Paramour Rights

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Interracial love, sex and unspoken rights.
11.5k words
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*****

White men taking sexual advantage of black women has a long history in the south. The assumption that powerful white men could take a black woman as a sexual partner whether she wanted to or not, whether she was married or not, regardless of her desires or social status was intellectually known as "Paramour Rights". Free of any real legal responsibility, for the white man this served to keep black women victimized and "in their place". For a white man seeking to acquire and retain personal, sexual power and control taking on a colored mistress and fathering mixed-race children was the ideal circumstance.

As late, as the 1950s there were parts of the Segregationist South where many white men still practiced this unwritten law of the pre-Civil War South that allowed a white man to claim a black woman and force her to have his children. Though not always discernable, regardless of the color of her skin, a woman was considered a "Negress" if she could be proven to have even a single drop of African blood.

I grew up in the South, and at the start of World War Two, I enlisted and served as an Air Force pilot. When I came home, I went to school, eventually earned a law degree and successfully passed the Bar. I guess you could say I became a big fish in a small pond with developing political aspirations. Well liked by the community, both white and black, I enjoyed a reputation as a benevolent and honest lawyer who administered to the needy white folks and our Negroes as well.

The environment in which I lived was privileged, white and entitled. While I understood, using another person for whatever reason to be morally wrong, like many men, my ego, sexual desires, and carnal needs won out. Looking back, I know I've done things that I am not proud of, foremost being my initial attitude toward Frannie and the way I treated her with such brutish self-interest. By the time I discovered Frannie, my marriage was already in trouble. I had indulged in several affairs with various ladies, and the fact that I was much older than Fran didn't seem to matter, all I could think about was having her.

*****

I first saw Frances Laurette Randolph one morning in town while accompanying my then wife Elizabeth shopping. Of course, I didn't mean to stare, but her loveliness literally took my breath away. She was probably about twenty years old then, young, innocent, untouched. This gorgeous honey colored creature was just under 5'5", maybe 110 lbs., slender but shapely, with firm high breasts and a tight, rounded behind. She had large brown eyes framed by long, thick lashes and a full sensual mouth. I think her hair might have been her crowning glory. It was the most radiant shade of chestnut brown I can ever remember seeing and she wore her long, thick beautiful hair loose, cascading over her shoulders. Despite my wife standing there next to me, I found myself wondering what it would feel like to have that chestnut hued softness brush between my legs when she bent over me to suck my dick. A car horn blew in the distance and broke my reverie, my attention once again drawn back to watching her leisurely window shop as she made her way down the street toward us.

The day was warm and humid and she wore a full skirted yellow summer dress that tied at the waist with a wide yellow satin ribbon. The scoop necked bodice demurely displayed the blush of her breasts captured beneath the soft fabric, and in accordance with the fashion of the day, she wore a prim pair of smart, white gloves and a broad brimmed hat to protect her face from the heat and hot sun.

She walked down the street smiling and chatting with colored folks she met on the street but would only smile deferential at the white women and actually avert her eyes or lower her head just the slightest bit when she passed a white man.

She drew closer and when she passed by me, I swear my cock twitched in my pants and I could feel a hard-on starting to grow. Before she could avert her eyes, I briefly made eye contact with her and smiled nonthreateningly. She looked at me and smiled shyly but continued pass, the scent of lemon verbena wafted from her and lingered in the air. That scent would always remind me of her.

I couldn't take my eyes off her and could feel my jaw tighten when I saw a young Negro man come out of the feed store and intimately touch her bare arm as they talked. For some reason, this infuriated me.

I was more than a little taken with her, and I wanted to find out more about her. I mentioned this to Bill, one of the other attorneys at the court house. Bill stopped thumbing through the old dusty law book and with a big shit eating grin said, "You don't know who she is, do you?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Damn it, man, that woman you got the hots for is Frances Randolph, old Jim Randolph's stepdaughter. You know, he and his wife run the general store down there in the Quarters . . . and she ain't white."

