenders, treating those brave souls with respect and deference now that they had raped their wives and daughters and did a mighty great job of it. A lone crow added its plaintive voice to the bugle's solemn solo.

Soldiers are always calmer and better disciplined after they had what they wanted the most.

Chapter Text

It felt weird for Consuelo to be dressed again. And wearing that dusk rose plaid dress she had last worn when Colonel James Bowie was still alive, for the General had strictly ordered her to wear that dress instead of the usual black mourning dress. She and the other wretched ladies, now dressed, felt naked in front of the men as they were kindly led outside the battered fort by a group of officers, smiling in a show of fake benevolence, who helped them walking and talked to them as if they were modern knights talking to their belles.

The twenty ladies were led, helped in their tired steps, into a far and wide field, toward the western sky, where thirteen pyres had been set. Everywhere Consuelo's eyes were met with grinning soldiers wearing those same uniforms whose jackets were turning indigo under the twilight sky.

Consuelo was helped in her walking by that same angel-face bugle boy who had been one of the very first men who raped her after that disgusting fat Captain, whom she saw walking nearby, standing stocky and tall and proud as a vain cock, his uniform flamboyant as a popinjay, his gold-rimmed shako catching the last sun rays. Shadows had got gigantic, like demonic golems, and everything facing the low sun was ablaze with pure light that tallied the weight in gold of all lives lost on that day.

Thirteen pyres had been set not far from a thicket of pecan trees whose winter-naked branches loomed in silence under a grand expanse of gathering clouds---clouds like boulders of charcoal where the sky burned in fiery oranges and tawny flames meeting with a debauchery of dusk roses for a serenade in fire and silence, with some after-world peaches and amber yellows. With tiny notes of crimson in a far-away hole of light among the moving masses of colored granite clouds.

It was as if the Devil himself was attending the pagan funerals, smoking a big cigar and drinking a fiery brandy that threw their hues on the grand assembly of clouds over the dusky horizon. The very air was filled with a fool's gold.

The Blyth sisters were not spared the sight of their father's corpse, with the horrific gash atop his balding head left by the slashing saber that had slain him. The fat Major stood proud, next to his General, his saber now sleeping inside its scabbard as he watched the four daughters collapse in the strongest signs of affliction as they began to wail and pummel their chest like pagan mourners. He told his General they looked adorable with their bare feet while doing those unscripted rites. All four sisters wore black dresses, where their hands and feet acted like earth-bound beacons of paleness.

Davy Crockett's decapitated and otherwise mutilated corpse was almost shown like a trophy to the mourning ladies before being thrown on a pyre, right next to Colonel Bowie in his final sleep.

Consuelo stood and fought to maintain her stoic dignity, a few tears rolling down onto the ground where shadows faded into the night. She saw her father's corpse and didn't know what to think, other than the presence of his corpse felt like an insult to the memory of Colonel James Bowie, who she knew would have remained gallant to the bitter end, preferring to die rather than debasing himself and becoming a slave to his carnal urges.

Mrs. Violet O'Hara was nonplussed by the final sight of her husband. She felt like a mess of confusion and needed her sturdy servant, Aunt Jemima, for support so she could stand with a simulacrum of dignity. She felt the ground under her bare feet. She felt a legion of gazes concentrated on those feet of hers, even though they were veiled under the black of her dress. The presence of her bare legs and feet underneath was known. Only her dress had dignity while she had none left, but it did nothing to stop the enemy's eagerness to make her part of their fiesta later on that night. Her head was cast down under this heavy promise of her enemy's lighthearted fun.

General Santa Anna had allowed the women to fetch their best dress, but he had given strict orders---no corsets or any other underwear were allowed, and all women were to remain barefoot. Grinning officers had helped the young ladies to get dressed, which added more humiliations in their heavy ledger. Each redone button or turn-around came with the promise of another undressing. Even Ann, the naive one, knew what their game was.

Torches had been set ablaze. The sky was darkening; the fiery golden lights painting those dark boulders of clouds had faded, bye and bye, into a delicate dusk rose that formed puffy smoky shapes up there in the west, like some fading glaze of a faint strawberry that those cloud angels devoured like spiritual sorbets, all of it fading too, into an abyss where the Devil finished his smoky cigar.

The falling night was now ruled by the blazing torches that painted make-believe lights of tawny life on the dead heroes. Ann howled like some childish banshee as enemy hands lay fire to all pyres. Soon, thirteen bonfires threw lights of bright despair on Consuelo's face, accentuating the sensuality of her light-less features as she quietly sobbed and cried over her missed wedding with James Bowie. Her eyes were the dark windows on a happiness that would never be.

Mrs. Dickinson was down on her knees, praying fervently for her husband's eternal salvation, whispering how sorry she was to have lost her honor, this while all four Blyth sisters were wailing for their beloved father, especially Rose-Anne. This while Ann was now complaining she was hungry and got slapped by Meg for being "earth bound". This while the African drummer boy gazed at Mrs. Dickinson's kneeling figure and loved how the bonfires cast their voices of visual heat on the European solemnity of her golden hair, undone, for she had been very pagan in her fits of mourning, making herself look as young as Ann in the way she had undone her buttons with her breasts half-showing.

"Ashes to ashes, clay to clay..." began Father Ronaldo Gonzales, the field priest for the Mexican brigade.

"Be silent, you pig!" Consuelo suddenly barked upon finding something or someone to vent her anger on.

Father Gonzales stood silent indeed, the fire giving his face the same polish as a leather saddle as the nearest pyre roared ablaze and sent its message of war to the heavens, murky heavens that swallowed all that blazing light in their unsubstantial vastness of black satin, nay, a dark indigo where hints of twilight survived, just like a handful of slaves who had survived the battle and the subsequent sack. Thomas with the other slaves stood by at a Mexican-prescribed distance, his strong face cast down, shoulders stooping, filled with guilt for the horrors he had done to Señorita Consuelo de Quesada, then to Milady Rose-Anne Blyth, and yet, secretly filled with a deep sense of satisfied curiosity and yes, carnal fulfillment. For he had taken a Milady without her consent and heard the music of her lamentations. Twice.

All stood in silence as the deceased's melting fat hissed in the fires. The whole ceremony pierced the black stillness of the night like a fire-ball of fiery, silent madness.

***

"Shall we kill all the women tomorrow, Your Excellency?" asked the fat Major.

"Use your head and think! And try to be a gentleman for once in your life, Captain Botez!"

The fat officer became ghastly pale as he heard himself referred to by his former rank. He was being demoted for being so stupid! General Santa Anna spoke like a bored adult having to explain once more to a child where the spoon, knife and fork go when setting the table...

"Killing women and children is something the Army of the Republic of Mexico does not do. If you fear the women will talk about how we treated them, well, shame will silence them. And everybody with an ounce of common sense knows about the unwritten customs of war. To the victor the spoils. Major, tell the men and the officers they will have full sway tonight with the captive women. They'll be free to do whatever they please, except harming them. And of course no killing or maiming. Just one good fiesta!

"But tomorrow, Major, I want everyone back to full discipline! Mark my words, Major Botez! Any slacker will hang tomorrow! You'll see to it and I hope you do a good job, if you want to retain your new rank!"

Some color had returned to the fat Major upon learning he was in fact still fat and still a Major. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but felt it would be wiser to say nothing. He produced a flask of aguardiente and offered a sip to his Excellency.

"As for the slaves," the General went on while declining the offered flask. "As for the slaves, tell the Colonel of our cavalry that he is to pick men to escort a group of eight slaves on their way to General Houston. Houston will be delighted to learn that David Crockett and James Bowie are no more, since they were his main political rivals, but his men will be demoralized by the news, utterly so. Make sure all of them are colored slaves, for they will tell Houston about the garrison having been wiped out, but nothing will transpire about the women's brutal fate, and nothing must, because knowing we were especially cruel to the women would arouse their anger and raise their spirits in a legitimate desire for vengeance."

"But... why won't they... uh..."

"Why won't the negroes say anything about the women? Simple. If a black slave says the women were raped after the fort was overrun, this will imply that he SAW it happening. And the Yankees would hang him just for this. No negro shall see what only a white husband has the right to see."

"Your Excellency is brilliant! A true Napoleon of the West!"

Chapter Text

General Houston's forces and situation had been greatly overestimated by Santa Anna, who thought he was in command of a force on par with him and only three or four days away from Fort Alamo. But a crack spy whose horse was famously fast would soon inform him that he had been mistaken, that all Houston had was a company of volunteers and was on his way to Gonzales, where a militia force of untrained farmers, frontier men and other civilians of all trades and descriptions was being assembled. But on the evening of March 6th, Santa Anna thought he was facing a much more formidable force. Hence his ordering the big fiesta before a stiff return to full military discipline.

Second Lieutenant Jeb Lacey was riding as fast as he could on his way east to Gonzales, but his route was riddled with dangers. Some Comanche Indians were taking advantage of the chaos and disorder brought on by war to make raids on remote settlements, where fathers and sons had to defend their homestead against those raiding savages, or else. In addition, riding on the main road to Gonzales was out of the question. Santa Anna had sent some detachments to patrol the eastern approaches and establish a safety buffer between the Mexican brigade and Houston's alleged forces. Those detachments of Mexican cavalry didn't participate to the assault on Fort Alamo. They knew that the main brigade had likely overrun the fort; they felt happy and patriotic about this probable victory of a strategic significance; they also felt bitter for missing the grand fiesta that was very likely taking place that very night. So those small cavalry detachments were not so keen to actually watch the main road and a lot keener to raid local farms and have fiestas of their own in Texas Hill Country.

Harold McTavish was a proud Texan of Scottish heritage and a staunch Catholic. He now had two adult sons he was proud of and three younger daughters who were growing prettier with each passing month--all these girls had the freckled face and brown or brownish red hair that proclaimed their ancestry that reached back to the fierce clans who brewed wars and rivalries in the Highlands near the Loch Ness. Not to mention his wife, a strong country girl who had all it takes to make a farm work with some to spare for rearing children. March was seeding time. It was the time of the year shortly before the start of peak wildflower season.

He lived more than a day of riding away from San Antonio, now besieged by the Mexicans for all he knew. This greatly worried him. He didn't want to leave his home behind, but he also had to think of his family and their safety. His daughters' honor etched strong unspoken letters of fire in his mind, for he knew what those Mexican soldiers could do to the local populace. Every day he prayed for a strong Yankee force from the east, but this eventuality was but rumors. Winds of hearsay. Nothing more. If things got really bad and the Mexicans would pose an added threat to the usual risk from the Comanches, then he and his family would have to leave. Then he and his sons would have to join the militia and fight. Fight until the Mexican invaders be pushed back south of the Rio Grande. Little did he realized that for the Mexicans, the likes of him, the Yankees, were the invaders who had to be driven back to where they came from.

Alan McTavish, the younger brother, was nineteen. He had a very keen sight and was a crack shot. He now was the one who would hunt game and help putting meat on the table. His older brother Caleb was a bit lazy, but overall a sturdy farm hand. Caleb was better suited for peacetime. Alan had a sixth sense for looming threats. During the afternoon, he had seen trails in the sand only two miles from home. Those horseshoes... There was something odd. He couldn't exactly pin-point what it was, but something was just wrong. Those were clearly not Comanches since Indians rode without horseshoes, but they weren't American either. Mexicans! Mexican cavalry, right at their doorstep! His gut was telling him his family was in danger.

When he got home, Alan found his sister Janet in her usual needlework at the table. Janet was the in-between sister at fourteen; she smiled at him; they were a bit too fond of each other as morality would allow. Ethel and Denise were helping their mother in preparing dinner. Denise was the elder daughter at seventeen; a helpful girl, but one who also felt she was destined for greater things than being a farm girl. Ethel was but twelve years old, but already blossoming and almost looking like a grown girl; Ethel loved the country life and would spend days shepherding the lambs with Jupiter the farm dog, a German shepherd.

Then Alan saw his father, who quietly sat in a corner of the room, smoking a pipe and perusing the almanac for the year 1836. "Father! We need to set up a defense for tonight! There's Mexican cavalry nearby! At least six or seven of them!"

"Did you see them, son?" Harold asked, looking up from the almanac page where it said the crops would be exceptional this year.

"No, but I saw two trails left by horseshoes that looked weird and can only be Mexican!"

"Brother! You see threats everywhere!" Caleb chimed in just as he got back from the hens with a basket containing several eggs, which he laid on the table before kissing his mother good evening. Harold smiled. Caleb was a very good boy, the very first child they had who survived. At twenty-two, Caleb would soon get himself a wife and start a family of his own.

"Only two trails, son? But you said there were at least six of them!"

Alan sighed, a bit surprised that even his father didn't understand what was so plain to him. "Father, there were only two of them because these were scouts who most likely made a reconnaissance. They must have observed our home, the farm, and (he looked at Janet, his dearest sister and blocked his innermost thoughts) and the people living there, us! They sure made their report by now. I tell you, they'll be at least seven of them right here tonight. Hopefully not more than we can handle between the three of us. I swear to God, I'll shoot no less than two of them like dogs before..."

"Alan! Do not speak such profane words!" Rebecca his mother cut in. "Profane! Profane! Thou shalt not kill, says God! Amen!"

"Oh, brother, brother! I'm sure it's nothing! Probably just two travelers who lost their way and will go set camp somewhere five miles up there... And why would the Mexicans want to come here?"

"Caleb my dear brother, you're a great farmer, but you aren't of much use on military matters."

"Don't say this, little Alan! I can take you on and you know it!" bellowed Caleb, taking a stance where his massively strong shoulders added much brawn to his words, but Alan wasn't buying his antics, even though he was of a much slighter build.

"There's no time for quarreling, Caleb! You'll be a farmer and a mighty good one, but me, I'll be a soldier and hopefully a good one! The Mexicans are cavalry, very likely to belong to one of the small detachments sent out by the enemy General to keep an eye on the eastern road, because that's where General Houston and his militia will come from when he does march against Santa Anna. Fort Alamo is now besieged and will most likely fall soon, for only 150 men defending it can't hold for very long against a full brigade of two thousands. And when the fort does fall (Alan once more looked at Janet, whose long hair of a warm brown gently spoke to his unspoken dreams), when the fort gets overrun, the Mexicans there will have a fiesta. So those cavalry detachments feel they're being left out of the, uh, the festivities, so they'll be looking for farms where they can make, sorry to say, some fiestas of their own."

Janet stopped her needlework and began to tremble as she thought of what those words implied.

Denise screamed in alarm, almost dropping the platter she just had taken out of a sideboard, then shouted, "Alan! This is not funny! You can't be serious! Oohh, this dreadful country life! I can't wait for the day I'll be living in Philadelphia!"

"Denise, watch your mouth!" Rebecca thundered. "I didn't raise my daughters to be scared little rabbits who dream of becoming minks or ermines! God protects the faithful, never forget this!"

"I'm telling you, father, there's a party of about seven or eight cavalry coming our way tonight. They'll wait until we're in bed so they can take us by surprise. I must go now and run to the beaver hill. The sun's already setting. I need to go take a look up there. There with any luck I'll see those bastards coming!"

"Hey, son, be careful!"

"And you said you didn't believe me, Father, how funny! But don't worry, the beaver peak can only be reached through a small winding trail that's only known to folks from around here, so I'll be safe enough! Janet, be a good lass and keep my soup warm. I won't be long!"

On this, Alan took one of the old Brown Bess rifles and he was gone. Fast and nimble, he ran through this countryside he knew like the back of his hand. The enemy had numbers going for them, but they had lost the element of surprise and they were foreigners in a land unfamiliar to them. They would be sent back with their tails between their legs! He'll see to it!

***

"Teniente! There's a farm of berries up there, past the ford of a rivulet near a forest of sycamores and pecan trees that grow thicker upstream. Me and Esteban, we went there unobserved. There's one farmer, two grown sons, so that makes three men, Yankees all of them by the white of their skin, and there's nine of us. And there's a nice-looking wife and the grand prize---three daughters that are as fresh as a spring in April! ¡Muy bonitas!"

"¡Perfectas para nuestra fiesta, Señor Teniente!"

"¡Está bien!" replied the Lieutenant, exchanging a knowing smile with the veteran Sergeant acting as his second for the patrol. "We'll strike when we're sure they're gone to bed. They won't know what hit them! And then, then... the fiesta! The whole night, just we nine of us and those three Yankee girls! Aahh, I've longed for quite a while for those señoritas! I want to know if their skin is as white as they say!"

But then, the Lance Corporal who was on the look-out interrupted the Lieutenant amid his grinning predictions. "Teniente! Caballeros are on their way to us! Oh, they're our own! Yes, our own, red coats and shiny cuirasses!"

"God dammit!" the Lieutenant spat out. "I knew it! I knew this was too good to be true! I was passed on for promotion, I'm thirty years old and still only a Lieutenant, and then, just as I'm about to get a nice trio of fresh Yankee lily-white girls, then I'll have to share with Lieutenant Velasquez! Velasquez! Always in the wrong place at the wrong time!"

Lieutenant Diego Velasquez was much younger than Lieutenant Garcia, who looked more like a highwayman with jet-black hair who styled himself a gentleman while feeling more and more condemned to a life of toiling under superiors who had more money and connections than him, under popinjays like this Lieutenant Velasquez, who had the small twirling mustache of a rich young man who knew he'd be a Colonel before thirty-five. Perhaps even President of the Republic one of these days.

Lieutenant Garcia met his colleague, offered him tequila and showed the greatest courtesy, avoiding to patronize him, avoiding like the plague to say a word or give any hint about the Yankee farm he was about to attack that night.

"Why are there only eight of you now? Where are Alejandro and Gabriel?" Garcia inquired, proud to show his less-experienced rival that he knew each and every man in the squadron by name.

"We... We lost them... Didn't hear a shot, but we found them not only three miles from here. Both dead. Throats cut with a knife. The man who did this was headed this way, so we're giving the chase... What?!" 

Some of his men had said something to Velasquez. Once he repeated, the young fortunate Lieutenant burst out in laughter.

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! So, Señor Garcia, this is what you're up to, eh? Planning to surprise attack and loot a farm, aren't you? And play with the daughters, aren't you? And you didn't want to share the spoils, eh? But hey! That man we're after... He's probably up there right now! He'll be spending the night there, so we go up there with you, and kill two birds with one stone. I want him dead! I want him alive! He killed two of my best men! I want him to die slow, to watch what we do to Yankee girls before he begs us to kill him!"

***

Jeb's hands were shaking. This was the first time he killed a man face to face. But he had no choice. Those two men were close to the rest of their group and he had to get the hell out of that creek. He had caught them from behind while they were taking a piss. The first one looked young and was handsome, most likely a son whose parents were immensely proud of. His "James Bowie" knife--the sharp knife with a blade from Sheffield that his Colonel had given him as a parting gift--Jeb's Bowie knife had ended the young man's life before the poor fellow realized it, with piss heat on his legs as he fell with a thud next to his fallen shako with that hated red white green cocard on its top.

The second man, older, was opening his mouth and making a hole of terror in his beard as Jeb pressed a silencing hand on his face, seeing the fright in his eyes as he pinned him against a large oak and pierced his stomach with that Sheffield knife, then stabbed him all the way through his gullet for good measure. Success! He had killed both foes silently, then he quickly refilled his canteen while letting his horse drink some from that rivulet before going off silently, soon riding off there as if fiends of the Pit were after him. Success. At what cost? His hands were trembling! War was dirty. As he rode on, his thoughts drifted to Consuelo de Quesada.

"Take care of her, marry her if anything happens to me," James Bowie had told him upon his leaving Fort Alamo under the night's cover. "Marry her and make her happy, Jeb. You're the best man a girl may hope for." Both he and James himself knew James Bowie would die before sunset. James made him promise on his life as he gave him his knife. There was this mix of moral righteousness and jealousy in James' eyes as they parted. Jeb would be blessed indeed if he made it out of this war alive and did marry Consuelo.

He'd always remember the day he had first seen her. She was in her room packing her things to accompany her father to Fort Alamo, refusing to leave and saying she had the duty to attend to the wounded men or even help in reloading muskets, anything to be useful and perhaps help giving the garrison a faint light of hope. On that day, she was going into a most violent and warlike siege, most likely on the losing side, and yet she exhibited an air of carefree good humor that was just like the dress and the shawl she wore--a moss-green dress with a shawl that belonged in a fancy boudoir. He instantly became her suitor.

"Consuelo! I'm going to marry you and look after you before this is over! I promise! Whatever... Whatever happens, I swear to God!" Jeb whispered as he rode on, urging his horse to teach him the meaning of haste. The poor animal was nearly exhausted after so many hours of riding, but he had to haste on, feeling that the Mexican patrol was after him. Their horses were fresher than his. They were going to catch up with him, led by the trails he left. He forded a couple of rivulets, but this wasn't nearly enough. His only chance was to find farms and rise a posse to fight off those sun-baked sons of a gun, or else hide in some woods, but then his predicament would be nearly hopeless. Better to find farms and men to help him.

