Date: Thu, 15 Dec 2011 21:41:58 -0500
From: lokiaga@austin.rr.com
Subject: Rue Dauphine 5

Rue Dauphine 5
Lance Kyle

Scott Barnes woke with his face muzzling the thick, short cap of kinky hair
on the head of his black slave boy, James.  The boy was using his chest as
a pillow, man and boy comfortably entwined in a tangle of legs and arms.
The boy breathed softly, still asleep.  It was a comfortable place to lie
there and think.

What Scott mainly thought about was this: His house was haunted.  There was
no getting around that.  He could tell himself all he liked that he came
home drunk and delirious on expensive cigars and cognac last night, but he
knew he stepped into some different time when he saw the large, dark body
under the sheets on his bed in a thin haze, a vision that disappeared
literally in a flash.  And those footprints in the ballroom downstairs...
No, no denying it.  And yet he felt at peace.  He may have felt, well,
strange after these experiences.  Any encounter with the supernatural will
seem uncanny.  But he never felt in danger.  And what did these signs of
haunting—even a benevolent haunting—have to do with the ominous
warning James had received about Mr. LeRoc who really did, Scott had to
admit, seem not quite right?

The morning light was beginning to flood the room.  Far below, Scott could
hear Mrs. L'Enfant's crew resume their work on the left wing of the house,
making it habitable.  With a small start, James woke up, lifted his head
from his master's chest to look around, looked at his master, then scooted
up to give Scott a kiss on the lips.  Scott kissed back and then James put
his head back on the pillow that was the white man's chest.  Man and boy
exchanged gentle rubs and caresses, and each could tell that both penises
were beginning to go beyond the usual morning tumescence into something
more rampant.  Then James lifted his head again to look at his master.

"Masta Scott, we gonna go get us a wench today?"  he asked.  Scott smiled.
He had a moment of realization: his enjoyment of this sweet boy slave was
actually going to increase if he could see the boy in the embrace of some
pretty young slave girl.  If he could participate in it as well, so much
the better.  Adding a black slave girl to the household would only enrich
their growing relationship.  Then his stomach gurgled, and he thought how
nice it would be to have someone make him some fresh eggs and bacon instead
of the bachelor's meals he and James had been having.

"Yes, we will," he told Scott.  Then he put his fist around both their
penises together, giving them a long, slow pump.  "Better save ourselves
for that, eh?" he said.  James closed his eyes and gave a long shudder at
his master's ministration, but nodded agreement and smiled.  Kissing once
more, master and slave boy rose from the bed and went together to the
shower bath.

Mrs. L'Enfant and her assistants had evidently learned to wait until they
saw Scott descend from the second floor, clothed, before attempting to
collect laundry from his room and the shower bath.  As he and James came
down the women began lumbering up the steps, nodding respectfully to him as
they went.  For today, James had chosen to put on his everyday livery,
saving his finest suit for special occasions.

Master and slave boy ate breakfast together, fantasizing about the
wonderful breakfasts the new slave girl would prepare for them.  Finishing,
Scott spoke to Mrs. L'Enfant about finding a gardener, someone who could
put appropriate plantings in the courtyard and in all the plantings of the
second floor porch.  She thought she knew just the person to ask, and
agreed to send for him that day.  While he was at it, Scott asked her if
she knew anything about the mysterious heart and flame symbol in the
courtyard; the same symbol on the piece of paper that had been left in his
coat pocket the night before.  She knew nothing of it.

Scott prepared himself to leave the house for the slave market, and had
just stepped out his front door when he saw Mr. LeRoc likewise emerge,
heading for a waiting carriage.  LeRoc seemed preoccupied, and Scott saw
that the driver was putting a valise into the carriage as well. Perhaps his
neighbor was going on a short journey?  Scott waved but LeRoc was too
preoccupied, and the carriage rolled away.

Scott and James headed out, and their journey took them down their
immediate side street.  Passing their own alley, Scott stopped abruptly.
Halfway up the alley, a large dark skinned figure was knocking on the back
door of their kitchen building.  Scott called out, "Hello!  May I help
you?" and he and the slave boy turned into the alley to confront their
visitor.  The figure half turned.  It was King.  He had shed the Egyptian
costume of the night before and was now dressed in simple livery.  As Scott
drew closer, he could not take his gaze from the black slave's massive
physique.  Pillow-like chest muscles like armor strained beneath the simple
shirt, powerful arms swelled out the sleeves.  His torso tapered to a waist
that, although it betrayed no fat, was thick and strong.  As the man turned
from a profile, Scott saw a strong butt, rounded and protruding just enough
without becoming a parody of the African bottom.  His well fitting trousers
revealed a significant bulge in the crotch.  Scott was rendered speechless
for a moment.  Luckily, King spoke first.

