Chapter 56: Chrissie, Again

I was lounging about near a tobacconist when someone kicked me in the back of the knee with a very pointed toe. When I spun about I found a smiling young woman with nearly-white hair and a lush body packed into a tight-fitting dress of black. She was veiled, gloved and booted in black so I assumed she was a widow.

"Ha," she said, arms akimbo, "y'don' remember me. I could 'ave bit off your stupid cod if I'd vished."

I looked down at her, admiring her fine body and searched my memory for tow-headed girls who had been that familiar with my poor member. Up swam an image of bloody fights and a name: "Chrissie," I said, "by damn, Chrissie," and I bent, gathered her in, lifted her up and kissed her mouth right through her veil.

"Put me down, y'oaf," she squealed, wiggling and hammering at my shoulders, her large breasts firm against my chest. "And it is Christine Pomeroy, to you, my man," she said, smoothing her dress over her upright boobies. Her soft Swedish accent seemed to have melted away.

"Well, come and have a drink if it won't ruin your reputation."

"My reputation," she said, taking my arm, "is yus fine I'll haf you know. Spotless it is."

"And it's a poor widow lady, you are?"

"No," she said, shaking her silken curls, "not poor; nothing like poor."

We entered a coffee house, found a corner table, ordered quickly, held hands and looked at each other.

"I did try t'follow your advice," she said when the waiter slipped away.

"What advice?" I asked, admiring her smooth-skinned beauty, her soft mouth, her glittering eyes, that pile of nearly-colorless hair.

"To act like a virgin if I vanted to be t'ought one," she said very quietly. "An' I did that. It lasted a veek, about, in dis town." She still had a lyrical sing-song to her speech and a few odd word orders.

I sat back, dug out my pipe, stuffed it full, stretched my legs and urged her to tell me her tale, enjoying the tingle her beauty provided. She was a traffic stopper, a heart stimulant.

"My fadder sent me down here, you recall, because I had been, shall ve say, flirtering with some of d'younger officers. Yes, and maybe so it vas." Her voice went up and she batted her eye lashes and grinned.

I nodded, remembering the practiced ministrations that she labeled flirting. My prick trembled at the memory. She was, I recalled, an absolutely a wondrous cocksucker.

"So dis ol' lady set about t'teach me manners vith a villow cane, ya. And I did my best, honestly I did, but den she sent me to see the rector of her church, for instruction, she said, and he, filthy man that he is, he took my cherry in the dark hallway of his big home, grunting like a pig with me bent over a big chair. He mus' weigh three hundred." She paused and looked at me, very serious. "Well, he did," she said as if she was sure I would doubt her.

"Then, an' dis is worse, much worse, he made me kneel on one of dose benches vhere people pray, he made me kneel there and let the members of his vestry poke me, one right after anodder, every Vendsday they did that at ten of the clock in the morning."

I shook my head.

"A bunch of old men, a half-dozen perhaps. It did not take long, but it was very, how you say, rude, yes?"

"Yes, I'd say rude," I told her, reaching out to pat her cheek where a tear slid past. Her pale skin was downy with even lighter-hued hair.

"When he took me to his bed, he made me climb up on him facing his feet and do it that way, but I got him back," she said with a weak smile. "I did his choir director, a fine man vith a fancy wig on his head, got him into my bed and brought him to the altar in a month, iron-stofe hot he was, his tongue hanging out, a widower he vas, no young kinder. Of course I was also enjoying seferal of his poys, his choir boys, the ones whose voices haf changed. Vun of them" she said, looking about to be sure no one listened, "one of them could hump for nearly half an hour vitout pause, but his tool was only like my little finger." She showed it to me, grinning.

"So you married the man?" I asked. "This choir director?"

She nodded. "And moved into his fine home, I did, much to the rue of his servants and kin, who all hated me on sight. He has two sons and a daughter, I tink, old as me them."

"And then he died?" I asked, having figured out that it had been less than a year since she sucked me dry.

"Aye," she said with a grin, "swived himself to death, I'd say. He was at me morning, noon, night and ten times in between when he could. I hardly ever got dressed proper, just a robe I wore. I spent my free hours, which were few, trying to create new positions, but he insisted on rolling me up like a ball with my knees by my shoulders and having his way with me while I was scrunched against the foot of his bed, his face red and mouth gaping. It's truly a vunder he did not break his back."

I shook my head and looked into her wide, blue eyes.

"So he yust vasted away, got tinner and tinner, and I urged him to moderation, y'know, to yust two or t'ree times a day, but he would not hear of it, so just about a month ago, while he was stroking himself and kneeling between my legs, about noon it was, my feet on his shoulders, and probably his fourth time since dawn, something inside him snapped and he trembled, his eyes rolled back and suddenly dead he vus. I left him there, vith his shriveled cock in his bony hand, got dressed, hurried over to the church and swived Billy, my favorite choirboy up in the organ loft.

