Place d’armes

By Unknown 
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The man sat in his car at the end of the long, dark driveway for quite a while before deciding to venture further. Several things caused him to hesitate, not the least of which was the thought that when he pulled out of this driveway again he may be changed for life. The numbers on the battered mailbox at the end of the driveway told him he had the right address but all he could see in the darkness was a thick jungle of overgrowth. Somewhere amidst the tangle of palms and weeds there must be a house but if there was there were no lights to guide him along. He knew he was expected—he’d made the phone call earlier that afternoon and received explicit directions on how to reach the place in the swampy bayous far on the outskirts of New Orleans. But why was there no sign of human life? At length he took a deep breath and let the car roll slowly along the drive until his headlights shined along the side of a long, narrow house, leaving the front still hidden in the dark. No lights came from within or without. Letting his car idle he stepped out of its air conditioned comfort and into the close, choking, humid pall of a Louisiana summer night. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark he saw that the house featured a long gallery along the front and side and the windows were tightly shuttered. He began to wonder if maybe he’d made the trip for nothing when suddenly a voice came from the front of the house.

Nom de Dieu, shut off the car, turn off them lights and come on up over here.” It was the same voice he’d spoken to over the phone earlier but he didn’t see from where it was coming. He turned the key and hit the headlight switch plunging the entire area into pitch blackness.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Up on over here.” All at once he noticed the red glow of a cigarette ember hovering in the dark at the front of the house. He went over toward it and a dim, human shaped shadow sitting on the front steps came into focus.

“Are you Doc St. John?”

“Ain’t no one else. Tell me again where you get my name and number?”

“A woman in Jackson Square. A psychic named Mama Dee.”

“She give you something to give me?”

“Just this little bean.” The man held out a small, black, shrivelled bean. The shadow hand took it.

“Yep. That’s a tonka bean. I know you tellin’ the truth. Here.” He handed the bean back. “You’ll want to give this back to her. Have a sit down. Now, let me understand this; you unhappy with the body God give ya, am I right?”

“Well not unhappy with it. But I do wish it was a little different. Mama Dee saw me walking with this….person….I’m…seeing, gave us a reading and said you could help.”

“This…’person’…you seeing is a man, yes?”

“How did you know?”

“Looka here, rule number one don’t ever ask how come I know nuthin’, you understand?” The man nodded. Doc St. John continued, “So you want your body to be more to his liking, is that it?”

“Oh, no; he likes my body fine. I just wish mine was more like his. You see, he has—well—you may not believe this—he has six arms.”

Doc St. John laughed out loud. “He’s one of them multi peoples, huh? And you want to be one too, huh? Well, all right.”

“Look, I didn’t come all this way to be laughed at.” The man said, standing up. “Can you help me or can’t you?”

“Mama Dee, she told you I could, huh? Did she tell you how much it would cost?”

“She said two thousand.”

“You bring that kind of money with you?”

“Cash. It’s in the car.” The shadow sat still for a moment as Doc St. John mulled things over. Then suddenly the red ember flew through the air across the yard as Doc flicked the cigarette away.

Oui, mon petit homme. You go over to the car and get it while I go in and get things ready,” he said.

“What if you can’t help me?” asked the man. “What if it doesn’t take?”

“It’ll take. I guarantee.”

“You guarantee it, so if it doesn’t work I get the money back?”

“Naw, now I didn’t say nothin’ like that. I said I guarantee it’ll take. Looka here, you either trust me or you don’t and if you don’t then you can just git on up outta here with your two-armed self and go throw beads on Bourbon Street.”

“I’ll trust you.” The man started toward the car.

“Wait. I gotta go up into the house and get things ready. You get the money and wait here on the gallery until I’m ready for you to come in. Don’t open the door or look inside until I tell you.” He started in and hesitated. “Just six arms?” He asked.

“Well….and three penises. Just like him.”

Mon dieu.” Doc laughed a loud hearty laugh. “Well, that’s a small request. I’ll throw those in for lagniappe.” [A lagniappe is a little something extra for free.]

