Date: Thu, 4 Dec 2008 22:38:32 -0700 From: Dream Spinner Subject: "The Brewsters Celebrate Mardi Gras - Part 2/2" (t/t, m/m) Caution/Welcome. This is a story involving four brothers between the ages of thirteen and seventeen, their forty-five-year-old father and a fortysome married gay couple, their gay twenty- one-year-old nephew and his boyfriend, sundry hot and spicy Cajun and dark and sexy Creole boys, some Voodoo and a lot of sex in the Big Easy during Mardi Gras. It is posted at free gay adult story sites for adult entertainment only. Permission is not given to copy electronically nor in any other form for the purpose of redistribution or posting at sites other than those just described. This is the forty-ninth story in the Brewster Adventures special events and myths series. Chronologically it follows the forty-eighth story in the series, "The Brewsters Celebrate Boy Scout Day", but like the other stories in this series it is a stand alone story that can be read totally on its own. Comments, Mardi Gras beads and all expense paid invites to future Mardi Gras celebrations can be sent to the author J.O. Dickingson at authorsix@hotmail.com THE BREWSTERS CELEBRATE MARDI GRAS - PART 2/2 While their brothers and father were getting it on at the masked ball, Bobby and Benny were getting it on back at the French row house on Iberville Street. Bobby was laying flat on his back with his legs spread and his knees pulled back against his smooth, rounded chest and his ass propped up on a pile of pillows. Benny, stark naked like his brother, was kneeling between his outspread legs, his elbows on either side of his brother, and his stiff dick, just an eighth of an inch short of six inches, shoved up his kid brother's hot, moist asshole. Over the years the two brothers had fucked each other in every position imaginable, and Benny being an expert on all matters sexual, had searched the Internet and knew positions that even the wisest gurus from India had not thought of. Of them all, they preferred the one they were in, face to face, so, as Benny put it, they could gaze into each other's eyes at that ultimate moment when they orgasmed and became one. Besides being a horny little bugger, fifteen-year-old Benny was a bit of romantic. The two boys having thick, dark-brown hair which both had grown out in the same style and streaked with the same copper highlights, the same hazel eyes and their father's dark, handsome looks, it was like they were looking into a mirror except with thirteen-year-old Bobby at four-foot-ten and ninety-five pounds, Benny was two years older and six inches taller and twenty pounds heavier, and at fifteen had started to grow fine peach fuzz on his upper lip. While Benny was screwing his kid brother, his father was screwing also, enthusiastically working his hips to and fro, driving his cock in and out of Philippe's hot, moist chute as he sucked hungrily on Henri's cock. He had not felt this hot in a long time and despite being a married man with seven children he felt no guilt making out with the two men. He would never cheat on his wife with another woman, but what he was doing with the two men was something he could never do with his wife. Besides, it was not as if they were complete strangers. They had been exceptional hosts and in the short time he'd known them he knew they were an honest, trustworthy couple. Of course being friends with his younger brother that came as no surprise to him, nor that they had full-heartedly included him in their weekend festivities. He knew this was a particularly special weekend, and that they'd so openly and willingly accommodated him and his sons spoke highly of their friendship with his brother and of their openness and generosity. Speaking of his sons, as he slid his lips up Henri's cock and swallowed his dick-flavoured saliva, he noticed out of the corner of his eye the blond boys and their partners that he'd noticed earlier now engaged in a hot foursome across the dark, shadowy room. The one blond was whomping the ass of one of the older boys while the other blond, who had to be a twin, was getting his ass screwed by the other dark-haired boy while he, and the other boy being screwed, were gyrating against each other. They had stripped naked except for the leather bands around the blond boys' arms and the masks they continued to wear, the masks of the two blond-haired boys he suddenly realized being identical to those his sons had purchased in the French Quarter when they'd arrived on Friday. Of course there were hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of such masks sold in the city that weekend, though that they were being worn by two lithesome young boys with gorgeous, blond hair cascading down their backs almost to their waist just like his sons made the possibility that it was a coincidence highly unlikely. That he was watching his two teenage sons getting off with two young men, likely the nephew of the man he fucking, was particularly erotic. Of course he'd known for a year now that his two oldest sons were gay, and he had himself messed around with them and their younger brothers this past year, but seeing them there, naked and writhing and gasping with two other youths, the one with his cock buried up his partner's ass and the other with a cock buried up his, hit home to him the raw sexuality and gayness of his two boys. While many men would have found such a sight at least a shock, and for most repugnant and even horrifying, Barry found it arousing. He had no qualms about his bisexuality, and he was delighted to see his sons so openly and enthusiastically accepting and engaging in that which brought them such great pleasure. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his own pleasure, the pleasure throbbing through his own blood-engorged cock and causing his dickhead to itch madly, the pleasure of having his long, thick cock surrounded by hot, moist, pulsating assflesh, the pleasure of having a hard, throbbing cock pulsating in his mouth, and the pleasure that comes from knowing the pleasure he was feeling was being felt by his two partners. He sucked eagerly on the blood-engorged knob in his mouth, delighting in its flavour and trembling as he felt the first dollop of pre-cum ooze out of the piss-slit. He grasped Philippe's hips more tightly as he began to plow his ass, his aching cock demanding satisfaction that he knew was only seconds away. Philippe and Henri were close to their own climaxes, and from Barry's increased intensity they knew he had to be about to pop also. Philippe could not believe the size of the monster cock reaming out his ass, stretching his anus wider than it had ever been stretched before and probing his rectum deeper than anything had ever done, even the longest dildo he'd ever had shoved up his ass. As he sighed with the awesome pleasure so did Henri as Barry worked his lips up and down his cock and sucked on his tumescent organ and as he felt the tension