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From: WannabeWhitman <wannabewhitman@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Adventures of Stampley Plantation: Chapter 6 (MM, rape, nc, reluc, hist, interr, ds, va)
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Date: Tue, 15 Aug 2006 06:10:01 -0400
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<1st attachment, "The Adventures of Stampley Plantation - Chapter 6.doc" begin>

The Adventures of Stampley Plantation

By WannabeWhitman (MM, rape, nc, reluc, hist, interr, ds, va)

NOTE TO READERS: This is an ongoing series involving slavery in
the antebellum South, non-consensual sex (sometimes with minors),
and the use of racial epithets. The material is mostly of a
homosexual nature, but includes some bisexual themes. If you
think any of this might offend you, DO NOT READ. I realize some
material may be distasteful and offensive to some readers, but
nobody is forcing you to read it. The series covers a wide range
of sexual expression, however, so just because you dislike one
chapter doesn't mean you won't enjoy others. Keep in mind these
are only FANTASIES based on America's racial history and my own
conflicted imagination about that history. My intention is not to
condone or encourage racism, sex with minors, or rape. 

Although this story is set in the antebellum South, 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, characters or scenes you
particularly enjoy, suggestions for future characters or
storylines, stories and fantasies of your own, and anything else
you might want to share. E-mail me at <a
href="mailto:WannabeWhitman@yahoo.com">WannabeWhitman@yahoo.com</
a>. 

Chapter 6: Roadblock to Redemption

James woke up the next morning with an ache in his heart. The
feeling had been there when he'd gone to bed, persisted through a
restless night's sleep, and now threatened to stalk him for the
rest of the day. 

He looked sleepily out his bedroom windows and saw the sun
beginning to rise in the distance. Today was the day of his
journey to Columbus, where he planned to investigate the sale of
Elijah and Thad's father and determine what options there were,
if any, to buy him back. 

Yesterday, he'd been so distraught by the dream of his deceased
mother, and so devoted to the idea of redeeming his despicable
behavior, that he'd insisted on arranging the trip for the next
day. This morning, lonely and half-asleep, he dreaded the length
of the journey, and the stress of finding his way around a
strange city. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back under his
covers and escape the chill of the morning air. 

James rose wearily from his bed, walked to the chamber pot in the
corner of the room, and let out a hot, light-yellow stream of
morning piss. After shaking the last drops from his relieved
dick, he wet a cloth in the washbasin beside his bed and
proceeded to wash his face, neck, underarms, and crotch. The
distractions of this morning routine did nothing to relieve the
ache pounding in James's chest. 

For one thing, he missed Elijah more than he wanted to admit.
There is no lonelier feeling in the world than climbing into a
large, empty bed where one has shared pleasure and joy with
another human being for the previous ten nights. Of course he
would have loved to enjoy the warm grip of Elijah's ass, or
release a load or two of cum into the boy's stiffly sucking
mouth, but James's sense of emptiness at the boy's absence was
about much more than that. He missed hearing the boy's cute
snoring in the middle of the night, or the way he'd sometimes
mumble incomprehensible sentences in his sleep. He missed the
musky smell of the boy's sweat and ass that  hung in the midnight
air after an hour of intense fucking. He missed the eager, messy
way Elijah devoured his breakfast every morning, just as
wide-eyed with disbelief and excitement on the tenth morning as
he'd been on the first. 

James also felt a sense of dread and desperation when he'd
consider that it had been almost an entire day since he'd seen
the boy. What if Elijah had fallen ill, run away, or   James
nearly fainted as he thought of it   taken his own life? What if
he'd gotten into a fight with one of the other slave-boys,
bruising or permanently scarring his beautiful face? What if one
of the older bucks, hearing rumors of Elijah's new duties in the
Master's mansion, had decided to have his OWN fun with the boy's
youthful body? Or even worse, what if one of the overseers,
oblivious to James's affections for Elijah, had used the boy for
a drunken midnight fuck? When James thought of these
possibilities, his entire body grew hot and weak with an insane,
overwhelming jealousy. He found himself wanting to throw shoes or
dishes or lamps against the walls, smashing them in a fury of
irrational panic and possessiveness. 

James was also having misgivings about his plans to find Elijah's
father. They were the misgivings of a man still dedicated to the
"straight and narrow," but disheartened by the self-denial he
knew his moral decision demanded. 

On the one hand, reuniting Elijah with his father would make
James a popular Master and instill a sense of obligation in
Elijah to repay the favor. But on the other hand, bringing the
father back to Stampley Plantation would disrupt the dynamic
James had been enjoying for the past three weeks. It wasn't as if
thoughts of Elijah's helpless, grieving mother never troubled
James's conscience. But for some strange reason, the absence of
the boy's father made him all the more erotically exciting for
James. James liked being the only man in Elijah's life, a
fatherly figure with extra benefits. The idea of stealing Elijah
away from a mother AND father troubled James in a way that
dragging him from a broken home didn't. Not to mention that a
grown slave man could create a lot more trouble if he took it in
his mind to protect his son, drawing unwanted and embarrassing
attention to James's new habits. 

James slowly dressed in the crisp, clean clothes Abel had laid
out for him the night before: a white collared shirt, vest, frock
coat, stovepipe hat, and cotton slacks. James grabbed a small
leather satchel from his closet and filled it with some money,
enough clothes for the next two days, the novel he'd been reading
before meeting Elijah, and a signed pass for the stable-boy, so
that he could run errands or enjoy some leisure time without
being harassed while James was conducting business elsewhere. 

After pausing to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, James
walked down the marble staircase and out the front door. Jacob
the stable-boy stood dutifully beside the hitched wagon he'd
pulled up in front of the plantation-house. 

" 'Mornin, Massuh James," Jacob greeted him, moving immediately
to take the luggage from his hands. 

"Good morning, Jacob," James replied, feeling a sudden pang of
excitement and nervousness. He hadn't had any interaction with
the stable-boy since the day of Mr. Potter's tour, and the
striking, even intimidating effect that the young man's good
looks had on him came flooding back to his memory. Even with the
puffy eyes and chapped skin of early morning, Jacob looked like a
beautiful African prince. 

Perhaps the day's journey won't be so dull after all, James
thought with growing enthusiasm. The stable-boy would definitely
make for some pleasant eye-candy to get his mind off Elijah.  

Jacob carried James's satchel and placed it in the back of the
wagon. 

"Do you think it's going to be a hot day?" James asked, his voice
breaking like a teenage boy's. He wanted to establish some kind
of rapport with the slave, but felt like a blubbering idiot the
instant the words were out of his mouth. How absurd, James
thought to himself. A Negro slave no older than 19 turning a
grown white man nearly twice his age into a stuttering
schoolgirl! 

"Do the rooster crow in the mornin', Massuh James?" Jacob smiled,
instinctively slipping into "happy darky" mode in spite of
himself. He knew most white folks loved clever little comebacks
like that.

"Right you are, right you are," James replied, laughing. His
body, tense since coming into Jacob's presence, relaxed a little
in relief at what felt like a step toward casual camaraderie. "I
guess the only thing to cool this summer heat would be some rain,
but I suppose we don't want that either if we want to make it to
Columbus today."

"You 'sho right about that, Massuh James," Jacob nodded with a
strained smile on his face. Goddamn white folks and their
fake-ass attempts at small-talk with niggers, Jacob thought with
contempt. He noticed James's resemblance to Master Walt and
wanted to spit in his face. 

"How long you figure the trip will take us?" James asked, walking
toward the wagon. 

"I reckon we'll get there somewhere abouts sundown," Jacob
answered, holding out his ebony-colored hand to help James into
the rear wagon seat. "I done took Massuh Walt on this trip plenty
of times, so don't worry, you in good hands, Massuh James. I
knows all the short cuts." 

"Now that's music to my ears," James said, grinning and using the
support of Jacob's strong arm to hoist himself up to his seat on
the wagon. 

Corny-ass motherfucker, Jacob thought to himself, smiling and
nodding. 

Just as Jacob began checking on the security of the bridles and
reins, both men heard high-pitched shouts coming toward them from
within the house. 

"Master James! Master James!" It was Becky, hollering and waving
her right arm for them not to leave. "Don't you boys forget your
lunch now," she scolded, shuffling onto the front porch and
handing Jacob a basket with a blue cloth covering the top. 

James thought he detected a vibe of awkwardness between the two.
Probably Jacob's dark skin, James guessed. He knew a lot of stuck
up mulattos in the North, and figured there were plenty in the
South as well. 

"There's enough fried chicken and biscuits for the both of you,"
Becky beamed, looking past Jacob to where James was sitting in
the wagon. "There's a jug of cider too. I hope they feed you well
where you're going, but in case they don't, I'll be sure to have
a real good meal waiting for you when you get back!"

