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From: oldbill2@comcast.net
Subject: {ASSM} Rebel 062 Princess (MF hist)
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Date: Sat, 29 May 2004 02:10:05 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Rebel 062.txt" begin>

	
Rebel 062 (Old Bill) (MF hist)
	
The Princess

	We called her the princess while she was with us, a kind of 
natural curiosity; and she was a marvel indeed.  She was not just 
pretty, she was spectacularly beautiful, consciously sensual and 
incredibly arousing, and she knew it.  Worse, she flaunted it.  Her 
clothes showed it and so did her stance and her attitude.  It was 
hard to glance her way without feeling a surge of something 
primitive roll through your belly and poke at your member.  When 
she walked by a group of men you could actually hear them exhale. 

	Foster and two other men had captured her and her Redcoat 
husband at a roadblock set up to slow Cornwallis or whoever was 
harassing us in those days.  We sent her overstuffed paramour, who 
was at least twice her age, on up the line for questioning and kept 
the young girl just to look at.  None of us, not even my randy 
lieutenant, dared to touch her or even speak to her for that matter 
except for the usual courtesies.  Her beauty was like a fence around 
her and she was wonderfully alone with in it, serene and seemingly 
at ease, staying in a small room in the house our officers had 
commandeered.

	She glowed with good health and her rich and clinging clothes 
framed her lean but voluptuous body and classic face.  She always 
stood and walked with her shoulders back, arms poised behind her 
upright orbs, her light brown hair flowing behind her like a waterfall 
that reached the curved small of her slim back.  She was enough to 
give you the shivers and keep you awake at night with your eager 
prod in your stroking hand.  Damn but she was something, long-
legged and racehorse limber, full-breasted and straight backed, 
dark-haired and even darker eyed.  

	So, after a few days, it was decided to return her to the 
enemy while we kept her man for exchange, and since Foster 
brought her in, he was given the job of taking her back.  He all but 
refused - he had a bad knee; his fever was back; he had a report to 
write.  I think the man could not trust himself alone with the woman, 
and I'm sure his palms itched to caress her bare body.  I know mine 
did.

	So I got the job by the luck of the draw, George and I did, but 
I ended up with the task of seeing that she was returned to her 
people safe and sound. Foster looked me in the eye, grabbed my 
jacket in his fist, put on his meanest growl and warned me that he 
would take me apart if anything happened to the lady.  "And don' 
you dare touch her, you filthy oaf, you stupid pile of shit.  Kept that 
ugly thing in your britches or I'll tear it off," he said as his last rum-
tinged charge.  I saluted and suppressed a smile.

	We took her sturdy carriage and George rode ahead with a 
flag of truce while I kept the team going the right direction, my 
docile horse tied on behind.  We were both unarmed which made 
me more than a little bit nervous.  The young woman stayed out of 
sight, having looked right through both of us while we got her and 
her belongings ready to travel.  I enjoyed just watching her breathe, 
her soft lips barely parted and her high-sprung boobies moving in 
and out and up and down; they barely jiggled when she strode to 
her rig and mounted the hanging step.

	Then George's horse went down about an hour into our 
journey, broke a leg in a woodchuck hole or some such.  He took my 
animal and headed back to camp, some ten miles or so behind us, 
while I plodded on, the white flag flapping beside my ear.  I 
remember whistling tunelessly and simply getting pleasure from the 
day, the easy work and the knowledge that a true beauty was so 
close by and in my care.

	Then the woman thumped on the roof and yelled at me, a real 
screech after I guess I had ignored her previous cries, deep in my 
own reveries.  I stopped the team, jumped down, opened the door 
and she saw me, I am sure, for the first time.  Her eyes were kind of 
green, dark green with golden flecks. Her gaze was actually 
shocking, heart-stopping, mesmerizing we would say these days. 

	"What happened?" she asked, her neck trembling, veins 
jumping, breasts heaving up out of her jacket.  I could tell she was 
frightened, and I ached to comfort her before I rogered her.

	"Partner lost his horse," I said.  "Broke his leg."

	"I heard a shot."

	"We had to kill the poor beast."

	"Oh." She waved her hand and closed the door, taking her 
lush body, incredible eyes and trembling lips from my sight.