“Ok. Thanks.” Doc St. John went into the house as the man went over to the car and reached into the glove compartment. He pulled out a bank envelope containing 20 one hundred dollar bills. He stood for a moment, holding the money and wondered if he was making a mistake. What if the guy was a fake? What could he do, go run to the cops and say this guy promised to make him six-armed, didn’t keep his word and still took his money? Two thousand dollars was money he really couldn’t afford but if the guy was for real and could make his body more like Randy’s it would be money well spent. Suddenly he heard a loud scream from within the house. He looked up and saw light coming through the shutters. A moment later he heard a drum beat. The light from inside the house flickered so that the shutters appeared to move and dance and beckon to him, mesmerizing him, making him want to approach. He was completely aware of an almost hypnotic pull and, knowing he could take still control and drive away, he gave in and slowly approached the house. Advancing toward the rhythmic drum beat he went up onto the gallery; the front door was cracked open. Ignoring Doc’s warning not to open the door or look inside he peered in through the crack.

Inside the house Doc St. John was naked and standing at a high African drum. Although there was nothing in his voice or accent that suggested his race, he proved to be a black man of somewhat advanced years. For his age he had a magnificent body; lean and sinewy, his skin was a dark bronze color. In the humidity he sparkled as beads of sweat reflected the light of several candles, running down his solid chest in rivulets. A long, thick, live snake coiled around his waist and spiraled down his right leg before trailing off onto the floor. Beside him was a low altar with several religious candles burning, a bowl of water set up on a wooden tripod, another bowl containing what looked like the organs of a chicken, small piles of colored powder and figurines of assorted Roman Catholic saints. In a censer there was incense burning on a small, glowing lump of burning charcoal. As Doc continued to beat the drum the door swung open an inch or two more with a slight creak. Perhaps it was the way the house had settled that made the door move; it couldn’t have been a breeze because the choking summer air was close and still. And yet it could have been something else because barely had it inched open then Doc St. John looked up and his eyes met the man on the gallery. He had a strange expression; full of lust but not lust of the flesh. A force had taken possession of the old man who stood, beating the drum, clenching his jaw, his body rigid so that every vein, every muscle, even his penis, was bulging out in a solid show of spiritual and physical strength. The man’s heart pounded in his ears and throat, beating in unison with the drum. ba-DUM. ba-DUM. ba-DUM. Finding himself being drawn in he pushed the door open and stepped inside from the darkness.

Into the candlelight.

Into the Drumbeat.

He shut the door behind him.


The next thing he knew he was lying on the floor, his head in Doc St. John’s lap, who was no longer nude but wearing a white robe. Doc was holding the man’s head and pouring a draught down his throat. The man choked on the liquid as he regained consciousness.

“There, there.” Said Doc, softly, gently like a lullaby. “Relax. It’s just wine. Drink. It will bring you back to life.” Startled, the man hesitated. Doc, guessing his thoughts, smiled and shook his head. “No, you didn’t die. You just feel that way.” Weak and barely able to support himsef the man lifted up as best he could and sipped the wine. Doc St. John stood up and slid a pillow under the man’s head. “You rest now. By and by your strength will return and you come out to the gallery. You ain’t finished yet, though. You have more to do. But you’ll like it. Oh, yes; you’ll like it a whole lot.” He went outside. The man lay on the floor looking around the room.

There was no sign of the snake or the drum. The candles had been extinguished and the room was lit by an electric lamp. In the harsh light the altar looked less sinister than before. The man had no idea what time it was, how long the ceremony lasted or how long he had been unconscious. He tried to remember something about what had happened but the last thing he knew with any certainty was that Doc was blowing smoke over him from the censer. When he had the strength to lift his head he looked down at his body. He couldn’t believe what he saw! He forced himself to his feet and staggered out to the gallery.

“Hey!” He cried out. “You said you guaranteed this would work! I’m no different now than when I came here!”

“Now you just simmer down, mon petit insecte! Who do you think I am, that woman on TV, I can just wiggle my nose and BLINK-BLINK, you an octopus? Don’t I tell you there is more to do before it’s done? You want to know how come I can make a guarantee? Sit down and I will tell you. You ever hear of the great VooDoo queen, Marie Laveau?”

“Of course. You’re not going to tell me you’re descended from her, are you?”

“She was no VooDoo queen, her, she was a hairdresser. There was only one VooDoo queen in New Orleans. Delphine Ste. Jean; my great-great-grandmother! She was a free woman of color in Port Au Prince who came to New Orleans, that city of amateurs, to escape persecution from the Haitian slave rebellion. It didn’t take long for word to spread among the high-class creoles that she was, indeed, a very powerful Voodooienne; so much so that the hairdresser saw her as a threat to her power. So she had ma grandmere eliminated.”

“How did she do that?”

