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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
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Survivors
by Realoldbill (address withheld)
***
A Rebel mother and daughter are swept up in Sherman's
march to the sea. (M/Ff, ped, nc, rp, v, hist, preg)
***
The handsome young woman stood at the back bay of her
large home and watched the black children chasing down
the last of her chickens and geese. By sundown the hen
house would be empty she was sure and the quarters
might well be empty too. In twos and threes the slaves
had been leaving quietly all week, even the house
servants. Last evening, for the first time in her
life, she had prepared her own meal.
By dark, she guessed with a sigh, it would just be Amy
and herself and, of course, old Rufe who was crippled
by rheumatism and who had served three generations of
the Fisher family. Rufe, she noticed, still sat in his
usual place at the barn door where he sharpened tools
on a grindstone that was at least as old as he was. He
seemed to ignore the squawking tumult around him.
It was the Jubilee she had been told several times.
Massa Sherman was a'coming and all the slaves were
free. Ha-lay-lu-ya. She had watched them dance and
sing on the day Atlanta fell to the Northern hoard.
Now it was six weeks later, mid-November, and the
Yankees were surely coming. You could see trails of
smoke in the sky to mark their route. This might be
the day they arrived at Briarkeep. The woman shivered
at the thought but was sure she was prepared for the
worst. She had thought about it in her bed for many
nights.
Agnes Foster had buried most of the family silver,
carefully wrapped in dark velvet, behind her father-
in-law's headstone and had stored the good paintings
in the attic. The few gold coins she had left were
concealed in the root cellar and her horse pistol was
loaded. She took it down and checked the percussion
caps one more time. She fully intended, when the time
came, to shoot her lovely daughter in the head and
then to take her own life rather than let them fall
into the hands of the rapacious horde Lincoln had
loosed on the undefended South.
Despite many opportunities over the past several
years, Agnes had stayed true to her absent husband.
She had been tempted and she had been importuned, but
she had never betrayed her marriage vows. She was
proud of that. When she thought about Whitworth
burrowing between her legs, she shivered and held the
big pistol between her jutting breasts.
While she watched the happy slave children run off
with the last of her fowl, a small group of horsemen
wearing gray uniforms galloped into the side yard and
their officer dismounted. She hurried down to meet
him, full of delight. Perhaps the local regiment had
not deserted.
Raymond McPhilips, brevet lieutenant of the Georgia
militia, doffed his hat and smiled up at Agnes as she
came out on the verandah. He felt his cock quiver at
the sight of her. If there was a more beautiful woman
in the whole county it was her young daughter and the
pair of them were enough to make a brass cannon shake
with lust.
"Morning, Miz Foster," he said. "Fine day for
November."
"Such foolishness, Ray. What's the news? Are you going
to stop them?" She held her huge pistol at her side,
concealed in the folds of her wide skirt.
"Be like stopping the tide, Aggie. You better pack up
Amy and head for the hills. Don't you have some
kinfolk up near Athens?"
"No sir; we're not abandoning our home to those filthy
heathens." She raised the heavy gun so he could see
it. "Not while there's breath in my body."
He nodded and licked his lips, knowing his men were
watching and were admiring the full figured woman on
the porch, her skirt blowing around her long legs and
her bodice plastered to her ripe body by the wind.
"Looks like the slaves are gone."
"Yes, good riddance. We can make the next crop with
hired labor."
"Hope you're right," he said. "Just stopped to tell
you that Sherman's cavalry is only an hour or so away
and that the infantry will be here by sundown."
"And you aren't going to fight them?" she asked, her
anger evident, her tone sarcastic.
The young man smiled at her and pulled down his
coattail to cover his bulging groin. He could not
recall a time that he had not enjoyed an erection when
he was in the company of Agnes Fisher, whether her
damned-fool husband was around or not, or her fast-
ripening child for that matter. "What have you heard
from Whit?" he asked.
She shook her head. "At least Lee's army is putting up
a fight." In fact at that moment, her tall husband, a
colonel of his Georgia regiment, was cock deep in a
Richmond whore and doing his best to ignore the fact
that Grant's forces had nearly encircled the city or
that nearly half his men had already deserted. It was,
he thought, like plowing a canal, but he needed the
relief.
