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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 - Part 8
by WannabeWhitman (wannabewhitman07@yahoo.com)
***
"A Northern Abolitionist inherits his Uncle's Georgia
plantation, along with its slaves, and discovers the
many temptations and pleasures his new lifestyle
provides. Realizing his power over the plantation's
boys and men, he slowly abandons his conscience and
surrenders to lust and obsession...." (previous
installments can be found in directory 46.) (Mm, 1st,
hist, intr, nc, reluc)
***
NOTE TO READERS: This is an ongoing series about
slavery in the antebellum South. It includes non-
consensual sex (sometimes with minors) and the use of
racial epithets. The material is mostly of a homosexual
nature, but includes some bisexual themes. If you think
any of this might offend you, DO NOT READ. I realize
some material may be offensive or unappealing to some
readers, but nobody is forcing you to read it. The
series covers a wide range of sexual expression,
however, so just because you dislike one chapter
doesn't mean you won't enjoy others. Keep in mind these
are only FANTASIES based on America's racial history
and my own conflicted imagination about that history.
My intention is not to condone or encourage racism, sex
with minors, or rape.
Although this story is set in the antebellum South, and
I aim to be as realistic as possible, I have not done
extensive research and cannot guarantee complete
historical accuracy. Most of the names, however, are
taken from actual records of slave-owners and their
slaves.
If you're enjoying this series, please let me know! I'd
love to hear constructive criticism, characters or
scenes you particularly enjoy, suggestions for future
characters or storylines, stories and fantasies of your
own, and anything else you might want to share. E-mail
me at WannabeWhitman07@yahoo.com.
If you share my obsession with the beauty and sexuality
of black males, check out my Google group! Explore your
TABOO fantasies about black males: slavery,
domination/submission, economic coercion, police &
prison scenes, adult/youth themes, and more. Discuss
your forbidden fantasies, share photos, and post erotic
stories. This is NOT your average interracial group.
Stay away if easily offended!
http://groups.google.com/group/black-boy-addiction/
Chapter 7: Abel
James was certain he was going to die.
He pictured his emaciated body gasping its last breath,
leaving the vultures and coyotes to fight over its
rotting flesh. He imagined a local family, coming to
the creek for a Sunday-afternoon picnic, discovering
with horror his crumbling skeleton still gagged and
tied to the tree.
For the first hour following Jacob's escape, James had
screamed with all his strength. But the blue towel
stuffed in his mouth, combined with the sound of the
creek's current, made it so that somebody standing just
ten feet away couldn't hear his cries for help.
James waited for the rest of the afternoon, hoping
other travelers would stop for a meal or swim just as
he and Jacob had done. He heard only one wagon the
entire time, and could only sit helplessly as it passed
without stopping.
As the sun began to set, James's anxiety turned into
full-blown panic. His stomach burned with hunger. His
mouth was parched and still sore from its brutal
assault by Jacob's dick. He had to piss so badly that
eventually he had no choice but to urinate on himself.
He also needed to take a shit. He could feel some of
Jacob's cum still leaking out his asshole and soaking
the back of his cotton pants. But he refused himself
that release, determined to spare himself the shame of
shitting on himself before being rescued.
That night was the longest and most miserable night of
James's life. From sunset to sunrise, James's body was
alert and tense in wide-eyed terror. He had no idea
Georgia nights could be so strange and terrifying.
Never before had he found himself immersed in darkness
so thick and impenetrable. Insects roamed and bit his
sweaty body. The shrieks of night-hawks and howls of
coyotes pierced the night's silence, freezing James's
body in watchful fear. He could hear raccoons and
wolves and god-only-knows-what-else prowling within
feet of his defenseless body. Several times he swore he
heard human moans and screams coming from across the
creek.
Worse than the terror of James's physical environment
were the thoughts plaguing his restless mind. Like
scenes from a nightmare, memories of James's earlier
rape flashed across his mind: The searing pain caused
by Jacob's thick cock thrusting mercilessly into his
virgin asshole. The humiliation and helplessness of
having his pride and power as Master completely
stripped away. The shame of being called ugly, hateful
names while his ass was pounded over and over, just
like a whore's pussy. The smell of Jacob's hot nigger
breath on his face. The feel of the stable-boy's slimy
spit sliding down his cheek and chin.
But even worse, James was troubled by the guilty
pleasure he'd felt while being raped, a pleasure so
intense that it had caused him to shoot his load. He
recalled the heat and fullness of having his insides
stuffed with a Negro's manhood. The thrill of
surrendering his body in total degraded service to the
pleasure of a rebellious Negro slave. No, surrender and
service were words too tame for what had actually
occurred, since James had no choice in the matter. It
was more like an utter loss of masculine pride and
power, a brief and strangely liberating role-reversal
that offered a temporary release from the pressures of
white American manhood.
These feelings shamed and confused James, especially
when the sun rose, several hours passed, and still
there were no hopes of rescue. Such feelings seemed
absurdly irreconcilable with the image of his filthy,
famished, piss-soaked body slumped beneath the tree.
Now it was noon, nearly twenty-four hours after Jacob
had bound James's body to the tree, and James was
certain he was going to die. Just as James had begun to
discover the seductive power of his role as slave-
master, all the possibilities of his new life were
going to be snatched away from him.
Of course it was that very same power that had placed
his life in danger in the first place. In less than a
month, he'd grown so accustomed to his power over other
human beings that he'd callously, carelessly risked his
own life, all so he could fuck an 18-year-old Negro
slave.
Just as he was giving up hope of ever being rescued,
James heard the rattling of a wagon driving on the
road. It stopped near the path to the creek, and then
James heard the sounds of footsteps coming toward the
clearing.
"Hello?!?" a man's voice shouted, growing louder as it
approached. "Anybody back here?!? Hello???"
Two men stepped into the clearing, one white, and the
other black.
"What the devil...?!?" the white man cried out when
James's muffled whimpers drew his attention to the tree
where James was bound. The man was short and stocky,
with dark, beady eyes, and a thin, black beard. He
looked like he was in his mid-forties.
"For Christ's sake, untie the man, Lucky!" the white
man ordered.
The Negro, whose jaw was hanging open in astonishment
at the sight before him, rushed over to James. He
looked to be about 22 or 23 years old. He kneeled down
and hurriedly unknotted the gag around James's head.
Even in his shell-shocked state, James noticed the
young man's physical attractiveness, inhaled the
distinct, intoxicating odor of Negro sweat, and swooned
from the heat of the slave's skin so close to his own.
James gulped down the fresh air once the Negro had
freed the blue towel from his dry mouth.
"Thank you," James said weakly. "I thought for certain
I was a dead man."
The Negro that the white man had called Lucky moved to
the back of the tree and began working on the knots
still binding James's hands.
"What in tarnation happened here?!?" the white man
asked as he walked to the creek, kneeled down, and
filled a leather canteen with fresh water.
"My slave...Jacob...tied me up...ran away..." James
fumbled to form his words into comprehensible
sentences.
The young Negro man undid the last knot, freeing
James's arms to hang limply at his sides. At first
James couldn't feel a thing in either arm, but when the
blood finally began to flow freely, it felt like both
arms were being stabbed with millions of needles.
"You tellin' me a nigger did this to you?!?" the white
man asked, outraged.
He walked over to James, kneeled down, and poured the
cold canteen water into James's parched mouth. The
Negro stood behind the white man, watching and
listening with curiosity.
"My name's James Stampley," James explained between
thirsty gulps. "I inherited Stampley Plantation from my
Uncle about a month ago. My driver and I were heading
to Columbus yesterday."
"Jesus Christ, you been here all NIGHT?!?" the white
man asked sympathetically.
"We stopped for lunch," James explained, nodding toward
Becky's basket, now empty and lying on its side in the
dirt. "My slave...attacked me. Tied me up so he could
run away, I guess."
"Well, I'll be damned!" the white man exclaimed,
shaking his head. "Walt Stampley's nephew, huh? It's a
shame about your uncle dyin' so sudden like that. I'd
heard his nephew'd taken over the place, but figured
I'd meet you at one of the shindigs over at Sam
Potter's place. Sure as hell never thought I'd meet you
this way!"
The man took one of James's limp hands in his grasp and
shook it vigorously. He knew the disoriented man before
him was one of the wealthiest men in Georgia, second
only to Sam Potter. The beefy little white man knew
this meant enormous political clout and a high social
standing, and he was eager to make a good first
impression.
"The name's Turner...Frank Turner. I own a small
plantation about three miles down the road. Lucky and
me was just on our way to the Potter place when I seen
your wagon and its horses snortin' and neighin' and
lookin' like they was ready to collapse. Somethin'
didn't feel right, so's I figured we'd best check
things out. And I'm damn sure glad we did!"
Frank Turner stood up. "Damn it to hell, you took me by
surprise so bad I nearly forgot my manners! You must be
starving!"
The beady-eyed white man looked back at the handsome
Negro. "Lucky, go fetch Sarah's ham sandwiches from the
wagon!"
Lucky dutifully dashed through the brush toward the
wagon, returning moments later with a basket similar to
Becky's. He kneeled down, opened the basket, pulled out
a ham sandwich, and handed it to James. James noticed
the slave's eyes were deep and kind, even though they
remained carefully lowered to avoid direct contact with
James's eyes.
James began hungrily devouring the sandwich, swallowing
down each salty, heavenly bite as quickly as his weary
mouth would allow.
Lucky stood up beside his Master. Both men now stood
over him, watching him eat as if he were an injured
bird they'd decided to nurse back to health.
"Thank you, Mr. Turner," James mumbled with his mouth
full.
"Don't mention it, Mr. Stampley," Mr. Turner insisted,
waving his hand dismissively at James. "Any kin to Walt
Stampley's as good as kin to me. We'll get you home
safe and sound, don't you worry!"
As James stuffed down his second sandwich, he tried to
get a closer look at Lucky without staring rudely. The
young man was a spectacular specimen of Negro manhood,
no doubt about it. He had dark, piercing eyes whose
intensity probably made both women AND men look away in
discomfort. His skin was a light, creamy brown. He had
thick, tangled, wooly hair; a large nose with the wide
nostrils of African ancestry; strong, well-defined
jaws; curly wisps of dark hair that wandered down his
cheeks but never quite turned into a full beard; deep-
red lips of medium thickness; broad shoulders; and a
thin but impressively muscled build. If Jacob's beauty
was that of a full-blooded African taking his first
steps into adulthood, Lucky's was the uniquely African-
AMERICAN beauty of an uncertain mixture of races, the
caramel-skinned handsomeness common to most third,
fourth, and fifth-generation slaves, sprouted into
full-grown manhood.
Frank Turner looked like his mind was doing somersaults
the entire time he watched James eat.
