"Missy," I said quietly as I buried my hand in her curls and she licked the head of my swelling prod, "you've got to talk to your silly sister again. If she keeps teasing the guards, she's going to get in big trouble."

She lifted my cock, rested it on her forehead and began tending my throbbing balls with her talented tongue. I tensed several muscles and tried not to think of what she was doing and how good it felt.

"Understand?" I demanded, pushing her away.

She nodded, tears in her eyes. "I'll do my best, but she's very willful."

"You want her to end up like you, a cocksucker for some Yankee?"

"No, no, please Bill, don't call me that." She rose, sat on my thighs with her legs spread and wiggled down to impale herself on my rigid prong, rising with her hands on my shoulders to take it all the way in as her simple shift fell to cover the action of our joined genitals. "Oh, that's so good. I will talk to her again. Now give it to me, harder, harder."

I grasped her buttocks and enjoyed her with the image of her luscious sister in my mind. Ginger, as she was called, was only fourteen but she was well beyond just pretty, and she just loved playing with boys and men. I had talked several times to the guards at the port, but a man can only resist so much, and Ginger was a walking and talking sex dream to bend any man's resolve.

As I fucked her lovely sister and she bounced on my legs, eyes tightly closed, I decided that the solution was to make Ginger my second concubine, to protect her innocence by taking it and having her fall in love with my cock as her sister had. My cock was, I had to admit, magnificent.

Missy arched up and climaxed as my thick ram tortured her whole vulva, burying her tiny love button with every rigid stroke. She whimpered and shook, and I gritted my teeth to keep from screaming out in relief as I emptied my balls in her.

We cuddled briefly and then I peeled her off and kissed her. "Send the girl to me. Perhaps you have not explained the consequences of her playing."

"I've tried," Missy sighed, still shuddering, my spend oozing down the inside of her pale thighs.

To the best of my knowledge, I had never fucked any girl under the age of fifteen, although I had to admit, I did not always ascertain their age as we plowed across Georgia and captured Savannah, where I was now posted.

I flipped open my journal and made a note for Missy's morning visit, adding to the total in the margin. I had, I less than two months, enjoyed sexual congress with seventeen different females, mostly young and willing, and had pumped out my jism in a Southern belle forty-two times. Not bad for a man who had entered the Union army as a virginal second lieutenant. Sherman may have burned it way from Atlanta, I raped mine.

Ginger would, I was sure, become number eighteen, and I looked forward to her conquest. Only two had died in the process; of that I was proud, both having killed themselves after I defiled them, but fifteen of the remaining ones were now whoring for their survival. The other was Missy.

She arrived in my office in her usual dishabille, looking as if her winter clothing might fall from her body at any moment. It was January and the winds were often bitter. Her bodice as seldom fully buttoned.

She stood before my desk; suppressing a grin I was sure.

"Straighten your dress, girl."

She pulled the dark bodice down and bared more of her high, young breasts, a pair of sugarloaf mounds.

"Yesterday, down at the dock, did you lean forward in front of the men on guard and bare your breasts for their enjoyment?"

She blinked at me. "NO," she said loudly, "of course not. I slipped." Her lips all but disappeared as she suppressed a grin.

"And on Sunday, on your way home from church, did you lift your skirts well above your knee in boarding your carriage?"

She blinked at me and licked her pouting lips. I could hardly wait to see them around my stiff rod, my rigid cudgel.