Lance Kyle

Seaward Plantation

Chapters 11-13

Chapter eleven

Pushing up on one elbow and drawing the sheets up to cover his nakedness, Appleby peered around the corner of his four poster bed. The door to the hallway was slightly ajar, not quite pushed closed. The door to his dressing chamber, however, stood open, which he did not remember from the previous night. Deciding to risk being seen without his clothes, he rose from the bed and walked into that chamber. There was nobody there, but he did see a rather large sort of tin bucket, a 'hip tub,' not nearly as large as the claw footed tub back at Seaward, but definitely large enough to squat in and get clean. It was about two thirds full of steamy water. On a nearby oaken stand were towels and a bar of soap.

Deciding that these preparations must be for him, and that the sound of footsteps and rushing water must have had something to do with it, he stepped gingerly into the tub. The temperature was just right, and he sank down into it. The water level might have been a little higher, but it would do. He reached for the soap and had just begun lathering it up when he heard his bedroom door open, then shut, and the pitter-pat of footsteps into the dressing room.

To his surprise, he recognized his visitor. It was one of the three boys that Robert Ashley had fucked on the stream bank yesterday, the coal black, portly boy of about thirteen or so. Today he wore a simple uniform in the Ashley livery, of course, but there was no mistaking who it was. The boy was concentrating on carrying a bucket with hot water in it, and was caught up short in surprise to find that the tub into which he meant to pour the load was already filled with a large, muscular naked white man.

"Oh! Masta, Ise sorry… did I wake you? Ise heah fo' yo' bath," he said, a brilliant white smile creasing his jet black face. "Lemme jes' po' dis in," he said, carefully emptying the bucket between Appleby's tucked up legs, but against the side of the hip bath. This last addition brought the water to just the right level. Appleby studied the boy as he concentrated on his task. His close-cut head showed tiny little snakes of black hair hugging the dark scalp. His face was rounded, with full, pouty purple brown lips. The boy's nose was broad and flared at the end. Not unhandsome, the boy's slight chubbiness leant a girlish quality to his dark features.

The boy set the empty bucket on the floor. At the same time he said, "Ise heah to hep you bathe, mastah," and gently removed the soap from Appleby's hand. Was this a regular service offered to guests at Ashley, or was this some special dispensation made for him… and if so, who had ordered it? Surely not every guest would want such intimate attention. Without waiting for acknowledgement or permission, the boy began scrubbing the white man's back, running the lathered bar of soap over it with one hand and rubbing the soap into the skin with the light brown palm of his dark hand. Appleby hung his head over the water and splashed it up onto his shoulder length light brown hair. Taking the hint, the boy began washing that as well, working the lather into the hair with both hands, running his fingers through the fine hair, then splashing water on it to rinse it.

The boy moved around to the man's front and began soaping and then rubbing his neck, his shoulders, and then his chest. The boy's full lips were parted like a flower bud that had opened into curling petals and Appleby could hear the soft sussing sound of his breath – but was it from concentration or some sort of desire? The boy gently dug soapy fingers into Appleby's underarms, ran the bar and his free hand around the man's chest, and scrubbed down as far as his navel, which was just below the water. He shared the soap with Appleby so that the white man could wash his face. All the while, the boy's gaze was directed at the man's body, avoiding direct eye contact. But now he stopped and straightened up, standing right by the tub…. he seemed to be waiting the white man's further instructions.

"What is your name?" asked Appleby gently.

"Ise Hammond, suh," the boy said, grinning. Then smiling more broadly, "They calls me Ham, suh," he continued, pattying his rounded abdomen. Both man and boy smiled, sharing the joke.

"Well, Ham, I am Mark Appleby," he said. "Yassuh," the boy replied, and again, waited.

Curious as to what might happen, and feeling some measure of desire, Appleby simply stood up and presented his dripping wet back to the boy. This seemed to be what the youth was waiting for, because again he lathered up the soap and began washing. Over Appleby's back he moved the soap and worked the lather against the skin with his fingers. Then the lower back… and then the hips. Was it Appleby's imagination, or was the boy pressing extra hard, kneading the white man's firm butt muscles more enthusiastically. No, now there could be no mistake about it. Then the boy placed just the edge of the soap into the top of the valley between Appleby's buttocks; he craned around and looked the white man in the eyes. "Mastah?" Appleby simply nodded.

The boy ran the bar of soap in Appleby's ass crack, then with his free hand began rubbing and scrubbing. Coming to the white man's anus, the boy worked some soap just into the opening, a finger making light, shallow circles, by way of cleaning it. Appleby's penis began to swell involuntarily. The boy scrubbed and then rinsed down the white man's muscular legs, barely touching the back of his ballsack as he cleaned between the upper thighs. Working his way down to the water level, again the boy stopped and waited.

Appleby turned around, now fully erect. The boy smiled hugely, lathered up both hands, and laid the soap on the nearby table. He made circles of lather on Appleby's lower belly, his fingers gradually working down into the wet bush of pubic hair, then just his thumbs massaging soap into the flesh right above the white man's penis. The slave boy looked up quizzically at Appleby, who once more simply nodded. With both hands well lathered, the boy gently cupped and rubbed the white man's scrotum, weighing the heavy balls. Then he grasped the rigid pink and red penis in front of him. Ham pulled back the remaining foreskin down Appleby's reddening dick to reveal the pink cockhead. The boy lathered all around it, causing Appleby to sigh with pleasure. Then, the boy paused, simply looking at the rampant erection before him for a moment. Pressing ahead, he grasped the white man's penis tightly in his two coal black hands and began very slowly pumping it.

Appleby felt a wave of pleasure pour over him. The boy was pumping very slowly, very deliberately. It was clear that the front of his livery trousers were tenting out as well. How did the boy know that the white man would find this at all appealing? Had he been sent here by Rodney or by Robert Ashley? The thought went as quickly as it came, engrossed as he was in the pleasure the boy was giving him.

The white man reached out and tugged on the boy's shirt. "Take this off," he said. Wordlessly, the youth complied, baring the almost girlish breasts and rounded belly that Appleby had seen the day before. Again Appleby reached out, this time just to tug at the waist of the boy's pants wordlessly. Flashing another big grin, the boy wriggled out of his pants and then his loincloth. The sight of his nakedness confirmed what Appleby had seen yesterday, that the boy had an unusually large penis for a thirteen year old, with a dense bush of frizzy pubic hair around it. Unleashed, the penis now rose majestically to arch out in front of him.

Appleby stepped out of the tub, took the boy by the hand, and led him into the bedroom. The white man sat on the edge of the fourposter bed, his legs apart, and pulled Ham straight toward him, still standing. Their penises batted against each other and then the boy's slid straight up between them. Appleby wrapped his arms around the boy, who did the same to the white man, and they embraced quietly, their breathing increasing. Running his hands over the boy's back and fleshy bottom, Appleby experienced a different kind of physique from the toned, muscled youths to which he had become accustomed, but it was not unpleasant. While Ham was not fat, he had enough chubbiness to give Appleby something to hold onto. He nibbled the boy's ear and neck, biting gently on the shoulder, brushing the tiny, wiry snakes of his hair with his lips and nose. The white man looked directly into the black boy's eyes, then kissed him on his full lips, then on his rounded cheeks, then back again to his mouth, playing with the full pillows of his lips top and bottom.

Desire was mounting in Appleby. Looking to his bedside table, he saw among some of the men's toiletries for guests a pot of hair oil. Opening it, he began rubbing it in between the boy's rounded butt checks, pushing it into his puckered brown anus. With one hand Appleby pulled the boy up onto his lap, the boy's knees on either side of the white man's legs, which he now closed together. Clutching the boy close to him, belly to belly, he could feel Ham's increased breathing making his fleshy torso expand and contract. With his other hand, Appleby pushed a well lubricated finger into the boy's anus, causing Ham to gasp and close his eyes in pain, but it was a treatment he was well used to, and soon he opened his eyes to stare at Appleby with desire and acceptance. The boy's large penis rode between them, straight up, his coal black ballsack spread out at the base of the white man's penis. Appleby's own rampant cock was now underneath the boy, sticking straight out underneath his ass.

Appleby slicked up his own hard cock with the hair oil, then positioned it at the boy's love hole. With his other hand cupped around the boy's butt, he raised Ham up a little, then lowered him onto his pole. It met some initial resistance and the boy moaned, then it slid all the way into the well-used hole.

The boy's hole was tight and warm. Assisted by Appleby's hands which were cupped around his butt, Ham began bouncing up and down on the white man's rigid penis. The boy's own large cock, slick with precum, slid up and down on the white man's torso and chest, while his ballsack, now drawn tight into his groin, rode the white man's lower belly. Faster and faster he bounced, the red dick sliding in and out of his loosened brown rectum. The white man sucked the boy's rounded breasts and pointed nipples into his mouth, tonguing and biting the tender flesh. Ham steadied himself with both hands on the white man's shoulders, looking into the master's face with intense concentration, curled out lips wide open.

When Appleby came he clutched the boy's body to him tightly and took the boy's neck into his mouth, biting hard. Ham wrapped his arms around the white man's back and pulled himself tight into his chest. Since Appleby was not in a position to push up into the slave, they simply locked together as the white man's semen flowed in a steady stream up into the slave boy. Appleby breathed heavily, sucking and biting the black skin of Ham's shoulder.

As his orgasm subsided, Appleby lay back flat on the bed and pulled the boy up and off of his penis, then kept pulling him so that the large, purple black penis slid right into the white man's mouth. Ham gasped and cried "Oh, mastah, oh… you gonna do dat? Oh!" It was clear that no white person had ever offered him this service before. A vigorous suction by the white man's mouth was the only answer. Consumed with lust, the boy began pumping furiously, face fucking the white man vigorously. Appleby fought down a gag reflex and tilted his head to better accommodate the well endowed slave boy. After the stimulation given to his prostate gland by being fucked, it did not take long: Soon the boy gave out a high pitched squeal and slammed forward, bucking and jerking as his own semen shot into the white master's mouth. The boy remained poised on his hands, quivering, then collapsed off to one side, panting.

Man and boy recovered side by side on the bed. Appleby turned to him, propped up on one elbow, lightly stroking and tickling his barrel abdomen and chest, which brought a sigh and a series of giggles to Ham. But duty called both of them in different ways. Rising, they both cleaned themselves in the bath water and dressed. Appleby gave the slave boy a light kiss on the mouth and a smile, then left him to clean up the room and to empty the bath while he went downstairs.

The Hunnicutts were still at table eating their breakfasts. Appleby helped himself from the sideboard, engaging in light chatter with his fellow guests. Conversation floated in from the hallway telling them that others had already eaten. As they finished their coffee, Carter Ashley came in to wish them a good morning.

"Anyone for some shooting this morning? Not quite the season yet for quail, but we have some doves and several nice rabbit warrens."

The Hunnicutts demurred, but Appleby eagerly accepted. He had not been a bad shot back in Massachusetts, and had been meaning to try his skills with the rabbits of Seaward. Also, he meant to teach his former slaves how to defend themselves and the island should that become necessary, so the practice would do him good. Ashley found some suitable clothing for tramping in the field that would fit Appleby, who quickly changed.

The Ashley children joined their father and Appleby on the lawn. Several slaves whom Appleby had not seen before were there as bearers and to flush the game. They were accompanied by a collection of dogs – terriers, beagles and pointers. Appleby bowed graciously to Victoria and Virginia, praising their colorful if impractical hunting attire. Robert seemed uncharacteristically subdued.

"How do you do, sir," said Appleby, mock-formally, shaking the youth's hand and bowing. "Very well, thank you," he replied, somewhat uncertainly. But as the party began to move toward the fields, Appleby made a point of hanging back at the start to walk with Robert a short distance, and to squeeze his neck and shoulder once, briefly. The boy shot a careful, neutral look at the older man, who returned a smile. Robert grinned shyly in return, speechless for once, and then walked ahead to offer his father loud advice on the best places to look for game.

Appleby had forgotten how much he enjoyed shooting. A little rusty at first, he soon picked up the proper rhythm of leading the game with the shotguns, which were kept loaded for the party by the accompanying slaves. Dogs flushed rabbits or retrieved doves, according to their nature.

A small horsecart loaded with picnic supplies pulled up under a nearby ash grove, and the party washed the black powder smut from their hands and face before sitting on spread cloths for lunch. Mrs. Ashley and the Hunnicutts walked out from the house to share in the feast, while Mrs. Reynolds preferred to remain inside, pleading a sick headache. The young ladies asked Appleby to tell them stories of his upbringing in Boston, which he did, but as a strategic exercise. He took care to compare Massachusetts unfavorably to South Carolina, to disparage the factory system, to praise the Charleston weather over Boston's, and on and on. The party nodded sagely as he continued, and he felt he was certainly building his ethos as a Southern gentleman and plantation owner, which was exactly the persona he intended to build. Robert sat near him, again uncharacteristically quiet, but helped the older man to various dishes from time to time.

As the party walked back to the house, Carter Ashley took Appleby by the elbow to move slightly apart from the rest of the party. "Sir, may I have a word with you?" he asked.

"Certainly, sir."

"I sense, sir, that your recent change in life, your acquisition of Seaward, and perhaps your own innate tendencies as a gentleman," and here he bowed slightly, a gesture returned by Appleby, "have disposed you not only to the Southern way of life but to the Southern point of view."

"Oh, they have, sir, beyond any question. Property and blood, sir, property and blood will do that," Appleby replied, uttering a bald-faced lie.

