Date: Thu, 13 Apr 2023 18:09:28 -0400
From: mr.evan.andrews@gmail.com
Subject: Dartagnans Sexcellent Adventure

A Nonexistent Scene from D'Artagnan's Sexcellent Adventure
Evan Andrews 2023


This is a fan fiction.

The characters in this story are based loosely on Dumas' Three Musketeers.
Those characters are long out of copyright, but this story was specifically
inspired by the 1993 Disney `The Three Musketeers' (what I refer to as
`D'Artagnan's Excellent Adventure'.) At the same time, this story exists
outside the continuity of both book and movie and, frankly, history. BTW,
that is D'Artagnan's real name.

This story should in no way be considered to be a representation of the
true sexuality of the original characters or the actors.

The story depicts males in sexual situations with other males. If that
offends you, if you are underage, or if reading such is illegal where you
are please stop reading now. Thank you.

If you enjoy this story, or even if you hate it, please contribute to
keeping Nifty going at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html


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Blades flashed in the dark. Steel clanged against steel. Men cried either
in pain or triumph. The Three Musketeers (and their new little friend) were
at their work.

Charles de Batz de Castelmore d'Artagnan to his new friends, was an
impetuous (and handsome and hunky) young man who aspired to the honor of
serving His Majesty as one of his Musketeers. Until there was an opening,
however, he was serving in the Cadets. Serving, but at the same time trying
to prove himself at every opportunity. This time, however, he was going too
far. Literally.

There was a law against dueling, of course, but this fracas between our
heroes and the Cardinal's men had long since gone beyond a mere duel. The
side street darkness even then blazed with the flashing blades of both
sides, and the Musketeers were enjoying themselves immensely as they toyed
with the best the Cardinal could manage.

"No!" Athos suddenly bellowed.

He has seen the dark, sleek figure of D'Artagnan's special enemy, the Man
from Meung, slipping away from the fray and disappeared down a dank alley
close to the Court of Miracles, but so a second earlier had D'Artagnan. The
impetuous lad abandoned the battle (and his friends) and charged towards
the alley.

"Don't follow him, D'Artagnan! It's a trap!"

Of course it was, but Athos might as well have been speaking Sumerian for
all the good it did. When D'Artagnan's blood was up his swashbuckling brain
ignored everything but what was immediately in front of his face-- which is
why the Cardinal's guards waiting in ambush had no trouble pouncing on the
youth, subduing him, and pulling him into one of the alley's many dark
recesses long before his friends could rush to his aid. For all intents and
purposes, D'Artagnan disappeared from the face of the earth that night.

@@@@@@

Beneath the earth, however, it was a different story.

In good time, D'Artagnan regained consciousness. He slumped in chains-- in
one of the wicked Cardinal's secret dungeons, he decided. D'Artagnan had no
way of knowing he was specifically in a private playroom, the place beneath
the Palais Cardinal in which His Eminence's wicked minion pursued his
`special' pleasures.

In the half-light, the cadet roused himself, stood erect, and took
inventory. His arms were spread, his wrists chained to opposite walls, and
his ankles were strapped to a 2 foot bar that was itself chained to the
floor. Restrained in this way, there was no way he could resist—neither
strike, nor kick, nor fight back in any other way against whatever
diabolical tortures his enemies had planned for him. His coat was gone, and
his boots. The worst of it, however, was that his sword-belt was missing
from his waist. Nothing but a pair of plain brown trousers and a loose
cream-colored chemise covered his tight young body.

"Welcome back, Monsieur d'Artagnan," a voice rasped from the darkness.

The Count de Rochefort, that same Man from Meung that D'Artagnan had raced
after, stepped into the light and regarded the restrained youth with an
appraising, yet disdainful, eye.

The wickedly handsome minion-in-chief, resplendent in his tight black garb,
said, "So, this is the mighty would-be musketeer that so troubles our good
Cardinal? I expected more somehow."

D'Artagnan struggled against his chains and snarled, "What do you want with
me?"

"Oh, many things," the man in black said languidly, circling the bound
cadet.

"I will tell you nothing," D'Artagnan blustered, but Rochefort,
unperturbed, simply snorted.

"I really wasn't going to ask you anything."

"Then why am I here?"

