Duel and Duality Book 1 of Poacher s ProgressChapter 28 The Duel
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The Duel free porn video
The year is 1820 and a relative peace resides in Europe. It is a time where the Nobility of a handful of Continental families rule over the millions of common people across borders and barriers of language. Living in decadent opulence, their lives consist of balls, operas and hunting parties, an endless series of social gatherings across the great cities of Europe, every man assured in the knowledge that the world and everything in it is placed purely for his own pleasure..
Marie de Solle, now known as Madam van Berkamp, huddled in the coach as it bumped and swayed along the deeply rutted road through the dark Bavarian forest. She hugged her arms to her sides, sinking into the fine leather seat, wrapping the thick furs around her. Her petite figure and tiny, porcelain face were barely visible below the piles of blankets and exquisite furs. The chill in the air that penetrated her shawl and full length coat was eclipsed only by the numbness she felt at her breast, the nerves that made her so sick to her stomach that she had dry heaved a number of times already that morning. Sick from the anticipation that the man she adored, worshipped and indeed relied on for everything in her life may be dead before the sun chased away the cold and darkness. The knowledge that he may well die for no other reason than her very own stupid folly.
The black coach thundered through a sunken part of the road, the horses snorting nostrils spewing plumes of steam, illuminated by the swaying lanterns attached to the drivers post creating an erie glow. The massive frame of McCreedy, her husbands coach driver, batman and manservant, crouched over the reins as he spurred the horses on. Pines, firs and oak branches whipped at the coach windows, fine ribbons of mist were parted with the carriages passing. McCreedy drew in the reins and brought the horses to a trot as the road opened out into a large clearing. Wheeling around a cul-de-sac, the horses came to an impatient stop, invigorated by their exercise, with a stamping of hooves and the jingling of bits, their sides lathered with shining sweat despite the cold.
They were drawn alongside an old hitching rail on the edge of some well manicured grounds, bordered at each end by the towering, mist shrouded forest. To the right, the grass sloped away to a low stone wall, beyond which the ground dropped suddenly into a breathtaking view of the valley below. Thick forest gave way to open pastural lands, a patchwork of different browns and green interspaced with a few tiny hamlets in the very bottom of the valley, visible only by the church spires rising out of the mist. To the left of the small clearing stood a modest chalet, by winter a trappers hut, by summer, as now was approaching, a hunting lodge for some local noble.
The scene was lit by the lightening sky to the East, above the dark dome of the night sky still remained, stars sparkling. In front of the eves of the Chalet, two groups of coated men stood about fifty yards apart, each surrounded by a pool of light from storm lanterns held by those in each party. MCreedy opened the door to the coach, adorned with the coat of arms of her husbands once great family. He silently held out his hand and helped her down. ‘A hot coffee Ma’am?’ he questioned, holding up a flask of steaming, strong smelling coffee, sweetened by a drab of whiskey.
‘Thank you, but I fear I will not be able to stomach it’ she spoke faintly.
At that moment, her heart seemed to stop, as below in the valley miles away, a church bell tolled six, the appointed time for this gathering. Her breast tightened and she reached for McCreedy’s steel forearm as her head swam with the drama, her breath, already restricted by the corset of her undergarments, shortened. Through the gloom and dispersing mist, she could see the tall frame of her husband in one of the groups. His broad shoulders and easy stance were recognizable anywhere, for a moment she almost forgot her distress as she saw how even in this time of crisis, amongst the bravest and sternest of men, he alone shone brightest, his personality silently commanded those around him. Although she could not see his features in the gloom, she could picture his military length dark hair and stern eyebrows, his laughing green eyes and his distinguished moustache.
