time-historical The American Musketeer : A Series

[CardiMuscleman]

Story One: The Birth of the American Musketeer

Chapter One: The Titan's Challenge

"You're listening to FC 100.4FM and now the weather sponsored by your local credit union!"

 

Roger laid down by the pool and started to apply his sunscreen.

 

"It's a hot one today in Fort Collins, with highs topping the 100 mark. UV level is described as high so don't forget that sunscreen folks!"

 

"No chance of that!" thought Roger as he finished the application, put on a pair of sunglasses and settled down to enjoy the Colorado sun. It had been a busy day for Roger. He'd done three personal training sessions, spoken in favour of a $15 minimum wage, created three posing programmes for his clients and had just done twenty laps of his pool as a cool down. He was so tired that as he felt the hot sun tan his muscular body, he gently fell asleep.

 

"CADET DIXON! GET OUT OF BED RIGHT NOW AND FOLLOW ME!"

 

The sudden (and quite unexpected alarm call) woke Roger up with such a start that he fell onto the floor with a bump. He growled as he picked himself up and demanded to know what was going on.

 

"As if you didn't know!" chuckled the man who was dressed in a very fine uniform, "Now get dressed and come on!"

 

Roger scratched his head but found a uniform on the bed in front of him and put it on. He couldn't think where he had seen the uniform before but put it on and followed the man outside. What he saw took Roger completely by surprise. It was pretty clear that he was not in Fort Collins, Colorado state in 2007 as where in Fort Collins, no scratch that the United States would there be almost a castle like building that seemed to be home to various people (all men) doing things straight out of a Ren Faire. There were people jabbing at dummies with large swords, chatting around barrels and even one person doing a very good impression of being pelted with tomatoes. After a while, the person in front told Roger to stop and he knocked on a door and was allowed entry.

 

Roger tried to figure what was going on but was failing badly. Just then the person came back and said "Hey, dreamer! Captain Treville wants to see you!"

 

Roger entered the room with his head spinning. "Captain Treville, but that was impossible" he thought to himself, "He was captain of the Musketeers in the 17th century in France". Lost in his thoughts Roger collided with the Captain's desk and caused Treville to look up. He was clearly annoyed. He stood up to his full height (towering over Roger by a good six inches) and looked down at him.

 

"You have only been here 24 hours" he said, "and yet in that time you have managed to burn the flagpole, scare off our best horses, ruin a perfectly good sword and if that wasn't bad enough, disgrace the uniform of a Musketeer cadet by swimming in the Royal pond naked! Do you have anything to say?"

 

"Was Her Majesty pleased?" asked Roger, with a smile on his face

 

"PORTHOS!" shouted the Captain at a volume so loud Roger covered his ears in case they popped. A short while later, a man entered who was nearly a foot taller than Roger and at least 50lbs heavier.

 

"Porthos" said the Captain, "I am giving you responsibility for this ruffian. I am assuming that as you're the strongest Musketeer you can try and knock some sense into him!"

 

Roger looked Porthos up and down. Sure he looked big, but he had read suggestions that Porthos was a bit like a power lifter, strong but not that muscled. He then made what could have been a fatal mistake, he made a comment.

 

"Sir" he said, bowing to the Captain, "I realise that I'm only a cadet, but I beg to differ! I believe I am the strongest man in this room at the moment!"

 

Porthos looked down at Roger and then started to laugh. "Okay then little man" he said, "I accept your challenge!" and then he turned to Treville. "Summon the garrison, Treville, there's going to be a contest!"

 

"Musketeers" shouted Captain Treville, "Musketeer Porthos has been challenged to a series of feats of physical strength chosen by his challenger Cadet Dixon. Come one, come all and witness this battle of strength"

 

Roger was surprised that Porthos had agreed to his choice of events (all of which he excelled in) and was beginning to wonder if this was a big mistake on his part but decided not to show any sign of pulling out as Porthos entered the centre of the garrison to a huge cheer. Roger gulped as nearly every Musketeer jeered him as he entered despite bowing to Porthos who ignored him completely.

 

"The first event" announced Treville, "is the cask lift. At the far end of the garrison are five casks. The first one is empty, the second contains wine, the third wet sand, the fourth rocks and the fifth contains cannonballs. Your task is to start from here, pick up cask up and then create a tower as high as you can. The person who is able to build the tallest tower wins. Cadet Dixon, you are the smaller, therefore you go first. Aramis, a gunshot if you please!"

