Moon On Bourbon Street

The bodies on Bourbon Street droned in and out of each other's space in a mesmerizing dance of drunken celebration and awed wonder. Mostly masked, faces searched for the most intoxicating paths, the most stimulating sights. Emily, behind the safe harbor of her feathered mask smiled broadly and for the first time in years felt completely free to be that person that she mainly hid behind polite chit chat and thoughtful gestures. She skipped along and pinched bottoms and sprightly blew on unsuspecting necks before disappearing back into the snaking crowds. She had been separated from her friends but they had all planned on meeting back at their hotel if just such a separation did occur, so she did not care in the least and continued her mad barrage of mischief and naughtiness.

Before long she turned onto a less crowded street and hunted for her next prey. Who would it be? The man with the fox costume, the woman with the peacock feathers or the shadowy figure in the cape? Oh, it would have to be the shadowy figure in the cape, anyone who thinks themselves that mysterious could use a big pinch on the ass, and she smiled to herself as she ran deftly up behind and grabbed a handful of a somewhat muscular behind. But before she could disappear back into the anonymity of the faceless crowds, the shadowy figure grabbed her wrist and held on tight.

"Let go of me!" she whispered excitedly as she struggled to get away.

"As you wish" a masculine voice said behind a black mask and he just as quickly let her go.

Emily ran blindly onto another street. That encounter had sobered her up completely and she vowed then and there "no more pinching!" Her heart slowly stopped its desperate pounding; her face reversed its flush downward into her chest and traveled pointedly in between her legs. The encounter frightened her, but it excited her a bit too.

She slowed her walk and within seconds the episode was forgotten and she even toyed a bit with another plan to pinch. Lost in her own silly blueprint of her next goosing she ran right into "the shadowy figure". She was a tall girl and he not as tall as she so for a moment they were a tangle of his head into her chin, her arms flailing to disengage herself from his chest. He calmly reached out and grabbed both of her arms; he firmly pulled her to his right, blew into her ear and walked out of her way but still very close to her neck. "You should watch where you are going, there are many hazards about." He whispered softly.

Chills ran up the back of her neck and that full flush that had vacationed in her loins now made journey back up into her face. Their eyes could not be separated, he held her clutched in his gaze and she could not escape it. Even as she slowly sleepwalked away, their eyes held hands and made promise that they would meet again that night. As she got further away from him she shook the daze out of her head and tried to shake the sparkle of his masked green eyes out of her memory. "Creepy..." she remarked out loud trying to talk herself out of the full on wetness that lay gathering in her panties.

Hours later as she yawned and thought about going back to her hotel, she sauntered slowly down the quickly emptying streets of the French quarter. She was amazed at how the flooding from the hurricane only added to ancientness of the city, that it only enforced its odd but beautiful history. The damage distressed the buildings and the streets and made everything seem even older, more haunted.

To her right just above one of the wrought iron enclosed patios she heard a somewhat familiar sound. Her head twisted to hone in on its location but also to identify what was so familiar about the sound. There again, like the crack of a child's cap gun, it fired two or three times, seemingly coming from the second level porch across the street. She looked in all directions and noted the emptiness and privacy that her surroundings provided. She stealthy stepped across the cobblestone surface to stand secretly under the sound of her curiosity. It rang out again, and again, like a child trying to finish a role of caps before a fictitious opponent had the opportunity to return fire. Now it was much louder and unlikely the sound of children at play. It was rhythmic, without precision, intermittent, persistent and quite familiar but still she was unable to identify what it was that sounded so distantly from her childhood, stirring some hidden emotions buried in her past.

The adjacent building looked deserted. Its entryway was partially boarded, a remnant of Katrina, and a playhouse for the child that stirred within. She stepped around the boards to the stairway that led to a porch above. She stilled her movement and her pulse in an effort to identify the primordial sound coming from above. Again it rang out, but this time accompanied by the murmur of voices. Steadily she climbed the steel stairs, cringing and twisting her neck both in the direction of the sounds and down toward the entryway being sure she was still alone. At the top of the stairs a door stood ajar permitting a long sliver of streetlight to illuminate the musty dankness that surrounded her.

Oh God no, she thought. It's a child being beaten by a ward; an aunt, uncle, teacher, or parent, but the sound unmistakably sirened an experience of when she was thirteen. Her father was soundly beating her girlfriend next door. She had ducked her head behind the curtain to watch her best friend lying across her father's lap in the bedroom window no more that twenty feet away. The sounds were harsh and exciting. She remembered the screams of protest while she witnessed a thrashing that stirred more than it frightened. She had found an unexpected wetness between her legs and stroked it while she watched.

Pressing her eye to the gaping door crack, Emily's heart skipped a beat as she recognized the caped stranger with a woman bent helplessly across his knee. Her bottom stood gloriously naked, panties hanging loosely around her ankles. The peacock feathered hat sat atop her blond golden hair hanging like a curly cape around her neck. She had dressed for the Marti Gras in a billowing red dress, now lifted to reveal a rainbow of frilly petticoats. Her legs were encased in black sheer hose held by straps that disappeared into a kaleidoscope of color.

