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The Sutler Wagon Ch. 1

By: ronde



In the grey, misty dawn that blanketed the countryside a few miles from the outskirts of Dalton, silent shapes moved around the large plantation house. Rifles, canteens, and anything else that could make noise was wrapped in rags to silence even the smallest “tink” of metal against metal or wood. The shapes, in tattered grey uniforms or linsey-woolsey shirts and pants, walked on grass wet with the dew of the humid summer morning, and slipped unseen among the giant oak trees that would shield the house from the cruel Georgia sun. Behind them, other shapes pulled caissons and cannon with freshly greased wheels; horses might have revealed their presence with knickers or neighs. As the rising sun seared away the fog and woke a thousand song birds, the ragged remains of the once proud 57th Georgia Infantry took their positions facing the open field that served as gateway to the plantation. On that field was the infantry and artillery of an advance unit of Sherman’s Union Army. Their forced march had taken them to this field late last night, and they had orders to move out at daylight. Confederate operatives had learned of this plan, and the general staff had assigned the 57th to ambush the force. An almost imperceptible breeze brought the smell of coffee and bacon to the warriors in grey, but thescent was lost in the acrid odors of sweat and fear. Hopelessly outnumbered, they would stand and fight proudly once more, but they knew today would be a dying day for many.

Marion lay on her back, her breathing deep and regular, her body in a state of complete relaxation. The humid night had brought small beads of sweat to her upper lip, and her auburn curls had turned to sodden wisps plastered against her forehead. The white, silk nightdress she had chosen the night before had slipped up to her waist during her unconscious battle with the summer heat, and she had thrown off the sheet, exposing slender calves, soft, white thighs, and round, sensuous hips framing a small triangle or auburn curls. Her right arm lifted the full breasts that lay in soft, slightly flattened mounds under the fabric, and her hand cradled the left. Now, at this early hour of the morning, it was cool enough to sleep deeply, and early enough to be able to do so. Not that she had many things to do today; Marion was living in the huge house alone. She had continued to operate the plantation after her grandfather died, but when the war started, her overseer left to join the army. All the field and household help had left with her blessing, and she had let the Jane, the overseer’s wife, stay on in the small house, asking nothing from her except an occasional visit, and some of the vegetables from the kitchen garden. Jane’s husband had been killed in battle, and she went to live with her sister in Marietta. Then, three months ago, Marion’s grandmother had passed, leaving her alone. 

Marion had known only her grandparents for all of her twenty years. Her mother had died giving birth to her, and her father had succumbed to cholera when she was barely two. She could still vaguely remember him, but her vision of him was bits and pieces of unconnected memory; a large face with a large smile, large, work-worn hands, and a deep but gentle voice. She couldn’t put all the memories together into one person, but sometimes, late at night, she thought of him. She remembered her grandfather well. He was a kind man, lively in action and intelligence, and never allowed abuse of the field hands or household workers. His overseer would answer directly to him if there was even a hint of such conduct. Her grandfather had grown up a poor, uneducated farmer in Scotland, and knew what it was to be mistreated. Marion inherited her love of people, quick thinking mind, and uncompromising character from her grandfather; her grandmother had passed her auburn hair, green eyes alive with the fire of life, and soft, flawless skin through her daughter to Marion. 

Marion was in that dreamlike state between asleep and awake, the time when reality weaves itself into dreams, and dreams feel like reality, when the grey shapes fired the first cannon shot. She leaped from the bed, ran to the window, and stared in terror and awe at the spectacle below.

The open field was filled with horsemen and footsoldiers in blue, milling in confusion as the cannon shells burst in their midst. Mules pulling caissons and wagons clamped their bits tightly and careened madly through the sea of blue shirts in spite of the frantic curses and slashing whips of the drivers, while officers on wild eyed, sweating horses screamed orders into the melee. After what seemed like hours, but was in reality only minutes, finely honed discipline was restored, the battle lines formed, and the Union artillerymen began shelling the house. 

The first shell exploded in her grandmother’s bedroom, and the concussion knocked Marion to the floor. As Marion stumbled down the stairs, a second destroyed the parlor below her room, and as the stair collapsed, Marion fell six feet to land hard on the hardwood floor. Her bed, dresser, and dressing table rained down beside her, but except for some bruises and severe ringing in her ears, Marion was unhurt. Her first thought was to hide, but as she stumbled through the kitchen to the cellar stairway, she discovered the cookstove lying in pieces after spilling its banked coals onto the floor. Flames were rapidly chewing their way across the finely polished oak, and licking up the wood paneled walls. The sun-baked Georgia pine was as dry as kindling, and beckoned its lover, the flame, with fragrant dripping pitch. Marion ran to the french doors that led to the rear of the house, and as she fumbled with the latch, flames engulfed the entire first floor with a scorching blast of heat and a loud “whumph”. She smelled burning hair as she finally worked the latch and ran out the door. Marion kept running until she reached the barn, ran through the door, and fell into the straw of an empty stall. Windfire, her Grandfather’s tall gelding, stomped in fear at the raging battle sounds and smell of the fire, and neighed to her in terror. Quickly regaining her feet, Marion climbed to the loft, and peeked out through the hay door.

Rifle shots grew near, and Marion saw what was left of the Confederate troops running away from the house. Blue coated riders on sleek coated horses followed, and sliced through the running men with slashing sabers and smoking pistols. Screams of agony, shouted curses, and the stench of blood, ripped intestines and urine assaulted her senses as a blue wave of footsoldiers appeared from both sides of her flaming home. The footsoldiers quickly swept through the killing field, plundering the dead and looking for the living; screams and pleas for mercy were quickly silenced with single thrusts of bayonets mounted on Springfield rifles,

In half an hour, the yard was silent except for a few Union troops searching the outbuildings. Yesterday, the yard had been a place for quiet appreciation of flowers and good books enjoyed with a cool drink under the shade of the oaks. Today, it was a horror of trampled grass and blood soaked, twisted bodies. Marion froze as two Union soldiers approached the barn, then slipped away from the door to bury herself in the large haystack. She heard whispered conversation, then felt the thud of heavy boots on the loft floor. A thrust bayonet struck the floor only inches away from her face. She stifled the urge to scream, and prayed that the sound of her pounding heart could not be heard by the bayonet’s owner. The heavy boots walked away. Marion heard Windfire neigh in fear as he was led from the barn, and then the voices faded away.

Marion stayed in the haystack until she was sure no soldiers still searched. When she cautiously slipped from the hay, the late afternoon sun burned hot.. A quick peek out the hay door revealed only the dead witnesses to today’s slaughter, and the charred remains of the house. Marion crept down from the loft, and checked all around the barn by looking through cracks in the sheathing planks. The soldiers had gone. As Marion walked through the outbuildings, she discovered that the Union soldiers had taken everything that could be eaten or used in any way. Gone were the chickens, sacks of feed, and most of the tools and supplies in the workshop. She was relieved to find that the root cellar had not been ransacked. There, hidden among the potatoes, onions and carrots was the metal box containing all the money she had left. She never gotten around to changing the gold coins to Confederate paper, even though she felt less patriotic for her laziness, but at least she had almost two hundred dollars. 

Marion awoke in the haystack, hungry in spite of the potatoes and carrots she had eaten the night before. She brushed the hay from her hair and was thinking about what to do, when she heard a familiar nicker from below. She raced to the loft ladder to see Windfire standing in his stall and waiting to be fed. She threw down some hay, then climbed down, and ran to hug his neck. He must have gotten away in the night, and had found his way home. As she stroked the sleek body and soft nose, tears ran down her cheeks, despair flooded her mind, and she gave way to uncontrolled sobbing. Windfire stood quietly munching his hay; he was the only thing left of her life of yesterday, and she poured out her grief and anger to the big horse. 

After a while, the sobbing subsided and was replaced by thoughts of what to do. She couldn’t stay here with no food and no shelter except the barn. She had nothing but the money, and was not even dressed. First, she must search the remains of the house; something might have come through the fire.

Her search through the ashes of the once beautiful home was disheartening. The possessions of her grandparents lifetime had been reduces to a powdery fluff that puffed around her feet with each step. The fire had burned most of the shell to the foundation, but the heavy floor beams had not burned through. She carefully walked down the steps to the cellar and found it mostly undamaged. Sunlight poured through the spaces between the beams and lighted her way as she placed each bare foot carefully to avoid stepping on the glass, nails, and other trash that littered the floor. She sifted through the ash and bits of charred lumber and was overjoyed to find her grandfathers revolver. If she could find powder, balls, and caps, she would have some protection. Her continued search revealed nothing more except some mildewed books in an old trunk and some broken oil lamps. Sadly, she left the cellar, and started back to the barn. On her trip to the house, she had avoided the bodies laying in the yard, but now, she searched carefully for anything that might be of use. She soon found two flasks of gunpowder, balls that would fit the revolver, and a supply of caps. She was squeamish about taking them from the dead soldiers, but after the shock of seeing the wounds of the first few, she became numb to the sight, and searched every corpse. She collected a clasp knife, two canteens and a leather belt with pouches for caps and balls. After filling the canteens from the pump in the yard, she went to the barn and saddled Windfire. She found a cotton feed sack, placed her few possessions inside, and tied the neck with a piece of twine. After tying the sack over the back of the saddle, Marion mounted Windfire, and rode away from the stinking yard, away from the charred house, away from her past. Marion had an aunt in Chattanooga. She had gone to visit last year, by carriage of course, but she knew the way. She would have to travel off the roads until she could find some clothes, but Windfire was bred to carry his rider on long inspection rides across the fields, and she would have little trouble.

She had ridden all morning, when she saw a small burned out house and almost undamaged barn in the distance. It didn’t appear that anyone was around, but she quietly rode Windfire into a stand of trees that bordered the farm lot, dismounted and walked him the rest of the way. She tied Windfire to a small tree, and walked across the empty farm lot to the barn. As she rounded the corner of the barn, she saw a horse and wagon tied to a post.

“OH, OH, AH, AH.” Marion was frozen at the open barn door by cries of a woman in pain coming from inside. She looked through the door, but could not see the source. She slipped in, carefully looking all around, and still could see no one. “AH... AH,,, AH,” A man’s voice now spoke, “Now I’m gonna give it to you hard, bitch.” The sound was coming from a box stall on her left. The door was open, and she could hear thrashing around in the straw. “You stupid, stupid girl”, she had left the revolver in her sack; she couldn’t risk an attempt to get it. She looked around her for a weapon of some type and saw an ax leaning against the stall. Marion picked up the ax, and moved into the stall entrance.

