Rebel - Cover

Rebel

Copyright© 2014 by realoldbill

Chapter 69: Irish

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 69: Irish - A young Marylander interrupts a very active sex life to join the fight

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   mt/ft   Consensual   Heterosexual   Historical   Oral Sex   Size  

"Since you like to travel so much," Lt. Foster said, "suppose you go back into the city there, open your ears and close your mouth, stay out of loose women's arms, and try to discover what these foul Redcoats are up to."

I cooked some rations, drew more ammunition, looked to my gear and was on my way, proud to be trusted after being on the list of deserters for some time. The first night I was in the city, with my good horse carefully stabled, I ran into a very odd sort of business. As I left a tavern near the wharves, a woman's shrill screams cut the night.

"Please, please," she cried, "help me," and then her screech was cut short.

I ran around the corner in time to see two men in dark coats loading a woman, with her skirts up about her thighs, into the back of their hay wagon. If it had not been for the white legs flashing, I probably would not have seen them in the gloom. "Hold on," I yelled, charging at them, big knife in my hand.

"Stay out of this," the one climbing up to the driver's seat yelled as his companion squared himself toward me with an oversized pistol in his hand. I saw the pan flash and felt the ball tug at my britches, but in two more steps I was on the man, stabbing and slicing until he fell into the roadside stones, gurgling. The driver lashed at me with his whip as he got the wagon into motion, but I leaped aboard and had little trouble tossing him off, halting the two horses and then gutting the stunned man who lay moaning on the road.

I drove the wagon to an empty lot, set the brake and crawled into the back where the woman sat sobbing into her hands.

"Slavers," she sobbed out. "That's what they was, slavers."

Her shirt had been ripped open and her laced vest hung about her hips. Her rounded shoulders and one full, firm breast stood exposed, nipple hardened in the cold air, and I was tempted to tuck it out of sight in my mouth as I put my arm about her shoulders and pulled her to me, one hand beneath her rounded butt the other cupping her lush boob, my thumb busy at her jutting nipple.

"Did you," she asked, "did you get them both?"

I nodded and lifted her chin so I could kiss her soft lips.

"They told me what they were going to do, how much they'd get for me," she said softly into my neck as I pushed her back into the hay. fully aroused by the fight and having felt her nipple harden under my caresses. "What are you doing?" she sighed as I kissed her again.

"Claiming my reward," I said, "for services rendered. You have objections?"

She grabbed my head with both hands and kissed me hard, thrusting her long tongue deep into my mouth and flicking its tip upward as I pried her knees apart.

"I thought virtue was its own reward," she said with a laugh in her throat as she worked on my waist buttons. I helped her since I was painfully erect and about to explode.

I gabbed her hard butt and pulled her to me, sinking my engorged prod into her willing flesh. She was surprisingly tight and immediately responsive, wrapping her legs about me and grinding her body into mine as I thrust deeply into her pulsing quim.

"Oh damn," she said, arching her back, "I haven't had anything like that in me for a long time." She gritted her teeth as our pace increased.

I bit at my lower lip and heaved my hips back and forth, rearing above her, bracing my feet on the tailgate and ramming as deep as I could and then faster and faster until I came, pumping out pleasure into her. She shuddered but never paused, drawing me in, holding me there and, rocking from side to side until she spasmed and cried out, sending ripples along my still-rigid cock. I got my second wind, changed our position a bit by lifting her knees back toward her shoulders and then letting her hook her feet behind my head.

The woman panted, mouth agape as I heaved into her, striking bone and bouncing us both deeper into the straw, making the wagon springs squeal, rocking from side to side and rotating my hips as best I could. I could not come again, but she managed another shattering crest of passion that tensed her body rigid on my hungry spear. We pulled our clothes together, and I found a different inn, parked the rig, and took the girl inside where I could get a better look at her. She was a tawny redhead with a freckled face, perhaps five-six or so, twenty or twenty-five I'd guess, well built but ill-clothed. She ate like a true trencherman and poured beer down her gullet as fast as I did. I was glad one of the men I had dispatched carried a heavy purse.

"Most call me Irish," she said. "Hardly remember my name."

"Tell me about those men."

"I'd heard tales," she said, mopping her plate with a crust, "stories of women snatched out of their homes or off the streets."

"You said slaves back there," I reminded her.

"Right, they sells 'em, they says, folk, y'knows, but more'n jus' tattle, to the swells to do with what they wants." She nodded in agreement with herself and then pushed a thick lock of hair out of her face. It was a good face, open and honest, bright-eyed. She licked her lips and looked at me with hunger of a different kind.

"Who says, who sells them?" I asked, refilling her mug.

She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and sat back against the wall, pulling down her tattered blouse to display her plump boobies at their fullest. She took a deep breath, popping up her large nipples. She looked down and grinned.

"It's a gang, cutthroats, and they get a fine price for the young ones so I hear. They never comes back neither."

"Sounds like some old woman's tale," I said.

"Show you tomorrow," she said, conjuring up another grin. "That pair, they tole me where I was bound, made a joke of it. Even said a name, a man's name, Hardeson I think it was."

"Tomorrow?" I said, feeling the blood running down into my groin as I watched her wriggle and her tongue lave her lips.

"Aye," she said, "too late now, dark out." Her hand clamped on my thigh and slid up to grasp my thick member.

"True, true," I said. "We'll find some way to wile away the hours, I'm sure."

"Bet I can outlast ye," she said, sticking out her chin. "Y'wee man."

It is a good thing I did not take her wager since I was exhausted and spent when she as still ready for more after three or four lusty rounds of fast-paced rogering atop the splayed bed in our small room above the ordinary.

"A'right then" the girl said, letting my limp prick slide from her mouth, "you're done for less'n you want to eat me a bit, use your lazy tongue down in the sweet gash. Do y'good, it might."

"Later, later," I moaned, hoping for rest.

"I'm not satisfied, horse-cock, I'm not," she complained.

When we finally quit in the dawn, she cuddled warmly at my side, her groin a softened swamp, and whispered, "I've had a thousand men since I been on this side a'the ocean," she squeezed my satisfied prod, "but I never had nothing like that."

"Think we're even," I said, petting her raised hip and wondering if we might manage to do it just once more. She was drum tight for all her claimed experience and eager to please herself as well as my awful spear.

We ate and then I sold the horse and wagon to a smith who was not in the least curious. We walked arm in arm down to the docks. In the daylight, the girl's hair was full of coppery strands and auburn depths, a wild mix of reds, browns and blacks that flowed completely untamed halfway down her strong back. I bought her a new shirt to wear, and she left the top three buttons undone just to please me as well as every man that looked on her.

At a brick warehouse we stopped and she pointed. "There's the name," she said. "This is the place." I was surprised she could read.

Above the wide, green doors was painted "H. E. Hardeson" and "Shipping." I stowed the woman in a tavern and went for a visit. Inside the warehouse I found stacks of crates and barrels and in a corner, a small office and a lean man talking to a burly workman. When the steely-eyed man dismissed his subservient worker in his leather apron, I introduced myself and offered my hand. It was ignored. "Hardeson," was all the man said, making a wry mouth and sizing me up.

"Looking for work," I said.

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