Fort Bent

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Lieutenant Anderson had just gotten his dick buried inside Lieutenant Hendrick’s hole in the shuttered bedroom they shared at one end of the barracks in the Fort Bent stockade when they heard the sentries put up an “Open the gates!” cry.

They were supposed to be taking a siesta, along with every other soldier not on guard duty, to avoid the blazing early-afternoon sun in the southeastern quadrant of the New Mexico territory. Instead, George Anderson and Bob Hendrick had, as they often enjoyed doing during siesta and also at night, wrestled heartily on Bob’s bed for ascendance, both knowing that it would be George fucking Bob but wrestling for who would be on top when that was happening. George was crouched over Bob, who was on his knees, his chest flat on the rough-textured khaki woolen army blanket, with his arm pulled painfully across his back and George working his cock inside him.

At the cries from the sentries, though, both sprang off the bed instantly and were pulling on their skivvies so as not to raise questions about what they might be doing other than taking a siesta.

“One of us should be in uniform,” Lieutenant Hendrick said. “We shouldn’t both go out in our skivvies.”

“You go ahead. I’ll dress,” Lieutenant Anderson said, as his lover popped out the door. The barracks already was nearly cleared of men.

It was a momentous occasion for a sentry to be calling for the opening of the gates. The stockade at Fort Bent had been under virtual siege from warpathing Apaches for over a week. The camp was new, put in place shortly after the Apache massacre at the Mescalero mission twenty miles to the east. The fort was being established to assure the settlers coming into what was territory claimed by the Apaches that they would be safe, but the assurances weren’t working. Settlers were either getting scalped or were pulling out in panic. And now the new fort itself was invested.

The Apaches weren’t sieging the fort within sight of the walls, but they were out there. And the last two supply trains were long overdue.

As Lieutenant Hendrick headed out into the dusty parade ground, he could only hope that the call for the gates to be opened meant a supply train of wagons from Fort Sumner, where Fort Bent’s captain had been trapped, unable to get back to his command, had gotten through.

When the gates were opened just long enough for someone to get through, though, it was just one wagon, and it was a civilian tinker, a single peddler in a wagon, whipping four horses, rather than a supply train. The gates slammed shut again immediately to the sound of the sentries firing from the walks at the top of the palisades. The tinker obviously had gotten here just ahead of an Apache war party.

He pulled the horses to a quick stop, the steeds rearing up, foaming at the mouth, all wild eyed, but obviously fully under the control of the big man now standing in the driver’s box of the wagon. He was tall and broad chested, dressed more like the Apaches than like the soldiers of the fort. He wore buckskins and had long, black hair, tied off in a ponytail with a leather band studded with turquoise beads. The buckskin trousers were tight across his thighs, a bulging codpiece laced up with leather strips centered at his crotch. The vest he was wearing was of buckskin as well, with turquoise beading descending both sides, which were laced together over his bare chest with leather strips. The vest didn’t come anywhere near to closing over his deeply tanned chest covered with curly black hair.

Despite the long, curly black hair, there was nothing feminine about him. He had a strong face, with piercing blue eyes and a curly black mustache and close-cropped beard. The vest was sleeveless and his biceps, encircled with beaded strips of leather, bulged.

“That was a close thing,” he boomed out, in English, but with a French accent. “Good thing someone plopped a fort here.” He laughed heartily at his own joke. If the man was at all frightened about just how close it had been for him, he didn’t show it. His voice was strong and steady.

Bob Hendrick had made it out onto the parade ground in his skivvies, but as soon as he saw the man in the wagon, which was piled high with trading goods, he stopped dead in his tracks and his jaw dropped.

The tinker’s eyes scanned the group of young milling soldiers who had been jerked out of their siesta by the most exciting event to occur here in weeks of virtual siege. When his eyes came to rest on Lieutenant Hendrick, his mouth turned up in a grin.

“Why, hello there, Bob,” he said. “You look like you’ve come dressed for a good fuck.”

“Jacques. Jacques Trebec,” Lieutenant Hendrick muttered. He saw that the tinker’s eyes had shifted down a bit, and he looked down and realized that all he was wearing were his underdrawers—and his cock was still hard from what the sentries’ shouts had called him away from. It had all happened in less than a couple of minutes.

Lieutenant Anderson came out of the barracks at that Ankara escort point, dressed in his uniform, but still strapping his sword belt on.

