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Madeline	By : Eddie_Davidson Category: Comics > Misc - General > Misc - General Views: 965 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with george pichard or anyone related to the production or publishing of his novels. This is simply a fanfiction based on the comic Madoline. I make no money from this.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Madeleine
Chapter Four
The plan was amazingly simple. All I had to do was bring some wine to my grieving Grandmother, seduce her and get her drunk and then steal her keys and money. I packed a small bag that evening, but I did not tell Nannette what my intentions were.
"I will give you fifty strokes of the cane before we leave tonight, Connasse! I do not want you to return to your insolent and cruel ways simply because we leave this house. I will still cane you regularly when we leave," I informed my mother. I bent her over and attached her nipples and tongue to a post in the small room and then forced her to spread her legs while I caned her. I had learned how to speak harshly to my mother from Fabienne. She responded well to my authority. She placidly obeyed my orders to hold this position while I gave her a final beating for the evening.
"As you wish, Maitre Guillaume! Thank you," my mother said with contrition in her tone. It made me incredibly horny to control and discipline my mother in this strict manner. The only reason I did not fuck her was that I intended to visit Fabienne and seduce her before we left. I would need to get her drunk and find the keys to my mother's chains.
If I couldn't find the keys, I would make her travel through the heart of Paris with the chains under her clothes, and we would eventually have to find a locksmith. I reached the conclusion that we had to leave before my mother went to prison. I wanted to continue controlling her and living as I was, but that would not be possible for much longer. The next best thing was to escape with her and my little sister into Paris's seedy underworld.
Naturally, I was apprehensive about the plan. I had so much doubt, but my mother convinced me this was the only way she could avoid prison, and she promised to continue to remain my willing slave once we left. I found a bottle of Brandy and entered my parent's room to seduce Fabienne.
"Guillaume, whatever shall I do?" Fabienne was wrapped in a feather boa and a white lace corset that exposed her breasts while pushing them up. She sat in my parent's bedroom, writing letters. I could see they were to implore priests and local politicians on her behalf.
"I do not know Fabienne, but tonight you can get drunk and fuck?" I smiled warmly. It felt strange to call my Grandmother by her first name in an informal manner. Yet, she regarded me as if I were now an adult-like her. I suppose I expected a magic wand to tap me on the shoulder and tell me I was an adult now. I was still in school, and in Victorian society, it was not polite for one of my age to address my Grandmother this way. Yet, it thrilled me that she asked me to do it anyway. It filled me with confidence I could speak to her about drinking and fucking as well. It would have been an impossible idea only a few months earlier.
I held up a bottle of her favorite brandy. It wasn't wine, but our liquor cabinet like our pantry was relatively bare. Fabienne had given up shopping over the last two days to focus on her next steps.
My Grandmother removed her feather boa and stood before me naked. She was ordinarily reserved and well mannered. Tonight, she took the brandy and took a swig directly out of the bottle the way I had seen my mother do before she became Connasse. "I've been such a fool! I realize that now. You must take over the family finances and see to the discipline of your mother. I have provided instructions on our homework," she handed me the Devoirs Des Femmes book she had been writing. She also told me where I could find a little cash to go shopping with.
"Our homework?" I asked my Grandmother to clarify what she was really asking me to do.
"Robert is kind and sweet, but he lacks guidance. You must take over the household while Connasse and I are in prison. You must see to the education of your sister as well," Fabienne took another swig of the brandy with a forlorn expression on her face.
"Is it so certain you will be imprisoned, Fabienne?" I asked her in a conciliatory manner.
"Monsieur Nicephore will see to it that my fate is sealed," she answered with a frown. "I had half hope and half agony that I would not face public humiliation, but Mr. Nicephore's attorney has provided unrefutable documentation and statements. They have imprisoned women of higher station for far less than what they have on me," she said.

