Adult-FanFiction.org : Comics

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
- 6
- 7
Madeleine
Chapter Seven
The storekeeper was not inclined to be generous and offer me additional books. He was willing to give us a ride in his wagon to Canard’s tavern after my mother’s little show degrading herself by sucking horse cock. My mother genuinely appeared contrite and humiliated by what she had done. It was the first time I had seen that look on her face it quite some time. It pleased me to know that even she could feel shame.
We had been gone a long time, and Canard would probably be angry with us for skipping out on work.
I told Connasse that the good news was that she could put our packages in the back of the wagon. The bad news was that she had to run behind the wagon with a rope around her neck. She begged me to have mercy on her and said that she would get arrested. She warned me that I would be arrested as well.
“You might just get excommunicated too! If you don’t obey me, perhaps I will ask this man to drag you behind the wagon to L'église de la Madeleine and bring you before a Priest?” I assured her. My mother’s eyes grew wide with fear. “Please Maitre’ Encule!” she begged.
“The Priests would tell me that the only way the Lord would pardon me for my negligence towards keeping you in line is to beat and humiliate you further instead of expecting others to expatiate you for me,” I told her. I had heard Esmeralda and Carmen tell me that the night before in their own tale of woe and misery.
“Yes, and the Prison would offer a reward for turning you in. He would be a hero like Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn,” Jacques smiled and held his suspenders like a fancy gentleman might strut down the fairway.
My mother never had the patience to hear the stories of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn, but she didn’t doubt our words.
The book store was located in a particularly posh and refined part of Paris. I permitted her to wear her chemise over the leather harness and bells. My mother ran behind the cart while we sat with the shopkeeper and laughed at her stumbles. If we stopped, I insisted she high step while we sat idle and waited.
She received many scandalous looks from the highborn men and women but smiles as well. Her tits and buttocks were often exposed when she high stepped.
I leafed through the smutty Magazine and looked at the picture of the dancer in pony dress. Her tits, pussy, and even buttocks were completely covered. It occurred me to that the striptease was more entertaining if the woman starts wearing clothes and loses a little at a time.
By the time we reached the Beaubourg Quartier, I had my mother’s top-down and her breasts exposed while she tried to keep up with the cart. The decadent clientele who frequent the Maisons took notice of us because of our audacity. The stately brothels cater to the wealthy, but they are also men who sometimes seek the novel. I took the opportunity to play the role of the boisterous ringmaster once again and invited them to Canard’s tavern. I could not give precise directions but instead asked them to follow.
By the time we reached the winding alleyways, we had three carts behind a man on horseback and us. I stripped my mother fully so that she was only wearing pony regalia. “Hiiii, Hiiii,” she whinnied and stamped her foot when we stopped.
“Where have you two Orphelines been hiding? There is work that needed to be done. Wood needed to be collected for the fire, and a barrel of ale arrived that needs to be brought inside and tapped!” Canard initially chastised us.
Once he realized we had brought paying customers, he was far more amenable to us. These were wealthy customers who were accustomed to high-end prostitutes. I thought they may take one look at the tavern and think it would collapse on them or that a rat would jump out and bite them. However, the customers were in the market for something novel and exciting.
I unharnessed Connasse and put her through her pony steps. I whipped her ass with the bullwhip and offered her a carrot. When she went to bite it, I shoved it up her ass. The men laughed.
“There is more pussy inside! Would you like to see the human cow? Would you like to milk her or fuck her? She’ll do both!” I said as I offered Esmeralda.
“How about her sister, the human-pig? Want to make her squeal? Want to slap her fat tits?” I said.
Jacques went inside and made his mother and Aunt ready by stripping them and binding them.
“Non, we are happy to fuck and suck anyone for coin. It is pleasurable to me, but I will not be treated like a cow night after night!” Esmeralda stamped her foot angrily.
“Fine, I shall ask the shopkeeper to take me to the priest at L'église de la Madeleine. I am sure they can confirm with the parish in Gascogne your identities,” Jacques said.
“Just don’t tear off my clothes OR my titties,” Esmeralda undressed in her own time and got on her hands and knees to await her milking.
“I am to be a pig?” Carmen was already naked. She didn’t need the further threat of ex-communication. The two women were amoral hedonists, but they believed ex-communication would prevent them from reaching Heaven.
“Perhaps you’d rather be a snake?” Jacques wrapped a cord around his aunt’s ankles, legs, thighs, and arms, tying her up tightly. He made Carmen slither about and undulate like a snake on the dirty floor. “Siff, siff!” he kicked her and made her hiss like a snake. She had to wiggle her pretty ass and grind her tits into the dirty tavern floor beneath her.
Jacques grabbed Sabine by her arms and started to strip her naked. She kicked him.
“I am not going under threat to be excommunicated or prison! You need someone to serve the ale!” she assured him.
“We need someone these horny men can plug when they are horny!” he ripped off her bodice and then lifted her skirts. He lashed his cousin to the table much the same way I tied Connasse the night before. He bound her long hair and ankles to the table and exposed her pussy and asshole.
“Lard! Lard!” she begged her cousin to apply some grease to her anus and pussy so she could endure the fingering and fucking she was going to receive tonight.
“You will refer to me as Maitre Tom Sawyer,” he said.
“I will refer to you as Maitre’ Connard (Bastard),” she insisted angrily while he unceremoniously thrust a dollop of cooking lard between her legs.
