The Spy Wore Petticoats

Charlotte was taking her air on the foredeck when she observed a red headed sailor lose his patience and yell at the boy. The boy stormed into the small mate's cabin, where the captain was now sleeping. The captain came out. At the same moment the red head happened to smile at Charlotte, who was still observing him.

"Mr. Barker!" the captain shouted.

"Aye sir?" the weather beaten and brawny bosun replied.

"Twenty lashes for McDougal, for raising his eyes to the prisoner!"

"Aye, sir."

The bosun motioned and two marines quickly seized the young man and strung him up while Barker retrieved the flogger. Charlotte had no wish to see such a thing and could not conscience the man being beaten on her account. She stepped between the sailor and the bosun.

"Captain, I pray thee, do not do this. I was watching him. It is all my fault."

"Step aside, milady. Discipline must be maintained," the captain said as politely as he could.

"I beseech thee," she said, forcing herself to begin crying.

"Madame, I cannot allow discipline to lapse upon my ship."

"I do not ask you to, but I am making a request of you. It is not for him I fear, but for my own soul, should he be harmed on my account. Surely you will not dishonor me so?"

The captain looked indecisive, glanced at his paramour who was staring daggers at Charlotte.

"Cut him down, Mister Barker. Madame, I would see you in your cabin please," he ordered.

Charlotte caught a look from the bosun as he worked. He smiled at her gratefully, as he had been loath to beat the man for looking at a pretty lady.

As soon as the door to the cabin closed the captain turned on her.

"Do not ever presume to make such requests of me on my own ship. I am master here!"

Charlotte began to laugh. She did so deliberately, enjoying his flush and the way his jaw worked in impotent rage.

"Do not presume to threaten me," she said in an amused voice, "I am a French citizen and you have kidnapped me. You would not do so without orders from very high up. And I can tell those orders direct you not to treat me badly. If I am up to date, while buggery is as much a part of your tradition as rum and beatings, it is still frowned upon by the church. Your officers complaining would do little, but should I complain to the French government of being scandalized by the captain of the ship who kidnapped me further subjecting me to his committing unnatural acts..."

She left the threat hanging, realizing she could push him only so far. Part of controlling a man was leaving him an out that saved face. If she trapped him, she could expect a violent reaction. If she left him with the option of "choosing" to do as she wished, he could console his pride. She had left hers behind long ago. It was a deadly conceit; she cared only for results now.

"As you wish, madame." he hissed.

She waited until he had opened the door to her cabin and was about to step back out on deck.

"Oh captain," she called sweetly.

"Yes?" he said, refusing to turn around.

"If any retaliation is taken up on that sailor, I will look upon it unkindly."

He turned and bowed stiffly.

"Of course, madame."

Once he had left, Charlotte moved to the writing desk and began a missive to the Duke De Fleury. She wasn't sure how she was going to get it delivered yet, but she had no doubt now an opportunity would present itself. She was becoming a ruthless and accomplished manipulator of people and she only hoped she would survive to tell her dear sister Julia she had been wrong.

She was still working on it, long after night had fallen and the ship was still, when a furtive knock came on her door. She moved quickly to the door and opened it. The red headed sailor slipped in. He stared at her for a few moments then doffed his kerchief, allowing his red hair to spill out.

She knew his purpose before he spoke. A man who felt his honor demanded he thank her, but who was scared to be caught.

"Pray, relax. You are safe here."

"Nay. There is nowhere on a ship that is safe," he replied.

Charlotte moved to her bed and carefully sat up on it, allowing her dress to give him a tantalizing view of her white petticoats beneath.

"I've just come to say thank you. I must go. The watches are changing and I must be back below decks when the bosun returns."

"You are quite a handsome man," she said, realizing it was easy to say because she meant it.

"I must say, you are as beautiful a lady as I have ever laid eyes upon," he replied with a smile.

"Come closer," she called seductively.

He moved confidently to stand before her and she could see the bulge in his simple canvas pants. She reached up and gently cupped it, rubbing him through the material.

"Ooh, you are quite a man!"