It had been explained to me that my mother had voluntarily confessed to crimes against nature. However, she must still appear before the Magistrate for sentencing. Witnesses would be called to testify to the extent of those crimes. Mr. Nicephore and Fabienne being the only witnesses needed to ensure an appropriate and rather lengthy sentence. Connasse would be expected to throw herself on the mercy of the court and ask for expatiation, or they would sentence her even more harshly.
It seemed now that Mr. Niceophore intended to accuse Fabienne of crimes against nature, and she would likely be sentenced at the same proceeding if she could not prove her innocence.
I nodded and tried to console her. I touched my hand to Fabienne's swanlike neck in a pleasing manner. Fabienne took another drink.
"Maitre' Guillaume. I need to accept the reality and prepare myself. I have very little time before my court date. I must appear before the Magistrate for the case I opened on Connasse. They will most likely arrest me there when Mr. Niceophore gives his testimony. I want you to beat me and treat me like Connasse until my hearing, Maitre Guillaume," she asked.
She didn't seem excited about the prospect of being beaten. Fabienne assured me that it would be far more embarrassing when she is sentenced if she is not prepared to endure the humiliations and beatings. "I must face my punishment with grace. There will be daily beatings, hard labor, and hard conditions, and I wish to do my lamentations here so that I can put on a brave face before my jailers," she said.
Fabienne was very proud, and I knew in her own way she felt the indignity of being stripped and beaten would be much worse if she were not prepared to accept it. She had lashed my mother many times, but she had not tasted the whip herself.
That was a truly unexpected request and one I was unprepared to grant. I considered my options. Instead of running away with my mother, I could remain in the apartments. I might try to run the household with Father. I wondered if he would really allow me to manage the finances or if his salary without Fabienne's pension would be enough for us to survive.
I have to admit that Fabienne's offer to allow me to discipline her was intoxicating. I had only ever beaten my mother. That would not last long as both of them were due to appear before the Magistrate soon.
I asked her why, and she said that she had to prepare herself for the eventuality that she would be sent to the house of reform. She had already shaved her cunt bald, and it was apparent she had made this decision before I came to her bedroom. She handed me a leather strap and bent over her desk.
"I have not been beaten properly since your Grandfather passed away," she said as she spread her legs and awaited the lash. It was strange to finally be able to spank Fabienne after the many times she had spanked me.
"You are sure you want this?" I said as I rubbed her buttocks.
"Maitre, Robert cannot do it, and you have been merciless with your mother. I have watched you grow into a young man. If you do not beat me hard before my trial, then it will be much harder for me when I enter prison!" she said.
"You could leave the country. You could hide out in the country. There are other options," I said. I felt sympathy for Fabienne even though I wanted to spank her ass and use her body.
I smacked her ass with the lash, and she told me to spank her much harder than that. "Spank me like Connasse!" she begged. "Mr. Nicephore would send bounty hunters, and the Magistrate would eventually find me. I don't have the money to travel abroad," she admitted.
I briefly considered asking her to flee with us, but she seemed resigned to accept her fate. I wondered why Mr. Nicephore intended to ruin Fabienne's life and what evidence he had.
"You've read my book Venus in Furs. I've noticed the pages were turned. You should know that I am Wanda, and he is my Gregor in that story. Mr. Nicephore likes to be beaten and humiliated in the manner of women's corrections," she explained. Men's prisons were brutal and harsh but did not engage in the same sexual humiliations.
"Then let him come and be your pet," I shrugged. They should both be happy.
"Mr. Nicephore's wife discovered our trysts and threatened to expose him. The scandal would bankrupt him. He will testify that I blackmailed him and made him commit unnatural acts. Though I swear he was as willing as you are to discipline your mother," she explained and thrust her ample buttocks towards me.
I had never heard of a man volunteering for sexual humiliation for his own pleasure until I read the book Venus in Furs. I understood what she was saying. It seemed entirely plausible Mr. Nicephore would turn on her in order to protect his livelihood and marriage.
