Bride of the Revolution

by Bethany Amber

  ‘You look so delicious, the pair of you,’ said madame, with a broad smile. ‘I could just lie here admiring you the whole night.’ She threw herself upon the bed, behind Grace, and splayed her knees to cosset her own pleasure place.

  Grace tried to close her thighs, but this only made the little pillow press harder upon her burning clitty, and she got a resounding smack on the buttocks for her pains.

  ‘Bear down upon the pillow,’ ordered madame, ‘and keep those knees fully open.’ She sighed as if her world was full of troubles as well as pleasures. She looked up at Philipe.

  ‘Isn’t she the most sensual creature?’ she murmured, speaking of Grace. ‘The little minx enjoyed to the full the tongue and finger placed in her bottom hole. It is time to…’ Madame was breathing heavily, and her fingers flashed between her full love lips.

  Grace could not help rocking back and forth upon the little pillow, and she felt her nubbin tap again and again on the satin. She felt her pleasure rising. She saw Philipe’s cock give a final throb and the veins pulse about the stem. A stream of semen gushed in precious fountains, spurting upon her heaving breasts and belly.

  ‘Time to introduce her to Zeus,’ madame finished huskily as she regained her breath and her body calmed from its orgasm. ‘What do you think of that, Philipe?’

  Grace frowned in puzzlement. Zeus? Philipe could not speak because of the metal that held down his tongue, but beyond the struts she could see his eyes become hooded and his mouth curve about the iron in a grimace of pleasure.

  ‘Yes, Zeus, my pretty loves,’ added madame. She nodded and sat up, palpating her heavy breasts. Her mound, between her spread thighs, covered in golden curls, shone with her own dew. ‘Doesn’t the thought almost make you faint clean away with pleasure?’

  Again Grace tried to close her own thighs but was smacked at belly and breasts. ‘Open!’ rapped madame. ‘Always open. And bear down upon that pillow. Enjoy its softness while you can, because there will be something far harder and chillier between those thighs before very much longer.’

  A muffled chuckle came from the mask, and she saw the cock begin to fill again, the veins to throb.

  Madame bent over Grace and rubbed the spillage from Philipe in sensuous circles around the swell of her belly. The movements were hypnotic, and Grace felt herself bear down upon the circling hand and rock harder upon the satin pillow. ‘Good,’ breathed madame. ‘Excellent, my dear. Do you not think so, Philipe?’ But she smiled. ‘What a shame you cannot agree with me. But we shall talk later when I decide your punishment is over.

  ‘You must be hungry, my dear,’ she said, turning again to Grace. The soothing massage slowed and Grace nodded. Before she could protest she was pulled from the bed, quite roughly, and her body was swept into madame’s strong arms, cradled against the enveloping cushion of her breasts. ‘We shall use fresh cords and I shall bind you, my sweet. On different occasions it is a task I give to Philipe, but…’ She smiled up at the young aristo. ‘As you see, he is otherwise engaged.’

  From the night table madame brought silk cords, brilliant in their whiteness, and ordered Grace to kneel on the floor.

  The girl felt the tiny pillow fall wetly from her sex lips and saw, to her shame, a string of silvery juice follow from her depths. Subservient as she had learned to be, she placed her hands behind her back and, with a glance up at madame, spread her thighs to the full and tucked her heels into her bottom crease. She felt the cords wrapped tightly about her wrists, making her hands and arms quite helpless.

  How could she eat, she wondered, when she was bound? She peeped up beneath the dark curtain of her hair, the question in her eyes. It was answered immediately.

  A maid entered the room. The girl was pretty and dressed very demurely in black silk and a starched white pinafore and cap. Her style of dress made Grace more than ever aware of her own nakedness, and she hid her burning face in her fall of hair. She tried to slip her bound hands over her bottom to hide the parted and intimate slit, but the maid ignored her, much as she would ignore a pet dog or cat. She ignored Philipe, his head encased in the bridle and his cock stiff, upright and dripping, as she would a painting or a statue.

  She set down a tray and Grace felt saliva enter her mouth as she smelled hot food. Madame picked up a steaming bowl and sniffed it, but made a wry face.

