by Jefferson James
There are certain times in a young woman’s life she never forgets. A day or a series of events that change the way she views the world from then on. For myself, the fourteenth day of June, 1763, is a day forever burned into my memory.
It started like any other. At Madame Le Monde’s Home for Girls, life was very regimented. Each day was much like the one before.
Shortly after sunrise each morning, we were roused from our slumber by a great bell in the courtyard of the villa. After an interval I scarcely found sufficient to tend to my bodily functions and to clothe myself, the bell sounded again. This time, it summoned the younger girls —which myself, being seventeen years, was the eldest— to morning Mass.
When the service concluded, we would gather in the great hall and talk amoungst ourselves. Then, Father Du Bois would call us into the the chapel, each in our turn, in order to afford us the opportunity to confess our sins, or to discuss with him those matters which might trouble us.
I had just joined my friend, Clarissa, when I heard Matron call out, “Collette.”
Immediately, I turned to face her, and replied, “Yes, Matron.”
She was a commanding woman, and we were always required to face her when she spoke. This was a task not as easily accomplished as it might seem. The Matron was always in motion. And, one was forced to turn this way and that in order to be obeisant.
“Madame Le Monde has instructed me to inform you that from this day forward you shall reside in the east wing. Take a moment to say your good-byes. Then, return to your room and gather your belongings. Father Du Bois will hear your confession later in the day,” she said, and strode off.
This news filled me with mixed emotions; the east wing was where the older girls lived. I was pleased that Madame Le Monde felt I was mature enough to be considered one of the older girls. However, this meant that Clarissa and I would be seperated.
Although we all took our evening meal together, the younger girls and the older girls were not permitted to converse with each other. It was one of Madame Le Monde’s rules. And, like all of her rules, anyone who questioned it was told, “It is the price you must pay for the kindness you have received.”
I was sincerely grateful to Madame Le Monde, and obeyed all of her rules without hesitation, in spite of the fact that I found the purpose of many of them to be quite incomprehesible. For instance, I knew that from now on, all of my clothing would be of the same color. But, as of yet, I did not know what color they would be. The majority of the older girls always wore red, and several others were forever clothed in pink. There were a few who never wore anything that was not green. And, two others —a tall, thin Grecian beauty and a large, stoutly built girl— who both wore only blue. One solitary girl, who seemed to remain apart from the rest, looked as if she were in a perpetual state of mourning; she was always clothed in black, and wore a thick veil over her face.
“You had best not keep Matron waiting,” Clarissa said, returning my mind from its wandering.
She seemed to know exactly what I was feeling. Although her smile gave every indication that she was happy for me, a tear came to her eye as she said, “Fear not, dear friend, you are but a year and a half my senior. I am sure we will be reunited soon. Now, make haste.”
With my heart all a flutter, I hurried to my room and gathered up my few belongings. I had just placed the last of them into a small bag I had found waiting for me, when Matron arrived.
In her arms, she carried the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. It was made of finely embroidered white satin. The sleeves were of taffeta. And they, as well as the bodice, were trimmed in white lace.
Placing the dress upon the bed, Matron drew back the window sash as was her custom. Instantly, I stepped into the light of the window and began to undress, being forced to turn this way and that as Matron moved about the room.
When all my clothing was removed, Matron took a small bottle of perfume from her apron pocket and placed a drop behind each of my ears, between my breasts, on my belly, and behind each of my knees. With that done, she helped me into the dress, and smiled. I had never seen her smile before, and realized that my life was changing that day in may ways. As her eyes misted up, she tied a bright red ribbon around my neck and motioned for me to hurry along, telling me, “Madame Le Monde is waiting for you in the parlor. You mustn’t keep her waiting.”
When I entered the parlor, the first thing that struck me was how well lit and lavishly decorated it was. It had the look and feel of an opera house. Almost like a stage, the far end of the room was two steps higher than the rest. From windows on either side and above, sunlight poured in, adding to the effect. There, near a large, ornate sofa, Madame Le Monde and a gentleman stood waiting.
He was tall, thin, and elegantly dressed. Obviously, he was a man of means and importance. His eyes were smouldering and he smiled uncomfortably, as if it were something he was not used to doing.
