The Spy Wore Petticoats

Charlotte was too sick to point out she wasn't a woman or to catch the innuendo. She wished only that the sun wasn't so bright, the coach would stop lurching and her poor stomach would cease its roiling.

***

For the next several days they rode along roads that got progressively worse. Ivan was leading them down back roads, and in some places what seemed to be no more than garden tracks and game trails. Often the men would have to get out and push the coaches through deep mud as the rain continued to fall. Once, when Ivan returned to the coach covered in thick, unpleasant smelling mud, with his clothes torn and a bloody scratch on his arm from one of the coach wheels, Charlotte experienced something she had never thought to. She was actually glad to be a woman. She was dry and cozy, having just eaten a bite, and as the coach began to move, she had to admit that there were advantages to this she had never imagined.

She passed Ivan a bottle of wine, which he pulled at, and a mince pie, which he almost savagely devoured. He was in a bad temper and she chose to remain quiet while he seethed. Eventually, though, the quiet became unnerving and she wished for some conversation. In the old days, she would have made a comment on the rain or mud, but she found her mind working along new paths now, looking for the least confrontational thing while at the same time considering his personality and what might flatter him enough to forestall an outburst.

"Have we come as far today as you had hoped?" she finally asked.

"Nyet," he replied, sourly.

"The rain? Or the roads?"

"Both."

"It's a good thing then, that you had the foresight to get extra food and wine in Rouey."

"Hmmm? Yes, well, I was afraid this weather would slow us," he replied, obviously pleased at the compliment, which was as she had intended.

"I did not realize rain was such an impediment to coach travel," she added, choosing her words carefully.

"It isn't so much the rain as the mud. I have serious doubts that we will be able to ford the Aisne," he said.

Taking another drink of wine and appearing to lose at least some of his ill humor, he sat back, but his body remained tense, the great muscles in his arms standing out.

"What shall we do if we can't?"

"I do not think we are followed. We will just have to wait. I see no point in turning east again."

The coach shuddered to a halt again and Ivan cursed as he went back out into the rain. Soon she heard the men pushing, grunting and cursing. She took a sip of the wine, enjoying the warm, dry coach. Yes, she decided, being a woman did have its advantages after all.

The Aisne turned out not to be as swollen as Ivan had feared and they managed to ford in the late evening. The rain continued as Laon, Crepy and Guise came and went. Ivan's humor remained ill and they spoke almost not at all. She found him increasingly taciturn and soon began to actively try to draw him into conversation. She told herself it was good practice, but knew in truth she was lonely and missing home.

Despite her best devices, he became simply unbearable, sitting and staring forward with a scowl and radiating anger. He ignored her polite queries and snapped if she pushed him, until he became so unpleasant that the silence seemed more welcoming. As often as she could, she went to the following coach and chatted with Madame Deveraou. They rarely stopped, however, and so she often went many hours without saying a word to anyone.

Left to her own devices, Charlotte found herself more and more often drawn into a fantasy world of day dreams and reminisces. More and more often, her daydreams turned to sex. This wasn't so strange, she reasoned. Since this whole wretched episode had begun, she hadn't gotten off herself. And she had been thrust into several sexually tense situations. It only stood to reason that she would feel the need for release.

What bothered her was the form her dreams were taking. She no longer found herself dreaming of the delights hidden under Mary's skirts, but more and more often she found herself with men. Her imaginings became ever more explicit and she herself became ever more bold, until she awoke to find herself desperately massaging herself. She broke down then, shuddering and sobbing. In her dream, she had been sucking Ivan's huge manhood.

By the time the rain broke, Charlotte had rationalized that her strange dreams were simply a reflection of having to constantly remember to act like a lady. She was sure they did not represent a subconscious desire to have sex with men, but rather reflected her single minded pursuit of keeping up the part she was forced to play. Rather than fret over them, she decided to embrace them. Yet she continued to feel a nagging sense of guilt at the arousal they brought.

It was late evening when they crossed the frontier and finally put France behind them. Ivan's mood lightened perceptibly as each hour found them farther from the conspiracy he saw behind every rock and tree.

