The
Adventures of Stampley Plantation
By WannabeWhitman
DISCLAIMER: This story is a homosexual fantasy involving slavery in the antebellum South, sex with minors, and racial epithets. If you think any of this might offend you, DO NOT READ. If you live in a country, state, or jurisdiction that prohibits you from reading this material, DO NOT READ. If you are a minor, DO NOT READ. NOTE TO READERS: The following is my first attempt at writing erotic fiction. Although it’s set in the antebellum South, 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 are looking for a quick, wham-bam-thank-you-sir jack-off story, this is probably not the story for you, at least not yet. The following is an extended introduction to what I envision as a continuing, multi-part series. I imagine it as the equivalent of a television drama, so consider this the “pilot” episode, establishing the setting, background, and a few of the characters. While there isn’t a lot of action in this first part, I believe there are some intensely erotic passages, as well as a brief sex scene recollected by one of the characters. I hope serious readers who enjoy interracial, slavery, and/or intergenerational stories will be patient and follow the story as it develops. If you enjoy this story, please let me know! Any and all feedback is welcome and desired! I would love to hear constructive criticism, scenes or themes you particularly enjoy, 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, prison scenes, adult/ youth themes, gangbangs, and more. Discuss your forbidden fantasies, share photos, and post erotic stories. Join me in looking at interracial desire in a way that most are too timid to talk about! This is NOT your average interracial group. Stay away if easily offended! Introduction: From Schoolmaster to Slave Master
James Stampley’s emotions were in as much of
a whirlwind as the dust that blew up in his face from the stagecoach. The one
good thing about the long journey from Boston to Potter County, Georgia, was
that it gave him an opportunity to collect his thoughts. He was still in shock
at how suddenly his life had changed in just three short days. One minute he
was enjoying his life as a thirty-year-old urban bachelor, beginning the
routine of his summer vacation from his job as a schoolmaster – enjoying his
daily strolls through the park, occasional visits to his elderly aunt, evening
drinks with his friends at the pub, and late nights reading Walt Whitman or Uncle
Tom’s Cabin by lamplight.
But just three days earlier he’d received the letter that would
permanently alter the rest of his life. His Uncle Walter Stampley had died
quite suddenly, leaving HIM with an inheritance of the large and prosperous
Stampley Plantation in Georgia – its staggering 3,154 acres of land AND 248
slaves.
At first James thought it was a joke. Although they hadn’t seen one
another in nearly ten years, he and his Uncle had corresponded regularly, and
his Uncle was well aware of his Abolitionist leanings. They’d had many spirited
debates on the subject of slavery and the South, and James never hesitated to
share his opinion that chattel slavery was barbaric and inhumane, a disgrace to
a country declaring itself a democracy. From everything he’d read and seen,
Negroes were every bit as human as white people, so to treat them as no better
than animals and property was shameful and immoral. He wasn’t exactly ACTIVE in
the Abolitionist movement, but many of his friends were, and he’d met many free
blacks in Boston who seemed like decent enough people.
Of course his Uncle’s decision might just be due to the simple fact
that his Uncle Walter was a widow, had no children of his own, and his only
brother (James’s father) had passed away years ago, leaving him the logical
inheritor.
But James was convinced it was deeper than that, and had puzzled over
his Uncle’s will for nearly a day. Perhaps it was his Uncle’s way of freeing
his slaves – knowing his nephew would almost certainly do so, but sparing
himself the damage to his Southern pride had he done so himself. Or perhaps it
was his Uncle’s devious way of testing his Abolitionist beliefs, placing the
enormous power of slave ownership – along with its many temptations and
benefits – within his grasp, as if to say, “Give it a try, then see how willing
you are to refuse its luxuries and pleasures.”
On the day after reading the news, James decided to do both. He made up
his mind to free all his Uncle’s slaves and sell the property before the summer
was over. But, having had a spirit of curiosity and adventure ever since he was
a boy, he also decided to experience his Uncle’s life for several weeks before
returning to his Boston routine. He’d only been to the South once as a toddler,
and was eager to observe its people, both free and enslaved, as well as its
sights, smells, and sounds. He viewed himself as an explorer, or perhaps a
journalist, witnessing the ways of a foreign culture in order to educate himself and others.
Shaking himself free of such thoughts, James looked out of the stagecoach and realized they were already traveling off the main road down a dusty path leading to the Stampley plantation-house. It looked as splendid and intimidating as he’d imagined it would, based on his Uncle’s stories, and drawings of other plantation homes in books. A massive rectangular two-story structure with many windows, a wide verandah sweeping across the front of the house, and white pillars making it appear a palace for princes.
The stagecoach had barely pulled to a stop before the house before James was greeted by the eager, handsome face of a mulatto boy no more than 16 or 17 years old, dressed nicely in a crisp collared white shirt and vest.
“Welcome to Stampley plantation, Master.…….Stampley?” the boy beamed.
“Call me James,” the young white man replied.
“Welcome to Stampley Plantation, Master James,” the boy repeated, smiling and holding out a youthful, golden-complexioned hand to help James out of the stagecoach.
If James’s emotions hadn’t already been in a flurry from the trip and his reflections, they most certainly were now as he was confronted with the most beautiful adolescent, of any race, he’d ever laid eyes on. Whatever its origins, the racial mixture in this boy had resulted in a stunning creation. His dark hair was somewhere between the nappy kinks of a full-blooded Negro and the fine, soft strands of his own hair; his eyes were probably his most striking feature, a piercing green that melted James with their gaze; beautiful, smooth, high-yellow skin; a slender nose with just a hint of flared Negro-nostrils; and similarly, deep-red lips that were a moist, perfect cross between the typically thick Negro-lips, and the thin, barely visible lips of most Caucasian boys.
Fidgety and nervous and trying desperately hard not to stare, James grasped the warmth of the boy’s adolescent hand and stepped down out of the claustrophobic stagecoach into the fresh Georgia early-evening air. Eager to make a good first impression (but hardly knowing why), James said, “Thank you, kindly, Mr.…….?”
The boy seemed caught off guard both by the respectful title and what seemed like a sincere wish to know his name. “Ummmm, er……..Abel, sir,” the boy stuttered, looking down shyly for the first time since his eager approach. “I’ll take your bags to your room right away, Master James,” Abel added, eager to change to a more familiar subject and get the attention off himself.
He quickly went around to the side where the driver, a poor white man from the North, handed him James’s two pieces of luggage. As Abel scurried off to the plantation-house, bags in hand, James nervously mumbled something like, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Abel,” to which Abel’s head turned back with a split-second “is this man crazy?” look of surprise and discomfort before he concealed his confusion with the obligatory smile.
James’s face had broken into a sweat and his insides were churning like crazy from this brief and simple encounter. Yes, he was thrilled by the boy’s striking beauty, and ashamed of his clumsy, nervous reaction, but even more than that he was aroused by the boy’s insistence on calling him “Master,” as well as his eagerness to please. Of course James knew the threat of a whipping probably had a lot to do with it, but it was a thrill to experience nevertheless. He cringed at the image of such an angelic creature stripped naked and receiving the lash of a whip, but at the same time – no, he must have imagined it – his cock twitched ever so slightly at the thought.
“Little Jimmy!” a booming voice startled him out of his
conflicted reverie. He looked up to see a stocky white man in his mid-fifties
approaching from the porch with an outstretched hand. “Well, I’ll be damned, I
remember you when you was no more than a pup!” he shouted, grabbing James’s
hand as if he meant to rip it off and eat it for supper. “The name’s
Potter……..Samuel Potter, from the plantation just down the road. I’ve been
keeping an eye on things since your Uncle’s death……..God rest his soul,” he
said, insincerely looking toward the ground. “I remember when you visited with
your folks years ago, but you must have been only three or four, so I won’t
hold a grudge for your not remembering me,” Mr. Potter added with a hearty
laugh, backed up with a patting on the back which almost sent James flying to
the ground. “I see you and Abel have already met,” he said, nodding toward the
house. “Nicest nigger you’ll ever meet, that boy.”
James winced at the crude word, but at the same time it
made him blush with excitement.
“Bought at a mighty steep price, no doubt,” the animated
man continued. “Acting as head house-slave while his daddy’s fallen ill, and
doing a hell of a fine job I have to admit. That boy’s got more experience at
16 than most niggers twice his age. Almost as good a house-nigger as his Mammy
is a cook. The three of ‘em have a room off the kitchen – only niggers who
actually stay in the house……..Exceptin’ those with special permission, of course,” he added with a
lewd laugh and wink.
It took James a moment to realize what he meant, and his
body briefly shuddered – with revulsion, or excitement, or both? -- as soon as he did. Funny how he’d never let that possibility
cross his conscious mind – it made perfect sense that if slaves were required
to please their masters in every other way (cooking, washing, cleaning,
driving, plowing, planting, picking), they might also occasionally be forced
into other acts of……..“service.” A feeling of
compassion for his darker brothers and sisters washed over him, and he tried to
push the perverse possibility from his mind.
The approaching of a lanky Negro with deep-dark skin and
thick, wooly hair, dressed in ragged, dirty clothes interrupted James’s
blushing and stuttering response to Mr. Potter.
“What the hell took you so long?!?” demanded Mr. Potter,
his warmth toward James instantly transformed to hostility to the newly arrived
slave.
“I sho is sorry, Massuh Potter,
sir,” the sweaty dark-skinned youth replied. “I was ‘temptin to shoe Ole Nancy,
sir, and you knows the fuss she can make when she takes a mind to it. Jacob
won’t let it happen again, no sir.”
James’s heart went out to the visibly frightened slave,
even though Jacob’s expression was more stoic and aloof, like he secretly knew
he was better than them and couldn’t wait for the moment’s charade to be over
so he could go back to shooting the breeze with his Negro pals, or chasing the
pretty brown he had his eye on, or catching a quick nap in the hayloft. James was also drawn to the slave’s intense good looks, nearly as
striking as Abel’s, but more purely African. The slender but toned physique, the wide, flat
nose with gaping nostrils, his white teeth shining between thick, purplish lips
set in a dark, handsome face – James guessed him at 17 or 18, less a boy than
Abel but certainly not yet a full-grown man. There was also something strangely
appealing about this strong young man, who could easily have been a warrior or
prince in his native Africa, sheepish and stuttering before two pasty-skinned
white men who could order him stripped and whipped in an instant. The white
men’s physical strength was certainly not intimidating, so James could only
conclude with amazement that it was the pervasive, entrenched social
system of slavery that had broken this strapping young man into a cowering fool
before his masters.
“You’re damn right, you’re sorry, you lazy nigger,” Mr.
Potter hissed. “You’d best make it up to Master James in the future if’n you
want your new master to order fewer whippings than Master Walt used to. Now get
these horses unbridled, washed and fed before doing another damn thing!”
“Yessuh, Massuh
Potter,” Jacob said, but James thought he detected a slight glint of pride and
defiance in his eyes. As Jacob started on his task, the two white men walked together
toward the plantation-house, although James was reluctant to take his eyes off
the handsome, sweaty young African slave.
Samuel Potter led James into an enormous, two-story
hallway running the length of the house, with a marble staircase circling up to
the second floor.
“You’re probably exhausted, young man,” said Mr. Potter.
“With so little daylight left, I’ll save the grand tour of the house and
grounds for tomorrow, after you’re well-rested. Let me show you to your room,
where you can wash and rest a bit before dinner.”
Mr. Potter led James up the staircase to a spacious
bedroom at the end of the hall. It contained large windows on both sides,
looking out on the front and rear of the house, as well as a fancy wood-frame
bed against the wall, a large dresser, lots of closet space, and of course the
essential wash basin and chamber pot beside the bed. After Mr. Potter left him
alone, James collapsed on his newly acquired plush bed, weary from his travels
and overwhelmed by the sensations of his new and strange environment. Following
a brief and restless nap, he washed his face and hands in the clean water Abel
had been careful to put in the washbasin, and joined Mr. Potter in the dining
room for dinner.
Over dinner, Mr. Potter dominated the conversation with
his endless talk of community gossip, politics, and economics, with jokes about
James being a clueless Yankee thrown in frequently for good measure. The
tiresome conversation was only made bearable by the delicious southern cooking
– greasier and saltier than he was accustomed to, but also tastier – AND the
welcomed presence of the mulatto houseboy Abel as their server.
James could sense Abel eyeing him with curiosity, but for
the most part he remained silent and unobtrusive, other than the occasional,
“Would you like more wine, Master James?” or “Let me clear your plate, Master
James.”
James knew deep down that a beautiful, energetic boy like
Abel shouldn’t be forced into such degrading service, at least not against his
will, and that in a better world he’d probably be making a good living as a
carpenter, or perhaps even a storekeeper or attorney. But James had to admit,
having this boy so eager, almost fearful, to please him was a new and addictive
thrill. Plus James was enjoying sneaking the occasional sly glance at what
appeared to be a firm round ass pressing against Abel’s tight silky
serving-pants. He shrugged it off as nothing more than innocent lust, knowing a
young slave boy like Abel would never give an older white man like him a second
glance, and never willingly allow himself to be
sexually enjoyed.
After dinner the two men retired to the front verandah to smoke and drink more wine.
“So, Mr. Yankee, do you think you’ll be staying with us for good?” Mr. Potter asked.
“I haven’t really made up my mind,” James lied – as far
as he was concerned, his noble plan to free the slaves and sell the property
was still in place. But he sure as hell wasn’t about to let a rabid Southerner
like Mr. Potter know that.
“You might say that now,” Mr. Potter laughed, “but your mind will be made up in no time. Ain’t nothin’
been, nor ever will be, like we got it right now in Georgia. Your Yankee
friends want to take it away from us, but they underestimate how hard we’ll
fight for this life, ‘cause they ain’t LIVED it. All
this fuss over niggers, it’s just jealousy if you ask
me. They only WISH they had niggers to make thousands of dollars for ‘em
each year, plantin’ and harvestin’ their crops. Niggers to cook their meals,
wash their clothes, drive their wagons, and wait on ‘em hand and foot. Because
THEY can’t have it, they don’t want NOBODY to
have it. And you wanna know the BEST thing about nigger slavery?” Mr. Potter
asked, his noisy voice hushing to a sordid whisper, a wicked smirk taking over his
face. “Two words for you, Little Jimmy: Nigger. Pussy.”
He winked and took a lusty puff on his cigar.
“Best thing on God’s green earth. ‘Course
nobody TALKS about it, but everybody KNOWS it, the women same as the men. Most
of the womenfolk don’t like it, mind you, but they know it exists, and
most’ll tolerate it.”
James shifted uncomfortably in his chair on the verandah,
blushing from the sudden crude turn in the conversation.
Sensing (and probably relishing) James’s discomfort, Mr.
Potter, continued, “Let’s face it, men are beasts……..we crave pussy like we
crave the fresh air or water. And not the same old sagging
pussy night after night neither. Fuck that ‘till death do us part’
bullshit, we need fresh pussy. Young pussy. And that, my friend, is
the genius of nigger slavery. A constantly replenishing
supply.”
“That’s a horrible thing to say,” James interrupted. He
was mad at himself, both for being so naïve that he’d never imagined this
particular perk of slavery, and for finding himself
curious to hear more.
Hearing the insincerity in James’s voice, Mr. Potter
persisted in his shocking defense of sexual slavery. “Buy a young nigger girl,
ripe and virgin if you’re lucky and willin’ to pay extra, say, 13, 14 years
old, she’s yours, completely. Hell, I usually fuck that tight
virgin pussy the minute I bring ‘em back from town, while they’re still cryin’
over their mammy or brother or whoever the hell they was sold away from. ‘Cuz
it’s either the whip or sucking my dick. Death or lettin’ me have my way on top
of ‘em. And only the craziest nigger bitches truly want to suffer the lash of a
whip or die.”
“Stop!” James cried out.
“That’s revolting, and I don’t want to hear any more of it! That’s precisely
what’s so ugly about the South, the way you treat other human beings
like animals – WORSE than animals, cuz only a few go around raping
their livestock, I imagine.”
A battle of epic proportions was raging within James’s
soul. A war between conscience and instinct, morality and
desire. He knew the behavior celebrated by Mr. Potter was cruel and
inhumane, that there was pain and tears and human heartache felt by those young
girls he spoke of as disposable cum-rags. Yet he couldn’t deny the story’s
perverse appeal, the guilty goose bumps he got from hearing sex talked about so
much more candidly and unapologetically than it ever was in the North. So much
for Southern gentility and piety, he thought with a sneer.
The angel on his shoulder told him to wish Mr. Potter a
hasty goodnight and rush to bed, but he couldn’t resist his curiosity to hear
more. He softened his tone and added, “But I suppose you’re right when you say
that men are animals, and slavery must certainly present its temptations to
fight against.”
Mr. Potter smiled devilishly, seeing through James’s weak effort to disguise his lurid curiosity as piety. Mr. Potter went on with his story: “Hell, if you’ve got the money and the will, you can fuck two different niggers, twice a day for years on end if you want, and never fuck the same nigger twice. If you’re lucky to live long enough you’ll end up fucking your own offspring, hell, even your own grandchildren, and it don’t make no difference cause they ain’t really your CHILDREN.”
