This story contains graphic but completely fictional depictions of sex among men and men, and men and underage boys and/or girls. If this offends you, if it is illegal for you to read or download this, or if you are under 18, please go away.
Seaward Plantation
Chapter ten
Mark Appleby and Troy had to trust to Hector's good eyes as the fifteen year old sat in the bow of the Hesperus, craning forward, peering intently into the morning fog. Under very little canvas, the boat glided silently in the calm waters of the estuary of a creek emptying into Charleston Harbor. Troy had the tiller, and although there was little fear of any sort of collision or damage to the boat, still he did not want to run aground and did not want to miss the pier and landing for Ashley Plantation. His master had been invited for a two day stay there, to meet the local gentry and make social connections that would serve all the people of Seaward well. The hiss of the boat through water and the croaking of frogs, the thrumming of insects and the birds' morning chorus were the only sounds Appleby could hear from his seat in the middle of the boat.
"There! to starboard," cried Hector, pointing ahead and to the right of the boat. Troy peered intently into the fog-- then it seemed to lift momentarily, and a long pier came into view. An assortment of other craft were secured to it, from rowboats to sailboats. Troy and Hector worked to bring the Hesperus around and up to the pier, gliding in smoothly and quietly, Appleby helping as he could. Bumping gently against the wooden sides of the pier, the blacks secured the Hesperus to the wooden uprights. Appleby climbed over the boat's side and onto the pier. Troy and Hector handed two cloth suitcases out to their master, who stood uncertainly on the wooden planks of the pier. Troy and Hector joined him, unsure of what to do in the silent, heavy morning air. A few feet toward shore he saw a post from which hung a small bell with a rope dangling down. Thinking this must be some sort of signaling system, he rang it a few times, the sound clear but muffled in the swirling fog.
A couple of minutes passed, then the sound of footsteps from the shore end of the pier were heard. A dark skinned man in a uniform, or livery, emerged from the fog. He was a little over six feet tall, and Appleby could tell that he was powerfully built beneath his uniform. His skin was coal black, as was his hair which was a carpet of dense tufts and knots. His hourglass-shaped face featured a prominent forehead and rolling cheek bones that narrowed through the cheeks and opened back up again in a strong jaw and chin. A wide, flared nose ran straight down to full lips that pushed out from the mouth, purple brown pillows parted by white teeth. The man was the picture of handsome masculinity and strength. His uniform covered what must be a powerful physique, a V-shaped chest above slim hips and slimmer waist. His walk was graceful, like the rolling prowl of a powerful big cat. Appleby could not take his eyes away as the black man approached--nor, he was aware, could Hector or Troy, the former muttering "Uh-huh!" under his breath.
"Good mahnin', masta, welcome to Ashley," said the slave. "I'se Rodney, suh," he said, standing by the white man's bags, eyes respectfully downcast, awaiting orders.
"Good morning, Rodney, I am Mark Appleby." He had to remind himself not to offer to shake hands. The near gaffe brought to Appleby's mind again the urgency of keeping the true, free nature of Seaward a secret from the neighbors. Turning quickly, he thanked Troy and Hector and reminded them to meet him there in forty-eight hours' time. Turning reluctantly to step back into the boat again, the two blacks kept glancing back at Rodney's handsome, imposing face and figure. "Yes, master, we will be here," said Troy, eventually tugging at Hector's sleeve to move him into place for untying the boat and shoving off. The Hesperus shifted some canvas, caught a breeze, and glided back out into the stream, disappearing into the fog.
Alone on the pier with the handsome slave, Appleby said, "Well, Rodney, I suppose you should show me the house and introduce me to your master."
"Yes, suh. Jes' this way, please." Rodney picked up the white man's luggage with ease and led the way back up the pier and across a gently rising lawn. As they walked, the fog began to lift, the sun cutting through the mists with a golden light. Appleby was trying to put his finger on what seemed so different about Ashley Plantation already, even before he had arrived at the house, and then suddenly it occurred to him: it was the uncultivated speech, the slurring pronunciation, of the slave. He had the sudden realization that this lack of skill with the English language was certainly nothing inborn in Africans, as all of the people of Seaward spoke with perfect diction--and the further realization that flawed speech might actually be encouraged in blacks by a slave owner as a means to develop a sense of inferiority. Or, as he put it to himself another way, to keep a man a slave, train him to speak like one. He began to realize how important was his Aunt Lucy's insistence on proper speech among her slaves, and how well that expectation had laid a foundation for their own strength, beauty of character, and inner freedom.
Walking behind Rodney up the gentle slope of the lawn, Appleby could admire the slave's body from the rear. His slab-sided hips displayed the typical high, African contour, the buttocks rolling up tight and firm, then making a pronounced curve into the valley at the base of the spine. His buttocks strained against the fabric of his trousers as he walked, each cheek muscle rising as the other fell. Appleby could see, even beneath the livery worn by the slave, that his back formed long hills of muscles on either side of a pronounced valley where his spine was. The black man's walk was entirely natural, and so graceful it seemed he almost danced to the beat of an inner music.
