Mme. Lafontaine's Palais Du Sport

Chapter 2

A classical evening

I was sitting in my easy chair smoking a Cuban cigar and drinking French brandy. The articles in the Picayune were boring and I had no book to command my interest. Idly I opened a drawer and drew out a pack of French postcards. The pictures on them were ones I had seen too many times and they no longer excited me. I tapped the ash off my cigar and yawned broadly.

There was a light tap at the door, and my valet Octavius came silently into the room. In his formal clothes and stiff demeanor he was the perfect gentleman's slave. It had taken me many years of training to bring him from the Negro quarter into the drawing room, but now he was one of the most admired man-servants in all of Louisiana. "A letter for you, master," he said, presenting a silver plate with a light yellow envelope on it.

I took the letter and slit it open, noticing the pink wax seal which showed a pair of naked tits embossed deeply. I knew that seal well, and was not surprised to read the contents of the note.

"Mme LaFontaine invites M. Deveraux to enjoy a classical evening, Friday night at 9 PM."

I recalled the last soiree Mme LaFontaine had thrown for the cream of New Orleans gentry. In fact my cock still tingled with pleasure. I remembered the gambling and the sexual tantalization we enjoyed that night. I told Octavius, "Tell the messenger that M. Deveraux accepts with pleasure. We will go to New Orleans on Friday. Direct the boat to be here."

Octavius bowed silently and withdrew from the room. I picked up the Picayune and read on with a lighter mind. Entertainment for gentlemen was Mme LaFontaine's specialty and I was sure she would not fail us this time. The only question I had in my mind was what she considered to be "classical" entertainment.

On Friday the boat was waiting to take me across Lake Ponchartrain into the city. Octavius loaded my baggage on board and sat down to keep an eye on it. Since it was a beautiful warm evening I stood at the bow of the boat with my brandy and enjoyed the breeze. Soon enough we landed and took a waiting hack to Madame's Palais du Sport. I tossed the hack driver a small silver piece, and handed Octavius enough money to assure that he would enjoy the evening in the shanties across the creek. Then I walked up to Mme. LaFontaine's door.

The two black slaves standing by the door were dressed in white tunics and sandals. The Roman look of their costumes gave me a clue of the evening's theme. They bowed low as they opened the door. I walked in to find the atrium decorated with flowers and ribbons. A fountain tinkled in the center of it, and in front of the fountain were three charming figures. A small boy, black as midnight, was dressed in a white tunic, and a small girl, white as a newborn lamb, was dressed in a black tunic. The girl sprinkled red rose petals from a basket, and the boy tossed green ferns into the air.

Standing between them was a young girl, perhaps in her mid teens. She was white of skin with beautiful black eyes outlined in kohl. Only her lips and the nails of her hands betrayed her, for to a southern gentleman's experienced eye they marked her as an octoroon. Only one-eighth of her blood was black and seven-eighths white, probably from rich planters along the river. But that one-eighth banned her from the company of white people, at least when the ladies were present.

Octoroon girls were much in demand at houses like the Palais du Sport. I knew that it was not unusual for their mothers to realize that life there was much better for the girls than life as a slave on the plantations or even in the kitchens. Madame sometimes accepted the girls in their teen age years as servants and apprentices, to learn the ways an octoroon girl advanced in society.

I surmised that in a few years, when this girl turned eighteen, she would be allowed to auction off her virginity at a special night in the Palais. The cream of New Orleans white society would bid high for her maidenhead and half the money she earned that night was hers. Thus she could start her career as a courtesan with gold in reserve and a clientele already waiting for her. But for now, she did not visit the rooms where the gentlemen conducted their business, either gambling or personal. Her function tonight was to greet the guests in this panorama of pretty things.

She came forward softly, and said, "M. Deveraux, Mme. LaFontaine's compliments. Tonight's entertainment will cost $400 in gold." I took the coins out of my purse and set them on the table. The girl nodded and said, "We have been waiting for you. Please come with me." She led me to a small room, with the two contrasting children strewing the path before me. In the dressing room I saw a full mirror and a white cloth hanging on a hook. "Please, sir, put on this toga. As I am sure a classically educated gentleman knows, the Senators of Rome were very particular in their clothing. A full toga can only be worn to best advantage if a skilled vestiplica arranges the folds. I have been so trained, sir, and if you ring this bell when you are dressed, I will assist you to look your best." She dismissed the little white and black attendants, bowed slightly and left the room.