"Are you so sure you so sure you will be found guilty? Perhaps they will show mercy?" I pointed out the many letters she had written, begging for clemency. I pulled her ass cheeks apart and inhaled the sweet smell of her sex before smacking her ass hard. I enjoyed the musky scent of Fabienne's wrinkled cock trap. Her asshole also smelled like a warm parmesan cheese. It turned me on to take a deep whiff of her crinkled anus.
"I have no favors to call in and no money to offer. I am a miserable shrew of a woman. I will be lucky if I only get five years in prison," she begged me to beat her harder and shove a rod up her ass. "You will visit me, won't you?" she asked.
I promised her I would and shoved a rod up her ass. She let out a small yelp and asked me to apply wax to it first. "My asshole is not as lubricated or used to stretching like your mother! Please, for the first few days, will you be somewhat merciful?" she begged.
"You just told me to beat you like Connasse. Now, you have asked for mercy," I demanded she make up her mind and wagged my finger in her face. The rod I shoved up her ass was quite thin by comparison to what I used on my mother.
"I am sorry, Maitre Guillaume! Do as you will! You have never shown restraint with your mother, and the guards won't show restraint when I am in prison!" Fabienne spread her legs wider for me and exposed her dripping bald pussy lips to me. Her wrinkled cunt reminded me of a pink croissant glistening with sugary glaze. It was like a crinkum-crankum full of winding twists and turns.
I made her lay on her back and lift her legs and spread them for me. "Would you like some lashes on your bald cunt?"
"Oui, Maitre Guillaume! Right on the crack!" she answered politely.
Fabienne took another swig of brandy, and with tears in her eyes told me to do as I please with her as I began slamming the wooden rod down on her wet clit. I took the bottle from her and bound her hands behind her back. "We haven't money to buy proper chains, thanks to your lack of planning!" I said.
"Yes, these will do! I won't struggle, Maitre Guillaume!" Fabienne agreed that she bore responsibility for that as well. "I should have begun my Devoirs Des Femmes the moment I realized Mr. Nicephore would testify against me. It would make the loss of my dignity and the transition to prison correction much easier.
I tied a cord around her neck and led her downstairs. I tied her ankles and wrists together and raised her over the table to leave her swinging in an exposed manner. Fabienne stoically accepted this treatment and did not cry out. I knew she wanted to fuck, but I discovered denying her made her want it even more.
I searched her room. There were only a few Francs in the drawer. It was hardly enough to fill the pantry. I took the key to my mother's locks and some clothes and brought them to her. When I told her what had happened, she laughed heartily. "I must see this," she said as she quickly dressed. She did not put on undergarments. She told me where we were going, she wouldn't need them.
I awoke my little sister while my mother went downstairs to gloat.
"What are you doing? Why are you in clothes, Slut?" Fabienne demanded.
"I am leaving this place! But before I do, I have some payback for you, Mother in Law!" my mother whipped Fabienne while she was vulnerable and bound. Fabienne spun slowly over the dinner table as my mother struck her ass and tits with a heavy wooden rod.
"You will never get away with this! The Magistrate will find you," Fabienne spit vitriol at my mother.
"C'est la vie (Such is life), if it is my fate to be found, then I will be found. Until then, we shall be free!" my mother said.
"Connasse! You will never be free! Look, you did not even remove your chain collar!" Fabienne snarled as she struggled futilely to get free of the bindings that held her.
"My name is Madeleine, and I make it my parting gift to you," she said as she unlocked the collar.
My mother told me that she would continue to obey me. I was nervous already that she would not keep our bargain. Connasse was the name Fabienne had given her. I was not overly concerned about my mother's belligerent attitude. She deserved a little payback.
She locked the collar around Fabienne's neck and then tossed away the key. She spit on her mother in laws face. "It might be pleasing to join you in prison just to watch you get water cured," she laughed. She spit on Fabienne's face repeatedly and into her cunt until it dripped with her saliva.
