Secret Thrust: The Decoy Ch. 01-02bygottschalk03©
The flanks of the bay gelding were slick with sweat as it galloped across the bridge and through the water gate of the city. Swearing merchants and shrieking fishwives leapt out of his way as the rider thundered by and then reined to a sudden halt in the muddy street before the door of an inn. Before his mount had fully stopped, the rider leapt from the saddle and spun around to survey the street behind him. His wide-brimmed hat, sporting a jaunty ostrich feather, covered long curling black hair, tied back with a velvet ribbon to keep his eyes clear. His eyes gleamed blue in the sunlight as they searched the street. The lace collar and grey velvet doublet, now dusty with travel, were ornamental enough for the fashion of the day but practical enough for the life of a man of action. The long rapier which hung at his hip, likewise, had the elegant sweeping hilt of a gentleman's toy, but also the nicks and dents that testified to frequent, serious use.
At first the swordsman found himself blinded as he crossed the threshold from the sunlit day to the smoky gloom of the inn. But his eyes adjusted quickly, to a scene of energetic vice at every hand. Here were several of the Bishop's Croat guard, blustering curses and taunts at one another as they poured jug after jug of hard rum down their throats; here the journeymen of the ironmongers' guild threw hard-earned wages away, at the mercy of a slick pedlar with loaded dice; almost every bench or table featured some rake, trying desperately to dress fashionably, and almost as desperately to coax the tavern wenches' favors out of them with varying combinations of poetry, flattery, lies, liquor, and sometimes the straightforward offer of coin. But coin was in shorter supply than lies, and most of the barmaids amused themselves with flirtation and teasing.
The dark-haired gallant found what he was looking for seated in a far corner of the inn; a woman of a decidedly different stamp than the blandly voluptuous serving girls. Red velvet and white silk shimmered beneath a travel-stained woolen cloak. Her bodice, cut in the low square style recently revived in Paris, displayed feminine charms enough to promise delights to satisfy any man. Yet the swordsman found even his frankly admiring gaze drawn upward from that pleasant vista, past the elegantly sculpted neck and full lips, to green eyes that glowed at him from under the brim of a lady's feathered riding hat not so different from his own. But the eyes were not so much warm now, as watchful. She swept the hat off her head with a cascade of black curls to match his own.
"Were you seen coming here?" she demanded immediately.
"And may I say how pleasant it is to see you also, Madame de la Corte," the swordsman responded with exaggerated charm. "Of course I was, I have a talent for dramatic entrances."
"Good afternoon, M'sieur d'Audierne," murmured a passing barmaid, running her hand lightly along his arm as she went by.
"The wench knows you?" asked Mme de la Corte incredulously.
"All the wenches here know me," d'Audierne answered smugly. "It's why I suggested it."
The lady paused a moment, assessing him. Then she seemed to relax. "Good," she said. "It's important that everyone know you met me here."
"And why is that, milady?" d'Audierne asked. "You were quite clear that I should attract attention to myself, but I still haven't heard your reason."
"Because you, my dear swashbuckler," she said with a coy twist to her lips, "are our decoy. Listen. The de la Marck family and their lackeys have formed a secret party, calling themselves the Grignoux. They wish to drive our good absentee bishop's men out and close the principality to the Spanish. Now, they know that my good husband is using me to send secret messages to his Excellency, the Spanish governor in Brussels, and they are likely to send a gang of thugs to intercept it. They won't attack me, of course -- I'm far too public a person -- but they will try to catch my messenger."
"And that would be me."
"No, M'sieur d'Audierne, you're not listening - that would not be you. That would be another individual who is even now riding north. But they will think that it is you."
"Why will they be so sure that you have entrusted this secret message to me?"
"They will think that you are my devoted servant, my dear d'Audierne, when they observe that I have taken you as my latest lover."
"When you leave here, ride out hard on the west road, and keep your pistols and sword handy. You're likely to find trouble on the road..."
"I see," d'Audierne reflected. "Should I be off, then?"
"Oh no, my good sir," the elegant lady de la Corte smiled dazzlingly at him through the smoky air. "First we must give the Grignoux spies a... most persuasive performance. The whole ruse will fail otherwise."
The swordsman stared across the table at the lady seated before him, and his mind returned to the promise of her exposed bosom. She was now smiling most wickedly at him.
"Unless the reputation of the great swashbuckling Bertrand d'Audierne only applies to the serving wenches of disreputable taverns, hmmm?" she teased him in his silence. Suddenly, stealthily, she lifted a foot under the table and probed towards the codpiece of his britches. 'Sblood, d'Audierne thought to himself, she's serious. He smiled back at her and let her probe.
"Oh no, milady," he answered graciously. "Bertrand d'Audierne stands ready to uphold his honor in all matters where ladies are concerned. Do you have a room already?"