building in his groin. James's brother had proven to be as hot and skilled a cocksucker as James himself, which he hadn't ever doubted. The three men shot simultaneously, Barry sending a hot enema of thick cum up Philippe's rectum, Henri sending a flood of hot, creamy cum down Barry's throat, and Philippe blasting out a load of cum to spatter the tiled floor beneath him. They shuddered and gasped with the pleasure of their ejaculations, and the pleasure of having made another man cum. Never had Philippe felt such a hot blast up his rectum and he was sure he could feel Barry's sperm swimming even further up his chute. Henri was sure he'd never blasted so hard either and he quivered as Barry drank his hot, creamy cum eagerly and continued to work his lips up and down his now numb shaft, sucking the hot marrow out of his throbbing bone. Barry had inhaled deeply as he felt his first spurt erupt from his cock, and as he swallowed the flood of cum spurting out of Henri's bone the overwhelming pleasure, his and that of his two partners, caused him to momentarily forget his sons and to think only of the awesome pleasure he was experiencing. Across the room the hot, sweating foursomes were cumming also, Brent and Marcel trembling with delight as their hairy nuts constricted and they're hot, thick cum spurted out of their burning pee-slits and up the hot, tightly gripping ass they had been fucking. Squirt after squirt erupted out of their throbbing, burning dicks and spurted up into the dank depths of their two partners. Andre and Brett quivered with delight as they felt the hot flood of a man juice spurt up their rectums and the thick, hard bones buried deep up their assholes quiver and throb out their juices. They quivered too with delight as they ejaculated themselves, their stiff, aching cocks penned between their bodies throbbing out their juices, they're thick, white cum spurting up out of the swollen, blood-engorged knobs like geysers. Their cum shot up over their smooth, muscular chests, Brett's and Andre's, and flowed back down over their burning, hard teats and on down over their six-pac abs and over their swollen cocks, clotting in their thick hairs and flowing on down over their tightly drawn-up balls and down their thighs. Despite having cum the previous night, they were young and healthy and had an endless supply of hot jism. Wrapping their arms about each other and kissing, they were hot and sticky, and so happily gay. Back at the neat little house in the French Quarter, Benny and Bobby were gasping and twisting with their orgasms also. Benny smiled down at Bobby as he lunged forward and his cock began spurting out his cum, filling his kid brother's rectum with his ooze. He never ceased to delight in the awesome feeling of popping a nut, nor of seeing the look of sheer delight in his kid brother's eyes as he felt his rectum being filled. Spurt after spurt erupted out of the fifteen-year- old's hot, flushed body and he delighted in the burning of his dickhead and the powerful release of his seed. Bobby threw his head back and cried out with ecstasy as he felt his rectum being flooded with his brother's stuff, and he trembled as his own powerful, dry orgasm hit him, his little cocklet throbbing and aching with such painful pleasure, his little nuts constricted to the size of peas. "Oh Marie, Marie, Marie," he sighed deliriously as his entire body shook and he opened and closed his peehole, his stiff, throbbing dicklet feeling like it was on fire and his rectum filling with his brother's juice. After another filling breakfast, they began Lundi Gras, Fat Monday, with a visit to the Mardi Gras museum. At noon King and Queen Zulu and King and Queen Argus arrived at the museum and led a mini parade with a regal jazz and brass band and Casa Samba from the exhibition hall to LaSalle's Landing where they boarded a boat and crossed the river. While Barry headed off to the Hilton nearby for another meeting with the entrepreneur from France, his sons and their two hosts strolled along the Riverwalk. Upon Barry's exuberant return, a contract to begin a franchise of WeCare Pet Supplies stores in France in his hand, the rest of the afternoon was spent eating po'boys and lazily wandering downtown enjoying the street festival of live music, mimes, jugglers, stilt walkers, and Dwaino the Clown along with thousands of other revellers. It was like living in another world. King and Queen Zulu returned by boat at five and six o'clock marked the arrival of Rex with all the royal fanfare and formality befitting the King of Carnival, followed by a colourful display of fireworks over the Mississippi at six-thirty. Wandering up to Jackson Square, they were entertained by street performers of all ages, all with their caps, cups or instrument cases in front of them for donations. A pair of young Creole trombone players in black slacks and white shirts with bow ties and their hair done in corn rows who looked to be close to the twins age and twins themselves caught their attention, and especially that of the twins, not just because of their superb skill on the trombone, but because of their handsome dark looks. "Not bad," Brent said appreciatively, tossing a dollar into the trombone case on the street. "Not bad? Just not bad?" said one of the players indignantly in a high-pitched voice, his eyes widening. "You think you can do better?" he asked with a sly grin, sensing a challenge and being an expert at hustling the crowd. "Well, actually I'm more of a trumpet player." "Oh yeah?" he said with a broader grin. Reaching behind them, he pulled out a trumpet case and opened it up. "Let's see what you can do, white boy," he challenged. With the encouragement of his father and his brothers, Brent took the instrument and adjusting the taps, he played one of the jazz pieces he'd learned in the Crestview Heights High School Band. Already in the mood of Carnival, he swung and swayed with the music, and several passerbys tossed coins into the open case. When he was done, the boy who had challenged him played another selection, clearly trying to outdo Brent's performance, again with people stopping and tossing coins into his case. Brent needless to say followed with another selection, putting even more into it. As they began to gather a crowd and more coins began to be tossed, the other boy joined in to form a threesome. Nearby a pair of fourteen-year-old black boys with their coarse, shoulder-long hair held back with brightly coloured head bands and wearing tattered, sleeveless white T-shirts and shiny nylon shorts and taps on their tennis shoes had caught the attention of Benny and Bobby, for the same reasons the two trombone players had caught the attention of their older brothers. The two boys looked like twins, right down to the thin wisps of hair on their upper lips, and they were good. Bobby, normally hyper and especially so with all the junk candy he'd been eating and soda pop he'd been drinking, could