"Seein' as you're a Stampley, how about I make you an
offer you can't refuse?" he said, grinning and spitting
confidently to his left. "Maybe see if I can't make up
for the shitty welcome your nigger done gave you to the
fine state of Georgia."
James listened with weary curiosity.
"Since your team of horses sure as hell ain't gonna
make the trip back to Potter County this afternoon, and
I only live just down the road, I'll swap you wagons.
I'll even throw Lucky here into the trade, so's he can
drive you home. Sounds like you're gonna need a good
stable-nigger, now that your other done run off."
Lucky looked at his Master in sickened surprise. "But
Massuh Turner, I..." the slave stuttered in protest.
"He's a damn fine nigger-boy," Mr. Turner said, patting
the stunned man on the back and drowning out the
slave's interruption. "Nothin' like the piece of shit
nigger that done this to you! Lucky'll show you how
loyal and hard-workin' Georgia niggers usually is.
Hell, if you leave now, he'll have you home by sundown.
If you don't take a likin' to him, send him back. But
if I don't hear from you, I'll send the papers to you
next week."
Lucky's skin turned three shades paler, and he looked
like he was going to collapse.
James couldn't believe his ears. Mr. Turner was giving
his slave to James just as casually as he'd given the
man his lunch, with not a second's concern wasted on
his decision's disruption of the young slave's life.
For all James knew, Mr. Turner was tearing Lucky away
from the only home he'd ever known, perhaps even a wife
and children, with no more thought than he might put
into lighting another man's cigar.
While the thought appalled James, it also thrilled him.
He found himself excited by the idea that with just a
spoken word, the handsome Negro standing before him was
now HIS PROPERTY, to do with as he pleased. The young
slave's bewildered, helpless expression broke James's
heart. But Lucky's masculine body was too strong a
temptation for him, and now that it was within his
reach, being forced upon him, James lacked the
willpower to turn down such an enticing offer. Besides,
he wanted to return to Stampley Plantation as soon as
possible, and this seemed the only way to make that
happen. Like Mr. Turner said, James could always send
Lucky back after several days.
"That's very generous of you, Mr. Turner," James said
weakly. "I appreciate your kindness."
Mr. Turner grinned. He hoped James would remember this
generosity next time the Turner Plantation needed a
loan, or a good word put in with the politicians in
Atlanta.
"You've been a real good nigger for me, Lucky," Mr.
Turner said, patting the shocked slave on the shoulders
again. "But your new Master here needs you more than I
do. Go help the poor man to his feet and show him what
a good nigger-boy you can be!"
Lucky walked dizzily over to James, put his arm around
his new Master's back, rested James's right arm across
his broad shoulders, and lifted him to his feet. James
thrilled at the touch of the slave's hot, sweat-soaked
shoulders and whiffs of his unmistakable Negro odor.
"And don't you worry about the runaway nigger neither,"
Mr. Turner assured James as he followed behind Lucky,
who assisted his new Master to the wagon. "Just as soon
as I get this wagon back, I'll let every white man from
here to Columbus know about it. We'll have Columbus
County's best hounds and nigger-catchers on the little
coon's trail in less than an hour! You want him dead,
alive, or half-alive?" Mr. Turner laughed.
"Alive," James said distractedly. "Please don't harm
the boy."
"Just like your Uncle Walt, I see," Mr. Turner smiled.
"The soft-hearted Master. Most'll say that don't do
nothin' but spoil niggers. Me, I like to leave 'em with
some pain to think on while they're shipped back to the
REAL punishment waitin' for 'em. But suit yourself, Mr.
Stampley, suit yourself."
When he got to the wagon, James looked through his bag
and realized Jacob had stolen his money and pass. He
gave Mr. Turner as detailed a physical description as
his exhausted mind could produce, and again insisted
that Jacob be caught and returned to Stampley
Plantation unharmed.
Mr. Turner shook James's hand a hearty farewell, and
said he hoped to see James the next time Mr. Potter
hosted Georgia's nearby landowners for a weekend of
feasting, dancing, and hunting. He nodded an awkward
goodbye to Lucky, but didn't shake the Negro man's
hand. He then proceeded to lead his new property of
hungry, tired horses gently down the dirty road toward
his plantation.
Just as James was beginning to hop into his new wagon,
his need to shit returned with a vengeance. With an
embarrassed apology to Lucky, James stumbled into the
woods, shoved down his pants, and emptied his bowels.
After using some leaves to clean himself, he returned
to the wagon with a sheepish look.
The back of the wagon was loaded with straw, and Lucky
had made a bed for James by patting some of it down in
the center.
"You needs your sleep, Massuh James," the young man
said in a kind voice tinged with sadness. "It be a
little scratchy, but I reckon it'll feel better than
the back of that tree," he added, smiling weakly.
"Thank you, Lucky," James said, using the assistance of
the slave's muscled arm to help him into the back of
the wagon. He was amazed at how quickly the young man
adapted to serving a new Master.
"Lucky," James said softly, before the man hopped onto
the front seat. "This is as sudden for me as it is for
you, but I think you'll find I'm a kind Master. I think
you'll find life at Stampley Plantation to be
pleasant."
James felt pangs of guilt every time he looked into
Lucky's deep, sad eyes, and wanted to make those
feelings go away.
"Naw, it ain't that, Massuh James," Lucky said, his
intense eyes looking at the ground. "You seems like a
real good Massuh. The way you axed Massuh Ed to bring
that nigger back alive, that was real kind of you, and
I ain't never heard no white man talk like that befo'."
"What's the matter then, Lucky?" James asked, not
certain he really wanted to know. "Aren't you happy Mr.
Turner gave you to a kind Master like me?"
"Oh, yessuh, Massuh James...it just that..."
Lucky stopped in mid-sentence. He was about to say that
he'd lived on the Turner plantation since the age of
13, close to ten years. He was about to explain that he
was leaving behind a wife and three sons, all because
of a white man's selfish whim. But he'd lived long
enough to know that even kind-hearted white men like
his new Master could be spurred into a violent rage by
the slightest hint of defiance or ingratitude from a
slave, and thought better of sharing his impulsive
confession.
"I'se real happy I'se yours now, Massuh James. That be
all...I'se just real happy, I reckon," Lucky said,
hopping onto the front seat and taking the reigns in
hand.
James smiled with satisfaction, content for the moment
to take the slave's word at face value. His mind was
spinning and his body ached. He'd been through a hell
of an ordeal, and desperately needed rest. The rocking
wagon made his eyelids grow heavy.
Just as he surrendered to sleep, James heard the faint
sounds of crying through the din of the wagon wheels.
***
Abel loved reading more than anything else in the
world.
Books were the only things that kept him from feeling
completely, hopelessly alone on Stampley Plantation,
especially now that Master Walt was dead.
As far as his work was concerned, Abel couldn't
complain. In fact, he knew he was probably the luckiest
slave his age on the entire plantation. The chores of a
house-boy demanded speed, precision, and initiative,
but they weren't physically grueling, and came with a
lot of perks such as better meals, cleaner lodgings,
regular baths, and lots of free time.
But what good was free time, Abel often thought to
himself, if he didn't have anyone to spend it with?
The other slave boys his age had stopped playing with
him years ago. He vaguely remembered a time long ago,
when as a little boy he'd played happily with the other
slave children. But when he was around eight or nine
years old, some of the older boys started calling him
cruel names like "house nigger," "yellow boy,"
"whitey," and "cracker." When he began crying, confused
by the sudden meanness of boys he'd considered friends,
they shouted things like, "Why don't you run to yo'
daddy in the Big House?!? Go cryin' to him! Yo' yellow
ass more welcome up there curled in his lap than you is
down here with real niggers!" After running home in
tears several days in a row, Abel was told by his Mama
to stay close to the Big House and quit playing with
the other slave children.
At first he missed the company of his childhood friends
terribly, but eventually he learned how to entertain
himself. He especially loved to fish. Sometimes when he
fished, he'd make up fantastic adventure stories that
he'd run home and excitedly tell his Mama and Daddy.
But his parents always shooed him away, too busy with
work to be distracted by his childish imagination. Most
of the time they treated him no better than the other
slave children. His mother was always preoccupied with
cooking or cleaning, and Abel always had the feeling he
caused her more trouble than joy, more annoyance than
pleasure. She never hugged him, sang to him, or played
with him the way he'd seen some of the slave-quarter
mothers do with their children. There seemed always to
be some distance between them, some obstacle to her
affections that he sensed only vaguely.
His father Abraham was even worse. Abel couldn't recall
a single time the man had looked at him with anything
other than icy indifference or gruff impatience. They
never spent time alone, just father and son, and Abel
never heard Abraham say anything to him in a gentle or
kind voice. When Abel was snatched from his childhood
freedom and placed in the position of Assistant House-
Boy at the age of twelve, he'd hoped working side by
side with his father would bring them closer together.
But it only increased the tension between them, and no
matter how hard Abel tried, his father always found
fault with the quality of his work. In a guilty way,
Abel was actually enjoying the independence since his
father had grown gravely ill shortly before Master
Walt's death.
Abel was confused and hurt by his father's rejection.
He wondered if it was because Master Walt and his
guests always complimented Abel's good looks and
pleasant demeanor, involving him in their conversations
and stories in a way they never did with his father.
In fact, white folks gave Abel more attention and
praise than the boy ever received from his own parents
or other Negroes. "My God!" they'd gasp. "I declare, if
it weren't for the boy's hair, he could almost pass for
a white boy! What a shame about the hair, though...I
swear it's the only thing 'nigger' about him!"
Sometimes one of Master Walt's buddies would add,
"Don't look a thing like that African-looking nigger
father of his," winking mysteriously at Master Walt,
who always turned bright red after such comments.
White folks had been fawning over Abel's beauty and
complimenting his "white-sounding" way of speaking ever
since he was a little boy. As a result, he'd quickly
grown to crave the attention and approval of white
people, especially Master Walt. And why shouldn't he,
when Master Walt had shown him more kindness than
anyone else in his sixteen years on Stampley
Plantation?
It was Master Walt who'd given him his first fishing
pole at the age of nine.
It was Master Walt who'd taught him how to read, making
him one of the only literate slaves on the entire
plantation. Abel's memories of sitting close to the
older white man on the verandah, feeling Master Walt's
strong arm wrapped around his waist, smelling the older
man's cigar-breath when he leaned in close to Abel's
face to teach the day's lesson, were some of the
sweetest and most thrilling of his young life. Master
Walt told Abel he was a quick learner, smarter even
than most WHITE boys. He gave Abel special permission
to borrow any three books from his library at a time,
with the understanding that he return them in good
condition, and never share them with the other slaves.