The vision in black came up to D'Artagnan and, grabbing him by the chin,
turned his head to the left and the right, examining his captive's handsome
face, the dark blond curls, and the scruff of a young man's beard. He then
stepped back and gave the cadet's trussed up body a visual once over as
well. If D'Artagnan noticed how Rochefort's gaze lingered on his hefty
package, he didn't show it.

"I know you said you wouldn't answer any question, but let me ask you one
thing, boy, because I'm curious. What would you do if I let you go?"

"I'd kill you."

"Of course, with your bare hands. And you'd do a fine job of it I have no
doubt. But after that, what? Would you run to your musketeer friends to
boast of your accomplishment or would you seek the consolation of your
wench."

"Constance is no wench!" D'Artagnan growled.

"Right you are. I stand corrected. Your whore."

Angrily, D'Artagnan snarled, "She is no whore either!"

"No?"

"She has never known a man!"

Rochefort noticed that the boy tended to speak in exclamation points. How
utterly precious.

"Jesu have mercy. Never known a man?" he said. "Then what do you propose to
do together? Play Trente-et-un?"

"I'll tell her how you died."

"Of course you'll do that. You lack any other conversation. I meant after
that. What will you do to her, what will she do for you?"

D'Artagnan stared at Rochefort with astonishment.

"What do you mean?"

Rochefort shook his head.

"You are so dense. Let me explain. If your Constance is as innocent as you
say, then she knows nothing about how to properly reward a great hero."

"She is pure!"

"Ah, purity," Rochefort lifted a glass of wine from a table and took a
sip. "Purity's an overrated commodity, in my humble opinion and for what
that's worth. Do you know what I say about pure women?"

Rochefort drew his sword with slow menace and pointed it at D'Artagnan's
heart. The cadet offered up prayers and made himself ready to meet his
maker, but Rochefort instead dropped the point of his blade down to the
level of D'Artagnan 's crotch, and then closed in on the cadet, sliding the
blade up inside of his loose chemise.

"Pure women know nothing of men," Rochefort husked. "Nothing of their
parts."

With a quick move, Rochefort slit the chemise open, exposing D'Artagnan 's
hairless chest, and lifted the fabric back, exposing the boy's right
nipple. Touching the point of his blade to D'Artagnan 's brown areole,
Rochefort sent a shock wave through the boy's body, such that he nearly cut
himself on the blade.

"You see? Would any woman know how a simple touch like that affects a man?"

D'Artagnan suddenly remembered how Rochefort had earlier stared at his
manhood, and feared he knew where the dark menace's monologue was
heading. But he also knew that protesting was useless. Instead he turned
his face away.

Rochefort lowered his sword point and touched the finger of his left hand
to the same nipple, circling the pink-brown nub, teasing the sensitive
flesh.

"Does your Constance understand how warm a man's chest is, how responsive
these seemingly useless nipples can be? You will, of your courtesy, permit
me my skepticism."

Rochefort pinched the tit into full erection and then used all his fingers
to feel around the boy's pectoral endowment. D'Artagnan grimaced.

"Does she know about these excellent man-muscles, boy?" Rochefort said, and
after slapping the boy's chest he said, "More than that, does she realize
how sensitive a man's throat can be?"

Rochefort moved his fingers from D'Artagnan's pec up to his neck, paying
especial attention to the hollow of the cadet's throat. This time
D'Artagnan gasped.

"Does she realize that a man loves his ears being worshipped?"

Rochefort moved the fingers to D'Artagnan's ear, then back down over throat
to pec and nipple—though not to stay.

"A man's belly, of course, is a muscled ladder leading invariably to his
sex. Each rung that one descends brings the man experiencing the
exploration to a higher, and yet higher, state of excitement, or don't you
find that to be the case?"

D'Artagnan stiffened as Rochefort fingers moved provocatively down his
stomach, one abdominal at a time, in the general direction of his beltline.

"Ah, I see you do," Rochefort crooned as he took in the now visible tent in
D'Artagnan's trousers.

D'Artagnan sucked in his breath and tensed against the inevitable. His
mistake. Rochefort was neither so direct nor so gauche as to go straight
for a captive's hard dick. Subtlety was the count's way. He sheathed his
sword again before letting his fingers and palm instead trail to the boy's
side and his flank. His right hand took the corresponding position on
D'Artagnan's left flank.

"A man's thighs," Rochefort continued as he squeezed them, "Now, these are
the real muscles of love. Without them, an ardent lover could never force
his iron-bar cock into a wench's steamy fastness..."

