Lance Kyle

Seaward Plantation

Chapters 8-10

Chapter eight

On second thought, maybe they were Buddhas and maybe they weren't. Buddha had surely been thirteen at one point in his life, and so were these two. Buddha was probably brown, as they were, although perhaps not this particular rich caramel color. Although all the statues show him as fat, Buddha must have been slim and muscular in his youth, as these two boys were. But Buddha might not have sat cross-legged on the edge of a feather-bed, facing his twin Buddha on the other edge of the mattress. And Buddha may not have sported the rigid erections that these two had, penises arching out at forty-five degree angles in front of their thin, muscled bellies. And Buddha's disciples surely never set this particular kind of feast before him: two naked, entwined, sleeping males, one white and one cream and coffee colored.

Pan and Bacchus had given of themselves to help their white master bed his new mulatto slave boy last night. Now it was their turn to claim the physical attentions of Mark Appleby and the sixteen year old boy Cassius who still held each other tightly in their sleep. The twins looked at each other, breaking into large, identical grins, and began to help themselves to the banquet.

Pan, who was sitting by his master, began to lightly trace the contours of the white man's muscular chest, gently thumbing his rose colored nipples, twirling the small patch of hair in the center of his chest, following the trail of light brown hairs to the navel. Leaning over, he kissed his master's belly button, tonguing it gently, then followed the thin line of hair again down into the soft pubic bush. This he nuzzled with mouth and nose, breathing in the man smell. By this time, Mark Appleby had come fully but quietly awake and was watching the proceedings. He reached out a hand to grasp the caramel brown boy's thigh, caressing and sliding the hand across the flawless skin. Appleby's penis was by now fully erect, a development acknowledged by Pan's slipping a brown hand around the purple-pink shaft and slowly sliding it up and down, gradually tightening his grip. Clear precum glistened at the tip as the head grew out of the hood, revealing the light pink glans.

Bacchus, sitting by the new slave boy, sixteen year old Cassius, had not been idle. Lightly pressing his own full, trumpet shaped lips over the equally full, heart shaped mouth of the mulatto, he kissed him gently. The light pressure of his tongue awakened Cassius gradually, who smiled, which admitted Bacchus's tongue into his mouth. Cassius sucked the boy's tongue, and with one hand reached behind the boy and cupped a firm buttock, running his fingers along the line of the ass crack, gently scratching, with special attention to scratching around Bacchus's wrinkled brown asshole. Bacchus responded by reaching one arm down to grasp Cassius's erect, medium brown penis, pumping it, while with the other he rubbed the light brown, boxy chest of the boy.

Breathing increased, soft moans and cries of delight built in volume and frequency. Boy shifted positions on boy, boy on man, the sliding of skin on skin – tanned white, coffee and cream, caramel brown – now lubricated by the sweat that stood out on every surface and the precum that leaked from every penis. Rising up on one elbow to survey the scene of twisting, grappling bodies, Appleby decided to take his new slave to one more level in what was for the boy the new delights of male love. Appleby would delay one more time penetrating the boy, building up his desire to do so until it would be the sweetest pleasure. But this time, this morning, he would show Cassius the delights of penetrating another.

Appleby slipped off the bed at the foot, his bedmates looking at him with curiosity even as they slowly pumped and squeezed each other's stiff cocks. Kneeling on the bed near the foot, the white man motioned for Cassius to join him. Kneeling side by side, thigh by thigh, Appleby put one arm around the light brown boy's shoulder and pulled him close, tasting his full, moist lips. With the other he fondled the head of the boy's penis, sliding his fingers under the sensitive cap, which made the slave moan with pleasure. Then reaching into the pot of petroleum jelly he had with him, Appleby gathered up gobs of the stuff which he spread on the slave boy's dick, coating the head and the shaft just behind it extra well. Catching the idea, Cassius reached into the pot and did the same for his master, running his light brown fingers, slick with lubricant, around the white man's pink cockhead, also making the deep purple, pulsing shaft greasy.

By this time, Pan and Bacchus knew what was going to happen, and they were eagerly willing. It took only a gesture or two from their master and the two boys got on their hands and knees, tightly side by side, globes of caramel brown butts presented to the white man and older mulatto boy. Appleby demonstrated to Cassius, who watched intently, what to do. Sliding the head of his cock in the dark brown ass crack, greasing especially the wrinkled hole with the precum and lubricant that now coated his dick, the white man then pressed the dick head up to Pan's brown asshole. He pushed, causing a gasp from the boy on the bed in front of him, who put his head down and clutched the sheets with his fists. The head of the white man's penis popped into the ring, which held it tightly for a moment. Then it relaxed, allowing Appleby to plunge the full length of his penis slowly but steadily into the boy. Pan cried out, "O! Master! Oh, that feels so…ah!…so good!" and then the white man was all the way in. He smiled at Cassius and nodded toward Bacchus's waiting ass.

Cassius was learning everything anew, experiencing a kind of intimacy he had pictured in imagination but not explored before coming to Seaward. Eager to taste each new delight, he copied his master's example, but inexpertly. Placing his own light brown cockhead against the asshole of Bacchus, he pushed in. Slick with grease and precum, it went in, but too quickly. Bacchus cried out in protest. Appleby put a hand on Cassius's shoulder to signal a need to wait. Once Bacchus gasped, "Alright!', Appleby removed his hand and, grasping the hips of the boy in front of him, began to pull in and out in a slow rhythm.

Cassius followed his example. The twin boys, the pain of insertion past, began to breathe as heavily as their master and Cassius. Bracing with their elbows and hands against the sheets, they pushed their rears back into the pumping groins of the man and boy behind them. Each boy hung his head and looked past his own dangling, full penis and tight, heavy ballsack to see the genitals of the one behind them, tanned white or light brown thighs pushed up tight against their own. The twins were panting, drool coming out of their mouths and onto the sheets.

Appleby, side by side with Cassius, kept one hand on Pan's hip and put his other hand on Cassius's far shoulder, drawing him in. Appleby turned his head and his mouth found the full, heart shaped lips of Cassius. His hand on the shoulder slipped down to the boy's buttocks and grasped each hard muscle as it clenched and unclenched in rhythm, then he moved his hand into the tight valley between each buttock. Cassius kept both hands on the hips of the boy in front of him. The pace of pumping became furious. Inarticulate sounds, half-formed words, and groans came from Appleby and Cassius, each called loudly the name of the boy in front of him, each boy moaned in pleasure and called back the name of the man or boy who was fucking him. At the same time, white man and mulatto slave boy came, bucking and pushing their rigid cocks into the boys as far as they would go. Again and again their hard butt muscles squeezed out a flood of semen into the willing boy in front of them.

It was over, and Appleby and Cassius remained on their knees, panting. Impatient, the twin boys pulled off of the wilting dicks that impaled them and turning around, rose to their feet on the bed. Each boy's long dickhead was now pushed out beyond the medium dark foreskin, dripping with precum. The twins walked up close to Appleby and Cassius, putting their hands on the shoulders of the ones who had just fucked them. Appleby leaned forward, putting his hands around Pan's buttocks and pulled him closer, taking his rigid dick into his mouth. Seeing what to do, Cassius did the same for Bacchus.

Stimulated by their recent fuck, both the caramel brown twins pumped their penises in and out of the waiting, wet mouths for only a few minutes. They, too, came at the same time. Pan's fingers, embedded in his master's long, light brown wavy hair, pulled the white man's head toward him as he bucked forward, pumping his semen out. Bacchus's hands, which were on Cassius's shoulders, clenched spastically as he lost control, quivering and shaking as he pushed forward again and again to squeeze the white juice into Cassius's mouth.

As each boy finished, he collapsed to his knees in front of the larger male in front of him and each couple embraced tightly, running hands over backs now slick with sweat. Passion gave way to the delight of being held, and boys and man, they explored their partner with tenderness. Ears, necks, nipples were brushed with lips, licked, gently bitten. Eventually, Appleby sat back, smiling at the beautiful brown boy he had been holding, and said, "Let's start the day! we must show Seaward to Cassius and Portia." Although reluctant to let go of the moment, the brown boys agreed. Returning to the bath room, they all washed in a happy party of splashing, scrubbing and toweling each other, and admiring naked wet bodies whether white, light brown, or caramel brown.

As Appleby and the boys were finishing breakfast, they heard steps on the verandah. Going out to investigate they found Hector and Helen. "We are taking the new boy and girl all over the island!" said Helen, smiling shyly at her master out of her dark brown face. Hector came up to Appleby and gave him a quick hug, but his arm lingered on the man's shoulder for a bit while they talked. "We are here to get Cassius, then we are meeting Portia for a tour," he said, smiling at the new sixteen year old. "We can have a picnic, too!" he said, indicating a cloth bag he had slung over his shoulder. Cassius eagerly prepared for a day of walking and touring, and soon the three of them set out down the path to the cabins, where they would collect Portia from Mama Juno's cabin.

Everyone settled into their tasks for the day. The twins busied themselves around the house, cleaning inside and on the verandah, making the flowerbeds and lawns presentable. Appleby worked steadily for a while with his correspondence, preparing letters to go out to the mail boat with Troy. He found Troy with Priam, repairing some equipment in a shed. The men greeted him warmly, Priam shaking Appleby's hand with both of his large, strong, dark hands, Troy hugging him and keeping one hand on Appleby's lower back while they talked. Appleby took a real interest in the work the men were doing, and asked to be taught how certain pieces of farm machinery worked. He labored with the men for a couple of hours, honest clean sweat breaking out on their skins as they went about their chores. Mama Cass brought food and water to them in the storage barn for their lunch, which they gratefully accepted. Another couple of hours of work in the gardens followed, with Appleby learning about the care of the crops and vegetables grown on the island. The sun beat down and the three men removed their shirts, sweat glistening on the tanned white and dark chocolate skins. Priam's fifty year old body did not betray its age beyond his white hair, a lifetime of work showing in the sculpted muscles, the thick lobes of his chest, the steel sinews of his hands and neck, while Troy's graceful, strong body brought many a secret swelling of the groin to Appleby, remembering their many times of shared passion. Troy, too, cast long looks at his master, and did Appleby imagine the occasional furtive inspection of his body by Priam?

The men completed their work and put away tools for a break, Appleby being grateful for the rest for his sore muscles. Priam went to his cabin to nap, Troy prepared the Hesperus to sail out and intercept the mail boat, and Appleby decided to walk the paths of Seaward to find some shady spot to rest in the afternoon. He soon came upon a small lawn of soft, plush grass growing beneath a huge, outspreading live oak, one of the largest, lushest specimens Appleby had ever seen, fed by the rich soil of the island and a nearby spring. Appleby refreshed himself at the spring and was about to lie down in the grass when an inspiration from out of his boyhood overcame him: he would climb the tree. The low-branching habit of the live oak made it easy for him to climb, and finding one upward slanting branch after another he was soon thirty yards up, catching a fresh, cool breeze from off the sea. Appleby nestled himself into the crook of a major branch, surrounded by green leaves, and leaning back fell fast asleep.

He awoke gradually, which was lucky so that he did not start and fall from the limb on which he sat. He was aware of voices, but they were too soft and too distant to make out the words. However, they seemed to be nearly beneath him, and coming closer. Shifting his position, he found an opening in the envelope of green leaves that surrounded him so he could see down to the lawn beneath. Cassius and Helen were approaching down there, just the two of them, talking softly. The eleven year old girl had the sixteen year old boy's light brown hand in her dark brown hand, swinging it playfully. But where were Hector and Portia, and why had the tour quartet not stayed together as they explored the island?

The two stopped on the plush lawn beneath the tree. Appleby could see them, being nearly directly above, but could not make out any words in their muffled voices. Cassius sat down on the lawn, cross-legged. Helen sat next to him, the two talking but Helen talking more, the girl touching the boy on the arm and shoulder from time to time. Cassius often turned his head quickly to look directly at the girl, then turned back away to look down at the grass or out in the direction of the sea. Then Helen shifted position, moving directly behind Cassius's back, on her knees. Her hands kneaded his shoulders as she bounced lightly against his back. Cassius's body did not exactly tense, but it seemed to take on a waiting attitude, and he looked straight ahead of him. There was a soft exchange of words, and Cassius nodded his head uncertainly. Helen moved her hands to the boy's boxy chest, rubbing it, massaging his nipples through the rough fabric.

Could it be that she was seducing him, as she had her white master a few days before? Appleby's groin began to swell at the memory. He shifted positions very, very quietly so as to keep the two in full view through the peephole in the leaves. A strong desire grew in him, and it had several objects: to see Cassius naked, to see Helen naked, to see two others having sex when they could not see him, to rejoice in Cassius's continuing awakening to a full range of sexual enjoyment.