As Lt. McPhilips touched his hat and bowed, three
large black men watched from the concealment of the
woodlot. The oldest of the group, a muscular man
called Marcus, was armed with a hatchet, a very bloody
hatchet. They had just come from the overseer's shack
where all three of them had raped his octoroon woman
while they forced him to watch and then chopped the
overseer into many pieces while the woman watched and
screamed. His two, much-younger companions carried a
sickle and a short hoe, also blood stained. All three
of them had been used as breeding studs on the
plantation, but all three had enjoyed a woman of their
own choosing this morning.
"They's leaving," Marcus said, licking his wide lips.
"How 'bout Rufe?" asked Samuel, a lean young man of
eighteen with a prodigious penis and a wide chest.
Marcus was his father but neither of them knew that.
"Forget him, the old fart," said Pike, the youngest of
the trio at sixteen, but a young man who had been
impregnating immature slave women for two years. The
Fishers tended to breed their female slaves starting
at age twelve and in recent years had made more
selling off their slave stock than they had from the
tobacco crop.
"Now remember," Marcus said, fingering the edge of his
heavy-headed hatchet, "you two take the daughter, and
don't kill her; I want a piece of that young, white
meat. You can have the high and mighty mistress when
I'm through with her. She's gonna last a good while
'fore we kills her. We'll take that sassy girl wif
us."
The young men nodded and smiled at each other, both
feeling the stirrings in their groins, eager to have
their first white woman.
Up in her pink and cream bedroom, Amy Foster brushed
her lustrous hair. It had never been cut to the best
of her knowledge, only trimmed now and again to
produce feathery curls at her ears or stylish bangs on
her high forehead. It hung like a rich brown cascade
down to her waist when she raised her proud chin. Amy
was beautiful and she knew it. She had been told she
was beautiful since she could walk, and she knew what
she saw in her mirror and in the faces of both men and
women.
Everyone said she was the spit and image of her great
aunt Evangeline, known far and wide as the most lovely
woman in the state right up to the time of her death
at the age of seventy-two. Evangeline had worn out
three husbands and enjoyed innumerable lovers as the
long-time belle of the ball.
Amy had chosen a light wool dress with an embroidered
bodice for this cool day and it fitted as it should
since I had been tailored on her by the slave
temptress. Her corseted waist was tiny but her hips
were becoming more womanly every day. Today she had
tied on her own waist cincher for the first time since
her maid was nowhere to be found. That had made her
stamp her foot in anger which, of course, had bobbled
her jutting breasts.
She stood before her full-length mirror and studied
herself. Her bust concerned her because her breasts,
while beautifully round and firm, were larger than the
fashion dictated so she had to bind them down when she
dressed for a ball, horse racing day or any other
rout. Now she buttoned her tight bodice between her
high orbs and smoothed down her skirt, turning left
and right before her long glass, her ear bobs
glittering.
Amy, even though she was only thirteen, had a slew of
ardent admirers and had to be closely chaperoned at
every party and affair. She mother had found her
kissing one of her distant cousins at a family wedding
last year and had actually taken a willow cane to her
backside when they got home. Through her tears, Amy
reminded her mother that she had married at fifteen.
As for the war, she ignored it as much as possible;
although she found that she flirted more with the
young men in uniform at most gatherings and they
seemed extra attentive despite her youth. She was
corresponding with two boys up in Virginia, one
serving in Stuart's cavalry, and another in the CSA
Navy.
Amy was, of course, a virgin, but she was aware of
what her mother called "barnyard things," and knew how
babies were made and what a wife's duties were to her
husband. She did not like the idea very much,
especially after watching the stallion at his work in
covering the mares.
Now as Marcus and his two eager companions approached
her home, Amy hurried down the stairs and into the
library to finish her letter to her best beau, a young
man serving in the Georgia infantry of Army of
Northern Virginia. She was on the tenth page in her
overly large and unschooled scrawl. Amy thought she
was in love with him and dreamed of their future
together on his father's broad plantation near the
river. She was not aware that her beloved Tommy had
syphilis when he was torn to pieces by grape shot at
Petersburg and that what little remained of him was
now part of the muddy trenches.
