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The Georgia Peach II - All is Fair
- Thread starter Fossy
- Start date
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
As if Quantrill would necessarily have revealed to Catherine his real destination? Ever thought about that, Lieutenant Sampson? You have been wasting your time, retrieving a decoy!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 22 – The abandoned Union Camp at Lay’s Ferry, the Evening of May 16th 1864
Catherine was losing her mind trying to process the insane cruelty of everything that had happened. This was no longer about interrogating her, these evil monsters were just simply taking their pleasure!
Sampson unlocked the chain from the heavy table and pulled the girl to her feet. She attempted to wrench free, but he kept his tight hold. When he began to haul her closer, she tried to move backwards, but slipped on the floor … muscles burning, heart accelerating.
He stood over her.
“Be still.”
“I …” Despite starting to speak, Catherine stilled. Chest heaving, caught by his steady gaze as much as his grip, she ran through her options.
Resisting was impossible, and he’d been unmoved by her struggles, and was too quick, too strong. Would there be opportunities to escape … if only she could survive whatever they had planned. Maybe on route to the prison she could slip away. But even then, the thought of being pursued, caught and subjected to even more torment, filled her with terror.
She let her muscles slacken, hating this but having no sensible choice.
“Good girl.” Sampson grinned at her and then he hauled her hands upward, until she was barely touching the ground, her body stretched taut, the tips of her toes scrabbling around for purchase to balance.
Gasping, her breathing laboured due to the stretching of her torso, she heard the jangle of metal. Above her head, Sampson had attached the manacle chain to a meat hook that hung from a heavy wooden tent pole that had been hammered into the ground.
“It’s an anchoring point for the tent Catherine. It will not fall over, even with your weight hanging from it!” The Lieutenant delighted in explaining this to the hapless captive girl.
He let her go and she teetered, the pull on her arms extremely discomforting. The men in the room stopped and stared, gathering slowly around her. Hands on hips, Sampson observed the small circle gathering as Catherine desperately walked her toes on the ground.
Moving to her he grabbed the bound girl’s hair and pulled her head back. “You’re mine now bitch, mine to do with as I wish. Understand?”
She pressed her lips together. Answer him and be cowed? Or don’t answer and be rebellious and something more would happen that she already feared.
Sampson drew out a knife, and held it up before her eyes.
“I ... yes, I understand.” Catherine’s stretched fingers flexed around the manacle chain, and she managed to shrink all of an inch from the approaching blade, denting her back into the rough wooden pole.
Her nipples pebbled in the cool air under the greedy gaze of the crowd, her teats erect. She was terrified. What did it mean to be scared when everything was just wrong? Catherine felt her bladder fill and was on the verge of wetting herself. She wanted to hit him and scream in his face, wanted to yell at the crowd that she was a person and not an object for their docile amusement. She wanted to be anywhere but here. Her legs trembled; she had nothing left to fight with …
Her legs were aching, as were her toes, her arms ... everywhere. The draw of his hand warned her, but she still wasn’t ready when his slap snapped her head sideways … then he slapped her again, on the other side. A blow unexpected and forceful enough to make her face feel once more violated.
Catherine opened her mouth, worked her jaw. Pain sprang up in prickles then became a throb. She blinked away the moisture in her eyes, sniffed. The need to swallow was almost overwhelming but she held it back, determined not to offer up any more signs of weakness.
“I am so glad that we have an understanding,” Sampson mocked, before stepping away to study her, leaving her isolated in her hanging state. His stare was intense, and she couldn’t cover herself. Catherine thought she was beyond further humiliation, but she wasn’t.
He stepped in with the knife and positioned the point above her belly button. It dug in. Pain flared.
“Please,” she whispered, trying not to squirm as a small red drop appeared at the blade end as he incrementally increased the pressure. He’d stop soon; he had to. Must stop. Surely, he must.
“Noooo!” Catherine cried as she felt the point more keenly. When he drew away the knife, she’d been holding her breath for so long it left her gasping.
“I can do anything I want to you now, you Reb cunt! Cutting your skin a little? That’s nothing.”
Nothing? Cutting her with knife was considered to be nothing! Would this monster not have to answer to anyone?
Sampson sheathed the blade and walked around her. His eyes were directed at her mound. “We will need to shave you again soon.”
Catherine’s eyes closed. Sampson was a man with power over her. A lot of power. She lowered her eyes, trying to think rationally … was there anything else she could do.
Her mouth tensed as if preparing to speak, but she said nothing.
“You’re mine.” He dwelled on his triumph, leaning over her. Then he kissed her forehead. The gentle gesture puzzled her. “Good. Very good.”
Then, without preamble, he crushed her nipples between his fingers and thumbs, drawing them outward while maintaining his agonizing grip. Catherine winced and arched her back, following the pull. The pressure increased until she had to squirm, and increased again until agony emanated from his grip, and she feared he’d tear her flesh!
Wrapping her fingers into the chain above her head helped her to focus, to resist. But would not do so forever. What did he want her to do so to make this stop? Was there anything? She whined at the pain then babbled out more words. Her toes screwed into the grass.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, disrespect you … whatever ... Sir … please! STOP!”
Sampson released her, stepped back, and held out his hand to the side.
“I want everything your body has to offer bitch.” He stepped in until face to face with Catherine and murmured his words, every one of them infused with a lethal undertone, like a street dog that had cornered prey in an alley.
“Your blood.” His gaze dipped to her neck, her breasts, then raised and met hers again. He slid his fingers over the trickle that was still dripping from the small cut in her stomach.
“Your spit.” His bloody fingers curled down her lower lip then pushed at her teeth, forcefully, worming in, until she had to open her mouth. Two thick fingers slid to the back of her tongue. They both knew she wouldn’t dare bite him, as Catherine tasted the thick metallic tang of her own blood.
He watched her with smirk as she tried in vain to hold back the tears, until they welled and spilled out. He removed his fingers and wiped the residue on her cheeks.
“Your tears too. And also ... Down here.” His hand brushed over her belly, her mound, then his fingers found her slit and slid along, back and forth, playing there, parting her lips, encouraging moisture to gather, manifesting her unwitting stimulation.
He turned and raised his arms, displayed his wet fingers to his men, who had been watching the lewd scene unfold. “This slut did not know that her blood, her mouth, and cunt were so vital! Would you all like to taste her?”
The soldiers cheered loudly, and several more drifted in from outside the tent, attracted by the noise and words.