not help but dance along as he watched. Caught up in the mood of the day, he and Benny ended up putting on a hip hop performance which caught the attention of the crowd passing by, and like with Brent, some because of their skill and others because of the young boys' good looks. Benny's cap having fallen off during their performance, several tossed coins in it assuming he was a busker. "Not bad. Not bad at all," the trombone player said to Brent with a wide grin as they finished their next tune. "For a honkey." "Not bad? Just not bad?" Brent said, widening his eyes in mock affront, causing the other boy to laugh. He handed back the trumpet. "Why don't you stay and play a while? We'll split what we make. I'm thinking between the three of us we could make a nice pile of coin." The three had gathered an appreciative audience, and like with Bobby and Benny, not all of them were music lovers. Brent looked at his father hopefully. Having a jam session in the French Quarter would be wicked, and with two hot, black boys, and of course with the possibility of doing more than just play music afterward, it would be an experience of a life time. "I don't know," Barry replied, knowing it would disappoint his son, but this was the Big Easy, and it was Lundi Gras. Not everyone was a tourist or out for a good time and he knew the French Quarter was not the safest place at the best of times. Still, it had been an awesome day and he was in high spirits what with the successful conclusion of his business in New Orleans and still riding a high from the hot time he'd had the night before. "Can we stay too, just for a while, Dad, please?" Bobby asked, looking up at his father with his large, hazel eyes and a look he knew his father was a sucker for. "We'll all stick together, promise," Brent said. "We'll watch out for each other, and we'll go straight home afterward." "I'm sorry boys, it's just not safe," Barry replied regretfully. "Your father's right," a gravely-voiced man said behind him. "It's not safe down here at night, and there's a lot of strangers in town who aren't here to enjoy the Mardi Gras." They turned to see a large, beefy man wearing the uniform of the New Orleans City Police. "Uncle Elie," said one of the seventeen-year-old trombone players, breaking into a smile, which seemed to come naturally and frequently. The two high-fived. "This pair in particular I would not trust as far as I could throw them," the man said with a broad grin himself. "Nor those two scalawags," he added, nodding to the two tap dancers. "You're wise not to let your boys wander on their own, particularly this weekend," he continued, looking at Barry and turning serious again. "Along with the good, Mardi Gras attracts more than the usual number of pickpockets and petty thieves, and," he said, glancing at the four Brewster brothers, "some people let down their inhibitions, if you know what I mean. You're not from New Orleans are you?" "No. We're guests," Barry said, glancing at Philippe and Henri. "Philippe Dumont and Henri Duhamell," the men introduced, shaking hands. "Where are you gentlemen living?" "980 Iberville Street. Just below Burgundy." "That's not far from us," said the trombone player. "We're on South Robertson, near the Superdome. We could see they got home safe. Or they could sleep over with us, and Domingue and Leon can join us," he added, nodding to the two younger black boys, "and we could see them home in the daylight." "Now that's real New Orleans hospitality, but don't you think you should check with your momma and poppa first before you start inviting people home overnight?" their uncle asked with a smile. "They wouldn't mind. Sides, it's Mardi Gras." "I'm sure they wouldn't, but we'd best check," he replied, taking out his phone. "If that sounds all right to you," he said, looking back at Barry. To the boys' delight, Barry nodded. And so it was arranged. The Brewster brothers would go with the two trombone players, who were twins, Jean-Paul and Jean-Claude Fontenot, and their cousins, leaving the evening free for Barry. That fit perfectly, his two hosts having already decided to take him to the Phoenix in the historic Fauborg Marigny neighbourhood on the outskirts of the French Quarter to celebrate the successful conclusion of his negotiations. The Phoenix, one of the largest bars in New Orleans, had been serving the gay leather/Levi and SM community of New Orleans for twenty years and was well known by the international gay crowd. Comfortable they were leaving the boys in safe hands, they headed directly for the bar and after a few drinks and pleasant conversation Barry, Philippe and Henri headed upstairs to the Eagle's Nest which catered to the cruise crowd and was known for its music, videos, pool table, and anything goes atmosphere, encouraged by dark corners and a twisted staff. They were not there for the music, videos nor to play pool. By then the Fontenots had enough busking for the night, and with the anticipation of some fun with the four very hot brothers they'd met that night, they'd begun heading for their home. With the narrow, dark streets and unfamiliar street names and the jostling, sometimes frightening crowd of merrymakers, the four brothers were secretly very glad they had guides who knew where they were heading. "Is 1020 St. Ann Street anywhere near here?" Bobby asked. "Not far. Two blocks over and five blocks north, why you asking that?" asked one of the older twins, Jean-Claude. "I thought we could maybe just stop there for a minute." "What the heck for?" asked Benny. "That's where Marie Laveau lived, remember?" "Oh yeah. So?" "So I thought maybe, you know, we might see her." "Who is Marie Laveau?" asked Brent. "The Voodoo queen of New Orleans," Bobby replied. "You said she lived there, like in past tense," Brett pointed out. "Yeah." "So why would you think you might see here there?" "Her ghost is still there." "Her ghost?" "She's dead." "And you want to see her?" "Yeah." "Why?" Bobby shrugged. "Com'on, Bobby, what's up?" "I just thought, well, you know, we might see her, and, well, I could ask if she got the things I left for her." "What things? And left for her where?" Brent asked, wrinkling up his nose. Sometimes his kid brother was very weird. Well, most times actually. "Just some stuff I left at her grave." "At her grave?" the twins chorused together. "Yeah." "And what did you ask for in return?" Benny asked. "Ah, never mind. I think I got a good idea." "Jeez, Bobby, you don't really believe all that Voodoo mumbo jumbo crap, do you?" Brett asked. "Voodoo isn't mumbo jumbo crap," Jean-Claude and Jean-Paul said together, and from the sharp tone of their voice, it didn't take a genius to know they were offended. "Hey, I'm sorry," Brett said quickly, not wanting them to be angry. "It's just hard to believe all that stuff you see on TV about witches and putting curses on people and zombies and stuff, you know?" "Yeah, well, I find it hard to believe some of