Gromet's PlazaDevoured Stories

A Dark Period of History

by Banfield

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© Copyright 2019 - Banfield - Used by permission

Storycodes: FM+/fm+; hist; cannibalism; gore; degrade; torment; urine; bite; chew; castrate; guillotine; execution; eaten; oral; force; hard; nc; warning; XXX

Warning! Do NOT try this at home, the story is presented here as a fantasy only, to attempt this in real life may result in injury or death.
Caution: This story contains scenes of biting, torture and death, please do not read if this is not what you wish to read - even in fantasy.

Given to circumstances the beast is found in all of us - male and female alike - Robespiere   

I shall not delve into the whys and wherefores of that radical change in French history or the political dogma as many may know the cause and outcome. Instead, I would like to write about the unmentionable occurrences that transpired as a result of that historical event.... One can compare such horrors of human destruction to humans past and present, viz: The Holocausts such as the Soviet pogrom, the Cambodian Killing Fields and the Final Solution inflicted on the Jews and other 'undesirables' opposed to the Nazi Regime, and the rather lesser widespread slaughter of certain minorities for political, religious and lebensraum purposes, and all the horrors they entailed... So how can we deplore cannibalism - especially as such acts are at times virtually necessary?   

The tumbrels rumbled slowly along the mean cobbled streets of Paris carrying their sorrowful loads of aristocrats, their families and servants - including women and children - to meet their untimely end in the embrace of the guillotine.  

The crowds that thronged the streets consisting mainly the lower classes... the poor and wretched citizens in shabby attire and with hearts full of hate. At the place of execution however, massed the upper bourgeoisies - not as depicted in such films as 'The Tale of Two Cities' or 'The Scarlet Pimpernel' which shewed repulsive-looking crones cackling and knitting and with foul-smelling pipes between their rotted teeth.  

Those standing and swaying unsteadily on the tumbrels could only gaze blankly with heavy hearts as they were carried nearer and nearer to their ignoble demise. For the aristocrats, life had been so idyllic - exquisite clothes, food and everything money could buy. For those servants, maids, grooms and gardeners, life was also comparatively pleasurable, and although they were mere servants, the revolutionaries unfairly condemned them with the same accord as their illustrious employers.  

Only a few, mainly men and youths, glanced apprehensively at the line of soldiers with their muskets, and the baying, jeering crowds who threw curses, taunts and foul expletives at them.  

Such a rabble, such ugliness, and among them were as many females as males, all with no pity in their hearts... only hatred and glee in their eyes.  

Upon reaching the square they saw with sinking heart the ominous structure of the guillotine and the milling mob jostling for the better view. They consisted of the upper bourgeoisie and here and there the 'petit' bourgeoisie - all far better attired and fed than the unruly riffraff along those dingy streets. The females of all ages were dressed in fineries with flamboyant hats, their hair coiffured stylishly and their faces immaculately painted as if they were at a theatre or prestigious race-meeting. So many of those females were devilishly attractive, and for those prisoners about to lose their heads, it seemed incredible that such 'ladies' could find it in their hearts to gaze, laugh at and enjoy the forthcoming horrifying spectacle on the scaffold... to look with smug satisfaction and thrill as men, women and children ascend the steps with their hands tied behind them and be placed on the plank prone to await the dreaded blade's descent; and all because of their noble blood and love for king Louis XV1; but there was something else more bizarre that gave the reason to be there.... even more sinister and bizarre.   

As the tumbrels came to a halt, the women in the surging mass began pointing and screaming at certain prisoners standing on the dozen carts. The drivers ascertained the individuals indicated and shouted their numbers which the women wrote on pieces of cards.  

Young nobles, ladies and servants alike were selected from each tumbrel including boys and girls. When asked by a perplexed prisoner the reason for that odd behaviour he was told by the grinning driver: 'Bread and meat is scarce, m'sieur l'comte, and you will be in some fair damsels' bellies this night!' and he guffawed with contempt.  

Upon hearing those words the men were stunned, flabbergasted, and several young ladies - all with their delicate hands tied behind their backs, fainted and fell to their dainty knees.  

This brought callous laughter from the crowd surrounding them, ribald remarks and coarse words expressing the tenderness of such flesh and piquancy of taste.  

Trying to be brave and defiant, the young count glared at the cruel tormentors seeing the depraved delight and undisguised bloodlust in those women's eyes, the significant licking of red-painted lips and hands patting eagerly-awaiting stomachs.  

Then the despondent prisoners saw a formidable figure standing on the platform of the scaffold. It was that of a woman. She was the dreaded Madame Lafargé, a deputy. and had the reputation of being extremely vengeful. She was loathe to miss any executions and regarded them as public holidays making excited and vehement speeches as those about to die lay trembling and weeping on the long plank.   

'Ah, the Comte D' Eglatine!' she exclaimed as the first prisoner stepped up, 'You are not so proud and haughty, m’sieur,' her voice holding a derisive tone, her lips twisted into a vicious smirk. She was not unattractive, in her middle 30's but with a hard, vindictive expression with dark-piercing eyes. She went on: 'Madame Guillotine awaits her first lover of the day. We must not keep her waiting. She desires to caress your neck with her keen blade, and taste your rich, claret-like blood. See me, m'sieur, and liken me to her!' With a flourish she wrenched her dress apart to reveal her bared breasts, the nipples already firm and swollen as the excitement coursed through her loins.  

The Comte, summoning his bravery, glared at her disdainfully: 'Madame, you are naught but a depraved harridan! Like all your kind, you will die in misery, and I shall be waiting for you when you depart this confounded world!'  

