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#Interracial #Rape #Teen #Virgin
By HistBuff
1837. Santa Fe. The centrally appointed governor of New Mexico grows increasingly unpopular to the point the population enters into open revolt.
Note: Dear readers, for this site, I’ve joined the first two chapters so you can get to some spicy scenes in this first installment of my New Mexico western story, starring Katy Jurado as the Governor’s lady. Main characters are 18+, but I’ve aged down to 15-16 some of the little ladies who were having a ball.
* * * * *
Chapter 1: An Unpopular Governor
Albino Pérez was a native of Veracruz in central Mexico. He had been a distinguished Coronel in the army. In 1835, he was appointed Governor of New Mexico by President Antonio López de Santa Anna in 1835, under the new centralized form of government.
Pérez rapidly became unpopular as a representative of the centralist government who was expected to enforce its Departmental Plan and taxation program. On 16 October 1835, he announced new regulations of trade along the Santa FeChihuahua Trail. He linked increases in attacks by well-armed Comanche, Apache, Ute, and Navajo raiders to illegal trade in guns with these Indians, and the regulations stopped this trade as well as stopping beaver trapping without license. The law, however reasonable, was unpopular.
He ruled as a little king and wasn’t a native of the province. He lived in lavish luxury in his well-guarded palace in Santa Fe while nearly everyone else was poor and expected to pay taxes that were linked to Mexico-imposed power.
Albino Pérez also loved women. His wife was down in Mexico, but he had a housekeeper who was strikingly beautiful. Helena Ramirez a was a managing housekeeper. She didn’t perform chores. She managed the servants and was rumored to share the governor’s bed at night.
Helena Ramirez was said to be from San Diego. Others thought she came from Los Angeles. What everybody agreed on was her rare beauty. There was something mysterious and fascinating in her features that toyed with men’s deepest dreams and instilled a fierce desire for this archetypal Hispanic woman.
The hate that New Mexicans harbored for their Mexican governor was in many cases tainted with secret jealousy.
Helena had come together with a young cousin, Juanita. Juanita looked exquisitely young and pretty. The maiden loved fancy dresses, she could sign and dance and she spoke French and Italian. She had the same long raven hair as Helena, but she had yet to become a grown woman like her elder cousin.
Juanita could have kept on living in California and find herself a rich, suitable husband, but she was determined to enjoy her independence for still a few years and she was very fond of Helena, so she followed her to Santa Fe.
In April 1836, Juanita celebrated her seventeenth birthday. Governor Pérez gave her an emerald-green dress that had belonged to the wife of a merchant whose goods had been seized following a conviction of dealing guns to Apaches. The dress was embroidered with golden thread and came from Spain. It was worth a small fortune!
Juanita was often seen on her balcony during daytime. She would sit in the half-shadow and keep reading a book, her bare feet resting on red pillows while she would pretend to ignore the men who gazed at her from afar. The walls around the palace were manned by soldiers who had dreams. Juanita greatly enjoyed being the off-limits prize; it flattered her vanity and gave her the illusion she was a goddess who would never grow old.
She loved to pretend she was a modern Babylonian princess living on that high balcony like in a suspended garden. She did have that pale olive complexion and a straight nose that made her look a bit Persian. She actually hated her complexion because it wasn’t snow-white, but she was proud of her small feet and loved to showcase them to governor Pérez so she could get things from him.
The rumors saying the governor also enjoyed young Juanita were perhaps not entirely unfounded. The young lady was aloof with everybody except Helena and governor Pérez.
President Antonio López de Santa Anna had launched a campaign in Texas. When Fort Alamo fell in early March, victory seemed certain, but then, the Yankees were so outraged by the atrocities done by the Mexican army that they fought harder and fiercer than ever before, eventually surprising and defeating the main Mexican force in late April. Santa Anna himself was captured. It was a very humiliating defeat.
Following that defeat in Texas, the Mexican government drafted a constitution that tightened administration and tax-collection and imposed property qualifications on political participation, thus increasing the gap between the rich and the poor.
Governor Pérez would spend the remainder of the year 1836 in an attempt to levy the taxes and completely restructure the regional political system in accordance with the new constitution.
This exacerbated the popular dissatisfaction, especially in the northern part of New Mexico. And the population grew even more defiant when they heard the news of General Houston’s victory over Mexico’s central authority when he avenged all the Texans who had died at the Alamo. Texas was now an independent State. What Texas could do, then maybe New Mexico could too.
There were other grievances, such as Pérez’s failure to rein in customs officials who defrauded American traders on the Santa Fe Trail, some of whom lived in Taos in Northern New Mexico; and the inadequate food and bad conditions endured by men forced to serve in the militia against the Navajos and Apaches.
His adultery with Helena while his wife was in Mexico didn’t exactly help with his popularity in the eyes of the God-fearing Catholics of New Mexico. High officials in his entourage all had beautiful young wives, often foreigners who weren’t even Catholics. All that mattered was their beauty and their wits in those lavish salons.
Thus, for the remainder of the year and then into 1837, governor Albino Pérez kept up his policies showing no signs of conceding anything to the increasingly dissatisfied New Mexicans.
Life is great when you’re on the good side of the fence.
On April 22nd of that year, Juanita turned eighteen. Governor Pérez managed to surprise her by having Juanita’s twin sister come over from Los Angeles along with a reinforcement troop of well-off cavalrymen who were lawful to Mexico.
Dolores, who of course also turned eighteen on that day, had arrived in Santa Fe just the day before. There was much fright in her eyes as the cavalry troop had been ambushed by a strong war party of Apaches somewhere on the road between California and New Mexico, a short distance past Verde Valley. The troop had lost nearly one third of the men, including the Captain who had been in command. From 35 horsemen, they were now down to 26 led by one young dashing Lieutenant by the name of Jesus Olvidaro de Sevilla, who had finally managed to fend off the Apache, but it was a close call for the merchants and other passengers in those two stagecoaches, including young Dolores.
When Juanita saw her beloved twin being helped off the coach by the dashing young officer, she ran and hugged her, and both well-dressed maidens cried in each other’s arms, all tears of joy, but from two very different sources. Juanita cried out of joy from being reunited with her twin, but Dolores cried out of joy and the relief of that pent-up terror she had harbored during the remainder of the journey after the attack. What would have those Apaches done to her and the other women once they had dealt with the men? Dolores knew deep down, but the virgin maiden from a rich, noble and Catholic family preferred not to think about it.
