This story contains graphic but completely fictional depictions of sex among men and men, and men and underage boys and/or girls, and even nekkid women have begun appearing. 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 thirteen
Mark Appleby startled awake in the morning light, half rising from the bedside chair in which he sat. Momentarily disoriented, he soon recalled where he was. In the bed next to him, the castaway from last night's storm was coughing, struggling to rise, pushing himself up from the sheets on one elbow. Appleby leaned forward to steady him with a hand to his shoulder.
"Please, sir, calm yourself. I am afraid you are still very ill from your misadventure yesterday. Is there anything I can do for you?" Then he wondered to himself whether the man knew English at all, for his Asian features bespoke an origin far away from South Carolina. His question was soon answered.
"Water, sir, please," croaked the man in a voice hoarse from sea water and illness. Appleby quickly handed him a glass from the bedside table which was ladened with medicines and herbal remedies of various sorts. The man drank it quickly and returned the glass with a nod of thanks. Then, evidently making a tremendous effort, he flung the bedcovers back and swung his legs out so as to sit on the edge of the bed. But the effort was more than he was ready for. Even sitting down, he appeared to swoon dizzily and clutched his forehead with a hand. Again, Appleby steadied him with a hand to the shoulder.
"I think it best for you to lie quietly, sir, you may be very ill from the shipwreck and the salt water." The man nodded, steadying himself with both hands clutching the sheets beside him. He looked at Appleby again.
"Need to use your head," he croaked.
"I beg your pardon, sir?"
"I need to use your head, please sir."
Appleby was nonplussed, and not a little ashamed that a sexual meaning of this utterance flashed into his brain; but no, surely the stranger did not mean such a thing! Then it dawned on Appleby what was meant; the man was a sailor, and was speaking in nautical jargon of a need to relieve himself.
"Oh! I'm afraid it is outside, and you would have difficulty walking that far in your condition. Here," Appleby said, pulling the chamber pot out from under the bed, "can you use this? Let me assist you."
The man nodded and scooted to the very edge of the bed. Appleby held the pot for him, and a strong flow of urine began. It gave Appleby a moment to study the new arrival. He appeared to be very young. His straight, thick, jet black hair flowed down from his head in a mop that covered his ears, just brushing his neck. The man had a heart- shaped face, almond shaped brown eyes, a small, rounded nose, and full, pink, rosebud lips; his features were unmistakably male but had a girlish quality to them. A long, thin neck led down to strong shoulders and a muscular, boxy chest, lightly rippled abdomen, then a very slim waist that was ridged with thin but clearly delineated muscles. His pubic hair was a small patch of thick, black hairs that waved wildly out in all directions. Despite his recent physical trials, the man's penis displayed a slight morning erection. Nevertheless, it was not terribly large, no bigger than five inches, perhaps four. It sat above a full, rounded reddish ballsack. The man's legs were strongly muscled, but not very long. It appeared as if he would stand no taller than Pan or Bacchus. Appleby was struck by the color of his skin, the first Asian he had seen in the nude and thus the first he was able to observe in this way. The usual common expression spoke of Asian skin as "yellow," a description he had always found strange and a little repugnant, yet Appleby could now see that it was no more yellow than he himself was white, or Troy was black. This man's skin was a sort of old-gold-and-tan with perhaps some reddish highlights, a little lighter around the groin where some sort of covering must have protected it from the sun, a little darker in the genitals. All in all, even in his sickened condition, Appleby found him exotically beautiful, and his thoughts returned to the leopard-faced boy at the Ashley Plantation.
These reflections brought a swelling to Appleby's groin, which he resolved to master while the man--or boy?--was still an invalid. The Asian finished urinating, shook the last drops from his semi-rigid organ, then as Appleby removed the pot and covered it with a cloth the man slumped back over against the pillows sideways. Appleby helped to lift his legs back into bed, appreciating their hard muscle tone as he did so. He helped to turn the patient onto his back, propped up against the pillows, and pulled the sheets up to just above his waist. The Asian settled against the pillows with a sigh, then looked at Appleby with a wan smile.
"Where am I? my ship? my mates?" he croaked, hoarsely.
"You are at Seaward Plantation, an island off of Charleston, South Carolina," Appleby replied. "I am afraid that your ship is lost, sir, in the storm. And your friends..... we found only you. I am so sorry."