The tinker’s eyes shifted to the approaching Anderson. “Speaking of . . . who might your special friend be, Bob?”

“Jacques. What are you doing here?”

“Why I came for you, Bob,” the tinker answered. “Don’t you remember that I said I would? I came to save you.”

* * * *

Jacques Trebec joined the two lieutenants in the commandant’s office after Bob Hendrick returned to the officer’s room and dressed. The other men either resumed their sentry duties or returned to their siestas in the barracks after all had taken the opportunity of sizing up this bigger-than-life character who had dropped in on them.

“Where have you come from?” Anderson asked when the three men had settled down with tin cups of coffee. Hendrick wasn’t saying much of anything—and wasn’t looking at Trebec too often. Anderson had sized the tinker up, though, and correctly assessed him as competition—even with Hendrick—so he was sticking with business. He had come onto the parade ground early enough to have caught that there must be a history between Trebec and the other lieutenant, and he didn’t like it a bit. The man had a sensuality and assurance about him that Anderson, worn down by weeks of worry over the Apaches beyond the gates, didn’t feel up to competing with.

“From Fort Sumner,” the French Canadian answered.

“Any indication they know what we’re facing here?”

“They know two wagon trains didn’t come back from supply trips to here or two other small forts. They know there must be trouble with the Apaches. They don’t seem to know where exactly the trouble is, though.”

“The two wagon trains . . .”

“I saw evidence of both on my way here. Both picked clean. No survivors that I saw.”

“But you saw—”

“Yes, I could tell it was Apaches who wiped them out. The arrows were Apache and they had taken scalps. Got them real riled up, you do, bringing in settlers to what was supposed to be open range the army had told them they’d be free on. Their view is that the whole region is theirs.”

The three sat there, drinking coffee. Trebec was looking hard at Hendrick. Hendrick knew he was but still wasn’t saying anything or looking in Trebec’s direction unless he thought the tinker wasn’t looking at him. But Trebec’s gaze remained on him.

“Have any foodstuffs in that wagon of yours—or ammunition?” Anderson asked, trying to avoid an argument with the tinker over who had the right to be here—he was just a soldier, doing the job he was assigned to do.

“Not much,” Trebec answered. “Not enough to extend whatever you have for more than a few days. How many soldiers you got here? I didn’t see many comin’ out for my arrival.”

“Fifteen, including Bob and me,” Anderson answered.

“Not many. If the Apaches knew . . .”

“We’re doing what we can to keep them from knowing.”

They were silent for several minutes, each lost to his own thoughts. Anderson was thinking of their predicament. Hendrick was thinking of the last time he’d been fucked by Trebec. Trebec was thinking of both.

“You’re gonna have to try to get word to Sumner,” Trebec said at last, in a low voice. “They know there’s trouble, but they don’t know that it’s here. For all they know, you were supplied and the wagon trains ran into trouble farther down the line.”

“I know,” Anderson said. “I’ve been thinking we need to try to get word to them for a couple of days now. I’ll go pick out a couple of men. I’m senior here. I’ll be the one to make the try.”

“No, George, you can’t,” Bob Hendrick said, suddenly coming awake and pulling at Anderson’s arm as George stood from the table. “You can’t make it. I’m a better horseman. Sorry to have to say it, but I am. I’ll go.”

“I’m senior, Bob,” Anderson said in a quiet, but determined, voice. “I’ll be the one going. I’d be called out to give up my bars if I didn’t.” He stepped away from the table and walked out of the room.

Bob couldn’t argue with that. He knew he’d have been expected to do the same if he were senior.

That left Trebec and Hendrick, alone.

“Why are you here, Jacques?” Bob asked.

“I told you. I came for you. I got in here through the Apaches. I can get you out. Only some of them are warpathing. I supply them. I have a better chance of getting you out of here, hidden under my wares, than you do on a horse in that uniform.”

“You know I can’t do that. I have responsibilities here.”

“Find us someplace private for a hour, and I’ll convince you otherwise.”

“I can’t, Jacques. We can’t.”

“That other lieutenant’s fucking you now, isn’t he?”

Bob didn’t answer.

“Well, he’s getting ready to break out of here. Even if he’s successful, it will be nearly a week before he can get back here with relief forces. You’ll be here without him. But I’ll be here. Have you ever gone a week without a man between your thighs?—since you Ankara escort bayan had your first man?”