“Dolores! Dolores! I’m so happy you’re here!”
“Ho, Juanita! Don’t kiss your sister like this! We’re in public and Santa Fe is a Catholic city!” Helena scolded her while smiling and greeting Lieutenant Jesus de Sevilla, who took off his dragoon helmet and made a flawless curtsy that told the governor’s mistress he was an educated gentleman, just like most of his men.
Governor Pérez stood there with all his self-importance, wearing his heavily decorated General’s uniform along with an old-fashioned bi-corn, black bordered with lavish gold that shone indecently under the bright, searing sun. Pérez pretended he wasn’t bothered by the heat in his full regalia, although his face was flushed with sweat. He also pretended he didn’t see the way the increasingly discontented soldiers in his garrison were looking at the newcomers with disdain, envy and hatred. It was common knowledge that infantry and cavalry didn’t mingle and at best tolerated each other.
The 26 dragoons became de facto the close bodyguards of Governor Pérez and his close entourage. From that day on, none of those vulgar infantrymen would be allowed inside the reinforced palace, barring the officers of course. Only ladies, maids and gentlemen were allowed inside along with a handful of black slaves including the butler.
* * * * *
April 22nd, daytime watch at the governor’s palace…
Corporal Sanchez was in charge of the watch of men manning the walls around the governor’s palace in Santa Fe.
He felt lucky to have been reassigned to the garrison in the capital city. At least, he had decent food and didn’t risk riding into an ambush in Navajo territory, but his brother Miguel was still starving and risking his life out there in the desert.
Sanchez was with Felipe, one of his best privates. Both stood on the highest part of the wall where-from they had a plain view on that balcony where Juanita would show up every day at nine and read a book until the lunch hour, followed with the siesta.
“There she is, just as pretty as usual, the snobbish little tramp!” Felipe said, his eyes filled with secret lust as he watched Juanita’s youthful figure emerging from the shadows of her private quarters and walking into the brighter half-shadow of her balcony.
She wore a wide sombrero to protect her delicate skin from the unforgiving daylight. It was only nine in the morning, but all was already sunlight and shadows with that killing heat that prompts rattlesnakes to heat under that sun and gather enough heat so they’d be nimble at dusk to hunt their prey.
That part of the wall where both men stood was level with the balcony, so they had a direct view on her from about fifty yards. And this was the closest to her they’d be allowed, now that the rich cavalrymen were in town. They were bad news for the commoners. Why should they keep serving this fat governor who only had eyes for the rich? Their pay was a pittance that only kept them barely fed and alive! But right now, Felipe and Corporal Sanchez were leaning on their muskets and closely watching Juanita.
They could see her entire figure through the railing of her balcony.
“Look at the way she moves…” Sanchez commented. “The little devil! She knows we’re watching her, and she enjoys it! She enjoys our gaze on her while knowing we can’t touch her. We’re nothing to her!”
“She’s a devil indeed, Corporal! And look… She’s now sitting as usual, resting on her side and showing off the curve of her hip, and as usual, she’s barefoot. The devil! If only…”
“Don’t say it, Felipe. Just don’t say it.”
The Corporal was referring to the growing hostility toward the governor among the soldiers. The word to be avoided was “mutiny”. Just saying that word would get you ten lashes from that sadistic Sergeant Alvarez, who was one fat obedient puppy dog, with one wide fat face who would sell the soul of his best friend just to get one silver coin. But now that he was also cast out of the palace like all enlisted men of the infantry, which those cavalrymen called “dirty crawlers”, Sergeant Alvarez was already changing and becoming friendlier, which was quite unbelievable.
More unbelievable was Juanita’s beauty! Some of the infantrymen fancied Helena, but many others masturbated every night, or fucked their favorite whore, while thinking of young Juanita, who just turned eighteen.
Both men stood silently, brooding, their thoughts bent on that forbidden word, mutiny, while their gazes kept wandering on Juanita, taking note of her décolleté that revealed how bright her complexion was. Only rich ladies had such a pale olive skin that made their dark hair look so intensely full of shadows, full of promise too. Both sentries now thought of those wonderful mysteries that lurked under her sand-beige dress that seemed to match her sombrero–so pale was that beige it made her skin look full olive except where the sun hit it and gave it a glowing whiteness. What would her tits look like under this sun?
Their thoughts caused their cocks to grow painfully hard under their uniform as they easily imagined what they would do to Juanita and Helena if their company mutinied and stormed the palace!
“Hey Felipe,” the Corporal said to change topics, “did you hear what Santa Anna’s men did to the enemy women when they captured Fort Alamo last year?”
“I heard some. I heard there was a Consuelo who was the daughter of some rich man in San Antonio, a very beautiful girl about Juanita’s age.”
“Yes, and it is said that Santa Anna’s men grabbed her and once they had stripped her naked, they kept her pinned on a cannon and took their turns inside her. That Consuelo was gang-raped by an entire company! It is said that Santa Anna himself enjoyed her right in front of her dying father!”
“Well, Corporal, at least he did enjoy some moments of glory before his downfall.”
“Speaking of downfall, Felipe, I can predict another one much closer to us.”
“Shht, Corporal, we must not openly speak about it… Here comes an officer!”
It was Captain Diego Rodriguez, who was a puppy to the governor and also a bachelor with hopes of marrying Juanita, who wouldn’t even look at the balding officer.
“Sanchez! If I catch you looking at Juanita again, I’ll see to it that you’re sent back to Navajo country!”
“Sorry, Sir. We thought there was someone in that mesquite tree over there…”
“I’m not stupid, Sanchez! Keep your eyes on the streets down there and stop thinking about those places where you may not go. It will be better for you!”
“Aye, aye, Sir! (I’ll piss on your grave, you big sack of pompous shit!)”
The pompous officer walked away as he himself resisted the urge of looking at Juanita’s lovely figure on that balcony where she read her book and smiled from the rebuking she had just witnessed. That Captain was so stupid! Did he really think he had a shot at her? In his dreams!
He was presently looking her way. Juanita kept on reading her Italian novel.