Down below, Helen gently pulled Cassius's shirt up and off of him, the boy willingly raising his arms to assist the process. She resumed moving her dark brown hands over his light brown skin in earnest now, running her hands also through his tangle of thick, dark, loose black curls. She cupped his strong, boxy chest muscles, tweaked his purple brown nipples, and ran her hands down his abdomen as far as she could reach. One of the boy's legs was bouncing rhythmically with nervousness. Then the girl stood up and in one long pull wriggled out of her simple one piece tunic, letting it fall on the ground. She wore no underwear. Looking down from above, Appleby remembered her orange shaped breasts sitting firm and high on her muscular chest, deep chocolate dark skin over her boyish body. He could see the gentle round swell of her strong but not well defined abdomen below her breasts, and he could see the twisted tufts of her hair shake as she moved her head. He could see the girlish version of Troy's and Priam's high, tight buttocks, pushing up and out provocatively.

The girl moved around to stand in front of Cassius. The boy's leg stopped bouncing and his head seemed to reflect that he was staring at her in awe. She reached down and tugged off the boy's shoes, then grasped the waist of his trousers and, as the boy willingly lifted his hips a little, slid both trousers and undergarment off in one motion. Cassius leaned back on the grass; since they were just beneath the tree, the ground sloped gently up towards the base of the trunk. This was fortunate, for it meant that Cassius would not be looking straight up to catch any possible glimpse of his master through the leafy peephole.

As the boy lay back, the dark girl knelt beneath his legs, parting them gently. She put her head way down and took first one testicle and then another into her mouth, sucking them gently. Appleby could hear a distant moan from the boy, could see the rapid rise and fall of his belly muscles, now glistening with a little perspiration. Helen's mouth worked up the shaft of the boy's medium dark penis, now rigidly erect, sucking and licking as she went. Eventually her full, plum-like lips slipped over the light brown-purple head that had grown out from the hood of skin, and she bobbed her head up and down on the pole for a while, her hands clutching both of the light brown boy's muscular thighs. Cassius's head lolled from side to side, and more distant sounds of moaning, plus the occasional inarticulate word, came to Appleby's ears.

Releasing the boy's penis with a plop, Helen moved forward, her thighs and knees now straddling the boy's muscular abdomen. Reaching behind, she positioned his penis, now slick with spit and precum, at the entrance to her vagina. She lowered herself down a little, perhaps just enough to admit the head into the entrance to her womb. She gave a little cry and stopped, and Appleby could see that she was breathing heavily. After a moment, she began to move her hips up and down just a little, then just a little more, picking up a little speed as she went. Cassius's hands went out to her and hers out to him. Palms to palms, they locked light brown and dark brown fingers together. Faster and faster Helen bounced on the boy's rigid rod, but never took it in all the way. Half-heard words and moans began to increase, the light breathless voice of the girl intertwined with the throaty, hoarse moans and cries of the sixteen year old boy.

Suddenly, Cassius's torso curled, his head and chest coming up off of the lawn and his powerful leg and butt muscles pushing his groin upward. He nearly screamed, a sound Appleby could hear very well even from his high perch. The unexpected penetration high into her womb caused the girl to cry out as well, but her passion overtook her pain and she continued to bounce quickly up and down, then changed to a slower rhythm, perhaps remembering techniques from the experience of masturbating her white master a few days before. Helen's own body suddenly shook and, releasing Cassius's hands, she slumped forward, putting her hands on the boy's chest. The pumping slowed and then stopped. Pulling herself off of the boy's penis, she slumped forward onto his chest, her legs still spread-eagled on both sides of his abdomen. Appleby could see the boy's penis, still erect but wilting, leaking semen down one side as it slowly flagged and settled back down onto his thigh. It was hard to tell from that distance, but he was sure he could see the gleam of the sixteen year old's semen running out of the vagina of the chocolate dark eleven year old girl.

How long they lay there, Appleby did not know. His own trousers were stained with his leakings, but he dared not relieve himself with his hand and betray his hiding place. Slowly, the girl eventually stood up, then so did the boy in front of her. They embraced tenderly, Cassius holding her head of tufted twists close to his chest, she with her arms around his back. Breaking apart reluctantly, each dressed, and then hand in hand walked back down the path that led away from the tree. Appleby waited until he was sure they were gone, then clambered back down the tree. He knelt and ran his hand over the mashed-down grass, thinking that it still felt warm from the bodies of the sixteen and eleven year olds. He was sure he felt some slick fluids on the grass, even as they were soaking into the rich earth of Seaward. As he rose to walk down the same path, toward the big house, he slid his fingers together, slippery with the leavings he had found on the grass, his thoughts occupied with many things.

Entering the path that would take him to his house, Appleby found Troy, who was looking for him. "Master, when I stopped the mail boat to give them your letters…" his face broke into a huge grin, sparkling white teeth in his dark handsome face, "they passed on three big crates to me, Master! They had to lower them onto the Hesperus with a crane… I was afraid she might founder. Come see!" He led the way down an intersecting path to the storage barn. Appleby hugged himself with glee, anticipating the first fruits of the telegrams and letters he had sent North. Priam was there in the barn, just unhitching the donkey cart with which he and Troy had hauled the crates from the pier. Cass and Juno tried to peer inside through the slats. Appleby noted with interest that Hector and Portia were also there, and he tried to read in their easy, friendly way with each other whether anything had passed between them similar to what he had observed between Cassius and Helen.

Appleby seized a crowbar and, flourishing it in the air, said, "People of Seaward! Behold, I bring you gold, silver, and rubies!" Expressions of amazement and questions broke out; it was clear nobody took him literally, but now their curiosity was really piqued. Going up to the first crate, Appleby began prying the top off, being careful to preserve the wood for future use. Off it came, and he reached inside and pulled out brown rubies: shoes! Factory-made shoes from the North, in a wide range of sizes and styles. Nothing extra fancy, but sturdy shoes for country use. Accustomed to old, rough shoes out at the heel and toe in many cases, the people simply stared, then gasped in awe and dove into the crate themselves. The twins came running into the barn to see what the commotion was about and, like everyone else, began removing the contents carefully, reverently, to find some pairs their sizes.

There were at least a couple of pairs for everyone, plus sizes "in between" that the smaller ones would grow into. When Appleby moved to the second crate everyone gathered around in real anticipation. Off came the wooden top, in went brown hands and arms, and out came good quality manufactured clothing, again from the mills and factories of the North. Used to homemade and hand-me-downs, the people regarded the strong, simple dresses, pants, shirts, broad straw hats, and overalls as if they were ermine robes. Heavy wool jackets and slick oiled waterproofs promised protection against the weather. A party spirit filled the barn as the people judiciously and fairly divided up the spoils, which were once again in a range of sizes. Athena, Cassius and Helen joined the party, drawn by the happy shouts, and partook of the riches as well. Appleby kept eyeing the latter two to see if their behavior would betray any hint of their afternoon passion.

Hearts raced as Appleby broke open the third crate. Out came big tubs of paint and brushes, curtains, good and simple china dishes, strong study glassware, mirrors, flatware, enameled steel teakettles and black cast iron cooking pots and pans. "Master," said Juno, hesitantly, "do these go in the big house?" "No," replied Appleby "they are for the cabins. Help yourselves." Wonder warred with greed in the eyes of the women and girls, but good manners won out and the spoils were fairly divided. The cabins, although sturdily built, were plain, and visions of domestic luxury danced in every female mind. The men good naturedly helped sort the goods. There was praise and thanks for Appleby all around, and then each party dispersed to take its loot back to the cabins.

Appleby arrived back at the house just as dinner was being brought to the dining room. Tonight he would eat with the twins and with Cassius around the big table in that room. Portraits of long-dead Huddles and a solitary Appleby brought by Aunt Lucy from the North looked down in amazement at the white man in easy company with his dark and light brown boys. Cassius seemed light-hearted but thoughtful, while the twins were heir usual bouncy selves. During one lull in the conversation (because the twins each had full, overstuffed mouths and were chewing), Cassius put his hand on his master's forearm and, squeezing it gently, simply said, "Thank you, Master Mark. Thanks for everything." Appleby smiled in return.

Other families and groupings ate in their own cabins around the plantation. Just as he was finished and moving out onto the verandah with the boys to enjoy the evening breeze, Appleby was surprised to see all the other people of Seaward walking toward the house from the path that led to their cabins. They were animated, chatting and laughing. Several carried lanterns.

Priam took the lead, stepping out of the group and addressing Appleby and the boys. "We are naming the baby tonight," he said. "It is a custom we have; the correct number of days has passed, the night is clear and starry, all the signs are good. Will you join us, Master Mark?" Hector, Troy, and Athena smiled invitingly, all three passing the gurgling infant among them. Appleby gladly agreed to join them, and finding a lantern in the pantry and a coat against the evening chill, he and the boys set out with them.

On paths through the fields and woods of Seaward they walked in the gathering twilight, making their way toward higher ground. Appleby walked with Mama Cass and Mama Juno and asked about their work, what supplies were needed, how they would decorate their cabins. With Priam he discussed which crops were good and which might fail on the island. With real joy, he admired the baby girl that was passed among Athena, Hector, and Troy, making extravagant predictions that she would be a queen, would fly to the moon, would command the seas, would rule the world. The twins ran ahead, now behind, in and out of all the groups, laughing and sharing high spirits. Appleby noted that Cassius and Portia tended to lag somewhat behind the group, with Helen between them, the two girls finding common ground in their domestic interests, while Cassius had his own different reasons to want to be with each one.

The happy party finally arrived at the hilltop cemetery, the highest point of Seaward. There amid black and white ancestors they lit a bonfire that had been laid, and everyone gathered around it. Voices became quiet in the night, and even the rambunctious twins seemed to know that a special moment had arrived. Calling for the baby and holding her in his arms, Priam repeated words in an African language long forgotten to most of them, incantations for health, strength, peace, and long life. He held the child up to the stars, then brought her back down and stood on the other side of the fire from the gathering.

"What name have you given to this one?" he asked the three parents. Athena stood up. In a soft but clear voice, she said, "Papa Priam, we decided it would not be fitting to name a baby girl 'Mark.' So we name her… Apple." A soft chorus of approval passed around the group, and every one of them looked at Mark Appleby.

He was smitten to the heart, tears starting to his eyes and running down his cheeks. He could not speak, but could only nod his approval and acceptance, then covered his face for a moment with his hand. In one more way, he was becoming one with the people of Seaward. Completing the ceremony, Hector and Troy, holding on to a bottle of wine together, poured a cup's worth of it onto the fire. "Libation!" they cried – or its equivalent in an African tongue, if they knew it, and the people responded in kind. Silence descended on the gathering again, and then in groups of two or three they quietly stole off into the night.

Lost in thought, staring into the fire, Appleby eventually noticed that only he and Priam were left, on nearly opposite sides of the dwindling embers. "Thank you, Priam, for this blessing here tonight," said Appleby. "You are welcome, master," returned the strong black man, blacker than usual in the night, his skin shining in the firelight.

"Are there other ceremonies from Africa that you remember and perform – other blessings or rites of passage or the marking of special occasions?" he asked.

"Oh yes, Master Mark, for weddings, burials, all manner of things. Some are best left forgotten," he said, shaking his head, "like initiation ceremonies for girls that involve…cutting. Those are best forgotten." He stared out to sea, the fire lighting the strong, mature profile of his face.

Appleby nodded his complete agreement. Genuinely interested, he pressed the fifty year old: "Were there initiation ceremonies, rights of passage, for boys also?"

"Oh yes, those, too. When a boy was about thirteen, you know." Priam continued staring out to sea.

"Did the young men here at Seaward, the boys, did they go through those ceremonies?"

"Oh, not exactly the same, some things you leave behind. New ceremonies come to be, new ways to mark passages. I'm the only one who remembers those old ones," said Priam, shaking his head sadly, turning a gentle gaze on his master.

"So you must have gone through those rites of passage yourself in Africa before… before you were stolen," said Appleby.

"Not all of them, master, I was taken when I was ten years old. I missed one or two of them. I wish that I had gone through with them. I have always felt something… something missing," he said, looking at his master and then dropping his gaze to the fire.

"But Priam," said Appleby, real concern in his voice and face, "is it too late? Can we not have such an initiation for you now? What sorts of things did they do, that you wish you had done?"

Now Priam shook his head more vigorously, and looked out to sea again. "No, Master Mark, you don't want to know," he said, casting a quick glance at Appleby, then back out to sea.

His interest piqued, Appleby pursued the matter. "No, Priam, please tell me. What would you have done that would have made you feel more complete, if you had not been taken?" Priam picked up a stick of wood and stirred the embers, looking intently into them. Silence passed for a moment. "Tell me," urged Appleby, softly.

Sensing real caring and interest, Priam glanced at Appleby, then back at the fire, then back at the white man. Seeming to make a decision, he began slowly. "Well, you see, Master Mark," and he cleared his throat before continuing, "you see… among my people, it was thought that for a boy to become a man, he had to take… to take something of manhood into him." He hung his head, stirred the embers, looked again at his master. "We had many rites of passage such as hunting, staying alone in the wilderness for a period, which I did, successfully – but taking something of manhood… that I did not do."

"What… what thing of manhood would you take?" asked Appleby.

Priam laughed quickly, even roughly. "Do you really want to know, master?" Appleby said "Yes" again, gently pressing the unwilling black man. "Well… a boy of thirteen or so would… would take a man's seed into him. It would in turn make him a man." Smiling, he shook his head, stirring the embers vigorously now with the stick. "I don't know, master, probably just a superstition."

