Paris 1889
"Spread your legs, mamselle."
The foreman's hard gaze pierces through my black apron with a yellow border and number on the collar, making my nipples harden.
"Monsieur?" I squeeze my legs together, my rough cotton pantaloons chafing my inner thighs.
"That's what you wrote, n'est-ce pas?" He waves a wafer-thin paper in the air filled with perfect wavy handwriting. My handwriting.
"It's a letter to a…friend."
Luc. My love, my life. I feel a tightening in my chest. So handsome he is in his blue uniform and red trousers, he takes my breath away.
"I will spread my legs so you can drink my juices, so hot, so sweet, and only for you," reads the foreman, flaunting my words at me while I stand shivering in the smelly back room of Aux Trois Quartiers, the elegant department store where I work as a débitrice or shop assistant.
My ears burn, but so does mon minon, my pussy, heating up with desire for the soldier I love. I can't go on listening to Monsieur Goby reading words meant only for Luc, how I wished he'd raise up my skirts and slip his hand through the slit in my underwear and insert his fingers inside me.
I knew something was wrong when the foreman ordered me to come to his office after closing time, but I never expected this. My job is a humble one, a lowly position, wrapping the customer's purchases and receiving no commission. The clerks are forbidden to speak to each other during working hours, so I write letters to Luc when I have no customers. I never imagined the foreman would steal my letter from the drawer under my counter.
"The management doesn't take kindly to employees writing such dribble on company time," he says.
"I understand, Monsieur Goby, but it's been raining all day and no one was at my counter smelling the perfume or running their hands over the chiffon scarves or trying on the feather hats, so I wrote a letter to my…friend. He's a soldier…"
How can I tell him I met Luc at a local parish fair in Belleville? Mussed-up hair. Tall and lanky, broad shoulders, and the brightest pair of blue eyes I'd ever seen. And that uniform. Brassy gold buttons. Straight, tight pants. What's a girl to do?
"…and he's so lonely."
The foreman ignores me, squinting his dark beady eyes as he reads and rubs his crotch. He clears his throat and continues: "I long to feel you inside me, thrusting, my body bucking under you until I can no longer hold back…" He pauses, the bulge in his pants growing. I fear what perverse thoughts race through his mind.
"May I go now, monsieur?" I ask, eager to leave. "The hour is late and Mimi is waiting for me."
"Mimi?" His eyes light up.
"My kitten. She's a stray I found and she needs me."
He growls. "I need you, too, mademoiselle."
"I—I don't understand, monsieur." I step back, knowing he has a reputation for soiling the virtue of the girls who work for him.
"Pull up your dress, mademoiselle—"
"I can't do that, monsieur."
"I said, pull up your dress or I'll rip it off you!"
My hands shake, but I do what he asks. What choice do I have? A peek is all he's after, I tell myself. How many times have I seen his eyes shine with the same need when he walks by my counter and stares at my breasts or watches me when I bend over?
"Insert your fingers inside your drawers—"
"No!"
He rips my sleeve and pulls it down my shoulder, then he rips the other, but I refuse to cringe before him. "Do as I say or I'll—" He grabs a lit candle and holds it close to the bare skin on my arm. Fearful he will burn me, I insert my fingers inside the slit in my crotch.
"Bon. Now move them back and forth…back and forth…"
My fingers find my clitoris, hot and moist, though my mind is on Luc, only on Luc. I do this against my will, but try as I might, I can't stop the heat building up in me until it spills over into a riding wave of pleasure. I cry out, my voice husky, raw. I hear Monsieur Goby grunt. I gasp loudly when I see he's dropped his pants and he's holding his meaty dick, hard and erect.
"Bend over the desk, mademoiselle, so I can fuck you."
"No, monsieur, I can't. I won't." The thought of the man's dirty, calloused hands touching me, then entering me, repulses me.
I race out of the room and down the long hallway and out into the rain. Large drops splatter onto my face, stinging my eyes so I can't see, but I ignore them. I run back to my attic room on Rue du Sommerard, my heart pumping, my lungs bursting.
I don't care what happens. I'm never going back.
Never.
"Me-ow."
"There's no more milk, ma petite." I pick up the tawny ball of fur scampering out of the dark and nuzzle my face in the kitten's soft coat. "Monsieur Goby has sacked me and I've no money to buy more."
I sit down in the rickety chair by the dying fire and Mimi snuggles in my lap. Two days have passed since that horrible night in the foreman's office. I haven't left my room in Madame Poulin's boarding house since I raced up all four flights, tracking mud on her fraying, pomegranate-hued carpet. Thinking, thinking. What am I going to do? The next morning Old Jimmy brought me a message with folded-up franc notes inside. My salary. Dismissed with no notice, the note said, the excuse being my work needed improvement.
Fine mess this is. I've no job and my rent is due. I had to give Madame Poulin my salary to clean the carpet. I couldn't tell her what happened. I can't tell anyone. Especially Luc. He doesn't understand I want to work. I don't want to end up like my mother and be dependent on a man.
I rub the belly of the round ball of rusty golden fur nuzzled in my lap. The kitten loves to sleep in the folds of my wrapper. In spite of the anguish welling up inside me, I have to smile when Mimi turns over and mews softly, then licks my fingers with her tiny tongue, looking for more milk.
How did it come to this? I, Juliette Dumont, had such dreams when I put behind me the memory of my mother trying to care for me and my drunken father. I was born in a Paris slum under a staircase and I watched my mother struggle for years to keep body and soul together on my father's government pension of five francs a week. She had no education and after he died, she worked at low-paying menial jobs until the angels claimed her.
"We're both orphans, Mimi, n'est-ce pas?"
Knock, knock.
I jump up and Mimi scratches me. I ignore it. In a loud whisper, I ask, "Who is it?"
"Luc."
Luc. My heart races wildly. What's he doing here? Men aren't allowed past the ground floor.
I race to the door and yank it open. "Luc!"
"Juliette, mon amour, how I've missed you." He pulls me into his arms, crushing Mimi between us. She purrs softly.
"What are you doing here? Madame Poulin will toss us both out if she sees you."
"She won't. I bribed Old Jimmy to sneak me upstairs." He kisses my neck, my throat. "I had to hold you in my arms, touch you, kiss you. That last letter you wrote to me set me on fire, my love."
