Chapter 8: The Senorita

I found another woman with a problem before we abandoned the city and dug ourselves in, awaiting a certain attack in that summer of '76. I began to feel like some sort of knight, but there were not any dragons, just scoundrels. This girl was younger, richer and, although it may be hard to believe, even better in bed than the colonel's randy wife had been.

She was Teresa Maria Josefina De La C--, the daughter of a phony Spanish grandee of some sort who had been dickering with the Americans about arms sales since the British left Boston. His reputation had a bit of the foul odor of rot about it, like decaying meat. Young as she appeared to be, the girl had been acting as his hostess, entertaining important people in the second largest city in the colonies and doing it extraordinarily well. When I asked Madam Von R-- about her later, she knew the girl and praised her poise and affability as well as her style and her willingness to do her father's bidding and to give pleasure to men, many men, older men especially.

Her father had disappeared in the chaos, thinking his beautiful and useful daughter safely aboard a Portuguese ship, when I found her, forlorn and angry, beside her baggage on the almost-abandoned docks. She was sitting on a trunk, tapping her foot, huddled into a huge, bright coat despite the mild weather while I was skulking about seeing what I could steal. As far as I could tell, General Washington and his forces were gone as were her father and the rest of the shoddy diplomats and greedy merchants who had infested the waterfront. The city was without law as well as free of trade.

"Ho," she called to me, "fellow, come here. Yes, you."

I knew the imperious tone at once having just spent a week rogering a woman who thought herself better than any man, especially the one between her legs. Nevertheless, I obeyed since the call had come in the fine, clear soprano voice of a young woman of some culture.

"Madame," I said, standing before her; then I said, "Miss? M'am'selle?"

"Dios," she said, cocking her head to look up at me, "you surely are un hombre grande, a big one, yes." She stood. I guess she was about five-two. "Can you help me with these things?"

"Help you what?" I asked barely able to see her under the oversized, low-set tricornered hat and upraised collar of her long, flowing coat. Her eyes were enough to hold me and a dark gold cascade tumbled down her back.

"Get these off the dock, fool. Find us a wagon or a coach, perhaps a ship." She waved at her pile of goods and chattels; her accent was soft, sibilant and charming.

"Where do you want to get to?" I asked, amused and curious if not yet aroused.

"Philadelphia por supuesto" she said sweetly, opening her small purse and withdrawing a coin which she offered me in a slim, lace-gloved hand. It was gold, and I took it quickly.

"That's a fur piece," I said, trying to be funny.

"I know how far, you great lout. Now find us some way to get there," She stamped her foot. A small, well-shod foot I noted, red booted in fact with a high heel. She turned back her sleeves and resumed her seat on the iron-bound trunk.

I took her arm, yanked her to her feet and dragged her into the nearest tavern, ignoring her sputtering protests. The sun was setting, the river was dark and nearly empty, jackals and snakes were beginning to prowl, the vicious, two-legged type. I pushed her to a corner table and sat next to her. "Beer?" I asked.

"Cider will do," she said, looking exasperated. I waved and ordered. She turned her face aside; cool, aloof, nerveless, raising her chin and narrowing her soft mouth. I thought I also observed humor in her face, a sense of the absurd.

She opened her coat, turned down her collar and my root trembled. She was a fair beauty, well and firmly made, carefully and smoothly dressed with tiny, onyx buttons descending from her neck to lie between her breasts and march as far down as I could see on a very light, certainly silk, quite expensive traveling suit tailored carefully to complement her young body. A frilly collar rose at her throat like a ruff to tumble out of sight behind her and round rubies glimmered in her ears, golden haired but dark eyed, she was a stunner.

I introduced myself, and she nodded slightly and said, "Teresa, you may call me Se–orita Teresa I think" offering her hand to be kissed and then she rolled off her full name and told me who her father was as if I should have been impressed. It was she, her lush body and lovely face, that had my attention. I was stripping her mentally.

We drank and I explained what was going on. She nodded and I believe she understood. She just did not care. I had another beer.