For a second James thought he might vomit, but his nausea
quickly gave way to intensified fascination, and his silence was taken by Mr.
Potter as tacit permission to continue.
“Sorta sick, I s’pose, but sure
as hell feels good to fuck your own virgin daughter with nobody to say shit to
you about it. And that ain’t even the sickest thing I’ve done. That’s the beauty
of the whole system, because they ain’t considered nothin’ more than
animals, because they’re our own damn property, we can do anything
we damn well please, as sick as we want, and to hell with the consequences.”
He looked over at James to see where things stood. Other
than the blush on his cheeks and a look of general uneasiness, James sat
enthralled with this sickening, mesmerizing defense of the most barbaric
behavior. Mr. Potter knew they’d passed the point of no return,
and he loved an eager listener. Besides, the wine was beginning to have its
liberating effects on his tongue.
“I’d have to say the sickest thing I’ve done,” Mr. Potter
continued, nearly whispering, “and I’ll beat your scrawny little Yankee ass if
you tell a soul of this, fuck who your Uncle
was……..once I got so horned up and drunk that I fucked a nigger boy.”
If Mr. Potter didn’t have James’s attention before, he
most certainly had it now. James had no experience with either females or
males, but he’d realized long ago that he admired the body and character of his
own sex far more than those of females. More than that, he recognized, with
even greater shame and confusion, that he desired boys as well as teens and
young men. He sat up stiffly, nearly certain that the story he was about to
hear would make terrific material for his guilty masturbation later that night.
Mr. Potter, almost bragging, went on with his story: “I
was taking a drunken late-night walk through the slave quarters, ready to
stumble into the nearest cabin and grab the first pretty little nigger I saw,
when I saw the cutest little pickaninny you ever did see, no older than 11 or
12, walking back to his cabin in the dark -- must’ve been running an errand for
his Mammy. I was so fucking horny that night I could have fucked a horse and
not complained none about it, and when I saw that
pickaninny’s frightened little eyes and pouty nigger lips, the demon rum just
seized hold of me and I knew I had to try my first nigger-boy ass. So I grabbed
the little thing up in my arms, clamped down on his mouth before he could
scream, and told him he’d better be quiet as a mouse else I’d sell his Mama so
far down the river he’d sure as hell never see her again. I dragged him off to
the closest patch of grass away from the cabins, threw him down on his stomach,
ripped off the tattered rags he called pants, wet my dick with some spit, and
fucked his little pickaninny virgin ass right there in the grass. Boy had to
bury his head in the grass to keep from screaming and waking the entire county.
Only boy I ever tried, but the best pussy too. Tighter and juicier than any
girl pussy I ever had wrapped around my dick. Something sexier about it too……..cuz with girls they almost expect it, it’s just a
part of life for them I s’pose. But with that boy……..it was the last
thing he expected to happen on his walk back to his cabin, it was like he’d
never even imagined his body could be used like that. The shock
on his face and in his groans had me shootin’ my hot juices up in that tight
little boy-ass in no time. I’d probably try it again, ‘cept I don’t want word
gettin’ out that I like dick more than pussy. I got sons and grandsons, you
know, and a reputation to uphold.”
James would have laughed at such absurd hypocrisy if his
dick wasn’t rock-hard against his will, and his head still spinning from the
story he’d just heard. He was deeply ashamed of himself. Instead of crying over
the brutal rape of the innocent little Negro boy, instead of reporting the
scandalous behavior to local authorities or Northern journalists who might just
do something about it, instead of demanding the stagecoach take him back to the
North first thing in the morning, he was envious of Mr. Potter,
jealously imagining HIMSELF atop the pickaninny’s half-clothed body in the
grass under the moon that night, and getting an embarrassing hard-on as a
result.
“That’s quite a story, Mr. Potter,” James mumbled. “You
should be ashamed of yourself, a grown man like you taking advantage of a
helpless boy forty years younger than you. Did you ever stop to think of that
boy’s feelings after you left him there, scared and alone in the dark? Or how
his Mama must have felt seeing her boy come home half-naked and sobbing?”
Mr. Potter laughed a hollow, dismissive laugh. “You’ll
lose that holier-than-thou attitude soon enough, Little Jimmy. Just wait till
you see what you’ve been missing all these years. You’ll change your tune soon
enough, mark my words. Because you, my Little Jimmy, are the
luckiest young man in Georgia right now. Not only have you inherited the
second-largest stock of slaves in the whole state, but you also don’t have a
nagging wife to answer to or share your bed with. 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. Shit, any sex,” he added,
laughing and eyeing the still-throbbing erection James was futilely trying to
conceal with his glass of wine. “There’s not a thing stoppin’ you. All two
hundred and some-odd one of ‘em belong to you,
you know, thanks to your generous Uncle Walt. Not a soul other than maybe the
overseer and a handful of slaves need ever know; the overseers are nothin’ but
white trash no how, and what the hell harm can slaves knowin’ do you.”
“Enough!” James nearly shouted, slamming his empty glass
down on the table beside him and standing up to leave. For a quick second he
thought of Jesus’s forty days and forty nights in the desert being tempted by
Satan. This must be what it felt like, he thought – only worse, because Jesus
was the Son of God, not a weak white man with intense, unfulfilled desires, and
248 human bodies at his complete disposal.
“I thank you for your company tonight, Mr. Potter, but
wish to have no part in the abusive activities of which you speak. Please do
not speak to me of it again. Goodnight, sir, and I’ll see you in the morning
for my tour of the premises.”
“Suit yourself,” said Mr.
Potter, still smiling wickedly. “Suit yourself.”
************************************************************
The following day’s tour consumed almost the entire day.
Like the previous evening’s dinner, Mr. Potter’s annoying company was only
relieved by the pleasure of secretly drooling over a handsome male slave. This
time it was Jacob instead of Abel, as it was his responsibility to hitch up the
wagon and drive the two white men around the 3,154-acre property. While Mr.
Potter’s voice droned on and on about weather, crop rotations, overseers and
their various personalities and methodologies, good fishing holes, church
picnics, and just about everything else under the sun, James guiltily
entertained himself by catching quick glances at Jacob’s lithe, youthful body
driving the team of horses on a seat several feet in front of the two white
men. He stared at the adolescent’s thick wooly hair, disheveled with the
occasional piece of straw or leaf blown into it; his thin back rippling with
youthful muscles, a patch of sweat creating a growing circle through his thin
cloth shirt; and best of all, the firm, muscular melons jutting off his seat,
stretching at the thin cloth of his pants which maddeningly concealed the dark
mysteries beneath.
What I wouldn’t give for just one hour alone with such a
young man, James thought to himself; but alas, Jacob
was a slave and he was a pale, scrawny white man nearly twice his age. Jacob
might already have a wife, for all he knew, and even if he didn’t, what were
the chances his desires matched James’s own perverse interests in same-sex
activity. And even if they did, James shrugged, Jacob
would most likely fool around in secret with one of the other young bucks,
never giving his white owner a second thought beyond what was necessary to
avoid the crack of a whip.
James was both impressed and overwhelmed by his Uncle’s
immense property and responsibilities. His land stretched out for miles, with
acres devoted to almost every crop under the sun, cotton and tobacco being
primary.
As far as James could tell, his Uncle had an efficient,
productive system in place. He had a total of eight overseers in his
employment, which figured out to approximately one overseer for every thirty
slaves. He had over 150 bucks who worked in the fields from sun-up to sundown,
with Sundays off and nearly a week off for Christmas. He had about 25 women who
worked almost exclusively as breeders, most of their offspring raised and sold
at prime rates; when they weren’t too burdened by pregnancy, these women would
also work in the fields beside the same bucks assigned to impregnate them the
previous night. Another 25 or so of the slave stock were elderly men and women
who worked nearer the plantation-house, washing clothes, cleaning the
main-house, tending to smaller gardens and livestock, and raising the young
children (the rest of the 248) until they were old enough and strong enough to
join their parents in the fields.
Since Uncle Walter was a widower and somewhat of a loner,
only Abel and his parents, Abraham and Becky, lived in the main-house and served
as his personal attendants. According to Mr. Potter, the Stampley Plantation
had a reputation for being strict but not sadistic, firm but not excessively
permissive. The overseers were crueler with their tongues than their whips, but
didn’t hesitate to inflict severe punishment when it was deserved. The
awareness of the plantation’s three bloodstained whipping-posts, as well as the
sometimes-implicit, sometimes-explicit threat of being sold off always hanging
in the air, kept the Stampley slaves in “their place,” as Mr. Potter put it –
ignorant, obedient, and humble before their masters.
Having a large and trustworthy staff, not to mention two
nearly grown sons, to run his own plantation, Mr. Potter agreed to stick around
the Stampley Plantation until James felt more settled and accustomed to life as
a Southern slave-owner. He didn’t bring up the previous night’s sore topic of
conversation again, knowing James would bring it up on his own eventually – Mr.
Potter wasn’t blind, after all, and he’d seen the way James looked at Abel,
Jacob, the field-bucks, even some of the pickaninnies playing around the slave
quarters, when James thought he wasn’t looking.
James’s sleep the second night was just as restless as
his first. He hadn’t had a sexual release for nearly a week, since before the
letter arrived that changed his life, and he felt like he was going to explode
from his pent-up desires.
He was embarrassed and weary of being a virgin at his
age. It wasn’t that he hadn’t had opportunities. He wasn’t magnetically
attractive and charismatic the way some men were, but he was good-looking
enough, with a boyishly handsome face, brownish-blonde hair, and a little bit
of fuzzy facial hair that made him look more like 20 than his actual 30. He had
a slender, appealing build – a bit paler and softer than he would have liked,
but school teaching by day and drinking and reading by night didn’t exactly
lead to a tanned or muscular physique.
Plenty of charming young women had devoted their attentions to him, but while he found them abstractly attractive, his true, hidden attraction was to the forbidden bodies of boys and men. He knew without a doubt that his cock came to life at the sight of his more handsome schoolboys, or the striking young men he’d sometimes pass at the local park, or spy swimming naked at the local swimming-hole. He was even vaguely aware of what he wanted to do with their bodies, what he wanted them to do to HIS body, if he ever had the chance. But he never dared pursue any such thing. Exposure as a “sodomite” would lead at the very best to public humiliation and social exile, at the very worst to imprisonment or execution, depending on the geographical location and circumstances of the exposure.
So here he was a thirty-year-old virgin, tossing
sleeplessly in the middle of the night, his body wracked by temptation. As hard
as he tried, he just couldn’t cleanse his mind of the images and ideas placed
in his head by Mr. Potter the previous night.
He knew it was wrong. A very real part of him wanted no
part in the dehumanization and oppression of his fellow human beings, no matter
how sanctioned by law and local society such behavior might be. He looked
forward to the surprise, joy, and relief that would come across his slaves’
faces when he announced that he was giving them their freedom. He wanted to
prove himself worthy of his claimed convictions and return to his Abolitionist
friends with his conscience and integrity intact.
But at the same time, he knew he had an opportunity that
he would never have again, and the temptation was excruciating. Mr. Potter was right, just 300 feet or so away in the slave
quarters were warm, living, breathing human beings with no choice but to obey
his orders. Cute little pickaninnies, preteen boys on the cusp of
adolescence, young adolescents just entering manhood, strapping young men whose
bodies yearned only for their fellow slave women, all available for his total
possession, for anything he desired, with no more than a word to Mr.
Potter or one of the eight overseers.
He clenched his head in his hands as he agonized over his
temptation. After years of fear and repression, his new and unasked-for role as
a slave-owner presented him with an incredible opportunity to explore all the
deepest desires and fantasies he’d ever dreamed up – hell, even fantasies he
HADN’T dreamed up yet. He could fulfill every desire that ever presented
itself, almost immediately, with little fear of social exposure or judgment. He
recalled Mr. Potter’s tale of the sobbing little boy with the tiny upturned ass
under the moonlight and once again imagined himself in Mr. Potter’s place. He
thought of the golden-skinned Abel and the inviting ass outlined by his dress
pants. He pictured Jacob’s sweaty, muscled back and the intoxicating smell of
his youthful, Negro sweat and wooly hair. He imagined the countless other boys
and young men inhabiting his property – what was he thinking, they were his
property – who were perhaps just as, if not better, looking than Abel
and Jacob. They all belonged to him. He could have them all.
The thought made him delirious with desire, and his cock
sprung to full life beneath his sheets. What was happening to him??? Just two
days’ exposure to slavery and it was already changing him. He screamed into his
pillow, buried his head beneath the sheets, and forced himself to sleep.
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 naïve 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.
Chapter 2: Surrender
James Stampley woke up the next morning with
a hangover of shame and self-loathing.
Nothing wakes up one’s sleeping conscience faster than an explosive,
ball-draining orgasm, and as James blinked awake to the first rays of sunlight creeping
through his bedroom windows, he recalled his rampage of lust from just several
hours earlier and for a moment hoped it had all been nothing more than a bad
dream.
The warm body of the naked slave boy sleeping soundly in his arms,
however, reminded James that his previous night’s indulgence had been all too
real.
James blinked his eyes in shame when he looked at Elijah’s angelic,
peacefully slumbering face, dried tear-streaks still on the boy’s brown cheeks.
In his mind he could still hear echoes of the boy’s screaming and sobbing at
having his virgin ass torn open by James’s furiously pounding cock. The sounds
of the boy’s forced submission seemed distant and discordant with the peaceful
sounds of morning drifting through the bedroom windows. James looked down at
Elijah’s sleeping face with tenderness, and wondered what demons had possessed
him to steal the boy’s innocence so sadistically, to take pleasure from the
boy’s body with no regard for his cries of pain and resistance. And even worse,
to find arousing the sounds of Elijah helplessly gagging on his dick, or to
find excitement in calling him degrading and hateful names James had never
uttered – and never imagined he’d WANT to utter – before that night.
James had seen the light in Elijah’s eyes as the boy had described his
childhood games to the older white man, but still made the choice to extinguish
it. He had known Elijah’s mother and little brother were probably suffering
through a tearful, sleepless night waiting for the boy’s return, and still
James had ravaged his little body mercilessly just half a mile away. He
realized that his adult dick would cause the boy’s untouched asshole enormous
pain, especially since spit was his only lubrication, but had still chosen to
plunge pitilessly into its virgin depths.
James was already beginning to see the truth in the old Abolitionist
mantra that the institution of slavery dehumanizes the Master as well as the
slave.
Despite these feelings of guilt, James’s dick stubbornly sprung to life
as it found itself accidentally nestled between Elijah’s smooth, warm
ass-cheeks, still sticky from cum that had leaked out of the boy’s asshole
during the night. The smell of Elijah’s nappy Negro hair, the feel of his soft
skin beneath James’s hands, and the beauty of the boy’s angelic sleeping face
only made James’s dick come to life even faster.
Yes, he had behaved no better than a beast the night before, but James
couldn’t deny how wonderful it had felt to sink himself deep into the boy’s
hot, squishy insides, or to feel his dick buried in Elijah’s warm, unwilling
mouth. Even in his most vivid virginal fantasies, James had never anticipated
pleasure as intense and addicting as he’d discovered the night before. As
guilty as he felt, James couldn’t bear the thought of never knowing such
pleasure again.
Perhaps one final fuck before sending the boy home, James thought. He
could be slow and gentle this time, giving the boy time to get accustomed to
the new sensations. While these negotiations continued, James’s body was
already making up its mind. His hands softly stroked the length of the boy’s
neck to his crotch. James’s nose began nuzzling Elijah’s hair,
and his lips began tasting the salty skin of his neck. His dick jerked to its
full length, pressing against the tightly sealed crack of the boy’s ass.
But just when James’s body was reaching a state of arousal that would
surely wake the sleeping Elijah, he remembered
something that caused him to freeze his exploratory groping.
Abel, the mulatto houseboy, would be arriving at any moment to empty
James’s chamber pot and pour fresh water for his morning-wash. In his impulsive
passion of the night before, James had nearly forgotten his own routine. He was
already ashamed enough to have Mr. Potter and that ugly overseer aware of his
moment of moral weakness, and he most certainly didn’t want Abel or the other
slaves to know.
He had to admit, a small part of him found the idea of the stunning
mulatto houseboy innocently going about his work, stumbling upon the naked
Master fucking the ass of one of his younger slaves, looking at the scene in
shock and confusion – to be intensely arousing. But in his early-morning state
of moral ambivalence, James was in no mood to suffer the inevitable awkwardness
of such a moment, not to mention the rumors it might inspire, or the
embarrassment it would most certainly cause Elijah.
There was no choice but to send Elijah from his bed as speedily as
possible. For a moment, James wondered if his recollection of Abel’s impending
arrival was an act of divine Providence, rescuing him from the moment’s
temptation.
James gently but urgently began shaking the sleeping slave boy awake.
“Wake up, Elijah! Elijah, wake up! It’s time for you to go home!”
James had to intensify his efforts before the boy
finally awoke from his deep slumber, opening his eyes with a startled look,
first of confusion, struggling to recall where he was, then terror. James looked away in shame, realizing HE was the
source of the boy’s fear.