"Excellent! May I ask, sir, if you would consider joining the South Carolina Militia, perhaps at an officer's rank, some day? It is but wise preparation, sir, to have a force of armed citizenry in case of local uprisings, difficulties with, uh…. with servants, sir, or cases of unwarranted intervention from… from other States, sir." Ashley looked at Appleby with a knowing, conspiratorial look. Appleby actually winked at him, nodded vigorously, and said, "Nothing would honor me more, sir. I am not sure what I can do from my home, being somewhat isolated, and of course I am not often in Charleston, but what I can for South Carolina, sir," and here he drew himself up tall and extended his hand, "I shall do!" Ashley stopped and grasped Appleby's hand in both of his, pumping them vigorously.

"Capital, capital! Yes, I quite understand, involvement is difficult, but perhaps you would consider some sort of minor commission and perhaps attend occasional meetings in town?" Appleby readily agreed, inwardly overjoyed. He had hoped for something like this, and his plans appeared to be proceeding apace. "I shall speak to the commanding officers locally, sir, and recommend you," said Ashley. Taking Appleby by the elbow, they stepped briskly after the others.

The company dispersed upon entering the house, some to read, some to nap. Robert smiled shyly at Appleby, then scooted off to pursue his own plans. Appleby found Mrs. Reynolds in the library as he passed by. He stopped and entered the room.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Reynolds, I hope you are feeling better?"

"Somewhat, Mr. Appleby, somewhat. Thank you for asking. Did you enjoy the shooting party?"

"Yes, madam, I did." There was a pause. Appleby wanted to know more about this woman who had so recently owned Cassius and Portia, and who had, he felt, done wrong by them. "I am sorry that I never knew your late husband, madam, and I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, very kind of you to say so, Mr. Appleby."

"I'm sure your late husband was a fine, Christian man."

Mrs. Reynolds paused, pursing her mouth and looking to the side, then back directly at Appleby. "Mr. Reynolds had many Christian virtues," she said. "Of course, if you will forgive me, sir," and she bowed slightly to Appleby, who bowed back, "men are prone to many vices. We women suffer from them, sir, we do."

"Then let me apologize on behalf of my sex for your suffering, madam," replied Appleby, bowing again with a flourish of his hand. A rare, infrequent smile cracked the face of Mrs. Reynolds briefly before gloom settled back in. Appleby bade her good day and withdrew. Although he could not condone her behavior toward Cassius and Portia, he felt he now had some understanding of how she must have felt, of the bitter reminder those two were to her of her husband's infidelities. In the context of what must have been her very traditional morality, that would have been a source of ongoing pain to her.

Appleby made his way to his room to nap, in preparation for that evening's ball. Mercifully, nobody interrupted his slumbers, and he emerged fully rested. The plan was for the ball to begin about the usual time for dinner, with a buffet supper available throughout the evening and dancing until the wee hours. The sound of carriages pulling up and the increase in volume of conversation on the lawn outside gave evidence of new guests arriving for the ball. Appleby dressed carefully, being sure to put on his black clothing again, and as the hour for the festivities approached he made his way down the hall and the stairs to the floor below.

He entered a swirling sea of women in hoop skirts and men in evening dress. The guests he already knew at Ashley delighted in leading him here and there by the arm, introducing him to the gathering of Charleston gentry. As he passed clusters of women he saw them whispering behind their fans, bright eyes following his passage. Bearded patriarchs greeted him gravely and courteously to his face, tugged at their whiskers thoughtfully and put their heads together in conference as he passed along the way. As the cool of the evening descended and the small orchestra struck up the music, he asked a very few of the women to dance: certainly Victoria and Virginia Ashley, a few of the older matriarchs. But not too many – a young 'widower' cannot appear too gay and carefree, after all.

From time to time, Appleby caught sight of Robert Ashley. Dressed in his evening best, he was gallantly escorting some of the very youngest young women who had come with their parents, talking to a few other male guests of his own age, playing the junior host. But Appleby was likewise aware of Robert's gaze from time to time throughout the evening, a furtive surveillance of where he was standing and with whom he danced and talked.

As the evening wore on, Mrs. Ashley took him by the arm and led him through a French window onto the verandah to savor the cool air. "You are quite a success, Mr. Appleby," she said, revealing the key to the many covert looks and whispered discussions he knew he was invoking. "And I may tell you," she said lowering her gaze and speaking in a confidential tone, "that many a young heart here tonight awaits the time when your sad loss has receded into distant memory." He smiled wanly and looked out at the horizon, striking a pose of tragic suffering. A bit later in the evening, Carter Ashley took him through the same French window to speak into his ear, "Appleby, I have spoken to Colonel Gillam. Told him what a fine shot you are, sir! The Colonel is pleased that you might consider a commission in the militia, sir. You must come to one of our meetings soon," which invitation Appleby readily accepted.

Late in the evening, Appleby surveyed the panorama of dancers, the knots of finely dressed people here and there, the long buffet table, and decided that his work here was done. He felt a longing for the simpler, open life he had back at Seaward, to which he would return in the morning. Slowly he worked his way toward the stairs, and at a moment when nobody was looking, walked up them quickly. He was mistaken, however; his departure was not unobserved. Two figures slipped out of the shadows of a hanging curtain and followed him at a distance.

Reaching his room, Appleby carefully removed his evening clothes, this time hanging them neatly in the wardrobe. He was down to his shirt and undergarments when, as had happened the previous evening, he heard a knock on the door. Was it Rodney again, come to repeat last night's pleasant encounter? Appleby cracked the door open, keeping his semi-clothed body out of sight. It was Robert Ashley. The boy looked left and right down the hallway and whispered loudly, "May I come in?"

In answer, Appleby opened the door and let the boy in. Robert was drawn up short by the sight of Appleby in a shirt and undergarments; he simply stood, staring. Appleby smiled and closed the short distance between them, putting one hand on the boy's shoulder and with the other raising his chin. He looked into the crystal blue eyes beneath the blonde bangs and then kissed him on his full lips. Robert moaned softly and put his hands on both of Appleby's arms.

"I… I wanted to see you," he said. "And I brought you a present. Well, it's for us. I… I thought you might like it, after yesterday," he said. Puzzled, Appleby looked at him questioningly.

Robert stepped quickly to the door and opened it, gesturing into the hallway. In through the door slipped the leopard faced boy from the day before, the exotic twelve year old who had been fucked by Robert on the banks of the stream. Robert had both arms around the boy's shoulders and the two stood there, Robert smiling hopefully. "This is Aaron," he said, indicating the slave. Aaron's deep dark almond shaped eyes stared neutrally at Appleby out of his long, thin, ruddy-brown, almond shaped face. Up close, Appleby could see that the slave boy's hair was jet black and shiny, but straight, a short helmet. His lips were a purple brown pout, as high as they were wide, as if perpetually being presented for kissing.

"Hello, Aaron," said Appleby.

"Mastah," returned the boy, quietly, still looking at the white man.

"Aaron, take your clothes off," commanded Robert. The boy obeyed with alacrity, shedding his simple livery shirt and trousers and kicking his loincloth and shoes aside. The boy was thin but uniformly muscled. His four inch [10 cm] penis sat under a tiny patch of pubic hairs that waved out wildly into the air, and above a ballsack that dangled down an inch or two [5 cm]. The slave boy's cock was unusually thick for its size, and as he stood naked under the gaze of the two whites, it gradually became erect and stuck out in front.

"Aaron, remove my clothing," said Robert, who clearly had plans for orchestrating this escapade. Deftly, the slave boy's long brown fingers unfastened his young master's buttons, removing the coat and shirt, pulling off the cravat. Evidently used to this task, he quickly unbuckled Robert's belt and lowered the white boy's trousers and undergarments. Robert's strawberries and cream complexion, his golden blonde hair and ice blue eyes, took Appleby's breath away once again. The rounded pads of the boy's chest were beginning to rise and fall with a heavier breathing. Aaron knelt down in front of the young blonde god to remove his boots; his master's pink and red penis was now erect and waved in his brown face.

Both boys now stood together, a magnificent contrast of colors, Robert's more defined musculature contrasting with the thin, muscled tube that was Aaron's body. Appleby was simply lost in the display of beautiful young maleness before him. "Aaron…undress Master Appleby," ordered Robert.

The slave boy had little work to do by then, and Appleby eagerly assisted. Off came his shirt and undergarments, and the man stood naked before the boys, his penis fully erect and leaking a long string of precum. He didn't know where to begin, but a wave of sexual aggression overtook him and he was determined not to dance to Robert's tune. Turning to the white boy, he drew him close to him, arms on both shoulders, and kissed him passionately. Robert gasped, clutching the older man's upper arms. It was a tutelage in how to kiss. Appleby sucked the boy's pink lips, then inserted his tongue into his mouth. Robert tentatively pushed his tongue forward, which Appleby gently but forcefully sucked into his own mouth. Tongues played over the ridges of teeth, dancing together from one mouth to the next.

Breaking off, Appleby picked Robert up and carried him, like a bride over the threshhold, to the bed, laying him in the center on his back. Then he returned to the slave boy. Appleby put his hands to both sides of the boy's head, running his fingers into the slave's coarse, straight black hair, tilted up his head, and kissed the pouty lips. Tentatively, the boy reached up to put his arms around the white man's waist; when that was not refused, the slave pulled himself in tighter, mashing his penis against the white man's upper thighs, feeling the rigid red cock against his own abdomen. Appleby reached down and in back, cupping both hands around the tight brown bottom of the boy and pulled him in tight as he continued the long kiss. Then he scooped the boy up as he had Robert, one arm under his knees and one under his shoulder, and carried him to the bed, where he laid him down tight beside his young blonde master.

Appleby swung onto the bed and lowered himself onto the boys. Now shifting to the left and now to the right, he humped the blonde and the black boy alternately, fondly the rigid cock of the one he was not lying on top of, then switching off. The boys made a tangle of arms that clutched around Appleby, feeling the muscles of his chest, pulling and scratching at his shoulders, wrapping legs around legs. Appleby kissed first one and then the other, licking faces and biting ears in a frenzy of lust.

Then swinging off to the side of Robert away from Aaron, Appleby reached for a pillow which he shoved under the white boy's firm butt. A worried look came into the freckled pink face and Appleby wondered momentarily if Robert was new to being fucked even if he was no stranger to fucking. First time for everything, he thought. Appleby reached over to the bedside table and opened the pot of hair oil, scooping a gob of it with two fingers. He pushed Robert's legs open and drew them up, then began massaging the oil into his pink anus. Fear and desire warred in the face of the young blonde boy; it was clear this was new territory and that he was tempted but hesitant. Aaron turned slightly toward his young master and grasped the rigid pink cock, jacking it slowly up and down with his brown hand while with his mouth he nibbled at the white boy's nipple.

Appleby inserted one and then two fingers into Robert, causing the boy to gasp. Making slow circles, the boy's anus slowly dilated. The time had come. Coming up with another dollop of hair oil, Appleby reached for the stiff, fat cock of the black slave boy.

"No!" cried Robert, this time forcefully and with no ambivalence. "Not by him!" A quick wave of disappointment washed over Appleby, then anger. He thought to himself that the white boy did not know what he was missing – but he did not wish to preside over a rape.

"Alright," he said, "then by me." He diverted the oil to his own large penis, slathering it on quickly, then moved into position between Robert's legs which he pushed up toward the boy's chest. Robert's eyes grew big now that the moment of crisis was upon him; had he made a mistake not to accept the smaller cock of his black slave boy first? He had little time to think about it for Appleby, annoyed at the blonde boy's petulance, put his cock head to the pink anus and pushed. Robert writhed in pain and let out a strangled cry, pushing against the older man's chest, but to no avail. In one move, Appleby was fully inserted inside the white and pink butt of the boy.

Appleby arched his chest and torso over the boy; his head was over the top of Robert's golden pageboy hair. He was waiting for the change he knew would come, and it did: Robert's breathing changed from pain to passion, gasps soon became heavy breathing. Appleby pulled nearly all the way out, then pushed back in, then began a steady rhythm. Robert's hands on the man's chest began to clutch and scratch at the skin over the muscled pads, tweaking the pink nipples. He crossed his legs over Appleby's lower back.

Holding himself up on only one arm, Appleby reached for the black slave boy next to them, who had continued masturbating his young master all the while. Appleby grasped the slave boy's arm and moved him into position at the end of the bed. Seeing what was required, Aaron stretched out above Robert's head, his groin tightly wedged against the top of his master's head, his thin brown legs stretching down over the white boy's shoulders, the beige pads of his feet pressing against the blonde boy's hips. Robert wriggled and rolled his eyes up in alarm, unsure that he wanted the slave boy's dick and asshole so close to his blonde hair; but Appleby saw to it that he had no choice. The white man now lowered his torso onto the blonde boy's chest and face, and took the slave boy's dark brown dick, bobbing just above Robert's forehead, into his mouth. Appleby began sucking, bobbing his head up and down in rhythm to his hips. With his mouth he sucked the slave boy. With his dick he fucked the blonde boy, who squirmed helplessly under the weight of manhood above him. Aaron began pumping his hips as well and entwined his fingers in the white man's long light brown hair; it was clear he had never received his kind of service from a white person before.

Carefully observing Aaron's building passion and monitoring his own, Appleby brought off the slave boy and himself at nearly the same time. Aaron cried out and twisted, thrashing, pumping a small amount of watery cum out of his twelve year old dick into the sucking mouth of the white man. A second later, Appleby slammed forward and down into Robert, filling the white boy's rectum with long spurts of semen. Thrashing and bucking, the black boy and white man emptied themselves, lying shaking and panting at the end.

