The Adventures of Stampley Plantation

The Adventures of Stampley Plantation

 

By WannabeWhitman

NOTE TO READERS: This is an ongoing series involving slavery in the antebellum South, non-consensual sex (sometimes with minors), and the use of racial epithets. The material is mostly of a homosexual nature, but includes some bisexual themes. If you think any of this might offend you, DO NOT READ. I realize some material may be distasteful and offensive to some readers, but nobody is forcing you to read it. The series covers a wide range of sexual expression, however, so just because you dislike one chapter doesn’t mean you won’t enjoy others. Keep in mind these are only FANTASIES based on America’s racial history and my own conflicted imagination about that history. My intention is not to condone or encourage racism, sex with minors, or rape. 

Although this story is set in the antebellum South, and I aim to be as realistic as possible, I have not done extensive research and cannot guarantee complete historical accuracy. Most of the names, however, are taken from actual records of slave-owners and their slaves. 

If you enjoy this series, please let me know! I would love to hear constructive criticism, scenes or themes you particularly enjoy, suggestions for future characters or storylines, stories and fantasies of your own, and anything else you might want to share. E-mail me at WannabeWhitman07@yahoo.com. 

If you share my obsession with the beauty and sexuality of black males, check out my Google group! Explore your TABOO erotic fantasies about black males: slavery, domination/submission, economic coercion, police & prison scenes, adult/youth themes, and more. Discuss your forbidden fantasies, share photos, and post erotic stories. This is NOT your average interracial group. Stay away if easily offended! 

 

Chapter 1: Innocence Lost

 

For nearly a week, James Stampley attempted to escape his temptations by pursuing other activities. He read novels under the shade trees near the plantation house. He wrote dozens of letters to his friends and family members back home in Boston, even casual acquaintances that certainly wouldn’t expect any correspondence. He explored the numerous bedrooms, passageways, and closets in his new home. He organized his new bedroom down to the most meticulous details. He took long naps on the hammock on the front verandah.

 

None of this helped. The plantation’s vast, dusty rooms only made him feel small and lonely. He knew that at one point in the not-so-distant past, these rooms had been filled with life and laughter, but now they stood silent and neglected, save for the weekly dusting of Becky, Abel’s mother.

 

James was too scared of what he’d feel if he visited the slave quarters or fields, so he pretty much kept to himself. His only company was the loud and tiresome Mr. Potter at meal-times, and the occasional nervous greeting to Abel when the house-boy would bring him lemonade on the verandah, draw his bath, serve him meals, or other various responsibilities. Even then, James would only allow himself a quick glance at the boy’s breathtaking features, for fear the next look might strike the devastating blow to his moral resistance.

 

Nights were the worst. Lying in bed, feeling the late-night breeze from the window pass over his half-naked body, his body aching to explore the temptations he knew were living, eating, laughing, sleeping, and fucking in the slave quarters just yards away from his bedroom. Making things worse was James’s masochistic refusal to masturbate. He knew that the smart thing to do would be to jerk off; just one quick release would relieve the maddening desires building up within him. But no, he thought to himself, he’d been doing that for far too many years, and he hated the way it dulled his imagination, depleted his appetites, and drained his energy in all areas of life. Besides, this was a moral battle he wanted to win without cheating, and in his twisted logic, masturbation was considered cheating. So each night James would splash cold water on his aching dick, bury his head beneath the pillow and do his best to dream of something other than the countless specimens of beautiful dark flesh he so desperately wanted to enjoy.

 

It was a warm night about a week and a half after his arrival at Stampley Plantation when James Stampley finally reached his breaking point.

 

Earlier that day he’d been careless, and literally stumbled right into temptation. Bored and restless after being cooped up in the house all morning, James had decided to go on an afternoon hike, promising himself he wouldn’t go near the slave quarters or cultivated fields where the slave men worked. He kept his promise, exploring a trail winding through some woods to the left of the slave quarters, but ended up stumbling upon a small creek where a dozen or so pickaninny boys were splashing and laughing……..completely naked.

 

His heart stopped the instant he saw them, and he drew back behind a tree before they had a chance to discover his presence. He clenched his eyes shut tight, breathing heavily: This isn’t right, he told himself, spying on these innocent boys’ private fun. But he couldn’t help himself -- the mingling of the high-pitched laughing and raspy preteen Negro voices was like an irresistible siren beckoning him to his doom.

 

He turned back around to watch them, mesmerized by what he saw. From what he could tell, they were boys anywhere from 8 to 14, ranging in color from the deepest, purest ebony to the lightest, richest yellow. Their smooth, youthful skin glistened from the sun reflected off the water dripping down their chests and backs to the treasures of their midsections, both front and back. James wished he could make time stand still so that he could take in the bodies more fully, rather than the split-second flashes of dangling boy dicks or tiny tight boy asses he could only barely make out through all the splashing and water-acrobatics.

 

The sight of so much Negro boy-flesh caused his dick to grow harder and longer than it ever had in his entire life. He probably would have whipped it out then and there, splashing his sperm across the tree trunk in front of him, had it not been for the sound of one of the older Negro women approaching through the woods, calling the boys back to the slave quarters for supper.

 

The memory of the sight was too strong for his feeble moral resistance on this particular night. Mr. Potter’s words from less than two weeks ago rang in his ears like thunder: “Hell, just say the word and I’ll have one of the overseers fetch you the finest piece of nigger pussy in the state of Georgia. Any age, any color.”

 

In the abstract, James had been able to refuse such an offer. But now, images of real Negro boys dancing in his mind, the temptation was an overpowering reality. He knew all he had to do was say the word and any one of those boys, or their older brothers, or even their fathers, could be his to possess sexually that night. Hell, he could have grabbed up any single boy from the creek that afternoon, then taken him back to his bedroom and had his way with him. Or if he was even MORE daring and perverse, he could have fucked him right then and there, in front of the shocked and curious audience of other boys.

 

There was no longer any point in resisting. Just one time, James swore to himself. One boy, one night. After all, he’d wanted to see what slavery was all about, so he was only being thorough in his investigation. You have to KNOW something to FIGHT something, he rationalized. He would be kind. He would be gentle. Deep down he knew that all such resolutions were meaningless since the boy, a slave and piece of property, had no real choice in the matter, but he pushed these thoughts into deep places where they could no longer trouble him that night.

 

He thought of the two slaves he already knew by name: Abel, the mulatto houseboy, and Jacob, the dark-skinned stable-boy. Abel was sleeping in the same house but sharing a room with his parents, who would probably make more fuss than James cared to stir up that night. Jacob was a tempting back-up, but James had no clue where he slept, and didn’t want Mr. Potter to know he’d been thinking about this TOO seriously. In the end he decided to leave it up to fate.

 

Dizzy and delirious with desire and expectation once he’d made up his mind, James staggered down the hall like a drunken man to Mr. Potter’s room. Knowing a second’s pause could break his resolve, he knocked on the door immediately, softly but urgently. He heard Mr. Potter mumbling and fumbling for his clothes.

 

“What is it, Little Jimmy?” Mr. Potter asked, wiping his eyes. But the moment he saw the nervousness and desperation on James’s face, Mr. Potter’s sleepy scowl broke into a huge, devilish grin. “Boy or girl?” he asked bluntly, sparing James the embarrassment.

 

“Ummmmm……..I think I’ll try a boy, but just this once,” James replied sheepishly, looking at the ground, to the left, over his shoulders, anywhere but in Mr. Potter’s smirking, gloating eyes.

 

“Of course, Little Jimmy, of course. Just this once, just this once,” he said in mock-assurance, laughing and laughing and laughing.

 

*************************************************************

 

The slave boy Elijah sat Indian-style on the dirt floor of his family’s cabin in the slave quarters, playing a game of homemade checkers with his younger brother Thadeus (whom they called Thad). They were using multi-colored stones they’d collected while swimming at a nearby creek earlier that afternoon; Elijah’s pieces were the darker stones, Thad’s were the lighter. Poor slave boys had to be imaginative when coming up with ways to entertain themselves.

 

Elijah’s skin was a rich dark brown like his mother’s, and his face was round and cute with big deep eyes, the typical Negro nose, full lips, and thick, wooly hair.

 

Despite his enslavement and poverty, young Elijah found happiness in these quiet late nights with his mother and little brother. Even though he was barely 14, he’d been the “man” of the house since his father was sold away when he was only 10. He and his little brother played with the other slave children during the day while his mother worked hard in the fields from before he woke up until sunset. These few precious hours at night were the only time his mother, brother, and he were together, and he did his best to treasure every moment. Elijah knew that everything would change in a few months when the overseers would order him to work in the fields. Some of his friends had already been dragged reluctantly into adulthood, but Elijah was fortunate to still have a scrawny, boyish build, totally free of body fat but not yet muscled enough to survive 13 hours of grueling manual labor a day.