"So… so you never did this thing as a boy?" asked Appleby.

"Master, the idea was to do it with an elder of the tribe, someone a boy respected and admired. I… I was made to do it on the way to this place, master," said Priam, avoiding eye contact, "but it was not with men I admired and not with men of my tribe." Suddenly a look of sadness came over Priam, strong mature man that he was. He grew silent, the vigorous poking of the fire the only indication of the strong emotions stirred within him by his memories of that ceremony and his loss at having missed it in any real sense. Appleby saw the shadow of a small boy that used to be, inside of Priam. Appleby suddenly felt a sense of kinship with Priam, the two oldest men on the island even if a quarter century separated them. He thought of something Troy had once said to him, and of all that Priam did for the island and for him. Not fully thinking his way through, Appleby plunged ahead.

"Priam… is it too late? Can you do this thing at your age, and be more complete?" The black man stopped stirring abruptly and looked across the fire at the white man but did not speak. "Troy… Troy once said to me that at Seaward, each one gives to others what they need. You have given me much, Priam." Appleby rose, Priam's eyes locked upon him. "Can I give you something in return? I admire you… perhaps you admire me? and in a real sense, Priam, we are members of the same tribe." Appleby took the few steps to come around the fire and stand near Priam. The strong black man rose, standing a little higher than Appleby, his deep black eyes searching his master's face for understanding, some deep process of thought and decision working in the craggy muscles of his face. Appleby reached out one hand and cupped it around Priam's neck. The black man took breath in sharply and dropped the stick from his hand. "What can I give you… my friend?"

Priam gasped again, and put his own thick, strong, muscled and calloused hand to cover the white hand that caressed his neck. Looking directly into the white man's eyes, he breathed, "O! Master Mark." Then the two embraced each other, roughly as strong men might, one of them at least unused to embracing men. In that moment Appleby felt an iron-hard lump in the groin of the older man who held him, trembling. He knew what he must do. Stepping back a pace, Appleby began to undress, despite the evening chill. He kept his eyes on Priam's face the whole time, smiling an acceptance and invitation. Priam's face alternated quickly among smiles and wonder and consternation – then, making a quick decision, he began removing his clothing as well.

Soon the two men stood naked in front of the dying fire, one body a dusky tan in the fading light, the other body a coal black that reflected the firelight. One body was smoothly muscled, the other bound and corded by iron hard, thick muscles, the kind that can only be built up from a lifetime of hard work. Only his craggy face and the grey of the hair on his head and above his penis betrayed any sign of age in Priam. He could have crushed the white man, strong though Appleby was, but he did not… he stepped forward, and the two men, standing, embraced tightly. Appleby recognized the release that he himself had felt upon first coming to Seaward, the first night of passion he had spent with the twins. Priam, even at his age, was coming to his own rite of passage. If raped or molested as a boy, this would be a willing participation, a passionate meeting of equals. A fleeting thought of the ten year old boy he had met… he had not been kind to… at McGillicuddy's flashed through Appleby's head, and he thanked the universe for how it continued to give him ways to make amends for past wrongs. Strong arms clutched muscular bodies, still standing, hands exploring, scratching, pulling at hard muscle. Priam's penis, larger even than Troy's, was rock hard and pressed against Appleby's own straining erection.

Priam knew where he was physically, but spiritually he was thirteen again, in a lost African village, with an elder of his tribe whom he knew… and loved. Repeating words he had nearly forgotten in his mother tongue, he began to slide downward to his knees, kissing Appleby's muscular chest, tonguing his nipples, tracing the line through his navel to his pubic hair. Appleby gently helped the strong man's journey downward, until the man's cap of tight, kinky white hair was waist high. The white man ran his fingers through the black man's hair as he simply held and caressed the head. Intoning African words, Priam plunged Appleby's rigid penis into his mouth. He began sucking and pumping, greedily working the hard cock, yearning for the essence of manhood that would, in his mind, make him complete.

Appleby slowly rocked his hips back and forth to assist the process. When he came it was like an offering, an outpouring of love, a gift. "Priam!" he cried, and gently pushed into the black man's face, holding the crinkly, woolly head as his seed flowed out. Priam swallowed greedily. When there was no more, Priam let the wilting organ slide from his mouth and embraced his master's thighs. "Oh Master Mark, thank you, oh thank you," he said over and over.

Appleby helped the man to his feet, thin trickles of tears running down the planes of the hard muscled black face. They embraced in genuine affection. And then Appleby gently turned Priam around so he stood behind him, both facing the fire, and pressed into the black man. His swollen but relaxing penis nestled along the divide between Priam's muscular buttocks. With one hand Appleby reached around the man and gently caressed the massive lobes of his chest, his muscled belly. With the other hand, Appleby began to pump the rock hard, ponderous cock of the black man. Head to one side, Priam hummed softly, breaking into more African words under his breath from time to time, swinging his hips into a soft, steady motion. The two men swayed together in time to Priam's inner song. When he came it was also gentle if copious. Priam reached back behind him suddenly to pull his master into his backside, then pushed his hips forward and cried out an unknown African word. Great ropes of semen shot out, splashed and sprayed over the dying embers, which hissed and spat as the white liquid landed in it.

Appleby released the black man's penis and hugged him tight from behind, with real affection. Priam covered the white hands and arms with his own and leaned his head back to smile at his master. "Libation!" said Appleby. Priam chuckled deep in his chest and nodded agreement, looking at the sizzling embers. "Libation!" he agreed. And the two elders of the tribe stood in that friendly embrace as the embers died, watching the bright stars in the black night.

Chapter nine

Smiling, and pleasantly surprised, Appleby withdrew to what was really Cassius's room across the hall, although the sixteen year old boy had not yet slept in it since arriving at Seaward. He wondered whether the thirteen year old twins had initiated tonight's sexual escapade, or had the sixteen year old slave been the leader. Feeling sated himself, he was glad for the respite. Shedding his clothes, he tumbled naked into the bed.

Appleby had busy dreams but nevertheless a restful night. Sometimes he floated in the air, looking down on brown bodies coupling passionately. Sometimes he was the moon, and a black man lifted a brown baby up to him. Sometimes he was hunting a snake, which he found, and wrestled into submission. At the end, he slept dreamlessly, and awoke in the early morning light. As usual in a healthy male, he was sporting a stiff erection. Appleby luxuriantly rubbed his hand on his muscled belly, pondering what he should do about his stiff rod, when he heard a soft low voice just at the door to his room.

"Good morning, Master Mark." Rising up on one elbow, he saw the new mulatto slave, Cassius, standing in the doorway, leaning slightly against the frame, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Like a light brown marble statue, the long smooth muscles and flawless skin of the sixteen year old boy took Appleby's breath away. He was simply and naturally naked, his thick brown penis experiencing a morning semi-erection. The boy stopped kneading his eyes, stretched, yawned, and stood up straight, smiling at his master.

"Pan and Bacchus had to get up early, they said it is their turn to weed the garden," said the boy. "We… we went to bed without you last night. I said to wait, but they wouldn't." Appleby smiled, feeling quite sure that the story was correct, that the randy little goats would have lured Cassius to bed with their master or without him.

"It's alright, Cassius. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, master, very well thank you." He smiled shyly, an angel fallen out of a painting. Appleby threw the sheet back and patted the bed beside him, wordlessly. Smiling and willingly, the boy came and slipped gracefully alongside his master.

Appleby simply drank in the boy's classic beauty for a while, the two smiling at each other, Cassius willing and waiting. The white man ran his fingers through the boy's mop of thick, black curls, tangling his fingers in it, then pulling his head slightly towards him and kissing him. Deliberately, slowly, Appleby sucked one full, moist lip and then another into his mouth while his hands fondled the black curls. Cassius's breathing began to increase, and following his master's lead he ran his fingers through the shoulder length light brown hair of the white man. Appleby invaded the boy's mouth with his tongue, pushing in as far as it would go, exploring teeth, then sucking the boy's tongue into his own mouth until the sixteen year old whimpered.

Appleby rolled over on top of the boy, rigid penises aligned together, straight up between heaving, pulsing abdominal muscles slick with precum. The white man aligned his body perfectly on top of the boy, adjusting for his greater height: thighs pressed flat against muscular thighs, his feet a little below the tan soles of the mulatto boy. Appleby intertwined his fingers on both hands with those of his slave, then extended their four arms straight up and out in a 'Y' shape. His body balanced on the boy, grinding his groin down into groin, Appleby kissed the boy's light brown face, nibbled his neck, bit hard on an ear lobe which brought a gasp to interrupt the boy's heavy breathing. Rocking and squirming, they held this position for several minutes. Appleby decided it was time.

He rose up off of the boy and gently turned him over onto his belly while placing a pillow under the boy's pelvis. Flat against the bed except for his raised butt, the sixteen year old presented an inviting feast, his perfectly rounded, flat-sided and dimpled buttocks revealing a dark valley between the butt muscles, but tightly compressed. Cassius's rampant cock lay straight up along his belly, but the heavy, wide, tight ballsack was clearly visible resting against the pillow just beneath his brown asshole. In the boy's secret places his skin darkened from coffee and cream to medium brown.

Appleby reached for the petroleum jelly by the bedside and lubricated two fingers. With these he gently massaged the boy's love hole, scratching it and pushing the tip of a finger in… then a whole finger… then two. With each new step the boy caught his breath and sighed but did not protest. When the boy's sphincter felt loosened from his manipulations, Appleby caught up more of the lubricant and spread it over his own penis, which by now was well lubricated already with precum, and rigidly hard.

The white man got into position, stretched out behind and above his slave, supporting his torso with one hand while the other hand guided his cock to the boy's asshole. He pushed gently, eliciting a gasp and an "O! Master!" from the boy. The head of his dick was inside. He waited, then slowly slid his penis in halfway. Cassius gasped again, whimpering and clutching the bedsheets but making no protest. A final push landed his iron stiff penis all the way inside the boy. He pulled out slowly, then pushed back in slowly. The boy's heavy breathing gave way to a sigh, and the white man knew he was ready.

In and out he began sliding. Looking down he could see his dark pink penis sliding in and out of the brown hills of the slave boy's butt. Lowering himself to lie directly on the boy, Appleby slid his arms around the slave to lock their two bodies together. Appleby's hands clutched the mulatto's boxy chest, tweaking his nipples, pulling himself into the slave's flesh. His other hand roamed the tight spaces between the bed and the boy's belly, grasping Cassius's rigid penis and manipulating it, rubbing the cockhead hard with his thumb. The slave boy groaned with pleasure now, and was thrusting his butt up to meet his master's rhythmic thrusts. Appleby's head was even with Cassius's shoulders, which he bit and licked, breathing in the clean boy smell of his body, lost in the coffee and cream skin over hard muscles.

Faster and faster the white man pumped, until from far away inside his body he could feel the moment coming like a powerful locomotive. Closer and closer it came, and then Appleby bucked hard, nearly coming out of the boy's butt in his spasms, nearly breaking the boy's ribs pulling the two bodies together. Three and then four times the white man clenched his butt muscles to drive his shooting sperm into the black's warm rectum. Feeling the flood inside him, the slave called "Master, master, master" softly.

For a moment the white man and mulatto boy merged together, two souls reaching through flesh to unite, anchored tightly between penis and asshole. Then Appleby, drained, rolled off to the side, breathing heavily. He pulled the pillow out from under the boy's hips, wet with his discharge that dribbled from the boy's slack rectum, and remaining on his back, lifted Cassius's hips and pulled the boy's groin over his face. Understanding what was planned, Cassius inserted his rampant cock into his master's mouth, pushing his torso up off the bed to arch over the white man's head on extended arms. Appleby took the boy's medium brown rigid penis into his mouth, and sucked hard. His hands grasped the tight, rounded buttocks of his slave and squeezed, digging his fingernails into the hard muscles. The boy began pumping slowly at first, then quickly, looking down as his dark penis slid in and out of the white man's mouth. Faster and deeper he pumped, Appleby fighting down a gag reflex, until the boy cried out wildly and slammed his groin into his master's face, holding it there, withdrawing it to pump rapidly three times, slamming it forward again. The boy held it there as the aftershocks of his orgasm subsided, looking down with awe at this white man who had come into his life with so many wonderful changes. Spent, the boy eventually pulled out and rolled over next to his master.

In the gathering light, master and slave boy caressed each other, hands running lightly over sweaty skin. Kisses, nibbles, soft bites – breathing began to return to normal. Eventually, Appleby sat up in the morning light. "Let's begin the day!" he said, and the boy readily agreed. Together, naked, they walked down to the bath room to clean themselves and each other, then returned to dress in preparation for that day's adventures.

As they were eating breakfast, Appleby and Cassius heard the sound of footsteps running up the verandah stairs and into the house. Troy, panting, smiled at the two while handing an envelope to his master. "A letter for you, Master Mark," he said, "brought by boat by two of their servants."

Appleby looked at the note and opened it quickly. "The pleasure of your company is requested," it began, and went on to offer an invitation to spend two nights at the Ashley Plantation, to culminate in a formal ball. The affair was to begin in a couple of days.