your Christian crap like ministers putting their hands on a cripple and him throwing away his crutches and walking, or Jesus coming back from the dead and talking to his disciples and stuff too," responded Jean-Claude coldly. "Besides, Voodoo isn't at all like what you see on TV and it's a hell of a lot more than just spells and curses. It is a religion," added Jean-Paul. "Fuckin' right," agreed his brother. "Hey, I was just going on what you see on those old horror movies. I'm sorry. If you want to stop at that St. Ann place, that's fine," Brett apologized. "It's not too far out of the way, is it?" "Not really." The walk to the address was in silence and the joking and comradery that had characterized their earlier conversation was noticeably missing. Brett was sorry he'd made the comment, especially from what he knew about his twin brother's religion and from some of the wild otherworldly experiences they'd had, but what he did know made him start to worry just what sorts of guys these were that they'd met up with. He did not want to suddenly find himself surrounded by some rotting, zombies who wanted him to become one of them. The house and yard they stopped at didn't look that much different from all the other houses and yards in the French Quarter. They stood there in silence staring at the dark grounds and unlit building. "There, did you see that," Bobby said suddenly. "What? Where?" "There, by those bushes. It looked sort of silvery, and, well shimmery." "Like a ghost," observed Benny. "Yeah! Did you see it too?" "No, I didn't see anything." There was a sudden noise in the vicinity Bobby had indicated, sort of a low moan. The branches of the bush seemed to sway. "Did you hear that?" Domingue whispered. "Yeah." "Look, there's something moving over there," Jean-Paul whispered as the boys crouched down. "Looks like mist or something." "Or Marie Laveau's ghost." "Or her followers." "It's like they're moving in a circle." "Where?" "I don't see it anymore. But I saw something." "Whatever or whoever or whatever, I think they're gone." "You satisfied?" Benny asked, his voice quavering as he looked at his kid brother. "Yeah." "I thought you were going to ask her about the stuff you left?" Brent asked. "Yeah, well, I didn't want to bother her," Bobby bluffed. "She had to have found it." The boys turned on North Rampart and headed for the Fontenots. As they walked, Jean- Paul and Jean-Claude talked about what they knew of Marie Laveau, and of other tales they'd heard about local vampires and ghosts. "My gramma said New Orleans is one of the most haunted cities in the world," observed Leon. "Figures, with all the pirates and killings and everything, and the people not really being able to bury the dead in the ground and stuff." The Brewsters recalled the comments by their guide that because most of New Orleans was below sea level they could not bury the dead so they'd built the large mausoleums and above ground tombs instead. All eight of them thought about the house and yard at 1020 St. Ann Street, each of them convinced now they'd seen a ghost or at least a swirling mist in the bushes. Something flew overhead, a bat or owl or something, causing them to duck and to peer about nervously. At the next block, a cat jumped out of the bushes surrounding one of the rundown properties, scaring the life out of the eight of them, the boys having done a good job of frightening themselves with their stories and imaginations. The night suddenly took on strange and eerie shadows everywhere. They walked faster, next to a run. It was only sixteen blocks from where they were to their destination and they covered the distance in minutes though to them it seemed like hours. Their parents had gone out for the evening but their mother had left them out snacks and a note as to where they'd gone. Turning on every light in the house, they pretended they hadn't been frightened and made a point of telling the others so. When the phone rang every one of them jumped and those who'd tried to cover their fright by stretching or reaching to scratch themselves weren't fooling anyone. It was the boys' mother phoning to make sure they'd gotten home and telling them they'd likely be later than they'd anticipated. Gathering around in a circle in the twin's bedroom, not just because that was where the boys usually entertained their guests but also they all felt safer sitting close together in the confines of the small room, the two older boys explained that the word Creole referred to the first generation born in New Orleans from immigrants from France, Spain or Haiti and their descendants. In their case their great-something grandmother was an important Voodoo priestess, a mambo, descended from slaves brought from Nigeria to Haiti and her son had married a native Indian woman. In 1804 when the whites were kicked out of Haiti they were brought by their masters to New Orleans where her son had his first child, who became a mambo like her grandmother. "So, you said Voodoo is a religion?" Brett ventured, hoping to make amends. "That's right." "That your religion?" "Yeah." "So, do you believe in God?" asked Brent. "Sure. We believe in one God, Bondye. He is very much like the God of Christians and of Judaism and Islam," Jean-Paul explained. "There is much similarity between Roman Catholicism and Voodoo actually. Many early slaves were baptised as Catholics, and since Voodoo was outlawed, many disguised their worship by merging their gods and practices with Catholic saints and beliefs. There are many Creoles who attend Catholic church but practice Voodoo privately and in their homes." "We also believe in spiritual beings to whom we pray," added Jean-Claude. "Just like Christians believe in saints and angels, we believe in the lwa, spirits of family members and of major forces of the universe that affect all aspects of our life, like our health and love and sex and stuff. The lwa can give messages and cause good or bad things to happen to a person. We also believe in the twins, who are contradictory forces like good and evil or happiness and sadness who will help a person if a person honours them, and in the dead, the souls of family ancestors who have not yet been honoured and become lwa." The Brewster brothers immediately thought back to their celebration of the Day of the Dead in Mexico. Given their experiences there and Brent's Wiccan beliefs, they could easily accept the beliefs of the Fontenots. "The lwa determine our lives and our fate which is why it is important to pray to them and honour them. There are times, like during religious festivals or when a mambo is doing work, they can even mount people," Jean-Claude continued. "Mount people?" Benny asked, his ears perking up, Jean-Claude having immediately caught back his and his brothers' full attention. "Mounting is what we call it when a lwa takes over a person's body," he explained. The Brewster brothers had imagined a totally different picture. "Exactly