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From: kellis <kellis@dhp.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Cannes d'Eau: The Nephew {Varkel} (Fm Oral)
Date: Thu, 30 Oct 2003 21:10:06 -0500
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Cannes d'Eau
Episode 1: The Nephew
a Series by Varkel
Fall, 2003


"But, but uncle, that looks like crossed _dicks_!"

The very young man spoke hardly above a whisper, staring at a large 
framed cross-stitch hanging on the wall.  They stood in the 
wainscoted foyer of a huge frame house on the southwest corner of 
Miller and Beale Streets, as the lad had carefully noted for future 
reference.  The maid who took their hats had already departed into 
the next room.  Dusk had fallen beyond the screen door to the 
porch, but an electric chandelier lit the small room brightly.

Senator Miles Heatherford (Retired), in fact the lad's granduncle, 
cocked his head critically to study the cross-stitch.  "Rather well 
done, too," he admitted and smiled.  "For the woman who plied that 
needle it must have been a labor of love."

"But the streams from them are _yellow_!"

The old man chuckled.  "You'd prefer them white?  Regard the 
words scripted below: _Cannes d'Eau_, which is the name the owner 
of this house prefers instead of _Ruth's Place_.  It means 'canes 
of water.'  I'm sure you know what kind of water such canes 
ordinarily produce."

"Canned dough?" repeated the lad as if tasting the words.  
"Shouldn't it be cannies do?"

"Come, come, my boy: have they taught you no French in that fancy 
school?"

"Next year.  We're doing Latin now."

"Then trust me on the pronunciation.  That cross-stitch was rescued 
when the original Cannes d'Eau burned in New Orleans.  Madam Ruth 
has patterned her place on it."  He chuckled again.  "In fact your 
pronunciation may be more descriptive.  We certainly _can do_ any 
lascivious thing we wish in here!"

The lad's eyes brightened and he looked ahead into the next room, 
where the uncle guided him by an elbow.  It was a large room with a 
twenty-foot ceiling, three other doors and a wide, carpeted 
staircase rising to a railed mezzanine balcony on that wall with 
other doorways opening into second floor rooms.  Two elaborate 
chandeliers hung on long chains, lighting every corner.  High 
paintings of nude women decorated the walls with overstuffed chairs 
and couches arranged beneath them.

Several young women occupied much of the seating, more than the lad 
could count in a single eye sweep, dressed colorfully in long gowns 
and low slippers.  Creamy arms were exposed everywhere and no few 
shapely legs, some even to midthigh, and there -- the lad's lips 
parted -- there sat a brunette with chin resting on arm perched 
upon updrawn knee, lifting the skirt of her gown to expose a vast 
darkness between the raised and lowered leg.  The senator had to 
urge him onward.

They took seats on a settee in the middle of the room.  A few other 
men were present, studying the women, conversing with them.  One or 
two exchanged nods with the senator, who immediately took out his 
pipe but refrained from lighting it.

The lad saw a man and woman rise and proceed up the staircase to 
the second floor.  But his attention returned to the raised knee.  
Grinning around at the elder, he essayed, "Are all these girls such 
high steppers?"

"Better at it even than your trotting mare," said the senator, 
waving his pipe stem.  "Take Maybelle, the brunette in that 
wingback: I've seen her kick down a vase sitting higher than her 
head."

The young man's eyes followed the pointing pipe stem across the 
large room to a plump specimen in a red gown.  Her torso was 
twisted sideways and face turned up to the sailor standing beside 
her chair.  A hand hovered near her mouth, presumably to keep their 
conversation confidential -- until the hand sagged to the chair's 
slanting side.

"Good god!" exclaimed the lad.

At that moment the senator was studying the same raised knee.  He 
turned to see the cause for amazement, and a pink grin appeared 
within his van dyke.

The young voice was awed.  "Can she truly have his dick in her 
mouth?"

Suppressing a chuckle, the senator replied judiciously, "Well, 
Armie, that's a bit uncertain at this distance.  If so, she must 
have taken damn near all of it, wouldn't you say?"

"Good god!"

The young man surged to his feet but the senator caught an arm in 
restraint and lowered his voice.  "Hang on to your curiosity, 
Armie.  She can't hold it in there forever.  Sit down.  You'll 
attract attention for the wrong reason."

