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The Last Command – Consuelo’s Fate, Chapter 12 – Three Pesos For A Señorita

5627 words | 2 |3.60

The end and aftermath of Consuelo’s night-time rapes. The forced departure of Miss Amy, and her rape by a Lieutenant who fancies Consuelo.

Upon seeing the very sorry state Consuelo was in—crying out the dry tears she no longer had over her father’s warm body, her hand still holding his flaccid cock—General Santa Anna was struck with a rush of intense guilt.

He got down on his knees and cast down his bicorn and begged the Holy Virgin to intercede for his soul with the Father and Son and the Holy Ghost.

The Catholic General and Presidente was entranced, shaking and tears running down his cheeks, his features suddenly akin to a boy who behaved badly and feared punishment from his father, so he put his case to the more forgiving ear of his mother.

None of the officers dared disturb him. Sancho the dwarf and Herr Doktor were the two evil souls who dared to call the General in this state, with the padre standing nearby with his bible.

“General, General…” Sancho said with a low voice, his eyes filled with the joy he just had inside Consuelo, “General, isn’t it the right time to take the five ladies down to their dead father and her dead husband?”

The General looked around him. The four Blyth daughters were being tenderly caressed and kissed by junior officers and some late-staying sentries, who were also washing their bodies with the remnants of their tequila.

Off to his right, Consuelo was crying dry tears, bent over her lifeless father, Eve-nude as always, with the bearded Sergeant now kissing her buttocks, while very tenderly running his hands along her legs and down her feet even more tenderly. The poor bearded Sergeant had had a very busy night, and now that he was back from escorting the condemned man and the slaves to their proper quarters, now that things had got less crowded, the loyal Sergeant was at last enjoying Consuelo’s skin and charms like he had planned to. At last…

The General felt like turning in for the night and having those poor exhausted girls put into well-guarded rooms in the fort’s living quarters, but he saw how the Sergeant was worshipping Consuelo and was reassured by the tenderness being displayed by the Sergeant’s zealous hands. He also knew the importance of keeping the men loyal.

“Sancho’s right, Your Excellency said it himself that the young ladies were to be brought near the dead bodies of their fathers and husbands during the night,” the padre added while the German shepherds whined a bit at the General’s feet.

Herr Doktor added his own voice, while both dogs now sat at his feet and looked at Consuelo and her father’s stretcher, sniffing the air with their black snouts.

“I think, General Sir, that this is a very reasonable course of action,” the fat Major submitted to His Excellency.

His Excellency pondered his subaltern’s words and toyed with the idea of demoting him back to Captain, but all common sense pleaded against doing so; this officer was his most loyal of them all.

Then, he looked at Consuelo and caught the bearded Sergeant in the act of kissing her feet while caressing her lower legs as she kept sobbing over her father’s inert chest. Santa Anna’s gaze got lost between her milky-rich buns under the moonlight; mystery-loaded curves, now revealed with that unreal canyon of shadow where they curved into her alluring legs…

His Excellency General Santa Anna, el Presidente of the Republic of Mexico, was suddenly aroused again and filled with lust. He was well spent down there, but he still looked forward to give those buttocks a royal licking with tequila! Doing this over the dead body of her man would be fun, or so he felt in the sorry state of mind he was in.

“All right,” the General said at length, “all right, bueno, bring the girls to where the enemy’s dead are kept. The sentinels over there are part of the irregular company; they are a bunch of scoundrels who won’t mind at all. And bring that sleeping father on his stretcher. He ought to be there too! Be it only as a corpse.”


Don Enrique de Quesada was having a dream. A very bad dream. Hideous beings with horns on their foreheads had got hold of him just as he had entered a dark, ominous forest with falling leaves on dry earth. He realized he was Adam-naked. Those hideous beings were no less than six feet tall, most of them taller, maybe 6 feet 6 inches, with a tail behind them. Each of these demons had a trident. One of them stuck his pole-arm into his belly and that hurt!