 

Most nights his mother was too sore and exhausted to say much or join in the games; after supper she usually just lay on her bed – a small pile of hay with a ragged blanket tossed over it, closed in by a rectangle of wooden boards nailed together – and listened to the games played by her two sons. Sometimes she’d even fall asleep earlier than intended, as she’d done tonight. Elijah didn’t mind his mother’s sleepiness; for him, it was just nice to feel her warm touch when she’d pat him lovingly on the head, or hear her pleasant voice when she’d laugh at something Thad or him had said. He and Thad usually played games, sang songs, or told stories until they could no longer keep their eyes open, collapsing in the makeshift hay bed the two brothers shared in the opposite corner of the room.

 

Despite their age difference – Thad was only 10 – the two brothers were very close, practically inseparable. Elijah wanted to cry every time he imagined being forced to leave his little brother behind to work in the fields, knowing the day was near.

 

Tonight had been the typical evening. His mother had collapsed on the bed

immediately following dinner, while he and Thad cleared the table and scrubbed the dishes. After finishing their chores, the two boys were eager to try out their new checkers pieces. The brothers had been lost in their game for several hours when they were startled by a loud knock on the cabin door. Their eyes locked in fear, for it wasn’t the friendly knock of a neighbor, but the unmistakably gruff knock of an overseer.

 

Phoebe, Elijah’s mother, was jarred out of her sleep by the violent sound. Immediately, her blood turned to ice in her veins. Terror and confusion crossed paths in her sleep-muddled brain. What the hell could the overseer want this late at night??? she wondered.

 

There had been a time in the past when she’d grown accustomed to these late-night visits. In those days, there was no mistaking the intentions of the visitor. She’d usually be dragged off to the overseer quarters for the late-night amusements of one of them, sometimes more than one. Occasionally she’d find herself in the guest-bedroom of one of Master Walt’s out-of-town visitors.

 

One of the overseers, a toothless, lecherous drunk called Mr. Snopes, had taken a particular liking to her a few years back, even drunkenly confessing his undying LOVE for her one night, begging her to run away with him and be his wife. The idea alone was repulsive enough to her, not to mention offensive considering she had a Negro husband at the time, the father of both Elijah and Thad. In a risky moment of defiance, she told him bluntly that he could take her body as much as he wanted, he could even take her life, but no white man would ever make her love him. He nearly beat her to death that night, but never again raped her. Although she never had any concrete proof, she was convinced Mr. Snopes had been behind the sudden sale of her husband two months later.

 

But all that seemed so long ago now. One of the benefits of being over thirty was that none of the overseers, Mr. Snopes included, ever looked her way any more. She was nothing more than used goods to them, and happy for it.

 

So what could possibly bring an overseer to her cabin this late at night? She’d worked hard all day and received no lashes. She hadn’t stolen any fruit from the Master’s orchard, or eggs from the Master’s chicken coop lately, at least not that she could remember. And she sure as hell didn’t have any daughters, thank God.

 

Unless……..Phoebe’s heart froze in her chest at the idea. No, she thought, they couldn’t possibly want one of her BOYS for such vile purposes. Please God, don’t let them take my innocent boys, she prayed to herself, trying to shield her panic from her son’s quizzical eyes. She’d heard rumors of such perversions taking place on the Potter plantation, but to her knowledge nothing of the kind ever occurred under Master Walt.

 

Her heart sank as she remembered the latest happenings in the white world, the death of her Master and arrival of his young nephew from Boston. Surely a relative of Master Walt’s couldn’t have such a filthy mind, she tried to assure herself. She’d seen him out of the corner of her eye while fetching some clean rags from Becky’s boy Abel earlier that week, and he seemed decent and normal enough, for white folks at least. But white folks are animals and devils, she reflected. Ain’t nothing they won’t do to niggers.

 

The overseer Mr. Snopes stood outside Phoebe’s cabin with a malicious grin on his face. Of course he could just as easily have stormed in without knocking, but he liked the idea of making Phoebe sit in dread for a minute or two. “Stupid nigger cunt,” he thought to himself. “Probably thought I forgot about her making me feel like shit that night. This’ll fuckin’ teach her to know her place and not talk back to a white man.”

 

Who was he kidding, this was more petty amusement than profound revenge. He’d gotten over the old hag years ago – of course framing her husband for that chicken theft had helped -- and been through plenty of nigger pussy since. But that didn’t mean her defiance that night hadn’t stuck in his crawl. So when Sam Potter had interrupted the Poker game in the overseer’s quarters, asking him to fetch a pretty virgin nigger boy for the new Master, he knew exactly which slave cabin to visit.

 

Phoebe’s oldest boy Elijah was what the overseers called a “pre-breeder,” meaning he had the kind of striking good looks that promised to make him a valuable buck breeder in a couple years. Hell, if Snopes’s inclinations leaned in that direction, he would have already helped himself to some of that little nigger’s ass. But being fairly confident that neither Walt Stampley nor any of his overseers leaned in that direction either, he was 100% certain he’d be delivering the pure virgin goods to Walt’s nephew that night.

 

And the fact that he knew it would break Phoebe’s heart to know her son was being raped just yards away from her home, helpless to do anything about it, made it the sweetest form of revenge.

 

“I’m taking your oldest boy,” Mr. Snopes said gruffly, after a trembling Phoebe opened the cabin’s front door. The two boys stood a few feet behind her, wide-eyed with surprise and terror.

 

“He do somethin’ wrong, Mistuh Snopes?” Phoebe asked optimistically, preferring the whipping-post for her son to the awful fate she feared.

 

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong I’ve heard of,” Snopes snapped. “The new master wants to see him, all’s I know,” he grinned.

 

Elijah cocked his head in puzzlement. He didn’t know whether to be afraid or flattered. He’d never even been to the Master’s house, let alone REQUESTED to the Master’s presence. Only white folks he ever saw were the overseers and Master Walter when he’d visit the slave quarters with gifts at Christmastime. What could the Master possibly want with him?

 

Phoebe’s heart sank within her, her worst fears confirmed. “What’s he want with my boy this time of night?” she asked, her voice breaking even as she tried to cling to hope.

 

“Same reason I came for you all those nights, I ‘spect,” Snopes snapped, getting a sadistic pleasure from being so blunt about it.

 

“Please, no, not my son, not my Elijah,” Phoebe cried, tears welling up in her eyes.

 

She was dizzy and for a brief second thought she might faint. Everything was spinning around her. They’d already taken her husband from her, and now they were about to obliterate her son’s innocence, rob him of both his boyhood and manhood at once. She knew from experience he’d never be the same, he’d always have something cold and hard inside him where something warm and soft should be.

 

She suddenly regretted all her maternal attempts to keep her sons innocent of sexual things – deflecting their curious questions, only making love to her husband in quick midday flings or nights when the boys were staying with friends. She winced to think that Elijah’s ignorance of such things would only make his corruption all the more traumatic for him – and all the more exciting for the new Master, she thought angrily.

 

“Mama, what’s goin on? Why’s the Massuh want me, Mama?” Elijah asked, trying to sound brave but increasingly alarmed by his mother’s behavior. Thad was already crying, but Elijah tried his hardest to hold the tears back.

 

“I……..I don’t know, baby,” Phoebe tried to comfort him.

 

She tried to think fast……..for a second she thought she might grab the piece of wood they used to poke the fire, still glowing from the dinner-fire’s ashes – then gouge Snopes’s eyes out with it before grabbing her two boys and making a desperate run for freedom. The thought had barely formed in her mind before she knew it could never work. Georgia was too far south, she’d be torn to shreds by dogs before making it to the North, especially with two young boys on her arms. And for killing a white man she’d most certainly be hanged, and her two sons sold away from one another.

 

She decided to try a different approach.

 

“Please, Mistuh Snopes, I’m begging you……..not my eldest boy, not my son. Take Lil Rooster instead, Penny’s boy next door. You know he the same age and ten times more handsome.” She blushed with shame at the betrayal of her neighbor, but desperate circumstances make people do desperate things, she rationalized.

 

Elijah was even more confused; if the new Master wanted to see him, what did his friend Lil Rooster or his looks have to do with anything?

 

“He wants YOUR BOY,” Snopes barked. “I’m gittin tired of your whining, nigger. The boy’s gotta come with me NOW.”

 

“Please, I’ll do anything,” Phoebe pleaded, grabbing hold of Snopes’s arm. “I’ll……..I’ll go with you like you asked,” she cried out in defeat. “Right this instant. Just don’t take my boy!”

 

The sacrifice of her happiness was worth saving the purity and happiness of her son.

 

“Nigger, please,” Snopes laughed. “I don’t want your tired old bones, bitch. I’m taking the boy.”

 

Thad was crying even louder now. Tears welled up in Elijah’s eyes too, the ugly words from Snopes and desperate pleading from his mother confirming for him that whatever the new Master wanted, it couldn’t be good.

 

Phoebe rushed over to her sons and grabbed hold of Elijah’s face between her hands. She looked like a madwoman, and it scared him.

 

Leaning down in a hysterical whisper she warned, “Do whatever the new Massuh wants, you hear, boy?”

 

Elijah started crying. Phoebe tried to shake some courage into him.

