Bride of the Revolution (7 page)

It was such a temptation to Grace to reach out to the footman. She longed to feel his hard nakedness against her own; the promise of his cock within her moist and willing, but still shuttered, depths. Shuddering, she remembered how it nudged gently between her love lips and against the very tip of her clitoris, drawing juices from her depths.

Philipe strode angrily up and down, swiping the rusty bars of her prison with a wooden rod. Grace, her heels tucked tightly into the cushion of her sex, crouched, her glossy black hair sweeping across her breasts, titillating the hardened teats.

‘I cannot wait to punish you,' Philipe hissed, his pale eyes glaring at her, glistening with pent up cruelty. But although his lips said these words he meant something else entirely. Grace knew! Oh yes, she knew that the very moment he had the opportunity and had her alone he would do far worse than punish her. Grace could not still the quiver which ran through her naked body. The very thought of what the Duc d'Orleans planned sent a forbidden quiver of excitement through her. His words and what they might mean thrilled her with wantonness.

His eyes sought hers, his lips pursed and curved in a wicked smile. She remembered the silky feel of his cock in her mouth, the wetness of his come slipping down her throat.

The gaoler appeared, scratching the leather pouch that scarcely held is genitals. ‘Madame,' he said with an obsequious bow, ‘sire. I had scarcely dozed when…' He paused, seeing the black fury in Philipe's eyes as they turned upon him. ‘I am sure they had no chance to fuck.' He shook his long greasy locks. His filthy hand strayed to the pouch and his fingers stroked the growing bulge as he looked down at Grace. She saw his tongue lap lasciviously about his parted lips and he stroked the dewy tip of his cock as it peeped upwards beyond the pouch.

‘Never mind that.' Madame joined Philipe and stared with narrowed eyes into the filthy cage. ‘Put her on the rack!' The order was hissed with some glee.

‘But I thought you did not wish her to be harmed,' objected Philipe, giving his mistress a sideways glance. But the thought of Grace's lovely form splayed helpless upon the rack made the discomfort about his groin all too plain.

Grace bowed her head, hiding the tears, clutching to herself the misery of what her life had become. The only light on the very distant horizon was the pleasure she was promised when her virginity was, at last, spent.

‘The rack!' repeated madame.

Between the dark fronds of her long hair Grace could see the gaoler, could see how he rhythmically thrust out his massive bulge and put strain upon the leather pouch. She saw how the holding strands cut into his hips as the thin leather truss became fuller.

‘She will not be harmed,' consoled madame. ‘Her delicate frame, her limbs, her breasts, will just be a little stretched. All part of her training for sensuality. I am sure Rousseau would have approved of my methods.' Her eyes gazed lustfully at Grace's huddled figure. ‘It will, after all, make her more graceful, more supple, more mysterious, I am sure. We shall have every man in the palace lusting after her.'

‘No!' The rusty bars were rattled by angry hands. ‘You cannot! You cannot treat this lovely creature so cruelly.'

Grace raised her head, her eyes dark with misery, and looked at the imprisoned footman. She tossed the fall of black hair from her pale face and beseeched him with a whisper, her hands raised. ‘Please,' she begged, ‘don't put yourself in danger. I am not worth it.'

Her fellow prisoner crouched down and Grace found her eyes drawn to the heaviness of his cockstem, still thick from his desire of her. ‘Your beauty is such that I would gladly die for you…'

He was dragged to his feet by the huge gaoler and the dank rooms of the dungeons rang with the sound of cruel laughter. ‘Aye, young fellow,' he growled between his coarse chuckles. ‘Your wish will no doubt be granted.'

‘Indeed,' added madame. ‘Bind him to the whipping post and choose a lash which will flay him alive.'

Grace bowed her head and tried to hide the tears that fell so heavily down her cheeks, but the tears were not for herself. Her throat was full for the young footman, who came so close to being her first lover. Behind her moist lids she saw the beauty, the splendour, the thickness of his cock with the foreskin drawn back to bare the glossy globe.

‘Lift your head, my darling. Look at me.' Madame spoke softly as she ordered Grace to gaze upon her.

Still crouched like a whipped puppy, hugging her slim arms about her breasts, Grace slowly raised her head and dried her tears with trembling fingers. She choked back her sobs, threw back the mane of jet-black hair and looked defiantly at her captor.