'See, hear his arrogance!' she shrieked to the crowd listening intently, 'He still feels so important!' Loud murmurs came from the mob. 'So let us put him to death in another way. Quickly, put him in place... but on his back!' The order was carried out. The Comte was forced onto the plank and straps attached to it were secured over his torso. He was now staring up at the angular blade high above. 'And now, citizens, to shew him what we all feel about him....' she lifted her skirts and spread her legs. A gale of raucous laughter erupted from the crowd when a stream of piss shot from her and deluged his grimacing face. He gasped and tried to shout his disgust and in the process caught and swallowed the foul liquid issuing from her gaping vulva. When the spurt ended she dropped her skirts and, as an added gesture of contempt, spat several times into his face. She then shrieked the command to release the heavy blade. A cry went up from the eagerly watching crowd as the blade sliced through the prisoner's neck. With a victorious flourish, she lifted the Comte's head from the basket holding it aloft to the cheers of the jubilant crowd. She then threw the head amongst them. More cries rent the air, a little panic as the ladies drew back to avoid being struck by the gruesome object, but then, as it landed on the ground, it was used as a ball, being kicked by daintily-shod feet from one to another.  

When the hubbub abated, Madame Lafarge cried out: 'Whosoever has claimed this body to dine on I wish them bon appétit!'  

The line of distraught prisoners, men women and children, then made their way up to the scaffold - all greeted with scornful curses and such tirades that made their emotions more wretched, their blood run cold and their thoughts to despair that those horrible creatures will be eating their flesh.   

As is also recorded, although the machines for beheading were found in many towns and cities - in every market square north of a line south of Paris, even they were not enough to dispose of the nobility, gentry and their faithful menials. So the slaughter continued on a daily basis which pleased the lower classes - the proletariat - and sated their hunger for revenge as well as their starving bellies.   

'Ah, the Lady Montifiore!' exclaimed the gaunt-faced Deputy, 'How gracious of you to come and visit us lowly citizens at the Place de Dominique!' she mocked as an elegant, striking young lady of about 20 stepped onto the scaffold. Mdme Lafarge gazed piercingly into the lady's tearful and tortured eyes with a wicked grin. She reached out to stroke the trembling victim's tearstained face. The beautiful aristocrat cringed at the woman's touch crying 'Merde!' 'Mais non!' returned the Deputy derisively, 'Madame Guillotine welcomes you as her guest.... Ah, but you have an exquisite neck, and such delicate features. How sad that your long sojourn in the death cells have coarsened your lustrous hair; Your skin not as pure. You have missed your daily baths in perfumed luxury; but never mind, Mamselle, your inconveniences will soon be over. Your beautiful head will be resting in that basket, your soul will be at peace... and your flesh, ma joli fleur, will soon be...' Madme Lafarge ripped the bodice of the young lady to expose her breasts. A roar of pleasure and amusement rose from the crowd. 'Ah, mon Dieu! What succulent fruit, Mamselle! Think of the pleasure someone shall have eating such lovely delicacy! Now...' and the woman's face became stern...'prepare to forfeit your life of pleasure for the Republic!' With a sudden, unexpected movement she seized the distraught lady and pressed her lips to hers bringing a horrified look over the victim's face and ribald laughter from the vulgar mob surrounding the instrument of death. In the next moment the sobbing madamoiselle was lying prone on the board, her dainty neck set in the concave of the block, its surface deeply stained by blood, her pretty eyes tightly closed against the appalling sight of a man's severed head.  

She heard the click of the mechanism and the dull rattle of the blade's descent, and then just caught the beginning of the cheers as the edge sliced through her cervical vertebrae. In the seconds that followed, her eyes had popped open and in those brief, flashing moments she saw the gruesome head of the previous victim lying in the blood-soaked basket, and then, as the cruel Mdme Lafarge snatched her head up by the long, wavy tresses, the  vision of the Deputy's evil countenance before eternal darkness fell.   

One by one the sorry line of nobility - marquise, marquises, counts, countesses and their children and relatives, plus their faithful minions and their families, made their way to meet their doom. As they waited they witnessed the horror of what was to befall them - first the demoralising horde of onlookers, their jeering cries and foul curses, and then, following the beheading, the headless corpses carted off by the jubilant women for cannibalistic consumption - men, women, youths, young ladies and children - all to fill the empty bellies of the proletariat whom they had erstwhile despised and treated as inferior dregs of humanity.   

Now let us draw away from the horrendous spectacles of the guillotine and her victims. Picture if you will, the scene of a courthouse where a particular noble is on trial.  

He is a man in his early 30's, well-attired under the dreadful circumstances, handsome and debonair. Monsieur Claude de Fortesque is his name and he is on trial for a fabricated charge of killing an old woman by riding his fine horse recklessly through a busy thoroughfare. In truth, the woman, outraged by his aristocratic bearing, ran in front of his cantering steed screaming foul invectives. Claude had no opportunity to avoid the crone but witnesses swore he did purposely spur his mount and run the woman to the ground and did kill her without remorse. Unfortunately, the Deputy, also acting as Prosecutor, ranted and raved, her face twisted with recrimination. So vehement was her accusations that the court sided with her unanimously when she declared that he, the prisoner at the bar, be executed and no heed was taken of the man's protestations.  

The woman's eyes blazed with fury as she glared at the prisoner, her voice rasped with venomous hatred declaring that he be put to death. The judge and his aides, all caught up in the fervour of her incriminations all shouted 'Mort, mort, mort!' and the public joined in the impulsive verdict. A wide grin spread over her stern features, her dark piercing eyes glinted with glee. When the hubbub died down, Mdme Lafarge addressed the judge, her voice now much softer but nonetheless dramatic:  

'M'sieurs, you have wisely condemned monsieur Claude de Fortesque, but I crave the court... you worthy citizens... let me be the instrument of his death. The guillotine will be far too swift ending his miserable life. That poor woman, innocently going about her business, was trampled under that wretched man's horse's hooves and it took two long days for her to expire and find relief from her pains. Messieurs, Mesdames et mesdamoiselles, his suffering merits the just measure. Let me have him in my custody and inflict upon him what he deserves.'  

'Madame!' he blurted, 'avoir vous pas l'coeur?'  

'Mais oui, m'seur!' she retorted with dark eyes blazing with maliciousness, 'My heart beats fast with the knowledge of your fate!'  

