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Subject: {ASSM} The Adventures of Stampley Plantation: Chapter 1 (Mm nc hist interr ds 1st va)
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Date: Thu, 13 Jul 2006 18:10:02 -0400
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The Adventures of Stampley Plantation

By WannabeWhitman (WannabeWhitman@yahoo.com)

DISCLAIMER:  This story is a homosexual fantasy involving slavery in
the antebellum South, non-consensual sex with minors, and racial
epithets. If you think any of this might offend you, DO NOT READ. If
you live in a country, state, or jurisdiction that prohibits you from
reading this material, DO NOT READ. If you are a minor, DO NOT READ. I
realize these stories might contain material distasteful, even
shocking, to some, but nobody is forcing you to read it. Keep in mind
these are only FANTASIES based on our country's racial history and my
own conflicted imagination. My intention is not to condone or encourage
racism, pedophilia, or rape.

NOTE TO READERS: Although the following is entitled "Chapter 1," it
is preceded by an extended Introduction posted earlier that I'd
STRONGLY encourage you to read in order to fully appreciate the context
and characters.

Although this story is set in the antebellum South, I have not done
extensive research and cannot guarantee complete historical accuracy.
Most of the names, however, are taken from actual records of
slave-owners and their slaves.

Any and all feedback is welcome and desired! I would love to hear
advice on how my writing might improve, suggestions for future
characters or storylines, stories and fantasies of your own, and
anything else you might want to share. E-mail me at
WannabeWhitman@yahoo.com.

Chapter 1: Innocence Lost

For nearly a week, James Stampley attempted to escape his temptations
by pursuing other activities. He read novels under the shade trees near
the plantation house. He wrote dozens of letters to his friends and
family members back home in Boston, even casual acquaintances that
certainly wouldn't expect any correspondence. He explored the
numerous bedrooms, passageways, and closets in his new home. He
organized his new bedroom down to the most meticulous details. He took
long naps on the hammock on the front verandah.

None of this helped. The plantation's vast, dusty rooms only made him
feel small and lonely. He knew that at one point in the not-so-distant
past, these rooms had been filled with life and laughter, but now they
stood silent and neglected, save for the weekly dusting of Becky,
Abel's mother.

James was too scared of what he'd feel if he visited the slave
quarters or fields, so he pretty much kept to himself. His only company
was the loud and tiresome Mr. Potter at meal-times, and the occasional
nervous greeting to Abel when the house-boy would bring him lemonade on
the verandah, draw his bath, serve him meals, or other various
responsibilities. Even then, James would only allow himself a quick
glance at the boy's breathtaking features, for fear the next look
might strike the devastating blow to his moral resistance.

Nights were the worst. Lying in bed, feeling the late-night breeze from
the window pass over his half-naked body, his body aching to explore
the temptations he knew were living, eating, laughing, sleeping, and
fucking in the slave quarters just yards away from his bedroom. Making
things worse was James's masochistic refusal to masturbate. He knew
that the smart thing to do would be to jerk off; just one quick release
would relieve the maddening desires building up within him. But no, he
thought to himself, he'd been doing that for far too many years, and
he hated the way it dulled his imagination, depleted his appetites, and
drained his energy in all areas of life. Besides, this was a moral
battle he wanted to win without cheating, and in his twisted logic,
masturbation was considered cheating. So each night James would splash
cold water on his aching dick, bury his head beneath the pillow and do
his best to dream of something other than the countless specimens of
beautiful dark flesh he so desperately wanted to enjoy.

It was a warm night about a week and a half after his arrival at
Stampley Plantation when James Stampley finally reached his breaking
point.

Earlier that day he'd been careless, and literally stumbled right
into temptation. Bored and restless after being cooped up in the house
all morning, James had decided to go on an afternoon hike, promising
himself he wouldn't go near the slave quarters or cultivated fields
where the slave men worked. He kept his promise, exploring a trail
winding through some woods to the left of the slave quarters, but ended
up stumbling upon a small creek where a dozen or so pickaninny boys
were splashing and laughing........completely naked.

His heart stopped the instant he saw them, and he drew back behind a
tree before they had a chance to discover his presence. He clenched his
eyes shut tight, breathing heavily: This isn't right, he told
himself, spying on these innocent boys' private fun. But he
couldn't help himself -- the mingling of the high-pitched laughing
and raspy preteen Negro voices was like an irresistible siren beckoning
him to his doom.

He turned back around to watch them, mesmerized by what he saw. From
what he could tell, they were boys anywhere from 8 to 14, ranging in
color from the deepest, purest ebony to the lightest, richest yellow.
Their smooth, youthful skin glistened from the sun reflected off the
water dripping down their chests and backs to the treasures of their
midsections, both front and back. James wished he could make time stand
still so that he could take in the bodies more fully, rather than the
split-second flashes of dangling boy dicks or tiny tight boy asses he
could only barely make out through all the splashing and
water-acrobatics.

The sight of so much Negro boy-flesh caused his dick to grow harder and
longer than it ever had in his entire life. He probably would have
whipped it out then and there, splashing his sperm across the tree
trunk in front of him, had it not been for the sound of one of the
older Negro women approaching through the woods, calling the boys back
to the slave quarters for supper.

The memory of the sight was too strong for his feeble moral resistance
on this particular night. Mr. Potter's words from less than two weeks
ago rang in his ears like thunder: "Hell, just say the word and
I'll have one of the overseers fetch you the finest piece of nigger
pussy in the state of Georgia. Any age, any color."

In the abstract, James had been able to refuse such an offer. But now,
images of real Negro boys dancing in his mind, the temptation was an
overpowering reality. He knew all he had to do was say the word and any
one of those boys, or their older brothers, or even their fathers,
could be his to possess sexually that night. Hell, he could have
grabbed up any single boy from the creek that afternoon, then taken him
back to his bedroom and had his way with him. Or if he was even MORE
daring and perverse, he could have fucked him right then and there, in
front of the shocked and curious audience of other boys.

There was no longer any point in resisting. Just one time, James swore
to himself. One boy, one night. After all, he'd wanted to see what
slavery was all about, so he was only being thorough in his
investigation. You have to KNOW something to FIGHT something, he
rationalized. He would be kind. He would be gentle. Deep down he knew
that all such resolutions were meaningless since the boy, a slave and
piece of property, had no real choice in the matter, but he pushed
these thoughts into deep places where they could no longer trouble him
that night.

He thought of the two slaves he already knew by name: Abel, the mulatto
houseboy, and Jacob, the dark-skinned stable-boy. Abel was sleeping in
the same house but sharing a room with his parents, who would probably
make more fuss than James cared to stir up that night. Jacob was a
tempting back-up, but James had no clue where he slept, and didn't
want Mr. Potter to know he'd been thinking about this TOO seriously.
In the end he decided to leave it up to fate.

Dizzy and delirious with desire and expectation once he'd made up his
mind, James staggered down the hall like a drunken man to Mr.
Potter's room. Knowing a second's pause could break his resolve, he
knocked on the door immediately, softly but urgently. He heard Mr.
Potter mumbling and fumbling for his clothes.

"What is it, Little Jimmy?" Mr. Potter asked, wiping his eyes. But
the moment he saw the nervousness and desperation on James's face,
Mr. Potter's sleepy scowl broke into a huge, devilish grin. "Boy or
girl?" he asked bluntly, sparing James the embarrassment.

"Ummmmm........I think I'll try a boy, but just this once," James
replied sheepishly, looking at the ground, to the left, over his
shoulders, anywhere but in Mr. Potter's smirking, gloating eyes.

"Of course, Little Jimmy, of course. Just this once, just this
once," he said in mock-assurance, laughing and laughing and laughing.


*************************************************************


The slave boy Elijah sat Indian-style on the dirt floor of his
family's cabin in the slave quarters, playing a game of homemade
checkers with his younger brother Thadeus (whom they called Thad). They
were using multi-colored stones they'd collected while swimming at a
nearby creek earlier that afternoon; Elijah's pieces were the darker
stones, Thad's were the lighter. Poor slave boys had to be
imaginative when coming up with ways to entertain themselves.

Elijah's skin was a rich dark brown like his mother's, and his face
was round and cute with big deep eyes, the typical Negro nose, full
lips, and thick, wooly hair.

Despite his enslavement and poverty, young Elijah found happiness in
these quiet late nights with his mother and little brother. Even though
he was barely 14, he'd been the "man" of the house since his
father was sold away when he was only 10. He and his little brother
played with the other slave children during the day while his mother
worked hard in the fields from before he woke up until sunset. These
few precious hours at night were the only time his mother, brother, and
he were together, and he did his best to treasure every moment. Elijah
knew that everything would change in a few months when the overseers
would order him to work in the fields. Some of his friends had already
been dragged reluctantly into adulthood, but Elijah was fortunate to
still have a scrawny, boyish build, totally free of body fat but not
yet muscled enough to survive 13 hours of grueling manual labor a day.