Appleby followed this beacon of black-man's-butt onto a well manicured crushed stone path that led beneath stately live oaks and eventually through another lawn in front of the plantation house. Ashley was a large home, larger than Seaward although not palatial. It was apparent immediately that one of its charms was the formal gardens laid out around it, with boxwood mazes, knot gardens, herb gardens, rose beds, and ornamental topiaries distributed invitingly across the grounds. The stream that emptied into the harbor evidently ran close to the house, for its flowing waters could be heard just beyond a line of trees to Appleby's right.
As the two men approached the white, two-story house they saw a small group of people on the verandah. A man stepped out of the group and down the verandah steps as Appleby drew near, Rodney moving to one side. He was perhaps in his fifties, with long, swept back grey hair, handsome regular features, and meticulously dressed in a linen suit and cravat, with a flower at his buttonhole. Smiling a welcome at Appleby, he extended his hand.
"Welcome to you, sir, I am Carter Ashley. Welcome to Ashley!"
"Thank you," said Appleby, taking his hand, "I am Mark Appleby, of Seaward Plantation. How kind of you to invite me for the weekend."
"Not at all, not at all. We so loved your dear Aunt Lucy, rest her soul, and heard only recently that you had moved to Seaward to take possession. By luck we had planned to give a ball tomorrow evening--nothing fancy, just a simple country dance!--and we knew we must invite you. Come, meet my family."
Carter Ashley moved with an elegant, even regal bearing and led Appleby up the verandah steps. At the top he made introductions. "May I present my wife, Honoraria," he said, "Mrs. Ashley, this is Mr. Mark Appleby, of Seaward."
"So nice to meet you, Mr. Appleby," said a thin, bony woman, nonetheless handsome for her age. Thinking quickly, Appleby cast about in his memory for the appropriate thing to do when meeting Southern matriarchs. Unsure, but taking a risk, he bowed formally and, taking Honoraria's hand in his, bent over it and kissed the air just above it. "Oh, Mr. Appleby," she cooed, smiling and frankly appraising this seemingly sophisticated young gallant.
"And these are our daughters, Victoria and Virginia," continued Ashley, steering Appleby by the elbow to two young women in hoop skirts who stood nearby. Not unattractive, with sausage curls and elaborate morning dresses, a twenty and an eighteen year old curtsied to their guest. Repeating his triumph with their mother, Appleby likewise took and faux-kissed their hands, which elicited simpers and giggles.
"And this is our son, Robert Ashley," said Carter, beaming as his daughters parted to let their brother through their sea of hoop skirts. Appleby was extending his hand anyway, and the automatic action of doing so carried him through the next moment. For he was momentarily smitten by the beautiful youth who stood before him. Of about fourteen years, Robert Ashley had bright, golden hair in a pageboy cut, a ruddy pink complexion, and bright blue eyes. After his immersion in a world of earth-toned people, Appleby saw the boy as if he were a messenger from another world. He wore simple but expensive clothes, no jacket (unlike his father) but a cravat. Beneath his clothing Appleby could make out the contours of a muscular build on a slight frame; the boy was not very tall at all, and thin-boned but healthy. The boy's bearing was also striking for one his age; his chin was up, his handshake firm, his gaze frank and appraising. "So pleased to meet you, sir," he said, in a voice that might not have been out of place in one twice his age. Having shook Appleby's hand, he stood ramrod straight, his face friendly but with a look of frank evaluation and scrutiny crossing his features. Appleby returned the gaze, reveling in the ice-blue eyes, a slightly upturned nose, and bee-stung pink lips. A light dusting of freckles crossed his cheeks and nose, adding dimension to his rose and milk complexion.
It was this youth, not the father, who suddenly turned to Rodney, who was waiting with head downcast at the bottom of the steps. "Rodney, take this gentleman's luggage to his room, and be quick about it," he said. Carter Ashley beamed indulgently at his son, proud of the attitude of command that was forming in him even at his early age. Appleby sensed an inner strength in the youth, but here it expressed itself as haughtiness, as command. Rodney obeyed with alacrity, carrying the luggage up the stairs and around the party, into the house.
"Well, sir, welcome to our humble home," said Carter, ushering Appleby into the house. It was well furnished, both tastefully and expensively, a rare combination in Appleby's experience. The ground floor was larger than Seaward's, and included a spacious ballroom where the dance the next evening, he was told, would be held.
"Do you dance, Mr. Appleby?" asked Honoraria Ashley, with a sidelong glance or two at her daughters, who fanned themselves as they bobbed and floated in the background.
"I shall try, madam!" he replied.
"I dance very well," said Robert. "If you are unsure what to do, you may simply copy me."
Now Appleby looked at the youth with real interest; what sort of fourteen year old would offer such instruction to a twenty-five year old adult?! A tour of the ground floor continued, and in every room Robert pushed into the conversation to make some remark or offer an edifying suggestion. The rest of his family simply smiled at the boy, who was clearly the crown jewel of this family. Eventually Mrs. Ashley asserted herself and offered to show Appleby to his room on the second floor. He readily accepted and they climbed a grand, curving staircase together. Honoraria identified portraits of various relatives and ancestors that lined the walls above the stairs as they went.
Reaching the second floor, Mrs. Ashley swept down the corridor and showed her guest into a bedroom near the end. It was simply but tastefully furnished, with a large four poster bed, washstand with pitcher and basin, men's toiletries, and a couple of comfortable wing chairs. The room had a small, attached dressing chamber, as did the rooms at Seaward. It also contained the slave Rodney, who was putting Appleby's clothing away in the wardrobe and a chest of drawers. He stopped what he was doing immediately as Mrs. Ashley entered the room, standing still with his head down. "Carry on Rodney," she said. "Yes'm," he replied and returned to the task.