A quick discussion among the motley judges and the Deputy-cum-Prosecutor's request was granted.  

Claude de Fortesque, being aware of that woman's voracious appetite for inflicting vengeance upon the aristocrats and any Royalists, cried out his protests: 'Mon Dieu, I beg you... if I am to die for that which I am innocent, then let me go the way of my peers! Send me to the guillotine, not into the hands of that evil woman!'  

His pleas went unheeded. Two burly ruffians seized him and dragged him from the rowdy court. Madame Lafarge, taking the lead, strode purposefully ahead, a grim smile playing at her tight lips. She stepped to her newly-acquired house, a grand building once belonging to a titled family all of whom had been executed. Once in the enclosed courtyard, Claude fell to his knees before her pleading for mercy. She looked down at his pathetic figure scornfully: 'Ah, how the mighty have fallen,' she sneered, 'Once so proud, strutting in fine silks and satins, with powdered and scented wigs like peacocks on your well-clipped lawns... and looking down at us as if we were flea-ridden pigeons and scrawny house-sparrows! But now, mon cherie, you have become the pigeons, and like those scavenging fowls, you are but vermin to be eradicated, except...' she added in a rather sensuous tone... 'nobles like you with fine limbs... flesh to eat... perhaps to bake in pies!'  

He stared up at her in horrified silence. She raised her clog-shod foot and with a kick, sent him sprawling to the ground. With his hands tied he turned his eyes to her as she stood over him, her eyes dancing with ominous malice. She then raised her skirts - higher and higher to reveal her pale thighs and then her loins. He gave one glance and turned away... offended by what he saw. 'Look at me!' she demanded stridently. He turned his eyes back unwillingly to gaze at the dark thatch of pubic hair. She spread her feet and shamelessly exposed her thick-lipped vulva. She stepped astride him and, without a word, deluged his grimacing face with her piss. She chuckled at his revulsion as gradually the stream ebbed from her gaping orifice. 'That's what we, the liberated citizens of France; consider you as... pissoirs, m'sieur. Now, onto your feet and follow me.' She led him into the sumptuously furnished house and took him to a room on the ground floor. Inside, Claude stared at the contents. On the stone walls hung many instruments of torture and on the stone-flagged floor stood various pieces of furniture that would be found in the basement of the dreaded Bastille - racks, braziers, a crucifix, a chopping block, a chair of iron and other contraptions giving him no doubt of the room's purpose.  

With the two villainous escorts, Claude was placed on a long low bench and with stout leather straps, secured by his limbs. Once he was helpless Mdme Lafarge bade the men to leave handing them each a louis-d'or. They both smirked at the wretched prisoner and one, in a low, gruff voice, wished the woman 'Bon appétit, madame.'   

'And now, M'sieu,' she said in a sarcastic tone as she began taking off her clothes, 'I have you at my mercy. You are to die, but not before you suffer and account for your heinous crime.'  

'But I am innocent!' he cried.  

'Innocent?' she exclaimed, 'None of you are innocent!'  

'Then cut off my head!' he gasped, 'Make an end to my life as it pleases you!'  

'Mais oui, M'sieu de Fortesque, I shall surely be chopping off your head... but not before I have chopped off your limbs... and this fine symbol of your manhood.' She reached down to grasp his genitals and gave them a squeeze.  

'Aaaah... pervers avocat de la diable!' he cried.  

'Non, mon beau,' she laughed derisively, 'J'sui l'Angel de Mort... your Némésis!' She was then naked, and although quite lean, her breasts, apple-shaped, were proudly and arrogantly bountiful, the nipples centred on each orb stood out with shocking impudence. Her belly looked equally swollen, due; it would seem, to her greedy appetite.

Without a word, she threw one leg over his torso and sat on his stomach. She then gazed at him with a wicked grin: 'Regard my breasts, M'sieur, my belly. Does it not please you to know that soon... very soon; you will be complimenting such feminine beauty? I have not eaten well since I ate a nice, tender garcon the other day, the son of the Comte de Lourney...' She began caressing her stomach, her eyes fluttered and closed as relived the sensation of her unholy gormandizing... she then gave a sigh. 'Ah, he wept so prettily as I took bites from his living flesh, and squealed delightfully when I took his pecker between my teeth.' She opened her eyes to gaze back into his. He murmured a despairing groan realising that a similar fate awaited him.  

'Why don't you kill me now, Madame?' he pleaded, feeling the coarseness of her pubic hair on his stomach.  

'Ah, but I love making you important, wealthy people suffer the agonies of torture, M'sieur, to hear you scream and beg for mercy. It is as music to my ears and makes me excited.... very excited... you understand?' She raised one eyebrow coquettishly denoting the sexual significance which to Claude was but a travesty. She then leaned down; her long, dark mangy hair caressed his face. Thinking she was about to kiss him on his mouth he turned his head in disgust leaving the side of his neck exposed.  

Suddenly he gave a gasp and then a squeal as her teeth... surprisingly clean - bit into him sharply. With low grunts she began sucking the blood oozing from the vicious wound like a vampiress. As she drew the blood from fractured veins she gave the sounds of one imbibing deliciously sweet red wine, and all he could do was cry out helplessly.  

After a while she raised her head, blood smearing her lips which she scooped up with her tongue: 'Mmmm.... so succulent,' she murmured sensuously, and dipped her head to his heaving chest. Poor Claude let out a further scream when he felt her teeth close over one of his breasts. His screams rose as she buried her incisors deep into his flesh and, when they met and her head reared up to leave a gaping wound. He turned his anguished eyes to see the horror of her beastly act... her mouth full and droplets of blood dripping from her lips.   

