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From: oldbill2@comcast.net
Subject: {ASSM} Rebel 043 (MFFF hist)
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Date: Thu, 13 May 2004 18:10:03 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Rebel 043.txt" begin>

Rebel 043 (Old Bill) (MFFF hist)

Brigid's Return

	"I believe you know my dear wife," the captain said calmly, 
nearly giving me a heart attack.  

	Suzanne smiled sweetly at me, and I took her offered hand 
and said, "Of course, that unfortunate business."

	"Yes, yes," said the captain quickly.  "Well, while you've been 
off gallivanting, she and her sister - I believe you've also met Brigid - 
and a friend of theirs have been visiting the camp."

	I nodded and watched Suzanne lick her lips and take a breath 
to poke out her lovely boobs, elbows back, nipples hard. I 
wondered if she still had my old shirt.  I remembered Brigid too and 
what we had done in bed that night and next morning, the three of 
us. My member tingled and my back spasmed briefly.  I tried not to 
moan but felt sweat pop out on my forehead and my stones tingle as 
the woman pushed her belly forward and wriggled her hips as she 
stood behind her pompous husband.

	"Now, we're moving on and they need to go home, back to 
western Massachusetts.  Crossing the Hudson's the only tricky part, 
but Suzanne knows the best ferries, up near the Tappan Zee, don't 
you, dear?"

	The young woman nodded and licked her soft lips, leaving 
them slightly parted.  "I can hardly wait to get back to my own bed," 
she said, holding my gaze with her dark eyes and taking another 
deep and exciting breath that nearly popped her large globes free of 
her lace-trimmed bodice and sturdy stays.  She curled her tongue 
before slipping it back into her mouth and smiled at me.  I thought 
about what we could do in her bed, in any bed, but I 
underestimated by at least half.

	So I honed my blade, shaved, put together my kit, drew some 
ammunition, tied my horse on the back of their light barouche, 
hitched up their two heavy-boned grays, met their buxom friend 
Ann who giggled and stared at my groin, tied on their luggage and 
off we went the next morning on what should have been a week-
long trip there and back for me.  The captain gave me a purse for 
meals and the ferry, and I saw to it that the women had a small, 
loaded pistol they could reach, just a pop-gun really, a noise-maker.  
They all protested such precautions, saying they had no difficulty on 
their trip to visit their kinfolk in the army just a fortnight previously, 
bringing all sorts of fancy supplies.  I insisted and had each of them 
fire the gun once before we left.  They did it with eyes closed and 
girlish squeals of surprise, but they did it.  None of them could hit a 
good-sized tree from fifteen feet.

	We enjoyed a mid-day meal they had packed, and I tried not 
to listen to their chatter, some of which was obviously about me and 
my foul habits, gross abilities and physical equipment.  The road was 
in good shape, the weather was fair, the team was willing, and, with 
occasional rests, the big horses gobbled up the miles.  We came to a 
low-roofed, ivy-covered tavern Suzanne remembered and stopped 
for the night having covered, I estimated, almost forty miles.  The 
innkeeper gave the ladies a big, soft bed and found a place up under 
the eaves where I could sleep on some old quilts but where I could 
barely sit up much less stand.  We ate in relative silence, enjoyed a 
bottle of local wine, promised each other to be ready to go early so 
we could reach the Hudson ferry before dark, and went off to our 
clearly separate beds. I must say I did not like the smile Suzanne 
gave me as she mounted the stairs, lifting her skirt to display her 
long legs.  It was the kind of look I've seen hunters get when their 
prey is cornered.

	So it did not surprise me that I heard the ladder rattle and 
soon saw Susanne's curly head appear in the attic.  She knelt beside 
me, having already shed her stays and stockings.  She pulled her 
shift over her head, letting me admire her lush, warm body in the 
moonlight coming from the narrow window at the end of the eaves.  
I grabbed a breast.  It more than filled my hand.  She giggled and 
fell atop me.