where a person goes when their body is possessed even the priests don't know for sure. Possession can be good or bad, good like when a family spirit takes over your body to help you fight an illness, or bad like in black magic voodoo, which is the Voodoo you see on TV with zombies and having wild sexual orgies." "Well, I don't want nothing to do with zombies, but wild sexual orgies would be okay," observed Bobby to everyone's amusement. "The biggest part of Voodoo is healing people using herbs and by praying to the spirits, and by creating protections and potions and by casting spells," Jean-Paul said. "In black magic Voodoo, mambo and houngan, the male priests, do the same but to harm people instead of heal them." "So leaving stuff with Marie Laveau and asking her to help me was good Voodoo, not black?" Bobby asked hesitantly, worried he'd done something wrong. "I don't know. She was rumoured to help her friends, but to curse her enemies," replied Jean-Paul. "It would depend on what sort of help you were asking her for." "I was asking her to help me start squirting," Bobby replied with a flush of embarrassment. "You know," he said, jerking his hips when the Fontenots looked at him blankly. To his relief none of them laughed at him or made fun of his idea, not even his brothers. "Oh, well, in that case since you were asking for yourself, I suppose it would probably be Rada Voodoo, good Voodoo, as opposed to Petro Voodoo or black magic." "What you need is a Legba, a virility doll," Domingue advised. "What is that?" "It's a Voodoo doll with a humongous pecker," he replied with a grin and they all giggled. "Really. You should make one." "You know how?" "Do I know how? Do I know how to tap dance?" Domingue asked. "Guess he doesn't," observed Jean-Paul with a shrug, resulting in giggles and a playful poke in the arm from Domingue. "First we gotta get two dead branches." "There looked like there was a dead bush in Marie Laveau's yard." "I ain't going back there no how!" observed Leon, a sentiment they all agreed with. "I think there's some dry branches in Mister Lefarbre's yard." "You go get two, and I'll get Momma's Spanish moss," said Jean-Paul. Gathering up their materials, Domingue instructed Bobby in the making of the Legba, tying the two dead sticks together in a cross with some black yarn and then wrapping it with the moss, which Jean-Paul explained their mother kept for making crafts which she sold at the French market. Cutting his briefs, which everyone thought appropriate, into two inch-wide strips he wrapped them about the figure, adding in and tying into place the end he'd broken off one of the branches that even had a knoblike knot at the end and wrapping strips of cloth about it also, all the while giggling about the doll's "woodie" while suffering the comments from his brother's that the doll's woodie was larger than their kid brother's. Domingue cut off snippets of Bobby's hair and he glued it to the top of the doll and added two large button eyes and sewed a puckered mouth with red thread. "That's great. It looks just like Bobby," observed Brent. "Especially the eyes," said Benny with a twinkle in his. "That's just how they pop out when he's having an orgasm!" "And how he twists up his mouth just like that too," added Brett. Bobby rewarded their comments with playful punches in the arm as he made a face. "Except I still think the doll's woodie is bigger than Bobby's," observed Brent, resulting in another face and punch. "Now we gotta dress him. It's best if we can use something personal of yours." Bobby thought for a moment. "We could use my sock." "Ewwww." "Hey, they're clean. My feet don't stink like Brent's!" "If we used one of Brent's socks, we'd have enough material for a dozen Legbas!" observed Benny and they all giggled. "Oh yeah, well you know what they say about guys with big feet," retorted Brent. "Don't get too close to them on the dance floor?" asked Benny, resulting in another playful punch and another face. "Actually it'll probably take a whole sock just to cover the woodie we made for the Legba," Domingue observed, causing them all to giggle again. "Actually, getting a woodie isn't the problem," observed Bobby. "Shouldn't we be giving him some balls or something so he can cum?" Domingue thought for a moment and then reaching into his pocket pulled out a couple peanuts from the throws from the previous day's parades. "Hey, just Bobby's size," Benny giggled. "Hey, I got just the thing," Jean-Paul said. Fishing around in his drawer he pulled out a cologne sample bottle one of the stores had been handing out. Attaching the peanuts to the plunger and working a straw through the cloth strips wrapping the woodie and attaching it to the opening of the sample bottle, they fastened it upside down to the back of the doll with more strips of Bobby's underwear. They decided instead of trousers and shirt, they'd make him a loin cloth out of the top of one of Bobby's socks. "Now comes the most important part. You have to ask Papa Legba to animate the image you made." "Who is Papa Legba?" "He is the gatekeeper between this world and the world of spirits, and the origin of life." "We should ask help from Papa Ghede too. He is the lwa of death and resurrection and the Lord of Eroticism," added Leon. "Okay. So how do I do that?" "Repeat after me," Domingue said, picking up the incense candle in the pile of things he'd had his cousins collect and lighting it. "Open the door, Papa Legba, your children await, open the door Papa Legba, when we return we will thank the lwa. Breathe your life into the image we have made, Papa Legba, so it may fulfill its purpose. Work your magic, Papa Ghede, so the one who this image is made of will have his wish. Work your magic, Papa Legba and Papa Ghede, and we will thank you." "So, how does this work?" asked Bobby when they finished. "It's image magic. The idea behind Voodoo dolls is that what you do to the doll will happen to the real person." "Hey, that's sortta like that time we was playing Barbie and Ken dolls with Betty Rosland when we was little, and we punched a hole between Barbie's legs and glued a straw between Ken's and showed her how babies were made and tried to get her to try it with us." "How young were you?" Domingue asked with amusement. "She was six, same age as Bobby, so Benny was eight and Brent and I had to be ten." "That was back before we found out guys were a lot more willing and a lot more fun to mess around with." "Did it work?" asked Leon with a giggle. "No," Benny said with a sigh. "And when her mom found out what we'd done to the dolls she got real mad." "She really didn't like it when Benny said we was just making them anatomically correct either," Brent said with a grin. "Well, your Legba is anatomically correct," Domingue said with a grin. "So now what you gotta do is concentrate on it and on you and do to it do what you want to happen to you. Like if you rub its nuts it should feel like someone is