Catherine shut her eyes, wanting to shrink into the pole at her back. This was going to be more humiliating than anything he’d yet done. But she no longer had her innocence, that had been ripped from her body so brutally a few awful days ago, so what did it matter. They could do anything they wanted with her. She could get past this … would get past it.
“So now you all get to taste her! Fingers and tongues only! No fucking her! I will be the first to fuck her and I will do so when I wake tomorrow. But tonight, the bitch is yours!”
Hearing the words said so openly, in such a raw, stark fashion, Catherine’s mouth fell open. The gathered men roared. A lust-fuelled, celebrating, avaricious crowd.
To Be Continued ...
Catherine was losing her mind trying to process the insane cruelty of everything that had happened. This was no longer about interrogating her, these evil monsters were just simply taking their pleasure!
Sampson unlocked the chain from the heavy table and pulled the girl to her feet. She attempted to wrench free, but he kept his tight hold. When he began to haul her closer, she tried to move backwards, but slipped on the floor … muscles burning, heart accelerating.
He stood over her.
“Be still.”
“I …” Despite starting to speak, Catherine stilled. Chest heaving, caught by his steady gaze as much as his grip, she ran through her options.
Resisting was impossible, and he’d been unmoved by her struggles, and was too quick, too strong. Would there be opportunities to escape … if only she could survive whatever they had planned. Maybe on route to the prison she could slip away. But even then, the thought of being pursued, caught and subjected to even more torment, filled her with terror.
She let her muscles slacken, hating this but having no sensible choice.
“Good girl.” Sampson grinned at her and then he hauled her hands upward, until she was barely touching the ground, her body stretched taut, the tips of her toes scrabbling around for purchase to balance.
Gasping, her breathing laboured due to the stretching of her torso, she heard the jangle of metal. Above her head, Sampson had attached the manacle chain to a meat hook that hung from a heavy wooden tent pole that had been hammered into the ground.
“It’s an anchoring point for the tent Catherine. It will not fall over, even with your weight hanging from it!” The Lieutenant delighted in explaining this to the hapless captive girl.
He let her go and she teetered, the pull on her arms extremely discomforting. The men in the room stopped and stared, gathering slowly around her. Hands on hips, Sampson observed the small circle gathering as Catherine desperately walked her toes on the ground.
Moving to her he grabbed the bound girl’s hair and pulled her head back. “You’re mine now bitch, mine to do with as I wish. Understand?”
She pressed her lips together. Answer him and be cowed? Or don’t answer and be rebellious and something more would happen that she already feared.
Sampson drew out a knife, and held it up before her eyes.
“I ... yes, I understand.” Catherine’s stretched fingers flexed around the manacle chain, and she managed to shrink all of an inch from the approaching blade, denting her back into the rough wooden pole.
Her nipples pebbled in the cool air under the greedy gaze of the crowd, her teats erect. She was terrified. What did it mean to be scared when everything was just wrong? Catherine felt her bladder fill and was on the verge of wetting herself. She wanted to hit him and scream in his face, wanted to yell at the crowd that she was a person and not an object for their docile amusement. She wanted to be anywhere but here. Her legs trembled; she had nothing left to fight with …
Her legs were aching, as were her toes, her arms ... everywhere. The draw of his hand warned her, but she still wasn’t ready when his slap snapped her head sideways … then he slapped her again, on the other side. A blow unexpected and forceful enough to make her face feel once more violated.
Catherine opened her mouth, worked her jaw. Pain sprang up in prickles then became a throb. She blinked away the moisture in her eyes, sniffed. The need to swallow was almost overwhelming but she held it back, determined not to offer up any more signs of weakness.
“I am so glad that we have an understanding,” Sampson mocked, before stepping away to study her, leaving her isolated in her hanging state. His stare was intense, and she couldn’t cover herself. Catherine thought she was beyond further humiliation, but she wasn’t.
He stepped in with the knife and positioned the point above her belly button. It dug in. Pain flared.
“Please,” she whispered, trying not to squirm as a small red drop appeared at the blade end as he incrementally increased the pressure. He’d stop soon; he had to. Must stop. Surely, he must.
“Noooo!” Catherine cried as she felt the point more keenly. When he drew away the knife, she’d been holding her breath for so long it left her gasping.
“I can do anything I want to you now, you Reb cunt! Cutting your skin a little? That’s nothing.”
Nothing? Cutting her with knife was considered to be nothing! Would this monster not have to answer to anyone?
Sampson sheathed the blade and walked around her. His eyes were directed at her mound. “We will need to shave you again soon.”
Catherine’s eyes closed. Sampson was a man with power over her. A lot of power. She lowered her eyes, trying to think rationally … was there anything else she could do.
Her mouth tensed as if preparing to speak, but she said nothing.
“You’re mine.” He dwelled on his triumph, leaning over her. Then he kissed her forehead. The gentle gesture puzzled her. “Good. Very good.”
Then, without preamble, he crushed her nipples between his fingers and thumbs, drawing them outward while maintaining his agonizing grip. Catherine winced and arched her back, following the pull. The pressure increased until she had to squirm, and increased again until agony emanated from his grip, and she feared he’d tear her flesh!
Wrapping her fingers into the chain above her head helped her to focus, to resist. But would not do so forever. What did he want her to do so to make this stop? Was there anything? She whined at the pain then babbled out more words. Her toes screwed into the grass.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, disrespect you … whatever ... Sir … please! STOP!”
Sampson released her, stepped back, and held out his hand to the side.
“I want everything your body has to offer bitch.” He stepped in until face to face with Catherine and murmured his words, every one of them infused with a lethal undertone, like a street dog that had cornered prey in an alley.
“Your blood.” His gaze dipped to her neck, her breasts, then raised and met hers again. He slid his fingers over the trickle that was still dripping from the small cut in her stomach.
“Your spit.” His bloody fingers curled down her lower lip then pushed at her teeth, forcefully, worming in, until she had to open her mouth. Two thick fingers slid to the back of her tongue. They both knew she wouldn’t dare bite him, as Catherine tasted the thick metallic tang of her own blood.
He watched her with smirk as she tried in vain to hold back the tears, until they welled and spilled out. He removed his fingers and wiped the residue on her cheeks.
“Your tears too. And also ... Down here.” His hand brushed over her belly, her mound, then his fingers found her slit and slid along, back and forth, playing there, parting her lips, encouraging moisture to gather, manifesting her unwitting stimulation.
He turned and raised his arms, displayed his wet fingers to his men, who had been watching the lewd scene unfold. “This slut did not know that her blood, her mouth, and cunt were so vital! Would you all like to taste her?”