I undressed, and took the heavy white cloth down from its hook. Of course I had read many books about the Romans in their togas, and seen lots of pictures, but this confounded me. Finally I got it wrapped around me and tossed the end over my shoulder. I picked up the small silver hammer and tapped the bronze gong. The door opened and the octoroon girl entered. Without a word, she knelt beside me and busied herself with carefully folding and arranging the toga to perfect form. She then gestured toward a mirror and I looked myself over. The flowing white toga was edged with a broad purple stripe of Senatorial rank. I was indeed impressed at the cultured and important look it gave me.

My attendant held out her hand and I took it. She led me into Mme LaFontaine's huge main parlour. I saw that for this evening, all the comfortable furniture had been removed. All that occupied the large room were seven couches. Six were arranged in a semi-circle against the long wall, and the seventh was opposite them, resting beside something hidden behind a purple curtain.

My octoroon girl led me to one of the couches. She picked up a silver ewer from the table next to the couch, and poured wine into an elaborate goblet. Kneeling once again she presented the wine to me. Then she bowed low and left the room.

One at a time, the other couches were occupied. The octoroon attendant led in five other of the Palais' frequent patrons, and my good friends, all clad in Senatorial togas. Then she departed. There were 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. We had enjoyed many evenings in this house in each others company. I am sure we were all anticipating this classical night.

A loud gong sounded from behind the purple curtain. A large black slave, clad only in a loincloth, emerged and extended a hand. Mme. LaFontaine appeared, wearing a diaphanous gown of white linen, semi transparent so that her magnificent tits showed through faintly. Every man in the room knew her story, how she had been the belle of New Orleans society at eighteen, and how her father's plantation failed. Her father and elder brother committed suicide when the bank called in the note. Somehow she acquired this house, which was her answer to living and earning money among the gentry, even though the ladies no longer received her. She was still the stunning beauty she had been at eighteen.

Waving a large fan of white feathers, she walked to the couch and lay down on it. Three male slaves, very black and totally naked, rushed into the room and knelt at her feet. They poured her wine and offered her a basin of water and a towel to clean herself. When she was ready, and had observed the effect her entrance had on the gentlemen, she waved a hand slightly and the purple curtain dropped.

Behind it we saw a throne raised on a dais, and sitting on it was a man clad in a purple robe, decorated with pure white fur. He held a scepter in one hand and a sword in the other. His face was stern. It appeared that he was going rather bald but a wreath of laurel leaves crowned his head and covered most of his bald spot.

Soon we realized that he was not moving, not blinking, not breathing. In fact, this statue of the Divine Julius was another of the works of M. Toulouse, Madame's artistic protege. Carved from marble and carefully painted, this realistic Caesar was going to oversee our entertainments tonight.

The mistress waved again, and from behind the statue emerged her six newest and most beautiful girls. We had met them on a previous night of gaming, and in the interim I had tasted the favors of several of them. They were all naked but for a loincloth wrapped around their hips, the front of it falling down to cover their sex. One walked to each of the waiting gentlemen.

Annemarie, with skin like ebony, walked to the American lawyer Mr. Jackson. We all knew that his preference was for the dark meat, the darker the better. The second girl, Belle, a Creole of colour, came to me. I was happy with that as she was one I had not yet tried. The other girls dispersed to each share a couch with the Senators present.

Belle was carrying a tray of fruit, and she knelt down and offered me some. Behind the grapes, apples and oranges were her round chocolate tits. Their large puffy areolae and nipples seemed almost to rest on the tray with the rest of the fruit. My gaze rested on them and I licked my lips. She smiled at that and wiggled her chest slightly so the nipples nestled among the bunch of grapes. Then she plucked a few grapes and held them out to my mouth. I sucked one in and met her eyes with mine as I swallowed it.

