Chapter 6: Constance

"I've rented you out," the Madam said with a smile. "You and my best carriage with the team of grays."

I waited, knowing it would all become reasonably clear when she felt like it.

"My good friend, Mrs. T--. is going to a ball or some such thing and plans to wear her jewels. And wait until you see them! She needs a guard and since you know how to drive, you are most qualified. Take a pistol."

I nodded and returned her smile. "There's more isn't there?"

"Yes, all the enemy's grandees should be there, top to bottom, the general's whole staff, Tories included. You can talk to the other drivers, see what you can find out. She may give you some information to bring back."

"Very well," I said, ready to leave at once.

"Now go wash and shave, you dirty hulk; use the tub out back. I'll have one of the maids brush your clothes and do your boots. Rake out and retie you hair or get one of the girls to do it. Do you have clean linen?" The tiny madam smiled as she poked me with her fan.

An hour later, after standing inspection and having my queue redone with a new ribbon of watered silk, just about sunset I arrived at the lady's side doorway, and she appeared before I could reach the steps. Gorgeous was not a word I favored much, but that is what she was, a mature princess in royal blue sacque with a choker of diamonds, plus a heavy bracelet that flashed fire and fancy earbobs three inches long that glowed blue-white and swung along with her stride like bits of ice. She wore a flowing cape with fur trim and soft-leather dancing slippers. I wondered where the very fortunate Mr. T-- was as she took my measure with her blue-gray eyes.

She gave me a smile that would have melted steel as I held out my hand to take her gloved fingers and help her in. She arranged her extra-wide skirts, lifted her lovely chin, patted her flat stomacher, pulled her rich cape about her nearly-bare chest, flipped up her hood over her carefully dressed hair, and I closed the door, thoroughly aroused by her beauty and gulping down my groans of desire.

I drove slowly and carefully to the fine mansion where the soiree was being held, getting my lust under control, flipped down the steps and assisted her to the brick street. The house flamed with candlelight at every window and appeared to be already filled to the eaves. She murmured a small "thank you" as I looked down at her bulging breasts which lay there almost fully exposed as if presented on a pillow of silk and lace beneath a thin layer of gauze, two swollen ivory cones with blueish tips, cannon-ball sized, 8-pounders at least. She squared her shoulders and a shiver coursed my spine. I'm sure I was slavering. A liveried servant bowed her in, and I took the carriage around the house to join several others, shaking with lust.

We drivers not only had a small fire going, two of the local slatterns paid us a visit and made a few shillings going from carriage to carriage to spread their legs or offer their bums. I learned nothing worth knowing and near midnight, having avoided the strumpets for fear of the pox, when the stars were bright and cold, I was summoned to take my beautiful passenger home.

She emerged from the candlelit hall on the arm of a lean British officer in a very fancy uniform glowing with gold trim and many buttons. He brushed me aside as if I were a stray dog, helped her in and then hopped up beside her after giving me a supercilious and oily smile. His codpiece bulged, rather ominously I thought. I hated him immediately. The woman flipped up the hood of her cape and gave me a very brief look, obviously-worried I decided, as I closed the door.

We had not traveled half a mile before the carriage shook under me, someone thumped the side and a female voice screeched, "No, damn you, stop that."

I yelled "whoa, whoa," pulled on the brake and jumped to the road. The carriage door flew open and the young officer, his jacket unbuttoned, wig askew and belts awry, snarled at me, "What's the meaning of this. Get back where you belong."

I grabbed him by his neckcloth and yanked him out of the rig, his silk-clad legs and slippered feet kicking. I pushed him up against the back wheel and banged his head against the rim a time or two until he calmed himself. He straightened his small wig and looked at me with undisguised hatred. My hand touched the hilt of my bayonet, but I resisted.

"Madam?" I said loudly.

She stepped down, capeless, holding her blue dress together between her impressive hillocks, her posture militantly rigid, her fine face a mask of distressed disgust, one hank of dark hair dangling before her lovely nose. She tossed it back and took a deep breath.

"Sir," she spat at the man I held at the neck, letting his toes barely touch the road, "I mistook you for a gentleman." Then she looked at me tightlipped and said, "Let go of him."

I did and stepped back. She hit him in the face. She did not slap him; she made a good fist and struck him hard on the cheekbone, a swinging right with a fair amount of weight behind it that produced a solid whack. "Good night, sir," she said coldly, shaking her kid-gloved hand and getting back into the carriage without help, showing one firm breast and then a good bit of long leg as she did. She slammed the door.

"Bitch," the young man spat, reaching for his sword hilt.

I grabbed him at the breastbone, twisted up a handful of cloth and shook him until his eyes fluttered and teeth rattled. Then I took off his sword belt and handed the weapon through the window to the snorting woman. I pulled the man behind the carriage, showed him the blade of my big knife and suggested that he start walking back toward the crowded city if he wished to remain intact and not carry his balls home in his pockets.

"In these slippers," he moaned, lifting a foot to show me the delicate short boot with its thin sole and ornate buckle.

"You can take them off if you wish," I suggested, giving him a push in the right direction and a kick in his rear. He stumbled away, growling.