As the bells ceased, echoing in Marie’s ears like bells of mourning, the two groups began to move together. Her husband took off his overcoat and hat, handing it to his second. He was now wearing his tailored Hussars trousers, regaled with the blue cavalry stripe of the Hungarian Horse, his current posting, and a white cotton long sleeved undershirt. In the ever increasing light, she could make out the his lips firmly set, a concentration that she had seen many times before. Even from this distance however and for the first time in the time that she had known him, all laughter had left his bright eyes, instead replaced with a cold, piercing stare. Through her nervousness, her heart fluttered with what could only be described as excitement, so this is what he looks like in battle she thought. Finally she had an insight into her impeccably mannered husbands other life. The life of a soldier that he loved so much, had won so much fame, glory and riches. She stirred as the feeling rose, her hands shook beneath her fur hand warmer. Her stomach turned in mixed anxiety, fear and excitement.
The clearing was lit now in a grey light, the last stars were fading and the seconds doused their lamps. The groups split up, the majority withdrew to the front of the chalet. The duel had not been advertised, but those that etiquette dictated had a right to attend had gathered. The host of the ball at which the challenge was made, the local governor, the commanding officer of Bavarian Infantry Regiment and a number of aides took their places under the eves of the chalet, smoking quietly, a few murmurs passing between them as side bets were made. In the centre of the clearing, framed as it was by the mist shrouded forest, stood Captain van Berkamp and his second, Lieutenant Wittengstein. Ten yards opposite Colonel Tachovski and his second also made their preparations. Between them stood old General von Karlson, the venerable and hardened army doctor. His steady old body was set into motion on the last, far off strike of the church bell. He slowly and deliberately carried two cases across the dewy grass with military rigidity, the efficiency that knows accuracy is much better than speed in these situations, as in battle, that one must fight to be overcome by the emotions associated with the presence of death. He placed one to the side, a large leather medical case about twenty paces from where the two antagonists faced each other. He carried the other, small black case back to the centre, pausing and gathering himself.
‘Gentleman’ his voice boomed, speaking in the language of the Continent, French, in a barrack room voice, shattering the absolute silence of the spring morning. ‘Before we go on, is there any way the two parties can be reconciled?’. Marie faltered, leaning on McCreedy’s strong arm as these words were spoken, bringing her presence by the coach opposite the lawn to attention to all.
‘Captain van Berkamp, you as the injured party have the last chance now to withdraw your challenge’. Berkamp stood tall, shoulders back, white shirt open at the chest, gently rising and falling with his measured breaths. His eyes showed no change as he stared down his adversary. ‘Colonel Tachovski, Mr Berkamp here offered to withdraw any challenge the instant you apologized on the honour of his wife, what say you Sir?’
Tachovski spoke in a cracking voice, that gained in confidence as he spoke. ‘I would like again to protest the presence of a lady at this hour, especially as it is none other than the lady over which this rash challenge has been issued, through no fault of my own, I cannot apologize for something which I cannot be responsible for, I again recommend that Captain van Berkamp keep a tighter
rain on Madam’ he gestured offhandedly toward the coach ‘and further more, not meddle in the societies of Europe, it is no place for a mercenary Sir!!’
There was a slight shuffling and a few murmurs among the onlookers, even in the cold light of dawn, the insult it seemed, had been doubled. Berkamp did not perceivably move a single inch of his body, but a dark cloud seemed to cross his eyes, the glowering of his brow intensified. He had transformed from the cold, steely look of a man becalmed in a crisis, to the hot tempered, furious outlook of a killer. Again he seemed to gather himself, the look of fury quickly subsided and the icy stare returned.
‘I will not sully an ounce of my honour by responding to that last remark. As to the first Sir, if my wife is to share any of the blame for this incident, then she is here to share the consequence and I hope, learn a lesson. However, your actions Sir, last night toward my wife, in my opinion have no place in the very society you speak of. Therefore, one of us must be in error. So there is no other option then for one of us to be removed from said society this very morning!!’ Berkamp’s voice was even and commanding, Marie’s little heart fluttered as she heard it for the first time for twelve hours since the dinner last night. Oh how different it sounded to when it whispered his love in her ear, when it spoke to her gaily in the mornings!
