Date: Tue, 13 Dec 2011 21:54:27 +0000
From: lokiaga@austin.rr.com
Subject: Rue Dauphine 3

Morning sunlight crept into the bedroom where Scott Barnes slept with
James, his new thirteen year old black slave boy. Scott drifted up out of a
pleasant sleep into a state of utter contentment. He slept on his left side
with the boy spooning in front of him, his left arm under the boy's neck
and resting against his thinly padded chest.  Scott's right hand dangled
loosely across the boy's belly.

He pressed his face into James's crisp black hair, enjoying the different
feel, the dense texture.  With his left hand he gently rubbed circles on
the boy's chest, tweaking the nipple.  With his right he traced lazy
circles on his belly.  James startled awake, gently, moved his head a
little to take in his surroundings.  It took him a moment before the events
of the day before returned to him.  Half turning his head to the side he
saw his master; looking down he saw the white hands gently rubbing his
naked chocolate skin.  He smiled.

"Mornin' Masta," he breathed and stretched a little where he lay.  Then the
boy pushed back ever so slightly into the chest and belly of the white man
behind him.  Scott shifted his face and began nibbling gently on the boy's
exposed ear.  His right hand began circling downward, downward, until it
bumped an erect black cock.  Scott then realized that his own penis,
usually hard in the morning anyway, was rampant, and pushing against the
thighs and buttocks of his slave boy.  They stayed like that for a moment,
Scott gently grasping the slave boy's erect penis and slowly, oh so slowly
pumping it.  Then Scott pulled away for a moment to reach for the
nightstand on his side of the bed.  There he had placed, the night before,
a small pot of goose grease, although it had not been needed.  Today it
would be.  Scott lifted it over and got a good dollop of it on two fingers
of his right hand.

Gently, he reached for the black boy's anus.  He circled around and around
the anus, and James moaned in what sounded like pleasure.  Then he inserted
the end of one finger slowly into the anus.  James stiffened his body and
gasped a little, but he did not attempt to resist.  Slowly the white man
pushed the rest of his finger in, slowly, up to the hand.  James was now
breathing a little more heavily, humming a little in his throat.  Now Scott
inserted the second finger into the anus, and now James did squirm and gasp
louder but again, did not attempt to refuse.  Slowly, Scott inserted his
second finger into the black boy's rectum.  James squirmed and his
breathing was definitely heavier, but he kept his post.  Scott managed to
get both fingers all the way in.  "Masta," breathed James again, not in
pleading, but just a whispered statement.  "Masta."

Scott slowly moved the fingers in and out, slowly twisted them, ever so
gently.  The boy moaned again, but Scott could feel his sphincter
loosening.  And when it felt significantly opened, Scott removed his
fingers, obtained more goose grease, and quickly coated the end of his iron
hard penis.  Then without hesitation he inserted the bulb of his cock into
the boy, slowly but definitely.

Now James writhed and cried out, "Masta!  Ah!" more than once.  The boy's
hand went back onto the white man's thigh, as if to slow the penetration.
But Scott was going slowly, slowly and then in a rush inserted the whole
organ.  "Aaaaaaahhh!" cried James, closing his eyes.  They lay like that
for a moment, still, two bodies joined together as one.  Then Scott began
pumping slowly, while at the same time he resumed pumping the black boy's
purple dark, hard cock.  James gasped and moaned, but whether in pain or
surprise at the penetration, Scott could not tell.  He did not think he was
causing the boy actual pain, but this may have been his first anal
penetration, and it was bound to be a new and perhaps difficult sensation.

Slowly, but then faster, Scott pumped in and out of his black slave boy's
round bottom.  Now James began pushing back, getting into a corresponding
rhythm, and Scott's white fist began pumping the purple black cock more
quickly.  A little faster and a little faster and then James stiffened,
jerked, pressing his whole being forward into his penis, and shot a small
dollop of thirteen year old semen straight ahead on the bed, clenching his
buttocks tight to do so.  This put pressure on Scott so that his own climax
was irresistible, and in but a moment he also shot his load of semen
directly into the boy.  Master and slave boy lay like that, shuddering, the
boy's hand now rubbing his master's thigh, Scott's hand, with a little
semen on it, slowly milking the now wilting black cock.  Scott nibbled the
boy's ear, bit little tufts of his crisp hair, and kissed the boy's neck.
Then the moment passed and Scott pulled his wilting cock from the boy's
anus.  The boy turned onto his back and looked his master directly in the
eyes.

