Friday Free Read: All For One (Part 3)

For today's Free Read, we continue our erotic re-imagining of The Three Musketeers.  If you missed it, here are the first two parts:

Athos

Porthos

And now, enjoy Part 3:

Aramis

When Monsieur Athos and his companion, Aramis, returned to the room at the Parisian motel, they were not at all surprised to discover their good friend Porthos had made quick friends with the little French nun: upon entering they beheld him cradling the girl affectionately in his lap, trading murmurs and chuckles with her while one hand fearlessly caressed the shape of her small breast through the fabric of her little bodice.

“Well, well,” Athos said, grinning as he crossed his arms over his chest.  “Nice to see the two of you get along.”

“We do indeed, friend Athos!” Porthos declared happily.  “Dara is quite a gregarious and attractive creature.  I am happy to offer my services to her… to help her find her brother, of course.”

This last was said with a wink to the girl, who blushed and giggled coyly.  With gentle care, Porthos lifted her from his lap as he stood, putting her back down in the chair as if she were a little child.

“I believe I may have an idea of where this young lady’s missing sibling might be, dear friend,” he said to Athos.  “It occurred to me while Dara and I were… becoming acquainted.  But perhaps you and I should speak of the matter privately, while Aramis introduces himself to our pretty little damsel, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Athos murmured.  “I think you and I may have stumbled upon the same thought.  Shall we remove ourselves, then, and leave these two in private?”

“We shall!” Porthos said gaily.  With a quick turn, he bowed politely to Dara, once again taking her hand and kissing it with charismatic relish.

“Aramis shall be sure to take good care of you, my dear,” he said.  “Or, perhaps, you shall take good care of him?”

“I shall do my very best,” she said, returning his wink.  With that, he and Athos departed, hurrying off to errands unknown, and leaving her with the last of their intrepid threesome.

Aramis was the tallest of the three, with a somber face and a square, handsome jaw.  He hadn’t shaved in the last day and the first shadow of a beard was gracing his face.  As his companions departed, he tipped a low bow to her, removing his cap with an extra measure of propriety.

“My dear,” he said, in a voice deep and baritone.  “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“And you as well, sir,” she said, dropping a curtsy for him.

“My friend Athos has told me you are a member of the sisterhood in Gascony?” he asked, gesturing for her to take a seat again.  She did, primly crossing her legs and resting her wrists on her knee.

“I am indeed,” she replied.  “My father sent me there two years ago.”

“Ah,” he said, the tone in his voice one of appreciative candor.  “Ah, my dear, how often I have dreamed of joining the priesthood myself, to retire to the quiet, humble life of an abbé, to shepherd the souls of the poor masses.”

To his surprise, Dara gave a little contemptuous snort.

“I can’t imagine why,” she said.  “Frankly I find the life of the clergy quite dull… why would you ever wish to abandon the courageous life of a soldier to retire into a world of silence, modesty and chastity?”

He quirked an eyebrow at that.  “Mademoiselle?”

“It’s all very boring, really,” she insisted, leaning forward to pat his hand on the table.  “Trust me, you will find more adventure and fulfillment among the Musketeers, than you would ever find in the church.”

A smile broke out on his somber face.

“So… I take it you do not favor the vows of, erm…”

“Chastity,” she finished for him.  She tipped him a tiny smile, a pretty, flirtatious little wink.

She straightened in her chair.  “But perhaps, if you believe so strongly in joining the priesthood, I could at least delay your impending life of self-denial a little, while we wait for the others to come back?”

He raised both eyebrows now.

“My my, little sister,” he said.  “That is… most forward of you.”

“You and your companions are doing me a most wonderful favor, by helping me to track down my wayward brother,” she said.  “It is the least I can do, to try and make the effort a little more worthwhile.  I have no money to pay you… but I am happy to reward you in other ways.”

“Surely my friends informed you there was no need for a reward of any sort, though?” he said.  “’Twould be most dishonorable for the Musketeers to ask a young lady such as yourself to… offer such payment for our aid.”

“Oh, non, non, non,” she purred sweetly.  “I very much wanted to offer it.”

She slid out of her seat, to her knees on the floor, putting her hands on his thighs as she pressed eagerly against his shins.

“I am happy to do it,” she whispered.  “For all you are doing for me.”

She almost laughed, because it seemed this rough soldier was almost blushing himself.

“Really, mademoiselle,” he said.  “It is not necessary.”

One hand strayed upwards on the inside of his thigh, caressing the smooth suede of his breeches.

“Not necessary,” she murmured.  “But perhaps quite acceptable, nonetheless.”

“Am I to understand then, that you and Porthos—”

“Understand whatever you like,” she said.  “I have been locked up in an abbey for two years.  And now… I am here with you.”

He gave her a wry glance.

“So, my dear… is there perhaps another reason you have come to Paris, besides to search for your missing relative?”

She stood up again, and straddled him in his chair, twining her arms around his neck.  As her sweet body pressed against his, she felt what she had been hoping for—underneath his pants, a firm arousal had stirred to life.

“Wouldn’t you like to treat yourself to the pleasure your friends have been so free to enjoy?” she asked quietly.  “Before you consign yourself over to the life of the clergy?”

“If you are any indication,” he replied.  “The clergy is not quite what I expected it to be.”