He seemed unsure of what to say as Charlotte undid the tie and slowly lowered his pants. His cock sprang up, pointing towards the ceiling. It was thick but short, and his pubes were just as red as the hair on his head. She took the shaft in her hand and began to gently stroke it. The skin was silky and warm and she could smell the faint manly aroma which caused her mouth to water.

She looked up into his eyes and tenderly licked the exposed head. He moaned in response, and his legs began to tremble.

"Has it been so long?" she asked, curiously.

"I was impressed over a year ago. The captain knows that we would all jump ship if we could, so we are confined below decks on pain of death when we are in port. He can't keep this up forever, but he's mad. This time, I'm going to make a leap for it. It's only your favor which has kept the bastard from flaying me to please his bitch."

Charlotte had a plan, but she was becoming terribly aroused. She had not realized how much she had come to enjoy sex. She again swirled her tongue around the silky head and he groaned.

"I'm sorry milady, but I have been too long with only my memory and hand. If you keep that up I'll explode," he said, the shame evident in his voice.

"Explode then," she whispered, and sucked the whole head into her mouth.

She had barely begun to suck, running her tongue gently along the sensitive underside, when a thick blast of cum splashed against the back of her mouth. Either he was a copious spender or he had a great deal stored up. Charlotte swallowed twice and milked more from his oozing and rapidly softening cock before she released him.

"I'm so sorry," the man said in embarrassment.

Charlotte stood and hugged him.

"Don't be," she whispered in his ear. "It's been a long time for me too. Come back whenever you can. I cannot give you what you most want, but I can make it easier on you."

He smiled, struggled back into his pants and hurried to the door, but he turned before he left.

"I do not know how to thank you, my lady," he said.

"I'm sure I will think of something," she promised.

He had barely been gone five minutes when another knock came. Charlotte carefully opened the door and the bosun boldly stepped in.

"I wish to thank you, mademoiselle. I take no pleasure in flogging men at the pleasure of that little bitch."

"Of course," she replied.

The appearance of a career navy man puzzled her, and where she was happy to see the sailor, for multiple reasons, the bosun's presence was an enigma.

"Was there something else?" she asked when he simply stood there admiring her.

"Oh, aye. I couldn't help but notice McDougal slipping out of your cabin without his sea legs."

She started to speak, but he cut her off.

"Nay, don't deny it milady, nor fear. I'll not report him. You seem a lusty lass for a painted lady of court and I've been at sea a long time. I was merely hoping you were still in a sporting mood?"

Charlotte laughed. It was perhaps the least elegant proposition she had ever received and yet...

"I do not know that I have ever had such an honest, if inelegant proposition. I don't see how I can refuse, but it will have to be by mouth. I cannot give you a proper tumble."

"I've not had a lady who preferred to use her mouth before," he said, undoing his white pants.

"I don't prefer it, although I do love it. Alas, my fiancée has me in a chastity belt and thus, I am somewhat...constrained," she easily lied.

"I've heard men of the nobility do such things," he replied as Charlotte sank to her knees and eyed his thick cock.

She began to stroke it, noting that it jumped under her hand, much as McDougal's had. Soon she had sucked the head into her mouth and was happily sucking, teasing the head and enjoying his heavy breathing. The bosun lasted longer, actually grasping her head and slowly fucking her mouth before he gave her his own rush of cum.

Charlotte enjoyed the rest of the voyage. The bosun or McDougal was apparently unable to keep a secret and soon the small crew were taking turns sneaking into her cabin for relief. Charlotte appreciated the diversion and took pains to build her reputation as a wonderful woman among the crew. She didn't even try to convince herself she was doing it for her mission only. She just loved sucking cock, and long before the ship approached Bristol, she slept peacefully and comfortably in the knowledge.

On the last night at sea, she waited until she had satisfied McDougal. Of all the crew, he was the one most enamored of her.

"Etalon, I have a request of you," she said as he was still calming down.

"Anything, milady," he instantly replied.

She moved to her Bible and retrieved the letter she had written the duke.

"This letter will let someone powerful know I am a prisoner of the king. He can perhaps help me win my freedom. They will, of course, not let me send it. Can you see that it makes it to France?"

"Consider it done," he promised, kissing her deeply before he slipped out.

A second letter was given to the bosun, who also promised to see it sent.