"Yes, Masta, I am King, Mr. LeRoc's...servant," he said.  Scott registered
the slight pause.  King had a dignity that slavery could not overcome.  He
appeared to be about forty, a few grey hairs flecked the close cropped wool
cap of tight kinks on his head.  His features were African and handsome,
nothing outsized, all in proportion: broad nose, full lips, defined
cheekbones.  In just the moment it took to register all this, Scott felt a
definite tug in his groin.  If King detected it, he did not betray that
knowledge.

King continued: "I...I am returning something you may have left behind,
Masta."  He held out a neatly folded handkerchief.  Scott looked and
definitely recognized it as his.  But it was hardly valuable, and he did
not remember having removed it last night as he enjoyed cognac and cigars
at LeRoc's.  Had he dropped it at some point?  He wondered if it were a
subterfuge to permit King to approach him.  Very well, he thought, he would
play the game out.

"Thank you, King," he said, and thought of reaching for it, but then
checked himself.  He fumbled in his pocket.  "I...I do not have keys to the
back door of my kitchen.  Would...would you accompany my servant...this is
James," he said, and James nodded; Scott was amused to see that the boy was
literally open mouthed at the stunning spectacle before them.  "this is
James, " Scott continued, "would you accompany us to the front door so we
may enter the house?"

It was absurd and everyone knew it; why not just take the handkerchief
there and be done?  but Scott caught a twinkle in King's dark, bright eyes
as the big man nodded and said, "At your service, Masta."  The three went
back around to the front door, King holding the linen like a trophy in
front of him.  As Scott turned his key in the lock he said, "I think I saw
your master leave a few moments ago.  He...he will not need your services
soon?"

"No Masta," said King, and again Scott thought he caught a twinkle in the
black man's eye, "He will be gone the rest of the day and possibly until
tomorrow."  Scott nodded and invited King into the house.

The massive black man stepped in, and Scott felt a warm wind whip through
the entryway; but of course, the left wing was being aired out and the
front door was open.  He felt sure that was the reason.  King stood for a
moment in the entry; he seemed to be breathing in the air, finding
information and perhaps even sustenance in it.  He looked hard at the right
wing and seemed to be listening...or seeing?.....intently.

James tugged on Scott's sleeve and whispered into his ear.  "Masta...I
THINK tha's the man who gave me that warnin' message.  Cain' be sure."
Scott nodded.  Very interesting if it were so.

Scott addressed his strange visitor.  "King, I think I was told that you
used to be my uncle's servant...that you used to be from this house?"  King
turned, his eyes carefully hooded by half dropped lids, and nodded.

"Yes, Masta, I was."

"I see," replied Scott.  "Would you...would you like to come sit for a
moment?" he said gesturing toward the library and then leading the way.  He
did not see the looks of surprise, then calculation, then measured pleasure
that cross King's features in a flash.  Perhaps he was not used to being
invited to join a white person socially in this way.  Or perhaps he was,
but did not know whether to expect it from Scott.  King followed the white
man, James tagging along in the rear, unable to remove his eyes from the
large black.

The two men settled in the library; James stood by Scott's chair.  There
was a moment of silence as King looked around, seeming to see or hear
things that Scott could not; perhaps memories?  Another wind wafted through
the house and Scott noticed that King silently and subtly extended a hand
but an inch or so, palm upward.  The wind stopped, and the large man smiled
faintly.  Scott decided to take the bull by the horns.

"King, is there anything you wish to ask me...about the house?  Anything
you wish to tell me?"  James, standing next to Scott, put his arm on his
master's shoulder.  Scott saw King register that move sharply, saw his
glance flicker between master and boy, and another twinkle in his eye.

"I...I hope you are happy in the house, Masta," said King.  "It is a
special house. Things might happen that you would not expect in any other
house.  But...treasure it, Masta."  Scott thought how extraordinary it was
that King should say such a thing.  But he also detected a
certain...majesty.  A royal privilege to say such things.  King seemed to
be in fact a kind of king, seemed to be the echo of African's now vanished
and degraded past.

