The story of "The Three Musketeers", long-accepted as the classic adventure tale, is as well-known today as when it was first published approximately one hundred years ago. This reputation achieved in spite of the limitations imposed on the book by the puritanical mores of the day. Powerful censors substituted uncovered for naked, extremity for leg, charms for breasts, strawberries for nipples, thing for penis, stones for balls, place for cunt, occupy for fuck-thus depriving the writers of the times of any freedom of realistic expression.
But suppose such limitations had been lifted? Suppose episodes, adventures, descriptions, dialogue, and vocabulary (especially where sexual in nature) were no longer blue-pencilled by a severe censorship. There can be no doubt that if this were the case, masterpieces such as "The Three Musketeers" would be even more realistic and more graphic.
The adaptation of "The Three Musketeers" by John Farrel has achieved this goal. The story, though still occurring in its original setting in time and place, has been expanded and liberated and now includes a story-line, details, and wording that would have been deleted by prudish censors.
The immaturity of the youth, D'Artagnan, is shown not only in his relationship with Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, but also in his initial encounters with women. By the end of the story, he is as capable in the bedroom as he is as a soldier. And the "One For All, All For One" comaraderie of the three musketeers is carried out not only on the battlefield but also between the sheets.
The result? A "Three Musketeers" which is modern in concept and form, but which still retains the ingredients that made it a classic....
CHAPTER ONE
"Monsieur, must you leave so early? It is not yet dawn and hours of love still linger heavy on my bosom," the raven haired beauty whispered, pulling the coarse coverlet about her neck to warm the chilled nakedness of her over heated body.
The young Gascon sat poised at the side of the bed. Turning his handsomely chiseled profile, he glanced down at the voluptuous figure which had born his weight so well. The delicate whiteness of her cheeks were flushed scarlet and the full ripeness of her lips ruby from passionate kissing. "I must not delay any longer," he announced in a faltering voice. "The Captain of the Musketeers is awaiting my arrival."
"But would not Monsieur Captain be more receptive to a call after the crowing of the cock?" the young woman hastily suggested.
D'Artagnan fingered the wide band of blue that sashed the top of his boot and searched fu-gaciously about the sparsely furnished room. His well developed muscles tensed as he felt the tickling of delicate finger tips upon his lower spine.
"Pray, sir, lie with me for just a little longer and I promise you shall take upon your journey memories sweet with reflection."
The inexperienced youth gave way to the sensations that crowded his loins and returned to the succulent curves of moments ago. Like a posh velvet frock his body settled over the satin smooth fineness. Although new in the sport of love, his touch was bold and adventurous for he was a dashing and firery young man burning with a reckless and arrogant vitality for living.
His eager lips traversed the sweeping lines of her breasts as his tongue lashed and savored the rosy pinkness of her nipples. He chewed and sucked the haloed tips to pointed sharpness while his hands busily molded the plyable slopes of her arse. The woman's body churned and pulsed, responding to each assault upon her flesh. The young steed cupped her bottom and raised her fuzzy patch then guided the thick knob of his cock between her moist folds of skin until it butted the entrance. The woman's thighs shook with joy as she opened wider and felt the spongy nut peek inside. In euphoric splendor the heated youth inched onward, feeling the spray of sparks ignite his groin as the fat ridges of his cock grazed the slippery lining. The woman's hands groped feverishly at his rock hard bottom, attempting to push the throbbing foil to the neck of her womb.
A deep and long sigh escaped the youth's throat as he felt the sensitive tip snuggle beneath her cervix and come to a halt.
With practiced skill she began rippling the velvet walls, sending waves of prickling heat up and down the lodged member. D'Artagnan flexed his arse and caused his cock to jerk and jab the sensitive corner. His body was ringing with excitement and he dug his fingers into her convulsing bottom and drove his tongue in and out of her mouth. He could feel the pounding in his pouch become more intense and the welling of his cock grow larger with each throbbing beat. She began rotating her hips as he started to pump slowly in and out of the expanding cavern. Suddenly the back of her cave swelled to a giant yawn and convulsed in a series of biting spasms that shook his body and caused the gathering sperm to duster and erupt from his spout like a volcanic explosion.
Once the young man had regained his strength he quickly disengaged himself and sprang from the bed to search his clothes.
"Will you ever pass by these parts again?" the young woman asked, feasting upon the naked youth's solidly constructed frame as he stooped to slip into his trousers.
"Perhaps...." the youth muttered, preoccupied with thoughts of encountering Monsieur de Treville, Captain of the Musketeers, that very afternoon.
"Are you to become a Musketeer?" the woman quizzed, tracing with her eyes the slightly haired chest that expanded broadly while the young man slipped into his doublet that was heavily padded and embroidered in blue velvet piping.
"Most assuredly," D'Artagnan stated, flopping his large plumed cap to the side of his head.
The woman sighed deeply, over-joyed by the sight of the dashing cavalier standing before her. His large, deep set black eyes sparkled with lusterous determination and his mouth turned up in a half grin of cocky arrogance. Strapping his leather baldric about his shoulder, he tapped the curved head of his long sword for good luck and tipped his hat in a casual salute toward the bed.
"God be with you," the woman cried as he strode out the door.
D'Artgnan estimated the end of his journey approximately two hours from whence he and his horse stood. Slapping the pale yellow rump of his steed, he cantered toward the city. He calculated he would find suitable lodgings with the fifteen crowns his father had given him at the outset of his journey and proposed to freshen himself before his audience with M. de Treville.
As he briskly rode the dusty clay path he recalled with pride his father's recollections of boyhood and days spent in the company of M. de Treville, growing up in Gascony together. One had remained in the village, the other enlisted in the service of his Majesty's Musketeers and had so honored himself and made his presence so indespensible as to have been appointed Head of all the King's Musketeers in a matter of ten years time. It was a well known fact that above all others the King trusted the council of M. de Treville for he was possessed with a blind loyalty to the crown. The Captain of the Musketeers was therefore admired, feared and loved; and this constituted the zenith of human fortune. Armed with this knowledge and the note his father had written by way of introducing his son to M. de Treville, the youth reached the gates of Paris in high spirits of anticipated welcome.
Settling himself in lodging near the hotel of M. de Treville's, D'Artagnan at once retired to his room to compose himself. A soft knocking on the door brought the youth about and he quickly opened it to allow a magnificiently bodied servant girl to enter with a basin of water.
The young girl, barely a woman but curved handsomely to support the straps of many a boot, placed the pale blue basin upon the table and turned to ask if the tenant might desire anything else.
The youth's eyes had settled upon the girl's breasts that were pendulous and thickly haloed about the nipples. The sheerness of her blouse made their opulence visible and the young man swallowed hard, attempting to fight off his desire to grab and squeeze them.
"Will that be all, sir?" the girl tested, inching closer and seductively rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, causing her great breasts to bob and heave with each gentle swing.
Coughing huskily, D'Artagnan readied to speak but clearly the words stuck within his throat and only the rumble of stirring which pounded his satchel grazed his ears. With sudden and accurate agility the youth's hand shot out and he ripped open the front of her blouse, exposing her wondrous breasts. They hung like two heavily juiced cantelope, ripe for picking.
At once the youth was all over them, nibbling and sucking at the sweet tasting fruit.
The girl wiggled and squirmed, grinding her pelvis hard against the youth's bulging member that strained and poked the thin cloth of his trousers. Pulling him toward the bed she toppled him down and fell over him. Her fingers busily struggled to untie the knot that secured his pants. In frustrated fury she finally loosened the string and at last freed his hardening tool. She gasped, seeing the largeness of his cock spring free and leap into the air. D'Artagnan slipped his hands beneath her skirt and began playing with the short hairs of her pussy. He slipped his fingers up and down the sparsely mossed ridge and dipped into the trickling opening that oozed like juice from a baking pie.
"Oh, sir...." she exclaimed, caressing the throbbing shaft and gingerly fingering the tip. "It's so magnificent," she purred, running her tongue about the glistening knob and into the slitted eye that seeped out moisture.
The swarthy youth stretched back to his full size and folded his arms beneath his head. A broad smile curled his lips as he raised his hips to slide the standing pogo into the open mouth. A steady stream of heat charged his pole as the girl coiled her tongue about the ridges and worked her way to the base. Her uptilted nose crushed the bristly pubic hair and her throat expanded as she eagerly accepted the fat head past her larynx.
The youth groaned joyously, delighting in the wonderful excitement that pounded his groin. He reached for the maiden's head and buried his fingers into the plush silkiness of her hair. The girl gurgled in a lewd and sensual way as she repeatedly ran the edge of her teeth up and down the growing stick. Her fingers tripped to beneath his pouch and cupped their pink softness. Then in a gently pulsing manner she squeezed lightly, intensifying the already swirling sensations that were running the bloodstream like rivers to the sea.
The young man began to gasp and buck. "I'm dying, dear girl," he called out. "I can't bear it any longer."
The girl ignored his outburst and in a blind driving lust pulled and sucked his knob, setting off a copious flow of scalding seman. Holding his gloriously throbbing prick within her lips she swallowed and squeezed, taking as much of the salty fluid she could draw from his pouch. Then sensing it was time to stop, for she did not want to leave him flacid, she pulled off and scrambled to straddle his hips. In a quick and educated gesture she lifted her skirt and sank down onto his still jerking tool. The young man, excited by her bold gesture sat up and began sucking her nipples. The girl's bottom wiggled and ground, sending the hardening pole clear to her womb.
The Gascon, gluttenous with passion, began lifting and lowering the girl up and down his pole. She was discharging copiously and the flood of secretion splattered his balls as she bucked and pressed, squeezing his staff to rock hard stiffness.
"You hungry little bitch," he laughed, pinching her marble hard nipples and making her wince with pleasure. "I've never seen a wench like you before," he exclaimed, leaving the work to the girl's well developed thighs.
Pulling back to his elbows he delighted in the lustful suction her cunt was exhibiting upon his tool and in a glazed halo of vision watched her gloriously enormous breasts jump up and down.
Quite suddenly the girl's body started to quake and her face contorted into a mask of painfull splendor.
"Dear sir ... dear sir...." she shrieked, jumping violently up and down his pole. "I'm there, sir ... there...." she called, falling over the stretched out figure and smashing her panting bosom hard into his chest.
D'Artagnan thrust his tongue into her mouth and clutched her naked arse. He started to shake, feeling the exquisite pressure her throbbing cunt walls were delivering to his cock. Then in a low and muffled burst of rapture the young man's prick exploded and discharged an abundant flow of lather to her womb.
"Kind sir...." the young girl whispered when once her breathing had returned to normal. "You are so good to me."
"Off with you," the youth hastily commanded, throwing the girl from him and on to the floor. "You have delayed me enough," he scolded, quickly walking to the basin and dipping his limp and swollen cock into the luke warm water.
"Surely I have not offended you," the girl asked, raising to her feet and handing the youth a fluffed towel.
"Only the hour offends me," he snapped, hastily preparing himself for his meeting. "Here," he added, throwing a coin to the girl. "See that I have warm water for this evening."
The girl's face broke into a smile of understanding. "When shall I expect you, sir?"
"When you see me," the haughty cavalier announced, tapping the top of his cap with his gloved hand and walking briskly from the room.
The court of M. De Treville's hotel resembled a camp from six in the morning to eight at night. From sixty to seventy Musketeers paraded constantly, armed to the teeth, ready for anything.
Today the assemblage was particularly imposing, particularly imposing upon D'Artagnan for his most noble dream was to become one of these illustrious men.
When he had once passed the massive door covered with long square headed nails, he fell into the midst of a troup of swordsmen who crossed one another and called out, playing tricks, one with the other. In order to pass amidst this turbulent array it was necessary to be an officer, a great noble or a beautiful woman.
It was then, into the midst of this disorder that D'Artagnan advanced with a beating heart, holding his long rapier to his leg and keeping one hand on the edge of his cap, with a half-smile of embarrassed politeness upon his lips. When he had passed one group he began to breath more freely; but he could not help observing that they all had turned around to look at him. And for the first time in his life he felt insecure.
Arriving at the staircase it was still worse. Four Musketeers held the bottom step and amused themselves with fencing while ten others waited their turn upon the landing.
One of the men was stationed upon the step and with naked sword in hand prevented the three from ascending. At first glance the youth thought the foils to be buttoned but upon the drawing of blood realized his error. When at last the three adversaries had been wounded and the fourth had been declared the victor the steps were cleared and dualing turned to conversation, which at times astonished the young man.
By mid-way to the landing the youth's ears were scarlet with ringing. No longer fighting, the men amused themselves with stories about women. The most amorous and detailed accounts of their gallant feats were laid open and even the names connected with their liaisons boldly announced, some belonging to the most respected of households.
If the youth's sexual horizon had been broadened and somewhat shocked, his respect for the Cardinal was scandalized in the ante chamber. There, to his great astonishment, D'Artagnan heard the policy, which made all Europe tremble, criticized aloud and openly. The men boisterously denounced the Cardinal and cracked jokes about his bandy legs and crooked back. Some sang songs about his mistress while others formed parties and made plans to annoy the guards of the Cardinal.
The youth remained mute for he was ignorant of the feud that existed between M. de Treville's musketeers and the Cardinal's men and considered their cries an outrage; he had been taught to respect both King and Cardinal with equal reverence.
His state of disbelief was interrupted by a servant who asked what he wished. He stated his desire to see the Captain and gave his name and credentials. He was instructed to wait and given a promise that his message would be, in good time, transmitted to Monsieur Captain.
D'Artagnan, a little recovered from his first encounter, leaned against the landing and studied with more leisure the men about him.
In the center of the most animated group stood a Musketeer of great height and arrogant demeanor, dressed in so flamboyant a garb as to attract attention. He did not wear the uniform cloak but a brilliant blue doublet and over this a magnificent chest baldric, worked in gold which shone like water rippling in the sun. A long cloak of crimson velvet fell in graceful folds from his shoulders, disclosing the splendid sunburst from which was suspended a gigantic rapier.
This imposing Musketeer had just come off guard, complained of having a cold and coughed from time to time to prove it. It was for this reason that he explained to the others, speaking in a lofty air and twisting his mustache, that he had put on his embroidered gold front.
"What would you have?" the Musketeer said, "The fashion is coming in. It's foolish I admit to spend such a huge amount for mere ornamentation but one must somehow show their inheritance."
"Ah, Porthos!" cried one of his companions. "Don't try to make us believe you bought that splendid front with family wealth. It was given to you by that veiled lady I met you with the other day."
"No, upon my honor and by faith of a gentleman, I bought it with the contents of my own purse," he answered.
"Yes, about in the same manner," said another Musketeer, "that I bought this new purse with what my mistress put into the old one."
"It is true," Porthos demanded, staying his ground.
"You devilish rogue, notorious for your bedroom flights and sexual gymnastics, wish us to believe you did not sell a piece of your cock for what glows on your chest? Poof, Porthos, we are men of the world, not easily given to swallowing the timid bird's peep."
"Is it not true, Aramis?" Porthos said, turning to his close friend and Musketeer.
This other fellow formed a perfect contrast to his companion. He was a stout man of twenty two or three, with an open and easy going countenance. His eyes were gentle set and black and his cheeks rosy and fuzzed like an autumn peach. His delicate mustache marked a perfectly straight line upon his upper lip and he pinched the tips of his ears from time to time to preserve their delicate pink transparency. Habitually he spoke little and slowly bowed frequently, laughed without noise but showed his teeth broadly which, like the rest of him, appeared as if great care had been taken to keep them spotless. He answered the appeal of his friend in the affirmative.
This casual nod seemed to dispel all doubts and the conversation changed.
"Did you not hear that the Cardinal set a spy on Monsieur Chalais and damned near had the man's throat cut?" another Musketeer announced.
"Can that be true?" Porthos exclaimed indignantly.
"Why, Porthos, you knew it yesterday. I told you about it myself. Let us say no more about it," Aramis said.
"If I were the kin to Chalais, the spy should spend several uncomfortable minutes with me," Porthos boastfully announced.
"You might pass several uncomfortable hours with the Duke," Aramis snickered lightly.
"You are quite a wit," Porthos angrily exclaimed, irritated by his friend's shadowed remark concerning his swordsmanship. "You have missed your vocation; what a delicious Abbe you would have made," he sarcastically snipped.
"It's only a matter of time. I shall someday be one. You know damned well, Porthos, that I continue my study of theology for this very reason," Aramis seriously replied.
"What are you waiting for?" Another Musketeer asked.
"For the Queen to give the throne an heir," Porthos smiled.
"I have heard the Duke of Buckingham is here from England," Aramis remarked with a significant smile lending an air of scandal to his comment.
"Your wit is leading you beyond bounds. If Monsieur de Treville heard you scandalize the throne you would repent with your life," Porthos angrily threatened.
"Are you going to give me a lesson, Porthos?" Aramis cried, casually touching the curved handle of his rapier.
"Do not test our contract. You know what exists between you, Athos and me. Our swords shall never cross. You claim to be a man of virtue, then exercise it. Talk of the Cardinal or the King but the Queen is sacred and if anyone speaks of her let it be respectful."
"Porthos, you are as vain as Narcissus. I hate moralizing, except when it is done by Athos. As for you, your golden front belies your noble mouth. I may become an Abbe but meanwhile I am a Musketeer and I will say what I damned well please.
"Aramis!"
"Porthos!"
"Monsieur de Treville awaits Monsieur D'Artagnan," a voice cried out, throwing the door of the cabinet open.
At this announcement everyone became silent. The youth crossed part of the length of the antechamber and entered the apartment of the Musketeers, congratulating himself on having so narrowly missed the end of this strange quarrel.
CHAPTER TWO
M. de Treville was in a rather ill-humor, never the less he saluted the young man politely, who bowed to the very ground. He smiled, receiving D'Artagnan's response. The Bearnese accent made him recall his youth and his village. Stepping toward him he gestured and asked if he might finish with others before he began with him. He called three times, with a louder voice, each time.
"Athos! Porthos! Aramis!"
The two Musketeers instantly entered the room and stood in reverent silence before the Captain.
"Do you know what the King said to me?" De Treville began.
"No, sir, we do not," the two replied.
"He told me that he should hence-forth recruit his Musketeers from among the Cardinal's Guards."
"And why so?" Porthos asked.
"Because he plainly believes that his glass is in need of being enlivened by a mixture of good wine."
The two Musketeers reddened to the whites of their eyes.
"Yes, yes," continued M. de Treville, growing angrier as he spoke. "The Cardinal related to the King that the day before yesterday those damned Musketeers, those drunken daredevils, those braggarts, had made a riot in a cabaret and he, the Cardinal's men, had to arrest them. Arrest Musketeers!" De Treville's voice rang with anger. "You were among them. Don't deny it. And Athos ... where is he?"
"Sir, he is ill," Aramis cried, in a sorrowfull tone, "the fever."
At this instant the tapestry was raised and a noble and handsome head, but frightfully pale, appeared under the fringe.
"You have sent for me, sir?" Athos said, in a feeble, yet perfectly calm voice.
The Captain surveyed the perfectly dressed Musketeer that falteringly walked toward him as if wounded severely. "I was about to say to these gentlemen that I forbid my men to expose their lives needlessly to the stupid and plotted intrigues of the Cardinal's guards."
The Musketeers grinned broadly, for they realized the Captain was well aware of the circumstances surrounding their encounter with the Cardinal's men.
"Now take Athos away and give him some attention," he added, noticing how the Musketeer stiffened and grimaced, suppressing his pain. The other two crowded about their friend and led him from the room, leaving D'Artagnan and de Treville to continue their audience.
"I respected your father very much," the Captain began. "What can I do for you?"
"I ask to become a Musketeer," the youth boldly requested.
"Easily asked for but not so easily done," De Treville smiled. "To become a Musketeer one must serve the ordeal of several campaigns, flourish certain brilliant actions or serve two years of service in some regiment less favored than ours."
D'Artagnan bowed without replying, feeling his desire to don the Musketeer's uniform vastly increased by the great difficulty which preceeded the attainment of it.
"But," the Captain continued, "I will do something for you. I will attempt to place you in a regiment closely fixed to this post so I may keep an eye on your development."
"I ask no special favor," the proud youth stated.
Ignoring the young man's remark, the Captain continued, "My hotel is always open to you. Call on me at any hour and take advantage of any opportunities and you will probably obtain that which you desire."
"That is to say then that you will wait until I prove myself worthy of wearing the uniform."
"I shall give you a letter for the director of the Academy. Are you too proud a youth to take it?"
"No sir," D'Artagnan said, watching the older gentleman reseat himself to write his letter of recommendation.
De Treville, having finished the note, sealed it and handed it to the young man. "I shall be hearing from you, D'Artagnan," he announced, prophesising more than he understood.
The youth bowed low and left the room. His heart was beating with joy and in a state of blind excitement he raced toward the stairs and ran head first into the shoulder of a Musketeer, making the huge gentleman howel with pain.
"Excuse me, sir," he mumbled, attempting to resume his flight.
Scarcely had he descended a stair when a hand seized him by the belt and a voice said, "You are in a hurry?"
The youth turned and faced Athos who was pale as a sheet.
"I beg of you to let me go. I am in a hurry and I am indeed sorry for the pain I have caused you."
"It is easy to see you are not from the city. Your manners are crude," The Musketeer insultingly remarked.
D'Artagnan turned and faced the gentleman. "Wherever I come from is not your concern for it is not you who will give me a lesson in manners," the youth snapped angrily.
"Your lesson will begin at three," Athos stated.
"Where?"
"Near Cames-Deschaux. Do not be late for a quarter after I will cut off your ears as you run."
"Good. I will be there ten minutes before the hour," the young man flipped, running down the steps and out into the street, rushing through the entrance and parting two walkers that talked closely together.
"Bless me," Porthos cried, "You must be blind, running against people in this manner."
"Excuse me, sir," D'Artagnan stuttered, "but I didn't see you."
