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Archive name: plantation.txt
Authors name: Smutpen (address withheld)
Story title : On the Plantation
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On the Plantation
by Smutpen (address withheld)
***
The plantation owner's 18-year-old daughter finds a way
to explore her attraction to the slaves. Her friend
only planned to watch, but gets caught up in the fun.
When their mothers unexpectedly walk in on them, the
party just gets hotter. (MF, intr, group, anal, sexual-
addiction)
***
CHAPTER 1
Abigail Hanford stared at her friend in disbelief.
"But why, Christabel? How? Your parents wouldn't leave
you here alone, they just wouldn't!"
Christabel Jennings grinned smugly, and mischief
glittered in her green eyes. "Daddy was supposed to
come back from Atlanta this morning, so Mama took the
early coach to go visit her cousin Etta. Only Daddy
sent a message with yesterday's coach that he has to
stay in Atlanta for three more days. I was outside when
the messenger came, so I told him I'd let my Mama know.
I guess I forgot."
Abigail shook her head, amazed yet again at her
friend's audacity, and already starting to worry what
kind of trouble Christabel was planning to get them
into.
The two girls had been best friends since before they
could remember; in many ways they were very much the
same, but in others they were as different as night and
day. Both were only daughters of wealthy parents,
plantation-owning Southern aristocracy. Both were
achingly beautiful, and both were eighteen.
But Christabel could have easily passed for twenty-two;
tall for her age at 5'6", her breasts were full and
round, and her figure, though slender, was curvaceous.
Stunningly offset by her shining red hair, her emerald
eyes sparkled with intelligence and humor, and her full
lips seemed always curved in a faint half-smile, which
gave her an air of flirtatious and knowing maturity.
Her personality matched her looks; she was bold,
impulsive, daring; dangerously so for a woman of her
time. But her beauty, her youth, and her charm, wrapped
around a core of genuine kindness and sweetness, made
it hard for anyone to stay angry with her for long.
Abigail, on the other hand, could be mistaken for
fourteen or fifteen. She was tiny, 5 foot nothing, and
beneath the modest dresses her mother insisted on, her
firm round buttocks and small, high, perfectly round
breasts could easily escape notice. Her hair was so
blond it was almost white, and her eyes were the pale
blue of a rain-washed sky. Her delicate features and
gentle, trusting expression conveyed an almost heart-
breaking innocence that made her seem younger than her
years.
Yet the two close friends were more alike than they
seemed. Both chafed under the restrictive, stilted
lifestyle of the antebellum south. Both were prone to
sexual thoughts and fantasies, and eager to experience
more than the little they both had seen. Both had lost
their virginity to the same smooth-talking classmate,
Jimmy Robbins. Christabel was first, of course, and was
almost the aggressor.
Months later, Abigail, more passively, had succumbed to
the boy's advances. That had threatened their
friendship, briefly. But both had been disappointed by
Jimmy's clumsiness, quickness, and unimpressive
endowments. Neither wanted to try him again, and the
shared experience ended up reinforcing their closeness.
Best of friends they were, yet Abigail was often
nervous about Christabel's wild streak, and the thought
of three days without any adult supervision to restrain
her sounded dangerous. But, she had to admit to
herself, it was exciting, too.
She sighed. She knew she would go along with
Christabel's notions; she always did, though usually
more as observer than active participant. "Three days.
What are you planning to do?"
Christabel smiled. "First we're going to have tea and
sandwiches, and talk. Later…you'll see."
They sat on the patio, having tea and sandwiches, and
Abigail thought everything seemed normal, She was
starting to feel a little relieved, maybe a little
disappointed, when she noticed something odd.
"Where's the house staff, Christabel?"
Christabel smiled her naughty smile. "They all had
errands that had to be done. I'm afraid we're all
alone."
Abigail could tell she wasn't going to find out what
Christabel had in mind until her friend was ready, so
she played along. They sat chatting about everything
and nothing, while the sun sank and the song of the
crickets rose into the night. At some point, the
subject of Jimmy Robbins came up. "Is his little pecker
the only one you've seen?" Christabel giggled.
"Yes," Abigail replied.
"Then how do you know it's little?"
"I guess I don't, really. I just thought I should
feel…fuller."
"Me too." Christabel got up. "Let's go for a walk."
Abigail felt her tummy tighten. Whatever Christabel had
planned, she had a feeling it was coming.
For a while, though, they just walked aimlessly in the
cool, fragrant darkness. Then Abigail realized they
were down by the slave quarters. "We shouldn't be down
here, alone, in the dark," she said.
"Nonsense. We can walk where we want."
As they drew closer to one of the small shacks, Abigail
started to hear a noise. A man's voice, and he was
groaning, as if in pain, and there was a sound of a
woman's voice as well, it sounded almost like she was
humming.
"What is that?" Abigail wondered if someone was hurt.
But why the humming?
Christabel led her to the wall of the shack, and
pointed to a knothole, touching a finger to her lips.
Guilty, but curious, Abigail put her eye to the hole.
