Bride of the Revolution Read Free Page A

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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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