	"I won," she whispered, as she curled in beside me and 
gobbled up my mouth while my hands enjoyed themselves on her 
hills and valleys.  "We played odds and evens."  She wiggled nicely 
as our legs intertwined, my knee bringing her to trembling, liquid 
and heated readiness in less than a minute.  "Ann topped Brigid so 
she'll be here in the morning, lucky girl."  She stroked me, held me 
firmly and made a hungry noise in the throat as she stroked the 
length of my pride and joy.  "I told her she was the real winner."   
She bent and licked my ram's impatient head, and then she rolled to 
her back, urged me to get aboard and locked me in with her legs.  "I 
hope you'll be gentle with her." 

	"Of course," I sighed as I speared her until our belly hair was 
mingled.  It was like pressing my cock into a tightly-clasping and 
well-greased oven.  

She moaned, "Oh damnme, I'd forgotten the size of that 
terrible thing."  She lifted her hips and sucked in air as I sank it up 
into her velvet tunnel the second time.  "Go on, go on," she gasped 
as her liquefied cunny quivered and spasmed.  I did and we moved 
quickly to gallop.  My memory had been true, she was a terrific lay, 
selfless, cooperative, energetic and grateful, throbbing within when 
she came, lubricating us for further pleasure and then encouraging 
us to discover it.  I might have tried some more imaginative 
positions, but the lack of headroom limited our fleshy permutations.

	Twice was barely enough for her, and I held her atop me after 
she had loosed a screech the second time that might have frightened 
the horses or raised the dead.  She gulped on my shoulder and 
heaved up and back until we both knew there was no more to be 
done right then, at least not that way.  She crouched beside me after 
my spent member oozed out of her, found her shift, whispered, 
"That was wonderful, just wonderful, like I remembered only 
better." She bent and kissed me, jabbing her tongue down my 
throat.  "I can hardly believe it," she sighed and went back down 
the ladder, her garment in her hand.  I think I was asleep before she 
reached the bottom rung.

	As promised, Ann appeared in the gray light of false dawn.  
She was a placid, solid, rounded girl with wide hips whose age I 
could not guess, perhaps twenty, but she had very healthy 
appetites.  She loved to eat and loved to swive.  While she was in my 
care, she got her fill of both.  I had my usual morning problem, both 
long and hard as well as thick and hot, and the girl arrived fully 
anticipating it.  I helped her skin out of her frilly nightdress, caressed 
her a bit, kissed her here and there, sucked her protuberant nipples 
and fingered her furry cunny.  She sighed and heaved, grabbed her 
knees to spread her chubby legs, and we began a mutually pleasing 
effort after I spread her thick lips with my thumbs and set my pike's 
fiery head in place.  She had obviously been thinking about the 
morning exercise before she mounted the ladder.  I banged my head 
on a roof beam when she heaved me upward and continued on 
heaving her lush body onto mine after our initial success.  She was 
wheezing and quivering when we finally pulled apart and lay puffing 
next to each other, happy and excited, but willing to try again. My 
shaft still hard and thick, trembling for action, rigidly curved and 
dripping with our fluids.

	"They were right," she moaned, her amazing chest heaving, 
breasts spotted with my pinches and bites, soft globes hanging in my 
face.  "I thought they had been jesting.  That's a real wonder, a 
Maypole, a main mast," she said, holding the soggy thing while I 
mouthed her huge breast with its pebbled nipple.

	The real wonder rose again under her ministrations, she 
mounted it, bumped her head on a rafter, and we managed to 
grapple together side by side and satisfy each other with our 
tongues and hands busily engaged.  She only pulled her mouth away 
to cry out.  Then, as I climaxed for the second time, she screamed 
silently into my throat, a long, shuddering exhale while we spasmed 
again and again as I extended myself and fired my load. I heard 
someone make an odd throat sound; a sort of whinny, then realized 
it was me.

	The ladder shook and a female voice asked, "Aren't you randy 
beggars done yet?  Time to go."