Pulling out of Robert, Appleby simply slid down the boy's body, past his abdomen which was slick with sweat and precum from the fourteen year old's own dick, and took the boy's pink cock into his mouth. Already slick with Aaron's cum, Appleby's lips and mouth slid quickly up and down Robert's rigid penis. Now it was the white boy's turn to grasp the man's hair, to thrash and moan, and soon to come, crying out and pushing up his groin into Appleby's face, heels and shoulders rigid and supporting his arching body as it pumped semen up into the mouth around his dick. Now it was Robert's turn to collapse, panting, eyes closed. Appleby moved up to lie along one side of the boy, while the black slave stretched out on the other side. As regular breathing returned, three sets of hands moved lightly over bodies, sliding over sweat and cum slicked skin, dark brown and peachy white. Speech was limited to soft whispers, to expressions of wonder, to calling out names. Breathing returned to normal, then slowed. Three heads, one blonde, one brown, one jet black, lolled together as sleep rolled over them all.

Appleby awoke alone from a long, restful sleep. The boys had evidently slipped out in the night so that they would not be missed. The stained, rumpled sheets were a reminder that last night's encounter was no dream, it had actually occurred. Feeling a need to relieve himself, Appleby found the chamber pot under the bed. He stood, stark naked, and began pissing into it. At that moment his door began to open. Unable to stop the strong flow, and wondering who would enter without knocking, Appleby simply continued to urinate. Rodney stepped into the room.

"Mahnin', mastah, let me hep wit dat," he said, closing the door and walking quickly over to take the chamber pot. He held it between them, of necessity standing close to Appleby, as the piss continued to stream out of his penis. Rodney looked down with interest at these proceedings. When Appleby was finished Rodney quickly covered the pot with a cloth and set it aside.

"I poured yo' bath already, mastah," he said.

"Thank you, Rodney," said Appleby, standing naked in front of the black slave. Involuntarily, his penis began to fill, rising slightly. "Hammond helped me yesterday," he added, and look inquiringly at Rodney.

"Yassuh," Rodney said, grinning hugely and hanging his head. "I thought you might lak his hep, suh," he said. The mystery was solved; it was Rodney, having learned of Appleby's proclivities, who had sent the chubby brown cherub Hammond to his bedroom the previous morning. Appleby smiled broadly at Rodney, and the two men stood for a moment exchanging a frank moment of understanding and mirth. Rodney's glance flickered now to the white man's growing morning erection.

"Is they anythin' ah can do to hep you this mahnin' suh?" he asked. Appleby thought of their encounter two evenings ago, in which he had taken some advantage of their position as slave and potential buyer. The thought came to him that he might make the balance between them a little more even.

"Let me do something for you, Rodney," Appleby said, and sat down on the bed. "Remove your clothing, please." A look of surprise and wonder crossed the coal black, handsome face, but he did as he was told. Soon he stood naked before Appleby, his large, thick penis now also rising. Appleby simply gestured for the man to come forward, which he did.

Inching closer and closer, Rodney gasped when the white man leaned over and took his black dick into his mouth, pulling him even closer with his hands on the slave's hips. "Oh, mastah, no, you shouldn't suh!" he cried, but he did not resist. Pulled right up to the edge of the bed between the white man's legs, Rodney's dick was buried between his pink lips. Two white hands reached around and grasped the firm, high butt muscles of the slave, and gently moved them back and forth. Picking up the rhythm, Rodney began breathing hard and moaning softly. Tentatively and then eagerly he ran his fingers through the white man's shoulder length brown hair. The newness and excitement of this situation, being sucked for the first time by a white man, was almost too much for him. He came quickly, sighing loudly and simply pushing his groin forward into Appleby's face. The white man drank the copious spew of semen that flowed into his mouth. Rodney quivered, sighed again, and was still.

Appleby held the black cock, still rigid, in his mouth for a moment, then gently pushed the slave back a step and rose from the bed. "Lie here," he said, indicating the bed. Rodney lay down on his back, wondering what was in store for him. Appleby simply stretched himself out on top of the slave, pushed his rampant penis through the man's muscled thighs just below the tight ballsack, and began slowly pumping up and down. White skin slid on coal black skin, lubricated by sweat. The channel between Rodney's thighs became slick with the white man's precum, which aided in the increasing energy with which Appleby leg-fucked the slave. White and black man clutched each other together, grasping shoulders, sliding arms and hands around backs, fondling butt muscles. Appleby's mouth was not quite even with Rodney's so instead he kissed the dark, shining skin on the slave's neck and shoulders. His hair spread out over the black man's lower face. When Appleby came he cried out "hunh, hunh, hunh" and pumped his semen down onto the sheet below Rodney's ass, and the two men held each other tightly during the white man's passion. Finished, he simply lay there, looking closely at the depth of color in the coal black skin, lightly rubbing the flesh of the slave beneath him, while Rodney held him tight, softly saying "Mastah, mastah, mastah."

Aware that he must prepare to leave, Appleby rose, pulling the slave up off the bed as well. They embraced once more and then Appleby led Rodney into the dressing room where they both used the hip bath, helping each other to soap up, toweling each other off in turn. They both dressed for the day.

Appleby stopped as he was preparing to leave the room and said, "Rodney… I am glad you are happy here. If ever you are not happy, get word to me at Seaward Plantation, alright?" The slave looked with amazement and appreciation at the white man, grinned and nodded. Appleby kissed Rodney once more quickly before going downstairs for breakfast, leaving the slave to clean up the room and to pack his belongings for the return home.

Most of the guests were gathered for breakfast when Appleby arrived in the dining room, including a few new additions who had arrived for the ball the night before. Colonel Gillam of the Militia was there, and Appleby had a brief, productive chat with him in which many pro-South and pro-South Carolina sentiments were expressed by Appleby, who kept his fingers mentally crossed. It was agreed that Appleby would come into Charleston at a date in the future to attend a meeting of the Militia.

Coming out of the dining room, Appleby found Robert Ashley in the hallway, evidently waiting for him. Mindful of the need to be careful lest another guest suddenly appear, the two shook hands gravely and exchanged the most polite greetings – but Appleby smiled broadly and winked at the boy, who grinned shyly. The time had come for Appleby's departure from Ashley. To his pleasant surprise, Carter Ashley announced that Robert had especially asked permission to escort him down to the pier. Mr. Ashley shook Appleby's hand with genuine warmth, and invited him to return at any time. Appleby returned thanks, and felt a small measure of regret that he could not reciprocate the invitation; Seaward must remain hidden from outside scrutiny. All the ladies gathered round and curtsied, and Appleby trotted out all his old-world charm once more, leaving sighs and longings in his wake.

Rodney was waiting on the verandah with Appleby's bags all packed. Did Robert know about Appleby's sexual encounters with Rodney and his surrogate, Hammond? Appleby could detect no sign of it as Robert curtly ordered the slave to bring the bags along behind them. Chatting carefully about neutral subjects, Robert and Appleby walked across the lawns and through the groves of Ashley, down to the pier. There they waited, and the trio played a silent game of communication by looks – Appleby winking at the boy, the boy smiling back and blushing on occasion, Appleby also winking, unobserved by Robert, at Rodney who stood somewhat apart, and the slave grinning gratefully as he lowered his head.

Eventually, Robert turned to the slave and said, "You may go, now Rodney."

"Yes, mastah," he said… looked once more at Appleby, who favored him with the subtlest miming of a kiss, behind Robert's back. The black man hung his head, grinned hugely, and was gone.

Once the slave's broad back was out of sight, Robert looked around carefully, then embraced Appleby tightly. "I shall miss you," he said, fiercely. Appleby returned the embrace, then lifting up the boy's chin, looking at his beautiful gold-pink-blue features, and kissed him passionately on the lips. The sound of canvas flapping in the near distance made them push back suddenly, and there coming around the bend of the stream was the Hesperus, Troy at the helm, Hector in the bow. The boat glided up to the pier and was temporarily secured there by Troy and Hector, who made only the briefest, respectful acknowledgment of their master, heads lowered. They put the luggage on board and waited.

Appleby and Robert shook hands once more, and spoke their formal goodbyes. But the handshake lingered a shade longer, and was a bit firmer, than formality required. Appleby boarded the boat, which was pushed off, and he and Robert waved to one another until it glided around the bend and was gone.

Appleby heaved a deep sigh and, instead of sitting in the middle, sat in the stern right next to Troy. Hector squatted on a pile of rope, regarding the two. A spirit of love and lightness seemed to fill Appleby, and he wondered why. Robert Ashley was wonderful in bed, stunningly attractive, and yet… what was it?

Then it came to him, in a metaphor. Robert was a big, gooey cake, covered with the sweetest frosting. Wonderful, sweet, a marvelous indulgence, and yet… yet he longed for something more substantive, something he found especially in Troy, but also in Hector, and Pan and Bacchus, and… what was it? It came to him.

"Good roast beef," he said, turning to Troy.

"Master?!" came the quizzical response, a big smile of curiosity cleaving Troy's honest brown face. "Are you hungry, master?"

"Good roast beef, that's what you are," he told the amused slave. "And," turning to Hector, "good, honest root vegetables. That's what a body needs." Troy and Hector looked at each other; had their master gone crazy while in foreign parts? Appleby roared with laughter, joined by his two friends, and the Hesperus glided down the river toward home.

Chapter twelve

Freeing his hand to negotiate the tricky approach to the pier, Troy spoke.

"Master, I forgot to tell you… Cassius and Portia have something to show you. They said they would be waiting for you at the pier."

Appleby was looking forward to seeing the newest residents of Seaward again anyway, but the mystery added to his anticipation. The Hesperus took in canvas and glided gently to a stop at the pier. The mulatto brother and sister were indeed there, and Cassius sprang forward to help secure the boat to the wooden uprights. Portia watched from a few feet away, smiling a big welcome, with something behind her back.

"Welcome back, Master!" said Cassius – and then rushed forward and hugged Appleby tightly, affectionately. Appleby returned the embrace and kissed the light brown slave on his forehead. "Master," said Cassius, "we have something… Portia and I have something – to show you!" Troy and Hector, securing the boat and unloading their master's bags, smiled conspiratorially.

"So I hear, Cassius," Appleby said, and smiled at Portia, "What can it be?"

Cassius assumed a stance like an opera singer on the stage, and to Appleby's astonishment began to sing. "ABCDEFG, HIJKLMNOP," he warbled in his mid-adolescent voice. The sixteen year old sang through to the end of the alphabet, with feeling and perfect diction, then bowed low with a flourish of his arm. Appleby burst into laughter and applauded loudly, for there had clearly been progress in rectifying the boy's illiteracy while he had been gone. Then Portia approached, beaming, and sidling up next to Appleby she pulled from behind her back, with great ceremony – a primer! Opening it, glancing repeatedly up at Appleby, she began to read slowly: "Oh, see Nat run. Run, Nat, run!" Haltingly but with no errors, she went on for two pages before snapping the book shut and looking up at Appleby in triumph.

"Wonderful, Portia, wonderful," he said, "How very proud I am of you, and what wonderful progress the two of you have made in only two days!" Affectionately, he put his arm around the seventeen year old slave girl and hugged her. Pulled close to him, she put one of her arms around the white man's waist and hugged back. For a moment the two of them stood there in a friendly embrace… and then Appleby began to realize that for his part, at least, it was beginning to feel like something more than friendship, for he felt an unmistakable stirring in his groin.

"Troy taught me, master," said Cassius. "And Hector taught me," said Portia, looking at the black boy. Hector smiled back at her and hung his head for a moment in shyness.

"Well, shall we walk up to the house?" proposed Appleby, and they all agreed. Troy grabbed one of Appleby's bags while Cassius and Hector vied to carry the other one. The whole party set off – but Portia and Appleby kept arms around each other in a light embrace. Did either one try to let go? No, and Appleby wondered what it meant, wondered what his own intentions were – especially when Hector, having lost the bag-carrying privileges to Cassius, came up on Appleby's other side and put his arm around his master as well, interlocking with Portia's arm, the three of them walking together up the lawn toward the house.

As they approached the house, the rest of the people of Seaward came out from barn or cabin to greet Appleby. Pan and Bacchus danced around him with glee, sandwiching him with hard-groined hugs; did these twins ever lose their erections, the white man wondered. On the verandah the boys seized their master's bags from Troy and Cassius and took them up for unpacking. Portia joined Mama Cass and Mama Juno to prepare a community meal for lunch, while Priam, Cassius, and Troy went to attend last minute chores in the hay barn. Athena waved and smiled as she passed by below the verandah, baby Apple in her arm, on her way to help in the kitchen.

Only Hector remained with Appleby. "Master, may I talk to you for a minute?" he asked.

"Certainly, Hector, shall we sit right here?" Appleby responded, settling into a rocking chair. Hector took another one next to it. He looked searchingly at his master, then hung his head and grinned, then looked back again at Appleby.

"I… um… I wondered… um…"

Placing his hand over the dark brown forearm of the boy, Appleby smiled and said, "Hector, you may say anything to me, you may ask me anything. Since when are you shy with me, after all we have done together?" Hector hung his head again and grinned, then seemed to summon up both resolve and language.

"Master… did you know that… well, do you like Portia?" Appleby's heart skipped a beat.

"Well… yes, of course I like her, Hector."