Most nights his mother was too sore and exhausted to say much or join
in the games; after supper she usually just lay on her bed - a small
pile of hay with a ragged blanket tossed over it, closed in by a
rectangle of wooden boards nailed together - and listened to the
games played by her two sons. Sometimes she'd even fall asleep
earlier than intended, as she'd done tonight. Elijah didn't mind
his mother's sleepiness; for him, it was just nice to feel her warm
touch when she'd pat him lovingly on the head, or hear her pleasant
voice when she'd laugh at something Thad or him had said. He and Thad
usually played games, sang songs, or told stories until they could no
longer keep their eyes open, collapsing in the makeshift hay bed the
two brothers shared in the opposite corner of the room.

Despite their age difference - Thad was only 10 - the two brothers
were very close, practically inseparable. Elijah wanted to cry every
time he imagined being forced to leave his little brother behind to
work in the fields, knowing the day was near.

Tonight had been the typical evening. His mother had collapsed on the
bed immediately following dinner, while he and Thad cleared the table
and scrubbed the dishes. After finishing their chores, the two boys
were eager to try out their new checkers pieces. The brothers had been
lost in their game for several hours when they were startled by a loud
knock on the cabin door. Their eyes locked in fear, for it wasn't the
friendly knock of a neighbor, but the unmistakably gruff knock of an
overseer.

Phoebe, Elijah's mother, was jarred out of her sleep by the violent
sound. Immediately, her blood turned to ice in her veins. Terror and
confusion crossed paths in her sleep-muddled brain. What the hell could
the overseer want this late at night??? she wondered.

There had been a time in the past when she'd grown accustomed to
these late-night visits. In those days, there was no mistaking the
intentions of the visitor. She'd usually be dragged off to the
overseer quarters for the late-night amusements of one of them,
sometimes more than one. Occasionally she'd find herself in the
guest-bedroom of one of Master Walt's out-of-town visitors.

One of the overseers, a toothless, lecherous drunk called Mr. Snopes,
had taken a particular liking to her a few years back, even drunkenly
confessing his undying LOVE for her one night, begging her to run away
with him and be his wife. The idea alone was repulsive enough to her,
not to mention offensive considering she had a Negro husband at the
time, the father of both Elijah and Thad. In a risky moment of
defiance, she told him bluntly that he could take her body as much as
he wanted, he could even take her life, but no white man would ever
make her love him. He nearly beat her to death that night, but never
again raped her. Although she never had any concrete proof, she was
convinced Mr. Snopes had been behind the sudden sale of her husband two
months later.

But all that seemed so long ago now. One of the benefits of being over
thirty was that none of the overseers, Mr. Snopes included, ever looked
her way any more. She was nothing more than used goods to them, and
happy for it.

So what could possibly bring an overseer to her cabin this late at
night? She'd worked hard all day and received no lashes. She hadn't
stolen any fruit from the Master's orchard, or eggs from the
Master's chicken coop lately, at least not that she could remember.
And she sure as hell didn't have any daughters, thank God.

Unless........Phoebe's heart froze in her chest at the idea. No, she
thought, they couldn't possibly want one of her BOYS for such vile
purposes. Please God, don't let them take my innocent boys, she
prayed to herself, trying to shield her panic from her son's
quizzical eyes. She'd heard rumors of such perversions taking place
on the Potter plantation, but to her knowledge nothing of the kind ever
occurred under Master Walt.

Her heart sank as she remembered the latest happenings in the white
world, the death of her Master and arrival of his young nephew from
Boston. Surely a relative of Master Walt's couldn't have such a
filthy mind, she tried to assure herself. She'd seen him out of the
corner of her eye while fetching some clean rags from Becky's boy
Abel earlier that week, and he seemed decent and normal enough, for
white folks at least. But white folks are animals and devils, she
reflected. Ain't nothing they won't do to niggers.

The overseer Mr. Snopes stood outside Phoebe's cabin with a malicious
grin on his face. Of course he could just as easily have stormed in
without knocking, but he liked the idea of making Phoebe sit in dread
for a minute or two. "Stupid nigger cunt," he thought to himself.
"Probably thought I forgot about her making me feel like shit that
night. This'll fuckin' teach her to know her place and not talk
back to a white man."

Who was he kidding, this was more petty amusement than profound
revenge. He'd gotten over the old hag years ago - of course framing
her husband for that chicken theft had helped -- and been through
plenty of nigger pussy since. But that didn't mean her defiance that
night hadn't stuck in his crawl. So when Sam Potter had interrupted
the Poker game in the overseer's quarters, asking him to fetch a
pretty virgin nigger boy for the new Master, he knew exactly which
slave cabin to visit.

Phoebe's oldest boy Elijah was what the overseers called a
"pre-breeder," meaning he had the kind of striking good looks that
promised to make him a valuable buck breeder in a couple years. Hell,
if Snopes's inclinations leaned in that direction, he would have
already helped himself to some of that little nigger's ass. But being
fairly confident that neither Walt Stampley nor any of his overseers
leaned in that direction either, he was 100% certain he'd be
delivering the pure virgin goods to Walt's nephew that night.

And the fact that he knew it would break Phoebe's heart to know her
son was being raped just yards away from her home, helpless to do
anything about it, made it the sweetest form of revenge.

"I'm taking your oldest boy," Mr. Snopes said gruffly, after a
trembling Phoebe opened the cabin's front door. The two boys stood a
few feet behind her, wide-eyed with surprise and terror.

"He do somethin' wrong, Mistuh Snopes?" Phoebe asked
optimistically, preferring the whipping-post for her son to the awful
fate she feared.

"Ain't nothin' wrong I've heard of," Snopes snapped. "The
new master wants to see him, all's I know," he grinned.

Elijah cocked his head in puzzlement. He didn't know whether to be
afraid or flattered. He'd never even been to the Master's house,
let alone REQUESTED to the Master's presence. Only white folks he
ever saw were the overseers and Master Walter when he'd visit the
slave quarters with gifts at Christmastime. What could the Master
possibly want with him?

Phoebe's heart sank within her, her worst fears confirmed.
"What's he want with my boy this time of night?" she asked, her
voice breaking even as she tried to cling to hope.

"Same reason I came for you all those nights, I 'spect," Snopes
snapped, getting a sadistic pleasure from being so blunt about it.

"Please, no, not my son, not my Elijah," Phoebe cried, tears
welling up in her eyes.

She was dizzy and for a brief second thought she might faint.
Everything was spinning around her. They'd already taken her husband
from her, and now they were about to obliterate her son's innocence,
rob him of both his boyhood and manhood at once. She knew from
experience he'd never be the same, he'd always have something cold
and hard inside him where something warm and soft should be.

She suddenly regretted all her maternal attempts to keep her sons
innocent of sexual things - deflecting their curious questions, only
making love to her husband in quick midday flings or nights when the
boys were staying with friends. She winced to think that Elijah's
ignorance of such things would only make his corruption all the more
traumatic for him - and all the more exciting for the new Master, she
thought angrily.

"Mama, what's goin on? Why's the Massuh want me, Mama?" Elijah
asked, trying to sound brave but increasingly alarmed by his mother's
behavior. Thad was already crying, but Elijah tried his hardest to hold
the tears back.

"I........I don't know, baby," Phoebe tried to comfort him.

She tried to think fast........for a second she thought she might grab
the piece of wood they used to poke the fire, still glowing from the
dinner-fire's ashes - then gouge Snopes's eyes out with it before
grabbing her two boys and making a desperate run for freedom. The
thought had barely formed in her mind before she knew it could never
work. Georgia was too far south, she'd be torn to shreds by dogs
before making it to the North, especially with two young boys on her
arms. And for killing a white man she'd most certainly be hanged, and
her two sons sold away from one another.

She decided to try a different approach.

"Please, Mistuh Snopes, I'm begging you........not my eldest boy,
not my son. Take Lil Rooster instead, Penny's boy next door. You know
he the same age and ten times more handsome." She blushed with shame
at the betrayal of her neighbor, but desperate circumstances make
people do desperate things, she rationalized.

Elijah was even more confused; if the new Master wanted to see him,
what did his friend Lil Rooster or his looks have to do with anything?

"He wants YOUR BOY," Snopes barked. "I'm gittin tired of your
whining, nigger. The boy's gotta come with me NOW."

"Please, I'll do anything," Phoebe pleaded, grabbing hold of
Snopes's arm. "I'll........I'll go with you like you asked,"
she cried out in defeat. "Right this instant. Just don't take my
boy!"

The sacrifice of her happiness was worth saving the purity and
happiness of her son.

"Nigger, please," Snopes laughed. "I don't want your tired old
bones, bitch. I'm taking the boy."

Thad was crying even louder now. Tears welled up in Elijah's eyes
too, the ugly words from Snopes and desperate pleading from his mother
confirming for him that whatever the new Master wanted, it couldn't
be good.

Phoebe rushed over to her sons and grabbed hold of Elijah's face
between her hands. She looked like a madwoman, and it scared him.

Leaning down in a hysterical whisper she warned, "Do whatever the new
Massuh wants, you hear, boy?"

Elijah started crying. Phoebe tried to shake some courage into him.