Appleby thought quickly. First in his mind was the question of the security of the island. "Who brought this, and where is that person?" he asked Troy. "Two of the servants from Ashley, master," he said, "they are waiting down at the pier in their boat. I asked Mama to carry some refreshment down to them."

"Is there any white person with them?"

"No, master."

"Good. It is best if nobody comes up into the island itself," Appleby said, "we… we do not want to be observed." Troy agreed wholeheartedly. Now, as for the invitation…. "Do you know where Ashley Plantation is, Troy? Is it far?" Troy replied that it was not; Seaward Plantation lay just outside, to the east or 'seaward,' of the pincers of land that formed the harbor of Charleston, and Ashley Plantation was just inside the harbor side of one of those pincers, upstream from the estuary of one of several streams that emptied into the harbor. It was no longer a trip than it would be to go into Charleston.

Making a quick decision, Appleby decided that it could not hurt to make contacts in the Charleston community that might be useful to him. He wrote a note accepting the invitation, then sent it with Troy back to the waiting messengers. Although he was sure they had little to fear, especially from slaves, the presence of any strangers on the island made him nervous, and he was anxious to see them go.

After cleaning up the remains of their meal and tidying the house, Appleby and Cassius went in search of the boy's sister, Portia. Not finding her at Mama Juno's cabin where she was staying, they went to the large vegetable patch. There they found most of the people of Seaward at work hoeing, weeding, tending to the crops. And what a gay display of new hats, clothes, and shoes they made! Everyone was in their finest simple, new work clothing, which seemed to give extra energy to their efforts. Priam stood erect and smiled warmly at Appleby, waving his dark brown hand, then returned to his work. Appleby and Cassius found Portia hoeing a row of carrots.

Cassius and Portia embraced warmly and stepped to the side of the garden, speaking earnestly in whispers, looks of wonder alternating with broad smiles. Sidelong glances escaped both as they looked now here and now there at the other people of Seaward, including their master. Did Appleby imagine that Hector, working six rows over in the corn, or Helen, in the row of carrots next to Portia's, shot glances of special interest at the brother and sister? What secrets and revelations of Seaward were being revealed? Appleby fervently hoped that none were being kept back, actually; the sooner the new arrivals understood the free atmosphere of the plantation, the better.

Returning to the vegetable patch, brother and sister came up to Appleby. The white man noticed again how pretty Portia was, a rounder faced and slightly older version of her brother, her brown hair a frizzy halo floating out from under a broad straw hat that was tied with a ribbon under her chin. Was he really feeling a stirring in his groin at the sight of her high, pert breasts under the soft, new fabric of her dress, and her ample, well-proportioned bottom that filled the fabric behind? Portia took up Appleby's white hand in her light brown one, saying, "Master Mark, I want to thank you… Cassius and I want to thank you… for bringing us here. We are so fortunate to be your servants, sir. We are so fortunate to learn a new… a very new way of life." Appleby was now sure that her warm smile and direct gaze, the lingering caress of her hand holding his, were at a level beyond the subservience that she and her brother had shown upon first arriving. Even if that was all it was, it was a good thing.

"You are very welcome, Portia," returned Appleby. Her mention of 'servants' troubled him, though. He felt it would not be wise to return immediately to his attorney's office to free two new slaves whom he had only just purchased; it would seem very odd to have purchased two new slaves the day after freeing all the rest of them, and might give hints of the true nature of life at Seaward. He would have to think about how to finesse this, for the mulatto brother and sister were still legally in bondage, unlike the other people of Seaward.

Eager to work, Appleby found a row that needed weeding and fell to it. The morning wore on as he turned over plans in his mind while plucking out stray grass and dandelions. Conversation, jokes, and the occasional song filled the air as everyone worked in the good, rich soil. As the time for a noon rest approached, Appleby asked all the people to bring their lunches to the verandah, where he proposed a meeting.

After washing up, the company assembled for a sociable meal in the rockers and on the steps of the verandah of the main house. Athena and baby Apple joined them. Appleby held the newborn gently, looking deep into her dark, secret eyes – then gave her back to her mother when she began to squirm. Hector made a point of sitting next to Portia, fetching food and drink for her. They sat close enough for their legs to touch – and they did – and Hector managed to yawn loudly, stretch out his arms, and end up with one of them lightly around Portia's shoulder. She smiled shyly but knowingly. On the other hand, there seemed some amount of cordial awkwardness between Helen and Cassius, the clumsiness no doubt due to their ages. Helen was clearly flirting with Cassius, teasing him gently about this and that, and he took it good naturedly but did not initiate any physical responses while everyone was gathered around, grinning broadly but looking downward. Appleby began to lay some plans and concerns before them.

"Our population has grown at Seaward," he said, smiling at Cassius and Portia, and especially at his infant namesake, "and may grow even more," and here he could not resist a quick glance at Portia and at the surprisingly libidinous Helen. "What we have here is something many would wish to destroy. We know that we may have to keep Seaward going on our own without help from ashore, and at any rate, the less they know of us, the better." Everyone murmured and nodded their approval. "I suggest that we begin stockpiling stores gradually, some brought in the Hesperus from Charleston, some shipped directly to us on the mail boat or other vessels that might stop in these waters to deliver goods to us."

"We will also want to think of arming ourselves," he said, and the group, although nodding agreement, began to look grave. "We have some weapons here," he said, and Troy and Priam remembered the shotguns purchased in Charleston a few days before, "but we will need to practice using them, and we will need more." The group nodded, thinking about the dangers that faced them. "Now, do we have enough buildings to store more goods in, as a precaution against hard times? Can we build strong, fireproof buildings to store weapons and gunpowder? And do we need more living quarters? as you know, there are still four unoccupied bedrooms in the main house," he said, not being clear that actually five of them were unoccupied on most any given, sex drenched night on the second floor!

A general discussion ensued. In the end it was decided that at least one more sturdy cabin should be built; everyone was astonished and grateful to their master for offering to share his house with them, but it was felt that some people would want their own dwellings. There was consensus that the large storage barn and the hay barn would be sufficient room to store goods in, especially if upper lofts were added to each. The island was blessed to have an absence of rats, mice, and other rodents, although rabbits abounded, so stored goods only needed to be off the ground. Cassius again offered his skills in carpentry, which was a skill much needed on the island. The question of fireproof buildings for gunpowder was more difficult, but Troy suggested that stones, which frequently were washed onto the beach by tides and storms, could be used for that purpose. Given the heavy weight of them, however, it was decided that 'armories' could be built just inland from the largest field of stones, on the northwest side of the island. There was more discussion of plans and logistics. Appleby quickly wrote some letters ordering the necessary lumber for construction, which Troy prepared to take with him as he intercepted the mail boat. Cassius and Priam went to inspect the storage barn for the possibility of adding lofts, and Hector and Portia agreed to do the same in the hay barn. The younger people returned to the vegetable patch, while the women busied themselves at domestic chores and at the home improvements enabled by Appleby's new purchases that had arrived the day before.

Attending to a few more matters involving records and bookkeeping took Appleby another half an hour, then he walked out to see what progress there was in the inspections. In the storage barn he found Cassius and Priam already taking measurements for additions. Cassius and Portia, it turned out, were not literate as were the rest of the people of Seaward, and Appleby and Priam agreed that this must be remedied – although Cassius could do simple mathematics, a necessity for a carpenter. Climbing down from the upper story, Appleby walked a bit down the path to the hay barn. He did not find Hector and Portia on the ground floor, so he assumed they must be in the single loft upstairs, inspecting it for the possibility of expansion. The well built ladder to the loft did not creak as he climbed it, nor did his footsteps sound on the hay-strewn floor of the loft as he passed down an aisle of hay bales looking for the two.

He found them. Actually, he heard them even before he approached where they were, in a sweet-smelling cleared space, strewn with loose hay, by a window used for moving bales in and out of the loft to the ground outside. He heard heavy breathing, gasps, soft cries. Approaching cautiously, he peered through an opening between two bales in the loosely stack hay and saw them, the fourteen year old boy and seventeen year old girl naked, on the hay-blanketed floor, locked in sexual struggle.

As with his secret observance of Helen and Cassius the day before, strong and conflicting urges rose up in him. Foremost was the sheer delight of spying, of seeing others do what they had come away to do in private, without their knowing of his surveillance. He found himself attracted to the sight of Portia's coffee and cream, flawless skin now slick with sweat, the high tight breasts that pushed up from her lightly muscled torso, the generous dark brown aureole around her erect nipples, the gentle curve of her belly. Her halo of frizzy brown hair now spread out over the hay around her head, and her eyes were fixed in a look of total concentration upon her lover. Not the least of Appleby's strong feelings were due to the sight of the dark brown Hector, lying full length on top of the mulatto girl. His magnificent bottom – high, tight, prominent buttocks clenched hard together – was pistoning up and down, in and out. The muscles in his strong, boyish thighs worked as he slammed into the girl rhythmically. His rounded butt gave a pronounced slope down into the small of his back, from which long, strong back muscles rose out of the deep valley of the spine. Sweat and bits of hay stuck to his dark chocolate skin. Shifting his position a bit, Appleby could see the black boy's midnight dark ballsack, tucked up tight between his thighs now in preparation for an explosion, bounce rhythmically.

Appleby's view of the seventeen year old slave girl was partially blocked by the stacked hay, but he could hear her heavy breathing. He had a clear view of Hector's dark brown body, pounding faster now as he neared climax. Portia was reaching that point also, gasping and calling out, "Hector, fuck me Hector, O! yes! O! Hector, O! Master! Hector, fuck me" – Appleby's concentration on Hector's body was broken. Had he heard what he had heard? Did she say 'Master?' There was not another chance to detect such a slip, for Portia began thrashing and crying out incoherently in her ecstasy. Her vagina, closely tightly around Hector, brought the dark brown boy to orgasm as well, he began gasping and shouting out "Portia! Portia!" as he slammed into her body, held his groin tight against hers, pumped again and slammed forward again. Spent, he slumped down on top of the girl, both gasping and murmuring incoherently.

Appleby took that moment to slip away unobserved. His own penis was undeniably straining against the inside of his trousers, but confusing thoughts ran through his head. Was he attracted to the girl or to the boy? Was it right to be attracted to a girl who appeared now to be Hector's woman? Was she really attracted to him, or was that a slip of the tongue? Did any of these questions make sense any longer in the free air of Seaward?

Emerging into the sunlight and walking by the storage barn, Appleby found Priam and Cassius coming down from the loft having completed their initial planning for expansion. Troy had just dropped off the day's mail and packets of newspapers, which had begun to arrive from the north. The three older men expressed their eagerness to read news of the world around them, especially Priam and Troy whose whole life had been the island. Miss Lucy had taken only one newspaper and that, of course, had ceased delivery upon her death. Cassius expressed amazement, and a little fear, at learning that the blacks of Seaward could read and write; residues of his subservient slave mentality would take a while to overcome completely. Troy promised to teach the boy and his sister, an offer readily accepted by the sixteen year old. Cassius suggested that he spend the rest of the day drawing up plans for the addition of lofts in the storage barn, which was agreed to by Appleby.

Appleby, Priam, and Troy considered how the rest of their day might best be spent, and decided to hitch up the donkey cart and begin the labor of gathering stones together on the northwest corner of the island for the building of armories. While the two blacks prepared the cart, Appleby asked Mama Cass and Mama Juno to prepare food and drink for the men so that they could work into the twilight. When this was ready, the three men went to the stony beach on the northwest side of Seaward.

The stones were indeed plentiful there, and Appleby thought they were of the same sort that made up the main house at Seaward. His house then had grown from the island itself, a gift of the sea. His conversations with Troy and Priam and his study of charts and atlases in the library of Seaward had taught him that the eastern side of the island, facing out into the Atlantic, had dangerous reefs and submerged stones up to a couple of miles out. Most of the western side was open to the sea and clear, and of course there was the good if small cove that served as the harbor. There was something about the geology of the island and surrounding ocean floor, and the currents, that threw up large rocks in abundance on the northwest corner.

The three men moved the donkey cart into position near the beach, but not too close to the sand where it might get stuck. They began the long, hard process of loading stones into the cart. It was strenuous work, and Appleby was grateful for the physical exercise he was getting on the island, for the salty fresh air and sunshine. All three men removed their shirts for the work. Appleby admired the hard, muscular physiques of Troy and Priam, sweat and sunlight glistening on their dark chocolate flesh, powerful muscles rippling beneath the skin as they worked. His own muscled body, developed by the work he had begun doing on the island, received its own share of admiring looks from the black men. Troy's gazes of appreciation were frank and frequent. Priam's glances at his master seemed a little more furtive and covert, unsure of his own inclinations and of where he stood with the white man after last night's intimacies by the bonfire.

The original plan was simply to load the cart, then move it so as to stack the rocks farther inland and return later to construct a building. But they found that one of the tiny creeks on the island, flowing from springs at higher elevations, emptied into the sea not too far from where they were working. Deposits of clay-like mud lined the banks of the creek, which they could easily use for mortar. Finding a nearly level spot, the men began piling stones and filling the spaces between with the clayey mud. They were glad they kept some simple tools in the donkey cart that suited the purpose. Using driftwood or cutting long branches from trees when necessary, the men used wood for upright supports and, eventually, for roof beams. The roof beams they covered with wide, flat stones they had reserved for the purpose, trying to create a series of overlapping roof plates that would shed rain water. Slowly a rough stone structure began to emerge, as the afternoon light faded to twilight.