Madame smiled. ‘That's how I wish you to look, my darling. Brave, courageous…'

‘Oh, stop wasting time.' Philipe was by Grace's side, his fingers closing like a vice about her upper arm, dragging her to her feet. ‘I want to see her splayed upon the rack.'

Eyes wide with fear, Grace was dragged from the cage-like cell. She stumbled, fell to her knees, and Philipe screamed with impatience.

‘It won't help you, falling,' he said, his voice harsh with anger, and his hand grasped a handful of the midnight hair, wrapping it around his fist to drag her over the uneven flagstones.

‘Don't damage her, you fool,' pleaded madame.

‘I am frustrated!' Philipe's voice sounded crazed. In her mind Grace felt again the thickness of his cock sliding down her throat, but glanced away, her flesh pot swollen with need and her head aching with pity for the man who could have been her lover given just a few moments longer.

Through pain glazed eyes Grace saw the footman, his hands manacled high on a tall post, his feet scarcely touching the floor, his cock semi-turgid and arching from the base of his flat and muscular belly. Did fear do that to a man; fear and pain? Did it bring his cock to readiness for a woman?

‘Be brave,' he mouthed silently to Grace.

Before she could reply Philipe dragged her to a shadowy corner of the chamber. The roots of her hair darted pain to her scalp as she was heaved upon the crude bench, but this eased as Philipe released the black tresses and transferred his grip to her breasts. He worked the heavy flesh as if it was dough and tweaked her nipples until they were hard little points. His lips enclosed hers in a cruel and punishing kiss but Grace resisted. She held her body tense and when he attempted to splay her legs she clenched them hard together. He grabbed her wrists in a vice-like grip.

‘Gaoler! Come here! I need your help in fastening these manacles,' he said crossly. He leaned over her, pressing her arms wide apart, flat upon the bench. Grace could feel her full breasts flatten upon her ribs as he made her arch backwards, her belly become concave and her mound proud and full between her thighs.

‘With pleasure, sire.' The gaoler scurried across the shadowy chamber. ‘We simply click these manacles to her wrists and…'

Grace felt the chill of the iron as it was fastened. Hard and resilient.

‘And we spread her thighs wide to fasten the anklets,' continued the gaoler. It would have been foolish to resist such a strong man.

‘
Oui, oui
,' chuckled Philipe excitedly, hopping around the cruel device.

Grace lay helpless upon the rack, her arms stretched to the limit, her wrists inflamed from the earlier binding. She saw the gaoler stroke his leather pouch as he looked down at her, and she turned her head away from the vulgar creature.

‘So open and vulnerable,' whispered madame. ‘So perfect and submissive – the perfect woman.' She stood by Grace's side, her ringed fingers hovering over the tautened breasts, seeming to wish, above all things, to twist the wine-dark nipples. ‘Tell me, Philipe,' she said, and her voice trembled with excitement, ‘how does her cunt look?'

Philipe groaned and Grace, despite the dimly lit and shadowy chamber, was sure that his legs buckled with desire as he walked to the end of the bench.

Grace, unable to bear more humiliation, tried to close her eyes, but was stopped by a shrill order from madame. ‘You must watch, my darling. Watch how Philipe adores your little cunny with his eyes, feasts upon its juicy flesh.' The woman's eyes flickered to the gaoler, who stood over Grace, watching eagerly. ‘And the gaoler, too,' she added with a chuckle.

It was as if Grace could feel the intensity of the two pairs of eyes on her most private place in a physical manner. Within her belly she felt warmth and a swirling sensation as if the men touched her, very gently, within. Much as she tried, she could not stop the feeling of fullness in her sex pouch, the drool of silky liquid upon heated skin. She tried to twist her supple body to hide the object of their interest.

‘Stop that,' ordered madame, rapping her arm with her fan. ‘Gaoler, turn the handle. Make her tauter upon the rack… just a little. Only a little, to take up the slack. Prevent her trying to hide that lovely part of her body.'

A drool of spittle oozed from the gaoler's grinning mouth and Grace saw him adjust the straining bulge between his thighs as his big hands grasped the handle which would stretch her even further open.