Barefoot, Marcus was within ten feet of Agnes Fisher
before she became aware of his presence. She whirled
and tried to cock her pistol, but the man laughed,
tore it from her hand and stuffed it in the back of
his wide belt. He backhanded her and then showed her
the bloody blade of his hatchet as he grasped her arm,
twisted it up into the middle of her back and forced
her into her home. Into the dining room he marched the
woman, ignoring her pleas and screams for help.
Marcus set his hatchet on the gleaming mahogany and
held the struggling woman face down on the wide table,
his hard hand on her thin neck. He kicked her feet
apart, tossed her skirts up on her back, tore away her
underclothes, admired her round buttocks and freed his
aching member. It leapt up, ready for action, dripping
in excitement, both thick and hard.
"Don't, don't," the woman cried, feeling a very
unfamiliar fear. It had been more than a year and half
since she had lain with her dutiful husband. Now she
could smell the man about to take her against her
will; she could feel his hard maleness on her thigh.
Amy's scream from the library across the hall vibrated
through the room as Marcus stepped forward and pressed
the bulbous head of his wide shaft at the opening of
his mistress's puffy-lipped slit. The woman writhed
and kicked, and Marcus tightened his grip on her
throat and said, "Now Miz Fisher, you keep that up an'
I'm gonna hurt you."
He lifted her head a couple of inches and then smacked
her face down on the hardwood surface, breaking her
nose as he thrust forward and buried most of his
heavy-veined cock in the woman's bone-dry vagina. She
screamed even louder than her child had. Marcus,
smiling widely, began sawing, both hands on her wide
hips. Agnes cringed and gritted her teeth as she was
torn open and violated deeply.
In the library, Amy was clawing and fighting for her
life, kicking her feet wildly and scratching at her
attackers. Pike, whose cheek was bleeding, had both
her thin arms in his grip and Samuel had ripped open
the girl's dress when they heard her mother screech.
Samuel smacked the girl in the face splitting her lip,
and Pike pushed her down in front of the chair where
she had been sitting. Samuel grabbed a handful of her
rich hair and lifted her chin so that she had to face
his riled prick.
"Suck it, you little bitch," the grinning black man
demanded. "An' I don' wanna feel no teeth."
Amy shook her head from side to side, jaw clamped
closed, unable to take her eyes away from the
startlingly large weapon she saw jumping about right
before her, its ridged shaft looking as wide as her
wrist and its head as big as her fist. It reminded her
of the big horse and his immense member, as her mother
called it. She could not believe he intended to force
that thing into her. Amy had, a few times, put her
forefinger into herself in an exploratory manner and
knew her passage was quite small. This purple-headed
rod would never fit.
Samuel smacked her face with his cock as Pike knelt
behind the girl, held her wrists with one hand and
freed his eager ram from his rope-belted trousers. It
wasn't as big as Samuel's but it was iron-hard and
stood nearly upright, pointed at the plastered
ceiling. Pike ripped the girl's skirt from waist to
hem and then tore away her shift and lace trimmed
under-drawers. Her ass was pink and her tight-lipped
slit was pinker.
He spat in his hand and anointed his cock, moving
forward on his knees as he watched his friend force
the girl's mouth open with one hand and stuff in about
half of his huge ram with the other. Samuel closed his
eyes and gasped with pleasure as Amy's tongue rubbed
the underside of his prong. The girl made a choking
sound. He held her head down on his lap to make his
partner's job easier and pushed his huge horn into her
throat.
The three former slaves were much too busy to have
heard the arrival of Union cavalry scouts, four well
mounted men led by a young captain. They left one man
with the horses and surged into the house, hoping to
get to the silver before the scavengers arrived.
Captain Tom Miller stepped into the dining room, saw
immediately what was going on since a large black man
was standing behind a white woman and heaving his hips
to and fro, grunting as he smacked them together, the
woman's face down on the dining room table. Her eyes
widened when she saw him.
