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From: oldbill2@comcast.net
Subject: {ASSM} Rebel part 24
Lines: 326
Date: Thu, 22 Apr 2004 16:10:05 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Rebel 024.txt" begin>

Rebel 024 (Old Bill)  (MF hist)

Nasty Weather

	I can't recall the sequence, but somewhere in there I got the 
job of riding along with a carriage that belonged to some high 
mucky-muck from the useless Continental Congress, perhaps one of 
those who insisted on hanging on to those Hudson River forts. It 
was a fine, high-wheeled, carefully-lacquered rig with four nearly-
matched horses pulling it along at a good clip.  I had no idea who 
was inside but could see by the liveried driver and armed footman 
that they were people of some means.  For me, it seemed a form of 
punishment, four days in the saddle with no one to talk to.  It began 
to sleet about mid-day, and I pulled my coat collar up and my soft 
hat down, cursing Foster in my mind.  Somehow, in my funk, I let 
the carriage get a couple of hundred yards ahead and it disappeared 
around a curve in the winding road.

	Then they struck, a rag-tag band led by a large man in white 
breeches.  They came booming out of the brush right on that curve, 
and I believe the driver was shot and killed in the first volley.  There 
were only six or eight of them, but they were yelling and shooting 
like a small army.  The carriage ran off the road, tumbled to its side 
spilling the goods from its roof as well as the armed footman out 
among the boulders, broke free from the team which galloped off, 
and then fell on its roof in a tumbling stream, its wheels still spinning.  
The guard got off one shot.  I stayed out of sight, repriming my wet 
weapon.

	Several of the raiders rode off  in pursuit of the horses which 
were likely worth more than any goods that might have been 
carried while one poked among the boxes and trunks after shooting 
the footman, and another stood on the stream bank and peered out 
at the upside-down carriage.  I rode away from the hillside and then 
to the other side of the stream, deciding that the odds were a bit 
much for my taste.  When the last of the band disappeared down 
the road, I dismounted and waded out in the freezing, waist-deep 
water.  The sleet, by then, had intensified, and I could barely see 
across the creek.  The water was shockingly cold, and my privates 
tried to retreat inside my groin.

	The carriage door had broken open and the body of a small, 
black girl was wedged in it.  I pulled the door aside and the body 
floated away, face down.  Inside was another dead woman, this one 
white-haired, her skull broken open and bloody, and, wedged back 
in a corner, cowered a drenched and shivering woman whose nose 
was bleeding and who appeared to be shocked out of her senses.

	I scooped up the slim woman whose wet clothes weighed her 
down and stumbled to the shore, carrying her in both arms.  She 
managed to put her hands about my neck and moan but her 
breathing was shallow and her lips were blue.  I did not want to try 
to make a fire in the sleet storm so got the women up on my 
shoulder, grabbed my reins and worked my way deeper into the 
woods until I found a deadfall that provided a bit of shelter under a 
small grove of pines.  I pushed the woman into the mound of limbs 
and dead leaves, unsaddled my miserable-looking horse, got my 
bedroll and then burrowed into the mound of fallen limbs, hoping it 
was not a bear's home.

	The woman's teeth chattered as I unbuttoned her jacket and 
pulled it from her shoulders.  I got her sodden skirt off, peeled 
away her stockings and then skinned her out of her drenched shift 
after unlacing her stays.  She had an admirable body, lithe and well-
rounded, but she was covered with goose-flesh and shaking like a 
ancient with the ague.  I rolled her onto my blanket, hurried out of 
my clothes and crawled in beside her, conforming my body to hers 
and pulling the blanket over our heads, rubbing her vigorously as 
we jointly warmed.

	We both shook and trembled for a while but soon our bodies, 
locked together spoon-fashion with her rump in my groin and my 
hands on her breast and belly, seemed to warm and become 
comfortable despite the cold water dripping on us in several places.  
I used my shirt to dry her hair some and then got her to turn over 
and held her facing me for a while, my hand on her firm rump and 
slim back.  She lay with her eyes closed, barely breathing in my 
grasp, her cold nipples hard against my chest, and then I turned my 
back to her and she snuggled up to me, bending her knees so we fit 
together as best we could.  I could feel her firm breasts low on my 
back and tried to ignore the tingle in my half-frozen member.

	We lay like that for some time, and then the woman ran her 
hand across my chest, fingered my nipple and whispered, "Who are 
you?  What happened?"

	"Ambush," I said softly.  "Wanted your horses mainly I 
suspect."

	"Where's my aunt and Sally; where's my girl?"

	"I'm sorry," I said, "both dead, back in the river."

