‘Pretty titties,’ he growled, and with his free hand he worked his grimy fingers into the soft flesh, kneading it, hefting the weight by means of the gold ring.
She had been captured at the very outskirts of Paris and brought here. It was as if the revolutionaries were waiting for her.
The gypsy, Peli, arranged her voyage across the Channel. She’d begged him to accompany her, but he refused, shaking his head sorrowfully. He held her tight, thrusting her body tightly against his, swaying his rigid cock against her. His mouth bruised hers in a last passionate kiss.
‘Do you think Lord Albert would welcome me?’ He threw back his dark head and laughed. ‘More likely take his pistol and blow my head off!’
The voyage was rough and the road to Paris was long and stony. By the time she reached the city her feet were torn and bruised. She asked at the first tavern where she could find an English lord, and that was her undoing.
Lifting her head, she smiled at the man who guarded her. He frowned. ‘Why do you smile?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘Does it please you to touch my breasts?’ she asked. Could she dare hope that she could trick the guard into letting her go? Dare hope that her hardened nipples could tease him into releasing her chains? Hope that the swell of her breasts under his fingers could bait him?
‘When I move,’ she told him in a low voice, ‘the chain rubs back and forth in my sex slit.’
The guard’s face flushed with eagerness and his dull eyes brightened.
‘It rubs my clitty, presses back the skin of its hood and bares the most sensitive part,’ she continued in husky tones. ‘Shall I show you?’
The guard’s expression hardened. ‘I know what you are doing and it won’t work!’ He stumbled away from the bars, his eyes never wavering from her bonded body.
Grace moaned and he grinned as he threw himself back in his chair.
Deliberately, she sawed the chain back and forth between her sex lips. ‘It rubs my nubbin,’ she said, and arched backwards to show him, gritting her teeth against the pain of the bond cutting into her sensitive flesh. The guard groaned and fumbled with his breeches, rubbing the bulge that grew there. ‘It presses back the hood. Can you see? Can you see how hot and inflamed my tip is?’
He groaned again and his cock was in his hands, rubbing the bloated flesh. ‘It will not work citoyenne.’ His globe was polished by his dew, naked of foreskin which was pleated behind the swollen tip. ‘It will not work!’
The chain slipped painfully back and forth, becoming glossy with Grace’s dew. It rubbed her nubbin again and again. ‘What? What will not work citizen?’
‘What… you… are trying to do to me,’ he groaned. ‘But it will not work!’
‘Perhaps,’ she murmured.
The thick shaft throbbed in his hands and Grace could see the shimmer of pre-issue dribbling on to the dusty floor of her prison. Through her pain she felt the wave of an orgasm engulf her. Shudders rippled through her captured body and caused the chain to catch her clitoris. She moaned softly as another pleasure wave rode through her. She tried to hide her enjoyment, keeping her face a beautiful, but inscrutable, mask.
Head thrown back, the guard tossed his length to his own pleasure peak and then, to Grace’s dismay, drifted into a heavy slumber.
Many hours passed. Grace had no idea how many. Time seemed to have lost its meaning.
‘Water,’ she gasped. No food or drink had passed her lips since she set foot on the road to Paris.
‘Water?’ He stirred and got up. ‘Water? It will be wasted on you. It is only hours before Madame Guillotine will kiss you.’
‘But I am not an aristo!’ she repeated. ‘Why won’t you believe me?’
‘Because our informant tells us different!’ He touched her soft lips with a fingertip and shuddered as if thinking what the lovely mouth could do for him. ‘You were looking for the English aristo, Lord Albert, and she…’ He stopped abruptly, gnawing his lower lip.
‘She?’ asked Grace. ‘Who?’
He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter, little missy.’
The guard traced the press of the chain in the valley of her breasts. ‘Does the chain hurt you?’
‘Only a little,’ she lied. ‘A very little.’
He grinned and his rough palms stroked the slopes of her smooth breasts. ‘What a pity these will die with you when the guillotine falls!’
Grace shuddered under his touch and at his words.