Frances was actually mixed-race, what white folks around here called Quadroon and the coloreds called "high-yellow" or almost white. "She a beauty, there's no denying that, hell she's way prettier than most of the white girls in town. From what I hear, her momma is a Quadroon from around New Orleans and old Jim is her second husband, Fran's daddy was a white man," Bill went on.

I started asking around town, talking to some of the older colored folks and it became obvious that there had been more than one occurrence of her female relatives being involved with and impregnated by white men. That explained her appearance and coloring, the result of several generations of race mixing on her mother's side. If you didn't know her true background you might easily assume she was white.

Fran's Momma, Amelia, grew up in a small parish outside of New Orleans. Like her mother before her she and came from a continuing line of mulatto and quadroon women bearing children fathered by white men. Fran's biological father was a white man and her Momma had been a young servant in the old man's house. From what I could piece together from the gossip and hearsay, her mother had been involved with her white employer since she was a girl. The old man was thrilled when Amelia became pregnant with Fran. He foolishly thought Amelia and baby Fran would remain in the house after her birth and that their relationship would continue as it had in the past. Of course, things didn't work out that way; his wife threatened to divorce him, and soon after Fran's birth, he sent Amelia and the baby to live in a little cabin that he owned near town, and that's where Fran grew up until her father died and her Momma married Jim Randolph.

Frannie was young, and would have been a kid when I went into the Air Force. By the time I finished law school, married and returned here she was living in a different town, staying with relatives until she graduated school and came back here to teach. When I saw her in town that day, she had only returned a few months prior after being offered the job of teacher at the colored school.

I was surprised and disappointed when I found out she wasn't white. It didn't matter though, because I had already made up my mind that I was going to have Frances Randolph.

*****

I was always careful to be respectful whenever I saw Fran in town. Despite our social and racial differences, she always seemed pleased to see and talk with me. As she became more comfortable with me, she often talked of her time away at school, her teaching career, her fiancé and their plans to marry within the year.

As a popular and well thought of attorney, I was community minded and held a seat on the town's Supervisory Board and on the town's Colored School Board as well. When we would see each other in town, at School Board meetings, or even on occasion at her parent's general store I always made a point of being cordial and friendly, careful not to appear threatening or intimidating. I didn't want to frighten her. I suspected her mother was suspicious of my motives, and no doubt had talked to Fran warning her to be watchful around me.

I wanted Fran, and the fact that she was colored made it all the easier to have her. No courting and coaxing as would be expected with a white woman, but I needed to take my time and be patient until the right opportunity presented themselves. Things went on like this for several months. She trusted me. Frannie was very predictable, and it wasn't difficult to figure out her daily routine, which very seldom varied. Typically, she would stay about an hour or so after the school day ended grading papers and preparing for the next day's class. When she finished those tasks, she'd walk the mile or so to her folks' home where she stayed.

Late one afternoon I saw her when she left the school and walked down the quickly darkening road the short distance home. I followed her at a distance in my car. As she walked the curve in the road where the Michael's old abandoned shack now stood, I sped up and came along side of her. Stopping the car ahead of her, I pulled off the road, got out and walked back to where she was standing.

"Mr. Jeffries, what are you doing our here?" she asked, smiling politely but eyeing me suspiciously.

"Sorry, Fran, Miss Randolph, I didn't mean to startle you," I said giving her my broadest most sincere smile. "I haven't seen you in a while, Fran, how are things, how are your folks doing," I asked. I could sense her raising apprehension and unease. As I talked, I was gradually backing her up until she was against the side of the building.

Feeling uncomfortable with my closeness, she put her hands up against my chest and started to walk around me saying, "Mr. Jeffries, I think I . . . ." and before she could finish her statement I grabbed her arm and pulled her to me. She had no chance to scream before I covered her mouth and, with one arm around her waist, pulled her around to the rear of the shack where we wouldn't be seen if anyone drove down the road.

She was struggling with me. Frannie managed to break away and took off running blindly through the thick pine trees. I ran after her and just when I thought she might get away from me, I caught hold of her blouse and practically tore it from her back. I spun her around and slammed her into one of the trees. She kept trying to get away and I raised my hand impulsively to slap her, but caught myself and lowered my hand when I saw the wild, terrified look in her eyes. She stopped fighting me and stood there stunned and scared.

