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Message-ID: <47860asstr$1084821004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: oldbill2@comcast.net
Subject: {ASSM} Rebel 046 (MFFFF hist)
Lines: 258
Date: Mon, 17 May 2004 15:10:04 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Rebel 046.txt" begin>

Rebel 046 (Old Bill) (MFFFF hist)

Quaker Sojourn

	You are not going to believe this next story.  I hardly believe it 
myself but I will write it down as I recall it, leaving out one or two 
embarrassing details.  I was headed back toward our retreating 
army, dodging patrols and well behind the pursuing British under 
Cornwallis when I came across a small settlement hidden in a gentle 
valley.  There were just a few wooden houses, perhaps ten, a small 
mill and a log meeting house.  The village was filled with Quakers or 
Friends, a breakaway sect perhaps, who seemed to be almost self-
sufficient and basically disinterested in the outside world and its 
problems.

	I knocked at the first house I came to, hungry and tired.  The 
woman who answered looked me up and down, smiled and invited 
me inside.  Her furniture was heavy and plain, her crockery 
utilitarian, her manner confident.  "I'm happy to see a man," she told 
as she set out bread and poured me some cider.  While she stirred 
her stew over the fire, she said her name was Anna and that her 
husband, along with most of the town's other young men, had run 
off to avoid being forced into the militia.

	"We don't hold with killing," she said.

	"Few do," I said, watching her stir and enjoying the sight as 
well as the smell.

	"And you?" she asked.

	"I'm a soldier," I admitted.  "I've killed men."

	She grunted and brought the iron pot to the table, ladled us 
both out a bowlful and sat across from me.  She was a fine looking 
young woman, her wispy hair drawn back into a bun at the nape of 
her neck.  Her dress was dark and plain, without decoration or lace, 
and the body beneath it both muscular and well rounded.  We ate.  
She doled out more for me, and her eyes never left my face as if she 
was studying me.  When she finished, she licked her lips, took my 
hand and led me to her bed.  "Time to sing for your supper," she 
said with a small laugh.

	She knelt on the side of her high bed, knees well apart, put her 
head down and lifted her wide rump.  I was never one to be 
begged, so I flipped open my codpiece, withdrew my swelling tool, 
tossed up her skirts and went to work, spreading her legs as a first 
step.  She was very tight and rather dry at first, but with some 
effort we got the long, hot shaft stuffed into her and after a dozen 
or so slow, deep thrusts, we were well lubricated and enjoyed a fine 
rogering that brought us both to huffing, moaning climaxes in just a 
few minutes.  It was nearly as matter-a-fact as ditch digging, 
seemingly emotionless, at least on her part.

	When I withdrew, she stood on wobbly legs and then 
collapsed across her bed, rolled to her back, arms spread wide, 
gasping for breath, chest rising and falling.  I crawled up between 
her legs, reseated my long, hard spear and drove it slowly into her 
squishy quim, arching up on extended arms to watch it progress into 
her.  She did not object, just looked at me blankly, her lips parted.  
Up came her legs to cross behind me, and she grabbed my shoulders 
and arched her back, biting at her lower lip as I sank to my elbows.

	"Oh, oh, oh," she cried once we got into proper rhythm, 
mouth gaping wide, eyes closed as our pace increase steadily.  We 
heaved into each other with all we could muster.  My thrusting 
drove her head and shoulders off the far edge of her bed before we 
came again, howling with pleasure and relief.  I fell away from her 
and pulled her to me, gobbling her mouth.  We rested, legs wound 
together, and when she got her breath, she sighed, "Enough, 
enough for now."

	I kissed her forehead sweetly, rolled out and buttoned up.

	"I've got some chores that need doing?" she said, up on one 
elbow, smiling at me as she tucked one large boobie back into her 
simple bodice.

	"Like the ones we just did?" I asked.

	"No," she giggled, "harder work.  Look up.  You can see 
through the roof."

	So I found the ladder and did some patching and reshingling 
for her and then split a bit of firewood.  When she called me to 
supper, I was surprised to find four young women and a wrinkled, 
white-haired man at the table, almost filling her small house.  I sat at 
the empty space beside him, bowed my head as he asked a blessing, 
and then ate a fine soup and some bread in relative silence, feeling 
the women's eyes on me from time to time.  When the light meal was 
concluded with a thick piece of apple pie, the man beside me cleared 
his throat and wiped his bearded mouth on the back of his hand.

	"These ladies," he said, gesturing at the four young matrons, 
"share a problem."  Their men have left them and stay away for fear 
of being forced into the army.  You may have heard such."

	"I've been told," I said.

	"As you can see," he smiled, "all these women are of an age 
when male companionship is, if not necessary, then certainly 
appreciated from time to time."

	I nodded and looked from face to young and shining face 
around the sturdy table.  All the girls smiled.  They were an 
attractive lot, plain farmwomen; healthy, sun-tanned, wide-hipped 
and deep-chested.  All had their hair knotted on the back of their 
heads and all wore the same sort of drab. home-made dress and 
short boots. All had work-worn hands and sinewy forearms.  They 
varied in size and shape, but none was more than twenty-five years 
I am sure.

	"Meg there," he nodded at the most mature of the four, "does 
have a child, a son, fine boy, but the others were only recently wed.  
What they would like, if you are willing, is to be refreshed, to be, 
well, how shall we say, to have conjugal relations with you as a 
substitute for their missing husbands, purely physical, you 
understand, no promises made or given.  You simply cover them."

	I looked from woman to woman and each one nodded at me 
and smiled.  My root trembled. I think I sighed.