There wasn’t a single man in Santa Fe who actually interested her, not even the governor. But now there was one. Lieutenant Jesus de Sevilla was everything she hoped for in a husband. He was rich, had perfect manners, he was charming and he was from an old noble family. Weeks and months went by. The sun grew even hotter, and so did Juanita’s lust for De Sevilla, and it was intense indeed since this was her very first time being in love, but the dashing Lieutenant, who got promoted to Captain in June for his twenty-second birthday, preferred Dolores her very own twin sister!
“Why? Why does he likes Dolores better? Dolores isn’t as pretty as myself and she doesn’t have half my refinement. Since her childhood, all she ever cared about was horses and learning swordsmanship! She behaves as if she were a boy! But now that De Sevilla is around, only now she wears nice dresses, but she’s wearing my dress from last year! And her hair is a mess! Where did she learn to style it? From a dirty peasant mother of nine! That’s where! But the Lieutenant! He’s always inviting her for a walk in the inner garden! Always so fond of her! I even heard of rumors about the two of them going to get engaged! It’s really sickening!”
“Stop thinking aloud, Juanita!” Helena said from the doorstep where she had been listening in the shadow. She presently walked to her in the balcony where she lay, and as her eyes lingered a split-second longer than it should on Juanita’s bare feet where they lay on a cloud-soft cushion, she spoke again, her eyes were filled with the love she had for her young cousin…
“Juanita, I was eighteen years old myself once, and I was in love with a boy, and that boy didn’t want me. To me, it was the end of the world! Juanita my dear, I know what you’re going through, but you’ll see, you’ll see… You’ll meet another boy and he’ll be just the one for you! Trust me, trust me like your big sister! I know the workings of the world and I’ve already seen too much at only twenty-nine years of age…”
“Ooh, Helena! I’m hurt so much!” Juanita cried out as she flung herself in Helena’s and the older girl comforted the youngster with love-filled strokes in her wonderful hair, its threads full of shiny riddles as the sombrero fell and revealed their arresting splendor. A sight that wasn’t lost on Sanchez and Felipe, who were both still patrolling the walls as usual, but now under a heavier late-summer sun and their hearts heavier than ever, like the gathering clouds before a storm.
Helena loved Juanita as a sister and perhaps a bit more. She was strong enough for keeping herself to start kissing her young cousin in plain sight of those awful soldiers watching them on that wall–those impertinents! She’ll have them flogged for this! Twenty lashes apiece, that would teach them!
“Cry a good deal, Juanita! It will help, you’ll see… You can also come to my room if you want. The butler got some fresh oranges and I’ll have him serve us lemonade with some rum and pomegranate juice, with a slice of lime to boot! Come, my sweet delightful companion!”
And the youngster let her older cousin lead her through the refreshing palace halls. Helena’s suite had lavishness, yet good taste in its decoration that lent a lot on rococo. There was a billiard table! A recent gift from the ever-generous Governor.
“This wasn’t there before!” Juanita shouted in child-like enthusiasm as she ran to the billiard table. “How do we play this?”
“I’ll teach you, my sweet, wonderful Juanita, but first… Please… Let me kiss you…”
Juanita usually just let Helena take her pleasure, but now, on that day, because of her jealousy and sorrow over Lieutenant De Sevilla, she was in such an extraordinary state that Helena’s kisses turned her into a sexual volcano. Helena marveled in absolute shock as the youngster returned her kisses and began petting her bosom as both girls let themselves go down on the floor and ravenously kissed each other, and for the first time ever, Juanita felt the swelling of her breasts in the arms of a lover, and such an unexpected lover! None other than Helena!
Helena was in love with her cousin. Governor Pérez was in her bed for his money, but Juanita was her secret pleasure. She was very protective of her and thus far, she had managed to keep Juanita from ever being alone with the governor, and now Governor Pérez had some very pressing business on the political front.
There were news from a northern town called Santa Cruz de la Cañada, and those news were not good.
The alcalde (mayor) of Santa Cruz de la Cañada, Juan José Esquibel, had accepted a bribe from a relative to release him from jail when charged with a “grave crime” and had defied Pérez’s order to pay a fine and return his relative to jail. Then, Esquibel supported two merchants against a man who had documentation that they owed him money. Pérez’s appointee as prefect, Ramón Abreu, suspended Esquibel and on learning of the bribe, had him jailed and put in irons.
Ramón Abreu was hated. He had been preferred to much better candidates simply because he was related to Helena.
And now, a mob had broken into the jail and freed Esquibel! And Esquibel was popularly reinstated as alcalde of Santa Cruz de la Cañada. Ramón Abreu narrowly escaped a lynching and just arrived with the bad news in Santa Fe.
The news were even more dismal over the next few days. It was an open rebellion!
On August 1st, rebels from the northern New Mexican communities gathered at Santa Cruz de la Cañada (near Chimayó) with Indians from the surrounding pueblos. They called themselves the Cantón (neighborhood or district). On August 3, their twelve leaders, including Esquibel, issued the following declaration:
For God and the Nation and the Faith of Jesus Christ! The principal points we defend are the following: 1. To be with God and the Nation and the Faith of Jesus Christ. 2. To defend our country until we shed every drop of our blood in order to obtain the victory we have in view. 3. Not to admit the Department Plan. 4. Not to admit any tax. 5. Not to admit any disorder desired by those who are attempting to procure it. God and the Nation! Encampment Santa Cruz de la Cañada, August 3, 1837.
And it was signed by Esquibel and the other leaders. There was no turning back.
* * * * *
Last Night Of Gambling
Tuesday night was usually a quiet night at the governor’s palace in Santa Fe, but not on August 8th. Most high officials in Peréz’s government felt concerned about the rebellion, yet confident that the Governor and his volunteers would prevail over what they called “a bunch of Indians and half-breed peasants”.
They gathered in the palace and Helena, as Santa Fe’s first lady, decided to hold a soirée of gambling, with music and dancing for those who felt too Catholic for playing cards with wagers.
Tables with green-felt coverings were proudly displayed along with decks of cards in the governor’s vast drawer room that displayed woodwork just as rich as the general population was poor, and the high officials began to play with high piles of silver dollars, while their wives, and their nieces and daughters who were old enough to stay late at night began to either play cards or chat among themselves in the nearby boudoir.
Some of them danced in an impromptu ball with their brothers, friends or cousins—sometimes a lust-filled uncle—along with the music played by a quartet of Negro slaves in dapper jackets and even wearing knee breeches, white silk socks and white perruques that made them almost look like they came straight out of Marie-Antoinette’s court of Versailles before the Revolution.