Jeb found a farm by sunset; he saw one young man going out the door and running like one who knew where he was going, and there was a powerful sense of urgency in his steps. This was close to the spot where his pursuers would be camping. Too close! He had to warn those folks!

As he knocked on the door, Jeb was met with two loaded Brown Bess muskets! A father and his broad-shouldered son. Farmers who couldn't really shoot in battle, but who sure as hell couldn't miss from point-blank.

"I... I'm Lieutenant Jeb Lacey! I rode fast from Fort Alamo! I'm bearing news for General Houston."

As he spoke with a true Yankee English, the tension was gone and both men had lowered their guns.

"I'm on my way to..." then Jeb stopped speaking as his eyes met Janet's. Something happened between them. Something that usually lead to a wedding soon after. Janet blushed and pretended to turn herself into her needlework.

Harold McTavish made the introductions and nearly ordered the young officer--wearing civilian clothes--to stay for supper and the night.

"I'm very sorry to say, Sir, but you and your family are in grave danger. I must help you defend your home. My pursuers are nearby and they..."

"Pursuers? Then Alan was right! Mexicans are here!" Harold said.

"Alan, is that the young man I saw running to some place just before I rode in here?"

"Yes, Alan my son, precisely so. He saw two fresh horse trails with what looked like Mexican horseshoes. He was right!"

"Wh-where did he spot those trails?"

"Oh, I'd say two miles from here, to the south-west."

"South west? Then..."

"Then what?" the father asked.

Jeb looked at that girl who sat at the table doing her needlework, with her two sisters standing in the background, the younger one singing some lullaby.

"Then, nothing, my, my pursuers..." Jeb replied, trying not to show how alarmed he was. But Harold noticed. He turned ghastly pale and looked at his three beautiful daughters.

"We... we'll prepare our defense! They won't... I won't let them..." Harold said.

He knew. Jeb knew. Those two horse trails were from men from another patrol, meaning there were two groups of enemy soldiers now--his own pursuers, then another ten-man detachment. About eighteen men! This farm was doomed as there was no way on earth he and this man and his sons--four men overall--could hope to fend off so many attackers. Unless...

"Do you have neighbors close by?"

"I'm afraid not. The Stapletons live a good six miles from here, and then the..."

"Then you must go there at once! And the Stapletons must go to their nearest neighbors! We need to be at least nine or ten men to have a fighting chance!"

One of the girls, sensing the tension in the air, threw a frantic fit of alarmed screams. "No! Noo! No! Not this! This will come to this! I... I will die! Aaah aaaaaah aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!"

"Denise, Denise! Calm down Denise my dear!" Rebecca whispered as she took her crying daughter in her arms, while her younger daughter stopped singing her childish lullaby and looked at Denise with a puzzled expression.

"Father! Father! We must barricade the door at once and make our stand! They're coming!" Alan said, utterly out of breath after running as fast as he could from the beaver peak. "They're coming! Fifteen of them! Fifteen if not more! Two officers! I saw them in the fading twilight. They're so sure of their numbers that they're coming straight at us!"

Denise and Janet filled the log house with shrill screams of panic while their mother tried her best to keep her composure and calm them down, while trembling herself, while her twelve-year daughter kept looking at her sisters, puzzled, standing near her large dog she had just been playing with. The men had to yell to understand each other.

Alan knelt near his youngest sister.

"Ethel! Take Jupiter with you and run! Run to the Stapletons and tell Mr. Stapleton he and his wife must go at once! You must go to the Powell farm, and there Mr. Powell and his four sons will look after you."

"Why can't we all leave at once?" Caleb inquired.

"It's too late for that! Ethel can run fast and into the forest, but we and the women? The enemy will catch us and encircle us! No, we must make our stand here," Alan replied. "Take your muskets. Mother and Denise will reload for you. Me and this man, we'll go outside and take positions where we can cut them down and even out the odds. Janet will come with us and reload for us. Now!"

Before his father could say anything, Alan had nodded to Jeb and both men were outside, Janet following them with a pouch of musket balls and a horn of powder. Alan had instantly noticed Jeb was most likely a man who had had a taste of war, the best help he could get for any hope to make the miracle happen. The moon was still almost full and the sky was mostly clear, with masses of dark clouds to the west. The moon would rise before long. Then it would be easy to pick up their two officers and shoot them dead.

"I'm Jeb Lacy by the way!" Jeb said as both men took their position on a ridge about forty yards away from the house, a place where he and his new companion would shoot while mostly hidden by some shrubs. Janet was right behind them with the munitions.

"I wager you know how to recognize their officers, Mr. Lacey?"

"I recon you can too. I have one rifle and three pistols. After I fire my rifle, I'll move there to the left and fire my first pistol while Janet reloads, then move a bit more and fire the others, so we let them think there's more of us. Maybe they'll get scared."

"Let's hope so, but I... Well, let's pray this works. Here they come! I hear the hooves! Janet, stay calm sister, we need you to reload."

Jeb was greatly rejoiced to see his hands were no longer trembling now that he was about to fight what could be his very last fight. He thought of Consuelo again and felt an immense wave of sorrow as he realized that the fort must have fallen earlier that day and she was most certainly in enemy hands now. He suddenly experienced an unexpected surge of arousal as his mind's eye saw Consuelo wearing her delicate plaid dusk-rose dress, screaming amid a group of jeering Mexicans just as their vile hands ripped her dress-top open and her breasts were suddenly right there, naked and floating in a splendor of noble-white skin with the wine of forbidden nipples. Then all thinking was banned as the Mexican cavalry troop was there!

Two musket shots were heard from the house. No groan from any enemy who got hit.

"Dammit, they fired way too soon! Farmers!" Alan cursed low between his teeth as he looked for and found one officer. "Sorry father, didn't mean to offend..."

The other officer was spotted as plain as day in spite of the falling night. He had his saber out and a pistol in his other hand. He gave the loud order to attack and wipe out the vermin so he could have his fiesta...

Jeb fired his rifle and Lieutenant Velasquez's dream of being a Colonel before thirty-five exploded as his shako fell and his head got blown out of proportion. And this was a humongous inflated head to begin with. Two nearby soldiers became ashen white as they couldn't believe how much blood could gush out of just one head, but they were battle-hardened veterans and they fired their muskets at one of the house's small windows where-from the first shots had come.

The Sergeant saw Teniente Garcia fall without a sound as a ball went right through his heart. He cursed, put one knee down, and as he ordered five men to go through bushes out on the right side to flank those crack shooters, he quickly used his bayonet to rip off his white epaulets, cursing about the Mexican Army's stupidity to refuse just using chevrons to tell a Sergeant from a private. One pistol shot tore the night, a bit farther from where both shots had been fired of.

"Charge! Charge forward you shit-heads!" the Sergeant ordered to the rest of the men, pointing at the house.

That's when Alan spotted him as the surviving leader. Jeb fired his two remaining pistols from another position. As they heard those shots, the men about to charge forward hesitated. There were more Yankees than expected!

Another shot went off. The Sergeant fell while Alan gave his warm rifle to Janet, who began to reload as fast as she could while Alan took a Brown Bess musket, he aimed true at a Corporal, but the lucky bastard moved at the very last moment and he missed and cursed. Jeb came back and got back his loaded rifle from Janet.

"There are a few men coming our way! We must retreat and get to a good firing position for them."

"But the house! The house!" Janet squealed as she saw nearly ten soldiers were now charging the house.

"I'm sorry sister, but there's too many of them! We must do as Jeb says and find another position to fight those men from. I'm sorry, come!"

"Father! Mother!" Janet shouted as she burst in tears. Alan slapped her.

"Janet! Be strong! We need you strong! Come now!"

At the house, one soldier was holding his wounded shoulder, while two Lance Corporals led and all-out assault on the house, the prospect of getting their hands on Yankee girls proving stronger than their fear of more enemy than expected, while the Corporal, now in command, remained behind under cover after he heard a ball whiz past his head; this was close! He felt a deep, spine-chilling fright as his gaze met Garcia and Velasquez; both officers as dead as a door nail. He had been so close to sharing their fate! But his sense of duty made him go forward to lead his men and take the house. If more enemies came, he'd feel safer inside the house.

Caleb fired another shot and scored another miss. Both Rebecca and Denise were reloading with trembling hands, realizing there were too many of the enemy. Denise was silently crying as she put the powder in the Brown Bess by the barrel, then Harold was about to fire, but two men thrusted their bayoneted muskets like spears through the window beside him, causing Caleb to recoil and then he grabbed one enemy musket by the barrel, while a third man fired right at Caleb through that same window, and Caleb staggered and fell. Harold, through his own window, fired at that third man and shot him, but he made an easy target with his head out of the window. The Corporal and two others shot Harold and got him in the torso.

A sturdy piece of timber made the front door complain and the whole house tremble, and especially so with the sideboard used to barricade the door, as a party of four men used this makeshift battering ram in order to gain entry, while Denise knelt by her brother Caleb, who held her hands and whispered "I love you, Denise!" his dying gaze on her bosom as he took his last breath, while Rebecca knelt down and kissed the cheek of her ghastly-pale husband.

Then, Mexicans trained their muskets through the small windows and ordered both women to surrender, just as the door caved in and gave way to the repeated and urgent rams from the crude timber. The sideboard had recoiled and was easily tossed aside as the soldiers invited themselves in.

Soon, the house was filled with soul-tearing screams of terror from Denise and Rebecca as the house was overrun.

Alan put a pressing hand on Janet's mouth, silencing her crying wails as she heard the screams from the house and knew it was over. Why them and not her? Such a loving mother who didn't deserve this. Denise, so delicate and always saying she was called to a better life...

Upon hearing the female screaming, the five-man party who had been sent through the bushes to take out the Yankee marksmen decided they liked to live and felt it was a lot wiser, although cowardly, to just fall back and join the fiesta inside the house.

Jeb and Alan soon understood that no one was after them. They figured out that the party who had been after them had gone back to the house.

"But Alan! We can't leave them! Alan!" Janet pleaded amid tears. "Denise! Mother! We just can't..."

"There's still at least twelve of them, Janet, and only two of us! Janet, get your senses back together and come with us, quick!"

"It would be far too dangerous to go back for the horses and supplies. We'll have to go on foot," Jeb said as he strapped his loaded rifle on his shoulder and took a sip from his canteen before offering some to Janet. They had to go and warn the Stapletons. Ethel was hopefully already there and safe with Jupiter. Jeb and Alan would lead anyone who wanted to go and reach Gonzales. And this would be a dangerous road. Mexican patrols. Comanches too. It looked and felt like the big deck of cards was stacked against America and the Land of the Free.

***

In the house, the predictable aftermath was already in full sway. Both Lance Corporals and one Corporal were now in the lead of a group of fourteen men, two of them wounded. Look-outs were picked among the most junior privates and ordered to keep an eye out for any more enemy.

"And don't worry, boys!" the Corporal added. "They'll be some girl meat enough left for you!"

Then the Corporal turned to Denise, who kept shrieking and screaming and writhing with two sturdy Mexicans restraining her, grinning at her and her bosom where her dress hugged her graceful shapes.

Caleb was dead. Harold wasn't so lucky. They had noticed he was still living. Weak, but alive. One soldier with Native blood written all over his dark-mahogany face laughed as he quickly restrained his wrists with rope.

"Now, Yankee, now you watch how we gonna rape your wife and your daughter!"

"Light up some extra candles, the show will be worth it!"

"Madre de Dios! This one will make a fine whore in Chihuahua!" the Corporal said as he gently stroked Denise's dark auburn hair.

"Don't you dare touch her!" Rebecca thundered before a bandit-looking private punched her through the stomach.

As she tried to catch her breath, Rebecca was brutally slammed head-down on the table, which men wiped clear of any tin cups and utensils as the wife was bent over the table and firmly restrained while a Lance Corporal was already undoing his white trousers, his cuirass catching the reflection of Denise as she screamed, "Mother!!!"

With tears in his eyes, Harold cursed fate for not letting him die immediately like Caleb. He had to hear the tearing shrieks of his wife Rebecca as the cavalrymen crudely bunched her dress up while restraining her flat on the table, with her face turned toward her husband. "I love you!" her lips said silently before she screamed in pain as the Lance Corporal entered inside her, grabbed her waist and began to enjoy the fruits of his hard-won victory in a concert of loud, urgent grunting as his lone unfringed white epaulet followed suit with his demented motions as he looked like one man trying to rape the wife so deep his semen would come right through her and drip down her mouth. His adrenaline-fed erection quickly reached the boiling point. His eyes changed. His legs got suddenly weak.

"Aaaaaaaaaahh NNoooooooo! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" Denise shrieked, her blue eyes lost in a forest of grinning brigands as they tore the front of her dress and found she was wearing but a simple front-laced corset, loose for comfort like most country girls preferred to wear on most days.

"This one is too pretty, Corporal. Let's strip her naked!"

"Yes, she's so white! Like a royal lady!"

"You strip her naked all you want after I'm done with her! Hrrr!" 

And as he spoke, the Corporal forced his lips on Denise's and stole her first-kiss experience from her. Denise had never had any boy in her life, nothing ever serious enough for this. Something was torn away from her, never to come back. Then the leader, his one white epaulet showing the fringes of his command, pushed her against the wall, grabbed her dress and bunched it up, all the way against her waist as he told the nearest men to hold her for him. Catcalls and whistles welcomed the white-skin show of her legs while Denise shrieked her life out and her mother was being raped face down on the table with a savage beat. Denise then met her father's gaze and her heart truly melt into ashen water as she realized he was still alive. And he was going to see THIS!

"AAAAAAAAAAHHH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNHhh..." was the Lance Corporal's statement of barbaric enjoyment as he emptied his balls inside the mother. The next man took his turn right away! The rush of the battle had turned the soldiers into beasts who had to fuck right now.

The Corporal undid his trousers, hurriedly so, and Denise screamed as if they were burning her face with a red-hot poker, upon seeing a man's thing for the first time in her life.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" the father eked out as he witnessed the horror. He suddenly realized that something inside him wanted to remain alive and see his daughter naked with that luminous skin of hers. Harold had once chanced to see Denise naked when she had gone to a nearby creek for a swim and thought she was alone; that night, Harold had been unable not to think of his own daughter naked under the sun, and he had experienced one gigantic beast of a relief inside Rebecca. 

The Corporal pinned Denise against the log wall and pushed against her tight entrance while she shrieked, "Noo! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO NOOOO Please I want to be a lady in Philadelphia! PHI-LADELPHIA NOOAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!!"

She squirmed and writhed frantically and both men holding her had to strain to keep her adrenaline-strong body from breaking away. The Corporal had forced her legs wide apart using one knee, but he couldn't get inside her as she twisted and squirmed way too much, keeping her legs now glued together and accidentally giving a most erotic show of bent legs and ankle-high shoes with a pair of dark socks covering her legs up to her knees, making her thighs intensely white against the dark red of her usual dress. This while her mother was being raped on the table with a steady beat by privates. 

"You dirty little tramp! Hnnn!!!" the Corporal thundered as he slapped her with anger. 

"AAAWWW!" 

Denise fell to the floor, where she was immediately grabbed by no less than three cavalrymen.

"All right, strip her naked and we'll take our turns from behind. I think I'll have her ass!" the Corporal hollered as he removed his cuirass to feel more at ease for this softer side of his occupation.

Denise filled the house with glass-shattering shrieks as the soldiers used a knife and made short work of her corset. Her father watched and felt vile and guilty upon experiencing arousal as the Mexicans swiftly tore her dress and her petticoat off her, revealing her pure Scottish beauty in a show of skin bathed by the golden light of oil lamps. All men in the group became hard as a breeding bull as the daughter lay naked on the floor, wailing in heart-breaking sobs as she wanted to hide her sex, but the jeering brutes held her wrists while playing with her breasts, the dark triangle of her hairy intimacy in plain sight between legs that belonged in a fairy tale, and one man, rejoicing with a scarred face and missing teeth, put the finishing touch by slashing the laces of her shoes with a knife before leaving her barefoot.

Denise was just as nude as a nude model for a painting. The crease of her cream-white hips promised of intense pleasures. Catcalls and whistles rained down on her as her new state of defilement took all wind out of her. Her father looked at her through the veil of his suffering as his shameful arousal made him want, desperately want to stay alive. Another private died inside his wife.

"O Lord All Mighty! Why did you let us down! Why? Why..." Rebecca cried out, her lips trembling as her Catholic beliefs were challenged by her own suffering, but more so by the sight of her beautiful Denise naked amid those pigs. How could God let this happen?

"It's really nice of you to let us use your wife!" the private said as he pulled out of sobbing Rebecca, who then got pulled by the hair and forced to watch as her elder daughter was forced by grinning men to remain on all fours as their leader knelt behind her, holding his eager cock like some branch of power, a scepter of carnal authority that got nearer and nearer the forbidden curves of Denise.

"Don't you dare touch my daughter!" Rebecca shouted out of maternal instinct, knowing full well those soldiers didn't understand her English anyway.

Harold looked on as the penetration occurred and Denise let out a shriek of anguish, suffering, shame, guilt and something else, all rolled into one as the brutish Corporal took her naked waist and began to punch his hungry staff inside her, each stroke destroying her virginity as she was forced to collide against the enemy who now took what he came for.

"It's really nice of you to let us use your daughter, Señor!" the same private told Harold with a smile illuminating his sun-tanned face. Harold understood enough Spanish to feel the sting of his mockery, alas.

The Corporal fully enjoyed the ride as he mounted the naked daughter from behind, the slapping sounds of their quick-repeated collisions filling the air as he soon reached his point of unblinking delight... Denise wailed and kept protesting she was a lady who was going to Philadelphia. She had always wished to sit on some chic canapé in a fashionable salon in Philly, but now her ass was cushioning the urgent strokes from an unwashed, illiterate peasant who took her virtue.

"¡Oh sí! ¡Sí! ... ¡Sí! ¡Oh, tan bueno! ¡Tan bueno!" uttered the Corporal, now sweating and panting as he tossed his shako down on the floor and began to utter an increasingly loud and urgent string of grunts, and then he looked all the way up and screamed his bliss as the raging ropes of jism got lost inside the sobbing girl.

"¡AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH, TAN BUENOO!"

After the Corporal came all the others. The Corporal had found Denise so gorgeous in the nude and he was such a good Catholic that he had--as he just realized--taken her as God intended and forgotten to sodomize her as he intended. Corporal Perez signed himself and praised the Lord for keeping him from this vile temptation. He then produced a flask of aguardiente and drank, feeling he had won the reward of a swig through his virtuous abstinence from sodomy.

Matteo used to be a burglar before getting offered an early release from jail if he served under the red, white and green flag. They even gave him back the horse he had stolen and he joined the cavalry since he was a natural-born rider. He wore the red coat of the 7th Cavalry Regiment, from Chihuahua, but his thief's instincts had never left him. After risking his life and enjoying a round of well-deserved fun inside the daughter, Matteo looked for and quickly found the family's hidden fortune--seven gold coins and more than a few silver dollars!

By the stove a small circle of satisfied cavalrymen were devouring the lamb leg and potatoes that had been intended for the family who had now lost everything. Drinking their beer too.

No more men raped the mother. Rebecca was restrained by her red hair and forced to "enjoy the show" as one by one, all the men in the group mounted Denise from behind and took their pleasure. They kept commenting her beauty, especially her ass.

"Too bad the other daughters have escaped our love! I saw them and they are really lovely, but well, this one ain't too shabby! Hrrrrr!" Esteban said as he forced his entry inside the squealing girl and began to pound her, truly enjoying those waves of repeated shocks on her flesh, holding her fairy-tale butt and looking at the lines of her legs and feet as she groaned and groaned on with each one of his thrusts, now resting her weight on her elbows to spare her bruised knees on that wooden floor, and with her face sliding, she whimpered on as yet another soldier relieved himself inside her. She hated them beyond words.

"I'm a lady, in Phi-la-delphia... A lady... Philadelphia..." Denise repeated on and on amid the grim music of her groans and whimpers while the next man pounded her until he too gave her his sperm. The rapes were urgent and brief as the battle fought had filled the men with the urgent rush to relief themselves. They screamed, almost in pain, when the relief came. Two of them had the impudence of being half-Natives with the mahogany faces showing it. This further fucked her Philadelphia dreams of glamor out of her. 

"We're really setting her record straight!" the Corporal grinned as he drank a beer, courtesy of his hosts.

Denise, her voice broken, begged them to please have mercy when she felt the anal invasion. The tenth man, or was it the eleventh, had decided to sodomize her hard and good! He was a strong young man who had raped Rebecca. Now, he said, it was time for him to try out the daughter and compare. And Denise was thus offered the honor to learn the true meaning of pain as her rectum was brutally forced open and she soon felt they were impaling her using a timber!