I stiffen. I've written him several erotic letters. Now they're my undoing, but I can't tell him what happened and ruin this moment. In spite of my restlessness, I'm full of energy, wide awake, astutely aware of the special feeling I have for him. His strength, understanding, the fading scent of his clean manly smell, the firmness I feel when I grab his arm. I can't deny I'm in love with this handsome soldier.
I'll never forget how he carried my dying mother in his strong arms until we could get her into a hansom cab. Then he stayed with me when we took her to the charity hospital so she could pass from this earth in peace.
I touch his face. His cheeks are warm. Then I feel him pressing against me. His cock is hard.
I don't protest when he picks me up in his arms and lays me down on the straw pallet in the corner. He removes my wrapper then lies beside me. The embers in the fire flicker and wood crackles in tune to the sound of our breathing as I lie in his arms, his bare chest rubbing up against my exposed nipples. Hard and brown, they yearn for the bite of his teeth, the caress of his tongue.
I, naked as the day I was taken from my mother's belly, and he, wearing only his tight uniform pants, lie side by side, teasing each other with our lips, our fingers. I moan in anticipation when my soldier unbuttons his pants and guides my hand inside his trousers until I feel the huge width of his throbbing cock—
"My regiment leaves soon for maneuvers, Juliette."
"Luc…"
"When I return, you will marry me?"
"Yes, Luc. I'll be waiting for you."
"Then kiss me, ma chérie. And say you love me."
"Je t'aime."
Breathing hard, I open my body to him as he thrusts his cock into me, his hands grabbing my breasts, twisting and pinching my nipples, his manly vigor taking me away. Far, far away.
When he comes inside me, I shudder, the smell of our bodies mixing together in a heady perfume I'll never forget.
I call it paradise.
"You ungrateful girl!" yells Madame Poulin, pushing me out the door and into the street, tossing my few possessions tied-up in a bundle after me. "Old Jimmy told me what happened with you and that boy."
"But, madame—"
"You shop girls are all alike. Opening your pussies to the first man who asks you. It will get you nowhere but a trip to hell."
"We're to be married, madame! Listen, please …"
She ignores me. "And what's this I hear about you losing your job?" "I'll get another job, madame. I promise."
"Doing what?"
"I can read and write, and I know mathematics."
She studies me for a moment, then: "Come back when you've got a job. Until then, out with you!"
"Please, madame, I've nowhere to go."
"That is none of my affair, mademoiselle." She picks up the squealing kitten by her fur and tosses her out. The tawny creature lands at my feet. "I don't need another mouth to feed. Now off with the both of you!" She slams the door shut.
I scoop Mimi up into my arms and hold her close to me. Then picking up my bundle, I start walking. I won't let them beat me. I won't. I will marry Luc. He's a good man and a good soldier. A bit impetuous at times, but he has a good heart.
Up the grand boulevard I walk, then onto the narrow streets, then back on the boulevards until dawn breaks. I'm going nowhere. I must find work.
A gentleman drops a cigarette next to me and two beggars push me out of the way, throwing themselves upon it, fighting over the stub until spilled blood stains the sidewalk. Fear pushes at my mind. Will I also be reduced to fighting and scrambling in the street?
"Ain't you a pretty one?" says the man who won the cigarette. He grabs me around the waist and Mimi flies out of my arms. I struggle, but the man's strong grip keeps me captive. "Hey, Claude, look what I found."
"Eh, she's a beauty all right."
The man named Claude slams me up against a wall and lifts up my skirt, then fumbles with my petticoats. I grit my teeth when his friend snaps the buttons off my bodice and squeezes my breast. Then Claude grabs my crotch and rips my cotton pantaloons.
I scream. I realize with heart-stopping clarity they're about to rape me.
I struggle with the man named Claude, his stubby fingers squeezing my thigh as he inches higher under my petticoats. The other man holds me captive by the wrists. I squirm, but I can't stop him from fastening his mouth to my bare breast, then biting my nipple. I scream again, all the while not believing I've gotten myself into this situation because I wrote an erotic letter to Luc, my love, and lost my job.
"Take your hands off her, monsieur!"
Who said that? I strain my neck and see a hunched-over creature carrying a lantern in one hand and a sharply pointed hook in the other, defying these men. A chiffonnier, a ragpicker.
"Mind your own business, you old hag," Claude spits at her.
"Hag, is it?" She shifts her wicker basket heavy with her night's pickings strapped to her back. "Mathilde don't take that from the likes of you."
I watch in amazement as the ragpicker snakes her long hook around the man's neck and pulls him off me, nearly strangling him. His friend tries to grab her, but I take the opportunity to kick him between the legs with my pointy toe shoe. Hard.
"Ye-oow! "
"Keep your filthy hands off me, monsieur," I yell, "or I'll—"
"You'll do what, mademoiselle? Set your scrawny cat on me? It's your pussy I want."
"Forget her," urges his friend Claude, coughing and rubbing his neck where the hook grabbed him. "Mamselle's got important friends."
He nods toward the old ragpicker, waving her hook around, ripe epithets oozing from her lips as she taunts the men. The woman reeks of a rancid stench and a fouler mouth and I'm not sure which sends them running down the street. Snarling, she chases after them, ready to impale them with her hook, her wicker basket wobbling on her back. The scene is comical, but I refrain from laughing. Instead, I bend down and pick up Mimi, who is shivering and mewing.
"You poor thing."
I look around at the smoky gray rooftops, the wet-slicked pavements. Music from a nearby barrel-organ evokes a melancholic mood. I blink several times, shaking the weariness from my eyes. The warm moisture on my cheeks can't be tears, I tell myself. Merely the early dawn dew.
"We're safe, Mimi." I hug the kitten close to my breasts. "But for how long?"
"Can you help me find work, madame?"
Talking in loud whispers, I huddle next to the chiffonnier underneath the overhanging span of the Pont Neuf, squatting on the cold ground around a small fire burning in a trash receptacle. I'm grateful for the warmth of its orange and yellow flames. The glint of light from the fire reflecting off the water of the nearby Seine is the one tiny sparkle in this world underneath the bridge.
"Call me Mathilde." She puts the dirty butt of a cigarette into her mouth and lights it from the fire with a piece of trash. I watch her suck on it, her full lips nearly invisible with each puff. Her eyes study me, making me shiver. "Can you sew?"
