To port!

I trailed the Brownists as they quickly made there way to temporary lodgings along the Old Rhine. My two victims joined by a bevy of literally puritanical types, the kind who the laid-back Leidenaars snickered about behind their backs. I paid it no heed. I loved a challenge.

I groped my Desire, and pulled her in close. Ravaging her once wouldn't be enough, even though she still recoiled from my touch. Her brothers side-eyed me, in my light brown Dutch clothing and uncouth demeanor, but their father quietly explained the situation, and they caused no further trouble as I fondled the former maiden.

I had no wares, no affairs to be settled. I lived off the land and, more importantly, the generosity of others. I had an ulterior motive, as I am wont to do. This Brownist pilgrimage would take me to a new land, an unspoiled beauty full of savage women I could manhandle. Perhaps one of their reputed witch doctors could cure me of my affliction. Lord knows the entirety of Christendom didn't have the remedy.

An old, gaunt man approached me, his beard scragglier than mine. "Who might you be, good sir?"

"John," I answered the Puritan, whispering nothings into the ear of my frightened minx.

"Well, Goodman John, I am the leader of this expedition, and there is no room on the canal boat for another passenger."

"I need to fuck this girl's cunny, so kick off one of the old folks. Maybe Grandma over there. William."

The man leered at me. He was William Brewster, former university professor and wanted man. He was hiding from the Crown for some seditious material he had printed. I cared bollocks about that. I recalled his face from years back, when I first arrived in Leiden, and fucked my way through the White Nun Convent on the grounds of Leiden University. He knew, more than anyone else, what I was capable of.

"My wife stays, Goodman John. Stay clear of her."

"I don't want fuck that old bag. Not when I got these fine lasses. And their asses." I started singing a bawdy song about Lasses' Asses, and encouraged the children to take part, as the night carried on.

I awoke in the morning, in a cot, as a woman of perhaps 40 was riding my cock. She was fully dressed save her dress, ridden up to expose her intimates that she had impaled with mine. There was none left in the room.

"What in heaven's twat?!" I said, pushing the housewife aside. "Father William asked me to lay with you, and keep you company as the congregation departed." Fuck.

I plucked up my britches and rustled toward the door. Sure enough, the canal boat journeyed in the distance, picking up speed as it went along the Old Rhine. "Fucking blackshirts..."

I rushed along the river, pushing away early morning fishermen, boaters and merchants preparing their wares. They all knew me and paid no heed to my insanity or shirtless appearance.

The Pilgrims had hurried their pace, some looking back in despair as I gained the trailing boat. I had just fucked, and was in top form. My general limp, incurred at age 19 when I was away from a woman for fifteen hours, had briefly vanished, and I almost felt like I could fly, as I jumped off the edge of the pier into an unwilling boat. Brewster wasn't here, but wherever he was, he wasn't impressed.

I was though. The fall into the boat knocked the wind out of me, and I could barely breathe for a moment. I was **** to assist in sailing Canal Boat Number Five next to Canal Boat Number Four, where we exchanged some of the men with some of the ladies, providing mixed passage and pleasures for the seven hour trip to sea. The Speedwell we would board, and then to mother England, and then on to the New World, for some of the Red Man's wares.

Onboard Canal Boat Number Five, inbetween strokes, I was given the opportunity of viewing an attractive sister-sister pairing. Patience and Virtue they were named, and they delighted the crew, revealing their long blonde hair.

A sailors' tune was sung as they danced with each other, removing article by article of clothing. Some fell in my lap, some overboard. All eyes were on me as they seductively revealed their intimate parts to the warm Dutch air.

Patience crawled on all fours, looking up at me as she reached inside my britches and fished out my cock. She was not Desire, clearly knowing what to expect and what to do.

Virtue kept dancing to the song, inserting her own finger within the locks of hair covering her inner self, to the delight of a crew who may have not seen such flagrancy. At least, not from someone so "pure of heart". These Brownist vixens were not as innocent as Desire. I wanted to test this theory on Patience as she patiently rubbed my cock, but could not help myself.

Her strokes matched my strokes, giving incentive to keep this craft moving. If I had the will, this craft would be at the shore within the hour, and halfway to the colony by next week. But instead, I was so impressed, that I just came on her face.

Their jobs done, the sisters re-robed, as the crowd grumbled at their entertainment going away.

"Where'd you learn to dance like that, young miss?" I asked, as Patience looked frantically for her head scarf.

"You're not the only one who's been to the taverns," winked Virtue, as she sat in the lap of one of the hired Dutch sailors. She teased him as she teased all of us, on our journey to Rotterdam and our ticket out of the Old World.