Bride of the Revolution (21 page)

‘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, pressing 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 made 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.

‘Although Carla has been with me for two years and is highly trained, she should know better.' His gaze was fixed on the wriggling bottom of the redhead. Grace felt a strange mixture of shame and pleasure. Her shame was that he seemed not to be thinking of her as he tickled her nubbin, made her spread her legs and bear down upon his fingers. But her pleasure was so intense it could not be ignored.

Despite her shame her gaze wandered to the bed and she noticed that the freckled hillocks were marked. Fine stripes of varying hues from purple and dark blue bruising to fading yellow criss-crossed the twin spheres.

Her attention was forced back to the fingers between her thighs. With his other hand he used his strong fingers to spread her sex lips, making them gape and her dew spill copiously. Was it his caress that was causing this melting, or the sight of Carla's whipped bottom? Madame had made her used to pain; to accept it in the same way she did pleasure.

‘Arlane,' he continued, indicating the bound girl with a slight toss of his head, ‘is being prepared by Carla. Sit up, my dear,' he ordered of the latter. ‘Let us see how Arlane is progressing.'

Grace's eyes were drawn to the bound girl; to the pushed up belly and the open flesh pot. The girl smiled again at Grace, that same triumphant gleam in her eyes and her nipples drawn to points by the pleasure received from Carla.

Carla sat back on her heels and Grace blushed as she saw her wipe Arlane's glistening juices from lips and cheeks with the back of her hand. She lapped her tongue as though drinking some delicacy.

‘You see how Carla leaves the cunny smooth and clear of juices, but still delightfully moist?' His forefinger slid down the valley between Grace's moist labia and her erect clitty as if it was a tongue. She closed her eyes, allowing her thick lashes to flutter to her pale cheeks. She could feel the warmth of a tongue tip sipping her juices; could feel it lash her nubbin. It made her belly quiver unbearably. Her eyes opened and pleaded for mercy, and a soft whimper whispered from her lips.

The Englishman chuckled and tapped the tip of his forefinger on the very peak of her nubbin, and she felt it throb under his touch. ‘Does it excite you?'

He stood very close and she could feel his thick cockstem swaying against her sex, tickling the dark curls. Its tip swayed against her belly at the lower margins of her ribs. Slick dew dribbled on her skin and became chilled in the air.

She whimpered as he again spread her sex fully open, held them that way and allowed the warm air of the room to whisper over the sensitive flesh.

‘I see it does. I am sufficiently experienced to know a girl's mew of pleasure when I hear one.' His voice was low, caressing.

He chuckled again and pinched the sex lips closed. ‘And now let us see how this pleasure zone is faring.' He arched her over one arm and drove his fingers into the yielding flesh of Grace's bottom, and she moaned softly as more pressure was placed upon the beeswax so deeply inserted there. The chuckle faded to a sigh of delight and he allowed one hand to remain lightly on a buttock while the other strayed over the curve of her hip and down over her belly. It rested there, testing the pressure from within created by the candle before travelling down to drive again between her sex lips.

Grace bowed her head, letting her long black hair hide her blushes. It was not the man's actions, his caresses that shamed her, but the knowledge that those other girls were watching her every reaction.

‘How dare you hide your head! Hold it up! Look across the room, meet Arlane's eyes and Carla's.' His voice was strident, angry. The hand which had rested so tenderly on her buttocks flashed downwards to slap her bottom so fiercely that she almost fell, but he held her steady.

‘Stand up… look at me,' he hissed. ‘I'll have no false modesty in this house. You have been trained to accept pleasure, have you not?'

Grace nodded and did not try to stem the fresh tears that dripped once more from her lashes.

‘I like that in a girl,' he said huskily. ‘I like tears very much.'

Once more he was tender, caressing her breasts and thumbing her nipples. His lips sipped at her tears and he smiled into her eyes. His fingers strayed down again over her belly, feeling it quiver under his touch. Grace was careful to keep her head high as his fingertips tickled the upper margin of her black pussy curls.

‘So plump,' he murmured, pinching the pad of flesh beneath the curls, ‘so proud.'

He allowed a finger and thumb to trace the margins of her sex before going inwards to press back the folds.

‘How could a wanton like you remain so innocent?' he asked, flicking her clitty back and forth with the tip of a forefinger. ‘You were born to be a sex slave. Born to it! A valuable commodity in a girl. Very valuable.'

