The Fantasy Factory

Bateau Parish LA was the epitome of Small Town USA. While people puttered in and out of the five-n-dime, they carried their heads high with a knowledge that their little haven had remained just as it had been meant to be. The pace was slow; the sun was warm; and the status quo was never tinkered with. Cobblestone walks, and handcrafted benches were the norm in what passed for Downtown. Old English light posts that glowed with candlelight after dusk, dotted the curbs as families strolled by. Old men sat outside the post office on sunny days telling whoppers while their hounds lay peacefully under the shade trees. Mommas and their children filled the parks and ice cream parlors while daddies manicured their lawns and chatted over the fence about nothing in particular. Front doors stood open, car keys were left in ignitions and everybody knew everything about everyone else. Time elapsed as it had for at least a century prior. It was slow, steady and predictable. The outside world may well have been a universe away for all that they knew.

Amelié loved her shop; it was an extension of herself after all. Pots and pans, vacuum cleaners, and an old wash sink, adorned the shop's big picture window. It was surrounded by rust, teal green and chocolate paint. You'd think you had stepped back in time to old Sears and Roebuck catalogue days. On display were the items that a woman used "publicly" to maintain her household. Behind the curtains, a whole different world awaited. The items that a woman used "behind the scenes" that truly kept her world in balance. Nestled behind the curtains, was Ameliè's pride and joy. The room was filled with lazy strains of the jazz saxophones. Deep reds and dusky roses covered the walls, drawing one's eye to the original wainscoting and molding. Mahogany wood and Victorian furniture rounded out the room. Oriental rugs covered nearly every inch of the polished hardwood floors. The bayou had many layers, and the Fantasy Factory celebrated each and every one.

The merchandise, which was discreetly placed throughout the room, may have passed for a lady's personal collection rather than sale items, ranged from tiny little tickling feathers to the largest of "toys". Madame Amelié De Laurenco's Fantasy Factory boasted an inventory of the world's finest notions lotions and potions.

Standing at the counter, she took in the room and let the contrast sink in as a patron might. Every last detail would ensure that they saw, felt, and experienced exactly what she wanted them to.

The former brothel still held the spirit of its previous life, and Amelié connected with it on a level that few would recognize and even fewer could possibly fathom. Madame may have been a vanity title, but it suited her and her lineage well. Besides, Amelié De Laurenco didn't deal in the quaint or subdued, so the working relationship with the new shop would suit her just fine. Amelié was a firm believer in the idea that if you were going to do something, you needed to do it with panache or not bother doing it at all.

Perhaps that was how she found herself pursuing her latest and greatest career. Selling sexual accoutrements was definitely not for the faint of heart. It took a certain jena se quois to pull it off without coming off like a pervert or deviant, but still having the impression of knowledge that would have her customers seeking her infinite wisdom in all things carnal. Make no mistake though; this would be no brothel or pornography shop. Tasteful and classy demonstrations would be the limit (or so her fliers would advertise). Although the building had been a brothel when her grandmother and great grandmother before her had owned it, Amelié would take advantage of the ambiance and lingering spirit without pushing those particular physical limits. Metaphysical was a different story though.

Gone were the days of selling love potions out of dark hovels. There were no hunch backed crones or bat eyes and cauldrons. Madame De Laurenco and her trade were firmly set in the twenty first century. Smelly elixirs had been replaced with massage oils and crystal balls. Cauldrons had been replaced with smartphones and crock pots. She had a vision and a mission.

The bell over the door jangled. Ms. Millie Frazier, of the Bordeaux Fraziers, as she was so quick to remind you, sauntered into the Fantasy Factory with her nose artistically thrust into the air. The woman couldn't be a day over 40 and carried herself as regally as if she had been matriarch of the ark. Austere brown tweed and matching brown nurse shoes were accented by some oddly pale support hose. The outfit may not have been so stern, if not for the feathered hat that the woman wore as an accessory. Twill and pigeon feathers possibly?

Ameliè, never one to question another's style, gave her an electric smile.

"Good evening, Ms. Frazier."

"Good evening. Ms. De Laurenco, and please, call me Millie. I must say, I just love what you've done with your shop."

