Date: Fri, 16 Dec 2011 19:45:43 -0500
From: lokiaga@austin.rr.com
Subject: Rue Dauphine 6

Rue Dauphine 6
Lance Kyle

Niobe was the first to awake the next morning as early sunlight flooded the
room.  Struggling out of the tangle of brown and cream arms and legs of the
males at her sides, she sat up in bed, looking out the open window in what
was the direction of the kitchen building.  She heard her new white master,
Scott Barnes, stirring beside her.  Niobe turned around in the bed, sitting
with her butt on her heels, facing her master. and waited for Scott to
become fully awake.  He looked at her and smiled.

"Masta Scott, you want me ta fix breakfast?" she asked.

Scott regarded her in silence for a moment.  Her skin was just a shade
lighter than James's, but still definitely the rich brown of Africa.  She
squatted with her shoulders back, which held her pert grapefruit sized
breasts up and high.  Her belly was slightly rounded but not fat, just the
hint of a woman's musculature to come.  Her round face beneath a short cap
of tight black kinks with its full lips and long, curling eyelashes looked
like a boy's, if a girlish boy.  The lips, slightly parted, revealed
straight white teeth within.

By way of answer Scott silently placed his left hand on first one and then
the other breast.  Niobe looked down at the white hand caressing her brown
body.  She simply accepted what he was doing; she had no choice.  The white
master's hand followed a lazy path between the breasts and down over the
gently curving belly.  Highlights of darker chocolate and honey danced over
her skin here and there.  Scott took a deep breath.  Then he scooted
himself up in bed to recline a little more against the pillows, and gently
pulling her arm and leg, he said "Come over here," and positioned her
between his legs.

She shyly smiled and darted glances at the white man, taking in his muscled
chest and abdomen, his blonde hair and handsome face, finally down at the
now rampant dusky rose cock bobbing up from below a thatch of dirty blonde
pubic hair.  It seemed as if she had simply accepted what one of her duties
would be in this new house.  Scott grasped his penis between thumb and
forefinger and told her, "Suck this, Niobe."  She hesitated just a moment.
Scott felt sure she was not a virgin, fourteen year old slaves were
unlikely to be, but perhaps she had not given fellatio before; perhaps not
to a white man.  But then she breathed, "Yessuh," and going down on her
elbows, her hands grasping the thighs and penis of the white man, she first
nibbled the head of his organ with her thick lips, then licked it, then
took it whole into her mouth.  Her cheeks indented as she sucked, and her
head began to bob up and down.

James startled awake and turned to see what his master and his fellow slave
were doing.  A huge smile broke out on his face.  He ran his hand over his
master's well muscled chest, pinching his nipples, and then caressed the
neck of the black slave girl.  "Masta," he whispered, "Can I do her
behind?"  Scott nodded yes.

In a flash James was behind the girl, behind her bottom which protruded
out, round and full.  His young penis had fully recovered from the night
before and was iron hard, a pearl of clear fluid coming from the hole in
the tip.  James reached down to find the girl's vagina, and then he guided
his purple black penis to the hole.  With one thrust he was inside.  Niobe
gave a muffled squeal, but did not abandon her post at her master's hard
cock.  Within a moment the black slave girl and the black slave boy
established a matching rhythm to the beat of the boy's cock as it slammed
in and out of the girl, Niobe thrusting her cunt back at him in time, but
also bobbing and sucking on her master's hard penis to the same beat.

Scott lightly held the girl's head as she sucked, enjoying the same kinky
but somewhat softer texture that he found in the slave boy's African hair.
But he looked directly at James, who returned the steady gaze.  White
master and black boy stared hard at each other.  It was as if they were
joined in spirit, even in flesh, through the intermediary of the black
slave girl between them.  Beat, beat, beat, beat went the three bodies for
long minutes, arms rubbing and caressing bodies, and then Scott cried out,
clenching his buttocks and pushing up into the girl's mouth, shooting his
semen into her throat.  But his gaze never loosened its lock on James's
eyes.  The black boy felt plunged into his master's very soul, as if he
himself were climaxing, and then in fact he did, bucking and seething, his
breath heaving, growling deep in his throat as he filled the black slave
girl's vagina with his young seed, but never unlocking his gaze from his
master's.