Eventually, exhausted, the men stopped their work. They released the donkey to graze nearby. Washing up hurriedly in the creek, they ate their simple, late picnic dinner sitting on large stones by the shore, grateful for the last rays of the sun as well as for the evening breezes that cooled them after their labors. They spoke quietly of the recent changes on the island, and talked to Appleby about their experiences at Seaward, of some of its history. Priam in particular had the advantage of nearly forty years of residence on Seaward, and had many interesting stories of Aunt Lucy and the visitors and events that had occupied those decades.

Rested, tired but at peace, the sun had dried their perspiration but was still warm even in the growing twilight. Looking at the peaceful waves lapping at the shore, Troy was seized with an inspiration. "Let's swim," he said, nodding his head at the ocean. Before his father or his master could reply, he removed his work boots, then stood and dropped his rough work trousers and undergarment. He stood just long enough for his companions to admire his strong muscular build – and did Appleby imagine it, or did Priam frankly appraise his son's physique as well? – before he ran into the surf, laughing. Priam and Appleby looked at each other with amusement, nodded in agreement, and followed Troy's example.

Each man seemed to lose years – and in Priam's case, decades – as they laughed and splashed in the water. The remaining rays of the sun shone on the deep dark chocolate skins of the two black men, water running in visible streams down their smooth, hairless torsos. Appleby shook his head vigorously, water flying from off of his shoulder length light brown hair, showering his laughing companions. Swimming, splashing, throwing stones out to sea, playing catch with seashells, the men relished their animal good health in the gentle surf.

Pausing for breath eventually, Appleby found himself standing by Priam in water that came to mid-chest. The two men laughed at the ongoing antics of Troy, who was trying to stand on the bottom with his hands, sticking his legs straight up into the air. Appleby, laughing, put his arm gently around Priam's strong shoulder. The older black man responded in the same way easily, draping a dark arm around his master's tanned shoulder, joking and nodding toward his son.

Troy, sneezing and spitting salt water, laughing at his own hijinks, came out of the water and stood on the other side of his master from his father, also draping his arm easily around the white man's shoulder. The three stood like that, lightly intertwined, hips touching, for a few moments as they watched the sun setting in the west, toward the mainland. Arms loosely draped on shoulders, their hands slowly moved toward patting and rubbing, massaging hard-worked muscles. Gentle waves swirled around and below their nipples, but the occasional undertow pulled enough water away to reveal unmistakable evidence of a slight but growing tumescence in their three penises.

It took only one move to set matters in motion. Working his master's shoulder muscles with one hand, Troy turned toward the white man to apply both hands, while at the same time turning Appleby toward Priam so as to bring both hands to bear on his back. Priam's hand, which had been kneading the white man's other shoulder, slid up to his neck, and he found himself facing his master. Priam now moved both hands to the white man's shoulders, then down to his chest, kneading the muscular pectorals of his master, slowly easing the tension of strained muscles, thumbing the deep rose nipples. Despite his recent intimacy with Appleby, this was Priam's first chance in his entire fifty years to really examine a white body so closely, to touch it with such license, and he concentrated on his task with the delight of a little boy. Appleby surrendered himself to the gentle massages he was receiving front and back, his arms hanging loosely, enjoying the parade of expressions that marched over Priam's face as the black man continued his journey of exploration.

Troy's kneading fingers worked their way down Appleby's back, and the twenty year old black man inched closer to his master, his erect penis now slapping the white man's butt in the wash of the gentle waves. Priam's hands slid down over Appleby's muscled abdomen and sides, gently digging his fingers into the meaty flesh. His enormous penis was now fully erect and bobbed between them, meeting the white man's own straining member, dancing with it in the flow of the waves. Passive no longer, Appleby reached out to Priam, grasping his powerful back muscles, pulling them together into a tight embrace. Troy followed suit, pressing in close to his master. Troy's penis now lodged itself vertically in the white man's ass crack, while in front, Priam grasped his cock and his master's both at the same time, at first hesitantly, then with authority, pumping them together firmly. The panting of exercise was becoming the heavy breathing of sexual energy.

The gentle passion of three physically powerful men soon gave way to caring but forceful sexual aggression. Troy put both hands around his master's upper thighs and directed them toward Priam's waist while pressing tight against the white man. Understanding what was wanted, Appleby hooked his legs around Priam, locking them with his ankles across the small of the older black man's back. He put his arms around Priam's neck and hung on, knowing what his fate was. Priam's penis was so large that its top part was still aligned with Appleby's and they slid together with every movement. Priam now spread his legs to adopt a more secure stance and supported Appleby's thighs from beneath with both hands.

The white man's wrinkled pink asshole was now an easy target for Troy, who wasted no time. The salt water provided lubrication as Troy pressed the purple brown head of his penis against Appleby's anus and pushed firmly. Despite the water and the precum of Troy's penis, Appleby cried out as the black man entered him, and clutched Priam even tighter. Troy continued to push, slowly but undeniably, and was soon entirely landed within his master. He began a rhythm, slow at first, of moving his powerful tool in and out. Supported by Priam's big hands under his thighs, Appleby thrust his bottom back to receive each of Troy's thrusts.

At first, Appleby and Priam looked deep into each other's eyes, Priam seeing the pain there as the white man was first entered by his son. They kissed, tentatively and then passionately, sucking and tasting, running tongues over teeth. But as Troy's thrusts became faster and harder, Priam pulled the white man close to his chest and rested his chin on the tanned white shoulder. From there he was now looking directly into the eyes of his own son. Troy returned the gaze, pulling himself in tight, pulling all three men together. Black arms encircled the struggling white body between them, father and son clutching each other's arms and backs to make of the three one struggling piece of multi-colored flesh. Father and son were connecting at a level of intimacy they had never shared, panting only inches apart, sharing breath, looking deeply into the eyes of each other. Then Troy threw his head back and shouted with a full-throated bellow, bucking and pumping, clutching Appleby to him even harder than before, as he shot ropes and dollops of his sperm up into his master's rectum.

For a while, the three remained tightly held together in that way, Troy's breathing slowly returning to normal. Then father and son exchanged a look and wordlessly came to an agreement. Appleby's feet never touched the sandy bottom. The two black men pulled him off of Priam, turned him around and faced him toward Troy. Appleby hooked his legs around the twenty year old black this time while he held on to the dark chocolate shoulders. By now accustomed to physical intimacy, the black and the white man smiled at each other with love and passion, kissing, delighted in a renewal of their relationship.

Suddenly Appleby broke off this kiss, gasping for breath. Coming in close from behind as planned, Priam had positioned his mammoth cock at Appleby's love hole which was already loose, leaking Troy's semen into the salty water. Steadily, firmly, Priam pushed his penis in as far as he could with one stroke. Appleby cried out, for even after being fucked by Troy, Priam's huge member still hurt him as it entered. Appleby hung his head over Troy's left shoulder, gasping for breath, pain warring with pleasure. Once again, father and son stared deeply into each other's eyes, locked together through the flesh of the white man between them. Once again, hands clutched around their master and grasped arms, backs, thighs. Appleby held on to Troy for dear life as Priam went to work.

Priam's pumping picked up speed as Appleby's pain decreased. Troy pushed forward into Appleby, helping to present the white man's bottom to his father. Appleby began moaning with pleasure, in time to the rhythm of Priam's thrusts. Then the older man, reaching around Appleby, grasped his son's head in his hands. Holding it tight and looking straight into Troy's eyes from just inches away, Priam came with a high pitched groaning in his throat. Father and son saw into each other's souls in that moment of ecstasy, the physical act of love uniting them through the white flesh they both caressed. Priam simply pushed forward powerfully, met by Troy's shoving back, and there they stood locked together until all the semen had been pumped up out of Priam's massive cock into Appleby's rectum, now awash with cum and sea water.

As soon as Priam withdrew his wilting penis from the white man, Troy grasped his master's thighs with both hands and lifted him up. Seeing what was intended, Priam helped, and the two powerful black men easily hoisted their master between them. Appleby's groin came out of the water and his erect penis slid quickly into Troy's waiting lips. Priam held the white man up from behind, Appleby's leaking anus level with the black man's eyes. Priam gently bit Appleby's firm butt. On the other side, Appleby supported himself with his hands on Troy's shoulders, watching the jet black skull cap of tightly kinky hair as it moved back and forth, back and forth, glistening with pearls of sea water – watching his red and purple penis move quickly in and out of the black man's mouth, surrounded by his luscious full lips.

Already stimulated by his double fucking, Appleby soon came, pressing his groin into the black man's face while his neck and head arched up as he howled into the deepening twilight. Only as the waves of intense pleasure subsided did the white man lower himself back into the water, assisted by Troy and Priam. The three now huddled loosely, laughing softly, caressing each other, with Appleby still in the middle.

In a flash, an insight came to the white man, that he had been the go-between connecting father and son in their outpourings of passion and love, and that perhaps the time had come to make that connection more direct. Stepping lightly to one side, he put a hand on the small of the back of each black man. Father and son stood smiling at each other uncertainly. Appleby gently but firmly moved his hands inward. Resisting for a moment, and then rushing together like opposite poles of two magnets, Troy and Priam came together in a tight embrace in front of their master, clutching and hugging fiercely, sighing and moaning as if releasing a need that had been there for a long time.

Now the master of ceremonies, Appleby inserted both his hands in between the tightly locked torsos of the two black men, finding their thick snakes. Putting the two massive organs together, he encircled them with both hands, although he could not quite make his fingers meet due to the girth of the two heavy penises. Troy was already stiff and erect, and it took but a minute of contact with his son's rampant organ for Priam to recover from his recent orgasm and grow hard again himself. Now father and son held each other by the shoulders, foreheads touching, looking deep into each other's eyes, softly repeating "Troy" or "Papa" as if the names were blessings.

Appleby's hands jacked the purple black cocks up and down, up and down, increasing speed. The Africans' hips began to move in time to his rhythm, and breathing increased. Expressions of "Oh, yes, jack that thing," or "Yes, do that," became interspersed with whispers of love. Suddenly Troy cried out "Papa!" and his body curled, groin slamming forward while pulling himself into his father's chest. Flowers of semen bloomed in the foamy sea and floated away. It took a moment later because of his more recent orgasm, but soon Priam also cried out his son's name and bucked forward. Appleby felt his hands might be crushed, and there was little room to manipulate Priam's spouting organ. As Priam's clenched muscles gave way to shivers, Appleby withdrew his hands and put them on each man's back, giving a gentle hug, and then stepped back. Father and sun hugged each other tightly, and Appleby was surprised but yet not surprised to see lines of tears down each man's face.

Eventually, smiling and kissing each other gently on the face, the two men pulled apart and then turned to embrace Appleby gratefully. Light laughter filled the air. Each man cleaned himself once again in the sea that was now dark with night. Wading ashore, they dried in the evening breeze, then dressed themselves and hitched the donkey to the empty cart.

Arriving at the livestock enclosure, all three men worked together to feed and water the donkey and prepare it for the night. Minor chores of cleaning the tools and returning the picnic supplies to the kitchen were shared. Done with their labors, and the deep of the night settling upon the plantation, now quiet and restful, the men stood in front of the storage barn. As they had in the sea, arms draped around shoulders, hugs and squeezes of affection passing from one to another. Appleby kissed both men lightly on the cheek and headed for the main house. As he turned to look before going in the door he saw both men holding hands, then embrace tightly, release, and go their separate ways in the night.

Chapter ten

"There! to starboard," cried Hector, pointing ahead and to the right of the boat. Troy peered intently into the fog – then it seemed to lift momentarily, and a long pier came into view. An assortment of other craft were secured to it, from rowboats to sailboats. Troy and Hector worked to bring the Hesperus around and up to the pier, gliding in smoothly and quietly, Appleby helping as he could. Bumping gently against the wooden sides of the pier, the blacks secured the Hesperus to the wooden uprights. Appleby climbed over the boat's side and onto the pier. Troy and Hector handed two cloth suitcases out to their master, who stood uncertainly on the wooden planks of the pier. Troy and Hector joined him, unsure of what to do in the silent, heavy morning air. A few feet toward shore he saw a post from which hung a small bell with a rope dangling down. Thinking this must be some sort of signaling system, he rang it a few times, the sound clear but muffled in the swirling fog.

A couple of minutes passed, then the sound of footsteps from the shore end of the pier were heard. A dark skinned man in a uniform, or livery, emerged from the fog. He was a little over six feet [1.80 m] tall, and Appleby could tell that he was powerfully built beneath his uniform. His skin was coal black, as was his hair which was a carpet of dense tufts and knots. His hourglass-shaped face featured a prominent forehead and rolling cheek bones that narrowed through the cheeks and opened back up again in a strong jaw and chin. A wide, flared nose ran straight down to full lips that pushed out from the mouth, purple brown pillows parted by white teeth. The man was the picture of handsome masculinity and strength. His uniform covered what must be a powerful physique, a V-shaped chest above slim hips and slimmer waist. His walk was graceful, like the rolling prowl of a powerful big cat. Appleby could not take his eyes away as the black man approached – nor, he was aware, could Hector or Troy, the former muttering "Uh-huh!" under his breath.