‘We have a few hours,’ he reminded her, ‘what say we use them pleasurably? More pleasurably than when you tried so hard to beguile me.’
‘You will release my chains?’ Grace’s heart pounded. Perhaps even yet she could find Lord Albert.
The man laughed. ‘Do you think I’m a simpleton?’ The grin faded and he smacked her breasts, making them quiver and the chain that connected the hardened nipples shimmer against her heaving ribs.
‘No, citizen,’ said Grace meekly, ‘but if you loosen my chains, just a little, I could give you so much more pleasure.’ She was prepared to do anything to find Lord Albert. Anything.
A rough finger slid under the chain that cut into her belly, causing greater tension within her sex and the cleft between her buttocks. Grace bowed her body in an attempt to decrease the tension but he pulled tighter and the links bit cruelly into her most sensitive parts.
‘Do the links bite at your nubbin as they did when you taunted me, citoyenne?’ He spoke with an assumed air of sympathy, but beneath the soft words there was cruel sarcasm.
Grace bit her lip and bent lower, again trying to ease the tension, but he tugged at the chain, making her cry out.
‘What a graceful bottom,’ he said, smoothing the curves with a rough hand, ‘but it is marked!’ He pulled her upright by placing a finger under the point of her chin. ‘What did they use?’ His voice was hoarse with lust. ‘What did they use?’ He rubbed at his groin and bent closer to her. His free hand grasped her breast, pressing the nipple ring into the malleable hillock.
‘Their hands,’ she said, trying to swallow back the tears that hovered on her eyelids.
Again he smacked her breasts, making them quiver about the chain which cleaved them so tightly. ‘Lying aristo!’ he rasped. ‘They used much more than their hands and it’s my guess it was not done for punishment, but for pleasure.’ Crimson spots of colour daubed Grace’s cheeks. ‘Did they fuck you? How many were there? Did they come into you one after the other?’ The questions came rapidly, assailing her ears, increasing her shame, but what choice had she? Her quest depended on the young gypsies. She had to please them.
‘And this?’ The man stroked the soft stubble of hair returning to her sex mound. ‘Why was it done and were you smacked there as well?’ He bent down examining her intimately. He rubbed the chain back and forth across her nubbin, irritating the tender tip until Grace had to bite her lips to hold back a moan of part pain and part pleasure.
‘No, citizen,’ they did not smack me there,’ she said, her eyes downcast.
‘Perhaps my mistress will enjoy that task,’ he said, sliding his hand up her belly, feeling with apparent pleasure the way the chain cut into the little swell.
‘Your mistress?’ Her mind went immediately to madame and her alternately tender and cruel ways.
‘She is a leader, a prominent citoyenne. She leads the people in the revolution.’ There was no coyness now. He revealed that his superior was a woman boldly. He stood proudly, as if about to salute, but Grace shuddered.
His eyes flickered back to his captive and his hands cupped her shoulders, shaking her until the chains rattled ominously. ‘She ordered your execution. But we were not discussing my mistress. We were discussing how you could give me pleasure.’
‘Who is she?’ Grace shivered. She was sure she knew the answer to her o
wn question.
The answer came in the form of a hard smack upon her buttocks. With the bruises scarcely healed from the gypsies’ onslaught upon her flesh, she cried out, but she felt the chain vibrate against her clitty and bottom mouth and the cry was part pleasure.
‘Is that what they did?’ He spoke softly in her ear, standing behind her. ‘Did they do it many times until you begged them to fuck you?’
‘They used a strap,’ admitted Grace, ‘and a birch twig until my bottom was black with bruising.’
‘And then they fucked you?’
Grace nodded, her cheeks aflame with her shame.
‘Was your cunt sore with the shafts dipping in and out?’ The man was enjoying his interrogation.
She shook her head.
‘No?’ he questioned, laughter in his voice. ‘Did they have the cocks more suited to be within the sac of mice?’
Thinking of Mule’s thickness, she shook her head vigorously. ‘They did not only thrust into my…’ she hesitated, not wishing to speak the word he used.