D'Artagnan stiffened, in every meaning of the word.

"Or into whatever else strikes his fancy," Rochefort continued with a leer
as his right hand reached around to cup D'Artagnan's ass cheek.

"And this ass. The round alluring fullness where the thigh meets and meshes
with the male body. How could a woman ever truly appreciate it?"

Rochefort's hand then slowly came back around D'Artagnan's restrained body
and at last found the cadet's engorged dick in its all but superfluous
shroud of trouser cloth.

"Here is the only part of a man a woman thinks she knows, thinks she
understands, albeit the most mighty and magnificent member a man owns. A
long... hard... manly... cock."

And with that Rochefort ran gentle fingers the length the boy's rigid
man-shaft.

D'Artagnan gasped at the villain's practiced touch and nearly came in his
pants. Rochefort, grinning at the boy's intake of breath, stroked the boy's
hidden meat-rod for several minutes, ignoring the look of emotional turmoil
on the cadet's face.

`The silly boy doesn't know whether to beg me to stop or to take him here
and now,' Rochefort thought, smiling a cruel smile.

"My heavens, D'Artagnan! What length... and what hardness. You are a
delicious specimen of manhood, my cadet. So lank and firm, so well-muscled,
and not too bright to mar your other perfections. Your hot blood makes your
skin flush, I see, and the heat that pours from you is perfectly
intoxicating. Dieu soit loué, how I just want...."

Rochefort came to his feet and reached behind D'Artagnan's head with his
right hand. He cupped the boy's head and brought D'Artagnan's mouth forward
to receive an impassioned kiss, all while his dagger hand continued to toy
with D'Artagnan's crotch.

"Now," Rochefort whispered into the sobbing D'Artagnan's ear, "I, on the
other hand, know exactly what a man wants. What a man needs. What only a
man can do for another man."

D'Artagnan struggled feebly against Rochefort's lips and his roving hands,
but the Cardinal's man simply reached between D'Artagnan's legs and,
tickling his balls, kissed him again. D'Artagnan turned his face away, but
Rochefort simply took advantage of that to transfer his attentions to the
boy's ear, and then his face and then the other ear as D'Artagnan tried
futilely to escape Rochefort's erotic attentions.

"Do you know what, cadet? I can tell that you're enjoying what a man, what
this man, can do for you. Your rod of engorged flesh tells me that, just as
it tells me that the thought of what more I could do excites you almost
beyond belief."

"No..." D'Artagnan protested, but...

Rochefort kissed down to D'Artagnan's throat and slathered it with his
affections. The boy gasped as the villain then moved his head down to the
hairless chest with its two perfect nipples riding high on the pectorals.
He tongued them both, toying with D'Artagnan's flesh and setting his
hormones aboil. The villain's hand was still on D'Artagnan's crotch, as
Rochefort tongued his way rung by rung down the stomach muscles. When he
reached the beltline, as with his earlier exploration, the villain stopped.

"You want me, D'Artagnan. You need what I can do for your aching cock."

"No..."

"Don't lie to yourself, boy, and don't lie to me! Your antics may amuse the
Cardinal, but I am a more straight-forward man. Cock, that's what amuses
me, and this one, I think, could keep me busy for hours. Or maybe
days. Weeks? Who can say? But I need to see to be certain."

Rochefort drew his sword once more and, slipping it beneath the boy's belt,
cut the cincture. Then he stood and slid the blade down the front of D's
pants on the side to which the young stud didn't dress. D'Artagnan
stiffened, again, but Rochefort did nothing more than slice the front of
his pants open. The cadet's cock sprang out of the remains of his clothing
(What? Small clothes for our hero? I think not!) like a soldier to
attention when action beckoned.

Rochefort cast his sword aside and grasped the cadet's meaty pole in his
hand.

"What is this, boy? Disinterest?"

"Oh sacré bleu, Rochefort . No! Please..."

"Quit whining, boy. You want me to favor your cock with my
attentions. Admit it. I can tell. Your dick throbs with desire in my
hand. It swells when you think of the pleasures I could bestow if I were so
minded. It even weeps. See?"

Rochefort ran a thumb around D'Artagnan's cockhead, spreading the boy's
precum around the swollen plum. Then he slid his hand slowly,
provocatively, up and down the length of D'Artagnan's throbbing staff, now
slick with precum.

