Lassez Les Bon Temps Rouler

“Leave your bags at the desk at Lafitte’s Guest House at Bourbon and St. Phillip. They’ll take them up to the room when it’s ready. Wait in the lobby and I’ll meet you there when I can.”

That’s all his last message said, and she wasnt sure what to expect. She came, of course, but not without a slight pit in her stomach. She sat there, waiting, not knowing that to expect. She waited a long time. She looked at her dress, and felt her sexy underwear beneath it, and felt a mixture of excitement and fear.

When he came in, she jumped up expectantly, and ran over to embrace. He hugged back, but he wasn’t as exuberant as she was. He was calm,
measured and had an air of confidence bordering on arrogance.

He looked in her eyes, and held the gaze. “I’m really glad to see you. I’m going to give you the best day I can. One you’ll never forget. Let’s take a walk.” Something about him was cold, and serious. More so than she remembered. Not unkind, but not jovial either.

With that, they walked on Bourbon, arm in arm. She leaned into him, and he occasionally leaned over and kissed her on the top of the head. He pointed things out along the way that he’d visited. “There’s Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop. It’s a dive bar now, but it used to be where pirates supposedly hid out. Come. Let’s keep walking this way.”

And as they did, the hustle-bustle of the tourist end of Bourbon faded, and they got into the quieter end of the street. Gaudy houses with balconies and hanging plant; but real houses, with real residents.

“Where are we going?”

“Shh.”

Part 1

They walked to Esplanade Ave – a double-wide street that once had a streetcar line in the middle. He steered her left, and they walked past more houses built in the New Orleans style. Even though it was December, trees still had remnants of last year’s Mardi Gras season hanging in them.

“Here it is. Basin Street. It’s a pass-through now, and sort of dumpy. Know what it used to be?”

She shook her head.

“It was the old red light district. The police used to push all the drugs and music and hookers down here to keep it away from the respectable citizens. Here, let me show you.”

And with that, he walked her.

“100 years ago, this is where Mahogany Hall was. A madam named Lulu White had 40 girls working for her on this spot. And over there is where Josie Arlington had her place, and Minnie White’s was over there.”

She looked confused. “I love the history, but why are you telling me this? This is definitely a strange way to start the day.”

“I love the history too. Now. I told you I was going to make today memorable for you, so what better way that to experience it. Here, come now.”

And with that, he pulled her down an alley that was long and twisted, and mostly obscured from the street, but not so much so that a flash of a car and the distant sound of music couldn’t be heard.

“Come here.”

He grabbed her waist hard, and kissed her hard on the mouth hard, too. She felt overwhelmed, but melted in. He put his hand on her neck as she kissed back. He groped her, roughly, as if she was his property.

“On your knees. Now.”

She looked up at him in confusion.

It was dirty, and she had worn a new outfit to impress him and she knew kneeling on dirty concrete would ruin it, but what else could she do. She dropped.

With that, he unzipped his fly and simply grabbed the back of her head.

“Suck my cock.”

And, without a noticeable pause, she did. She worked quickly, noticing that the alley had windows above, and that, even though the buildings looked vacant, she might have an audience. Even far from home, in this strange city where she was anonymous, she felt her face redden with the thought of being mistaken for a prostitute. She worked fast.

“Slow down. I want to enjoy this.”

She slowed because he said so, but the blushing only got worse. “I’m his whore. He’s made me his whore, and people will know it if they just walk by this street.” It filled her with shame, just as it turned her on. She kept sucking.

When he came, it was in her mouth, without even so much as a warning.

“That’s a good girl. Now clean me up.”

And she did. She swallowed what he gave her, and ran her tongue all around to clean him. She smiled an embarrassed smile, but felt trapped by the circumstances to do anything else.

He bent down, and put his hand between her legs, under her dress, and under her panties. He inserted two fingers inside of her and felt her wetness.

“You liked it too, it seems. Stand up.”

He removed his fingers – which were now soaked – and shoved them in her mouth. She began to recoil, but accepted them and smiled an embarrassed smile.

“Good girl.” He stuffed a coin in her pocket. “A prostitute doesn’t work for free. Here’s your payment.”

Shocked. Wordless. Confused.

She accepted.

With that he smiled sweetly, repositioned her arm in his own, and they walked out of the alley, back to Basin Street.

“Let’s go.”

Part 2.

The feelings of confusion overwhelmed her, but he was now warmer toward her. He asked her what she wanted to see later that day, and if she needed something to eat. He kept up the patter of conversation, and she began to feel a bit more comfortable by the minute. She found herself wondering if what had just happened was all in her head, but her scraped knees and the taste in her mouth reminded her otherwise.