 

“I can’t save you. I wish to God I could, but I can’t, so do EVERYTHING he asks. Listen to your Mama, now. Don’t scream and don’t fight, no matter how bad it gets. I want you coming back to me ALIVE, you hear?”

 

She cringed to imagine what that reunion would be like, and grabbed her son’s head to her breasts in a thick embrace. “Don’t matter what no white man do to you, Elijah, yo’ Mama LOVES you and that’s all’t matters in this world.”

 

Snopes was disgusted by this sentimental display. The whole thing had almost ceased to be any fun. He tore Phoebe away from Elijah, tossing her to the corner of the room where Thad ran to her embrace.

 

“You gonna come easy-like, or do I gotta carry ya?” Snopes demanded.

 

“I’ll go easy like, sir,” Elijah mumbled, wiping away his tears and looking for his mother’s nod of approval from the corner.

 

“That’s a good nigger boy,” Snopes laughed, leading Elijah out into the thick nighttime darkness and toward the Master’s house.

 

***************************************************************

 

James knew there was no turning back now. There he was sitting on the edge of his bed, shaking with anticipation, facing the young Negro boy brought to his room just moments ago by an ugly overseer.

 

All fears that he might be disappointed with Mr. Potter’s choice disappeared the moment he saw the handsome, brown-skinned youth enter his room. Now the boy stood with his arms to his side just a few feet away, visibly shaking and with signs of tear-streaks on his smooth caramel cheeks.

 

James knew he should feel compassion for the boy, that he should sign manumittance papers for him that very second and ship him off to the North first thing in the morning.

 

But the devil in his nature had already taken over, and all he felt was arousal at seeing the boy’s tear-stained face. He looked the boy up and down, observing his wooly, disheveled hair; thick, purplish-red lips; ragged cotton clothes, glimpses of the boy’s brown skin showing through the holes; the small, scrawny body, still very much a boy’s but with the faint hints of a man’s developing muscles.

 

James literally shivered in anticipation of the pleasures to come. His dick was growing hard in his pants just from LOOKING at the fully clothed boy standing before him, at James’s complete mercy.

 

James was determined to take his time; this was a one-time indulgence, after all, so he might as well make the most of it. Besides, there was no reason to rush – he could take all night if he wished. Hell, he could take all of the next day, the next WEEK, if he wanted to.

 

James was still committed to treating the boy kindly. He called the boy over to sit beside him on the edge of the bed.

 

Elijah approached nervously. Every sensation was new and overwhelming: this being his first time in any kind of house, let alone his MASTER’S house, and having seen so few white men in his young life, let alone sat beside them so intimately. What he wanted to do more than anything was run as fast as he could out of that room and back to the arms of his mother and brother. But he remembered his mother’s instructions, and shifted nervously into a sitting position beside the white man.

 

“What’s your name?” James asked, in a voice much gentler than Elijah expected based on his few experiences with the plantation’s overseers.

 

 

“Elijah, sir,” the boy replied in a sullen, raspy voice, looking at the floor in front of him.

 

“What a beautiful name,” James said. “Biblical name, isn’t it?”

 

“I believes so, Massuh,” Elijah mumbled.

 

His lips looked full and wet, and James felt an almost uncontrollable urge to kiss them. Take your time, he coached himself. You have all the time in the world – enjoy every minute of this.

 

“How old are you?” James asked, knowing the boy beside him couldn’t be any older than 15, maybe an underdeveloped 16.

 

“I’se 14, Massuh,” the boy answered, still staring intently at the ground, confused by the unexpected kindness and ordinariness of the new Master’s questions.

 

Absolutely perfect, James thought to himself. If he was totally honest with himself he knew he’d found males everywhere from 9 or 10 all the way up to his own age and slightly older appealing, but something about the adolescent male – especially the adolescent NEGRO male – right on the threshold from boyhood innocence to manhood, was more arousing than any of the others. He might be an obnoxious asshole, but Mr. Potter had guessed his tastes perfectly with very little to go on. 

 

James started to tell the boy not to call him “Master,” but stopped himself. He had to admit, every time the boy called him that in his hoarse, frightened voice, it sent thrilling goose bumps down his spine.

 

“Are your parents on this plantation? Any brothers or sisters?” James asked, trying to put the boy at ease with the friendly small talk. He’d read enough about slavery to know that many children were sold away from their parents and siblings at a young age, or have their parents and siblings sold away from THEM.

 

“I live with my mother and little brother, Massuh,” Elijah explained. “They sold my daddy away when I was ten.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that, Elijah,” James said, sincerely. “How old’s your little brother, and what’s his name?”

 

“We calls him Thad, sir. He ten now, almost eleven.”

 

“I see,” James replied. He’d only been trying to get to know the kid a little, but the image of this boy’s younger brother caused his cock to twitch against his will. Despite his resolve to make this a one-time deal, his mind was already racing ahead to possible adventures in the future.

 

“What do you and Thad like to do for fun?” James asked, continuing his attempt to put the boy at ease. It seemed to be working, as Elijah now nervously eyed him out of the corner of his eye from time to time, instead of staring at the floor.

 

“We loves to fish, Massuh” Elijah told him, almost breaking into a smile. “Sometimes we play ‘catch a nigger’ too. It’s a game where one of us is the slave-catcher and the others is runaway niggers. We all run and hide while the slave-catcher tries to get us. We pick a tree or rock we call the ‘Norf,’ and everybody who gets to the ‘Norf’ ‘out gittin caught is a free nigger. Everybody the slave-catcher gets and the last person to the ‘Norf’ is out the game, till the next game at least.”

 

Elijah gasped for air in the midst of his enthusiastic story, realizing he’d just said a bunch of words to a WHITE MAN, his new MASTER no less, the way he’d talk to Thad or Lil Rooster or his Mama. He looked sheepishly over at James, as if to ask if he should continue. James, charmed by the cute Negro boy’s sudden burst of energy, nodded for him to continue.

 

“We also likes to swim, ‘specially in the summertime cuz of the hot sun.”

 

James smiled to himself, realizing Elijah had probably been a part of the group of naked boys he’d lusted after that afternoon. Maybe his brother, too. How fitting, James thought.

 

Elijah continued: “And sometimes us older boys hunts for squirrels and rabbits and snakes and things like that. The overseers only give us meat but once a month, so when we cans we tries to catch some extra.”

 

“Do you like being a slave?” James interrupted, hating himself for asking such a stupid question as soon as the words escaped his lips.

 

The question caught Elijah off guard. He started to explain his feelings on the matter, but before he’d uttered a word he caught himself and answered, “I ‘spects so, Massuh. Ain’t known nothin’ else to compare it to, I ‘spose. We treated real good, Massuh, so I ain’t a nigger that’s one to complain.”

 

One of the first lessons a black child’s taught is to ALWAYS tell a white person what they want to hear, truth be damned.

 

Elijah shifted uncomfortably on the bed. For a few peaceful moments he’d almost forgotten his mother’s emotional breakdown and the strangeness of his present circumstances. He was eager to get back to telling the oddly curious white man about his life.

 

“I’m sorry for interrupting, Elijah,” James apologized as if reading the boy’s thoughts. “What else do you and the other children like to do?”

 

Smiling with another sheepish sideways glance, Elijah continued.

 

“Today we played checkers with some rocks we found down by the creek. I was the dark rocks, Thad was the light. I beated him every time, though,” he boasted, smiling widely to reveal a mouthful of large, pearly-white teeth and purplish gums.

 

James thought to himself that his Uncle must have provided the best dental care money could buy. Probably an investment he made back triple-fold in slave sales, he reflected cynically. The boy’s smiling mouth, deep-red tongue, and moist lips set James’s dick off to twitching again.

 

He realized, somewhat ashamedly, that the small-talk had probably been just as much for himself as it was for Elijah, but now he was feeling very relaxed in the boy’s presence and eager to enjoy what the slave boy had to offer him beyond his cute, precocious stories.

 

“If your brother’s as handsome as you, your mother sure is going to have her hands full shooing the girls away,” James teased.

 

Elijah thought it a strange turn in the conversation. The other Negro women were always fawning over him, telling him how good-looking he was, how much he looked like his father, and a few pretty girls had even tried to kiss him once or twice, but it felt strange to hear such a compliment coming from a man – especially a white man. And it was even weirder to hear his new master talking about his little brother in the same way.

 

“I ‘spose so, Massuh. Thank you, Massuh. I ain’t never really looked at my brother like that, sir, but the women that watch us is always sayin’ he handsome.”

 

An awkward silence followed. James took a deep, shaky breath, his body literally trembling with excitement. He breathed in the musky, intoxicating smell of the black boy beside him, a mixture of sweat, food-smells, his tangled hair, the unique smell of Negro-skin, and lake-water still lingering from his afternoon swim. James’s imagination was already going wild with all the things he wanted to do with this boy; he was just uncertain how to make the transition without scaring the boy away. James laughed to himself at the thought. On some level he was deluding himself into believing the boy actually WANTED to be dragged away from his mother and brother to be with a strange older white man in the middle of the night.

 

“Can I feel your hair, Elijah?” James asked shyly, amusing himself with this request for permission he knew was unnecessary.