"Please, Mr. Jeffries, please," she cried, tears streaming unchecked down her beautiful face. "Why are you doing this?" she whimpered when I pressed her back against one of the trees and pinned her wrists above her head. "Let me go and I promise I won't say anything about this to anyone."

"Shut up!" I growled, angry with myself for having almost struck her.

Obviously terrified she stood there quiet and submissive. I undid my pants and stroked my cock until it was covered in a thin, sticky film of pre-cum. When I was fully erect, I lifted her skirt up, pushed my hard, hot member inside her and pounded into her until I spewed my load in her. I held her there pressed against the tree until my erection softened and slipped out. I leaned forward my head bent and resting on the tree trunk behind her, "Too fast, I didn't want to cum that fast," I mumbled into her hair. "Fuck . . . I couldn't hold it anymore."

I released her wrists and adjusted my pants up. I walked up the road where I had parked the car and drove it back to where Fran was still leaning against the tree. I got out of the car and stood there looking at her.

Standing in front of her, the fear was clear on her face. When I reached out to help her, she cried out, and cringed away from me. "Look, girl . . . I'm gonna take you home, but if you ever say anything to anyone I swear I'll come after your nigger ass! Do you understand?"

Of course, she understood. We both understood what had happened between us and what it meant.

She said nothing at first, just stared pass me and nodded her head, finally in a faint voice she said, "Yes, I understand . . . I won't say anything." I could tell she was in a mild shock. I pulled her up, and realized she hurt when she tried to walk, and I knew why . . . she had never had a man before. Her legs were so weak and shaky I had to half carry her to my car.

*****

I pulled the car up in front of the house and her folks hearing the car motor hurried out. Her stepfather Jim, a tall, dark, thin man, cautiously walked over to the driver's side window, "Mr. Jeffries, Mr. Jefferies . . . evening, Sir, good to see you. What can I do for you?" he asked.

"I got your girl here, Jim. Looks like she been with one of them nigger boys. I found her wandering along the road a little while ago," I lied.

Her momma Amelia screamed when she came around to the passenger side and saw Fran with that blank stare and the dirt and hints of blood on her clothes. Jim called for one of his boys to help Fran out of the car and take her into the house. Her stepfather looked at Fran and back at me, trying desperately to control his fury. He knew what had happened. As sure as he was black, he knew it hadn't been any nigger boy who had done this.

"Thank you for bringing her home, Sir," he said clenching his fists so tight his nails dug into his palms. I turned, got into the car and drove away, wanting to get away from there. I clearly understood I had acted like an animal, but I also knew I wanted to have her again.

That's how it started. They all knew what had happened that night and I'm sure they talked about it among themselves, but they wouldn't have dared confront me with their accusations.

For a week, the school closed, and Frannie stayed near home or if she did go out her stepfather or one of the boys was always with her. They knew there was nothing they could do about what had happened, and they reluctantly resigned themselves to that fact.

While I was disgusted with what I had done and with myself, I knew the course of my life and Frannie's had changed and would never be the same.

*****

Miss Frances Randolph was the new colored schoolteacher. Our growing town now had two teachers for the coloreds, one for the older children and now Fran for the younger ones. Though some folks gossiped that Fran was sometimes standoffish, uppity, and didn't know her place, folks colored and white generally liked her.

What with the embarrassment, her concern for her parents and their livelihood, I was confident she would never reveal what had happened. Though due to nothing she had done, Frannie had a lot to lose, her reputation, the respect accorded her family by the Negro community and I suppose the most important thing to her at that time was her marriage engagement to a young professor at the Negro Technical College in Hallettsville.

Despite what I had done, none of that meant anything to me. As far as I was concerned, she was smart, attractive, vulnerable, easily controlled and colored. She had a beautiful, desirable body that I fully intended to use and enjoy with impunity. Initially I thought I would fuck her once and get on with my life, but there was something about her and I couldn't stop. I didn't think what I wanted was wrong, after all this was 1952 and I was Jonathan Franklin Jeffries, an important white man in this county. What I did was my business, and no one would ever dare challenge or question me, especially if it concerned me dallying with a colored woman.