Enrique screamed out with all his being, but not a sound was heard. He could not move by himself, but they were moving him.

Those demons forced him to bend over, just like the Mexicans were holding Consuelo when that fat Captain deflowered her.

The one behind him pushed himself inside his anal opening, and forced his sphincter open as he growled and began to inflict him such pain as he had never experienced before. Don de Quesada panicked and “screamed” with even more force, but not a sound was heard other than those hideous beings making all sorts of odious sounds. And they stank. The place reeked of sulphur and offensive odours of bowel relief.

Enrique stood amid the ten winged beings, horrible beings whose faces were ugly enough to cause two weeks of nightmares to any soul seeing it.

The grounds were badlands now, such as the desolate countryside in New Mexico. The pain in his rectum was unbearable beyond words, and those fangs from that demonic being were cruelly wounding his waist where it was holding him as he obliterated his sodomy hole while uttering ineffable sounds that posed as grunts.

Then, from out of the rocks he was bent over on, a rattlesnake hissed and bit him in his guts and the pain there got even worse than from his anal violation.

Don de Quesada suddenly woke up, his ghastly face bathing in cold sweat; he felt the night’s slightly cool breeze. He lay under the stars in a clement night. He was suddenly aware of figures moving around. He saw the impressively wonderful display of the Milky Way in the middle of the starry sky; thousands upon thousands of stars.

He heard animal sounds such as grunts. He then realized that these sounds were from men. There were female whimpers as well, although those were but feeble.

With a gigantic effort, Enrique de Quesada raised his heavy head, and he sensed the presence of his daughter a split second before he saw her.

Consuelo was Eve-nude and kneeling with Mexicans around her. Those men were dressed with clothes that differed from one man to another; they looked more like civilians, but something in their bearing marked them as combatants. Enrique understood they were irregulars.

They had their stiff erections out. Consuelo was presently holding two of them in her hands, on either side of her, then another irregular walked in front of her and hid her from her father’s eyes.

“Remember, Consuelo, you swore on the holy bible that you’d be a good girl to all those men! You swore it! And in return, we’ll all be gentle with you and your beautiful friends!”

Enrique noticed someone that lay by her kneeling figure, then he started and recognized who it was. James Bowie, a stiff corpse.

One of the men, the one hiding Consuelo from his view, presently made her bend over, face first on dead James’s bosom. The man then knelt behind Consuelo and presently got rid of the soutane he was wearing by throwing the long black gown over his head.

Enrique realized that that man was a padre, now a naked padre in the act of pushing himself inside his daughter.

Again, more revolting grunting, and soon enough, the padre was steadily enjoying a back-and-forth errand inside Consuelo as one irregular commented on the fine lady they had the pleasure to have. The General and other officers—Enrique recognized that fat officer near Santa Anna—stood by and just looked at the coitus in progress while drinking liquor out of small flasks.

Other irregulars were in the act of enjoying other naked girls. Enrique became diffusedly aware of them; he recognized one of these girls as Mary, or rather Rose-Anne and he deduced the other girls were the other Blyth sisters.

But then… An ocean of fiery pain took hold of Don Enrique de Quesada. It forcefully radiated out of his gut, where that rattlesnake had bitten him in his nightmare. He was glad those demons were but part of a dream, but the pain. The PAIN!

Don de Quesada squealed in agony. Then, the pain sharply diminished and everything around him became a blur of indistinct shapes and sounds. He instinctively felt he had only moments left to live.

“Consuelo! I love you! You’re, my, light…”

Upon uttering those ultimate words, Don Enrique de Quesada went back to sleep.


In the grey morning light, Consuelo was woken up by the call to arms with drums and bugles as the dog-tired sentries were relieved.

She found herself with Meg in the same bed, with no recollection about how she got in that bedroom in the first place.

Meg had been sleeping with a lingering hand on Consuelo’s hair. She was presently waking up; she opened her eyes and her whole face lighted up as she saw Consuelo.

