Bride of the Revolution Page 17

  When he was dressed and she had washed as well as she could, he insisted on inspecting her very closely.

  ‘Excellent,’ he said, as he prised open the tightness of her bottom hole and, that done, petted open her sex lips until he was satisfied that each fold was smooth and clean.

  ‘Now the boots,’ he said.

  The boots were very long and had heels that were so high they threw her forwards. They were laced, front and back, with leather thongs that tickled her bottom and probed between her sex lips at the slightest movement.

  ‘You look very beautiful, my darling,’ he said, turning her round to admire her from all sides. He slung a cloak about her shoulders and the soft wool tickled her breasts and belly, while the bootlaces pricked her cunny and bottom cheeks, keeping her in a state of high sexual tension.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked nervously as he led her from the cabin and out into the narrow alleyway that ran from bow to stern of the ship.

  He said nothing, but merely led her to a carriage waiting at the dockside. ‘In you go,’ he said.

  The boots made her clumsy and she found it difficult to mount the two steps into the carriage.

  ‘Hurry!’ he said sharply. ‘Hurry! We have a long journey ahead.’

  At last they were on their way and the Englishman stared straight ahead for some moments. His eyes were always upon her across the carriage, boring into the voluminous folds of her cloak.

  ‘On your knees,’ he said at last. ‘Unfasten my breeches.’ His voice was low, hoarse, urgent – but still commanding.

  Submissive and pliant, she did as she was ordered. The boots were new and stiff and they made it difficult to kneel, but anxious to please, she managed the task. Kneeling before him, she awaited his next command.

  His large hands felt gentle at her throat and Grace allowed her long lashes to droop over her eyes. It was only after long caresses that she realised his intention was no more than to release the fastening of the cloak. As it fell from her shoulders and drifted about her thighs her tear-filled eyes raised to meet his.

  ‘Do you know what I require?’ he asked.

  Grace nodded, wondering when her own needs would be realised.

  He stroked his fingertips across her lips until she was forced to open them. ‘Place your hands upon your head,’ he commanded, ‘for I adore to see you looking so easily controlled and vulnerable.’ He paused, merely admiring her at his feet. ‘But wait…’ His breathing was harsh and rapid. ‘I want your hands working on my breeches to release my cock.’

  Her hands trembled and the lump beneath the buckskin made the breeches tight. He wriggled impatiently, thrusting the swelling against her dainty hands as they worked. The heat of him was enormous and his male musk strong. She supposed this was because he had been forced to wait so long for relief. Despite her trembling the buttons were at last released and his cock burst forth.

  He held her tightly at the back of her neck, keeping her mouth steady and close to his thickness, in spite of the jolting of the carriage over the rough road.

  ‘I want you, Grace,’ he said as he forced his cock deep into her mouth. She could feel the smooth slickness of his stem sliding over her tongue and she felt, even though tears spilled down her cheeks, almost joyful as he spoke her name.

  ‘I want you fully,’ he murmured roughly, pushing her head harder onto him. ‘Not like this.’

  Her lips brushed his balls and Grace thought for a terrible moment that she might gag at his extraordinary length, but at that very moment he wrenched away and let his spittle-moistened cock rest lightly against her cheek. The movement of the carriage made it saw back and forth against her cheek. Breathlessly, she looked up at him, wondering what he would ask of her next.

  ‘Yes,’ she said meekly. It was what she wanted most of all.

  ‘But not now,’ he said, ‘in this jolting carriage where we cannot spread ourselves. When I take you it will be in a bed; the biggest, softest bed in England.’

  She heard him groan and felt the silky warmth of his come splash on her upturned face. Gratefully, she lapped the spillage, delighting in the salty bitterness. When it was over she laid her head upon his knees, dozing briefly despite the jolting movement of the carriage.

  ‘Wake up.’

  It seemed to Grace that she had slept for only moments when the Englishman placed a hand about her breast and slung the wool cape about her shoulders. She gave a murmur as his fingers stroked the heavy underswell and a thumb teased her nipple to hardness. She looked up with wide limpid eyes, questioning why she had been woken. Aware that the laces of the high boots prickled her buttocks, she swayed her body to ease the sensation.

