The Spy Wore Petticoats

When he broke the kiss she was panting and he gave her no time to recover, his lips moving in swift succession from the hollow spot where her collar bones met, up her neck and along the jaw line to her ear. This elicited a gasp, followed by a very feminine moan of pleasure. The sound so shocked her that she went stiff in his arms.

"I'm sorry, did I do something wrong?" Gustav asked, immediately ceasing his attentions.

"N...n...no," Charlotte stammered.

"Are you sure?" he asked, leaning back so he could look into her eyes.

His eyes were dark and brown and full of concern. The way that look made her feel all quivery inside was of great concern to her. Emotions and feelings she simply couldn't understand were at war within her, and she felt powerless to fight them or even begin to explain.

He seemed to understand, holding her close and gently nuzzling her neck before returning to her ear. The same powerful shock of excitement shot through her, and despite her best efforts, she moaned again. Gustav broke the embrace and stepped behind her. In a few moments her gown was undone and he helped her out of it. The panniers, chemise and petticoats soon joined it on the floor. Charlotte knew how complicated those were. She, herself, could not so easily undress a woman, yet he handled it with the smooth efficiency of her maid.

A man who would take the pains to learn to do that was indeed rare, and Charlotte appreciated it all the more for knowing she never would have thought of it.

Her mind was again thrown into confusion when he stepped up and wrapped his arms around her waist. His lips found her shoulder and gently kissed, sending tendrils of pleasure into her system. His hands moved to her thighs and very gently scraped along the inner parts.

"You look enchanting," he whispered, before gently tonguing her ear.

Pleasure and desire rose up, counterbalanced by self loathing and disgust. Rationalizations were shredded by raw need and at the same time recrimination for that need. A lifetime of social training warred with a few weeks of new indoctrination. The welter of emotions became overpowering, and Charlotte had only a moment to blink before she fainted.

"Mam'zelle? Mam'zelle, please."

The words seemed to come from far away. Like an echo in a large room. Someone was calling a woman. Why did he wish to answer? As the room faded into focus and Gustav's worried face filled her vision, she remembered it all. Like a tidal wave, the emotions rushed in again, but this time, she seemed removed from them. Like a scout who watched a battle develop from a far hill top, safely removed from the violence, she thought.

Or like yourself, she thought bitterly. Sleep walking though life, unaware of all that moves around you, afraid to seize the moment and so deprived of ever enjoying the fruits of taking that risk. With honesty came overwhelming determination. Consequences be damned, this was one battle she would not remain above.

"Are you all right, mam'zelle?"

"All right? With God as my witness, I know not what is right."

"I'm sorry. I should not have been so forward. I shall go," he said.

Rather than respond, she reached up and pulled him down on top of her. Her lips found his and she fiercely kissed him. His surprise was momentary and he kissed back with a passion that took her breath away. A passion that came not from him, but from within her own breast. A passion that burned away the doubts as the rising sun banished the night. This time, she would live. She refused to remain a spectator any longer. She would crawl into the arena and taste the rewards of her risk, even if the consequences should destroy her.

Her hands plucked at his clothing, and without removing his lips from hers he quickly shed his shoes and breeches. Only when he had to remove his shirt did he quickly stand and whisk it over his head.

He lay back on top of her, his hip settling on hers as his hand sought out her breast. His gentle fondling of her breast produced unexpected and hitherto unknown sensations in Charlotte's body. Apparently, Gustav had loosened her corset when she fainted, because she felt his fingers curl into the material and tug it down, something he could never have accomplished had it been properly laced. Her skin was hot and the cool air was a shock, but it paled in comparison to the shock of his hands on her quivering flesh.

Gustav's gentle fingers found her nipple and trapped it between thumb and forefinger. He began to gently squeeze it, producing unimaginable sensations. Even that sensation, strong as it was, paled when he released her lips and moved his mouth to cover her nipple. As he sucked and his tongue teased the hard nubbin of flesh, Charlotte gasped. Her back arched and she felt an incredible tension in her body centering at the small of her back. It seemed her nipple was directly connected to this ball of tension, for each swipe of his tongue made it draw in tighter.

