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Message-ID: <47388asstr$1081714208@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: oldbill2@comcast.net
Subject: {ASSM} Rebel 5 Up the River
Lines: 343
Date: Sun, 11 Apr 2004 16:10:08 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Rebel 005.txt" begin>

{ASS} Rebel 005 {Old Bill} (MF hist)

Up the River

	In the city of New York we found a fine jumble of buildings and
people, supposedly under the control of a Scot who called himself
Lord Sterling.  Lord Chaos would have been far better.  By the
time the British fleet arrived, probably half the city's
population had fled and most of those who remained, other than
the hundreds of harlots, certainly did not favor the revolution.
They were waiting for the British to save them or make them rich.

	One of Lt. Foster's superior officers had taken over an
abandoned house and installed his haughty, high Dutch, Hudson
River wife and her multitude of servants.  He then began an
effort to drink up everything worth drinking so it would not fall
into the enemy's hands.  It was a noble and selfless goal in
which I volunteered to assist, but instead he put me and the rest
of my squad to work as thieves, stevedores and guards.  It was
not bad work since it gave us plenty of opportunities for
stealing and whoring.

	The colonel's wife turned out to be a relatively young and very
handsome woman with golden hair and a ripe and splendid body that
she openly displayed in the most stylish, showy and deep-cut
gowns.  I do not believe I ever saw her wear the same dress twice
in the six weeks I knew her.  While her husband had us out
confiscating furniture, paintings and silverware from the homes
of Tories, she was patronizing the local dressmakers, jewelers
and hairdressers and having a fine old time with a ball almost
every other evening and salons for the dandies in the afternoons.
 Her reputation for amorous activities widened and deepened as
time went on.  They said she was insatiable as well as greedy.

	As things got more serious and the town emptied, the woman
became somewhat morose and, for some reason, took a shine to me.
There is no explaining women.  I was just one of a dozen men in
and out of her home, and my uniform, at the time, was a ragged
collection of things I had accumulated or taken from men who no
longer needed them because they were dead or soon would be.  I
generally wore a long hunting shirt clamped in with a heavy belt
over breeches of an uncertain color.  My boots were in good
condition, British issue, but my stockings were usually a
disgrace.  I seldom had a proper, black neckcloth or a decent hat
and never wore a wig.  My hair was long and clubbed back.  I was
hardly the kind I had seen her entertaining.  I suspect at that
time she had more male admirers in those parts than anyone except
Washington himself, and I am sure the Old Fox was not
entertaining them as well or as frequently.  Indeed he had been
at her home on at least one occasion and danced several times
with the mistress of the house who was happily bulging out the
top of her flat-fronted silk dress with a ripe pair that would
have overfilled the general's cocked hat.

	"Come here, my man," were the first words she spoke to me from
the top of her stone steps.  I looked up and spied her smiling
face between her impressive breasts.

	"Ma'm," I said when I reached her level and could stare down the
front of her smooth, tight-fitting gown with all its embroidery
and beads.  I had noted that her eyes were blue, light blue,
almost transparent.  She had what looked like a small mole on one
of her jutting boobs but it may have been an applied "beauty
mark."

	"Where is everyone going?" she asked with a worried look at the
heavy traffic moving past.  Everything from ox carts to
stagecoaches was on the road, heavily loaded and in a hurry.  She
smelled musky, not unpleasant but unusual.  Her color was high;
her eyes agleam.

	"Out of Howe's way," I told her, enjoying her odor and the glow
of her fine hair which was piled high with ornate combs and
braided hanks.  A long string of pearls or beads ran through her
oily curls and drooped beside one ear.  Her breasts, pressed
together by her corset, rose and fell as if trying to escape.

	"Cowards," she pronounced.  "You're staying, are you not, your
company I mean, to protect us? I suppose we won't entertain
today."  She said the last almost to herself.

	"Long as we're ordered to," I said, tempted to suggest ways I
could entertain her.  "Till there's somebody to fight.  Up to Lt.
Foster, Ma'm, not me."

	"I have a home near Albany," she said as if she had not been
listening.  "Come in here."

	I followed her into the deeply shadowed hallway and then into a
crowded sitting room, watching her hips roll and her long dress
swish from side to side.  It was overfilled with wooden and
upholstered furniture of all sorts.  There was hardly room to
walk.

	"What will happen to all this?" she asked with a wide gesture. 
"Can I trust the British?"

	I smiled at her. "Not even if you stay and guard it," I said. 
"Most of it's stolen, well, liberated or confiscated as they say,
and I doubt that our British friends and their American cousins
will let you keep it."
 	"Dreadful," she said, taking a deep breath and releasing a
sigh, both exciting to observe since her dressmaker had planned
for neither.  I wondered how tightly her stays were laced.  "It
would do fine up north where we've a large home, my father's
place.  Follow me."