 

Aramis fired a gun and Roger raced off. The first cask was easy, and he had no problem picking it up and placing it on the cask of wine. And the combined weight of those two wasn't a problem either. The problems began with the cask of wet sand but it wasn't the weight that was a problem. He reckoned that so far he was lifting only 250lbs (well below the 445lbs he could dead lift with ease); the problem was balancing it all.  By the time he had got to the fourth cask it was starting to wobble slightly. He took a deep breath and grunted as he lifted the fourth cask but unfortunately the first cask fell off the top and Aramis signalled that he had finished by firing a gun again. As Porthos set off, Roger was sure he'd have the same problem as him, but was staggered when Porthos tipped the casks on their side and balanced them on his barrel chest. Roger was in the midst of complaining to Treville when a gun fired. He turned round to see Porthos with a broad grin on his face with a tower of two barrels on each of his pecs and the fifth balanced between the two. "DAMN!" he swore under his breath

 

"Porthos wins the first challenge,” announced Treville to the crowd of cheering Musketeers, "the next challenge is arm wrestling. To ensure fair play, both contestants must show that they are using only their arms so therefore take off your shirts. Roger smiled and roared as he ripped off his top of his uniformed and hit a most muscular pose. Porthos chuckled and then took his shirt off to reveal the largest chest Roger had ever seen. It wasn't as defined as his was, in fact he felt sure it looked more like a old style Russian weightlifter's chest than a bodybuilder's chest, but when Porthos flexed his biceps even he had to consider if he had bitten off more than he could chew and they seemed serious mountains of muscle.

 

Porthos and Roger sat down facing each other, grabbed each other's hand and the bout started. Roger was relieved when it became clear that he was able to contain Porthos's strength, as he knew that if he could ensure that Porthos didn't win within five minutes there was every chance that he could. Indeed, for the Musketeers this element was starting to get a little boring as both hands stayed stationery.

 

"Come on Porthos,” shouted a voice, "you can take this upstart down!"

 

"What do you think I'm doing Athos?" Porthos grunted but still the hands remained stationery. Beads of sweat were starting to form on Porthos's brow and so Roger decided to take a chance. He took a deep breath and pushed hard. Porthos was taken quite by surprise but managed to prevent his hand going down. Roger piled on the pressure and without warning Porthos's hand hit the table. Roger leapt up and hit a double biceps pose only to be greeted by booing.

 

"The final challenge" announced Treville silencing the crowd, "will decide the result. It will depend on the strength of the legs and the stomach, therefore I ask that all ladies who may be present to leave."

 

Roger was a bit bemused by this statement and wondered what was going to happen, his answer soon came when Treville turned to them.

 

"Gentlemen, you may now disrobe!"

 

Porthos wasted no time and tore off his trousers leaving Roger slightly stunned. Was he stunned at the fact that nudity was being tolerated in the mid 1600's or was he stunned at the size of Porthos's legs (all three of them)? Still, he was being challenged and so followed suit. Treville then instructed them to both sit down with their legs apart then manually moved them so that Porthos had his legs wrapped around Roger and Roger had his legs wrapped around Porthos. Next he summoned Athos who arrived with a two pairs of chains that he attached to both of their hands that were placed behind them. "The first person to force the other to submit is the overall winner,” announced Treville, and with that Aramis fired the gun.

 

Roger was delighted. This final test was right up his street and he soon dived right into the task. It was a little tricky trying to manoeuvre and Porthos's middle leg got in the way on several occasions but eventually he had managed to free him from the hold and had Porthos face down in the dirt with his legs behind his back. He was finally confident that this wouldn't take too long. Or at least he would have been if he'd not heard Porthos growling. He managed to place a finger on Porthos's pec and was stunned to count Porthos's pulse climbing from at least 150 to almost 190. He was gearing himself up for something and that something was to take Roger's breath away. With a roar, Porthos snapped the chains and threw Roger onto his front. If Roger wanted to win he was going to have to do the same. The idea of breaking a chain like in the old muscle films he watched was unbelievable, but knowing he'd have to do it he closed his eyes and concentrated. Thinking of all the musclemen he'd seen on the big screen (Steve Reeves, Dave Draper, and even Arnie) breaking free of being imprisoned he too growled and to his amazement his chains snapped as well. He launched himself at Porthos, grabbed him in a leg lock and squeezed hard. "I surrender,” gasped Porthos after a good five minutes.

