Bride of the Revolution (8 page)

Both Philipe and the gaoler had their cocks between flashing fingers and Grace, her eyes heavy lidded from her own sensual experience, watched the lengths bulge as they came closer and closer to their climaxes. The pulsing was strong in both men, as though they had stored their pleasure for a length of time. Grace felt the spurt of the warm and creamy juices splash upon her belly. More trickled down her breasts, droplets falling from her tautened nipples. Her shame was such that she could not hold back the tears and they streamed down her pale cheeks to slide like liquid crystal to her breasts, merging with the pearly spills of come.

‘Such a graceful and willing girl,' murmured madame, her own orgasm ending with a pleasurable whisper.

With a luxurious rustle of silk she put her gown to rights.

A scarcely audible echo of pleasure whispered across the shadowy dungeons, and Grace turned her head in its direction and gasped. The naked footman, despite his pain and discomfort, writhed against the chain that suspended him. His body arched as his feet tried to gain purchase against the post that held him. With her womb still pulsing from the rigours of her orgasm Grace could almost imagine that he had impaled her. A stream arched from his cock, long creamy arcs that splashed the mossy flagstones.

‘Oh, let him go,' murmured Grace, her voice choked by sobs and full of compassion. Her own discomfort was forgotten; the mounds of her breasts flattened by tension, her nipples gathered into painful buds, her belly so taut that it was almost concave, but this concavity enhancing the proud pad of female flesh.

‘Let him go?' rasped Philipe. ‘Let him go? He must be punished, whipped until he learns…' His eyes darted to the gaoler who was selecting whips from the array hung above the rack. ‘Until he learns not to make free with our property.'

At last Grace felt her own limbs released. Her aching body was sponged with a square of clean flannel to wipe away the male spillage. Madame took great care to carry out the cleansing process in the most sensual way possible. Grace shuddered as the warm flannel was wiped about her breasts, over her belly and in and around her pussy. Only then was she gathered into madame's arms as if she was a long lost and dear friend, or a daughter lost and finally found.

‘If I might suggest,' said the gaoler, ‘the girl needs further disciplining.'

Madame, her ringed hand cupped against the fullness of Grace's breast, raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘We were thinking of a light whipping,' she said, ‘Philipe and I. Have you any other suggestions?'

The gaoler shook his long greasy and tangled locks. ‘Whipping, no matter how light, can damage a property,' he said. ‘I have some fine chains here which might suit your purpose better.'

Grace heard the sound of fine metal upon metal.

‘Perhaps you might wish to suspend her as I lash the other prisoner.' The gaoler had his eyes upon Grace's body as he spoke, but he handed a tangle of fine chains to madame. ‘These hold the legs fully apart, while these stretch the wrists to a hook in the roof of the chamber.'

Grace felt, in her mind, the renewed tension upon her thighs and wrists and shuddered as she imagined her breasts again pulled so taut that the skin might burst.

Madame considered the matter, tapping her forefinger on her lower lip and eyeing Grace, who now stood, head bowed, awaiting madame's decision.

‘Very well then,' said madame. ‘Let us see how she looks in the chains. I am sure we shall not be disappointed.' She lifted Grace's chin and kissed the soft lips with her own full ones. ‘It is for your own good.' Madame smiled. ‘It is to make these…' she cupped the weight of Grace's breasts, ‘firm and pert, and these…' she thumbed the hardening nipples, ‘
very
sensitive.' Grace felt her belly quiver. ‘And this flat and taut,' added madame. With a sigh she handed her to the gaoler and indicated that the chains be wrapped about Grace's limbs.

The smooth-linked chains were wrapped about her wrists. They felt cool, almost soothing against her skin. A long loop dangled loosely over her belly and between her legs, brushing her mound like gentle fingers.

‘Stop,' commanded madame.

‘Something wrong?' asked Philipe, his eyes darting from Grace, whose head was bowed meekly, to madame. He was enjoying the sight of her full breasts pressed together by her bonds, and he could not keep the annoyance from his voice. ‘What is it?'

‘Bring the chain between her flesh lips,' said madame, lifting the loose end herself and allowing it to sway between Graces slightly parted thighs.

‘Of course, madame,' agreed the gaoler. ‘
Naturellement
! Tight to part those pretty petals and stimulate the female bud.'

Grace tried to ignore the coarse face of the gaoler close to hers as he slung the chain between her thighs, and to ignore the rough fingers as he spun her round. The links of the chain were chill against her sex flesh. They made her shudder and she winced as they were pulled tighter, abrading her nubbin and driving into the soft moistness of the folds.

‘
Très jolie
!' murmured madame, testing the tightness of the chain at Grace's belly and buttocks. ‘Very pretty. Don't you think so, Philipe?'

‘Indeed,' agreed the young man, his eyes shining with lust. ‘
Absolument
!'

The gaoler knelt at her feet to coil more chains about her ankles and a bar to keep her legs stretched wide apart. Grace felt the heat of his breath against her bound pussy. She felt her face burn with shame as he nuzzled his nose into the chained valley of her flesh pot.

‘Up, up now,' ordered madame. ‘Pull her up just a little from the floor, and let us see just how submissive we can make her.'

The chains made frightening clanking noises and Grace felt her body stretched once more, her limbs pulled unnaturally and the smooth links pressed deeply into her moist heat.

Bound once more, Grace found herself staring wistfully into the eyes of the footman. He seemed resigned to what was to come, even happy. His wide lips were curved in a smile, parted as if ready for a kiss. She could see the tension in the muscles of his arms, the heave of his broad chest. Her eyes were drawn to the arch of his cock, still turgid despite its release moments earlier. A pearl of semen still hovered at the swollen bulb, glinting in the flickering light of the sconces.

‘Turn him round, gaoler,' ordered Philipe. ‘His grinning face is insolent.'

Grace, in the fine but strong chains, her legs thrust wide apart and her arms shackled to the ceiling of the cave-like dungeon, felt bereft of the man's companionship when she could no longer see his face. His broad shoulders, narrow waist, and muscular buttocks, were small compensation.

‘Get on with it,' Philipe, as always, was impatient.

‘Yes, sire. I think you'll find the lash I've chosen more than adequate for the task.' The gaoler, sweating with his considerable duties that evening, held up a long and rigid leather handle, attached to which were several fine chains into which were slotted sharp pieces of metal.

Grace could not help but let out a gasp of horror. She tugged on the chains that held her to the ceiling, making her bonds tinkle angrily and the links drive into her flesh. She felt her breasts move against her upper arms, brushing the nipples to hardness.

‘Be still!' ordered madame. ‘Or the gaoler will be forced to use the implement upon you.'

‘Don't hurt her,' begged the footman, his voice muffled by the post to which he was tied. ‘Flay my flesh from my bones, but don't hurt her.'

Madame chuckled. ‘It shall be as you say.'

The dank air whistled as the awful implement was brought down upon the footman's vulnerable back.

Chapter Four

‘I think,' said madame, stroking Grace's naked body which lay, very still and languid, at the foot of her bed, ‘it is time to allow the rest of the court to view you.'

The green eyes widened questioningly.

‘You are so very pretty and your training is coming along nicely.'

Madame trailed her fingers across the dip of her charge's waist and up to the underswell of each breast. Grace felt the need to part her legs.

‘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.