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Message-ID: <47715asstr$1083791402@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: oldbill2@comcast.net
Subject: {ASSM} Rebel 031
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Date: Wed,  5 May 2004 17:10:02 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Rebel 030.txt" begin>

Rebel 031 (Old Bill) (MFf hist)

Castle Keep

	Now a castle with a moat and a dungeon and a damsel in 
distress are hardly the kinds of things you would expect to find on 
the Hudson River, but I found them; I found all of them and 
eventually wished I had not.  After a while I was surprised the 
strange place did not have a dragon.  I was in the process of trying 
to decide whether or not a military career was really what I wanted 
when I stumbled upon it late one chilly day.  I did not realize it was a 
castle when I crossed a narrow, wooden bridge and banged on the 
thick door in the stone wall.  I could see the ramparts rising above 
me, but the clouds were low and the rain was nasty so I really did 
not care.

	The woman who finally answered my knocks was well-
dressed, her gray hair pulled back and knotted in a complicated 
manner.  She stood with the door open barely a hand-breadth, 
barring my way.

	"I'm seeking shelter," I told her, putting on my best manner 
with my knee on the open door.

	"Seek it elsewhere," she said.

	I pushed my way in and stood with my back to the heavy 
door, admiring her rich clothes.  "Please," I said, "just until it clears."

	She ran, her skirts and elbow lace flapping and disappeared up 
a narrow, winding stairway.  I followed, softly and carefully, 
dripping a trail of rainwater, until I heard a scream from somewhere 
far above.  I sat my musket aside and ran the steps to a huge hall 
with a very high ceiling crossed by dusty beams and hung with 
banners, armor and weapons of all kinds.  A smoldering fire burned 
at the far end and two people, one of them obviously a woman from 
her flowing hair and swirling gown, struggled there.

	I ran to the pair, tossed the lean man aside and took the 
woman under one arm enjoying the feel of her.  Her assailant 
scrambled to his feet, cursed me foully and ran for the stone steps at 
the side of the vast room.

	The young woman trembled in my grasp, pulling her thin 
gown over her lush and barely clothed body, her long, blonde hair 
everywhere.  "Who are you?" she demanded in a throaty voice, a 
trembling voice.  Her dark blue eyes were very frightened, pleading, 
and her nightdress still hung loosely away from one pale shoulder.

	"A soldier," I said.  "Who is he?"

	"Rupert," the said, "the duke's son.  He wants me to, to . . ." 
She buried her face in my chest.  The clatter of feet descended the 
stairs.  It was the thin young man I had tossed aside and two 
heavily armed men bearing pikes and wearing swords, chest plates 
and a livery of purple and green.  I drew my big pistol from the back 
my belt, and they skidded to halt some ten paces off as I cocked it.  
The young man stepped between them wearing a sickly smile.

	"That's my woman, the stupid bitch," he said very icily, hand 
on the hilt of his rapier.

	"Is she?" I asked, my hand on her curving hip and feeling 
quite possessive, hoping my powder was dry.  The girl gasped for 
breath, clamped tightly to me, arms about my waist, firm breast hard 
on my back.

	"Indeed," he said, "she was bought and paid for.  I have the 
paper if you'd like to see it."


	"Don't," the girl said, clinging to me, her belly now against my 
thigh as she squirmed about, my hand on her bare back and 
rounded shoulder as her gown barely hung to her elbow and clung 
to one upright breast.

	"I think she would rather be left alone," I said, enjoying the 
feel of her nearness as she rubbed her mons on my leg, her breast 
on my ribs.

	ÔHah," the man cried.  "Take him!"

	The pikes came down and the guards growled and stepped 
forward quickly.  I backed up, bringing the girl with me, checked my 
pan quickly, leveled the heavy pistol carefully and shot the braver of 
the two in the face.  He screamed and fell back, letting his long 
weapon clatter to the stone floor.  His fellow hesitated, and I tossed 
away my gun, pushed the young woman aside, grabbed the long 
pike from his hands when he thrust it at me, clubbed the helmet 
from his ears and then impaled him with the huge blade, pinning his 
body to the floor.  He kicked his legs and waved his arm like a 
crushed bug, the spear rising like a quivering mast from his belly.

	The velvet-dressed man in the wide-sleeved shirt had drawn 
his sword, assumed the classic dueling position and now came at me 
very bravely and confidently, a sneer on his face.  I turned aside 
and let his first thrust pass under my shoulder, clamped his arm to 
my side, spun and elbowed him in the nose, kicked him in the groin, 
disarmed him and was about to skewer him with the thin blade 
when the girl screamed, "Please, don't do it.  They have my 
mother."