 

Elijah too was surprised by the older white man’s nervousness, but even more surprised by the strangeness of his request. Why on earth would this man want to feel his hair??? he wondered.

 

“Ummmm, I reckon, Massuh,” the boy answered in an uncertain voice. “It got sorta messy from swimmin’, though, and ain’t combed the way Mama likes it.”

 

James’s hand was shaking as he reached for the Negro boy’s tangled mop of nappy hair. He’d always looked with curiosity at the different hair textures of the free Negroes in Boston, but never worked up the nerve to ask any one of them to let him TOUCH it. Now, as he laid his hand gently atop Elijah’s head, he was fulfilling just one of countless fantasies he hoped to fulfill that night.

 

The slave boy’s hair was both rough and soft to the touch, black and crinkly and a little greasy. James could smell its distinct Negro odor from where he was sitting.

 

Elijah’s body tensed up at the older white man’s first touch. He’d been enjoying the conversation about his favorite childhood games, but this felt……..different, somehow. Sort of like his mother’s tender touch, yet different in a way that made Elijah uneasy without knowing why.

 

James first stroked the top of the boy’s head, as he would a puppy’s. Gaining courage, he began running his fingers deeper through it, savoring the unique feel of it against his skin, thrilled by this first intimate touching of the boy. As he ran his fingers through the nappy hair first gently, then more earnestly, flashes of him grabbing and pulling and holding that hair in a different, more erotic context, brought his dick springing to life.

 

“Do you know why you were brought here, Elijah?” James asked, barely able to hide the growing excitement in his voice. He truly had no idea how the boy would reply.

 

“No, sir,” Elijah said quietly. His fear from earlier began to return.

 

“Well, what do you THINK is the reason I had you brought here?” James continued his playful interrogation. The boy’s innocence was turning him on even more than stroking his hair had done.

 

“I dunno, sir,” Elijah answered, looking at the ground again as he talked. “I guess I thought you was gonna whip me, Massuh. When I was little, Mistuh Snopes took my Mama away ‘most every night sometimes. My Daddy tried to make like it didn’t bother him none, but one time I saw him cryin’ when he thought Thad and me was ‘sleep. And Mama always looked like she’d been cryin’ too, when she come back to us. I always ‘sposed she was gittin whipped. So when Mistuh Snopes come for me, I ‘sposed he was gonna whip me too.”

 

James smiled sympathetically at Elijah’s renewed burst of talkativeness. “No, nothing like that, Elijah,” James said, still stroking the boy’s thick hair. “I’m not going to whip you. In fact, I’m not going to hurt you at all……..”

 

Elijah’s eyes lit up with relief. Maybe his Mama was just mistaken. Maybe the new Master just wanted to get acquainted with one of his new slaves.

 

“……..as long as you do everything I say,” James added in a more serious voice.

 

Had James really just threatened the boy with a whipping? He should be ashamed of himself for even THINKING of hurting the scared, innocent little slave boy beside him, let alone verbalizing such a threat. But a man’s lust at its peak will make him do things once considered immoral and unthinkable, James realized. He was surprised by his own rising courage in the situation, and couldn’t deny the thrill it gave him to let the boy know he was at his Master’s complete mercy.

 

“Do you understand me, Elijah?” James continued sternly. “Do everything I tell you to do, and you won’t have to worry about getting whipped tonight.”

 

“I……..I thinks I understand, Massuh,” Elijah answered meekly, again recalling his mother’s instructions.

 

But for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine what it was his new Master wanted from him. Did Master want him to clean his bedroom? Maybe massage his feet, like his Daddy used to do for his Mama? Or did he simply want to do something as harmless and strange as……..stroke his hair? None of the last hour’s occurrences made any sense to the 14-year-old Negro slave.

 

“Good, I’m glad we have an understanding,” James continued firmly. “Now, Elijah……..I want to kiss you.”

 

Forgetting where he was and who he was with for a brief second, Elijah’s head whipped to the side with a confused, scrunched-up expression, looking at James as if the man had just ordered him to grow wings and fly back to his cabin.

 

“Huh?!?” the boy grunted. “I mean……..uh, is you SURE, Massuh?”

 

His body stiffened, and he began to feel sick to his stomach. His new Master wanting to KISS him was the last thing he’d expected.

 

“I’m sure, Elijah,” James insisted. “And remember, EVERYTHING I say. Or else I’ll have no choice but to have Mr. Potter or one of the overseers whip you.” Once again James felt the thrill of unrestricted power overtaking him.

 

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” he asked.

 

“Ummmm……..some of the girls is always tryin’ to kiss me, and I guess I’se kissed a few of ‘em back. But Massuh, I thought kissin’ was only ‘sposed to be for boys and girls. Never heard of two BOYS kissin’ before.”

 

James shivered with guilty delight at the boy’s purity and cluelessness.

 

“Do you find the idea strange and disgusting?” he asked the boy bluntly, perversely hoping for an answer in the affirmative.

 

“No, I guess not, Massuh,” Elijah lied. He definitely found the idea strange, and even a little bit repulsive. When he’d kissed girls it had always felt sort of slobbery and weird, and he imagined kissing a grown man – especially a grown white man – would be even worse.

 

“Good,” James replied, guessing the boy wasn’t telling the whole truth. “You might not have heard of it before, but some men actually PREFER kissing other men or boys.”

 

Elijah crinkled up his nose in disgust at the idea.

 

“I know it probably sounds weird to you,” James continued, intensely aroused by these first tentative steps at corrupting his ignorant, innocent slave boy. “But it can actually feel really good,” he explained, feigning an experience in such things that he didn’t have. Elijah’s lips were going to be the first ever that his own would touch.

 

“Just relax, Elijah, while your Master kisses you.”

 

Taking hold of the back of Elijah’s neck, James pulled the boy’s uneasy face to his own. First he simply pressed their two faces together, inhaling the rich smell of the boy’s skin and sweat and hair. The sensation was intoxicating.

 

Now, holding the back of the boy’s neck with both hands, James began kissing all over the boy’s face – his sweaty forehead, his brown cheeks still streaked from his earlier tears, his medium-sized Negro nose with its nostrils flaring in fear, his eyes clenched tight in surprise and distaste with his Master’s strange behavior.

 

The boy’s eyes shut tightly in discomfort and reluctance only further inflamed James’s craving for the flesh of the slave boy beside him. His mouth moved down to the nape of Elijah’s neck, lapping at the boy’s smooth, salty skin like a wild dog taking the first hungry bites of his freshly caught prey. He could feel his own dick lengthening down his leg, pushing up against the cloth of his pants.

 

He felt like a man possessed, licking up the boy’s neck to his ears, lapping his wet tongue all around the insides of both ears, lightly biting them as Elijah, ticklish, tried to pull away. James’s strong hands held the boy’s head firmly in place, however, as he then bit the boy’s cheeks, his nose, the cute fold of skin above the boy’s lips. It was like all his repressed desires of the past twenty years were unleashed with the first touch of the boy’s skin. He was like a madman, sweating and panting with every taste of the boy’s sweet face.

 

He then moved his own lips to meet Elijah’s thick, reddish-purplish lips glistening moistly. Elijah’s face scrunched up the moment his Master’s lips touched his, instinctively tightening to resist the weird sensation. James dug his fingers into the back of Elijah’s head as a non-verbal demand for cooperation. The lust-crazed white man kissed the boy’s upper and lower lips individually, taking each between his lips and teeth, biting and licking them before firmly covering both at the same time. James’s narrow, red lips kissed the boy’s thick, juicy lips fiercely – sometimes breaking to lick his cheeks, then back to the corners of the boy’s mouth, then back to his wet lips.

 

Aroused by Elijah’s obvious embarrassment and discomfort, James pried open the boy’s mouth with his adult tongue, forcing his way into its sweet depths that even the little Negro girls had probably never explored.

 

The Master had never felt sensations so delicious and sensual; the slave boy, on the other hand, felt like the man was trying to devour his face.

 

James swirled his tongue all around the insides of Elijah’s mouth, running it across the front and tops and backs of the boy’s teeth, lapping at the roof of his mouth, prodding deep into the back of the boy’s throat, straining toward his esophagus.

 

Elijah’s mouth smelled and tasted faintly of cornbread, no doubt the remnant of his supper that night. It also tasted – and here James thought he must certainly be imagining things – like something distinctly boyish and innocent.

 

The sweetness of the boy’s saliva was addictive. For a moment James almost felt he could be content doing only this for the next few hours before sun-up, but even in the midst of his frenzied lust he remembered his decision to limit this to a one-time thing, and knew he must do everything with this beautiful boy before the chance escaped him.

 

James suddenly tore his mouth away from the boy’s, and sat there staring ahead in distracted bliss, still stroking the back of Elijah’s head with his left hand.

 

Both man and boy sat stunned and breathing heavily; James from the exhilaration of the first kiss and anticipation of pleasures to come, Elijah from shock and confusion.