The cigarette smoke swirls around me. I cough. "Alors, I have no talent for the needle."
"'Tis a pity, mademoiselle. There's plenty of work for them that's got les petits mains."
I nod, stroking Mimi's soft fur. She means the girls who sew intricate underclothes for les horizontales, courtesans.
"But I imagine a girl as pretty as you has other talents." The gleam in her eye unnerves me. She puts out her cigarette and lays her hand on my leg. I stiffen.
I blurt out: "I can read and write."
"Oh?" She squeezes my knee.
I jump up and the woman's hand falls away. Mathilde laughs and wipes her nose with her filthy muslin petticoats.
"And do mathematics," I say with pride.
"Who taught you, mamselle?" She snickers. "A gent with a fine nose for—" She sniffs me. "—figures?"
Looking her straight in the eye, I say, "No, the nuns at the charity school."
Mathilde laughs, then flicks sparks from the fire off her dress, its once-colorful patches dulled by the lack of joy in her life. "Don't worry, mamselle, Mathilde will find you a job." She pulls on Mimi's tail and she meows. "And you, too. Allons Let's go."
Before I can say no, the sharp point of the chiffonnier's hook pierces through my cotton dress. She prods me up the stairs to the bridge, then past the tiny renaissance building and chiming clock with its carillon of bells ready to announce the hour.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"To Madame Chapet's."
"Does she have a shop?"
"She sells the most expensive goods in Paris."
My eyes widen. "Silks? Velvets?"
Mathilde laughs and slaps me on the backside with her hook. "Something more precious than that, mamselle. You'll see."
Girls everywhere. Lounging in the salon, eating sweets and giggling. Chasing each other up and down the stairs, their backless slippers making no noise on the plush white carpeting.
And me, Juliette Dumont, standing in the parlor of the infamous House on Rue des Moulins in my underwear. The bustle of excited voices, flasks of lavender water, and swirling mist of rice powders tells me where I am.
In a brothel.
I should run out of here, but where will I go? Back on the streets? I might not be so lucky the next time someone tries to take advantage of me.
"She's pretty enough, Mathilde, but a bit bony. And that ugly corset." Madame Chapet pulls my cotton lacings so tight I can't breathe, then she measures my waist. Blowing wispy yellow curls out of her eyes, she mumbles, "Eighteen inches. Could be smaller, but she'll do."
"What does the size of my waist have to do with my job keeping your books?" I ask, the musky scent of powder and tart perfume of toiletries wafting around me.
La madame scowls at the ragpicker, busy helping herself to marzipan on a tray. "What did you promise her, Mathilde?"
Talking with her mouth full, the ragpicker garbles her words, telling la madame she hinted I could find a job here doing the woman's accounts, adding I wouldn't be tempted to sample the goods like the last bookkeeper.
Madame Chapet laughs, her heavy breasts heaving up and down in her too-tight purple taffeta dress, her big pearl choker squeezing her neck. "Mathilde's right. Put your clothes back on, mademoiselle, you've got the position."
I smile. I have a job.
But what will Luc say?
Luc's breath is hot on my neck, his fingers digging into my arm. I want to turn around and grab him, but I can't. Not in la patisserie Ladurée. I asked him to meet me here when Madame Chapet sent me to the pastry shop to bring back her favorite carrés aux framboises, puff-pastry sandwiches filled with raspberry jam.
"I have no choice, Luc."
"I demand you leave there immediately."
"You demand?" I spin around, my hands on my hips. "Where can I go? At least there I have food to eat and a real bed with springs to sleep on."
"But you're working in a brothel."
"It's an honest job, Luc. Besides, we need the money if we're going to get married."
He ignores my mention of marriage, making my heart sink. Instead, he says, "Everyone's talking about the female bookkeeper Madame Chapet hired."
"So that's it. You don't want a woman with a brain. You'd be happier if I picked up trash as long as I didn't do something that requires me to use my mind."
"That's not true, Juliette. I admire how hard you worked to finish your schooling like you promised your mother before she died. It's just that I'm worried about you and—well, you know what goes on there…"
I lower my head, ashamed. I shouldn't have let my emotions run away with me. Luc was raised in an orphanage and he has no one but me. That's why he's so protective, but he doesn't understand I need to make my own way.
He lifts my face up close to his and I part my lips as if to kiss him. "But you are a woman." His eyes move up and down my body, stripping me naked and making me tingle. "A very beautiful woman."
"Please, Luc, not here." I turn my head right then left, noticing the curious eyes staring at us. And listening, too. Luc leads me toward a quiet corner in the shop near the kitchen. The aroma of freshly baked cakes and pastries mixes with his musky smell, making me sway with want.
He whispers, "I won't have you associating with those—those…"
"Tart?" I tease him, picking up an apricot confection dripping with soul-melting juices. "Delicious and so tasty." I lick my lips with my tongue, circling my mouth slowly.
"You drive me crazy with your letters, Juliette, and now you're acting like a fille de joie, prostitute."
"You liked it well enough when I got down on my knees, naked and sweating, and polished your boots until you could see my bare buttocks in them when I wiggled my arse at you."
"That was before you quit your job and—"
"Quit? I was fired."
"Why, Juliette?"
"I—I…" I can't tell him Monsieur Goby tried to make me bend over the desk so he could plunge his cock into me. Luc would pummel him and get into trouble.
"I thought so. I know what goes on in that house of pleasure." He pauses, then, "Is it true the girls who work for Madame Chapet have gold rings in their nipples?"
I push out my breasts. "Pinch my nipples and find out."
"You tempt me, Juliette. This time I won't resist."
Standing in the shadows, he holds me close to him, grabbing my breasts in his big hands, his lips brushing my hot cheeks, his hard cock pressed up against my hip. I feel such wonderment at his touch, such joy surging through me, I forget we're standing in a pastry shop with paneled walls, gilded moldings, black marble-topped tables and lavish murals of cherubs chasing each other on rose-hued clouds.
I'm walking on a cloud myself.
Nuzzling his face in my hair, he whispers, "Then you'll do as I ask and leave the brothel?"
"I can't, Luc. Not until we've saved some money."