Abel was a special boy, Master Walt told him. Most
nigger-brains were too tiny to be capable of reading a
book, he'd explained.
Abel remembered how special he'd felt that night in the
hallway, when Master Walt had come to his rescue.
One of Master Walt's old buddies from his college days
in Atlanta had come to visit when Abel was thirteen
years old. Abel felt uneasy the entire time he served
supper to Master Walt and his friend. He saw the
stranger staring at him with a hungry look in his eyes,
a look that scared Abel even though he didn't know
precisely why. The visitor pestered Abel with questions
about his age, his parents, whether he was happy with
Master Walt, whether he'd ever been to South Carolina,
if he had any nigger girlfriends, and so on. Master
Walt looked tense and uncomfortable, and curtly told
his friend to stop bothering the boy. The guest
persisted in his rudeness, and later when the two men
were smoking on the verandah, Abel overheard the man
begging to buy him from Master Walt.
Later that night Abel was returning from the east wing
of the house, where he'd re-stocked linens for the next
day's baths, when the man met him in the hallway,
blocking Abel's way and staring at him with a scary
smile on his face. Before Abel knew what was happening,
the man slammed his small body against the wall and
began licking all over his face. While he forced his
tongue into Abel's mouth, the man crudely cupped the
boy's crotch with his right hand, and slid his left
hand into the back of Abel's dress pants, grabbing and
squeezing both of the house-boy's ass-cheeks.
"Such a pretty nigger," the man grunted as he fondled
the preteen houseboy's body, his breath reeking of
liquor and cigars. "Such a goddamn beautiful nigger-
boy."
Abel was terrified. He had no idea what the strange man
was doing to him, but he knew it felt gross, and he
knew the man was touching him in private places where
no other person, not even a white person, should touch
him. He screamed with all the ferocity his still-high-
pitched voice could muster.
The man whirled Abel around, shoved his front-side
against the wall, and ripped down Abel's silk pants so
that his naked bottom was exposed. Just as the nasty
man started to poke his big, hairy fingers between
Abel's ass-crack, Master Walt ran around the corner -
shirtless, shoeless, and obviously disturbed from his
sleep - and lunged at his startled friend with angry
curse-words. He threw the visitor against the opposite
wall and punched the man repeatedly in the face.
Stunned and embarrassed, Abel quickly pulled up his
pants and watched in disbelief as his Master pummeled
his guest like a madman. In between bloody sobs for
Master Walt to stop, the man begged Master Walt to sell
the house-boy to him, swearing no price was too high
for the purchase.
These pleas only seemed to intensify the force of
Master Walt's punches. "Don't you ever touch another
fucking hair on that boy's head again, do you hear
me?!?" Master Walt shouted. "That there's a SPECIAL
nigger! He belongs to ME! And he ain't for sale, not
now or goddamn ever!"
Although he'd been disgusted by the visitor's rough
hands groping his body, Abel also remembered the thrill
he'd felt when he heard the pathetic desperation in the
man's voice. He liked the idea that a grown white man
seemed driven half-crazy by desire for HIM, nothing
more than a thirteen-year-old Negro slave! And Abel was
even MORE flattered by how fiercely Master Walt had
come to his defense. He'd stared in wonder and
disbelief at two WHITE MEN, fighting over him just like
the knights he'd read about in Master Walt's novels.
Of course even Master Walt's affections had their
limits. Despite the more casual chumminess of their
reading sessions on the porch, Master Walt still
demanded the usual slave formalities from Abel when the
boy served him. He still laughed and referred to the
boy as a "nigger" in front of company. He'd taught Abel
how to read, but shooed the boy away any time he tried
to ask his Master about a particular novel's author or
plot twist. He'd go away for weeks at a time, and only
greet Abel with a cordial "hello" upon his return.
Still, Abel lived for the occasional approving nod or
friendly word from the older white man.
But now Master Walt was dead, and Abel felt lonelier
than ever.
Abel had hoped his new Master, Master Walt's nephew,
would treat him with the same warmth and attention, but
Master James always seemed odd and distracted. That day
Master James scared him half to death while taking a
bath, the man seemed nervous and preoccupied, despite
Abel's best efforts to appear friendly and talkative.
Then his new Master had gone and made the strange rule
that Abel was only to go upstairs between 3 p.m. and 9
p.m. every day, further reducing contact and
communication between Master and slave. Accustomed to
feeling an outcast, Abel could only guess he'd done
something wrong to displease his new Master, despite
how hard he'd tried to make a good first impression.
Abel's only relief from loneliness came through
literature. Reading about great wars, romances, or
adventures on the high seas allowed Abel an escape, if
only for several hours, from his dull, sad life on
Stampley Plantation.
On the second night following Master James's departure
to Columbus, Abel was lying in the hammock on the front
verandah, reading by the light of the setting sun, when
he was startled from his book by the sound of an
approaching wagon. He leapt from the hammock, worried
he might be punished if the new Master caught him doing
a thing as bold as reading in the white man's hammock -
something he'd only dared to do because Master James
wasn't expected back until the following evening.
Abel ran to the edge of the porch and squinted to see
who was riding in the wagon. His mother ran from inside
the house to join him. Driving the wagon was a young
Negro man neither of them recognized, and stepping down
from the back of the wagon was none other than Master
James!
The Negro man hopped from the wagon, put his right arm
around the white man's side, and assisted him to the
edge of the porch. Abel noticed his Master's clothes
were torn and filthy, and both cheeks looked bruised
and puffy.
"Lord have mercy, what happened to you, Master
James?!?" Becky cried out in shock.
Abel stared ahead in speechless surprise. A real-life
adventure-story was unfolding before his very eyes.
"It's Jacob..." James explained in a weary, distant
voice. "He's...I'm afraid he's run away. He beat me,
tied me up, and ran away."
Becky gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.
"That stable-nigger ran away?!?" Mr. Potter shouted,
coming from the house to join the others on the porch.
He looked James up and down, shaking his head.
"Jesus Christ, Little Jimmy, you look like shit!" he
concluded bluntly. "What the hell did that nigger do to
you?!? You reek like a goddamn outhouse!"
"It was horrible...just horrible," James mumbled,
hanging his head in shame.
Abel felt sorry for the man, and angry with Mr. Potter
for embarrassing him.
"Your Uncle always did have trouble with that uppity
nigger," Mr. Potter said, glaring knowingly in Becky's
direction. "Ain't nothin' but trouble ever come from a
nigger that don't know his place, and all's you had to
do was look to see the uppity-ness in that nigger's
eyes. I seen this comin' a mile away. Dammit, I never
should have sent a wet-behind-the-years Yankee like
yourself on a trip alone with a nigger like him!"
Mr. Potter smashed the palm of his hand angrily against
one of the verandah posts. He looked suspiciously at
Lucky, suddenly realizing the strange Negro's presence.
"Boy, ain't you one of Frank Turner's niggers?" Mr.
Potter asked.
Still supporting James with both arms, Lucky dropped
his eyes to the ground and answered: "Yessuh, I sho
is...I mean, WAS."
"Mr. Turner and Lucky here were the two that found me,"
James explained. "They saved my life, no doubt about
it. Mr. Turner traded wagons and gave me Lucky to drive
me home tonight. Said I could keep him, too."
Mr. Potter laughed. "It ain't so bad bein' one of the
richest men in Georgia, now is it, Little Jimmy? Funny
how folks'll start givin' niggers away for free when
they hear the Stampley name!"
"I suppose," James replied uneasily. "Mr. Turner
promised to spread the word and put together a hunt for
Jacob, but I'd appreciate it, Mr. Potter, if you could
organize a search for Potter County, in case he made it
this far north. I feel so inexperienced...in such
matters. All I ask is that you bring the boy back alive
and in one piece."
"Don't you worry, Little Jimmy!" Mr. Potter boasted,
adjusting the wide-brimmed hat on his head. "In the
last five years, I ain't had a nigger run away and NOT
gotten hisself caught! Best record in the county. I got
me some of the best nigger-catchers in the South, not
to mention thirty hounds that live and breathe for the
scent and taste of nigger flesh. I'll ride over to my
place, get a posse together, and have the nigger back
to you by this time tomorrow, just you mark my words!"
The burly man tipped his hat to the group on the porch
and jogged toward the barn to get his horse, howling
gleefully to the sky as he went. "Boy, do I LOVE me a
nigger-hunt!!!"
"ALIVE AND UNHARMED!" James shouted weakly back at him,
looking apologetically at Lucky, Becky, and Abel. The
sounds of Mr. Potter's laughter disappeared into the
stable.
James looked distractedly at Becky, like he was looking
through a ghost. Despite his restless nap on the way
home, James felt like he might collapse at any moment
from pain and exhaustion. "Becky, please see to it that
Lucky here gets a good meal, then have one of the
overseers put him up in one of the slave cabins."
"Yes, Master James," Becky said, a welcoming smile
replacing her earlier worried expression. She nodded
for the young man to follow her into the house.
"I'll call for you tomorrow, Lucky," James said,
releasing the man's arms to stand on his own. "We can
talk about your new duties here at Stampley then."
Lucky nodded a nervous goodbye, and climbed the steps
of the porch to follow Becky. The sad look from before
hadn't left his intense eyes.
"What should I do, Master James?" Abel asked eagerly.
James turned to focus on the boy who until now had been
a blurry part of the background. The boy's piercing
green eyes, smiling face, and well-dressed body came
into clear focus. James thought he looked more
breathtaking than ever, a comforting sight for sore
eyes.
"I'd like you to draw me a hot bath," James instructed.
"As you can tell from my smell, I sure do need one!" He
smiled at the boy. "I'm afraid I'm still weak and may
need your help getting there."
Glad he could be of assistance, Abel wasted no time
obeying his Master's instructions. He slid his right
arm around James's back, and allowed his strong
youthful body to be used as the weaker older man's
support while they walked slowly toward James's private
bathroom.
Once there, Abel seated James on a wooden stool near
the large tin bathtub. James rested there while Abel
left to heat water for the bath. James's mind was still
reeling from the shock of his recent trauma, and his
body ached for the soothing heat and symbolic
purification of a long bath. Anything to feel normal
and safe again.
Abel returned about fifteen minutes later, carrying two
large tin pails of steaming water.
James looked affectionately at his slave-boy's serious
face, focused on completing his task to perfection.
James also admired the muscles of Abel's arms,
shoulders, and back, flexing through his white shirt as
he poured the hot water into the washtub.
And hard as he tried, James couldn't take his eyes off
the round curves of his slave-boy's ass, pushing up and
out against the tightly-fitting cloth of his dress-
pants.
After two more trips to the kitchen and back, Abel
smiled at his Master and announced, "Your bath's all
ready, Master James."
