Chapter 1

Author’s Note: This story was originally written entirely in French. The modern translation to English has been modified from the original Victorian prose in Old French and some of the colloquialisms or references of the time.

“Merde!” my Grandmother shouted angrily. It was late, and I was eavesdropping from upstairs with my younger sister. I was in my nightshirt, and she was in her nightgown.

“Do you have any idea what time it is, Madeleine?” my Grandmother confronted my mother at the door.

“No, Fabienne, but I am sure you are going to tell me,” My mother stood brazenly in the doorway. She smelled of cheap perfume, cigarettes, and brandy. Her long dark hair looked disheveled and out of place. Her makeup ran down her face to give the impression she had been crying, but she glared angrily at her mother-in-law. My mother was wearing a scandalously short chemise and holding a bottle of liquor in one hand.

“You have no decency or morality!” Fabienne stammered. My Grandmother was just starting to go grey. She had a dour expression, and her hair was kept up in an elaborate bun and twisted updo, which was the style of the time.

“Thank you for noticing Fabienne!” My mother pretended she had just been given a compliment of high regard. “I am a Libertine! The principles of pleasure and hedonism are a virtue! Your old world values do not interest me,” she said dismissively.

I was just a teenage boy and had only a passing understanding of the Libertine movement. My Grandmother told me that it was a wicked movement full of sexual deviants and exhibitionists.

Just two days earlier, I walked in my mother, posing in the nude for our neighbor. A starving artist named Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. He was a short little man with bug eyes. He told me he was painting Neo-Impressionism. My mother stood fully proudly naked in the kitchen, holding a banana in the most obscene manner. Mother positioned it close to her cunny as if she would prefer to sit on it rather than peel and eat it.

My little sister Nanette giggled at her mother’s nudity, but I was too much in awe to say anything. I had seen paintings in the nude, but it was the first time I had fully seen an adult woman’s naked body. My mother’s large tits wobbled obscenely like two melons hanging from her chest. She had voluptuous and curvy hips and a thick, hairy bush of pubic hair.

I’ve seen wet-nurses in public with their shawls down to expose their massive breasts. Their trade is feeding babies with their milk. They almost always have sizable bosoms. My mother’s tits are what the French call “Plus gros sein”. Her bosoms were not quite large enough to be a wet nurse, but they were impressive pear shaped jugs that hung off her chest and swung whenever she moved without a bra or corset.

I’ve seen prostitutes working the docks that were scantily clad. I glanced at a woman bending over once and saw her butt crack beneath her skirt. She squatted in an alley and pissed in broad daylight. She looked right at me, and I dared not watch. My Grandmother gave me 10 lashes when I got home for embarrassing her when she saw that I had stared at the woman. “You must not look upon fallen women such as that! They will tease and tempt you into a life of debauchery!” she warned me. She said that if I were truly virtuous, I would have known to look away.

My mother’s nudity left nothing to my imagination except what was between her dark butt cheeks and the dark mound of pubic hair between her legs. I made drawings of what I thought it looked like and showed Nanette the next day. Nannette promptly showed them to my Grandmother, and I received another 20 lashes.

My Grandmother showed my sketches to my mother. She barely glanced at them and tossed them to the side. “I admit it is a passable likeness but my Lèvres de la vulve and not quite that wide, Guillaume. You drew my pussy like a split fig. I do like how you drew my breasts – so round and full,” she chuckled.

“Are you not ashamed that your son illustrated your genitals?

“The boy is creative and curious! Maybe he wants to be an artist like Monsieur Toulouse-Lautrec!” my mother defended me and laughed.

“Your sinful posing placed carnal thoughts in Guillaume’s head. What if he tries to convince some young girl to show him what really is between a woman’s legs?” my Grandmother chided her.

“Then maybe he’ll know what to do with them when he finally grows up,” My mom laughed and pointed out her husband could have used a similar education at my age.

