index


Message-ID: <47979asstr$1085515802@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: oldbill2@comcast.net
Subject: {ASSM} Rebel 056 Patriot (Mff)
Lines: 252
Date: Tue, 25 May 2004 16:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d




<1st attachment, "Rebel 056.txt" begin>

Rebel 056 (Old Bill (Mff hist)

Pretty Prisoners

	"Now this woman I'm sending you to, she is a good friend of 
mine, a lady of my generation." The Madam looked frazzled which 
was unusual. "Be very polite."

	I nodded.

	"She and her granddaughters have been doing our work.  
Haven't produced much, but they are surely good rebels."

	I nodded again, waiting for the message.

	"She has asked for help so go along and do what you can, 
whatever she wants.  I'm not sure what has happened."

	I knuckled my forehead because it annoyed her and went, 
curious and cautious.

	The woman she had sent me to was stately and worried.  Her 
home was a well-maintained farmhouse set in some fine looking land, 
most apparently lying fallow, on the northern reaches of Manhattan 
Island.

	She welcomed me, looked at the note I had brought and made 
a stern face.  "You are hardly what I expected," she said.  "The girls 
simply did not come home.  Two days, actually two nights ago, they 
went out with some officers, men we knew and trusted, but they 
have not come home.  No word or threat.  They've vanished.  I've 
asked everyone who should know and got ignorance in return."

	"What can you tell me?" I asked, not knowing where to start.

	She showed me a pair of ivory miniatures, lovely youngsters, 
fair haired and smooth of face.  "These were done a few years back.  
Grace is now sixteen," she said, handing me one gold frame, "and 
her sister is eighteen.  Her name is Hope.  They are about my height 
and wear their hair very long these days, often twisted up on their 
heads."

	"And the men they went out with?" I asked.

	She told me both their names and their regiment, a pair of 
unseasoned lieutenants, from good homes so she said. She was very 
concerned, and it showed.

	A full day of pumping my usual sources brought nothing, but 
that evening one of my regulars said she had laid a British officer 
who crowed about his company acquiring a pair of young harlots.  
"He claimed they were choice morsels, barely ripe, and rebels to 
boot."

	That regiment was using one of the old barracks with a stone 
building for officers' quarters.  My late-night nosing about stirred up 
one or two sentries but got me no useful information until almost 
dawn.  Then a girlish squeal from an open window quickened my 
blood.  Slaps and sobs followed and then another outcry and a 
moan.

	The unguarded cellar door gave to my prying blade.  I 
stumbled through the basement, up the stairs, found the backsteps 
and ran toward the noise of grunting and pounding.  I stayed 
pressed against the wall as someone yelled, "Shut that bitch up, can't 
you!"

	I stepped into the hall just in time to see a light-haired girl in a 
white shift being dragged toward the front of the building by an 
officer in just a long-tailed shirt who was keeping his hand clamped 
over her mouth.  She saw me and her eyes widened.  I followed 
them very quietly until he yanked her into a small bedroom and 
turned to close the door, only to find me and my big bayonet.  He 
died quietly, with barely a gurgle, as I drove my long blade up 
through the middle of his chest.  I pulled it out and eased him down 
with my hand still over his mouth while the girl stood, hands to her 
face, staring at me.

	"Grace?" I said.

	She nodded, blinking rapidly.

	"Where's your sister?"

	She pointed at the ceiling.  "That's where the younger ones 
are," she said, her voice trembling.  "Up there, a whole pack of 
them, like hounds."

	I stepped over the dead man and put my arm around her.  
"Your grandmother is very worried," I said.  She hugged me and 
sobbed.

	"Lock the door," I said.  "I'll knock once, pause, and then 
twice."

	"But there are four or five of them up there," she said, looking 
at me, gnawing her lip.

	"Maybe they're sleeping," I said, conjuring up a smile of 
confidence I did not feel.

	She nodded and then glanced at the body in its pool of blood.  
I closed the door and listened to her lock it.  Then I found the way 
to the attic.  I could hear men snoring in other rooms and hoped I 
might be right about what I would find on the upper floor.  I 
mounted the steps slowly and as quietly as I could, but before I 
reached the top, a young man in boots and britches swung about 
the railing and ran down toward me.  He jerked to a halt in front of 
me and managed to gasp out, "What?" before I grabbed him and 
broke his neck, treating him as I had many chickens back home. It 
snapped with a loud crack, and I paused, listening.

	I sat his limp body on the steps and continued up to the garret, 
one big, low-ceilinged room where the girl sat, tied to a post, and 
three men lay sprawled on cots, soundly sleeping.  I put my finger to 
my lips and cut her free.  We descended the steps, and I helped her 
make it over the corpse, surprised by her heft and pleased by her 
feel.  Like her sister, she wore only a shift.  Her skin was warm and 
smooth, her body well matured.

