Bride of the Revolution Page 8

  ‘It is now, my darling,’ he murmured, and she felt him draw back for the thrust.

  At that very moment the heavy door was burst open and several attendants stood with their arms wrapped about a tree trunk, which they used as a battering ram.

  ‘You wicked fellow!’ Madame’s voice was shrill with anger.

  Philipe, his cock pumping his issue, rolled from Grace and she felt a splash of it upon her breasts.

  ‘You!’ Madame turned upon the servants. ‘Get out!’

  Grace closed her eyes with shame as she saw them craning their necks to peer between her outspread thighs and at the bonds which held them open.

  ‘And how am I to deal with you both?’ Madame’s voice was sorrowful. She marched to the bed and smacked Grace’s breasts and belly before pinching her flesh leaves and patting the very tip of her nubbin. ‘Did you?’ she asked, turning to Philipe, and she slapped his cock. ‘With this wicked thing?’

  ‘You didn’t give me chance.’ Philipe began to shrug into his clothes. ‘You promised me that I could play with her and—’

  ‘Play, of course,’ said madame, turning again to Grace and peering suspiciously between her sex lips, at the creamy meltings which lay like pearls on the flushed skin and at the hardened nubbin. ‘But I warned you…’ She rounded on him. ‘Get out until I decide what to do with you.’

  Philipe, wearing only his breeches and white silk hose gave her a thin-lipped, leering smile. ‘I need punishment, madame,’ he said, his voice husky and thick.

  Her back to him, madame caressed the swell of Grace’s breasts, pushing them inwards until they formed a creamy valley. She kissed the place, running her tongue tip up and down the vale as if she caressed smooth, hairless sex lips. The feeling was sensual to Grace, especially in her helpless state.

  ‘I need it, madame,’ repeated Philipe. ‘Severe punishment.’ His feverish eyes turned to Grace and, between the struts of the fiendish contraption on her head, she saw him looking at her bonds and the bridle with outright envy.

  Her eyes still averted from Philipe, madame slipped off her peignoir and stood, magnificent in her nudity, wearing only a silken cord about her waist which hung in a heavy tassel to her sex mound. At every movement Grace noticed this swayed inward to tickle her flesh lips.

  ‘And you shall have it, Philipe,’ said madame with a thin smile. ‘Do you remember how we hung Grace upon the frame to admire her as we made love?’

  Philipe’s face paled to grey, but Grace noticed how the satin of his breeches bulged.

  ‘And to increase the punishment,’ said madame, her words cooing softly, ‘we shall remove the bridle from Grace and place it on…’

  ‘Me!’ interrupted Philipe, his face glowing with pleasure.

  ‘Oui!’ snapped madame. ‘But as an additional punishment you must wait for this. I must continue Grace’s training which you interrupted so rudely.’

  ‘But…’ Philipe rubbed the lewdly bulging satin and looked at Grace with fury in his pale eyes.

  ‘No buts!’ snapped madame. ‘Go until I send for you and don’t ever dare play such a trick upon me again!’ The tassel swung violently back and forth between her thighs as she pushed the young duke from the chamber.

  ‘At last,’ she sighed, slipping the silk cord from her waist and using it to fasten the broken door. ‘We must not be disturbed.’

  Grace wanted to ask what punishment was in store for her, but with the bridle still in place, this was impossible. Her belly quaked at the thought, but madame was surprisingly gentle as she unfastened the silk bindings.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Did he smack you?’ asked madame, as she eased the iron bridle from Grace’s head.

  Tongue dry and swollen by its long confinement, it was some moments before Grace could speak.

  ‘I believe he did,’ continued madame. ‘Here, and here.’ She touched Grace’s breasts and the delicate rise of her belly with her fingertips. ‘But this is what I am really concerned about.’ With fingers and thumb she spread the flesh leaves and stroked the silky inner skin, paying special attention to the pert nubbin, pinching it until Grace made a little murmur. ‘And this…’ With the pad of her middle finger she circled the still closed opening, making Grace shiver with a delight which was tinged with fear. Madame shook her head and tapped the swollen flesh leaves from side to side. ‘There is still much training to be done before you are ready to be plunged by all and sundry. There are many pleasures I must teach you.’