Suddenly the boy put both arms around the white man's neck and pulled his
head down, bringing his master's mouth over his, kissing passionately; the
boy was in charge of this moment.  And then the slave boy released his
master who lifted up a bit and smiled.

"Masta," said James, "Masta...I so glad I is your slave.  I is glad you
bought me, Masta.  I...I gonna be a good slave to you, do what you want,
you'll see, Masta."

In answer Scott smiled and kissed the boy again, looked him in the dark,
bright eyes for a moment, and then leapt out of bed, pulling his boy slave
with him.  Without a word he led the way to the shower bath.  Sharing the
narrow shower space together, Scott soaped the boy up, being gentle when
cleaning his anus, stripping the skin back from the wilted but still
tumescent penis.  And when he was done, James surprised him by taking the
soap from him and doing the same to him, the black slave boy rubbing soap
all over his master's white body, anus and penis included.  Clean, master
and slave toweled off and returned to the room.

Scott began to dress and then considered: the boy had no garments.  There
were the towels, but they were now damp.  Scott considered that none of the
cleaning women were to enter the house today, and that the weather was
fine. "You will have to go without clothes until yours come from the
livery," he said.  "Nobody will see you."  James nodded agreement matter of
factly, and assisted his master in dressing.

The two walked downstairs, across the courtyard, and into the kitchen where
they shared a good breakfast.  Scott was still unsure what to ask the boy
about his past, so decided to let it be for a while.  Silently but
exchanging occasional smiles, they finished their meal.  Scott sat for a
moment considering, looking around the kitchen, looking at James.

"I want to make use of the whole house," said Scott, half to himself and
half to James.  "Mrs. L'Enfant has done wonderful work making the central
wing livable.  But what is in the other wings?  I want at least to explore
them," he said.  Seized by a thought, he looked around.  He saw no keys.
He stood up quickly and headed back to the central wing, James scurrying to
keep up, his dangling penis bobbing as he went.  Scott entered the library
and to the desk there.  He began opening drawers and soon found what he
wanted.  He pulled out a ring of perhaps five sturdy iron keys.  None were
marked or labeled, but Scott felt sure they must be to rooms in the house.
He turned to James.  "Want to go exploring?"

The naked black slave boy smiled broadly and nodded, his youthful spirits
up for adventure.  Scott secured some writing paper, string, and a sturdy
pencil, then led the way back into the hallway.  Which way, he wondered to
himself.  He took a step toward the wing on the right, and then stopped.
Troubling memories of voices and sighs, of an unexplained light, flashed on
his consciousness.  "For another day," he muttered, and turned to the wing
on the left.  He opened the door to that wing, and as had the door on the
right, it creaked with disuse.  He instructed James to return to the
kitchen for an oil can that was kept there, and when the boy returned Scott
showed him how to oil the hinges and handle.  The boy swelled with
importance at this new office entrusted to him, and for the rest of the
tour assiduously oiled every hinge and door handle he could find.

But first, Scott had no sooner swung the oiled door in silent satisfaction
than the bell for the door to the street rang.  Motioning his naked slave
boy behind a door, Scott answered it to find the florist with their
delivery.  Three large bouquets were placed on an entryway table.  Scott
would later show James where to put the deliveries in the future but for
now, once the deliveryman had left, there was the left wing to explore.

Scott and James walked into the silent and dusty hallway.  On the wall hung
paintings, all covered with cloths.  Whisking one aside, releasing a cloud
of dust, James saw that it was a portrait, presumably of an ancestor of
his.  Assuming the others were similar, he let them be for the moment.  On
the left side of the center hallway were a sitting room and a dining room,
but they looked like parlors for ghosts.  Windows in this wing were
entirely shuttered, the rooms in twilight.  Everything was covered with a
dusty white sheet.  Peering underneath some of the sheets, releasing dust
clouds each time, James saw that the furniture was of high quality and in
good condition, but of a fashion from the beginning of the century.  He and
James left footprints in the dust; clearly this wing had been shut up
unused long before his uncle's final illness.

