Stella and Louie

This is a work of fiction.

All fictional characters engaged in sexual activity are at least 18 years of age.

While fiction, the genesis of this story was a loving tale told by what would in the story be Stella's unnamed little sister, about two people who made considerable sacrifices for her, and her siblings behalf. I was only given a bare outline, but the few facts I have been changed just a little for the sake of anonymity.

She was black as the night

Louie was whiter than white

Danger, danger, when you taste brown sugar

Louie fell in love overnight

-Brother Louie, Brewer and Shipley

They lived in the little yellow brick house on the corner, on the South Side of Saint Louis, near Tower Grove Park. Or more correctly Louie's drunken, louse of a father lived in the little yellow house on the corner. They, Louie and his family, Stella and her little brother and sister lived UNDER the house on the corner. In the basement. It wasn't that bad Stella told herself. She had seen a lot worse in her nineteen years on this planet.

Not that Louis Sr., argh, why did her beloved Louie share his name with that bigoted ass of a cop upstairs. Not that Louis Sr. knew that they lived in the basement. One day Louie just disassembled the stairs. He told Sr., that they were rotten, and asked for $200 to replace them. Louie, as per his plan, got laughed at and so proceeded to nail the inside door shut. One very unfinished apartment. Louie was resourceful, for the price of doing the old man's laundry, they had a home. With heat, electricity and running water, and love.

Actually having a drunken, armed and dangerous city cop just upstairs helped at times. Like with the stoned city social services lady who came looking for her brother and sister just showed up at his door, instead of their unmarked one on the side of the house, behind the fence. The school gave out Stella's correct address. But 'DCFS Lady', she was rudely turned away by the boisterous drunken cop, who, laughably, did not know he was harboring fugitives from the foster care system right beneath him. Few criminals would risk breaking into a cop's house. So the kid's stuff residing in the bedroom that Louie built from scrounged scraps and love would be safe.

Brother Michael down at the Mission had said that God had left the world a little bit incomplete. So that man, and Stella was sure that he meant to say men and women working together, could have a hand in the wonder of creation. Stella did not question God, but it just seemed like Brother Michael overstated it a bit when he said a little bit incomplete. Seemed more like a lot incomplete. But she supposed a co-author needed to do some of the work to get their name on the manuscript.

Stella and her siblings had lived in houses without food, without heat, without running water, without electricity, one house without windows, several without an adult. Her mother had left them for days and weeks at a time. Preparing them for that day fourteen months ago when she left for the last time. Mother's previous record was seven weeks, so Stella did not plan on ever seeing her again.

Not that she really minded. The little ones did, they missed her. Stella's mother had been gone for half of her life before she finally split for good. Leaving her with an aunt, grandma, the State of Missouri. Apparently she would leave her with anyone, Stella figured she would have been left with Horton if that stoned bitch could have found the right tree. Nevermind, it would have been cool to have been raised by an elephant, even a fictional one. But, as per the usual, that stupid, stoned bitch had timed things perfectly. Making sure that Stella did not graduate from high school.

Stella silently said a little prayer, angry at herself for calling her mother a bitch, even if nobody was there to hear it. Praying for mother's soul, because Stella figured she'd probably finally OD'd. Praying for her own forgiveness, for Louis, even that SOB upstairs. For her siblings and the easing of their sorrow... Schize! there she was, angry again. Its pretty messed up when prayer gets you angry, she thought. But she knew it wasn't the praying itself that made her furious. It was the idea of forgiving, well, that bitch.

It was the schism, that giant gulf between the person she wanted to be and the person she was. Most of the preachers she knew growing up had said it was a deal, a circle of life thing. God was the parent, people were the kids. For the kids to get the parents blessing they had to make peace with one another. They used different words, but its what they all meant. Stella figured they all must of had nicer parents. Because frankly it was a blessing to be rid of hers... "Schize! Now, again with the guilt". Mrs. Rosstein her favorite teacher used to say that.

Today, Stella was a mess. She felt angry. She felt guilty. She felt betrayed. She felt depressed, taken advantage of, hopeless at times. The problem was maybe, just maybe, feeling angry was a feeling, maybe feeling guilty, depressed or hopeless were just feelings. But betrayed, betrayed and taken advantage of, objectively those were facts. Not opinions, and that doofus Mrs. Olson, who taught sophomore English, thought Stella did not get it.

She wished Louie was there. Louie would make her happy. Louie who had given up everything for her, just to be with her. Wow, there must be something really wrong with that guy, she mused to herself. Thinking of Groucho's line "I wouldn't be a part of any group that would have me as a member". Groucho was another gift from Mrs. Rosstein. Mrs. Rosstein was one of the few teachers Stella really liked.

