The Spy Wore Petticoats

"I had my reservations, but I'll be damned if I wasn't tempted to bed the wench myself," he said, unsteadily filling another tumbler of brandy.

"Clemenceau?"

"Words fail me," he said grudgingly.

"D'Orleans?"

"I'd bed her. She's more comely than most of the hags in Louis's court," he said simply.

"It was more than looks. I've seen men playing maid before. It was the way she spoke, moved, carried herself. The difference between her and the camp followers is indescribable," Bell-Isle added.

"Are we in agreement then?" De Fleury asked.

"Quite. Call them back in, Simon," the Duke D'Orleans said to his manservant.

The two women returned to the small chamber and curtsied.

"Mademoiselle, if you will excuse us, we wish to speak privately to your sister," De Fleury said to Julia.

She curtsied again and hesitantly left the room. Once the door closed, the tension became almost unbearable.

"We are convinced, mademoiselle, that you are exactly what we need. Therefore, I ask that you reaffirm your intention to aide us, before we continue," De Fleury said.

"I do," she said simply.

"Very well. The war in the English colonies in the Americas threatens to break out into a general conflict here in Europe. We have worked to make peace with our old enemy, the Austrians, against the common threat of Prussia. There is still deep distrust there and Empress Maria Theresa suspects our motives. What we need is to open diplomatic channels with Elizabeth's court in Russia."

"As you are no doubt aware, both the English and Prussians do not wish this," Bell-Isle interjected.

"We have sent emissaries, but they never arrive. The Prussian spy network is strong and their assassins ruthless. On the high seas, the English stop any ship bound for any port from Archangel to the Baltic coast," De Fleury continued.

"How many?" Charlotte asked in a soft voice.

"Some twenty emissaries and half again that many spies. It's a very dangerous undertaking. Even at the Russian court there are spies; one of our men was poisoned the very day he arrived in the Muscovite capital," the duke added.

"So here is our proposition. You will travel with a maid and one companion to Elizabeth's court in Russia. There you will work your way into her confidence and, when the time is appropriate, present King Louis's offer. If she accepts, you will return with the treaty by the most expedient means possible. If she refuses, you will remain and act as our spy until such time as war breaks out."

"We do not expect them to suspect a woman. You should be relatively safe. When you return, you will be handsomely rewarded. Are you with us?"

"Yes, I will do my duty to France," Charlotte said.

"Very well," De Fleury said, "You will be temporarily brevetted a captain of Dragoons. This will allow you to make your introduction in an official capacity."

"Good morning Lady de Locke. It's a pleasant surprise to see you here," the Duke De Fleury said.

"I have come to make sure you have done all you can to insure my brother's welfare," she said, smiling as she crossed the room and leaned over the credenza, looking out the window to watch the coachmen loading Charlotte's coaches.

Pressing her hips forward caused her dress to rise, exposing her bare legs to the duke's gaze.

He rose and moved behind her, pushing the petticoats and dress up and working the ties on his pantaloons. Once his prick was free, with little preamble he thrust it into Julia's pussy.

She grunted and bit her lip until his thrusts caused enough lubrication to ease the pain. She allowed him to work himself into a good, steady rhythm before she spoke again.

"You have done all you can for him, haven't you?"

"Upon my honor," the duke grunted, slowing his pace somewhat to enjoy the tightness of Julia's pussy.

"You must promise me you have done all you can," Julia insisted.

"Few, if any, demand promises of me, but in your case, I'll overlook the insult."

"Who are you sending with her?"

"Know your place woman!" he said, slapping her ass hard.

"Please," she whispered.

"Oh, very well. I'm sending my best man with her. He is a fierce fighter and worldly wise. She is in the best hands I can arrange. Now quit your worrying and push back, I'm near to spending."

Standing before the coaches, Charlotte waited next to Julia as the lords came out for her send off. This was the last piece of her cover story and everyone seemed nervous. Charlotte felt butterflies in her tummy and was impatient to get going. She was feeling exposed here in the open court yard, vulnerable to the prying eyes of France's enemies. She had no doubt that at least some of those still dancing inside were working for the Prussians or English.

