Bride of the Revolution

by Bethany Amber

  ‘Yes,’ she pleaded. ‘Yes, take me in that way.’ Escaping Robespierre’s dungeons made her feel reckless, inflamed her senses, made her want him to take her harshly.

  ‘Indeed, I will,’ he murmured, ‘for I have plans for you. Oh, yes. Great plans.’ Grace felt her breathing quicken as she wondered what he meant.

  He drove all further questions from her mind as he held both her wrists with one hand, held them high against the wall and wrapped his other arm around her waist. She felt the silky moistness of his globe slicking up and down the tight cleft, felt it greasing the pleats of her bottom hole, butting it, opening it with every thrust.

  She could hear his breathing harsh and quick in her ears; could feel his cock opening her rear entrance, pressing into the tightness, and she mewed with pleasure.

  Within moments he was deeply inserted and she was impaled upon his thickness. The hand by which he held her about the waist slid down to the lush darkness of her sex bush and cupped it gently as he thrust into her. Grace could not hold back the sigh of delight that welled in her throat as he flooded her with gush after gush of his seed.

  His harsh breathing slowed and she felt his cockstem withdraw. His hold on her relaxed, and she felt the loss of his warmth as he drew away from her.

  With eyes closed dreamily she sensed him fasten his breeches and bend to pick up his coat, fallen to the cobbles in their passion, and then he was gone into the night, leaving her entirely alone.

  Chapter Eight

  After a few moments Grace peeped over her bare shoulder. She blinked her long lashes as she tried to adjust her eyes to the darkness of the narrow alley. Very slowly, she lowered her arms and hugged them about her as she began to shiver in the swirling night chill.

  He had gone. The Black Rose, the Englishman, had gone, leaving her naked and alone. She could hear voices, not far away, but how could she show herself, naked and subjected to bondage, for all this was done with pure gold? A warm liquid trickled down the lower hillocks of her bottom and seeped down her thighs. This was all the Black Rose had left her.

  Grace bowed her head and raised her manacled hands and hid her face in her palms, sobbing softly. What would happen to her now? She hadn’t even the protection of madame.

  She did not hear the footfall and it was a few moments before she realised that the night seemed darker than ever. A huge shadow loomed over her and she scarcely had a chance to scream before she was lifted high into the air.

  A great booming laugh made her breasts and belly vibrate. It made the gold chains swing back and forth across the lower margin of her ribcage. The gold wrist cuffs and the chain between them pinched her arms and she wished her ankles were free so she could run from this new terror.

  ‘What have you found, Cava?’ The question was asked by a woman with a voice both deep and sensual.

  With wide frightened eyes Grace ventured a peep in the direction of the voice. The woman was tall, statuesque, with a great mass of auburn hair piled on top of her well-shaped head.

  ‘A pretty thing,’ answered Cava haltingly.

  Grace felt the warmth of a huge body and she snuggled into it, grateful for the relief from the chill and loneliness of the night.

  ‘A sweet, pretty thing,’ echoed Cava, ‘who loves me.’ A huge hand kneaded the softness of both Grace’s breasts and she felt her body begin to respond to the caress. She urged her breasts into the bruising fingers and squirmed her belly until her cunny fur brushed the big man’s palms. Grateful for the relief of the dreadful loneliness she’d felt when the Englishman disappeared into the night, she laid her head against Cava’s huge chest and felt his thick fingers drive into her hair, arching her slim neck.

  ‘Oh, put her down,’ said the woman impatiently, ‘and stop being so ridiculous.’

  Grace found herself set gently upon her feet and screamed as she looked up at Cava, who was over seven feet tall and almost as wide as the alley in which they stood.

  ‘You see?’ said the woman scathingly. ‘She does not love you. She is afraid, as would be most women when they become aware of what you hide in your breeches.’ The woman tugged at Cava’s ragged trousers, pulling them down to bare his muscular belly. ‘You see, girl?’ A cock, semi-turgid, and of massive length and girth was waved at Grace. ‘Could you take this without being split asunder, eh?’

  The woman narrowed her eyes as she noticed the gold chain slung from one pink nipple to the other, the gold anklets and the manacles. ‘A slave?’ she asked, and began to look excited. ‘Are there any other restrictions?’

  Grace bowed her head and felt the shining mane of her hair swing down to brush her breasts.

  ‘Well, girl? Answer me!’

  ‘Yes, mistress,’ said Grace, remembering her manners.

  A hand slipped over the jet-curled mound and into Grace’s slit. The woman’s eyes widened as she felt the gold rings which closed the soft labia. ‘A slave indeed!’ she murmured as she drew the heel of her hand, very softly, back and forth over the warm moistness of the sex pouch. The hand was withdrawn and the woman smiled.

  Grace glanced nervously from one to the other; the giant called Cava and the woman. The latter was tall, much taller than Grace but shorter than the man. Her muscular body was clad in a simple white gown sashed with the colours of the new republic. A rough piece of stone, hung upon a length of leather, nestled between her generous breasts.