Captain Miller drew his standard-issue Colt revolver,
thumbed back the hammer and shot Marcus in the head
from five paces. The big black man twisted away from
the woman spread on the table, her buttocks bare, and
fell to the floor with a fountain of blood pouring
from his shattered skull, his large prick still hard.
Miller holstered his smoking weapon, helped the
sobbing woman to her feet, ignored her bleeding nose,
tossed her over his shoulder and headed for the stairs
not having had a female since he visited a foul
whorehouse in Tennessee. He was fiercely hard. Agnes
sobbed, almost unaware of what was happening as he
took the curving stairway two steps at a time.
Pike and Samuel heard the shot that killed Marcus, let
go of the sobbing Amy, tore open a window and escaped,
running for the woods while they held up their pants,
their cocks flopping. Amy, holding her torn dress
together stumbled out in the hall and called, "Mother,
Mother, are you all right?"
Two bluecoated men grabbed her and half carried her
into the parlor and tossed her onto the settee,
quickly roused by her beauty and nearly bare body. "Oh
God," Amy sobbed, looking from man to man, the image
of Samuel's huge cock still in her mind, his foul
taste still in her mouth.
"You kin have her first, Corp," said the heavily
bearded soldier standing back to admire their long-
legged captive, as pretty a young girl as he had ever
seen, her bared breasts jiggling about with their hard
pink tits. He kneaded his balls and watched his heavy
cock rise.
"Jist what I figured, Jimbo," the man said as he
dropped his britches down atop his boots and stroked
up his thick phallus. Amy held her arm across her eyes
and clamped her legs together. This, said her mind,
was not happening.
Up in the bright front bedroom, Captain Miller had
ordered Agnes Fisher to strip herself naked, and he
was in the process of taking off his clothes when
there were two carbine shots from out back. Miller,
wearing just his long underwear, ran to the window and
saw that a small troop of Rebel cavalry was milling
about in the yard and that the man he had left with
the horses was down.
He fumbled his pistol out of his tangled clothes,
raised the sash and took aim just as Mrs. Fisher ran
into him from the back, her arms extended. The
captain's cry was brief as he tumbled to the earth
twenty feet below and broke his neck. Lt. McPhilips
quickly ordered his soldiers into the house, leaving
two men with the horses. He was not sure whether or
not the dead man was an enemy but he was sure he was
up to no good since he wore just his soiled
undergarment and his penis was fully exposed.
Two Confederate horsemen quickly entered Mrs. Fisher's
bedroom and saw her at the sun-filled window, her lush
body fully revealed beneath her thin shift and tiny
corset. They looked at each other, set their weapons
aside, locked the door and began undressing. Agnes put
her hand to her mouth in horror. Where is my pistol,
asked her mind.
In the parlor, Lt. McPhilips stepped over a blue-
coated body and found young Amy in a swoon, her
breathing shallow as she lay on the brocaded settee
with her ripped skirt up above her knees and the front
of her dark dress torn asunder. The young officer, who
had lusted after the lovely girl for more than a year,
unbuckled his sword belt and set aside his pistol and
ammunition. He sat beside the trembling girl, caressed
her cheek and her soft buttocks, pulled off his boots,
got out of his coat and tight-fitting britches and
then bent to kiss the girl and palm her ripe breast,
squeezing up her nipple in his fingers. He had never
felt his cock so hard and hot.
Amy's eyes fluttered open and she saw a man she knew,
a man she had danced with. "Oh Raymond, Raymond," she
sobbed, putting her arms about his neck. "You saved
me."
The randy lieutenant captured the girl's soft pink
lips with his mouth and kissed her savagely, pressing
his tongue into her mouth. He ripped away what was
left of her skirt and got between her coltish legs,
lifting one high on the back of the carved sofa and
the other up on his thigh. He stroked up and down her
tight-lipped slit with the head of his rigid prong,
noting that she was nearly hairless and that her slit
was very tight and narrow-lipped. He pried her open
with his thumbs and smiled. She was his; he would be
the first.
"Please," Amy sobbed when she realized what he was
doing. She put both hands on his chest and pushed as
he thrust forward, backed off and rammed again,
sundering her hymen, ripping her maidenhead to bloody
shreds. Amy sobbed and shuddered, closing her eyes.