Candles were burning, and she could see, but at first
she couldn't make sense of what she saw. The groans
were coming from John, one of the big field slaves. The
humming was a young slave woman. She was down on the
floor in front of him, and she seemed be trying to
swallow…something, a stick or a bottle, something much
too big for her mouth. Suddenly Abigail realized what
she was seeing, and she fell back, barely restraining a
gasp.
Christabel was grinning, and she waited while Abigail
went back to get another look. Watching, she felt an
itchy tingling in between her legs. She was ashamed. A
black slave! Still, the woman had been mouthing it so
eagerly, and it was big, very big. If the candlelight
wasn't playing tricks on her, it was three times the
size of Jimmy Robbins' little thing.
As Christabel drew her away from the shack, she felt
relief. That hadn't been so bad. Naughty, scary,
exciting, but they hadn't been seen, and one more of
Christabel's adventures was safely behind her.
But when they had gotten about thirty yards away,
Christabel suddenly stopped and faced the shack.
"John," she shouted, "I need your help up at the house.
Right now. And bring Henry and Zeke and Isaac with
you." Abigail's jaw dropped.
There was the sound of hurried stumbling, and perhaps a
muttered oath, and then John's voice. "Yes Miz
Chriz'bel, right away."
Christabel started toward the house, and Abigail
followed, stunned. "Christabel! You, you, you're not.
You can't!" Christabel kept walking, and Abigail
fluttered along behind her, thinking, "I've got to go,
go home, get away." But what she heard coming out of
her mouth was, "Can I watch?"
As if she'd said the magic word, Christabel turned and
beamed at her, "Get up in my parent's bedroom, and hide
in the closet." Abigail scurried to the hiding place;
she had to see, she just had to. Could even Christabel
be so bold?
Christabel waited in the parlor. The other slaves she'd
named, like John, were the biggest, strongest field
hands. They were the ones called on for the hardest
labor, and whenever she saw them working, their muscles
bulging, sweat dripping from their black skin, she felt
weak in the knees, and she had to go change into dry
panties. She really didn't know why, and she'd never
told anyone, not even Abigail, but now she had her
chance, and she was going to take it.
The four hurried into the house. "What is it Miz'
Chriz'bel?" John spoke for them.
Christabel wrinkled her nose. You've got work to do,
but you stink. You’re going to have to get cleaned up
first." The slaves looked at each other, mystified.
They all liked Christabel; she was nice. And nice to
look at, too, although they knew they'd best not be
caught looking at her. Still, she was a white girl, and
white girls are all crazy.
They followed her up the stairs. She took them into her
parent's bedroom, and pointed at the big master bath.
"That's the only washroom that's big enough. Get in
there, and don't come out till you're clean." The
slaves were bewildered, and starting to get a little
worried; where was the house staff? But they did as
they were told.
When she heard the sound of splashing and mumbling,
Christabel went to the closet, winked at Abigail, still
half in shock, and pulled out four of her father's
robes. She closed the door, leaving a crack for Abigail
to peer through.
"Get them smelly clothes off, too," she said, opening
the washroom door. She tossed the robes to the baffled
slaves.
"Not the Massah's clothes, Miz Chrizbel, we cain't,"
muttered John. Christabel put her hands on her hips.
"The Massah ain't here, John. I'm the Massah, and the
Missus, and you'll do as I say!"
She closed the door, and went back to the closet once
more. She peeled of her panties, and tossed them on the
floor. Abigail could smell her friend's arousal on
them; she bent down to look and saw that the entire
crotch was soaked. She was feeling more than a little
moist herself, and trembling with anticipation.
In a few minutes the four big black bucks came
nervously through the door. They were clutching the
robes, because Christabel had not brought any belts.
"Line up there," she ordered, "let's make sure you're
all clean."
"Open up that robe John, let's see if you washed up
good."
"Oh, no Miz, I cain't do that."
"I won't have any dirty niggers in my house, John, nor
disobedient ones, neither. Now, open it!"
Shaking his head, John opened the robe. Despite his
fear of the dangerous situation, he could feel his cock
beginning to swell as Christabel stared at it.
"Looks clean," she said, "but let's make sure." Before
the bewildered man could react, Christabel had dropped
to her knees before him, and took his rapidly growing
prick in both her small white hands. Stunned and
frightened, the slaves could only stare, wondering how
far the beautiful teenager would go with her teasing.
She looked up at John. "You know what Mama says when
she wants the floors cleaned real good? She says to
make 'em clean enough to eat off of. Are you clean
enough to eat off of, John?"
Without waiting for an answer, her pink tongue darted
out and touched the tip of his ebony pole. "Mmmm." John
stared in disbelief as she forced the huge head into
her little mouth. Seeing his black cock sliding into
the lovely white face of the Massah's young daughter,
John gave up any resistance. He might hang for this,
but he was past caring.
Christabel moaned, and popped the enormous rock-hard
black shaft from her mouth. She stood and lifted her
skirts, revealing her bare pussy, with its fringe of
flame-red hair. Juice was running down the insides of
her quivering thighs.
Without a word, she turned and walked to her parent's
bed. She climbed on and got on her elbows and knees,
sticking her perfect little lily-white round ass in the
air like a bitch in heat, and looked over her shoulder
at John, her eyes commanding and pleading.