 

Roger stood up, and flexed hard as Treville raised his hand. The Musketeers didn't know what to think unless Porthos stood up and addressed them.  Fellow Musketeers" he said, "It has been written that I could only be bested by a son of Hercules. Behold that son!" and he raised Roger's other hand in the air. The garrison cheered as Porthos slapped Roger on the back and led him back to the barracks.

 

The following day Roger was aching all over, but was solaced by the presence of Porthos who seemed to have accepted him like a son, which might explain why he was telling him that he would be permitted to ride with the Musketeers that afternoon (if he wasn't in too much pain) and be given a guided tour of Paris. Roger smiled broadly and asked if they could find a horse that would be able to carry him.

[Ro20316]

Interesting set up. I bet Roger will think it's somekind of dream

[convolution]

Great beginning☺

Very cinematic; I was "watching" the action while reading.

[CardiMuscleman]

Chapter Two: Worshipped by the Enemy

Roger was still hobbling a little when Porthos returned but was disappointed to hear that all the horses capable of carrying him were being used for a royal parade, but consoled him when he was told that he could have a walk around Paris. It soon became clear why Porthos has suggested this. Even though he was fully clothed, Roger cut a dashing figure and several of the ladies (not to mention a few of the men) asked to feel the strength in his arms. Roger was lapping it up and turned a corner, bumping into a person wearing a blue uniform who seemed scared witless.

 

“Please, don’t hurt me, I’m a nobody. Oh, the streets aren’t safe anymore!” and he crossed himself.

 

This struck Roger as being just a little bit odd, but not half as odd as what happened next as the man drew his sword, dashed past him and started waving it around like a madman. “Er, excuse me?” asked Roger, “would you care to explain what you are doing?”.

 

The man stopped and turned to face Roger. “I am your sworn enemy!” he said, and started waving his sword around again. Roger grabbed the sword from the man, grunted as he bent it into a circle, his chest expanding to fill the whole of his uniform and as he threw it to the ground and began to demand an exploitation. he was greeted by... 

 

“Oh, my!” gasped the man, “It’s true. The Son of Porthos has joined the Musketeers!” and he fainted on the spot.

 

After carrying the man to the nearby River Seine and dousing him with handfuls of water, Roger hoped he might be able to get some sense of him when he revived, but no, he was still dumbstruck by Roger. “

 

Look” said Roger, “my name is Roger, and no I am not the son of Porthos but I am stronger than him! Now, what’s your name?”

 

“Jean-Paul" stammered the man.

 

“And apart from my strength” said Roger, casually flexing his bicep, “what is it about me that scares you worse than a politician being caught kissing his transgendered lover in a public bathroom?”

 

Jean Paul said nothing and pointed at Roger.

 

It took a little time to figure out what Jean Paul was going on about, but when Roger pointed to the Musketeer’s logo on the uniform he was wearing, Jean Paul sank to the ground and wept.

 

“Oh” said Roger, realising, “don’t worry. I’m not a Musketeer. I’ve only just joined!”

 

Jean Paul stopped bawling and looked up.

 

“See!” added Roger as he took the uniform off.

 

Jean Paul stared at Roger, stood up and placed his hand on Roger’s left pec. “My lord, you art…” mumbled Jean Paul

 

“Muscled?” smiled Roger, “Yes, I am!” and he bounced his pecs.

 

Jean Paul fell to the ground again and began to wail. “I am not worthy to serve such a man!”

 

Roger was about to tell him to stop when an idea crossed his mind. “Would I be right in thinking that you like strong men?” he asked.

 

Jean Paul nodded and wailed "My father was the strongest man in my village. Every day when I was growing up I wanted to feel his arms, listen to his roars as he lifted rocks as big as me, feel the essence of a man enter me!"

 

“Right” he said and decided to give Jean Paul a show. First of all, he asked if Jean Paul had anything on him that a normal person wouldn’t be able to move. Jean Paul dug around in his pockets and found a gourd containing his ration of wine for the day. Roger took it off him, placed it in the cradle formed by his bicep and flexed. About a minute later, the gourd exploded and wine started to run down Roger’s bicep.

 

“Oh, my lord!” gasped Jean Paul, “show me more!”

 

“For my next trick!” smiled Roger, as he found a large log nearby, “I shall lift this log over my head and hold it for as long as you want me to!” and with that he squatted down to the log, and performed a perfect clean and jerk overhead press. Jean Paul was by now a jabbering wreck and began to take off his uniform as well. Roger smiled and started to perform several overhead presses each time huffing and puffing as he did. It was clear that Jean Paul was enjoying the show immensely. After thirty reps, he threw the log into the river and flexed his triceps.

