Bride of the Revolution

by Bethany Amber

  ‘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.

  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. Sh
e 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.