Sugar Daddy

It all started on one regular day…

Bored of his paperwork, Tréville had moved away from his desk and gazed lazily through the large window of his cabinet. In the sun-filled court of his hotel, Aramis and Athos were fencing, practicing their sword techniques while joking and chatting together. The captain was watching their exchange, half-hypnotized by the fluid movements of his two best men. Men? Tréville smiled: although he had been unsure of his decision at first, regarding the enrollment of Aramis in his troops, he had now to admit that the blond woman was quite an useful addition in his ranks. He understood her thirst for revenge,- a visceral burnt he often felt himself - and deeply admired her for that. She was talented, thoughtful, and-

Cut in his thoughts, he saw Athos losing his balance and falling to the ground. Aramis jumped on the occasion to straddle him before threatening him with a dagger, its cold blade pressing against his throat.

"Haha!" the older man thought, amused. "This little woman surely knows how to ride a man!"

But what should have been only a macho's comment soon turned into something totally different...In a flash, erotic images of his female musketeer passed in Tréville's mind. He shook his head, wanting to rapidly chase away those perverted thoughts… He looked again through the window : the two soldiers had their positions switched, Athos now on top of Aramis, pinning her down under his weight, now being the one menacing with his weapon.

Tréville blinked numerous times and vigorously shook his head once more. Athos and Aramis were nicely assorted…a perfect young couple. The captain started to wonder if Athos, Porthos, or any of his men, would fall in love with Aramis if they ended up knowing the truth about her. And even if they would not know, Aramis was posing as a gorgeous man after all. Counter-nature relationships, although kept tightly secret, were quite common…

Get a grip, Treville! he scowled himself. He sighed. What was happening to him? Did not he willingly embrace a heavy military career to avoid the burden of a wife and a family to take care of? But what kind of woman would accept the theorical life of a wife, but the practical one of a widow, since he was too busy to even go back home after his hard days of work? He had even settled himself a comfortable bedroom directly at the barracks, not even caring that he was slowly abandoning his mansion in the outskirt of Paris.

Of course, meeting with the girls of Madame Morand could be a solution... Tréville liked young women…But, first, he had some honor to maintain; it would ruin his reputation if he was found in such a brothel. And second…quite frankly he was slightly disgusted by the fact dozen of men took those girls before him. No. Being the possessive kind, he wanted a woman for himself, and himself only. He thus made the choice to have a mistress…She was one he was really confident about, a girl who was not babbling about his love life openly; The king – who he knew to be pretty chaste – would not be so pleased otherwise.

He had been seeing Countess Rosalie for a quite a while now : a lovely widow in her early thirties, with a peachy-tinted face framed with chestnut curls, a generous chest, a fine waist and curvy hips…Everything the beauty canons of his era could dream about. But lately, Tréville found himself being bored of the life she was offering him. Gone were the belly butterflies of the first moments, the excitement of the first rendez-vous, the kisses, the lovemaking…Rosalie was already into another sphere of their relationship, wishing for tenderness - and a second wedding-, while it was something Armand de Treville was simply not believing in, for he never been deeply in love with her. In his practical eyes of a soldier, he could not phantom things that would not give him anything concrete back…and from judging the reasons why married people so often took lovers, he concluded that marriages meant the end of passion, desire, need…and sex.

Aramis swept the sweat off her forehead with the back of her sleeve, mentally praising God for making her a woman, thus being able to easily hide her excitation. Fencing with Athos was an exercise she liked a lot…and being caught against his body every time he won the fights – which meant all the time – was nicely disturbing. She could not deny that Athos was one of the most handsome man she had seen, but…

She sighed. As weird as it may seemed, Aramis counted the years separating her from her older friend: only six years. What does a man could know about a woman, if he was not much older compared to her? Francois had been a dozen years older than her, and what he showed her proved that a man needed to be experienced if he wanted to please his lady; the younger pretendants her family introduced her were not as distinguished, well-mannered or simply not as thoughtful as could have been an older man like François.

And Athos, on top of that? A man who seemed to enjoy more the company of his books than women…? Of course he seemed pretty skilled in every activity he did, but she had never seen him with a lady.

Athos with a woman... of course his astonishing blue eyes, his deep voice, his firm body, his big hands...everything of him was made to catch the attention of the females, but it seemed, in Aramis' mind, he never used those weapons in his whole life.

Beside, she could not tell Athos her secret, could not she? Then what would be the point of wasting her feelings on a man she could not even be with? He was a great man to daydream about, but her logical mind refused to drift passed the mere phantasms.

To be continued!