 

Jean Paul, now naked bar for a loincloth instantly grabbed the muscles and squeezed as hard as he could. “You call that a squeeze?” asked Roger, before lifting Jean Paul into the air and pressing him. Jean Paul started to huff and puff as well and a few moments later Roger became aware of something wet falling from above him accompanied by groans from Jean Paul. “Is it raining up there?” he joked and was greeted by a moan.

 

Just then the bells of Notre Dame chimed signalling ten minutes to the start of curfew. Roger would have liked to have spent the rest of the evening seeing how much more Jean Paul could take, but knowing that the punishment for breaking curfew was a day in the stocks he decided against it and told Jean Paul so.

 

“Throw me into the river, you son of Porthos, and show me why the Musketeers can never beat us!” groaned Jean Paul

 

Roger agreed and squatted down before proving (some 300 years before the game was invented) that white men can indeed jump by throwing Jean Paul into the river. “And that’s how you score a three pointer” he smiled as he started to get dressed again.

 

"This Cardinal’s Guardsman salutes you, the strongest of all the Musketeers!” said Jean Paul as he swam to the other side of the river.

 

Back at Musketeer Headquarters, Roger related (not quite all) of his adventures that afternoon to Porthos who smiled and patted him on the back. “Well done” he said, “for keeping the Musketeers tradition of showing that the Cardinal’s Guards are nothing but wimps!” and promised to tell him some of his own dealings with the Guardsmen.

 

However, neither of them would have been smiling if they knew what was happening at the offices of Cardinal Richelieu who listened to Jean Paul’s report with interest. Porthos, he knew about, but this new Musketeer with strength equal to or even besting Porthos was a danger. He asked his adviser and Captain of his Guards Widimir what to do and he drew a blank. Then he had an idea and asked Widimir to summon “My lady” and with that gave a wicked laugh.

 

“You wanted to see me, Your Eminence”

 

Cardinal Richieu leapt out of his skin as Milady announced her presence in his quarters.

 

“Milady!” he scolded, “How did you get in here without being noticed?”

 

“I have my ways, Your Eminence” she replied, “but I believe that you have a job for me?”

 

“Yes” replied the Cardinal, “do you recognise this person” and passed her a lithograph etching of Roger taken by one of his many spies.

 

“Ah, yes” replied Milady, tracing Roger’s outline with her finger, “The new son of Porthos I have been hearing a lot about!”

 

“I want you to get rid of him!” said the Cardinal, “using all your wiles as I know you will”

 

Milady smiled wickedly and pocketed the lithograph, “It will be my pleasure!” she said

[Ro20316]

Ohhh the plot tickens.

Now there is a witch in town.

Be carefull Roger

[CardiMuscleman]

Chapter Three: L' Madam Dangereux

It was another fairly usual afternoon in the life of the Musketeers. Aramis was serenading his latest girlfriend (his 15th that week), Athos was making his daily survey of the wineries of Paris (and threatening to bankrupt half of them) and Porthos and Roger were ensuring that all of Paris knew that the Musketeers now boasted twice the strength they did prior to Roger’s arrival. As they wandered Porthos was telling Roger about some of his past exploits.

 

“So there I was,” he said, as they turned into a street, “naked as the day I was born with a spear pointed at my stomach!”

 

“Goodness” said Roger, “what did you say to the farm maid’s father?”

 

“Your pilum may be harder than my sternum” he said, “but my spear is harder than your pilum!” and he burst out laughing

 

Roger smiled as he looked at the torso of the man that so many had called a Titan. He had seen the mammoth member that Porthos possessed and wondered if he should admit that he was bisexual if only to feel the agony of that member ramming into him. That was until a shout shattered the atmosphere.

 

“RUNAWAY CART!”

 

Roger looked into the distance and saw a heavily laden cart hurtling towards a group of children playing in the street. Without saying a word to Porthos, he broke into a run, jumped over the children and lifted the cart over his head, a feat of strength that was immediately noticed by the crowd gathered in the marketplace and as Roger put the cart down, he welcomed the acclaim.

 

“Yet another reason” said Porthos walking up, “why the Musketeers are the best in the whole of France!” and with that gave Roger a massive slap on the back.

 

“A sentiment I can concur with, my lord” said a woman wandering up with a melon in her hand. “Thank you” she continued, “I was loading that cart with my wares to sell when I accidentally nudged it and as you can see I am in no condition to chase after it!”