The young man glanced quickly around the room, into which more men 
were arriving.  He caught the eye of a woman with black eyes 
flashing above a very low-cut gown.  She winked.

Taking a deep breath, he resumed his seat and his study of the pair 
in the wingback.

"See the hollow in her cheek?" asked the senator.

"I can't believe ... she's sucking on him hard!"

The senator shook his head and spared a chuckle at last.  "Armie, 
my boy, I can see I didn't get you in here a moment too soon."

"What do you mean, uncle?"  The young eyes were fixed on the 
wingback.

"You do know what that's called, right?"

"I think so: cocksucking.  They expelled two boys caught doing it 
in the school belfry."

"Did they!  Have you ever tried it, Armie?"

"Put a dick in my mouth?"  He blinked at his uncle in astonishment 
at the idea.

"Or yours in another mouth?"

"No, sir."  A flash of interest appeared in the blue eyes before 
they resettled on the wingback.

"We'll have to fix that.  Let's see if Maybelle succeeds with that 
sailor."

"Succeeds?  Looks to me that she has already!"

Again the senator chuckled.  "No.  That's just her sales pitch.  
She knows better than to make him spew before Clancy collects."

Indeed at that moment the woman in red drew back to leer up at the 
sailor, momentarily exposing a blushing wet organ of respectable 
size.

"Good god!" young Armie exclaimed again.  "She took all of that?"

"Why not?"

"That would choke her to death!"

The old man laughed outright.  "Not with enough practice, and 
believe me, Maybelle has the practice."

The distant sailor was buttoning up the front flap of his whites.

"That tells the tale," said the senator.  "If he'd only closed one 
or two buttons, she'd be taking him upstairs shortly.  He's either 
jaded or broke.  If the latter, he probably came here for the art."

"'Art?'"

"Come, come, Armie.  By now you must have noticed how pretty most 
of these girls are -- not to speak of that blonde's tit flashing, 
or hair tufts visible when one stretches ... or the dark center on 
that girl with her knee drawn up.  That, my boy, is true visual 
art!"

The lad shook his head.  "My teacher wouldn't call that art.  He 
says art is _doing_ something well."

"Exactly.  Do you think this tit flashing, arm stretching and knee 
raising is accidental?  Do you think they were born with those 
faces?"

The youth looked around more sharply and grudgingly admitted, 
"They're painted, aren't they?"

"You bet.  And that's not all: rouge on tits and powder on thighs.  
While you ate supper they made each other ready."

"How deceitful!"

That widened the older eyes.  "Deceitful, you say?  Think again!  
Let me assure you, my boy, this bawdyhouse -- and a few others like 
it -- is probably the most honest spot in the state, probably the 
whole nation.  What the girls have done to their looks is just the 
gilt wrapping on the package."

The lad chuckled incredulously.  "The most _honest_?"

"Compare it to the big Baptist church on Candler Street.  What does 
that congregation get for its tithes?  Hell, compare it to that 
great institution I retired from in Washington.  What do the people 
get in return for their taxes besides high-blown rhetoric?"

"Well ...  We got Cuba and the Philippines."

"Ha!  We'll never recoup the investment.  And I'm glad to see 
you've learned a few things at that fancy school!  But don't change 
the subject.  Compared to every establishment of government or 
religion, a well-run whorehouse is absolutely honest and upright.  
You know exactly what you're buying -- renting, actually -- in 
advance.  Nobody lies, nobody reneges, nobody cheats.  Madam Ruth 
won't allow it.  She fired two girls and a guard last year for 
rolling a drunk."

"Then it does happen."

The senator chuckled wryly.  "Nothing compared to what you can lose 
at church or in a government office.  Or in a bank, for that 
matter.  I expect your father has told you how much time I spend in 
this, ah, 'house of ill repute' --"

"My mother."

"Truly?  I'm amazed Adele could entertain the thought of this place 
long enough to mention it!  I come here, almost daily since my 
retirement, for entertainment, yes, but especially for the pure air 
that suffuses these rooms."

"Pure air?"  The lad sniffed audibly.

The old man cackled.  "You smell wet quims, do you, my boy?  That's 
purity of a special kind.  But I mean pure in the higher moral 
sense.  Despite what they say, fucking is not fundamentally a moral 
issue.  Whether you keep your word, whether you tell the truth, 
whether you respect property -- those are the moral issues."

