Date: Thu, 19 Jan 2012 18:24:11 -0500
From: lokiaga@austin.rr.com
Subject: Rue Dauphine 17

Rue Dauphine 17
Lance Kyle

It was as the people in the house on Rue Dauphine were gathering for
breakfast the next morning that they heard a sound on the door, a sort of
brushing, and the sound of footsteps hurrying away.  Looking to see what it
was, they found the talisman that Mama Désirée had shown them on the door.
So their first fugitives were to arrive that evening, at midnight.  A sense
of excitement and anticipation ignited instantly in the group.  As soon as
the meal was done they began to bustle about, making sure the quarters in
the left wing attic were ready, planning for the comfort of their guests.

Scott reminded them that what they were doing was illegal and dangerous; if
caught, they were all in serious trouble.  This did nothing to dampen their
enthusiasm, but instead gave it an overlay of seriousness.  They decided to
hang heavy curtains over the dormer windows of the attic rooms facing the
street, and to remember to keep all street side curtains closed while the
fugitives were with them.

Scott was preparing to go out on morning errands when James came running to
him, breathless, and crying "Come! Come see!" dragged him to the central
wing to look out through a window on Rue Dauphine.  Scott got there just in
time to see the back of a ragged figure shuffling down the street, away
from them.  Speechless with fear and excitement, James tugged on Scott's
sleeve and pointed across the street, to the house of Mr. LeRoc.  The door
stood partially opened.

Scott thought quickly.  He suddenly felt sure that the figure shuffling
away was the zombie that Mama Désirée had sent to be LeRoc's servant, but
he was equally sure he didn't want to chase after the figure to see.  But
what did it mean that the door to the street was standing open and that the
zombie--was the fellow's name Bernard, in life?--was departing?  He felt he
had to go to the opened door to see what he could discover.

Scott rushed to the library on that floor to fetch his ring, recalling
various spells and charms that might be needed in the circumstance.  He
quickly told James what he surmised about the zombie, and then sent the boy
to bring King.  The big man arrived breathless.  Scott now procured his two
pistols, gave one to King, and both men concealing them in their clothing
they opened their front door.  James stayed inside the door, his eyes wide.

King, against much protest, was bidden to stay there on the step while
Scott summoned his courage, slipped on the ring, and crossed the street.
He sensed the magic spells upon spells constraining LeRoc inside, still in
force.  Going to the door he shouted, "Mr. LeRoc!" loudly, although sure he
would not receive a pleasant welcome were the resident to come to the door.
No answer.  He decided to retreat for the moment, and so for an hour he and
King stood on his own front steps, appearing to any passerby to be master
and slave in conversation.  But both kept an eye on the door.  Nobody and
nothing entered or exited.

Then they saw a colorful figure striding up the street toward them, plainly
Mama Désirée.  She stopped in the middle of the street between the two
houses, a street that for some reason had suddenly become devoid of
traffic.  Turning to Scott she said, "He is dead," and motioned him toward
the door.  "We should go in and find him; but I think it is no trick," she
said.  Summoning his courage, Scott led the way.  He bade King stand at
LeRoc's doorway to guard it, although the big man was eager to put himself
in harm's way first.  Scott went in, followed by Mama Désirée. The entry
way was dark and the air was close, but there was no foul smell.  Not
knowing what else to do, Scott headed for the parlor where he had been
received before by LeRoc, and sure enough, there the old man sat, slumped
in a chair.

Scott and Mama Désirée circled the body, each practicing their respective
arts, and then stopped and looked at each other.  "It is no ruse," said
Scott, "he is gone."  Mama Désirée nodded.  "And of natural causes," she
said, "NOT of his own hand.  His evil heart simply gave way."  Scott
nodded; he sensed that was true, although he did not have the certainty
that Mama Désirée's arts evidently gave her.  "What to do?" he asked.

"First, check for his ring," she said.  Scott found the task disagreeable,
but a pat down of LeRoc's clothing revealed nothing.  Mama Désirée
nodded. "It could be anywhere, and we have no time for a search," she said.