On the right side of the hallway were two doors giving entrance to the same
long room, which took up the courtyard side of that wing's ground floor.  A
huge sheet covered a massive object in the center.  Pulling the cloth back,
Scott exclaimed, "Billiards!"  He explained the game to the puzzled James.
Peering behind other cloths he discovered cue sticks, balls, and racks.
Odd protruding masses high up on the walls turned out to be hunting
trophies, while a tall glass cabinet, likewise covered, turned out to be a
gun cabinet full of rifles and shotguns that still seemed well oiled behind
the glass case.  Another object turned out to be a card table, covered up.
"It's a game room," said Scott, pleased with the find.  He could imagine
his uncle sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs, now covered, admiring
his trophies—or playing cards with guests—in his younger days.  Scott
had begun to firm up a decision to ask Mrs. L'Enfant to make these rooms
useful once more, but it would take days of cleaning.

Stepping back into the hallway Scott saw a narrow staircase at the end of
the hallway.  But now he found a curious thing.  For in addition to going
up, presumably to the second floor, it also went down.  Scott paused to
think.  Few houses in New Orleans had cellars, as the land was low and the
water table high, but then he remembered that his neighborhood was situated
on a slight rise—so, perhaps.  James peered down into the darkness into
which the staircase descended.  When Scott sent him back to the central
wing to fetch lanterns, he did so quickly.  Lighting a lantern, Scott began
to descend, his slave boy behind him.

The stairs did not go far.  At the bottom was a heavy oak door in a stone
wall.  Scott tried the handle and found that the door was locked.  Now
began his first hunt for the right key, and after trying some of those on
the ring he carried, and with a healthy squirt of oil in the keyhole from
James, he found a key that snicked the lock back.  Scott paused to label
the key and then, taking a deep breath and holding the lantern before him,
he pushed the door inward.  A cool, yeasty air came out.

It was a cellar for wine and liquors.  Heavy oak shelves lined the sides of
a simple stone room that evidently stretched back underneath the whole
length of that wing, ending in a wall covered by more shelves.  Brandies,
whiskies, cordials, and wines gathered grimy dust.  The floor felt moist,
although it was clearly still above the water table.  Scott led the
open-mouthed boy James down the room, noting on left and right some fine
selections.  Once again, he nodded with approval at an uncle he barely
knew, but who evidently knew how to live well.  Overhead, the ceiling was
low and oak beamed; clearly they were just beneath the floor of the rooms
above.  The cellar had not been dug deeply; Scott had barely enough room to
stand upright.  Coming to the end of the room and the shelves across the
far wall, Scott collected a few bottles from the holdings and led James
back up the stairs, locking the door behind him.  The slave boy, naked,
shivered a little with the cold, and was glad to rise again into the warmth
of a Louisiana spring.

Up they went to the second floor.  The staircase was narrow, and evidently
most people were meant to use the broad double staircase in the central
wing.  There was a long hallway in the second floor as well, with two doors
on either side.  Once again, Scott had to hunt for the right keys and label
them.  Each room was a bedroom, evidently for guests or an extended family.
Again, good furniture sheltered in each room beneath a sheet laden with
dust.  At the far end of the hallway Scott opened a door and found himself
on the second floor landing of the central wing.  The door to the right
wing was directly across, and remained closed.  Not yet, he thought, not
yet.

Walking back to the small stairs, Scott and James noted that they rose into
the attic.  Holding a lantern aloft, Scott led the way.  At the top the
stairs gave onto a tiny hallway that ended in a large metal wall.  Thinking
for a moment, Scott realized that the metal wall must be the cistern.  Six
doors opened off of this narrow hallway, three on a side, and they had no
locks.  Investigating them, Scott found very plain rooms with plain
furniture, although also covered by dust.  Each had a small dormer window
for light and ventilation.  Then it occurred to him: these were servants'
quarters.

Turning to his slave boy, he explained the situation.  "Would you like your
own room up here once everything is put in order?" Scott asked.  James's
dark, bright eyes grew wide and he gave it some thought.

"I...I ain't never had my own room Masta.  You mean, for to keep clothes in
and such?"  His master nodded.  James thought, and then nodded once, but
said, "Yes, Masta, I would.  But...but can I sleep wit you most of the
time?"  He glanced at the white man and then away, a little embarrassed at
the request.  Scott smiled and put his arm around the boy's naked chocolate
shoulders.

