Grosseputain Parish Pt. 01byconroy39©
Author's note: This story contains belly inflation. It is set in the early 1930s.
Outside a certain town in Grosseputain Parish stood May Belle's House. Generations of the local Louisiana menfolk had known this house - under its present ownership, through the long years before that when it had been Marie Louise's House, and back before that in the days when General Butler had been forced to issue a special order prohibiting the occupying Yankee soldiers from visiting "the bawdy house of which Miss Eliza is proprietress". It had been twenty-five years since May Belle first entertained a gentleman in her red-wallpapered "lady's parlor" upstairs, and ten years since a fat, perspiring lawyer in Beau Ville had read out the will in which Marie Louise had left what she tactfully referred to as her "premises" to May Belle.
May Belle herself had prospered. Her days as a sharp-tongued young whore were behind her, but as she had ripened over the years into a voluptuous and imposing matron, dressed almost every day in gowns of her favorite bright colors of red or deep wine-purple that flattered her broad hips and discreetly displayed the enormous expanse of her decolletage. She had continued working for long after nominally turning out her red lantern; May Belle preferred to refer to them (if at all) as her "assignations", but it wasn't much of a secret that her talents had lightened the loins of wealthy and prominent men from all over the Gulf Coast. There had been a scandal back in '23 when a senator's wife - angered by well-founded rumors which had passed her way - had been graceless enough to comment out loud at a ladies' tea that she had heard that Grosseputain Parish was plagued with disease owing to "women of low character" in the area, and that the local men were becoming "positively polluted". May Belle sipped her tea, smiled, and tartly commented (or so it was said) that Mrs. John J. Jarreau at least had nothing to worry about, because the Senator's seed was inside her at that very moment, and (having some familiarity with such matters) it seemed pure enough to her. Men had to be called to drag the two women apart.
It was a sleepy July afternoon in Grosseputain. Mornings and early afternoon were the time to sleep, because business was slow then, and most of May Belle's girls were either dozing upstairs or trying to keep cool in the front parlor and porch. The two amazonian blondes, Helen and Ellen, were mending a tear a clumsy patron had made in one of Ellen's gowns the night before. They were often taken for twins, due to their resemblance, but they claimed no relation. It wasn't much of a secret that they preferred their own company - or, rather, generally speaking, the company of ladies - but they did not mind tending to the needs of men awed but not intimidated by their statuesque height. Sally Ann was composing a letter to a maiden aunt in Paducah, telling her all about a supposed job as a shopgirl in New Orleans. Gloria Marie was chewing gum and reading a magazine. Darla was looking for a missing spool of green thread. Molly Cheeks was trying to learn to play the piano. New to the House, redheaded Molly had acquired her nickname in an incident soon after her arrival when she had (in violation of rules) entertained an impatient gentleman on her knees in the kitchen. Two other girls had come in suddenly to wash up some dishes, and when Molly looked up, wide-eyed in embarrassed surprise, her client's enormous member was visibly puffing out one cheek like that of a squirrel.
May Belle was sitting at an old roll-top desk in the parlor balancing on the books, when June sang out lazily from the porch that a young man was coming up the walk.
"Anyone we know?" asked May Belle, wiping off her pen.
"I think it is that Roy Owens," called back June. A straw-haired young man, dressed in a rather battered linen suit, was making his way slowly up the path from the front gate. It was hardly unusual for men to approach the bordello furtively or hesitantly, but Roy was glancing behind him and walking with a peculiar bow-legged gait, like a cowboy returned from a long drive. He was visibly sweating, though this last was not surprising in the sultry Louisiana summer.
"Why, it is Roy," said May Belle, sweeping gracefully out onto the porch. "Well, do come in, young man." She smiled and held open the screen door, but the distracted Roy returned only a weak smile and trod slowly and gingerly up the steps. May Belle glanced at June, who shrugged slightly.
"Now how is your father?" asked the madam graciously, taking Roy's hat. All the girls in the parlor looked up as they came in. By a nearly imperceptible system of exchanged glances and little nods, they worked out amongst themselves who were "available"; these last turned welcoming smiles on the uncomfortable young man. "It does seem like so very long ago that last I saw Robert." May Belle pursed her lips in a smile. "We used to be rather close," she said lightly. "Oh, now do have a seat. It is such a hot day today."
