Chapter 34: The Quartermaster's Lady

"This is far enough," the woman called, reining in her horse and tossing back her long mane of fiery hair. "Come help me down."

I dismounted, held up my hands and she slipped right into them, about ten stone of her. I let her down slowly and held her to me, enjoying the feel of her as she slid down my chest and belly. Her mouth reached up to mine, and my hands cupped her firm bottom as we ground our bodies together.

She had been flirting with me and the others for some time, riding out with a variety of young men every day and bringing them back red-faced and spavined, their tongues hanging out and their eyes glazed, shirts rumpled and belts undone. Now, I guessed, it was my turn, and I intended to make the most of it since this large woman was one of the nicest pieces I had laid eyes on for a long time.

She was a quartermaster's doxy or wife, I was never sure which, and he was a drunk and a wastrel. She looked like the model for one of those ancient statues, Greek or Roman, a healthy, hefty one with boobs the size of cannon balls, 12-pounders. Her name escapes me, but I surely remember her wonderful body, her deep chest and swinging hips, her soft lips and her gripping quim, her long legs and supple fingers.

She pulled her mouth and her tongue from mine. "You ready for some hard work?" she asked, her voice throaty and her eyes agleam.

"Yes ma'am, I've been looking forward to it," I said, kneading her buttocks and kissing her face, neck and ears. She smelled wonderful and was warm as toast. My mouth worked down from her collar bones to her chest.

"Let's get to it then. Your brothers in arms have been very disappointing, not a really decent cocksman among them. No endurance at all." Since that corps included my officer, Lt. Foster, who had been known to please numerous ladies, both young and old, for hours at a time, I suspected I was in for an extra-special treat. I was not wrong.

She walked us, hand in hand, to the foot of an old oak on the edge of the small pasture, swung herself around, spread her feet and braced her back and wide shoulders against the big tree. She took a deep breath and hoisted her skirts a yard or so, smiled up at me, and said, "First course. Help yourself."

Her thighs were thick, the triangle of hair at the junction of her legs a mass of auburn curls, and I watched her dig in the heels of her high boots and lift her hips toward me, exposing her sex. She smiled as she offered her pouting slit with its flower-like center. She was dripping wet.

I unlimbered my rapidly hardening pike, displayed it for her approval, got barely a nod of appreciation, and stepped between her legs, bending my knees and using one hand to hold her wide hip while I guided my thick lance beneath her red muff, rubbed it up and down her deep trench a time or two and then thrust up into her dripping cunny. Her lips parted, both sets, and she closed her eyes and sighed. Our thighs met.

"Ahh," she cried, leaning back to brace her shoulders on the tree and lift her legs above my hips as the wide-rimmed head of my rigid root slid into her glove-like passage and drove on until it was fully seated and our bodies were bone to bone, ballocks to buttocks. She linked her ankles behind me, held my upper arms and squinted her eyes as we began, twelve stone of her hanging on my jumping rod, testing my mettle.

I grabbed my wrist in the small of her back and gave her a couple of dozen of my best, full and lengthy thrusts, each ending with a fierce jerk and a full-bodied lift that bent my spine and arched hers. She cried out sharply with each ram and flexed her deep muscles to crush my striving member within her, to pull it deeper and to savor its length and breadth with quivering movements. She shook her head from side to side, sprayed spittle and debarked the tree with her shoulders while my thighs and back muscles strained to the task, and she rolled her hips in rhythm with my efforts.

It was not easy, but it was surely worth it. It was also downright noisy what with my grunting and her gasping. And it went on for quite a while. I was not sure I was going to survive.

Finally we were simply heaving together, faster and faster until she spasmed and shook, screaming, "Fool, fool," as her climax washed over us. I barely paused in my own striving for release and soon had to grit my teeth to keep from squealing with pleasure as I exploded, my heavy ramrod fully extended and pumping thick gobs of jism into her, recoiling and ramming and firing again and then again and still again and again and then once more as I ground us together and shuddered within her.

She trembled and moaned, reaching between us to knead my stones, as I continued to saw back and forth with my swollen member, and after a few minutes, she finally sighed, "Enough pleasure sir, enough for now" and let her legs slide down beside me, booted toes barely touching the ground. I lifted her limp body from me, withdrew with a slurping sound and a gush of fluids, and turned aside to tuck my slick, wasted member away and rebutton my foreflap. She brushed down her skirt, pushed at her tangled hair and smiled at me, shrugging comfortably within her riding habit, her nipples still hard and distended.

"Well," she said, taking my arm as we walked back to our grazing horses, "finally. I had about concluded that no one in our army was fed well enough to serve a woman properly." She hugged my arm between her lush breasts. "But, by damnme sir, you are a fine specimen, and hope you will ride out with me and pleasure me again very soon."

"Not my choice, ma'am," I said, "but I will be happy to join you any time and any place. You are a fine woman, a credit to your sex." I patted her rump and she glared at me and then laughed, elbowing me in the ribs. "But," I said, "doing it like that, standing, is hardly a fair test."