“Not the way you thinking. The hairdresser’s power was not in what she could do, but in who she did it for. Police commissioners, mayors, parish judges, even priests came to Marie Laveau because such was her reputation. Grandmere Delphine was hanged in the Place D’Armes—what they now call Jackson Square—for a crime she did not commit. They hanged an innocent woman on a charge that was trumped up by Marie Laveau. The sole evidence was on her word alone. With Grandmere Delphine out of the way the hairdresser was free to continue her reign but, had she lived, my grandmother would have made history as the greatest Voodooienne of them all.” He lit another cigarette, the light from the flame revealed a face of mixed passion and pain. “She’s still around though, her. Oh, yes. She still looks after me. Looka here, I may be the end of our line but my family is backed by the powers of Africa, Haiti and New Orleans. So don’t anger the Gods by insulting them with your damned doubt.”

“You said there was something I have to do yet. What is it?”

“This, petit homme, is the part you gonna like. You know that….’person’….you seein’? You got to go make love to him.”

“What?”

“I tol’ you you gonna like it a lot. You got to go make love to him like you never made love before. Only you can’t speak one word.”

“You mean about what happened here tonight?”

“I mean about nothin’!” He stood up. “Don’t you say nothin’ ‘bout nothin’ until you through makin’ love to this….’person’. The rest will take care of itself.” He started in the house. “And one more thing; forget you ever came here.” He went in and closed the door, leaving the man on the gallery in darkness.


Randy sat at the computer desk grading his students’ exams, two arms folded across his chest, two on the keyboard, one on the mouse and one holding a can of soda. He was having a difficult time concentrating; worried about Paul. That psychic in Jackson Square had him all fired up about something and he suspected that wherever he went had something to do with her. It was well after 1:00 a.m. when the door opened and Paul came in.

“Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick!” Randy got up and went over to where Paul was standing in the doorway; just standing, saying nothing. “What is it? Where did you go? Are you all right?” Paul felt a strange sensation welling up inside him; a strength he had never known before. When it came to physical playing around, wrestling and such, Randy was by far the stronger of the two (especially with a four-armed advantage) but Paul was feeling as though he could easily throw Randy to the ground. He grabbed him by the head, pulled him close and kissed him. He kissed him so hard he mashed Randy’s mouth. Randy pulled away. “Hey, what are you doing? You’re hurting me…..” Paul pulled him and kissed again. Randy tried to push him away with all six arms, but Paul held firm. Finally he let loose his grip and Randy took a step back.

“Paul, talk to me—what’s going on?” Paul answered by grabbing Randy’s t-shirt at the collar. He pulled and easily tore the front into 2 halves, revealing Randy’s solid chest and stomach. Paul wrapped his arms around Randy’s waist and began sucking on his nipple. Randy struggled but the pleasure was too great. He didn’t know what was going on; Paul had never been such a sexual animal. He put his top pair of hands on the back of Paul’s head and pushed him harder into his nipple. Paul licked. Then he sucked. Then he bit—so hard he nearly bit it off. With two hands on Paul’s head, two scratching Paul’s back and two squeezing his biceps Randy grabbed and clutched at his lusty partner. Then, all at once, Randy felt himself being lifted into the air. Now he was frightened. Paul wasn’t that strong. He’d certainly never been able to lift Randy before. He was being carried into the dining room where the lights were off and and it was dark. Paul stood beside the dining room table, cradling his partner in his arms and then—

Randy heard the sound of an arm sweeping across the table, shoving everything onto the floor. But how could that be? He felt both of Paul’s arms holding him. Paul laid him down on the table, in the dark, and began to undo Randy’s pants. Randy felt Paul’s two hands undoing the belt, unbuttoning, unzipping, freeing Randy’s cocks from their denim home. Paul’s two hands began sliding Randy’s pants down but…two more hands began to massage Randy’s three cocks. “Paul, what’s going on?” But Paul didn’t answer. He just rubbed Randy’s hips with two hands and jacked two of Randy’s cocks with another pair while he began to suck the cock in the middle. Randy realized that Paul’s body had been shapeshifted and that the psychic woman was involved in some way. He didn’t question it, though, he just laid back and allowed Paul to rub his body, jack his cocks, suck his cock….and pinch his nipples. Randy did a quick count up and it added to six! Paul had six arms, just like him. He stopped trying to figure it out, concentrating, instead, on hands, hands everywhere on his body.

