Bride of the Revolution (4 page)

Grace could not help but let out a sigh of pleasure. The seat upon which she lay was padded in velvet, cool and plush beneath her buttocks. She felt her breasts swell and her belly quiver under the woman's touch. She could not help the growing heat within her. It was as if her innards were melting.

‘Virgins do not know how to be sensual,' grumbled the young man, who Grace now knew was called Philipe.

‘Some women are born with that gift,' retorted madame, and Grace felt the butterfly brush of a fingertip upon the bud between her pouting love lips. She moved under the touch. She could not help herself. She wanted more; so much more. ‘Just as I was,' whispered madame.

‘Open your eyes, my darling,' Grace heard, the words as caressing as the fingers.

For a moment she hesitated. The raven lashes remained tightly closed and she felt the warmth of a fat tear trickle down her pale cheek.

‘Oh, how sweet,' purred Madame. ‘Isn't it delicious to see tears in a young girl's eyes? Doesn't it show her innocence? She is innocent as I said, Philipe. Didn't I tell you she was the one for whom we have searched all these weeks? Come now, sweet one, open those lovely eyes.'

Grace, at last, managed to allow her eyes, round and glittering with tears, to flutter open. With the very tip of her pink tongue she moistened her parted lips and gazed up at the woman who held her across her broad lap.

As madame let her hands flutter away from Grace's body she found herself falling, quite naturally, into a sensuous pose. Her slender legs, marred by streaks of grime and the drying dew of rain, fell gracefully apart. Her breasts, firm and tip-tilted, were peaked by hard and dark little buds. The tatters of her rags, draped beneath her breasts across the slight swell of her belly, parted above her mons, enhanced rather than spoilt the beauty of her body.

Her gaze flew nervously from one to the other of her two captors. A young man, handsome as a Greek god, looked at her across the narrow space between the luxurious carriage seats where they sat. He frowned, but touched the sudden bulge in his breeches, stroking its length hungrily.

Grace averted her eyes, focussing them, once more, upon the woman, pleading for gentleness and mercy.

‘Are we going to bind her?' asked Philipe. ‘Truss her wrists and ankles, make her helpless as a kitten?' Grace heard him groan and, from the corner of her huge hazel eyes, saw him release his cock from his straining breeches. It was so clean and darkly pink, the fine skin stretched by its fullness, its bulb bursting out at the broad tip. It was not at all like those of the men in the cemetery. It made a hunger grow, a strange hunger in the very pit of her belly. Her lips parted at the sight of it. Her tongue tip trembled as her mouth formed a perfect O and a sound, soft as a kitten's mew, sighed from her lips.

‘She wants my cock,' said Philipe thickly.

Madame frowned at him and wagged a warning finger.

‘Is it not beautiful?' she asked of Grace, her voice husky with lust as she looked at the spearing cock.

Grace said nothing. She felt the flesh of her thighs flinch, her plump mound pout higher and the warmth of seepage between her love lips.

‘Yes, it is beautiful,' said madame, answering her own question. ‘And, one day, when I have trained you to perfection, I shall allow you to take it in your mouth.'

Grace could not help but gasp at such a suggestion. Her dear mama, poor though she was, had been very strict in her upbringing and a lewd suggestion such as this shocked the sheltered girl.

‘To feel the delicate smoothness of the skin, taste the purity of its fountain, the warm creaminess… to delve that lovely little tongue tip into its depths.'

Again Grace heard the young man groan and she ventured a look at his cock. It looked so thick and long, almost angry, with its head moist and the pinkness darkening to purple.

At this point madame bent her elegantly coiffured and powdered head and brushed her lips across Grace's sex. The moist tip of the older woman's tongue probed the trembling lips apart and the feeling which quivered through her body was wrong, she knew, but she could not help but delight in her own shame. The girl shuddered, but her natural feelings could not prevent a new spread of heat across her lower belly. Madame stiffened her tongue, curled it into a silky cylinder.

Again Philipe groaned. Eyes open to their fullest, Grace glanced towards him over madame's shoulder. His graceful hands slicked up and down the spear of flesh at his groin. His eyes were closed and his lips were parted as he panted his pleasure.