I feel his body tense. "Orders came down today. My regiment moves out next week." He holds me at arm's length and glares at me. "I want you out of there and back at your old job at the department store before I leave Paris."
"I can't do that, Luc."
"Can't…or won't?"
"You don't understand."
"I think I do, Juliette. " He releases me then picks up the apricot tart, smells it, then puts it back down. "It's not to my taste." Then he turns and stomps out of the shop, leaving me alone with an aching heart.
One week later…
"You're a thief, mademoiselle!"
I jump out of bed and Mimi leaps into the air when Madame Chapet bursts into my room, yelling and waving her accounts ledger. The black leather binding rips and the pages fall onto the worn wooden floor. Mimi races over them, leaving dirty paw prints all over the white pages.
"What did you say, madame?" I grab the kitten then pick up the ledger pages and look them over. My pulse races. Someone changed the numbers.
"You cheated me out of five hundred gold louis," la madame screams. Huffing and puffing like an overstuffed goose, she grabs me by the hair and pulls hard. "You'll pay for this, mamselle!"
"Please, madame, you're hurting me." She lets go, but my scalp throbs and my heart pounds. "I didn't steal your money." What am I going to do? It's my word against hers.
"I've notified the préfecture de police. You're going to Prison St. Lazare—”
"No, madame!" I collapse on the bed, holding Mimi close to me. The tiny kitten is shaking and so am I. I planned to go to Luc's barracks and make him listen to me. If I go to prison, he'll never find me. "There must be something I can do to change your mind."
La madame smiles, her made-up face cracking around the mouth. "There is one way you can work off your debt."
"How, madame?"
"Strip off your clothes."
"Madame!"
Her eyes narrow with intent. "I need another girl for a ménage à trois."
"Are my girls not the most beautiful in Paris, Monsieur de Trémont?" purrs Madame Chapet, tapping her fan on my bare backside and making me wince. The old harridan tricked me. All along she planned to force me to go upstairs with her customers.
Now I'm standing half-naked in a fancy room with silvery green paper shimmering off the walls. A gentleman walks around me in a circle, inspecting me. He's older with a trim physique, his dark moustache ribbed with gray. He's not handsome, but he's masculine. The girl next to me giggles. A plump brunette with big breasts. We're both wearing pale-colored silk corsets, white stockings, and black button-up shoes.
Pointing to me, the gentleman says, "I want this one first."
I shiver when he runs his gray-gloved hand up and down my cheek, then traces his fingers around my bare breast before twisting my nipple. In spite of my discomfort, I moan.
"Don't be shy, mamselle," he says, his voice rich and dark with intense curiosity.
"Be careful, monsieur," I blurt out. "La madame will charge you more if you damage the goods."
Madame Chapet scowls at me, then says in a shrill voice. "I'll leave you to enjoy your afternoon treat, Monsieur de Trémont."
Then, with a swish of cheap taffeta, she's gone.
"I want you girls to play a game." Monsieur de Trémont pinches the plump brunette's buttock and again she giggles. "Pick out a book, Clarice."
Squealing, she pulls out a red silk book from madame's bawdy collection and hands it to him.
"A Maid and Her Master." He smiles, his manner pleasant. "Excellent choice." I draw closer to him, his sophisticated manner and elegant lime scent attracting me. "Read a scene out loud, Clarice, while I fuck…what is your name, mamselle?"
"Juliette," I stammer, my face sweating, my heart beating madly. A delicious heat erupts in the pit of my belly, awakening a compelling flicker of anticipation that startles me. What's happening to me?
"A pretty name for a pretty mamselle." The dapper gentleman in the top hat, gray morning coat, burgundy silk vest and gray gloves requests I unbutton his trousers while Clarice fumbles with the slim tome.
Sliding my fingers over the covered buttons on his pants, I tremble when I find his hard cock begging to be freed from his tight-fitting undergarment. Perspiration drips from my nose onto the finely-woven silk. I wipe it away as I unfasten the button overlap in front. My eyes widen. His cock is huge. A throbbing between my legs makes me clamp my thighs together. And is that a damp stickiness I feel between my bare thighs? I can't let this man fuck me, yet my body betrays me.
"Read, Clarice!" His voice is anxious, filled with need. Still wearing his top hat, he jumps up and his erect cock pops out in front of him. With one quick movement, he puts on une capote, a condom, then grabs my hips and pulls me to him, the purple head of his engorged cock teasing the outer lips of my pussy and begging entry. I toss my head back, his touch driving me wild with desire. Too many nights I lay alone in my room, wishing Luc was inside me. My body is ripe for sex, but not like this.
"I—I can't read, monsieur," Clarice mumbles.
"I can." Before he can stop me, I grab the book. My hand trembles, but my voice is steady as I read: "The Viscount de Ville ordered the maid to remove her clothes while he masturbated. When she stood naked before him, he grabbed her and fucked her with abandon—" I toss down the book. "What awful writing. No emotion, no passion."
"I asked you to read, mamselle, not be a critic." Frustrated, Monsieur de Trémont plops down into a winged chair, his cock bouncing up and down. "I suppose you can do better."
"I can, monsieur." Thinking, I say, "While the Viscount de Ville sipped his warm brandy, his other hand cupped her pussy, making the maid gasp. He worked his fingers between her lower lips, peeling her open and exposing her daunting pinkness to his experienced eye. 'You're wet…and so succulent.' He eased his fingers up inside her, exploring her, and making her moan with a growing excitement."
"Amazing, mademoiselle." Monsieur de Trémont regards me with a look that has nothing to do with passion. "Write that down for me, please."
"Why, monsieur?"
"I have a…a friend who publishes erotic stories. I have no doubt he'll like yours."
Weeks later…
Alors, I'm now an author of erotic tales. Or so Monsieur de Trémont tells me when he visits me every afternoon and takes whatever pages I've written with him. He insists I write down everything I see in the brothel in my own words.
There's Simone: "…a crafty girl who spends as much time sucking a woman's creamy seed as she does a man's. Her favorite game is to entertain at a mock dinner party by getting under the table and treating the gentlemen and the girls to a warm and velvety kiss."
And who can forget Marie: “…who smothers her face in paint and saturates her body in scent. With her carnation red lips and kohl black eyes, she's known for her charming wit and never unlaces her stays until the gentleman gives her a tip. Only then does she allow him to sample the sweet moistness oozing down her smooth inner thighs."
