Bride of the Revolution Read Free Page B

naughty fellows!’
    Philipe again tried to writhe but all he managed was a slight lift of his hips which made his cock spear high into the air.
    â€˜How very obliging,’ murmured madame. ‘You always know exactly what I require.’ She allowed the cord to tickle the very tip of his cock, and he silently cursed the gag which he loved.
    Madame sat back and allowed her fingers to drift lazily up and down her love lips. Teasingly, she pressed them together, pulled them down, made them swell. Only then did she again spread them open, allowing Philipe to feast his hungry eyes on the contents of her pouch.
    â€˜ Et maintenant … and now…’ she murmured. So swiftly and expertly did her fingers twist the cord about the base of his cock that Philipe scarcely had time to draw breath. Her lips closed about his globe, sucking very gently with her soft lips and then, with a smile, sat back and began to work at one of her nipples until it was hardened to a sharp point. Philipe’s eyes widened as she bent over him once more. She worked his globe very quickly with finger and thumb and pressed her teat into the pulsing pore. He felt her whip the silk cord from the base of his cock and remove her teat at the same moment. The desire to scream with joy was strong as a silvery thread of his come followed the dark teat.
    As he calmed his tethered fingers itched to press into madame’s beckoning wetness. He longed to hear the sound of two of his fingers driving into her depths, and then three, perhaps even four, filling her up until she cried out for mercy. These lewd thoughts and the predicament in which Philipe delighted were too much for any man to take for any length of time. He watched her slip one finger into the flushed and slippery flesh between her open thighs. A second followed and he heard the sucking sounds he so desired. He watched the ball of her thumb press the hardened tip of her nubbin, and such was his pleasure in the sight that his cock began to rise.
    â€˜Must I again punish you?’ she said, wagging a warning finger that quickly joined the others in the open depths of her flesh pot. She bent over his cock, taking it fully into her gullet which squeezed his length just as her sex passage had done such a short time ago. Philipe was light-headed with pleasure and attempted to arch upwards from the bed. Madame gave him a warning slap on the belly and released his cock from her lips. Another pearly fountain jetted from the tip, splashing warmly on his taut belly and chest, while madame shook her head in pretended distaste and disgust. But this did not stop her bending over the young man’s body to sip and savour every last drop of her patron’s offering.
    The minor court of Philipe, Duc d’Orleans, was as decadent as that of his brother, Louis XVI. The aristocracy at the palace of Versailles knew only a hint of the dreadful poverty, the hunger of the populace in the mean streets of Paris in the turbulent days of 1792.
    Grace was one of the people. Poor, thin and insubstantial as a wraith, her ragged clothes hung about her willowy frame in tatters, but yet, despite her slenderness there was an eye-catching voluptuousness that spoke of a secret sensuality. Beneath the flimsy rags which scarcely clothed her, her tiny waist flared out to shapely hips and pouting buttocks. Often, when the winter winds blew, the pale swell of her breasts were bared to the biting cold and the piercing chill made the buds of her wine-dark nipples spring out sharply, jutting against the worn rags, fine and transparent as gossamer. Never, in all her young life, had Grace known a winter such as this in 1792. Winds of change, the winds of a changing world, blew through the dark, filthy alleys, fluttering Grace’s rags, moulding them to her tiny frame.
    Had there been water to spare to wash her hair, soap to rinse away the grime, the tangled tresses would have been revealed as a raven black cascade, shot