"God," she mouthed, as his free hand found her other nipple and began to toy with it.

Gustav switched from nipple to nipple, his mouth taking her to ever greater heights as his fingers cupped and kneaded her breasts. When she thought she could stand no more, he shifted his weight and then slid up her body until his prick hovered before her face.

"Get it wet mademoiselle, it will go easier for you the wetter it is," Gustav said.

Gustav's prick was markedly different from Ivan's. It was shorter and thinner, with a marked upward curvature. It was not, however, as small as she expected from seeing him swimming that day. Charlotte gently pulled the skin back, exposing a head that was more pinkish than purple. She opened her mouth and wrapped her lips around it, swirling her tongue over the velvety smoothness.

A thought raised its ugly head, but she quashed it immediately. She had no intention of letting the implications of her actions ruin this for her. Instead she concentrated on Gustav's cock and making him feel as good as she could. She raised her head up off the bed and pushed her lips down the shaft until it was nestled in her throat and her lips were pressed into his sparse pubic hair.

She felt exhilarated that she could take it all and proud of herself when he gasped. Remembering all she had learned with Ivan, she began to bob her head, sliding her lips up and down the shaft while using her tongue on the head when she could. Her concentration was broken when Gustav reached behind his back and grasped her shaft.

He was stroking it in time to her own rhythm and soon she was forced to pull her head off his now glistening prick.

"You must stop," she whispered urgently, fighting all the while the tightening in her body she recognized as the precursor to spending.

He smiled and released her, to her great relief. Gustav slid down her body until he was between her legs.

"I'm glad you asked me to stop, I was about to have to ask you to," he said as his hands began to caress her inner thighs.

Charlotte laughed. She wasn't sure what she found so amusing, but she couldn't help herself. Gustav laughed with her before his face turned serious.

"There was a reason Ivan sent me, mademoiselle, one that had nothing to do with his other plans for the evening."

"I care not about him right now," she responded.

"Nor do I, but I do care for you, and I must warn you, this may be very painful. I'm sorry, I will be as gentle as I can, but even then, you may experience pronounced discomfort," he said gravely.

"I was under the impression it was painful for every woman the first time," Charlotte said, trying to lighten his mood.

"Quite so," he responded with a smile.

She was glad of that. Had he remained so serious her resolve to just enjoy this might have wavered.

"Still, it need not be terribly so. I hope you won't be offended, but as a precaution, I brought this," he said, reaching over to retrieve a small vial from his crumpled clothing.

"What is it?"

"Olive oil," he replied, removing the stopper and pouring some on his fingers.

"What is it for?"

"A woman produces her own lubricant, as you are no doubt aware. It greatly aids in penetration. It isn't so different from any other oil, and olive oil produces a similar reduction in friction," he replied.

Charlotte smiled, despite her embarrassment. The explanation was so like him. She had noticed it before, the way he seemed moved to fully answer questions. Even when a much simpler response would do, he seemed to feel it necessary to provide a full explanation. She had seen it before, when Ivan was cross and needed a quick reply. The Russian's face always showed frustration at the long explanation. It amused her, that this ingrained response carried into the bedroom as well.

"Place your legs on my shoulders," he commanded.

Charlotte raised her legs and rested them on his thin shoulders. She noticed she was still wearing her shoes, which seemed strange as she hadn't realized it earlier. Gustav took no notice, carefully pouring a measure of the oil onto Charlotte's entrance. She gasped when she felt the cold shock of it, but it quickly warmed as he replaced the stopper in the bottle and placed it next to him.

Charlotte moaned when his fingers gently worked the oil into her bottom and gasped when he slowly inserted a well oiled finger. He explored carefully, pushing into her in small increments and withdrawing often. He did not seem in a hurry and wasn't satisfied until his whole finger could enter her and withdraw without her grimacing.

Only then did he reopen the bottle and apply the remaining oil to his prick, carefully making sure it was coated in the glistening oil before tossing the empty vial aside.

Gustav was staring down intently and used one hand to guide his slippery prick to her entrance while using the other to steady himself. When she felt his blunt head settle at her entrance her whole body tensed, but he made no further move.