	Driven by her lush beauty and my idle curiosity, I set my musket
aside and toured the house with her, ending up in her boudoir
admiring some jewelry as she sat before a mirror displaying
various pieces across her creamy and impressive chest.  Her tight
dress, soft mouth, and bare shoulders along with the quiet house
presented too much temptation.  I'm not sure where the servants
were, but I am sure they were about, discreetly.  My palms
itched; my horn was overheated, temptation won as usual.

	"Don't you think this is a bit gaudy?" she asked, holding a
thick golden necklace of red stones to her throat and looking at
me in reflection, showing a fine, open smile.

	I slipped my big paw down the front of her satin dress and
squeezed her firm jug.  She groaned, but she did not protest,
just put the necklace down carefully and closed the box. Then I
bent and took her mouth with mine before she could yelp and
enjoyed the feel of her flesh in the cup of my hand until she
struggled loose and her gown popped open and slid well down her
arm.  "Help me get out of this," she said in a husky manner,
starting to unhook the flowing sacque from its embroidered
stomacher.  It did not take us long to get her down to shift and
stays, and then a bit of unlacing left her nearly bare and
wiggling in my rough hands with stockings and petticoats thrown
in all directions and her hair fairly undone, pearls still
dangling precariously.  Her body was firm and warm, lush and
inviting, mature and willing.

	She spun and laughed before me with her locks flowing like a
torrent of golden water behind her, spilling beads and ringlets.
I put my belt and bayonet aside and struggled my shirt over my
head.  She stopped, gaping, hand to her mouth as I undid my waist
buttons.

	"Lord," she said, with her fingers touching her lips, her other
hand at her furry groin like one of those fountain statues, "but
you are certainly hairy, like a bear, and big as a horse, a
stallion for sure."  She smiled, touched my chest and then
unbuttoned my codpiece and turned to the bed as my tool sprang
forth.  I admired her rounded buttocks as she rolled back the
quilts on her high, mahogany bed with its huge headboard and
sturdy foot and then stood beside the bed, waiting for me, feet
apart, hands on hips.  When I was a bare as she was, she looked
at me from top to toes and held out her arms.  She licked her
lips.  'What do you weigh?" she asked as I stepped beside her,
growing impatient, "Two hundred?"

	I gathered her in.  She wriggled wonderfully, rubbing her firm
nipples across my ribs while my shaft explored her deep slit. 
"Perhaps," I said, "and you?"

	She leaned back, put her hands around my neck, and said, "How do
you like to do it?"

	"Does it matter?" I asked as I lifted her onto her bed and got
between her legs, spreading them with my thighs.  "All ways are
good," I said, lowering myself to my elbows as I braced my feet,
massaged her deep valley with my aching ram and found a hot,
moist opening.   She wiggled left and right beneath me. "I enjoy
looking at anyone as pretty as you and seeing what you feel." 
Her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth gaped open as I slowly
penetrated her.  She sighed and gulped, tighter than I had
expected.  I wondered how much was pretending as I slowly gained
depth.

	"It's my favorite, too," she gasped, biting at her lower lip,
"but you are much too big, too heavy.  You'll squash the breath
out of me."

	I lifted up on my outstretched arms and arched above her, barely
seated, no more than an inch or two planted, but gaining
purchase, enjoying the feel of her trembling lips and constricted
channel on the short withdrawals.  "Better,"
  she managed to say between clenched teeth, wrapping me in her
legs and lifting her hips, opening wide her passageway.  We were
both panting and grunting, shedding all sense of time and place.
I cannot remember much more of that morning except to say that
when we finally called it enough, the sun was high and the bed
was bare of covers, spotted with various fluids, and we lay
exhausted and happy in each others arms.

	"No more," she sighed.  'That was enough for now, more than
enough.  I feel as if I had been reamed, torn asunder, speared,
spitted."

	"Aye," I managed to groan, feeling that I had been turned inside
out.

	"I want you to find me a boat," she said as she pulled her lacy
shift over her tousled head.  "A large but shallow draft one."

	"They're gone, all gone," I told her, helping to lace her stays
.  I bent and kissed both milky globes.  They quivered.

	"Oh, I'm sure you can find one at the right price."  She
produced a heavy purse that jingled with large coins.  I peeked
inside.  It was gold, all gold, and I pocketed it.

	She pulled on a light robe of flowered material and followed me
down to the front door, barefoot.  My legs were none too steady.
I retrieved my weapon and bent to kiss her, but she turned her
head away.  "Find the boat," she said.  "You'll be rewarded."  I
patted her hard rump.

