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From: oldbill2@comcast.net
Subject: {ASSM} Rebel 050 Duty (MFf)
Lines: 264
Date: Thu, 20 May 2004 21:10:03 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Rebel 050.txt" begin>

Rebel 050 Strenuous Duty (MFf hist)

Strenuous Duty

	I am not sure whose bright idea it was, probably the captain's.  
He dressed himself up as a well-to-do planter and rented out 
George and me, complete with phony one-year contracts.  George 
went off to work on the docks and learned some useful information 
before he broke and ran when they decided to send him to 
Barbados, and I suffered a different sort of fate as a groom at the 
riverside home of the Ambrose family, one of the richest bunch of 
Tories anywhere I suspect.  I should have been able to learn 
something of use, but I did not. Foster was not happy with my 
attitude or my information.

	During my first night in the shabby, low-ceilinged loft above 
the horses, I was visited by the lady of the house, a mature and 
very healthy matron of, I would guess, some forty years whose 
name was Diedre and who was called Dee. She evidently was 
continuously randy.   It must have been midnight, cool and very 
dark, just starshine to see by when she knelt beside my pallet and 
jostled my shoulder.

	"What's your name?" she whispered, looking rather ghostlike.

	I told her.

	"Well," she said, "move over a bit."  I heard a rustle and stuck 
out my hand, grabbed at her arm and felt her nightgown flowing to 
the floor as she stripped it over her head.  Then the quilt lifted and 
she was beside me, her mouth on mine, her tongue in my cheek, her 
hands very busy, our legs intertwining, a large dug on my chest.

	"One of your duties," she whispered as she clawed at me, 
rubbing her furry mound up and down my thigh, "one of your most 
important duties in fact, is to take care of my physical needs, at least 
once a fortnight, perhaps more frequently.  It depends on how well 
you perform.  If you do your task properly, you will receive more 
food at breakfast and a pie once a week.  My lord and master is 
seldom home, and when he is, he pokes the servants more often 
than he lies with me.  I am, evidently, too old and ugly to interest 
him any more."

	I nodded and caressed her warm, soft flesh, hotly erect and 
ready for my test.  She did taste good and her body did not feel too 
old for anything.  Night is a wonderful invention and as old Ben 
Franklin noted, all cats are gray in the dark.

	"I like to be loved strongly, slowly and for as long as possible.  
Can you oblige?"  One of her hands found the sensitive head of my 
quickly-upright prod and she felt it, took it into her palm.  She 
stroked down my heavy-veined shaft, moving the foreskin back and 
forth, and made an odd noise in her throat when she cupped my 
hard ballocks.  "I'm ready," she said, rolling to her stomach and 
pulling her knees up under her, lifting her wide rump and taking a 
deep breath.  By then my eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and I 
could see she was a well--rounded woman with a great deal of hair, 
a rather thick waist, a strong chin and sloping shoulders.  Her 
breasts were pendulous and her nipples very large and dark.  She 
was about five feet tall and went some ten stone I suppose.

	I clambered up behind her, half awake by then, kneaded her 
fleshy buttocks, lodged my weapon in her dripping cunny and 
shoved it up into her without further by-play.  She was pleasantly 
tight and deeply muscled as well as hot and moist.

	She gasped and quaked and uttered an animal-like cry, like a 
fox caught in a trap.  Then she sucked in air and moaned, "Slowly, 
slowly, you big horse." She reached back and slapped my bare flank.

	I slid my hand through the thick hair beneath her soft, round 
belly and found her small prick, slippery and hard.  I teased it from 
its hiding place and stroked it as I rammed my spear up into her 
again and again, faster and deeper while my other hand kneaded a 
large breast.  She gushed lubricants and shivered a bit.

	"No hurry," she moaned, getting her feet atop my calves and 
rocking to and fro, breathing hard, trying to set the pace, heaving 
back against each of my thrusts.  The boards beneath my thin, corn-
shuck mattress creaked in protest.