"No, master, I mean, do you really like her? You know," he said, smiling and looking down again, then back, "she likes you. She told me. I mean she really… well, you know what I mean, master."

A flood of confusing feelings washed over Appleby, and they were confusing not the least because he did not know his own mind in the matter. Words began to tumble out of him in disconnected phrases.

"Hector, I've never touched her, you have nothing to fear… I mean, she is very pretty, I like her very much, I do… I would never hurt YOU, Hector, you know that, if you want her, I know she is yours, then… I have wondered some times if she…. but Hector, I'm not sure of my own feelings… but…" and on and on in that vein. All the while Hector looked at his master in mounting concern and wonder. Finally, the boy could stand it no longer.

"Master, master, please," he said, grasping the man's shoulder. "You mustn't, master. You mustn't bring that spirit here." Love and admonition were balanced in the serious tone the boy took. Appleby was brought up short.

"What… what spirit, Hector? Tell me what it is I mustn't do, please."

Hector rose and stood next to his master sitting in the rocker and hugged his head fiercely, then knelt in front of him and took the man's white hands in both of his brown ones, laid on his master's knee. Love was now mixed with urgency as he spoke gently but forcefully to Appleby.

"Do you own me, master?" he asked.

"Certainly not, Hector, not in any sense. You know that. Those papers…"

"Master, nobody owns anybody at Seaward. Papers?! You don't even own Cassius and Portia, 'though you might think you do. But see… I don't own Portia, either." He smiled at Appleby, who began nodding with growing understanding. "We share here, master; we share ourselves and we share each other. If Portia loves somebody other than me it just makes more love to go around. And how could I mind if the person she is loving is you… and when I love you, too, master?" He paused for breath.

"Remember how Troy shared Athena with me? but see, Athena shared Troy with me, too. It was what I needed. It's what we do here, master. It's the best way. We share."

Appleby heaved a deep sigh of relief; the boy's words came to him as truths he already knew but had hidden from himself. He leaned forward and put one hand on the side of the boy's face, the other around the back of his head against his crinkly hair, and kissed him slowly on the lips, then whispered "thank you" into the boy's ear. Then he pulled back, another concern on his face.

"But Hector…. I don't know who I am. I had never… I had never even been with a man before coming to Seaward. Just a couple of women. But now, Troy, and you, and… I think I found out that that is truly what I want, who I am… but I also really do feel something for Portia. Oh, God! and for Athena and Helen," he said, bowing over with his hands on his face, all his guilt and conflict rushing out.

"It's alright, master, it's alright," said Hector, reaching up rubbing his master's shoulders and neck, still kneeling before him.

"But I don't know who I am, Hector. Am I to be with women? am I to be with men?"

Hector looked in wonder at the troubled face of the white man, who was so caught up in webs of his own making. Shaking his head to clear it of those webs, he went right to the point, which was so simple after all.

"Be with the one you're with, master. Do you have to decide? If you feel like it, alright, if you don't, that's alright. Why say you are this thing forever, when you might want to be that other thing the next day?" The clarity of the simple truth flashed on Appleby like lightning. He began nodding, slowly and then more vigorously. What chains from his upbringing had bound him? Those were chains that had been rusting away in the free salt air of Seaward, and would now rust and fall off entirely if he let them.

"You see how we are here, master. Some of us are almost all one way… although even Pan and Bacchus have had their times with Helen!" he said, confirming a suspicion that Appleby had held since soon after coming to Seaward. "Papa is nearly all the other way, although I think," and here he looked pointedly at the white man and smiled, "I think he has tried something different recently." Appleby smiled back and nodded. "Some of us are in the middle, but we go as the wind blows. Who can say who you will want tonight, or in an hour, master? Maybe even Portia!" he said, grinning hugely. "Maybe Mama Juno!" Now, THAT was going too far, but the levity snapped the last link of Appleby's bondage. Man and boy roared with laughter at the thought of his coupling with dear Mama Juno's ample, maternal flesh.

Appleby nearly floated out of his chair, pulling the boy to his feet as well, and hugged him fiercely, grateful for the clarity that the boy's simple truths had brought him. From within came the sounds of lunch arriving from the kitchen and of people gathering. Nodding happily at the boy, Appleby embraced him once more and they went inside. Little did he know how prophetic Hector's comments would be, in more ways than one and sooner than he thought.

A pleasant lunch was followed by everyone dispersing to work at various tasks. Storm clouds began gathering in the middle afternoon, and the wind picked up. As the afternoon wore on, the weather became increasingly threatening. Squalls blew quickly over the island, and it was dark by dinner time. Everyone made their way to their own dwellings to wait out what promised to be a major storm.

Cassius, Pan, Bacchus, and Appleby shared a quiet, simple dinner by lamplight, then settled in to chores or work in the library. The evening wore on and the wind began rushing over the house as if a giant hand was rubbing it. The twins decided that they would take a bath, and soon their natural high spirits, nakedness, and the presence of a tub led to the sound of whoops, laughter, and splashing from the bath room. Appleby and Cassius, meanwhile, worked in the library; Appleby was continuing the lessons in reading and writing already begun in his brief absence, and the two were occupied with pencil, paper, and primers.

"Now, Cassius, you see how the letter 'O' is pronounced in different ways when…" Appleby stopped, a wet towel suddenly landing across his head and obscuring his vision. Removing it, he heard a peal of giggles emerge from the hallway outside the library. Deciding to ignore it, he pressed ahead, but then a brush bounced of off Cassius's shoulders, bringing a soft cry of protest to his lips. Appleby glared in the direction of the hallway. "Stop, please, we are concentrating!" There were more giggles.

Man and boy returned to their studies and for a minute there was peace. Then from one direction inside the library came a small hunk of soap that bounced painfully off of Appleby's head, while from another direction inside the room came another piece of soap that landed on the paper on which Cassius was painstakingly writing out simple words, covering the paper with a streak of lather and quite ruining the boy's efforts. Squeals and giggles now erupted from inside the room, and turning around in their chairs Appleby and Cassius saw both twins, freshly scrubbed and as naked as the day they were born, peeking out from behind the reading chairs. It appeared as if sweet reason would be of no avail. Appleby and Cassius put their heads together and whispered for a moment, then each of them bolted out of their own chairs and in the direction of the boys' makeshift forts. Bacchus slipped out of their way, but Appleby and Cassius converged on Pan, trapping him. Appleby grabbed him around the arms and chest while Cassius held on to his legs. Securing the boy tightly, who was by now laughing hilariously and wriggling like an eel, the two captors carried him up the stairs quickly and into Appleby's bedroom.

"The wardrobe, for a moment!" cried Appleby. Swerving by that furniture, he reached in and grabbed a handful of silk cravats that were hanging on a bar. They threw Pan, hysterical with laughter, on the bed face down. Throwing their bodies on top of the thirteen year old to restrain him, Appleby tied both the boy's hands together with one end of a cravat, then pulling the boy's arms and hands together straight up over his head he tied the other end of the cravat tight to the headboard of the bed. Meanwhile, Cassius, sitting on the boy's legs, tight his feet together with another cravat and, pulling them down toward the end of the bed, tight the cravat to the footboard. Surveying their handiwork, they saw the caramel brown boy tied up like a pig on a spit, still giggling uncontrollably, his firm, tight bottom rising invitingly in the air.

Returning to the ground floor, Appleby and Cassius found Bacchus somewhat harder to discover since the boy had hidden, but his giggles gave him away and he was pulled out from under the dining room table. His fate was the same, and soon two slim brown boys were laid out and tied down, butts up, on Appleby's bed. The white man and mulatto boy gave a moment's thought as to what to do, then by mutual consent they undressed themselves. Their penises, ruddy pink and medium brown, were already beginning to rise in anticipation.

Appleby began the festivities. "Boys, you have been very naughty to interrupt our work and to spoil Cassius's lesson," he said, "and for that you get this." Standing on the side of the bed nearest Bacchus, he raised his arm and then brought his hand down on the bare butt, palm open, making a tremendous smack. Bacchus gasped, but hardly giggled any the less. Cassius followed his master's example, winding up his arm even farther and swatting Pan's upraised bottom with a crack. Pan shrieked, but directly resumed laughing.

"Are you sorry, now?" asked Appleby. "No!" chorused the twins, laughing. "Well, then," said the white man, and he and Cassius fell to work. Smack! Smack! they went in turns. Soon the twins were moaning in pain but still laughing in between their cries. As moans and cries of "Ow!" and "Don't!" and "Not so hard!" began to predominate, their medium brown butts gradually darkened, bottom-blushes spreading reddish brown over the firm hills of flesh.

Once again the captive boys were asked if they were sorry, and could hardly answer so occupied were they with both soft moans of pain but also persistent laughter. Appleby and Cassius looked at each other; the white man nodded toward the lubricant on the table by Cassius's side of the bed. The mulatto slave helped himself to a big gob of it and passed it to his master. Man and boy inserted some of it in the upraised, winking anuses of the two brown boys on the bed, but not too much – this was not meant to be comfortable. The rest they smeared over their own rampant cocks. Climbing up onto the bed, with coordinated timing they each put their penises against the anus of the boy beneath them, and pushed in with one long movement.

Now, that really did silence the giggles of the thirteen year olds, who gasped and protested. Unheeding, Appleby and Cassius now began to take out their frustrations on the boys, pounding their asses with long, forceful volleys, swinging their hips while they held their torsos up off of the boys, who writhed inches below them. Faster and more forcefully the man and his mulatto slave swung their hips back and forth. Pan and Bacchus were now getting into the rhythm of the coupling and were thrusting their bottoms back toward their lovers as well as they could. Appleby and Cassius, shoulder to shoulder, looked back and forth from each other to the bound boys beneath them, and when they came it was at the same time, both roaring from deep in their chests and slamming forward to press their groins into the brown bottoms beneath them with all their might. They held that position until they stopped quivering, then slumped forward onto the sweating boys below.

In a moment, Appleby felt able to whisper, "Sorry yet?" Another giggle escaped from Bacchus beneath him by way of answer, echoed by Pan who was lying side by side to him, still impaled on the rigid cock of Cassius. Appleby looked at Cassius, lying on the boy next to him, and sighed. "Plan three," he said.

The man and mulatto boy pulled out of the assholes below them and each stood by their side of the bed. They rolled the thirteen year old boys over, an easy accomplishment that merely twisted the cravats tying them hand and foot. The boys' caramel brown, muscled abdomens were slick with their own precum, their dark brown dicks now stuck straight out in the air, and their giggles had returned in full force as they anticipated a sexual adventure of their own. But they did not conceive of what Appleby and Cassius had in mind. Each took up another cravat and tied it as a gag around the boys' mouths, not so tight as to be uncomfortable but tight enough to discourage articulate speech. "Mmmph?" said Pan, echoed by Bacchus's "Wowrrrr."

Appleby and Cassius now lubricated each thirteen year old, stiff cock and lubricated their own assholes liberally, then together they mounted the boys facing their feet, their muscular backs toward the boys' faces. The rigid cocks of the captive twins slid right up the rectums of the white man and mulatto boy. Pan and Bacchus let out gagged squeals in anticipation. What happened next was certainly not anticipated, though. Appleby calmly reached over to the side of the bed where he picked up the primer he had placed there before. Holding it over by Cassius, who was shoulder to shoulder with him, he began.

"Now, Cassius, as I was saying, 'O' can be pronounced in different ways. See, in this sentence…" The horrible truth began to dawn on the twins. Their master and the new slave boy were simply going to sit on their rigid penises – perfectly still and unmoving. Encased in the warm, moist love tunnels, the organs remained erect and throbbing. But their captors were not going to move a muscle to bring the twins to orgasm, and neither boy was in a position to move his own hips up and down for that purpose. Soon squeals and moans of frustration began arising. Each of the twins shook and vibrated their loins as they could, they thrashed left and right as much as possible, but it was useless.

Now Appleby and Cassius were the ones to begin laughing and snorting. Soon, neither one could maintain the pretense of having a reading lesson. Nodding agreement, each one pivoted around on the rigid cock that impaled them to face the twins, still kneeling calf by calf astride each boy. Leaning forward but not losing their position, they untied the silken gags from between each boy's full lips. "NOW… are you sorry?" said Appleby.

What pain could not achieve, the withholding of sexual ecstasy could. "Yes, master… oh, yes sir!" came two replies, followed by solemn assurances, delivered pantingly, that they would not misbehave again. At that, the white man and mulatto boy began to rise and down on the dark brown dicks inside of them, massaging bellies and chests, tweaking nipples with their hands. Given some freedom of movement, each boy swung into the motion with vigor, clutching and kneading the strong thigh muscles of the man or boy above them. It did not take long before Pan and Bacchus cried out, torsos twisting up, hips pushing up into the rectums above them, and discharged their semen in long eruptions. Appleby and Cassius slowed their rhythms gradually until each boy collapsed, spent. Then the man and older boy leaned forward on top of the twin beneath them, covering them with their bodies, kissing them lightly until normal breathing returned.

As the sexual storm passed it became clear that the storm outside was increasing. The four rose from the bed and, arms around each other, went back downstairs to wash in the bath room. Thunder and lightning was now all around the house, it seemed, and the wind was really quite strong. Appleby was glad for the stout construction of all the buildings at Seaward. Going back upstairs, they decided that to give each other room, and needing rest, Appleby and Pan would sleep in one bed, Cassius and Bacchus in the other. With goodnight kisses, the couples went off to separate bedrooms to pile in together in sleep.