His hand smacked the young woman's bottom ten or twelve times as her feet kicked wildly in the air. Instinctively, Emily's hand snaked down her body finding and lifting the hemline of her full skirt, pushing her hand beneath the silky cloth of her panties and finding her sopping pussy. Her head pushed against the door causing it to creak.

The light from the streetlight flooded the hall as the door squeaked its way fully open. Across on the opposite balcony, his green eyes glistened through the rogue mask that he wore, now cast her way. His hand flew into the air as he began to land a barrage of stinging blows to the ruby red surface of the writhing woman. His stare became hypnotic and any thought of concealment was lost in the moment. Her groping hand sought the center of her pleasure. With her free hand she lifted her dress and tucked it under her chin then tore her panties until her dripping pussy was fully on display. One hand sought to pinch and punish her clitoris while the other pumped two full knuckle lengths into her throbbing womb.

The young woman screeched under the strangers accelerated assault. Performing for his clandestine audience, he beat her with a renewed vengeance. Her bottom began to lift and meet the downward fall of his hand; her excitement and joy filled the space between them. Suddenly his hand grasped at her flesh and burrowed between her legs pressing what appeared to be every finger of his hand into her pussy. Under the controlled and steady stare of the caped assailant, the two women spasmed as one.

Dropping her dress to conceal her partial nakedness, Emily stepped back into the darkness and closed the door. The musty smell had sweetened as her trembling fingers fought to grasp the handrail on her way down. Bursting into the street she ran aimlessly toward Bourbon Street where she knew the crowd would consume her instantly.

After a couple of hours of wandering, she stood for a moment under a street lamp and sang softly the words to the song, "While there's a moon over Bourbon Street". "Oh you'll never see my shade or hear the sound of my feet, while there's a moon over Bourbon Street...."

"So, I take it you like vampires?" a manly voice said from the darkness behind her. Emily turned around and saw it was the "shadowy figure".

"What? No! Are you following me?" She said looking around; she wanted to make sure there were lots of witnesses just in case.

"It's just that song, it's about a vampire, right?" He asked politely walking slowly toward her. She felt trapped in the street light; it was the only thing illuminating in the whole street.

"Look Mister, I can scream pretty loud and you've bothered me enough tonight! Leave me alone!"

"I've bothered you?" He laughed. "I think it was you that only hours ago grabbed my ass, HARD! And I think you're a peeping tom too!"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, but I'm tired and you're scaring me and I just want to go back to my hotel now." She bargained.

"No, I don't think you do. I can smell the excitement all over you; I can see your nipples hardening even now as you talk about being scared of me." He got right up to her face; he brushed his hand lightly over the tops of her screaming nipples. She gasped lightly and made a move to leave......"If you leave, you'll never know what I had planned for you. You'll never feel the many things I want you to feel, pleasurable things, painful things...you want to know and I want to show you everything." He fed her ears with his voice, with his tempting delights, with his hot breath. He held out his hand and she took it without even looking.

He led her down a series of winding corridors and dark alleys to a cemetery. An old, old cemetery filled with tombs. "Was this the most romantic place you could find?" she asked sarcastically. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned swiftly to face her. Suddenly regretting her glibness, she swallowed hard and looked wide eyed into his mask.

"What would seem like a place of death to you right now will most certainly make you feel more alive than you ever have when I am finished with you." He whispered in her ear and then he licked her neck and continued his journey to the farthest, deepest, oldest corner of the cemetery and sat her on a tombstone.

Emily began to feel a dark sense of regret creep over her as she sat trembling on the grave of a person long dead. Why had she allowed him to lead her out to a completely unseen grave in the middle of a giant cemetery? Why did she take his hand at all? Was it because of what she saw him doing to Miss Peacock? She let a tear fall down her cheek, "yes it was" she thought to herself.

"Come here..."he searched for her name.

"E..e..emily" she stammered. "Please don't hurt me! Oh God, I'm out here all alone and I'm so afraid you're going to kill me..."

His face suddenly looked sad and he walked slowly over to where she sat and knelt on the ground before her. He shook his head reassuringly and stroked her hair and then kissed her softly, his lips slightly above hers. It was a tender, fatherly kiss at first, and then with ferocious intensity he tore at her mouth with his like he would devour her, starting with her lips. Shaking and still uncertain of her fate, she held back and pushed him away at first but the more she pushed the worse it got and finally as she gave in to the tempest of his biting kiss, she realized that going with this tide was better than to fight it and she released herself into the wet heat of his mouth. He released her briefly and then marching a full three strides away from her again ordered her to come to him.

This time she complied, timidly. She stood shakily and walked in small steps towards him, stopping just short of about two feet away. Her costume made her feel like she was a part of the entire spooky architecture. She wore a dark green antebellum dress complete with hoop skirt and corseted bodice, her hair in ringlets and of course she still wore her mask. "Undress please." He sternly ordered. Her hands shaking, she didn't quite know what to do first. She reached for her mask. "No! Leave it on." Puzzled, she continued to her bodice. The bodice was laced up the back and had tiny pearl buttons down the front. She reached for the laces but realized she would never be able to untie them by herself, when she thought about the pearl buttons she realized that within two buttons both of her breasts would be showing and dangling for all to see and she paused. "I think the buttons would be best...." he grinned. She hurried for the buttons..."After you've dropped the skirt of course." He added.

