Bride of the Revolution Read online

  ‘Exceedingly nicely,’ added madame.

  Grace could not help the flush that came to her cheeks.

  ‘After all, you do not wish to spend the rest of your life cloistered in my chamber or… in the dungeons.’ The slight pause before the mention of the last drew a shudder from Grace and brought back a recollection of the smell of blood, the lacerated body of the young footman.

  ‘You are not ready, of course, to dance,’ added madame, ‘at the assemblies, but I think it only fair that we should allow them to see your beauty.’

  The fingers drifted down to the curls upon Grace’s mound and rested there, very lightly. ‘Open your legs more,’ madame whispered, ‘and allow me to see the glories between your thighs.’

  ‘Madame,’ Grace began hesitantly.

  ‘Oh, my darling,’ madame interrupted huskily. ‘Your skin is so delightfully pale and yet there is a ripeness about it which tempts one.’ The woman tapped her lips with a thoughtful fingertip and frowned, her brow creased in thought. The frown was swiftly replaced with a smile. ‘It is like a peach, ready to be plucked, sucked with lips and tickled with the very tips of a lash!’ She shuddered at the delicious thought. Madame trailed her fingertips along the inner sides of Grace’s thighs, merely brushing the midnight curls that were such a contrast to the moonstone skin of her legs.

  Such was the increase in her sensuality brought about by the training of the last few weeks that Grace could not help but straddle her legs to their full extent, giving her mistress full access. She yearned to feel a man’s cock, but still madame would not allow her maidenhead to be broken.

  ‘You are so wet, my darling,’ groaned her mistress, ‘and your clitty is throbbing, darting from its hood in its eagerness, and such a colour! It darkens from pale peach to ruby and, finally, the deepest wine.’

  Grace could not but help rock from side to side upon the tumbled bed, nestling her plump and rounded buttocks into the luxury of the fresh linen.

  ‘Beautiful, my darling,’ murmured madame, who was now crouched between Grace’s straddled thighs.

  The girl felt the caress of the woman’s lips, brushing across the sap-moistened curls, and felt the warmth of breath upon the open fullness of her sex. The kisses were planted in the very centre of the slick and heated folds. Grace groaned and urged up, swaying the peak of her body back and forth upon madame’s tongue and lips.

  ‘I wish…’ murmured Grace. The tongue lapped back and forth upon the tip of her pulsing clitty. ‘I wish…’ Such was her passion that Grace could scarcely speak.

  Madame’s face was flushed with desire, her mouth slick with virgin juices. She panted as she rose from the arch of Grace’s buttocks. ‘What is it, my darling?’ She caressed the firm hillocks, playfully prising them apart. ‘What else can I do to increase your pleasure?’

  ‘Oh, madame…’ Grace, too, was breathless. ‘I wish I might know a man!’

  Face thunderous, madame rose up, her ponderous breasts shaking with fury. With an open palm she slapped Grace’s belly, making the pale skin flush with the force of the blow. She slapped the inner side of the thighs until they glowed scarlet.

  ‘You lustful minx!’

  Tears burned under Grace’s eyelids, but still the warm feeling remained in her sex. The itch refused to go away from her pert clitty. Creamy juices beaded those same folds and gathered into a stream, which trickled down her bottom valley.

  ‘Is this how you repay me for my hospitality – my training?’ Madame slapped Grace’s belly with her other hand. ‘Is this how you repay me for training you in the manner of Rousseau… to be graceful, sensitive and sensual?’

  ‘Perhaps, madame,’ Grace began hesitantly, ‘you have trained me too well.’ The tears fell, hot and plump, down the pale cheeks. ‘Perhaps my sensuality has gone beyond the bounds of reason.’

  At the sight of Grace’s tears, the soft and trembling lips, the passively open thighs between which nestled the open nest, madame’s anger dissipated and her tongue flicked eagerly back and forth along the fleshy margins of her mouth.

  ‘Do you really think so, my precious?’ murmured madame huskily, and she trailed a finger down the full margin of one of Grace’s breasts. The movement was slow, tender, caressing, leaving the lovely hillock ill-prepared for the spiteful finger smacking which followed.

