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The gentlemen of New Orleans disport themselves at a pique-nique
The August sun blazed down on the porch. I sat in the shade, surveying Parcbeau, the plantation of my ancestors and now my care. Last winter’s ice, carefully hoarded in the icehouse, tinkled in my glass and brought some welcome relief to the heat. I mopped my brow with a silk handkerchief, and carefully brushed a speck of dirt off my white linen trousers.
I beheld with interest a lone horseman, trotting briskly up the avenue of trees which led to the house. The groom ran out to hold his horse as he dismounted and came up the steps on to the porch. Octavius, my valet, came forward to meet him. The messenger nodded to Octavius, and deposited his message on the silver tray proferred.
It had been the work of many years to bring Octavius from the slave quarters into the position of the most admired man servant in Louisiana. He approached me in his formal clothes, and bowed slightly as I reached for the large parchment envelope on the salver. I smiled as I recognized the wax seal. Pink wax impressed with two naked breasts could only mean that Mme. LaFontaine had sent another invitation.
The entertainments that she provided for the gentry of New Orleans were famous throughout Louisiana. I had spent many pleasant evenings at her establishment. This time I read, “Mme. LaFontaine requests the presence of M. Deveraux for a pique-nique on the greensward behind the Palais du Sport, Saturday at 1 in the afternoon.” I looked up and saw Octavius grinning as if he had already anticipated the content of the letter. I told him, “Tell the messenger that I accept with pleasure.”
Octavius conveyed my acceptance to the messenger, even though he had of course already heard me say it. My manservant dropped a small piece of silver in the slave’s hand, and waved him on his way. He jumped on the horse and galloped down the avenue. I was sure this great show of haste was only for my benefit, and that as soon as the darkie was out of sight he would dawdle his way back to New Orleans.
On the appointed day, we left after breakfast to board the launch which conveyed us across Lake Pontchartrain to the city. The breeze on the lake was refreshing and I sipped a mint julep as we made our way across. A hired hack was waiting on the other side, and it took us right out to Mme. LaFontaine’s famous house.
All New Orleans knew that she was a notorious beauty, the belle of the ball at eighteen. We also knew how the bank had called in her father’s note, and the loss of the plantation led her father and elder brother to commit suicide. Somehow the girl managed to obtain a loan to buy this house near the river, and in the succeeding fifteen years had established her fortune and her place among New Orleans’ gentlemen, if not in polite society.
I sent Octavius off with the hack to see the luggage to the hotel, after giving him enough money that he could visit the shanties on the other side of the creek later. Standing on the porch of the Palais du Sport were three of the teenage octoroon girls who served as attendants and greeters. They were all dressed for the weather in light linen outfits, and had broad hats trimmed with feathers on their head. These girls were much admired by the white men in town, and Mme LaFontaine sometimes accepted a few of them in their mid-teens to learn the social graces. When they reached their eighteenth birthday, they would enter the business, and their virginity would fetch a high price at an auction. In the meantime they served around the house but never entered the rooms where the gentlemen conducted business, either sporting or personal.
They twirled their silk parasols and directed me to the broad lawn behind the house. One approached me and said, “Welcome, M. Deveraux. The fee for today’s entertainment is $400.” I handed her the gold pieces and she hooked her arm in mine and led me to the site of the pique-nique. A broad stretch of green led down toward the river. One side of it was bordered with weeping willow trees, forming a dense wood. The other side was well shaded with great oak trees, and their coolness presented a delightful respite from the summer heat. The little octoroon girl led me over to a chair near the broad table covered with a white tablecloth. She brought me a glass of cold rum punch. Then she returned to her duties as greeter.
Soon my friends were escorted into the grounds. As always at the most exclusive entertainment in the Palais, I saw Judge Beaulais, M. Delacroix of the bank, Senor Martinez who controlled the Santa Fe trade, Mr. Jackson the lawyer, and Colonel Robais from the Presidio. Little happened in New Orleans that one or another of us did not command. The lovely girls with the parasols circulated among us making light conversation.
Then two beautiful children emerged from the house, a white girl dressed in black, and a black boy dressed in white. They danced along, scattering sweet smelling flower petals on the lawn. That was the signal for fethiye escort Mme. LaFontaine to emerge.