	I slid both hands up to her dangling breasts and squeezed until 
she squealed, her protruding nipples hard between my fingers, as 
big as the first knuckle of my thumbs.  On and on I rogered this lush 
and pliant woman as she reared back and forth, meeting my efforts 
with her own, both of us snorting and beginning to sweat in the cool 
morning air.  She seemed tireless and difficult to rouse.

	"Now," she sobbed out, quivering all over, "by damn, sirrah, 
now, now, now, do it now." and she suddenly came after perhaps a 
hundred strokes, rearing and spasming, clamping me within her.  I 
slowed but did not stop, probing deeply, rocking my hips from side 
to side and letting my member enjoy itself with jumps and quivers at 
full extension while ripples ran through her vagina.  Then I reached 
up, grabbed a cross-beam, arched my back and jabbed faster and 
deeper until I came, spurting out my relief with a groan.

	Her head dropped between her elbows and her breathing 
deepened.  "Enough, enough," she gasped out, trying to pull away.  
There was no place to go since her head was right up against the 
wall of the barn.

	I held her rump tightly, slowed up my ramming, recovered my 
breath and said, "Soon," through clenched teeth.  When I climaxed 
again, after I had enjoyed her for another ten minutes or so, it was 
with a roar, pumping up into her five or six times until my ballocks 
emptied, and I was fully spent, my sweaty face lying on her heaving 
back.  Still I did not withdraw, but slowed to enjoy some very long 
strokes that finally ended when my limp member was expelled from 
her sodden slit, and she collapsed with a sigh.

	She rolled out, found her gown, pulled it over her head, and 
took another deep breath, her legs a bit wobbly.  "That was highly 
satisfactory," she said, and then she left.

	And that was how it went.  I nosed about, listened every 
chance I had, did the work I was assigned and rogered the mistress 
whenever she wished, in every position we could think of and a few 
we invented I am sure.  Then her daughter returned from England 
where she had been in some sort of school or convent.  She was, I 
suppose, sixteen or so, a bright and vivacious youngster who was 
fairly bursting out of her expensive, frilly, beribboned and extremely 
low-cut gowns.  She was ripe for plucking as they would have said 
back in Fredericktown.

	Shortly after her return, and on a morning after I had swived 
her mother in her own room to absolute distraction and whoops of 
pleasure, the bright girl cornered me in the barn.  She put her hand 
on my chest and pushed me back into an empty stall; then she 
jumped up into my arms and kissed me fiercely and wetly, gnawing 
at my mouth and grinding her young body into mine, her feet well 
off the ground.  I grabbed her muscular buttocks and held on tight, 
hardening as I did so and making her feel it.

	"What were you doing to my poor mother early this 
morning?" she asked when she pulled away, slid down my body 
and got both feet back on the floor.  Her nose came to about my 
breastbone.

	I just smiled down at her, enjoying the wicked gleam in her 
eyes and the yards of curls flowing about her nearly bare shoulders.  
I untied the satin bow between her luscious globes, the tops halves 
of which were already visible.

	"Well?" she said, playing with my shirt buttons and rubbing 
her pubic mound on my thigh while I cupped and lifted her firm 
breasts out of her stays, tweaking her pink nipples.

	I pulled her light dress from her shoulders and slid it down her 
arms until her large, upright boobies popped out into view in their 
surfeit of lace, rising atop the tight-laced stays that pinched in her 
tiny waist and pressed her orbs together.  She seemed to ignore 
their appearance except for straightening her back so they thrust up 
at me, rosebuds my mind catalogued.

	"I was just tickling her fancy," I said, as I fingered the 
underside of her firm breasts.  She was so young that they jutted 
from her chest despite their size.  She put her hands behind her back 
and wiggled under my petting, her tongue in the corner of her 
mouth. I bent and kissed her, and her hands came about my waist, 
mashing my swollen prick into her stomach and up into her cleavage.

	"Oh, really?" she said, breaking free from my mouth and then 
working on my waist buttons.  