His voice became clipped, although not harsh. He was like a schoolmaster reprimanding a naughty student. ‘Do you think I cannot see how Arlane's slick sex excites you?' A forefinger drifted down her cheek, tracing its oval line.

Grace gasped as the tenderness changed to harshness and he pushed her from him. ‘Tie her to the frame, John,' he said. ‘Facing the bed, and if her head droops in that irritatingly modest manner, I am sure you'll deal with the matter in the appropriate way.'

‘Indeed, master,' said John, and Grace felt her shoulders grasped by bony fingers. She had a sense of being rushed backwards, of stumbling clumsily over the polished wooden floor.

Her elbows were wrenched behind her while her wrists were still captured in the gold manacles with the fine chain between them. The servant pulled her to the wooden frame between the bedposts. She struggled, remembering how madame and Philipe had kept her imprisoned in such a device, but she was no match for John's strength. Quickly, he pulled her arms high above her head and she felt his skilled fingers tie them, one at a time, to the wooden frame. Because of the tight bindings the gold manacles cut more painfully into her wrists. Her lips stung as she bit back the faint moan that rose from deep in her throat, and she despised her weakness.

The servant busied himself at her ankles, pushing her legs wide apart and tethering them as tightly as her arms. Grace was forced to clench her bottom very tightly to keep the cylinder of beeswax in place, but this had the effect of thrusting forward her pussy and tilting it in such a manner so that the inner folds could be plainly seen by the two girls and the Englishman. It was only natural that she began to bow her head to hide her shame at such a lewd exposure.

A smack upon her cheek made her head rock from side to side as John chastised her as ordered. Grace held her head erect, swallowing back the tears which threatened to spill over her fluttering eyelashes.

The frame was a simple rectangle of wood and Grace's buttocks were as fully exposed as her pierced nipples, her belly, and the triangle of curls that guarded her cunt.

When the full amount of her exposure became clear she again felt the sting of chastisement, the whip across her buttocks, the burning heat as the skin flushed in a long and raised weal. This time she could not hold back the tears that filled her eyes. She heard the two girls giggle at this new humiliation.

‘Does that amuse you, my pretties?' asked the Englishman. ‘Shall I ask John to punish the new girl again?' He clicked his tongue in mock disgust. ‘You are truly wicked little creatures!'

Grace saw Arlane pout at the mischievous reprimand and saw Carla draw in her brows in an annoyed frown.

‘Not wicked,' denied Carla.

His hand strayed to his cock and Grace watched him caress it as tenderly as if it was a woman's breast. She saw it pulse, become more upright, saw the veins throb.

‘No, perhaps not wicked – just naughty.' The tip of his thumb slicked over the bead of spillage at his globe and he smeared it over the full surface until it shone as if polished. ‘Would you truly like to see this lovely creature beaten further?'

‘Oh, yes!' squealed Arlane, and Grace saw her raise her golden cascade of curls from the pillow and saw her slender arms straining against the bonds. Carla clapped her hands, her eyes glittering in the candlelight, and nodded vigorously. Her agile tongue flickered about her lips like that of a snake's scenting the musky air.

‘You would?' His voice was calm and cold, but mocking and smooth as silk. His eyes danced with mischief as he caressed Grace's body from breasts to pussy. She was mortified, humiliated.

‘John!' The name, spoken so sharply, was a command.

Grace felt her breasts become more tense, although her belly quivered softly with anticipation of the pain. She tensed her buttocks but this only made her more aware of the beeswax cylinder clutched between them.

‘Soft,' he rasped. ‘The buttocks must be kept soft to take the smacking satisfactorily.' She heard the manservant breathe more harshly.

She heard him crack the whip upon the bare boards of the floor and, after an age, heard it whistle through the air and felt the heat of its sting on her rippling buttocks. She could not help but arch her neck back at the sharp pain. Her long jet hair swung back and forth over the painful hillocks, tickling the soreness.

‘Again,' whispered Carla. ‘She looks so pretty when she strains against the bindings. Her arms look so slender and her breasts so full.' Through her spilling tears Grace saw the red-haired girl kneeling with her plump thighs spread and her hands stroking the fiery red curls on her open pussy lips, spreading the slick flesh to show the erectness of the clitty, proud against the scarlet flesh.