The Battle for Lonely Rock
Chapter Three


By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
Artwork (c) 2002 by Inocentius & Pervertida.

Illustration of Battle for Lonely Rock #3 So it was in ignominy that I was escorted through the main street of Lonely Rock and to the jailhouse. The sheriff was surprised but opened a jail cell for him.

"We shall be furnishing the prisoner with suitable clothing." the officer told the sheriff.

"How long do I need to hold him?"

"We will arrange for his disposition by the morning." the officer assured him. "For now, you may serve the Confederate States by holding him in your facilities."

"If you say so." the sheriff said. "But I don't see him carting no explosives around."

"Information can be as dangerous as any cannon." the officer said stiffly. He was a real stuffed shirt, or maybe it was the situation.

So I was locked into the cell and sat there, sweating. Not just at my predicament, but the heat of the day rose. I began to wonder if the weather ever became temperate, I had been sweltering for months with no end in sight. Too hot in the day, too cold at night, only the mornings and the hours after sunset were tolerable. I had yet to adjust to the Mexican method of handling this weather; to sleep only some four or five hours at night, then rise until early afternoon, whereupon a siesta let the body rest and be ready for more living by torchlight and moonlight. So I chafed and perspired through the rising heat of the day, looking about the cell. I hadn't really looked at it when Hunter had been the prisoner. The walls were of abode, a mixture of dried clay and straw that was as hard as stone. Oh, I could dig through it...given a week or two of uninterrupted and concealed time at the wall and some tools. I didn't even have a knife, they'd taken mine from me when they locked me up, along with my belt.

The cell was some five feet wide and maybe eight feet long and high. It was one of two cells side by side, a thinner wall dividing them. Only the small window and the front of the cell were barred. Thick iron bars. I'd never noticed how heavy the bars are on a prisoner's cell and nobody does until they're staring at them from the inside. Inside, they look impregnable.

A bit later, the sheriff came over, holding some prisoner's clothing. "They want me to get you out of your clothes and into these." he said apologetically.

"I understand." I said resentfully, and began to unbutton my shirt. The sheriff lingered and I realized he wanted, not to apologize exactly, but for me to say I forgave him for doing his job.

Trouble is, while I liked the guy...a big, strong, brown-haired stud, solemn and good-hearted in a quiet way...I wasn't ready to forgive him for helping them hold me. After all, he had helped me break Hunter out of the jail...maybe he'd do the same for me?

So I smiled and said, "I been thinking about the last time I was here and you were guarding a prisoner." I said.

He shrugged and looked uncomfortable. "I didn't do nothing." he said. His square, honest face was troubled, and that made his rather plain face look quite let the soul shine through. His hands, big, strong, horse-wrangling-roughened hands, twisted around the cell door keys on the ring he held like a pair of convulsing scorpions.

"Exactly." I said. "I was wondering if you would be willing to do the same thing this time?"

He shook his head firmly. "I couldn't do that." He shook his head, this time at the question I was going to ask--why not?--and said, "The soldiers are all over this place. I was hoping they'd ask me to keep you a few days, but as it is, you wouldn't get very far. And they'd call you a Union spy for certain then, and the order would be to shoot on sight."

"I could outrun them." I protested.

"You had Hunter with you last time." the sheriff said. "But a city slicker out on the range alone...they'd catch you before the next sundown."

"I wish Hunter were here." I said dolefully and pulled off my shirt, sat down and began to take off my boots.

"I wish he was, too." the sheriff said. "Could lock him up." He knelt down to help me with my boots, I still hadn't quite figured out how cowboys take off these high, tight-fitting boots with no laces or snaps, and even the longtime cowboys would help each other take them off...if the person was a friend. So this was a friendly gesture, and I let him do it for me. He was used to them, a firm grip on the heel, a long, slow pull, and they'd pop right off. Easy to get off...if there was someone taking them off for you. I saw how broad his back was, how it was so much like a wall of man, but this wall was undulating gently as his muscled shoulders bent themselves to the task of removing my boots, his leather vest wafted up and down like a sleeping horse, muscles rippling in its slumber as it dreamt of running in freedom.

"Thanks, sheriff." I said. "Do I get to keep my boots?" He hadn't brought any shoes with the prisoner's clothing.

"Sure, but I was told to keep them until they came for you." he said. "I understand that they take your shoes every night as a prisoner. Nobody goes for a stroll on the desert sands in their bare feet if they can help it."

Even the Indians didn't, I knew, they wore their moccasins and were glad to get boots from us when they could.

He then pulled the socks from my feet without my bidding, I guess they went with the boots.

And remained kneeling as I stood up, looking up at me as I unbuttoned my pants. His lips worked quietly as he watched my hands...I think he watched my hands. I pushed down my pants and his eyes didn't move, and now I knew he wasn't watching my hands.

"It's siesta time, sheriff." I said to him softly. "Nobody in their right mind is moving about now. Why don't you take your own clothes off and get comfortable?"