"Are you blind?" Porthos snapped.
"Only by your glittering chest."
"Careful my boy. Do not chide a Musketeer for you run the risk of being chastised.
"Chastised, Monsieur?" D'Artagnan exclaimed, "It is a strong expression."
"It is one that becomes a man who looks his enemies in the face," Porthos said, turning to face the arrogant youth.
"I am sure you don't turn your back on yours," D'Artagnan joked, laughing to himself as he walked away.
"Then I shall face you at four o'clock behind the Luxembourg," Porthos called out.
"Very well, four o'clock it is," the youth shouted over his shoulder.
Climbing the steps to his hotel he reflected upon the last ten minutes of play. He had drawn upon himself two men that were capable of killing him in an instant. The outlook was sad for if he wasn't killed by Athos he could not possibly escape the sword of Porthos. Disgusted and angered by his short temper he slammed the door to his room and threw himself upon his bed.
The gentle click of the lock perked his ears and he raised up to see who entered. The well shaped servant maid slipped into the room and tiptoed to his side.
"I noticed you returned, sir," she said, simply.
"You, my dear girl, have arrived in the nick of time to grant a dying man his last request. Un-cloth yourself for I am about to feast my last banquet," he exclaimed, raising to his elbows and scanning the youthful woman's figure. "Get out of your rags. I like you best when your bottom's bare," he laughed, holding out his booted foot for the girl to unsaddle.
Once stripped of all confinement the youth reached for the young woman's broad shoulders and toppled her to the bed. His frightfully hot body bore down upon her soft undulant curves and his lips violently crushed against her mouth. His tongue pierced the warm cavity with desperate hunger and he licked and sucked the wet flicking muscle of her tongue. There was little tenderness in his embracing. He was a man marked for the sword and the passion that bubbled his bloodstream was to be spilled on the battlefield of her body.
His fingers kneaded the magnificent plumpness of her thighs and the excessive roundness of her arse. He guzzled the length of her neck and chewed the fat dough of her nipples. The girl's body writhed and twisted as she moaned and cried out, delirious with pleasure.
His lips graced the full blown curve of her belly and thin line between hip and thigh. The V of her fuzz patch was broad and prominent and covered with silky fair curls, which did not hinder the youth from seeing the sweet skin below.
In the middle of the curly patch was a well defined depression from where the large, thick and exquisitely shaped lips commenced. Her present position, legs fairly well apart, afforded an excellent view of her clitoris laying smugly, almost poutingly, between the two smaller lips. The ridge that protected this garden was lined with an abundant bush of locks that wound to her bottom hole.
The youth fondled the pink moist folds and admiringly sighed as his thumb brushed the clitoris and caused it to wiggle.
The girl concaved her belly, thus sucked in air and made an incredibly large farting noise with her cunt. A silly smile of joy crossed the youth's mouth as he cocked his head to the side and asked the girl to repeat the sweet musical refrain. Again the gurgle pierced the room and once more the youth tittered with joy.
Folding back the large lips, the young man exposed the delicate pink salmon interior. The clitoris buldged out just above the dark red entrance. Lowering his eye level, the youth searched the opening and discovered moisture beads of secretion running down the walls of the lining. His tongue automatically licked his lips as his fingers thrust inside and opened like a blooming flower to expand the canal. He could see at least three or four inches inside and what he viewed made his organ jump with excitement. Like pulsing waves of water, the lining undulated in slow sensual rhythm and he could imagine the pulsating pressure exquisitely surrounding his prick.
Pushing in deeper he advanced with ease, for the humid box was fast turning into a rain forest and he felt the end of her womb, which appeared to be centered with a large bulbous knob.
"My dear sir," the girl gasped, wiggling her bottom. "You make me feel so wonderful."
The youth ignored the girl's outburst and continued exploring the widening cavern. The silken trap nibbled and chewed as the young man worked his fingers to and fro, imitating a well sized cock.
"Sir, I can no longer take your maneuvering," the girl panted, thrusting her marvelously swelling orbs into the air as she raised her bottom off the bed and humped visciously the slamming digits.
The youth attempted to withdraw for his cock was pulsing with excitement and his desire to replace it where his fingers played urgently called for removal. But the girl's box was convulsing in spasms and held onto his hand like a vice, making retreat impossible.
"My God, woman, release me," D'Artagnan commanded, struggling to free himself.
"I would if I could," the woman squirmed, her face contorted in agonizing bliss. "But your furious twisting is greatening my pleasure."
The youth desperately shoved two fingers up her bottom hole and set the woman off to a gloriously passionate, 'come' that painfully rent his fingers as she discharged a lustful conclusion and squeezed, stopping the circulation dead in his digits.
The young man scrambled over her dead-like body and in one accurate lunge plunged into her pulsing cavity, burying his aching pole clear to the hairs. The walls immediately closed about him, discharging sensation to all parts of his body. He shook and groaned as the climatic ardour of his passion surrounded his balls and went off in a rapid succession of lightning fast jolts that spurted the liquid from his knob.
Raising his still heated frame, he withdrew and demanded the woman turn to her stomach. Then, with little difficulty, for his evacuation had splattered heavily the love juice to her crack, he nudged the pouting hole with his great nut and pushed in firmly, meeting her magnificent backside to his belly.
The girl sighed deeply with delight and began to wiggle her bottom while the youth remained motionless, enjoying the stupendous workings of her lustful flexing cheeks. Her hand busily searched the twitching of her clitoris and she fingered it with growing abandon, all the while concentrating upon the ever increasing proportions swelling insider her rear corridor.
"Dear sir, pump your delightful pole," she moaned, shoving her backside to his groin with lecherous hunger.
D'Artagnan thrust two or three times and felt his prick throb within the tight sheath. He gripped the well padded curves of her hip bones and forcefully drove the expanding poker until, in furious cries of consumed pleasure, the two spent in rapture together. The youth sank down on her glorious bottom and back and manipulated her superb boobies with both his hands until the pressure upon his cock ceased to draw the juice from his discharging machine.
Bearing his weight upon her fleshy back he raised up and withdrew, plopping out, releasing a series of soft round farts from the girl's bottom. Taking her about the plump hips, he rolled her to her back and stretched her legs to the air. Stooping low he folded back the wet lips and gazed at the gurgling caldron that spewed and dripped with slick hot brew.
The girl's knees bent about his shoulders as her bottom raised high and she offered the foaming pot to the youthful look.
D'Artagnan, virgin in the matter of tasting stew, gingerly tongued the tip of the jutting clitoris. To his delight the girl shook and sighed aloud, responding to his timid touch. Enboldened by her reaction he greedily sucked the wood smooth flesh within his lips and rolled his tongue about. The swollen nerve ending pulsed hot against his action and, like a child with a new play pretty, he enlivened its responses with an onslaught of powerful licks.
The girl in a state of extreme pleasure and showing appreciation, groped beneath to encase his standing member. The youth caught his breath as he felt the slender fingers, one by one, take hold of his unruly cock and pull gently the skin of his shaft. His organ stood stiff like the iron pole which guarded the hotel and his ballocks firm and pounding. He was in a state of near exploding and the more he sucked the running dew the more intense became his condition.
"Sir ... sir...." the girl breathed in a near whimper of hysteria. "Sir...." she at last screamed, shoving her cunt full weight into his face and grinding so hard as to chaff his tender cheeks with her coarse short hairs.
D'Artagnan lifted up and slammed his bursting sword clear up her sheath, banging violently into her extending cervix. He dug his fingers into her sweating breasts and savagely bit the slope of her shoulder. His pouch banged furiously the moon of her working bottom and his lips parted and he unleashed an unbridled vocabulary of heated words.
"Squeeze, you lascivious bitch. Work your arse," he panted in a wild and urgent manner. "Yes ... yes ... my dear girl ... yes...." he groaned, his voice trailing off into a garbled and desperate cry as he lifted his bottom and slammed savagely into the girl, coming to a halting and convulsing stop.
The girl's thighs strangled his hips as she drew him deeper and deeper, until only the mixture of black and brown short hairs could be seen.
"Dear woman," D'Artagnan muttered, raising up to look into the warm glazed brown eyes. "You have provided me with a hearty feast."
The youth fondled her breasts and when the sensation of moisture trickled his cock he slipped free. "I must ready myself for an appointment," he stated, lifting from the bed and casually shaking the drips of juice from his organ into the basin.
Shall I be here when you return?" the girl quizzed, readying herself to leave.
Pausing in mid-action of slipping on his trousers, the youth turned to face the half clothed woman. "Perhaps," he stated simply.
Taking her leave, the girl left D'Artagnan to his thoughts which were crowded with remorse, yet determination, for he was above all else a Gascon and not willing to die without a fight. And in spite of his dilemma he began to laugh aloud.
Upon leaving his hotel he spied Aramis just across the road and halted his steps for he was struck with awe over the Musketeer's obvious good manners and graceful personality. Aramis was chatting gaily and affectionately with three gentlemen and totally oblivious to the youth's stares.
D'Artagnan, full of admiration, approached the group with a profound bow and a gracious smile, Aramis bowed his head slightly but did not smile, The four immediately broke off their conversation.
The youth was suddenly painfully aware of his mistake but, untutored in the art of social graces, could not find a way of extricating himself gallantly from his position. Seeking retreat from his uninvited intrusion, he stepped back and noticed Aramis had let his handkerchief fall and by mistake had placed his foot upon it. Seizing the opportunity to make amends for his rude conduct, D'Artagnan stooped over and drew it from beneath the Musketeer's boot. "I believe, Monsieur, that this is a handkerchief you would be sorry to lose."
The handkerchief was richly embroidered and had a crest and arms at one of its corners. Aramis blushed excessively and snatched the handkerchief from the Gascon.
"Ah, ah," cried one of the Guards. "Will you persist in saying that you are not on good terms with Madame de Bois-Tracy, when the lady has the kindness to lend you one of her handkerchiefs?"
Aramis darted D'Artagnan a look which signified he had just acquired a mortal enemy. "You are deceived, gentlemen. This is not mine and I can not fancy why the lad took it into his head to offer it to me rather than to one of you. As proof of what I say, here is mine," Aramis said, pulling out his own handkerchief.
"D'Artagnan remained silent, realizing his error.
"If indeed it did belong to you...." one of the gentlemen announced, "I should be forced to reclaim it. For, as you well know, Bois-Tracy is an intimate friend of mine and I could not allow the property of his wife to be sported as a trophy."
"Be assured it is not mine. Your sword may remain sheathed," Aramis quickly responded.
"The fact is," D'Artagnan hazard timidly, "I did not see it fall from the pocket of Monsieur Aramis. He had his foot upon it and I merely assumed it to be his."
"A poor assumption," Aramis snapped. "Here, Montaran, take it and return it to your friend's wife."
"Well said, Aramis," his friend agreed, pocketing the lace cloth. "Now we must be off," he added, leaving with the two other guardsmen.
Once the men were out of earshot D'Artagnan broke into peals of laughter. A hard hand cut short his outburst of merriment.
"I would assume, Monsieur, that you are not a complete fool even though you tread from Gascony. Certainly now you know people do not stand upon silk without a reason," Aramis barked, displaying an over heated anger.
"Perhaps, sir, had you not let it fall so awkwardly," the youth snapped, aroused by Aramis' insulting insinuations.
"I have said, Monsieur, and I repeat, that the handkerchief did not fall from my pocket."
"And thereby you have lied twice, for I saw it fall."
"If you persist in taking that tone I will have to teach you a lesson."
"Draw, if you please, my good Master Abbe ... instantly."
"Not here. Do you not see that we are opposite the Hotel d'Arguillon, which is full of the Cardinal's guards? At four thirty I shall have the honor of expecting you at the hotel of M. de Treville. There I shall indicate to you the best place and time."
The two men bowed and separated, Aramis taking the street which led to the Luxembourg, while D'Artagnan, understanding the appointed hour to confront Athos was approaching, took the road to the Carmes-Deschaux, muttering to himself, "Decidedly I can't draw back; but at least, if I am killed, I shall be killed by a Musketeer."
CHAPTER THREE
As the rash youth walked to his destination he reflected upon the characters of the men he had to cross swords with and hoped by this silent council he might obtain a clue as how to fight each. The more he pondered their different personalities the more fond of their natures he became and he wished that instead of meeting for a dual he was greeting for conversation. Realizing the time had passed for such a thought he resolved himself to fight with courage and dignity and hoped by his margin of three or four years to out maneuver them all.
As D'Artagnan approached, Athos rose to acknowledge his presence.
"Monsieur, I have engaged two of my friends as seconds; but these two have not yet arrived."
"I have no seconds. For I have just arrived in Paris. My father has recommended me to M. de Treville. He is the only person I know in the city," D'Artagnan explained.
"Then if I kill you I shall be known as the boy-slayer," Athos exclaimed.
"Not so. Since you honor to cross swords with me while you are inconveniently wounded, the youth reminded.
"Do not fancy that I do you a favor. I am agile with both my hands," the Musketeer stated.
"I have no doubt, sir," D'Artagnan said, noticing the pained expression that crossed Athos' face as he accidentally touched his wounded shoulder. "Sire," the youth began timidly. "I have a balsam my mother gave me before leaving home that I am certain would heal your wound within three days. I have tried it upon myself and it works. At the end of that period of time, when you have healed, I shall still be your man."
The older cavalier looked keenly upon the youth and out of an experienced eye chose to believe the young man sincere.
"I think these fellows of mine shall never come," he exclaimed, touching the handle of his rapier.
"Then if you must, dispatch me at once I pray," the youth stated.
"We will wait," Athos said, warming to the young man's directness. "Ah, here is one of them."
D'Artagnan turned and looked directly into the large expansive chest of Porthos. "He is your first witness?"
"Does that disturb you?"
"By no means," the youth shrugged. "And here is my second." D'Artagnan turned in the direction pointed to by Athos and perceived Aramis."
"My God," the youth muttered. "Ah, I see you have heard of us. We are the three inseparable....The three Musketeers," Athos announced proudly.
"What does this mean?" Porthos asked, having changed his cloak and baldric and now stood squarely in front of D'Artagnan.
"This is the gentleman I am about to fight," Athos explained.
"And I," Porthos added. "But not till four o'clock," D'Artagnan replied.
"And I too am to fight this fellow." Aramis chimed.
"But not till four thirty."
"What are you to fight about, Athos?" Aramis asked.
"He blundered my shoulder. And you Porthos?"
"We had a short discourse about dress."
"And you Aramis?" Athos asked.
"Ours is a theological quarrel," the Musketeer lied, shooting D'Artagnan a look which insisted upon his silence.
"Yes, a passage of St. Augustine, upon which we could not agree," the youth volunteered. "And now that you are all assembled ... let me offer my apologies."
At this word, apologies, a cloud passed over the brow of Athos, a haughty smile curled the lips of Porthos, and a negative sign was the reply of Aramis.
"Do not misunderstand me, gentlemen," D'Artagnan continued, throwing back his head and revealing his sharp and bold face. "I am only asking you to excuse me if I am unable to discharge my debt to any of you. Monsieur Athos has the right to kill me first," the youth smiled and with a most gallant air drew his sword. "On guard."
"When you please, Monsieur," Athos said, putting himself on guard.
Scarcely had the two rapiers clashed when a company of the Guards of his Eminence, commanded by M. Jussac, turned the corner.
"The Cardinal's Guard!" cried Aramis and Porthos at the same time. "Sheath your swords, gentlemen, sheath your swords."
But it was too late. The two had been seen.
"Halloooo ... what's this? Musketeers fighting?" the commanding officer sneered.
"Before your eyes," Athos snapped with rancor."
"Sheath them, if you will please," Jussac ordered.
"That is impossible," Porthos stated.
"Then we shall charge upon you," Jussac said.
"There are five against three," offered Athos half aloud. "And I shall die. For I shall not be arrested again."
His two companions drew their swords as the Commander drew up his guards.
"Let me correct your words," D'Artagnan cried. "There are four."
"But you are not one of us," Porthos said.
"This is true. I do not have the uniform but I have the spirit. My heart is that of a Musketeer."
"Withdraw, young man," Jussac commanded.
D'Artagnan did not budge.
The fight was on and the heart of the young Gascon pounded wildly, not from fear but from joy. He fought like a tiger, turning ten times around his adversary and changing his ground and guard at least twenty times. Jussac was furious, being held in check by one he considered a boy and became furious and made a mistake. D'Artagnan, redoubled his agility and aimed a terrible thrust which glided like a serpent through the body of his adversary. Jussac fell to the ground unconscious.
The youth hastily surveyed the battle field. Aramis had killed one of his adversaries but another was pressing him hotly. Porthos had received a thrust through his arm but never the less was well in command of the situation.
Athos, wounded anew by his rival became paler but did not give a foot. D'Artagnan anxiously waited for him to signal to assist and with a sly, almost imperceptible glance, Athos did do. At once the young man converged and immediately succeeded in disarming the guard. The sword of his adversary flew twenty paces and the active youth reached it and placed his foot upon it. With that one gesture the battle was suddenly ended and the four had plainly triumphed.
Intoxicated with joy, the four walked arm in arm, occupying the whole width of the street. The heart of D'Artagnan swam in delirium as he marched between Athos and Porthos, pressing them tenderly.
"To the Inn," the three chorused.
"To the Inn," D'Artagnan echoed.
As soon as the four had passed the threshold, Porthos, in his customary loud and booming voice, ordered kegs of wine and platters of food to be served for the feast.
"You are a gallant and noble sir," Aramis stated, raising his goblet and toasting the young Gascon.
"Hail ... hail the other two agreed, standing to salute the brave young swordsman.
"And tonight you shall be our guest and live as a Musketeer," Porthos announced, grinning broadly and twirling his mustache in a lecherous and meaningful manner.
The youth grinned broadly and set about consuming the repast set before them.
"What say you of her?" Porthos loudly asked, pointing in the direction of a handsomely heavy bottomed woman stooped over the fire front adding fresh logs to the blaze.
The youth shrugged an indifferent meaning. "Her bosom is well hidden" he observed lightly.
"Our lad has a keen eye for succulent trappings," Athos teased.
"It's the rump of the horse that labels his run," Porthos laughed.
"If it's running you're after," D'Artagnan joked.
"Our protege has wit," Athos commented, slyly glancing at the newly arrived and elegantly styled women seated at a table for two.
"She is too extravagant for you," Aramis muttered to his friend Athos who openly surveyed the woman's form.
The handsome Musketeer raised to his full height and fingered his goblet. "How much do you wager?" he asked, never taking his eyes from her.
"You will surely lose," Porthos stated.
"I will not wager a penny," he snipped, obviously annoyed by Athos' display of peacockishness.
"You've been too confined to the bosom of your holy books," Porthos sighed, draining his glass dry and reaching out to grab the woman's large bottom as she passed by him. "Come 'ere, you tasty treat," he laughed, pulling the rotund arse heavy upon his lap.
Aramis shot Porthos a look, stood to his feet and abruptly bid his companions good night. His departure was so swift and abrupt that D'Artagnan had not the opportunity to return the salutation.
"Don't fret over him. I suspect it is more than his seminary studies that pulls him away so early," Athos said in his noble air of detached concern.
"Is he always thus?" the youth asked.
"Only when the visual splendor of a ladie's bosom is tapped," the highly intoxicated Porthos bellowed, forcing his large hand down the front of the servant woman's blouse. "More than marbles are to be found," the Musketeer laughed.
Athos stepped toward the lady who sat alone and bowed low and formally introduced himself. D'Artagnan strained an ear to listen to his conversation.
"So lovely a flower unattended. Curse be the rogue who has neglected the bloom," he gallantly stated, sweeping his plumed hat low and bowing in a most dashing fashion.
The woman's eyes shifted about the room, no doubt embarrassed by Athos' exaggerated display of attention.
"Sire," the Musketeer commanded, waving his hand in a flurry of carefree majesty, "two goblets of your most delicate wine." Concluding his performance he seated his well poised frame upon the chair opposite hers.
"Come on, my friend. This saddle is large enough for two," Porthos whispered loudly, knocking D'Artagnan hard upon the back. The youth turned and grinned broadly, greeting Porthos' salacious wink. "She has a room atop the stairs fit for three."
The giant sized Cavalier lifted his body from the chair and swung his arm heavily over the woman's shoulder, "Come on," he bellowed impatiently, flicking his wrist in a definite gesture which commanded the youth to follow. Walking closely behind, D'Artagnan braced himself and readied to catch the swaying hulk as it mounted the steps.
The room was sparce of furniture but heavily matressed with bed. It's size was enormous and this with a look for comfort and use.
Porthos dropped leaded to the bed and lifted his foot for the woman to un-boot him. D'Artagnan fiddled with his doublet and surveyed the shape that tugged and pulled the leather free. She was, he judged, between her twenties and thirties and at one time had been most attractive. But for reasons clear, had aged from use. Her blonde hair hung loose and lusterless and deep circles darkened her soft blue eyes beneath.
"Might I help you, sir?" she asked, smiling coquettishly at the young man.
"Let her hurry," Porthos bellowed, pulling his doublet over his head and throwing it to the floor. "My pecker is stiff with pulsing." His trousers dropped to about his knees and D'Artagnan gasped with admiration, seeing the Musketeer's enormous prick ... at least fourteen inches in length and fouMn circumference. It was exquisitely white in color with large swollen blue veins coursing its shaft and knob which glistened scarlet. The youth observed that his pouch was large and pale in pink and attractively surrounded in a forest of thick black hair.
The woman turned her gaze to Porthos' body and her eyes bugged in anticipated joy. "Hurry, sir, so we might start our fun," she urged, slipping her skirt from under her feet.
D'Artagnan witnessed the truth of Porthos' tale. Her bottom was enormously endowed with fleshy soft curves and patched in rich golden locks. The pinkness of her lips hung below her cunt hairs like drops of dew.