 

For a moment, Elijah thought his task was done, and half-expected his new Master to send him back to his mother and little brother at any moment. Without thinking, he wiped off his face with his sleeve, then flashed James a frightened-apologetic glance when he realized what he’d done.

 

James laughed at the boy’s understandable behavior. “How did that feel, Elijah?” the older white man inquired.

 

Elijah looked nervously toward the window, then back toward his Master.

 

“It was……..kinda weird-feelin’, Massuh. I ain’t never had nobody try to eat my face like that before.”

 

James laughed again, the gradual softening of his cock reversed by the boy’s confused reaction.

 

Elijah was telling the truth this time. But now that the white man’s onslaught was over, he concluded it hadn’t been TOO awful. Bizarre and a little gross, maybe, but if that was all his Master wanted from him, he could go home a happy boy.

 

“Now I want you to strip for me. Shirt first,” James ordered, inspired by his growing dick.

 

He was treated to a repeat of Elijah’s earlier look of surprise and resistance.

 

“Massuh???” Elijah asked, thinking he must have heard wrong. “But I’se done everything you told me to do, Massuh, so why’s you gonna whip me?”

 

The only reason for stripping that Elijah’s virgin mind could fathom was to prepare for a whipping. He’d once snuck off with some of the other boys to spy on Mr. Snopes whipping Lil Rooster’s daddy, and recalled his surprise and embarrassment at seeing the adult man tied to the whipping post, bare-naked.

 

James chuckled again at the boy’s naiveté.

 

“Don’t worry, Elijah, you haven’t done anything to earn a whipping. Just like I was telling you before about men like me who enjoy kissing boys, there are also some men who like looking at boys’ bodies.”

 

Elijah furrowed his brow again, but James continued: “You see, Elijah, I’m one of those men. I think you’re an incredibly handsome young man, and I want to see you without your clothes on.”

 

Elijah blushed, both flattered and disgusted. So much for his ordeal being over after the kissing, he thought. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that a grown man – a grown WHITE man, no less – would want to see a 14-year-old Negro boy naked.

 

Elijah’s heart sank at a sudden thought that crossed his mind. He remembered the day a few months back when he caught the stable-boy Jacob’s little sister Laney bathing in one of his favorite fishing-holes. He remembered crouching behind the trees, staring mesmerized by her naked body. Of course he’d seen his Mama naked, and the breasts of some of the older Negro women when they nursed the infants, but Laney was a girl his own age. He recalled the tingling he felt throughout his whole body when he saw her small breasts shiny from the creek-water, her deep-ebony skin, her round, thick behind when she bent over to wash her hair. He recalled how it made his dick get hard the way it would sometimes when he was asleep, and how he’d instinctively reached beneath his pants to touch his dick, and realized how good it felt when he wrapped his fingers around it. He couldn’t precisely say just what it was about her body that he found exciting, or what he wanted from it, but he knew he wanted SOMETHING.

 

And maybe, Elijah began to formulate the fuzzy idea in his mind, his new Master wanted to feel the same thing from him. Without knowing precisely why, Elijah found the idea unnatural and unsettling, something ugly and wrong when contrasted with his attraction to Laney.

 

“Stand in the center of the room and remove your shirt, Elijah,” he heard the older white man say more insistently. James was enjoying telling the wide-eyed boy what to do.

 

Elijah slowly stood up, crossed the room, and stood facing his Master who remained sitting on the edge of the bed several feet away.

 

“Just my shirt, Massuh?” Elijah asked as he fumbled with the buttons on his ragged cloth shirt.

 

“Just your shirt for the moment,” James explained, eagerly staring as the boy slowly unfastened one button, followed by the next, then the next.

 

A few moments later, Elijah’s shirt parted to reveal a glimpse of the youthful chest beneath. Looking sullenly at the ground, Elijah slipped the shirt off of his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

 

James smiled at the sight of his caramel-colored slave boy stripped to the waist. He admired the boy’s slender, almost bony, build; the rib-cage pressing out against his skin; the large dark nipples standing out against the lighter brown of the rest of the boy’s chest; the cute protruding belly-button, slightly deformed from a hasty and most likely undoctored birth; the slight muscles rippling across his pectorals and upper arms.

 

James took a deep breath, half-fearing he might suffocate from exposure to so much beauty at once.

 

“Turn around,” he commanded, and the boy awkwardly complied, still staring at the floor.

 

James looked lustfully at the bony shoulder-blades jutting out; the brown back-skin glistening slightly with nervous sweat; the faint hint of spine showing through the skin, trailing down……..down……..down to the two firm, upright melons still hidden beneath the boy’s sagging waist, pushing up and out against the pants-cloth a good five or six inches, as if the round bottom might rip through the material at any moment.

 

“Remove your pants,” James said hoarsely, choking on his own nervousness and desire.

 

Elijah clenched his eyes shut in frustration, knowing his Master couldn’t see his less-than-enthusiastic reaction from where he was sitting. He hoped the night would be over soon. The weirdness of the whole thing was beginning to overwhelm his healthy mind, and besides, he was growing increasingly sleepy after a long day of swimming and playing with his friends.

 

He slowly began to untie the thin rope tied through his pants-waist, then pushed them to the ground and stepped free of them. Now he stood completely naked, his shirt and pants in a crumpled pile on the floor.

 

James gasped audibly, stunned by his first-ever up-close look at a Negro boy’s naked buttocks. Till now he’d had no choice but IMAGINE that mysterious flesh cloaked by the pants of various Negro boys and men based on the shapes he could make out through their clothes. Elijah’s two round globes sloping in a nearly perfect semi-circle to meet his skinny legs were as flawless as James had hoped and imagined they’d be. So different from the still-nice but scrawnier, flatter buttocks of the white boys he’d sometimes spied on in Boston.

 

James’s right hand went instinctively to his dick, which had now reached its full length of seven granite-hard inches of medium thickness. He could already feel the hot, sticky moisture forming at its tip, and was almost embarrassed that he felt this aroused just from LOOKING at the naked Negro slave.

 

“Stay just how you are, and don’t look at me,” James commanded.

 

Elijah tightened his eyes shut again, but did as he was told.

 

James began rapidly unbuttoning his own shirt, flinging it to the side of the bed. He then stood up to remove his shoes and trousers, returning completely naked to his sitting position on the edge of the bed.

 

Elijah heard rustling behind him, but couldn’t guess what his Master was doing. The only thing he could think was that perhaps he was getting out an easel and charcoal or paint to sketch his picture. He remembered hearing talk of such a thing from some of the “educated” Negroes awhile back – artists who liked to draw fancy pictures of naked men and women. Maybe the Master’s just an artist who wants to draw my picture, Elijah thought hopefully.

 

James began gently touching his own cock, which was now deep red and jutting upwards at an almost parallel angle to his stomach. He tried to savor every gorgeous feature of the naked slave boy in front of him. Suddenly he couldn’t wait to see the boy’s surprised reaction when he saw his naked Master.

 

“Okay, I want you to turn back toward me, now,” James instructed.

 

Elijah slowly turned around to face his Master, involuntarily letting out a cry of surprise and dismay when he saw the white man completely naked, grinning and stroking a hard red dick, a pile of discarded clothes at his feet.

 

Elijah’s head started spinning, and he felt foolish for his “artist” theory of just moments before. He wanted to scoop up his clothes and run out of the room, but his mother’s warnings kept ringing in his ears. And while he was still as confused as ever about his Master’s intentions, any hopes of them being benign and harmless were quickly slipping away.

 

James’s dick throbbed two or three times when he saw Elijah’s jaw drop open in shock at his nudity, and the wetness at its tip only increased when he saw the breathtaking appendage dangling between the boy’s thin legs.

 

My God, James thought to himself, perhaps the “myth” disparaged by his Abolitionist and colored acquaintances up North had some truth to it after all. In its completely soft state it hung a good six inches, incredible for a still-developing boy of Elijah’s age. And knowing that his own dick sometimes withdrew like a turtle when he was cold or afraid, James couldn’t help but wonder if he was beholding Elijah’s manhood at its unnaturally SHORTEST length. It was circumcised (due to ancient African custom or slave-master’s orders, James wasn’t sure), looked slightly darker than the rest of him, and hung heavily over two perfectly round, medium-shaped testicles.

 

“Beautiful……..simply beautiful,” was all James could utter, causing Elijah to wince with embarrassment.

 

James was ravenous to devour every inch of the boy’s beautiful body just as he had done to Elijah’s face and mouth only moments ago. But more urgent even than his curiosity to explore the slave boy’s flesh was a rising desire to assert his mastery over the boy, to truly FEEL what having another human being at one’s total mercy was like.

 

A small part of him, tucked away very deeply in this moment, truly felt sorry for the poor boy, torn from the familiarity of home and family and whisked off to be the sexual toy of an older white man he’d never met. It was this compassion that had caused James to swear to himself that he’d treat the selected slave with nothing but kindness.