In spite of her body hurting everything she could think of and everywhere else she was forgetting or tried to, Meg youthfully cast her face forward and kissed Consuelo.

Consuelo started to cry with a mix of grief, shame and a sense of love for Meg and responsibility for her well-being. She let Meg kiss her, even though the girl’s open mouth and lingering tongue made her a bit uncomfortable. All in all, Meg’s warmth was soothing.

Both girls were naked under the sheets. They instinctively felt terrified and held each other as they heard men speaking Spanish just outside their door. Soldiers were standing guard.

Meg couldn’t take her eyes off Consuelo as the señorita got out of the bed, as glamorous as ever with the perfect curtain of her hair falling like heavenly silk on her contrasting shoulders with her arms just as alluring as the rest of her.

Consuelo began to bawl as she remembered her dying father; she felt his presence nearby and knew instinctively he had passed away.

Meg took her in her arms and hugged her selflessly, thinking only of her companion’s well-being and forgetting her desire for her.

Meg felt strangely good for a girl who had been raped repeatedly, raped again and then raped some more over the previous day and night. Consuelo’s presence was perhaps the best drug she could have.

Consuelo felt more dead than alive, but her vaginal pain was getting slightly better, although it was still throbbing and fiery. She marvelled at how tough her body truly was. How could she be still alive?

As she held Meg in her arms, she tried to recollect her memories from the previous day. It was a maelstrom of black shakos with grinning faces where her thoughts kept coming back to the scent and feel of aguardiente being poured down on her as she was being kept pinned on something cold and metallic under the bright sun as a great many men cheered, whistled and catcalled, and one man, always changing, was inside her and smiling down on her as he raped her with a grinning face.

Consuelo saw many other flashes in her mind, sometimes under torchlight, sometimes in broad daylight, sometimes under the moonlight—It was always with different men, a great many different men, usually Mexicans wearing a uniform, sometimes an officer. There was that fat officer always haunting her thoughts. Who was he to her? Aaron came back often in her thoughts as well. James Bowie too. Did she dream of him?

She needed Meg’s help to stand near her bed. A dress was hanging near a screen. Consuelo recognized at once the moss-green dress she often wore when her late father gave a reception; it was an evening dress that had an inviting décolleté along with a fringed shawl of the finest off-white cashmere. No corset was in sight, but there was a petticoat with laces she could get tight and look decent; for she felt a strong need to look decent in the face of the world again.

Her skin was hurting from her long exposure to the sun over the previous day. Consuelo was no peasant and she was very unaccustomed to spend so much time outdoors. She suddenly realized again with a pang that her father was no more and collapsed crying and wailing in Meg’s arms.

There was a knock on the door, then Herr Doktor walked in, with blood stains on the sleeves of his white shirt.

The dapper man apologized for his intrusion with a fake smile and said hello as he removed his green beaver hat. Meg hid her modesty behind her hands and arms while Consuelo let herself fall on her bed, where she remained crying flat on her belly, offering a grand view of her full buttocks.

The weak, dapper man saw this and remembered how he had raped Consuelo doggystyle over the dead body of her husband, or was it her lover? Yes, her lover, since she was still a maiden—this he knew for a fact from the General himself—and she had kept calling the man’s name, James, amid her subdued whimpers as he found his high pleasure inside her for the second time of that wild night.

Herr Doktor smiled wide and happy with priceless joy as he relived that wonderful graveyard rape, using his mind to hear again those smat-smat-smat sounds of Consuelo’s fabulous derriere that he kept buffeting against him while a handful of those irregular soldiers were eagerly waiting their turn and masturbating. And the final rush of pleasure! He had thought he was dying as he blissfully burst out inside her with a heavenly load of jism.

After the irregular had all used her from behind, their hands loving the silky feel of her bottom, the German shepherd dogs both took their pleasure in the form of frantic pelvic thrusts against her all-inviting rump that looked so ghastly pale under the setting moon.