Their violins almost exactly matched the tone of the woodwork and the tall grandfather clock, its hands saying it was almost ten past eight.
The dancing young ladies wore gloves, with their—usually dark—hair styled high above their maiden face and usually snobbish expression, as a statement that they weren’t of the low-street condition. They all had a décolleté that proudly displayed their pale skin with subtle notes of olive—enough cleavage was revealed for their dancing partners to feed their masturbatory dreams for weeks to come.
The lovely patter from their supple dancing shoes accompanied the violins from the Negro quartet. The male musicians had that revolving carousel of girly satin shoes to entertain their minds and perhaps their dreams as they played on. Some of those pairs of satin shoes had a selling price that would feed a family of peasants for a month.
Many of their dancing partners were the richest officer cadets or sub lieutenants who could step in as supernumeraries in case of an unexpected attack and this was why they proudly wore their uniforms along with a thin sword or saber, but no pistols since they weren’t on a campaign. Some of them had wanted to ride north with Governor Pérez as volunteers, but their father had sternly ordered them to stay in Santa Fe. Cowardly fathers often fear to see their sons die.
Helena was playing cards for hefty wagers against Santiago Abreú the former interim governor, Jesús María Alarid, the secretary of the Department, and, last but not least, a German maverick whose wife was so strikingly beautiful that she made Helena jealous by stealing the show with her perfect porcelain skin and blue eyes.
That wife with sapphire eyes was French, now dancing with one well-dressed official as three or four others were queuing for just one dance with her, while other wives were chatting in the adjacent boudoir while sipping fine Spanish wine, red or white, and often bad-mouthing the French woman out of envy—If only they didn’t have those pesky notes of olive in their complexion! If only they didn’t have such Hispanic-brown eyes! Those wives kept forgetting they made strong babies. Those blue eyes were blinding them and poisoning their mind.
Dolores was dancing too, with Captain De Sevilla’s orderly who was one of the handful of cavalrymen the Captain had left behind as he himself and most of his dragoons had left the palace in secret, in order to let the infantry garrison think the palace was still guarded by twenty-five men within its walls in addition to their officers.
Dolores kept looking at the sparkles from her engagement ring as she danced with the handsome orderly for the tenth time, or was it the twelfth? The clock struck ten. The night was still young. Dolores smiled. She felt so sensual, so outré in her twin’s emerald-green dress, worn with her thinnest corset—and now she proudly felt the orderly’s troubled gaze lingering at her bosom, his eyes trying to unravel the mystery of her youngster’s cleavage as they danced on to the violin quartet.
The Negro musicians were growing tired, but they stoically played on, tune after tune, without anyone thanking them or even looking at them as the butler and the colored servants and maids circulated among the guests with refreshing wine in glistening cups of crystal, oyster canapés and other small delicacies that were never for them—only for their rich masters.
Those well-dressed, well-trained slaves nearly all had scars from whiplashes under their elegant livery. They all wore deep green with notes of red and white, for the glory of the Republica of Mexico. Their eyes often wandered in the cleavages of the young ladies. Those slaves were good at not getting caught looking. Survival makes one’s senses sharp and keen.
In the drawing room, Helena Ramirez was the only player who presently stood against Gunther the German maverick in a high-stakes hand with a heap of silver and gold thrown at the center of the green-felt table—more than enough for several poor families to live on for a year.
They were playing a new game from New Orleans called “the Game of Bluff” or “Poker”. Gunther had explained the game at the onset and played the first few hands for only token sums of money. Four players were dealt each five cards out of a 20-card pack (A-K-Q-J-10) and the bets started clockwise round the table as to who thought he or she had the strongest hand.
One pair beat one high card with no help. Two pairs beat one pair. Three of a kind beat two pairs. A full house—one pair with three of a kind—beat a triplet. And four of a kind, the highest possible hand, beat anything else. When there was a tie between two hands, the highest triplet or quartet won, so four aces were absolutely unbeatable and so were four kings with one ace.
But then, after the second token hand, Helena had made a suggestion. She had just lost on a bluff, but she still showed her hand—she had all five cards of Spades, from 10 to A.
“Why can’t this be a hand? Let’s call it a royal suite and let’s say it beats three of a kind!”
“Well, if all players agree, I don’t see any objection!” Gunther replied while his mind quickly calculated the new odds this created.
“But what if two players have this… this suite royale? What then?” Santiago Abreú asked, his bald head shining at the bright chandeliers while he stealthily looked at Helena’s generous cleavage, where her dark purple dress was bordered with nothing less than white ermine fur with black spots, making her look remarkably like a Queen of Spades as her long raven hair kept entertaining all lights that hit them and made the diamonds she wore on a gold pendant all the brighter.
“What then? Then, my friend, have the suits decide. Queen of Hearts will beat all, since who can stand against love?” the German maverick replied, his eyes naturally drawn to where Helena’s heart beat beneath her wide, distracting décolleté. He noted how pale her skin was—the mark of the rich woman who strictly avoided exposure to the sun.
“And then, Sir, what of the other suits?” Helena said, a sensual smile on her rouged lips as she took a sip of dark Xérès wine. Her Hispanic features with big dark eyes accentuated her air of mystery and started to make Gunther hard under the table. She was so different from his wife! So incredibly enthralling!
“Then, the Queen of Spades will come second, since Fate is with number two, the light and the shadow.”
“So I come second?” Helena replied, raising her bosom and playfully offended.
“Well yes. I’m a happily married Catholic”, the Lutheran German lied, “so my French wife will always come first!”
And while everybody laughed around the table, including the onlookers, the maverick said that Diamonds would come right after Spades since Clubs represented common coins of money and diamonds trumped the coins, “just like that pendant worn by our charming hostess trumps all money that will be laid on the table tonight!”
As he concluded and dealt the next hand, the professional tinhorn laid eyes on Juanita as she was half-leaning about another table while following the play of cards—her sober burgundy dress revealing all he needed to know as to her fuckability. Now this was a youngster who’d be nice to sweet-talk into his hotel room tonight!
“Juanita isn’t that kind of girl! I pray thee, play your hand and place your wager!” Helena said sternly.
And the evening had gone on, with everyone charmed whenever the newly created hand came up and upset the bet of a player who held three of a kind. The established order of suits also came in useful as a tie breaker when two players each had a pair of the same kind such as two Jacks—whoever had the pair with Hearts won. Omnia vincit amor.
