Author Topic: Fled the Revolution  (Read 1657 times)

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September 01, 2017, 05:37:11 PM

Offline SoftGameHunter

WARNING!    You must be 18 or over to read these stories of rape and non-consensual sex. This story is all fiction and no characters in it are meant to resemble any real person. That’s the legal part. Here’s the important part to me. This is fantasy, by the author, to be shared with readers who share in such fantasies. That is the story’s sole purpose for being here. In the real world, this sort of behavior is simply not acceptable, period, by any of the laws or morals of any humane people. That means you too. If you actually hurt someone without their informed consent, just stop. Take a deep breath and stop right now. That’s not your right. A surprising number of subs exist out there, so take the time to meet one and make your corner of the world a better place. Don’t trash two lives letting your frustrations get the better of you.

Fled the Revolution

Angelie sat huddled at the end of the carriage bench, getting no warmth from the thin wooden wall and little more from the other women packed inside. As the sun slowly crept upward towards the horizon, she could see her breath in the air again. With a wipe of her hand on the glass, she could see outside as well. Trees passing by, a farmhouse every now and then. Perhaps even a steeple. Where were they? France? Baden? Breisgau? Wurttemberg? Lost? Going the wrong way? Creeping through the night, each carriage shining a single dim lantern, they could be anywhere. Had they crossed any bridges? They couldn’t trust a ferry.

Now, in the dim day glow of morning, Angelie was better able, forced really, to see what she’d tried to put out of her mind during the long night. Marie’s light sobs had been their constant audible companion through the long hours of darkness. Now Angelie could see her again, huddled across from her, in the middle of the hard bench, a scratchy old blanket wrapped around her upper body where her clothes had been before the last stopping.

In retrospect, each woman in the carriage knew the same basic truth; they had gotten off easy. Marie, just twenty-one, was the prettiest of them, and her slightly pouting but terrified face had drawn the checkpoint guards to her quickly. Rather than face the muskets themselves, the women sat stony-faced in stunned silence as she was dragged literally from the carriage, back behind them and out of sight. But not out of earshot. Her screams as the former virgin was defiled and beaten were as clear as anything. As clear after forty-five minutes had gone by as when they started. Finally, from the other carriage, Madame LeCarre’s angry voice had risen, risking them all if the soldiers recognized her. Or more likely, risking them all if she angered them too much. Angelie had peered out the small window, over the heads of her fellow ladies in waiting, watching as LeCarre had stood strong and berated the soldiers for taking their time and putting so much energy into young Marie’s defilement. It was small wonder indeed that she was considered the brains behind the LeCarre noble title. In five minutes, she had somehow convinced the soldiers not only to cease their attack on her young charge, but that her rape had been payment in full to allow them all to pass.

Marie still sat, ashen-faced and shivering from the chill and shock. Staring forward, mouthing silent prayers while her trembling hands continually reached for rosary beads she no longer had. She was lucky even to have her bottom garments, clutching them when she’d been allowed back in, made to let the other women in the carriage silently dress her as much as they could in the shaking, wobbly carriage.

“We’re going the wrong way!” Lisette was the first to break down. She was peering out the other window. Angelie couldn’t see what she was seeing, but she was fairly sure they were at least going vaguely eastward. “We’re not getting away! We’re going deeper!” Lisette sobbed, clutching at the window.

“We’re not!” Eugenie tried to reassure her. “Our driver knows the way, and so does the other carriage!”

“We’re going backwards!” Lisette continued to cry. “We’ve turned around! The road must have looped back! They’ll catch us all! We’ll be violated! We’ll be put the guillotine!”

“We aren’t important enough to be put on the block!” Angelie replied, though she doubted it was true. They might have some respite, so far from Paris, but the blade would eventually claim them all if they were caught.

“Driver!” Simone called up, opening the outside window just a crack. “Are we still with the lead carriage?”

“But of course, mademoiselle,” the man replied loudly enough for all to hear.

“We’ll be violated!” Lisette continued to sob. There was no answer. Politically, the other carriage was in the greater danger, holding the Lady. But in the hands of the soldiery and their associated provincial dogs, it was their own carriage with the younger and more junior ladies that would be in the most peril. Marie had been sacrificed once. Which one would be next? Or would it be all of them?

“The sun is in front of us,” Angelie said. “On your side, Lisette. Look! We’re going the right way.”

“Our natural philosopher speaks, see?” Eugenie said. “She’s right. We’re going the right way.” Lisette nodded, continuing to cry, but subdued. In the growing light, it was plainly written on the faces of the young women that Lisette merely preceded them to hysteria.

Nerves were thus like bowstrings when a distant voice called them to halt. They slowed, continuing forward but at a slower pace. Angelie peered out the window again, turning back to face forward. There was a town up ahead. Walled. She tried to think of the map but couldn’t. She saw the scattered regiments, some tri-colors waving. She saw men looking at the pair of carriages. Looking very eagerly. For the first time in many hours she felt warm.

Now the carriages were stopped. The young women sat motionless. Even Marie was silent, her crying broken at last. The voices were all at the lead carriage. Heated, angry voices. Madame LeCarre’s was one, but the rest were male. Officious, pompous-sounding, angry male voices. There was a pause, and no voices were heard at all. Angelie sat facing straight ahead, essentially staring at Sophie across from her, who did the same back. Neither girl made a move.