‘Your cunt?’ He sounded excited and allowed his thick fingers to drift into her bottom crease, parting the bruised hillocks. ‘Did they come in here?’ He moved the chain and put a greater tension on her clitty, making her butt against the link that pressured its raw tip. She felt his finger prod her rear bud.
‘Oui, monsieur,’ she admitted, her head bowed and her black hair hiding her shamed cheeks. ‘One of them.’
‘And where else did they fuck you?’ She could feel his cock hard against her buttocks. He breathed harshly against her ear and the noise was like the hard breathing of a horse reined in from a fast gallop. His hands held her breasts, kneading them, parting them, thrusting them together. Her nipples pained her at every movement as he pulled against the gold rings and the chain that looped across her ribs.
‘Your mouth?’ he rasped. ‘Did they come in your mouth? Did you swallow the spunk?’
‘I swallowed,’ she admitted.
‘Good,’ he growled. ‘You were well used and I am sure you would enjoy to taste more come before you die upon the guillotine.’
‘What does it matter?’ murmured Grace. Over the past year men and women had used her body alike. She was a vessel for them – nothing more. ‘If you will allow me to lie down, monsieur, you may use me all you wish.’
‘Thank you kindly, citoyenne.’
He grinned, but she felt his hands tremble in excitement as he unfastened the bar which kept her ankles wide apart. Grace’s legs trembled as he slipped the shackles from her ankles. ‘Nothing more,’ he said, ‘I am loosening nothing more. My mistress warned me that you would try to escape.’
‘But, if you fuck me, will not the chain which parts my sex and bottom pain your cock, which is so magnifique?’
The guard grinned again. ‘I have no intention of damaging my prick on your bonds.’
‘You haven’t?’
‘Lie down,’ he growled.
‘But…’ Grace frowned, wondering what he had in mind.
‘Lie down!’ The hard fingers smacked her breasts, making them quake, one against the other.
The chain holding her wrists so tightly between her thighs cut cruelly into her as she tried to do the guard’s bidding. She gasped as the smooth loops dug deeply into her female opening.
‘Spread your legs,’ he said, and his voice trembled as he gave the order.
Grace could not straighten her back because of the tension of the chain, but this made her sex an inviting vessel, a cup, spread open at the apex of her splayed thighs.
Standing with open legs at her head, he gave his order. ‘Suck my cock,’ he said, and he sank down on his knees, unfastening his breeches and baring his taut belly, his full groin and ball sac drawn tightly between his muscular thighs.
Supporting himself upon his hands he nuzzled his globe between Grace’s moist and parted lips. She felt the warmth of his breath upon her shaven mound, felt his lips brush the soft fuzz upon it and she felt her flesh shudder, not from fear or distaste, but from the inbuilt pleasure brought about by madame’s training.
‘Suck me, damn you,’ he growled.
Grace took his globe between her lips, drawing his length deep into her throat until his groin curls tickled her sucking lips.
She heard his sigh, felt the warmth of his tongue as its tip slipped into the sex cleft deepened by the chain. She felt it lap and tickle open the fine inner lips. She drew upon his cock, feeling the veins throb against her lips and tongue and feeling the length pulse with pleasure. His lips closed about her nubbin, petting it and drawing it out to a fine sensitive point.
Thrusting deep into her mouth the guard flooded her with his spunk. It came in creamy bursts and triggered Grace’s own pleasure. Her sex quivered in his mouth and her own issue bubbled from her depths, musky and rich.
‘Well, now!’ said a female voice, one which Grace recognised. ‘Maintenant!’
Arching her neck, the guard’s cock still held gently between her lips, Grace looked behind her, through the open door of the cell. She saw neat black leather boots with spiked heels planted squarely apart. The boots were long, seeming to clad the whole length of the legs they covered. Above the boots was a skirt of an unseemly short length, also made from black leather. The odour of leather was strong.
The cock was withdrawn from Grace’s mouth and she watched the guard scramble to his feet, trying desperately to put his clothing to rights. This done he began to help Grace up.
‘No, leave her!’ The woman crouched beside Grace and smiled. ‘Remember me, ma cherie?’
