Bride of the Revolution (18 page)

Grace could not help but let out a long scream of pleasure as she convulsed beneath Charlotte. The woman held her, cradling her until she calmed.

‘Was that your first time, my sweet?' asked Charlotte, rolling onto her side. Her skirt was still bunched about her waist and her auburn pussy curls were glossy with juices. Her cheeks stained with scarlet, Grace shook her head. How could she say that she was entirely innocent when madame and Philipe had her writhing with pleasure time after time? When Zeus had impaled her bottom hole, and the Englishman had taken her from behind?

Charlotte frowned and, with two straight fingers, opened Grace's female mouth. She arched in pain and mewed plaintively.

‘I don't understand,' said Charlotte, removing her fingers.

‘I am a virgin,' confessed Grace, ‘although I have knowledge of pleasure of many kinds.'

‘Delightful,' murmured Charlotte. ‘An innocent with knowledge of pleasure. You will be very valuable to us. Very valuable to our cause.' She pointed to the glossy lushness between her own thighs, which she spread lewdly. ‘Press my pussy open with your chained hands, my darling, and place your lips where it will give me most pleasure. I know you understand exactly what I mean.'

The opulent room was filled with Charlotte's rich scent, the sweet aroma of her musk. Grace felt her shudder as the gold chains that looped across her breasts swayed across her belly. The woman shuddered again in obvious delight as Grace's manacles chinked as she used her hands to spread the quivering pussy lips.

The auburn curls were glossy with Grace's own juices, and she smoothed them away from the scarlet cleft before spreading the two plump lips apart.

‘A kiss, my darling,' murmured Charlotte, ‘and let your lips linger on my flesh.'

Grace buried her nose into the soft wetness and heard the woman groan in ecstasy. Her lips felt the swollen hardness of Charlotte's clitty and she took it into her mouth, rolling back the little hood with her tongue and sucking as if upon a milky teat.

As she sucked, slowly and rhythmically, she let a finger slither into Charlotte's open cunny and felt it clutch as if to imbibe it into her body.

‘Two fingers,' groaned Charlotte, ‘and push hard, back and forth. You're giving me so much pleasure, my darling. So much. I cannot hold back…' She groaned so loudly that Grace could almost imagine she was in pain, but her body was throbbing with pleasure and she continued to suck and delve into the soft wetness.

Mouth slippery and glossy with Charlotte's juices, Grace was at last pushed away.

‘The salve, mistress,' said Cava, standing over them.

‘Then use it on the poor girl's ankles,' snapped Charlotte, pulling down her skirts.

Cava knelt at Grace's feet and opened the jar of salve. His touch was gentle for such a huge man and Grace closed her eyes, enjoying the cool of the cream on her burning ankles.

‘She is a virgin, Cava,' Charlotte reminded the giant. ‘You would split her asunder.'

Cava's big head jerked up. His eyes filled with tears. The heavy bulge in his breeches became fuller and more prominent. He bowed his head once more and rubbed more salve into Grace's feet.

‘But I am sure I could take you, Cava,' said Grace softly.

A warmth swirled in her belly and between her love lips there was a feeling of liquidity. Her clitty was bathed with creamy lubrication and she could feel a pulsing in the pit of her womanhood.

‘Let me try, mistress,' begged Grace. ‘Let me take him into my body.'

‘Perhaps if I greased my cock with the salve…' suggested Cava, pushing the ragged waistband of his breeches down over the muscular flatness of his belly. His cock was iron-hard and standing upright to above his waist. The globe shone with pre-issue, as if it was polished. In the centre of the naked sphere the eye pulsed and drooled. The thickness was such that Grace was sure she would be unable to put her fingers around its circumference, or stretch her mouth to caress it with her lips.

‘Well, my dear?' queried Charlotte, her lips twisted in an ironical smile. ‘Do you still think you could take this monster?'

The wanting made Grace spread her legs to their full extent, offering her freshly freed cunny to the giant. She let her knees fall open and loose and she could feel her love lips swell and become deliciously soft.

‘With the salve, mistress,' she murmured. ‘I am sure I could with the salve.'

