A French Independence Day

Scanning the crowd, I selected one from the front row. She looked to be about twenty, thin, and one of the loudest of the mob. Other women were looking to her for leadership. The rain had soaked her dress such that it clung closely to her body, drawing considerable attention to her petite, but still shapely features. Walking her through the corridors, I thought of what the queen might have in mind. It would be highly unlikely that she would simply grant an audience to this peasant woman. I would have to create some form of entertainment for the queen. This girl was young, but exceptionally proud. I could tell because she walked with a fierce pace and did not really acknowledge my authority in selecting her. How unfortunate for her, as I knew the mind of the queen and she did not.

I brought her to the banquet room where the queen was seated at the head, flanked on both sides by her guests. The peasant girl stood with her hands at her side. She was cold and wet. The room was kept cool with windows open because the cake may start to melt. A draft went through the room. Her teeth began to chatter.

"So...my child," said the Queen. "Why have you come all the way from Paris?"

Suddenly, the young woman was intimidated. Her Majesty carried herself as one of royalty, surrounded by her servants, ministers, and confidants; she was poised with an air of dignity. This young woman had never personally witnessed such a presence.

"Can you speak, girl?" The room filled with supple laughter.

Her lips were trembling. Her dress was made of thin cotton. It was ripped on the side from the midriff down slightly past her hip. The wet fabric clung to her chest, and her nipples showed through. Her hair was wet and unkempt. Hanging her head lower, breaking eye contact with the queen, she mumbled, "We are hungry, Your Majesty."

"Hungry, are you?" The queen went on, "Perhaps your walk from Paris worked up your appetite?" More laughter broke out; side conversations began as the queen's court were mocking the peasant woman and laughing about her appearance.

"There is no bread," said the woman.

"Rosalie," said the Queen. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Let us see if she is well fed or not."

I turned to face the woman. Two guards took position on each side of her and held her arms. I pulled her dress over her head and off. She began to shriek and I slapped her face. I removed her undergarment as well. She now stood if front of all, shivering and naked.

The queen's guests began to applaud and cheer. The peasant woman tried to cover herself with her hands, but that only fueled the crowd to further laughter. They enjoyed her attempt at modesty, since it was all in vain.

"You appear well fed to me! I can only see a few ribs," said Antoinette. "Can you not pay for bread? Have the soldiers not paid you enough at the brothel? Perhaps you should work on your technique?" The room once again broke out in laughter, louder than before.

The young woman began to cry from the degradation. The queen waved silence to the crowd.

"There is no bread to buy, Your Majesty! The grain supply is gone. The bread we do have is of such short supply that its price is out of reach," said the young peasant woman.

"Well, since you traveled all the way to Versailles, I will share with you a special treat," said the Queen. "You have no need for bread, my dear."

Turning toward me, the queen motioned her arm and decreed.

"Let them eat cake!"

The two guards then took her once again by the arms and dragged her onto the dining table. The dishes were quickly cleared by the staff, and room was made in the center of the table for the young woman, now completely confused as to what was to happen.

She was placed on her knees and her wrists were tied behind her back. I stood next to her on the table and pulled her by the hair. I watched the queen to see whether she was entertained; she looked back with a sinister smile and a nod of approval.

Taking a large piece of cake in my hand, I held it up to her mouth.

"Time for cake, my sweet. Mmmm...does it not look appealing?" I said.

"Eat!" The queen commanded.

She opened her mouth. Taking a small bite, she nervously chewed and swallowed.

"There, is that not good? Faster now. Eat more!" I pushed several handfuls of cake into her mouth. She was gulping it down as fast as she could. Finding it difficult to breath, she began to gag. Tears were streaming down her face, mixed with cake frosting, which I now applied to her breasts and then proceeded to smear it all over her.

"Are you not hungry?" I mocked. "Is this not better tasting than bread?" The queen was laughing harder than I'd seen her laugh in a long time.

The guests at the table were starting to feed her, too. One lady opened the woman's nether lips and with three fingers full of cake, pushed them deep inside her. She yelped before moaning.

"Are you still hungry?" The queen asked.

The peasant woman was unable to speak. Her mouth was full of sweet, sticky frosting. It was in her hair, all over her face, smeared on her breasts and inside her sex. She was still in tears, trying to breath; she shook her head no.

