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From: oldbill2@comcast.net
Subject: {ASSM} Rebel part 21
Lines: 256
Date: Mon, 19 Apr 2004 16:10:03 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Rebel 021.txt" begin>

Rebel 021 (Old Bill ( MF hist)

The Quartermaster's Woman

	"This is far enough," the woman called, reining in her horse 
and tossing back her long mane of fiery hair.  "Come help me 
down."

	I dismounted, held up my hands and she slipped right into 
them, about ten stone of her.  I let her down slowly and held her to 
me, enjoying the feel of her as she slid along my chest and belly.  
Her mouth reached up to mine, and my hands cupped her firm 
bottom as we ground our bodies together.  She had been flirting 
with me and the others for some time, riding out with a variety of 
young men every day and bringing them back red-faced and 
spavined, their tongues hanging out and their eyes glazed, shirts 
rumpled and belts undone.  Now, I guessed, it was my turn, and I 
intended to make the most of it since this large woman was one of 
the nicest pieces of womanhood I had laid eyes on for a long time.

	She was a quartermaster's doxy or wife, I was never sure 
which, and he was a drunk and a wastrel.  She looked like the model 
for one of those ancient statues, Greek or Roman, a healthy, hefty 
one with boobs the size of cannon balls, 8 or 12-pounders.  Her 
name escapes me, but I surely remember her wonderful body, her 
deep chest and swinging hips, her soft lips and her gripping quim, 
her long legs and supple fingers, and her tongue, oh yes, her long 
tongue.

	She pulled her mouth and her tongue from mine.  "You ready 
for some hard work?" she asked, her voice throaty and her eyes 
agleam.

	"Yes ma'm, I've been looking forward to it," I said, kneading 
her buttocks and kissing her face, neck and ears.  She smelled 
wonderful and was warm as toast.  My mouth worked down from 
her collarbones to her chest.

	"Let's get to it then.  Your brothers in arms have been very 
disappointing, not a really decent cocksman among them.  No 
endurance at all."  Since that corps included my commanding officer, 
Lt. Foster, who had been known to please numerous ladies, both 
young and old, for hours at a time, I suspected I was in for an extra-
special treat.  I was not wrong.

	She walked us, hand in hand, to the foot of an old oak on the 
edge of the small pasture, swung herself around, spread her feet 
and braced her back and wide shoulders against the big tree.  She 
took a deep breath and hoisted her skirts a yard or so, smiled up at 
me, and said, "First course.  Help yourself."  Her thighs were thick, 
the triangle of hair at the junction of her legs a mass of auburn curls, 
and I watched her dig in the heels of her high boots and lift her hips 
toward me, exposing her sex. She smiled as she tilted up her pelvis 
and offered her pouting slit with its rubid center.  She was dripping 
wet.

	I unlimbered my rapidly hardening pike, displayed it for her 
approval, got barely a nod of appreciation when I've often earned a 
gasp, and stepped between her legs, bending my knees and using 
one hand to hold her wide hip while I guided my thick lance beneath 
her red muff, rubbed it up and down her deep trench a time or two 
and then thrust up into her dripping cunny.  Her lips parted, both 
sets, and she closed her eyes and sighed.  Our thighs met.

	"Ahh," she cried, leaning back to brace her shoulders on the 
tree and lift her legs above my hips as the wide-rimmed head of my 
rigid root slid into her glove-like passage and drove on until it was 
fully seated and our bodies were bone to bone, ballocks to buttocks.  
She linked her ankles behind me, held my upper arms and squinted 
her eyes as we began, 150 pounds of her hanging my jumping rod, 
testing my mettle.  I grabbed my wrist in the small of her back and 
gave her a couple of dozen of my best, full and lengthy thrusts, each 
ending with a fierce jerk and a full-bodied lift that bent my spine and 
arched hers.  She cried out sharply with each ram and flexed her 
deep muscles to crush my striving member within her, to pull it 
deeper and to savor its length and breadth with quivering 
movements.  She shook her head from side to side, sprayed spittle 
and debarked the tree with her shoulders while my thighs and back 
muscles strained to the task, and she rolled her hips in rhythm with 
my efforts.  It was not easy, but it was surely worth it.  It was also 
downright noisy what with my grunting and her gasping. And it 
went on for quite a while.  I was not sure I was going to survive.

	Finally we were simply heaving together, faster and faster until 
she spasmed and shook, screaming, "Fool, fool," as her climax 
washed over us.  I barely paused in my own striving for release and 
soon had to grit my teeth to keep from squealing with pleasure as I 
exploded, my heavy ramrod fully extended and pumping thick gobs 
of jism up into her, recoiling and ramming and firing again and then 
again and still again and again and then once more as I ground us 
together and shuddered within her.  She trembled and moaned, 
reaching between us to knead my stones, as I continued to saw back 
and forth with my swollen member, and after a few minutes, she 
finally sighed, "Enough, sir, enough for now" and let her legs slide 
down beside me, booted toes barely touching the ground.  I bent 
my knees and lifted her limp body from me, withdrew with a 
slurping sound and a gush of fluids, and turned aside to tuck my 
slick, wasted member away and rebutton my foreflap.  She brushed 
down her skirt, pushed at her tangled hair and smiled at me, 
shrugging comfortably within her riding habit, her nipples still hard 
and distended.

	"Well," she said, taking my arm as we walked back to our 
grazing horses, both of us a bit wobbly, "finally.  I had about 
concluded that no one in our army was fed well enough to serve a 
woman properly."  She hugged my arm between her lush breasts.  
"But, by damnme sir, you are a fine specimen, and hope you will ride 
out with me and pleasure me again very soon."