  ‘The path is narrow for the next stage of our journey,’ he said. ‘We leave the carriage here and continue on horseback.’

  It was then that Grace realised that the carriage was at a halt. He placed his hands under her armpits, lifting her. She felt his fingertips kneading her breasts as he drew her to her feet. Her nakedness brushed against his fully clothed body, making her feel more than ever vulnerable.

  As they left the carriage Grace heard the night sounds; an owl hooting, sea crashing against the rocks, wind whistling across moorland. ‘Where are we?’ she asked, as he swung her up onto a horse tethered at a stunted tree.

  ‘Across the sea from your beloved France,’ he said enigmatically. He drew his hands under her cloak, letting the night wind caress her breasts, seep between her straddled legs. His gaze upon her was so intense that it was some moments before Grace realised the horse was not saddled and she sat astride it bareback.

  The pelt tickled her spread sex lips and the open flesh pot between them. She tried to lean back to ease the sensation but he swung up behind her and pushed her hips forward and slapped her inner thighs, making her spread them further. His fingers worked into her sex folds, slicking the black hair from the wet crease. Satisfied that she was fully open, he palpated the folds until Grace was sighing with pleasure. He tapped her nubbin with a fingertip, stroked it, dipped the same fingertip into the pool of her sap and dabbed the pulsing bud with her juices. Grace arched her neck, throwing her head back against his chest. She felt her breasts swell, become tender, and her breathing quicken until her pleasure burst within her.

  It was almost daybreak when they entered the rambling Manor House. She tried to walk gracefully, keeping the cloak wrapped tightly about her, but the high boots and the continued stimulation he had given her on the horse caused her to move unsteadily.

  They were greeted by a manservant who eyed Grace lasciviously, making her bow and hide her eyes in shame.

  ‘This is John,’ said the Englishman. ‘He will prepare you.’ With that he left the room, leaving her terrified and alone with the manservant.

  Prepare you. The words echoed in her mind, made her tremble. Hadn’t she been trained by madame to the full? What other preparation could she need?

  The manservant beckoned her to accompany him upstairs and took her into a room furnished only with a crude wooden bathtub and a strangely shaped stool. John slipped the cloak from her shoulders, but when Grace bent to unfasten the boots he wagged his finger, warning her to leave them on. He beckoned her and, obediently, she took a step and then another until she was close to him. He smiled with satisfaction and knelt at her feet. He began to unfasten the laces, and at every stage Grace could feel his breath wafting over her sex. She felt her whole body flush with shame, not at his nearness, but at the feelings that washed over her; the softening in her belly, the moistening of her sex, and the throbbing of her clitty.

  It was over at last. The boots were slipped from her feet and legs, but she was ordered to keep her legs apart. Small slaps delivered with the very tips of the servant’s fingers made her spread them to the limit. He pinched her sex lips and bit her trembling belly. He fingered her bottom, pres
sing the hillocks fully apart and probing the tight hole experimentally.

  ‘You need oil,’ he told her.

  Grace tried to pull away from him but he held her close.

  ‘No need to be afraid. Oil will make you loose and supple.’

  He pulled her to the stool and positioned her in such a way that her bottom was cupped by the curves of the stool and her thighs were lifted to show her sex and bottom hole to the full.

  ‘My master has begun the preparation,’ said John, and he traced a smear of oil over the bruises which coloured her bottom. ‘Keep these thighs wide,’ he added, pressing her legs fully open and again slapping the tender inner skin. The strangely shaped stool hollowed Grace’s belly and made her flesh pot and bottom hole receptacles.

  Across the dimly lit room she watched the servant warm the phial of oil over a flame. His face, as he walked towards her, was an impassive mask, but within his livery Grace could see a thickening, a bulge at the tight satin crotch, and it made her shudder, not with fear but with longing. She wanted to be rid of the nuisance of her maidenhead so much.

