index


Message-ID: <47992asstr$1085595006@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: oldbill2@comcast.net
Subject: {ASSM} Rebel 058 McIver (MF)
Lines: 426
Date: Wed, 26 May 2004 14:10:06 -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 058.txt" begin>

Rebel 058 (Old Bill)  (MF hist)

Mrs. McIver

	"This is Mrs. McIver," said the old madam as she presented me 
to the tall woman at her side.  "She needs protection for a while and 
you are to serve as her driver since that scoundrel fled with some of 
her silver shortly after her husband disappeared."

	That confused me, but I took the young woman's hand briefly 
and smiled into her dark eyes, admiring her fine body and the violet 
cameo that hung at the cleft of her high breasts.  She had a tiny 
waist, well-boned in I was sure, flaring hips and long legs.

	"Good of you,' she said quietly, holding my eyes steadily.

	"My pleasure," I replied, feeling my blood warm.  She was a 
woman who exuded confidence as well as beauty.  She tucked her 
hand in the crook of my arm and led me down the stairs and out the 
front door to her lacquered carriage which stood near the mounting 
stone.

	"Nice looking pair," I said, unconsciously thinking about her 
chest while I assessed her horses.

	She leaned forward as she stepped into her open rig, 
displaying her pointed globes more fully, the bauble bouncing 
between them. Then she sat, straightened her skirt, smiled at me, 
touched her dangling brooch and said, "Thank you" with a wry 
twinkle in her eyes.  I smiled back and mounted the driver's seat, 
well roused.

	In less than an hour we were at her country home, a fine, old 
house atop a gentle hill in the midst of wide and bountiful fields and 
a grove of elms.  I helped her down, followed her into the house 
and sat with her in the high-ceiling dining room while her coffee-
colored maid brought us some cold food and a bottle of wine.  I 
opened the wine and filled our glasses.

	"Now," she said, taking a deep breath and licking her lips, "let 
me explain."

	I sipped my wine and crossed my legs.  By candlelight she was 
even more lovely.

	"My husband is somewhere about, not far off I'm sure.  This is 
my land, and I, like you, am a devoted patriot."  She paused, looked 
over my head, blinked.  "He is a bloody Tory." She wiped away a 
tear and sniffed.

	Now I blinked having seldom heard a woman use that word in 
mixed company.

	"This is my land.  It was my father's, and he, my husband, the 
vain fool, wanted to let the British and their filthy Germans use it."

	I waited, sure there was more.

	She drank deeply and put down her glass.  "He brought them 
here, some of the officers.  Introduced me, and I told them to get 
out, to leave." She swallowed and moved her empty glass on the 
polished tabletop.

	I looked at her.  She was embarrassed I think.

	"I made quite a scene, very loud.  He hit me, my husband 
struck me, and then he left with those men.  He cursed and said he 
would be back and I would be sorry."

	"When was this?" I asked.

	"Three days ago.  It was Saturday," she said.

	I refilled her glass as well as my own.

	"How many people do you have here?"

	She shook her head.  "Some have run off.  My cook is still 
here, one of the maids, you saw her, and an old man, a slave that 
was my father's overseer.  He's at least seventy."

	"No hands?"

	She shook her head. "He told them to leave.  Told them the 
soldiers were coming."

	"How are you going to . . .?"

	"I don't know," she said.  "We'll let it lie fallow if need be."

	I put my hand atop hers.  "Maybe you should leave, let him 
have it until this is over."

	"Never," she said, pulling her hand away.  "Never!" She 
obviously meant it.

	We heard feet on the front porch and then someone banged 
the knocker on the wide front door.  She looked out without 
moving the curtain.  "It's him," she said, turning to face me, her 
mouth a very thin line.  "There are two Redcoats with him and a pair 
of Germans headed for the back door, big ones."

	"Is it locked?" I asked, checking my pistol's priming.  My 
musket was out in the stable.

	"I doubt it," she said, hurrying off.  The knocking continued, 
even harder.

