Bride of the Revolution (15 page)

Minette nodded once more, but lowered her eyes, embarrassed by Grace's forced display. She had heard that many at court were lewd and decadent. This girl, although she acted so submissive, seemed actually to enjoy her own display.

‘Are they here? Have you brought them?' asked madame of Minette, taking a glance, first at Grace to check she was showing herself to best advantage and then out into the dim passage behind the box. Shadowy figures lingered there and there was a murmur of voices. ‘There was a young Englishman in the pit who could not take his eyes from…'

‘I am so sorry, Madame de Genlis,' murmured Minette. Her full breasts trembled over the low décolletage and she twisted her fingers in the looped skirt of her gown. ‘It is not the Englishman…'

Grace gasped, her dark eyes wide with fear. Her hands fell from the gold jewellery that pierced her nipples.

The shadowy figures stepped into the box and, in the richness of these surroundings, their clothing, no more than filthy rags, looked more misplaced than ever.

‘You filthy little whore!' The rasping voices were suddenly all around her, scathing and insulting. ‘
Putain
!'

Dragged to her feet by several pairs of hands Grace gave a plea for mercy. Her body seemed torn as if on the rack once more or suspended from the dungeon roof. Her handlers were rough, as were their hands and nails. Her flesh was bruised, her skin chafed and the fine chains tore at the places they pierced. She heard the soft clink of them, one against the other, and heard the hoarse breathing of her new captors.

Her eyes darted to Madame de Genlis and Philipe, pleading for their aid, but Philipe huddled as far away as possible from the newcomers. Grace struggled in the rough hands that clasped cruelly around her bare arms and brutishly thrust down into the flimsy gown to grasp the soft heaviness of her breasts. It was then that she saw Pierre, his face contorted with anger and revenge.

‘I warned you!' he rasped. ‘I warned you!'

A claw-like hand reached out and Grace felt the sting of a ragged nail as it scratched the full swell of her breast. Her gown fell in shreds about her body. She drew in a long breath as the film of gossamer swirled loosely away from her, leaving her naked apart from the nipple rings and the looped gold chains that shimmered against her pale skin. She stood, head bowed, her midnight hair a silky curtain about her face, not daring to look at the faces turned in her direction.

‘Where are you taking her?' Madame stood, her handsome face at once afraid and thunderous with anger. She looked to Philipe for help but, overcoming his fear, he had eyes for no one but Minette. ‘I shall call the guards.'

The ruffians laughed and gathered round Grace, mauling her breasts, sucking on the gold rings that pierced her nipples, thrusting their filthy fingers into the lush bush of hair on her mound.

‘Has it escaped your notice, madame, that the revolution is by the people and for the people,' said Pierre. ‘The guards will do nothing more than join in our games. Come! We must go… Robespierre is not a patient man.'

Madame gave a little cry of fright. ‘Robespierre? What does he want with my poor Grace? Will he have her beheaded?'

The men laughed again, pulling Grace by the wrist chains, making her stumble. ‘Beheaded? No!' said one. ‘There are any number of little games that Citizen Robespierre has in mind for this pretty little miss!'

Grace tried to blink back the tears that gathered under her lashes. ‘I've done nothing,' she murmured.

‘You are one of them!' grated Pierre. His horny hands, one after the other, whipped across her buttocks. The sudden sting made her cry out. She felt a glow of heat from the blow. Aftershocks made the firm young flesh quiver and her well-tutored little anus sucked joyfully as if on a finger or Zeus's cock.

‘I'm not,
mon frere
,' she murmured. ‘I was taken against my will.'

Pierre shrugged and gestured that his companions should take Grace, which they did, dragging her unmercifully from the theatre.

Once out in the streets, which were still full with the milling populace, Grace tried to shrink back from the crowds. A roar of approval went up as they saw her, her gown in tatters fluttering about her naked body and her body pierced and bonded by the chains. She hung her head in shame and tried to bury her face on Pierre's thin shoulder, but he pushed her away.

This was worse; worse than anything she had suffered. Worse than the men who tried to rape her in the cemetery; worse than being impaled upon Zeus to be abused by the courtiers.

‘These are your people, Grace,' muttered Pierre. ‘Not those aristos.'

