Chapter 9: Gertrude

I told my captain that I wanted a week to take care of the lady's sister who lived up on the Hudson and was being harassed by some foul Tories. I said they would let me borrow two horses, and I would rejoin Greene's team down on the Chesapeake, no harm done.

He looked dubious even after I showed him on the map, but he let me go, and gave me a written pass. At that time, I had a good bit of money, blood money for the most part, the coins of dead men. I went to the stable, said the madam had given me permission to borrow a pair of riding horses and picked the two biggest I could see. The groom saddled one while I got some provisions from the kitchen and by the time the sun was high, I was on the road with a vision of luscious Gertrude in my head and no plan in mind.

Of course, the weather turned foul, the fords ran high, the roads became muddy, and I got lost a time or two, but two mornings later, there was the sturdy house on the hillside, the one where I had enjoyed so much pleasure between Gertrude's strong legs. Saddle sore and sleep deprived, I was still anxious to see her, to bed her, to horse her until she squealed with delight, and I exploded like a keg of powder.

I sat on my big charger back in the trees and observed the home. Everything seemed quiet and peaceful so I dismounted and led my geldings to the barn, found an empty stall, rubbed them down a bit and got them fed and watered. I spread some coins among the stable hands and got smiles and knuckled foreheads.

"How's Miss Trudy?" I asked a gray-haired slave.

"She in a lot a'trouble, yas'suh." he said, pocketing my shilling.

"How come?"

"Dat man she done wed, he a mean sum'bitch."

"Does he hit her?"

"Oh, he do worse, much worse. But he not here today, only come up here on Friday night den go back on Monday. He bring some frens usually, nasty bunch, nasty."

I walked over to the house, went in the back way and up the narrow steps to the room where we had enjoyed each other strenuously. Although the sun was well up, Gertrude lay face down on her bed. I was not sure if she was sleeping or weeping so I closed the door sharply and stood waiting.

She rose on a elbow, red-eyed and looked at me sadly.

"Gretchen sent me," I said quietly as I crossed her big bedroom and sat beside her. I petted her back and she sobbed.

Finally she gained control of herself and rolled over, an arm across her face, unaware that the loose gown had fallen open to display one mounded breast with its cherry nipple.

"I've been a perfect fool," she said, "and I am paying for it. How's the girl? Did you see her ancient husband?" She tried to smile, failed. "I was at their wedding, such a fool she is."

I bent and kissed her gently, noting the bruises and scratches on her breast and the blue swelling on her cheekbone. "She's looking for a lover, looking hard," I said, gently cupping her breast.

The young woman truly smiled. "Did you help her?"

"Best I could."

"I'm sure that was plenty good enough. Can you help me?"

"Gretchen said I should get up here and kill your husband."

"Yes," she said, closing her eyes as I caressed her more firmly, sliding my hand down her soft belly, "I think you should. He is simply the foulest man you can imagine. Vile, vulgar, mean, cruel, inhuman."

I helped her sit up and pulled her dressing gown closed after bending to kiss her breast and lick her erect nipple.

"That's nice," she said, her hand buried in my hair. "But he'll be here tomorrow, and he probably will not be alone. Come let me show you."

She rolled off the side of the bed, took my hand and led me down to a big room with sliding doors. "This was the dining room," she said, gesturing at the many ceiling to floor windows with their heavy drapery. "Now it's his torture chamber."

Several cabinets, locked, stood along the walls and the only furniture was a huge sideboard and a collection of leather chairs and small tables, about the size of card tables. "He brings his friends here for cigars, brandy and me."

I looked at her, puzzled.

"He ties me or manacles me or sometimes lets them chase me about the room and then I am whipped, beaten, bitten, manhandled, probed, licked and raped by his guests. When they are done, he has the servants carry me up to bed, and he spends the nights abusing me physically and sexually. He uses various drugs and terrible devices including several whips and chains. I'd rather not think about it."

She shuddered and sat in a tall-backed chair. "Once," she said, after taking a deep breath, "he had his cronies sit in these chairs and forced me to go from man to man, completely naked, doing whatever was requested. He led me with a chain about my neck, like a dog, a quirt in his hand which he used regularly on my bottom. There were six or seven of them, and I went around twice. My jaw still aches."

"Who is he?" I asked, and she told me his name.

"He's one of Clinton's advisors," she said. "They say he forces confessions from captured spies, that sort of thing, counterintelligence they call it. He enjoys pain. I thought he was something quite special, kind and thoughtful, when I married him, rich as well. He's from a very good family, old British line, back to York's time. I found I was wrong the first night when he raped me violently and then buggered me most foully, cackling like a fiend."

We both heard a carriage crunch in the drive out front, and a black servant hurried in, curtsied and gasped out, "Dey here, Miss, a day early but dey here. Four a'dem. Dey here." She ran from the room.

Before either of us could move, the big front door slammed open and a commanding voice called, "Hallo the house, the master is home." In trouped a stout man in purple finery and lace cuffs followed by three Redcoat officers from one of the companies of foot. All three were big men and from their ruddy faces, I assumed that they had been drinking on their way north.

Since I was weaponless, except for my bayonet, I looked for a way out, grabbed Gertrude and made for the back hall.