'Mon Dieu, Marguerite!' squealed a young Parisian voice. Mdme Lafarge turned smilingly at the girl who had just entered the room, and replied: 'Mmm... Sadé, you have an appetite for the flesh of M'sieur?' Claude observed the girl as she stepped to where he lay in mortal agony. She was very pretty, almost angelic, but her cruel eyes ruled out the possibility of pity. She fixed his gaze as she spoke: 'I know this man... he is M'sieur Claude de Fortesque. I have seen him many times and have admired him, but he has not seen me... far too important and arrogant. He does not look so important now.' Claude could see by the look in her eyes that the girl, although very attractive, had a heart of stone. She obviously had no compassion for his sorry state. She licked her lips and his heart sank as he realised that Mdme Lafarge had a guest for the ghoulish dinner.  

Claude's blood ran cold and icy fingers gripped his soul when Sadé's eyes turned to his vulnerable manhood. 'Marguerite,' she murmured softly as she reached down to take the flaccid member between her thumb and index-finger, 'Please let me have this.' Mdme Lafarge, having climbed off the man wracked in pain, laughed evilly: 'Mais oui, ma jolie amie! I am sure the M'sieur will be highly honoured to have his favourite toy eaten by you. Sadé, remove your dress and your stockings... let him see your beauty. Perhaps he might become excited and his prick will grow!' Sadé gave a tinkling laugh and quickly stripped. As her young, firm body came into view, her young breasts well-developed although the nipples were still pink buds, Claude's libido kicked in, and as soon as she grasped his penis and began giving it quick squeezes, it reacted and became hard in her small hand. 'Ah, magnifique!' she exclaimed in delight and began firming the member with fast jerks, her eyes gazing wide at her endeavour and occasionally meeting his. 'Aaaagh, I must!' she sighed, and leaned down to take it into her mouth. She sucked the manly column with wild abandon hardly taking a breath, taking its enormity almost to the base. Claude, regardless of his terrible fate, closed his eyes uttering moans of equivocal emotion as his treacherous urges raced through his body to touch and titillate every fibre while at the farthest corner of his conscience a plaintive voice was crying in alarm... that his sensuous pleasure will be short-lived... for soon, so terribly, terribly soon, that sweet, rosy-lipped mouth with those sharp and deadly teeth, will be slicing though that proud symbol of manhood and will mash it to a pulp before sending it down her gullet.  

Meanwhile, Madame Marguerite Lafarge, who had lost her husband by the hands of the aristocratic nobles, was not to be outdone by her young confederate and her sexual immoralities - the girl, as she sucked the prisoner's member lustfully, was also playing with herself, assuaging her awakened clitoris and plunging her fingers deep inside her vagina - she looked at Claude seeing the effect Sadé was having on him and, with an impulse, placed herself astride his face and sat to smother him grunting her demand for his tongue to amuse her now-aroused membrum virilé which jutted out from the apex of her vulva with startling extent. Claude had no option but to obey that cruel woman, taking the organ between his lips and servicing her as he was serviced by Sadé. Almost suffocating under the weight of Mdme Lafarge, his eyes staring up over her undulating belly, he suddenly stiffened at the sweet-bitter pain centred around the base of his penis. It became sharper as Sadé clenched her teeth tighter.

Claude's scream went unheard when the girl lifted her head. Mdme Lafarge turned and smiled at the grisly sight... that of the prisoner's severed penis in her mouth. The girl pulled it out, turned it around and placed it back into her mouth to catch and drink the blood oozing from the severed end. Mdme Lafarge cackled at the monstrous callousness of the pretty girl and muttered her pleasure and appreciation of Sadé's ruthlessness.... 'You really despise the aristocracy, ma chouchou jolie.' The girl bit into the still-erect member to take a portion. She chewed on it and gave a swallow: 'I hate them all, Marguerite. My brother and uncle were both sent to the Bastille for stealing bread which we badly needed. My uncle perished in that damned prison and my brother, recently released by our glorious liberators, was but a shell of a man. I love to attend all the executions of those haughty tyrants... seeing those melancholy men, women and children climbing the steps of the guillotine and then watching their heads falling into the corbeille. It is exciting as well as satisfying, and then to see their headless corpses being carried away to be eaten by the starving women. It is justice, Marguerite!' And she took a second bite of the victim's penis, her eyes fixed on his.  

The older woman turned back to the anguished face of Claude de Fortesque, a look of hate burning in her eyes. 'Yes, it gives me great satisfaction killing you tyrants,' she snarled, 'and eating you like pigs, cattle and fowl.' She lowered her head and buried her teeth into his cheek. Sadé finished eating Claude's penis and returned to the man's bleeding groin. She lapped at the blood and then took one of his testicles between her sharp teeth. The excruciating pain rushed through his body as she ground her teeth through the silky skin of his scrotum, biting through the nerves, blood vessels and membranes. Marguerite Lafarge then put her tight lips to his, but instead of imparting a kiss she bit through his upper-lip while Sadé attacked his last vestige of manhood.  

Like hungry jackals those two females ripped and tore the man's flesh with tooth and nail, devouring him alive in drunken relish. The girl, Sadé, delighted in telling him how delicious he tasted, and Mdme Lafarge snarling at him that the ~Nouveau Republique~ will see every nobility beheaded, together with their faithful minions.  

By the time their bellies were full, Claude de Fortesque was dead. Marguerite Lafarge took the pretty girl in her arms and gave her a passionate kiss - L'embrasser - which Sadé happily returned, sending her agile tongue into the mouth of her fervent companion sharing the taste of their wretched victim... just one of thousands that perished by the Revolution. It was said that in the month of October, 1793, Marie Antoinette, after her execution, had parts of her body removed for human consumption - as a reprisal for the scorn she laid upon the poor people of Paris... an expression she once said when hearing of their plight: 'They need bread, bread? Then let them eat cake!'   