"I am going to your house with King," she announced, regally.  "You must
slip out and give the alarm; you simply came to pay your neighbor a visit,
saw the door opened, investigated, and found his remains."  Scott nodded
agreement at the plan, and all three stepped out into the street.  The
moment King and Mama Désirée made the door across the way--which was now
filled with the other residents of the house, the alarm having been raised
by James--normal traffic resumed in the street.  Scott began calling out to
send for the police, to send for help, he was afraid his neighbor was ill.
It was not long before the authorities did arrive, Scott told his plausible
lie, and the processes of the law took over.  A carriage from the mortuary
arrived, there being plainly no call to go to the hospital.  His remains
were removed and the police closed the door.  A brief discussion ensued in
which the police asked Scott if he knew of any relatives; he did not.  The
police asked if Scott would take temporary custody of the lock to the door,
which they found on a table inside LeRoc's entry way.  He agreed, and off
went the body and the police.  Mama Désirée watched it go with a
calculating look and then said, "I will return," and strode out of the
house and down the street--in the direction of the departing carriage.

Scott thought quickly.  Something must be done with the house and its
contents, sooner or later, and that would include the ring.  What to do?
He decided he must risk retrieving it.  He had a key; he had been
inside. If confronted he could merely say that he had dropped a pocket
watch, or something similar, and had gone back to retrieve it.  He
announced his plan to the others, who were appalled by the thought of
entering the house where the odious LeRoc had recently died, where a zombie
had been resident some weeks, but they could not dissuade him.  King
pleaded, even insisted, on coming with him.  Scott thought a moment and
then decided that it couldn't hurt--and that the big man's presence would
be reassuring.  Both still had their pistols concealed.  The two went back
across the street and at a moment when they thought nobody in the street
was watching, Scott turned the key and opened the door.  They slipped in.

It may not have been best for secrecy, but Scott could not proceed without
opening curtains to let light flood in.  Then began the search, for which
Scott used his own ring, which he still wore, to summon the other ring.  He
instantly felt a tug, a response, but the location was not clear.  They
walked through the house, Scott searching more through his magic than
through opening and overturning things; it would not do to make it obvious
that the house had been searched.  King followed close behind, his hand on
his pistol, suggesting places the ring might be based on his greater
experience with the house.  There was nothing out of the ordinary in most
of the rooms, but when they got to the chambers where King had been tied up
and drugged with magic, or LeRoc's bedroom, Scott was sure he heard a
growling deep in the big man's chest.  The search continued until, in an
upstairs library, Scott found the ring in a desk.  He dared not put it on,
not yet, and so slipped it into his pocket.  The two now hurried out, not
wishing to spend any more time there, and slipped unobserved back to their
own house.

Scott immediately procured his own house keys and went down to the secret
cellar library, where he placed the new ring in a drawer of the desk.
Locking all doors he came back up and then he and King slumped for a moment
in the library, with two glasses of brandy, steadying their nerves; it had
been a trying morning, to say the least.  Restored, Scott handed his pistol
to King and asked him to put them away.  He removed the ring but put it in
his pocket, now secured to his trousers with a strong cord as well.  He
took his hat and cane, and the key to LeRoc's, and stepped out; he was
going to Lawyer Toogood's first.

At the attorney's, Scott and the lawyer exchanged greetings, and then Scott
announced the shocking discovery of his neighbor's death.  He then told
Toogood that he had an interest in buying the house and its contents.  He
had no idea about heirs, although he assumed the property would pass to
someone.  However, Scott thought the house would make a good investment and
he wanted to buy it.  Toogood agreed to look into the matter, although he
warned it might take some time.  Scott did not reveal that he had a key.
His motives in the matter were simple: he wanted to know what LeRoc knew.
If there were notes, records, or books of his adventures, Scott wanted to
know that.  He especially wondered about the Frères de Saint Ange.  For
"brothers" they seemed to have no network or means of communication that he
knew of.  Perhaps they wanted to keep their identities secret so as to
protect themselves, and to use their powers in defense of their own houses
and families.  At any rate, Scott wanted the contents of the house, and he
knew a thorough search would take both time and the freedom to do so.  But
in the meantime, he thought he might sneak in with the key from time to
time and look.  So his next stop was at a locksmith, which agreed to make a
copy of the key while he waited; it was of a familiar pattern and not hard
to duplicate.

Finally, Scott went to the gunsmith's and ordered a batch of small pistols
with supplies of ammunition.  It occurred to him that the visitors he was
to receive might be of need of some easily concealable weapons to take with
them after their stop on the Rue Dauphine.  The gunsmith had some in stock
and agreed to deliver more when they came in.