All the while, Fabienne cursed us both and warned us that we would never get away from justice or the law. I felt guilty, but it only increased my mother's resolve to try anyway.
"We must go," I told her. I had Nannette with me, and she was struggling to get away from me. I explained to her that we were leaving this place.
"Non! I don't want to go!" Nannette pouted like the unruly, conceited girl that she is.
"You have no choice. If you stay here, you will starve or worse – you will become the plaything of Henri and Nicephore!" I insisted.
"I would never starve! Mamma would never allow that!" Nannette ran to the table where her Grandmother swung lewdly.
"You are cowards to run from the law! You should accept your fate and face your charges, Connasse!" Fabienne insisted sourly. She regarded us both with tremendous disdain. "Guillaume! How can you abandon your Father and your sister? You promised you would look out for her!" she reminded me.
"Yes, and I will! But we must go now!" I insisted we leave with the minimal possessions we could carry.
Nannette refused to go. My mother warned me she would likely become a whore if we brought her with us. I felt at least I could protect her if she was with me. If I left her alone here, the predators or the starvation would kill her. My mother begged me to leave her behind. "She doesn't want to go. We cannot make her. The streets are rough for little girls," she explained.
They would be rough for young boys like me too. I wanted to stay in the apartment I had grown up in. I wanted to continue my life as it was. However, with the revelation that Fabienne and Madeleine would be going to prison I knew it would never be the same here. My Father would likely be unable to afford our apartment, and we would have to leave anyway.
I also saw travel on the road through the eyes of a youth who had read many adventure stories. The book titled Adventures of Huckleberry Finn was currently quite trendy in France. Huck and Tom Sawyer are two American boys who became wealthy from their earlier adventures. Huck is placed under the guardianship of Widow Douglas and her strict sister Miss Watson. They attempt to civilize him, but he resists. His drunken father, "Pap" returns and abducts him. He takes him on a wild adventure with Nigger Jim.
I wasn't sure if my mother was going to be my Pap or Nigger Jim or perhaps a little of both.
There were also dark stories of Paris streets. Charles Dickens and Victor Hugo painted a much bleaker picture of life on the street. We had begun reading Les Miserables in my class. I had recently read about the peasant Jean Valjean. He was released from 19 years of imprisonment in the Bagne of Toulon. He received five years for stealing bread for his starving sister and her family and fourteen more for numerous escape attempts. It sounded very much like the harsh punishments my mother and Grandmother were facing. Valjean was turned away by innkeepers because his yellow passport marks him as a former convict. He sleeps on the streets in dank misery and poverty.
I felt the youthful confidence of a naïve lad who has only ever known life in his Apartment that things would work out for us. I was a clever boy. With my mother's wits and willing service, we could navigate whichever version of story was going to unfold for us.
We headed northeast on Rue de la Croix Nivert toward Rue Charles Lecocq. We left shortly before we expected my Father to come home. My mother stuffed the Dilator into Fabienne's pussy and a brass tube down her throat to stifle her screams and left her there for him to find her. I imagined her disappointment when she learned that the key to her manacles was lost and she only had my Father to discipline her. Fabienne did not respect my Father and hen-pecked him so much that I almost wished I were a flea again so that I could observe quietly what happened in our house when he came home.
My mother moved quickly through the busy Paris streets. She seemed to have a destination in mind and moved with celerity. "How much money do we have Maitre' Guillaume?" she asked me. Her tone was belligerent and caustic.
"We have a few Francs," I informed her that I took Fabienne's money for groceries. I felt guilty that we left nothing for my Father and Nannette, but it was a paltry sum. We would eventually go hungry, and so would they.
"Poor planning on your part," my mother scoffed. "That tight bitch has more money hidden away somewhere. You could have shaken her down for the location! You could have started by looking up her fat ass!" she said.
"I don't like your tone," I scolded her. I packed the bare essentials that we needed for this trip. As well, as my copy of the Adventures of Huck Finn. I also brought Fabienne’s notebook (Devoirs Des Femmes) of disciplinary chores for my mother. She told me she would remain my slave but now she was being belligerent and pushy.