	I climbed back up, got my over-stimulated prod down beside 
my thigh, and clucked at the team.  On they trotted at a comfortable 
rate.  An hour so later, she thumped the roof again, told me she was 
hungry and demanded I find a place to stop.  She was obviously 
quite used to ordering men about and having her way.  Personally, I 
suspect I would have tried to do anything she asked up to and 
including attempting to fly by flapping my arms.  The first inn we 
came to was not much of a place, but I stopped and she hurried off 
to the necessary, her skirts hoisted above the muddy ruts.  I 
enjoyed watching her ankles flash in their fancy-pattern stockings 
and her hips roll left and right as she trotted with her elbows out.  
Temptation was alive and well deep in my gut.

	We ordered a simple meal, and I sat facing the young woman. 
I am sure I was smiling like a simpleton, and I could feel my member 
creeping down my leg.  We ate in silence.  "I am Amelia Patterson," 
she said primly as she pushed the trencher aside, lifting her fine chin 
as though I should know her husband's family by reputation.  I told 
her my name and she nodded.  "Where are you from?" she asked, 
obviously making polite conversation.  Before I could say 
"Maryland," a Jersey militia officer appeared at my elbow.

	"Amelia," she said in surprise.  "I thought it was you."  He 
smelled of liquor and tobacco.

	She smiled up at him, her hands primly in her lap, thrusting her 
chest hard against her fancy traveling dress and making dimples in 
her cheeks.

	"What are you doing here with this yahoo?" he asked.

	"Going back to the regiment," she said calmly as my 
temperature rose. "We were captured you know."

	"Well, come dine with us at least," the big man said, his hip at 
my shoulder.

	"No," the girl said with a bright smile, "but thank you, captain, 
we're about to leave."

	"I insist," the militiaman said gruffly, and he reached for her 
hand.  She shied back, he cursed foully, and I elbowed him in the 
groin, not full force but enough to stop him.  He grunted, and as I 
started to stand, I felt the muzzle of a gun in the middle of my back.

	"Siddown, shitkicker," a voice said, and the man I had 
elbowed recovered and hit me in the ear, hard enough to leave a 
buzz and make me see flashing lights.  Then he grabbed Amelia's 
arm, pulled her from her chair despite her sputtering protests and 
dragged her toward the stairs while she kicked at him and her tight-
fitting jacket slid from her shoulder as buttons skittered over the 
floor.

	"We's gonna have us a little party," he said as the frightened 
girl struggled in his grip.  He had his big paw on her stomach, 
tearing at her clothes, and her feet off the floor.  "Come on boys." 
He waved to the men at his table and four young militiamen stood 
and followed him up the stairs, dragging the young woman along, 
both legs kicking frantically.  Two of the men carried stoneware 
bottles, and all of them looked a bit worse for their drinking, their 
uniform jackets undone and belts loosened.

	"Hey," yelled the man behind me, his gun still hard on my 
spine.  "What about me?"  He sprayed my cheek with his spittle.

	"You'll get your turn, Davy," said the last men on the steps 
with a laugh.  "We won' forget you."  The girl shrieked as if she had 
been hurt badly, and I heard cloth rip.

	"Why don' I jus' take him out back and kill `im?" Davy asked 
loudly as they disappeared, following the loud cries for help and 
mercy.  "Damn," he said.

	"Don't, please don't," she yelled from the floor above and 
then I heard a door close.

	"Damn," said the man behind me again, poking me harder.

	I whirled on him, kneed him, brushed his gun hand down, 
gripping on the big pistol's hammer and flint so it could not fire, and 
hit him flush in the mouth with a swinging right that had most of my 
weight behind it.  I felt his teeth crunch.  He staggered, and I hit him 
in the center of his chest while I twisted the gun from his hand. Then 
I whacked him in the head with his own weapon and ran for the 
steps, my big knife in one hand and the borrowed pistol in the 
other.