Scott spent most of the rest of that day in the secret cellar library,
studying arts that he thought would be useful in the house's impending task
of harboring fugitives.  Evening came but nobody wanted to go to bed, so
coffee was made for all and they did an impromptu session of learning
arithmetic in the kitchen.  The clock ticked its slow way to midnight.
Apprehension grew.  Scott and King still had their pistols concealed on
them in case of trouble.  Midnight was just about to show on the clock when
the slow, muffled sound of wagon wheels could be heard in the alley behind
them.

King and Scott had discussed plans, and knew just what to do.  Scott had
warned everyone not to be afraid if some magical means were used to get the
visitors into the house unobserved. King stood just inside the door.  Scott
stepped into the alley and nodded at a figure in a long coat and wide
brimmed hat who stood beside the wagon which was covered with a large cloth
tied down at the ends.  The figure tipped its head up so Scott could see
the face.  It was André, Lawyer Beaulieu's nephew, who winked at Scott and
held his finger to his lips.  Scott in his turn first held a hand up to
signal to André to wait.  Then putting the ring on his hand, he made some
passes in the air between the wagon and the house, whispering some words.
Then stepping back, he nodded.  André lifted the cloth and threw it back
over the wagon.  But then he stepped back in astonishment.  For the wagon
appeared to be empty, and yet there was the sound of movement, creaking,
and quick shuffled footsteps.  Then the sounds ended and Scott signaled
that the cloth should be pulled back down.  The astonished André stepped
quickly to the kitchen door and looked in.  There was his human cargo.
Shaking his head and casting fearful glances at Scott, he secured the
cloth, leapt upon the wagon, and drove away.

The people in the kitchen had seen the wagon pull up and the cloth thrown
back, but could see nothing in the wagon or alley--until people began
appearing the moment they stepped into the kitchen, over the threshold of
the door.  There were gasps all around, and then quick silent welcomes.
Scott stood in the alley after the wagon had left, looking around--it
appeared there were no spies or observers.  He slipped into the kitchen and
locked the door.  Then, having agreed upon silence, the residents of the
house ushered their visitors out of the kitchen and into the courtyard,
where they felt they could speak with the greatest distance between
themselves and any neighbor or the street.

It was a family of five, the parents in their forties, a daughter of
perhaps twenty, and two very young daughters of perhaps five or six;
whether the children were of the older daughter or of the parents was not
clear.  Now that the people of Rue Dauphine could talk, they welcomed the
people all around.  Niobe and Delilah brought food, which was hungrily
accepted, the visitors sitting on benches in the courtyard.  They looked
exhausted, the rigors of travel and fear showing upon them. They all then
went into the central wing, James taking the father upstairs to show him
the shower bath and its facilities, Cleopatra managing the women and girls
downstairs.  Clean and fed, with no further ado the family was shown to
their quarters, where they slept soundly for the first time in weeks.

This family stayed but two days, and another wagon came to get them at
midnight.  Scott gave a small pistol and ammunition to the father, having
shown him its uses.  The family was given all the food they could carry,
and Scott also gave them some gold coins they had sewn into the hems of
their clothing for use in whatever their destination may be.  He slipped
them invisibly into the wagon that came for them, driven again by the
astonished André, and off they went.

This was the pattern of their lives over the next few weeks.  The groups
were as large as ten, as small as two.  Most of them stayed in their
quarters in the left wing attic, although some ventured down among the
residents, who welcomed them.  Those who did were astonished at the living
arrangements of the house, astonished to discover that everyone there was
free--and sometimes astonished to learn of what went on in the bedrooms at
night.  The residents had all agreed to welcome any guests who wanted to
participate, but to force none, nor to make it seem as if sexual favors
were required to buy their sanctuary.  They did not volunteer what they
did, but if asked by curious guests they told them, often astonishing the
guests.  Some guests fled back to the attic, disliking the freedom of the
sexuality in the house, and for some the same sex relations were
particularly abhorrent.  But others--mainly young men--were intrigued, and
participated in sexual adventures while they were guests in the house.

