The Spy Wore Petticoats

Since she was forced to come up and gather herself, she glanced back. Constantine was behind her, pouring clear liquid from a dark green bottle into his hand. He smiled and then began to work it into Charlotte's opening.

It burned like fire and Charlotte groaned. Yusef's big hands guided her mouth back to his prick and by the time she had sucked his head back into her mouth the fiery pain had subsided to a penetrating warmth that seemed to suffuse her entire lower body.

Constantine was a very well endowed man, but to her surprise his entry was the least painful she had ever experienced. She wondered if that was due to the practice she had with Ivan or to the oil. In any case, she resolved to see if she could obtain some of it before she left.

Such practical thoughts fled as he began to drive his cock in and out of her. It felt incredible and she moaned around Yusef's cock. Constantine stopped pumping and pulled her hips back, then let her slide forward before pulling her back. Charlotte understood what he wanted and began to rock, easing forward and then impaling herself on him.

The whole while she had been lovingly attending to Yusef. With much difficulty she had succeeded in taking his impressive length. It took considerable concentration to take him all and she was finding it very hard to concentrate on anything with Constantine's cock filling her. She was torn between the enjoyment she was feeling and the enjoyment she wished to be giving. Constantine suddenly wrapped his arms around her and bodily moved her. He sat on the settee, with his legs together. Charlotte came to rest on her knees, with his prick still buried in her.

She was facing the doctor, who was scribbling furiously with his left hand while wildly stroking his miniscule penis. The sight was so utterly unerotic that she momentarily forgot everything else around her. She wished to turn away, but it was like walking across a battlefield; you just couldn't help looking about you at the carnage.

The sight dissolved as her vision blurred. Constantine now had his hands on her hips and in the position he was in, he was able to begin driving his prick into her with long, deep, powerful thrusts. She started to topple forward, but strong hands caught her arms and steadied her. Julius and Yusef were both standing on the settee, and each was holding one of her arms. Their pricks were both at attention and she felt helpless as each man guided her hand to his prick.

Despite her growing expertise, stroking them both proved very difficult. She wasn't used to doing it with her hands above her head, she had a terrible time keeping her left hand in rhythm, and it was becoming impossible to concentrate on anything with Constantine pounding into her. Julius, who was getting the short end of her attention, solved the problem by gently turning her head to face his straining cock. Charlotte got the hint and opened her mouth.

She sucked the head in and was swirling her tongue around it, but he wasn't satisfied with just that. His hands held her head and he began to fuck her mouth, not going too deep and seemingly in time to her body rising and falling. She was only beginning to get into the complicated rhythm when Constantine stiffened and barked out his pleasure, filling her with his seed. He held her tightly to him until the spasms stopped and then gave her a gentle shove. She fell off him and against Yusef's legs.

He scooted out from under her and off the settee. As soon as he was gone, Julius knelt between her legs and lifted her right one to his shoulder. He held his cock on target and put his weight behind it, sliding almost effortlessly into her slick channel. He put his hands on either side of her body, smiled down on her and began to fuck her like a madman. It took her breath away and soon she was rising to meet his thrusts, moaning continuously and gasping when he occasionally found just the right angle and sank his whole prick into her.

Yusef now stood and, hunching over, placed his cock on her lips. Charlotte needed no more prompting and sucked it back into her mouth. She was running her tongue over the bloated head and sucking when Julius lost his rhythm.

"Gods!" he cried hoarsely as he emptied his balls into Charlotte.

Yusef pulled his cock from her mouth and helped her to a sitting position,. He then urged her to kneel on the sofa, with her body over the back, facing the window. Standing, he took possession of her body with incredible force, driving his magnificent prick into her with long, deep strokes that sent wave after wave of pleasure into her already overloaded body.

Without him ever removing his hands from her hips, Charlotte began to spend. It was her first time without manual manipulation of her genitals, and it felt very, very different from previous orgasms. She did not feel the familiar spasmodic jerking of her muscles, and rather than shooting out, it seemed to be oozing from her prick.

Even as she cried out, Yusef shuddered and started to expel his load. As with Ivan, she could actually feel him cum, and that feeling was pure pleasure. When he was done, he released her hips and Charlotte collapsed onto the settee.