Appleby awoke in the middle of the night to tremendous thunder. But there, behind the thunder… was there another kind of sound, similar to it? There it was again, now nearly covered by the howling of the wind. Rising, he looked out the window, but could see little through the slashing rain against the pane. Then he heard a door to the house downstairs open, the louder rushing of wind, and then the door closed. Quick footsteps up the stairs, then Troy burst into his room, covered up tight in a waterproof cloak.

"Master… it's a ship, master! Come quick… lanterns, and the spyglass from the library, sir!" Rousing the three boys, Appleby dressed quickly and all four of them hurried after Troy downstairs. Donning the new protective gear Appleby had purchased for everyone, and retrieving the telescope Troy had requested, they followed Troy outside into the wind. There they fell into step behind Priam and Hector, who were leading the way, fighting the gale force winds as they battled their way to the cemetery, the highest spot on the island. Sheets of rain lashed down, and Appleby was afraid they would be soaked regardless of the good clothing and boots they wore. All the while, a sound that was thunder but not thunder sounded periodically amidst the actual storm.

Reaching the lookout point that was the cemetery with some difficulty, a fearful scene was revealed. The lightning was now almost constant, and looking to the east, out into the Atlantic, they saw a merchant ship that had evidently run aground on the rocks and shoals that lay a mile or so beyond the island as a sort of natural fence. It had three masts with now only shreds of sails attached, and a smokestack in the middle, but even as the people from Seaward watched, one of the masts snapped off and literally flew away in the storm. Then a flash erupted from the side of the ship and Appleby knew what was making that strange noise like thunder: the ship was firing a cannon in distress, to call for any help that could be rendered.

But no help could come; it would have been suicide even to attempt taking the Hesperus out in this storm. The ship sat at an odd angle, evidently hooked onto a reef or mighty boulder below the water line. Smoke streamed out of the smokestack, but to no avail; she was a stern-wheeler, but it could be plainly seen that the storm had smashed her paddles. A few pieces of board flapped and circled crazily at the rear of the ship. Suddenly a quick flash of white steam cloud emerged from the middle of the ship. The storm blew it away in an instant, but then there was a tremendous explosion. Evidently sea water had reached the red hot boilers. The wind quickly cleared the smoke and steam to reveal a horrible sight: only one half of the ship remained, and it quickly tipped at a forty-five degree angle and was gone. Dark objects floated here and there on the boiling water, and that was all that remained.

"Quick, to the shore!" shouted Troy, "maybe somebody will make it ashore!" By the quickest path the three men and four boys fought the storm down to the beach. Breaking into teams, they spread out north and south, and for an hour patrolled the beach. Appleby, working with Hector and the twins, was returning from the southern extremity of the beach when he saw it just off shore: a raft, or really just a part of the hull of the ship, tossed about by the towering waves. And on it there hung the figure of a person.

Sending the twins to the north to fetch the rest of the party, Appleby and Hector calculated where the shipwrecked sailor was most likely to make shore. His battered bit of wooden hull was flung ashore by a mighty wave about where they calculated, but as they ran up to it they could see nobody – the piece of wreckage was washed bare. Another wave came crashing in and, as it receded, they saw the figure of a man lying on the beach, tossed down by the wave like driftwood. They ran to it and, each grabbing an arm, hauled the body up the beach and out of the way of the next wave, which pursued them like a fury. Finding the shelter of three trees that were clumped together, they put the man down on his back.

Appleby quickly checked; it was hard to tell in the storm, but he seemed not to be breathing. Flipping him onto his side and coming around behind him, Appleby reached around and squeezed hard just below the rib cage, then squeezed again. It worked. The man jerked frantically, rolled over onto his hands and knees, and vomited violently onto the sand. Gasping for breath and desperately sick, he continued retching and vomiting, spewing sea water out of his gut and lungs, fighting for air. The sound of feet thudding on sand could be heard even above the storm as the rest of the party came up.

"Any more besides this one?" asked Appleby. Everyone shook their heads in sorrow. "Well, we cannot wait and watch any longer," he said, "we will be swept away ourselves if we remain, and this one needs attention," and a huge wave that came nearly up to their location confirmed his words. "Who is fastest?" he asked, and Hector stepped forward wordlessly. "Hector, run, rouse the women, tell them what has happened and ask them to bring herbs and medicines to the house; we will put him upstairs." Off the boy went with remarkable speed, as the rest of the party locked arms to lift the gasping, exhausted man and carry him off.

Making as much speed as they could without doing more harm to the castaway, the party worked their way against the storm back to the house. As they came up the verandah steps the door was flung open, held by Hector. Mama Cass, Mama Juno, and Portia stood with lanterns and healing supplies within. Athena had apparently remained behind in her cabin because of baby Apple. The castaway was carried in through the pantry. Semi-conscious, eyes fluttering behind half-closed lids, he seemed not to be in good shape at all. Tsking and clucking, the women took command. They stripped off his wet clothing, or what remained of it from the lashing of the sea, and then led the way upstairs, pots and vials of medicines and steaming herbal concoctions in hand. Appleby, Cassius, and Priam carried the naked man up the stairs and laid him gently on towels that had been spread in one of the bedrooms. The boys followed closely, observing every detail. Then the males were shooed from the room by the women who closed the door and gathered around to practice their healing arts.

In the hallway the exhausted men and boys stood around, dripping, looking at each other in shock and wonder. Bacchus, standing near Appleby, tugged at the sleeve of the white man's rain gear. "Master… master, why are his eyes like that? His skin, his hair? Is he alright, master?"

Looking at the boy, Appleby suddenly realized with a shock how isolating it must be to live in the paradise of Seaward; how much wisdom that way of life imparted, but how much basic experience must be lacking. Gently, he explained: "Oh, yes – he is quite ill from the shipwreck. But as for his appearance… I expect that he is Chinese, or Japanese perhaps. He is from Asia, I suppose. That is how people look over there."

Looks of wonder passed all around, and "China," "Japan," and "Asia" were repeated as if they were magical incantations. The party began to move downstairs, stripping off their wet gear and hanging it in the bath room and the pantry to dry. By the time Appleby had put off his own wet things and come back out, he discovered the entire male population of Seaward in the library, some of them half naked from shedding sodden clothing, pulling out atlases and books to look up these magical places. For a moment it almost seemed magical to Appleby, as well; how did someone from Asia end up washing ashore off the coast of South Carolina?! But then it occurred to him that sea lanes had always mixed the dust of many lands throughout history, and this must be no exception. Ships of many nations came and went through Charleston. Ships' crews were often quite a mixed stew. At any rate, they would know his story soon, when the new arrival was well enough to talk… IF he were ever well enough to talk.

Appleby, the twins, and Cassius went back upstairs to fetch spare clothing for their friends; the door to the sickroom remained shut, the sound of coughing and retching coming from within. Sharing the dry garments all around, they bade everyone good-night as the company went back out into the storm, which seemed as if it had moderated somewhat in the last half hour. The remaining four waited in the library, reading, then heard the sounds of footsteps on the stairs. Cass and Juno lumbered down them and into the hallway.

"He is mighty sick, master, but he will make it," said Juno. "He must rest in bed and not be moved…or excited," she said, wheeling upon her twin sons with this last statement and shaking a finger at them, glaring ferociously. They shrank back cowed, nodding dutifully. "Portia will sit with him for a while," added Cass. The two women bundled up against the wind and rain and walked back out into the storm.

Appleby, Cassius, and the twins crept back upstairs quietly. The sickroom door was ajar, so Appleby opened it a bit more and peered in. Lamplight cast soft shadows in the room. Portia was sitting in a chair by the invalid's bedside, spooning between his lips a strong smelling herbal mixture. Smiling at Appleby's appearance, she set the bowl down, felt the man's forehead, then slipped out into the hallway.

"It is best that he be watched all the night, and likely through the day tomorrow," she whispered. "I can sit with him."

"I shall rest for just a few hours more and then come to take your place, if you will show me what to do," said Appleby. Portia nodded a hurried agreement. A soft groan from within the room recalled her to her duty. "In a few hours, then," she said to Appleby, and slipped back inside.

Appleby slept hard for a while, then awoke. The wind by now was a soft rushing sound, but there was no longer any sound of thunder, lightning, or rain. Looking out the window he could actually see glimpses of the moon peeking out now and then from behind the scudding clouds. Consulting his pocket watch, he realized it was time to go relieve Portia.

Stepping quietly into the hallway, he opened the sickroom door slowly, not wanting to startle anyone. The patient lay on the bed all bundled up, sound asleep, snoring steadily. A smell of herbs and medicine, sharp but not unpleasant, hung in the air. Portia likewise was asleep, still sitting in the chair, her chin on her hand. In the lamplight Appleby was struck by her beauty, her rounded face enveloped in a halo of frizzy brown hair, her light brown skin darker in the shadows, her full lips slightly parted. The fabric of her blouse stretched taught over her breasts, and rose and fell lightly as she breathed. Her physical resemblance to Cassius was remarkable, but of course she was also different, possessing her own feminine beauty.

Not wishing to startle her, Appleby stepped up close to her and whispered her name. Not getting any response, he reached out and touched one shoulder lightly. Portia awoke suddenly, starting up and rising in confusion – right into Mark Appleby. His hand, which had been on her shoulder, remained there, steadying her. Reflexively, she put a hand on his side to regain her balance. She looked into Appleby's eyes in confusion for a moment, then everything fell into place. "Oh, master! I was asleep," she said, and a smile crossed her lips. He smiled back. Their eyes locked. It was like kicking a stone down a rock slope, for it started the avalanche.

Appleby's other arm came up and he caressed her other shoulder. She put her other hand on his waist. And they came together in a passionate, long kiss. Truly, in that first embrace it did not matter who was male or female, black or white; there was an electric attraction powered by both flesh and spirit that transcended such trivial differences. Lips explored lips, tongues slid along tongues – they broke apart, breathing heavily, then came back together again in a tight embrace, Appleby burying his face in the sweet-smelling halo of Portia's soft, frizzy hair.

"Can… can he be left for a moment?"

Breaking away to look closely at her patient, Portia said "Yes." Taking her hand, Appleby led the way to another empty bedroom, thinking that at this rate he would need to build an addition to his house before long. Slipping from the silent hallway to the room, the white man and mulatto slave girl embraced again with passion, then began pulling clothes away from each other. Appleby took the lead, lifting fabric, undoing buttons, encouraging the girl to remove her garments. Soon she stood naked before him as she had the first day he saw her. Only his shirt and undergarments remained. Gently, smiling up at him, she unbuttoned the shirt and let it slide to the floor… then tugged at his undergarment, which likewise dropped away. His penis, already hard, sprang out. Gently, she grasped it with one hand, while she placed her other hand on the white man's broad, muscular chest, running fingers through the sparse patch of hair in the center that ran in a line down to his groin. Appleby cupped the seventeen year old slave girl's firm, pert breasts, then lowered his head to suck the dark copper nipple in a wider aureole. The moon, intermittently uncovered by the passing clouds, lit their tanned white and light brown bodies with moving patches of yellow light.

Portia breathed heavily, sighing with passion. Appleby took her hand and led her to the bed. Falling together side by side, their hands began voyages of exploration, sliding and probing, fondling and patting, ruffling and smoothing. Rolling over on top of the girl, Appleby's rampant penis leaked precum onto her rounded but muscular belly. He kissed her lips again, her face, the side of her face and neck, and then stuck his tongue in her ear, working it around as the slave girl writhed in pleasure beneath him, pulling him closer to her with her hands around his shoulders.

He could wait no longer. Rising up a little on one hand, he positioned his rampant, hard cock at the girl's vaginal opening and moved the dickhead up and down a little in the opening. It was already moist with the girls secretions, and became more so with his precum. Then, gently and with great tenderness, he entered her.

Portia cried out, but not in pain. Her eyes were wide, her hands clasped around the white man's neck, her fingers tugging at his long light brown hair. Her legs, bent at the knees, were spread wide as the muscular white man began to glide in and out of her. She began pushing up to meet his thrusts, then to move her pelvis in a slow spiral that gave Appleby exquisite pleasure. Faster and faster he pumped, taking long, loping swings in and out of her. Feeling his climax approaching, he lowered himself to her, his chest riding on her sweat-slick firm breasts. He grasped her by the shoulders and she clutched him around the back and the two pulled into each other, holding each tightly as he came, whispering her name over and over, pushing his groin into hers as her hips moved slowly up and down. Then she shuddered and clenched, in the throes of an orgasm herself, moaning from deep inside her chest. Slower and slower they moved, their breath ragged and labored, and then they stopped and were still.

Each held the other; soft cooing sounds, gasps, and moans filling the silence. Appleby rolled off of the slave girl and, lying on his side, traced paths with his fingers against her shiny, light brown skin. Portia caressed the white man's face in her hands, running her fingers lightly over his lips and nose and through his hair.

"Cassius has been very lucky," she said, naturally revealing her knowledge of her brother's recent experiences at Seaward. "So have I," she said.

"And so has Hector," chuckled Appleby, laying everything in the open.

A fond look came into her eyes. "So has everyone at Seaward, I think, master. I do not remember being seen by you that first, terrible day at Mr. McGillicuddy's, but Cassius told me everything. Thank you so much, master," she said, pulling him to her again and embracing him tightly. "But you have a patient, doctor!" she said, smiling. Grinning back, Appleby rose and quietly dressed himself again. By the time he was done, Portia lay asleep on the sheets. He covered her gently with the sheets, then slipped out the door and down the hall to take up his watch.

