Young Elizabeth

by realoldbill

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft, Consensual, Historical, Violent, .

Desc: Sex Story: Another Rebel Spy tale filled with blood and pleasure

“The shining light this season,” said Madam Von R--, “is young Elizabeth S--, a Hudson River beauty if there ever was one.”

“That so,” I said, sipping her cinnamon tea and waiting for the hammer to drop. “Don’t think I’ve heard of her.”

“No reason you should, associating with the people you do.” She smiled. “But this fair miss is, I believe, in some sort of trouble, under pressure or duress. She has been occasionally valuable to the cause, indeed, recently, most helpful.”

“That so,” I said, still waiting.

“Um,” the old lady said, growing impatient with me. “I want you to go see her. I’ll give you a note. You are to shave and brush your clothes, look half-human at least, presentable rather than frightening.”

“Yes’m,” I said, smiling at her and hearing my mother’s admonitions.

“And for goodness sake wash your hair; get a new ribbon from one of the girls.”

“Yes’m,” I said, deciding which of her nieces I would ask for a ribbon and at what stage of our back-bending congress I would do that.

“Hurry on,” she said. “I want her answer before dark.”

So I shaved and one of the maids got me a dark ribbon. I picked up the folded note and rode into town, disappointed and horny.

Elizabeth S-- was as pretty a young woman as I had ever seen, a mile above me in station, completely untouchable, and I stood before her, shifting from one foot to the other like a silly schoolboy while she read the madam’s note twice. Then she looked up at me with her green-gray eyes, arched a brow and gave me a tiny smile which melted my heart and startled my cock.

Her brow was wide and her hair was light in both texture and color, from her Dutch ancestry I suppose. Her skin was pale and perfect, porcelain, her lips pink and well shaped, her body slim and womanly. She was, I guessed, eighteen or twenty, perhaps five foot four and eight stone, and very healthy, very desirable, lithe and lovely in her flat-fronted, stylish clothes, cut so low the pink of her areoles showed now and again as well as her fine lace. The valley between her orbs invited lusty attention I was sure.

“You work for her?” she asked quietly waving the note.

“Yes, Miss,” I said.

“You may call me Betty,” she said, pursing her lips. “She wants to see me.”

I nodded, trying to think about things other than how she would look stripped to her soft skin.

“Well,” she said, “I guess this is as good a time as any.” She rang a small bell and told her maid to send for the groom and have her horse made ready and then to bring us some tea. I sat at her invitation, and she sat across from me, smiling a sort of secret smile I have noticed on other women’s faces when they look at me. I hope it is my size and not my ugly face they find humorous.

“Do you know what this is about?” she asked.

I shook my head. “She said she thought you might be in trouble.”

She laughed lightly. “Oh, Harold I suppose; he’s such a dear.”

“Harold?”

“The viscount,” she said. “Bainborough you know, Royal Navy, he has been most attentive.” She put fingers to her lips. “And just brimming with information.”

The tea arrived, real tea, and she poured and gave me a cup on a saucer, both very thin and translucent china. I sipped and I suppose sniffed.

She smiled again. “Harold provided the tea. I know it’s wrong but it’s so good.” She put down her cup. “I must change. Try these crackers.” She hurried out while I gobbled her delicacies and imagined her in my bed, her long legs kicking at the ceiling rafters. She was back before I guessed she would be, having waited many times for women to clothe themselves.

She wore a dark blue riding costume piped in sky blue with pewter buttons. It likely cost more than my family’s 100-acre farm was worth.

“Let’s go,” she said, donning a small hat with a loose veil.

I linked hands and she took my help, stepped up and got her legs into her awkward side-saddle. I got on my old hack and off we went, her big roan in the lead.

For some reason the British and their allies had put roadblocks on most of the roads north so, after avoiding one, we were stopped about two or three miles short of our destination by a very young ensign and his guff sergeant who wanted to know where we were going. The girl answered, and the sergeant stepped up and put his big paw on her leg. She whacked his hand with her short crop. He howled and pulled her right out of the saddle. She rolled over once and scrambled to her feet as I jumped down, spun the man about and hit him in the mouth, feeling teeth and bones give way.

