Date: Sun, 11 Dec 2011 23:30:51 -0500 From: Lance Kyle Subject: Rue Dauphine 2 Floating up pleasantly from a deeply restful sleep, Scott Barnes lay in bed contemplating his new bedroom--and his raging erection, the result of a night spent dreaming of smooth black boys. The temptation to relieve himself was great, but he knew to wait, for what he hoped the day would bring. Scott delighted again in his uncle's newfangled shower bath, invigorated by the stream of cool water. He dressed carefully and deposited his soiled laundry in the ground floor washroom laundry tubs. He was expecting Mrs. L'Enfant or her assistant soon, and he had barely stepped into his tiny garden when he found one of the older women from yesterday coming from the kitchen. She nodded and entered the house to collect the laundry and to tidy up his bedroom. Scott made a quick breakfast of the provisions in the kitchen, and even as he ate a tradesman brought more food: rice, dried beans, crackers, smoked hams and sausages to hang from the ceiling, a keg of pickles, more wine and beer, dried fruit. He could survive a siege if necessary! Mrs. L'Enfant's assistant was just coming into the kitchen to exit the back way, with a load of laundry and a promise to return in two days, as Scott walked across to the central building. Passing through, he grabbed his hat from the stand in the front hallway and paused, noticing a selection of walking sticks evidently left by his late uncle Balthazar. Picking one up, he gave it a jaunty flourish and walked out the front door, locking it behind him. He took a deep breath in the street, looking left and right, taking in the bustle of the city. Was that the merest flick of a curtain from a second floor room in the house across the street? He must introduce himself soon. Remembering which way to head from Toogood's instructions, he sauntered down the street. Soon he passed shops, and paused to look into most of the windows. Some he entered; at a flower shop he placed an order for regular delivery of fresh blooms. At a gunsmith's he ordered a pair of pistols and a shotgun, also for delivery. Passing by a tailor's, he carefully noted the selection of servants' livery in a corner of the window. Café's, streetcarts selling food, Scott Barnes passed through the bustling city, heading gently downward toward the waterfront. It was not long before he entered a district that was especially bustling at this time of day. He had asked particularly for directions to it: the slave merchant quarter. His pace slowed as he passed low buildings with iron grates over the windows. Passing some buildings he could see large, covered spaces inside where blacks were huddled, some being led to an elevated platform to be auctioned off. Going by other buildings he heard the occasional cry, but whether of pain, grief, or some other cause he could not say. Eventually he found the merchant that Toogood had recommended, and with whom he had a line of credit thanks to the lawyer: Bucknell Brothers. Likely Negroes, said the sign, Prime Negroes, and the like. Walking up to the the broad double doors he pushed one open and went in. A thin middle aged man sat behind a desk to his right, making entries into an accounting book. The man smiled bleakly and rose. "May I help you, sir?" he asked. "Yes," said Scott. "Yes. I am newly arrived in your city to take possession of an inheritance of mine, here in the French Quarter. A house. I have no...servants, sir. I am in need of some." "Excellent, excellent," said the man, and extending his hand said, "I am Lewis Bucknell, at your service. Now, what would you like to see today?" "I will add to my staff gradually, as I am able to train them," said Scott. "Today...today I think a boy. Perhaps thirteen or fourteen years of age. A strong, likely lad." "I see, yes, yes," said Bucknell, rubbing his hands together, "and for, ah, field work or domestic service?" "Domestic service," replied Scott. Bucknell gave him a quick, appraising glance. People came to him for all kinds of slaves and for all kinds of...purposes. It mattered not to him, and he wanted the repeat business. "This way if you please," said Bucknell, showing the way into a small and clean but spare room furnished with but a few chairs. "I will assemble some of my stock, sir. We have a new shipment in from up the river, likely young bucks, I am sure the selection will please you." And he disappeared through another door. Scott could hear the sound of voices not far off, and the sound of shuffling movements. He waited alone in the room. Bucknell came back in and motioned toward the door through which he