A loud and threatening click echoed through the cavernous chamber and Grace gave a tiny mew, not of pain, but of discomfort as her limbs became tauter. She looked up at the gaoler, who stood at the end of the bench. His gaze was fixed on her fully open sex lips. She knew they were dreadfully inflamed with her wanting – her need. She knew her jet-black curls were moist with her juices and were spread outwards, making the full folds of her sex open and the finer, inner leaves part to bare the arch of her nubbin, making the whole more available, more visible. She felt her inner sex lips flutter and saw the gaoler's fingers stray into the bulging leather pouch to rub up and down the thick stem which strained there.

Philipe spoke, startling Grace. ‘Oh, madame… such a delightful sight!' The aristocrat crouched at the end of the bench. ‘Her mound is thrust higher by the tension of the rack and the plump folds swell deliciously. It makes me want her more than ever.'

Grace could not stop her lashes fluttering closed as she tried to shut out her shame. She knew she was disobeying orders and punishment would follow.

‘One more notch,' said madame, instructing the gaoler. ‘Or perhaps she can stand two? She is such a supple and graceful creature.' She smiled into Grace's eyes.

It was almost as if madame was bestowing a gift rather than a punishment, thought Grace.

The slow tension made the tortured girl feel more vulnerable. It seemed to lift the fullness of her sex closer to Philipe's eager eyes. Helpless, she could not move a muscle under the restrictions placed upon her ankles and wrists. Her breasts were stretched across her ribs and her nipples were tight buds, their darkness begging to be taken between caressing lips.

‘Tell me,' breathed madame huskily, ‘how open is her cunny? How moist and dewy?'

‘The full lips are stretched wide open,' sighed Philipe, ‘and the fine inner lips are flushed with desire. Creamy dew beads the scarlet folds…' His voice was hoarse and his breath came in short, sharp gasps.

‘And her clitty?' Madame bent over Grace's breasts, one after the other, and took the urgent nipples between her lips. ‘How is that? Leave nothing out, I pray you.'

‘Proud,' answered Philipe. ‘The hood is drawn back and the tip is bared.' His voice was barely audible. ‘May I kiss it, madame?'

Grace knew that her helplessness and the tension on her limbs had excited her, but to hear it described so boldly was doubly humiliating. Her shame knew no bounds.

‘I wish the gaoler to have that privilege,' whispered madame. ‘As I am sure my girl does too, is that not true, my darling?'

A violent shudder rippled through Grace's body at the thought of the unshaven lips and broken teeth gnawing at her intimate flesh. The shiver caused her pain, but this seemed only to enhance the feelings in her belly, the flutter of longing.

A sulky pout and a frown spoiled Philipe's handsome features, but he fumbled about his breeches, easing his cock from the flap. ‘I suppose you won't object to me pleasuring myself as I watch?' he snapped sarcastically.

‘Indeed not,' the woman granted. ‘I intend to do the same.' She lifted the yards of silk to expose her belly and the dark triangle beneath it. There was nowhere the girl could look and not see swollen, moist and inflamed genitals.

Rough thumbs pressed open her outer lips, baring the flushed inner skin. She could feel the damp heat of his breath upon her and knew that her clitty, rearing up from its soft and silky bed, gave an anticipatory jerk. She mewed as a ripple of glorious feeling shot through her. For all that the gaoler was an ugly distasteful creature the sensation he created within the open folds if her sex were delicious. Looking down her body she could see her mound, sweetly decorated with blue-black curls. She could see the gaoler's head busy between her splayed legs, his unkempt hair brushing the tender inner skin of her open thighs. Warm and wet, his tongue tip caressed the inner folds and his spittle merged with her creamy juices to bathe her pert clitty in a cascade of moisture.

The cell was redolent with the scent of excitement; her own sweet musk, the heavier perfume of madame, the stale heat of the gaoler, and Philipe's youthful masculine aroma.

Grace was powerless to prevent the whirlpool of pleasurable sensations within her. She reached that peak of pleasure from which there is no return. A whimper of ecstasy began deep in her throat and ended as wave after wave of soft moans.

‘Oh, mistress,' groaned the gaoler, bobbing up from between her thighs. ‘She pumps her fluids upon my tongue and I gladly drink them.'

‘Spurt your come upon her belly, her breasts, her mound!' ordered madame huskily. Her fingers were busy working at her pleasure within her own sex flesh, flashing up and down, her pelvis thrust forward and her thighs open.