"I have," she answered simply, and began to giggle at him.
The guest chamber of the inn was bare and far from luxurious; but the bed was sturdy and some effort had gone into scrubbing it clean, at least. Mme de la Corte had insisted that she go up to it before d'Audierne followed her, as though they were secretive lovers trying to conceal their tryst. It was a farce, of course; even if there were no true Grignoux spies in the tavern, the elegance of her dress would guarantee that every barmaid remembered her presence, and d'Audierne's familiarity would likewise assure that everyone knew that they had met; from there it would be no mystery what they had met to do. But the lady did not wish to be too brazen about the rendezvous, lest spies become suspicious that it was all merely for show.
If her conduct in the guest chamber was merely show, however, then Serena de la Corte had missed her calling to the stage. When d'Audierne reached the top of the stairs and knocked on the door, she swung it aside, seized him by his collar and almost dragged him inside, locking him in a passionate kiss as the door swung shut behind him. She had used the time between her arrival and his to prepare; the laces down the back of her velvet dress hung loose, and the cumbersome apparatus of whalebone hoops that the age's fashion demanded under her skirts had been laid aside in a corner. She still wore her cavalier hat, however, sensing that something about its rakish angle evoked an adventurousness that had nothing to do with swordplay.
She kissed him long and hard, her lips pulling at his and her tongue meeting his in a match of feints and thrusts. Her hands dropped from his collar to his waist, grappling with the buckles of his swordbelt until it dropped free with a clash of metal. D'Audierne had known many women in his time, but her eagerness and aggression surprised him. He seized her around her waist and returned her kiss with passion, pulling her close to his body and bending her backwards in a slight dip. Her breasts swelled up towards him and he pulled at the velvet where it hung at her shoulders. Already unlaced, the dress fell away to her ankles and she stepped free, tossing the hat aside, dressed in petticoats and a corset which pressed her bosom up to his face.
D'Audierne began to kiss and lick at her breasts, full and taut with desire for him. She giggled like a schoolgirl and gracefully wriggled as she tugged at the corset carefully; her nipples lifted free of the whalebone, standing out firm and alert for him to nibble and suck on. Serena threw her head back and sighed as his mouth grazed from her breasts to her neck and back again.
Her own hands were moving, then, finding the laces of his doublet until it too came loose and then lifting the white linen shirt up over his torso, so that he stood before her in his breeches. His body was lanky and lean, but tightly muscled and scarred with the relics of many past battles and duels. His curly black hair fell in ringlets around his shoulders as he gazed at her with lust in his pale blue eyes. She explored him then, with hands and mouth and tongue, over his shoulders and neck and down his chest and belly. Then she was kneeling before him and her hands found the laces of the breeches and tugged lightly. She looked up at him with a great smile of shining white teeth as the breeches slipped loose and his cock reared up before her, steadily growing in arousal as she watched it.
She took his cock in her fingers and stroked it slowly, lightly, then a little faster and firmer, until she was squeezing it tight and rubbing it with vigor. D'Audierne groaned loudly as she worked him up to full erection, leaning back against the doorframe. Serena slowed her stroking, slipped her tongue out between full red lips, and gently tickled his shaft with the tip. Her tongue began to lick up and down his shaft, coating it in moist warmth. He sighed at the feel of her tongue on his cock, while she reveled in the salty taste of his skin and the growing musky scent of his arousal.
She took his cock in her mouth then, slowly at first, as she liked to do everything. She tasted every inch of him, working over the head, then easing her teeth down his meat, scraping them gently along the skin until his prick swelled tangibly in her mouth and pushed against her palate. Another loud moan assured her that she was doing a good job as she sucked him. She slid back off his cock, paused on the tip of its head, and then rapidly swallowed him again, pushing him back deep almost to the back of her throat. She increased her pace them, sucking his cock with ever-greater speed and intensity, tasting his pre-cum sliding out and rolling it over her tongue while bathing him in her own slick heat. She was never able to explain why, but had always been a woman who thrilled to the feeling of a man's hard cock in her mouth, and as she continued to blow him, she felt her own pussy begin to quiver and grow slick.
Eventually, knowing that he had reached the peak of his excitement, Serena suddenly rose to her feet and, still stroking his cock with her hand, kissed him again on the lips. Then she nonchalantly let him go and walked over to the bed, stopping in front of it with her back to him and both hands gripping the footboard. D'Audierne cursed violently as he struggled out of the great bucket boots he wore riding and wrestled his breeches off, then followed and stepped up behind her.
She took her petticoats in her hands and started bunching them up, pulling the hem higher up legs until the folds of cloth gathered around her waist, revealing a smooth round ass which she arched out towards him. He gripped her buttocks in broad, strong hands, then slid down behind her. His mustache tickled as he sought her pussy with his mouth. Then he was there, his lips meeting hers, his tongue stretching out to lick the soft yet firm flesh of her pussy. Her clitoris seemed to swell and welcome his touch, and Marie felt a shudder of pleasure surge through her.