	The woman stiffened and then her hand went back to feeling 
my hairy skin and healed scars.  "And who are you?"

	"Soldier," I said.  "I was riding behind you."

	"A guard?"

	"That was the idea," I admitted.

	Her hand slid down my stomach and rested easily in my hairy 
belly.  "Why are we naked?" she asked, taking a deep breath, 
reaching lower and finding my cold-shrunken genitals.  She 
withdrew her hand quickly and put it back gently.

	"Helped us warm up," I said, as she held my cock and ballocks 
like a you would a baby bird.  "We were wet and cold, clothes are 
soaked."

	"Can't we have a fire?" she asked, stretching out my warming 
member and breathing on my neck.

	"It's sleeting.  Can't you hear it?"

	"Yes, now I can, yes. Where are we?"  Her stroking had 
produced good results and now she felt at the head of my rigid pole 
as it rose and then ran her fingers along its length.  The pace and 
depth of her breathing increased as she stroked.  We both warmed 
quickly.

	I turned to face her, pushed her heavy strands of damp hair 
from her eyes and kissed her gently.  Her leg snaked over mine, 
hooked behind my knee and pulled me into her.  My swollen glans 
entered her slowly and easily, popping between her tight lips, and 
she sighed and looked into my eyes as it did, trembling just a bit, lips 
still blue-white.

	"Yes," she moaned, "this is very warm, nice and warm, awfully 
big but very warm indeed."  She sucked in air and wriggled her hips 
as I moved deeper into her tight and pulsing furrow.  "It's like a 
stove." Heat rose between us.  I expected steam at any moment.  
She laced her fingers behind my neck and arched her back as we 
began heaving at each other.

	"Oh, please, slower," she moaned, "slower, slower, much 
slower."

	I pulled the blanket open so we could get some fresh air, rolled 
her to her back, flipped the cover over us and slowed the pace of 
my long thrusts until each seemed to take a full minute and cause her 
whole body to shudder.  I gritted my teeth as I stayed extended in 
her, satisfied with small, vagrant movements that were entirely 
involuntary.  Then, as if a door had opened, she relaxed, wrapped 
her legs about me and gasped out, "Now, sir, now, now!"  We 
rammed and heaved together, accelerating steadily, until we both 
came, crying out with pleasure and release, the world forgotten.

	I rolled back to my side, held her close, kissed her repeatedly 
and soon we began again.  She ground her belly into me, clawed at 
my butt and spasmed, biting her lips as she did, and then we lay 
apart, warmed and satisfied, listening to the wind and the cold rain.

	When the sleet stopped, I pulled a fire together, lighting it with 
my flintlock, rubbed down my horse with my old shirt and gave the 
woman the spare one from the saddle bag.  I draped our clothes 
near the smoky fire and built it up to some serious warmth.  The 
woman, almost lost in my shirt, and I, still bare, sat on our blanket 
and watched the flames for a while.  We shared what little food I 
had and then we made love again.  By then it was dark.  Exhausted 
and sated, we slept, wound together.

	I awoke very early and very hard, trying to remember where 
I was and who lay next to me.  My eager spike demanded my 
attention, and I grabbed the woman's raised hip and rolled her to 
her back.  I bent over her, kissed her gently and massaged the 
length of her nether lips with my eager root.  She smiled and sighed 
as they parted to admit me, and I lodged the head of my massive 
horn in her cleft with relative ease.

	"Good morning," I whispered as it sank into her, and she 
raised her legs.

	"Ahh," she gasped, linking her ankles behind me.  "I don't 
believe it."

	She wrapped her legs about me, arched her body and took me 
in very gradually.  It took us a good while to wear that erection 
down to more normal size and by then we had worked up a healthy 
appetite.

	She gave me back my shirt, struggled into her shift, threw 
away her stays, tied her skirt about her and moved her jacket closer 
to my freshened fire.  I got back into my still-cold britches and 
sodden boots, enjoying the feel of my shirt which still had her smell 
on it.  The woman mounted my horse and sat astride, lifting her chin 
and looking proud of herself with her dark skirt pulled up between 
her long legs.  We walked back to the stream where two wheels and 
a few pieces of the wreckage still remained.

	"My poor aunt," she woman sobbed as we found a fording 
place and headed back toward the camp.  We stopped at the first 
tavern we came to and breakfasted on hoe cakes and what they 
said was coffee, something that looked like coffee but tasted more 
like tree bark.

	I had not noticed the big man in white breeches sitting at a 
table in the back of the tavern with a group of rough-looking men, 
but he evidently had noticed us.  I had my mouth full of hoe cake 
and jam when he stamped up to the table.  He put his hand on the 
woman's shoulder and smiled at me.