Not waiting for the youth to remove his trousers, the older Musketeer grabbed the girl roughly by the shoulders and threw her to the bed. His generously haired body fell over her like a rug of fur and at once his lips crushed upon her mouth. Her hands immediately crawled about his back and played with the generously haired cheeks of his arse. Like hard marble balls he flexed their cool circumference.
The slurping noises Porthos and the woman made as they tongued and licked sent a jolting shock of heat to D'Artagnan's groin and very soon his pogo stood at attention. Walking stiffly to the bed, the youth crawled beside the two and attempted to gain access to her bosom. Porthos flipped the woman to her side and suggested the D'Artagnan try the back door, for a double fuck was in his mind.
The youth passed his fingers the length of the woman's crack and felt the hard spongy tip of Porthos' cock poking her clitoris.
"Easy my lad. Your subtle maneuvering will upset my spout," the Musketeer warned, letting a small but ample tit fall free from his lips.
Returning to the woman's hardening nipples, he worked his hands about her back and slipped to her lower spine, there encountering D'Artagnan's cock. Clasping the hot tool within his large fingers, he jerked a couple of times and caused the youth to gasp with pleasure. D'Artagnan spread the woman's arse wide open and slipped his member within it's fat valley whilst his friend spread open her lips and poked between the dripping folds of flesh. Their nuts collided and both men sighed with unexpected joy. The woman wiggled and squirmed, pressing her bottom upon the rubbing shafts that frictioned her cunt and sparked her with tiny explosions.
"Open her wider," Porthos demanded, struggling to bury his enormous knob within her pussy. "Marvelously done, my friend," he breathed, feeling the fingers of D'Artagnan expand the opening so as to accommodate his handsomely sized sword.
"It's a wonderful fit," Porthos groaned, sending his rapier deeper and deeper. "Wonderful."
D'Artagnan lowered his head and pulled open the ply able cheeks and exposed the woman's rosy bottom hole to view. The sight of Porthos' root as it snuggled tight into her cunt excited him greatly and he extended his tongue to lick the juice that oozed from her hole as his friend's mighty trunk reappeared. The Musketeer let out a groan of extreme pleasure when he felt the slick muscle about his base.
"Dear sir, you are superb in your working," he gasped, holding his cock a distance back so the youth might travel his tongue its length but not upset the nut which remained lodged blissfully within the woman's sheath. "Lubricate your own tool and join mine," he commanded, withdrawing his to make room for D'Artagnan's.
The youth drove his prick up to the hilt of her luscious and well-bedewed cunt and then withdrew to the nut as Porthos pressed his knob about the youth's and together they gradually sheathed themselves as one, stretching exorbitantly the woman's slit. She winced in pretended pain, but by the pinch she delivered to the double fuck, showed how much she liked it. Porthos wrapped his arms about the youth's body as did D'Artagnan return the same. Together they sandwiched the woman profoundly. Then signaling by touch, moved as one to and fro of the sheath, making the woman's bottom curl with sensation. Three or four strongly centered thrusts were enough to make the woman pour down a torrent of secretion. Her internal pressure speeded their 'come' and in a hearty and volatile explosion of rapid motion the two men unloaded a quantity of sperm.
Both men were reluctant to leave for the novelty of ridges and velvet sparking their cocks prolonged their erections and encouraged another go-round. The woman seemed completely satisfied with this arrangement and encouraged their lingering by contracting her walls and shooting electric sparks the distance of their poles. Again they took to their mount and rode furiously until this time the three, in excessive pleasure cried aloud their passionate conclusions.
Wrapped together in blissful relaxation the three slowly regained their strength. Quite suddenly the woman produced a pleasurable pressure upon their organs and their swords began to stir.
"Let us dismount, my friend and try the rear exit," Porthos suggested, newly aroused.
"Agreed," the youth concluded.
Both uncorked with a resounding pop that tickled their humor and set the men to laughing.
"After you, kind lad," Porthos courteously offered, raising the delicious bottom high and holding apart the splendid orbs.
"Is not the locks that curl 'round the ridge most lovely?" D'Artagnan announced, running his fingers over the golden fuzz line.
"Superb and notice the pinched slot. How snug a glove it will make," Porthos stated, poking two digits within its tiny hole.
"Then let me not waste time for I am hard from frost," the youth teased, placing his bulbous nut square to the hole. The young man felt the eyes of Porthos scanning his staff and felt his face redden with blush like a virgin.
"You need not be ashamed of that mighty weapon," the Musketeer stated firmly. "It is handsomely carved to fill the taste of many a maiden."
The youth plunged in and the woman winced as Porthos' eyes lit up and his organ grew splendid in size. "How does she feel?" he asked.
"Like a new born calf," D'Artagnan exclaimed. "Warm and quite unused ... a pleasure to stretch."
"Spoken like a true Musketeer," his friend exclaimed, taking hold of his balls and squeezing them firmly, causing D'Artagnan's cock to stir within its narrow fit.
The young man's hands closed about the woman's breasts and his groin wrapped her arse. He was smugly fit to mold her back and work her bottom in a loving humping way. Easing out a little he encountered the probing fingers of Porthos who had settled himself behind him. At first the sensation was somewhat distracting but as the experienced Cavalier fingered his glans and fondled his balls the sensation became desirable and added immeasurably to the internal pressures brought to bear by the woman. D'Artagnan could feel the enormous tool being brought about his bottom hole and run the length of his crack. At once its appearance startled but as the fat nut indented the slot he found the pressure increased his excitement and he thrust two or three hard ones into the woman. Suddenly he cried out and jerked forward as he felt the sharp and tearing tool rip his passage. He attempted to squirm free but his impalement from the front limited his movements.
"Dear friend, that is too much for me to bear," the youth stuttered, his backside ringing with pain.
"You judge too hastily," Porthos said, sinking deeper into the virginal entrance.
"I tell you I am unable to stand it," D'Artagnan announced flatly.
"Then I shall remove it at once," Porthos said, beginning to withdraw more gently than he had entered.
The slow sensual movement rushed a flood of sparks to D'Artagnan's balls and he pressured the prick, pinching it to a stand-still. Porthos shuddered, receiving the exquisite sensation and cupped the youth's pouch within his palms and pushed his rod in deeper. The youth sighed and surrendered to the new and intense thrills that exploded his groin. Gradually the two increased their rhythm and before long the three were spending, greedy with cries of abandon.
"Shall we exchange our positions?" Porthos asked, unplugging.
"I think that only fair," the youth agreed, anxious to feel the rough membranes that jag-gared the poop hole. Disengaging his foil from the woman who was now flat to her front on the bed, D'Artagnan switched positions with his friend and before parting his cheeks observed the hairy arsed bottom. He had to admit the idea of lodging his shaft between the boldness of those glossy orbs excited him beyond reason. Confidently confronting the rock hard globes, he separated their circumferences and examined the pooky slot. It was purplish in color and jutted slightly. D'Artagnan had the greatest desire to tongue its pinched circumference and without hesitation did so. Porthos' cock sprang to the fiercest stand and the woman immediately crawled to beneath him and sucked the nut within her mouth. This seemed to signal D'Artagnan's attack, for without further delay he pushed his knob to the hole and lusted forward with a mighty grunt. Porthos' body trembled and he lowered his face to the woman's open snatch and nuzzled his nose between her thighs. The woman's lips sucked and pulled the swelling shaft down her throat and she gurgled and groaned like an infant at nursing.
D'Artagnan increased his hold upon his friend and proceeded to blissfully pound his bottom full. The three worked in delirious dedication; Porthos within the warm-wet confines of pussy, the woman about and around the expanding shaft and D'Artagnan heatedly inside the smugly bound tunnel. In spendid joy they sucked and bucked, each supremely estatic with the onslaught of rapture that rushed their bodies.
With the enormity of a symphonic symphony reaching its climactic conclusion where in all parts of the orchestra are in play, the three peaked to a grand and glorious finale. Sensations swirled to each vibrating nerve ending, exiting within their pores as cries of completion rent the room. They were exaulted to a mass of gyrating limbs that flailed hither and yon without a seemingly obvious purpose.
A sudden and violent tremble from below startled them back to reality. The men jumped to their feet and froze in naked silence, craning to hear more. Again the crash of furniture being thrown about vibrated their ear drums and at once they grabbed for their trousers and clutched their swords as they lept from the room and down the steps.
Athos stood in the middle of the floor, sword drawn and looking painfully pale. The two jumped to his side and confronted the darkly cloaked figure that held his rapier high.
"By your leave sirs, this rogue has offended my wife," the slender and drawn gentleman stated, standing his ground squarely. "Give me the courtesy to answer for this offense."
D'Artagnan stepped to the side as did Porthos. The two waited and watched as the men clashed and battled. It was evident that Athos' wounds were once again bothering him for he favored his left hand and staggered noticeably. The youth searched the guests for the woman to whom Athos had earlier paid so great an attention. She was no where to be seen. He inquired of the inn keeper her whereabouts and received an unsatisfactory shrug of noncommittal concern.
Energetically Athos attacked from all sides yet managed to parry like a man well aware of his epidermis. With a sudden and sweeping thrust he impaled the man upon his sword and dropped him to the floor. Then, with a pain filled body, removed the rapier and sheathed it.
Porthos rushed to his side for his brow was beaded with sweat and his wound had begun to bleed anew. "Come, D'Artagnan, we must get him home. Fetch our clothes and we shall be off."
Grimaud, Athos' man servant greeted them at the door.
"My God, is he dead?" the servant exclaimed.
"Seriously wounded," Porthos comforted, placing the Musketeer upon the couch. "Get some bandages and water. We must attend his wound."
"I shall return to my home and fetch the solution I promised him." D'Artagnan announced, hastily leaving the two to attend his new found friend.
Athos opened his eyes and shot a look to his man servant which rendered Grimaud his usual silent self. The slender servant went about the task of cleansing the wound in veiled concern and never once uttered another word.
D'Artagnan's hasty return brought a smile to Porthos' somber face and an amused observation from the painfully weak Athos. "We shall have to call him Mercury, after the God of lightning."
Having applied the mixture to Athos' puncture the two friends rose and set themselves to leaving.
"I am sure he will be alright," D'Artagnan reassured. "It is an old and reliable remedy my mother forced upon me when I left home."
"You are an amazing fellow," Porthos said, good naturedly. "Until tomorrow, my friend," he added, walking in the direction of his court.
"Until tomorrow," D'Artagnan called, watching the Musketeer stride boldly away from him.
CHAPTER FOUR
D'Artagnan awoke to the sounds of his three friends heavily making their way up the steps to his lodgings.
"Out of bed with you," Porthos bellowed, knocking violently upon the door.
The youth jumped from his covers and greeted his friends with a sort of disbelief for there they stood before his waking eyes, proof that what had happened yesterday had not been but a dream.
"The king has asked to see us all," Athos bubbled.
"You are a hero, sir," Aramis added.
"Your sword did tell its tale. The king is overjoyed with your dead aim," Porthos interjected.
"Come, ready yourself so we can be at the hotel of M. de Treville within the hour," Aramis said, throwing D'Artagnan his doublet.
"What you need is a man servant," Porthos observed. "Any civilized gentleman must own one."
D'Artagnan's head was spinning. In just twenty four hours he had become compatriot of the most respected of Musketeers and now this very morning the King wished an audience. Dressing quickly he accompanied his comrades out of the hotel and to the court of M. de Treville.
Upon entering the court yard a loud cheer saluting his victory went up and several of the men openly patted him on the back. The youth was brimming with jubilation.
The Captain of the Musketeers greeted the four warmly as they entered his ante-chamber. At once he began scolding them for dualing with the Cardinal's guards but immediately congratulated them upon their winning. He especially made overtures toward D'Artagnan and proudly saluted him on having wounded so fine a swordsman as Monsieur Jussac, who was considered by many in Paris to be the finest of rapier experts. He also noted with pleasure that Jussac, wounded, made one less formidable sword for the Cardinal to use against the King.
"Come, gentlemen," the captain finally said, "We are to be at the Louve. The King has expressly asked to meet D'Artagnan."
The five made their way to the palace and were conducted to the King's private antechamber. M. de Treville went in first and instructed the men to await his invitation.
"Aramis...." D'Artagnan whispered, "I am in ignorance of this feud between the Cardinal and King. Does not his Eminence play chess with his Majesty daily?"
"Most assuredly," Aramis responded. "Seeing who can be one step ahead of the other. His Eminence would do anything to upset the throne. His mortal enemy remains the queen and he daily contrives ways to make her lose favor with the king."
"And the Queen has a lover from across the sea," Athos whispered, "who has threatened war upon France."
"And the Cardinal knows this and guards the ports of entry like a mother hen her brood," Porthos interjected.
At that moment De Treville opened the door and stepped within. "Come on," he said, leading them into the room.
"Come here, my brave," the King said. "Come here. I am going to scold you."
The Musketeers advanced, bowing. D'Artagnan followed closely behind them.
"What the devil?" the King continued. "Seven of his Eminence's Guards by four of you. That's too many, gentlemen, too many. If you go on so, his Eminence will be forced to renew his company in three weeks. One or two now and then and I don't say much about it but seven in one day is too many."
"Therefore, sire, your Majesty, they have come to repent and offer their excuses," De Treville announced.
"Repent? I place no confidence in their hypocritical faces. In particular there is one yonder of a Gascon. Look. Come hither, Monsieur," the King commanded.
D'Artagnan understood this as a silent compliment and advanced in a most deprecating manner.
"Why you told me he was a young man? This is just a boy, Treville, a mere boy. Do you mean to say that it was he who bestowed that severe thrust at Jussac?"
"And two equally fine thrusts at another."
"Truly."
"The fact," Athos volunteered, "without his help I should not be alive today."
"Why he is a devil," the King said. "I assume many doublets must be slashed and swords broken. Are not Gascons always poor?"
"Gold has not been discovered in their mountains," De Treville said.
"Then we shall find a way to replace those precious goods." The King searched his robe and produced forty gold pieces. "Here," he said, putting the coin in the hands of D'Artagnan, "is proof of my satisfaction."
The four bowed low and with one voice cried, "Long live the King ... long live the Musketeers."
The King waved his hand to Treville which signaled the audience had come to an end. In single file they stepped backwards and out.
"Well," Treville said, once they were on their way and into the street. "The King has instructed me to place you, D'Artagnan, in the service of Monsieur Dessessart, a company of Guards. He is assured by this appointment that the Cardinal will be furious but never the less the gesture gratified his feud and places him one step ahead of his Eminence. Take care the four of you do not underestimate the Cardinal. He has been made aware of you all, too painfully, I am afraid," Treville concluded, leaving the men standing at the steps of the hotel.
"A feast," Porthos proclaimed, considering the money D'Artagnan had just received. "All for one and one for all," he shouted.
Athos advised Porthos to procure a good servant for D'Artagnan, Aramis to search him a suitable mistress and he himself would see to it that the youth found more suitable lodgings to complement his new station.
"Was that not a strange request to put upon the theologically bent Aramis?" D'Artagnan asked Athos as they searched the varying court yards for vacancies.
"Not at all. He is only spiritually bent when he has indulged too much in bosoms and wine," Athos lightly replied.
"I took him to be more serious in his pursuit of religion," the youth persisted.
"Perhaps he is, I fear, hiding a broken heart ... or a broken vow."
They settled upon a modest apartment overlooking the main square. It was within the Pomme-de-pin Inn, the very place the friends had agreed to meet. Once D'Artagnan had paid the landlord the two returned to the entrance to await their friends. Porthos was walking toward them and behind him straggled a wiry little man with deep black eyes and a hook nose.
"Monsieur D'Artagnan I have obtained the service of Picard for you," Porthos grandly announced, displaying his catch. The lacky's face shaded with disappointment upon seeing the youth for he was under the impression he was to be the man servant to the large and imposing Porthos.
Aramis followed quickly with a single column of three very distinct types of females. The first he introduced as Monica. She was more youthful in years than her two companions, barely eighteen, with golden locks that curled gaily about her rosy cheeked face. Her body was amply curved but suggested a few more meals might set about her bones a more pleasant ride. Paula was husky and barrel chested and when she looked at the three men her eyes narrowed and she selected Athos without hesitation. This left Collette whose head was as red as the copper and freckles a matching hue. Her prize lay in her rump and it was easy to see that Aramis had Porthos in mind when he selected the wench.
"And for you, my friend?" D'Artagnan asked Aramis.
"I shall feast at your table but not in your bedroom," the Musketeer flatly announced.
The other two Musketeers, accustomed to Aramis' strange shift in mood, sluffed off his remark as the usual unpredictable wit and instructed Picard to fetch an array of beef, poultry and wine to begin the feast.
D'Artagnan led the party up the winding stair case that led to his small apartment which consisted of a bed chamber, anteroom and hallway. The seven reposed themselves in front of the fire and awaited the servant's arrival with food and drink.
Porthos sprawled his large frame upon the rugged floor and plopped the woman upon his lap as Athos remained seated and placed the girl at his feet. D'Artagnan eyed his young thing with a jaundiced look for he felt her face to be lovely but her bones in need of flesh.
"This woman is as hot as the Irish that runs her veins," Porthos exclaimed, running his hands beneath his woman's shirt and greeting a dew sopped pair of panties. "I shall enjoy this reward," he laughed, throwing back his head and playing with the short hairs of matching copper.
"You're such a pig," Athos remarked, more in tune with the romance of lust rather than the carnal treats.
"And you are such a hypocrite," the other Musketeer announced. "You are as eager to finger the lady's bottom as I. It is just that you must feign the seduction before you can eat."
Athos' body stiffened and D'Artagnan shot Porthos a look of disgust.
"Don't mind me, my friend. I am gluttonous for juice and pubic meat. You are indeed a gentleman," Porthos volunteered in way of an apology.
Picard broke the tension by appearing with his arms laden to breaking with good smelling stuff.
"Pour the wine," D'Artagnan commanded, attempting to assume an air of master and king.
His three companions passed him a look of approval and Aramis went inside to supervise the feast.
Having consumed what was laid upon the table the seven sipped their wine and conversed in the after glow of friendship.
"I must leave you. I have an appointment," Aramis said, standing to his feet.
"But why so soon? There is enough for all," Porthos boasted, clutching the woman's breasts and offering them to Aramis like ripe fruit.
"I have more important matters to attend to," the Musketeer answered.
"What can be more important to a man than the comfort of a woman's touch?" Athos unex-Dectedly interjected, displaying an unusual imount of attention to his lady's bottom.
"Yes, dear sir. What can continually take you away from the arms of female companionship ... unless you have one hidden within your library," the youth laughed, nuzzling the neck of his blonde wench.
"Watch your tongue, young man," Aramis hotly replied.
"Enough," Athos interceded, feeling tempers about to flare. "I am in a light mood and if you, Aramis prefer other entertainment then on the morrow we shall see you," the Cavalier said, setting his bottom down to lighten the load to his wobbling legs.
Evenly matched, the men turned to their women and began in earnest to explore the promise of each fold.
Athos, usually more reserved in open sexuality, boldly unwrapped his parcel and eagerly guzzled about her flesh. The woman's breasts were enormous and appeared to expand with each hungry lash of his tongue. His body was well constructed, not as large and hairy as Porthos but certainly adequately stocked with muscle. His cock was thick and not so long as D'Artagnan's and his balls were pouched perfectly within a lusterous growth of hair.
In energetic gymnastics he threw the woman's legs up to his shoulders and trailed her hair upon the floor as he remained seated and lowered his head to press his lips upon the glistening brownish pink lips.
Porthos, in the meantime had settled himself over the luscious backside and was humping in abandon the bottom hole of his Irish wench.
D'Artagnan remained seated upon the floor, his legs spread wide and the blondness of hair careened about his cock, hiding it from view. The girl's lips danced up and down its stiffness and her teeth paused on occasion to nibble the tip.
"Dear girl," the youth breathed, "my satchel is tingling."
The girl's lips encased the knob and ran the length until she butted the root. Her fingers searched his bottom and cupped his balls and tugged, making the youthful cock stir with her mouth. D'Artagnan heard her choke and swallow in an effort to breath. His hands crawled to her arse and he fingered the tightly locked ridge. Her slit was dripping with juice and he inserted his thumb and poked it to and fro, causing the girl's bottom to wiggle frantically.
"Play with it, sir, please play with it," Porthos' woman cried, feeling the largeness of his fingers upon her clitoris. "Oh yes, sir ... it feels so good," she ranted, banging her backside into his groin as he hung over her back and worked his fingers within her carrot red fuzz box. The enormously excited Porthos grabbed for her waist and pulled her up and down his organ at will. The woman's breasts bobbled and swung with each powerful thrust. Her mouth was screwed to a lustful freeze and her nipples sharpened to bursting. "Oh ... oh ... oh...." she yelled, dropping her front to the floor. "Oh...." she cried again, signaling her climax by arching and twisting in a most grotesque manner. The Musketeer sweated profusely and his eyes bugged his head. He was dripping saliva about her back and resembled a mad dog. A loud and erupting roar shot from his throat as he plunged violently forward and clung to the woman's back in a desperate and final explosion.
D'Artagnan was knuckle deep in pussy and organ deep in throat. He pumped his mighty shaft the length of her esophagus, tearing past her tonsils and damned near her lungs. The girl, Monica, seemed more excited by this savage plunge and in a gross and lewd manner began sucking her cunt, thus cracking the air with a barrage of loudly inflecting sounds. D'Artagnan felt his nut swell to the size of a grapefruit as a stream of hot discharge coursed his center tubing and washed her throat.
Athos, buried to the lips in hair, made loud gobbling noises as he sucked and licked the spilling gash. Paula's barrel chested boobs flounced about in a rubbery balled fashion and her stomach swelled and crushed with each gasping breath she took. The Musketeer's tool stood rigidly beneath the woman's back and each time his tongue rolled her clitoris she jerked, just enough to rub the pulsing knob. Quite suddenly she raised up and arched and Athos caught her beneath by the bottom as her ankles locked about his neck. In a frantic circle of grinding she mashed her crotch into his face. The Musketeer increased his assault and pulled the swollen button well into his mouth, forcing her orgasm to climb higher. The woman reached for his cock and tugged it violently, hoping to bring about the same wonderful conclusion she was experiencing. Instantly this voluptuous maneuvering brought about a flow of cream sauce from Athos' hose and neatly he scrubbed her back with juice.