"I can't save you. I wish to God I could, but I can't, so do
EVERYTHING he asks. Listen to your Mama, now. Don't scream and
don't fight, no matter how bad it gets. I want you coming back to me
ALIVE, you hear?"

She cringed to imagine what that reunion would be like, and grabbed her
son's head to her breasts in a thick embrace. "Don't matter what
no white man do to you, Elijah, yo' Mama LOVES you and that's
all't matters in this world."

Snopes was disgusted by this sentimental display. The whole thing had
almost ceased to be any fun. He tore Phoebe away from Elijah, tossing
her to the corner of the room where Thad ran to her embrace.

"You gonna come easy-like, or do I gotta carry ya?" Snopes
demanded.

"I'll go easy like, sir," Elijah mumbled, wiping away his tears
and looking for his mother's nod of approval from the corner.
"That's a good nigger boy," Snopes laughed, leading Elijah out
into the thick nighttime darkness and toward the Master's house.

***************************************************************


James knew there was no turning back now. There he was sitting on the
edge of his bed, shaking with anticipation, facing the young Negro boy
brought to his room just moments ago by an ugly overseer.

All fears that he might be disappointed with Mr. Potter's choice
disappeared the moment he saw the handsome, brown-skinned youth enter
his room. Now the boy stood with his arms to his side just a few feet
away, visibly shaking and with signs of tear-streaks on his smooth
caramel cheeks.

James knew he should feel compassion for the boy, that he should sign
manumittance papers for him that very second and ship him off to the
North first thing in the morning.

But the devil in his nature had already taken over, and all he felt was
arousal at seeing the boy's tear-stained face. He looked the boy up
and down, observing his wooly, disheveled hair; thick, purplish-red
lips; ragged cotton clothes, glimpses of the boy's brown skin showing
through the holes; the small, scrawny body, still very much a boy's
but with the faint hints of a man's developing muscles.

James literally shivered in anticipation of the pleasures to come. His
dick was growing hard in his pants just from LOOKING at the fully
clothed boy standing before him, at James's complete mercy.

James was determined to take his time; this was a one-time indulgence,
after all, so he might as well make the most of it. Besides, there was
no reason to rush - he could take all night if he wished. Hell, he
could take all of the next day, the next WEEK, if he wanted to.

James was still committed to treating the boy kindly. He called the boy
over to sit beside him on the edge of the bed.

Elijah approached nervously. Every sensation was new and overwhelming:
this being his first time in any kind of house, let alone his
MASTER'S house, and having seen so few white men in his young life,
let alone sat beside them so intimately. What he wanted to do more than
anything was run as fast as he could out of that room and back to the
arms of his mother and brother. But he remembered his mother's
instructions, and shifted nervously into a sitting position beside the
white man.

"What's your name?" James asked, in a voice much gentler than
Elijah expected based on his few experiences with the plantation's
overseers.

"Elijah, sir," the boy replied in a sullen, raspy voice, looking at
the floor in front of him.

"What a beautiful name," James said. "Biblical name, isn't
it?"

"I believes so, Massuh," Elijah mumbled.

His lips looked full and wet, and James felt an almost uncontrollable
urge to kiss them. Take your time, he coached himself. You have all the
time in the world - enjoy every minute of this.

"How old are you?" James asked, knowing the boy beside him
couldn't be any older than 15, maybe an underdeveloped 16.

"I'se 14, Massuh," the boy answered, still staring intently at
the ground, confused by the unexpected kindness and ordinariness of the
new Master's questions.

Absolutely perfect, James thought to himself. If he was totally honest
with himself he knew he'd found males everywhere from 9 or 10 all the
way up to his own age and slightly older appealing, but something about
the adolescent male - especially the adolescent NEGRO male - right
on the threshold from boyhood innocence to manhood, was more arousing
than any of the others. He might be an obnoxious asshole, but Mr.
Potter had guessed his tastes perfectly with very little to go on.

James started to tell the boy not to call him "Master," but stopped
himself. He had to admit, every time the boy called him that in his
hoarse, frightened voice, it sent thrilling goose bumps down his spine.


"Are your parents on this plantation? Any brothers or sisters?"
James asked, trying to put the boy at ease with the friendly small
talk. He'd read enough about slavery to know that many children were
sold away from their parents and siblings at a young age, or have their
parents and siblings sold away from THEM.

"I live with my mother and little brother, Massuh," Elijah
explained. "They sold my daddy away when I was ten."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Elijah," James said, sincerely. "How
old's your little brother, and what's his name?"

"We calls him Thad, sir. He ten now, almost eleven."

"I see," James replied. He'd only been trying to get to know the
kid a little, but the image of this boy's younger brother caused his
cock to twitch against his will. Despite his resolve to make this a
one-time deal, his mind was already racing ahead to possible adventures
in the future.

"What do you and Thad like to do for fun?" James asked, continuing
his attempt to put the boy at ease. It seemed to be working, as Elijah
now nervously eyed him out of the corner of his eye from time to time,
instead of staring at the floor.

"We loves to fish, Massuh" Elijah told him, almost breaking into a
smile. "Sometimes we play 'catch a nigger' too. It's a game
where one of us is the slave-catcher and the others is runaway niggers.
We all run and hide while the slave-catcher tries to get us. We pick a
tree or rock we call the 'Norf,' and everybody who gets to the
'Norf' 'out gittin caught is a free nigger. Everybody the
slave-catcher gets and the last person to the 'Norf' is out the
game, till the next game at least."

Elijah gasped for air in the midst of his enthusiastic story, realizing
he'd just said a bunch of words to a WHITE MAN, his new MASTER no
less, the way he'd talk to Thad or Lil Rooster or his Mama. He looked
sheepishly over at James, as if to ask if he should continue. James,
charmed by the cute Negro boy's sudden burst of energy, nodded for
him to continue.

"We also likes to swim, 'specially in the summertime cuz of the hot
sun."

James smiled to himself, realizing Elijah had probably been a part of
the group of naked boys he'd lusted after that afternoon. Maybe his
brother, too. How fitting, James thought.

Elijah continued: "And sometimes us older boys hunts for squirrels
and rabbits and snakes and things like that. The overseers only give us
meat but once a month, so when we cans we tries to catch some extra."


"Do you like being a slave?" James interrupted, hating himself for
asking such a stupid question as soon as the words escaped his lips.

The question caught Elijah off guard. He started to explain his
feelings on the matter, but before he'd uttered a word he caught
himself and answered, "I 'spects so, Massuh. Ain't known
nothin' else to compare it to, I 'spose. We treated real good,
Massuh, so I ain't a nigger that's one to complain."

One of the first lessons a black child's taught is to ALWAYS tell a
white person what they want to hear, truth be damned.

Elijah shifted uncomfortably on the bed. For a few peaceful moments
he'd almost forgotten his mother's emotional breakdown and the
strangeness of his present circumstances. He was eager to get back to
telling the oddly curious white man about his life.

"I'm sorry for interrupting, Elijah," James apologized as if
reading the boy's thoughts. "What else do you and the other
children like to do?"

Smiling with another sheepish sideways glance, Elijah continued.

"Today we played checkers with some rocks we found down by the creek.
I was the dark rocks, Thad was the light. I beated him every time,
though," he boasted, smiling widely to reveal a mouthful of large,
pearly-white teeth and purplish gums.

James thought to himself that his Uncle must have provided the best
dental care money could buy. Probably an investment he made back
triple-fold in slave sales, he reflected cynically. The boy's smiling
mouth, deep-red tongue, and moist lips set James's dick off to
twitching again.

He realized, somewhat ashamedly, that the small-talk had probably been
just as much for himself as it was for Elijah, but now he was feeling
very relaxed in the boy's presence and eager to enjoy what the slave
boy had to offer him beyond his cute, precocious stories.

"If your brother's as handsome as you, your mother sure is going to
have her hands full shooing the girls away," James teased.

Elijah thought it a strange turn in the conversation. The other Negro
women were always fawning over him, telling him how good-looking he
was, how much he looked like his father, and a few pretty girls had
even tried to kiss him once or twice, but it felt strange to hear such
a compliment coming from a man - especially a white man. And it was
even weirder to hear his new master talking about his little brother in
the same way.

"I 'spose so, Massuh. Thank you, Massuh. I ain't never really
looked at my brother like that, sir, but the women that watch us is
always sayin' he handsome."

An awkward silence followed. James took a deep, shaky breath, his body
literally trembling with excitement. He breathed in the musky,
intoxicating smell of the black boy beside him, a mixture of sweat,
food-smells, his tangled hair, the unique smell of Negro-skin, and
lake-water still lingering from his afternoon swim. James's
imagination was already going wild with all the things he wanted to do
with this boy; he was just uncertain how to make the transition without
scaring the boy away. James laughed to himself at the thought. On some
level he was deluding himself into believing the boy actually WANTED to
be dragged away from his mother and brother to be with a strange older
white man in the middle of the night.

"Can I feel your hair, Elijah?" James asked shyly, amusing himself
with this request for permission he knew was unnecessary.