Master and boy shuddered and gasped, the girl sucked the white man's cock
clean and Scott could hear the gulp that told him she swallowed it.  Then
the tension broke.  Scott pulled Niobe up onto his chest and belly, while
James pulled out of her with a plop and landed on top of his master as
well, just to the side of the girl.  All three lay there, catching their
breaths, rubbing and tasting and looking at the artist's canvas of
different colors entwined there.

It was Niobe who struggled up again from the tangle of multicolored flesh.
"Masta, I gotta go to the kitchen," she said.  Scott agreed, and got out of
the bed himself, leading the way to the shower bath.  This time he and
Niobe went in first, soaping each other.  They left James to his own
devices as they stepped out to towel dry.  They returned to the bedroom,
and then Niobe realized that her ratty garment from Bucknell's was being
turned into rags or burned.  "You wan' me to go cook naked?" she asked.

For the sake of hygiene if not modesty, Scott thought better of it.  Going
to the wardrobe, he picked out an old shirt of his.  It fit her as a short
sort of tunic, although inclined to slide off a shoulder.  Niobe seemed to
think this would work, put it on, and scampered out of the room down to the
kitchen.  James and Scott stood naked for a moment, and then Scott smiled
and pulled the naked slave boy into an embrace.  No words were exchanged,
nor were any needed.  Master and slave boy then dressed and made their
leisurely way down to the kitchen.

Mrs. L'Enfant's crew had already begun their work in the left wing.  They
were not collecting laundry, for they understood that this duty now fell to
Niobe.  Niobe was very quickly cooking what seemed like a wonderful
breakfast to Scott and James.  They sat at the table to eat.  As they
finished, Scott looked at his two slaves, both still new.  He thought he
would take this opportunity to know more about them.

"James," he said, "tell me about your parents...your family.  Do you know
where they are?"

James looked puzzled for a moment and then a wistful smile crossed his
face.  "They gone, Masta.  My pa, he die when I real young, a snake git `im
in the field.  My ma, she got the chills in her chest and die not long
ago."  He paused and grew thoughtful for a minute.  "I ain' got no mo'
family, jes' me, so when the slave trader come `roun', my old Masta sol'
me.  And here I is!"  Scott thought for a minute about the grief the boy
must have experienced, and reached over to hold his hand for a moment.
Brown and cream fingers intertwined and master and slave boy looked at each
other in understanding.

"And you, Niobe, what of your family?" he asked.  A sad look came over her
face, and she cast her head down.  She answered in a quiet voice.

"They run, Masta. They took my sister and ran, for freedom, oh, mebbe a
year ago.  Nobody find `em, so Masta sell me down the river."

Scott looked hard at her.  "And why did you not run with them, Niobe?"

The brown girl squirmed a little and her voice got very soft.  "Cuz I
didn't want to get whipped if they ketch me.  I seen slaves, they get
brought back and they get whipped.  Bad.  I alright at the ol' farm.  I...I
jes couldn' go."  She sat quietly and a tear rolled down her round brown
cheek.  Scott thought of how cruel slavery could be, how cruel the choices
it forced on families.  But it never entered his mind to free these two
brown people from their service to him.  For Scott Barnes, that's the way
it was.

Scott reached over and squeezed her hand once.  "I am sorry, Niobe. If I
can ever help reunite you with your family, I will."  She nodded once,
wiped the tear, and said no more.  Another moment passed in silence.  Scott
rose and said, "Well, time for all of us to be busy.  Niobe, you know your
duties in cleaning and cooking.  James...we will have you assume duties for
keeping up the plantings in window boxes and in the courtyard.  I see the
gardener is here, learn from him what you must do.  Also, help Niobe when
she needs help with cleaning.  And if someone comes to the door, take their
name and ask them to wait until you bring it to me for instructions."