had just entered. "Just in here, sir, I have some likely prospects for you." Bucknell made as if to fling the door wide, but Scott stopped him. Scott stepped quietly to the door and opened it just a crack, just enough to see into the room beyond. In a stone walled room with iron grates over the windows stood a line of perhaps a dozen boys. They were barely dressed, some with no more than a filthy rag wrapped around their waists, some with trousers so torn and frayed that they covered very little of the boy's nakedness. They stood in a line, heads down, awaiting what came next. Yet Scott still did not open the door wider. He was waiting. And waiting. And then he saw it. Two of the boys, although they kept their heads down, were looking with sidelong glances at their fellows. At the nearly naked bodies in line with them. They looked...and they looked a little longer than one might with casual interest. Scott would own a boy, but did not want to coerce him beyond the bounds of slavery; he wanted to see who might be open to his intentions. These two stood at the end of the line. Was it a coincidence that they came in together? Nodding back at Bucknell, Scott flung open the door and entered, followed by the slave merchant. The air smelled of stale sweat, unwashed bodies, and fear. The dozen boys kept their heads down but now examined him as much as they could with furtive, sidelong glances. Slowly, Scott walked down the line as Bucknell kept up a steady patter behind him. "Very likely boy, sir, twelve years of age but big for his age...ah yes, this one just purchased from a plantation up near Memphis, about fourteen years. A good prospect there, sir, of good breeding stock from Natchez..." And so on. Doing his duty, Scott walked down the line, appraising, and then stopped in front of the last two. "Let me see this one," he said, of the first. Bucknell motioned the boy forward. "Yes, this one is a little younger, twelve, but likely to grow strong, sir," said Bucknell. The boy stood before Scott, wearing only a ragged pair of trousers that barely hung together. He kept his eyes carefully cast down. The boy was a deep chocolate color, and looked twelve, no more. Scott stepped up to him and gently took the boy's head in his hands. His fingers rested in the thick cut wool of the boy's hair, and he tilted the head up slightly. The whites of the eyes had a slight yellow tinge, probably indicative of a bout with malaria. Gently forcing the boy's mouth open, Scott examined his teeth: all there. The boy kept his eyes carefully averted from the white man examining him. "Remove this," Scott said, gesturing to the boy's trousers. Bucknell stepped forward as if to do it himself but the boy himself complied, dropping the ragged garment to the floor. He WAS slight, apparently healthy and sound but the body had not quite grown out of early boyhood. The penis was stocky and relatively short for a black, sticking straight out but not erect, over two balls that clutched tight against the boy's abdomen. A few wispy, kinky hairs grew above the penis. A tassle of skin protruded beyond the head of the penis; the boy was uncircumcised, as were likely all of them. Scott took a small, quiet breath and gently held the penis in his own hands, the deep plum black a contrast to his pink palms, and slid the foreskin back. The boy gasped and his penis moved, growing just a little. Scott examined the slowly, slowly swelling organ for disease or abnormalities, but found none. He dropped it, the organ not sticking out further, but the head remaining out of the foreskin. Wordlessly he turned the boy around and then commanded him to bend over. Scott gently seized the round, firm buttocks and parted them: no piles. He gently slapped the boy's buttocks by way of signaling that he was done, and stepped to the next boy. Scott had kept his eye on this one. During his examination of the twelve year old, he noticed the furtive glances of the second boy toward the white man's ministrations to his fellow slave. This one had no more than a filthy rag wrapped around him, and Scott was sure he could detect a certain rising beneath the scrap. This boy was a little bigger and a little better developed, but still a boy. His skin was quite a rich, dark brown, not so black as to seem purple, but a deep chocolate. The boy stood perhaps five feet tall. Scott stood in front of him looking at him for a moment. "Yes, this one just in from Mississippi, only just over the state line," said Bucknell, "and thirteen years of age." Scott nodded. "What is your name, boy?" he asked. The slave flickered a glance in his general