Bride of the Revolution (22 page)

Once more the Englishman tutted in annoyance. ‘I suspect you are jealous, Carla, and I believe you have a task other than to gloat over others' misfortune. Get to it, girl!' He glared at the redhead and she shrank away from him and, obediently, buried her face between Arlane's spread and bound thighs.

The whip sliced the air behind Grace and once more her body swayed back and forth with the force of the blow while her buttocks burned with the continuing lashes.

The pain was nothing to Grace as she fixed her eyes on Carla's bobbing head. She could almost feel the stroke of the small hands drifting over her own thighs. Her sex lips yearned to feel the touch of those gentle thumbs. If only they would part her own jet curls just as they parted Arlane's. Wantonly, she let her mind dwell on the shameful delights she knew Arlane was feeling.

Was Carla using her spittle to moisten Arlane's cunny or had she spread oil or some other unction both back and front to grease the path of fingers, lips and tongue? In her mind's eye Grace could see the slick nubbin rising proudly from a flushed bed of fine sex skin. She could see it throbbing and driving upwards from the little skirt of skin. She had to close her ears from the sounds of pleasure that came continuously from Arlane's throat.

She was certain her sex lips were gaping and she could feel her flesh pot drool and weep. Yes, the pain faded with the wanton thoughts of delight that clouded her mind.

‘Now you are excited, Grace.' The words intruded into her lewd thoughts and she gasped with dismay that he could read her mind so clearly. He stood before her, smiling at her loveliness held helpless in the frame.

He placed his arms on hers. Her soft lips formed a perfect O as she felt the heat of his maleness brushing between her thighs, his broad chest caressing her breasts, teasing the ringed nipples.

She could not meet his eyes and she stared over his shoulder at the two writhing figures on the bed. She could hear the liquid slurp as fingers slipped easily in and out of moist entrances, back and front. The sounds made Grace's toes curl and her fingers moved involuntarily in their bindings.

‘It is all so delicious, Grace, is it not?'

She had a very strong desire to bow her head, to close her eyes, but within her body the liquid and wanton swirling could not be ignored. She felt her bottom, still stinging from the swing of the lash, tighten about the candle. She felt her nubbin twitch against his cockstem, which he sawed back and forth between her slick sex lips. It teased her unmercifully.

‘Answer me!'

Grace could scarcely breathe. Her breasts felt overfull and the nipples tight. Her belly churned and her bottom felt raw. Her arms ached and her wrists were chafed by the silk bindings that pressed the manacles into her skin.

The Englishman sighed and drew away. She felt tears sting her eyes. She wanted to cry out: ‘Come back! Touch me! Take me!'

With his eyes still upon her, he returned to the bed and threw himself upon the two girls who welcomed him with squeals of delight. She watched him fasten his lips around Arlane's teats and watched her strain against her bonds in ecstasy. She watched miserably as Carla closed her oil slicked hands around his cockstem and slid them down to caress his balls nestled so snugly in their sac.

Grace licked her lips as though it was her mouth which would envelope the master's cockstem; her tongue which would curl about its thickness and dip into the oozing pore to sip away the delicious cream. But these were such shameful thoughts she had no right to contemplate.

She dared not droop her head in shame or misery perchance John raised the lash to her once more. It was not the pain of the lash she feared but the wantonness it brought upon her, the lewdness that made her nubbin swell and itch.

‘John,' said the Englishman, ‘our new maid looks lonely strung upon the rack. Perhaps a caress – gently, mind you – will keep her warm and interested.'

‘Yes, master,' responded the servant immediately, and Grace could hear the eagerness in his voice.

‘But I think we shall hood her,' added the master, ‘for my antics with Carla and Arlane seem to excite her beyond bearing. There's a sheen of juices coating her thighs and I find it unladylike.'

Grace felt hot spots of colour stain her pale cheeks, which deepened when the servant sponged the driblets of female cream away. She dared not look down, nor close her eyes, and she dreaded the hood the master mentioned. Was she to be hooded like a falcon, to be used however the servant desired?