	"Who the hell are you?" he asked.

	"Man that's going to cut you open if you don't move your 
hand," I said, licking my fingers.

	"This here your shaggy piece, this mop head," He fluffed at 
her disordered and stringy hair, grabbing a handful and pulling the 
girl to her feet.  I kicked him squarely between the legs, digging the 
toe of my boot deeply into his groin.  Then I stood, held his head 
down and kneed him in the face twice.  I relieved him of his heavy-
barreled pistol, grabbed a foot and dragged him back to his table.  
He was conscious but his hands were to his crushed nose and split 
lips.  "Take this garbage out of here," I said to the men sitting there.  
Nobody moved, and I cocked my borrowed pistol and pointed it 
down at the big man on the floor.

	"Want me to scatter his brains?" I asked, and they stood, 
snarling, helped the big man to his feet and left by the back door.  
There were six of them, all armed, all bad-smelling.

	"We need another horse," I said to the woman when I 
resumed my seat.  She was raking at her hair with her fingers, her 
eyes very bright, excited or frightened.

	"Think they'll leave?" she asked.

	"No," I said, "but I think we'll be safer away from here."

	She sniffed and nodded.  I bargained with the inn-keeper for a 
bit and bought a horse and tack for twice what it was worth.  I 
asked him where the gang hung out and he indicated the road 
south.  We left quickly and headed north, the way I wanted to go 
anyhow.

	When we stopped an hour or so later, I shortened the stirrups 
on my new horse and asked the woman to trade mounts with me.  
Back in my own saddle, we made better time and felt safe enough to 
stop for some food when we were only an hour or so from the 
camp.  It was a mistake.

	We enjoyed the food and drink like two old friends, finally 
found out each other's name and some of our life story.  She was 
the wife of a member of Washington's staff, a well-connected 
Pennsylvanian, and had two young children at home.  She might 
have been thirty, perhaps thirty-five, but I doubt it.  When we 
finished our meal, and I was savoring a pipe, she put her hand on 
my thigh.

	"We're not likely to see each other again," she said.

	I nodded and blew fragrant smoke at the rafters.

	"So I want to thank you for rescuing me, and for, well, can we 
do it again, at least once more?" She smiled and lowered her eyes.  
"I've never been horsed like that," she whispered.  "Never."

	An hour or so later, while we were resting and hoping for a 
third course of energetic bodily comfort, I heard them outside, 
cursing and carrying on.  I crawled from the bed, lethagic from our 
love-making and looked down at the blustering man in white 
breeches and three or four other ruffians.  I got into my britches, 
loaded my weapons, urged the stretching woman to dress quickly, 
and we waited.

	Soon we heard the thumping steps on the rickty stairs and 
then came a pounding at our door.

	"Who is it?" I yelled, cocking my musket after loading it with a 
handful of buckshot.  I handed the woman a cartridge already bit 
open.

	"Open the damn door, you filthy coward," came the roar, and 
I fired  the load of buck and ball at waist height, blowing a fist-sized 
hole in the door.  I reloaded fast, spitting the ball into the muzzle, 
then yanked the door open.  Two men, including the one in white 
breeches, laying bleeding in the hallway, both with belly wounds 
that were likely fatal.  They were rolling about and moaning.

	I ducked back into the room, closed the door on the carnage 
and went to the window.  Two men stood near a group of horses 
and another came running out.  I shot him in the back, leaned 
against the log wall and reloaded as fast as I could.  When I looked 
again, the two men and all of the horses were gone.

	With the inn-keeper's help, the bodies disappeared into the 
swollen creek although one seeemed to have a bit of life left in him.  
It must have been an hour or so before I returned to the room.  The 
woman was pretending to sleep and roused herself when I sat on 
the bed to undress.  "You certainly are a violent man," she said, 
sitting up and holding a quilt to her chest.

	"Um," I said, pulling my shirt over my head and rolling 
between her legs to nuzzle and kiss her upright breasts.  She dug 
her hands in my hair as I kissed my way down her soft belly and 
into her hairy quim.  She screeched when I licked her and moaned 
when I entered her.  The bed was soon rocking on an uneven leg as 
we thrashed about in passion.

	When we got back to camp and the lady was reunited with 
her husband, I sat and looked modest as she recounted some of our 
adventures.  The man shook my hand, thanked me, gave me a 
generous purse, and told me to look him up after the war.  The 
reason his name and his wife's name are not here, is that he is still an 
important man in the state government and she is a gracious hostess 
and grandmother with an unsoiled reputation for probity.

	
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