She put the tray on the table, and leaned so her tits brushed my chest as she fed me more grapes. Then she picked up the wine goblet, and putting an arm around my neck, cradled my head between her boobs as she held the wine to my lips. I took a sip of the wine, and then turned my head to take her broad nipple into my lips. I sucked in and out gently and squeezed the boob lightly. She smiled again, but drew away and placed the cup back on the side table.

Then she stretched herself out on the couch, lying so that her head could fall back on my shoulder. My arm went around her waist to cradle one of those large tits. Her ass pressed back against my cock, which was hardening under the soft fabric of the toga. This comfortable position seemed a good way to spend my dinner hour.

I saw that Mme. LaFontaine was also comfortably stretched on her couch, with one of the bucks behind her, one kneeling at her feet and the other kneeling at her head, feeding her grapes. Once she saw that the other gentlemen were as well settled as I was, she called out, "Let the entertainment begin."

Three girls emerged from the doors behind us, and came into the corner of the room. They turned and bowed to us. Each was completely naked. The first held a harp, the second a flute. The third went to the piano. Immediately they began playing lively dance music.

Three other girls swirled into the room. They were a trio in mixed colours just as the musicians were. The first was an octoroon, white-skinned, small with petite tits, a flat stomach and dark curly pussy hair. The second was a half-breed, a Creole of colour as we called it, dusky of skin with large pointed tits and a shaven pussy. The third was fully black, buxom and plump, with a rounded stomach, large round boobs and a deep black patch of pussy hair. Each was wrapped in a thin cloth which barely hid their nudity under it.

They spun around the room, waving the cloths in patterns which now revealed, now hid their boobs, their asses, and their pussies. At one point they turned their backs to us and all raised the cloths over their heads, presenting their bare backs and rounded butts in a pretty tableau. In another pattern two of them stood sideways and the third posed in the middle. The two waved their cloths up and down, and behind them the octoroon girl stood with hands raised and one leg stepping forward so that all her charms were displayed, only interrupted by the motion of the cloths before her.

The black girl now lay down on the floor. She spread her legs wide, and one of the other girls covered the open pussy with her thin cloth. The black hair and the pinkness of the pussy were tantalizingly displayed behind the semi-transparent cloth. Slowly the cloth was dragged upward, over the black girl's thighs until it barely trailed over her cunt. Just as it slipped upward and the dark lips leading into the pink inside were there to see, the other girl draped her cloth over it.

Now the performance began again, the second girl pulling her cloth up until the pussy was barely revealed. This time, however, she swirled her drape on up over her head, and the black girl lay there fully displayed to our eyes. Now the other two girls knelt on each side of her, their calves pressing her thighs to spread her wider and at the same time show the other two pussies to us.

Belle, meantime, was nuzzling my ear and my hand had crept up to her tit to softly stroke the nipple. At this point I had to let go for just a moment to join in the round of applause for the first act. It seemed, however, that it was not over. Now a trio of men danced out to the floor, also covered only with thin cloths. They swirled around the girls, and each girl reached out to grab a cloth and pull it off. Now the three men were shown to be erect and ready for action. The quadroon male lifted the black girl into the air, her head hanging down his back and her pussy hanging down in front of him.

Then he knelt down. The other four dancers approached and made a complicated pattern. The black man inserted his dick into her mouth, and the Creole rammed into her pussy. She jerked her head and her hips toward them. Meanwhile the other two girls did handstands, and rested their legs against the quadroon's shoulders. They spread one leg wide and he put a hand on each pussy and began to work two fingers up and down. The girls both reached out their hands to his cock and started to stroke.

We stared in amazement at this acrobatic feat. What more could they do? The answer was that the entire assemblage began to rotate slowly around for our viewing pleasure. From every angle we saw dicks working in and out, pussies soaked and dripping, and tits and asses bouncing. I had no idea where Mme. LaFontaine had obtained such amazing dancers. During this performance, Belle pressed her butt back against my cock and began rubbing it with her ass cheeks. My attention was torn between the amazing dance and the sensations under my toga.