When that heaviest showdown came, Helena Ramirez smiled as she boldly revealed her hand while throwing another pair of gold coins into the huge pot.
“Suite royale of Spades! What do you say now, Prussian scoundrel?” the governor’s governess said smiling mischievously, looking indeed like a mysterious, scheming Queen that mirrored her hand.
“Well, Governess, I’m afraid I have to say that…” the maverick gambler said slowly as he showed the deck’s three remaining aces…
“I’m afraid I will have to concede defeat! But will you play one more hand? Just one last hand? You versus me. Winner takes all! What do you say, Señora?”
As he spoke, the tinhorn had indeed uncovered a Jack and a 10 of Diamonds. He smiled in what looked like fair-play, but he had stacked the deck so the governess would have that hand. Now was the big-money. Winner takes all!
“What do I say? Well, Sir, I say this is my lucky night! So yes, let’s have that showdown! Just one hand each of us out of that twenty-strong pack. Deal!”
“Right! Denn alles ist schön!”
But as the tinhorn started dealing the cards while a compact press of onlookers gathered around the high-stakes table, a commotion was heard in the adjacent ball-room. Then one officer of dragoons ran in the drawer room and shouted…
“All is lost! We lost! The rebels are coming here! Save yourselves! Save yourselves! The rebels are coming! We must get out of town! Right this very minute!”
It was Captain de Sevilla, barely recognizable with his face flushed with sweat under his brass helmet, his green uniform all dusty and his boots very dirty, but he held Dolores by the hand and the maiden was looking at him with a mix of fear and admiration, so it had to be him.
The entire room fell into a ghastly silence while Gunther sighed in absolute irritation. He had to play this last hand or lose his night’s work—and this time he was going to use the aces up his sleeve.
“Let’s not excite ourselves! Calm down, young man! Have a glass of porto and calm down! We can take the road later that night. Now, Governess, let’s play that hand and…”
Musket shots broke the still of the night. More shots were heard along with clamors. And this time the noise was closer to the palace windows—It came from the inner grounds! From within the walls!
“What are those sentries doing? Why can’t they keep the rabble out of our walls?” Santiago hollered as women began to make for the nearest exit.
But then the roaring and the fire-shots grew to such an intense degree that they sounded like fireworks and those noises and clamors seemed to come from both sides at once! The guests in the vast ballroom heard them from the windows to the north and also from the opposite windows—and suddenly they all wished those windows weren’t so tall and so easily reachable from the lower balconies.
One window exploded in shards from a musket shot and the roaring clamors grew even stronger. “¡Revolución! ¡Revolución!” the clamors said. “¡Al palacio! ¡Matémoslos a todos!” (To the palace! Let’s kill them all!)
The women screamed and most began running in an attempt to get out of the palace, like cows in a stampede, while some of the men ran to the armory to fetch pistols and swords, but most of them either ran like women or went into hiding behind some drapes or some piece of furniture, or under a table, as the palace was now echoing with pistol-shots, screams, clamors and fighting—and the low-pitched BOM sounds of a battering ram resonated throughout the palace as all the good people within its wall hoped and prayed that the massive front doors, now barred and hopefully would resist long enough.
A pack of panicking girls came running back into the ball-room and told everyone that the black servants and even the butler had turned against them and were now blocking the main stairwell that led to the third story and the attic—and those slaves were going to open the main doors for the soldiers! All was lost!
Some tried the windows and glass doors to the balconies, but soldiers fired their muskets from the grounds and broke more glass panes. A few sub lieutenants walked close and fired return shots through the broken windows using dueling pistols.
One of the young gentlemen fell back as if hit by an invisible fist. He lay on the lacquered wooden floor, with one red dot in the middle of his forehead and a pool of blood quickly expanding from under his head as his glass eyes looked up at some void while girls shrieked. A musket ball had gone through his skull.
“Dolores! Come quick! This way!” De Sevilla told his fiancée as he led her by the hand through a door that led to a kitchen, then a hallway to the servants’ stairwell at the back of the palace, in the direction opposite to where he had left his horse. Now it was too late! He had to find a safe hiding place for Dolores, then he’d join his handful of men and do his duty.
“Why are they so soon here? The closest rebels must still be hours away! Who then was attacking the palace?” De Sevilla thought as he led his fiancée downstairs with the intent of hiding her in some bush in the Trianon garden behind the main building—so called because of the smaller version of Marie-Antoinette’s famous Trianon at Versailles.
As he ran downstairs with Dolores, they were met with several scared women and he understood why they were fleeing when he got near the bottom of the stairs, he saw three soldiers—they wore the garrison’s uniform!
“A mutiny! It’s a mutiny! Dolores, go back upstairs!” the handsome officer chivalrously said to his lovely companion as he fired his first pistol at the nearest soldier and ran upstairs behind her just as the others fired their muskets and called him a “hijo de puta” and a “bastardo”.
“I got one of the bastards!” De Sevilla said as he now ran faster and led, or rather pulled Dolores by the hand as she slowed down and huffed and puffed, clearly not used to such intense exertions.
The soldiers were coming! And it sounded there were now many of them running upstairs!
The third story being out-of-bounds to servants, the back-of-the-palace stairs only led back to the drawing room, where those frightened girls had also ran back all the faster upon hearing the pistol- and musket-shots.
“We’ll make a stand here! To me, my dragoons!” De Sevilla shouted as he began piling up pieces of furniture against the locked door, just as the pursuing soldiers began banging it with their shoulders.
Only his orderly came as reinforcement and made his grim report. “All our men here are dead or dying, Sir! We must hold this drawing room! We must!”
Now the banging sounds from the battering ram were already heard against the hastily locked doors to the ball-room, while more soldiers came from the back. They were trapped!
“Is there a secret passage or something? I don’t wanna die here like a rat!” Santiago cried out as his fifteen-year-old daughter flung herself in his arms and started to cry and scream in panic.
Helena realized two things at once. There was no secret passage and… the pot of money on the gambling table was gone and Gunther with it.
“The windows! Let’s try the windows!” Santiago said, leading his terrified daughter by the hand.
But even more windows exploded in shards of broken hope from the musket fire, and soldiers began to show up on the second-floor balconies as they used ropes with grappling hooks to climb their way up and take those they called “rich pigs” from all sides at once!