"Good mahnin', masta, welcome to Ashley," said the slave. "I'se Rodney, suh," he said, standing by the white man's bags, eyes respectfully downcast, awaiting orders.

"Good morning, Rodney, I am Mark Appleby." He had to remind himself not to offer to shake hands. The near gaffe brought to Appleby's mind again the urgency of keeping the true, free nature of Seaward a secret from the neighbors. Turning quickly, he thanked Troy and Hector and reminded them to meet him there in forty-eight hours' time. Turning reluctantly to step back into the boat again, the two blacks kept glancing back at Rodney's handsome, imposing face and figure. "Yes, master, we will be here," said Troy, eventually tugging at Hector's sleeve to move him into place for untying the boat and shoving off. The Hesperus shifted some canvas, caught a breeze, and glided back out into the stream, disappearing into the fog.

Alone on the pier with the handsome slave, Appleby said, "Well, Rodney, I suppose you should show me the house and introduce me to your master."

"Yes, suh. Jes' this way, please." Rodney picked up the white man's luggage with ease and led the way back up the pier and across a gently rising lawn. As they walked, the fog began to lift, the sun cutting through the mists with a golden light. Appleby was trying to put his finger on what seemed so different about Ashley Plantation already, even before he had arrived at the house, and then suddenly it occurred to him: it was the uncultivated speech, the slurring pronunciation, of the slave. He had the sudden realization that this lack of skill with the English language was certainly nothing inborn in Africans, as all of the people of Seaward spoke with perfect diction – and the further realization that flawed speech might actually be encouraged in blacks by a slave owner as a means to develop a sense of inferiority. Or, as he put it to himself another way, to keep a man a slave, train him to speak like one. He began to realize how important was his Aunt Lucy's insistence on proper speech among her slaves, and how well that expectation had laid a foundation for their own strength, beauty of character, and inner freedom.

Walking behind Rodney up the gentle slope of the lawn, Appleby could admire the slave's body from the rear. His slab-sided hips displayed the typical high, African contour, the buttocks rolling up tight and firm, then making a pronounced curve into the valley at the base of the spine. His buttocks strained against the fabric of his trousers as he walked, each cheek muscle rising as the other fell. Appleby could see, even beneath the livery worn by the slave, that his back formed long hills of muscles on either side of a pronounced valley where his spine was. The black man's walk was entirely natural, and so graceful it seemed he almost danced to the beat of an inner music.

Appleby followed this beacon of black-man's-butt onto a well manicured crushed stone path that led beneath stately live oaks and eventually through another lawn in front of the plantation house. Ashley was a large home, larger than Seaward although not palatial. It was apparent immediately that one of its charms was the formal gardens laid out around it, with boxwood mazes, knot gardens, herb gardens, rose beds, and ornamental topiaries distributed invitingly across the grounds. The stream that emptied into the harbor evidently ran close to the house, for its flowing waters could be heard just beyond a line of trees to Appleby's right.

As the two men approached the white, two-story house they saw a small group of people on the verandah. A man stepped out of the group and down the verandah steps as Appleby drew near, Rodney moving to one side. He was perhaps in his fifties, with long, swept back grey hair, handsome regular features, and meticulously dressed in a linen suit and cravat, with a flower at his buttonhole. Smiling a welcome at Appleby, he extended his hand.

"Welcome to you, sir, I am Carter Ashley. Welcome to Ashley!"

"Thank you," said Appleby, taking his hand, "I am Mark Appleby, of Seaward Plantation. How kind of you to invite me for the weekend."

"Not at all, not at all. We so loved your dear Aunt Lucy, rest her soul, and heard only recently that you had moved to Seaward to take possession. By luck we had planned to give a ball tomorrow evening – nothing fancy, just a simple country dance! – and we knew we must invite you. Come, meet my family."

Carter Ashley moved with an elegant, even regal bearing and led Appleby up the verandah steps. At the top he made introductions. "May I present my wife, Honoraria," he said, "Mrs. Ashley, this is Mr. Mark Appleby, of Seaward."

"So nice to meet you, Mr. Appleby," said a thin, bony woman, nonetheless handsome for her age. Thinking quickly, Appleby cast about in his memory for the appropriate thing to do when meeting Southern matriarchs. Unsure, but taking a risk, he bowed formally and, taking Honoraria's hand in his, bent over it and kissed the air just above it. "Oh, Mr. Appleby," she cooed, smiling and frankly appraising this seemingly sophisticated young gallant.

"And these are our daughters, Victoria and Virginia," continued Ashley, steering Appleby by the elbow to two young women in hoop skirts who stood nearby. Not unattractive, with sausage curls and elaborate morning dresses, a twenty and an eighteen year old curtsied to their guest. Repeating his triumph with their mother, Appleby likewise took and faux-kissed their hands, which elicited simpers and giggles.

"And this is our son, Robert Ashley," said Carter, beaming as his daughters parted to let their brother through their sea of hoop skirts. Appleby was extending his hand anyway, and the automatic action of doing so carried him through the next moment. For he was momentarily smitten by the beautiful youth who stood before him. Of about fourteen years, Robert Ashley had bright, golden hair in a pageboy cut, a ruddy pink complexion, and bright blue eyes. After his immersion in a world of earth-toned people, Appleby saw the boy as if he were a messenger from another world. He wore simple but expensive clothes, no jacket (unlike his father) but a cravat. Beneath his clothing Appleby could make out the contours of a muscular build on a slight frame; the boy was not very tall at all, and thin-boned but healthy. The boy's bearing was also striking for one his age; his chin was up, his handshake firm, his gaze frank and appraising. "So pleased to meet you, sir," he said, in a voice that might not have been out of place in one twice his age. Having shook Appleby's hand, he stood ramrod straight, his face friendly but with a look of frank evaluation and scrutiny crossing his features. Appleby returned the gaze, reveling in the ice-blue eyes, a slightly upturned nose, and bee-stung pink lips. A light dusting of freckles crossed his cheeks and nose, adding dimension to his rose and milk complexion.

It was this youth, not the father, who suddenly turned to Rodney, who was waiting with head downcast at the bottom of the steps. "Rodney, take this gentleman's luggage to his room, and be quick about it," he said. Carter Ashley beamed indulgently at his son, proud of the attitude of command that was forming in him even at his early age. Appleby sensed an inner strength in the youth, but here it expressed itself as haughtiness, as command. Rodney obeyed with alacrity, carrying the luggage up the stairs and around the party, into the house.

"Well, sir, welcome to our humble home," said Carter, ushering Appleby into the house. It was well furnished, both tastefully and expensively, a rare combination in Appleby's experience. The ground floor was larger than Seaward's, and included a spacious ballroom where the dance the next evening, he was told, would be held.

"Do you dance, Mr. Appleby?" asked Honoraria Ashley, with a sidelong glance or two at her daughters, who fanned themselves as they bobbed and floated in the background.

"I shall try, madam!" he replied.

"I dance very well," said Robert. "If you are unsure what to do, you may simply copy me."

Now Appleby looked at the youth with real interest; what sort of fourteen year old would offer such instruction to a twenty-five year old adult?! A tour of the ground floor continued, and in every room Robert pushed into the conversation to make some remark or offer an edifying suggestion. The rest of his family simply smiled at the boy, who was clearly the crown jewel of this family. Eventually Mrs. Ashley asserted herself and offered to show Appleby to his room on the second floor. He readily accepted and they climbed a grand, curving staircase together. Honoraria identified portraits of various relatives and ancestors that lined the walls above the stairs as they went.

Reaching the second floor, Mrs. Ashley swept down the corridor and showed her guest into a bedroom near the end. It was simply but tastefully furnished, with a large four poster bed, washstand with pitcher and basin, men's toiletries, and a couple of comfortable wing chairs. The room had a small, attached dressing chamber, as did the rooms at Seaward. It also contained the slave Rodney, who was putting Appleby's clothing away in the wardrobe and a chest of drawers. He stopped what he was doing immediately as Mrs. Ashley entered the room, standing still with his head down. "Carry on Rodney," she said. "Yes'm," he replied and returned to the task.

"I do hope you will be comfortable here, Mr. Appleby," she said. "If you would like to wash up from your journey and see to the final disposition of your belongings here, then please rejoin us downstairs so you may meet some of our other guests and then have some luncheon."

Appleby agreed that he would be right down. As soon as she left, Rodney spoke to him softly. "Masta, suh, ah put yo' suits an shirts in heah," he said indicating the wardrobe, "an' yo' other things heah," half opening one of the dresser drawers. "Yes, thank you, Rodney," said Appleby. Coming up beside the slave, who stood perhaps half an inch to an inch [1-2 cm] taller than did he, Appleby opened the dresser drawers all the way and nodded with approval, also putting his hand on the slave's shoulder and squeezing it in a friendly way. At that touch, Rodney became perfectly motionless, eyes still cast downward. It was as if he was… waiting. He appeared perfectly submissive to whatever experience, good, bad, or indifferent, might be signaled by the white man's friendly caress. A clean, manly scent, flavored with the sea, came off of the large black man. Startled at himself, Appleby realized there was a swelling beginning in his groin. He quickly removed his hand from the muscular shoulder.

"Well, yes, ah, you may go now, Rodney, thank you." The slave said "Yassuh," and left the room quickly, silently. Appleby washed in the basin with soap and water, adjusted his clothing in the dresser mirror, and went into the hallway. The corridor was decorated with more portraits, landscapes, and still lifes hanging from the picture rail above, and by small busts in a Classical theme on pedestals. He found the curved staircase and walked down it.

Carter Ashley was passing by the bottom of the stairs. "Ah, all settled in, I see. Is everything satisfactory, sir?"

"Yes, quite, thank you, sir," said Appleby, trying carefully to match the formal style of his host. He had decided that he needed as much as possible to make contacts and to create just the right impression with the local landowners during his visit to Ashley.

"Let me show you the library, the billiard room, and so forth," said Ashley. There followed a good hour of touring the well-stocked library, the billiard room which not only had a large, felt covered slate table in the middle but comfortable wingback chairs here and there with low tables next to each. A trolley at one side of the room contained decanters of what appeared to be whiskies, brandies, and port wine, plus a box of cigars.

Robert Ashley met the men in the hallway as they moved into Carter's inner sanctum, his gun room. "I am quite a fine shot, sir," puffed the youth, and took Appleby by the elbow to show him an array of fine sporting pieces, shotguns and muskets in glass-fronted cases lining the walls. "Do you ride, sir?" Robert asked, raising one eyebrow. "No, I'm afraid we have no room for horses on Seaward," replied Appleby, trying to decide whether to be annoyed or amused at this strutting youth. He decided to postpone that decision so he could simply drink in the boy's gold and pink beauty some more. Carter smiled indulgently as his son showed Appleby the decorative accoutrements of fox hunting that hung from the walls, interspersed among the firearms.

The tour of the room was interrupted by the appearance of a stout, middle-aged male slave of milk chocolate complexion in the doorway. "Dinner is served, mastas," he said. "Very good, Toby, we…" began Carter, and Robert finished for him: "…we shall be right in, of course." The men walked down the hall where they found a few more guests outside the dining room door.

"Mrs. Reynolds, may I present Mr. Mark Appleby, of Seaward Plantation," said Ashley, "Mr. Appleby, Mrs. Letitia Reynolds of the Caspar Plantation." Appleby bent over the extended hand of a tall, thin, bony female dressed all in black. His gallant gesture, which had worked so well with the Ashley women, had no impact at all on the sour, stony expression of Mrs. Reynolds. "Pleased," she said. "My late husband and I knew your Aunt Lucy well," said this sphinx. Returning some pleasantries, Appleby's mind was occupied in trying to recall where he had heard about this person, or her home. The Caspar Plantation…. it nagged at his thoughts, for he felt sure he was familiar with that name. Appleby was also introduced to the Hunnicutts, a pleasant portly couple of middle age from the White Oaks Plantation, on the other side of the Charleston Harbor. He began to wonder whether there would be anyone else at all near his own age, besides the young Ashley women.

They all went in to sit down for a pleasant lunch. Appleby found himself seated between Victoria and Virginia, who seemed to be in some friendly competition to gain his attention in conversation. For the first time, the thought floated in to him like a dark cloud in a blue sky: Was he invited here for matchmaking purposes? Were these sisters on display for his choosing? He was instantly determined to be pleasant but on his guard.

Appleby also noticed immediately that he was seated across the table from Robert Ashley. The boy's eyes shifted left to center to right and back again as he watched the interchange among his sisters and their guest, back and forth as if he were at a tennis match. Aware of his interest, during a pause in the conversation Appleby stared directly, frankly at the boy and smiled knowingly. Robert held his gaze for a moment with his crystal blue eyes, then dropped them in confusion and looked down at his plate. At that moment Appleby felt what he had assumed was the table leg shift away from his foot. Was it Robert's foot instead? Appleby tentatively moved his own foot in the direction of the object and encountered it again a couple of inches from where it had been. This time it moved back toward him, gently but deliberately leaning against his foot. Appleby looked again at Robert, a slight, questioning smile on his lips. Robert looked up furtively from his plate with a neutral expression, held Appleby's gaze for but a moment, then returned to his meal. Their feet remained leaning against each other for the rest of the luncheon.