Specifically Stella thought, Louie would strip me naked, then tie me down to the big padded 'horse' he made for their playtime. He would carefully put a gag in my mouth. So I can breath and grunt but not speak. He would cover my eyes with a blindfold. There I would be ass in the air, bound hand and foot, gagged ready to be strapped and fucked. It was what she craved. To be ridden hard and put away wet, as they said in the westerns. It was the only time her mind was free, as convoluted as that sounds. She was free when she was bound to their 'horse', bound and gagged and blindfolded. So that she had no sensory input.

No sensory input except... Except that which Louis, the one person on this earth she completely trusted. Louis, who knew her, who actually saw her. By really paying attention to her, her movements, her reactions and her needs. No sensory input except what input Louis directed at her while she was utterly helpless. Strapping her ass to release endorphins. "See, Mr. Johnson, I really WAS paying attention in science class".

Endorphins, that wonder drug. She could fly on endorphins, but funny thing. She never forgot who she was, never forgot her brother and sister, never was mean to her Louie when she was high on endorphins. Her Louie, penetrating her, his tongue, her mouth, her vagina. Louie, penetrating her, his penis, her vagina, her anus, her mouth. Louie, penetrating her, his fingers, her vagina her anus. Louie penetrating her, his eyes, her soul. Her beautiful red headed white boy, who for some unfathomable reason loved her. Who wanted her to be at peace.

But right now Louie was working at Saint Louis University, as a custodian. As were so many other things in her life it was almost right. Almost but not quite. Louie at SLU, yes, that was right. But attending classes as a sophomore, that is how it should rightfully have been. Instead he was working, earning enough money to keep them alive, to pay for the lawyer they hired to petition the State to grant them custody of her little brother and sister.

Louie and Stella, married at City Hall by a clerk without fanfare. Oh well, who would they have invited anyway. Grandma if she were still alive, but whom else. Maybe once they got custody of the kids, once they stopped hiding, they could have a church wedding. More importantly, then the kids could go on to college, there at SLU as employee dependents if, strike that, when, they did what Louie and Stella had been unable to do, graduate high school.

Stella lived for her siblings, and truth be told, for her playtime with Louis. They called it 'playtime'. All the labels were so heavy, loaded by a society that just could not, or chose not, like petulant little children, to hear God's words from Galatians that there were "neither Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female", just people. White people might freely use those words 'slave' and 'master' in their playtime. Not so much if you were black or a Jew. But 'playtime', it was exactly what she needed right now. Louis' strap, Louis' hands, his mouth, his cock.

Knowing that led to more guilt. Stella knew she wasn't 'supposed' to feel this way. She was, how did the song go, "black as the night", and Louis, "Louie was whiter than white". Pale, pale white skin, red hair. His people rode here in steerage from Killarney or County Cork. The Irish, they were sorta like the slaves of the British. It wasn't exactly the same. But she had seen the old signs saying "Irish and Negroes not admitted'. So why was Sr. such an ass.

Her people, well she didn't like to think about that. And as big of an asshole as Louis Sr. was, he would never steal from her, rape her, beat her or lock her in chains. He was a moron, albeit a controllable moron. Louie could control him as if he had a joystick sticking out of his backside. Racist, yes, yes he was. But oddly he was friendly with her grandma who lived down the street before she went to meet Jesus.

No, Sr. would not actually hurt her, he just mistakenly thought he was better than her and her siblings. No, the only person who would actually inflict marks on her flesh was the love of her life, Louie. He did it because he knew she needed it, the same way she needed water and she needed oxygen. Then he felt considerable guilt afterward.

It suddenly struck her, it was an epiphany. Louie loved her so much he was literally drawing the bad pain, her guilt, out of her, each stroke of his strap was pulling more bad pain from her. Depositing it in him, but he was strong. He was sharing her pain. Like Mrs. Rosstein talking about feeding your sins to the ducks on Yom Kippur, when they went to Shaw's Garden. Jews, like Mrs. Rosstein symbolically transferred their sins from the year ending into chunks of bread that they cast on the water. Stella tried it and the ducks paddled over and ate the bread. Well she thought, God couldn't get terribly angry at a duck.

Was it healthy, their relationship. Argh. Another question without an objective answer. Stella liked being smacked on the ass. Hard. It made her wet. Louie could get her wet by stripping her naked. He could put her at the edge of an orgasm by meticulously binding her to their 'horse'. He could make her come just from his judicious use of the leather strap. He could make her come again as he put his whiter than white, technicolor, glow in the dark penis in her darkest wetness and pump, fucking her helpless form with his enthusiastic abandon.

Then he made her come again as he untied her, and was her loving caregiver. Soothing and tending to the marks he himself created. Healthy, it had to be. It was the only time she did not feel anger, depression, or guilt. Well at least until afterward. The only time in her life that she turned her multiple layers of defense off, and trusted that Louie was going to get her off like gangbusters.

Lisa Ann