"Oh, I think you still need more cake!" The queen motioned at me. I pushed the peasant woman down on the table, her face upon the surface. I pulled her bottom up high and spread her legs wide. Pulling her hair again, I forced her face up to be seen by all. Her eyes filled with disgrace and abandon.

Two other servants came up on the table to assist. Each gripped one hemisphere of her backside and pulled to spread her open. The peasant woman began to shriek. Her shrieking annoyed one guest so much that the distinguished lady shoveled a large spoonful of cake into the poor girl's mouth to cover her yelping, then, removing a flower made of sugar from the large cake she stuffed it into the girl's open mouth as a decoration. The room filled with applause and the lady bowed to the crowd.

The two servants now each inserted a fingertip into her backside and slowly opened her for me. With my thumb I began pushing cake into her derrière. The queen was beside herself with laughter. I filled her behind with more and more. I heard a muffled yelp each time. She was learning to cooperate somewhat, as it was going is easier and easier.

"Oh Rosalie," she said. "You have outdone yourself this time!" She continued to laugh, as did the crowd. The girl just moaned.

I stood her up on her feet. The room still overflowed with laughter; her misfortune and discomfort pleasing the guests. She stood before all with the flower still in her mouth, naked and trembling as tears of disgrace and emotional injury ran down her face.

"Now," said the Queen. "You were saying that you were hungry...that there was no bread? Are you not grateful to your queen for feeding you?

I removed the sugar flower.

No answer.

"I say!" Antoinette commanded an answer.

The young woman began to stammer as I pulled on her hair to remind her of her lower status.

"Yes! I am so grateful for...the cake, my Queen," she said while trying to regain some composure.

"Shall we bring in another from your mob of vile, dirty women and feed her, too? Shall they eat some cake as well?"

"No, my Queen, please...no more," begged the unfortunate young woman.

"Very well then, take her out of here! This wench has delayed our festivities long enough."

I took her by the hair and pulled her out of the banquet room. She panted and walked with small steps to minimize her discomfort. I started walking faster. She moaned and begged me to stop.

"Ohhh...do you need some comfort? Hmmm? Perhaps we should hide in this closet for a bit? Come along now."

Pulling her into one of the queen's shoe closets I closed the door behind us. A small ventilation window above the door allowed some light from the hallway lanterns to enter the small room filled with shoes. We walked in to the far end, about ten feet or so, until I could lay her down. Hands still tied behind her back, I began to lick her lips. Sweet frosting and tears that had streamed down mixed with her own personal flavor touched my tongue as I kissed her. She opened herself to me, with some uncertainty.

Turning her on her side and lifting her leg to reveal her soft fleshy folds I saw two openings filled with cake and sweet frosting. Licking and kissing in a way only a French woman can, I inserted my tongue deep inside, then pulling it out; full of sweet frosting and womanly juices—I ate some cake, too.

She moaned again and squirmed on the floor. Licking some more, I reached around and felt her round behind all filled up with sweet cake. Placing two fingers into her sex I moved them about while tasting the cake that was smeared on her backside, first on the outside, then the inside, then deeper still. Her hips moved as her voice moaned with pleasure. Inhaling with short quick breaths, she acquiesced as I redoubled my culinary delight. She moistened so; feminine fragrance grew more pungent as her hips moved with less subtlety. Taking one deeper lick, I stopped.

I had just begun to realize what power I had over this young woman. She was completely at my mercy. Is this what it was like for the queen? I know Her Majesty enjoyed the cruelty that this woman had suffered in the banquet hall. After all, if I chose, I could get one of the guards to dispose of her, or do it myself, as no one would stop me. I could continue to pleasure her until it no longer entertained me to do so, then tease and torment her if I wished. Her needs and desires were irrelevant, unless I was so merciful and allowed them to be.

This realization had aroused me so. I could not help but caress myself while looking down on her, moaning, tied and helpless, vulnerable and exposed. I felt such a current flow over me. It was pure excitement. Goosebumps ran down my spine and my nipples hardened like never before. The more she moaned with discomfort mixed with the excess of my oral caress, the more it heightened my arousal. She squirmed at her bonds, attempting to loosen them, but to no avail. It was up to me and me alone whether she would be freed or if her delightful torment would continue. I relished it.