D'Artagnan sobbed, or was he simply breathing hard?

Rochefort dropped to his knees once more and brought his lips to the head
of D'Artagnan's cock. He did nothing so simple as suck it into his mouth,
no. The villain only touched his lips to the bundle of flesh where the
weeping plum joined the shaft, and with deliberate cruelty, he delivered
but a ghost of a kiss.

D'Artagnan screamed, "Jesus!" and thrust his hips forward trying to bury
his dick in Rochefort's mouth. Rochefort backed away just in time, however,
and laughed at the cadet's futile thrusts and spasms.

"Not yet, my boy," Rochefort crooned as he ran his thumb over D'Artagnan's
swollen cockhead. "The Man from Meung must have his little game first."

@@@@@@

Over the next several hours, D'Artagnan vaguely remembered a lass near his
birthplace who had the reputation of drawing out a man's pleasure for as
long as she willed before finally granting him release. Local men both
coveted and feared trysts with her. The cadet had never availed himself of
the girl's services, of course (In that way he was just as much a virgin as
Constance), but he had done much the same thing to himself alone in his bed
at night, or in the hayloft, or out in the woods of his father's
estate. Meanwhile, Rochefort, the villain, proved he was every bit as well
practiced at tormenting a man's sex, and he played D'Artagnan's stripped
naked body like cheap fiddle.

"Please," D'Artagnan whimpered when he was denied orgasm for the twentieth
time. "I need to cum! It's driving me crazy to be so close to release and
then have you deny me. Please, Monsieur! Je vous en pris!"

"Such pretty words, but why should I believe a single syllable. Did you or
did you not promise to kill me?"

"Please, monsieur!" D'Artagnan wept. "Of your mercy..."

"Silly boy," Rochefort said, licking his way down the young cock's piss
tube, "Do you really think mercy forms any part of my character? You are,
by your own lips, my sworn enemy. Do you really think showing such a man
mercy makes any sense."

D'Artagnan simply gasped and moaned as tears ran down his cheeks.

"Ah, but an idea occurs to me," Rochefort said as he returned to his feet.

He kissed the sniveling youth on his puffy lips, tasting the tears, and
said, "You are above all things a man of honor, are you not, mon cher?"

"Yes," D'Artagnan whispered. Was this another cruel trick?

"Then I will grant you what you most want—but only if you give me your
word of honor to grant what my master and I most want. Can you do that, mon
chou?" the villain said, running a fingertip around the boy's squelchy
corona.

"Wha...?" D'Artagnan whimpered.

"So simple, boy," Rochefort said.

"On your honor, you will commit here and now to serve Monsieur le
Cardinal," he said as he reached around to finger D'Artagnan's butthole.

"And you will serve France, as he directs."

He slid the finger, and its neighbor into the boy's cunt.

"And you will swear ever to be guided by me in matters temporal," he said
as he kissed one swollen testicle.

"In ALL matters temporal," he said, kissing the other nut.

"And..." Rochefort said as he looked up the boy's sweaty body and licked
his perineum, "That includes all matters carnal."

D'Artagnan choked.

"Do that," Rochefort purred, "And I will grant you the relief you
seek. Refuse, and, well, I can continue teasing your body for as long as it
takes for you to come round. I wuite enjoy having you in this pathetic
condition."

D'Artagnan's soul fought against his body's urgings. The former screamed,
`No! You are D'Artagnan. You must be strong!' while the latter whined like
a bitch, `Please, say it. What use is honor to a madman, because if you
don't cum soon madness will cloud over your mind.'

Sobs tore through the boy's body.

"But the musketeers..." D'Artagnan started.

"Oh you innocent, one way or another, your dreams of becoming a musketeer
are over," Rochefort said, but the cruel lover pressed the matter no
further. He knew D'Artagnan's body would eventually force him to betray
everything he held dear, and what matter if it took an hour—or two
hours-- longer. That was just that much more time the Man from Meung could
wring sweet agony from his powerless captive.

But even in that D'Artagnan surprised him. The boy's will took three hours
more to finally break.

D'Artagnan at last sniveled, "Please, let me cum, monsieur. Let me cum,
and... and I am yours!"

"And the Cardinal's?"

"Yes, and the Cardinal's!"

"Then let's see about bringing you off."

