Now a castle with a moat and a dungeon and a damsel in distress is hardly the kind of thing you would expect to find on the Hudson River, but I found it; I found all of them and eventually wished I had not. After a while I was surprised the strange place did not have a dragon.

I was in the process of trying to decide whether or not a military career was really what I wanted when I stumbled upon it late one chilly day. I did not realize it was a castle when I crossed a narrow, wooden bridge and banged on the thick door in the stone wall. I could see the ramparts rising above me, but the clouds were low and the rain was nasty so I really did not care.

The woman who finally answered my knocks was well-dressed, her gray hair pulled back and knotted in a complicated manner. She stood with the door open barely a hand-breadth, barring my way.

"I'm seeking shelter," I told her, putting on my best manner with my knee on the open door.

"Seek it elsewhere," she said.

I pushed my way in and stood with my back to the heavy door, admiring her rich clothes. "Please," I said, "just until it clears."

She ran, her skirts and elbow lace flapping and disappeared up a narrow, winding stairway. I followed, softly and carefully, dripping a trail of rainwater, until I heard a scream from somewhere far above. I sat my musket aside and ran the steps to a huge hall with a very high ceiling crossed by dusty beams and hung with banners, armor and weapons of all kinds. A smoldering fire burned at the far end and two people, one of them obviously a woman from her flowing hair and swirling gown, struggled there.

I ran to the pair, tossed the lean man aside and took the woman under one arm enjoying the feel of her. Her assailant scrambled to his feet, cursed me foully and ran for the stone steps at the side of the vast room.

The young woman trembled in my grasp, pulling her thin clothes over her lush and barely clothed body, her long, blonde hair everywhere. "Who are you?" she demanded in a throaty voice, a trembling voice. Her dark blue eyes were very frightened, pleading, and her nightdress still hung loosely away from one pale shoulder.

"A soldier," I said. "Who is he?"

"Rupert," the said, "the duke's son. He wants me to, to..." She buried her face in my chest. The clatter of feet descended the stairs. It was the thin young man I had tossed aside and two heavily armed men bearing pikes and wearing swords, chest plates and a livery of purple and green. I drew my big pistol from the back my belt, and they skidded to halt some ten paces off as I cocked it. The young man stepped between them wearing a sickly smile.

"That's my woman, the stupid bitch," he said very icily, hand on the hilt of his rapier.

"Is she?" I asked, my hand on her curving hip and feeling quite possessive, hoping my powder was dry. The girl gasped for breath, clamped tightly to me, arms about my waist, firm breast hard on my back.

"Indeed," he said, "she was bought and paid for. I have the paper if you'd like to see it."

"Don't," the girl said, clinging to me, her belly now against my thigh as she squirmed about, my hand on her bare back and rounded shoulder as her gown barely hung to her elbow and clung to one upright breast.

"I think she would rather be left alone," I said, enjoying the feel of her nearness as she rubbed her bulging mons on my leg, her breast on my ribs.

'Hah," the man cried. "Take him!"

The pikes came down and the guards growled and stepped forward quickly. I backed up, bringing the girl with me, checked my pan quickly, leveled the heavy pistol carefully and shot the braver of the two in the face. He screamed and fell back, letting his long weapon clatter to the stone floor. His fellow hesitated, and I tossed away my gun, pushed the young woman aside, grabbed the long pike from his hands, clubbed the helmet from his ears and then impaled him with the huge blade, pinning his body to the floor. He kicked his legs and waved his arm like a crushed bug, the spear rising like a quivering mast from his belly.

The velvet-dressed man in the wide-sleeved shirt had drawn his sword, assumed the classic dueling position and now came at me very bravely and confidently, a sneer on his face. I turned aside and let his first thrust pass under my shoulder, clamped his arm to my side, spun and elbowed him in the nose, kicked him in the groin, disarmed him and was about to skewer him with the thin blade when the girl screamed, "Please, don't do it. They have my mother."