She frowned as she realized she was a complete failure at this and she started to fuss with the back closure of her skirt. He warmly swatted her hands away as he went behind her and undid the back of her skirt. Realizing that her nerves would perhaps inhibit her ability to do his bidding he went about undressing her himself. Her skirt dropped to the ground in a soft, breezy harrumph, a bit of dust escaping its girth and floating aimlessly away. She stood in lacy pantalettes that were split up the middle to reveal a very modern thong of black lace. Her stockings were white lace as well and she wore Mary Jane character shoes.

Although it was a humid night, she shivered under his forceful gaze and jumped a bit when his fingers landed gently on her shoulders and turned her to face him. His hands glided softly down the front of her low cut bodice and fingered each button down its length. Then each hand swirled over the delicate rise of her breasts and investigated each hard peak in the center. The first button he released from its silver clasp made an oddly loud pop and the moist evening air breathed down her cleavage enticing a soft moan from her throat. He smiled as she relaxed a little into her own pleasure and popped three more buttons loose from their holds. Her full round breasts exploded out of the bodice as one would explode from a fiery keep. Emily sucked in her breath as his hands kneaded her softly, lightly pinching each pink center with one hand as he finished unbuttoning her with the other. He slid the bodice down her arms and threw it unceremoniously to the hallowed ground.

"Miss Emily, you have been a very naughty girl on this night, even for Mardi Gras. I must punish you in the way you know you need to be punished and because you like to watch, others will watch you." He drawled in his best New Orleans dialect.

"No! I...I...NO! This wasn't what I thought..." She was almost crying with fear. Suddenly, Miss Peacock and Mr. Fox appeared from a behind a family tomb as did a few others that she may have goosed that night. All quiet and still in their masks they stood as witness to her terror and her reward.

He sat on the very tombstone he had sat her upon and then ordered softly, "Come here please."

It was her father all over again. How many times had he said the same thing? She was filled with a mixture of dread, embarrassment and excitement just like then but the prospect of the others watching her made her oddly....wet. Very wet, her legs were easily sliding against each other as she stammered her way towards the shadowy stranger. She reached the sides of his legs and he pulled her softly over his lap. Oh God! Is this what she wanted all along?

The warm wind made the lace on her pantalets lightly strike at her knees and she was strangely occupied with that sensation until his first spank, hot and hard landed on her unprepared bottom. They came precisely and solidly after that without any regard for pleasure, they were to punish her and she knew it. The sting from his swats vibrated her entire body and a full flush from her rear began to grow into a bonfire of stinging nettles. She began to scream for him to stop. "You don't want me to stop Miss Emily..." he stuck his fingers into the soft warm ocean in her pussy, "in fact I KNOW you don't want me to stop."

Keeping his fingers just inside her thong, he tore the back of her pantalets clear off her body and threw them to Mr. Fox. He spanked her anew with the clear intention of starting a fire on her ass and a hydrant to put it out with deep inside of her. He fingered her mercilessly as he spanked and she could feel that he was becoming aroused as well. He started to moan a little and grunt with each spank...he stopped once and paused, obviously to stop short the climax that was building in him.

He peeled her dripping panties off her searing behind and licked his hand before swatting her again several more times. She shrieked and grinded into his legs now with a sizzling desire to cum or to combust she didn't care which. Then in a blur he had held her off of him, turned her over and was fucking her hard over the tombstone. His jagged cock was pounding at her, his hands were clutching her boiling ass, she wanted to see what her audience thought now, through blurry vision she saw that they were tearing at each other against stone walls, iron gates and tombstones.

Ghostly noises filled the graveyard that night, the groans and shrieks of days gone by rattled the heart of Dixie as the grand finale was winding up in the darkness of shadowy graves and dusky people. Emily was astride cold rough stone and it scratched at her breasts and her belly, but the unyielding buildup of delight was growing steadily and wildly without boundary and soon she was howling and cumming, her ecstasy dripping down the epitaph of a beloved husband and father.

The stranger pulled out of her in the throes of his own bliss and spurted his paradise across her blazing bottom where he lovingly caressed her and kissed her for hours more. They lay in that graveyard past dawn, fucking and wrestling and watched as the last spectators and specters alike left in their own sexually exhausted daze. He walked her back to the same streetlight where he found her, kissed her fully on the mouth and then on the hand and left her there without a name, without a face.

As she stood in the lobby of her French Quarter hotel days later, she thought perhaps she imagined the whole thing. So did her friends. No one believed her and so she doubted herself. She picked up her bags and was walking out the door to their waiting cab when a man grabbed her quickly from behind and said, "Miss!" in a heavy New Orleans drawl, "I think you dropped these" and handed her a pair of torn pantalets. The green eyes of a handsome older man lit up as she turned and her own answered with a sparkle...he kissed her hand and walked away singing, "Oh you'll never see my shade or hear the sound of my feet, while there's a moon over Bourbon Street..."