D'Artagnan felt the captain of the Cardinal's Guards step behind him, and
heard the rustle of clothing being opened and slid off. A slick sound then
announced Rochefort was oiling his shaft. D'Artagnan braced himself for
inevitable, and finally a greasy finger slid into the boy's butt.

Frantically, D'Artagnan clenched, but Rochefort whispered in his ear,
"Submissive to me in all matters carnal, boy. That's what I demand. Now
open that ass and take my dick!"

D'Artagnan, wracked with emotion and driven by need, fought to relax his
guardian muscle and felt Rochefort's thick cock ram into him. Even with his
victim compliant, the handsome villain still had to make D'Artagnan's
submission a violent event. He didn't simply fuck the boy; rather he beat
the cadet's ass into a pulp, slamming hard against the boy's luscious butt
as he fucked the last of his pride out of him.

"Take it, bitch!" Rochefort growled. "Take it and tell me how you love me,
Rochefort, fucking you like a slut."

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" D'Artangnan groaned, his body rocking in time to Rochefort's
thrusts.

"Say it!" Rochefort repeated, and to drive his demand home, he began
long-dicking the hanging captive, pulling his shaft all the way out of the
boy's newly minted bitch cunt and then slamming back into his anal depths.

"Argh!" D'Artagnan screamed.

"Say it."

"Oh, fuck! Monsieur!" D'Artagnan cried. "Fuck me, Monsieur! Fuck my ass!
Fuck me hard! Fuck your bitch!"

"When you believe what you're saying, whore-boy, then and only then you'll
cum. Keep saying it!"

"Fuck! Fuck me! Breed me! Stuff my ass full of your big hard dick!
FUUUUUUCK!"

D'Artagnan's body sealed the pact for him. His cock, untouched, thickened,
and he felt a familiar tingle run up his urethra. The now purple cockhead
swelled, and suddenly D'Artagnan's sex began to convulse with his
orgasm. His cock leapt and spat a rain of young Gascon sperm into the
air. The white liquid jewels hung in midair for a fraction of a second and
then fell upon the stone floor.

"Fuuuuuuuuck!" D'Artagnan continued to scream. He thought his balls must of
course be empty after that explosion of cum, but his dick continued to
throb. More white goo oozed out of his shaft and slid down his length like
a rich sauce—which of course it was.

At length, the orgasm ended, and D'Artagnan slumped in his chains
again. Rochefort, matter-of-factly unlocked the cruel metal wrist cuffs,
and D'Artagnan fell to the floor, landing on his knees with his hands
spread to break his fall. As he dropped, the boy tied to decide if he had
just enjoyed his last orgasm as a free man, or his first as Rochefort's
whore.

@@@@@@

"Look up, bitch," Rochefort ordered, and D'Artagnan raised his face to
stare and the man in black.

Rochefort gestured with a shake of his head, and D'Artagnan turned to see
the Cardinal himself watched the proceedings. Just outside the cell,
Richelieu had claimed a chair and was even now beating off. Fuck all, the
Cardinal was, if anything, even bigger than Rochefort.

The prelate stood and slipped the red robes over his shoulders. Beneath his
habit, D'Artagnan saw, the older man wore much the same tailored-to his
body clothing that his black-clad minion did.

Richelieu stepped into the cell and, looking down at the kneeling
D'Artagnan, said, "You may demonstrate your submission by sucking my cock,
cadet."

Unthinking, D'Artagnan reached out and took hold of the massive
shaft. Steadying it, he slid forward and pressed a kiss on the cockhead,
even as he would have a bishop's ring. He felt the man's impatience, and
even though he had no experience is serving a man orally, he opened his
mouth wide and allowed his mouth (and as it turned out throat) to be
entered, then filled, then forced wide beyond his expectations.

D'Artagnan batted at the Cardinal's body as his throat was assaulted, but
Rochefort was right there to grab his hands and hold him in place to suffer
Richelieu's assault.

For every attack D'Artagnan had made on the Cardinal's authority, for ever
slight he had uttered, for every malediction, the prelate was now exacting
revenge. Richelieu's reputation for subtlety he cast aside in the privacy
of this dungeon cell, and he violently raped the supposedly willing
boy. His bitch needed to be broken at every level.

Tears again slid down D'Artagnan's face, but he slowly learned to ride the
oral assault. As it got easier to take, he became a part of the machine of
state, a body impolitic for the true power of France to direct.