"Yes, I do treasure it, and I will.  And...I believe the house
is...unusual.  Perhaps we should speak more about it some time," said
Scott.  He caught a quick, sharp look from King, another twinkle in his
bright, dark eyes, and a nod.  Scott decided to try another tactic to twist
some information from this mysterious black man.  "I enjoyed your master's
hospitality last night.  Perhaps I will invite him back soon."

There it was, a stiffening, a look of caution, that flashed over the
massive African features of the slave.  "As you wish, Masta," he said, "but
of course a man's home is his castle.  This is your castle."  There was a
long pause.  "Be careful, Masta," King said, and then stopped abruptly as
if he had said too much.  He went no further.

"I would allow you to see the house again, it may bring back pleasant
memories for you," said Scott, "but the left wing," and he gestured in that
direction, "is under renovation, including the servants' quarters.  Perhaps
you would like to see the second floor, just for old times' sake?"

A look of hunger—even greed—flashed quickly across the dark brown
features of King.  "Yes, Masta, that would be very kind, but I won't take
up much more of your time," he said.  Scott nodded and rose, leading the
two blacks up the stairs and, wasting no time, directly into the master
bedroom.

King stood in the middle of the room, turning around, again listening,
seeming to see afar.  And Scott thought he could now detect—no, surely
not, from what source?—the faintest smell of roses.  Just the
afterthought of roses, just a memory on the wind.  A light breeze that
stirred playfully in the room.  Again, Scott thought he saw King extend a
hand, palm up, on his side away from Scott and James, and the large black
man smiled.  The air became very still and peaceful.  King took one last,
long look at the bed and then nodded to Scott.  "Thank you Masta, I have
duties and I need to return."  Scott led the way downstairs and opened the
door.  King was nearly out of the door when he halted suddenly and with a
smile, handed the handkerchief to Scott.  "I forgot, Masta.  It's yours."
Scott smiled and took it, and the black man was through the door and across
the street.  Scott took a deep breath and set the handkerchief on the entry
way table.  He turned to James.

"There is so much I wish I had asked him.  That scrap of paper with the
heart and flame, for instance, was it from him?  What did he know of the
stones in the courtyard?  Well, he seemed very cautious, and perhaps one
thing at a time."  James nodded agreement and master and boy stood for
another moment, regarding each other, deep in thought.  Then Scott
brightened up and said, "Now off on our business!"  James nodded with
eagerness, and once again master and boy left the house and headed for the
slave merchant quarter of the city.

Scott wondered how James would react upon approaching Bucknell's, where he
had been bought and sold as property.  He was relieved to see the boy
entered with head held high, perhaps bolstered by his livery and his
assured status now with the white man who led him.  Scott greeted the
proprietor once again.

"And how is your purchase from a few days ago?" asked Bucknell.  Scott
looked at James and smiled.

"He does very well sir, I am very much satisfied."  Bucknell smirked and
nodded.  "And now," continued Scott, "I want a young female.  Perhaps
fourteen years of age.  Someone with domestic skills, including cleaning,
sewing, and above all cooking."  Bucknell nodded and thought for a moment.

"I have several likely young wenches who will meet your requirements, sir,"
said Bucknell.  "Perhaps...perhaps you would like to see some fancies?"  By
that he meant half-white—or more—girls of lighter complexion.  Scott
shook his head and assured Bucknell that pure Negro was acceptable to him.
As it was, indeed.  If you are to have brown, have dark brown, he thought.
Bucknell rose to go into the presentation room to array some likely
candidates.  Scott stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"I should like to see them disrobed to the waist," he said.  Bucknell
nodded as if this were but a matter of course, and slipped through the
door.  Scott hurriedly consulted with James.  His plan was to find a young
girl acceptable to both of them—attractive of course—but above all,
someone who would be willing in bed.  He did not want to rape anyone, and
as he had found with James, willingness can be powerfully appealing.  They
would each examine each young female and quietly shake heads yes or no.
Scott's plan was mainly to observe each girl to see how she would react to
James's examination.

