A Nonexistent Scene from D'Artagnan's Sexcellent Adventure Evan Andrews 2023
This is a fan fiction.
The characters in this story are based loosely on Dumas' Three Musketeers. Those characters are long out of copyright, but this story was specifically inspired by the 1993 Disney The Three Musketeers' (what I refer to as D'Artagnan's Excellent Adventure'.) At the same time, this story exists outside the continuity of both book and movie and, frankly, history. BTW, that is D'Artagnan's real name.
This story should in no way be considered to be a representation of the true sexuality of the original characters or the actors.
The story depicts males in sexual situations with other males. If that offends you, if you are underage, or if reading such is illegal where you are please stop reading now. Thank you.
If you enjoy this story, or even if you hate it, please contribute to keeping Nifty going at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
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Blades flashed in the dark. Steel clanged against steel. Men cried either in pain or triumph. The Three Musketeers (and their new little friend) were at their work.
Charles de Batz de Castelmore d'Artagnan to his new friends, was an impetuous (and handsome and hunky) young man who aspired to the honor of serving His Majesty as one of his Musketeers. Until there was an opening, however, he was serving in the Cadets. Serving, but at the same time trying to prove himself at every opportunity. This time, however, he was going too far. Literally.
There was a law against dueling, of course, but this fracas between our heroes and the Cardinal's men had long since gone beyond a mere duel. The side street darkness even then blazed with the flashing blades of both sides, and the Musketeers were enjoying themselves immensely as they toyed with the best the Cardinal could manage.
"No!" Athos suddenly bellowed.
He has seen the dark, sleek figure of D'Artagnan's special enemy, the Man from Meung, slipping away from the fray and disappeared down a dank alley close to the Court of Miracles, but so a second earlier had D'Artagnan. The impetuous lad abandoned the battle (and his friends) and charged towards the alley.
"Don't follow him, D'Artagnan! It's a trap!"
Of course it was, but Athos might as well have been speaking Sumerian for all the good it did. When D'Artagnan's blood was up his swashbuckling brain ignored everything but what was immediately in front of his face-- which is why the Cardinal's guards waiting in ambush had no trouble pouncing on the youth, subduing him, and pulling him into one of the alley's many dark recesses long before his friends could rush to his aid. For all intents and purposes, D'Artagnan disappeared from the face of the earth that night.
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Beneath the earth, however, it was a different story.
In good time, D'Artagnan regained consciousness. He slumped in chains-- in one of the wicked Cardinal's secret dungeons, he decided. D'Artagnan had no way of knowing he was specifically in a private playroom, the place beneath the Palais Cardinal in which His Eminence's wicked minion pursued his `special' pleasures.
In the half-light, the cadet roused himself, stood erect, and took inventory. His arms were spread, his wrists chained to opposite walls, and his ankles were strapped to a 2 foot bar that was itself chained to the floor. Restrained in this way, there was no way he could resist—neither strike, nor kick, nor fight back in any other way against whatever diabolical tortures his enemies had planned for him. His coat was gone, and his boots. The worst of it, however, was that his sword-belt was missing from his waist. Nothing but a pair of plain brown trousers and a loose cream-colored chemise covered his tight young body.
"Welcome back, Monsieur d'Artagnan," a voice rasped from the darkness.
The Count de Rochefort, that same Man from Meung that D'Artagnan had raced after, stepped into the light and regarded the restrained youth with an appraising, yet disdainful, eye.
The wickedly handsome minion-in-chief, resplendent in his tight black garb, said, "So, this is the mighty would-be musketeer that so troubles our good Cardinal? I expected more somehow."
D'Artagnan struggled against his chains and snarled, "What do you want with me?"
"Oh, many things," the man in black said languidly, circling the bound cadet.
"I will tell you nothing," D'Artagnan blustered, but Rochefort, unperturbed, simply snorted.
"I really wasn't going to ask you anything."
"Then why am I here?"
The vision in black came up to D'Artagnan and, grabbing him by the chin, turned his head to the left and the right, examining his captive's handsome face, the dark blond curls, and the scruff of a young man's beard. He then stepped back and gave the cadet's trussed up body a visual once over as well. If D'Artagnan noticed how Rochefort's gaze lingered on his hefty package, he didn't show it.