"I do hope you will be comfortable here, Mr. Appleby," she said. "If you would like to wash up from your journey and see to the final disposition of your belongings here, then please rejoin us downstairs so you may meet some of our other guests and then have some luncheon."
Appleby agreed that he would be right down. As soon as she left, Rodney spoke to him softly. "Masta, suh, ah put yo' suits an shirts in heah," he said indicating the wardrobe, "an' yo' other things heah," half opening one of the dresser drawers. "Yes, thank you, Rodney," said Appleby. Coming up beside the slave, who stood perhaps half an inch to an inch taller than did he, Appleby opened the dresser drawers all the way and nodded with approval, also putting his hand on the slave's shoulder and squeezing it in a friendly way. At that touch, Rodney became perfectly motionless, eyes still cast downward. It was as if he was... waiting. He appeared perfectly submissive to whatever experience, good, bad, or indifferent, might be signaled by the white man's friendly caress. A clean, manly scent, flavored with the sea, came off of the large black man. Startled at himself, Appleby realized there was a swelling beginning in his groin. He quickly removed his hand from the muscular shoulder.
"Well, yes, ah, you may go now, Rodney, thank you." The slave said "Yassuh," and left the room quickly, silently. Appleby washed in the basin with soap and water, adjusted his clothing in the dresser mirror, and went into the hallway. The corridor was decorated with more portraits, landscapes, and still lifes hanging from the picture rail above, and by small busts in a Classical theme on pedestals. He found the curved staircase and walked down it.
Carter Ashley was passing by the bottom of the stairs. "Ah, all settled in, I see. Is everything satisfactory, sir?"
"Yes, quite, thank you, sir," said Appleby, trying carefully to match the formal style of his host. He had decided that he needed as much as possible to make contacts and to create just the right impression with the local landowners during his visit to Ashley.
"Let me show you the library, the billiard room, and so forth," said Ashley. There followed a good hour of touring the well-stocked library, the billiard room which not only had a large, felt covered slate table in the middle but comfortable wingback chairs here and there with low tables next to each. A trolley at one side of the room contained decanters of what appeared to be whiskies, brandies, and port wine, plus a box of cigars.
Robert Ashley met the men in the hallway as they moved into Carter's inner sanctum, his gun room. "I am quite a fine shot, sir," puffed the youth, and took Appleby by the elbow to show him an array of fine sporting pieces, shotguns and muskets in glass-fronted cases lining the walls. "Do you ride, sir?" Robert asked, raising one eyebrow. "No, I'm afraid we have no room for horses on Seaward," replied Appleby, trying to decide whether to be annoyed or amused at this strutting youth. He decided to postpone that decision so he could simply drink in the boy's gold and pink beauty some more. Carter smiled indulgently as his son showed Appleby the decorative accoutrements of fox hunting that hung from the walls, interspersed among the firearms.
The tour of the room was interrupted by the appearance of a stout, middle-aged male slave of milk chocolate complexion in the doorway. "Dinner is served, mastas," he said. "Very good, Toby, we---" began Carter, and Robert finished for him: "...we shall be right in, of course." The men walked down the hall where they found a few more guests outside the dining room door.
"Mrs. Reynolds, may I present Mr. Mark Appleby, of Seaward Plantation," said Ashley, "Mr. Appleby, Mrs. Letitia Reynolds of the Caspar Plantation." Appleby bent over the extended hand of a tall, thin, bony female dressed all in black. His gallant gesture, which had worked so well with the Ashley women, had no impact at all on the sour, stony expression of Mrs. Reynolds. "Pleased," she said. "My late husband and I knew your Aunt Lucy well," said this sphinx. Returning some pleasantries, Appleby's mind was occupied in trying to recall where he had heard about this person, or her home. The Caspar Plantation..... it nagged at his thoughts, for he felt sure he was familiar with that name. Appleby was also introduced to the Hunnicutts, a pleasant portly couple of middle age from the White Oaks Plantation, on the other side of the Charleston Harbor. He began to wonder whether there would be anyone else at all near his own age, besides the young Ashley women.
They all went in to sit down for a pleasant lunch. Appleby found himself seated between Victoria and Virginia, who seemed to be in some friendly competition to gain his attention in conversation. For the first time, the thought floated in to him like a dark cloud in a blue sky: Was he invited here for matchmaking purposes? Were these sisters on display for his choosing? He was instantly determined to be pleasant but on his guard.
Appleby also noticed immediately that he was seated across the table from Robert Ashley. The boy's eyes shifted left to center to right and back again as he watched the interchange among his sisters and their guest, back and forth as if he were at a tennis match. Aware of his interest, during a pause in the conversation Appleby stared directly, frankly at the boy and smiled knowingly. Robert held his gaze for a moment with his crystal blue eyes, then dropped them in confusion and looked down at his plate. At that moment Appleby felt what he had assumed was the table leg shift away from his foot. Was it Robert's foot instead? Appleby tentatively moved his own foot in the direction of the object and encountered it again a couple of inches from where it had been. This time it moved back toward him, gently but deliberately leaning against his foot. Appleby looked again at Robert, a slight, questioning smile on his lips. Robert looked up furtively from his plate with a neutral expression, held Appleby's gaze for but a moment, then returned to his meal. Their feet remained leaning against each other for the rest of the luncheon.