In a haze of lust, John got up behind her with his cock
in his fist. He forced it into her dripping pink pussy,
and with one long slow push, drove his thick nine-inch
monster balls deep into the tightest, hottest, wettest
cunt he had ever encountered. As he pressed forward,
Christabel's low moan turned into a high-pitched
squeal, but she was still forcing herself backwards
against him. When his balls were up against her, he
took one firm white ass cheek in each big black hand,
and waited.
"Ohh, it's filling me," she groaned. "Now do me, fuck
me, fuck me hard."
John slowly pulled almost all the way out, and then
suddenly began ramming the little squealing, yelping
redhead again and again, as hard and fast and deep as
he could. "AIEEEEEE! YESSS! YESSS! OH, LIKE THAT! FUCK
ME! AAAAAAAH! FUCK ME WITH THAT BIG FAT BLACK DICK!"
John fought back the churning in his balls, not wanting
this to end too quickly. As he pumped the little teen,
he reached beneath her and found her swollen clit with
his fingers. Christabel screamed. "AAAAAAAAAAAAGH, YAH,
YAH, YAH, I'M GONNA, GONNA CUM, GONNA CUM, CAUSE I'M
CUMMING RIGHT NOWWWWW!" Her body convulsed, and then
her arms collapsed, unable to hold her up.
John was holding her hips now, and he kept pounding her
relentlessly, mercilessly, until she came again, and
yet again. John knew he couldn't fight his own need
anymore, but crazed with lust as he was, there was
still a little voice of self-preservation in the back
of his head. "If she has a black baby," he thought,
"we'll likely all be hanging from the trees like fruit
at harvest time."
So he held onto a last bit of self control, and after
her third orgasm left her dazed and helpless, he pulled
out and maneuvered his cock to her mouth. Her eyes
widened with surprise, and some fear, as the huge load
of spunk came boiling out of his balls, filling her
mouth and threatening to drown her. But she swallowed
some, and let the rest run down her chin, and her eyes
glazed with pleasure once again.
John collapsed on the bed, drained, but Christabel
gently stroked his cock and balls, and he knew he would
be ready again soon. The other three field hands
waited, their cocks sticking out like flagpoles.
Christabel looked over. Henry and Zeke were about as
well equipped as John, but her eyes widened when she
saw Isaac's fearsome weapon. It looked to be a foot
long and as big around as her mama's rolling pin.
"Come here Henry, Zeke," she said. Isaac's face fell,
but she shook her head. "Don't worry Isaac, I'm saving
something special for you."
While John rested, and Isaac waited and wondered,
Christabel started working on Henry and Zeke, stroking,
licking, and fondling them, rubbing their black tools
against her cheeks and her breasts, sucking them
greedily into her mouth while she looked into their
eyes adoringly.
Inside the closet, Abigail's eyes were as wide as
dinner plates. Sometime, she didn't know when, she had
found herself rubbing away at her aching pussy. She
wanted to see Christabel get fucked again.
She soon got her wish; before long, Christabel was back
on all fours, with Henry plowing her pussy, while Zeke
stuffed his black rod deeper and deeper into her pretty
young face. She seemed to be gagging on his thick meat,
but she eagerly forced her mouth down on it anyway.
John cautioned Henry, "Don't shoot in her!"
Henry didn't want to pull out, but suddenly inspiration
struck. As he fucked away at her pussy, he a lubed up a
thick black finger with her flowing juices, and slowly
slid it into her puckered anus. Filled at both ends
with ramming cockmeat, the added stimulation put
Christabel over the edge again, and she was launched
into a shuddering, whimpering orgasm. Quickly, taking
advantage of the relaxation of her muscles in the
aftermath, Henry pulled his cock from her pussy, and
almost without losing his rhythm, started fucking away
at her tiny asshole. Around the cock filling her mouth,
Christabel's moans took on a painful, frantic sound,
but her sucking did not falter, and her hips kept
meeting Henry's powerful thrusts.
Soon Both Henry and Zeke started fucking her harder and
faster, and her squeals lost the painful edge, but
became more urgent, and suddenly they were all groaning
and cumming together, as loads of cum erupted in her
throat and her ass. The sight of her friend getting her
ass and face blasted with nigger cum brought Abigail to
her climax, and she let out a high pitched little
squeal despite her best efforts to stay silent. She
didn't think anyone heard her, though, with all the
other noises. Still, she pulled away from the door,
holding her breath, motionless.
Christabel suddenly stepped to the closet door and
pulled it open. Abigail gasped, yanking her hand out
from between her legs. Her dress was pulled up, her
frilly pink panties down around her ankles. Her face
was flushed, and her nearly hairless little pink pussy
glistened wetly. Trembling, her voice came out as a
squeak. "Oh, no!"
"Oh, yes," Christabel answered. "Isaac." Her eyes
remained locked on Abigail's. "Put her on the bed." The
big slave seemed nervous, but he obeyed, scooping up
the diminutive blond and laying her gently on the
sheets.
She squirmed feebly, murmuring, "No, no, oh, no."
"Take her," Christabel said.