"Pero, money does solve most problems, no?" she said, smiling up at me. Her eyes were enough to melt a man's heart, deep sapphires beneath arched brows and behind thick lashes, pupils open wide in the dark room.

I agreed, pulled her linen coat closed with a smile, talked to the inn-keeper, gave him some shillings, made him promise to keep the riff-raff away from her, and hurried off, promising to return within the hour. It took almost two hours and was pitch dark, but I got back to the dock with a rickety wagon and tired mule that had cost me the gold piece, loaded up her goods and went back into the tavern. A naval officer of some sort sat on each side of her. All three were drinking red wine and conversing in some lingo other than English.

"Teresa," I said, and she looked up, raising a charcoal eyebrow. Her coat lay back on her shoulders and her breasts jutted out like twin peaks. My root tingled. "Are you ready?"

"Soon," she said, turning to the young man beside her with a laugh, showing her good teeth. I noticed than his hand was on her silken leg, "Pronto," she said.

I went to the bar, drank beer and waited. In a few minutes, the three of them stood and headed for the door, one of the men had his arm about her shoulders. Her linen coat dangled at her elbows. She waved at me and I followed them outside. We stood together in the gloom as fog began rolling along the river. The men smelled pungent, a strong smell I could not place, more than sweat.

"These gentlemen have offered, kindly, to take me on their ship. Where are my things?"

"Ship?" I said, "what ship?"

"It is down there, yes," she said, pointing toward the open sea. "A large merchant barque. Schooner, si? They will take me to Philadelphia for a small fee, a reasonable price."

At looked at the two men, one middle aged, weather-beaten; the other, perhaps his son, about my age, his eyes darting from side to side. They both looked like hard men.

"Slaver?" I asked the older man, trying to avoid the smell of his breath.

"ÀQue?" he said.

"You speak English," I said, stepping closer and keeping my voice down. "What were you going to do with her?"

He looked over my shoulder, showed his yellow teeth, said something that included the word "puta" and laughed.

I hit him with a short right, low in the belly, elbowed the young man behind me in the gut and drew my bayonet as he cursed and produced a knife from his boot. The girl gasped but did not scream.

I ducked his wild swing, yelled, "Get back" at the woman, kicked the older man in the back of the knee and then stabbed the younger one under the arm; all at about the same time. I withdrew my rasping blade as the man grunted and fell, dropping his knife. The other man scrambled up and ran. I caught him in three steps, tripped him, slashed his throat crudely at the edge of the quay and tumbled his body into the dark water, pouring blood. I grabbed the younger man by a foot, tugged him to the edge of the dock despite his weak struggling and kicked him over as well. He splashed and sank beneath the oily scum, one arm flailing.

I wiped my knife on my thigh, sheathed my blade and returned to the woman who stood, her hand to her mouth, her eyes very large. I was breathing hard, angry, excited.

"They were slavers, miss," I told her, slowing my breathing. "Just wanted your body. Doubt you'd have lasted long. They'd've tossed you over when they were through with you, shared you with their crew. We don't let those ships dock; they smell too bad."

"Slavers?" she said. wide-eyed, "Dios! Escalvo?"

"Yes, now we'd better hurry. The town is falling apart. Lots of looters about." I helped her up to the worn seat, enjoying her feel and smell, and climbed beside her.

"That what you were?" she asked in her softly accented English, "a looter. You are a violent hombre, a killer, yes, in the army perhaps."

I nodded, not wanting to argue about niceties, not sure I was still a soldier, flipped the reins and the mule walked, head bobbing.

"We can't get to Philadelphia in this," she said, pulling her coat tightly about her against the damp, holding it closed at her throat.

"We can get out of New York if we can find a ferry. What is all that stuff?" I jerked my thumb at her belongings.

"Clothes, mostly," she said with a small laugh, "some silver, a few bottles of wine. Mostly my clothes, my father's uniforms, some papers perhaps."

"Decide what you really need," I said. "We may have to cache the rest."

"Cache, what is cache?" she asked.

"Store, hide, stash, put away somewhere," I told her. Leave behind, I thought.