  Glancing again at Cava’s naked cock Grace could not help but lick her lips, mentally tracing its tip around her mouth. A heavy pearl of dew seeped from the massive globe and she could, in her mind, taste the salt of his seepage. She felt a churning, a wetness in her belly, a familiar heaviness, and she smiled up into the giant’s eyes.

  ‘I feel she could take me, mistress,’ said Cava, stroking his cock in thoughtful movements. ‘She, above all women, could take this monster with which I am cursed.’

  ‘I doubt it, Cava,’ said the woman, ‘but she does seem very compliant and submissive.’ Strong hands, not those of the giant, but feminine in their length and elegance, grasped Grace’s arms and peered at her through the mist and the darkness. ‘She is a pretty thing, I agree.’

  A hand stroked the underswell of her breasts and fingered the chains that looped her nipples. ‘Not only is she pretty, she is rich, despite her lack of clothing,’ remarked the woman. ‘These chains are gold – pure gold.’ She paused, looking extremely pleased with herself. ‘And she is a slave. Pick her up and take her to my house.’ The woman walked ahead and then turned round, wagging her finger in warning. ‘Gently, mind. Do not damage her.’

  Cava lifted Grace as if she was made of finest porcelain. He bent his head and brushed his huge lips across her own. The sensation made Grace shudder, but not unpleasantly. She could feel the sway of his upright cock, fully erect now, brushing against her buttocks. Its tip, slippery with spunk, butting with every stride into her tight cleft.

  Behind them was the woman, her muscular body moving with feline grace over the wet cobblestones.

  ‘Who is she?’ whispered Grace, her dark eyes questioning Cava.

  ‘A leader of the new order,’ whispered the giant.

  ‘The new order?’ The phrase made Grace shudder.

  ‘She and a compatriot were very much to the fore at the start of the revolution,’ explained Cava.

  Again Grace shuddered. She did not like this talk of revolution. And now she was in the very thick of it, it seemed.

  ‘She is Charlotte de Levis,’ said Cava proudly. ‘You see the stone she has between her breasts?’

  Grace remembered wondering why anyone should wear a piece of rough stone to chafe tender flesh. ‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘What is it?’

  ‘A souvenir,’ murmured Cava. His breathing was quick, the breath rasping in his throat, and Grace could still feel the organ throbbing against her buttocks
, pressing eagerly between the plump cheeks.

  ‘A souvenir of what?’ probed Grace. Once again she could feel the melting heat of her own growing pleasure in her belly. She longed to splay her thighs for the giant, to feel the huge cock pressing open the soft wetness of her labia, butting against her clitty and, at last, tearing into her virgin sex.

  ‘The people, with Charlotte and her compatriot at the fore, stormed the Bastille, and my mistress picked up a stone driven from its walls by a battering ram.’ Cava kissed Grace again, his lips brushing against hers. The kiss was surprisingly sensual, and Grace shuddered.

  ‘Hurry up, Cava,’ Charlotte de Levis cried over her broad shoulder. Her eyes darted beneath Grace’s cradled body, saw the nestling tip of the huge cock within the girl’s bottom cleft. ‘Ah, I see. You rampant wretch. I shall have to punish you. Put her down this instant.’

  ‘But mistress…’ pleaded Cava, ‘she is hobbled. She cannot walk.’

  Grace huddled against the giant’s chest. Her ankles were raw from the hours of being clasped in the gold shackles. To walk would be terribly painful.

  ‘Down!’ There was no arguing with the order. ‘I shall help her. We’re almost home. I shall make sure she will not be hurt. She is far too valuable for…’ The woman paused. ‘Far too valuable.’

  Grace could not help wondering what made her so valuable. Was it the gold?

  Cava, reluctantly, set Grace upon her sore feet, his eyes sorrowful and sympathetic.

  ‘For heavens sake!’ screamed Charlotte. ‘Stop looking at her with those puppy eyes. Can’t you see she’s a sex slave, kept to be used by those debauched aristos?’ She slapped the giant’s cock, first with one hand and then the other. ‘And put that away. We have much work to do to retrain this girl.’

  Grace shivered. Retrain? What did the woman mean? Hadn’t she suffered enough with madame?

  ‘Come along, girl!’ Grace felt an arm wrapped about her waist and fingers caressing the underswell of a breast. She winced as a nipple ring was twisted and the gold chain was hefted to feel the value of it. The woman smiled into her eyes, but there was something in the smile that made Grace turn her head away.

  Charlotte shrugged and hurried Grace along. She noticed that the woman looked furtive and glanced over her shoulder as if she expected someone to be following. She was too tired to notice where they were and felt only relief when she was eventually laid upon a comfortable sofa.

  When she next opened her eyes sunshine was streaming through tall elegant windows, and bathing her naked body in warmth.

  ‘Awake at last!’

  The woman she knew as Charlotte was leaning over her and kissing each breast, misted with the warmth of the gracious room. Grace looked around, amazed that a woman who was a revolutionary could afford such luxury.

  Charlotte laughed as if she could read Grace’s mind. ‘I used to live in a garrett and my only luxury was to be visited by my English lover. But when the revolution began and the aristos ran, there were empty palaces for the taking.’