rubbing yours, and if you push in the cologne plunger and make it squirt, the same should happen to you." "Fucking awesome! When can we try it?" Bobby asked eagerly. The boys glanced at each other. The talk of sex and woodies and cumming had gotten their minds off Marie Laveau and the fright they'd had and back to the thoughts and feelings they'd had back in Jackson Square when they'd first met. "Did I understand right that you've messed around with guys?" Jean-Paul asked cautiously. "We sure have," Brett responded for the four, "but never with four Creole boys." "Well, I guess that makes us equal," Jean-Paul said with a grin. "We've never messed around with four honkey brothers." "Hey it's working already. I have a feeling someone's gonna be rubbing my nuts real soon," Bobby pronounced as he rubbed the peanuts on his Legba, and they all laughed. While the boys were talking and making Bobby's Voodoo doll, Barry Brewster had succumbed to the magic of his two hosts and the sexually charged atmosphere of the Eagle's Nest. Its reputation of being a bar where anything goes was well deserved, especially during Mardi Gras. After a few more beers and finding himself surrounded by uninhibited kissing, necking, and mutual jerking and open and unabashed cruising, Barry found himself totally naked and flat on his back on a table near the back of the bar, his legs raised and drawn up to his chest in the same position as Bobby had taken the night before. Pulling his ass so it was on the edge of the table, Henri stood behind him and spreading apart his ass cheeks, buried his stiff, lubed cock up his hot, moist rectum. Standing beside the table, Philippe presented his stiff cock and as Barry eagerly slipped his mouth over the knob Philippe twisted around and bent over to slip his lips around Barry's towering cock, which was not a difficult feat considering the length of the monster. Most of the bar's patrons totally ignored them as if what they were doing was a common occurrence, which it often was, and the rest watched as they raised their glasses and continued their conversations as if the threesome was the dinner show. The three men had come to know each other very well over the past four days. Barry could understand how Philippe and Henri had become his brother's close friends and why he'd been so insistent that he take a weekend break in New Orleans and stay with them. He owed James big time and wasn't sure how he was ever going to be able to repay him for this weekend. Philippe and Henri had meanwhile realized why James had been so emphatic about them entertaining his brother and had come to better understand and appreciate what life was like for a bisexual man with children. That the man they were having sex with was just as comfortable getting screwed as he was screwing his wife, and that he had four boys who were evidently aware and unconcerned about their father's orientation just as he was accepting of theirs was particularly amazing. In a world where there was so much discrimination, intolerance and fear of those who were different, it was refreshing to find a man and his sons who were so content and comfortable with whom they were. Barry was very content with whom he was as he lay there on the table sucking on the cock of the man whom he'd fucked the day before while the cock that he'd sucked off the day before was now buried up his ass. No matter how much a man loved a woman or how open a couple was about their sexual needs, no man and woman could have the understanding and appreciation that two men could. While a woman could relate to what it felt like to have one's ass penetrated, she could never fully understand what it felt like to penetrate another person. No matter how much a woman tried, she could not fully understand what it felt like for a man to have a penis or to climax, or appreciate how it felt to ejaculate. Only another man could really understand those things. As Henri pumped his cock in and out of his ass, Henri knew what it was like to have his ass screwed by a man, and Barry knew what it was like to have his cock up a man's dank chute. As he lay there on his back sucking Philippe's cock, he knew exactly what it felt like to have one's cock sucked, just as Philippe knew what it was like to suck another man's cock. Only a person who also had a cock could really appreciate the taste and smell of penis or what it felt like to have a mouth engulfing it. Only a person who had a cock could appreciate how it felt to have a cock rammed up your ass, or the difference between having your cock buried up a pussy or another man's rectum. His sons could certainly attest to that, as could their hosts. Having admitted that they'd all messed around with guys before, the eight had gotten down to doing what they'd all hoped they'd be doing when they'd first met in the French Quarter. Being horny, comfortable getting it on with other guys in the presence of other guys, and being well hung and unashamed of what dangled between their legs, they had eagerly and unabashedly chucked their clothes and zeroed in on each other's crotch. Though not as well endowed as Brent and Brett, Jean-Paul and Jean-Claude were better hung than the average teenager, or the average man for that matter. Their nuts were deep black and fuller and rounder than the Brewster twins, resembling large plums, and Brett and Brent attacked them hungrily, sucking on the orbs in their wrinkled sacs and running their tongues over them. The two Creole brothers swung around to similarly suck on the large, pendulous eggs of the two older Brewsters, the four seventeen-year-old boys ending up in a daisy chain with Brent sucking Jean-Paul's sac, Jean-Paul sucking Brett, Brett sucking Jean-Claude, and Jean-Claude completing the circle and sucking Brent. Feeling the hot breaths and wet tongues of their two hosts on their balls, Brent and Brett began to swell and the two black boys slipped their lips about their growing pink sausages and delighted in feeling them grow hard between their lips. Jean-Paul and Jean-Claude were rapidly swelling also and Brent and Brett ran their tongues up the shafts of the two black sausages and swirled them around the boys' exposed, bulbous knobs. The two boys were identical right down to their huge plum-like balls and rock-hard, cut cocks, now six and three-quarter inches long and throbbing with desire. As Brent and Brett sucked on the purplish- black knobs and slipped their lips down the thick, dark shafts, they inhaled deeply, relishing the unique taste of the Creole sausages and the sharp, musky fragrance of the black boys' crotches. Jean-Paul and Jean-Claude were pleasantly surprised at the size of the monstrous seven-and-a-half inch Brewster wieners, and they pealed back their skins and ran their hot, wet tongues along the rims of their knobs and along the sensitive skin below their knobs and inhaled the erotic chestnut fragrance of their pendulous balls. Meanwhile Benny and Domingue