 

But a far more powerful urge, birthed at the moment he knocked on Mr. Potter’s door and now stoked into an uncontrollable blaze, was tempting him to degrade the slave boy, to relish Elijah’s awe and discomfort and reluctance, to gloat over this loss of innocence. James knew he’d probably loathe himself the next day, but in the frenzied lust of the moment he felt like a man having an out-of-body experience. There was a certain freedom and exhilaration in surrendering to his more shameful cravings. Sampling a taste of the boy’s impressive manhood could wait for later; right now his only interest was in TAKING the boy’s more figurative manhood, and achieving his own pleasure in the process.

 

“Come here, boy,” James barked.

 

Elijah was startled by the fact that this was the first time his new Master had called him something other than his first name. He was used to such treatment from the overseers passing through the slave quarters, even from the older Negro women who watched over the children, but he’d liked the way his new Master called him kindly by his actual name. The sudden change in tone alarmed him, and he hesitantly walked toward the naked white man sitting on the bed. He felt like something terrible was about to happen – not a whipping, not a beating even – but something terrible nevertheless. He had no idea what.

 

“Get on your knees, boy!” James ordered.

 

The wicked temptation to call the boy a “nigger” had formed in his mind, but was still doing battle with his Northern/Puritan/Abolitionist conscience.

 

Elijah hesitated for a second, looking enviously toward the freedom and purity beyond the bedroom windows.

 

“NOW!!!” James raised his voice. “You do as I say and you don’t get whipped, remember?!?”

 

“Yes, Massuh, I remembers and I’se sorry, Massuh,” Elijah apologized, dropping immediately to his knees on the cold wooden floor between the slightly spread legs of his Master sitting on the bed. His sweet-natured head still couldn’t picture what it was his Master wanted from him in this position.

 

“I want you to kiss my dick and put it in your mouth,” James stated bluntly. He’d all but abandoned his initial plan to be kind and was past the point of no return toward Plan B.

 

Elijah visibly cringed at the command. The picture that came to his mind of him sucking on his Master’s penis, like a calf on its mama’s teats, almost made him vomit. The best he could guess was that the Master wanted to piss in his mouth; why else would he demand such a thing?

 

“But, Massuh,” Elijah stuttered. “Please, Massuh, I’ll do anything you ask, just please don’t makes me do that. It ain’t……..natural.”

 

“You’re beginning to try my patience, boy,” James growled, and he meant it. It was obvious from the slave boy’s reaction that he’d never blown a buddy, or older teens in the quarters, or even his father or little brother, nor had he ever had the mental capacity or need to imagine such behavior. Elijah’s complete and utter purity was a maddening aphrodisiac.

 

“You heard what your Master ordered,” James continued. “Now DO IT before I tie you to the whipping post myself!”

 

James was pretty certain he didn’t actually mean it, but it was fun to see the alarm it caused on the boy’s expression.

 

Elijah frowned and leaned cautiously closer to the older white man’s crotch. James knew he could force a blowjob with two strong hands placed to the back of the slave boy’s head if he wanted to, but watching Elijah’s awkwardness and trepidation was making for quite the erotically charged show.

 

James’s hard, throbbing-red cock was just inches from Elijah’s wet lips, the bottom-lip on which the boy was biting down out of embarrassment and apprehension. Elijah squeezed his eyes shut tightly and slowly leaned toward the appendage straining to lodge itself in the boy’s warm virgin mouth. As his face got closer, Elijah could feel the heat emanating from his Master’s aching member. The boy thought it smelled sort of disgusting, like a mixture of sweat and milk. The smell caused Elijah to yank his head back suddenly. I don’t care what he does to me, Elijah concluded to himself. I don’t care what Mama said, I swear I’ll throw up if I put it in my mouth.

 

“I reckon you’ll have to go ahead and whip me, Massuh,” Elijah said resignedly.

 

James was snapped out of his fantasy by the boy’s defiant words.

 

“You’d rather be whipped than put my dick in your mouth?!?” James asked. “Now there’s some crazy nigger logic,” he added harshly, surprised at his own first use of the racial epithet. He could tell by Elijah’s hurt expression that the boy was surprised too. James had heard Mr. Potter complain repeatedly over the last week and a half about various forms of “nigger logic,” but never thought in a million years that he’d hear the expression come out of his own mouth.

 

“I’se sorry, Massuh,” Elijah said weakly, looking gloomily at the floor. “I tried, but I just can’t do it, so I ‘spose you gotta whip me instead.”

 

James wasn’t sure whether to be amused or enraged at the slave boy calling his bluff. If he was totally honest with himself, James knew that the boy’s intensified resistance was only turning him on all the more, further inflaming his lust for power and dominance over the Negro. In his altered state of mind he decided to take things to another level.

 

“Look here, nigger……..” James growled, shivering again at the thrill of speaking the forbidden word. “You’re going to do what I asked you to do, or else it’s not just going to be your own naked hide bloody and scarred for weeks, but your Mama’s and brother’s too.”

 

Elijah’s eyes grew wide in shock and despair, and started to well up with tears.

 

James knew he should be appalled by his words, but this was a high he’d never experienced before, and he was going to enjoy it while it lasted. He felt like one of the villains in the Abolitionist novels, and decided to perform the role with the required severity.

 

“And not only that,” he continued. “If your little brother actually SURVIVES his whipping, tomorrow morning I’ll sell him so far down the river you’ll be sure never to see him again for the rest of your pathetic nigger life.”

 

James winced as he saw a thick, salty tear trickle down Elijah’s cheek, and realized he was making the same barbaric threat against Elijah that Mr. Potter had made against the little Negro boy he raped that night years ago in his slave quarters. Oh, God, James thought to himself. I haven’t been here even two weeks and I’m already turning into that monster?

 

The sight of the naked, crying slave boy kneeling before him was too overpowering, though, and he rationalized it by telling himself they were just hollow, melodramatic threats to intimidate the rebellious boy into pleasing him sexually.

 

“Your Mama, too,” James added for effect. “So what’s it gonna be, boy?!? Licking my dick, or whippings and never seeing your family again – it’s your choice.”

 

By this point Elijah was mustering all the big-boy strength he could to keep from sobbing, but the occasional rogue tears still escaped his watering eyes. Now his mother’s own tears, screams, and instructions began to make more sense to him. She must have foreseen all this and STILL ordered him to obey the new Master no matter what. He couldn’t let her down, and he certainly couldn’t bear life as a slave without his Mama and Thad.

 

With renewed courage and conviction, Elijah clenched his eyes shut and leaned in so that his face was directly touching his Master’s dick.

 

“Now that’s more like it,” James sighed, looking down at the boy’s resentful fumblings, eager to enjoy the show.

 

Elijah kept his face smashed awkwardly against the white man’s dick for a few moments, uncertain how to proceed. He then started pecking at it like a drunken rooster, his lips still clenched closed in resistance. He was surprised by the dick’s heat, as well as its soft skin and sweaty wetness. He noticed that it twitched occasionally as his mouth peppered it with awkward kisses.

 

“Relax your mouth and lick it,” James coached, the pleasure of his own first blowjob greatly enhanced by the fact that it was the boy’s first as well.

 

Part of him wanted to grab the back of the boy’s head and rape his face, but decided to enjoy the boy’s virgin groping a little longer – the other stuff could come later.

 

Elijah reluctantly parted his lips and cautiously began to peck at his Master’s dick with his tongue. He desperately wanted this nightmare to be over, but in his state of boyish innocence he didn’t yet realize that the more aggressively and skillfully he pursued his assigned task, the sooner his suffering would be over.

 

At his Master’s urging, Elijah’s tiny licks slowly turned into tentative longer licks up and down the seven-inch pole. James grabbed hold of Elijah’s right arm and led the boy’s hand to the base of his dick, encouraging him to hold it firmly while he lapped at it up and down like one of the lollipops he sometimes enjoyed at Christmastime. Only instead of tasting sweet, his Master’s dick tasted hot and salty – not disgusting necessarily, but certainly not what he’d consider appealing.

 

For James, the feel of the teenage boy’s hot breath against his crotch and long licks up and down his dick was exquisite torture. Being new to the whole experience, he hoped he’d wouldn’t release before he’d enjoyed the boy in every way possible.

 

“Lick my balls, too,” James grunted, pushing the boy’s head down to his large testicles covered lightly in wisps of blondish hair.

 

The boy, his eyes still shut tightly, wiggled his tongue all over them, disgusted by what he was doing but hoping he was mustering up enough energy to fool his Master. He noticed a deep, nutty smell that was distinct from the sweaty, milky smell of the white man’s skin. He was hoping his Master would change his mind and be content to stop at just the licking. He didn’t see how he could possibly put the man’s large, hard penis in his small mouth.

 

As if reading the boy’s mind, James ordered, “Now put it in your mouth, nigger-boy.” The nasty words somehow made the early stages of this blowjob even sweeter.

 

Elijah started to protest but remembered the horrible threat to his mother and brother’s safety that was driving this entire encounter. Gulping nervously, the boy directed the older white man’s dick to his mouth with his hand, and placed it awkwardly between his thick, wet lips.

 

“That’s it, just like that, boy,” James encouraged, aroused beyond his wildest imagination by the sight of his strong white dick penetrating what most certainly had to be one of the purest, most virgin boy-mouths on the entire plantation.

