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Message-ID: <47949asstr$1085253002@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: oldbill2@comcast.net
Subject: {ASSM} Rebel 052 Mercy (MF)
Lines: 198
Date: Sat, 22 May 2004 15:10:02 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Rebel 052.txt" begin>


Rebel 052 Mercy (MF)

Mercy

	"Come," the woman said with a small laugh, "let us have no 
false modesty.  You have seen my body.  Show me yours."  She 
fluffed up the pillows behind her and pulled the blankets into her 
lap, her luscious breasts jutting out above them, rich and ripe.

	"As you wish," I said, "I am, after all, your prisoner."

	She chuckled.  "Just so.  Be quick about it."

	I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it aside, unbuckled 
my heavy belt and sat to pull off my boots and britches.  Then I 
stood, put my fists on my hips and turned to face her, trying to look 
serious while I sucked in my gut and willed blood into my groin, 
flexing my cock at her.

	She looked me up and down twice, made a wry face, took a 
deep breath which raised her globes with their dark nipples, and 
said, "I suppose, but you are surely the hairiest beast I've ever seen 
other than a black bear."  She tossed aside her covers and moved to 
the side of her high bed.  "I'm surely not going to have you atop 
me."

	She spread her knees, braced her heels on the side board and 
gestured with a crooked finger.  I stepped between her legs as my 
prong rose and hardened.

	She stroked it with both hands.  "Silk over iron," she said, 
offering me her mouth.  I took it, hands on her smooth shoulders.  
She pulled me closer to her furnace.

	"Now there is absolutely no hurry," she said when her mouth 
was free.  "I hate these jackrabbits who hop in and out."

	I slipped my hands down to her hips, squeezing her breasts 
briefly on the way, and seated my overheated ram, its shaft now 
swollen fatter than its head.  She rocked her hips up to make it 
easier.  In it went, smoothly and slickly.  She exhaled and grasped 
my buttocks.

	A good while later, as she lay stretched across her bed with 
her legs still dangling off the side and I knelt above her, still ramming 
vigorously, still in our first coupling, slapping our bodies together, 
she beat on the mattress with her fists and sobbed out, "Enough, 
you beast, haven't you had enough?"

	I lifted her legs up on my thighs, grabbed her ankles and 
spread her wider as I pushed her feet back above her head.  
"Almost," I said as my thrusts became impossibly close together, just 
a blur of action marked by slapping sounds.  Finally, I climaxed as 
she had several times already, rested her legs on my shoulders and 
slowed my pelvic motions until I was nearly still, buried in her, my 
root jumping and throbbing but spent.

	I let my hands slide up to her breasts, held them and bent to 
lick her nipples as my softened member slid from her quim's grip.  
Then I stood, pushed her limp body back under the covers and 
found my clothes.

	She whimpered and complained as I dressed.  "Now you'll 
leave, I suppose.  You taken what you want."

	"No," I said, "I'm going to go downstairs and wait for your 
brother to come home.  Then he and I are going to have a little talk."

	"A talk," she gasped, "a talk.  You're going to kill him, aren't 
you?"

	"I might," I admitted quietly.  "he's a deserter and he may be a 
traitor."

	"No, I'm sure he still favors independency," she said.  
"Honestly."

	I got this job because I knew the man, had fought beside him, 
gotten drunk with him, even shared a blanket once or twice 
although he was an officer and I was never more than a corporal.

	"I hope so," I said.  "I surely hope so."

	"He may kill you," she said loudly.

	I nodded and left her room.  She was right.  He was a good 
fighter, courageous and strong.

	I was halfway down the stairs when he and three other men 
came through the back door, cursing loudly and calling out for the 
girl.  "Mercy," one yelled, "get down here, you prime bitch."

	Then they saw me and the former lieutenant recognized me.  
He hustled the other men into a front room and came up a step or 
two to meet me.  "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, 
hand on the hilt of his sword.

	"Came to see you, find out why you left so sudden like."

	"None of your business, nor Cap'n Foster's either.  It's my 
affair."

	"Where can we talk?" I asked.

	"Have you seen my sister, visited her?" he asked, his forehead 
furrowed.

	I nodded.  "Fine young woman."

	"She's a righteous bitch," he said, "no more morals than a 
goat."

	"Your friends are here to use her?" I asked.

	He smiled.  "She's had more than three at a time."

	"Who are they, Tories?" I asked.

	"Go to hell," he said.  "They're my friends."  Then he raised 
his voice and yelled, "Jim, Roscoe, get in here, Al, you too."

	The young men came through the doorway, two with glasses 
in their hands.  I backed up a step.

	"This rebel stands between you and my sister," he said loudly.  
"if you want her, you'll have to get rid of him."

	"What's going on?" asked a voice from above and behind me.  
We all looked, and there stood the girl, a quilt wound about her, 
one leg bare and protruding, very shapely, very enticeing.

	"Get back in your room," I said.  "Lock the door."

	"But I know them," she said, "That's Albert and I've forgotten 
his  name."

	I turned back to face the men.  "I came to see my old friend 
William," I said.  "This isn't your affair."

	"Get the hell out of the way," said one of the young men, 
finishing his whisky and setting the glass on a table.  He produced a 
small pistol from the back of his jacket.

	"Get him, get him," yelled the one-time lieutenant, waving 
them on.

	I kicked the first man in the chest, knocking him back into the 
others and then drew my big bayonet and jumped, hurtling myself 
down two or three steps onto the unbalanced foursome.  We all 
tumbled to the foot of the steps, and by then I had stabbed two of 
them mortally.  I struggled to my feet and nearly decapitated the 
third as he tried to cock his blood-covered pistol.

	I pulled my quarry from the bleeding pile and the girl above 
screamed, "Don't kill him, please don't."

	"Tell her," I said, shaking him and stepping away from a 
grasping hand.  I had evidently severed one man's spine and his 
upper body still worked although he was pumping out blood 
rapidly.

	"Go on, Mercy, you stupid bitch.  I've always served the King.  
How do you think we've lived so well?"

	She sobbed and disappeared into her room, slamming the 
door.

	I smashed my fist into the man's face, knocking him 
unconscious.  Then I tied the lieutenant's silk jabot tightly about his 
neck, got him on my shoulder, took him out to the barn, found rope, 
fixed a good noose, revived him with a bucket of water, stood him 
on a box, damned him to hell, kicked the box aside and watched him 
thrash and sputter for a few minutes.

	Then I went back into the house, horsed his sister again, very 
briefly and quite viciously, stripped the dead of purses and rings, 
found that the hanged man had beshit himself but was still making 
bubbles at his lips despite his protruding tongue, and went back to 
the war.	

	I could hear the girl's cries until I got a hill between me and her 
home.
	

<1st attachment end>


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