As the company rose from the meal, Mrs. Hunnicutt spoke. "Are you looking forward to the ball tomorrow evening, Mr. Appleby?"

"Yes, madam, I'm sure we all are," he replied graciously. Letitia Reynolds, hovering nearby like a thundercloud, mournfully intoned, "Not all, sir, not all. This is my first time to leave Caspar since my dear husband passed, but a few weeks ago. I shall be at my prayers all that evening." Again, the mention of Caspar Plantation nagged at Appleby; where had he heard of it, and why?

As the party went into the hallway, Appleby noticed that Robert had disappeared, run off to do normal fourteen year old boy things, he supposed. Carter Ashley made his apologies to Appleby, saying he must attend to some correspondence in his library during the afternoon. The Hunnicutts were all for napping. Ashley proposed to Appleby that he might want to tour the grounds of the plantation. "Would you like one of the servants to be your guide, sir?"

"It's not necessary, thank you," he replied. "I have fewer servants at Seaward than you do, thank you, and am quite accustomed to solitary walks outside."

"Ah, yes, your stock of servants may be depleted due to your Aunt's long illness and sad decline," said Ashley. "In fact," he said, snapping his fingers in sudden recollection, "I believe you have already begun to rectify that, have you not? I was passing by Mr. McGillicuddy's establishment just two days ago and he said you had recently purchased some property from him, have you not?" Appleby nodded agreement, willing the name of the odious McGillicuddy not to have any effect on his face. But then he had another, instant moment of real need to control himself, for he remembered all of a sudden where he had heard of Caspar Plantation. It had been the home of Cassius and Portia! He could not help himself, but wheeled around to look for Mrs. Reynolds, but she had retired to her bedroom… no doubt, to her prayers. She was evidently the woman who had sold her husband's children because they embarrassed her.

"Sir?" inquired Ashley, in surprise at Appleby's sudden movement.

"Oh, nothing, I beg your pardon, a thought about another matter occurred to me. Yes, yes sir, I did purchase two servants at that establishment."

"Well, perhaps you are interested in more, eh? We do have many servants here, perhaps too many. Indoor servants, I think McGillicuddy said you were interested in?" He paused in thought. "I could offer you Rodney, who carried your bags, at a very fair price." Appleby began to protest, but it appeared that in this part of the South, shopping for slaves was a pastime not to be denied. "No, no, absolutely no obligation, but he really is a very good servant and is somewhat superfluous to our needs. I shall send him to you this evening after dinner so you can see for yourself whether he would be suitable."

Appleby felt himself back at McGillicuddy's, and in spite of himself he felt a warmth in his groin at the thought of 'seeing for himself' whether Rodney would be a suitable slave. Needing to say something, he could think of no plausible reason to give in disagreement: "Very kind of you, sir."

"Well, enjoy your walk, then sir, make yourself quite at home," said Ashley, and bowing slightly he withdrew to the library.

Appleby set out on a walk, first selecting a walking stick from a collection near the front door. The grounds of Ashley Plantation were lovely, the gardens well kept. He amused himself for at least an hour in two mazes that were made of boxwood cut chest high, winding his way down false alleyways and true ones until he reached the small gazebo that stood at the center of each. Wandering through flowerbeds he enjoyed the fragrance that washed over them in the warmth of the afternoon. Indeed, it was beginning to be a bit too warm; Ashley did not enjoy the sea breezes of Seaward and was consequently inclined to be hotter. Walking farther down a path, he emerged through a gate beneath an arch of ivy and entered a rough path that skirted a field planted with what he thought was cotton. He could see rough slave cabins across the field and a small gang of slaves working in the fields near them. Coming to a fork in the path, he took the one that led to the river which he knew to be just beyond a tell-tale line of trees no more than a quarter-mile away.

Appleby was drawn to the idea of water, a little homesick for Seaward, and hoping that it might be cooler on the banks of the stream. As he drew nearer to the banks, it sounded as if he was not the only one with that idea, for he could hear voices and the sound of splashing that grew louder as he approached. Some heavy undergrowth grew along the banks of the stream, punctured here and there by cleared spaces that evidently led down a short bank to the water. The sound of voices was very near now, and they sounded like young people, perhaps boys or young men. Not wishing to intrude on a private party, Appleby pushed into the undergrowth as much as he could, and finding a convenient place to wriggle into the greenery, he moved the branch of a bush slightly away and looked down the short incline onto the scene below. It was breathtaking.

Four naked boys had evidently been playing in the water of a swimming hole formed as the stream widened over a hard clay bottom. Appleby's attention was immediately drawn to the one fourteen year old white boy – Robert Ashley! The boy was shepherding three black boys out of the deeper part of the stream until they stood mid-calf deep in the water. Robert was slim and thin-boned, but well muscled. His chest was two pillowed rounds of muscular pads with small copper nipples on the lower, slightly outside edges. The suggestion of abdominal muscles was forming but not well defined, although there was no fat on his torso at all. As he turned to move the black boys into position, Appleby could see that Robert's slab sided bottom was firm and followed the more typical white boy's pattern of half-moons on the underside. The white and pink complexion of his face was continued across his body; not a chalk white but not tanned, his skin looked like a dish of cream in which strawberries have been soaking – and Appleby began wanting to taste that cream. Robert's arms and legs were well proportioned, and as with his abdomen there was muscular development but not the hard, chiseled definition that could be found on Troy, for instance. His penis was five inches [12½ cm] long and nearly erect, sticking out and then downward at the tip, over a darker, purple red ballsack that was pulled up tight and beneath a small tuft of gold-brown pubic hair. Robert's pageboy hair was wet and lying in a mat closer to his head now. His bee-stung lips were parted in concentration and, Appleby imagined, a heavier pace of breathing.

Robert was arranging a work of art in flesh, a stage upon which he would soon perform. All four boys were facing Appleby, but could not see him in the bushes. The three black boys with him ranged from about ten to perhaps thirteen or fourteen, and Robert was lining them up in front of him, all still calf-deep in the slowly moving waters. On his left was the youngest boy of about ten, thin framed but muscular, of a deep chocolate color with a half inch [1 cm] long cap of kinks and knots in his hair, a pretty face with full lips and a wide but turned up nose – Appleby realized with a shock who it was. The young boy he had examined at McGillicuddy's! Evidently recently purchased and brought to Ashley. The memory of that moment added to the swelling intensity in Appleby's groin.

Robert pushed the boy on his upper back and knowing what was wanted, probably from experience, the ten year old bent over, hands on his knees, and spread his legs slightly. He presented the target of his love hole in a firm, round butt to his young master. The boy's small, thin penis was fully erect, stiff and wagging with every movement. He looked behind him in expectation, a slight smile on his face.

Next in line, in the middle, was a boy of about twelve whose striking, unusual looks quite took Appleby's breath away. Of a medium chocolate color but with an overwash of rust, his body was a muscular tube of meat, rolling chains of muscles but without the definition and bulk that would come to him later. A four inch [10 cm] long penis that was unusually thick for his age jutted out and curved at an upward angle, ready for action, above a ballsack that hung down slightly. A tiny patch of pubic hair in tight kinks sat above his genitals. What was most striking, though, was his face: strangely beautiful, he looked like a leopard. The face was long, shaped like a vertical almond, and thin but with a rosebud mouth of purple brown lips that seemed set in a perpetual pucker, presenting themselves as if to be kissed. And his eyes! Also almond shaped, but horizontal almonds, with black pupils and thick, wide eyebrows. Jet black but straight hair grew in a short cap on his head. Appleby felt he must surely have Arabic, or perhaps Indian, the blood of different continents mixed in him somehow. He also bent over at his master's push, grasped his knees, and looked behind him to await his young master's pleasure.

The last boy was coal black, so black he was purple, perhaps thirteen, and a little portly. His chest bulged out slightly in boy-breasts, almost but not quite girlish in their contour. His abdomen was firm but rounded, with little muscular definition. He had very little hair on his close shaved head. Beneath the suggestion of a roll of flesh grew a large penis, perhaps six inches [15 cm] long, surprising hefty in one his age, and surrounded by a halo of black, frizzy pubic hair. He, too, bent over to grasp his knees and await his master's commands.

Robert surveyed his handiwork for a moment, then fell to the task. Reaching down to the clay bottom of the stream, he brought up some slimy, smooth clay and moved from one boy to the next, rubbing it on and into their waiting anuses, eliciting grunts and gasps from the boys as the shoved his slick fingers into their bodies. Satisfied with his work, Robert then slicked up his own pink penis with the brown clay, mixing it with the clear precum that dripped from it. The time had come. Appleby pushed forward even farther into the bush, daring to part the branches wider to improve his view.

Stepping up to the ten year old boy, Robert Ashley pushed his penis in all the way with one motion, causing the boy to cry out and bite his lip. Ashley pumped quickly, burying his penis fully inside the ten year old with every stroke. Then he withdrew with a plop, causing the boy to gasp, and moved to the leopard boy in the middle. Again, Robert rammed his rigid cock into the boy at once, again provoking a cry of pain. He remained in this boy somewhat longer, pumping vigorously, hands around the boy's hips to hold their bodies together. Again he withdrew, and moved to the chunky boy on the right. Robert's penis was now iron hard with stimulation, and was jammed in one movement into the boy's fat bottom, with the expected result of a cry of protest. Even faster now he pumped in and out of the boy's butt, but this time slapped the boy's bottom and hips with his hand, slapped them hard with an open palm.

Back and forth he went from one boy to the next. By luck or by design, when he came it was in the ass of the leopard-faced boy. Robert began to cry "Unh, unh, unh, O!" and began quivering. He gave three violent pumps and threw his head back, gasping and moaning as he pushed his groin forward and kept it there, emptying his seed into the exotic boy in front of him.

Robert kept his head back until his passion subsided, then opened his eyes… to look directly into Appleby's eyes. The white boy's tilted head gave him an angle of view up the slight incline of the bank and directly into the bush from which Appleby had observed the whole scene. Robert froze, panting heavily, mouth agape, his blue eyes boring right into Appleby's. Appleby flashed him a brilliant smile, mimed a clapping of hands, waved his hand in a flourishing salute, and withdrew from the bush and back onto the path. None of the black boys, their heads down, had seen him at all, and Robert had remained frozen in… what had Appleby seen in his eyes, beyond sexual ecstasy? Was it terror? Embarrassment? Or just desire?

Appleby walked back up the path toward the house, checking his trousers to make sure that his own erection was subsiding and had not leaked through the cloth, chuckling to himself about the episode. He was glad he had discovered the pompous little prat, Robert, in a human moment. But what the outcome would be of his knowledge, and of Robert's awareness that he had been spied upon, he could not tell.

By the time he entered the house, it was nearing time to change for dinner. Appleby washed up at the basin and put on his best suit. Returning downstairs, he found the others in the library. The men were enjoying bourbon and branch water, while the women sipped tiny glasses of sherry, except for Mrs. Reynolds who sat somewhat apart, sour faced and stony-still. Conversation was cordial, and Appleby was asked many questions about his background and inheritance from Lucy. He assured them that he had never been happier than when he came South, and foreswore any further contacts with the North, a stance that brought smiles and murmurs of approval all around. Mrs. Hunnicutt had asked a question thinly veiled to ascertain his marital status when into the library came Robert Ashley, looking freshly scrubbed and in a good suit. Everyone's attention was diverted to the beautiful, blonde boy, and Mrs. Hunnicutt temporarily lost interest in the question she was asking. Appleby smiled good naturedly at Robert, and greeted him in the chorus of others. The boy darted furtive looks at Appleby but avoided standing near him.

The group was called into dinner and everyone was seated in the same places as at lunch. "Did you enjoy your walk around Ashley?" asked Carter Ashley of Appleby.

"Oh yes, very interesting, he replied." Seated directly across from him, Robert, his head down, shot a quick, appraising glance at him, then looked away.

"They have lovely gardens, here, I think," said Mr. Hunnicutt. "Did you see any interesting sights?"

"Oh indeed, some marvelous sights, quite interesting indeed," replied Appleby, smiling broadly all around at the company… and when his smiled came to rest on Robert directly across the way, the boy was looking at him more directly now, quizzically, weighing the man's every word. Appleby nodded imperceptibly at him, and the boy dropped his head again. But under the table, Appleby felt once more the intentional placement of a shoe alongside his own.

Victoria and Virginia regaled Appleby once again in conversation, a sort of light-hearted flirting that could not but be noticed by the company. Their mother, Honoraria, beamed her approval at their efforts. It was then that Mrs. Hunnicutt recalled her fateful question, which she now asked.