She was a stunning beauty with long flowing blonde hair. She dressed in the latest French fashions, and her gown today had large hoops and many petticoats below, and nothing much above. Her bare shoulders dropped down to a large expanse of white chest and an amazing display of bosom. A broad brimmed hat and a red parasol protected all that skin from the effects of the sun. She made a deep curtsey, trusting to some cunning French engineering to keep the top of her dress from falling off.
“Welcome, mes braves, to our little pique-nique,” she said. “I know you are all looking forward to an afternoon of delightful games and more delightful ladies. So without further ado, let us begin!” She waved her hands, and the two children and the three teenagers ran into the house.
“I know you have enjoyed my talented musicians before,” she continued. Three girls presented themselves, carrying instruments. They were all dressed in charming silk pantaloons, thin linen shifts and broad brimmed hats, and nothing else. They took their seats under the trees.
The harpist, a tall thin octoroon girl, struck a loud chord on her instrument. Then she stood up smiling, and in a single movement dropped her shift to reveal her small and perfect tits, with rosy nipples standing up.
Then the flautist followed her example. She was a buxom black beauty and her round boobs ended in large dark nipples. Finally the Cajun girl with the tambourine shook it wildly and dropped her shift also, displaying pointed tits with puffy nipples. In their stunning semi-nudity they looked much more suited for the hot summer weather. They sat down and resumed their music.
Then from the willow trees came a tantalizing procession. The six girls who were the pride of Mme. LaFontaine’s Palais emerged, wearing broad hats and carrying large parasols held in front of their bodies, which appeared to be covered by nothing else. Long naked legs projected below the parasols, and fine bare shoulders were visible above them. The girls twirled the parasols as they moved sedately toward us.
The lined up an a row facing us and then curtsied. The musicians sounded a loud chord, and all six girls spun around so their bare backs and buttocks were toward us. I thought to myself what a promising start to a pleasant afternoon this was. I cast my gaze over the collection of naked boobs in the band, and then over the wonderfully assorted bottoms in the line, from AnneMarie’s large black ass at one end to Grainne’s little white one at the other. I felt my cock stir under my white linen trousers.
Now the six girls approached the six of us. It was inevitable that the Negress AnneMarie moved to Mr. Jackson the American lawyer. He often remarked, “Women and coffee should be hot, black and sweet.” The other girls sorted themselves out and I was very happy to find that Grainne, the little Irish lassie, came up to me. She daintily swung the parasol up over her head, revealing her soft white body and the nest of red hair above her pussy. Then she knelt beside me on the grass and nuzzled her little tits up against my thigh. This pique-nique was getting better and better.
“Now, gentlemen, for the first sporting event of the afternoon,” said our hostess. “It is a very simple bet.” From the house, six black bucks emerged, each wearing loose cotton trousers and nothing else. They were strong muscular men, probably former field slaves used to hard labor. Then six black wenches came out, wearing nothing at all. The men lined up, and the girls placed themselves in front of the men.
“The question is simple, gentlemen. Which of these studs has the most to offer a girl? In just a moment we will measure them. But first you will place your bets.” I studied the six men, but their loose trousers gave me nothing to go on.
Col. Robais called out, “I will wager $100. But how are we to make a choice? Do we get to inspect them?”
“Ah, indeed you do, gentlemen. But for such a friendly wager, a little difficulty must be added to the choice. Observe.”
At that, each of the girls turned around to face her man. They reached out and untied the string of the buck’s trousers, and let them drop to the ground. But still we could not make a choice as the girls obscured our view of the men’s organs. Each girl knelt in front of her partner, and we could tell that they were using their hands to stiffen the rods. But all we saw yet were the backs of the girls and their hands moving up and down.
Now the men knelt, and finally lay back on the ground. But the women moved carefully to hide the hard cocks they played with. Slowly, each girl covered the motion as she took that cock into her pussy. Only when the shaft was deep inside her did she begin to move up and down.
“Now, mes amis, you have seen what you shall see! You must place your bet. Which girl has the most length inside her? Put your money down.”
We all laughed. While $100 was nothing to any of us, the escort fethiye pleasure of the gamble drove us on. I studied the wenches movements, trying to see which one strained the hardest to drive down on her particular shaft. It seemed to me that one of them was taking longer to move down each stroke. I decided to bet on her. “My $100 is on number 3!” I called out.
