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Madeline	By : Eddie_Davidson Category: Comics > Misc - General > Misc - General Views: 966 -:- 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
- 4
- 5
- 6
Madeleine
Chapter Five
I soon learned that beatings were as common at Canard’s tavern 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 VERY slow and Canard became bored, then he beat them.
Canard was usually drunk, horny, and bored when he initiated the beatings, and it was usually out of frustration with the women’s glances or condescending comments. He promised Esmeralda and Carmen riches, but they had been living in squalor for months before we arrived. They were extraordinarily judgmental and often whispered and mocked him behind his back.
There was no regimented discipline like when Fabienne was in charge of my mother. My grandmother had outlined discipline rituals and routines designed to humble and humiliate my mother in her Devoirs Des Femmes notebook. There was a method and an order to all of the discipline. There seemed to be an internal logic to the lessons Fabienne was teaching.
None of the women wore panties or bras, or if they did, they were loose and exposed in a sultry manner. The women were experts at revealing just enough of their bodies to be provocative. Fabienne had made my mother remain nude or dressed in humiliating clothes to put her in the right mindset to serve.
These whores exposed themselves and wore cheap makeup because they were whores. They cared about profit and were too lazy to take the time to dress appropriately between sexual encounters. Their nudity was casual, and frequently they bathed with buckets of water in front of the tavern without any inhibition. The beggars and street urchins paid little mind to it. If they had money, the women would coquettishly try to entice them to come to play with them in the tavern. If they did not, then, they would mock and ridicule them for staring while they bathed.
They also squatted over the chamber pot without any clothes at all simply because they did not care whether anyone saw them or not.
Women without morals were difficult, if not impossible, to humiliate.
These beatings were just short, often brutal preludes to rough sex with little more than an exchange of vulgarities between both parties. The women almost always submitted but frequently fought back and were reluctant.
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.
The day came that my mother was supposed to report to the Magistrate for her trial. She got drunk and refused to fuck anyone. She kept looking at the door when it opened, expecting a uniformed French guardsman to walk in with papers demanding her arrest. We never told anyone that it was her day in court. Canard gave her that day off because even he could tell my mother’s mood was foul, and she was like a tempest in a bottle. If anyone uncorked her, they might have unleashed her full fury.
I wondered what happened to Fabienne. I contemplated whether I had made the right decision to live here. Jacques let me wear some of his ratty clothes so that I would not stand out like a school-boy. They didn’t fit well and smelled of oats and Merde. I was thankful at least not to have lice or fleas infesting my clothes.
Every day after that, though, my mother fucked her brains out for money. She owed Canard money, and she told me to be thankful that he gave us room and board. All the women owed Canard money eventually. He extended them credit and gave them a pittance of their earnings. In exchange, he provided a place to practice their trade, food, and kept other pimps from beating them. The Ale he sold at the tavern was less for customers than it was to keep the women just inebriated enough to be flirtatious and not revolt against their exploitation.
They realized Canard had the upper hand, but all the whores were convinced that this was just the order of things for women, such as them in the Victorian era.
The cheese was moldy, and the bread was stale. The soup was watered down, and the ale was downright nasty. My mother reminded me that her month living as a dog had prepared her well, and this food was as fine as is served at the tables of La Tour d’Argent (a legendary Parisian restaurant). In some ways, I envied her ability to thrive in these conditions while I languished and regretted my decision daily.
Jacques was a bully, Sabine was stuck up and aloof, Canard was a drunken penny-pincher, Esmeralda and Carmen were surly and bitchy whores. The roof leaked, the mice were so large the cats were afraid of them. The tavern smelled of pussy and dried semen. The straw heaps that served as our beds were uncomfortable enough without the odor of piss and sex.
Over the next week, I watched Canard tie my mother upside down through the rungs of a ladder so that her wrists and ankles were tied to the rungs. Then he stuck a funnel in her ass and pissed in it.