direction, although not at his eyes, and replied, "James, suh." Scott nodded, then stepped up to him and grasped his head in both hands, as he had the first boy. This one's hair was shorter, a tight cap of dense, twisted kinks that felt as crisp as an apple to Scott's touch. Gently, gently Scott turned the head this way and that. The boy's eyes were a bright black in a clear white field. Good. Scott tilted the head up, looking at the broad flat nose that ended in what might almost be thought of as a button nose. The boy's lips were full but not grotesque, and almost but not quite wide. Gently Scott pried the boy's mouth open and looked inside. No bad teeth, but Scott could not resist gently running his finger around the inside of the mouth. The boy did not protest. Releasing the boy's head, Scott pointed to the dirty rag around his waist and said, "Remove this." The boy complied instantly, or maybe it was simply easier for him to do with such a pathetic piece of cloth. Down it fell, and up rose a semi-erect organ at half staff below a small but definite tuft of thick pubic hair. Not thick but long, it curved out over two balls that hung a little below the abdomen in their sack. The pink brown head of this organ pushed through the foreskin of its own accord. Yet Scott seized it gently and pushed the foreskin all the way back. The boy gave a short gasp and muttered, "Masta!" The penis jumped in his hand and grew another inch or more. "You must excuse these boys, sir, many of them are untrained and must be, ah, disciplined in sexual matters" muttered Bucknell, but his glance shifted rapidly between his customer and the slowly swelling member of the boy slave. His penis WAS nearly a purple black, quite the darkest part of him. "Turn around," ordered Scott, and as he bent the boy over, he also grasped the buttocks of this slave and spread them. Again, no piles. Turning the boy back around, Scott looked him up and down. Yes, this was the boy for him. The boy's chest was not mannish but gave promise of being so, two thin pads of muscles with small, tight nipples that, Scott observed, appeared to be hardening. The beginning of a fine set of abdominal muscles could be seen forming beneath the dark brown skin. His legs were shapely and well proportioned, his arms graceful as muscles chased each other down to his hands, which had long fingers. The penis drooped like a lily, slowing losing its hardness. "I am interested in this one," said Scott. "How much?" He and Bucknell argued the boy's price in front of him, but soon struck a bargain. "Come sir, let us return to my office," said Bucknell, and motioned the boy James to follow them as they stepped through the door. Bucknell gave some orders to the other boys and then followed them in. James seemed to give one last glance back into the room, toward his friend. Scott presented some papers attesting to his line of credit, which Bucknell acknowledged. There were papers to be signed and exchanged and then Bucknell rose and shook Scott's hand. "Congratulations, sir," he said, "you have made a fine purchase," and then he walked toward the door to the street. "But...but, is this the boy's only garment?" Scott asked, gesturing at the filthy rag that James had now tied back around his waist, barely covering his genitals and buttocks. "Oh yes, we are not a haberdashery, sir," said Bucknell, "We sell our stock `as is.' But I believe you will find an excellent tailor that will make servants' livery, sir, just around the corner and..." "Yes, yes Grant and company I believe," said Scott, having noted the merchant on the way to the slaver's that morning. "Very well, he said," and then looking at James he smiled and said, "come along, James. Oh," he added before exiting, "my name is Scott Barnes. Scott Barnes. You may call me Master Scott." "Yes suh," James said in a low, reedy voice, "yes suh, Masta Scott." And he followed the white man out into the street. Scott was surprised at the evident complete lack of surprise caused by the sight of a well dressed white man leading a nearly naked black boy through the streets of New Orleans. They began to move back through the streets, James a step behind his master, Scott glancing down to survey his new property. Passing a street vendor selling meat on bread, Scott saw the boy's sharp, hungry glance at the cart. Scott stopped immediately and asked the boy if he were hungry. "Yassuh, I is," said James, "they give us jes corn mush there. But," he added as an afterthought, "it ain't bad corn mush." Nevertheless his eyes never left the food cart. Scott purchased the meat and bread and gave it to the