Elijah too was surprised by the older white man's nervousness, but
even more surprised by the strangeness of his request. Why on earth
would this man want to feel his hair??? he wondered.

"Ummmm, I reckon, Massuh," the boy answered in an uncertain voice.
"It got sorta messy from swimmin', though, and ain't combed the
way Mama likes it."

James's hand was shaking as he reached for the Negro boy's tangled
mop of nappy hair. He'd always looked with curiosity at the different
hair textures of the free Negroes in Boston, but never worked up the
nerve to ask any one of them to let him TOUCH it. Now, as he laid his
hand gently atop Elijah's head, he was fulfilling just one of
countless fantasies he hoped to fulfill that night.

The slave boy's hair was both rough and soft to the touch, black and
crinkly and a little greasy. James could smell its distinct Negro odor
from where he was sitting.

Elijah's body tensed up at the older white man's first touch.
He'd been enjoying the conversation about his favorite childhood
games, but this felt........different, somehow. Sort of like his
mother's tender touch, yet different in a way that made Elijah uneasy
without knowing why.

James first stroked the top of the boy's head, as he would a
puppy's. Gaining courage, he began running his fingers deeper through
it, savoring the unique feel of it against his skin, thrilled by this
first intimate touching of the boy. As he ran his fingers through the
nappy hair first gently, then more earnestly, flashes of him grabbing
and pulling and holding that hair in a different, more erotic context,
brought his dick springing to life.

"Do you know why you were brought here, Elijah?" James asked,
barely able to hide the growing excitement in his voice. He truly had
no idea how the boy would reply.

"No, sir," Elijah said quietly. His fear from earlier began to
return.

"Well, what do you THINK is the reason I had you brought here?"
James continued his playful interrogation. The boy's innocence was
turning him on even more than stroking his hair had done.

"I dunno, sir," Elijah answered, looking at the ground again as he
talked. "I guess I thought you was gonna whip me, Massuh. When I was
little, Mistuh Snopes took my Mama away 'most every night sometimes.
My Daddy tried to make like it didn't bother him none, but one time I
saw him cryin' when he thought Thad and me was 'sleep. And Mama
always looked like she'd been cryin' too, when she come back to us.
I always 'sposed she was gittin whipped. So when Mistuh Snopes come
for me, I 'sposed he was gonna whip me too."

James smiled sympathetically at Elijah's renewed burst of
talkativeness. "No, nothing like that, Elijah," James said, still
stroking the boy's thick hair. "I'm not going to whip you. In
fact, I'm not going to hurt you at all........"

Elijah's eyes lit up with relief. Maybe his Mama was just mistaken.
Maybe the new Master just wanted to get acquainted with one of his new
slaves.

"........as long as you do everything I say," James added in a more
serious voice.

Had James really just threatened the boy with a whipping? He should be
ashamed of himself for even THINKING of hurting the scared, innocent
little slave boy beside him, let alone verbalizing such a threat. But a
man's lust at its peak will make him do things once considered
immoral and unthinkable, James realized. He was surprised by his own
rising courage in the situation, and couldn't deny the thrill it gave
him to let the boy know he was at his Master's complete mercy.

"Do you understand me, Elijah?" James continued sternly. "Do
everything I tell you to do, and you won't have to worry about
getting whipped tonight."

"I........I thinks I understand, Massuh," Elijah answered meekly,
again recalling his mother's instructions.

But for the life of him, he couldn't imagine what it was his new
Master wanted from him. Did Master want him to clean his bedroom? Maybe
massage his feet, like his Daddy used to do for his Mama? Or did he
simply want to do something as harmless and strange as........stroke
his hair? None of the last hour's occurrences made any sense to the
14-year-old Negro slave.

"Good, I'm glad we have an understanding," James continued
firmly. "Now, Elijah........I want to kiss you."

Forgetting where he was and who he was with for a brief second,
Elijah's head whipped to the side with a confused, scrunched-up
expression, looking at James as if the man had just ordered him to grow
wings and fly back to his cabin.

"Huh?!?" the boy grunted. "I mean........uh, is you SURE,
Massuh?"

His body stiffened, and he began to feel sick to his stomach. His new
Master wanting to KISS him was the last thing he'd expected.

"I'm sure, Elijah," James insisted. "And remember, EVERYTHING I
say. Or else I'll have no choice but to have Mr. Potter or one of the
overseers whip you." Once again James felt the thrill of unrestricted
power overtaking him.

"Have you ever kissed anyone?" he asked.

"Ummmm........some of the girls is always tryin' to kiss me, and I
guess I'se kissed a few of 'em back. But Massuh, I thought
kissin' was only 'sposed to be for boys and girls. Never heard of
two BOYS kissin' before."

James shivered with guilty delight at the boy's purity and
cluelessness.

"Do you find the idea strange and disgusting?" he asked the boy
bluntly, perversely hoping for an answer in the affirmative.

"No, I guess not, Massuh," Elijah lied. He definitely found the
idea strange, and even a little bit repulsive. When he'd kissed girls
it had always felt sort of slobbery and weird, and he imagined kissing
a grown man - especially a grown white man - would be even worse.

"Good," James replied, guessing the boy wasn't telling the whole
truth. "You might not have heard of it before, but some men actually
PREFER kissing other men or boys."

Elijah crinkled up his nose in disgust at the idea.

"I know it probably sounds weird to you," James continued,
intensely aroused by these first tentative steps at corrupting his
ignorant, innocent slave boy. "But it can actually feel really
good," he explained, feigning an experience in such things that he
didn't have. Elijah's lips were going to be the first ever that his
own would touch.

"Just relax, Elijah, while your Master kisses you."

Taking hold of the back of Elijah's neck, James pulled the boy's
uneasy face to his own. First he simply pressed their two faces
together, inhaling the rich smell of the boy's skin and sweat and
hair. The sensation was intoxicating.

Now, holding the back of the boy's neck with both hands, James began
kissing all over the boy's face - his sweaty forehead, his brown
cheeks still streaked from his earlier tears, his medium-sized Negro
nose with its nostrils flaring in fear, his eyes clenched tight in
surprise and distaste with his Master's strange behavior.

The boy's eyes shut tightly in discomfort and reluctance only further
inflamed James's craving for the flesh of the slave boy beside him.
His mouth moved down to the nape of Elijah's neck, lapping at the
boy's smooth, salty skin like a wild dog taking the first hungry
bites of his freshly caught prey. He could feel his own dick
lengthening down his leg, pushing up against the cloth of his pants.

He felt like a man possessed, licking up the boy's neck to his ears,
lapping his wet tongue all around the insides of both ears, lightly
biting them as Elijah, ticklish, tried to pull away. James's strong
hands held the boy's head firmly in place, however, as he then bit
the boy's cheeks, his nose, the cute fold of skin above the boy's
lips. It was like all his repressed desires of the past twenty years
were unleashed with the first touch of the boy's skin. He was like a
madman, sweating and panting with every taste of the boy's sweet
face.

He then moved his own lips to meet Elijah's thick, reddish-purplish
lips glistening moistly. Elijah's face scrunched up the moment his
Master's lips touched his, instinctively tightening to resist the
weird sensation. James dug his fingers into the back of Elijah's head
as a non-verbal demand for cooperation. The lust-crazed white man
kissed the boy's upper and lower lips individually, taking each
between his lips and teeth, biting and licking them before firmly
covering both at the same time. James's narrow, red lips kissed the
boy's thick, juicy lips fiercely - sometimes breaking to lick his
cheeks, then back to the corners of the boy's mouth, then back to his
wet lips.

Aroused by Elijah's obvious embarrassment and discomfort, James pried
open the boy's mouth with his adult tongue, forcing his way into its
sweet depths that even the little Negro girls had probably never
explored.

The Master had never felt sensations so delicious and sensual; the
slave boy, on the other hand, felt like the man was trying to devour
his face.

James swirled his tongue all around the insides of Elijah's mouth,
running it across the front and tops and backs of the boy's teeth,
lapping at the roof of his mouth, prodding deep into the back of the
boy's throat, straining toward his esophagus.

Elijah's mouth smelled and tasted faintly of cornbread, no doubt the
remnant of his supper that night. It also tasted - and here James
thought he must certainly be imagining things - like something
distinctly boyish and innocent.

The sweetness of the boy's saliva was addictive. For a moment James
almost felt he could be content doing only this for the next few hours
before sun-up, but even in the midst of his frenzied lust he remembered
his decision to limit this to a one-time thing, and knew he must do
everything with this beautiful boy before the chance escaped him.

James suddenly tore his mouth away from the boy's, and sat there
staring ahead in distracted bliss, still stroking the back of
Elijah's head with his left hand.

Both man and boy sat stunned and breathing heavily; James from the
exhilaration of the first kiss and anticipation of pleasures to come,
Elijah from shock and confusion.

For a moment, Elijah thought his task was done, and half-expected his
new Master to send him back to his mother and little brother at any
moment. Without thinking, he wiped off his face with his sleeve, then
flashed James a frightened-apologetic glance when he realized what
he'd done.