The Asian man covered his mouth, his eyes wide in horror. Appleby looked away to give him a moment to recover. When he looked back, the man was staring into the middle distance, seeming to see friends who were no longer there. Appleby took one of the man's golden tan hands, lying on the covers, and squeezed it, holding it in his own.
"I am so sorry," he said again. "We will look again this morning, but I fear there are no other survivors." The man nodded his understanding. "What was your ship, sir, and.... if I may ask, how do you come to know English so well? It appears, if you will forgive me, as if you are not from an English speaking country."
The man nodded. "My ship was the Duchess of Kent, out of Liverpool. An English merchantman. I first learned English from missionaries in my own country. Siam. Then I learned more on the ship." Appleby nodded his understanding. Siam! Well, not China or Japan, but at least he had the correct continent. The man continued in a raspy voice, "My name is Bundit Khunisthakhan."
"My name is Mark Appleby," he said, squeezing the man's hand again. "You may call me Mark. How shall we call you?"
"Bundit, if you please. Are... are there others here?"
"Oh yes, you will meet them. How long have you been at sea?"
Bundit paused, unsure what the question was asking. "The Duchess of Kent was a month out of Liverpool, carrying cargo to New York, then to the West Indies. I have been three years serving at sea on ships. I am twenty years old, sir," he said, covering all the bases. Appleby nodded; the man certainly looked more like a boy due to his small stature and delicate features, though. Bundit suddenly coughed raucously and held his hand to his forehead. Appleby searched the bedside table in a panic, unsure what to give the man that would help, wishing Portia had arisen. He saw the bowl of liquid from which she was giving Bundit some spoonfuls last night, and thinking that it could not hurt, he fed the patient a couple more doses of the stuff. It took a moment but seemed to help, as he laid back against the pillows, a scratchy breath in his throat.
"Good morning, master," sounded two voices in unison from the doorway. There were Pan and Bacchus, eyes wide at the sight of this visitor from another planet awake and conscious. Appleby was glad that they had had the decency to clothe their nakedness with loincloths, but they had nothing else on.
"Come in, boys," he said. "This man's name is Bundit. He is from Siam." Both boys mouthed the man's name and that of his country, looked from each other to the new arrival to Appleby and back again in quick succession. "Bundit, this is Pan," he gestured to the left, "and Bacchus. They are part of the Seaward family."
If Bundit was an exotic revelation to the twins, their color was nothing new to him, world traveler that he was. He smiled faintly and nodded a greeting. At that moment Cassius appeared behind the boys, clothed in shirt and trousers.
"I heard, master," he said, and then nodded a greeting at Bundit. "I am Cassius."
Bundit smiled back, wanly. Turning to Appleby he spoke softly. "He calls you master; are they your slaves?"
Appleby smiled back at him, unsure of how to explain the complicated truth of life at Seaward to Bundit. "Not any longer; Bundit. They are my friends." That would have to suffice for the moment. So much else could be said.... they were his family, now.... they were his lovers. At that moment Portia appeared also, clothed, brushing her hair back with her hands. She flashed a smile at her brother and at Appleby, then cast a worried look at Bundit.
"I gave him some of this," Appleby said, indicating the bowl. "He felt ill."
"I should imagine he did," she said, looking at the patient, then at the potion. "You gave him the right thing. But now, out, all of you," she said, exercising her right to command as a healer in a sickroom. The four males obeyed her, although Portia and Appleby exchanged a quick smile as he passed by and she brushed his sleeve with her hand. Already clothed, Appleby went directly to Cass and Juno's cabins, to report on developments during the night (but not every development during the night!). Cass hurried off to relieve Portia while Juno busied herself to prepare another batch of herbal remedies. Appleby picked up some breakfast provisions in the kitchen, then returned to the house where he found Cassius and the twins already in the library, studying the books again to learn what they could about Siam, the twins reading aloud to their older friend. Portia came down the stairs and ate a bite of breakfast with the group, in the dining room, then left to wash up and change clothes in the cabin she shared with Juno.
As Appleby was finishing his hurried meal, Priam and Troy appeared at the door with Helen, the latter having slept through last night's adventures. It was agreed that everyone would return to the beach, and Priam and Troy already had the donkey cart hitched up for carrying back whatever they found. Yesterday's storm had cleared the air, and the last of a few white clouds swept by in the high atmosphere as the sun began to dry out the land. Bundit's name and land of origin were shared, discussed, and marveled at by everyone as they walked along.