Esmeralda once talked back to Canard and made a fool of him in front of a customer. She spent the night forced to sit on a wooden pole stuck up her ass and tied with her hands behind her back. Canard gagged her with a horse's bit and placed a lit a candle on top of it. The wax slowly stung her face and tits, and Esmeralda whimpered her muffled cries of agony all night long. Milk dribbled out of her nipples all night like a leaky roof. The next day she thanked him for untying her and then continued her duties as a whore as if nothing had happened.
“Stop your niggling glances at me,” Jacques told his Aunt Carmen, and he told me to help him tie her up. He was awful to me, but we also did the more onerous physical chores around the tavern together. Anything too heavy for Sabine was delegated to us.
He stripped Carmen naked and tied a rope tightly around her neck. She squawked and protested his rough handling of her, but Jacques was a stout boy.
“Hah, her neck looks like a stretched goose,” Canard encouraged us to slap her ass and treat her roughly. It was daytime, and we had no customers.
We suspended her over the door frame like we were going to give her a water cure then tied her feet wide on either side. Carmen was stoic like my mother and struggled but didn’t fight us very hard. She knew it was inevitable she would be tied up and beaten. Jacques told me to gather some kindling planks we use to stoke the fire and hand them to him. He shoved three such boards into his Aunt’s pussy and then three more in her mouth and left her gagged and sputtering like that for an hour.
Esmeralda and Sabine did not even look up from what they were doing or appear sympathetic to her, and my mother was busy masturbating her asshole with a carved penis-shaped dildo on one of the straw beds.
The use of the whip and flogger were so common that all four women were quite used to daily beatings and ass-slappings. I wasn’t told I could beat them, and I didn’t think they would let me. It was not very frequent, they asked for my help, but If Canard or Jacques invited me to help tie up the women or beat them, I would.
Canard rarely beat or whipped Sabine. She was well behaved and went about her duties efficiently. She mostly cleaned up after the others. He focused more on the sour dispositions of the other three whores. My mother, Esmeralda, and Carmen were sturdy whores who could take extensive beatings.
Jacques, on the other hand, fucked Sabine at least twice a day. She clearly hated it.
I remember once when Canard was out of the tavern. “Sabine, lift your skirt and bend over the table,” he demanded.
“Non, I have chores to do, and Canard will beat me if they are not done when he returns,” she answered him rudely while washing up dirty mugs.
“If you don’t let me have your cunt, then I’ll beat you before he returns and take it!” Jacques said. He was looking right at me when he told his cousin to obey him. I think he wanted to flaunt his control over her. He had no idea I once controlled my mother and grandmother. He thought I was a naïve skinny little French runt.
“Fine, just a blowjob? I must finish the chores,” Sabine squatted and began to unbuckle Jacques breeches.
“Non!” Jacques picked her up and flipped her around. He slammed her head into the table and lifted her skirt. He stuck his stumpy cock into her pussy and began to hump her. Sabine gripped the table and endured the fucking. She looked right at me.
“Look, Elle mouille,” Jacques showed me Sabine’s wet little cunt. He wanted me to see that Sabine was getting off on this rough sex. Sabine shook her head that she wasn’t enjoying it even if she was soaking wet. Jacques insisted I look more closely, and he pulled out so that I could see.
“Fuck her from the front,” he pointed to Sabine’s mouth. She looked at me as if she expected better from me. I felt guilty about it, but I also wanted to fuck her face. I unbuckled my pants and came around to the table. Her cousin lifted her onto the table so that she could stretch across the width and began to fuck her from behind while I fucked her face from the front.
I could not look Sabine in the eyes. Her mouth was a tremendous pleasure to use, and she did not bite or resist me. She could have easily done so, but she let me fuck her face without resistance.
“Good, I was beginning to think you prefer boys,” Jacques said to me while he focused on pumping Sabine from behind. My mother and the other women observed us casually. They were hungover and half-asleep from a night of rough fucking. They played with themselves or napped most of the morning.
I was about to answer when Canard burst through the door angrily.
“While you two Orphelines were in here playing around someone stole a barrel of ale from the front of the tavern!” he sounded drunk and angry. He kicked Jacques to the ground with his muddy boot. Then he turned on me.
“It was Encule! He was supposed to be watching for the delivery! I told him to do it!” Jacques blamed me. I knew nothing of any delivery.