A fat man in a blue uniform was lying on top of a very red faced woman who had her eyes closed. He was holding her arms to the ground as he bounced up and down on her body. She was screaming again as Marion raised the ax and swung it into the fat man’s back. He started to rise, then slumped on top of the woman. The woman’s eyes opened wide, and her mouth formed an unspoken “what” as she stared at Marion. With a grunt and a heave, she threw the man off her body, and sat up. Marion stared at a thirtyish looking woman with a large bosom and wide hips. She was dressed in a red dress that did little to conceal the bosom and hips, and her flaming red hair was twisted into a big knot that sat on top of her head like a hat. The woman carefully adjusted her dress, and then spoke.

“Damn, girl. What got into your head? 

“He was hurting you, and I had to stop him. I thought he was killing you.”

The woman was seized with a fit of laughter that lasted so long, Marion wondered if the woman was sane.

“Honey, he was just fucking me. Good thing I got the money first. He probably wouldn’t want to pay after you chopped him in the back with your ax. Men’re funny that way.” More uncontrolled laughing followed. Marion must have looked confused, because, as she regained control of herself, the woman giggled, “You really don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“No.”

“What kind of life have you led, girl? Didn’t your mother ever tell you anything?”

“My mother died when I was born.”

“Girl... God, I can’t keep calling you girl. What’s your name, honey?”

“Marion, Marion McLandon”

“Well, Marion, who raised you then?”

“My Grandmother and Grandfather.”

“Now, I see. Grandma never talked to you about sex, I suppose.”

Marion became indignant at the casual way the woman talked about her grandparents. “Who are you and why should I tell you?”

“My name is Angelique Bouvier. You can call me Angie. I’m a sutler, and sometimes I do more than just trade things to the army, if you know what I mean. Angelique’s french, if you didn’t know, and it looks like I’m about the only person around who can help you.”

“Why should I need your help?”

“Well, unless I’m mistaken, this fine example of the Union Army is dead as a poisoned pup, and the Union doesn’t take kindly to people who kill their soldiers. Not that he was anything to write home about, you understand; kind of fat, and real sweaty, and wouldn’t even take his pants off. Damn belt buckle was cold and his fly buttons kept snagging my cunt hair. He was a big, fat turd, but they’ll be pissed off, just the same.”

“You think he’s dead?”

“Well, honey -I mean Marion, when a man’s getting the screwing of his life, and then just falls on top of you with an ax sticking out of his back, it’s a pretty sure sign that something’s really wrong with him. Look at him, he’s kinda grey colored, he’s leaking blood out all over the place, and he’s not breathing. Looks pretty dead to me; stone cold, burying dead.”

“I really killed him?”

“Well Ho... shit... Marion, I was kinda busy at the time, and there was just the three of us here... That leaves you.”

“Oh, God, what have I done?” Marion started to cry.

“You didn’t do anything that anybody else wouldn’t have done, under the circumstances, but we need to get as far away from here as we can before they come looking for him, so stop crying and let’s get out of here. You got a horse?”

“Yes”, sniffed Marion, and led Angie to where Windfire was tied.

“Well, I got a wagon. Where are you headed?”

“Chattanooga, to my aunt’s,”

“Well, that’s fine with me. Let’s go.”

They rode all day, Angelique driving with Marion beside her, and Windfire tied to the wagon. Although they heard shooting from every direction, they didn’t meet any troops from either side, and soon Marion was leaning aginst Angelique and drowing. At dusk, they stopped at a small house that was many miles from the barn.

“We’ll be safe for the night here”, said Angelique as she lit two lamps. “I know the people who live here, and they won’t mind. Now, let’s get something to eat, and get you some clothes. You can’t keep riding around in your night dress; it’s filthy and your titties and bush show through.”

Angelique seemed to know where everything was stored, and soon had sliced ham, fried potatoes, and beans on the table. They ate in silence, and then Angelique said, “you’re kind of small, but maybe we can find you some clothes.” She went into another room, and came back with bloomers, a bright blue dress, several petticoats, black stockings, and black, high button shoes. “Here, try these on for size. I’ll be back in a minute.” Angelique went back into the other room.

Marion changed into the garments, and Angelique returned. “You could use bigger tits to fill out that dress, but it looks pretty on you. “ Marion blushed. “Good, it’s not too long. I can’t sew worth a tinker’s damn. All in all, you look pretty good. Have to do something about that face though...maybe some powder and rouge...yes, I think you’ll do. Now get out of those, and let’s get to bed. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

Marion followed her into the next room which contained only a bed and a trunk. She started to undress, then stopped and said, “Would you leave me alone until I can get back into my nightdress?”

“Marion, were both women, and it shouldn’t embarrass you to undress in front of me. Besides, your nightdress stinks to high heaven. Sleep without it.” She then unfastened her own dress, and let it fall to the floor. “See”, she continued, as petticoats, then corset, then stockings, then bloomers joined the dress, “I’m not embarrassed, why should you be. And after all, there is only one bed. We’ll have to share, so hurry up.”

Marion turned and blew out the lamp. She slipped out of the clothes, and fumbled in the dark for the bed. She turned back the quilt, sat down, and slipped in beside Angie.

“Marion, you never answered my question.”

“What question?”

“What did your Grandmother tell you about sex?”

“She told me it was a dirty thing men did, and I would find out when I was married.”

“Well, you have a thing or two to learn. Didn’t she tell you how a man fucks you?”

“What’s...fuck mean? You keep saying all these words I don’t know, and you act like I should.”

“Marion, fuck is when a man puts his cock in you...oh, damn, you don’t know what a cock is either, do you?”

“No, unless you mean a rooster.”

“Well,” she giggled, “they stand up like a proud little rooster, sometimes, but a cock is the thing between a man’s legs. It gets hard and he puts it inside you, here”, said Angelique as her hand slid between Marion’s thighs. “Into this hole, right here.”

Marion jumped. No one had ever touched her there. She didn’t even touch herself there except to wash and to take care of what Grandmother called “the woman’s curse”. “Don’t do that. That’s dirty. Grandmother said so.”


The Sutler Wagon Ch. 1



“Caught you playing with yourself, I’ll bet, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Did it feel good... playing with yourself, I mean?”

“I don’t remember. Can we just go to sleep?”

“Naw, let’s talk some more. You need to understand some stuff if we’re going to travel together.”

Angie slipped closer to Marion and raised herself on one elbow; Marion could feel the weight of soft breasts on her arm. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant, but she was still uncomfortable with it.

“Marion, men and women have sex for many reasons, but mostly because it feels good. Oh, I forgot...fucking is where a man puts his cock in your cunt and pushes in and out until he squirts. Many women have the same feeling, but most of us don’t squirt.”

“Squirt?”

“When a man reaches his peak, he squirts white stuff out of his cock. It’s called sperm, and if he squirts it inside a woman, it will make her pregnant, that is if the time is right. Most men don’t say sperm, they say “cum”, and they say they are “cumming” instead of saying squirting. Women cum too, but like I said, they don’t squirt. I’ve seen some girls that leaked out lots of clear liquid when they came, and I call that cum too, but it’s not the same.”

“Why would any woman want to do that? It sounds very messy to have stuff squirted inside you. Doesn’t it leak back out?”

“Well, yes, but that’s kind of good feeling too, I think. The reason I do it is that it’s the most wonderful feeling in the world. Nothing can match it, especially on those days when you have to wear those awful towels. You do know about that, don’t you?”

“Well, yes. Grandmother told me it was a woman’s curse to do that, and we just had to put up with it. It hurts sometimes, and I get all fidgety feeling, but she said that was just the way it is.”

Angie was quiet for a while, and then Marion felt her scoot closer. She thought she felt something warm and soft pressing into her breast, but she wasn’t sure. She was sure that Angie was breathing more deeply, and their bodies were in contact from her shoulders to her toes. She kind of liked the warmth, but really didn’t know what to think of the closeness.

Angie spoke in a softer voice. 

“Let me show you why, Marion. You get fidgety because you need to be fucked. You’ve been missing half your life. First, do you know what these are for?” Angie touched Marion’s breast gently. Marion flinched, but didn’t move away.

“They are breasts, and you use them to feed babies.”

“That’s right, honey, but they’re good for other things, too. I’ll show you.”

She began to touch gently, soft little caresses on the side and underside of the breast. She cupped it and gently squeezed. Marion gasped at the feeling, and then gasped again as the soft fingers touched her nipple.

“This is your nipple. Mine are very sensitive to touch, and I think yours are too. When you touch them they swell up and get hard.”

She placed Marion’s hand on her large breast, and began to rub Marion’s fingers over the nipple. Marion felt the already large nub swell and extend. Angie moaned.

“Are you all right, Angie. I didn’t mean to -”

“I’m fine, honey, it just feels really good. Don’t worry about me. Just listen and feel what you feel.”

Angie’s fingertips continued to gently stroke Marion’s nipple. It also grew in size, and Angie took it between her fingers and gently tugged. Marion moaned then, and surprised herself. This felt like what Grandmother had called “dirty”, but it did feel good. Angie kept rubbing and tugging, and Marion began to feel little ripples in her belly; little ripples that made her relax; little ripples that made her slightly part her legs because she felt herself swelling down there. She moaned again.

“If you or a man, or even another woman touches your breasts, especially your nipples, it causes the best feeling in your tummy. What do you feel now, Marion?”

“I feel kind of tight, in my tummy, and...I’m embarrassed to say.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. This is just us girls. We can tell each other anything, sweety. That’s what girls do.”

“Well, I feel kind of big...down there, and...a little wet.”

“That’s the way you’re supposed to feel. Does it feel good?”

“Yes.”

“Sometimes, a man kisses a woman. Have you ever kissed a man?”

“Only my grandfather... on the cheek.”

“Marion, kissing can be much more.” She touched her lips to Marion’s. Her barely perceptible movements as she kissed caused a chill to run through Marion’s body.

“That was a gentle kiss, but there are others.” She kissed Marion again, harder this time, and Marion felt Angie’s tongue tickling her. She unconsciously parted her lips, and Angie’s tongue slipped between them. Marion felt the slightly rough surface caressing the inside of her lips, and the feeling was exquisitely teasing. Angie rolled Marion’s nipple once, and as Marion gasped, slipped her tongue to touch Marion’s. Marion said, “Ohhhhh”, the sound buzzing into Angie’s mouth and returning to her as a vibrating tingle that caused her body to tense, and then relax. “Ummmm.”