Madame, her eyes gleaming, raised her head. ‘Pout your lips, my precious, cosset my tongue,' she said in a low and seductive voice.

Bewildered, Grace creased her smooth brow. Her narrow shoulders lifted in a scarcely perceptible shrug. ‘I do not understand,' she whispered.

‘Ah, so deliciously prim,' sighed madame, and stuck out her tongue, a smooth and dripping scarlet rod of tissue looking, Grace realised, like Philipe's cock.

‘
Comme ma bouche
?' she said softly, tracing the perfection of her soft lips with the tip of a slender, but grubby, finger.

‘
Oui
,' sighed madame. ‘
La bouche
.'

The thought of her task caused Grace's breasts to swell, become tender and the brown tips become hard as little stones. The place between her legs became hotter and more liquid. Her hand parted the tatters of her gown and eased down over the swell of her belly. Her fingers trembled and her dark eyes darted to madame, asking a nervous and silent permission to ease the delicious tension as she did in the darkness of the night in her mother's hovel.

A smile wreathed madame's plump cheeks but, Grace noticed, the smile did not reach her eyes. A chill struck deep into the girl's heart and, fearful, she replaced her hands on her head.

‘Splendid!' The word was like a whiplash. ‘
Maintenant
… now…
la bouche
!' The long pink tongue, stiff and gleaming with spittle, protruded from the lips once more.

Grace formed her lips into that soft and perfect O and raised herself until her face was exactly opposite madame's painted and powdered visage. She felt warm arms encircle her slender, almost naked, body. An exotic perfume enveloped her, making her head reel. Slowly, she engulfed the tube and began to suck.

More than aware that Philipe was watching the scene with feverish eyes, Grace felt her face and breasts suffuse with heat. The kiss was so intimate with her lips sliding rhythmically back and forth along the silky, throbbing length that she could almost imagine that she was indeed petting Philipe's cock. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to her task and the woman who held her and caressed the throbbing swell of her breasts, the vulnerable pouch of her sex and the firm mounds of her buttocks until Grace was lost in a mist of delightful desire.

Her eyes were heavy as she gave the woman a look which pleaded for more; much more. She turned the look to Philipe and the cock he still petted with aristocratic fingers. It looked so much more inviting than those of the horrible men who attacked her in the cemetery. Yes! She should caress that cock with her mouth; could worship it with her body.

The carriage came to a halt and the girl heard subdued voices. ‘Later,
ma petite
,' whispered madame, gently pushing her away. ‘We shall play more games later.'

Grace felt her face suffuse with heat. The woman knew what she was thinking.

The door opened and she saw liveried servants waiting to attend them. She shrank into the corner of the carriage, aware that her breasts were exposed between the tatters of her gown, but worse, they were flushed and swollen, the burgundy nipples erect. Huddling her knees close to her chest she tried to hide their heavy fullness.

A laugh, mocking and cruel, preceded their descent from the carriage. ‘She tries to hide her titties,' chuckled Philipe, ‘but exposes this!'

Grace felt the smooth tip of a finger probe softly between the moist plumpness of her love lips. It slicked up and down the deep ravines between her inner sex lips and the flushed bed where her nubbin stood hard and erect. Her eyes darted to madame, pleading for her to end this new intimacy. Her inner self admitted that she wanted it, but she feared it.

‘Does he not touch you gently?' murmured the woman, leaning forward eagerly to look at Grace's unwitting exposure. ‘Do your silky fluids not flow? Does your bud not arch sweetly from its hiding place?'

All these things were true, Grace realised, but her body burned with humiliation that the several servants waiting to attend them were watching every detail of this newest degradation.

Madame de Genlis sighed. ‘Perhaps it is time that we got her settled in her quarters.' Grace saw Philipe pout and, very reluctantly, remove his fingers from the warm slipperiness of her cunt.

‘Where are you taking me?' she managed, her voice hoarse with fear and apprehension.

‘To a life of luxury, my precious,' murmured madame, ‘such as you have never known.'

‘If you behave yourself and do as you're told,' added Philipe, as he adjusted his breeches.