"Good, boy," Richelieu smiled now that he was sliding easily into
D'Artagnan's throat, "You are accepting your fate. My cock can feel it. Now
use your mouth, your tongue, and your lips, to make me cum."

D'Artagnan's last ounce of pride as a man fled, and he began actively to
worship the Cardinal's monster meat.

"Yes!" Richelieu cried as he beat the boy's throat to oblivion. "Suck that
cock, bitch! Suck me and take my CUUUMMMM!"

The holy cock forced D'Artagnan's throat all the way open and throbbed as
Richelieu seeded his mouth.

"Holy fuuuuuuck!"

The Cardinal pulled back and made sure the last blasts from his staff
coated the inside of the boy's mouth. D'Artagnan looked up the monster
shaft, the head of which was still lodged in his mouth, and met Richelieu's
cruel eyes.

"Lick me clean, bitch."

D'Artagnan's tongued darted forward and ran up and down the Cardinal's
drooping meat, licking away the evidence of his oral rape. When he was
done, Rochefort (how had D'Artagnan forgotten about Rochefort—or the
fact that he hadn't cum yet?) turned the former musketeer's face towards
him and jerked out a heavy load, painting D'Artagnan's previously innocent
face with ultimate disgrace.

D'Artagnan then licked Rochefort's cock clean as well. As he looked up at
the two men, men he would previously have done his best to bring down, he
realized the truth. He was now these villains' man—no, their boy—no,
their bitch, their slave bitch-- for the rest of his life.

@@@@@@

Epilogue

Cardinal Richelieu sat behind his ornate desk facing down an irate Monsieur
de Treville.

"I know," the captain of the King's Musketeers accused, "That you know more
than you are saying about the disappearance of a truly promising cadet."

"Do I?" Richelieu said. "Perhaps I do, but that's neither here nor
there. Even if I had your boy, you don't expect I would surrender him to
you just for the asking, do you?"

"So you do know where he is?"

The Cardinal simply smiled and said, "I believe this interview is
over. Rochefort, show Monsieur de Treville out."

"I can find my own way!"

The captain turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

Once the door slammed shut and the musketeer's bluster disappeared in the
distance, Rochefort asked, "And where is our boy, if I may make so bold as
to ask."

"Oh he's around here somewhere," Richelieu said. "I assigned him a
confidential and very personal duty."

The red-robed villain glanced down, and Rochefort taking the Cardinal's
meaning, and his hint, retreated, shutting and locking the door behind him.

Richelieu looked down, relishing the sight of his new favorite musketeer,
naked as a bitch should be, sucking away at his fat ecclesiastical cock.

"Yes, slut, use that talented mouth and make me cum. Make me feed you your
morning dose of sperm!"

The Cardinal recalled that first raping D'Artagnan's mouth. Some men when
treated to such a punishment became damaged psychically. They still sucked
cock, of course, and they still made passable fuck-boys, but their inner
light was extinguished. This boy, on the other hand, had truly taken to his
new life. He sucked passionately, and he took it up the ass... Oh yes, he
was a most exquisite fuck.

"Boy, I'm getting close. Do you want my load in your mouth, or on your
face, or shall I fill your guts with sperm—again?"

D'Artagnan let the tip of the monster cock slide from his mouth and said,
"Fuck my ass, Your Eminence! Please, seed my cunt!"

Richelieu came to his feet, and pulling D'Artagnan by his hair forced him
over the desk, before cramming his spit-dripping monster into the boy's
bitch-hole.

"Fuck!" D'Artagnan cried. "Oh fuck! Oh yeah! Fuck me, Monsieur le Cardinal!
Fuck your boy! Your slut! Your pathetic whore!"

Richelieu could only smile. If only all problems could be solved so
completely and so enjoyably.

"Time to take my seed, cunt!" he cried after a half hour of dicking the
cadet down.

As Richelieu's big dick thrust deep into D'Artagnan's guts and pumped out a
hefty load of hot ball-juice, the boy grimaced in satisfaction. Perhaps if
Richelieu were satisfied, he thought, he might let his fuck-boy go back to
his cell and jerk off. Or maybe Rochefort would be waiting to fuck him
again.

It hardly mattered which. Rochefort was a master at fucking loads cum out
of D'Artagnan's balls, and cumming, and taking cum, was what he did. And
what he would do, probably for the rest of his fuck-slave life.