	A cry from the back room got my blood racing and I hurried 
toward the sounds of a struggle to find the cook being mauled by 
two large jaegers, both of them looking very happy about their 
work as they tore at her clothes and pulled at her hair.  

	I clubbed one down with the barrel of my heavy pistol and 
then kicked the other one in the stomach, very low in the belly.  I 
handed the sobbing woman my gun and drew my knife.  "Go to the 
front room," I told her as I drove my blade through the moaning 
Hessian's chest.  I lifted the other's head and cut his throat and then 
followed her after locking the back door and dropping the bar 
down in its keepers. Blood was covering the pine floor by then.

	The front door crashed open and a big Redcoat spun around 
to face me.  I thrust my wide bayonet into his gut.  He screamed as I 
carved him open and then I was down with two men on me, taking 
blows and hearing grunting, some of it mine.  A shot exploded near 
my ear, and then something fell on me.

	When I awoke, I found myself bound hand and foot in a dark, 
dirt-floored, stone-walled basement.  Kneeling beside me, her hands 
tied behind her, was Mrs. McIver, a crust of blood at her nose and 
her bodice gaping open.

	"I thought you were dead," she whispered as I rose from the 
dark.

	"What happened?" I asked shaking my head and squinting as 
a bar of sunlight streamed into my face from a very narrow window 
slit.

	"Two more Germans were out there, big men, nasty.  They 
beat and kicked you.  I fired at my husband, but I missed."

	"Turn about," I said gesturing with my elbow.  She scrambled 
around and we got our backs together.

	"Tomorrow," she whispered, "they are going to let those 
Germans have me, rape me, those huge men.  They are burying the 
ones you killed."

	I fumbled with her knots, gave up, and then, in only five or 
ten minutes, she managed to untie my hands using her long 
fingernails.  I hugged her, kissed her, untied her and then undid my 
feet.

	"They are going to use you for bayonet practice after they 
finish with me, use both of us I suspect." 

	"No, they won't," I said.  "We're too smart for them.  We'll 
get out of here."

	"There isn't any way," she moaned. 

	"How many of them?"

	"Not sure," she said.  "I saw six or seven big Hessians plus my 
husband and that British officer.  You killed three of them."

	 I searched the basement, found some stone jars and a few 
tools and as the sun set, we huddled together for warmth.  Above 
us there was a good bit of noisy carousing and a few plaintive cries.

	'They're horsing my maid and the poor cook," she said to me.

	"Let's take advantage of the noise," I said.  I broke the handle 
off an old hoe and got her to scraping away at the fieldstones just 
below the window.  They had been placed there with little or no 
mortar.  I spent the time making a pry bar from a piece of discarded 
pipe.  Together, over the next few hours, we managed to get 
several large stones loosened in the wall.  When it was quiet 
upstairs, I lifted the heavy stones out and put them on the floor.  
Then I helped the woman climb on my back and crawl out of the 
hole we had made.  With her help, I followed.

	We hurried to the stable, found my musket and scrambled off 
into the woods.  Along a meandering creek, I found a good hiding 
place and clung together until dawn which seemed to come almost at 
once.

	I awoke with this luscious woman clinging to me, raked back 
her hair, lifted her chin, and kissed her gently.  Her eyes popped 
open and then she smiled.  That made me feel a lot better.

	She kissed me back and wriggled in my arms, getting still 
closer, grinding herself into me.  She looked up at me.  "I can feel it," 
she said.  "Do it.  This may be our last chance."

	I slid my hand up her bent leg, taking her skirt up to her 
rounded hip.  I put her on her back as she spread her knees, and 
then I mounted her and quickly drove my fleshy spear into her slick 
passage.  She was warm and ready, arching and gasping as our 
bodies joined and heaved at each other. I pounded it into her, 
gritting my teeth, and she soon came, spasming and clamping me 
tightly within her as she cried out in joy.

	"Max," someone called from nearby.  "Hast."

