MadeleineChapter 7 free porn video

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.