 

“Madam” said Porthos, doffing his hat, “We Musketeers take an oath to serve all” and with that he nudged Roger who also doffed his hat.

 

“In that case, I think you deserve a reward. Come, follow me and I will ensure that you are justly rewarded!” she said

 

Roger looked at Porthos who winked at him and said quietly “Musketeer Benefits!” before laughing loudly and signing autographs.

 

The woman led Roger to a room in an inn and apologising for her tying up her shoes in public invited Roger to sit at a table laden for tea. “I would first of all like to thank you for saving my livelihood” she said.

 

“That’s quite all right,” said Roger as he sat down and was offered a cup of tea.

 

“Would you like some honey to sweeten it?” she asked

 

“Why, thank you” said Roger, “it seems only fair that tea made by such a honey should receive more honey!”

 

The lady smiled as she poured four drops of honey into the cup and Roger thought to himself “Yep, you’ve still got it!” remembering the women that he regularly dazzled in Fort Collins with his physique. As he drank the tea he asked  "Are you a merchant by trade?"

 

“Alas” replied the woman, “I used to be a lady in waiting at the court, but my husband was killed at the Battle of Navarre a decade ago and without no means of support I had to rely on my farm as a source of income”

 

“That is a shame,” said Roger, “Am I to presume then that you are looking for a husband?”

 

“I agreed to only find a husband who could keep me in the manner I was accustomed to. A man who was as strong as he was kind!” she replied.

 

As Roger stood up, he could feel his cock starting to harden. He replied, “Madam, I would like to present myself as a candidate” as he found a nearby box and squatted down to lift it. He had done this sort of things thousands of times and as he started to lift the box, he could feel his cock react. The higher the box came, the more rampaging a hard on he was experiencing and as he raised it over his head he could only think of ramming Porthos to within an inch of his life. As he roared in triumph, he suddenly lost his grip and the box crashed to the ground as Roger yawned.

 

“Are you feeling tired?” asked the lady, “if so then the drug that I put in your tea is working. That wasn’t honey I added, it was a powerful hypnotic drug. Within the next minute you will be under my control!"

 

Roger stared at the woman in disbelief. Mind controlling drugs didn't, no, couldn't exist in the seventeenth century. But as he yawned again, he could feel his mind losing the will to function. Grabbing hold of the table, he gritted his teeth in an effort to combat the sensation, but it was to no avail and as he succumbed to the drug he swore "You fucking..." before he collapsed to the ground.

Several hours later, a very blank looking Roger left the inn and starting walking aimlessly with the same message repeating over and over again. “Tonight at three, you will kill the Queen!”

 

There was a lunar eclipse in the sky, which everyone in Paris was noting with interest but not Roger as he made his way to the Palace. He got to a door and continued to walk against it, which surprised one of the guards who asked him what he was doing. Roger replied by punching him in the stomach and then pushing against the door until it caved in and then continuing on his way. The two guards in charge of main entrance to the Palace noted Roger’s odd method of walking.

 

“I say,” said one of them, “do you think he’s walking through the flower bed for a reason?”

 

“Don’t know” replied the other, “Hey, why are you…?”

 

Two uppercuts to the chin soon dealt with their enquiries and using his strength again another set of doors was demolished. The first guard instantly realised that something was wrong and ran off to raise the alarm.

 

Versailles Palace was an intricate building full of paintings of past monarchs, golden floors and the most decorative carpets even seen. Roger ignored all of these as he continued on his mission. Another guard was dispatched by means of a body check and soon Roger found himself outside the Queen’s room. He kicked the door down and entered. As he did, a clock chimed three o’clock and he looked around. He saw a bed with a lady lying in it and around several smaller beds with more ladies in them.

 

“Which one of you is Her Majesty the Queen?” he barked causing all the ladies to wake up with a start.

 

“Who are you?” asked the lady in the biggest bed.

 

“My name is Roger Dixon, Cadet of His Majesty’s Musketeers. I am to kill the Queen of France and then jump from the nearest window!” he said pointing to a window.

 

One of the other ladies gasped, “but we are four floors high, you will be killed!”

 

Roger repeated his question and one of the ladies got out of bed.

 

“You are the famous son of Porthos, yes?” she said, “If so, undress and show us your famed strength!”

 

Roger did as he was commanded much to the surprise of the person in the largest bed but as he undressed she went over to her and said “Anne, I believe that this man has been drugged by the enemies of the Crown. It is best if we try and delay him for as long as possible in the hope that your Musketeers will come and save us!”

