June 12, 2015

Friday Free Read: All For One (Part 1)

 It's always fun to write a naughty version of a classic tale. I truly loved delving into The Three Musketeers to come up with an erotic alternative adventure. This is the first part of a four- or five-part tale.

The tavern was crowded and bustling, filled with soldiers and laborers muttering and arguing restlessly as the day came to an end in Paris.  A single figure slipped unnoticed through the door and waded through the warm room buzzing with activity; the slender person was concealed under a heavy traveling cloak and hood, and no face could be seen as he scanned the room quickly, searching the crowd.  The sour smell of ale and sweat permeated the wide floor, broken up only by the wafts of cooking meat from the kitchen or the scent of too-strong perfume following the serving women from table to table.

The robed figure stood, seeming unsure of himself, for a few moments, before setting on something and crossing the floor.  He came directly to the table of a solitary man in the back corner, enjoying a drink alone; the figure in the robe sat down beside him without preamble and leaned very close.

“Monsieur Athos?”

The man—who was indeed called Athos—looked up with mild curiosity.  The voice from beneath the robe was not that of a man: quite to the contrary, it was the lovely and melodic tones of a woman, and not the kind often found in a place like this.

“And you are?” he asked.

Delicate hands slipped up from the wide sleeves of the robe, and the girl underneath revealed herself, slowly slipping the heavy velvet away.  Underneath she was a vision: youthful and darling, with tumbles of red curls falling down past her shoulders, ivory skin like flawless milk.  Long, black lashes shielded beautiful blue eyes, and when she looked up at him the light of the lamps caught them, illuminating them like pretty stars.

“My name is Dara,” she said softly.  “I am from Gascony.  I am searching for my brother, who came here to join the ranks of the Musketeers… but he has gone missing, and my father has had no word from him!”

“And how would you like me to help you?” Monsieur  Athos asked, mulling over his drink as he studied her beautiful little face.

“You are one of the Musketeers, non?” she asked.  “Would you not help me find out what has happened to my brother?  I am afraid he may have been accosted on the road here, and perhaps injured.  He is perhaps in need of my help, but I know not where to look for him!”

“That’s a job for the city police, perhaps,” he muttered.  “Not the guard corps.  Have you asked one of the officers among their ranks?”

She shook her pretty head, sending those lovely red curls bouncing, catching the firelight like a glorious amber mane.

Non, non, monsieur.  My brother spoke very often of the honor and glory of the Musketeers… please, will you help me?”

He studied her carefully.  She was leaning very close—underneath the shadows of her cloak he could see the firm swell of her breasts just peeking above the fabric of the humble bodice she wore; it distracted him from her plaintive begging, and he found himself gently lifting his hand to run his callused knuckle gently across the sweet curve of her youthful bosom.

“Your father was not wise to send such a young girl here alone,” he said.  “A face like that could get you into a lot of trouble, mademoiselle.”

She dropped her eyes to where he so carefully touched her, then returned them to his face.

“My father did not send me,” she said quietly.  “He does not even know I am here.”

“Oh, really?”


Her voice had gotten a little lower now; there was a curious light in those pretty blue eyes now, and she shifted in her seat to come even a little closer to him.

“My father sent my brother to become a musketeer,” she said quietly.  “But he sent me to become a nun, in the abbey near Gascony.  I have lived there two years now, and as far as he knows I am there still.  I ran away from the abbey, though, as soon as I heard my brother was missing, and I came here of my own choice, to find him myself.”

Athos let out a low whistle.

“A little spitfire of a nun, aren’t you?”

“Well,” she said with a little quirk of a smile.  “There are reasons my father sent me to an abbey when I was only sixteen.”

Her hand drifted teasingly to his breeches; underneath them, his firm manhood was already standing at attention, curiosity piqued by the lovely little creature.  She gently stroked the fabric of his breeches, gingerly brushing her own fingers teasingly against the beast contained within.

“Will you help me, Monsieur Athos?” she asked, pouting with gorgeous innocence.