I kicked him in the side of the head, grabbed her and headed for the nearest door, his sword in my hand. Wooden stairs led upward, and I ran, hauling her along. Halfway up the tower, she pulled me to a halt and led us through a side door. I followed her down a carpeted hall at a trot, her light gown and golden hair spreading wide behind her, and into a tiny room furnished with a bed and small table.

An oil lamp gleamed by the water pitcher. She smiled at me, panting, and then turned her back. The crease of her spine showed clearly as her gown hung loosely from her lithe body. She stepped to her bed.

The young woman turned to face me, loosened the ribbon and let her limp nightdress cascade to the floor. It was like a dream, her incredible body, and I wondered if I were truly awake. I tossed the sword aside, barred the door, tore off my boots and britches and quickly faced her, fully erect, trembling from the fights below, my stalk long and spear-like.

Her eyes widened as I pulled my shirt over my head, took her hands and drew her to me, letting my blood-hot member slide off beside her slim waist. She was only about five feet tall and perhaps seven stone. She was young but certainly nubile, full-breasted and round hipped. The triangle of hair between her heavy thighs was a knot of golden curls and her nipples rose like flower buds.

Her young body was all curves and softness, and her mouth was wet and yielding, her buttocks firm and round. She kicked her feet as I lifted her to my height and kissed her soundly. My burrowing hand discovered that she was wetly ready for penetration, and I could not wait.

"He wasn't lying," she sighed when she pulled her lips from mine, eyes damp and wide open under heavy lashes, nipples hard against my ribs with my prod mashed between us. "He owns me."

I got one of her legs above my hip and, with some difficulty and some battering and poking, slid my rigid lance into her puckered slit. Once the head had popped in, it got much easier. She cried out and leaned back as pulled her other leg up and drove deeper into her tiny pink crevice, my hands full of her hard butt. I watched my shaft slowly disappear into her, seemingly turning her lips inside out. Then she hooked her ankles behind me, and with a grunt, I sank my long rod all the way up into her tight and viscous channel.

"'Sblood," she cried, wriggling on the swollen spike and leaning back until her head touched the bed, "that's awful, awful. M'lord, I can't believe it. You're tearing me apart, ripping me open."

She spasmed within, and my eager root sank even deeper, jumping like a mad thing, devouring her vagina, tearing at its sides, ramming at her spongy cervix as I thrust and rocked from side to side, screwing it into her while her body flailed wildly, speared, impaled, riven. Her cunny was very tight and very much alive, pulsing, and contracting wildly.

I swung her around and sat back on the bed with the lush girl wrapped about me, legs bent, and my rampant root throbbing away deeply inside her. She leaned back until her curls touched the floor and then flexed up to enfold me and kiss me. She spasmed and gasped, contracting her groin muscles, massaging my eager ram.

"Slow, slow," she moaned, moving her hips up and back in time with my efforts, "Please, please, slowly." She humped steadily, breasts and belly bouncing. I sucked each jutting tit in turn until her nipples stuck out like finger tips, and she sighed loudly, eyes closed tightly.

I lay back and let her set the pace. Her firm dugs hung in my face as she swived me faster and faster, mouth agape, eyes closed until she came, shuddering and mewling and arched above me.

I rolled her over and finished my work on her, my hands outstretched beside her lovely face, pumping out my pleasure into her limp body atop the cool quilts. She stayed grappled to me, and her head swung back and forth, raking her long, silken hair across her face.

"Ah, ah, ah," she sighed, gathering her strength although still solidly impaled. "I've never done that. Never. I don't believe it, what we did." She trembled on my sodden lance. "But there is no escape from this place, no escape. Do some more." She heaved at me again, wanting more.

"I got in," I told her, caressing her and hoping for much more, letting my randy prod leap within her, striking bone and finding new areas to probe as I rocked from side to side, rotating my pelvis as I extended my arms and bent my back. "We can get out."

"No, no," she said, thrashing beneath me, tears in her dark eyes as her hips began to respond, "the wolves. You don't understand." She pushed on my chest with both hands.