	Enough noise was coming from the room where the five men 
and the girl were hidden that I did not have to search for them.  I 
kicked open the door.  Two were holding the struggling woman's 
arms at the head of the bedstead while their leader knelt between 
her flailing legs, his turgid phallus in one hand and her white thigh in 
the other.  She was nearly naked, what was left of her shift bunched 
about her middle, her small, furry muff a heaving mound between 
her lean thighs.  I stabbed the man by the door just under his short 
ribs, pulled my blade loose, shot at the would-be rapist where he 
knelt, spraying blood and brains across the room, and then leapt at 
the other two in the powder smoke.  The nearer one died on my big 
blade, clawing at my arm as I buried the knife in his chest, and then I 
stepped over the mewling woman and jumped on the man who was 
tangled in the bedclothes and trying to pull his short sword loose.  I 
had left my knife in the other man so I throttled this one with my 
hands and beat his head against the wall and window frame a time 
or two. I suppose I was a bit out of control, my blood lust roaring in 
my ears.

	Then his head broke the window, sort of awakening me.  I 
shoved him out against the pointed shards in the heavy frame, 
tearing his back open, and I let him fall, turning my attention back to 
the bloody room as the soldier screamed briefly before he thumped 
the dirt. The girl was sitting by the headboard, legs tucked beneath 
her, holding her torn shift to her pale chest, her eyes wide and 
mouth gapping, disordered hair nearly covering her face.  The big 
man I had shot sprawled at her legs, most of his skull blown away.  
The fellow by the door with the belly wound was down on all fours 
and had blood pouring from his mouth.  I kicked him in the head 
and then yanked my knife from the body of the militiaman beside 
the bed.

	I wiped my blade on the bare buttocks of the man on the bed, 
sheathed it and then held out my hand.  "Come," I said to the girl.  I 
helped her find her torn clothes and her missing shoe, and we made 
our way back to the ordinary.  I sat her at our table, found the 
tavern-owner's wife and asked her for help and then went outside.  
The man I had pushed through the window lay on his face in the 
wagon ruts, very dead, sliced deeply in several places.

	I roused the soldier I had clubbed unconscious and forced him 
to drag the bodies down the steps and out the back door.  I took 
the leader's purse before he was pulled to the stairway, leaving a 
trail of blood and brains behind him.  When the bodies was 
gathered, I asked the man who had poked his pistol in my back if he 
would take care of them or if he would rather join them.  He begged 
me not to kill him, and I urged him to tell the truth about what had 
happened.  He promised and left on foot, thanking me over and 
over.

	With the tavern woman's help, the girl had found a clean dress 
in her belongings, a plain brown one without decoration except for 
its fancy buttons which marched resolutely between her pointed 
mounds and down her luscious body.  She had pulled her hair back 
and tied it with a ribbon and now sat where we had eaten, waiting, 
looking very pale, eyes red-rimmed, lips a thin line.

	I sat across from her, took a deep breath, felt my rigid prod 
begin to relax, and smiled at her.

	"How could you do that?" she asked very quietly.

	I exhaled.  "My job."

	"You could have, maybe, made them stop, I mean, without 
killing them all.  Perhaps."

	"What do you think they would have done when they finished 
with you, all of them?"

	"I don't know." She sniffed back a tear.

	"Shall I tell you?"  I was feeling impatient.

	She shook her head.

	"Are you ready to travel?" I asked.

	She nodded.  I held the back door for her and she barely 
glanced at the grotesque pile of bodies near the wood shed.  She 
stepped up into the carriage, released my hand, and we proceeded, 
having lost an hour or two.  I wondered where George was.

	As clouds built up in the west, twilight came quickly and early.  
Soon I found a big, stageline tavern and pulled into its yard.  While I 
tended the rig and the animals, she made her careful way across the 
step stones and ordered us a good meal and a bottle of dark red 
wine.

	After a bit of idle chitchat, she said, "I was wrong."

	I waited, forking up stew and munching a biscuit.  

	"I knew that man, the one who came to the table, the one 
who, well, who almost."  She sniffed and looked away.  "He knew 
my husband too, the bastard, the fool."

	I nodded, and she touched her lips with her tiny handkerchief.

	"He would surely have killed me, killed us both."

	"I think so," I said. "After all six had you."

	"So I thank you," she said, putting her small hand atop my big 
mitt.  Rings glittered on two slender fingers.

	"You were very brave, put up a good fight," I said, smiling at 
her.

	She smiled her thanks, and I poured her some more wine.

