Chapter 12
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.