	I was barely back at my guard post when her husband arrived in a
closed carriage and stumbled up the front steps smelling of
tobacco smoke and brandy fumes.  He was bleary-eyed and paunchy,
and I had no regret of putting the cuckold's horns on him with
such a luscious and voracious morsel as his randy missus.  Later
he went over to the British and, I was told, accompanied
Franklin's bastard son into a Rhode Island prison while his wife
consorted with most of Gates's staff if not the old fart himself.

	With some judicious bribes, I did find a broad-beamed river
sloop that drew less than six feet fully burdened and had a huge
mast an
 d a number of heavy sails.  Over the next few days, gangs of
well-paid, off-duty men loaded it to the gunnels with the best of
the stolen loot while I collected my reward as often as I could
from between the flailing legs of the lady of the house.  I
suspect that during that week, I probably lost a stone or more,
but it was well worth it.  I've seldom known a woman who liked to
it more vigorously and more often.  She never said no.

	Finally, on a Saturday afternoon with Lt. Foster's permission,
the lady and I and her furniture, silver, jewelry and other
belongings set sail on the North River, headed for as close to
Albany as we could get.  Foster's last order was to "enjoy"
myself, and I saluted and smiled since that was surely my
intention.

	We passed the raw earth forts Washington was building on either
side of the river and coasted along with good winds.  She and I
entertained each other in our small cabin where I could not stand
up straight and there was no place for me to lie down and stretch
my legs.  We made do and swived sitting, or knotted together on
the narrow bunk, my feet braced on the wall, knees bent and she
riding me like a true horsewoman, urging me on with her heels and
cries of, "Yah, yah, yee."  The crew members looked at us with a
mix of outright awe and ribald humor when we came on deck to cool
off between couplings.  She never tired, and it was I who had to
call the times to rest. Once she held her legs back with both her
arms, her feet braced on the ceiling above us, and I rammed into
her at least a hundred times before she came, crying for still
more.

	At a well-worn river dock, ten miles of so south of Albany we
drew ashore where she directed, and I hired some draymen to
unload the goods and transport them a few more miles farther
upstream.  The woman and I followed in a hired rig and saw to the
unloading.  It was a big home with many chimneys and numerous
servants both black and white, and it swallowed up all the
furniture with ease.  I paid the workmen, found a bottle of
applejack and sat on the wide porch facing the river feeling a
sense of accomplishment and a growing desire to mount the horny
woman who owned all this land.  I was tempted to abandon the war
and just settle down between her legs and rusticate.

	The colonel's wife came and sat on my lap.  "Well," she said,
kissing me lightly," a job well done, sir."

	"Shall we test the beds?" I asked, working at her laces.  "How
many do you have?"

	"Oh no," she said, pushing herself away, "I've plenty of local
swains who will be happy to welcome me home.  Your work is
finished.  You can sail on back to your good lieutenant and give
him my thanks.  He's a fine man, a gentleman."

	"What," I cried, wondering if Foster had also mounted her, "no
pay for an honest workman?"

	She laughed and stood, flouncing out her dark red dress and
taking a deep and exciting breath that stretched the lace and
silk at her awesome, jutting bosom.  "You've had enough.  Where's
the money that's left?" she asked, holding out her hand.

	I gave her the much lighter purse and she dropped me a curtsey.
"Go along, now, young man.  You've had more than your share," she
said sweetly.

	I stood and held her at the waist.  "Once more," I demanded. 
"Surely you can grant me that."

	"No," she said, squirming.  "You've had more than enough. 
You're much too big anyhow.  I'll be sore for a fortnight.  I'm
looking for some nice, slim boys to play with, ones who don't
grunt like bears when they swive."

	I smacked her bottom hard, and she yelped.  I carried her,
squealing and pounding on me, to the porch rail and sat her upon
it with her back to a post, tossed up her dress, held her hands
down at her hips and took her, rammed it into her all at once, to
the hilt.

	"People will see us," she gasped as her legs wrapped me in.

	"Let them," I said, ruining all the work she had put into
grooming her mop of fine, golden hair.

	"Oh damn, hell and damn," she cried as we began to heave
together with my hands still holding hers and locked in the small
of her back.  "You have no mercy.  My poor dress."  She kicked
her knees back and forth as if she were urging her mount to
greater speed. I filled her.

	"The hell with it," she cried as she bucked her breasts loose
from their confinement thrashing about on my spear, arms flailing
wildly, stay laces burst asunder.  She panted like a spavined
mare, closed her eyes and clung to me, gasping for breath,
muttering imprecations and pleas.  She leaned back against a
post, trembling and gasping for breath, her hands covering her
lovely breasts, her dress a wreck, watching me button my
britches.

	"Must you go?" she sighed.

	I was sorely tempted, but went back to the river, the ship and
the war.

<1st attachment end>


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