"Yes! Let's compare! Let's compare!" said a group of five or six young men who grabbed Rebecca and tore her dress from her in all urgency.

Harold didn't witness the dishonorable stripping of his wife. Iris the merciful had been dispatched from heaven and with her divinely sharp falchion, the goddess of the rainbow cut the thread of his life and welcomed him to the after-world by kneeling at his feet and taking his cock inside her mouth--Harold felt through her tongue and the tight pressure of her mouth that Iris often felt lonely and longing for the touch of a mortal man. She sometimes did some of Atropos's work, when she wanted to fuck.

"You can shoot your jism all over my face if you like, dear mortal!" Iris said while honoring his manhood with long, hot tongue strokes as Harold realized he was having his very last dream before being truly gone. Iris was so beautiful with her jet-black hair! He stroked those long strands of darkness as she passionately sealed her mouth around his hard cock and worked his full length! He sometimes felt the tip of her nose, that straight nose that seemed to prolong her forehead, just like the statue of an antique Greek girl he had seen once when he was very young. She wore a very interesting armor of a curious metal and he realized it was bronze. "After you bathe my face with your sperm, will you please help me out of this armor and kiss me everywhere? I want you to cross the Styx River a happy man, so please make me happy! You're so brave and strong! Oh, I love Scottish men, they're my soft spot. And yes, you may take off my sandals right now, I see you keep looking at my feet..."

The Lance Corporal and the four privates couldn't believe their eyes as they completely stripped Rebecca naked and discovered the whole of her Gaelic heritage, complete with biblical-fiery hair and a bush of auburn hair between her legs! Those legs caused men to grow hard again. They made her lie down on the table with her legs half bent, and each man touched and looked at the regions of her he liked the most, be it her breasts, the fullness of her hips or the seldom-seen sensuality of her bare feet. One private began to rub his cock against her superbly white feet and he ended up pressuring his cock between both feet, using them as a fuck place until he yelped as if struck by a fit of pain. Rebecca felt the vile heat and stickiness on her feet and knew for sure what just happened.

After a complete tour of Rebecca's body, the Lance Corporal saw that yet another man just shot his load inside the daughter, who was still getting raped on her knees and elbows like the Yankee bitch she was.

"Bring the young one here and take the mother on the floor!" Lance Corporal Rodriguez commanded, his cock once more ready to go. Moments later, he took a tour of Denise's body, taking the time to suck her tits, which he found to be the size he licked best. The girl just kept mumbling some nonsense in English he didn't understand.

"We must hurry and get gone!" the Corporal said. "The men who fled may come back with a group of local men!"

"All right, Corporal. I'll... I'll-haaahhh Madre de Dios!" Rodriguez uttered as he penetrated Denise on the table, with her legs propped up. Rodriguez was the tallest man and felt very comfortable in this position, standing up with the girl's feet on either side of his face. Those feet! Lovely pair of girly feet that caused him to swell prodigiously inside her. 

Rodriguez began to slowly pound the daughter, his eyes drinking her nakedness, especially the moving softness of her breasts and trying to decide whether her nipples and areolas were raspberry rose leaning on brown or light brown leaning on the raspberry rose. They jiggled like a song from the gods.

"I'm a... lady... Philadelphia... Fashionable... I... I wanna learn French... go to Paris..." Denise kept mumbling, her head gently bobbing along with the strokes she kept receiving down there, her legs propped up and resting on that man's chest, where she felt the enemy uniform directly against her skin, where she felt his vile touch on her! He held the most fleshy part of her thighs, or the less slim, and kept punching her Philadelphia dreams out of her. Until he trembled from head to toe, lost a great deal of frothing slobber out of his fun-open mouth and uttered a burst of indistinct sounds that got muffled in the vast alarm of his body, overwhelmed with an eruption of joy as he shot long ropes of semen to fertilize her.

She was then brought down upon the floor, face up and found herself amid a heated group of men who played with their cocks as if their eternal salvation depended on how hard and hardy they ran their hands along those cocks. She screamed in great alarm as her numbed mind realized what their game was. Just as the first man came! Plump on her breasts. Then left and right came small geysers that gave her the heat of Mexico on her face. Pungent. Sticky. She knew her father was dead when she saw his body. And through her tears, she was shocked to notice a faint smile of joy on his still face.

Then she closed her eyes and made the bitter expression of a girl who just swallowed a bite of soap as one big load landed right smack on her pretty face, with one loud beast of a groan to boot.

"Ahhh heyyeeahh! Yankee girl! ¡Aquí tiene!" uttered another man as he relieved himself on her belly.

"¡Aquí tiene, señorita! ¡Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!" she heard another one groan as he plentifully tried to fertilize her legs.

"¡Aquí tiene!" said one more who went for the wide valley between her breasts, where she felt his unholy heat.

"¡Aquí tiene!" (Here you go!) repeated the same private who had sodomized her, as he erupted on her feet and ankles. Why did he have so much?!

"¡Abre la boca!" ordered the Corporal as he grabbed the sensual red-brown of her hair and forced her up on her knees. "¡La boca! ¡Abre!"

Denise heard the threat in his voice and understood enough Spanish to instantly obey and she opened her mouth while the enemy leader kept his painful hold on her hair and masturbated, frowning down at her with his battle-crazy eyes. No, she didn't want to anger him! She wanted to survive. To survive and maybe, yes maybe go, somehow, to Philadelphia.

Enjoying the plunging view on her sperm-coated breasts, the Corporal loved her expression of terrified submission with a touch of indignation in her eyes. Blue eyes. With a sperm-coated face. With freckles around her nose. His masturbatory fury came to full fruition and as he groaned hard and sounded as if he just got shot, Denise McTavish was fully Mexicanized, with an overflow of sludge dripping down on her chin, as the Corporal forced her mouth shut and she had to drink his sperm.

"¡Está bien!" the Corporal commanded as he let Denise fall like a lifeless heap on the floor. "Get the daughter and her mother dressed and let's go! We're leaving!"

Chapter Text

Consuelo was hungry, and yet she didn't feel like eating, since she sat opposite to General Santa Anna, a pig of a man she loathed while officers around her kept kindly offering her wine and encouraging her to eat something. They behaved in a very civilized manner at this table of honor, but Consuelo, of course, knew all too well this was but a facade that masked their true nature. Most men become brigands and savages during war, this much she knew now. Mrs. Dickinson sat beside her, with her head cast down as she quietly ate her beans. 

The General's table was the only one indoors. As the weather was not so chilling and quite forgiving for the time of the year, the rest of the soldiers were having a banquet under the starry sky. There was music and ballads, for the General had taken care to bring fine singers and musicians from Mexico, knowing this goes a long way in keeping the troops happy. He had only brought male singers.

The soldiers ate together, missing the Yankee ladies very much.

However, Li and Yan her twin sister were being quietly gang-raped outside the fort, near the pyres' dying embers, by hobos who had beaten up, and killed some of, the Chinese men from other laundry joints who had tried to defend them, and now their leathery ugliness further terrorized the girls. Some soldiers came out to watch those two girls getting gang-fucked by the dregs of society; "little plum-face tramps" or "chinks", the soldiers called them. A few soldiers joined those grim festivities and learned what it felt like to kiss the surprisingly pale buttocks of a squealing Chinese girl; they learned how dark their brown nipples looked against that wonderful pale skin, and how tight they really were; a dream come true when they relieved themselves. However, the greater number of those half-drunk soldiers decided to go in town and see if there were any girls there to gang-fuck.

As for the ladies of El Alamo, the General had ordered them to be locked inside cells where they'd be served their food by young drummer boys he knew would obey his instructions not to harm the girls in any way. The cells were guarded by sodomites, who on this occasion acted like Mexican-uniformed eunuchs guarding a harem. And yet some of the bugle boys and drummer lads felt like relieving themselves, eyeing the Blyth sisters and Mrs. O'Hara with surprising ferocity for boys so young, but they were firmly opposed by an equal number of their peers, who adamantly stated that the General's orders were what they were. Fisticuffs erupted over the matter, but the Corporal in charge of the sodomites had his men separate the belligerents and went for a compromise that could turn out very demanding and costly for Mrs. O'Hara.

Aunt Jemima saw the influx of ten drummer/bugle boys who came straight at the cell she shared with her Milady, whom she loved as if she were her own child. The said boys thought they would easily put the portly slave out of the way, but they were greatly mistaken! Jemima was a big strong woman who was just as strong as a grown man, and now she'd had enough.

The cell door was too small for more than one boy at a time, and the Corporal and several of his fellow sodomites had a good laugh as they watched one boy after the other get punched and slapped or sent flying like a cry-baby doll! Those boys were small and no match for the big black woman who fought like a lioness protecting her family.

In the Blyth's cell, Ann ate nearly all her sister's supper as none of them felt like eating anything. Rose-Anne sat on a bench and aimlessly rocked her torso in gentle motions, crying without tears as the full meaning of her ordeal came crashing down on her. Meg and Mary hugged each other and sometimes kissed and comforted one another, while Ann ate. Sodomites were watching through the bars and commenting about "so much food for such a small girl".

"Hey, Diego, I like girls too. Don't you like them too?"

"Well, Luis, if the girl is pretty enough, I might want to try out and see how tight her little ass really is."

"Diego, do you guess what I think you're thinking? I mean we'll all go burn in hell after our death, so why not have a bit more fun while we can?"

Luis had made a solid philosophical argument that gained traction among his peers. The complicit sodomites present quickly turned the key and opened the cell, and soon enough, the cell was filled with cries and "leave us alone!" pleas from all four sisters.

"Which one?" Diego said.

"I really like the small girl."

"She's full of food. Do you want to have to clean up the cell after? You know we must erase all evidence. We're not supposed to do this!" Diego replied.

"Please, please, we're exhausted!" Meg pleaded for her crying sisters.

"What do you think of this one, Luis? She's really pretty with superb skin! Her butt must be very fun to explore!"

The other men with them grinned as they seized Meg and promptly removed her dress with fast efficiency, making the treasures of her youth come out of the black dress like a burst of light while taking great care not to damage it since they were actively disobeying the General's orders and risked a flogging. Rose-Anne and Mary feebly stood up and tried to rescue their elder sister, but the men easily grabbed them, and one of them began to grope Rose-Anne, exploring the notion of trying out sex with a girl. Why not? This could be interesting!

So it came to be that while the others watched or held Meg and Rose-Anne for their conpadres, the said conpadres had Meg bent over, where the generous smallness of her buttocks blew their cocks out of proportion, and Diego coated his appendix with slobber and soon had Meg using the cell as a scream chamber, her hips tightly held by Diego, who for one rare instance, took the ass of a girl and adored the experience, which was concluded by one long-winded roar of surprise and profound delight, this while the man who had first groped Rose-Anne was now indulging in the pleasures of sweeping her chimney and finding out that a hole was still a hole. At least it was better than sex with a donkey, which was tolerated in the Mexican army, as opposed to sex with a conpadre, which could get you hanged or worse, emasculated.

Upon seeing and hearing the pleasure of Diego and the other conpadres, two of the other guards decided to try out the girls as well, and this resulted in more searing pain and screaming with a husky, broken voice for Meg and Rose-Anne. Both girls were put side to side and the so-called "harem eunuchs" hotly debated which girl had the nicest and tightest ass. Then Mary was stripped naked as well, while Ann wailed, in tears, as if she were complaining of being the one left out of the fun. Mary proved to scream the loudest and shrillest when her anus was distended and used as the tight theater of Luis's second honey run inside a girl's shit chimney. When all was screamed and done, the sodomites took immense care in helping their new putanas to get dressed.

***

Meanwhile, far from the cells, in the comfortable room where she had a forced dinner with the General and his staff officers, Consuelo forced herself to eat and make a proud composure, trying to be strong in front of those men she despised. In the very same room where she and Mrs. Dickinson had that conference where they both told James Bowie and Davy Crockett that there was no way they were leaving, that it was their duty to attend to the wounded and face their fate the same as the men.

It felt very strange now for her to be eating right beside the blonde widow, who had the same air of brooding as she did on that occasion two weeks before. It was as if Mrs. Dickinson then knew what fate would be hers, while she herself was naive enough to believe that General Santa Anna and his officers would be gentlemen enough to keep their men from doing the unthinkable.

As she ate some of her spiced chilies with bacon, Santa Anna drank his Xerès wine and kept gazing at Consuelo, who wore a grey shawl and a white thin scarf over that same delicately plaid dress she wore that morning when he saw her standing on top of that white wall. A pale rose dress hinting at a bosom which he was now dying to brutally uncover. When he first rode into the overrun fort, he had predictably found her naked amid his men; and of course he had immediately enjoyed what he personally did to her, but the dress! The dress! Ripping that dress open to uncover her breasts was what he had died to do from the very moment he had seen her on that wall---to rip off that dress and suck those young breasts! And he had yet to do this. This was why he had ordered Consuelo to put on that dress. He sipped his wine, biding his time and behaving as gentlemanly as he could, avoiding to peak at her bosom more often that acceptable during, say, a ball, as he knew it would be so incredibly good after the waiting.

Consuelo avoided his gaze. She just couldn't bear to look into the eyes of his arch-rapist. The politician, the General without honor. The pig! Her hand trembled as she took a sip of wine from her crystal glass, then suddenly she shattered the wine glass on the table's edge and tried to slash her left wrist using the glass' sharp remnant, but the cavalry Colonel who sat at her left, seized her wrists with his sun-baked hands, strong hands that had her flinch in pain, and he tossed the broken crystal away after easily wrestling it out of her dainty hand.

"You aren't serious, Señorita! So beautiful a lady cannot leave us so soon! You have so much to live for!" the Colonel said.

***

The inhabitants of San Antonio had fled at the very start of the siege two weeks before. Hundreds of soldiers nonetheless came to town, looking for fresh girls if they could find any. Two or three avenues stood out to the uniformed drunkards. The first was the laundry joints where Chinese girls were in bed under the protection of their mothers, fathers and/or grandparents. The Chinese families had nowhere to go and thus far, the invading army had treated them like their own servants since they had been washing their clothes and uniforms, but tonight was different: the soldiers had captured the fort and wanted to have a fiesta.

And thus it came to be that a substantial number of Chinese young ladies in town ended up gang-raped right next to their father's or grandfather's dead or battered body, at the hands of those uniformed drunkards. Of course, there was always the brothel, but why pay for what you can get for free?

The second avenue wasn't an option for foot soldiers, who couldn't walk that far, but the cavalrymen all rode north and east on a rampage in the countryside, which was facilitated by the gibbous moon, still almost full, and the sky being mostly clear. They surprise-attacked several farms where they killed or maimed the men and boys and then raped the wives and daughters. 

Another avenue for fresh pussy was in the fort itself, only for the soldiers who didn't mind having sex with black girls. Abraham was beaten up and forced to accept the deal--now that he and his sons had raped the fort's most beautiful women, he had to accept the exchange and let Mexican soldiers rape his two lovely daughters. Beyond these two, the drunkards found no less than ten girls and women young enough for their taste, and so the young black maids were pushed and dragged into the inner fort, and then gang-raped by a few dozen soldiers while music was still playing.

Abraham had protested and even managed to punch a soldier, so he was beaten up quite badly with musket butts before being also dragged to the inner fort where they gave him the predictable privilege of enjoying the show as his two beloved daughters, Sybil and Anna, both girls in tears as they realized that tonight would be their worst night.

"This one's the prettiest slave I've ever seen! She can't be more than fourteen! She's so soft, an angel!" a Miguel Torro said of Anna, who froze in terror as several men groped and touched her through her dress.

"Now let's see those tits! Let's taste her milky coffee!" 

Anna yelped with pain and distress as one man tore the front of her nightgown and the tearing resonated as her brown breasts were suddenly right their to take and suck, with her dark brown nipples saying she was indeed Afro-American.

"I'll kill you all!" Abraham hollered, his bruised face wet with tears. "I'll morph into a Samson and kill every single one of you, God willing!"

"I'm truly sorry, Sirrah, but we can't spare our precious donkeys to give you its jaw!" a Corporal replied and many had a good laugh while Abraham was tied up at his wrists and ankles and realized how hopeless his predicament was. He suddenly he had not taken Milady's pussy... and yet it had felt so good!

"Uh... Will you, will you let me have a go at Señorita Consuelo if I remain silent?" Abraham suddenly asked, knowing his daughters would be raped no matter what, so he better perhaps get something extra out of it. But the soldiers didn't hear him. They were busy taking turns in sucking Anna's tits under the torchlight while stripping her naked. Sybil had already been bent over and was now squealing with a voice that broke her father's heart on each new stroke she was being dished out by the Corporal, who had begun raping her where she stood without bothering to disrobe her. He had pulled her nightgown up and saw the sensual curves of a butt that were younger and much darker than his wife's. And this was enough to give him some serious fun. This while the ten other maids were summarily stripped out of their nightgown, sometimes not, and compelled by pressing forces to lie down or bend over and enjoy their rounds of whore duty.

But not all soldiers would lower themselves to raping a black slave girl. Most of the Mexicans would have an exhausted, overused white girl rather than a fresh black girl. Thus, for those soldiers who didn't want to wait for the already-used girls of El Alamo, there was the town. Some thought about sickbay where several Mexican nurses were attending the wounded and the dying. Those nurses were nearly all young and attractive. Raping them would be dead wrong, but oh, so much fun! But then the General would have them shot! Many other soldiers felt too tired or had minor wounds and simply went to sleep--many of them feeling that having raped the Señorita de Quesada or some other girl with heavenly skin was good and fair enough for one day. So they traded some extra swigs of tequila or aguardiente and turned in as the music faded and the actual fiesta was about to begin. 

In town, beside the Chinese girls, there was that building where the nuns of El Alamo Mission were now staying. The nuns thought they were safe and under the protection of the Lord All Mighty. Santa Anna had forbidden his men to harm them under death penalty, and he had acted on his word four times during the siege. But word had got around that the General had said that for this special night he'd turn a blind eye. And he had a specific reason for this. He needed some "fun house" to divert his men too so he could protect his nurses, who were saving Mexican lives. He also felt it wise to reduce the number of men who would stay at the fort and gang-rape girls who were already exhausted to begin with. For those who did stay at the fort, he gave "all you can drink" license, knowing that many a drunkard would simply drop asleep, since it had been a long, long day.

Thus, in San Antonio, the building where the nuns were staying was suddenly awoken by repeated hammering at its front doors. Teresa, the Superior Mother, came down herself to inquire what this racket was about.

"Open up! Orders of General Santa Anna!" the Sergeant in the lead of a hundred drunkards replied, his stern voice a bit altered by the pilfered wine he had taken.

"At this late hour?" Mother Teresa replied after opening the transom window. "Come back tomorrow with a written order signed by the General. Santa Anna himself gave us his word of honor that my sisters would be left alone. Do you have wounded men? Then we will be glad to attend to them."

There were indeed plenty of wounded men in the fort's overcrowded sickbay and the brigade's surgeons and nurses were overwhelmed as they tried to save as many lives as humanly possible.

"Yes, yes, Mother, we need you to help us. A great many wounded! Our own nurses aren't enough. We would need Jesus to perform a miracle!" said the Sergeant, winking at a drunk Corporal, the one who had ordered the men at the battering timber to stop.

"Do you have a written order from Santa Anna? Then show it through the transom window!" Mother Teresa replied, greatly suspecting some foul play as the Sergeant didn't sound all too sober.

The answer came in the form of the timber used as battering ram that slammed against the front doors.

"Sergeant! You don't know what you're doing! Think of you and your men! Think of your eternal salvation! Please, stop before it's too late!"

The battering ram gave the answer in its insistent pounding. Sergeant Alvarez and Corporal Jorgues both experienced a raging erection as the front doors began to seriously complain, echoed by Mother Teresa's entreaties that grew more and more frantic as all the nuns inside panicked. There was a small door behind, but other soldiers, lead by another Corporal, were watching, and as some young nuns opened that small door to flee, they were grabbed and soldiers ran through this door to gain entry. At the same time, the front doors gave way and a hundred half-drunk soldiers rushed inside the makeshift nunnery, shouting cries of war and victory as they sought and found what they came for--nuns, preferably young and fresh. The entire building came painfully alive with unholy shrieks, wails and screams.

