Bride of the Revolution (20 page)

The Englishman was suddenly on his feet and Grace felt herself flung from him as he uncoiled the whip from her waist. Her thighs fell fully apart, her whipped bottom faced the open door and her cunt was evidently in a full state of sexual tension.

‘Who are you?' he snarled. The Englishman held the whip at his side, ready to let it rip on his would be attackers when the moment was right.

The intruders scarcely paid him attention. Their eyes were fixed on Grace's vulnerable body, the raised weals on her pale buttocks, her cunny, the manacles on her wrists and the chains that swayed from her breasts. She closed her eyes, shutting out their leering faces.

The whip slashed the air and its fine tip caught the older man about the cheek, laying it open. Grace screamed and rolled away, but she was trapped against the bulkhead, vulnerable to the men who shuffled forward ready to fall upon her.

‘I asked who you are,' hissed the Englishman, ignoring the man who tried to staunch the flow of blood from his cheek, and totally oblivious to his own nakedness.

‘We were paid…' said the younger man haltingly, ‘by a French woman.'

The Englishman snarled. ‘Charlotte de Levis?'

‘Yes, sir,' said the young man, shamefaced. ‘I think that was her name.'

Grace hugged her knees close to her breasts, making herself small. The pain of the beating seemed a hundred times worse as the heat of her passion faded and she began to shiver. The cabin was cold and bare and she felt dreadfully vulnerable with the inquisitive eyes staring down at her.

Two other men pushed into the narrow doorway, straining their necks to look at Grace and not hiding the fact that their cocks were fully erect in their breeches.

The young man, the one who had spoken first, pushed the rest behind him. ‘Our orders are to take the doxy's maidenhead.' He spoke firmly, his eyes steady, focussed on Grace's huddled figure.

She moaned softly and tried to hide her sex with her hands.

The Englishman laughed. ‘Had you been a few minutes later that deed would have been done.' He reached down and pulled Grace upright and forced her hands to the back of her head, indicating that she should link her fingers together. He tapped her inner thighs with the whip he still held in his hand, indicating that she should straddle her legs. ‘She's ripe for it, lads.' He pointed to the chains that linked her wrists and those that were attached to the fine rings through nipples that were erect and pointed. ‘She was trained by an expert at the royal court; an expert who required her to be both sensual and intact when she was sold to a husband.'

Tears came quickly to Grace's eyes. What was he doing, displaying her like this? He was tempting the men, almost offering her to them.

‘You?' asked the young man.

The Englishman gave a wry smile and shrugged noncommittally. ‘Look at her large and heavy breasts,' he said, ignoring the question. ‘Open those legs wider!' he snapped at Grace. Tears spilled down cheeks made hot with embarrassment but she did as she was told, sweetly pliant and obedient as always. ‘And arch yourself so I may demonstrate your qualities to these gentlemen,' he continued.

Through her tears Grace saw his cock thicken at his own words. The shock of the ruffians' intrusion was forgotten.

She arched her slender body so that her pussy was thrust towards the men. She knew they could see her nubbin, fully extended and peeping from her dark curls. She knew those curls would be shining with dew and somehow this knowledge increased the feeling of wantonness growing in her belly; the feeling of delicious shame.

With the folded whip he peeled her sex lips open and tapped her clitty. ‘Notice how prominent this is. The training, of course, is the root cause.'

Grace could hear the ruffians' breathing change; become faster and more ragged. She dared to open her eyes and saw their rising excitement; the glittering eyes, the parted lips and the thickening bulges in their breeches.

‘Could you not get her to lie down?' asked the young man. ‘So we could see her qualities more clearly and get on with what we were paid to do?'

The Englishman nodded, smiling, and pressed Grace's shoulder, forcing her to her knees and then to lie prone. ‘Keep your hands on your head and your head thrown back,' he ordered, ‘but spread your legs, knees bent and loose so they fall outwards.'

The position was not new to Grace. It was madame's favourite, and Charlotte's too. She positioned herself as he demanded.

The men sighed. The Englishman let the whip move lightly over her belly. Grace shuddered.

‘I assure you, gentlemen,' said the Englishman, ‘that this girl wants nothing more than to be fucked.'