“This is Monsieur La Croix,” Madame Le Monde announced as I approached.
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” I responded, with a smile and a curtsy.
“Monsieur La Croix is one of your benefactors,” she continued. “It is due to contributions by him, and men like him, that I have been able to provide a home for you all these years.”
“I am deeply indebted to you both,” I said, in all sincerity.
“Indeed,” Madame Le Monde replied, rather matter of factly. “The day has come for you to start repaying that debt. This morning you shall begin to learn a trade. You have lived here for eleven years. For the next eleven years, your earnings shall be given directly to me. so that I may continue to provide a home for poor waifs such as you were when you first came here. You will be taught all you need to know. Monsieur La Croix is going to initiate that education.
I was so pleased by this news, that I could scarcely contain my joy. I gave no thought to what skills I would learn. I only wished to make Madame Le Monde proud of me, and to help her provide a place to live for myself and the others.
“Oh, dear sir, I’m so very grateful,” I gushed. “How can I ever thank you enough?”
Monsieur La Croix’s smile broadened and he said, “Show me your legs.”
His reply surprised me. I wasn’t sure I had heard him correctly and I looked to Madame Le Monde for confirmation.
She smiled and nodded approvingly, saying, “Don’t be discourteous, child. Do as he asks.”
I felt my face redden with embarassment as I took hold of my skirts from either side, and slowly lifted them to my knees.
After only the briefest of moments, the smile faded from Monsieur La Croix’s face, and he said, in a harsh tone, “Don’t be coy. I wish to see the entire length of your legs.”
He then motioned for me to raise my skirts further.
I started to protest, but Madame Le Monde told me to hush. Then she too motioned for me to lift my skirts.
I wanted to disobey, but I dared not. Lowering my head in shame, I resigned myself to complying. Ever so slowly, I pulled my skirts higher until all but my most private parts were exposed.
Monsieur La Croix paced back and forth in front of me several times as he commented on the loveliness of my thighs. For my part, I was too ashamed to respond to his compliments in any way. I just stood there motionless, with my head hung, not making a sound.
Moving closer, Monsieur La Croix placed his fingers beneath my chin, and lifted my face to his.
“Ah, sweet Collette, how I desire to taste your lips,” he said, his other hand sliding around my waist to the small of my back.
Before I realized what was happening, he pulled my body to his, and pressed his lips to mine. I tried to object. However, the moment I opened my mouth, his tongue slid in between my lips and entwined itself with my own. Then, much to my horror, I felt the hand that had lifted my chin, slide down my throat to my bosom. As his invading tongue continued to probe my mouth, he squeezed my breasts through the thin fabric of my dress.
Violently, I twisted in his arms, finally breaking free.
“Sir!” I shouted. “Decent men do not behave in such a fashion with any woman except the one to which they are wed.”
Madame Le Monde moved around behind me, thus blocking my retreat.
“Nonsense!” she scolded. “Decent men behave like any other. They do what pleases them. Let him do as he likes.”
“But, why?” I whimpered.
“It is the price you must pay for the kindness you have received,” she told me. “If you are to earn your living pleasuring men, you must learn to do that which pleases them.”
Her words terrified me. I had no intention of earning my living pleasuring men. I had had no idea this was the trade she had chosen for me.
Monsieur La Croix seemed totally oblivious to my indignation. He simply smiled and said, “Collette, my love, you have such firm young breasts. I must see them.”
“Impossible!” I blurted. “My modesty would never permit such a thing.”
“He cares not one whit for your modesty,” Madame Le Monde said, taking me by my elbows and pinning my arms to my sides.
“Quite the contrary. It is something most men despise about young girls. It only serves to hinder them in their attempts to gain what they truly want — submission.”
“As I stood there helpless to resist, Monsieur La Croix himself unlaced my bodice and bared my tender, young bosom. His lips crushed against mine, and once more he thrust his tongue into my mouth. I felt one of his hands on my naked breast, and the other on my thigh.
Suddenly, I realized, much to my horror, I was still holding my skirts aloft. I dropped them, but it was too late; his hand was beneath them.
