Free Bride of the Revolution by Bethany Amber

restrictions placed upon her ankles and wrists. Her breasts were stretched across her ribs and her nipples were tight buds, their darkness begging to be taken between caressing lips.
    â€˜Tell me,’ breathed madame huskily, ‘how open is her cunny? How moist and dewy?’
    â€˜The full lips are stretched wide open,’ sighed Philipe, ‘and the fine inner lips are flushed with desire. Creamy dew beads the scarlet folds…’ His voice was hoarse and his breath came in short, sharp gasps.
    â€˜And her clitty?’ Madame bent over Grace’s breasts, one after the other, and took the urgent nipples between her lips. ‘How is that? Leave nothing out, I pray you.’
    â€˜Proud,’ answered Philipe. ‘The hood is drawn back and the tip is bared.’ His voice was barely audible. ‘May I kiss it, madame?’
    Grace knew that her helplessness and the tension on her limbs had excited her, but to hear it described so boldly was doubly humiliating. Her shame knew no bounds.
    â€˜I wish the gaoler to have that privilege,’ whispered madame. ‘As I am sure my girl does too, is that not true, my darling?’
    A violent shudder rippled through Grace’s body at the thought of the unshaven lips and broken teeth gnawing at her intimate flesh. The shiver caused her pain, but this seemed only to enhance the feelings in her belly, the flutter of longing.
    A sulky pout and a frown spoiled Philipe’s handsome features, but he fumbled about his breeches, easing his cock from the flap. ‘I suppose you won’t object to me pleasuring myself as I watch?’ he snapped sarcastically.
    â€˜Indeed not,’ the woman granted. ‘I intend to do the same.’ She lifted the yards of silk to expose her belly and the dark triangle beneath it. There was nowhere the girl could look and not see swollen, moist and inflamed genitals.
    Rough thumbs pressed open her outer lips, baring the flushed inner skin. She could feel the damp heat of his breath upon her and knew that her clitty, rearing up from its soft and silky bed, gave an anticipatory jerk. She mewed as a ripple of glorious feeling shot through her. For all that the gaoler was an ugly distasteful creature the sensation he created within the open folds if her sex were delicious. Looking down her body she could see her mound, sweetly decorated with blue-black curls. She could see the gaoler’s head busy between her splayed legs, his unkempt hair brushing the tender inner skin of her open thighs. Warm and wet, his tongue tip caressed the inner folds and his spittle merged with her creamy juices to bathe her pert clitty in a cascade of moisture.
    The cell was redolent with the scent of excitement; her own sweet musk, the heavier perfume of madame, the stale heat of the gaoler, and Philipe’s youthful masculine aroma.
    Grace was powerless to prevent the whirlpool of pleasurable sensations within her. She reached that peak of pleasure from which there is no return. A whimper of ecstasy began deep in her throat and ended as wave after wave of soft moans.
    â€˜Oh, mistress,’ groaned the gaoler, bobbing up from between her thighs. ‘She pumps her fluids upon my tongue and I gladly drink them.’
    â€˜Spurt your come upon her belly, her breasts, her mound!’ ordered madame huskily. Her fingers were busy working at her pleasure within her own sex flesh, flashing up and down, her pelvis thrust forward and her thighs open.
    Both Philipe and the gaoler had their cocks between flashing fingers and Grace, her eyes heavy lidded from her own sensual experience, watched the lengths bulge as they came closer and closer to their climaxes. The pulsing was strong in both men, as though they had stored their pleasure for a length of time. Grace felt the spurt of the warm and creamy juices splash upon her belly. More trickled down her breasts, droplets falling from her tautened nipples. Her shame was such that