But the lad's attention had wandered.  "Say, uncle, that's an 
awfully pretty face!"

The sailor had departed, leaving Maybelle to look around and note 
the interest of the familiar senator's youthful companion.  She 
leaned slightly forward toward him and smiled, showing dimples, 
licking full red lips ostentatiously.  She had a round face with a 
small button nose and large inviting brown eyes that winked 
knowingly.

"Aren't they all," agreed the old man.

"Too bad it just had a dick stuck in it."

"Oh?"  The senator grinned.  "What if the dick were yours?"

"M-mine?"

The old man crooked his finger toward the watching woman, who 
immediately rose and crossed the carpet, wide hips swaying.  The 
red gown proved in fact to be a peignoir.  Wide nipples and pubic 
triangle were faintly visible through its material.  Her costume 
included red satin slippers, dainty and low of heel.

"Armie, pull that chair around beside you," directed the senator as 
she neared.  When the lad complied, the man continued, "My 
grandnephew, Armister Heatherford, this is Maybelle; Maybelle, my 
nephew Armie."

"Ooo, how _nice_ to meet you!" breathed the woman with a frank 
leer.

"The p-pleasure is mine," stammered the lad.

"It _will_ be!" agreed the old man.  "Sit with us and chat a bit, 
won't you, Maybelle?"

"I'll be so happy to do anything for you, senator."  She plopped 
into the repositioned chair.

"I know you will, Maybelle.  I do love complaisant women, and 
you're at the top of the list."

"If complaisant means willing, oh god, am I willing!"

"Yes, you are.  How are you getting along, my dear?  We haven't 
talked for a while."

She pretended to pout.  "You stay away to tease me."

"Perhaps, but I don't tease like your sailor friend."

"You mean the one I was just frenching?"  Her lip curled.  "Too bad 
his cock was so much bigger than his poke."  Her eyes brightened.  
"How's this: his poke was longer than it was thick?"

"'Poke?'" asked Armie.

"His stroke was longer than his wallet was fat," translated the 
senator.  "Maybelle and I are inveterate punsters."

The woman added, "He only had enough on him for a corn bread 
supper.  Offered me that.  In a way I guess it was a nice offer."

"Yes, a compliment," said the senator, "his only chance at supper 
in exchange for you.  I'm surprised you didn't help him out, 
Maybelle.  You're known for giving it away to deserving lads."

"Deserving?  That kid pestered us all afternoon.  He didn't really 
need any help."

"Jaded _and_ broke," noted the senator with a wink at his nephew.

The lad asked diffidently, "Do you generally, ah, accept men in the 
afternoon?"

"Generally they're busy somewhere else, except that sailor claimed 
he's on leave.  And your uncle, the senator.  But lord, yes, 
whenever a man wants us, here we are."  She smiled beatifically.

"Good for you," acknowledged the senator.  "My nephew observed 
your, ah, dicker with the sailor and has a question."

She flashed a grin at the pun and turned her attention to the lad.  
"I'll tell you anything you want, Armie."

"I, I ..."  The lad's eyes were wide on his uncle before turning 
back to the woman.  "Well, it looked from here like you were, ah, 
taking in his, his whole, uh --"

Suppressing a laugh, the senator said, "I believe Armie is 
referring to the sailor's manhood."

She shrugged.  "You want me to collar him and show you?"

"I think Armie would be satisfied to _hear_ it on your lips.  Did 
you swallow the whole cock, Maybelle?"

"Sure.  It wa'n't nothing very special."  She contemplated the lad 
with twinkling eyes.  "I'll bet double or nothing I can take all of 
yours too."

"That's a sucker bet, Armie."

"I, I ..."

"Why don't you go upstairs with Maybelle, my boy?  She'll treat you 
very tenderly, you can be sure."

The lad's expression flickered from anticipation to apprehension.  
He leaned close to the man and whispered, "Come with me, uncle?"

"What was that?" asked the man in astonishment.

Armie looked from the curious woman back to his uncle.  He sat up 
straighter in his chair, raised his chin and said in pretended 
indifference, "I thought you might enjoy seeing your grandnephew's 
first time."

