Chapter 4

"I have this peculiar letter," said the good madam, "look at this." She handed it to me wearing a puzzled look.

In a woman's hand on very fine paper, it was an offer to join the clandestined group and to do her share for the cause, and it was signed, complete with an artful flourish, by the daughter of one of the oldest families on the Hudson, a Dutch dynasty that was active since Peter Minuet's time.

"I received this some time back and set it aside, but I have met this girl; she's quite lovely. So get on over there, find out if this is the truth, and if it is, escort this young patriot back here so I can talk to her. I'm not sure she understands what she will be getting into."

"Or who will be getting into her," I said.

The madam frowned, shook her head, smacked me with her folded fan, made a "tisk" noise with her tongue and then smiled.

I took my leave of the spy in my bed after one more enervating gallop, spent a lonely night wrapped in a blanket, and I reached my destination early the next day. The rambling home on the riverside looked to have grown there and eventually I met the lord of the manor, a white-haired gentleman of some years with very palsied hands. I told him I had come at his daughter's bidding, and he nodded and waved me away.

With the staff's help, I found the girl in her room. I was nearly stunned and I am sure I gulped. She was a small, young, soft, golden blonde with hair that fell to her waist, and she possessed a slim body designed by the devil to entice men to their doom. She smiled at me and I showed her the letter, my cock swollen to at least twice its normal size and crawling down my leg. My skin tingled when she touched my hand and smiled at me. She was barely five feet tall, likely less than seven stone, but she was surely stimulating.

"This yours?" I asked, trying not to look down the front of her filmy and lowcut gown.

She nodded, studying me.

"Are you ready to go? The madam would like to see you, explain things."

"Of course," she said liltingly and within the hour we were off, wished well by all, her ancient father. I was still painfully tumescent; for, in truth, I had seldom seen so lovely a young woman or one so graceful and artless. Wearing a tight-fitting jacket and voluminous skirt, she mounted sidesaddle with heavily laden saddlebags behind her and a smile on her pink lips.

A mile or so down the road, she called a halt and scrunched around on her awkward saddle in order to face me and display her remarkable charms. "Promise you won't tell," she said, taking a deep breath that nearly unhorsed me. I would have promised her anything after simply enjoying riding beside her until I was ready to ejaculate.

"That's my sister's letter, my older sister. I'm Gretchen."

I nodded and licked my lips, imagining her bare and writhing under me. "Is it?" I said, trying to clear my head of those vulgar and stimulating images.

"But," the girl said, unable to hold my eyes, and looking shyly at the ground, "she has married since she wrote that, and, well, I can take her place I'm sure."

"Maybe we should see her," I suggested.

"She lives upstream a ways," the luscious youngster said, granting me a smile that caused my heart to skip a beat or two.

"How far?"

"Oh, half an hour," she said, "I haven't seen her since her wedding." And I since I was very eager to prolong the trip so that a night in a crowded inn might advance my goal of rogering her until her eyes crossed and she begged for either more or mercy, I suggested we visit the sister.

The sister was even more beautiful I believe, her features more firmly molded, but obviously of the same family - fresh-faced, long legged, full-hipped, with a cinched-in waist and a pair of impressive peaks that jutted out at the world above her long, tight stays, barely concealed beneath folds of dark lace and darker sheerness. She introduced herself a Gertrude F--, and since she was lightly veiled and all in black, I assumed she was widowed which certainly surprised me.

She invited us in, glared at her sister, and we sat at a low table and had delicacies brought to us by several servants. She was not much taller than her sister, but she was obviously more mature and just as enticing, a ravishing beauty I was soon eager to ravish. My mental behavior toward women was much, much worse than my actual conduct, which as you may have read, was often humble, shy and retiring.

"My husband died late last month," the striking blonde said as she poured us tea, a seldom seen luxury. Her hands and her ears glittered with rings. "I have not told my family yet." She removed her short veil and shook out her golden hair.

I nodded watching the interplay between the women and was reminded of cats disputing the dry corner of a barn. I handed Gertrude the folded note after they had chatted for a while.

"And this one was going to take my place, this infant?" she asked, arching a lovely eyebrow at her pouting sister and waving the short letter.

"She volunteered," I admitted. "Eagerly."

