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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