Chapter 21: Lizzie James

When I got back, somebody sewed up the cuts above my right eye and at the corner of my mouth, and my lieutenant took pity on me and assigned me an easy job for a change.

“All you gotta do,” he said, giving me a hard eye, “is take this here box, it’s full a’reports of some kind, down to meet the stage to Philadelphia, down at Smedleyville.”

I nodded and mentally assessed my finances, hoping to spend some on good beer and bad women when I got the chance.

“Y’see that carriage?” the lieutenant asked, pointed. “Major James, that’s his, and he’s giving you a ride down there; that is, his lady is. You c’n trail a horse if you can’ fin’ one that not nobody’s or you can hike on back. Ain’t much more’n ten-twelve miles.” I was sure that meant twenty at least.

“How ‘bout some meal money?” I asked.

“Get on,” he told me, turning his back. I failed to find a horse and so took my seat inside the carriage next to a stately woman in black and gray who introduced herself as the major’s wife, Mrs. James. I knuckled my forehead and said my name and she smiled and said, “Lizzie’s what they call me; that’s good enough. We’ll go as soon as the Patterson women get here and stow their baggage.” She made a sour face. It was, in repose, a fine strong face with a good nose, dark eyes and a square chin. I could not guess her age, but she was some years older than I was.

A young, blonde girl hopped in to take the seat across from me, all flying curls and plump boobies and cinched-in waist and fluffy lace and bows and such and then her mother, a more full-bodied duplicate of the girl came, bent forward to give me a good view of her barely-covered, globular charms, sat beside her somewhat more demure daughter and fluffed out her patterned skirt, preening like a bird of some sort. It was a tasty pair, common but tasty.

“Ladies,” I started to say, “may I present Mrs. James.”

“Of course,” the woman across from her interrupted, nodding, “we’ve met. You remember Suzy, my daughter?” The women, all three, ignored me for the next few minutes as if I was not there, and I spent the time admiring the younger girl’s lush body and pretty face; she was, I guessed, perhaps no more than sixteen soft springs. “Good enough to eat,” the boys would say, and “Ripe enough to pluck.”

Her slim body boasted womanly hips and a fine, upright pair of orbs that threatened to climb right out of her bright blue dress. She wore a constantly surprised expression. Her dangling curls and her high breasts joggled happily along with the rig’s spring-softened progress, and I felt myself being aroused by just looking at her so changed my point of view to avoid embarrassment as my warm member crept down my leg.

The mother was also a fine looking woman, if a bit dull perhaps, vapid I suppose is the word, probably somewhere in her thirties or forties, blue-eyed, corn-silk-haired, tightly corseted and likely ten stone or so while my seat companion, the major’s lady, was taller, svelter with long legs and a jutting prow barely ducking into her lacy shift and tight-fitting bodice; she was surely a stay-tester. She had a pile of dark brown hair and wore gold earrings and a gold locket between her high, corset-assisted breasts. It was a very pleasant ride. All three of them smelled good, too. I doubted that I did.

Then the driver let a wheel slip off the road and several spokes shattered like gunshots before the axle broke right in the middle, and the carriage almost tipped over on its side in a steep ditch. The women across from me screamed and held each other while the major’s wife grabbed my arm and steadied herself with the other hand, breathing a quiet curse I was not supposed to hear. I climbed out of the precariously askew vehicle and helped the women to disembark, enjoying the view of their brightly stockinged legs and lace-trimmed hems. The four of us and the unhappy driver stood in the dusty road looking at the wreck.

“There’s an inn just a ways down the road, ma’am, a hoot an’ a holler,” the man said to the major’s wife, who was obviously his employer and not too happy with him. “You could send this feller for help.”

“How far?” asked Lizzie James, the color rising in her cheeks, fists clenched at her sides, chest heaving.

“Mile or less,” he said, squinting at me, hoping for support and finding none.

“We’ll hike it unless Mrs. Patterson and Suzy would rather stay here with you.” The major’s lady kicked a stone and started off at a quick-march pace.

Mrs. Patterson shook her frizzy blonde head, I got my musket on my shoulder, and we walked down the edge of the road in the midday sun, a good healthy walk that turned out to be closer to two miles than one. We slaked our thirst at the well and plopped down at a table to eat, quite dusty and bit tired in the shadowed room.

“Is he going to dine with us?” asked Mrs. Patterson, jerking her thumb at me.

Mrs. James nodded, and the other two women got up quickly and moved to a distant table. The girl glanced back at me and smiled. I smiled at her and turned my attention to Lizzie James, who was a lovely women when she was not angry and a handsome one even then. Of course, I wondered how she would be in bed.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“Reputation, I suppose.” she said, holding my gaze. “I guess you haven’t seen that little bird before, the curly-headed one with the wide blue eyes and the simpering pink smile.”

“Who, Suzy?”

“Indeed, Suzy, she, m’lad, is a true wonder, the talk of Washington’s camp. She had been deflowered at least a score of times that I know of.” The woman broke her bread, and attacked her stew with a tight-lipped smile while I digested that information.

“Really?” I said after looking as the pretty youngster again and feeling my prod flex when I did.

