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Message-ID: <47999asstr$1085652602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: oldbill2@comcast.net
Subject: {ASSM} Rebel 059 Constance (MF)
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Date: Thu, 27 May 2004 06:10:02 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Rebel 059.txt" begin>

Rebel 059 (Old Bill (MF hist)

Constance 

	"I've rented you out," the Madam said with a smile.  "You and 
my best carriage with the team of grays."

	I waited, knowing it would all become reasonably clear when 
she felt like it.

	"My good friend, Mrs. T-- is going to a ball or some such thing 
and plans to wear her jewels.  And wait until you see them!  She 
needs a guard and since you know how to drive, you are most 
qualified.  Take a pistol."

	I nodded and returned her smile.  "There's more isn't there?"

	"Yes, all the enemy's grandees should be there, top to bottom, 
the general's whole staff, Tories included.  You can talk to the other 
drivers, see what you can find out.  She may give you some 
information to bring back."

	"Very well," I said, ready to leave at once.

	"Now go wash and shave, you dirty hulk; use the tub out 
back.  I'll have one of the maids brush your clothes and do your 
boots.  Rake out and retie you hair or get one of the girls to do it.  
Do you have clean linen?"  The tiny madam smiled as she poked me 
with her fan.

	An hour later, after standing inspection and having my queue 
redone with a new ribbon of watered silk, just about sunset I 
arrived at the lady's side doorway, and she appeared before I could 
reach the steps.  Gorgeous was not a word I favored much, but that 
is what she was, a mature princess in royal blue sacque with a 
choker of diamonds, plus a heavy bracelet that flashed fire and 
fancy earbobs three inches long that glowed blue-white and swung 
along with her stride like bits of ice.  She wore a flowing cape with 
fur trim and soft-leather dancing slippers.  I wondered where the 
very fortunate Mr. T-- was as she took my measure with her blue-
gray eyes. 

	She gave me a smile that would have melted steel as I held out 
my hand to take her gloved fingers and help her in.  She arranged 
her extra-wide skirts, lifted her lovely chin, patted her flat 
stomacher, pulled her rich cape about her nearly-bare chest, flipped 
up her hood over her carefully dressed hair, and I closed the door, 
thoroughly aroused by her beauty and gulping down my groans of 
desire.  I drove slowly and carefully to the fine mansion where the 
soiree was being held, getting my lust under control, flipped down 
the steps and assisted her to the brick street.  The house flamed 
with candlelight at every window and appeared to be already filled 
to the eaves.  She murmured a small "thank you" as I looked down 
the front of her gown at her bulging breasts which lay there almost 
fully exposed as if presented on a pillow of silk and lace beneath a 
thin layer of gauze, two swollen ivory cones with bluish tips, 
cannon-ball sized, 8-pounders at least.  She squared her shoulders 
and a shiver coursed my spine.  I'm sure I was slavering.  A liveried 
servant bowed her in, and I took the carriage around the house to 
join several others, shaking with lust.

	We drivers not only had a small fire going, two of the local 
slatterns paid us a visit and made a few shillings going from carriage 
to carriage to spread their legs or offer their bums.  I learned 
nothing worth knowing and near midnight, having avoided the 
strumpets for fear of the pox, when the stars were bright and cold, I 
was summoned to take my beautiful passenger home.  She emerged 
from the candlelit hall on the arm of a lean British officer in a very 
fancy uniform glowing with gold trim and many buttons.  He 
brushed me aside as if I were a stray dog, helped her in and then 
hopped up beside her after giving me a supercilious and oily smile.  
His codpiece bulged, rather ominously I thought.  I hated him 
immediately.  The woman flipped up the hood of her cape and gave 
me a very brief look, obviously-worried I decided, as I closed the 
door.

	We had not traveled half a mile before the carriage shook 
under me, someone thumped the side and a female voice screeched, 
"No, damn you, stop that."

	I yelled "whoa, whoa," pulled on the brake and jumped to the 
road.  The carriage door flew open and the young officer, his jacket 
unbuttoned, wig askew and belts awry, snarled at me, "What's the 
meaning of this.  Get back where you belong."

	I grabbed him by his neckcloth and yanked him out of the rig, 
his silk-clad legs and slippered feet kicking.  I pushed him up against 
the back wheel and banged his head against the rim a time or two 
until he calmed himself. He straightened his small wig and looked at 
me with undisguised hatred.  My hand touched the hilt of my 
bayonet, but I resisted.