The youngest nuns were actively hunted down and soon found. Just one lucky maiden successfully hid. All the others were put to the Mexican cock. Some nuns would shriek and hurt the soldiers' ears when she was grabbed. Others remained silent, often with lips trembling out of fear of the unknown. The crucifix they wore on their chest was of no help, nor was the rosary of wooden beads at their belt; all of those things were declared needless by soldiers eager to see the nubile bosoms their white robes hinted at. "But why? Why are you doing this?! We prayed for your dead conpadres today, the whole day! Nn--nnoooo noo please not this!" Stripping these nuns until they were soon naked felt sacrilegious, but immensely arousing. Away with those robes! No need for this! Eagerly, the men gained sight of the erotic side of the nuns, a carnal aspect of them that the nuns kept hidden and far away from their pious thoughts and prayers. And now those breasts were free to breath as shrill screams echoed in the hallways, or in the small chapel. Bushes of pussy hair suddenly appeared along with her hips, like a mirage of unreal beauty freed from the Catholic veil. Free to be fucked. The holy maidens found it strange to feel their hair free and no longer covered as male hands removed those wimples from their heads. The chapel became the scene of an orgy where Mexican infantrymen urgently relieved themselves inside young nuns, and sometimes also took older nuns too. Most of the nuns spoke the same Spanish as their rapists.

Adèle and Jeanne were the daughters of a French merchant who happened to be in San Antonio when the war came to town. Confident in Santa Anna's sense of honor, the rich widower had put his daughters under the care of Mother Teresa, thinking they would be safe, and then fled never to be seen again.

In the building's inner yard, Mother Teresa was stripped naked, urgently out of her wimple, where her long silver hair gave artistic merit to her suddenly uncovered bosom--small tits between the torn curtains of her holy-white robes. Small tits that looked surprisingly youthful for a woman of her years! The soldiers who did this whistled and catcalled the Mother Superior, a slim woman who soon found herself Eve-nude amid the small pack of drunkards who looked at her with pleasant surprise in their eyes along with smiles that spoke volume about the fact that the naked Mother Superior was soon going to get gang-fucked by the pack of young men. Teresa was born to an affluent Italian family in Philadelphia. And now her powerfully white skin was profaned! They bent her over against the well and without further ado, they took turns, all four of them, and gave her her first gang-rape since she her rape at the hands of gentlemen in a mansion forty years before.

Everywhere in the building, it was a hunt and a contest to see who would find the prettiest girl. Sergeant Alvarez and Corporal Jorgues were lucky enough to find Jeanne and Adèle and drag them out from under their beds.

"Next time, find somewhere else to hide, young lady. Under the bed is the first place we look," said the Sergeant as he licked Jeanne's face and took whiffs of her wavy golden hair. She was crying with hectic sobs. She smelled young, a virgin!

"You're a virgin, aren't you?" three grinning men asked Adèle while their leader stroked her light-brown hair with a hand she found disgustingly dark. Adèle spoke only French and had no idea what those horrible men said. She did notice the leader wore one red epaulet with fringes on his cobalt-blue uniform and thus was perhaps an officer, but no, he had to be a Sergeant or something since no officer would behave like a pig! She heard her elder sister Jeanne cry and wail as the men near her pressed themselves on her. At thirteen, Adèle told her sister to try to stay calm, silent tears welling in her own eyes as she knew full well what those awful men were there for.

An orgy ensued where both French girls were gang-raped for the whole night, their little wrists strapped to their bedposts, against a background of echoing screams of young nuns sharing their fate elsewhere in the building, grunts and fat laughs from those drunkards who so shamefully misbehaved. On and on went the gross fiesta. From the Sergeant and the Corporal down in ranks and seniority. The privileged daughters of a rich merchant who thought them safe, raped by the rank-and-file. Deflowered. At one point, Adèle began to moan louder and louder as something deep inside her erupted and bathed her small body with an indescribable, fleeting bliss as she realized she was climaxing, a bit like when she masturbated, but just much more intense. Her sister was now crying like a little girl getting spanked as a soldier mounted her like a breeding dog after unstrapping her from the bedposts. Both were raped for hours on end.

As the first sun rays would shed light in their room, both sisters would be naked and hugging each other, limp like rotten meat, feeling stinky and filthy, thinking about ending their miserable life, although they knew they would then go in hell and this perhaps terrorized them even more than anything those awful men did. But how could hell be worse than the hell they just went through? Their anus would be bruised and too broadly abused. Their pussy labia would be red and inflated by excessive forces. But the worse for Jeanne would be to remember their hands on her, the screams and whimpers of her little sister, and the worst of the worse, the disgusting sweating face of that large man, the leader who had raped her first, who had stolen what any honest girl kept for her husband to be. She would remember all those little details, painfully vivid, and this would truly get her. Jeanne understood she'd be reliving this nightmare for the rest of her life.

For Adèle, the worst would be to feel dirty and to question her own morality. At one point, one man nearly as old as her father had taken her with her legs propped up and pinned under him, and her body had reacted in a way that made her rape less painful. She had thought of her father while that older man pounded her on the creaking bed, and she had begun to moan like a dirty little tramp! Thinking of her father! Wishing it were him inside her! She had hit a massive climax just before that old pig erupted inside her. She felt so unclean! She would go see Mother Teresa. The Superior Mother would know what to say.

In the early morning, Teresa reclined against the well, her naked body reeling from the long ordeal those men had given her. She felt angry, and yet she had pity for those vile men who had behaved like animals, and yet the part of evil within her also felt proud that young men had given her such attention. Soldiers were still there, thanking her for her "kind hospitality" as their eyes feasted on the surprisingly erotic sight of her legs and feet. Men could be quite surprised upon disrobing an old woman. Perhaps it was knowing who she was that magnified the effect, as she was a bit like a baroness who got forced out of her robes by drunk soldiers inside her fallen castle.

The Sergeant himself came and took Mother Teresa under the gray morning sky, like a dog taking a bitch, her hands and knees on the dusty ground, with soldiers watching or gathered around a couple of young nuns. The inner yard was echoing with such grunts and lamentations as should never be heard where nuns are present. Raping the Mother Superior who had refused him entry to the building proved strangely intense and satisfying. After watching the nonstop motions and flattening of her young-looking buttocks against his tired frame, after reveling in her moaning whimpers, the large Sergeant stooped on Mother Teresa and exploded inside her while cupping her breasts and feeling the imprints of her nipples. Those long raging bolts of semen proved so incredibly good! So much sperm for an old nun!

Stunned by this one rape too many, shocked by how close she had been to climaxing, Teresa was pulled by her hair by the Sergeant and forced to watch the soul-shattering scene where one naked nun had a knife resting on her breasts with the threat of severing a nipple if the other nun didn't let all the men use her in any way they like. The younger nun was now riding one soldier who held her waist and made her his own cowgirl, with the secrets of her bosom plainly revealed under the rising sun. This novice nun was the prettiest one the drunkards had found. She was thus compelled to suck their cocks, let them rape her ass, etc.

As she witnessed this supreme defilement that came on top of a night of horror, Mother Teresa was speechless. She didn't have the foggiest idea of what to tell her nuns, after. She stood on her knees and began to pray, not realizing the pleasing view she gave the bandits as she sat on her heels, while the sordid soldiers were forcing her dear Maria to drink some more semen while some indefatigable satyr wearing a shako, but otherwise naked, stood behind Maria, holding the crease of her hips and shook her with repeated lack of restraint, forcing her long raven hair to sway in revealed enigmas in the cool morning air as the shako-wearing naked man got busy like a poor devil who seemed to think that sensuality was the saint Graal of life.

What shocked Sergeant Alvarez the most was the fact Maria was a Mexican girl with beautiful pale olive skin, just like most of the brigade's nurses in sickbay. Why were they harming her then? War was just as blind as justice.

***

Consuelo had long finished whatever of her meal she managed to eat, doing so in a painful quest to find some countenance in front of her arch-tormentor, also because she felt the need to fortify herself. Night or day, the world spun around her without meaning other than the reality of her being there, but what was there? What was that notion of being there? Why was she there? She had been gang-raped because she had been there when the fort fell. And then she was there, to be raped even more. Why was she there? She wanted to erase herself from there, now that she was a whore. What would James Bowie think? What would Jeb say? Jeb was still alive. Would she see him again? She felt like being with him. He was such a true gentleman! With him she'd feel whole again. But would he still have her while knowing or suspecting what happened to her? Losing Jeb became her worst fear. Then she'd rather die.

"Señorita, it is ten o'clock and the night is still young! Time for us to go, I'm afraid!" General Santa Anna said as he looked at his watch, its small golden chain a link between time and his person. The General seemed to enjoy such limitless power that time itself had to do his bidding.

Consuelo was escorted, very close, touching close, by the cavalry Colonel and the General himself with the fat Major not far behind. Each step felt heavier as her dread increased. They were going to the outer yard, and she dreaded the place so much she was already there and not one iota surprised to see hundreds of men assembled there and listening to music, smoking or drinking. All eyes was on her.

Meg, Rose-Anne, Mary and Ann Blyth were similarly escorted by smiling soldiers and pushed in the middle of the vast yard where they fell under a rain of whistles and catcalls, more than enough for each sister to feel naked inside her black mourning dress that the sodomites had hastily put back on her. Mrs. O'Hara and all the rest of the ladies of Fort Alamo were given the same "toss and whistles" treatment; the catcalls hit a spike of roaring whenever soldiers caught sight of their bare feet under the black hem of their dress.

Beside the Yankee girls and widows were nearly a dozen Hispanic girls and women whose fathers or husbands had fought against Mexico; they too had been raped in the chaotic confusion inside the sacristy. The youngest ones were Esmeralda and her friend Inès. 

"Why are you doing this to your own folks? Aren't you ashamed?" Esmeralda cried out in flawless Spanish while sitting and hugging her knees inside her dress after getting tossed and whistled.

"Your father fought on the wrong side, girl. It's nothing personal," the twirl-mustached Captain said as he stroked his chin and appraised the two girls' erotic value. Both girls were small with jet-black hair and a haze of olive on their skin. Nothing special, except their youth. He picked up the one he found prettiest. 

"You're harming your own kind! Let me down!" Esmeralda cried out as he took a whiff of her hair, at her small neck, where he gently rubbed his face against her cheek and could appreciate how soft her skin was. The angel softness of her cheek promised the same on her bottom, where her skin would be paler. She wore a dress, but her close proximity was enough for him to experience very pleasant sensations down there at the thought of having sex with her.

"Put me down!" Esmeralda repeated, her tiny fists pummeling his upper back.

"Your father fought on the wrong side, and besides, you smell way to good. I'll protect you if you want to become my maid."

"Never in a hundred years!" she replied while spitting in his face, sealing her fate while her friend Inès was now in the arms of Big Pedro, whose ballooning size made Inès look comically tiny where she was down under him and he presently ripped her black dress open on the too-young display of her breasts, a pair of small blossoming breasts with a concentration of brown and fragrance in her budding nipples.

Inès didn't scream or resist while Big Pedro flattened his fat face against the contrasting grace of her tits, one of which he engulfed in his wide mouth, causing her breathing to deepen as he tasted her areola in a circle, his tongue wetting the skin of a girl who probably had her first period about a year ago. The fact she was so young drove him crazy with arousal. Pedro knew it was going to be a very good fuck. It was so insane!

Now the girls and widows, Yankees and Hispanic alike, were the prey, yet again amid the dense pack of soldiers they hated even more now than when they killed their men. Meg waved her arms aimlessly in this moving orgy where the uniforms of victory met with the dresses of sorrow, and their grunts met their husky screams as Meg's tits floated amid the black ripping destruction of her dress, as Rose-Anne's treasures of angel skin were shown and each spot of her that came to light added to their fury amid the tumult of arms, hands and grinning faces, often bearded or mustached, while Mary yelled and screamed, her maiden's hands unable to fend off the press of men as she felt the evening air directly on her skin where more and more of her clothes was torn off, while Ann was promptly stripped naked and felt the men's lust, knowing they were hard without needing to see their cocks, and thus realizing she had gained a lot of experience in what a honest girl must never know.

Aunt Jemima was beaten with rifle butts and crudely stripped naked, the men who liked chubby women finding a singular fiesta in this undressing, this while Mrs. O'Hara was swiftly made topless and her breasts pressed, kneaded and kissed and licked and massaged and whatever they came up with by a horny bunch of soldiers of the lowliest kind.

***

While the outer yard was filled by the explosive orgy of ripping fabric, screams and clamors, General Santa Anna took Consuelo in his arms and violated her with a forceful kiss, which he prolonged as she tried to resist, but the officers held her while pulling her dress up and groping her legs, her ass, some going low and kissing her feet as she felt their collective heat, surrounded by this pack of men who seemed to find honey to lick everywhere on her. The screams and lamentations from the other girls were deafening.

"And now, Señorita! Now!" Santa Anna bellowed, his eyes gone crazy as he grabbed Consuelo's dress near the collar and ripped it apart! He grunted like a madman as the buttons flew off and he opened a grand view where the delicate beige-rose dress and her thin white scarf flattered the rich hues of her pale skin where her breasts seemed to jump on the opportunity of showing themselves in their full glory.

"This is what I wanted to do when I observed you before the assault! Aaaarrrrh! Hrrrnnmmmm..."

Grunting like a rutting buck, the General gave an epic round of licking to her breasts, finding heaven in her nipples, tasting them and reliving that sublime moment when he ripped that famous dress and bared her tits! Drinking the wine of his fantasy as he felt the swelling of his cock with his face pressed on those tits, after tearing that rose dress and uncovering those tits he had wanted so much! Those tits were always present in his mind the whole time he gave the final assault. If he were truly honest, he would write "I took El Alamo for Consuelo's tits."

While their General was having his fun with her breasts, the cavalry Colonel had found his way down below her dress and was now kissing the hairy plate of her cunt while his caressing hands learned the curves of her hips, his nostrils drowning in her pungent intimacy as he began to lick her slit, causing her to shudder and beg them to please stop this, to please not do this on the day her father died. Consuelo spoke those words in order to keep a countenance, to find a way to fight those inevitable assaults, but the more protests she voiced, the more pressing they became. Santa Anna's frantic pressures on her breasts were forcing them to swell some; the Colonel's insistent tongue filled her with hatred and a sense of lost control as she began to lose control of her body, which seemed bent on the task to force her to surrender and start to moan. More hands were on her, a forest of Mexican hands as the group of officers treated her as if they hadn't touched a woman in years and she was the only woman in Texas.

Consuelo began to fake pleasure, trying to keep those men in those foreplay actions as long as possible, so she could lighten the deep burden on her body. She began to moan louder and louder, fooling the younger officers, but Santa Anna said, "You're not as good an actress as a singer, Señorita! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Hey, Major Botez! How did you first mount her, exactly?"

The General had to speak really loud for his officers to hear him, since the outer yard was now an absolute pandemonium where white girls were being forced into a horizontal dance where jiggling tits were de rigueur, while the brave soldiers were hard at work inside them. Meg, Rose-Anne and Mary were all partaking to those on-the-ground festivities while Ann was being taken from behind by a tall, burly Sergeant with such fury that her feet barely touched the ground as he kept a painful hold on her bruised hips and just kept hammering her and flattening her buttocks until he yelled, "Yankee Girrrrrhhhhllll!" and dumped a solid amount, two long ropes of which landed on her pale curves after he pulled out of her; her skin and the gloss of his semen on it were all enraptured in the heat of golden torchlight, since men had brought enough torches and made enough campfires to have a wedding with each and everyone of those girls. They raped her sometimes with hatred and anger, as some of their friends had died for the privilege of their flesh.

The musicians and singers had long stopped performing. They were now performing. The concert was but a prelude before the fiesta!

Big Pedro was truly amazed by how blissfully painful his ejaculation had proved to be inside that tiny girl, whom her friend kept calling Inès while she was herself being used. Being on top of Inès had drained him and she got filled up for the first time of her very young life, the sheer immorality of the deed had multiplied the amount of his seed. He had raped her with his torso propped up on straight arms where he enjoyed the sight of those little blossoming tits while a prisoner inside her, but not for long! Her little whimpers and the way she kept flailing her arms and aimlessly throwing her adorable fists had brought him over the edge in short order. He saw how his mates brutally used the other little tramp whose father had died fighting on the wrong side. Her cute little buttocks were kept tapping against each successive man, who ended up losing a week's worth of semen inside her. Big Pedro took note of the other girl's legs and feet and he already saw himself bucking her with her legs up and those lovely little feet in his face! War was just as sweet as it was dangerous. Immoral too. Very.

Men who had that kink spent time exploring the soft mahogany generosity of Aunt Jemima, each of her udders about as large as the ass of her Milady, Mrs. Violet O'Hara.

The graceful widow of late Sergeant O'Hara fancied herself a glamorous lady. The Mexican Army gave Violet the glamor of finding herself naked and floating in a forest of arms and caressing hands while spitting words of hate and empty threats at the "rabble" who dared touch her! The men and officers encircling her just laughed louder with each of her hate words and the one inside her just went at it harder, enjoying the contrast between her angry face and her gorgeous breasts, a pair of tits that didn't seem to know which way to point their nipples in this tumult under their insistent grunts and thrusts, while the satin-black mass of her hair kept swaying with a grace that further contradicted the hate in her words, the tension in her body and the anger in her face, her eyes trying to turn them into stone. Failing to. She kept telling them they were all going to hang for this while each of her rapists seemed to make her tits jiggle harder as they gave her the full glamor of this free ride in this never-ending carousel of sweat, pain and honor-killing semen.

The man now raping Violet was a half-blood Native who kept nodding at her with each one of his strokes, as if to tell her, "Yes, yes, this is happening to you!" His skin was even darker than some of her former slaves.

General Santa Anna hesitated very humanly, finding that a session of sex was always fraught with difficult choices. He finally chose to get down on his knees and rape Consuelo with that plaid beige rose dress still on her, but torn enough so she was as topless as a French Marianne. Now that the foreplay was over, Consuelo stopped her fake moans as the officers kept her down on her back while the General stood on his knees between her legs and smiled down on her as he freed his erection with eagerness. After tearing off that dress and baring her tits to dream of, he just wanted to fuck her long and good before finally relieving one gigantic load to feed her chances for a baby.

Consuelo made strange noises, as if choking in her sobs. They were on the verge of truly breaking her. Santa Anna's men had forced her to climax in their arms. Did she climax while the General was inside her? Did she give the pig the satisfaction? She wasn't sure, everything foggy in her mind. 

"Aaaaaaahhhrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!" the General uttered upon penetrating Consuelo. As he did so, he grabbed her waist and began to pound her, keeping her butt off the ground as her legs were forced to brush his sides and feel the wool of his hated uniform, directly on her skin as he uttered more roaring sounds while raping her like a madman, "Aaaaaaahhhrrr! Aahhrr Aaahhr aaarrrh aaarrrh aaahhrrrr aaaahhrr aaahrrr aaahrrrr..." His golden epaulets weren't enough to convince her he was a gentleman.

Those jiggling tits were the loveliest thing he had ever seen! This dress! This beige-rose dress she wore in the morning before the assault! "Aahhrr Aaahhr aaarrrh aaarrrh aaahhrrrr aaaahhrr aaahrrr aaahrrrr..." He was so glad to have won! "Aahhrr Aaahhr aaarrrh aaarrrh aaahhrrrr aaaahhrr aaahrrr aaahrrrr..." Her tits! Her pussy! Her tits... Won! "Aahhrr Aaahhr aaarrrh aaarrrh aaahhrrrr aaaahhrr aaahrrr aaahrrrr..." No protection! He could do all he pleased! "Aahhrr Aaahhr aaarrrh aaarrrh aaahhrrrr aaaahhrr aaahrrr aaahrrrr..."

His arms were growing tired, but he heard some peculiar whimpers out of her as her bobbing head made her gaze wander aimlessly, her mouth ajar, letting out whimpers that were not fake anymore. Her body seemed to enjoy this rough round of sex, so the General was valiant and kept his grip on her hips as he went all out!

"AARR AAARHH AAAH AAARRHH AAAARHH AAAAH AAH AAAH AAAAH AAAAH AAAAHHH..."

Her head bobbing on, his officers helping him as her whimpers grew stronger and she began to say, "Noo... No please stop this! Stop!"

But then Consuelo closed her eyes and remembered Thomas's touch on her and the crushing sense of debasement she felt when the negroes raped her, and suddenly she screamed as her entire body exploded in unwanted bliss as the angel-faced bugle boy took hold of her mind and she felt she was now being raped by this wonderful boy, with Jeb masturbating and waiting for his turn! And she called Jeb's name as her scream came to an end...

"Aaaahhhhhhh JEB!" 

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYEAHH WE WON!!! Aaahhrrr! We got her!"

"Did you hear her? Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

"She likes it rough, the little tramp!"

"Little tramp!"

"Now this is a fiesta!"

"Come on, Colonel! Give her a true Republican fuck!"

The Colonel had the others hold her while he completely disrobed her, pulling her beige rose dress with a raging grip all the way to the end of her propped up legs--her legs nearly straight as he gleefully uncovered the wild side of her artistic figure right to the fairy tales of her ankles and feet.