“At up to a hundred guineas a toss, less for hard money of course,” said the major’s wife, lifting one eyebrow. “Imagine.”

A just shook my head and drank my beer, imagining.

“Her mother sells her off, pleading poverty, for twenty at least, and has trained the girl to squeal and pout, claiming both ignorance of men and pain at their intrusion into her delicately curled and supposedly untouched precincts. She has some sort of capsule of ox blood she uses to simulate her maidenhead’s destruction and can weep on cue most piteously. It’s a golden performance, I’m told.”

“How do you know all this?” I ladled some more stew for both of us.

“My good husband, the pious fool, paid sixty continentals for an hour with her and came away thinking he had raped a virgin.” The woman laughed briefly and then put a hand to her mouth. “He told me all about them after conferring with a few other officers.”

“Hard to believe,” I said.

“No it’s not,” she said, “just look at her.” She gestured with her spoon.

I did and it was true, the girl radiated innocence and purity as well as youthful beauty and sexual attraction, as do most women her age. She was a succubus in sunshine, a rosy angel waiting to be taken; nay, eager to be plowed. My root trembled.

“I made my major give me sixty before I slept with him again.” She laughed with easy humor.

I shook my head. “Why tell me?”

“You are a man, and that is what she preys on.” She gave another small laugh, almost a cough. “I’ve seen how you look at her, like a dog in heat. You are likely to be asked what you would pay for the girl’s favors, for her non-existent virginity, if a richer-looking prospect does not come along before dark.”

“Me, I hardly think so,” I said with a smile. “Surely she’s only an officer’s plaything.”

The woman nodded. “That’s true, as far as I know. But if you have an itchy cock and some money, you are fair game.”

We had sent a man from the stable to look at our rig and by the time we had eaten he and the driver were back. Noon the next day was as soon as repairs could be made and a proper-sized wheel obtained. The smashed one was beyond fixing. Mrs. James accepted the news, gave her driver some coins and elbowed me.

“Let’s go outside,” she said, “it’s a pleasant day and I need some diversion.”

I found that an interesting word, left my unloaded musket in a corner of the bar and followed her along a lane to a small stream. We talked of the war and of Maryland and Connecticut, where she was from, and then we stopped at the bridge and at her instigation, we kissed, gently at first, her hands high on my back and her belly hard against my pubic bone while I held her firm buttocks with one hand and stroked her wide back with the other, pulling her closer and kissing her harder, my hand buried in her hair while we gobbled each other. I was glad I had shaved and changed my shirt, odd things to think about with a willing woman in your arms, her tongue in your mouth and firm breasts hard against you. And she was more than willing, I decided, she was downright eager as her legs clamped one of mine.

We trotted down the hill hand in hand, found a mossy bank that had some privacy thanks to a stand of cattails and copse of low-limbed trees and kissed some more, fumbling at each other, undoing buttons and laces and making nonsense noises in clumsy haste. I helped her out of her full skirt, loosed her bodice and was working at her fancy stays when she said, “Come, come, man, don’t waste time. Get at it!” She leaned back on a big oak, yanked up her shift and spread her long legs. “Lay on, McDuff!” she cried with a smile, showing me her wooly muff and puckered lips.

I freed my swollen member, which leapt up as if made of hickory, pushed her lace-bordered undergarment a bit higher, admired her furry cunny with its pink and pouting lips and took her, her knees raised and her feet soon planted firmly on my butt. She bounced and heaved as I arched, dug in my toes and enjoyed myself fully and at some length while she undulated and gasped, rocking from side to side, eyes closed, taking my thrusts and absorbing my lust.

When we both had climaxed twice and were resting down on our knees, hoping for more I am certain, she helped me get her out of her stays and encouraged me to taste her large tits and suck them until they extended and hardened while she worked on my wornout member. I got my boots off and stripped away my britches before she pushed me down on my back, my ridged shaft trembling with anticipation and her nether region dripping as she mounted my spear. I covered her mouth with mine when she screamed and made me stop ramming it so fiercely.

She and clamped me tight, sighing, “Ahh, ahh, ahh,” as I drove deeper and higher into her tight warmth. When she was fully impaled and I was flexing as best I could, she smiled down at me. “You’d tear that silly child apart,” she groaned out between gritting teeth. I increased the pressure and the pace, rearing with pride as we bucked and heaved at each other. “That is a damn big piece of meat, it’s half way up my gut,” the woman cried as I extended and held it fully up in her, every muscle I had tensed.

“Ugh,” I responded, my mind blank. I arched my back, and we satisfied each other, humping hard and rocking to and fro. In fact long after she had spasmed again, fallen atop me and cried out for mercy, I was still going at it like a well digger, and she had to urge me to stop, pulling on my queue and pushing herself free. She brought me to another climax with her stroking hands while I knelt before her, shaking with lust, and I spurted out four or five creamy and wiggling streams under her milking ministration. I just sat back on my haunches and enjoyed her efforts, remembering when I was a boy back in Maryland and we playing kissing games behind the barn.