The man laughed in pleased surprise.  "Well, I _would_, of course.  
I'd consider it an honor -- in fact a unique privilege.  I just 
can't believe ...  Ah, I see.  Maybelle, we'll both ascend with 
you, if you don't mind."

"Which end?  I thought you wanted frenching."

He chuckled.  "Sometimes I can't tell when you're joking, my dear.  
I meant we'll both go upstairs with you."

"Would you like some more girls?"

"Maybe Armie could entertain them later, eh?  For now you will more 
than do."  The senator stood up, prompting the others to do the 
same.

The lad leaned close and asked anxiously, "She won't bite, will 
she?"

Both sets of older lips twitched in suppressed laughter.  Despite 
her twinkle Maybelle assured, "I only give out thrills, Armie."

The lad ducked for a moment before asking, "Don't we have to pay 
first?"

"Don't be nervous, my boy," the man instructed.  "I run a tab here, 
of course.  Maybelle will tell Clancy."

"Who?"

"The guard and sometimes assistant manager for Madam Ruth.  Where 
is he tonight, Maybelle?"

"Fooling with her high and mighty's car, I think.  He'll be in 
directly."

"Ah, yes," said the senator, urging the lad after the woman toward 
the staircase.  "Armie, for your information Madam Ruth is the 
proud owner of a Stanley Steamer.  She makes an excursion every 
Sunday afternoon, weather permitting.  I'll have to ask her to give 
us a ride, huh?"

The lad's eyes lit.  "Would you, uncle?"

"She'll do it too," affirmed the woman, leading them up the stairs.  
"We'll all do anything for the senator."

"High and mighty?" asked the lad.

The woman answered snidely, "She wishes she was a European 
countess, or something."

"Surely not Madam Ruth!" declared the senator with a grin.  "Come, 
come, Maybelle.  She's the soul of complaisance."

"Whatever that means," said the woman with a sniff.  "I'm sure 
she's whatever _you_ want her to be."  She chuckled dryly.  "Hell, 
we all are.  Here's my room, Armie: Number Four, in case you get 
lost coming back from the toilets."

"Ah, where are they, ma'am -- Maybelle?"

She pointed.  "Down the backstairs, to your right.  Do you need to 
go, sweetie?"

"Well ..."  The lad looked at the senator, who nodded.  Armie 
swallowed and admitted, "I could do Number One."

"Oh, we'll handle that inside.  Come on."

The senator grinned.  "And she means that literally, you'll see."

When the woman rotated the switch for the dangling light, a figure 
stirred under the counterpane.  Maybelle dashed to the bed and 
threw off the thin cloth.

"Damn it, Tunny!  It's dark outside.  Get your ass on the porch and 
start shining shoes."  She applied a round-house slap to jean-
covered buttocks, propelling their owner to the floor, from which 
he bounced to bare feet: a pubescent boy with a tow head and blue 
eyes staring sleepily.  He rushed past the two men and vanished 
into the hall.

"Who was that?" asked Armie.

"He lives here too," answered the senator, closing the door.  
"Working him too hard, are you, Maybelle?"

"Work, ha!  His mornings have got too busy."

"So I've heard."

"From Hazel, I bet.  Well, she started it.  She got his juice 
first."

"He told you that?"

"She did."  Maybelle brought forward an enamel chamber pot but set 
it down again.  She grinned at Armie.  "Let the lizard hang out and 
we'll drain it."

The senator laughed.  "Draining the lizard?  That's how they talk 
in the northeast, Maybelle.  Where'd you learn it?"

"Before we came here I spent a little time in Boston to welcome the 
fleet home from the Philippines.  I like some of the ways they do 
things up there."

"My god, not too many ways, I hope!  But go ahead, Armie.  She'll 
hang your clothes for you."

"Ah, you too, uncle?"

"I?"  The old man shook his head.  "I might take off my pants, if 
it pleases you, but be sure my looks can't compete with yours -- 
not to speak of Maybelle's."

The lad's hand went to his necktie but hesitated.

The woman grinned.  "Don't be shy, sweetie.  Here, I'll get us 
started."

She gathered up the peignoir and threw it off over her head, 
standing forth in pale plumpness, brown nipples jiggling on large 
breasts, stretch marks visible there and on her outer thighs.  She 
retained a wide red cummerbund from the top of thick pubes into the 
overhang of heavy breasts.  It was not tight enough over the swell 
of her belly to serve as a corset.