“Nonsense, you fool. It has to be Numero uno!” cried Sr. Martinez.
“No, no, look at the ass on number 5!” said Col. Robais. “A hundred on her!”
Each of the other gentlemen chose a favorite. We threw our gold pieces on the table where they made a handsome pile.
Then Madame said, “We shall count now. The girls measured inside the house, and know how much room they have to rise. Ladies, rise up three inches.” The girls complied. Below the fine moons of their butts, the shafts of the men became visible. To our critical eye it was obvious that they all showed exactly the same length of cock to us. Of course, all the cocks were longer than three inches.
“Six inches,” called the arbiter. Again the girls raised up. We all peered closely at the pussies showing beneath those dark asses. I thought that I could just see the head of dick number four showing.
“Nine inches,” Madame ordered. The girls rose slowly. I was right, cock number four popped out and throbbed in the air below that pussy. Judge Beaulais groaned. But number five also emerged from its warm cage. Col. Robais shrugged and muttered, “Eh bien.”
Four hard dicks were still in the game. “Ten inches,” called the hostess.
Slowly the girls wiggled up another inch, and number one was revealed. “Dios!” exclaimed Sr. Martinez. I looked closely, and felt sure that my number three still had a good length of hard cock being squeezed in her pussy. I thought my luck was in today.
“Twelve inches!” was the call. The three girls moved up, and I chuckled happily as two more cocks fell free, leaving only my lovely number three girl clenching her partner’s shaft. My friends laughed with me, and pushed the pile of gold over toward me. I took one of the $20 coins and threw it to my winning girl. She caught it, and then began rapidly to finish her pleasure on the thirteen inch dick she held in her wet pussy. The buck she straddled pushed deeper and deeper into her and she moaned as she stroked. Soon he heaved his hips up to her,and she twisted her pussy hard down on him as they both reached their orgasms. We all cheered as they did.
All six girls now rose up, and brought us some shrimps from the buffet before they departed. Grainne peeled the shrimp and popped them in my mouth, and then I sat sipping my rum, wondering what bet was next. My comrades wanted to get even with me and recoup their losses.
“Remember our carefree childhood days, my friends? No pique-nique was complete without a wheelbarrow race!” Madame La Fontaine called. At that, six more couples came out of the house. These were clearly the wild people from the bayous known as Acadians, or more often now Cajuns. They were famous for crawfish boils, wild dances, and wilder sex. Again the men wore loose trousers and the girls thin shifts. They lined up in a row, and took the classic children’s wheelbarrow stance. That is, the girls put their hands on the ground, and the men picked up their ankles and spread their legs out.
“Place your bets, my friends,” said the hostess. We each chose a couple and threw our money on the table. But this seemed too straightforward for one of Madame’s games. I waited to find out what the twist would be. “Ah,” she said, “you have made your picks. But wait…”
I knew something was coming. The men let the girls down, and kneeling they loosened the strings of the men’s trousers. Each of them sported a glorious rod, standing up from a mass of black hair. In turn the men pulled off the girl’s shifts. Now they resumed the positions for the wheelbarrow race. The girls boobs hung down beneath them, and obviously the men had a great view of their pussies as they spread the “handles” of the barrows. We could see the men hardening just from the tantalizing view.
“Ready, set…” called the hostess. “But wait…you are not really ready, are you?”
All of the men took the hint. They pulled the girls in toward them, and planted their erect rods deeply in the pussies before them. With a big grin, each nodded his head. Again the call was, “Ready, set, GO!” Each wheelbarow team started off. Of course as the girl’s walked their hands along the ground, their hips and pussies bounced and twisted on the men’s cocks. The men pressed hard to keep up, and to push their dicks deeper in the pussies.
All the gentlemen, and our companions, were cheering and yelling encouragement. The wheelbarrows moved along the course, the girls panting and the men pushing. Several of us groaned as our choices seemed to lose their focus on racing, and simply stopped to grind against each other in pleasure. Soon four of the couples were standing still, jerking toward their orgasms and ignoring the fethiye escort bayan race. Only two continued running, Mr. Jackson’s and M. Delacroix’s choices. They made the turn and came back toward us. The girls boobs bounced up and down and their butts flashed in the sun. The men clutched them hard and had strained looks on their faces. We knew their cocks were calling for relief.