“It’s okay, Elijah, I’m not going to hurt
you,” James said comfortingly. “It’s time for you to go, before your mother and
brother get too worried about you.”
James realized the words probably sounded hollow and absurd to the
boy’s ears.
Elijah sat up in the bed, rubbed his eyes and
looked around the room like he was lost.
“After you’ve dressed,” James instructed, “take the stairs and exit out
the front doors. Please be careful that nobody sees you.”
“Yes, Massuh, I’ll be careful, Massuh,” Elijah replied as if talking in
his sleep.
He stumbled out of bed in a sleepy daze and began hurriedly putting on
the clothes that were still where he’d left them when ordered to strip the
night before.
James hoped it was just his guilty imagination, but he thought to
himself that the boy looked lost and sad, like a mere shell of the animated,
talkative boy that had first entered his room. Deep down James knew it was too
late, but he wanted to say something kind to Elijah, something to conclude
things between them on a positive note.
“Oh, and Elijah……..” James added, as the boy started to leave the room.
“I didn’t fully introduce myself to you last night. My name is James Stampley.
You can call me Ja……..Master James,” James said,
catching himself before committing to an informality he might later regret.
“Yes, Massuh James,” Elijah replied impatiently, looking at the floor,
before dashing out the bedroom door.
James sat alone for a moment on the edge of the bed, naked and
disheveled, asking himself what the hell it was he’d just done. The smell of
anal sex and Elijah’s skin still lingered in the air, stirring little spasms of
sadness and longing in James only seconds after the slave boy’s abrupt
departure.
Although he felt foolish for thinking it, James had to admit that a part
of him already missed his slave boy’s presence.
********************************************************************
For the rest of that day, James’s emotional anguish was excruciating.
For hours at a time, James could think of nothing but the brutality
with which he had treated Elijah, and the emotional scars it must have
inflicted on him. He thought with astonishment of how easily he’d succumbed to
temptation, treating Elijah like a brute beast whose only purpose was to
satisfy the cravings of its Master – simply because the laws of the corrupt
country in which he lived tolerated, even encouraged, such behavior. He even
briefly considered the idea of freeing Elijah and his family as absolution for
the awful way he’d treated the boy, going so far as to compose half a letter to
a local attorney experienced in the legal complexities of manumissions, before
tearing it in two and telling himself the matter needed more time for
reflection.
By far the worst part of the day, however, was enduring Mr. Potter’s
cocky, teasing looks over dinner. Mr. Potter seemed to find it especially
amusing to lick his lips and make crude suggestive gestures in Abel’s direction
every time the oblivious houseboy left the dining room to fetch more wine or
clear their plates, as if to say, “Now there, Little Jimmy, is another fine
specimen of nigger-boy pussy -- why not take HIM to your bed tonight???”
Despite James’s visible discomfort with the subject, Mr. Potter’s
teasing only intensified while the two men enjoyed their after-dinner smoke on
the front verandah.
“So, Little Jimmy, how was your first piece of
nigger pussy?” he asked bluntly. “Nigger-BOY pussy, I reckon I should say,” he
added with an obnoxious laugh. “Now didn’t I tell you ain’t
nothin’ in this world like nigger pussy? Hell, give me some tight
nigger-girl cunt over a white broad’s sloppy pussy any day.”
“I’m not proud of what I did last night,” James replied, fidgeting with
his glass of wine. “And if you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it.”
Mr. Potter stopped grinning for a moment.
“Come on now, Little Jimmy, don’t go beatin’
yourself over the head over what you done to the nigger,” he said, patting his
deceased friend’s nephew on the knee. For a brief moment, a look almost
resembling human sympathy seemed to pass over his face.
“Ain’t no point to feelin’ guilty over somethin’ as natural as the sun
settin’ at night and risin’ in the mornin’. Niggers is
just doin’ what God made ‘em for. God made the white man smarter and stronger,
and then gave him niggers just like he gave him beasts and women, to work for
him and do his bidding. Ain’t no harm in treatin’ ‘em like
animals if that’s what they is.”
Mr. Potter paused, taking a deep reflective puff on his cigar and
looking west toward the setting sun.
“Don’t worry, Little Jimmy,” he continued.
“The guilt’ll go away by and by. Give it a couple weeks, maybe three. You’ll
get used to the idea of a different nigger-boy every night soon enough.”
“What if I don’t WANT to get used to it?!?” James snapped, looking up from scowling at the porch.
He was simultaneously irritated by and envious of Mr. Potter’s amoral attitude
toward the whole thing.
“Shiiiiiit, son, once upon a time I thought the same damn thing,
believe it or not,” Mr. Potter smiled, although his tone of voice turned the
calmest and most sympathetic James had ever heard it. Perhaps he’s had too much
wine, James thought.
“You ain’t the first to feel that way, and you sure as hell ain’t gonna
be the last.”
Mr. Potter paused, as if deciding whether or not to continue.
“I remember my first nigger pussy like it was yesterday. My Papa gave
it to me as a present when I turned 15 – probably same as his Papa’d done for
him, I imagine. Didn’t even take it from our stock neither – got her from a special
Atlanta auction, I believe.”
He took James’s look of reluctant curiosity as encouragement to
continue with his story.
“Took me to the overseer quarters late that night, and there she was,
standin’ there shakin’ and cryin’, surrounded by a good five or six of my
Papa’s overseers. Poor little nigger couldn’t of been any older than 13. Black as midnight, too, real pretty little thing. They’d
pushed one of the overseer’s beds to the middle of the room, and the little
nigger was already naked and tied by her wrists to the bedposts. ‘Virgin same
as you,’ Papa told me. ‘Now strip, fuck her, and prove your manhood to my men.’
Those was his exact words. I reckon he figured the
plantation would be mine soon enough, and what better way to prove my worth to
my future employees than rapin’ a little nigger girl right in front of their
very eyes? Then the bastard up and left me in the room with ‘em. ‘Fore he left,
he told ‘em they could take whatever I left over, but warned, ‘Any of you touch my boy, I’ll rip your tongue out and hang
you with it same as I’d hang a nigger.’”
Mr. Potter laughed bitterly, shaking his head and taking a nervous puff
on his cigar.
“My old man left me to prove my manhood, and all’s I could keep from
doin’ was pissin’ my pants. Hell, I was probably more scared of being
bare-ass-naked in front of Papa’s men than I was of tryin’ to fuck pussy for
the first time. And somethin’ didn’t feel right in my gut ‘bout the whole
thing. I gotta admit, pretty as the little nigger’s body looked to my horny
teenaged dick, I felt sorta bad for her. The nigger bein’ my own age and all,
and layin’ there blubberin’ her eyes out and kickin’ up her feet, lookin’ like
she’d seen Lucifer himself come up outta Hell.”
Mr. Potter’s voice sounded distant and resentful; for a moment he
seemed transformed into the scared 15-year-old boy of that late night over four
decades ago.
“I even tried to leave, but my son-of-a-bitch Papa’d locked the door on
me. I realized that was Papa’s way of makin’ me into a man. I knew if I backed
out I’d never be anything more than a bitch or a nigger in my Papa’s eyes, and
the eyes of his men. So I whipped out my dick and fucked the little nigger all
the same. Fucked her while my Papa’s men stood around the bed jackin’ their
dicks – hell, some of them cocksuckers was probably turned on more by the sight
of my naked ass than the actual nigger-girl. Papa wouldn’t have said nothin’
‘bout it if he didn’t have no reason to worry.”
Mr. Potter chuckled to himself, finding the thought of
his Papa’s overseers lusting over his teenaged buttocks strange, funny, and
flattering all at the same time.
James didn’t want to admit it, but he found his cock lengthening at the
image of the horny overseers jacking off to the sight of their Master’s teenage-boy-ass
pumping up and down into the virgin folds of Negro-girl flesh beneath him.
“The second I was finished, one of them horny bastards climbed right
back on top of the little nigger to take my place. Takin’ turns like. And Papa
didn’t come back for me till each of ‘em had his way with her at least twice.
Poor little nigger probably took a dozen or more loads up inside her virgin
pussy that night. When they was done with her pussy
they flipped her over and pounded her ass just as many times. Poor thing was
nearly passed out, the men’s juices oozing out both holes by the time they was
done with her. And fuck if I can ever forget the look on that nigger-girl’s
face. Gave me nightmares for months.”
Mr. Potter’s voice trailed off and for a moment he seemed to forget
James’s presence beside him.
James’s dick was still semi-hard, but his heart went out to the
sensitive teenage boy trapped inside the gruff man smoking next to him.
But several moments later, Mr. Potter’s emotional candor disappeared as
suddenly as it had materialized.
As if startled into a recollection of the manly, racist façade he had
to maintain in order to preserve his pride as a Southern gentleman, Mr. Potter
took an aggressive puff on his cigar and declared, “But that was a hell of a
long time ago, Little Jimmy. I only told all that to let you know I can guess
what it is you’re feelin’ inside. But that it’s a fuckin’ waste of time and
energy. Only reason I felt bad at the time was cuz I was lookin’ at things all
wrong, see??? I was viewin’ the little nigger girl like a human, almost like an
equal. But what Papa was aimin’ to teach me is that niggers AIN’T human, and
they sure as hell ain’t our equals. They ain’t nothing more than property –
goods to buy, use, and sell. Soon’s you look at it the right way, you’ll wipe
that scowl clean off your face, and learn there ain’t nothin’
better than Georgia livin’. It just takes some time, that’s all. Soon
enough you’ll find the cryin’ and beggin’s all part of the fun.”
James nodded distractedly, and took another sip of his wine. He no
longer had the will to argue with Mr. Potter.
Despite his resistance to the places his imagination was taking him,
James was already picturing ELIJAH in the black slave girl’s place, wrists tied
to the bed-posts in the dirty overseer quarters of the Potter plantation, only
thrown on his stomach instead of his back while the Master’s son and half a
dozen lecherous overseers filled his ass repeatedly and mercilessly with their
runny cum.
He felt an urgent desire to run upstairs and masturbate before allowing
the previous night’s demons to overtake him once again.
“I’m afraid the wine, your story, or a combination of the two have made
me ill, Mr. Potter, and I must retire early,” James lied.
Mr. Potter grinned, seeing through the young man’s weak excuse. “Sure
enough, Little Jimmy. Abel did put out some mighty strong wine tonight.”
“I’ll be sure to think on what you’ve told me,” James declared as he
put out his cigar and set down his glass of wine. With a nod goodnight, he
rushed off the verandah and up to his bedroom.
“Now that last statement ain’t a lie,” Mr. Potter thought to himself
with an amused chuckle.
**********************************************************************
On the second day following James’s encounter with Elijah, vivid
daydreams of his sexual conquest began to crowd out guilty thoughts of the
boy’s damaged innocence.
James realized that temptations to sins already committed are ten times
more powerful than temptations to sins only imagined. It was easy enough to
deny himself pleasure in the abstract, but now that he KNEW what it felt like
to swirl his tongue around a boy’s mouth, to feel a virgin tongue taking its
first tentative licks of his dick, to have a slave-boy’s untouched asshole
slowly surrender its virginity to the persistent prodding and pushing of his
cock – the temptation to experience those ecstasies AGAIN was maddening.
Only intensifying this temptation was the knowledge that the pleasures
he’d experienced that night with Elijah were right at his fingertips. All he
had to do was say the word and they could be instantly and permanently
integrated into his daily routine.
James was also surprised to find that a kind of delirious need and
jealousy had crept into his longing for Elijah. He found himself wondering what
the boy was doing at any given moment – playing “catch a nigger” with the other
pickaninnies? splashing around in the creek with the
other boys? hunting for squirrels or rabbits? sleeping? laughing? crying?
When James wondered these things, he’d be overcome with loneliness and
anger that the boy was living life WITHOUT HIM. After the addicting power James
felt through his sexual domination of the boy, this detachment from the boy’s
everyday life was a lack of control, a powerlessness he found he didn’t like at
all.
Sometimes James’s jealousy would take an even more irrational form.
Even though he knew without a doubt he’d been the first to touch Elijah
sexually, James began wondering if Elijah was being enjoyed by one of his
overseers, or perhaps one of the older teenaged bucks. In one of his more
paranoid moments, the thought even crossed his mind that perhaps Elijah’s own
mother was using him as a sexual substitute for her sold-away husband. He knew
deep down the idea was outrageous, but his body still shuddered with jealousy
at the thought.
He blamed these strange feelings on Mr. Potter’s story from the evening
before. Although the image of Elijah in the Negro girl’s place was intensely
arousing, it also inspired a fierce feeling of possessiveness mingled with lust
at the idea of his slave-boy’s body being enjoyed by numerous other men.
Once James’s passions had been reawakened by his memories and
possessiveness, the all-too-familiar rationalizing began. Sometimes James
persuaded himself that he truly wanted to KNOW Elijah – not only his body, but
also his thoughts, fears, hobbies, and dreams.
At other times James would barter with his conscience. Just one week,
he’d offer, then never again. Just one more week, and then he’d free the boy,
his brother, and his mother. He even tried telling himself that a week of
unpleasant and degrading sexual services for Elijah would only make him value
his eventual freedom all the more.
Through various acrobatics of mental diplomacy between his dick and his
conscience, James assented to ONE WEEK with Elijah – no more, no less. He would
be kinder, gentler, and spare the boy the verbal insults. He would free the boy
along with the rest of his slaves at the end of that week.
It was about an hour after supper when James reached this decision.
He’d been enjoying his post-dinner smoke alone, since Mr. Potter had been
called away to deal with a captured runaway from his own plantation.
All that remained to be worked out was an arrangement with Abel that
would give James undisturbed privacy with Elijah for hours at a time. Knowing
his own fickle, impulsive nature, James leapt from his chair on the verandah
and walked to the back of the house, looking for Abel. He wanted to finalize
the plans before changing his mind.
The kitchen was spotless and empty. He heard Abraham’s loud coughing
coming from a room to his left – the room shared by Abel and his parents.
Abraham was still sick and unable to serve in his normal capacity as Head
Houseboy, leaving the responsibilities to his less experienced but more than
competent teenaged son.
James heard low, sweet singing coming from outside. Walking through the kitchen and out on the
back-porch, he saw Becky taking down clothes from a line where they’d been
hanging all afternoon.
“Good evening, Master James,” Becky greeted him, smiling.
She was a pretty, light-skinned woman in her late thirties, slightly
overweight now but James guessed she’d been quite a beauty in her younger years.
Her light skin also suggested to him that Abel was probably a quadroon
(one-fourth black), perhaps even an octoroon (one-eighth black) rather than the
mulatto (one-half black) he’d originally assumed him to be.
Of course on some level these distinctions were absurd, since the laws
of the South lumped even octoroons, often indistinguishable in appearance from
full-blooded whites, into the same inferior, despised category of “nigger.”
But on another level, these categories had a great deal of social
significance to whites and blacks alike. Considered by whites to be smarter and
more physically appealing than darker-skinned Negroes – and also due to the
largely unspoken awareness that they were almost always the progeny of the
Master or one of his sons -- mulattos, quadroons, and octoroons almost always
held positions as “house slaves.” Darker-skinned Africans toiling in the fields
bitterly envied these positions because they typically involved lighter
physical labor and included better meals and living conditions, usually rooms
in the Master’s house itself.
“Good evening, Becky. Delicious supper tonight, as always,” James said,
smiling.
“Oh, go on, now, Master James, you tell me the same thing every night,”
Becky replied, playfully waving him away.
James had noticed soon after his arrival how Abel and his parents spoke
“proper” English, at least while in his presence. He guessed this was probably
due to them having better access to education and more exposure to whites.
Although the grammar of his house-slaves far surpassed anything he’d ever heard
come out of Mr. Potter’s mouth, James thought with amusement.
“That’s because I MEAN it every night, Becky,” James insisted warmly.
Other than Elijah, Becky and her family were the only slaves James had
really talked with one-on-one, and something approaching affection had
developed between them.
“I was looking for Abel,” he continued. “Any idea
where I might find him?”
“Oh, yes, Master James,” Becky answered, taking what looked like one of
Abel’s white collared shirts off the clothesline. “He’s taking his bath before
bed.”
James blushed at Becky’s surprising announcement,
and his dick twitched involuntarily.
Becky paused and looked at James, worried. “I’m sorry, sir, he told me
he was done for the day and you didn’t need him any more, so I thought it’d be
okay for him to clean himself up. You know how dirty a teenage boy can get,
even when he doesn’t play outside like the other boys.”
“Oh, everything’s fine, Becky,” James assured his Negro cook. “I just
needed to make some last-minute changes to my schedule, that’s all. The storage-room off the kitchen to my left, right?”
It was a stupid question, because James knew exactly where it was,
remembering it from his second-day tour with Mr. Potter. He took his own baths
in a private room in another wing of the house. Apparently regular baths were
perks for the lighter-skinned slaves.
“You can’t miss it. Oh, and Master James……..” Becky added, as James
turned to go back in the kitchen. “I hope you have a big appetite tomorrow
night, because I’m cooking up your favorite: fried dumplings!”
“My stomach’s growling already,” James laughed, waving goodbye and
returning to the kitchen.