James laughed at the boy's understandable behavior. "How did that
feel, Elijah?" the older white man inquired.

Elijah looked nervously toward the window, then back toward his Master.


"It was........kinda weird-feelin', Massuh. I ain't never had
nobody try to eat my face like that before."

James laughed again, the gradual softening of his cock reversed by the
boy's confused reaction.

Elijah was telling the truth this time. But now that the white man's
onslaught was over, he concluded it hadn't been TOO awful. Bizarre
and a little gross, maybe, but if that was all his Master wanted from
him, he could go home a happy boy.

"Now I want you to strip for me. Shirt first," James ordered,
inspired by his growing dick.

He was treated to a repeat of Elijah's earlier look of surprise and
resistance.

"Massuh???" Elijah asked, thinking he must have heard wrong. "But
I'se done everything you told me to do, Massuh, so why's you gonna
whip me?"

The only reason for stripping that Elijah's virgin mind could fathom
was to prepare for a whipping. He'd once snuck off with some of the
other boys to spy on Mr. Snopes whipping Lil Rooster's daddy, and
recalled his surprise and embarrassment at seeing the adult man tied to
the whipping post, bare-naked.

James chuckled again at the boy's naivet�.

"Don't worry, Elijah, you haven't done anything to earn a
whipping. Just like I was telling you before about men like me who
enjoy kissing boys, there are also some men who like looking at boys'
bodies."

Elijah furrowed his brow again, but James continued: "You see,
Elijah, I'm one of those men. I think you're an incredibly handsome
young man, and I want to see you without your clothes on."

Elijah blushed, both flattered and disgusted. So much for his ordeal
being over after the kissing, he thought. He couldn't wrap his mind
around the fact that a grown man - a grown WHITE man, no less -
would want to see a 14-year-old Negro boy naked.

Elijah's heart sank at a sudden thought that crossed his mind. He
remembered the day a few months back when he caught the stable-boy
Jacob's little sister Laney bathing in one of his favorite
fishing-holes. He remembered crouching behind the trees, staring
mesmerized by her naked body. Of course he'd seen his Mama naked, and
the breasts of some of the older Negro women when they nursed the
infants, but Laney was a girl his own age. He recalled the tingling he
felt throughout his whole body when he saw her small breasts shiny from
the creek-water, her deep-ebony skin, her round, thick behind when she
bent over to wash her hair. He recalled how it made his dick get hard
the way it would sometimes when he was asleep, and how he'd
instinctively reached beneath his pants to touch his dick, and realized
how good it felt when he wrapped his fingers around it. He couldn't
precisely say just what it was about her body that he found exciting,
or what he wanted from it, but he knew he wanted SOMETHING.

And maybe, Elijah began to formulate the fuzzy idea in his mind, his
new Master wanted to feel the same thing from him. Without knowing
precisely why, Elijah found the idea unnatural and unsettling,
something ugly and wrong when contrasted with his attraction to Laney.

"Stand in the center of the room and remove your shirt, Elijah," he
heard the older white man say more insistently. James was enjoying
telling the wide-eyed boy what to do.

Elijah slowly stood up, crossed the room, and stood facing his Master
who remained sitting on the edge of the bed several feet away.

"Just my shirt, Massuh?" Elijah asked as he fumbled with the
buttons on his ragged cloth shirt.

"Just your shirt for the moment," James explained, eagerly staring
as the boy slowly unfastened one button, followed by the next, then the
next.

A few moments later, Elijah's shirt parted to reveal a glimpse of the
youthful chest beneath. Looking sullenly at the ground, Elijah slipped
the shirt off of his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

James smiled at the sight of his caramel-colored slave boy stripped to
the waist. He admired the boy's slender, almost bony, build; the
rib-cage pressing out against his skin; the large dark nipples standing
out against the lighter brown of the rest of the boy's chest; the
cute protruding belly-button, slightly deformed from a hasty and most
likely undoctored birth; the slight muscles rippling across his
pectorals and upper arms.

James took a deep breath, half-fearing he might suffocate from exposure
to so much beauty at once.

"Turn around," he commanded, and the boy awkwardly complied, still
staring at the floor.

James looked lustfully at the bony shoulder-blades jutting out; the
brown back-skin glistening slightly with nervous sweat; the faint hint
of spine showing through the skin, trailing
down........down........down to the two firm, upright melons still
hidden beneath the boy's sagging waist, pushing up and out against
the pants-cloth a good five or six inches, as if the round bottom might
rip through the material at any moment.

"Remove your pants," James said hoarsely, choking on his own
nervousness and desire.

Elijah clenched his eyes shut in frustration, knowing his Master
couldn't see his less-than-enthusiastic reaction from where he was
sitting. He hoped the night would be over soon. The weirdness of the
whole thing was beginning to overwhelm his healthy mind, and besides,
he was growing increasingly sleepy after a long day of swimming and
playing with his friends.

He slowly began to untie the thin rope tied through his pants-waist,
then pushed them to the ground and stepped free of them. Now he stood
completely naked, his shirt and pants in a crumpled pile on the floor.

James gasped audibly, stunned by his first-ever up-close look at a
Negro boy's naked buttocks. Till now he'd had no choice but IMAGINE
that mysterious flesh cloaked by the pants of various Negro boys and
men based on the shapes he could make out through their clothes.
Elijah's two round globes sloping in a nearly perfect semi-circle to
meet his skinny legs were as flawless as James had hoped and imagined
they'd be. So different from the still-nice but scrawnier, flatter
buttocks of the white boys he'd sometimes spied on in Boston.

James's right hand went instinctively to his dick, which had now
reached its full length of seven granite-hard inches of medium
thickness. He could already feel the hot, sticky moisture forming at
its tip, and was almost embarrassed that he felt this aroused just from
LOOKING at the naked Negro slave.

"Stay just how you are, and don't look at me," James commanded.

Elijah tightened his eyes shut again, but did as he was told.

James began rapidly unbuttoning his own shirt, flinging it to the side
of the bed. He then stood up to remove his shoes and trousers,
returning completely naked to his sitting position on the edge of the
bed.

Elijah heard rustling behind him, but couldn't guess what his Master
was doing. The only thing he could think was that perhaps he was
getting out an easel and charcoal or paint to sketch his picture. He
remembered hearing talk of such a thing from some of the "educated"
Negroes awhile back - artists who liked to draw fancy pictures of
naked men and women. Maybe the Master's just an artist who wants to
draw my picture, Elijah thought hopefully.

James began gently touching his own cock, which was now deep red and
jutting upwards at an almost parallel angle to his stomach. He tried to
savor every gorgeous feature of the naked slave boy in front of him.
Suddenly he couldn't wait to see the boy's surprised reaction when
he saw his naked Master.

"Okay, I want you to turn back toward me, now," James instructed.

Elijah slowly turned around to face his Master, involuntarily letting
out a cry of surprise and dismay when he saw the white man completely
naked, grinning and stroking a hard red dick, a pile of discarded
clothes at his feet.

Elijah's head started spinning, and he felt foolish for his
"artist" theory of just moments before. He wanted to scoop up his
clothes and run out of the room, but his mother's warnings kept
ringing in his ears. And while he was still as confused as ever about
his Master's intentions, any hopes of them being benign and harmless
were quickly slipping away.

James's dick throbbed two or three times when he saw Elijah's jaw
drop open in shock at his nudity, and the wetness at its tip only
increased when he saw the breathtaking appendage dangling between the
boy's thin legs.

My God, James thought to himself, perhaps the "myth" disparaged by
his Abolitionist and colored acquaintances up North had some truth to
it after all. In its completely soft state it hung a good six inches,
incredible for a still-developing boy of Elijah's age. And knowing
that his own dick sometimes withdrew like a turtle when he was cold or
afraid, James couldn't help but wonder if he was beholding Elijah's
manhood at its unnaturally SHORTEST length. It was circumcised (due to
ancient African custom or slave-master's orders, James wasn't
sure), looked slightly darker than the rest of him, and hung heavily
over two perfectly round, medium-shaped testicles.

"Beautiful........simply beautiful," was all James could utter,
causing Elijah to wince with embarrassment.

James was ravenous to devour every inch of the boy's beautiful body
just as he had done to Elijah's face and mouth only moments ago. But
more urgent even than his curiosity to explore the slave boy's flesh
was a rising desire to assert his mastery over the boy, to truly FEEL
what having another human being at one's total mercy was like.

A small part of him, tucked away very deeply in this moment, truly felt
sorry for the poor boy, torn from the familiarity of home and family
and whisked off to be the sexual toy of an older white man he'd never
met. It was this compassion that had caused James to swear to himself
that he'd treat the selected slave with nothing but kindness.

But a far more powerful urge, birthed at the moment he knocked on Mr.
Potter's door and now stoked into an uncontrollable blaze, was
tempting him to degrade the slave boy, to relish Elijah's awe and
discomfort and reluctance, to gloat over this loss of innocence. James
knew he'd probably loathe himself the next day, but in the frenzied
lust of the moment he felt like a man having an out-of-body experience.
There was a certain freedom and exhilaration in surrendering to his
more shameful cravings. Sampling a taste of the boy's impressive
manhood could wait for later; right now his only interest was in TAKING
the boy's more figurative manhood, and achieving his own pleasure in
the process.