My cock was a pink-headed worm dangling itself as bait to him. He looked at it, then up at me, shook his head. "Soldiers don't take siestas." he said. "Durned fools work right through the heat of the day."

I laughed at that, only an idiot stayed out in the hot midday sun and baked their brains when he didn't have to. I'd learned that already in my short period here. Mexicans aren't being lazy; they're being practical when they slumber through the hottest part of the day.

I took up the pants and slid my feet into them. The material was thin and almost flimsy feeling. I didn't like the thought of this would be my only covering from the sun, but I didn't have any choice just then. It had an open fly in front, the waistband would let me tie it fairly firmly in place, and the overlapping folds of extra cloth at my front would keep the fly closed.

"Reckon I'll just have to cover myself back up then." I said. "Seems like a durned shame, though. A fellow could use a little friendly help during the siesta, especially if this is going to be my only day and night here with you."

I held the waistband up, my prick and balls now jutting out of the poorly bleached cotton cloth. I wasn't surprised when I started to close it up, and his hand came out to block my movements.

The prior time, this sheriff had, as if by accident, lounged his chair back against Hunter's cell while he rubbed his groin at me. While I sucked his cock, Hunter had snaffled his gun, thus we had engineered Hunter's escape. That had been the only sex I'd had yet with this sheriff, and I had expected much the same from him now despite my actions of enticement with my cock. Oh, a hand, maybe, such as he laid upon my prong and gripped it firmly, that was expected.

But I hadn't expected what he did next, which was to take my cock into his mouth eagerly, hungrily, a low groan escaping his lips as he tasted my manhood, savored the tender juices of my youth as they poured onto his tongue.

He took my entire length with the careless ease of long practice. Not with me, but this hunky sheriff had been exercising his throat muscles with somebody in town for quite a long time. I wondered who...somebody with a huge cock, from the way he moved his mouth about my own smaller pud, he overcompensated some, like he wanted to suck a prick half again as large as mine.

So his lips kissed my balls at the base of my shaft, then he clutched tightly and pulled up, hard, his lips rolling over the flare of my glans and all the way up to my tip, my foreskin then slid out of his grip and then only did he open his puckered lips and dive back down to grasp me totally once again. After a few false moves, he adapted to my shorter length and girth, and his lips now held my cock firmly throughout, stopping when they reached my cockhead, and his tongue seemed to realized it had room to play and came in to lick and massage the underside of my dong while his lips plied their magic.

I threw back my head and let the soft moans slide from my tongue like pearls from a broken necklace. "Oh, damn, sheriff, you're a fine cocksucker." I said to him.

He chuckled, smiled about my dong, my tone had made it appreciative not derogatory. Then he returned to a serious nursing of my cock, and I realized that he fully intended to bring me off this way. The sheriff would swallow come? I hadn't expected that, I had pegged him as the same sort of man as King Carson in this way, he had to be on top or nothing at all.

His hands reached up and stroked my ribs, his thumbs reached up to flip the nubs of my nipples. I groaned and eased myself onto the bunk with its bare mattress, he would forgive me this and my knees were weak from the building passion.

"Oh, God, sheriff." I said to him. I hadn't learned his real name, indeed, his title seemed to personify him entirely. Like Hunter, the one word name that I had given him when I'd first met him, one that he seemed to like and volunteered to people who asked him for a name later. This man was simply...the sheriff. "Man, sheriff, suck my cock, God but you're good!"

He shifted his head and now he drove his lips and mouth down on my pud more directly, more firmly. My moans now were churning up from my groin, bubbling up through my chest and from there bursting out into the air in sounds, I was beginning to feel my body move itself without my own choice, my passion was converting itself into motion, I began to move in undulating waves of my hips, bucking my cock into his mouth, he matched the tempo easily, each thrust of my hips was three movements of his head and mouth, I ran my hand over my chest and cupped his hand in my palm and clutched it in friendship and gratitude. My desire rose within me, a need that overrode my predicament and my worries, that converted the heat of the day into the heat in my loins, the fire in my blood, the flame in my heart, and I felt, with a sudden shivering shudder that ran through my body at once, that I had reached my climax.

"Oh, god, sheriff, I'm coming, I'm coming!" I warned him, a final gasp of mine, wondering if he would yet pull away and finish me with his hand, his fingers slimed with his spit and pumping at my pud as I shot it into the air, but he didn't, he responded with a frenetic bobbing of his head on my prick, his lips frictioned my passion to new heights and suctioned my delight to new levels, and in that joy of orgasm, that ecstasy of ejaculation, that pleasure of my soul converted to flesh and I groaned, spasmed, jerked, my cock exploded, fired, cannonaded his mouth and lips and I poured my seed into him, joy and delight burst in my brain and drenched my spirit and washed away my soul until only a soggy mass was left of myself in the tidal wash of my body, with pieces of myself lying about like empty shells or salt-soaked sticks lie upon the shore.

I gasped, he suckled at my cock until every final dreg of my joy had been sucked out of me, and then he lifted up, wiped his lips with the back of his hand and said, "Damn but you taste as good as I figured you would."