had begun by kissing and caressing each other, Domingue finding the peach fuzz on Benny's upper lip particularly erotic as they kissed, and Benny delighting in the feel of the silky hairs on Domingue's upper lip as the black boy brushed his lips against his nipples. He was even more delighted as his lips skipped on down over his flat stomach to his crotch. The two boys readily formed a sixty-nine, the fourteen-year-old and fifteen-year-old being of similar personality and having been attracted to each other. Although he was closer to Bobby's height and weight, at five and three-quarter inches Domingue's dick was almost as long as Benny's. The two boys were skilled cock suckers and horny and soon had the other hard and squirming with pleasure. Closing his eyes, Domingue slipped his lips down to Benny's curly, dark brown hairs as Benny slipped his down to Domingue's curly black ones and the two sucked deeply on the swollen flesh in their mouths as they began to slip their lips back up the rigid shafts. While Benny and Domingue had been kissing and caressing, their brothers had done likewise, delighting in each other's warm, moist lips as their mouths pressed together and they wrapped their arms about each other and caressed each other's firm backs and compact butts. Bobby loved kissing, especially on the lips, and found Leon's breath sweetened by the caramel corn and the cinnamon from the King Cake that had been left out for them delicious, and the feathery touch of the soft hairs on the corners of his mouth erotic. He instantly popped a boner. Leon also enjoyed kissing and found Bobby's fresh breath and soft boy lips just as delightful and his cock wagged its appreciation. As the two young boys kissed, they reached behind each other and slipping an index finger along each other's crack, they fingered each other's butthole, both boys also clearly enjoying fucking ass. Glancing over at their brothers, the two boys glanced back at each other, the same thought causing their lips to curl. As Benny and Domingue lay there on their sides sucking each other's dick, Leon snuggled up behind Benny in the same direction as his twin brother and pulling apart his asscheeks he began to rim him. Following suit, Bobby similarly lay down behind Domingue and pulling apart his smooth, black cheeks, the horny thirteen-year-old stuck out his tongue and ran it up along Domingue's sweaty crack to his black pucker. Licking the Creole boy's dank asshole and worming his tongue inside and knowing his twin was doing the same to his older brother soon had Bobby stiff. Working up a mouth of spittle, he blew it into the fourteen-year-old's hole, causing him to squirm, and working up a second and drooling it over his stiff, aching pecker, he reversed positions so he was laying in the same direction as Domingue. Grasping his hips and placing the tip of his young, slender cock against the black boy's spit-slick hole, Bobby slowly pushed forward, and was delighted to feel the Creole boy open up to him. Ever so slowly he pushed forward until his smooth pubes were pressed against Domingue's smooth cheeks. Similarly on the other side of the two now madly sucking pair, Leon had lubed his stiff pecker and Benny's asshole with his spittle and had twisted around and was now sinking his long, black cock up Benny's smooth, pink ass. Back at the Eagle's Nest, the boys' father was on his back and squirming with ecstasy, a hard, hot cock pumping in and out of his burning asshole, sinking deep up his rectum and drawing back out to his tightly clenched pucker, a hot, moist mouth hungrily sucking on his monstrous nine-inch cock, and he himself eagerly sucking on a hot, throbbing prick as he slipped his lips up and down its length, deep-throating it with as much skill and ease and enjoyment as the horniest, most perverted fag as had ever sucked cock in the gay cruise bar. Barry inhaled and exhaled deeply through his nose as Henri pumped his cock in and out of his ass, probing his rectum as far as his stiff cock could reach and sending burning thrills of stimulation through his sphincter and up his stiff cock each time the knob brushed his prostate. The room was filled with the manly fragrance of beer and smoke and grass, and of sweat and cock and balls. He was perspiring profusely in the humid Louisiana night, his body flushed with arousal as he felt himself approaching his climax, the temperature of the room increased by several degrees by the crowd of hot, leather-clad men filling it. As it became evident the three men were about to climax, the noise lulled as the men in the bar watched in anticipation, all of them aroused, many with their cocks sticking out of their trousers and being stroked by their partner or by themselves. Henri's breathing was laboured as he rode Barry rhythmically and forcefully, causing the bar table to rock as he thrust his hips to and fro, driving his aching cock in and out of the man's hot, moist rectum. Panting and snorting, he raised Barry's ass higher in the air and clamoured up on the table, his cock still buried up Barry's ass. Kneeling there on the table with Barry raised up on his shoulders, he rammed his hips to and fro, openly and unabashedly snorting with his pleasure as was Barry. His lips parted and his eyes glazed, he finally threw his head back and lunged forward and withdrew rapidly and lunged again in a series of rabbit thrusts as he felt his cum surge up the core of his swollen cock and gush up Barry's rectum. Feeling the hot, thick enema spurting up his asshole, Barry sucked Philippe's cock all the more furiously and seconds later Philippe threw his head back as he began to spurt his thick cum down Barry's throat. Laying there on his upper back with hot, thick cum spurting up his ass and down his throat, Barry trembled as his own cum began to gush up the core of his swollen cock. Feeling the telltale tremor, Philippe drew his lips off the nine-inch monster while at the same time pulling his prick out of Barry's mouth, and as Barry began spurting Philippe aimed the long, thick cock at Barry's mouth only inches away from his lips and Barry shot his load into his own mouth. Spurt after thick spurt shot into his mouth and leaning in closer Philippe milked the remainder of his thick cum from his balls and added it to Barry's creamy load and Barry eagerly and hungrily swallowed both his and Philippe's cum as Henri finished filling his ass. Barry's four sons were ready to climax also, as were their four hosts. Their breathing was laboured and their bodies hot and flushed with lust and from their strenuous workout, sweat glistening on their smooth, naked chests and dampening their armpits. The four seventeen-year- old boys caressed and squeezed each other's smooth backsides as they bobbed their heads up and down each other's stiff cock and squirmed with their approaching climaxes. Brent and Brett peered out from half-closed slits, their deep blue eyes glistening with arousal, their