After a time Randy felt Paul raise up. He climbed up onto the table and straddled him. He began to move up and sat on Randy’s chest. Randy felt Paul rubbing his cock on his pec. No….not cock. COCKS! He tried to determine how many—two? Three? More? But all he could feel was the sensation of several cock heads smearing precum on his chest.

“Paul, please.” Randy said, “Please turn on the light. I want to see you.” Paul lifted up, stretched over and turned on the light. Randy gasped! Like himself, Paul had six arms. But they weren’t a vertical stack, like his; the top arms were front-to-back laterals and the bottom pair was tucked neatly beneath. He looked down at his cocks and he now had three. But unlike Randy’s which were all side-by-side in a row, Paul’s were pyramid shaped, two on bottom, one above. Randy began to jack the bottom two and slipped the top cock into his mouth. Paul reached around behind him with three hands and placed on each of Randy’s cocks. Randy’s hips began to move. He sucked his partner’s top cock and jacked the other two, allowing his other four hands to meander all over Paul’s body. Paul continued to give Randy’s cocks a three-handed jack while he used two others to cradle his head at his crotch. He reached down, took his cock out of Randy’s mouth and held all three together. Randy’s tongue circled round and round the three cock heads, rapidly stimulating each one.

“Oh, FUCK!” Cried Paul in absolute ecstasy. It was the first word he’d spoken since he’d been home. Suddenly a look of fright swept across his face. He jumped off the table and stood as if waiting for something to happen.

“What’s wrong?” Asked Randy, lying on the table and lifting his head. Paul’s response was to hold up a finger, indicating to wait a moment. A moment passed; and another and another. Nothing happened.

“I was told not to speak. I guess maybe it would break the charm. But nothing’s happened so I guess I’m ok.”

“Paul, what did you do?”

“You know that trip to Acapulco we were saving for?”

“Yes……?”

“Well, I got your Acapulco, right here!” He came up to Randy, lifted his legs, spit on his cocks and guided the top one into Randy’s hungry ass. Randy’s head dropped back onto the table with a loud sigh. Paul jacked Randy’s cocks as his top cock fucked him hard. After a few minutes he pulled out long enough to press two cocks together and guide them both in. Randy reacted in pain; he was used to fucking with 2 or 3 dicks, but his own ass wasn’t used to being stretched out so far. Paul slid them in and waited for Randy to become accustomed to it and, after he relaxed, began to pump him hard. Suddenly Randy’s left cock spewed into Paul’s hand.

“All three!” Said Randy. “Put them all in!” Paul pulled out, held all three together and rammed then in. Randy screamed as the dicks entered his hole and his right cock began to jet streams of spooge in a high arc that came down and covered his own face. Still jacking his partner’s two spent dicks and the one that was yet to cum, Paul took a fourth hand, wiped the cum off Randy’s face and then licked it clean. Watching him lick his cum covered hand with 3 cocks throbbing in his ass took Randy over the brink as his middle cock exploded. And suddenly Paul was screaming in ecstasy—louder and longer than Randy had ever heard him scream before. He felt all three cocks becoming swollen and pulsing as they all released a thick flow of cum into Randy’s ass at the same time. Knowing how mind-blowing a single triple orgasm could be, Randy was overjoyed that Paul’s first multidicked orgasm was a triple all at once instead of one at a time in succession. Paul collapsed on top of Randy, as weak and as completely spent as he’d been when he woke up on the floor of Doc St. John’s. Randy gently stroked Paul’s body until he had the strength to reposition and lie next to him on the dining room table.

“How much of our vacation money did you spend on this?”

“All of it. Are you pissed?”

“Are you kidding?” He took all six of Paul’s hands in his. “I’ve seen Acapulco.” Randy kissed Paul, deeply and passionately. Paul’s cocks responded by growing hard. Randy rolled on top of his partner for Round Two.


“Excuse me, can you tell me where is Mama Dee?”

“Who?” The psychic at the card table on the Cathedral side of Jackson Square. wearing a typically hokey get-up, had gone to great lengths to look like Anne Rice. She failed.

“Mama Dee. The woman in the white dress that was sitting here yesterday.” Paul pointedto the empty space next to the psychic and clutched the tonka bean in one of his new hands.

“There wasn’t nobody in that space yesterday.”

“Yes, there was. She was wearing a white dress and her hair was wrapped in big white bandanna.”

“No, honey, no one was there. No one ever sits there because it’s haunted. Legend has it that a long time ago some voodoo queen named Delphine was executed in that spot for something she didn’t do. Back in the days when this was called The Place D’Armes.”


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