Roy swallowed and shook his head. "Um, no thank you, ma'am, I would prefer to stand at the present." He leaned against a chair, swallowed again, and then seemed to rouse himself somewhat from his distraction. "My father is well, thank you, Miss May Belle." The young man looked around the room at her demurely smiling girls, and swallowed again, glancing away as though surveying the prospects caused him pain. If May Belle noticed his discomfort, she said nothing, though she allowed a very tiny pause before saying, "Well, now, Roy, is there any... particular business for which you dropped by today?"
Roy Owens started to speak, stammered once, then blurted, "Any of your girls who are available right now, Miss May Belle. I mean, as soon as possible." His face was rapidly coloring a deep shade of crimson, sharply framed against his linen suit, and he shifted position uncomfortably. The girls, who had learned (or had been, with some pains, taught) to be polite, suppressed titters at his embarrassed impatience. Roy did not meet May Belle's gaze.
"Well, Roy," said May Belle tactfully, "I can certainly understand if you are pressed for time owing to... other business engagements." Her practiced eye swept the room, calculating what her patron would best prefer, then: "Darla, if you wouldn't mind escorting Mr. Owens here to your parlor; he would like to have a word with you."
The other girls went discreetly back to what they were doing. Darla, a young, slender brunette little more than twenty, rose gracefully with a bright Southern smile, putting down her embroidery. "Why, certainly, Miss May Belle. Mr. Owens?" She stepped over to a certain spot between Roy and the curving staircase, and offered her arm. Roy swallowed again and stepped forwards with indelicate eagerness, clumsily maneuvering Darla up the stairs. With his back turned to her, May Belle allowed her eyebrows to rise in surprise. Roy's wide sideways steps seemed those of a man either plagued with a war wound or a pulled muscle.
As Darla and Roy disappeared upstairs, May Belle went back to her work and the parlor grew quiet again. Molly Cheeks went upstairs to wash her stockings. June came in to make some tea. About ten minutes passed. But just as Gloria Marie was asking if anyone knew a six-letter word for a heavy club, the sleepy bordello atmosphere was shattered by a sudden scream. "Mercy sakes alive!" shrieked a woman's voice from upstairs, loud enough to set the gaudy chandelier ornaments jingling.
A squeak of fear ran through the parlor at the sudden commotion. May Belle, who had dealt with trouble many times before, leapt to her feet. Reaching atop the old china cupboard for her Remington 11, she snapped her fingers at Helen and Ellen. "Come on, you two," she hissed, checking the magazine of the shotgun. "Ain't no one gonna hurt my girls."
May Belle fairly ran up the stairs, her plump breasts jostling in their low-cut bodice, and stormed down the brightly-wallpapered hallway, the two blonde amazons following at her heels. Already a couple other girls, interrupted in bathing or sleeping, were peeking their heads out to see what was going on, but at the sight of the fuming (and armed) May Belle coming, they closed their doors again. Molly Cheeks, her hands still wet from her laundry, had reached the door to Darla's room first, and she opened it a crack to peek. But before May Belle and her girls could get there too, Molly let out her own shriek and almost fainted dead away.
"What in the hell's going on in - " growled May Belle, reaching the door at last and pushing it open with the barrel of the shotgun. Then the madam nearly dropped her gun.
Darla was sprawled naked on the bed, rolled over onto her side and whimpering slightly, her eyes wide with shock. Her normally taut and trim belly was enormously swollen out -- bloated up almost to bursting, like she was nine months pregnant and more. Darla's belly button had popped out from the pressure, and her skin was taut and shiny. Both arms were wrapped around the sides of the huge globe, her fingertips barely meeting at the middle, and Darla was holding on tight as if trying to restrain it from growing any larger. "May Belle," she gasped at the astonished madam, then stammered like she was too stunned to talk.
Roy Owens was sitting Indian-style at the other end of the bed, looking miserable and embarrassed.