"Come here, boy," James barked.

Elijah was startled by the fact that this was the first time his new
Master had called him something other than his first name. He was used
to such treatment from the overseers passing through the slave
quarters, even from the older Negro women who watched over the
children, but he'd liked the way his new Master called him kindly by
his actual name. The sudden change in tone alarmed him, and he
hesitantly walked toward the naked white man sitting on the bed. He
felt like something terrible was about to happen - not a whipping,
not a beating even - but something terrible nevertheless. He had no
idea what.

"Get on your knees, boy!" James ordered.

The wicked temptation to call the boy a "nigger" had formed in his
mind, but was still doing battle with his Northern/Puritan/Abolitionist
conscience.

Elijah hesitated for a second, looking enviously toward the freedom and
purity beyond the bedroom windows.

"NOW!!!" James raised his voice. "You do as I say and you don't
get whipped, remember?!?"

"Yes, Massuh, I remembers and I'se sorry, Massuh," Elijah
apologized, dropping immediately to his knees on the cold wooden floor
between the slightly spread legs of his Master sitting on the bed. His
sweet-natured head still couldn't picture what it was his Master
wanted from him in this position.

"I want you to kiss my dick and put it in your mouth," James stated
bluntly. He'd all but abandoned his initial plan to be kind and was
past the point of no return toward Plan B.

Elijah visibly cringed at the command. The picture that came to his
mind of him sucking on his Master's penis, like a calf on its
mama's teats, almost made him vomit. The best he could guess was that
the Master wanted to piss in his mouth; why else would he demand such a
thing?

"But, Massuh," Elijah stuttered. "Please, Massuh, I'll do
anything you ask, just please don't makes me do that. It
ain't........natural."

"You're beginning to try my patience, boy," James growled, and he
meant it. It was obvious from the slave boy's reaction that he'd
never blown a buddy, or older teens in the quarters, or even his father
or little brother, nor had he ever had the mental capacity or need to
imagine such behavior. Elijah's complete and utter purity was a
maddening aphrodisiac.

"You heard what your Master ordered," James continued. "Now DO IT
before I tie you to the whipping post myself!"

James was pretty certain he didn't actually mean it, but it was fun
to see the alarm it caused on the boy's expression.

Elijah frowned and leaned cautiously closer to the older white man's
crotch. James knew he could force a blowjob with two strong hands
placed to the back of the slave boy's head if he wanted to, but
watching Elijah's awkwardness and trepidation was making for quite
the erotically charged show.

James's hard, throbbing-red cock was just inches from Elijah's wet
lips, the bottom-lip on which the boy was biting down out of
embarrassment and apprehension. Elijah squeezed his eyes shut tightly
and slowly leaned toward the appendage straining to lodge itself in the
boy's warm virgin mouth. As his face got closer, Elijah could feel
the heat emanating from his Master's aching member. The boy thought
it smelled sort of disgusting, like a mixture of sweat and milk. The
smell caused Elijah to yank his head back suddenly. I don't care what
he does to me, Elijah concluded to himself. I don't care what Mama
said, I swear I'll throw up if I put it in my mouth.

"I reckon you'll have to go ahead and whip me, Massuh," Elijah
said resignedly.

James was snapped out of his fantasy by the boy's defiant words.

"You'd rather be whipped than put my dick in your mouth?!?" James
asked. "Now there's some crazy nigger logic," he added harshly,
surprised at his own first use of the racial epithet. He could tell by
Elijah's hurt expression that the boy was surprised too. James had
heard Mr. Potter complain repeatedly over the last week and a half
about various forms of "nigger logic," but never thought in a
million years that he'd hear the expression come out of his own
mouth.

"I'se sorry, Massuh," Elijah said weakly, looking gloomily at the
floor. "I tried, but I just can't do it, so I 'spose you gotta
whip me instead."

James wasn't sure whether to be amused or enraged at the slave boy
calling his bluff.
If he was totally honest with himself, James knew that the boy's
intensified resistance was only turning him on all the more, further
inflaming his lust for power and dominance over the Negro. In his
altered state of mind he decided to take things to another level.

"Look here, nigger........" James growled, shivering again at the
thrill of speaking the forbidden word. "You're going to do what I
asked you to do, or else it's not just going to be your own naked
hide bloody and scarred for weeks, but your Mama's and brother's
too."

Elijah's eyes grew wide in shock and despair, and started to well up
with tears.

James knew he should be appalled by his words, but this was a high
he'd never experienced before, and he was going to enjoy it while it
lasted. He felt like one of the villains in the Abolitionist novels,
and decided to perform the role with the required severity.

"And not only that," he continued. "If your little brother
actually SURVIVES his whipping, tomorrow morning I'll sell him so far
down the river you'll be sure never to see him again for the rest of
your pathetic nigger life."

James winced as he saw a thick, salty tear trickle down Elijah's
cheek, and realized he was making the same barbaric threat against
Elijah that Mr. Potter had made against the little Negro boy he raped
that night years ago in his slave quarters. Oh, God, James thought to
himself. I haven't been here even two weeks and I'm already turning
into that monster?

The sight of the naked, crying slave boy kneeling before him was too
overpowering, though, and he rationalized it by telling himself they
were just hollow, melodramatic threats to intimidate the rebellious boy
into pleasing him sexually.

"Your Mama, too," James added for effect. "So what's it gonna
be, boy?!? Licking my dick, or whippings and never seeing your family
again - it's your choice."

By this point Elijah was mustering all the big-boy strength he could to
keep from sobbing, but the occasional rogue tears still escaped his
watering eyes. Now his mother's own tears, screams, and instructions
began to make more sense to him. She must have foreseen all this and
STILL ordered him to obey the new Master no matter what. He couldn't
let her down, and he certainly couldn't bear life as a slave without
his Mama and Thad.

With renewed courage and conviction, Elijah clenched his eyes shut and
leaned in so that his face was directly touching his Master's dick.

"Now that's more like it," James sighed, looking down at the
boy's resentful fumblings, eager to enjoy the show.

Elijah kept his face smashed awkwardly against the white man's dick
for a few moments, uncertain how to proceed. He then started pecking at
it like a drunken rooster, his lips still clenched closed in
resistance. He was surprised by the dick's heat, as well as its soft
skin and sweaty wetness. He noticed that it twitched occasionally as
his mouth peppered it with awkward kisses.

"Relax your mouth and lick it," James coached, the pleasure of his
own first blowjob greatly enhanced by the fact that it was the boy's
first as well.

Part of him wanted to grab the back of the boy's head and rape his
face, but decided to enjoy the boy's virgin groping a little longer
- the other stuff could come later.

Elijah reluctantly parted his lips and cautiously began to peck at his
Master's dick with his tongue. He desperately wanted this nightmare
to be over, but in his state of boyish innocence he didn't yet
realize that the more aggressively and skillfully he pursued his
assigned task, the sooner his suffering would be over.

At his Master's urging, Elijah's tiny licks slowly turned into
tentative longer licks up and down the seven-inch pole. James grabbed
hold of Elijah's right arm and led the boy's hand to the base of
his dick, encouraging him to hold it firmly while he lapped at it up
and down like one of the lollipops he sometimes enjoyed at
Christmastime. Only instead of tasting sweet, his Master's dick
tasted hot and salty - not disgusting necessarily, but certainly not
what he'd consider appealing.

For James, the feel of the teenage boy's hot breath against his
crotch and long licks up and down his dick was exquisite torture. Being
new to the whole experience, he hoped he'd wouldn't release before
he'd enjoyed the boy in every way possible.

"Lick my balls, too," James grunted, pushing the boy's head down
to his large testicles covered lightly in wisps of blondish hair.

The boy, his eyes still shut tightly, wiggled his tongue all over them,
disgusted by what he was doing but hoping he was mustering up enough
energy to fool his Master. He noticed a deep, nutty smell that was
distinct from the sweaty, milky smell of the white man's skin. He was
hoping his Master would change his mind and be content to stop at just
the licking. He didn't see how he could possibly put the man's
large, hard penis in his small mouth.

As if reading the boy's mind, James ordered, "Now put it in your
mouth, nigger-boy." The nasty words somehow made the early stages of
this blowjob even sweeter.

Elijah started to protest but remembered the horrible threat to his
mother and brother's safety that was driving this entire encounter.
Gulping nervously, the boy directed the older white man's dick to his
mouth with his hand, and placed it awkwardly between his thick, wet
lips.

"That's it, just like that, boy," James encouraged, aroused
beyond his wildest imagination by the sight of his strong white dick
penetrating what most certainly had to be one of the purest, most
virgin boy-mouths on the entire plantation.

Elijah wrapped his mouth tightly around the head of James's dick, but
to James's surprise and amusement the boy just stayed still in that
position, holding the dick in his mouth. In the boy's confused mind,
he still thought his Master wanted him to drink his piss. He even
tasted something hot and salty, expected a gushing stream of disgusting
urine to flood his mouth at any moment.