	I kicked him in the side of the head, grabbed her and headed 
for the nearest door, his sword in my hand.  Wooden stairs led 
upward, and I ran, hauling her along.  Halfway up the tower, she 
pulled me to a halt and led us through a side door.  I followed her 
down a carpeted hall at a trot, her light gown and golden hair 
spreading wide behind her, and into a tiny room furnished with a 
bed and small table.  An oil lamp gleamed by the water pitcher.  She 
smiled at me, panting, and then turned her back.  The crease of her 
spine showed clearly as her gown hung loosely from her lithe body.  
She stepped to her bed.

	The young woman turned to face me, loosened the ribbon and 
let her limp nightdress cascade to the floor.  It was like a dream, her 
incredible body, and I wondered if I were truly awake.  I tossed the 
sword aside, barred the door, tore off my boots and britches and 
quickly faced her, fully erect, trembling from the fights below, my 
stalk long and spear-like.  Her eyes widened as I pulled my shirt 
over my head, took her hands and drew her to me, letting my 
blood-hot member slide off beside her slim waist.  She was only 
about five feet tall and perhaps seven stone.  And she was young 
but certainly nubile, full-breasted and round hipped.  The triangle of 
hair between her heavy thighs was a knot of golden curls and her 
nipples rose like flower buds.  Her young body was all curves and 
softness, and her mouth was wet and yielding, her buttocks firm 
and round.  She kicked her feet as I lifted her to my height and 
kissed her soundly.  My burrowing hand discovered that she was 
wetly ready for penetration, and I could not wait.

	"He wasn't lying," she sighed when she pulled her lips from 
mine, eyes damp and wide open under heavy lashes, nipples hard 
against my ribs with my prod mashed between us.  "He owns me."

	I got one of her legs above my hip and, with some difficulty 
and some battering and poking, slid my rigid lance into her puckered 
slit.  Once the head had popped in, it got much easier.  She cried out 
and leaned back as pulled her other leg up and drove deeper into 
her tiny pink crevice, my hands full of her hard butt. I watched my 
shaft slowly disappear into her, seemingly turning her lips inside out. 
Then she hooked her ankles behind me, and with a grunt, I sank my 
long rod all the way up into her tight and viscous channel.

	"`Sblood," she cried, wriggling on the swollen spike and 
leaning back until her head touched the bed, "that's awful, awful.  
M'lord, I can't believe it.  You're tearing me apart, ripping me open."  
She spasmed within, and my eager root sank even deeper, jumping 
like a mad thing, devouring her vagina, tearing at its sides, ramming 
at her cervix as I thrust and rocked from side to side, screwing it 
into her while lithe her body flailed wildly, speared, impaled, riven.  
Her cunny was very tight and very much alive, pulsing, and 
contracting wildly.

	I swung her around and sat back on the bed with the lush girl 
wrapped about me, legs bent, and my rampant root throbbing away 
deeply inside her.  She leaned back until her curls touched the floor 
and then flexed up to enfold me and kiss me.  She spasmed and 
gasped, contracting her groin muscles.

	"Slow, slow," she moaned, moving her hips up and back in 
time with my efforts, "Please, please, slowly."  She humped steadily, 
breasts and belly bouncing.  I sucked each jutting tit in turn until her 
nipples stuck out like fingertips and she sighed loudly, eyes closed 
tightly.

	I lay back and let her set the pace.  Her firm dugs hung in my 
face as she swived me faster and faster, mouth agape, eyes closed 
until she came, shuddering and mewling and arched above me. I 
rolled her over and finished my work on her, my hands 
outstretched beside her lovely face, pumping out my pleasure into 
her limp body atop the cool quilts.  She stayed grappled to me, and 
her head swung back and forth, raking her long, silken hair across 
her face.

	"Ah, ah, ah," she sighed, gathering her strength although still 
solidly impaled.  "I've never done that.  Never.  I don't believe it, 
what we did."  She trembled on my sodden lance.  "But there is no 
escape from this place, no escape.  Do some more."  She heaved at 
me again, wanting more.

	"I got in," I told her, caressing her and hoping for much more, 
letting my randy prod leap within her, striking bone and finding 
new areas to probe as I rocked from side to side, rotating my pelvis 
as I extended my arms and bent my back.  "We can get out."