The soldiers cheered loudly, and several more drifted in from outside the tent, attracted by the noise and words.
Catherine shut her eyes, wanting to shrink into the pole at her back. This was going to be more humiliating than anything he’d yet done. But she no longer had her innocence, that had been ripped from her body so brutally a few awful days ago, so what did it matter. They could do anything they wanted with her. She could get past this … would get past it.
“So now you all get to taste her! Fingers and tongues only! No fucking her! I will be the first to fuck her and I will do so when I wake tomorrow. But tonight, the bitch is yours!”
Hearing the words said so openly, in such a raw, stark fashion, Catherine’s mouth fell open. The gathered men roared. A lust-fuelled, celebrating, avaricious crowd.
To Be Continued ...
Attachments
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
It seems we monsters are always slandered with phrases like this. I think of my self as a cuddly monster, healing his pleasure.
Has he just realized this? What more can he do? Can't wait to find out.
Now we see Catherine's problem. She has a very misguided view of her place in things.
How long have they been waiting for this? It could become very ugly, very quickly.
Nice advance of the horror, @Fossy ! As these boys are entertaining Cat, Billy Q and Shepherd are getting closer. Again one wonders, how much will be left to save?
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 23 – The hills South of Sugar Valley on the road to Adairsville on the Evening of May 16th 1864
Shepherd needed to piss. Or at least that was the essence of the commotion he created.
He could go into the trees with an armed guard, and would be shot on the spot if he tried to run. Quantrill stood to volunteer his ‘escort services’.
“Good, you go with this Reb bastard. Shoot him if he tries anything at all, y’hear?”
The Guerrilla leader was able to hide his drawling accent by touching his Kepi and saying nothing.
“Keep moving Shepherd, don’t stop. We got maybe ten minutes before someone comes looking.” These words were said as the two men made their way away from the resting prisoner chain and into the nearby hillside woodland.
Free of the fetters, the overseer was able to burst into a run as soon as they were clear of prying eyes. Quantrill, the faster of the two ran ahead. He was armed with his pistols and now a Union Repeating Spencer rifle. His sword was sheathed on his horse, which was in turn tethered maybe five or six miles away … the distance they had marched since he joined the column.
“We run for a coupla hours then we stop. It will be too dark then. We could end up taking the wrong trail then tomorrow we would have an even longer journey.”
Shepherd nodded. He had already shared the fact that Catherine was being held at the camp by Lay’s Ferry, just a few miles away from White Orchard.
The chasing sounds of men had grown dim and quiet and finally they ceased to be heard. They had made it away and Quantrill had his guide back to Catherine …
Chapter 24 – The abandoned Union Camp at Lay’s Ferry, later in the Evening of May 16th 1864
Catherine tried to worm her wrists free from the cuffs, but it was futile. Nowhere to run. Nowhere in this world to go. Though she detested showing vulnerability, she whimpered as they closed in.
“Cut her some more slack on that chain.” A lust fuelled trooper lowered the fastening until she stood easily on the soles of her feet. Her legs, her whole body shook.
Sampson went onto one knee before her. “Open your legs unless you want me to tie them apart.” Such a hard, dispassionate voice. The man was a rock, not a person. Jaw clenched, Catherine attempted to pretend that she wasn’t naked and about to be violated … trying not to see the men surrounding her, she kept her thighs together.
At the last moment she gave in and closed her eyes. Letting out a long sigh Catherine shuffled her legs apart. The crunch as Sampson’s boot settled and shifted on the dirt floor, then his fingers on her, the discomfort as the hard, rounded tips slipped between her labia. Then he stood and backed away, leaving her to the thugs under his command.
“Nnnghhhhhh …” the chained girl’s sounds were guttural, feral possibly, unintelligible certainly. Maybe, if she held her breath for long enough, she’d pass out.
The first man to sink a finger inside her left it there for an age while he licked at her ... The initial penetration of her core seemed to take forever. The next was faster; the third had such big fingers she squealed as he stretched her opening. The pain from her brutal violation at the whipping post resurfaced. This wasn’t erotic, wasn’t vaguely close to a turn-on ... until she opened her eyes and found Sampson standing beside her. He wasn’t simply watching what was being done to her, he was studying her face.
Intrigue and fascination surfaced in his expression for those few, fleeting seconds. Moving to her rear the Lieutenant put his palm over her mouth so that she had to breathe through her nose.
Dark eyes. Long, black hair on jaw and scalp. Stubble that would rasp on her hand. She’d never truly looked at Sampson before.
Catherine tensed, resisting the rising feeling, though her pelvis tilted forward a fraction. Getting wet was automatic, unavoidable, a female reaction, and yet ... she felt herself clench and her thigh muscles tighten. Tension sneaked in, drifted higher.
That he stared, that men played with her sex, the sense of both violation and an inexplicable stimulation, rose and crept through her body. It sneaked in, unannounced, unwanted. Fingers inside her. Men doing what they wanted. She’d never, ever, allow this.
His eyes, watching while they defiled her.
“Please, ohhh please, stop …” Catherine gasped once, but her voice was weak. Then she fell silent, shutting her eyes. Shutting him out. Violation had its own stimulating agenda.
So wrong. Her legs ached, trembling in small fits, relaxing again as she struggled to forget him watching. Shaking, uncontrollable pulsating, wrecked her control. Her breasts heaved.
Them.
Her.
Him.
Desire rose and fluctuated wildly.
“Stop. Stop!” She inhaled a hot breath, held it. What seemed like a miniscule hint of an orgasm sucked her into its betraying embrace, rolled her around, spat her out.
Catherine slumped but recovered, dragging in air as quietly as she could. Forget the thud of her heart. Her response had nothing to do with him. The unwitting pleasure dwindling, her mouth moved under his palm, her lips parting and she gave a last shudder ... then she saw him grin. He smiled a thin, knowing smile, one that burrowed inside her deeper than any fingers ever could. Couldn’t fool him.
He would break her. Best for her and everyone concerned. A docile prisoner that knew her place was a far more useful one ... and an alive one. She was far too beautiful to be executed.
He pressed his palm more firmly over her mouth, pleased at how her eyelids fluttered and her breath stilled, at how his presence made her see and feel this differently.
Being forced to climax often brought them down a notch, the bitches. The whores from Maine … girls that considered themselves to be tough.
He hadn’t in anyway being intent on causing this girl pleasure. Wasn’t aiming to push Miss McCown to climax, but arousing her was a bonus. Keeping his hand over her huffing mouth, he brought his other to her breast, grabbed a handful and squeezed. The arching, the trembling, even the small moan she made when he thumb-brushed her nipple ... it begged the assumptive conclusion that she had climaxed.