She laughed at me. "We are not at home. You can beat me later, Guillaume. Right now, we must find a place to hide out. I will earn more on my back," she promised she would become a prostitute to support us.
"I can get a job as well," I offered.
"Yes, but that won't feed either of us," she said.
"Why don't we go to the docks by the river Seine. There are taverns there," I suggested we go someplace much closer.
"Everyone knows me there. Fabienne will most likely insist Robert call the Magistrate right away. They will expect me to go there," My mother criticized me for my suggestion like I was a naïve child.
In many ways, I was. I had grown in confidence handling her and being treated as a man, but I still had much to learn about the world. I understood that my mother was much more practical and worldly than me. She needed to be our guide. I desperately wanted her to remain Connasse, the submissive slut like she was in the Apartments who was willing to endure any humiliation or allow me to use her body as I saw fit. I knew we needed street-wise Madeleine if we expected to survive our first night on the gas-lit streets of Paris.
My mother insisted we take back roads and alleyways instead of the main path, which only added more time to our travels. In the distance, I could see the iconic Eiffel Tower. It had recently been built for the 1889 World's Fair. Robert took Nannette and I to that fair. I was already becoming homesick and having second thoughts about following my mother to whatever destination she had in mind.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"What does it matter as long as we are going?" My mother scoffed at my question and increased her pace. She thought nothing of the fact the small of her buttocks were visible in the short chemise she wore. The more rapid her strides, the more the skirt flipped and exposed her. It was scandalous even for Parisian streets.
"Soon, there will be whores walking the streets, and they would be thankful to be wearing as much as me," my mother told me.
Grisettes (young working women from industrial trades), Tradesmen and clerks were making their way home or to local bistros for a drink, and they were shocked by my mother's brazen dress. There were no dark alleyways for us near Napoleon's tomb in the heart of Faubourg Saint-Germain. We were entering a much more wealthy part of France with wide plazas and parks. I suggested we wait until it was dark to travel further rather than endure the stares and insults of the bourgeoisie.
"Do you have money? Do you have wine? If not, then we press on," My mother spit on the sidewalk. A wealthy woman turned up her nose in disgust. Carriages and elegantly dressed nobles looked at us like we were vermin.
I thought I might enjoy the elegant refinement of the aristocracy and wealthy. Dressed as we were, we clearly did not belong in this part of the city. The experience made me accept that we were better off in the seedier part of the city.
We approached a great columned Catholic Church called L'église de la Madeleine. My mother made the sign of the cross with a horrified look on her face and insisted we give it a wide berth.
"Are we traveling to Pigalle Square?" I asked.
"Non, Beaubourg Quartier," My mother informed me of her destination. I had heard of the notorious Maisons that featured expensive courtesans in Beaubourg. My mother was attractive, but she wasn't a young girl anymore.
"Non, we aren't going to a perfumed whore house, although I am sure you would like that," she smiled at me impishly. Madeleine told me she had a cousin named Canard (Duck) who ran a tavern there. "The Maisons are for the wealthy. Their coachmen and servants need someone to fuck too! "You won't find satin sheets and elegant pillows there. We'll be lucky to get to sleep on fresh straw. It is a bed for tonight, though," my mother said.
It was nightfall by the time we entered Beaubourg. There were surprisingly no streetwalkers in this district. The unescorted women on the street looked like they were traveling to a fancy ball. My mother explained they were prostitutes. "Paris caters to all kinds of decedent appetites for perversion. Most of those women are wealthy and married. They walk for the thrill of it. Sometimes their husbands pretend not to know them and pay for sex, and sometimes their husbands simply watch from a distance as their wives take a young man into an alley and have sex with him," she explained as if it should be common knowledge to me.