“Will you tell me why your father was compelled to relinquish you to the sisterhood at such a young age?” he asked with a jovial grin.

“I can do better,” she purred.  “I can show you.”

Her hand strayed to the fastenings of his trousers; expertly, she undid them, and five slender little fingers slipped under the fabric to find his startled but excited phallus.  Without a thought to the busy tavern around them, she gave him a sweet, tender smile, and gently stroked the entire length of his shaft with soft, caring fingers.

“I must admit,” she said softly, closing her hand around him and taking eager charge.  “My brother was not the only one enamored by the fascinating stories of you Musketeers.”

“You cunning little thing,” Athos said with a grin.  Withdrawing her hand for just a moment, she unlaced his breeches fully, and happily unleashed his straining erection.

“I do hope I can convince you,” she murmured.  “It is very important to me that I find my brother alive and well.”

“I think I might be moved by your plight,” Athos murmured, taking over the careful stroking with one hand.  With the other, he gently ran his fingers through her beautiful red ringlets.
Dara shifted on the stiff wooden chair, and bowed her head down into his lap.  Athos heaved a great sigh as her small, pretty mouth closed over the head of his manhood, her soft pink tongue exploring down the length of it, tracing happily around the round, glistening head.

The girl was quite the little spitfire: all around them the activity of the tavern went on unabated, and without worry she ministered to his delight.  Her sweet lips kissed the tip of his shaft with tender familiarity, as if they were long-time friends; her impish tongue danced in circles around it, tickling it all over, before she bobbed her pretty redhead down on him, taking the whole length of his member into her warm, wet mouth.  A tiny moan escaped her, traveling up the length of his shaft with a thrilling little hum.

“Oh, mademoiselle,” he murmured.  “I can see why your father might feel the need to lock you up!”

Oui,” she said, poutily.  “And I think you can also see why I felt the need to escape.”

Her tongue tripped down the hard length of his erection, painting delicately across it like an artist with a brush.  She tugged his trousers down a little more to find the hot sac of his testes, and she laved them almost lovingly, tracing her fingertips through the dark curls of his wiry hair as she adored his precious stones, savoring them as though they were the finest delicacy she could hope for.

Now Athos groaned, stroking his hands through her hair, down her back, to the tender hips underneath her cloak and the simple dress she wore underneath.  Encouraged by him, she once again took the length of his shaft in her mouth, devouring it happily, bobbing up and down on it in alternating rhythm, like a child playing a little game, licking him and teasing him with coquettish delight.

“Little sweetheart,” he murmured at her.  “You might wish to pull yourself away from that—”

His warning seemed only to persuade her further.  Happily she came off of him for just a moment, once again dancing the tip of that pretty pink tongue across the head of his phallus, tasting the bitter dew of his seed already beginning to gather there, before eagerly gobbling him whole again, bobbing happily up and down on him.  As he gently dug his fingers into her hair, the sweetness of climax arresting him, she took him as deeply as she could manage—he felt the head of his rod deep in the back of her throat.

The sensation was overwhelming and he found himself suddenly bursting in her mouth; wave after wave of sweet pleasure seized him as he spurted his semen into her, feeling her throat work as she hungrily swallowed every drop, thirsty for him like a worshipper at the altar, eagerly drinking of his seed.

Mademoiselle,” he breathed, as the last of his orgasm faded and she finally straightened, giving him one last glorious little sweep with her tongue to catch any remaining evidence before helping him tuck back into his breeches.  “You have convinced me… my friends and I shall help you find your brother.”

“Oh, merci, Monsieur Athos,” she said sweetly, throwing her arms around his neck and giving him a tender hug.  Merci!”

“I wouldn’t be quite so excited just yet,” he said with a grin, chucking her affectionately under the chin.  “My friends may require some… convincing… as well.”

Want More Brantwijn Serrah
 Short Stories?

$.99 Short Stories at Amazon, Barnes and Noble,
iTunes, and more.

No comments:

Post a Comment

What do you think?