"Thank you, Becky! You sure do know how to treat a man like a
king!" James said, smiling. "I swear you're the best cook in
Georgia, Becky. My Uncle sure was lucky to have you around for so
long!"

Jacob smirked at Becky, knowing his back was to James. Becky
blushed, for more reasons than James knew. 

"You two be safe now, you hear?" she said, changing the subject
and shooing Jacob away. 

"Don't worry about us, Becky," James assured her. "I know I'm
leaving my place in good hands with you and Abel. See you in a
couple days!"

Jacob carried the lunch-basket to the back of the wagon and
secured it with some leather straps. Then he walked to the front
of the wagon and hopped onto the flat board making up the front
seat about four feet in front of James. Taking the reins in his
hands and nodding with another smirk toward Becky, Jacob gave a
sharp flick of his wrists and the wagon took off down the dusty
path leading to the main road. 

It took James at least an hour to grow accustomed to the noisy
jerking and bouncing of the wagon. In Boston and on the journey
to Stampley Plantation, James had always ridden by stagecoach,
which while bumpy and occasionally dusty, was a much quieter and
smoother ride. The sounds of the horses' hooves against the dusty
road, combined with those of the turning wheels and rocking body
of the wagon, made the ride so noisy that he couldn't talk to
Jacob without shouting. After a couple awkward and futile
attempts at starting a conversation over the racket, James
finally gave up and settled back for a silent ride. James was
partly relieved to be spared the pressure and embarrassment of
interacting with the young slave.

The freedom from conversation also gave James the opportunity to
drool over Jacob's lithe adolescent body without interruption or
distraction. Just as he had when Jacob had driven he and Mr.
Potter around Stampley Plantation's 3,154 acres that second day,
James savored every visual detail of the teenage boy's good
looks. Only this time he didn't have to break his ogling down
into quick, fleeting glances while pretending to listen to Mr.
Potter's boring stories. He could stare as long and intently as
he liked, knowing Jacob's eyes were focused on the road.

He started with the stable-boy's thick, wooly hair, tangled and
sprouting a good three inches in all directions. It looked dirty
and had flecks of straw and leaves in it. 
Then James took in the young man's smooth neck, sturdy and
colored deep ebony. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on top of the
rich dark skin. James's eyes moved slowly to Jacob's slender
back, its shoulder-blades pressed out against a beige,
scratchy-looking shirt. He loved to watch Jacob's back muscles
tense and ripple when the boy would shift in his seat or lean
forward, elbows on his knees. 

He could see patches of sweat soaking through Jacob's shirt under
his arms and across his back. James wondered how the Negro's
sweat would smell and taste. 

But of course the part of Jacob's body that earned the bulk of
James's attention were the muscled half-globes resting on the
wooden seat, pressed tightly against the young man's muddy cotton
pants as if trying to escape. James shook his head in lustful
amazement at the consistent beauty of Negro male buttocks. Every
ass on a Negro male he'd seen so far curved firmly up and out
from the small of the back in perfect upturned semi-circles. So
different from the flat or flabby asses on most white men! 

It's just not fair, James thought with amusement. You'd think God
could have stopped after endowing the Negro with a phallus
longer, thicker, and more powerful than the average white man's.
That was certainly generous enough. But no, he also saw fit to
bless the Negro male with a temptingly upturned, perfectly
rounded backside that made anyone looking at it, man or woman,
want to reach out and grasp its firm, fleshy mounds. "Cursed
race" my ass, James chuckled to himself.

A thin line of sweat outlined Jacob's ass-crack through his dirty
pants. James's dick jerked to life when he stared too long at it.
He got goosebumps when he imagined how exciting it would be to
clutch the ripe upturned melons in both hands, slowly spreading
them apart to see, smell, and taste the mystery hidden deep in
their crease. 

It turned James on even more when he thought of the youth's
strength and masculinity. James wasn't nave; he knew Jacob
probably wasn't a virgin to the realm of all things sexual, as
Elijah had been. In fact, James would be surprised if the young
man hadn't made at least a dozen Negro girls VERY happy over the
past few years. Picturing the young buck pumping his manhood deep
between a pretty Negro girl's thighs only increased his
desirability in James's eyes. 

But James was aroused to think that Jacob was most likely a
stranger to the experience of sex between men. Perhaps not as
ignorant to the concept as Elijah had been, but almost certainly
just as inexperienced. 

James recalled the thrill he'd gotten when Mr. Potter informed
him one night that as far as he knew, neither James's uncle or
any of his overseers had ever had a liking for boys or men.
"Unless they was bought from someplace else," Mr. Potter assured
him mischievously, "all the Stampley boys got assholes just as
pure and tight as the day they popped out their Mama's bellies."
Mr. Potter had gone on to tease him about how lucky a bugger like
James was, as he frequently had to pay high prices to replenish
the supply of virgins for he, his two sons, and his overseers.


This meant that the idea of sucking a man's prick or taking
another man's dick up his ass was probably as foreign and
repulsive to Jacob as eating horse manure or fucking a pig. He
probably had a gal of his own, maybe even a wife. Hell, he might
even have kids for all James knew. The possibility only increased
Jacob's masculine, virgin appeal. 

What began as casual ogling, intended to pass the time, slowly
grew into a maddening lust. James's admiration for the boy's
lanky build and tight adolescent muscles soon turned into an
intense, demanding curiosity to see, smell, taste, and touch all
the hidden and most intimate parts of his stable-boy's body. 

If James had been in a similar situation a month ago in Boston,
lusting after a young Negro driving one of the city's coaches, he
would have had no choice but to suffer his strangling, impotent
lust from afar, then rush home for relief from the frustrating
substitute of his hand. 

But everything is different here, James reminded himself. Jacob
was a piece of James's PROPERTY, no more or less so than the
wagon beneath him, the clothes on his back, or the money in his
leather satchel. James knew he could stop the wagon, rip off the
young man's clothes, and take the stable-boy's body right then
and there in the back of the wagon or ditch by the side of the
road. And in the unlikely case that his white Southern peers
discovered the rape, James knew he would almost certainly have
their tacit, if not explicit, approval. Hell, a man like Mr.
Potter would hoot and holler and congratulate him on in his
depravity. Even the sodomitic nature of the behavior would
probably escape condemnation, for the simple fact that he'd be
fucking a beast, a piece of chattel, rather than an actual man
considered his equal. Knowledge of his immunity from judgment or
punishment spurred James on in his lustful thoughts. 

Another part of the temptation for James was Jacob's age. Jacob
was a young MAN, fully in the prime of his physical and sexual
development. James had taken great pleasure in robbing Elijah of
his innocence; there was no doubt about that. But with the
exception of his enormous dick, Elijah was still physically and
mentally a boy. Any sense of his manhood was only vaguely formed,
tentative and hypothetical. 

Jacob, on the other hand, was a virile young MAN. He was probably
cocky when hanging out with his buddies or trying to impress the
Negro girls. He probably bragged about his dick, and most likely
knew how to use it well. In just one day's time, he probably
produced enough spunk to fill a bucket. He had curly dark facial
hair down his cheeks and above his lips. He had a lithe muscled
build that probably made him a frequent victor in boxing or
wrestling matches with his Negro pals. He was probably aware, at
least vaguely, of the interest some men might take in his dick or
asshole, but proudly reserved the first for pussy and the second
solely for farting and shitting. 

Violating the virginity of a young MAN, forcing his body's
participation in shameful and emasculating acts, would be a
thrill far beyond that of stealing a boy's innocence. James's
dick hardened in his pants as he realized that taking Jacob's
MANHOOD would be a pleasure exceeding even that offered him by
Elijah's virgin asshole. 

The possibility, once fleshed out in his mind, immediately became
an obsession. Fully imagined, it was an experience James couldn't
shake from his mind. A life without sampling such a pleasure
suddenly seemed unbearably boring.

James looked down with embarrassment at the hard dick clearly
outlined against the fabric of his trousers, and hoped Jacob
didn't look back at him. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to
focus on the dream of his mother and the decidedly NON-sexual
purpose for the day's journey. He even tried to think of Elijah,
but the boy who'd consumed his thoughts just an hour earlier now
seemed small and distant in his mind. After more than ten days of
fucking the same mouth and ass   beautiful, to be sure, but the
SAME nevertheless   James craved the new pleasures that a body
like Jacob's promised. 

Just wait to get back to Stampley, James told himself. It would
be impossible to enjoy Jacob on the trip to Columbus without
inconvenience or embarrassment. But if he waited three days, he
could enjoy the young man in privacy for as long as he wanted.
Three days felt like an eternity to wait for the pleasure his
mind and body now stubbornly demanded. James shifted
uncomfortably in his seat. Hoping it would make the time go by
quicker, he pulled his hat down over his eyes and fell into an
awkward, restless nap. 