Preparing a full bath was tiring work, but Abel was
happy to have a role to play in comforting his injured
Master.
"Thank you, Abel," James said kindly. "I can't imagine
there's a better house-boy than you in all of Georgia!"
"I try my best, Master James," Abel replied, blushing
and looking away. He was always thrilled when white
people recognized the diligence and thoroughness of his
work.
James stood up slowly and tried to remove his shoes,
but doing so only made his weak body lose its balance.
He stumbled forward, and grabbed the side of the
washtub to stop his fall.
"You all right, Master James?" Abel asked, with sincere
concern in his adolescent voice.
"I guess I'm weaker than I thought," James confessed
sheepishly. "I'm afraid I might need help getting out
of these clothes."
James's request was innocent enough, prompted by the
practical needs of the moment, but his body felt an
excited chill when he realized the potentially erotic
nature of his request.
Abel looked up in surprise. He'd been well-trained in
the duties of a house-slave by his father and Master
Walt, but never in his four years of service had he
been asked to assist in removing a white man's clothes.
In fact, other than seeing Master Walt shirtless or
naked beneath soapy bath bubbles, Abel had never seen a
white man naked. Abel was usually prepared to satisfy
any of his Master's needs within seconds, but this
request caught him off guard. Not wanting to displease
his Master, he quickly crossed the room and stood with
awkward uncertainty next to James.
"Please take off my shoes, Abel," James instructed,
sitting back down on the stool to collect his
composure. He extended his right leg in Abel's
direction.
Abel immediately dropped to his knees, took James's
right foot in his hands, and with a slight struggle
managed to pull off the man's shoe and sock. James
admired the boy's eager, intense service as Abel did
the same with the other foot.
Abel stood up nervously, unsure what to do.
"Thank you, Abel," James said softly. "Now I need you
to unbutton my shirt."
James knew he was probably strong enough to undress
with just a little propping-up from Abel, but he wanted
to enjoy the moment's full erotic potential.
Abel furrowed his brow with the anxiety of a
perfectionist facing the challenge of a new task. He
bent down, reached out, and began clumsily fumbling
with the buttons on James's shirt.
Abel quickly realized that unbuttoning a shirt
backwards was a tricky task. He could feel James
watching him intently, but tried to focus his own eyes
and fingers on his Master's shirt. Even though he'd
worked in close quarters with Master Walt for several
years, the sudden intimacy of this moment was new and
uncomfortable.
James was incredibly turned on by the awkward but
intense way Abel tackled his task, especially when he
felt one of the boy's skinny fingers brush against his
chest. He could feel the warmth of Abel's body leaning
in close to his own, and James breathed in the teenage
boy's sweet Negro smell.
After he'd completely unbuttoned James's shirt, Abel
looked at James as if to ask, "What now?"
"Step behind me and help pull my shirt off," James
instructed.
Abel did as he was told. He stood behind James, reached
his arms around to his Master's front, and took the
sides of the open shirt in both hands. He gently pulled
the shirt back over the white man's bare shoulders, and
worked the sleeves off each arm. He wrinkled up his
nose at the foul odor of his Master's sweaty, unwashed
body. Abel dropped the dirty shirt on the floor and
stood staring at the white man's pale, lightly freckled
back.
"Please...please take off my pants, Abel," James asked,
standing up slowly.
James realized that asking such a thing of an equally
good-looking Negro boy in the North would be perceived
as absurd, even offensive, but he knew that Abel had no
choice but to obey his orders. He also realized that a
boy with Abel's eager-to-please temperament would feel
especially pressured to comply with such a request.
After the devastating powerlessness of the last twenty-
four hours, James found this restored control to be
exhilarating.
Abel's body stiffened. He walked back to face James,
glanced uneasily into his Master's eyes, and began
nervously fumbling with the buttons on James's pants.
Abel was extremely uncomfortable with the idea of
undressing the older white man. His parents had
instilled in him a strong sense of modesty, even going
so far as to make him dress for work in the morning and
bed at night in the privacy of the storage-room across
from the room the three of them shared. "We ain't
jungle creatures like the field niggers," his father
frequently explained. "We got some morals about us,
like the white folks." As a result, Abel had grown to
view the human body as something private. The only
times he'd seen others naked were when he'd swam with
the other slave-quarter boys as a very young boy. Based
on his extensive reading from Master Walt's library,
Abel believed nudity was only appropriate between a man
and a woman in the context of marriage or romantic
passion.
But the first lesson he'd learned as a house-boy-in-
training was never to question the Master's orders, no
matter how bizarre, irrational, or unnecessary. Abel
didn't want to diminish his reputation as an obedient,
praiseworthy slave, and he desperately wanted the new
Master to like him.
Abel blushed a deep crimson as he undid the first,
second, then third buttons of his Master's pants,
trying to avoid eye contact as he did so. He noticed
the thick stench of urine in the air, but tried his
best to conceal this awareness. He looked away in
embarrassment and slowly tugged his Master's piss-
soaked pants to the floor.
"Thank you for your assistance, Abel," James said,
stepping out of his pants. He now stood completely
naked next to Abel, and hoped the handsome house-boy
didn't find the sight of his body repulsive.
"If it's all right with you, Master James," Abel asked
shyly, still looking away from his nude Master, "I'll
leave you to enjoy your bath alone."
"No!" James protested in a voice he realized sounded a
little too desperate. "I'd rather you stay to keep me
company. I've...I've just been through a terrible
experience, and I don't want to be alone. And I think I
need your help stepping into the bath."
"I'm sorry, Master James," Abel said guiltily. "I'll
stay with you if that's what you want, Master."
Abel took James by the arm to assist him into the bath,
but avoided looking at the details of his Master's
nudity. All he allowed himself to see was a blurry mass
of white flesh beside him. He firmly grasped James's
arm as the man stepped slowly, one foot at a time, into
the tub's steaming water.
James sank blissfully down into the water, and for a
second all thoughts of Abel fled his mind. He laid back
and dunked his entire head beneath the water, allowing
the bath to cleanse his aching body of two days' worth
of sweat, piss, grime, and shit. At first the hot water
stung his torn, aching asshole, but soon the water's
warmth began to relieve its throbbing pain.
Feeling partially revived, James's thoughts returned to
the fun he was having with Abel. He could tell by
Abel's flushed cheeks and embarrassed glances that the
boy was uncomfortable with the situation and doing his
best to ignore James's nudity. But James relished his
power to FORCE the boy's attention upon his naked body,
and wanted to pursue that power further.
"I'd like you to help wash me, Abel," James said, his
eyes shut in pleasure at the water's soothing warmth.
"I'm afraid that I'm too weak to scrub myself tonight."
Abel's lips parted to protest, but he caught himself.
He wanted to explain that he'd never done such a thing
before, that Master Walt had always bathed himself. But
he knew it wasn't his place to question the new Master,
especially after what the white man had just suffered.
More nervous and uncomfortable than before, Abel walked
to a shelf on the wall and retrieved a large, bristled
brush and chunk of soap. He walked slowly back to the
tub and stood there looking scared and confused.
James grabbed the sides of the tub and pushed himself
into a standing position, facing Abel. Abel looked
anxiously toward his Master's naked body, water running
in streams down the man's skin and dripping into the
bath-water below. Abel was afraid if he looked away too
much, he'd make the new Master uncomfortable. But if he
stared too hard, he risked violating the man's sense of
modesty. For the first time in a long while, Abel was
at a loss as to how best to please his Master.
Still blushing, Abel dipped both the soap and brush
into the hot water, then lathered the brush's bristles
with soap. For a moment, he stood frozen in mid-motion,
not knowing where or how to begin.
James smiled at the boy's uncustomary slowness and
uncertainty. He gently took Abel's right hand (the hand
holding the brush), and pulled it toward his chest. He
moved it in a circular motion, showing the nervous boy
in front of him what to do.
Abel couldn't believe he was bathing a white man. His
initial embarrassment eventually turned into curiosity,
and he allowed himself to focus on the details of the
grown man's nakedness. As he circled the brush around
James's chest and stomach, Abel marveled at his
Master's pale skin, many shades lighter than even
Abel's own light-olive complexion. He took in the
details of James's thin build, softer and less muscular
than his own teenage body, but firmer and healthier-
looking than Master Walt's. He noticed the patch of
curly dark hair in the center of the man's chest. He
glanced at his Master's pink, round nipples, surrounded
by wisps of dark hair.
Abel's curiosity was in no way sexual or aroused. It
was the same curiosity that made him so eager to
discover, through Master Walt's library, the world
beyond Stampley Plantation.
Abel's touch electrified James's entire body with
warmth and pleasure. Not since his mother had bathed
him as a young child had James been washed by another
person, and certainly not with the careful attention of
a stunningly beautiful mulatto like Abel. James liked
watching Abel's serious face as it examined his naked
body in the way one might stare at an exotic animal at
the State Fair. After the shocking brutality of James's
encounter with Jacob, Abel's nervous tenderness was
immensely comforting.
Abel's curiosity finally led him to glance nervously at
the appendage dangling between his Master's legs, which
until now he'd been only vaguely and uncomfortably
aware of. He thought that it looked very different from
his own - tinier, redder, and more wrinkled. He watched
it uneasily out of the corner of his eyes as he
scrubbed James's firm, slightly hairy legs, hoping his
Master wouldn't require its thorough scrubbing.
When Abel was finished cleaning James's front side, he
looked apprehensively at James, hoping he was
satisfied. James nodded sternly for Abel to devote some
attention to his dick.
Abel looked shyly away as he moved his brush in a
clumsy scrubbing motion across James's soft, stubby
dick. Wanting the boy's closer attention, James took
hold of Abel's left hand and placed it on his warm,
soapy dick.
Abel's body tensed up at his first-ever touch of
another man's dick. He'd touched his own dick plenty of
times. He'd discovered years ago how good it felt to
wrap his hand around it, pumping up and down until hot
creamy spunk squirted out of the tip. But this was
entirely different. Master James's dick felt smooth,
squishy, and strange, like one of the thick
nightcrawlers he sometimes used for fishing-bait.
As he circled the appendage with his fingers, Abel
choked out a throaty, embarrassed laugh. He washed the
thick patch of wiry dark pubic hair above the soft,
stumpy dick. He lifted his Master's flabby dick to
scrub its underside, and felt it jerk and harden from
his touch. He gently scrubbed the white man's red, low-
hanging balls, which were smooth to the touch even
though they were covered with tangles of blondish hair.
Abel noticed that his Master's eyes were closed in what
appeared to be some kind of reverie.
"Would you like me to wash your back-side, Master
James?" Abel asked quietly. As weird as the whole
experience felt, he couldn't help but wonder what the
white man's ass looked like.