The two slaves nodded agreement.  Scott thought for a minute.  "I have not
really explored the neighborhood much, I think I will take a walk around."
The three dispersed, Scott picking up a cane and coat from the entry way of
the central wing.  He opened the door and stepped out, and was just about
to lock the door when he noticed King loading a suit case into a carriage
across the way.  Much changed in the next moment as several things happened
at once.

Scott crossed the street to have a word with King.  At that moment, King
finished his task of loading and the carriage man flipped his reins and
pulled away from the curb.  And a strangely dressed old woman who just
coincidentally was crossing the street from Scott's side to the LeRoc house
side collided with the carriage.  The carriage man did not see the accident
and drove off.  The old woman was merely bumped, but it caused her to fall
and hit her head on a paving stone; not hard, but enough to cause bleeding
from a small cut above her eye.  Both Scott and King rushed to her aid as
she struggled to stand.  Scott took her appearance in at a glance: A deep
chocolate brown color, old, but in an indeterminate way that could have
been anything from sixty to a hundred and sixty.  A colorful sort of turban
or cloth hat was wrapped around her head, bedecked with feathers, bits of
bone, and some darkened hunks of things he did not recognize. Her dress was
a coat of many colors, here and there hung with similar insignia.  The
unfortunate woman stood and looked left and right, getting her bearings
from the accident.

"Madame, I fear you are injured, allow me!" cried Scott who instinctively
and with no forethought pulled out his pocket handkerchief and handed it to
her for her to apply to her wound. He steadied her arm.  Scalp wounds tend
to bleed, but Scott could see that fortunately it was not deep.  The woman
muttered something that might have been thanks and reached for the
handkerchief, then applied it to her forehead for a moment.  King had come
up and was steadying the woman on the other side.  The woman flashed a grim
smile of gratitude at the white man and then removed the handkerchief from
her forehead to see how much blood it had soaked up.

She froze.  For a moment she stared at the handkerchief and then screamed,
dropping it exactly as if it were on fire.  Then she turned on Scott and
began shouting at him in what seemed to be two or three languages.  "You!"
she cried, "Ange!" and "You have returned!" and then a string of words he
simply could not recognize.  He backed away, fearing she had lost her
reason.

King instantly stepped back as well and reached into his trousers pocket.
He pulled from it a small drawstring bag, removed something very small, and
showed it to the old woman, holding it within a foot of her face.  Now she
shrieked at him, held up fingers that seemed to have taken the form of
claws, and then turned and ran away down the street.

Scott stood stunned.  "What on earth!" he cried to King.  The massive black
man watched the woman go, shaking his head, restoring the bag to his pocket
with whatever he had removed safe inside.  He then bent down and picked up
Scott's handkerchief and held it out to him.  Still visible despite the
bloodstains was the drawing of the heart and flame.  Scott took the cloth
back, holding it by his fingertips, but was no more enlightened than
before.  King drew himself up.

"Masta," he said, "if I may...if you will give me permission...it is time
to tell you some things.  About your uncle.  About your house.  About
yourself."  Scott simply stared.

"What...now?  Won't Mr. LeRoc need your services?" he asked.

"He is remaining away a few more days.  That is why I was sending more of
his clothing to him."  King paused.  "Yes, Masta, I think we need to talk
now."  By this time Niobe and James had come to the door, and other
neighbors were peeking out to see what the commotion was.  King gently took
the handkerchief from Scott, saying "if I may, Masta," and then carried it
to Niobe who was standing on the step.  "Wash this carefully," he told her.
"Remove the blood stains.  Do not remove the drawing," and he indicated the
heart and flame.  "Do this quickly, please."  Niobe took the handkerchief
and ran inside immediately to perform this task.  King turned to Scott.
"Forgive me, Masta, for ordering your servants, but...may we withdraw
inside your home, Masta?" he asked.  Scott nodded dumbly, greatly puzzled
over what had happened.  He entered the house, followed by King and James,
and then felt an urgent need to lock the front door behind him.  King
nodded a brief agreement.