Louis's letter of introduction and proposal were already safe, secreted within a false panel in her luggage. Both coachmen were actually soldiers, as were both footmen. In fact the four servants riding in the smaller coach included only one real servant, Madame Deveraou. Charlotte was quite certain that her traveling companion's valet was a fighting man of some kind too, though he seemed very frail.

Hidden under seats and in false panels were swords, pistols, and muskets. Charlotte herself carried a flintlock pistol beneath her skirts. A slit in her outer skirts and petticoats allowed her to get at it quickly in an emergency. She also had a fine rapier in her coach so she would always have a blade close to hand. They expected trouble, and were prepared for a fight. Even so, their chief aim was deception. Standing here in front of such a crowd for her send off seemed crazy.

It was all De Fleury's idea, and she had come to respect the man's cunning. If it was crazy, then it was crazy like a fox. The entire façade was carefully constructed to be so ostentatious as to preclude there being clandestine diplomatic negotiations involved. Every detail had been meticulously worked out.

She was the Lady De Toberville, traveling to the Russian court at the behest of her fictitious brother. He was supposedly locked away in a secret prison and he begged her to come and plead for his release. That part was simply genius. No one, not even the very high up, knew exactly who was languishing in Russian prisons. Anyone investigating her story from that angle would hit a very solid wall, and considering how long communications took, by the time they could get letters there and rebuffs she would, in all likelihood, already be past harm. His beseeching letters were conveniently left at her "estate" on a writing desk.

Her traveling companion was one Ivan Daggeroff. He was a lowborn Russian soldier of fortune, hired by her in the hopes that he could smooth her way through the dangerous Russian steppes. He had been released from the Bastille though her pleadings and that particular group of correspondence was also conveniently available for any interested parties.

In Toberville, her birth was recorded in the church registry. Her family's estates were well known to the local populace. Her "father" had only recently passed away, prompting her recall from the Bavarian court. Verifying her presence there would of course be impossible, as most of the courtiers had fled when the French besieged Bavaria only a few years before. Of those who could be reached, some dozen had been paid handsomely to remember her.

De Fleury did not miss much, Charlotte mused as she waited. The big send off was in keeping with his overall plan of hiding in plain sight. She was quite sure no mission of such secrecy had ever departed with such pomp. And it was a good bet that no Prussian or English spy would assume that she had any motive other than rescuing her brother.

But, still, she chaffed and wished to be on the road. She eyed her traveling companion as he came down the front steps, a large goblet of wine in his massive hand.

Ivan was dressed in a dark doublet of velvet and riding breeches. He was a huge man, heavily muscled and with a wild look about him that even the finest French tailors couldn't conceal. His long black hair was unruly and he had a kind of animal magnetism that the ladies of court seemed incapable of resisting. In fact, he was in prison for indiscressions with the wife of a viscount. From the disheveled look of Madame De Boufuet, Charlotte had the idea that he had just finished sampling the flower of French womanhood one last time before they departed. If her expression were any indication, the rumors of his endowment and stamina were true.

His success with women irritated Charlotte further, but she managed to keep her composure.

Julia kissed her cheek and whispered "Good luck" as the duke came down the steps.

"All is made ready, milady," the duke intoned.

"I thank you for your assistance," she replied, playing the part of worried sister as well as she could.

"Not at all my lady. We all grieve that such a beauty will be absent from court, and hope you speedily return with your brother. If his majesty's government can be of any assistance, do not hesitate to write," he said, before bowing.

"I thank you, but I think, given the current state of affairs, invoking his majesty would be unwise," she replied with a curtsey.

"Of course, you know best. But please take this token of my authority, to let all know you are under my protection," he said dramatically as he handed her an ornate signet ring.

Turning to Daggeroff, he gave the man a stern scowl.

"As for you, I charge you to look after her well. Should any harm befall her, there is nowhere in Europe where you will be able to hide."

Charlotte paused for a moment to admire the duke's acting skill. He seemed every bit the gallant nobleman threatening a churlish servant. It was all the more impressive because she knew the Russian was one of the duke's favorite operatives.