She knew Pierre was right, but the months she'd spent at Versailles had made her soft, used to comfort, no matter that madame and Pierre tormented her. She sobbed, stumbling upon the slimy cobbles and the remains of rotting food. She wished the ground would open up, swallow her, release her from misery.

‘Almost at Robespierre's palace,' said Pierre. ‘I believe he has quite a treat in store for you. Oh yes,
ma chere soeur
, we have heard what debauchery you enjoyed in Versailles.'

Grace began to deny it, but in truth, she could not. There were times when she was delirious with the pleasure meted out to her. She enjoyed the warm silkiness of a cock between her lips, the throb of it, the feel of the moist smooth globe at the back of her tongue. And, best of all, the deluge of male fluid that poured into her throat.

And madame had taught her the enjoyment of a tongue between her love lips. She could not resist the shudder in her captors' arms as she remembered the lap of lingual flesh upon her sex; the tickle of it upon her clitty and the resulting joy which welled up within her, made her spiral in a whirlpool of pleasure.

Her captors grasped her arms and dragged her through the imposing doorway of Citizen Robespierre's palace. The ill-clad guards leered at her nakedness as she was shoved ahead of her captors through the entry hall. This was magnificent in its grandeur, but unkempt, the ceilings draped with cobwebs.

‘Down!' ordered Pierre as she was pushed through a narrow arch that led down into darkness.

‘What is this place?' she asked, peering into the gloom. There was a chill in the air which made her bare skin roughen into goosebumps.

‘The crypts,' replied Pierre. ‘Robespierre uses these to extract information from those who shield the aristos.'

Grace shuddered against Pierre and, feeling the movement, he laughed.

‘Does it remind you of something, little sister?' he asked.

‘Versailles,' she murmured. It reminded her of the rooms beneath the king's palace where she was punished when first used by madame. The walls ran with damp and were green with lichen and moss. She heard the low moans of pain and voices begging for death. She shivered in the wet chill.

‘
Oui
,' answered Pierre. ‘We have heard about the king's debauchery with his subjects.'

One of Pierre's companions stepped forward, coming from out of the gloom. His broad hands were outstretched, his eyes glinting with lust. He pressed her nakedness to him and she looked over her shoulder, pleading with Pierre, but he shrugged and turned away. ‘He merely wishes to keep you warm, little sister, until Robespierre is ready for you.'

The broad hands rubbed her belly and trembled as they slid over her breasts, feeling the nipple rings and the chains which connected them. Grace's breasts became fuller, more tender, and she arched towards the man. This encouraged him and the thick fingers entered the space between her parted thighs, gliding over the smooth skin. She shivered as the touch became more intimate, entering the crease of her bottom.

Pierre's friends laughed and moved closer. Their tattered breeches bulged heavily at the crotches. They were muscular, powerful, and she knew there was no point in trying to resist them. Her heart was beating fast as the one who had first touched her pushed her away with a hiss of disgust.

Another stepped forward. Had Pierre called him Raoul? He was tall, well built. ‘You must do exactly as I say,' he said.

‘I know,' said Grace, letting her head bow in a pliant, acquiescent manner. Had she not been impaled upon Zeus's cock and found pleasure in it? She shuddered within herself as she remembered the hard chill of the organ entering her tight passage, but at the same time she felt a tiny thrill of pleasure in her clitty.

The man laughed nervously and looked over his shoulder at her half-brother. ‘Everything!' His voice became huskier and she could see his rigid cock probing through a rip in his breeches. ‘Put your hands on your head.' He was so excited his voice was scarcely audible, but he turned to Pierre. ‘She is very beautiful.'

‘And very obedient,' added Pierre.

Grace held out her hands, showing her manacles and wrist chains. ‘I cannot hurt you,' she said.

‘Don't argue! Are you trying to make a fool of me in front of my friends?' Pierre's hand lashed out at her shoulder, but his aim was poor and he slapped her breasts, making the fine chains shimmer in the dim lights of the wall sconces, and making the pale flesh quiver. Her nipples became painfully erect and she felt colour drain from her face.

Slowly, she raised her hands and placed them obediently on her head. The chains that connected her wrists swayed over her pale face and made her look more slavish than ever.