As the company rose from the meal, Mrs. Hunnicutt spoke. "Are you looking forward to the ball tomorrow evening, Mr. Appleby?"
"Yes, madam, I'm sure we all are," he replied graciously. Letitia Reynolds, hovering nearby like a thundercloud, mournfully intoned, "Not all, sir, not all. This is my first time to leave Caspar since my dear husband passed, but a few weeks ago. I shall be at my prayers all that evening." Again, the mention of Caspar Plantation nagged at Appleby; where had he heard of it, and why?
As the party went into the hallway, Appleby noticed that Robert had disappeared, run off to do normal fourteen year old boy things, he supposed. Carter Ashley made his apologies to Appleby, saying he must attend to some correspondence in his library during the afternoon. The Hunnicutts were all for napping. Ashley proposed to Appleby that he might want to tour the grounds of the plantation. "Would you like one of the servants to be your guide, sir?"
"It's not necessary, thank you," he replied. "I have fewer servants at Seaward than you do, thank you, and am quite accustomed to solitary walks outside."
"Ah, yes, your stock of servants may be depleted due to your Aunt's long illness and sad decline," said Ashley. "In fact," he said, snapping his fingers in sudden recollection, "I believe you have already begun to rectify that, have you not? I was passing by Mr. McGillicuddy's establishment just two days ago and he said you had recently purchased some property from him, have you not?" Appleby nodded agreement, willing the name of the odious McGillicuddy not to have any effect on his face. But then he had another, instant moment of real need to control himself, for he remembered all of a sudden where he had heard of Caspar Plantation. It had been the home of Cassius and Portia! He could not help himself, but wheeled around to look for Mrs. Reynolds, but she had retired to her bedroom... no doubt, to her prayers. She was evidently the woman who had sold her husband's children because they embarrassed her.
"Sir?" inquired Ashley, in surprise at Appleby's sudden movement.
"Oh, nothing, I beg your pardon, a thought about another matter occurred to me. Yes, yes sir, I did purchase two servants at that establishment."
"Well, perhaps you are interested in more, eh? We do have many servants here, perhaps too many. Indoor servants, I think McGillicuddy said you were interested in?" He paused in thought. "I could offer you Rodney, who carried your bags, at a very fair price." Appleby began to protest, but it appeared that in this part of the South, shopping for slaves was a pastime not to be denied. "No, no, absolutely no obligation, but he really is a very good servant and is somewhat superfluous to our needs. I shall send him to you this evening after dinner so you can see for yourself whether he would be suitable."
Appleby felt himself back at McGillicuddy's, and in spite of himself he felt a warmth in his groin at the thought of "seeing for himself" whether Rodney would be a suitable slave. Needing to say something, he could think of no plausible reason to give in disagreement: "Very kind of you, sir."
"Well, enjoy your walk, then sir, make yourself quite at home," said Ashley, and bowing slightly he withdrew to the library.
Appleby set out on a walk, first selecting a walking stick from a collection near the front door. The grounds of Ashley Plantation were lovely, the gardens well kept. He amused himself for at least an hour in two mazes that were made of boxwood cut chest high, winding his way down false alleyways and true ones until he reached the small gazebo that stood at the center of each. Wandering through flowerbeds he enjoyed the fragrance that washed over them in the warmth of the afternoon. Indeed, it was beginning to be a bit too warm; Ashley did not enjoy the sea breezes of Seaward and was consequently inclined to be hotter. Walking farther down a path, he emerged through a gate beneath an arch of ivy and entered a rough path that skirted a field planted with what he thought was cotton. He could see rough slave cabins across the field and a small gang of slaves working in the fields near them. Coming to a fork in the path, he took the one that led to the river which he knew to be just beyond a tell-tale line of trees no more than a quarter-mile away.
Appleby was drawn to the idea of water, a little homesick for Seaward, and hoping that it might be cooler on the banks of the stream. As he drew nearer to the banks, it sounded as if he was not the only one with that idea, for he could hear voices and the sound of splashing that grew louder as he approached. Some heavy undergrowth grew along the banks of the stream, punctured here and there by cleared spaces that evidently led down a short bank to the water. The sound of voices was very near now, and they sounded like young people, perhaps boys or young men. Not wishing to intrude on a private party, Appleby pushed into the undergrowth as much as he could, and finding a convenient place to wriggle into the greenery, he moved the branch of a bush slightly away and looked down the short incline onto the scene below. It was breathtaking.
Four naked boys had evidently been playing in the water of a swimming hole formed as the stream widened over a hard clay bottom. Appleby's attention was immediately drawn to the one fourteen year old white boy--Robert Ashley! The boy was shepherding three black boys out of the deeper part of the stream until they stood mid-calf deep in the water. Robert was slim and thin-boned, but well muscled. His chest was two pillowed rounds of muscular pads with small copper nipples on the lower, slightly outside edges. The suggestion of abdominal muscles was forming but not well defined, although there was no fat on his torso at all. As he turned to move the black boys into position, Appleby could see that Robert's slab sided bottom was firm and followed the more typical white boy's pattern of half-moons on the underside. The white and pink complexion of his face was continued across his body; not a chalk white but not tanned, his skin looked like a dish of cream in which strawberries have been soaking--and Appleby began wanting to taste that cream. Robert's arms and legs were well proportioned, and as with his abdomen there was muscular development but not the hard, chiseled definition that could be found on Troy, for instance. His penis was five inches long and nearly erect, sticking out and then downward at the tip, over a darker, purple red ballsack that was pulled up tight and beneath a small tuft of gold-brown pubic hair. Robert's pageboy hair was wet and lying in a mat closer to his head now. His bee-stung lips were parted in concentration and, Appleby imagined, a heavier pace of breathing.
