Chapter 9
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.
"It's an ambush," D'Artagnan shouted. "Don't waste time. Charge ... forward.
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.