Circumstance Unrelated. PART XIII – Drinking with Horses

Amidst the backdrop of Napoleonic War raging across Europe, soldiers seek distraction from the horrors of the battle field. Major Grant is an officer of the British Army serving under Wellington in France. An officer, a gentleman and a connoisseur of female bottoms, Major Grant finds himself unusually captivated by a mysterious woman…..

By evening I had continued to walk and found not a soul or dwelling where food could be sought. I was now desperate with thirst and knew I must find assistance in the next village.  The residents of Toulon were conspicuous by their absence; it was a tidy place and appeared even more so without people.  A horse was drinking from a central water stand so I decided to join him. I quenched my thirst and patted the elderly nag on the neck.

  The cocking of a musket close by told me that I would unwise to move.  “Bonjour” I said.  There was no reply. I slowly craned my neck to face the direction of the sound only to find my cheek depressed by the end of a barrel.  “You either have a very poor grasp of the French language or that sword you carry was found on the field of battle, Said a man.  “And what business does an Englishman have so far from home?” I replied.  The musket lowered and the stranger walked around to face me keeping a good swords length between us.  He looked at me and smiled. “Are you hungry?” he asked. I nodded.  He turned and walked off in to the darkness, I quickly followed keeping a distance.  

We arrived at a house with a blacksmiths attached to one side and walked not through the front door but around the rear.  To one side of a field sat a group of men around a low fire, their baggage was housed under a large half tent where a man stood carving meat. I assumed this to be once a horse.  I entered the firelight and the men stood hands on pistol.  My musket carrying friend whom I had followed gestured for me to sit without consulting the others. I moved to my allotted place and waited for the others to sit.  One by one they all resumed their places and returned to their conversation. They were a mixed band, one or two were Prussian, and other Dutch and the remainder English.  My host pressed a large piece of meat in to my hand and said, “Eat, then we can talk.”  


Posted in Napoleonic BDSM (Published weekly until January 1st 2017).


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