James laughed at Elijah's clumsiness, and was turned on even more. He
realized giving head wasn't exactly a concept that came naturally to
teenage boys, unless they'd already been lucky enough to have it
performed on them, which Elijah clearly hadn't been.

James ceased with the derogatory language for a moment: "Don't just
hold still, Elijah," he explained. "You have to MOVE IT AROUND in
your mouth. Move your mouth up and down on it, and swirl your tongue
around while you do it."

He figured that should suffice for an urgent in-the-moment tutorial.
Hell, the only reason he knew even that much was from dirty books and
the crude jokes of his bachelor friends.

"Haven't you ever touched your own dick to make yourself feel
good?" James asked. Elijah thought of Laney and mumbled a shy assent,
his mouth still perched atop his Master's dick.

"Well, it's like that," James went on to explain. "You move
your mouth up and down like you would your fist. But this time your
goal is to make ME feel good, you hear me?"

Suddenly everything began to make more sense to Elijah. The reason the
new Master wanted him. The new Master's odd requests. The new Master
wanted Elijah the way Elijah wanted Laney. The new Master wanted Elijah
to make his dick feel good the way it felt when Elijah touched himself
that day by the fishing-hole. He still found it unbelievable that an
older white man could desire a poor, dirty slave boy, but the proof was
right in front of him........between his lips, in fact.

Elijah tried following James's advice. Holding the dick at its base
with his right hand, he began bobbing awkwardly up and down; at least
it felt to him like he was bobbing up and down, but in reality his lips
were barely descending beyond the head of James's dick. James had to
warn Elijah about covering his lips with his teeth before the boy
settled into a motion that seemed to please his Master, for the moment
at least.

"That's it, Elijah. That's a good nigger," James moaned, the
power-lust returning. "Take it deeper in your mouth, boy."

Elijah tried to do as he was told but started to choke from the new
sensation of having his mouth invaded by this hard, veiny appendage.
Startled by the shock, he took his mouth off the dick and gasped for
air.

The choking sound only stirred within James a fiercer lust. He should
feel bad for the poor kid - and he honestly did, at least a little
bit - but rather than provoking his pity, the choking sound made him
want to hear the sound again, and again.

"Did I tell you to take a breath?!?" James taunted. Now he was
bored with the boy's clumsy little show and urgently wanted to bury
his aching dick as deep into the boy's warm mouth as he possibly
could.

"No, Massuh........I'se sorry, Massuh, I'se trying Massuh," the
boy apologized, still fighting back tears.

He immediately enveloped his Master's dick once again with his lips
already sore from the unaccustomed strain. He gagged again when he
tried to take more than three inches into his small mouth.

With that, James impatiently grabbed the back of the boy's head and
forced it down deeper on his dick, causing the boy to moan loudly in
shock and protest. He could tell from the boy's desperate moaning
that he was trying to speak, but he held his slave boy's head in that
position without releasing the firm grip on the back of his head.

Drunk with this new sadistic sensation, he sat up straighter and began
thrusting his dick deeper into Elijah's throat, simultaneously
forcing the boy's head down with his hands. He did this with slow
thrusts at first, then picked up speed until he was stabbing the
boy's face with furious strokes.

James couldn't believe how intensely good it felt to have his dick
engulfed by the boy's slobbery warm mouth. The physical sensations of
the boy's tongue and cheeks and roof of the mouth massaging his prick
combined with the forbidden psychological thrills of calling the boy a
"nigger" and hearing his frightened moans combined to create a
deliriously pleasurable experience.

The boy was screaming in protest, tears streaming down his face, but
the cock stuffed in his throat muffled his panicked screams. And it
wasn't as if anybody was around to hear. If Mr. Potter could hear the
sounds of struggle - and James highly doubted it - he'd probably
just laugh or jack off to them himself.

Elijah was certain he was going to pass out at any moment, either from
lack of air or trauma from the huge dick violating his no-longer-virgin
mouth. A couple times he started to throw up, but quickly swallowed it
back down to keep from displeasing his wild-eyed Master. He wished more
than anything that he could somehow make his spirit leave his body,
only to return when this hell was over.

James kept his eyes open the entire time, intently watching the young
boy's clenched eyelids as he thrust deeper and deeper, refusing to
pull out, forcing his entire cock down the boy's throat until his
pretty Negro lips were pressed against his tangled patch of dark pubic
hairs. From time to time the boy would open his eyes, looking up at him
wide with pleading and terror, then clench shut again when he realized
it only provoked deeper and harder thrusts.

Sensing the boy was truly beginning to suffocate, and certainly having
no intentions of killing the boy, James grabbed two handfuls of
Elijah's thick, nappy hair and violently yanked the boy's head
backwards so that his mouth slid off his dick with a sudden slurping
sound. James held the boy's head backwards like that for a moment so
that Elijah was forced to look up at him, gasping for air with his
mouth wide open, dripping with saliva and precum.

After savoring this arousing image for a few moments, James forced the
boy's open, panting mouth back down on his dick, this time thrusting
all the way, then all the way out, back and forth like a bull in heat.

Fearing he might explode in the boy's mouth at any second, but still
eager to enjoy the boy's OTHER orifice, James pulled out, released
Elijah's head, and ordered him to lie down on the bed, on his
stomach.

The boy stood up dizzily and stumbled over to the side of the bed,
where he collapsed as ordered. His now-open eyes looked sad and
distant; gone was the energetic spark they'd shown when he first
entered the room not even an hour ago. He looked almost as if he'd
been drugged.

Elijah was relieved to have the nightmare of the previous ten minutes
over with. He hated the hot, tangy taste that still clung to his mouth
from the dick that had just been crammed into it, but at least he was
able to breathe freely again. He desperately hoped that any second the
new Master would order him to put on his clothes and return home.
Perhaps the white man had only ordered him to lie on the bed as a
friendly gesture, a chance to catch his breath, maybe even sleep,
before going home.

Sprawled naked on his stomach, Elijah savored the sweet smell and
softness of the plush bed, so unlike his scratchy bed of blanket thrown
over straw. He continued sniffling, but was gaining comfort in the
fancy bed and realization that he'd survived the hardships of the
evening intact. That is, until he felt the Master's naked body sit on
the bed beside him, causing a renewed pit in his stomach to form. His
fears were only confirmed when he felt the Master's large hands begin
caressing and kneading his butt-cheeks. His body tensed up immediately
and Elijah squeezed his eyes against yet another bizarre surprise.

His surprise grew into alarm and disgust when he felt the Master's
index finger running down his crack, along the surface at first, then
deeper into the folds of his bottom until he could feel it brushing
against the tight, tiny hole where his shit comes out. His head whipped
around in disbelief and protest, but his questioning look was simply
met with a menacing smile.

"Massuh, please don't touch me there," Elijah pleaded. "Massuh,
this just ain't right, Massuh."

"Listen, nigger-boy," James demanded. "You still ain't learned
your proper place on this plantation, your proper role in relation to
the white man."

James cringed at his own words but still loved every minute of it.

"Shut your little pickaninny mouth and let me do as I please. Ain't
no right or wrong about it, boy. What I'm about to do is gonna make
your Master feel REAL good, and that's exactly what you're here
for."

He looked at the naked Negro teen sprawled beside him, the tight mounds
of his ass upturned and giving away to his probing finger. He savored
the feel of the firm buttocks cupped in his hands, the sounds of
Elijah's whimpers when James's finger circled his asshole (an
asshole tinier and tighter than anything he'd ever imagined), the
look of a beautiful cocoa-skinned slave boy lying before him, at his
complete mercy, and couldn't wait a second longer to experience for
the first time what it feels like to fuck a boy in his asshole.

James's words only further confused Elijah. Asses are private and
dirty, he thought; what enjoyment could anyone in their right mind
possibly gain from massaging or fingering them?!?

Just then he felt the Master roll over on top of him, smothering the
boy's small frame with his much larger body. For a second Elijah
wondered if the Master wanted to wrestle, as he and his friends
sometimes liked to do on a boring summer day. Then he felt the
Master's hard dick, still wet from his own mouth's slobber, begin
poking around at his butt-cheeks, sliding between his crack. It felt
strange having his ass parted by something hard and thick. He then felt
the tip of his Master's penis prodding at the little hole where his
shit comes out.

In a flash of terror and panic, Elijah suddenly realized what it was
his Master was attempting to do. To make his dick feel good, like it
can with one's hands, and apparently with another person's mouth,
the Master was trying to push his large dick, thicker than a quarter,
into his tiny butt-hole, tinier even than a button!

He remembered joining some of the other slave-children in watching the
stable-boy Jacob in a similar position with Sophy one afternoon in the
barn. He could never forget the image of Jacob's dark-black, muscular
ass rising and falling in the air as he smashed his body over and over
again into Sophy while she lay on her stomach beneath him, very similar
to the way he was beneath Master right now. He remembered hearing Sophy
screaming like the womenfolk in church or in childbirth, only louder
and like she was dying.