Collette lay sprawled upon the enormous wooden table where the feast had taken place and Porthos stood in front of her, his eyes surveying the gushing opening.
"Come here," he called to D'Artagnan. "Look how she floods."
The youth lifted his frame from the floor and walked to where the enormous hulk of a man stood. Monica followed closely behind and ventured to place her slender finger upon the twitching button.
"Lick it clean," Porthos commanded.
Monica passed a glance to D'Artagnan who nodded his agreement and at once the blonde head slipped between the folds of flesh and began guzzling the oozing fluid. Porthos lifted himself to the table and suspended his oak hard sword above Collette's mouth. Then, with subtle and quickness of touch, slipped the glistening tip between the woman's full lips. Gently, almost tenderly, he withdrew and rolled the sparkling head about the corners and fleshy smile. Collette jerked and Porthos glanced below as he saw the red slick tongue of Monica's flash about the woman's tunnel as D'Artagnan mounted from the rear and slipped into Collette's tight bun-opening.
"Get to her cunt," Athos bellowed, commanding Paula to slip to the floor and lick the streaming drops that ran from within Collette's thighs. The girl obliged and quickly felt the heavy weight of Athos' body on her frame.
"What a glorious sight," Porthos groaned. "How I wish you could see this magnificent view."
Collette swabbed Porthos' shaft and brought the Musketeer down to his elbows and on top of her breasts. As she worked his foreskin back he gobbled her nipples to titilating hardness which increased the intensity of throbbing that Monica's tonguing created.
D'Artagnan pulled Monica to and fro as his hands busily squeezed and pinched her swelling nipples. The youth could feel the sensations crowding his groin and in a blind and furious lust increased his thrusting and succeeded in spilling a heavy load within her walls.
Paula's mouth worked frantically to peak the raging thrills that raced Collette's groin. The girl's body shook and trembled and her friend could tell she was nearing her explosion. Seemingly, just as D'Artagnan flooded her rear, her slot broke open and poured down a healthy torrent of juice. Paula swallowed and licked in an effort to take from the girl's womb all that was there.
The hard pumping Athos grew magnificently within the pressure building sheath. He dug his fingers into the wide backside and rode Paula's shapely body to a steady and furious conclusion for just as his sperm broke loose her walls contracted and bit down, taking a powerful squeeze of the jerking organ.
And lastly, as captain of the ship, Porthos banged down upon the slippery cavern and dispeled a bucket full of liquid. Collette gagged but continued to swallow until the stiff pole turned limp and popped from her mouth.
The friends collapsed to the floor in a glorious and tired tribute to lust.
Picard, forgotten but not out of viewing distance, crept to the floor, surveyed the leaden corpses and stole to the bedroom. Closing his eyes, he replayed the entire scene as his bony fingers encased his cock and he masturbated himself to conclusion.
CHAPTER FIVE
The life of the four young men became like brothers. D'Artagnan, who had no settled habits of his own as he came from a small province into a world quite new to him, fell easily into the habits of his friends.
They rose about eight and immediately went to the Hotel of Monsieur de Treville. D'Artagnan, although not a Musketeer, performed the duty of one with remarkable punctuality. He went on guard because he always kept company with whoever of his friends was on duty. He was well known at the Hotel of Musketeers and everyone considered him a good comrade.
On the other side, the three Musketeers were very much attached to their young friend. The friendship which united these four men and the desire they felt to see one another three or four times a day, whether for dueling, business or pleasure, caused them to be continually running after one another like shadows. They were constantly to be met seeking one another.
This particular morning, while D'Artagnan awaited the arrival of his friends, his man servant, Picard, announced there was a gentleman to see him.
At first glance the youth recognized the man to be his landlord.
"Surely, sir, the rent is not due?" the young man asked.
"No, Monsieur." He paused and looked long and hard at the youth, then proceeded. "I have heard you spoken about and if your reputation is just, it is you I must confide in."
Making a fresh pause the gentleman continued. "I have a wife who is the seamstress to the Queen. She is the god-daughter of Monsieur Laporte, the Queen's cloak bearer."
"Well?" D'Artagnan asked impatiently.
"Well, sir. She has been abducted yesterday morning as she was coming out of her work room."
"And by whom was your wife abducted?"
"I know nothing for sure."
"You are wasting time," the youth snapped.
"I do not know for sure but I am certain there is less love in this theft than politics," the gentleman offered.
"The Cardinal?" D'Artagnan asked.
"Yes sir, for I believe, sir, that it is not because of my wife's intrigues but because of those of a lady much higher."
"The Queen?" the youth half whispered.
"It is vengeance I fear the Cardinal wants. The Queen believes he has written a letter to the Duke of Buckingham in her name asking him to come to Paris and once he does they will set a trap to embarrass the King."
"Does your wife have privy to such information?" D'Artagnan asked.
"Her devotion to the Queen is known and they wish either to remove her from her mistress or to intimidate her in order to obtain her Majesty's secrets."
"Do you have any clue as to what her abductor might look like?"
"I do, sir, for my wife pointed him out as right hand to the Cardinal. He has a very lofty carriage, black hair, swarthy complexion, piercing eyes, white teeth and a scar on his temple."
"Is there anything else?"
"Yes, I have received a note this morning," the gentleman said, drawing a paper from his pocket and handing it to D'Artagnan. It read, 'Do not seek your wife. She will be restored to you when there is no longer occasion for her. If you make a single step to find her you are lost."
"That's pretty positive," the youth stated. "How can I be of help?"
"Seeing you constantly with Musketeers of superb appearance and knowing that these men belong to Monsieur de Treville and were consequently enemies of the Cardinal, I thought that you and your friends, while rendering justice to our poor Queen, would be pleased to play his Eminence an ill turn."
"True."
"My word, sir, look out there," the gentleman yelled, stepping near the window.
"It is he," D'Artagnan shouted, springing to his sword. "Don't worry, he shall not escape me.
Drawing his sword from his scabbard he rushed out of the apartment. On the staircase he met Athos and Porthos who were coming to see him. They separated and D'Artagnan rushed between them like a cat.
"Where are you going?" they shouted.
"After him," D'Artagnan replied and disappeared.
The two men ascended the staircase to the youth's room. When they entered, the landlord had disappeared. The two friends settled themselves and waited D'Artangan's return.
At the expiration of half an hour D'Artagnan entered his lodgings with his brow covered with sweat and his appearance distraught with anger.
"Well?" they asked in unison.
"Well, he disappeared."
He then related word for word all that had passed between him and his landlord.
"The affair sounds bad," Athos said, "but is this woman so important to risk the heads of four?"
"Observe, this woman was carried off, doubtlessly threatened, tortured perhaps and all because she is faithful to her mistress," the youth heatedly recited.
"Beware, D'Artagnan," Aramis said. "You grow a little too warm in my opinion about the fate of Madame Bonacieux. Woman was created for our destruction and it is for her we men inherit miseries."
At this speech Athos' brow became clouded and he bit his lip.
"It is not Madame that I am so concerned with," cried D'Artagnan, "but the Queen, whom the King abandons, whom the Cardinal persecutes and who sees the heads of all her friends fall one after another."
"Why does she love most what we hate?" Athos mused aloud.
"Spain is her birthright. As to the second, it is not England but an Englishman she loves," Aramis said.
"It must be acknowledged," Athos stated. "I never saw such a man with so noble an air as his."
At this moment a sudden noise of footsteps was heard upon the stairs. The door was thrown open violently and the unfortunate landlord, Monsieur Bonacieux burst into the room.
"Save me, gentlemen ... for the love of heaven, save me!" he cried. "There are four men come to arrest me."
D'Artagnan made the sign for his comrades to place their swords in their scabbards. "It is not courage we need; it's reserve."
The four Guards appeared at the door of the antechamber but seeing the Musketeers standing and their swords by their sides hesitated about going farther.
"Come in, gentlemen," D'Artagnan called. "You are in my apartment and we are all faithful servants to his Eminence and the King."
"Then, gentlemen, you will not oppose our executing our orders?" the leader asked.
"On the contrary. We will assist you," D'Artagnan flourished.
"What does he say?" grumbled Porthos.
"Simpleton, silence," Athos said, "Silence."
"We can only save you by being free," D'Artagnan mumbled to the landlord in a low and rapid tone. "And if we appear inclined to help you they will arrest us all."
"But you promised...." the landlord cried.
"Silence, with respect to me, with respect to my friends, and with respect to the Queen or you will ruin everybody without saving yourself. Come, gentlemen, remove this fellow." D'Artagnan pushed the half stupefied landlord among the guards. "You are a shabby fellow, come to demand money from me. To prison with him."
The officers were full of thanks and took away their prey.
"What have you done?" Porthos said, when the officers had left and the four were alone. "Shame for us to allow an unfortunate fellow who cried for help to be arrested."
"Porthos," Aramis said, "Athos has already called you a simpleton and I agree. D'Artagnan you are a bright man and when you occupy Treville's place I will come and ask your influence to secure me an abbey."
"And now, gentlemen," D'Artagnan said, without stopping to explain himself again. "All for one and one for all ... that's our motto is it not?"
Overcome by the example set by his companions, Porthos, grumbling to himself, stretched out his hand and repeated with one voice, "All for one and one for all."
"That's well. Now let everyone return to their homes for from this moment we are at a feud with the Cardinal," D'Artagnan commanded.
D'Artagnan left for his post at the Hotel and spent a restless three hours contemplating how he should find Madame Bonacieux. When relieved he ventured to ask M. de Treville some questions. The Captain, he discovered, knew nothing, only that the Cardinal looked very thoughtful, the King uneasy and the Queen sleepless and tearful. But this last circumstance was not striking, as the Queen, since her marriage had slept badly and wept much.
Returning to his apartment he discovered that below in his landlord's rooms a group of three Guards from the Cardinal's service had been posted within and proceeded to question any and all persons nearing that apartment. The youth removed some boards upon his floor and was thus able to hear all interrogations.
Later, that afternoon, cries were heard ... then moans from below.
"The devil!" D'Artagnan muttered. "It seems like a woman."
"But I tell you that I am mistress of the house, gentlemen. I tell you that I am Madame Bonacieux and I belong to the Queen."
"They are binding her. Where's my sword, Picard? Quick, go fetch Athos, Porthos and Aramis. Tell them to take arms and come quick-"
Sword in hand, the youth flew down the steps and barged into the room. The young rogue encountered three swords and rushed them all at once. Within ten minutes time the Gascon had wounded two and made the third flee for his life, hastily sending the remaining two off in the same direction.
On being alone with Mme. Bonacieux, D'Artagnan turned toward her. The poor woman reclined where she had been left, half fainting upon an arm chair.
She was beautifully complected with rose and opal hues. Her hair was black and hung abundantly about her shoulders. Her eyes, the color of blue agates reflected a warm and submissive glow.
D'Artagnan felt a warm and passionate heat cross his spine as he surveyed the length of her body. She was voluptuously curved with heavy ripe breasts and succulent thighs that, though hidden, fanned invitingly to a well rounded bottom.
"Ah, Monsieur, permit me to thank you. You have saved me," the full, yet delicate woman breathed.
"I have only done what any gentleman might do. You owe me no thanks."
"Oh yes I do, Monsieur and I insist upon repaying you." The woman's eyes lowered and D'Artagnan felt their heated gaze slip to the front of his trousers. An involuntary jerking of his cock was felt and he was certain Mme. could see his gesture.
"If you insist," the youth smiled, taking the woman by the hand and leading gallantly into the bedroom.
"Are you certain those men will not return?" she asked, still in full faculty of her mental workings.
"You are right, my lady," the youth flushed, realizing the moment had been too taxing upon his brain. "Come, we shall leave and settle in a little hotel, just across the yard. The Guards are sure to return and look for me as well."
Once within the confines of the room the woman fell upon D'Artagnan with passionate kisses. The youth sensed a newness to her touch and felt a deepening sensation of want never experienced before. His body trembled as the woman worked his clothing free and pushed him to the bed, nakedly aroused. The young man raised to an elbow and watched with eagerness as she removed her garments and displayed to her waiting Cavalier the treats that were in store for him.
His eyes roamed the large round curves of her breasts, the pink and thick looking nipples that jutted firmly up and arrogantly invited, the slender smooth line of her waist and broad spraying slope of her hips. His look held the dark richly densed triangle of fuzz ving her patch and the pale pink moistness of her lips that peeked out from within the bushy hollow of her snatch.
"Come here," the youth commanded, lying back to his stretched size. "Straddle me."
Madame kneeled herself upon the bed and crawled over the erectly standing cock. Her eyes widened as she looked below her knee-high position and saw the angry scarlet head swollen with juice. Gently she lowered her lips and took the shaft by her finger tips and easily slid the scalding hot nut the length of her slit. The sensation caused the youth to sigh deeply and the woman to linger longer, just about her clitoris, around and over it.
"Sire, your cock excites me with love's mysteries," the woman softly cooed, descending the spongy tip to her opening and butting the growing knob in and out quite delicately.
D'Artagnan wished to heave upward and impale the lovely bottom but instead allowed the woman the pleasure of fiddling with his diddle in her own time and manner.
Lowering her weight she caught the pounding tip and inched it within her sheath. There she paused and flexed, thus squeezing the slippery eel inside until only half of his pulsing shaft remained exposed. Lifting up, she dangled the head once more about her opening and teased the sensitive nut with tiny explosive bites.
This painfully slow operation was setting the youth ablaze. He was desperate to take her full and pump her heartily but remained submissive and allowed the building of sparks to roll about his pouch in a gentle field of magnetic attraction.
The woman's thighs began to quiver and she rapidly slid down the pole and rested her immense bottom upon his balls. The youth felt the very tip of his cock lodge within her cervix. He breathed deeply and lifted his hips slightly, still pushing further, desirous of puncturing the very neck of her womb. The mixture of hair and flesh as she wiggled and ground into him set them both to moaning and within a span of three or four lustful thrusts they both spent a heavy discharge.
Grabbing her about the shoulders, the youth pulled her down and rolled on top of her. His broad chest smashed into her pendulous breasts and his lips went wild with a series of passionate kisses. The woman's bottom tugged and pulled in a desperate effort to draw him deeper. She moaned and cried, feeling his hot mouth about her nipples, his teeth chewing them to hardness.
"Oh ... oh ... dear...." she cried out, raising her large bottom and lifting his narrow hips clear to the air.
Gorging himself on the opulence of her orbs the youth began to move, slowly at first, in and out of the velvet scabbard. Gentle jabs teased the lining, making the juices flow. Longer more defined strokes increased the sensations until the pressure mounted and the movements became more frantic. Faster and deeper the youth thrust until he felt the ballooning of her cavity and the desperate convulsing of her walls. D'Artagnan's cock burst in a canyon of running fluid. His organ spit and gurgled as he splashed about the ravine that flooded its walls and dripped to about his balls.
"Dear sir, you are a splendid fuck," she breathed, once having regained her breath.
The youth remained silent but listened to the pounding of her heart. He wound his arms about her flesh and crushed her tightly against him. He was still full of desire and moved his way to her bottom. There he squeezed and molded the grand globes of her arse.
"You shall take everything from me," she stated, once again commencing to work her walls.
"I hope so, Milady," the youth stated, gripping her waist and pulling her to a sitting position. Now upright, with legs wrapped around each other, the two rocked back and forth, driving refreshed thrills the path of their blood streams. The woman's lips crushed his and their tongues coiled and darted the wet caverns as they orally imitated the pounding of their organs. Within seconds the two bodies stiffened and clutched, holding tightly. They released the discharge of accumulated sensation together. The woman slipped back and hung half way to the floor. D'Artagnan gripped her hips and once again proceeded to stroke his tool the length of her sheath.
"Sir ... sir ... please ... I...." She never did finish her sentence for the demanding pumping that D'Artagnan delivered to her cunt ignited the tunnel to another spasm. The youth delivered two or three more blows and groaned loudly at the sudden release of his pleasure.
When the youth had raised her to the bed and was settled comfortably beside her he smiled broadly, for the woman still held his limp pecker complete prisoner.
"What, dear sir, would those men want from me?" she asked, returning to the situation of moments before.
"Those men, Milady were more dangerous than mere robbers. They had taken your husband to the Bastille."
"What on earth for?" she said, growing white with fear.
"I know of your abduction," D'Artagnan volunteered, hoping this would open the woman's vocal chords.
"Oh...."
"How did you escape?"
"Through an open window," the woman half answered. "I must get to my godfather's," she continued, "to see if there is any danger to me returning to the palace."
"Better still, I shall take you to my friend, Athos. He is close by and we shall tell Monsieur Laporte that you wish to speak with him."
The woman's face broadened into a grin and she hugged the youth to her bosom and began exercising pressures upon his tool.
The youth had never met so luscious a cunt and immediately his cock stirred within the velvet folds. Her fingers traveled his back and settled on his hard bottom. She kneaded the none too pliable mounds and probed the narrow crack. Easing to and fro, the youth stroked the silken ridges as Madame's bottom wiggled and squirmed with excitement. Wildly lurching forward, then withdrawing, he slammed solidly again and unloaded a wad of blissful cream sauce. The woman's legs snapped about his hips and she clawed at his back savagely. Her body violently shook as her cunt chewed and strangled, paying tribute to the young man's stabbing lance.
Rolling to his back and pulling the woman over him D'Artagnan whispered four words that set the woman scrambling from his organ.
"Sit on my face."
The heavy bottom hung suspended above his head and his eyes scanned the wet slit. Its color was angry red and its gash deep purple. The thick slipperiness of sperm hung about the entrance and clung to short hairs. D'Artagnan lowered her slot within licking range and teased the swollen clit with the flat of his tongue.
"Oh sir," the woman panted, stretching her bountiful body above him. "You will drive me crazy."
The youth pulled the fat button within his mouth and nibbled the tip, then lazily rolled his tongue about the soft shaft. Like a tiny penis he worked the foreskin back and forth. The woman's head dropped back and her eyes closed as she sucked in and out, sending a heavy flow of secretion cascading her walls and over his chin.
Whimpering to excess, her bottom circled and jumped as she sank her fingers into the youth's hair and hung on for support. Her body started to tremble in nearing crises and D'Artagnan poked his tongue up her slot in a darting rapid motion, abruptly broadened it flat and licked the entire gash.
"Yes ... yes...." the woman screamed, smashing her buttocks over the youth's face and grinding her cunt into his mouth. "Yes...." she bellowed, closing her powerful thighs about him as she bore down and poured a steady gush into his mouth. Jackknifing back, her body convulsed in movements of pleasure, not knowing what she was doing.
D'Artagnan crawled over her writhing frame and slipped within her sheath. Stroking rapidly he brought about a violent and sudden eruption that triggered his own and together they spent in another gloriously heavy discharging.
Slipping from the bed the two dressed and quickly made their way from the hotel room. Nearing Athos' home, D'Artagnan turned to Madame and told her she must trust him for he would find a solution to all this mystery.
"I do, sir," she replied simply.
"What...." the youth exclaimed, discovering his friend not to be at home, "the devil! I shall let you in anyway."
Once within Athos' apartment the woman turned to D'Artagnan and said, "Now I shall give you instructions. Go to the Louvre and ask for Germain. He will ask you what you want and you must answer with two words, 'Tours' and 'Bruxelles.' He will then put you in touch with my godfather. And you will tell him to see me."
"When shall I see you again?" D'Artagnan suddenly asked.
"Do you wish so much to see me again?" the woman asked, surveying the handsome Gascon. "Of course."
"Well, let that care be mine. Be at ease." D'Artagnan bowed to Mme. Bonacieux, darted her a most loving glance and descended the stairs, leaving her to lock herself in.
CHAPTER SIX
Everything went as Mme. Bonacieux predicted. At the Louvre, hearing the passwords, Germain bowed low and retreated to fetch Laporte. The elder gentleman appeared quickly and D'Artagnan delivered his message. Before the men parted Laporte suggested the young man find an alibi for his time spent rescuing Madame. He felt it best, for the Cardinal would surely approach the King and ask for D'Artagnan's arrest.
The youth took his leave and went directly to his friend, M. de Treville. Gaining an audience, he explained his predicament to the Captain who immediately responded by pronouncing his appearance with him at exactly the time Madame was rescued.
Thanking his friend, the youth returned to the street which was now darkening with the setting of the sun. The luster of the city was so beautiful that the youth stretched his frame and scanned the sky for the early appearance of stars. It was then that he realized he was in love with Mme. Bonacieux. Overjoyed by this realization he fled the street and ran toward the lodgings of Aramis which were close at hand.
Passing the Rue Cassette he perceived the door of his friend's house and bolted, for something moved about the entrance heavily cloaked. At first he took it to be a man but on closer observation he recognized the smallness of the frame as belonging to a woman. Further, this woman lifted her eyes and looked about to see if she was being followed.
D'Artagnan crept closer then pulled back swiftly for the door opened and a stream of light flooded the court. Aramis smiled warmly and swiftly guided the woman inside.
"So this is how he studies his theology," D'Artagnan muttered lightly. "I shall have to see what lesson he will turn to tonight.
The youth crept closer and observed the small flicker of candle light within Aramis' bedroom. Reaching for the heavily ivied laticed wall, he climbed the steep grade and settled himself on the ledge outside the window.
The woman's face was exquisite. Her cheeks held the palest of pink and her lips the softest of moisture. Her large brown eyes burned with a mixture of fire and ice. The young Gascon gasped as he watched the woman's gown slip from her shoulders and fall to the floor. Gallantly, Aramis took her hand and guided her from the abundantly ruffled confines.