All this had been done directly over her lover’s dead body. While four other girls were also being raped by the irregulars, filling the makeshift graveyard with their tired whimpers along with the men’s victorious grunting.

“Good morning, ladies, and don’t worry about your intimacy, I’m a medical man,” said the man whom Consuelo recognized as one of her legion of rapists; his large greying whiskers couldn’t be forgotten nor mistaken.

The Swiss German Doktor smiled and produced a pot of ointment.

“I realize that I’m perhaps not all that welcome of a sight in these quarters, but I think that this special ointment did you much good as you slept,” the doctor went on, “and the General sent me to give you another layer of this medicine. It’s for your own good and it won’t take long.”

Consuelo translated the doctor’s Spanish for Meg. Then, she sat on the bed, and laid herself down, very reluctantly, and while Meg was caressing her hair for support, Consuelo began to spread out her legs for the medical man who also happened to be a rapist.

She loathed very much doing this, yet she remembered vaguely receiving some ointment, and this had made her feel a bit better down there. And now she badly needed this as her pussy was a fiery forest ablaze with a legion of bruised recollections of what she kept failing to remember. Her body had much better memory than her mind.

“Spread them a bit wider, will you my little angel? Oh, your hair is absolutely fabulous this morning, Miss Consuelo, as always if I may say so. I’ve never seen such hair before in my life, and I’m forty-six years of age.”

Consuelo couldn’t care less. Her eyes were searching for Amy her coloured maid, but there was no sign of her. She spread her legs wider and loathed his touch. She hated his finger tips gently pressuring her labia and circling her irritated entrance, but the ointment did feel good.

But he lingered there and seemed to be using the entire pot inside her while babbling about the weather, the horoscope and what do you know…

“Please, Herr Doktor,” Meg cut in, “I’m sure you have many wounded men to attend to.”

“Very true, very true… Uh, thanks for reminding me, uh, Miss.”

Herr Doktor spoke no more. Meg was herself feeling very much sore inside her own sex, so she lied down and spread out her own legs, with Consuelo now holding her hands, and the dapper man professionally applied a layer of ointment that soothed Meg’s overused pussy.

“Will you also treat my sisters? They must be in one of those nearby rooms…”

“They’re in next room, all three of them, and getting dressed,” the good doctor said. “I’ve already attended to them. Don’t worry; they’ll be fine!”

Herr Doktor left, with a fake subservient smile as he took one last look at Consuelo, who was being helped by Meg inside the fresh petticoat that the General had caused to be placed ready for her next to that screen.

The last thing Herr Doktor saw from the girl-scented room was Meg’s peachy white bottom where she knelt on the bed next to Consuelo. He made a mental note to himself that he ought to try this one out before noon.


Herr Doktor wondered how white men could bring themselves to have sex with slave girls. Before Amy was released along with many other non-combatants, he had been ordered to treat her as well.

Miss Amy had been raped several times over the previous day, and after some tedious insisting on his part, the slave woman had finally raised her maid’s dress and spread her legs out, giving the medical man a plain sight of her brown labia under the lush patch of hair she had down there, a triangle very much like Consuelo’s. Yet Herr Doktor had found the sight quite disgusting because of her dark skin.

As he applied some ointment on and inside Amy’s entrance, the Swiss-born Doktor took it to himself to educate this ignorant slave about her rights under Mexico’s laws.

“Do you know, if I may say so, that you are a free woman now that you are under Mexican rule?” Herr Doktor said as he let his finger rest down there, like he had done for each of the Blyth daughters.

“Then, if I’m free, you can please remove your hands from my genitals now that you’re done,” Amy replied sternly, although there was shock and surprise in her eyes upon hearing his words.

“Yes, Mexico and Texas are slave-free States. Later in the morning, General Santa Anna is going to officially proclaim that all slaves found in this fort are from now on free citizens of the Mexican Province of Texas. You’ll understand of course that you must leave your Mistress now that you’re free,” Herr Doktor explained in plain English.

