Chapter 54: Lizzie & Violet

"She's back," George said, "an' she's lookin' f'you."

"Who?" I asked. "What are you talking about."

"That there James woman, the big 'un, the adjutant major's doxie, she's back." He smiled. "I'm sure you 'member her since you nearly got yersef hanged that time."

Then I recalled: the carriage with the broken wheel, the three women including little Suzy who sold her non-existent cherry repeatedly, and Lizzie James, a strong and tireless lover and then the vile rapes. I surely did remember her and my root stirred with the memory.

We found each other in the confusion of our retreat and, since we were in public, greeted each other politely and correctly, showing each other some teeth. "This is Violet," Mrs. James told me, presenting a slim, young girl at her side. "She is my niece and has a beau in General Knox's office, on his staff. He is to be made a lieutenant any day now." The girl, who surely had not attained her eighteenth year, gave me a slight curtsey and a large smile. She wore a tight-fitting riding habit with a flaring jacket and a wide-flowing skirt, very tasty she was.

"He's ever so brave and handsome," Violet said in a rich contralto, a warm voice that poured out of her mouth like honey.

"Is he?" I said, taking in her bright smile and fine body, her long legs and well-rounded bottom. She was no match for the mature Mrs. James, but a pretty little pigeon nevertheless, with breasts the size of pippins and a waist I was sure my hands could circle. I envied her subaltern without knowing him. We talked generally about various things and then I asked about the Patterson women.

"Oh, the girl married soon after our adventure, a trader or factor, I've forgotten. Very well-to-do- I'm sure, in Philadelphia, twice her age at least. Her mother moved in with them and Suzy, yes, that was her name wasn't it, Suzy had a fine son six or seven months later, a large child for so early a birth, dark haired, much like yours." She smiled. "Wouldn't be surprised if he was bigger than his daddy time by the time he was ten or twelve."

"My, my," I said. "Seem to be a lot of those early babies nowadays. What can be causing that?"

Lizzie James barked out a laugh, covered her mouth, nodded and smiled. "I need a favor," she said, "and I've talked to your officer, my husband has, and you are now detached to his detail."

I waited feeling the girl's eyes on me, assessing me for some reason. My root trembled.

"I need an escort and a chaperone," Mrs. James said merrily. "Major James is very busy. We can't have this girl traipsing about with the whole army making eyes at her, can we?"

"No, no," I said, "of course not." I looked at the girl. "I'm sure they would." Since what was left of our camp followers were a pretty sorry bunch, any clean woman was an attraction and Miss Violet Charles was well above the average, especially when she stood up straight and held her elbows back. When she moved, flowing rather cat-like, she was even more attractive with her rolling hips, long legs and bouncing boobies.

So I was soon riding out twice a day with both women, usually accompanied by a beardless youngster from some Southern company, a boy with a black man's drawl and light-colored hair who sat a horse well and who was, I was soon convinced, dumb as a stump and horny as a hoot owl. He ignored me like I was one of his slaves. But he was pretty and richly uniformed with a gold-chased sword, and young Violet doted on him, could hardly keep her hands off him.

I never had a chance to be alone with Lizzie James although I did my damnedest to create such a situation, my member longing to be entertained by her once more, but Violet grabbed me the second day of my assignment after I had helped her down from her chestnut mare and held my lank arm between her firm breasts. That was encourging, making me hope that the young one had an itch I might get to scratch.

"Aunt Lizzie has told me so much about you," she purred as my hand cupped her butt. "About your bravery and your, well, your manhood." She lowered her eyelashes and let her idle fingers stray to my codpiece. That got my attention as she began to measure it.

"Has she?" I asked politely, turning toward her and wiggling my trapped arm a bit between her upright orbs, the back of my hand at her soft belly.

"Oh indeed," she said, freeing me as her intended arrived in a cloud of dust and flying stones.

On the third day I was trailing along behind the lovey-dovey pair, chewing tobacco and plotting ways to pluck Mrs. James from her husband's side for an hour or two of vigorous exercise on her back in my tent when the sound of rattling chains and stamping feet got our attention. The three of us huddled in seclusion, holding our horses' reins, as a regiment of Redcoats marched past followed by some light artillery.

"We'd better get back," the boy said, his voice creaking and his face very white.

"Got to count them," I told him. "They'll want to know." When I looked back a few minutes later, he was gone, galloping off and up the hill and soon out of sight. Violet clung to me, and I put my free hand about her waist and held her hip. More troops came into sight, and we stayed put for a good while with me counting and the girl trembling in my grasp, her young body warm against mine, her whispered questions tickling my ear.

When the last of the supply wagons rumbled off up the narrow road, Violet and I retreated to a stream, drank some water and considered our situation. We could not use the road, obviously, and with sunset only minutes away we were pretty well isolated.

"Don't want to go tramping around out there in the dark," I told her. Her lower lip quivered a bit, but she nodded agreement.

"Can we make a fire?" she asked.

"Just a small one," I said, knowing we should not, "besides neither of us has any grub."

I scraped out a shallow pit, found some stones and twigs and soon had a tiny blaze going. We added dead branches from the perimeter of our clearing and sat together, talking about this and that, knees touching, very relaxed, like we had become old friends.

"Over here," somebody yelled from behind me.

I grabbed the girl and my musket and ran for the darkness.