"No harm will come to her while she is in the care of Ivan Daggeroff," he proclaimed loudly.

Charlotte was not insensitive to the titter among the ladies. She was becoming more attuned to the world around her and was glad of the makeup, as it hid her blush.

"If you are ready, milady," the big Russian said, bowing stiffly.

Charlotte took the footman's hand and mounted up into the coach. Daggeroff followed, sitting easily in the plush velvet seat across from her. With a snap of the traces, the coach moved off. Charlotte started to phase out, but Daggeroff seemed in the mood to talk.

"Well, my pretty, we are off at last," he said in his barbarously accented French.

"So it seems."

The big man kicked his legs up and stretched expansively.

"I must admit, I will miss these French ladies and their depravity, but I also look forward to bedding some good, solid peasant women. I will assume you have not had much success with the ladies of late," he said, laughing as he spoke.

"I care not whom you bed, so long as we reach the court without incident. I was warned by the duke of your excesses and was instructed to remind you to behave yourself. De Fleury has arranged for us to stay with aristocratic friends along the way, at least until we reach the frontier. Do not risk his ire, nor our safe conduct, with your entertainments," Charlotte said caustically.

"Fear not. I enjoy a good roll with a hearty wench as much as the next man, but I have no wish to incur De Fleury's displeasure. He was not just playing to the crowd with his statements. He has the power to reach out and crush people all over Europe."

"I did not know that," Charlotte said thoughtfully.

"I assumed you were quite aware of his influence. Why else would you volunteer for such a humiliating existence?"

"You are a man of the world. All I care for lies within France, and there, his influence is well known."

"I see. You have not traveled outside of France then?"

"No. Well, I spent a summer in London long ago."

"This will be quite an enlightening trip for you then," he said, before closing his eyes.

Something in his tone sent a shiver down Charlotte's spine.

They traveled through the night and into the next day, stopping only to change drivers. Charlotte could not sleep and spent most of her time looking out the window. She also found herself studying her companion more closely as he slept.

For all his size, he had a cat like gracefulness. Even in a drunken sleep, there was an aura of power about him, something intangible, but there. She could easily see how women had trouble resisting his advances. He was handsome in a rather rough way, with a strong, jutting jaw and chiseled features. She noticed that even in sleep, he kept a hand on his sword hilt, and although he moved around a lot trying to stay comfortable, he never was in a position where he could not draw it at a moment's notice.

His hands were huge, even for a man of his size, and the many scars on his knuckles told of uncounted fist fights. His nose was big and had obviously been broken several times, his lips thin and hard, compressed into a scowl even when he was sleeping.

He was, she decided, a fascinating man, and it was only as she finally dozed off that she realized she was assessing him as a woman would. That startled her, and as much as she tried to explain it away, sleep did not come again for a long time.

When she awoke, the coach was still and the coolness of evening was in the air. She was alone in the coach, Ivan having disappeared, and there was no sound of people about. She dismounted to find they were stopped outside a small village. One of the footmen was standing nearby and assisted her to the ground. He smiled and returned to his post as she moved away from the coach. Her first concern was to relive herself. After that, she wished to enter the small tavern, but decided against it. She returned to the coach and fell back to sleep.

A deep rut caused the coach to bounce wildly and jarred her from her slumber. It was pitch dark outside and she could only vaguely make out the darker blob across from her that must be Ivan.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked quietly.

"As well as could be expected, although I must admit, I am anxious to sleep in a bed," she replied.

"We should be nearing the estates of Baron Fleming soon. We'll eat there and spend the day and night while the horses rest."

"You seem to know where we are. I must admit, I have no idea."

"An old soldier's habit," he replied.

"You were a soldier?"

"Soldier, sailor, thief, scoundrel. I've fought and drunk my way across all of Europe. I've bedded princesses, duchesses, countesses and commoners. Lived in high style in Vienna and Prague, and shivered with the troops in Bavaria."

"You seem to have done a little of everything," Charlotte replied, interested in spite of herself.

"Oh yes. You only live life once, so I live it to the hilt. No pious waiting for the paradise of the next life for me," he exclaimed.