He hoped his friendliness had masked the blush on his cheeks and churning
of his stomach ever since hearing that the stunning 16-year-old houseboy Abel
was just a few feet away, naked and bathing. He knew he could just as easily
have told Becky to send her son to him when he was finished with his bath and
fully clothed, but he couldn’t resist this lucky opportunity to see the boy
naked. Until now the only skin he’d seen on Abel’s body was his face and hands,
since the rest was always covered in crisp, ironed serving-attire, and he felt
a delirious craving to see more.
Stay focused, James coached himself. One week with ELIJAH is all you
get, and that is your sole purpose for this errand.
James noticed that the storage-room door was partly ajar. It won’t hurt
to sneak a peek, he told himself. I AM the Master of this Plantation, after all
-- I can do anything I damn well please.
Pushing the door open a few more inches, James saw a large rectangular
pantry-room with wooden shelves of supplies covering three of the four walls.
Large barrels sat on the floor around the edge of the room – James guessed they
contained sugar, flour, beer, wine, and other items consumed by the household
in mass quantities.
In the center of the room was a circular metallic washtub, probably
four feet deep and five feet in diameter. And standing straight up in the tub,
facing away from James, was the most breathtaking specimen of the teenage male
form he’d ever seen.
Abel was completely naked, scrubbing his chest, neck, shoulders, and
back with a soapy bristled brush as steaming, sudsy water dripped off of his
glistening golden skin. The 16-year-old houseboy’s body was youthful but much
more developed than Elijah’s scrawny boyish body, with slight adolescent
muscles flexing down his back and buttocks as he scrubbed.
James’s eyes were magnetically drawn to Abel’s midsection, where two
muscular mounds of firm, mulatto flesh protruded in almost perfect semi-circles
from the boy’s back. Completely hairless, Abel’s ass was more perfect and
inviting than James had ever guessed based on the shapes made out beneath the
boy’s silk dress-pants. Abel’s white ancestry was clear in his face and light
skin, but his Negro ancestry was unmistakable in the firm bubble-butt.
James’s dick began to stiffen in his pants. The fact that he was spying
on this boy’s private moment made the sight all the more appealing. He felt a
strange and surprising compulsion to run toward the boy, drop to his knees,
spread the boy’s gorgeous ass-cheeks with his hands, and run his tongue up and
down the previously-untouched crack, gradually pushing forward to taste what he
could only imagine was a delicious cherry.
James considered the very real possibility that he could order the boy
out of the bath, bend him over one of the wooden barrels, and enter the boy’s
virgin hole right then and there. The idea only seemed
problematic when he remembered that both of the boy’s parents were only yards
away and could discover them at any moment. James realized this was an odd
concern; he was the Master, after all. Their son was HIS property, to do with
what he pleased. Hell, he could fuck the boy in front of one or both of his
parents, and they wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it. James cringed
at his own monstrous fantasies. He LIKED Becky and Abraham, he told himself.
They hadn’t done anything to deserve such mistreatment, and he dreaded the
messiness of screams and tears and drama he’d have to deal with should Becky
discover her only son being raped by the Master in the pantry.
Besides, ELIJAH’S was the body he desired tonight, the goal that had
led him to this moment in the first place.
James’s conflicted thoughts were interrupted when Abel turned around
and caught his Master staring. The boy’s eyes lit up in surprise, and he
dropped the brush into the water beneath him. He immediately moved to cover his
crotch with his hands.
“Master James!” the boy cried out in surprise, blushing and looking
down to make certain his privates were covered.
This position gave James a chance to admire the boy’s taut chest, his
stomach rippled with the beginnings of six pronounced muscles, his slender
arms, lanky legs, and the tiny, dark-brown specks of nipples against his
light-golden skin.
“I’m……..I’m sorry, Abel, I didn’t realize you were washing,” James
lied, looking at the walls to avoid embarrassing the boy.
“It’s alright, Master James,” Abel said, smiling. “You just scared the
bejesus out of me, that’s all!”
James remembered noticing Abel’s winning personality when the boy
greeted him upon his arrival to Stampley Plantation. Abel had been a bit wary
of him then, but quickly warmed up to his new master in the nearly two weeks
following.
“I almost thought I was going to faint for a second,” the boy laughed.
“Like the women in those books Master Walt taught me how to read.”
Still modestly covering his crotch, the boy sank down into the washtub
in a crouched sitting position, facing James.
“What do you need me to do, Master James?” Abel asked eagerly, his
piercing green eyes sparkling with energy.
If only you knew, James sighed to himself.
“I thought I’d done everything on Papa’s list,” the boy continued,
wrinkling up his face in the cutest puzzled expression. “It’s a lot to
remember, but I’m trying my best, Master James.”
Abel’s eagerness to please made James smile, and caused his still
semi-hard dick to twitch again.
The boy continued, barely coming up for air: “Your chamber-pot’s
cleaned out, and I poured fresh water for your nighttime wash. Did I not leave
out enough cigars for your evening smoke, Master James? Or would you like more
wine? Just let me get dressed, and I’ll bring you more wine……..”
“No, no, no, nothing like that Abel,” James interrupted, laughing. “You
haven’t done a single thing wrong. In fact, you’ve been doing a terrific job –
even Mr. Potter thinks so.”
Abel blushed a deep scarlet across his golden
skin at the compliment.
“I just wanted to make a few……..ummmm……..changes to the schedule,”
James explained.
“Yes, Master???” Abel asked, and as he listened he lifted up his arms
and began absent-mindedly scrubbing at the small patches of dark silky hair in
his armpits. James desperately wished he could see the treasure hidden just
beneath the sudsy water.
“In order to ensure my privacy, I’d like you to conduct your upstairs
tasks ONLY between 3 p.m. and 9 p.m.”
Abel seemed puzzled, but nodded his head.
“In other words,” James emphasized. “You are strictly forbidden from
the upstairs rooms at any other time.”
“Yes, Master, that’s easy enough to remember, sir,” Abel assented,
smiling. “But what about your morning wash and chamber-pot?” he asked, seeming
sincerely concerned.
“Just leave two pitchers of water in the evening, and that should be
plenty,” James instructed. “You can empty the chamber-pot in the afternoon. Do
you have any questions?”
“No, Master James, I’ll do just as you say, Master. You don’t have to
tell me to do a thing twice,” Abel assured him.
“Well, good night then, Abel,” James said slowly, reluctant to leave
the naked bathing beauty before him. But the promise of the night’s more immediate
rewards urged him on.
“Good night, Master James,” Abel said in his cute adolescent voice,
still focused on his battle with the dirt under his armpits.
Having overcome one temptation, it was now time for James to give in to
another.
All he had to do now was visit the overseer quarters, find the ugly
overseer he’d seen two nights earlier, and discreetly ask him to find the same
boy and send him to his Master’s room.
Visions of Abel’s gloriously naked body flashed through James’s mind as
he walked toward the overseer cabins, but he knew the night had other pleasures
in store for him.
******************************************************************
When Elijah stumbled home to the slave quarters two days earlier, he
felt the way he guessed some of the slave men and women felt around
Christmastime after consuming too much alcohol. The world around him seemed to
be spinning, and he found it difficult to walk straight.
In less than half a day, the boy’s world had been transformed from a
place of relative safety and contentment to a place of danger and fear. He had
left his home a carefree boy who loved playing with friends and being near
family, but now returned to it a sad and scared young man with an aching
asshole, knowledgeable of perversions his former self could have never
imagined.
As Elijah walked back to the slave quarters, he caught himself looking
worriedly over his shoulder every few feet, scared that Master James might drag
him back to the big house at any minute.
He could still feel some of the Master’s juices sloshing around his
insides, so his first stop was one of the five
outhouses on the southern edge of the slave quarters. After emptying his
bowels, he hiked to the creek, where he hoped to wash and make it home before
the other slave children woke up and started playing outdoors. There was a time
he would have boasted to his friends of his personal invitation to the Master’s
house, but now he viewed it as something secretive and shameful.
Stripping off his soiled clothes, Elijah bathed more aggressively than
he ever had in his entire life. He scratched and scrubbed at his skin like a
wild animal, desperately trying to rinse all traces and odors of the older
white man from his skinny body.
When he returned home, he found Thad sitting at the table, sound asleep
with his small head buried in his arms. Their mother had already left for the
fields, and Thad had obviously been trying his hardest to stay awake for his
older brother’s homecoming.
Tears welled up in Elijah’s eyes when he recalled the fun of their
checkers game the night before, a symbol for him of a better time that was now
forever lost.
Closing the front door quietly, he walked over to Thad and carried him
gently to their bed in the corner, collapsing on it with him. Neither boy
having had much sleep the night before, they slept there together all morning
and afternoon. Elijah’s arms spooned Thad much like his Master had spooned him
earlier that morning.
At one point Thad stirred and sleepily asked, “You okay, ‘Lij?” Elijah
responded by squeezing his brother’s arm and nuzzling closer.
Some of the slave children knocked on the door, curious about their
playmates’ unusual absence; when nobody answered, they ran off laughing,
assuming the two boys had probably just gone fishing.
When Phoebe returned home around sundown, Thad was up and preparing
dinner, but Elijah was still on the bed, curled up in a fetal position.
Tears immediately began running down Phoebe’s cheeks, and she ran to
cradle her eldest boy in her arms. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry, but
the sight of her shell-shocked son lying there looking so lost and helpless was
too much for a mother’s heart to bear.
Elijah melted under his mother’s touch, and
his young body began sobbing convulsively. The comfort of his mother’s arms
allowed him, however briefly, to be a child again, and he released all the
emotions built up over the past day.
Phoebe rocked Elijah in her arms, whispering soothing words in his ears
while Thad watched them both, confused and helpless. It didn’t seem to him like
Elijah had been whipped, as his young mind had feared, and everything about his
clothes and appearance seemed normal. Thad had no idea what had happened to his
older brother in the new Master’s house, but he knew it must have been really
bad, maybe even WORSE than a whipping.
“Now, now, Elijah,” Phoebe said softly. “You’se alive, son, and I thank
the Lord in heaven for that much.”
Elijah gasped for air in the midst of his tears, trying to calm his
sobs.
“Don’t forget what I told you, son,” Phoebe continued. “White folks can
be mighty wicked sometimes, ‘specially those with
slaves. But it don’t matter what white folks do to us, they can’t take away the
love we feel in our hearts. They can starve us, whip us, sell us and……..hurt
us, but none of that will EVER stop me from lovin’ you and Thad, you hear???”
And with that, Phoebe got up from Elijah’s bed, went over to examine
Thad’s supper preparations, and did her best to return to their normal routine.
She knew her son had needed her comforting arms, but at the same time she
didn’t want to coddle him. She didn’t know EXACTLY what Elijah had been through
the night before, but she knew that whatever it was, he was certain to see much
worse in his future. The life of a Negro slave was difficult – Lord knows she
knew that firsthand – but licking your wounds and feeling sorry for yourself didn’t do anything but make things worse. As much
anguish as it caused her to see her son’s wilted spirit and hollow eyes, she was
determined to continue with life as if nothing had happened.
Both mother and son breathed a huge sigh of relief when no overseer
came knocking on their door that night.
Elijah remained in bed all the next day, other than a couple visits to
the outhouses behind their row of cabins. Sometimes he slept, at other times he
stared at the cabin’s walls and tried to ward off flashbacks of the older white
man gagging his mouth and mounting him from behind.
Normally Elijah was the first to leap from bed in the morning, eager to
play with the other slave children, but today he felt weary and disinterested.
His eyes had been opened to a strange, confusing world where white men enjoyed
licking inside Negro boys’ mouths, grabbing them by the hair and calling them “niggers,”
and shoving their dicks into their shit-holes. Suddenly the world of silly
games and splashing around in the creek with the other kids seemed small and
childish to him, remote and inaccessible.
Every hour or two Thad would run back to the cabin from playing with
the other children, and beg Elijah to join him and the others. His brother’s
strange behavior worried him, and today’s games just didn’t seem as much fun
without Elijah’s energy and creativity.
“Come on, ‘Lij, come outside, won’t you???” Thad pleaded. “It ain’t no fun without you. And Lil Rooster’s cheatin’ again at
‘catch a nigger’, but I know he won’t try it if you was
around to catch ‘im. Plus Moses and me found us a new
fishin’ spot we wanna show you.”
But Elijah just shooed Thad away and turned toward the wall.
“Suit yourself, ‘Lij,” Thad said dejectedly.
“But all of us misses you real bad. I told ‘em you was sick, but I ain’t tell ‘em ‘bout the new Massuh askin’
for you. They just think you sick.”
Elijah was in the same pitiful position when Phoebe returned from the
fields.
“Get your butt outta bed, young man!” she ordered. “You think you a
rich little white boy that can lazy around as he pleases??? Get up and help
your Mama with supper.”
Elijah rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and reluctantly obeyed his
mother’s wishes. He had to admit it felt good to stretch his stiff limbs and
get his mind off his troubles for a little while.
After supper, Phoebe talked him into joining her and Thad in a game of
marbles they’d made, like the checkers game, out of pebbles. For a good hour he
enjoyed a brief escape from his sorrow, even laughing in spite of himself at
his mother’s jokes, or one of Thad’s gleeful
expressions when he’d win a round.
This pleasant domestic scene was rudely interrupted, however, when Mr. Snopes
flung open the front door without knocking.
“Master wants the boy again,” he growled. “Guess the boy’s got talent,”
he added, smirking and obscenely licking his lips. “Master said the boy knows
his way to the big house.”
Phoebe’s heart sank within her. She knew some white men only liked the
thrill of a conquest and frequently used a particular Negro girl only once
before moving on to others. She’d hoped this would be the case with Elijah, but
Snopes’s ugly presence proved otherwise.
The smile on Elijah’s face from moments before faded immediately, and
the pit in his stomach returned with a vengeance. His young body shuddered in
anticipation of another violation. Unlike two nights earlier, there was now no
confusion, no hopeful curiosity that a visit to the big house might be more
adventure than nightmare. He knew what was in store for him, and resigned
himself to his fate.
Looking first at his mother, then his little brother, in a gloomy and
wordless farewell, Elijah got up without protest and followed Mr. Snopes out of
the cabin.
******************************************************************
As he sat on the edge of his bed waiting for Elijah’s arrival, James
felt a confidence he hadn’t known two nights earlier.
Now that he’d pushed through the initial embarrassment of requesting
the repeat visit, and rationalized away his shame at forcing Elijah into a
situation the boy most certainly dreaded, James’s mind and body felt freed up
to enjoy the night’s sexual adventures.
He also liked the idea that Elijah now KNEW what was expected of him,
allowing James to enjoy the boy’s body without a lengthy, awkward
“seduction.”
The moment Elijah stepped sheepishly through the bedroom door, closing
it quietly behind him, James leapt off the bed and threw himself at the boy’s
stiffened body like a stallion in heat.
In his mind he’d planned to make pleasant conversation first, but the
sight of the boy’s scrawny brown body clothed in tattered rags inflamed him with
an impatient lust.
James seized Elijah’s body in his arms and smothered his head and face
with urgent kisses. He felt like a man drinking his first drops of water after
months in a barren desert. He licked and slurped at the boy’s forehead,
eyebrows, earlobes, neck, Adam’s apple, and nose, relishing the delicious Negro
taste of the boy’s sweaty brown skin.
Elijah stood awkwardly in the midst of this onslaught, eyes closed and
surrendered to his Master’s gross affections.
Sucking on Elijah’s thick, pliant lips, James
half-carried, half-pushed his slave-boy’s young body toward the bed. He collapsed onto the bed on his back and pulled
Elijah’s body on top of his.
As James continued devouring Elijah’s face, now shiny with James’s own
saliva, his hands greedily roamed up and down the boy’s backside, spending
extra time cupping and kneading the boy’s round, fleshy buttocks through the
material of his tattered pants.
Elijah lay like a dead-weight on his Master’s body, still uncomfortable
with the weird feeling of having a grown man’s tongue licking around his mouth,
and his hands touching all over his body. He could feel James’s rock-hard dick
grinding into his own soft dick through their pants, and began dreading the
searing pain it would cause as soon as it found its greedy way to his asshole.
James suddenly reversed positions by flipping Elijah onto his back. Now
James lay on top of him, still exploring the boy’s mouth with his tongue and
grinding his hips against the boy’s stomach and crotch.
Although he’d already seen the beauty hidden beneath his slave-boy’s
rags, James craved the sight of the boy’s naked flesh as intensely as he had
the first time. Pulling briefly away from kissing Elijah’s mouth, James began
hurriedly unbuttoning the boy’s shirt, yanking it out from beneath him and
tossing it to the floor. He gasped at the beautiful sight of the boy’s skinny,
heaving chest laid bare before him, but continued to remove Elijah’s shoes,
then unfasten Elijah’s pants, pulling them down off of him and sending them
flying to join the shirt and shoes on the floor beside the bed.
Even though Elijah knew what to expect this time around, the feeling of
being stripped naked by a strange older man was still uncomfortable and
unpleasant. It made him feel weak and helpless. He turned to look blankly out
the window as James stood beside the bed and began removing his own clothing
piece by piece. If he was lucky, Elijah thought, this might be over faster than
the first time, allowing him to return home or at least find escape in sleep,
even if it was in the Master’s bed.