Jacob hadn't wasted a moment's reflection on his new Master since
the trip started, other than to feel tense and annoyed by the
man's eyes staring intently at his back. Damn, Jacob thought to
himself, ain't there plenty of things to look at besides a
nigger's back?!? 

The sun rose to illuminate a beautiful day. Jacob enjoyed the
smell of the trees, fields and occasional pond or creek they'd
pass on their drive. He liked to feel the mild breeze against his
face, created by the wagon's movement. His stomach growled in
eager anticipation of Becky's fried chicken and biscuits. Sharing
the Master's lunch was one of the few perks to these trips. That
and the chance to see the city, maybe even enjoy a fling or two
with one of the local girls if he was lucky to get leave of the
Master long enough. 

He thought about how funny Becky had acted toward him that
morning. She'd been real distant and weird around him ever since
the fling that led to his troubles with Master Walt. She's
probably just pissed I don't give her the dick no more, Jacob
concluded. He was used to girls and women getting addicted to his
dick, then angry when he moved on to give others the same
pleasure. 

Occasionally Jacob and James would pass other wagons on the road,
and Jacob always liked to see if they carried any pretty nigger
girls or women. If they did, he'd subtly nod or wink at them in a
way that left no doubt in their minds how he felt about their
looks. 

Of course if there were WHITE women or girls on board, he was
careful to look down and away as the wagon passed. He'd heard too
many horror stories about niggers being hanged or getting their
balls chopped off after nodding at a white woman the wrong way,
or letting their eyes linger just a second too long on some white
girl's flowing hair or pert young breasts. 

Not that Jacob didn't WANT to look. His attraction to white girls
was actually the source of a lot of guilt for the stable-boy.
Vicious and permanent as his hatred for white people was, he
couldn't help but be curious to know what a white girl's breasts
would look like, naked and groped by his rough black hands.
Sometimes he'd jerk off to fantasies of his cock stuffed in some
horrified white girl's throat, or pumping in and out between her
smooth, pale thighs. 

Jacob comforted himself with two thoughts. First, his attraction
was nothing more than curiosity; he'd never pursued it, and it
had never diminished his love of nigger women. He knew plenty of
niggers who drove themselves crazy drooling over white flesh
either they couldn't have, could have but didn't know it, or
could have, DID know it, and were just too afraid they'd get
caught. Most of the time these obsessions formed after some
rebellious teenage daughter or bored housewife used them as their
sexual playthings for a week or two, then forgot about them after
the thrill of breaking the taboo had faded. At least he'd been
spared THAT fate, Jacob thought to himself. 

The second point of consolation was that Jacob's lust for white
women was solely a lust for violence. He hated white men, and
knew there was nothing the white man feared, forbade, and
despised more than the rape of a white woman by a nigger. (Of
course it was always considered "rape," even when the white bitch
initiated and begged for it). In Jacob's mind, there was no
better expression of his hatred for white men, no better act of
defiance, than to force his African manhood into a white girl's
pussy, even if only in his imagination. When he pictured himself
fucking a white girl, it was always rape, always an act of
punishment and humiliation. With every thrust he was trying to
rip open her pink flesh with his black dick, and pollute her body
with his nigger sweat and seed. Every white cunt he fucked in his
mind was the daughter or granddaughter or wife or mother of a
white man he loathed. 

After several hours, James noticed they'd turned off the main
road onto a smaller, bumpier road with less traffic. 

"One of the shortcuts I was tellin' you 'bout, Massuh James!"
Jacob shouted over the din of the wagon wheels. 

James nodded and looked around. The road cut through more forest
than fields, and he saw farmhouses, shacks, and
plantation-mansions far less frequently than he'd seen to the
left or right of the main road. 

Of course the lack of scenery only added to the boredom of the
trip. 

The first few hours of the ride had gone by quickly, but as the
sun rose higher in the sky, the heat grew more intense and the
length of the trip seemed almost unbearable. James took off his
hat and overcoat, removed his vest, and unbuttoned the top
buttons of his collared shirt to cool off. He noticed the small
patches of sweat on Jacob's back had now spread to soak through
most of his shirt. 

As the day approached noon, James's stomach began to growl,
taunted by the occasional whiffs of fried chicken and biscuits
from the back of the wagon. Eventually his hunger became too much
to bear. 

"Should we stop and eat soon?" James asked loudly, leaning
forward. He realized how comically inappropriate it was for him,
the Master, to be asking his slave to determine their lunch
schedule. 

"Massuh Walt and me had us a spot we always stopped at for
lunch!" Jacob shouted back. "It ain't too far from here, if you
don't mind waitin', Massuh James! Massuh Walt always liked it cuz
it gots a creek for some fresh water and a swim to cool off!"

James smiled and nodded his approval. 

"That'd be just fine, Jacob!" he yelled, then sat back in his
seat. Right now he would welcome anything to break up the
monotony of the trip, and quenching his thirst with some cold
creek water, followed by lunch and a refreshing swim, sounded
heavenly. His dick twitched at the thought of swimming with his
slave. Swimming meant being naked. And while he wasn't sure of
the proper protocol, he sure as hell had no problem inviting
Jacob to join him........which meant all the aforementioned
delights of the lunch-break, PLUS a look at the flesh stingily
hidden by Jacob's sweaty clothes.

About five minutes later, Jacob pulled the reins back and slowed
the wagon to a halt on the right side of the narrow dirt road.
About thirty feet from the road James could see a small clearing
surrounded by trees. He could see the sparkling of a creek, and
now that the wagon was stopped he could hear the sounds of its
gently flowing water. 

Tying the reins around the hitch to the left of his wagon seat,
Jacob hopped out of the wagon and reached out to help James down.
James felt a rush of excitement at the hot, rough skin of the
youth's hand firmly grasping his own. 

"This be the place, Massuh James," Jacob said, unfastening
Becky's basket from the back of the wagon. "I thinks you'll like
it. I knows Massuh Walt was always real happy stoppin' here. It
be real nice and cool in the shade." 

Jacob was right. As James followed Jacob through a criss-crossed
path twenty feet or so through a tangle of trees and brush, he
noticed the air was considerably cooler than where the sun beat
blisteringly down on the wagon and road. With Jacob's back toward
him, James stole lustful glances at the stable-boy's sweat-soaked
clothes clinging to his body, revealing the contours of muscles
and dark skin beneath. Jacob led him into a semi-circular
clearing at the side of a creek, covered with tangled grass and
shaded by the surrounding trees. 

"I don't know 'bout you, Massuh James, but I gots to piss like a
horse," Jacob declared bluntly, unfastening his belt as he did
so. He walked to a far corner of the clearing and began to piss.
James could hear the thundering sound of the young man's piss
splashing against dirt and leaves. He got a chill of excitement
at the sound and tried to picture the dangling appendage
producing such a powerful stream. It reminded him of the ache in
his own bladder, so he walked to an opposite corner of the
clearing to piss.

After emptying his bladder, James collapsed against the thick
trunk of one of the trees on the outer edge of the clearing,
savoring the pleasant relief of the cool air. 

"Thank you, Jacob," James said, his nervousness of the morning
returning. "This looks like a wonderful place to stop. Sit down
and rest. Lord knows you deserve it after driving in the heat all
morning." 

"Thanks, Massuh James," Jacob replied, slumping down with his
back against a tree several feet from James. Jacob removed the
cloth from Becky's basket and dutifully held the basket out to
James. James pulled out the jug of cider, two biscuits, and a
thick leg of fried chicken. Jacob then eagerly grabbed his own
piece of chicken, and once he saw James take a bite, wasted no
time hungrily tearing into the meat with his teeth. 

The first few minutes were silent except for the sounds of
energetic chewing and the occasional compliment to Becky's
cooking skills. The fried chicken wasn't as crispy as normal, but
the salty coating of grease and flour and the meat already warmed
by the heat of the sun combined to make a tasty meal for the two
men. 

James took a long drink from the cider-jug, then handed it to
Jacob, who followed suit. James felt a strong desire to talk with
Jacob, to hear about his life on Stampley Plantation and grow
acquainted with the young man's humor and personality. But he
felt shy and clueless as to how to go about doing so. 

Despite Jacob's smiles and jovial words, James sensed a cockiness
and detachment that made him uncomfortable. James longed for a
sincere friendliness from Jacob. He wanted Jacob to trust and
like him in a way he'd never liked or trusted Uncle Walter, and
probably any other white man for that matter.  Even though he was
the boy's Master, James feared that at any moment he'd say
something to annoy the handsome young man, and ruin any chance at
true friendship between Master and slave.

"How old are you, Jacob?" James asked nervously.

"I'se 18, Massuh James," Jacob said with a mouthful of chicken,
focused on shooing away a fly attracted by the youth's
sweat-soaked clothes.

"Ahhhh, what I'd give to be 18 again!" James laughed, taking
another sip of cider. 

Jacob looked at him with a puzzled expression. 

