Homecoming
AS MUCH AS I MISSED my patriot friends, there is nothing like being home. The squares and parks of Paris had a level of sophistication that the frontier lands of America could not match. Though to be fair, America’s raw beauty could not be replicated by artisans. Even the drone of conversations occurring on the street was welcome. You do not know it till you experience it, but the drone of a different language filling the air has a way of being unsettling. So hearing my beloved French revived my soul.
Before making my way home to my beautiful wife, I needed a moment’s rest. Entering the nearest cafe, I requested a glass of wine and a cheese plate. A moment later, the requested food items were placed before me, as well as a local paper. Well used and read by many, as they often are. I was shocked to see the story of local protest against the monarchy.
The fact the monarchy was being protested against wasn’t surprising, Louis XVI and his wife were not loved, nor did they love Paris back. In many ways, I expected my return would see me drawn to revolution given my recent experiences in America. No, rather what was shocking was how the protest was ended. The paper went to some length to describe that these students were killed in the most gruesome fashion - they were crushed as if under heel like an ant.
This news turned my stomach rendering the cheese no longer appetizing. I did spend some time studying my drink. This elixir was my constant companion in war. As it had so many times before, I tossed it back to settle my stomach, as a commotion was heard outside.
A voice thundered through the walls as if they were paper, “Robespierre, your treachery is more than the monarchy can stomach. Stop scurrying away like a mouse.”
I rushed to the door as the floor shuddered underneath me. More than one of the staff tried to stop me, told me to let it be, but I could not. I burst through the door to see a figure - as tall as the Colossus of Rhodes itself - standing over a man cowering on the ground. A man I recognized as Maximillian Robespierre - a French lawyer who I was encouraged to contact upon my return. He was talking to the titaness.
I could hear him refer to the monster as Marie Antoinette. Squinting my eyes - the petticoats, the slim waste, and long features confirmed that this monster was the queen. How she gained a physical statue to match her social stature I had no idea but her fingers had now trapped Robespierre. The poor man let out an maddening squeal as corporal punishment was enacted by her mouth.
As she strode back towards Versailles, I felt weak in the knees and stumbled back into the cafe. The staff helped me to a chair while several ladies fanned me. It must have been quite a sight for them to see me, a decorated war veteran, brought to vapors by the sight of a woman, monstrous as she might be.
No one was very forthcoming when I asked questions, but one pateron slipped me a piece of paper with instructions on where to meet tonight.
* * *
The Storming of the Bastille
Still shaken, my wife thought I was distant when I made it home. I told her what had occurred. She nodded, having heard of what the monarchy had become. Thankfully she had not seen it herself. I made her promise to hide for my beloved becoming a mere hors d'oeuvre was an intolerable thought. She agreed, and encouraged me to attend the meeting tonight.
As dusk fell, I made my way to a dank cellar on Rue St. Antoine being used for the meeting. Cheap wines flowed freely. I took a mug and allowed the soft burn of alcohol to calm my nerves. A slender but powerful looking man approached the front of the room and raised his hands.
“Gentlemen, tonight is the night - we will obtain the drink that will allow us to end the horrors caused by our King and Queen. I have obtained word that a barrel of ‘Drink Me’ is located in the Bastille and the guards on shift tonight are supporters of the cause. I also see we are blessed with the tactical genius of Marquis de LaFayette - the hero of the American Revolution!”
I was shocked at how fast things were moving, and that I was called out. I took a breath. No doubt it wasn’t fast for these patriots. This may have been building for months. For luck, or for providence, I was dropped into this situation now at the moment of need. With the smell of mildew filling my nose, I stood.
“My friends, I left Paris many years ago to cross the sea to support patriots wanting to shed the shackles of a repressive monarchy. Never in my wildest nightmares did I think it would be this bad in my beloved France. I appreciate you fighting this noble cause against monsters that even Homer could not imagine. It is my honor to fight by your side.” I raised my fist.
The room erupted into a cheer. Using my experiences in America, I ensure the patriots were dressed in dark and painted their faces to reduce their ability to be seen. Borrowing a page from my dear friend Alexander Hamilton, I had them unload their weapons and ensure all gear was securely fastened to avoid sounds.
The company, approximately 20 strong, quietly crept up the shadows of Rue St. Antoine and maneuvered around the back of the Bastille, to a small gate on Faubourg St. Antoine. Beyond a small drawbridge led to a door. My hackles were raised and how easily we approached the prison. My stomach nearly fell out when a French soldier waved to us to come in.