The beach displayed a collection of objects washed up from the wreck, but no bodies and certainly no survivors. The sea was choppy but clear of any trace of life, death, or wreckage. The thrifty people of Seaward began gathering the things that were strewn on the beach, saving everything for some possible use. Broken boards and lengths of snapped-off rope could still be used for building. A couple of barrels of salt pork would go into their stores, while some empty, waterlogged barrels would be repaired and used for future storage. A watertight box of pistols, powder, and shot was cast high up in the sand, and bits of canvas and fabric dotted the beach everywhere. Two seamen's trunks bobbed in the shallows; upon opening them the contents were found to be dry, but the large size of the clothing made it seem unlikely that either belonged to Bundit. These were saved to show the castaway in case he knew their late owners.
The big find was a lifeboat, half aground and upside down, ropes snapped off dangling from either end but otherwise whole and seaworthy. The party turned it over, discovering oars, a folded mast, and a single sail still lashed securely inside; evidently there had been no chance to put the boat over the side in the storm--nor would it likely have fared any better than the mother ship in those waves--and it had somehow broken away from the doomed vessel. They all worked together to pull the boat up past the high tide line and then turned it back over to protect its contents from the elements.
The party returned to put away their finds in the main house and the storage barns, some agreeing to go back once more that afternoon. Indeed, bits and pieces of wreckage would continue to wash up for a week, perhaps being gradually released from the submerged ship. All of it was useful, some of it being trade goods such as wooden crates containing bolts of cloth in good condition, but no bodies and no more personal effects were found.
Everybody had their work cut out for them on that day, recovering from the effects of the tempest. Losses were not too great, although an entire crop of corn had been blown down in the wind and some chickens were running wild here and there, set free from their cages by the storm. The wisdom of stocking supplies in waterproofed sacks and barrels was becoming apparent, especially if Seaward's population continued to grow. The women were nursing Bundit around the clock, and the reports from the sickroom were that he was much improved. In fact, toward the afternoon, Appleby was pleasantly surprised to find the twins escorting him, wearing some of their clothing, to the outhouse. "Remember, he's still recovering," Appleby whispered urgently, glowering at them, as they escorted him in. They nodded, looking serious, but nevertheless both of them went in with Bundit, although the men's side only had two holes.
Having a moment to sit and think in the study, it dawned on Appleby that the next meeting of the South Carolina Militia was to be in Charleston the following day, a meeting to which he had been invited while at Ashley Plantation. While he had no intrinsic interest in being involved with such a group, it would serve his purposes, and Seaward's, to do so. He also felt he should report the loss of the Duchess of Kent to the proper authorities. Going out to find Troy, he made arrangements for them, with Priam or Hector, to sail into town the next day. Lists of goods to be procured were made in consultation with everyone, and plans were set.
Everyone was tired as the evening approached, but Seaward had been restored to normal as much as possible. Portia was looking quite drained, though, as she had carried the heaviest burden of nursing Bundit. Appleby found a moment alone with her in the second floor hallway. Stepping into the bedroom they had used the night before, they embraced and kissed, but she was too weary to go further. Taking pity on her, Appleby asked about Bundit's state of health. His lungs and stomach were much improved, she said, and what remained was a general need to rest and recover from the physical beating imposed by the waves and wind. Hearing this, Appleby announced his intention to watch Bundit through the night. Portia fussed over it, but he was firm, and in the end she agreed to return to her cabin. She kissed him again, caressed the side of his face with her hand, and was gone.
Finishing his correspondence and other work downstairs, Appleby came up to the second floor for the night. He found Cassius and the twins gathered around Bundit, sitting on the edges of his bed, softly grilling him about every detail of his life: how to pronounce his name, his age, his family, his work on the ship, and on and on. The Siamese man was replying in a soft voice, less hoarse from the sea water now. He was propped up on pillows, the sheets up to his waist, the lamplight playing on the golden tan of his boxy chest and rippled abdomen. His jet black hair, now completely dried of sea water, bounced as he moved his head, its full body and backward sweep lending a girlish quality to his features. Appleby felt a stirring in his groin as he watched the new arrival.
"Time for bed, everyone; I am sleeping in the chair here to watch Bundit tonight," said Appleby. Cassius rose, smiling at the man in the bed, who returned a gentle grin. Pan and Bacchus rose up off the bed but then each came up to Bundit and, lightly brushing his hair back, kissed him quickly on the forehead; then they were gone from the room. The Asian man looked after them curiously, not with any sort of distaste but as if he were trying to discern their intentions.