As they walked back toward the more populated area of the French Quarter, they could hear the sounds of brass bands playing in the street.

“Let’s go have some fun. How about if we stroll, do some shopping, and I’ll get you whatever your heart desires.”

They walked to Jackson Square, stopping at a tiny bookstore built in a home once owned by William Faulkner. He bought her an old edition of Chopin’s The Awakening, and a first edition of Interview with a Vampire.

“You’ll need some other treats too, I think.”

They looked at street art, and he got her a small oil painting she picked of French Quarter buildings. They stopped and she had a psychic reading. They walked to the French Market, where he bought her pralines, and spices, and whatever small treats he could convince her to buy. He squeezed her arm and snuck kisses as they walked; the perfect vision of a happy pair.

“Let’s get some beignets, huh?”

Moments later, they had left Cafe du Monde with a bag filled with the sweet treats, plumes of powdered sugar all around.

“I have something I think you’ll like. Would you like to go back to the hotel so I can show you?”

The pair brought their bags back to the hotel. They walked through the gilded lobby, and up to their top floor unit. The birdcage elevator moved slowly, and inside, he lightly pulled her close and kissed her, soft and long.

He whispered “you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” She leaned in and they kissed again.

The elevator opened directly to their room – the only one on the top floor. Inside, it was like something from Versailles. Intricate furniture with mother of pearl inlay, mirrors with ornate frames, gold trim on everything.

She gasped and squealed. It was like no place she had ever seen. He took her by the hand and showed her to the bedroom- complete with a canopy bed and double doors looking to a 4th floor balcony overlooking Bourbon Street.

“Maybe you’d like a bath? I have one ready for you.” He held her hand and walked her to the bathroom.

Inside, a claw foot tub, filled with warm milk. He helped her disrobe. He took her clothing off for her standing behind her, slowly removing piece by piece, kissing her neck and softly caressing her as he did. When she was totally naked, he whispered “you’re exquisite” and held her and kissed her some more on the neck and shoulders. He turned her around, and looking deeply in her eyes said, “I mean it. You’re exquisite.” He held her hand and helped her into the tub. Soft jazz played from the street below, audible through the window. As she sat into the tub, he rubbed her shoulders and then asked to be excused so he could get the room ready. “Please call me when you’re ready to come out.”

She took her time, letting the warm milk wash over her and giving it a chance to soak into her soft skin.”

He had disappeared, leaving her to relax and reflect. The strangeness of their encounter in the alley was receding, and she was feeling safe and warm and loved. After a long while, she called “ok, I’m ready to come out.”

He re-appeared and held her hand as she got out onto the mat. He walked her to the shower and gentlyrinsed the milk off her body before wrapping her in a towel.

He dried her body and then asked if he could put moisturizer on her body to protect her beautiful skin. He offered a tray of dozens of bottles – persimmon and pear and white tea and shea butter and others. She chose one and handed it to him. He stood behind her, rubbing it in, massaging her shoulders, caressing and kissing every spot as he went, from head to toe.

“Come on. I want to do some more work on your body.”

He helped her dress in a soft kimono – antique fabric – bright red and yellow designs. He took her by the hand out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. He laid a large towel on the bed and asked if he could massage her. She smiled and gave permission. He took her robe off and laid her down, then rubbed her whole body, complimenting each piece as he went.

“Your collar bones are beautiful.” Then kissed them.

“Your knees are beautiful.” Then kissed them.

As he got to her feet, he paid special attention. He rubbed them hard and long. As he did, he told a story:

“When the old French prime minister, Francois Mitterrand, knew he was dying, he held a very strange party. There’s a small bird in France called the ortolan. It’s a tiny song bird – no larger than a hummingbird. For years, it was a delicacy. It was cooked and eaten whole, head and all. It was supposed to be delicious. The most interesting thing about it is that the ortolan was so beautiful that eating it was considered an affront to the Almighty. People eating it would do so with a napkin over their head so as to not be seen by God. So, when Mitterrand knew he had only weeks left, he had his closest friends join him to eat the ortolan, covered head and all. Amazing, isn’t it?”

“Wow. That is amazing.” She paused, unsure of why he was telling her this.

With that, he pivoted “let’s not forget those beignets. They’re still warm.” He brought over the bag, and opened it and put three on a small plate. “Why don’t you try some?” A strange request, as she sat naked, moisturized, and expecting a more intimate question than “shall we eat beignets?”

