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From: oldbill2@comcast.net
Subject: {ASSM} Rebel 047 (MFf hist)
Lines: 405
Date: Tue, 18 May 2004 17:10:04 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Rebel 047.txt" begin>

Rebel 047 (Old Bill) (MFf hist)

Irish Stew

	"Since you like to travel so much," Lt. Foster said, "suppose 
you go back into the city there, open your ears and close your 
mouth, stay out of loose women's arms, and try to discover what 
these foul Redcoats are up to."

	I cooked some rations, drew more ammunition, looked to my 
gear and was on my way, proud to be trusted after being on the list 
of deserters for some time.  The first night I was in the city, with my 
good horse carefully stabled, I ran into a very odd sort of business.  
As I left a tavern near the wharves, reasonably sober, a woman's 
shrill screams cut the night.

	"Please, please," she cried, "help me," and then her screech 
was cut short.

	I ran around the corner in time to see two men in dark coats 
loading a kicking woman, with her skirts up about her thighs, into 
the back of their hay wagon.  If it had not been for the flailing shift 
and white legs flashing, I probably would not have seen them in the 
gloom.  "Hold on," I yelled, charging at them, big knife in my hand.

	"Stay out of this," the one climbing up to the driver's seat 
yelled as his companion squared himself toward me with an 
oversized pistol in his hand.  I saw the pan flash and felt the ball tug 
at my britches, but in two more steps I was on the man, stabbing 
and slicing until he fell into the roadside stones, gurgling and 
spurting.  The driver lashed at me with his whip as he got the 
wagon into motion, but I leaped aboard and had little trouble 
tossing him off, halting the two horses and then gutting the stunned 
man who lay moaning on the road.  

	I drove the wagon to an empty lot, set the brake and crawled 
into the back where the woman sat in the hay sobbing into her 
hands.

	"Slavers," she sobbed out.  "That's what they was, slavers."

	Her shirt had been ripped open and her laced vest hung about 
her hips.  Her rounded shoulders and one full, firm breast stood 
exposed, nipple hardened in the chill air, and I was tempted to tuck 
it out of sight in my mouth as I put my arm about her shoulders and 
pulled her to me, one hand beneath her rounded butt and the other 
cupping her lush boob, my thumb busy at her jutting nipple.

	"Did you," she asked, blinking at me, "did you get them 
both?"

	I nodded and lifted her chin so I could kiss her soft lips.

	"They told me what they were going to do, how much they'd 
get for me," she said softly into my neck as I pushed her back into 
the hay, fully aroused by the fight and having felt her nipple harden 
under my caresses.  "What are you doing?" she sighed as I kissed 
her again.

	"Claiming my reward," I said, "for services rendered.  You 
have objections?"

	She grabbed my head with both hands and kissed me hard, 
thrusting her long tongue deep into my mouth and flicking its tip 
upward as I pried her knees apart.

	"I thought virtue was its own reward," she said with a laugh 
in her throat as she worked on my waist buttons.  I helped her since 
I was painfully erect and about to explode.

	I gabbed her hard butt and pulled her to me, sinking my 
engorged prod up into her willing flesh.  She was surprisingly tight 
and immediately responsive, wrapping her legs about me and 
grinding her body into mine as I thrust deeply into her pulsing quim.

	"Oh damn," she said, arching her back, "I haven't had 
anything like that in me for a long time."  She gritted her teeth and 
squeezed her eyes closed as our pace increased.

	I bit at my lower lip and heaved my hips back and forth, 
rearing above her, bracing my feet on the tailgate and ramming as 
deep as I could and then faster and faster until I came, pumping out 
my long-sought pleasure into her depths.  She shuddered but never 
paused, drawing me in, holding me there and, rocking from side to 
side until she spasmed and cried out, sending ripples along my still-
rigid cock.  I got my second wind, changed our position a bit by 
lifting her knees back toward her shoulders and then letting her 
hook her feet behind my head. 