So continued the gruesome executions and cannibalism. The scene enacted in hundreds of dwellings throughout France in all the major cities and towns, and there were women like Madame Lafarge in those places who took on leadership such as Claire Lacombe, leader of the Society of Revolutionary Women; Madame Roland a strong proponent of the Revolution who took it on herself to condemn personally those whom she knew sided with Louis XV1 and worked for the Crown. She, like her kind, also had the privilege of selecting those she desired to eat regardless of sex and age. It must have been so despairing for those individuals to be informed prior to their execution that Mdme Roland had chosen them to be cooked and consumed. She often went to the prisons packed with those of the First Estate (nobilities) solely to select those whom she found appetising. One lad, an Adonis, was sobbing in a corner of a large cell. 'Ah, my pretty boy, don't weep...' She took him by his shaking shoulders and drew him close to her bosom.... 'I shall take care of you.' She caressed his head and ran her beringed fingers over his body. 'Mon joli garcon; you have been well fed. That is good. I shall enjoy your company at my table.' She gave him a fond squeeze pressing him against her stomach.' The lad, son of a Comte, gave a moan of dismay, for all the condemned were aware of that woman's reputation. He looked up with tearful eyes at her hard features: 'Pitié, Madame. Are you going to eat me after...?'  

'Mais oui, mon cher,' she replied softly, 'In France today good meat is scarce; Such a pity to waste such tender flesh. What is your name?'  

'Robert, Robert Couve de Chartreux. Madame,' he answered meekly. 'Guard, take this prisoner's name!' she called sharply to a scruffy individual with the emblem of the New Republique emblazoned on his hat, 'I shall have him when the guillotine has done her work. Aurevoir, mon cher,' she said with a smile and stroked his tear-streaked face before stepping from the cell.  

The next day the regular line of tumbrels rumbled and creaked from the prison to the designated place of execution. The crowds were, as always, gathered to mock and jeer the forlorn aristocracy and their misjudged employees consisting of butlers, footmen, housekeepers, maids and gardeners together with their families - all considered enemies of the Republique. Presenting herself as a champion of the revolution, Madame Roland stood proudly on the high platform to greet the condemned. She was undoubtedly attractive and, since being an important figure, dressed immaculately with her brown hair beautifully coiffured. 'Regard, dear Citizens!' she cried waving her bejewelled hand at the approaching prisoners, 'These once privileged petite noblesse who cared little for our distress and wretched lives, now come to meet their doom. They have never gone without... never starved! See how exquisitely they are attired, see how well-fed they are! Well, now their favoured living will end. We have liberty, we have equality, and no longer shall we starve!' A great roar from the eager onlookers. Silence from the tumbrels. 'And, Citizens, those who deprived us from food will now provide us with food!' Another resounding roar went up. Women began selecting individuals awaiting execution. One young woman of sinister countenance shrieked out a young man's name: 'Robert Couve de Charteux!' Madame Roland heard the call and turned sharply: 'Non, it is he who I have claimed!' The disappointed young woman apologised and sought out another youth.  

The executions then went ahead. Mdme Roland with passion in her voice, announced each person as they were manhandled to the board upon which they had to lie. At each name and title, raucous cheers arose, squeals from the women old and young, to be followed by more wild cheers as the blade thudded to its destination slicing through male's and female's necks indiscriminately; Then came the turn of Robert. Like all that went before him, he trembled and looked fearfully at Mdme Roland as she announced his name and title. He felt bewildered by her winning smile. How, he must have wondered, could such an attractive woman act so beastly? Impulsively, perhaps in desperation, he begged her for mercy as he was flung onto the blood-stained board. She then raised her hand: 'Une moment!' The two rough-looking men hesitated.  

'I want this one on his back,' she instructed. The men obeyed. The crowd murmured approval. They had seen so many beheadings with the victims lying prone on the board so that this change came as an added form of 'entertainment.' Girls craned their necks to observe the youth's features. Mdme Roland looked down into Robert's eyes. She spoke quietly to him, her eyes sparkling with anticipation: 'I bid you adieu, mon cher. Tonight I shall be dining on your youthful flesh. Not only me but my sisters.' She gave him a wide smile revealing her teeth and loosened her skirts. 'Look you well, garcon,' she murmured taking her bodice apart to expose her belly, and running the palm of her free hand over the distended paunch, 'I shall have you in here.' She then gave the signal. Robert gazed up at her as the blade began its descent. Her face was the last thing he saw as his head tumbled into the bloody corbeille. The familiar roar exploded from the throats of that eager crowd of men, women and children, and a middle-aged douagere took his place. Both the body and head of the youth were removed, placed in a long basket and taken to Mdme Roland's residence.  

That very evening, the young man's corpse was cooked and eaten by Mdme Roland and her sisters and her only daughter. The head placed squarely on the dining-table for their ghoulish entertainment while they ravenously devoured the tender meat, drank and made merry.   

It was in 1793, the year before Louis XV1, together with his defenders at court were executed that over 500 Swiss guards summoned by Marie Antoinette to restore order, were attacked by vast crowds and overwhelmed. Those who were not killed were all taken captive - some 300 - and paraded through the streets of Fontainebleau. Most of them were young men and were looked upon with gastronomic favour by the women. The older soldiers were singled out and hanged from lamp-posts. Those considered edible and nutritious were given to the women. It was unspeakably barbaric but seemingly necessary for the people to become cannibalistic. Women especially, upon hearing of the display of the Swiss prisoners, flocked from their dwellings to gaze with diverse emotions at the wretched men as they were paraded through the streets to be assembled at the market square. They were stripped of their uniforms and left naked under the lascivious gaze of the women, and then began the bizarre auction conducted as if it were a livestock market:  

'Mesdames, M'moiselles,M'seurs...citizens!' the auctioneer cried from the raised dais, a large, plump woman of ample proportions, 'We have for your delectation fine specimens to whet the appetite....' She seized a young man from the head of the bunch and ran her coarse hands over his shivering body...'What am I bid for this?'  

At once, many female voices called out ten, twenty, thirty sous! The auctioneer threw her hands out in a gesture of mock impatience. 'Mon Dieu, can I not hear a livre or two? This male is of prime stock... enough to feed a large family!' A particularly wealthy-looking young lady seated in a splendid carriage called out 'Five livre!' The offer was accepted and the young man, his hands tied behind his back and looking fearfully at the buyer, was hustled to the carriage and thrown to to the floor at her feet. As the vehicle moved from the square there were heard complimentary remarks wishing the woman 'bon appétit, Madamoiselle!' The lady, obviously of a professional background but not of aristocratic stock, smiled her appreciation, her feet resting on the naked purchase.  