“You should have made sure he did it! Encule could not defend himself from a wet fart in a rough wind! How could he have stopped the robbers from stealing my ale!” Canard beat Jacques. “You two are in here sampling my women for free when you are supposed to be working for me! What do I pay you for?”
“You do not pay us!” Jacques said as he defended himself from Canard. He didn’t fight back, but he held his hands in front of his face and tried to avoid Canard’s clumsy punches and kicks.
“I feed you and clothe you! Now you want money?” Canard was definitely drunk and angry. He insisted we get his ale back.
Carmen was masturbating with a dildo in the corner and said that the ale was so sour and disgusting that perhaps the garbage collector mistook it for a bucket of piss.
Canard turned his attention to tormenting and fucking her because of her smart mouth and dismissed us.
Jacques and I went outside to look around for the missing barrel of ale. “I didn’t know about a delivery,” I said.
“Since you have arrived, you have made things worse for me! I try to share with you, and this is how you repay me?” Jacques kicked me into the mud in front of the tavern. I had not tried to do anything other than avoid him and help where I could around the tavern. I did not understand why he was so angry with me. It seemed like Jacques was simply taking out his frustrations that he could not beat Canard on me.
He held me down in the dirty alley and punched my face several times. I hated being unable to fight back. I had lost much of the confidence I had when I was in charge of my mother, and I felt powerless.
The only reason Jacques stopped beating me in that encounter was a shifty-looking rat-faced man approached us with a large bruiser of a bodyguard. “Tell Canard that he must pay what he owes us, or we will make sure he receives no shipments of ale,” they said. They were the ones who took it, and it was because of a gambling debt.
Jacques launched himself at the rat-faced man to defy him. He stepped out of the way, and the Bruiser kicked him in the head. I ran inside to tell Canard that they were outside.
“Ah, a debt, you say?” Canard looked up. His head was buried in Carmen’s wet pussy, and the two of them were laughing and fucking. Esmeralda had joined the pair, and she was licking his cock lewdly. “It must be Le Maquereau! Tell him that I will pay him in credit at my establishment,” he insisted I return and give that message to the wicked men outside.
“Monsieur le Maquereau,” I addressed the ratty faced man. The bruiser was holding Jacques by his arms while the rat-faced man beat him with a cane.
“That is not my name,” he scoffed at me dismissively as I tried to deliver Canard’s message to him. When he would not listen to me, I grabbed a broken spoke to a wooden carriage wheel. I walked behind the big man and hit him in the back of the knees, and when he went down, I hit him hard across the base of his skull.
The weasel was so shocked that his ruffian friend went down that he panicked. Jacques lunged forward and pushed him into the mud and began to beat him. I held the man down. Jacques meant to rob him and possibly kill him.
“Mercy! Mercy!” he begged.
“Bring back the barrel of ale!” Jacques demanded.
“Canard owes a gambling debt,” Le Maquereau insisted the money was duly owed. I confirmed what Canard had told me inside the tavern.
Jacques seethed with rage. He wanted to kill this man. Le Maquereau could tell his life was forfeit if Jacques wanted to continue beating him. He pointed out that his Associates would come to collect the debt and seek vengeance if he killed him.
“Then we won’t kill you. We will just beat you until you forget about the debt,” I said with a ruthless tone in my voice and spit on his face.
I was surprised that the terms were acceptable to Le Maquereau. He collected his friend and left. He didn’t return the ale, but he never returned to collect upon the debt.
When we returned to the tavern, Canard hailed us both as heroes. He was delighted that the debt was forgiven, and after that, he treated me much more kindly. He stilled called me Encule as that had become my nickname. He called the two of us his Orphelines (balls), but he meant it endearingly.
After that, Jacques stopped bullying me, and we became fast friends. I told him about Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn and their adventures in the American wilderness. “Which am I?” he asked me.
“You are Tom Sawyer,” I said.
“I want to be Huck Finn!” he insisted. He was convinced I had taken the better character for myself. He expected everyone to be greedy and self-absorbed because most everyone in this part of town really was.
