Bride of the Revolution (14 page)

Madame shook her head sadly. ‘That may have been my intention,' she said, ‘but the world is changing. Soon we shall not be the monied and privileged class and we must take riches wherever we may.' She lowered Grace's skirt and closed her cloak as if shutting away the most valuable jewel in the world.

‘You're going to sell her!' Philipe was aghast. ‘You cannot! She's my plaything.' He glared at madame, who stared him down. ‘Our play thing,' he corrected after a moment's hesitation. ‘And what do you mean that we may not be the monied class? We shall still have our riches, our palaces.'

Once more madame shook her head sadly. ‘Who knows?'

The carriage drew up outside the theatre. Several urchins fought to open the door. Philipe shrank back away from the rabble he hated so much, but the driver and the footmen drove the urchins away with whips and clubs and Grace, Madame de Genlis, and Philipe, stepped from the carriage unhindered.

A young man, ragged like the urchins, stepped forward from the crowd, his filthy hand waving to Grace. ‘It is me!' he called. ‘Pierre, your half-brother. Grace? Look at me!'

Grace's eyes, the green glinting in the flickering lights of the torches held in sconces on the stone walls, darted towards the voice. Her soft lips trembled in the ghost of a smile. She began to lift her hands in greeting and the glint of gold, the manacles about her wrists, were seen in the dim yellow oil lamps.

‘What have they done to you?' Pierre's pinched and filthy face looked horrified, and Grace wanted to feel the warmth and love of familiar arms about her.

‘Walk on!' hissed madame. ‘He is no one. You do not know him. You have no need to know him.' The voice whispered urgently in her ear and hands pushed her firmly ahead.

‘But it was…' Grace became, for the first time, more aware of her total imprisonment, her slavery, and she wanted to run back, embrace Pierre, take up her old life, poor though it was.

Obediently she walked on, head bowed, hiding her face in the hood of her cloak. She was once again the humble slave, owned by a mistress who kept her in luxurious chains; imprisoned by her sensuality.

‘I shall not forget that you spurned me,' she heard from the crowd. ‘I shall not forget how you treated your half-brother.'

Grace turned her head, looking into the crowd, but she could not see Pierre. The reminder of her old life made her sad and she felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness.

‘Forget him,
ma cherie
,' coaxed madame. ‘Have I not given you a better and more luxurious life? Do you not enjoy my petting of your most private places?' The woman put her hand gently under the cloak and Grace felt the shiver of sensual awareness as the knowing fingers brushed the imprisoned folds of her sex. She laid her head upon madame's shoulder and allowed herself to be helped into the ornate building.

The theatre was crowded and the ushers were about to close the grilles which divided the court from the populace.

‘Wait!' Madame de Genlis called out in her imperious voice. ‘Wait, for the Duc d'Orleans and his party.'

The ushers gave grudging bows as madame swept through, followed by Grace and Philipe. Immediately the grilles were closed with a great clanging of iron, and the murmurs of discontent from the crowds grew in volume.

Grace was placed at the very front of the box, in full view of the actors on the stage, the court and the populace. Madame took care to adjust the décolletage so that the pale smooth mounds of the girl's breasts were shown to best advantage. She made another minor adjustment that caused heightened colour to bloom prettily on the pale cheeks. The adjustment caused Grace's breasts to swell the more so, for the labial rings and padlocks were not the only piercing she had to endure; gold rings pierced her nipples, keeping them erect at all times.

‘Play with each nipple ring, my sweet,' purred madame, keeping her eyes upon the stage. ‘Make sure the footlights catch the glint of gold, but do it discreetly, with grace and subtlety, being sensual but not brash.'

Grace lifted her manacled wrists to the required height and parted her hands as much as her chains would allow. With the tips of her index fingers she agitated the tiny gold loops at her nipples. These were not in full view, but were partly hidden by the décolletage ruffle.

Beneath her skirts juices spilled over the little gold rings that kept her sex lips closed. She felt her nubbin swelling unbearably, butting the labial jewellery.

She became aware of eyes focussed upon her and she stared fixedly upon the stage, although had anyone asked her what was taking place she would surely have been unable to tell them the farcical antics of the actors who dived in one door and then reappeared at quite another.