"Ah, God, sheriff, fuck me now, please!" I begged him, truly I did, my body had expended its sperm but the delight of this new lover was yet unquenched, I lifted my legs and I said, "Come on, I need you to, I need it. God knows when I'll get to do it again, come on, sheriff, ram it on in me."

He opened his fly for me, almost shyly, as if he were embarrassed at asking me for his different than the time before when he'd been the demanding lawman trading a blowjob from me for freedom for my friend. But then I'd been a stranger, now he and I knew of each other, though not yet friends, but fellow townspeople, a shared lot and this made him bashful and diffident. I reached for his manhood as he revealed it and guided it to my mouth as I curled about it like a child curls about its mother's breast to suckle, so did I suckle at this hefty fountain of life, this tower of masculine prowess, the heady musky odor like the incense spreading from the censer, bathing me in its cleansing power.

He dallied only long enough to let me work my mouth's moisture, to spread it on his cock like a lotion, and with this ointment of lubrication, he grasped hold of my ankles and lifted my body up high, and so he brought my buttocks up to a level with his groin as he stood erect, a tall powerful man of the West, and I moaned at this visage of masculine domination, the lord of the wilderness, the tamer of the rough, rowdy men of the frontier, he was taming me now, and I was ready to be subordinated to him in this, I sighed as his powerful tool found my anus and the heavy head crumpled a bit before he got the angle correct and now he was able to use his erect cock as its own guide to keep it straight and firm and he plunged that thick dong into me and my passion surged anew within me, this was no charity in my part, I burned for him still and I lusted once more.

He bent over somewhat to give his hips room to move, and his brow was sodden with the sweat from the day, his arms were stained in the pits with the heavy water his body poured out to cool him from the heat of the day, for it was sweltering hot in this cell, and I knew that most men found some shaded perch out of doors to let the winds play over their body as they rested, but he was inside with me, inside this trap of heat and so were we joined in privacy and the sweat dripped onto my bare chest and plopped with heavy splats onto my breasts and I watched with a sort of luminescent intensity as one fat drop formed on the tip of his nose, waggled back and forth as his cock plunged into me, rainbows danced on the curved lower edge, and that big drop reached lazily down as he paused to adjust his grip on my legs and it fell and the radiant colors sizzled inside my navel where it had fallen, a small pool formed of this strong stud's perspiration that lingered on my body while my own paler sweat dribbled off me on all sides.

He was panting heavily, his face was flushed an almost terrifyingly bright red, and I wondered if he might faint or clutch his chest in pain, but the only pain creasing his face were the scowl-shaped lines of concentrated delight, he was building to his own passion and I felt my own as less a sensation than as a sort of rightness that pervaded my being, whether I came or not mattered nothing here, all that mattered was that in this joining we protested this situation where he was my captor and I his prisoner, this was no meeting of guard-and-convict, but instead were two men, equals, sharing their bodies and mixing their delights into a common bowl of pleasure which both then drank from, and that was my pleasure and that was my ecstasy and I found my body responding to it, less in the turgidness of my prick than in the glory of my soul, and his sighs and moans of lust were proper and sufficient voice to that glory, and his moans became a roar and he rammed his dong into me and I felt the heavy flood of his jizz pour into me, an unrelenting and unrepentant gush of pearl-colored jism, it splashed about inside me while his body continued to rain down his body's sweat from his deep red raincloud of a face, and he finished his climax and lay his body down over mine and as he did, that face of his touched mine and all the drops which hadn't fallen off suddenly jumped over to find their homes on my face as his breath heavily steamed in my ear in throaty rumbles of desperate lungs pulling in every bit of hot sultry air it could.

I patted his back proprietorially, and he panted into the side of my face, and then nuzzled and kissed my cheek softly, my own lips found the scratchy stubble of his shorn beard making its renewal known by rasping streaks across my tender skin.

"I'll write to the governor." he promised me. "Get everyone else I can to write, too. King Carson even, he'll probably put in a word for you. He can't want to let you be taken away from here."

"No, he doesn't." I had to agree. He had, indeed, planned for me to work by his side throughout the war.

"I'd better go see how the soldiers are doing around town." he said as he hitched his pants back up and rebuttoned them. "Young men away from home tend to act like wild Indians whenever they can."

"Yeah." I had to agree. I'd seen enough of that on my travel out West, I had learned to avoid soldiers at a bar, with their shouting and carousing.

As he started to leave, I asked, "Sheriff, do you know how long the soldiers intend to stay here?"

He was surprised by that. "Why, they're here to guard the silver. I assume they'll be here or nearby until the end of the war. If the Union forces don't come in and take them away, and the entire town while they're at it."

And I realized that I wasn't the only one facing an uncertain future here. The winds of war had blown our way, and who knew how much of Lonely Rock would be left before they had gone on?

Comments, complaints or suggestions?
E-mail me at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM


Click Image for More Info
And a Free Sample Story
(My Website book also has 20 Illustrations!)