  ‘I hate gruel,’ she said, but she set it down before Grace and waved the dish under her nose, ‘but no doubt peasant girls such as you will find it wholesome.’

  Grace stretched her neck, sniffing the air, realising just how hungry she was. The bowl of creamy food was set just out of reach, and how could she use a spoon with her wrists bound so tightly behind her back?

  ‘Like a little puppy, my darling,’ said madame, answering Grace’s silent question. ‘With your sweet and agile tongue and those soft lips which can do such delightful things to both men and woman.’ She turned to Philipe and reached up to polish his globe, rubbing the smooth tip until it shone with the repeated exudations he could not seem to stop.

  Behind the mask his eyes were glazed with pleasure, bulging in their effort to look down at Grace’s buttocks spread by the splay of her knees and thighs. Grace bowed her head, her silky mane falling about her breasts and almost touching the steaming bowl of creamy gruel. ‘Madame…’ she ventured meekly, raising her eyes.

  ‘Eat, girl, eat!’ The mistress stopped playing with Philipe’s cock and opened the lush curls on her own sex lips, exposing the flushed folds between them.

  Shoulders trembling, Grace bowed over the gruel. Blue-black tresses trailed in the creamy food.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ snapped madame, petting the tip of her clitty.

  Grace tried to toss her hair behind her shoulders, but succeeded only in flicking the upper swells of her breasts with the hot mixture and painting her ruby nipples with the spills.

  ‘I am sure you wish to know about Zeus, my precious,’ said madame, her finger busy between her flesh lips.

  Nodding, Grace looked up at her gratefully, before trying once more to lap at the warm gruel in the bowl. This time she succeeded in scooping up the creamy food, but her lips, cheeks and chin became smeared with excess.

  ‘Look up, my precious,’ ordered madame huskily, prising open the sex lips to expose her hugely erect clitty.

  Suffering the pangs of terrible humiliation, feeling helpless and vulnerable in her bonds, Grace lifted her head, her eyes wide, pleading for mercy.

  ‘How sweet,’ responded her mistress, slicking her juice soaked fingers in and out of the pulsing slit of her sex. ‘Look, Philipe. Her pretty face is spread with cream just as her bottom hole must be when she is presented to Zeus.’

  Beneath the coating of gruel Grace could feel her cheeks become fiery red. Her shoulders ached, pulled back by the tightness of her bindings, and her breasts felt stretched beyond bearing, thrust forward as they were. But somehow these discomforts were nothing to the feeling of fullness in her sex pouch, the dribble of juices down her thighs and the itching of her clitty. If those could just be appeased, by no matter what means, she would be content.

  ‘Zeus,’ explained madame, ‘is the king of the Roman gods, and we have a statue of him in one of the main corridors of the palace.’ She leaned back upon her pillows and closed her eyes. ‘It is a splendid piece of statuary.’ She used a hand to describe its magnificence, a spearing rod from the groin. The size she intimated made Grace shudder.

  ‘Eat, or must I force you?’ Madame noticed that Grace had raised her head, and her face was flushed with anger. She splayed her thighs further and her fingers flashed over the gleaming flesh beneath them as if this calmed her troubled mind.

  Grace hesitated a moment too long. Madame leapt from the bed, her face darker than ever. Fingers slick with female juices were dipped into the gruel and Grace felt them force into her mouth.
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  ‘You must eat,’ urged madame, but her voice was no longer rough with anger, but soft and caressing. ‘Suck, my darling. Suck as though you sip milk from a nipple.’

  Grace obediently pursed her lips about the fingertips. She could smell the faint tang of female juices, collected as madame pleasured herself, but with her hunger pangs as strong as they were, the taste could have been some delicate sauce prepared by one of the palace chefs.

  Chapter Six

  The statue of Zeus sat upon a gilt throne in the most gracious corridor in the palace of Versailles. A crown of laurel leaves on his head denoted his place among the gods, and a sceptre in his right hand announced him king.