“Yes, that will do nicely!” Jacques accepted the stage name, Maitre Connard. It matched so perfectly my alias of Maitre Encule.
I had the crowd warmed up while I made my mother put her hands in front of her tits and squat with her tongue out like a puppy and then roll over like a dog.
There was no haggling tonight with Canard. Usually, a customer haggled and chose their favorite girl to fuck. They did not stay long. The customers wanted to reach orgasm and leave without any hassle so they could get home to their wives.
Everyone paid the same to enter the tavern, and everyone took a turn playing with all the women. My mother was something of a floor show. She performed in the alley, and occasionally I told her to lick someone’s pecker and give them a hand-job so she could lick up their cum.
The other customers were so intrigued that they paid to enter the tavern. There they milked Esmeralda and treated her like a cow. They smacked her ass and prodded her around the tavern while her tits leaked on the ground.
Jacques rubbed Carmen down with lard so that she could slither around men like an exotic belly-dancer and eventually end up sucking their cocks while they laughed at her humiliation. Her dark nipples became engorged; the more she dragged them across the wooden floor while she wormed around.
The men were entertained, and if they reached a point, they wanted to cum, they usually dumped their load in Sabine while she was tied to the table. Some of the men fucked Esmeralda while she was on all fours as they squeezed her great tits. She seemed to enjoy it by the end of the night.
I beat my mother and choke fucked her while making her act like various circus animals. The crowd particularly liked it when Connasse acted like a sexualized version of a lion and an elephant. The men found this degrading display to be humorous and novel.
Canard wanted to run off the local drunks and street urchins because they were not paying customers. I told him to let them stay. The impression that there was a crowd only added to the spectacle. I played the part of the expert showman.
“This is not the main attraction! We have so much more to show you!” I said as I brought my mother inside and gave her a water torture with fluid from a very full chamber pot.
I sent Esmeralda outside on her hands and knees to graze like a cow and drag her tits in the mud. I put a large radish in her asshole. The acid from the radish gave her spasms.
“That radish was intended for our soup, but it was a lot of fun to watch her jerk and twist,” Canard had a great time. He was initially charging by the mug for ale. It took some convincing, but I told him that the ale was mostly water anyway. “Include it in the price of admission,” I said.
“That will ruin me! What if we have a drunk drink it all like a fish,” he said.
“A happy customer will come back. Give them one price and let them use whatever girl is free. Then you don’t have to worry about filling mugs. Let them pour it themselves. Most will only drink a single mug anyway once they taste how bitter it is,” I smiled.
Canard was a penny pincher and a miser. He wanted nothing to do with that idea.
“If he drinks so much he passes out, I am sure you can find a gratuity for your hospitality in his pockets?” I assured him. “If he doesn’t pass out, you can still kick him out. Tell the men they can only stay until they have an orgasm, and then they have to pay again if they want to return,” I said.
Canard was skeptical at first, but he soon discovered that this model was very successful. The wealthy customers left and told their compatriots. We had never had seven customers at one time in the tavern while I lived there. That night we had that many and sometimes as many as nine.
I hung my mother in the doorway upside down and made her welcome the customers like a wind chime. She was expected to unbuckle their breaches and lick cocks as men walked in.
I tied tight cords around Esmeralda’s tits and called her Le Vache (Cow) from then on. The nickname stuck.
Carmen became Le Cochon (pig) as well. I trussed her up like a pig. I used some sap to fashion a length of rope like a curly tail and shoved it in her ass. I used a pair of clips to push her nose up and then tied a string over her head to the tail in her ass. It gave the impression of a great snout and made most men laugh hysterically. It did not keep any from using her pussy, though.
Canard named Sabine. I guess he felt all the girls needed new names. He called her Pouffiasse, which meant she was puffy because of her nipples. It didn’t fit with the barnyard or circus animals theme, but he laughed so loud whenever he said it that his belly shook. I could not argue with that.
I strapped Sabine’s arms to her thighs and attached feathers to her tits and cunt and then made her squawk like a chicken while flapping her arms. Men stopped and fucked her pretty face with their cocks.
I tied my mother to the table to relieve Sabine. The customers could be extremely fickle and seemed to want variety. I found it helped to change the women’s roles and keep one of them tied to the table at all times for men to dump their cum into them.
That night Canard made more money than he had made in a single month. The women’s assholes and pussies were sore, and they all had cum on their faces, and their bodies were well-whipped. We were all exhausted, but my adrenalin was pumping through my veins. This was show business as I imagined it. I felt as if we performed an ad-hoc play without any script.
“Please, it is late, Canard! Untie this strap from my tits before they fall off, “Esmeralda said she tired of this game and wanted to play with herself before she fell asleep.
“Wine, wine, wine,” Carmen begged as she rubbed her buttocks.
Sabine was still strapped up like a chicken, but someone had plucked all her feathers, and she was naked.
My mother groaned on the floor. She had been bound tightly so that her arms were wrapped around her. The customers used her as a piss bucket for the final hour of the show.
Canard had no particular desire to punish these women further. He was going to untie them.
“Non, keep them bound tonight,” I said.
“You think they will run off after they see how much money they have?” Canard hefted a fat purse of coin that he would divide amongst us.
“They asked for wine,” I said. We had a few bottles of cheap wine. I poured some in the chamber pot.
“Hey, that is good wine! Why would you waste it?” Esmeralda glared at me. Her hands were tied behind her back, and she had a rod up her ass.
