Chapter 3
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.