Isaac was frightened, but the command of his little
mistress -- and the sight of Abigail's petite white
body and sopping wet pussy -- overrode his fears.
Easily controlling her weak struggling, he dropped his
face to her crotch and started gently licking. She
gasped, still whimpering, "No," but he could feel
almost immediately that she was responding, lifting her
hips to give him better access to her juicy slit.
He slowly increased the speed and force of his tongue,
concentrating more and more on the hard little nub of
her clit. In less than a minute, "No, no, no," became
"Oh, oh, oh."
And less than a minute after that, Isaac felt her slim
white thighs clamp around his head with surprising
force, so tightly that he could only dimly hear the
blond teenager wailing, "Aaagh, aagh, wha, what's
happening to MEEEE?!? Oh GOD! Oh GEEEAAGHA!"
Her body bucked uncontrollably in the throes of a
shattering orgasm, one that made any pleasure she'd
ever given herself with her hands seem less than
nothing by comparison. Isaac was rewarded with a sudden
gush of sweet, tangy, teen pussycum, and then the girl
collapsed, limp as a rag doll.
He heard Christabel moaning, "Now fuck her! Fill that
sweet little young blond pussy with your big black
fuckstick!" But he needed no encouragement; he was
already moving the fat black plum of his cockhead
towards her dripping pink cuntlips. He rubbed it up and
down, flicking her hypersensitive clit, and she gasped,
opening her eyes wide.
"No," she whimpered, but she was spreading her legs
wide and staring at his cock with a mixture of fear and
hunger in her eyes.
The big slave slowly pushed into her. She was so tight
he thought it might not be possible, but so wet that he
slid steadily in. "AWWWW OWWW," she groaned, and he
paused to let her body adjust to the massive invader.
Slowly, he began to move again.
"OHHHH," she moaned, and then, "Oooooh."
With each slow thrust, he penetrated further into her
sweet young cunt, and soon he was fucking her steadily
and deep.
"So bigg, uh, uh, uh," she grunted in time with his
rhythm, and then suddenly her arms and legs wrapped
around him. "OHHH. Ohh, my God. It's good! It feels so
gooood! YES!! YESSS! FUCK ME! FUCK MEEE! Oh, Oh,
Ohmygod, Ohmygod, Ohmygod, I feel it, it's gonna
happen, it's gonna, AAAAAGHAAAH!"
**
Lucy Hanford watched the coach roll into town, and was
surprised to see Martha Jennings step out of it. Martha
looked tired. As always, Lucy had to marvel at her
friend's beauty. Her perfect hourglass figure had
hardly changed in twenty years. She had always had a
seemingly impossible body, all lush voluptuous curves,
and yet firm and resilient, and seemingly impervious to
gravity.
She had been jealous of Martha's figure, years before,
but that had passed. When she confessed, Martha told
her that she had envied Lucy's petite and seemingly
ageless body, and felt like a clumsy cow by comparison.
Knowing that Martha had left just that morning,
planning to visit her cousin, she wondered what had
happened. She hurried over to greet her friend. Martha
smiled when she saw Lucy, but the smile was weary, even
a little grim.
"That was a quick visit," Lucy observed. Martha
grinned, cheered by Lucy's concern. "The coach threw a
wheel and the axle broke. So I had to catch the coach
heading back here when it passed. I spent all day
traveling in the dust and heat, and I got nowhere."
"Aw, I'm sorry, that sounds awful." Lucy looked
sideways at Martha. "And you missed seeing dear cousin
Etta."
Martha had to grin again at Lucy's expression. "Etta's
a cantankerous, addled old witch who could talk the
ears off a deaf man, and you know it."
Lucy gave her a searching look. "I know it. So why do
you visit her so often?"
Martha shook her head, and they walked together in
silence for a while down the road that went out to both
of their homes.
"It's Robert," Martha finally blurted.
Lucy raised her eyebrows, but waited.
"Do you know what sort of 'business' he goes to Atlanta
for?"
Lucy sighed. "I can guess. Jasper goes to whores, too."
Martha stared at her friend. "Jasper, too? Aren't we
good enough? Look at you! You could pass for Abigail's
sister. Why would Jasper go to some filthy whore?"
Lucy shrugged. "And you're the most beautiful woman in
the county, maybe in the state. It's not us. They're
men."
"And what a waste of good money, anyway. When he wants
to do it to me, he rolls that fat sweaty body on top of
me, and grunts for a few seconds, and he's done."
Lucy shrugged again. "Jasper's just the same. Like I
said, they're men. They're all like that."
Martha looked at her friend. "For years I put up with
it, and now I find out he's been whoring, probably all
along. How do you stay so calm about it?"
Lucy smiled sadly. "I've known a long time. I was
angry, but what could I do? It's a man's world, you
know that."
"Maybe so. But we don't deserve to be treated this way.
I don't know what I'll do, I don't know what I can do,
but I'll think of something."
Lucy shook her head. "You always were a spitfire. When
you figure it out, let me know, maybe I'll join you."
They walked in silence for a while, until they came to
Martha's gate. "Do you want to come in? It'll help me
put off talking to him for a while."
