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Eyl 10, 2022 // By:analsex // No Comment

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Subject: the-devil-lives-in-paris/the-devil-lives-in-paris-5 This story contains graphic sexual scenes between males under 18. If material of this nature offends you then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age in most states, the state may have forbidden you from reading this story by law. Please understand this is a work of fiction. The actions described in the story are not real nor encouraged or condoned in real life. It’s fiction, folks, and remember that, please. While most of the locations are real places in the real world, all the characters are absolutely fictional and any reference or resemblance to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental or just functional to the plot. Feedbacks welcome at ail. I’m not native English speaker, so please be kind to me! Thank you! *** The Devil Lives in Paris *** � Part 5 (No sex… almost!) Paris, France � 24 October 2020 Guerchard climbs the narrow stair leading the Quai de Malaquais. He can see the CSI squad already taking pictures and samples of the blood drops splattered on the steps and on the Quai. Of course, the traffic has been blocked and diverted, not an easy task in Paris on a Sunday morning. A light wind is blowing, swirling dead leaves around any standing object or person. Raoul stops at the top of the stair and briefly removes his hat, runs a hand through his hair, messing it up a little. Then, he crosses the yellow and red tape delimiting the crime scene and looks around for witnesses to interview: his gaze is immediately attracted to a tall African men and two tall, hairless boys at his sides. They look somehow familiar… He decides to start with them. “Bonjour Messieurs, Commissaire Guerchard � votre service…” he introduces himself and shake hands with the tall, black man. “Ferluci De Vil and my sons, Andras and Bael, pleased to meet you, Commissaire. What can we do help you, Commissaire Raoul Guerchard?” “How… how do you know my name, sir? I didn’t say it…” “It’s on your tag, Commissaire, you see?” answers De Vil, pointing at the ID tag hanging from Raoul’s neck. “Oh… oui, certainement Monsieur… De Vil… I apologise… I maybe need a coffee to wake up…” “That’s a wonderful idea, Commissaire. Why don’t we have one at the Caf� Des Beaux Arts, just across the road?” So, the four of them move to the Caf� where Guerchard interviews them. Well, the two boys don’t talk a lot, they just nod Yes or Not, it’s De Vil doing all the chat. Eventually, they say they were eating croissants at the bar when, almost out of nowhere, a half-naked man with a naked, red haired boy in tow appeared at the front of the Gal�rie De Vil. Then, they looked around, with confused faces and rushed through the Quai, barely avoided by oncoming traffic, and ran towards the Seine. De Vil and his two sons followed them, as they seemed to be in need of help. By the time they reached the banks of the river, the man was already kneeling on all fours on the sidewalk, clearly in trouble. Then he fell on his chest and stopped moving. The naked boy just took his clothes from the man’s hand, got dressed and sat next to the motionless man. That’s when more people came to the help, and also a couple of policemen that were patrolling the Quai showed up. Raoul listens intently and duly puts everything down on his Moleskine, but a part of his brain is distracted by the man sitting across from him. Black and tall, apparent age of 40, with a shaved head but a thick, well-groomed beard, the man commands respect. And even a certain fear. He somehow lokkes familiar, şişli travesti but Guerchard couldn’t say… The two boys are less intimidating, yet there is an aura of mystery around them… the way they stick to De Vil’s sides, the sinuous, almost lascivious way in which they move their slender body… They appear to be around 13 years of age, perhaps less. They are completely shaved; head and eyebrows are silky smooth. They have dark, deep, attractive eyes. And thin hands, with long fingers, like those of pianists. The only difference is long, sharp-looking nails, not suitable to play a piano. To kill someone? Probably yes… De Vil says his family, originally from Haiti, owns the Gal�rie since a long time. “Ohh, Haiti… home of the Black Magic…” says Raoul with a smirk. “Voodoo, Commissaire… we call it Voodoo” says De Vil with deep laugh. “You should not make fun of it, Commissaire, seriously. Voodoo black magic rituals work and include some of the most powerful magic formulas in the world, you know?”