Chapter 59: Erina

Erina's tall house on the river had to be one of the biggest and grandest in the area. I went to the out buildings, of course, and asked the servants about their mistress, getting a series of very different responses but mostly good ones. No one called her haughty or mean-spirited.

"You should see her in the morning when she rides with the wild mop of fiery hair flying behind her," said one of the black grooms.

"And astride she is," said another, "digging her heels into the poor horse."

I hid my weapon and washed my face at the pump and presented myself at the side door after seeing some movement in a room in that area of the sprawling house. A female servant in a stiff uniform answered, bowed me in and showed me to a small sitting room filled with dark mahogany furniture and paintings of someone's dour ancestors. A man appeared, tall and lean, wearing a small wig and black clothes. He introduced himself as the farm's manager, and I told him I was buying horses for the army.

"Which army?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, and I told him the American army, the Continental army. He sniffed.

"Not a chance," he said. "Who sent you here? T'was a fool's errand, sirrah."

"Who is it, Mr. Jeffers?" the girl asked flowing into the room in a huge, big-sleeved dress of blue-green over a petticoat of dark blue and white stripes, her hair pulled back and flowing down to her waist. Dressed, as they said in those days, to the nines.

"Horse thief, Madam," said the man turning his back to me.

Erina looked at me and her mouth quivered; her tongue tip appeared briefly. Then she regained control and lifted her chin. "I'll take care of him," she said coldly, standing up very straight, luscious breasts jutting out at me, just ready for my mouth, barely hiding in her watered silk. I involuntarily licked my lips and looked at the puff of her soft belly that hid beneath that silky cloth. I could picture her legs, the mounded thighs, the muscular calves, the puffy lips of her narrow slit, the soft pink interior, the heat.

"As you wish, madam," said the man, bowing and leaving the room. When the door clicked closed, the girl took three long strides and fell into my arms, as warm and voluptuous as I remembered her, smelling of flowers and sobbing like her heart was broken. I patted her back, and she ground her lush body into me, her hands clawed at me. She gulped and stopped mewling as I grasped her buttocks and clamped her to my swelling groin. Our mouths met. Her breasts were as hard as winesaps.

"Get me out of this thing," she said calmly, stepping back a pace and pulling her sacque dress apart at the chest. I undid fasteners and the dress opened like a clamshell. She tossed it aside, and I stared at her high, firm breasts, barely concealed under a fancy shift that hung at her rounded shoulders, as fine a pair as I had ever seen, round as canon balls and tipped with bud-like protuberances pointing slightly away from each other. She undid her underskirt's waist, let it fall and stepped free, kicking the silk aside and working on her corset laces, looking down between her firm boobs, treating her expensive clothes as if they were rags. "You don't know how I've longed for you, for your fierce love, for your damn'd hard shaft, that hungry monster, that fierce beast," she said, rising on her toes to kiss my stubbled face while I held her firm butt.

"Come," she said, tossing her stays aside and pulling me to a large arm chair. She shoved me down, kissed me hard as she bent over to display her bulbous charms, stepped across me and fumbled at my foreflap, all but panting. When my massive limb was freed and rising like a goose's neck, she climbed aboard my thighs, grabbed it with both hands, caressed its purplish head with her thumbs, rubbed it up and down her soft-lipped slit and drew it into her, getting her legs under the chair's arms and digging her sandal-shod toes into the carpet, lurching forward and gritting her teeth as she massaged the top of her slit with both hands.

She clenched her jaw and bent her back, drawing me into her sinuous warmth and growing wetness, pure pleasure, deep and tight. She sucked in air and grimaced with passing pain, trembling on my growing yard as I buried my face between her hard boobies. With my teeth, I tore at lace and bared her dugs and then took one and then the other deep into my mouth. She was virginally tight, and sweat soon dotted her forehead as well as mine as we hammered at each other. It was hard work, that endless ditch digging, that post holing. She heaved and snorted while I bit at my lower lip and rammed steadily and deeply, sinking it into her with fierce eagerness

"Haven't had a man since I was raped," she sighed, wriggling on my barely half-inserted because of our awkward position, always friction-hungry, terribly over-heated spike whose blunt head was battering onward, spreading her young flesh, slowly gaining some depth. "Not a real one." She was impossibly tight, nearly impenetrable but steadily growing more slippery, better lubricated.

I nuzzled her lush boobies, licked their hardening nipples and then gnawed at her neck as she bent her body and whinnied. I hammered up into her, wiggling to and fro, in and out, in and out; ready to put her on her back. She was pulling me deeper as things within her tore apart, lifting on her knees and then sinking on my spear, smiling despite tears in her eyes and gasping as she did, shaking her head from side to side and lifting her chin, groaning deep in her throat, leaning her slick brow on mine and grinding her belly into mine. I could feel my ram's wide head butting into fleshy obstacles and forcing them aside or tearing them apart. I could also feel the chair strain and creak beneath us.