“No escape for the pigs!” the mutinied garrison men yelled as they climbed in growing numbers, barring all hopes of escape.
Santiago’s daughter screamed all the shriller! The soldiers! They were closing in!
The panicking defenders hastily closed and tried to barricade the door to the boudoir—now overrun with soldiers. This made a second door to hold and barricade in order to defend the ball-room!
Santiago emptied both his pistols on the soldiers showing up in a balcony, having one fleeting moment of satisfaction as he saw one tall soldier wearing that off-white uniform hold his stomach and fall, but more soldiers came and now smashed these tall windows and they were coming right in the ball-room while the richly clad fugitives ran into the drawing room and closed the oaken doors behind them.
A handful of guests got left behind. They were lost! BOM! SNAP CRCK!!! The doors to the ball-room gave way! More glass-window doors were smashed broken from the balconies and the ball-room was now full of soldiers! Through the shut doors, Jesús Alarid recognized the shrill screams from his niece!
“¡María! ¡María! ¡María!” the crazed uncle screamed as he tried to run to the hastily barricaded door as Santiago and other dignitaries held him back. “Stay back, you fool! You’ll kill us all!”
María and some other girls were screaming amid the soldierly shouts, now mixed with jeers and the last cry of agony of dying men.
Rosa, Santiago’s daughter, bitterly wailed as she realized her dancing partner was no longer to be seen. She frantically ran around like a headless hen and wailed and cried louder as she failed to see him, unwilling to accept he was the one who got shot through the head. She took her face with both hands and nearly clawed her cheeks bloody with her nails like an antique mourner, but she stopped herself—Rosa was too civilized a maiden to do such a pagan thing.
There was little doubt as to the fate of those doomed damsels beyond those fateful doors—María, sixteen years old, and two other young ladies were now amid a press of men who jeered at them as those soldiers realized they were now the masters and could do all they had always dreamed to do with those rich daddy’s girls!
“¡Vamos! ¡Cogemos a sus mujeres!” (Yes! Let’s fuck their women!)
“¡A sus señoritas! ¡A sus señoritas!” (Fuck their maidens! Their maidens!)
“¡Son todas putas! ¡Tratémoslos como tales!” (They’re all tramps! Let’s treat them as such!)
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA NNAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooo!”
Maria’s shriek filled the ball-room along with the couple other girls sharing her fate there. So loud was their collective scream that they were overheard on top of all the noises and clamors while the last fighting defenders in the stairwell were getting properly pierced with bayonets. Most of the officer cadets died there, where the marble stairs got slippery with blood.
“BOMM! … BOMM… ¡Vamos!” echoed the barricaded doors to the drawing room, the low-pitched sounds like a drum of doom, and the women’s shrieking sounded even shriller as the oak doors shook in their casing from the battering ram along with the soldiers’ cries, “¡Vamos!”, while the back door resonated from a musket shot—so loud indoors!—that presently broke its lock.
Captain de Sevilla realized how hopeless the situation really was. They were outnumbered by soldiers who were also much better armed.
Men and some women were desperately trying to hold the barricades on both ends of the room at once while many others went into hiding under tables or behind some drapes or furniture while soldiers had now found their way to the un-balconed windows using their ropes and grappling hooks.
De Sevilla used his sword to cut one of those ropes and caused three soldiers to fall down a non-lethal height. It just made the men angrier and keener to get there on that second floor!
He shot the last one of his pair of pistols and found the dead center of a mutineer and the man fell, making everyone else in his squad furious as they quickly aimed and shot!—One ball of lead hit De Sevilla’s shoulder, causing him to scream and drop his saber as he stepped back from the window, holding his wounded shoulder and feeling the warm blood under his hands and a painful numbness in his right arm.
All was lost! He knew it and a wild jolt of arousal suddenly took hold of him as he realized what was about to happen to Dolores and all the other maidens.
De Sevilla’s orderly also cut a rope, but soldiers climbed up through the broken window right beside him, and as a big fat Sergeant engaged him with his bayonet, then came a Corporal, then also a Private followed him through that same window, and between the three of them, the stout Sergeant and his two men cornered the orderly who desperately asked a lot out of his saber as he tried to parry all their bayonets at once!
De Sevilla was picking up his blade using his left arm, but he was too late to rescue him—he stood up just in time to witness the death of his friend as all three soldiers skewered the orderly!
And as he died, Dolores came out of her hiding place and screamed, “Diego! Diego!” with love in her voice!
This shocked Jesus de Sevilla right down his very core and shattered his soul as he realized she was in love with Diego and not really with him—The puta!
Diego died while looking at Dolores, his ultimate gaze filled with lust and the stiffness of his cock clearly visible at the front of his trousers. Then he fell on the blood-stained rug, the thud of his fall made noiseless by the deafening clamors and female screams.
Then both doors gave way at once, and from both sides hordes of soldiers came charging, screaming “¡Viva la revolución!” and the drawing room was overrun!
* * * * *
The women screamed at the top of their voices as the mutinied troops came rushing in, their bayonets sharp and their eyes even sharper, all filled with lights of murder and lust as they massacred any man who opposed them!
The few remaining men who didn’t hide were quickly dispatched. The fat Sergeant made short work of the wounded Captain, forcing him to drop his saber, but he left him alive, on purpose!
“I’m Sergeant Alvarez! Captain de Sevilla, I could kill you now, but I’d rather have you watch us fuck your women! All right, hombres! Tie this officer up, firmly, he’s going to watch! And enjoy!”
Then the Sergeant recognized Santiago as men were about to kill him after separating his screaming daughter from him.
“Keep him alive too! Don’t slay him!” the stout Sergeant barked, and the men listened, holding Santiago amid them as he watched with a growing loss of reason as one Corporal forced-kissed his beloved daughter Rosa and cupped her buttocks with his free hand while others began groping the panic-mad girl whose screams were now muffled by the man’s kisses that reeked of cheap tobacco and garlic.
And it got worse! In front of her easily restrained father who kept screaming like a slaughtered beef, Rosa got fingered as wide-grinning mutineers gathered around her and kept groping her buttocks, her tits, everywhere else, saying she was a bit thin, but perhaps such a small girl would be good for some really big loads!