	"It was a terrible feeling," she said in almost a whisper.  
"Knowing what those men were going to do to me.  They looked 
like animals, wolves, ripped my dress to shreds, pawed me."  She 
put a hand to her chest. "I have scratches here."

	"A rough bunch," I said.

	"I don't know how you moved so fast," she said, her eyes 
holding mine.

	"Neither do I," I told her very honestly.

	"I mean," she said, "I'm sure it was less than a minute from the 
time you kicked the door open to that window breaking.  It all 
seemed to happen at once.  Lieutenant Johnson, the man you," she 
hesitated and then went on, "the man you shot was still falling, 
waving his arm, when you jumped across me."

	I mopped my bowl.

	"You should have seen your face," the young woman said.  
"Fearsome, that's the only word I can find, fearsome, and you were 
yelling something awful, your teeth showing like a tiger or 
something."

	"I'm always glad I'm behind my face," I said, showing a smile.

	She smiled back, encouraging my hopes and pushing my 
lieutenant's threats out of my head altogether.

	"Where is your friend?" Amelia asked, finishing her wine.

	I shook my head.  "Did you ask about rooms?" I said.

	She nodded and looked down.  "They have one small one 
left," she said.

	"I can sleep in the shed, maybe in the carriage," I said, trying 
to look noble.

	"Sir," she said quickly.  "You saved my life; you'll do no such 
thing."

	"Your reputation," I said.

	"My affair," she countered, looking stubborn and very pretty, 
very desirable.  My member surged hopefully.

	"I snore," I told her, holding her eyes.

	She laughed and then stifled it with her hands.

	In the tiny room with its narrow bed, she got down to her 
shift, a new one and not the one they had nearly torn from her, and 
rolled under the quilt while I was still working on my boots.

	"I haven't bundled for years," she said to my back.

	That, of course, was not what I had in mind.  I got in on my 
side, wearing just my long-tailed shirt and turned my back to her, 
right on the edge of the thin mattress, my hand on the side board.  I 
could feel her breath on the base of my neck.  I wished I had shaved 
that week.  I tried to relax and then she touched me, put her hand 
atop my shoulder.  I am sure I jumped.

	"Sorry," she sighed to my broad back.

	"I was nearly asleep, I guess."  It was, of course, a lie.  It is 
hard to sleep tumescent.

	"The captain, my husband, was very, well, very diligent I 
suppose you might say.  He served me every single night we were 
together."

	"Did he?  I guess I'm not surprised."

	"Indeed, and very well, too."

	"A good man."

	"He is," she said.  "How long will I be without him?"

	"A month," I guessed.  "Perhaps two."

	She stroked my back.  "Oh my," she sighed.  I heard her 
exhale.  "You could," she paused. "You might, if you wished, you 
might do his duty."

	"Madam?"

	Her hand crept over my hipbone and across my belly as she 
snuggled closer.  "You are surely hairy," she said, reaching her goal 
and grasping my swelling member at its thick base.  I heard her gulp 
as she stroked its growing length.

	I took a deep breath and then let it out slowly as she moved 
my foreskin up and down my thickening shaft.  I could feel her 
body, from knees to nipples, firmly against mine.  "Please," she said, 
rubbing her damp mound on my buttocks. "I need it.  I'm still 
scared."

	I turned over to face her, and she put both hands up on my 
ears and kissed me, long and gently, the tip of her tongue at my 
teeth.  Her body was soft and warm under a light fuzz of hair, her 
waist tiny, buttocks firm and rounded.  I pulled one of her legs high 
above mine and drew her to me. Her mouth gapped open as the 
head of my straining ram touched her quivering lips.  They were 
damp, slippery, warm.  My cock found what it was seeking at her 
narrow entrance and reared wildly, poking at the portal, already 
oozing come.

	"I've never done it this way," she whispered.  "Oh," she 
gasped as I stretched her open, popped it in and got an inch or so 
into her grasping depths.  She wriggled and arched her back, 
gritting her teeth, eyes closed as I grasped her warm breast.  I rolled 
her to her back, took my weight on my elbows and sank my thick 
lance in her to the very hilt, every iron-hard, blood-hot inch of it, 
two hands deep, hard against the bone as she spread her legs, 
knees up, feet well back by her rump.  "Hah," she cried as I 
withdrew halfway and then rammed her again, and then again, and 
again, and again.  "Hah," exploded from her with each thrust and 
her wonderful body convulsed with effort, her eyes tightly closed 
and teeth clamped.  I was in lustful heaven.