She swung a leg up and hooked her ankle over the footboard of the bed, opening her sex wider to him. The black-haired swordsman responded by grabbing her around her thighs and plunging his face deeper between her lips, eating out her pussy furiously. It was her turn to moan now, throwing her head back so that her own black curls tumbled down her back across the laces of the corset. Her body shook with the electricity that coursed through every nerve from her pussy to her fingertips and toes. She reached back behind her and twined her fingers through his hair, pulling him deeper, making him eat her harder and harder. Suddenly, something erupted inside and a powerful orgasm shook her entire body. It was all Serena could do to avoid collapsing forward as the sensations poured through her.
D'Audierne stood and swept the shaken woman up in his arms in a single motion. Pressing her lips to his, he carried her around to the side of the bed and laid her down. Her eyelids fluttered faintly as he climbed over her, firmly took her by the knees and spread her legs apart, her pussy gaping open towards him. His erection stood out, undiminished since her blow job, straight and swollen and hard. Holding her shapely legs apart, he guided it towards her, probed her pussylips with the head, and then plunged it deep into her with a single heavy thrust. She groaned at the feel of his cock sliding into her cunt, deep and hard. He pushed as deep as he could, until the entire length of his shaft was buried inside her, and then pulled it out slowly.
"Oh god..." she whispered, "yes... fill me with your cock..."
"Do you want it again?" he asked her, teasing.
"Oh yes... fuck me again... come on..."
He thrust again, hard and deep. He could feel her vagina gripping him as he drove into it, holding him firmly in its smooth tender embrace. Her back arched, pushing her nipples up towards him as she drank his cock into her. He kissed one, and then the other, so that she squealed with delight as she felt his attention to both her tits and her pussy. He hammered home thrust after thrust, each faster than the one before.
It was primal, fundamental fucking, without any of the refinements that d'Audierne had seen in Paris or Venice. Serena de la Corte was a woman of parts, but her heavy-lidded eyes burned with a hunger that did not need or want exotic choreography. Perhaps if he saw her again, there would be time for that -- but for now, she was simply hungry for cock, for him, her pussy pulsing to feel him in it, and he determined to satisfy her. Her breath came heavier now, panting in time to each thrust of his pelvis, and the pitch of her voice grew steadily higher and louder.
"Oh yes, fuck me, fuck me, yes, oh God...like that! Harder! Harder! Yes! Oh FUCK! FUCK! AHHHhhhh...."
Her pussy exploded in a rush of slick heat, washing over his cock in a flood as she came, a second orgasm thundering over her like an earthquake. D'Audierne did not slacken but -- obeying her commands, as any well-bred gentleman would -- fucked her harder than ever, so that even as her last cry died into a low purr, he felt something unlock in his own bowels. His cock pulsed with energy, and then suddenly he felt fire surge through him and a great rushing through the channel that linked him to her. He had just presence of mind enough -- not wanting to father a bastard if he could avoid it -- to pull out, yelling to the heavens as a massive wave of cum burst from his cock and showered over her. She laughed and grabbed for him and wrung every drop out, lazily massaging the creamy fluid into her breasts and lips with a happy smile. Abruptly exhausted, he collapsed onto the bed beside her.
"You are a man of considerable...talent, M'sieur d'Audierne," she said coyly.
"And you haven't even seen my secret thrust," he answered.
"Your secret thrust?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at him. "Isn't that something you learn from a fencing master?"
He chuckled. "Not this one. I learned it from a certain lady of Tours a couple of years ago. But like my fencing master's secret thrust, there is no resistance possible to it."
She smiled. "I should like to see it demonstrated someday, when we have more time. Go now and ride to Brussels... give this to the Spanish governor there" --she drew a golden ring off her finger and handed it to him-- "and then return to me as soon as you may. We can discuss your secret thrust--and other compensation--then."
D'Audierne sighed. She was not one for pillow talk, it seemed. Slowly, he gathered his things together, dressed, and belted his rapier around his waist. Mme. de la Corte lay in the bed, watching him with a look of frank appreciation. When he began to sweep his hat to the ground in an elaborate bow, however, she leapt to her feet and kissed him furiously.
"They will be hunting you," she whispered. "Ride hard, and watch your back." Then she turned away.
D'Audierne strode out of the inn and reclaimed his bay gelding from the stableboy, then galloped away into the night. Some half an hour later, Serena de la Corte followed, but stepped into a sedan chair carried by four lackeys. She did not seem to notice as a dark-cloaked figure rose from its seat in a smoky corner of the tavern and followed her chair through the streets on foot.