Lucy nodded. "Sure. I probably need to rescue Abigail
from whatever adventure your little troublemaker has
got her into this time."
As they neared the house, Martha frowned. "Something's
wrong. Where's the household staff?" The house seemed
deserted, no servants, no sign of Robert. The women
began to get worried. They headed up the stairs, and
they heard something. The sounds were coming from the
master bedroom; it had to be one of the girls,
practically howling in pain or grief or... something.
They hurried to the door and rushed in.
The sight that greeted them froze both women in their
tracks, unable to speak or move. There on her parent's
marital bed, on her hands and knees, Christabel was
thrusting her ass violently backward to meet the
powerful thrusts of two enormous black cocks, one
plundering her red-haired pussy, and the other ramming
into her obscenely stretched asshole. A third black
pole was fucking her mouth furiously, obviously going
right down her throat as she gurgled and moaned.
On the rug by the side of the bed was Abigail, on top
of another nigger prick, her head thrown back and her
eyes closed as she slammed her tiny body down again and
again on the monstrous ebony tool that was splitting
her asshole. She was frantically frigging away at her
almost hairless little pussy, wailing and gasping.
Nobody in the room had yet even noticed the two
distraught mothers.
Lucy Hanford, recovering her voice, but not her wits,
asked a very foolish question. "Abigail, what are you
doing?!"
Abigail looked up at her mother, with glazed eyes, and
answered her. "I'm getting fucked, Mommy. I'm getting
fucked in my tiny little white ass with a HUGE black
cock. It's in my ass, Mommy, and it hurts, but it's
good, and it made me cum. It made me cum, and ohgod,
ohgod, it's gonna make me cum AGAIN! It's gonna make
me, make me OOOOHGAAAHHH!! OHHOHHHGAAAAHHHD!!"
Her body stiffened and convulsed as she moaned and
squealed, and suddenly the big field slave beneath her
let out a long, low groan. Abigail practically leaped
off him, cum trailing from her ass, and rushed to
capture his still spurting rod in her mouth, eagerly
slurping and swallowing his black seed.
Martha leaned heavily against the doorframe, and Lucy
fainted dead away.
CHAPTER 2
Stunned and disoriented, Martha stared at Lucy,
prostrate on the floor, for a long moment. There was an
eerie silence. When she looked up, all motion on the
bed had ceased. It seemed as though they all had
suddenly frozen in the midst of their bed-bouncing,
wall-thumping rhythm. She saw a grotesque, two-toned,
four-headed beast, and all of its eight eyes were
staring at her, wide and round.
The sight suddenly struck her as hilariously funny. Her
laugh was a harsh, staccato bark, staggering on the
ragged edge of hyperventilation or hysteria. But it
shook her body loose from its paralysis, jolted her
thoughts from shock and dismay. Slowly, she saw past
the raw fact, inconceivable but undeniable, that her
daughter was getting fucked by black slaves. Her mind
began to register just what kind of a fucking her
little girl was getting.
And as it did, a notion formed in her mind, and took
root, and grew.
It was depraved.
It was wicked, sinful, unspeakable.
Irresistible.
"Oh, Christabel," she said, trying to sound stern,
"Whatever shall I do with you?"
But her daughter could read her too well; the fear in
Christabel's eyes had changed into something like
eagerness. Martha let her smile grow.
"I shall have to be cross with you if you have tired
these poor men out completely. They still have so much
work yet to do. Now come help me with Lucy"
Isaac and Abigail huddled in the corner, watching
Martha cautiously. John, Zeke, and Henry were still too
stunned to move, but Christabel extricated herself from
the tangle of bodies and went into the washroom,
returning in a moment with a damp cloth. She knelt
beside Lucy, blotting her forehead gently, and grinned
at her mother.
Martha watched the men, as she very slowly and
deliberately began unbuttoning her blouse. The apparent
catastrophe of the ladies' dramatic entrance had thrown
all four men into shock, and at first they seemed
unable to grasp what was happening. John was the first
to recover. Martha saw understanding growing on his
face, and between his legs, as his wilted tool began to
thicken and lengthen and rise.
"John," she said, "It seems the house staff is not
here. You shall have to help me change out of these
clothes."
John just nodded, not yet composed enough to speak, and
made his way across the room hesitantly, as though
still unable to quite believe the turn events seemed to
be taking. He stood in front of her, and carefully
helped her with the endless buttons and fastenings and
lacings. He suddenly gasped as her clothing seemed to
fall from her, revealing the firm, heavy globes of her
breasts, the lush, solid curves of her hips, the
smooth, flawless paleness of her skin. He gasped again
as he felt her cool, soft hands grasping his prick,
which was burning hot and painfully hard.
Martha stared at the massive weapon in her hands, and
when a large drop of pre-cum oozed from the tip, she
sank to her knees and licked it off. John groaned, and
then was echoed by Christabel. Martha looked over;
Christabel was still holding the moist cloth on Lucy's
forehead with one hand, but the other was between her
legs moving in slow circles as she watched her mother
intently. There was yet a third groan, and Lucy's eyes
fluttered open.
