Rob turned his head toward the open flap of the tent. He could see the tawny fringe of the Shewan subchief's buckskin jerkin at the fringe of the lamplight escaping the tent's doorway. And the two eagle's feathers sticking out to the side of the back of the native's head, up at the very top of the tent doorway. The savage must be at least six and a half feet tall, Rob thought. And he knows. How could he not know. The colonel was grunting that unmistakable sound of full rut.
Rob twitched and arched his back and stared straight up at the play of the shadows on the ceiling of the tent as the colonel nipped his belly button and stuck his tongue in it and then slurped out of the indention and ran a thick tongue down Rob's underbelly and into a fiery red thicket before tracing back up his engorged cock to the edge. Rob twitched again as his cock was possessed by the colonel's sucking lips. He sighed and rubbed his back on the bearskin rug thrown out over the rushes that served as the colonel's mattress. There was a faint rustling at the opening flap of the tent, and Rob knew that the savage was just beyond the opening, listening and silently observing. The colonel thought no more of an Indian, even a Shewan subchief, than he did of the stray dogs of the camp, though, so it bothered him not a twit if the Indian could see them.
The shadows on the ceiling showed the hulky colonel hunched over his diminutive, lithe aide. Rob was kneeling on his knees on the colonel's beefy thighs, with his back arched behind him, his shoulder blades touching the silky fur of the robe. The colonel encased his young aide with an arm wrapped around the small of the younger man's back. His other hand was cupping Rob's small, but firm ball sacs and the small finger of that hand already had purchase just inside the rim of Rob's ass. The golden crest ring on that finger was rubbing roughly on Rob's rim, a familiar feel for Rob after four months of service under the second in command of Brigadier General Nicholas Herkimer, commander of American forces in the Mohawk Valley.
Colonel Seth Hampton worked his young aide's cock hard with his mouth. He'd already been sucked into arousal himself. His evening invigoration had been interrupted by the announcement that one of his spies in the English forces, the subchieftain Otetiani of the Shewan minor tribe of the Iroquois nation, had arrived and awaited his pleasure. Hampton had irritably commanded that the savage stand outside the tent until it was his pleasure to receive him—his pleasure obviously was focused elsewhere at the moment.
Hampton having had enough of his young man's cock, the young aide watched the shadows on the ceiling swirl into a new pattern, as the colonel wrapped large, callused hands around Rob's ankles and forced his legs up the length of his body. In the process, Rob was rolled up onto his shoulder blades. The colonel held Rob's legs to his body with hands pressing in under the crook of his knees, as the older man savaged the younger man's entrance with tongue and teeth and a heavy helping of saliva.
Then the colonel was up on his knees, crouching over the young man and thrusting inside him. Rob arched his back and spread his arms wide, digging his fists into the soft, grass-covered ground of the New York valley and took what the colonel was giving him, like a good soldier. And the colonel, mad and worried about the positioning of his forces and the rumors of the gathering British attack in superior force, put all of his frustration and fury into plowing his flaming-red headed subordinate hard and fast and deep.
The colonel was grunting and groaning and voicing his pleasure in tones that could be heard all over camp, without the possibility of misinterpretation. All of the soldiers knew their colonel fucked men. But he was a damn good soldier and a brilliant strategen, and if anyone was going to conceive how to push the British out of the Mohawk Valley and back to London, it was probably going to be him. So there were few to deny him his release.
Rob had been sent from the brothels of that pagan city of Savannah, precisely to be the tension reliever to the colonel that he needed. The young man had been trained to this, so there were no regrets or concern to be expended in that direction.
Rob held off on his vocalizing at first, because he knew the savage was out there, just beyond the open flap. He'd only caught a glimpse of the man, but he had frightened Rob. He was so tall and large, a man and a half. Rob had never been comfortable around the savages. He felt something primeval in them. They frightened and fascinated and aroused him all at the same time. He had known—biblically—all of the types of colonists who had washed up on the American shores. They no longer meant anything to him. No, that wasn't true. He had come to really like the colonel, to want to give him any relief possible for the responsibilities he had to bear.
