'Here, I have a present for you.' The senior English Indian scout, Otetiani, lifted the bundle off of the back of the pack horse like it was a peddler's sack and dropped it on the ground just inside the doorway into the log shed Colonel Reginald St. John was using as his temporary office and bedroom while the stockade and permanent buildings of Fort Oswego were under a quick reconstruction. General John Burgoyne, St. John's superior officer and the strategist for the coming British Canada arm of the Central Campaign, had ordered the Oswego fort to be fortified better before it was left on minimum garrison.
All eyes had been on Otetiani as, unimpeded, he walked the horse by the Huron chief's encampment just outside the stockade wall, through the central gates, and up to St. John's quarters. The missing sections of stockade fencing here and there didn't escape Otetiani's attention, and he permitted himself a private smile at his good fortune. The ceremony had worked; the gods of war were with them.
St. John, stripped down to his breeches and having been in the process of shaving himself, toed the bundle on the floor hard. The bundle rewarded him with a grunt of pain.
'What do we have here, then?' St. John said, the tone of disdain clear in his voice. 'And why do you bother me with this?'
'I thought you would want to be the first to interrogate the aide to the American colonel, Seth Hampton.'
St. John's interest was piqued by that news, and he put his razor down on the wash basin on the stool and wiped the remaining lather off his face with the cotton towel that had been hanging around his neck.
'Let's get him up, then.'
Otetiani crouched down and undid the canvas sacking around his prize, revealing a much-bedraggled Rob Winston, tied roughly with rope at wrists and ankles.
'Hang him up on the hook on the center pole,' St. John directed.
Otetiani did so. The hook was high enough to cause Winston to have to stretch his arms high up along the pole. He was facing the pole, his back to the two men. Otetiani untied the young man's ankles in the same movement he used to push Winston against the pole, hoping, with success, that St. John either wouldn't notice or didn't see any reason to comment on it.
'And you found him where? You just snatched him out from under Hampton's nose?'
'I found him in the forest, outside the Americans' camp. He said he was escaping, that he wanted to turn himself over to the English, that he had things he could tell your forces about the Americans' troop strengths and locations.'
'And does he speak? Do you speak, young man?'
'Yes . . . Yes, I speak, M'Lord,' Rob answered, although he barely whispered.
'You say you were coming over to the British to help us? And why should I believe that?'
'He mistreated me, M'Lord. He treated me cruelly. I had to leave. I hate him; I hate them all.'
'And why is that I should believe that, my little friend?'
'Look at my back and my legs. All over, M'Lord. There's proof enough.'
'Likely story,' St. John said with a sniff.
'That part seems true, My Lord,' Otetiani said. 'I've seen the marks myself.'
'The marks?' St. John pulled up the back of Winston's jerkin, to reveal the welts and cuts across his back.
That's when St. John's cock started to take interest. He'd heard that the American colonel, Hampton, liked his young men. He hadn't heard he liked to treat them this way. St. John, on the other hand, very much liked to treat young men this way. His urges in this direction, in fact, were almost uncontrollable.
'That will be all, Otetiani. I think you can find the mess tent. And you can tell my clerk that you are to receive the usual amount.'
'Yes, My Lord,' Otetiani murmured, and he backed out of the hut and left the camp directly, visiting neither the mess tent nor the colonel's clerk. He had preparations to make and plans to change. His plans could be simpler now, because of the construction under way on the fort and the missing sections of stockade fencing. As he left, he cursed the prick of an English colonel under his breath. Otetiani hadn't anticipated that he would be thanked or rewarded for bringing him this treasure from the American camps. And he hadn't been wrong.
Inside the hut, St. John's hands were trembling. He could hardly keep his hands off this one. And there was no reason why he should have to. He could use him, interrogate him, and then dispose of him.
'You say Hampton did this to you all over?' St. John asked, coming up very close to Winston's back.
'Yes. If you don't believe me, see for yourself.'
He hadn't really needed the invitation. St. John shucked Rob's breeches down his legs to the ground and pulled the young man's moccasined feet out of the breeches. It was true. There were welts and cut marks on the young man's flanks and his buttocks and thighs and legs.
St. John couldn't resist. This was this colonel's weakness. He touched his fingers to the line of welting on the young man's flanks. He was breathing heavily, and his cock had gone rock hard almost instantaneously.
'M'Lord?' It was almost a whimper.
'Shut up,' St. John commanded in a harsh, husky whisper. St. John ran one hand down a flank and the other up Winston's back under his jerkin, following welt lines.
'M'Lord!' Rob said more sharply.
'I said shut up. You are in no position to object. I own you now. I can decide whether you live or die.' The breathing was very heavy. St. John was beyond control now. The welting was just too delicious. The young man's body just too desirable. He took his hands away from Winston's body but only so that he could unbutton his breeches with one hand and lean over and scoop soapy lather out of his shaving mug with the other.