Now completely naked, James climbed back on top of his naked
brown-skinned slave, burying his head in the crevices of the boy’s neck and
rubbing his fully erect dick into the boy’s stomach and against his nappy black
pubic hairs. Sometimes it nudged at Elijah’s own sleeping six inches of Negro
cock, and sometimes it poked even lower into the crevice of the boy’s warm
ass-crack.
As he kissed and grinded into the boy, his fingers toyed with Elijah’s
tangled crispy hair, savoring its unique feel against his skin. James filled
the room with the sounds of his pants and moans of pleasure, but Elijah
remained eerily stiff and silent.
Eager to explore Elijah’s fresh young body in a way he hadn’t taken
time to during their first encounter, James moved his mouth slowly down the
length of the boy’s body. He paused to taste the boy’s wide, dark nipples,
which stiffened under the attention of James’s tongue. He continued his
descent, stopping to lap hungrily at Elijah’s cute, protruding belly button,
rubbing his cheeks against the warm, smooth-brown skin of the boy’s stomach. He
crept slightly lower, pressing his nose into the boy’s curly black pubic hairs,
taking in a whiff of their sweaty, intoxicating scent.
James pulled his head back and stared for a moment at Elijah’s
impressive manhood, at least six inches but still soft, hanging heavily to the
side above two surprisingly large testicles. In his fumbling eagerness two
nights before, James had denied himself the exploration of the boy’s massive
dick, but he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
He lifted the heavy piece of flesh from its resting place, savoring the
feeling of its smooth fleshiness beneath his fingers. Holding the boy’s black
manhood in his delicate white fingers sent shivers down James’s spine.
So THIS is the origin of so much controversy, James thought to himself.
So much envy and strife. And it’s no wonder, he
concluded. If this slave-boy’s dick was the average, the superiority of the
black man’s genitals was certainly no myth.
James also got goose bumps when he considered the great taboo he was
violating, far beyond the same-sex nature of this encounter. The black male’s
phallus was strictly forbidden to white women (and by extension, white
sodomites like himself); it was something to be
castrated, symbolically and sometimes literally; something primitive, dirty and
disgusting to be feared, reviled, and turned into the butt of jokes. Yet here
James lay with his face just inches from an African dick, eager to worship it
in a way that transgressed all racial and sexual boundaries.
Elijah’s eyes opened wide when he felt his Master take his warm, limp
dick in his hands. He’d touched his own dick plenty of times since that day in
the barn after catching Laney in the creek, but this was the first time ANOTHER
person’s hand was wrapped around his dick.
It was a completely new sensation, strange and tingly. Elijah’s
surprise only increased when he felt his Master begin licking his balls the
same eager way he’d licked around inside his mouth. It was a weird feeling,
ticklish but not unpleasant.
But Elijah’s head jerked off the bed to look down in amazement when
James actually placed his lips over the head of Elijah’s own still-sleeping
dick. He couldn’t believe what was happening. Master James was beginning to do
the same degrading thing he’d forced Elijah to do two nights ago. It didn’t
make any sense. Although he hadn’t understood its purpose two nights ago, he
quickly observed that his own mouth around his Master’s dick gave his Master
great pleasure. But here was his Master……..doing the work of a slave??? Was
Master James going to give HIM pleasure? Or did he just enjoy sucking on Negro
boys’ dicks the same way he liked feeling their hair and eating their faces?
The shocking reversal of roles was a new thrill for Elijah, and caused his
comatose cock to twitch awake in his Master’s warm mouth.
The taste of Elijah’s dick was sweaty and odd to James, but the novelty
of the sensation and awareness of its taboo urged him on. He took all six soft
inches in his mouth without difficulty, burying his nose against the boy’s dark
pubic hairs. A strong, sharp odor emanated from the boy’s crotch, unlike
anything James had ever smelled before, even from his own sweaty crotch. Negro
dick must have a smell and taste all its own, James thought to himself.
James swirled his tongue around the base of Elijah’s dick,
then tightened his thin wet lips as he retreated back to the boy’s dickhead. He
repeated the motion, and this time felt the boy’s cock jerk a couple times,
hesitant but responsive.
With his mouth still enveloping the boy’s dick, James glanced up to see
Elijah watching his every move with curiosity and wide-eyed wonder. This
reminder of the boy’s innocence turned him on even more, and he increased the
speed and intensity of his sucking.
James watched in his own amazement as the boy’s dick sprung to life,
thickening and hardening into a throbbing, massive beast. James lapped at the
boy’s balls and licked up and down the dick’s length, encouraging its speedy
growth. In less than a minute, Elijah’s dick was a breathtaking nine inches, a
huge monster that seemed out of place attached to the boy’s scrawny 14-year-old
body.
This new size and shape made it more difficult for James to fit in his
mouth. Holding the throbbing dark meat by the base, James could only force half
of its length into his mouth before choking from the intrusion. He continued
slurping it in and out of his mouth as best he could, encouraged
by Elijah’s raspy, reluctant moans of pleasure.
Elijah was guiltily enjoying these new sensations. It was the first
time in both encounters he’d felt anything resembling physical pleasure. Part
of him wanted to resist the feelings he was being made to feel by the same man
who had caused him so much physical and emotional pain. But his dick responded
against his will, and Elijah had to admit that the feeling of his Master’s hot
mouth engulfing his prick was pleasurable beyond belief. It felt similar to his own hand pumping up and down in the barn, only hotter,
wetter, and ten times better.
Plus he got a secret thrill from looking down and seeing his MASTER’S
head bobbing up and down on his sweaty teenage dick, no different than he’d been
forced to do as a slave just two nights earlier.
He also liked the slurping sounds of his Master’s lips going up and
down his shaft, the sounds of his strained breathing, and the occasional
choking noises he’d make when taking too much dick in his mouth. Elijah was
tempted to place his hands on the back of his Master’s head, just as his Master
had done to him, but he knew it was too risky. He didn’t want to do anything
that might interrupt the intense and mounting pleasure in his loins.
James was surprised by how much he enjoyed the feel of his slave-boy’s
thick dark meat pumping in and out of his mouth. The act had a forbidden
submissive quality, to be sure, but it was also a subtle assertion of his
control and domination of the boy equally powerful to anything he’d done two
nights before. The intensity and duration of his slave-boy’s pleasure was
completely at James’s mercy. Elijah’s taut boyish body writhed and trembled
under his manipulations. He could take Elijah to the brink of orgasm only to pull
off and leave him begging for more.
James also got an erotic thrill from imagining his own mouth as a
slave-girl’s tight virgin pussy, sucking in the boy’s literal manhood as that
pussy would under different circumstances. He imagined Elijah in a field, or a
barn, or a slave-cabin, pumping his adolescent cock into one of the Negro
girls, making her moan in pleasure, perhaps even impregnating her with his hot
shooting cum. But Elijah WASN’T enjoying such a scenario the way a normal Negro
boy should be. Instead he was lying helplessly beneath a perverted older white
man sucking greedily away at his virgin cock. And THAT was a kind of power as
resonant and addicting as any other in James’s mind.
Elijah’s head now rested back on the bed, eyes closed in transcendent
pleasure.
James pulled off the boy’s dick to catch his breath, drool stretching
between the dick and his chin. He took as much of Elijah’s large balls in his
mouth as he could, swirling his tongue against the soft dark skin.
Adventurous by nature, James licked slightly lower, up and down the
boy’s black taint, mostly smooth with darker-colored skin in the creases of the
boy’s legs and ass. Drawn by a musky, intoxicating aroma, James inched his
tongue even lower, until he was licking dangerously close to the boy’s tiny
wrinkled asshole.
Elijah’s eyes shot open in amazement. Surely his Master wasn’t going to
lick……..THERE???
James himself was confused by the behavior. He remembered his sudden
urge earlier that evening to rush forward and spread Abel’s firm golden
ass-cheeks with his tongue. Just days ago he would have found the idea
distasteful, even disgusting – licking another male’s asshole like nothing more
than a dirty dog. But now the dark pucker between the boy’s two perfect mounds
attracted his tongue like a magnet. This was the most private and intimate part
of a boy’s body, after all, and he desperately wanted a taste.
James pushed Elijah’s legs up and back, raising the boy’s small ass to
his hungry face. There was a distinct funky smell – not dirty, but not exactly
clean either. A combination of dirt and sweat and the
intestines hidden just beyond the tiny, tempting entrance. He took a
long, teasing lick first across one brown ass-cheek, then the other. He swirled
his tongue tentatively around the boy’s tiny clenched asshole, then poked a
couple quick times at its wrinkled blackish-grayish-purplish center.
The first tastes seemed okay, salty like the rest of the boy’s body,
only a different texture, and tangier. Aroused by this new forced intimacy with
the boy’s body, James began licking more aggressively, eventually lapping and
slurping and sucking at Elijah’s asshole like a pickaninny eating watermelon.
Elijah couldn’t believe an older WHITE man would ever want to lick a
Negro boy’s dirty asshole. The idea of himself doing such a thing to another
person, even a girl like Laney, made him want to throw up. But to his great
surprise, the sensations his Master’s actions were sending through his body
were intensely pleasurable. Before two nights ago the only times he ever paid
any attention to that part of his body was when he wiped with leaves or dried
corncobs after taking a shit in the outhouse, and he certainly never imagined
it could inspire interest from anybody else, let alone be capable of
stimulating such arousal in his young body.
The white man’s licking tickled at first, but as James’s tongue became
more aggressive and persistent, circling and probing the contracted ring of his
anus, the feeling grew more pleasurable. Elijah’s breathing grew heavier and
his body squirmed involuntarily at the new sensations. He felt his asshole
growing wetter and warmer, and he even felt the grown man’s tongue begin
pushing into him, just as his larger, harder dick had done two nights ago. Only
this feeling was an ecstasy he’d never known existed, whereas the other was a
painful nightmare.
James enjoyed tormenting his slave-boy by going back and forth between
gulping down his throbbing nine inches and slobbering over his tight panting
asshole. When his mouth was on the boy’s dick, James could taste a sweet,
sticky substance in his mouth, and knew the boy was ready to unleash a torrent
of sperm any second. But just when the boy’s dick would begin twitching in
anticipation of orgasm, James would pull his mouth off and devote attention to
licking his ass.
He could hear the frustration in Elijah’s quiet sighs, moans and gasps,
and got a devilish thrill from knowing the boy was too scared and powerless to
protest. James’s own dick was jutting straight out and dripping with precum,
energized by this game of simultaneously worshipping and torturing his
beautiful slave boy.
James’s complete control in that moment reminded him that he OWNED
Elijah, that the boy’s own pleasure was fun to toy with, but that it was his
OWN pleasure that mattered first and foremost.
The sight of the boy’s tiny throbbing pucker, shiny and warm with
saliva, eventually became too much for him. Without warning, James flipped
Elijah over on his stomach and stuffed a pillow beneath him, forcing his boyish
brown bubble-butt into the air.
A look of surprise and sudden anxiety replaced Elijah’s look of bliss
from just seconds earlier. His heart sank in dismay and disappointment at this
sudden turn of events, but he knew there wasn’t a thing he could do other than
submit to the excruciating pain. This was his fate, what he’d known was coming
all along; the rest had simply been a confusingly pleasant surprise. He had no
choice but to grit his teeth, bury his head in the bed, and hope for a rapid
conclusion to his Master’s angry thrusting.
James looked down with curiosity and arousal at the reddish head of his
rock-hard cock pressing up against the clenched resistance of Elijah’s
still-virgin-like asshole.
The ass pounding of two nights earlier had done nothing to damage the
boy’s natural tightness. It took a brutal push to break past its stubborn seal,
assisted by the slick wetness left over from James’s own tongue and saliva.
Elijah screamed out in pain and immediately covered his head with a
pillow. There was no crying tonight, as the pain was now expected, familiar,
and inevitable.
James was also more merciful the second time around, taking his
time. He looked down with wonder at his
cock slowly forcing its way, inch-by-inch, deeper into Elijah’s rectum.
Once he had all seven inches buried inside the boy, James savored the
hot slurping wetness of the boy’s guts. He pulled out just as slowly, his dick
now covered in the slime of saliva and the boy’s insides, watching the boy’s
anal ring gripping his cock as if it would never let go.
Then he pushed all the way back in, a little harder and faster this
time, relishing the sound of Elijah’s gasps of pain.
Elijah’s pain wasn’t as brutal and unfathomable as last time, but it was
still searing and relentless. It sort of felt like he was taking a huge shit
over and over again, only sometimes it burned against his insides. Sometimes
Elijah could get used to taking his Master’s dick when it was all the way in
his ass, but the worst pain came when the older white man pulled nearly or all
the way out, only to tear right back through the entrance to his tender aching
hole.
Elijah still couldn’t believe it – one minute he’d been enjoying a game
of marbles with his mother and brother, and the next minute he had a huge white
dick shoved into his shit-hole.
James’s breathing grew heavier as his own body began to rise and fall,
rise and fall, eventually ramming his dick into the boy’s little body with
furious speed and intensity. Like last time, James occasionally laid his body
flat against the boy’s back, the sweat of their bodies sticking together in the
heat. He forced the boy’s head to face to the side so that he could smother it
with kisses and witness every time the boy’s facial muscles tightened up in
pain from another deep thrust.
No angry, hateful words this time; this encounter felt different
somehow. James was content just to witness Elijah’s complete and delightful
surrendering of his teenage body to his Master’s pleasure.
In fact, no words at all were exchanged between the Master and slave. Just James’s grunts of pleasure and Elijah’s cries of pain in his
raspy adolescent voice.
Finding a guilty pleasure in Elijah’s pained expressions, and sensing
the boy’s desire to hide his head in shame beneath the pillow, James decided to
try a new position. His hard cock still impaling the boy’s small ass, he turned
the confused Elijah around on his back like he would a hog roasting on a
skewer. This allowed James to force Elijah’s legs up and spread-eagle into the
air as he resumed slamming his dick in and out of the boy’s tense body.
Elijah’s dick had softened dramatically from the sudden pain of getting
fucked, but Elijah’s pleasure was now the farthest thing from James’s
mind. James loved to watch his own
forehead drip sweat into Elijah’s face while he fucked furiously away. He also
enjoyed looking down at the boy’s cute angelic face with its eyes clenched shut
in pain, and teeth biting down on his juicy bottom lip.
Occasionally James leaned down to kiss Elijah and force
his tongue down his throat, much the same way that his dick was stabbing the
boy’s bowels. Something about having Elijah’s skinny hairless legs spread open
beneath him intensified James’s pleasure in the boy’s submissiveness. He loved
this thrill of using the boy’s body in ways new and constantly changing for
both of them.
As he felt the hot juices of the past two days surging within him,
milked by the fierce grip of the boy’s asshole and wet silky texture of the
boy’s insides, James felt suddenly possessed to abuse the boy in a way his
imagination had just now spontaneously directed.
He could feel the explosion of his sperm
mounting……..mounting……..mounting toward its escape. But at the moment he knew
its release was imminent, James jerked his dick out of Elijah’s ass with a loud
slurping noise, moved onto his knees (straddling the boy’s chest), and
unleashed four hot, splattering shots of cum on the boy’s startled, resentful
face. Elijah’s face clenched tightly in resistance and
disgust, waiting until James had shaken every last, creamy drop onto the black
boy’s mouth, chin, and chest. It was Elijah’s first experience smelling
and feeling cum that wasn’t his own, and having it dripping all down his nose,
lips, and chin made him feel disgusted and degraded.
For James, it was a sight of beauty to behold as he panted in
post-orgasmic pleasure, catching his breath. Returning to reality from the
euphoria of his climax, James shuffled to the side of the bed, wet a cloth
towel in the washbasin, and tenderly proceeded to clean the sticky, smelly mess
from the boy’s face and chest. He then wiped up the saliva and ass-juices from
Elijah’s asshole that was still gaping open just as James’s dick had left it,
as if still waiting for its invader’s return.
Without putting out the lights, James snuggled up beside the boy,
wrapping his right arm across Elijah’s heaving chest. Elijah stared awkwardly
at the ceiling, reflecting on the evening’s new pleasures and degradations. He
missed the familiarity of his own bed, and wished he was cuddling with Thad
rather than this strange, sweaty white man. He wondered how much longer Master
James would demand his company that night.
“You’re going to be my favorite slave if you keep this up,” James
teased the unhappy boy beside him. Elijah smiled weakly in response.
Remembering his new arrangement with Abel, James explained, “For the
next week, you’re going to be my own personal slave, do you understand, Elijah?
We’re going to do this again and again, as often as I’d like. And since I don’t
know how often that’s going to be, I’ll need you here every day and night, to
keep me company and be available when I’m ready.”
Elijah looked at his Master with surprise and disappointment written all
over his face. He couldn’t imagine a life without seeing his mother and little
brother.
“Don’t worry,” James assured him. “You can go home at three o’clock
every afternoon, as long as you’re back here by nine. I’ll give you one of my
old watches so you can use it to tell the time. That should give you six hours
every day to see your mother and brother, play with the other slave children,
and anything else you’d like. Do you understand this arrangement, Elijah?”