	I rolled the girl to her back, satisfied myself with some deep 
and rapid plowing that left her shaking and spent, mouth agape, 
eyes closed.  I helped her don her gown, kissed her sweetly, 
caressed her overflowing breasts, raked back her wild hair and 
watched her disappear, still breathing hard, my come streaking her 
thighs.

	We ran into trouble an hour or so later with Brigid sitting 
beside me on the driver's seat, her hand stroking my thigh, its heel 
at my prod while she whispered foul things in my ear, threats about 
what she planned to do to me.  A subaltern wearing a green uniform 
jacket and an Indian wearing white leggings and little else stepped 
into the road fifty yards before us.  I looked back and found a 
mixed party of what appeared to be redskins and Royal Greens 
closing in.  They had eyes only for the women in the open carriage 
and were all but salivating.  I could hardly blame them.

	"Stay calm," I yelled down at my passengers as I applied the 
brake and steadied the horses.

	"Get out, get down," the Brit ordered.  It turned out that he 
was the only Englishman there, one of Johnson's men, although 
some of his native soldiers wore red coats.  The Greens were all 
loyalists of course.  He took my purse and ignored my big bayonet 
while one of the Indians made off with my horse and musket.  The 
Indians quickly found the women's pistol and my spare ammunition 
while they pawed at the females and took their reticules.  "Expecting 
trouble?" asked the officer as he stuffed the pistol in his belt while 
his savages stood about and admired the young women who were 
huddled together and very wide-eyed, clinging to each other, 
luscious chests heaving beautifully.

	"Some," I said.  "These ladies are on their way home, to 
Massachusetts."

	"Are they?" said he, smacking his lips.  "Very tasty, indeed.  
Well perhaps they could pause for an hour or two and entertain my 
men."

	"You wouldn't give white women to those savages, would 
you?" I asked, wondering if they were any worse than the Germans 
and doubting it.

	"Might," he said, jiggling my heavy purse.  "Perhaps you can 
entertain us, too."  He cocked his head and looked up at me.  
"You're big enough to make it a fair fight, a least you'd have a 
sporting chance." He chuckled.

	"I'm a soldier, you can hold me prisoner and do what you like, 
but let them go," I asked.  "They're just civilians."

	He smiled, and marched us off to his Indian camp.  By the time 
we got there, all three young women had been roughly fondled, lost 
their necklaces and ear bobs, and Ann's bodice had been ripped 
away and her large, round breasts bobbled in the sunlight beneath 
her thin shift. The green jackets had gone back to other duties 
evidently, probably operating other roadblocks.

	The lieutenant summoned a big, young warrior in a 
breechclout.  "This in Umagh, the chief's youngest son," he said, "our 
champion knife fighter.  I see you have a blade.  Will you fight him 
for the girls?" He smiled at me.

	"You'll let them go?"  I heard one screech behind me and 
turned to see Suzanne being pulled to the ground by a pair of young 
boys.  The officer made them stop and helped the girl to her feet, 
apologized with a bow, and returned to me as the girl restored her 
charms into her clothes.  The boys scurried off, laughing and holding 
their groins.  I held Suzanne's eyes for an instant.  She was very 
frightened as she dusted her skirts.

	"Yes," he said with a smile.  "Defeat this man, I'll let all of you 
go.  Lose and I give the women to my braves.  They won't last until 
sundown I fear, but you'll be long past caring."

	"I have no choice," I said, "except to be a coward like you.  We 
don't make war on women."

	He hit me in the mouth, a pretty good blow that knocked me 
to my knees, spitting blood.  "When I finish with this filthy redskin, 
you bastard, I'll fight you," I growled at him.