“You were my first man, Jacques.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. When I was fucking you, you couldn’t get it often enough.”

“We can’t. I can’t.”

“I think you will. But even if you don’t, I don’t go that long. Either sleep under me while your lieutenant is gone or stand back when I take my choice of the dozen young men who will be left here and who will have me. I saw some of them looking me over. They’re sex starved. There are plenty here who will lie under me, I’ll wager.”

“You wouldn’t.”

But he did, as Hendrick discovered that night, after Anderson and two young privates had ridden out, saying they’d split up and find separate ways to Sumner, with the hope that at least one of them would get through.

Lieutenant Hendrick was making the rounds of the sentry posts before turning in. He heard them in the guardroom next to the gate as he came to the doorway. Trebec was fucking one of the young privates, standing, against the wall. The private’s uniform was on the dirt floor. Trebec was clothed as he had been earlier. Hendrick well knew, though, the utility of that drop-down codpiece in the French Canadian’s buckskin trousers. The private’s back was to the wall and his naked arms were around Trebec’s neck and his naked legs hooked on Trebec’s hips. Trebec was fucking him with vigorous strokes while the young private groaned and moaned.

Hendrick was about to intervene, but then he thought, what the hell, the young man was enjoying himself; Trebec wasn’t forcing him. Bob knew of the pleasures Trebec gave with that thick, long cock of his. It could be the last pleasure in the young man’s life. Besides, the tinker had declared what he’d do if Hendrick didn’t lie with him. Bob wanted to, of course, but he just couldn’t do that to George while George was out there in peril.

He turned and went back to the officers’ room, locked the door behind him, stripped, and lay down on the bed. He went to sleep masturbating himself while thinking of all the things Trebec had done to him when they last were together in St. Louis, and wondering how long he could hold out against Trebec being between his thighs again.

* * * *

Lieutenant Hendrick woke up very late the next morning, roused by the bugle call for breakfast. He rose, pissed in the pot by the bureau, dressed, and opened the door into the barracks.

His view was accosted by two muscular bare legs wrapped around a pair of buttocks clothed in buckskin. Trebec was fucking one of the privates on the end of one of the beds in the barracks. He was standing on the ground, crouched over the youngest of the soldiers, a redhead. The French Canadian was taking the young man in the missionary position in long strokes. He was holding the private’s arms over his head and spread, with his fists grasping the young man’s wrists. The private’s head was turned to the side and he stared at Bob with glazed eyes and a look of rapture on his face as the lieutenant just walked by them and out of the barracks.

Hendrick had caught Anderson fucking the redhead on occasion, so Bob both felt that the young man was getting what he wanted and that Hendrick didn’t care to save him from anything. It also was obvious that the private didn’t care if Hendrick knew he was being fucked. Discipline was breaking down as the realization built on how hopeless their position here was. Bob remembered that the missionary position was one of Trebec’s favorites. He just looked away and marched on, out of the barracks.

Not long after breakfast a shout went up from the palisades over the gate and all ran up the ladders. Those who had rifles at hand carried them with them. The lieutenant was one of the last ones on the wall. Trebec was close behind. The redheaded private, pulling on his skivvies, hobbled out to the porch of the barracks. Seeing him, Bob wasn’t surprised to see him hobbling. Few were able to walk a straight line after Jacques had fucked them.

What was to be seen from the wall was a horror. The body of one of the privates who had gone out with Lieutenant Anderson was lying on the ground in front of the gate, his body shafted with several arrows. He had been scalped.

Worse, in the distance they could see Lieutenant Anderson himself, naked, staked out, on his back, on a boulder. His arms and legs were spread and his wrists and ankles were bound to stakes. An arrow shaft protruded from his shoulder, but he still appeared to be alive, if barely. An Apache brave was crouched between his legs and was fucking him. Another one was above his head, taking the first slice of scalping him alive.

With a sob, Hendrick grabbed a rifle out of a shocked private’s hands. But Jacques Trebec was faster. A rifle shot rang out and all could see Anderson’s head exploded. Hendrick started firing off shots immediately thereafter, but the Apaches had already disappeared on the other side of the boulder.

“You shot Escort Ankara him. You shot George,” Hendrick cried out as he turned to Trebec.

“He was already a dead man,” Jacques answered in a low, calm voice.

“You could have shot one or both of the Apaches.”