But no one is more beautiful than Lillie: "…blonde and buxom with her purred requests in feminine French vowels, soft and childlike. She's clever in the feminine way, changing her moods to fit the moment, and is known for her theatrics—she can hold a cigar for a gentleman between her pussy lips, and later ride the stallion all night."
Fascinating, Monsieur de Trémont tells me, insisting we keep our secret from Madame Chapet. She has no idea what goes on between us. As soon as she leaves us alone, Gaston—he insists I call him that—kisses me, presses his lips to the curve of my neck, just below my ear, then licks and sucks on my breasts before he inserts his fingers into me, but he doesn't fuck me. He tells me an artiste must be hungry for a man's cock to write her best stories. To make sure of that, he pays la madame well, making her promise no one takes me upstairs but him.
Though he's years older than I, I'm becoming quite fond of him. He's kind to me and to Mimi, who has a habit of making her presence known by jumping into my lap when Gaston is kissing me and playing with me. Two pussies are better than one, he jokes.
If I wasn't in love with Luc, who knows? My heart tightens in my chest when I think of Gaston, how when he removes his fingers from inside me, I can feel his tongue lap at my inner thighs and then wriggle into me, sucking up my juices with eager intensity. The other girls tell me his hunger for female flesh is well known, yet he holds back his passion when he's with me. That touches me deeply.
He said someday he will teach me the art of love, but first he's promised his friend more stories from me. For now, he pays me many folded-up francs. I'm saving them in an old stocking I keep hidden under my mattress for the day when I can buy my freedom from Madame Chapet. Until then, I write my erotic stories under a pen name, M.M. Gilbert.
I squeeze the worn stocking filled with franc notes between my breasts. Wait until I tell Luc I'm a writer.
Just wait.
"He won't see you, mademoiselle."
"Tell him it's important." I adjust the silk ribbon on my bonnet, my eyes lowered, my breasts heaving up and down. Standing outside the burnished, yellow brick barracks, I observe the young private's growing arousal in his pants. What did Luc tell him about me?
Two nights have passed since his regiment returned from maneuvers and he hasn't come to see me. Why? I remember how he helped me when my mother died, taking up a collection among his fellow soldiers so she wouldn't have to be buried in a nameless grave. What's changed between us? I must make him understand I have no choice but to stay in the House on Rue des Moulins. I've written him several letters explaining my position in the brothel.
No answer.
I sigh. The thin, whispery tissue paper I hold in my hand blows in the wind, as if I can will my words to fly to him. I step through the door, daring the guard to stop me. He doesn't. The stench of tobacco permeates the small, dim entryway.
"Give him this, monsieur, please." I hold out the letter, but before the young private can take it, a large hand looms out of the darkness and grabs it from me.
"I will take it."
A tall man glares at me. Tingles of desire shoot through me as I see his handsome face glow under the flaring gas-jet lantern fastened to the wall in a square vent-hole.
Luc.
"Why haven't you answered my letters?" I ask him, the sight of him in his tight uniform overpowering me, making me want to rush into his arms. I don't.
"I'm not in the habit of receiving letters from a brothel." He tears up my letter into small pieces and tosses them on the floor, grinding them on the stone with the heel of his battered black boot. I notice it's lost its shine.
And so have I.
Without a word, I turn my back and walk out the door.
One week later…
"I can't go upstairs with the customer, madame," I plead. "Monsieur de Trémont pays you well to keep me for himself, n'est-ce pas?"
"I am in charge here and if I tell you to service a customer, you'll do it or out on the streets you go!"
"But, Madame Chapet—"
She sneers into my face, the smell of cheap wine on her breath. "Or would mamselle prefer the tender kiss of Sappho within the walls of St. Lazare?"
"No, madame." I lower my head, refusing to let her see the anguish in my eyes. "I will do as you ask."
"Put your hands behind your back, mamselle."
Cold, raw voice. That's all I know about the man in the black domino. Rose-colored light from a candle sconce set against a pink wall panel casts an eerie glow in the upstairs room. I can't see his face or his body, even his hands are gloved in black.
He cracks a whip with a black jet handle against the red leather divan, giving me no choice but to do as he asks, allowing him to tie my hands together and cover my eyes with black silk. I'm nude except for my plum-pink corset, green stockings, and soft pink slippers. My bare breasts beaded with sweat wiggle, my nipples are tight like hard currants.
"Get down on your knees."
Blindfolded, I kneel on the plush violet carpet, keeping my head high. I refuse to show total submission to him.
Moments later, I gag when he tries to shove the round head of his cock into my mouth. Sputtering, I turn my head away.
"Put your lips around my cock—"
"No, monsieur."
"Do as I command—"
I flinch when I hear a loud whoosh so close to my face it fans humid air on the back of my neck, then a loud whack as it strikes the carpet.
"—or next time you'll feel the kiss of my whip on your bare arse."
"I won't do it." Even as I say the words, I can't stop the quivering in my belly, the anticipation making me shiver. What dark magic has bewitched me?
"I warned you—"
The hiss of leather fills my ears, making me tighten my muscles as I brace myself for what is yet to come.
I jump and let out a shriek that shakes the core of my being. My pubic muscles constrict as I hear the man in the black domino bring down the whip with all the power of a thunderbolt cutting through the air with a seductive hiss. My skin crawls with dread, waiting for the supreme moment when the pain echoes through me…
But I feel nothing.
Who is this man with the whip? Why did he insist Madame Chapet send me for his macabre pleasure?
Blindfolded, my hands tied behind my back, I hear the supple leather hitting the curved arm of the red divan. I imagine it branding my flesh with its fierce kiss. I quiver, not from fear, but from something I don't understand, though I fight against it. It's as if my natural resistance to its sting melts away with each passing moment.
Fighting to gain control, I squeeze my thighs together, yet I can't stop my clit yearning for release. I curse this man who has awakened such devilry in me.
Glowing with an inner fire, I try hard to still my breathing. I can't. I can't stop this subtle awakening in the pit of my belly, my body begging to experience the provocative taboo I've heard whispered about in the house on Rue des Moulins. How can this happen to me? I must be mad, insane, my soul hungry for pain because I've lost my love, my Luc.