When I told him the story of how Tom had to whitewash his Aunt Polly’s fence as a punishment for a prior mischief, he changed his mind. I told him how, at first, his friends ridiculed him, and he wanted to play instead. Tom Sawyer not only turned the situation around, but he also spun it like a top on his palm. At the end of that day, a dozen boys painted the fence for him while he played to his heart’s desire. He even convinced them to pay for the privilege.
Jacques idolized Tom Sawyer after that and asked me to tell him more stories about Tom. I had to make some up because Jacques thirst for stories became so great. I told him stories about Injun Joe’s treasure, but I also told him how Tom fucked so many women that his giant penis was cast in bronze and displayed in a museum.
That evening it was slow in the tavern. “Carmen, bend over the table! I want to use you!” I summoned my courage to demand sex.
“Hah, the rabbit has become a lion? How about you suckle on my sister’s teats instead,” she laughed at me and ignored my request.
“Face down on the table and spread your ass cheeks so that I can decide what hole I want to fuck!” I insisted angrily.
Esmeralda and my mother laughed too. Sabine watched with interest, but Jacques and Canard were drinking and ignoring our petty squabble.
“You helped my nephew beat up a man today, and now you think you are a pimp? What will you do if I don’t let you? Throw a tantrum?” she giggled.
I grabbed her hair and stuck two fingers up her nostrils. She resisted and scratched my face with her nails. I slapped her hand hard and told her never to resist me again. I bent her over the table and ripped her corset off. I kicked her legs apart and held her down.
Canard and Jacques could not help but notice the woman struggling. Carmen easily outweighed me by 9 or 10 kilograms and had a height advantage. It took all of my muscle to hold her down.
“Tom, throw me a lasso!” I shouted to Jacques for help. He didn’t know what a lasso was, so I had to explain it was a rope with a noose at one end. He quickly tossed me a rope, and I bound his Aunt and forced her to submit to me.
I had read the adventures of Huckleberry Finn enough times that I knew it almost by memory. I paraphrased a quote from a chapter when Huck goes to the circus.
“And then faster and faster they went, all of them dancing, first one foot out in the air and then the other, the horses leaning more and more, and the ringmaster going round and round the center-pole, cracking his whip and shouting “Hi!—hi!” and the clown cracking jokes behind him; and by and by all hands dropped the reins, and every lady put her knuckles on her hips and every gentleman folded his arms, and then how the horses did lean over and hump themselves! And so one after the other, they all skipped off into the ring, and made the sweetest bow I ever did see, and then scampered out, and everybody clapped their hands and went just about wild.”
Then I forced Carmen up to imitate the steps of a horse while I called after her “Hi!-Hi!”. It was hilarious to the others who were only used to rough-born fucking. I had made my mother high step and trot like a circus show-pony for amusement. My mother was obedient and followed my instructions then.
It was altogether difficult to make Carmen whinny and behave like a horse. She bucked and tried to kick me even when I had her buckled in an old leather harness. I applied a leather strap to her ass until she complied with my wishes.
A customer entered the tavern while I was trying to bend Carmen to my will and was fascinated with the spectacle. He told Canard he wanted to have a turn when I was finished grooming the wild pony.
At first, Canard thought he was joking, but when the customer handed him real coins for the privilege, Canard barked some orders, and Carmen stopped resisting. She glared at me angrily but obliged the man his fun.
He trotted her around the tavern and even out in front in the nude when he got the hang out of it. We laughed and chuckled while he did. It was quite entertaining, and he asked me for tips on handling her. I told him it was no different handling a beast like her and a plow horse. “The whip or the carrot,” I said, and I showed him my whip and my penis.
Carmen and Esmeralda did not resist me when I wanted to fuck her after that. My mother frequently offered to let me fuck her. Just as Madeleine predicted, there were men who liked to watch me have sex with her. I look like my mother in the face, and they knew I was her son. It was more humiliating to me to call her mamma than it was to her to answer to it while they grinned at our sinful behavior and laughed. Incest was a tremendous taboo at the time, and yet it was prevalent in smutty books and many Victorian Households.