"When I got back home, they told me the master was dead, and I whooped and wailed, ran to hold the rail-thin corpse and donned my weeds as you can see."

She sat back and looked at me, waiting for a response.

"A noble tale," I said, "of a loving wife. And are you, then, a rich widow?"

"Oh ja," she said, a smile breaking through, "I haf three properties in dis town, including my big home, seferal tenant farms, and stacks and stacks of gold coins, more than I can count."

"From a choir master?" I asked.

"His family vas in shipping, black slafing I suspect," she said.

I leaned forward. "And how was he in bed?"

"Awful, a damn'd rabbit," she said. "I'd have perished if it wasn't for Billy and the other boys."

"And the rector, he still after your sweet body?"

"No, vunce I married, he stopped that. He now has a serving girl of twelve or so that he bends to his will and he serfes her to his vestry like cafe on a platter."

"And he's of the English church?" I asked.

She nodded, "True and loyal he is, a king's man thr'u and thr'u."

"And what are you doing for companionship?" I asked.

"Why," she said, "nothing, uf course. I am in mourning for a year. His children, dey are vatching me."

"Poor thing," I said, eager to get between her legs.

"You understand, no scandal is possible. I should not efen be hafing coffee with you."

I reached across the table and tickled the underside of one ripe breast. "We will find a way," I said. She held my hand to her bosom and smiled. "I will be your farm manger, who comes to visit from time to time with ledgers under his arm. Have you a spare room where I could stay?"

"Six," she said, licking her lips, eyes alight, as eager as I was. She sucked my fingers one by one.

She told me how to find her house and the address of the church with the randy rector, and I promised to see her at dusk. We parted and I watched her walk away, my prod hardening in anticipation at the rolling movements of her hips. She was a tidy package that oozed sexual frenzy. I suspected if her late husband was swiving her a score of times each day, she would still have been ready for more.

The rector proved to be a florid man of middle years with a huge belly and a too-small wig. His eyes were piggy and bloodshot; his breath rancid. I told him that I had met the Widow Pomeroy, and that she suggested he might be interested in some young girls I was bringing in from the farm country.

"Did she?" he said, inviting me in. I told him that I could supply him with a fresh girl, even a virgin if he wished to pay a bit more, every three months for the foreseeable future for just twenty pounds, silver, per annum. He produced pen, ink and paper and I drew up an agreement which he eagerly signed. I gave him a receipt for his five pound deposit, and then I told him who I worked for and what he was going to do for me and the Continental forces.

He sputtered and his face became very white. Saliva dribbled from his lips and one hand shook. I said exactly what I wanted to know, said I would return each fortnight and expected the information in writing, and then stood to take my leave.

"The girls," he said at the front door, "will you bring the girls?" I hit him very low, well below his huge belly, and he gasped and dropped to his knees.

"Pray while you are down there, you stupid bastard," I suggested closing the door on his whimpering. I hurried to a stationer's shop, purchased a green-covered ledger and made my way to the tall home of the Widow Pomeroy, announced myself as Smith, the overseer, and was admitted and conducted to a back room fitted out as an office.

Presently Chrissie appeared, in black of course, and I stood to greet her, telling her my name and saying I had come as ordered while the servant slid the door closed behind her. Then I took the small woman in my arms and kissed her hard and long, pawing her body, kneading her buttocks, gnawing her breasts.

"Do you have any servants you can trust?" I asked, as she began removing her bodice and fumbling with her stays, her lush breasts popping free of her shift.

"Not a one," she whispered as I sat and pulled off my boots.

We were down to shirt and shift quickly and soon joined on her high-ended chaise with its plush upholstery and out-thrust legs.

"Oh damn," she said, as I entered her with some difficulty, "I vas right when I remembered d'size of dot thing, like a tree root, an oak at that." She groaned as I inched it into her, and she lifted her heaving hips to make the task easier while I knelt on the floor before her.

We reminded each other not to make noise when we finally got my shaft seated in her smooth and tight-walled sheath, so we gritted our teeth, and I began with very small, gentle strokes that grew in length and speed as our needs intensified. When she came the first time, she bit my shoulder as I shuddered on my knees, pumping out my pleasure into her writhing body with her legs heaving above us, her heels kicking my rump.

We barely paused as I pushed her back and mounted her properly, adjusting our positions only to let her get her feet behind my head and then were once more humping and arching together, keeping all our noises deep in our throats or with our mouths locked together as often as possible. She was a wonderful partner, tireless and responsive, and I was, I must admit, in top form, skewering her famously until we both were spent, and I rolled off on the floor, trying to get my breath. She patted my shoulder.

"A gallant start," she said.

"I'm sure your late husband died a happy man," I told her.