"Perhaps we could talk in the library," Scott said, indicating the nearby
door.  King nodded.  "Should...should James come also, or is this only for
my ears?"  King considered.

"I think it would be best if your servants knew as well," he said.  "You
may need their help.  But leave the girl to restore the handkerchief to
you," he said.  "This one...James...can tell her what he hears."  Scott
nodded and led the way to the library.  He motioned for King to take one of
the chairs and he took another.  James, looking grave and with a sense of
responsibility, stood beside his master's chair.

King collected his thoughts for a moment, then began.  "People brought here
from Africa many spiritual practices," he said.  "Some are very powerful.
They are one of the few weapons people have who are enslaved and without
power in a strange land."  Here he looked at Scott, who held his gaze for a
moment.  Looking away, King continued.  "Some masters are very cruel.
Their slaves need protection.  Even freed slaves continue to believe in and
to work these practices.  Magic, you might call them.  Some of the most
powerful are vodun, or sometimes called voodoo.  That old woman," he nodded
generally toward the street, "is a powerful user of voodoo, a queen.  I
have seen her before.  I wish she had not been injured in front of our
houses."  King paused for a moment, then continued.

"Some men...white men...have studied their own ways of using spirit,
power...of using magic.  Especially here in this city, as a way to counter
the powers of voodoo. There is...a brotherhood...they are known as the
Frères de Saint Ange.  Your uncle was a powerful member of this
brotherhood." He paused.  "So is Masta LeRoc."

"I have never heard of it," exclaimed Scott.

"Nor will you, Masta," said King darkly.  "They make it very much their
business not to be known.  You will not find them in the history books.
Those `secret' groups in the history books," he said, waving his hand
dismissively, "have no real power; if they had, you would not find them
there." He paused to consider, then continued.  "Voodoo queens here in
Louisiana understand very well the powers of the Frères that oppose them. I
am afraid you were misunderstood by our `friend' outside, and she thought
you were working a spell on her with your handkerchief.  Masta Scott, you
have made a powerful enemy....or to put it another way, you have become
visible to them...and we must think how to proceed."

At this James edged in closer and put his arm around his master's
shoulders, as if to protect him.  King looked hard at this for a moment,
then at Scott.  He seemed to calculate, and nodded his head gently.  Then
he continued.  "If you recall what the old woman said, Masta Scott, you
will realize she thought she recognized you.  That you had...returned."

"I've never seen her before," said Scott.

"No...but you look just like your uncle...Masta Balthazar."  King paused;
mention of the name seemed to cause a kind of spasm to go across his face,
perhaps of pain.  He continued.  "Our friend may report to other users of
the art that Balthazar has returned from the dead.  They will keep their
distance for that reason, but they may seek to harm you.  They may seek to
gain power they think you possess."

"How could I possess power?" asked Scott.  "How did the Frères wield their
power?"

Now King leaned forward to look intently at Scott as he explained.  "Each
member of the Frères had a ring.  On that ring was a crystal clear stone in
the shape of a heart, and at the center of each such stone was the image of
a red flame. With each ring comes an ancient, ancient book, likewise with
an image of the heart and flame on it.  These are the sources of power, and
the Frères study the book to know how to use the ring."

"Is this power of the Frères good or evil?" asked Scott.

"Neither good nor evil; that has nothing to do with it.  Nor is voodoo good
nor evil.  Both magics are what they are," replied King.  Both men sat in
silence for a moment, regarding one another.  King turned his gaze to
consider James from time to time, who stared at him open mouthed, but who
kept his arm firmly on his master's shoulder.

"So," said Scott, "my uncle's book and ring.  Where are they?" he asked.