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

Chapter thirteen

"Please, sir, calm yourself. I am afraid you are still very ill from your misadventure yesterday. Is there anything I can do for you?" Then he wondered to himself whether the man knew English at all, for his Asian features bespoke an origin far away from South Carolina. His question was soon answered.

"Water, sir, please," croaked the man in a voice hoarse from sea water and illness. Appleby quickly handed him a glass from the bedside table which was ladened with medicines and herbal remedies of various sorts. The man drank it quickly and returned the glass with a nod of thanks. Then, evidently making a tremendous effort, he flung the bedcovers back and swung his legs out so as to sit on the edge of the bed. But the effort was more than he was ready for. Even sitting down, he appeared to swoon dizzily and clutched his forehead with a hand. Again, Appleby steadied him with a hand to the shoulder.

"I think it best for you to lie quietly, sir, you may be very ill from the shipwreck and the salt water." The man nodded, steadying himself with both hands clutching the sheets beside him. He looked at Appleby again.

"Need to use your head," he croaked.

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"I need to use your head, please sir."

Appleby was nonplussed, and not a little ashamed that a sexual meaning of this utterance flashed into his brain; but no, surely the stranger did not mean such a thing! Then it dawned on Appleby what was meant; the man was a sailor, and was speaking in nautical jargon of a need to relieve himself.

"Oh! I'm afraid it is outside, and you would have difficulty walking that far in your condition. Here," Appleby said, pulling the chamber pot out from under the bed, "can you use this? Let me assist you."

The man nodded and scooted to the very edge of the bed. Appleby held the pot for him, and a strong flow of urine began. It gave Appleby a moment to study the new arrival. He appeared to be very young. His straight, thick, jet black hair flowed down from his head in a mop that covered his ears, just brushing his neck. The man had a heart-shaped face, almond shaped brown eyes, a small, rounded nose, and full, pink, rosebud lips; his features were unmistakably male but had a girlish quality to them. A long, thin neck led down to strong shoulders and a muscular, boxy chest, lightly rippled abdomen, then a very slim waist that was ridged with thin but clearly delineated muscles. His pubic hair was a small patch of thick, black hairs that waved wildly out in all directions. Despite his recent physical trials, the man's penis displayed a slight morning erection. Nevertheless, it was not terribly large, no bigger than five inches, perhaps four [12½-10 cm]. It sat above a full, rounded reddish ballsack. The man's legs were strongly muscled, but not very long. It appeared as if he would stand no taller than Pan or Bacchus. Appleby was struck by the color of his skin, the first Asian he had seen in the nude and thus the first he was able to observe in this way. The usual common expression spoke of Asian skin as 'yellow,' a description he had always found strange and a little repugnant, yet Appleby could now see that it was no more yellow than he himself was white, or Troy was black. This man's skin was a sort of old-gold-and-tan with perhaps some reddish highlights, a little lighter around the groin where some sort of covering must have protected it from the sun, a little darker in the genitals. All in all, even in his sickened condition, Appleby found him exotically beautiful, and his thoughts returned to the leopard-faced boy at the Ashley Plantation.

These reflections brought a swelling to Appleby's groin, which he resolved to master while the man – or boy? – was still an invalid. The Asian finished urinating, shook the last drops from his semi-rigid organ, then as Appleby removed the pot and covered it with a cloth the man slumped back over against the pillows sideways. Appleby helped to lift his legs back into bed, appreciating their hard muscle tone as he did so. He helped to turn the patient onto his back, propped up against the pillows, and pulled the sheets up to just above his waist. The Asian settled against the pillows with a sigh, then looked at Appleby with a wan smile.

"Where am I? my ship? my mates?" he croaked, hoarsely.

"You are at Seaward Plantation, an island off of Charleston, South Carolina," Appleby replied. "I am afraid that your ship is lost, sir, in the storm. And your friends… we found only you. I am so sorry."

The Asian man covered his mouth, his eyes wide in horror. Appleby looked away to give him a moment to recover. When he looked back, the man was staring into the middle distance, seeming to see friends who were no longer there. Appleby took one of the man's golden tan hands, lying on the covers, and squeezed it, holding it in his own.

"I am so sorry," he said again. "We will look again this morning, but I fear there are no other survivors." The man nodded his understanding. "What was your ship, sir, and… if I may ask, how do you come to know English so well? It appears, if you will forgive me, as if you are not from an English speaking country."

The man nodded. "My ship was the Duchess of Kent, out of Liverpool. An English merchantman. I first learned English from missionaries in my own country. Siam. Then I learned more on the ship." Appleby nodded his understanding. Siam! Well, not China or Japan, but at least he had the correct continent. The man continued in a raspy voice, "My name is Bundit Khunisthakhan."

"My name is Mark Appleby," he said, squeezing the man's hand again. "You may call me Mark. How shall we call you?"

"Bundit, if you please. Are… are there others here?"

"Oh yes, you will meet them. How long have you been at sea?"

Bundit paused, unsure what the question was asking. "The Duchess of Kent was a month out of Liverpool, carrying cargo to New York, then to the West Indies. I have been three years serving at sea on ships. I am twenty years old, sir," he said, covering all the bases. Appleby nodded; the man certainly looked more like a boy due to his small stature and delicate features, though. Bundit suddenly coughed raucously and held his hand to his forehead. Appleby searched the bedside table in a panic, unsure what to give the man that would help, wishing Portia had arisen. He saw the bowl of liquid from which she was giving Bundit some spoonfuls last night, and thinking that it could not hurt, he fed the patient a couple more doses of the stuff. It took a moment but seemed to help, as he laid back against the pillows, a scratchy breath in his throat.

"Good morning, master," sounded two voices in unison from the doorway. There were Pan and Bacchus, eyes wide at the sight of this visitor from another planet awake and conscious. Appleby was glad that they had had the decency to clothe their nakedness with loincloths, but they had nothing else on.

"Come in, boys," he said. "This man's name is Bundit. He is from Siam." Both boys mouthed the man's name and that of his country, looked from each other to the new arrival to Appleby and back again in quick succession. "Bundit, this is Pan," he gestured to the left, "and Bacchus. They are part of the Seaward family."

If Bundit was an exotic revelation to the twins, their color was nothing new to him, world traveler that he was. He smiled faintly and nodded a greeting. At that moment Cassius appeared behind the boys, clothed in shirt and trousers.

"I heard, master," he said, and then nodded a greeting at Bundit. "I am Cassius."

Bundit smiled back, wanly. Turning to Appleby he spoke softly. "He calls you master; are they your slaves?"

Appleby smiled back at him, unsure of how to explain the complicated truth of life at Seaward to Bundit. "Not any longer; Bundit. They are my friends." That would have to suffice for the moment. So much else could be said… they were his family, now… they were his lovers. At that moment Portia appeared also, clothed, brushing her hair back with her hands. She flashed a smile at her brother and at Appleby, then cast a worried look at Bundit.

"I gave him some of this," Appleby said, indicating the bowl. "He felt ill."

"I should imagine he did," she said, looking at the patient, then at the potion. "You gave him the right thing. But now, out, all of you," she said, exercising her right to command as a healer in a sickroom. The four males obeyed her, although Portia and Appleby exchanged a quick smile as he passed by and she brushed his sleeve with her hand. Already clothed, Appleby went directly to Cass and Juno's cabins, to report on developments during the night (but not every development during the night!). Cass hurried off to relieve Portia while Juno busied herself to prepare another batch of herbal remedies. Appleby picked up some breakfast provisions in the kitchen, then returned to the house where he found Cassius and the twins already in the library, studying the books again to learn what they could about Siam, the twins reading aloud to their older friend. Portia came down the stairs and ate a bite of breakfast with the group, in the dining room, then left to wash up and change clothes in the cabin she shared with Juno.

As Appleby was finishing his hurried meal, Priam and Troy appeared at the door with Helen, the latter having slept through last night's adventures. It was agreed that everyone would return to the beach, and Priam and Troy already had the donkey cart hitched up for carrying back whatever they found. Yesterday's storm had cleared the air, and the last of a few white clouds swept by in the high atmosphere as the sun began to dry out the land. Bundit's name and land of origin were shared, discussed, and marveled at by everyone as they walked along.

The beach displayed a collection of objects washed up from the wreck, but no bodies and certainly no survivors. The sea was choppy but clear of any trace of life, death, or wreckage. The thrifty people of Seaward began gathering the things that were strewn on the beach, saving everything for some possible use. Broken boards and lengths of snapped-off rope could still be used for building. A couple of barrels of salt pork would go into their stores, while some empty, waterlogged barrels would be repaired and used for future storage. A watertight box of pistols, powder, and shot was cast high up in the sand, and bits of canvas and fabric dotted the beach everywhere. Two seamen's trunks bobbed in the shallows; upon opening them the contents were found to be dry, but the large size of the clothing made it seem unlikely that either belonged to Bundit. These were saved to show the castaway in case he knew their late owners.

The big find was a lifeboat, half aground and upside down, ropes snapped off dangling from either end but otherwise whole and seaworthy. The party turned it over, discovering oars, a folded mast, and a single sail still lashed securely inside; evidently there had been no chance to put the boat over the side in the storm – nor would it likely have fared any better than the mother ship in those waves – and it had somehow broken away from the doomed vessel. They all worked together to pull the boat up past the high tide line and then turned it back over to protect its contents from the elements.

The party returned to put away their finds in the main house and the storage barns, some agreeing to go back once more that afternoon. Indeed, bits and pieces of wreckage would continue to wash up for a week, perhaps being gradually released from the submerged ship. All of it was useful, some of it being trade goods such as wooden crates containing bolts of cloth in good condition, but no bodies and no more personal effects were found.

Everybody had their work cut out for them on that day, recovering from the effects of the tempest. Losses were not too great, although an entire crop of corn had been blown down in the wind and some chickens were running wild here and there, set free from their cages by the storm. The wisdom of stocking supplies in waterproofed sacks and barrels was becoming apparent, especially if Seaward's population continued to grow. The women were nursing Bundit around the clock, and the reports from the sickroom were that he was much improved. In fact, toward the afternoon, Appleby was pleasantly surprised to find the twins escorting him, wearing some of their clothing, to the outhouse. "Remember, he's still recovering," Appleby whispered urgently, glowering at them, as they escorted him in. They nodded, looking serious, but nevertheless both of them went in with Bundit, although the men's side only had two holes.

Having a moment to sit and think in the study, it dawned on Appleby that the next meeting of the South Carolina Militia was to be in Charleston the following day, a meeting to which he had been invited while at Ashley Plantation. While he had no intrinsic interest in being involved with such a group, it would serve his purposes, and Seaward's, to do so. He also felt he should report the loss of the Duchess of Kent to the proper authorities. Going out to find Troy, he made arrangements for them, with Priam or Hector, to sail into town the next day. Lists of goods to be procured were made in consultation with everyone, and plans were set.

Everyone was tired as the evening approached, but Seaward had been restored to normal as much as possible. Portia was looking quite drained, though, as she had carried the heaviest burden of nursing Bundit. Appleby found a moment alone with her in the second floor hallway. Stepping into the bedroom they had used the night before, they embraced and kissed, but she was too weary to go further. Taking pity on her, Appleby asked about Bundit's state of health. His lungs and stomach were much improved, she said, and what remained was a general need to rest and recover from the physical beating imposed by the waves and wind. Hearing this, Appleby announced his intention to watch Bundit through the night. Portia fussed over it, but he was firm, and in the end she agreed to return to her cabin. She kissed him again, caressed the side of his face with her hand, and was gone.

Finishing his correspondence and other work downstairs, Appleby came up to the second floor for the night. He found Cassius and the twins gathered around Bundit, sitting on the edges of his bed, softly grilling him about every detail of his life: how to pronounce his name, his age, his family, his work on the ship, and on and on. The Siamese man was replying in a soft voice, less hoarse from the sea water now. He was propped up on pillows, the sheets up to his waist, the lamplight playing on the golden tan of his boxy chest and rippled abdomen. His jet black hair, now completely dried of sea water, bounced as he moved his head, its full body and backward sweep lending a girlish quality to his features. Appleby felt a stirring in his groin as he watched the new arrival.

"Time for bed, everyone; I am sleeping in the chair here to watch Bundit tonight," said Appleby. Cassius rose, smiling at the man in the bed, who returned a gentle grin. Pan and Bacchus rose up off the bed but then each came up to Bundit and, lightly brushing his hair back, kissed him quickly on the forehead; then they were gone from the room. The Asian man looked after them curiously, not with any sort of distaste but as if he were trying to discern their intentions.

Appleby left the room also for a moment, to disrobe and change into his undergarments and a dressing gown for the night. Returning to Bundit's room, he pushed two comfortable chairs together for himself. Bundit was dozing, still propped up on the pillows. Appleby was struck again by the young man's beauty, the golden tones of his skin accented by the lamplight, his features both delicate and masculine. Leaning over, he laid a hand gently on the side of his face. Bundit's eyes fluttered open; he looked lazily at Appleby, then smiled and went back to sleep. Appleby gathered in a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. Then, arranging the chairs as well as he could, he turned the lamp down low and settled in for the night.

The night had turned cloudless, and the moon shone into the room, moving a large patch of light slowly across the floor, the bed, the two sleeping men. About midnight, Appleby awoke from a deep slumber to the sound of a groan. He turned in his chair to look at his patient. Bundit was awake, sitting straight up, slowly twisting his torso from side to side. Seeing the white man looking at him, he grinned sheepishly.

"I am so sorry, sir, for waking you. It is… it is painful sometimes," he said.