	"No, no," she said, thrashing beneath me, tears in her dark 
eyes as her hips began to respond, "the wolves.  You don't 
understand."  She pushed on my chest with both hands.

	I kissed her, drew my aching prod from her and pulled a quilt 
over us.  "Start at the beginning," I said, getting our bodies together 
spoon fashion, her rump in my groin and my hands cupping her 
luscious breasts with no sense of time or place.  My lance probed, 
jumping for joy between her legs, eager to penetrate her completely.  
Wolves, something whispered my mind. Hurry said another part of 
my brain.

	"Oh," she gulped as she felt my ram rising between her thighs.  
"I'm Welsh, indentured to his father for five years.  My mother is 
also here and my little brother.  He bought us all, privately, secretly, 
through a London agent of some sort."

	Her hand slipped between her legs and helped my turgid root 
finds its proper home.  The entrance was small but slick, and I let my 
hand crawl to join hers below her belly, caressing her mound firmly, 
feeling my long stalk ram into her and then in and out, in and out 
and finding her hard but tiny prick.

	"That young man, the one I kicked, he wanted to marry you 
or make love to you?"

	She laughed and then gasped as I thrust my hips forward and 
gently fondled her.

	"Ho no.  He intended me for his friends, a sort of tame harlot, 
a decoration, entertainment for the evening.  I was to grace his table 
tonight, literally, lie upon it and allow his friends to feast on my body 
however they wished."

	"I don't understand," I said, busy trying to get her face down 
with her hips raised a bit.  My thrusts were out of control, long and 
rapid. My inflamed ballocks and the inside of her thighs ran with our 
juices.

	"Ah, ah, ah," she cried as our genitals demanded our full 
attention for a while.  She probably climaxed again for I felt her 
body go rigid in my grasp and she squealed and clamped hard about 
my ram as I hopped forward and rammed with delight.

	When we were done and lay facing each other, sodden but 
satisfied, she told me more.  The Duke, as he was called, was using 
her mother as his mistress and her brother as a lackey and subject of 
occasional buggery.  He had raped all three of them when they 
arrived.  "In a vile and unnatural manner," she told me, my soft cock 
in her hand and her lips nearly touching mine.  I licked her mouth 
and slipped my tongue between her teeth. "I haven't been the same 
somehow, since he took my virginity, since he ripped me open with 
the hilt of his rapier."

	"Where are they?" I asked, withdrawing my pleased tongue, 
petting her back and kneading her rump.

	"I'm not sure.  We've only been here a week."

	"Is he drugging you?" I asked, wondering at her eagerness 
for continuous intercourse, her tireless sensuality.

	"No, I don't think so," she sighed, "I'm just frightened.  
You're the first man I've had by choice, ever.  You're wonderful.  I 
never knew I could feel like this.  Your male thing is just gigantic, 
immense, thrilling."

	"We've got to get out of here.  Is this your room?"

	She nodded, stroking me back to rigidity.

	"He'll come here looking for you."

	"I don't care.  Do it again."  She rolled to her back and spread 
her knees.

	"No," I insisted, resisting that temptation for the first time I 
could remember.  I got out of bed, pulled her to her feet and we 
dressed.  I doubt that our whole frenzied conjoining had lasted 
much more than ten minutes.  She in her long nightdress, explaining 
that it was all she was allowed to wear.

	The hall was dark and we moved quietly along it, trying 
doors.  We found her brother asleep in the third room, roused him 
and soon had his attention. He found some clothes his sister could 
wear, leggings, a white shirt and a doublet, and he knew where his 
mother was kept.  We followed him up some back stairs.

	The room he led us to was empty, but there was evidence of a 
recent struggle; a chair overturned and the blanket pulled from the 
narrow bed. The boy looked around and then took his sister's 
hand.  He might have been fifteen or so, not much younger than the 
girl.  "Perhaps the dungeon," he said to her.

	She nodded and then looked at me.  "That's where they took 
us when we arrived, where they did all of us, him too." She nodded 
at the boy who looked at his feet. "The woman watched and 
enjoyed what she saw."

	"Show me," I said.

	"But the guards," the boy squeaked.

	"He killed them both," the girl told him.

	He looked at me an said, "Come."

	We followed him down and down in a series of winding stairs 
often within closed stone walls.  Below I could hear animals baying 
and hoped they were dogs.