“Yes, Massuh James,” Elijah replied wearily.
Elijah wondered if he truly understood. Master James had only mentioned
a week, but what about after that? Would this be the form his life as a slave
would take from this point on – a lonely, unhappy boy giving up his ass to his
Master’s dick whenever it was demanded of him? Could he ever get used to the
horrible pain, or the weird, shameful way it made him feel inside? Would he
ever be a NORMAL boy again?
Elijah tried to look into the future, but it offered him no comfort or
answers.
And his heart sank with disappointment as he realized the older white
man next to him was already snoring in his ear.
Chapter 3: The Bribe
Elijah was dreaming of escape.
He was out of breath, running for his very life through a
dark forest in the middle of the night. His mother and little brother were with
him, and together they were using the stars and full moon to guide them North. He could hear the blood-curdling howls of the hounds
in fast pursuit of the three runaways. But his fear didn’t matter, because at
that moment he was FREE. Free from his Master’s clammy groping hands. Free from
the sweaty grunts and searing pain every time his Master mounted
him from behind. Free from the helpless feeling of knowing his teenage body was
not his own, but rather subject to his Master’s every whim and perversion.
He was running, running, running from the yelping of the
hounds, but large tree branches kept getting in his way. One thick branch in
particular hung menacingly in his way, hitting him in the face and blocking his
path as he tried to duck beneath it. He cried out for his mother and Thad, but
they were nowhere to be found. He felt like the tree branch was suffocating
him……..
Elijah jerked awake from his dream with terror in his
eyes.
He was still in Master James’s bed. The full moon pouring
through the bedroom windows and the sound of coyotes howling in the distance told
him it was still in the deep of night.
The tree branch of Elijah’s dream was actually his
Master’s rock-hard dick, poking and pushing for an entrance into his sleepy
mouth. As soon as Elijah woke up enough to realize what was happening, he turned his head away in disgust. He recalled that only
a few hours earlier, that same dick had been shoved inside his shit-hole. Even
though Master James had cleaned it off, the thought of putting it in his mouth
was anything but appetizing.
Elijah felt his Master grabbing a handful of hair at the
back of his head, forcing his face to confront the veiny monster demanding
attention from his tired mouth. Elijah knew resistance was futile. Clenching
his eyes shut in disgust, he reluctantly let his Master’s cock push past his
lips and deep into his mouth.
James straddled Elijah’s face, clutching a clump of nappy
hair at the back of the boy’s head, thus forcing his mouth’s submission to
every urgent thrust.
James was especially turned on by the spontaneity of the
act. In the past when he’d woken from sleep with midnight cravings, all he
could do was splash cold water on his cock, or relieve himself with a quick,
frustrating jerk-off. But tonight, when dreams of Elijah’s cum-drenched face
had awakened James’s dick, all he had to do was turn to the naked slave-boy
sleeping beside him for immediate satisfaction.
James was thrilled by the idea that a boy as innocent and
beautiful as Elijah had no choice but to serve his sexual needs at any time of
the night or day. He was also beginning to realize his power to destroy the
slave-boy’s innocence, slowly and methodically, orgasm by orgasm, until all
purity and resistance had been irreversibly eradicated. He knew without a doubt
that this power lay within his reach; it was now only a question of the extent
to which he’d explore and enjoy that power.
Part of him viewed his newfound power with shame and
fear. Why on earth would a decent, compassionate man like he want to turn a
happy, spirited young boy into an exploited animal, a hollow shell of a human
being? But a deeper, darker part of James couldn’t resist his curiosity to
witness firsthand what such a transformation would look like, especially if HE
were the one responsible for the boy’s corruption.
Even though James had reached explosive climax just hours
ago, he couldn’t believe how good it felt to plunge his dick into Elijah’s
half-asleep mouth. The sight of the boy’s tightly shut eyes and facial grimaces
under the moonlight only intensified his mounting pleasure. With his left hand,
James rubbed Elijah’s forehead, cheeks, and chin, savoring the smoothness of
the boy’s brown skin. With his right hand, he enjoyed the feel of Elijah’s
wooly, disheveled hair clutched in his fingers.
He forced Elijah’s face into his crotch, stabbing his
cock deeper and deeper into the boy’s helpless mouth. Every time his dick hit
the back of Elijah’s throat, James could hear moans, gasps, and cries of
protest coming from the boy’s mouth, creating a rhythmic accompaniment to every
thrust. If James happened to slam his dick into the boy’s mouth with extra
violence, these sounds would be punctuated with a rise in volume, gagging
noises, or increased sense of panic in Elijah’s gasps for air. Rather than
awaken James’s latent compassion, however, these sounds only further enflamed
James’s lust.
Elijah tried in vain to make his mind and spirit leave
his body until the assault was over. He tried to imagine himself fishing with
Thad and Moses, or listening to the stories his father used to tell him and his
little brother. Rather than relieve his anguish, however, these attempts only
intensified his pain and sense of shame. Wherever his father was, Elijah hoped
he was still alive so that he couldn’t look down and see his eldest son with
the Master’s cock stuffed in his mouth, like a hog roasting on a spit at
Christmastime.
Elijah no longer felt the same fear for his life that
he’d experienced during his first oral assault two days earlier. He knew his
Master’s dick could choke him, but not to the point of actual suffocation. This
time around, Elijah knew the thrusting attack would eventually be over.
It was still hell on earth while it lasted, though. The
Master’s dick tasted salty and clammy, and shot bolts of pain throughout his
body every time it stabbed the insides of his cheeks or the back of his throat.
Since he hadn’t had anything to drink for several hours, Elijah’s lips and
mouth were parched, forcing him to strain to produce more saliva before the
Master noticed anything was wrong.
James noticed that it was taking him longer to climax
this time. Too bad for the boy, he thought to himself.
The extra time allowed James to throw back his head,
close his eyes, and relish every stroke of the boy’s hot tongue against his
shaft; every suction of Elijah’s thick Negro lips as his own cock slurped in
and out of their nearly-virgin opening; every glimpse by moonlight of the boy’s
angry, panicked eyes when they’d open wide after a particularly brutal thrust.
Every few minutes, James took his dick out of Elijah’s
mouth and smacked its hardness against the boy’s chin, lips, cheeks, and
forehead. He liked wiping a trail of precum from the boy’s ear, down his neck,
across his Adam’s apple, and up to his other ear, a mark of degradation on the
caramel-skinned slave-boy. It only took seconds of such playfulness, however,
before James’s dick would miss the wet tightness of Elijah’s mouth and dive
back into its warm resting-place.
The suction of Elijah’s stiff lips and awkward wriggling
of his tongue soon had another stream of hot semen surging from deep within
James’s balls to the head of his dick. Having already released a load of cum
into Elijah’s ass two nights before, and having splattered his face with hot
juices just a few hours earlier, James now felt an urgent desire to unleash his
orgasm in the slave-boy’s unsuspecting mouth. He tightened his grip on the back
of Elijah’s head and thrust his cock deep into the boy’s throat, holding it
there as he pumped stream after stream of steamy liquid down the boy’s
esophagus.
Elijah’s body fought to free itself as he felt the sudden
explosion of runny fluid in the back of his throat, but James’s strong hands
held him firmly in place. The older white man’s cum had a pungent odor and sour
taste, and Elijah’s throat gagged to refuse it entrance into the boy’s healthy
young body. Choking and sputtering, Elijah felt his mouth filling with the hot,
bitter fluid until it ran out the corners of his mouth, down his chin, and into
a puddle on his naked brown chest.
“Swallow it!” James hissed in frustration.
Elijah squeezed his eyes shut and tried desperately to
open his throat to the slimy, disgusting liquid. Some of it oozed into his
throat and he gulped it down hurriedly.
“Listen, boy,” James warned sternly. “Don’t let this
happen again. Next time you’ll know what’s coming, and you’d better swallow
every drop. Like this……..”
James scooped up gobs of cum from Elijah’s chin, neck,
and chest, then shoved them into the boy’s slobbery mouth.
“Lick my fingers clean,” James ordered, enjoying the
thrill of mastery over the visibly repulsed boy.
Elijah resentfully licked the white gooey fluid off the
older white man’s fingers, doing everything within his power to avoid puking
from the acrid taste. He almost preferred having his Master’s spunk shot deep
into his bowels; at least that way he wouldn’t be forced to see, smell, or
taste it.
Even after Elijah had licked his fingers thoroughly
clean, James continued to probe the boy’s warm mouth with his fingers. James
got a sadistic thrill from looking down at Elijah’s clenched eyes while he
grabbed the boy’s tongue and rubbed his fingers along the ridges of small white
teeth. James even poked his index finger into the back of Elijah’s throat, just
to hear his raspy adolescent gagging one more time.
His body spent from its second orgasm of the evening,
James’s sadism soon gave way to resumed tenderness. He pulled the boy into a close embrace
facing him. In that position, he gently stroked Elijah’s wildly matted hair and
kissed the boy’s sore mouth. His tongue explored all the places his fingers had
just fondled, and he sucked on Elijah’s cute little tongue.
James sensed the tension in Elijah’s body. He knew the
boy wasn’t reciprocating his tenderness, but by that point he didn’t care.
Elijah was his PROPERTY, after all, and existed solely to feed his sexual
appetites and keep his loneliness at bay. He could keep him a sexual prisoner
like this for weeks, months, even YEARS at a time.
James’s kissing became slower and clumsier, until
eventually he fell asleep in mid-kiss.
Elijah waited until his Master was safely asleep, then squirmed out of his embrace to face the opposite wall.
His esophagus still burned from the tangy taste of his Master’s juices, and his
body felt dirty from the sticky cum still caked on his face and chest. But as
miserable as he felt, Elijah was relieved to have his ordeal over with, for
another few hours at least.
Next thing he knew, Elijah was being shaken awake by a
bony white hand on his shoulder. His eyes shot open and he tried to remember
where he was.
“Wake up, my little black beauty,” James said kindly, but
the words made Elijah cringe. James was wearing pants and sitting on the edge
of the bed. He was holding a wide metal tray that carried several plates of
steaming, delicious-smelling food and a glass pitcher filled with an orange
liquid.
“Time for breakfast, Elijah,” James explained, nudging
the boy awake. “Becky must think I have a monstrous appetite this morning,” he
laughed, winking at Elijah. James wanted Elijah to forget his sexual brutality
during these moments of quiet intimacy, but Elijah only nodded with a far-away
look in his eyes.
James moved to sit with his back against the bed’s
headboard, the tray resting on his lap, and motioned for Elijah to sit up
beside him. The boy sleepily moved into place beside his cheerful Master,
wiping his eyes and looking down at the food laid
before him. There were hot flaky biscuits drenched in melted butter and
strawberry jam; slices of crispy bacon; two bowls of steaming oatmeal; and
chunks of freshly cut watermelon.
Elijah’s eyes opened wide in wonder at the feast in front
of him. James smiled, realizing this was probably the first decent meal of the
teenage boy’s life.
“Eat all you want,” James encouraged. “I can even ask for
more if you’d like. Poor Becky might think I’ve lost my mind, but she’ll cook
up more if I ask.”
Elijah stared at the food in shock. His pride urged him
to refuse his Master’s kindness, but his growling stomach insisted otherwise.
Elijah’s bony ribcage wasn’t just the look of awkward adolescence; it was also
a sign of severe under-nourishment. Master Walt had never let his slaves
starve, but he certainly wasn’t generous with food rations. Other than
Christmastime, Elijah’s diet consisted primarily of cornbread, gruel (basically
mashed corn), fried potatoes, boiled greens, and fish if he and his buddies
were lucky enough to catch some. With the exception of the occasional rabbit or
squirrel, meat was a rare delicacy, and fruit was even scarcer. Even with the
food Elijah was accustomed to, portions were small and never fully satisfied
his hunger. Elijah knew that white folks in the big house lived better than
their slaves, but he’d never imagined prosperity quite like this. The
temptation to sample such wealth was too strong. Elijah reached forward,
grabbed one of the warm biscuits, and then greedily crammed it into his hungry
mouth.
“There you go,” James said, laughing sympathetically at
the boy’s raw display of hunger. He watched in amusement as Elijah devoured his
breakfast like a madman, shoveling food into his mouth faster than his skinny
arms could reach for it.
“Easy now, Elijah,” James warned, still chuckling. “Don’t
make yourself sick! It’s not going anywhere, so take your time.”
He reached out and took his own bite of biscuit, watching
Elijah out of the corner of his eye.
“Most slaves would kill to be in your place right now,”
James explained. He wasn’t sure if it was true, but it hit the persuasive note
he was aiming for. Elijah continued inhaling his breakfast, seemingly
indifferent to his Master’s words.
“I know you’re probably not fond of the……..things I make
you do when we’re together,” James continued. “But you’ll see that being my
personal slave has its advantages. No other slaves get to sleep on such a soft
bed, for example, or wake up to such a feast. Besides, I think I’ve treated you
with more kindness than the overseers probably treat your mother in the
fields.”
Elijah didn’t look up, but resented the Master mentioning
his mother so casually. He focused on the pleasant sensations of breakfast, and
tried to ignore his Master’s annoying rambling.
James poured Elijah a glass of orange juice. The boy
stared at it curiously, then gulped it down greedily.
It was his first taste of orange juice; water was the only liquid he’d ever drank with breakfast. He liked its sweet, cool taste, and it
helped wash from his mouth the smell of morning breath and aftertaste of
swallowed cum.
“Refreshing, isn’t it?” James asked, smiling and stroking
the boy’s greasy, nappy head. “What I’m trying to tell you, Elijah, is that if
you continue trying to make ME happy, I’ll do my best to make sure that YOU’RE
happy too. I have to confess, I’m already growing quite fond of you.”
Elijah wanted to spit his food in his Master’s face and
tell him the way to make him TRULY happy would be to send him back to his
mother and little brother, and never make him do another disgusting thing with
him ever again. But he remembered the Master’s threats from two nights before,
and knew his fate as a slave-boy was to submit to suffering without challenge
or complaint.
“Thank you, Massuh James,” Elijah mumbled with his mouth
full of bacon. “This breakfast’s real good, Massuh. I know you’se been kind to
me, Massuh James.” He remembered his mother’s advice, telling his Master
everything he wanted to hear.
James got goose bumps at the sound of the teenage boy’s
raspy, grateful voice. His dick also twitched at the sight of Elijah’s brown naked
body, covered in crumbs and remnants of dried cum from the previous night’s
adventures.
Even the sight of Elijah EATING was arousing to James. He
enjoyed watching the eager gulps of his slave-boy’s Adam’s apple, imagining the
food being swallowed deep into the boy’s insides where it would be digested
into a part of the boy’s beauty, sweat, energy, and shit. He knew it was crazy,
but part of him envied the food’s contact with the most intimate and
unreachable parts of the boy’s breathtaking body.
Swept up in a moment of impulsive passion, James took
Elijah’s cheeks in both hands, interrupting his
breakfast and pulling him close for a deep, tender kiss. He licked the crumbs
off the boy’s fleshy Negro lips, sucking tenderly at Elijah’s half-open mouth
still full of half-chewed food.
Elijah rolled his eyes back to look at the ceiling,
frustrated with his Master’s interruption of his breakfast. He watched in
silent protest as James moved the breakfast tray to the floor, stood to remove
his pants, and climbed back beside him, smothering his face with aggressive
kisses.
“Damn,” Elijah thought sourly. “He ain’t even gonna let
me finish eatin’ before he takes his way with me again.”
“You can finish your breakfast later,” James assured him
breathlessly, caught up in his growing frenzy of lust. “Now it’s time for you
to EARN it.”
He pulled Elijah down into a horizontal position on his
back, and covered the slave-boy’s scrawny naked body with his own nude, pale,
middle-aged flesh.
He grabbed Elijah’s face in both hands and devoured it
with his mouth, relishing the smell and taste of sleepy boy. He nuzzled the
boy’s neck and grinded his dick against his legs while Elijah stared at the
ceiling above him in boredom and despair.
This moment of passion, begun with a flash of tender
foreplay, quickly turned into something urgent and animalistic. James’s dick
was already fully hard and poking hungrily around the warm crevices of the
boy’s thighs and buttocks. He felt a greedy, overwhelming desire to fuck the boy
quickly and without mercy. He had watched Elijah’s breakfast slide eagerly down
his throat, and now he longed to feel the boy’s insides again before they
became polluted from digestion.
James shoved Elijah’s legs into the air and pushed the
boy’s knees against his chest. Elijah’s ass tensed in anticipation of its
second violation in several hours, its third in the
boy’s entire young life.
James leaned across the bed and reached down to the
abandoned breakfast tray on the floor. He scooped up a glob of melting butter
from one of the dishes, returned to his position between his slave-boy’s spread
legs, and smeared it all around Elijah’s dark, wrinkled asshole. The boy’s
asshole tightened at first touch, then loosened slightly, then tightened again,
panting in dread of the assault just seconds away.