I was eavesdropping on their argument then as well. I spent most of the time at home like a flea on the wall, observing but never speaking. If I had been permitted to speak, I would have said that I was too shy to ask a girl my age to teach the mysteries of the female body.

“You are hopeless, Madeleine! Posing in your own home for an artist is scandalous! What will the neighbors think?” Fabienne demanded.

“I don’t know,” my mother laughed and suggested she invite them over next time to ask them.

My mother insisted she posed for artistic reasons, but my Grandmother was convinced it was for money and a sexual liaison with the artist – it probably was.

“What should I do? Robert’s salary is a pittance. We can’t afford a fart on buttered toast on what Robert earns, mother dear!” My mother shrieked at her. We relied heavily on Fabienne’s income from her deceased husband’s pension as well.

They frequently butted heads and often about the idea that my mother made no secret of her infidelity. I had no way to know that the tonight in the doorway was the final time my mother would ever openly defy her mother-in-law.

“I am not Robert! You cannot talk to me this way! Why don’t you go tell a bedtime story to Robert and tuck him for me?” My mother yelled and added a string of obscenities. “Tell him that I lost my panties at the fancy ball tonight, and I expect a Prince to try a golden pair on me in the morning,” she chuckled.

“I told Robert you were a hussy! You have no shame,” my Grandmother said.

“You are just now figuring that out? I took you to be stupid, but I didn’t realize you were truly this slow!” my mother chuckled sarcastically and took a swig of the liquor. She tried to push past my Grandmother to come upstairs.

Fabienne laid hands on my mother and held her in the door. “Harlot! I could denounce you to the authorities for your immoral behavior!” she said. “I can send word to the prefecture tomorrow!” my Grandmother threatened to call the police. She did this often enough and never followed up on her threats.

The year was 1893, and we lived in the 15th arrondissement of Marseille in Paris on the left bank of the Seine. At the time, we called it Vaugirard. There were laws against prostitution, but the docks were filled with women in much less than my mother wore walking openly during both day and night amongst the throng of dockworkers and citizens going about their day jobs.

It was considered highly scandalous for married women to engage in adultery or prostitution. There were women’s houses of corrections maintained by the church that was maintained strictly for sexually deviant women who shamed their families and low-born criminals who were too blatant and corrupted for even the streets of Paris.

“Go on and call them. I might want to suck their cocks in the morning because your son’s flaccid penis doesn’t get hard any longer,” My mother said angrily.

I looked at my little sister Nannette. She giggled and smiled. We had heard my mother complain that our father was impotent many times.

“Do you really blame Robert? He would rather fornicate with a sodden mule than place his penis anywhere near your dirty holes!” My Grandmother insisted angrily. She could be just as vulgar in her speech as my mother. Fabienne usually limited her vulgarity when we were around, but they didn’t know we were peeping upstairs.

“A mule? Now that would be a cock worthy of riding! Perhaps I will join him,” My mother said brazenly. She was slurring her words drunkenly, but she seemed passionate about what she was suggesting. I could not imagine a woman having sex with a beast.

“Madeleine! You are wicked and sinful! Yet another crime you have admitted! You will answer to the magistrate for bestiality as well,” Fabienne accused my mother of the crime. “If the Magistrate will do nothing then the insane asylum for women whose desires are unnatural and perverse! They will indulge you of your wicked desires! If only to cure you of wanting them in the future.”

“If only I had a hard Donkey’s cock to fall asleep too! It would be a pleasure to commit such a crime of nature,” my mother laughed and put her hands on her hips. She brushed past her mother-in-law and started to stalk upstairs.”The asylum, the convent, the prison, the streets – it is too many to choose from. They all sound exciting,” My mother was clearly not taking Fabienne’s threats seriously.

“I am not joking this time! You should be publically flogged and dragged down Quai Andre’ Citroen naked so that you can be spit upon by even the whores working the streets for your flagrant disregard for decency!” My Grandmother was spitting vitriol and preaching fire and brimstone. I imagined my mother being dragged naked through the busiest street in our district along the river. It would be humiliating to any decent person.