John stood before her, his thin face wreathed in a beaming smile. He had stripped off his livery and the blue satin shimmered at his feet like the skin of some exotic snake. His cock was not as large as his master's, but it was full and turgid, the globe swollen and bursting out of the skirt which was wrapped in folds at the base of the swollen sphere.

Grace pulled on her bonds and looked pleadingly across the room to her master. If she was, at last, to be relieved of her virginity she wanted, with all her heart, to feel him pierce the hated barrier, not John. But the master was plunged deep within Arlane's bound body, while Carla, spread-eagled between both their thighs, used her agile and expert tongue. Grace saw her dip to caress Arlane's petted nubbin and sip the excess juices that were squeezed out of her vagina as the master plunged into the helpless girl. She saw Arlane tug at her silken bonds in ecstasy as she was fucked completely by him. She saw how he thrust more vigorously as Carla licked the root of his cock and his throbbing balls.

‘No,' murmured Grace. ‘Please, no.' She thrashed her head from side to side in anticipation of being plunged into darkness.

‘Be quiet,' rasped John. From behind his back he brought a thick leather hood which he pushed over Grace's head, before she could protest further. It was as if she had fallen into some dark pit, heated by the fires of hell itself. To struggle was to increase the heat and feel more vulnerable than ever in the darkness, but weakly, she tugged at the wrist bonds. Within the hood at the precise level of her mouth was a plug of leather, and such was the fit that it forced her to open her mouth and the plug slipped into her throat, gagging her.

But far from the discomfort making her feel less wanton, it only increased the liquid warmth which cosseted her flesh pot. The lips felt more swollen and warm. It was as if a blanket of the finest wool was wrapped between her spread thighs. She longed to rub herself against some object, hard and thick, and to press it to her itching nubbin. She longed for the ivory rod John pressed between her sex lips, longed for it as for an old friend.

Unable to see and scarcely hear, barely able to breathe through the tiny holes at the nostrils, she was prevented from protest. All her senses, apart from touch, were denied her. Every nerve in every part of her skin seemed, as a consequence, to be especially sensitive. A hand stroked between her straddled thighs. Grace purred with pleasure. The touch was very light, only brushing the ends of her pubic curls. A panic seized her and she tried to struggle, but only succeeded in bearing down upon the heel of the hand which gradually caressed her sex lips, moulding them like putty, spreading them one from the other. Fingers nipped her erect clitty, squeezing until it throbbed and drew out of its hood. Grace felt her juices flow, soaking the fingers that teased and played.

A voice muffled by the hood whispered in Grace's ears. ‘It is well past the time when you should loose your innocence.' She struggled again, thrusting against her bonds and against the probing fingers. She wanted to scream, but the gag, the plug of leather, only drove deeper into her throat. She wanted more, much more.

Hands stroked the swollen hillocks of her bottom, caressing the scorched flesh. The hands were gentle but firm, petting and wanton at the same time. The motion became circular, soothing, and made Grace's flesh soften and relax. To her horror she felt the candle extrude from her bottom and heard a low laugh as the tube of wax was twisted and turned, driven in and out by the unseen hands.

‘That is how a cock will feel, but in your front hole,' said the voice. She felt the slick of cock flesh wiped over her belly and, almost immediately, over her bottom.

Were there two men taunting her? Could the master have finished with Arlane and Carla and again be rigid? Ready for her? Was this the time, the time she had been forced to wait upon?

Her hands were released from the frame, and then her feet. She ached from the long bondage, and her limbs were weak to the point of collapse as she was led, stumbling and tripping, across the room.

No one spoke, and what soft sounds there were – the crackle of burning coals in the grate, the tinkle of glass as someone poured wine into a glass – were muffled by the hood.

Her tongue was dry and compressed down behind her teeth by the plug. A terrible thirst made her throat contract and she would dearly have liked to cough, but even this was denied her.

‘On the bed,' ordered a voice.

That was surely the master, but didn't Arlane and Carla already occupy the bed? Grace struggled weakly in the vice-like grip of the hands which held her, but the struggle was in vain. Was she to be laid against the other girls? Her taunted sex became full at the thought, her clitty pouted, a drool of juice trickled from her. The thought of the women caressing her, kissing her most intimate places, brought on a naughty lewdness she found both delightful and shameful.

