Bride of the Revolution

by Bethany Amber

  ‘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.

  The girl, her fair curls shimmering in the warm light of the flickering candles and the glow of the fire, bobbed a curtsy. ‘But you must be,’ she insisted. ‘If I am your maid, you must be my mistress.’ She laughed, a pretty tinkling sound, and darted forward, catching Grace by her tiny waist, pulling her shivering form close.

  The two girls stood close, their pert young breasts heaving, brushing one against the other. Dark hazel eyes gazed into twinkling, mischievous blue eyes. Grace made a sound, a whisper, a mew of pleasure.

  ‘Yes,’ said the maid, ‘I knew when you arrived in the carriage that you were sensual.’

  Grace felt dainty fingers caress the plumpness of her sex pouch, and she could not help but bear down upon the invading fingers, encourage the fingertips to delve deeper into her moist flesh.

  ‘No…’ The murmur of denial was scarcely audible.

  Lips, soft and warm, brushed Grace’s own and she felt a hand cup the growing heaviness of her breast. She did not resist when the girl gently slipped the tatters of her gown from her shoulders. She stood, shy and trembling, her cheeks on fire with embarrassment, while her nakedness was inspected.

  ‘I see why master Philipe and madame desired you,’ whispered the girl. ‘No doubt his blood boiled when he looked upon you.’

  Only then did Grace bow her head, letting the heavy raven tresses fall forward to hide her burning face, sway back and forth across each swollen mound of her breasts.

  The girl eased her into the scented warm water and Grace felt that she would swoon with the sensations the girl drew from her. Her gentle hands, creamed with the most luxurious of soaps, massaged her breasts, her belly, between her open thighs, her buttocks. Grace felt the wild jerk of her clitoris as dainty fingers slipped up and down in the soap-slicked valley where it lay hidden. She felt the girl open her flesh lips and bare the hardened bud. Grace craved that the invading fingers would probe her virginal entrance, but as she reached each peak the digits drew back, leaving her trembling with frustration.

  The maid patted her dry with a towel as soft as velvet. Grace had never felt so clean. Looking down at her body she could not believe that this pale, porcelain skin was hers.

  ‘Try to be brave,’ whispered the maid.

  Grace creased the smooth skin of her forehead, puzzled. ‘I… I… don’t understand,’ she mumbled, her words hesitant.

  ‘They will be cruel,’ whispered the maid. ‘They will humiliate you. Shame you. I have heard them talking.’

  ‘Cruel? Humiliate?’ Grace shivered despite the glowing warmth of the fire before which she stood.

  ‘Be brave,’ said the maid again, and she slipped a plain muslin gown over Grace’s head. It hid nothing. The darkness of her freshly washed pussy bush could be clearly seen through the gossamer cloth, and the flushed darkness of her nipples brushed against the floating material, especially when the maid tied her wrists behind her with silken cord.

  Grace was led to a larger chamber through passages brightly lit with glittering chandeliers and peopled with richly dressed courtiers who did not hesitate to caress her heavy breasts through the fine material as she was pushed through the throngs. One bold young man lifted her fluttering skirt and openly fondled her plump love lips. Helpless because of her bonds she could only stand passively until he pushed her away. Another fondled her buttocks, parted them and peered at the tiny pore that lay hidden there.

  Tears were hot under her lids as she was led to madame’s chamber, and she could not stop her lips from trembling.

  ‘At last!’ was madame’s greeting.

  Oh, they were gentle enough at first. Their hands stroked and teased when the flimsy gown was removed. Madame greeted her with a kiss on each breast while Philipe cosseted her plump flesh pot. Grace became hot with shame, so intimate was their touch.

  But there was much worse to come when they bound her to the frame at the foot of the bed. Hours seemed to pass, or perhaps it was only minutes. Grace’s body was displayed like a living and naked statue.

  ‘Speak to me!’ The words were rapped out by Philipe who knelt at the foot of the bed, stroking her widely splayed legs, feeling their painful tautness, especially on the inner sides where the flesh was most tender.

  Suddenly fully conscious and with eyes which flashed open with
shock, Grace gazed down at him. ‘Yes, sire? What must I say to please you?’

  Madame chuckled. ‘You see how quickly she learns, and I have scarcely taught her anything? What a perfect little dear she is, to be sure.’

  ‘Is it painful?’ asked Philipe, ignoring his mistress.