I awoke with a headache, my wrists and forearms arms tied behind me. The girl was sitting on a camp chair, fully dressed but with her jacket and shirt open, peeled back and hanging to her elbows. The ensign held a small dirk between her pointed breasts and flicked away at the laces of her stays, intentionally pinking her lush breasts and producing an occasional droplet of blood, pausing between each poke to ask, “Where were you going?”

“I demand you call Captain Bainborough,” she spat at him and he chopped off another string, this one well below her stay-supported bosom which sank not a bit but indeed rose with her anger.

“Never heard of him,” the boy officer said. “Navy is he?”

“I told you,” she said.

“Tell me again,” he said coolly, raising the point of his blade toward her nose, touching its tip lightly. She did not even flinch.

The big sergeant entered the tent, dried blood on his chin. “Gi’ ‘er to me an’ the lads,” he said, adding a belated, “sir. We’ll get ‘er to talk right enough. Got the tool ri’ere.” He cupped his groin.

“No,” said the young officer, pointing at me with his small knife. “I’m going to have her first. You may play with him if you wish. You can enjoy her later, much later, tomorrow perhaps.” The boy did not look more than sixteen, but his face was full of feral meanness and small pox scars.

The Redcoat grabbed me by the hair and got me to my feet in a hurry. He hit me low in the belly, and then kicked me out of the tent. I crawled away, but he was on me at once, kicking at my ribs and back. I rolled to a tree, managed to get to my feet and faced him, head down, wondering where the other soldiers had gone. Evidently the officer’s tent was some distance from the men’s bivouac.

The big man charged, swinging wildly, and I ducked and drove my head into his chest as his fist hit the tree. He howled, stumbled back, and I tripped him and then landed on him hard, dropping my knee right into his privates and then bashing in his nose with my forehead. He rolled over and began to scramble away so I jumped on him and mashed his broken face into the deep carpet of leaves and pine needles that lay beneath us. I held him down with my shoulder while my hand found the hilt of his bayonet and pulled it from his half-scabbard as his legs kicked wildly.

He rolled over and I fell back on him, holding the long blade behind my waist, hoping it would get something vital. Beneath me, he gasped and stopped moving, and I rolled off, got to my knees and looked at him. The bayonet protruded from the very center of his wide chest, pressed deep by the weight of my body, and he was very dead, tongue lolling.

The girl’s scream brought me back to life, and I got to my feet and ran right into the white tent where she was being held and tormented. I broke the front pole, pulled a guy rope loose and found myself tangled in canvas. with two wriggling bodies beneath me. A thin blade cut through, revealing where the ensign was, and I managed to get my knee on his arm and then roll over him, jump to my feet and kick where I hoped his head would be. My boot hit something solid as the disheveled girl emerged on the other side of the collapsed tent.

“Get that knife,” I said, pointing with my elbow.

She nodded and fetched it, standing knee deep in folded canvas. I turned my back to her and she sawed me loose, handed me the small knife and fell into my arms, her stay strings hanging loose at her open bodice, trembling, but still looking wonderful, highly desirable.

“Look,” she said, and I turned to see the ensign crawl from under his tent, codpiece open and member dangling. I thought for a moment about taking him prisoner, decided that was foolish when there was a bunch of Redcoats somewhere nearby, yanked the boy to me by the arm and buried his blade in him, jabbing upward for his tiny heart. I hit it on the third thrust and he sank, nerveless. I found my belt and bayonet in the tent folds and hurried the girl into the woods as she pulled her jacket about her.

“Where did they take our horses?” I asked quietly as she sniffed beside me, warm and close.

“Hobbled them with their own, other side of that trail where the creek lies.”

Two soldiers appeared, pulled the sticker out of their sergeant and turned over their officer. They hallooed loudly and three more came running. I pulled us a bit deeper into the pine trees. The girl clung to me, silent but still trembling. I felt my cock rising as I patted her rump.

“We’ll have to try to get around them,” I said.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/ft / Consensual / Historical / Violent /