"Of course you can, James, you may sleep with me as much as you like.
I..." he hesitated, on the brink of an admission to a slave.  "I...I like
that also."  James snuck a longer look at this master and a broad smile
spread across his face.

Man and boy returned to the ground floor and were just entering the central
wing again when the doorbell rang again.  James once more ducked behind a
door, as Scott opened it to find the delivery of his firearms.  The long
arms were now redundant after finding his uncle's fine collection, but the
pistols were newfangled Lefaucheux pinfire cartridge pistols, which might
be kept loaded with causing corrosion.  Scott accepted the delivery and
once the door was closed, he and James hauled the material up to the
bedroom, to be kept for the moment until the game room could be cleaned,
and to store one loaded pistol in the bedroom, one in the library.  Man and
slave boy were now famished from the morning's work, and it was getting to
be late for lunch.  They ate another simple meal in the kitchen and then,
both being tired, Scott suggested they retire to their room for a nap.

James first quickly washed his dusty feet, and by the time he returned to
the bedroom his master had removed all of his clothing in preparation for
lying down.  The white man now looked with frank appraisal at the black
boy, who smiled shyly as he climbed into the bed and lay on his back,
waiting for instructions.  Scott lay down beside the boy, on his side, and
simply studied the beautiful chocolate dark body before him, his free right
hand caressing and exploring.  The boy's face was definitely male, but long
curling eyelashes and the full lips gave it the hint of a feminine quality.
His ears were small and tight to the head.  Scott's eyes grazed in
admiration over the boy's perfect skin, no blemishes, marveling at the
color highlights that complemented the deep dark chocolate base, hints of
milk chocolate and honey blushing here and there over the slave boy's body.
Scott was lost in the beauty of this boy, and all of a sudden the
relationship that slavery created between them hit him hard.  He OWNED this
body.  He supposed he could kill the boy now, perhaps throttle him as he
climaxed one last time, and he was sure he would not be held accountable
for it.  But then that realization was countered, in horror, by a deep
appreciation for how beautiful this boy was, and by...if not love, then the
dawn of caring?

"James...would you like to touch me anywhere?" he asked.  The slave boy's
dark bright eyes widened as he hesitated for a moment, and then silently
nodding acceptance the slave boy also turned on his side facing his master,
and for long moments their hands explored each other's bodies, the slave
boy in his turn marveling at his master's blonde hair of such a different
texture, at the tan and pink and peach colors in the white man's skin.
Minutes passed of this passage of delight, and the penises of both man and
boy were growing hard, having recovered from the morning's exercise.  Scott
looked down at the swelling organs and, as they batted each other in their
swelling, he laughed.  James too smiled and chuckled, regarding the rose
and black plum rods batting each other almost of their own accord.

Scott lay back onto his back now, and wordlessly shifted the willing boy on
top of him, so that the black boy's face hovered over Scott's rampant
penis, while Scott had the black boy's puckered anus, wrinkled tight
ballsack, and bobbing penis in view.  Now each explored the other's
genitals, slowly and in detail.  Taking the initiative, Scott took the
boy's tight ballsack of wrinkled deep black skin into his mouth and the boy
gasped in pleasure.  He gently sucked on it, while softly rubbing the boy's
bobbing black penis which was dripping a little clear liquid on his chest.
Without asking permission, the boy for his part took the white man's penis
as far into his mouth as he could, mumbling the swollen head with his thick
lips, sucking hard while his tongue rolled around the organ that he had as
far into his mouth as he could.  With his chocolate brown fingers, the boy
reached to hold and gently, very gently, massage the white man's heavy
balls.

Scott began a rhythm of thrusting up in time with the boy's sucking and
head bobbing; he was deliberately allowing himself to get ahead of the boy,
while he gave up the boy's balls and attacked the anus with his tongue,
probing and licking.  The boy gasped, but kept possession of his white
master's penis.  Long minutes of Scott pumping up, pumping up, and then he
exploded, throwing his head back in a wild cry of passion, shooting his
seed into the willing mouth of the black boy.  The boy sucked and milked,
and then Scott heard the distinct sound of a gulp; the boy had swallowed
his master's spendings, and was now licking the white man's penis clean.