And soon enough, without any more undressing, the mad-shrieking brunette was lifted off her feet and kept horizontal by the vile press of shako-wearing soldiers who forced Rosa’s legs apart by threatening to kill her along with her father if she didn’t “spread them out for them!”
Near a toppled playing table, one of the nieces, a petite lady was bouncing on both feet in front of a large soldier who held her by her long golden hair as three more men jeered at her, their eyes mean like shadows from Hell under their black shakos, the candle-lights highlighting their peasant’s leather-brown faces against their dirty-white garrison uniforms. The atmosphere was heavy with lust, musk and sweat as the eyes-stinging whiffs of gunpowder slowly dissipated along with the waning pistol-smoke.
The little lady kept hopping like a bunny on her dainty feet inside her supple satin shoes, as those four men wearing the garrison’s off-white uniform watched her from their sunbaked faces that glowed with sweat under the lavish chandeliers—She hopped on as if it was some prearranged choreography to be danced amid this chaos of victory shouts and women’s screams spiced with the groans of dying men.
Around the hopping blonde, women and maidens got grabbed and screamed louder or retreated in some shocked silence as the sun-tanned soldiers began assaulting their evening dresses. Their black shakos made them even taller to their shorter victims as the rich wives, nieces and daughters shook their heads as more of their skin was revealed by the bunching up of their skirts and the savage assaults on their front- or back-lace corsets.
All four men surrounded the golden-haired maiden, who kept hopping like some automaton, but she stopped screaming, then shrieked with soul-shattering force as they ripped her sky-blue dress and soon, they lifted the little lady and pinned her on a table, where one private drew a knife that bit into the front laces of her white corset, while the last vestiges of her heavenly dress vanished in ripping sounds and another man feverishly pushed her petticoat all the way up her legs!
And the maiden screamed even louder and shriller as she felt his finger inside her virgin pussy! Other men said her carpet matched her drapes as she shook her head in frantic fright! And a wonderful blur of rich-golden hair that leant a bit on the fiery bronze under those bright chandeliers.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO POR FAVOR NO…. aaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa hhhhhhhh NHHAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…”
De Sevilla would always be hunted by her shrill screams. Even if he lived until 1900, he would still hear her loud and clear in his soul.
They ruthlessly spread her legs open by hitting her face until the shrieking, bawling blonde complied and then the Corporal was the first between her legs! He told the private to get out of his way, even though he wasn’t done with cutting the laces of her supple corset. The burly Corporal—the same man who had grabbed her by the hair—told the man to stop being silly and to put back his knife and just hold her wrists together for him.
The girl desperately tried to kick and wriggle herself out of their grasp! She bucked and writhed as if trying to turn herself into an eel, but now all three men were holding her wrists above her wailing face as well as her ankles. The only salt water she achieved were the tears that rolled down her flushed cheeks as the Corporal brutally lowered her corset, just enough to see her maiden’s breasts pop out in a lovely display of pale nipples on top of her mounds that got cupped under the Corporal’s black-powdered hands.
She was bucking her hardest! Desperately trying to break free! Shrieking as if trying to deafen them, as if her shrieks would turn them into stone!
One of the soldiers holding her ankles using both hands, so fiery was her resisting, mocked her as he took off one satin shoe and reveled at the sight of her lovely maid’s foot and he kissed it! Began to lick it too as he kept his hold with both hands on her ankle.
“Lovely little tits you got, señorita!” the Corporal said, twice her size, nearly twice her age as he presently unbuttoned his off-white trousers and freed the monstrous hunger of his cock. He couldn’t believe it! He knew this Carla from sight—remembered seeing her about on the streets, or in church, and now! Now!
“Now, señorita! Now!” the Corporal barked as he pushed his cock into her entrance, so excited he forgot to spit on it to make his entry easier, and thus she shrieked even shriller, now in pain, as the man strained and smiled in pure elation as he felt he just had to keep pushing before he… “Aaaahhhhrrrr Si! Señorita! Yaahhrrrrrrr!”
The Corporal lost all sense of time and space—and any surviving shred of morals or decency—as he powerfully sank inside the shrieking blonde and enjoyed the priceless feel of her tight hot pussy!
And he began hammering her! So sweet! He felt all her vain struggles through the fibers of her lost virginity! She shrieked, her head a confusion of gold as it began bobbing an that green-felt table covering amid playing cards where she made fists with her little angel’s hands as the man holding her wrists laughed as he contemplated the jiggling splendor of her small breasts as her whole body got rocked by the Corporal’s bull-strong strokes!
He stopped deep inside, enjoyed the full tightness of her pussy and yelled a loud cry of victory, weirdly picturing himself as a dark-faced Comanche raping the blonde maiden in front of the burning wagons of her sacked convoy, over her father’s scalped body! Mad with arousal, the Corporal backed off and rammed himself again! All the way! To the hilt! And she shrieked and cried, ever-shaking her heavenly head of long hair—a pure mess—as she begged them to please let her go!
The gallant Corporal pushed and rammed on! He found his groove again and took her waist, and began to properly pound her, feeling the groove growing easier as juices—her own juices—began helping the rape as the sobbing girl kept begging them to please stop. He now raped her as if being extremely brutal was going to earn him a promotion! He showed no mercy! And he was breeding her like one long-lasting stud! He felt proud to show such gallantry. He knew she would never forget her deflowering.
Noticing her corset had inched back up amid all the frenzy, he took it and pushed it down again, this time stretching the last holding laces at the bottom of it as Carla’s tits now jiggled in open display, so fresh and pale under the bright chandeliers! She had such pale and wide areolas! The same as her maids saw whenever she was given a bath, except now she was forcibly displaying them in a drawing room… amid revolted soldiers.
His eyes utterly hypnotized by the jiggling display of those pale tits, so beautifully flattened by her horizontal position on that table, the Corporal wondered whether she was really Hispanic, or perhaps Irish Catholic, but then he realized he got past his edge and with savage abandon, he gave her his strongest bull strokes, feeling her restrained legs against the sides of his uniformed frame as he surrendered to his body and felt hot waves course all over him, and…
He shivered all over and even forgot to scream as he gave her all his semen! Pushing deep, his legs feeling all funny as he mumbled some silent words… “Oh God! Little señorita!” he silently said for himself, enjoying the final explosion to its fullest!
The filled-up girl looked at him in silence out of her grey eyes, through the salty veil of her tears. She must be Irish. Whose daughter was she?