Black silk cloaks my world, but I can hear the man step back and flex the whip again. A hush comes over the upstairs room decorated in reds and pinks. I shiver, knowing the cat-o'nine-tails, whip, paddle, flogger and strap all lay in readiness to inflict painful pleasure.
I flinch when I hear his ragged breathing, a groan erupting from deep within him, as if he's torn between making me his submissive and feeding my angst with the power of anticipation.
Why is he torturing me like this?
Damn Madame Chapet. She promised Monsieur de Trémont only he would take me upstairs. I should have known I can't trust her.
Fearing the worst, I think of Luc and pretend his arms are holding me, but it's only a dream. He's abandoned me, though my heart tells me he'll come back. Will it be too late? I can't stop the tears from welling up in my eyes. Why wouldn't he listen to me? I know he's young and wild, a soldier who lives by rules and orders, but I'm doing this for us, for our future.
I'm grateful the black silk presses against my wet lashes to absorb my show of weakness. Why did this stranger come tonight? Why now when I have nearly enough money saved from selling my erotic stories to buy my freedom from la madame?
Why?
I strain to listen, my senses alert to the slightest movement. Nothing. The air around me is still. Has he gone? Left me to fuel my anxiety with untamed, sensual imaginings while he moves on to find satisfaction with one of Madame Chapet's girls?
Before I can surmise what mad desire drives him, he pulls me to my feet and shoves me up against the wall. My back strikes the curved wainscoting, sending a sharp pain through me. His hands move up and down my shoulders. I should find his hands menacing, abrasive to my nerves, conveying a sense of unnatural pleasure filling me with despair, not knowing what perverted act he intends to inflict upon me.
Instead, a strange desire fills me and I tremble under his touch.
Basking in a sensual glow, I feel a familiar heat and excitement rising from deep within me as his big, strong hands sweep up and down my bare breasts, then tighten around my waist pulled in by the corset. My pubic muscles contract, sending waves of pleasure throughout my body. I swear I can see a trail of pink stars glimmering before my eyes, though black silk shields me from seeing his face. I don't want to know who he is, as if not knowing gives me the freedom to indulge in the pleasure of his touch, wishing he were Luc.
I lean my head back, allowing my body to relax and enjoy his soothing strokes, lifting my hips slightly as if to meet him, but not giving in completely. That makes him stiffen, surprising me.
Letting out a moan, he unties my hands, though by the pressure of his fingers on my wrists, he indicates he wishes me to keep the black mask in place. He lays me down on the thick carpeting, then spreads my legs, a gloved finger teasing at my pussy, holding the lips open. I feel the head of his cock nudging at my pink flesh, then—
"I can't do it, Juliette," he says, panting, his voice hoarse. "I won't take you against your will…"
That voice! Not cold, raw, but deep and loving.
I rip the black silk from my eyes. "Luc! My darling, I was dreaming it was you. How? Why?"
"Can you forgive me, my love? I've been insane with worry and I couldn't stay away, no matter what I had to do to see you." He brushes his lips against my neck and his rich male scent overwhelms me. He kisses me behind the ear, nibbling gently on the lobe, then under my jaw before lingering on my bare shoulder. "I must make love to you."
I don't wait for him to remove the domino. I press my hips up into his, sweeping aside the black hooded cloak with my eager hands. I gasp. He's naked underneath. I let out a sigh at the sight of his cock bobbing out in front of him. His erection is so hard, the foreskin is pulled taut down the shaft, exposing its shiny head, glowing deep-red in the erotic pink lighting. My pussy aches for him, my nipples throb and the soft pink lace from my corset scrapes against my skin, teasing me.
He reaches out and pulls on the pink ribbons of my corset, but I can't wait for him to unlace my stays. I take him into my mouth, the heat from his cock making my tongue tingle. I lick all around the head then linger on the sensitive underside, moving my tongue back and forth and driving him mad with desire.
Moaning, he grabs my long hair and runs his hands through it. "It's my turn, Juliette."
I shudder when he parts my thighs and puts his head between my legs. He cups my pussy with his lips then begins licking me with his tongue, back and forth across my hard bud, bringing me closer and closer to the edge.
When I feel myself on the brink of losing control, he lifts my legs around his waist and slides his cock into me. I shudder. I'm wet, my juices flowing. Instinctively, I lock my calves around his back as he thrusts into me. I open my eyes and reach out to him, his bare chest and shoulders glistening with sweat, black silk flying around him like a medieval sorcerer's cloak, his well-toned muscles flexing in the mesmeric lighting.
He raises up my hips to meet his, tensing his massive biceps, his raspy breath echoing in my ears. Deep inside me, I feel the first jagged spasms of his approaching climax as he writhes and moans, thrusting deeper and deeper into me. Our bodies rock back and forth in unison, arching and twisting until I can take it no longer and wave after wave of pure pleasure crashes through me, its sheer energy sending me to a place where I've never been and driving away everything, every thought except one.
How much I love him.
"It cost me a whole month's salary to spend an afternoon with you, Juliette."
"Was I worth it?" I tease.
We lie naked on the pale violet carpet, side-by-side. My corset, stockings and slippers sit on top of the black domino lying in a heap on the carpet.
"You vixen…I'll fuck you again and show you."
In a more serious tone, I ask, "Why wouldn't you answer my letters, Luc?"
"I was too full of foolish pride to admit how much you mean to me and so afraid of losing you I went crazy." He explains how he never had any intention of striking me with the whip, but it was the only way he could see me without revealing his identity. He didn't mean to frighten me, but he let his anger overcome his reason.
Stroking my hair, he continues, "My regiment is being transferred to Orléans for temporary duty."
I stiffen, the thought of not seeing him for months dampening my mood, though I try not to show it. He holds me tightly, no kissing, just holding.
Finding my voice, I whisper, "When do you leave?"
"Tonight. On the midnight train from Gare d’Austerlitz." He holds me closer, so close I can hear his heart pounding. "Now you know why I was desperate to see you. I've got to get you out of here, help you escape—"
Shaking my head, I pull away from him. "No, Luc, I must pay my debt to Madame Chapet or I'll never be free." I explain how she tricked me, then tell him I have a new job.
"Does la madame pay you to—" He stops, not able to say the words he doesn't want to hear.
