Bride of the Revolution by Bethany Amber Page B

against the cushion of madame’s naked breasts.
    She did not know how long she slept. Perhaps only moments, or maybe hours, but Grace woke refreshed.
    â€˜Ah, Sleeping Beauty returns to me,’ cried madame, who was dressed in her translucent peignoir which drifted like gossamer about the opulent curves of her naked body as she hurried over to the bed where Grace lay.
    A sleepy smile raised the corners of Grace’s parted lips, and she stretched her arms high and pushed her slender legs apart.
    â€˜Ever the sensualist,’ said madame, her eyes darting to the open slit of Grace’s sex.
    Grace, suddenly awake, curved her back and huddled her knees to the softness of her breasts.
    â€˜No, don’t you dare hide your pouch from me.’ A frown made the mistress’s features dark and angry as Grace tensed and opened her limbs, but cupped her hands about her mound, again trying to hide the cream-slicked folds. ‘Don’t you dare.’
    The pleasant languid feeling with which Grace awoke was dispelled and was replaced by a flush of embarrassment, a renewed sense of humiliation. Obediently, she spread her thighs, lifting them a little to make her sex yet more vulnerable, shutting out the feeling of shame.
    Madame gave a sigh of pleasure and bent her head over Grace’s belly. ‘That’s how I like to see my girl; open and ready, gloriously moist and pert.’
    Warm breath whispered over Grace’s puffy slit and she arched up, offering her moist sex and erect nubbin to her mistress. She heard madame whisper sounds of appreciation and felt the ripple of pleasure that preceded her climax. Her lips pursed, forming a perfect O, a mew of need.
    â€˜ Oui , ma cherie,’ murmured madame against her fluttering sex, ‘come for me. Come again and again. Let you little fountain bubble upon my eager tongue.’
    Arching her belly, Grace pressed her open folds against madame’s mouth. She felt a tongue smear silky fluids from the still-closed gateway of her sex, to the jerking hardness of her clitty. She felt the tongue fold back the little hood to bare the most sensitive tip, which it then flicked back and forth until Grace could not help but emit a tiny scream. The pleasure was so intense it was almost unbearable…
    The magic of that moment between the two women was shattered by the angry crash of the chamber door, already damaged by the battering ram, being smashed open violently.
    â€˜You promised you would punish me and I find you playing with our little toy again!’ shrilled Philipe. ‘I want to be punished. I did wrong to try and take her. Punish me!’ He threw himself towards madame.
    Grace cried out with fear and huddled at the top of the bed, a bundle of linen held close to her trembling breasts. Philipe’s angry and pleading eyes darted between madame’s voluptuousness and the juices that beaded her smiling lips.
    â€˜Only after I have trained her,’ madame reminded him, ‘and there are still many stages before she is ready to be turned over to you.’ She pursed her lips in anger. ‘And it seems to me that I have much to do in training you!’ She shook her head in frustration. ‘Even when she is ready you do not deserve her maidenhead.’
    Ignoring Philipe, madame rubbed the heel of her hand very slowly into Grace’s sex flesh. The folds slipped open, separating and baring the swelling bud, which popped from its little sheath, shining with fluids. Again the girl moaned; her breathing changed, quick and shallow.
    Philipe’s hands were clenched by his sides, his eyes glazed with lust, his satin breeches bulging lewdly. Mutely he pleaded with madame, but Grace could not discern whether the plea was for the punishment he craved or for another attempt to pierce the virgin gateway.
    Grace, herself, moaned softly, that same yearning within the little swell of her belly, and she made a shuddering movement towards him.