  ‘Well, I do not!’ Madame’s tone became swiftly harsh as the smacking became harder. Grace’s buttocks were still raised from the tumbled linen and madame administered another sharp slap on the creamy bottom. ‘I think you were a sensual little thing before ever Philipe and I picked you out of the filth of the Paris streets.’

  Her lips trembled at the accusation and her eyes widened, but in the softness of her belly there was a melting which confirmed her sensuality. It was there always and becoming worse as each day passed. Grace shook her head in mute denial, whipping the midnight hair across her breasts.

  ‘Oh, don’t deny it!’ Madame administered another slap to the raised buttocks, harder this time, making the flesh ripple and the skin become rosy with heat. ‘I know it! Do you think my memory is so short that I have forgotten how we caught you in the footman’s arms on the very verge of allowing him to fuck you?!’ Madame bawled the crude word at Grace’s face, making her shudder and quail. She tried to draw back from her tormentor but she was held fast with hands like vices upon the smooth slopes of her shoulders.

  ‘To penetrate you,’ continued madame, grating out the words through gritted teeth, ‘with his turgid cock, breaking the tight and beautiful gateway of your maidenhead?’

  ‘I did not mean…’ attempted Grace, not daring to wriggle in the cruel grip.

  ‘No excuses! Turn over!’

  At that moment there was a frantic knocking at the door. ‘Oh, madame. Come quickly. It is le duc. He needs you urgently!’

  Madame’s hands froze on Grace’s body. Her eyes became wide with fear. ‘What? What has happened to Philipe?’ she shouted through the closed chamber door. ‘Has the palace been stormed by les paysans?’ She jumped from the bed and dragged on her peignoir, a gossamer fine garment which revealed her heavy breasts and the inviting swell of her belly as much as it hid them.

  Grace huddled on the bed on her knees, her breasts heavy and hanging loose, smarting from the finger smacks.

  ‘Wait there,’ ordered madame, not bothering to close her gown. ‘Do not move.’ Her eyes burned fiercely as she looked at Grace over her shoulder.

  ‘Oui, madame,’ said Grace meekly. Her arms ached as she supported her upper body by them, and she shuddered as the heavy door banged shut behind madame. She wondered what could have happened to Philipe, not that he had ever endeared himself to her.

  Almost immediately the door opened very quietly on oiled hinges and she heard the click of the lock as the key was turned. Grace lifted her head, thinking madame had returned. ‘Philipe?’ she murmured in surprise. ‘Madame thought…’

  The handsome features twisted in a cruel smile. ‘I sent the message,’ he said, his voice thick with lust. ‘I wanted you alone. She never lets me play with you, and she promised.’

  He sounded like a petulant child rather than the handsome grown man he was. In his hands he carried a coarse rope, some fine silk scarves and something which made Grace shudder, although she scarcely knew why.

  He laughed. ‘You wonder what I have for you, eh?’ He shook his treasures as he approached the bed where she knelt. He laughed again. ‘You will find out soon enough, my pretty, and you will enjoy it just as I do. But first I just want to play with you, touch you, kiss you in all those inviting places she keeps from me.’ He threw the rope and silk scarves on the bed, but knelt in front of Grace, pushing the strange implement into her face. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’

  Grace felt the cold of the tempered iron struts on her hot cheeks.

  ‘T
he scold’s bridle,’ he said huskily. ‘Do you know what it’s for?’

  She shook her head, not daring to even think what Philipe had in mind. His free hand cupped one of her breasts, which still hung, soft and loose. He tossed the bridle on the bed and sniggered. ‘Well, you’ll find out soon enough.’

  ‘Madame was worried about you,’ said Grace. ‘You should not have frightened her so.’

  Rage suffused Philipe’s face. ‘You dare to tell me what I can and cannot do? You? A putain dragged from the streets?’

  The insult made tears fill Grace’s dark eyes, but this did not make Philipe any more tender. He threw her on her back, pushing her thighs open with his knees. He wore a flamboyant satin suit much decorated with lace and ribbons, and the tight breeches bulged lewdly at his crotch.

  He leaned over her to reach for the rope and she felt his thickness, covered only by the fine satin, rub against her open sex pouch. Grace experienced that need again in her belly; the skin fluttered against him, a heat she was sure he could also feel, and she felt her sap flow.