The door suddenly was flung open right at Angelie’s side. She and Sophie, both closest to the door, looked down in alarm to see the Republican Army soldiers right outside. Angelie screamed as one of them quickly reached in and grabbed her ankle. She was yanked clean off her perch on the hard bench, her ass hitting the dirty cold floor, and then falling still further as she was pulled entirely out from the carriage. She landed again on her ass on the cold dirt road.

“No, no! In the name of God, please!” she cried as more hands grabbed her. She caught sight of Sophie just behind her, also being mobbed by a pack of eager, lustful men of all different ages. But she had her own troubles now. She couldn’t count the hands all over her body. Too many! She screamed, and tried to kick, but she was just a small woman overburdened by court fashions, and no match for the four or more men currently manhandling her. She cried out, her gaze looking heaven-ward, as she was lifted from the ground and carried to a nearby guard house. It was an old structure, only recently converted to the Republican cause. Now, she felt the cold increase as the men carried her inside and down the narrow, damp stairs to the cellar level. There were no more provisions there, but the remnants of silk and lace scattered about told her what the room was for now.

“Please! Please! Mercy on me!” she sobbed. “Don’t do this!” she screamed. They hurled her to the floor, where she skidded to a halt. Then they were on her like a pack of the provincial dogs they were. Expensive clothing went everywhere. Beside her, Sophie was suffering the same fate, and maybe there were screams upstairs to. Angelie soon found herself huddled on the floor, quivering and shaking, in a situation she had never planned and barely even imagined possible – stark naked and surrounded by men. She clutched her hands over her breasts just for a moment, until they again grabbed her and pinned her on her back, partly on the frigid stone floor and partially on her ruined clothing.

She saw the first of them, an un-shaved, un-bathed, un-kept man in his forties standing between her held legs, pulling at his belt and lowering his pants. He had a big, dirty grin on his face as he lowered everything and Angelie caught in fact her first ever glimpse of an adult male penis. It was a foul thing to see, and she nearly retched at the sight of it, it, it was moving! Getting hard! She knew this, intellectually. But in reality! Tears gushed from her eyes as he knelt at her crotch.

“No, no, no!” she sobbed, feeling it pressing at her. No human flesh had pressed against her there aside from her own fingers, and that usually for washing. Not always, but usually. Now, she could only pray to make it end. She couldn’t even slow it as she felt it find her opening. She clenched her eyes shut, unable to bear seeing what she could feel and hear too horribly. She could hear him slobber and feel the spittle drop onto her opening. And then in he went.

The pain, her opening ripped up! No gentleness. No letting her body adapt, as her older friends had assured her was the case with the right man. She shrieked, knowing agony now on top of shame before Christ and her own dirtiness. He ramrodded her, giving her no time to adjust. She heard the cheers and jeers around her. She felt hands on her. She screamed until her shredded dress ended up partly wadded up in her mouth. She turned away. It was too horrible, and when she felt the sickening, wet warmth filling her lower belly she was truly ruined and beaten.

The next one stepped up, but now Angelie knew the worst. Of course the prospect of a gang taking her was more horrible than she could comprehend. How had Marie lived through it? How would Sophie? But her thoughts were mostly on herself, a life wrecked. Shame and revulsion sat on her soul now. As man after man took her, she fell down further into her own despair.

After some time she realized it was ended. Over. There were men in the room, but not on her. Not in her. She lay filthy, naked, and shivering on the floor, curled up in a ball sobbing in despair.

“So, this is how it ends up?” She paused her crying. The voice over her was familiar to her. She turned and looked up, wiping away tears as well as she could. She had to wipe several times.

“Bertrand?” Her eyes bugged out, seeing her once-suitor. It seemed ages ago.

“Always loyal, that’s my Angelie,” he said coldly.

“Bertrand, please,” she began. She quickly grabbed some fabric and tried to cover herself.

“Too late, darling. I was three men ago. You didn’t even open your eyes. I would have rather been first,” he said, his voice trailing off. “Well, I was late to this party.”

She stared, shock and horror overwhelming her. He wore an officer’s uniform, a captain even. “How?” she asked.

“I’ll make this simple, Angelie. Your mistress, Madame LeCarre, is an enemy of the people. She will lose her head today. And your friends will be put to the Republic brothels, every single one of them.”

“Oh, lord, no!” she wailed.

“I have the clout, however, to let you go onward, free and unharmed. And I will gladly use it.”

“But the others!” she sobbed.

“If you decide to stay with me, though, I will see to it that LeCarre and all but one of your friends is free to go forward. What happens later is out of my hands, but we are very close to the border,” he added. She stared at him, barely comprehending. His words were simple.


“Stay with me, as I always wished of you.”

“You said one of my friends?”

“The men must be placated somehow,” he said simply. “But the rest will go. You must make the choice, Angelie.”

It was too horrible to ponder, her own freedom or theirs. But they were her life, since she was very young. Madame LeCarre was her childhood savior. How could she not make the sacrifice? She nodded, slowly at first.

“I will stay,” she said.

“Very wise.”

“My friends! Which one?” she asked.

Bertrand shrugged. “I don't know. She’s probably in town by now. I knew you would be sensible. Alright, I shall attend to the rest of the matter,” he said, turning to leave. Angelie remained sprawled out on the floor, still under the eyes of several soldiers in the room. And cried.