	Still heaving deeply into her exciting sheath, near the point of 
climax, I forced myself away from her, grabbed my musket, checked 
my priming and handed her my pistol, trying to ignore the thrashing 
thing poking out from my groin, its head nearly purple.  "Don't 
shoot unless you must," I whispered as a blue-clad man, a very big 
man, appeared from the forest, looking all about.

	He made his way straight for our hiding place, his weapon at 
port-arms, bayonet fixed.  I could see his broad mustache and his 
unshaven cheeks.  When he was almost upon us, I rose quickly and 
drove my bayonet tipped musket up through his throat, tearing his 
neck open.  He gushed blood, flailed both arms and legs and fell 
forward as I pulled my wide blade from him. His death had made 
little noise.

	The woman and I dragged his body down out of sight, and I 
checked to make sure his weapon was loaded and primed.

	"Hans, Hans," someone yelled from the left.

	"Ja!" I cried hoarsely.

	The thick jaeger came trotting along the creek bed, splashing 
loudly, and I moved down to meet him.  When he rounded the last 
curve of the bank, I smashed him down with the butt of my musket 
and then skewered him two or three times through the back.  He 
kicked a time or two and then lay face down in the fast-flowing 
brook, turning the water red.

	"How many were there?" I asked the frightened woman 
when I returned to her side with another musket and ammunition 
pouch.  By then I had put my unsatisfied tool out of sight, but her 
lush body, nearly bare from the waist up, kept me continuously 
excited. The cameo still hung between her bare breasts.

	"Not more than ten, probably fewer," she said.  "Eight or nine 
would be my best guess."

	"Now it's six or seven," I said with a smile.  "Want to try 
again?"  I was fiercely hard, a product not only of the morning but 
also of the blood and her beauty.

	"Yes, yes," she gasped, turning her back to me.  "It was 
wonderful."  With her elbows on the ground, she got her 
widespread knees set in the weedy stream bank.  I quickly entered 
her from behind, grunting with the effort and pleasure, my boots 
almost in the water.

	"You look left and I'll watch the right," I said, as I held her 
wide hips and started long, hard thrusts that brought a cry from her 
when each hit bottom and jumped wildly as our bodies smacked 
together.

	'Yes, yes," she moaned.  "Harder, harder."

	I was so eager that my body went immediately into what was 
normally the final phase, the rapid strokes that quickly brought me 
to explosive orgasm, and I groaned in release as I pumped out my 
pleasure, feeling my spend course through my cock.  She bent her 
back, lifted her chin and squealed as her climax matched mine.  We 
soon fell apart, wanting more but fearful of the consequences.  I put 
my thick pike away, checked my weapons, and we waited, my arm 
about her shoulders.

	"I told you would we make it," I said, kissing her left breast.

	"Listen," she said, trembling in my grasp.

	We heard crunching coming nearer and then someone yelled, 
"Did you check the creek?'	

	"That's my husband's voice," she whispered.

	Two men came out of the woods together, her husband and a 
Redcoat, and then, a bit to their right two more in blue, muskets 
held loosely.

	"I'll get those two," I said, nodding at the Germans.  "Hold 
that pistol pointed at your husband, but don't shoot until he is a lot 
closer."  I pulled back the hammer of one musket.  It seemed to 
make an awful loud sound.

	When the first German fell, waving his arms, the second came 
running right at me, and I stood with a fresh musket and nearly blew
  his head off at a dozen paces.  I heard the pistol bang out 
behind me, dropped my empty gun and picked up the third musket 
just into time to parry the British captain's sword slash.  It clanged 
against the barrel.

	Luckily for me, he slipped on the creek bank, dropped his 
saber and screamed for quarter just as I drove a spike bayonet 
through his chest.  I yanked it out and speared him again, pining him 
to the ground as he rolled over, screaming.  The woman was right 
beside me, the smoking pistol in her hands.

	"I shot him; I shot him," she cried.

	I stepped up from the creek bed and we walked to the man 
thrashing about in the leaves, moaning and cursing.  I put a foot on 
his shoulder to hold him still and looked at his wound.  Then I smiled 
at the woman.

