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own breathing was ragged and his spearing thickness, dark male flesh, probed out of his ragged breeches. His thick fingers grazed up and down the rain-wetted flesh, pausing only for a moment to smooth the slick of his pre-issue over the engorged and swollen tip.
    Grace, her head lowered demurely, her hands clasped obediently behind the sleek raven fall of hair, said nothing. Naked, humiliated, her plump bottom abused and all but invaded by the smaller of the two men, her mind was a confused whirl of emotions. Her need for satisfaction was becoming unbearable.
    â€˜What does it matter?’ she murmured at last, her voice low and without hope. ‘Do you spare virgins?’
    The big man laughed. Allowing one hand to remain upon his turgid flesh, he reached out with the other to cup the heaviness of one of her breasts and thumbed the tender hardness of a nipple.
    â€˜We spare no whore, virgin or not,’ he rasped, and his fingers closed like a vice upon the pliant paleness of the bared breast.
    The pain of his grip brought tears to Grace’s eyes. Her legs buckled and she felt the sharpness of broken teeth biting into the soft cushion of her sex lips, pulling them open, and a tongue lapped at the very tip of her nubbin.
    â€˜I submit,’ she sighed weakly, as she sank to the muddy ground. ‘Use me in whatever way you wish.’
    Beyond the pain, beyond the surging of pleasure, beyond the biting cold and the sough of the wind, Grace heard the urgent gallop of several horses and the clatter of carriage wheels on the cobbled road beyond the cemetery. Voices reached her ears, angry voices, and she felt herself clasped by many hands. She heard the crack of a whip on flesh, cries of pain, and yet she felt nothing. Could she, she wondered, be on the threshold of death? She sank into darkness and knew no more.
    Chapter Two
    A terrible lethargy stole over her. A warmth centred upon the pit of her soft belly and beneath it in the delicate folds nestling between her thighs, a seeping wetness.
    She heard voices, not harsh like the men who tried so hard to violate her, but soft, caressing tones which came and went, whispering over her like gentle waves upon the banks of the Seine. They did not threaten her, these voices, but Grace kept her eyes closed, fearing what she might see, and allowed the ebony lashes to remain closed, although fluttering upon the pale moonstone cheeks. But, obedient in all things, Grace kept her slender fingers fast behind her head, just as the man had ordered her to do on the muddy ground of the cemetery.
    â€˜The poppet!’ said a woman’s voice admiringly.
    â€˜A poppet? She is filthy,’ said a man’s voice. He was young, Grace knew that and, perhaps, his youth made him a little afraid. ‘And heaven only knows what those disgusting fellows did to her.’ Beyond the jolting of the carriage Grace felt him shudder against her. ‘ Mon Dieu ! She is probably riddled with disease. Don’t touch her, madame, I beg of you!’
    â€˜Oh, don’t be silly, Philipe!’ The woman sounded older, impatient. ‘I am sure we found her before they…’ She paused and gave a soft laugh, and Grace felt her slender thighs prised apart. ‘Watch, I shall prove to you…’
    Grace gasped. A soft palm was cupped about her pouting mound, the skin as soft as silk, cool and clean as spring water. She bore down, only slightly, just brushing the damp raven curls of her pussy upon the caress. No matter how hard she tried she could not prevent her sex lips from swelling upon the woman’s palm.
    â€˜She is not a virgin. She is a whore, did I not tell you? Not an innocent at all.’ The carriage yawed from side to side as the young man flung himself into the corner, as far away from Grace as the space would allow.
    â€˜Nonsense. She is sensual, just as I required. Naturally sensual by nature. We shall have such fun with her.’ Behind closed lashes