Chapter 77: Carpentry

Then I took a job with a farmer who said he needed some carpentry done. I knew which end of a hammer and a saw to hold onto so I told him I was his man, especially after I saw his wife and daughter, a pair of downright stunners who were casual about their dress. The farmer was well into his sixties, perhaps seventy, but his wife was closer to twenty and his daughter was about the same, maybe a year or two older. They certainly could have worn each other's clothes. To me it looked like an opportunity I could not pass by, an opportunity that made my ballocks ache. I decided that soldiering could wait especially since Howe wasn't doing anything threatening.

At first it was mainly odd jobs in the house, mending furniture and patching rotted boards and such, but then we went to the outbuildings and got down to some more serious sawing and building. I measured twice and cut once as I had been taught and missed few opportunities to chat up the women. Jean was the wife, a full-bodied, dark-haired hussy only about five feet high, and Georgia was the slim daughter with light brown hair and longer legs. Within a day or two they had both sized me up and were doing some serious flirting and accidental rubbing when we passed. I decided they both needed it. I certainly did.

I cornered Georgia first out in the barn after she has been gathering eggs at the chicken coop. She put down her basket and came into my arms quietly, raised up on her toes, and we exchanged a few kisses and several gropes before I pulled her back into a corner workroom, hoisted her up on a heavy bench, swept the wood I had been working on to the floor and tossed her skirts into her lap. She smiled at me as I fumbled with my buttons.

I stepped between her slim legs and unleashed my aching root. It sprang up, fully engorged and the girl looked at it and squealed, "Wait" and tried to pull her knees together, her hands out on my chest, real fear in her face. I looked down at it and it looked normal to me, thick and round, heavy veined and helmet headed, surely no longer than her forearm, fiercely hard, a true cudgel if a bit knobby and bent up toward the rafters, oozing a bit of lubrication.

I cupped her butt with one hand and massaged her mound with my knuckles while our lips and tongues got back to work on each other and her knees trembled at my hips. Then I slipped a finger deep into her, found she was wet and ready and stepped up, spread her open with my thumbs and popped it into her. She squealed again, beating on my chest.

"Stop, stop," she whined, "It's too big, much too big. Pull it out, pull it out."

I was barely begun so I withdrew, but still stood between her wide-spread legs, caressing her trembling thighs with my dripping and disappointed ram, easing back and forth over her slit. I worked at unlacing her bodice while my jumping pike tried to call attention to itself with leaps and pokes at her tumbled dress and hairy groin. She panted and looked about rather wildly as I nudged her tiny prick with my much bigger one.

"I haven't done this much," she sighed between kisses as I scooped out her small breasts and began to lick and nibble. "Ah, that feels nice," she said, both hands buried in my hair. I got my paws filled with her buttocks and brought her again to my throbbing mast, raking it up and down her dripping slot a few times before putting its overheated head where it wanted to be.