 

Elijah wrapped his mouth tightly around the head of James’s dick, but to James’s surprise and amusement the boy just stayed still in that position, holding the dick in his mouth. In the boy’s confused mind, he still thought his Master wanted him to drink his piss. He even tasted something hot and salty, expected a gushing stream of disgusting urine to flood his mouth at any moment.

 

James laughed at Elijah’s clumsiness, and was turned on even more. He realized giving head wasn’t exactly a concept that came naturally to teenage boys, unless they’d already been lucky enough to have it performed on them, which Elijah clearly hadn’t been.

 

James ceased with the derogatory language for a moment: “Don’t just hold still, Elijah,” he explained. “You have to MOVE IT AROUND in your mouth. Move your mouth up and down on it, and swirl your tongue around while you do it.”

 

He figured that should suffice for an urgent in-the-moment tutorial. Hell, the only reason he knew even that much was from dirty books and the crude jokes of his bachelor friends.

 

“Haven’t you ever touched your own dick to make yourself feel good?” James asked. Elijah thought of Laney and mumbled a shy assent, his mouth still perched atop his Master’s dick.

 

“Well, it’s like that,” James went on to explain. “You move your mouth up and down like you would your fist. But this time your goal is to make ME feel good, you hear me?”

 

Suddenly everything began to make more sense to Elijah. The reason the new Master wanted him. The new Master’s odd requests. The new Master wanted Elijah the way Elijah wanted Laney. The new Master wanted Elijah to make his dick feel good the way it felt when Elijah touched himself that day by the fishing-hole. He still found it unbelievable that an older white man could desire a poor, dirty slave boy, but the proof was right in front of him……..between his lips, in fact.

 

Elijah tried following James’s advice. Holding the dick at its base with his right hand, he began bobbing awkwardly up and down; at least it felt to him like he was bobbing up and down, but in reality his lips were barely descending beyond the head of James’s dick. James had to warn Elijah about covering his lips with his teeth before the boy settled into a motion that seemed to please his Master, for the moment at least.

 

“That’s it, Elijah. That’s a good nigger,” James moaned, the power-lust returning. “Take it deeper in your mouth, boy.”

 

Elijah tried to do as he was told but started to choke from the new sensation of having his mouth invaded by this hard, veiny appendage. Startled by the shock, he took his mouth off the dick and gasped for air.

 

The choking sound only stirred within James a fiercer lust. He should feel bad for the poor kid – and he honestly did, at least a little bit – but rather than provoking his pity, the choking sound made him want to hear the sound again, and again.

 

“Did I tell you to take a breath?!?” James taunted. Now he was bored with the boy’s clumsy little show and urgently wanted to bury his aching dick as deep into the boy’s warm mouth as he possibly could.

 

“No, Massuh……..I’se sorry, Massuh, I’se trying Massuh,” the boy apologized, still fighting back tears.

 

He immediately enveloped his Master’s dick once again with his lips already sore from the unaccustomed strain. He gagged again when he tried to take more than three inches into his small mouth.

 

With that, James impatiently grabbed the back of the boy’s head and forced it down deeper on his dick, causing the boy to moan loudly in shock and protest. He could tell from the boy’s desperate moaning that he was trying to speak, but he held his slave boy’s head in that position without releasing the firm grip on the back of his head.

 

Drunk with this new sadistic sensation, he sat up straighter and began thrusting his dick deeper into Elijah’s throat, simultaneously forcing the boy’s head down with his hands. He did this with slow thrusts at first, then picked up speed until he was stabbing the boy’s face with furious strokes.

 

James couldn’t believe how intensely good it felt to have his dick engulfed by the boy’s slobbery warm mouth. The physical sensations of the boy’s tongue and cheeks and roof of the mouth massaging his prick combined with the forbidden psychological thrills of calling the boy a “nigger” and hearing his frightened moans combined to create a deliriously pleasurable experience.

 

The boy was screaming in protest, tears streaming down his face, but the cock stuffed in his throat muffled his panicked screams. And it wasn’t as if anybody was around to hear. If Mr. Potter could hear the sounds of struggle – and James highly doubted it – he’d probably just laugh or jack off to them himself.

 

Elijah was certain he was going to pass out at any moment, either from lack of air or trauma from the huge dick violating his no-longer-virgin mouth. A couple times he started to throw up, but quickly swallowed it back down to keep from displeasing his wild-eyed Master. He wished more than anything that he could somehow make his spirit leave his body, only to return when this hell was over.

 

James kept his eyes open the entire time, intently watching the young boy’s clenched eyelids as he thrust deeper and deeper, refusing to pull out, forcing his entire cock down the boy’s throat until his pretty Negro lips were pressed against his tangled patch of dark pubic hairs. From time to time the boy would open his eyes, looking up at him wide with pleading and terror, then clench shut again when he realized it only provoked deeper and harder thrusts.

 

Sensing the boy was truly beginning to suffocate, and certainly having no intentions of killing the boy, James grabbed two handfuls of Elijah’s thick, nappy hair and violently yanked the boy’s head backwards so that his mouth slid off his dick with a sudden slurping sound. James held the boy’s head backwards like that for a moment so that Elijah was forced to look up at him, gasping for air with his mouth wide open, dripping with saliva and precum.

 

After savoring this arousing image for a few moments, James forced the boy’s open, panting mouth back down on his dick, this time thrusting all the way, then all the way out, back and forth like a bull in heat.

 

Fearing he might explode in the boy’s mouth at any second, but still eager to enjoy the boy’s OTHER orifice, James pulled out, released Elijah’s head, and ordered him to lie down on the bed, on his stomach.

 

The boy stood up dizzily and stumbled over to the side of the bed, where he collapsed as ordered. His now-open eyes looked sad and distant; gone was the energetic spark they’d shown when he first entered the room not even an hour ago. He looked almost as if he’d been drugged.

 

Elijah was relieved to have the nightmare of the previous ten minutes over with. He hated the hot, tangy taste that still clung to his mouth from the dick that had just been crammed into it, but at least he was able to breathe freely again. He desperately hoped that any second the new Master would order him to put on his clothes and return home. Perhaps the white man had only ordered him to lie on the bed as a friendly gesture, a chance to catch his breath, maybe even sleep, before going home.

 

Sprawled naked on his stomach, Elijah savored the sweet smell and softness of the plush bed, so unlike his scratchy bed of blanket thrown over straw. He continued sniffling, but was gaining comfort in the fancy bed and realization that he’d survived the hardships of the evening intact. That is, until he felt the Master’s naked body sit on the bed beside him, causing a renewed pit in his stomach to form. His fears were only confirmed when he felt the Master’s large hands begin caressing and kneading his butt-cheeks. His body tensed up immediately and Elijah squeezed his eyes against yet another bizarre surprise.

 

His surprise grew into alarm and disgust when he felt the Master’s index finger running down his crack, along the surface at first, then deeper into the folds of his bottom until he could feel it brushing against the tight, tiny hole where his shit comes out. His head whipped around in disbelief and protest, but his questioning look was simply met with a menacing smile.

 

“Massuh, please don’t touch me there,” Elijah pleaded. “Massuh, this just ain’t right, Massuh.”

 

“Listen, nigger-boy,” James demanded. “You still ain’t learned your proper place on this plantation, your proper role in relation to the white man.”

 

James cringed at his own words but still loved every minute of it.

 

“Shut your little pickaninny mouth and let me do as I please. Ain’t no right or wrong about it, boy. What I’m about to do is gonna make your Master feel REAL good, and that’s exactly what you’re here for.”

 

He looked at the naked Negro teen sprawled beside him, the tight mounds of his ass upturned and giving away to his probing finger. He savored the feel of the firm buttocks cupped in his hands, the sounds of Elijah’s whimpers when James’s finger circled his asshole (an asshole tinier and tighter than anything he’d ever imagined), the look of a beautiful cocoa-skinned slave boy lying before him, at his complete mercy, and couldn’t wait a second longer to experience for the first time what it feels like to fuck a boy in his asshole.

 

James’s words only further confused Elijah. Asses are private and dirty, he thought; what enjoyment could anyone in their right mind possibly gain from massaging or fingering them?!?

 

Just then he felt the Master roll over on top of him, smothering the boy’s small frame with his much larger body. For a second Elijah wondered if the Master wanted to wrestle, as he and his friends sometimes liked to do on a boring summer day. Then he felt the Master’s hard dick, still wet from his own mouth’s slobber, begin poking around at his butt-cheeks, sliding between his crack. It felt strange having his ass parted by something hard and thick. He then felt the tip of his Master’s penis prodding at the little hole where his shit comes out.

 

In a flash of terror and panic, Elijah suddenly realized what it was his Master was attempting to do. To make his dick feel good, like it can with one’s hands, and apparently with another person’s mouth, the Master was trying to push his large dick, thicker than a quarter, into his tiny butt-hole, tinier even than a button!