"Dearest," she whispered, embracing the Musketeer passionately, "I have missed you so much."
Aramis' almost perfectly shaped mouth lingered upon her full lips. His tongue probed the hungry mouth that sucked and tugged his slick muscle within.
"Darling...." he finally gasped, molding the length of her body and drawing her close against him. "I too have missed you," he whispered, squeezing her full bottom and drawing it tightly into his excited member.
"Come, get undressed," the woman pleaded, shaking with anticipated excitement.
The two, disrobed, immediately locked in another hot embrace. D'Artagnan sucked at his tongue, hoping to secrete enough moisture to dampen his parched throat. Good taste dictated he leave but his curiosity became the leader and he craned to see the two as they fell upon the bed.
Like a down comforter, Aramis slipped over the woman's cushioning flesh. Her legs wrapped about his calves as she insinuated her bottom and forced her pelvis to rub the standing organ between her legs.
D'Artagnan viewed the heavy pouch that Aramis carried between his thighs. It was soft and large and brilliant pink and at the moment glistened from the juice that poured down Madame's cunt. He noticed Aramis' pole to be thick rather than long and heartily headed with a large bulbous knob. More in sight was the underside that was coursed with bulging blue veins. The youth found the sight extremely pleasing and rode silently with the gentle pulsing that throbbed his cock.
Aramis slipped to the woman's breasts that appeared to be mountains of delicate pink marble. His tongue licked the circumference and then settled over the tip. There he lingered and sucked, showing an extremely blissful expression upon his face.
D'Artagnan watched as the Musketeer's member grew in size and jerked in anticipated joy. He noticed the woman's bottom contract and relax and envied the throbbing pole that grazed her thigh and snuggled her cuntie.
"Dearest ... dearest...." the woman groaned, heaving with pleasure as Aramis separated the folds of her snatch and breathed hotly upon her seeping slit. "Oh, my dear...." she moaned, lifting her delicately haired ravine to his lips. "Suck it, darling," she cooed, rolling her head back and forth upon the pillow as Aramis' lips found their way over her clit and encased it securely.
"Dearest ... dearest...." the woman cried, churning her bottom in a blissful display of enjoyment. "You suck it so well," she announced, applauding his technique.
D'Artagnan sat frozen in supreme rapture, for the woman's verbal appreciation excited him immensely. Her belly puffed and quivered and her magnificent tits heaved and swelled as the end drew near.
"Hurry, darling ... hurry," she cried, frantically reaching for Aramis' head and slashing his back raw with the sharpness of her fingernails. "Hurry, darling, I'm about to die," she yelled, heaving and rocking, lifting the Musketeer's head up and down in a splendid display of bobbing.
Aramis slipped his fingers within the drooling slit and proceeded to hammer the tightly snapping sheath until the woman's back lifted high and her legs shot straight out as she convulsed in a trembling discharge.
"Darling ... darling...." she cooed, drawing the Musketeer up over her body. "You are so splendid."
Aramis lay shaking on top of her. His pole still vibrated with hunger and the scarlet nut sweat with excitement. The woman suddenly lifted and threw the muscled frame off of her. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and she slapped him violently across the face.
"Next time don't take so long," she barked.
D'Artagnan, shocked by this sudden display of rage, nearly lost his footing. His first impulse was halted by the look of complete enjoyment that shadowed Aramis' face.
"Yes, dearest," the hulk of a man replied timidly.
"Now get it out," she bellowed, slipping from the bed and pinching his nut in a most painful manner.
Aramis searched beneath the pillow and retrieved a thick handled whip with a nasty snake coiling leather strap.
"It's about time. Up on your knees," she spit, grabbing the handle and flailing the thin streak of blackness above her head.
"Hear, darling, how it hisses," she taunted, swirling the menacing angry leather above his body. "You want it, don't you, Aramis?" she teased. "You know what you must do," she whispered softly.
Like a dog, the Musketeer rolled over and lifted his arse high. The woman stepped back and trailed the whip over his flesh in feather light softness.
"You're not ready yet," she said, flicking his balls with her fingers as she pulled back. "Now get in position if you want it."
Crawling to a ball the Musketeer extended his tongue and managed to lick the very tip of his organ.
"That's better, you filthy blasphemous swine," she spit, cracking him solidly on the arse with the handle. "That's even better," she announced, letting go with a ferocious lash that tore the skin and made Aramis' nut slip into his mouth.
Aramis proceeded to guzzle and suck at his prick as the woman continued to deliver a barrage of lashes that rendered the Musketeer's bottom raw. Blood trickled to the bed and soaked the sheet. The Musketeer's body was a blaze of trembling. He shook and rocked and finally, like a spring set loose, popped open and sprayed the bed with a torrent of sperm.
"You're not finished, you disgusting priest," she shouted, spreading his cheeks apart and shoving the handle clear up the rectum. The Musketeer groaned and winced as she brutally thrust the rough leather in and out of his passage. His cock, still erect, visibly pulsed and jumped with each intensive stroke.
"Oh, my love ... I'm sorry ... I'm sorry," the man cried out, wiggling his bottom in a frantic display of pleasure. "I'm sorry," he yelled, clutching the pillow and shoving it beneath his groin. "I'm sorr...." he gurgled, seized with a violent and sudden convulsion. He hammered his cock into the pillow and fell, still in epileptic tremors.
"Do you think you're finished?" the woman shouted. "You're not. Get up on your feet."
Aramis slowly raised his body from the bed. D'Artagnan closed his eyes in disbelief. The swell of nausea filled his stomach and he looked away for fear of heaving.
"You see what you've done?" the woman exclaimed, displaying her cunt which was saturated with juice and glistened like frost on the grass. "I want you to lick everything clean," she softly announced, flopping her large bottom upon the chair. "On your knees and between my legs," she commanded.
Aramis did as he was told and crawled to between her plump thighs and proceeded to lick strand for strand clean.
The woman's face appeared as a mask of sensual desire. D'Artagnan could hardly believe that such an exquisite countenance should possess such violent cravings. Her lips parted and she began to pant as the guzzling Musketeer poked his tongue into her slippery slot. Her hips tucked under and she scooted low, forcing her building cunt to smother the burrowing face. Lifting her right hand she cracked Aramis' bottom with the handle, forcing his mouth to faster action. Her lips twisted in a cruel animal snarl and her nostrils flared as she sucked in air and clawed his back. A deep seated moan escaped her throat and she heaved forward, spilling her flowing hair upon his back as she rocked and twisted in the pangs of orgasm.
"You saintly man," she howled, jack knifing back and standing to her feet. "Here, a place on the floor is not in keeping with your holiness," she added, aiding Armis to his feet. "Absolution, father. I pray for absolution," she cried, sinking to the floor and closing her eyes. Her hands joined as if in prayer and her lips parted and she slipped her tongue out as if to receive communion.
"First a confession, my child," Aramis announced, making the sign of the cross above her head.
"I dare not tell his Holiness what wicked things I have done."
"Have courage, my child. I shall understand. I too was once a worldly man."
"Since we last spoke, dear Father," she began, "I have bedded with many but none have made me feel as clean as you." Here she paused and gently touched Aramis' cock which stood erect before her lips. "I have grievously sinned for I am in constant need of a stallion. It is my fate to be endowed with plenty and need much tending. Therefore and for only this reason, I find the cool alabaster flesh of a man so desirous."
"So far, my child, you have spoken in generalities. Will not you confide more details to your narrative?"
"Of course, dear Father, if it will please you. First, last night, before my trip, I bedded down with a foul smelling man whose name I never got, whose weight I shan't easily forget. His cock, so thick and long, so hard and strong, did run its course within my shoot and I did spend so much I feared I had none left. He was a bull of a beast and bruised my flesh as you can see but I did enjoy his sullen touch for he sprang alive all my lust."
"And before?" Aramis interrupted.
"Before him there was Tomas, the butcher's son, very young and very much fun. He had within his body a vitality I have yet to meet the match and his dong stayed long and longer yet. It was he who insisted I ride him high and cover his chest with a urine bath. He sounds perverse but it is not so for I asked that he wet my bosom with a golden spray and together we lapped the drops away. Then of course, there was Charles, the baker's brother-in-law, a handsome steed who could not keep his whang from my back door. His foolishness with my behind damned near ruined my supply for his tool was so large it pierced my facade and made me think I'd never excrete again."
"Poor child ... to be abused so," Aramis consoled.
"It is not for naught that I am sadly ruined and bitterly keep looking for the right man to stop my thirst. Do you know one who might rid me of this parched lining?"
"Open your mouth, child, absolution runs my veins. I am about to wash you clean of your sins."
The woman closed her eyes and as Aramis uttered something in Latin he slipped his cock within her mouth and pumped it to and fro until it did spurt a heavy load clear to the woman's toes.
D'Artagnan could stand the scene no longer and slipped down the ladder to the street below. His mind was a flight of confusion and he wondered what had made Aramis so destructive toward his person.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden running appearance of Picard who was obviously in search of him at Aramis'.
"What are you doing here?" D'Artagnan asked, greeting his man servant.
"Monsieur Athos has been arrested."
"By whom and where?"
"At your lodgings by the Cardinal's Guards. They mistook him for you."
"What did you tell them?"
"Nothing. He told me that since you needed your liberty he would go with them."
"And Porthos?"
"I searched for him but was unable to find him."
"I must tell M. de Treville about Athos. Stay near our lodgings and await my return."
D'Artagnan rushed to the court of the Musketeers and was told M. de Treville was at the Louvre with the King. Swiftly he made his way toward the palace and spied two figures leaving the rear entrance. One struck him very much. It appeared to be the person of Mme. Bonacieux; the other, a man who resembled his close friend, Porthos. The Gascon was not certain for the hood was well over the woman's head and the man held a handkerchief about his face. The youth watched with the eyes of a cat for his heart was suddenly flooded with jealousy and rage. At once he was certain it was she and felt bound to follow closely behind.
The couple perceived they were being watched and doubled their speed. D'Artagnan determined not to lose them and redoubled his speed, passed them and waited for them to round the corner where he breathlessly waited.
As they neared he jumped in front of them and stopped their passage cold.
"What do you want?" the gentleman asked in a broad foreign accent.
D'Artagnan at once knew it was not Porthos. "What do you want?" he snapped, standing his ground. G
"For you to move so I might pass," the gentleman replied, showing much irritation and nervousness.
"You may leave but Madame may not," D'Artagnan stated.
"Take my arm, Madame," the stranger said. "And we shall pass."
D'Artagnan stepped forward and crossed his arms, thus openly refusing passage. The stranger reached out to push the youth aside but the young Gascon stepped back and drew his sword.
"For the love of God," Madame Bonacieux cried, throwing herself in front of D'Artagnan's sword. "You will ruin us all."
The stranger lowered his handkerchief and D'Artagnan gasped, recognizing the Duke of Buckingham.
"My Lady, I ask a hundred pardons," the youth stuttered. "I love her, my Lord and I...."
"Be still, my brave young man," the Duke said. "Be of good service and follow us to my waiting carriage and if anyone should walk within twenty paces ... slay him."
The Gascon followed his instructions implicitly. When they arrived at their destination the Duke humbly bid Madame a good night and whispered something in her ear to which she replied, "I shall tell her."
When the Duke had left, D'Artagnan asked Madame Bonacieux to stay the night with him at the little Inn across the road. The woman vowed her constancy but informed the infatuated youth the impossibility of this treat.
"I must return at once to the Louvre, my love," she whispered.
"Then I shall escort you."
"That is impossible. My escort arrives now," Madame announced, directing her attention to a gentleman just arrived.
"Trust me, D'Artagnan and you shall not be sorry."
Disgustedly the youth watched his mistress climb aboard the gentleman's steed and gallop off toward the palace. In low spirits, D'Artagnan set off to search for Porthos and a night of drunkeness.
CHAPTER SEVEN
D'Artagnan arrived at Porthos' on the stroke of eleven. His man servant, Mousqueton, dressed in full livery, answered the door. Recognizing the frequent visitor, he immediately ushered him into the antechamber where D'Artagnan found Porthos in the arms of two exotic females.
"My friend!" the barrel chested man loudly welcomed.
The youth grinned broadly, seeing Porthos indulging his appetite with his customary gluttony. "Where have you been? Picard sought you earlier."
"I don't quite know," the visibly spirited Musketeer admitted. "No matter. You are here now and there is much meat for a late supper."
"I am more in the mood for wine than food," the Gascon announced, dropping into the chair and draping his legs over the arm.
"Mousqueton!" Porthos bellowed. "Some more wine and another glass."
"Athos has been arrested," D'Artagnan announced, casually.
"My heaven," his comrade blurted, obviously sobered by this announcement.
"Don't be alarmed. As soon as they discover he is not me he shall be set free."
"Oh...." Porthos grunted, falling back into the soft cushy breasts that supported his weight. "Lovely, aren't they?"
"Where on earth did you get them from?"
"You know Pastare? Well, he is keeping them until his master returns and then they shall be sent to England."
D'Artagnan viewed the olive skinned women that cloaked Porthos in flesh. Their skin had the luster of highly polished wood and their luxuriously thick hair the darkness of the raven. Almond shaped eyes that blinked frequently stared back at him.
"Are they any good?" he asked, following the smooth unbroken curves of their bodies.
"The best," Porthos stated. "Pick your prize."
"No, I shall refrain for I am under too great a strain to tax my body."
"Have you been about Aramis too long?" Porthos joked.
"I do not think our friend is so biblical," D'Artagnan announced, suddenly feeling the wine touch his head.
"Perhaps. But that is his concern and not ours," the Musketeer replied, nuzzling the neck of one woman while his thumb rubbed the other's nipple.
"I shall leave," the youth suddenly announced, standing and then falling back into the chair.
"Are you ill?" Porthos asked, concerned.
"Slightly dizzy suddenly."
"Then it is settled. You will stay. Pepit, help Monsieur to his bedroom," his friend instructed.
The girl lifted and walked barefoot to the wavering youth.
"Handle him with care for he is a gallant fellow," Porthos said.
D'Artagnan dropped his arm about her bare shoulder and allowed his weight to drift upon her small frame. She led him down the long corridor and into Porthos' guest room. Then, guiding him to the bed, she gently seated him and lifted his feet so he might relax.
"Do you speak French?" he asked.
The girl shook her head no.
"But, obviously you understand it."
Slipping the goblet from his hand she placed it upon the table, then went about the business of removing his doublet. Lifting his arms above his head she tugged it free. D'Artagnan breathed deeply as the girl Pepit's palms molded his chest and massaged his muscles. A subtle spray of excitement drifted lazily about his cock and he raised his arms and flung them over the girl's shoulders. Scanning her breasts he found them exquisitely shaped, full, uptilted and peaked with caramel circles.
As she tugged his boots free he traced the outline of her long back and expansive hips. Her skin had a warm sparkle to it and the Gascon enjoyed the silky smoothness beneath his fingers.
Lifting his hips, she pulled his trousers to below his knees. D'Artagnan smiled, noticing the expression of lust that glazed her eyes as she spied the semi-erect state of his cock.
"You enjoy men don't you?" he said, taking a large gulp of wine as the girl tip toed to the wash basin and tested the water in the pitcher. "Of course you do," he grinned, draining his glass. "Get me some more spirits," he commanded, holding his empty glass out to the girl as she passed.
"Damned woman," he muttered aloud. "She didn't hear a word I was saying. None of them do."
When Pepit returned she found D'Artagnan dozing. Placing the basin on the table she wet a cloth and applied it to his cock. The youth sat up with a start. "What the hell is going on?"
The woman's lips turned to a soft smile.
"Oh...." he lazily yawned, falling back to the over stuffed pillow.
The girl clasped her fingers about his shaft and squeezed, lightly releasing a small amount of water that trickled his balls and slipped between his crack. Gently, and with utmost care, she lifted his pouch and wiped the drops from beneath. The youth moaned softly, feeling another wave of heat traverse his groin and coil his spine.
Rinsing the cloth, Pepit soaped it to a frothy lather and returned to the young man's nut. She began rubbing the head in a delicate, almost feather light motion that set a barrage of sensations riveting his shaft. The young Gascon could feel the veins expand and bulge the thin membranes of his flesh. He separated his thighs and pushed his bottom up, thus giving more access to his crack. Immediately the slick soapy fabric found its way within his ridge and burrowed itself into the tiny opening of his rectum.
Pepit paused and looked down at the Gascony youth. Her eyes were veiled with excitement and D'Artagnan could tell by the blush of her cheeks she was preparing him to meet her needs.
She returned the cloth to the basin, rinsed and again applied it to his formidable rod. Removing the fluff of soap, she stepped back and examined her work like a sculptor his statuary. With skilled artistry she approached his stiff pole and encased it within her mouth. That first sensation of warmth sent a shudder through D'Artagnan's body and he involuntarily lurched upward, sending the nut hard against her palate. The jolt didn't seem to bother the girl. On the contrary, she set about licking the freshly cleansed cob like an ear of corn, first licking, then nibbling. The youth felt his corpuscles expand and his arteries balloon. She pulled the swelling shaft clear down her throat and contracted, thus squeezing the palpatating pole to the limit.
D'Artagnan bucked and thrust in a sudden and urgent burst of accumulated tension and issued forth a load of sauce. The girl consumed the clear gravy with the thirst of a desert flower. And when finished, stood before D'Artagnan licking her chops like a pussy cat. The youth searched the folds of flesh between her thighs, the dense growth of curly locks and the succulent nipples that stared out at him.
"Come here," he spit, catching a handful of hair and pulling her over him.
The girl's lips went wild. She snaked her tongue into his mouth, around his neck and behind his ear. She ground her breasts into his chest and churned her bottom, catching his cock between her thighs, working it up and down her slit.
The youth enjoyed the heated sheath of her lips and slammed her thighs together so he might absorb the opulent flesh surrounding his shaft. Her bottom insinuated itself in a most excited flurry and instantly fired his passions. Rapidly the two moved in a hasty and absorbed fashion. Their flesh sizzled with electricity as they pumped and spilled profusely.
Lecherously bent, the girl wrapped her limbs about his waist and connected with internal pressures. The youth was once again stroking the moist cellar and drinking at the opulent fountains. Her tongue wiggled about his throat as her hands manipulated his satchel. She was everywhere at once and at once everything was somewhere for her bottom spun into grinding and her lips into biting. He raised up and jabbed her hard, sending a torrent of sperm up her shoot.
"Come on ... come on...." Porthos urged, guiding the other girl into the bedroom where D'Artagnan and Pepit rested. "I've brought your friend, Pepit," Porthos continued, slapping Pepit on the rump. "Get up. I want to lie down."
The girl left D'Artagnan's arms and seated herself on the floor beside her friend.
"It's in the drawer. Strap it on," Porthos laughed, hitting D'Artagnan in the shoulder with his elbow as he opened the drawer, pulled out an object and threw it to Pepit.
"What the devil, Porthos?" his friend exclaimed.
"You must learn all there is to learn," the Musketeer stated in a professorial tone.
Pepit stood tall and D'Artagnan observed the handsomely carved phallus that was identical to Porthos'.
"Magnificent, isn't it?" Porthos smiled, slipping from the bed and staggering toward the girl. "Look, they're alike," he exclaimed, holding his in his left hand the copy in his right. "Observe the foreskin, nut and shaft. The ridges, veins and little tiny veins. The pouch ... I regret I could not match the locks of my head to perfect an absolute replica so instead of a gross forgery I left it hairless. I must admit I prefer the abundance of hair about the satchel. What do you think, D'Artagnan?"
"I think you are mad," the youth announced, in disbelief, for in carving, the two were exact.
"It took an artisan four days and five nights of continuous labor to produce such a fine trapping," Porthos boasted, letting the copy drop and swing heavily between the girl's legs. "I selected the wood and leather that should combine to produce such a perfect specimen."
"Will you kindly shut your peacock beak so I might see this glorious tribute to you in action, my friend?" D'Artagnan lightly jested.
"Of course. Girls ... amuse yourselves."
Pepit turned to her companion whose marked darkness resembled hers in looks and face and commanded her to stand. The girl quickly did as she was told and more, for upon rising, she slipped her fingers between her thighs and played with her clitoris while awaiting Pepit's next move.
"Wait ... here," D'Artagnan interrupted, throwing the two enormous pillows to the floor.
Pepit piled them one on top the other and commanded the girl to seat her bottom down. She did so and bent her back so that her pussy was in full view. The men sighed deeply, observing the slick and swollen gash.
"You have worked her heavily," D'Artagnan commented, noticing how rubbery and stretched her channel appeared.
"Just outside ... for indoors she is still quite tight."
"Nevertheless, she is rushing with juice."
"It is a habit of hers. She is a well that never runs dry."
"That, my friend, is the only kind to drink from," D'Artagnan laughed, slapping the back of his comrade.
"Lorette, finger yourself," Porthos suggested, "I should like my friend to see what a wonderful machine you possess."
"I think you perverse," the youth observed.
"Not at all. Part of the joy of dining is seeing what you are about to feast."
The girl's fingers, like scissors, snipped the strands of black hair and pulled the shield open. Her clit stood out like a nose, bright red from the cold. The delicate pink between lips and slit shone a high gloss and the deep gash sparkled a ruby red.
"She is lovely," D'Artagnan complimented. "Why is it, my friend, that men like we should fight to die between those folds?"
"Excuse me ... for thee. For my part, one gash is like another ... some a little snugger ... some less a hugger. But all produce the same juice for this here bugger."
D'Artagnan broke into peels of laughter, sincerely amused by his friend's lack of rhyme and honest admission of crime.
"Look at the way she fondles it," Porthos exclaimed, overjoyed by the manipulations going on before his eyes. "Look ... did you see that lustrous drop slip into her hair and splatter the pillow? I tell you, D'Artagnan, she is the ripest fruit I've ever picked."