Charlotte, on the other hand, began to fret. They were now leaving the bounds of her homeland and the protection of the duke. From now on, her ability to keep up her disguise would take on an ever more paramount importance. Not only that, but she would soon be forced to use her wiles to secure them passage, lodging and whatever support the local nobility would afford them. It was a daunting prospect and for a while, worrying about it banished even her sexual fantasies.

They returned with sleep, more vivid and demanding than ever, and she awoke the next morning with an aching in her body that was breathtaking. She resolved to take care of it at the first opportunity, but had not even moved to slide her hand into her skirts before Ivan stirred. He was still asleep, but Charlotte couldn't help but notice the bulge at his crotch. She wanted to turn away; she wanted to touch it; she was torn between the two.

Charlotte bit her lower lip and tried to turn her head away, but she was having little luck. As she watched it seemed to swell even more, threatening to burst out of the confines of his breeches. At least, in her imagination it seemed capable of such a feat. She was still staring when he spoke.

"Go ahead, it won't bite," he said in an amused voice.

Charlotte gasped in surprise and quickly turned her head. Outside a large river sparkled in the distance. There were acres of green pastureland and vineyards as well as a small village near the river.

"What river is that?" she asked, to cover her embarrassment.

She was still looking when she felt the coach sway and then Ivan was next to her, leaning across her body to look out the window with her. His body was hard and she could smell him. She could feel the heat of his body on her arm.

"That is the Meuse. That village in the distance is Charleroi. Farther up at Liege, we will ford the river and make for Aix-la-Chapelle. There we will beg the hospitality of Count Hige."

His arm slipped around her slim shoulders and pulled her tightly to his body.

"But come, this is not the time for geography lessons. We have more pleasurable pastimes to pursue this morning."

Charlotte found herself held fast to his body, unable to move away even if she had been so inclined. Ivan took her hand and guided it to his crotch. For a moment, she rebelled, trying to snatch her hand back, but the impulse to preserve her masculinity was fleeting. She could feel his strong arms upon her and smell his arousal, and it combined with her own need and curiosity. She slowly undid his pants, her eyes fixed to the thick bulge.

Ivan's prick sprang free, bouncing up to smack his stomach. Charlotte stared, fascinated by it. Ivan scooted to the far end, pulling her along with him until she was lying on the bench with her head against his chest. He relaxed then, seemingly willing to let her investigate as he removed his shirt.

She wrapped her hand around the shaft and began to gently stroke it, feeling the warm skin on her palm. As she stroked, Ivan leaned down her body and pulled her skirts up past her stocking tops. Charlotte was unsure of what he was doing until she felt his large hand demanding entrance between her thighs. To her shame, her legs parted without a thought from her or even a trace of protest. Ivan cupped the satin sheath, with two fingers pressed down, between her legs and along her trapped shaft. When he began to massage her, as a man would a woman, she moaned. It felt indescribably delicious and a warm tightness shot though her loins and tummy.

Soon their hands found a matched rhythm and for a while, they just massaged each other. Charlotte noticed a thin, clear liquid gathered on the head of his prick that had not been there earlier. Ivan's free hand moved across his body and settled on the back of her head, firmly pressing her head down.

Mutual masturbation was one thing, but when she divined his intent she rebelled, fighting against his hand. Even so, her face was pressed inexorably downward, until her firmly compressed lips bumped against his cock head.

"Suck it," he encouraged.

Charlotte shook her head.

"Open!" he commanded.

Despite her wishes, she felt helpless to disobey him and hesitantly parted her lips. His hips lunged upward, again bumping her lips.

"Lick it," he said in a softer tone.

Charlotte closed her eyes and darted her pink tongue out and over the silky head. It felt strange, like a skinned berry, velvety soft and nice on her tongue. The taste was not as bad as she expected, a kind of strong musk with a very strong salty overtone.

"You see, ma cherie, it isn't so bad, now is it?"

"Non," she whispered.

"Of course not. Why else would women love it so? Soon you will find yourself craving it," he said confidently.

"Oooh!" she exclaimed as his fingers moved further into the cleft between her legs, a thick finger settling on her anus.

"Now, open your mouth wide and take the whole thing."

Charlotte obeyed, opening her mouth wide and feeling Ivan's head press between her lips. She just held it there, unsure of what to do next.