With a sigh Charlotte de Levis sat back upon a low damask covered chair. The ragged gown looked incongruous in such an elegant setting. She pulled her skirts over her knees and spread them, giving Grace a hint of her fiery pussy bush. ‘It shall be as you wish, my darling,' she said, reaching forward to stroke Grace's flushed cheek. ‘Kneel before Cava and smear his cock with a generous layer of salve.'

Grace slid from the sofa and knelt at the big man's feet, taking the jar of cream from him. He had released his breeches and stepped out of them. His muscular legs were spread wide and his magnificent balls were taut in their smooth sac. His cock speared up, away from his big body, swaying and eager, the skin shiny as it stretched over its fullness.

Within her belly Grace felt a warm melting as if her sex turned to molten liquid. Seepage drooled down her inner thighs, lying on the pale skin like shimmering pearls. Her outer love lips felt soft and swollen, and within was the flushed moist bed on which stood her clitty, arching and throbbing.

The salve felt cool as she dipped her fingers into the pot. It was silky smooth to the touch. She looked up at Cava, who smiled down at her and stroked her mane of black hair, the soft curve of her parted her lips. She was afraid, but she had been forced to wait for the feel of a man's cock, had yearned for it since madame had taught her the delights of sex.

‘Lie upon the carpet, my darling,' murmured Charlotte. ‘It is soft and will not chafe your lovely body.'

Grace could hear Charlotte's excited breathing and Cava's rasping grunts as she spread herself gracefully on the richly coloured Persian rug. She placed her hands above her head, which thrust her taut breasts high. The ringed nipples were flushed and erect and the fine gold chains quivered on her narrow ribs with each breath she took. Finally, she spread her thighs to their fullest extent. Her belly was hollowed and her sex mound, black as jet, was raised and a stark contrast to her pale skin.

‘A pillow for her buttocks,' whispered Charlotte, her eyes never leaving Grace's body.

Grace could not help but moan as she felt the cool silk of the cushion against the heat of her bottom. The pillow was plump and forced her legs further apart and her sex mound upwards.

‘On your knees, Cava,' ordered Charlotte, ‘and be gentle with her, or it will be the worse for you. You are not so big that I can't punish you.' Her voice had an edge to it that made Grace shudder, and she saw Cava's eyes glitter with fear as he sank to his knees between Grace's straddled thighs. The big man shrugged out of his ragged shirt and she saw the reason for his fear; a network of healed scars criss-crossed his broad back.

‘Open yourself up, my darling,' said Charlotte, her voice soft and purring once more. ‘Show Cava your full delights.'

Grace heard the giant groan as she opened her love lips to show him she was ready and to make his entry that much easier. As she did so her forefinger grazed the tip of her clitty and she sighed with the sudden shiver of pleasure that spun through her body. She dipped her finger into the creamy pit of her entrance and rubbed it over the whole surface of her sex. Cava made and animal-like roar and pressed forward until his globe touched her sex. She shuddered, not with horror, but with joy.

With a slight movement of her hips she arched her sex above the pillow, offering it to him. She felt the pressure of his thickness but her maidenhead did not give. He thrust again, but no matter that she wanted him inside her, there was still a resistance. She began to whimper in her frustration and Cava sweated with effort.

‘What's wrong?' asked Charlotte, her voice sharp with exasperation. ‘Why is she not screaming in agony?'

The sound of loud voices intruded upon the scene. Grace, with anxious eyes, looked towards the door and cupped her chained hands about her plump sex. Cava had moved away from her and was reaching for his breeches. The door was flung open and a man stood staring at the tableau before him. He began to laugh, throwing back his head and slinging his broad-brimmed hat across the room.

‘So you found her, Charlotte!' he said. It was the Englishman. Grace recognised his halting French. ‘And I see you have unlocked the gate to earthly paradise.'

He strode across the room and crouched down between Grace's thighs. She turned her face away and closed her eyes as if this would hide her embarrassment.

‘Look at me,' said the Englishman. He grasped her wrists, pulling them away from her sex.

Reluctantly, Grace let her lashes flutter open and met his mocking gaze. It was as if he could see into her most intimate places. She could not resist when he bent down and stroked the places where the gold rings had kept her love lips tightly closed. His touch was slow and sensual and promised delights yet unknown to Grace. Very slowly, he opened the plump lips, using the thumb and forefinger of one hand.