  This was said in such a way that Grace could not help the shiver which made her belly ripple.

  ‘Turn over, my precious,’ said madame, tapping the side-swells of Grace’s buttocks. ‘Bottom nicely raised, knees tucked beneath your breasts, but thighs open.’ Madame’s voice was soft as she gave these new instructions.

  The contortion would have been difficult had Grace been anything but supple. Her soft breasts were moulded like clay by the hardness of her knees and the butting made the nipples become painfully erect, but she scarcely had time to be aware of these discomforts before strong fingers grasped each flushed bottom cheek.

  ‘It is time, my darling,’ whispered madame, bending low over Grace so that her ponderous breasts brushed the girl’s smooth back, ‘for you to become aware of another pleasurable orifice rather than that which Philipe tried to enter.’

  Grace said nothing, not daring to move in case the vice-like fingers tore the trim buttocks from her neat bones. She felt the hillocks being spread wide and knew her mistress could see the tight pleats of her bottom hole. The thought made her blush to the roots of her tumbled hair. She also knew, because her buttocks were lifted high, that madame could see every detail of her sex purse; could see the parted plumpness of her sex leaves, the erect hardness of her clitty, and the creamy gateway of her female opening, and these thoughts made her shiver with renewed humiliation.

  ‘And knowing you as I have come to do,’ madame whispered joyfully, ‘you will enjoy every moment of this new knowledge.’

  Face buried in the bed linen, Grace trembled at the thought of what this new torture could possibly be. No, she told herself, it was not torture. She had to admit that she enjoyed the wonderful feelings of sensuality madame gave her with her probing and stroking.

  ‘But first I must make your bottom wonderfully ready for what is to come.’ Madame eased her grip upon her bottom cheeks. Grace allowed herself a tiny sigh of relief, but the relief was short-lived. The room, large and opulent, suddenly echoed with the sound of slaps, delivered so rapidly that Grace did not have a chance to object or cry out. Her buttocks quickly began to feel as if they were on fire, and she knew the pale skin was no longer pale, but scarlet and swollen, raised from its original smooth line. What was worse, far worse, was the swift reaction of her sex folds, which swiftly became newly bathed in her juices and pouting open to reveal her swollen clitty.

  The slapping slowed and Grace could hear madame’s harsh and rapid breathing. She heard the rustle of linen as her mistress relaxed and sat back to rest from her exertions.

  ‘Don’t move, my darling,’ ordered madame, ‘or I shall be forced to continue where I left off.’

  Crouching very still, Grace wished for a poultice of ice to be placed upon her raised and burning bottom, but yet again the pleasurable surging within her belly and between the puffy folds of her sex were something she hugged to her, like a lover.

  ‘And now, my precious,’ purred madame, as her breathing eased, ‘the next stage of your training.’

  Tense, waiting, Grace tried to prepare herself. There was nothing she could do. It was as if some invisible silken ropes bound her. She dared not move, or perhaps, did not wish to.

  A wet warmth touched the tightness of Grace’s bottom hole, caressed it, touched it so lightly that it was as soft as swansdown.

  ‘You see,’ cro
wed madame, ‘I knew you would delight in it, you darling sensualist!’

  The touch came again, harder this time, and wetter, and Grace realised it was madame’s tongue. It was such a contrast to the hard slaps administered moments earlier, that Grace found her body becoming deliciously heavy, melting into the linen and the feather mattress beneath her.

  ‘Can you feel your bottom becoming open and ready?’ murmured madame, between the laps of her tongue.

  A ripple of pleasure tore through Grace. She felt the sensation begin in the pit of her stomach. It ripped through the swollen bud of her clitoris and surged in a great whirlpool of pleasure through her whole body.

  ‘Oh, my darling girl.’ Madame breathed her ecstasy over Grace’s beaten, hot buttocks. ‘Such an orgasm and I scarcely titillated your little bottom hole. Just a lap of the tongue, and certainly no penetration. Delicious! I knew you were a naturally sensual girl. I knew it! You delight in everything I do to you. Perfection! Sheer perfection!’