“When a man kisses me like that, I get all warm and wet inside. Matter of fact, I’m getting that way now, too. It always makes me want to be touched all over. How do you feel now?”

She rolled Marion’s nipple again, and Marion replied, “mmmm, mmmm.”

“I think you’re learning fast, Marion. Now, a man doesn’t just kiss, and play with your breasts. He will touch your tummy, your cunt hair, and your cunt.”

Marion breathed a question. “What’s a cunt. You said that before, but I still don’t know.”

“Well,” said Angie. moving Marion’s hand to her own belly, “this is my tummy. If I move your hand lower, you feel my hair. Feel it now?”

“Yes.”

“Now, feel the little lips inside the hair... oh, yes, right there.”

“Yes, they’re wet.”

“You bet they are, honey. That’s my cunt. Some men say “pussy”, and that’s right too, but I like cunt better. When you get excited, your cunt gets wet, just like mine. Let’s see if yours is wet.”

Angie let her hand slip to Marion’s auburn curls, and swirled her fingers through the soft hair. The fingertips explored lower, and found lips beginning to swell in excitement. One fingertip stroked the outside of the slit from top to bottom, and then gently probed between them. Marion’s hips lifted a little, the lips separated, and Angie felt warm moisture coating her finger.

“You’re wet, too. What does this feel like?”

“Wonderful. I Iike it when you do that.”

“Now if a man does this, it really makes me wet.”

Angie placed her mouth over Marion’s hard little nipple, and began to suckle. Her fingertip stroked the inside of Marion’s cunt lips, spreading her natural lubrication. She was rewarded by more liquid, and by more little hip lifts from Marion. Marion moaned again and her fingertips twitched against Angie’s own lips.

“You like this, don’t you?”

“Yessssss... Very much... What does the man do next?”

Angie slipped her finger up to Marion’s little nub, and circled it. Marion arched, and said “ahhhhh.” Angie slipped a second finger between the lips, and trapped the little bud between them. She tugged gently, and Marion arched again. “Mmmmh, mmmmh, ahhhhh.”

“This little button that’s making you jump all over is your clit. If I keep this up, you will cum, and from the way your reacting, you can probably cum more than once. Do you want me to stop now?”

“Mmmmh...no, please...mmmmh...don’t stop. It’s won-ohhhh...wonderful.”

Angie slipped her thigh over Marion’s, and Marion felt soft hair and wet lips pushing against her. 

“God, this feels good. I need this too,” said Angie. She began rubbing herself up and down Marion’s leg, and Marion felt a soft bump between the lips. As Angie began to breath harder, her finger tips began to rub up and down Marion’s lips, all the while keeping the little clit between her fingers. She pushed the fingertips into Marion’s entrance and made tiny stroking touches there. Then her fingers returned to the little clit, and began to caress above it, below it, all around it, and across the very button itself. Marion was moaning and bucking against the pleasuring fingers now, her mind centered on the little button and Angie’s fingers. Angie leaned to Marion’s breast, and caught the nipple in her mouth. As Marion cried out in joy, Angie bit gently just behind the nipple, and Marion shrieked, “AH...AH...AH...AH.” Another bite, and Marion’s legs spread wide. Her hips began thrusting in time to Angie’s gentle strokes. Angie began rubbing quickly against Marion’s clit, rolled Marion’s nipple between closed lips, and then rubbed her tongue over the tip with as much force as her tongue could exert. As Marion’s moaning became continuous, Angie increased her pressure on Marion’s clit, and made rapid, gentle bites to the hard nipple. Marion went rigid, then arched high against the rubbing fingers, and cried out, “Yessssss, yessssss, mmmh...mmmh,,,ahhhhhhhhhhh...” She stayed arched against the soft fingers as her hips rapidly thrust up and down. Angie had trouble maintaining contact with the hard little clit, but managed to keep rubbing. She sucked in the nipple hard, bit down again while swirling her tongue over the tip, and Marion screamed as her body shook and then sank to the bed. Angie returned to softly stroking Marion’s clit, and kissed Marion with parted lips. Marion responded by searching for Angie’s tongue with her own. Angie broke the kiss, and said, “Now that’s why men and women fuck. Sometimes women and women fuck, but it’s a little different; softer like, and takes longer. I just fucked you, what do you think now?”

“It’s the most wonderful feeling I’ve ever had. Why did Grandmother lie to me?”

“She didn’t lie to you, honey. When she was a girl, she was taught that nice women didn’t enjoy sex, and just passed it on to you. They never tried to enjoy it, so they never learned how. Most men didn’t know anything but to stick it in and stroke fast ‘til they came, so women never had a chance.” Angie giggled, “Come to think of it, most men don’t do a lot better now.”

“Did you get to feel as good as I did?”

“No, honey, but you may not be ready for that yet.”

“I want to help you. Show me how, please; I want to know how.”

“It’s not going to take much tonight. Just let your fingers find my clit, and rub it a little. I’m almost to ready to cum now, just after watching and hearing you.”

Marion fumbled a little, but soon found Angie’s large clit, and began to stroke it.

Angie whispered, “Honey, put your fingers in my cunt, and get them wet. Then go back to my clit...Oh God, that’s it. Oh God, yes. Don’t stop. I’m there.”

Marion suddenly rolled Angie’s clit between her thumb and finger; Angie shuddered uncontrollably, and moaned, “Now...ummm...ummm...ummmaummaummmm.” Marion kept rubbing until Angie grabbed her hand. They lay together, touching each other as Angie’s breathing returned to normal.

“Marion, that was so nice. I needed that after helping you. How come you pinched my clit. I didn’t do that to you, but it’s one of my favorite things. How did you know?”

“I didn’t know if you would like it, but I wanted you to do that to mine when I...came. Did I say that right?”

“Honey, you can pinch my clit anytime, and I’ll remember for you, next time. And you said it just fine. We’re going to get along well together, but unless we go to sleep, we won’t wake up ‘til noon, and we have a long way to go yet.” She put her arm around Marion’s waist and pecked her on the lips. “Wake you tomorrow, sweety.”

To Be Continued...



The Sutler Wagon Ch. 2



Early morning brought an unusual chill to the Georgia summer and the two women unconsciously sought each other’s body heat and huddled close under the thin quilt to stay warm. The older woman’s bun had come uncoiled in the movements of her slumber, and the long, soft, bright red strands splayed out like flame licking at the pillow. She cradled the younger woman’s face to her bare, full breasts in a gentle embrace and nuzzled into her darker, auburn curls as some fleeting dream sped through her sleeping mind.

As the first rays of daylight peeked into the bedroom through the dust coated window, the older woman woke slowly. She felt the warm, soft skin against her body and smiled a smile of fond remembrance of the night before.. As Marion continued to slumber, Janet Dunbar held the auburn haired girl and thought of tomorrow. “She’s so naive and innocent. Now that I’ve lied to her about my name, led her to believe she had to get away just so I could get her to help me, and very nearly raped her, will she believe me when I tell her the truth? I had to mislead her; she would never have come with me if she knew what I have to do. I’ve got to have her help or else...” Tears filled her eyes as her heart ached, knowing he would soon be out of reach, and only this young girl could help her get him back.

The two had met in a barn where Janet had taken the Union soldier she found guarding the road on which she had been walking. Hoping to learn something of the Union positions and marching orders, Janet had used her assumed identity of Angelique Bouvier, and her assumed profession of camp following sutler/whore to lure the soldier into an empty stall. Her intention had been to service him and then casually, but skillfully, find out a safe route to Chattanooga, and extract such information as he knew about the Union holding camp for prisoners of war located there. Janet had collected some of the soldiers good Union gold, and was well into the execution of her plan, when Marion appeared, and thinking Janet was being attacked, killed the soldier with an ax. 

Janet had rolled the soldier from on top of her and stood to chastise the girl. As she looked at the slender girl dressed only in a filthy nightdress, and then into her deep green eyes, Janet saw terror, grief, and innocence ravaged by too much horror in too short a time. She had instantly felt only compassion, and resolved to help Marion in the hope that the girl could assist in her mission. She maintained her charade, and questioned the girl for details about where she was going, and how she was going to get there. Marion had a horse, and was going to Chattanooga also, so Janet had convinced her they had to leave to avoid prosecution for murder of the soldier. 

Janet knew the fat, smelly Yankee would not be missed for days; the Union army was swarming for the advance on Atlanta, and he would just be reported absent until after the battle. Janet had taken Marion to one of the few houses that had escaped the Union rape of the Georgia countryside, and was fortunate to have found food and clothing for the girl. She had found that Marion was nearly ignorant in matters of sex, and since her plan needed a second whore, she started teaching her as they lay in bed the night before. She had gotten carried away with the emotion of her plight, the fractured innocence of the girl, and with her own long unsatisfied desire, and had made love to Marion. Marion surprised her by wanting to reciprocate, and Janet had found a long needed release in the young girl’s soft lips and fingertips. 

Janet slipped her hand to the young girl’s hip and caressed idly as she planned the day. First, the rest of the way to Chattanooga, then to her home to plan and get ready. She would have to find a way to tell Marion the truth as they rode. It would be hard, but...

“Ummm...is it daylight? Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh, that feels good.”

Janet looked at the young face cradled to her breasts, and watched as the green eyes focused on her. She smiled, and the soft pink lips smiled back. Marion stirred, and Janet felt the girl’s soft thighs move against her as she stretched to remove the stiffness of sleep. An unintentional movement thrust the girl’s silky, auburn mound into Janet’s own thigh, and she tightened her embrace and pulled Marion to her. She kissed Marion lightly through the auburn curls that lay on her forehead, and whispered, “it’s time we got started.”

“But your so soft and warm, and after last night, I just want to stay here. Please?” Soft fingertips found Janet’s nipple and began light touches.

“Damn, you learn fast, and enjoy your lessons too much, I think. There’ll be time for that after we get to Chattanooga. Besides, the first real cock you get in you will change your mind about me.”

“I don’t know. I won’t ever forget last night. “ She slipped her arm around Janet, and hugged her close.