Monsieur La Croix pulled his mouth from mine. Lowering his face to my bosom, he tongued one of my nipples as his fingers fondled the other, alternating back and forth, from one breast to the other.
“Stop! Please stop,” I cried, as the hand beneath my skirts crept higher.
Monsieur La Croix groaned, and his hand shot upward. As he ardenty mouthed my young breasts, I felt his fingertips swirling in the sparse, curly hair that covered my privates. Then, just as suddenly, he withdrew, demanding that I undress.
“No, sir. I will not,” I declared. “I do not wish to earn my living in this way.”
“Be silent, you impudent little ingrate,” Madame Le Monde ordered.
Then, she and Monsieur La Croix set to the task of undressing me themselves. I tried to prevent them from doing so. But it was useless; my two hands were no match for the four of theirs.
Sooner than I would have thought it possible, I stood there naked. I would have covered myself if I could, but Madame Le Monde again held me by my arms. Monsieur La Croix surveyed my nude young body from head to toe several times. Like a wolf about to pounce, he shifted his weight back and forth from one foot to the other, and licked his lips.
“Oh, you delectible child. You are exquisite,” he said, lowering his breeches. “I can wait no longer. I must have you this instant.”
With his male member standing out in front of him, he rushed upon me and began to force me to the floor.
“No! Not here,” Madame Le Monde protested. “Take her on the sofa so that the others may see.”
Monsieur La Croix hesitated for a moment, then hoisted me onto his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Hobbled by his breeches, he stumbled to the sofa and roughly deposited me upon it.
Immediately I sat upright and covered myself with my hands. Clamping my knees together, I began to weep whilst Monsieur La Croix towered over me.
“I have paid handsomely for the right to deflower you,” he bellowed. “I will not be denied. Recline and open your lovely legs so that I may take what is mine.”
He grasped his tool in his hand and pointed it at me like a weapon. Having never seen a man naked before, the very sight of it terrified me.
“Dear sir,” I sobbed, “there is nothing I value more than my chastity. I will learn an honorable trade and repay you. But, I can not do as you ask.”
Kneeling beside me, Madame Le Monde glared at me, and said, “I will suffer no more of your insolence, child. Be silent, lie down, and make yourself accessible.”
With that, she pulled me by my hair onto my back. Then, grasping my right knee, as Monsieur La Croix took hold of the left, they wrenched my trembling legs apart. As tears streamed down my face, Monsieur La Croix fell in between my open thighs. His hand slid down between our close pressed bodies, and I felt the swollen head of his engorged male member probing at the soft, lip-like folds of skin surrounding my female portal.
“Please, sir,” I begged. “Do not dishonor me. Do not take from me that which I prize most. I would rather die than lose my virtue like this. Oh please, dear sir, I implore you. Do not commit this foul misdeed.”
Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain as my maidenhead was torn asunder. My chastity was lost — gone forever.
“Oh, dear God,” I cried out.
My distress seemed to do nothing to impede Monsieur La Croix. Relentlessly he pushed forward, filling my belly in a way it had never been filled before.
Madame Le Monde only smiled. Then, kissing me on the cheek, she removed the last piece of clothing from my otherwise naked body. …the bright red ribbon I wore around my neck.
“You are no longer a child, Collette,” she announced. “You are a woman. …a fledgling prostitute, servicing her first client.”
Lying there beneath Monsieur La Croix, with his stiff tool sliding in and out of me, I watched through teary eyes as Madame Le Monde ceremoniously flung the ribbon into the air. As it fluttered to the floor, I heard a chorus of cheers from the next room. It was then that I saw for the first time the slots hidden in the ornately carved wainscot of the nearest wall. From behind each one peered a pair of eyes, watching intently as Monsieur La Croix’s member plunged deeper and deeper into my womanhood. I had never before felt so humiliated in all my life. My disgrace was being witnessed and celebrated by a group of total strangers. A throng of men, most likely as equally depraved as the one pleasuring himself between my legs, were finding their own pleasure in seeing me debased.
I attempted to cover my face and breasts with my hands, but Madame Le Monde prevented me from doing so. Grasping me by the wrists, she pulled my arms up over my head and held them there, saying, “Always let your customers see what you have to offer, Collette.”
