Bride of the Revolution (2 page)

Philipe gave a wail of distress and smacked the voluptuous mound of one of madame's buttocks. ‘You promise things and then say horrid words, marring my pleasures!'

‘You are a spoilt brat!'

Big though she was, Madame de Genlis was as lithe as a Greek athlete and, her shoulders bathed to her satisfaction, she twisted round, grasping Philipe's shoulders, throwing him onto his back. In the same graceful movement she straddled him, her thighs trapping him, making him helpless. She could feel his cock, first soft, but quickly hardening, becoming a warm ridge of iron rubbing into the soft wetness of her sex lips, the tip butting the burning bud of her nubbin.

‘I must punish you!' she said, licking her lustrous lips and smiling her special smile, showing her white teeth, sharp and even, as if they had been filed that way. She put a fingertip to her chin, tapping it and pursing her wide lips, pretending deep thought. ‘
Comment
? How, I wonder, shall I do such a thing?'

Philipe played his part, pretending to quail in abject fear, his cock throbbing in her wet flesh pot. ‘Oh, no, mistress! I beg of you!' His long fingers were clasped together as if in prayer in church. The folded palms shook back and forth as he pleaded. ‘Not that!' But for all his protestations he could not hide his eager smile, the shine in his dark eyes, his newly risen cock, the trembling of his excited body.

‘Ah!' Madame grabbed his thickened flesh with one hand and Philipe saw her smile as she felt it twitch and throb hungrily. ‘I know the worst punishment of all!' Her fingers slipped down to gently grasp his balls, cup them, heft them, roll them back and forth. ‘I shall eat you!'

‘Oh, no mistress!' Philipe shuddered, not in fear, but in sheer delight. He loved it when madame took his manhood into her mouth, swallowed it, took its magnificent length deep into her throat.

The talk at the court had it that other mistresses, although they agreed to perform this act, could not do so without gagging. His own la de Genlis did so as if she was taking the smoothest of gruel into her gullet. It took Philipe to heaven and back. Her tongue and lips could perform the most wonderful tricks about his cockstem.

With palms flat along the length of his wavering shaft, madame pretended to mould the flesh as if it was clay. She paid attention to detail, slithering the tightness of the foreskin over the bulb and holding it fast beneath the swollen globe. She groomed the silky curls, the golden wisps of hair, which were scattered over the full sac. She sat back on her heels, her thighs splayed, allowing him to see the glory of her own genitals; glossy with creamy beads of dew, swollen and flushed with need. She smiled, licked her lips, snarled deep in her throat at which Philipe must pretend that he was paralysed with fear. Only then did she bend, crouching like a beast of prey over her quarry, her open mouth slavering over the particular part of her choice. Philipe could not help but thrust up, eager to feel his naked tip brush against her palate, but she placed her strong hands on his thighs, holding him down. This, too, was part of the game. ‘Behave!' It was a command which must be obeyed. He must lie perfectly still while she dived under the pillows where she had earlier hidden silken ropes.

‘Mistress…' he begged. He panted, his tongue lolling from his mouth like a trained dog, his hands limp like a puppy's paws.

‘Be quiet!' She gave him a light slap across the belly, which far from giving him pain brought him pleasure, shown by the sudden jerk of his turgid cock. ‘I shall make you be quiet with this!' Another instrument assuring good behaviour was brought from a small cupboard at the side of the bed.

‘The scold's bridle…' Philipe said the words slowly, savouring each syllable. His eyes widened with pleasure. He held his hands high, his arms spread wide. His legs straddled eagerly across the bed, his toes pointed.

‘I shall bind you first,
mon cheri
!'

Philipe shivered as the magnificent woman slid from the bed and busied herself with the silken cords. He allowed his eyes to feast on her heavy breasts, so perfect in their roundness. In particular he found the lower swell, the pale smooth voluptuousness sweeping up to the wine-dark nipples enticing. He shifted his gaze to the swell of her belly sweeping down to the lush darkness of her nest, dewed with her love honey and his own copious flow. Delicious!