	The youngsters' mother hung by her wrists in the middle of 
the large room, her toes barely touching the floor if she stretched.  
She was naked, and a livid stripe crossed her mature body 
diagonally.  The man I had taken the girl from stood near the 
dangling women, a long whip in his hand.  On a raised dais sat the 
gray-haired woman who had tried to stop my entrance and a 
corpulent man wearing rich clothes, the Duke I assumed.  The naked 
woman was a grownup version of her daughter with a voluptuous 
body and long blonde hair.

	I drew my big bayonet, left the brother and sister clinging to 
each other and tore the whip from the slim man's hand.  He 
scrambled toward his parents, howling.  I cut the woman down and 
eased her to the stone floor.  She seemed unconscious, and I 
beckoned her children to come to her aid.  Then I turned my 
attention to the Duke and his frightened family.

	 "Who the hell are you?" he demanded in a fruity accent, the 
kind of thing one heard from upper class fops.

	"Soldier," I said.  "Continental."

	"You killed my men," he stated in anger.

	I nodded.  "What were you doing to this poor woman?"

	"Punishment," he said clearly as though it were obvious.

	"Cowardly," I said.  "Disgusting."

	"Not your business," he stated.  "These are my people for the 
next five years.  I can do with them what I like."

	"I don't think so," I said.

	"What to prevent it?  The law is in shambles since you rabble 
began your stinking revolt."

	"I am," I said.  "They are leaving with me."

	"I think not," the gross man said, smiling.  "Come my dear.  
Michael can take care of this."  He stepped down, took the woman's 
hand and walked to a large doorway and disappeared, closing it 
behind him.  The sniveling young man was left holding the back of 
his father's chair.

	"Michael is it?" I said.

	He nodded.  "Stay away from me."

	The girl's mother had revived and the boy had found her 
clothes.  She stood on shaky legs, supported by her young son, 
breathing hard and doing the buttons on her torn bodice.  "You 
ready to go?" I asked her, my bayonet still pointed at the man 
before me. 

	The daughter answered, "I think so."

	I my moment of inattention, Michael ran to the far wall and 
pulled a lever which raised a hidden gate.  Snarls preceded a pack of 
wild-looking dogs, gray and brown, matted fur, heads lowered they 
stalked into the room, sniffing and showing their teeth.

	"Like my pets?" asked Michael with a nervous laugh.  "I 
haven't fed them for some time."

	"Up the steps," I yelled at the three huddled behind me.  
"Quickly but do not run." 

	Then I cornered Michael as he moved toward the door where 
his parents had fled.  I caught his arm, twirled him toward me and 
open his belly from side to side.  He screamed, and the dogs turned 
from the retreating threesome.  I threw Michael's bleeding body at 
them and they scattered back as he fell, still clawing at his spilling 
insides.  Then they were on him, tearing and growling at each other.

	I skirted the walls, made the steps and hurried up, pushing the 
woman and her children before me.  The door was barred.  I could 
see no way out.  Below the dogs were shaking loose big chucks of 
Michael's body and two or three, blood on their muzzles, had 
decided we were worth pursuing.  The first one ran up the stairs, 
and I was able to kick him off.  He thudded twenty feet below on 
the stones and two of his fellows were soon tearing at his flesh.

	 The second hound, a big gray that certainly was at least part 
wolf, was more cautious, and I moved down three steps to meet his 
charge, impaling him on my bayonet as I held it out with both hands 
and speared him in midair.  That discouraged the others for a while.

	I tried my shoulder on the door without budging it, and then 
slid my blade into the crevice and got the point into the thick board 
locking it closed. After three tries, managed to get it raised.  He 
heard the timber fall and pushed the door open.  The shot nearly 
tore my head off and threw splinters from the edge of the thick 
door.

	The Duke stood in the hall with an antique blunderbuss in his 
hands, wreathed in gun smoke.  I was about to run at him and 
disembowel him when a dog flew by me and knocked the boy 
down.  By the time I had speared the animal and closed the door 
behind us, the Duke had disappeared.

	"How do we get out of here?" I asked the girl since her 
mother still seemed to be in shock and the boy was crying and 
holding his injured arm.

	"Through the great hall," she said, leading the way.  "It's 
where you first saw us."

	We followed and my senses recovered enough that I was able 
to admire the young woman's body.  She moved like a cat. When we 
reached the hall, we skirted the outside walls, nerves alert, but 
reached the high doors without incident.  Then we saw the fire as a 
gout of flame seemed to explode from a trap door behind us.  A 
roaring sound followed and the drapes at the far end flamed up into 
greasy smoke.