	"You have met Anna here, our hostess this evening, and she 
has told them that you are fully competent to perform this, shall we 
call it, duty?  Well equipped, I believe she said."  The old man smiled 
at me.  "I would have volunteered myself, but I fear I am no longer 
up to the job."

	We all laughed briefly and two of the women blushed and 
covered their mouths.

	"They have made a schedule that assumes you will spend the 
night with one of them and then have congress with two others 
during the day, one around mid-day and another before this late 
supper."

	I nodded and felt my prod tingle in anticipation, fear or 
something akin to that, fear of failure perhaps.

	"They also have a number of other tasks, carpentry, tool 
repair and the like, that they would appreciate help with.  Jobs, like 
rogering, that are a bit much for me."

	I nodded again and took the man's knobby hand.

	"They hope you can stay a week, at least," he said, holding my 
paw until I smiled at him and nodded again.

	"I'll do my very best," I said.

	The man and the other three women left.  Anna squared away 
her home and washed the trenchers off in a bucket while I smoked a 
pipe, and then we were off to bed.  She insisted that I take her from 
behind, and I gave her what she wanted before getting what I 
wanted.  We slept well satisfied, and in the morning, I knelt between 
her raised knees while she watched in wonder as I massaged her 
narrow slit until I could lodge my huge shaft's purple head in her 
and then shove its full length slowly up her narrow and quivering 
passage as she spread her legs wide, lifted her knees back toward 
her ears and gasped when I struck bottom.

	She gritted her teeth and her eyes watered, but we sank the 
thing to the hairy hilt, drew it nearly all the way out and then thrust 
it deep again, and again, and yet again, and then enjoyed each other 
until we were spent and moaning, sweaty and pleased.  She fed me 
and set me to several chores including repair work on her damaged 
plow.  I was concentrating on that when Mildred, the smallest and 
probably the youngest of the four came to fetch me to her tiny 
home.  She offered me a basin of water while she undressed and 
slipped beneath her quilt so I stripped and washed my face, hands 
and privates and then joined her, ready for work.  She watched me 
cross the small room to her bed, lifted the quilt to admit me and 
looked a bit frightened since my privates were swelling in 
preparation for the tasks ahead.  She turned her back, burying her 
face in her hands and raised her buttocks in invitation.  I mounted 
her as gently as I could from behind, and she climaxed almost 
immediately, pounding the mattress with her fists as her whole body 
spasmed.  "Sbones, `sbones, `sbones," she cried. heaving away like a 
bitch in heat.

	Since I had barely begun, I got her turned about and was back 
into her before she could complain.  We bounced happily for a good 
while until she suddenly cried out and stiffened, kicking my legs.  
She fell back and I had to withdraw, still unsatisfied, as she went 
limp.  I lay beside her, stone hard, petted her hip but was not able to 
convince her to try again.  When my erection subsided, I dressed 
and went back to her table trying to calm myself, and the girl I had 
horsed stumbled out and fed me and herself without ever looking at 
me again. We never exchanged a single word.  I began to think this 
was a bad idea. 	 

	Late in the day, the oldest of the group with her young child 
at her side found me out working on a stump in the garden and 
beckoned me to follow her.  She deposited her son with another 
woman and took me to her home and her bed.  We rollicked and 
pleasured each other several times without bothering to disrobe and 
when we were through and stood kissing and holding each other in 
the middle of her room, I felt much better about my role. There is 
nothing like a good swiving to improve one's attitude.

	And so it went, a hearty plowing then a deep sleep followed 
by some morning exercises, two more rogerings and another 
bedding made the day.  I did my share of heavy farm work, 
enjoyed the plain meals and seemed to gain more endurance as time 
went on.  I think I may even have gained a pound or two.  I 
wondered if I could leave this idyllic existence but found that the 
choice was not mine; the women had decided that after each spent 
an evening and morning with me twice, I was finished.  

	Behind his tidy home Mr. Huffmann, the elderly village leader, 
had a well-equipped wood working shop where he made furniture 
and cabinets, in more of less the Shaker manner, plain and sturdy.  I 
had sat in one of the meetings he held on the Sabbath but found I 
could not tolerate the silences as well as the others could.  In his 
workshop, while the rest of the town worshipped in its own way 
for several hours, I found a foot-pedal lathe and some discarded 
baulks of hardwood.  With a piece of string I measured my erect 
member, both length and circumference, and then set to work 
turning out foot-long replica's of my lance with a small ridge marking 
its ballocked base and a knob for a handle behind that.  The heart-
shaped head I carved by hand, and then I sanded, oiled and 
smoothed the things until they were slick and pleasant to hold.

	At our last meal together I presented each of the young 
women with my truncheon-like gift.  Apple, ash, walnut and maple 
they were, each different but all the same, long and hard and silky-
smooth.  The women held the things, ran them through their hands 
and thanked me.  I hope they did them some good.

	The last night was with tiny Mildred, who had grown more 
willing to enjoy herself as time wore on and our joinings became 
more relaxed.  Now, smiling and eager, she welcomed me between 
her pudgy legs and whooped with joy when I rolled us over and let 
her pleasure herself atop my satisfied body.  After she came again, 
she collapsed atop me, huffing and smiling.  We slept.  In the 
morning, I was about to roll out of bed and take myself to the privy 
when she grabbed my wrist and pulled me back to serve her with 
my blood-hot prod until we both were gasping and sodden.

	After breakfast, I kissed all four good-bye, shook Mr. 
Huffmann's gnarled hand and headed back to the war. I still don't 
believe it.
	
	

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