The feel of the soft silk against his wrists and ankles was a sensuous delight. It caressed his skin, petted the inner sides of his wrists and ankles, but that was only the beginning! The bed was huge, wide and long, while Philipe was slight and quite short. This meant, of course, that his bonds must stretch him to the fullest. His arms and legs must be fully spread. There had been times that he felt that he was on the torturer's rack with his belly sucked in and his ribs placed under almost unbearable tension. His skin puckered in a shiver of apprehension. But madame was an expert with the cords. She knew just how tight to pull them to prevent dislocation of his shoulders and hips, and, naturally, this stretching had the most wonderful effect on his cockstem. It reared up, the veins full and clambering around the rigid organ. His balls were heavy with their renewed contents. His whole being was focussed upon that excited part of him between his straddled thighs. Just one thing was needed to make his enjoyment complete.

‘The bridle!' he moaned.

Madame tutted. ‘Such impatience. I must kiss this little fellow before I apply the bridle, for I wish to hear your moan without any impediment from the beastly thing.'

Much as he tried, Philipe was quite unable to move. He wished, with all his might, to writhe under madame's expert lips and tongue, but he was held fast. Oh, those lips! They were so soft. Her mouth was so wet and slippery. How it petted his length. How her long, agile tongue dipped into his pulsing eye. Only when she had sipped the dribble of pre-issue did she stop. Yes, she stopped for many long moments! This was the worst torture of all.

‘Only now the bridle,
mon cher
Philipe,' she purred.

He aided her, of course, by lifting his head from the pillow. The bridle was a difficult implement to fit. There was only one correct way to fit the leather gag upon the tongue, holding it fast, down deep into the reach of his mouth. The bridle was fitted to an iron band about the head, and a nosepiece just barely allowed breathing.

‘Oh, Philipe, you look so pretty!' said madame sitting back on her heels, her thighs spread, showing her open love lips, so swollen and shining with their coating of female honey. Philipe could see the erect bud of her clitoris throbbing with her own need, arching out of its drawn back hood.

‘I cannot wait to find a little companion for you; sweet and obedient in all things,' madame continued huskily. ‘We shall all have such fun, my darling. I am going to train your little playmate according to the teachings of Rousseau. Do you know what that means, Philipe?'

He shook his head, his eyes fixed upon madame's open flesh pot, unable to think beyond its beauty and the bonds which held him fast. The bridle about his head and tongue made him feel gloriously vulnerable. Unless the teachings of Rousseau included bondage and discipline he was not at all interested. What did he care if, as madame said, the girl would not be taught language or literature? What good were those things in bed anyway?

Madame pouted her glorious lips and circled them about his cock, her rich brown hair floating in shimmering cascade over Philipe's tautly bound body.

It was torture! It was ecstasy!

Her tongue caressed his globe, expertly pressing the foreskin back below the ridge, making it all the more sensitive. In a moment she would begin another of her favourite tortures. He wanted to scream with joy in anticipation of this, but he could make no sound. None whatsoever.

‘I shall teach her to be graceful,' said madame dreamily, bobbing up and drifting her fingers over the iron struts of the bridle, tracing the dreadful implement's features. ‘Teach her about beautiful attitudes, but above all,' she concluded, ‘I shall teach her sensuality! Can you imagine how beautiful she will look; splayed just as you are splayed, her head imprisoned in the bridle just as yours is now? Helpless, Philipe, quite helpless. Her sex lips spread and moist, her pert little clitty pouting upwards, but still a virgin as pure as an angel.'

Again Philipe tried to groan, but his tongue was held down by the strut of metal which reached deep into his mouth. All he managed was to writhe, and even this was nigh on impossible. The silken bonds were so skilfully tied that any movement was prohibited. His upright cock swayed and a drop of clear pre-issue oozed from the pore.

‘Oh, you naughty fellow! What wicked thoughts must be in your mind!' Madame brought a short length of silken cord from the hiding place beneath the pillow and swayed it before Philipe's eyes. ‘And you know what I do to naughty fellows!'

Philipe again tried to writhe but all he managed was a slight lift of his hips which made his cock spear high into the air.

‘How very obliging,' murmured madame. ‘You always know exactly what I require.' She allowed the cord to tickle the very tip of his cock, and he silently cursed the gag which he loved.

Madame sat back and allowed her fingers to drift lazily up and down her love lips. Teasingly, she pressed them together, pulled them down, made them swell. Only then did she again spread them open, allowing Philipe to feast his hungry eyes on the contents of her pouch.