“You wanted wine, and you will drink,” I poured the contents into her mouth. She choked and gasped at the wine-soaked piss.
“I think it improved the flavor,” she said as the purple liquid dribbled down her chin when I took it away. I fed each of them even Sabine the same way. She was not going to talk to me now. I decided I might as well be the bastard they said we were.
“I am Maitre Encule,” I touched my shirt after I gave each of them a drink. This is how things are now. You will be paid your share of the earnings. I will make sure that Canard does not fine you or make you take loans to repay him. Instead, this money will be placed in a bank in your name,” I said.
Canard squawked like I had just cut off his balls.
“You will not be permitted to spend it as you see fit. This is for your own good. You are dumb whores who do not know what is best with that money,” I insisted. It may have been the fact that I was wearing fancier clothes, but the women didn’t protest my new rules.
“You will be tied up at night. You will all be trained to do the cleaning. You will not talk back to us, or you will face the consequences. You will be beaten daily,” I said.
“You are no better than Matthew,” Esmeralda spat on the floor.
I pushed her face down into her spittle and made her lap it up.
“I am not stupid or impotent. I am going to train you with a purpose. You will become humble, obedient, and less unpleasant. You will be provided food when you work and shelter. We will beat you, but we will treat you better than the prisons or the convents ever would,” I said.
When that didn’t seem to win them over, I pointed out that in a year, they would be rich.
There was a collective celebration, and even Sabine cracked a smile.
“If we are going to be beaten and milked, anyway we may as well make the coin, Sister,” Esmeralda told Carmen.
“Siff-siff,” Carmen flicked out her tongue.
That night I tied all four of them up and hung them from the rafters. I found a night hanging tied up wrist to ankles with legs apart, and then being caned in the morning did wonders for their attitude.
No one slept in the next morning. Carmen and Esmeralda were difficult at first, but they knew how to clean. It took some effort to teach them to clean with sponges in their mouth and attached to their tits.
They carried the firewood and did the heavy chores Jacques and I normally did. It gave me time to read my new book to him. Jacques would occasionally get bored. Naturally, when David married Dora and discovered she knew nothing of housekeeping, I pretended that Mr. and Mrs. Spenlow approved of him applying a generous application of discipline to her ass and keeping her like Connasse.
“Yes, he could save money on servants that way! I bet Uriah Heep wished he had a wife such as Dora after that,” Jacques shook his fist in the air in triumph. It did make for a much more fascinating read to pretend there were a lot of naughty bits in the story.
The next day I paraded my mother and Le Cochon (Carmen) through the streets of the quartier to dredge up more business. I had them both topless running down Rue de Renard. Guardsmen were few and infrequent in this part of town. However, two sluts dressed like ponies do attract attention.
A small bribe and the offering to suck their cocks in an alley was all we needed to get the guards to pretend they were still looking for us and had not found us.
Le Maquereau and his goon were not quite so easy to fool. The pimp chased us and warned us that this time, we could not hit them from behind.
“That is not what your mother told me last night,” Jacques shouted an insult that insinuated Le Maquereau’s mother allowed him to fuck her in the ass.
“My mother is one of the finest courtesans in all of Paris. I doubt you have the funds to fuck her,” Le Maquereau did not understand the insult.
He was devious but not particularly intelligent. He chased us, and as we ran, we forced my mother and Le Cochon to run behind us. Their tits were flapping and bouncing as their chemises flew up and revealed the horse-tack underneath.
“Wait, wait! I just want to talk,” Le Maquereau insisted.
“That is not what your mother said last night,” Jacques tried the insult again.
“I doubt very much that you spoke with my mother last night,” Le Maquereau dashed after us. We could have easily eluded them if we didn’t have the two nearly naked women dragging behind us.
“We beat you once, we can do it again! Just like Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn,” Jacques put up his fist.
“Fight? Non, we want to be business partners,” he said. I did not trust this weasel as far as I could throw him.
“We have money and connections. We can move this little show out of Canard’s tavern. We have three whores that you can teach your wicked little games and play with. Add that to these two, and we can make a fortune,” Le Maquereau promised us. He did have a proper tavern that would be much more conducive to exotic shows like ours.
I was not pledged to Canard, but he took us in, and I felt that the greedy old whore monger was something of a father figure to me.
“Non!” I insisted.
“You haven’t even heard our offer! We should talk details,” Le Maquereau tweaked his thin waxed mustache and smiled devilishly at me. He told us he could go to Canard, but he knows that I am the one who came up with the ideas. “Canard would not think twice about selling you out,” he insisted.
I did not believe him, and I passed on the offer to discuss it further. Jacques was impressed with my loyalty, but he slapped me. “The idea is to get a fortune. Tom and Huck! That is you and me. You didn’t even ask me,” he looked sore about it.
“Yes, but I knew you don’t like Le Maquereau,” I said.
“I like money, though. What would be the harm in hearing his offer?” he asked.
“Canard, I know. What would stop Le Maquereau from learning what we do and then cutting us out completely?” I asked.
Jacques admitted that it was a fair point. We returned and whipped the girls while we prepared for the night’s show.
The rumors that we were doing exotic things grew, as did our profits. That second night we were far better prepared and stocked. Ale was now free, but a bottle of wine cost extra. We stuck a bottle up each of the women’s asses and made them crawl around.
We practiced with them until they all knew how to play Elephants, ponies, and pigs. I strapped a dildo to Le Vache’s (Esmeralada’s) head and called her a Rhino. I taught her to stamp her foot and then kick dust behind her before charging into her sister’s cunt with the dildo.
