New Orleans

They walked down the cobblestone streets of New Orleans, or Nawlyns, as locals called their corner of the world, bodies touchin, linked together with sinuous arms tangled like old bedroom sheets. The French Quarter smells of old perfume, warm bodies and liquor hung thickly in the humid air, reminding the senses of its erotic history. Sounds of New Orleans jazz and Southern blues float out of each doorway, a woman cryin the blues about a man doin her wrong and breakin her heart, achin for a touch and love. They peek in each doorway and window exploring the Quarter as they spent the night exploring each other. Tasting each other and finding secrets still unknown to lovers. They stopped in an open doorway to listen to the warm sounds of a jazz clarinet. He pulled her to his body his strong arms holding her to him tightly, as their lips met in a hot lovers kiss, he pulled her to her tiptoes her short dress revealing shapely legs and a lace panties. An old black man passed them and whispered aloud “Amen son, give her some love,” as he clicked his tattered taps in a animated soft shoe and shuffled on his way. They looked in each windowed shop mixed with tourist trinkets and the humid smells of incense and sweat. She blushed deeply at the sight of a wooden dildo, 6 foot tall outside an Erotica shop; he pulled on her arm to enter the shop with him. They entered the shop with her a few steps behind him. She could barely look around at the harnesses, swings, and phallic ornaments un-useable with humans. Stocks and shackles. Whips and cat-o-nine tails with barbs on the tips. But it was the huge brightly colored dildos that made her blush. He looked at all the items with relish. Showing her ones he particularly found exciting, watching her eyes; he knew how to read her eyes. Her green eyes would open wide when she found something exciting, the notion of him using it on her raising her blood to a boil. He picked out a large vibrating dildo with a light on the tip. This made him chuckle. A butt plug made of ebony, which he could lock in place with chains around her waist. Several wax candles, red. The shop smelled of sex. Body oils and incense mixed with human sweat. Both foul and erotic at once. They left the dark shop, back on the cobblestone street, heat rising from worn shoes and ghost of tourist who came here to visit their darkest fantasies, before returning to their vanilla lives. They walked hand in hand bodies touching along the banks of the great Mississippi River, symbol of the South, Twain, Faulkner, and Riverboat gamblers. The smell of the river mixed with the heady fragrance of chicory coffee and powdered sugar Beignets of the Café du Monde teased their taste buds and hungry stomachs.

The Café is filled with tourist eager to sample this fabled treat. Lovers, bodies bent together, fingertips and knees touching, sitting at the small tables on the fringes of the tourist's children. They found a small table to enjoy the strong spicy coffee and French donuts. She took his powdered sugar fingers and sucked each one into her mouth licking and sucking them clean one at a time. Making him squirm in his chair. The electricity of their eyes locked together sparking fires only to be quenched by lover's lips. His fingers pushing past the hem of her short dress touching the delicate damp lace pressed into the outline of her sex. His thumb stroking the tender tip of her clit, she opened her legs instinctively for him to access what was his property. He smiled into her eyes. She could smell the scent of sex mixed with the coffee and hot grease. She moaned as the orgasm he wanted from her escaped. He leaned close to her ear and whispered. “Good girl!” He placed his honey covered fingers to her lips again as she tasted the salty sweetness of her sex on them with her tongue.

They finished all of their treats. Brush the powdered sugar off their clothes and strolled back to the waters edge. The night was humid, the trees along the walk twinkled with soft white lights like fireflies over head. Her body burned for this man next to her, the humid air made her skin glow, passers-by could see she burned for him; turning their heads to watch them walk past, envious of her desires for him. They walked back down the streets past the tiny storefronts turned jazz joints with voices of men and women achin the blues of wounded hearts and souls. Voices of Nawlyns ghosts cryin for attention in the sultry night. Of women wanting men and men leaving women hurtin. All the souls of singers, musicians and dancers laid bare in song and rhythms. Wantin to be touched, stroked and needed in the brief hours before daylight turns a harsh light on peeling paint and old neon. Women, who in the twilights glow, golden skin with ruby lips beckon men to their beds with fleshy promises and whisky whispers. Men, who wake up at daybreak with old women with thin pale lips and crinkled skin. Make their getaway in the quiet time before coffee boils. The stories painted on peeling walls of the French Quarter, history not written in textbooks, of pain and love. Along the walks they left a part of their history of lovin, and wantin and needin. He pushed her back against an alley wall lifted her dress above her hips and slip the lace aside and joined his flesh inside of her wetness, his thighs and hips pressing her body against old bricks and mortar where others have left part of their lovin in the darkness. Her legs wrapped round his waist locking him inside of her needing him to explode inside her hot wetness to give to her his being, his soul, making them one. He held her tightly feeling his need for her rising from his ankles to the tip of his hard throbbing cock. Pounding into her in the humid darkness of the alleyway where anyone who walked by could see them excited him making him want her more. One or two more strokes of his cock inside her, he felt his knees shake and tremble, he pressed his whole body against her, kissing her neck; finding her lips with his, till the trembling stopped and they could breath again. They left the alley behind leaving their history of love in the darkness for the next coupling.