 

He remembered joining some of the other slave-children in watching the stable-boy Jacob in a similar position with Sophy one afternoon in the barn. He could never forget the image of Jacob’s dark-black, muscular ass rising and falling in the air as he smashed his body over and over again into Sophy while she lay on her stomach beneath him, very similar to the way he was beneath Master right now. He remembered hearing Sophy screaming like the womenfolk in church or in childbirth, only louder and like she was dying.

 

And here Master was trying to do to him like Jacob done to Sophy. Only Jacob and Sophy seemed okay somehow, not like this. Master was trying to kill him, to split him in two!

 

His instinct for self-preservation making him forget the serious threats hanging over his head, Elijah attempted to slide out from beneath the Master and scramble away from the bed, only to be smothered with even greater force and restrained by fists forcing down the small of his back.

 

Eager to split open the ripe virgin melons beneath him, James crudely spit on his already-wet dick and plunged it with brutal force into the dark, cutely wrinkled, tightly clenched circle of the boy’s asshole, pushing past the boy’s last seal of masculine pride and virginity.

 

Elijah screamed out in an agony even the boy’s worst fears hadn’t anticipated. It felt like someone was ripping into his insides with the fiery end of the thick stick used to poke at the fire. James shoved the boy’s head into the pillows to muffle his screams, but that did nothing to relieve the pain and sense of violation he felt inside. Just minutes ago, Elijah had no idea such an activity even existed, but now that he was experiencing it firsthand, he felt a deep sense of anger and shame at the new Master for causing him such pain so casually and callously, for stealing something, he wasn’t sure what exactly, to do with his pride and respect as a boy-almost-a-man.

 

He felt the man’s penis push slowly against the tight, resisting walls of his ass-tunnel, deeper an inch or two, then back a little bit, then deeper again, only a little bit further each time – causing brand new sensations of pain every time the ruthless dick thrust into a deeper part of his insides.

 

He heard the gross slurping sounds of his asshole sucking on the white man’s cock, and prayed to God it wouldn’t come out with any shit on it. He didn’t see how it couldn’t – it was his ASS, after all – but he hoped for the best nevertheless.

 

In the midst of the relentless pain, images from his life as a regular Negro boy flashed across his mind – the fun he’d had at the swimming-hole earlier that afternoon, playing checkers with Thad earlier that evening, watching Laney bathe in the fishing-hole – and those scenes felt like they’d happened years ago, like parts of a different life. As he thought of these familiar people and scenes from his everyday life, he missed them terribly, and started sobbing into the pillows.

 

James heard the boy crying and only increased his intensity. He moved from gradually prying open the grip of the Negro boy’s stubborn anus, to bucking up and down atop the boy, pushing harder and deeper and faster with every thrust.

 

If he thought fucking the boy’s mouth was a joy beyond words, the sensations of fucking his firm, brown, tight boy-ass were a million times more intense. The squishy warmth of the boy’s bowels engulfing his cock created a delirious pleasure never experienced through masturbation, and the boy’s muffled screams and groans of pain (but perhaps pleasure, he wondered???) only intensified that pleasure.

 

Sometimes throughout his fucking the boy, James laid flat on top of him, kissing his nappy hair, his dark sweaty neck and ears and shoulders as he slammed his manhood deep into the boy’s guts without mercy. As an added thrill, he whispered dirty things in the innocent black boy’s ears:

 

“You like this, nigger?” he’d say.

 

Or things like, “You want me to shoot my Yankee juices in your nigger boy-pussy?”

 

Or, “This is to teach you who’s the nigger and who’s the Master around here, boy. Your ass is MINE and nobody else’s, you hear me? I’m your only Master. If even one of the OVERSEERS tries to get a taste of this sweet cherry, they’ll have me to answer to. You’re MY nigger-bitch and MY nigger-bitch only, you hear? What do you say, boy?!?”

 

James grabbed the boy’s hair and yanked his head backwards off the pillow long enough to hear him sob, “Yes, Massuh, I hears you, Massuh……..I’m your nigger, Massuh, nobody else but yours, Massuh……..” before letting his head bury itself back into the pillows.

 

At other times James liked to push the boy up on his knees, head smashed into the pillows with his ass in the air, so that James could position himself on his own knees between the boy’s legs. This gave him a better view of the tender ass he was plundering.

 

He liked to shove the boy’s head down into the pillows in this position, giving him more power to keep the boy’s body firmly in place.

 

He liked to listen to the wet slurping sucking sounds of the boy’s tight asshole inhaling his cock.

 

He loved looking down and watching his manhood, now covered in spit and precum and slime from the boy’s intestines, slamming in and out of the boy’s asshole – disappearing within the caverns of the boy’s small, boyishly muscular ass-cheeks, violating what had previously been the most sacred, private, and intimate part of the boy’s body, then reappearing again as it dragged with it the now-stretched circular lining of the boy’s anus, coming all the way out with a plopping sound to reveal the boy’s tiny gaping asshole, clenching open and shut, open and shut as if begging for more. Then diving his dick back into the inviting hole for another rapturous plunge.

 

As James fucked Elijah in this fury of lust-mingled-with-cruelty, he couldn’t believe that just two weeks ago he’d been a lonely but morally upstanding bachelor with what he thought to be fairly solid Abolitionist beliefs. Yet here he was essentially raping a 14-year-old Negro boy, pillaging the boy’s sweet young cherry for his own selfish pleasure. Worse yet, calling him hateful names and turning a blind eye to his heartfelt tears.

 

But pangs of conscience are no match for a young man burning with decades of pent-up lust, and tonight James’s darker nature was in complete control. As the gulping sounds of the rhythmic pounding into the boy’s ravaged ass continued, James pictured scenes from Elijah’s childhood – playing “catch a nigger” with his friends, splashing in the creek with the other boys, smiling at his mother’s warm embrace – and these images of innocence enraged his lust for the boy’s flesh all the more.

 

James’s panting was getting heavier, his moans of ecstasy louder.

 

He knew that part of why those images turned him on was because he was robbing Elijah of his cherished innocence, making it so that the boy could never again return to those scenes of innocence in quite the same way. This was ultimate power, he realized as he sensed what felt like an ocean of hot semen pressuring to be released; this ability to permanently and completely control and ruin another human being’s life.

 

With that thought and the culmination of the night’s countless new erotic sensations, James unleashed a torrent of hot fluid deep into the slave boy’s aching bowels.

 

Elijah, no longer crying but nearly passed out from the previous twenty minutes’ excruciating pain, felt the stinging warm juices shooting through his insides, some seeping deep into his intestines, the rest leaking back out of his weary asshole. He realized with shame and disgust that the white man on top of him had just filled him with his seed -- the same sticky, strange-smelling stuff Elijah had discovered he could produce from stroking his own penis while hidden away in the corner of the barn the same day he saw Laney in the creek. He didn’t know exactly what it was, but he guessed that it had something to do with his tingling attraction to Laney, to Jacob and Sophy in the barn, and to making babies, although he wasn’t sure why he thought that. And it had something to do with the sweaty, panting man collapsed on top of him, whose softening dick was still buried in his burning asshole.

 

After a few moments of silence – blissful and intimate for James, awkward and sickening for Elijah – James rolled off of the naked slave boy.

 

He wet a washcloth with the water in the basin beside the bed and used it to clean off his dick. It was  surprisingly clean, he thought, especially after having feared the worst -- just the slime of cum and the boy’s internal juices. James guessed the afternoon swim had probably helped.

 

He then wet the rag again and used it to tenderly wipe up the combination of spit, slime, and blood from around the boy’s deflowered asshole. In his post-coital calmness, James’s cruelty had been replaced by an overwhelming tenderness for the boy.

 

“You’ll be sleeping with me tonight, Elijah,” James announced quietly.

 

With that he blew out the room’s lamps and candles, returned to the bed, and cradled the shell-shocked black boy in his grown-up arms, spooning against Elijah’s back with his arm wrapped around the boy’s chest.

 

James thought about how wonderful this intimacy with the boy’s warm body felt. He thought about how drastically his life had changed in just two short weeks. He thought about how silly and naďve he’d been to think this would only happen once. His mind already began racing toward other boys on the plantation: Elijah’s little brother Thad. Jacob. Abel. Not to mention the dozens of other boys and men he had yet to see or hear of.  Imagining the limitless possibilities of Stampley Plantation, James fell soundly, blissfully asleep.

 

Despite the aching tiredness Elijah felt after a long day and his recent ordeal, he found it impossible to fall asleep for several hours. He thought of his life that would never again be the same again. He thought of his mother and Thad at home waiting anxiously for him to return. He thought about how silly and childish his games of checkers or “catch a nigger” seemed compared to what he’d just been through. He thought of Laney and wondered if she’d look at him and be able to tell that he’d had the Master’s dick stuffed in both his mouth and ass.

 

But more than anything, he wondered about HIMSELF and what the future held in store for him at Stampley Plantation.

 

And the moon shined down upon the sleeping white man with his arms wrapped tightly around the scared, naked black boy; if one looked carefully, they’d see the boy’s sad eyes still awake and blinking, and one final tear escaping down his cheek.