My mother turned around and folded her arms. She didn’t look frightened at all. Indeed, my Grandmother had made these threats many times before.

“That sounds like fun! I like it rough. Do you think you can arrange to have them pull my hair and slap my tits? Perhaps drop me off in an alley for an hour for a little wine and cock before we finish the entire procession around Paris?” my mother dared Fabienne to follow through on her threat.

I had heard of indecent women being paraded through France in the nude. Their hair was usually cut short, and they may be permitted a simple chemise. They were whipped all the way to the house of corrections. I had never seen such a spectacle myself.

“The way you show off your bare ass! I should give you a proper correction myself! I would do a far better job of punishing your arrogance and deviance than the House of Corrections ever could,” Fabienne challenged my mother.

They saw us peeping in the hallway as they walked upstairs. My Grandmother shooed us to our room. We scurried away to hide. “You should not be watching this Guillaume. See to your little sister, and I’ll be in to tuck you in later,” Fabienne offered to me coldly. She was never extremely warm towards me.

“I thought the entire town should see my flagrant disregard for decency?” my mother laughed at my Aunt. She lifted her skirt and showed her plump buttocks to her. Stuck out her butt cheeks as if to dare my Aunt to give her a spanking.

Fabienne was the only person in the house to ever strap my buttocks or give me discipline. It was not a pleasant feeling, but my mother acted like she would have delighted if her mother-in-law gave her a proper strapping. It was an act of total defiance.

“You fail to discipline your miscreant son, and you flaunt your naked bosom and buttocks around the house. Is it any wonder Guillaume doesn’t know how to properly address his betters?” my Grandmother said.

My name is Guillaume, and today she made me pull down my pants and accept 10 lashes from the leather strap for not addressing her properly. I was being playful and addressed her as Grand-Mere. She expects me to address her as Madame Fabienne. She says she is too young to be a grandmother. My little sister gets away with calling her that all the time. Fabienne favors her and thinks Nannette can do no wrong.

“You claim I fail to pleasure my husband, and now you say I fail to strap my son?” I could hear my mother shouting in her bedroom.

“What is this?” my father awoke angrily from his slumber. We did not need to listen at the door. The walls of our apartments were quite thin.

“Let me show you! Give me your cock, Robert!” my mother insisted. I could not see what happened, but I assumed from Fabienne’s shocked response that she grabbed my father’s cock and pulled it out in front of her.

“Put that away!” Fabienne insisted my mother stop.

“What would you have me do then, Mother?” my mom demanded of Fabienne.

“Do not call me that! We are family through marriage, but you will address me as Madame Fabienne!” my Grandmother insisted.

“Madame Fabienne, if you don’t want to observe how I pleasure my husband, then shall I strap my son to appeal to your need for discipline and order?” My mom casually offered to come, give me a whipping without knowing what I had done wrong. “If that is how you get your kicks, then name it! Whatever it will take to satisfy you so that I can get a proper nights rest. I have a lot of drinking to do tomorrow!”

My mother treated Fabienne like she was a trifle. It made me feel quite insignificant when she offered to beat me in order to make Fabienne go away.

My blonde little sister giggled in my general direction and pulled the cover over her face. She would have delighted in my getting another spanking on my bare buttocks. She always giggled when I did.

“No, the matter has long since been dealt with while you were out fornicating in a drunken revelry! I was here doing your motherly duties!” Fabienne insisted. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh, then perhaps you will also do my wifely duties for me and suck on this wet fish of a cock and wake my old foozler of a husband?” my mother demanded. I couldn’t see what was happening, but I assumed she once again grabbed my father’s cock and showed it to Fabienne.

“Mon Dieu, You little bitch! Robert works hard to put food on your table and a roof over your head. Une Putain! I have reached my limit with you! You will regret making a mockery of me!” Fabienne raised her voice angrily, and I heard some thrashing about.

