Free Bride of the Revolution by Bethany Amber Page A

she could not hold back the tears and they streamed down her pale cheeks to slide like liquid crystal to her breasts, merging with the pearly spills of come.
    â€˜Such a graceful and willing girl,’ murmured madame, her own orgasm ending with a pleasurable whisper.
    With a luxurious rustle of silk she put her gown to rights.
    A scarcely audible echo of pleasure whispered across the shadowy dungeons, and Grace turned her head in its direction and gasped. The naked footman, despite his pain and discomfort, writhed against the chain that suspended him. His body arched as his feet tried to gain purchase against the post that held him. With her womb still pulsing from the rigours of her orgasm Grace could almost imagine that he had impaled her. A stream arched from his cock, long creamy arcs that splashed the mossy flagstones.
    â€˜Oh, let him go,’ murmured Grace, her voice choked by sobs and full of compassion. Her own discomfort was forgotten; the mounds of her breasts flattened by tension, her nipples gathered into painful buds, her belly so taut that it was almost concave, but this concavity enhancing the proud pad of female flesh.
    â€˜Let him go?’ rasped Philipe. ‘Let him go? He must be punished, whipped until he learns…’ His eyes darted to the gaoler who was selecting whips from the array hung above the rack. ‘Until he learns not to make free with our property.’
    At last Grace felt her own limbs released. Her aching body was sponged with a square of clean flannel to wipe away the male spillage. Madame took great care to carry out the cleansing process in the most sensual way possible. Grace shuddered as the warm flannel was wiped about her breasts, over her belly and in and around her pussy. Only then was she gathered into madame’s arms as if she was a long lost and dear friend, or a daughter lost and finally found.
    â€˜If I might suggest,’ said the gaoler, ‘the girl needs further disciplining.’
    Madame, her ringed hand cupped against the fullness of Grace’s breast, raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘We were thinking of a light whipping,’ she said, ‘Philipe and I. Have you any other suggestions?’
    The gaoler shook his long greasy and tangled locks. ‘Whipping, no matter how light, can damage a property,’ he said. ‘I have some fine chains here which might suit your purpose better.’
    Grace heard the sound of fine metal upon metal.
    â€˜Perhaps you might wish to suspend her as I lash the other prisoner.’ The gaoler had his eyes upon Grace’s body as he spoke, but he handed a tangle of fine chains to madame. ‘These hold the legs fully apart, while these stretch the wrists to a hook in the roof of the chamber.’
    Grace felt, in her mind, the renewed tension upon her thighs and wrists and shuddered as she imagined her breasts again pulled so taut that the skin might burst.
    Madame considered the matter, tapping her forefinger on her lower lip and eyeing Grace, who now stood, head bowed, awaiting madame’s decision.
    â€˜Very well then,’ said madame. ‘Let us see how she looks in the chains. I am sure we shall not be disappointed.’ She lifted Grace’s chin and kissed the soft lips with her own full ones. ‘It is for your own good.’ Madame smiled. ‘It is to make these…’ she cupped the weight of Grace’s breasts, ‘firm and pert, and these…’ she thumbed the hardening nipples, ‘ very sensitive.’ Grace felt her belly quiver. ‘And this flat and taut,’ added madame. With a sigh she handed her to the gaoler and indicated that the chains be wrapped about Grace’s limbs.
    The smooth-linked chains were wrapped about her wrists. They felt cool, almost soothing against her skin. A long loop dangled loosely over her belly and between her legs, brushing her mound like gentle fingers.
    â€˜Stop,’ commanded