"No. I've made love to no man but you."
Do I see the tense lines around his mouth relax? Then why do his eyes still question me? I must make him believe me.
I say, "That's why I came to your barracks—"
Are those footsteps I hear? Is someone running up the stairs? Madame Chapet went shopping…then who? “—to tell you about Monsieur de Trémont and how he…"
The footsteps are closer, just outside the door.
Luc is impervious to the noise. He grabs me and stares at me, his mood dark. "Who is this man? Your lover?"
"You don't understand, Luc, he has a friend who—"
Before I can finish, the door bursts open and in rushes Monsieur de Trémont followed by la madame's little seamstress, Delphine.
"I told you, monsieur," she cries out, wringing her hands on her white apron. "Mamselle Juliette is entertaining a gentleman—"
Monsieur de Trémont ignores her. Instead he glares at Luc and me, naked and holding onto each other. His words cut into me when he says, "You once told me Madame Chapet would charge me for damaged goods, Juliette. I see now you were right."
Luc jumps to his feet, his fists raised, ready to hit him. "Take that back, monsieur."
"No, Luc!" I cry out.
The gentleman snarls. "I will do no such thing."
Luc swings at him, but he ducks.
I grab onto Luc's arm. "Stop, Luc, please!
Straightening his vest, Monsieur de Trémont holds his ground. "If I were twenty years younger, monsieur, I'd call you out, but at my age, women are like fine wine. A fragrant bouquet when savored, but not worth losing your head over." He turns to me and tips his top hat. "Au revoir, Juliette, I shall leave you to your afternoon's entertainment."
"Please, Monsieur de Trémont," I plead, "it's not what you think."
Ignoring me, he turns on his heel and leaves. The little seamstress runs after him, begging him not to tell la madame what happened.
I grab the black domino, throw it over my nude body, then start after him. Luc grabs me by the arm, holding me fast in his grip.
"Where are you going, Juliette?"
"I must explain to Monsieur de Trémont about us."
"Explain what?" he demands, his voice rising. "That you fucked us both?"
"That's not true." Exasperated, I say, "You don't understand, and I haven't time to explain."
He grabs me by the shoulders, his eyes boring into me. The intensity of his pain makes me shiver. I sense he's fighting something deep within himself. "Who is more important to you, Juliette?"
"Luc, what are you saying?"
Gritting his teeth, he releases me. "Make your choice. Him or me."
"Monsieur de Trémont!" I call out, running down the stairs. I see him open the front door. "Gaston!"
He turns, his eyes heavy with an emotion far more hurtful to me than jealousy—sadness. I realize then how much our relationship means to him.
"I'm sorry it had to end like this, Juliette."
"Gaston, please let me explain."
I rush my words, telling him how I lost my job and how Madame Chapet forced me to become one of her girls, and that Luc and I planned to be married. All the while, my mind is reeling, not believing Luc would ask me to choose between them.
Monsieur de Trémont attempts a smile. "No doubt the young man loves you, ma chérie. I could see that by the heroic way he defended you." He takes a deep breath. "Alors, I also love you. However…" He takes a letter from inside his coat and hands it to me. "Business is business."
I scan the paper quickly, my eyes widening, my heart pounding. "For a collection of my stories published by Ravenne Presse, I will receive royalties and an advance in the amount of—" I read off a number that makes me gasp.
"Your advance, mamselle." He hands me the money wrapped up in white linen and tied with a ribbon. I don't know what to say. Why wouldn't the publishing company send their representative to see me? Unless—
"You're the publisher, Gaston," I say, "n'est-ce pas?"
He nods. "I'd hoped someday to also be your protector, Juliette, but I won't stand in your way."
"Could you explain to Luc…about us?"
He smiles and touches my cheek with his gloved fingers. "I must admit, I'm jealous of your young man, but for you, Juliette, I'll do it." He takes my hand and kisses it.
"Merci…for everything!" Stepping on my tiptoes, I kiss him on both cheeks, then race up the stairs, waving the letter and yelling out, "Luc, Luc!"
When I get to the top of the stairs, I stop, my heart pounding. The door is open.
Luc is gone.
"More wine, Juliette?" asks Madame Chapet smiling, but with no warmth in her eyes.
"I'm celebrating, so why not?" I answer, laughing, stroking Mimi's fur as she snuggles in my lap. I paid off my debt to la madame in full with the receipt safely tucked into my tied bundle of belongings. I'm free. Free to see Luc before he leaves tonight on the midnight train and tell him about my book contract. He'll understand then about Monsieur de Trémont. He must.
Holding the carafe of wine, Delphine hesitates. It's obvious she wants to say something, but holds back.
"Pour the wine, Delphine," orders la madame. Shaking, the girl refills my glass, my third.
"Merci, Delphine." I sip the wine, though my heart is heavy. Why didn't Luc wait? Delphine told me he threw on his pants and boots and ran out the service entrance without putting on his shirt. No wonder I didn't see him. Madame Chapet keeps the back door locked so customers can't leave without paying, but the cook left it open after she tossed out the slops.
"We will miss you here," trills la madame, adding, "Your old job is open."
"And have you cheat me again?" I drip wine onto my fingers. Mimi sniffs it, but turns up her nose and jumps out of my lap. What's wrong with her? "No, madame, I have a better offer."
"Whatever it is, mamselle, I'll double it!"
I shake my head. "No…I'm…not stay—"
I put my hand to my head. Why does la madame look like she's melting? All purple and yellow flowing together like a rainbow dissolving. I blink and rub my eyes. Oohh, my head hurts. Delphine tries to take the glass out of my hand, but Madame Chapet grabs her wrist. "Mamselle Juliette hasn't finished her wine."
"But, madame, she looks ill."
"I’m not ill, Delphine," I protest. "I—I…" Weaving from side to side, I lean over to pick up Mimi, meowing and nipping at my ankle. The room around me spins—
…and I pass out.
Darkness. So dark I can't see no matter how hard I squint.
Dampness. Creeping into my bones like a soggy rain that won't let up.
The stench of moldy rags. Covering my mouth, the foul odor rising up into my nostrils makes me gag.
Where am I?
My head pounds, excruciating, stinging pain. I try to move, but my hands are tied behind my back and my ankles are bound together. I kick out my feet, trying to find a wall or door when I hear—
Me—ow!