  ‘You will enjoy this rope, I know,’ he said huskily, and she felt him slip its scratchy thickness about her waist. He looked into her eyes as he slung the rope around her belly and tugged it tight, knotting it in such a way that it made her flesh swell over the knot which pressed into her just above the neat triangle of blue-black hair.

  She heard his strained breathing and saw his hands release the panel of his breeches. The knot was placed at the very point beneath which the first excitement comes to a woman. The tickling coarseness of the rope prickled her skin, and Philipe slid down to nestle his ball sac in the soft wetness of her open sex, and his cock speared up from her parted sex lips. He brushed her nipples roughly with his fingers, which increased the feeling within her belly. Her eyes were drawn to his cock, its thickness, the veins throbbing and the globe bulging from the skin stretched in folds beneath it.

  ‘Touch it,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Gently. Slide your fingers up and down. Slowly.’ The words were spoken haltingly, as though he could barely summon breath to speak them.

  Fearing punishment, Grace reached out with both hands, her fingers trembling so that their tips palpated his cockstem. She heard him sigh, saw him throw his head back in ecstasy, and she wondered when he would use her. With madame gone from the room and the door locked, her thighs pushed wide and aching, the rope pressing into her belly, she stood little chance against Philipe’s invasion.

  ‘You are rubbing too hard,’ he said suddenly, his eyes blazing. He smacked her breasts, first one and then the other, and Grace could not help but whimper.

  He bent and kissed each quivering breast, sucking as if he hoped to draw sweet milk from their heaviness. ‘I did not mean to hurt you,’ he said tenderly. ‘It’s just that I want our pleasure to be long.’ He pressed the knot of the rope into her belly and swayed his ball sac into her wetness. ‘But I doubt my patience,’ he said, his voice hardening once more. ‘I want to see you in the scold’s bridle, tied with my silken bonds.’ He closed his eyes and his fingers played with his throbbing thickness. He said nothing for some moments, and Grace wondered if he had drifted into a doze or a dream.

  ‘Quickly now!’ he said suddenly. His hands released his cock and he fumbled with the tight knot at her belly, becoming impatient when it did not release immediately. At last it was free and he tugged it roughly from her. It burned her skin, leaving a raised red weal as, unknotted, it was slid from beneath her and she gave a little squeal, not so much of pain, but of surprise.

  ‘Be quiet, you little fool,’ he said sharply, giving her breasts a light slap and watching pleasurably as the flesh quivered. ‘Do you want madame to find us? Don’t you want to feel my cock breaking your maidenhead?’

  The question made her draw breath quickly. It was as if he had listened to the conversation that took place earlier with madame. Her belly rippled and she looked with longing at Philipe’s cock.

  He laughed and edged further up her belly until he sat at the deep dip of her waist. The tip of his cock gleamed with pre-issue and he squirmed on the smoothness of her flesh, thrusting his cockstem further towards her mouth. ‘I know you do,’ he said, answering his own question. ‘Do you think I don’t know how you loved it filling your mouth?’ He nodded as he looked into the honeyed darkness of her eyes. ‘Yes, and you will love it within your flesh pot all the more. But first…’ He reached behind her and, as she raised her eyes, Grace saw the silk ties rippling in his hands. ‘Throw your arms above your head… spread them wide. Wider… higher.’ He leaned over her and the tip of his cock brushed her lips. She could taste its salt, the intriguing bitterness as she meekly lapped it with the very tip of her tongue.

  The silk was wrapped around each wrist; smooth, cool, but cruelly tight, pulling at her arms, stretching them just as she was stretched on the rack. She sucked in her belly, as if this would ease the tension.

  ‘There,’ he said, pride in his eyes. ‘Doesn’t that feel delicious? I love it when madame does it to me. Love it!’

  He slid down between her thighs, taking a moment to gaze at her open flesh pot and drift the silk over her mound, causing a tickle amid the jet-black curls and making Grace squirm her buttocks from side to side. He chuckled and slowly pushed the silk ties between her sex lips, bunching the soft cloth about her nubbin. Satisfied, he closed the love lips over the ball of silk. Grace felt her cheeks flush with shame as her nubbin twitched pleasurably against the intrusion. He chuckled again and spread her sex lips, pulling the lengths of silk from the wet cup of her pouch.