	I stopped after perhaps fifty thrusts, letting my mast flex and 
jump deep within her tight channel, expanding and contracting with 
a will of its own against her clasping flesh, unsure whether or not 
she had climaxed. I moved it from side to side within her, 
establishing my claim to the land it had discovered, the field I had 
plowed.  My stones churned as I planted my flag. 

	"I've never felt the like," she gasped, as she lifted high her legs 
and them wrapped them about my waist, somehow drawing me 
even deeper as I extended my arms and arched my back.  She 
writhed and smiled up at me, one heel right behind my swollen balls.

	Then we began together on that narrow cot and enjoyed each 
other through several deaths before she released me, let both her 
arms and legs flop to the sides and went limp beneath me.  My spent 
member slithered from her, and I rolled out to sit on the side of the 
bed for a minute or two, trembling with pleasure, amazed but far 
from satisfied.

	She lay breathing hard behind me in the quiet room.  A 
moonbeam crossed her belly and breasts from the tiny window.  I 
turned, crouched over her, licked her startled nipples, kissed her 
deep navel and then tongued her sodden quim.  She shuddered 
with pleasure when I found her distended, little prick, and then I 
pulled her atop me, and she spread her thighs by mine own and 
used her hand to guide my long, thick root back into her slick and 
dripping depths.  Its head was sore and its base was aching.  Then 
she rested upon me, head on my chest as it jumped and thrust 
within her, completely on its own volition.

	We lay quietly together, joined but exhausted, barely pulsing.

	"He never did me like that," she whispered to my chest.  "No 
one has, not ever."  I patted her back, my chin atop her head.  She 
trembled.

	"The laird sold me off when I was but twelve, indentured me 
to a factor in Glascow, a partner of his, a business partner."  My 
prod was firming again, gaining depth and thickness, welcomed by 
the quivering muscles she seemed to control.

	 "He deflowered me, the laird did, the night before I was 
shipped over here.  He was as old as my grandfather.  Made me 
kneel up in a chair, in a tall-backed chair, he did, rutting and making 
awful noises."  I held her buttocks and pulled her tighter to me, 
spreading her thighs a bit.  She sucked in air.

	"Then on the ship, oh, oh, oh."  Her whole body quivered and 
she stretched up to take my mouth as I penetrated her deeply again. 
"On the ship, the master had me most every day and doled me out, 
a reward for work well done to his vile and smelly crew. Oh, there, 
right there. Ah, that's so good."

	I pulled her knees gently up past my hips and helped her sit 
up, her hands on my chest before she was fully upright.

	"I like this," she said, wiggling to get more comfortable.  
"When I got here, to the colonies I mean, at Annapolis it was, they 
sold me, five years.  Oh, that's just wonderful." I raised my knees 
and let her lean back and enjoy at leisure. "And then Lt. Patterson 
came along, this was in New York where I was working, not 
whoring you understand, in the city, a lawyer's nanny, offered ten 
pounds for me, twice what they paid, rushed me through a wedding 
of sorts and said I must tell everyone we were man and wife."

	She began posting and slamming down on my groin and soon 
achieved a fine and clamping orgasm that shook us both.  She then 
collapsed beside me, started to tell me more and fell asleep in my 
arms.  I soon slept, looking forward to the morning.

	I still think about that morning, especially when it is cold and 
gray.  It warms my blood.  She had me take her from behind, the 
way, she explained, that she was used to, and she squealed and 
shook as I tried to sink my huge phallus into her, holding her hips.  
It must have taken us the best part of a quarter-hour to get that 
long, blood-filled piece of meat completely sheathed and twice that 
long to satisfy it.

	We reached the British camp about noon.  I presented my 
papers and received another pass while the girl and her belongings 
were whisked away.  The man I dealt with, a pompous major, 
provided me with a worn-out horse and told me to be careful on the 
road.

	"Lots of brigands about," he said as I mounted.

	"Where did you take her, Amelia?" I asked, adjusting a 
stirrup.