	The woman panted, mouth agape as I heaved into her, striking 
bone and bouncing us both deeper into the straw, making the 
wagon springs squeal, rocking from side to side and rotating my 
hips as best I could.  I could not come again, but she managed 
another shattering crest of passion that tensed her body on my 
hungry spear, strong body arched like a bridge.  We pulled our 
clothes together, and I found a different inn, parked the rig, and 
took the girl inside where I could get a better look at her.  She was a 
tawny redhead with a freckled face, perhaps five-six or so, twenty 
or twenty-five I'd guess, well built but ill-clothed.  She ate like a true 
trencherman and poured beer down her gullet as fast as I did.  I 
was glad one of the men I had dispatched carried a heavy purse. 

	"Most call me Irish," she said.  "Hardly remember my name."

	"Tell me about those men."

	"I'd heard tales," she said, mopping her plate with a crust, 
"stories of women snatched out of their homes or off the streets."

	"You said slaves back there," I reminded her.

	"Right, they sells `em, they says, but more'n jus' tattle, sell girls 
to the swells to do with what they wants."  She nodded in 
agreement with herself and then pushed a thick lock of hair out of 
her face.  It was a good face, open and honest, bright-eyed.  She 
licked her lips and looked at me with hunger of a different kind.

	"Who says, who sells them?" I asked, refilling her mug.

	She wiped her mouth on her hand and sat back against the 
wall, pulling down her tattered blouse to display her plump bubbies 
at their fullest.  She took a deep breath, popping up her large nipples 
which looked slightly away from each other.  She looked down and 
grinned as the display.

	"It's a gang, cutthroats, and they get a fine price for the young 
ones so I hear.  They never comes back neither."

	"Sounds like some old woman's tale," I said. "Made up to 
scare the young `uns."

	"Show you tomorrow," she said, conjuring up another grin.  
"That pair, they tole me where I was bound, made a joke of it.  Even 
said a name, a man's name, Hardeson I think it was."

	"Tomorrow?" I said, feeling the blood running down into my 
groin as I watched her wriggle and her tongue lave her full lips.

	"Aye," she said, "too late now, dark out ain' it?"  Her hand 
clamped on my thigh and slid up to grasp my thick member.

	"True, true," I said.  "We'll find some way to wile away the 
hours, I'm sure."

	"Bet I can outlast ye," she said, sticking out her chin. "Y'wee 
man."

	It is a good thing I did not take her wager since I was 
exhausted and thoroughly spent when she as still ready for more 
after three or four lusty rounds of fast-paced rogering atop the 
splayed bed in our small room above the ordinary.  

	"A'right then," the girl said, letting my limp prick slide from 
her mouth, "you're done for less'n you want to eat me a bit, use 
your lazy tongue down in the sweet gash.  Do y'good, it might."

	"Later, later," I moaned, hoping for rest.

	"I'm not satisfied, horse-cock, I'm not," she complained.

	When we finally quit in the dawn, she cuddled warmly at my 
side, her groin a softened swamp, and whispered, "I've had a 
thousand men since I been on this side a'the ocean," she squeezed 
my satisfied prod, "but I never had nothing like that."

	"Think we're even," I said, petting her raised hip and 
wondering if we might manage to do it just once more before 
Christmas came.  She was drum tight for all her claimed experience 
and eager to please herself as well as my awful spear.

	We ate that morning and then I sold the horses and wagon to 
a smith who was not in the least curious.  We walked arm in arm 
down to the docks, feeling rich.  In the daylight, the girl's hair was 
full of coppery strands and auburn depths, a wild mix of reds, 
browns and blacks that flowed completely untamed halfway down 
her strong back.  I bought her a new shirt to wear, and she left the 
top three buttons undone just to please me as well as every man that 
looked on her.

	At a brick warehouse we stopped and she pointed.  "There's 
the name," she said.  "This is the place."  I was surprised she could 
read.

	Above the wide, green doors was painted "H. E. Hardeson" 
and "Shipping."  I stowed the woman in a tavern and went for a 
visit.  Inside the warehouse I found stacks of crates and barrels and 
in a corner, a small office and a lean man talking to a burly workman.  
When the steely-eyed man dismissed his subservient worker in his 
leather apron, I introduced myself and offered my hand.  It was 
ignored.  "Hardeson," was all the man said, making a wry mouth 
and sizing me up.