Some customers called her a Unicorn and others a one-horned goat. They all thought it was glorious erotic fun when she jabbed the dildo into her sister’s freshly shaved twat and fucked her with her head.
We tarred and feathered Sabine around her cunt and tits so that it took much longer to pluck her. I shoved a boiled egg up her ass and made her bawk-bawk and flap her wings during the floor show. At a certain point, she squatted her ass on the dirt. Then the young girl laid the egg by pushing it out her asshole. She received a standing ovation from the dozen or so men waiting their turn to enter the tavern. Sabine was elated and crowed “Pouffiasse!” at the end of her performance.
My mother was the one who endured the most punishment and humiliation. The other girls dripped cum from their cunts directly in her mouth or on the floor, and she lapped it up like it was a magic potion from the Fountain of Youth. It wasn’t until late that night that I realized that many of the customers had brought their horses.
“At Canard’s tavern, we serve the rich and your manservants equally! How many of you want us to serve your horses?” I asked.
At first, they did not realize what I meant, and I gave them a demonstration. I made my mother kneel and lick the tip of a horse cock that I rested between her tits. She had to hold her ass cheeks apart until I gave the order to give the horse a handjob. The horse whinnied and neighed, and I thought he would kick himself free. My mother sternly jerked him off and spilled a copious amount of seed in the alley.
Then she licked up the cum like a true whore, and men applauded and laughed at her. We charged half of what we charged for a man to enter the tavern for my mother to provide that treatment to a man’s horse. If he had more than one and wanted her to do all of them, we lowered the price even further.
It was a fantastic business idea! Men watching this happen outside the tavern were excited to find out what happened inside the tavern. They assumed the debauchery of our freak show would only be more intense once they paid for the ticket!
Over the next three months, we continued the discipline with very little complaint from the women. I purchased matching dilators and let them masturbate in the day after they did their chores. We fed them wine in the chamberpots but reserved the most disgusting ones for Connasse. We made them sleep bound and suspended from the floor. I stuffed bronzed rods down their throat at night.
We also purchased more bondage gear from stores I learned about when Fabienne took me shopping. I found a Chinese gag that could be strapped to a woman’s face, and any time she tries to talk, she makes bird calls.
“Gentlemen! Imagine how wonderful your life would be if your wife had one of these miracles from the Orient strapped to her head. Anytime she gossips or wishes to complain, all you can hear is the serene sounds of a nightingale no matter how the slut protests!” I would say to an excited crowd.
The women stopped referring to themselves by their old names. Le Vache and Le Cochon had a following of regular customers who loved to watch them fuck each other. At times, I’d tie them together and make them wrestle in the mud like two pigs bound together. I once stuck a rod in Le Vache’s asshole and then made Le Cochon stick the other end of the rod up her ass. I made them slide down the middle so that their asses were touching. I called them Siamese pigs and lined men up to fuck their mouths from both sides. It went over quite well!
“Maitre Encule, may I have permission to speak?” Pouffiasse asked me while she crawled on the floor, scrubbing it with her backside. Her tits were not big enough for a sponge, so I strapped it to her ass and made her wiggle obscenely with her legs spread while the others crawled face down.
“If it does not bore me,” I had the cane in my hand, and I moved to strike her as I gave her permission to speak.
“I meant to thank you,” she said. I withheld my cane as I waited for her to say something snarky or sarcastic. The whores could not help themselves sometimes. Even though we beat them regularly, they could still be cranky and try to find ways to undermine our confidence. I told her to continue.
“I was just Sabine, the scullery maid, and sometimes whore when you met me. I am Pouffiasse le Poulette” (Fancy bitch the chicken), she said.
Her mother rolled her eyes because it seemed Sabine was sucking up to me. The women tried to manipulate us into mercy by fawning over us almost as much as they were insolent. I warned Sabine about that.
“I understand, and if you wish to beat me, then I will endure the lash, but I wanted to express my gratitude. I have come to see you both as Maitre Encule and Maitre Connard now,” Sabine included Jacques in her gratitude. “I look forward to each night now. I didn’t at first. It was dreadful and painful. I was mortified the first time a man plucked me of all my feathers. Now, I wish you would cover me in feathers, so they have to take longer to undress me. I am liberated by these chains,” she said as she referenced the chain and padlock we had put around all of their necks.
“I used to think I was fortunate that Matthew did not hang me in the barn as he did my mother and Aunt. I realize now that they were free to be disgusting whores as long as they were willing to face the consequences. I am free to be as filthy and vulgar as I want here. I do not fear prison or the convent now except to say that they may not be as creative in the fashion in which I am tortured or made to repent,” she said.
I did not whip her. I patted her head like one would a loyal puppy and told her that I appreciated the kind words.
We modified the tavern over the next two months. The table was removed and replaced with a raised stage so that a girl could be more easily seen at cock level. We kept someone exposed and vulnerable on the stage. Canard brought in two additional whores from Amsterdam who spoke very little French. They were dumb as stones, but they had pretty faces and long blonde hair. Their only role was to be bound and exposed so they could be fucked all night.
Their names were Heidi and Ingrid. I renamed them Lapine (Bunny) and Patate (potato). They were both pretty but quite stupid. Potato was the most dim-witted. They were compliant and willing to be whipped for the amusement of the spectators, and that was all that mattered to me. It was arousing seeing the dumb expressions on their faces as spit dribbled from their chins down to their ample bosoms while they were getting throat-fucked by our customers.