"Is it your chest, your stomach?" asked Appleby with concern, looking around for the pot with the herbal mixture.

"No, that feels better thank you. My muscles are very sore, sir, from the waves. I think I was thrown through the air when the boilers exploded, landing near a large piece of the hull that was floating nearby. I am just a little sore from the beating of the waves and wind."

"I should think so," Appleby said. "Have they prepared any medicine that is good for that?"

"I don't know, sir," said Bundit, stretching once more and wincing as he lifted his arms straight above his head, revealing a small shock of hair in each armpit.

"Well… how can I help? Would you like for me to massage your muscles for you?"

Bundit looked at Appleby neutrally; he seemed to be gauging the nature of the offer. Carefully, still neutrally, he replied, "I do not want to trouble you, sir."

"It would be no trouble, I would be happy to do it if that would help."

"Alright… alright, sir," said Bundit, and continued sitting up in the bed, waiting, the sheets around his waist.

Scrambling around among the supplies on the bedside table, Appleby discovered that there was indeed a remedy for muscle soreness; it may have been applied when Bundit was unconscious. A pot of sweet smelling thick oil stood there, redolent of herbs and fragrant woods. He removed the top and held it under Bundit's nose to smell, then sniffed it himself. Both men smiled at each other, approving of its scent.

"Very well… suppose you lie on your belly first, and I shall begin," said Appleby.

Bundit stretched out on his belly with a sigh and Appleby pulled the sheets all the way down. The man's bottom was rounded and firm, slab sided with a wide, shallow dimple in the side of each cheek. He bent his arms, turning his head toward Appleby, who sat down on the side of the bed. Coating his fingers with oil, he began rubbing the Asian's neck, working on tense muscles, pushing his fingers up past the line of dark, bushy hair. Lingering there, Appleby marveled again at the wonderful variety of physical features there are in the world; this heavy, soft bush was unlike anything he had previously encountered.

Appleby's fingers then worked their way down into the tops and then the backs of the shoulders, which brought soft gasps and moans but no protest from Bundit. His skin was silky smooth and with the oil it seemed to glow in the soft light. Appleby climbed up onto the bed to get a better angle for digging into the back muscles, but became entangled in his bathrobe as he tried to get into a good position. "Let me just remove this," he said, tossing the robe aside, and clad only in his undergarments he straddled the naked hips of the Siamese youth. Working slowly downward, he kneaded the strong, smooth muscles of the back, digging thumbs into tight spots. Slipping down farther, he dug into the hollow at the base of the spine, then slid over the firm hills of the buttocks and, with fingers on the sides and thumbs just above the ass crack, began working the strong butt muscles. Bundit moaned again, but in a different register. He lifted his head slightly to look back, then put his forehead down into the sheets. The pace of his breathing seemed to pick up.

The oil that Appleby was using for the massage was running in tiny streams down the persimmon colored hills of the Siamese's butt into the valley of his ass. Appleby, caught up in the sensual experience of the moment, ran both thumbs through the bottom of that valley, stopping to scratch and rub softly at the puckered reddish asshole. Now Bundit moaned again, and could definitely be heard to breathe more heavily. He moved his hips slightly, thrusting up ever so slowly. Appleby slid down again and worked the long muscles of the slim legs, barely brushing the ballsack with the tips of his fingers as he pressed into the upper thighs. Bundit's penis was straight up underneath him, and hidden for the moment. Down the legs Appleby went, finally massaging the feet gently. Rocking back on his knees and toes, Appleby surveyed his handiwork.

"Bundit … do you wish to roll over?" he asked.

Silently, the Asian youth turned his boyish body gingerly because of his continuing muscle pain, rolling over to lie on his back, stretched out before the white man. His short penis was extremely rigid, curving up and toward his chest, the ballsack tucked up tight beneath it. The white man and the Asian youth locked eyes and smiled. Bundit nodded. Appleby began the long, slow voyage back up the legs. The Siamese was now panting, and as Appleby reached the hip joints he lightly grasped Appleby's wrists. Scooting up, Appleby now sat astride the man's golden brown upper thighs; he bent forward to work around the genital area and up the slightly rippled abdomen, up into the muscled chest. Leaning forward now over Bundit's torso, he looked down directly into the lovely almond eyes. Keeping eye contact, Bundit reached down and tugged on Appleby's undergarments. The white man likewise reached down and pulled the garment off, his rigid penis flopping out and down to bat against the Asian man's stiff erection. They held that position for a moment, looking deep into each other's eyes, reading there the secrets that each wished to share with the other, and then Appleby plunged down onto the Asian youth, rutting fiercely, their precum-slick dicks sliding together.

A small voice in the back of Appleby's consciousness reminded him that Bundit was not altogether well, and should not be ridden too hard. Yet a fierce passion had possessed him, a desire to make this different body with its different colors, shapes, and textures his own. Perhaps a fuller conquest must wait. Pushing up off of the youth, he scooted up even farther, now straddling the muscular, boxy chest, and brushed the Asian's rosebud lips with the slick head of his penis. Pecking at the rigid organ like a bird, Bundit took it into his mouth, moving his head back and forth on the rigid red dick, his full pink lips sliding up and down. His hands clutched the back of the white man's thighs, pulling them back and forth in rhythm. Appleby balanced on his knees and toes and clutched the youth's full head of bushy hair, running his fingers through the dense helmet, then he grabbed the headboard to steady himself. In and out, back and forth, he face-fucked the Siamese, until from far away in his belly he felt release coming. Closer it came, and faster he pumped, and then it slammed through his body and took him roaring into the face of the Asian youth beneath him, moaning and shouting out "Bundit! O! God!" and pumping rapidly.

Appleby squeezed out the last of his semen, shivered, held his penis tight against the Asian youth's rosebud mouth, then pulled out, trailing a silver streak across Bundit's chin. The white man leaned down and kissed the youth's face and mouth lightly, then quickly scooted back down his panting torso. Falling down flat against the muscular thighs, he took up the rigid reddish-tan penis into his mouth and began pumping, taking it as far in as he could, sucking furiously. The effort would cost the youth something in muscle strain, but Bundit was beyond such considerations now. Clutching the white man's long light brown hair, he thrashed and cried out in an unknown language, bucking his hips up and down, pumping for another minute or two – and then came in copious spews of semen belying his relatively small penis and testicles. Appleby swallowed and sucked hungrily, taking up every bit. The Siamese man collapsed, panting and moaning, clutching his forehead. Appleby cleaned the still-rigid organ with his tongue, then looked up the plain of gold and tan, slim flesh to the beautiful Asian face.

"Oh, Mark. Oh, it hurts so much!" he cried, and Appleby was instantly concerned and regretful. Pushing up on his hands, he asked, "Bundit! Forgive me! What can I do?"

"Oh, Mark… it hurts so good!" chuckled the Siamese youth. His beautiful face broke into a grin, his almond eyes becoming mere slits, even as he continued to clutch his forehead. Moans were interspersed with laughter, and soon Appleby stretched alongside the beautiful young man, lightly hugging and caressing him.

"Forgive me, Bundit. I could not help it," he said, smiling. The Siamese nodded, rubbing Appleby's belly with one hand by way of a blessing. Bundit's breathing returned to normal slowly, chuckling all the while even as he moaned.

"I am still a little sore… but thank you. Thank you so much. I have done this… I have done this before on the ships, you know," he said, squinting at Appleby beneath the hand that he held to his brow, "but this was very nice, much more special. Thank you," he said. Putting his hand by his side, he heaved a deep sigh. Appleby rose, plumped up pillows beneath the youth, kissed his rosebud mouth once more, and pulled the sheets up over him. Bundit nodded and closed his eyes. Appleby clothed himself in the robe and undergarments not two minutes before Mama Cass knocked on the door and entered.

"Good morning, Master Mark," she rumbled. "I am here to take over the nursing." She stopped… sniffed the air suspiciously, and eyed her white master darkly. Appleby clutched his dressing gown around him, shrugged, and looked like Innocence on a pedestal, but he departed quickly, Cass's frown following him all the way. Bundit snored lightly like a baby.

Appleby stepped out into the bright morning sunshine and walked the short distance to the cabin shared by Troy, Athena, and Hector. Troy answered his knock, and gave him an affectionate hug, keeping his arm around the white man's shoulder as he entered the room. Hector was already at the boat preparing it for the trip. Athena brought baby Apple from her crib to show her off. Passing the infant for Appleby to hold for a moment, she squeezed his arm affectionately and smiled brightly up at him. Appleby smiled back, noting the family resemblance to her brothers, Pan and Bacchus. In a moment the infant began to squeal, which made it time to return her to her mother and go out with Troy to the Hesperus. Appleby and Hector greeted each other affectionately. Hector pulled his master's ear down to his mouth and merely whispered, "Good." Had Portia already shared with Hector the news of their passionate encounter? Appleby smiled back, grateful for all the gifts Hector had given him, and hugged him quickly once again. The three worked together to push the Hesperus off from the pier.

A brisk wind took the Hesperus quickly across the short expanse of sea and into Charleston Harbor. Appleby looked in the general direction of Ashley Plantation's estuary as they passed by, but of course it was too far inland to see anything. The Hesperus passed the hulk of Ft. Sumter on the right and then took up canvas as it approached the piers and wharfs of the downtown area. Troy and Hector guided the boat with their usual skill and it glided gently up to the pier, where it was secured.

Appleby reviewed the plans for the day's visit with the two brothers. Building supplies were to be ordered, either to be carried back on the Hesperus or brought out in a day or so to the island. One late addition to the list of supplies needed was some ocean buoys to mark the dangerous reefs and rocks that guarded the eastern side of Seaward – although they would not have saved the Duchess of Kent in such a storm. Appleby also ordered more preserved foodstuffs to replace some of the crops lost in the storm. He gave Troy and Hector money with which to purchase lunch, making sure it was the exact change so that their ability to calculate figures would go undetected. They also had to make sure that all orders for purchases were written out on paper by the white man, or simple enough to be delivered orally by the black men, so as to disguise their ability to read. Appleby felt again a disgust with the need for such subterfuges, but it could not be helped.

The three went their separate ways. Appleby's first stop was at the nearby port authority's office, to report the wreck of the Duchess of Kent. He had brought with him the very few scraps of official paper, bills of lading, and so forth that had washed ashore by way of testament to the ship's sad end. He also reported the single life spared, and said that he would be responsible for Bundit's welfare until he recovered. The officials said that some wreckage, but no bodies, had washed ashore on the outer banks, and that they had been awaiting some clearer news of what had happened.

Appleby had a quick, light lunch at a tavern, then walked through the streets in search of the Armory, where the meeting of the Militia was to be held. Finding it easily, a squat, square, imposing building of stone blocks, he entered and found the meeting room. Colonel Gillam was organizing papers at a table in the front of the room. He recognized Appleby from the ball at Ashley Plantation and greeted him warmly. Appleby was introduced around the room to various dignitaries. As the room filled and it appeared as if the meeting would start, he slipped to the rear of the room and took a seat on the back row, meaning to watch and learn at this event.

Colonel Gillam was gaveling the meeting to order when Appleby felt a hand on his shoulder. Carter Ashley, having just arrived, stood there a little breathless, smiling down at his recent guest. Appleby rose and pumped his hand vigorously. Then Ashley stepped aside, and there was Robert, formally dressed in a suit. The boy's head was held imperially high, but a grin and twinkle in his eye cracked the pretentious demeanor when Appleby shook his hand, bowed in an ironic sendup of Robert's formal posture, and quickly stuck his tongue out and back at the boy (having carefully looked left and right to make sure it would go unobserved by others). Carter sat on one side of Appleby and Robert on the other. Carter Ashley gossiped with Appleby under his breath about the people of Ashley Plantation and their other guests, while Appleby astonished Ashley with news of the shipwreck. But on his other side Robert leaned his thigh up snugly against Appleby's own leg, moving it in tiny, sensuous motions. And, sitting with arms crossed, Robert's hand was positioned to allow him to extend his fingers unobserved to exert slight pressure on the older man's upper arm.

The meeting was called to order. Guests were introduced, Carter Ashley rising and introducing Appleby with great ceremony. There were nods of greeting, and polite applause rippled through the room. There followed the most tedious string of reports from various worthies on the purchasing of arms, on political developments at the local, state, and national levels, on news of any heinous crimes or troubles with Indians or slaves, and on and on. Plans were made for various upcoming events. Then the floor was open to questions and discussion; Appleby remained quiet, observing who expressed which opinions, catching the general drift of public sentiment and resolving to parrot that back to the good burgers of Charleston whenever he could. The last item of business was nomination of new members. Carter Ashley rose and moved that Mr. Mark Appleby of Seaward Plantation be considered for a commission as lieutenant in the South Carolina Militia. The motion drew a second, and murmurs of interest and approval, but the bylaws required that it be voted on after a period of thirty days. The nomination was entered into the minutes and placed on the agenda for the next month's meeting.

The meeting was adjourned, and the group rose, milling about in clusters of conversation. Appleby made sure he repeated the strongest pro-South opinions he could to the men who came up to speak to and congratulate him. As the men began to leave, Carter Ashley shook Appleby's hand once more and said that he needed to attend to one more pressing engagement before returning home that afternoon. Robert, standing nearby, spoke up at that point.