  Grace continued to hide her face in shame, her cheeks burning as hotly as her bottom. But despite her shame she could not help but be proud of the achievement described by madame.

  ‘Now I wonder what will happen when…’ Grace’s mistress paused and the girl felt her buttocks being stroked in a wonderfully loving manner, but she could not push away the apprehension, the thought of what might happen next. Her flesh pot and bottom hole were still pulsing from the last orgasm, and trickles of creamy issue spilled from her.

  The long wet tongue snaked out and lapped at Grace, sipping the spillage and smearing it liberally about the sucking bottom hole. Only seconds later Grace began to feel an even more erotic sensation. The tiny opening was caressed by the stiffened tongue tip until it slipped inside the tight, dark tunnel. She gasped but did not try to pull away. It was a gentle, pleasant sensation and she bore back upon it, urging the tongue to penetrate deep inside her.

  ‘And still there is more pleasure to come, my lovely,’ whispered madame, relinquishing the pulsing little opening just for a moment.

  Unable to help herself, Grace butted back and forth into the linen, arching her buttocks into the air and spreading her thighs to their fullest extent.

  Fingers stroked the soft wet folds of her sex purse and pulled them first wide apart and then close together while the tongue tip probed open the tightly wrinkled orifice. Grace felt the fingers rub back and forth across the creamy peak of her raw and exposed nubbin. She felt the first ripple of pleasure she had come to know was called an orgasm. It was far more intense than any she felt at her own hands in the dark lonely hours of night in her mother’s hovel.

  The pleasure swirled in her belly and she was not sure whether its source was her bottom hole, so fully and deeply penetrated by the tongue that slipped back and forth, or the fingers that danced over the sensitive tip of her nubbin. She knew her sex folds were creamily lubricated, and there was a need within them that she desperately needed to be fulfilled.

  Grace raised her head, gasping for breath, a light film of perspiration giving her pale body a glowing sheen. Lips parted, she mewed with delight, and the mew grew to a long drawn out moan as each wave of pleasure hit her more strongly.

  ‘My lovely, sensual beauty!’ Madame wrapped her arms about Grace’s shuddering body, caressing the delicious breasts that seemed to pulse in the woman’s kneading hands with a rhythm similar to the pulse of orgasm.

  ‘I have never known a girl who is so passive and so pliant,’ whispered madame, ‘and yet so sensual.’

  Sleep claimed Grace, the languid doze of restitution. The long jet lashes fluttered to brush the pale cheeks and she lay against the cushion of madame’s naked breasts.

  She did not know how long she slept. Perhaps only moments, or maybe hours, but Grace woke refreshed.

  ‘Ah, Sleeping Beauty returns to me,’ cried madame, who was dressed in her translucent peignoir which drifted like gossamer about the opulent curves of her naked body as she hurried over to the bed where Grace lay.

  A sleepy smile raised the corners of Grace’s parted lips, and she stretched her arms high and pushed her slender legs apart.

  ‘Ever the sensualist,’ said madame, her eyes darting to the open slit of Grace’s sex.

  Grace, suddenly awake, curved her back and huddled her knees to the softness of her breasts.

  ‘No, don’t you dare hide your pouch from me.’ A frown made the mistress’s features dark and angry as Grace tensed and opened her limbs, but cupped her hands about her mound, again trying to hide the cream-slicked folds. ‘Don’t you dare.’

  The pleasant languid feeling with which Grace awoke was dispelled and was replaced by a flush of embarrassment, a renewed sense of humiliation. Obediently, she spread her thighs, lifting them a little to make her sex yet more vulnerable, shutting out the feeling of shame.

  Madame gave a sigh of pleasure and bent her head over Grace’s belly. ‘That’s how I like to see my girl; open and ready, gloriously moist and pert.’

  Warm breath whispered over Grace’s puffy slit and she arched up, offering her moist sex and erect nubbin to her mistress. She heard madame whisper sounds of appreciation and felt the ripple of pleasure that preceded her climax. Her lips pursed, forming a perfect O, a mew of need.

  ‘Oui, ma cherie,’ murmured madame against her fluttering sex, ‘come for me. Come again and again. Let you little fountain bubble upon my eager tongue.’