Then a most astounding event occurred. The sound of crashing and shouting down the corridor echoed through Trianon. As I later discovered, the mob had gone to the king's palace in Versailles and seized him. The National Guard had refused to follow the orders of Lafayette. The army would not fire on French citizens, much less a mob of French women. Now they wanted the queen.

Ransacking the quaint little dollhouse of Trianon, looting what they could take with them on the way to the banquet hall, they made their way past the queen's shoe closet without noticing the closed door.

I untied her bonds and, while licking the salted tears from her face, I whispered: "Would you like to bathe chéri?"

"Qui," she whimpered while wiping cake frosting from her breasts.

We scurried down the back hall to the rear exit. There le capitaine stood guard. He was a tall man, light in complexion and rather muscular. He wore a handsome dark mustache and was an adequate lover.

The back gardens of Trianon were filled with hedges eight feet in height that wrapped around as a maze. One entrance opened the maze at the front with the only exit near the back gate opening to a dirt road that led to the village nearby. A large ornate fountain of Venus stood in front of the entrance to the maze. Birds often gathered and splashed in the water before the Goddess of Love.

"Whyalla!" I announced to chéri while opening my arms in the direction of the Venus fountain. "Here is your bath!"

She looked somewhat shocked. Le capitaine broke out in laughter. Her lips quivered as she looked at me with round, puppy-like eyes; one arm over her breasts, the other reaching down as her hand attempted to cover a moist triangle of curled hair between her legs.

"Oh chéri, if it suits the pretty little birds, it will surely suit you!" Taking her by the arm, we walked over to the Venus fountain, her breasts now bouncing freely. Motioning to le capitaine, I encouraged him to follow. He eagerly came along.

The fountain sat high on a pedestal. The water was clear as several goldfish swam about and a few October leaves floated on the surface. The figure of the goddess rose high atop the basin. Her body was nude, with flowers woven throughout her long flowing hair that draped over one of her breasts. Arms extending wide to welcome visitors, she held two pitchers, one in each hand, filled with water that poured endlessly into the basin below.

"In we go!" Looking over to le capitaine, he dropped his musket to the ground, removed his hat, and picked her up off her feet. Holding her over the water, one arm under her knees and the other around her back, he lowered her in, slowly, her derrière the first to feel the bite of the cool October water. She yelped.

"Now now," I said laughingly, "it's not that cold. Or did one of the tiny goldfish nibble on your cute little behind?" I teased. Gesturing to him to drop her in, he released her and she plunged all at once into the three-foot-deep water.

"Ohhhh!" she sat up, her hair slicked back behind her ears, "It's cold!" Clutching her arms about her, she tried to warm herself. Goosebumps covered her body. Her pear-shaped breasts arched forward, nipples hard and pointy. Le capitaine smiled gleefully while looking on.

"Now wash up. I have to get back to my own affairs."

She quickly rinsed the water over her face and through her hair. Splashing water up onto her breasts, she massaged and rubbed the cake frosting off, then kneeled to wash her behind. I decided not to let her finish so easily.

"Oh, you must be more thorough than that! Turn around and lean forward to face Venus." She hesitated, and then turned, leaning forward with her hands on the statue for support, her backside pointed at the two of us.

"I'm not going to do it for you!" I said as he and I laughed. He whispered in my ear.

"Yes...thank you, sir." I said aloud.

"You must clean yourself—completely. Now spread your legs wide for le capitaine. If you were bold enough to march up to the queen's home and demand an audience, you can certainly splay for us now and show your pretty little privates!"

Turning her head, she glared at him as her thighs separated a few inches. He looked into her eyes, and then sarcastically blew her a kiss.

"Oh, that's not enough, chéri. Do you need my help?"

Gasping, she spread them further.

"Very good, now reach into your backside and clean yourself."

Glaring again, she inserted a finger into her derrière and lowered herself into the water.

"That's it. Very good, up and down, until it's all clean. You wouldn't want to disappoint this gentleman here with us. Don't you want him to dream about your round little fanny bobbing out of the water as you play with yourself?" We chuckled again.