‘
Et maintenant
… and now…' she murmured. So swiftly and expertly did her fingers twist the cord about the base of his cock that Philipe scarcely had time to draw breath. Her lips closed about his globe, sucking very gently with her soft lips and then, with a smile, sat back and began to work at one of her nipples until it was hardened to a sharp point. Philipe's eyes widened as she bent over him once more. She worked his globe very quickly with finger and thumb and pressed her teat into the pulsing pore. He felt her whip the silk cord from the base of his cock and remove her teat at the same moment. The desire to scream with joy was strong as a silvery thread of his come followed the dark teat.

As he calmed his tethered fingers itched to press into madame's beckoning wetness. He longed to hear the sound of two of his fingers driving into her depths, and then three, perhaps even four, filling her up until she cried out for mercy. These lewd thoughts and the predicament in which Philipe delighted were too much for any man to take for any length of time. He watched her slip one finger into the flushed and slippery flesh between her open thighs. A second followed and he heard the sucking sounds he so desired. He watched the ball of her thumb press the hardened tip of her nubbin, and such was his pleasure in the sight that his cock began to rise.

‘Must I again punish you?' she said, wagging a warning finger that quickly joined the others in the open depths of her flesh pot. She bent over his cock, taking it fully into her gullet which squeezed his length just as her sex passage had done such a short time ago. Philipe was light-headed with pleasure and attempted to arch upwards from the bed. Madame gave him a warning slap on the belly and released his cock from her lips. Another pearly fountain jetted from the tip, splashing warmly on his taut belly and chest, while madame shook her head in pretended distaste and disgust. But this did not stop her bending over the young man's body to sip and savour every last drop of her patron's offering.

The minor court of Philipe, Duc d'Orleans, was as decadent as that of his brother, Louis XVI. The aristocracy at the palace of Versailles knew only a hint of the dreadful poverty, the hunger of the populace in the mean streets of Paris in the turbulent days of 1792.

Grace was one of the people. Poor, thin and insubstantial as a wraith, her ragged clothes hung about her willowy frame in tatters, but yet, despite her slenderness there was an eye-catching voluptuousness that spoke of a secret sensuality. Beneath the flimsy rags which scarcely clothed her, her tiny waist flared out to shapely hips and pouting buttocks. Often, when the winter winds blew, the pale swell of her breasts were bared to the biting cold and the piercing chill made the buds of her wine-dark nipples spring out sharply, jutting against the worn rags, fine and transparent as gossamer. Never, in all her young life, had Grace known a winter such as this in 1792. Winds of change, the winds of a changing world, blew through the dark, filthy alleys, fluttering Grace's rags, moulding them to her tiny frame.

Had there been water to spare to wash her hair, soap to rinse away the grime, the tangled tresses would have been revealed as a raven black cascade, shot with blue lights. Her oval face was perfectly formed although its beauty was hidden beneath the grime. Her skin was unblemished beneath the filth; pale and smooth as moonstone. Round eyes were startling in her dirty face, and although dull from lack of nourishment, were a dark verdant green sometimes warming to hazel, flecked with shimmering gold. Despite the hardships she suffered her soft lips often curved in a beckoning smile or pouted deliciously in a perfectly round and inviting O.

The girl sat upon a low stool by her mother's bed, cooling the older woman's fevered brow with a scrap of rag dipped in a cup of rainwater.

‘Promise me!' The woman's cracked voice was barely audible above the sound of the rain on the roof of the makeshift hut which served them as their home.

‘Oh, mother,' sighed Grace. ‘The aristos will not listen to one such as me.' She smoothed a wisp of hair, white from suffering, not from age, from her mother's forehead.

‘They will,
ma cherie
!' cried the older woman, her claw-like hands clutching her daughter's arm. ‘I heard a rumour before I became…' A cough, debilitating, rattling in her throat cut off the words and left her breathless and weaker than ever. ‘A rumour that a girl, such as you, beautiful and young, was required at the palace,' she went on, long moments later. Grace smiled, but the expression on the lovely face was disbelief despite the upward curve of the soft, tempting lips. The gentle eyes with thick lashes fringing them, glossy as ebony, looked sadly down at her mother. The sweet features were drawn momentarily tight with bitterness.