Suddenly she was free, flung high in the air, suspended in nothingness. Grace longed to scream at the frightening disorientation, but it lasted only a moment and she sank into the enveloping softness of the feather bed.

The feeling of comfort lasted only briefly, and once more her arms were wrenched high to be bound to the bedposts. Likewise her legs were spread and tied in that position.

The bed dipped as another person crawled across the feather-filled expanse. Tears filled her eyes and were spread across her cheeks by the tightness of the hood as her nipple chains were pulled and tension was put upon her sensitive teats. A resounding slap reached her ears and a soft whimper followed it. Grace knew that one of the girls was at the receiving end of the reprimand.

She strained her ears, for the room seemed full of whispering. ‘You know what is required,' said one voice. ‘Open her, kiss her until she is ready for me. Until she begs for me.'

Grace shuddered. Begs for who, she asked herself, the master or John?

Feminine fingers spread her sex lips and she tensed, waiting some other spiteful act from Carla, for she was sure it was she who twisted her nipple chain until she wanted to cry out at the exquisite pain.

A tongue tip stroked each side of the slippery valley in which lay her nubbin. It slithered down until it circled the still-closed entrance to her sex. A small hand cupped her mound and little fingers spread her swollen sex lips. Other fingers, strong and masculine, cupped the weighted heaviness of her breasts, gathered them up until the valley between them was a tight ravine. A different tongue lapped at her paps and fingertips slapped the fullness beneath and at the sides. Grace could feel her breasts wobble, and she was unsure whether this was from the smacking or from the many sensations that came from all parts of her body.

She knew above all things that her sex gaped, exposing the brightly flushed flesh.

‘I think she is ready, master.' That was John, thought Grace.

‘Yes.' The word from the master was no more than a whisper. ‘I believe she is.'

Grace tugged on her bonds in eagerness. She wanted to welcome him, to smear back the jet curls so that nothing impeded his entrance. At last his cockhead, swollen and smooth, wet with his spunk, was coaxed about her entrance. Grace wanted to arch up in offer, but her bonds were too tight. He pushed, expecting resistance, but she was so well prepared, so excited by the long years of waiting and the night's games, that she drew his length deep into her body. Her own copious juices soaked his balls, smearing them with the blood of her virginity. Her tight sex contracted about him, sucking him in until his globe pressed against the wall of her womb.

His middle finger probed her bottom hole, replacing the candle, and Grace arched her neck, wishing she could scream her joy, but the gag caused her to remain silent.

He began to thrust into her very fast and hard, and she knew that soon she would be flooded with his sex milk. But as Grace thought her pleasure would be completed he withdrew his cockstem and the finger that plugged her bottom. The hood was removed and she opened her eyes, expecting to see John slide from her, sweating, his cock thick and smeared with her blood and juices. She cried out and tears spilled down her hot face.

‘Master,' she murmured, pleading, joyful.

The Black Rose knelt between her spread thighs, his cock still spearing from its dark bush of hair, but slick with juices. He cupped her sex and let his middle finger slither into her.

‘Beautifully open, silkily wet,' he said. ‘You are ready for him now, but I should not have taken you. You were so valuable.'

‘Valuable?' He spoke of her as if she was a precious jewel.

‘But you are so very beautiful, that I could not resist my own urges.' He put his head in his hands. ‘I had no right! You were not mine to use.'

‘No,' she cried, and wished she could hold him close, soothe him. If his words puzzled her he put the questions at the back of her mind. ‘It's all right. I wanted it. Needed you. I think I have needed you all of my life.'

Grace could not stem her tears, but they were not tears of pain or unhappiness. They were tears of joy. If only he knew how long she had waited, how many years of frustration had been spent caressing her own sex.

Chapter Eleven

‘My name is Lord Albert Fitzpatrick.'

The identity of the Black Rose was revealed! And to her! Grace was honoured.

And a lord, thought Grace, and she bowed her head, not in shame but in reverence. Even so, her manacled fingers tried, in vain, to hide her pussy bush. Her virginity was taken by an English lord, she reminded herself. She must be especially respectful.