The doctor already had his pantaloons up and fastened, a white handkerchief on the floor being the only evidence of his earlier activities.

"Thank you, mademoiselle. You have discharged your promise and I shall discharge mine. You need not fear your secret will be exposed," he said, bowing before he exited the room.

Charlotte was covered in sweat and her breathing was still ragged. She started to rise, but Yusef caught her hand. She turned to him and he smiled.

She tentatively returned it and before she quite knew what was happening, the big man scooped her up in his arms. As easily as if she weighed nothing he brazenly carried her out the door and up the staircase to her room. The door to Madame Deveraou's room opened and Charlotte panicked, but her maid just smiled and closed the door.

Yusef took her three more times that night and she fell asleep with her head cradled on his massive hairy chest, one of his arms securely around her shoulders.

As they rode back to Sanssouci, the doctor, Madame Deveraou and the doctor's maid, who was returning with him to begin preparing his summer quarters in Berlin, chatted amiably. Charlotte did not join in, staring out the window and deep in thought.

She recognized an honest accounting of the previous night's activities was required, but she was so mortified that she couldn't even begin to sort out the feelings. For the first time, even her rationalizations fell short of assuaging her guilt. She was humiliated and even her body seemed in on it. Throbbing in her bowels and an ache in her jaw served to constantly remind her of her wantonness.

In an agony of guilt, recrimination and self disgust, her mind latched onto one of Marcus Aurelius's meditations.

Love that only which happens to you and is spun with the thread of your destiny. For what is more suitable?

She looked down at the beautiful red dress she was wearing. Is this my destiny? To spend my life so attired, giving up all the manly pleasures on pursuit of those that a woman covets? Why not, her mind asked tauntingly. What manly pursuits have you had such success at?

Before she could ruminate upon that, her rational mind provided an answer that she hadn't considered before. Your destiny is to live as a woman until your task is done. What lies beyond that is not for you to know. Perhaps you will renounce your skirts and become a captain in the King's Dragoons. Perhaps not. But your destiny is clear on this matter. You must carry on as Charlotte until you have completed your task.

If that, then, was her destiny, and it seemed inescapable that it was, then should she not love what happened? Should she not love all that being a woman brought her, living it to the fullest in case she never again had the opportunity?

It was hard to argue with the logic. It was equally hard to ignore the guilt. In the end, she made the only decision she could. She put everything out of her mind and joined in the conversation. Like it or not, she was here and the situation was what it was. She could live with it, or she could let it destroy her. Whatever her destiny, she was determined it would not be the latter.

By the time they reached Sanssouci her mood had lightened. She found Ivan in a similar mood, but he was restless. They determined to depart for the final leg of their journey as soon as was practical. She informed King Fredrick the next evening and received his blessing.

A week later, they set out for Danzig.

Ivan rode into their small camp and dismounted. He was a good horseman, Charlotte noted.

"We are followed."

"Are you sure?"

"Would I say so if I weren't?"

"By whom?"

"They look like soldiers. At least a hundred strong and towing a field gun."

Charlotte was too stunned to respond. They had done well, crossing all of the kingdom of Poland without incident. Much of that had been due to Frederick's intervention and they had stayed with his liegemen for much of the long journey.

With such a powerful patron, they should have been at ease. And yet, the nagging feeling they were being followed had come upon first Ivan, then herself. She didn't want to believe that the conspiracy against her was still there. She had assumed, as had everyone else, that Fredrick was behind it.

The soldiers might just be on maneuvers. They might have some other purpose for following them, but somehow she couldn't convince herself of that.

"It's worse. There's another group ahead of us, barring the road. We're trapped between them, with no way to escape save abandoning the coaches and going cross country."

"We can not do that."

"Then I hope you have another plan, because they are less than a day's ride behind us and are sure to see the tracks before nightfall," he said as he warmed himself by the fire.

"We must not show them what they expect to find," Charlotte said out loud, but more to herself.

"Agreed. They are looking for Lady de Toberville and a big Russian."

"How do you know that?"

"They have skirmishers out. I had a...conversation with one, before his horse threw him and broke his neck, poor fellow."

"Damnit."