‘Very well. Gentleman, back to back if you please’ spoke the Doctor. ‘On my count, each man will pace out ten paces each and turn, pistol lowered. I will then raise my handkerchief, signaling that you may make ready. A few seconds later the handkerchief will drop, at which point both parties may fire when ready. Any questions?’ the old doctor spoke in a loud, measured voice. Once again neither uttered a sound, they both steadily walked forward, turning back to back at the centre of clearing.
‘Colonel, as the challenged party, choose your pistol’ the doctor opened the case in front of the Russian Colonel, who had kept his tunic on, adorned with medals from his countries countless campaigns through western Europe and the defense of his homeland at Smolensk, Moscow and the hell at Borodino. He reached out and took a silver and black cavalry pistol, holding it pointing skyward. Berkamp took the second pistol and the doctor calmly walked to his medical case, turning with the handkerchief now in his old, wrinkled hand.
‘Gentleman, ten paces and halt, forward march!’
Marie began to tremble uncontrollably as she watched her husband, magnificent in the early morning gloom, his white cotton shirt barely concealing his lean upper body. She was short of breath, gasping, at the excitement and terror of the moment. Her ears were deaf to the Doctor counting out each pace, she was transfixed by the figure of her husband. Oh how she loved him dearly, now more then ever in their short marriage. So often when he was off on campaign, or playing cards, or hunting, she felt so alone, even bitter towards him. He lived such a man’s life, but now she was witnessing him in that world, she was seeing another part of him and it was exciting her, making her yearn for him even more.
Through those ten short paces, Marie went through every range of emotion that a young woman in love could. She was excited, yet almost in tears in terror at the thought of his death, thinking she would throw herself off the mountain if it happened. However, as she watched, she felt a strange, primitive yearning. She watched the harsh muscle across his shoulders, exposed by the open neck shirt. His form was perfect, his skin dark, his arms and chest clearly outlined beneath the thin cotton. His jaw was set, the muscle at his temple pounding with his heart beat. Suddenly she realised that he was by far the better man, she almost smiled with the ecstasy at this discovery. What man could possibly endanger her husband? He was going to kill the Colonel dead, of this she was sure. She tried to emulate the expression of her husband, glowering, chin jutting out, eyes peering bravely outwards, ‘… Six! Seven!’
She now felt a tingling deep within her, despite the cold, she was suddenly desperately hot and flushed in her fur hat and long overcoat. Deep beneath the folds of her many layers of clothing, she felt her sex was seeping into her silk under garments, she could feel them becoming sodden, slick, feel the hot moisture around the skin of her thighs dampening at the fine dark triangle of curls. She could feel every surge of blood, moving to her engorged, swelling vagina. She could feel her clitoris enlarge, her lips open like a blooming flower, she could smell herself at her nostrils. She snuck a glance at McCreedy at her arm. He was sternly looking forward within his turned up collar and pulled down cap, ignorant it would seem to her condition. How many times would he have seen his master in battle? When he won his medals on the Peninsula in that bloody charge against the English cannon, or saving Marshall Oudinot crossing the flooded Vistula? Oh she wished she had seen him in all his moments of glory! How she yearned to see what McCreedy’s eyes had seen, at his side at every sword thrust, dashing cavalry charge and thunderous clatter of musketry.
Her breast heaved, her breath passing in little whimpering spurts past her swollen lips, red with the cold, her cheeks shining against her porcelain, perfect skin. Her brown freckles shone through across her nose, even the curls of her hair shook as they perfectly framed her face. She shifted her stance, letting out a little cry as her thighs moved, slippery now with sweet musk, rolling her tender lips and now meaty vagina against itself.