boy. They stood quietly in the street for a few moments as the boy tore ravenously into it. He was nearly done before he stopped and dared a quick glance at his master, then hung his head and said "Thank you suh, thank you. Tha's mighty good." Scott rubbed the boy's crisp black hair by way of reply. When the boy's meal was finished, they continued walking, James now with a noticeable spring to his step and glances of interest at the passing city. Coming by the doors of Grant and company, Scott led the way in, wondering for a moment what the proprietor would think of a nearly naked black boy in his business. A man stepped out from behind the counter and immediately greeted him: "Good afternoon, sir! Newly come from the markets, eh? We have some fine livery for servants to show you." Evidently Scott was not the unique spectacle he had thought himself. The clerk and Scott conferred and the clerk took careful measurements. Scott ordered four sets of plain, everyday clothing: ordinary serviceable trousers and a shirt. Then he ordered two more formal sets of livery for times when he might want James to be more presentable. And finally, a pair of sturdy shoes. All the clothes he ordered just a shade large, knowing the thirteen year old would grow. The clerk took Scott's information and promised delivery of the clothing within three days. Scott led his boy slave back into the street and after a little more walking they arrived at the door of the house on Rue Dauphine. Turning to his slave boy he said, "This will be your new home. I...I want you to be happy here." James dared a quick glance at his master, and Scott caught a look between surprise and pleasant relief. Perhaps no white man had ever expressed a hope that the black boy would be happy. Man and slave boy stood together on the front steps for just a moment. And there it was again, the flick of that curtain from across the street; perhaps held open a shade longer than previously. Scott turned his key in the lock and entered, followed by the boy. He secured the door behind him. It had been a long day and twilight was creeping across New Orleans. Scott lit some candles and a lantern and appraised the boy. "Are you still hungry?" he asked. "Yes...yes suh," the boy replied, hesitantly, unsure if that were the correct answer. Scott nodded and let the way out the back of the central building, across the courtyard, and into the kitchen building. Setting the lantern on the rough wood table he brought out bread, sliced some ham, and placed some dried fruit in a bowl before setting out two plates, one for him and one for James. Scott motioned toward a chair at the table. The boy didn't move. "Where...where you wan' me to eat, Masta Scott?" he asked. "Why, there," said Scott pointing to the chair and then sitting down in another one. The boy still hesitated. "It...it ain't right, Masta. Lemme eat over there" he replied, looking vaguely around the kitchen for another seat. "Nonsense, James, it's quite alright, sit and eat," said Scott, and began to do so himself. The boy, shifting glances at the table, the chair, and his master, hesitantly sat. Once he decided it was truly acceptable, he began to eat ravenously again. The two continued their meal in silence. Scott wanted to know more about the boy, to learn his story, but he respected James's hunger and let him eat. Finally, having cleaned his plate, James let out a short huff of breath and leaned back, his glance still respectfully down. "Tha's mighty good, Masta, thanks," he said. Scott nodded and finished his own meal, then rose, leaving cleanup to Madame L'Enfant's cronies the next time they came. As they had sat at table, Scott noticed the creeping presence of a stale odor coming from the boy. It had likely been days since he had washed. Time for a bath. Taking the lantern, Scott led the boy back into the central building and took him to the ground floor washroom. "This," he said, pointing to the toilet seat, "is where we relieve ourselves." And then by way of demonstration, Scott unfastened the front of his stylish trousers and pulled his penis out and began urinating down the hole. James stood transfixed, not daring to look the white man in the face, but keeping a steady gaze upon the man's penis. Scott feigned nonchalance, but he knew exactly what he was doing. Finishing, he slowly shook his organ, then put it back in his clothing. "Of course," he said, "you may sit if you need to do anything else." James glanced at the hole. "Go ahead," Scott said encouragingly. The boy considered and then did indeed sit. Evidently he had had some need, for he defecated almost