As they drove North, they talked of woman’s things, and enjoyed each other’s company until, in the distance, they could see the low, tree covered mountains around Chattanooga. Marion rode beside Janet with her arm around Janet’s waist; Marion was holding on, but the embrace was more sensual than done for safety, and she kept leaning to press her breasts into Janet’s arm. “She has just got to find her a man, and soon”, thought Janet. 

“Angie, what did you mean when you said it was good you got the money from that soldier first? Why did he give you money?”

Janet giggled, “I see it’s school time again. We have to be careful not to get as mmm...involved in the lesson as last night. Well, honey, some men don’t have wives, or their wives aren’t very...shall we say, loving, so they visit special women for sex. These women get paid for making the man cum. The longer it has been for the man, and the better the woman is, the more she gets paid. These women are called whores, and make their living this way.”

“Is that what you are...a whore?”

“I wasn’t always, but right now, yes.”

“You could come live with me at my aunt’s, and then you wouldn’t have to do it anymore.”

“Marion, your aunt would as soon welcome the devil himself into her parlor as me. You see, most women feel threatened by whores, because men seem to like them. Men like whores because whores make them feel special, and tell the man all the nice things they are feeling as they fuck. Most women won’t or can’t do that, and they’re afraid their man will run off with one and leave them. Wives and mothers have been trying to get rid of whores since time began, and your aunt’s probably no different. Besides, two unrelated women living in the same house would raise eyebrows all over town.”

“Don’t women ever just live together, like men and women do...I mean, like man and wife?”

“Well, yes honey, they do. But most people find that as bad as being a whore. The girls I know who live together do so in a boarding house, where it’s not so obvious, not in a house by themselves.”

“I wouldn’t care what people thought, as long as you were with me.”

“Damn, honey, you’re making a big choice based on one night. I think you ought to try a man before you decide women are the only ones for you.”

Marion pressed her lips to Janet’s shoulder. “Not women...just one woman. You.”

“A true case of first love. Well, I like you too, very much, but I also like men, very much. I’m sure you will too.”

“When you were with the soldier, I heard you screaming. Did you...cum?”

“God, no, honey. That sweaty, smelly, fat pig was just poking away for himself. He didn’t care about anything but the fact that my cunt was wrapped around him. I was just doing that to hurry him up. That’s the way it always is for a whore. Most whores don’t like men very much, for just that reason. I guess I’m different than most. A man who’s a good lover is wonderful, they’re just hard to find.”

“Last night, you said when a man cums inside you, you get pregnant. Are you pregnant?”

“No honey. If you had known to look, you would have seen the lambskin I made him put on. It is a little closed tube he puts on his cock before he starts, and it traps the sperm. I always make the men use them, or they don’t fuck me.” Janet laughed, “I’ll bet whoever finds him will wonder where that came from.”

At noon, they stopped by a small stream, and ate the ham and beans brought from the house. As they sat in the grass, Marion said, “Have you ever had a man that was a good lover?”

Janet stared at the sky. “Once...only once. He was kind, gentle, and knew how to talk to me, and knew all the right places to touch. It’s a wonderful feeling, Marion, when a man makes love to you, and I mean makes love to you, not just fuck’s you. It’s different. He cares how you feel, and wants you to have pleasure, too.”

“What happened to him?”

“The war.” Janet paused, and tears filled her eyes. “This damnable, stupid war.” She fell into Marion’s outstretched arms and sobbed into her shoulder. 

“We were so happy. Then the war took him away from me. He kissed me good-bye and rode off to save the Confederacy. He’s a captain in the 57th Georgia regiment, and got captured at some battle, three weeks ago.

“Three weeks ago! But you said you were a whore, and you were with him...”

Janet dried her eyes with a handkerchief. “I didn’t lie about that. I said I hadn’t always been a whore. I’ve been one for three weeks, ever since I heard he got captured.”

“But why, he’s alive, isn’t he?”

“Marion, I have to get to him, to rescue him. Whore’s don’t get questioned about loyalty, because they service all sides without bias. Being a whore let me find out information about where the armies were, and where my husband is.”

“Your husband, but...”

“I have been trying to think of when to tell you this, but I guess I’ll just go ahead and do it now. My name isn’t Angelique, it’s Janet Dunbar, and I am married to Captain John Dunbar. I use the french name because men think french women make better whores, and they think anybody with a french name is French. I’m from Chattanooga, and up until three weeks ago, I was just a good Confederate officer’s wife. I raised money for the war, went to knitting circles, and was a perfect example of the faithful wife waiting for her husband’s next letter. Then his commander wrote me that John had been captured, and I went frantic. The Union prisons are little better than cattle pens, and men die every day from disease and untreated wounds. I can’t let him go that way. I love him too much to let him go through that. I made up my mind to find him, and help him escape. I went to a whorehouse, and paid one of the girls to teach me, and I also learned to talk the way she talked so I would sound like a whore. I went to where the Union army was camped and started talking to the soldiers. Of course, they wanted to fuck...God, I hate that word... they wanted to fuck me before they would talk. So I charged them as much as they would pay, and closed my eyes while they did it. I yelled and screamed a lot, and they thought they were doing me a favor, or at least that’s what they told their friends.”

“I found out my husband is in Chattanooga in a holding camp. At the end of the month, he will be transferred to Illinois or Iowa, or one of the other prisons. I have to get to him before then. I have to get him home and hide him. The war’s almost over, from what I hear, and within a year we will be able to get back to a normal life, but he won’t live that long in prison.” 

“I have a plan, but I need another woman to help. Another whore wouldn’t be any good. She’d tell anyone who paid her more money than I, and I couldn’t blame her for doing it. Believe me, they go through a lot for not much money. The things some men want to do, it would make you ill. Anyway, I started looking for a woman in my situation, or at least one who would be willing to help. I’d about given up hope when you came along. Marion, I need you to help me. I need you to be a whore for one day so I can get my husband back. I can pay you; I have money. My husband owns a textile mill. I will take you anywhere you want to go, or give you anything you want, but please help me. You helped me once because you thought I was in trouble. After what I’ve done to you, can you help me again?”

“Angie, oops, Janet, I would help you do anything, but I’m not sure I know how. What would I have to do?”

“The army lets sutlers, that’s people who trade with the prisoners, into the camp every day. I’ve already been there, and saw my husband. We had to act like we didn’t know each other, but I got a message to him about my plan, and found out there are only two guards at night. We’ll go to trade, get to know the guards, and then come back at night. While we entertain the guards, so to speak, my husband will sneak into our wagon. It has a skirt with my sutler name on it to cover the wheels to the ground, and I had a false bottom put in, so he just has to go underneath the skirt, open the door and climb in. After the guards are finished, we pull up the skirt, get back in the wagon, and drive to my house. That’s my plan.”

“That means I will have to fuck one of the guards?”

“Probably. He might just want you to use your hand, but probably. I’ll show you some tricks, and give you some lambskins; just make sure you make him use one. If you put it on him, he probably won’t object. You just let him get started; he’ll know what to do. Moan a lot and push up against him once in a while. Then, when he cums, wiggle and scream. They like that a lot, and the poor dears don’t know it’s not real. Oh, and you need to make it last about fifteen minutes to give my husband time to get in the wagon.”

“What if he wants to do something else; you said they want to do other things?”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to use your head, and I won’t be able to help you. Whatever you do, you can’t hurt him, because then the army will come looking for us, too.”

“Does your husband know what you are going to do with the guards?”

“No, and I’m not going to tell him. This is the only way I could think of to get inside after dark, and he would just say no. If he finds out, I’ll try to explain, but the important thing is to get him out as soon as I can.”

“Janet, if we’re going to do this, we’d better get to your house and get ready. If I think about it too long, I might not be able to do it.”

As Janet drove the wagon through the streets of Chattanooga, Marion stared at the desolation. Most of the stores were closed, “BY ORDER OF GENERAL GLASS, 2D ILLINOIS REGIMENT, US ARMY”, because of actions by Confederate sympathizers. People had a fearful look deep in their eyes, and avoided the men in blue uniforms patrolling the streets. The only men she saw were old; women and boys drove the carriages and wagons they saw. Many buildings bore the scars of bullets, and here and there, a charred shell reminded her of fire, smoke, and a lost lifetime of memories. Marion saw the camp in the distance. It was nothing more than the small cattle pen of what had been a slaughter house. Men stood in line at the only water container, and others stood, sat, or laid as their condition permitted. There was very little open space in the enclosure, and as the breeze changed directions, Marion had to repress the urge to gag from the stench of human waste. Janet stopped at the prison gate, and the guard challenged them. 

After the guard had searched the wagon, he let them pass through. They got down, and let down the skirt. It perfectly covered all the wagon from the bed to the ground, and on both sides was printed in large, bold letters, “EUNICE HARTLIDGE, SUTLER”. They traded their meager supply of coffee and sugar for small wood carvings and other trinkets made by the prisoners. Marion was shocked by the conditions that Janet had described but which she had refused to believe. Men lay on the ground with flies buzzing around open wounds. Others wore bandages stained the red-black of old blood. Most looked hungry, and few had clothing heavy enough for when they were sent north. Some had no shirts, and she almost gasped at the ribs showing through the sunburned skin. These men would probably not even survive in the South without medical treatment and good food, and the Union prisons in the North were so overcrowded they had neither.

Marion saw Janet hand a small packet of coffee to a tall, dirty man in a grey coat, and hoped the guard did not notice the slip of paper hidden under the packet. Soon, all their supplies were gone; they folded up the skirt, and left. On the way through the gate, Janet stopped the wagon. Marion noticed that at some time, Janet had unbuttoned her blouse so that as she leaned over to talk to the guard, her breasts were exposed to his leering eyes. As the sergeant approached, she said, “We have nothing left to trade, and it’s a shame you didn’t get anything. There must be something we can give you, isn’t there." Marion saw her smile at the sergeant, and blink her pretty eyes at him. The guard rested his hand on Janet’s knee, and started to inch up her thigh. Janet slapped his hand and laughed. “I can’t have you doing that in public. People will talk, and I have my reputation to think of. I couldn’t possibly do anything like that..., giggle, unless it was..., giggle, after dark... giggle, and unless you gave me something in return.” 

‘What would you want in return?”

“Well, five dollars in gold would be enough to get me to come back tonight”

“What about your friend? My corporal over there would like some company too.”

“Oh, no. She’s not a working girl. She’s never even...well, you know, she hasn’t got enough experience.”

The guard’s eyes lit up, and he yelled, “corporal.” “Red here, will come back tonight for five dollars. Her friend has no “experience”, but does experience matter to you?”