On the first hill north of the city, we looked back and could see some small fires here and there. The big city burned later, much of it, and I guess these fires were a beginning of that destruction. I headed for the nearest ferry and found it still operating, at twice the usual price. She paid without a question.

It was a chilly night for June, and the slight girl huddled against me as the wind grew bitter and sharp in East Jersey, burying her face at my shoulder. The mule plodded on, and I slid my hand under her cloak and about her waist and hip. "I'm cold," she said an hour or so later as the ice-colored half-moon rose higher, stamping her feet on the floorboards while I caressed her thigh. "Can't we stop? Build a fire?"

"Not safe," I said, "we'll find a tavern or an inn, maybe a farmhouse. One back there at the ferry was full. You do have more money, I hope." My purse was rather lean just then.

"Oh yes, si," she said, "much money, perhaps a hundred reals, silver, and some gold, English gold."

"Good," I said, and we traveled on. I enjoyed having her next to me and entertained myself with fantasies involving her flowery smell and her gold curls. It must have been after midnight when I pulled into an almost-empty stable yard behind a small, wayside tavern that had obviously seen better days. I knocked and knocked and finally the bent inn-keeper appeared, let us in with a grumble, led us to a tiny sleeping chamber, and vanished without a word between us. He left his stubby, smoky candle.

The room was as cold as the outdoors but not as windy. The bed was a soiled bag of corn shucks, the chair nailed together crookedly, the quilt worn and stained, the single-pane window small and cracked. The girl stood in the middle of the room and looked about, doffing his long coat and spreading it across the foot of the bed. There was no fire, so I got one going in the small, shallow hearth with the help of the candle flame.

Teresa sat on the edge of the makeshift bed, felt the crackly mattress, tossed aside her big hat, shook her hair loose, took off her high boots and rolled in, pulling the quilt to her chin. There was no room left for me. She lay squarely in the middle, on her left side, one leg bent, watching me, her hair cascading across the quilts, eyes bright, lips glistening.

I poked at the fire until I was sure it would burn for a while, got out of my boots and bitches with my back to her, primed and set aside my weapons except for the thick one dangling between my legs, looked down at the woman pretending to sleep, long lashes covering her eyes, a slight smile on her lips, big hanks of dark gold hair spread widely, and said, "Do you crave company, miss? I'm cold too."

One dark-blue eye popped open and she looked up at me. My long-tailed shirt hung at mid-thigh or so, bulging out a bit perhaps. My stones felt like cannon balls, icy ones at that, but my member was quite warm and slightly swollen. She turned over to her right side and drew up her legs. I got in beside her, pulled the quilt my way a bit, made my body conform to hers and put my hand on her ribs, actually on her hard stays and my chin into her heavy mop of hair. "How can you sleep wearing these?" I asked her, fingering her boned undergarment.

We breathed together for a while, my knees in the silk under her thighs, then she took my hand and pulled it gently up until it covered her small, round left breast at the top of her corset. "Um," she said and wiggled a bit, taking a deep breath as I got her hard nipple between my fingers.

The room warmed and the firelight flickered on the rough walls and cobwebbed ceiling beams. In a few minutes she let go of my hand, pulled herself out of the bed, shed her dress and stockings quickly and quietly then rolled back in wearing her long, thin shift and a narrow set of lace-covered stays. She lay facing me, put her hand on my stubbly face, said, "Thank you, gracias amigo," and kissed me gently with our noses rubbing. Then she turned over, and I pulled up the quilt and got my big paw back where it had been. She said, "um," again and covered it with her hand, squeezing firmly.

I had not taken a woman that way for a while; I remembered the pleasure I had found with Mrs. Singleton in that Boston cellar; it was hardly my preference, but my member rose, trembling, pulling her lacey shift with it, and soon it was between her soft cheeks and sleek thighs, seeking an entrance from the back, hot and probing at her pouting, trembling lips, caressed by her prickly fur and soft skin, feeling the length of her slim cunny gently, exploring, seeking, finally finding heat and moisture as the narrow portal opened, pulsing and damp. The cunny trembled and pouted.