  The servant tipped several drops of oil onto his fingers and worked them into her offered anus, gently at first, and then more vigorously. He smiled lewdly at her between her open thighs and added more oil into the twitching pit.

  Despite the fact that she found her position shameful, a forbidden wantonness simmered in the pit of her belly, and when John placed two fingers into the entrance she sighed pleasurably and tautened her flesh about the intrusion.

  ‘Good,’ he murmured. ‘Now we must prepare the front.’ He had set down the oil and picked up a polished ivory rod. It was smooth and shiny and perfectly cylindrical. Its thickness was no more than a slender finger. Grace was very close to an orgasm and she quivered as she wondered what he might do to her next. Would he push the ivory inside her, deep into her bottom, which he had so carefully prepared with oil? Or most wonderful of all, break her maidenhead, freeing her at last?

  With finger and thumb he separated her flesh folds and Grace shuddered and became tense.

  ‘No!’ he rapped, holding her sex lips wide apart. ‘You must be supple, loose. Relax!’

  She felt so vulnerable with her thighs spread in this strange position and her sex and belly cupped. She waited for the pain in her funnel; the pain she was sure would come when her maidenhead was broken.

  The ivory rod was slipped up and down Grace’s silky slit and then the servant pushed the cool smoothness lengthways between her lips. He moved back as if to admire his handiwork, but her juices were copious and the rod slithered from her.

  ‘No! You must hold it there!’ He moved forward and folded the swollen lips about the slim stick until Grace could feel it butting against her bud.

  He pressed it hard and Grace looked between her thighs and watched her lips fold over the ivory as if it was becoming part of her.

  She shuddered as he bent between her thighs to kiss each nipple. She felt the bulge of his cock, encased in satin livery, butt against her tortured sex lips. He grinned at her as if he knew her orgasm was very close. He rubbed the bulge against her again and this time she could not contain her pleasure. A swirl of heat made her melt. She felt herself drawn up in a vortex that made her murmur. Her nubbin throbbed against the rod, which slithered from her again.

  Tears beaded her lashes and her lips trembled as she waited for his sharp reprimand and chastisement. She had tried so hard to obey and was so close to completing the task.

  Her legs were fully spread as he dictated and she knew her sex pouch was completely unfolded. Her clitty still bobbed within those folds. To her shame she could see its erect state, its flush and upright posture. She could see it boldly peeping from its hood, standing proud between the scarlet folds, slick with her juices. Yes, she would surely get a reprimand.

  ‘This is excellent,’ said John, to her surprise, and he squeezed the hot bud. ‘And this, too,’ he added, tapping two fingertips at Grace’s female opening, ‘is good. Ah, yes! My master is going to delight in you.’

  She closed her eyes in shame as she felt the trickle of warmth ooze down her spread bottom cheeks, but it was a wanton, very pleasing shame.

  ‘He uses me to prepare his girls,’ said John, and he sounded sad. ‘Not that I don’t enjoy it, for I do. Very much so.’ As he spoke he stroked a finger, slicked with her own juices, down the clenching crease of her bottom. Grace wanted to ask if his master had many girls. She wanted to believe he did not.

  She felt her bottom hole clench upon something much smoother than John’s finger, and she felt it slither deep inside her. Was it the rod, the ivory rod she’d been forced to hold against her nubbin? The feeling of fullness increased as the manservant pinched the opening closed. Grace felt her belly tighten as it was stroked by a gentle palm.

  ‘It’s a good thick candle I have placed inside you,’ said John hoarsely. ‘My master likes his girls to be satisfied in every direction.’

  Grace’s belly felt full with the cylinder of beeswax inside her bottom, and she felt light-headed as John helped her to her feet. He sat her upon the stool with her thighs apart, smoothing his fingers up and down her spread slit. He bent to plant a kiss upon the very point of her nubbin and then sucked it between his lips. Grace felt a wanton desire to press forward on his kisses, but he seemed to realise her needs and held her hips fast so she could not move.