Her wantonness was uncontainable. Grace, keeping her knees bent and open, could not help but arch her body upwards. She heard the whisper of lust that hissed from the men.

‘You see, gentlemen. Quite delightful.'

There was something in his tone that gave Grace an inkling that he was encouraging them. She willingly lifted her beaten and bruised bottom from the cold hardness of the deck and spread her thighs further. Their breathing was harsh, animal-like, rapid.

‘But perhaps it would be only fair for one of you to explore her with your tongue,' the Englishman continued, gently probing between her sex lips with the whip. ‘And fingers would not go amiss.'

Grace felt her sex quiver at the sensual stroking and felt her clitty ease further from its hood, felt it throb intolerably. The slow stroking brought her juices bubbling from the pit of her belly and, at the same moment, the Englishman slapped her inner thighs with the fold of the whip, reminding her to keep them fully open.

The rabble grunted their approval and the young man threw himself to the deck. Grace could smell his masculine need, feel his breath, warm and damp on her bruised buttocks, and then a tongue pushing against her bottom mouth, licking the tight and wrinkled opening until she moaned with delicious shame. The tongue tip slithered up and down the tight cleft.

‘No one else?' asked the Englishman, his eyebrow quirked in mockery.

The older man, the pain of his slashed cheek forgotten, knelt between Grace's thighs, his tongue flicking about his slack lips. She moaned again as her sex lips were taken one by one into his slobbering mouth and gnawed as if they were delicious morsels. She shuddered as a fingertip grazed back and forth over her quivering nubbin.

‘And surely, you men,' queried the Englishman, ‘will not deny these glorious breasts the pleasure of your hands and mouths? You see how they beckon you? Would you not like to suckle these hardened paps as if you were drawing milk?' The other two needed no second bidding and Grace gasped as hands kneaded her breasts and mouths clamped upon her teats. She felt her belly tighten as all these sensations combined and a warm swirling drew her up into a vortex. It was impossible to resist moving with her tormentors, contorting herself to feel each suck and touch more intensely.

‘I am sure you will feel each pulse of her orgasm,' said the Englishman, and Grace raised her eyes to meet his. He was smiling, his arms folded across his chest and his cock turgid, spearing from the base of his belly, but unheeded.

Grace's clitty palpitated unmercifully. Her bottom convulsed upon the tongue that drove softly in and out. She felt a warm creamy wetness spill on her belly and drool down to the crisp curls of her pussy nest. Looking up she saw the men who had sucked her teats standing over her, their cocks in their hands, spilling their seed all over her.

She heard muffled groans and the men who had been so busy between her thighs were rubbing their cocks to the same effect.

A boot, soft from years of wear, was pressed into the cushion of her belly and Grace felt a deeper shame, a defilement greater than anything she had felt before. The sole of the boot spread the viscous spillage over her breasts and belly, showing their contempt for the use of her.

Laughter, loud and triumphant, filled the cramped cabin. ‘I think you'll agree, gentlemen,' said the Englishman, ‘that my turn has come.'

Grace, her body trembling from the many orgasms and wet with sweat and slick with come, looked up at him. Her eyes were heavy with weariness and her arms ached from the forced position on her head.

‘But we…'

‘It isn't fair!'

‘You cunning wretch!'

The angry cries were somewhat distorted by the rasping breaths and the groans of pleasure.

‘But be assured, gentlemen,' said the Englishman, calmly and coldly, ‘I shall carry out your appointed task to the letter.'

Suddenly he whirled the whip about his head, his face dark with fury. The lash cracked about the younger man's head and, almost immediately, thrashed the other three in, what appeared to Grace, one movement.

‘Get out,' he ordered in a voice as cold as ice. ‘Get out of my sight, and you…' he turned to Grace, his expression still cruel and tight-lipped, ‘get up. Clean yourself… over there!'

They were left alone in the cabin and Grace walked, unsteadily, to a jug and bowl set in a hollow in a wooden washstand.

‘And when you've finished dress in these clothes.' He began to dress himself, grunting with discomfort as he tucked his still turgid cock away in his tight breeches.