"You talk like you'se an old man, Massuh James," he said,
thinking to himself that white folks always got so melodramatic
over the pettiest things. He remembered Master Walt bitching
about his graying hair at least a hundred times on these trips.
"You ain't but what........22, 23???" Jacob actually guessed
James at 28 or 29, but was an expert in telling white folks what
they wanted to hear. 

James laughed, blushing. "That's very kind of you, Jacob. You
sure know how to get on your Master's good side! I'm actually an
ancient THIRTY years old!" James pointed to the slight receding
hairline that had caused him so much worry over the past couple
years.

"That ain't nothin' at all, Massuh James!" Jacob said, shooing
James away dismissively. "You still a spring chicken!"

James laughed again, relieved at the pleasant back-and-forth he'd
initiated with Jacob. 

Jacob found the small-talk tiresome, and wished James would let
him finish his lunch in peace. Master Walt never talked this
much. He actually ignored Jacob most of the time, which Jacob
preferred to James's annoying questions.

But James persisted, asking Jacob how long he'd lived on Stampley
Plantation, if he was married or had any family there, what he
liked to do in his leisure time, what his Uncle had been like as
a Master, and anything else he could think of to avoid an awkward
silence and assure the stable-boy that he was a kind and caring
Master. 

Jacob's replies were brief and showed just a hint of impatience,
James thought. They were friendly, even humorous at times, but
James couldn't shake the sense that Jacob was simply putting on a
show, keeping his true feelings and answers carefully concealed.
It seemed like something the young man could do in his sleep, so
different from the spontaneous bursts of energy and
self-revelation James frequently enjoyed from Elijah. 

At first James felt hurt and intimidated by Jacob's cheerful
aloofness. His hurt soon turned to frustration, and his
frustration quickly changed into anger and horniness. James
realized he was probably just deluding himself with his attempts
to befriend his stable-boy. Perhaps deep down all he REALLY
wanted to do was fuck the young man. Perhaps all he was TRULY
interested in was Jacob's striking handsomeness, and the effort
to get to know the boy was just a shallow and disingenuous
strategy to get in his pants. Perhaps the institution of slavery
made honest friendship between a white man and Negro impossible.
Perhaps the kind of interracial intimacy James craved could only
be enjoyed through force and manipulation. 

These thoughts saddened James, but also freed him to drool over
Jacob more confidently. Jacob reclined against his tree, picking
the meat out of his teeth with a small twig he'd found on the
ground. James's eyes were drawn magnetically to the unmistakable
bulge outlined by the thin cloth of Jacob's pants. Every now and
then Jacob absent-mindedly scratched or grabbed at his crotch,
making James's tortured lust all the more acute. James wondered
what it looked like. Was it bigger than Elijah's? Smaller?
Lighter? Darker? Thicker? Smellier? Tastier? James felt like he
would wither up and die if he didn't feast his eyes and mouth on
its mysteries before the afternoon was over. 

This was the perfect opportunity, James thought to himself. They
had complete privacy. The clearing was back from the road, and
the road had seen no traffic since their arrival. Jacob was his
slave, and had to obey his orders. He could do anything he wanted
with the young man. He could lick every sweaty inch of Jacob's
dark-skinned body. He could fuck the aloofness and defiance off
the Negro boy's face. He could make him scream and beg for mercy,
with nobody around for miles to hear or care. James's dick sprang
to life as he pictured the limitless possibilities. 

"Let's cool off with a swim!" James suggested spontaneously,
leaping to the ground. He'd already made up his mind what he was
going to do, but wanted to make the transition as easy and
natural as possible. 

Jacob looked up, surprised. Master Walt never invited Jacob to
join him for a swim, even before the whole Becky fiasco. Jacob
waved James away and shook his head. 

"Naw, you go ahead, Massuh James, I ain't much of a swimmer."
He'd actually been swimming in the creek behind the slave
quarters all his life, but wasn't comfortable with the idea of
being naked in his Master's presence, and preferred to enjoy a
quick nap while James swam.

"Awww, come on, Jacob!" James insisted. "You can't tell me you
don't want to get out of those sweaty clothes!" James pointed at
Jacob's shirt, which now looked like it had been drenched with a
bucket of water. 

"If it's alright with you, Massuh James," Jacob asked. "I'd be
mighty grateful for the chance to rest my eyes." 

James paused, frustrated by Jacob's obstinacy. For a moment he
felt self-conscious about the idea of his pale, thin body being
naked beside the muscled African's magnificent nude body, and
almost changed his mind. The thought of seeing Jacob's youthful
body completely exposed was too enticing, however, and he
persevered in his plan. 

James hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt, stripped it off, and threw
it near the tree where he'd been sitting. Jacob looked away
uncomfortably. James lifted his legs and removed his shoes. Then
he unbuckled his belt, unzipped his trousers, shoved them to the
ground, stepped out of them, and then kicked them toward his
shirt. His nakedness in front of Jacob made him feel nervous and
embarrassed. 

His body was slender and in decent shape, certainly nothing to be
ashamed of, but James felt insecure about his blindingly pale
skin and lack of defined muscles he'd admired on other men his
age and younger. His legs were covered in a thin layer of dark
curly hair, but his upper body was completely smooth with the
exception of a few dark chest hairs. His ass was rounder and
fleshier than most white men's, but still scrawny and flat
compared to buttocks of African ancestry. A tangled patch of dark
brown pubic hair sprouted above his dick. His medium-size balls
hung in two pink sacks, covered lightly in wiry brown hair. 

Jacob didn't want to look, but still caught glimpses of his
Master's naked body in spite of himself. Other than Master Walt,
James's was the only white man's body Jacob had ever seen naked.
Even the overseers that raped his mother and sister had only
bothered to pull their dicks out of their flies. James looked
thinner and younger than Master Walt, but with the same
pasty-white skin. Jacob wanted to laugh when he caught a glimpse
of Master James's shriveled, pinkish dick. Superior race my ass,
he thought with cynical amusement. 

James walked over to the creek and dipped his toes in the water.
It was cold but not freezing   the perfect temperature for relief
from the heat of the day. He waded out into the middle, where the
water only barely reached his waist. With a sudden plunge, James
forced his whole body underwater, then stood back up, laughing
and shouting. 

"Damn, that was cold!" James said, smiling over at Jacob. "It
sure does feel good, though!" He crouched into a sitting position
beneath the rushing water, so that only his shoulders and head
showed above the water line. 

"Don't be such a spoiled sport!" James teased. "The rest of the
drive will sure feel a lot better after a nice swim!"

Jacob hoped James couldn't see him roll his eyes. Why couldn't
Master James leave him the fuck alone?!? Damn, just because he's
a slave doesn't mean he has to be the cracker's best friend. He'd
listened to the whiny, fake-friendly voice all through lunch, and
now it wouldn't let him catch some shut-eye in peace. He wanted
to shout, "Shut the fuck up, you annoying, corny-ass
motherfucker!" but instead he just shook his head and said, "No,
thanks, Massuh James, I'se content right under this here tree."

"Jacob," James said, his voice growing tense with frustration.
"I'm no longer asking you to join me. I'm TELLING you to join
me."

Jacob flinched in surprise. For a fleeting second, his eyes
flashed with hostility and his large, wide nostrils flared in
defiance. Why the fuck did the man want him to swim so badly?
Goddamn crackers and their crazy whims.

Jacob didn't say a word, but reluctantly stood and slowly began
unbuttoning his sweat-soaked shirt. 

James's heart raced with excitement, faster and more breathless
with every button freed by Jacob's large, dark fingers. 

Staring blankly in front of him, trying desperately to hide a
scowl, Jacob shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and let it drop
to the ground. 

James stared shamelessly at the young man's disrobing, and gasped
at the beauty exposed before him. Jacob's chest was slender but
defined with pectoral muscles standing slightly out from the rest
of his chest. Two large, nearly pitch-black nipples dotted the
rich black skin of each muscle. The young man's abdomen rippled
with three muscles on each side. The Negro's skin was covered
with a sheen of sweat that made his ebony skin look even more
beautiful. A narrow trail of black, curly hair moved down from a
small, indented belly-button to the mystery below, still hidden
by Jacob's cotton pants. 

Jacob suddenly began to feel a discomfort beyond the normal
annoyance and contempt he felt around white people. Master
James's eagerness for Jacob to swim had seemed odd just a moment
ago, but now it was starting to make sense. The man stared at his
naked chest as if he was under some conjure woman's spell. Master
James had a sparkle in his eyes that Jacob sometimes saw in girls
when they watched him working shirtless in the stable, or even
worse, when he took off his clothes before fucking them. It was
the same eager look he'd seen on Nelson's face that night in the
stable, and during all their subsequent encounters. 

Motherfucker, Jacob thought to himself. Master James is a
cocksucker just like Nelson! 