They had delightful assholes too. It was obvious whoever used them before had stretched them out almost as well as Connasse. I frequently shoved carrots and turnips up their pink asses before feeding them to my mother.
We added a trough to the front of the tavern and made the girls bend over it like pigs to eat scraps for the customer’s amusement while they waited. Men could pay to hand-feed the girl’s ripe fruit or shove it up their ass if they so desired.
We put in a new floor and added some additional lights. We got rid of the straw beds and put in bondage racks to tie the women up so that they could be fucked. I tried my hardest to imagine what Matthew’s catapult looked like and made the girls conduct contests to see who could endure more beatings from each other.
In the meantime, I collected many more books. I was inspired by smutty novels such as the Lustful Turk.
The novel consists largely of a series of letters written by its heroine, Emily Barlow, to her friend, Sylvia Carey. When Emily sailed from England for India in June 1814, her ship is attacked by Moorish pirates, and she is taken to the harem of Ali, dey of Algiers. Ali subjects her to his will, awakening her sexual passions. Emily's debasement continues when Ali insists on anal sex, arousing the horror of her correspondent Sylvia, who expresses her indignation at Ali's behavior. Ali arranges for Sylvia to be abducted and brought to the slave market of Algiers as well. After an elaborate charade in which Ali pretends to be a sympathetic Frenchman, bidding to save her from sexual slavery, and engaging her in a fake marriage, he deflowers her and awakens her sexuality, as he had done with Emily.
I won’t spoil the ending for you but the European women’s embracing serving the heathen Sultan reminded me of Pouffiasse’s speech of gratitude for keeping her as a pet.
I had more than enough to fund my reading and to purchase additional whips and torture implements. I found ways to use garden implements and horse tack and livery to humiliate and punish the women in novel and wicked ways.
I also found myself frequently reading The Mysteries of Verbena House by Etonensis. It was entirely naughty and it is notable that much attention is lavished, in the book, on women's underwear, in which the author expresses great interest and which Ashbee hopes will have historical interest to future readers. In Ashbee's judgement the book (or the first part of it at least) is "acceptable, nay even entertaining" and "one of the best books of its kind"
The book is set at Verbena House, an exclusive girls' school in Brighton, and concerns the flogging of a schoolgirl called Miss Bellasis, who has stolen two gold coins from another pupil. Whilst searching for the missing coins through the pupils' desks, two other schoolgirls are found in possession of incriminating material: Miss Hazletine has hidden away a bottle of gin and Miss Hatherton has in her possession a pornographic book. The wardeness, Miss Sinclair, is at first reluctant to flog the girls for their misdemeanours but defers to the wisdom in these matters of the German and French teachers and of her spiritual advisor the Rev. Arthur Calvedon. The latter relates his experiences of flogging at Eton and wishes to witness the birching of Miss Bellasis.
The castigation of Miss Bellasis is described at great length. After the flogging the wardeness discovers she is greatly excited and makes love to the clergyman. The next day Miss Hazletine and Miss Hatherton are punished, first with a riding whip and then with a hair brush as the clergyman watches the proceedings though a spy-hole.
There was some altogether satisfying about these punishments and the wicked girls who received them. They were prim and proper English school girls and entirely different from the French whores we dealt with at Canard’s tavern. The concept of being peeped on would mean nothing to them. They were frequently made to dance naked and jiggle their tits and asses while being whipped. I wanted to witness a girl like Miss Bellasis getting birched by a matronly wardeness. I pictured my Grandmother as Miss Sinclair doling out virtuous punishments and getting excited by them.
We also purchased a cart and wagon. It was not uncommon for all of our whores to be trussed up like ponies to pull it through Beaubourg. Their fat asses wiggled as we whipped them like ponies and showed them off. The high priced courtesans became quite jealous. Canard laughed and said if they are jealous then they can inquire about employment.
We had to pay off the local constables, and they were naturally admitted free of charge to any show they wished to attend.
It was my idea to get a dog. Canard considered a flea-bitten mongrel and kicked him. I made the dog a star by instructing Connasse to pleasure him in the tavern for the amusement of customers. Canard went out and got two more dogs after that. He brought a male pig as well.
Le Vache and Le Cochon took the most convincing to perform with the dogs and pigs. However, the application of the whip and the amount of money they were earning was enough to make them part their lips and suck the animal penises like they would that of some old Frenchman.
“It is really not that much different than a man’s penis. If I had known a pig dick would suffice to satisfy me, I might have remained loyal to Matthew,” Le Vache said.
“What do you think Matthew would say if he could see you sucking the balls of a pig?” I asked her.
“He would probably wish he had thought of that and been jealous the pig could get it up, Maitre Encule,” Le Vache answered me submissively but proudly.
“Would you feel shame if anyone in your family saw you like a pig fucker?” I asked her. Le Vache complained a lot. The French have a word for someone like her. She is what is known as a Grognard.
A Grognard is a member of the Vieille Garde (Old Guard) were the elite veteran elements of the Emperor Napoleon's Imperial Guard. As such, it was the most prestigious formation in Napoleon's Grande Armée. French soldiers often referred to Napoleon's Old Guard as "the Immortals."
It is believed that Napoleon hand-selected members of his Old Guard based on physical traits, most notably above-average height. Their imposing stature was likely impressive to foes and allies alike. Awards as well as veterancy were also taken into consideration when selecting troops for the Old Guard.