Sampson glanced down as the last man rose from his knees, his fingers sticky, glistening, and freshly sucked from her cunt. If he’d had his dick in her, he’d know for sure if she’d climaxed. Wasn’t to be, not tonight. He wanted her fresh in the morning.
“Did you climax, bitch?”
She could barely speak past his palm but he left it there, smothering her sounds, listening to her breathing as she tried to calm herself.
“I think you had a small one and you tried to hide it. If I stick my hand in you, or my cock, I could make you do it loudly in front of this little crowd. Would you like that? Answer me Reb cunt.”
Mind-fucking with her was fun. He removed his hand. Her lips were glossy with her own saliva, his hand wet and warm.
Slowly, she shook her head. “No?” Catherine cleared her throat. Her eyes were clear and blue. An innocence was there that reached inside him and made him feel ... aroused.
“I’m going to let you down now, then we will walk to your new home without any problems. Okay?” She nodded, shut her eyes. Subservient. Submissive. Passive.
“Yes Sir. I understand.” Her voice was quiet. Cowed, at last. He almost felt sorry for her.
The Lieutenant reached up to undo the chain connection, felt the softness of her breast, and found himself wishing she’d give him more reasons to punish her. When he released her wrists, she staggered, and he caught her at the shoulders to steady her. Soft female, hard muscles beneath. Catherine McCown was an exceptional specimen.
To Be Continued ...
Shepherd needed to piss. Or at least that was the essence of the commotion he created.
He could go into the trees with an armed guard, and would be shot on the spot if he tried to run. Quantrill stood to volunteer his ‘escort services’.
“Good, you go with this Reb bastard. Shoot him if he tries anything at all, y’hear?”
The Guerrilla leader was able to hide his drawling accent by touching his Kepi and saying nothing.
“Keep moving Shepherd, don’t stop. We got maybe ten minutes before someone comes looking.” These words were said as the two men made their way away from the resting prisoner chain and into the nearby hillside woodland.
Free of the fetters, the overseer was able to burst into a run as soon as they were clear of prying eyes. Quantrill, the faster of the two ran ahead. He was armed with his pistols and now a Union Repeating Spencer rifle. His sword was sheathed on his horse, which was in turn tethered maybe five or six miles away … the distance they had marched since he joined the column.
“We run for a coupla hours then we stop. It will be too dark then. We could end up taking the wrong trail then tomorrow we would have an even longer journey.”
Shepherd nodded. He had already shared the fact that Catherine was being held at the camp by Lay’s Ferry, just a few miles away from White Orchard.
The chasing sounds of men had grown dim and quiet and finally they ceased to be heard. They had made it away and Quantrill had his guide back to Catherine …
Chapter 24 – The abandoned Union Camp at Lay’s Ferry, later in the Evening of May 16th 1864
Catherine tried to worm her wrists free from the cuffs, but it was futile. Nowhere to run. Nowhere in this world to go. Though she detested showing vulnerability, she whimpered as they closed in.
“Cut her some more slack on that chain.” A lust fuelled trooper lowered the fastening until she stood easily on the soles of her feet. Her legs, her whole body shook.
Sampson went onto one knee before her. “Open your legs unless you want me to tie them apart.” Such a hard, dispassionate voice. The man was a rock, not a person. Jaw clenched, Catherine attempted to pretend that she wasn’t naked and about to be violated … trying not to see the men surrounding her, she kept her thighs together.
At the last moment she gave in and closed her eyes. Letting out a long sigh Catherine shuffled her legs apart. The crunch as Sampson’s boot settled and shifted on the dirt floor, then his fingers on her, the discomfort as the hard, rounded tips slipped between her labia. Then he stood and backed away, leaving her to the thugs under his command.
“Nnnghhhhhh …” the chained girl’s sounds were guttural, feral possibly, unintelligible certainly. Maybe, if she held her breath for long enough, she’d pass out.
The first man to sink a finger inside her left it there for an age while he licked at her ... The initial penetration of her core seemed to take forever. The next was faster; the third had such big fingers she squealed as he stretched her opening. The pain from her brutal violation at the whipping post resurfaced. This wasn’t erotic, wasn’t vaguely close to a turn-on ... until she opened her eyes and found Sampson standing beside her. He wasn’t simply watching what was being done to her, he was studying her face.
Intrigue and fascination surfaced in his expression for those few, fleeting seconds. Moving to her rear the Lieutenant put his palm over her mouth so that she had to breathe through her nose.
Dark eyes. Long, black hair on jaw and scalp. Stubble that would rasp on her hand. She’d never truly looked at Sampson before.
Catherine tensed, resisting the rising feeling, though her pelvis tilted forward a fraction. Getting wet was automatic, unavoidable, a female reaction, and yet ... she felt herself clench and her thigh muscles tighten. Tension sneaked in, drifted higher.
That he stared, that men played with her sex, the sense of both violation and an inexplicable stimulation, rose and crept through her body. It sneaked in, unannounced, unwanted. Fingers inside her. Men doing what they wanted. She’d never, ever, allow this.
His eyes, watching while they defiled her.
“Please, ohhh please, stop …” Catherine gasped once, but her voice was weak. Then she fell silent, shutting her eyes. Shutting him out. Violation had its own stimulating agenda.
So wrong. Her legs ached, trembling in small fits, relaxing again as she struggled to forget him watching. Shaking, uncontrollable pulsating, wrecked her control. Her breasts heaved.
Them.
Her.
Him.
Desire rose and fluctuated wildly.
“Stop. Stop!” She inhaled a hot breath, held it. What seemed like a miniscule hint of an orgasm sucked her into its betraying embrace, rolled her around, spat her out.
Catherine slumped but recovered, dragging in air as quietly as she could. Forget the thud of her heart. Her response had nothing to do with him. The unwitting pleasure dwindling, her mouth moved under his palm, her lips parting and she gave a last shudder ... then she saw him grin. He smiled a thin, knowing smile, one that burrowed inside her deeper than any fingers ever could. Couldn’t fool him.
He would break her. Best for her and everyone concerned. A docile prisoner that knew her place was a far more useful one ... and an alive one. She was far too beautiful to be executed.
He pressed his palm more firmly over her mouth, pleased at how her eyelids fluttered and her breath stilled, at how his presence made her see and feel this differently.
Being forced to climax often brought them down a notch, the bitches. The whores from Maine … girls that considered themselves to be tough.