Bucknell returned to announce that the choices were ready, and this time
Scott entered the room right away.  A line of perhaps a dozen young women,
seeming to run in age from thirteen to maybe fifteen, stood in the room.
Each wore a simple, often dirty and tattered, smock.  All of them had
pulled the smocks down and bunched them around their waists, revealing
their young bosoms.  All had hair cropped short, and stood with eyes cast
downward, although a few risked furtive glances at the white man who might
end up owning them, and his young black slave boy.

Scott and James walked up to the first girl.  Scott prodded James, who at
first tentatively and then with decision cupped the girl's breast with his
hands.  Scott watched the reaction of each girl.  Some flinched, some
shuddered, some smiled, some parted lips and breathed a little heavier.
Some had pendulous breasts even at such a young age, some barely formed
orange sized breasts on a boyish body, some full but taut breasts that
might almost have seemed too large for their young brown torsos.  Each one
James began with, cupping and gently hefting the breasts, or covering the
small tight ones with his hand.  The ones who showed displeasure or sorrow
were closely observed by Scott, who immediately gave a quick shake of his
head no to James.  Some seemed willing, a few even eager, to be fondled by
James.  These Scott also touched, gently squeezing or lifting the breast.
The ones who became reticent when a white hand touched their bosoms were
silently rejected.  Some James shook his head no about, principally those
with pendulous breasts.  Whether the judgment was yes or no, Scott observed
that a definite bulge had grown in the front of James's trousers.  Up and
down they went, narrowing the field, until finally they settled on one.

"How old are you, girl?" Scott asked.

"I is fourteen, Masta," she said, with the barest hint of a smile; she had
not seemed to mind much either a white or brown hand upon her bosoms.  She
had among the smallest, about the size of grapefruits, even grapefruit
halves, tight and high upon her chest.  She was not fat but not rail thin,
her body showing early signs of feminine muscles. Her face was round and
pretty, full lips and long curling eyelashes with a broad nose.  Scott
continued, "do you cook?  Did you cook for your former owner?  Did you
clean house?"  The girl assured him that she had done all of those things.
"What is your name, girl?" he asked.  "Niobe, Masta," she replied.  Scott
and James looked at one another and together nodded agreement.  "Let us
speak about this one," Scott said to Bucknell, who hovered nearby.  The two
men withdrew to haggle over price.  James stood near the girl, the two
eyeing each other, furtive smiles passing over their faces.  The two white
men came to an agreement and led the way to the office, the slave boy and
girl following, Niobe pulling her ragged shift back up over her torso.

Paperwork was completed once again, copies given, and for a second time
Scott led a slave—now, two slaves—from the Bucknell offices.  Niobe
walked behind both man and boy, her head down, but with an air of
acceptance and determination.  They had not gone far before Scott realized
that Niobe, as had James, might be hungry.  He saw another street cart
selling food, this time near a small park in a public square.  He bought
food for all three of them, and three little bottles of small beer.  The
three sat in the park to eat their meal, Scott on a bench, the two slaves
on some stones edging a path through the park nearby.

Satisfied, Scott now led the way to Grant and company, the clothiers, where
he had Niobe measured for a similar set of garments to James's: six
everyday and two special sets of livery.  Likewise, shoes were ordered.
The merchant assured Scott that James's clothes were nearly finished, and
that work would begin immediately on Niobe's.  As the girl tugged the
ragged, decayed smock she wore into place constantly, Scott realized that,
as with James's rag that he wore from Bucknell's, the girl would likely
have to go naked for some days also, while her clothing was finished.

Finally the three arrived in the Rue Dauphine, where Scott explained to
Niobe that this would be her new home.  This time, seeing the curtain
parted on the second floor, he gave a frank salute in that direction, and
he saw the curtain lift more and a salute returned from a dark figure
within.  Entering the house, Scott introduced Niobe to Mrs. L'Enfant, and
then charged James with giving her a tour of the central wing while he
waited in the courtyard to consult with the gardener who had already begun
work.  After a few minutes, the two young slaves emerged; Scott wondered
what James had said about sleeping arrangements.  He wondered also whether
the young rascal had tried to sneak a kiss or a feel.  The boy's trousers
bulged somewhat in front; Scott took that for his answer.

The three went together to the kitchen, where Niobe became all business,
inspecting the facilities and stores.  She spoke with Mrs. L'Enfant about
grocers, and a representative of a nearby establishment was summoned.  A
regular order was placed, and Scott was pleased to see that it included a
steady supply of fresh and wholesome food.  Niobe began bustling about to
put her domain in order.  He sensed she was well pleased to become the
queen of a kitchen at such an early age.