Without speaking or opening his eyes, James turned
around to signify his assent.
Abel stared a little more boldly now, knowing his
Master wasn't watching. Abel thought James's ass looked
odd. It looked round and a little flabby...not fat
exactly, just fleshy. There was a tuft of dark hair
trailing from the top of the man's ass-crack down into
the crease below.
Abel scrubbed James's back thoroughly, then tentatively
moved his attention to his Master's ass. He felt like
laughing from embarrassment as he awkwardly scrubbed
James's jiggling buttocks.
Just as Abel was wondering how thorough he should be,
James reached back and parted his ass-cheeks, signaling
Abel to clean between them. Abel's nose wrinkled up in
disgust. He didn't even like cleaning his own ass, and
certainly didn't want to put his hands anywhere near
another man's asshole. He looked away and blindly
lunged the brush up and down the older man's parted
crack, hoping his motions would clean the dirty deeper
place sufficiently.
Finally James sank back into the water to rinse the
soap from his body.
"Thank you, Abel," James said, smiling. He'd thought
the intense intimacy of being washed by his innocent
house-boy would be enough excitement for the night, but
he still found himself unsatisfied. The striking beauty
of the teenage boy's face was certainly a thrilling
sight to behold, especially at such close range, but
James longed to see more of the boy's beauty revealed.
He also felt a desperate need to ward off the
disturbing flashbacks of Jacob's angry, animalistic
expressions while raping James's face and ass, and what
better than Abel's handsome, sweet-tempered face and
virgin body to keep him company and distract him from
loneliness and nightmares?
"I'd...I'd like you to join me, Abel," James said
nervously. He was scared of the young man's response,
especially after Jacob's rebelliousness the day before.
"Master?!?" Abel gasped in surprise. He became so
flustered that he accidentally dropped the scrub-brush
clattering to the floor. "I'm not sure what you mean,
Master James."
"I'd like you to join me in my bath," James explained
hoarsely, his heart racing wildly. "I know it might
sound strange, but it's really not. In Boston, men
bathe together all the time. It's a social activity,
just like smoking cigars after dinner on the verandah."
Abel's mind was a muddle of confusion. Instinctively,
Abel resisted the idea of sharing a bath with another
man, especially his Master. Not since a little boy had
he been naked around anybody else. His body was
private, and the idea of having it exposed to his
Master's eyes seemed inappropriate somehow. But at the
same time, Abel felt flattered that a white man as
wealthy and important as Master James liked him enough
to invite him to participate in a "social activity,"
just as he might ask Mr. Potter to join him for a smoke
after supper. He remembered Master Walt teaching him to
read on the porch, and wondered if sharing a bath might
bring him just as close, if not CLOSER, to the new
Master as those experiences had brought him to Master
Walt.
"Ummmm..." Abel hesitated, hoping to avoid the
situation without seeming disobedient. "Don't worry
about me, Master James. My folks and I take our baths
in the storage-room off the kitchen, remember?"
"Oh, I remember," James replied, smiling. "But there's
plenty of room in this tub for two, and I'd really love
the company. Besides, you're already half-soaked from
washing me! Come on, get out of those clothes and hop
in here with me!"
Abel looked anxiously around the room, as if seeking an
escape. He knew it was his duty to please his Master,
but until now he'd never been asked to do anything that
made him feel this self-conscious and hesitant. Abel
knew he had no choice: Not only would a refusal to
cooperate spoil the reputation he'd worked so hard to
establish, but it might also lead Master James to
demote him to a lowly field nigger.
"Yes, Master James," Abel said softly, looking
nervously at the ground.
James noticed the lack of typical enthusiasm in Abel's
voice, but was relieved to see that the boy was going
to cooperate. He could feel his heart thumping
violently against his chest in anticipation of seeing
the unclothed body he'd imagined and drooled over since
his very first day at Stampley Plantation.
Abel slowly unbuttoned his vest, took it off, folded it
neatly, and laid it on the wooden stool. He looked back
at James with a tense, nervous smile, then began
unbuttoning his dress shirt. James's heart beat even
faster as he saw patches of the boy's smooth, golden
chest through the gradually opening shirt. When all the
buttons were unfastened, Abel awkwardly shrugged the
shirt off his shoulders, folded it, and laid it on top
of the vest.
James reeled from the initial impact of seeing so much
of the boy's bare skin at once. He admired the slightly
pronounced pectoral muscles, dotted with two tiny dark-
brown nipples. He smiled lustfully at the cutely
protruding belly-button resting beneath rippling
abdominal muscles. He noticed the boy's rich-golden
skin glowing with a sheen of sweat. James thought to
himself that it was a shame such beauty remained
concealed beneath layers of clothing most of the boy's
waking hours.
Abel noticed James's blatant ogling with a combination
of pride and discomfort. He normally liked it when
white folks complimented his good looks, but this felt
different. Master James's expression resembled the
creepy looks of the man who wanted to purchase him, and
later attacked him, when he was thirteen, more than
they resembled the affectionate smiles of Master Walt.
But Abel knew he couldn't stop now. He lifted one leg
to pull off his shoe and sock, then did the same with
the other. He fumbled reluctantly with the buttons of
his dress-pants. He slid them hurriedly to the floor,
moving quickly to cover his crotch with both hands. His
handsome face flushed crimson once again.
Hands still shielding his crotch from James's gaze,
Abel walked shyly toward the tub and stepped in,
sinking down to hide his nakedness beneath the dirty,
sudsy water. He sat there, knees pulled to his chest,
shivering with nervousness and embarrassment.
James's legs stretched out to brush against Abel's
warm, silky-smooth sides, and his dick jerked in
excitement from the thrill of first contact.
Aroused as he was, James didn't want to repeat the
mistake he'd made with Jacob, especially with a young
man as friendly and innocent as Abel. Part of him
really did desire the house-boy's company, and wanted
to put the trembling boy at ease. For about ten minutes
the two men sat together, at opposite ends of the tin
washtub, talking awkwardly at first, then warmly, about
the most minute details of life on Stampley Plantation.
James asked Abel about his childhood, how he'd learned
to read, what kinds of books he liked to read, and what
else the teenager enjoyed doing in his spare time. For
a few moments, Abel forgot his self-consciousness and
lost himself in the thrill of what felt like the start
of an actual friendship with his new Master. It
reminded Abel of his talks with Master Walt, only
Master James seemed even MORE interested in the answers
to his many questions.
For James, even this lighthearted conversation was
erotically charged. He loved the sound of Abel's
adolescent Negro voice, deep but just a few years past
puberty, as the young man eagerly shared stories of his
life with probably the first white man who'd ever given
a damn. He lost himself in the piercing intensity of
the house-boy's beautiful green eyes. He loved watching
Abel's red, wet lips, somewhere between full African
thickness and barely-distinguishable Caucasian
thinness. He admired the beauty of the boy's nose,
slender with just a hint of flared nostrils reminding
one of his African ancestry, a few cute freckles
speckling its golden complexion.
James suddenly felt a maddening need to possess the
boy, more sudden and intense than anything he'd felt
with Elijah, Thad, or Jacob. He felt like a connection
with Abel's beautiful flesh had the power to purge his
memory of all shame, violation, and ugliness associated
with his brutal rape by Jacob.
"Let me wash you," James announced spontaneously,
interrupting a story Abel was telling about the biggest
fish he'd ever caught.
Abel's chest tightened. He felt embarrassed and
disappointed at having his story cut short by the new
Master, whose mind was obviously focused elsewhere. He
also didn't want to expose his body to the gaze and
touch of another man.
"That's all right, Master James," Abel responded,
trying to sound as casual and friendly as possible. "I
can wash myself. I'm nearly grown, and besides, I'm not
weak and injured like you."
James laughed. Abel's obvious attempt to protect his
modesty only turned him on all the more.
"True, true," James said, grinning. "But I'd like to
wash you nonetheless. Let me return the favor."
Abel blushed at his Master's eagerness. He wanted to
escape the awkwardness of the situation without
jeopardizing the freshly-formed camaraderie between he
and Master James. He decided to try an honest approach.
"I don't know, Master James," Abel confessed nervously.
"Ever since I was old enough, I've washed myself. It
doesn't feel right being naked in front of somebody
else, especially you."
"There's no need to worry," James assured him
impatiently. His voice took a sterner tone. "This is
perfectly normal for many Masters and slaves."
Abel winced at the reminder of his lowly position in
life, especially after his naïve and eager hope only
moments earlier that he and the new Master were
beginning an actual friendship, perhaps something
deeper and more enjoyable than he'd known with Master
Walt. His heart sank with disappointment at the tone of
disapproval in Master James's voice, a tone rarely
heard by Abel from anyone other than his father.
"Hurry up, Abel," James ordered, trying his best to
sound kind despite his rising excitement and
impatience. "The water's starting to get cold."
Abel covered his crotch with his hands, and stood up
slowly. The air felt cold on his wet body and covered
his skin with goose-bumps.
"That's a good boy," James encouraged, realizing with a
flash of shame that he was praising Abel in the same
way one talked to a dog being trained.
The vision of beauty before him quickly chased all
pangs of conscience away. Abel's nearly-white skin
glistened from the water running down his chest and
stomach. His tiny brown nipples poked out from the cold
air. His smooth, lanky legs shivered from the cold.
James picked up the soap lying on the floor beside the
washtub, then stood to face Abel, no more than a foot
from the boy's naked, goosebump-covered body.
Abel flinched when he saw that James's dick had grown
considerably since he'd washed it. It had hardened to
its full seven inches and now jerked eagerly upward in
Abel's direction. It looked like a hungry red snake
coiling to strike.
Abel felt his stomach growing queasy. He knew his own
dick only got hard when he thought about the naked
women painted in some of Master Walt's books on famous
artists, or when he pictured scenes from the more
bawdy, scandalous works in Master Walt's library. Abel
had read enough to know that there were mysterious,
wonderful pleasures men could take from women's bodies.
He hadn't figured out EXACTLY what they were just yet,
since he rarely encountered any females other than his
mother, but he knew it had something to do with men's
dicks and the hair-covered mounds between women's legs.
If Master James's dick was hard, that meant Abel's
teenage body was exciting his Master in the same way!
It meant his Master was looking at HIM in the same way
Abel looked at women. The creepy way Master Walt's
college friend had looked at Abel when he was only
thirteen.
In a way, Abel found it flattering. He liked being set
apart from other slaves for his beauty, light skin, and
diligent work. But he also felt like Master James's
stares hinted at some danger, only barely formed in
Abel's innocent, optimistic mind.
James soaped Abel's neck, shoulders, arms, and chest,
gently at first, then more firmly. After working up a
lather on the front-side of Abel's upper body, James
dropped the soap into the washtub below and began
massaging the soap into his house-boy's smooth golden
skin.