"She has been boy crazy since she was ten or eleven, completely insane, she tries to corner them when she can, won't leave them alone, and of course they enjoy it, most of them," the young woman said. Her beautiful sister did not deny the accusation. "Do you know how old she is?"

I shook my head having assumed the luscious little girl was eighteen or so, perhaps twenty.

"Fourteen," said Gertrude, "and barely that."

The girl nodded and smiled. "But I am still willing to serve," she said.

"May I ask you a question, Miss, a very personal one?" I tried to guess the answer since until that moment I had been planning to hump her first chance I got.

She nodded, hands demurely in her lap, a picture of innocent desire.

"You are a maiden then, aren't you?" I asked her, incredulous. "A virgin?"

"Of course," she said, quickly angry, eyes flashing, young little boobs jiggling above her tight-laced stays. She made her mouth a thin line and jutted out her jaw.

"Then, " I said, "regretfully, Madam Von R-- would have no use for you, and I will have to return you to your father."

"Please," Gretchen said, looking almost her age, "you can fix that, can't you, take my useless cherry I mean? I want to serve the cause, the revolution. I'll give it to you gladly." A tear appeared at the corner of one shiny eye.

And while I would have been quite willing to have done so just minutes before, I put on my most offended appearance and told her I would do no such thing. I crossed my legs the other way.

She sister stifled a laugh. "But I can doff my widow's weeds for my country, mayn't I?" she said.

"I suppose," I said, and then my curiosity erupted. "How is it you are a widow when you were so recently married? If you don't mind my asking. An accident?"

"Well," she said, looking at her sister. "She's old enough to know. My husband killed himself, in despair I suppose. My fault, at least in part, I'm sure. Jumped in the river, right out there, off that bluff. I watched him do it. He waved and blew a kiss, knowing I was watching."

Young Gretchen put her hand to her mouth. "Jeffrey?" she cried.

"Yes, Jeffrey, my pretty Jeffrey, I am sorry to say, was a, how can I put this nicely," she looked at me and then at her shocked sister, "he was a, well, he was less than a man, I fear, a good bit less. He could not perform his duty as a husband. He must have known it, but never told me. I'm not sure anyone knew."

"But, but," her sister said, "we saw, you know, the sheets, the next morning."

Gertrude smiled. "Yes. Weren't they impressive, flapping at the windows, and that blood was surely mine, and I was sore for a week, but now I have no idea who took my maidenhead. I suspect it was his groom, who still looks at me oddly now and again, or one of his friends, perhaps that thin one you danced with, that simp with the red wig and bulging codpiece. He was about Jeffrey's size. I'm sure he had a pair of stockings in his breeches."

Her sister looked shocked, and I must say I was embarrassed.

"For a fortnight, day after day, night after night, time after time, I lost count of them, at least a score of times, my dear, foolish husband attempted to serve me properly," she said, her fist at her mouth, her eyes closed. She produced a tiny handkerchief. "I did my very best to help him. We must have tried a hundred positions and numerous potions." She bit her knuckle and recovered. "He failed, failed most miserably. He wept in my arms, filled with melancholy. He had neither the will nor the wherewithal. He gave up. So did I. I resigned myself to spinsterhood; he to black bile."

"I don't understand," said her beautiful little sister, mystified.

Gertrude made a fist and held up her little finger. "It was about that size, my dear," she said. "But not that stiff." She folded her finger into her hand. "I fear that I was unkind to him. And he killed himself leaving me a very short note saying he was sorry."

"So you are rich," her sister said, wiping away a nonexistent tear.

"Very," said Gertrude, taking a deep breath and smiling at me. "Is father any better?"

Gretchen shook her head, tumbling golden curls.

"You may stay with me, if you behave yourself, and don't climb all over my guests," she said with a tiny smile, and then to me. "Our father has been incompetent for some time. He really does not know who we are any more."

"Pity," I said, admiring her courage as well as her body.

By then the sun was setting. We had a light meal, and I was shown to a small room at the side of the house while the sisters went off for some more talk and commiseration I suppose, their arms linked, heads together.

I was soundly asleep when Gertrude came to my bed and shook my shoulder. I sat up and she sat down, her hand on my bare thigh. I was quickly tumescent, and she fondled my swelling root and smiled down at me, stroking steadily and then feeling my hard stones, weighing them, fondling. She was wearing a long, pale, translucent night dress and had her hair tied back loosely, a golden cascade. Her eyes were alight.