‘A young man…' whispered Madame de Genlis, leaning forward to whisper in Grace's ear. ‘Can you see him, beyond the grille?'

Grace allowed her eyes to dip into the pit.

‘He is an aristo for sure,' continued madame, ‘perhaps English, by his clothes.' The green eyes glistened at the sight of the young man who was darkly handsome, but dressed in the manner of the fashionable London gentlemen. He could not take his eyes off Grace and his excitement was all too obvious, even beyond the thick mesh of the grille.

‘And don't get too excited, my girl,' whispered Philipe in her other ear. ‘You must fetch the best price for madame.'

‘Mind your own business, Philipe.' Madame spoke sharply and rapped her patron with her fan.

The curtain came down for the first act and Grace dropped her aching wrists into her lap. Perhaps the young man would release her from her ownership, but perhaps also she was being unfair. Madame had provided much comfort as well as the little tutelage she devised so cunningly; the sensuality she was taught to enjoy. Indeed she did enjoy it! Her body was a receptacle for pleasure. For pure pleasure.

Chapter Seven

Minette wore only a light basque, laced very tightly at the back by her maid. The garment nipped her waist to wasp-like slenderness and, at the same time, lifted her breasts until they spilled over the satin upper edge. Below the lower margin of the tightly laced garment the slender swell of her belly was pale as porcelain, and below that was a puff of golden curls hiding the moist folds of her sex.

‘Albert!' Minette twirled round, her pretty face aglow with pleasure as the young aristo stepped into her dressing room. She held out her arms in greeting, but Lord Albert looked distracted and she pouted at his lack of interest in her.

‘There is a girl,' he told her, and he rubbed the crotch of his breeches which sported a large bulge. ‘I mean to have her, to use her.'

Lord Albert had entered the backstage dressing room without knocking. As always his whip was coiled loosely in his hand and his expression was mocking, a finely etched eyebrow raised as if in permanent query.

Minette threw her arms about his neck and brushed the fullness of her breasts against his broad chest until her nipples were hard as little beans. ‘You have me, Albert, and Charlotte. Why do you need more?'

He claimed her lips, his mouth passionate. ‘Because this girl is different; a slave, taught to obey. Pliant and submissive. She would do anything for me. I know. I have seen the glint of her chains and rings that mark her as a chattel.' He drew his hands down her tightly corseted figure until his fingers cupped the fullness of her buttocks. He prised them apart and rubbed them, and into the tight valley between them. ‘Even lay down her life.'

‘Hmm,' purred Minette. ‘When you caress me in that way… I would do anything for you.'

‘Introduce me to the girl,' he said, and his fingers drifted to the silky pad of her pussy, slithering into the valley between the delicious lips.

Minette pouted until he thumbed the nub of her clitty. She became heavy and limp in his arms as he rubbed with regular strokes over the receptive little point. ‘Where is she?' she murmured, her voice catching in her throat as her breathing quickened.

‘In one of the boxes reserved for the royal party,' he said, smiling at her obvious pleasure. ‘I would go myself but it would not do for me to be seen mixing with the aristos.' As her orgasm faded he squeezed her breast and stroked the loops of the folded whip over the hillocks of her bottom.

‘I shall go after the next act,' said Minette, leaning back in his arms, bearing back against the stroking movement of the whip. ‘The death scene is my final appearance, but will you not reward me for obeying you in this task?'

He laughed. ‘And the reward?'

‘To feel the sting of your whip on my bottom!' She bowed her head in mock humility, but raised her eyes, looking at him under the fringe of her lashes.

‘Oh, I see. You are afraid that my attentions will be permanently elsewhere?' The coiled whip was allowed to fall, the leather making a soft plopping noise on the bare boards of the floor. ‘You do not enjoy the whip. Why now?'

‘I wish to please you, Albert,' she whispered. ‘What must I do?'

‘Bend down,' he ordered coldly. ‘On your knees, bottom high in the air, and let your breasts hang softly. Your thighs must be fully open and you must tilt your sex so I see every detail.'

‘Yes, Albert.'