Then M. Delacroix, the banker, called out, “$100 in gold to my team if they win!” This inspired the man to try to ignore the calls of his throbbing cock and move his feet instead of his hips. With a final effort they crossed the finish line. M. Delacroix cheered them, as they stopped barely across the line to twist and thrust deeply and share a screaming climax. Then sweating and panting, and still in their position, they came to the banker and claimed their gold coins.
Through all this, my lovely naked companion Grainne has shared my excitement and fun. When my teams won, she waved her arms and made her little tits bounce around adoringly. Now she, and the other girls, went to the buffet table and returned with plates of fried chicken, potato salad and hush puppies. We shared the food, and I tried to find out from her what event was next. But she only laughed and remarked on the weather.
Now the girls settled themselves in our laps. Grainne wiggled her bare butt against my crotch and I know she could feel my shaft throb through my linen summer trousers. I grabbed one of those little tits and rubbed the pink nipple as the next game was introduced.
Six black girls, totally nude, came out of the house. Each had a dog on a leash, but frankly the tits, asses and pussies on display caught my attention more than the dogs. The variety of large boobs, small boobs, pointy boobs, big nipples, small nipples, round asses, slim asses, shaved pussies, hairy pussies, tight lips, swollen lips and all the infinite variety of feminine beauty was on display and I know the other gentlemen adored it as much as I did.
The six paraded off into the willows, leading their dogs. Then Madame announced, “For another $100, gentlemen, a simple bet. You will now each write a description of the dogs you saw, and especially whether each was a stud or a bitch. The one who gets the most right will win the pot!”
I laughed ironically. I was pretty sure one old hound had been in the parade, and one of those French dogs called a poodle. I had certainly looked below some tail to see some pussies, but never on any of the dogs. I had no clue how many bitches had waggled at me. If Madame had asked me to describe those six girl’s pussies I could have done an admirable job. But on the dogs, I was lost!
I scribbled on my paper. “One blue tick hound. One poodle. One foxhound (a guess, that). One bulldog (another guess). Four studs, two bitches.” Oh well a guess is as good as a win sometimes. I handed the paper to Grainne and she carried it over to Madame. At least, even if the paper was worthless, I got a nice view of Grainne’s twitching ass as she walked. All the other contestants handed in their papers too.
Now the six pairs emerged from the woods. First was a tall thin black girl, with small tits exhibiting long nipples, a flat stomach, and a patch of curly black hair over dark pussy lips. And oh, yes, she was leading a blue tick hound stud. The next girl was plump and buxom. Large round boobs bore large puffy nipples. Her belly was slightly rounded and surmounted a patch of long black hair which almost hid the flowering lips of her cunt. A mastiff bitch walked beside her. How could I have missed that? Well, of course, that pussy had distracted me.
The next girl had pointed boobs with nipples that pointed up, a narrow waist and a shaven pubic mound which showed off her pink inner lips protruding from her dark cunt. She walked some distance before I realized she was leading a small white lap dog. It was hard to tell through all that fur but I think it was a bitch. I really only took a fleetng glance. Following that pair was a very small girl with petite tits and a tight pussy. She was indeed leading a male bulldog, so I had that one right!
The last two girls came out. Another plump girl with melon sized tits bouncing in front of her, and a dark hairy pussy, led that foxhound. Another one for me. However it was a bitch so my count was not so good. The final girl had one of those perfect hourglass figures, round firm boobs with hard nipples, and pussy hair trimmed into a narrow strip so it seemed to point to her dark cunt. Her dog was a spaniel bitch, as black as she was. I laughed at the count and realized that my $100 would surely go to a more observant dog fancier.
“Two dogs, four bitches,” announced the judge, Mme LaFontaine. “And the one who came closest is…Col. Robais!” Of course, I thought, the Colonel is a great hunter and surely knows his dogs as well as his pussies. Gleefully he claimed the heap of gold.
“Now for a special treat. I know you have all been enjoying the hush puppies. Let’s all welcome Zephanaia, my famous cook.” The fat black cook came out, carrying a large basket of the hush puppies. Two hound dogs followed her, their eyes on the basket. Behind them were two high yellow girls, naked. Each of them had a clean shaven pussy.
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