‘Charlotte de Levis,’ murmured Grace, wishing her wrists were free of the manacles so she could wipe the spillage of the guard from her cheeks and lips.
‘Oui, ma cherie.’
A shining breastplate encased the woman’s firm and well-shaped breasts, and supple black gauntlets clad the long fingers and wrists. These slid the length of Grace’s body, drifting lightly over the quivering breasts and the trembling belly.
‘C’est moi,’ she said huskily.
‘Madame is a soldier of the republic,’ said the guard, attempting to curry favour with his mistress.
One black gauntlet lashed out at the guard, sending him reeling across the cell. ‘Take him!’ hissed Charlotte, ‘and see that he never leaves Devil’s Island.’ Cava, Charlotte’s bodyguard, grasped the whimpering guard about the neck and sent him stumbling up the stone steps of the prison.
Charlotte bent to kiss each of Grace’s ringed nipples. The kiss was tender, the softness of a woman’s lips. ‘Did he hurt you, ma cherie?’ she asked.
A leather clad finger slid beneath the chain, cool and soft as skin. It tickled her sex mound, so cruelly cut by the tight chain. Grace moaned. What did it matter if the guard hurt her if she was to die on the guillotine?
‘Comprendez-vous?’ Charlotte spoke so softly that the words were a caress. ‘You understand?’
The leather gloves squeezed Grace’s breasts until the pain brought tears to her eyes, but then the soft lips caressed the flesh and Grace felt the pleasure building within her.
‘Understand what, madame?’ asked Grace.
‘Why you must go to the guillotine?’ Even as these terrible words were spoken Charlotte caressed her prisoner. Grace moved upon the probing fingers, unable to help herself.
‘Your musk is strong, ma cherie,’ noted Charlotte, sniffing the air. ‘I wonder if this was because the guard excited you or because of my little attentions…’
The black lashes fluttered down over eyes shimmering with tears. They squeezed from under the lashes and fell like liquid crystals down Grace’s pale cheeks.
‘Tears?’ asked Charlotte as she bent over the cup of Grace’s sex, brushing her lips over the shadowy mound, tickling the freshly grown ha
ir. Her tongue sipped at the gathered sap within the pouting sex folds. ‘Pleasure from me, and pleasure from the guard,’ crowed Charlotte. ‘What more could a girl ask?’
The leather fingers parted the swollen folds and nipped the very root of Grace’s nubbin. They stroked it and the girl felt fresh swirls of excitement soar through her. Her urge was to buck against the seductive touch, but she was determined not to give Charlotte that satisfaction. Two black fingers plunged into her, driving in to the hilt, leaving a thumb to play with her inflamed bud. Grace could not help but murmur her pleasure.
‘You see, ma cherie? I make wonderful feelings in you, do I not? So why do you weep?’
‘I weep because I am to lose my life on the guillotine,’ said Grace, ‘and I am innocent of any crime.’
‘Non!’ cried Charlotte. ‘You were a plaything of the aristos! That is why you are to be punished in the ultimate way.’
‘It was not my choice!’ said Grace.
Charlotte shrugged and the flickering light of the sconces reflected upon her burnished breastplate, highlighting the pert shapes of her breasts beneath the metal. She began to release the chain that kept Grace so tightly trussed.
‘I was homeless,’ continued Grace, ‘hungry, grateful for any shelter.’ She stretched her cramped limbs as the chain fell from her body. ‘Will you let me go? Please!’
‘Stand up,’ said Charlotte, ignoring Grace’s plea.
On shaking legs, legs weak from the long period of bondage and legs trembling from the strength of the orgasm brought about by Charlotte’s foraging fingers, Grace pulled herself to her feet.
Charlotte examined her with lustful eyes. ‘Such a pity that a beauty like you must die on the guillotine.’ With a leather finger smelling strongly of Grace’s musk, she lifted her chin and kissed her passionately on the lips.
‘Please let me go, if only for a little while,’ pleaded Grace once more. ‘There is someone, a man, I wish to see… before I die.’
Bride of the Revolution Page 23