We dined well together and then she had one of the maids lead me up to a back bedroom. The girl dropped a curtsey, made eyes at me and handed me a candle sconce while her fingers brushed my wrist. "If you need me," the serving girl said softly, "my room is at the top of the back stairs. I'm called Bets." She left, closing the door silently.

Chrissie came to my bed a few minutes later, and after we enjoyed ourselves to heaving exhaustion, I told her of my maid's invitation.

"The vixen," she said, "trying to seduce my farm manager." Her knee massaged my ballocks while I nibbled on her fingers and nipples. After our second mating, with her atop my loins and my hands filled with her large, warm breasts, we rested, and I urged her to go back to her own bed. She held my spent phallus, scratching at it hopefully. "Are you sure?" she asked, stretching out the sodden thing.

"I'm done until the morning," I whispered.

She rolled out and gathered up her long nightdress. "The boys do better sometimes, but then they're nothing like so large. I'll be here at dawn," she promised, tiptoeing away.

I turned over and was asleep at once. It was gray and drizzling when I awoke with someone shaking my shoulder.

"I had to get the fires started," Bets said, bending down near my face, her long hair and small tits dangling, "thought you might need company."

I was, in fact, in desperate need right at that moment so I tossed back the quilt. The girl put her hand to her mouth, leapt up and ran from the room, wide-eyed. I pulled up the quilt, turned to my side and took it in my hand. It felt like a fire-heated ax handle, and I hoped Chrissy would keep her promise soon. I waited as long as I could, trying to calm myself, thinking of other things, but lust filled my mind so I stumbled down the hallway, my shirt tented out before me, looking in bedrooms until I found hers at the front of the house.

Raindrops pattered at the window as I stood beside the sleeping girl, so calm and lovely, pulled my shirt over my head, glanced down at my jutting ram which was pointed up toward the ceiling and rolled in beside her. She awoke and we kissed as I mounted her, and the swollen head of my morning gift from the gods pushed its way between her tender lips, stroking up and down her narrow trench. She reached between us, clasped the blood-hot piece of bar iron as best she could, and looked up at me.

"I can't," she said very clearly, squeezing as hard as she could as I lunged forward. "Oh please," she sobbed as I bent my back, feeling my skin being scraped back and my veins pounding as my rod moved in and out. She wiggled on it, and I pulled a pillow under her rump, rotating my hips and screwing the fiery monster into her seething channel. "No, please, please," she sighed, still holding tight to my throbbing pike. I backed out an inch or so, pulled her arm away, and sank the hungry thing in to the very hilt. She cried out like a stepped-on cat and clawed at my back then flung her arms out to the sides of the bed.

I thought she had fainted, but she lay there beneath me, eyes open, knees raised, belly quivering, and we began. Soon we were exhaling together and in perfect rhythm, ramming and flexing, holding it deep and then relaxing it back, driving faster and faster until she arched under me and spasmed repeatedly, moaning, "Ah, ah, ah," over and over. I paused, buried in her shivering quim as her orgasm rolled on like a tidal bore, and then began again, bringing her with me in time, until I pumped out my relief with her legs wrapped about me and only her shoulders and curly head on the mattress.

Then we kissed and I held her while she trembled and sobbed, still partially impaled. "That thing's big as my forearm," she said after a while.

"Um," I said, feeling the skin crawl about my stones as I licked at her breasts.

"Would you like to try my late husband's favorite way?" she asked once she became aware that I was nearly ready for another go.

"Your call," I said, unable to control much of my mental and none of my physical processes.

She squirmed to the foot of the big bed, grabbed the back of her hefty thighs and pulled her legs up until her knees were almost pressing her breasts. I sank into her, reared up like a stallion, and she squealed and pushed on my chest. "Too much, too much," she cried pushing me away. I pulled loose with a sluicing pop and rolled to my back. She was on me without a moment's pause and rode me like a champion, while I held her bucking buttocks and enjoyed the view of her romping young body, bouncing boobies. When we were both sated, she fell atop me, breathing deeply, and I patted her back.

I told her what I was expecting from the minister who had raped her and taken her virginity, and she told me of the members of his vestry who had defiled her. Then we dressed, breakfasted and I went back to my other duties, well satisfied.

"Who in the ever-loving world is that?" I asked Amanda, nodding toward a vision of beauty who was shopping just across the way from us.

"Nobody y'needs t'know," she said, rubbing an apple on her more-than-ample chest.

"Come on," I said. "She is a true beauty that one. You must know her."

"Not for the likes of you, m'boy. She only associates with Redcoat officers of some station; no subalterns for that jumped-up doxey."

"Roundheeled is she?" I asked.

Amanda nodded. "Never seen her w'the same bloke twict."

"What's she called?"

"Audrey, Aubrey," my friend said. "Some such name."

"That her Christian name?"

"No, 'tis but Lee I'm told, like the general. Come along. Don't dawdle."