At first James touched Abel tentatively, as if he
feared Abel might shatter into a million pieces beneath
his fingers, the boy's rare beauty torn from his grasp
for eternity. Encouraged by Abel's slender teenage
muscles, tightened in discomfort, James increased the
intensity of his touch until he was groping every inch
of the boy's upper body.
Abel's body cringed from the first sensation of
another's touch. The friction of skin against skin felt
surprisingly good, but at the same time strange and
somehow wrong. Master James's body was too close, too
intrusively intimate. Other than his brief attack, this
was the first time Abel's highly-prized privacy had
felt threatened. Master James stood so close that Abel
could smell the older white man's short, hard breathing
against his face. It smelled like a combination of ham
and peppermint.
The warmth of Abel's skin drew James's fingers like a
magnet, and he felt an uncontrollable urge to explore
every contour, every bone, and every rippling muscle of
Abel's breathtaking body. His hands wandered greedily
all over Abel's chest. He pinched the boy's hard, tiny
nipples between his index finger and thumb. He rubbed
the back of his knuckles against the young man's taut
abdomen. He tweaked Abel's large, protruding belly-
button, but resisted the temptation to lick it with his
tongue.
Eager to explore further, James dropped to his knees so
that his face was just inches from Abel's skinny hands,
still nervously covering his last vestige of privacy.
James's right hand searched beneath the water for the
soap. When he'd found it, James looked up at Abel's
beautiful face, its eyes still closed in obvious
uneasiness. James's body shivered in anticipation of
the treasure about to be revealed, just inches from his
face, the mystery he'd try to steal glimpses of while
Abel served him dinner, the prize he'd pictured a dozen
different ways, the beauty James had come torturously
close to beholding the day he spied on Abel bathing in
the storage-room. With his left hand, James firmly
grabbed Abel's right hand and pried it away from the
boy's crotch.
Abel looked down helplessly when he realized what was
happening. "Please don't, Master James..." he tried to
protest, but the words caught in his throat.
James pried away Abel's other hand to expose the 16-
year-old house-boy's manhood. What James saw before him
was more beautiful than anything he'd imagined, more
beautiful even than Elijah's, Thad's, AND Jacob's.
Its beauty had nothing to do with size. It only hung
about four slender inches in its soft state,
considerably smaller than the other post-pubescent
penises he'd seen. The boy's white ancestry had clearly
won that hereditary battle, James thought to himself.
But to James it was a thing of flawless beauty, the
perfect length and thickness to match its possessor's
lanky teenage build. It was circumcised and darker than
the rest of the young man's body. Above it was a small
patch of black, wiry hairs, more similar in texture to
James's own pubic hair than to the nappy curls of
Elijah and Jacob. Beneath it hung two hairless, medium-
sized balls.
James immediately grasped his slave-boy's tempting
appendage, and was surprised by its smoothness. He
fondled it with his left hand while his right hand
rubbed soap to create lather on its shaft and the pubic
hair above it. James again dropped the soap and used
both hands for his eager explorations. He enjoyed
flapping the dick around with his right hand and
cupping Abel's soft, warm balls with his left. James
resisted the temptation to suck the dick into his
mouth, but eagerly inhaled the unique, intoxicating
scent of the teenage boy's crotch.
Abel's breathing became shorter and faster the moment
James's hands began groping his manhood, which until
this day had been untouched by any but his own since
infancy. Abel tried to convince himself that this was
still a normal bath, that Master James had done nothing
beyond what one would expect from someone assisting
with a bath. But something about his Master's dazed
smile and heavy breathing told Abel that this was
different. There was something urgent, something hungry
in the older white man's touch.
After thoroughly soaping and examining every beautiful
wrinkle, flap of skin, and vein of Abel's pretty dick,
James grabbed Abel firmly by the hips and spun the boy
around so that the two glorious half-globes of the
boy's ass were right in front of James's face.
If Abel's white parentage was obvious from his dick,
the boy's African heritage was unmistakable from his
perfectly rounded, high-sloping, hairless buttocks.
James couldn't help himself, and immediately clutched
Abel's butt-cheeks in both hands, squeezing and groping
their firm flesh so intensely that he left red
fingerprints on the house-boy's beige skin.
He found the soap again and rubbed it gently around
both buttocks. James was breathless to explore his
favorite part of every teenage boy's body, their most
private, fiercely guarded, masculine stronghold. The
body part whose existence its teenage possessors are
oblivious to until it's threatened, at which point they
defend it intensely, sometimes even violently.
Taking a deep, trembling breath, James grasped Abel's
left butt-cheek and pulled it back from the boy's ass-
crack. Every muscle in Abel's ass clenched defensively,
so strongly that it made James lose his grasp and
sealed the ass-crack tightly shut again.
Abel instinctively covered his eyes with his right arm
in awkward adolescent embarrassment. He knew his
asshole needed washed, but to have it washed by another
man, especially a WHITE man he wanted to please and
impress, felt strange and humiliating. He hoped he
wouldn't accidentally fart while his Master's face was
just inches from his butt.
James tucked the soap under his arm and pried open
Abel's smooth, muscled ass-cheeks with both hands. He
shook his head in wonder at the beautiful pucker
winking at him nervously. Abel's asshole was completely
smooth, about the size of a nickel, and, thanks to his
white forefathers, colored a deep, virgin pink.
James retrieved the soap with his right hand and pushed
it deep into Abel's crack, rubbing it up, down, and in
circular motions until he worked up a thick lather.
James was spellbound by Abel's adolescent asshole,
which looked so different than the others he'd seen
since coming to Stampley Plantation. Eager to explore
the deeper tunnel it guarded, James pressed the tip of
his index finger against the wrinkled opening, clenched
shut in naturally defensive tightness.
"Bend over," James ordered in a stern but gentle voice.
He sounded like a man who'd been charmed into a trance
by a fortune teller.
Abel looked over his shoulder with a worried expression
on his face, but slowly complied. He felt awkward and
embarrassed, bent over with his ass-cheeks spread in
front of Master James's face, his hands propped on the
edge of the tin washtub. He didn't understand why
Master James was trying to push his finger into the
hole where shit comes out. Abel was always careful to
wash his ass thoroughly, but never worried about
cleaning INSIDE his asshole. What would be the point?
Abel's stomach tightened as he remembered the thick,
hairy fingers of Master Walt's college friend, poking
around his butt-hole that night in the hallway. Abel
squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to believe Master
Walt's nephew could be similar to the ugly man who'd
attacked him. But clearly the opening deep within his
ass-crack held some kind of appeal for both men.
Perhaps it was similar to the attraction Abel himself
felt toward the small hairy place between the thighs of
the nude women in the paintings? Abel couldn't see any
comparison between the two. The women's privates were
mysterious and beautiful. A boy's asshole was a sweaty,
smelly place where shit comes out. Yet here was Master
James, pushing his finger against the tightly sealed
muscle, just as Master Walt's buddy had done three
years earlier. Only this time there was no Master Walt
to run to his rescue.
With Abel now bent over, James resumed his efforts to
break past Abel's cherry with his index finger. He
dunked his finger in the lukewarm bath-water, rubbed it
against the soap until covered in a slick lather, then
pushed against Abel's vigorously defended virginity.
The warm water and soap worked as a lubricant to soften
and widen Abel's tight asshole, and eventually the
sealed muscle parted slightly to allow the tip of
James's finger.
Abel's body lurched forward in pained surprise, and his
head whipped around to look over his shoulder.
"Please take it out, Master James!" Abel grunted. "That
really hurts, Master James! I never clean up there
anyway. PLEASE take it out!"
Abel expected to hear James respond with a sympathetic
apology, but instead met a gleeful grin and indifferent
silence. He felt James push his finger about an inch
deeper, and Abel let out a raspy grunt of pain. Was
Master James actually ENJOYING this?!?
James stared in awe at the strong, pink muscle
clutching at his index finger. Abel's virgin asshole
sucked at his finger like a newborn baby on its Mama's
tit. James loved the sight of his innocent houseboy's
muscular body arched in submission, as his own finger
sank deeper and deeper into the boy's butt-hole.
All thoughts of Jacob and the intense pain caused by
the attack on James's own asshole were far from James's
mind. James was caught up in a delirious lust for one
of the most beautiful Negro boys he'd ever seen, and
the rush of restored power was all he now needed to
overcome the humiliating ordeal of the past two days.
James wiggled his finger around, savoring the silky
texture of Abel's rectal lining, then pushed deeper
until his finger was buried to the knuckle. James heard
Abel's sharp, panicked breathing, and the sound turned
him on all the more. With another wiggle and lunge,
James sank his finger all the way into Abel's warm,
squishy guts. Abel cried out in a raspy, pained voice,
and his body lunged forward to escape the intrusion.
James pulled his finger out slowly. Abel refused to
look, too scared and embarrassed to see what remnants
of the shit he'd taken earlier that afternoon might
have been pulled out by his Master's finger. James saw
that his finger was covered in ass-slime and several
specks of shit. Surprisingly, James didn't find this
disgusting. In a strange way, the fact that the mess on
his finger had been excavated from the deepest, most
private part of Abel's body made it almost beautiful.
Besides, James knew such a mess was to be expected from
a teenage boy, dragged without warning into a sodomitic
encounter.
James rinsed off his finger in the bath-water, lathered
it up again, then pushed it gently back into Abel's
soapy asshole. He wriggled his finger around, grasping
at any specks of slime or feces he could feel. When he
withdrew his finger the second time, there was still
some mess but considerably less. James repeated this
several times until his finger came out covered only in
water and soap suds. James tenderly pulled Abel's body
down in the bath-water, rinsing all soap-suds from the
boy's skin.
With Abel now thoroughly washed, James was desperate to
sample the boy's beauty in as many ways as possible
before releasing the hot semen he could already feel
churning in his balls, eager for escape.
He stood up, pulled Abel into a standing position, and
turned the dizzy boy to face him. The boy's red,
panting lips and confused, pained expression were too
much for James. He seized Abel by the back of the head
with both hands and pressed his lips against the boy's,
slurping on their thick wetness for all he was worth.
Abel instinctively pressed his lips together in
sputtering disgust, but quickly realized that such
outright defiance was a surefire way to anger his
Master. Abel felt trapped in a slow-motion dream. He
couldn't believe Master Walt's nephew was assaulting
him with slobbery kisses just like those shared by
lovers in the romances he'd read. Only this was a grown
white Master treating his 16-year-old slave-boy like
a...LOVER?!?
The idea both disgusted and excited him. It disgusted
him because he was a normal teenage boy attracted to
girls, and the idea of kissing another man seemed about
as ludicrous and unnatural as kissing a duck or a tree.