We dressed and brushed off each other’s clothes. By the time we got back to the tavern, a light rain had begun and the wind had shifted around to the northeast. She stopped at the outhouse, and I went on in to find a gaggle of local militia making what I assumed was a friendly fuss over the Patterson women. At first I thought it was just innocent play. The daughter sat back in a corner, big eyed as usual, her hands covering her overflowing chest while her mother struggled in the grip of a pair of large men who seemed to be intent on dancing with her or getting her to the foot of the stairs. The men were chortling and urging compliance. Another uniformed man sat beside Suzy with his hand on her thigh while he tried to pry her hands away from her bulging breasts.

“Hold on!” I yelled, grabbing one of the men holding Mrs. Patterson and tossing him over a table. I punched the man pawing at Suzy right between the eyes and then threw the fellow who had jumped on my back up against the wall. He went about ten feet through the air upside down. The fourth man pulled a knife while one of the men on the floor got to his feet, his nose pouring blood. I drew my own blade and the distraught woman, her dress torn open and a seething militaman still holding her arm, yelled, “Behind you!”

I turned and ducked just as a pistol went off singeing my hair with the muzzle blast. I heard the man behind me yell out as I thrust my blade into the shooter’s belly and carved him open from belt buckle to Adam’s apple. The man with the knife yelled and slashed at me from the right, ripping my shirt sleeve as blood sloshed my boots, and I drove my blade all the way through the middle of his body, lifting him clear off the floor, arms and legs flailing aimlessly. The young fellow who had been trying to get at the girl scrambled for the door with his hand to his bleeding face while the man who had been holding Mrs. Patterson slowly fell to his knees, holding his shoulder which a ball had shattered. The woman clutched her dress together and wept in fear.

“Stop!” I yelled at the fleeing militiaman, “come and take this bastard with you.” The young man stood, transfixed, glanced at the two bleeding bodies and helped his wounded companion to his feet.

“We was jus’ funning,” he said to no one in particular.

“Get him out of here,” I said, my blood aboil. “Then send someone back for these corpses. They’ll be outside with the garbage.”

He nodded, and they stumbled out into the rain, leaving a bloody trail. I sat beside Suzy, my back to her, and wiped my blade on the chest of the dead man at my feet, noting that he needed a shave and had a gold tooth. The girl put her hand on my back.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she said quietly, and I moved. She stepped over the dead man, holding her skirts high, and her mother went with her toward the back door. I checked the bodies for valuables and hauled them outside by their feet, leaving both face down in the mud by the refuse pile. The innkeeper took their boots and then mopped the floor. I washed my hands and had a beer.

Mrs. James sat across from me, very quiet, seemingly unimpressed. “This rain my slow our repairs. I came in just at the end of that melee.”

I nodded and ordered two more. I swilled, she sipped. When I was calmer, I said, “I’m sure we can find some good way to wile the time. Idle hands and all that.”

She smiled at me over her mug, and she never spoke of the violence she had seen. Slowly, my rage subsided and my member softened. I scratched it unobtrusively.

The Patterson women returned and sat with us. The older woman thanked me profusely, trying to put her hair back where she had pinned it, and Suzy nodded with a weak smile, looking nearly boneless, her body slack in her fashionable clothes which now looked too big for her. She pulled a knit scarf about her slim shoulders and looked at her feet.

“All part of the service,” I said, trying not to preen.

“What are we to do?” Mrs. Patterson asked.

“Be patient,” Mrs. James said, “it is a virtue, they say.”

Mrs. Patterson sniffed and removed herself and her daughter to their original table, still holding her damaged gown together.

“Where are you sleeping?” asked Lizzie James, covering my hand with hers, her eyes alight.

“Depends,” I said. “Likely out in the stable, up in the loft.”

“I’m sure you could do better.”

“Did you hire a room?”

“Two,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Both with big beds; room enough for six, so the man told me.”

“We don’t want to scandalize anyone,” I said, trying not to sound a hypocrite, but happy to be offered another juicy helping of the major’s randy wife. Our knees touched beneath the table.

“Of course not,” she said, her hidden hand on my leg, “but I’ll leave my door unlocked.”

So that night, when most honest folks were long abed, I was creeping up the stairs with the intent of boarding a married woman, an officer’s lady, horny and thinking hard on how we would get started this time, when who should I meet but Mrs. Patterson in her long nightgown, coming down the steps, guttering candle in hand. We stood facing one another, my mouth at about the level of her ample bosom.

“I was headed out to the stable,” she whispered. “Suzy’s sound asleep.”

“Why were you going out there?” I put a hand on her warm hip. It was spongy soft.

“Wanted to thank you proper like,” she said, wiggling and trying to look coy.

“Oh,” I said brightly, about half riled with my thoughts on the long-legged Mrs. James and her deep and sinuous passage to endless friction and meaty pleasure.

“Yes,” she sighed, bending to kiss me sweetly, her hand in my hair, “you were very brave. I’ve never seen the like, hope never to witness such blood-letting again.”

I held her wide rump with both hands and nuzzled between her lush breasts. She smelled of lilac.

“So I was coming out to reward you, in my own way,” she whispered as I pulled loose her laces, popped a nipple free of its lace and tweaked it between thumb and forefinger. She made a small squeak and her eyes widened.