"They know what they are looking for too. Two coaches, six servants, and two passengers. They have only a vague description of me, but you, they know what you look like down to the size of your tits," he added with a laugh.

"Two coaches?"

"Yes. Now that you mention it, we have three. But that shan't be enough to convince them they have the wrong people."

"No, but it would seem to indicate they are working on old information, perhaps gleaned from when we departed."

"Perhaps," he said, rubbing the stubble on his chin thoughtfully.

Her mind was turning, looking for some way out of the situation, when she had a thought.

"Madame, could you pass yourself off as a lady?" Charlotte asked, turning suddenly on her maid.

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"I don't think so milady, I mean I..."

"Of course you can. You've served many ladies. I know you can pass yourself off as one. Especially if the inspection is cursory."

"What are you thinking?" Ivan asked.

"Nobles may travel unhindered. We should remain above politics. Even nations at war do not impede the progress of individuals who wish to cross their territory. It's bad form."

"So?"

"So, no one knows who might be on the roads at any time. Obviously, this is the entourage of someone important, but just who cannot be known."

"And?"

"And no one here, save you and I, speaks Russian. Does your average cavalry commander speak French?"

"Ha! The average Russian officer barely speaks Russian!"

"So what if you and I weren't there? They would stop the coaches, only to find an English lady far older than the one they are looking for and no big Russian. Wouldn't they be forced to let her proceed?"

"I suppose."

"If you and I can sneak past them, we could rejoin the coaches later."

Ivan laughed loudly.

"Your mind is a wonder, mademoiselle. You are not trained yet, but you are becoming a better spy than even I had hoped."

"I'm learning. Unfortunately, I cannot think of a way for you and I to get past the patrols."

"Leave that to me," he said, mounting back up and riding off like the very hounds of hell were after him.

He returned after dark, leading a donkey. He jumped off the horse, grabbed a bundle of clothing and fairly ran to Charlotte's coach. He jumped in and began disrobing on the spot.

"What is it?"

"They will be moving by morning. You and I must be away by then."

"What should I do?"

"Undress and get into your disguise," he said urgently.

He was already out of his tunic and breeches by the time Madame Deveraou arrived and began helping Charlotte undress. When Charlotte turned back to him she burst out laughing.

Ivan wore the cassock and hat of a priest. It was too small, but not terribly so. Still, a man such as he in a cassock was simply too startling and amusing not to laugh.

"You shall look no better as a nun," he said, holding up the coif.

"Dear God," Charlotte exclaimed.

"Hurry, you must get into it while I help Madame Deveraou disrobe."

"You'll do no such thing!" the maid declared.

"Fine then, but you must both hurry. Do not forget to dress and make her up. She too must be in disguise before we leave," he said as she exited the coach.

Charlotte pulled on her tunic while Madame Deveraou began to remove her dress. The coif, wimple and veil gave her some trouble, but she finally managed. After getting the black stockings on, she helped Madame Deveraou into her petticoats and panniers. The gown was far too tight across her bust, so Charlotte left it untied.

Charlotte then made her up, using plenty of ceruse and vermillion. She hoped the heavy makeup would help her maid hide her expression, as she was sure to be very nervous.

When done, it was beginning to get less dark and Charlotte hugged her, went over the plan once more and started to leave.

"Mam'zelle!"

"Yes?"

"Your belt," she said, holding up the long belt.

Charlotte was glad she was still wearing her corset. Unlike her gowns, the habit depended upon her own body to give her a figure. The corset gave her just a hint of having hips and that was necessary to hold up the belt.

She moved to Ivan and he picked her up easily, setting her side saddle on the donkey. They moved off into the growing false dawn, with Ivan leading the donkey. The fire was soon lost from sight and she finally felt her heartbeat slow.

With the calm came a thought, a thought she found so extraordinary that it took her a few moments to even be able to comprehend it.

"Ivan."

"Yes?"

"Why did you not steal a cossack for me? Surely two priests will arouse less suspicion than a nun and a priest?"

"I didn't think of that," he admitted.

"Idiot!"

"Why didn't you mention it while were still in camp and I had a horse nearby and could have done something about it?" he demanded.

"Because..."

"Because you didn't think of it 'til just now," he said with a grin.