Le Vache had a well-endowed chest with very elongated nipples. Her hips were wide, and her ass was like two great melons almost as big as her tits. The diet of bread and cast-offs from the trough had slimmed her waist down considerably, but her belly was swollen with child. She was certainly impressive in her physical traits and beautiful face. She had to drag her belly across the mud whenever she crawled, and it reminded me of a sow about to give birth to a litter of piglets.
However, the reason I call her a Grognard is that the Old Guard complained through every battle, yet they kept marching to the very end. They were simply too stubborn to surrender or die. Her tenacity to endure every humiliating act we could think up helped influence her sister to follow suit. It was probably why she and her sister were such mischievous whores in Gascogne despite the consequences when they returned to Matthew.
I recall one night that I just finished milking her like a cow for the audience. We filled a bucket with her breast milk, and soon I’d have the women squat over it and drip cum into the bucket. I’d eventually up-end the milk over my mother’s face and make her hold it in her mouth while she gargled it. It was something we did almost every night.
La Vache was naked save for a cowbell around her collared neck as she waited on all fours. I slapped her mighty ass and tickled her pussy. Many of the customers told me what an imaginative young man I was and thanked me for the delightful show. We had quite a few regulars that attended the shows often, but often new decadent and hedonistic Parisian gentlemen of some means sought out our dim tavern to watch these spectacles.
“You know why they say that, don’t you Maitre Encule?” La Vache asked me. I told her to tell me.
“The men like to see a young sprout like you spanking a big woman like me. They like to see you fuck your mother because it is taboo. Most mothers won’t have sex with their sons in public,” she said.
I knew that.
“A whore will fuck anyone at any time,” I slapped her face to assert my authority. I was convinced that the reason the men were coming to the show was simply that I had a particularly clever take on training women as animals.
“Yes, that is the way things are. I will fuck anyone at any time. I will let you beat me because if not you, then some other pimp will keep me in line. Most whores would fuck their own son as a lover for a little silver. I just hope you understand that our popularity is because it is so novel that you are such a petit young man, and I allow you to beat me,” she said. She told me that I was wicked and imaginative but that many were capable of such sadism.
That night I strung her up outside and left the pregnant woman to swing by her wrists for the impudent way she talked to me. I filled her mouth with a candle and then melted two candles on her swollen nipples so that she burned bright all night in the stables of the tavern.
La Vache never talked to me so casually again after that.
My mother became my pet. Over the next two months, she learned not to refuse a single order. I was sure Fabienne would be proud of how obedient I had made Connasse. If she pissed herself while swinging from a rope, she offered to lap it up when I untied her. She fucked pigs, horses, and dogs. I seldom allowed her to take a human cock after that and always made her lick the tip of dicks until the man came. I told her that dirty cocks of men were too good for her.
I always made her thank me for permitting her to fuck men. She seemed so proud of herself for being a known animal fucker – even though the unnatural acts might land her in prison. In this section of Paris, unnatural acts were our way of life and our bread and butter.
One day I decorated my mother as a goose with feathers and tar. I strapped her arms to her thighs so that she was forced to waddle and shoved dry bread up her ass. I permitted geese we procured at the market to nip at her bottom and chase her around the front of the tavern for the amusement of the waiting patrons before coming inside to see the real show.
We had made enough money to commission body jewelry from Parisian jewelers. We made matching silver chains that held their pussy lips open in the most vulgar way at all times and then applied golden hoops to their pussies that could be used to thread the chains so that they could be pulled closed tightly or opened like a purse string.
At the time, the authorities used to tattoo a mark on a criminal to mark them permanently as a ‘marginal person.’ They used a soldering iron to tattoo numbers on women in the prison that clearly marked them as inmates. It was a pagan tradition that had been turned into a form of humiliation. The needle penetrates the inmate's skin, it symbolically takes away the sanctity of their body. The soldering iron punishes the body. The tattoo on display for all to see is to punish their soul and open them to ridicule.
It is considered an act of kindness to only tattoo the woman’s ass. Unrepentant sinners were tattooed on their foreheads. We did not want to be monsters and tattoo the sluts so brazenly as to decorate or mark their faces.
I remember we hired a young woman from Bourges. She had the number 19 on her buttocks. She could find no other work than as a prostitute and only in dingy taverns of low repute such as ours. She told us she had once been a noblewoman, but it seemed unlikely to me given the gap-tooth in her mouth and her ruddy features. She looked like any low-born street whore to me.
I sought out our blacksmith the very next day and arranged to have the girls marked with their new performance names in the very same manner. Pouffiasse balked at the idea, and at times I did feel sympathy for her. Her cousin reminded me that she frequently enjoyed this wicked treatment as long as she was made to feel she had no choice.
I paraded the girls naked two blocks to the blacksmiths livery store and then made them wait outside while each received their tattoo in turn. It soon became a source of pride and wonder to them. New whores that arrived to work at the tavern would ask when they would be receiving the tattoo and be enthusiastic about it. I thought it odd, but we were creating trends.
I heard other brothels were buying decorative ornamentation for the pussies of their courtesans and arranging decorative tattoos on their private areas. It seemed like we were setting new trends for sinners to revel in their decadence.
I heard rumors that Le Maquereau had opened a tavern that featured women fornicating with swine. Canard joked that it would be hard to tell if Le Maquereau‘s whores from the other pigs. They also had a piano player who played songs from the old west while the girls danced the Can-Can. I was eager to see that, but Canard warned me that Le Maquereau would probably order his goons to throttle me since we were their competition.