Scott and James returned to the courtyard to assist in and direct the
replanting of the garden.  Scott paid special attention to the heart and
flame stones, instructing the gardener to feature them in his plans.  He
asked, but the gardener did not know their meaning either.

The afternoon wore on, everyone with their appointed tasks.  Mrs. L'Enfant
and her crew were nearly done with the ground floor of the left wing and
had moved to the second.  Scott decided to wait until the entire left wing
had been renovated before inspecting it.  He headed to the library to put
the paperwork for Niobe's purchase in order, while James continued working
with the gardener, and Niobe in the kitchen.  On the way he saw the
handkerchief on the table and picked it up absent-mindedly, about to put it
in his pocket, when it flopped open.  He stopped in his tracks.  In a
corner of the handkerchief had been drawn in different colored inks the
heart and flame motif.  It was very small, so small it might have gone
unnoticed, but it was there.  Scott held it in puzzlement for a moment.  He
then decided to put it in his pocket; indeed, to keep it in his pocket,
whether of these or other trousers.  He didn't know what led to that
decision; it was after all but a small drawing. But something in his head
pushed him to do so, and so he did.

Mrs. L'Enfant and her crew were departing after the day's work, as was the
gardener, all promising to return the next day, and Scott and James washed
hands and face in the ground floor shower bath.  The kitchen held only
Niobe when they returned to it with lighted lantern in the early evening,
and she was finishing the preparation of a simple but healthy meal that
smelled wonderful to Scott after days of a bachelor existence.  She set one
place for her master at the table and was preparing to feed James and
herself at a distance when he made it clear they would eat together.
Hesitant, not sure she understood, and then in wonder at this arrangement,
she put food for all three at the kitchen table and they sat down at the
table.

Conversation was sparse; the good food and a long, stressful day for all
three combined to create a quiet atmosphere.  Scott thought he saw Niobe
almost nod off more than once.  As they finished the meal, the slave girl
insisted on washing up completely, so Scott deferred to her.  He and James
waited in the courtyard, and as she emerged, he said, "Time for bed," and
taking up a lantern led the way to the second floor.

Scott led the three first to the bedroom.  "We will leave our clothes here
and go to the shower bath on this floor," he said, in a matter of fact
tone.  He maintained a straight demeanor as he removed one item of clothing
and then another, hanging them up carefully.  James followed his example, a
big grin on his face, finishing first because of course he had fewer
clothes.  He stood proudly naked, his plum black cock at half staff,
bobbing before him.  Niobe waited, her eyes cast down.  Scott finished and
likewise stood naked.  He saw Niobe darting furtive glances now at him, now
at James.  His own dusky cock rose into a semi-erection.  He walked over to
the young black slave girl and gently tugged at her shift.  "Remove this,"
he said, "it is so dirty and torn it will need to be discarded, most
likely."  The girl gave a small sigh and appeared to summon her courage,
then dropped the smock entirely from her body.  With some show of modesty
she covered her pubic area with one hand, her breasts with another, but she
continued her furtive surveillance of the two males.

Scott led the way to the shower bath.  It barely held two; it would not
hold three.  So explaining how it worked to Niobe, he instructed her and
James to enter first.  Now she was forced to move the hands covering her
nakedness.  Scott instructed her to wash James first, and she did, first
hesitantly and then with more confidence rubbing soap all over his
glistening black skin under the shower.  She examined his now rigid penis
for but a moment and then soaped it all over, and around his balls, then
over and between his tight buttocks.  Now it was James's turn, and with
evident relish he rubbed her water oiled dark body as well, fingers
lingering on her pert breasts, pushing suds into the small patch of dense
black public hair, and around back between her wide, firm buttocks.  She
sometimes gasped, sometimes her eyes opened wide, but she received the
slave boy's ministrations without protest.

The white man stood wondering who should clean him.  He fully intended to
have his way with the black slave girl, but suddenly decided that tonight
would be James's night with her.  He gently pulled Niobe from the shower
and handed her a towel; then stepping into the shower he received the
willing services of his black slave boy, being thoroughly soaped and
cleaned.  All three, naked, went back to the bedroom.