immediately. Scott pointed to some old newspapers kept there for the purpose of wiping. The boy did so, sat a moment longer, then stood. But before he could retrieve the rag he had worn, Scott whisked it away. "This will be washed, if not burned," he said. "For now, it has been a long day and we have both been out in the sun. Time for a wash." And then casually, he began to undress himself. The boy James stood transfixed. His master removed one garment after another, carefully placing them in the laundry tub, removing the contents of his pockets as he went. Scott enjoyed the effect he was having. The long flower stem of a penis that the thirteen year old sported was slowly rising again. Embarrassed, the boy covered it with both hands, but continued to stare, unable to help himself. Scott removed everything down to his underwear, and then took that off. James now fairly gawked at the slim but muscled white man, his short blonde hair offset by a bush of dirty blonde pubic hair above a sizable but not overly large penis. The white man was decently muscled but not overmuch. Man and boy stood for a moment regarding each other. Then Scott's own penis began to push out and rise above the pendulous, heavy testicles hanging below. James's eyes grew wider and he cast quick glances in the direction of James, trying to ascertain what it meant. "This is our shower bath," said Scott, turning the spigot with the air of a tour director. "Step into the tub and stand under the water," he directed James. The boy did as he was told, stepping awkwardly from trying to hide his erection at the same time. Once the boy was under the shower, the water glistening on his deeply dark skin, Scott took a large bar of soap in his hand and began rubbing it all over the boy's back. Down the lightly muscled back, then over the high round buttocks that stood out and up a little, as African buttocks so often do, and then soaping a finger the white man insinuated it just into the boy's rectum. James flinched and braced himself against the wall of the shower. Pushing in just a little, pulling out, the white man cleaned the boy's backside, then directed him to turn around. Scott lifted the boy's arms and scrubbed in the pits, seeing the few wisps of hair that grew there. The boy returned his hands to cover his penis as soon as his master finished each arm. Scott soaped up the boy's lightly muscled chest and abdomen, then slid the bar down over the small but definite tuft of pubic hair and pushed the boy's hands away. His penis was now rampant, springing up and out, no longer a drooping flower. The boy gasped as the white man pulled the foreskin back and soaped the entire penis. "I...I is sorry, Masta," breathed James, not knowing what else to say, how else to justify his raging erection in the hands of the white man. The thirteen year old was beginning to breathe heavily now. "Nonsense," said Scott, "just a bit more...now...there, we are done. Step out." The boy did so and was handed a towel which Scott gave him for drying himself. Scott himself stepped into the shower and cleaned himself exactly as he had done to the boy. James never took his eyes from the white man. Soon Scott was finished and stepped out, drying himself with another towel. He instructed the boy to wrap the moist towel around himself, and doing the same, Scott took the lantern and led the way upstairs. The boy looked around in wonder at his new home. But on the way up the boy stumbled once, and Scott perceived that he must be dead tired. On the second floor landing Scott showed James the upstairs toilet and shower bath, and then led him into his bedroom. Scott removed his own damp towel and spread it over a drying rack in the corner, motioning for the boy to surrender his towel as well. The boy's erection had subsided somewhat, but man and boy still stood stark naked before each other. "Where you want me ta sleep, Masta?" James asked, looking around the room. "We will share this bed," said Scott, pointing matter of factly toward the large four poster. "I have some paperwork to attend to for a while, but I see that you are tired," he said. "Go ahead and lie down in the bed, I will join you soon." Scarcely believing what he heard, fearful of misunderstanding and doing something that would draw punishment, James walked hesitantly toward the bed. He glanced questioningly at his master as he approached the left side of it, but Scott was already sitting himself naked at a nearby desk. The boy slipped gingerly under the covers, luxuriating in a comfortable mattress and sheets of a kind that he had never known. But he was so tired that he fell