	"Not my choice, ma'm,"
  I said, "but I will be happy to join you 
any time and any place.  You are a fine woman, a credit to your 
sex."  I patted her rump and she glared at me and then laughed, 
elbowing me in the ribs.  "But," I said, "doing it like that, standing at 
a tree, that is hardly a fair test."

	"Most last longer that way," she said.  "You were damn 
good."

	She gave me a mock curtsey, put her foot in my linked hands 
and mounted her big horse.  I swung a leg over mine and we 
started back toward our camp, perhaps a mile or so up the hill.

	"Whoa, whoa," I cried at her as the sound of horses came 
quickly from the road we neared.  I backed us into the trees and 
patted my horse's neck as a column of red clad dragoons thundered 
by, jangling.

	"Oh oh," she said, eyes widening as some light artillery soon 
appeared.  "Something's going on."

	I put my finger to my lips but the horsemen and caissons were 
making so much noise on the rutted road that I could have fired a 
musket and no one would have heard me.  I got us turned about 
and headed back toward the glen where we had enjoyed each 
other.

	"Now what?" the woman asked as I helped her down again, 
my big hands savoring her ripe body, my randy root ready for 
another plunge or twenty or fifty.

	Before I could answer a young subaltern and two bulky 
cavalrymen appeared, smiling as they ducked under the limbs.
"My, my," said the young officer, sheathing his sword with a showy 
gesture.  "What have we here?"

	I knuckled my forehead to him, my eyes on the soldiers who 
were licking their lips and wriggling in their saddles.  "G'day, sir," I 
said.  "Lady's horse picked up a stone I fear."  I lifted her mare's 
foreleg.

	"Really," he said, "and is the lady ready to serve his majesty's 
forces in this foul backwater?"

	"Sir?" I said as the two soldiers stepped down, hiked up their 
britches and smiled at me.  They wore pistols and short, straight 
swords as well as crossed belts and had carbines on their saddles.

	"Well, I hope so, for after the three of us savor her charms, we 
have a score or so of my men who are in dire need her body, as you 
might say, at least several parts of it."

	"This is an officer's wife, sir, surely . . ."

	He held up his hand.  "Come now, rustic," he said, "I know a 
trollop when I see one, and your current state suggest you do too."  
He looked meaningfully at my humped-out foreflap.

	"Run," I yelled at the woman as I drew my knife and crouched 
to meet the pair of oncoming Redcoats.

	"No," she cried, stepping behind me, "I have my own 
dagger." And she produced it from her boot, a slim stiletto with a 
four-inch blade.  She bared her teeth and spread her feet.

	The two big men paused and snarled, and I charged before 
they could pull their own hangers, taking the first on my blade while 
the second jumped at the woman, tearing her dress from her 
shoulder.  She slashed at the man, cutting his cheek open while I 
yanked my bayonet out of the other soldier's chest and pulled the 
second to me, driving my big blade all the way through him, 
severing his spine.  He looked astonished.

	The officer tried to ride us down, swinging his sword, but she 
threw her knife at him, and I ducked inside his blade's arc, grabbed 
his belt and dragged him from the saddle.  He landed hard on his 
shoulder, probably breaking it, and screamed before I skewered him 
through the neck.  I was gory to the elbow, and found the woman 
leaning back against the tree where I had rogered her.

	I relieved the dead officer of his purse and the redcoats of 
their ammunition, picked up the small knife, and then held out my 
hand to the woman.  "Come," I said, "we need to disappear from 
this place."

	She lifted her hem and stepped over the body at her feet.  She 
came into my arms and we hugged each other briefly.  She bent to 
wipe her knife on the dead officer's coat and then put it back in her 
high boot, giving me a sickly smile. 
  "Never thought I would have to se that," she said. 

	By narrow trails I got her back to a road that seemed deserted 
and found a tavern with a large stable.  The place appeared empty 
so we took care of our horses and went inside.  No one was about 
and there was dust on the tables.  I helloed the house and got no 
answer.

	"Odd," the woman said.

	We searched about, found a bottle of good whisky under the 
counter, sat and ate from my knapsack and drank the corn liquor, 
waiting for the innkeeper to reappear from wherever he or she had 
gone.  When night came, and we were still alone, I toasted us some 
bread and cheese, and we drank some more whisky.

	Upstairs the mystery, such as it was, was solved.  A young 
woman lay in a bed, naked and dead, evidently strangled, her body 
wasted.  Beside the bed sprawled the body of an older man, the 
back of his head a mass of dried blood, bone and brains.  He had 
put the pistol in his mouth before he shot himself. Both bodies  
appeared to have been there for a month or more. We closed the 
door on that room and took the bed in another, found it to our 
satisfaction and tried to forget what we had seen though sexual 
frenzy.  It damn near worked.

	In the morning, forcing my brain to forget the desiccated 
corpses next door, I rubbed the head of my mighty root up and 
down her quivering slit, anointing it thoroughly, and then rammed 
its steel-hard length into her as she lifted her hips and arms to me.  
She gasped and writhed and then wrapped me in her legs all but 
screaming with joy.  After we both came, I continued on, heaving 
with steady determination and, after a bit, she rose to the effort and 
began meeting me thrust for thrust until we were finally spent, half 
off the disordered bed and still grabbled together and hoping for 
more.

	We dressed quickly, hurried down the steps and got on our 
horses and away without a backward glance.  By noon we were 
back in camp and sharing stories of our narrow escape from the 
dragoons.  The officer and his lady left us soon after that.

	
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