The white man pushed the black boy gently off and scooted up some in the
bed so his shoulders and head were raised on the pillows.  Motioning
wordlessly to the slave boy, Scott made him place his knees on either side
of his shoulders and, in one motion, directed the boy's bobbing plum black
penis into his mouth.  The boy gasped and grasped the headboard of the bed.
Scott's arms clasped the lower back and buttocks of the boy.  And then
Scott began a rhythm of the black boy pumping back and forth, fucking his
white master's mouth.  Scott's nose met the boy's small but thick tuft of
crinkly pubic hair again and again as it came back and forth.  Working
toward climax for a second time that day cost the black boy an effort, and
he labored mightily, sweat dripping from his face down onto the white man's
as he pumped and pumped, and then with his own cry he crammed his loins
forward, shooting his white seed down the white man's throat.  He stopped
pumping, body shuddering, as the white man sucked the plum black penis dry,
cleaning it completely.  The boy's body swayed above his master's chest and
face for another moment, and then he collapsed over to the side of the
white man.  Scott scooped the black boy toward him in a tight and
enveloping embrace, both arms and legs covering the boy protectively.  Man
and boy alike instantly drifted off into a deep sleep.

The afternoon was far advanced when the two awoke, snuggling and cuddling
in silent pleasure.  Scott thought about the house he had inherited.  And
he thought about that right wing, and wondered why he had felt so strange
about it.  At the moment he only felt a cloud of peace and contentment.  He
decided then that they would investigate the right wing.

He sprang from the bed, the boy following with a big grin on his face.
Scott explained that since they were about to plunge into the dusty, right
wing, they could bathe later.  So putting his clothing back on, which to
tell the truth was a mite dusty from the morning's excursion, Scott thought
for a moment and, lighting a lantern, led the way back down the staircase
to the ground floor, intending to begin his survey of the right wing from
the ground up.

A vague, faint, and indescribable feeling of apprehension came back to
Scott as he opened the door to the right wing on the ground floor.  He
shook himself, telling himself he had nothing to fear, that he was eighteen
and old enough not to be frightened by shadows.  The door was unlocked but
rusty, and as James oiled handle and hinges, James peered into the
shuttered twilight.  To his surprise he saw that the ground floor of the
right wing was all one large room.  Wondering about this, he saw what must
have been a piano, covered with a sheet, against a wall, and then it hit
him: of course!  This was a ballroom; any grand house in New Orleans must
have aspired to such a thing.  Here his uncle must have passed many a
pleasant moment in New Orleans society.

With the naked James at his side, Scott walked into the room.  Little gusts
of dust kicked up where they placed their feet. There was little to see.
More covered paintings on the wall, some covered chairs and sofas against
the walls.  Scott and his slave boy made a direct path for the far wall,
where James discovered to his surprise that there was no staircase nor
door, simply a rather large full length portrait of some ancestor, as Scott
surmised from lifting up a corner of the covering sheet.  It was too dark
to tell who it was.  Detecting cobwebs festooning the ceiling and
chandeliers, Scott likewise decided to have this wing cleaned.  Holding his
lantern high he led the way back to the door onto the central wing.  James
went through first, and Scott paused before closing the door to look back
one more time.

He froze.  On the floor, thick with dust, he could plainly see the tracks
of his own shoes, and the footprints of his naked slave boy—and one more
track of shoe prints as well.  Beside them, now on one side and now on
another, sometimes circling around their tracks, there ran one other busy
pattern of footprints.  Scott for a moment fought to convince himself they
were old, but they were not; they displaced as much dust as his own.  Just
inside the central wing James looked at him, detecting something different.

"Masta?" he asked, with a touch of concern.

Scott shook his head hard and stepped decisively from the room, pulling the
heavy door closed behind him.  For a moment he sorted through his keys and
then remembered the door had no lock.  He stood staring at the closed door.
James touched his sleeve and once more queried, "Masta?"

Scott pulled himself together, shaking his head decisively, and forcing a
smile he replied, "It's nothing" to the boy.  Abandoning any idea of the
second floor of the right wing for the moment, Scott and James worked at
exploring the rooms of the central wing, pulling books out in the library
to peruse, until it was time for a simple supper and then bed.  Man and boy
curled up companionably in bed, any desire for sex temporarily allayed, but
although the black slave boy dropped right off to sleep, it took Scott long
minutes of hard thinking before tiredness overtook him and he likewise fell
asleep.

Comments welcome
lokiaga@austin.rr.com