	The big Indian smiled as another, older member of his clan tied 
our left wrists together with straps of rawhide.  I had taken off my 
shirt and given it to Ann so we were both bare to the navel.  He 
was very muscular young man with thick legs and heavy shoulders, 
and I studied him as another man checked the knots and then 
stepped away.  I was still drooling blood from a split lip as a crowd 
of Indians and two or three green jackets encircled us.  I did not see 
any better, but I expect there was. The girl was clinging to each 
other and trying to avoid the advances of Indians with bulging 
breechcloths.

	The gray-haired man checked the knots he had tied and 
stepped back, nodding and saying something I did not understand. 
With a roar the man I was tied to sliced at me with his long, steel 
blade, cutting me across the left shoulder as I ducked away.  Not 
deep, but it hurt like a burn.  Then he jabbed underhanded at my 
belly, almost disemboweling me and cutting the inside of my left 
forearm.  I yanked him forward, butted him and aimed at his groin, 
but he twisted away and I only nicked his thigh.  I was surprised 
how strong he was.  When he braced his feet, I could not move him.  
We settled down to blade clashing, feints and lunges, both bent at 
the waist.  I nicked his ear and he pinked me hard in the ribs when 
my foot slipped.  I fell to my knees then, crying out, and as I had 
hoped, he lunged at me and I pulled him off his feet, smashed him 
face-first into the dirt, bent his left arm behind him until the shoulder 
crunched, put my knee on his spine and my bayonet tip in the back 
of his neck.  I could feel the strength in his bent arm and had to 
ignore his kicking legs as I poked him hard enough to bring blood.  
He let go of his knife and tried to grapple me away, pulling at my 
leg.

	"Must I kill him?" I asked the scowling officer.  He shook his 
head, and I released the man and cut the strap between our hands.  
He left, head down, disgraced but alive, rubbing his shoulder, and I 
turned to the Brit.  "Your turn," I said, crouching and pointing my 
bayonet at his lean gut.  I spat to the side, surprised I could actually 
spit.

	He smiled and pulled his sword, giving him two feet of reach.  
We circled each other, eyes locked.  When he swung at me, I 
chopped at his blade, stepped aside as he lunged forward, kicked 
him in the groin, took his sword from him by twisting his wrist and 
put him on his back with my knife at his throat and my knee in his 
groin. It was the shortest fight I can recall.  I looked up and found 
the eyes of the gray-haired man who had tied our hands.  He shook 
his head, and I put the tip of my blade in the young officer's nostril 
and flicked it open.  Then I got off the lieutenant, spat on him, 
kicked him in the ribs and sheathed my bayonet while he sat there 
bleeding into his hands.  I retrieved my purse and the small pistol.

	I herded the women back to their carriage, with Ann wearing 
a green jacket to cover her nearly-bare chest.  Brigid dabbed at my 
bleeding shoulder, but neither of my other cuts was very deep.  We 
moved down the road in the woods silently, all of us thinking our 
own thoughts when a ball smashed into the back of the driver's seat 
between Brigid and me, and we immediately heard a musket fire 
from right ahead.  There in the roadway stood the Indian I had 
fought, reloading his Brown Bess.  I flicked the reins and yelled at 
the horses, and they reluctantly broke into a canter.  I pulled the 
whip and popped it by their ears and they strained a bit more. The 
Indian stood in his long, white gaiters, planted stubbornly in the 
roadway, ramming home his cartridge.  The horses finally broke into 
a run under my loud urging.  The brave was just withdrawing his 
ram rod when the offside gray knocked him down with his broad 
chest, and we felt the wide wheels roll over the man's body. He 
uttered a single, sharp scream behind us.  I pulled back on the reins, 
stopped the carriage, jumped down and walked back to where the 
big Indian writhed on the ground.

	The horse had kicked him in the face and one broad iron 
wheel had evidently gone right between his legs, mashing his 
stomach, ribs, internal organs, member and stones to jelly and 
dislocating his hip while the other wheel had broken his right arm at 
the wrist as he tried to protect his head and torn his scalp and ear.  

