Bride of the Revolution by Bethany Amber

special attention to the pert nubbin, pinching it until Grace made a little murmur. ‘And this…’ With the pad of her middle finger she circled the still closed opening, making Grace shiver with a delight which was tinged with fear. Madame shook her head and tapped the swollen flesh leaves from side to side. ‘There is still much training to be done before you are ready to be plunged by all and sundry. There are many pleasures I must teach you.’
    This was said in such a way that Grace could not help the shiver which made her belly ripple.
    â€˜Turn over, my precious,’ said madame, tapping the side-swells of Grace’s buttocks. ‘Bottom nicely raised, knees tucked beneath your breasts, but thighs open.’ Madame’s voice was soft as she gave these new instructions.
    The contortion would have been difficult had Grace been anything but supple. Her soft breasts were moulded like clay by the hardness of her knees and the butting made the nipples become painfully erect, but she scarcely had time to be aware of these discomforts before strong fingers grasped each flushed bottom cheek.
    â€˜It is time, my darling,’ whispered madame, bending low over Grace so that her ponderous breasts brushed the girl’s smooth back, ‘for you to become aware of another pleasurable orifice rather than that which Philipe tried to enter.’
    Grace said nothing, not daring to move in case the vice-like fingers tore the trim buttocks from her neat bones. She felt the hillocks being spread wide and knew her mistress could see the tight pleats of her bottom hole. The thought made her blush to the roots of her tumbled hair. She also knew, because her buttocks were lifted high, that madame could see every detail of her sex purse; could see the parted plumpness of her sex leaves, the erect hardness of her clitty, and the creamy gateway of her female opening, and these thoughts made her shiver with renewed humiliation.
    â€˜And knowing you as I have come to do,’ madame whispered joyfully, ‘you will enjoy every moment of this new knowledge.’
    Face buried in the bed linen, Grace trembled at the thought of what this new torture could possibly be. No, she told herself, it was not torture. She had to admit that she enjoyed the wonderful feelings of sensuality madame gave her with her probing and stroking.
    â€˜But first I must make your bottom wonderfully ready for what is to come.’ Madame eased her grip upon her bottom cheeks. Grace allowed herself a tiny sigh of relief, but the relief was short-lived. The room, large and opulent, suddenly echoed with the sound of slaps, delivered so rapidly that Grace did not have a chance to object or cry out. Her buttocks quickly began to feel as if they were on fire, and she knew the pale skin was no longer pale, but scarlet and swollen, raised from its original smooth line. What was worse, far worse, was the swift reaction of her sex folds, which swiftly became newly bathed in her juices and pouting open to reveal her swollen clitty.
    The slapping slowed and Grace could hear madame’s harsh and rapid breathing. She heard the rustle of linen as her mistress relaxed and sat back to rest from her exertions.
    â€˜Don’t move, my darling,’ ordered madame, ‘or I shall be forced to continue where I left off.’
    Crouching very still, Grace wished for a poultice of ice to be placed upon her raised and burning bottom, but yet again the pleasurable surging within her belly and between the puffy folds of her sex were something she hugged to her, like a lover.
    â€˜And now, my precious,’ purred madame, as her breathing eased, ‘the next stage of your training.’
    Tense, waiting, Grace tried to prepare herself. There was nothing she could do. It was as if some invisible silken ropes bound her. She dared not move, or perhaps, did not wish to.
    A wet warmth touched the tightness of Grace’s bottom hole, caressed it,