This chapter includes very mature content and concepts. It is only suitable for those aged 18+
As a combatant, Aramis was exceptionally supple, nimble, flexible and quick in her movement. She knew how to dodge and escape her opponents and then to turn on them with such speed so as to deliver her attack, without giving them the chance to respond.
So, it was an unusual situation that she found herself in this very moment: completely paralyzed, held down in place, unable to move, to punch, to kick, or to even turn her head. Not that she wanted to anyway…
She had made a great miscalculation: her adversary knew her inside out. He knew the way she moved; he knew the way every single muscle in her body moved. He could anticipate anything she was about to do. Naturally, for he had trained her, instructed her, scrutinized her on a daily basis. He had made her.
So, it wasn't difficult for him.
He could bear it no more. His mind knew nothing else except one thing: to possess this Amazonian goddess who stood nude before him, challenging him. As if she stood a chance!
With uncharacteristic speed, he lunged towards her, pulled her painfully by the wrist back into the room and slammed the door shut, while murmuring something about the indecency and scandal this might cause for the servants.
But before she could retaliate, which she was utterly on the ready to do, he had immobilised her. To accomplish that, he played on every single one of her weak points, which he knew quite well. He then used to his advantage the one thing his musketeer had always lacked: raw physical strength.
Thanks to her fine waist and slim feminine body, it was easy for him to comfortably imprison her between both of his legs. The sheer muscular force of his thighs pressed her knees together so tightly, it prevented her from utilizing this key joint. His blond musketeer depended on her legs first and foremost in battle; to elude and dodge, to kick and maintain balance and flexibility. He had thus shut down her primary strength.
Next, he grabbed both her arms behind her back and trapped her wrists within his fist. Her wrists were thinner and leaner than those of a man's, which made it easy for him to hold them together in one hand, in a solid iron grip, thereby snuffing her second most valuable asset – her arms.
In a real conflict, should his musketeer have found herself in this situation, the solution was obvious: she would use her head to deliver a blow to her attacker's nose from behind. But Jean-Armand de Treville was a man of sound strategy. There were so many other places on this divine warrior's body where he would have liked to grab with this free hand, but he wanted to prove a point: he wanted to conquer her.
He had thus grabbed her hair from the neck, curled it around his fist and pulled forcefully on it. This caused her neck to tilt as far back as he willed it. In a real conflict, a few more inches lower and he could finish her by breaking her neck. Instead, he chose to keep her in this uncomfortable position to teach her not to overestimate herself against him. It also gave him full access from above, to feast his eyes on those perfectly firm breasts that had taunted his imagination for so long. Oh, and how delicious they were! Her nipples were erect with the excitement, a hue of dark pink in a sea of a lighter pink that formed her areolas.
She grunted with pain and discomfort. Her neck was cramping, her legs felt weak and his wrist gripped hers so hard, she could feel the flow of blood to that area become restricted. Yet... something about this felt strangely pleasurable.
He turned her head forcefully, and deposited a wet and languorous kiss on her lips, almost suffocating her with his tongue. Before he let go, he made sure to leave a line of his saliva dripping out of her mouth, onto her chin, rolling down towards her breasts.
She gasped, horrified at this obscene gesture. From her Captain above all else!
He then put her back in position, now devoting the same attention to her neck.
"Tell me," he breathed, so close to her ear.
"Mmm?" she could only moan. Speech was difficult, seeing as how her neck was tilted far back.
"Are you a virgin?" he asked her casually.
Her eyes widened with embarrassment, and her cheeks reddened.
"I… What does it matter?"
Sternly, he replied, as if displeased with her response, "I simply want to decide what level of… training to enroll you in with regards to this… discipline," he made sure to pause, to make it clear what he implied.
She swallowed with difficulty.
"And also, to decide in which manner I will make you mine," he added. He could see her breasts heaving up and down.
"Wh… what are the options?"
"Option one," he had turned her around, bent her head to the side and speaking in between long and wet kisses on her neck: "Option one, I take you as a woman on our wedding night. Traditional, but could be brutal, depending."
"Mmm," she murmured, her mind running with the mere idea of feeling him inside of her, a close and realistic eventuality now.
"Option two," he continued, before meeting her gaze and kissing her on the lips gently, "If you're nice enough and do as I tell you, I could deign to give you some control and let you on top of me, so you can ride me like a horse."