But on the other hand, he'd envied the attention of
white men all his life...not their sexual attentions,
but their social attention and affection. And wasn't
Master James lavishing him with the attention Abel had
always craved, albeit in a bizarre and unexpected way?
Abel's entire body remained tense, but he eventually
relaxed his lips enough to allow James to suck on them.
As James sucked, nibbled, and licked at Abel's juicy
mulatto lips, Abel could sense the desperate need and
loneliness in the older white man's kisses. A deep-down
part of him wanted to surrender to the kisses, to
satisfy the hunger causing his Master to slurp at his
face so passionately. He parted his mouth to allow
access to James's roaming tongue, and even tried to
return the man's affections with a couple awkward
kisses of his own.
When James felt Abel's body soften and succumb to his
assault, James's lust flared into a wild frenzy. He
shoved his tongue as far into Abel's mouth as it would
go, lapping at the boy's esophagus, the slick insides
of his cheeks, the roof of his mouth, his tongue, his
teeth, his gums. Abel's mouth tasted faintly of fried
chicken, probably left over from that evening's dinner.
But it also tasted like something else, James wasn't
sure what exactly. It was a sharp, almost sugary,
taste.
As James lapped crazily at Abel's mouth, his hands
explored the boy's wet, short-cut Negro curls, wandered
down his smooth, warm, lightly muscled back, then
groped and slapped the boy's protruding buttocks.
"Abel..." James moaned in the midst of his kissing.
"You're...so...beautiful..." he repeated over and over.
"I've wanted this from the first moment you greeted me
at the stagecoach."
James's mutterings reminded Abel of the only other
white man who'd desired him like this, or at least the
only other white man bold enough to pursue the
fulfillment of his lust. He cringed as he remembered
the man repeating "such a pretty nigger...such a
goddamn beautiful nigger-boy" over and over and over in
the same dazed, far-off voice Master James now used.
Abel wondered with an equal mix of dread and curiosity
how an encounter like this would end. The first time
he'd been lucky -- Master Walt had stopped things
before they'd really begun. But now that Master Walt
was dead, and his nephew the assailant, Abel had the
sad, sick feeling that he had no choice but to see this
through to its end. Unless he wanted to throw away his
chance at true friendship with a white man, and trade
his life of relative comfort for decades of grueling
labor in the fields.
Abel cautiously licked his own tongue around Master
James's mouth, trying hard to seem like he was enjoying
it. It was weird and gross to taste another person's
saliva. But it seemed to make Master James happy, and
that was the important thing.
James was euphoric. He hadn't planned or expected such
an encounter, but it was turning out to be the perfect
thing to heal his broken mind and body. Never in a
million years could his former Northern self have
imagined possessing such flawless Negro beauty in the
flesh. He felt drunk with power, desire, and something
like true affection for the cooperative, sweet-tempered
boy in his arms.
James pulled away from the kiss, and licked up a string
of saliva running down Abel's chin. It tasted warm and
sweet, with an odor and flavor only a Negro boy's body
could produce.
James dropped to his knees. Such beauty as Abel's
demanded to be worshipped, even by a white man. James
sucked Abel's flaccid penis into his wet mouth and
began sucking energetically. The smooth, dark-brown
skin of Abel's manhood tasted salty and sweet, just
like the boy's mouth. James swallowed Abel's dick all
the way to its base, then sucked back toward the head
in a tight, slow movement. He repeated this several
times until he felt Abel's dick begin to stretch and
thicken in his mouth.
Abel's strange nightmare had suddenly taken a turn for
the better. It was all happening so fast. He remembered
reading about a blowjob in one of Master Walt's dirty
novels, given by a prostitute to a wealthy politician.
Abel had always wondered what it would feel like, but
he'd never imagined there were men who gave blowjobs to
other men, not to mention WHITE men who liked to give
them to Negro boys!
Nothing in Master Walt's books or Abel's own countless
jerk-off sessions had prepared Abel for the intense
pleasure of his first blowjob. The sensations created
by Master Walt's hot, saliva-filled mouth sucking his
prick into its warm, wet cave were thrilling beyond
belief.
Intensifying these physical pleasures were the sights
and sounds of his white Master on his knees, moaning
and slobbering and worshipping his Negro slave's prick,
just like the whore in the book. He was proud to know a
white man had found him so desirable that he'd been
willing to degrade himself to the point of taking his
dick in his mouth.
Part of Abel knew this was wrong and unnatural. Men
weren't supposed to do this with other boys or men. And
white men definitely weren't supposed to serve black
boys or men in this way. But the pleasure was so sudden
and intense that Abel couldn't help but close his eyes
and moan with satisfaction. To make himself feel less
compromised, he imagined Cora, the pretty light-skinned
slave-woman who sometimes picked up food rations at the
Big House, on her knees sucking his dick instead of
Master James. His dick jerked to life, stretching out
to a skinny seven inches in James's eager mouth.
Encouraged by Abel's responsiveness, James picked up
his pace. He held the base of Abel's dick with his
right hand and pumped furiously up and down Abel's
shaft with his mouth. He occasionally pulled off to
catch his breath and lap hungrily at Abel's smooth,
salty balls.
For a split second, James recalled the screams and
helpless gagging provoked by Jacob's oral assault the
day before, and James felt overwhelming gratitude and
affection for the sweet-spirited, compliant slave-boy
giving him this gift.
James could almost deep-throat Abel's slender seven
inches without gagging. He buried his nose in the rich
smell of Abel's curly black pubic hair, so similar in
texture to his own. He loved pulling off long enough to
look at Abel's pretty, golden rod, glistening with
spit. He savored the sweet taste of the boy's precum.
He looked up at his house-boy's eyes, shut in reluctant
enjoyment, and listened to Abel's raspy groans of
conflicted pleasure.
As he feasted like a starving man on the dick he'd
pictured and desired from his very first day at
Stampley Plantation, James reached around to clutch
Abel's muscular ass-cheeks in both hands. Still sucking
as if his life depended on it, James pushed the tip of
his index finger into the hot, tight tunnel of Abel's
virgin asshole. Abel jumped in pain and surprise, but
kept his eyes closed in concentrated pleasure. James
wiggled his finger in and out of Abel's ass, massaging
the house-boy's adolescent prostate.
Abel squirmed and adjusted to the new feeling. The pain
Abel had felt at James's earlier finger-entry turned
quickly to intense enjoyment, similar to the
pleasurable sensations of taking a shit. Before Abel
could realize or stop what was happening, his body was
seized by the most powerful orgasm of his teenage life.
"Master James, I...I think I'm going to shoot!" Abel
cried out in warning, not wanting to infuriate the
white man by dumping a load of cum in his mouth.
But it was too late. James heard Abel's warning but
wanted more than anything in the world to drink his
house-slave's thick teenage cum. What better way to
possess the boy's beauty than ingesting his
reproductive fluids? James kept Abel's dick buried deep
in his throat and gulped down stream after stream of
hot, creamy cum as they shot out of the boy's dick with
full force. The fluid tasted thick, slimy, and
delicious - partly salty and partly sweet.
Abel unleashed such a powerful current of cum that some
of it spilled out of James's mouth and down his chin.
Not wanting to waste a single drop of Abel's precious
fluid, James scooped it up with his fingers and licked
them clean.
Abel's chest heaved up and down from the exertion of
his orgasm. He looked down in amazement at the older
white man devouring his dick-juice like it was the
finest of gourmet wines. He'd tasted his own cum once
before, but found the texture and taste disgusting,
sort of like eating snot. Abel realized Master James
must really like him, if he was willing to suck his
dick and swallow his spunk. He remembered Master Walt
saying Abel was "special," and guessed that Master
James must think he's "special" too, to make his body
feel so good like that. He must be special, Abel
thought to himself, for men like Master James and
Master Walt's friend to pursue him the way they had.
Maybe the sexual attentions of a man like Master James
wouldn't be so bad after all. The first part of the
encounter had been weird and horrible, but the blowjob
had been incredible.
James stood up and gave Abel a deep, tender kiss. Abel
scrunched his face up in disgust when he tasted some of
his own dick-juice still swimming in Master James's
mouth, mixed in with his saliva.
Abel noticed his Master's dick was still red and rock-
hard, and realized his post-orgasmic relief might have
been premature. He sensed that the night's encounter
wasn't quite over, but he wondered how Master James
expected to find his own release.
For a split second he considered dropping to his knees
as Master James had done, and repaying the favor, but
the instant he thought of it he wanted to puke. If the
taste of HIS OWN cum made him sick, there was surely no
way he could give another man a blowjob without gagging
or throwing up. Abel prayed that Master James wouldn't
demand something so extreme from him.
But James hoped to take his release through an act of
service far more demanding than Abel's innocent mind
could imagine. The intense eroticism of undressing,
bathing, fingering, kissing, and sucking the handsome
mulatto-boy he'd drooled over for nearly a month, had
worked James into such a fit of obsessive lust that he
knew he couldn't last much longer than five or ten
minutes at the most. But he also knew he couldn't go to
sleep that night without taking pleasure from his
house-boy's virgin asshole. He'd lusted after the
teenager's muscled ass-cheeks curving beneath the boy's
dress-pants for weeks, and now, finally, one of the
most beautiful boys he'd ever laid eyes on stood naked
and vulnerable before him - his slave, his property, at
his complete mercy. And as weak and weary as James's
body truly was, lust fueled it with adrenaline and he
knew he would not be able to rest until he'd plundered
the boy's most private, protected depths.
James pulled away from Abel's lips and nuzzled Abel's
ear, arms wrapped tightly around the boy's skinny
waist.
"I...I need one more thing from you tonight," James
mumbled. He sounded like a sleep-talking man lost in a
lovely dream from which he hoped he'd never awaken.
Panic seized hold of Abel again, but even in his fear
he was eager to please the white man who promised to
fill the void Master Walt had left in his lonely life.
"Yes, Master James?" Abel asked, trying to hide the
worry in his voice. Everything had turned out so well,
he didn't want to spoil it all now.
"Step out of the tub," James instructed. His voice
sounded gentle but distant.
Abel looked at James with a puzzled look, but obeyed
immediately. Water dripped off his skinny legs into a
big puddle on the wood floor. James stepped out as well
and stood beside Abel. He reached into the washtub and
pulled out the clump of soap.
Abel was confused. His heart pounded nervously in his
chest. Did Master James want to wash him again? But
that didn't make any sense.
Abel grew short of breath when he saw James lathering
up his dick with the soap. Earlier that hour, the man
had done the same thing to his finger before pushing it
into Abel's butt-hole. Certainly Master James wasn't
going to try to...