Raoul probed a finger between her thighs. His hard mouth curved in a cruel smile that quickly changed to a snarl as he discovered her pussy lips were sealed by gold loops. Grace knew he could feel her dew, warm and slick, dripping on each jet frond and could, perhaps, feel her erect clitty nudging the closed lips.

‘What is this?' he asked, tugging the rings as if he would rip them from her flesh.

‘I am a virgin,' explained Grace, ‘and madame was determined to keep me so.'

Pierre pulled her from Raoul and shook her. ‘But you are a
putain
for the court; a whore. I have heard that the courtiers used you.'

‘Madame taught me to use my tongue upon men,' explained Grace, ‘to drink their spunk and be a receptacle for their come, but I remained a virgin.'

Raoul let his breeches fall to the rough flagged floor and Grace saw the full measure of his bloated penis, which he stroked slowly back and forth. She watched him lick his lips hungrily.

‘Nothing else?' asked Pierre with a frown. ‘She taught you nothing else?'

Grace bowed her head in embarrassment, not wishing to look at any of the men. Pierre shook her again, causing her hair to thrash back and forth about her pale face.

‘Must I whip you to get the truth?' he asked.

Silently, Grace raised her eyes. ‘Yes, I have tasted whips,' she told the men. She turned, allowing the tattered gown to open coyly to show the swollen hillocks of her bottom. She waited, expecting rough hands to part the rounded buttocks; to be invaded deeply. She quivered in this expectation.

‘So pale,' sighed Raoul. ‘So plump and smooth.' Grace stiffened as she heard his voice. It threatened her with everything that was degradation.

It was as if this was a signal. Horny hands reached out and touched her, making the firm flesh shudder. Fingers grasped the smooth swellings of her breasts, tweaked the rings which pierced her nipples, bringing tears to her eyes. Knuckles kneaded her flesh pot, bruising the tender flesh as they tried to part the folds.

‘Robespierre will enjoy her,' said Pierre. ‘But for now, manacle her to the wall.'

‘But we were promised our fill!' Raoul growled out his grievance, his hands busy with his cock, rubbing the tight skin back and forth over his globe.

Two other men pulled Grace towards the lichen-slimed wall and locked her wrists into the rusty iron chains.

Pierre looked round, his eyes furtive, wary. ‘We must be seen to obey, citoyen. How did I know about the rings that keep her sex closed?'

The iron was cold against Grace's wrists. It was hard and the edges were sharp. The fine links of her gold wrist chains bit into her skin beneath the iron. She was chained tightly against the wall and her breasts and belly puckered at the damp chill. Her bare feet scarcely touched the rough floor and her arms were strained in their sockets.

‘Open her legs,' husked Pierre. ‘Hold them open.' She was splayed as far as her ankle chains would allow.

Rough hands grasped her ankles and Grace mewed softly as the jewellery on her love lips tugged at her flesh. She felt her buttocks spread apart and her bottom hole investigated.

‘Tight,' murmured Raoul, and Grace felt the tiny pleats spread open and the taut opening touched by a thick finger.

Other hands fingered her breasts, the heavy fullness, the jewelled nipples. There was nothing Grace could do but allow the caresses and taunts. Her very helplessness increased the heavy feeling in her belly.

Raoul penetrated her bottom with his finger, and Grace threw back her head as she felt the fullness in her sex increase. ‘She is very willing about the bottom,' he said hoarsely. He withdrew his finger and Grace heard a sucking sound as he wetted it with spittle. The feeling of fullness returned as he thrust into her again, drawing the finger back and forth rhythmically.

‘Stop!' ordered Pierre.

‘But we were promised,' repeated Raoul. ‘Promised.'

‘A whore she might be,' said Pierre, ‘but she is my sister.' His voice was full of sadness. ‘And you are defiling her.'

Grace felt Raoul draw from her and she heard his harsh breathing slow. She gave a small sigh of relief, even though with her legs straddled as they were her cunny felt ready for the soft moistness of a tongue, or the stroke of fingers, but her shame was intense at her profanity before Pierre.

Her half-brother was at her shoulder, brushing her hair from her ears, whispering. ‘It is punishment you need,
putain
!'