She gasped once more and pulled her finger out. Kneeling upright, she was too ashamed to continue.

"Oh chéri! You were doing so well! Turn around now and do the front. Just like before. Hurry up."

I began stroking him through his trousers. He stood closer to me, with his arm around my waist—his touch a familiar one. She turned on her knees and faced us, her hand reaching inside herself. Spreading wide, she rubbed herself with the palm of one hand as the other played inside. Two fingers deep, water splashing up to rinse her, she moaned and looked at him.

"Yes...very good chéri. You are learning well. Soon you will be the cleanest little wench in all of France!"

She continued to rinse and play.

Unfastening his trousers, I released him from his confinement. He was a most adequate man, always convenient and good for a romp during a dry spell. Removing his uniform jacket he offered it to the young woman.

He helped her out of her bath and she accepted the jacket, snuggling into it. I finished stroking him to full attention and asked, "Now, are you not going to thank the generous capitaine for your luxurious attire?"

She looked at me for a moment, and then turned to him. He pulled her over and embraced her for a kiss. Her passions were once more aroused, as she pushed herself onto him. Feeling the hardness pressing against her belly, she reached down to touch him, moving to her knees as in the bath. Then she placed her lips upon the stiffness protruding from his loins and enveloped it deeply in her mouth, her head bobbing up and down.

"Oh, ma chéri! You certainly have an appetite, don't you! Perhaps you should listen to me for just another moment?"

She stopped and turned to look at me. Her hand still stroking him, waiting for me to speak, her lips still parted slightly, wet, round, and drooling some.

"Now, when the two of you are finished, he will release you into the garden. You will make your way through the hedges to the exit, and there you will find a gate. The rear guard will have been instructed to let you out. Of course, he may charge a toll to exit, and since you have no money and will still be naked, he too will probably have his way with you!"

She chuckled slightly and smiled, then resumed her act of oral pleasure. A few moments later, he took her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. After kissing her deeply, he spun her around and leaned her over the edge of the basin to the fountain. Chéri looked down at the little goldfish that she made friends with bathing as he parted her mound and entered her with ease from behind.

As I walked back to the rear entrance to Trianon, I turned once more to see chéri with her eyes partially rolling back into her head, mouth agape, and panting for breath while being bent over and taken by a man she did not know. She had been so proud, arrogant, and rebellious only a short while before; now chastised by the queen and fully aware of her station as ordained by Nature, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction.

Making my way inside Trianon, I slipped off my attire and donned the wet and ripped dress of the young woman I had left for le capitaine's amusement. Exiting out the front gate, I mixed with the crowd of women that had just looted the royal residences and I marched with them to Paris. The king and queen stuffed into one carriage; supplies of food and flour filling the others. At the head of the mob were two verbose women who had the heads of the king's bodyguards on pikes. Singing their way back to Paris, I knew the end was near.

The revolution had now gained considerable momentum, but remained under political attack. Jacobins held a coalition government in the National Constituent Assembly. Although they represented the oppressed lower classes and considered themselves radical, the enrages and the sans-culottes in assembly called them out as middle-class bourgeoisie, as they allowed for the monarchist sympathizers to be placed under house arrest instead of being tried and executed. A committee was formed to quell the far left in assembly as well as purge any monarchist counterrevolutionaries remaining in France.

The Committee on Public Safety was made up of twelve men, but lead by three: Jean-Paul Maret, Georges Jacques Danton, and Maximilien Robespierre. Utilizing the invention by the pacifist Dr. Guillotin, a professor of anatomy at the University of Paris, who also taught that execution was inhumane and so proposed the device as a first step toward the abolition of state murder. The tribunals began their executions with the aristocracy. The Reign of Terror had begun.

Taking shelter for some time in a house for unwed women, I knew I must leave Paris. Robespierre had published articles in the newspaper for all to read. I read a few that were left behind by patrons of the house where I dwelt. He argued that virtue was ineffective without terror and that terror was a political virtue. He pushed the Law of 22 Prairial through the National Assembly. It allowed the tribunals to convict the accused without hearing any evidence at all. He argued against the Gregorian calendar and the Christian religion. He founded the movement for recognition of the Supreme Being, per Rousseau's conception, and Robespierre named himself its leader.