“It would have only prolonged his agony,” Jacques answered “He already was being scalped. It’s a shame your shots weren’t truer. But I went for the man who needed it most.” He stepped forward and embraced, Bob, taking the rifle out of his grip and handing it back to one of the soldiers.

Hendrick was shaking and close to sobbing.

“Come, man. Come with me. You don’t want your men to see you break down.”

“No,” Bob muttered, not himself knowing if he was refusing to go with Jacques or if he was agreeing that the men shouldn’t see him break down. Jacques decided for him. He turned Bob and nearly carried him back down the ladder to and then across the parade field, through the barracks, and into the officers’ room. Bob meekly allowed himself to be led.

The lieutenant just stood there after the tinker had closed and locked the door and stripped Bob’s uniform off him. Bob didn’t help him but he didn’t try to hinder him either.

Trebec sat Bob on the foot of his bed and then gently pushed on his chest. Bob laid back and just stared up at Jacques, as the French Canadian unlaced his codpiece and let his huge cock flop out. Bob remained watching him as Jacques pushed his thighs apart and moved between them while he was working his cock up.

“Now,” the tinker murmured, “like before. Like in St. Louis. You remember, I know.”

As he did in St. Louis when Jacques missionary fucked him, Bob raised his ankles to Trebec’s shoulders and his arms toward Trebec, for the tinker to grab his wrists and force Bob’s arms out and over his head as Trebec lowered his body on him. Bob rolled his pelvis up, helping the man’s cock to find his entrance, and he arched his back and drew in his breath, not exhaling again until Trebec had slid deep inside him, where he held, his eyes capturing Bob’s.

“Please, we can’t,” Bob murmured.

“We are. I’m inside you. You think I’m not going to fuck you now? Remember St. Louis. It will be like St. Louis.”

“It’s been so long,” the lieutenant whispered.

“Yes it has,” the tinker answered. “You always were the best. Worth savin’.”

And then Bob was panting and writhing and babbling who knew what as Jacques began to pump him hard and fast, giving no mercy, knowing that Bob wanted none. Bob’s pelvis involuntarily went into motion. He was moving it in answer to Jacques’ stroking, and he was making his channel muscles ripple over Jacques’ cock as he had learned back in St. Louis that the French Canadian loved—as he did for no one else but Jacques.

Jacques went wild with his cock. Pounding, pounding, pounding. This was nothing like Bob had observed when the tinker was fucking the two privates. This was serious fucking. And panting and groaning, Bob was giving as good as he was getting. This was being fucked. This was more, far more, than George had been giving him. Never, since, St. Louis, had Bob been fucked like this.

Jacques let loose of his wrists, and Bob grabbed the sides of Jacques’ massive chest under the vest and crawled up the man’s torso, tearing the lacings out of the buckskin vest with his teeth, licking his way up the hair trail of the sternum to bury his lips and teeth in Jacques’ nipples and then on up to Trebec’s bruising mouth, as the French Canadian lifted him from the bed, went into a crouch with Bob wrapping his legs around the man’s waist, and pounded away.

With a cry, Bob lost the hold with his hands and arched back, his shoulder blades resting on the ground, and his arms stretched out, fists digging in the dirt of the flooring. Trebec continued pounding away down into him with his cock.

Bob ejaculated up Jacques’ belly, but the tinker just kept pounding away, demanding another round of cum from the soldier.

It was St. Louis all over again. Intense, prolonged, no mercy. Total mastering. Demanding more than one ejaculation from Hendrick.

When the French Canadian was finished, he lifted Bob’s body and let it fall back onto the bed, stood up and away from Hendrick, and only then undressed. His deeply tanned body was as magnificent as always. Heavily muscular, the cock and balls massive and hanging low, perhaps a scar or two more than Hendrick had remembered from the previous year in St. Louis.

He avoided disturbing the slick of Hendrick’s cum on his belly, leaving the evidence that the soldier had come twice before Jacques was finished.

“Just like St. Louis,” Jacques muttered. “You were the best lay then. Still are. Well worth the trip across Apache land.”

When he was naked, Jacques stood over Bob, panting until he was fully in control of himself again. He went over and stretched down on his back on George Anderson’s bed and Bob heard him breathing deeply, recovering, slow stroking his own cock. After fifteen minutes, during which Bob lay as he was placed on his own bed, Jacques raised his torso, facing Bob, and propped his head up on his elbow. He gave the lieutenant an expectant look. He was in erection again. “Come here.”

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