“That is funny, Madame Fabienne,” my mother didn’t sound concerned by the threat. “The only regret that I have is marrying this Bedswerver! We haven’t a pot to piss in here,” she said.

We lived quite modestly in a cramped apartment. My sister and I shared a small room upstairs, and it was frequently drafty. It was better than many had in Paris at the time, or so I was told.

“Everything is funny to you! Life is a joke. You won’t be laughing when I kick you out with nothing but the rags on your back. You can swing your fustilarious ass begging or prostituting yourself. You’ll eventually get arrested even if Robert does not denounce you for adultery!” Fabienne had reached her limit of threats. She said she meant it.

“Then it is decided already! What choice do I have? I will finally be free of you and this stunted stump of a cock!” my mother didn’t believe for one second that Fabienne meant to kick her out.

“You are thinking nothing of your son and daughter? They would be raised without a mother! Even a harlot such as yourself would be better than the shame of being raised motherless! “Fabienne tried to provoke my mother by questioning her decision to abandon us.

I didn’t cry to think of my mother leaving us. I had heard my Grandmother make this threat before, and I would not waste tears on it. In the morning, I predicted the two would be surly with one another. My mother will awake from her hangover and go out again. The two of them would repeat this entire argument tomorrow night as they often did.

“What choice have you given me? I am packing my bags! Do you see, Fabienne? You want me out on the street. I can earn more in one night opening my legs than Robert can bring home in an entire paycheck!” My mother said. I heard the sound of drawers being dumped over.

“You shall take what is on your back and nothing more!” Fabienne insisted.

“Fine! This dress belongs to you as well, here take it. I shall start out naked in the morning! You have given me no choice! I shall leave this Garden of Eden with nothing just as Eve did in your precious Bible,” Madeleine said.

“Don’t quote the Bible to me, you scurrilous heretic! You will learn the scriptures under the whip at the House of Corrections when they are drilled into you by zealous nuns! Then I will come visit you and watch you recite them with the proper respect in your tone!” Fabienne exclaimed.

“Oh? That sounds quite exciting! Whips and chains? Where do I report! I shall make my way there immediately. The torture sounds far more tolerable than another day here with your preaching,” my mother spat on my Grandmother.

“You spit upon me!” Fabienne was shocked that my mother would dare do that.

“Did you enjoy it?” my mother laughed. I could hear my father groaning and complaining about needing to sleep because he had to work in the morning, but the two of them ignored him. Fabienne had tried to wake him and make him chastise his wife, but my father hated confrontations like this. He let the two strong-willed women fight it out.

I heard scuffling and the sound of a broken vase. I imagined that my mother was putting up quite a fight, but I heard both of them moan and cry out from the pain. My mother was younger, but her wits were dulled by drink and absinthe. “My hair!” Madelaine cried.

I heard the door to my Parent’s bedroom slam, and my mother cried out. Fabienne rolled her down the stairs and pummeled her.

My little sister crept to the door to watch the altercation. “No, Nannette! We mustn’t!” I warned her from the safety of my bed. My precocious little sister ignored my warning and opened the door to watch the knock-down-drag-out fight. I had never seen the two of them go this far before.

I crept to the door in time to see my mother stripped completely naked. She had bruises on her breasts and face. I wasn’t sure if the red marks were caused by Fabienne or her lovers before the altercation.

My Grandmother’s nightdress was torn. One of her breasts was exposed. She was still a comely woman in her late fifties. Fabienne’s hair was down, and she looked worn out, but she clearly had the upper hand.

She bound my mother’s wrists behind her with twine and forced her to stop struggling.

“Do it then! Throw me out in the street like this!” Madeleine demanded my Grandmother send her out in the Paris night bound and naked.

“I should!” Fabienne demanded.

“What other choice is there? You have made the threat so many times it no longer has meaning! If I am so intolerable, then cast me out of my own home! Away from my husband and children! Away from your scurrilous rantings about decency and morality!” My mother struggled against her bindings. Her tits bounced, and her plump ass cheeks jiggled, but she could not free herself.