I was excited about the strange new area. There were stately manor homes along Rue Coquillière. This was not the seedy underworld that I imagined from reading Les Miserables! It was well lit, and there was an excitement in the air. I heard raucous laughter and saw expensive coaches moving along the gas-lit streets.
Then my mother turned us down an alley and then another. It only took fifteen minutes for me to be hopelessly lost in the winding alleyways. There were no cobblestone streets or gas lamps here. There was dirt, muck, and poverty. Drying laundry hung on lines above our head stretching outside of apartment windows. Street urchins, beggars, and ruffians kept to the shadows and the darkness scurrying like cockroaches to whatever dark business they were involved in.
Streets in this part of town had no names, or if they did, they were not posted. We approached a ramshackle house built into the side of a brick building. It had no markings to denote it was a tavern or a place of business. My mother knocked on the door like she knew the place.
"Go away, we are closed," a gruff man said from the other side.
"It is me, Madeleine," my mother said through the door.
"Suzane owes me a lot of money, and so do you," the man said.
"Suzane is in prison, and I am here to repay you," my mother said. What did she mean repay him? We had no money.
"Good, that is where you both belong," the man opened the door. He was heavyset with thick meaty fingers like Monsieur Henri. Canard was dressed in a ratty top hat and an outfit that mocked the refined dress of a gentleman more than it imitated it. He was unwashed, bald, and had a scruffy beard. His breath smelled heavily of Garlic and liquor, and his teeth were foul and yellow when he smiled. Thankfully, he rarely smiled.
"You are here to work or to waste my time?" Canard asked her as he considered her.
"Work," my mother answered.
"You brought another mouth to feed?" Canard regarded me with disdain.
"He is my son," Madeleine introduced me.
"Hello, Uncle," I said.
"He will earn his keep, or you will both be out on the street," Canard didn't speak to me directly. He talked to my mother. She assured him I would be useful.
Canard's tavern was a dilapidated building with a single room dominated by a single table. There were piles of hay with dirty sheets that approximated beds. He served watered-down ale from barrels but offered no food. The tavern had no name or sign out front. Customers knew it by reputation and were expected to knock to enter. It was one of many such places that catered to the lower classes who were often as filthy and coarse in their perversions as their wealthy masters.
When we walked into the dirt room, we saw two women and a boy about my age sitting at a table. The two women were introduced as Sisters named Esmeralda and Carmencita (Carmen) from Seville. The sisters had olive skin and dark hair. They were gypsies who had traveled extensively throughout Europe and spoke fluent French with a slight accent. Esmeralda was the older sister, and she wore only a dress about her waist. She had such huge tits that Canard referred to her as Vache (which means enormous milky tits on a cow like woman). She had dark Aerolas the size of some women's entire breast, and her nipples extended out in the manner of a cow's udders. Her breasts were so full that droplets of her milk formed on the tips of her hard nipples.

I didn't know it at the time, but Esmerelda was pregnant. She was only showing a little, and while she was seated, I could not see her distended belly.
Her sister Carmen was younger and more attractive. Her upturned nose reminded me of Nannette's elegant face. It was narrow and thin, and she had doe-like brown eyes. She had a wanton grin on her face when she saw me. She was coquettish and flirtatious with me as soon as I arrived.
The boy was Esmerelda's son Jacques. He was my age but husky with a rude expression. He instantly took a disliking to me. Carmen's warm greeting only seemed to make him sour to me further as if he were jealous of my presence. He was dressed in common street-rat clothes and suspenders.
Then I noticed Sabine. She was emptying a water bucket and cleaning the floor. She was Carmen's daughter and not that much older than Nannette. Sabine had light olive skin and her mother's pretty face. She had light brownish hair and pouty lips. Unlike my sister, she had sprouted tits. They were puffy, and I could see them through her over-sized white chemise. She didn't seem to care that I could see her body naked. She looked confident but not jaded or worldly like her Mother and Aunt.
I was instantly attracted to her, and it did not go unnoticed. The sisters chuckled, and Jacques looked at me with even more disgust on his face that I dared to stare at his cousin. Sabine shrugged as if she were used to being admired and didn't see what the fuss was.