  He was naked, carved from the finest and most unblemished marble imported from the Italian peninsula. But the most notable of all his features was his penis, which was upright and magnificent, smooth as silk, darkened to a livid flesh colour by some secret means of the artist who fashioned the statue. The circumcised globe was bloated, ready to open any delicate orifice to which it was presented. It gleamed wetly in the glow given by the hundreds of candles burning in the chandelier suspended above him. Behind him was a huge gilt-framed mirror, and its twin was suspended on the opposite wall of the corridor, reflecting the massive and sensual image an infinite number of times.

  Such was the splendour of Zeus that many ladies, their rustling silk dresses lifted high above their knees, curtsied prettily before him, being sure to prolong the bob so that their dainty heels petted their naked flesh pots as they paid homage to the king of the gods. Some often had to be dragged, shuddering with orgasmic delight, from before the impassive statue.

  ‘What do you think, my darling?’ asked madame.

  Grace held back, her helpless form shivering with apprehension as the great marble edifice came into view along the elegant corridor. She looked at madame, and tugged feebly against her iron-hard grip on her upper arms. She looked at Philipe, now released from his punishment, but looking sulky as he trailed after madame.

  ‘At least let me…’ he began. He wore nothing but a simple loincloth tucked tightly about his waist and slung neatly between his legs.

  ‘No,’ refused madame. ‘I am still extremely cross with you. You may not penetrate her bottom hole with that rampant cock of yours. But my anger with you is becoming less; I just may have a treat for you.’

  Philipe’s features brightened. ‘Really?’ He began to strut after the two women, his step considerably lighter.

  ‘Oh, come now,’ whispered madame to Grace. ‘It is a statue, my sweet. Nothing more than a statue. What is there to fear?’ She caressed Grace, pulling her shuddering form to her and bending to kiss the upper swell of a breast, while her dimpled hand slipped between Grace’s trembling thighs to pet the outer lips of her sex pouch.

  In the mirrors the vision repeated back and forth. Grace saw her naked and captured form being caressed by madame’s knowing fingers. She also saw Zeus, huge and inanimate, naked and ready to receive her in his spread lap.

  ‘You are… sacrificing…?’ she stammered. She tried to dig her heels into the floor, but it was polished to a glassy sheen by servants and by the hundreds of courtiers who walked the elegant passage every day.

  ‘Your virginity, my darling?’

  Grace nodded, feeling the cold wetness of the gruel sliding across the swell of her breasts as tendrils of hair brushed across them.

  ‘Not at all,’ madame assured her. Again the swell of her breast was kissed with passionate lips and the erect bud of her nipple was grazed with sharp white teeth.

  ‘That is far too valuable,’ added Philipe, driving his fingers into her arm as madame released her. He pulled her forward, shaking her until her breasts quivered and she hung her head in mute submission.

  The pair stopped their teasing torment and continued to drag her along the wide and gracious passage. Stumbling, Grace was at last brought to a halt before Zeus and averted her eyes from the sight of the spearing cock, but not before she felt the flutter of pleasure between her thighs and the silky wetness smearing the inner folds of her cunt. ‘No…’ she murmured, pulling as hard as she could against the grips of her captors, but her denial sounded faint-hearted even to her own ears.

  ‘Perhaps a smear of gruel upon his majesty?’ suggested Philipe, thrusting the bowl forward. ‘Would that please you more, my darling, to lick the concoction from the royal prick as you did mine?’

  With tears beading her dark lashes Grace nodded. If only they would lead her back to the chamber, she thought. They could humiliate her all they wished if it were not in public. Under lowered lids she peeped shyly at the well-dressed ladies of the court who giggled at her behind their fans, and the gentlemen who appraised her willowy figure.

  Chuckling, Philipe scooped up some gruel and smeared it liberally upon the huge cock, coating it with the thick white paste that steamed with heat and made the penis seem warm and alive.

  Grace shivered and looked from one to the other of her captors.

  ‘Doesn’t that look delicious?’ said madame.

  ‘Delectable,’ said Philipe, and he pushed Grace forward. ‘Kneel, girl,’ he ordered. ‘Pay homage to Zeus!’ He pushed her to her knees and Grace felt the hard chill of the polished floor. ‘Embrace his majesty.’

  A stealing, familiar heat rose up from between Grace’s thighs. An unbearable itch centred upon her clitty and she felt it draw out from the fine skin of its enclosing hood.