Colonel Miguel del Estanque plunged on Consuelo's feet and began to cover them with kisses and devotion. She was so beautiful! And he missed his young wife so much! He couldn't wait for this campaign to be over so he'd go back to his hacienda near Chihuahua and resumed his boring life where at leas he had sex with Dolorès on the regular. In the meantime, he tried to resolve the equation of Consuelo's lower legs and got lost in contemplation, his cock hard and impatient, the fat Major and the captains even more impatient as they respectfully let their superior officer enjoy his time with San Antonio's most beautiful señorita.

The rape itself wasn't very long. It proved silent, urgent and to the point. The balding man took off his bicorn for more ease of fuck, and then he propped those legs up and, in a move that surprised everyone including Consuelo, he laid down on his side as if to form a cross with Consuelo's body, and placed her where her legs rested on him and his erection was in line with her captured hacienda. One moment he would never forget was the feeling of her bush of hair against the uncut head of his Catholic cock, just as he inserted it inside her hacienda, and then he kept his hands on her legs as he began to enjoy her, loving the side view he had on her gently moving tits in this position. His thrusts got more and more deep and active. Until he got near his edge and slowed down some to make the round last a bit longer. This was so much fun!

Consuelo couldn't help it. She just couldn't stop thinking of the man she realized she was absolutely in love with. "Jeb! Oh Jeb! Yes, Jeb! Mount me and make me yours! Oohh Jeb!" She no longer knew what she was saying. She didn't even realize she was speaking aloud amid her moaning as the angle of the Colonel inside her happened to trigger something deep inside her. And she just let herself roll with the repeated motions, tired of resisting and now letting the rapes roll through her. She was almost completely broken. Going insane.

There was heat and lots of it in those words of love for her future husband. The officers around her had a good laugh, a jolly good laugh as they heard her.

In his mind, Colonel Miguel del Estanque envisioned his young wife getting gang-raped by a band of unwashed brigands who were sacking the hacienda and now taking their deep and hard turns inside her hacienda. Not that he wanted it to actually happen, but this was his favorite fantasy, and he ran it in his mind whenever he had sex with his young wife or his even younger maid. Then he realized he was passing his edge and he came inside Consuelo, very forcefully so as he gazed at the unreal play of her feet and lower legs as he nearly died during the rush of semen. Only then did he realize he had lost a prodigious amount of slobber through his mouth.

"Did you miss me, Señorita de Quesada?" the fat Major jested as he removed his gold-rimmed shako and his saber before kneeling at her side and simply rushing his face plump on her breasts, which he pressed with force, making yielding cones out of them while twirling his tongue around each nipple, going back and forth between those light brown cherries as he kept massaging her with a civilized, measured force that unleashed the most primal reactions within her. She loahted this man, even more than the General himself, but she closed her eyes and imagined it was Jeb doing this to her. Jeb, with... with Colonel Bowie and Davy Crockett both masturbating while waiting for Jeb to dump his hot load inside her. Jeb, dump hot load! Those very words brought swelling in her breasts being massaged! She allowed herself to play this fantasy where Jeb, James and Davy had sex with her. She had caught Davy Crocket looking at her and her bosom on many occasions. Davy was an absolute gentleman who wouldn't have made a pass at her unless she showed signs she wanted him to. Truth be told, she had toyed with the idea of an affair with this legend of a man. But she had been firm in her resolve to be a good Catholic señorita and wait until her wedding night. With James Bowie. With Jeb?! Yes, Jeb!

Consuelo forced a smile, knowing this would astonish her rapists. Since she was to be gang-raped the whole night through and this couldn't be helped, then she was going to play with them a little! This gave her hope and a sense of regained control. Oh, God! This disgusting officer knew what to do with a lady's bosom, she had to give him that! Love your enemy, Jesus had said!

She managed to free her hands, surprising the Lieutenant holding them, and then began to caress the fat Major's balding crown of hair. Forcing a smile. "What a tramp!" someone said.

This caused great alarm in the Major, who thought she was going to gauge his eyes out! He instantly recoiled as if she were a rattlesnake and threw her a slap!

"And now, young Señorita, it's time for you to be mine! MINE!"

With her cheek red and reeling from the slap, Consuelo felt his touch as he roughly turned her around and nudged her into getting on all fours, and then he proceeded to rape her in this popular position we all know. Major Botez was a man who always fucked from behind, a girl's ass being his favorite area. He grunted like an Aztec king of the jungle as he flattened her gorgeous buttocks with each collision, loving the moving shadows and the bright golden hues on her skin under the torchlight.

As she got banged, Consuelo looked down at the ground and enjoyed the fact she didn't have to look at his pudgy face. Her thoughts went back to Jeb. And to her, it was Jeb who was pounding her like some rutting monkey, so hard and good! She did her best to try to love this, but her predicament was always there as well. She heard the lamentations of the others near her and heard the prodigious roaring of so many gang-rapes happening at the same time.

The fat Major relived the first rape as he enjoyed his second time inside Consuelo. The fort's capture! Consuelo's urgent and partial undressing, then her rape! He first! He realized he had deflowered her, for this was a proper señorita, unmarried, a maiden! Her buttocks had kept colliding with him from his impetus, under the bright sun! Blinding pale skin! Now they collided under the torchlight! Sublime golden-light skin!

And then the Major pulled out and reentered inside her butt! Consuelo screamed as the pain exploded inside her.

"Her ass! Right plump between her buns! aaahrrr ahrrr ahhrrrr rrr rrrr rrrrrrrhh! This feels so good! Aahrrr! Her ass! Her butt! Señorita AA AA AA AA AA A AAA..." 

She half-heard the Major's vocal enjoyment amid the fiery pain, then she forced herself to imagine it was Jeb who was trying sodomy with her, and she knew she'd let him. Him or James Bowie, but James was dead.

Then the Major yelled like a wounded dog and erupted inside her rectum, leaving a parting bolt of semen on her ass and spreading his cream all over her buns with his hands. "This is nice and proper for a deflowered señorita! Nice and proper!"

"My turn!" said the most senior of the Captains present. "Now, Milady, it's my pleasure to inform you we're going to have you by order of rank, UUNNGHH!" The Captain said as he promptly knelt behind her, dropped his trousers and invaded her pussy.

The Captain then went silent as he sank into a spell of quiet grunting. Consuelo began to moan upon thinking of Jeb exploding inside her. She felt those hands on her waist and imagined it was now James Bowie. She moved herself to meet each one of his strokes, moved herself in a way that increased the pressure, and do what he will, the Captain was forced to capitulate and forget about a prolonged coitus. The man uttered a series of grunts as he died inside her.

"Thank you, Milady! I'll be back for more!" he said as he put himself back together. 

The next Captain was a heavyset man who also chose to take her from behind. She was just so gorgeous to have in this position! She was poetry in motion as the lucky Captain made a honest effort to mount her as long as he could take the pressure. Consuelo moaned in plaintive sounds that were perhaps fake, perhaps real, or both. The Captain upped his pace, and he proved to be a long-enduring stud. Consuelo reverted to her fantasy where James Bowie, Davy Crockett and Jim again took turns in enjoying her like breeding stallions! While she envisioned the return of Jeb inside her, her moaning and whimpers got out of control and she climaxed.

"What a cheap tramp! A señorita, this?"

"She'll soon be a branded strumpet!"

"She has a lovely ass! And look at those legs!"

Consuelo now took the heavy Captain's fury with her elbows on the ground, her face gently sliding on the dirt and her butt showcased, unimpeachable under the torch light.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!"

The third Captain took over. More pounding. More of the same. Consuelo stayed in her fantasy. She felt that Davy Crockett had quite a bit of size and she tried to think it felt nice and warm inside her, in spite of the pain that now grew worse. The kept moving herself against the repeated rams from the stranger.

"HHNNNNNNN DDJDDHHH HNNNNNGGHH!!!"

The fourth, the fifth and the sixth came. They lifted her up and kindly asked her to stand on her knees. The fourth Captain enjoyed a short round of slapping her face using his cock and calling her a strumpet and a tramp, before masturbating hard and soon showering her tits with a generous helping of pudding from the Rio Grande. The fifth Captain ran the gauntlet of her mouth and kept her jaw painfully pinched as he raped her face, very brutally so, while the sixth Captain learned the geography of her curves using his hand.

"AAAAAAAAAYYAAHHH AAAAAAAAARRRRRRNNNNNNNNNN WE TOOK THE FORT HHNN..."

The Captain had pulled out and loved how beautifully his ejaculation landed in thick ropes that pooled on her face, all of it glistening gold under the torchlight with fantastic shadows underscoring the youth of her breasts.

The sixth Captain threw her on her back and made her his whore for the next few minutes, kissing her face, her neck as he pounded her, and she moaned like a whore, her mouth wide open and her legs wrapped around her lover as she imagined this was Davy Crockett giving her the very best of him and she crossed her ankles on top of him, knowing Jeb would love this show of legs and feet while Davy Crockett set her ledger straight by pounding her like a possessed man, soon yelling his bliss in her face, telling her he had always wanted her as he gave her all the hot cream he had left.

The officer remained panting on top of her, kissing her neck and telling her how sorry he was for doing this to her, but she was so beautiful! "Lo siento, Señorita. Lo siento."

Then came the lieutenants, a bunch of them. Young. Full of steam. Strong. Energetic! Very!

Consuelo thought she now knew what it was to take a rough pounding, but what the young officers gave her was nothing short of the worst pounding her beauty was ever given tribute with. One after the other, the young centaurs and satyrs gave her a run for her dead father's money, using her in a variety of position, the two most popular being floating in their arms and raped with her legs up where the young gentleman would kiss her feet whenever he felt like it, and from behind with her on all fours like a bitch. Mexicans officers were both refined and barbaric. This was necessary to lead soldiers who were half brigands half citizens.

Those Lieutenants were young men in their prime years. They let it be known by Consuelo through every fiber of her body. Each of those boys totally enjoyed it. Some had already raped her earlier, but most did not, and they had heard about the gang-rape she had originally been given with her back on that cannon. The officers raped her while staying fully clothed themselves, so as to profoundly humiliate the naked senorita. 

One of the young gentlemen stood with his legs wide as he took immense delight in holding the crease of her hips and driving her against him, filling the room with his "At last! At last!!!" as he heard the smat-smat-smat sounds of Consuelo's flesh cushions against him, each one of those sensual collisions bringing him closer to the flourishing finale, which left him utterly out of breath when he came! The next Lieutenant poured tequila on those hypnotizing buttocks and licked the liquor off before taking his own turn. General Santa Anna came and gently held her chin while she endured the bent-over festival. Consuelo soon got the General's flaccid cock plump in her face... a slap! Another slap and then another. Splat sounds in a soggy kind of torment, while the young buck behind her yelled like a dying donkey as he added to her fertilization. 

The valiant officers left her wretched on the ground, her figure just as sensual as ever, with a river of semen dripping down her pussy. She now had too much understanding of these matters not to realize this was just the beginning of a long, long night.

Chapter Text

Once all six Lieutenants had taken their pleasure, the young ensign who had been serving their wine, and how had been watching with his face blushing, was kindly invited by the General. His eyes wide, the boy looked at Consuelo. She lay down on the ground, naked with semen inside and on her, her eyes aghast, looking at him with a mix of pleading and exhaustion with notes of fascination. The sight of her made such a strong impression on the lad that he no longer heard the chaotic pandemonium of gang-rapes going on all over the outer court; he only saw her. There was tension all over the virgin boy, especially south of his belt.

"Come, young man! You can have her too!" the General said, grinning, like a father inviting his own son to rape a passenger of a stagecoach he and his men just robbed.

"Yeah, time to become a man!" the Colonel added while motioning the boy to come closer.

Hesitating in his steps, the boy nonetheless came closer. Consuelo saw him better and cried upon noticing the little smallpox scars that marred his nose and most of the left side of his face, actually disfiguring the boy and making him look at least twice his age. Why bringing in this poor boy? She tried to protest and resist, but feebly so, while the laughing Lieutenants held her with ease on the ground, where the golden light of torches flattered the curves of her body, inviting more rapes. The youngest Lieutenant was down at her feet and amorously kissing them. There were always hands on her.

As the boy got closer, Consuelo realized she wasn't protesting for his sake, for she had let the angel-faced bugle boy use her almost willingly. The real reason she protested was the boy was ugly and she didn't want him inside her. 

"No! Not him! Never in a hundred years! Please! He... He's too young!!!"

"Come come, Senorita!" the fat Major said. "I saw you get taken by boys even younger than this fine young gentleman; and you enjoyed it! This boy is fifteen! I know you'll..."

"Nooo! No! No! He's too... He's too..." Consuelo couldn't bring herself to say it. The poor boy looked at her with his face riddled by those smallpox marks that robbed him of the natural handsomeness of his youth. He was a nightmarish version of a dream boy. By that time, the officers had made her stand up and face the boy, very much amused by how repulsive he was to her. General Santa Anna, the fat Major and the Colonel watched the scene, no less amused as they drank porto.

The boy stood close to Consuelo, who tried to look away, but the Lieutenants forced her to look at the boy, and added threats that they'd use a knife to rip off her nails one by one if she closed her eyes. Not wishing to add any pain to what her body already carried, she obeyed and faced her nightmare. The boy then knelt down, reached her and put his hands on her tits, and smiled as his eyes moved in a frantic act of drinking all her charms from head to toe.

She hated his touch! But then she realized that his touch was very gentle, his hands both hesitant and curious. This was clearly the first time he touched a woman and saw one naked. Consuelo began to gently moan as if she were enjoying this. Being touched so gently was a welcome pause from the brutal abuse she had been subjected to at the hands of the Lieutenants. It was in her best interest to make this last, so she rested her head on the ground and arched her back, nicely pushing her breasts out and into the boys hands while a pair of young officers restrained her arms while caressing her cheeks and playing with her hair.

The boy's cupping touch upon her breasts grew firmer, and then he stooped down and kissed her. Consuelo instinctively wanted to recoil from the horror! But then she remembered where her interest was--to avoid further damage to her body. So she surprised the boy by kissing him back. Then something broke forever inside her as she realized she was doing exactly what a whore would do---She was managing damage on her body by giving her "customer" what he wanted, by actively trying to please him. "I'm a whore now, No!" Broken. They had broken her!

The boy got really excited and began to press his pelvis against her while kissing her. And she felt his strong erection through his uniform. With his exploring hand, he touched her hair, began to very gently stroke them, his eyes filled with wonder as he contemplated her lady-like contrast between pale skin and dark hair.

"You... Milady, very beautiful!" the boy blurted out, his face blushing, which accentuated his smallpox scars and their unsightliness. But he smiled. Consuelo realized this was the first sincere smile she'd had in what felt like a long time. This boy was so innocent! He was a good boy who had been thrown into the monstrosity of war. Nothing here was really his fault. He was just trying to live.

"Hey, look at her! The tramp loves young boys!"

"Figures! I guess she must have sucked off a great many choir boys in church! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

"Suck him off, Senorita! Suck him off good! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Consuelo ignored the jeers from the surrounding officers. Pigs! All of them!

"What's your name, young man?" Consuelo whispered as they exchanged kisses. Yes, she was going to please him as much as she could. She was a whore. Handsome or ugly, he was her customer.

"Enrique, Senorita!"

"Well, Enrique, you're a very good boy. How... How old are you?"

"Next June, Senorita, next June I'm... I'm turning fifteen, Senorita! Oohh, you have... first time I'm touching a woman like this. I... I love your breasts, Senorita. I... You're so... So beautiful!" Enrique went on, whispering as he very gently kept kissing her lips while stroking the side of her face, her hair, her neck...

"I'm Consuelo de Quesada. I love how you touch me," she replied, shocked to realize what she said had some truth in it. Enrique had the touch of an angel. She nudged his head down, hinting she wanted him to suck her breasts, and knowing he'd be so very gentle... Just what she needed! An opportunity to rest.

She involuntarily bit her lip as Enrique began to kiss her left nipple while caressing her other orb, oh, so very gently. This felt good. In other circumstances, she would have genuinely enjoyed this. So soft were his hands! General Santa Anna no doubt required an irreproachable hygiene and grooming of any servants around his person. And this translated as a pair of hands that were just... just a dream of softness. Softness with boyish strength behind.

"Oooh, Enrique! Ohh, it feels really nice!" Consuelo purred as she whispered in her glamorous Spanish while the boy got lost in heaven and began to circle his tongue around her nipple while kneading her other breast with that boyish strength of his, and she realized that her purring wasn't entirely fake. There was some measure of swelling and warmth in her bosom, and this could not be faked. She bit her lip gently, her face prettier than ever as she purred and moaned, ignoring those officers who mocked her while holding her in place for the boy, whom they patted on the back while giving all sorts of advise on how to lose one's virginity inside a noble señorita and how lucky he was.

Enrique, suddenly realizing he could go wherever he pleased on her, grew a bit less timid and began to kiss her lower, marking a trail of hot slobber on her abdomen. Consuelo responded with moans that made him even less timid as he kissed her navel and circled it with tender licking strokes, his hands now caressing her hips. The pair of Lieutenants holding her arms used the opportunity to kiss her while giving her breasts the attention their beauty deserved.

"Oh, yes! Enrique! Take me! Take me anyhow you like! Please, do as you please!"

Enrique was a natural in lovemaking. Without even thinking or planning, the curious boy pushed his kissing exploration lower. He now felt a woman's pubic hair under his tongue for the very first time in his life, at which point his cock was painfully hard, his blood growing mad within his veins as he pressed his smallpox face between her legs, which were hot and seemingly waiting for him, with his hands always caressing the moving music of her hips.

The officers around her were no longer mocking her. They formed a circle and masturbated. The Lieutenants who had been restraining her thus far decided, upon exchanging one look, to free her arms and see what she'd do, still remaining very close in case she tried to suddenly harm the boy. Farther around them, a wider circle of soldiers was assembling. The General had promised them full sway with all the ladies of the fort, this including Consuelo, so they were waiting for the officers to be done with her so they could remind the noble señorita what it feels like to get gang-fucked by the rank-and-file.

Consuelo was now moaning loud as she made a sensual dance with her hips, the boy's lucky tongue tune striking the right chord within her slit, where her jet-black pubic hair throbbed with life--a dancing triangle of slobbering heat under the tranquil barrage of Enrique's tongue strokes. Tranquil, but firm and insistent. The nearest Lieutenant, who had turned twenty in January, cupped her breasts and kissed her neck, very gently, while whispering to her ear he had seen her on top of that wall several times during the siege, and now he was very happy to take liberties with her. With her mouth wide open, Consuelo turned to this other "customer" and raised her arms in a gesture of surrender, and she kissed him and began to caress his curly hair as he gently pressed her breasts while Enrique brought much juices down there using his lucky beginner's tongue.

"Yes! Yes! I'm just a harlot! You can have me! Everyone of you! All you want! Take your reward, Conquistadores!" Consuelo said, with heat in those words that would have greatly shamed her father, had he been there to hear them! He did not raise her to act like this. But he had failed to protect her, and now she had to survive. As a regiment's whore.

Enrique was prey to the throbbing insistence of his own cock. He needed the relief! He must have it now! Taking the most direct route, Enrique simply undid and lowered his uniform's trousers, causing his manhood to jut out. Consuelo looked down and found this was a beautiful cock, with its skin visibly soft and healthy. This part of him had not been marred by the terrible illness. He was going to breed with her. The notion to get bred by a boy both gentle and ugly had a weird effect on her--Her loathing met curiosity and a bizarre sort of arousal where everything felt foggy and exhausted. And someone was gently touching and kissing her feet and ankle. The breeze was not just chilly as the night went on, but almost cold. At least they were keeping her warm in their midst. The Mexican Army seemed to have a natural talent for it. Even the officers who were naked felt warm against her, both loathsome and weirdly comforting. She was the regiment's whore.

She spread her legs apart, and Enrique came closer, fumbled for a short while as he held his cock and pushed it upon her entrance, while the curly-haired officer kept playing with her tits, and then the novice boy found the mark!!!

"Oooooohh!!!" Enrique uttered, his eyes on fire with wonder and excitement as he gave Consuelo his cock to feel.

"OOoooooooooooohh! En-rique! Breed me, Enrique! Breed me!" the gone-insane girl moaned as he penetrated her while taking hold of her thighs while she made him her prisoner using her legs, and the curly-haired officer kept his caressing hands on her wherever he could, be it her shoulder or her arm, while Enrique was flat on top of her and began to pound her with the usual vigor of youth. Consuelo was forced by her own body to admit that she loved getting fucked by young boys. And she was so far gone she forgot how ugly this one was.

"Aaah aaa yes! I'm taken by the soldiers! AAahh yes! I spent the last thirteen days fearing this to happen! Oooh... And yet... Something... Something inside... Mmmeeee inside me! Something deep with... Within wanted this to... Aaaannhhmmm... To happen..."

