I could feel myself tiring, my muscles aching, my back straining, and the damn woman beneath me was still sobbing and writhing, her legs clamped about me, pulling me deeper, belly fluttering and saliva drooling from her slack mouth as she moved her wide pelvis and big rump up and down.
"Enough?" I asked after another series of deep thrusts that shook the high bed. "Enough?" Her big breasts were flopping about and her breathing was very ragged.
Her legs fell away and she nodded, looking up at me wide-eyed. We had been at it for the better part of an hour. I had managed to climax once rather early on and had lost track of her spasms and cries of lust and joy. She was like a bitch in heat and enjoying peak after pleasurable crest, arching like a bridge on my throbbing spear or writhing from side to side as I buried my shaft and stones in and out of her wriggly lips.
I rolled away from her, found my clothes and my boots and scuttled from the room before she changed her mind. She was a fine woman, tight and deep when we began, but now soggy and soft, and I had had enough of her until the morning when we both might try again, I hoped.
Out in the hall a small hand grabbed my arm from a dark doorway and pulled me into another bedroom. Outlined against the moonlit window was the woman's daughter, a lovely nearly-full-grown girl of eighteen or so, about half her mother's size with a mouth made for kissing. She pulled me to her bed, pushed me down and then sat beside me, breathing fast. I dropped my boots and held my clothes in my lap.
"I must see it," she whispered, her hand on my hairy upper thigh, her warm breast rubbing my arm through her thin gown. I could actually feel her hard nipple.
I looked at her dumbly as her eyes glowed in the faint light, her face upturned toward me, eager and friendly. I bent and kissed her lips gently. She licked mine and then pulled away, looking very innocent, batting her eyes at me.
"No, don't, I'm just curious." she said, shaking her head. "I've watched, from the porch roof," she pointed at the open window, "and I've seen scores of mother's lovers, dozens of them, most last five or ten minutes, some a lot less. But, but none were like you." She put her hand in my hairy groin and her finger tips touched the thick base of my tired member. "Please let me see it."
"It's not a toy," I said quietly, dropping my clothing to the floor and putting an arm about her slim shoulders. Her young breasts were large and soft but sharply pointed and jutted up at me so I palmed one and squeezed it. She wriggled away, inhaling quickly. My root revived and refilled, feeling heavy as well as sore.
"No, don't, please. I understand, sir; I'm not a child but, well, but I am a virgin," she whispered hoarsely. "I mean to stay that way."
"Put your hand on it," I said. "Gently."
She poked the base of my long stalk with a finger tip.
"Oh," she said, tracing downward to its soggy head with a feathery touch. She palmed its crown and my glans bumped at her hand and began to rise.
"It's rather tired," I whispered and stole another kiss, tonguing her ear. My cock trembled as her hand gripped hard, slid all the way up its length and then up and down and closed about its base. I was still wet and sticky.
"But it's awfully large, isn't it?" she said after pulling her mouth from mine.
"I suppose," I said as she leaned forward and got her other hand on me. I was, by then, tumescent and trembling. She squeezed.
"If I hold it, will it get hard?" she asked as I fumbled with the drawstring of her night gown.
"Probably, but it has been sorely used this night."
"Mother never asks for quarter," she said, holding the shaft's bulbous head firmly and stroking up and down with her other hand, dragging the foreskin back and forth. "It's growing, isn't it?"
"She's a good woman," I said, pushing her gown off her shoulders and bending to lick a small, berry-like nipple that seemed to reach up for my attention.
She snorted and pulled away. "Don't," she said sharply. "I've felt some others, but nothing like this. It's huge and heavy." She stroked with both hands, down and down, like an endlessly rippling vagina, yearning, stretching my skin.
"If you get it riled," I whispered, pulling her gown to her waist and forearms, "then you will have to soothe it, calm it, satisfy it."
"I did one boy in my hands. He squirted on my dress."
"If you keep rubbing me, I will too," I told her, putting my hand on hers, stopping her.
"I let one rub my hair on his thing," she whispered, "but he did not come. He wept."
"Poor boy," I said, bending to kiss her much more firmly, open mouthed, filling a hand with her ripe breast.
"Another," she said when her mouth was free, "rubbed it between my legs and he spurted out into the grass." I gently pinched her nipple.
"Shall I show you another way?" I asked.
"Not in my mouth," she said firmly.