The corporal looked Marion up and down, and said, “No sarge, I’d be willing to teach her, for free.”

Just as they had rehearsed, in a pleading voice Marion said, “Momma, with Daddy gone, we need the money. I can do it, really I can. If you don’t let me come with you, I’ll come out tomorrow by myself.”

“Honey, I just don’t want you to get hurt. Let Momma take care of this-”

“No, I’m coming with you, and that’s that.”

Janet turned to the guard. “I’ll bring her, but I don’t want no rough stuff with her, and I’ll need ten more dollars, gold, if she comes along.”

“Ten dollars?”

“Yes, ten dollars. She’s worth more ‘cause it’s her first time. Do we come back or not?”

The sergeant and corporal held a quiet conversation, and then the sergeant returned to the wagon. “Come back after dark. We’ll have the money, but you better be worth it.”

At eleven o’clock that night, Janet and Marion were at the prison gate again. The sergeant smiled at them, and said, “Come on in, ladies.”

“We need to park our wagon inside. People will steal anything nowadays, and we can’t afford to lose anything.” The sergeant opened the gate, and Janet drove through. While Janet went to talk with the sergeant about the money, Marion let the wagon skirt down, and then joined her. 

“Honey, go with the sergeant and I’ll go with the corporal. If he does anything to hurt you, scream for me.”

Marion followed the sergeant into the small guard house. As soon as the door was closed, he was fondling her breasts and hips with one hand, and loosening his belt with the other. 

“It’s been a while, girlie, so I probably won’t last long. Bend over the table.”

Janet’s husband needed at least fifteen minutes, and this was going too fast.

“I’ve never done this before, and Momma says if you go too fast, it’ll hurt me. I need to get ready first, to get myself wet. Just stand there for a while.”

Marion, lifted her skirts, and revealed that she had nothing on underneath them. She sat on the table, and her hand began stroking her curly haired mound. Her fingertips separated the curls to reveal her lips, and fingertips began stroking their length. Marion feigned a moan, and watched for the sergeants reaction. His eyes bugged as he watched this young girl pleasuring herself in front of him, and the bulge in his uniform told Marion she was having an impact on him.




The Sutler Wagon Ch. 2



In part, Marion’s game was a delaying action. Janet had given her a cream to lubricate her passage, and she really could have accepted him at any time. Marion also just wanted to watch this man for a while. She had never seen a man’s cock, had never seen a man excited before, and chose to play with him a while before letting him have his way.

“I do this to myself all the time, and it feels real good”, said Marion. “What’s that lump in your pants?”

“That’s my cock, young lady, and I’m gonna to stick it where you have your fingers.”

“Can I see it?”

The sergeant dropped his pants, and his swelling cock stuck out from his body. 

Marion slipped off the table and crossed the room to the sergeant. She reached out and touched the erect organ, and it twitched. “Oh my, do they all do that?”

“Don’t know, but mine always does.”

Marion took the swollen organ in her hand, and began to stroke it up and down. The sergeants cock wasn’t as big as she had expected, but she didn’t tell him that.

“It’s so big, I don’t think it’ll fit in my little hole. No wonder Momma said it would hurt. Are they all so huge?”

“You’re trying to talk me out of this, you little whore. I paid ten dollars for you, and by God, I’m gonna fuck you. Now lay down on that table, and spread your legs.”

“I will, but I’m too young to have a baby. You have to use one of these.” Marion produced a lambskin from her purse, and began unrolling it over his cock.

“Now wait a minute, she never said-”

“If you don’t use it, I’ll scream. Momma has this friend, a really big man, who likes her a lot. Once a man hit Momma, and her friend found him and broke his arm. You don’t want that to happen, do you?”

“Oh, all right, will you lay down now, and shut up. Shit, you talk too much. I should’ve let the corporal have you.”

Marion laid over the table on her stomach, and pulled her skirts up. The sergeant, stepped behind her, and she felt him pushing against her entrance. Janet had told her to keep her thighs together tightly so he couldn’t completely enter her, and Marion was doing just that.

“Damn, your tight. Your momma was right about you. Usually whores’ll tell you it’s their first time to get you to pay more, and then when you get in, they’re as big as a cow. Oh shit, that feels good.”

Marion smiled, knowing he had not really penetrated her yet, and began to push back against him. She screamed, “Ow, ow,ow” and then after a few moments moaned and panted a little. The sergeant pushed harder and faster, but Marion kept him from going deeper into her. He grunted twice, and Marion felt him thrust against her, and she screamed “Oh momma, you were right. Ahhhhhhh.” She laughed silently after she said it, but the sergeant must have guessed her convulsions were cause by him, because he said, “Liked your first time, did you? Just remember who did it for you. I never fail the ladies.”

Marion was worried about the time. Surely it hadn’t been fifteen minutes yet. She had to do something.

“Can we do it again? Momma said I’m not supposed to, but it felt so good. Please?”

Marion thought the sergeant was going to fall over. “Well..., it’ll take me a minute or two.”

Marion raised herself from the table, and faced him. “Can’t you do it now? I need you to do it right now. I’ll help you get hard again.”

Marion stripped off the used lambskin, and wiped him with the handkerchief she carried. She started stroking his limp member up and down, and after a few minutes, felt him beginning to rise. She increased the pace of her strokes, and the sergeant began breathing hard again. She hoped to time what she was doing as Janet had told her, and when the sergeant began to push against her, she stroked him as quickly as she could. 

“Oh shit, stop for a minute. I’m going to...UNNNGH.”

Marion saw white liquid shoot out of his cock and onto the floor.

“Can we do it now? I need to do it now.”

“Your momma was right about you not having any experience. You just made me cum. I won’t be able to do it again, not tonight at least. Why the hell didn’t you stop?”

There was a light tap on the door. “Are you all right honey?”

“I’m all right Momma. I think I’m done.”

Marion picked up her purse, and walked to the door. “Thank you sergeant, it was wonderful.” The sergeant smiled as she walked out the door.

Neither guard was to be seen as they folded up the wagon skirt. Janet drove to the gate, and finally, the corporal appeared. He opened the gate and motioned them through. Janet drove at a walk until the prison was out of sight. She then tapped twice on the wagon bed. Her signal was answered by one tap. Janet began to sob for joy.

They drove to the back of Janet’s house. No lamps could be seen in the other houses as Janet tapped twice, then twice again on the wagon bed. Marion heard the small squeal of hinges needing oil, and then two footfalls under the wagon. The tall, bearded man who received Janet’s note crawled out from under the wagon bed; Janet whispered “John”, and leaped into his arms. As tears streamed down her face, she kissed him over and over, until he finally held her at arms length, and said, “Jan, wait, I need to breath once in a while. You’re going to smother me right after rescuing me.”

Marion said, “Shouldn’t we get inside? What if someone’s watching?”

John said, “I have to get your other passenger”, and disappeared under the wagon again. As Marion and Janet both exchanged questioning looks, they heard more feet hitting the ground, and John dragged another man from under the wagon. He put the man’s arm around his shoulder, and said, “Let’s get him into the house. He’s badly ill and need’s tending to.”

Once inside, John explained. “This is 2nd lieutenant Samuel Hunter. He was one of my platoon leaders. I couldn’t leave him. He could have escaped when I was captured, but he fought by my side until there was no hope. He’s sick with something, and has been getting worse every day. The Yankees wouldn’t even look at him, and he hasn’t been able to eat since we were caught. We have to take care of him, Jan; we have to get him back to his family.” 

“Janet, help me get him into a bed, and I’ll look after him. You have enough to do just tending to your husband.”

In Marion’s opinion, there was nothing special about Samuel Hunter. He looked to be in his early twenties, but with the heavy, reddish beard and matted brown hair, it was hard to tell. He smelled, and was covered in mud and probably other stuff she would rather not know about. He was also burning up with fever; his face was flushed, and now that he was inside, he was sweating. Marion filled a wash basin from the stove boiler, got some clean cloths, and started to wash the grime from his face and hands. That done, she decided she had to get him out of his filthy clothes. The shirt was no problem; she unbuttoned it, pulled his arms from the sleeves, and then rolled him over and pulled the shirt out from under him. The sight of his once muscular chest made her sad; he really hadn’t eaten for a while. She needed to get the pants off so she could get him under the blankets. It was a moments work to undo the belt buckle and unbutton the fly. She went to the end of the bed, grabbed his pants cuffs, and pulled. As the pants slid off his legs, the man groaned. Marion rushed to hold his hand, and said, “Now lie still. Your safe.”, but he was still unconscious and didn’t hear her. Marion washed the mud from his legs and feet; she couldn’t bring herself to wash the rest of him. She pushed him under the sheet, and covered him with several quilts.

She refilled the washbasin with water from the pump, and spent the next three hours soaking cloths in the cold water and placing them on his forehead. Samuel woke, and looked at Marion, his eyes forming the questions he could not yet speak. 

“Just be still and don’t try to talk. My name is Marion, and I’m going to help you get well. You’re in a house, safe, and you need to rest until morning. Then, we’ll see if you can eat something. Go back to sleep, now. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Samuel closed his eyes, and soon was asleep again, but Marion didn’t think he felt as hot as before. She continued placing the cool cloths on his forehead until she could no longer keep her eyes open.

Samuel woke, and knew something was wrong even before he opened his eyes. He was not lying on the ground. He was warm, and under clean smelling quilts. He felt weak, but was no longer burning up with fever, and was very thirsty. He tried to rise, but fell back, exhausted by the effort. For the time being, he would have to be contented to stay where he was. He found he could raise his head, and was looking around the room when he saw the auburn haired girl sleeping in the chair. He thought she was very young, and very pretty, but the way she was dressed! “My God, how did I get in a bordello?” He knew he had seen her before, but the memory was cloudy, like trying to see his way on a foggy morning. He remembered being dragged across the prison ground, and being lifted up into the dark. He must have passed out after that, because the next thing he remembered was looking at that same auburn framed face, and after that, nothing until now.

The sun was high when Marion woke. She was stiff from sleeping in the chair, and stretched to ease the kinks. She looked at the bed, and saw Samuel staring at her.

“Good morning, Samuel. Are you feeling better? I was beginning to worry, last night, until you opened your eyes and looked at me. You must be thirsty. I’ll be right back.”