"Stop right there," commanded a voice behind us, and in the doorway stood the broad-chested man in purple, a very large pistol in his hand. I put the woman behind me and faced him, my hand on her hip. I could feel her tremble. "What the hell are you doing in my house, with my wife?" he demanded, stalking toward me, muzzle aimed at my middle.

Behind me, I heard Gretchen squeal, and glanced over my shoulder to see her being held by two of the British officers, both of whom seemed to be enjoying themselves in pawing her lush body, yanking open her night clothes, slobbering on her face and chest.

I lunged at the man before me, but he was much quicker than I had guessed, side stepped and cracked me on the head with his gun barrel. I fell to my knees, and he kicked me in the ribs and then whacked me again behind the ear.

When I awoke, with a raging headache and a very sore side, I was trussed up in one of those high-backed upholstered chairs, my hands tied low and behind me, and Gertrude sat tied in a similar chair, facing me with barely a yard between our knees, her chest forced forward by her tightly secured arms. Her head hung so that her hair cascaded into her lap, covering her outthrust breasts. She was nearly naked with only tatters of her nightgown clinging to her.

"He's awake," said one of the officers. I glanced up and saw a red-faced man peering at me, a glass half full of wine in his hand. "Yes, I'm sure."

The man wearing the purple, long-tailed coat, stepped in front of me, lifted my chin and spat in my face. "Who are you?" he demanded.

I told him my name, testing the knots and looking across at the young woman who watched me, lips swollen and blood-flecked.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded, taking a pair of heavy leather gloves from a nearby table and flexing his hand into one. I found a loose end and worked at it.

"I know your wife, an old friend," I said as calmly as I could, moving the rope steadily, figuring out the knot.

"That so?" he said, hitting me across the face with the loose glove, a very loud and stinging crack. He then put his fingers into it. It had thick seams. He pulled both gloves tight and smiled at me.

"Knew her father," I said, tasting blood.

He hit me in the mouth, the chest, the eye, the gut and the face again; five very fast blows and all well delivered, three lefts and two rights, a grunt of effort with each. The shock of the attack was very surprising and it took a while for the pain to register. My head rang and my mouth was bleeding.

"Jolly good," said one of the officers, fist on hip. "Well done."

"Care to have a go?" asked Gertrude's husband, stripping off the black gloves and handing them to the young captain.

The Redcoat smiled at me, licked his soft lips, drew on the heavy gloves, stood before me with his feet braced outside mine, and then struck me in the face perhaps ten times, left and right, left and right, so that I was able to swing my head from side to side and ease the force until he threw two lefts in a row and nearly took my head off. He stepped back, puffing, and took off the gloves while I spit blood and felt my left eye swelling closed. One knot was loose by then, dangling in my fingers.

But my hands were still knotted together behind the chair back, and I worked steadily on them, feeling I was making progress despite the beating I was taking. I felt my fingernails tearing, but I kept working, pulling and testing, straining and trying not to show it.

"On to more pleasant things," said the man in purple. "Drag her over here."

Two of the officer pulled the chair with Gertrude tied in it nearer one of the tall windows. "How would you like her?" her husband asked the senior officer present, a fat colonel with a fine mustache. "Perhaps on that table." He quickly began loosening her ropes.

"Yes, yes," the man said, puffing a bit. "On her back, if you please and spread her legs, eh."

"She can serve two at once there," said her husband, untying her and grabbing her by the hair, yanking her to her feet and shaking her. "Good choice, sir." He forced his wife down on the table so her head hung off one side and her legs, from the knees down, off the other. He looped a rope about her neck and tied the ends to opposite table legs, binding her wrists as he did so and bending her lovely neck. Then he loosely tied her ankles to the stout legs at the other end of the table, spreading her open to attack.

"All yours," her husband said, stepping back with a smirk. "Enjoy her, sir, my privilege, my compliments."

The portly officer set aside his heavy belt and sword, undid his foreflap and found his turgid member.

"Leftenant," said the man in purple, "You might try her mouth. Many have found it first class." He gestured at Gertrude's upside-down face. Her long hair dangled to the floor as the loop about her neck kept her chin pulled down.

The young officer looked rather pale as he watched the colonel tossing aside Gertrude's torn gown and positioning himself between her dangling legs, looking down over his fat belly as his swelling and discolored tool. Barely half-hard, the man struggled to get his member into her.

"Here, here," said her husband, watching this with some anger on his face. "That will never do. Let her lick you hard first, sir. She's good at that, one of the few things she can do well." He glanced at the lean subaltern. "You may poke her, if you wish leftenant, hard and fast, if you please, since we see you are up for the task. Does her a world of good, a firm rogering."

The young man, his pale white prick quickly hard and horizontal, all but leapt to ram his jumping prod into her while his colonel ran his fat cock in and out of the woman's gaping mouth with a look of contentment on his face.

"Lick it, you useless bitch," her husband demanded, twisting an upright nipple to emphasize his demands, as the young officer came after only a few thrusts between her tied legs. "My, that was quick," he said, as the tall man backed away, shamefaced.

The husband doffed his fancy coat, opened a closet with a key and produced an impressive phallus of black leather with a bulbous, Morocco-red head and long, dangling straps with silver buckles. I noticed, as he stuffed his swelling member into this huge device and strapped it about his waist, that it had a thick seam along its base and heavy studs decorating its sides. It was a terrible looking instrument that stuck out more than a foot when he had it on, like some sort of battering ram.