Take one example: two days after the arrival of one party, Sampson led one
of the guests, a sixteen year old boy by the name of Paris, to Scott.
"Master Scott, Paris asked about how we do here. In bed. I told him," Sam
said, frankly.  Paris hung his head in some embarrassment.  He was on the
skinny side, Perhaps five and a half feet tall, his skin a medium milk
chocolate, with short tight kinky black hair, a broad well formed nose, and
a beautiful mouth, lips that curved outward just enough to make them look
like a lily, like a small trumpet.  Scott could see him blush beneath his
milk chocolate skin.  Sam continued, "He says he wants to try.  He says,
with boys or men.  He says he's had girls, but wants to try the other."
Scott looked inquisitively at Paris who ducked his head again, blushed
fiercely, and whispered, "Yessuh."

Scott put a companionable arm on the boy's shoulder and said, "You would be
welcome to join us tonight.  Sam, want to come with us?" and the twelve
year old nodded enthusiastically.  "But only if you really want to.  There
is no compulsion."  Sixteen year old Paris looked up directly at Scott and
said in a husky, low voice, "Yassuh, Masta, I wanna try," then ducked his
head again.

Sam seemed the most eager of the three.  He led them directly to Scott's
bedroom and closed the door.  Then frankly, fearlessly, he began
undressing.  Scott followed him, although not as quickly.  The twelve year
old mulatto boy was stark naked, his medium brown erection bobbing in
anticipation, before Paris, in some confusion, had removed more than his
shirt.  Scott, taking off his own trousers, nodded at Sam and looked toward
Paris, signaling the boy to help.  Sam took charge, slipping off the
sixteen year old's garments and hanging them up neatly, as he did for his
own and Scott's clothes.  In a wink the sixteen year old boy stood naked
before them.  The moment his trousers were pulled off he instinctively
covered his groin with a hand, but Sampson firmly yet kindly removed the
hand.  A dark chocolate penis in a semi-erect condition bobbed up, beneath
a small but very dense patch of tight, crinkly pubic hair.  It was
remarkable for its length: not so very wide around, but released from
concealment it seemed to reach almost to Paris's knee.  A full ballsack
dangled just behind it.

Scott was by now naked, his own rose red rod bobbing up.  Paris's eyes
turned toward it and widened.  Scott was sure the boy had seen other
penises before, but perhaps not that of a white man.  The boy's full
trumpet flower lips parted slightly.  Scott stepped closer to him and
simply took hold of a hand. Sam did the same on the other side.  Paris
looked from one to the other and then laughed, a laugh of both
embarrassment and relief: he had crossed a line.  Then Scott pulled the boy
toward him and they embraced, rose colored and fudge colored penises
batting each other.  Sam came to stand behind Paris and held on tightly,
his twelve year old medium brown penis standing up and braced between the
cheeks of Paris's buttocks.  Pulling the sixteen year old brown boy into a
tight embrace, Scott looked over his shoulder, down past Sam, and realized
the boy's buttocks were remarkable as well.  Many black men's bottoms
rolled back and up, he realized, but Paris's bottom rose so high you could
just about balance a pencil on it.  But not grotesquely so; they were just
that much larger than the usual run of African bottom to be powerfully
attractive without being grotesque.  The three stood there, hugging and
stroking, breathing intensifying.

Then Scott held the sixteen year old boy's face in his hand, fingers in the
crispy hair, and began kissing the beautiful trumpet flower lips.  The boy
responding by sticking his tongue frantically into the white man's mouth,
rolling it extravagantly.  This was evidently a technique he had learned
from some young wench on his home plantation. Scott whispered "kiss
slowly," and the boy instantly complied.  The result was an intensely
sexual experience, his long tongue sliding by Scott's as the white man now
invaded the boy's mouth in return.  After a minute of this both were
gasping.  Scott dropped to his knees, his face sliding by the long erect
penis.  Grasping it with one hand he placed the knob between his lips where
he nibbled it, causing Paris to writhe, gasping and moaning.  Sam kept up
the grinding of his penis against Paris's buttocks.  Then Scott took as
much of the penis into his mouth as he could, slowly pumping the rest of
the shaft while he sucked and tongued the end, Paris muttering "Oh! Masta,
yah, do tha'" and shivering.

Scott half rose and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back.  Sam came
around and motioned Paris to go down on his knees.  The sixteen year old
black boy did, and grasped Scott's penis in his brown fist, marveling at
it.  Sam slipped around to his side and nodded at Paris, encouraging him to
suck it.  Paris took a second, then seemed to make a decision and took the
organ into his mouth.  Sam coached him through it, cautioning him against
teeth, giving advice, all the while Scott threw his head back gasping,
moaning in pleasure.  Once Paris had the hang of it, Sam leaped onto the
bed on his knees beside Scott's head, and the white man turned to the side
and began sucking Sam's rigid brown cock.  Paris's trumpet lips seemed made
for the task; Scott could rarely remember a more sensuous sucking.  And
then it was time to move toward the climax.