Back on the sidewalk with its dirt and grime, ghosts and history ground into fine talc beneath visitor's expensive shoes. They walked back to the Quarter. The wrought iron balconies and sweet pungent smell of jasmine and hibiscus welcomed them. He spotted another shop catering to his taste in sex and love. He opened the door letting her enter before him. Slipping his arm around her waist they started into the shop to look around. This was more of a clothing store it seemed at first. At the far end of the store was what appeared to be a stage. People of all varieties were gathered there watching the stage. They took a couple of empty seats. He pulled her close to him, never taking his eyes off what was happening on the stage in front of them. A blonde woman of average build was shackled to a pole, naked. Her breast pressed to the pole, her legs spread with a spreader bar bent slightly over. A tight black latex corset cinched her waist. Leaving her breasts free, she nether lips clamped open with a chain running between her breasts and around her neck. A posture collar around her neck forcing her chin upwards her lips parted. Her eyes were lined in kohl black liner and lips were wine red. Her nipples roughed the same color. Her body shined in the light fine oil covering her skin. Her hair posed on top of her head to allow the audience a perfect view of her tender back and intimate places. The stage darkened slowly, the room smelled of incense and candles mixed with human breathing, sweat and sex. A short stout man step onto the stage, bare chested wearing tight black trousers. She almost laughed out loud had not everyone else been so serious. With a snap of his wrist an unseen lash snaked through the thick air cracking across her back, the woman screamed in agony! Her knees buckled under her but her bindings held her in place. Her voice thinly in the air whispered “Thank You, Master” again the whip cracked and again she screamed. She wanted to turn away from the woman's agony, but her eyes were riveted to the red welts appearing on the woman's back and somewhere in her soul there was a need. Her lover pulled her into his lap without taking his eyes off of the scene unfolding before him; he pulled her short dress up around her hips holding her tightly against him. She knew her lover was a voyeur, she had preformed for him many times in the past, sometimes planned, sometimes just to tease and entertain him when they were forced into vanilla gatherings. She felt his grasp tighten around her waist with each crack of the lash, the woman's back was furious red now, yet somehow she still managed to thank her Master each time. The lashing stopped; the man with whip was kissing his sub petting her like a kitten, whispering into the sobbing woman's ear. The air in the small shop was thick with human breath, the musky smell of sex floated just under the slow southern ceiling fan, losing its battle to circulate the humid air. The Master and sub on stage were finishing their display. The Master was unshackling his sub helping her from the stage. The stage area grew dark.