"You must relax mam'zelle. It will hurt terribly if you are tense."

Charlotte closed her eyes and willed herself to relax. Soon she felt pressure building as Gustav began to press inward. Her muscles rebelled, refusing to obey her commands to relax. They tensed, fighting the intruder of their own accord. It was a losing battle however, and eventually they gave. His cock shot into her, sinking deeply before a second ring of muscles barred the way.

The pain was so intense that it stole the air from her lungs, leaving her mouth open in a silent scream. She had felt many pains in her life, the cutting pain of a sword stroke, the bruising pain of a fist, even the terrible pain of an open flame when she was young. All of them paled in comparison to the pain she felt now. A deep, stabbing pain, all the more frightening because it was inside her body rather than outside. Not only did it hurt, it felt as if she burned.

Gustav seemed to realize and he leaned forward, using his arms to take the weight of his body off of his pelvis. He worked his hips back, slowly withdrawing before pushing back in again. He did not thrust into her, but rather slowly let his body weight carry his prick as deeply as it would go without strong resistance. Again and again he repeated the action, patiently allowing her to adjust and relax. At last he sank completely and held himself as still as an image carved in stone.

Her legs fell off his shoulders and came to rest around his hips. The sharp pain had abated immediately, but there was still a deep ache. She felt full and lewdly stretched open at the same time. It was very disconcerting.

Gustav's arms were at her sides, still holding his upper body above her.

"Are you all right?"

"No, it's terrible. Please take it out," she said, feeling the tears in her eyes.

"No, the pain will subside. Raise your legs and lock them behind my back, it will make it more comfortable."

Charlotte did as she was bidden and the discomfort did ease somewhat. Without any more words, Gustav withdrew a bit and pushed back in. His thrust forced the air from her lungs, but the pain she feared did not return. He lowered his head and kissed her as his hips began to work in a pistoning motion.

In a short span of time, her body seemed to come to grips with it and his prick began to glide easily in and out. As the friction lessened a new sensation began to grow, a sensation utterly unlike any she had ever known, but undeniably pleasurable. She smiled inwardly as she recalled Madame Deveraou's fumbling words. No wonder, now that she felt it, she understood, and understood too how no words could adequately explain it.

Her mind was returned forcibly to her anus as Gustav's long, even strokes got shorter and more powerful. His legs were spread wide and with the added leverage came increased power. Charlotte felt as if she was in heaven, raising her bottom to meet his thrusts. The pleasure was vast, deep and unlike anything she knew. When he grasped her shaft and began frantically to stroke her, it only added to the rising tide.

Her body must have shifted, or he at last found the purchase he had sought, for with breathtaking suddenness, he sank his cock all the way into her. Charlotte wailed as she spent.The spasms that pumped her seed onto her tummy also caused her insides to clamp down on Gustav's shaft, doubling the pleasure she was receiving. He, in turn, groaned, and his prick suddenly began to slide in and out with almost no resistance. She realized in some vague way that he had cum and it was his seed loosed inside her which made the passage so easy.

When she woke, Charlotte was immediately aware of a sense of well being and an indolence that made her wish for nothing more than to close her eyes and go back to sleep.

Warning signals from the abused tissues of her anus sent a warm throbbing into her body. Even this seemed good and enjoyable and for a while, she simply did not move, but listened to the messages of her body.

Of course, in the light of day, shame and guilt were not far behind. They warred with a certain knowledge that she had enjoyed it and that she would not pass up the opportunity to enjoy it again.

Why not? she reasoned. She was running risks as a woman. She was incurring the trials and tribulations of a woman. Her companions counted on her to procure shelter, lodging and good will, all because she was a woman. Why should she not enjoy pleasure as a woman? She wasn't a monk after all, and even with her new found determination, she wasn't likely to have any women in her bed until her return.

She closed her eyes and remembered the night before in as vivid a detail as she could. And for a time, the voices were stilled.

"Good morning," Madame Deveraou said as she entered the room and interrupted Charlotte's meditation.

"Good morning yourself," Charlotte said, doing her best to feign anger.

"Did you enjoy yourself last night?" the maid said with ineffable merriment.