I kissed her, drew my aching prod from her and pulled a quilt over us. "Start at the beginning," I said, getting our bodies together spoon fashion, her rump in my groin and my hands cupping her luscious breasts with no sense of time or place. My lance probed, jumping for joy between her legs. Wolves, something whispered my mind. Hurry said another part of my brain.

"Oh," she gulped as she felt my ram rising between her thighs. "I'm Welsh, indentured to his father for five years. My mother is also here and my little brother. He bought us all, privately, secretly, through a London agent of some sort."

Her hand slipped between her legs and helped my turgid root finds its proper home. The entrance was small but slick, and I let my hand crawl to join hers below her belly, caressing her mound firmly, feeling my long stalk ram into her and then in and out, in and out as I found her tiny prick.

"That young man, the one I kicked, he wanted to marry you or make love to you?"

She laughed and then gasped as I thrust my hips forward and gently fondled her.

"Ho no. He intended me for his friends, a sort of tame harlot, a decoration, entertainment for the evening. I was to grace his table tonight, literally, lie upon it and allow his friends to feast on my body however they wished."

"I don't understand," I said, busy trying to get her face down with her hips raised a bit. My thrusts were out of control, long and rapid. My inflamed ballocks and the inside of her thighs ran with our juices.

"Ah, ah, ah," she cried as our genitals demanded our full attention for a while. She probably climaxed again for I felt her body go rigid in my grasp, and she squealed and clamped hard about my ram. I hopped forward and rammed with delight.

When we were done and lay facing each other, sodden but satisfied, she told me more. The Duke, as he was called, was using her mother as his mistress and her brother as a lackey and subject of occasional buggery.

He had raped all three of them when they arrived. "In a vile and unnatural manner," she told me, my soft cock in her hand and her lips nearly touching mine. I licked her mouth and slipped my tongue between her teeth. "I haven't been the same somehow, since he took my virginity, since he ripped me open with the hilt of his rapier."

"Where are they?" I asked, withdrawing my pleased tongue, petting her back and kneading her rump.

"I'm not sure. We've only been here a week."

"Is he drugging you?" I asked, wondering at her eagerness for continuous intercourse, her tireless sensuality.

"No, I don't think so," she sighed, "I'm just frightened. You're the first man I've had by choice, ever. You're wonderful. I never knew I could feel like this. Your male thing is just gigantic, immense, dreadful."

"We've got to get out of here. Is this your room?"

She nodded, stroking me back to rigidity.

"He'll come here looking for you."

"I don't care. Do it again." She rolled to her back and spread her knees.

"No," I insisted, resisting that temptation for the first time I could remember. I got out of bed, pulled her to her feet and we dressed. I doubt that our whole frenzied conjoining had lasted much more than ten minutes. She stayed in her long nightdress, explaining that it was all she was allowed to wear.

The hall was dark, and we moved quietly along it, trying doors. We found her brother asleep in the third room, roused him and soon had his attention. He found some clothes his sister could wear, leggings, a white shirt and a doublet, and he knew where his mother was kept. We followed him up some back stairs.

The room he led us to was empty, but there was evidence of a recent struggle; a chair overturned and the blanket pulled from the narrow bed. The boy looked around and then took his sister's hand. He might have been fifteen or so, not much younger than the girl. "Perhaps the dungeon," he said to her.

She nodded and then looked at me. "That's where they took us when we arrived, where they did all of us, him too." She nodded at the boy who looked at his feet. "The woman watched and enjoyed what she saw."

"Show me," I said.

"But the guards," the boy squeaked.

"He killed them both," the girl told him.

He looked at me an said, "Come."

We followed him down and down in a series of winding stairs often within closed stone walls. Below I could hear animals baying and hoped they were dogs.

The youngsters' mother hung by her wrists in the middle of the large room, her toes barely touching the floor if she stretched. She was naked, and a livid stripe crossed her mature body diagonally.

The man I had taken the girl from stood near the dangling women, a long whip in his hand. On a raised dais sat the gray-haired woman who had tried to stop my entrance and a corpulent man wearing rich clothes, the Duke I assumed. The naked woman was a grownup version of her daughter with a voluptuous body and long blonde hair.