It was strange to think that at the moment, when the colonel was driving his cock so hard inside Rob, making his legs ache and his back rub raw as it was jerked back and forth on the bearskin under the thrusting of the colonel's manhood. But the colonel was usually gentle with him. It was only now when the colonel was so worried about how badly the campaign and positioning was going and so worked up and frustrated that he was taking Rob like a frenzied bull cow.
Rob had to do what he could to help the colonel. He knew the colonel liked it when he groaned and moaned and said the colonel was spitting him and was too big for him. So that's what he did, ignoring the unsettling presence of the Shewan warrior. And it worked. In a cry of ecstasy, the colonel shot off inside him in one, two, three lurchings and then, without extracting his cock, pulled Rob's legs down alongside his and began to kiss him on the nipples, neck, and lips. Rob wrapped his arms around the thin waist of the well-fit military officer and returned the kisses enthusiastically.
He had done his duty. Now it was time to ask for his favor.
"No, Rob, we've discussed this. I can't let you stay." The colonel had pulled back on his rump and brought the younger, smaller man with him. Hampton now was sitting on the bearskin rug, his legs stretched out in front of him. His aide was in his lap, sitting on the colonel's half tumescent cock, his legs encircling his master's thin waist, the two chests against each other, beating hearts competing, throbbing in the temporary quietude. Hampton had his lips buried in the aide's throbbing neck, and Rob was staring across the light of the candle, watching the hint of the savage's persistent presence. Rob knew there would be another fucking. The colonel almost always wanted another one, and the second one would not have the fire of the first. The second one was the one that told Rob the colonel really cared for him. And this was the colonel's most vulnerable time.
"But, I don't want to leave you. I—"
"And I don't want you to go. But you're no solider, Rob. We will, almost inevitably, be in the thick of fighting within the week. Burgoyne is gathering forces up on Lake Champlain, more than 10,000 English, Canadians, and Indian forces, including the Iroquois and the Huron. They'll be streaming down here, joined by Howe's forces from the Coast. They are more than we can handle. It will be a bloodbath if I cannot come up with a miracle. No, you cannot stay. You are no soldier. This is all you are good for me. This release of my tension in the field."
Rob lowered his head onto the colonel's shoulder, and Hampton could feel the wetness of his tears.
"Nay, lad, I didn't mean it harsh like that. You are a treasure. You are my treasure. There is no way you can help me other than to leave for Albany tonight and not come back until it is safer."
"I know I can do more. I know—" Rob snuffled.
"This is enough, love, this is enough." And with that, the colonel moved his encasing, heavily muscled arms down to the small of Rob's back, and Rob leaned back, as Hampton's lips and teeth went to the younger man's nipples. Rob sighed for him and felt the strong cock of his master coming back to life. Rob began to move his hips, and the colonel started to breath heavily. Hampton turned Rob onto his side and came down with him, leaving his cock encased. They kissed and Hampton continued worrying the younger man's nipples with his fingers while he side split him in long, languid glides to mutual ejaculation.
Afterward the colonel rose, wrapped himself in a fur-lined deer-skinned robe, and sat down at his field desk, looking very official. He called the patiently waiting Shewan subchieftain, Otetiani, in. The chieftain entered the tent, all dignity and towering strength and handsome savage splendor, and stood in front of the colonel. Despite the unusual heat in the Mohawk valley in July of 1777, the Indian chieftain was wearing the same attire his tribe wore year round—side-fringed buckskin breeches with a bearskin codpiece, and a buckskin jerkin with fringed arms. His moccasins were of some sort of finely cleaned leather and he had two feathers attached to the base of whatever was holding his long black ponytail at the back of his head—two feathers to denote his somewhat exalted rank. He turned his head briefly to Rob, lying, still naked on his back on the bearskin rug, and Rob saw the Indian's eyes go wide with surprise. Rob couldn't imagine why the savage would be surprised. He had heard them fuck twice and had no doubt gotten an eyeful already.
Otetiani inexplicably bowed low to the young aide and said something in his own language that Rob couldn't even begin to fathom. And then he turned his full attention to the colonel.