Marion returned with a glass of water. “Just some water for now. I’ll get you something to eat in a little bit.” She held the glass to his lips, Samuel drank with a gulp, and choked. Marion took away the glass, and waited until he stopped coughing. “Just take little sips. You’re not well yet.”

“Where am I?”

“You’re in a house in Chattanooga and you’re safe, at least for now.”

“You seem to know my name; what’s yours?”

“You don’t remember last night, do you? My name is Marion, and I helped get you out of that wretched prison camp.”

“Why would a..., a lady of the evening rescue me?”

“Lady of the evening? Oh, my dress. It was a disguise to get us in the prison. I’m not really a whore.” She saw the shock on his face at her use of the crude word, and said, “I’m sorry, I got used to talking like that. We had to act and talk like, well, like we were what we pretended to be, so the guards would let us in. I won’t say it again.”

“You keep saying, “we”. Who helped you, and why would you get me out?”

“Well, really, I helped her, Janet I mean. Janet Dunbar, Captain Dunbar’s wife. Captain Dunbar is the one who put you in the wagon. He said he couldn’t leave you. We didn’t know we had you until we got here.”

“The Captain is here? 

“As soon as he wakes up, I’m sure he will want to see you. Now, you just rest. I’ll go make you some soup. I’m sorry we don’t have any meat, but we have potatoes.”

“Marion, where are my clothes?”

“Oh, I took them off you last night. I couldn’t put you to bed dirty, so I took them off and washed you. Now don’t go blushing on me. I’ve seen a man before, and anyway, you weren’t in a position to say no. I’m going to burn them anyway; they’re too ragged to wash, and anyway, we can’t have men’s clothes hanging outside with all the Yankees around. Now go back to sleep. I’ll be back with your soup as soon as I can.”

As the days passed, both John and Samuel began recovering from the prison camp. Janet lived to see John wake up each day, stayed with him constantly, and never slept until he was safely tucked under her arm. She reminded Marion of a mother hen with only one chick, and one day she jokingly told her so.

“Well, I may be, but what do you think you’ve been doing with Samuel?”, laughed Janet. You never leave his room, you are always putting a pillow behind his head, or taking it away and telling him to sleep, or feeding him, or God knows what. Honey, you’re worse than I am, and you’re not even married to him.”

Marion thought about Janet’s joke as she lay in bed that night. She did enjoy having someone close to her own age around, and Samuel was a joy. He made her laugh, told her she was pretty, and, after he had taken a bath and shaved off his beard, Samuel turned out to be a handsome man. They couldn’t go outside, even at night, because the Union army was always on the lookout for Confederate soldiers that had deserted or escaped from the many holding camps in the South. If caught, it was likely that Samuel would have been shot on the spot. So, they stayed inside and talked about her life, his life, and what they would do after the war. She never tired of hearing his plans for the future, even though he never mentioned her. As she thought, she realized she felt about Samuel the same way Janet felt about John. She wanted him to hold her as John held Janet; she wanted him to kiss her as John did Janet. She wanted him to...her face felt flushed and she felt tightness in her belly. She drifted off to sleep dreaming of Samuel making love to her.

Christmas eve came, and the four celebrated in the parlor. They exchanged homemade gifts, but Marion noticed that Janet gave nothing to John, and he nothing to her. They just smiled at each other, and Janet lightly kissed John on the cheek before they went to their room. Marion didn’t say anything, but wondered. She retired to her own bed, and then decided to check on Samuel once more. She slipped on her robe, and tiptoed down the hall. As she passed John and Janet’s room, she heard voices coming through the slightly open door. Thinking that they might still be awake, she moved to the door to say goodnight again. As she approached, she could see Janet, nude, sitting on the bed, and John was lying beside her.

Marion heard John say, “Jan, I’m glad you remembered our Christmas Eve tradition. Last Christmas, I thought about you, and remembered; I just couldn’t get here to do anything about it.”

“It’s not likely I would forget our special gift to each other. If you had come to me then, I wouldn’t have let you go back, and the Confederacy would have lost a fine officer. As it was, I had to give myself a gift, and pretend it was you. I don’t intend to let that ever happen again.”

Janet stretched out on top of John, and kissed him. Marion started to walk away, but found she could not move. She knew this was wrong, but her desire to witness this forced her to stay.

Janet broke her kiss, and stretched out beside John. Her hands found his hardening member, and she kissed the tip as she gently stroked him. John slipped his fingertips to her nipple, and then down to stroke her curly mound. His fingers entered her, and Janet moaned. John kissed her, this time holding the kiss. Movement of their mouths told Marion that Janet was using her marvelous tongue to tease him.

She heard Janet whisper breathlessly, “I feel so wet, John. You’re making me so wet. It’s wonderful. I’ve waited for your gentle touch for so long, and now it’s driving me mad. Let me make love to you, like we used to, please. I need to do this; I need to do it now.”

Janet rolled back on top of him, and drew her legs under her body. Marion watched in awe, as Janet raised her body, grasped his shaft in her slender fingers, and guided him into her. Janet slowly impaled herself on John’s manhood, and her body made little shudders as he slipped into her. When her hips rested on John’s thighs, Janet leaned over, placed John’s hands on her breasts, and kissed him. As they kissed, she began to rise and fall on his member, and Marion watched it as it appeared and disappeared into Janet’s now puffy lips. Janet established a regular rhythm, and after a while, she began to make little, panting, purring sounds. John responded by thrusting lightly against her as she stroked, and Janet’s purrs became louder, some of them becoming moans of long drawn out ohhhhhh’s or mmmmmh’s. Marion saw John slip his hands around Janet’s waist, and then slip down to cup her sensuous hips. He gently separated her cheeks, and rubbed a finger up and down the satiny skin on the inside. Janet immediately responded by breaking the kiss, and raising up to allow him to penetrate her more deeply. Her voice had changed to a lower, more sultry pitch, and as she rocked her hips into him, she gave voice to her building pleasure. “mmh...mmh...mmmmmh...ohh, yes...mmmh...mmmh...,harder, please, deeper, I need to feel you deep inside me.”

John thrust hard, again and again. He lifted Janet’s hands from his chest and place one on each breast. As Janet began to caress herself, he slipped his fingertips between them and found her throbbing bud. As he touched her there, Janet rocked hard into him, and Marion saw her rolling and tugging on her nipples. She was speeding up her rocking strokes now, and John began to make small, deep, mmm’s. Janet threw her head back, and rapidly thrust herself over his hard shaft. She cried a small cry of pleasure as John groaned and thrust hard, so hard he lifted them both off the bed. She uttered the same cry again, and was answered with another thrust. Marion watched as John’s member pulsated, and she knew he was shooting his seed deep into Janet. Janet cried out, “Oh God, John, now, now, now.”, and then fell on top of him. She kissed him, hard, and stroked his hair. They lay still for a while, neither talking, but both understanding the other’s thoughts. Janet was the first to break the silence. 

“John, I love you so much. Just stay inside me. It feels so good to have you filling me again. Just hold me for a while. I need to be close to you.”

Marion slipped away from the door and back to her room. She thought about the beautiful love between a man and woman she had just witnessed. If only such love could come to her; maybe someday, it would. 

One night in January, Samuel sat down beside her in the parlor. John and Janet were in their bedroom, making love Marion supposed. She noticed his troubled look, and asked him what was wrong.

“Marion, I have to go back.”

“Back, back where?”

“Back to the war. The Captain’s going too. He’s telling Janet now.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Samuel, no. Everybody says the war will be over soon. You can stay here, where you’ll be safe. When it’s over, we can...I mean, you can start - “

“Marion, I know the South is going to lose. The war really ended in Atlanta; the generals just can’t accept that yet, but I have to go back to fight with the men I left behind. If I didn’t go, I couldn’t live with myself. I can’t stay here with you in safety, when so many men are out there fighting and dying for this lost cause. You wouldn’t like me very much if I felt differently, really, would you?”

“But Samuel, what if you get captured again, or hurt, or...killed? I...”

He took her in his arms and kissed her, a tentative kiss, testing her response. Marion closed her eyes, and kissed back, her arms finding his broad shoulders and holding tight. She pressed her breasts into his chest, and felt him hold her closer as the light kiss turned to passion, and her heart began to pound. 

Samuel broke the kiss, and held her away so he could look into her eyes. “Marion, I’ve grown to love you over these past few months. I can only hope you feel the same way about me. You’ve never been anything but a perfect lady, and I probably owe you my life, but that’s not the reason. I love the way your face brings light to the room, and the way your beautiful green eyes sparkle when you’re happy. I love the scent of your hair after you’ve washed it. I love that silly little laugh you have, and when you’re not with me, I feel lost. I feel I can talk with you about anything. I want to be with you forever, but I can’t ask you for that, at least not until this war is over. I promise I will do everything I can to come back to you, but I have to go. If you are willing, when I come home to you, I promise I’ll never leave you again.”




The Sutler Wagon Ch. 2



Marion held him tightly to her breast, and her tears stained his shirt. She sobbed, “Samuel, I do love you, more than anything in the world. I can’t imagine living without being with you. I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t know how you felt. I can’t bear the thought of you back in the war, with people trying to kill you again. I...I can’t lose you, not now, not when I know you love me.”

“I have to go tonight. What’s left of our brave rebels are bound to be forming up somewhere, and John and I are going to find them. We will lose, but at least we will lose as men fighting for what we believe in, not as cowards.”

“Tonight! No! Please, not tonight. I-”

The door opened and John walked into the parlor. His voice quavered as he said, “Marion, we must leave, and Janet needs you. Samuel, let’s be on our way.”

As they left the house, Marion went to Janet’s room and found her standing at the window, looking into the night through tear-filled, unseeing eyes. Marion stood beside her and watched as the two men walked into the darkness, walking toward an uncertain, dangerous future that none of them could predict any more than avoid. She placed an arm around Janet’s waist, and felt the small, shaking movements of her silent sobs. “They’ll come back to us, Janet. They just have to come back. We love them so much, nothing can happen to them again.”

To Be Continued...



The Sutler Wagon Ch. 3



Two women lived together in the house on Merriwether Street in Chattanooga, and most of their older neighbors thought this behavior was scandalous. The wagging tongues of old spinsters lashed them in the privacy of parlor tea parties reminiscent of days gone by, but the parties were only the pathetic struggles of a people unable to cope with the reality of the last days of the war. The Confederacy had been split in two by the burning wind of Sherman’s march, and without the vital connections across Georgia, the proud grey army was reduced to isolated pockets of underfed, poorly clothed, ineffective resistance against the blue mariah from the North. The great South was dying, and nothing could save it, not even afternoon tea parties.