He hadn’t in anyway being intent on causing this girl pleasure. Wasn’t aiming to push Miss McCown to climax, but arousing her was a bonus. Keeping his hand over her huffing mouth, he brought his other to her breast, grabbed a handful and squeezed. The arching, the trembling, even the small moan she made when he thumb-brushed her nipple ... it begged the assumptive conclusion that she had climaxed.
Sampson glanced down as the last man rose from his knees, his fingers sticky, glistening, and freshly sucked from her cunt. If he’d had his dick in her, he’d know for sure if she’d climaxed. Wasn’t to be, not tonight. He wanted her fresh in the morning.
“Did you climax, bitch?”
She could barely speak past his palm but he left it there, smothering her sounds, listening to her breathing as she tried to calm herself.
“I think you had a small one and you tried to hide it. If I stick my hand in you, or my cock, I could make you do it loudly in front of this little crowd. Would you like that? Answer me Reb cunt.”
Mind-fucking with her was fun. He removed his hand. Her lips were glossy with her own saliva, his hand wet and warm.
Slowly, she shook her head. “No?” Catherine cleared her throat. Her eyes were clear and blue. An innocence was there that reached inside him and made him feel ... aroused.
“I’m going to let you down now, then we will walk to your new home without any problems. Okay?” She nodded, shut her eyes. Subservient. Submissive. Passive.
“Yes Sir. I understand.” Her voice was quiet. Cowed, at last. He almost felt sorry for her.
The Lieutenant reached up to undo the chain connection, felt the softness of her breast, and found himself wishing she’d give him more reasons to punish her. When he released her wrists, she staggered, and he caught her at the shoulders to steady her. Soft female, hard muscles beneath. Catherine McCown was an exceptional specimen.
To Be Continued ...
Attachments
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 25 – The hills heading North of Sugar Valley as Evening becomes Night, May 16th 1864
“Tell me something about her Tom.” Quantrill and Shepherd sat around a small fire, deep in the undergrowth. They had outrun the Yankee guards a long time ago, but realised that given the hour and the quickly dwindling light, they need to rest up ‘til morning.
“You lived with her since was a li’l girl, what was she like growing up?”
“Miss McCown, well now let me see …”
… She’s an uppity bitch that has been asking for a good whuppin’ ever since she was knee high. I watched her tits grow and her body develop, and many times I have gone to sleep with my cock in my hand and thoughts of her on my mind. Whipping her naked body was like a fucking dream coming true … were the words inside Tom Shepherd’s head. What he said was …
“… she is like an Angel, Mister Quantrill, Sir … she always was an’ always will be.”
“Please Tom, let it be William. We need to be friends if we’re travelling together.”
“Sure, William. Catherine McCown lost both her parents, you were around when her poor mama died. Yet she has kept White Orchard going against all of the odds, and the slaves love her. We all do, William. And so now if I can do anything to save her, then I am at your complete disposal my friend.”
Quantrill lay down on his back and rested his hands behind his head for a pillow. “You said they were looking after her, the Yankees?”
“They were. She is Sherman’s Goddaughter …”
William sat up and looked across at Shepherd. “She is? Well I’ll be damned!” Then he burst out laughing. “I never knew that …” His face took on a serious expression.
“And the bastard General let her be whipped like she was?”
Shepherd nodded earnestly. “He is a true monster, William.”
“Tom, I sure am glad that I found you. Now we must get some sleep. The sun will rise at four thirty and so we should try to be on the move. It’s still a good twelve miles back to Lay’s Ferry and my horse is still maybe seven of those miles from us.”
In seconds, as the small fire burnt itself out, both men were fast asleep.
Chapter 26 – The abandoned Union Camp at Lay’s Ferry, as Evening becomes Night, May 16th 1864
He stopped and turned to her. Having secured Catherine once more in a full fetter, wrists and ankles all chained together, Sampson had pushed her, hobbling, out of the tent in which she had been violated, and towards the prisoner corral.
Catherine could see the small punishment cages that had been left behind. The girl gulped … not again … not another cage!
The Lieutenant reached and took a handful of her hair, wrenched it tight and forced her to her knees. Despite the warm day, the ground was still soft, dirt turned into mud by the booted footsteps, and heavy-laden wheels that had traversed it over the past few days. But it was empty now, save for Catherine and her assailant.
He lowered his hand, so she had no choice except to bend and fall to her knees.
“Here is where you stay overnight. There are no toilet facilities so Nathaniel here ...” He nodded at a man sitting to the right, before rattling off more instructions. “Will let you out tomorrow morning. You hold it in until then … otherwise you go where you lay …”
They were treating her like an animal.
He released her hair and waited for her to straighten her back and kneel up. No smiles, just his rigid expression with barely a muscle moving. She hadn’t noticed the small scars but they flecked the right-hand side of his face … shrapnel, Minié ball? The scarring under his eyes served to make him look fierce even when no expression could be interpreted.
“Like what you see?” He leaned in, acknowledging her gaze, grinning.
“No.” She shook her head.
His lips tweaked into a short-lived smile. His boots sucked in the mud, as her legs and feet became caked.
“Cage.” With the cane he indicated the open cage. Catherine’s distress was obvious. Getting her turned on was clearly not to her liking? Poor thing. He chuckled to himself.
Once she was squeezed inside and kneeling, he also knelt on his haunches so that he could look at her.
“Spread your legs.”
Slowly, she obeyed, her face wary, her eyes pleading …
He reached between her thighs, telling her to be still and found the hood of her clit. Looking first into her wide eyes, enjoying her pained expression, he squeezed the small nub into a protruding erection massaged it with his thumb. She writhed and pleaded. She could not help herself.
“Tomorrow I will fuck your Reb cunt. Then your ass and then your mouth, in that order.”
Resigned to whatever fate this monster’s whims desired, Catherine simply groaned at Sampson’s declaration. The thought of what he meant was awful, very much so, but then wasn’t everything in what had now become her new life.
Her stoic response didn’t fool him. When he stood, she looked up with some desperation in her eyes.
“Want to ask me something?”
She nodded.
“Don’t.” He laughed at her. His only other reply was to close and lock the steel-barred door, before turning to the private on guard duty. “Secure her wrist chain to the top of the cage. We don’t want her to get comfortable, now, do we huh?’
He walked away laughing as Nathaniel moved towards the caged girl.
Chapter 27 – Making haste back towards Lay’s Ferry on the Oostanuala, 5:15am, May 17th 1864.
