Chapter 33: Serving Faithfully

Obviously the girls did not know I could hear them. They were on the other side of the basement stairs, making an inventory of the winter larder. One musical voice said, "Whatever you do, don't let him in your bed in the morning. The night is bad enough."

"I don't understand," said the other girl, "I see five of those."

"Um," said the first. "look on the next shelf. His thing, which is outrageously big anyhow, is enormous early in the day, just enormous, like a rutting stallion's phallus, I swear to you, hard as iron. This long and big around as my arm."

"Poo," said the other, "you're just trying to frighten me."

"You'll see if you aren't careful. It feels like he's pushing a milepost into you. I pretended to faint, and he stopped."

"You're such a story teller," the other girl said. "Now look over here."

"I swear the thing is a foot long, honestly, and you can't get your hand around it. I could barely hold it with both hands."

"Did you suck him?" the other girl asked. "There's a dozen of those."

"Ha," said the first, "impossible. You couldn't get that thing's head in one of those jars."

"Well, I don't believe you," the other girl said. "I think we found all of them."

"Here, you take the lamp. I'll go see if that's all she wants." I heard one set of boots mounting the stairs and rolled out of my cot. My prong jutted out before me in the early morning gloom, a bowsprit. I stretched and stroked it, grasping it firmly; even I could not get my big hand all the way around it at it hairy base, and the bulging veins were rope-like, the head a huge mushroom. It hurt and needed solace.

Wearing only the shirt I slept in, I walked quietly past the foot of the stairs and found the girl with the lamp, her back to me.

"Is that you Margy?" I said, noting the long hank of hair flowing down her back and her well-rounded rump.

She pivoted about, her hair swinging widely, and her hand to her mouth. "Oh," she said and her eyes went directly to my groin where my shirttail tented out rather grandly.

"I thought I heard somebody," I said, yawning.

"Sally and I were," she said and then she licked her lips and smiled. "You heard us, didn't you?"

I returned her smile and nodded. "And you are a doubting Thomas."

She nodded and raised her lamp.

I flipped up my shirt and let the monster free, its big head jumping up and down and its thick stalk rising, heavy-veined, aiming up toward her nose. My stones had coalesced into a tight ball up beneath the base of my root, about the size of a small cannon ball. I weighed them in my hand. They nearly filled it, at least a six-pounder I guessed.

The girl took a deep breath and swallowed.

"Do you want to feel it?" I asked, taking a step toward her, my spear bobbling well before me, bouncing up and down.

She shook her head. "No, no, I don't think so."

"As you can see," I said, "I need some relief, some comfort."

I heard the other girl coming back and covered myself. She came around the corner and saw the Margy looking at me. I turned and found Sally with a list and pencil in her hand.

"He heard," Margy said.

"Shame on you," Sally said, handing the other girl her materials. "Come, I'll take care of you. She's much too young."

"May I watch?" Margy asked as Sally took my arm.

"No," the first girl said with a laugh, "but you can have his second helping. It's much less strenuous."

I smacked her bottom and hurried her to my cubbyhole.

"Lie down," she told me. "I said I'd take care of you. Imagine, eavesdropping. You have no shame, scaring that poor child."

I reclined, holding my prong upright at its thick base. She mounted me, easing herself down on my stake after rubbing its head in her slot until she was juicy, her eyes closed and a hum in her throat. She screwed herself on, rode me, moving from a slow walk to a vigorous gallop, posting and rearing up and down and crying out in unbridled joy. When I finally came, spurting up into her, she keened and sobbed, falling on my chest with my jerking ram still buried in her.

"Where is she?" Sally whispered.

"Watching us through the curtain," I guessed.

"Probably," she said. "Be nice to her."

I withdrew with some effort, and the girl rolled off and pulled down her dress. She pushed at her hair and said, "Come in, if you dare,"

The other girl flipped aside my curtain-doorway and stepped in, looking guilty. I just lay back with my throbbing phallus flat on my belly, oozing jism.

Sally lifted it and let it fall with a splat. "He's about half what he was," she said with a laugh. "You can have him if you want."

Margy nodded and jumped on the bed, straddling me. Sally kissed me and left, smacking her friend's rump as she did. "You may be sorry," she said as the younger girl began to ease herself down on the fat spear I held up between her smooth thighs. It was half-hard already.

She gritted her teeth and took it in, tight and wet as she was, and I let her set the pace, holding her hips and helping her rut. It was a very pleasant and long-lasting joining that ended with me arched above her, and Margy crying, "Deeper, deeper," as she spasmed again and again.

The madam found me at a well-earned breakfast and sat beside me looking morose. "A friend of mine," she said, "who certainly should know better, is making a fool of herself," she sniffed, "and of her whole family as well."

I waited, chewing.

'Her good husband is with Wayne, as brave a man as any out there."

I nodded and cleaned my bowl.

"And she has been allowing her girls to entertain British subalterns in her home, bring them right into the house, sit and chat, play games, and I don't know what all. It's a disgrace." She handed me a note. "Take this to her and do what you can for her. She needs a man about the place, I'm sure of that."

Still inflamed by the morning's exercise, I saddled my mare and took to the road. By noon I had found the small farm, introduced myself to the charming lady of the house and delivered my message. She sat across from me as I ate her applesauce and ginger cake, her mouth pursed and her head cocked to the side, a look of doubt clouding her fine features. She was a very attractive female of perhaps forty years, plainly dressed, but clean and neat, her hair carefully arranged, hardly a raging beauty but possessing a fine, strong body.

"My friend is a nosy busybody, I fear," she said.

"But a good woman," I answered.

She nodded. "My oldest daughter has a husband; I don't suppose she knew that. But he is also away, with Lafayette last we heard. She's twenty and very lonely; they were only married a few days, a fortnight perhaps. My sixteen-year-old is, well, boy-crazy some would say, and her younger sister is trying to imitate her behavior."

"Can I help?" I asked, finishing my applesauce.

"I doubt it," said the woman whose name was Margaret W--. "You are not a pretty, slim, compliment-filled, fiercely-mustachioed young man with a fancy uniform and a world of manners."