  ‘Soaking,’ he remarked. ‘Saturated,’ and he waved the wet silk under Grace’s nose. ‘Do you see, you naughty little thing, how easily I excite you? You are on the very verge of your pleasure. Can you not smell your musk?’

  Grace said nothing. Yes, indeed. She knew her musk was strong. It excited her beyond bearing. It caused the sensation of melting at the very point where the knot of rope had pressed.

  ‘I know you can.’ He forced open her mouth with finger and thumb and laid a short length of silk upon her tongue. ‘Taste,’ he purred. ‘Taste your naughty, shameful juices. Is that any way for a virgin to behave?’ He drew the length of silk from between her lips, drawing it across his nostrils, giving a sigh as if he sniffed the sweetest of perfume.

  ‘Madame taught me…’ began Grace.

  ‘Indeed she did!’ chuckled Philipe, and knelt with his back to her, spreading her legs to their fullest extent across the wide bed. She felt the damp silk lengths wrapped about her ankles and tied tightly to the carved oak bedposts. ‘And now I shall teach you the most glorious pleasure created for man,’ he added, shuffling round on his knees to face her.

  ‘Helpless, my precious,’ he murmured, looking at her with a proud expression on his features. ‘How does it feel?’

  It felt no worse than all the other times she had been bound. Perhaps, if anything, more comfortable lying on the feather-filled mattress rather than splayed at the bed end.

  Philipe was hurriedly tearing off his clothes and Grace found her belly shivering with need of his body.

  ‘Tell me!’ he rapped. He leapt back onto the bed and settled himself between her thighs, his cock swaying, thick and upright, before her eyes.

  ‘It is good,’ said Grace meekly as he held the scold’s bridle above her head, like a religious icon to which he paid homage. She licked her lips, dry with apprehension, and her eyes ached from staring at the strange contraption.

  ‘Lift your head,’ he ordered, his voice husky and low. He leaned over her, his cock brushing between her breasts, and she felt the hardness of the iron struts against her head and already felt the helplessness caused by the bridle. She tried to resist as her tongue was pressed down by a backward extension of the iron struts.

  He sat back on his heels, smiling at her and his handiwork. ‘You are so very
beautiful, and now you will be mine. You can do nothing as I suckle these…’ His lips closed about her nipples, taking each in turn into the warm wetness of his mouth. Grace could do nothing as delight swirled in her belly. ‘And this…’ He slid down between her legs, his hair tickling her sex lips. He placed his palms flat against the taut skin of her inner thighs as if he desired to push them ever further apart. ‘This salted little bud between your sex lips…’

  Grace would have done anything to murmur her pleasure, but her tongue was held fast as his flickered rapidly over her nubbin, making it arch up and become bone hard. It jumped like a tiny cock and she wanted to hide her head in shame at the luscious beauty, the lewd feelings within her belly created by Philipe’s tongue. But how could she hide her head when it was caged in iron and her hands were spread and tied high above her head?

  He lifted his head, just a little, and peeped at her over the silken jet of her pussy curls. She noticed his face was smeared with her shimmering sap, and he lapped at the spillage with his tongue tip.

  ‘Hm, you taste delicious,’ he murmured, ‘and you are so wet, so ready for me. Do you know that, my darling?’

  Grace tried to shake her head, but the iron bridle held her neck still. It was not that she did not know of her wetness, for she could feel her sap seeping warmly down her thighs. She tried to shake her head in fear that, at any moment, madame would return and then they would both be punished. The palace seemed ominously quiet, like the gardens before a storm.

  ‘Are you ready, my darling?’ asked Philipe. ‘Ready for me?’

  She could feel his body, slender and muscular, between her thighs, lithe and supple, sliding upwards. She could smell her own musk on his lips and taste it as he probed her tongue through the struts of the bridle, pushing it into her imprisoned mouth. Her flesh quavered as she felt his thickness between her sex lips, the globe resting in the cup of her pouch. If her limbs had been free to do so she would have trembled with the forbidden excitement. She was on the very brink of fulfilling the need she voiced to madame.