Charlie and the Chancellor’s Plot
By J. Dumas
(3)
The following week saw Charlie living a double life as Royal Guard during the day, and as Rochefort’s lover—or perhaps more accurately, plaything—during the evenings and nights. She learned what he liked, which was taking her from behind, roughly, often while holding on to her hair like reins on a horse, and he liked finishing off in her mouth, making her choke on his shaft as he thrust it deep in her throat. He deflowered her rear hole, and forced her to have her strongest orgasms when she was taken anally.
She endured—she had no choice, she was told to—the knowing grins and leering glances of the Dragoons every evening, for Rochefort had told them that Charlotte of Artagnia had taken a liking to his rod and was partaking selfishly of its joys. She had overheard them asking Rochefort when they could have a go at her, to see if she was as good as he had led them to believe, and thankfully Rochefort had always said no, although he had hinted that soon he would share her.
In the meantime, rumors had been going around the castle about their liaison, and even the Princess had taken an interest, questioning Charlie one afternoon during the shift change. Charlie, under inescapable orders from Rochefort, had not been able to say anything beyond that her affairs were her own, and that she was seeking satisfaction in the best place she could find it. When the Princess had asked about the Count of Athia, with a deeper question in her eyes and a frown on her face, Charlie, again under ineluctable orders, had simply shrugged her shoulders, and said that Rochefort was the better man by far. It had burned her inside, as she had wanted to scream to the Princess that Rochefort was the one making her do all of it, that she was trapped, but of course, she could not.
Charlie was thinking furiously throughout her ordeal. Not only about her situation and how to extricate herself from it, but also about the King and the Princess and how to protect them both from the Prime Chancellor, who she could see was getting at once more restless and more suspicious. She had also seen him throw curious glances at her when she was on guard at the Audience Hall, and also at Rochefort when he came to deliver messages or take orders. There was no doubt that the Chancellor had heard the rumors about Charlie and his Lieutenant, and that he had made the connection with his stolen potion Charlie considered highly likely.
And through it all, she thought of Oliver, of how he would react when he would come to learn of the situation. She dreaded that moment with all of her heart, for until then at least she had the luxury of hoping that she could find a way out of her nightmare without causing damage to their relationship.
But as Rochefort made clear to her that evening, she had run out of time. She was in a position that had become typical for her, on her knees, naked, sucking on Rochefort’s cock as he lounged in his bed after having ridden her hard for the previous hour. He loved getting his cock suckled even when it was soft, and Charlie was licking and sucking slowly, trying to put as much passion into it as she could.
A knock on the door interrupted them, and Rochefort bade the caller enter. He did not make Charlie stop, did not tell her to cover up, did not cover up himself. From the corner of her eye, Charlie recognized one of the Dragoons in Rochefort’s troop, who stopped short when he saw Charlie on the bed.
“Baltik—what brings you here?” asked Rochefort, nonchalant. He put a hand on Charlie’s head to ensure she would not stop, even though he knew full well she could not stop.
Baltik had difficulties taking his eyes off the beautiful girl worshipping his commander’s cock, her brown hair covering her face. He had heard about Rochefort shacking up with Charlotte of Artagnia, like everyone else in the Dragoons troop, and had seen her in their quarters often, admiring her as she passed by, but he had never fully believed the rumors were true, and even if he had he would not have imagined it the way he was seeing it now, with Charlie on her knees before Rochefort, servicing him in the presence of a subordinate.
“I... huh... right. Yes. Sorry. Huh... You... you wanted to be notified when Count Oliver of Athia returned to town. He has been spotted at the Rooster.”
“Excellent! Do you hear that, my lovely doll? Your erstwhile lover has returned. Isn’t that exciting?”
Charlie let go of the cock in her mouth for long enough to share a glance with Rochefort. “Yes, my Lord and Master.”
“I bet your cunt is getting all wet from thinking about him while your mouth is full of my cock.” Rochefort pulled her head back down so she could resume her service, his cock hardening at the thought of what he might do this evening.
He turned his head to see Baltik still standing by the bed. Rochefort had forgotten about him. The boy—for Baltik was young—kept staring at Charlie, still unable to believe his eyes, a growing erection hardening in his breeches.
“You like her, Baltik? She’s got one sweet body on her, that’s for sure. And look at that ass. Lift up your ass, my lovely doll, show Baltik here what you have to offer. Shake it a bit, make it nice. That’s right, just like that!” He watched Baltik practically salivate at the sight. “And you know the best part? It feels even nicer than it looks. It just grabs you and never lets you go.”
Rochefort laughed, while Charlie silently burned with embarrassment, bobbing up and down on the thick flesh shaft. Baltik watched, his breath now short.
“I’d offer you to sample it,” Rochefort gestured to Baltik, “but we gotta go. I’m sure the Count of Athia is itching to see his beloved once again. Be well, Baltik.”