She wiggled and helped, putting fingers down between her legs to be sure we got started properly, taking in a breath as she pushed the swollen head of my eager lance between her soft, parted lips and into the small entrance. Then she sighed as I slid into her, popped through her tiny portal, and penetrated her very slowly, very persistently, very deeply, holding her raised hip with my left hand. It was not easy and made me wonder how old she was. She kept her fingers there, kneading herself and my right hand crawled beneath her waist and joined hers in the effort, feeling her belly tremble beneath my palm.

She quivered in my grasp, and her breathing became shallow and rapid. I kissed the back of her shoulder, gritting my teeth and pushing hard, surging faster and faster, and then sucked at her neck to keep from crying out. Both my hands worked on unlacing her stays while from the waist down we lurched and heaved together, getting more and more into a rhythm of give and take, of jab and recoil, of gasp and grunt. Her round, firm buttocks massaged my belly but prevented me from fully sheathing myself in her despite my repeated efforts.

She pulled my hand back down between her legs to massage her as our pace increased. I kneaded her fuzzy pudenda, feeling for her tiny erection and thrust into her again and again as I fingered it. She sighed, "Faster, please, por favor, faster, rapido, please, mas, mas, si, si," and then she arched and squealed, over and over with her fist in her mouth, sounding like a small animal caught in a trap, her body spasmed, and I grunted and shuddered when I came, my hands at her hips after tearing her stays open at last so I could feel her belly heave and cup both her small, firm breasts as she lay almost atop my heaving body, her legs bent so her feet were at my rump as I rammed up into her juicy quim.

We panted and sighed together as I withdrew and went to tend the fire, feeling very satisfied, hanging out warm and tumescent, ready for more. When I slid back in bed, she had doffed her lacy shift so I peeled off my old shirt and mounted her, face to face, cool skin to warm skin. Entrance was much easier, much more lubricated, much more gentle as she spread her knees. She made a hungry sound in her throat as I descended upon her and drove up into her, raising her legs higher and arching her back until she was up on her shoulders and squealing with pleasure. "Arriba," she cried. "On, on." She kicked me with both heels as one would spur a horse.

We enjoyed each other until I was sure the bed would collapse, and then she came again with her legs wrapped about me, shaking under me when I had long since passed my throbbing climax. We lay together on our sides, still joined but barely, hands at each others ribs, the firm head of my tired member barely between her quivering lips, pulsing in and out of its own will, thoroughly sodden and well satisfied.

"You are immense," she sighed, pulling my head down and kissing me. "I've never felt such a thing within me, a pike so grand, so alive, so deep, so thick and strong, que marveloso." She reached down and petted it. It quivered, pleased and eager for more

I wanted to tell her how wonderful she felt, how tight and virginal, how soothing and muscular, but I could not find adequate words so I just kissed her, pulled her atop me and we began again as she drew me in with spasms of contraction, grasping her lower lip in her teeth as we ground our pubic bones into each other with her knees against my ribs and her back arched, nipples thrust at the rafters, the head of my cock striking bone. We did sleep that night, but dawn came much too soon, and with it another raging erection.

I let it poke the girl from the back until she awoke. She rose to her knees, moaning and shaking, head down, put her hand between her thighs and felt for its hot, wet, quivering head and pushed it into her as she had on our first joining. Then I drove up and in, bending away from her but holding her hips, and she squealed and shook while I was spearing her again and again, lunging into her, bending down over her back, crushing her breasts, listening to her moans of pleasure and my grunts of effort and desire, harder and harder, deeper and deeper still. When I finally came, pumping hard, shaking with joy, she sobbed and shook in my hands, crying out syllables I did not understand, still rocking back and forth tirelessly and moaning, "Mas, mas, mas."

I withdrew very slowly, soaked with our juices and gasping for breath, and she collapsed and rolled over, arms extended, smiling, her brush a sticky ball. I was back in her at once, arched into her, still hot and rigid, heaving again in her slick and narrow channel as if we had never loved that morning, drawing it almost all the way out before plunging up and in. She met my efforts with a quaking body, clawing hands and a gaping mouth.