Grace shivered as she sponged the drying spunk from her breasts. The water was cold and her skin puckered in tiny goosebumps. The come was thickest at her pussy bush and she soaked the curls many times with the water until they were, once more, glossy black.

When he was dressed and she had washed as well as she could, he insisted on inspecting her very closely.

‘Excellent,' he said, as he prised open the tightness of her bottom hole and, that done, petted open her sex lips until he was satisfied that each fold was smooth and clean.

‘Now the boots,' he said.

The boots were very long and had heels that were so high they threw her forwards. They were laced, front and back, with leather thongs that tickled her bottom and probed between her sex lips at the slightest movement.

‘You look very beautiful, my darling,' he said, turning her round to admire her from all sides. He slung a cloak about her shoulders and the soft wool tickled her breasts and belly, while the bootlaces pricked her cunny and bottom cheeks, keeping her in a state of high sexual tension.

‘Where are you taking me?' she asked nervously as he led her from the cabin and out into the narrow alleyway that ran from bow to stern of the ship.

He said nothing, but merely led her to a carriage waiting at the dockside. ‘In you go,' he said.

The boots made her clumsy and she found it difficult to mount the two steps into the carriage.

‘Hurry!' he said sharply. ‘Hurry! We have a long journey ahead.'

At last they were on their way and the Englishman stared straight ahead for some moments. His eyes were always upon her across the carriage, boring into the voluminous folds of her cloak.

‘On your knees,' he said at last. ‘Unfasten my breeches.' His voice was low, hoarse, urgent – but still commanding.

Submissive and pliant, she did as she was ordered. The boots were new and stiff and they made it difficult to kneel, but anxious to please, she managed the task. Kneeling before him, she awaited his next command.

His large hands felt gentle at her throat and Grace allowed her long lashes to droop over her eyes. It was only after long caresses that she realised his intention was no more than to release the fastening of the cloak. As it fell from her shoulders and drifted about her thighs her tear-filled eyes raised to meet his.

‘Do you know what I require?' he asked.

Grace nodded, wondering when her own needs would be realised.

He stroked his fingertips across her lips until she was forced to open them. ‘Place your hands upon your head,' he commanded, ‘for I adore to see you looking so easily controlled and vulnerable.' He paused, merely admiring her at his feet. ‘But wait…' His breathing was harsh and rapid. ‘I want your hands working on my breeches to release my cock.'

Her hands trembled and the lump beneath the buckskin made the breeches tight. He wriggled impatiently, thrusting the swelling against her dainty hands as they worked. The heat of him was enormous and his male musk strong. She supposed this was because he had been forced to wait so long for relief. Despite her trembling the buttons were at last released and his cock burst forth.

He held her tightly at the back of her neck, keeping her mouth steady and close to his thickness, in spite of the jolting of the carriage over the rough road.

‘I want you, Grace,' he said as he forced his cock deep into her mouth. She could feel the smooth slickness of his stem sliding over her tongue and she felt, even though tears spilled down her cheeks, almost joyful as he spoke her name.

‘I want you fully,' he murmured roughly, pushing her head harder onto him. ‘Not like this.'

Her lips brushed his balls and Grace thought for a terrible moment that she might gag at his extraordinary length, but at that very moment he wrenched away and let his spittle-moistened cock rest lightly against her cheek. The movement of the carriage made it saw back and forth against her cheek. Breathlessly, she looked up at him, wondering what he would ask of her next.

‘Yes,' she said meekly. It was what she wanted most of all.

‘But not now,' he said, ‘in this jolting carriage where we cannot spread ourselves. When I take you it will be in a bed; the biggest, softest bed in England.'

She heard him groan and felt the silky warmth of his come splash on her upturned face. Gratefully, she lapped the spillage, delighting in the salty bitterness. When it was over she laid her head upon his knees, dozing briefly despite the jolting movement of the carriage.

‘Wake up.'

It seemed to Grace that she had slept for only moments when the Englishman placed a hand about her breast and slung the wool cape about her shoulders. She gave a murmur as his fingers stroked the heavy underswell and a thumb teased her nipple to hardness. She looked up with wide limpid eyes, questioning why she had been woken. Aware that the laces of the high boots prickled her buttocks, she swayed her body to ease the sensation.