Minette positioned herself as he required. Never had he known her so submissive, and he chuckled softly. He noticed the slight tremor of the buttocks and the pleasant looseness of the heavy breasts. The folded whip was stroked along the plump pleats of her sex and this, too, caused a quiver that was delicious to watch. He lifted the whip and placed the fold to his nose, savouring the musk of the excited girl.

‘Good, Minette,' he murmured, ‘perhaps we may train you even yet.'

‘I shall do anything to please you, Albert,' she whispered. ‘You know that.'

The whip snaked through the air, whistling as it fell. The next noise in the little dressing room was the crack of leather upon flesh. Minette moaned, her lips pursed in a soft rosebud. Her heavy breasts trembled and the pert buttocks quivered as the leather lashed it.

‘Enough?' asked Albert with a chuckle.

‘
Non
!' Minette's denial was faint-hearted. ‘Do not stop. It is… wonderful!'

‘You little liar! A weal as thick as a cow's udder and the colour of a ripe mulberry is growing as I look and I know you are not a lover of the whip.' He chuckled. ‘Ever the actress, Minette.'

‘Truly! It is wonderful. More. I want more.'

The whip was brought down again and Minette groaned louder, but still she remained on her knees, her thighs open and her sex pouch tilted.

‘You are very wet,
ma petite
! The dew drips from your clitty. I believe you are really enjoying it.'

‘I am, but I must go back on stage. May I get up?'

‘One more to remember me by,' said Albert with a chuckle. ‘One more.' The whip cracked about Minette's waist and he drew her upwards, wrapped in its folds.

There was a rap on the door of the box. Philipe and madame looked at each other questioningly, and the cloak was quickly wrapped about Grace's near-nakedness and the manacles and chains which imprisoned her.

Philipe opened the door just a crack. ‘Yes?' he said nervously. He saw assassins in everyone in these days of the revolution, but it was a girl; a sweet golden-haired girl, dressed in the costume of a country girl.

‘
Ma cherie
!' Philipe flung open the door of the box, his crotch already full and aching. ‘Madame… it is Minette, the actress!' He drew the girl to him, one hand dipping into the low cut gown and the other drifting under the full skirt.

Minette moaned and winced as the searching fingers clutched her full buttock flesh. Immediately, Philipe whirled the girl round and folded her over his arm. She tried to hide the darkening bruises and thick welts with her hands. She raised her flushed cheeks to Philipe.

‘Who?' he murmured. He had always loved Minette and would have married her had Louis given permission. ‘Who whipped you?'

Minette shook her head, her eyes glistening with tears. ‘I cannot tell you. I come only to give you a message.'

Again Philipe lifted the full skirt and forced Minette to bend over. His fingers traced the blue-black weals that stood out in stark relief from the pale hillocks. He traced the dark crease of the cleft between the buttocks and gently probed a fingertip into the tight bottom hole. He kissed each bruised and reddened swell and felt Minette shudder as his finger delved deeper.

‘Who?' he rasped. ‘Who did this to you?' In truth he was not angry. The sight excited him. He wished it had been his hand that wielded the whip.

Minette gave him a frightened glance over her shoulder, but he could see the gleam of pleasure in her eyes beyond the fear. ‘The Black Rose,' she whispered. ‘The Black Rose loves to tease his girls with the whip.'

Philipe went pale. ‘The double agent?'

No one knew just whose side the Black Rose was on. Some said it was the king and the aristos he protected but others said he started the revolution single-handed to further his own ends. This was Philipe's belief as his interest in Minette's body dissipated and he threw himself down on a chair, showing interest only in chewing his nails.

‘Never mind that,' said madame. ‘You have a message?'

Minette, with a last sorrowful look at her admirer, smoothed down her costume and nodded.

‘An admirer?' probed madame. ‘For my treasure here?' She thrust Grace's manacled hands to her breasts, urging her to tweak the gold nipple rings. The muslin gown was thrust high above her thighs and she, without more persuasion, opened her limbs as far as the chains would allow, displaying her neatly locked cunt.

The action brought its usual result; the pleasurable swirling in her belly, the flood of creamy juices which made the midnight blackness of her pussy curls glossy and the swelling of her enclosed clitty. Grace bowed her head, humiliated by her own unbidden reactions.