Once the ship docked she was whisked to a waiting coach and carried to her new home, a single room in the tower of London. The room was small and had only a bed, a writing desk with no ink or paper, a chamber pot and a small chair.

She was visited daily by men who refused to identify themselves and demanded answers she refused to give. She hoped her letters would make it, but daily that hope faded. She had been searched of course, but it had not been thorough and her secret remained intact.

Charlotte sat on the small bed in her cell and read from the small Bible her guards allowed her. A month in this same room, with only the guards, her interrogators and a priest once each week for company was driving her crazy. She was sure that was what they hoped - that she would give up and give them what they wanted. She had begun to talk to herself, mumbling her words, and often they would find her rocking back and forth with her arms around her legs.

This was all carefully cultivated, however. She was prepared to make her escape and needed only the more lecherous of her two wardens to have night duty. He was an older man, with bad teeth and a stature that was only slightly greater than her own. She had chosen him for her attempt not only because of their similar statures, and his lecherousness, but because he rarely spoke in complete sentences. He tended to mumble and grouse at his companions and seemed to have no friends among them.

Knowing he was due soon, she placed the Bible on her small writing desk and carefully removed her dress. She also removed the panniers and her outer petticoats. As she hoped, he happened along and chose to look in on her while she was semi dressed.

"Gah!" she heard him exclaim from outside the door.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled seductively, licking her lips. Her heart began to hammer in her chest when she heard his key turn in the ancient lock. The temptation to just throw herself upon him was strong, trusting to surprise, but she restrained herself and stuck to her plan.

"Feeling lonely are ya, girlie?" he growled from just outside the door.

"Oui, it is very lonely here," she replied.

"Well, mebbe I kin make it more hospitable fer ya," he said, grabbing his crotch and leering at her.

She sank to her knees before the bed and looked up at him with her best forlorn expression. Groat, as he was called, laughed and came into the cell, pulling the door to behind him. He locked it from the inside, watching her the whole time. Whatever his other faults, he wasn't incautious, which she wasn't happy to see.

He came over to her, his hand on his heavy sword.

"So ya want some company eh?"

"Oui."

"Well, I reckon you ain't trying nothing."

Groat quickly dropped his pantaloons, but kept his sword belt around his waist and one hand on it.

He obviously wanted her to simply suck him off as he stood there, but that didn't fit her plans, so she gestured to the bed and smiled.

"Never mind the bed, just suck it, Frenchy!" he demanded.

"Won't you please make yourself comfortable?" she said in French, sure that he wouldn't understand.

As she hoped he looked at her blankly and sat heavily on the bed and she scooted between his spindly legs. His cock was of average size and smelled awful. Nonetheless, she cooed happily and gently grasped it. She also sent her second hand between his hairy thighs and massaged his scrotum.

"Suck it."

Charlotte looked up, holding his cock to her lips, where he could feel her warm breath and see her red lips part. She waited, waited until he opened his eyes and moved so he could see. At that moment, she squeezed his balls as viciously as she could and launched herself into him. The top of her head slammed into his chin, which drove his head violently back into the stone wall. She stood quickly, rubbing the top of her head and listening to see if the noise had alerted anyone.

Groat was out cold. She didn't know how long that would last, so she removed his sword belt and blade first. She quickly stripped off the rest of her petticoats and belted the sword belt around her slim hips before she finished stripping the unconscious guard.

Once he was naked, she began the painfully slow task of dressing him. His body was inert, and she quickly realized how much help she normally gave her maid. Without the subtle movements and shifts in weight, it was very difficult to get him into her petticoats, panniers and dress, but she eventually succeeded. She then moved his body to the chair before her writing desk.

Charlotte used a stocking to tie his ankles together, then used the sword to cut a hole in her petticoats and dress. She tied his feet securely to the slat between the legs of the chair. She then removed the desk drawer and hid it under her bed. She tied his hands together and forced them into the opening left by the drawer, where she secured his hands to the bar that the drawer normally rested on.