Jacques didn’t bear as much resemblance to his mother or Aunt to pique the interest of those who enjoyed the taboo of incest. He was never paid to fuck them in front of other men, but he fucked them both when the mood struck him.
The girls were sometimes reluctant to have sex with us or obey us, but they did, or they got the whip and a lesson in obedience.
Over the next three months, life became much better for me. I worked hard during the day, and when we saw Le Maquereau, he avoided us and crossed the street.
The man who used Carmen as a pony was a regular customer named Arnoux. He tried out all the women and found he liked my mother the best. She was well-practiced and not afraid to whinny or neigh “hiiiiiiii!!!”. He even brought his own horse tack and bridle. He also brought his friends and bragged that we catered to this particular perversion.
Don’t misunderstand me. The man still paid to fuck the woman and cum inside them. He simply had a deviant desire to make them obey him and behave in the manner of a dress pony before he did. He even used Sabine as a pony. She looked glorious with her chin up, ribbons in her hair, strings tied in a bow around her nipples, tits out and butt wiggling like a magnificent mare.
Esmeralda made the worst pony of them all. She obeyed, but she always looked miserable and did it without any sort of panache or enthusiasm. It was still great fun to watch her great tits flop as she hopped around like a horse.
He considered me something of an expert on the matter. “What else could I make them do?” Arnoux said to me.
“You could use Esmeralda as a cow,” I pointed out her nickname was Vache, and her tits dripped milk almost non-stop. She was only three months pregnant, but it was now quite obvious, and she didn’t receive as much business as a result. Canard beat her regularly because she did not earn as much as her sister or my mother. She looked desperate to please him.
“A cow?” Arnoux looked confused and disappointed.
“Vache! Strip and get on all fours!” I pointed to my feet. Esmeralda regarded me like I was speaking a foreign language that she did not understand. I grabbed a rod and slapped her enormous tits with it. Her breast milk sloshed out onto her chest. She knew that she had no choice, so she stood and undressed for me. Jacques watched with the curious expression of wonder on his face. I knew he favored his mother and didn’t beat or fuck her that often. Yet, he seemed to approve of what I was doing.
She obeyed and got down on the ground in the manner of a dog. “Meuh,” I insisted she say, and I prodded her to humiliate herself by making the sound of a cow. Her sister and Sabine’s tittering laughter strengthened Esmerelda’s resolve not to comply with my order. She was the most prideful and stubborn of all the whores.
I shoved a brush into her ass in the manner of a tail. I had never seen a real cow, but I assumed they had tails like a horse. I got on the ground and began to yank her tits and pull on them.
“You have never milked a cow, have you?” Arnoux said he grew up on a farm and gave it a try. He squeezed and pulled hard, and she yelped. He slapped her butt and laughed and told her to say, “Meuh.”
The first time she did, everyone had a great laugh. He told me to bring a bucket, and he milked her great tits in the tavern. Two customers arrived, and rather than pay for a quick fuck, they sat and watched the spectacle with fascination. Canard joked that he would have to charge a fee to sit at the table.
Most men paid to fuck women and left quickly. They might have a single mug of ale, but Canard’s tavern was not a comfortable place to spend a relaxing evening. It smelled of pussy, semen, and stale ale. These men wanted to watch this scenario play out.
When Arnoux was horny enough to fuck the mewling whore, they chided him. “You fuck your cows?” one of the customers asked.
“You fuck your sheep!” Arnoux laughed, and then he fucked Esmeralda from behind.
When he finished, he thanked me and offered me a small gratuity. The other two men said they wanted to do the same thing and refused to have sex with my mother or Carmen.
“You can milk me, Monsieur,” my mother squeezed her nipples after she pulled down her blouse.
“Do you give milk? Then we will we wait for Le Vache,” one of the gentlemen said.
Esmeralda rolled her eyes, but after that, almost every night, she was milked by a customer at least once. If no customers arrived, then she would ask me to milk her and put on a show when they did. Carmen and my mother became jealous.
“Maitre’ Guillaume,” my mother approached me after a week of Esmeralda being the star attraction of the tavern. She had removed all of her clothes and attached chains to herself but not locked them. “Will you give me a correction please?” She asked.