"Ahhhh, don't just sit there, suck it. That's right, suck it hard. Now use your tongue. All around the head. Very good."

Charlotte clamped her lips around the shaft, just beneath the head, and sucked. She rolled her tongue over it and around but settled near the bottom, where she knew her own prick was most sensitive. Ivan groaned.

"I think, my dear, you're a natural cock sucker!" he enthused.

The praise made her feel good for some reason and she redoubled her efforts, using one hand to stroke the massive shaft and the other to gently play with his heavy balls.

Ivan's hips began to jog, but Charlotte let her head ride with them, preventing him from driving more of his cock into her already stuffed mouth. Her jaw was sore, but she barely noticed.

Ivan's finger had gently pressed against her anus, now rubbing, now pressing in, then circling. It felt so good, but it also itched, making her want more contact. Ivan removed his hand suddenly and she whined around his cock. She heard him spit and wondered what he was doing, when his finger returned and pressed firmly against her opening. Charlotte started, losing her rhythm and gagged when his thick cock drove deeper into her mouth, the head bumping against her tonsils. She was unable to close her legs and his other hand on the back of her head, plus his jogging hips, forced her to concentrate on what she was doing.

His finger forced its way into her, up to the first knuckle. She groaned around his cock and the added vibration seemed to take him over the edge. His cock swelled in her mouth and exploded, sending a hot splash of his cum against the back of her mouth. She tried frantically to pull her head away, but Ivan's hand was like iron.

"Swallow it!" he demanded.

Charlotte had little choice. Where the earlier liquid had tasted mild, this was strong, not exactly bitter, but very salty and strong. She swallowed several times, as Ivan refused to allow her to raise her head until his cock shriveled in her mouth and ceased to ooze his seed. Only then did he remove his finger from her abused anus and allow her to sit back up.

"Not bad for a first timer," he said after she had arranged herself.

"I...I do not know what to say," she said, blushing in confusion.

"Say nothing then. You are doing well, learning what it is to be a woman rather than just what it takes to act a woman. The difference is subtle, but very real. Your dear sister could not bring herself to teach you this part of your masquerade, but I, Ivan Daggeroff, will make a woman of you before we reach mother Russia!"

Charlotte turned to the window, too stunned at this turn of events to even respond.

By noon they had arrived at Charleori and Ivan procured food and drink for them at a small tavern. The food was good and so was the wine. Charlotte had a little more than was good for her, but it proved to be fortuitous. Ivan demanded she service him again and she found it went easier when she was tipsy. She spent over an hour before the big man gave her "dessert."

After dinner, he insisted again, and Charlotte found herself more than willing to please. She found she enjoyed the human contact, and Ivan's praise flattered her more than she would have imagined. She was surprised he was able to get it up again. This time he had her try new things, like licking the shaft while looking up at him and laving his hairy balls.

Charlotte took a practical approach to it. It was indeed a part of her training Julia couldn't have prepared her for. Ivan was obviously an experienced man, and while he didn't always know how to tell her what he wanted, he was sure of what he liked. Charlotte learned and refined her technique. Still, his next demand caught her off guard.

"Surely you jest?" she asked incredulously.

Charlotte was on her knees between Ivan's legs. It was dark and the coachers were stopped for the night. Her lips were wet and she licked them unconsciously.

"Swallow it all," Ivan said.

"It's impossible," she declared.

"For some maybe, but you are a natural and it's something a man will not get often. A woman who can do it can greatly influence a man," he said reasonably.

"But..."

"No buts, do it."

Charlotte opened her mouth and sucked the head of his cock into her mouth. She had been sucking him off for a long time, so it was wet and slick. The first time it bumped her tonsils she gagged and sat up.

"It's impossible," she declared.

"Nonsense, you must learn to suppress your desire to gag."

Ivan took her head in his hands and guided her lips to his straining prick. She again opened her mouth and sucked his head in. This time she managed not to gag when it pressed against her tonsils, but the shock of it forcing its way past them was too much. She tried to rise up, but Ivan wouldn't let her. He applied firm pressure to her head, driving it down on his girth. Charlotte panicked, trying to get her hands into a position where she could push herself away, but Ivan caught both wrists.

She rose off it and coughed.

"Again," he demanded.

"Please," she whined.