	"Looking for work," I said.

	"What can you do?"

	"Near anything," I said.

	"Might use you."  He fished a shilling from his waistcoat and 
handed it to me.  "Come back at sunset."

	I knuckled my forehead, said, "Aye, sir," to him and hurried 
back to make sure Irish had not found better company.  She did not 
seem the type to sit alone in a tavern for very long.

	She had a very young blonde perching beside her, way back in 
a dark corner.  "Look what I found," the redhead said.  "Bait."

	I wrinkled my forehead.

	"This here's Lucy. She says she's sixteen, and says she's an 
orphan."

	The blonde girl nodded.  She might have been sixteen.  She 
might have been thirteen. Nubile she surely was. About some things 
I seldom inquired.

	"She come here looking for work," Irish said.  "And I grabbed 
her and fed her `fore she got devoured."

	"Good," I said.  "I found employ over there." I waved and the 
tavern girl brought me some beer and grinned at me.

	"See," said Irish with an evil smile, elbowing the slight girl 
beside her.  "See, what did I tell ye?  They c'n tell."

	I spent the rest of the day asking questions while the women 
went out to spend some of my money.  We met again as the sun 
began to set, ate a decent meal and saw about lodgings for the 
night.  Then I crossed the street and reported for work.

	Mr. Hardeson sat behind his desk with a lamp behind him.  
"One of our customers, a good customer who pays well," he said to 
me, steepling his fingers under his pointed chin, "has a need for 
women, young women, as bonny as possible.  We don't want 
anybody's wife or daughter, just girls at loose ends, girls nobody 
will miss."

	"What's he want them for?" I asked.

	"Not your concern," the man said without a smile.  "You fetch 
me a young woman, not too damaged you hear, and I'll pay you a 
quid for each one that's good enough, two if they be really young 
and very pretty."

	"Then what?" I persisted.

	"They're sold into service, not that it's your business, 
auctioned off like the indentured curs you see around here from 
time to time, at least you used to before the stupid rebellion.  Filling a 
void; that's what we're doing."

	"I see," I said without emotion.  "Very well, two pounds for 
youngsters, eh?"

	He nodded.

	"In one piece," he said as I left, did a bit of scouting around 
and headed back to the tavern.

	Irish and the blonde girl had acquired a pair of dandies who 
were buying them drinks and chatting them up back in a dark 
corner, all but slobbering over them.  When I sat, they gulped and 
left in a hurry.

	"Now," said Irish with an edge to her voice, "see what 
y'done, scared `em off, an' a fine pair too.  Did y'note their 
waistcoats?"

	"Offered me a crown, the short one did," said Lucy with a 
smile.

	"We know where they keep them, the girls," Irish said.

	"Not at the warehouse?" I asked.

	She shook her wild mane.  "Down by the river, in a kind of 
cattle pen, under guard."

	"Must be a dozen or more, poor things," Lucy said.  "Wearing 
chains. Look like beat dogs, they do."

	So we did a bit of plotting and planning and then were off to 
bed.  Lucy lay at my back, grinding her damp mound into my 
buttocks and clawing at me while I gave it to Irish, her leg hooked 
over mine and my paw clamped on her hard butt.  She ended up 
atop me, with the blonde girl sitting beside my head, pleasuring 
herself with both hands and all but cheering as the redhead rode me 
until she came, grunting with pleasure.  Then Lucy demanded her 
due and, after a bit of a rest, I managed to get the fat head of my 
aroused mast into her tiny slit, and she was quite satisfied with half a 
loaf before she called it quits, both hands on my striving rod.  She 
was tight as a knothole but eager as sin.

	We slept, rose early and without further rogering, ate and 
then went to visit the docks and see the penned-up girls.  It looked 
like two men on guard and the women, they were of all colors and 
sizes but mostly young, all wore four-foot ankle chains that let them 
walk but not run.