‘…Nine! Ten!’ there was a pause, both men turned in an impeccable drill movement, spinning on their heels. Marie could see the powerful thighs and strong buttocks that come from a life in the saddle of her husband, hugged by his fitted cavalry strides. He stood right foot forward, firm but casually side on, facing his adversary. Marie was panting now, through the hand warmer she pushed slightly at her pelvis, her hips moving with every pant of her shallow, rapid breath. A kaleidoscope of images was rushing through her head as time stood still on that meadow, she saw his body above her, over her, her hands scrabbling at his hairy, broad chest as he took her. She saw his face, howling in anger as he charged into a bloody mass of infantry, cutting at limb after limb with his saber. She saw him tall, handsome in the uniform of Napoleons Hussars, as he had been on their wedding day, her eyes dazzled by his medals.
She watched, her heart pounding in her ears, every surge reaching her clitoris, pushing slimy sex out into her clothes and silky folds of pink skin, as the doctor raised that tiny white handkerchief. Her breath stopped, her vagina flooded, she almost buckled at the knees but for the support of the still oblivious McCreedy, as both men leveled their pistols. Time stood still, another lifetime past, Marie could wait no longer as it felt like she had to relieve some massive pressure within her. A breeze was picking up now as the sun warmed the masses of air on the slopes and in the valleys. Her husbands shirt sleeve, fluttered, his fringe moved. She watched the horrible, trembling, black eye that was Colonel Tachovski’s barrel. Her fear rose suddenly again, as the moment neared. The handkerchief fell, fluttered slowly, dancing in the breaths of air that toyed with it. Marie was seeing the scene now detached, her eyes took it in, but she was aware only of her vagina, her clitoris, her lips pulsing out, pushing out a trickle of fluid. Fear in her stomach, turning over, her head swimming. Her panting breath, a longing for him to take her, angry, violent, cold as he was now. A longing to see blood, to see death pass between these two great men.
It was all over in a micro second, but Marie saw it all as if in the acts of a play. The handkerchief hit the ground, landing on a purple alpine orchid. Tachovski’s barrel spewed spark a
nd white smoke, expanding out of it like an avalanche of white snow at its full, terrifying speed. An instant later, Berkamp’s pan sparked as he too fired. Marie could sense that the balls passed each other, perhaps a third of the distance between them in front of her husband, who stood unflinchingly. She felt a wave of release, withering with a slow moan as her being gave in to her urge to orgasm, a bucking, leaking, crippling wave of sensualism as she watched the red line of the ball grazing her beloved Hans’ cheek. She buckled with the relief and ecstasy of her orgasm combined with the sight of her husbands handsome cheek torn open as the hot ball whipped along his skin, a blissful flesh wound only, the blood already running down the line of his jaw, splattering in startling crimson on his shirt.
An imperceivable fraction of time later, her orgasm was redoubled with a loud cry as with a bloody smack, her husbands ball found its mark at the base of the Colonel’s throat. A spurt of crimson blood arched across the dawn sky as he collapsed to his knees, his throat opened with a horrific, jagged gash. He was unconscious before he hit the ground as the ball lodged in his spine, yet he gurgled and spluttered as his being breathed its last breath. Marie crumpled in a shuddering orgasm, the combination of relief, ecstasy at her husbands survival, love of the new man in him she had witnessed and a prime evil blood lust for the death of his adversary. Her vagina sparked with flaming pleasure, as if the intense scenes her eyes witnessed resulted in some physical manipulation of her steaming, seeping sex.
Marie’s nostrils were assailed with the sweet, slaughter house stench of death in the clear, cool air, mixed with the pungent smell of her own bodies excretions as the orgasm subsided. Her last thought was of running to her husband, who motionless as he watched his adversary live out the last few seconds of a violent life, with the impossibly peaceful backdrop of the natural beauty of the surrounds. His shoulders were slumped, his pistol dangled from his hand by his side, his cheek bled onto his shoulder and chest, spreading across his shirt, which fluttered silently in the breeze. Marie had taken her first steps to run to him, feeling McCreedy gently hold her back, before she fainted and darkness descended upon her.
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