“What?! I’d rather be dead than to leave Miss Consuelo, now that she needs me more than ever after everything you animals did to her! I’m staying here!”

“I’m afraid, slave girl, that you do not have much choice in the matter.”

The brigand-looking Corporal, the one who had first raped Meg, was there with two grinning men in the doctor’s makeshift cabinet.

Amy protested in the loudest and strongest terms as they took her away.

“I think we ought to teach this noisy nigger to keep her fat-lipped yapper shut and obey orders when a doctor speaks!”

“Yes, but Jesus, I want to keep my spunk for the white girls. Don’t you remember what the General told us about the pyres and those girls?”

“Yes, Felipe, you’re right. The General ordered that the enemy’s dead to be burned under the sunlight, and then we’ll have full licence to do all that we want with the Yankee girls until noon!”

“Hey, move it on will ya! On the double!” the Corporal barked as he forgot to salute the forgettable doctor on his way out.

The smiling Mexicans ignored Amy’s shouting and protesting as they carried and dragged her to three waiting carriages, all under guard, where other slaves and non-combatants were being loaded under the grey morning light.

The male slaves, now free as per Mexican laws, had shackles restraining their wrists and ankles.

Uncle Sam was among them; Aaron was shouting and yelling in rage as he watched his father being forced to climb in a carriage. Aaron was being hired by the cavalry Coronel for work on his hacienda south of the Rio Grande.

Aaron was so strong that the guards feared he would snap his chains broken. They gently beat him down with musket butts, just strong enough to make him understand that he was free, but had to listen to common sense. Besides, the General needed Aaron in the fort and knew the black slave was extremely fond of Consuelo, whose beauty was a far stronger chain; wherever she was, Aaron wouldn’t go away from there if he could help it.

The General had ordered that all the non-combatants he could dispense with—the less-attractive females and the male slaves and servants—would be released, so they would spread the news about the fall of Fort Alamo and how its garrison had been slaughtered and their dead bodies burned in pyres.

All had heard the General’s grim orders. No quarters given meant all the men were massacred and the women were gang-raped.

It also meant the denial of a proper Christian burial. Davy Crockett, James Bowie and all the others who had been heroes until the bitter end were to be given a pagan burial. Burned like fallen Romans.

With great emotion, as her carriage left Fort Alamo under the escort of cavalry, Amy remembered her first day as a sixteen-year-old maid in the De Quesada house in San Antonio. She would never forget this little girl, so curious with her wide-open eyes—Consuelo!

What was Amy going to do without her? What did it mean to be free and lonely? Mexico was telling her to be free and go to hell, while America was more like, “Be a slave and God bless you!”

Amy would rather be a slave and remain with Consuelo.

Being free didn’t mean being free from ill-treatment. Amy looked at those cavalrymen and she knew she could expect to be raped by them along with the couple of other slave women who sat with her in that moving carriage.

She was a black woman in Mexican society. The darker the skin, the lower someone’s status. Consuelo was an aristocrat. Light-skinned soldiers and officers usually had faster and easier promotions; that olive-faced cavalry Major she had seen must be a damned fine officer, while that despicable fat officer had fair skin, and she overheard he had just been promoted to Major; what a joke!

Natives such as Mestizos, Afro-Mexicans and homosexual sodomites, in that order, occupied the three last rungs in Mexico’s caste-like system.

In Mexico, Miss Amy would work hard for a pittance and she’d face constant vexations and mistreatments, while she had always been treated well, like a true human being, since her first day in Don de Quesada’s house. Citizenship and democracy sounded good for the rich, but they were empty words for the poor and destitute.


Later on, after maybe three or four miles of that bad road under the bright cobalt sky, the cavalrymen made a halt. They drank a bit of aguardiente, then dismounted from their horsebacks.

There were eight of them, all smiling, each wearing a bright scarlet uniform with a shiny breastplate over ivory-white trousers and shiny dark boots, knee-high, along with a dragoon helmet of bronze that featured a tall crest with some rusty-red feathers that meant they were from the 13th of Cavalry from Chihuahua, under Coronel Alvarez.