"I know you said you wouldn't answer any question, but let me ask you one thing, boy, because I'm curious. What would you do if I let you go?"
"I'd kill you."
"Of course, with your bare hands. And you'd do a fine job of it I have no doubt. But after that, what? Would you run to your musketeer friends to boast of your accomplishment or would you seek the consolation of your wench."
"Constance is no wench!" D'Artagnan growled.
"Right you are. I stand corrected. Your whore."
Angrily, D'Artagnan snarled, "She is no whore either!"
"No?"
"She has never known a man!"
Rochefort noticed that the boy tended to speak in exclamation points. How utterly precious.
"Jesu have mercy. Never known a man?" he said. "Then what do you propose to do together? Play Trente-et-un?"
"I'll tell her how you died."
"Of course you'll do that. You lack any other conversation. I meant after that. What will you do to her, what will she do for you?"
D'Artagnan stared at Rochefort with astonishment.
"What do you mean?"
Rochefort shook his head.
"You are so dense. Let me explain. If your Constance is as innocent as you say, then she knows nothing about how to properly reward a great hero."
"She is pure!"
"Ah, purity," Rochefort lifted a glass of wine from a table and took a sip. "Purity's an overrated commodity, in my humble opinion and for what that's worth. Do you know what I say about pure women?"
Rochefort drew his sword with slow menace and pointed it at D'Artagnan's heart. The cadet offered up prayers and made himself ready to meet his maker, but Rochefort instead dropped the point of his blade down to the level of D'Artagnan 's crotch, and then closed in on the cadet, sliding the blade up inside of his loose chemise.
"Pure women know nothing of men," Rochefort husked. "Nothing of their parts."
With a quick move, Rochefort slit the chemise open, exposing D'Artagnan 's hairless chest, and lifted the fabric back, exposing the boy's right nipple. Touching the point of his blade to D'Artagnan 's brown areole, Rochefort sent a shock wave through the boy's body, such that he nearly cut himself on the blade.
"You see? Would any woman know how a simple touch like that affects a man?"
D'Artagnan suddenly remembered how Rochefort had earlier stared at his manhood, and feared he knew where the dark menace's monologue was heading. But he also knew that protesting was useless. Instead he turned his face away.
Rochefort lowered his sword point and touched the finger of his left hand to the same nipple, circling the pink-brown nub, teasing the sensitive flesh.
"Does your Constance understand how warm a man's chest is, how responsive these seemingly useless nipples can be? You will, of your courtesy, permit me my skepticism."
Rochefort pinched the tit into full erection and then used all his fingers to feel around the boy's pectoral endowment. D'Artagnan grimaced.
"Does she know about these excellent man-muscles, boy?" Rochefort said, and after slapping the boy's chest he said, "More than that, does she realize how sensitive a man's throat can be?"
Rochefort moved his fingers from D'Artagnan's pec up to his neck, paying especial attention to the hollow of the cadet's throat. This time D'Artagnan gasped.
"Does she realize that a man loves his ears being worshipped?"
Rochefort moved the fingers to D'Artagnan's ear, then back down over throat to pec and nipple—though not to stay.
"A man's belly, of course, is a muscled ladder leading invariably to his sex. Each rung that one descends brings the man experiencing the exploration to a higher, and yet higher, state of excitement, or don't you find that to be the case?"
D'Artagnan stiffened as Rochefort fingers moved provocatively down his stomach, one abdominal at a time, in the general direction of his beltline.
"Ah, I see you do," Rochefort crooned as he took in the now visible tent in D'Artagnan's trousers.
D'Artagnan sucked in his breath and tensed against the inevitable. His mistake. Rochefort was neither so direct nor so gauche as to go straight for a captive's hard dick. Subtlety was the count's way. He sheathed his sword again before letting his fingers and palm instead trail to the boy's side and his flank. His right hand took the corresponding position on D'Artagnan's left flank.
"A man's thighs," Rochefort continued as he squeezed them, "Now, these are the real muscles of love. Without them, an ardent lover could never force his iron-bar cock into a wench's steamy fastness..."
D'Artagnan stiffened, in every meaning of the word.