Her lover pulled her closer in the semi-darkness his gentle fingers massaging her breasts tugging gently at her nipples, she leaned back against him, her head on his shoulder. Taking a deep breath she could smell his scent. She had found how potent his scent was to her, keeping him in her memory even when he was not with her. She would smell his pillow, close her eyes remembering his caresses when he had left her for work. Sometimes she wore his shirt to sleep. To feel his scent wrapped around her, enveloping her total self, part of her surrender to him made her feel complete. He whispered in her ear. “You seemed to be enjoying the show on stage, I know you are wet from watching that woman be punished like that, do you want to try it?” his whispered question. “Perhaps my love, when we are alone. You know I prefer to be alone, rather than part of a crowd.” He simply kissed her temple. The spotlight on the stage returned; this time 2 women were onstage. One, a bit older was leading the younger woman. Both woman were clothed similar, leather corsets laced tightly around their waists, breast left bare, their pubic hair shaved smooth, with tiny silver chains down their bellies. The older woman wore tight silver and black collar around her neck, the younger woman a training collar. The scene now seemed clear. The younger woman was a new sub or slave the older probably first sub or slave, here to help initiate the younger postulate. Watching the stage she caught movement in the darkness, a large form just in the shadows, even in darkness his presence commanded attention and authority. Dominance seemed to hover around him. She shivered in the darkness thinking of that type of foreboding control. Her lover rubbed her arms slightly as she relaxed. The older woman roughly pushed the younger woman to a low bench, calling her names, telling her she needed to prove her worthiness to Master. Their black heels making clickity clack sounds on the wooden stage as they moved about. The younger woman arms were stretched out in front of her and tied; her ankles cuffed into place spread far apart, her ass slightly raised. The older woman smiled as she stroked the others buttocks with a golden oil, she let the oil run over her buttocks and down her legs. Along the crack of her very open ass working it well into her slit, the younger woman moaned. Quickly the older woman smacked her ass firmly issuing a command not clearly heard, although the audience was quiet, eyes riveted on the scene unfolding before them. The younger woman was silenced. As she watched the scene on the stage she thought the bench was low for a man to use this slave comfortably either in her pussy or ass. Perhaps she was just to be whipped or a crop used on her. But, then why the oil, which appeared to be special; even away from the stage the aroma was pungent and stirred forgotten memories in her mind. While the younger slave was being prepared the Master had not stirred in the shadows. Standing still but letting his being control His slaves on stage. As she finished her thought, He stepped forward into the light. The audience drew a common breath. He was a huge man 6'7” easily, defined musculature, strong muscled neck and face, evil black eyes. Again she shivered in her lovers lap. He wore simple jeans and white tee shirt; He did not need the trappings of leather to define who He was or what He was. He just was. Dominate! There was no questioning His character on this or any stage. The first slave stepped forward, eyes and head lowered in submission, her will and body surrendering to His touch. He stroked her offered breasts twisting each nipple lightly, lifting her chin and tenderly kissing her lips. These two had been Master and slave for a long time and you could feel the love and affection between them, his evil black eyes softened as He looked at her whole form with desire. His eyes turned cold as He looked at the woman shackled before Him. A crop appeared in His right hand as He struck her fiercely with the fob. She screamed in true pain. Sending ripples of pain through the audience as well as the woman. He motioned to His first slave, she stepped to Him, He handed her the crop motioning toward the bound woman. The first slave struck her sister with hard quick slaps of the crop, one, two, three, four, and five. The woman had stopped crying out and was sobbing, trying to understand what her life was to be now. A slave bound to a man for his personal use. She had submitted, surrendered to His will, her body, and her soul. This was a public declaration of their vows. The audience was in aw of the spectacle. The Master the slaves. His power and dominance reaching out into the audience, the dominants did not feel so dominant and the subs and slaves wanted His control, as if the whole room leaned towards Him in the dark. Her lover shifted in his seat uncomfortable with this Masters power. She turned kissing him deeply and whispered her love to him. She asked him if he wanted to leave, he said no, we will stay. She nodded snuggling back into his arms. The air in the room grew heavier, thick, like breathing water. And hot, the heat pressing down weighing everyone down into their seats unable to leave. She was not unaffected by the Master on stage but this man next to her had claimed her soul and heart, love and devotion. She did not want another. She could watch detached as if watching a demonstration of vanilla sex. Something moving on the stage refocused her attention there. She tried peering into the darkened wings of the stage to glimpse what might be happening. Movement low and muffled, she stared harder. An o gawd moan slipped from between her lips as if drawn up from her very darkest soul. Her lover looked at her. He saw her eyes; pupils dilated staring, her bottom lip quivering. He tried to make out what she was seeing but could not. “Are you all right?” he whispered to her, all she could do was nod yes.

He turned back to the stage the first slave was leading an enormous black dog into the spotlight. Slaves, subs Master and Mistresses in the audience knew what this new slave was about to endure to prove her surrender. Some were revolted, some curious, some envious, all stayed in their seats. The dog was lead around for the new one to see, she cried out. “Not this! No,” the tortured soul begged and begged. The first slave knelt stroking her head, talking to her to calm her, everyone imagining what she was being told. The Master paced back and forth; pop pop pop the crop smacked against His jeans. The first slave stood up looking toward the Master but not at Him. His voice thundered through the hot air, like a jet engine roaring to life. “Does she accept her fate?” The first slave answered, Yes Master, she does. “It shall be done then.” Simple words sealing the woman's choice.

The Master led the large animal to the woman tied. He released the leash. Stroked the animals large head and with a single hand movement commanded the dog. The animal turned to the woman sniffing the air, pacing, back and forth working into a lusting wolf of a dog. His tongue tasting the golden liquid on the woman's buttocks and legs. Sniffing her up and down and finally tasting her most private and sensitive human places. “AAAAAAAAAA” a cry so loud and guttural she no longer sounded human. She was not human. She was slave. Owned by this Master, property to be used, as He desired from this day forward, until she died or He released her, which also meant death. After the slave cried out, she was gagged to prevent any outside interferences. The huge beast mounted the woman, groaning and grunting animal sounds of lust. The woman struggling, even with the gag her objections could be heard. The moment of surrender came over the slave suddenly as the beast took her, the lust could be seen in her eyes the animal in her being pulled to the surface and set free in this dark, hot, humid room with faceless strangers watching as the need for the beast and lust overtook her humanity and she became the animal, the thing, the object, the slave. Her fate was sealed. As the animal knotted and released she screamed against the gag but not in agony but desire. There was no longer a woman on stage but two animals coupling, faceless fucking for pure lust. Then it was over. Done. The stage dark. Breathing began again in the audience. In the shadow of the stage the women was helped to her feet by her sister, hugged tightly and covered. She was helped off stage. The Master watched proud of His slaves performances. Applause started and soon the audience was on their feet paying tribute to this powerful Dominate. He nodded slightly acknowledging his status.