	I yanked the thick door open, half-expecting find a gun facing 
me, and we ran down the stone steps.  The moat bridge had been 
raised on the main entrance so I led them to the back, the way I had 
come in.  We hurried across the narrow bridge in the cold drizzle 
and found my poor horse where I had left her, shivering in the mist.  
Behind the whole castle blazed, pouring smoke and cinders into the 
sky.

	So there I was in the dripping woods herding a shaken boy 
with a bleeding arm, a woman recovering from being horse 
whipped, and a girl I had enjoyed several times in a very few 
minutes.  Now what?

	We stood looking at each other, breathing hard, trembling 
with the excitement. I got my blanket around the shoulders of the 
girl who was wearing only her nightclothes and then got her and 
her mother up on the saddle and began leading the horse back 
down the trail I had followed, dimly remembering a mill I had 
passed.  The groaning boy kept up by holding a stirrup, and we 
traveled wordlessly for an hour or so, slopping through the muck.

	The mill was broken and abandoned.  In fact it looked as if a 
flood had destroyed it years before, but it had a bit of a roof and I 
scraped together a small fire in what had been a smith's makeshift 
furnace.  The women huddled together in my blanket, and I took 
the boy inside my jacket, rested my back on the raised hearth, and 
we slept, exhausted and very happy to be alive.

	In the morning we made our way several miles further on 
before we found an inn with a farrier working out back.  My purse 
was heavy enough to feed us all, and we sat at a back table and 
discussed what to do.

	"I want to join the American army," the boy said, smiling at his 
comely mother and even-prettier sister.

	"You're much too young," his mother said, tousling his unruly 
hair.

	"There are younger ones serving," I told her, and he beamed 
at me.

	"I want a husband," said the girl quietly.  Her mother called 
her Sam so I suppose she was Samantha.  "A good man and a quiet 
life."  She looked down at her interlocked fingers.

	"Can't help you there," I said with a smile at her mother.

	"We'd better all go back to your army and start from there," 
the older woman said.  I do not think I ever learned her name.

	I had begun to rain again and I was loath to give up my 
freedom which might cost me a flogging if I went back.  I was sure I 
was marked down as a deserter in the roll book as I had been 
before.

	"You all could go into the city," I said brightly.  "The inn-
keeper says there is still a stage, every Monday he told me."

	And so it went.  I hired the last room they had, figuring the 
three of them could share the bed and I would sleep in the stable 
loft.  They complained, but went on up when it got dark and the 
wind shook the shutters.

	The rain had stopped and the wind calmed, when the woman 
called my name from below.  I rattled the ladder and said, "Over 
here," not really anxious for more talk, bone tired and aching from 
the long, cold walk.  The pale moonlight showed she was wearing 
just her shoes and her shift.  She left the shoes at the loft's edge and 
rolled into my blanket.

	"I need to talk to you," she said.  "They are both asleep, and I 
hope they will stay that way."

	I put my arm about her and she came closer.

	"Did you roger Sam?" she asked.  "Back there in the castle?"

	"Rather not say," I told her.

	"Please, it's important."

	"Yep," I said, "after I got her free from, what was his name, 
Rupert.  She was awful eager."

	"That's the problem," the woman said, finding my face and 
pulling my mouth to hers.

	I got hard in a hurry and ran my hand up her firm leg, pushing 
her shift to her waist.  She swung a leg over mine and squatted at 
my knees.  She held my upright prick in both hands.  "I can't believe 
you got that into her," she said quickly, scooting forward, rising up 
and planting its gross head in her juicy quim.  She settled herself 
down on my loins with a grunt, drew a deep breath, sighed, 
wiggled, and said, "You can't have gotten it all into her?" I squeezed 
her outthrust nipples between my fingers as I cupped her ripe 
breasts.  She gasped and lunged up and down on my shaft until she 
was fully impaled.

	I held her hips and thrust upward.  "I won't talk about you if 
she asks."  She smiled down at me and we began.  Her first climax 
came quickly, and I had enjoyed myself for good while before I 
arched up and spasmed into her, then she came again, falling atop 
me and groaning with pleasure.  We lay together for some time 
before she rolled over beside me, still panting.

	"She's been like that since she was raped," the woman said, 
getting straw out of her hair.  "Horny I guess you'd call it.  Always 
in need.  The man, the Duke, took her from behind after he tore her 
open so brutally and then did her in the arse, poor child, buggered 
her cruelly.  Made us watch, me and the boy. Yesterday I caught her 
trying to get her brother to mount her."