And here Master was trying to do to him like Jacob done to Sophy. Only
Jacob and Sophy seemed okay somehow, not like this. Master was trying
to kill him, to split him in two!

His instinct for self-preservation making him forget the serious
threats hanging over his head, Elijah attempted to slide out from
beneath the Master and scramble away from the bed, only to be smothered
with even greater force and restrained by fists forcing down the small
of his back.

Eager to split open the ripe virgin melons beneath him, James crudely
spit on his already-wet dick and plunged it with brutal force into the
dark, cutely wrinkled, tightly clenched circle of the boy's asshole,
pushing past the boy's last seal of masculine pride and virginity.

Elijah screamed out in an agony even the boy's worst fears hadn't
anticipated. It felt like someone was ripping into his insides with the
fiery end of the thick stick used to poke at the fire. James shoved the
boy's head into the pillows to muffle his screams, but that did
nothing to relieve the pain and sense of violation he felt inside. Just
minutes ago, Elijah had no idea such an activity even existed, but now
that he was experiencing it firsthand, he felt a deep sense of anger
and shame at the new Master for causing him such pain so casually and
callously, for stealing something, he wasn't sure what exactly, to do
with his pride and respect as a boy-almost-a-man.

He felt the man's penis push slowly against the tight, resisting
walls of his ass-tunnel, deeper an inch or two, then back a little bit,
then deeper again, only a little bit further each time - causing
brand new sensations of pain every time the ruthless dick thrust into a
deeper part of his insides.

He heard the gross slurping sounds of his asshole sucking on the white
man's cock, and prayed to God it wouldn't come out with any shit on
it. He didn't see how it couldn't - it was his ASS, after all -
but he hoped for the best nevertheless.

In the midst of the relentless pain, images from his life as a regular
Negro boy flashed across his mind - the fun he'd had at the
swimming-hole earlier that afternoon, playing checkers with Thad
earlier that evening, watching Laney bathe in the fishing-hole - and
those scenes felt like they'd happened years ago, like parts of a
different life. As he thought of these familiar people and scenes from
his everyday life, he missed them terribly, and started sobbing into
the pillows.

James heard the boy crying and only increased his intensity. He moved
from gradually prying open the grip of the Negro boy's stubborn anus,
to bucking up and down atop the boy, pushing harder and deeper and
faster with every thrust.

If he thought fucking the boy's mouth was a joy beyond words, the
sensations of fucking his firm, brown, tight boy-ass were a million
times more intense. The squishy warmth of the boy's bowels engulfing
his cock created a delirious pleasure never experienced through
masturbation, and the boy's muffled screams and groans of pain (but
perhaps pleasure, he wondered???) only intensified that pleasure.

Sometimes throughout his fucking the boy, James laid flat on top of
him, kissing his nappy hair, his dark sweaty neck and ears and
shoulders as he slammed his manhood deep into the boy's guts without
mercy. As an added thrill, he whispered dirty things in the innocent
black boy's ears:

"You like this, nigger?" he'd say.

Or things like, "You want me to shoot my Yankee juices in your nigger
boy-pussy?"

Or, "This is to teach you who's the nigger and who's the Master
around here, boy. Your ass is MINE and nobody else's, you hear me?
I'm your only Master. If even one of the OVERSEERS tries to get a
taste of this sweet cherry, they'll have me to answer to. You're MY
nigger-bitch and MY nigger-bitch only, you hear? What do you say,
boy?!?"

James grabbed the boy's hair and yanked his head backwards off the
pillow long enough to hear him sob, "Yes, Massuh, I hears you,
Massuh........I'm your nigger, Massuh, nobody else but yours,
Massuh........" before letting his head bury itself back into the
pillows.

At other times James liked to push the boy up on his knees, head
smashed into the pillows with his ass in the air, so that James could
position himself on his own knees between the boy's legs. This gave
him a better view of the tender ass he was plundering.

He liked to shove the boy's head down into the pillows in this
position, giving him more power to keep the boy's body firmly in
place.

He liked to listen to the wet slurping sucking sounds of the boy's
tight asshole inhaling his cock.

He loved looking down and watching his manhood, now covered in spit and
precum and slime from the boy's intestines, slamming in and out of
the boy's asshole - disappearing within the caverns of the boy's
small, boyishly muscular ass-cheeks, violating what had previously been
the most sacred, private, and intimate part of the boy's body, then
reappearing again as it dragged with it the now-stretched circular
lining of the boy's anus, coming all the way out with a plopping
sound to reveal the boy's tiny gaping asshole, clenching open and
shut, open and shut as if begging for more. Then diving his dick back
into the inviting hole for another rapturous plunge.

As James fucked Elijah in this fury of lust-mingled-with-cruelty, he
couldn't believe that just two weeks ago he'd been a lonely but
morally upstanding bachelor with what he thought to be fairly solid
Abolitionist beliefs. Yet here he was essentially raping a 14-year-old
Negro boy, pillaging the boy's sweet young cherry for his own selfish
pleasure. Worse yet, calling him hateful names and turning a blind eye
to his heartfelt tears.

But pangs of conscience are no match for a young man burning with
decades of pent-up lust, and tonight James's darker nature was in
complete control. As the gulping sounds of the rhythmic pounding into
the boy's ravaged ass continued, James pictured scenes from
Elijah's childhood - playing "catch a nigger" with his friends,
splashing in the creek with the other boys, smiling at his mother's
warm embrace - and these images of innocence enraged his lust for the
boy's flesh all the more.

James's panting was getting heavier, his moans of ecstasy louder.

He knew that part of why those images turned him on was because he was
robbing Elijah of his cherished innocence, making it so that the boy
could never again return to those scenes of innocence in quite the same
way. This was ultimate power, he realized as he sensed what felt like
an ocean of hot semen pressuring to be released; this ability to
permanently and completely control and ruin another human being's
life.

With that thought and the culmination of the night's countless new
erotic sensations, James unleashed a torrent of hot fluid deep into the
slave boy's aching bowels.

Elijah, no longer crying but nearly passed out from the previous twenty
minutes' excruciating pain, felt the stinging warm juices shooting
through his insides, some seeping deep into his intestines, the rest
leaking back out of his weary asshole. He realized with shame and
disgust that the white man on top of him had just filled him with his
seed -- the same sticky, strange-smelling stuff Elijah had discovered
he could produce from stroking his own penis while hidden away in the
corner of the barn the same day he saw Laney in the creek. He didn't
know exactly what it was, but he guessed that it had something to do
with his tingling attraction to Laney, to Jacob and Sophy in the barn,
and to making babies, although he wasn't sure why he thought that.
And it had something to do with the sweaty, panting man collapsed on
top of him, whose softening dick was still buried in his burning
asshole.

After a few moments of silence - blissful and intimate for James,
awkward and sickening for Elijah - James rolled off of the naked
slave boy.

He wet a washcloth with the water in the basin beside the bed and used
it to clean off his dick. It was  surprisingly clean, he thought,
especially after having feared the worst -- just the slime of cum and
the boy's internal juices. James guessed the afternoon swim had
probably helped.

He then wet the rag again and used it to tenderly wipe up the
combination of spit, slime, and blood from around the boy's
deflowered asshole. In his post-coital calmness, James's cruelty had
been replaced by an overwhelming tenderness for the boy.

"You'll be sleeping with me tonight, Elijah," James announced
quietly.

With that he blew out the room's lamps and candles, returned to the
bed, and cradled the shell-shocked black boy in his grown-up arms,
spooning against Elijah's back with his arm wrapped around the
boy's chest.

James thought about how wonderful this intimacy with the boy's warm
body felt. He thought about how drastically his life had changed in
just two short weeks. He thought about how silly and na�ve he'd been
to think this would only happen once. His mind already began racing
toward other boys on the plantation: Elijah's little brother Thad.
Jacob. Abel. Not to mention the dozens of other boys and men he had yet
to see or hear of.  Imagining the limitless possibilities of Stampley
Plantation, James fell soundly, blissfully asleep.

Despite the aching tiredness Elijah felt after a long day and his
recent ordeal, he found it impossible to fall asleep for several hours.
He thought of his life that would never again be the same again. He
thought of his mother and Thad at home waiting anxiously for him to
return. He thought about how silly and childish his games of checkers
or "catch a nigger" seemed compared to what he'd just been
through. He thought of Laney and wondered if she'd look at him and be
able to tell that he'd had the Master's dick stuffed in both his
mouth and ass.

But more than anything, he wondered about HIMSELF and what the future
held in store for him at Stampley Plantation.

And the moon shined down upon the sleeping white man with his arms
wrapped tightly around the scared, naked black boy; if one looked
carefully, they'd see the boy's sad eyes still awake and blinking,
and one final tear escaping down his cheek.

*************************************************************

Any and all feedback is welcome and desired! I would love to hear
advice on how my writing might improve, suggestions for future
characters or storylines, stories and fantasies of your own, and
anything else you might want to share. E-mail me at
WannabeWhitman@yahoo.com.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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