The Last Command – Consuelo’s Fate 4 Sex Stories Cool – Y2Stories

Rose-Anne gets separated from her sisters. She gets brutally gang-raped and goes through many different sensations. A drummer boy also takes her.

Note: the word “dagger” was in frequent use as a synonym for “cock” back then.

*** *** ***

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 with their bayonets. There was a very young man, about sixteen years old, 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.

The blacksmith suddenly hollered, “Meg Blyth! I love you!” and the bearded man in his mid-thirties was no more. Meg’s gaze met his already-gone fish eyes.

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

“Mathew!!! MATHEW!!!” She screamed.

Mexicans soldiers put their hands on her shoulder as the other soldiers 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 as honour required. 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.

The short girl began to wail and asked them to please stop this.

Rose-Anne recognized that girl with light-brown hair—Isabella, who kept shouting Mathew’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 knife-wielding soldiers.

“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…

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. Everywhere she looked, she only saw Mexicans with olive faces under their black shakos.

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.

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

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. The sacristy was now filled with female screams and Mexican jeers.

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. One of them was gently stroking her hair and grinning with an attempt at smiling which was the travesty of a smile.

“Muy bonita, señorita,” the man gently said, making her 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 he had a moustache. 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 a 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.

“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. Now that she was two months away from turning fifteen, she understood that her father was feeling lonely and missing his dead wife; she herself and her twin sister looked a lot like their late mother.

In addition to those men worshipping 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.

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

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 moustached man facing her was in his mid-thirties. He wore two red epaulettes with fringes, which meant he was a Sergeant.

He spat to 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 worse.

The moustached Sergeant grinned, 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. Rose-Anne felt the cold steel against her skin and stopped breathing, her heart pounding. She realized she was soaking wet and just as aroused as when her father was using a finger inside her pussy.

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 and arousal from the sheer anticipation.

The moustached 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 splendour. 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 with a clear sense of defilement.

Her nipples looked shocked to be visible as her tits moved along with the shuffling movement downward of the torn petticoat, then they bounced back up and settled in their natural display, forming the slender bust of a maiden who was almost a young woman.

The Sergeant and his men pushed the ruins of her petticoat down, 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.

“¡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.

He suddenly rose and gave an order. Rose-Anne saw the deadly resolve on 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 moustache and his eyes formed the black centre 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 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.

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

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

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 arousal out of this.

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 and something she was trying not to feel.

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 jolts of arousal with her tits as the epicentre; her tits under Mexican hands. Kneaded. Played with.

She began to moan. She noticed the moustached 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 harder 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.

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

She moaned and moaned, loud and louder as her head kept relentlessly bobbing amid the Mexicans, who were laughing at her.

“Haaaah – Haah – Haaaaaah – Haaaah! Noo! Haaah – Haaah – Oh, father! Yes, touch me! Touch me, father! – haaah!”

“Aahh, our little señorita likes being taken by many men, eh?” 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.

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

Rose-Anne was gone! She was 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…”

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 no longer cared who it was.

“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, eh! Now, let’s see how you like being naked in the middle of 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.

“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 panick 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 effects of Rose-Anne’s butt!

Rose-Anne squealed in horror as she felt all their 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 Yankee señorita from behind! And see my Mexican cock!” the Sergeant yelled on top of the loud tumult.

His trousers were still unbuttoned. He grabbed both her wrists in only one hand, and he took his erection out. 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 a bit later. You’ll get used to it! From now on, you are under the protection of 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 as she screamed her shame.

The man hammered her, without restraint, calling her a “Yankee 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 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 outburst of forced bliss. All girls loved being forced this way. He was used to do this to his wife and his neighbour’s wife.

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

The man pressed himself behind her, cupping and pressuring her tits as he strongly exhaled his tequila-perfumed breath in her face while taking his blissful relief. 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 and she felt his hands around 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 dishonoured 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 “Mathew! Mathew!”

The short girl with light-brown hair, only twelve years old as far as Rose-Anne knew, had to endure the unbridled barrage of cocks from the celebrating Mexicans.

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 finger 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 was about eleven years old, maybe twelve.

“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 the tits 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 boy 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, young for this, boy!” Rose-Anne said amid the relentless back-and-forth dance she was forced to perform, her torso horizontal.

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 wild arousal coursing through her.

With shock and stupor, she realized that her arousal now came mostly from that boy’s hands on her feet and ankles. 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 knew for a fact that she’d enjoy him inside her.

“I’ll… I’ll teach you how to kiss,” 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 broken-in virginity.

How many of them would she have to endure? An entire platoon? Rose-Anne had lost count of her rapists. She was dead within her soul, yet there was a sense of arousal from being the epicentre of such a massive earthquake or rapes and Mexican ejaculations.

And there was that boy worshipping 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 gang-rape. And her sisters’.

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 splendour 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 seized, 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 boy… 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 little drummer boy! 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 the boy’s 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 boy’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.

“Take me! Take me!” Rose-Anne hollered, her body out of control.

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

Rose-Anne let her forward weight rest on her elbows and offered her protruding butt, the small vastness of it, to the drummer boy 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 age. Rose-Anne felt like reaching out and touching it, but she had her weight on her elbows.