We were both sweating in the cool morning, our bodies smacking together. "Si, si, si," she cried as our pace steadily increased. She kicked her legs and beat on my back, heaving up to rub herself against my savage cock and pubis. Finally, as I had feared, a slat or two split beneath us, and the top end of the shoddy mattress slowly sank to the floor between the side boards. I grabbed the end of the bed, arched up and finished, shuddering, thrusting faster and faster with her arms and legs wrapped about me and her hair brushing the floor until we were spent, satisfied, sated, dying, sore, worn, unable to do more, just trying to breathe, joy filled, even a bit embarrassed.

While we dressed in the chilly, dawn-lit room, kissing and touching each other, I had a chance to admire her fine, lean body with its upright breasts, golden muff and mounded hips while she was at her ablutions. Her butttocks were round and firm, her stomach flat, belly soft, ribs high and her legs long for a girl so short, well-muscled as a dancer's or horse rider's might be. I had a terrible time not grabbing her taking her again.

"What are you looking at?" she asked, lacing her stays back in place to pinch in her already-tiny waist and lift her nipples high and pointing slightly away from each other.

I came and kissed her nose. "Your ugly feet," I said.

She swung at me and we embraced, mouths locked together.

"We need a new bed," she said, pushing me away.

"You need a stallion," I whispered. She smiled.

We breakfasted, and I paid the man for the night. "You are very noisy, you two," he said and lifted an eyebrow.

I gave him another shilling of my own. "Your bed's broken," I said with a very satisfied smile. "Needs some stronger lumber." I had seldom felt happier or more satisfied. Teresa's incredible and tireless cunny was, I am sure, one in a million.

In the stable stood a better rig, a light, two-wheeled wagon, so I went back, did some dickering and traded our mule for a harness horse after I bought the high-wheeled gig. By the time I returned, the girl had repacked her belongings, and we stored most of her things in the rafters of the stable, keeping just one hump-backed, iron-bound trunk, a leather case and a small metal box. I paid the inn-keeper another crown for storage and promised we would return. The things may still be there, mouldering in the rafters.

We made good time on almost empty roads, turning south at our first opportunity. "How far is Philadelphia from here?" the girl asked.

"Dunno," I said, "several days, more than a hundred miles I think"

"And nights?" she said.

"Wouldn't be surprised," I said. She laughed, a good, solid laugh, and slapped my thigh.

We stopped to eat in the early afternoon, and I was surprised to see a stage arrive at about the time we finished. "Where you bound?" I asked the driver.

"Philadelphia," he said. "Got a full load."

"When's the next stage south?"

"Couple a'days, lessen things get worse," He looked me up and down. "You in the army?"

"Maybe," I said.

"Uh huh," he smiled. "Got to be rolling," he said as the fresh team was hitched and the harness checked twice.

I told the girl, and she smiled. "Good," she said. "We can stay right here. Get better acquainted. Mas simpatico." That made me tingle with anticipation. Just as we were settling down, and I was considering an early session of bed bouncing and girl poking, the front door banged open, two Continental subalterns appeared followed by a small, strange-looking officer and three large dogs.

"General Lee," gasped the girl, "I know him."

I had heard of Charles Lee, late of his majesty's service, but I had never seen him. He had a big nose, bulbous eyes, a weak chin, a fancy wig and a superior attitude. He stalked to the center of the room in knee-high boots, assuming correctly that all eyes were on him, flung back his cape, seated himself, crossed his legs and ordered his dogs down beside him while his aides dealt with food and drink. Lee looked around the room, rather disdainfully as if something smelled bad, and then his eyes fell on Teresa and he smiled, a more unpleasant sight.

"I know you," he crowed, pointing. Then to one of the lieutenants, "Fetch that girl over here."

A well-shaved and cleanly dressed young man came to our table, bowed and said, "The general requests the pleasure of your company."

Teresa made to stand and I pulled her back down. "Tell him she's busy," I said. The boy's eyes widened.

Chapter 9 »