Scott pointed to the bed and directed the girl: "Niobe, you will be in the
middle, please."  Silently, no longer trying to hide her nakedness, she
crawled into bed and lay on her back, hands folded over her slightly
rolling belly, looking back and forth from master to fellow slave.  Scott
directed James to her other side, and he himself crawled in beside her.
Man and boy stretched out on their sides, facing the girl, so close that
their straining erections brushed against her.  Scott nodded to James: "Do
what you want to do."

In answer the boy sighed heavily and tentatively at first, then with more
command, began exploring the girl's body with his hands.  He cupped and
fondled her breasts again.  He kissed her, at first carefully and then
covering her mouth, playing with her tongue, lips, and gums, and Scott
guessed from what he could see that she returned the favor.  The girl first
lay still to receive this attention, and then she began to rub James's
back, fondling his arms, his chest and belly, his back.

As James's hand found its way into her pubic bush she gasped and then
sighed.  Scott could tell that James had an experimental finger inside.
After a moment of exploration, the girl reached over and grasped the slave
boy's iron hard, plum black penis and slowly began manipulating it.  James
moaned and squirmed with pleasure.  Another moment passed, and then in a
decisive move he pushed her legs apart and took a position between them.
James glanced over at Scott.  Was it possible the black boy had never had a
girl?  Even if so, surely nature would guide him.  Scott nodded
encouragement and pantomimed pushing into the girl.  James fumbled for a
moment and then he and the girl gasped at the same time.  Scott saw an
expression of surprise turn into one of determination on the boy's face,
and in one push James was entirely within her.  The girl cried out softly
but did not push the boy away.

Scott lay an inch away from these two bodies, often brushed by their
movements, and he realized how much delight he was receiving from seeing
his slave boy fuck his new slave girl.  Led by nature James pushed in and
out.  He bent his head forward to bite and suck at her firm, taut little
bosoms.  He covered her mouth with his, kissing hungrily.  For her part,
Niobe began bucking her hips in correspondence to James's movements,
sliding her legs along the backs of James's legs, clutching his arms and
his back, fondling his buttocks with her hands.  Fast and faster James
went, breathing heavily now, sweat droplets landing on the girl's brown
bosom that glistened in the moonlight, and then arching his back and
throwing his head back he howled, thrusting himself forward and clenching,
while the girl pulled him into her as he ejaculated his young male seed
into her.  The boy collapsed down directly on top of her.

James still lay there panting, when Scott, aroused as he had seldom been by
this spectacle, decided that he must be a part of it.  Reaching for the
goose grease, he spread a healthy portion on his penis, and then on the
anus of James, as the boy's rounded black bottom rose in the air.  James
looked around quickly and suddenly realized what was going to happen.
"Masta," he breathed, and the white man mounted him, in two or three pushes
burying himself entirely within the black slave boy's upthrust bottom.
James cried out but did not resist.  Palms against the bed, the white man
arched over the boy and thus over the girl, pounding furiously.  The girl
had never seen anything like this.  At first she looked alarmed, then
looked away, then looked back, and then Scott could see a look of interest
growing in her.  Reaching around the still heaving body of her young black
lover, she grasped the arms of the white man and held on, then grasped what
she could reach of his back and buttocks, pulling him into their two
bodies.  Bang, bang, bang Scott slammed into his slave boy and then with a
bellow that started in his very core, he exploded into the black slave boy
beneath him.  He writhed, he shuddered, and then collapsed down onto the
two black bodies below him.

But even as Scott heaved and struggled to catch his breath, he realized
they were not finished.  Stimulated beyond control by his master's fucking,
James had achieved a second erection while still inside Niobe, and now with
quick short pumps—mashed from on top by his white master, he could do
little else—in a moment he quickly shot, with one gasp, what must have
been a very small ejaculation into the black slave girl.  Now all three lay
in a tangle, shuddering and heaving, murmuring and fondling.

Calm returning, Scott rolled off to one side, trailing a bright silver
string of cum behind him.  James then rolled off onto his side.  Both man
and boy threw arms around Niobe, who responded by enveloping each male with
an arm of her own and drawing them in together.  A tangle of dark chocolate
brown and white settled together sleepily on the bed.  Scott considered
that Niobe had not refused, had even participated, in the evening's
pleasure, and he concluded the she was fulfilled.  He knew that he was, and
the night rolled over them.

Comments welcome

See more of my stories in the prolific authors section of Nifty: Lance Kyle
lokiaga@austin.rr.com