  ‘You are ready for the master,’ he said, rising to his feet and pulling her upright. He brushed his lips against hers and Grace blushed as she tasted the strength of her own musk.

  Chapter Ten

  If Grace expected the master to be lying at ease upon the bed, she was much mistaken. Naked and pacing the floor impatiently, he turned to face her as John showed her in. His face was dark with anger and the fire in the grate cast scarlet shadows on his body, highlighting the bulges of his well-developed muscles and deepening the shadow of his slender waist. His cock was massively turgid and his balls were drawn up tight to his body, showing only a slight curve of his sac.

  ‘She is prepared, master,’ said John, pushing Grace further into the room.

  A soft whisper made Grace look towards the wide four-poster bed. Nestled deep into the swansdown quilt was a girl. The exact opposite to Grace in colouring, her hair was reddish gold and spilled over the lace and satin pillows. Her creamy arms were stretched taut above her head and her wrists were tied with silk ropes to the oak posts. Her long shapely legs were spread wide and her ankles were tied as tightly as her wrists. Beneath her back was placed a thick bolster that arched her belly and thrust up her sex mound, which was frosted with red-gold curls. The sex itself was open, the folds pressed back and the nubbin erect and shiny with juices.

  The girl’s sapphire blue eyes, despite her bondage, glinted at Grace, full of triumph as though she had succeeded where Grace had not. The dark girl bowed her head, hiding her tears. Had the master not said that he wanted her? Meant to have her? Why was this girl here?

  ‘You are such an innocent,’ said the Englishman, his voice butting into Grace’s thoughts of the girl on the bed. ‘Perhaps that is why I find you so intriguing, so delectable.’

  His anger was fading and the shadow of a smile softened the handsome features. His cockstem looked thicker and more erect than ever and it brushed against Grace’s belly, made taut by the inward pressure of the candle. The touch made her shudder pleasurably, especially when his hands slid down her arms and caressed the manacles clipped around her wrists. It seemed to Grace that they were now part of her, that she had worn them all her life. His fingers touched the chain that linked the gold wrist cuffs in a tender, almost loving, manner. It reminded her of her slavery to him, to madame and Philipe, but she no longer cared.

  She delighted in her slavery when it led to this. He cupped her breasts and made a shiver of pleasure run through her. The touch ma
de her very aware of the cylinder of wax that filled her bottom hole. Like the rings in her nipples and the chains at her wrists it was part of her slavery. The thought brought a delicious heaviness, a melting around her sex lips, even though a wicked wantonness filled her with shame.

  ‘Because you are so innocent,’ he said in a voice as soft as velvet, ‘I feel it is only fair to teach you by demonstration before I take you as a woman should be taken.’

  Muffled giggles came from the bed and Grace turned her limpid eyes towards the sound. Tears spilled from her lashes and fell heavily down her pale cheeks.

  ‘You wicked creatures!’ snapped the Englishman. ‘You naughty girls! Do you see how you have upset your new companion?’ He let his hand rest upon Grace’s belly, his fingertips hovering about her pubic curls. The touch was sensual and Grace felt her skin pucker with forbidden gratification.

  A second girl, redheaded and her face and voluptuous body sprinkled with freckles, turned her face smeared with sex juices towards Grace. She was free of any bondage and her head nestled between the spread thighs of the other.

  ‘Forgive them,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I have rather spoiled them.’ He looked at the two girls as a doting parent might when his charges were particularly disobedient. It was a look full of love but tainted with disappointment. ‘Yes, they are spoiled. I have used them as my own special playthings rather than sending them to…’ He shook his head. ‘But let us not dwell on such matters.’

  He cupped his hand over Grace’s mons and allowed his fingers to stray, very lightly, over the lips that were swollen from John’s preparation with the rod. He allowed his middle fingertip to slip between the lips and linger there. Grace gasped, her breathing quick and shallow, and he smiled down at her, delighting in the reaction. The finger slid deeper and rested upon her nubbin. He brought another finger to rest in the same place and used the two to slide back her hood. Her belly shook and she was very aware of the pressure of the beeswax deep within her bottom.