At first, I did not understand what she was suggesting. I was angry with her that she suddenly addressed me as Maitre, and I thought she was being sarcastic. I was happy to oblige her with a beating and took out a leather strap. I had beaten her a few times since we arrived. My mother usually resented it but accepted the beatings after a confrontation with me. This time she had asked me to beat her, but even then, she was hesitant.
“Non,” my mother held up her hand in protest. “As you did at home,” she suggested. I did not know the reason, nor did I care. I was frustrated with her attitude. If this was a jock to mock me or because she was jealous of the attention Esmeralda received did not matter to me one whit.
I bent her over the table and tied a string to her tongue and pulled it taut, and then tied it to the other end. I tied a cord tightly around her clit and attached it to her toes. Then I began to bind her to the table so that her ankles were tied to the table legs. I grabbed up a bunch of my mother’s hair and yanked it hard and tied cord in knots around it until I could use it to keep her head down.
My mother was like one of my little sister’s rag dolls. She put up no further resistance when I took charge and treated her harshly.
“Thank you, Maitre Guillaume,” she said.
The name sounded so disgusting to me now. It was like she was mocking me by using the name. My mother was strong enough she could have shimmied out of these bindings if she wanted to do it.
“Call me Maitre Encule,” I insisted. I meant it sarcastically, but when she did, it sounded right to me. It made the name Encule feel less like an insult because I owned it, and it belonged to me. I shoved an ungreased broom handle up her ass and twisted it. Then I yanked her cunt lips out and stretched them. I took two pins the women used in their hair and stuck them through her cunt lips and pinned her to the leg of a chair. She yelped out, and I slapped her face.
“Silence, Connasse!” I said.
“Gag me, please, Maitre Encule! I cannot help myself!” she begged and gasped in pain.
Canard and the others looked horrified and shocked. The beatings the women received were mundane compared to what I was doing. Fabienne had taught me elaborate ways to bind arms and legs that were artistic. The rope bindings she showed were the basis of Macrame that used decorative knots to finish the loose ends of hand-woven textiles.
“Do not trifle with me and tell me how to punish you. I wish to hear your screams of agony because your words of obedience are always lies,” I told her that her painful cries were like music to me. I was no longer angry about living in this filthy hovel. I was angry about the fact that my mother had never intended to obey me once we left the house. It was an empty promise. I didn’t stop to think about why she offered to let me beat her now. It seemed like she might be teasing me by allowing me to have a taste of the control I once had over her only to take it away from me when she tired of this perverted game.
What I did not realize was that Canard and the others were stunned by how brutal and efficiently I was binding my mother. They had never seen anyone stretch a tongue out and bind it this way. I stuck my fingers into my mother’s nose and then yanked them up into a snout and made her oink. I used scratchy wool to wash her cunt and make her itch and yelp. I beat her soundly and lost myself in my work.
I also did not realize that Canard’s customers were walking in one by one and observing the show with a stunned silence. They were impressed with the manner in which I beat and disciplined my mother. I didn’t yell obscenities at her like Canard or Jacques. I spoke in very calm and measured ways like Fabienne had taught me. I was reserved and aloof and condescending. I called her Connasse, and she answered. I made her beg me to punish and humiliate her further.
“I have been sinful and promiscuous! Please make me expatiate before my betters, Maitre Encule,” she said.
The men that observed me beating my mother initially laughed when she called me that. Eventually, they had a reverence for me.
I took a warm poker from the fire and held it close to the bottom of her feet while she screamed out in pain. I was about to unhook her from the table and give her a water cure in the doorway when Canard stopped me. I thought he was going to tell me I went too far.
“Give these other gentlemen a turn,” he pointed to the seven customers standing around waiting to use my mother. We had never had seven customers waiting to use the whores. It seemed quite crowded in the tavern. I was sweating and exhausted. I pulled my cock out and told her to just lick the tip. “These men are going to fuck you roughly and ensure you take no pleasure from the act. Spill their seed on the floor and lap it up when you are finished,” I said as I came on the floor and made her lap it up.