"We will stay at it until you succeed or I fall asleep," he said coldly.

Charlotte knew she couldn't fight free of him, and she had no wish to sit there until he fell asleep. So she took a deep breath and tried again. This time it was easier to suppress the gag reflex, but as the head expanded her throat it hit something and she started coughing.

Again and again she tried, each time failing. Her jaw ached, her knees ached, her hands were numb and she was more sure than ever it was impossible, yet she tried again. This time she went very slowly, and was encouraged when the head slipped past her tonsils with almost no desire on her part to choke. She closed her eyes and turned her head slightly as more sank into her tight throat, pushing deeper. She was having trouble breathing and her eyes had begun to water when her nose bumped into the prickly curls of Ivan's pubes.

Ivan laughed and released her hands while Charlotte rose off his thick shaft.

"You see? You can do it," he chuckled.

Disbelieving, Charlotte grabbed his shaft and tried again. She failed, but realized she was going too fast. The next time, she took it slowly and again managed to take it all. She couldn't every time, but at least on some attempts she could. She felt exhilarated, proud of herself and happy with her improving skills as a fellatrix. It was only after Ivan had come and was asleep that it dawned upon her what she had been so happy about.

"I am sorry mam'zelle, monsieur, but we must let them rest," Henri said.

"We are so close to Liege; surely they can make it that far?" Charlotte asked.

"I do not know, but I do know if we run one to death we will be hard pressed to replace it. The long run through the mud was cruel. They need a day to rest."

"Very well, back the coaches under the trees off the road and picket them close by. Issue muskets to your men. One on guard at all times at least. We will get no farther if they are stolen than we will if they are dead," Ivan ordered.

The sun was out and soon the men all went down to the river. There, they stripped and swam, removing the mud and sweat. Charlotte sat upon a blanket spread on the ground while Madame Deveraou worked on her hair.

Ivan joined the men and Charlotte found herself watching them as they joked and took turns dunking each other.

"Nice specimens of manhood, are they not?" Madame Deveraou said. "Yes, they all are very fit, save for Ivan's manservant."

"Do not let his looks deceive, mam'zelle. Gustav is the best lover among them, including that barbarian you ride with."

"Is he really? She asked, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of his shriveled manhood and smooth body.

"Indeed."

"And you know this how?" Charlotte asked, arching her eyebrow.

"I've tried em all," she replied simply.

"He doesn't seem to be...very well endowed?"

"Size is only part of it. A man has to know what to do with what he has and how to compensate for his...shortcomings."

Charlotte smiled and turned back to the river. Suddenly, a thought struck her and she turned back to her maid.

"What does it feel like?" she blurted after she could find no polite way to ask.

"What does what feel like? Getting fucked?"

"Yes, getting fucked," Charlotte repeated, lowering her eyes.

"It feels wonderful, mam'zelle, simply wonderful. A woman never feels so complete as she does when she has a man's weight upon her and his prick buried in her. You feel full, hungry for more and...complete."

"Thank you," Charlotte said when it became obvious words were failing her maid.

"You're very welcome, mam'zelle, but if you please, it's much better to experience it than hear about it."

"Dear Madame Deveraou, you have been so discreet, but you know as well as I, that it is something I cannot experience."

"If it please, you certainly can. Granted, you haven't a quim, but you do have another opening and it's quite nice there as well."

"You can't mean?"

"I certainly do. I've seen the men, they all watch you. They would all love to take you. It's only your station that keeps em from pressing. You have to do what you think is right of course, but if you'll listen to your old maid, it's well worth it."

Charlotte remained silent and Madame Deveraou went back to her hair. She found herself debating the merits of her maid's suggestion.

It was night again and the river was far behind them. The crossing had been uneventful and they had dined well at an inn before resuming their trip. Ivan had drunk a good deal of the local wine, as had Charlotte. They were both full, and while he seemed to show no ill effects, she was lightheaded and giddy. She was more than giddy, however; apprehension was growing in her breast. Each hour took them further from France and deeper into danger. She would soon have to convince men to offer them shelter and protection, and she would have to do so with no letter from the Duke. Their safety, as well as the success of their mission, now was resting entirely upon her shoulders, and the weight of it was beginning to crush her.