My beer soaked memory churned up a young girl called Jubilee whose father, I was almost sure, was a well-thought-of Continental officer, a master of field artillery for Washington. And here she was entertaining the enemy. Something did not fit.

"Go along," I said to Amanda. "I'll see you tonight, perhaps."

"You'll jus' get in trouble," the woman said, swinging her hips as she departed, obviously angry.

Jubilee Aubrey and her sister Glory and her brave mother, whose name I could not recall, had been held by a British regiment and abused repeatedly in their own home. I had helped get them back to their husband and father some time before.

I watched the young woman shop, testing vegetables and being carefully selective in what she bought. She was trailed by a small, black woman with a wicker basket who paid for what was chosen.

Jubilee was easy to look at and dressed to the nines, turned out as well as any woman in the city I reckoned, and turning all heads. Her dark hair was curled and her tri-corned hat neatly veiled. Her boots shone, and her body was enough to empty a monastery. My root trembled as I stood in the shade and admired her, watched her walk through the market with military bearing and innate grace. I tried and failed to catch her eye and then recognized that a British officer was waiting for her, watching her hawk-like from a doorway. I hoped he had not noted my interest and melted into the crowd.

I followed the three of them to a fine house in a good neighborhood and saw them disappear behind a heavy door. I found a place where I could sit with my back to a tree and watch the front door without being easily seen. By sunset no one had appeared. I stayed and watched until all the windows were dark, my back was sore and my throat dry.

I crawled into my hole, woke myself at dawn and went back to my post. About ten of the clock the girl and her maid came tripping down the steps. I stood, brushed my clothes a bit and intercepted them at the first corner, a smile on my unshaven face.

"Miss Aubrey, I believe," I said, knuckling my forehead. and making a small bow.

Her eyebrows knotted and she frowned. "Sir?" she said. Then she took a deep breath, turned to the black girl and said, "May, go back to the house. We'll shop later."

I offered her my arm and she ignored it, thin-lipped.

"How did you find me?" she demanded, her color rising.

"You can't hide beauty," I said.

"Blather, such blather," she said, lifting her chin and looking me up and down as one might examine a farm animal at a fair.

"I need to talk to you," I said.

"Not in public," she replied. "Let's go back to the house."

Again I tried to take her arm, but she pulled away.

"You go the other way; come in the back." She stalked off.

She met me at the back door, hat in hand, put her arms about my neck and stretched up to kiss me, long and hard.

"My," I said, after I let her down off her toes. "That was a fine greeting." She had an odd taste, licorice my brain said, and her young body was firm and warm.

We sat in the back room, and the small black servant brought us some cider and cookies. She curtseyed awkwardly and left.

"What are you doing here?" we both said, almost together. I laughed, but she looked stern and serious.

"You first," she said.

"I'm still in the army, Miss, a scout; some would say a spy. I understand you have some friends among the enemy."

She took a quick breath. "Not friends," she said quietly.

"The man you were with yesterday, is he... ?"

She raised her hand and stopped me with a passing smile. "He's dead," she said, just as quietly. "I killed him."

"You what?" I nearly yelled, shocked, astonished. I tasted bile.

"I killed him" she said quite calmly. "Drowned him in fact. Held his head in a tub of water until he expired, stopped making bubbles."

"Lord," I said, feeling my heart skip a few beats. "I was hoping we, that you, that we might get some useful information from him."

"He was ignorant, a stupid fool," she said firmly. "Not worth bothering about."

"So you killed him?"

She nodded and gave me a small, shy smile.

"Just like that?"

"It's easy," she said brightly. "Really."

"He was a good sized man. I saw him at the market."

"I drugged him, laudanum, a heavy dose."

She sat primly, hands clasped in her lap, looking as if we were discussing rose gardens and flower cultivation.

"What did you do with his body?" I asked, puzzled.

"We have a pit in the cellar, lime filled." She nodded. "May helps me."

"May?"

"The black girl, you met her."

"That little thing?"

"She's quite strong. She was a slave."

"It is hard to believe," I said.

"It really isn't. I bring them here expecting sex, you know, and ... well, sometimes I have to do that first, roger them. Then I kill them."

"Them? He wasn't the first?"

"No, no. Oh no. He was, hm, number fourteen."

"You've killed fourteen men, British officers? Drowned them all?"

She smiled broadly. "No, different ways. I'll stop when I've done a score."

"Why?"

"For my sister, for my mother and me, too. Revenge."

"Your little sister, Glory isn't it?"

"She killed herself; threw herself in the river."

I just sat and shook my head. "Poor girl," I said.

"She never got over it, what they did to her, what they made her do."

"How is your mother?" I asked while my mind tried to make order of the situation.

"Heart broken, but she'll mend. How are you? You certainly look well." She licked her lips and smiled. I melted as her dark eyes held mine.