***

There was a sudden dispute!

An officer of the cavalry, a junior officer wearing golden epaulettes without fringes, was telling the boy 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 pick of 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 almost the same height as her. He was a tall and thin boy.

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 was an oasis of love in a desert of war.

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, didn’t I tell you I was going to teach you this?” Rose-Anne said with a wide smile. She couldn’t tell where she took the strength to do this after being raped so many times. Strange things happen at war.

Kissing that boy felt so good! After all, she wasn’t all that much older than him, only about three years apart.

She twirled 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 kept enjoying 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.

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, and at any rate, the age of consent was ten years old in Texas.

Rose-Anne went down on the drummer boy. She kissed the nipples of his chest and loved the feeling. The boy was breathing hard as the soft skin of his chest was explored by her tongue.

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!

“Ahh! Yes! The drummer boy on my tits!” Rose-Anne moaned out, purring as she felt his tongue on her breasts.

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.

The Sergeant prompted him 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 growth-spurt 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 love and affection.

Then, the boy was lifted off Rose-Anne, whose field of vision was brutally filled with the red uniform, golden epaulettes 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 as if 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 grown men while she wasn’t even fifteen yet. This also made her question her father’s morals; it wasn’t right for a man to take advantage of his fourteen-year-old 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 adult 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.

Do what she will, she had to surrender to her own body, which gave her a heated rush of arousal. The very loathing she had for that officer was now adding to it.

Then, there was movement behind her. Rose-Anne braced herself for the upcoming penetration, confident that her pussy was ready for more abuse. After all, her body was young and resilient.

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 butthole!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!”

The man was hammering hard, now grunting hard as he pushed, pushed and pushed and strained. He was determined. Rose-Anne kept shrieking as he invaded her rectum.

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 loud with a sense of victory, 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…”

She tried to evade her pain while the man was punching downward inside her anus as she lay on her stomach, his lap nearly 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 maid. Anna would always be seen helping Mrs. O’Hara in tightening her corset by pulling the laces in her back.

The dignified maid had been stripped out of her maid’s clothes. Her mud-brown body was now flat on the ground while a 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.

In the church!

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 greatly aroused her.

Mrs. O’Hara was a strikingly beautiful woman with dark hair and porcelain skill. Her features were a chef-d’oeuvre that seemed painted by a genius from last 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 soldier on top of 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.

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 itself inside her pussy, acting like a most pressing visitor while Mrs. O’Hara’s buns being the troubled neighbours. 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, the broken-in maiden 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 butthole. His entry was much less brutal, but she screamed nonetheless from the pain.

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 second 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 third man 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 glad to be handled with such gentleness after her brutal session of sodomy. That man had a moustache. She felt it as it brushed her toes. That Mexican moustache would normally have remained far from her with Alamo’s wall separating her from its hair, but now, the fort had been won and Rose-Anne felt that moustache on the soft skin of her feet.

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 moustache making him look like a twisted father figure to the pristinely young girl. She indeed had some daddy issues.

Getting raped by a man wearing armour made her feel like a noble mademoiselle being raped by an enemy knight in a fallen castle. She found something very romantic and intensely erotic in this.

Rose-Anne was now whimpering in long bursts of unstoppable fire, answering to the horseman’s grunts. 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.

Her body was so fond of feeling that man’s armour through her feet! It was so savage and erotic! She found that she went crazy when her feet were bare and handled by men.

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

His moustache was now making him look childish and grotesque because he had the same expression of joy as a little boy inside a candy store.

Then, he yelled, “Aaahrhrr! Yankee! YANKEE MINAaaa… Uunngghh! – Oohh…”

He urgently pulled out of her, and 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 was there, this one wearing a cobalt-blue uniform with two fringed epaulettes—a Sergeant’s red epaulettes.

Rose-Anne was almost happy to see him. She 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 feet, and she moved herself 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 epaulettes, she felt an urge to renew that same position. She felt 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; she was even helping him. This was a position where she found the rape was least painful and most shameful—shameful because it made her whimper with arousal under the enemy. How could a decent girl like her act like this?!

Fernando had plopped outside her during the movements. He calmly reinserted himself, smiling at her with his black moustache 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 took her ride where she had left and resumed her litany of whimpers as she pressed her feet against Fernando’s cobalt-blue jacket where she sometimes felt the brush of his epaulette fringes on her toes as Fernando was pounding her in intense short motions of his head and upper torso.

Rose-Anne felt the wool of his uniform pressed under her feet. This drove her nuts! What a tramp she was!

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 epaulettes through its fringes against her feet.

He was panting with a stream of spit flowing down his mouth and chin and 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!

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 gave an icing of stars to that angel’s cake she was having for a climax.

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

After a 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.

Fernando’s comforting presence 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 proud. She was good enough to be treated like a young woman!

Rose-Anne spotted the drummer boy. 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 deliciously gooey and 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 cunts, 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 honour of him acting as a thoroughbred stallion. He was indeed pounding her fast!

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

TO BE CONTINUED.