"What a cheap tramp!" the Colonel commented as he smoked a pipe.

"She sure is! I was the first one inside her, you know!" the fat Major replied, sipping some fine cognac stolen from the belongings of that same gone-away merchant whose daughters were now being gang-raped along with the nuns in town. He however began to feel the first pangs of an upcoming crisis of gout and his smile vanished.

"Looks we've trained her good! She's enjoying it now!" a Captain said, to whom the Major offered a swig of cognac.

"I told you we'd break her tonight!" General Santa Anna said to the fat Major, who was chuckling and trying to ignore the growing pain in his left big toe under his well-polished  boots. God dammit! Major Botez knew now that next morning, he'd be in just as much pain as if he had a festering bite from a rattlesnake and his big toe would be almost the size of an avocado.

Enrique being very short, he repeatedly rammed Consuelo while feeling the press of her legs around him. Her tits! They seemed to hoover in submission so close to his face! He took full delight inside her, enjoying very much this sense of possessing her, the noble senorita, who looked so very young, and still felt so much older than him, so much more literate with every Spanish word she spoke. It felt like raping a Countess from Spain! He was bucking her like a crazy, desperate peasant, a common mercenary bandit raping a Countess inside some fallen castle in Spain while he heard the screaming lamentations of so many other maidens getting deflowered under successive waves of soldierly celebrations. Mercenaries never disappointed the ladies when they won. Young and older ones had their horizontal fiesta under them, but they still preferred the young ones.

He was inside her! Not for long! His high pleasure was close at hand as the close vastness of her breasts kept hoovering under his moaning face, her moans echoing his while the Lieutenant kept kissing her neck and she kept saying, "Yes! Yes, I'm raped by the Mexican soldiers! It's fate... Fate!!!"

Eyes half-closed, Consuelo's head kept bobbing on along with Enrique's impetus, while the horny Lieutenant kept kissing her neck, his face almost drowning in the suave caress of her hair while he enjoyed the view on her free-moving tits, right under the boy's smallpox face. Consuelo tightened the wrap of her legs around Enrique, who remained shocked by how gorgeous she was, her smooth-moving breasts under a haze of golden light from the torches, her nipples an intense brown atop those dancing hills of moving light and shadow. Foot soldiers were looking on, some on their toes to see better, knowing something truly extraordinary was happening.

Enrique loved that haze of gold enriching her skin, with her nipples like smears of brown wine dancing atop them, up and down, as he kept rocking her with his steady pounding. Yes! She looked exactly like a naked Countess being violated by peasant soldiers, with those wonderful shapes whose never-ending dance kept his eyes prisoners--Nothing more than girl fat, and yet they cast the most potent spell. And they looked so vast when seen from so close! The boy entered in a wild trance, feeling the nearly painful stiffness where he kept being one with her, where the brunt of their encounter was played, he began to grunt like a rutting orangutan, "Urrh! Urrh Urh-urrrrh-urrh-urrh-uhr-urrh-urrh-uhr -urrh-urrh-uhr -urrh-urrh-uhr ..."

He kept going, kept pushing inside her... Her legs around him, her bobbing head... Lovely! The never-ending dance of her naked breasts!

Enrique uttered words out of his wide-open mouth as he now fucked Consuelo with all he had! "URRH URRH HRRR RRR RRRR RRRR RRRR RRR RRRRRRR The Countess! Raped by peasants! Disrobed! Her breasts out and dancing for us!!! RR RRRR RRRR RRRR RRR RRRRRRR RR RRRR RRRR RRRR RRR RRRRRRRRR RRRR RRRR RRRR RRR RRRRRRRRR RRRR RRRR RRRR RRR RRRRRRR!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAH AAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAA AAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"

Enrique screamed out of joyful pain as he spewed ropes upon ropes of raging jism inside the señorita. He had no idea taking a woman could feel this good. Now he understood why men were willing to even risk their life for this.

***

Full of sweat under the torchlight, Consuelo was like putty in the Lieutenant's arms while Enrique pulled out of her, and her feet came back to earth as she broke the seal of her legs from the boy, whose eyes remained on her tits.

"Now, Senorita! Now, my turn!" The curly-haired Lieutenant said as he urgently rolled her around, then nudged her up on her knees and elbows, where her cheek kissed the ground as she braced for the upcoming penetration. It soon came.

"AAAAAAARRRRHHH! Nice pussy!!!" the young officer uttered as he sank deep inside her. He had taken her face to face before. Now his cock had got stiff again from watching the boy take her. Now he had to rape the bitch from behind!

"¡Perra! ¡Perra! ¡Perra! ¡Perra!..." (Bitch!) he kept repeating as he pounded her and flattened her butt cheeks with intense repetition, causing her cheek to slide on the ground as he kept punishing her with his breeding stick, holding her wrists together in the small of her back and giving her the full sway of his lust!

Enrique gazed at her buttocks; they got flattened with each quick collision. Those gold-lit curves under the torchlight were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, perhaps only second to her breasts. Of this he wasn't sure. She was gorgeous naked, especially when raped!

The Lieutenant soon finished his frenzied exertions and spewed his load, detonating with groans in the process. Consuelo was then encircled by a forest of cocks as soldiers and officers closed the circle around her, pell-mell, and the senorita was touched everywhere at once by the multitude of privates and officers, naked or loosely uniformed. She was the helpless prisoner of an ever-moving, ever-touching tumult of hands and groping. No inch of her was spared. And she nearly climaxed amid this banquet, as the crux of a multitude of fantasies involving her and her only. So many men just for her alone.

They turned her around and Consuelo began to moan, half-faking it as she tried to tone them down into more gentle touches, but it was no use as they were all as horny as breeding monkeys. Organically, one man from the rank-and-file found himself on top of her and the penetration came, sudden and predictable. He propped himself up on his arms and watched her breasts move along with his thrusts the whole time, which was short. Then another man came, this one the same Sergeant who had raped her first, just after the fat Captain. He didn't last long either. "Thank you, Senorita! And sorry for the inconvenience! Ha! Ha! HA! HA!" he jested as he left. Then came the fat Major! Promoted. Rewarded for his deeds at her expanse. Celebrating it inside her. His grunts were so disgusting! His face... worse. And the bloated bastard lasted what seemed like an eternity, until he mercifully exploded with his parting gift, while his eyes seemed to leap out of his big pudgy face that seemed to distend just as wide as his relief felt good, with frothing slobber dripping down on her for an added personal touch.

Consuelo remained pinned on the ground as soldier after soldier passed on her. Usually giving her a short, but intense round of pounding. She was a whore! They kept telling her "¡Perra! ¡Perra!!" (Bitch!)

"¡Putana!" (Tramp!)

"¡Ramera!" (Slut!)

A long and confused series of faces passed over her, twisted in their exertions. Each face different, handsome or not so much, and yet each face seemed one and the same. A rapist. A customer? She was a whore. Fate! So many of them! For her alone. Consuelo had felt it from the Mexicans during the siege. She had heard the silent roar of their thoughts through the hostility of their gazes. Now. Fate! Fate had allowed this to happen for real! All hands were upon her. All those Mexican soldiers were doing what they had been dreaming about for the last thirteen days.

The chaotic carousel gave no sign of abating. Faces she recognized. Others she didn't. She made peace with the probability she was going to die under sheer numbers. So be it! Better dead than live as a fallen señorita. A civilian worker was now on top of her. There was some blood and smears on his shirt. A cook. Yes, he must be a cook. He was now getting his reward for preparing and cooking the meat. Inside her! He ended his run with an extremely low-pitched groan, his relief sounding as if he just had a musket shoved up his ass. Then Enrique was there to take her again. His cock had surged right back up! Less shy after some tequila, he seemed proud to display it to the señorita he had served during supper. The eager mass of jeering men harshly prompted him to "get it done quick." All their left-over semen was intended for Consuelo de Quesada.

Consuelo had nothing left for any sort of enjoyment. She was now in great pain from far too many "customers". Enrique lasted but a minute inside her, and Consuelo kept remembering she was being bucked by an ugly boy with an angel's touch, and this gave her some shreds of half-pleasure, and then there were those hands on her legs as she once more wrapped them around the boy, unable as she was to help it, all of it spiced with catcalls and whistles where a dozen voices kept calling her a putana and a "señorita del burdel" (brothel young lady). Enrique's pox-scarred face was so close to her! But she closed her eyes and let her head bob freely as she surrendered to her fate, in the arms of so young a boy! He sounded like a man dying of impalement when he gave her his spunk.

***

The supply of grinning Mexicans seemed endless. They commented on her pussy hair, many saying capturing the fort was worth it, be it just for this! Others shouting their joy and saying they had never seen the cunt of a noble maiden before. Not so maiden now! Not so proud now! She had heard this so many times! Horny men are seldom original. They're to the point. Many of them thanked her and laughed as they raped her, usually on top of her, saying that now she knew what true glamor really means. Some took her the king-of-jungle way and loved the constant flattening of those slabs of torchlight she now had for a butt, each man trying to beat the others in how violently he made her hair shake along with the rest of her. Some even grabbing her wrists and pulling her arms as if using them like reins while mounting her and trying to last as long as they could. It was a twisted rodeo. One where pain suddenly gave way to an explosion of bliss.

She lost all notion of time and place as those countless faces hurried on her, taking their often-short bout of grunting before looking at her with those round-pesos eyes and that air of utter disbelief on their mugs as they shot their loads inside her, those faces looking humiliatingly dark in the torchlight's shadow. Consuelo recognized some faces. Big Pedro went out of his way to finally try her out, and he was not disappointed. Consuelo felt the brunt of his weight on her. The sheer size of him made her feel as if she were being raped by some huge sea elephant who had somehow turned into a man. His hissing grunts were so gross to hear! And yet his size and the pudginess of his sweating mug forced her body to react in an unforeseen way, and very intensely at that. "I'm a whore! I'm just a cheap whore! God's punishing me!" she very feebly whispered amid her struggle to just keep breathing under Big Pedro.

"HAAH HAAH AHH AAHH AHH AHH AAHH AHH AHH AHH AAAHH!" uttered the sea elephant as he entered the no-return stage and the weirdness inside her took a massive turn that swept her whole in fiery mix of pain, debasement and grossness, and yet all of it finding a way to make her moan out and climax, tightening the grip of her legs around the big man as he uttered an incredibly long-winded roar right in her face! She felt something warm and gooey on her entire left cheek and knew this was slobber from his wide open mouth as he kept thrusting or tried to all through his final victory, and now sounding as if he were in deep pain. But she knew out of experience he was not. She was a harlot now, a woman who was a walking encyclopedia of knowledge about men. All this in just one day.

"Now, Señorita, will you tell me to shut up? Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

The man who just spoke turned out to be the priest she had seen at the pyres. The very same one whom she had indeed told to "shut up, pig". He had taken note of this and knew he would come and claim his payback. He had also found a delicate girl, very short with very white skin against pitch-dark hair. He had recognized her as one of four sisters who were at the pyres, most definitely the youngest one. He had given the little Yankee witch the forceful shaking he knew she deserved. Didn't bother to ask her what her name was. He had just taken his pleasure while watching her sisters being given the same sort of shaking by the slightly drunk soldiers having their fiesta. Inside this girl, he had tested a profound truth that is not to be found in the Bible, but nonetheless a truth. Small girl, big load. His load turned out to be something more of a leviathan that left him with the chief need to take a significant time of read thereafter.

Father Ronaldo remembered Consuelo. So now he got on top of the señorita everybody talked about, on top of that young woman who was said to have been raped for two hours straight while naked on a cannon, under the broad Texas daylight, and now he was having her under torchlights held by young drummerboys. He saw the lights of hate and loathing in her eyes and loved this! He closely watched the shift in her expression when he sank inside her right to the hilt.

"Now, Señorita, now! Now this is a life worth living for, hnnrrrrrr!" Father Ronaldo groaned, making this philosophical statement as he began to rape her in heavy, steady thrusts, watching with delight the horror on her face and those gentle nods his own thrusts were imparting on her face, so much more beautiful when she was nodding like that, naked amid the jeering press of men! Gang-raped! He propped himself up on his arms and kept up his steady strokes while enjoying the ever-moving sight of her breasts, pale and so brightly conquered under those heated torches. Married by force to the whole regiment! The wine of her nipples never running dry as he just couldn't take his eyes off them! She reminded him of a fantasy he'd had at only twelve when he was learning Greek and read the Odyssey for the first time, painstakingly, but bravely--Circea turning men into pigs, but then Ulysses and his companion making her pay back by gang-fucking her, and the gorgeous, bored sorceress enjoyed it!---there was his fantasy! Yes, this Consuelo de Quesada was the Circea he was treating like his own harlot. 

"So you called me a pig, hhrr?" he said as he kept up the music of his pounding, accompanied by her whimpers and the men's constant catcalls. "You'd love to turn me into a pig, hrrrr? Hrrr! But now, Circea, you've lost your power and you are, HARRH mine!"

And he went on a rush! A frienzied rush where he shook this fallen witch hard enough to make her remember this for years, and his thoughts went crazy in a pell-mell storm of images--Circea seized by Ulysses and the other men from Ithaca and ripping her peplum to shreds as she protested and squirmed in their arms, or pretended to, and then Consuelo naked in a show of glued-together legs in the arms of negroes, a powerful picture of shades and contrasts and confusion and cocks and moving tits where Circea didn't need special powers to hypnotized the men and the companions of Ulysses poured wine on her, just like some soldiers now poured tequila on that small girl to whom he had given such an epic load some time before, and her bare feet spurred his failing cock to a new swelling life as he kept seeing that wonderful moment where Circea protested and yelped as her torn peplum gave way to the magic of her tits! And gave more way down there where Ulysses began to kiss her cunt, where he found her secret patch of hair, and she moaned as the hero ate the mussel-tasting paradise between her wriggling hips while companions learned the exact curves of her bottom, and then she was held and taken by all of them, floating like a sensual X, a sensual number ten for fortune, her legs and arms spread-eagled as each one of these Ithacans entered in a contest as to who would make Circea's breast jiggle the most forcefully and he screamed out his bliss!

"HHNNGGH YEs! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES! YES!"

Once the priest was done giving her parting strokes of licking affection on her breasts while calling her Circea, other men came. Civilians wearing aprons with blood smears on them. The butchers who had prepared supper. They forced her to stand and held her in the usual bent-over position, where each of those three scoundrels took her standing from behind, hands on the crease of her hips and driving her hard, giving her the confused feeling of becoming even more of a strumpet with each of those dirty-handed men who gave her a round of butt-flattening. This part of her was firmly cushioned, well suited to withstand the rigours of such forceful breeding. They took full advantage and raped the damsel whom they called the Queen of Spades.

"Let's shake the spades out of that harlot queen!"

"Give it her good, Umberto!"

"This is a noble señorita! I've seen her before! Hurry up! Please, hurry up, Oscar!"

Two of them were stocky men whose hands felt to her like the strongest pairs of hands who had ever been laid on her. Her hair followed the rough dance as the smiling butchers, ill-shaven, ill-washed, just kept bumping her ass until she heard and felt their animal-sounding end. The third one was taller and thinner, so he pushed her down on her knees and gave her the same butt-bumping honor, where she took it like a woman, whimpering like a bitch!

Then one man knelt by her face, and soon her face was pinched hard and a Mexican cock pushed inside her mouth, back and forth and faster and faster and then even faster as the man raped her face while emitting fast-paced grunts that sounded like a dog panting after running for a distance. The dog-style panting of this face rape wrapped itself around Consuelo's stormy world while the butcher behind her raped her like a breeding dog while sounding like a rutting gorilla. General Santa Anna loved how they were using her, with her singing mouth full with her renewed rape and her butt no longer sitting on the bench of her pianoforte, but being put to a more basic use by this humble man with crusts of dried blood where he held her hips as he suddenly wailed, half way between crying and roaring, and lost a massive load where her spotless buttocks kept telling him the time of night in the way of torch-lit skin. Then the other man erupted inside her mouth and gave her the fun of further familiarizing herself with the salty and rich taste of Mexican spunk. 

She was still spitting dollops of the sludge when three or four officers came, Santa Anna and the Colonel among them, and they grabbed her hair and began to stroke her face with the soggy warmth of their cocks, which soon became stiff and proud, except for the General, who cursed as his tired snake went on strike. From the Colonel to the Captain with the fat Major asking her whether she missed him, Consuelo was on her knees and forced to withstand the rigors of being pinched at the jaw while her mouth was being raped like there was no tomorrow. The worst and most humiliating was the fat Major, whose semen turned out to be loaded with ammonia since it came mixed with a bit of urine. As her gaze came across Rose-Anne where she lay down and five or six soldiers smiled as they took a piss on her, Consuelo understood she was perhaps fortunate. The other two officers tasted a bit less revolting. And as she swallowed their loads, Colonel first, Captain next, Consuelo died inside her as she realized that this "not so revolting" was now the highest honor she could aspire to.

The General had been masturbating in the meantime. Vigorously so. He gave the urgent command to lay her down and once she was down, he knelt wide on either side of her bosom. Looking down at her, then at that place of heaven where men loved to look, he began to masturbate. Hard. Harder still. Even harder! And then a small rivulet of thin semen landed on her cleavage, then for long minutes he exerted an incredible pressure on his tired gun, always reliving the moment he had freed those tits from her plaid dusk rose dress. Then it happened suddenly. Santa Anna shouted, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH CHARGE ON!" and Consuelo felt heavy ropes of spunk that gave much warmth of stickiness, mostly on her left breast and inside her wide valley.

Then the naked señorita felt the night was getting chilly. A new pack of soldiers pressed themselves around her and took eager turns in sucking her breasts after they stretched her on the ground. Her nipples were erect from the chill and this became a trend. Hands warming her feet, her legs, her buttocks as they turned her around. Hands stroking her hair. Men telling her she was pretty. Others calling her the usual---tramp! harlot! 

The rapes never truly stopped. They kept shifting her from one position to another. One man braved the religion and took her ass, and even this, she was getting a little bit more used to it. She felt completely at their mercy. And this sense of being so utterly dominated caused her to remain constantly in varying shades of arousal.

Then a group of drummer boys came and gave her a fast-paced orgy where each young sir gave her a quick run that was very soon concluded by a high-pitched series of yells where she felt the heat of a boy inside her. Their apple-cheeked, beardless faces were exremely disturbing to see whenever one of them was on top of her. She recognized the angel-face bugle boy and heard the loud waves of laughter as she encircled him with her weary legs. The sounds of his choir-boy's grunts brought her to the altar where she was forced into carnal marriage and both climaxed together. The boy gone. Another boy. African?! Oh, God, have mercy!

***

At one point, she realized she was under a man whose skin was nightmare-dark. Abraham! 

"Abraham?! Please no! This... Not right!" Consuelo blurted out, looking away as the former butler of Mrs. O'Hara kissed and licked her face with despaired avidity.

"Ooh! Oh, Milady! Abraham wants you so hopelessly! Hopelessly in love!"

"Yes, Your Excellency, we ganged up on his daughters and he remained calm after we told him..." Consuelo heard while Abraham began to press and knead her breasts, smiling with all his teeth befor engulfing one of her flesh pastries as deep as he could inside his mouth, and he sucked it with such passion it seemed she was made of sugar!

"... after we told him we'd let him have Consuelo."

"Oh yes yes! Yes! Aaahhrr Milady! I love your titties, Milady! I've always loved them! They taste so good in my big negro's mouth mmh mmmmmhhh..."

Tears streamed down her face. The shocking contrast between her and this... this ape! This had no right to exist! "No right! No right please don't! DOOOOON'T don't don't! Aaaaah--aaaaaaahaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA NNNAAAAAA AAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAA HAVE MERCY!!!"

The more she wailed, the more Abraham felt like punching his clock where it belongs so his large body may tell her true hour of things. And he did just that!

Abraham inspired the soldiers with his wisdom in choosing how to have Consuelo. He knelt down with his thighs wide, his cock jutting out like a coffin-brown snake turned into wood while still retaining the shape of its head, a most terrifying sight for the señorita. And while a couple soldiers gave him a helping hand, the large negro removed his crude cotton shirt while grabbing her waist and dragging-lifting her into position, while she bitterly sobbed, and yet her eyes met his muscular torso and his toned abdomen as he valiantly penetrated her and while holding her waist, he began to rock her with short bursting strokes that set her breasts into motions he found most delightful to watch with those warm glows of torchlight.

Her face gently bobbed as she kept her arms alongside her while feeling the gently painful punches from him inside her! Her inner thighs kept rubbing his side while she couldn't keep her eyes off his gladiator-like torso. All this time, the quiet butler had this body under his dapper outfit! A negro! No she wasn't supposed to feel the slightest shred of enjoyment when used by a negro! No! But each time she thought no, her body pushed her farther in the land of taboos. The soldiers kept taunting her as they watched.