Baltik nodded, casting a last longing glance at Charlie, who kept sucking, feeling mortified at the thought of facing Oliver, while at the same time feeling a surge of hope. If anyone could help her, she thought, it would be him.
When Baltik had shut the door, Rochefort straightened up in his bed, took hold of Charlie’s head and started pushing it up and down onto his cock, harder and harder, slamming all the way down the back of her throat on every thrust. Charlie, unavoidably intent on pleasing him at all cost, opened her mouth wide and let herself be so assaulted, preparing herself for the finale that would see Rochefort unload into her mouth and feed her his seed once more.
Rochefort surprised her by pulling out at the last minute, just as his thrusts were getting more erratic, heralding his imminent orgasm, and exploded all over her chest, sending long tendrils of cum all over her round sensitive breasts.
“Rub it in, my lovely doll,” he told her after falling back on the bed, in bliss.
As she did so, spreading the sticky spent and working it into her skin, he left and came back with a red garment that he threw on the bed. Charlie saw what it was and even though she could not react the way she wanted externally, she gasped in the core of her mind. Rochefort could see that she had recognized it.
“Yup. I found you a pretty red pleasure girl tunic. I want you to wear it tonight. I want to see your boy’s face when he sees you in it. And when he does, I want you to go and offer your services to him. Make it good, make it hot, make it professional. I trust you,” he added, laughing as he reached for his own clothes.
Half an hour later, wearing the red wraparound tunic that clung to her every curve yet managed to bare much of her long legs, her dark hair unfurled and cascading down her shoulders, Charlie crossed the threshold of the Spitting Rooster with Rochefort beside her.
There were fewer people inside than she had feared, and she could not help but anxiously scan the crowd to find Oliver, and possibly her friends. She had a come-hither smile plastered on her face, courtesy of Rochefort, who was nodding pleasantly to people he knew while he guided her with a hand on her elbow. Men were looking at her, getting stuck on her breasts highlighted by the tight tunic, and on her bare legs, while the other pleasure girls shot her dark glances, seething at the competition that as far as they were concerned had just entered their territory.
When Charlie saw Oliver, sitting alone at one end of the bar, his head into a tall mug of ale, his sword hanging off his back, she felt a shiver of joy run through her. At the same time, the instructions that Rochefort had implanted in her dazed mind kicked in, and she slowly made her way to her lover, swaying her hips with every languorous step, her chest thrust forward. Rochefort watched her go, grinning widely, his eyes locked on her ass, dreaming of the abuse he would heap upon it when they returned to his chambers later.
Charlie sat on the stool next to Oliver, who barely reacted to her presence aside from a slight shake of the head and a thin “I’m not interested,” mumbled without ever lifting his eyes up from his drink.
“Really, lover?” Her voice was throaty. Rochefort had told her to be at her sexiest.
Oliver startled at the sound of Charlie’s voice, and almost sent his mug flying as he swung around to see her sitting not half a yard from him, dressed so skimpily she exposed flesh that was reserved for intimate partners. “Charlie! My Lord, where have you been?” He reached over to take her into his arms, and she let herself be hugged, pressing her chest against him while sighing prettily into his ear.
“I’ve been looking for you ever since we got in early this morning,” he continued, pushing her back to look at her, “and I was hearing those... rumors... about...” He looked her up and down, his mind slowly putting together the clues about the way she was dressed and the way she had arranged her hair and what he had heard earlier and he still could not believe it. He floundered, and Charlie saved him by running her hand on the side of his face before kissing him, a deep kiss that saw her tongue wrestle its way through his lips to invest his mouth.
“I’ve missed you, lover,” she said, her voice still throaty, her hand dropping down to his crotch, where she quickly found his cock straining to get hard.
“Charlie! What are you doing?” He pulled her hand off. “Why are you dressed like... like... and I heard this rumor... The Count of Rochefort? Charlie, what’s going on?”
Charlie giggled—a sound that Oliver had never thought he would hear coming from those beautiful red lips—and she leaned back, thrusting her chest upward to emphasize her abundant cleavage. And even though she knew this was coming, even though Rochefort had coached her on her behavior as they walked towards the tavern, even though she knew she had no choice but to comply, she tried to fight the urge to say what she had to say next, powerlessness and frustration battling it out in the arena of her mind, while her body droned on.
“You like?” she asked, running her hands down her sides and spreading her legs, giving tantalizing glimpses of the wonders beyond. “I may have found my new calling, trading in pleasure. So much more satisfying that dealing death, don’t you agree?”
Oliver looked at her in horror. “Charlie! What happened to you?”
“My eyes were opened, that’s all. I was made to realize that my true talents were wasted, and that they should be shared with the world. You should know,” and she leaned over conspiratorially, “you enjoyed those talents quite a few times yourself.”
“Charlie, please! Let’s get out—”
“Yes,” she said, grasping his cock through his breeches, “let’s. You want to go in the back and sample the goods one more time?” She stroked his cock, smiling. “I’ve really missed your cock, Oliver. I want to feel it in my mouth again. I want to feel it up my cunt again. My Lord and Master opened up my ass recently, so you can put it there too if you want. It’s really tight.”