 

Roger repeated his question and the lady came up to him. “My name is Juliet and I have been a fan of yours since I heard about you defeating Porthos. Show us your strength and how you defeated the strongest of the Musketeers”

 

Roger instantly launched into a series of poses and at every pose the lady rubbed the muscle being flexed. After a while the other ladies joined in and soon he was covered with ladies feeling every muscle. There was such a crowd that Roger was forced to the ground. “Now show us your strength” said the lady, “Push us all up as many times as you can!” and with that Roger started doing pushups.

 

Just then Porthos arrived at the door and gasped “Your Majesty”

 

Roger's eyes, that had been dropping, suddenly opened wide and lifting the women off his back, he stood up and repeated his question and added, “You have been identified as the Queen, you must die!” and started making his way towards the Queen. Porthos charged into the room and tackled him like a rugby player to the ground. Grabbing his hands he turned Roger around and dug his knee into his back.

 

“Your Majesty” he said, trying to keep Roger still, “this man has been drugged by Milady de Winter. He has been hypnotised into killing you. I beg that you leave this room while I attempt to stop him!”

 

The Queen and her maids left, and when they had Porthos let go of Roger and rammed him against the wall.

 

“Roger” he said, “Wake up, it’s me Porthos!”

 

“I must kill the Queen!” Roger repeated

 

"Please" wailed Porthos, digging his knee into Roger's back, "I...I don't want to hurt you. You are as strong as me and I, I have never met a man who could resist my strength before. Please, wake up. Fight Milady's control of you. I...I...I need to feel your essence enter my being!"

 

But Porthos's wails had no effect on Roger and with a heavy heart and a whispered "Please forgive me!" Roger was propelled through the wall by the force of Porthos’s punch and landed in the hallway. Dazed, he managed to stand up but was knocked out by an uppercut to his chin that sent him flying into the air, over the bannister at the top of the stairs and crashed into the floor at the bottom of the stairs which such force that when the rest of the Musketeers and the palace guard arrived, they found the Titan nursing Roger and wailing "I've killed him. I've killed the only man, save my father, who could resist my strength!"

 

[Ro20316]

Interesting turns of events butim sure Roger is fine. Ifnot eh will wake up on his time

[CardiMuscleman]

Chapter Four: The Hangman's Next Victim?

Roger woke up the next morning groaning in agony. As he opened his eyes, he found himself restrained by four massive lengths of chains attended to rings which themselves were embedded deep into the stone of the floor he was lying on. As he looked around, he wondered if he had been filmed taking part in a sex game and been completely forgotten about and so called "Hey, anyone around?". In response a slit opened in the door in front of him and he saw two eyes peer through. “Ah” said the guard on the other side, “the would be assassin is awake. Marvellous, we should be able to execute you by the end of the day!”

 

Roger’s arrest on charges of attempted murder were the talk of Musketeer HQ at breakfast that day and despite Porthos’s explanation, none of the legal authorities were accepting it and were preparing for a show trial at the end of which Roger would be executed as an attempted murderer. It was an idea that filled Porthos with dread and he raised the issue with Athos and Aramis who sympathised but agreed there was nothing they could do. Porthos would never make up such a tale unless he truly believed it and a Musketeer's word could never be anything bar the truth. A few moments later D'Artangan joined them and asked what they were discussing. They told him and he came up with a suggestion that seemed to make little or no sense.

 

“Tell a tale of cock and bull!” he said

“I’m sorry?” said Roger, “tell a tale of cock and bull? What are you on about?”

 

Roger was glad to see that the Musketeers had decided to visit him in prison, but D’Artagnan’s idea seemed incredulous.

 

“Look, back in the 1530’s in England, there was this person who had been accused of witchcraft and imprisoned in the Tower of London. Now, the jailer was rather interested in marrying this person’s daughter and so when the date of his execution had been announced came up with an idea that was formulated by a local jester who was in the Tower of London at the same time!” said D’Artagnan.

 

Roger couldn’t immediately think why, but this was all sounding rather familiar to him. “And?” asked Roger

 

“Well, they fired off an arquebus…” started D’Artagnan but was stopped by Porthos who was scratching his head

 

“A what?” he asked

 

“An Arquebus” replied D’Artagnan, “it’s a type of long barrelled rifle but that’s not important now. They fired this rifle off and then basically told a complete lot of falsehoods. They suggested that the person who had been imprisoned had been shot by the jailer and had drowned in the Thames and thus couldn’t be executed, when in fact he was alive and well and dressed as a Yeoman of the Guard!”