	I knocked, Grace opened the door and the young women 
embraced.  I hurried them along the hall, down the back steps and 
then on into the dank cellar.  We paused there as noises and then 
shouts came from above.  Feet pounded, men yelled at each other, 
and there seemed to be general pandemonium going on.  The three 
of us huddled in a dark corner.

	"Are you all right?" I asked the girls in a whisper.

	Hope, the older girl, nodded.  Grace sniffed and pouted.  
"They did us, poked us, over and over, all yesterday."  She buried 
her face on her sister's shoulder.  "Dozens of times."

	"It was Anderson's doing," Hope said, smoothing her sister's 
hair and cooing at her.  "He put them up to this."

	I waited listening and trying to figure out what was going on.

	"He's our neighbor," Hope whispered.  "A vile Tory."  She 
snorted.  "He asked me to marry him, demanded it."

	"And you refused?" I said.

	She nodded.

	"We'll get out of this," I told her quietly, hoping I sounded 
confident.

	We heard them turn out the guards and then. after an hour or 
so during which both women relieved themselves in a far corner, I 
peeked out the cellar door.  There were Redcoats all over the place.

	Dozing once in a while and huddled together for warmth, we 
waited out the day and welcomed the dark.  It was actually 
pleasant, having a barely clothed and very luscious young woman on 
each side on me, their hands and legs on me, their bosoms nearly 
exposed to my view and their heads on my shoulder or chest.  I felt 
quite gallant as well as nearly continuously aroused, especially when 
a girlish hand somehow managed to fall into my lap. We were also 
famished, and my stomach was making odd noises from time to time 
which seemed to amuse the girls.

	The next time I heard the guard change, I looked out again, 
wished the girls had been wearing anything but white, and tried to 
figure out how to get them to my horse.  After some thought, I 
ventured up the stairs and returned with two great coats, got the 
females covered up, pulled up their collars and led them out into the 
dark.  They made small noises when their bare feet found the frosty 
grass but faithfully hurried along, and I got them both up on my 
patient horse and led them through a series of alleys to the edge of 
town.

	Behind a tavern where I was well-known, I helped them 
down, roused the innkeeper and saw them off to a bed.  I ignored 
their protests, treated myself to several stiff drinks and fell asleep in 
a chair, my head on the table.  In the cool of pre-dawn, one of the 
girls, Grace I believe, woke me by jostling my shoulder, and all but 
hauled me up to their bed, rolled me in, pulled off my boots and 
then climbed up behind me.  It was a big bed, but having two girls 
that near to me brought me quickly awake and just as quickly erect, 
painfully so.

	The girl behind me snuggled close, hand up on my chest while 
the young woman in front of me turned to face me, lifted her head 
to seek out my mouth and pulled herself to me, raised her leg above 
mine and then fumbled open my foreflap.  Out jumped my massive 
root, steel hard and poker hot.  She touched it and trembled.

	She sucked in her breath as she grabbed it and brought to her 
narrow opening while her sister pushed at me from behind and 
stroked my chest with her hand up under my shirt.  Hope snorted 
and sighed as it slid deeply into her, and then we enjoyed each 
other, encouraged by the younger girl who had fetched me to this 
delightful bed.

	When the girl I was plowing climaxed, she wriggled away from 
me, pushing on my chest until I sprang from her throbbing cunny, 
dripping with her juices, still iron hard.  "Turn over," she whispered 
after biting my ear lobe.

	Over I turned, and her sister laid me on my back and mounted 
my upright prong, wriggling herself down until our groins meshed.  
Then she leaned over and rode me until we both were thoroughly 
spent, happily panting into each others mouth.

	She rolled away and I soon found two thin hands playing with 
my sodden manhood, stretching it out and stroking it gently, feeling 
my ballocks, scratching the flaccid stalk with girlish finger nails and 
playing with its giant head until it jumped and filled and rose and 
quivered again.  Then the girl on my left said, "Come," and lay back, 
spreading her legs.

	I mounted her, glorying in the feeling of entering such a tight 
and active tunnel and feeling her wrap me in her thin legs.  We 
grunted and heaved at each other until I was sure we would bring 
down the bed.  When she was limply spent, and I was arched above 
her still giving her long, deep thrusts, the other girl whispered, "me 
again," and I rolled off and brought my eager weapon her waiting 
warmth.

	In it went, welcomed with sinuous pleasure, and although I 
was more than satisfied, I was still long and strong and managed to 
bring the younger girl to a very active orgasm that washed across us 
both like a wave.

	By the time she pushed me off of her, the sun was actually 
above the horizon, and we tumbled from the bed and went down to 
enjoy a well-earned breakfast.  My friend said nothing about what 
he may have heard nor about the sight of two long-haired and bare 
foot young "men" in British overcoats at his table.

	The girls' grandmother welcomed them with open arms and, 
while I was about, no questions.  She hugged me, kissed my cheek 
and all three waved good-bye as I headed back to the Madam's, 
well satisfied with my work for a change.  On a growing list, I filed 
the Tory Anderson's name away for future reference.
	
	

<1st attachment end>


----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+