"Nigger tramp!"

"Do you hear her? She's enjoying it!"

"Look at her tits go!"

"That negro's a hero!"

"YEah, he's giving her quite a ride! She's losing her mind!"

Abraham soon concluded his feat, not before his stiffness inside her gave her one big hurricane of taboo. She found herself moaning and whimpering like a bitch in heat with her arms aimlessly flailing, and then she heard him grunt and received the raging bolts of his relief inside her, catching sight of the frothing slobber coming out of his mouth as he erupted, his head bobbing while he basked in the soothing heat of his lived-out dream. 

***

After this, more men came, a lot of them return customers. More head-bobbing in store for her. Rank-and-file men and officers were now taking her in no particular order. They all looked the same to her. Until they didn't.

The man on top of her was known to her. Yes! She knew him!

"Felipe! Traitor! Traitor! Bastard!" Consuelo began to shout as she came alive. Her anger gave desperate life to her limbs and she managed to claw his face using her nails!

"Aah, Consuelo, you bitch!" Felipe Gonzales uttered before slapping her. But she barely felt it and kept shouting.

"Stop this man! He's a traitor! He was with us! With hhmmmmmm..."

Felipe was now pressing his hand on her mouth.

"Shut up! Shut up and let me do what I've been dreaming of doing to you all this time, Consuelo!"

And then, keeping one hand pressed, desperately pressed on her mouth, Felipe pounded her with rage, with fury! And he soon reached and passed his wild frontier and sounded like a mating chimpanzee as he relieved himself.

"Aaaahhh, this was good! Thank you, Consuelo de Quesada!" Felipe said as he got back up.

Consuelo sprang with surreal life as she coiled herself and pointed at him!

"General, Major, he fought with us! He stole a uniform on a corpse! His name is Felipe Gonzales and he's trying to pass for one of you!"

Felipe tried to walk and blend into the crowd.

"Stop!" the General thundered, stentorian. "Stay right where you are!"

Felipe tried to run, but was restrained by a burly beast of a Sergeant, the very one who had first raped Rose-Anne in the chapel. "You ain't going anywhere, rat-face scoundrel!"

"Where's my purser? Eh you, get the purser here! On the double!"

Everybody nearby, soldiers and officers alike, were so astonished by this new event that they forgot to keep using Consuelo, who wasn't trying to escape or anything for she was far too exhausted. She coiled herself, hugging her knees, and bitterly sobbed as it seemed to her that being abused by a traitor was perhaps even worse than being raped by a negro; to such a degree that her rape by the fat Captain (now Major) and the brave Mexicans felt almost like a great honor in comparison.

"P-please, this... this is a mistake, I..." Felipe began.

"Soldier!" the General thundered. "Name and rank, regiment, company and platoon!"

"P-p-please I..."

"You heard me, Private. Your name, regiment, company and platoon!"

"S-second regiment, third comp..."

"There's no second regiment in my brigade. There's the Seventh of Chihuahua and the..."

"The Seventh, I remember now, Sir!"

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! The Seventh of Chihuahua is a cavalry regiment, under the command of my friend here! And you're wearing the infantry's blue uniform. And if you were with us, you'd know that everybody addresses me as Your Excellency, for I'm the President of the Republic. Major! Take this traitor to jail and make sure the... you know who they are, keep him from escaping. He'll be shot at dawn."

"NO! NO! Sir--Your Excellency! This... this is a mistake! A terrible mistake!" Felipe pleaded as two sturdy privates dragged him away with the fat Major following.

"Coward!" a soldier yelled while spitting at him. A great many followed suit. Once in the cell, Felipe was placed under the guard of three sodomites of the vilest reputation, who made sure he would spend the rest of the night in good company until the cock crowed. They also called their fellow sodomites and made sure he would perhaps look forward to his execution.

Once near Santa Anna, the purser was told the matter for which he had been summoned was already settled. Santa Anna would have asked the traitor what's the name of this man with a long white beard and a reddish nose who was universally known by all as Kris Kringle for his prodigious resemblance with the legendary character. The soldiers more commonly knew him as Todo-para-todos (Everything For All) since this was the brigade's Adjutant who made sure all soldiers were properly equipped.

Upon learning he had been called for nothing, Todo-para-todos, or Kris Kringle, spotted Consuelo and approached the reclining naked señorita. Kneeling near her, the white-bearded grandpa produced a flask of whiskey and proceeded to wash her face and her bosom with one half of the flask, insisting on her breasts, which had a most generous effect on him--his wrinkled face lightened up with the simple joy of a boy in a candy store as he began to knead and gently massage those tits of a señorita, doing something he hadn't done in ages. For he had abstained from any debauchery, until now. 

With everybody forming a circle, the purser sucked and kneaded Consuelo's bosom pastries with increasing force, making Consuelo feel the long silver strands of his whiskey-scented beard. Consuelo began to whimper upon meeting this new experience. Faking it, with some genuine part that caused her breasts to swell under Kris Kringle's tongue-and-beard action. His tongue had forgotten how good a young nipple felt so he made sure to remember this for years to come.

After a good while, our venerable friend Kris Kringle had chosen in what style he was going to fuck the young lady. He stood on his knees and dropped his large-waisted trousers so the young lady had a magnificent view of a young-looking cock that jutted out with pride under his generous belly--well-girthed with veins galore. What struck Consuelo was its palor.

Under growing cheers from the soldiers, many of whom began to chant his nickname, "¡Todo-para-todos!", Kris Kringle laid himself down upon the long-exhausted señorita, who moaned  with a convulsion as his trusty pillar found her entrance and sank inside with compelling force. Kris Kringle kissed her, very sweetly and yet with definite strength behind, before covering her pretty face with the heated kissing of a grandpa doing what he shouldn't with his grandniece, and she felt aroused by the taboo of his beard brushing her cheek as he kissed her eyes, then went lower and gave his attention to her neck while giving her quiet pelvic thrusts; this while the soldiers chanted, "¡Todo-para-todos!" "¡Todo-para-todos!" "¡Todo-para-todos!"

Then the venerable purser propped himself up on his arms, where he gave her his candy-store boyish look as he smiled down on her and began pounding her, giving her the full benefit of his old-man strength as he ravished her under the profound, mystical contemplation of her free-moving breasts, fascinated by those youthful nipples that kept up their wine-brown dance under the dancing lights of torches that seemed there for a pagan wedding.

Consuelo noticed he had blue eyes with faint freckles on and around his nose. He was no Mexican! More like Irish, with hair that perhaps used to be red during the years of George Washington and Daniel Boone. The man was old, ancient, but the pounding he gave her was a young man's. Head-bobbing, she whimpered on and surrendered to his impetus, further loosening her body as to minimize the strain upon her.

"¡Toro!" "¡Toro!" "¡Toro!"

"¡Toro!"

"¡Toro!" "¡Toro!"

The soldiers now chanted "¡Toro!" as Kris Kringle pounded Consuelo indeed like a bull. His beard was white, but his deep thrusts scored the same heavy hits as a black breeding bull inside the whimpering señorita. The old Irish-looking purser kept it up for what felt like a half eternity. He did not come. Consuelo endured the punishment with her arms aimlessly wandering about her fanned out hair.

After the longest time, the venerable lover pulled out of her and rolled her over, where he took long loving strokes on her derriere, licking her damsel's buttocks, giving the hot time of night with generous slobber on her moons, which he brushed with his long beard and saluted with gentle nose pokes. She felt the taboo right down to her bones while the troops kept chanting, "¡Toro!" "¡Toro!" "¡Toro!"

Once her buttocks where well Irished with his drool, Kris Kringle grabbed her hips and motioned her up on her knees while she remained face down on her elbows. He stood again on his knees and used his hard beast of a cock to gently cane her protruding butt, before sinking it back where it belonged and began to pound her again, this while the brave Mexicans kept chanting, celebrating his breeding prowess like men praising the matador in a corrida. 

"¡Toro!" "¡Toro!" "¡Toro!"

Somehow, musicians showed up and began playing guitars and sang a ballad about an old depraved monk who loved maidens while Kris Kringle gave the most acoustic amplification as he battered Consuelo with the butt-flattening grunts she was clearly made for. Under the starry sky and the bright torches, the valiant Adjutant celebrated the pagan wedding with music and songs as the cock-happy soldiers chanted on. "¡Toro!" "¡Toro!" "¡Toro!"

Consuelo now begged the old man to please, please get over with it!

But the brave purser wasn't done. If anything, his pounding grew more ferocious as he kept at it along with the guitars where the singer was recounting how the brave monk became a brigand and raped the daughter of some rich merchant before his men took their pleasure inside her as well.

Kris Kringle had trouble reaching his final point of flourish, although his erection was phenomenal in its stiffness and endurance. Feeling he needed a tighter hole to reach the bliss he was longing for, he asked God for His forgiveness as he pulled out from her, only to re-enter inside her anus!

The guitars re-played the ballad, now with Consuelo's tortured screaming for added spice, while Kris Kringle went down her chimney and gave it a most thorough sweeping, grunting like a breeding gorilla as the guitars played on and the soldiers chanted--louder than ever...

"¡Toro!" "¡Toro!" "¡Toro!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAA NNHAAAOOOOOOOOOOO NAOOOOOOO AAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!" the tortured girl screamed.

"¡Toro!" "¡Toro!" "¡Toro!" "¡Toro!" "¡Toro!" "¡Toro!"

At last, at long last, Kris Kringle gripped her hips with a madman's strength, making her wince with added pain as he drove her golden-lit buttocks against him and passed his long-awaited edge. At last!

He looked up to the sky and pushed one long, far-reaching scream as he exploded with bliss and then some more bliss inside her. His proud bolts of sperm flooded Consuelo's rectum before he pulled out and spewed two more bolts, thick and creamy, that gave a lovely pooling gift on her highly praised curves. She still felt his hands upon her as he caressed her waist, and then her hips, her thighs... The old bugger was out of breath, but certainly not out of affection.

"Oh, by the way, I'm David Fraser, and I'm happy to finally meet you, Señorita. Unfathomably so," he said in flawless English while a bugle boy helped him back on his feet while congratulating him for his great performance.

Chapter Text

Along with Janet, Jeb and Alan reached the Stapleton farm, where Ethel hugged them along with Jupiter, the brave German shepherd who wagged his tail upon finding them safe and sound. Ethel broke down upon learning of her father's death, but there was no time to lose. Ethel being a strong girl, she soon calmed down and helped the Stapletons to pack. Mrs. Stapleton was a twenty-something wife with an infant. Her husband helped her get settled as they all set out for the Powell farm. Mr. Stapleton drove a carriage with his wife breast-feeding their baby son, while Alan and Jeb rode fresh horses. Janet rode with her brother and holding his waist while Ethel simply walked and jogged, with Jupiter never leaving her side. 

They soon reached the Powell farm and alarmed the farmer and his four adult sons about the grave danger they were in. Mr. Powell and his four sons armed themselves and set out on their own horses, leaving Mrs. Powell at the house. They now formed a safer escort along with Jeb and his new companion, Alan, a crack shot and a tracker with piercing eyes. Three of the four sons were married. One of their wives joined Mrs. Stapleton in the wagon while the two others rode extra horses and each packed a musket.

"Before we go, we must rescue my mother and my sister Denise!" Alan told Mr. Powell and his sons.

"Too dangerous!" Mr. Powell replied. "And we don't even know where they are."

"Yes, I think I do," Alan replied.

"Father, this is Denise McTavish!" pleaded Frank, his second eldest son and the only one who was still unmarried. Frank Powell was in love with Denise and had proposed to her twice.

"They... they're probably taking her and, and her mother to Fort Alamo. We can't ride into this many Mexicans!" Mr. Powell stated.

Jeb countered his argument... "I... I don't think those Mexicans will want to share the... the captives, no, no they must have set camp not too far away from the farm, and look over there! The farm's ablaze!"

There was indeed a bonfire several miles away. All too visible as the McTavish farm was on somewhat higher grounds. The fire was likely visible even from San Antonio.

"You know where, where they are?" Frank asked Alan while Jeb laid a friendly hand on his large shoulder as the boy began to cry after hearing Denise being referred to as a captive.

"Yes, I do and it's but an hour's ride from here as the moon's bright and I'm sure to know where to find those bastards!"

"How many of them?" Mr. Powell asked, casting a worried eye on the women. "It's dangerous to stay around here."

"About twelve, and they lost their officers and sergeants," Jeb replied, grinning with pride.

"We're seven men between us. We can go and hit them by surprise and bring my mother and Denise back here within a couple of hours if we ride fast," Alan added.

"What are we waiting for?" Frank said as he got back on Satan, his black horse.

"Come on, Father! We can't leave poor Denise and her mother in their hands!" Daniel added. Daniel, twenty-one, was the third born son.

"We can't let get away with this, Father!" William, the elder son, bellowed. "The Mexicans need to understand that everything they do comes with a price!"

"All right! Let's ride and show those brigands what Yankee lead tastes like!" the father said before mounting his strong palomino horse.

***

There had been an argument in the Mexican troop between the Corporal and the Lance Corporal, which the latter easily won along with the overwhelming majority of men. The Corporal wanted to take their lovely prisoners to Fort Alamo, but things got close to a mutiny as it was clear to nearly all the surviving men that sharing their spoils was out of the question, so the women were brought back to the camp the cavalrymen had ridden out of. Leaving the Lieutenants and their dead dreams of glory and promotion near the burning farm house, the decapitated troop of a dozen rifles returned to their camp, too weary and bent on carnal pleasures to only consider the danger posed by the Yankees who had fled after lowering their numbers.

"Too bad we couldn't get our hands on the younger daughters! Madre de Dios, they looked like angels!" Esteban cursed. He was the only survivor of the two scouts who had observed the farm during the afternoon.

"Granted, but this dark-haired one will do for the night by the campfire!" said the Lance Corporal, who rode first in front of the small troop.

"No campfires!" the Corporal said, trying to sound stern.

"Carlos, this won't make any difference whether we light a fire or not. Those Yankees know better than moving against thirteen men. No, they'll go to the other farms and everybody will pack up and get on their way to Gonzales in the opposite direction... and ride into our conpadres further down the road. Lucky Cervantes! It is our Captain who'll get the best booty! Those younger daughters along with more girls from those other farms. But it's better to enjoy what we do have. Don't you like this dark-haired girl? Her skin is so delightfully pale, so soft!"

The Corporal had to give in once again to this organic shift of power in favor of the Lance Corporal, who became the new actual leader of the weakened, half-mutinied troop. This was made official when a man addressed the Lance Corporal as "Decurion", an unwritten cavalry rank bestowed to any elected leader when a unit had lost all of their officers and sergeants. Its use was restricted to units from Chihuahua and its region. Now the Corporal, although nominally higher in rank, was only second to the new Decurion, who would keep this makeshift rank and position until they get back to their squadron or regiment; a squadron had 100-120 men in practice while a cavalry regiment usually had three or four squadrons. The Seventh of Chihuahua was a four-squadron regiment. Most of the Decurion's squadron was last reported to be patrolling between them and Gonzales.

As soon as the men's coffee was brewing on the bright campfire, as soon as they had taken off their cuirasses to be more comfortable in their exertions, Rebecca and Denise her daughter were gang-raped again. The Corporal retained his rank's privilege to go first inside Denise, and he vented out his military frustration on the poor girl, whose pitiful wails and cries pierced the night and troubled the sleep of any coyote nearby. Decurion Rodriguez was so eager to enjoy Denise again that he didn't even trouble himself with removing his cuirass, but it didn't matter since he planned on raping her from behind, with a smile. The other Lance Corporal stood nearby, silently masturbating as he waited his own turn.

Rebecca was given the honor of four men while the rest were all gathered around the daughter and waiting for the Corporal to finish venting out his steaming frustration, which he did soon enough.

The fire crackled with a peculiar sound, the wood being especially dry.

A man fell.

Other crackling sounds went off. From the fire? No.

Two, no three more men fell, including the Corporal.

"We're under attack! Quick! Take cover!" the Decurion ordered, waving his men to go into a nearby thicket of oaks and sycamores.

"There's their leader now!" Jeb smiled as he aimed true and fired!

The rifle ball found its mark and punched through the Decurion's cuirass, ending his short-lived rule as he fell with a thud, face first in a tiny puddle of hot mud formed by some spilled coffee, where the close proximity to Denise's dainty feet gave him his final comfort as he took his ultimate breath and his pierced heart stopped beating. Iris was soon there for him; the goddess had had lots of Mexican cock to suck off as of late.

Two more men had fallen. The surprise was such that the attackers had time to reload before the survivors knew what was hitting them. Some found the cover of woods and ran as fast as they could, like scared rabbits, throwing away their rifle as they panicked. They kept running! They wouldn't look back until they reached Fort Alamo, where they'd get court-martialed for losing their weapons. The surviving Lance Corporal would get fifty whip-lashes and of course resume his inglorious career as a Private.

The men who didn't flee through the woods tried to get on their horses and ride away, but every single one of them got shot, except one lucky bastard, Esteban, who managed to get away, and with his musket. He'd reach Fort Alamo before the morning and get to partake to the grand fiesta, and get promoted to full Corporal the next day. Lucky bastard. He'd even get to witness the flogging of his former Lance Corporal, whom he hated... He'd witness it with some bliss left hanging in his legs from the monster ejaculation he'd have experienced deep inside Consuelo. Talk about lucky!

Jeb, Allan, Mr. Powell, his four sons and two of their wives, musket in hand, emerged from their cover and rescued Rebecca and Denise, throwing blankets on their violated modesty while the men slayed any wounded survivor among the Mexicans, cold-blooded, with a knife in their throats.

"All right, let's go!" Mr. Powell ordered as Frank took Denise with him on his black horse while Daniel similarly took care of Rebecca, who couldn't bear riding with her son when in such a debased state.

Both wives smiled at each other as they strapped their muskets back on their shoulder, glad about their successful baptism of gunpowder, and yet they felt great sorrow upon seeing the pitiful state of Denise and Rebecca--and fear too, as they thought about what would have happened to their persons if the rescue had gone wrong and they'd found themselves in the hands of those evil men.

"Joan, Claire! Come on! We must ride and ride fast!" Matthew bellowed to his wife and Claire, his sister-in-law. Out of sheer habit, William, Frank, Daniel and Matthew, the youngest son, rode behind their father, in decreasing order of age while Jeb and Alan followed close by, riding next to the wives under a bright moonlight.

"Ah, dammit! My horse caught a stone in its hoof!" Joan cursed right near Jeb.

"I'll help you with this!" Jeb said.

Alan rode on along with Claire while Joan and Jeb both dismounted and remained behind.

Jeb quickly went to check one of the horse's hind hooves, the left one. 

"But... There's no stone?! Nothing at all! What's this... Joan!"

"Say nothing," the young wife said as she promptly undid the front of her dress and then unlaced the front of her soft corset. She was disrobing! And she looked fabulous, her long hair positively black under the gibbous moon, her skin a fantastic landscape of eerie soft light and a valley of shadow as she bared her breasts for Jeb, offering her nipples bathed in this moonlight. For the first time in his nineteen years, Jeb was contemplating these mystic shapes that countless times drove men into doing the wildest things just for a taste of them; Joan looked more like a fantastic being than a young housewife.

Jeb hesitated, but his cock had been hard ever since he and the others had approached the camp and heard the tell-tale whimpers mingled with grunts. He felt incredibly horny. So did Joan!

She went right at him and kissed him while throwing one of his hands upon her bosom! Her urgent whimpers got the best of him as their tongues met and twirled with each other. Jeb was a virgin who had decided to keep himself for Consuelo, but now... Now he needed to fuck. Not tomorrow. Now!

Without a word, Joan went down on her knees and unbuttoned Jeb's trousers, and soon enough, she took hold of his cock and gave it a quick and thorough spit-polish in the moonlight before urging him to please fuck her! Quick!

She lowered herself on all fours and Jeb, his heart racing, knelt behind her. He rose her dark dress and---"Aaah, God!"-- he penetrated the lovely stranger and began to fuck her, his mouth wide open upon learning how amazing it felt to be inside a woman. She moaned hard with desperation in her fiery breaths, doing her best to suppress her sounds, while he grunted like a highwayman raping the young wife of his first victim. He had simply thrown her dress on her waist, which he held tight as he urgently fucked her, taking full leisure in his first ever close-up view on a woman's bottom--and Joan's ass was royally white and full, like two fleshy slabs of paleness. It almost felt like fucking a vampiress.

Upon reaching the supreme moment, Jeb thought of Consuelo. He pictured her naked on all fours, taking the cock of a Mexican officer deep and hard while moaning just like Joan did. With a long line-up of olive faces waiting their turns.