Fuck me, he thought with rising worry. He'd taken plenty of shit
from Master Walt and the man's overseers in his young life, but
he'd never had to worry about THAT. He'd heard Nelson's stories.
He knew there were plantations where white men raped boys and men
instead of girls and women, or boys and men IN ADDITION TO girls
and women. But he'd always thought of that as something that
happened to OTHER niggers........far, far away from Stampley
Plantation. He'd spent plenty of angry, anxious nights after some
drunk overseer dragged Laney off to the overseer quarters, but
he'd never had to worry that it might be HIM snatched up and
gang-raped in the middle of the night. 

Until now. There was his Master, drooling over his naked chest
like a dog waiting for its supper, probably stroking his puny
little dick under the water. Fuck, fuck, FUCK, Jacob thought
angrily. MOTHERFUCKER. What the fuck do I do now?!? 

He wanted to snatch up his shirt, run to the wagon, and ride
until he reached North. But Jacob knew that was a plan doomed to
failure. The first white man to see an unfamiliar nigger driving
a wagon without a white person in it was sure to start asking
questions, demanding a pass, and Jacob would be busted. Besides,
his heart was deeply entwined with the lives of those on Stampley
Plantation, despite the tragedy he'd suffered there. He couldn't
bear the thought of never seeing Laney or Solomon again. And he
knew Laney would probably follow in the footsteps of her mother
if she lost her only remaining family member.

Jacob felt choked by the same helpless feeling he'd felt as a
child when the overseers scattered his marbles and dunked his
head in the wash bucket. He seethed with resentment at his
treatment, but was powerless to do anything to stop it.

Maybe his fears were exaggerated, Jacob thought hopefully. Maybe
the Master smiled out of sincere friendliness, with no ulterior
motives. Maybe Jacob's all-consuming hatred for white people had
led him to judge a kind, innocent man unfairly.

Jacob bent over to take off his shoes. He unbuckled his belt,
unzipped his pants, and slowly pushed them to the ground. Now
completely nude, Jacob sullenly walked to join James in the
creek. 

James could feel his body shaking, partly from the chill of the
creek water, but mostly from the breathtaking beauty before him.
Jacob's legs were thinner than his more developed upper body, but
still showed firm muscles, the dark skin covered in tiny curls of
crispy black hair. 

Most impressive, however, was the appendage dangling between the
young African's legs. It was pitch-black with a purplish mushroom
head, and hung at least seven inches in its completely soft
state. It looked bigger than Elijah's did when soft, and
considerably thicker. A thick patch of nappy pubic hair, similar
to that on Jacob's head, covered the area above the impressive
creature. 

James gasped when he saw Jacob's balls. Enclosed in smooth,
charcoal-black skin, they looked bigger and heavier than those
he'd seen on bulls. Jacob's entire crotch area glistened with
sweat, and James felt an urge to seize the stable-boy's dick and
balls in his hands and taste their pungent heat before it was too
late. 

Uncomfortable with his Master's shameless stares, Jacob stepped
into the creek and sunk his naked body beneath its waters. The
cool water felt good against his hot skin.

For about fifteen minutes, the two men made tense small talk,
occasionally diving beneath the water for another refreshing
rinse. 

James noticed a spider-web of grayish scars across Jacob's back
and shoulders, undoubtedly left by dozens of severe lashings. The
scars looked painful enough; James could only imagine how they
must have looked, raw and bloody in the immediate aftermath of a
whipping.

Jacob felt foolish for his earlier fears. James made no attempt
to touch him, even in playful splashing and wrestling, and hadn't
turned the conversation to anything sexual.

James was thrilled by the young Negro's nakedness so close to
his. James knew that his old life in Boston could never in a
million years have placed him in such an exciting scenario. He
knew what he wanted to do, but didn't know how to go about doing
it. 

Elijah had been so easy in comparison, he thought. Forcing a
sexual encounter with a slave-child in his own bedroom, knowing
Mr. Potter was just down the hall in case anything went wrong,
was very different than initiating sex on his own, in a strange
environment, with a young man, miles away from Stampley
Plantation. Knowing the power and threat he held over Jacob
didn't make the introduction of the idea any less clumsy or
potentially confrontational.

"We best hit the road if'n we wants to make Columbus 'fore
nightfall," Jacob spoke up. He was eager to resume the journey
and confirm the baselessness of his earlier worries. 

"Yeah, you're probably right, I guess we better get on with the
day," James said with disappointment. He was beginning to panic.
He knew he had to say or do something soon or else he'd always
regret losing such a unique opportunity.

Jacob stepped out of the creek, water sparkling and dripping from
his smooth ebony skin. 

James's dick sprang to full instant hardness when he saw the
flawless ass before him. It was ten times more breathtaking than
anything he'd imagined while staring at its clothed curves
earlier that morning. Two rich-black upturned half-melons sprung
out from the small of his back, their muscles flexing as Jacob
walked toward his clothes. Their beauty was marred only by
crisscrossed grayish scars, similar to those on the young man's
back. 

James felt an urgent uncontrollable impulse to rub his nose up
and down the dark crease of Jacob's ass-crack, to pry them open
with his fingers and tongue. 

"Stop!" James shouted hoarsely, causing Jacob to turn his head in
surprise just as he was leaning down to retrieve his pants, which
were resting at the foot of the tree he'd leaned against at
lunch. 

"Massuh?!?" Jacob asked uncertainly. 

The change in his Master's tone of voice was unmistakable. This
is it, Jacob thought to himself. The Master's going to try to
rape me, just like those bastards raped Mama and Laney. FUCK.
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.

James walked out of the creek like a ghost from a swamp. His body
was trembling with nervousness and excitement. 

Jacob cringed when he saw that his Master's dick was now a
rock-hard seven inches, jerking toward the sky. It looked red and
angry. 

"Do as I say, and don't cause me any trouble, Jacob," James
instructed, hoping he sounded more intimidating than he felt. "I
know this might sound strange, but I happen to find
you........remarkably handsome. And as your new Master, it's my
right to take pleasure from your handsomeness however I see
fit."

Jacob stared at him with a look of undisguised hatred. 

James shuddered, seeing laid bare the animosity he'd earlier
guessed was beneath the surface of the boy's jokes and
obsequiousness. 

Suddenly James realized the almost laughably absurd danger of the
situation he was in. Here he was, a soft, skinny white man with
no whip, knife, or gun, trying to rape a strapping young buck at
least five times stronger than him, miles from any white people
who could come to his rescue if Jacob took it in his mind to
resist his rape with violence. 

But wasn't that precisely the perverse brilliance of Southern
slavery?!? In many regions of the South, Negroes outnumbered
whites twenty to one, so what stopped them from banding together
to slaughter their Masters and claim the land for themselves??? 

FEAR. Fear and ignorance. Ignorance that kept most slaves from
knowing anything of the world beyond their own plantation.
Ignorance from hearing over and over and over again that niggers
are stupid, passive, weak, and helpless   intellectually inferior
to the smarter, stronger, and more powerful white race. Messages
of degradation and impotence repeated so often that some slaves
end up believing they really ARE nothing more than dumb, cowardly
niggers.

Ignorance is the fertile breeding ground for fear. Fear of the
whip. Fear of having one's limbs or genitals amputated. Fear of
physical torture. Fear of death. 

But more powerful even then self-interested fear, James knew, was
the fear driven by love. Fear of seeing one's wife, husband,
parents, or children whipped, raped, sold, or killed. Fear of
being separated from one's family and childhood friends, from the
only life one had ever known. 

And this fear, James recognized, was the very thing that would
allow him to abuse and enjoy Jacob's body without fear of
resistance or danger. Fear was the thing that permitted him the
exquisite pleasure of dominating someone so clearly his physical
superior.

"Face forward with your back toward me!" James ordered sternly,
stroking his dick in his right hand. "Place both hands against
the tree, spread your legs, and bend over!"

"Massuh James, I don't understand........" Jacob said, shaking
his head. "I thought we was goin' to hit the road, Massuh James."


"This won't take long," James said, thinking in the back of his
mind that HOURS wouldn't be long enough for him to enjoy this
handsome buck in every way he wanted. "You heard what I said,
Jacob. Spread your legs and bend over with your hands against the
tree! NOW!" 

Jacob saw the older white man stroking his hard, veiny dick, and
knew it could only mean one thing. The image of Nelson sprawled
across the wooden stool that night in the stable flashed through
his mind. 

HELL NO! Jacob swore to himself. There was no fucking way he was
going to let ANY man, especially a goddamn sissy cracker, fuck
him like a bitch. It was one thing to get his dick sucked by
another nigger friend of his, and to fuck him in the ass. That
really wasn't all that different from fucking pussy, and there
sure as hell wasn't anything bitch-like about that. Solomon and
Charlie had done it too, and they for goddamn sure weren't
bitches. But there was no way in hell he was going to let a white
man's dick fuck his asshole just like it was pussy. No man, not
even Nelson or Solomon, was ever going to use his ass that way. 