Away from the square and packed crowds she spoke to him: 'Ah, enemy of France, are you not pleased that I have bought you rather than any of those vulgar women?'  

The soldier, mistaking her genteel manner felt his spirits rise and suspected that she was of high rank and had rescued him from the clutches of the 'Third Estate' the bourgoisie and the dreadful fate of his Swiss companions. 'M'moiselle!' he gasped, 'You are my saviour! Please release me and allow me to sit beside you!'  

The lady gave a tinkling laugh: 'Turn yourself onto your back, M'seur, so that I may see your face.' She lifted her feet and he turned. To his surprise she lifted her skirts to reveal her stocking-covered legs. 'Regard my legs, M'seur. Do you see how nicely shaped they are?' He gazed in bewilderment, wondering in confusion her strange behaviour. He turned his eyes to her smiling face so tastefully rouged, her lips seductively carmined, her eyes artfully lined to accentuate their beauty.  

'You are so beautiful!' he exclaimed, but his expression changed when she replaced her feet onto his body.  

'Yes, I am beautiful,' she murmured, 'because I dine well. Since the Great Revolution I have eaten many Royalists... courtiers, and those loyal to the Throne. Human flesh is so beneficial, so nutritious. It is also sweet to the taste. I shall enjoy eating you, M'seur.... especially as you are so handsome. I would have paid a hundred livre for you.  

Ah, mon Dieu, I cannot wait to sink my teeth into your succulent flesh. Ah, we have arrived.' The carriage rolled through the open iron gates and along the crescent drive to come to a halt before a splendid chateau. The driver alighted to help the lady from the carriage and then hauled the soldier out. Just then, several maids appeared to welcome the lady and, to the prisoner's acute embarrassment, gazed at him with admiring glances and shamelessly looked at his exposed manhood which he could not cover.  

One of the maids, presumably the head maid or housekeeper, spoke to the elegant lady: 'M'moiselle du Bois, may I say what an excellent young man you have bought. Shall we prepare him now?'  

'Non, pas encore, Babette. I have need for his services before...'  

The maid gave her employer a knowing smile: 'But of course, M'moiselle.  

'Take him to my boudoir, but first make sure he is clean. I must refresh myself.' Babette turned to a younger maid, flicked her fingers. 'Go with the lady and attend to her.' She then ordered the man to accompany her to one of the toilet-rooms.  

All in all, one would assume Madamoiselle du Bois was a blue-blooded aristocrat, but fortunately she and her family, being of a professional status, were not considered as 'enemies of the Republique' and therefore free to indulge in whatever she pleased.  

An hour later, Jacque, waiting in silently in the small boudoir contemplating his frightful future, looked up at the lady as she entered. He gave a gasp at the resplendent sight she portrayed. The only garment she wore was of the finest gossamer he had ever seen, but what amazed him was what could be seen beneath it. Her figure, although slim, was enchantingly shapely. Her breasts jutted proudly and the nipples impudently thrust themselves at the diaphanous material with tempting arrogance. His eyes traversed her torso until they alighted on the apex of her thighs, and there, in similar inducement, her pubic hair beckoned him alluringly. He fell to his knees.  

'Ma fois, Mademoiselle, il ne pas possible! Such a beautiful young lady! How could you be so beastly? Surely you are not planning to kill and eat me?'  

Without a reply, she sat herself in a low, plush-covered chair. 'Come, bring yourself to my feet. Now give me pleasure,' she ordered softly, 'With your tongue.'  

With a flourish, she raised the negligee high above her hips and spread her legs wide apart. The soldier gaped at the intimate exposure. 'M'moiselle?' he gasped.  

'Tout suite!' she ordered hoarsely, 'Or I shall have skinned alive!' Jacque shuffled forward on his knees, his senses in turmoil. His face drew close to the gaping vulva and his nostrils flared at the musky smell and fragrance exuding from her. A deep, sensuous sigh came from her throat when his tongue made contact with the fatty labia and low grunts followed when his oral feeler began titillating her sensitive nub. He laboured at his intimate task for long, laborious minutes cajoling her clitoris from its hood. 'Your lips!' she sighed, 'Take it between your lips!' In abject obedience he sucked the enormity with apprehension. The lady, becoming aware of his hesitancy, seized him by his head and forced him tighter into herself. 'Pleasure me,' she grunted, 'and perhaps I shall spare your life.'  

Upon hearing her words, a sense of relief sprang up in his heart and, with renewed effort, he responded with passionate vivacity - believing his life depended on his performance. The feminine equivalent of the male organ sprouting from her seemed to grow larger as he sucked and plied his tongue. Quantities of viscous fluid filled his mouth. Her fingers clawed at his head, her thighs closed tightly, spread apart and clamped him with spasmodic clenching force.  

It seemed an age had passed when her loins began jerking. Her gasps came in quick succession interspersed with cries of 'Ah... magnifique, ce' magifique... mon Dieu!'  

She held his head tightly between her thighs as slowly her orgasmic sensations receded and her legs fell apart to release him from hedonistic embrace.  

'M'mselle... M'mselle...' he gasped, 'Did I please you?' She opened her eyes dreamily: 'Tres bien, mon beau soldat. It was sheer heaven.'  

'Then, Mademioselle,' he said with a big smile, 'May I serve you further... you know?' The twinkle in his eyes was suggestive. She knew what he implied. She returned his smile but instead of what he desired, she raised her bare foot and with a kick, sent him sprawling to the floor. She arose from her chair and in a shrill voice called her maids. 'Take him to the kitchen!' she cried imperiously, 'And, Babette, let my sisters know that there will be a banquet tonight.' She looked down at the Swiss soldier with a malicious grin: 'I shall have your manhood inside me, M'seur, as you dearly desired, but in here...' she added patting her belly.  

