Read Online Bride of the Revolution by Bethany Amber - Free Book Online Page A

creature so cruelly.’
    Grace raised her head, her eyes dark with misery, and looked at the imprisoned footman. She tossed the fall of black hair from her pale face and beseeched him with a whisper, her hands raised. ‘Please,’ she begged, ‘don’t put yourself in danger. I am not worth it.’
    Her fellow prisoner crouched down and Grace found her eyes drawn to the heaviness of his cockstem, still thick from his desire of her. ‘Your beauty is such that I would gladly die for you…’
    He was dragged to his feet by the huge gaoler and the dank rooms of the dungeons rang with the sound of cruel laughter. ‘Aye, young fellow,’ he growled between his coarse chuckles. ‘Your wish will no doubt be granted.’
    â€˜Indeed,’ added madame. ‘Bind him to the whipping post and choose a lash which will flay him alive.’
    Grace bowed her head and tried to hide the tears that fell so heavily down her cheeks, but the tears were not for herself. Her throat was full for the young footman, who came so close to being her first lover. Behind her moist lids she saw the beauty, the splendour, the thickness of his cock with the foreskin drawn back to bare the glossy globe.
    â€˜Lift your head, my darling. Look at me.’ Madame spoke softly as she ordered Grace to gaze upon her.
    Still crouched like a whipped puppy, hugging her slim arms about her breasts, Grace slowly raised her head and dried her tears with trembling fingers. She choked back her sobs, threw back the mane of jet-black hair and looked defiantly at her captor.
    Madame smiled. ‘That’s how I wish you to look, my darling. Brave, courageous…’
    â€˜Oh, stop wasting time.’ Philipe was by Grace’s side, his fingers closing like a vice about her upper arm, dragging her to her feet. ‘I want to see her splayed upon the rack.’
    Eyes wide with fear, Grace was dragged from the cage-like cell. She stumbled, fell to her knees, and Philipe screamed with impatience.
    â€˜It won’t help you, falling,’ he said, his voice harsh with anger, and his hand grasped a handful of the midnight hair, wrapping it around his fist to drag her over the uneven flagstones.
    â€˜Don’t damage her, you fool,’ pleaded madame.
    â€˜I am frustrated!’ Philipe’s voice sounded crazed. In her mind Grace felt again the thickness of his cock sliding down her throat, but glanced away, her flesh pot swollen with need and her head aching with pity for the man who could have been her lover given just a few moments longer.
    Through pain glazed eyes Grace saw the footman, his hands manacled high on a tall post, his feet scarcely touching the floor, his cock semi-turgid and arching from the base of his flat and muscular belly. Did fear do that to a man; fear and pain? Did it bring his cock to readiness for a woman?
    â€˜Be brave,’ he mouthed silently to Grace.
    Before she could reply Philipe dragged her to a shadowy corner of the chamber. The roots of her hair darted pain to her scalp as she was heaved upon the crude bench, but this eased as Philipe released the black tresses and transferred his grip to her breasts. He worked the heavy flesh as if it was dough and tweaked her nipples until they were hard little points. His lips enclosed hers in a cruel and punishing kiss but Grace resisted. She held her body tense and when he attempted to splay her legs she clenched them hard together. He grabbed her wrists in a vice-like grip.
    â€˜Gaoler! Come here! I need your help in fastening these manacles,’ he said crossly. He leaned over her, pressing her arms wide apart, flat upon the bench. Grace could feel her full breasts flatten upon her ribs as he made her arch backwards, her belly become concave and her mound proud and full between her thighs.
    â€˜With pleasure, sire.’ The gaoler scurried across the shadowy chamber. ‘We simply click these manacles to her wrists