“We best get going Tom,” Quantrill had swilled his face in a nearby stream, and now he stood over the waking figure of Tom Shepherd.
“Wh … what, where …” Shepherd took a moment to recall where he was.
“It’s early Tom, but the sun is up and we better start moving. We have a long walk. Seven miles or so to my horse and then another five beyond that back to Lay’s Ferry.”
The erstwhile overseer hauled himself up and ambled over to the denser part of the overgrowth.
“Just need a shit and to piss, then I’m good.”
Quantrill smiled to himself. “There’s a small stream you can wash in just ahead.”
It was going to be a beautiful day. The sun was already up shining over the Eastern ridge ledge into Sugar Valley, and today he would take Catherine back into his arms. Then they could be together and he could focus on the killing fields that he wanted to create with Yankee blood …
A short while later the two men set out to restart their trek, blissful in their ignorance believing that Catherine was being cared for by Yankee Doctors … but, in truth, that was far from the case.
To Be Continued ...
“Tell me something about her Tom.” Quantrill and Shepherd sat around a small fire, deep in the undergrowth. They had outrun the Yankee guards a long time ago, but realised that given the hour and the quickly dwindling light, they need to rest up ‘til morning.
“You lived with her since was a li’l girl, what was she like growing up?”
“Miss McCown, well now let me see …”
… She’s an uppity bitch that has been asking for a good whuppin’ ever since she was knee high. I watched her tits grow and her body develop, and many times I have gone to sleep with my cock in my hand and thoughts of her on my mind. Whipping her naked body was like a fucking dream coming true … were the words inside Tom Shepherd’s head. What he said was …
“… she is like an Angel, Mister Quantrill, Sir … she always was an’ always will be.”
“Please Tom, let it be William. We need to be friends if we’re travelling together.”
“Sure, William. Catherine McCown lost both her parents, you were around when her poor mama died. Yet she has kept White Orchard going against all of the odds, and the slaves love her. We all do, William. And so now if I can do anything to save her, then I am at your complete disposal my friend.”
Quantrill lay down on his back and rested his hands behind his head for a pillow. “You said they were looking after her, the Yankees?”
“They were. She is Sherman’s Goddaughter …”
William sat up and looked across at Shepherd. “She is? Well I’ll be damned!” Then he burst out laughing. “I never knew that …” His face took on a serious expression.
“And the bastard General let her be whipped like she was?”
Shepherd nodded earnestly. “He is a true monster, William.”
“Tom, I sure am glad that I found you. Now we must get some sleep. The sun will rise at four thirty and so we should try to be on the move. It’s still a good twelve miles back to Lay’s Ferry and my horse is still maybe seven of those miles from us.”
In seconds, as the small fire burnt itself out, both men were fast asleep.
Chapter 26 – The abandoned Union Camp at Lay’s Ferry, as Evening becomes Night, May 16th 1864
He stopped and turned to her. Having secured Catherine once more in a full fetter, wrists and ankles all chained together, Sampson had pushed her, hobbling, out of the tent in which she had been violated, and towards the prisoner corral.
Catherine could see the small punishment cages that had been left behind. The girl gulped … not again … not another cage!
The Lieutenant reached and took a handful of her hair, wrenched it tight and forced her to her knees. Despite the warm day, the ground was still soft, dirt turned into mud by the booted footsteps, and heavy-laden wheels that had traversed it over the past few days. But it was empty now, save for Catherine and her assailant.
He lowered his hand, so she had no choice except to bend and fall to her knees.
“Here is where you stay overnight. There are no toilet facilities so Nathaniel here ...” He nodded at a man sitting to the right, before rattling off more instructions. “Will let you out tomorrow morning. You hold it in until then … otherwise you go where you lay …”
They were treating her like an animal.
He released her hair and waited for her to straighten her back and kneel up. No smiles, just his rigid expression with barely a muscle moving. She hadn’t noticed the small scars but they flecked the right-hand side of his face … shrapnel, Minié ball? The scarring under his eyes served to make him look fierce even when no expression could be interpreted.
“Like what you see?” He leaned in, acknowledging her gaze, grinning.
“No.” She shook her head.
His lips tweaked into a short-lived smile. His boots sucked in the mud, as her legs and feet became caked.
“Cage.” With the cane he indicated the open cage. Catherine’s distress was obvious. Getting her turned on was clearly not to her liking? Poor thing. He chuckled to himself.
Once she was squeezed inside and kneeling, he also knelt on his haunches so that he could look at her.
“Spread your legs.”
Slowly, she obeyed, her face wary, her eyes pleading …
He reached between her thighs, telling her to be still and found the hood of her clit. Looking first into her wide eyes, enjoying her pained expression, he squeezed the small nub into a protruding erection massaged it with his thumb. She writhed and pleaded. She could not help herself.
“Tomorrow I will fuck your Reb cunt. Then your ass and then your mouth, in that order.”
Resigned to whatever fate this monster’s whims desired, Catherine simply groaned at Sampson’s declaration. The thought of what he meant was awful, very much so, but then wasn’t everything in what had now become her new life.
Her stoic response didn’t fool him. When he stood, she looked up with some desperation in her eyes.
“Want to ask me something?”
She nodded.
“Don’t.” He laughed at her. His only other reply was to close and lock the steel-barred door, before turning to the private on guard duty. “Secure her wrist chain to the top of the cage. We don’t want her to get comfortable, now, do we huh?’
He walked away laughing as Nathaniel moved towards the caged girl.
Chapter 27 – Making haste back towards Lay’s Ferry on the Oostanuala, 5:15am, May 17th 1864.
“We best get going Tom,” Quantrill had swilled his face in a nearby stream, and now he stood over the waking figure of Tom Shepherd.
“Wh … what, where …” Shepherd took a moment to recall where he was.
“It’s early Tom, but the sun is up and we better start moving. We have a long walk. Seven miles or so to my horse and then another five beyond that back to Lay’s Ferry.”
The erstwhile overseer hauled himself up and ambled over to the denser part of the overgrowth.
“Just need a shit and to piss, then I’m good.”
Quantrill smiled to himself. “There’s a small stream you can wash in just ahead.”
It was going to be a beautiful day. The sun was already up shining over the Eastern ridge ledge into Sugar Valley, and today he would take Catherine back into his arms. Then they could be together and he could focus on the killing fields that he wanted to create with Yankee blood …
A short while later the two men set out to restart their trek, blissful in their ignorance believing that Catherine was being cared for by Yankee Doctors … but, in truth, that was far from the case.