Robert was arranging a work of art in flesh, a stage upon which he would soon perform. All four boys were facing Appleby, but could not see him in the bushes. The three black boys with him ranged from about ten to perhaps thirteen or fourteen, and Robert was lining them up in front of him, all still calf-deep in the slowly moving waters. On his left was the youngest boy of about ten, thin framed but muscular, of a deep chocolate color with a half inch long cap of kinks and knots in his hair, a pretty face with full lips and a wide but turned up nose--Appleby realized with a shock who it was. The young boy he had examined at McGillicuddy's! Evidently recently purchased and brought to Ashley. The memory of that moment added to the swelling intensity in Appleby's groin.
Robert pushed the boy on his upper back and knowing what was wanted, probably from experience, the ten year old bent over, hands on his knees, and spread his legs slightly. He presented the target of his love hole in a firm, round butt to his young master. The boy's small, thin penis was fully erect, stiff and wagging with every movement. He looked behind him in expectation, a slight smile on his face.
Next in line, in the middle, was a boy of about twelve whose striking, unusual looks quite took Appleby's breath away. Of a medium chocolate color but with an overwash of rust, his body was a muscular tube of meat, rolling chains of muscles but without the definition and bulk that would come to him later. A four inch long penis that was unusually thick for his age jutted out and curved at an upward angle, ready for action, above a ballsack that hung down slightly. A tiny patch of pubic hair in tight kinks sat above his genitals. What was most striking, though, was his face: strangely beautiful, he looked like a leopard. The face was long, shaped like a vertical almond, and thin but with a rosebud mouth of purple brown lips that seemed set in a perpetual pucker, presenting themselves as if to be kissed. And his eyes! Also almond shaped, but horizontal almonds, with black pupils and thick, wide eyebrows. Jet black but straight hair grew in a short cap on his head. Appleby felt he must surely have Arabic, or perhaps Indian, the blood of different continents mixed in him somehow. He also bent over at his master's push, grasped his knees, and looked behind him to await his young master's pleasure.
The last boy was coal black, so black he was purple, perhaps thirteen, and a little portly. His chest bulged out slightly in boy-breasts, almost but not quite girlish in their contour. His abdomen was firm but rounded, with little muscular definition. He had very little hair on his close shaved head. Beneath the suggestion of a roll of flesh grew a large penis, perhaps six inches long, surprising hefty in one his age, and surrounded by a halo of black, frizzy pubic hair. He, too, bent over to grasp his knees and await his master's commands.
Robert surveyed his handiwork for a moment, then fell to the task. Reaching down to the clay bottom of the stream, he brought up some slimy, smooth clay and moved from one boy to the next, rubbing it on and into their waiting anuses, eliciting grunts and gasps from the boys as the shoved his slick fingers into their bodies. Satisfied with his work, Robert then slicked up his own pink penis with the brown clay, mixing it with the clear precum that dripped from it. The time had come. Appleby pushed forward even farther into the bush, daring to part the branches wider to improve his view.
Stepping up to the ten year old boy, Robert Ashley pushed his penis in all the way with one motion, causing the boy to cry out and bite his lip. Ashley pumped quickly, burying his penis fully inside the ten year old with every stroke. Then he withdrew with a plop, causing the boy to gasp, and moved to the leopard boy in the middle. Again, Robert rammed his rigid cock into the boy at once, again provoking a cry of pain. He remained in this boy somewhat longer, pumping vigorously, hands around the boy's hips to hold their bodies together. Again he withdrew, and moved to the chunky boy on the right. Robert's penis was now iron hard with stimulation, and was jammed in one movement into the boy's fat bottom, with the expected result of a cry of protest. Even faster now he pumped in and out of the boy's butt, but this time slapped the boy's bottom and hips with his hand, slapped them hard with an open palm.
Back and forth he went from one boy to the next. By luck or by design, when he came it was in the ass of the leopard- faced boy. Robert began to cry "Unh, unh, unh, O!" and began quivering. He gave three violent pumps and threw his head back, gasping and moaning as he pushed his groin forward and kept it there, emptying his seed into the exotic boy in front of him.
Robert kept his head back until his passion subsided, then opened his eyes.... to look directly into Appleby's eyes. The white boy's tilted head gave him an angle of view up the slight incline of the bank and directly into the bush from which Appleby had observed the whole scene. Robert froze, panting heavily, mouth agape, his blue eyes boring right into Appleby's. Appleby flashed him a brilliant smile, mimed a clapping of hands, waved his hand in a flourishing salute, and withdrew from the bush and back onto the path. None of the black boys, their heads down, had seen him at all, and Robert had remained frozen in.... what had Appleby seen in his eyes, beyond sexual ecstasy? Was it terror? Embarrassment? Or just desire?