Her eyes widened at that obscene allusion. Oh yes!
"And… the last option?" her voice was barely audible.
A sly smirk crossed his features, giving him a predatory air; an expression she had never seen before on the face of her Captain. But then again, she hardly recognized him as her Captain in this moment, except for one aspect: he was her superior still, and he will make sure she knew it.
His fingers gently stroked her cheek, as he spoke:
"The third option, my dear, is that I toss you on all fours and take you from behind," then with the back of his hand, he ever so gently slapped her on the cheek, startling her with this gesture of demonstrating his dominance. "I will take you, while your arse is offered up to me, like a little whore."
If he was hoping to shock her, he had definitely succeeded. But he could also see in her wide azure eyes something else: pure lust. Her breath was loud and quick, not because she was scandalized or afraid, but because she wanted him, she wanted all the perverseness he was offering her and due to her lack of experience, her own desire for these pleasures affronted her.
As a response, she merely said, "Only once, six years ago."
He nodded in understanding. She had answered his question and with that, had given him permission by disclosing the level on which she currently was.
He put her forehead to hers and kissed her, "Will you be a good soldier, then and follow my instructions?"
She nodded.
"Good!" he kissed her again.
"On your knees, then, soldier!"
No… he wasn't going to…Surely, not at first! She had heard her comrades recount their sexual escapades countless of times. Even though she was inexperienced herself, she knew exactly what this meant. She knew exactly what was being demanded of her now.
Bewildered, she stood frozen in place, even though he had released from his grip. He said nothing. Once again, he gently clapped the back of his hand on her cheek, before he placed his hands on her shoulders and forced her to her knees.
It suddenly dawned on her, as she sat in anxiety while he fiddled with the cords of his culotte, that this was her Captain. This was Treville, Captain of the Musketeers. The man who had taken her in, the man who had been a guardian to her, the man who…
Her thoughts were cut short, when a hand fixed her chin in place, leaving her mouth agape for only a second or two before a fleshy, thick and hard object was inserted into it.
"Mmmm!" she complained. She had tried to move but with no success, for he had already taken her hair in his fist again and was now in control of the movement of her head – which he made use of quite satisfactorily.
He groaned with pleasure, which was further intensified at the sight of his musketeer's mouth wrapped around his phallus! How many times had he fantasized about this?! Once, he even wanted to keep her after hours and shove her under his desk so he can liberate himself into his mouth. His fantasies began to run wild and he was sure that he would lose control if he didn't put a stop to this.
Regretfully, he pulled her neck far back, releasing his sex from her mouth. He looked down at her. She was hyperventilating, her cheeks were crimson red and a thin string of fluid – her saliva mixed with some fluid from his sex – stretched from the corner of her mouth to his sex. Bloody hell! He could come just by this sheer image!
He hoisted her up by the shoulders and threw her onto the bed, where she landed on her back. He then placated his large hands on each of her thighs and spread her legs wide open.
She gasped. Oh God, here it was, he was going to fuck her now. Her gaze shifted from his eyes to his sex. How could she possibly feel such pleasure from being humiliated like that? To put her on her knees and make her take him in his mouth! Oh, but how exotic it felt! She had felt his sex on her back earlier when he held her. She had felt its hardness grow against her body. But in her mouth, it was hard yet tender at the same time, it was uncomfortable yet satisfying, the act itself was exhausting yet erotic! And now, she was to feel it again, somewhere else, somewhere… deeper.
She closed her eyes in anticipation, feeling his fingers trace firm lines on her thighs, getting closer and closer to her groin. The mere fact and the sensation that she was wide open and on display for him drove her mad with lust.
"Ahhh!" she moaned, as his fingers found their way to her weakest most pleasurable spot. He had barely spent time there before he abruptly stopped and moved away, leaving her exposed and vulnerable in this position.
She opened her eyes, flabbergasted. No… he wasn't going to leave, was he? To be brutal was one thing. She could handle brutality. But to be cruel…Her knees instinctively clasped shut on each other. Upon seeing this, he came back and parted them once more. He also grabbed her wrist and deposited it in between her legs.
"Montrez-moi," he said simply.
She stared at him questioningly. Show him… what?
He perched on top of her and again, clapped his hand gently to her cheek.
"Be a good soldier and show me how you pleasure yourself while you are alone."
"I…"
He clapped his hand on her face again, this time more forcefully, causing her to wince.