James saw the angry panic in Jacob's eyes, and quickly tried to
steer clear of a confrontation. 

"Didn't you tell me you have a little sister?" James asked
threateningly. "I'm not going to hurt you, but if you refuse to
cooperate I'll have no choice but to hurt you AND the person
closest to you."

Jacob's eyes flickered with impotent rage. He was ashamed that
he'd thought for even a second that James might actually be kind
and sincere. Goddamn cocksucking bastard ain't no different than
the rest of 'em, he thought. 

"I'm sure you wouldn't want anything to happen to your little
sister, would you?" James continued, his desperation to
experience the delights of Jacob's flesh making him resort to
these cruel threats. "Like being whipped........or SOLD???" 

Jacob knew his options were limited. He clenched his muscles in
masculine resistance, but slowly spread his legs and leaned
forward with his hands pressed against the tree. He felt
shamefully feminine in that position.

James could hardly believe this was happening. Just a few stern
threats and a proud, manly slave like Jacob was bent over in
complete submission. Jacob's dark upturned mounds were a
temptation he could no longer resist. A temptation he no longer
had any REASON to resist. 

He walked forward, dropped to his knees, and grabbed Jacob's
firm, fleshy ass-cheeks in both hands. Streams of water still
trickled down the slave's smooth, ebony skin. James clutched,
groped, and smacked the black buttocks like a child who's just
opened a long-requested Christmas toy. 

Jacob shut his eyes tightly in hatred and embarrassment. 

Impatient to see the prize protected beneath both muscular
mounds, James spread Jacob's ass-cheeks with his fingers. There,
clenched tightly and deeply within the boy's ass-crack, was
Jacob's virgin asshole. The slit was slightly longer than
Elijah's, but sealed just as tightly.  The tiny wrinkled hole was
a lighter purplish color that stood out against the rest of
Jacob's black skin, and it was surrounded by several curly wisps
of Negro hair. The hair trailed up and down the insides of
Jacob's ass-crack.  James thought to himself that the asshole
looked angry and defiant, just like the young man to whom it
belonged.

Desperate for intimacy with Jacob's most prized and protected
body part, James buried his face between the firm mounds of the
young man's ass. He smashed his nose against the wrinkled opening
and inhaled deeply. It had a strong, musky smell, a combination
of skin, sweat, shit, and creek-water. Not as clean as Elijah's,
but strangely more enticing. 

James knew most men would find what he was doing repugnant, but
he didn't care. The aroma and closeness to the young man's body
was intoxicating. He shot out his tongue and licked up and down
the outer edges of Jacob's crack. Urged on by the salty taste of
the boy's sweat, James circled his tongue around Jacob's anus,
then lapped hungrily across its surface. 

Jacob's body tensed in surprise and discomfort. This wasn't part
of the horrors he'd imagined. Never in his life had anyone licked
his ass like it was pussy. Not even Nelson, who tended to be more
sexually adventurous than most of the girls he fucked around
with. And while Jacob had licked pussy plenty of times, he'd
never even CONSIDERED the possibility of licking a girl's
asshole. Why the hell would any man with even half a dick want to
lick another man's shitter? Filthy pervert cracker motherfuckers,
Jacob thought with disgust. What the fuck will they come up with
next?!?

James forced Jacob's cheeks apart with both hands, holding the
ass firmly in place while he feasted on it like it was the last
meal he'd have for days. He poked and swirled his tongue around
Jacob's purple pucker, savoring its tangy, forbidden flavor. He
spit a big glob of saliva right on the clenched little hole, then
spread the wetness around with his tongue. He hoped the warmth
and lubrication of his spit would loosen the stubbornly sealed
gateway to Jacob's insides. He longed to push his tongue deeper
into the boy's tunnel, to fuck him with his tongue the way he
planned on later fucking him with his dick. 

Jacob lurched his body forward in an attempt to escape these
strange new sensations, but Master James had his butt firmly in
his hands. His initial disgust quickly turned to surprised and
reluctant pleasure. No tongues, fingers, or dicks had ever come
within a foot of his asshole, so he'd never known being touched
where his shit comes out could feel so........good??? 

He moaned in spite of himself at the pleasure the man's warm
slurping was giving his tensed-shut asshole. He hated to admit
it, but it almost felt as good as getting his dick sucked. It
didn't make his dick get hard, but it still felt amazing. He felt
guilty for feeling anything from a white man's touch other than
disgust and hatred.

Jacob dismissed his guilt and realized that the REAL thrill came
from seeing a white man in such a degraded position, performing
such a filthy act. And not just that, but doing something so
nasty and humiliating to a NIGGER'S asshole! He felt a little
uncomfortable bent over like a bitch about to get fucked, but
other than that what he was doing wasn't any worse than letting
Nelson suck his prick. He liked seeing his Master worship his
sweaty asshole like it was some kind of sacred shrine.  His dick
began to rise when he thought of his Master down on his knees,
slurping greedily away at the very hole through which he'd taken
a shit in the outhouse earlier that morning. This made him push
his ass against the white man's face, and relax his asshole to
let his Master's tongue sink deeper into him.

James was encouraged when he noticed Jacob thrusting his ass
eagerly backward, allowing James to bury his tongue even deeper
into the slave-boy's tight opening. The deeper his tongue
reached, the hotter and tangier the boy's ass tasted. James
shuddered with excitement when he imagined how good it was going
to feel to plunge his hard seven inches into the stable-boy's
obviously virgin hole. But he knew he had to pace
himself........there were other parts of the boy's body he wanted
to enjoy first. 

James pulled his face out of Jacob's ass and took a breath of
fresh air. He could still smell the boy's ass on his nose, lips,
and chin. James jerked Jacob's body around to face him, pushed
him into a standing position, and leaned him back against the
tree. 

James smiled and winked at Jacob when he noticed that the slave's
thick purplish cock was now half-hard and still waking up. Jacob
looked away and shut his eyes, annoyed and embarrassed. 

Still on his knees, James wasted no time grabbing Jacob's shaft
with his left hand and swallowing half of it into his mouth. Like
Elijah's, Jacob's dick was circumcised. But that was where the
similarities ended. To James, the 18-year-old's cock felt and
tasted completely different from the younger slave-boy's. While
it wasn't as long, it was considerably thicker, and had the
distinct weight, girth, and power of a full-grown African's.  

It also had a thick musky smell........or perhaps that was still
the boy's ass he was smelling. No, it was a different smell this
time, something potent and nutty emanating from Jacob's gigantic,
heavy-hanging balls. 

James eagerly tried to fit as much of Jacob's manhood into his
mouth as possible, but its thickness stretched his lips painfully
and made it impossible to slide much more than two-thirds of the
dick in his throat. He made a valiant effort, however, sucking
and moaning and licking Jacob's shaft just as enthusiastically as
he liked to have his own dick sucked by Elijah.

Jacob was aroused by much more than the pleasurable sensations of
having warm wet lips wrapped around his prick. That was a feeling
as familiar to him as taking a piss. Dozens if not hundreds of
girls had sucked him off, and that wasn't even counting Nelson.
As far as blowjobs went, Master James's was average, somewhere
between a virgin's clumsy biting and Nelson's expert
deep-throating.

But Jacob had never been sucked off by a white person, male or
female, and it turned him on immensely to watch his Master
groveling and gagging on his knees like a nigger bitch. Jacob had
been forced his entire life to place white folk's pleasure before
his own. He knew that legally he was considered the equal of the
horses he cared for, a piece of livestock whose sole purpose in
life was to make white folk's lives easy and pleasurable. But
here was a white man devoted to HIS pleasure, sucking a nigger's
dick like it was the most natural thing in the world. And he
seemed to be ENJOYING it, just like the nigger women enjoyed it,
and just like Nelson always enjoyed it. 

That was the only thing disrupting Jacob's pleasure. He didn't
WANT James to enjoy it. Where was the fun in degrading a white
man if the sissy cracker LIKED being degraded?!? Jacob was
intoxicated with this newly-discovered power, and he wanted to
test its boundaries. He wanted to cause his Master pain and
suffering and TRUE humiliation. 

No longer thinking rationally or cautiously, Jacob reached out
and grabbed a handful of hair on the back of James's head. It
felt soft and thin in his hand, so different from the thick nappy
tangles on most niggers. He reached out with his other hand and
snatched another handful. Tightening his grip on both clutches of
hair, Jacob yanked James's head toward him, forcing the older
white man's mouth to take more of his dick. 

James's eyes shot open in surprise, but he didn't put up a fight.
Jacob held James's head in place and began forcing his dick
deeper into the man's throat. 

He shoved until all eight inches were stuffed into the back of
Master James's throat, causing him to gag and try to pull off for
air. The sound of his Master's gagging turned Jacob on all the
more. He'd always liked to hear the same sounds coming from
Nelson and the nigger girls he messed around with, but this was
even more intense because it was a WHITE MAN gurgling and choking
like a helpless slave. 