Appleby left the room also for a moment, to disrobe and change into his undergarments and a dressing gown for the night. Returning to Bundit's room, he pushed two comfortable chairs together for himself. Bundit was dozing, still propped up on the pillows. Appleby was struck again by the young man's beauty, the golden tones of his skin accented by the lamplight, his features both delicate and masculine. Leaning over, he laid a hand gently on the side of his face. Bundit's eyes fluttered open; he looked lazily at Appleby, then smiled and went back to sleep. Appleby gathered in a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. Then, arranging the chairs as well as he could, he turned the lamp down low and settled in for the night.
The night had turned cloudless, and the moon shone into the room, moving a large patch of light slowly across the floor, the bed, the two sleeping men. About midnight, Appleby awoke from a deep slumber to the sound of a groan. He turned in his chair to look at his patient. Bundit was awake, sitting straight up, slowly twisting his torso from side to side. Seeing the white man looking at him, he grinned sheepishly.
"I am so sorry, sir, for waking you. It is.... it is painful sometimes," he said.
"Is it your chest, your stomach?" asked Appleby with concern, looking around for the pot with the herbal mixture.
"No, that feels better thank you. My muscles are very sore, sir, from the waves. I think I was thrown through the air when the boilers exploded, landing near a large piece of the hull that was floating nearby. I am just a little sore from the beating of the waves and wind."
"I should think so," Appleby said. "Have they prepared any medicine that is good for that?"
"I don't know, sir," said Bundit, stretching once more and wincing as he lifted his arms straight above his head, revealing a small shock of hair in each armpit.
"Well.... how can I help? Would you like for me to massage your muscles for you?"
Bundit looked at Appleby neutrally; he seemed to be gauging the nature of the offer. Carefully, still neutrally, he replied, "I do not want to trouble you, sir."
"It would be no trouble, I would be happy to do it if that would help."
"Alright... alright, sir," said Bundit, and continued sitting up in the bed, waiting, the sheets around his waist.
Scrambling around among the supplies on the bedside table, Appleby discovered that there was indeed a remedy for muscle soreness; it may have been applied when Bundit was unconscious. A pot of sweet smelling thick oil stood there, redolent of herbs and fragrant woods. He removed the top and held it under Bundit's nose to smell, then sniffed it himself. Both men smiled at each other, approving of its scent.
"Very well... suppose you lie on your belly first, and I shall begin," said Appleby.
Bundit stretched out on his belly with a sigh and Appleby pulled the sheets all the way down. The man's bottom was rounded and firm, slab sided with a wide, shallow dimple in the side of each cheek. He bent his arms, turning his head toward Appleby, who sat down on the side of the bed. Coating his fingers with oil, he began rubbing the Asian's neck, working on tense muscles, pushing his fingers up past the line of dark, bushy hair. Lingering there, Appleby marveled again at the wonderful variety of physical features there are in the world; this heavy, soft bush was unlike anything he had previously encountered.
Appleby's fingers then worked their way down into the tops and then the backs of the shoulders, which brought soft gasps and moans but no protest from Bundit. His skin was silky smooth and with the oil it seemed to glow in the soft light. Appleby climbed up onto the bed to get a better angle for digging into the back muscles, but became entangled in his bathrobe as he tried to get into a good position. "Let me just remove this," he said, tossing the robe aside, and clad only in his undergarments he straddled the naked hips of the Siamese youth. Working slowly downward, he kneaded the strong, smooth muscles of the back, digging thumbs into tight spots. Slipping down farther, he dug into the hollow at the base of the spine, then slid over the firm hills of the buttocks and, with fingers on the sides and thumbs just above the ass crack, began working the strong butt muscles. Bundit moaned again, but in a different register. He lifted his head slightly to look back, then put his forehead down into the sheets. The pace of his breathing seemed to pick up.
The oil that Appleby was using for the massage was running in tiny streams down the persimmon colored hills of the Siamese's butt into the valley of his ass. Appleby, caught up in the sensual experience of the moment, ran both thumbs through the bottom of that valley, stopping to scratch and rub softly at the puckered reddish asshole. Now Bundit moaned again, and could definitely be heard to breathe more heavily. He moved his hips slightly, thrusting up ever so slowly. Appleby slid down again and worked the long muscles of the slim legs, barely brushing the ballsack with the tips of his fingers as he pressed into the upper thighs. Bundit's penis was straight up underneath him, and hidden for the moment. Down the legs Appleby went, finally massaging the feet gently. Rocking back on his knees and toes, Appleby surveyed his handiwork.