As time went by, I would occasionally see her in town, but always with one of her male relatives nearby. Eventually she began venturing out alone and each time I saw her my groin would ache from wanting to bury myself inside her.

I took her the second time in the little shack of a school house where she taught. Fran had her back to the door absently cleaning the blackboard when I came in, locking the door behind me. "Fran," I called to get her attention and I could visibly see her body stiffen. She didn't turn around, but stood there petrified as I came up behind her, cupped her breasts, and rubbed myself against her ass. Frannie was one of those independent women who refused to bind herself with girdles and garter belts and I relished the feel of her warm body through the thinness of her clothes.

"Mr. Jeffries, no, no, please," she said, as I pulled her down onto the floor.

"Shhhhh, quiet, girl, I'll try not to hurt you," I cajoled as I impatiently raised the skirt of her dress and tore her thin underwear off. She squirmed trying to get from under me. I knew after the first time I took her she was intimidated by me, fearing if she didn't comply I would take out my displeasure on her family. Despite her emotional defiance, I knew she would not fight me.

"Don't make this harder on yourself than it need be, Fran," I said menacingly. "If you do, I swear I'll make you sorry." With that threat, she lay there quietly.

I had her on her back, with me kneeling between her slim legs. I pressed her knees back towards her chest and placed her legs on my shoulders. She grimaced as I entered her and moaned softly when I began stroking in and out of her recently virgin orifice. I held her hips in place and thrust into her so that my thick, hard cock filled every inch of her tight, warm pussy. Holding her tighter, I closed my eyes and fucked her until my body tensed and I began to grunt, spurting cum deep inside her. I opened my eyes and looked down at her when I felt her small body begin to quiver under mine. After a minute, her body softened under me and her breathing calmed. I bent and kissed her and felt the light moisture that covered her face, and knew Frannie had experienced her first orgasm.

It was getting dark and I wanted to get her home before people started wondering where she was. I pulled her to standing and helped her straighten her clothes. Finally gathering her courage she asked, "What did you do to me?" I didn't answer her but slipping my hand downward I cradled her femaleness and smiled at the sticky cum seeping from her pussy.

I kissed her forehead smelling the scent of verbena in her hair and whispered to her, "The more we do this, the more you'll want and enjoy it, Fran . . . I promise."

Embarrassed and confused by her body's reaction Fran kept her head down and refused to look at or talk to me on the drive to her home. When I pulled up in front of the house, her folks were waiting. Her Momma helped Fran inside as her stepfather stood on the porch, talking heatedly with me.

"I know what's been going on here, Mr. Jeffries, and if you touch my girl again I'll go to the sheriff. You and I know that what you're doing is wrong. Ain't you a lawyer? How can you do this? You gotta stop, Mr. Jeffries . . . you gotta leave her alone!"

Was this old man threatening me? It took all of my control not to laugh in his face.

"What the hell do you think you or the sheriff can do about it, old man?" I asked. I was getting angrier, and thought it better that I leave. After saying what I had come to say, I got into my car, and drove away leaving her stepfather standing helpless and impotent on the porch steps, tears pooling in his eyes.

"He said to get her stuff packed. He'd send someone to pick her up tomorrow," Jim said to his wife.

"Oh my god, Jimmy, we can't let her go . . . you know what he wants her for," his wife replied.

"I know, I know. Pack her things, Amelia; we're going to send her to stay with my sister. Hurry now, she needs to leave tonight," he shouted.

"White man or not, that bastard's not going to turn my little girl into his whore," he said as his tears began to fall.

*****

It took a couple of days, but I eventually found someone willing to tell me where she had gone. I couldn't explain why, but I went after her. My close friend Bill, who knew I had had sex with the girl called me crazy, saying she had put one of those Louisiana hoodoos or something on me, why else would I risk my marriage and act so irrationally over a colored girl. Bill had never had a woman like Fran, and what he didn't understand is that because of who I was, my color, my wealth, my social status, I truly felt I was for lack of a better word, "entitled" to Fran. She was mine, for as long as I wanted her, she'd do whatever I told her to do when I told her to do it.