Appleby walked back up the path toward the house, checking his trousers to make sure that his own erection was subsiding and had not leaked through the cloth, chuckling to himself about the episode. He was glad he had discovered the pompous little prat, Robert, in a human moment. But what the outcome would be of his knowledge, and of Robert's awareness that he had been spied upon, he could not tell.
By the time he entered the house, it was nearing time to change for dinner. Appleby washed up at the basin and put on his best suit. Returning downstairs, he found the others in the library. The men were enjoying bourbon and branch water, while the women sipped tiny glasses of sherry, except for Mrs. Reynolds who sat somewhat apart, sour faced and stony-still. Conversation was cordial, and Appleby was asked many questions about his background and inheritance from Lucy. He assured them that he had never been happier than when he came South, and foreswore any further contacts with the North, a stance that brought smiles and murmurs of approval all around. Mrs. Hunnicutt had asked a question thinly veiled to ascertain his marital status when into the library came Robert Ashley, looking freshly scrubbed and in a good suit. Everyone's attention was diverted to the beautiful, blonde boy, and Mrs. Hunnicutt temporarily lost interest in the question she was asking. Appleby smiled good naturedly at Robert, and greeted him in the chorus of others. The boy darted furtive looks at Appleby but avoided standing near him.
The group was called into dinner and everyone was seated in the same places as at lunch. "Did you enjoy your walk around Ashley?" asked Carter Ashley of Appleby.
"Oh yes, very interesting, he replied." Seated directly across from him, Robert, his head down, shot a quick, appraising glance at him, then looked away.
"They have lovely gardens, here, I think," said Mr. Hunnicutt. "Did you see any interesting sights?"
"Oh indeed, some marvelous sights, quite interesting indeed," replied Appleby, smiling broadly all around at the company.... and when his smiled came to rest on Robert directly across the way, the boy was looking at him more directly now, quizzically, weighing the man's every word. Appleby nodded imperceptibly at him, and the boy dropped his head again. But under the table, Appleby felt once more the intentional placement of a shoe alongside his own.
Victoria and Virginia regaled Appleby once again in conversation, a sort of light-hearted flirting that could not but be noticed by the company. Their mother, Honoraria, beamed her approval at their efforts. It was then that Mrs. Hunnicutt recalled her fateful question, which she now asked.
"Mr. Appleby, I take it there is no Mrs. Appleby? No one who claims your heart up North.... or here in Charleston?" Simpers and giggles erupted on either side of Appleby, giving him time to think. He looked down in momentary confusion, and the sight of his own clothing gave him a sudden inspiration. He was then glad that he came from plain, severe New England stock--for his suit of clothes was black and simple. Indeed, since he had decided he needed to dress more formally for the occasion, all his clothing was black.... just like that of the Widow Reynolds. A flash of inspiration bolted through his brain.
Appleby raised his head as the company waited for his answer. "Alas," he said, "there is no Mrs. Appleby..... any longer." A soft gasp escaped all the females at the table. "She was taken away from me after but two years of marriage," he said, lying through his teeth, "and is now with the Lord. I cherish her memory," he said, and looked into the middle distance above Robert's head. "I may some day love another, but it is soon.... too soon," he added, lugubriously. Now sighs and soft whispers of agreement escaped the women at the table. Victoria and Virginia looked a trifle disappointed, but the presence of a gallant young widower in their midst, no doubt experienced in the ways of women, who might--some day!--become available again added a delicious note of intrigue and romance to the character of their guest. Robert, meanwhile, looked curiously at Appleby, as if he could see through the ruse and wondered what it meant.
After dinner the women moved to the drawing room while the men enjoyed port around the table for a while, talking politics and business. Appleby avoided all controversial subjects, quietly learning as much information as he could about the society in which he found himself. Robert Carter was allowed half a glass of port, but soon asked permission to be excused and slipped out of the room. The men then joined the ladies in the drawing room and were entertained by songs sung by Victoria, accompanied by Virginia on a small piano that was not in the best of tune. More pleasant conversation followed, and then the party dispersed for bed.
Appleby's room was at the end of one hall, and it appeared as if he had no neighbors next to him, at least for that evening. He was two doors away from his room when the door to one of the unoccupied rooms that had been ajar opened fully. It was Robert, who gestured fiercely for Appleby to come into the room. He did so, and Robert closed it behind him. The boy's beautiful face was a battleground for several conflicting emotions, each of which Appleby read plainly: embarrassment, anger, fear.... and what else? Was there any sort of desire in that mix?
"Listen," whispered Robert fiercely, "what you saw today. You don't understand, it.... it wasn't what it seemed. And you'd better not tell anyone. Did you tell my father? Because if you do tell, you'll be very sorry, sir, believe me I can make you---"
Appleby stopped him by raising a single index finger and holding it to Robert's lips. "Listen: first, don't threaten me--boy," he said, and now fear definitely took center stage on the boy's beautiful features. "Second, I don't care and I don't mind what you did today." Now, a look of wonder and then appraisal crossed the boy's features. "And third--" and here Appleby moved the index finger from the boy's lips to under his chin, tilted the face toward his own, and kissed the boy passionately.