	"Officers' house.  She can do ten or twelve of us a day I'm 
sure, a prime cunny like that."

	"Thought she was wed."

	He laughed.  "Haw, never, just his doxy.  She's nothing but a 
strumpet.  Couldn't you tell? A game pullet." He slapped my horse 
and turned on his heel.

	A mile or two down the road, I dismounted to check the 
horse's feet and take a piss.  It bothered me for some reason, 
seemed wrong, that such a beautiful young woman should be foully 
used by the enemy.  I had known a few ladies of easy virtue by 
then, and she hardly fit the mold.  I put my member away, stepped 
up on the worn-out roan and turned him around.

	Back at the British encampment, I showed the sentry the 
signature on my pass and said I need to see the major.  He pointed.  
When I entered the large, white tent a young officer, perhaps all of 
sixteen, was in the process of disrobing, his thin prick jutting before 
him, his bare legs almost hairless, his shirt raised above his head.  His 
cock pointed at the fat major who sat straddled-legged on a folding 
chair, holding Amelia's head between his thick thighs, his hands 
buried in her lustrous hair.  Her mouth encircled his flaccid member 
and her eyes widened when she saw me.  

	I clubbed down the unclothed stripling before me, knocking 
him senseless with a blow to his temple, tore his shirt from his hands 
and threw it to the girl whose shift hung in tatters from one 
shoulder.  Then I quickly clamped my hand over the big officer's 
mouth and put my blade to his neck as Amelia stood on shaking legs, 
wiping her mouth in disgust, holding the boy's shirt to her chest.  
"What's going on?" I asked her quietly.

	"You saw," she said, a trickle of blood at her nose.

	"He claimed you were a whore," I told her, clamping my hand 
harder on the struggling man and pinking his neck with the point of 
my blade so that he would stop struggling.

	"Never," she said clearly, crumpling the loose sleeved shirt 
between her lovely breasts, anger in her green eyes. "Never by my 
choice."

	I gagged the major with a cross belt, hog-tied him and dumped 
him on the dirt floor, his pitiful excuse for manhood still lying 
exposed.  The girl found her dress and donned it quickly, doing 
untorn buttons with shaking hands and constantly pushing her fine 
hair from her face.  I gagged and tied the unconscious young officer 
and then brought Amelia his clothes.  We wrapped her shirt about 
her middle, stuffed her torn shift up between her legs, got her into 
his breeches and boots, then his fancy shirt, gold-laced weskit and 
bright red jacket. I tucked her hair under the major's wig, tightened 
her belts, give her a quick kiss, put a three-cornered hat on her head 
despite her laugh, got the straight sword to hang properly at her 
rounded hip, and we were ready to leave.  I found a pistol, loaded 
it and tucked it into the back of my belt, and then as the girl stood at 
the tent flap, I drew my long knife, sliced off the major's shrunken 
member and tore open his scrotum.  He gagged and his eyes 
bugged out as I showed him one of his stones on the tip of my blade 
and then wiped my huge knife on his chest.

	Outside Amelia and I pretended to be deep in conversation as 
we crossed the open area and then disappeared into the trees.  No 
one paid any attention to our passage as far as I could tell.  I found 
my horse and offered her my hands to help her mount.

	"I can't," she whimpered.  "I'm sore and bruised.  He had 
three men roger me, big men, one right after the other, while he 
watched and made jokes. He wanted to see me do two at once."

	"He won't bother women again," I said, and she looked at me 
strangely.  We decided to discard the boy's clothes except for his 
boots.  I mounted and then pulled her up onto my lap, and we rode 
with her arms about my neck, a very pleasant way to travel.  The 
horse plodded along, but since the girl weighed hardly seven stone, 
I doubt that he noticed the heavier load.  He was just old and tired.

	We found a country inn, well off the well-traveled path, had a 
meal and made off to bed.  We held each other for a while, kissed 
sweetly and slept, exhausted from the tension of our escape.

	I awoke with her hand on my hot and straining spear and her 
lips at my ear.  "Good morning," she whispered.  "You snore 
something awful."  Her hand slid down from the overheated head 
to the hairy base.

	"I'm still sore," she sighed, wiggling closer as I got my arm 
about her.

	"I understand," I said, caressing her luscious breast and 
kissing her cheek.