"Or into whatever else strikes his fancy," Rochefort continued with a leer as his right hand reached around to cup D'Artagnan's ass cheek.
"And this ass. The round alluring fullness where the thigh meets and meshes with the male body. How could a woman ever truly appreciate it?"
Rochefort's hand then slowly came back around D'Artagnan's restrained body and at last found the cadet's engorged dick in its all but superfluous shroud of trouser cloth.
"Here is the only part of a man a woman thinks she knows, thinks she understands, albeit the most mighty and magnificent member a man owns. A long... hard... manly... cock."
And with that Rochefort ran gentle fingers the length the boy's rigid man-shaft.
D'Artagnan gasped at the villain's practiced touch and nearly came in his pants. Rochefort, grinning at the boy's intake of breath, stroked the boy's hidden meat-rod for several minutes, ignoring the look of emotional turmoil on the cadet's face.
`The silly boy doesn't know whether to beg me to stop or to take him here and now,' Rochefort thought, smiling a cruel smile.
"My heavens, D'Artagnan! What length... and what hardness. You are a delicious specimen of manhood, my cadet. So lank and firm, so well-muscled, and not too bright to mar your other perfections. Your hot blood makes your skin flush, I see, and the heat that pours from you is perfectly intoxicating. Dieu soit loué, how I just want...."
Rochefort came to his feet and reached behind D'Artagnan's head with his right hand. He cupped the boy's head and brought D'Artagnan's mouth forward to receive an impassioned kiss, all while his dagger hand continued to toy with D'Artagnan's crotch.
"Now," Rochefort whispered into the sobbing D'Artagnan's ear, "I, on the other hand, know exactly what a man wants. What a man needs. What only a man can do for another man."
D'Artagnan struggled feebly against Rochefort's lips and his roving hands, but the Cardinal's man simply reached between D'Artagnan's legs and, tickling his balls, kissed him again. D'Artagnan turned his face away, but Rochefort simply took advantage of that to transfer his attentions to the boy's ear, and then his face and then the other ear as D'Artagnan tried futilely to escape Rochefort's erotic attentions.
"Do you know what, cadet? I can tell that you're enjoying what a man, what this man, can do for you. Your rod of engorged flesh tells me that, just as it tells me that the thought of what more I could do excites you almost beyond belief."
"No..." D'Artagnan protested, but...
Rochefort kissed down to D'Artagnan's throat and slathered it with his affections. The boy gasped as the villain then moved his head down to the hairless chest with its two perfect nipples riding high on the pectorals. He tongued them both, toying with D'Artagnan's flesh and setting his hormones aboil. The villain's hand was still on D'Artagnan's crotch, as Rochefort tongued his way rung by rung down the stomach muscles. When he reached the beltline, as with his earlier exploration, the villain stopped.
"You want me, D'Artagnan. You need what I can do for your aching cock."
"No..."
"Don't lie to yourself, boy, and don't lie to me! Your antics may amuse the Cardinal, but I am a more straight-forward man. Cock, that's what amuses me, and this one, I think, could keep me busy for hours. Or maybe days. Weeks? Who can say? But I need to see to be certain."
Rochefort drew his sword once more and, slipping it beneath the boy's belt, cut the cincture. Then he stood and slid the blade down the front of D's pants on the side to which the young stud didn't dress. D'Artagnan stiffened, again, but Rochefort did nothing more than slice the front of his pants open. The cadet's cock sprang out of the remains of his clothing (What? Small clothes for our hero? I think not!) like a soldier to attention when action beckoned.
Rochefort cast his sword aside and grasped the cadet's meaty pole in his hand.
"What is this, boy? Disinterest?"
"Oh sacré bleu, Rochefort . No! Please..."
"Quit whining, boy. You want me to favor your cock with my attentions. Admit it. I can tell. Your dick throbs with desire in my hand. It swells when you think of the pleasures I could bestow if I were so minded. It even weeps. See?"
Rochefort ran a thumb around D'Artagnan's cockhead, spreading the boy's precum around the swollen plum. Then he slid his hand slowly, provocatively, up and down the length of D'Artagnan's throbbing staff, now slick with precum.
D'Artagnan sobbed, or was he simply breathing hard?