Halfway to his goal, McPhilips grasped the girl's soft
breasts with both hands and squeezed her small pink
nipples out between his fingers as he backed off a bit
the pushed still harder, his prick bathed in her
blood. His cock bent before he felt something within
her give way. Amy squealed out like a trapped
squirrel, feeling her vagina filled. The lieutenant
rammed his hardest, digging in his toes, hammering at
her. The girl shuddered under him, violated and
afraid.
"Don't, oh don't, it hurts," Amy cried, kicking her
feet and beating on the man with her small fists. She
could feel his coarse hair on her tender parts,
irritating and stimulating. She felt as if she were
being tore apart.
The rebel cavalry officer laughed as his moved his
rigid ram in and out of her confined passage, now
becoming a good bit slicker. "By damn, you're tight,"
he said through gritted teeth as he backed off again
and then pushed deeper into the girl's virgin body.
Amy arched and he went still deeper with a cry of joy,
plunging in to his rock hard balls. She began to lose
consciousness and the room seemed to spin about her
head.
Up in the front bedroom, one of the soldiers had
cornered Mrs. Fisher and rammed his cock into her from
the back, forcing her to bend at the side of her high
bed, one big hand in the small of her back and the
other gripping her haunch. His companion crawled
across the hair mattress on his knees and got his
aching manhood into the woman's mouth and then the two
of them set up a good rhythm like pair of woodsmen
with a crosscut saw. They took turns mauling the
woman's full breasts while they enjoyed her, pulling
on her nipples. Agnes's mind refused to believe what
was happening as her body was jerked back and forth.
In the parlor Lt. McPhilips became aware that he had
spectators at his lustful sport with young Amy who
seemed to have gone limp and stopped complaining. Two
of his men were now lounging on the furniture, passing
a bottle of whisky back and forth and puffing on dark
but stale cigars. "Won't be long, boys," he said with
a smile as his rate of thrusting into the gasping girl
reached one a second. His grunts matched Amy gasping
exhales that came with each deep impaling, battering
at her immature womb.
Upstairs the man who had been using Agnes's mouth had
pulled her up on the bed after his companion spewed
his load of jism into her. He laid her on her back,
spread her legs and pushed her knees back toward her
ears as he rammed his rigid prick into her bubbling
slit. She screamed again as he tore her open with his
wide phallus. She recalled the pain of childbirth and
sobbed as he entered her again and again, drooling on
her face, his breath foul.
In the parlor Lt. McPhilips, well satisfied, wiped his
bloody cock on Amy's torn dress and watched as one of
his men mounted the limp girl and then rolled her over
atop him so his companion could take her in the anus.
Amy's scream was truly a shriek of pain and horror as
she was sodomized for the first time. Then she passed
out.
McPhilips went out in the back and relieved the two
men he had left on guard duty so they could enjoy
themselves. He suggested they try the front bedroom,
hoping he would be able to take another turn on the
girl he had deflowered who was now sandwiched between
two of his young riders. Best day of my life, thought
he, yes sir. He sucked on his stolen cigar.
A few minutes later the jangle of bit chains warned
him of approaching cavalry, and he ran toward the
house, drawing his sword as the first bluecoated
horsemen galloped into the yard. The man unlimbered
his Sharps and put a heavy slug into McPhilips' back
as he reached the stoop. The man was dead before his
face smashed into the back steps and his sword
clattered across the boards.
The fight at Briarkeep was short and bloody and when
it was done, the two women found they now had a dozen
eager Illinois horse soldiers to satisfy. It was
almost sundown when they finally rode off, and Agnes
was able to comfort her battered child. Two of the
last men to use the girl had pissed on her before they
left, dissatisfied with her limp behavior.
The girl's mother got a fire started and held her
ravaged child as she had when she was a baby, cooing
and petting her, raking back her tangled hair. The
house and the pantry had been stripped bare. The girl
was still oozing thick fluids from her torn vagina.
"Ain' that pretty," said a guttural voice.
Agnes looked up and saw old Rufus at the door to the
summer kitchen. "Are you all right?" she asked him as
Amy clung to her, sniffing back her tears, her bruised
groin a mass of pain.