I don’t recall exactly where I was when the fire broke out. I think I was supervising the beating of the two sisters from Gascogne. My cock was in La Vache’s mouth, and her sister was licking my anus clean in front of some happy customers who paid for the show. I heard the shouts of alarm from outside, and suddenly everyone was trampling and running about. Our tavern was looted by the patrons, and the fire spread quickly. I had very little time to gather my belongings. Most of the women were bound, and I did my best to cut them free. Jacques helped me, but soon we were choked out of the tavern. I managed to save his cousin Pouffiasse.
The local constabulary was upon the scene within moments. It was clearly an intentional fire, but we did not know who had set it. We had to escape. Jacques and I escaped with Pouffiasse. She was nearly naked with only her collar and pussy jewelry. We had to steal some clothes from a line for her to wear in the morning.
We tried to return to the tavern, but we were warned off that the constabulary had rounded up most of the patrons and Canard and taken them to the jail.
We traveled around for a time after that. Jacques and I were inspired by two characters from the Huckleberry Finn novels. I know they are supposed to be villains, but they fit us so perfectly.
The Duke and the Dauphin are a duo of grifters who are defined by fraudulence and greed. When they first board Huck and Jim’s raft after escaping from the angry citizens of a nearby river town, they have already begun their next con. They initially pretend not to know each other, and they portray themselves as down-and-out European royals in an attempt to inspire in Huck and Jim a combination of pity and reverence.
We followed a circus for a time. Pouffiasse was billed as a wild woman who was the orphan of missionaries in Malaysia. We told the patrons that she had to be caged and kept naked for her own good. "This wild vixen will bite or scratch you If you come near! If we left her with a scrap of clothing, she would chew it all up!”
We made a few coins but not much. Eventually, we returned to Paris, and I sought out Le Maquereau. He hired Jacques and I on the spot and gave me a job performing nightly to train his whores. We learned that La Vache (Esmeralda), Le Cochon (Carmen), and my mother Connasse had all been sentenced to women’s corrections.
We brought Pouffiasse and told her to take heed what fate awaited her if she ever disobeyed us.
“I don’t fear women’s corrections! The humiliations and painful beatings you have made me endure have prepared me. I think I would enjoy it as a relief,” she joked as she followed us into the correction facility. She still seemed apprehensive.
Jacques and I wore our finest clothes and entered the house of corrections. A woman is hung from a statue at the entrance wearing nothing but a small cloth over her vagina. Her nipples were pierced, and a tattoo of the number 39 was on her right buttocks. Her hands were bound to the statue of Saint Solange De Buzan. The statue was of a bare-chested woman with her hands behind her head wearing only a skirt. It was dedicated to her because it was her donations that paid for the ornate woman’s prison.
I said that we were here to visit inmates, and the inmate gave me directions to the wardeness. She said that one inmate was always hung in this manner in case someone has a question or requires direction.
When we arrived, there were nuns whipping naked women carrying buckets. In the main hall, they were preparing a woman with a metal pump. She had been impaled by it and was forced to sit down so that it stretched her asshole.
The house of punishment's wardeness was there. She suggested that this woman's cleansing be administered with the help of this device because it would render the operation more tedious and, therefore, more meaningful to the sentenced woman.
"We are helping her. She should be satisfied. Let us hope she will soon be able to inflict the necessary punishments on herself. Let us pray for her," one of the other nuns said.
"She is starting to weaken. We will have to start feeding her a little," said one of the younger nuns.
They did not notice us until one of them started pumping water into the new inmate's asshole.
"You are very kind, Sister. The inmate must receive a lesson in humility and receive no pleasure from her meal. You may give her a bowl of dishwater mixed with stale bread. She will be tied to the wall while she laps her meager meal after she has received three cleansing lavements (enemas).
I introduced myself to the Wardeness. She glanced warily at Pouffiasse as if she could see the debauched behavior the girl was subjected to for nightly entertainment in her eyes and did not condone it. The cold hard stare of the Wardeness made Pouffiasse blush and quiver. I assured her we were not ready to drop off Sabine but that we wished her to see the methods used to discipline wayward inmates. I inquired about my mother and the others, and she said that she would take me to them.
On the way, we stopped to witness two naked women. They were chained so that their buttocks were pressed tightly together, and their legs and wrists were bound together. A Sister was beating them about the breasts and their shaved cunts. The wardeness stopped our processing to introduce them.
"Agatha is now twenty-five years old. She has been with us for nine years. Her mother and father encouraged her to a life of debauchery. Happily, her father was touched by the grace of God and is now a devout man. To be forgiven for his sins, he insisted that his wife and daughter be locked up so that their souls could be purified. Agatha will explain how she is to be purified while Sister Eulalie gives her and her mother a whipping," explained the Wardeness.
"As soon as I arrived here, my head and body were shaved, and also they clipped my eyebrows. In case the devil may tempt me to play with myself for pleasure, I wear a chastity belt whenever I am not bound like this to my mother. I have been in this state for seven years. I am shaven every week, and I eat nothing but dry bread and water. All of this has helped me to understand the gravity of my crimes. I have since lived in remorse and repentance to comfort myself in the hope of redemption. I have asked to be beaten more often and to remain chained. It brings me comfort to be in bondage for the love of Jesus Christ, our Lord. I am thankful to him for his infinite wisdom granting me this punishment. My mother and I pray in humility and degradation each day and are thankful for the lack of pity the sisters use in meting out our daily expiations,” Agatha said. She and her mother had a small shock of hair on the top of their otherwise bald heads decorated with matching black ribbons.