Something didn’t feel right. We were escorted by guards who lauded us and told us that they wanted us to eliminate the King and Queen. How some of the soldiers were now literally being used as chess pieces during the King’s games with nobility. We were ushered to an alcove in the central plaza where a canvas tarp covered what appeared to be a shipment of some sort. It was massive.
When all had entered, the doors around the central plaza were shut and the guards who were so friendly before pointed their rifles at us. The captain of the guard spoke, “Please believe us, we really wanted you to succeed. We are nothing but pets and toys to the royal family. However, my loyalty still lies with the Queen.”
Just then the tarp flew back and Marie Antoinette’s massive form unfurled like a great sail. Her buckled shoes stomped and her hands grabbed. Several of the men elected to take a bayonet to the stomach to avoid death at her hands, though that did not stop her from greedily sucking down their remains for sport.
All around me this band of heroes was reduced to sticky gore, and Marie splattered with their blood, took on a red hue. The points of the crescent moon extended from both sides of her head. Clearly I was in the bowels of hell as she snatched me up with apparent restraint. My neck did not snap immediately from her grab; rather, with massive feminine fingers, she ripped my trousers and pinched my scrotum.
“I have you right where I want you. Thank you for this gift LaFayette. Those rebels were tasty. That said, your own treachery is not forgotten, but I need you…” she begins caressing my penis which is hard from fright not arousal, “...to maintain my relationship with the American confederation.” Marie forced me to cum by jabbing at my prostate with her other fingers. “I see you agree. Oh, I’ll make sure to invite your wife over for tea. She would be...I mean would enjoy...some finger food.”
Soaked in the blood of my compatriots, I was shoved into her massive bosom, her corset causing the house sized mounds to squeeze the breath from me until I passed out.
* * *
The Spider's Parlor
Many weeks passed and I spent most of my time in a small cage on Marie’s dresser. Several other political prisoners were there, but their stay was typically very short. To my dismay, Marie had found my wife and was particularly fond of either using my cock as her toy, or using me as a dildo, while my wife was in view. The poor woman was an absolute wreck.
In the evenings, we tried to speak but it needed to be in hushed tones as our owner had very sensitive ears. We reassured one another of our love. Although I was constantly embarrassed about Marie’s sexual escapades, my dear wife reminded me that I had no power to stop her.
I tried to have the same grace as her when the King would use her as a masturbation aid, but that is apparently a failing of mine. One night while the King was using my wife for his pleasures, Marie saw him. She was livid at the King and placed some drops from a vial onto her finger. When she shoved her finger into his mouth he was reduced to normal size with a pop. He and my wife plummeted to the floor.
Marie deposited the bottle on the dresser and picked up both people from the floor. This must be the “Drink Me” potion that the patriots were attempting to liberate from the Bastille. Marie spent the night enjoying the King and my wife until her body was completely spent. I collapsed in my cage, as my faculties informed me that my wife must have been dead as no one could survive such a night of giant passion.
Thankfully I was wrong. My wife crested the dresser top, weakly crawled over to my cage and unlocked it. She told me that now was the time to act. I rushed to the bottle but my heart sank.
“You thought you could get away that easily, Gilbert?”
“Marie, you can’t treat people this way! Don’t you see your Parisans starving in the street!”
“That is little of my concern. You are so very small of mind and body. I have taken nearly everything from you. What makes you think you can talk to your Queen like that?”
“You are not my Queen.”
Marie reached over and plucked up my wife from the table, “I guess this disgusting little wench is? The only thing she props up anymore is my husband’s cock - though I do like the taste of it. I am sure she has marinated enough in his flavor.”
I screamed as my wife was deposited into her mouth. My wife was oddly at peace with the whole affair and even blew me a kiss as Marie closed her mouth. She had surrendered her life to darkness. Marie made sure to swallow in an exaggerated fashion and traced a finger down her neck and sternum. “Oh Gilly, I feel her stirring within me. I have never swallowed anyone whole before. I don’t know why as this is just a magical experience. I feel tingles...wait...what is happening.”
Marie doubled over in pain, collapsing onto the dresser. Her body began to collapse in upon itself until she sat at my feet normal sized. I fetched another handful of “Drink Me” and poured it into her mouth. She was reduced to the size of a doll and then an ant.
Looking down at the pitiful creature, she begged for mercy. “Don’t worry Marie, one day your peasants will eat cake.”
With the tip of my finger, I ended her reign of terror.