She knew her flesh was still sleek from her copious issue and knew, too, that her clitty was hugely erect, its tip bared with the hood drawn back. Once more her cheeks burned with humiliation at his close inspection.

‘But the gate is still not open?' He chuckled and grazed the pad of his other thumb over her clitty. Grace could not help but whisper a pleasurable sigh and she felt her hardened pippin judder under his touch. He chuckled again and rubbed the heel of his hand into the wetness of the pit Cava could not enter. ‘I'm surprised.'

‘I was afraid of hurting her, monsieur,' murmured Cava, miserably.

‘And I suppose the idea of opening up those rings of hers was yours, Charlotte,' said the Englishman.

Charlotte de Levis stood and faced him, her rags looking as refined and elegant as the most fashionable of gowns. She placed her hands firmly on her hips and held her head high. ‘And why not?' she said. ‘Some wretch left her in an alley, naked and chained.'

‘Yes,' said the Englishman. ‘I rescued her from Robespierre's clutches, but I was called away. I knew you were not far behind me and I knew you would see her value.'

His aristocratic fingers continued to caress Grace's cunny, slicking the sensitive flesh, the puffy folds, the pert and flushed bud, and she could do nothing but writhe under his touch. She remembered some shouting, some screams at the end of the narrow alley, but it was as if they were in a dream world and not real at all. She remembered how the Englishman, the Black Rose, slipped from her and into the shadows of the night.

‘Well, now,' he purred. ‘Since you have been spared the fate of being torn to pieces by this monstrous pet of Charlotte's, I think you will fetch a pretty price for me, and I know exactly who will purchase you.'

‘For you?' Charlotte questioned crossly. ‘Whatever she fetches should be given to the cause, surely?'

The Englishman grinned and swept Charlotte into his arms. ‘Of course, my dear. That is what I meant.'

But Grace saw the grin fade and a hardness take its place as he released Charlotte and turned his gaze to her.

Chapter Nine

The small ship dipped and plunged perilously into the grey waters of the English Channel. Grace clung to the rail, the spray soaking the fluttering muslin of her gown.

‘You will catch a chill.' The Englishman placed his hands upon her shoulders and tried to guide her below.

‘I don't care,' murmured Grace. ‘I feel so ill I don't care if I die.'

He pressed her to him and she could feel the chains and rings which adorned her nipples pressing painfully into his chest. His hands gripped the cheeks of her bottom, the fingers digging into her flesh. Her buttocks were wrenched apart and his fingers slid up and down the tight cleft. The pain of his cruel grip at least made her forget the misery of her seasickness.

His lips pressed against hers. His tongue ravaged her mouth as his fingers sought her intimate places. Her muslin gown was so wet and transparent, moulding to the rich curves of her slender body that she might as well have been naked against him.

‘What is he like?' she murmured when he at last freed her. ‘This man to whom you will sell me?'

‘Dark, very handsome, and foreign,' he said, with a strange smile.

‘Foreign?' Grace forgot, for the moment, her nausea. ‘You mean French?' It would be so wonderful if she was to be sold to a Frenchman.

‘He speaks French among other languages,' he said enigmatically. ‘And you will not be alone.'

‘No,' she said happily. ‘I shall be with him.'

‘And other girls.'

Suddenly the deck pitched as the small ship was flung high on a huge wave and then plunged into a dip so deep that Grace screamed, thinking they would be thrust down into the depths of Hell itself.

But he held her tight and she felt safe, even in this terrible sea. Breath caught in her throat as her cunny, under his less than tender probing, became moist. She wished with all her heart that he would touch her on its most sensitive peak, but he deliberately skirted around the silky root.

‘Is he kind?' she asked above the scream of the wind in the rigging and the noisy flap of the billowing sails.

He chuckled and shrugged. ‘As kind as any husband is to his wife,' he answered.

Grace's eyes fluttered open and she tried to see him clearly through the mist of streaming rain. ‘Husband? I am not to be his slave, but his wife?' She could not believe what she heard.

‘Does that distress you?' His mouth quirked in a strange sardonic smile.

‘No,' she murmured, but she laid her head wearily on his chest, unable to believe that her slavery was at last over. Despite her denial a frisson of fear niggled at the back of her mind. It was the fear of the unknown.