"That is most kind of you. How my I help you today?"

"It may take me a moment to get it out, bear with me, it's not every day that one finds themselves in a position such as mine."

"Take your time. Would you care to look around?"

"Why thank you, I'd love to."

Ameliè stepped back as the other woman surveyed the room, taking stock.

"I just love what you've done with the walls. The deep red accentuates the rose very nicely." Millie remarked, distracted.

"Yes, I agree. A touch of sweet rounded out with a dab of over the top sexy."

"These floors just shine, and ...oh my heavens. Could that be?"

"What's wrong?"

"Is that Pastor Felmer, the founder of the Riverside Church?"

The woman ogled one of the black n white photos.

Ameliè chuckled. "No, my friend. Take a look around you."

They surveyed the other photos. They ranged from former prominent politicians in semi compromising positions to the riverboats of the Mississippi and even a lively fai do-do.

"That would likely be one of his relatives, as these are my grandmother's photos from when she was younger. The pastor wouldn't have yet been a twinkle in his father's eye."

"Heavens me."

"What can I do for you Millie? We need to get you shopping before you come down with an old-fashioned case of the vapors."

"Oh, but these rugs, they're oriental, aren't they?"

"Mille, what can I do for you?"

"Well, alright. I need some cream. I've heard from Sally's sister, Ruth, that you sell all those heathenish sex type products here."

"I don't believe my wares have ever been called heathenish before, but maybe I can help. What exactly is it that you're looking for?"

"Well, you see, Mr. Frazier has, well, tastes."

She allowed the slightest smile to show through. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I was riding him like an award winning cowgirl and he decided that he wanted to ride the bucking bronco instead. I bucked alright, and he ended up with a fat lip from when I bucked him off of me."

"You need lip balm."

The prim and proper woman didn't even pause before bellowing out, "No, I need lube! He tried to stick it in my hiney!"

The snort seemed to escape on its own. "I'm sure I have exactly what you're looking for."

"And, ummmm, is it true that you read fortunes, like a gypsy?"

"I read fantasies. Would you like a reading?"

The older lady looked around, checking for other customers.

"I'd love one."

Ameliè showed Millie to the back room basking in the thought of the town matron sneaking in her back door and asking for "services".

Mille Frazier was giggling like a school girl as she stepped in. She paid no notice to the beads, talismans and assorted knick knacks that made the room seem "authentic". Her vision blurred, and she felt dizzy for a moment. When she steadied herself, she gasped.

She was at the home, if you could call a mini mansion a home, of her best friend. There was a dinner party in full swing. She couldn't help but stare at a young man across the room. He was mouth watering, and he was less than half her age.

Helping herself to more champagne, Millie blushed as he made his way over, leaned in closely and asked quietly, "How are you enjoying your evening?'

She felt his words slide over her skin. The whispered breath left her tingly and warm. She reached up and placed her hands on his chest. beneath the cloth of his shirt, the skin warmed to her touch. The heat nearly singed her. She would have flinched if not for his gaze holding hers. Lost in his eyes, she melted. His heartbeat, nearly as frantic as her own, had her salivating. He must want her, nearly as bad as she wanted him. The thought was powerful.

Keeping her hands in place she leaned in closer to whisper back,

"My evening has been entirely too tame, until now that is." She felt his

breath catch, and she continued. "Thank you for coming to my aid. It seems that Prince Charming has come to rescue me."

One corner of his mouth tilted up. She seriously considered licking that

very spot. Mesmerized, she watched his lips as he spoke slowly. "Make no mistake about it. I'm not charming. I am by no means a prince. There is no happily ever after. I come from the fairy tale that mommy would never tell you. It's the one where the dark night takes the maiden.

When prince charming comes to rescue you from me, you won't even give him a

second glance."

Her eyes still glued to his mouth, she couldn't breathe for a minute. When she looked up he smiled at her. He signaled for another drink and they sat and sipped for a few moments in silence, both picturing the possibilities. She was snapped back to reality when someone coughed nearby. She shivered.

"You know," he offered, "the gazebo is a great place for privacy. We should continue our conversation, uninterrupted."