The women had performed Menagerie Trois before many times, but it was always two women or more with one man. It was usually when work was slow with one of Canard’s regular customers.
This was the first time more than one customer used a whore at the same time. Two customers took her from either end and began to treat her roughly in the manner that I did. It was easy to beat a whore and slap her around. They grabbed her tits and squeezed and smacked her about. I taught them how to more effectively use a whip just as Fabienne showed me. I shoved the whip handle into my mother’s cunt and made her dance with it.
They paid for the privilege of learning how to give her a water cure. We didn’t have clean water, so I had to use ale and the contents of our piss buckets. At first, the men were shocked at how extreme it was to empty the bucket into a sack and drown my mother with it. I explained, “She’d get much more than this at the house of corrections! Connasse is thankful these buckets are mostly piss and not shit or vomit.”
Canard is a businessman. He recognized immediately that this show was more than just a gimmick. The ponygirl and milking cow routines appealed to a few twisted perverts, but this show had a much broader appeal to his customers. They liked the humiliation and the brutal nature in which I tied her up. They also liked how my mother begged for more punishment, and enthusiastically acted as a humble vessel for pain.
Carmen and Esmeralda laughed at my mother. “Maitre Encule! The son of Connasse the whore!” they chuckled like two fat magpies sitting on a fence mocking a farmer just before they swoop in to steal his corn.
Jacques assisted me while I hung my mother upside down in the doorway by her tits and hair. I opened the door to the alley and then tied cords tightly around her tits and told her to lick the men’s cocks. One by one, they used her face. I spit on her cunt and watched my spit drip down her belly, and the men followed suit.
After the men finished using my mother, Carmen or Esmeralda finished them off in the traditional manner in one of the straw beds.
I asked Carmen to squat in the center of the tavern after a man finished fucking her ass and drip her cum on the floor. She reluctantly agreed with a mirthful grin. It was like she was shitting white spit as she let it dribble down her thighs and onto the dirty floor.
I unbound my mother and made her crawl over and lap it up like a dog. After that, it became common for Esmeralda and Carmen to spit cum from their mouth on the ground or squat and drip it on the floor from their pussy or asshole.
“Connasse, why do you lap up the seed of your betters?” I asked her. It was a question Fabienne asked her many times at the apartments.
“It is my privilege to enjoy cum. I must be denied even the pleasure of swallowing a fresh load of semen. Please make me spit it out first and then lap it up like a dumb dog,” she said.
I made her bark like a dog and smell at men’s crotches. “Wouf Wouf,” she barked and sat up and beg. The customers laughed, and so did the other whores.
I strapped my mother’s arms to her thighs and made her waddle like a duck. She squawked, “Coin Coin!” and everyone laughed and said she was imitating Canard. I made her flap her arms like wings and gobble and cluck more like a chicken than a duck.
I splayed her on the dirty floor with her legs spread eagle and tied her arms over her head. I wadded up my mother’s rag-clothing and pushed her skirt into her pussy. “You will be naked from now on. You only need a harness for a bra,” I ripped up the material of my mother’s brassiere and left only the wire harness. Then I pissed all over her and stood on her pussy with one foot while I made her lick the bottom of my shoes. I left her as a welcome mat for the rest of the night, and customers kicked her and made her lick their shoes.
When the night came to a close, I put candles on her tits and pussy and lit them so that they would start to melt. Sabine, Carmen, and Esmeralda fucked the last of the men and squatted directly over my mother’s open mouth to let her lick up the cum.
“That was quite a show,” Canard held up a hefty coin purse. He tossed some of the money to Jacques and me and said that he wanted to do it again. “You were marvelous, Madelaine,” he threw a bucket of dirty water on her to wash her off.
“Untie me so that I can get some sleep,” my mother said sourly as she spat the water. “You did very well, Guillaume. I want to spend some of that money tomorrow. You ruined my only dress,” she said as she lay prostrated and unable to move from the spot she was tied at the front door.
“Maitre Encule,” I insisted.
“That was very clever. It is better we use an alias. If the Magistrate is looking for Madeleine and her son Guillaume then we might be found out if this show becomes popular,” my mom seemed happy to perform it again with me.