"No, no," I assured her. "Who gave you such an idea?"
"Or in my behind."
"Never," I said, a prim lie, for I would have happily sodomized her.
"I plan to stay intact until I wed."
"Of course," I said, helping her lie back, her feet still on the floor and her gown bunched about her middle. I straddled her waist and let my hard root lie between her soft young boobs, its head at her breast bone. She was breathing rather rapidly, her chest rising and falling. Then I gently pushed her round breasts together so that the tits looked at each other and moved forward, sliding my blood-hot prod between them. It was a fine feeling, and I kept the to and fro motion slow and easy across her smooth skin. "Do you like that?" I asked her.
She smiled up at me, and I could feel her feet starting to kick freely behind me as I rubbed her nipples together and plowed the tunnel between her warm globes. I held my weight from her and just let the stalk enjoy itself. In and out of the cave I had made, up and down her silken skin, very soothing and pleasurable, just barely bumping her chin.
As the speed and firmness increased slowly, her forehead furrowed. "You'll not spew out on me, will you?" she asked.
I pushed my ram up until it touched her lower lip. "You could swallow it," I suggested.
"No," she sobbed, wiggling from side to side as I continued to stroke between her plush young mounds. "Please stop. I'm all wet."
I dismounted, walked awkwardly to the window and waved at her to come beside me. She stood, letting her nightdress fall to the floor and tip-toed into my arms, looking down at my rigid stalk. It jumped, pointing up toward the stars. "Stroke it," I said. She looked up at me with some trepidation. Then she put her left arm about my waist and grabbed the trembling thing, not that her right hand could close about it.
I held back as long as I could, pressing a finger valiantly under my aching spear as she tenderly ran her hand up and down the thick, curved pole. "How much longer?" she asked as I kneaded her bare buttocks.
"Now," I said, releasing my pressure as my stones boiled up. Out streamed ribbons of jism. I must have come a half-dozen times, spurting out like a fresh-tapped keg, my knees shaking, my teeth clenched, both hands high on the wall above the window as she held my root until it stopped jerking.
Holding my bare hips, she fell to her knees before me and bought my spent prod to her lips. She licked it until it stopped leaking and then let it fall from her tongue tip as it softened.
"If I did not want to stay a virgin," she said softly when she got to her feet, "I surely would want you to deflower me. That was amazing."
"I'll do it now," I said, after I kissed her and pressed her young body to mine.
She shook her head, wiggled free and jumped into her bed. I dressed quickly, tossed her gown toward her and retreated to the barn for some well-earned rest.
In the morning, the girl and her mother went riding, and I rode along with then, behind them actually, as they cantered across the fields and jumped a few fences. In a sunny meadow they stopped. The woman beckoned.
"I thought you were coming to see me this morning," she said when I was beside her.
"Overslept," I told her, glancing at her daughter who was covering a smile.
"Don't let it happen again," she said. "Has this imp been bothering you?"
"No ma'am," I said. "No bother at all."
"Do not touch her. My foul husband is deep in negotiation to marry her well, and she must go to her bridal bed intact. You understand, both of you?"
The girl kicked her horse and rode away a few yards, her jaw stuck out. The woman leaned toward me, put her hand on my leg and whispered, "She has no morals, none at all."
I had been hired as a general dogsbody with a pallet in the stable, two meals a day and a new pair of boots. I was supposed to be paid a shilling a day, and I hoped I would be since I had squandered all my blood money on marked cards and frisky women. The army was far from my thoughts.
Trouble arrived that evening in the form of a carriage full of men, three Redcoats, all officers, and the randy woman's bewigged husband, a thick-lipped, big-bellied man of fifty or sixty years. I stayed out of sight as the dinner and drinking went on well into the evening dark.
A female screech got me quickly down from my loft and a second, and much more girlish scream brought me through the back door and into the dining room with my blade bayonet in my hand. The man's wife was bent over the table at one end, her fancy dress up on her back while a large captain rogered her fiercely, moving the table, glasses and decanter with his fierce thrusts.
The man's daughter was being held between a subaltern's knees, bare to the waist, her torn shift hanging to the floor and the officer's hands buried in her tangled hair while her face was pressed into his crotch. Her father sat back in his chair, a glass of Madeira in his hand, his legs crossed and watched the entertainment while the third officer stood near his assaulted wife, his cock in his hand. I took in this whole scene at a glance and wondered what to do next.