. De Vil’s penetrating gaze is fixed on Guerchard, looking straight into his eyes as if he could see inside his soul… if he ever had one, that’s it… Raoul’s phone rings at that precise moment, distracting him. It’s Dupr�, he says to go immediately to the hospital Sant Antoine, where they took the little red-haired boy and his father’s dead body. Social services won’t do anything until Monday, and he has to take care of the boy. “Allez allez allez, Raoul!” “Sous vos ordres, CD Dupr�!” Raoul gets up from the cafe table and thanks his hosts. Before leaving, he turns to De Vil. “One last thing, Monsieur De Vil. I need an address in case we need to hear from you again. You know, about the dead man …” “Oh, it’s simple, Commissaire. I live upstairs in the Gal�rie, on the other corner of the street.” Raoul has another question for the ebony man. “Have we… Have we ever met before, Monsieur?” De Vil smiles. “Who knows, Commissaire Raoul Guerchard… maybe… in another life, perhaps!” Raoul is dumbfounded, but has nothing else to argue with De Vil. He turns on his heel and reaches the service car, headed for the hospital. The Saint Antoine hospital is approximately halfway between the Pont des Arts and the P�re Lachaise cemetery, in the XII Arrondissment. It takes Raoul about 20 minutes to arrive, half an hour to park and more than an hour to find little red-haired Vlad. What a splendid way to waste a bright Sunday morning! After signing a mountain of papers and authorizations, Raoul can finally meet the boy and take him with him. Someone managed to cover him with a green and orange “bomber” jacket. A little too big but fits nicely on the pudgy kid. Vlad is not very talkative, indeed. To be honest, he doesn’t really open his mouth to Raoul’s attempts to strike up a conversation. The boy just looks at him with interest, staring at him with his grand, curious green eyes like any 9-year-old boy would do with a stranger. Interesting, yes. But still a stranger. “Ok boy. I don’t know if you understand me or not … I know it’s hard on you… I mean, you’ve just lost your father and we know nothing about your mommy… But you… we… have to keep on… life continues, do you understand?” Vlad doesn’t react and Raoul continues. “Today you will be with me, you will eat with me, you will clean up and sleep at my house … from tomorrow morning the social services will take care of you. But for today, you will be forced to put up with me, avez-vous compris? ” Vlad nods, almost imperceptibly. Then, he turns to look at the avenues beylikdüzü travesti in front of them, with the trees that pass quickly from the car windows, barely covered with yellow and red leaves. Raoul looks at the boy with red hair, red as his were until ten years ago, before the divorce from Brigitte. And he feels a tenuous, fragile emotional bond establishing between him and the little boy, an orphan by just over three hours. His cock is more honest than his mind and starts showing signs of life down there, between his hairy balls and the red pubic hair. Raoul is not new to taking an interest in preteen kids. Thanks God, he has always managed to avoid temptations and problems, especially in the family and at work. But his love for kids, young and attractive, never disappeared, it just hid behind the decent facade of a middle-aged man. “Listen, my boy. Every 24th of October I have a task to complete. I’m going to visit my twin brother, only he … he is … he is in Pere Lachaise … he died when we were 9 … I miss him a lot, you know … I’m sorry for you, but today we have to go there together… and then, we’ll go get something to eat at my house. Do you understand?” Vlad nods and, for the first time, replies “Yes, Commissaire”. Raoul smiles at the boy and takes the Rue des Pyr�nn�es, headed for the cemetery of Pere Lachaise. Finding a parking space is almost impossible, but Raoul eventually manages to park not far from the main entrance. He leaves his hat in the car, now with their heads uncovered and both red haired, they look like a father and son walking in the crisp autumn air. Taking the boy by the hand, the two head towards the north-east sector, where Oscar Wilde is also buried. In fact, the tomb of Raoul’s twin brother is the second to the left of that of the famous writer. An elegant black marble plaque shows only the name, “Jean Guerchard � 24 Octobre 1979”, and a photo of a smiling blond boy. While Raoul is busy clearing his brother’s grave of dead leaves and dried flowers, Vlad approaches the photo. “I know him… he was with me and my daddy…” he says, like he is in a trance. Then, he extends his arm and touches it. “He is fine where he is… He says not to worry about him. Old fart is happy and at peace, little scoundrel” “WHA… WHAT? What the fuck did you just say?” Raoul takes the boy by the arm, pulling him away from the photo of his late brother, Jean. “I said He is fine where he is… He says not to worry about him… little scoundrel” “What did you call me? WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU CALL ME?” “Little scoundrel… he told me to call you like that …” “WHO? WHO TOLD YOU TO CALL ME THAT ???” Now Raoul is yanking the boy hard by the arm, dragging him round and round in the cemetery path covered by the autumn fallen leaves. “Old fart, he told me so” Vlad is agitated, red in the face, almost in tears. “Let me, let me go sir. I don’t know … I don’t know nothing…” Raoul nearly faints, he has to sit on his brother’s grave. His legs are shaky, his head is spinning, he feels his heart almost leap from his chest. It can’t be true; it can’t be real … it must all be a fucking nightmare … first they find a man and his son gone missing 60 years ago … and now this 9-year-old boy who should be 69 says he “hears” his brother saying that he’s fine … wherever the hell is he now. Raoul takes his head in his hands, emptied of all strength. Looks at the boy in front of him and starts to cry softly. “Little scoundrel is … well, it was… Jean’s way of calling me when we were alone, because I was istanbul travesti two hours younger. He was “old fart” … no one knows … knew it outside of us… how do you know, you who I did not even know until three hours ago …” “I don’t know … I think I met him. Before … before I run out the Gal�rie with dad. And when I touched the picture, I heard a voice inside …. inside my head and … and … I do not know… Sir.” “I’m sorry, little one… I’m sorry I’ve lost my temper with you, but… I don’t understand what’s happening… it’s all so… so unreal.” “Do you… do you have a little star… a little star on your bum?” “… Hell… yes… it’s… it’s a mole, a birthmark… how do you know, kid? How.The.Fuck. do you know? “I saw it! I saw it when you were there! You were there with him… and my daddy… and all the others… YOU..WERE..THERE!” “I was where? and who are all the others … what the fuck is going on, kid?” Raoul is on his knees in front of the little kid, looking at him straight in the eyes, looking for a truth that may devastate his life forever. Once more. “The others… the tall black African man and his two children … over the shop with the old stuff… dad took me there with him to talk to the African … and you were there, and the blond boy was there too … him, Old Fart …” “You mean that your father, you, my brother and I were all together at De Vil’s house? Ridiculous, it’s impossible, kid … and what were we all doing there? Did we have tea and pastries?” “No, no … we … we fucked” said Vlad, matter of fact. Raoul’s brain was about to explode. Vlad takes him by the hand and, immediately, a flash, an explosion of light went through him like a bullet. And Raoul finally sees what had been carefully locked up in the depths of his memories. He sees everything he had so carefully chosen to forget, to wipe out of his wrecked life. He sees a chubby Vlad impaled on De Vil’s colossal black cock as a white man pushes his cock down the redhead’s throat. He and his brother Jean are crouched between the legs of the two black twins, De Vil’s sons, and suck on their hard, ebony cocks. The white man, evidently Vlad’s father, falls on the floor after cumming down his son’s throat. Raoul and Jean crawl between his legs and begin to suck the man’s cock clean. Then, suddenly, the half-naked white man stands up and run out of the room, dragging Vlad behind him, naked and dripping with De Vil’s cum. De Vils shouts to stop. Andras and Bael set off in pursuit, grabbing the man by the shirt, scratching his skin to blood with their sharp nails. When the white man and Vlad reach the door and leave the room, everything suddenly become as cold and dark as the darkest of nights. The voices of De Vil and his devilish children slowly fade away… When 9-years-old Raoul re-opens his eyes, he finds himself at his house, in his bed… And Jean is beside him … dead. “… De Vil … I had the sensation of having seen him before … I could not exactly place where, when … until now I did not remember anything of what happened before I woke up next to my dead brother. I don’t understand what’s going on, kid, but I’m sure De Vil is the key to our problems, to our misery. Let’s go find him, let’s go to the Gal�rie “. ********* Now that I’m a “junior” author I understand how important it is for a writer to receive your feedbacks, kind reader. So, everytime I read something on Nifty that I like, now I take my time to reach out for a “thank you” to the author: please do the same, emails are for free and we live (almost) for your appreciation. Thank you to all of you that have provided a feedback! Please keep Nifty alive, donate to http://donate./donate.html … Seriously, do it. My stories on Nifty (all written ‘mostly’ in fty//gay/adult-youth/il-commissario-bellandi/

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