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Athos Unleashed

by Earl of Burnheart

Athos Unleashed - Alex Hinterman - Earl of Burnheart
Editions:Kindle: $ 2.99 USD
Pages: 68

Athos swore he would never sleep with a young man again. He is reformed and chaste. He is tamed.

Then the young D’Artagnan arrives in Paris, lonely and begging for guidance.

Athos cannot resist him, and neither can the other musketeers.

M/M/M/M. 68 pages.


If D’Artagnan did not find a mistress soon, he was certain he was going to die. Handsome as he was and good with a blade, the women did not flock to him as he had hoped. Tonight, as on most, he reclined on the creaking bed of his frugal chamber, stroking himself. Today, he had seen the bare leg of a lady, exposed as she stepped out of a carriage. The sleekness of the calf, the dainty ankle, the fair hand which rushed to conceal it from view. These things were meant to excite him, he was told, and being a young soldier who joyed to follow orders, tried to meditate upon them. In the end it was not thoughts of women that brought him elation, but the grasp and torque of his hand, the heat pouring into his manhood, straining him near to bursting. It was good, but not enough. With his other hand, he clawed his buttocks and teased the hole between them. He felt tingling inside. Warmth and sensation, beckoning. He inserted his finger and was filled with delightful fire.


He groaned and sweated and chuckled to himself.
Good, but it was not enough. He eased in his whole finger and moved it back and forth hoping to find a spot that he had reached one time that had made him cum. As he was seeking this out, D’Artagnan heard a knock at the door.
He withdrew his finger and hurried to wrap his night robe about him.
“Monsieur D’Artagnan?” came the voice of his servant Planchet. The door which stood between them started to sway open.
D’Artagnan sprang into bed, pulled the covers over his lap, and tore open a book on classical mathematics.
With this portrait of gentlemanly innocence established, the young Gascon exclaimed, “What is it, Planchet? Why do you disturb me at this hour?”
The servant boy, not much younger than D’Artagnan himself, entered and held out a folded letter to him. “Missive for you, sir.”
Planchet had only been in D’Artagnan’s employ for a few weeks. The young Gascon was not accustomed to having a servant, but he did his best to emulate those more experienced.
D’Artagnan assumed a noble frown and took the letter, with the less sullied of his hands.
He had not expected any correspondence, but it would have been ungentlemanly to show surprise.
“Thank you, Planchet.” He intoned. “Now, regarding your entrance to my chamber, it is not enough to knock. You must await my address. Only then may you enter. Is that understood?”
“Yes, my lord. I beg your pardon.”
D’Artagnan, in the manner of his most loved friend Athos, dropped his voice and said, “Do not make such a blunder again, or you will regret it.”
Planchet’s face went pale.
“Yes, my lord,” he stammered.
Still in the mighty tone of Athos, D’Artagnan whispered, “Out.”
Planchet bowed and scurried out of the room like a mouse fleeing a barn fire.
Once Planchet had sealed the door behind him, D’Artagnan exhaled with relief and broke the seal on the letter. From its thin, poorly made paper, he read a short message in agitated script. “My dear D’Artagnan, I require your presence tonight for immediate counsel. Signed, Athos.”
D’Artagnan’s senses peaked. The handwriting was poorly formed, jutting at odd angles like a tortured man might pen a note with shaking hands. But this note was from Athos. Even when angered or in the heat of battle, Athos’ hand never shook. What was so terrible to make him quiver now?
With a growing sense of dutiful calm, such as a soldier feels before he takes the field, D’Artagnan armed himself with sword, dagger, and musket, and hurried to his friend’s apartment.



About the Author

Earl of Burnheart writes erotica with classical and kinky inclinations.

Their heroes are submissive men with passionate souls.

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