Truly the woman's gash was flooding. Pepit stepped in front and moved between, guiding the solid object directly to the hole. The men craned to see the hard nut poke the entrance, tease the lips and slip inside. The girl's body contracted as she sucked in and took it to the strap.
"Dear boy, I tell you she pinches like nobody has ever," Porthos sighed, obviously aroused by this display.
"Ohhhh yessss...." the girl oozed as the wooden dildo slipped out and hung about her lips. The glass smooth wood glistened with spunk.
"My God, can I be so splendid?" Porthos gasped, first looking intensely upon the object, then examining his own lethal weapon.
Pepit stroked and brought about another breathy noise from the girl. Staying lodged, she humped forcefully, setting her bottom to wiggling. The men groaned, watching the juice spray from her crevice and run her inner thigh.
"I can stand it no longer," Porthos confessed, leaping from the bed and assaulting the girl's buttocks. "I shall lodge myself in two at once," he flipped, spreading her cheeks and slamming within. "Oh ... D'Artagnan, she is exquisite," he huffed, grinding her bottom hole.
D'Artagnan sprang from his bed, aimed his spear and lunged forward, accurately lancing his prey. The Musketeer groaned joyously as he felt the fat pole climb his bunhole while his organ pounded Pepit's slit. The girl below writhed in frantic bliss for her excitement was greatly heightened by the animalistic charging the men were doing. Pepit was by force terrorizing her hole with unbridled assaults. In a gloriously frantic and heaving unleashing of emotion, the four twisted and churned in the throes of fiery orgasms. First, Porthos ... then, Petit ... the girl and lastly D'Artagnan, all squirmed and wiggled to the floor in a ball of splendid discharging.
When the muscles stopped contracting and their breathing paced to about normal the four dislodged and fell fast asleep. The abrupt and loud entrance of Athos brought them from their stupor.
"My God," the Musketeer shouted. "I sacrifice myself for you and what do I receive in return?"
"The supreme sacrifice," D'Artagnan yawned. "My flesh."
"Get up, you lout, and listen for I bring you news. Your landlord has been returned safe and sound."
"When?"
"An hour ago. By word of Picard."
"He is a fine fellow, Porthos. You chose well," D'Artagnan complimented.
"Then is it safe for me to return to my lodgings?" D'Artagnan reasoned. "I shall dress and be off."
The youth robed quickly, thanked Athos and bid his friends stop by his house on the morrow. Then, hurriedly, he stole into the wee hours of morning to his lodgings.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ten minutes after D'Artagnan was home he heard the voices of Monsieur and Madame Bonacieux. The youth slipped silently to the floor and pressed his ear flat to the thin wood slabs.
"I have something of the highest importance to tell you," she started.
"True," her husband remarked. "Tell me of your abduction."
"That is of no consequence now," Mme. Bonacieux said.
"Do you yet realize that I was plunged into the bastille?" Bonacieux stated, hurt by his wife's obvious indifference to his plight.
"The time passes quickly. Let us return to the reason I have returned at such a foul hour."
"Is it not me?" the husband asked, piqued to the quick.
"Yes, of course. But there are other reasons. It is of the highest importance and one which our future rests."
"The complexion of our fortune has changed a great deal since last I saw you, Madame."
"That is true. Particularly if you follow the instructions I am about to give you."
"Me?" the husband said, astonished.
"There is an important action that must be performed of the highest secrecy. And much money may be gained." Mme. Bonacieux knew if she appealed to her husband's weaker side, money, she was more likely to gain his co-operation.
"How much money?"
"Thousands."
"What must I do?"
"You must go to London and deliver a paper I shall give you."
"To London? You jest."
"You must go. An illustrious person sends you to another illustrious person," the wife said.
"More intrigue. Nothing but intrigues. Thank you, Madame, I am aware now of what you speak. Monsieur the Cardinal has enlightened me on that head."
"Have you seen the Cardinal?" the woman asked with quiet fear.
"He sent for me."
"When?"
"Not more than a few hours ago."
"In the Bastille?"
"For certain. Our conversation was of great interest."
"What have you told him?" she asked, now trembling with fear.
"All that he asked," the landlord boasted, displaying a large plump money purse full of coins.
The woman frothed with rage. "You meddle in politics, the Cardinal's politics. You would see your soul to the devil for money!"
"No, to the Cardinal."
"It is the same thing."
"Hold yor tongue, Madame. You may be overheard," the husband warned.
Gaining her wits, the wife turned to a tender voice. "If you depart for London I shall forgive you everything and restore my love to you."
The landlord, struck by his wife's beauty and recollection of their passion hesitated for a moment. For although greedy, he did, in his own way, love his wife. "But London is so far ... and surely the Cardinal will be on the look ... I do not know...."
"You are cowardly and stupid," she blurted, losing her patience. "If you do not do as I ask I shall have the Queen's guards arrest you."
"I shall appeal to his Eminence."
"Perhaps you are right," his wife announced, uncertain of his future course. "I think it best we forget the entire episode."
The landlord sensed his wife's sudden change of mood and said, "I am touched with a terrible headache. I feel the need for some air."
Mme. Bonacieux shot her husband a look which telegraphed the shadow of doom. They were well aware of whose side they would soon take, both on opposite chairs.
"Very well. I must return to the Louvre," Madame remarked.
"Shall I escort you?"
"No, I shall find my way alone."
Bonacieux kissed his wife's hand and set off at a quick pace.
Madame was instantly seized with terror. Her heart raced about her bosom at a fluttering clip. "I have promised my poor Mistress to arrange everything and now she shall take me for one of the spies that are placed about her."
At the pronouncement of these words she hear a rapping on the ceiling which made her head raise and the voice of D'Artagnan said quietly, "Open the little door in the alley and I will come down to you."
The youth slipped through the door and stood before his beloved.
"You have heard everything?" she asked eagerly.
"The whole."
"My God," the woman breathed, totally discomforted.
"What can I do to serve you and the Queen?"
"You are but a boy...." she muttered.
"Is your memory so short?" D'Artagnan asked, deeply hurt by her remark.
"I did not mean in affairs of passion. This ... this is not my secret to reveal."
"You were about to tell your husband of its nature."
Mme. looked at the young man and was restrained by hesitation; but the ardor in his eyes and persuasion in his voice moved her to speak. Besides, she was in a circumstance where everything must be risked for the sake of everything.
"You must swear, before God who hears us, that if you betray me I shall die before you."
"I swear it, my love, for I shall never betray you," the youth proclaimed, overcome with the beauty of her countenance.
"Silence," the woman commanded. "Someone is in the street."
"Your husband. He must not find you here. Quick, up to my room," D'Artagnan whispered, guiding her through the interior door into the passage, ascending the stairs as quietly as possible and entering his chambers.
The two immediately ran to the window and, through a slit in the shutter, saw her husband talking with a man in a cloak.
The pair entered the room and D'Artagnan and the woman fell to the floor to listen.
"She has returned to the Louvre," the landlord sighed with relief. "The news I brought you is of value?"
"Of the most urgent."
"Then the Cardinal will be pleased with me?"
"For certain," the gentleman stated. "You are sure your wife mentioned no names?" The man nodded.
"You must seek your wife and accept this assignment. You must obtain the letter. Can you do this?" the gentleman asked, with a sense of total urgency.
"My wife adores me. There is still time," the landlord confided.
"Ninny!" Madame murmured above.
"Silence," D'Artagnan warned.
"Good, then we must leave. You to the Louvre; I to the Cardinal," the gentleman concluded, leaving the room with Monsieur Bonacieux.
"I must leave for the Palace, instantly," the woman stated.
D'Artagnan stretched his arm out and flattened the woman to the floor. With quick ease he pulled her to him and crushed her against his chest. "Not so fast, my love," he whispered, kissing her passionately upon the lips.
"We have no time for such things," the woman said, struggling to free herself.
"If my blood is to be spilled, then I must have courage."
A gentle smile turned the corners of her mouth and Madame snuggled beneath the strong arms of D'Artagnan. Her succulent breasts heaved and she pushed the magnificent orbs into his chest. The youthful Gascon squeezed the impertinent mounds of pleasure as his cock insinuated itself against the folds of skirt. D'Artagnan reached the hooks of her blouse but the woman protested and instead lifted her skirt above her waist.
The youth busily unhooked his trousers and freed the hardened tool that pounded between his well developed thighs. Instantly he felt her delicate fingers encase it and guide it to her slit.
"Dear lady," D'Artagnan breathed, shuddering as the liquid cluster of flesh encased his shaft. "You are perfection," he swooned, moving back and forth, lubricating and exciting. The lady opened her petal pink lips and lodged the head of his cock within the door. Then, pushing her bottom down in a most lascivious way, inched the board stiff poker inside. The meshing of flesh upon flesh inflamed the youth and he searched her back and drew her tightly to him. Holding her in a vice-like grip, he flexed his bottom and swooned, feeling the first jolting burst of sensation careen his loin.
"Dearest...." she muttered, grinding her breasts into his chest and sucking furiously the walls of her slot. "You're so big and fat. I wish you could remain inside me all day."
Her lining rippled, then squeezed and D'Artagnan felt himself the luckiest of men for having discovered a most lewd, yet beautiful woman.
Pumping his organ very deep, then retreating, the youth worked up a heavy heat and ground his teeth with pleasure in excess of indefinable feelings. Her slot continued to bite and gobble until he felt a heave and a shudder, another sensation as if he was going to expire and caught his breath. Wildly and vigorously he lusted her cod and drew drops with every cut. A hard and convulsive start perpetrated his bottom and he jerked forward, discharging a wad of dew that mixed with hers as both entwined and raptured to a halting conclusion.
"Dearest creature," the youth groaned, still very heated and very much within her weight. "I must continue for I shall soon be on a long journey and without your magnificent bottom."
"Is that only what you desire from me?"
"No, my Lady. But it is a part and one which I love dearly," the young man concluded, pumping joyously within its juicy confines. The woman's legs wrapped about his hips and she rocked to and fro, drawing each inch of pleasure she could take.
D'Aragnan fiddled with her bottom, rode the hairy ridge of her arse and poked into the tight confines of her bunhole. "Dear woman...." he breathed, feeling the rippling her two canals were doing. "You are sending me to paradise." The woman increased the superb workings of her corridors and dripped a copious load about the staff to pay her tribute to such a handsome lover.
"Hurry, darling...." she groaned, now activated with more zest and urgency. "Hurry, darling for you are about to make me die."
The youth secured his saddle and rode at a volatile clip. The woman's bottom lunged up and down, her nails clawed his doublet and she bit wildly into his neck as a thundering downpour of secretion defined her conclusion. D'Artagnan poked her bottom hole with his fingers as his lance continued to indent her walls. He was still riding the crest of a giant wave and suddenly it quivered and spilled over him, taking him beneath its huge frothy billowiness.
"Dearest," the woman panted. "There is no more time to take. When you have concluded this mission I shall stay within yours arms for just as long as you desire but now we must cease or else we shall become fodder for the Cardinal's table."
"You are correct," the blade concluded, withdrawing his staff. "He is in much need of you," the youth remarked, noticing the member had ceased to deflate.
"I must return to the Queen and you must be off with her letter to London" The woman once more paused before continuing. "There you will go directly to the Duke's place and give him this note. He will return to you two of the diamond studs the Queen has given him. D'Artagnan," the woman suddenly said, in the most serious tone, "you must be back within ten days time for the King has commanded the Queen wear her studded cloth at a ball he is giving and if she does not appear with all twelve it will be her head and the Cardinal's victory, for it is the Cardinal who has infected the King's mind with jealousy."
"How did his Eminence learn of the two missing diamonds?"
"He has spies everywhere. Take care, my love. At this moment you hold the future of France within your hands," Madame Bonacieux stated, lifting from the floor and placing in his hands the letter which bore the Queen's seal.
The youth held it to his breast and pronounced, "Upon my life ... it shall be delivered. Expect me ten days from today."
The two parted and D'Artagnan went directly to M. de Treville and asked for a leave of absence. Swearing his mission of the utmost importance, he begged for a ten day pass.
"Sire," the youth confided, "all that I can tell you is that it concerns the Queen and I have reason to believe the Cardinal would stop at nothing to prevent this journey."
The captain reflected for a moment, then asked if the youth planned this campaign alone. D'Artagnan acknowledged this was his strategy and Monsieur the Captain suggested he take with him his most trusted friends, Athos, Porthos and Aramis.
A joyous smile crossed the youth's face and the two men parted with a warm embrace with M. de Treville bidding him a most successful journey.
CHAPTER NINE
The four adventurers, at two in the morning, left Paris by way of the back roads. As long as it was dark they remained silent for they had reason to fear ambushes on every side.
With the first rays of the day their tongues were loosened and feeling like the eve of battle crossed over them. Their hearts pounded, their eyes laughed and they felt that the life they were perhaps to lose, was after all, a glorious one.
The caravan was formidable in style. The Musketeers sat astride black horses whose regimental steps and noble carriage would have intimidated the most worldly of men. The lackeys followed, armed to the teeth.
Everything went well till they arrived at Chantilly, which they reached at eight in the morning. They needed breakfast and alighted the door of an Inn. They ordered their man servants not to unsaddle the horses and told them to wait in readiness to set off again immediately.
They entered the common hall and placed themselves at the table. A gentleman just arrived was seated at the same table and was breakfasting. He opened the conversation about rain and fine weather and the travelers replied. He drank to their health and the travelers returned his politeness.
A buxom girl of not more than fourteen years approached the table and openly flirted with Porthos as she requested their pleasure. The Musketeers smiled broadly, noticing their companion's eyes undress the bold young woman. "Best you ordered something for your gut," Aramis suggested to Porthos.
"It is not my gut that suddenly awakens," Porthos laughed, casually brushing the girl's bottom as she slipped beside him to set upon the table the pewter coffee pot.
His friends commenced to eat the spread before them but Porthos felt the eyes of the girl continually upon his neck and contrived a way to satisfy this piercing look.
"Gentleman, I shall return in just a moment," the enormous Cavalier announced, standing to his full height and walking to where the girl sat. "Can you show me to a wash basin? My hands are soiled from our long journey."
The men tittered lightly as they over heard this feigned bit of wit from the intolerably disorganized Porthos.
The girl led him to the back of the long hall and just beneath the steps she paused and indicated a table.
"Is this all you present to me?" the Musketeer announced, much taken with the youthful sauciness the girl evinced upon her face.
"Would you have more?" she coyly asked, lowering the lids of her amber eyes and jutting heartily her bosom up front.
"Play no games with me, child. I have an important mission I must perform. Up with your skirt or else I shall return."
The girl immediately brought the drape of cloth to above her waist. The Musketeer gasped with pleasure, for the sight of her plump bottom and hair patch was titilating his cock. He stooped to his knees and separated the curly locks that barricaded her entrance. "You are so wet, my young ripe girl," he muttered, fingering her slit. The juice poured from her slot as the man rubbed about her clit and eased about her hole.
"Dear, sir, I am in need of you," she cried softly, arching her head and rolling her tongue about her lips, thrilling as Porthos played about her cunt.
"Then you shall have me," the burly framed Cavalier announced, opening her legs and licking her snatch with a furious and abandon lust. The girl's body started to quiver upon receiving the determined lashing of Porthos' tongue. The Cavalier poked about her slot to discover if, still, her membrane barricaded its end and pleasantly discovered her smoothly open and pulsing with hunger.
Raising to his feet he pulled free his organ and pushed it up and down her slit, lubricating its hardness.
The girl's arms snaked about his barrel chest and clutched his doublet. She was panting with heat and desperate to taste the fatness of his prick. "Please, sir, fill me," she moaned, flushed with excitement.
Porthos wasted no more time. Seizing his spongy tip he lodged it securely and rammed it to the hilt. The girl swooned with joy as she felt the hard thickness fill her canal. "Oh, sir ... you ... bring me such pleasure," she panted, thrusting her hips violently into the Cavalier's groin.
Porthos felt the familiar rising of vibrations circling his pouch and drew the girl tighter to him. Her bottom rocked with determined passion as she clawed and trembled, nearing the top. "Harder...." she ground between clenched teeth. "Harder...." she cried, quaking with convulsive spasms and wobbling at the knees. The Musketeer grabbed her arse and sank his fingers into the luxurious orbs to support her weight as he pumped to his own finish. Banging a long stroke, he hunched up and spewed a mighty spray clear to her womb.
"Please, sir ... again," she whispered, clinging to his frame.
"For now it is enough. But upon my return I shall fuck your bottom until it sleeps," he promised, uncorking and searching a towel.
"Here," she offered, wiping the glistening prick clean with the softness of her petticoat.
"I doubt very much, sir, if the Cardinal would appreciate that sort of immoral behavior," a deep masculine voice remarked, sneaking up behind Porthos.
The Cavalier swung about and looked directly at the gentleman who shared their table. "What business is it of yours or the Cardinal's," he snapped, replacing his cock in its proper nesting spot.
"I only wished to fetch you for I was about to propose a toast to his Eminence," the man remarked.
"You're drunk" Porthos flipped, brushing past him to return to his friends.
Mousqueton, Porthos' man servant entered to announce the horses were ready. The three, having overheard the conversation, rose from the table and started toward the door.
"To the Cardinal," the stranger bellowed, raising his glass.
Porthos, heated by this display, drew his sword.
"You have committed a folly," Athos remarked, "but there is no drawing back. Kill the fellow and rejoin us as quickly as possible."
All three mounted their horses and set out quickly while Porthos was shouting to perforate his adversary with thrusts he'd learned in fencing school.
"There goes one," Athos cried, at the end of five hundred paces.
"But why did he attack him rather than one of us?" Aramis asked.
"Because Porthos was crowing the loudest and he mistook him for the leader," D'Artagnan said.
At Beauvais they stopped two hours to rest as well as to breath the horses. At the end of this time, Porthos did not show up and the travelers continued their journey.
A mile from the spot, they fell in with eight or ten men who appeared to be digging up holes and filling up the ruts with mud.
Aramis, fastidious about his cleanliness, chastised the men sharply for throwing about this filthy mortar. Athos wished him to restrain himself, but it was too late. The laborers began to jeer the travelers and even the cool Athos urged his horse upon one of them.
The men suddenly retreated to a ditch where lay hidden, muskets. The result which was that they outnumbered our friends handsomely. Aramis received a ball which passed through his shoulder and Mousqueton another which lodged the fleshy part of his loin. He fell from his horse and lay wounded.
Aramis, wounded as he was, seized the mane of his horse and galloped by the side of his companions.
At the cross roads of Crevecoeur, Aramis declared he could proceed no farther. He grew paler every minute and the two friends were obliged to support him on his horse. They lifted him off at the door of a cabaret, left Bazin, his man servant with him and set forth again, hoping to arrive in Amiens by midnight.
On the stroke of twelve they alighted at the Golden Lily, an Inn of reputable reputation.
The host appeared amiable, too much so, for he smiled broadly and subserviently showed the Cavalier's to their rooms, one at each end of the hall. Declining his offer, the two insisted upon lodging within the same chamber. After a heated conversation, the men were awarded a bed room large enough for two.
Athos stretched his tired frame upon one bed as D'Artagnan nervously paced about the room.
"Picard," the youth snapped, to his lacky who sat curled near the door with Grimud. "Go fetch the plumpest rump you can find. Mark me ... she best have a handsome bottom and a heavy top."
"Are you so pensive?" Athos muttered, dozing.
"That I am."
The man servant disappeared and returned within fifteen minutes time with a succulent piece of flesh that flashed a gloriously warm smile upon seeing the gentleman who requested her presence.
"Your name?" the youth asked, sitting up in bed and letting the cover fall about his waist, displaying his broad and virile chest.
Athos opened one eye and then the other, over joyed with the view. Lifting to his elbows, he winked at D'Artagnan who cast him a sly look.
"Undress," the youth commanded.
The two men searched the abundant curves of her body as she removed her garments. Her breasts were truly enormous and of the palest pink. Her nipples a shade darker but paler than most titties and more abundantly haloed. Her stomach protruded a little too much for D'Artagnan's taste but her thighs snuggled closely together and promised to support the thunder of any man extremely well. The hair that mossed her snatch was light brown in color and highlighted by strands of gold. The two men silently exchanged another glance and applauded with their smiles the sight of her fuzzy pink gash.
"You are well awake?" D'Artagnan asked, knowing full well the response. "Come here ... your name? I never got it?"
"Rachael," she whispered, swaying toward him with her magnificent belly leading the way. Nearing the bed, D'Artagnan reached out and drew the extraordinary poundage over him. She settled on top like a warm parcel of baker's dough. The youthful hands coped her back and shoulders as his tongue slipped to between her full lips and probed its hot mate. The woman's body undulated in a snaking fashion and aroused the most erotic of sensations within his body. His pogo stood between her legs and pulsed the bushel of hair that designed her slit. He could feel the trickle of juice as he slipped her slot and it dripped down upon his machine. The youth pushed the woman lower and lodged his shaft within the fat wrinkles of flesh.
Athos stood over them in triggered excitement. His cock bulged like a heated bull set for action and his eyes roamed the soft roundness of her bottom. Clasping her about the hips, he lifted her arse and set her to her knees. D'Artagnan groaned at the loss of his secure blanket but haulted a protest for the woman's lips engulfed his nut and brought about the comfortable sensation of moments ago.
Athos parted the tasty globs and examined the ridge of her crack. Her tiny poop hole was pinched and red and he lowered his head and moistly ran his tongue the length. The woman wiggled her arse, feeling the slick muscle travel her bottom hole. D'Artagnan groaned deeply, feeling the woman's touch turn into a more lustful attack. She guzzled and licked about his shaft, ran her tongue down the underside, beneath his pouch, up the top and over the tip. She seemed everywhere at once and the youth could hardly control the thrills that chased about his body. The edge of her teeth pulled the strands of pubic hair and nipped the marslimal-low texture of his balls. She sucked the pounding pouch within her mouth and rolled it about. The youth's chest expanded while his breathing became more labored. Her lips slipped to his nut and she blew hard, then sucked violently, setting the Gascon to trembling and spilling. A steady stream of sperm washed her throat and she swallowed each drop until his prick ceased to jerk.