She tried to find something sexy or even cute for a reply. Her mind was mush.

"And you said you weren't Prince Charming."

"I'm not. I do have a little secret, though. Would you like to hear it?"

He leaned in close and slanted his eyes in both directions, as if checking for prying eyes and ears.

She nodded yes, solemnly, going along with his game.

"Don't tell anybody."

"Not a chance."

"I have no soul."

"What did you say?"

"I said, I could just eat you whole."

Millie shook it off

"I love the feel of an older woman in my arms."

"Well, I wanted adventure." She smiled.

Taking her hand, he led her through the garden to the well shaded gazebo. The lights from the house had faded, blocked by various bushes and trees. Privacy was theirs.

He was going to take her here. It wouldn't be discreet, and it wouldn't be quiet. She wouldn't even bet, the way he was wound up, that she wouldn't get hurt.

She purred with a female richness guaranteed to stir any man's blood.

"Have you always been such a slut?" He asked. almost nonchalantly.

Millie did a double take. Had those words really come from the man that had been treating her like a goddess?

"I beg your pardon?"

"You're a breath away from fucking your friend's son, half a step away from her prized rose bushes. Tell me does that wrinkled old husband of yours make you scream?" He walked over to her and grabbed her viciously, wrapping his large fingers around her delicate neck.

"Answer the fucking question." The eyes that she had feared drowning in, were now ice cold and terrifying. "Does he make that used up old cunt quiver?"

She gathered herself and surprised both of them by answering. "Yes, I'm a slut, and no he doesn't. It's my fantasy and I can be anything I damn well please." Had she gone too far?

He did not say anything, and the silence was somehow more menacing than his words.

It was all or nothing. Besides, this was just a fantasy. The Madame would never let anyone actually get hurt, would she?

Her pressed her back. She felt the bench behind her knees and sat, dutifully. He stood, tall and dark above her, and unzipped his pants. She was treated to the sight of his uncut, stark white cock, inches from her face. It stood proudly to almost his navel, precum oozing from the slit. Before she knew what came over her, she leaned into him, tracing the shaft with her hungry tongue. She could feel the dampness growing between her legs, coating her thighs. She engulfed the throbbing head with her mouth and was rewarded by her lover's groan of approval. His excitement pushed her further and soon she was forcing more and more of his amazing cock down her throat.

"Where in the world did that come from?" She wondered, even as she worked his pants lower, wanting him naked. "Good girls don't deep throat."

"Very, very good girls do deep throat" he answered, reading her mind. With that he forced another inch or so in.

That made her even hungrier, but she was in control and it was time to remind him of that. Pulling back, his dick plopped out of her mouth, and she stroked and tickled his heavy balls with her manicured nails, dipping a finger between his cheeks to play with his ass. She had forgotten how much fun it was to be bad. She went wild with his groans of approval, licking beneath his ball sack trying desperately to touch his ass with her tongue, licking the shaft and finally, using all her power and control, taking him inch by inch into her throat, burying her nose in his pubic hair while contracting her throat muscles around his swelling cock. With that being the final straw, he leaned back and roared, his cock spasmed twice and spewed a seemingly never ending stream of cum straight into her belly. The power that pulsed through her, knowing that she had pleasured him so completely, had her feeling familiar stirrings in her core and before she was aware of it, she came as well.

Her lover stepped back, panting, as she released his half hard cock from her tender and used mouth. She sank into the shadows recovering from her own enjoyable experience, slightly disappointed that he came so quickly.

The room spun and Millie felt slightly seasick. The smoke from the burnt out candles had a rancid perfume and her eyes teared. Where was her young stud? Where was her gazebo? She looked around frantically, searching.

The scent of tea grew stronger. The liquid warm against her lips.

"Easy now. You'll need to be coming to grips with the first stage before you're ready to move on to more. Sip."

"That was...Why did you end it"

"Fantasies change. Needs change. You'll need to consider what you want before it can go any farther."

"That makes no sense. Obviously, I want it. That's why it's called a fantasy."

"Actually, fantasies are things that we want to want, but remain safely out of our reach. Yhis is something that must be processed slowly and in stages."