To Be Continued ...
Attachments
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Shepherd better should use the walk to think about a plan for himself. In all circumstances, Catherine will not be pleased to see him again, and I do not think that Quantrill will be nice to him, if she reveals his role in her punishment.
Fossy includes each and every conceivable detail. Did we need to know that? Well, we all need to do that from time to time, don’t we?
twonines
LIMERICUS
It is often the inclusion of seemingly irrelevant detail that makes a story believable, however, scatology should be used sparingly.Fossy includes each and every conceivable detail. Did we need to know that? Well, we all need to do that from time to time, don’t we?
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Noted guys. Not a scat fan at all, this was, as 99 says, about believable details.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
I'm late, but I agree. Shepherd had better have a plan ready!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 28 – The abandoned Union Camp at Lay’s Ferry, The morning of May 17th 1864
“Get out,” his words were harsh and to the point. The trooper had unlocked her wrists from the cage bars, and now Catherine was expected to crawl out.
Easier said than done. Her tortured body had spent the night cramped in the small cage, mud drying on her feet, arms shackled to the bars without the support required for rest. She was utterly spent.
“No wait,” The Lieutenant paused his own instruction. “Connect the cleaning hose to the river supply private and bring it here. This bitch needs a wash!”
What? Catherine’s eyes widened, her sleep-fuelled state dissipating when she heard his words. She was filthy, yes, caked in mud, for sure … but to be hosed down in freezing cold water was an appalling thought!
Sampson took the hose pipe from the soldier and instructed him to turn the water on. Catherine’s eyes were wide, begging and pleading to be allowed to simply wash her body. But no … the flow came and he began spraying the freezing river water onto Catherine's naked skin.
“Nooooooo!” She screamed, but the manacles and shackles, combined with the cramped space that she was folded into, meant that there was no way for her to avoid this new torture.
The water pummelled her breasts, hardening her nipples, between her thighs, opening her soft folds …
“For the love of God Sir, pl … please STOP!” Catherine could barely get the words out as she beseeched the Lieutenant, who is turn did nothing but laugh maniacally and continue to pound her body.
The flow hit her face forcing Catherine to lift her head up and look directly at him, then suddenly he stopped. Catherine sat dripping wet, gasping for breath. She gazed forlornly at the monster who had just hosed her down, and saw the evil in his eyes, the smug look on his face. Catherine realised what a sight she must be right now, her wet hair plastered to her face, water dripping off every extremity, nose, chin, nipples and onto the floor.
As her gaze slowly rose to meet his, Catherine saw the look on his face and it sent tremors of fear through her spine.
“It is time for you to be my whore, Reb bitch!” The cage was unlocked. “Out!”
With a choked back gasp, still freezing from the very rude awakening, Catherine crawled out onto the open ground outside the few tents that remained, only for Sampson to grip her hair by the roots and pull her to her feet. She wanted to reach up and ease the source of her pain, but, with wrists and ankles still shackled, she could not. Instead she groaned out the hurt.
She clamped her tongue tip between her teeth to stop herself from flinching. He was going to rape her, and there was nothing that could be done by anyone to stop it from happening. With his warm touch at her neck he directed her into the nearest tent and toward a long wooden box.
“There are points on the floor that I could fasten you to, but I don’t expect to use them. Lie on your stomach, over the box. Put your hands on the ground, palms down, and wait. If you do move and I have to tie you down, I will double the pain …”
Pain?
Was he about to beat her again? Was that instead of the promised rape … or just to ‘warm her up’?
The rectangular box was just a few feet high and the timber cool on her belly when, upon his instruction, she crawled over and lay across it. The box was dark brown in colour, with splinters ripped from the edges. It was an empty Spencer Rifle Box, now being put to an unintended use by the Lieutenant.
Bootsteps slurped in the slick mud on the floor of the tent, as Sampson picked up a whippy length of bamboo. This time it was a piece of wicker cooking pot scaffold being put to good use as something else.
“Remember, cunt, no moving.”
Catherine closed her eyes and readied her body to deal with the expected impact.
“One.” The first strike landed across her lower thighs. She screeched at the sudden line of pain then swallowed to keep silent. He beat her naked, aching body to a count of fifteen, shouting the count out loud, walking the strikes up to her lower ass, and by the end she was shaking, her hands jammed into the floor, eyes screwed shut, legs and bottom freshly welted.
Chapter 29 – Hills overlooking the abandoned Union Camp at Lay’s Ferry, 11am May 17th 1864
The two men collapsed on the grassy bank overlooking the Oostanuala River. They had come a long way, hardly resting for the past six hours and only having been able to ride the last few miles. Before retrieving Quantrill’s horse, the trek had been made entirely on foot.
“You reckon that’s it, Tom?”
“I know it is William, they kept me chained up there like a hog before we moved out.”
“And what d’you think they’re doing with Catherine right now huh?” It was a strange question, but Shepherd took it in his stride.
“I don’t rightly know Will. They left her behind partly so she could continue to be attended to, but I guess also because she still had information, they wanted …”
Quantrill nodded sagely and paused, before saying, “So you reckon they could either be treating her or raping her Tom, is that what you think?”
The Guerrilla Leaders mood was making Shepherd nervous.
“Like I said Will, I don’t rightly know.” If they were about to come face to face with Catherine there was something that Shepherd needed to say, and it would have to be said now.
“Will …”
“Tom?”
“Listen Will, back at White Orchard, when they were whipping Miss McCown,” Quantrill turned and faced his companion.
“The man they appointed to beat her, well, see by the third round he had damaged his shoulder, and so …”
Shepherd paused, but this had to be said.
“… So knowing how I was the Overseer, they took a gun to my head and made me whip her the third time.”
There – it was said!
For a minute William Quantrill remained passively silent, adding to Shepherd’s inherent feeling of apprehension.
Then the Confederate Guerrilla nodded. “They made you do it Tom, those bastards.” He placed his hand on Shepherd’s arm in a consoling manner, and added, “At least they gave you chance to flog her a little less harshly than their own man would have, right Tom?”
Shepherd was taken aback by the direction of the conversation. He had laid into Catherine with even more vicious enthusiasm than the Union soldier had. Tearing at her breasts, thighs, stomach and cunt … and he had become erect doing so.
“That’s right Will, I went as easy on her as I could get away with. It’s just that when she sees me, Miss McCown might well not be pleasantly disposed to me, if you get my meaning?”