The lad licked his lips unconsciously at the sight above and below.  
Off came his coat and tie, given her to hang in the closet.

As the undressing proceeded, the senator asked, "Have you become 
unconvinced, Maybelle, of the efficacy of complete nudity in 
attracting the male of the species?"

She blinked at him and chuckled.  "You can't always tell when I'm 
joking and I can't always tell when you're speaking English.  If 
you mean this" -- fingering the cummerbund -- it's because of my 
mother's marks.  They get worse as I gain weight, though you'd 
think it would smooth them out."

"Badges of honor," he asserted.

"For wives, maybe."  She smiled brightly with lowered eyes as the 
lad held out his undershorts.  "Oh, that's a sweet one!  I believe 
it's perfectly straight.  He sure is glad to see me, ain't he?"

"Ah, ah ..."

"Here.  Feel of this."  She stepped close to guide one of his hands 
high, the other low.  "And this.  Not that you need any more 
starch.  But if this is your first race, you ought to learn the 
course."

"That includes armpits," said the senator, advancing to her side.  
He raised that arm and bent his own nose to the puffy hair.  "Ah, 
an unrivaled bouquet!  When did you last bathe, Maybelle?"

"Before supper.  Am I too rank?"

"Not at all.  That odor can even stiffen _me_ -- or start to.  
Sucking that sailor's cock did something for you too.  Armie, put 
your nose in here."

The lad complied, sniffed several times and raised wide eyes to his 
uncle.

"Stinks, does it?" asked the man with a chuckle.

"It, it's ... delicious."  A red tongue parted the hair.

"Hey, that tickles," complained the woman with a shivery laugh.

The senator winked at her.  "But it tastes so good, Maybelle, 
especially at his age."

"I know something that tastes better," she affirmed tartly, backing 
out of the encircling arms and dropping to her knees before the 
lad, who now stood naked except for stockings and garter straps.

"Oh my god!" he cried, mouth fallen open, staring down at the 
woman's dark head and full white shoulders.

"Like the feel of that, do you?" asked the man, bending to study 
the contact.  "But you forgot to drain the lizard, Maybelle."

She backed away, releasing the lad with a distinct "pop" that 
caused him to quiver, and fetched the chamber pot midway of his 
knees.  With the firm manhood in hand she directed it downward.  
"Cut loose, sweetie."

The lad strained but soon confessed, "I don't ...  I don't think 
any will come out."

The woman studied him and grinned.  "We waited too long.  Were you 
that way too, senator?"

"Oh, god, yes.  At his age pissing is almost impossible once the 
good feeling begins."

She sighed.  "Men _are_ different."

"Oh, yes!  And I'd say it's well begun for Armie.  You could finish 
him in no time."

She laid the pot aside.  "Then come to mamma.  You've got such a 
sweet, smooth cock, Armie.  Here's where I would've won my bet."

She was mistaken.  With nearly an inch to go her brows shot upward 
and she gulped.  A white rivulet spurted from a corner of the 
closed lips.  She rolled twinkling eyes around at the fascinated 
man and loosened her mouth, letting bubbly effluent escape to 
jutting breast tops.  The lad groaned, clenching eyes and fists 
shut, body trembling.

Fortunately he was standing with the backs of his legs against the 
bedside.  He simply flopped backward upon it, letting himself 
bounce.  The penis issued a final spurt that landed on his belly.  
He lay as if unconscious except for the obvious tension in arms and 
legs.

"Whew!" exclaimed Maybelle, licking her lips.  "What a load!"

The senator said, "A mouthful, was it?"

"I'll say!"  She bent to study the man's groin through his dangling 
shirt tails.  "Did watching do anything for you?"

"You know it."  He waddled forward, having never stepped out of his 
britches, and pulled the shirt tails aside.

She fondled him briefly and nodded.  "Almost there!"  The pouting 
lips enclosed him, sliding up the partly firm shaft.

After a while, spent mostly watching the lad's recovery of interest 
in his surroundings, the man sighed.  "It feels good, Maybelle.  
You have a most skillful tongue and throat.  Unfortunately I'm not 
the man I once was, as you well know.  This lad, however: take a 
look at him.  That cock's as hard now as when it white-washed your 
tonsils.  Could it maybe do something for _you_?"