She seemed genuinely sincere about the need for constant discipline. I smiled at her. She and her mother would have made a wonderful addition to Le Maquereau’s tavern. We call the place Le Maquereau’s Follies – and it is more than twice the size of Canard’s run-down tavern. It is decorated with garish fabrics in the manner of an American whorehouse.
When I was finally led to my mother and Carmen and Esmeralda, they were swinging in a cage. Esmeralda was swollen with a child and clearly about ready to give birth. Her sister and her had their legs bound open and were forced to sit upon metal poles as they swung overhead in small cages. The wardeness said that the poles helped keep them from wiggling indecently. La Vache’s lips were locked shut with two silver hoops pierced through them. The wardeness said that was to keep her from speaking profanely. “When she first arrived she was blasphemous and unwilling to obey. Now, she is a model to the others of the virtues of obedience and accepting pain. Her child will be born here in the prison and most likely raised here or sent to the orphanage,” she explained without a trace of sympathy for their sorry state.
My mother was in another cage. She had a tube in her ass and a tube in her pussy that forced them extremely wide. Three quarts of cold water was being forced into her open mouth while a clamp was on her nose. The Wardeness asked the Sister administering the punishment to stop and let my mother spit up the water.
“Maitre Encule?” my mother could barely contain her excitement to see me.
“You call your son, Encule?” the Wardeness looked on at her with scorn. My mother said that was my name. I tried to explain it was a term of endearment, but the Nun said that my mother would be left out in the courtyard for thirty days in a wooden box for calling me that.
“Thank you, Wardeness! That is far too generous! May I be unlocked to be whipped once a day?” my mother begged the wardeness.
“Yes, you will be beaten twice a day for your own sake. Your punishment will begin after your son has finished his visit,” the wardeness said.
“Have you seen Fabienne?” she asked. I had not thought to ask about Fabienne. The Wardeness did not know the inmates by their names.
“She is inmate 43,” my mother said. Her own tattoo on her buttocks was the number 79. The tattoo that spelled out “Connasse” was still there as well.
“Ah, 43? You are related?” she asked me.
“Yes, that is my grandmother,” I explained.
“Grandmother? You poor, poor child. You have been raised by two of the most decadent whores I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting,” she said. She brought me to my Grandmother.
Fabienne was gaunt, her body wracked by a year of beatings. She was naked, and her hands were bound behind her back. She had been locked into the frame of a wooden box. Fabienne’s neck was locked in place through the top of the box. She was seated on a metal plate with sharp spikes, and her legs were lifted in the air and spread so that her toes were bound together in the most uncomfortable of positions.
She immediately recognized and greeted me as her grandson. It was surreal to see her hanging in this stone prison in the nude. She had a warm glow about her like she knew this was where she belonged and she enjoyed being bound on display for any passing visitor to witness her humiliation.
“She is due for release in a month,” the Wardeness said with scorn. “She implored soft-willed judges to grant her mercy, but you should have seen the sorry state of her apartments and her long confession of sins and perversions,” the Wardeness said.
“I have nowhere else to go! I will remain here indefinitely,” Fabienne cried out in pain as she squirmed in the box.
“Non, you can come with me. I have a place for you,” I smiled at my Grandmother. She’ll make a fine pig in Le Maquereau’s Follies. “Naturally, you will remain in discipline when you are released,” I assured her.
My grandmother thanked me for my generosity. “I Thank you for the grace of letting me suffer for you. I know you have a right to be angry with me. I pray for your forgiveness, Guillaume.”
“What became of Nannette?” I asked before we left.
“Nannette? She is in the cell next to me,” my Grandmother said. I barely recognized my little sister. I was impressed by how much my little sister had grown into a young woman. My little sisters breasts had finally sprouted and were as large as the delicate mounds on Pouffiasse’s chest.
She wore a chastity belt tightly bound around her waist. Her tits were pierced with twin hoops and chained to the wall. Her hands were bound behind her back. Her long blonde hair had been shaved to a small shock on top of her head and decorated with a ribbon. She recognized me immediately and smiled at me. She could not speak because she had a metal tube in her throat – like the ones Fabienne had used on my mother. It had been helpful in keeping her from closing her mouth when we dripped cum and gruel down her throat.
I returned six months later to pick my mother up and I was allowed to take my little sister after a generous donation to the welfare of future convict. They both went right to work for me and were as eager to be my whores as any street-born urchins with a cunt between their legs to sell or rent. Fabienne never said she was proud of me for the strict disciplinarian I had become but her eyes showed it when she obeyed my commands.
There were times I felt some sympathy for my younger sister but her time in the women’s prison had made her crave my strict control almost as much as Fabienne and Connasse. I’ve finally earned enough money to travel with PT Barnum in the Spring on a tour of America.

We are told the citizens of America are very excited to witness the French whores who will perform any perverse acts in the Duke and the Dauphin Freak Show. I also make a small fortune on providing naughty post cards and content for filthy Victorian magazines. I have been able to hire my own personal camera man to photograph my French beauties. I’ve also procured a talented smith and engineer to forge wicked contraptions I dream up to punish and bind female flesh.

Finis
- 6
- 7
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Madeline