asleep almost instantly, exhaustion overcoming his fears. Scott worked at his account books for another hour, recording accounts opened at stores, noting down the purchases of the day...including the human purchase...and putting everything in order. Then he extinguished the light and walked to the bed. The moonlight shown in through the open window as Scott slipped into bed beside his naked black slave boy. For a moment Scott examined the near perfection of the thirteen year old and then reached out and caressed the boy's head. He shifted closer, to lie right alongside his slave. James murmured and then startled awake, blinking in the dark. Then he perceived the white hand holding his head and carefully lay back down, not daring to think of what might happen next. Scott stroked the boy's head, running his hand through the crisp hair, rubbing the boy's ears and cheek. By now man and boy were staring at each other frankly, years of training in the black boy to avoid eye contact with whites now lost in the wonder of this new experience. Stroking and caressing the face, and then the white man leaned over and kissed the boy on the mouth. Pulling off for a moment he allowed James to gasp, "Masta!" and then he covered the boy's mouth again, slowly, very slowly exploring the boy's tongue and teeth and lips with his own. James lay passively for a moment, staring hard in the dark at the white face covering his, and then he began to respond, moving his own lips and tongue as his master did. Breaking off the kiss on the mouth, Scott laid a trail of light kisses down the boy's neck and across his chest. Now with his right hand he lightly rubbed the boy's chest and then his abdomen, the cleanly washed smell of boy flooding his senses. James's breathing was now coming harder, and he whispered "Oh, Masta!" again and again, not knowing what was to happen. Scott took the boy's nipples into his mouth, tweaking them with soft bites, and continued his hand's lazy progress of rubbing, going downward in overlapping circles. And then before long the hand brushed the penis, the plum black penis which by now arched up and over the thirteen year old's abdomen. Another circle, another brush, and then Scott seized the boy's organ firmly. "Ah Masta!" he cried, now holding back no longer, nearly squirming with delight. Sliding down in the bed, slowly pumping the boy's tumescent organ, Scott ended up crouched between the boy's trembling legs, and then he took the rampant black cock entirely into his mouth. Out of control now, the slave boy James cried out in wonder, ecstasy, and alarm combined. He had never heard of a white man doing such a thing to a black male, but it was now happening to him. Scott took as much of the organ into his mouth as he could and began sucking, pumping his head up and down, as both his hands now slid over the boy's heaving belly. This went on for perhaps a minute and then with a mighty cry the boy bucked, arched his back, and pressed his hips up. Scott could feel the boy ejaculate in his mouth--not a lot, for he was but thirteen, but definitely an ejaculation. He held the penis in his mouth for a while, milking it of its semen, and then in a gulp swallowed the discharge. James, aware of that also, gasped in surprise that a white man would do such a thing. Scott let the penis slip from his mouth with a plop, trailing a silver thread of slime. Then, gently, the white man crept on top of the slave boy and inserted his own hard penis between the boy's shuddering thighs, closing them together by placing his own legs outside the boy's legs. Scott now pumped up and down, fucking the boy just below his wilting black cock and depleted ballsack, sliding his penis in and out, in and out, and then with his own great cry, clutching the boy hard by the shoulders, pressing the side of his face against the boy's, Scott pumped his own seed out and through the space between the boy's legs and buttocks and onto the sheet below them. The white man lay shuddering on top of the black slave boy for two long minutes while James very hesitantly brushed his hands over the white man's back, trying to do what would please his master but unsure of what was allowed. Eventually the white man rolled off and, gathering the boy in his arms, settled them both for sleep. Exhausted by the day and now by his sexual experience, the boy fell asleep instantly. Scott was not far behind. But as he drifted off...was it the wind he heard? It sounded like a sigh, moving in the air through the house. The wind, he decided, whether he believed that or not, and fell asleep. Comments welcome: lokiaga@austin.rr.com