'Not a word,' he hissed as he started to rub lather into the crack between the young man's butt cheeks.
'Ohhh,' Rob murmured in low tones.
St. John moved the bulb of his hard cock into Winston's crack, through the gobs of lather, and the young man went tense and moaned.
The colonel prepared to thrust past the young man's defenses, but he gulped in air in surprise when, as his bulb breached Winston's sphincter muscle, the young man's channel tightened around it and drew his cock inside the warm, moist channel. Using every trick he'd learned in the Savannah brothel, Rob set his ass channel walls rippling over the colonel's cock, pulling it deep inside him and making love to it with the muscles inside him.
'Ahhhh,' St. John murmured, his fingers not being able to resist continuing to track those lash marks on the young man's body. 'You are a catamite, aren't you? You're no casual lay. You were Hampton's prostitute. You have experience.'
'I was his pleasure, yes, that's right, M'Lord. But no catamite. I'm a full grown man. And I was his to release his tension, by arrangement with my master in Savannah, yes. But there was no agreement for him to treat me this foully, sir.'
St. John was moaning louder than Winston was. He'd never had his cock massaged like this inside a man before, and those lovely welts on his flanks and thighs and back and belly and chest. The colonel's hands were moving everywhere, finding lovely ridges to follow everywhere.
'M'Lord, I've come to you of free will. I have information I can give you. And if it's a proper fucking you want, you only need release me. You have a bed over there. I can please you as you've never been pleased before. You couldn't be fucked better in London.'
Colonel St. John was lost.
St. John laid on his back on his bed, Winston straddling him above and reversed. Winston gave St. John's cock a sucking like he'd never had before, while St. John dug at the cut lines on the proffered butt cheeks in rotating motion right before his eyes, smeared rivulets of blood across the luscious orbs, and rubbed fingers across loosening rim and into the channel of rippling muscles. After a tantalizing eternity of this, Winston turned and lowered his hole onto St. John's erect phallus and started the drawing in, sphincter clutch, and massaging wall treatment all over again as he rotated his hips around and around, and St. John moaned and groaned and cried out in ejaculation.
The colonel held Winston prisoner in his quarters and mostly in his bed for the next three days and nights. The young man was chained to the bed, which, fortunately for him, was still within reach of the colonel's camp desk, during the day. At various times during the day, St. John questioned the young man on the disposition and strengths of the American troops in the Mohawk Valley, and Winston told him what he thought St. John would believe and would be dismayed by if he tried to take advantage of. And at night, the colonel would bind Rob's wrists and hang them high on the center pole and lash his back and buttocks with a riding crop until the colonel's cock was rock hard and then either fuck the young man there or drag him back to the bed.
Rob was picking up some useful information during the colonel's absences to check on the stockade construction, but he hit paradise on the third day when a messenger from General Sir William Howe, commander of the eastern army of the British Central Campaign forces, both arrived with a message to be sent on to General Burgoyne and left before the colonel even knew he'd been there.
Rob identified himself as St. John's aide and said he'd give the message straight away to the colonel unopened. He'd managed all of this with his arm behind his back and not revealing that he was chained to the bedstead.
He opened the dispatch to discover that it announced a change of plans in the campaign. Philadelphia, the rebel's capitol, lay defenseless before General Howe's forces in New Jersey. Howe believed that was a larger prize than what they hoped to gain in New York with a pincher maneuver of his forces from the east and Burgoyne's forces from the north. He was willing to continue with the set plan, as it had been blessed by London, but, unless Burgoyne sent a request to this effect back to him within a week, Howe would take and occupy Philadelphia instead.
Burgoyne could be waiting for half the army to join him, not knowing it would never come, Winston realized. He rejoiced in the thought. By keeping this message from reaching Burgoyne, he, Rob Winston, could be of more service to his beloved Colonel Hampton and the colonists' cause than any soldier could.
The dispatch was quickly consigned to the fire in the hearth.
That night, after St. John had beat Rob with the riding crop, fucked him against the pole, and then dragged him back into the bed and fucked him again, like a dog, digging his fingernails into the newly opened cuts, all hell broke out in the fort.
They heard the most ungodly savage sounds from beyond the stockade walls to the west, and the sky lit up like it was day. The Huron camp was ablaze.
St. John struggled out of the bed and pulled on his breeches. He took up his long rifle propped up by the door and ran for the stockade gate.
As soon as he was gone, Otetiani climbed in the window at the back of the hut. Rob pointed to his chains in despair, but with a mighty heave, Otetiani pulled the bed frame asunder and Rob was free. Rob was naked, but Otetiani gave him no time to find his breeches and pull them on. They escaped through one of the open sections in the stockade fencing.