	She tossed back the quilt, took a deep breath and crouched 
over my upright yard, holding it firmly at the base, her fingers 
almost closed about it.  I could feel the blood throbbing against her 
grip.  Then she bent forward, licked the huge head and took it in 
her mouth.  I am sure I moaned as she gobbled up two or three 
inches of my mast and began sliding her spit-slick lips up and down 
my shaft while she rolled her tongue about it.


	"Enough, enough," I cried as I felt my stones swelling.  She 
ignored me and shortly I came, pumping out my pleasure which 
dribbled from the corner of her mouth as she tried to swallow it all.  
Then she lay back, as if exhausted, licking her lips and smiling.

	I lifted her torn shift and found both her thighs heavily 
bruised, blue and purple.  I kissed and licked her swollen nether lips 
and used my tongue to savor her until she spasmed, arching her 
back and grabbing my head.  I crawled up her body, saluting her 
navel, her ribs and both her breasts before I found her lips.  We 
held each other, then dressed, breakfasted, and got back on the 
road.  She rode astride behind me, her hands about my middle and 
the horse made his leisurely way through the woods.

	"What am I to do?" she asked about mid-morning when we 
stopped at a creek for a drink.

	I shook my head.

	"I can't go back to that man, to Patterson, not after what 
happened."

	"I suppose you could join our camp," I said dubiously.

	She smiled.  "I've done tavern work.  I can't read but I can 
add and subtract."

	"We'll find you a place," I assured her, having no idea how.  
The only place I could think of was Madame Von R--'s.

	I took her back to our camp, met with Lt. Foster and got his 
permission to take her to New York.  George and most of our 
motley troop were off somewhere so we, the rather bedraggled 
princess and I, left almost at once after another night of celibate 
sleep but no morning exercises.  We found her a small mare to ride, 
filled my pack with bread and sausage and were off, headed 
straight for the enemy who, thankfully, generally stayed on the main 
roads.

	We slept one night in the open, wrapped together in my 
blanket, tempted but unfulfilled, and reached the Von R--'s large 
house about midnight of the second day, basically without incident.  
I brought the girl in through the basement, found my usual hiding 
place, and we both were asleep in minutes, huddled together like 
cats.

	I awoke in the gray dawn, frightfully hard, and went out to 
piss off my erection.  The madam's cook welcomed me and then, at a 
more decent hour, the tiny woman herself met Amelia, told me to go 
bathe and shave, and took the girl away.

	That evening we dined together along with three other comely 
young women.  Amelia wore a fetching dress and had powdered 
her discolored eye so that it was hardly noticeable.  In the company 
of women her own age, women dressed as well as she did, she did 
not stand out, but she was as lovely and as fetching as any of them, 
and then all were beauties.  We learned more about the British 
occupation and various outrages, and I found that I had made a 
good decision.  Amelia was a lively as any of the Madam's "nieces" 
and she was more than willing to use her charms to gain useful 
information for the Continental army of General George 
Washington.

	After our fine supper and excellent wine, I headed for my 
cubbyhole in the cellar, preparing myself mentally to go back to the 
war on the morrow. I was still undressing when Amelia lifted my 
curtain and came to sit beside me.

	"She's nice," the girl said, stroking my bare thigh.

	"The madam?" I asked, putting down my broken boot and 
looking down to make sure my shirttail covered my turgid member.

	"Um hm," she said, reaching beneath my shirt, taking my 
heavy sac in her small hand and running my aching stones through 
her fingers, back and forth, very tenderly and then tracing the 
heavy vein beneath my swelling prod up to its tender head.

	I bent and kissed her while she tried to pull my shirt over my 
head.  We laughed, stripped each other and rolled under the quilt 
on my narrow cot.  And we were joined and thrusting at each other 
within seconds, grunting with pleasure and effort.  She woke me 
once or twice during the night to make love to her again, and then in 
the morning, she mounted my body while I held my huge mast 
upright and watched her slide slowly down it, her eyes closed and 
mouth open.

	It was mid-morning before we had exhausted each other and 
hunger drove us out of the basement.  By noon I was on my way 
back to the war, well satisfied and looking forward to my next visit 
to Madam Von R--'s.
		
	


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