The eight cavalrymen selected three slave women, the least-sad-looking ones, and pulled them from the carriages as the women began to scream or swear and the male slaves strained in their chains in anger.

Under the guard of the two most junior privates, who kept their rifles in hand, the male non-combatants witnessed the rapes.

Amy thought of Consuelo as her bosom was crudely uncovered in a surprisingly loud outburst of tearing-fabric sounds. The two others were portly women who pleaded and begged as they were similarly uncovered.

“Well, Ramirez, this will be my first time with a black mistress! Look at those mahogany tits! Shadow-brown nipples and all!”

“Just don’t put your thing inside her mouth! She’ll bit it right off!”

As two men kept the males under watch, the selected females were promptly disrobed on the dusty roadside.

The young Lieutenant selected Amy, as the other women were even older and less attractive. Amy was the only one with a slim figure, and once he saw her in the nude, the handsome officer smiled wide as he felt this one had been grossly underestimated.

Amy was held down with her hands on either side of her. The Lieutenant struck her with his closed fist until she spread out her legs, and he raped her while the Sergeant waited his turn.

Amy ended up being raped by five or six men; she lost count.

The other men liked fat girls, so they raped Aunt Anna, their olive-skin cocks getting lost deep between her chubby buttocks as they mounted her with fervour, taking her from behind as she knelt on all fours with her heavy udders hanging down, and their repeated strokes caused ripples of fat skin to roll on the brown vastness of her hips. For once, the rapist was lighter than the woman.

Under the relentless onslaught, Aunt Anna kept crying out Mrs. O’Hara’s first name… “Vivien! Oh, Vivien…”

Aunt Anna was indeed worried about her beloved mistress, who had been abducted by condemned men upon their escape.

The third black woman was a nondescript worker about Aunt Anna’s size or perhaps a bit less chubby. Her face was wide and nearly shapeless with a small nose and huge lips. The wagon drivers stepped down from their coachman’s bench upon seeing her lying down naked as a leftover.

Two of them—both men in their late fifties wearing a large silver beard and reeking of chewing tobacco—decided she was good enough for them. She had to lie down on her back and let them fill her up. She had nice soft udders to fill their hands with.

“Well… This is better than nothing,” the second coachman commented as he put himself back together and accepted an offered piece of Apache-made tobacco.


As he penetrated Miss Amy, the handsome Lieutenant found that this slave girl wasn’t so bad after all. Amy stoically endured his deep ramming as he found her nipples and tits were very brown and very apt to be contemplated in their jiggling play during the forced sex.

The Lieutenant, as his pleasure quickly grew inside the coloured girl, kept thinking of Consuelo as he remembered the way she fucked her own father by riding him under those bright torches that made their coitus look like a Roman wedding.

With each stroke he gave inside Miss Amy, he saw again in his mind how Consuelo’s butt came crashing down on her father, again and again, like a soft music for the eyes, with her father’s hands on her luminous waist as her heart-shaped booty kept displaying its firmness and the moving enigma of her nubile curves as she kept moaning and dancing like a pagan concubine, moving up and down, always up and down, those pale white curves that came revealed as a prize to take the fort…

Consuelo’s rear-side beauty filled the Lieutenant’s world as he passed his edge… Her wonderful curtain of black hair fell perfectly on her upper back, raven silk against ivory skin, as she kept moving in her hourglass dance where her maiden’s waistline sang the child-bearing grace of her hips; she had the pristine buttocks of a maiden, never married, never pregnant before…

Fort Alamo came with Consuelo’s booty… For Mexico!

“Yes! Yes! Oohh, ohhh… Hnhhyy AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH! ¡Viva la Republica-AAAhh!!!”

Consuelo’s milky buttocks, her legs, her feet, the curtain of her hair… she filled his mind as he forcefully erupted inside the receiving slave.

He wasn’t even looking at her as he ejaculated on top of her. Miss Amy could tell he was using her as a cum sack in the absence of a better option.