	"You've killed him," I said, "but it will take him a long time to 
get around to dying."  She had made him a new navel, a belly 
wound that was pulsing out blood between his fingers.  "Shall I put 
him out of his misery?"

	"No," she said, and she lifted her booted foot above his 
stomach and brought it down on his body with all her might.

	He screamed and she stomped him twice more in the groin 
before I could get her to stop.  By them he was in shock, 
unconscious but still bleeding heavily and her boots were blood 
stained.

	I took his purse and handed it to her, added the Redcoat's to 
my collection, picked up the sword and freed the scabbard, and we 
headed back toward the woman's house with two muskets on my 
shoulder.

	"There must be two or three more Germans," I said as we 
neared the treeline.

	"Maybe not," she said.  "I might have miscounted."

	Just then her small maid came running from the back door with 
a soldier right after her.  The young woman, her dress and shift in 
tatters, skidded past the stable and when the jaeger rounded the 
corner, I planted the officer's sword in him.  He fell backwards, 
flailing his limbs until he fell.

	From the back door came another in his shirtsleeves.  I had 
plenty of time to check my priming and when he bent over his 
downed comrade, I shot him in the head.  The maid and her mistress 
huddled together.  I tried to count.

	"Is that all of them?" asked Mrs. McIver.  The maid nodded.

	I reloaded anyhow, mainly out of habit I suppose.  As we 
crossed the barnyard, a soldier appeared from the stable holding the 
frightened cook before him, a knife to her neck.

	I put my musket down and shooed the two women off to the 
house.  "Let her go," I said, turning toward the big man with his 
quivering captive, showing him my empty hands.

	He smiled and cut her throat, ear to ear, letting her fall, head 
flopping loosely and gaping wound pouring blood.  I ran at him, 
pulling my big knife from my belt, and he tried to flee.  I caught him 
near the fence, spun him about and gave him back his own 
punishment, nearly decapitating him.

	We buried the cook as decently as we could and then I 
dragged the woman's husband's body back, and we wrapped it in 
some old bagging.  Buzzards were circling by then, and I hoped the 
animals would take care of the other carrion.

	"How about that Redcoat," the woman asked as we rested in 
her bed after cleaning up a bit and enjoying what little food was left 
in the house.  She had my limp member in her hand and I had her 
breast in my mouth.

	"Carrion," I said, licking her, "but we'd better get someone to 
come look at your late, lamented out there before we plant him."

	"I suppose," she said, resting her head on my chest and 
playing with my hair. "Have you counted them up?"

	"No," I said.  "Try not to think about it."

	"Two here," she said, making strokes on my belly, "and then 
two in the creek, and then four more including him out there.  
What's that, eight?  And two more is ten.  I think you earned your 
pay."

	"I'm sorry about your cook,' I said, stroking her smooth back 
and then pulling her atop me as my pintle hardened again.

	"Yes," she sighed, pushing herself up, "she was a good 
woman, but alone, like most slaves, all alone."

	"I thought your maid might have been her daughter."

	"No," she said, rising on her knees while I held my rod at its 
thick and hairy base.  She wiggled down it, smiling as she did, and 
then she rode me hard, her cameo bouncing between her high 
globes, seemed to climax several times and collapsed happily on me 
while I patted her firm rump and let my root enjoy itself until it was 
spent and soft.

	We dressed and I drove her into town, found a law officer 
and convinced him to come back to the farm.  He came in his own 
rig, viewed the body, looked at me rather suspiciously, and said he 
would do the paperwork.  We shook hands all around and he left.

	The widow and I ate and drank a bit and then hurried up to 
her bed, discarding clothes as we ran.  We jumped on each other 
and gobbled up each other, exhausting ourselves and trying to 
forget everything else.  Eventually we slept.

	In the morning, I presented her with my enormous erection, 
and she kissed it, rubbed its head against her cheek and then 
enjoyed it for the next hour or so.  When we had to quit, tired and 
sated, we smiled at each other.

	I went back to the war.
	
<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}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+