"Father, I have nothing to do until you are ready to return. May I accompany Mr. Appleby down to his boat? Perhaps I could show him the Swan on the way," he said, naming the Ashley vessel. Carter approved, asking his son to remain at the boat until his return, then hurried off to his appointment. Robert looked Ashley square in the face, now grinning conspiratorially. The boy took the man by the elbow and led him out of the Armory and into the streets, where they made their way down to the water.

The Swan was at a berth two piers away from the Hesperus, so Troy and Hector would not have seen the boy leading their master in that direction. The Ashley's vessel was considerably larger than the Hesperus. As Appleby and Robert approached her, three male slaves who had been sitting on her deck rose up and stepped onto the pier where they lined up in a row. They were evidently her crew, wearing the Ashley livery, and they stood in some semblance of military attention as their young white master approached.

Appleby realized as they came up to the three that Rodney was one of them. "At ease!" barked Robert, and the three relaxed into a more natural posture, although remaining in line. Appleby and Rodney locked eyes. Appleby nodded and smiled at the slave, who returned the tiniest of nods and the slyest of grins, being unable to greet the white man more effusively. "You three," said Robert, officiously, "here are some coins. Go buy yourselves some root beer at that inn," indicating an establishment just up the street from that pier, "and remain outside there until I come for you. Mr. Appleby and I have some private business to discuss." The three accepted the coins, thanking their master, and were moving off when a fourth figure scrambled out of the below-decks cabin of the boat and joined the three adult slaves. It was the leopard-faced, exotic boy whom Appleby had bedded along with his master at Ashley.

"Stop – not you, remain here," said Robert. The twelve year old stopped submissively and awaited his master's pleasure; but his eyes, carefully scanning his master's guest, betrayed a recognition of Appleby. He cast a careful, blank, guarded look at the white man, who returned a silent but obvious wink. The ghost of a smile crossed the boy's striking features, then he lowered his eyes. Rodney and the other two men now departed, Rodney risking a quick backward look, answered by another smile from the white man.

With no further need to assume authority over adult men, Robert seemed to relax a little. "This is the Swan," he said, waving his arm at the boat. "Come," he continued, taking Robert by the hand and leading him through a gap in the ship's railing and onto the deck. Robert gave Appleby a very quick tour of the deck, and then plunged down the short, narrow flight of steps into the cabin below. Appleby followed, ducking his head, and Aaron the twelve year old slave brought up the rear.

The space was cramped but comfortable, a long, narrow room with two narrow couches along both sides and a wider couch at the far end. Pillows scattered about gave evidence that the couches could be used for sleeping as well if the Swan were on the water overnight. A tiny door by the couch at the far end led to the head, while behind them was access to a small cooking galley as well as the hold and other utility areas of the boat. Portholes let in light on both sides of the cabin. Robert went halfway back up the steps and pulled down a hatch, closing off the cabin to the outside. He and Appleby stood then, looking at each other intently, while the slave boy Aaron stood off to one side watching the two, waiting for instructions.

Robert took two quick steps across the cabin and was into Appleby's arms, holding him tightly. Appleby returned the embrace, burying his face in the golden pageboy hair of the fourteen year old. He moved one hand to the side of the boy's face and tilted his head up. He swam right into the boy's ice blue eyes for a minute, then let his gaze wander over the freckled strawberries and cream complexion, settling on the boy's bee-stung lips – which he kissed passionately. Robert moaned softly, then pushed back and, without comment or ceremony, began pulling off his clothes. Robert nodded curtly toward Aaron and said, "You, too." Appleby likewise began kicking off boots, dropping trousers, tearing off jacket, shirt, and cravat… and before long all three stood naked.

Robert threw himself into Appleby's arms again, his erection jutting upward. Standing, the two pushed into each other, Robert grasping the man's muscular back, Appleby with his hands down around the boy's rounded bottom, pulling it tight into his body. Robert pushed up on his toes into the larger man, sliding his penis rhythmically up and down in little jerks against Appleby's belly which was becoming slick with precum. Evidently the boy had had time to think about this encounter, for his moves were sure and premeditated. He broke the embrace and slid slowly to his knees, his mouth working furiously all the way down to suck and bite Appleby's nipples, lick the skin over his muscled abdomen, tongue his navel, and pull his pubic hair with his teeth.

The adult's rigid red penis slapped the blonde boy in the face as his knees reached the floor. Slipping his face beneath the organ, he took each testicle into his mouth, sucking so hard that Appleby winced and cried out in protest. Shifting his attention, the boy's full lips moved up and found the man's penis, licking it on the underside all the way up. He grasped the rod with his hand and looked up at Appleby through long, blonde lashes: "I want you like this. I want to swallow it," he said, tensely, then took the man's penis into his mouth. It was clear that Robert, for all his experience in being sucked by his boy slaves, had little or no experience in the reverse, for Appleby had to whisper "no teeth" more than once, but the boy soon improved his technique and his mouth rode the man's rigid cock with increasing speed, up and down, slurping and sucking.

Appleby buried his fingers in the boy's blonde hair, pulling the head into his groin – but the man's eyes were elsewhere. For Aaron had silently moved into position a few feet behind Robert. The boy's thick, puckered lips were parted, moistened by his darting tongue, and he was panting lightly. The boy's thin, reddish brown, muscular tube of a body was rigid with desire, his belly a little forward, his chest a little back, his prominent rounded buttocks pushing out behind, which gave him a slightly swayback profile. Aaron's thin, dark penis was held in his hand and he was slowly, slowly running his thumb and three fingers up and down the shaft. The boy's dark, almond shaped eyes were locked onto Appleby's eyes. White man and black slave boy communed wordlessly in that gaze.

Appleby felt himself balanced between two erotic worlds: His hands and dick told him he was being sucked by the beautiful blonde boy who squatted on his knees before him, but his eyes made a connection beyond mere flesh with the beautiful reddish chocolate boy with the straight black hair a few feet away. Appleby's passion over the next five minutes was like a pot on the flames; it went from simmering to boiling, and then to overflowing. With a roar, he bucked his groin forward, pulling the blonde head in toward his groin, never breaking the visual lock on the eyes of the black slave boy a few feet away. Robert sucked and swallowed desperately, not losing a drop as Appleby cried out again, spewing sperm from his rigid penis into the blonde's mouth.

The crisis passed; Appleby drew in ragged gasps of breath as Robert sucked the remaining cum from his penis, then licked the shaft up and down and around the head to clean it. Then the boy stood up, his lips glistening, and reached for Appleby's hands in both of his. He stood there, his slim reddish organ painfully erect; it appeared as if he had not thought beyond this point, or was unsure of what Appleby would agree to do.

Appleby's view of the black slave boy was blocked by the blonde beauty now. Thinking quickly, he led Robert by the hand toward the wide couch or bed at the back of the cabin, nodding back at Aaron to follow them. Appleby threw himself on his back on the bed. "Any oil or lubricant?" he asked. Robert nodded, and quickly turned toward a low cupboard to pull out some hair oil, which perhaps he kept there just for the purpose. Appleby wanted to give Robert what he guessed would be a new experience. He quickly rubbed some of the oil on his own anus, lying back on the bed and raising his legs for the task. He pushed some of the oil into his own love tunnel, then motioned for Robert to crawl up between his legs. Appleby looked around the white boy and nodded at Aaron, inviting the black slave boy to stretch out alongside him on the bed. Grasping the blonde boy's throbbing penis, he oiled it, then lay back again as he pulled the boy toward him, raising his legs to cross them over Robert's back..

Robert's full mouth made an "O" and he breathed in sharply as he realized that he was about to fuck his first white man, after many similar experiences with black boys… and black men? Appleby did not know. There was little time to speculate, as Robert's fourteen year old organ pushed up against his anus. There was a momentary pain, then the sphincter relaxed and the boy's organ easily slid into the rectal canal. Supporting himself on the palms of his hands, Robert's torso arched out over Appleby as his hips began pistoning in and out, picking up speed. Aaron lay beside them, looking from one to the other, slowly masturbating while he breathed through parted, thick lips. A look of wonder remained on the blonde boy's face, now mixed with a frantic animal passion, as he moved toward his climax. Unable to pace himself, the fourteen year old soon shouted out, "O! God!" and slammed his groin forward into Appleby's butt, held it there, pumped three more times crying and moaning, slammed once more, and collapsed on top of Appleby.

Incoherent moans and cries of "ah! ah!" escaped from the blonde boy as he heaved for breath. His penis plopped out of the man and the boy rolled off of Appleby and to the side. Appleby turned slightly to his other side to grasp Aaron's skinny, muscular body, and he rolled the slave boy into the same position that Robert had held but a moment before. But then there was a breathless, panting cry from Robert:

"No! No, not with one of them. It isn't right. They are for our pleasure, not the other way around." Robert panted heavily, but whether from the aftermath of his own orgasm or his outrage that Appleby would let himself be fucked by a slave boy, the white man could not tell. For a moment, Appleby's look of amazement and incredulity locked with Robert's look of scandal. Then Appleby simply turned from Robert to the black slave boy who was crouching between his legs. Appleby raised his legs once more and pulled the twelve year old into position. His slim brown penis slipped easily and without additional lubrication into Appleby's well-fucked anus.

Robert gasped and flopped back on his back, staring at the cabin ceiling, recovering breath. Aaron was now where Robert had been, arched out over the white man, his penis well up into the wet, warm rectal tunnel. Appleby now locked his legs around the black boy's back, and the slave began moving his hips – slowly, experimentally at first, feeling his way in an utterly new experience. He cast sidelong glances at his young white master, who continued looking straight up at the ceiling, catching his breath. Then he looked down at Appleby in wonder at this white man who would permit such an intimacy.

Then the black boy simply exploded into a frantic pistoning, all restraint and questioning put aside. Loud slaps from his lower belly meeting Appleby's thighs and hips filled the cabin, and a steady cry of "unh, unh, unh" came from his full, parted lips. His cries increased in loudness as his hips began drumming a steady staccato beat against the white man – and then he howled and ground his groin against Appleby's butt, twisting his torso and wailing like an animal beneath the moon. He simply held his groin there as his twelve year old penis shot its modest load into Appleby, but the ecstasy he felt was greater than anything he had ever experienced. Spent, he collapsed onto Appleby's torso and lay there, heavy breathing interspersed with a high keening sound from his throat.

Minutes passed in stillness, if not silence. Aaron was the first to rise, perhaps worried about his standing with his young blonde master. He withdrew from the bed and began dressing again in the Ashley livery; then he quietly slipped up the stairs, Appleby smiling at him as he went. Once the black boy was gone, Robert turned on his side toward Appleby, his penis leaking a thin line of watery semen onto his thigh. Appleby turned toward him and put one hand around the boy's blonde head, drew him close and kissed him on the lips. Robert looked at Appleby with a range of conflicting emotions moving across his beautiful face.

"Appleby… Mark… I don't know. It seems so… so improper. I cannot imagine. But… did it feel good? Is it different?"

"Yes, Robert. It felt good. It was wonderful to be with you… and wonderful to be with Aaron in that way. You should try it." Robert smiled, flattered at his own sexual attractiveness, but then shook his head in sorrow. He rose from the bed and began dressing, followed by Appleby. The two climbed up through the opened hatch and onto the deck. Shadows of late afternoon were gathering, and they both knew that Carter Ashley would soon return. It was time for Appleby to go.

Appleby shook Robert's hand, holding it longer and squeezing it tighter than formality required, looking into his crystal blue eyes for what felt like a long time. Turning to go, he stepped onto the pier and began walking back toward shore. Passing a thick wooden upright, he heard a soft, whispered voice: "Goodbye, mastah… an' thank you, suh. Thank you…" It was Aaron, sitting on the planks with his back to the wood; he had been waiting for the white man there. A feeling of tenderness, and sorrow for his situation, flowed over Appleby, but he could not show it publicly in that place. He reached down briefly to run his hand quickly over the slave boy's straight, black hair and caress the back of his neck, then he stood back up and smiled. "No, Aaron… thank YOU. Until the next time." For the first time, the boy's exotic leopard face split into a huge, wide smile. Appleby turned and walked to the end of the pier, then over to his own and back up to the Hesperus. The Swan was no longer visible from there among the other boats and ships.

Troy and Hector were already aboard, waiting patiently for their master. All were eager to be off, to return to the haven of Seaward. They worked to cast the boat off, and it glided into the harbor, adding canvas as it gained open water. They shared stories of the day's adventures with each other, although Appleby glossed over his experiences on the Swan. It troubled him.

Sitting next to Troy at the tiller in the stern of the boat, and away from prying eyes, Appleby put an arm around the black man's shoulders and squeezed him tight. Hector was occupied with the rigging ahead of the mast. Appleby looked hard at Troy for a moment, who looked back at Appleby with a wide, questioning grin.

"Troy… Troy, are you happy being black?" Then Appleby looked away and shook his head; it sounded so stupid. "I mean… I don't know what I mean. Would you make things different if you could?"

Troy took a moment to compose his reply; how could he not have considered the question before?

"Master… I didn't like being a slave. I don't like having to act as I do in Charleston. I know some servants at other plantations are made to hate their color, how they look. I see them in town, I know how it can be – although Miss Lucy never made us feel like that. But me…" here he stared out to sea, showing Appleby his strong, brown, masculine profile. "For me, I really like it since you came. And I like it being at Seaward. And… I guess I like being black. I think I look pretty good." He broke into a boyish grin.

Appleby pulled his friend tight and kissed him hard on the cheek. "Yes… yes, I think you look pretty good, too, Troy. And I, too, am glad I'm at Seaward." The two sat side by side as the Hesperus ran free before the wind, making for a small island in a hostile sea.

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