Once he was spent inside her, the young man also found that her tits were very apt to be kissed and cherished with tongue strokes. He did like the taste, but his Sergeant respectfully reminded him that other men were waiting and they still had a long road ahead of them.

The Sergeant rolled her around and Amy soon found herself sodomized with her belly flat on the dust.

She saw a rattlesnake on the run, out under the sun, as the air around her was filled with the man’s sweaty and musky odours, but everything else was shut off from her overwhelmed senses as the excruciating anal rape went on. She endured, stoically. The hardest for her was always the thought of never seeing Consuelo again.

Once the Sergeant had finished his business in Sodom city, the next man kindly raped her doggystyle in the usual way. Tears rolling down her eyes, the 30-year-old slave obediently took him on her hands and knees, sparing her energy and thinking of Consuelo.

As she was used from behind by the next few men, Amy remembered Aaron when he savagely took Consuelo, and Milady couldn’t stop herself from moaning out loud as she was used, naked in his arms and with two other slaves. As angry as she was with Aaron, Amy found the scene very much erotic the way she remembered it.

She even experienced a climax under the third or fourth man who also took her from behind like a bitch.

“This ain’t as fun as having a white lass, but you’ll do for today, slave girl!” that third or fourth man told her through his clenched teeth just before he gave her his seed.

The Lieutenant grinned as he put his dragoon helmet back on and admired the brown curves of Amy that kept banging against the man’s lap, right under his shiny cuirass, as the latter gave her the last of his glorious strokes, and the coloured bitch kept moaning like a cheap tramp.

There was life in those African buns! As Miss Amy whimpered on and received yet another load, he agreed with his men in saying that raping a black mistress was fine when there was nothing better available.

“Even an Apache squaw is more fun,” the Sergeant commented as he cleaned his pistol, a fine piece from Barcelona.

“Yes, yes, but the squaw I like best is the white squaw!” the Lieutenant replied.

“I think we unanimously agree on that count, Sir!”

“Thank you, Sergeant! And that pistol of yours looks really dandy!”

As he spoke, the young man tried to imagine what Consuelo must have looked like when gang-raped on a cannon with her perky tits under the bright sun of Texas. This story was already part of the folk lore and legends of the regiment.

After the hastily consumed rapes, the exhausted slaves were brutally pushed and shoved back to their travelling seats. The rags of their torn dresses were thrown at them, and the carriages were on their way again.

The young Lieutenant happily resumed his cavalry escort journey.

The day before, he had raped one Irish girl inside the sacristy. She was gorgeous! He had only heard about señorita Consuelo de Quesada getting gang-raped with her back on a carronade, right in front of her fatally wounded father.

He would never forget that moment when Consuelo rode her own father, shortly before the man died.

And he was going to know intimately that flesh of hers. He’d have to pay, for he’d be back past noon and by that time, Consuelo and the other girls would be put in a nearby hacienda, a war-deserted hacienda that would act as a brothel and also the headquarters of General Santa Anna.

Consuelo and that gorgeous Irish girl would be top-of-the-line offerings. A pass inside such a pristine young one would cost three pesos, such were the very words of the brigade adjutant.

Three pesos were worth about one day of his pay as a Lieutenant.

The handsome officer smiled under his dragoon helmet. He could afford her.



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  • Reply BLISS ID:4bn00en3fia

    How many chapter left. Can’t till the end

    • HistBuff ID:cxtp0kz6ij

      You people here are not used to longer stories. This chapter was more geared to expose readers to some historical facts, such as the buying power of pesos and silver dollars, the Republic of Mexico being a slave-free country, how huge religion was in people’s minds, how racist most people were back then, etc.

      All I can say is there won’t be any long spell with Consuelo being in that hacienda/brothel and that she’ll get rescued along with the other Yankee girls.

      Next chapter will be the last one. Here’s your answer! My ending will be very close to the spirit of “The Last Command” (1955).