  Arching her belly, Grace pressed her open folds against madame’s mouth. She felt a tongue smear silky fluids from the still-closed gateway of her sex, to the jerking hardness of her clitty. She felt the tongue fold back the little hood to bare the most sensitive tip, which it then flicked back and forth until Grace could not help but emit a tiny scream. The pleasure was so intense it was almost unbearable…

  The magic of that moment between the two women was shattered by the angry crash of the chamber door, already damaged by the battering ram, being smashed open violently.

  ‘You promised you would punish me and I find you playing with our little toy again!’ shrilled Philipe. ‘I want to be punished. I did wrong to try and take her. Punish me!’ He threw himself towards madame.

  Grace cried out with fear and huddled at the top of the bed, a bundle of linen held close to her trembling breasts. Philipe’s angry and pleading eyes darted between madame’s voluptuousness and the juices that beaded her smiling lips.

  ‘Only after I have trained her,’ madame reminded him, ‘and there are still many stages before she is ready to be turned over to you.’ She pursed her lips in anger. ‘And it seems to me that I have much to do in training you!’ She shook her head in frustration. ‘Even when she is ready you do not deserve her maidenhead.’

  Ignoring Philipe, madame rubbed the heel of her hand very slowly into Grace’s sex flesh. The folds slipped open, separating and baring the swelling bud, which popped from its little sheath, shining with fluids. Again the girl moaned; her breathing changed, quick and shallow.

  Philipe’s hands were clenched by his sides, his eyes glazed with lust, his satin breeches bulging lewdly. Mutely he pleaded with madame, but Grace could not discern whether the plea was for the punishment he craved or for another attempt to pierce the virgin gateway.

  Grace, herself, moaned softly, that same yearning within the little swell of her belly, and she made a shuddering movement towards him. Sinuously, she crawled in his direction, reaching up with one pale hand, making her own plea. One breast escaped the folds of the bed sheets and the memory of his cock between her thighs was very clear and poignant in her mind.

  ‘Stop that at once!’ rapped madame. ‘You naughty pair. Strip, Philipe! Immediately!’

  His eyes darting from Grace to his mistress and his sensuous lips moist with spittle, the young aristo did as he was bid. His cockstem sprang from his breeches and Grace, unable to contain her
hunger, again reached out with a need to caress the handsome organ.

  Madame, muscles rippling with her superior strength, lifted Philipe into the frame at the bed end. ‘Hold there,’ she ordered, ‘until I tie you.’

  Philipe stood, arms and legs splayed within the frame, smiling down at Grace, his cock splendidly erect. ‘Let me smell Grace’s juices,’ he said as madame began to wrap the silk ties about his wrists, ‘before you bind me.’

  Grace hid her head in shame in the tumble of linen, but peeped up with one eye, to watch as the silk was waved under Philipe’s nose. She saw his cock arch with pleasure, saw the little skirt of skin roll back further down the globe and saw the gleam of a bead of juice at the pore.

  ‘Are you ready to be bound now?’ asked madame, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

  ‘Quite ready,’ answered Philipe.

  Grace saw Philipe’s lean body jerk as madame tied his wrists to the frame. She saw his toes curl as his ankles were tied, his stem thrust forward in an involuntary movement, and his ball sac draw up with pleasure as the binding was completed.

  She sat up, allowing the linen to fall from her breasts. She felt her nubbin pulse and allowed her tongue to moisten her lips at the thought of kissing the salty pinnacle of his upright length.

  ‘I think, young woman, you need something between your thighs,’ snapped madame, as if she knew what Grace was thinking and feeling. She took a small satin cushion from a night table and spread the girl’s love lips to the full before inserting a smooth and oval pillow. The lips were then closed about it and Grace felt her tip jerk spasmodically.

  ‘Bear down,’ ordered madame, ‘and keep those thighs spread.’

  The sight of Philipe bound in the frame with his cock throbbing into the empty air, and the cushion between her flesh lips, brought tears to Grace’s eyes. She began to sob in earnest as she saw madame begin the business of placing his head into the scold’s bridle although, as it was fitted about his neat skull, he managed a murmur of pleasure.