With callous indifference she listened to his groans as the maids hauled him from her boudoir. A smile of anticipation spread across her features as she stepped into her bedchamber and lay contentedly on her large bed.  

Jacque was just another of the many to be substituted for livestock in that corrupted period. All those Swiss soldiers were eaten by the women of the Nouveau Republique   

In another wing of the chateau three girls, sisters of Mamoiselle du Bois, were idling their time away drawing, painting and reading the latest novel of Marcel de Satré.  

'I think it so dreadful what those people are doing to the noblesse,' muttered one of the pretty girls with a paintbrush in her dainty fingers and studying her water colour, 'Fancy beheading them all! It makes my blood run cold. Why, even ladies and their children!' Her two sisters merely grunted in response, both pre-occupied with their pastimes; and then one remarked: 'But it's what they deserve really. They treat their servants abominably. I heard they never have enough to eat, and if they're caught stealing bread and stuff they are thrown into the Bastille and whipped terribly.'  

'So now, they are being eaten!' giggled the third girl into her book.  

'Dreadful really,' murmured the first girl rinsing her brush in a pot of discoloured water, 'But I suppose we must eat something until this country gets itself straight again. I found it awful at first... actually eating human flesh...'  

'You don't mind it now, do you, Charlotte?' asked one.  

'Well, I've become used to it. I think it's like pork, actually, but not as tough...'  

Just then a maid tapped at the door and entered giving a bob. 'What is it?' she was asked tersely.  

'I beg your pardon, mamselles,' said the maid respectfully, 'I have been told to inform you that there will be a banquet tonight. Mademoiselle Collete has brought a young man... a Swiss soldier from the town square... one of many being auctioned...'  

Joyful squeals filled the room. 'Oh, where is he?' the maid was asked eagerly. 'In the kitchen, medemoiselle, being prepared for the oven.' More squeals erupted.  

'I must see him before he is butchered,' cried one. There came a flurry as the three girls hastened down the great spiralling staircase to the kitchen.  

The head cook, an impressive-looking woman with bulging breasts held aloft a cleaver. There before her lying on the long table was the trembling young man, his eyes staring fearfully at the implement in her strong hand, a maid behind him holding his head.  

'Attente!' shrieked one of the sisters. The cook lowered the weapon and the maid released his head.  

'But, m'mselle, I have to prepare...'  

'Pas encore! (not yet),' came the sharp reply, 'We must look at him.' The woman stepped aside rather miffed. Of all the duties of her office, butchering a live male was the most favoured... especially young males like this soldat. He gazed at the three pretty girls as they gathered about him - their ages ranging from mid-teens to 20.  

'Mmmm... but he is handsome,' murmured one, and with an impulse, bent over him and gave him a kiss. The sister on the opposite side followed suit. She gazed into his eyes first: 'Ah, but he looks so sad. Does it not please you, mon brave, that you will soon be in our bellies?' She gave a sigh and pressed her full lips to his and briefly slipped her tongue between his lips.  

The sister who had shewn some modicum of pity refrained from following her sisters' example of girlish deceit. Instead she regarded his flaccid penis lying dejectedly between his strong thighs. She reached out to touch it and felt the impulse to encompass it in her fair hand. To her amazement, her eyes opened wide as she felt it harden in her grip. At her audible gasp the other two sisters turned. Exclamations resounded as they witnessed the male organ's mighty development. Together, each taking turns, they played with his erect manhood, squeezing and pumping it while inquisitive hands also fondled his testicles. There came tinkling laughter, ribald remarks ;: 'C'est magnifique...Il tellement grand! Tres appétissant! Imagine having that plunged inside our cunnies!' One girl gave a long sigh: 'I must!' She pushed her sister away and took the penis in her hand, gazed at it in wonder and engulfed most of it in her mouth. She sucked it hungrily, now and again rearing her head to expose the saliva-glistening organ then dipping her head to take it back into her mouth. Charlotte, she who had felt pity for the aristocrats' terrible fate, moved to his head. Jacque stared imploringly up at her, seeing a beautiful girl with angelic features. 'Mercy!' he croaked. Charlotte smiled down at him, then she did something that belied her uncorrupted innocence. With a sudden movement she raised her skirts up exposing her pale-skinned belly and leaned over him. 'Kiss me there,' she said softly.  

With that girl smothering him with her stomach, a girl sucking his manly column and another fondling his testicles and with the prospect of being butchered, roasted and eaten, Jacque was in turmoil of mixed emotions. Those three vixens were playing with him like children with a new toy.  

While they made sport with him, each taking turns to kiss him and amusing themselves with his aroused manliness, cook was becoming more agitated and impatient to butcher the man and get him into the huge pre-heated oven. 'Mes jeune fille, I beg you, it is getting late. I must butcher him immediately. The oven is ready!'  

A girl lifted her head from his groin and glared at the cook uttering an unlady-like expletive. 'Fetch me a length of string.. vite!!' she ordered abruptly. The girl snatched the piece of string from the cook and, with a wicked grin, tied it around the base and the loose skin of the victim's genitals. She gave a fierce tug at each end of the tourniquet that brought a yelp from the doomed soldier. For several minutes the three girls gazed at the restricted male organs. 'There, you may have him now,' came the contented consent. Cook, gripping her cleaver, stepped to the table. The pretty maid moved to hold his head. The three young ladies stood close, their eyes dancing with anticipation to watch the decapitation. Excitement was brimming with pleasure. Dainty hands moved to breasts and groin to assuage the sexual tension.

They watched the wretched man's eyes widen in terror as the stout woman raised the kitchen utensil.... and then it was done with a sudden chop. Just at that moment, one of the girls pushed the maid aside holding the severed head. She raised her skirts high and placed herself where the maid had stood to receive the jets of blood from the man's severed neck onto her stomach and between her thighs uttering groans and gasps of hedonistic luxury, and with nimble fingers, gave out loud moans of orgasmic satisfaction as the streams of warm blood splashed and bathed her loins.  