Janet Dunbar and Marion McLandon had lived together since they had helped Janet’s husband and Marion’s sweetheart escape from a prisoner of war holding camp. The women’s portrayal of sutler/whores had convinced the camp guards to abandon their posts for a bit of dallying with the ladies; during this time, the two men had secreted themselves in the false bottom of the ladies’ sutler wagon, and Janet had taken them to her home. Over the next four months, John, Janet’s husband, and Samuel Hunter, the man Marion had grown to love deeply, had fully recovered from their confinement in the disease ridden camp, and had made a decision to return to the war. The decision crushed both women, and after their men left one dark night, they just stayed together, two women in the same circumstance needing to comfort each other. 

Marion had an aunt in Chattanooga, and she visited her on occasion, but her home, at least until Samuel returned, was with Janet. Although the two women had known each other for a very short four months, the bond between them had been forged by terror, laughter, horror, and love of their men. They also loved each other deeply, somewhat as sisters love, but also with the underlying physical love shared one night in a deserted house as they made their way through Georgia to Chattanooga. Marion had been overcome by the charms of the older Janet, and Janet was carried away by the innocence of the young girl, her own desperate plight, and the desire long unsatisfied by her absent husband. 

They never spoke of the incident, though each remembered it as if it were yesterday, and the memory often caused one to smile at the other for no apparent reason. As the other smiled back, both understood the unspoken “thank you for being there for me”. They had not lain together since that day.

At first, Janet and Marion had spent their days in sorrow for their loss and in worry for the two men they loved so completely. Since Sherman, there had been no mail to or from any unit, and not knowing where the men were or what might have befallen them drew Janet and Marion into a private world of grief. They could share this grief with no one, because the Union soldiers were still in occupation of Chattanooga, and arrested anyone suspected of aiding the Confederacy. By March, most of the army had left, for the final battles people said, and Janet and Marion could at last speak openly of their loss.

The Confederate women waiting for their husbands welcomed them with open arms, and they had wonderful times gossiping about what this woman had done with her husband before he left, and what that one would do when her’s returned. Marion was introduced to a world totally foreign to her. Her grandmother had been a straight-laced Scottish woman who once told her sex was a dirty thing men did to women, and that women just had to bear it the best they could. Here were all these women openly, at least to other women, talking about what they liked their husbands to do with them, and how they felt before, during, and after making love. 

“When we were first married, my Robert used to just hop on every Friday night and pump away for two minutes, and-”

“Two whole minutes! Charlotte honey, how did you ever stand it?” Then, all would break out in giggles.

“Well, he doesn’t do that anymore. I just showed him what I like, and now he’s a perfect lover...for me that is. Alice, when he comes home, you leave him alone. I’ve told you too much about him, and you might turn his head with that big bust of yours.” More giggles.

Marion questioned, “How did you show him, I mean, did you hold his hand and touch yourself with it, or what?”

“Well, I held on to something, but it wasn’t his hand.” Giggles again.

“No, please, how did you show him?”

“The best way to show him is to show him how you touch yourself when he’s not around. You do touch yourself, don’t you?”

“No..., well sometimes. I thought that was bad.”

“Marion, honey, you’re so naive. If it makes you feel good, it’s good for you. Only old maids tell you it’s bad for you, and they do it too; they just don’t want anybody to know. Besides, it’s not fair to either you or him to make him guess. Men are not good guessers when it comes to women. You have to teach them, and that means you have to know what you like first. They can teach you what they like, too. Then after you both know what the other likes, you practice until you get it right.” More giggles.

Marion grew to love these gossip sessions both for the companionship of other women, and for the knowledge of love she absorbed. Usually, she was the butt of gentle jokes about her unmarried status, her innocence, and her probable nighttime fantasies, but she had a sense of humor, and usually the joke was funny. She found out that women among women are different than women among men, and thoroughly enjoyed the difference.

One evening, Janet and Marion were sitting and sewing new dresses. John Dunbar owned a textile mill before the war which Janet and Marion had begun operating again. Dress material was a scarce commodity in Chattanooga, and this was the first off the mill’s loom. Janet had dyed the thread a brilliant green to contrast with their red and auburn hair, and they decided the dresses would advertise their mill products. 

Marion asked, “Janet, yesterday afternoon, at Alice’s, Emily said her husband kisses her...down there... and she likes him to do that. Does John do that to you?”

“Yes, sometimes. It’s very special when a man kisses you there, kind of all slick and soft, and tingly. And sometimes I kiss him on his penis. I like that too, and he really does.”

“Oh, I know that. I saw....”

“You saw what, Marion?”

“I’m sorry, Janet. Last Christmas Eve, I was going to see if Samuel was all right, and I walked past your room, and the door was open a little, and I looked in, and I saw you, and...”

“And what?”

“And it was so beautiful, I couldn’t leave. I saw you kiss him there, and then watched you make love. I never dreamed two people could make each other feel like that.”

“We made each other feel like that, Marion, back in that little house.”

“I remember, but this was different. He looked so gentle, and understanding, and he knew everything you liked. It was wonderful, like both of you were joined into one person having pleasure. I hope someday, I can find a man like that.”

“I told you then that John was a wonderful lover, and he is. Marion, I knew you were watching, although John didn’t, and I rather enjoyed it. I don’t mind that you saw us, if it made you think about being with a man. Marion, what we did together in that little house wasn’t wrong; please understand that, but a young girl like you needs to be with a man who loves you to appreciate the feelings. It’s not just the pleasure of release; what I feel for John is in my soul, not in my body. I think you feel the same way about Samuel, and if he truly loves you, you’ll feel him in your soul when you make love with him. Janet chuckled, “You will have to teach him, though, just like Charlotte said; men are such dunces when it come to women. John used to be all fingers and fumbles until I taught him. I’m a good teacher, don’t you think?”

“If you taught him like you taught me, you’re an excellent teacher,” laughed Marion.

As winter waned, then gave way to greening grass and budding pecan and magnolia trees, Janet and Marion began to take walks in the evening to visit neighbors and just to get out into the clean spring air. They heard news of the war as published in Union newspapers, and the news was always disheartening, this many Rebels killed, that many wounded, so many captured; Janet and Marion worried now more than when their men first left. The Union army was on a rampage of destruction designed to break the back of the South, to punish it for secession, to beat it to its knees in submission, and according to the gossip that traveled through the countryside, no act was too harsh, no amount of destruction or killing was too severe if it accomplished the Union goal. 

In May, news of Lee’s surrender shattered the crystal glitter of the Old South society forever. According to the newspaper, Lee’s final orders to his troops were to return home, become good citizens of the United States and begin life again. So ended the war to remove the South from northern control, and so began the northern control of the South.

Janet and Marion were just happy that John and Samuel would be coming home. The war had inundated all feelings except those for survival, and their survival meant having John and Samuel home again. The Union newspapers published lists of Confederate units as they were discharged, but since they had no idea what unit their men had joined, they had no idea when they might return. Janet and Marion could not, would not allow themselves to think of anything other then the day when John and Samuel would walk into the house, and life would be life again. They busied themselves with getting the mill ready to operate and with the coming of Janet’s baby in September.

The textile business hadn’t come back after the war for the simple reason that there was no cotton. Most of last year’s cotton had been either left in the field by plantation owners fleeing the Union army, or was taken by the Union troops. There were a few bales that managed to survive the onslaught, and Janet bought as much as she could find. Marion helped the cash situation with the two hundred dollars she had salvaged from the burned out ruin of her Dalton home. Janet employed two old men, Robert and Cecil, who had worked in the mill before the war; the two men were happy to do anything but sit at home, and worked for their dinner until the mill could turn a profit. The men set up, fixed and ran the machines; Janet did the bookkeeping and Marion called on stores to sell their finished goods. They had a ready market for yard goods in the stores in Chattanooga since none had been available for so long, and when they had merchandise to sell, did so at a tidy profit. Janet had kept the sutler wagon that played such a large part in her rescue of John and Samuel. Although not as elegant as a carriage, it was handy for delivering merchandise, and besides, Janet had a sentimental attachment to it. She had brought her husband home in the secret, false bottom that still remained a part of the wagon. 

One Tuesday evening, Janet locked the mill, and she and Marion drove the wagon home. It had been a long day, and they said little to each other as they drove slowly through the quiet streets. The jasmine had started to bloom, and the syrupy sweet fragrance permeated the still, evening air. “You know, Marion, today is my wedding anniversary, and the jasmine smells as sweet tonight as it did on my wedding night. We stayed in a hotel in Atlanta, and the scent was everywhere. I wish I was back in Atlanta, with John.” They drove on in silence. Marion knew Janet was becoming very anxious. Most of the women they knew had their husbands safe at home, and were starting their lives over. They had heard nothing of John and Samuel, and Janet was beginning to fear the worst.

Janet drove up behind the house, and stopped. Marion was in the process of getting down from the high seat, when she heard a quiet knock, followed by another. She thought Janet had probably bumped into something; her rapidly expanding belly caused her to lose her balance now and then. Marion was walking around the wagon to help her down, when Janet said, “Marion, did you hear that?”

“Those two little knocks? I thought you did that.”

Janet tapped her foot on the floorboard twice, and they both heard the squeak of hinges of the door that opened to the false bottom. Footfalls came from under the wagon, and then John appeared. He was thinner, and his clothing was ragged, but he smiled at Janet and held out his arms to catch her rush to him. He smothered her in his embrace for a few seconds, then pushed her away and exclaimed, “you’ve put on a little weight, Jan.”

Through her laughter and tears, Janet said, “You put it there, silly, not me. Christmas Eve was good last year. You’re going to be a father, in September.”

John took her in his arms again, more gently this time, and held her to him, savoring the feel of her against his body once again. Janet pressed into him, and felt the breathing rise and fall of the strong chest she had missed for so long, and felt his heart beating in syncopation to hers. 

Marion was quietly slipping away to leave them alone, when she saw feet dangling from under the wagon. The feet became legs, then a body, and Samuel crawled from under the wagon. “We hid in the wagon, just like when you rescued us, to surprise you. I’m really glad to see you, Marion.” Marion didn’t have time to see if he was thinner, or if his clothing was ragged, or indeed, if he was even wearing clothing. She was in his arms almost before he raised to his full height. “Samuel”, she cried, and pulled him to her breast. Samuel gently lifted her chin and gazed into her deep green, tear filled eyes for a moment, and then kissed her, softly at first, then with the passion that grows between two lovers separated by time and distance. 