“Lord and Master? Charlie! What’s got into you? Come on—”
“If you’re worried about the price,” she added, still smiling, still stroking his cock, “don’t. I’m cheap tonight, really cheap. For a silver coin, you get me for a full hour. What do you say? For old time’s sake? Just a coin...”
Oliver jerked back when Charlie reached over to try to kiss him again. “Charlie! He did something to you, didn’t he? Rochefort did something to you! The piece of...” Oliver looked around, and spotted Rochefort standing with friends at the other end of the room, looking back at him with a grin on his face.
Oliver reached back for his sword and unsheathed it as he raced for Rochefort, who watched him approach laughing.
“What did you do to her?” screamed Oliver, whereupon everyone in the tavern shushed, watching the Royal Guard facing off against the Dragoon.
“You mean aside from making her come over and over again till she was too exhausted to bring her legs back together?”
“You bastard! You will taste my sword for this outrage!”
Rochefort, still smiling, gallantly gestured towards the door. “Shall we, then?”
“You go first, Count. I do not trust you to be chivalrous.”
“As you wish, Count.” And Rochefort strode out, his hand on his sword. Oliver followed in step behind him, his sword drawn, and much of the tavern’s patrons followed in turn, excited to be privy to what they were sure would be a duel of epic proportions. Charlie, her heart sinking for she knew exactly what Rochefort had planned, followed as well.
Swords crossed in the lane behind the tavern, both combatants in fine form, although the Count of Athia was clearly angry and the Count of Rochefort was clearly amused. Under normal circumstances, Rochefort might have been worried, as Oliver would have been acknowledged as the best fighter, but these were not normal circumstances.
After the first few angry blows by Oliver, easily parried by Rochefort, the fight settled in a rhythm that was almost hypnotic to the audience, every person in the crowd cheering wildly for their favorite. Wagers were flying about, and punches were thrown while the two main combatants exchanged blows without paying undue attention to anything else.
Meanwhile, against her will, Charlie had started to enact Rochefort’s plan. Putting herself in a position where Oliver could see her, she reached for the man closest to her and kissed him, much to his surprise. When he pulled back to complain that he did not have any money to spend on her, she shut him up with another deep kiss and by pressing the palm of her hand into his hardening cock. She told him that fighting made her hot, and that this was a freebie.
To convince him, she took his hand and slipped it underneath her tunic, to make him feel her naked pussy that was already starting to drip with her juices. Rochefort had made sure that she would be aroused at this point of the proceedings, and she was. She moaned deep in her chest when he pushed two fingers inside of her, and it did not take long before she was humping his hand while sharing another deep kiss with him.
When Oliver saw her, in the distance, he startled, and missed a foothold, an error that Rochefort, who had been waiting for exactly that moment, wasted no time in taking advantage of, and Oliver found himself on the defensive, fending off blows from Rochefort while unable to keep glancing at Charlie, disbelieving the evidence of his own eyes.
Charlie had turned around and was leaning forward against the outside wall of the tavern, one hand holding up her tunic over her ass, the other beckoning the man to penetrate her. After a few glances about to verify that everyone was indeed completely taken with the fight, he pulled his trousers down enough to free his long thin cock and slide it in the snatch of the beautiful pleasure girl bent over before him. The way her pussy gripped him as he pounced into her was indescribable, and he had never felt anything like it before. Certainly, his own wife did not feel so good, after four children. This was a well-trained pussy, he figured, and he idly wondered how much she charged when she was not giving it away for free during duels.
Oliver saw it all, while warding off the more frequent blows from Rochefort—the way the tall man slipped into Charlie from behind, the way she arched her back in pleasure, the way she let the man reach around and grab her breasts roughly while he plowed into her forcefully. Oliver was distracted beyond thinking straight, which of course had been Rochefort’s intent all along.
When Charlie, sensing that the tall man fucking her was reaching his release point, turned around and knelt at his feet to finish him off with her mouth, Oliver lost his footing again and found himself on one knee trying to fend off the feverish attacks of Rochefort. It would have been the end of the Count of Arthia at that moment if not for the fortuitous arrival of the Baroness of Porthia and Rene of Aramia, his companions, attracted by the clamor of the fight.
Rochefort laughed and stepped back from Oliver, who was breathing hard holding his side. “Three against one,” Rochefort said, eyeing the new arrivals who had stepped before Oliver, swords drawn. “Where’s your chivalry now, Athia?” He laughed, and sheathed his sword. “She’s mine, Athia. Get used to it. If you want her, you’ll have to pay, like the rest of them.” He gestured around before saluting and walking off, grabbing Charlie by the arm in passing.
They left together, leaving behind them a crowd feeling cheated of a proper ending, a drained and contended man refastening his trousers, a tired Count struggling to stand up, and two confused knights wondering why their friend was leaving hand in hand with one of their rivals.