  Grace wished fervently that she could shudder at the touch of the aristocratic fingers upon her already tortured flesh, but her bonds were too tight to allow the luxury of this slightest of movement. She did not answer, and cast her eyes downwards. Like a midnight curtain her heavy cascade of blue-black hair caressed her pale cheeks, her milky smooth shoulders and the upper swells of her breasts.

  ‘Answer me!’ Philipe’s voice sounded petulant and, at the next moment, Grace cried out as searing pain shuddered through her tautly stretched buttocks. The shimmering torrent of freshly washed hair drifted from side to side of her pale face, caressed her breasts, swung with the force of the blow.

  ‘You must answer, cherie.’ Madame’s plump hand was raised to render another blow upon Grace’s burning bottom.

  ‘A little painful, madame,’ managed Grace, with a scarcely concealed sob in her throat. She felt a kiss, no more than the brush of swansdown upon her heated bottom.

  ‘An angel,’ Grace heard madame whisper, and her buttocks shook with the force of another blow. Tears, round and hot, spilled down Grace’s cheeks. Other moisture, also warm and beaded into creamy pearls oozed from silken flesh in the folds of her sex pouch. She could feel the wetness at her still-closed and virginal entrance, and the heated hardness of her love bud probing from the trembling folds of her sex purse.

  Philipe’s fingers caressed the inner flesh of Grace’s thighs, trying to force them further apart. ‘Do you know the term, orgasm?’ he murmured.

  Heat suffused Grace’s pale cheeks. ‘No,’ she whispered.

  ‘Liar!’ snapped Philipe. ‘I can see the gloss of love juice on your thighs.’

  Please, begged Grace silently, don’t let him cup my sex purse, nor open the leaves, nor feel my bud. The stretching of her body, the tautness of her breasts, the fluttering of her belly had all served to excite that part of her between her thighs, dewing it with love pearls.

  ‘Sire,’ she whispered. ‘I promise you that I have never known a man. This…’ she bowed her head and gestured between her splayed thighs. ‘The dew is for you, should you require me.’

  Madame de Genlis chuckled and threw herself upon the bed, her hands busy between her own thighs. ‘Not yet, my precious,’ she said, ‘but it is sweet that you are so willing. I think I might have a treat for you.’

  Looking over his smooth shoulder, Philipe frowned at madame.

  ‘And for you, too,’ she said. ‘Take her and suspend her upside down.’

  ‘Upside down?’ Philipe pouted his lips and petted the silky length of his cock with trembling fingers. ‘What good will that do?’

  ‘Do it, you stupid boy,’ rasped Madame. ‘And when you have done it you will discover a new joy.’

  The strips of leather, knotted painfully and twisted around Grace’s wrists to the upper strut of the four-poster bed were slowly unfastened. The sudden release of the bindings caused a rush of blood along her arms, held so long in the upright position. A pain that was almost sweet in its severity replaced the numbness. Grace gave a soft mew as the pain hit her and she crumpled, face forward, upon the bed.

  A slender finger stroked her naked and vulnerable sex. ‘She looks so helpless, madame,’ murmured Philipe, ‘still bound at the ankles and spread upon our bed, so open and vulnerable. So ready for a cock. So open. Could I not…?’

  ‘Non!’ Madame was firm. ‘Do as I say and unfasten her other bonds and position her upside down.’

  Philipe sighed, but did as he was bid, releasing the leather strips that cut into the delicate skin at Grace’s ankles. Again she felt the exquisite pain as blood flooded the limbs bound so tightly and for so long. She could not quell the little sound, a blending of pain and relief, which sighed from her soft lips.

  Flipping her over Philipe grinned down at her. She tried to move her cramped arms to cover her shuddering breasts. Painfully, she attempted to curl her slender legs to hide her splayed sex.

  With the flat of his hand Philipe slapped her arms outwards, smacked her belly and flicked his fingertips at her inner thighs.

  ‘Open,’ he grunted. ‘Always open for us to gaze upon, to touch.’ Nervously, he looked to madame, but the woman only smiled her agreement.

  Grace, her wide eyes closed, felt fingertips spreading the plumpness of her outer sex folds. A smooth thumb grazed over the pouting erection of her clitoris and Grace felt her body flush with humiliation as she heard herself sigh, a whisper of sheer pleasure, as that sensitive place was touched.

  ‘Enough of that!’ snapped madame. ‘Put her up as I suggested; her wrists bound to the lower strut and ankles to the upper.’

  Philipe frowned, sitting back upon his haunches, his hands straying to the still stiff and throbbing length of his cock. ‘But she will then have to support herself upon her hands, her wrists, the length of her arms,’ he complained.