Utterly taken aback, completely caught up in the moment, Robert breathed in loudly through his nose. The older man's tongue was invading his mouth, sliding along his teeth. Robert's bee-stung lips were being sucked into Appleby's mouth. The boy awkwardly put his arms loosely around the man's waist. Tentatively, he inched closer.
The moment was broken suddenly. "Robert!?" came a female voice on the stairs. Appleby broke off the kiss and looked down at the panting boy, smiling. "Your mother wants you," he said, with a hint of irony in his voice. Breathing hard, completely at a loss as to how to respond, in a totally new element, the boy shook his golden head as if to clear it, looked hard at Appleby, then bolted silently from the room. "Coming mother," he was heard to say at the top of the stairs--then the sound of footsteps, and then quiet returned to the hallway. Appleby stepped into the empty corridor, then walked the few feet to his bedroom, which he entered, closing the door behind him.
Tired from the day, Appleby was grateful for the quiet solitude of his room. An open window let in the sounds of the country night air, crickets singing and the "Chuck Will's Widow" calling out. He took off his jacket and hung it over a chair back, then his cravat, and his trousers. Appleby had just removed his shirt and added it to the pile when he heard a knock on the door. Was it Robert come back for more? He opened the door a crack and peered around it, keeping his body, which was now clothed only in his undergarments, out of sight. But it wasn't Robert. The powerfully built slave Rodney stood there, smiling shyly, his white teeth shining in the darkened hallway.
"Evenin', masta, Masta Carter sent me," he said, leaving unspoken the purpose of the visit.
"Oh, Rodney, thank you but I had forgotten.... I'm undressing," replied Appleby, opening the door just a bit farther, a bare shoulder visible.
Looking beyond the white man into the room, Rodney said, "Lemme help, masta, I sees yo' clo'es on de chair," and he put gentle pressure on the door with his hand. Appleby gave way, and the slave prowled past him into the room where he began busily hanging up the clothing that had been discarded on the chair. Appleby, naked except for the undergarments covering his loins, closed the door and then simply stood and watched. Even at a mundane task like this, the slave's body moved with grace and power. Desire began to build in Appleby, coupled with the knowledge that he had full power to act on that desire. But some measure of decency remained in his not wanting simply to coerce the man into anything demeaning.
Finishing his task, Rodney stood before the white man, head slightly bowed; but his dark eyes were flicking glances at the nearly naked Appleby. "Ise done, suh. Masta Carter, he say you lookin' fo' a house slave.... mebbe me?"
Appleby took a step toward Rodney; he could almost feel a physical aura of muscular power and sexual vitality emanate from the slave. "Rodney.... Rodney, you don't have to do this, you know. I don't really need a slave. It will be alright."
Much to his surprise, Rodney's face came up, covered with a look of disappointment. "Don' you wanna see how strong I is, masta? I has strong muscles, suh," he said, and he stepped close enough to Appleby to raise the white man's hand and place it on his own biceps. "I works real hard, masta, Ise worth the price," he said, just a touch of pleading in his voice. It dawned on Appleby then that the man actually wanted to have his body admired....that he was in some way proud of himself as a commodity to be bought and sold--and examined.
"Very well, Rodney," was all Appleby could say, but it was enough. Now grinning broadly, the black man pulled off his shoes and began unbuttoning the shirt of his uniform. Off it came and onto the chair. Rodney straightened up tall before proceeding as if to advertise this first set of products. He stood a little taller than Appleby. It was true, he was well muscled. His chest was in the shape of a shield, thick pads of muscle with prune sized and prune colored nipples. His hairless abdomen showed definite development, hills and valleys in perfect symmetry marching down to a light colored navel that pushed out from the skin a quarter of an inch. Rodney twisted a little, to stretch and to show the white man the snaking of his muscles beneath his coal black skin, which gleamed in the light of the candles in the room. He now looked frankly at Appleby for a sign. Appleby was lost in looking at the slave's skin, his muscles, but he gave a brief nod.
Down came the black slave's uniform trousers and off to one side, then a brief pause, and he dropped his loincloth. His abdomen slid above each hip in well defined ridges down toward his pubic area. A surprisingly large bush of frizzy pubic hair bloomed around a purple black penis, about the same size as Troy's, above a ballsack that dangled three inches below, showing the outline of two heavy testicles. The slave's well muscled legs were like oak trunks growing from the floor. There was a long pause. Appleby suddenly came to himself, realizing that he was literally slack jawed, breathing through his mouth in concentration on the sight before him. He looked at Rodney, who flashed a brilliant white smile with his full, heavy lips, and nodded an invitation at the white master. It was time to begin.
Stepping behind the slave, Appleby began massaging his neck and shoulders. Thick, fleshy muscles sloped from the corded neck to the outside of his shoulders. Appleby's white fingers kneaded the muscles of the neck, working up into the hair which stood in a boiling sea of knots, whorls, and tufts about half an inch long. Contrasting this to the tight skullcaps of crinkly hair on the heads of Priam and his sons, Appleby was reminded that African hair had as much variety as European hair, in its own way.
Back down the neck came the white man's hands, digging deep into the masses of shoulder muscle, thumbs pushing in between the well defined deposits of hard flesh. One hand on each side, Appleby massaged his way down the two long hills of back muscle, thumbs digging into where they joined in the deep valley of the spine. By now Rodney, although standing stock still, could be heard to breathe a little more rapidly, and he grunted with pleasure as the white man dug into his muscles.