In the meantime, Santiago had been held down on his knees and forced to watch Rosa’s savage deflowering.
They held the raven-haired girl horizontal amid them. Not an inch of her touched the deep-green floor carpet. The soldiers held all her limbs and mocked the small girl. They kept promising her a wonderful night of love.
A tall Sergeant stood between her legs as his men made sure her royal-blue dress and her white petticoat were bunched up all the way against her wriggling waist, high enough for them to watch the bizarre dance of her black triangle of cunt hair! Her very sex seemed to scream along with her wide-open mouth as she kept looking at all of them imploringly, her little white arms held bent with her wrists together where a man’s gun-powdered hands accentuated the contrast between his suntanned complexion and the subtle notes of her pale olive skin.
The Sergeant, his cock out and fully slobbered to a gloss under those rich chandeliers, speared himself between her open legs, and he loved the sight. How white her skin really was! So much whiter than the peasant girls those men knew!
Rosa shrieked—and her father Santiago screamed—like a dying beast as the Sergeant brutally entered her unprepared pussy!
And Santiago, down his knees, his hands tied up behind him, was forced to witness the horror. His poor dear Rosa! She meant everything to him.
“Why are you doing this? My beautiful Rosa, no!”
The high official cried like a child as they lowered his trousers and made it plain that the father felt a good deal of arousal at the sight of his raped daughter.
The Sergeant held the fully dressed youngster by the waist—her bosom still tantalizing him under her décolleté with her modest cleavage while men kept restraining her writhing limbs and spat on her face as Rosa kept shrieking in absolute madness as if she were being raped using some red-hot poker, and her white legs were so brightly visible, so small and bright and silky where the rape happened! Where many hands kept adding to her debasement by touching her skin!
Santiago grew crazy as the Sergeant screamed like a Spanish banshee and sounded like he had just been shot—and the father knew it all too well… Rosa was taking the man’s full load, but only the Sergeant really knew how good it felt to spew those thick ropes of bliss inside her!
And then the next man, a more junior Sergeant, was already there, and he sank inside her and her pretty head bobbed anew, making raven waves that were filled with living despair as the second rapist lived out his most wonderful dream by filling up the little lady! The rape had been short. But then a grizzled Corporal was right there and ready to fuck!
Santiago saw they were gang-raping his daughter in order of ranks, just like they would do for a vulgar squaw during a raid in some Apache village. This added to his already-unbearable humiliation and sense of loss. We didn’t they kill him before doing this? Now he could never unsee this!
It didn’t matter to the selfish man if the palace was burned down with every soul in it. As long as Rosa would be spared any unpleasantness, all else didn’t matter! Now… No hope left.
Rosa kept screaming, her voice broken and turning husky, as she was kept up amid them, and one by one, all the men surrounding her would take their turns inside her—their ejaculations all the more powerful as her small breasts proved surprisingly potent even still hidden under her ball gown and inside her leather corset, with her cleavage giving just enough hints of her small knolls.
And indeed, the small girl got really big loads from the mutineers, who agreed she was an even better fuck with her father watching. They pulled her satin dancing shoes off her feet and one ugly Private called Pietro made those girly feet look intensely white in his half-Apache hands. He smiled wide, his copper-brown face all alive with childish joy as he kissed Rosa’s little feet and he failed to understand what was going on.
Pietro had just followed the battalion and took part in the victorious assault that overran the palace. He had been one of the men battering the ram against the doors while shouting ¡Vamos! He didn’t understand much, but this girl’s feet tasted incredibly good. Her skin was so silky under his touch! And suddenly he heard his name…
“Your turn, Pietro! Come on, Pietro! Show this rich little tramp how we celebrate a revolution!” the Sergeant bellow as he stooped down near him, smiling like a devil happy to make suffer the souls.
Pietro felt sad to be hurting this poor girl like this, but her skin was so soft! So ungodly pale! He had never seen such pale skin on a girl, and now soldiers were tearing the front of her dress as they laid her down on the blood-stained carpet, her face even paler against its dark green, and her white corset appeared, and soon the laces were cut by the sharp knife, with blood on its blade, and it stained her cream-white corset as they violently opened it and then discarded it, lifting her shoulder-blades as they did so.
And as Rosa shrieked her life out and her father echoed her screaming madness, they savagely ripped the fancy linen of her petticoat and her small breasts appeared in their pale glory under the drawing room’s bright chandeliers. She had small dots of brown for nipples and the rich light brown of her areolas confirmed she was of pure Spanish stock. Pietro’s cock became one raging mast of lust as he saw her tits, so white against the royal-blue shreds of her torn dress! He was even more eager when the Sergeant told him the girl was only fifteen.
The simple-minded soldier obeyed his Sergeant and laid himself on top of the little lady. He kissed her tenderly and she shook her head and spat in his face. But he gently stroke her beautiful locks of her long raven hair and said he was really sorry for doing such a bad thing to her, but his Sergeant wanted him to do this. She spat in his face again and called him a “saco de mierda” (bag of shit) and she would have clawed his eyes right off his face if the others hadn’t kept their firm hold on her sore wrists, where she was still wearing those fancy white gloves.
Pietro didn’t like being called a sack of shit. That’s why he eagerly fumbled as he freed his cock, then clumsily poked her cunt as he sought her entrance, but when he found her slot, he sank right in! Brutally so! He let go his inner fire and began punishing her, grunting like a rutting gorilla as he raped her amid loud cheers from the men.
As her head bobbed under her renewed rape, Rosa bitterly cried, thinking of her dead suitor who now lay in the ball-room. It was better for her not to know that right at this very moment, her best friend Maria had been stripped Eve-nude and was being gang-raped right on his corpse by a strong dozen of tequila-drinking soldiers.
Two of the black violinists were presently naked and waiting their turns, and they no longer wore those ridiculous white perruques; they had tossed their knee breeches, their silk socks and their long jackets at the feet of the grandfather clock, now striking midnight. They were watching Maria’s repeated deflowering just like they had silently watched her brutal undressing. They were now slobbering and masturbating their ebony cocks, impatiently waiting for that first fuck inside one of these girls they had seen so many times dancing and whirling in their satin shoes! These snobbish little tramps deserved this!
TO BE CONTINUED.
Acting credits…
Katy Jurado as Helena
Carmen Sevilla as Juanita
Faith Domergue as Dolores
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