  Grace lay, still in her chains, on the damask sofa. Behind her stood Cava, his breathing harsh and rapid, his breeches bulging with the fullness of their contents.

  Something glinted in Charlotte’s hand. ‘I am going to release you from your slavery,’ she said, and her voice was low, husky as though with lust. ‘Let your knees fall open and be loose.’

  Grace trembled. The implement in Charlotte’s hand was stroked up and down her belly, leaving a fine red line on her pale skin before it disappeared into the lushness of her jet-black pussy hair. The delicate hillock of her sex mound rippled at the chill touch of the surgeon’s cleaver.

  ‘It will not hurt,’ said Charlotte softly, ‘and your sex will be free and open.’ Grace felt the touch of the woman’s hands grazing over the crisp dark curls, and she felt the seepage of her fluids at the thought of such freedom.

  ‘Free and open,’ echoed Cava, and Grace lifted her eyes, darker than ever with fear, but heavy with longing for him to ravage her.

  ‘Do not move now,’ warned Charlotte, ‘and keep those knees fully open.’ She looked up at Cava. ‘Place a pillow under her bottom to lift and make her sex more available to me.’

  ‘Yes, mistress,’ and Cava’s voice sounded eager.

  Grace felt the fumbling of Cava’s thick fingers stroking the quivering skin of her buttocks. She felt the cool of a satin pillow and felt her sex lifted high in the air, making her body arched and available.

  The surgeon’s cleaver sliced through the air towards Grace’s offered mound, and her spread thighs trembled as the shining instrument neared her body.

  ‘Be still!’ Charlotte de Levis frowned down at Grace. ‘Cava!’

  ‘Yes, mistress?’ The big man bent over Grace and she could feel his body heat, smell his maleness, and it excited her. His nose was close to her breasts, almost brushing the gold links between her nipples, and his eyes were half-closed with lust.

  ‘Hold her,’ ordered Charlotte. ‘Arms high over her head and ankles tightly together.’

  With any other man the task would have been impossible, but with Cava it was easy. His arm span was as vast as his bulging cock.

  ‘Yes, mistress.’ He knelt at the side of the damask sofa and gripped Grace’s wrists, thrusting them hard over her head and clasping her manacled ankles in his vice-like grip so that she was held fast.

  Once more Charlotte busied herself with the surgeon’s cleaver, sawing through the soft gold which held Grace’s labia tightly closed. She could feel the heat of friction and the warmth made her tremble with fear that her tender flesh would be cut, but the rings were fine and the task was quickly accomplished.

  As the rings were slid from the flesh of her labia, were drawn out of the dark hair, the plump folds fell open, displaying the flushed skin beneath and the erect pip of her clitty rearing up from the silky darkness of her sex.

  ‘Oh, mistress,’ murmured Cava, bending over Grace, sniffing the freshness of her virgin sex. ‘How beautiful! May I touch it, kiss it?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ answered Charlotte, ‘but we must release her other bonds so that her legs will be free to be splayed fully open.’

  Grace felt her belly become soft with anticipation of that freedom. With her sex lifted by the pillow beneath her buttocks she wanted Cava’s massive organ inside her more than ever. She felt her nubbin jerk to become fully exposed from its tiny hood, and she felt a delicious flood of warm fluid from deep within her.

  At last her ankles, raw and sore from the hobbling, were free of the shackles. ‘Bring some salve, Cava,’ ordered Charlotte.

  Grace raised tender eyes to Cava as she watched him rise. The bulge in his ragged breeches was more pronounced than ever, and her belly seemed to melt at the thought of caressing it with her mouth and cunny.

  She shuddered as she perceived the gentleness of a kiss upon her open flesh pot, the lifted moistness. Her dark eyes flashed open as she realised it was Charlotte’s lips sucking upon each plump pussy fold. She heard the hiss of breath as the woman sniffed the growing musk of Grace’s excitement. A tongue lapped around the root of her clitty and rimmed her virgin opening.

  Grace mewed and pressed her eager and long frustrated cunt against the questing mouth. She felt strong arms enfold her and long fingers squeeze each breast. She tasted her own musk as Charlotte moved up and placed her lips on her own.

  ‘You look so beautiful with chains at your breasts,’ murmured Charlotte. ‘So slavish. I cannot bear to remove them. At your wrists, too. They make you look so vulnerable, so submissive. Just as Albert would like.’

  If it occurred to Grace to ask who Albert was, she said nothing. Neither did she demur when the woman lifted her ragged skirt and straddled Grace. She pressed her naked pussy upon Grace’s, who felt the other’s crisp cunny curls grating against her own slipp
ery skin. She felt her clitty abraded back and forth and felt her pleasure rising to a glorious peak.

  ‘Yes,’ whispered Grace. ‘Yes.’ She began to move with the woman, increasing the abrasion.

  ‘I can feel you coming,’ said Charlotte huskily. ‘I can feel the throb of your clitty, the sucking wetness of your cunny. Let it flow, my darling. Pour your juices upon my pussy hair.’

  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.