Athos busily rode his steed up and down her slit. He was out side but engulfed in flesh and the hairy tickle, as it brushed his shaft, thrilled him greatly. Up and down he moved, like a circus performer until he too jerked more violently and spent a famous discharge upon the bed.
The woman, so aroused by Athos' action upon her clit, heaved with her mount and succumbed to the sparks ignited by his glorious machine and discharged with him a load so heavy as to soak the sheets. Both she and Athos dropped flat to the bed beside D'Artagnan.
The youth patted his friend's rump and bade him rise. Then, lifting his weight over the wom-ans waist, scotted forward and encased his cock within her cleavage. The sensation of her sweating tits hugging his machine poured a new excitement through his blood stream and he was off at once, fucking between her orbs.
Athos settled his doodle within her sheath and though commonly riding, felt deliciously excited by the splendid pressure she created. The two friends stroked their mattress, one up, one down. But whatever the rhythm, simultaneously the three went off in a joyous unloading of dew.
"She is a wonderful horse," Athos exclaimed, still buried root deep, highly inflamed.
"I agree," D'Artagnan announced, slipping around to lodge in the cellar.
"Dear sirs," she exclaimed, feeling the pressure upon two canals. "How is your pleasure?"
The woman's savage lust supplied enough rapture to wiggle loose an immediate discharge. Her lips parted and a long and animalistic moan erupted from her throat as she shook, feeling the steady stream of lava fill her canals.
The quiet throbbing of the men's cocks as they pulsed to a quiet halt excited them again for the thin membrane of flesh that separated the tools quivered and spasmed, increasing the pressure. Instead of stopping the fire, it was rekindled and the three moved in a hurried and frantic pace, eager to spill forth another tribute to sex.
So thin was the flesh that separated the men that both could feel the bulging ridges upon their shafts rub gloriously against each other. D'Artagnan gasped with dizzying excitement as Athos swooned upon her fabulous bosom that pierced his chest.
"Faster," D'Artagnan commanded, increasing his pumping by two folds. "Onward...." he shouted, choking about the nape of her neck as he bolted closer and released another copious load.
Athos followed suit as did Rachael, whose body was a gyrating mass of convulsive twitching. The three pulsed to a happy halt and lay wrapped about each other in leaden splendor.
"Master...." Picard whispered, drawing close to the three. "Come, we must ready ourselves."
The youth raised his head and shook the arm of Athos that spanned the woman and himself. "We must be off."
Both uncorked without disturbing the woman, dressed and proceeded down the steps to leave. D'Artagnan joined Picard outside as Athos went to pay the bill.
As the noble Musketeer neared the desk four men, armed to the teeth, rushed upon him.
"I am taken," Athos shouted, with all the power in his lungs. "Go on, D'Artagnan, hurry ... hurry."
D'Artagnan and Picard didn't need any encouraging. They unfastened the two horses that were waiting at the door, buried their spurs in their sides and set off at full gallop.
"He is a brave fellow," D'Artagnan announced. "And to think we must leave him."
Approximately one hundred paces from the city, their horses gave out and they were forced to walk the distance. Setting out on foot, Picard noticed the arrival of a gentleman and his lacky and he pointed them out to D'Artagnan. The youth immediately sensed trouble and redoubled his pace. The gentleman too increased his speed until at last, he confronted the youth face to face.
"Out of my way," the youth demanded. "Never."
D'Artagnan reached for his sword while Picard attended to the gentleman's man servant. He sprang upon the solidly built lackey and kicked him squarely in the broad of the back.
The gentleman drew his sword and sprang upon the youth; but he had too quick an opponent. In three seconds D'Artagnan had pounded him three times and at the third hit the man fell like a dog. D'Artagnan, believing him dead, went toward him and the moment the youth stretched over to look, the gentleman raised his rapier and caught the youth through the chest. Instantly the young man returned the blow and thrust it through his heart.
"Come, Picard," he panted, "let us hurry. The vessel is setting her sails high."
The two raced for the port, showed their credentials and climbed into a boat. Five minutes later, after they had boarded the mother ship they heard a cannon which signaled the closing of the port.
Now, having leisure, he looked at his wound. Fortunately the point had touched a rib and glanced along the bone. Still better, his shirt had stuck to the wound and he had lost little blood.
Worn out with fatigue, he lay down upon the mattress that was stretched upon the deck for him by Picard. Throwing himself upon it, he fell fast asleep.
CHAPTER TEN
While D'Artagnan slept heavily aboard the ship his comrade Porthos lay recuperating in the Inn where he had fallen. To his dismay, the gentleman had been swifter than expected and had stabbed him severely about the shoulder and arm. It was the quick and flashing mistress that had finally halted the fighting by banging the gentleman over the head with a marble statue.
The Musketeer sank to the floor and joyously accepted the sturdy body of his rescuer as she helped him to his feet and steered him up the steps.
"How can I repay you?" he asked, kissing her softly about the neck and ears as they made their way along the passage.
The young girl fluttered her eyes and remarked, "When I have bandaged your wound you will be fit as a fiddle and ready for war."
"I must stay and recuperate," Porthos announced, feigning severe pain. "I am not ready to travel."
"Then you must stay," the girl agreed, helping him to the bed where he toppled her over him. His good arm swiftly traveled beneath her skirt and he breathed loudly as he felt the wet entrance of her trap. "You are a continual heat," he laughed, poking about the hairy sheath.
"Let me attend to your wounds, Monsieur," the girl pleaded, holding back the heated sparks that coursed her bottom.
"If I may attend your gash ... you may attend mine," Porthos bellowed, rolling the woman to her back and savagely attacking her shoulders. His hand ripped the front of her blouse open and his lips traversed her breasts. Greedily he gorged himself of their opulence until the girl was quivering with excitement and begging him to lodge his member.
"With pleasure," the Musketeer gallantly announced, removing his trousers to about his knees and stabbing happily his pole the length of her slit.
"Sir ... sir...." the young girl cried, squirming beneath his blows. "Please ... I shall die...." she whimpered, clawing at her pussy to spread the folds back and aim his nut to the proper space.
The Musketeer rammed inside and buried his kit, meshing hair to hair. The girl's legs wrapped themselves about his calves and she powerfully thrust, sending the swelling nut deep into her scabbard. "You are superb," she cried, hot as a boiling kettle. "Fuck me, sir," she cried ... fuck...." the girl's voice trailed to a long and lusty screech. Her arse oscillated like a pin wheel as her body stiffened and she lunged violently against him. Porthos continued to stab her deep and hard until he felt his nut expand and his body jolt as he unleashed a jolting wad of goop into her basin.
"Dear child," the Musketeer announced when he had composed himself. "You must nurse me always."
The girl lifted from the bed and left the room to fetch the proper dressing for his wound. Porthos yawned loudly and thought to himself that he had indeed fallen into the hands of someone who understood him. Deciding upon lamb, chicken and fowl for dinner, to be accompanied with a hearty burgundy, he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.
Aramis, when laid upon the bed, closed his eyes and passed to sleep. Upon waking, he discovered the gentle hands of a woman upon his chest and he sat up with a start and looked blankly into her deep blue eyes.
"Are you alright, Monsieur Musketeer?" she asked, in a delicate voice that rang musically as she spoke.
"Fine, thank you," Aramis replied, drawing the covers about his neck.
"I have repaired your wound. Monsieur D'Artagnan requested that you rest."
He nodded his head but continued to stare at the .lovely features that warmly smiled back at him.
"Is there anything wrong?" the woman asked, conscious of his lingering gaze.
"No ... I ... do you perchance have a Bible?"
"Of course, Monsieur," she said, lifting to her feet and crossing the room to a desk. Opening the drawer she removed a worn leather bound holy book.
The Musketeer's eyes never left her frame. He scanned the shapely line of her torso, the flare of her sumptuous hips and the long full shadow of her thighs.
"Here. Would you like me to read from it?"
"No, I just want it near," Aramis stated, sinking back into the fluff of pillows arranged beneath his head.
"Will there be anything else?" the woman asked, touching him gently upon the arm.
"Yes, would you mind sitting beside me for a moment?"
"Not at all," she responded warmly, placing her beautiful bottom upon the cover near where his arm rested.
Aramis lifted his hand and trailed his finger tips along the edge of her slender arm, then shoulder. The woman remained collected, not cool, but reserved for she was confused as to what role this strange man wished for her to play.
"Did you receive communion this Sunday?" he asked, running his palms over the full curve of her breasts.
"No, sir. I did not."
His hand cupped and he squeezed the pliable balls. Her nipple peaked beneath his touch and she swallowed, fighting to remain calm.
"Why not?" he asked, undoing the buttons of her sheer blouse and dipping beneath the material.
"I haven't been to church since ... his Eminence...." she falteringly stated, fearing her words to be wrong.
"One must never forget from whence He came," he solemnly announced, moving to her thigh, knee and underneath the skirt. There he discovered a splendid bush of curly locks and his eyes closed for just a second as he slithered into the wet box and warmed his fingers.
"I am quite sure you are correct," she remarked, noticing the raising of the blanket about his groin.
"I shall offer you absolution," he said, pulling her clit between two fingers and making the woman whimper with heat.
"I am in need of some," the woman said, falling over him and grinding her pelvis into the bulge that lifted the sheet.
The Cavalier winced, feeling pressure upon his wound but when the woman moved to retreat he would have none of it and insisted he was in need of suffering to wipe away his sins. In a sudden and lithe move Aramis slipped the sheet from his body and left himself completely exposed. The woman gasped happily seeing the size of his erect member. Her fingers immediately encased the fat throbbing pole and instantly she tugged and pulled its length. Aramis moaned, feeling the heaviness of her boobies topple down upon his chest. He heaved with a mixture of pain and pleasure.
The woman swung her boobs around and took hold of Aramis' Pogo. Her lips consumed the wide head and her hands clasped his balls while she gently frigged the lower portion of his prick. Aramis raised up and applied his lips to the silken curled patch and lost himself for a moment in the chink between her buttocks. Applying himself to the delicious gash, he sucked and thrust his tongue alternately as the woman delivered ecstasy upon his cock. Her tongue and lips sucked, blew and tickled the head of his ballooning prick. The more furiously he sucked her cunt, the more her lips compressed the nut of his cock and her tongue sought to enter the urethra, giving him almost overpowering delight. Such a display of reciprocal efforts soon brought on the ecstatic crisis and at the instant she poured down upon his mouth, her rosy mouth received a discharge of sperm.
Some moments later they lay mutually panting and still.
"For the moment, I am tired," Aramis announced, coldly detached.
The woman lifted from the bed and looked down at the unusually handsome, yet aloof gentleman. "What will you be having for dinner?"
"Some light wine ... a little bread and some cheese. I enjoy eating simply."
"Very good, my lord," the woman said, gathering her clothes and dressing.
"Oh yes ... next time you return will you kindly bring with you a leather strap?"
Athos awoke within the room he and D'Artagnan had earlier parted from. His head was splitting with pain and his body cursed with bruises. Blinking twice, he telegraphed in upon Rachael who sat poised upon a chair in the corner.
"What happened?" he asked, lifting up, then wincing with pain.
"I do not know. The four men brought you to the room and awakened me by their noisy entrance."
"Oh," he exclaimed, dragging himself to an upright position. "Bring me that bottle," he commanded, eying the claret in front of her.
Rachael clasped the bottle about the neck and walked to him, her gloriously large hips swaying each step of the way.
"Now, sit your sweet bottom down and tell me why you stayed."
"I thought you might need me," she remarked gently.
"Is that the only reason?" he asked, smiling broadly and pinching her squarely upon the nipple of her right tit.
"You are a swine. Had I known you would be ungrateful I would have left," she snapped indignant.
"Perhaps...." Athos mused, uncorking the bottle and taking a large swallow. "Did my friend get away?"
"I assume so. He is not to be found."
"Good," Athos smiled, taking another swig. "I am pleased he managed to escape."
"Why were those men after you both?" Rachael suddenly asked.
"That, my dear girl, remains for me to know and for you to try and find out," the Musketeer wryly stated, rewarded by his suspicion.
"Pardon?" the woman innocently asked, shaking her head.
"Forget my remark, dear woman. I am a clutter of suspicion."
"You need not worry yourself about me. I am but a poor woman quite uncontrollably taken with Monsieur," she whispered in the most convincing of tones.
"I do not believe a word you speak but if you would like to convince me of your love, feel free to do so," the rueful Cavalier announced, once again gulping a large quantity of wine.
"Your wish is my command."
"Marvelous!" Athos exclaimed, throwing back the covers and exposing his still member to view. "Make it burst," he said simply.
Dropping her skirt to the floor she stepped upon the bed and stood with her legs very much apart just above the Musketeer's cock as if sighting her target.
"Don't move except to spread your hairy lips so I might take a closer look at your pretty pussy," he instructed, scooting down and looking directly up at her crack.
The woman did as she was told and Athos sighed with joy upon seeing the little scarlet penis of clit jut straight out. "Finger it for me," he commanded.
The girl's fingers immediately sought the magic button and obediently she massaged the tip and sheath in a slow deliberate fashion.
"Glorious," Athos cried, reaching for his own standing peg. "Go on ... don't stop until you have spent."
The girl's fingers moved up and down the slippery slit that became more like glass with each rub of her clit. She poked within her oozing gash, retreated to her button, then slipped to her bun-hole, probed, then retreated to her mushroom while all the while Athos looked and jerked at his ever increasing cock.
"Dear girl, what a joyous sight you offer," the Musketeer grunted, working his hand faster and faster until he saw the girl's clit swell and her tunnel convulse as she poured forth a gush of goop that sprayed his cock and triggered his knob to the size of an apple. A hot and forceful squirt of juice aimed for her gash spewed from his cock. The girl's cunt sucked as if taking the distant drops inside. Falling to her knees, then thighs, she took his member well into her box and began raising and lowering her bottom in a most lascivious way. Athos held her arms, then breasts, then hips as her movements produced another quick and sudden spending.
Pushing her to her back, the Cavalier sprang on top as Rachael started gyrating her hips. His cock felt her walls begin to tighten with each hard stroke. Digging her fingernails into his back, Rachael started to kick her legs excitedly. Clawing his arse, she cried out as the jolt of 'come' splattered inside her.
Catching his breath, Athos lifted and dropped out of her cunt. The woman attempted to leave but the Musketeer restrained her by putting his arm out and kissing her neck and ears.
"I was just going to get you something to eat," Rachael said, running her fingers through his hair.
"I've got all I want," Athos laughed, nuzzling her breasts then slipping to her navel and tonguing it. The girl giggled and squirmed as Athos made his way to between her thighs and wrapped his lips about her clit. The juices began to flow the instant the Musketeer's tongue slipped into her slot. Her belly puffed and strained as her arse revolved in a pin wheel fashion. Athos sucked and licked until the girl's mouth fell open and a low hard groan gurgled from her throat as she spilled in a flood of completion.
Slipping over her, he kissed her rock hard nipples, then crushed his lips upon her mouth. The taste of her juice set his bottom in motion and her snapping box caught his knob and sucked it inside. Her fine shapely legs curled about his waist as she worked her supple thighs in a seductive motion. Athos started pumping in and out happily, slamming his pouch against her bottom. Her walls pressured his rod and strangled his nut as she panted and moaned in ecstasy. The swelling of Athos' cock expanded her walls with each entry and as the two reached their peak they hugged tightly as their release bathed their organs in a mutual spending.
"Now, my dear...." Athos said, rolling off her, "you may get my supper."
The girl lifted from the bed in a lazy haze of afterglow, flipped on her clothing.
"Bring us another bottle of wine. We shall be together for a while," the Musketeer pronounced.
Rachael slipped from the room and Athos sluggishly yawned, lapsing into a sound and warm sleep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
At the break of day they were still three or four leagues from the coast of England. The breeze had been light and they had made little progress. At ten o'clock the vessel cast anchor in the harbor of Dover and at half past the hour D'Artagnan placed his foot on English soil.
Immediately Picard and his master searched a livery, bought two horses and rode at a fast clip to London. D'Artagnan did not know the city and did not speak a word of English but he wrote the name of Buckingham on a piece of paper and everyone pointed the way to the Duke's hotel.
The Duke, he discovered, was hunting with the King and after much perspiring persuasion, the Duke's valet, Patrick, ordered two horses saddled so he might take the Musketeer to his master.
On their arrival at the castle they learned the two were hawking in the marshes. In twenty minutes they were at the spot named and Patrick went off ahead to announce his coming.
Excusing himself, the Duke took leave of the King and galloped to where the youth sat waiting.
"No misfortune has fallen the Queen?" he cried, the instant he came within sounding range.
"No misfortune. Nevertheless, she is in great peril."
"What is it?" the Duke cried, showing the love in his heart for the French Queen.
"Take this letter," D'Artagnan said.
"From her Majesty?" the Duke said, becoming so pale that D'Artagnan thought he might faint.
"What is this?" Buckingham asked, touching the tear that rent a hole in the Musketeer's doublet.
"A wound, sir."
The Duke opened the letter and read it quickly. "Patrick, remain here, or rather join the King and tell him I had to depart quickly, on a matter of life and death. Come, Monsieur, we must set off for the Capital at full gallop."
As they rode along the Duke attempted to learn all that had happened from D'Artagnan and while he listened to the recital he was able to judge what kind of a man he had to deal with.
The horses went like the wind and within minutes they were at the gates of London.
On entering the court of his hotel, Buckingham sprang from his horse and rushed for his lodgings. D'Artagnan followed in hot pursuit.
The Duke walked so quickly the youth had difficulty keeping up with him. He passed through several apartments of an elegance of which only the greatest of nobles could afford and arrived at length in a bed chamber which was the height of richness in taste. In the alcove of this chamber was a door concealed in the tapestry which the Duke opened with a little gold key which he wore suspended from his neck by a chain of the same metal. With discretion D'Artagnan remained behind but was at once beckoned to follow. "If you have the good fortune to see her Majesty, tell her what you have seen."
Over a marble alter and beneath a canopy of blue velvet, surmounted by white and red plumes, was a full length picture of the Queen. On the altar and beneath the portrait was the jewel case containing the diamond studs.
The Duke approached the altar, knelt as a priest might have and opened the case. "There," he said, drawing from within a large bow of blue ribbon all sparkling with diamonds. "There are the precious studs which I have taken an oath should be buried with me. The Queen gave them to me. The Queen requires them again. Her will shall be done."
He began to kiss, first one, then the other. "Dear friend, judge that before you stands a man unique in his love."
The youth somberly stood by as the Duke prepared to hand them to him.
"When is the ball to be?" he asked.
"Three nights away."
"And how shall you return?"
"I was counting on you for help. For certain the Cardinal will have men awaiting my arrival with the vessel."
"You must spend the night and in the early hours I will map your way," the Duke decided, leading the youth from the antechamber. "Now let us dine and talk for you must tell me all you know of the Queen."
D'Artagnan and the Duke had a pleasant conversation over a grand feast. The youth had never been entertained so royally. The food was superb and the wine the most perfect to any man's palate.
"I am tired, sir," D'Artagnan announced, after some more talk and two snifters of brandy. "By your leave, I should like to retire."
"All is ready for you. Patrick, show Monsieur to his room."
"Good night, sir," the youth said, bowing low.
The servant led him through a maze of rooms, more beautiful than the ones he had passed earlier. Opening one of the doors, Patrick instructed him to walk in. The room's opulence and splendor dwarfed the youth and for the first time in months he felt very much like a lad from Gascony. "If you need anything, sir ... please just ring."
Left alone, the youth undressed and collapsed upon the bed. His body was drained but his mind seemed unable to shut. His thoughts immediately drifted to his three friends and a sudden overwhelming sadness shadowed his heart for he feared them dead.
"It is impossible," he muttered aloud, dismissing such a morbid thought. "At worst they are wounded."
A sudden reflected figure darted the room. The youth sprang from the bed and reached for his sword. "Who goes there?" he shouted.
"Please, sir...." a timid feminine voice responded.
"Come out," he commanded.
"The Duke insisted I stay with you," the lovely creature offered, stepping from behind the drapery.
D'Artagnan's eyes widened as he took in the voluptuously beautiful woman who stood before him naked.
"The Duke is indeed thoughtful," the youth smiled, laying down his arms. "Come here," he ordered, walking to the bed and waiting for the golden haired girl to follow.
D'Artagnan traced the full sweep of her breasts and the plump roundness of her hips. His eyes settled upon the golden short hair that curled about her pussy and he smiled broadly, enjoying the moist drop of dew that clung about her slit.
The youth reached out and took the girl into his arms. Her hands traveled into his hair as her lips hungrily kissed his. He toppled them to the bed and they went into a prolonged and passionate kissing. The young man's fingers immediately slipped to between her thighs and played about her clitoris. The girl responded with a groping for his cock that stood erect and beating. Teasing his testicles she inched to his nipples and ran her tongue about the half dollar size circles. D'Artagnan played about her bottom, poked his finger into her bun-hole and out again as the girl roamed lower and tongue bathed his groin. The young Gascon sighed deeply as he felt her lips about his root. With tender loving care she bathed his balls, snatched them into her mouth and wobbled them about, working her jaw in a most unorthodox manner, sending rich hot waves about his loins.
D'Artagnan bit into the mountain of flesh that comprised her arse, separated the cheeks and tongued her poop-hole. The girl's bottom wiggled and squirmed, receiving the pleasurable sensations. The two kept up their tonguing until the girl felt his cock grow to twice its size and ready to explode. Switching positions the youth buried his spear to the nut within her sheath and began with long powerful strokes that set the girl's body to shaking. In two or three seconds she was clawing his behind as she attempted to force him deeper. Her teeth sank into his shoulder and her bottom heaved violently against him. The scalding rush of sperm exploded from his tool as the torrential burst of goop shot from her ovaries. The two writhed and twisted in abandoned ecstasy.
