Chapter 15: June

"Papa don' want you to plow today," June said, swinging her hips from side to side and cocking her lovely head, eyes shining. "He says it's too damn'd wet." Her long hair hung loosely, falling nearly to her tiny waist and her big boobies bounced beneath her thin bodice, unbuttoned as usual with stay strings dangling.

I came and put my hand on her raised hip, bent and enjoyed a sweet kiss and the flick of her tongue tip. I pinched her nipple gently.

"He wants you - stop that - to work on the fence, down there," she gestured, and I kissed her again and squeezed her plump boob since it was tumbling from her loose-fitting top like a ripe peach from an overfilled basket. We had been playing games ever since I took the job as farm laborer at this forlorn place on the edge of the city, and I suspected she was ready for some more serious action of a more long and meaty kind. Her father was a forthright Tory; her mother a vile termagant, her little sister a constant pest and her older brothers working for the British at various tasks in New York City like the spineless, lick-spittles they were. She was just a fine piece of ass who seemed always in heat.

I led the plow team back to the stable, saddled up an old riding horse, got June up behind me and off we went to see about the fence. Once we were over the rise on which the farmhouse and its outbuildings sat, June wrapped her arms about me and nuzzled my back, letting her hands explore well below my belt buckle. I knew what she was looking for and so did it.

The place where the fence had collapsed was on the far southern edge of the cleared land. I helped the girl down, caressing her here and there as I did, handed her the canteen to put in the shade and set to work. She sat beneath a tree on the hillside and watched, sulking while I strained and sweated, trying to get the long rails back where they would support each other in what we called a worm fence.

"We've going to need some new rails, at least three," I said to her, taking the canteen she held out to me. I was thoroughly sweat soaked, and she was still pouting, her skirt up to her thick thighs.

"Work all you think about?" she asked, lying back in the deep grass and spreading her knees in a most unladylike manner. She sucked on a grass stem languidly.

I sat beside her and slid her new, store-bought workdress up to her rounded hip, fingering her pouting slit.

"You're all sweaty," she said, looking up at my eager face, which indeed was dripping. "You'll get me wet and dirty." She clamped her dimpled knees together.

"Not from the back, my girl," I said with a laugh, and I rolled her over and hoisted her rump up above her wide-spread knees. She wiggled her rounded ass in anticipation as I flipped up her skirts, worked open my foreflap and produced my blood-hot ram which extended four or five inches from my grip. I stroked her slit a few times with its purple head, fore and aft, and was about to get properly lodged and ram to some furtive enjoyment when she squealed.

"Papa's coming," she moaned, crawling away and pulling down her rumpled dress. I stood quickly, stuffed my throbbing blood sausage in my britches and stiff-legged my way back to my work. The man had been dragging a half-dozen clattering rails behind his team, and now he unchained them and dumped them at my feet.

"Do it right, boy," he said gruffly, "not half-assed with them split timbers," and then he turned to his red-faced daughter. "Get on back to the house, churn's a'waitin' for you, miss lazy-bones." He clucked at his mules and got turned around. The girl ran down, hopped up on a mule's bare back and waved to me as they disappeared.

Since gathering information this way had been a dismal failure, I was about to give it up when June presented me with a valuable gift the next afternoon. She strode out into the field where I was working, hand in hand with a Redcoat in knee-high boots and a short, fancy jacket heavy with gold lace on its cuffs. She introduced the ornate stripling to me, batting her eyes. "He's ever so brave, he says," she said, "and a member of the headquarters' company. Can you imagine?"

The young man nodded at me, adjusting his tight-fitting breeches at the waist and touching the hilt of his hanger. He might have been eighteen. "Day," he said, and I quickly decided he might be worth taking for a ride.

"You alone, sir?" I asked diffidently.

"Indeed," he said, "vistin' Miss June here."

"Going back tonight?" I asked.

He smiled. I was tempted to knock him out and drag him off and then have my way with the girl but did not want to raise an alarm and have to explain my absence as well as his so I just smiled back. The young pair left, swinging their clasped hands between them, and I went back to my plowing, not one of my favorite pastimes while I wondered if the girl was taking the simpering subaltern for a roll in the hay.

When the moon rose that evening, the young Hussar bade reluctant farewell to his hosts, kissed June's fingers and mounted his horse with a jaunty wave. I knocked him from his saddle with a long stick before he reached the main road, tossed his sword away, put his pistol in my belt, gagged him with his perfumed kerchief, bound him back on his mount with his own belts, and well before dawn had him and his good horse safely in Lt. Foster's grip. I snatched something to eat and rode back to my barn and loft in time to stretch and get back to work.

June brought me some grub early in the afternoon. "Wouldn't a picnic be nice?" she asked, basket in hand and smile on lips. I had not slept, except atop a horse, for thirty-six hours, but I smelled an opportunity for some long-overdue rogering and an obviously willing and extremely luscious partner.

We found a shady place and while I knelt between her knees and fondled her breasts, sucking on her tongue from time to time as I loosed her laces, she asked me about the cavalrymen. "Wasn't he nice?"

"Um." I said, freeing her bodice and gobbling her upright nipple, it was nearly thimble-sized and stone hard. Her soft, warm breasts were bigger than Winesaps and filled my paws.

"And polite?" she gasped after pushing my head and flicking tongue away.

"Indeed," I said, freeing my aching prod from its unjust imprisonment. It sprang up, eager for exercise. She stared at it, licking her lips.

"Did you happen to see him leave?" she asked, hiking up her skirts as I edged forward, my heated lance in my hand, flicking its huge head from side to side, viperlike, rubbing it along the inside of her plump thighs.

"I did," I told her as she lifted her hips a bit to make my entrance easier.

After that we forgot the Redcoat and enjoyed lunging and heaving at each other for some time, both still on our knees, my hands on her butt and hers about my waist. After I pumped out my pleasure for the second time, I ended up on my back with the eager young woman astride me seeking her fourth or fifth viscous climax, gritting her teeth and working hard, eyes closed and tongue protruding.