Holding James's head firmly in place, Jacob thrust in and out of
the man's throat like it was a tight wet pussy. He stood up from
leaning against the tree, allowing himself the freedom to pump
with all his might. 

James began to panic. 

At first he'd felt an unexpected thrill when Jacob grabbed the
back of his head. He got chills at the first sense of
powerlessness, the knowledge that things were suddenly out of his
control. He enjoyed the sound of the young man's masculine
grunts, and the aggressive thrusts that shoved the thick African
manhood further down his throat than Elijah's had ever been. He
savored the sweet taste of the boy's sweat, skin, and precum, and
was surprised to find that he LIKED the feeling of another man's
penis filling his mouth. 

He'd enjoyed sucking Elijah's dick, but this was even better. Was
it because he'd surrendered the power of the act to Jacob, as
he'd never done with Elijah? James got no real PHYSICAL pleasure
from the act, and his dick had even softened since switching his
attentions from Jacob's ass to the boy's dick. In fact, the hard,
meaty appendage stabbing the sides of his mouth and back of his
throat was uncomfortable at best, painful at worst. 

But he had to admit, there was something unexpectedly thrilling
about having his mouth used as a Negro boy's pussy. He imagined
all the girls Jacob had probably fucked in the same exact way he
was now fucking the face of his older white Master. James's dick
twitched at the thought of being the receptacle for the pent-up
seed stored in the big balls slapping against his chin with every
thrust.

But the motions of Jacob's hips had become more aggressive, more
demanding, and James was growing frightened. Several times he
started to throw up his lunch, quickly swallowing it back down
before the next violent thrust. He worried that perhaps this
intensity wasn't typical of the stable-boy's manly fucking
motions, that the power dynamic established earlier had been
forgotten or abandoned. 

James screamed through his forced sucking, and pushed against
Jacob's naked muscled legs. As James had feared, the stable-boy
was too strong for him and his resistance was futile. Jacob's
legs stood immovable, and his large hands continued to force
James's mouth down on his dick.

Jacob was caught up in a frenzy of lust and sexual power unlike
any he'd ever experienced. His white Master's screams only
intensified his furious pounding. He looked down with angry, open
eyes at the sight of his thick, soot-black dick slamming in and
out of Master James's thin, red lips and pasty-white face. It was
the most beautiful thing he'd ever witnessed. 

He knew when the Master tried but failed to push him away, that
Jacob then had complete control. His sexual pleasure and craving
for revenge pushed all thoughts of Laney, Solomon, even his own
survival, completely out of his mind. All he wanted was to savor
the most explosive, ecstatic orgasm of his life while hurting and
humiliating a white man. 

Jacob slapped James on the cheeks as he continued impaling the
man's face with his dick. His slaps were mild at first, but grew
harsher until they made loud smacking noises and left red
handprints on the man's pale skin.

"You like the taste of coon dick, cracker?!?" Jacob taunted,
pulling his dick out of James's mouth and slapping it across the
man's cheeks while he waited for an answer.

James was scared for his safety, but against his will felt a
sharp pang of excitement at being degraded by one of his own
slaves. He wondered if Elijah had felt similarly when James had
degraded HIM in a similar fashion. 

James gasped for air, but couldn't bring to his throat the
self-degrading words he knew Jacob wanted to hear. 

With his left hand, Jacob yanked James's head back by the hair.
With his right hand, he hit the man full and hard across the
face. 

"What the fuck did I ask you, you little fairy cocksucker?!?"

James felt true terror now. He could already feel his cheek
growing swollen and puffy where Jacob had hit him. He looked at
the ground in dread and disbelief at the violent turn his
afternoon plans had suddenly taken. He looked desperately toward
the road and started screaming for help at the top of his lungs.


Jacob backhanded James with his fist. Now both of James's cheeks
were bruised and swollen.

"Scream like that again and I'll fuckin' DROWN your Yankee ass in
the creek, you hear me?!?" 

Jacob shoved his thick pole all the way to the back of James's
throat, then pulled out with deliberate slowness. "Now answer my
fuckin' question........you likes the taste of nigger dick?!?"

James gulped in shame and looked at the ground. "Yes," he
mumbled.

"Yes, WHAT, you stupid ofay motherfucker?!?" Jacob was relishing
the performance he'd fantasized about all his life.

"Yes, I do love nigger dick," James said softly. 

"Say it likes you fuckin' mean it!" Jacob ordered. "You know how
lucky you is to get a taste of this dick?!? You know how many
nigger bitches'd  kill they own best friend for one TASTE of this
motherfucker?!?" He waved his thick pole obnoxiously in James's
face.

"I LOVE NIGGER DICK!" James yelled angrily. "What the hell do you
want from me?!?" he pleaded helplessly. "I love the way they
look! Their size! Their smell! Their taste! What else can I
say?!?" 

Jacob laughed contemptuously and shoved his dick back in James's
mouth. 

"Now that be more like it, MASSUH James," Jacob said,
sarcastically exaggerating James's title of authority. "Now
worship that African dick like the white pussy-boy you is!" 

James's eyes welled up with tears when he recalled his nervous
attempts to befriend Jacob earlier that morning. How long ago
that now seemed! And not more than ten minutes earlier he'd been
selfish and foolish enough to think he was actually going to have
HIS way with the young man's body! How quickly and horribly
circumstances can change, he thought to himself. 

James's throat choked and burned with every angry thrust of the
African's massive dick.

Jacob's eyes moved from the older white man's thin lips, dripping
with spit and precum, to his pale ass. Thoughts of his next
pleasure began to form in his mind. He'd always wanted to rape a
white woman as a way to get back at all the white men who had
ever done him harm. But wouldn't raping an actual white MAN be
the more targeted and satisfying revenge?!? Especially a white
man whose intentions just moments ago had been to take Jacob's
OWN virginity??? Besides, he already knew how good a tight
asshole felt wrapped around his dick, and he could only imagine
how much BETTER the asshole of his helpless Master would feel.
Too bad the sissy's pussy probably already been fucked a hundred
times, Jacob thought.   

Jacob yanked James's head off of his dick. "Turn over so's I can
fuck that cracker pussy with this big African dick!" Jacob
ordered. 

James's eyes grew wide in terror. In all his years of lusting
after men and imagining the possibilities of male-male sex, James
had never once had the desire to feel another man's cock fucking
his asshole. The idea of fucking OTHER men's assholes had always
been appealing, and had now become an addiction after discovering
the exquisite pleasures of Elijah's teenage asshole. But having
his OWN ass ravaged the way he longed to ravage
others........HELL NO! He'd always imagined it would cause
excruciating pain, and the screams he'd witnessed from Elijah and
Thad hadn't been too reassuring. 

But now he was staring at Jacob's throbbing black monster, and
the young man was planning on fucking him with
it........violently and without mercy, no doubt!

James jerked out of Jacob's grip and scrambled toward the creek,
hoping he might be able to cross it and run to safety. Jacob
laughed at the skinny white man stumbling around like a crazed
animal.

"Where the fuck you think you gonna go, you stupid-ass cracker?"
Jacob said, laughing unsympathetically. 

He pounced on James and pinned him to the ground. James was
sprawled flat against the dusty Earth, paralyzed beneath the
weight and strength of Jacob's muscular black body laying on top
of him. 

Jacob wasted no time finding his desired target. He had no desire
to dirty his fingers by touching the white man's asshole, so he
hoped the slobber still dripping off his dick would be enough
lubrication to enter James's body. He arched his hips, pointed
the enormous mushroom head of his midnight-black dick against his
Master's tiny pink pucker, and shoved with all the strength his
18-year-old body could muster. 

James's screams pierced the countryside's peaceful afternoon air.
Jacob watched with delight as his thick shaft ripped into the
white man's pink pussy. Based on its tightness and the pain of
the man's screams, Jacob guessed with surprise that his Master
was a virgin after all. The knowledge only made the assault all
the more empowering and exhilarating for Jacob. 

Without pulling his dick out, Jacob reached back and grabbed the
blue cloth from Becky's lunch basket. He leaned forward and
stuffed it in James's mouth to muffle the man's blood-curdling
screams. 

Smashing his body flat against James's, Jacob pumped his hips
slowly up and down. In that position, Jacob's dick stayed deeply
implanted in James's asshole, and every thrust only pushed the
dick deeper, or moved it around in circular motions. 

Jacob stayed in a slow rhythm at first, enjoying the hot soupy
tightness of his white Master's violated insides. He savored the
sound of James's screams of pain, now choked off by the blue
towel. He listened eagerly to the squishing, slurping, farting
noises of his dick plunging up and down into the white man's
torn-open asshole. 
Damn, he's got a tight asshole, Jacob thought. Definitely tighter
than any pussy, and even tighter than Nelson's! 