"Bundit--do you wish to roll over?" he asked.
Silently, the Asian youth turned his boyish body gingerly because of his continuing muscle pain, rolling over to lie on his back, stretched out before the white man. His short penis was extremely rigid, curving up and toward his chest, the ballsack tucked up tight beneath it. The white man and the Asian youth locked eyes and smiled. Bundit nodded. Appleby began the long, slow voyage back up the legs. The Siamese was now panting, and as Appleby reached the hip joints he lightly grasped Appleby's wrists. Scooting up, Appleby now sat astride the man's golden brown upper thighs; he bent forward to work around the genital area and up the slightly rippled abdomen, up into the muscled chest. Leaning forward now over Bundit's torso, he looked down directly into the lovely almond eyes. Keeping eye contact, Bundit reached down and tugged on Appleby's undergarments. The white man likewise reached down and pulled the garment off, his rigid penis flopping out and down to bat against the Asian man's stiff erection. They held that position for a moment, looking deep into each other's eyes, reading there the secrets that each wished to share with the other, and then Appleby plunged down onto the Asian youth, rutting fiercely, their precum-slick dicks sliding together.
A small voice in the back of Appleby's consciousness reminded him that Bundit was not altogether well, and should not be ridden too hard. Yet a fierce passion had possessed him, a desire to make this different body with its different colors, shapes, and textures his own. Perhaps a fuller conquest must wait. Pushing up off of the youth, he scooted up even farther, now straddling the muscular, boxy chest, and brushed the Asian's rosebud lips with the slick head of his penis. Pecking at the rigid organ like a bird, Bundit took it into his mouth, moving his head back and forth on the rigid red dick, his full pink lips sliding up and down. His hands clutched the back of the white man's thighs, pulling them back and forth in rhythm. Appleby balanced on his knees and toes and clutched the youth's full head of bushy hair, running his fingers through the dense helmet, then he grabbed the headboard to steady himself. In and out, back and forth, he face-fucked the Siamese, until from far away in his belly he felt release coming. Closer it came, and faster he pumped, and then it slammed through his body and took him roaring into the face of the Asian youth beneath him, moaning and shouting out "Bundit! O! God!" and pumping rapidly.
Appleby squeezed out the last of his semen, shivered, held his penis tight against the Asian youth's rosebud mouth, then pulled out, trailing a silver streak across Bundit's chin. The white man leaned down and kissed the youth's face and mouth lightly, then quickly scooted back down his panting torso. Falling down flat against the muscular thighs, he took up the rigid reddish-tan penis into his mouth and began pumping, taking it as far in as he could, sucking furiously. The effort would cost the youth something in muscle strain, but Bundit was beyond such considerations now. Clutching the white man's long light brown hair, he thrashed and cried out in an unknown language, bucking his hips up and down, pumping for another minute or two--and then came in copious spews of semen belying his relatively small penis and testicles. Appleby swallowed and sucked hungrily, taking up every bit. The Siamese man collapsed, panting and moaning, clutching his forehead. Appleby cleaned the still-rigid organ with his tongue, then looked up the plain of gold and tan, slim flesh to the beautiful Asian face.
"Oh, Mark. Oh, it hurts so much!" he cried, and Appleby was instantly concerned and regretful. Pushing up on his hands, he asked, "Bundit! Forgive me! What can I do?"
"Oh, Mark... it hurts so good!" chuckled the Siamese youth. His beautiful face broke into a grin, his almond eyes becoming mere slits, even as he continued to clutch his forehead. Moans were interspersed with laughter, and soon Appleby stretched alongside the beautiful young man, lightly hugging and caressing him.
"Forgive me, Bundit. I could not help it," he said, smiling. The Siamese nodded, rubbing Appleby's belly with one hand by way of a blessing. Bundit's breathing returned to normal slowly, chuckling all the while even as he moaned.
"I am still a little sore.... but thank you. Thank you so much. I have done this... I have done this before on the ships, you know," he said, squinting at Appleby beneath the hand that he held to his brow, "but this was very nice, much more special. Thank you," he said. Putting his hand by his side, he heaved a deep sigh. Appleby rose, plumped up pillows beneath the youth, kissed his rosebud mouth once more, and pulled the sheets up over him. Bundit nodded and closed his eyes. Appleby clothed himself in the robe and undergarments not two minutes before Mama Cass knocked on the door and entered.