Monsieur La Croix pressed himself into me, filling me so full that I felt that my belly would surely split. Holding himself there, he proclaimed, “Oh, sweet Collette, you are endowed with a most exquisite sheath. Seldom has my tool experienced such a squeezing tightness.”
With that said, he lowered his face to my bosom and began licking and sucking at my breasts. Once again, his turgid member began moving back and forth, filling me and refilling me.
I can scarcely describe my feelings. This man considered me to be no more than a receptacle. He regarded me as one does a chamber pot — a place to relieve his urges.
And yet, the effect his huge, meaty shaft was having on me as it surged in and out, in and out, was not unpleasant. With the pain of its initial insertion now ebbed, I felt a soothing warmth envelope my entire being. However, the degradation of being used and put on display overshadowed any possibility of enjoyment.
Gradually, Monsieur La Croix eased his pace to the extent that with each stroke my feminine canal would close behind his retreating organ and then open again to accept it. After a moment or two, he slowed to a complete stop, with only the head of his member within me. I prayed against all reason that he was done with me and would withdraw completely.
Instead, he lifted his face from by bosom and said to Madame Le Monde, “This is fornification at its best. I wish I could remain between these sweet thighs forever. …such a heavenly sheath — it’s well worth the price.”
Then, clenching shut his eyes, he became like a madman — stabbing into me with all his might. As hard as he could, he pounded his privates into mine. Bestial sounds issued from his lips as his rock hard member charged in and out, in and out. Faster and faster, he worked his hips until the room resounded with the slapping noise of our flesh crashing together.
The warmth that premeated my body became like fire. To my surprise, I found I was breathing nearly as hard as Monsieur La Croix. At the crest of my womanly entrance, I experienced the oddest mixture of pleasure and pain as I was repeated rammed full with his stiff, thick tool. It was at once as if I were being flogged, and at the same time I felt a tingling sensation as if I were being tickled for the very briefest of instants — over and over again. Uncontrollably, I began to moan. Whether with passion or pain, I do not know.
Suddenly, Monsieur La Croix’s movements became erratic and he bellowed great obsenities at the top of his voice. From deep within me, it felt as if a geyser had erupted.
“Oh yes,” he cried out, as his hot seed spewed into me. “Oh yes, take it, you disgusting little whore. …you dirty little tramp.”
Then, with two or three final thrusts, he collapsed on top of me, panting breathlessly. My defilement was now absolute.
Madame Le Monde rose to her feet and rang a small silver bell that sat on a nearby table. A short time later, a tall, redheaded girl arrived carrying a basin of water and a cloth. As she approached, Monsieur La Croix stood up and presented his now limp member for cleaning.
When the girl had completed the task, he closed the front of his breeches. Then, taking from the floor the red ribbon I had worn, he stuffed it into his pocket —and without giving me another look— strode from the room. Though I was a victim of his own vile debauchery, he now distained me for being the filthy thing he himself had made me. He, like myself, considered me to be no more than refuse to be cast into the gutter.
As I reached for the cloth to wash myself, Madame Le Monde said, “There is no time for that. Quickly, put on your clothing and come with me.”
I had only just retrieved my dress from where it had been discarded, when I heard a howl of laughter coming from the next room. As I hastily dressed myself, the connecting door burst open and a short, fat, balding man hurried into the room. The front of his breeches were open and his stiff tool protruded out from under his bulging belly. With one hand he held up his breeches, and with the other he handed Madame Le Monde a sum of money.
Instantly, the redheaded girl opened the top of her dress and displayed her large, snowy-white breasts. Then, lying down of the sofa where I had been, she pulled up her skirts, exposing her naked womanhood. Without a word being said, the fat man climbed on top of her, and they began to fornicate.
Although I was only partially clothed, Madame Le Monde motioned for me to follow, and proceeded through the doorway into the adjoining room. Bare-footed, with my bodice yet unlaced, I hurried after her.
The End of Chapter One
(c) Copyright September1998 by Jefferson James. All rights reserved. No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author, except for a single copy, by and for the person reading this notice, for private reading.