Sabine reminded me of a pretty red flower that grows through the muck and cracks in a dirty sidewalk in defiance of the harsh city environment.
"Let us see your new whore," Jacques spoke rudely to Canard. Canard didn't have to ask my mother. She stripped naked at the door so they could admire her body. "She has a shaved cunt! I like that," Jacques seemed impressed as he looked at my mother.
Canard grabbed my mother's buttocks and commented that she has lost some weight since the last time she was there. I imagined my mother was here for some drunken revelry and orgies with her friend Suzane.
"What of Enculé? Is he going to be a butt-boy for some Grand-folle? Did he bring his own wig?" Jacques made a joke about me that suggested I was a gay prostitute. The nick-name Enculé meant intensely annoying bastard. It stuck, and Canard and the others started to refer to me by that name. Only Sabine called me Guillaume. Madeleine also stopped calling me Maitre Guillaume immediately.
I hated the nickname with a passion. I especially hated that sometimes even my mother laughed and called me Encule. She said she had to do it to blend in and get along with the other girls.
She asked for wine and sat at the table in the nude with the other women.
"You cunts talk more than you suck! The last time you were here, you wanted to pick and choose who could ball you," Canard chided my mother.
"I am grateful you will let us stay, how much do I owe you?" She asked.
"You owe 200 francs, but with interest, I would say 250 francs, and that does not include room and board while you are here," Canard said.
"I will not rebel or leave before I have paid you back every penny. You may beat me or fuck me as you please," my mother told him politely.
When we had time to talk by ourselves, I insisted she explain herself. She promised me that I would be the one to be in charge of her.
"I make a lot of promises, Guillaume. I love you, but you are not ready to be a real pimp. You can beat me and fuck me sometimes. You still have much to learn, and I can teach you. There are men who will pay to watch you fuck me if they believe you are my natural son. You will have to play along for now with Canard and Jacques. If he calls you Enculé, then smile and answer to the name. I may have to call you that too. Just smile and accept it. We have no other choices," my mother explained this was the way the world works.
I assumed that reasoning was why she accepted Fabienne's whip and the name Connasse so willingly as well.
I did not want to be their whipping boy or made into a mockery. I felt we had thousands of choices, just like Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. We could get in a raft and travel down the River Seine to see where it leads if we wanted too. I told my mother that and she laughed at me. I argued that we had settled for the first option open to us.
"This is the only option to us. I know these streets better than you, Guillaume," she told me. She said if I wished to strike out on my own, then I could. I had no desire to leave without her, though. I was afraid of striking out entirely on my own. I said I would return to our house.
"If you return, you will go to prison. You have aided my escape," She assured me. There were different standards for justice for men and women in Paris, but I realized that aiding her escape would definitely be considered a crime. I resolved that I could not return to my old life.
The first night we were there, men slowly began to trickle into the tavern. My mother, Esmerelda, and Carmen stood before them and usually bared their breasts and lifted their skirts but did not undress fully. They wore loose-fitting corsets and simple peasant dresses that were easy lift to expose themselves.
The man would choose the woman he wanted and haggle with Canard before setting a price to fuck her. Often, the customer would insult the woman for being fat or ugly in order to get a better price. The women endured these insults with smiles, but after he left, they would say what a foul smelly oaf with a limp dick he was.
Everyone carried on with their carousing while one of the three women fucked a man in the corner on a pile of straw. It was as if nothing was happening, and they paid very little attention. I watched my mother suck a stranger's cock and take him up the ass while he slapped her face.
"Enculé likes to watch," Jacques teased me when he noticed I was staring at my mother.
"Encule! Give this gentleman his privacy!" my mother scolded me. She called me by the nick-name, and the others laughed. I knew then that I was not in control of her or anyone. It filled me with quiet rage.