	"Madam?" I said loudly.

	She stepped down, capeless, holding her blue dress together 
between her impressive hillocks, her posture militantly rigid, her fine 
face a mask of distressed disgust, one hank of dark hair dangling 
before her lovely nose. She tossed it back and took a deep breath.

	"Sir," she spat at the man I held at the neck, letting his toes 
barely touch the road, "I mistook you for a gentleman."  Then she 
looked at me tightlipped and said, "Let go of him."

	I did and stepped back.  She hit him in the face.  She did not 
slap him; she made a good fist and struck him hard on the 
cheekbone, a swinging right with a fair amount of weight behind it 
that produced a solid whack.  "Good night, sir," she said coldly, 
shaking her kid-gloved hand and getting back into the carriage 
without help, showing one firm breast and then a good bit of long 
leg as she did.  She slammed the door.

	"Bitch," the young man spat, reaching for his sword hilt.

	I grabbed him at the breastbone, twisted up a handful of cloth 
and shook him until his eyes fluttered and teeth rattled.  Then I took 
off his sword belt and handed the weapon through the window to 
the snorting woman. I pulled the man behind the carriage, showed 
him the blade of my big knife and suggested that he start walking 
back toward the crowded city if he wished to remain intact and not 
carry his balls home in his pockets.  

	"In these slippers," he moaned, lifting a foot to show me the 
delicate short boot with its thin sole and ornate buckle.

	"You can take them off if you wish," I suggested, giving him a 
push in the right direction and a kick in his rear.  He stumbled away, 
growling.

	 "You all right?" I asked the dark interior of the carriage.

	"Yes," came the smooth answer, "very.  Drive on, if you 
please."

	I took a deep breath, rearranged my britches so my long 
member could be a bit more comfortable despite its confinement, 
clucked to the team, and we went as quickly as we could in the dark 
to the lady's home on the edge of the city, my stones in an 
throbbing uproar.

	I helped her down, and she stepped to the walk with her hand 
between her luscious domes, holding her ripped dress together 
beneath her long cape.  She looked up at me, still holding my hand.  
"He tore my dress, my beautiful new dress, the vile bastard, ripped 
it open.  My seamptress will be furious."

	I held my tongue and walked with her to the door, her hand 
resting on my forearm, my eyes trying to stay away from her 
nearly-bare chest.  I could hear her breathing and feel her anger 
radiating.

	"It's open," she said.  "I have no live-in servants, but my 
carriage boy will take care of the horses."

	I eased wide the door as the rig moved away behind us, and 
she entered, took my wrist and pulled me inside, surprisingly strong.  
She tossed her cape aside, pushed the door closed, pressed me back 
against it, rose on her toes, put both her hands behind my neck and 
captured my mouth with hers, giving me a hard and soulful kiss that 
lasted long enough for my body to become well acquainted with 
hers.  Hers was splendid, full and firm, and her nipples were erect 
and pointed, her belly a soft puff, her buttocks hard and heaving.  
"Thank you," she gasped out before she kissed me again and 
welcomed my tongue, her hands clawing my back, her thighs 
rubbing mine.  I wondered how old she was and where her 
husband was hiding; I wondered how long it was going to take to 
get her out of her fancy clothes and into her bed; I also wondered 
how many times we could do it and began imagining impossible 
positions.

	"Come," she said, when she pulled her soft, wet mouth away.  
She beckoned; I eagerly followed her up the curving stairs and into 
her bedroom where she turned, took her hand away from her torn 
dress, shrugged her shoulders and bared both upright breasts to 
my gaze in her soft lamplight. They stood proudly atop her tight-
laced stays, their rosy nipples aimed slightly away from each other. I 
guess she might have been thirty, perhaps thirty-five and a good ten 
stone, a ripe beauty. "Help me out of this," she whispered while I 
stood gaping at her voluptuous body.  She had to say it twice, the 
second time with a smile.  In many ways, I concluded, women are 
much better than girls.

	She turned her back and I undid several tiny hooks so she 
could peel off her ruined bodice and its diaphanous trimming.  Her 
narrow corset laced in the back; I quickly undid those strings, and 
she slid that away from her rounded hips, tossed aside her over 
skirt and then turned to face me, nearly bare to the trim waist, 
breathing hard, lips parted, obviously as eager as I was and still 
angry, her nipples hardening and poking out like little finger-tips.  I 
cupped a luscious breast and savored one briefly; her jutting 
mounds were warm, firm and well more than a handful, heavy and 
dense.  I licked and she trembled so I nibbled.