They reached the fringe of trees at the opposite side of the fort from the burning Huron encampment without any of the British soldiers seeing them. Eight of Otetiani's handpicked braves he'd taken on the raid were waiting for them there. A loss of four, but several fewer than Otetiani had calculated would be killed in the raid. There were ten of them, including Rob, and only nine horses. Without a moment's hesitation, Otetiani took Rob up on his horse with him and snuggled the young man into his lap. He barked orders to his braves and they all started to file quietly away from the area of the fort. When they'd forded a river, Otetiani barked again and his braves took off in a gallop in three different directions.
None of them were with Otetiani and Rob now, though. The two rode on through the night. Rob gradually became aware that Otetiani was getting hard. And the savage's tool was free of his codpiece. That monster cock of his was rising up the small of Rob's back and they were losing speed. The Indian warrior's palm had been on Rob's belly for many miles, helping to hold the young man steady on the horse, but now it was wrapped around Rob's cock and the young man was being stroked off has they cantered across the meadows.
Winston was trembling and becoming fully aroused. The horse was still cantering along in a rolling motion, but Otetiani raised Rob's hips and when he brought them back down, Rob's ass channel was sinking onto that huge, thick cock. The cock was moving inside Rob's channel to the rhythm of the horse's gait. It was all too much for the young red head. He ejaculated onto the silky mane of the horse's lower neck. Otetiani stopped the horse at that point and slid off. He pulled Rob off and laid him down on the soft ground in a field of clover on his back. He unstrapped a rolled-up blanket that had been on the horse's rump and wedged it under Rob's buttocks so that his hips were raised, his legs were spread, and his back was flat on the ground. The Indian chieftain knelt between Rob's legs; he propped a heavily muscled arm on the ground on each side of Rob's torso and his face hovered over Rob's. His hair was loose and cascaded down onto Rob's chest in long strands. Otetiani leaned down and kissed each of Rob's nipples in turn and then he looked directly into Rob's eyes.
This was no ceremony or necessary action. Otetiani wanted him. And he wanted to know if Rob would receive him with the same need. Rob reached down between them and took Otetiani's hard cock in both hands and guided it inside his channel. He closed his sphincter muscle over the base of the huge bulb when it had moved inside him and then drew the cock in slowly with his channel muscles, causing the walls to ripple over the throbbing cylinder. Otetiani's eyes opened wide and a big smile spread across his face, and then he lowered his face to Rob's and, for the first time, they kissed deeply, while Otetiani began to stroke hard and deep inside the young man.
Waves of pleasurable sensation rolled through Rob's body. He was fucked often and had more or less become numb to it, but no one had the length and thickness and strength of this man and a half. Or the staying power, as Rob learned when he was ridden and ridden and ridden while he writhed and bucked against the master fuck - or the recovery power, when after multiple spoutings inside him, the Indian chief returned almost instantaneously to the saddle and rode him some more. The twelve fuckings of Otetiani's virile warriors hadn't left Rob this exhausted or satiated.
The Shewan raid on the Huron chief's camp was fully accepted as an act of war by the Iroquois nation itself, and a third of Burgoyne's forces that he'd been welding together to wipe out the revolutionary forces in the Mohawk Valley evaporated into internecine warfare. The failure of half of the total forces of the campaign - General Howe's troops that now were occupying Philadelphia - to materialize at all put an end to any hopes of a knockout invasion from Canada. Weeks later Burgoyne surrendered his troops upon taking too few men into battle at the Battle of Saratoga, and the bottom had dropped out of Britain's strategy to hold on to its American colonies.
Rob Winston went on to Albany, where Colonel Hampton thought he'd been all along, and when he was fully healed and returned to Hampton's camp to take up his duties as Hampton's aide and lover once more, he was all congratulations on the miracles from heaven Hampton described to him that had made the British forces evaporate before the American forces in the Mohawk Valley.
'Yes, yes, the gods have been good to us,' Rob whispered. He moaned as the colonel's tongue moved up his inner thigh and his lips closed over the young man's cock. Rob began to rotate his hips and murmured his pleasure at the fingers invading his entrance, preparing him for the second fucking of the night, the love fucking, given almost apologetically for the brutality of the earlier tension-release fucking.
Rob glanced over toward the entrance of the tent, hoping to be able to see the hint of leather fringe and feathers there. Otetiani had been here earlier in the evening, and Hampton was making him wait to give his report until after his had taken his evening pleasure with his aide.
Rob spread his legs and arched his back and wrapped his arms around his lover's shoulders, as Hampton's hard dick started its slide into Rob's hole. Rob cried out and moaned for the colonel's invasion, knowing this would please his colonel.
He looked back through the shadows to the tent opening. Yes, Otetiani was still there.
Later, after Otetiani had given his report and when a satiated Colonel Hamilton was snoring on his camp bed, Rob stole out into the night, beyond the staked horses, to the special tree to the waiting arms and the hours of riding the wave of ecstasy on the monster cock of his savage master.
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