  The marble thighs of the statue seemed to draw her into a chilly embrace. Grace allowed her eyes, the dark verdant green warming to hazel, to flicker up to the upright cockstem which rose so magnificently from the heavy marble balls. The gruel slipped in creamy pearls down the shaft and Grace licked her lips.

  ‘Go on, girl,’ ordered madame. ‘What are you waiting for? Suck his majesty.’ She laughed, a low cruel chuckle. ‘Legend has it that if a girl has sufficient talent with her lips Zeus will spurt his juices into her mouth.’

  Grace shuffled closer into the marble embrace. She felt the hard fullness of the balls between her breasts and she swayed against them, feeling her nipples harden to tight nubs. She licked her lips, attempting to make them soft and loose. The marble cock was of magnificent girth and speared upwards into the candlelit gloom.

  The sliminess of the gruel and her own spittle eased its passage into her straining throat. She managed to make the muscles relax to the full and the length slipped easily into her gullet.

  ‘Magnifique!’ Madame’s voice was ecstatic and Grace heard the clap of her hands as she applauded. ‘She has done it, Philipe! She is impaled upon Zeus, and see how she sucks!’

  Grace’s nostrils were flared as she gasped for breath. Her tongue flicked with quick little laps up and down the cockstem. With lips stretched to the limit Grace managed to suck upon the unyielding marble.

  How silly to even think she could make the god come! It was impossible, she told herself. And yet, was it her imagination that the cock was throbbing between her lips?

  ‘She goes on too long!’ exclaimed Philipe testily, and Grace felt his long fingers on her shoulder attempting to wrench her upwards.

  ‘No! Attendez! Wait!’

  Grace, from the corner of her eyes, saw madame crouching beside her.

  ‘I do believe the balls are throbbing,’ she gasped huskily. ‘She is working the magic. Zeus is about to come!’

  ‘Oh, what nonsense.’ Grace could hear envy in Philipe’s voice. ‘Stop wasting time!’

  Madame sighed. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she said. She hooked her hands under Grace’s arms and gently eased her to her feet.

  Feeling an emptiness as the cock was pulled from her lips, Grace felt tears gloss her lashes, but she also felt a warmth, a creamy warmth, and tasted a bitter saltiness in her mouth. Giving the statue a plaintive glance she was certain she saw th
e handsome lips curve in a gentle smile.

  ‘Straddle his majesty’s thighs, my darling,’ madame whispered huskily. Grace was dragged upright.

  Zeus sat with his muscled legs open to their limit and, by the time Grace had obeyed her mistress her own thighs trembled with effort, and the fine pale skin was stretched to a transparent tautness.

  ‘Lean forward,’ rasped Philipe, ‘sway your breasts upon the cock, smear them as if with his majesty’s issue.’

  With a fearful glance at Philipe Grace did as she was bid. Her fear was that he knew she had indeed done the impossible, but there was no hint of knowledge in his eyes. Only rabid lust and cruelty.

  Grace arched her slender back until it was hollowed. Her pert buttocks lifted with this awkward position and they splayed open, revealing the tight little entrance. She felt the cool of her own spittle and… No! She could not believe that she had drawn come from the marble cock!

  ‘Now, my precious,’ murmured madame, ‘be sure to put a good coating of your spittle on his majesty’s organ. A good coating.’

  Grace looked up, eyes wide, pleading, though she scarcely knew for what. Her bound arms were thrust hard behind her and high up her back, the position causing her excruciating pain.

  ‘If you do not do as I say,’ said madame, her voice losing its soft tone and becoming harsh, ‘it will be the worse for you. You will know pain such as you have never known before.’ She smoothed the bulbous globe of the marble cock with the pad of her forefinger, slowly back and forth, collecting a scoop of Grace’s saliva. The woman frowned and tasted with the tip of her tongue. She looked at Grace, her eyes wide and questioning. The look made Grace quiver with fear, but madame said nothing more. She only smiled a secret smile. Grace shuddered and bent her head, beginning her task at the very base of the huge cock, petting the smoothness with little laps of her tongue and soft kissing movements of her velvet lips.

  ‘Excellent,’ murmured madame. ‘Continue.’