	"He made me so mad," she said opening her arms to me.  I 
stepped into her grasp, bent and found her open mouth while my 
hands roamed her well-muscled back, traced her deep spine, slid 
down inside her dress and kneaded her firm buttocks, pulling her 
off the floor as she drove her tongue into my throat and her mound 
rode my thigh as her knees clamped high on my legs.

	"Hurry, man," she said, twisting away and fumbling at her 
underskirt waist.  I found a chair, sat and pulled off my boots, 
tossed my new shirt aside, stood and got out of my britches.  Up 
sprang my eager root as if mounted on a coiled spring.  By then she 
was climbing onto her high bed wearing naught but her diamonds.  I 
crossed to her side, my upright bowsprit bobbling a foot before me, 
and she lifted the quilts and invited me to lie beside her, eyeing my 
blood-hot manhood greedily.  I felt like one of those medieval 
knights taking his long lance into the lists.  I was engorged and 
eager, ready for whatever came my way.

	"I'm ready, very ready," she gasped when our mouths pulled 
apart.  I climbed between her long legs, and with her help placed my 
swollen member's fat head between her moist and pouting lips as 
she lifted her knees and dug in her heels.  I hesitated just a moment 
and looked down at her, poised at the narrow entrance of her 
glory; she nodded and then I drove my hips forward to sink it 
completely in one long and powerful thrust, my fists by her ears and 
my toes braced on the footboard as it struck gristle.  Wonderful, 
bloody wonderful; soft and sinuous, deep enough for any man, 
filled with viscous lubrication and pulsing with vibrant life. She 
sighed and wriggled and we began.

	She reared and howled, wrapping me in her legs and clamping 
me in her tight cunny with a grip both muscular and stimulating, 
gobbling me up and drawing me deeper and still deeper as she 
bucked and arched.  She gritted her teeth and smiled as we started 
lurching and thrusting at each other rather wildly, rocking from side 
to side and rolling about until she was nearly upright, elbows on the 
headboard, eyes closed, and I was on my knees trying to smash my 
thick rod of blood-soaked flesh all the way through her, her heaving 
hips in my hands and one of her nipples often in my mouth. There 
was nothing sweet or kind about our love-making, it was teeth-
gritting hard work, selfish and passionate.  I came, pumping out my 
relief in bursts, and she gasped when I did but then continued right 
on with her own efforts having butted me in the chest, rolled me to 
my back and mounted firmly with her knees gripping my ribs, hands 
clawing my chest, hair hanging down into my face and swinging 
from side to side as she rogered me, crying out, "Yah, yah, yah," as 
she did.  I held her firm breasts with her tits sticking out between 
my fingers and did my very best, striving upward time after time as 
she rode me hard and fast.  When she finally climaxed, she screamed 
shrilly and shook her head above me, leaning back while I stroked 
her firm thighs, both of us with every muscle tensed, and then she 
fell atop my body, sobbing and mewling while our hips continued to 
pummel each other, our pubic bones clashing and grinding in a 
frenzy of longing.  She eventually rolled off, and my well-satisfied 
rod popped out of her squishy quim and fell atop my belly, fully 
spent and well satisfied.

	"By damn, sir," she gasped out, "that was a swive to end all 
swives.  I've never done anything like that, never, never, not in 
fifteen years anyway.  Didn't know anyone could.  One for the gods 
that was."  I doubt it had lasted ten minutes.  She chuckled.

	"Gah, madam," I managed to grunt, having no idea what I 
was trying to say.

	"How long is that thing?" she asked, her hand on my chest 
and her knee in my groin, pressing on my still-hard stones, my arm 
about her and holding her close, probing her arse while I licked her 
ear.

	"What thing?" I asked senselessly.

	Her hand crawled down and found what was left of it 
cowering in my belly hair, still fat but no harder than yesterday's 
pudding.  She gripped it and shook it, making it fat head bobble 
about.

	"This little appendage," she said with a chuckle.  "A bit 
outsized, isn't it?"

	"Only one I've got," I think I said, and she laughed and began 
stroking the warm, stupid thing and teasing its spongy crown with 
her thumb.

	She rubbed her wet belly against my thigh and hip as she 
worked, and I just lay there and enjoyed the attention, 
absentmindedly petting her sweaty back and firm rump while she 
licked at my nipples, which was fair enough since I had slobbered all 
over hers.