A warning look was passed from madame to Philipe and that look, somehow, struck a chill in Grace's heart. She was swung easily into the arms of a footman who was dressed in the finest blue satin.

‘What is this place?' she murmured as he strode easily across the cobbled courtyard, carrying his burden as if he carried a sack full of feathers.

The satin felt deliciously luxurious and silky against Grace's near nakedness.

‘The palace of Versailles,' he whispered. The strong arms which cradled her rounded buttocks and her slim upper back, caressed the slender curves. His voice was soft and his eyes kindly.

‘Why am I here?' Grace fought back the tears. It had already been a long and trying day, and who knew what was before her.

The footman shrugged and she felt his hand brush the side swell of her breast. ‘Some whim of her ladyship's, no doubt.' He brushed her cheek with his lips and his sorrowful eyes sought hers. ‘She will tire of you, and when she does…' He shrugged again.

Grace let out a small scream as she and the man were sent flying across the wet and muddied cobbles by a hefty shove from another servant. Philipe stood behind their attacker, his face thunderous.

‘How dare you talk to my new toy?' he grunted.

‘And do not think we did not see you touch her so intimately!' screamed madame.

‘We shall have you both flogged!'

‘Oh, yes.' Madame clapped her ringed fingers. ‘What fun – naked and flogged!'

Grace gave way to the threatened tears and lay her raven mane upon her hands, uncaring of the wet and mud in the royal courtyard.

‘Doesn't she look fetching?' asked Madame de Genlis, who lay naked upon freshly laundered feather pillows trimmed with lace and satin ribbons. The plump cushions not only supported her elaborately coiffured head, but a further mound was slipped beneath her buttocks, having the effect of arching her sex and spreading her statuesque lower limbs.

Philipe lay beside her, his cock spearing from his groin, purple and angry in its turgidity. One hand stroked his organ lovingly while the other delved between the juicy folds of his lover's sex lips. ‘You have broken your promise again,' he complained.

Grace could scarcely concentrate on the words being bandied back and forth. Her full breasts pained her, so widely were they stretched across her slender ribs and so tightly erect were her nipples.

‘Not at all,' disagreed madame. ‘We shall flog them as soon as we tire of just admiring the gorgeous creature with her raven pussy so pert and open.'

‘Let me touch her,' begged Philipe.

Grace tugged vainly at her bound wrists, but this only put more strain upon the full flesh of her breasts. Her ankles, too, were placed in such a position that her slender thighs were spread and her plump little cunny was open to its limit.

‘Does she not make a perfect base board for our love bed?' asked madame, petting her own mountainous breasts.

‘She certainly looks better now she is clean,' agreed Philipe. ‘
S'il vous plais
, madame,' he craved, ‘allow me to feel the tautness of her stretched limbs, her inner thighs, the moistness of her cunny, the arching readiness of her love bud…'

The young man begged and pleaded but the words faded in Grace's consciousness. What was to happen to her? Was not this torture enough, being spread-eagled at the base of the bed to be ogled by these two? What more could they do to her?

When she was first brought into the palace she was barely conscious after being dragged by her hair over the cold wet cobbles. When she finally came to her senses she could not believe the luxury of her surroundings. The chamber into which she was delivered was small but cosy with rose damask lined walls and velvet sofas standing on tiny gilt legs. By a crackling fire, wonderfully warm and glowing red, a porcelain bath was set and wraiths of steam rose from its scented surface.

She was attended by a maid, a pretty girl, fair as Grace was dark. ‘I must bathe you,' she said shyly, approaching the shivering girl.

Grace wrapped her slender arms about her waist, shrinking away from the maid, embarrassed at the suggestion even though the tatters of her clothes revealed more than they hid. No matter how tightly she hugged herself the pert mounds of her breasts with their taut nipples were bared between the shreds of filthy clothing. The delicate swell of her belly and the fullness of her mound with the fluff of raven curls refused to be hidden by the torn strips of her gown.

The maid, in her plain but pretty dress, stepped forward, her rosebud lips curved in a gentle smile. ‘I shall not hurt you, mistress.' She looked so clean, thought Grace, with the pale swell of her breasts lifted so enticingly by her tight basque.

‘I am not a mistress,' whispered Grace.