	As we had agreed, I presented Irish to Hardeson, accepted his 
payment, and hurried back to the tavern to keep Lucy out of harm.  
Standing at the foot of our rickety bed, I managed to get perhaps 
two-thirds of my thick, hot pole into her before we dined, but she 
was fully satisfied even if I was not.  Once more we headed for the 
river, and there found Irish, chained like the others, and we hoped, 
spreading the word and making mischief.  The little girl and I 
returned to our tavern, ate and drank a bit, and talked some.  She 
told me that her oldest brother, some twenty years her senior, had 
deflowered her when she was twelve and that when her father 
began crawling into her bed, she ran off and sold her services to a 
sea captain for her passage to America.  He and his mate enjoyed 
her with some regularly for six or seven weeks and then sold her 
into bondage without a second thought.  She ran off from her 
master when the revolt began, with help of his son, who had been 
lying with her at every opportunity.  "Quite a story," I said.

	"Most of it's true," she answered with a smile.  "The son had 
been horsing me, but he didn't help me a bit, not really."

	I assured her that Irish could take care of herself and she 
assured me that she was prepared to go through with our plan so 
we went off to bed and did what we could to tire each other.  After 
I finally managed to lodge my shaft fully in her tender passage, 
surge on to a rousing climax and bring her to squealing shudders, 
we slept well.  In the morning I showed her my upstanding cock, 
and I must say that she was awed by it.  She touched it tentatively, 
peeled back the foreskin and kissed its immense head, and then 
rolled to all fours and raised her rump, smiling back at me.

	I was surprised when I spread her buttocks and the head 
popped into her and even more surprised when I was able to force 
the entire length of the swollen shaft up into her throbbing cunny 
and all the way into her depths.  She moaned some and shook her 
hips back and forth, but we had a fine and lengthy congress that 
brought us both to grunting climaxes.  Then we ate and I sold her 
into slavery, demanded and getting three pounds for her by 
claiming she was barely fourteen and might be a virgin. Hardeson 
praised my diligence and said he wanted more young ones like Lucy.

	My horse was glad to see me when I returned to the stable 
where I had left her, and I paid for her care and saw to my 
weapons.  Our plan was for a noon uprising, but when I got to the 
pen, it was empty.

	"Where are the women?" I asked one of the men who had 
been on guard.

	"Sale today," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

	"Damn," I said, mostly to myself.

	The sale had barely started when I found the place, and I was 
surprised there were so few buyers, less than half a dozen.  There 
was a Redcoat officer or two, a dark-skinned man who I was told 
represented one of beys of Algiers, two tri-corn hatted merchants 
with portly bellies, and a strange looking woman swaddled in a 
heavy cloak.  I caught Lucy's eye and followed her look to spot 
Irish, who was sporting a black eye that was new and a fat lip.  She 
nodded at me with a clenched jaw, and I smiled at her.

	Hardeson himself was conducting the sale and when he pulled 
the first girl up on the stand beside him and tore her shift to her 
waist, I decided it was time to act.  I jumped up beside him and 
jabbed my large pistol into his gut.

	"Sale's over!" I yelled at the knot of would-be buyer.  Then I 
turned toward Irsh and yelled, "Set `em free!"

	"Now!" she cried, and the dozen or so young women, with 
their ankles still chained overpowered the two men standing guard 
over them, beat with their own cudgels, drove them both off with 
bloody faces, and then stumbled off in all directions, disappearing 
into the town.  That left me with Hardeson, Lucy and Irish.

	"What shall I do with him?" I asked the women.

	"Gut him," Irish said.  "He tried to get his puny horn in me las' 
night."

	"Into the river," suggested the small blonde.

	I yanked the man's heavy purse from his belt and urged him to 
the side of the quay.  "Nice day for a swim," I said, giving him a 
shove.  He sank like a stone, leaving just a pool of bubbles that soon 
disappeared.

	I am not sure what happened during the next day or two, but 
I remember ending up sore and happy as I headed back to the war.

	

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