"Two horses," the voice said. "Let 'em go."

So there went our mounts and my blanket, which I had dearly hoped would wrap Miss Violet to me this evening. We knelt together in the pine needles, slowing our breathing and after a long period of quiet crept back toward our fire. Three men squatted around it cooking fat meat on sticks with the grease dropping into the flames. The smell got my saliva going and my stomach churning. I was tempted to take them on, but the girl clung to my elbow, and I did not want to endanger her. From the look of them, she would not have fared very well had I been bested.

We walked away from the fire, climbed a hill, found another clearing and made another small fire, sure no one could see its glow since we had gotten to the lee side of the hillock. We sat together, feet toward the fire, an arm about each other, wordless.

"Time will pass faster if we sleep," I said.

"All right," Violet whispered. "Do you want to lie with me?"

"Don't think your aunt would like that?" I said to the top of her head.

"She likes you, Aunt Lizzie does," the girl insisted, wiggling closer.

"Doesn't mean she would tolerate me swiving you."

"I'm not a virgin," Violet said very quietly. "I ran off and got married when I was thirteen. Man disappeared soon after, but Pa, he wouldn't take me back. I've lived with the James family since then, almost four years."

I showed her how to make a hip hole and wrapped her wide skirt about her tightly, patted her rump and then bedded myself down on the other side of the small fire. We looked into each other's fire-reflecting eyes for a few minutes, and then her eyes closed. I lay listening to the tree branches for a bit, alert to any human or animal sounds. Then I slept.

She awoke me by shaking my arm. The fire was long dead, and it was very dark, not even close to dawn with no light except the stars. "I'm scared," she said clearly. "I've been hearing things."

"What kind of things?" I asked, pulling her down beside me, our faces nose to nose.

"Snuffling, grunting, things like that," she said and then she kissed me, very gently, and her mouth eased open and her tongue licked my lips.

"Black bears maybe," I said, as I kneaded her rounded buns. "They won't bother us; deer perhaps." I kissed her, and our tongues got to know each other briefly. She hooked a leg over mine and I got my hand on the small of her back and we pulled our bodies together, grinding private areas steadily and stimulating each other shamelessly, still half asleep. Her long-skirted, tight-jacketed riding costume was a thick barrier between us.

"That's nice," she sighed when our mouths pulled apart. "Warmer, too." She snuggled down against my chest undoing her jacket buttons.

I blew her hair from my face. "Can you sleep that way?" I asked.

She nodded as my prod rose, excited by the feel and smell of her. I wiggled a bit so my spear could get free of my thigh, and it climbed up my belly, swelling and hardening beneath my coarse britches, reaching toward my navel. She must have felt it against her stomach for her hand slid down between us and grasped the rigid thing.

"Lizzie told me about this," she said, working on my foreflap buttons.

Then I heard the snuffling too, and three bears including a cub lumbered though our small clearing, ignoring us and intent on some other pursuit. The girl paid them no attention at all and freed my member which sprang out into her hand. She stroked it, held its swelling head, and silently measured it with her fingers.

"It's an octave, more than an octave," she whispered, her little finger pushing against my aching stones while her thumb touched the sensitive patch just beneath my cock's egg-shaped head. "And it's very warm."

"Blood," I told her as I gnawed her soft mouth. My ballocks had somehow coalesced into a shape about like an grasshopper's ammunition.

"Please," she said, pressing her body against me. "Take me."

You do not have to ask me twice, especially not in the middle of the night. I got my hand under the hem of her wool skirt and frilly shift and slid it up the inside of her long leg until I reached her furry cunny. I probed a bit, found her slick nubbin and teased it some while she whined and wiggled.

Then I rolled atop her, supporting my weight on one elbow while my prod followed the path of my arm and into my hand. I pushed its head between her moist lips and on into the slick entrance of her very narrow canal, withdrew my hand to get another elbow placed by her head and let my spear relentlessly impale her in short, steady thrusts as she spread her legs and opened her mouth, looking surprised as my stalk did its job.

She grunted, exhaled, raised her hips and took it all. It went in like a ship sliding down well-greased ways, picking up speed. Her knees rose and then her legs wrapped about me, and she clawed at my back, squealing for more. I tried to give her more, ramming hard and then paused, rigid and fully extended in her, sunk to the very bone.

I waited, letting my eager ram jump and flex within her, and she groaned and rocked her hips from side to side, breathing very deeply and making noises in her throat. "Uh, uh," she moaned, grinding her groin into me, rotating her hips some, "I've never felt anything like, oh my, I've, it's alive, I'm, I'm, oh, do it, do it," and she spasmed and shook, arching her whole body, mouth gaping open and feet stamping the ground by my hips while an ululating cry escaped her throat and her insides clamped hard on my pumping member.

After she calmed a bit and stopping shaking, I began with very short, very gentle probes, just in and further in, rotating left and right, but I soon was making long, rapid thrusts which brought her to another climax that shook her, squeezing my root again and eliciting another gasping scream of pleasure.

Now well lubricated, we rogered steadily for a while until I felt my ram swell, my ballocks strain and then gush out their load of jism as I held it fully extended, gritting my teeth. When I spurted into her, arched up my arms, I think she came again, crying out, "Hah, hah, hah," with the pressure of each explosion in her tight and tender depths.