	"And you left her alone with him," I said.

	"I've talked to him about it, explained.  He knows he's not to 
come inside her."

	"Good Lord," I said, astonished.

	"What else could I do?" she asked.  "She even offered herself 
to those guards.  She may have actually swived one."

	"Damn," I said.  "I'm glad I don't have a daughter."

	"Advice?" she asked, stroking me back to rigid attention.

	"None," I said, "except roll over." We enjoyed each other until 
we could do no more, and then she lay with me, our lips touching.

	We heard a rustle below and then a small voice.  "Is my 
mother up there?" the girl asked.

	"Yes," I said gruffly, "go back to bed."

	"He won't do it," she whined.  "I begged him.  He's scared."  
We heard her mounting the ladder.

	"All right," her mother said when the girl sat at her feet, her 
voluminous gown wrapped about her, hair hanging in her cherubic 
face.  "I'll go stay with him."

	Halfway down the ladder, she stopped.  "This good man is 
tired.  Let him rest."

	The girl laughed merrily and crawled up into my arms, 
shedding her nightdress as she came.  She got her hands on my ribs 
and eased herself down until her mouth found my spent member.  
She sucked it in, chewed on it gently, rolled her tongue about it, and 
in minutes had much more than her throat could hold.   I pulled it 
free, spread her thighs and got well lodged.  She linked her ankles 
behind my head, and I gave her a plowing I suspect she long 
remembered.  I had spent so much of myself in her mother, that I 
was unable to ejaculate but her luscious body and cloying quim kept 
me hard and stimulated until she finally relaxed and sighed, "Please, 
stop, stop, enough, enough for now."  I kissed her and we slept, my 
cock in her hand.

	 I awoke with a massive erection, a truly gargantuan pole with 
a head like an inflamed puffball mushroom.  The blonde girl mumbled 
and sighed when I woke her.  Then she stretched wonderfully and 
opened her eyes.  There it stood, waving above my belly, a cudgel 
of unbelievable dimensions, looking as long as her forearm and as 
big around as my wrist with a knob like one of those fancy rope 
knots.

	"Ah," she said deep in her throat.

	"Lovely, isn't it?" I asked, nibbling her ear and turning toward 
her so the huge thing quivered across her belly, its purple head 
bobbing rapidly and touching the underside of her breasts.

	She took its head in one hand and tried to encircle its shaft 
with the other.  She stroked it to the wide base, moving the thick 
foreskin up and down, and then looked at me wide-eyed.  "I can't, 
she said quietly.  "I just can't."

	"It might calm you," I suggested, tickling her breasts.  "Might 
satisfy your needs for some time."

	"No, no," she said firmly, pushing it away as I got one knee 
between her two and shoved them apart.

	"Keep your hand on it," I suggested, "and then you can have 
only as much as you want, all you need."

	She looked up at me and nodded as I drove it into her groin.  
Her tiny hole resisted fiercely, a tight ring held in place by fear and 
doubt.  She grabbed the blood-hot thing with both hands and 
jabbed it into her.  "Gah," she cried and pulled it out, holding it 
firmly.  "It's much too big, like trying to roger a fence post."

	I found her gown, balled it up and put it under her rump, 
lifting her hips.  "Now try again," I said, moving my hips down and 
inward, bringing the monster's sensitive head to her young slit, to 
her flower petals.

	"No, please, " she said, putting her hands on my chest.

	I flexed my hips forward and was suddenly in her, perhaps an 
inch or two; a very tight set of wriggling lips encircled my manhood.

	"Are you awake?" called her mother from below.

	"Yes, yes," she cried enthusiastically.  "Oh yes." She scrambled 
away from me, grabbed up her gown and slithered down the ladder 
with it under her arm.  I looked down in the half-light of dawn and 
watched her mother tie the bow at her neck and pat her shoulder.  I 
jerked it off, spurting long ribbons into the straw.

	We went back to camp, and long walk for the boy and me and 
a tedious ride for the women.  Within a week the boy was sworn in 
and became member of an artillery company.  He died during the 
first winter at Morristown.  The mother married a peddler who 
came to camp with medicines and other nostrums. She disappeared 
somewhere out West I believe.  Sam, the lovely daughter, became a 
prostitute in New York, a very expensive one, and I saw her again 
later.  She eventually married very well and is now one of the best-
dressed grand dames of New York society and, I am told, still as 
randy as they come and has a dozen men a week.  But of course, 
you should not believe everything you hear nor all you read.


<1st attachment end>


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