"You all right?" I asked the dark interior of the carriage.

"Yes," came the smooth answer, "very. Drive on, if you please."

I took a deep breath, rearranged my britches so my long member could be a bit more comfortable despite its confinement, clucked to the team, and we went as quickly as we could in the dark to the lady's home on the edge of the city, my stones in an throbbing uproar.

I helped her down, and she stepped to the walk with her hand between her luscious domes, holding her ripped dress together beneath her long cape. She looked up at me, still holding my hand. "He tore my dress, my beautiful new dress, the vile bastard, ripped it open. My seamptress will be furious."

I held my tongue and walked with her to the door, her hand resting on my forearm, my eyes trying to stay away from her nearly-bare chest. I could hear her breathing and feel her anger radiating.

"It's open," she said. "I have no live-in servants, but my carriage boy will take care of the horses."

I eased wide the door as the rig moved away behind us, and she entered, took my wrist and pulled me inside, surprisingly strong. She tossed her cape aside, pushed the door closed, pressed me back against it, rose on her toes, put both her hands behind my neck and captured my mouth with hers, giving me a hard and soulful kiss that lasted long enough for my body to become well acquainted with hers. Hers was splendid, full and firm, and her nipples were erect and pointed, her belly a soft puff, her buttocks hard and heaving. "Thank you," she gasped out before she kissed me again and welcomed my tongue, her hands clawing my back, her thighs rubbing mine. I wondered how old she was and where her husband was hiding; I wondered how long it was going to take to get her out of her fancy clothes and into her bed; I also wondered how many times we could do it and began imagining impossible positions.

"Come," she said, when she pulled her soft, wet mouth away. She beckoned; I eagerly followed her up the curving stairs and into her bedroom where she turned, took her hand away from her torn dress, shrugged her shoulders and bared both upright breasts to my gaze in her soft lamplight. They stood proudly atop her tight-laced stays, their rosy nipples aimed slightly away from each other. I guess she might have been thirty, perhaps thirty-five and a good ten stone, a ripe beauty. "Help me out of this," she whispered while I stood gaping at her voluptuous body. She had to say it twice, the second time with a smile.

In many ways, I concluded, woman are much better than girls.

She turned her back, and I undid several tiny hooks so she could peel off her ruined bodice and its diaphanous trimming. Her narrow corset laced in the back; I quickly undid those strings, and she slid that away from her rounded hips, tossed aside her over skirt and then turned to face me, nearly bare to the trim waist, breathing hard, lips parted, obviously as eager as I was and still angry, her nipples hardening and poking out like little finger-tips. I cupped a luscious breast and savored one briefly; her jutting mounds were warm, firm and well-more than a handful, heavy and dense. I licked, and she trembled so I nibbled.

"He made me so mad," she said opening her arms to me. I stepped into her grasp, bent and found her open mouth while my hands roamed her well-muscled back, traced her deep spine, slid down inside her dress and kneaded her firm buttocks, pulling her off the floor as she drove her tongue into my throat and her mound rode my thigh as her knees clamped high on my legs.

"Hurry, man," she said, twisting away and fumbling at her underskirt waist. I found a chair, sat and pulled off my boots, tossed my new shirt aside, stood and got out of my britches. Up sprang my eager root as if mounted on a coiled spring. By then she was climbing onto her high bed wearing naught but her diamonds. I crossed to her side, my upright bowsprit bobbling a foot before me, and she lifted the quilts and invited me to lie beside her, eyeing my blood-hot manhood greedily. I felt like one of those medieval knights taking his long lance into the lists. I was engorged and eager, ready for whatever came my way.

"I'm ready, very ready," she gasped when our mouths pulled apart. I climbed between her long legs, and with her help placed my swollen member's fat head between her moist and pouting lips as she lifted her knees and dug in her heels. I hesitated just a moment and looked down at her, poised at the narrow entrance of her glory; she nodded and then I drove my hips forward to sink it completely in one long and powerful thrust, my fists by her ears and my toes braced on the footboard as it struck gristle. Wonderful, bloody wonderful; soft and sinuous, deep enough for any man, filled with viscous lubrication and pulsing with vibrant life. She sighed and wriggled and we began.

She reared and howled, wrapping me in her legs and clamping me in her tight cunny with a grip both muscular and stimulating, gobbling me up and drawing me deeper and still deeper as she bucked and arched. She gritted her teeth and smiled as we started lurching and thrusting at each other rather wildly, rocking from side to side and rolling about until she was nearly upright, elbows on the headboard, eyes closed, and I was on my knees trying to smash my thick rod of blood-soaked flesh all the way through her, her heaving hips in my hands and one of her nipples often in my mouth.

There was nothing sweet or kind about our love-making, it was teeth-gritting hard work, selfish and passionate. I came, pumping out my relief in bursts, and she gasped when I did but then continued right on with her own efforts having butted me in the chest, rolled me to my back and mounted firmly with her knees gripping my ribs, hands clawing my chest, hair hanging down into my face and swinging from side to side as she rogered me, crying out, "Yah, yah, yah," as she did.