Everyone sat, again, unsure of what they had just witnessed. Slowly couples started leaving the dark room, not wanting to look into the eyes of strangers.

They made their way out into the evening air, heavy with the fragrance of night blooming jasmine. Sweet, erotic smells. The neon and gaslight left a soft glow on the walkways. The heels of her sandals ticking off beats on the cobblestones. They walked in silence their arms tangled, their bodies touching and swaying. He stopped her once in the darkness kissing her, without speaking they walked back to the Hotel. As the hours ticked past inching towards dawn the pain and suffering in the singers voices grew more plaintive more urgent. Beggin the man to stay or leave. Love. Loss. Love runnin down the gutters leaving broken hearts behind like pebbles too heavy to wash away. Sadness in the air so thick it was hard to breathe. They made their way back to the room. An old French Quarter hotel, lavish wall paper, narrow halls, French beds and washbowls. She lighted a single gaslight in the room, the pale glow from the lamp cast delicate shadows across the room. They could still hear the music floating up from the streets below through open widows to cool the rooms. “Lie down, babe” she kissed him as he sat on the edge of the smallish bed. He grabbed for her pulling her on top of his body, showing her his desires for her were already stirring. “I will be right back, I promise,” teasing him as she squirmed out of his arms. Pulling her dress off as she entered the small bath. Leaving him looking at her tanned legs trim hips and ass as she closed the door. She dressed for him, to please and delight his senses. All of them. Sight, smell, taste, touch, and hearing. She slicked her short red hair back away from her face, accentuating her green eyes and dark lashes. Her lips copper. Her perfume French and sweet. A black satin and lace corset laced tightly, black heels showing her red toenails. She rubbed sweet almond oil on her nipples and nether lips and just a touch on her skin to make it glow. She went to him like this, ready to pleasure him and serve him. He smiled as he took in all of her. The corset made her waist appear tiny, pushing her breasts upwards and arching her back. The heels showed off her trim legs, muscled from dancing. He could smell her perfume. Hers alone. He would recognize it now anywhere he went and she would be in his mind. He reached out for her longing to take her into his arms. Ravage her, make love to her, give her delightful pain mixed with erotic pleasures. She slipped from his grasped. Pulling him to the comfortable Club chair in their room, pushing him into the seat. He smiled knowing what was coming next for him. She would dance for Him, on Him giving herself to Him. She could already feel the music coming from the clubs below them. She heard music in her soul, her every movement was to a note, and a beat she only could hear. She closed her eyes letting the music wrap around her consume her, till her body started to move. Her hips swaying, her arms flowing, her fingers poised in a delicate stance of a well-trained dancer. She moved sensually, slowly, her hips and legs feeling each beat, each octave of the music. The pain of the blues, she felt in her belly. Her shoulders moving in small circles with her hips. Telling a story with her movements. She stood close to Him letting her legs brush against His. Her fingers touched His chin, His neck, His chest. She turned her back to Him, letting her hips sway, her ass rocking back and forth bare in front of Him close to Him. Circling, rocking back and forth her legs lowering her to almost touch His sex. Brushing against the thin fabric of her G-string. She heard Him moan, this only encouraged her movements making her bolder, her hips gyrating in a slow sultry manner of the music. Up and down each movement closer to His cock but still not touching. Bending over letting her fingers touch the backs of her legs and up across her buttocks. He was trying to touch her, she moved away again, just out of reach. Facing Him she began again, walking towards Him, dancing. Her legs lowering her to face Him, bending to let Him view her décolleté. Her breasts, forced up and outwards in the tight corset. She kneeled in the chair, her legs straddling Him. She pressed her body against His, you could hear the sizzle of heated skin touching. She slid down, letting her body rubbing on His, friction increasing their heat. Bodies ready to burst into flames, passion dripping from fingertips and lips smoldering, not enough moisture to put out the fire. With each touch, each stroke another fire set, spreading along their bodies like a Texas wildfire in August. He wanted this woman! All of her, her body, her heart but more He wanted her soul. All that made her alive, He wanted. They had come to New Orleans to explore the city and each other, now; He had found what He was searching for, this woman. All this time, searching now He was holding her. He took hold of her hair pulling her lips to His, in a breath telling her she was His love, His heart.

New Orleans

Summertime