	I teased up one small nipple and bent to lick it.  She grabbed 
the back of my head with her free hand and pulled me to her chest 
so I opened wide my mouth a gobbled up much of her warm breast, 
licking, sucking and nibbling until she squealed and pushed me off.  
By then my codpiece was fully opened and my aching member 
lashed out as if made of spring steel, pointing up between us like a 
digging rod.

	"Sblood," she cried, stepped back, hand to her mouth, eyes 
wide as it flailed about between us.  

	I flounced up her skirts, petticoats and shift, grabbed her butt 
and stepped between her legs so she could not see my red-headed 
spear anymore.  But she felt it as it as I lifted her, and it probed her 
thighs and belly, seeking an opening.  I pushed her back to the 
board wall, bent my knees, lifted and spread her thighs a bit and 
then seated my weapon in her tiny, hot, wet cunny.  She gasped.  
Her nether lips parted and the head slipped into her like a plug in a 
bung hole, turning in her outer lips and rubbing her little prick as it 
spread her open. She clamped her legs about me and arched back.

	"Oh, law, " she said quietly, watching my face as I penetrated 
her with difficulty, gritting my teeth.  "I had a few boys over there, 
but their things were no bigger than my fingers and, ah, ugh, oh 
`sbones."  She stopped as I lifted one trembling leg up above my 
hipbone and plunged an inch or two farther into her tight and 
quivering passage. She was panting, eyes closed, wriggling on the 
end of my spear like a gigged frog, her shoulders and curly head on 
the wall.

	"Boys," I said, lifting the other leg higher and ramming just a 
bit more up into her very well-greased but narrow passageway.  She 
crossed her ankles behind me and bent against my locked hands in 
the small of her back.  I sank it into her, slowly and with some effort, 
but all the way to the hilt, striking gristle as our pubic hair mingled 
and our bones rubbed together.  The board wall between the stalls 
flexed and bowed as I swived her, and she gasped out deep in her 
throat with every long, hard ram and creaking recoil.  It was a 
wonderful invention, that resilient piece of lumber that added 
motion to our efforts, that sprung her back on my root at every 
thrust, kicking and squealing.  I heard myself grunting with effort 
and worried a bit about getting splinters into her back.  She kicked 
my rump encouragingly.

	"Uhg, ugh, ugh," she sobbed and then, "ah, ah, gah, oh, oh, 
have mercy, please, please," and then just wheezing noises until she 
came, shivering and beating on me with her fists and crying, "Damn 
you, damn, damn." She moaned as her body spasmed repeatedly, 
"Beast, you've torn me apart, ruined me, `sblood."  She shuddered 
and seemed to collect herself, tossed the hair from her face, and 
said, quite calmly as I rammed my long pole into her continuously, 
mercilessly, deeply, fiercely, "Pull it out, sir.  Right now.  Put me 
down at once."

	I thrust on, nearing my own climax, and she pushed on my 
shoulders with both hands and let her legs fall away from my hips so 
her toes almost touched the ground.  "Please, please," she gasped, 
"really, please, pull it out." I was right on the verge, nearly out of 
control, ballocks churning, lava flowing, clamping her buttocks hard 
in both hands.

	I bent, kissed her mouth and quickly withdrew with a slurping 
pop.  Then I turned my back to her, fisted my shaft and gushed up 
streams of milky jism, my shoulders shaking.  She stood behind me, 
hand on my back, head alongside my arm, watching, trembling as 
ribbons and ropes of creamy white gushed into the straw.

	"Sblood," she said when I finished and put my sore and 
sodden member away.  "I'm sorry, really, really sorry."  She left me 
there, leaning back against the wall and trying to get my breath, and 
I watched her go, tying up her bodice, hips swinging from side to 
side, pushing back her luxuriant hair.  She was as tight a piece as I 
had ever shoved my spike into, and I could hardly wait to have her 
again. And she surely did curse a lot for one so young a genteelly 
reared.

	George, damn his eyes, intervened, and I was forced to go 
back and report my failure to secure any useful information while he 
crowed and bragged of supply ships and reinforcements galore with 
officers' names and regiments' colors.  I did not even know the girl's 
name, but I was determined to have her again.

	
<1st attachment end>


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