" I was processing something alright." Her lips were salty, and it didn't come from her tea.

"Come back to me in two weeks, and we will see where this will lead."

The old woman harrumphed, but finished her tea and paid for the services and the lube. With an appointment set, she made her way back to town.

With a wave of his hand over the crystals, the vision of the Ameliè and her customer vanished. Armand remembered a similar situation from long ago. He had spent his time watching the goings on at the shop, spying through the crystals . It was a story that captured his attention with another De Laurenco female. The family history of Collette De Laurenco had intrigued him from the moment he'd set foot in the infamous brothel, somewhere around 1850. After all they were burdened with the same curse.

The Madame was holding court in the card room, spinning a web of tales for her gentlemen patrons. The shop/brothel wasn't only a place to have your carnal needs met, it was a place to step away from reality for a moment or two. Just being in the presence of the lovely Madame Collette was entertainment enough for most.

She told tales of adventure, lost love, and ancient rituals. There was more to her tales than a case of a vivid imagination and storytelling skills. He found himself obsessed. She was one of the tasked, and he felt an instant link. Making her acquaintance and working his way into her life proved easy enough. He intended no harm, for once, but merely wanted to learn more about the only other cursed person he'd run across in more than a lifetime. He only wanted to watch her story play out, but he found himself actually coming to like her. They became fast friends. As he was prone to mischief; he was delighted to find that she had an evil streak to match his own. More often than not she was the one that instigated their adventures.

Now he sorely missed his friend. While he'd like to pretend that they're relationship was the only reason he was interested in her granddaughter, Ameliè, he was nothing if not honest. He had mourned the loss of his dear Colette. He had mourned to the point that it had nearly destroyed him. That, however didn't detract from the uniqueness of his attraction to Amelié.

When he first came across his Amelié, she had been raising hell in Chicago and their relationship had taken on a life of its own. She reminded him so much of his dear Collette that he couldn't help but feel heartsick and saddened. Amelié was a force to be reckoned with in her own right, and he had no problems appreciating her for the woman that she was as opposed to the woman that she was descended from. Finger waved dark curls, blood red lipstick, and the gold lame slip accentuated the already gorgeous woman. Her eyes glowed with mischief and mirth when they skirted a room. Yes, this was definitely a time for a new chapter of Armand's life.. It had been nearly a quarter of a century since Armand had laid eyes on his Ameliè. Their relationship had been turbulent at best, over at the worst. She had secrets he knew, secrets that he was very much aware of. If only she had trusted him enough to come to him with them. He knew her the history of her family, as it had very much paralleled his own. He'd sensed the change in her and knew that her curse had taken effect. He loved her no matter what she looked like, and if only she had loved him in return, it would have been a nonpoint. She never gave him a chance to love her, all of her. When the woman had come to Bateau claiming to be Collette's granddaughter, his Amelié, he had taken her to be a fake. She couldn't have possibly come back to him. She was dead.

Now she was not only alive, in the same parish and running a sex shop. Go figure.

After putting it off for as long as he could stand, he went to see her. Armand never made it past the porch. When he neared the door, Amelié was fiddling with something in the shop window. It really was her. He had another chance after all. He was filled with questions, questions that he would have the answers to soon enough. Why hadn't she found him sooner? Why had she run? He wouldn't approach her directly now. The answers would wait. This would require a great deal of thought and tact to avoid losing her again. Now that she was back in his life, he had no intention of letting her go again. This time he would see the story through to the end.

"She's not ready yet" the wind whispered at his nape

"I know that she's not, but she will be"

"She won't accept you easily.

"I wouldn't expect her to. Eventually she will."

"Leave her my friend, she has much to deal with now."

"I'll protect her Collette." He spoke to the voice of his memory.

"And who will protect her from you?"

He did not have an answer for that, so he returned to his home. He would make contact, and he would do so in a way that would ensure his success. One didn't live through several lifetimes without having a trick or two up one's sleeve. He would get to her.

There was a crowd but the night was uneventful. Armand sat at the bar jingling his ice cubes. She needed to come in tonight. He was getting impatient. He may be centuries old, but he still hadn't learned to wait for something that he wanted.