With expert adroitness, cook dismembered the headless corpse but left the maleness in place which, to the girls' merriment, presented a fine symbol of gastronomic sybaritism.  

It was with excited chatter, whispered desires and gales of laughter all the four sisters were bathed in scented water, dried and powdered then freshly attired in costly dresses, their hair coiffured by the maids in preparation for the banquet. That night, tired and with bellies full, those gluttonous fair ladies lay in their beds indulging themselves with knowing fingers, exhilarating with perverse dreams.  

Of course there were all over the Nouveau République many starving families gobbling and wolfing human flesh - the bodies of men, women and children of aristocratic blood and connections, but such was the repulsion of cannibal practices, historians and authors such as Voltaire and his ilk refrained from writing about it for fear of recrimination.   

The last part of this narrative involves a crown court judge who, during his reign of office, sent countless people to death and to long terms of imprisonment. In short, he was as ruthless then as the 'judges' of the newly-formed Republique. He had tried to escape from the rabble knowing that his life was not worth a centime. Upon his capture he was taken immediately to the courthouse to answer for his 'misjudgements'...for committing destitute men, women and children to the gallows and long, miserable terms of imprisonment. The scene in the courthouse was not quite as one would expect....  

A female, Claire Lacombe, the leader of the Society of Revolutionary Women, had appointed herself as the prosecutor and presiding judge. She, like most of the influential women, had a stern expression with eyes that held no iota of pity. With the sash of office with its three colours draped from her left shoulder down across to her right hip, and donning the tricorne emblazoned with the adopted badge of the revolution, she presented a formidable figure. She sat on chair set high and glared down at the ex-judge, Martin La Fresnaye with hands tied behind his back, was made to stand facing her.  

'And now, M'seur, it is your turn to be judged. You indiscriminately sent hundreds to their death and the Bastille merely to feed themselves and their families... men, women and children. Your cruelty will be matched by that of the Republique. You have been found guilty of twisting the judiciary to appease the crown. You shewed no mercy... nor shall we. What we have to decide, M'seur, is how you will best be punished. We can send you to the guillotine, but I have discussed that with my council and decided that beheading is not equal to your vindictive nature. Therefore, your execution will be measured accordingly.'  

The man, trembling, tried to look defiant at the austere features of his Nemesis. 'Madamoiselle, I did my duty as befitted my office. I administered punishment as decreed by the crown. It did not please me to condemn criminals, but I had to obey the law as laid down by the crown. Madamoiselle, I beg forgiveness...' His voice shook. Claire Lacombe glared down at him. 'You dare beg forgiveness? What forgiveness did you shew to those wretched people when all they craved for was food? You shewed no pity so I shall shew you no pity!' Her shrill voice rang out above the crowded room and many voices added their accord. Then her lips twisted with hate: 'You will die, M'seur, a thousand deaths, and I shall have that pleasure of inflicting them. Every instance of pain will remind you of those who suffered by your judgement. 'Take him down!' she snarled, 'My sisters and I will deal with him...' referring to members of her Society.   

A shallow pit had been prepared in the garden of a large house on the outskirts of Paris - a town called Versailles. It was not very deep, measuring 6ft by 2 and a half.  

At the dead of night two carriages arrived at the side entrance of the courthouse. Eight women, including Claire Lacombe, alighted and went into the building. Claire Lacombe announced herself to the surly guards and told them she was taking a particular prisoner away. Recognising her and giving toothless grins, they took Martin La Fresnaye from his cell and handed him over.  

Under torchlight, the avenging women threw the man into the pit and covered his body with earth leaving his head exposed in the dark hole. With a flaming torch held aloft, Claire Lacombe stood over the hole sneeringly regarding the man's unhappy features: 'So, administer of justice, now begins your punishment. We ladies, after our long journey from Paris, have great need to relieve ourselves. You, M'seur, will be the privé... l'pissoir!' A desperate groan came from the depths below. With a flourish, she hoisted her skirts to reveal by the torchlight her pale legs. 'Non..non!' he wailed, and then gasped as a thin stream of sparkling piss issued from her vulva and cascaded onto his face; When completing her shameless act the wretched prisoner was deluged by the remaining seven females, all delighting in debasing the once haughty judge.  

For the rest of that night, Martin La Fresnaye lay helpless in that grave-like pit, the weight of the earth making it impossible to escape.  

The following day the bizarre procedure was repeated. The females, one as young as sixteen, straddled the square hole, this time wearing only flimsy nightdresses. It was inevitable that two or three of them needed to relieve their bowels, and in so doing, squatted low to do their foul business. They laughed, giggled and poured scorn as well as their body-wastes down onto his grimacing face.  

It was not long before the foulness rose. Each time a female presented herself to his anguished view... her hairy vulva and anus, the level crept higher until his features were covered. He strained his neck to keep his mouth and nostrils above the surface - a futile attempt to stay alive. The females, seeing his vain struggles, added to his stress by spitting at him to shew their passionate rancour. By the third day he was unable to endure the pressure of keeping his head above the level of that lavatorial excrement. How they must have amused themselves during those torturous three days and nights... perhaps eating and drinking to excess in order to more frequently visit their human privé.  

It was the younger female who was to use him and hear, having emptied her bladder, his frantic gurgling. She called for Mamselle Lacombe in excited tones. Claire arrived in haste to witness his final moments. She looked down with fiendish pleasure to see him drowning in that repulsive mire of piss and excrement, beaming with pleasure as he gulped it down his throat. 'Now you die, M'seur,' she muttered as she lifted her dress and squatted to compliment that which was pouring down his throat and into his lungs.  

The hole was thereupon filled in with earth, and some time later a gardener was ordered to plant a yew tree in that spot; and to this day, some 200 years plus, it still flourished, nurtured, no doubt, by what lay beneath it.   

The end   





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