Quantrill nodded. “Think nothing more of it, Tom. Let’s get this done. I reckon about a dozen men in those two tents leaving the third empty. Odds not great huh my friend, but two of us armed, with surprise on our side, we can take ‘em. We get the ones on their own by stealth, throats slit, before we start shooting. That understood Tom?”
As they started down the hill, Shepherd nodded. He could see why men followed William Quantrill.
To Be Continued ...
“Get out,” his words were harsh and to the point. The trooper had unlocked her wrists from the cage bars, and now Catherine was expected to crawl out.
Easier said than done. Her tortured body had spent the night cramped in the small cage, mud drying on her feet, arms shackled to the bars without the support required for rest. She was utterly spent.
“No wait,” The Lieutenant paused his own instruction. “Connect the cleaning hose to the river supply private and bring it here. This bitch needs a wash!”
What? Catherine’s eyes widened, her sleep-fuelled state dissipating when she heard his words. She was filthy, yes, caked in mud, for sure … but to be hosed down in freezing cold water was an appalling thought!
Sampson took the hose pipe from the soldier and instructed him to turn the water on. Catherine’s eyes were wide, begging and pleading to be allowed to simply wash her body. But no … the flow came and he began spraying the freezing river water onto Catherine's naked skin.
“Nooooooo!” She screamed, but the manacles and shackles, combined with the cramped space that she was folded into, meant that there was no way for her to avoid this new torture.
The water pummelled her breasts, hardening her nipples, between her thighs, opening her soft folds …
“For the love of God Sir, pl … please STOP!” Catherine could barely get the words out as she beseeched the Lieutenant, who is turn did nothing but laugh maniacally and continue to pound her body.
The flow hit her face forcing Catherine to lift her head up and look directly at him, then suddenly he stopped. Catherine sat dripping wet, gasping for breath. She gazed forlornly at the monster who had just hosed her down, and saw the evil in his eyes, the smug look on his face. Catherine realised what a sight she must be right now, her wet hair plastered to her face, water dripping off every extremity, nose, chin, nipples and onto the floor.
As her gaze slowly rose to meet his, Catherine saw the look on his face and it sent tremors of fear through her spine.
“It is time for you to be my whore, Reb bitch!” The cage was unlocked. “Out!”
With a choked back gasp, still freezing from the very rude awakening, Catherine crawled out onto the open ground outside the few tents that remained, only for Sampson to grip her hair by the roots and pull her to her feet. She wanted to reach up and ease the source of her pain, but, with wrists and ankles still shackled, she could not. Instead she groaned out the hurt.
She clamped her tongue tip between her teeth to stop herself from flinching. He was going to rape her, and there was nothing that could be done by anyone to stop it from happening. With his warm touch at her neck he directed her into the nearest tent and toward a long wooden box.
“There are points on the floor that I could fasten you to, but I don’t expect to use them. Lie on your stomach, over the box. Put your hands on the ground, palms down, and wait. If you do move and I have to tie you down, I will double the pain …”
Pain?
Was he about to beat her again? Was that instead of the promised rape … or just to ‘warm her up’?
The rectangular box was just a few feet high and the timber cool on her belly when, upon his instruction, she crawled over and lay across it. The box was dark brown in colour, with splinters ripped from the edges. It was an empty Spencer Rifle Box, now being put to an unintended use by the Lieutenant.
Bootsteps slurped in the slick mud on the floor of the tent, as Sampson picked up a whippy length of bamboo. This time it was a piece of wicker cooking pot scaffold being put to good use as something else.
“Remember, cunt, no moving.”
Catherine closed her eyes and readied her body to deal with the expected impact.
“One.” The first strike landed across her lower thighs. She screeched at the sudden line of pain then swallowed to keep silent. He beat her naked, aching body to a count of fifteen, shouting the count out loud, walking the strikes up to her lower ass, and by the end she was shaking, her hands jammed into the floor, eyes screwed shut, legs and bottom freshly welted.
Chapter 29 – Hills overlooking the abandoned Union Camp at Lay’s Ferry, 11am May 17th 1864
The two men collapsed on the grassy bank overlooking the Oostanuala River. They had come a long way, hardly resting for the past six hours and only having been able to ride the last few miles. Before retrieving Quantrill’s horse, the trek had been made entirely on foot.
“You reckon that’s it, Tom?”
“I know it is William, they kept me chained up there like a hog before we moved out.”
“And what d’you think they’re doing with Catherine right now huh?” It was a strange question, but Shepherd took it in his stride.
“I don’t rightly know Will. They left her behind partly so she could continue to be attended to, but I guess also because she still had information, they wanted …”
Quantrill nodded sagely and paused, before saying, “So you reckon they could either be treating her or raping her Tom, is that what you think?”
The Guerrilla Leaders mood was making Shepherd nervous.
“Like I said Will, I don’t rightly know.” If they were about to come face to face with Catherine there was something that Shepherd needed to say, and it would have to be said now.
“Will …”
“Tom?”
“Listen Will, back at White Orchard, when they were whipping Miss McCown,” Quantrill turned and faced his companion.
“The man they appointed to beat her, well, see by the third round he had damaged his shoulder, and so …”
Shepherd paused, but this had to be said.
“… So knowing how I was the Overseer, they took a gun to my head and made me whip her the third time.”
There – it was said!
For a minute William Quantrill remained passively silent, adding to Shepherd’s inherent feeling of apprehension.
Then the Confederate Guerrilla nodded. “They made you do it Tom, those bastards.” He placed his hand on Shepherd’s arm in a consoling manner, and added, “At least they gave you chance to flog her a little less harshly than their own man would have, right Tom?”
Shepherd was taken aback by the direction of the conversation. He had laid into Catherine with even more vicious enthusiasm than the Union soldier had. Tearing at her breasts, thighs, stomach and cunt … and he had become erect doing so.
“That’s right Will, I went as easy on her as I could get away with. It’s just that when she sees me, Miss McCown might well not be pleasantly disposed to me, if you get my meaning?”
Quantrill nodded. “Think nothing more of it, Tom. Let’s get this done. I reckon about a dozen men in those two tents leaving the third empty. Odds not great huh my friend, but two of us armed, with surprise on our side, we can take ‘em. We get the ones on their own by stealth, throats slit, before we start shooting. That understood Tom?”
As they started down the hill, Shepherd nodded. He could see why men followed William Quantrill.
To Be Continued ...
Attachments
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
"What's the problem, Tom? They only outnumber us ten to one! With the element of surprise on our side, it will be a piece of cake to defeat them!"
Lookig for the final showdown!
And will Shepherd's lie remain credible, once confronted with Catherine?