long, silky blond hair plastered to their foreheads with sweat and swept over the crotches of the two black boys whose cocks they were sucking, the silky golden tufts in their underarms matted together with perspiration. The two seventeen-year-old Creole boys were similarly panting with their arousal as they stared out from heavy-lidded eyes, their thick, black lips just as skilled at blowing the air from their lungs into trombone mouthpieces as sucking the air out of a much different bone. Sweat dampened their curly black armpit hairs and beaded on their foreheads, their corn rows still neatly and tightly curled as they slipped their lips up and down the throbbing, thick shafts of the Brewster twins. The balls of all four boys were swollen and drawn up beneath their throbbing cocks and with each bob of the head they were brought closer to shooting. Beside them Benny and Domingue were madly sucking on each other's cock also, their arms tightly wrapped about each other and caressing and squeezing each other's firm butt, their smooth chests pressed tight against flat stomachs, black on white. Behind them Leon and Bobby thrust their hips to and fro, driving their hot, throbbing, young cocks in and out of tightly clasping assholes, thrusting their aching flesh in and out of the hot, moist rectal chambers and delighting in the pleasure they were feeling and in the pleasure they knew they were bringing the boys they were fucking. Their bodies were flushed and they were all sweating too, Bobby's smooth armpits damp with perspiration as he pumped his hips to and fro, and sweat trickling down Domingue's side from his curly black pit hairs as he felt Bobby's smooth pubes pressing against his butt. Domingue's and Leon's long, coarse hair bounced about their shoulders, their sweat bands having fallen off in their lust. The air, heavy with the fragrance of teenage sweat and young balls and teenage cock, was sucked deep into the lungs of the eight boys as each came, and the erotic fragrance of fresh, teenage cum was added to the already thick, humid air. Benny, Brett and Brent shivered as their orgasms hit them, their hot, thick boy cum gushing up their swollen cocks and into the mouths of the eagerly awaiting Creole boys. Their thick, black lips clamped down even tighter on the throbbing, gushing fountains and the three black boys hungrily drank the creamy offering of the three white boys. At the same time Domingue, Jean-Claude and Jean-Paul shot off their loads and the three Brewster brothers were rewarded with the first taste of teenage Creole cum, thick, slimy and tasting of raw oysters, their unique fragrance filling their nostrils and their lungs as spurt after spurt erupted from their throbbing, black sausages. The three Brewsters eagerly swallowed the delicious, erotic cream as they pumped out their own copious load. Leon shot off also, grasping Benny tightly as he thrust his throbbing, black cock up the fifteen-year-old's asshole, filling his rectum with his thick, slimy load, the fourteen-year-old having just a copious load as the older boys. Bobby came also, the thirteen-year-old trembling with his dry orgasm as his nuts contracted and wave after wave of pleasure pulsated through his groin and caused his cock to throb and burn just as pleasantly as the cocks of the other boys, and Domingue trembled with the knowledge the young white boy was climaxing. Despite having an almost sleepless night, the Fontenots not arriving home until the wee hours of the morning, the boys were all up early and after a hearty breakfast of grits, sausages, and shrimp omelette, the boys joined their father, who in the absence of his sons, also had a sleepless night. Along with their hosts, Philippe and Henri and the four Fontenot boys, they found themselves back downtown for a morning of parades, beginning with several marching clubs and local jazz bands in their uniforms followed by the Zulu Krewe Parade at eight-thirty, which in turn was followed by the Rex Krewe, the Elks-Ori Krewe, and the Crescent City Krewe parades. The streets were crowded with people wearing their feather masks, draped in beads, and dressed up in a variety of costumes. Munching on caramel corn, peanuts, potato chips, cookies and miniature moon pies that had been thrown from the floats, the Brewsters headed over to the French Quarter. Arranging to meet up with the boys at Jackson Square later, Barry was taken over to Bourbon Street for a gay tradition, the sixteenth annual official gay Mardi Gras bead toss lead by King Cake Queen Teryl- Lynn Foxx. Bourbon Street was well known to be the centre attraction for the gay crowd and its exceptional lewd antics on Mardi Gras and to a large part was avoided by families and those with children, and those who did blunder into the area were quickly steered away. The Fontenot boys of course knew that and they knew the back streets and shortcuts to the heart of the action, and they had no intention of waiting in Jackson Square. The eight boys and Barry were soon swept up with the crowd and caught up in the ribald revelry and excitement, and they eagerly and willingly responded to the calls of "show me something, mister" and the "you show and we throw" signs on the balconies urging those milling in the street to "show me your whatever" and "show your dick." Barry and his sons were shocked by the open nudity, and the boys in particular were amazed at the signs actually spelling out the words dick and cock. They were even more amazed at the number of people responding, and were agog at the sight of men and women flashing their naked butts and at the sight of naked boobs and flashed dicks and balls wherever they looked. Needless to say Barry was very popular and a big attraction given his good looks and his size even when soft, as were the four attractive and hung Creole boys and their exceptionally handsome white friends, who seemed to know where the youth-friendly hangouts were and how to avoid the city police patrolling the street and the more prudish revellers who would restrict the festivities to adults only. All of them were soon draped in beads of every imaginable colour and their pockets were stuffed with doubloons and plastic toys. Rejoining again at Jackson Square, the Brewster brothers and the Fontenots promised to keep in touch, and heading back to their hosts' home on Iberville Street, the Brewsters packed their bags, Bobby taking special care in packing his Legba after giving its nuts a quick rub and the plunger a couple squirts, undaunted by the failure of the doll the night before and always the optimist. Having managed to get a public flight back home, they settled down in their seats and dropped off to sleep almost immediately after their exhausting weekend. From the smiles on their faces, and the bulges in their trousers, they were clearly reliving every moment of the past five days as their balls recharged and Bobby came another day closer to having his first wet orgasm.