“Non,” I struck her hard across the belly with a rod and told her that I was going to tie her outside under the shed awning if she didn’t speak more respectfully to me.
“Guillaume, this was just play-acting like when Esmeralda becomes Vache, and you milk her. You can’t make cheese of her rotten milk or make her graze the grass. It was just a gimmick,” she explained.
“Non,” I struck her hard and said that I would be beating her like this from now on. “You promised me that you would obey me when we left our house. You lied to me about that, but now I am going to make you obey,” I insisted.
Canard and the others did not know the Magistrate was looking for us, but I trusted them not to reveal our secret. There were many criminals in the Beaubourg Quartier, and it was best not to ask about their past crimes.
“Guillaume, I will obey you when we have customers! I promise you! Please don’t make me go back to living as Connasse!” my mother pleaded.
I was thrilled and excited that she was begging me to change my mind. If she had stubbornly insisted she wouldn’t do what I told her, then I might have given up. I once tried to beat Esmeralda for mocking me, and she sat on me until I stopped complaining.
The fact that my mother was pleading with me meant in her mind she felt I had the power to make her obey. I did with the help of Canard and Jacques! They smiled at me appreciatively.
“The decision has already been made,” I insisted. “You are going to be hung from a chain under the awning outside tonight. In the morning, I expect you will be better behaved,” I said. I told her we WOULD go shopping and mentioned the locks, whips, and chains that Fabienne had purchased initially.
“Please! Don’t make me continue with this charade. It was just a ruse!” my mother begged me to be merciful. “We can make a lot of coin. There is no reason to keep me as Connasse when there are no customers! I am begging you, Maitre Encule!” she said.
Carmen and Esmeralda watched with amusement as my mother was made to crawl on her hands and knees outside in a dirty alley and strung up by a chain in the same hog tied manner that we left Fabienne in. I filled my mother’s mouth with dirt and straw for lack of a better gag. The threat of doing it again if she spit it out and started cussing was more effective than I thought at shutting her up.
That night while my mother was left to spin outside, the others asked me to tell them why the Magistrate might come looking for us. I assumed they had a right to know, and rather than be shocked or disturbed, they were in the company of wanted criminals they seemed to accept me even more into their ranks. I was starting to feel like I was part of a family now.
Jacques and I did not always agree, and he often didn’t understand my bookish references. He was my best friend and like a brother to me. Sabine reminded me of Nannette, only Sabine was pragmatic and witty.
Carmen and Esmeralda were bitchy, rude, and full of contempt, but I felt like they might be my Aunts. I didn’t realize that Gypsies were transient, and I assumed they would be at this tavern forever.
Canard was very much like a father figure to me. My own father had been bookish and timid. Canard was rough and crude, but he rewarded hard work. He could get irate and loud, but he could also laugh just as deeply. Canard was incredibly perverted and set in his ways.
He was, however, a business man, and he recognized that some of my ideas had made him money. They listened as I told them what had transpired between Fabienne and my mother. I left out some of the parts that made me seem less heroic and timid, and I embellished a little of the story. I didn’t mention we left Nannette behind. No one seemed to think it was wrong of us to rob Fabienne and leave her hung by a chain, either.
Their reaction helped me to assuage some of my guilty feelings about that. They were of low moral character, though, and that is probably why they were more amused than shocked by how I turned the tables on Fabienne.
Jacques found my father’s role in all of this to be quite amusing. He called him a cuckold. I had not realized it at the time, but he was right. My father liked to watch Fabienne, and I beat my mother and use her, but he did not have the same passion to do it himself. Jacques teased me and said he thought I was very much like Robert when I first came to the tavern.
I shrugged and admitted that I might have been. He clapped me on the back and said that if I were, he would have to chain me up like my mother. Everyone at the table shared a laugh. He was right – I was insufferably naïve and conceited when I first arrived. I felt like I was a deluded young boy when I was first taught to control my mother. I had been a sullen little brat when my mother refused to obey me as soon as we left the house.
Now, I felt more like a man who made her obey me through the force of my will.
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Madeline