The first thing she saw was John's ebony pole, cupped
in both of Martha's hands. As she watched in horrified
fascination, Martha slid the monstrous thing between
her lips and began sucking eagerly on it.
"Martha?" she squeaked, "What? No! No, you can't!"
Martha turned to her, licking more pre-cum from her
lips. "But I can." One hand was still stroking John's
cock, and Lucy noticed that it barely reached halfway
around. "I must." Martha's other hand reached down to
her pussy, and Lucy's eyes followed it, widening when
she saw that Martha was so wet she was actually
dripping.
Her own hand imitated Martha's, as if by its own
volition, and she was shocked to discover that she,
too, was leaking steadily. She shook her head in
denial, but Martha smiled gently. "Do you remember our
conversation not ten minutes ago?"
Lucy couldn't think straight. "Conversation?"
"Yes. We wondered how we could respond to our husbands'
whoring, and we lamented their uselessness in conjugal
matters, and our endless frustration and
dissatisfaction."
"I remember," Lucy whispered. She could not seem to
pull her eyes away from Martha's delicate, graceful
little white hand, stroking rhythmically up and down
that thick, rock-hard slab of black meat.
"Well, when you speak of problems that seem insoluble,
and find the perfect solution laid before you moments
later, it would be foolish to ignore it. Who are we to
deny providence?"
"Providence? But, Martha… They're slaves! Black!"
"They are men, Lucy. Have you never thought of them as
men? Have you never watched them? Have you never
noticed their strength, and the masculine beauty of
bodies shaped by the hard labor we so unjustly force
upon them?"
"Unjustly?" Lucy had never suspected Martha of
abolitionist sympathies, and it was hard to think about
such difficult things as she watched Martha's hand
rhythmically stroking.
"Of course. Slavery is a relic of a barbaric past; no
other civilized nation still permits it. In fifty years
it will pass away; and in a hundred it will be
remembered with shame and revulsion."
Lucy watched Martha's hand, her mind reeling.
Martha went on. "They are men. And such men! Have you
never looked at them and felt desire?"
"No! Never!" Lucy never had.
Martha smiled. "But you are now, aren't you?"
Lucy moaned. Still staring at Martha's hand, she
allowed herself to recognize that her fascination was
not for her friend's lovely hand, but for the massive
black bludgeon in it. She realized that her own hand
was moving in exactly the same rhythm against the hot
wetness between her legs, and she yanked it away,
frightened and flustered.
She wrenched her stare away from John's black dick,
whimpering in frustration as propriety and tradition
wrestled within her against desires she had never
before experienced. As she did, she saw Abigail smiling
down at her.
"Isaac knows what to do, Mother," she said calmly, "He
can help you." She squatted down and lifted Lucy's
skirt, and peeled off her undergarments, moving slowly
but firmly, and with an expression of such affection
and encouragement that Lucy felt as though she were the
child, and Abigail the mother.
She was so disoriented by this feeling that she didn't
resist, but went limp, allowing her daughter to move
her about like a rag doll. Suddenly, as though she'd
lost track of time in her confusion, she realized that
her legs were spread, and that she could see the top of
Isaac's nappy head between her thighs.
She was about to recoil, to pull away in instinctive
revulsion. A lifetime of conditioning rose up in her
for an instant, as strong or stronger than the aching,
feverish desire that had somehow gripped her. But it
was too late. Isaac's tongue slid up the length of her
steaming, quivering pussylips, and flicked across the
throbbing pink pearl hidden there, and a shock wave of
ecstasy raced through her, sweeping everything else
away.
Her back arched and her hips rose, seeking more of the
exquisite pleasure, and she was helpless to stop it.
Isaac devoured her greedily, attacked her with a touch
that was somehow both gentle and forceful. With fingers
and tongue and lips, he explored her, invaded her,
overwhelmed her.
She trembled and moaned, helpless with pleasure, as he
stroked and sucked and licked and nibbled her to a
state of frenzy. Then he settled into a persistent,
rhythmic pressure with his tongue against her swollen,
superheated clit, while his thick fingers reached
inside her, finding a place she had never known about,
sending her spiraling into a place she had never been.
She felt a need for release so intense it was almost
painful, almost unbearable. But she sensed that release
was coming, and that made the need bearable, made it
into another kind of pleasure. Even her ingrained sense
of the depravity of the act, and her wanton surrender
to it, somehow heightened and magnified her ecstasy.
She had become a flaming arrow, speeding toward an
explosive target.
And then she hit the target, and the whole world
exploded. She heard someone screaming, and realized
vaguely it was her, and then she slipped into darkness.
When her eyes opened, she wondered idly how long she'd
been out. Her limbs felt heavy as lead, but it was a
pleasant feeling, a feeling of blissful lassitude and
contentment.
She had actually only lost consciousness for a few
seconds, but her confusion was understandable; the
intensity of her orgasm had inspired a quick reaction.
By the time she got her bearings and looked around
everyone had paired off and the room was full of the
sounds of mouths sucking and flesh slapping and voices
moaning and groaning and yelping and squealing and
whimpering.