She took a quick breath, eyes turning to consider the described 
object.  "Oh, that reminds me.  We still have to drain it."

"Only of _water_!" agreed the senator with a chuckle.

The lad sat on the edge of the bed with the pot before him.  His 
stream started slowly but built to greater force.

"I love to watch youngsters do that," admitted the woman, grinning 
at the sight.

The senator nodded.  "I understand.  I've paid women to show me the 
equivalent."

Maybelle added, "Just think how many babies it would make if it was 
white."

The old man shook his head and winked at the fascinated lad.  When 
he finally produced a last squirt, the woman's mouth enclosed him 
briefly before setting the now-gurgling pot aside.  She stood, 
looking at him purposefully.

The man chuckled.  "Lay back, my boy, and try her other end."

The lad obeyed but with an ambivalent expression.  He said in a low 
voice, "Only if ... only if you really want me, Maybelle."

She smiled, sinking to one knee on the bed.  "Lord, Armie, that's 
what I'm here for."  One leg passed over his midsection.  Taking 
the organ in hand, she settled upon it, wiggling her hips to 
accommodate the passage.  She smiled down at him.  "How does that 
feel?"

"Oh, god!"

Her voice grew tender.  "Am I truly your first, Armie?"

"Yes, Maybelle.  I love you."

"I know you do, honey.  And you'll remember me.  Let's make your 
first time your sweetest."

"You ... already have."

She glanced up over her shoulder.  "What's your opinion of that, 
senator?"

He smiled.  "You'll find out, Armie, that in fact the mouth is a 
poor second.  Cunt was designed for cock, after all."  He chuckled.  
"I know the idea of sticking your piss-pipe down somebody's throat 
is a powerful one.  But that's all it is: an idea.  Now you're in 
the real thing, where it feels good for her too.  You'll soon see 
the difference that makes.  You'll last longer this time."

"Not much, I bet," said Maybelle confidently.  She leaned forward, 
caught the lad's hands, raised them to her breasts and ordered, 
"Squeeze me."  Her hips began that combination slide and roll that 
maximizes contact between mucous membranes.

"Oh, god, oh, god," the lad muttered thickly, "I'm coming again!"

"That's right," agreed the senator with a chuckle.  "I forgot how 
quickly a young dick restarts when left to dangle while spurting."

"God, it feels good!" declared the woman.  "Hang on, honey, you're 
in for a ride."

Soon the mattress was bouncing from the woman's strenuous efforts.  
The lad's face was drawn tight in a mixture of agony and ecstasy.  
The woman issued soft screams to match her rhythm.  Her motion 
ceased except to shiver over her whole body.  At last she quieted 
except for gasping breath.  Her flushed face rose to grin weakly 
down at the staring lad.  "I love you too, sweetie," she declared 
between puffs.  "I swear that thing got bigger."


* * *


They parted at her door, the woman turning toward the backstairs to 
see Clancy, she said.  "But please stick around, gentlemen.  The 
night's so young yet."

"We're only going to the parlor," the senator assured her, "to 
study the art."

Armie watched the chuckling woman sway down the hall in her red 
peignoir before joining his uncle at the head of the stairs.  "I 
intend to ask her to marry me," he declared, staring at the old man 
defiantly.

But the senator only smiled.  "I asked my first one that.  It's a 
good thing she was as smart as Maybelle."

They descended the staircase leisurely.  

"I mean it," said the lad.

"Armie, you're 16.  You can't marry without your parents' 
permission."

"Then I'll return when I'm 21."

"I hope you do.  But you'll be a different man then."

"No, I won't."

"Perhaps not.  Let me say I'm glad you feel the way you do."

"Then you'll help me argue with Father?"

The man shook his head.  "Not glad because you're right.  Under 
these circumstances, with this woman, you aren't.  Glad because you 
have the sensitivity to appreciate what she did for you.  She made 
you a man in one of the only two ways that count."

They reached the parlor floor and against the wall found seats that 
women had vacated.  Less women were present and more men.  Two 
maids were passing with trays of drinks.  

"What's the other one?" asked the lad.

"Ask me again when you're 21."


END
Varangian: ludmax11@hotmail.com
kellis@dhp.com

NOTICE: Email to Kellis must have a "subject:" line containing
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--Kellis

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