Reaching the black man's butt, Appleby really dug in, working the slab sided thick muscles that rolled up high and tight, sloping down into the bottom of the spine. Each hand grabbing a hard butt cheek, Appleby squeezed and kneaded, his thumbs sliding in the ass crack, finally meeting at the anus. Appleby pried the heavy butt muscles apart revealing a wrinkled purple black love hole, which he scratched and lightly probed with his thumbs. "Masta!" sighed Rodney, now almost squirming with a pleasure he had not expected to feel. This certainly went beyond any physical examination he had ever experienced.
Appleby removed his own remaining undergarment with one motion, then stepped naked around to the front of the black slave. "Masta! Wha'....?" cried Rodney, his eyes growing wide at the sight of the naked white man who stood before him. Appleby did not answer, but put both hands on the sides of the slave's face and began running his fingers lightly over the contours of his face. The man's thick purple brown lips were parted to reveal perfect white teeth, and he was panting. Impulsively, Appleby pulled the head sightly forward and kissed him full on the mouth, eliciting a soft groan from the slave. Appleby's tongue darted into the man's mouth, where it was met with a tentative push from the other's tongue. Pulling away, white and black man looked directly at each other, panting, all pretense of a commercial inspection now gone.
Appleby began kneading the pillows of muscle on the man's upper arms, following the chain of hills and valleys down to the iron hard forearms and eventually into the hands, which Appleby held in each of his. Both penises, purple black and dusky red, were rampant, Rodney's curving somewhat to his left, occasionally slapping each other as they met in a dance between the two men. As it was clear that the slave would remain passive, Appleby, still holding each black hand, raised them to his waist, which the black man now embraced. This freed Appleby's hands to massage the heavy pillows on the shield shaped chest, tweaking and pulling the nipples, working the abdominal muscles in a leisurely journey down to the black man's groin.
Reaching that destination, Appleby toyed with the full bush of wiry pubic hair, slid his hand around the massive organ to cup the ballsack, which was now tucked up tight, and then seized the black man's heavy penis. Not daring to go further himself, Rodney simply held on to the white man's waist firmly. But his eyes traveled up and down over the white man's muscular body, drinking in every detail.
Using both hands, Appleby pumped the heavy organ up and down, up and down, holding it straight up between them. Rodney remained standing still and upright, but his breathing was becoming labored. Then the black slave began rocking, pulling his hips back and camming them upward, back and up, back and up, and then in a strangled cry he pushed up and forward. Great spouts of white semen came out, some spraying up onto his coal black, shiny chest, some onto Appleby, some running down the shaft and the two white hands that held it. Removing one hand, Appleby cupped it under this flow, collecting the harvest of the black man's seed. Again and again the organ erupted as the pumping of Appleby's hand slowed and his other hand filled with slimy juice.
The black man's orgasm was over; he panted heavily and looked directly at the white master in wonder and joy. Of course, Appleby was not through with him. "Turn around, bend over, put your hands on the bed," he ordered, and the slave complied. "Spread your legs." The wrinkled purple black love hole was revealed. Appleby annointed it with some of the semen he held in his hand, shoving some of it into the anus, causing the black man to grunt. Then Appleby slathered the remainder of the cum all over his own rampant organ and, wasting no time, stepped up behind the black man, positioned his purple red cockhead at the anus, and shoved it inside in one push. Rodney gasped and let out a muffled cry, even though the white man's dick was lubricated with the black man's own love oil.
The passage was quite tight, both because Appleby had spent little time enlarging it with his finger and because of the powerful ass muscles on either side. Appleby began moving in and out, faster with every passing moment. His slimy hands clutched the black man's hips. From his standing position, the white master could develop real power in his ability to thrust, and slammed his penis fully into the slave's love tunnel with each cycle. Soon, Appleby felt his ecstasy build in his lower belly, then erupt out of his rampant organ and into the black man's rectum. Barely remembering to muffle his cries so as not to attract attention, the white man hissed, groaned, and cried out in whispered rapture, pumping and pushing until all his seed had filled the black man's anus.
They stood like that, both panting, until Appleby's softening penis slid out of the slave's anus with a plop. Tugging Rodney to an upright position, Appleby turned him around and embraced him tightly, which was returned at first hesitantly and then with real feeling by the black man. They held that position for a moment, then Appleby stepped back. Putting one hand on the side of the black man's sweaty face, he asked, "Rodney.... do you really want to be sold away from Ashley Plantation?"
The man's face betrayed a war between telling a white man whatever he wanted to hear and telling the truth. Eventually the latter won out, and he broke into a wide grin. "No, masta, suh, not really. I mean, if you really wanna buy me, tha's alright, but.... no suh. I lak it heah. I got me a gal heah," he said, grinning more broadly.
"That's alright, it's alright, Rodney. I wouldn't want you to be unhappy." Bending forward again, Appleby kissed the black man on the lips lightly. "Thank you for all this, Rodney," he said. "Thank you masta," came the surprised reply; clearly, Rodney had rarely encountered this level of feeling and intimacy with a white man before.
Both men washed up at the basin. Rodney dressed himself, although Appleby remained naked, for bed. "Until tomorrow," he said, at the door, kissing the slave lightly on the mouth once before opening it.
"Yes, masta, until tomorrow," he replied, and then he was gone.