James pushed one, then two of his butter-drenched fingers
into Elijah’s resistant asshole, watching the boy wince
in pain as he did so. This was a new and interesting sensation, he thought, the
feel of his FINGERS exploring the boy’s forbidden insides. He loved the
panicked grip of the boy’s asshole as it fought fiercely to expel the unwanted
intruders. He savored the silky, slimy feel of the boy’s rectum as his fingers
wriggled their way deeper and deeper. He smiled as he watched the boy gasp in
protest, then cover his face with his right arm in frustration and
embarrassment.
James removed his fingers, but just before he started to
wipe them on the bed-sheets, he had a wicked impulse to make Elijah lick them
clean. The idea of the boy being forced to taste the melted butter mixed with
the slime from his rectum was surprisingly and sadistically exciting to James.
Without warning or permission, James shoved his gooey fingers into Elijah’s
horrified mouth.
“Lick them clean!” James ordered, enjoying his command
over the boy.
Elijah started to choke, but had no choice but to suck
his own slimy insides off his Master’s fingers. He longed for another drink of
orange juice to rinse out the nasty taste and musky smell of James’s fingers.
James nearly climaxed right then, just watching Elijah’s
expressions of surprise and disgust.
He knew it was time to fuck the boy’s warm, greasy
asshole – briefly but brutally. He placed his eager cock against the boy’s
tight opening, then fully entered the boy in one
forceful thrust.
Elijah screamed in protest so loudly that James worried
for a second that Mr. Potter, Becky, or Abel would come running to see who’d
been murdered. James smothered the boy’s screams with his right hand, pressing
down on the boy’s face as he used his dick as a battering ram to open Elijah’s
tight entryway. The warm melted butter intensified the normal pleasures of ass-fucking, and allowed James’s dick to sink deeper into
Elijah’s guts than on his first two fuckings.
With a threatening look, James removed his hand from
Elijah’s mouth. Elijah substituted his screams of agony with quick, guttural
gasps of pain that accompanied every thrust. Every gasp was paired with a
clenching-shut of the boy’s eyes in misery and endurance. These sights and
sounds provided physical proof of James’s power over Elijah, inspiring him to
slam his adult body into the boy’s scrawny frame with even greater intensity.
It only took a dozen brutal thrusts into his slave-boy’s
lanky brown body before James felt a weaker but still-powerful orgasm building
up within him. He leaned down and smothered Elijah’s cries by shoving his
tongue into the boy’s gaping mouth, tasting sweet remnants of biscuits and
bacon mixed with the fouler taste of butter and ass-juices. He lunged his body deeper and deeper into Elijah, thrilled by
the feeling of the boy’s sprawled legs and feet wrapped around his back.
Finally, James buried his head into the sweaty nape of Elijah’s neck and
focused all his energy on the orgasm to come. He whispered Elijah’s name over
and over in his slave-boy’s ear, grunting in defeated ecstasy as he heaved his
body into Elijah’s one final time, emptying what was left of his body’s semen
supply deep into his slave-boy’s waiting bowels.
He lay atop Elijah’s body, his softening dick still
inside the boy’s butter-greased ass, sweating and panting for breath, for what
felt like hours to Elijah’s restless body.
Finally Elijah worked up the nerve to ask hesitantly,
“Can I finish eatin’ now, Massuh James?”
James lifted his head up to look down
at his shy, scared slave-boy. He chuckled at the boy’s simple
request, uttered with such simplicity and candor. His chuckle turned into long,
convulsive laughter atop Elijah’s frail, confused body. Still laughing
uncontrollably, James rolled off the boy and onto his back. He reached down to
the floor, lifted up the tray, and put it on Elijah’s lap, laughing the entire
time.
Now he was laughing at far more than Elijah’s nervous
request. He was laughing at the irony and absurdity of life. He was laughing at
the fact that barely two weeks earlier he’d been a Northern virgin prude,
scared of sex and judgmental toward slavery, and here he was, naked and sweaty
and laughing after fucking the hell out of a scared, innocent 14-year-old Negro
slave – for the THIRD time in two days. He was laughing at how far he’d fallen,
and wondering how far he still had to fall.
And it was in that exact moment that James Stampley
surrendered himself to his folly, wherever it might lead him.
*******************************************************************
James’s encounters with Elijah fell into a pleasantly
predictable routine for the next five days.
Using an old stopwatch James had given him and taught him
how to use, Elijah snuck up to his Master’s bedroom every night at nine
o’clock. James was usually lonely and horny following the absence of his
favorite slave-boy, and typically tore off Elijah’s clothes before the boy had
the chance to utter a greeting.
James then enjoyed a couple hours of groping, licking,
sucking, and fucking, collapsing at the end of his climax into a deep but
temporary sleep, suffocating the small boy in his arms.
If Elijah was lucky, James slept soundly until morning.
Most nights, however, James woke up around two or three in the morning to push
his cock into his sleeping slave-boy’s mouth, or poke its reddish head against
the boy’s tiny asshole, usually still wet and squishy from an ass-fucking just
a few hours earlier.
Elijah’s favorite part of the routine – in fact, the only
part of the routine from which he derived any satisfaction whatsoever – was
breakfast. The deliciousness of Becky’s cooking was only slightly less amazing
to the deprived slave-boy than the apparent limitlessness of its supply.
Breakfast was usually followed by another sexual act.
This was then followed by another few hours of sleep as the morning sun warmed
the naked sleeping bodies of Master and slave.
Around noon, James fetched lunch for himself and Elijah,
every bit as plentiful and tasty as breakfast.
In the afternoons, James frequently became talkative and
emotional. Depleted of all sexual drive by this point, he usually began to feel
guilty for the preceding hours’ abuses. So in those final afternoon hours,
James treated Elijah with extra kindness, asking the boy countless questions
about his life. Elijah usually answered in reluctant mumbling at first, but
grew more eager and talkative as the afternoon wore on. Regardless of the unpleasant
circumstances, Elijah was a normal teenage boy and loved to talk about himself,
especially to an eager adult listener.
Who was his best friend? (“Thad, I
reckon, then Lil Rooster”).
What was his favorite food? (“Probably Mama’s catfish,
but Miss Becky’s biscuits is a close second”).
What were his biggest fears? (Lightning
and Rattlesnakes).
What did he remember about his father? (his deep voice,
the exciting adventure stories he used to tell him and Thad, the strange scar
across his cheek, the prayer he always used to say before supper, the way he
snored at night after a long day in the fields, the first time he showed Elijah
how to fish, their subsequent father-son fishing trips every Sunday afternoon).
Sometimes as he listened to Elijah’s cute ramblings,
James felt an overwhelming sense of remorse for the pain he’d caused the young
boy’s body and spirit. He longed to restore the boy’s virginity. He wanted to
write up manumission papers and send Elijah, his mother, and little brother off
to safety and freedom in the North. He felt a need to apologize for all the
ugly, brutal things he’d said or done to the boy in the past week.
But a deeper, darker need had now taken hold of James’s
mind, a need to POSSESS the boy COMPLETELY – flesh, mind, and spirit. Elijah’s
precocious stories only made this need more urgent and uncompromising.
Around 2:30 p.m. each day, James gave Elijah permission
to leave, and the boy dashed off with a hurried, “See ya tomorrow, Massuh
James.” James then lay in bed for another fifteen minutes, dizzy and delirious
from the memories of the previous night and day. He felt as if he were
stumbling through a dream; everything seemed strangely, blissfully surreal.
Sometimes he even wondered if he wasn’t falling in love with Elijah.
James always snapped himself out of these afternoon
daydreams by remembering that Abel could walk in the room at any time after
three o’clock. He stripped the soiled bed-sheets and left them in a pile for
Abel to collect later. After this, James grabbed a clean set of clothes and
headed downstairs for a hot bath.
He stumbled his way through dinner in a daze, sometimes
snapping out of it long enough to admire the shape of Abel’s muscular teenage
ass pressing against the house-boy’s silk slacks.
After dinner, he walked to the main road and back,
stretching his stiff muscles after lounging in bed for hours. Then he suffered
through another hour or two of Mr. Potter’s dirty stories and crude humor,
impatient to put out his cigar and return to his bedroom to await the return of
his special slave-boy.
Elijah’s routine was very different.
After consuming large meals to which his starved body was
unaccustomed, not to mention being pumped full of his Master’s cum, Elijah’s
first stop was always one of the five outhouses on the southern border of the
slave quarters. After emptying his bowels, Elijah snuck through the woods to a
private spot he’d found in the creek where the other children never swam or
fished. There he soaked himself in the warm creek water until the smells,
sweat, and crusty cum from his Master was completely washed off. As soon as he
felt like his body, especially his asshole, was thoroughly clean and prepared
for the coming night’s ravishing, Elijah snuck back home and crawled wearily into
bed.
He no longer played with the other children, even when
Thad begged or bribed him with tales of exciting new games or lucky fishing
holes. He rarely slept, but instead stared blankly at the cabin walls, resigned
to his depressing fate as the Master’s “personal slave.”
Phoebe tried to cheer him up when she’d get home from the
fields, singing one of his favorite songs or frying up a catfish Thad had
caught. Sometimes these efforts brought a smile to Elijah’s face, at other
times just a distracted, mumbled “Thanks, Mama.”
Deep down he treasured these few hours with his mother
and little brother, but even in these private moments Elijah felt haunted by
Master James’s presence. He could only get caught up in a game with Thad, or
one of his mother’s stories, for ten, maybe fifteen minutes before awful
visions of the perverted acts he’d been forced to perform just hours before
would plague his restless young mind. Even in these moments of so-called
“freedom,” the reality of his new life weighed him down. He longed to be a
normal, clueless boy like Thad again, but he didn’t know if or how such a
return to innocence would ever be possible.
Usually in the middle of a competitive game, Elijah
looked at the rusty stopwatch in his pocket and realized it was close to nine
o’clock. With an apology to Thad and sad glance at his mother, Elijah hugged
them goodbye and returned to the Big House for another night of submission to
the depraved acts demanded by Master James.
Elijah was surprised at how quickly he got used to Master
James’s disgusting uses for his young body. His shock and defiance on his first
night with the new Master now seemed like part of another lifetime. He
certainly didn’t LIKE the things he was forced to do – in fact, he still found
most of them quite painful and revolting – but he had learned how to comply,
sullenly but silently. Gross behavior like tongue-kissing, sucking dick, or
taking cock up his shit-hole – activities he never knew EXISTED, let alone
imagined himself actually DOING, just one week ago – now seemed like things
he’d been doing all his life, things he could do in his sleep if he had to. He
knew resistance would only cause he and his family more suffering, so he simply
closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and endured his Master’s affections as long
as they lasted.
Sometimes the nightmare lasted for what seemed like
hours, until his jaw-muscles ached and his asshole felt like it had been torn
to shreds. At other times his Master’s groping was mercifully, almost laughably
short, the grunts and thrusts coming to an abrupt end after only two or three
sweaty minutes.
Elijah still cringed inside every time his Master pulled
out his red veiny dick and pushed it against his lips, but his mouth slowly
adjusted to the unnatural feeling of having a big penis shoved into it. He
gradually learned how to relax his jaws and throat to allow for better access
and avoid gagging. He figured out how he could use his right hand at the base
of the dick so that he wouldn’t have to take as much of it into his mouth. He
got into the habit of spitting and slobbering as much as possible, causing less
friction against his lips and mouth, and making the inevitable later entry into
his asshole less painful. He learned how to balance long, deep suction with
short, quick bobs up and down, or licking up and down the shaft, allowing for
the chance to breathe in between the heavy sucking. And, most difficult of all,
he finally reached the point where he could swallow all of his Master’s
dick-juices without choking.
Elijah still hated the feeling of having a dick crammed
into his shit-hole, but it no longer hurt as intensely as it had the first
couple times. It still shamed and disgusted him every time Master James mounted
him from behind. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt like normal boys didn’t take
dicks up the butt the way Sophy took Jacob’s dick that afternoon in the barn.
He couldn’t imagine his father, or Jacob, or Lil Rooster allowing another man’s
privates to be shoved up inside them.
But at least now the pain wasn’t as severe, and he knew
what to expect. The first time the dick pushed past his asshole always hurt the
worst, but after a few excruciatingly painful thrusts, the burning was replaced
by a dull, steady sensation. The only feeling he could compare it to was taking
a huge shit over and over and over again. He was embarrassed to admit it to
himself, but a couple times he was even surprised to feel PLEASURE from his
Master’s thrusting, making his own dangling six inches twitch and harden. It
usually only lasted a few seconds before Master James shifted positions in a
way that replaced the brief pleasure with the more familiar feeling of pain and
violation. Each time Elijah swore he must be imagining things.
After being fucked a dozen or more times, Elijah’s
asshole began to loosen and accommodate his Master’s cock more quickly and
easily. It retained its firm grip, but gradually became more flexible and
cooperative. Elijah also discovered that if he pushed real hard, as if he was
taking a shit, his asshole would receive its intruder with less pain and
difficulty.
James never dreamed a man could have so much sex on a
regular basis, and he loved every minute of it.
He became addicted to the idea of sex without the
seduction and self-consciousness that surely would have accompanied it if he’d
been pursuing another white man or free Negro in the North. That kind of sex
demanded time and effort, but as a slave-owner he could take pleasure from
Elijah’s young body at any time of the night or day, with just a word or look.
And the true beauty of it was that he never had to consider Elijah’s feelings,
or worry about the quality of his own sexual performance. He could be as quick,
clumsy, or adventurous as he wished, and he knew his young slave-boy couldn’t
say a word in judgment or protest.
Sometimes James preferred the simple and familiar,
settling for a quick-thrusting blowjob or doggy-style fuck. At other times he
became more imaginative, exploring and degrading his Negro slave’s body in new
and exciting ways.
Sometimes he’d bend Elijah over with the boy’s elbows
leaning on the windowsill, and fuck him aggressively as Elijah watched his
pickaninny friends playing in the distance.
Sometimes he was content just to fuck Elijah with his
fingers, intently watching the boy’s pained facial expressions as he shoved
one, two, then three, and one time even FOUR, fingers into the boy’s stretched
asshole. He loved feeling the silky warm squishiness of the boy’s insides, and
seeing the boy’s resentment when forced to lick his fingers clean afterwards.
His favorite position, however, was simple. He liked to
sit with his back against the bed’s headboard and make Elijah lie flat on his
stomach between his legs and worship his Master’s cock and balls with his
mouth. This allowed James to watch Elijah’s clumsy, half-hearted blowjobs, but
also have a full view of the boy’s plump upturned buttocks. Sometimes he would
lean down to smack, grab, or knead the boy’s fleshy mounds with his hands.
Before long one or two fingers found their way to the sweaty crevice of
Elijah’s ass-crack, exploring its hidden treasure in anticipation of the more
brutal plundering to come.
Sometimes James was slow and tender in his lovemaking,
entering Elijah with gradual strokes as he affectionately nibbled on the boy’s
ears or neck. At other times he became rough and abusive, devoted to causing
Elijah as much pain and humiliation as possible. In these frenzies of angry
lust, James shouted insults at Elijah such as “dumb nigger” or “dirty pickaninny
bastard” as he slammed his raging dick into the boy’s helpless asshole.
About a week after his first encounter with Elijah, James
grew frustrated with Elijah’s detached attitude toward their times together.
James wasn’t stupid. He saw Elijah grimace every time James pushed his cock in
the boy’s mouth. He felt Elijah’s body stiffen, then grow limp, every time he
climbed on top of him. At first this resistance had been an enormous turn-on,
visible proof of the boy’s innocence. But now James was becoming impatient and
annoyed.
James was developing a strong attachment to Elijah, but
he knew deep down that his slave-boy felt nothing positive toward him in
return. He realized Elijah was only in his arms each night thanks to an unfair
and inhumane culture that legally and socially categorized Negroes as nothing
more than livestock. James knew that if given the choice, Elijah would gladly
leave and never see his Master again.
The fear of whippings or worse forced Elijah to surrender
to his Master’s desires, but James realized that FEAR as a motivator could only
find limited success. Fear alone could never make Elijah love him, or come to
his bed with enthusiasm. As things currently stood, Elijah would never be more
than a limp rag-doll to soak up his cum.
One evening during his post-dinner walk, James came up
with a thrilling idea.
Perhaps it was time to explore a new aspect of his
recently discovered power as slave-master. He’d witnessed the results of FEAR
on his slave-boy’s behavior, but why not try out HOPE
instead? REWARD rather than PUNISHMENT? A devious
strategy began to form in his mind.
When Elijah came to his room that night, James ordered
him to sit on the edge of the bed. Elijah looked startled; usually he was
already half-naked and covered in his Master’s saliva by this point. James
paced back and forth, searching for the right words.
“I want to talk with you about something very serious,
Elijah,” James began. “It’s about your father.”
Elijah looked up with surprise and concern.
“Yes, Massuh?” he asked, trying to conceal the curiosity
in his voice.
“Well, Elijah, I’ve been thinking,” James continued,
pulling up a chair to sit across from the boy. “You’ve told me a lot of stories
about your father lately, and it’s clear you love and miss him very much.”
Elijah nodded uncomfortably, staring at the ground. None
of his nights with Master James had begun this way.
“I guess what I’m trying to say,” James pushed ahead, “is
that I feel bad about what my Uncle Walt did to your family, and I want to make
it up to you.”