"You know very well I did. Your absence makes you a conspirator you know?"

The maid squealed in delight and sat next to her on the bed. Charlotte found herself smiling a silly grin.

"What did you think?"

"You were right, so very right," she replied.

She closed her eyes and just enjoyed again the euphoric sensation.

"I know you would love nothing more than to stay in bed all day, but his lordship has requested you take a coach ride with him. Ivan said to pack for two days, so I guess you are going a long ways."

"Surely you are coming with us?" Charlotte asked.

"Of course I am, you cannot travel without your old maid," she responded as she rose and opened the curtains.

Charlotte started to rise, but with movement, the deep throbbing increased. It still reminded her of the pleasure and was, in that sense, still pleasurable itself, but it became sharp with movement and she found herself unable to walk without it being obvious she had been well fucked.

Madame Deveraou took pains while dressing her to make sure she looked her best and Charlotte sat patiently while her makeup was applied. When she finished, the maid gave her a questioning look.

"What is it?" Charlotte inquired.

"Well, you will be riding in his lordship's coach and unless I miss my guess, Ivan will be riding in your coach with the countess. Since you are going to be alone in his lordship's company and in privacy, do you think we should...tuck you?"

"No," Charlotte said after some consideration, "even Gustav does not know how long I can stay that way and if it is a long drive, I might end up giving myself away from the pain of it. I will simply have to trust to my wits to keep his lordship otherwise occupied."

It turned out that Madame Deveraou had been wrong. While she was riding in the count's coach, so were Ivan and the countess. Apparently, the countess trusted her husband not at all. Their coaches followed, pulled by teams from the count's own stables. Their own teams ran free behind the coaches.

The ride was long and the count was expansive, giving a running account of the lands and how long they had been in his family. Ivan was obviously chafing, and Charlotte was again thankful to her sister. With a suitably enraptured expression on her face, she was able to tune the count out and not seem rude. Hours upon hours at the Momforts' home now paid handsomely, because she was able to enjoy this ride almost as if she were alone in the coach.

"Where are we going?" Ivan interrupted after several hours of nonstop talking by the count.

"We go to the town of Zulpich. I have business there and since it is on your way, I thought you would enjoy staying with Baron Klass. You may leave from there on the morn and thus save two day's journey, while I may enjoy the pleasure of your company on what would normally be a boring trip."

"Is it far?" Charlotte inquired.

"Not too far, my dear. We should reach the Klass estates before sundown I should think."

Through the rest of the trip Charlotte politely ignored the countess staring daggers at her as well as Ivan's obvious ill humor. She carried on a pleasant conversation with the count, although she would never remember any of it later.

Baron Klass was a dour man whose threadbare waistcoat and worn wig told her more about him than his grandiose introduction. His grand house, while sumptuous, was also in need of repair and it only took her a little while to understand his poverty.

His wife candidly apologized for Charlotte's room, telling her that they had seven daughters and marrying them all off had nearly bankrupted her husband. Charlotte was sympathetic and allowed the poor woman to say her piece, realizing she was probably not allowed to say anything in her husband's presence. Once she had left, Charlotte examined her room.

The room was beautiful, tastefully decorated and had a large, comfortable bed. She really saw no reason to apologize for it and suspected that her hostess had merely needed an excuse to speak.

Dinner was hearty, if not as varied or expensive as the count's table. Charlotte ate little as was her habit, but Ivan seemed to enjoy the simpler fare and made a pig of himself.

After dinner, she retired to her room and was just about to ring for Madame Deveraou, when there came a discreet knock at her door. She opened it to find the count, wearing a silly hat that covered his face.

"Good evening, mam'zelle. I was wondering if you would care to take a moonlight stroll in the gardens with me?"

"I'd love to," she said, managing to hide her sudden panic with superhuman effort.

"Excellent," he replied, offering his arm.

Her mind was racing, looking desperately for an out. She knew exactly what he would want once they were outside and she knew just as surely that she couldn't refuse him. His goodwill was critical to the success of their mission. In times past, panic provoked in her a freezing of the mind, an absolute inability to think, but she now found her mind was marvelously adaptive and an idea came almost at once.