Chapter 38: Paulina

Since I was in town I rode out to check on Sarah and Jean, the two girls we had rescued from the Hessians earlier that winter. They were living with a farm family that had lost two chidlren to the smallpox and seemed to have settled in right well. Neither had become pregnant as a result of their repeated rapes and both were happy to see me and insisted that I stay for supper to see how well they had learned to cook. I did and they had. Their sour apple pie was as good as any I ever had.

After supper Jean left Sarah to clean up since it was her turn and walked with me to the stable where I planned to spend the night.

"What happened to the men that you brought back with us, back to camp?" she asked, looking puzzled.

"They died, three were killed trying to get away and the big captain, he shot himself after writing those drafts for you two.

"How come he did that?"

"He was afraid," I said, getting down my bed roll and checking my horse's hooves.

"Afraid?" she asked, climbing the ladder to sit beside me on the edge of the loft.

"We kind of threatened him," I said. "He was disgraced by what he and his men did to your family."

"Oh. And the others?"

"We killed 'em," I said quietly, looking away...

"Why?"

"Cause that's how they treat our men when they're captured."

"Oh," she said again. "Can I sleep with you?"

"How old are you?" I asked, pulling off my boots.

"Old enough," she said.

"I appreciate the offer. You are very pretty and very nice, but you don't owe me anything, and I try not to lie with girls young enough to be my daughter."

"I'm not, honest," she said. "I never had a man, really, 'cept the Germans."

"Tell me how old you are."

"Seventeen," she said, putting her hand on my thigh.

"Try again," I said.

"Sixteen."

I was quiet.

"In August," she said.

"And your sister, she's what, twelve?"

She nodded, "Almost thirteen."

I leaned down as kissed her gently snd patted her back. "Nope," I said. "Don't be in such a hurry. Try to forget what happened."

"You're mean," she said, pulling away and hurrying down the ladder. "And I hate you," she yelled, running back toward the house.

I yanked my boots back on, saddled up my poor horse and rode back toward camp in the dark, almost sure I could not refuse her a second time. That is when I met Paulina.

She was standing on a short bridge over a wandering stream that I had already crossed three times, wrapped in a tattered quilt and barefoot, her hair hanging in her face. I stopped beside her. She was not very big, hardly taller than the girl I had just left.

"Trouble?" I asked, which, looking back on it, was exactly the right question.

She nodded and looked up at me, her face dirty, tear marked and sad. "Give me a ride into town?" she said.

"I'm going the other way," I said, knowing that was obvious.

"Then jus' take me with you."

I reached down to give her a hand up behind me and discovered that she was bare under her quilt. Her body gleamed in the moonlight, lush and stimulating it was, mature, full-breasted and wide-hipped with a dark, heavy muff between her legs. After the young girls, she was a full-grown and obviously healthy woman, and, I thought, equally obviously,, in some kind of trouble. I got down and helped her up on the saddle. She wrapped the quilt around her torso and let her bare legs hang out as I remounted with her rump in my groin and her thighs between mine.

Down the hill we went, my old horse probably unhappy about the extra hundred pounds or so but moving on steadily, carefully in the dark.

"How come you're out here, this time a'night?" she asked, squirming a bit to get comfortable. Her hair brushed my chin.

"Tain't dark, plenty of moonlight," I said as we rode through a shadowed area where I could not even see where the road was much less the moon-lit clouds.

'Where's the moon?"

"Up where it always is," I said, hoping I would see it soon.

"Ain't always." She wiggled some more, arousing me something awful as my wrists kept bumping into her plump breasts.

The horse stumbled and then limped. I got down and helped her off. We walked for a mile or so until we did have some pale moonlight shifting between fast-moving clouds.

"He's got a stone in his shoe," I said, producing my blade bayonet and prying it out with the point. "Bettter let him rest some." I pulled down my blanket roll and led him to a grassy area. The woman followed, picking up her bare feet carefully in the tall weeds.

"What's your name?" I asked her as I spread out my blanket under the trees on some pine needles.

"Paulina," she said, kneeling on the end of my bedroll, sitting back on her heels and looking up at me.

"Where you going?"

"Away," she said watching me remove my heavy belt with its wooden canteen, cartridge box and bayonet scabbard.

"How come?"

"None a'your business." She sniffed.

"I'm going to rest for a spell," I said. "Give the horse a break." She lowered herself beside me and flipped her quilt over my body as I pulled the blanket over both of us. I turned my back to her.

Her arm came under mine and her breasts pushed against my back, her belly and legs pressed against me. I knew it was only a matter of time so I unbuttoned my foreflap and let my hot and angry member out. She found it almost immediately and her trembling hand closed around it.

"Please," she said, stroking me repeatedly from beet-shaped head to furry root. "Please."

I rolled over to face her and she lifted her leg over mine. She inhaled loudly as I slid the rigid pole into her and then shook over and over as I drove deeper and deeper. I pushed her to her back, rising on my elbows and felt her legs come up around me as I arched into her and began rocking up and back and spearing her warm body, listening to her squeak with pleasure and feeling her grasping muscles pull me deeper into her tight moistness.

We established an accelerating rhythm that threatened to be endless as I ignored my ejaculation as best I could and kept right on heaving in time with her enthusiastic lunges. We literally bounced with our efforts, crunching the deep layer of pine needles beneath us.

"More, more," she cried as she trembled and leapt beneath me, shivering and gasping again and again. Then she spasmed, sighed and collapsed, and we lay side by side, panting and touching, happily spent and, I hoped, ready for sleep. I was still fully dressed, but my hand touched her bare haunch reminding me that she was not.

"I needed that," she moaned. "To help me forget. Thank you." She kissed my cheek and slid her hand down from my face, across my chest and stomach to find my fatigued member. She petted it, stretched it and then stroked it, humming in my ear like a soft wind. The tip of her tongue touched my ear and darted in and out as I hardened and her stroking became full-handed and more and more forceful, pulling the foreskin back, holding the skin stretched tight against my scrotum and then squeezing my cods. With her fist holding the base of my upright cock, she rose and impaled herself slowly, smiling at me through her tumbling hair, her teeth clenched. With her knees at my ribs she began pumping up and down, swaying back and forth, smiling, her hands clamped back on my thighs and her neck outstretched. The sounds she made were owl-like. I reached up and held her large breasts with her pointed dugs trapped between my fingers.