He lit one of the lamps in the coach, bathing them both in flickering light. He had a huge jug of wine next to him, half empty, but he showed no ill effects at all in speech or mannerism. He took a deep swallow and passed the jug to her.

Charlotte realized then she was hungry and thirsty. It had been over twenty four hours since she had eaten last. She sipped daintily at it, noticing it was not very good wine, but it was wet and cool.

"What will you do when we get to Russia?" she asked.

He shrugged and looked slightly taken aback, as if he hadn't considered it.

"Damned if I know. Like you, I'm stuck until Elizabeth answers. I still have friends and family in Russia, but it is a very big country and I doubt I will travel far from the court. As soon as you get your answer, we must depart, and I cannot afford to be miles from the capital if that happens."

"Tell me about yourself, if you will?" she asked taking another sip of the wine.

He seemed only too eager to talk about himself, and as they rode and drank, his tales became more salacious and intimate. The wine was not very good, but it was potent, and on an empty stomach she soon felt herself getting giddy. Having never been plied with drink before, she didn't find it strange that he kept pushing the jug towards her.

"And then, while her husband was talking to the assembled dinner guests, the baroness was jerking me off under the table!"

"You are quite awful," Charlotte giggled.

"Why? Nothing wrong with a good jerk off," he replied with a laugh.

"But with a baroness? And at dinner? While her husband sat next to her? I'm surprised you weren't discovered!"

"Well, a man learns to hide the signs and a lady..."

"Learns to hide her actions," Charlotte finished for him.

"Tell me mademoiselle, have you learned that part of your role?"

"No, of course not" Charlotte exclaimed.

Ivan reached across the space between them and caught her hand. With little effort he pulled her across the open area and onto the bench next to him.

"Well, then it's high time you did!" he said, with a lecherous grin.

Before Charlotte could get her wits about her, the big man draped an arm over her shoulder and pulled her close. With absolutely no shame, he opened his trousers and before her stunned eyes his cock sprang to life.

Like everything else about Ivan Daggeroff, from his tall tales to his physical stature, his cock was larger than life. It was long and thick, with heavy blue veins pulsing down its length. The sheer enormity of it struck her dumb, reminding her of her father's prize stallion. Daggeroff did not let her recover her voice, but guided her small hand to the thick shaft. As with the king, Charlotte found her fingers seemed to curl around it involuntarily, but where she easily accommodated the king's prick, her fingers could not close the circle of Ivan's immense girth.

"You have quite soft hands," he breathed.

When she still sat there petrified, he laughed deeply, tightened his iron grip on her wrist, and initiated a stroking motion.

"Surely, you know what to do with one of these?" he chided.

"But, I'm not..."

She wasn't allowed to finish. The big man used his free hand to catch the back of her head and pressed his lips to hers. Charlotte was still confused and her reactions confused her further. Rather than resisting, her lips parted, and he thrust his tongue into her mouth. She felt totally out of control of the situation as he explored her mouth with his tongue. Hesitantly, Charlotte began to kiss back, pushing her tongue against his.

She tasted the wine on his tongue and a faint but unfamiliar flavor as well. It was flat, but not unpleasant. Her first taste of a man's lips was proving to be far less disgusting than she had supposed it would be.

Ivan's hands moved to her shoulders to hold her, and in a semi-trance, she realized that her hand was still stroking his cock without his prompting. As the deep kiss continued, her reeling senses received another shock when he shifted his position and wrapped her in his arms. His embrace was strong and fierce, and she felt small and vulnerable. He could easily break her back, she thought, but somehow, she felt safe in his massive arms.

His tongue was very active, exploring her mouth, caressing her tongue and outlining each of her small teeth. She had never been kissed so thoroughly, and felt both shame and exhilaration as her body began to respond. Her own prick strained against its satin sheath, and her skin flushed.

His prick was thick and hot to her touch. It felt smooth and silky. For just a moment the man in her rebelled, but it was short lived. She was here, and there seemed no recourse other than to satisfy Ivan's lust. Since she could see no way out, she might as well enjoy it. Or was that the alcohol talking? Or her own rapidly rising lust? She gave up trying to think her way through it and just relaxed.