It was soon over. Without any further delay, the impromptu lovers took their horses and galloped to make up for the time lost to their secret debauchery. Jeb felt deep sadness upon losing the possibility of popping his lad's cherry inside Consuelo... For Consuelo was still the reigning goddess of his heart. He knew she was in the Mexicans' power. The thought of Consuelo at their mercy made him even hornier for her. He imagined a large group of drunk troops drowning her nakedness under a heap of jism.

He stopped Joan again and kickly filled her up from behind, screaming at the starlit sky as he gave her his own Milky Way while thinking of Consuelo and her charms.

***

When they came back, the nine riders found Mr. Stapleton dead, and scalped, while his wife also lay dead on the ground, spread-eagled with her dress bunched up against her waist, her cunt in clear view--and an unsightly bloody gash marring her forehead--where she had obviously been gang-raped, then butchered in the most barbaric way. She had been scalped as well. Her head wound was the trademark of a tomahawk. Jupiter lay on his side with two arrows inside him. Asleep forever. Next to the corpse of a war-painted Comanche, whose throat had clearly been torn off during the dog's final fight. 

"Indians! The bastards! The bloody bastards!" Mr. Powell hollered, waving an enraged fist toward the moonlit sky. How could he have forgotten that the Comanche did make raids by night when the moon was bright enough! If only they had stayed! He put a knee down near Mrs. Stapleton and respectfully lowered her dress, restoring the corpse's dignity. She had been a lovely blonde whom he had secretly fancied. He would never forgive himself! All this because of that stranger, Jeb!

"Brave Jupiter! So you made your last stand... Brave lawful dog!" Alan said as he stroked Jupiter's motionless side.

"They've taken Ethel! They've taken Ethel!" Janet cried out as she ran out of the woods toward her brother and flung herself in his arms. "My baby sister! Poor Ethel!"

"What happened?" Alan asked as he comforted his little sister.

"There were two many of them! Aah aaah aaaaaaaaaa... Two many! Mr. St-stapleton did all... all he could, but there were too many! Twenty, twenty-five I don't know! I ran and I ran! But I heard the dog as he died. His howling! So pitiful to hear! And Ethel's cry, "Jupiter!" You know how much she loved her dog. I didn't hear anything after, only Ethel's shouts of anger as she ordered them to put her down. I just ran and ran. I was so scared! But we must go and rescue Ethel!"

"I... I'm sorry, Janet, but there's only nine of us with muskets and our munitions are very precious. How much of a start do they have on us? Half an hour? Comanches ride fast and our horses are tired."

"But Alan! This is our sister!"

"I'm really sorry, Janet, but we must go on without her. No, please, hear me. There's no way we can catch up with them without entering Comanche lands. They'll see us come and they'll ambush us. Besides, our horses need to rest. I'm truly sorry, my sweet beloved sister."

As he spoke, Alan held Janet close to his heart. The maiden rested her head on his bosom and bitterly sobbed in his arms. As he comforted Janet, Alan felt crushed by shame as he realized he found it better that it was Ethel who had been abducted and not Janet. Janet! He felt he just couldn't live without her. He was in love with Janet. It was so immoral, but it was the naked truth.

"I... I love you, Janet," Alan said, in a tone that was too passionate from brother to sister. She felt it and said nothing while she sobbed and began to mourn her lost baby sister.

William desperately called his wife, fearing the worst as he failed to find any sign of her. But then Rita came running back and sprung into his arms, wrapping her legs urgently around her husband as she covered his bearded face with kisses. Then the young wife quickly recounted everything that had happened before she ran away and found a good hiding place. The wagons had been ambushed and encircled by a strong party of ululating Comanches. Mr. Stapleton was the only one with a musket and after he fired his one shot, the Indians mercilessly cut him down while his wife was grabbed and began shrieking like one being eviscerated, and then she ran as if a legion of devils were at her heels.

"Louise! Thank God you're safe!" Mr. Powell let out as he hugged his wife, who was leading a funny-looking girl about seven years old.

"Yes, my love. I ran and hid just in time, with little Lucy here. They completely ransacked the place and set our cattle free, but at least they didn't burn down the farm. But I'm afraid they took and killed all our hens."

Denise and Rebecca both added their despaired wails and cries upon learning about Ethel's fate and the demise of their beloved neighbors. It took Joan and Claire and their husbands to somewhat quiet down the poor wretched women while Mr. Powell and his two other sons began cleaning up the mess. The brave German shepherd was laid to his final rest, most respectfully, right next to the quickly dug graves of Mr. and Mrs. Stapleton. The six-month-old baby was also found dead not far from the wagons; he had fallen and got trampled. The dead Comanche was left there for the crows and the coyotes.

In the gray light of morning, the small company of refugees set out for Gonzales, leaving four makeshift crosses behind.

Chapter Text

Mr. Stapleton didn't die immediately.

The Comanches must have been in hiding and watching them for a while, since they struck as soon as Mr. Powell, Alan McTavish and the others had ridden off in their rescue mission. Normally, the Comanches never dared make raids in these parts close to San Antonio, but they were taking advantage of the war with Mexico and the chaos it created.

Steve Stapleton knew he didn't have a fighting chance. He aimed true and took his time to fire his one musket shot at the warrior he had seen making signs at the others, but an explosion of pain in his belly caused him to miss. He wanted to reload, wanted to ask his wife Mary to reload for him, but two ululating warriors had already climbed on the wagon and ripped the musket from his hands before landing a terrible tomahawk strike, which didn't connect square on his head due to a last-split second motion.

The place was filled with the Comanches ululating. Ethel screamed as they grabbed her. The dog struck, one brave fell and died holding his throat. Steve saw it all as he collapsed on his driver's seat. Mary shrieked as the warriors grabbed her and dragged her out of the wagon and his six-month son filled it with his frantic wailing. The dog howled in a tell-tale agony as arrows pierced the German shepherd. Ethel shrieked even louder as the Comanches sang their loud victory song in their peculiar litany of ululations.

His son was shut up in a brutal silence that told Steve the most horrible truth. Fate was being cruel to keep him alive in spite of the arrow in his belly and his skull that was profusely bleeding from the tomahawk wound. Now he heard the screams from the women. His beloved Mary! They were now bringing her near Ethel, who was trying to run but her quick feet only threaded the moonlit air. A searing pain on his head informed Steve he was being scalped alive!

Then most of the Comanches warriors, fifteen if not twenty of them, gathered around their two female captives—he saw their war-painted faces almost as plain as day, for the Comanches liked to strike at night when the moon was bright enough. There was a measure of hesitation among them as their leader tried to order them back to their horses, but the tension was so thick! Steve felt it in spite of his pain. The rush! He himself was caught by its all-mighty force. The warriors were horny. They had captured one woman and one girl, and they had to fuck.

The leader—whom Steve had aimed his one shot at—said something brief and it began. Quick, urgent and immensely intense.

Mary shrieked as they stretched her on the ground and urgently threw her dress and petticoat over her bosom and her bare legs appeared, strikingly white against the silver-moonlit ground, while they restrained her arms and a first warrior already mounted on top of her. Ethel kept screaming "Jupiter! Jupiter!!!" calling her dog and in tears as the leader and a pack of warriors forced her down on her knees and easily wrestled her down to where she was face down with her elbows in the earth as they bunched her dark dress up her waist, baring her boyish ass as the warriors ululated upon the supreme prospect of deflowering a white girl. Ethel's age was of no concern to them.

Mary wailed and called Steve's name as the first warrior penetrated her. Ethel went into shocked silence as the leader's cock, hastily slobbered, entered inside her. Steve could tell Ethel was in absolute pain and terror, he felt even more badly for the young girl than for his own wife.

The first rapes were quickly concluded. Why did fate allow Steve to hear the sounds of relief from the Comanches ululating their finale inside his own wife and the youngster? The first rapes were followed by many others, all quickly concluded. They were crude and barbaric and immensely urgent—All grunts and ululations as Mary called her husband amid her whimpering screams, while Ethel called her fallen dog amid the shock and torture of her repeated deflowering.

Steve hoped, vainly, that Mr. Powell and the others would unexpectedly come back early, in which case the Comanches would be a crowded bunch of sitting ducks, but fate refused to give him this satisfaction. The one satisfaction he got was to hear only two women being gang-raped. William's wife and Janet had successfully escaped into hiding.

When all warriors who felt like it had taken their relief, Mary got struck down with a tomahawk that hit her square: she was deemed too old for the Comanches to bring her along with them, so they killed her and scalped her golden hair while they took Ethel with them, to be raped again and tortured by the village squaws until she either died or was forced into marriage, probably with one of her rapists. The Comanches were the most feared Indians in Texas. As he died, Steve prayed to God to ask His forgiveness, for he had failed to protect the women and even more sinful, he had experienced a small measure of evil pleasure upon watching the gang-rapes. He died wishing for days where strong Yankee units would wipe out all Comanche tribes into oblivion.

A beautiful maiden in a Greek suit of armor straight out of Steve's dreams led him to a forest of cypresses and thence to the shore of a strong-current river where a large orgy was in progress under the moon's surreal life. There Atropos's daughter cut one of his hair with sharp scissors. The maiden with silky light for skin got help from him and removed her Athenian helmet and suit of armor, her sandals and her peplum, revealing the ageless treasures of her body as she smiled upon loosening the long mysteries of her raven hair—she then offered herself to all his pent-up lust and Steve passed away in bursting happiness amid a forest of grief and sorrow. 

***

Itehtah'o "Burn-meat, the Fearless who throws surplus meat out in the spring where it dries and becomes black" was riding at the head of his band of warriors, riding like the wind while holding in his lap the young white girl whose hair was like a curtain of night. Her buttocks struck his lap at each returning gallop of his palomino, and he knew he and a few others would gladly rape her again when they'd have to halt to let the horses rest. He would make her his own squaw and claim the privilege of a second wife as the chief's second-elder son. His no-good lazy brother would certainly challenge him for this prime-years girl who would give many offspring in due time. Let him come! Huupi-Pahati, thus named since he wall tall and slim like a tall tree, had no chance against him in a tomahawk throwing contest, and of course, fighting between brothers was strictly forbidden. In time, the child-like girl would learn their language and make a good loving wife; he'd see to it.

He rode on under the setting gibbous moon. Itehtah'o was happy with his booty while Atak'uni kept boasting about how he took the golden hair from this evil white witch he had so brutally punished. Itehtah'o was perfectly willing to let Atak'uni have his golden-hair trophy. Atak'uni did not argue with Itehtah'o when he ordered him to slay this woman, as white women caught too old would inevitably try to escape or worse, try to kill a squaw or a warrior. Atak'uni wanted to keep her and have a second wife, but he obeyed and kept the scalp as a consolation prize. Atak'uni was a good warrior. Itehtah'o would make sure he'd get a second wife from a future raid.

*** *** ***

Consuelo woke up in horrible pain. Someone had covered her battered body with a grey blanket. She snuggled in it against the dawn's chill. It was already dawn. A trumpet sound got lost in the rosy sky way up above. Her tired eyes chanced to meet the turret above the church where she saw the bugle boy—the same angel-faced boy who had such a wild effect on her. How old was he? Thirteen? And yet his touch upon her... Even in her deepest pain and exhaustion, even when her tortured sense of debasement reached the very marrow of her bones, she still found her body longing for his touch. Especially her feet. This boy had been the one who had undone her shoes when... Oh, this was too horrible! After that disgusting fat officer had... In spite of all this, she remembered his kisses on her bare feet and wanted him to do it again. She was terrified that a group of men would presently come and force her into a morning gang-fuck, but boys with angel faces didn't scare her.

She had slept the rest of the night outdoors in the fort's inner yard, although she had no memory of being carried there. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw them again—Her rapists. A great too many of them. Far too many! Little details would pop back up to the surface of her thoughts, like a cork that comes floating back after being sunk in water. The popping out was unstoppable. Was she going to relive this ordeal for the rest of her life? The answer frightened her even more than the prospect of another gang-rape.

Raped. This was what she was now. A woman who was raped. She felt so old! Ages ago, she used to be a blooming señorita of many accomplishments. The pain! It was getting unbearable. So many men had used her! How could she still be alive? Perhaps she could count herself lucky. There was a crust on her face. A thick crust. She closed her eyes and scratched her eyelids, gently, like she would usually do upon waking up in the morning. And flakes came off. Whitish flakes, and so abundant! 

Semen! Dry semen.

She then touched her naked bosom under the blanket and found more such flakes. Just as plentiful. It all came back like stormy waves of fresh memories, with frothing waves that turned into the frothing slobber from men drooling all over her as they gang-raped her. All ages. From drummer boys to an old man who looked like Kris Kringle with a long white beard and a large belly. And every ages in between. From the General to the lowliest rank-and-file, most of them young, illiterate men who put her through an endless barrage of olive faces and relentless thrusts and strokes. Hence the searing soreness she felt between her legs. Her anus was fiery with pain. Her hips a devastation of bruises, where countless hands held her. Her wrists were dark blue from having been restrained so many times over. Her head was aching so bad! From the endless bobbing under those Mexicans. Then she remembered how neat they had looked before the assault, when she looked down on them and stood on top of that sunlit wall, out of their reach. Then they got nearer.

At the end of the endless night of rapes, where all those men ended up feeling like one and the same to her, after she had undergone another confusion of quick intercourse amid the group of bugle boys and drummers, after she had lost it and fell unconscious, only to be awaken by tequila being poured on her face and her bosom, after yet another pack of drunkards gave her some more spunk as if she didn't have enough before and it were of the utmost importance she get some more—After all this vaginal and rectal confusion, at some point she heard a hated voice. Someone inviting the men to "kindly form a circle and give the Señorita the parting gift she was dying to feel upon her lovely person".

After that command from their General, yes, it was a General... After the command, as she remembered in the tired confusion of her thoughts, the men had formed a close and compact circle around her and masturbated. One after the other, left and right, they began to ejaculate, some of them sounded like dying men as the first drops of jism fell upon her face, on her breasts; then the spunk had begun to fall in thicker abundance everywhere else on her, but most of it on her face and bosom as more and more men offered her the groaning gift of soldierly stickiness. Hot, fresh and creamy. Pungent too. Very.

Once the first circle of men and officers had taken their relief, another circle came around her. Same story. Animal grunts everywhere about her. Shots of jism galore! Left and right. Unabated. Most of this icing adorned her face. Lewd comments about how great it felt to dump a load on a true señorita. One man mentioning her full name, Consuelo de Quesada and proudly stating he had been the first man inside her, the very first one! Her fat rapist! Damn him! A third crowd of soldiers was already around her. Same thing. Forty more loads. One of them pulled her hair--painfully so--and lifted her face to make sure he was painting her pretty features with style and gusto. This became a trend and this was why she had such lingering pain all around her scalp, in addition to this hammering headache...

Then she heard a roll of drums, followed by commands. She recognized his voice. The fat Captain. Not him again!

"Take, aim!"

"No, please no! This is a terrible mist..."

"Fire!"

The crackling of muskets broke the tranquil sky. Crows played a funeral anthem a half minute later, perched on the same white wall where yesterday's Consuelo stood inviolate.

That begging voice. She knew this man. Who was he? Instinctively, she remembered he had been among the legion of her rapists... Felipe! Felipe the traitor. She had been the one who denounced him and thanks to her, he was no more. Good riddance!

But then the Catholic señorita remembered her childhood lessons in catechism. It is evil to rejoice of someone's death. Her father! Consuelo realized he was gone. She hugged her knees under her blanket, feeling those dry flakes of semen all over her, and began to cry. She felt so alone!

But she wasn't. Meg Blyth came close to her.

"Consuelo, hold me, I'm so cold! So alone—"

"Oh, Meg! What have they done to you—"

"Thank you, my sweet beloved Consuelo! It feels so good to be in your arms!"

"Wh-what do you think you're doing?! Take your hand off my breasts!"

"Don't you remember what they made us do together?"

"What?!"

"We kissed. They made us kiss and do lots of stuff, and cheered."

"What?!?!"

"If felt strange and funny at first, but I... I was so cold and..."

"And what?"

"I need an elder sister. Will you be my elder sister, Consuelo?"

"I... Yes."

"Then, let's kiss—"

"No!"

"Come on, just a little kiss!"

"Yes, just a little kiss! It was so fun to watch last night!" said a male voice.

Both girls turned heads toward the man who had just spoken these words. Consuelo's heart turned to water as she saw the ugly fat officer. The fat Captain!

"L... leave us alone..." Consuelo said.

"Well, I don't feel like it right now, but, perhaps later. Please do remind me, honey!" the fat Major replied as he knelt and went to gently stroke Consuelo's hair.

Both girls recoiled as if his hand were a giant rattlesnake. The fat Major smiled from ear to ear. Withholding information was so much fun! It was real sport to let the girls believe they could be gang-raped all over again any minute while the General's order were strict under the gravest of penalties—demotion for officers, flogging or worse for the rank-and-file. Damned big toe that was killing him! Consuelo saw the pain in the Major's pudgy face and felt immense satisfaction out of it—he caught her smiling and understood why. He frowned. Damned tramp!

"You're just a dirty little tramp! Tramps both of you!" he said and watched the terror taking its usual abode on both girls' faces. Pretty faces flaky from all the semen they had received. "But don't worry my pretties. Right now I'm a judge on a court martial, but don't worry. I know you can't wait for my return! Ha! Ha! Ha! Aaahh dammit!"

As he laughed, the fat Major turned and limped away, cursing his inflated big toe that made each left footstep a nightmare. He took out a flask of aguardiente and took the last swig. Empty now! What a sour morning! Every morning that began with a fire-squad execution was a sour morning. Every joy had to be paid back in spades. The joy of raping the noble señorita and his promotion had to be paid for. And it was. Big time. Big toe!

The court martial was on a Sergeant who had overextended the allowed time-span of licence on the town's womenfolk. All men had to be back in Fort Alamo by daybreak. And this Sergeant had kept on raping the nuns until Captain de la Bragueta was sent with a detachment to escort the drunkards back to discipline. Dies were tossed, one for each enlisted man. Every sixth man was to be flogged, every man who had rolled the fateful one. The Sergeant and his Corporal stood court-martial.

The fat Major, the cavalry Colonel and the twirl-mustached Captain took very little time in speaking the sentence. The Sergeant would be demoted to Corporal. The Corporal would be demoted to Private AND flogged.

"But... But I just followed orders! It's Fernando's fault!"

"Diego, behave Private Diego!" his former Sergeant and new Corporal ordered as a bugle boy, the one with an angel's face, using a knife, swiftly ripped off the red epaulet on his right shoulder. Fernando was happy in some way with this break in responsibilities, for he had always preferred to just lead a section of ten men. One epaulet less, less weight on his shoulders.

The flogging soon followed. It was done by a Lance Corporal from another platoon in the company.

"Stop whining like a little bitch and take it like a man!" Corporal Fernando said to the former Corporal, whose torso was swiftly stripped out of his uniform.

"Take my trousers off as well, I don't want to have to wash the blood off it!" the mortified new Private said. Soldiers promptly stripped him completely naked.

Two nuns who had performed amputations and other grim business in sickbay all night, got at the window and looked at the man's buttocks. The doctor, overworked and in need of a break, caught them looking and understood both women were horny. He picked the one he found prettiest, sent the other one back to the main sick room and closed the office's door behind him before ordering the nun down on her knees. Doctor Morilla seldom did this, but he needed a break from all this butchery. He removed his blood-soaked apron and presented his cock to the young woman, whose nun's wimple he removed so he could stroke her long dark hair. She was Mexican all right. He didn't really care, as long as she took him inside her mouth and made him hard. Two minutes later, he had her bend over a desk and took his full-swing pleasure and let the rhythmic waves of glee take full hold of him, holding her waist and attending to her curves and nothing else. For the few fleeting minutes intercourse lasted, he forgot his grim occupation and it ended with a resounding flourish. In the end, the nun was whimpering hard and sounded she was perhaps climaxing. He didn't care. Both doctor and nun resumed their bloody day with renewed energy.

Private Diego, naked, was tied up to the pillar. He now remained stoic and refused the biting stick.

"Now that's the way, boy!" Corporal Fernando said as he made that peculiar nod to the Corporal getting ready, whip in hand as soldiers tied Diego's hands above him at a timber pillar for that specific purpose. It was a specific nod that meant "go a bit easier on him". Fernando enjoyed his simpler authority as a Corporal. He almost directly patted his own right shoulder where the red epaulet was no more. He had gotten off the hook quite light. He could have been flogged himself. Instead he was personally leading the preparations for it. Being on the right side of the fence sometimes hinged on so very little. Luck. Sheer luck. The officers who had sat on the court martial while the General was having breakfast, just got it done with very quickly as they were themselves hungry and besides, all those beautiful captive Yankee girls had slept naked under their blankets and sooner or later, they'd have to get up—