“Come, Brother Aramis,” she purred in his ears.  “Indulge yourself in a little bit of sin before you run so eagerly for salvation.”

Standing up again, she turned her back on him and leaned on her arms, bent over the table between them.  She wiggled her hips, like a flirty little creature in heat—she could see by the look in his eyes he understood her meaning well.

“I came to Paris to find my brother,” she insisted.  “But I can’t say I don’t enjoy taking advantage of all the… new pleasures… the experience has to offer.”

To her delight, he stood up, and gently traced a hand under her throat, tilting her chin up to him.  His other hand brushed through her hair—just like his two companions had done—and strayed down to her sleeves and the edge of her bodice, coyly caressing his fingers on the cusp of exposed flesh.

“And what experiences are you most interested in taking advantage of?” he asked with a grin.

She smiled at him, and coyly tripped one hand down the folds of her skirt, picking it up to slowly reveal the smooth, ivory flesh of her leg, up and over the round, slightly reddened globes of her prim little buttocks; she had not donned her undergarments again after Porthos had finished with her.

Aramis’s eyes widened a little.  His hand strayed down to the bared flesh of her rear, caressing the firm little cheek with suspicious joy.

“I have always been fascinated by one particular pleasure,” she murmured, even as he unlaced his trousers and moved behind her, letting the hard tip of his phallus taste the dewy sweet line of her cleft, up to the bare little pucker of her behind.  “Of course… the men of the clergy have always called it a most heinous and filthy sin.”

“Indeed,” Aramis agreed, testing her gently with his fingertips.  “Such a thing is most unseemly in a young woman—a nun, mon dieu!”

“And will you be the one to initiate me once more into the flock of sinners?” she asked breathlessly, pressing her hindqarters back against him, offering him her tight, resisting entrance.  “Brother Aramis?”

His somber, almost morose expression had disappeared.  When she looked over her shoulder at him, he wore a hungry grin, like a vicious wolf leering over the soft, tender flesh of a young rabbit.

“I suppose,” he murmured with sly mischief.  “If one is to seek salvation for his sin, one must have a sin to seek salvation for, now, shouldn’t he?”

Dara gasped joyfully as a sleek, piercingly beautiful pain arched through her body—she dug her fingers into the wood of the table as Aramis entered her, invading her slowly with the lovely girth of his beautiful shaft, claiming first, virgin blood in a whole new, wonderfully wicked way.

“Ooh, monsieur!” she squeaked. His rigid erection forced her open in a way she’d never before imagined; the harsh, hard intrusion denied her own body’s attempt to accept and adapt to him…and she loved it.

Aramis shuddered, then groaned. Within seconds he’d sheathed himself fully within her hot little body, and then started to move. It hurt at first, but only in a way that made Dara more excited: the sting of wickedness and punishment filled her, and she thought she might break to beautiful pieces.

Aramis thrust then, and she gave a short peal of delight.

“You feel so big, Brother Aramis,” she moaned. He thrust again, seemingly ignoring her, and after a second he reached down to lift one of her pretty little knees up onto the table. It opened her even more, and he promptly stuffed her deeper, making her cry out.

“Ooh, yes,” she drawled.  “Yes, harder, monsieur! I like it…you must do it harder, yes!”

“What a wicked little creature you are!” he hissed through clenched teeth. He drove himself into her with grunting, hungry motions, plunging his cock into her with feverish need. “Such a…hot…little…hussy—”

“Oh, then I hope you will punish me very badly, brother Aramis…”

The next thrust made her breath catch, and she hitched out a plaintive cry of pleasure. She could feel his cock seeming to grow even larger inside of her, throbbing, its hardness refusing to yield even as her body still resisted. He grew close to his climax; the telltale tension threatened to split her open. He’d stopped even hearing her cries, it seemed, as he pressed her down and buried himself. Any moment now, she knew, he would burst inside of her, coming like a dam bursting under pressure.

***

Porthos and Athos traded grins as the sounds of murmured and lustful pleasure came muffled from the other side of the wooden door; they had expected the lovely little creature from Gascony might be able to lift their companion’s usually pensive spirits.  Quickly, however, their conversation turned to the matter at hand: assisting the girl in finding her missing brother.

“You know whom we must ask,” Porthos said somberly to his friend.  “If anyone has heard of a young man come to Paris to petition the musketeers, it will be her.”

“Yes,” Athos muttered with a grim nod.  “I know.  I cannot say I am pleased at the idea, however.”

“I expected you might not be.”

As usual, Porthos was jovially nonchalant, even in discussing what was sure to be an unpleasant reunion.

“Certainly you can convince her to assist us,” he said, giving his friend a playful nudge in the ribs.  “I’m sure she’d be more than happy to help after you… charm her a little…”

“I’d prefer not to meet with Milady Di Winter at all,” Athos replied.  “And I most certainly do not want to charm her, even in the most innocent sense of the word.  That woman is a damn spider in a web, trapping men like flies and devouring them from the inside out.  I had enough of that dangerous trap when she was my wife.”

On the other side of the door they heard a loud thump and scrape of wood on wood; Dara gave a sudden little outcry of pleasure just as Aramis swore loudly—and lustfully—in guttural French.

The two men paused, each giving the other a curious glance, at the sound of their friend’s frantic, carnal entanglement.  They knew each of them had stumbled upon the same idea at once.

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