The music became faster and more frenzied, and the cocks and hands worked harder and harder. Finally the piano gave a huge clashing chord, and all three of the men jerked into their climaxes. The Negro shot into the black girl's pussy, the Creole sprayed his jizz over her face, and quadroon on the bottom came hard as both girls held his cock tight.

After resting a moment, the panting dancers carefully disassembled their connections, then rose and holding hands bowed to the captivated audience. They exited to our loud applause.

"Mes braves," said our hostess, "this is only the first act in our classical evening. Let us now enjoy some of the feast prepared for us." Each girl got up off her couch and returned with a plate of shrimps and crayfish, and a bowl of remoulade sauce. Belle sat down by me and began to dip them in the sauce and feed them to me. I ate one, she ate one, and in this manner we finished the plate. She held out her fingers, with a trace of sauce on them, and I carefully licked them clean. Sitting there, she undid the knot of my toga and let the top drop so she could trace a pattern over my chest and nipples. Then she settled back down into her comfortable position so we could watch the next act.

All the acts entered from the door behind us. This one was a small and beautiful high yellow girl clad in a leopard skin which barely covered her ass. As she turned toward us we saw that it was clasped at one shoulder, covering one of her small boobs but leaving the other exposed. She clapped her hands, and out from behind us ran a strange animal. It jumped into her arms and I realized it was a chimpanzee. Certainly we had all studied natural history, but I had never seen one alive.

She looked at it and puckered her lips to give it an air kiss. The chimp made an amazing pucker with its large lips in return, and then turned to look at us with a big grin on its face. It chattered, raised its hands in the air and clapped them over its head. The animal continued to perform wonderful tricks, but sometimes it was hard to concentrate on it because the nice tits and the occasional flash of ass on its mistress were distracting.

Finally the chimp came back to sit on her shoulder. She raised one hand in the air and the chimp did too. We all burst into applause. As we did, the chimp cast us a mischievous look, and quickly reached over to grab the clasp that held the leopard skin. Dextrously he popped it open and the leopard skin fell to the ground, leaving the handler standing there nude. Her small perky tits stood up, and her dark pussy lips showed below the neatly trimmed pubic hair. She was a beautiful sight, and the chimp made faces and clapped his hands at his feat.

Jumping to the ground, the chimp pushed her backwards. She sat down on the platform of Caesar's statue, and the chimp pushed in between her knees. This exposed her pussy to all of us watching. Again the chimp made funny faces and clapped. Then he turned toward her spread legs. He puckered up his lips and worked them in and out close to her pussy. Then his tongue came out and wiggled around, very near her slit. Again he looked at us, made faces, and clapped. Then he pressed his head in between her legs....

And at that moment, some furry creature ran out between our couches toward the chimp. It seemed to be about three feet tall and made growling noises. The chimp chattered and jumped over the handler's shoulders to land right in Julius Caesar's lap, where it stood screaming at the furry being. That creature ran in between the girl's legs and rubbed against her pussy, and then turned to face us. We all laughed as we saw that it was actually a Creole dwarf, apparently wearing one of Mme. LaFontaine's fur coats. He clapped his hands over his head, just as the chimp had, and grinned widely. Then he turned and applied his tongue busily to the girl's pussy.

She wiggled her hips and moaned as the fur clad dwarf performed the act which the chimp had wanted to do. Apparently the dwarf had a sufficiently large tongue because she was becoming more and more excited. We all watched with growing amazement as the dwarf then turned to us, and threw the fur coat off his shoulders.

He stood there totally naked, and we were awed to see that he sported a hard rod as large as any man's in the room. He grinned again, and turned back to the girl. Hoisting himself up by holding her thighs, he let that stiff cock push into her pussy and began to thrust back and forth. The chimpanzee, sitting above, screamed again. The girl moaned, the dwarf pushed, and soon he pulled his cock out of her and let his jizz spill all over her stomach. It made a very respectable pool considering what a small man it came out of.

Now the dwarf let himself down and turned toward us. The chimpanzee jumped down from the statue and stood beside him. The girl stood up, stepped forward and took each by the hand. Standing in a row, dwarf, naked girl, and chimp, they all bowed deeply to great applause, not only from the men but from our beautiful companions too. Then they ran out of the room.