Mimi. Where is she? A sense of relief floods me when I feel the kitten's furry tail trailing across my face. I try to wiggle the gag free but to no avail. What's to become of us? Has la madame left us here to die?
I refuse to accept my fate. I must get free or Luc will leave Paris, never knowing how much I love him.
"Mamselle Juliette—" I hear someone whispering my name. "Are you in there?"
Thrashing about, I struggle to make a noise. Meowing and scratching, Mimi comes to my rescue. I hear the sound of a key turning in the lock— and the door opens. Delphine stands in the doorway, her hand to her mouth. "Mon Dieu!"
Without wasting a moment, she removes the gag and unties my wrists, apologizing for not being able to stop la madame from drugging me with the sleeping drought.
"It's not your fault, Delphine," I tell the young girl, my eyes smiling with gratitude for her help. I pick up Mimi and she licks my face. "Madame Chapet is trying to frighten me into staying, but it won't work. I'm taking Mimi and we're leaving now." I pause. "What time is it?"
"Nearly ten o'clock."
Rubbing my wrists then my ankles, I stand up. I'm wobbly, but I'm not hurt. "I still have time to get to the train station and see Luc."
"Madame Chapet is downstairs in the salon, feeding leftover veal to her two terriers. She'll try to stop you, mamselle."
"What about the service entrance?"
She shakes her head. "La madame locked it herself and stuffed the key down the front of her bodice."
"I must leave tonight, Delphine—"
The girl bites down on her lower lip, hesitating, then: "I have an idea, mamselle, but—"
"But what? Tell me!"
"You must take off your clothes again if you want to escape from the House on Rue des Moulins."
"Will you help me, Monsieur Borquet?" I see interest in his eyes. It's no secret Paul Borquet is always teasing la madame with his games and magic. Is he in such a mood tonight?
"I'm just a poor artist, mamselle, here to find a model for my painting."
"Choose me. I'll be your model."
Rolling about on the large four poster bed with Lillie and Clarice, pinching and biting on each other's breasts to the delight of the handsome artist, I pose for him.
"He's already chosen me, Juliette," Lillie hisses in my ear, pulling up her rose-colored silk stocking.
Ignoring her, I say, "Please, Monsieur Borquet, I must get to the train station to see my fiancé."
"Ah, so you're in love," says the artist. "I can never fall in love…" Do I hear a wistful sigh in his voice? "But who am I to deny a beautiful mamselle who tells her story with such passion?" He turns to Lillie. "Get dressed. We're going to a studio in the Marais district."
"What about me, monsieur?" I ask. "And Mimi?" The kitten meows, then scampers under his voluminous black cloak.
"You're going, too…both of you."
"How, monsieur?"
He sweeps off his cape and smiles. "Wrapped up In this."
"Mon plaisir, madame," says the artist, keeping his cape closed around us both.
Hunched over, I'm covered from head to toe in the heavy black cloak as we walk in tandem. I'm carrying Mimi and the tied bundle with my belongings, while the artist swings his cane out in front of him and prods Lillie to keep moving. As long as she gets paid, she'll keep quiet.
We're almost to the front door when—
—I hear la madame's dogs growl at Mimi, shaking in my arms.
"Be quiet, my darlings," Madame Chapet says, oozing with charm. "Monsieur Borquet, wait!"
I feel the artist stiffen. He says, "Madame?"
"There will be an extra charge for the second model."
I hold my sides to keep from laughing. I'm wearing Clarice's shoes, but the plump brunette is upstairs asleep, snoring.
The artist laughs. "I should have known I couldn't fool you, Madame Chapet."
I hear him open the front door and the night wind rushes in, welcoming me into its embrace. I step through the portal of the House on Rue des Moulins for the last time.
I must find Luc.
Side-stepping the porters loading luggage and the mail clerks heaving great sacks, I scan the passengers filling the windows of the train, waving handkerchiefs. Where is he? A whistle shrills and the sudden grinding of brakes on the next tracks send numerous pairs of anxious eyes in that direction. I see a familiar face appear at a window.
"Luc…Luc!"
He sees me, smiles, then disappears only to reappear on the platform moments later. He swoops me up in his arms and twirls me around.
"Juliette, you're here!" He kisses me on the mouth. Hard. We cling to each other for the promise of what we had, while our lips search to find it again.
Breathless, I have to ask, "Why didn't you come to the brothel before you left?"
"I did, Juliette, but Madame Chapet said you'd left…with a gentleman."
"She lied, Luc. I'll never love anyone but you." I show him my book contract and explain everything to him. His eyes look misty and his mouth quivers. He's trying so hard not to show weakness in front of me, but he's kept his feelings wound up so tight inside him, he had to let them go.
"Ah, my Juliette, even when I thought I'd lost you…" He pulls out a packet from inside his uniform jacket. "I had your letters." "I'll write to you every day, my darling. I promise."
"What about your stories?"
"Luc, you must understand…"
"I do, Juliette." He laughs. "I admire your spirit and I'm so proud of you. You deserve this opportunity." Tracing my face with his big hands, he says, "I'm just a humble soldier with a new chevron on his sleeve—" He points to the insignia on his uniform. "—but will you marry me?"
"Yes, Luc, yes!"
"As soon as I get leave, I'll speak to Père Gabriel about announcing the bands of our marriage." He holds me close, neither of us wanting to let go. "Nothing can keep us apart."
The train whistle blows and the great wheels turn. Luc kisses me again and I sigh with pleasure, his kiss consuming me.
"Je t'aime, Juiliette," he whispers, then jumps onto the moving train.
"I love you, too, mon chéri."
Waving, I remain there long after the train disappears.
Looking out over the Seine as the cab speeds through the streets of Paris, I remember the day I came to the brothel and how my fortunes have changed.
But what about the other girls at Madame Chapet's? What future do they have? I imagine Mathilde still haunts the boulevards, luring unsuspecting girls to the brothel. Girls like me.
If it hadn't been for the artist, Paul Borquet, who knows? A genius, they say, yet I sense a deep loneliness in his soul.
I giggle. Lillie and her charms will make him forget his pain. I wonder what erotic adventures await Monsieur Borquet this evening?
I wonder…
The End