	"Don't you think you ought to take off your diamonds?" I 
asked as she grasped harder on my swelling spear, now with both 
hands, sliding them down and down again and again as my shaft 
became quite long and deeply ridged, her tongue showing at the 
corner of her mouth as she concentrated on her stimulating work.  I 
was hoping to get my spar between those soft lips before the 
evening ended.

	"Don't you like them?" she asked, rising so I could admire her 
necklace as well as her jutting boobs and then bringing her lips again 
to mine as her long earrings swung back and forth and her hands 
left my raging prick to hold my face while she gnawed on my lips 
and her hips rose above my prong.

	I pushed her to her back and quickly delivered what she 
obviously wanted, blood-hot inch after thick-and-rigid inch of it, the 
flaming spear growing harder and longer as I did; its head swelling 
and jumping.  She clawed me, beat on the bed and stamped her feet 
on the mattress as our bodies once more found a pulsing rhythm 
they could barely endure.  The bed bounced off the wall and then 
slammed back repeatedly, bam, bam, bam, as we rogered each 
other.  I even tried to count, giving her long thrusts in groups of 
ten, some slow, most fast, but my mind failed somewhere in the 
eighties as her breath quickened to only rasping gasps, and she 
spasmed beneath me with a long, moaning sob and then went soft 
while I was still arched above her, ramming into her senselessly, 
grunting with each long, hard stab into her tight tunnel, drawing her 
lips out on the withdrawal strokes, holding her pelvis as her rich 
body lurched under my pounding.  The bed squealed and rocked 
beneath us and continued to bounce off the wall.

	She suddenly moaned and hit my arms.  "Stop," she gasped, 
"Please stop, please."

	I bent and found her mouth, still feeling a yard deep within, 
my ram jumping and throbbing with energy and lust.

	"Please, please," she sighed.  "I'm sorry, but you must stop."

	I slowly pulled it out of her, sore and dripping with our juices, 
and she rolled from the bed as I collapsed. She hurried off behind a 
screen, one hand deep in her groin, to use a chamber pot.

	I lay on my back under her sheet, my aching root lying atop 
my belly, and she climbed back into her bed and flopped beside me, 
taking my hand into hers.

	"I've never lost control before," she said quietly.  "I'm so 
sorry.  You were wonderful, grand.  You gave me just what I 
needed after that, that, foolish man . . ."  She stopped.  Exhaled.  
"Sorry," she said again, cuddling in my arms.

	I turned to kiss her mouth, thinking about how to begin this 
time, deciding to have her from behind, and the door flew open 
with a crash.  I was on my feet in an instant, trying to remember 
where I had left my heavy belt and big bayonet.  Four men hurried 
into the room, led by the slimy one I had sent away from the 
woman's carriage in his dancing shoes. One carried an unshuttered 
lantern.

	"So," he yelled pointing a big-bore pistol at my sagging 
manhood. "You consort with the servants, do you, you foul colonial 
bitch?"

	Behind him two young officers, both bug-eyed, had drawn 
their straight swords while the third, a very junior subaltern also 
held a horse pistol and with the light, his mouth agape.

	I saw my belt hanging on the back of a nearby chair and 
reached slowly in that direction while they all looked at the naked 
vision on the bed.  "Take him out of here," the leader of this small 
band said over his shoulder.  "We do not want him watching his 
betters at play."

	"Leave me alone, you foul bastard," the woman yelled, her 
covers held between her lush breasts, her diamonds glittering with 
small fires as they ate the lamplight.

	"Isn't she well-mannered?" the lieutenant with the pistol 
asked, "a typical American woman, good for only one thing."  He 
placed his weapon atop a chest of drawers, removed his belts and 
began to unbutton his coat as he moved toward the bed, foreflap 
bulging.

	I reached my big knife, drew it quickly and threw my clothes 
and the chair it had hung from at the three officers, charging in right 
behind them.  Then it became rather loud and confused with a great 
deal of cursing and hacking.  I got nicked on the thigh and shoulder 
before I had downed the two with swords, but the small ensign 
vanished out the door sometime during that melee.  I was sure I had 
heard a gun fire, but I was much too engaged to figure out whose 
since I had not been hit.  I stood panting over two groaning men 
with a dripping blade in my hand.  Both were done for, bearing 
deep and gaping wounds in their chests, bellies and necks.  One had 
somehow lost an eye.