 

“And you think something along those lines will work in this case?” asked Athos

 

“I would like to think so certainly” replied D'Artangan and then as he thought about it, he started to nod his head, “In fact I am so confident I suggest we get started right away” and with that he made for the door, opened it and asked to speak to the guard nodding at Athos.

 

“So tell me Roger,” he said in a manner loud enough for the guard to hear, “why did you want to kill the Queen? You are restrained and cannot escape from the truth!"

 

“But” started Roger, but was shushed by Porthos, who grabbed the chains and started to rattle them.

 

"Only the Titan himself can escape from those chains!" declared Athos, "now answer my question!"

 

Still with a finger on Roger's lips, Porthos continued to rattle the chains and started to wrap one of them around his arms then with a mighty roar that seemed to fill the cell, he pulled the chain from it's socket.

 

“No” said Athos in a louder voice, “that's impossible. Aramis, defend me!”

 

Aramis drew his sword and started swishing it about in the air above his head and then threw it to the ground as Porthos pulled out another chain with an ever louder roar.

 

"No, by the Lord God!" declared Aramis is horror as he winked at Roger, "Porthos, protect us from this demon!" as Porthos pulled out the remaining chains and then roared. “It’s looks like it’s just you and me,” he grunted as he backed towards the door and then started to push against it. “No!” he roared, “I will not let you escape” and then started to push even harder. “D’Artagnan” he shouted, “take that guard and raise the alarm. The prisoner is escaping!”. Roger could hear the running of footsteps as Porthos made the door explode outwards. As he did Roger said "What on earth are you up to?"

 

Athos sighed and said “Here’s your tale of cock and bull!”

 

Roger instantly realised that the Musketeers were faking an escape for him and offering the remainder of the chains to Porthos who freed him completely in seconds, he dashed out and shouted, “No prison can hold Roger Dixon!” before bowing to his friends and rescuers. He ran outside where he found a horse munching on some oats. He jumped on, geed the horse and rode out of Paris not knowing what would happen next.

[CardiMuscleman]

Chapter Five : The American Musketeer Evolved

Roger had no idea how long he’d been riding for but as the sun set over the forest that he was entering, he knew it had to be at least eight hours and he was starting to get a little tired but he soon got a rude awakening as the horse beneath him just collapsed and threw him into a nearby hedge.

 

“Perhaps I have been riding for a while!” he mused as he clambered out of the hedge and seeing his horse lying on the ground, spread-eagled and panting, hen gently patted it and whispered "Thank you for sparing my life" and with that he grabbed a nearby piece of moss and covered it over him as he went to sleep on the first night of being a fugitive from justice.

 

It was a clear, if chill, moonlit night and Roger was tossing and turning unable to get to sleep, his dreams filled with torture that made him scream in agony as his body was tested to before it's limits. Suddenly, he heard a twig snap and shot up. Had the King’s men found him and where they about to drag him back to Paris? No one came; instead he could smell something cooking. He peered over the hedge and found to his amazement three people peering over a cauldron lobbing in various items. Naturally curious he decided to investigate and announced his presence. As the people turned round and Roger tried his hardest not to be sick as they were covered in boils and warts. In fact, they reminded Roger of the classical description of witches.

 

“Hail, Prince of Fort Collins” said one of the ladies.

 

“Hail, Thane of Colorado!” said the second.

 

“Hail” started the third, “for thou shalt be a Musketeer!"

 

“You know me?” asked Roger

 

“You are the true son of Porthos!” said one of the ladies, “and we have been told all about your plight!”

 

“By whom?” asked Roger.

 

One of the ladies started to mutter something and a misty image of Porthos, dressed in nothing but a loincloth, his muscular physique on display, appeared in the smoke of the cauldron and as it did, the image winked at Roger.

 

“We are able to help you!” said another of the ladies, “by enabling you to return to Paris”

 

“But how?” said Roger, “I am a wanted criminal!"

 

“Behold” said the third lady and filled a gourd with the contents of the cauldron and presented it to Roger.

 

“Yes?” he asked quizzically.

 

The lady pressed it into his hand and then poured some of the contents into a ladle and gave it to Roger’s horse that was fast asleep. It suddenly woke up, neighed and seemed to glow with power.  Roger had to squint his eyes to see what was happening, but it seemed to be growing. Suddenly it neighed louder than ever before and Roger was thrown to the ground. When he recovered he stared in amazement. Where before had stood a normal horse now stood the biggest Shire horse he had ever seen.