Rochefort dropped to his knees once more and brought his lips to the head of D'Artagnan's cock. He did nothing so simple as suck it into his mouth, no. The villain only touched his lips to the bundle of flesh where the weeping plum joined the shaft, and with deliberate cruelty, he delivered but a ghost of a kiss.
D'Artagnan screamed, "Jesus!" and thrust his hips forward trying to bury his dick in Rochefort's mouth. Rochefort backed away just in time, however, and laughed at the cadet's futile thrusts and spasms.
"Not yet, my boy," Rochefort crooned as he ran his thumb over D'Artagnan's swollen cockhead. "The Man from Meung must have his little game first."
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Over the next several hours, D'Artagnan vaguely remembered a lass near his birthplace who had the reputation of drawing out a man's pleasure for as long as she willed before finally granting him release. Local men both coveted and feared trysts with her. The cadet had never availed himself of the girl's services, of course (In that way he was just as much a virgin as Constance), but he had done much the same thing to himself alone in his bed at night, or in the hayloft, or out in the woods of his father's estate. Meanwhile, Rochefort, the villain, proved he was every bit as well practiced at tormenting a man's sex, and he played D'Artagnan's stripped naked body like cheap fiddle.
"Please," D'Artagnan whimpered when he was denied orgasm for the twentieth time. "I need to cum! It's driving me crazy to be so close to release and then have you deny me. Please, Monsieur! Je vous en pris!"
"Such pretty words, but why should I believe a single syllable. Did you or did you not promise to kill me?"
"Please, monsieur!" D'Artagnan wept. "Of your mercy..."
"Silly boy," Rochefort said, licking his way down the young cock's piss tube, "Do you really think mercy forms any part of my character? You are, by your own lips, my sworn enemy. Do you really think showing such a man mercy makes any sense."
D'Artagnan simply gasped and moaned as tears ran down his cheeks.
"Ah, but an idea occurs to me," Rochefort said as he returned to his feet.
He kissed the sniveling youth on his puffy lips, tasting the tears, and said, "You are above all things a man of honor, are you not, mon cher?"
"Yes," D'Artagnan whispered. Was this another cruel trick?
"Then I will grant you what you most want—but only if you give me your word of honor to grant what my master and I most want. Can you do that, mon chou?" the villain said, running a fingertip around the boy's squelchy corona.
"Wha...?" D'Artagnan whimpered.
"So simple, boy," Rochefort said.
"On your honor, you will commit here and now to serve Monsieur le Cardinal," he said as he reached around to finger D'Artagnan's butthole.
"And you will serve France, as he directs."
He slid the finger, and its neighbor into the boy's cunt.
"And you will swear ever to be guided by me in matters temporal," he said as he kissed one swollen testicle.
"In ALL matters temporal," he said, kissing the other nut.
"And..." Rochefort said as he looked up the boy's sweaty body and licked his perineum, "That includes all matters carnal."
D'Artagnan choked.
"Do that," Rochefort purred, "And I will grant you the relief you seek. Refuse, and, well, I can continue teasing your body for as long as it takes for you to come round. I wuite enjoy having you in this pathetic condition."
D'Artagnan's soul fought against his body's urgings. The former screamed, No! You are D'Artagnan. You must be strong!' while the latter whined like a bitch, Please, say it. What use is honor to a madman, because if you don't cum soon madness will cloud over your mind.'
Sobs tore through the boy's body.
"But the musketeers..." D'Artagnan started.
"Oh you innocent, one way or another, your dreams of becoming a musketeer are over," Rochefort said, but the cruel lover pressed the matter no further. He knew D'Artagnan's body would eventually force him to betray everything he held dear, and what matter if it took an hour—or two hours-- longer. That was just that much more time the Man from Meung could wring sweet agony from his powerless captive.
But even in that D'Artagnan surprised him. The boy's will took three hours more to finally break.
D'Artagnan at last sniveled, "Please, let me cum, monsieur. Let me cum, and... and I am yours!"
"And the Cardinal's?"
"Yes, and the Cardinal's!"
"Then let's see about bringing you off."