“I told you I’d come back, Marion. Every day I was gone, I thought of you; I thought of you when I woke and when I slept, and when we were in battle, I didn’t fight for the South, I fought to stay alive for you and your love. Marion, I won’t ever leave you again, if you’re still willing to share a life with me.”

Marion just whispered “yes”, and snuggled into his embrace. For the first time since the battle that cost her her home, her possessions, and her past life, she felt safe.

The wedding ceremony was small, by pre-war standards. The church was decorated with sweetpeas and honeysuckle vines, instead of the roses of a gentler time, but to Marion, the brilliant sun outside and the faint scent inside symbolized the start of a new life, a life gleaming with the promise of their future and sweet with her love for Samuel. Samuel wore one of John’s suits; the fit was a little loose, but he was a prince to Marion; Marion’s white dress was not covered in pearl beads, but did have lace and a net veil compliments of Charlotte. The ring on her finger was also small, but was gold, and had belonged to Samuel’s grandmother. Marion cherished the ring, both for the fact that Samuel had placed it there, and for his thought that she deserved such a priceless symbol of his love for her. The reception was held on the front lawn of John and Janet’s home, instead of on the verandah of a plantation mansion; the cake was small, but the punch was just as delicious, and the close friends who joined them made the occasion one of joy and tears, laughter, hugs for Samuel by her friends, and kisses on Marion’s cheek by her friends husbands. 

As orange and purple clouds scudded across the deep blue sunsplit sky and the evening birds started their sunset songs, the guests slowly said their farewells and best wishes, and soon only John, Janet, Marion and Samuel were left. Marion and Samuel had decided not to take a honeymoon trip; they had little money, and would spend their first night together in Janet’s house. They retired to the parlor for some quiet conversation about the weather and other subjects adults use to fill in awkward spaces in life. Finally, Janet rose from her seat, took Marion to her bedroom and closed the door.

“Marion, sometimes you’re like a little sister to me, and sometimes like my daughter, even though we’re not that different in age. I want to give you some things for tonight, the things I will give my daughter one day, and you yours.”

She went to a closet and came back with a white silk nightdress trimmed with lace. “Remember, I first saw you in a silk nightdress. You were a scared little girl and yet, you tried to help me. This is the nightdress I wore on my first night with John, and I want you to have it for your first night with Samuel. Don’t be scared tonight, my darling little girl. It’s my turn to help you.”

“Samuel is a good man, and he loves you deeply. Always remember his love for you, even when times are bad and when you’re angry with him. Return his love, and your life will be happy and full of passion. Samuel won’t always know how to show you, but his love is as deep and consuming as yours, and his need for you is as great as your need for him. Forgive him for his little flaws and mistakes, and savor the times he tries to make you happy. Always remember, you can give him no greater gift than caring and understanding.” A tear slowly trickled down Janet’s cheek as she said, “Now, go take him by the hand, and lead him to your room. It’s time for my little girl to become a woman.”

Samuel was sitting on the bed when Marion came from behind the dressing screen. His vision was filled by an angel in white silk with auburn curls cascading over her lace clad shoulders. The silk caressed her figure as she walked, and the sway of her hips and soft jiggle of her lush breasts stole his breath. Samuel rose as she neared and took her in his arms; his hands touched her soft hair and then slipped down to her small waist. She smelled of lavender, and he pressed her body into his in a gentle embrace. Marion looked up at the gentle face, and smiled before kissing his lips with long anticipated passion. She parted their kiss, and whispered, “Sam, I love you. Make love to me.”

Marion began unbuttoning Samuel’s shirt, kissing his chest as each fastening was opened. She slipped the shirt from his arms, and embraced the muscular chest. Her hands felt the taut muscles of his back and shoulders, and she was lost in the feel of his body and the scent of his cologne. Samuel returned her embrace, gently, and reveled in the feel of soft, silk clad breasts punctuated by firm nipples pressing into his chest. After a few moments, he gently pushed her free, and blew out the lamp on the bedtable. 

The full moon painted a satiny glow on Marion’s body when Samuel lifted the nightdress over her head. The play of soft light on her soft body highlighted curves here and cast others in seductive shadow. Samuel marveled at the soft swell of her hips, the firm, upthrust breasts tipped with small hard nipples, and the softly rounded belly with its small triangle of auburn curls. He worshipped every curve and hollow with fingertips and lips and his caresses found voice in Marion’s low, sultry, whispered moans. Marion’s fingers were busy loosening Samuel’s belt, then dropping his trousers to the floor. Her hands sought and found his manhood, and her fingertips told her of soft hardness, throbbing quiet strength, and the sensitive thrusts to come. As Samuel explored her body for the first time, Marion learned the center of his sensuality from the tip, glistening with moisture for her comfort, to the deliciously soft orbs in their satiny soft sack.

Samuel sat back on the bed, carrying Marion with him, and then laid down. Marion’s body pressed to his, her lush curves molding themselves into his hard angular body. They kissed, then kissed again, and Marion parted her lips as lightening coursed through her body with his touch. Her tongue slipped between her soft, red lips, and teased Samuel into parting his. His probing tongue found hers, and she gasped as the soft texture caressed her lips, tongue, and teeth. She began slowly rubbing her silky mound against his erect manhood, feeling it slip between her soft, swollen lips to be coated with her natural moisture. They both moaned an “mmmm” at the new, but exquisitely warm and soft feeling. 




The Sutler Wagon Ch. 3



“Samuel, I want you to be inside me, now. Please, this first time, let me help.”

Marion parted her thighs and drew her graceful legs under her body. She raised off the bed, and taking Samuel’s erection between her slim fingers, guided him between her extended lips. She slowly lowered herself to clasp the head, and then raised up again. Again she lowered herself over his shaft, allowing him to penetrate deeper this time, and coating more of his member with her natural lubrication. Again, and this time Marion felt the resistance Janet had described to her. Marion reached for Samuel’s hands and placed one on each breast. “Touch me, Sam. Rub and pull gently.” As Samuel complied, Marion stroked up and down several more times, and then dropped over his shaft, impaling herself on his throbbing member until her hips pressed against his thighs. The small cry she uttered made Samuel start, but Marion placed a finger to his lips to silence him, and replaced the finger with her own searching, caressing lips. They kissed as she allowed her body to accustom itself to the foreign but delightful object that filled her passage. She felt her passage walls spontaneously contract around Samuel’s shaft, and Samuel made a small moaning noise. After a few moments, Marion began to slowly raise herself from his body, testing the feeling for pain and pleasure, and deciding that the sensations were mostly pleasure. She enveloped his hardness again, and felt the tip push against her inner core; the sensations of this contact were indescribable. Marion made a few more conscious stroking movements, and then her body took over control to allow her mind to bask in these new sensations. With every stroke, Samuel either rolled or tugged at her nipples, and the combination caused tiny ripples to start at her toes and run up through her shoulders. She became an automaton, fueled by the sensations in her breasts, hips, and inner core, and steered by the searing passion for Samuel that consumed her consciousness. Her hands found his chest, and rubbed the hard muscles with soft slim fingertips, fingertips that finally ceased their wandering at his small nipples. The fingertips teased the tiny buds to erect little nubs, and then continued their wandering journey to the shoulders and arms that held her.

Her low, purring sounds and soft, wet clasp were bring Samuel to his peak, and he began to thrust against her strokes, his body burying itself deeper with each thrust. As his member probed her depths of passion, Marion’s purring became louder moans of “mmmmh...,mmmmh,mmmmh..., mmmh that excited them both to higher and higher plateaus of passion. Her movements became staccato thrusts that increased in speed when Samuel slipped his hand from one breast and wormed it between their bodies to find the small nub between her swollen, wet lips. As his fingertip stroked firmly across the extended nub, Marion cried out in passion and pleasure, “Oh... oh, yesssssss... God, yesssssss”, and Samuel felt internal contractions milking his member and seeking the gift of his seed. “Ahhhhm...ahhhhm, ahhhhm, ahhm,ahhm, ahm, ahm, ahm.” Marion’s voice spoke of love, passion and lust for Samuel as her body arched taut, her breast pressing into his hand, and her mound grinding against his. Samuel arched with her, and felt the first spurt building in his loins. He thrust hard, feeling her against his tip, and then flooded her with his seed. Marion cried a quick “AH”, and arched again as Samuel met her with another deep thrust and more flooding. “AH,AH,AH,AH,ahhhhhhhhhhh.” Marion collapsed onto Samuel’s chest and tried desperately to weld her curves to him. Neither spoke as the minutes ticked away, their very souls communicating trust, love, and passion in the unspoken and unconscious language of lovers from the first of time.

“Sam, how did you know to touch me down there just as I was reaching my peak? It was so wonderful. I didn’t think men knew about that sort of thing.”

“Well, I didn’t, but John told me that Janet likes it, and that you probably would too. We men aren’t as slow as you women think, you know. We like pleasing our women when we make love.”

They lay quietly in each other’s arms for a while, enjoying the feel of naked skin on naked skin and soft curls against hard thighs.

“Sam, Janet once told me that she felt John in her soul when they made love. I think I know what she meant, now.”

“Marion, I was lost in you. I felt you touch me, but I don’t mean my body; I can’t explain it very well, but it was like we were just one body, one body experiencing great pleasure within itself. Describing the feeling is like trying to explain life; I know it’s there, but can’t say it in words.”

“You don’t have to say it, Sam, I heard you, at the end, speaking to me even though my ears heard nothing. That’s what Janet meant by love.”

John and Janet had a lovely baby boy on the fourth day of September. They called him Jacob, after Janet’s father. As time passed and the mill became again prosperous, Janet had her own graceful carriage to drive about town, but she never sold the sutler wagon.

Samuel and Marion moved to a small house close to John and Janet, and Samuel found he was as good at supervising mill workers as he was at commanding a platoon. In later years, he became a partner with John, and the small house became a large house blessed with three daughters. As her young, auburn haired girls came of age, and were curious about love, Marion told them a story about a scared young girl who met her love, lost him to war, and found him again in the bottom of a common sutler wagon. She taught them that the passion between two people is a beautiful, blessed thing, and that while passion is felt in the body, true love always is felt in the soul.