"She's finally asleep," the young widow said with a relieved sigh, untying her neck ribbon and shrugging her fluffy dress from her slim shoulders. It hung briefly at her dark, prominent nipples and then plunged to her lap and elbows. She was very white, pale as marble. In the moonlight her protruding nipples were blue and her curly muff flickered, obviously wet.

"Will you now care for her?" I asked, pulling her closer and bending to suck her upright tits, to rub my tongue across them and bite gently. They hardened quickly, leaping out erect and trembling as my rough hands roamed her smooth skin. Briefly, I wondered what my stubbly beard would do to her tender parts.

"Yes, I must," she said, her hand behind my head, holding me to her warm and exciting chest. "So I cannot join the madam's choir I fear, not for a while, not until I am sure Gretchen will behave. I'll find a school for her, a convent perhaps, a very strict one with many cold baths." She let go of me, stood, shook herself free of her gown and rolled in beside me as I held up the corner of my quilt, my ram now rearing proudly, ready for action, dripping in fact, blood hot, pike long, stone hard.

"Please be gentle," she said. "Like that silly girl, I was a virgin when I wrote that note. I have since learned what the old lady's nieces are actually doing, and I would be most happy to join them." She kissed me softly and I caressed her and kissed her back somewhat more insistently, my hand sliding down to cup her soft mound and finger her warm sex. "Whoever deflowered me, I must say I rather enjoyed it." I found her tiny prick and tweaked it gently.

When I was sure she was ready, which was almost at once, I spread her legs with my knees, lifted her thighs a bit and mounted her, my elbows by her ears, my mouth gnawing at hers as my prod butted her open. She sucked in her breath as my fat, hot, bone-hard ramrod sank into her tight, fluttering, nearly-virginal chasm, prying open her quivering lips and squeezing into a cloying and muscular cave, battering and tearing, exploring and entering.

I held all the weight I could from her and concentrated on controlling my lust, which was not easy, but I soon rammed hard at her, spreading her tight folds, penetrating insistently. I pressed my toes against the footboard and sank into her very slowly but steadily as she wriggled and heaved up her hips, snorting through her mouth and nose as I drove deeper and deeper, inch-by-inch. She rippled with pleasure.

"Uh," she gasped, eyes closed. "Ah," she sighed, mouth wide open. "Oh," she cried, biting her lower lip. "Um, um, um, um, um," she moaned as our bodies got into a fine and rocking rhythm of thrust and recoil, of give and take, of in and out and in, rubbing pubic bones together. I felt her thighs slide down to my waist and her legs attempt to link behind my back and then her feet were pressing on my buttocks, hammering away and driving me deeper into her.

I arched up and our pace accelerated, lifting her with each grunting blow that wrought a noisy protest from the bed. For a small woman, she was very strong and quite determined to enjoy herself. "Yee," she squealed when she shuddered and spasmed, but I ignored her initial climax, held her heaving hips, reared up and speared her relentlessly until I felt my ballocks tingle and my jabbing spear swell and go fully rigid, pulsing wildly. I clamped my jaw and tried to smile. I pumped out my relief in jolts of energy and jism as she came again, squealing and gasping, and we managed to enjoy a nearly mutual orgasm that left her tight quim oozing juices and my satisfied body lying inert beside her, my spent member atop my thigh, my paw on her heaving belly.

Beside me she purred with contentment. "That's what I wanted," she sighed out, her fingers raking through my body hair, "that's exactly what I wanted." She moved to lie across me, her mouth at my chest, our legs intertwined.

"By damn, Gertrude," I managed to gulp out, as I petted her back and kneaded her hard buttocks, "You had better try out any man you intend to wed, or you'll fill that river with broken bodies."

She giggled. "Don't joke about such sadness," she said. "Can you do it again?" She put her hand on my wasted pole, my exhausted manhood. It felt utterly nerveless, naught but a fat blood sausage despite her tickling.

"Perhaps," I said, "with a bit of encouragement, a kiss, a lick, something to enliven the poor thing, bring it back to life."

She crawled down my hairy body, poised over me with my swelling root in both hands, said," I've never done this," and then licked and sucked me until I was hard as stone, drawing my member well into her warm mouth, to the base of her tongue.