There's no way such a thing could be done! It's a
physical impossibility, Abel assured himself. If such
an act existed, surely he'd have encountered it at
least once in one of Master Walt's books. A dick is
thick and long, but an asshole is tiny, smaller than a
button! The Master was only BARELY able to force his
FINGER into the miniscule opening. Surely he wouldn't
be insane and cruel enough to try such a dirty, painful
thing!
"Bend over," James ordered matter-of-factly, nodding
toward the wooden stool upon which Abel's shirt and
vest still lay folded.
"Please don't hurt me, Master James," Abel pleaded, his
worst fear now materializing. He looked sincerely
frightened. "I've done nothing but good work for you,
Master James, you said so yourself. You said I'm
probably the best house-boy in Georgia, remember? I've
done everything you asked me tonight, but please not
this. Not what I think you want to do to me!"
James was thrown off guard by Abel's resistance, so
different from the boy's usual cooperative attitude.
But unlike Elijah and Jacob, Abel's tone of voice told
James that his house-boy lived to please his Master,
and would ultimately surrender to his will should James
choose to ignore Abel's cries for mercy. And unlike
Jacob and Elijah, Abel seemed to have a sincere respect
and liking for James. Maybe even an attraction?
Whatever it was, James found it endearing, and for a
second considered sparing the handsome, sweet young man
what he knew from firsthand experience would be a
painful ordeal. But the temptation of Abel's upturned,
inviting buttocks, never before entered by another
man's dick, was too immediate, too intense. James felt
he couldn't live another hour without sampling the
delights of the Adonis's virgin ass.
"Don't worry, Abel, I won't hurt you," James assured
the house-boy. At this point, he'd say anything to
possess the body of the boy in front of him.
Abel still looked scared and uncertain. He desperately
wanted to take Master James at his word. The sting of
betrayal, following so soon after Master Walt's death,
would be devastating. He skeptically turned his back to
James and placed both hands on the edges of the wooden
stool. The round, golden half-melons of his teenage ass
were raised into the air, in James's direction. Abel
looked around, hoping against hope the Master wasn't
going to do what he thought he was going to do. But
when James began rubbing the soap along his ass-crack,
lathering up his asshole as he'd done before, Abel knew
for sure what was about to happen.
Abel jerked to a standing position in one last protest.
Abel felt like the stability of his whole identity, his
masculinity, his entire FUTURE, was at stake in what
was about to take place. Almost like reading Master
Walt's books would never feel the same if he let the
older white man shove a dick in his asshole. Like
NOTHING would feel the same if he submitted to
something so painful and degrading.
"Please, Master James!" Abel pleaded. "This isn't
right, Master James. It isn't natural for men to do
something like this to each other. This kind of thing's
for girls, and I ain't a girl, Master James. I'm...I'm
a MAN."
James smiled impatiently. "You didn't seem to mind a
few minutes ago when I was sucking your dick like a
girl."
Abel blushed and looked away in embarrassment.
"Did you like how that felt, Abel?" James asked
bluntly.
Abel hesitated. "Yeah, I reckon I did," he confessed
quietly.
"Think of that as my gift to you," James explained.
"Now it's time for YOUR gift to ME. Isn't that only
fair?"
James knew deep-down this was rape. In a free society,
a stunning boy like Abel wouldn't be caught dead in the
company of an older white man like James. The only
reason James had this opportunity in the first place
was because he'd inherited Abel as a piece of his
Uncle's property. But James didn't want it to FEEL like
rape. Not like it had with Elijah. Not like it had with
Jacob. Not this time. He wanted Abel to cooperate. He
NEEDED that cooperation for his healing to be complete.
If Abel gave up his virgin ass in return for the
blowjob, James could maintain the illusion that their
sexual encounter had been one shared between equals.
Abel's mind was spinning. His bliss from moments
earlier was already spoiled. Disobeying Master James
now would make all his earlier sacrifices worthless, as
he'd most likely end up a field nigger after all. And
who knows, perhaps surrendering to the pain of having a
dick forced into his asshole would remind Master James
that Abel was "special," and seal them together in
friendship. Abel calculated that it couldn't take much
longer than one of his average jerk-off sessions. And
it couldn't hurt TOO badly, could it?
"I guess you're right, Master James, that's only fair,"
Abel conceded, hanging his head in defeat.
Abel bit his bottom lip, squeezed his eyes shut, and
bent over the wooden stool, gripping its edges in dread
of the assault to come.
James's body trembled in anticipation as he finished
lathering up the tiny pink pucker of the mulatto-boy
bending over in front of him. He moved into position,
standing behind Abel and grabbing the boy by his
slender, smooth hips. He looked down and nearly
exploded cum all over Abel's back just from the SIGHT
of the boy's perfect bubble-butt, flexing its muscles
in resistance of the anticipated violation.
James pulled Abel's ass against his crotch. He nudged
his throbbing cock into the folds of Abel's clenched
ass-crack. He used his hands to spread both ass-cheeks
so he could see his desired target. The dark-pink
cherry's heat drew the tip of his cock to its tiny
opening. Even with the generously-applied lather, James
had to push with the strength of a full thrust before
the tip of his dick ripped open the beautiful boy's
tiny wrinkled pucker.
Abel's entire body tensed and lunged forward, but he
didn't scream or cry like Elijah, Thad, or James had
done when each lost his virginity. He simply gritted
his teeth, tightened his grip on the stool, hung his
head in concentrated endurance toward the floor, and
resolved to withstand the assault no matter how painful
it became.
James had intended to open Abel's narrow virgin tunnel
inch by inch, but once he felt the warm, wet grip of
the teenage boy's untrammeled passageway, he couldn't
resist the urge to force his dick into the boy's hot
bowels as deep as it could go. The feel of Abel's anal
walls pushing to expel their intruder made James want
to conquer them all the more. James grabbed Abel's hips
and shoved his dick all the way inside, watching it
sink past the anal ring until James's curly pubic hairs
were smashed against the muscles of Abel's ass.
Abel's entire body tightened in pain, but all James
could hear was a quiet gasp of shock at the previously
unimagined agony. The sound of Abel's raspy voice
grunting in pain and humiliation at the loss of his
virginity nearly pushed James over the edge.
Knowing he wouldn't last long in the grip of such a
tight and flawless ass, James began bucking like a wild
donkey. He fucked Abel with an onslaught of deep, fast
thrusts that tore through the boy's narrow anal
cavities each time, widening them to allow the next
penetration with greater ease. The loud slurping noises
of Abel's wet asshole sucking tightly and greedily on
his dick echoed in James's ears like beautiful music.
Abel grunted in pain with every lunge forward, but made
no effort to escape. Abel suffered each thrust bravely,
but hoped each one would be the last. He even pushed
back a little to allow James the deepest possible
access to his insides. In sacrificing his body to such
a degrading, disgusting act, Abel at least wanted his
Master to take the greatest possible pleasure from his
body. Despite the enormous pain being inflicted upon
his innocent body, there was still a kind of pleasure
in knowing he was giving Master James what sounded like
immense pleasure, based on the man's ecstatic grunts
and moans.
So THIS is what Master Walt's friend wanted from him
that night in the hallway, Abel thought to himself as
he endured James's animalistic fucking. Abel's heart
sank as he realized this might be the ONLY thing his
new friend and Master, the man bucking deep into his
guts like a wild animal, wanted as well, the
opportunity to fuck him? What if this was all Master
James had EVER wanted from him??? Maybe the man's
expressions of friendliness and affection were no more
than crude attempts at seduction, like the villains in
romantic novels??? Perhaps this was all Master Walt had
ever meant by calling Abel "special"? This ability to
take another man's dick up his high-yellow ass???
Abel's heart broke to consider it, but maybe this was
what Master Walt had always wanted too, but always been
too afraid to pursue??? Maybe that's all the white
folk's compliments had ever been about -- his beauty,
his high-yellow skin, and the muscled ass they all
wanted to fuck??? What if Master James planned on
discarding Abel's body like a dirty rag once he'd taken
his pleasure from it???
In an effort to last longer, James changed his speed to
slow, deep strokes. He looked down and watched his
dick, now covered in soap-bubbles, lather, precum, and
ass-slime, exiting and entering the boy's tender
insides. He leaned forward to inhale his slave's curly
Negro hair, lick the back of his sweaty light-olive
neck, or nibble his house-boy's large adolescent ears.
"You're so beautiful...so
beautiful...so...damn...beautiful," James whispered
hoarsely in Abel's ears. He could feel a climax
overtaking his body, inspired by the complete
possession of the handsome boy gasping in pained
submission beneath him. He could feel the heat and
moisture of Abel's glistening buttocks and dark
intestines feasting hungrily on his dick. He breathed
in the intoxicating smell of butt-fucking a Negro boy,
similar to the smells when he fucked Elijah, but at the
same time unique.
In that moment, James felt his power restored. He felt
no shame over his own rape. He felt no desire for
revenge against his attacker. He felt like he could be
completely happy fucking this same beautiful boy every
day for the rest of his life. He even wondered if Abel
could be taught to reciprocate his feelings, in a way
he doubted Elijah ever could.
These sensations and emotions combined to push James
over the brink of orgasm. He pummeled Abel's asshole
with a few final, furious thrusts, then flooded the
young man's bowels with what felt like gallons of
steamy, runny cum. He pumped his seed so deep into the
boy that he half expected to see cum running out of
Abel's nose and mouth.
Abel could feel the hot fluid coursing through his
rectum. He felt helpless and degraded, but at the same
time deeply, inextricably connected to the older white
man whose dick still jerked and throbbed inside him. He
knew his life at Stampley Plantation had been altered
forever. For better or worse was still to be
determined.
James pulled his half-hard dick, covered in soap and
ass-juices, out of Abel's pink, panting asshole. James
watched in amazement as Abel's rosebud clenched shut, a
little less tightly than it had before being plucked.
As it closed, it expelled a long stream of runny cum
that ran down the boy's hairless ass crack, trickled
down his right leg, and dripped onto the floor.
Abel stood up, stumbling dizzily to the side as he
returned to reality. His asshole burned as if someone
had shoved a nest of angry hornets up inside it. He
glanced nervously but hopefully in James's direction,
trying to gauge his Master's post-orgasmic attitude
toward his de-virginized slave. Abel didn't know if he
could bear to discover that the surrender of his
masculine pride and virginity, the submission of his
body to his Master's painful demands, had all been for
nothing.
James greeted Abel with a warm, anxious smile. He was
worried that his handsome slave-boy would now look at
him with bitterness and resentment.
"I think we need another bath," James said, laughing
and looking at the two men's sweaty, cum-sticky bodies.
Abel broke into a relieved smile. Perhaps things
wouldn't turn out so badly after all.
***
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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 46