	"Kill me," he moaned, looking up at me, pain and fright evident 
in his dark eyes.  I took the spike bayonet from his nearby musket 
and put it in his left hand.  "I can't," he whispered, "my back."  His 
arm trembled and his feet kicked weakly.  I bent his left arm until the 
long blade was just above the middle of his chest.  Then I wrapped 
his fingers tightly around it with his thumb on top. His eyes moved 
to watch me.

	"There?" I asked, poking it into him.

	He nodded, and I stomped down driving the spike all the way 
through him.  He jumped but did not cry out, and I left him there, 
eyes wide and staring at nothing, his hand still on the bayonet, and 
went back to the waiting women.

	"Is he dead?" Brigid asked.

	I nodded and got the horses moving toward the river.

	We reached the ferry an hour after sunset, traveling very 
slowly for the last couple of miles.  With materials borrowed from 
the innkeeper, Suzanne sewed up my shoulder and Brigid bandaged 
my ribs with linen.  We ate a good meal, and adjourned to the only 
bed available at the time of our late arrival. It was plenty big enough 
in width, but I would have had to lie on an angle to get both head 
and feet under the quilts.  It had slats instead of ropes and a corn 
shuck mattress, but it was clean and reasonably comfortable. The 
women stood and looked at it dubiously.

	Ann found a dress in her small trunk after we all had visited 
the privy.  "Ladies," I announced when we were ready to blow out 
the lamp, "I'm tuckered and hurt.  There will be no games tonight.  
We'll just sleep, rest and recover.  In the morning, if Suzanne and 
Ann will give us some time, Brigid and I will see about our other 
needs if we can."

	They looked disappointed, crestfallen, especially dark-haired 
Brigid who was almost in tears, radiating warmth and want.  She 
had spent much of the day pawing at me, holding my hand between 
her legs from time to time.  But they got in the big bed, pulled up the 
quilts, hugged each other, curled and slept while I stretched out on a 
blanket and quilt by the door using my britches as a pillow.  I've 
slept in much worse places, and I suspect my snoring may have 
bothered them since I had taken it a gallon or so of the local ale, but 
we slept.

	I rose first, amazingly hard, and went out to the necessary to 
get rid of some beer.  By the time I returned, still fiercely but not as 
spectacularly engorged, Suzanne and Ann were dressed and pulling 
on their shoes.  Brigid lay, smiling, in the middle of the big bed, 
hands behind her head, knees raised.  The other two left, I locked 
the door, shucked off my shirt and climbed under the quilt, 
following where my trembling bowsprit led, its rigid shaft heavily 
veined and thickly ridged, its head the color and shape of a plum.  
Brigid welcomed me with open arms and legs, and we were joined 
almost instantly as her pouting lips parted under my prodding.  She 
screeched as I eased it into her, and we rolled about, humped and 
heaved and spent ourselves time after time until I lay exhausted with 
the young women's knees near my elbows and her head between 
my feet.  She was sweat soaked and well past the point of 
satisfaction.  I patted her rear, turned her about, kissed her 
forehead and pried her off of me when she demanded more.

	"We need to get on the road," I said.  "Come on."  She kissed 
me, and clambered out of bed, looking dissatisfied.  We dressed, 
held each other silently and went down to join the others who had 
finished breakfast by then and seemed very impatient. Brigid later 
told me that the sounds of the bed pounding on the floor had 
sounded like a thunderstorm.

	By early afternoon, they were home, at least at the captain's 
home where I was to leave them.  They insisted that I stay for a 
meal, which was grand.   Then they begged me to spend the night, 
which was beyond description.  And I stayed the next day, of 
course, since it was drizzling.  And then the following night because 
the roads were soft.  I was a bit tardy getting back to the war, but 
carried a note from the captain's wife praising me for my fortitude 
and describing the Indian business in flowery language.  The captain 
read it through, raised an eyebrow and said, "Dismissed," after I 
returned what little was left in his purse. Suzanne did return my 
long-lost shirt, clean and mended, for which I was thankful.  I was 
sore for a week.



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