Elijah looked up, his brow wrinkled in confusion. “I……..I
don’t understand, Massuh James.”
“What I’m trying to say,” James explained softly, taking
the boy’s hands in his own, “is that I’m going to do my best to get your father
back.”
Elijah’s eyes widened in surprise.
He tried to remain calm, but his heart was already doing somersaults. “I’se
confused, Massuh James.”
“I can’t promise anything,” James clarified. “But I’ll do
everything within my power to bring your father back. I’ll write to the
attorney and slave-trader who handled your father’s sale, and see if I can
track down who he was sold to. If I’m able to find out that much, I’ll offer
good money to buy him back. Double his real value, if it comes to that.”
James wasn’t sure how sincere his promises actually were,
but he certainly had the wealth and resources to keep them. He could worry
about that later. Right now all that mattered was making Elijah believe him.
Elijah stared at his Master,
stunned and confused. He tried to fight back the tears welling up in his eyes.
After four years, he’d nearly given up hope of ever seeing his father again,
but now, without warning or reason, his new Master was rekindling hope in his
heart. It was too strange and good to be true. Why would his Master want to
reunite his family? Perhaps he was a kind man after all, in spite of the forced
sex and occasional angry words.
Elijah worked up the nerve to express his doubt.
“But……..why you wanna do that, Massuh James?”
“I told you, Elijah,” James explained. “I want to fix my
Uncle’s mistake. I really do care about you, Elijah. I want to make you happy.
Bringing your father back WILL make you happy, won’t it?”
Hope crept into Elijah’s suspicious eyes. His mother had
always taught him never to trust anything from a white person’s mouth, but
Master James sounded so kind and sincere. Maybe there would be some happiness
in his future after all.
“Oh, yes, Massuh James!” Elijah said, betraying his
optimism. “That makes me real happy.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Elijah,” James said. “I’ll do
everything I possibly can to find him and bring him back……..but I’m going to
need you to do your part.”
Elijah furrowed his brow.
“My part, Massuh?” He
didn’t see what he could possibly do to aid the search for his father.
“Yes, YOUR part,” James explained. “From now on, I want
you to show me some ENTHUSIASM in our……..times together.”
Elijah’s heart sank, and his
face fell to the floor. He knew it was too good to be true. He should have
known a white man wouldn’t do nothing good for a Negro
without wanting something in return.
“Inthoos……..enthooshiazm, Massuh
James?” Elijah asked, struggling to pronounce the Master’s big
word.
“In other words,” James continued, “I want you to PRETEND
that you like what we do together, even if you don’t. If you want me to do
everything within MY power to make YOU happy, I expect YOU to do everything
within YOUR power to make ME happy, do you understand? That’s only fair, isn’t
it?”
James blushed at his shameless emotional manipulation of
the helpless boy, but his dick twitched at the thought that his plan might
actually work.
Elijah wanted to cry. It was already all he could do to
suck his Master’s dick without gagging, or take his Master’s dick up his ass
without crying. He didn’t think he had it in him to pretend that he actually
LIKED it.
Maybe his Master’s promise was a trick, but what if it
wasn’t? What if his father’s safe and joyful return really WAS up to him?
Wouldn’t it be foolish not to at least TRY? He already let Master James use his
body three, four, sometimes five times a day – how much harder could it be to
smile and moan in fake pleasure while he was doing it?
“I……..I reckon that’s fair, Massuh James,” Elijah
mumbled.
James smiled, relieved his plan was working.
“Listen carefully, Elijah,” James replied sternly. “I
want you to act like you LOVE everything I make you do. No arguments and no
frowns, you hear? If you fail to put on a convincing show, you can kiss goodbye
all hopes of ever seeing your father again.”
“Yes, Massuh James, I’ll try my best,” Elijah said,
trying to muster up some eagerness in his voice.
“Well, then, get started, boy,” James commanded, eager to
see the results of his new experiment. “Take off my clothes and show me how a
good little nigger-boy sucks dick.”
James tried not to laugh when Elijah first began fumbling
with the buttons on his shirt. The boy seemed more scared and hasty than eager
and willing, but James found himself amused with the boy’s first attempts. It
was clear Elijah had the right idea.
As Elijah clumsily tried to take off his shirt, James
pushed the boy away, stood up, and pulled off all of his own clothes. I can at
least spare him the ordeal of undressing me, James thought with a chuckle.
Now completely naked, James lay down on his back, on the
bed. Elijah jumped up and quickly stripped out of his own clothes,
then climbed on top of his naked Master.
James was thrilled when Elijah pressed his thick Negro
lips against his own and awkwardly tried parting them with his tongue. James
had always initiated the kissing, and Elijah had always done little more than
open his mouth and stiffly receive his Master’s tongue. But now he was licking
at his Master’s mouth like a kitten lapping up milk. There was still a stiffness to his actions, to be sure, but it was obvious
the boy was making an effort.
Elijah tried his best to imitate the way Master James
usually treated him in these situations. He covered James’s lips with his own,
slurping at them awkwardly. He swirled his tongue clumsily around the inside of
the man’s mouth. He did his best to act as if he liked it, even humming in
pleasure as he’d heard Master James do so many times while engaged in the same
activity.
Elijah moved his lips to his Master’s neck,
kissing and licking his way stiffly down James’s body until his mouth was
against the man’s red, throbbing cock. Taking a deep breath,
Elijah swallowed it in one huge gulp, choking from the over-eagerness of his
first attempt. Elijah refused to give up, diving back down on his Master’s dick
with another full gulp. Taking the base in his right hand and spitting a wet
gob of saliva on the tip of the dick, Elijah rapidly sucked up and down, up and
down, quickly getting his Master’s dick slick and hot with his spit and warm
breath.
Elijah’s sucking had never been so intense. There was no
need for James to grab the back of the boy’s head or hump his face, for this
time Elijah was doing an extraordinary job on his own. The boy even moaned as
he eagerly sucked up and down. James knew Elijah was performing, acting purely
out of self-interest, but that was part of the erotic thrill. For James, the
excitement lay in his power to make Elijah perform degrading acts and pretend
like he enjoyed them.
James felt a sadistic compulsion to test the limits of
Elijah’s cooperation.
Placing his hands beneath his own head and grinning
broadly, James taunted, “You like sucking your Master’s white cock, nigger?”
Elijah winced, but hoped James hadn’t noticed. He was
already doing his best. Why couldn’t his Master just leave him alone? But
Elijah was desperate to earn his father’s return, and a powerful incentive such
as the one James placed before Elijah could compel one to do almost anything –
especially a poor teenage slave boy with so few hopes for the future.
Elijah pulled his mouth off his Master’s dick, a stream
of saliva running down his chin. He looked up and gave James the widest, most
convincing smile he could muster.
“Oh, yes, Massuh, your thing taste real good, Massuh. Better than Becky’s biscuits.”
James laughed at the boy’s corny creativity. “So your
pickaninny mouth likes white dick, huh, boy?!? Better than fried chicken? Better than WATERMELON?!?”
Elijah cringed but played along. “Oh, yessuh,
Massuh James, I sho likes the taste of your dick. More than
anything, Massuh, more than watermelon!”
He resumed his animated sucking as if to prove his point.
When he felt like he could hardly breathe, he’d take long licks up and down the
shaft of James’s dick, moaning in pleasure like he was tasting
Christmas candy.
“Lick my balls!” James commanded, enjoying the boy’s
enthusiastic servility more than any of the preceding week’s pleasures.
Elijah obeyed, burying his nose against James’s large
balls reeking of sweat and semen. He closed his eyes in disgust, but pretended
like he was enjoying a delicious meal.
James closed his eyes in ecstasy at the feel of Elijah’s
nervous warm breath on his balls.
“That’s right, nigger,” James barked, putting on a
performance of his own. “This will teach you your proper place in the world.
Nigger lips and nigger tongue were made for the white man’s balls. What are
you, boy?!?”
Elijah was confused by the question.
“A slave, Massuh?” Elijah
answered, hoping it was the expected reply.
“I want to hear you tell me what you ARE!” James
demanded.
“I’se a……..I’se just a nigger, I ‘spose, Massuh,” Elijah
replied sullenly, still lapping at his Master’s balls.
“You’re damn right you’re a nigger, but what KIND of
nigger?!?” James taunted. He realized with more amusement than guilt how much
he was beginning to sound like Mr. Potter.
Elijah wanted to cry, but kept a silly grin on his face.
“I’se just a dumb, dirty nigger,” he confessed.
“A dumb, dirty nigger who likes to lick
white men’s balls!” James added.
“You’se right, Massuh James,” Elijah agreed.
“Say it!” James ordered.
“I’se a dumb, dirty nigger who likes to lick white men’s
balls, cuz they sho do taste good, Massuh James,” Elijah declared, sucking his
Master’s balls into his mouth.
Caught up in his sadistic frenzy, James decided to
present Elijah with the ultimate test of his feigned enthusiasm.
“Lick my asshole!” James barked.
Elijah clenched his eyes shut in disbelief and disgust.
He remembered how good it felt when James had done that to him several days
earlier, but the idea of actually licking another person’s shit-hole was
repulsive. It was the place where farts and shit came out. He thought of the
foul odors of the slave quarter outhouses.
Not this, he thought to himself. Anything
but this.
“Please, Massuh,” Elijah begged. “I’se doin’ my best to
make you happy, but please don’t make me do that! I’ll do anything you wants me
to, anything but that.”
James was annoyed at having the illusion of enthusiasm
disrupted.
“Do you want to see your father again or not?!?” he
growled. “You heard what I said – lick my ass, nigger!”
Elijah knew he had no choice but to cooperate. Wanting to
get it over with as soon as possible, he moved his tongue lower until it nervously
poked at the older white man’s pink wrinkled asshole. Elijah was surprised that
it was pink instead of brown. He was also surprised to find that his Master’s
ass smelled no worse than a mixture of sweat and soap. Still, it was a gross
thing to do, and he tried his hardest to put from his mind what it was he was
actually doing – kneeling between his Master’s legs and licking the older white
man’s asshole like it was the most natural thing in the world!
“Come on, nigger, you can do better than that,” James
insisted. “Eat my ass like it’s corn-on-the-cob, boy!”
Elijah tried to ratchet up his energy level. He lapped at
his Master’s asshole with deep, long strokes of his tongue, followed by quick,
awkward pokes at the center of his Master’s pucker. After more of James’s
scolding, he began biting and slurping on it as his Master had done a few days
before. He spit on the winking asshole and spread the saliva around with his
tongue. He even tried to push his small red tongue deeper into his Master’s ass
– something he never in a million years thought he could ever be made to do!
The sight, sounds, and sensations of Elijah eagerly
slurping on a grown man’s asshole for the very first time was too much for
James’s aroused body. With barely a warning, his dick shot streams of white cum
into the air, splattering down onto Elijah’s hair, eyes, nose, lips, and chin.
Realizing what was happening, Elijah dutifully moved to
drink the final few spurts of semen from his Master’s dick. With no coaxing
from James, he also began licking the cum from around
his lips, even scooping some up off his forehead and feeding it to himself.
“Taste good, nigger?” James asked, laughing at the boy’s
cum-drenched face.
“Sho do, Massuh James.
Your stuff taste better than mine, Massuh,” Elijah lied.
“Come here, boy. Lay on top of me,” James instructed.
Elijah sprawled his naked brown body across his Master,
the sweat of their stomachs sticking together.
“You did a real good job, Elijah,” James said in a kinder
tone of voice, stroking the back of Elijah’s tangled nappy hair. “Keep it up
and you’ll be seeing your father in no time.”
***********************************************************************
The charade continued for three more days.
Elijah devoured his Master’s dick like a rabid dog. He
smiled and nodded and verbally agreed with the most offensive insults. He
begged his Master to fuck his tight nigger ass, and moaned in exaggerated
pleasure no matter how much his rectum was burning in pain. At night he lay
awake imagining what the reunion with his father would be like, and in those
moments all the day’s degradations seemed worth it.
Despite his best efforts, Elijah’s performance as the
eager, willing slave boy wasn’t flawless. He was a sensitive teenage boy, after
all, and even the most jaded adults have trouble concealing their true feelings
every waking moment. James occasionally caught flashes of defiance in Elijah’s eyes, or winces of pain or disgust.
The novelty of his latest experiment began to wear off, and
James realized there was no power or threat within the slave-master’s reach
that could compel a slave to reciprocate feelings of lust or love. A slave
could be raped, whipped, degraded, manipulated, sold, and even killed, but
could never be forced to love.
Rather than help him see the futility of his behavior,
Elijah’s rejection only made James feel powerless, then angry and resentful as
a result of that powerlessness.
One morning James awoke from his sleep to the sound of
sniffling. He opened his eyes to see Elijah resting in a fetal position on the
far side of the bed, facing the bedroom windows that overlooked the slave
quarters. It was obvious the boy had been crying.
“What’s wrong, boy?” James asked coldly. The tears might
have inspired sympathy just a few days earlier, but now they merely provoked
annoyance.
“Nothin’, Massuh,” Elijah said quietly. “Just a bad
dream, I reckon.”
James knew the boy was lying and wanted to hear the
truth, regardless of how it might hurt his fragile ego.
“Go ahead, Elijah, you can tell me what’s
the matter,” he said in as kind a voice as he could muster.
Elijah hesitated.
“I ‘spose I just miss my little brother,” he mumbled.
“This the best time to fish, so I reckon that’s what put my mind to it.”
James felt a pang of jealousy, then
anger. Suddenly he was struck with a tempting idea. Turning it
over in his mind, temptation quickly evolved into full-fledged obsession.
“If you miss your little brother so much,” James said
hurriedly, before his conscience could scare him away from the idea that had
taken shape in his mind, “then I think it’s about time I invite him to join in
on our fun.”
Elijah felt dread stabbing at his stomach. He cringed to
think that his own careless words had planted such an idea in James’s mind.
Elijah tried to sound calm and collected: “Oh, no,
Massuh, he probably busy with the other boys anyway. I’ll be okay, Massuh
James, don’t worry about me. I’se ungrateful to say such a
thing, Massuh.”
But James was already past the point of no return: “No, I
think I’ve made up my mind, Elijah. You’ve told me so much about your little brother, it’s only fair I meet him, right? Besides, I’m sure
he’d love to see what HE could do to bring his father back again, wouldn’t he?”
Elijah shuddered at the creepy sound of his Master’s
voice. How could he have been so naïve as to think his little brother was safe
from the Master’s weird cravings? Was he so cocky that he thought the Master
would never desire other slave boys, including Thad? But Thad was only ten
years old! Surely the Master wouldn’t force a CHILD to do such nasty
things?
Elijah turned over and faced Master James, staring
directly in the man’s eyes for what felt like the very first time.
“Please, Massuh James,” Elijah pleaded, a stray tear
running down his face. “Don’t do nothin’ to Thad! He my only brother, Massuh, and he just a little boy. I been
the man since Daddy got sold away, but Thad……..Thad ain’t never had to be a
man, he only ten, he ain’t ready for the stuff a man like me can do. I’ll do
ANYTHING you want, Massuh James, ANYTHING……..just please
don’t do nothin’ to my little brother!”
“Oh, I have no plans to HURT him,” James replied with a
devilish grin. “I just want to meet him, see if he’s as handsome as you. Show
him what the two of us been up to for the past week. You don’t want to keep
secrets from your baby brother, now do you?”
James was enjoying this sadistic high. If Elijah wouldn’t
love him willingly, James would possess the boy in the only other way possible
– through shame and forced obedience. James knew that even if he didn’t lay a
hand on Thad, having his little brother as a witness to his rape would
humiliate Elijah for life.
Elijah was sobbing now. It was the first time James had
seen him break down and cry since their first encounter over a week ago.
“Why are you doing this?” Elijah kept sobbing over and
over. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Don’t be so melodramatic,” James shrugged. “What I’m
doing to you is far kinder than anything you’d feel under the overseers’ whips
in the fields.”
James was actually beginning to believe his own
justifications for the ways he was hurting Elijah.
“Besides,” he continued. “I’m going to reunite you with
your father, remember?!?”
Elijah sniffled, remembering the only glimmer of hope in
his bleak adolescent life.
Was the potential reunion with his father worth the steep
price of introducing his little brother to the Master’s brutality? Could he
trust Master James’s word? His father could be dead, and Master James might
already know it. But was that a gamble he was willing to make? Even if it was
only a faint possibility, was it a chance he could turn his back on?
Besides, Elijah reasoned with himself, if Master James
truly wants Thad, he’ll take him with or without his cooperation. And if his
little brother’s corruption was inescapable, wouldn’t it be better for him to
be present? Wouldn’t Thad need his stronger older brother to coach and comfort
him through the nightmare?
“It’s your choice,” James stated matter-of-factly. “Bring
your brother to my room in one hour, or you’ll never see your father again.”
Elijah wiped his tears with the back of his hand. He knew
he had no choice but to obey his Master’s orders.
“Yes, Massuh James,” Elijah said softly. “I’ll……..I mean
we’ll be here in one hour.”
Without another word, Elijah climbed out of bed, threw on
his clothes, looked at the rusty stopwatch in his pocket, and ran from the Big
House toward the slave quarters.
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