Still a bit dazed, she looked for Isaac, and realized
he was right where he had been; between her legs. But
he was up on his knees, and in his fist was – what?!? A
sense of alarm tried to push past her complacent
afterglow; she had thought John's cock was enormous,
but Isaac's coal-black shaft was a terrifying
absurdity, nearly a foot long, and as thick as her
wrist.
Even as she thought this, she realized that she was not
terrified at all. She realized, in fact, that she
wanted that monstrosity inside her, wanted to feel it
stretching her, filling her, fucking her. She reached
down and touched it, stroked it, thrilled by its
thickness, its length, its heat. It felt so hard, yet
the skin was so soft, like an iron bar wrapped in
velvet. But she couldn't wait.
She took it with both hands and gently guided him to
where she wanted it, where she needed it. It took some
effort to get it all inside her, and when she felt his
balls nestled against her ass, she had an odd feeling
of achievement, as though she had accomplished some
important and difficult task.
She wondered briefly about this feeling, but then
wondering and thinking ended, and there was only
feeling, as he stroked in and out of her, fast and
hard, then slow and hard, then fast and hard again,
until her orgasms piled on top of each other so that
she couldn't tell anymore when one ended and another
began.
John was plunging his cock into Martha, and struggling
furiously the entire time to keep from cumming. She was
making it difficult, because she seemed to have some
sort of muscular control that allowed her to squeeze
him like she was milking a cow, and because each time
she was about to cum, which was often.
She would look intensely into his eyes and whisper,
"I'm gonna cum now," as if she were telling him some
deep, dark secret, and then she would launch into a
frenzied stream of babbling and squealing and
profanity, as her body thrashed violently, and her
miraculous little cunt, already so wet, would suddenly
flood, clutching and gripping at him fiercely all the
while.
Suddenly, she looked at him and frowned, noticing the
extreme effort he was making at restraint. She nibbled
at his ear and murmured a question. "What's wrong?"
Through gritted teeth, he told her. "Don' wanna cum
yet. Can't cum in you. Don' wanna stop."
She smiled. "It's alright. After Christabel, the
doctors told me I can't get pregnant again. You can cum
inside me. I want you to cum inside me. I want to feel
it, I want to…"
John gave up then, and finally relaxed his control.
Immediately, the long suppressed orgasm began to build
up in his balls.
"Ohhhh," she moaned, "Ohhh, yesss. I feel, it, I feel
it, it's getting even bigger, you're going to cum in
me, you're going fill my pussy with your cummmm!" Then
she looked intensely into his eyes and whispered, "I'm
gonna cum now."
She lifted her face to his and kissed him deep and
hard, slipping her tongue into his mouth and then
sucking his tongue into hers, while her body went as
stiff as a board and her pussy gripped him like a fist,
and she squealed and screeched her ecstasy into his
mouth.
John came so hard he felt like he'd shot not just the
contents of his balls, but his balls themselves into
her; he thought for a moment he might look for them and
find only an empty sack of wrinkly skin. But before he
had a chance to worry too much about it, he sank gently
down beside her, and was asleep before his body even
reached the bed.
Isaac, about this time, realized that he was unable to
hold back for one more second, and he forced himself to
pull out just before the first great spurt of jizz
erupted from him. Not having had time to think about
it, or give Lucy much warning, he was surprised by her
speedy reaction. She spun around in time to catch that
first shot on her pretty face, and most of the rest in
her eager mouth. This increased the intensity of his
orgasm significantly, and soon he, too, was snoring
softly.
**
Some time later, John woke up and looked around the
room. Everyone was asleep but Martha, who had slept for
a while and then gone to the kitchen, returning with a
large tray of turkey sandwiches. He realized that it
was the smell of food that had awakened him, and it
soon had the same effect on the others.
There was an awkward silence while they ate, as each
examined private thoughts about the possible
repercussions of this extraordinary event. Each, that
is, except for Martha, who watched the general
discomfort with an air of amusement. When she thought
she had let them stew long enough, she carefully
explained her plan.
As she spoke, the glum, worried faces brightened, and
by the time she finished, the mood had lightened so
much that haphazardly donned clothing began to be shed
once more.
Some time later, they happened to find themselves
arranged in a rough square. The women were all on hands
and knees, their excitement enhanced as they watched
each other enjoy the black poles that were ramming each
of them from behind.
Zeke, stuffing Abigail's tiny blonde cunny, and Henry,
plowing Christabel with great enthusiasm, both realized
at virtually the same moment that they were nearing the
end of their control, so that both did the quick change
they'd gotten used to, and smoothly redirected their
swollen rods into the little white asses that were
bobbing so prettily before them. This bit of accidental
choreography caught Martha's attention, and she didn't
want to be left out. Looking back at John, she begged
him, "Fuck me in the ass John. Please, fuck my ass with
that big black dick, please!"
John didn't really need to be asked more than once;
adopting the technique of lubing with her copious flow,
and preparing the way with a finger, he soon was
fucking her ass just as hard as he'd earlier been
pounding into her pussy. Lucy watched and listened as
the three anally penetrated women expressed their
appreciation and encouragement in various ways.
She felt a bit left out, but also a bit scared. She
feared that Isaac's freakish prick would split her
right open, so she didn't dare encourage him to do so.