	Sprawled across the end of the woman's big bed was the man 
who had brought about this chaos.  I lifted him by the collar and 
found that he had a small, dark hole in his forehead. It had not bled 
much, but he was very dead.  The woman sat, bare to the waist 
with her tiny pistol in her lap.  It was still smoking.  She looked quite 
calm, licking her lips.

	She took a deep breath.  "Now what?" she said.

	"Well," I said, letting the body fall to the floor with the other 
two, "there is a boy with a gun somewhere about."

	"Right here," he squeaked, jumping through the doorway as if 
in some cheap theatrical.  His lamp glowed in the doorway where he 
had left it.

	"Go home." I said, turning to face him, aware of my nakedness 
and the full length of my tumescent member.  I saw him look at it 
and then at me.

	"I'll shoot," he squawked, "I swear I will."

	"Go home," I said again, taking a step toward him.  I was a 
good foot taller than he was.

	"Are they dead?" he asked, his voice shaking and muzzle 
drooping.

	"Afraid so," I said, taking another step.

	"Just here to have some fun, that's what he promised," the 
boy said as I easily twisted his pistol from his hand, took it off half-
cock and tossed it to the woman.  She caught it easily and set it on 
her bedside table with a smile, her hand holding covers to her full 
breast.

	"Did you come in a carriage?" I asked.

	"Chaise," he said, nodding toward the man with the lead ball 
in his brain. "His.  It's outside."

	I got into my britches, went out to find a civilian driver with a 
fancy rig, gave him a shilling or two, and he and I got the bodies 
down the stairs and onto the floor of his carriage.  The woman, 
wrapped in a quilt, came out with the young officer under her arm.

	"He has a story to tell them, a story about a bawdy house and 
a fight."  She pushed him away and he stumbled to the rig with a 
quick glance back.  "I promised to dance with him at the next ball."

	We went back inside and up the stairs.  "He helped me clean 
up once he was able to stop staring at me."  She laughed.  "Poor 
boy."

	When I got out of my britches, she noticed I was cut and 
bandaged my arm and thigh with strips of linen after sewing two 
stitches into my leg, ignoring the fact that she could not keep her 
blanket on her as she did.  I have never been so wonderfully nursed 
nor so thoroughly riled.  She also noticed, after a bit, that my 
member had roused itself and was trembling and growing, its head 
as big as a duck egg and its thick stalk swollen with blood-filled 
veins.  She fetched her measuring tape from her sewing basket with 
a smile, quickly wound it about my fat shaft, noted the number and 
then stretched the strip along its fast-growing length. She said, "I 
don't think it's full-sized yet.  Ah," she cried as it jumped, "I know 
it's not." She threw the tape aside.

	We were back in her bed and rejoined without delay.  Twice 
more we managed to bring each other to the top of the joyful 
mountain before we agreed to sleep.

	"I look forward to the morning," she said after kissing my 
nose.

	"Um," I replied, hoping the gods of lust would not betray me.  
"Afraid I snore."

	"Won't bother me," she said, turning her back to me and 
pulling covers about her shoulders.

	I tried to reconstruct the short fight in my mind without 
success, finally relaxed and slept like a proverbial stone.

	I was awakened with the birds, resisted the urge to piss, and 
roused the luscious woman beside me with an enormous mast rising 
above my loins.  I noticed that sometime during the night she had 
removed her jewelry.  I pushed her hair from her face and kissed 
her lips gently.  Her eyes popped open.

	"I don't know your name," she said after kissing me back.  
"I'm called Constance."

	I told her my name, got her up on all fours and took her from 
the back with her head down in her pillow which muffled her cries, 
and for much of the next hour she screamed out my name in a litany 
of pleasure and praise as we tried to tame my wondrous, early-
morning erection.  When it was finally spent, flopping like a boiled 
sausage, the bed looked as if a battle had been fought over it, and 
we both were bruised and scratched, bitten and bent, more than 
satisfied and a bit amazed.  That session lasted at least an hour I'm 
sure.

	"I will tell the Madam that you were quiet satisfactory as a 
driver and body guard," she said, wrapping herself in a silk robe 
that brushed the floor and pushing her hair back into some 
semblance of order. She tried not to smile at me and failed.

	"Thank you, ma'm," I said after pulling my shirt over my head.

	"I think my cook is here," she said, sniffing the air.  "Wonder 
what she heard."

	I grinned, patted her rump and we went down to enjoyed a 
fine breakfast.  She gave me a note and a sweet kiss to take to the 
madam, and I bent and kissed her fingers as her robe fell open.

	"Until the next time," I said, hopefully.


	


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