"Damn you, damn you," she cried as I finally seated my pike and flexed it deep within her marvelous body, hard against her bones, and then bolting at her womb, my hands clamped at her tidy waist. I was sure she was bleeding. I could feel the warmth of her blood on my root. "It's all your fault, your fault, your fault." She gasped, and I sensed she was about to scream and pulled her head down to cover her mouth with mine. Her tongue darted into my cheek, and she rocked back and forth on my spear and then she spasmed repeatedly and clamped me tight within her, grinding our bones together. Her body shook for some time, and she seemed to stop breathing.

I slid my hands lower, grasped her buttocks to me, stood and felt her legs wrap about me as my thick pike jumped and jerked upward, still deeper. Then I lowered us to the floor and rammed between her kicking legs until I climaxed and pumped out my pleasure in her luscious body while she rocked her head from side to side. She panted beneath me as we rested, still joined, welded together by lust. I held myself up on my elbows and knees, glorying in the feel of my spent prod quivering in her glowing cunny and her firm breasts hard again my chest, her ankles locked behind my butt.

"Explain," I managed to gasp out as my eager cock continued to enjoy itself.

"Can't," she moaned, shuddering, eyes wide in fear or pleasure.

"Try me," I said, attempting to gain some control of my own body and pace myself, feeling the ridged head of my root playing in and out the narrow door at her entrance.

"Where have you been?" she sighed. "I needed you."

"Killing people," I said, bending to take her lips again. "What have you been doing?"

"Wasting my life," she said, squirming to get more comfortable with my seventeen stone upon her and my thick gristle in her.

"Oh? Tell me."

"I married another of my father's friends. After I recovered my health, after, we won't talk about that. I wasn't thinking when I did it." She gave me a small smile and raised her hips hopefully, drawing me deep once more as I lost what little control I had barely gained.

"He must be very rich." I was barely able to control my voice.

"So am I," she stated, tensing her groin muscles about my long, soft prick that throbbed and jumped randomly.

I concentrated on trying to revive and discipline my member's nerves, and she went on, between kisses, telling me of her courtship and fancy wedding to a man nearly thrice her age. She showed me her jeweled ring that flashed with diamonds, emeralds and gold.

"He's a sodomite," she whispered as my spike trembled with fresh blood, its swelling head pulsing fiercely, seeking solace, burrowing in, thudding and thudding at her juicy depths.

"A fool," I said, quite pleased with myself, flexing deeper and being welcomed with trembles and gasps.

"He's even tried to take me that way, in the arse, when he was drunk on our wedding night, but he prefers men. There are a group of them, in the city. Ah, that feels wonderful. Go on, go on, ride, ride! Get up and post! He's used a whip on me once, a strap, tried to get me to lie with other men while he watched. He's terrible, foul, vulgar." She shuddered and snorted, heaving wildly, bouncing her buttocks off the floor. "Doesn't that feel grand?"

"It does," I agreed as we began again, bounding on the rug and rocking from side to side as our pace increased, and we lost all sense of time and space. When she came she was bridged on her feet and shoulders, and I was on my knees, holding her wide hips and serving her like a man ramming home an oversized cannon charge.

We collapsed. I withdrew. We got our breath, and I helped her dress, enjoying the task of doing her tiny hooks, kissing her bulging breasts after mouthing each one's protruding tit. There was a bloody trail inside one of her thighs, and my wasted cock was red-stained as well.

Then she rang a bell, pushed at her wonderful hair, pulling strands from her mouth and got us some tea and dainties. "We, between us, we have six farms in addition to this ugly place and nearly a hundred slaves and I-don't-know-how-many indentured people. He's a merchant banker and trader with offices in London and the Caribbean. There are ten house slaves I think."

"And what are you?"

"Decoration," she said, waving the serving girl away and pouring the tea.

"And your property, your late husband's?"

"All now in his name," she said. "It wouldn't be so bad but he gambles, plunges might be a better word, and invests in ship loads that often disappear, or seem to. I don't trust him a bit. I think he cheats everyone, even his government."

"Sound like you might prefer widowhood again."

She blushed as if I had read her mind and then nodded, just once.

"He might have an accident," I said. 'Does he ride?"

"Never," she said. "And he's always with someone."

"Does he hunt?"

"Now and then," she said. "Where can we hide you? I want you again."

"In your bed," I suggested, making the sweet food disappear and pouring down the first tea I had had in some time. "Perhaps he fishes," I said.

"I told you, he gambles. It's his only recreation, other than boys."

"How can I help you; short of doing him in at once I mean?"

"Swive me," she said with a smile. "Ten times a day."

"That might put me in the grave," I said with a smile.

"But such a happy death," she said, refilling my cup.

"Are the servants loyal to you?"

"Most of them," she said, "but not the man you met. He is one of my husband's, what shall we call it, lovers?"

"Ah hah," I said, "perhaps that's the key."

"Speak of the devil," said the girl as a carriage came into view on the long driveway. Four matched grays labored up the incline, and I took my leave, caressing her upright breast and brushing her bruised lips as I did.

I left quietly, scouted about the neighborhood gathering very little information of any merit, and made my way back to the big house late that night. The carriage was in the shed and the gray horses in the barn so I assumed that the lord and master was at home. I found the groom I had met before, examining a horse's hoof by lamplight.