"What did we say before, hmm?"
"To follow…your…instructions," she breathed.
He slapped her again, "To follow my instructions, what?"
She didn't know what to reply, so he slapped her again, to motivate her faculty.
"To follow your instructions, Capitaine," she uttered the last word through clenched teeth.
"Good!" As he moved off of her, his hand passed on her sex and he slapped it, causing her body to radiate with a peculiar pain that was so incredibly sweet.
…
He couldn't take his eyes off of her. Treville had never seen anything so raw, so beautiful, so mesmerizing! Her fingers moved lasciviously on her sex, alternating between circling and insertion. Her head was tilted back, her hair spread out on the pillow, her captivating eyes were half-closed like a lazy feline. And her body! Treville had only seen his musketeer in her uniform, day in and day out; or lately in a dress. But this was something else – a divine image. Every single part of her was sculpted to perfection. When she moved, whether it was in a duel or in passion, every single part of her moved in tandem to help her accomplish what she set her sight to. It was the very definition of being in harmony.
He watched her hypnotically as he relieved himself of his own clothing. He was craving to feel her skin on his or rather, to make her feel his skin on her. Yet as much as the desire burned within him, as much as his sex throbbed and threatened him with pain, he removed his clothes slowly. He wanted to see her in the act, he wanted a front seat to this magical spectacle that was the climax of Aramis.
He approached her guardedly, wary of interrupting her flow. The closer he got to her, she could spy his hand move up and down his shaft. It excited her more and she quickened her pace. He could tell she was close. He perched himself on top of her, his sex caressing hers. That gesture was all she needed. She exploded with a loud moan that bordered on a scream.
She had barely had time to recuperate when he inserted himself inside of her, extracting an equally loud and suppliant moan from his young lover.
Oh, how good it felt! She closed her eyes and let herself go, allowing him the ease to move them both at his own rhythm. His thrusts felt almost calculated. He had pinned her arms to the top of her head with one hand so she couldn't move.
Their eyes met a few times but he never kissed her. He simply regarded her with determination, as if his sole purpose was to prove his dominance over her.
He didn't even try to be subtle about it.
When she recovered from her ecstasy, she looked up at him with doe-eyes and said in a highly feminine voice, "I've been a good soldier, Capitaine."
He paused, completely destabilized by this new and unexpected gesture. She held his gaze with that fake innocence that ripped through to his heart. Then, turning the tables on him, Aramis took advantage of his feeble moment. She removed himself from his grip, placated her hands on his torso and pushed him off violently. He landed on his back and she placed herself triumphantly on top of him.
He chuckled softly before he drew her to him in a most passionate and arduous kiss; their tongues hungrily exploring each other's mouths. She lifted herself and reinserted him inside of her. Her intention was to regain some control, exert some dominance, but the only thing he had wanted to get out of this was the pleasure of massaging her breasts and pinching her nipples until she cried out in pain. So, he let her thrive but only for a short while.
Jean-Armand de Treville was a man of position, of power and of dominance. He refused to let her win. He refused to come in this position, at least not now, not today.
He gripped her from the hips and placed her on her side before he rose himself and then once again from her hips, he put her on all fours. She gasped. She only had time to grab onto the sheets before he entered her again.
"Ahhhhh!" she cried out. It was not as painless as she had hoped. This time, his thrusts were hard and deep. They were merciless. And Aramis was a musketeer. She would never admit defeat nor weakness, especially not like this and especially not to him.
He wanted to avenge himself for all the anger and frustration she had caused him over the last two months. He had wanted to make her happy, he thought it would all go smoothly but it only served to aggravate him and make him feel older. Now, it was time for her to return the favor, to be the instrument for him to attain his happiness, his carnal pleasure.
With one hand, he grabbed one of her breasts and she cried out in more pain. He didn't stop and she gave in to him, despite the brutality with which he was fucking her. It lasted a few more minutes only, thankfully, before he attained his climax and exploded inside of her with a loud grunt.
His pleasure was reached. His dominance was exerted and his point was made. As the wave of ecstasy diluted itself throughout his body, a new wave suddenly took over: one of terrible and profound guilt. Jean-Armand de Treville was a man respected for his high and admirable degree of self-control and discipline. Yet, as he lay there on his back, drenched in sweat and catching his breath, he felt like nothing more than a lowly drunkard; he had lost control.