Scott placed Paris on the bed on his back, the extraordinarily long penis
nevertheless standing straight up, with a slight bow downward, from his
milk chocolate groin and the small but dense patch of crinkly hair.  Scott
directed Sampson toward the grease pot.  The twelve year old mulatto boy
greased up his stiff brown rod and then helped Paris into position, pushing
his thighs back up against his torso.  Paris's dark brown ballsack had
pulled up tight under the long penis.  Sam placed the knob of his rod
against Paris's wrinkled brown anus, moved it in a couple of circles, and
then pushed.  Just the head went in.  Paris cried out and his head craned
up to see what was happening.  Sampson was not terribly large, but Paris's
boy virginity was being taken, and he was not used to this kind of
penetration.  Scott stretched out by his side and placed his hand on
Paris's chest, gently pushing him back down, but also rubbing the chest and
whispering encouragement into the boy's ear.

Sam paused a moment and then pushed himself all the way in.  Paris gasped
and writhed, but in a moment the pain had lessened.  The mulatto boy
lowered himself onto Paris's torso, covering the brown boy's long penis,
skin sliding on sweaty skin.  Paris placed his hands on the boy's back,
caressing and rubbing.  Sam began to pump, very soon reaching a rapid fire
motion, and in the way of twelve year olds, quickly climaxing, groaning,
slamming forward into Paris's bottom, hands reaching up to clutch the brown
boy's shoulders.  Sam shuddered and sighed, and then rolled off to the
side.

Now Scott took up position.  He knew it would be easier for him to be
landed in Paris once Sam had made a way.  Before Paris's anus had a chance
to close up, Scott slid in, with one smooth motion.  Paris cried out again,
his eyes wide in astonishment, now craning his head back up again to see
the white man's penis disappear inside of him.  Scott held himself up off
of Paris, palms splayed on the bed, Paris's long rod bouncing against
Scott's abdomen, and he began to pump.  Slowly at first, prolonging the
experience, then faster.  He locked gazes with Paris and whispered
encouragement to the brown sixteen year old.  Faster, and faster again, for
long minutes, and then Scott came, clenching his buttocks and slamming
forward, crying out, but never breaking his gaze with Paris.  He pumped
quickly twice and then clenched and slammed forward yet again, filling the
brown boy's rectum with his seed.  Scott hung there for some moments and
then pulled out with a plop, and rolled off to the side.

Scott reached for the grease pot and oiled his own anus, then quickly oiled
the knob and first few inches of Paris's iron hard penis.  He dare not
entrust Sampson's twelve year old rectum to such length.  Sam rolled over
and assisted Paris to get into position.  Paris pushed in and got the first
two inches in at once.  Scott cried out and Paris gasped, in fear, "Masta!
You alrigh'?"  Scott nodded and then Sam helped, gently pushing Paris on
his high rounded bottom.  Paris pushed and went all the way in.  Now Scott
did gasp and writhe, feeling the long rod deep inside of him; he could not
imagine where it all went.  Sam assisted again, grasping Paris by the
bottom and pulling back, then pushing forward.  Paris got the idea and set
up a pumping motion, squatting on his haunches behind Scott, flat muscles
on his boyish body, sweat running down his medium dark torso and making it
glisten in the candlelight.  Paris's eyes closed and his head began
swinging left and right.  Faster and faster he pumped, and then, before
long, he opened his eyes, looked right at Scott, roared, and slammed
forward, shooting his sixteen year old's seed deep into the white man.  He
shivered and bucked forward once more, and then it was done.  He pulled out
and was pulled down by Scott and Sam into a tangle on the bed, and they
feel asleep.

When Paris left for his final destination two days later, after another
night, this time with King and James, there were tears brushed away.  The
five males who had enjoyed this intimacy had a group embrace in a private
corner, and Paris promised to send some word back.  Paris and his fellows
slipped out the kitchen door, into the wagon, and they were gone.  And that
is what sometimes happened with the fugitives in the Rue Dauphine.

Comments welcome
lokiaga@austin.rr.com