Canard slapped a mug of watered-down ale in front of me and told me to drink. It tasted stale and foul, but I drank the mug that was offered. I would have preferred fresh water, but in this part of Paris, that was a rare commodity.
On one occasion that night, a man was interested in Sabine. "What about your maid?" he said as he looked over the other women. The three whores had big bosoms and wide hips, which made them particularly attractive to most Victorian men. However, for some, their interests were in younger girls.
"Sabine show this man what he is buying," Canard instructed her harshly.
Sabine seemed reluctant and humiliated to strip for him. She had thought nothing of lifting her skirt to piss in a chamber pot before the man entered the Inn. Sabine's smallish breasts were like Nannettes in that her areola formed a conical shape rather than a flat shape like the other women. It fascinated me because they were so different. Her nipples reminded me of a delicate French pastry that I wanted to try.
She had a wisp of pubic hair, but she did not shave. Her pussy lips were petit and smaller than my little sister's tiny slit. This man was fully grown, I could hardly imagine he could fit inside her. He bent her over the table and spread her ass cheeks. Sabine's butthole was majestic and glorious – like a porcelain saucer or a simple blossomed flower of the lightest pink with no wrinkles. He roughly jabbed a dirty finger in her asshole.
"Oi!" Sabine cried out in anguish and humiliation. I wanted to defend her. I had made no such move to defend my mother. She knew what she was doing and chose to live here. I did not think Sabine deserved the same humiliation. Jacques threw me to the ground and stepped on my chest. "You are no valiant Chevalier coming to my cousin's rescue. This is how we make our living, rich boy!" he said with an intimidating grimace.
I must have seemed foppish to him because I wasn't dressed in the same low-born street rags he wore. I was not big enough to fight back.
The man haggled over the price and scoffed that he was being charged the price to fuck one of the other whores.
"I am breaking her in for you! You should pay me, Canard!" the rough man laughed as he tossed a few coins to her pimp.
"I can break the fille de joie (young whore) in myself," Canard stuck the coins into his purse and let the man take Sabine to the corner to bugger her roughly. She cried out many times, and unlike the other women, it was not screams passion or pleasure. She cried out in pain and anguish. The man wanted his money back because she was so resistant after he came inside her ass.
"No refunds," Canard laughed as the angry customer left the tavern. The customer was satisfied and had cum, but he was still angry with Sabine's protests and mewlings of discomfort. "If you wanted a quiet whore, you should have gagged her," Canard chuckled.
Sabine was already squatting over the chamber pot to empty her asshole of the man's seed when Canard slapped her across the face. "This is a business. No one will come here for a pretty Grognasse (disagreeable woman). They have wives at home for that!"
"I am sorry, Canard! His cock was so big," Sabine was naked and squatting over the piss bucket while he slapped her tits and face.
"Oh, he had a big cock? Now you want to brag about how lucky you were?" Esmeralda joked, and my mother and Carmen laughed. They had no sympathy for her.
I soon learned that beatings were as common at Canards as fucking. There was no routine or reason for them the way they had been when Fabienne was in charge of my mother. If business was slow, then Canard or his friends fucked the whores. If business was really slow and Canard became bored, then he beat them.
Jacques sometimes helped with the beatings, although he never beat his mother. He was merciless to my mother, though, and Madeleine seemed to enjoy it. She even invited it, but she never asked me to beat her or behaved like Connasse. She was a wanton libertine again who fucked for the thrill and got off on rough, degrading sex.
I had no power or control over her – or even myself. I was a tavern errand boy now. I felt I had made a huge mistake in judgment, but there was nowhere else to go!
This was not my Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn adventure after all. This was like a Charles Dickens novel or Les Miserables. If it was to be Les Miserables I was reminded of one particular passage in that book that stuck with me.
“Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.”
-Victor Hugo

I wanted to believe that more than anything but the sun was a long way from rising that first night and I had to watch men stroll in with muddy boots and worn clothes and pay a pittance to fuck these women roughly until then.
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Madeline