  A soft whimper of apprehension came from Grace’s soft and open lips. The thought of renewed and even greater pain was almost more than she could bear.

  ‘Oh, come now, my darling,’ whispered madame. ‘Think how graceful, how pliable, how sensual my training will make you.’ She smiled a secret smile. ‘And I am sure that little sex pouch is already feeling delicious benefits. Feel her again, Philipe. Tell me how it feels.’

  The smooth fingers opened her and Grace knew that her sex skin was scarlet, livid with desire. The folds were swollen, open, beaded with love pearls and, in the centre, jutting proudly, was her clitty; jerking with excitement, throbbing in and out of its little hood.

  ‘Splendid,’ murmured madame. ‘Bind her as I instructed and we shall all have even greater fun.’

  Deftly, Philipe bound her. Within seconds Grace’s slender arms were tormented with a dreadful ache caused by the strain of supporting her body weight. The only relief was the suspension from her slender ankles, her legs splayed to their limit. The young man could not resist a caress of her open, moist and very vulnerable sex, and Grace could not stop the answering flutter of her sensitive part.

  ‘Et maintenant?’ he queried of madame. ‘And now?’ He was impatient. Grace could tell by his crisp words.

  Madame laughed coarsely. ‘Well, what have you been wishing for these several hours?’

  ‘Relief!’ grunted Philipe.

  ‘Exactement!’ Madame lay back, her eyes heavily lidded with lust, her lips parted, her legs thrust asunder, her knees allowed to fall outwards to display her sex pouch fully.

  ‘But you said…’

  ‘You could not fuck her, oui!’ Madame chuckled. ‘But does she not have other delightful orifices which I have made available to you?’

  Grace’s eyes, wide and gleaming with pain, peered between the tumbled raven blackness of her hair, were drawn to the bloated veins of Philipe’s rigidity pulsing with eagerness.

  ‘Her rear?’ he queried, not trying to hide his fervent desire.

  The wrinkled bud nestling between the plump mounds of her buttocks twitched involuntarily and Grace, using all her strength, tried to move in her bonds.

  ‘Mais non,’ murmured Madame de Genlis, but her voice was husky with wanting. ‘That must come very much further in her training.’

  Grace could see the pearly dew drop glistening upon the bloated globe of Philipe’s penis. It shimmered in the guttering light of the candles scattered about the chamber and the glow from the dying coals in the ornate fireplace. Madame tapped her parted lips and raised an eyebrow at Philipe.

  The young man smiled and his pale eyes glittered with delight. Grace saw him look down at his grossly th
ickened and throbbing length.

  ‘Do you think she could?’ he asked, smoothing his delicate fingers along the silky and juice-slicked skin. He smoothed a fingertip along the soft margins of Grace’s mouth and she could taste the creamy saltiness of his dew. Unable to help herself she lapped at the taste as eagerly as she could in the face of her torture.

  ‘Do you see, mon cher Philipe? How she loves your taste!’ Madame was ecstatic in her enthusiasm while Grace felt her face burn with humiliation at her own actions. Despite this fact she felt a warm trickle of her own cream ooze between the taut cleft of her buttocks, and a throb she could not ignore in the depths of her sex pouch. ‘Come, Philipe,’ urged madame, ‘position yourself. Place your cock in her deliciously soft mouth. Let her lips massage its length until it gives up its contents.’

  ‘If she gags,’ said Philipe, a pout never far from his handsome but spoilt mouth, ‘may I deal with her as I think fit?’

  Grace’s head ached abominably from her tortured position, but she saw Madame de Genlis wave one of her ringed hands, her mouth pursed with anger, her powdered forehead creased with fury. ‘I wish to enjoy the sweet sight of her mouth filled with your cock! Do it and stop arguing!’

  ‘Open your lips fully,’ ordered Philipe, turning his back on his mistress. ‘No! Not like that, you stupid girl! Moisten them nicely first.’

  Tongue tip trembling, Grace did as she was bid. Philipe shuffled his naked legs through the lower strut of the oak bed until his bloated and purplish globe was level with her open lips. He sighed blissfully as her mouth gently sucked the pearly driblets that oozed from the pulsing eye.

  ‘More,’ he ordered hoarsely. ‘Suck harder. Take my whole length into your mouth.’

  The feel of the sword of flesh sliding into her throat did not perturb Grace in the slightest. Far from it. It was a pleasurable sensation and took her mind from her other pain and discomfort; the ache in her head, her tortured joints, the leather bindings at her wrists and ankles.