She agreed, sitting on the edge of the bed, powdery donuts in hand, suddenly feeling truly naked.

“Good. You eat those, I want to try something else.”

And with that, he spread her legs apart, and laid her upper body down, and took a small towel and put it over his head, and put his head between her legs. She was his ortolan.

Under the towel, hekissed around her, in small pecks and hard, sucking kisses. He rubbed his thumb teasingly over her, skipping past her clit. The pace increased until she felt his lips encircling her engorged clit. It was pure pleasure. She felt him going in circles with his tongue, and sucking her harder than softer, harder, than softer. She felt on edge of coming quicker than ever before, and he kept on, raising the intensity in waves, then backing off ever so slightly. He inserted a finger, then two, and soon she knew she was passing over the edge and was going to come. She moaned louder and louder as he rhythmically licked and sucked and penetrated.

When she came, she shouted his name, loud enough that she startled herself. He felt her warmth drip onto him and he kept going, even as she tensed and and pulsed and moaned. He never let go, sucking and sucking her clit and using a “come here” gesture inside her. When her body could take no more, she went limp. He kept going, but, bit by bit, touched her more and more lightly. He removed his fingers from her and toyed with her hard nipples as he flicked her with the back of her tongue. She let out a sigh so long and sweet that he knew she’d taken all she could.

He moved his body next to hers and kissed her lips for a long time, and held her body in his arms. He whispered to her, and she felt very safe.

After a long while, he got a devilish look. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

Part 3.

“Have you been to Royal Street?”
“I don’t think so, what’s there?”
“Art and antique shops. There’s one place I really want to show you.”

They walked down Bourbon and crossed to Royal – a block away, but a cultural mile apart. Every shop had a window with original paintings by known artists, or silver candlesticks recovered from an antebellum estate.

“Let’s check some out.”

They looked at galleries with original Chagalls and Rodriguezes. They saw real Tiffany glass, and muskets from The Civil War.

They reached one with a simple sign: “Versailles on Royal.”

They were buzzed into the small shop, which looked nondescript on the outside, but opened to a room as opulent as their hotel. The walls were gold. Tapestries hung with French country scenes dated to the 18th century.

One small section was marked “The Last Dauphin” and had a crest for Louis XVI.

“Here, he said, check this out.”

They walked to the case and saw artifacts from the real Versailles. A gold-plated doorknob, an royal crest made of wood. Among them, was a newspaper clipping about a diamond necklace Marie Antoinette had once owned. The piece was a series of round diamonds, separated by sapphires on a white gold chain. It was missing what appeared to be the pendant of the piece. It had been missing since the French Revolution, thought to have been removed from the royal collection after Marie was killed.

The necklace with the missing stone sat on the wall, behind bulletproof glass.

She stared at it. The diamonds glittered even 200 years after they were last worn by a human – and that human was Marie Antoinette.

“Amazing” she said.

“It is. I love this store.”

They left, and kept window shopping and talking about what they’d seen and what they wanted. They meandered until it got dark. He suggested they go back and get ready for dinner. It’d been a long day and he had a special evening prepared, he told her.

They held hands and walked. When they got back to the hotel, she tingled with excitement about what adventure could be next. They took the elevator to their room, and he walked her in.

He put his hands on her cheeks and held her close and kissed her. He said “they say the diamond that’s missing was worth 1000 francs. That was the average French workman’s lifetime salary, though basically a weekend party for the royals. No wonder they got beheaded.”

She nodded along.

“Here, come with me.”

He walked her back to the bedroom and said “hey, what happened to the token you earned earlier today?” Her cheeks reddened,remembering the day’s start. She realized it was still in the pocket of her outfit from before. She scrambled and found it. As she pulled it out, she looked at it for the first time. For the first time, she realized how large it was, and saw it was gold colored. She could make out the text on it: Francaise. On the back she could read:

1000 Francs

He was standing next to her.

“Give it to me, my love.”

She handed it over.

He handed her a small box. She stood, shocked, trying to process it. Her hands shook,she got it open.

Inside, a large, flawless round diamond on a simple band. It was Marie’s missing pendant turned into a diamond ring.

“Well, shall we put it on your finger?”

She nodded. The diamond fit her just perfectly – like it belonged on her body.

He brought her to the bed, where they made love. When they finished, they laid quietly together.

They kissed and held one another, and quietly made plans for that night and the next day and the next and many days after that. There was no more whore or Goddess. There were only partners.

-Finis-

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/7m566o/lassez_les_bon_temps_rouler