 

“What the…?” he asked and then looked for the ladies, but they had disappeared along with their cauldron.

 

It took Roger some time to put two and two together, but he realised that the horse was still the same horse just bigger and a lot stronger. It then dawned on him that that is was Porthos had planned. He had to drink the contents of the gourd to be able to arrive back in Paris. As he looked at the horse, now strutting around as if it owned the place, his cock started to harden. If the contents of the gourd had the same effect on him as it did on his horse, he would become bigger than Arnie, more powerful than Porthos and be able to ram his way through so many grapefruits as to make even Kai Greene jealous. It had always been Roger's dream to step on stage and compete and the idea of him stepping on stage as a Hercules type make his cock rock hard, tenting his breeches. As he looked at the gourd, his mind reeling with images of men begging to worship him, women begging to feel his muscles and even websites crashing over his images, his rampaging cock made the decision easy and with that he downed the contents of the gourd in one and instantly pulled a face as it tasted worse than some of the concoctions sold in bodybuilding magazines as muscle builders.

 

But unlike most of those products, this one did seem to be to having an effect as he broke out into a sweat. He got so sweaty that his clothes just fell off him and he stood there dripping. That’s when the power kicked in and as he roared in ecstatic agony, he looked at his biceps which seem to explode in size. He stared in amazement as he flexed them and wondered what else was going to happen. He didn’t have too long to wait as his quads transformed into tree trunks. The sight was too much for his cock to stand and as he came everything seemed to happen at once. His waist shrank and he could feel his abs doubling in number, his calves flexed harder than they had ever done before, his back grew and as he orgasmed with a mighty roar, his transformation was complete and he was thrown against a tree knocking himself out.

 

Roger moaned as he woke up the following morning. He yawned and heard a crack. Opening his eyes he found that he had just punched his arm through an oak tree. He concentrated on his bicep and flexed it. The ball just grew and grew and grew until the tree could take no more and split right down the trunk falling on either side of Roger’s muscular arm.

 

“Oh, my word!” he gasped as he started to examine his new physique. He wished he had a mirror, a video camera and a microphone as he was desperate to commit this to YouTube (and probably overwhelm the system). He ran his hands over his mammoth chest, thumping his pecs hard then ran them over his abs counting each indentation and gasping "Twelve, oh fuck, I'm a god!". This statement was not hyperbole but fact as he thwacked his quads which responded with a sound that made Roger moan with ecstasy. As he started to do some squats, just to feel their power, he failed to notice a horseman riding along. The horseman quietly stopped his horse just as Roger turned around and hit a front double bicep pose.

 

“That’s settled then,” said Porthos, “You’re being entered in the France’s strongest man contest next week. I think you and me in the final should make an interesting amount of entertainment!”

 

Roger jumped and knocked over a whole row of trees as Porthos laughed and handed him a new set of clothes. “Welcome to the Musketeer corps, Monsieur!” he said and explained that not only had the ladies (who were actually witches) given Roger a new physique, they had forwarded time by a year and Roger was in the clear and off the hook.

 

“Ah” said Roger, “but there’s still one thing left to do!” and with that he walked over to Porthos’s horse, placed his hands underneath the horse and lifted both the horse and it's rider over his head causing his cock to become rampant again. Ever Porthos was impressed and, with a hint of arousal in his voice, commanded Roger to "carry us as far as you can. The Titan demands it!". Roger replied, "On one condition, when I reach failure, you take over!" and with that he walked towards Paris.

 

“Three Cheers for the Musketeers” toasted Roger, now suitably bedecked as a full blown Musketeer, as Athos, Porthos, Aramis and D'Artangan cheered Roger’s return. As they all sat down over a keg of beer, Roger asked how they had managed to convince Captain Treville that he was innocent of all the charges. Porthos explained that he had been to Captain Treville and explained what had happened and knowing that Porthos would never lie; they had arrested Milady who confessed everything bar who had put her up to the plan.

 

“But I’ll give you three guesses who had put her up to it!” said Porthos as he downed another mug of beer.

 

“The Cardinal!” they all said, spitting as they did.

 

“You know what!” said Roger, “I’d like to teach that Milady a lesson. I’d like to do to her what she did to me!”

 

“That’s pointless!” replied Aramis, “Milady would never succumb to hypnosis!”

 

“Her type, maybe” smiled Roger, “but could she resist this?” and crushed the mug of beer in his hands allowing Porthos a wry smile.

[Ro20316]

Roger has become everything eh has wished for.

Now he is dreaming bgger