King sighed.  "I must tell you how it was, Masta Scott," he said.  "Masta
Balthazar...he and I were very close.  You look so much like him, perhaps
at his age, Masta Scott.  We were...we were very close."  He looked at
James again.  "Perhaps as you are close to James.  In the same way.  Do you
understand me, Masta?"

Scott could only nod and mouth a "yes."  The revelation hit him like
lightning.  The vision of a dark body, larger than James, in his bed, the
vision that vanished in a flash with the smell of roses.  He had been
vouchsafed a vision of a younger King.  Who shared a bed with his uncle.
Now he understood.

"In your uncle's illness, I was not sure what to do.  While he lay ill in
this house, I kept the book and ring with me at all times, and I never left
his side. For protection he gave me some charms.  I keep them still, in my
bag.  I showed one to that old women outside.  When he went to hospital, I
followed him, still with book and ring.  I know Masta LeRoc began to be
interested in the ring, then.  A few times, returning to the house, I felt
sure someone had been in the house, and I felt it was Masta LeRoc,
looking."  He paused to look out the window.

"It was a lonely time, Masta Scott.  I was alone.  I was not sure what to
do. I had an idea he had family somewhere, but I didn't know how to reach
them.  I hope I did right.  I was with Masta Balthazar in the hospital
nearly all the time.  When he died, I knew I had to act quickly.  I knew
where Masta kept some household money.  I hired a wagon and I bought a
coffin.  I went to the hospital with it and told them I had come to claim
the body for Masta Balthazar's relatives. They believed me, since I had
been there night and day.  In the dark I brought the coffin and death
certificate back.  I put the ring and book on his chest, I..." and here the
big man choked a little.  He held very still.  A tear ran down his brown
cheek.  "I closed the coffin, Masta.  That was it."  He sat still a moment
longer.

"The next day the lawyer came by.  I had the death certificate for him.  I
told him relatives had taken Masta away.  That's what it said on the
certificate, so he believed me.  Lawyer Toogood took over, Masta.  We had a
couple other servants, they and I...we were sold, Masta."  King stopped
again, scrunched his eyes up hard against the tear that nevertheless
trickled out of one eye.  "Masta LeRoc, he thought I might know where the
ring was, so he bought me.  Tried to make me tell."

"If LeRoc has his own ring, why did he want my uncle's?" asked Scott.

"More power, Masta," said King.  "One ring is power...I don't know if
ANYbody has two.  Think of the power," King whispered. "In fact, he looks
for other rings of the Frères.  That is where he goes on his trips."

"What...what did LeRoc say or do to try to force you to tell?" Scott asked.

King paused, and now his features took on a hard look.  "He has rooms in
his house, Masta.  He stripped me and took me to one of them.  Chained me
standing up, wrists and ankles chained to the walls.  He has a paddle, made
not to break the skin, but it hurts, Masta Scott.  He paddled me.  Hard.
Over and over.  I just stood there, naked, sometimes I cried out, Masta,
but I never told.  Then, he... He took hold of my penis."  King's eyes took
on a hooded, smoky quality.  "He took hold of my penis and said he'd cut it
off if I didn't tell.  Said he'd... he'd take me from behind, hard.  But he
ain't got no more use for his own pecker, Masta, other than to make water,
and somehow I knew he wouldn't cut me.  He did...he sometimes beat me with
that paddle and pumped me with his hand at the same time and, I couldn't
help it Masta, I shot out my seed sometimes and then, Lord! He hit me hard
as I shot.  But I still never told.  Finally he gave up, I guess he thinks
I'm just a poor dumb black slave who don't know."

The two men sat looking at each other for long moments.  Scott was nearly
overwhelmed with the large black slave's story.  He realized he had been
right to mistrust LeRoc, and he had a growing sense of his own danger.  And
then the crucial question came to him.

"King...you buried the ring and book inside the coffin with my uncle,
correct?"  King nodded once, hard.  "Then...then...where did you bury the
coffin?"

"In your house, Masta.  In your house."


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