But she began, nevertheless, to hope that he would. So
when she felt his finger slipping into her anus, she
immediately came, and when she had the strength, she
reached back and pulled her ass cheeks apart, laying
her cheek on the floor and looking back up at him
eloquently.
Soon, she began to have second thoughts. As soon as he
managed to get the head of his oversized member into
her, she found that it hurt like hell. She began to
think that he was just too big, and she too small. "Oh,
oh, it hurts," she cried "Aaahh! Owww! Stop, Isaac, I
can't, I can't take it!"
Isaac held still, and caught Abigail's eye. She told
her mother, "I took it. You can take it. It hurts at
first, but it gets good. Oh God, Oh God, it gets so
fucking gooo-ood!"
So Lucy tried to relax, and soon enough the others saw
her expression change and knew that it was, indeed,
getting good.
Although Lucy had had more orgasms than she could
count, and had long before shed her reluctance and
inhibitions, she was still not quite as vocal as the
rest. Martha wondered whether some residual shyness or
discomfort prevented her friend from expressing herself
in any articulate manner; she seemed to be holding
back, as if by that restraint she was clinging to some
element of self-control.
Isaac finally matched the pace of the other three, so
that all were hammering balls deep with furious speed
and power into the lovely white butts before them, and
Lucy finally spoke up.
"Ohhhh, God, OhGod, OhGod. I'm taking it! I'm taking
that cock in my ass! Oh it's big, it's so big. It's so
big and black! Ohhhhh! Martha! Christabel! Oh, Abigail,
Abigail, I'm taking it! I'm taking it and I love it!
OHMYGODILOVE IT!!! Abigail! Ohh, I'm a slut! I'm a
little tramp! OH GOD! I'm just a dirty, filthy, slutty,
little assfucked, black cock loving whore!!! OH! FUCK
THAT ASS, FUCK MY ASS! Oh, FUCK!!! Gonna cum, gonna cum
so fucking HAAAAAAAARD, AAAAAGH!"
This remarkable speech had predictable results,
launching a chain reaction of orgasms that threatened
to shake the house from its foundations.
The house did not, in fact, collapse, which was
fortunate for the jumbled pile of exhausted, satiated
humanity which littered the floor for some time
afterwards, utterly incapable of motion.
**
Some weeks later, Robert waited for Jasper, carefully
keeping a smug expression from his face. For a while,
he'd begun to worry that Martha was onto him. She'd
been cold, and found excuses to be away whenever he
returned from Atlanta. Perhaps she'd been suspicious;
not that she could really stop him from taking his
pleasures as he wished, but she could make things
uncomfortable for him.
What a stroke of luck that she'd developed this
gardening obsession. It occupied her flighty female
brain, which was all to the good. She simply must turn
the small courtyard at the center of the house into a
lovely garden, and she was full of design ideas, and
schemes that she'd probably never get straight, since
she redesigned the thing almost once a week. He had
worried about the expense then, until he convinced her
that she could use the slaves rather than hiring
workmen. And if slaves had to dismantle and reassemble
her precious garden again and again, it cost him
nothing.
And, best of all, she actually preferred to have the
work done while he was out of the house -- out of her
hair, as she put it, so she could concentrate. So she'd
been much more understanding about his 'business'
trips, and had even encouraged him to take Jasper
along, so that Lucy could concentrate on the grand
project as well. Women! All caught up the imaginary
importance of their silly little projects. He glanced
across the table at her; she was staring into space,
doubtless fascinated with some trivial notion or plan
she had for the work on the garden this weekend.
Since this garden project had captured the attention of
Lucy and the girls, as well as Martha, they all had
seemed much happier, which meant peace and freedom for
him and for Jasper. He supposed he should say something
to seem supportive and concerned with her silliness,
but he couldn't imagine what someone who was really
supportive and concerned would say.
As long as she keeps the expenses down, he thought,
wondering what grandiose notion was occupying her mind.
That gave him a thought. "Well, dear," he asked, "Are
you satisfied with John and the men?"
She looked at him oddly, and he wondered if it had been
a mistake to bring it up.
"The men. John and the other field hands. Are you
satisfied with their work on the garden?"
"Oh." She smiled. "I'm sorry, I was thinking of what I
want to accomplish this weekend." In fact, she had been
thinking that she had come to quite enjoy the taste of
Lucy's pussy as she licked off of one black cock or
another, and what she wanted to accomplish this weekend
was a visit to sample the flavor at its source, and she
suspected Lucy would endorse this plan
enthusiastically. She did not, however, provide these
details to Robert, but merely answered his question
quite honestly.
"I am," she said, "Completely satisfied with their
performance. In fact, I could go on and on about all
the fine work they've been doing, but here's Jasper and
I know you men have more important things to concern
you than my little garden."
Robert hid his relief at learning that she had no
intentions of hiring workmen, and his equal relief at
being spared a detailed description of the fine work
the slaves had been doing. He gave his wife a peck on
the cheek, and forced himself not to hurry as he went
down to meet Jasper and head for Atlanta, feeling
tremendously pleased with himself.
***
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 29