"Oh yes," he said, "I'se all right, yes indeed." He
shuffled forward, his body bent in an oddly crooked
manner.
"They took all our food," Mrs. Fisher said. She was
confused for Rufus, not being a house slave, had never
been in her home before. He knew his place and kept to
it.
"Didn' come for no food," the gray-haired man said.
"Come for cunny." Behind him appeared the two young
black men who had been with Marcus that morning. They
were smiling. "Now we gonna have our turn."
Agnes Fisher shook her head and remembered she had
left her pistol in the library as Rufus crossed the
room, a long knife in his right hand, its blade
gleaning in the firelight. She knew she could not get
there, even if she left her poor girl behind. She was
trapped, they both were.
"You boys kin start wif the young one," Rufus said,
flicking back Amy's long hair with his weapon. "I'm
gonna have me the mistress. Take this gal to another
room." He pointed with his blade and then grabbed the
startled older woman by the hair and pulled her to her
feet as the sobbing girl, her thighs stained with the
spew of more than a dozen men, was dragged across the
hall, all the fight gone out of her.
"Les' go find us a bed, missus, so's I kin take my
ease," Rufus said as he pushed Mrs. Fisher through the
dining room and toward the stairs. Agnes quickly saw
the hatchet where Marcus had left it that morning. She
grabbed it up with both hands, spun and swung down at
Rufus who turned his back toward her so that she
buried the heavy weapon right between his shoulder
blades. She left him there, clawing at the floor
covering and ran to the library where Amy was
screaming.
The pistol was on the shelf where she had placed it.
Agnes scooped it up and cocked the heavy weapon. Then
she looked up and saw Samuel trying to get an
impossibly big phallus into her battered daughter, a
cudgel as big as a fence post. She held the old-
pattern gun with both hands and fired, cocked the
thing and stepped through the powder smoke and shot
the man holding Amy's arms right in the face. She
pulled back the hammer and fired a .44 caliber slug
into the man writhing on the floor. She was cocking
the pistol again when her girl grabbed her and said,
"Enough, enough."
Thirty minutes later the woman had changed their
clothes, put on their boots, folded their best jewelry
into handkerchiefs and were walking the road toward
Macon. Suddenly the upper limbs of the trees before
them glowed red and they turned to see their house
aflame. Amy hugged her mother and they trudged onward,
hoping to find shelter in an uncle's home.
When they reached the main road they blundered into
the rear guard of one of Sherman's streams of men
headed for Savannah, many of them already burdened
with loot. They were in the process of cutting a path
some sixty miles wide through Georgia, destroying
almost everything in their path. The two women
straggled back, completely ignored, until they were
among the camp followers, hoping to blend in with the
wagons, prostitutes and washerwomen.
That night, Agnes Fisher shared the blanket of a red-
bearded sergeant from Wisconsin. He was a thoughtful
and considerate lover after she told him she had been
raped several times that day. He let her mount him,
held her buttocks and satisfied himself twice before
they slept with his limp cock in her small hand. Agnes
lay in the dark and tried to picture her husband's
face. All she could see was Rufus as came toward her.
Amy, meanwhile, was under canvas with a handsome young
adjutant who had spied her as he rode through the
motley crowd following the army. She shared the tent
of two young lieutenants and a captain with luxuriant
beard, sleeping beside the man who had found her and
who enjoyed her three times by the time the bugle
sounded the next morning. Amy hated to admit it, but
she liked what he was doing to her that morning.
By the time the army reached Savannah, some 250 miles
and more than a month down the road, Agnes was getting
a hundred dollars in script or greenbacks for her
sexual services and the sergeant was letting her keep
half, and Amy had become the favorite of a regimental
staff by whom she was laid, on average, six times a
day and for her efforts was well fed.
Once in Savannah, the two women found their way to the
tall home of a distant cousin where they bore their
children and stayed until the war ended the next
spring.
END
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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not depicting anything in
real life. Anyone acting out such scenarios in "real
life" can look forward to many unproductive years
getting it up the butt by a fellow convict in their
local prison system.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 73