D'Artagnan felt the captain of the Cardinal's Guards step behind him, and heard the rustle of clothing being opened and slid off. A slick sound then announced Rochefort was oiling his shaft. D'Artagnan braced himself for inevitable, and finally a greasy finger slid into the boy's butt.
Frantically, D'Artagnan clenched, but Rochefort whispered in his ear, "Submissive to me in all matters carnal, boy. That's what I demand. Now open that ass and take my dick!"
D'Artagnan, wracked with emotion and driven by need, fought to relax his guardian muscle and felt Rochefort's thick cock ram into him. Even with his victim compliant, the handsome villain still had to make D'Artagnan's submission a violent event. He didn't simply fuck the boy; rather he beat the cadet's ass into a pulp, slamming hard against the boy's luscious butt as he fucked the last of his pride out of him.
"Take it, bitch!" Rochefort growled. "Take it and tell me how you love me, Rochefort, fucking you like a slut."
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" D'Artangnan groaned, his body rocking in time to Rochefort's thrusts.
"Say it!" Rochefort repeated, and to drive his demand home, he began long-dicking the hanging captive, pulling his shaft all the way out of the boy's newly minted bitch cunt and then slamming back into his anal depths.
"Argh!" D'Artagnan screamed.
"Say it."
"Oh, fuck! Monsieur!" D'Artagnan cried. "Fuck me, Monsieur! Fuck my ass! Fuck me hard! Fuck your bitch!"
"When you believe what you're saying, whore-boy, then and only then you'll cum. Keep saying it!"
"Fuck! Fuck me! Breed me! Stuff my ass full of your big hard dick! FUUUUUUCK!"
D'Artagnan's body sealed the pact for him. His cock, untouched, thickened, and he felt a familiar tingle run up his urethra. The now purple cockhead swelled, and suddenly D'Artagnan's sex began to convulse with his orgasm. His cock leapt and spat a rain of young Gascon sperm into the air. The white liquid jewels hung in midair for a fraction of a second and then fell upon the stone floor.
"Fuuuuuuuuck!" D'Artagnan continued to scream. He thought his balls must of course be empty after that explosion of cum, but his dick continued to throb. More white goo oozed out of his shaft and slid down his length like a rich sauce—which of course it was.
At length, the orgasm ended, and D'Artagnan slumped in his chains again. Rochefort, matter-of-factly unlocked the cruel metal wrist cuffs, and D'Artagnan fell to the floor, landing on his knees with his hands spread to break his fall. As he dropped, the boy tied to decide if he had just enjoyed his last orgasm as a free man, or his first as Rochefort's whore.
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"Look up, bitch," Rochefort ordered, and D'Artagnan raised his face to stare and the man in black.
Rochefort gestured with a shake of his head, and D'Artagnan turned to see the Cardinal himself watched the proceedings. Just outside the cell, Richelieu had claimed a chair and was even now beating off. Fuck all, the Cardinal was, if anything, even bigger than Rochefort.
The prelate stood and slipped the red robes over his shoulders. Beneath his habit, D'Artagnan saw, the older man wore much the same tailored-to his body clothing that his black-clad minion did.
Richelieu stepped into the cell and, looking down at the kneeling D'Artagnan, said, "You may demonstrate your submission by sucking my cock, cadet."
Unthinking, D'Artagnan reached out and took hold of the massive shaft. Steadying it, he slid forward and pressed a kiss on the cockhead, even as he would have a bishop's ring. He felt the man's impatience, and even though he had no experience is serving a man orally, he opened his mouth wide and allowed his mouth (and as it turned out throat) to be entered, then filled, then forced wide beyond his expectations.
D'Artagnan batted at the Cardinal's body as his throat was assaulted, but Rochefort was right there to grab his hands and hold him in place to suffer Richelieu's assault.
For every attack D'Artagnan had made on the Cardinal's authority, for ever slight he had uttered, for every malediction, the prelate was now exacting revenge. Richelieu's reputation for subtlety he cast aside in the privacy of this dungeon cell, and he violently raped the supposedly willing boy. His bitch needed to be broken at every level.
Tears again slid down D'Artagnan's face, but he slowly learned to ride the oral assault. As it got easier to take, he became a part of the machine of state, a body impolitic for the true power of France to direct.