The girl remained motionless as D'Artagnan started to pump again. Jabbing deep, the youth hardly moved. Calmly and sensibly he moved in and out of her vagina inch by inch. The girl began to perspire and pant as her hands once more opened his crack and searched his rectum.
Placing her finger in his bun-hole, she started to move his hips faster.
"Don't stop ... don't stop," she cried out, throwing her bottom into a twirling motion that forced the young man to pump more frantically. Her tunnel was gushing with juice and as he worked his tool in and out it sloshed and sizzled, sending the most exquisite noises about their ears.
Using both hands, she tugged on his cheeks, forcing his spear to the limit, thus causing his pouch to savagely pound against her bottom. Her climax came quite suddenly but this time, instead of writhing, she swelled open and merely poured down a copious discharge that ran the length of his shaft and saturated his balls. D'Artagnan, about to discharge, pulled his throbbing pole from her canal and fell heavily over her so that her belly was bathed in the quick and hot unloading of semen.
Taking her roughly by the shoulders, he threw her to her belly, mounted and ran his machine the length of her slit. The girl raised her bottom, reached around and spread her cheeks. The young man stooped over, licked about her arse hole, then bolted forward and lodged his nut. The girl quivered as she felt the swollen spear inch its way inside. Her bottom flexed until the curve of her cheek smashed solidly against his pouch and then began to oscillate in a most tempting fashion. D'Artagnan circled her waist, felt her heavy boobs graze his arms as he humped her violently. His member got bigger and harder with each thrust until finally he shook with delight as he saturated her walls with sauce.
Exhausted from his journey and bout, the youth toppled over her back and fell soundly asleep, not moving until the early hours when Patrick entered and awakened him.
Dressed and refreshed, the youth prepared to receive the diamonds and take his leave.
"Go to the riverside, ask for the brig, "Sund" and give this letter to the captain. He will convey you to a little port where you shall be safe for it is only frequented by fishermen," the Duke stated, handing D'Artagnan the letter and diamonds.
"The name of the port?"
"St. Valary. When you arrive go to a tavern, without a name or sign ... a mere fisherman's hut."
"Afterwards?"
"You will ask for the host and repeat the word, 'forward. He will give you a horse, saddled, and point you on the road. You will find, in the same way, four relays that will eventually take you to Paris."
D'Artagnan bowed to the Duke, thanked him for his hospitality and made his way as quickly as possible to the channel. Opposite the Tower of London he found the vessel that the Duke had named. Delivering the letter to the captain, the old man made immediate preparations to leave.
The next day, about nine in the morning, he landed at St. Valary. Instantly he searched the inn and easily discovered it by the riotous noise which resounded from it. Advancing toward the owner, the youth pronounced the word, 'forward.' The host immediately made a sign for him to follow him as together they went out by a door which opened into a yard and led them to the stable. There a horse, saddled, awaited him.
"What route am I to follow?"
"Go hence to Blangy and from Blangy to Neufchatel. There go to the tavern of the Golden Harrow. Give the password to the landlord and you will find as you have found here."
"Have I anything to pay?" D'Artagnan asked.
"Everything is paid for ... and liberally. May God be your guide."
"Amen," D'Artagnan said, setting off at full gallop.
Four hours later he was in Neufchatel. Strictly following orders, he received a horse and instructions.
"Leave by way of the right. You must stop at the little village of Eccuis, in which there is one tavern ... The Shield of France. You will find a horse as good as this one," the inn keeper said.
"The same password?"
"Exactly."
D'Artagnan shook his head and set off at full speed. At Eccuis the exact scene was repeated. Now he set off for Pontoise and at Pontoise he changed horses for the last time and at nine o'clock sharp he galloped into the yard of Tre-ville's hotel.
M. de Treville received him as if he had seen him the same morning only, when pressing his hand, was a little warmer than usual. He suggested he rush straight for the Louvre this very minute.
Entering by way of the side the young man asked for Laporte. The elderly gentleman came quicky and received from D'Artagnan the precious stones.
"Wait," he said. "There is someone who wishes to thank you."
A young woman appeared before him veiled heavily in black. The youth's eyes lit up for he recognized the shape to be his beloved, Mme. Bonacieux. Taking his hand, she led him through a maze of corridors and as they became more deserted he desired desperately to take the woman within his arms. But, quick as a bird, she glided between his hands and when he wished to speak she placed her finger upon her mouth.
At length, after winding about, Madame opened a door of a closet which was entirely black and led D'Artagnan into it. There she made a fresh sign of silence and opened a second door, disclosing a brilliant light and then disappeared.
D'Artagnan remained motionless and soon the warm and perfurmed air of feminine company reached his nostrils. He heard the conversation of two or three ladies and the occasional mention of the word, Majesty.
After some time a hand and an arm surprisingly beautiful in form and whiteness glided through the tapestry. D'Artagnan at once comprehended that this was the Queen. He cast himself upon his knees, seized the hand, touched it respectfully with his lips.
"You shall be rewarded promptly," the Queen whispered, then withdrew her hand and the door immediately closed.
The door of the closet opened and Mme. Bonacieux entered.
"You, at last," D'Artagnan cried.
"Silence," the woman said, placing her hand over his mouth. "Go the same way you came."
"When shall I see you again?"
"Tonight. Late."
At these words she opened the door of the corridor and pushed D'Artagnan out of the room. The youth obeyed like a child, without the least resistance or objection, which proved to him he was truly in love.
CHAPTER TWELVE
D'Artagnan ran home immediately. He found the door of his passage open, sprang up the stairs and knocked softly in a manner agreed upon between him and his lacky, Picard.
"Good evening, sir," the faithful servant greeted warmly.
"Yes, it is a good evening, Picard," the youth agreed, slapping the man on the back. "My best wine," he commanded, sitting down in the chair near the fire. "My boots, first," he ordered, lifting his leg and stretching it out.
Picard straddled his master's foot and pulled, thus slipping the worn boot off, then quickly repeated the gesture with the other foot.
"Some hot water in the basin," he ordered. "My razor....where the devil is my razor?"
"Here, sir," Picard offered, taking it from beneath a towel the youth had pulled from one of the cabinets. "Monsieur is expecting someone?" his servant asked, wryly.
"As a matter-of-fact I am," the youth said, stopping his outburst of whistling to answer him.
"Might I ask whom?"
"Is that any of your concern, Picard?" D'Artagnan snapped. "No, sir."
"Have you been round to see if Porthos, Athos or Aramis have returned;
"Yes, sir, I have and no one is to be seen."
The youth stopped his shaving and shook his head. "I must go look for them."
"Yes, sir."
"But not tonight."
At the stroke of ten, Madame Bonacieux arrived. The youth opened his arms and wrapped them about her. "Darling ... darling," he muttered between kisses. "I missed you so much."
"I know ... I know...." she whispered, nuzzling his neck and running her hands within his silk robe and fondling his chest.
"Come, sit by the fire. I have poured you a glass of cognac," D'Artagnan suggested, leading her to the rug stretched before the open hearth.
"Do you remember when last we laid here?" the youth asked, unbuttoning her blouse and gingerly cupping one of her enormous breasts.
"Oh, yes...." Madame swooned, feeling his hot lips wrap about her nipple and his tongue lick about the tip. "Yes, darling...." she breathed, slipping from her shirt and snuggling close to his bare flesh.
"You feel so good," the youth groaned, running his palms over her body, carefully molding each curve to fit his hand. "So good...." he echoed, drawing her tightly against him.
The woman's hands pressed his shoulders and kneaded his back. They traveled his torso, passed over his hips and fell upon his cock that was hard with want. Her fingers, one by one, encased the shaft and she sighed with excitement as she felt the veins begin to expand. Her nipples responded immediately to the warm sucking his lips were doing and her slot secreted heavily upon his shaft.
"Darling ... darling...." she whimpered, arching her back and pushing her sensuous breasts into his chest. D'Artagnan spread open her slit and directed his cock to her box. With little effort he slipped inside and moaned, feeling the warm wet walls engulf him.
Her fingers crawled over his hips and to his balls. She squeezed and massaged, setting the youth into a sharp and steady stroking. Each thrust brought sensations serpentining their bodies until all nerve endings pulsed with juice and their organs screamed with pending conclusions. Their bodies slammed against each other in a furious and loud slapping then suddenly, like the stillness before the storm, a jolting quiet suspended their bodies and POP, they went off in a mass of gyrating flesh that curled them into a ball and moved them about the floor as two epileptics in a seizure.
Madame crawled over D'Artagnan's body and planted her heavy bottom upon his face. The youth, at first, gagged, not expecting the slippery wet snatch but at once accustomed himself and began licking the mixture of spunk and sperm from her slit. The woman's back arched slightly as she reached out and clutched the youth's thighs to support her trembling body. Like a buzzard, D'Artagnan licked and sucked the freshly taken box until it twitched and snapped, signaling its approaching finality. Madame swung over and hung her pendulous breasts just beyond D'Artagnan's head. Her thighs quivered about his cheeks and she jumped up and down, sending the youth's nose up her slot. Lifting her by the hips, he controlled her ferocious attacking by pulling her throbbing clit into his mouth and sucking it until she cried out in blissful unloading. A warm spray of pussy juice showered his face and mouth as Madame fell back and D'Artagnan sat up, feeling her plump and long back upon his knob.
Slipping over her, the youth lifted her legs and wrapped them about his neck. Pulling her cheeks apart excitedly, he poked the rear canal. The woman sucked in and sent a fresh gush of secretion to his shaft as it pierced the tight tunnel. Her fingers groped for her clit and she began to massage it with furious vigor. Squealing like a pig, she wiggled and ground, drawing the expanding rod deeper as her digits slammed violently in and out of her spitting cunt.
D'Artagnan nibbled and chewed her tits as he worked his way to and fro at her arse hole. His fingers tugged into the pliable dough-like texture of her buttocks and his lips went wild upon her mouth. Suddenly the stream had built and the youth bolted forward, releasing an enormous stream of fluid. The woman bucked and cried as she bore down and released a shower of juice from her gully.
Jumping from his pole, she sprawled over him and immediately went after his glistening pecker. The knob was the size of a billiard ball and the veins upon his shaft stood out like rivers. Her lips encased the mighty machine and she sucked it the length of her throat, guzzling frantically about the root. D'Artagnan thrust his organ with powerful and savage strokes. He was well heated and eager once more to spill. His arse flexed and heaved as the girl's wicked tongue careened and licked the juicy prong. At once he hunched to a sitting position, fell back and stiffened as his back arched and his pole went down her throat, pouring out the announcement of his release.
They lay quietly looking at the fire. Mme. Bonacieux held his dong in her mouth and D'Artagnan lazily fingered her cunt. Like two in a trance they tongued and poked in the euphoric state of after birth while gazing bleary-eyed at the fire as it spit and chewed about the log.
Picard moved closer and offered the pair some wine. Madame shook her head, not wanting to dispel the semi-erect member from her mouth but D'Artagnan decided to accept the ruby red colored liquid. Spreading Madame's legs, he commanded Picard to pour her tunnel full. The man servant excitedly, for his hand trembled violently as he searched the glistening snatch, aimed the steady stream into her opening. "Would you enjoy a nip?" D'Artagnan asked, noticing how Picard's stiff prick rode along his leg.
"Another time, sir," the servant brilliantly remarked, remembering to keep his place.
D'Artagnan immediately wrapped his lips about her cunt and sucked the red liquid into his mouth. The wine was dry and full bodied and puckered his lips. Madam allowed his prick to slip from her mouth and roll about, making her vessel an easy drinking machine. Appreciating this gesture, the youth decided to pleasure her by sucking her off and immediately, upon draining the last bit of juice from her slit, set about drawing her clit within his lips.
Her thighs slapped about his face as she yawled and churned, taking the pleasurable sensation he set traveling her blood stream.
"Darling ... darling...." she purred, raising and lowering her hips, allowing his tongue the full privy of her slit. "You make me feel so good."
Encouraged by these words of appreciation, the youth increased the velocity of his attack and sucked her button well into his mouth as simultaneously he probed her hole. This last engineering feat set her off and she gyrated to a sizzling crackling that popped handsomely her climax.
Not waiting for an invitation, D'Artagnan leapt upon her and lodged his tool within the pulsing lining. Her legs coiled about his waist as she drew him in and kissed his balls with her cheeks. The youth stroked furiously the cavern, anxious to pay homage to her devine sheath. To and fro he thrust in a driving effort until his balls began to pound and her sheath began to nip. In a frantic and savage burst of speed he banged the hallway, felt the walls expand and come crashing down about him as he erupted in a cataclysmic explosion, shooting an enormous amount of spunk to her ovaries.
The two drained figures pulsed to a quiet beating and fell asleep upon the floor, wrapped about each other.
When D'Artagnan awoke he discovered to his dismay his pole hard without a rider. "Where is she?" he yelled at Picard who thoughtfully draped a coverlet about him.
"She asked me to give you this, sir," the manservant announced, producing a note.
'I shall be away for two days. When I return it will be to your arms. Always, B."
"What does she mean by this?" the youth snapped, lifting to his feet.
"I do not know, sir," Picard remarked, setting upon the table Monsieur's cup of coffee.
"That is well and good for I must retrace my steps and bring back my friends. Saddle up, Picard. We are off to search for Athos, Porthos and Aramis."
The Gascon immediately went off in the direction of De Treville's to seek his permission for a two-day pass. Granted, the youth set off in the direction of the inn where he had last seen the wounded Musketeer.
The inn keeper surveyed the familiar face with mistrust and attempted to pass D'Artagnan when he confronted him.
"Do you know the whereabouts of one Porthos?" the youth asked.
"No," the inn keeper, a rather sullen looking man, replied.
"You lie," the youth flared, mistrusting his words.
"That is true. He is here in this very hotel."
D'Artagnan's face brightened with a smile. "Alive and well?"
"Too well, Monsieur. He is in debt to me for 12 pounds," the inn keeper announced, shaking his head. "And I am afraid to have him leave."
D'Artagnan blinked his eyes thoughtfully and suppressed a smile for he knew his friend's appetite for food and wine.
"Show me to him and I am certain you shall receive your monies."
The host led him up the stairs and pointed to him a door. The youth walked to the black partition marked with the number I and knocked.
Porthos was in bed playing cards with his manservant. While the spit over the fire was loaded with partridge, two chafing dishes boiled two stew pans from which the aroma of rabbit and fish exuded. In addition to this sight, empty bottles strew a marble top table.
At the sight of his friend, Porthos uttered a loud cry of joy. "Is that you?"
The youth advanced upon his friend and accepted his embrace with strong emotion.
"You are alright?" Porthos exclaimed. "I am sorry I was unable to meet you ... but ... do you know what happened?"
"We assumed you to be wounded."
"True. When I was not looking he sheathed me a blow that yielded me unconscious."
"Nonetheless, you are well now. What is this about a bill you owe?"
"Oh, friend. I have sent letters to my mistress but she is a vain and pompous hussy who, if not serviced regularly, gets out of line and so far I have received no letter from her."
"You are, in other words, without funds."
"True," Porthos announced, looking sorrowfully into the fire.
"But all this?"
"Forced upon me. The inn keeper refuses me credit and will not allow me to leave until I pay my debt and will neither supply me with meat. So poor Mousqueton is forced to steal about the town and pilfer these birds."
"Come, get dressed, my friend. I shall pay your debt. We must retrieve Aramis."
Immediately the huge Porthos jumped from his bed and again embraced his friend. Quickly dressing he commanded his lackey to gather the food and ready the horses.
Having taken care of the Musketeer's obligations the two mounted and headed in the direction of the cabaret where last D'Artagnan saw Aramis.
They arrived within the hour and when asking about his whereabouts received a shocking bit of news. Aramis had left and joined the monastary of the Jesuits of Amiens.
"Oh crap," the intolerant Porthos exclaimed.
"We must fetch him," the youth announced, remaining calm though unnerved by this news.
"You wait here," D'Artagnan said, instructing Porthos to remain outside the gate. "You are hot tempered and if we wish to retrieve him you will not serve the purpose well."
Porthos shrugged his shoulders and settled down upon a large rock that neared the entrance.
The youth introduced himself to the Reverend Father and requested to see Aramis.
"He is in the midst of prayer," the priest announced.
"Is his manservant, Bazin, about?" the youth asked.
"We are all servants of the Lord, my son."
"Yes, Father," D'Artagnan agreed, advancing through the door and entering a small court yard. In the corner he spied a figure clad in black with a round felt-like cap upon his head. Bazin strolled beside and D'Artagnan recognized the figure to be Aramis.
Walking boldly forward, the youth called out his name.
Aramis, unaccustomed to the robust sounds of masculine lung power, lifted his head and greeted his friend warmly.
"Good day, dear D'Artagnan. I am so happy to see you."
"And I you, although I do not know if I am addressing Aramis."
"What brings you here?" the ex-Musketeer asked.
"You. What else? I have come to liberate you."
"I have been liberated. At last, D'Artagnan, I have found my home."
"You run to escape," D'Artagnan announced. "That is not true."
"It is, sir, and you are better aware of this than I am," the youth snapped, angered by his blind escapism.
"Why do you say such harsh things to a man who is about to become an abbe?" the musketeer asked, visibly paled by D'Artagnan's outbreak.
"May I speak openly?"
Aramis nodded.
"You run from the very things that you adore. Flesh, Aramis. You are a heated male with sensual desires stronger than the most virile of men and yet you run to a black cloth and leather bound book for solace."
"Are you so certain?" Aramis said, looking directly at D'Artagnan.
"As sure as my heart beats. Why else would you join so noble a group as the Musketeers if it were not your love of living and adventurous spirit? Here you wish to hide it, stifle it, make it rot like the leaves. You are a fool, Aramis. To escape you rush to the robe of death with heated thoughts still lurking in your bloodstream."
"Enough," Aramis snapped. "I don't wish to hear any more."
"But you must, for you venture a lonely road that only few can walk. You were meant to hold a woman in your arms not the cold altar of marble. The scent of perfume fills your nostrils, not the burning of incense and candles...."
"Stop, I say," Aramis shouted, losing his temper.
"My friend, you are a brave noble man. Give up this foolish notion once and for all and rejoin Porthos, who waits your presence just outside these walls, and myself ... your friend.
Aramis shook his head with confusion and emotion. "If I journey from these walls I shall never return," he muttered sadly.
"Be it for the best," the youth said.
"Wait for me and within the half hour you shall know my decision."
D'Artagnan bowed low and left the court, leaving Aramis to decide his fate. Porthos greeted the youth with his customary sarcasm upon not seeing Aramis accompanying him.
"He has chosen the robe ... foolish little monk."
"Be still. We shall wait and see if he appears," D'Artagnan said, sitting his bottom upon the rock Porthos had just left.
Within fifteen minutes time Aramis and Bazin walked through the gates of the Abby. The two Musketeers exchanged glances as D'Artagnan lifted to his horse and suggested they head out for Athos.
They discovered Athos barricaded within a wine cellar, by choice, for he refused to listen to the pleading of anyone and had remained three days and nights consuming all the inn keeper's very best wine.
"What has driven him to such a state?" D'Artagnan asked, unaccustomed to the heavy drinking his friend displayed.
"When he is very sad he consumes anything in sight," Aramis confided, familiar with the Musketeer's battle with loneliness.
"But why?"
"He is in love, Monsieur, and unable to obtain his prize."
"I don't believe it," D'Artagnan said, unable to conceal he might have missed a secret belonging to one of his friends.
"It is true," Porthos interjected. "He mourns the death of his wife."
"Athos has a wife."
"Had. He murdered her," Aramis stated lightly.
The youth flinched, unable to comprehend the rush of information that flooded his mind.
"It is true. He himself killed her when discovering her in a tryst with another man."
"Athos...." D'Artagnan shouted. "Open the door. We wish to greet you."
"Is that you, dear friend," the Musketeer rejoiced.
"Yes. And I am in the company of the most noble of men."
The wine cellar door opened and a tired and haggard Athos stumbled to the light. "By God ... you are all safe and sound," he laughed, the tears welling up within his eyes. "How happy I am to see you."
The three converged on the dissipated figure. A burst of chatter and loud conversation buzzed the room as they prepared to leave for home.
Mounting their horses, they galloped toward the city of Paris and their lodgings.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Aramis, Porthos and Athos awoke the young Gascon bright and early the following morrow.
"Get up, you lazy lad," the giant Porthos teased, pulling the covers off his friend.
"And dress. We are on our way to De Treville's," Athos stated, throwing the youth his doublet.
"He asks for a complete accounting," Aramis announced, pushing the youth's boots toward him.
Dressed and ready, the three set off for the familiar courtyard. They were received immediately. The Captain of the Musketeers greeted them warmly and bid them to remain for just a moment while he had his manservant fetch a particular prize.
The servant returned with a box which De Treville opened.
"For you, Monsieur Porthos, for undying loyalty and bravery, the sum of one hundred pounds."
The Musketeer's face lit up with a smile as he bowed low and accepted his satchel of coins.
"For you, Monsieur Athos, for undying loyalty and bravery, the sum of one hundred pounds."
Aramis bowed low and humbly accepted the pouch of coins.
"And for you, Monsieur D'Artagnan, for valor and courage and supreme loyalty, one hundred pounds and the commission of Musketeer in the service of His Majesty's Guards.
The youth's face, paled with shock, reddened with joy. Tears hung about his eyes as he reached out to receive the pouch and scroll from Monsieur de Treville which proclaimed in bold letters his appointment.
"What say ye?" the three men asked.
D'Artagnan, bursting with pride, shot out his arm and in his loudest voice proclaimed, "All for one and one for all."
The deafening response vibrated his body as the Musketeers placed their hands on top of his and echoed, "All for one and one for all."
