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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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The Adventures of Stampley Plantation - 2
by WannabeWhitman (wannabewhitman@yahoo.com)
(Mm, nc, rp, 1st, intr)
***
DISCLAIMER: This story is a homosexual fantasy
involving slavery in the antebellum South, non-
consensual 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. I realize these
stories might contain material distasteful, even
shocking, to some, but nobody is forcing you to read
it. Keep in mind these are only FANTASIES based on our
country's racial history and my own conflicted
imagination. My intention is not to condone or
encourage racism, pedophilia, or rape.
NOTE TO READERS: Although the following is entitled
"Chapter 1," it is preceded by an extended Introduction
posted earlier that I'd STRONGLY encourage you to read
in order to fully appreciate the context and
characters.
Although this story is 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.
Any and all feedback is welcome and desired! I would
love to hear advice on how my writing might improve,
suggestions for future characters or storylines,
stories and fantasies of your own, and anything else
you might want to share. E-mail me at
WannabeWhitman@yahoo.com.
***
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' 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' 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.
***
Any and all feedback is welcome and desired! I would
love to hear advice on how my writing might improve,
suggestions for future characters or storylines,
stories and fantasies of your own, and anything else
you might want to share. E-mail me at
WannabeWhitman@yahoo.com.
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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 46