"Good, boy," Richelieu smiled now that he was sliding easily into D'Artagnan's throat, "You are accepting your fate. My cock can feel it. Now use your mouth, your tongue, and your lips, to make me cum."
D'Artagnan's last ounce of pride as a man fled, and he began actively to worship the Cardinal's monster meat.
"Yes!" Richelieu cried as he beat the boy's throat to oblivion. "Suck that cock, bitch! Suck me and take my CUUUMMMM!"
The holy cock forced D'Artagnan's throat all the way open and throbbed as Richelieu seeded his mouth.
"Holy fuuuuuuck!"
The Cardinal pulled back and made sure the last blasts from his staff coated the inside of the boy's mouth. D'Artagnan looked up the monster shaft, the head of which was still lodged in his mouth, and met Richelieu's cruel eyes.
"Lick me clean, bitch."
D'Artagnan's tongued darted forward and ran up and down the Cardinal's drooping meat, licking away the evidence of his oral rape. When he was done, Rochefort (how had D'Artagnan forgotten about Rochefort—or the fact that he hadn't cum yet?) turned the former musketeer's face towards him and jerked out a heavy load, painting D'Artagnan's previously innocent face with ultimate disgrace.
D'Artagnan then licked Rochefort's cock clean as well. As he looked up at the two men, men he would previously have done his best to bring down, he realized the truth. He was now these villains' man—no, their boy—no, their bitch, their slave bitch-- for the rest of his life.
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Epilogue
Cardinal Richelieu sat behind his ornate desk facing down an irate Monsieur de Treville.
"I know," the captain of the King's Musketeers accused, "That you know more than you are saying about the disappearance of a truly promising cadet."
"Do I?" Richelieu said. "Perhaps I do, but that's neither here nor there. Even if I had your boy, you don't expect I would surrender him to you just for the asking, do you?"
"So you do know where he is?"
The Cardinal simply smiled and said, "I believe this interview is over. Rochefort, show Monsieur de Treville out."
"I can find my own way!"
The captain turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.
Once the door slammed shut and the musketeer's bluster disappeared in the distance, Rochefort asked, "And where is our boy, if I may make so bold as to ask."
"Oh he's around here somewhere," Richelieu said. "I assigned him a confidential and very personal duty."
The red-robed villain glanced down, and Rochefort taking the Cardinal's meaning, and his hint, retreated, shutting and locking the door behind him.
Richelieu looked down, relishing the sight of his new favorite musketeer, naked as a bitch should be, sucking away at his fat ecclesiastical cock.
"Yes, slut, use that talented mouth and make me cum. Make me feed you your morning dose of sperm!"
The Cardinal recalled that first raping D'Artagnan's mouth. Some men when treated to such a punishment became damaged psychically. They still sucked cock, of course, and they still made passable fuck-boys, but their inner light was extinguished. This boy, on the other hand, had truly taken to his new life. He sucked passionately, and he took it up the ass... Oh yes, he was a most exquisite fuck.
"Boy, I'm getting close. Do you want my load in your mouth, or on your face, or shall I fill your guts with sperm—again?"
D'Artagnan let the tip of the monster cock slide from his mouth and said, "Fuck my ass, Your Eminence! Please, seed my cunt!"
Richelieu came to his feet, and pulling D'Artagnan by his hair forced him over the desk, before cramming his spit-dripping monster into the boy's bitch-hole.
"Fuck!" D'Artagnan cried. "Oh fuck! Oh yeah! Fuck me, Monsieur le Cardinal! Fuck your boy! Your slut! Your pathetic whore!"
Richelieu could only smile. If only all problems could be solved so completely and so enjoyably.
"Time to take my seed, cunt!" he cried after a half hour of dicking the cadet down.
As Richelieu's big dick thrust deep into D'Artagnan's guts and pumped out a hefty load of hot ball-juice, the boy grimaced in satisfaction. Perhaps if Richelieu were satisfied, he thought, he might let his fuck-boy go back to his cell and jerk off. Or maybe Rochefort would be waiting to fuck him again.
It hardly mattered which. Rochefort was a master at fucking loads cum out of D'Artagnan's balls, and cumming, and taking cum, was what he did. And what he would do, probably for the rest of his fuck-slave life.