He was right. She hadn't even questioned the idea of having to adopt a feminine disguise. For a long time she rode in silence, pondering that.

As the sun rose, they crossed a small stream and began making their way across a long and open area, with only little clumps of grass here and there to break it up. On the far side was a thick outgrowth of trees, and they were nearing this cover when several horsemen rode out.

"Do not speak. I will tell them you have taken a vow of silence. Your Russian is good, but it still carries a slight French accent," Ivan whispered.

She nodded and crossed herself as an officer and three others cantered up to them.

"Greetings my son! 'Tis a fine day for a ride," Ivan boomed.

"Greetings holy father. I wish it were just for fun that I ride today, but I am on a mission of great import."

"God grant you success."

"Perhaps you can help? I am looking for a man and woman. The man is large, like yourself, the woman, a French doxy."

"We saw some coaches early this morning, but they offered us shelter and I saw no Frenchwoman, just a fat English lady and her servants."

"Where are you headed?"

"Sister Chastity is returning to her nunnery at Kiev. Yet I must go to St. Petersburg first and consult with the patriarch. Since she has taken a vow of silence and cannot explain herself, she travels with me."

"You have journeyed far?"

"All the way from Saxony. The enclave there was without a priest and I took up the office temporarily, while the synod chose a successor to Pieter, God rest his soul."

"I shall go to investigate this English woman and her men. You may run into other patrols; if so, tell them you have already spoken to me, Captain Yuri Grossney."

"Thank you, my son," Ivan said.

The officer turned his horse and then turned back to them.

"Father, could you provide blessing to my troops and officers? We have been afield several weeks and have no chaplain."

Charlotte tensed, but Ivan seemed totally at ease.

"Of course my son."

As she watched the assembled troopers advanced and all dismounted, kneeling before Ivan.

Ivan crossed himself and began to speak in the most horribly mangled Latin she had ever heard. She fully expected them to jump up and arrest them both on the spot, but no one moved. After several minutes of oratory, which devolved into something not even resembling Latin, he crossed himself and fell silent.

"I thank you father," Yuri said as he remounted.

They both watched as the column moved off in the direction they had come from. When they were out of sight, Ivan took up the donkey's lead and started off.

"Ivan? I didn't know you spoke Latin."

"I don't," he laughed, "but neither do they."

They were stopped by other patrols, but with Captain Grossney's name and Ivan's acting, they had no real problems. She received scant attention from the soldiers and was glad of it.

They met up with the coaches in the small village Ivan had remembered and both he and Charlotte stole into the servants' coach. Madame Deveraou had been only too happy to relinquish her position as "lady" and Charlotte had ridden in her own coach only for the last few miles.

Now, she sat stiffly in her seat, watching the buildings pass by. Ivan lolled in his seat, an indolent smile showing he was still enjoying the post coital bliss. His suggestion of a good fuck to get her mind off everything had seemed like a good idea, but even his attention had done nothing to relieve her.

"Relax, you'll do fine," he said finally.

"If I fail here, all of this will have been for naught," she said tightly.

"Hell's bells, woman. You've fucked, sucked, danced and lied your way across the breadth of Europe and no one has found you out. Surely you don't think the Russian nobility is more perceptive?"

"I know not."

"I do. They're like all other nobles. And they will be lining up to bed you."

"I care not, as long as Elizabeth gives me leave to stay."

"She will."

The coach rolled to a stop and Charlotte bit her lip.

"I pray you are right," she whispered.

Charlotte felt apprehension growing as she stepped down from her carriage and the guards gave her strange looks. It grew with each step she took towards the great receiving hall, where Elizabeth entertained petitions. Even the assurances of the Tsarina's private secretary that all was well, when Charlotte presented herself the day before, were not enough to alleviate the almost crushing dread.

She was beside herself by the time she entered the great hall and actually froze in place when she saw how others were dressed. Their gowns were simpler, and their makeup less ornate. Elizabeth sat on the throne, surrounded by men in traditional Russian garb. It was obvious to Charlotte that European fashion hadn't made it to Russia yet. She remembered again the opinion of many of her friends that Russians disliked foreigners. She forced herself to go forward and curtsey deeply.