"Mr. Appleby, I take it there is no Mrs. Appleby? No one who claims your heart up North… or here in Charleston?" Simpers and giggles erupted on either side of Appleby, giving him time to think. He looked down in momentary confusion, and the sight of his own clothing gave him a sudden inspiration. He was then glad that he came from plain, severe New England stock – for his suit of clothes was black and simple. Indeed, since he had decided he needed to dress more formally for the occasion, all his clothing was black… just like that of the Widow Reynolds. A flash of inspiration bolted through his brain.

Appleby raised his head as the company waited for his answer. "Alas," he said, "there is no Mrs. Appleby…. any longer." A soft gasp escaped all the females at the table. "She was taken away from me after but two years of marriage," he said, lying through his teeth, "and is now with the Lord. I cherish her memory," he said, and looked into the middle distance above Robert's head. "I may some day love another, but it is soon… too soon," he added, lugubriously. Now sighs and soft whispers of agreement escaped the women at the table. Victoria and Virginia looked a trifle disappointed, but the presence of a gallant young widower in their midst, no doubt experienced in the ways of women, who might – some day! – become available again added a delicious note of intrigue and romance to the character of their guest. Robert, meanwhile, looked curiously at Appleby, as if he could see through the ruse and wondered what it meant.

After dinner the women moved to the drawing room while the men enjoyed port around the table for a while, talking politics and business. Appleby avoided all controversial subjects, quietly learning as much information as he could about the society in which he found himself. Robert Carter was allowed half a glass of port, but soon asked permission to be excused and slipped out of the room. The men then joined the ladies in the drawing room and were entertained by songs sung by Victoria, accompanied by Virginia on a small piano that was not in the best of tune. More pleasant conversation followed, and then the party dispersed for bed.

Appleby's room was at the end of one hall, and it appeared as if he had no neighbors next to him, at least for that evening. He was two doors away from his room when the door to one of the unoccupied rooms that had been ajar opened fully. It was Robert, who gestured fiercely for Appleby to come into the room. He did so, and Robert closed it behind him. The boy's beautiful face was a battleground for several conflicting emotions, each of which Appleby read plainly: embarrassment, anger, fear… and what else? Was there any sort of desire in that mix?

"Listen," whispered Robert fiercely, "what you saw today. You don't understand, it… it wasn't what it seemed. And you'd better not tell anyone. Did you tell my father? Because if you do tell, you'll be very sorry, sir, believe me I can make you…"

Appleby stopped him by raising a single index finger and holding it to Robert's lips. "Listen: first, don't threaten me… boy," he said, and now fear definitely took center stage on the boy's beautiful features. "Second, I don't care and I don't mind what you did today." Now, a look of wonder and then appraisal crossed the boy's features. "And third…" and here Appleby moved the index finger from the boy's lips to under his chin, tilted the face toward his own, and kissed the boy passionately.

Utterly taken aback, completely caught up in the moment, Robert breathed in loudly through his nose. The older man's tongue was invading his mouth, sliding along his teeth. Robert's bee-stung lips were being sucked into Appleby's mouth. The boy awkwardly put his arms loosely around the man's waist. Tentatively, he inched closer.

The moment was broken suddenly. "Robert!?" came a female voice on the stairs. Appleby broke off the kiss and looked down at the panting boy, smiling. "Your mother wants you," he said, with a hint of irony in his voice. Breathing hard, completely at a loss as to how to respond, in a totally new element, the boy shook his golden head as if to clear it, looked hard at Appleby, then bolted silently from the room. "Coming mother," he was heard to say at the top of the stairs – then the sound of footsteps, and then quiet returned to the hallway. Appleby stepped into the empty corridor, then walked the few feet to his bedroom, which he entered, closing the door behind him.

Tired from the day, Appleby was grateful for the quiet solitude of his room. An open window let in the sounds of the country night air, crickets singing and the Chuck Will's Widow calling out. He took off his jacket and hung it over a chair back, then his cravat, and his trousers. Appleby had just removed his shirt and added it to the pile when he heard a knock on the door. Was it Robert come back for more? He opened the door a crack and peered around it, keeping his body, which was now clothed only in his undergarments, out of sight. But it wasn't Robert. The powerfully built slave Rodney stood there, smiling shyly, his white teeth shining in the darkened hallway.

"Evenin', masta, Masta Carter sent me," he said, leaving unspoken the purpose of the visit.

"Oh, Rodney, thank you but I had forgotten… I'm undressing," replied Appleby, opening the door just a bit farther, a bare shoulder visible.

Looking beyond the white man into the room, Rodney said, "Lemme help, masta, I sees yo' clo'es on de chair," and he put gentle pressure on the door with his hand. Appleby gave way, and the slave prowled past him into the room where he began busily hanging up the clothing that had been discarded on the chair. Appleby, naked except for the undergarments covering his loins, closed the door and then simply stood and watched. Even at a mundane task like this, the slave's body moved with grace and power. Desire began to build in Appleby, coupled with the knowledge that he had full power to act on that desire. But some measure of decency remained in his not wanting simply to coerce the man into anything demeaning.

Finishing his task, Rodney stood before the white man, head slightly bowed; but his dark eyes were flicking glances at the nearly naked Appleby. "Ise done, suh. Masta Carter, he say you lookin' fo' a house slave… mebbe me?"

Appleby took a step toward Rodney; he could almost feel a physical aura of muscular power and sexual vitality emanate from the slave. "Rodney… Rodney, you don't have to do this, you know. I don't really need a slave. It will be alright."

Much to his surprise, Rodney's face came up, covered with a look of disappointment. "Don' you wanna see how strong I is, masta? I has strong muscles, suh," he said, and he stepped close enough to Appleby to raise the white man's hand and place it on his own biceps. "I works real hard, masta, Ise worth the price," he said, just a touch of pleading in his voice. It dawned on Appleby then that the man actually wanted to have his body admired…that he was in some way proud of himself as a commodity to be bought and sold – and examined.

"Very well, Rodney," was all Appleby could say, but it was enough. Now grinning broadly, the black man pulled off his shoes and began unbuttoning the shirt of his uniform. Off it came and onto the chair. Rodney straightened up tall before proceeding as if to advertise this first set of products. He stood a little taller than Appleby. It was true, he was well muscled. His chest was in the shape of a shield, thick pads of muscle with prune sized and prune colored nipples. His hairless abdomen showed definite development, hills and valleys in perfect symmetry marching down to a light colored navel that pushed out from the skin a quarter of an inch [5 mm]. Rodney twisted a little, to stretch and to show the white man the snaking of his muscles beneath his coal black skin, which gleamed in the light of the candles in the room. He now looked frankly at Appleby for a sign. Appleby was lost in looking at the slave's skin, his muscles, but he gave a brief nod.

Down came the black slave's uniform trousers and off to one side, then a brief pause, and he dropped his loincloth. His abdomen slid above each hip in well defined ridges down toward his pubic area. A surprisingly large bush of frizzy pubic hair bloomed around a purple black penis, about the same size as Troy's, above a ballsack that dangled three inches [7½ cm] below, showing the outline of two heavy testicles. The slave's well muscled legs were like oak trunks growing from the floor. There was a long pause. Appleby suddenly came to himself, realizing that he was literally slack jawed, breathing through his mouth in concentration on the sight before him. He looked at Rodney, who flashed a brilliant white smile with his full, heavy lips, and nodded an invitation at the white master. It was time to begin.

Stepping behind the slave, Appleby began massaging his neck and shoulders. Thick, fleshy muscles sloped from the corded neck to the outside of his shoulders. Appleby's white fingers kneaded the muscles of the neck, working up into the hair which stood in a boiling sea of knots, whorls, and tufts about half an inch [12 mm] long. Contrasting this to the tight skullcaps of crinkly hair on the heads of Priam and his sons, Appleby was reminded that African hair had as much variety as European hair, in its own way.

Back down the neck came the white man's hands, digging deep into the masses of shoulder muscle, thumbs pushing in between the well defined deposits of hard flesh. One hand on each side, Appleby massaged his way down the two long hills of back muscle, thumbs digging into where they joined in the deep valley of the spine. By now Rodney, although standing stock still, could be heard to breathe a little more rapidly, and he grunted with pleasure as the white man dug into his muscles.

Reaching the black man's butt, Appleby really dug in, working the slab sided thick muscles that rolled up high and tight, sloping down into the bottom of the spine. Each hand grabbing a hard butt cheek, Appleby squeezed and kneaded, his thumbs sliding in the ass crack, finally meeting at the anus. Appleby pried the heavy butt muscles apart revealing a wrinkled purple black love hole, which he scratched and lightly probed with his thumbs. "Masta!" sighed Rodney, now almost squirming with a pleasure he had not expected to feel. This certainly went beyond any physical examination he had ever experienced.

Appleby removed his own remaining undergarment with one motion, then stepped naked around to the front of the black slave. "Masta! Wha'…?" cried Rodney, his eyes growing wide at the sight of the naked white man who stood before him. Appleby did not answer, but put both hands on the sides of the slave's face and began running his fingers lightly over the contours of his face. The man's thick purple brown lips were parted to reveal perfect white teeth, and he was panting. Impulsively, Appleby pulled the head sightly forward and kissed him full on the mouth, eliciting a soft groan from the slave. Appleby's tongue darted into the man's mouth, where it was met with a tentative push from the other's tongue. Pulling away, white and black man looked directly at each other, panting, all pretense of a commercial inspection now gone.

Appleby began kneading the pillows of muscle on the man's upper arms, following the chain of hills and valleys down to the iron hard forearms and eventually into the hands, which Appleby held in each of his. Both penises, purple black and dusky red, were rampant, Rodney's curving somewhat to his left, occasionally slapping each other as they met in a dance between the two men. As it was clear that the slave would remain passive, Appleby, still holding each black hand, raised them to his waist, which the black man now embraced. This freed Appleby's hands to massage the heavy pillows on the shield shaped chest, tweaking and pulling the nipples, working the abdominal muscles in a leisurely journey down to the black man's groin.

Reaching that destination, Appleby toyed with the full bush of wiry pubic hair, slid his hand around the massive organ to cup the ballsack, which was now tucked up tight, and then seized the black man's heavy penis. Not daring to go further himself, Rodney simply held on to the white man's waist firmly. But his eyes traveled up and down over the white man's muscular body, drinking in every detail.

Using both hands, Appleby pumped the heavy organ up and down, up and down, holding it straight up between them. Rodney remained standing still and upright, but his breathing was becoming labored. Then the black slave began rocking, pulling his hips back and camming them upward, back and up, back and up, and then in a strangled cry he pushed up and forward. Great spouts of white semen came out, some spraying up onto his coal black, shiny chest, some onto Appleby, some running down the shaft and the two white hands that held it. Removing one hand, Appleby cupped it under this flow, collecting the harvest of the black man's seed. Again and again the organ erupted as the pumping of Appleby's hand slowed and his other hand filled with slimy juice.

The black man's orgasm was over; he panted heavily and looked directly at the white master in wonder and joy. Of course, Appleby was not through with him. "Turn around, bend over, put your hands on the bed," he ordered, and the slave complied. "Spread your legs." The wrinkled purple black love hole was revealed. Appleby annointed it with some of the semen he held in his hand, shoving some of it into the anus, causing the black man to grunt. Then Appleby slathered the remainder of the cum all over his own rampant organ and, wasting no time, stepped up behind the black man, positioned his purple red cockhead at the anus, and shoved it inside in one push. Rodney gasped and let out a muffled cry, even though the white man's dick was lubricated with the black man's own love oil.

The passage was quite tight, both because Appleby had spent little time enlarging it with his finger and because of the powerful ass muscles on either side. Appleby began moving in and out, faster with every passing moment. His slimy hands clutched the black man's hips. From his standing position, the white master could develop real power in his ability to thrust, and slammed his penis fully into the slave's love tunnel with each cycle. Soon, Appleby felt his ecstasy build in his lower belly, then erupt out of his rampant organ and into the black man's rectum. Barely remembering to muffle his cries so as not to attract attention, the white man hissed, groaned, and cried out in whispered rapture, pumping and pushing until all his seed had filled the black man's anus.

They stood like that, both panting, until Appleby's softening penis slid out of the slave's anus with a plop. Tugging Rodney to an upright position, Appleby turned him around and embraced him tightly, which was returned at first hesitantly and then with real feeling by the black man. They held that position for a moment, then Appleby stepped back. Putting one hand on the side of the black man's sweaty face, he asked, "Rodney… do you really want to be sold away from Ashley Plantation?"

The man's face betrayed a war between telling a white man whatever he wanted to hear and telling the truth. Eventually the latter won out, and he broke into a wide grin. "No, masta, suh, not really. I mean, if you really wanna buy me, tha's alright, but… no suh. I lak it heah. I got me a gal heah," he said, grinning more broadly.

"That's alright, it's alright, Rodney. I wouldn't want you to be unhappy." Bending forward again, Appleby kissed the black man on the lips lightly. "Thank you for all this, Rodney," he said. "Thank you masta," came the surprised reply; clearly, Rodney had rarely encountered this level of feeling and intimacy with a white man before.

Both men washed up at the basin. Rodney dressed himself, although Appleby remained naked, for bed. "Until tomorrow," he said, at the door, kissing the slave lightly on the mouth once before opening it.

"Yes, masta, until tomorrow," he replied, and then he was gone.

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