But an orgasm was only a small part of the satisfaction Jacob
craved. Increasing the speed and intensity of his thrusts, he
leaned his sweaty face next to James's so that he could whisper
in the white man's ear.

"You feel that, motherfucker?!? You feel that nigger dick up
inside your pussy, cracker?!?"

James nodded frantically in pained assent. His eyes were clenched
shut and he bit down on the rag shoved in his mouth. 

"Yeah, you crackers all the same," Jacob continued. "Always
actin' all high and mighty like you the rulers of the whole
goddamn world, treatin' niggers like shit, when all you
cocksuckers really want is a nigger's dick up yo' ass! You'se all
pathetic, if you ask me." 

Jacob spit on James's face in disgust and continued pummeling the
ass beneath him with deeper and harsher strokes.

James had never felt pain so excruciating in his entire life. He
prayed to God he'd pass out and be spared the rest of his
nightmare. It felt like someone was shoving a fiery torch through
his asshole and deep into his rectum. 

After the first five minutes of alarming pain, his ass grew
slightly more accustomed to the invasion. At first he thought he
was going to shit himself, and then he realized it was just the
bizarre feeling of having Jacob's huge pole, thicker than any
shit he'd ever taken, rubbing against the part of him that gave
pleasure when taking a shit. As much as he hated to admit it,
Jacob's thrusts were actually giving him pleasure, mixed with the
persistent pain of having his virgin tunnel plunged open. 

A twisted, deep-down part of him found a forbidden thrill in
being hit, yelled at, spit on, and anally raped by a handsome
young African like Jacob. And didn't he deserve such treatment
anyway, after the way he'd abused Elijah and Thad??? James could
still smell the lingering scent of Jacob's ass on his face,
mingled with the distinct Negro smell of Jacob's flaring
nostrils, greasy hair, and sweaty skin leaning against his face
as the young man whispered insults in his ear. Jacob's breath was
hot with the lingering smell of fried chicken. James thrilled at
these smells and the sticky warmth of the stable-boy's lithe
naked body smashed against his own pale, scrawny build. 

God, this is fucked-up, James thought to himself. And wasn't he
largely to blame? Wasn't this exactly what James had planned on
doing to Jacob just a half hour earlier, only with the positions
reversed?!? 

Did it really have to be like this? Clearly he derived at least
some pleasure from having his mouth and anus enjoyed by the Negro
slave. And Jacob obviously took pleasure from the act as well.
What if everything wasn't so fucked-up down here in the South?
Maybe under different circumstances he and Jacob might be doing
this willingly, mutually??? Who knows, perhaps they might be
lovers? 

James shut his eyes and imagined Jacob's brutal thrusts as
aggressive but tender lovemaking between equals: the one needing
to dominate after a lifetime of submission, the other thrilled to
submit after a lifetime of unasked-for power? James's heart ached
to think that the pent-up needs on both their parts could only
find expression in a brutal, ugly scene such as the one playing
itself out this afternoon.

Jacob's thoughts were far from dreams of an interracial utopia.
He buried his face in James's soft, sandy-brown hair and slammed
his body into the one beneath him with ferocious force. His body
began transporting him to the place of hatred and violence he
always visited just before a climax. Only this time he wasn't
fucking a scared little nigger girl incapable of comprehending
his hatred, but fucking the very OBJECT of his hatred, a white
man who symbolized every white man he'd ever known. 

This knowledge worked his mind into a frenzied state of
heightened hostility and rage unlike any he'd ever known. He
clenched his eyes shut and remembered the smelly overseers
dunking his head in the wash-bucket when he was a little boy,
laughing and slapping his terrified face every time they pulled
his head out of the water. He remembered the looks of horror,
then surrender, on his mother and sister's faces as they were
raped in front of him and his father. He remembered the look of
hollow-eyed grief and defeat in his father's eyes when the man
told Jacob they'd found his mother's body in the creek. He
remembered the countless whippings ordered by Master Walt out of
petty, spiteful jealousy. He remembered the morning he woke up to
find his father gone, sold without having the chance to tell his
children goodbye. 

Jacob concentrated on these memories in a furious, wild-eyed
rage, smashing his body violently into the man crushed beneath
him, over and over and over. Tears of grief and helplessness
flooded his eyes. He'd always known it in the back of his mind,
but now Jacob realized this would probably be his last fuck on
Earth. His whole body tensed as he unleashed all his hurt, fury,
and powerlessness in one explosive, suicidal orgasm. 

He slammed his hips as deeply into James's body as he could,
spurting stream after stream after stream of scalding cum into
the white man's battered body. All his memories, all his pain
flooded his Master's bowels in one euphoric, transcendent
release. 

James's dick was aroused in spite of the pain by the thrill of
being mounted by Jacob, like James was the buck's favorite piece
of nigger pussy. When he felt the young Negro's hot, thick semen
pouring into his guts, James felt for a second that he was LUCKY
to be chosen as the cum-rag for a beautiful young man like Jacob.
He thought of the hundreds of potential children swimming in the
stable-boy's seed, and felt a sense of possessive pride knowing
they'd be permanently absorbed into his own flesh and blood.
Throbbing involuntarily, James's dick shot four sticky streams of
cum onto the grass beneath him.

Jacob had only collapsed for a minute or two atop James's limp
body before feeling the rush of defeat and despair now that his
temporary power, seized by force and violence, was gone from him
forever. 

He looked around him like a man waking from a deep, drunken
stupor. What the fuck did I just do?!? he thought with rising
hysteria. 

His mind, still cluttered from the high it had just experienced,
raced to consider his options. 

Returning to Stampley Plantation was out of the question. Master
James would order him raped, tortured, and hanged, without
blinking an eye.

He could murder the white man and dump his body in the creek,
eliminating the only witness to the crime, then run for freedom
up North. No, that would be foolish, he concluded. His chances of
actually escaping were slim to none, and a slave with the blood
of a murdered white man on his hands was almost certainly doomed
to be lynched, while a runaway might still come out with his
life, minus a foot or finger or balls. Jacob could also gamble
that shame would make James report his disappearance as a simple
runaway, keeping the rape and assault to himself.

Jacob winced when he thought of Laney. But he had no choice. He'd
been a fool, and now he had to face the consequences. He knew
time was of the essence. The more miles he put between himself
and this place before news reached the slave-catchers and
surrounding communities, the better his chance at making it out
of this alive. 

He reached over and pulled the belt out of his pants, which were
still lying where he'd left them when ordered to swim by the
grinning Master James. He yanked James up by the arms, snatched
the gag out of his mouth, and dragged him over to one of the
trees on the outer edge of the clearing. He could see cum leaking
out of the man's ass and down his leg. 

"Please, Jacob, don't kill me!" James begged. He was still
shell-shocked from his rape, but alert enough to know that the
fear of punishment for one crime might lead a slave like Jacob to
commit even worse crimes. 

Jacob looked around wild-eyed, like he wasn't sure where James's
voice was coming from. 

"Do as I tells you," Jacob instructed distractedly. "Or I WILL
fuckin' kill you. Now put on your clothes." He wanted to
eliminate as much suggestion of rape as possible. Make it look
like an average robbery and escape. 

Jacob stood over James as the trembling man put on his clothes.
Jacob pushed him into a sitting position at the foot of the tree,
then pulled his arms back around the thick trunk and tied his
hands tightly together with his belt. He then shook out the blue
towel, still wet from James's saliva, and tied it around the
man's head as a gag, stuffed once again in James's mouth. 

Jacob knew others occasionally used this spot for breaks in their
travels, but hoped he'd have at least three or four hours before
James was discovered. A whole day, if he was lucky. 

Jacob hurriedly put on his clothes, then stuffed the chicken and
biscuits left over from lunch in his pockets. He glanced guiltily
at James's pleading eyes, but spit in his direction to show what
he still thought of the cocksucker who'd wanted to rape him. 

Jacob ran to the wagon and looked cautiously down to the road to
see if anyone was coming. He frantically went through James's
luggage, where he was thrilled to find money and a slave pass
already signed. Now there's a stroke of luck, Jacob thought to
himself. 

He stuffed both the money and pass in his back pocket. He walked
to the front of the wagon and affectionately petted his horses
goodbye. They were the only things left from his life at Stampley
Plantation to which he could say goodbye. 

A tear of sadness, regret, and fear escaped down his cheek. Jacob
brushed it away with his sleeve, and then took off into the
woods.    

*****************************************************************
*****
Any and all feedback is welcome and desired! I would love to hear
advice on how my writing might improve, characters or scenes you
particularly enjoy, suggestions for future characters or
storylines, stories and fantasies of your own, and anything else
you might want to share. E-mail me at <a
href="mailto:WannabeWhitman@yahoo.com">WannabeWhitman@yahoo.com</
a>. 










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