Charlotte jammed her pantalets into his mouth, tying them there with the waist belt. She then pulled the wig off her head and secured it to his, glad for once of another woman's jealousy. She quickly donned Groat's pants, heavy boots and shirt, wrapped his cloak around her shoulders and pulled on the battered hat. Letting herself out of the room, she saw Groat start when the door closed and she turned the key in the heavy lock. From the peep hole, his frenzied attempts to get loose mimicked her own rocking, and his frantic calls for help, her soft talking to herself. She smiled, put her hand on the sword at her hip and began the longest walk of her life.

Down the cold stairs, she passed the guard room, where she mumbled and snarled when someone hailed her as she passed the entrance.

"Ya old git," she heard as she exited into the dark London night.

Charles hadn't been in England in many years and now found himself on the streets with little idea of where he was or where he was going. His plan was to find the home of Monsieur De Grasse, the semi official French Ambassador.

It took him a while, but eventually she found herself in a part of the city that was vaguely familiar. From there, he took a chance and asked a passing sporting lady for directions.

Charles made it to the door and banged on it until someone finally opened it a crack.

"Go away," the sleepy man growled.

"I must see the ambassador, immediately," Charles demanded.

"Come back in the morning."

Charles held up his hand, showing the signet ring given to him so long ago by the duke.

"In the name of the Duke De Fleury, let me in this instant! If you fail me, he shall take a terrible vengeance upon you."

Cowed by the name of such a high and dangerous personage, the young man let Charles in and showed him to a sitting room. The young man went off to get the ambassador and Charles poured himself a goblet of wine, drinking deeply.

"Who invokes the name of his august lord, the Duke de Fleury?" a thin man in dressing gown demanded.

"It is I, Charlo...Charles De Locke," he proclaimed, showing the ring again.

"What do you wish of me?" the Ambassador asked.

"I must get out of England, now."

"I will see what I can do tomorrow. Will you stay with us?"

"Tomorrow the English will lock down every port! Tonight, I must get to France. A matter of the utmost import will be ruined, dragging France into a war she cannot win. Should that happen, the duke will see you on the scaffold for failing him."

"I see," the man said, not at all visibly impressed with the threat, "I shall go and get dressed. Is there anything else you require of us?"

"Clothing. And a real blade. This is fine for a tower guard, but it is no fit weapon for a gentleman," he replied, tossing the broadsword upon a table.

"Am I to understand then, that you have escaped the tower?"

"I have. My mission has been delayed over three months on this island."

"Rene, bring him clothing, boots, breeches, shirt and traveling cloak. Take them from my boudoir. And a blade, a saber I think?"

"Merci," Charles replied with a nod.

"Rouse the cook and have food brought," he instructed as the young man departed.

"Rest for a few minutes while I get dressed and rouse the coachmen," he said to Charles before bowing stiffly and departing.

The cook arrived first and Charles tore into the cold pie and meats. When Rene arrived, he stood quickly and stripped off the cloak and shirt. He kicked off the boots and divested himself of the filthy pantaloons, smiling at the shocked expression upon the young man's face at seeing him in a corset and stays.

Charles dressed quickly in black breeches and shirt, sea boots that were a bit large and a cloak of red. He belted on the belt and saber, relishing the feel of the fine blade. He tested it, making a few parries and thrusts, very aware of the lack of weight from his skirts and the freedom to lunge.

The ambassador returned and dismissed Rene. He led Charles out to the coach and said nothing until they were rolling at break neck speed along the narrow cobbled streets.

"I have not pressed you, since your need seems great and secrecy is vital. Yet I must know something about your mission. I risk much on your word and that bauble upon your finger."

"Just so," Charles agreed.

The ambassador looked at him expectantly, but he found that he wasn't nearly so glib in pants as he was in skirts.

"I know not where to begin," he said as they were tossed violently in the coach as it careened towards the waterfront.

"You could begin by explaining your... exotic taste in underthings."

Charles considered the response he must give. He did not wish to give too much away, yet De Grasse seemed a very discerning man and one who seemed very discreet. Deciding he was in no position to lie, Charles simply chose not to reveal too much.

"Ah, I have spent some time as a guest of the English, as you have heard. I found it expedient to do so as lady rather than a man, for reasons related to how closely I was watched and more importantly, how closely I was searched. I carry a letter for the King, from Elizabeth's court in Russia."