Chapter 2
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."