"Good morning, Master Mark," she rumbled. "I am here to take over the nursing." She stopped.... sniffed the air suspiciously, and eyed her white master darkly. Appleby clutched his dressing gown around him, shrugged, and looked like Innocence on a pedestal, but he departed quickly, Cass's frown following him all the way. Bundit snored lightly like a baby.
Appleby stepped out into the bright morning sunshine and walked the short distance to the cabin shared by Troy, Athena, and Hector. Troy answered his knock, and gave him an affectionate hug, keeping his arm around the white man's shoulder as he entered the room. Hector was already at the boat preparing it for the trip. Athena brought baby Apple from her crib to show her off. Passing the infant for Appleby to hold for a moment, she squeezed his arm affectionately and smiled brightly up at him. Appleby smiled back, noting the family resemblance to her brothers, Pan and Bacchus. In a moment the infant began to squeal, which made it time to return her to her mother and go out with Troy to the Hesperus. Appleby and Hector greeted each other affectionately. Hector pulled his master's ear down to his mouth and merely whispered, "Good." Had Portia already shared with Hector the news of their passionate encounter? Appleby smiled back, grateful for all the gifts Hector had given him, and hugged him quickly once again. The three worked together to push the Hesperus off from the pier.
A brisk wind took the Hesperus quickly across the short expanse of sea and into Charleston Harbor. Appleby looked in the general direction of Ashley Plantation's estuary as they passed by, but of course it was too far inland to see anything. The Hesperus passed the hulk of Ft. Sumter on the right and then took up canvas as it approached the piers and wharfs of the downtown area. Troy and Hector guided the boat with their usual skill and it glided gently up to the pier, where it was secured.
Appleby reviewed the plans for the day's visit with the two brothers. Building supplies were to be ordered, either to be carried back on the Hesperus or brought out in a day or so to the island. One late addition to the list of supplies needed was some ocean buoys to mark the dangerous reefs and rocks that guarded the eastern side of Seaward--although they would not have saved the Duchess of Kent in such a storm. Appleby also ordered more preserved foodstuffs to replace some of the crops lost in the storm. He gave Troy and Hector money with which to purchase lunch, making sure it was the exact change so that their ability to calculate figures would go undetected. They also had to make sure that all orders for purchases were written out on paper by the white man, or simple enough to be delivered orally by the black men, so as to disguise their ability to read. Appleby felt again a disgust with the need for such subterfuges, but it could not be helped.
The three went their separate ways. Appleby's first stop was at the nearby port authority's office, to report the wreck of the Duchess of Kent. He had brought with him the very few scraps of official paper, bills of lading, and so forth that had washed ashore by way of testament to the ship's sad end. He also reported the single life spared, and said that he would be responsible for Bundit's welfare until he recovered. The officials said that some wreckage, but no bodies, had washed ashore on the outer banks, and that they had been awaiting some clearer news of what had happened.
Appleby had a quick, light lunch at a tavern, then walked through the streets in search of the Armory, where the meeting of the Militia was to be held. Finding it easily, a squat, square, imposing building of stone blocks, he entered and found the meeting room. Colonel Gillam was organizing papers at a table in the front of the room. He recognized Appleby from the ball at Ashley Plantation and greeted him warmly. Appleby was introduced around the room to various dignitaries. As the room filled and it appeared as if the meeting would start, he slipped to the rear of the room and took a seat on the back row, meaning to watch and learn at this event.
Colonel Gillam was gaveling the meeting to order when Appleby felt a hand on his shoulder. Carter Ashley, having just arrived, stood there a little breathless, smiling down at his recent guest. Appleby rose and pumped his hand vigorously. Then Ashley stepped aside, and there was Robert, formally dressed in a suit. The boy's head was held imperially high, but a grin and twinkle in his eye cracked the pretentious demeanor when Appleby shook his hand, bowed in an ironic sendup of Robert's formal posture, and quickly stuck his tongue out and back at the boy (having carefully looked left and right to make sure it would go unobserved by others). Carter sat on one side of Appleby and Robert on the other. Carter Ashley gossiped with Appleby under his breath about the people of Ashley Plantation and their other guests, while Appleby astonished Ashley with news of the shipwreck. But on his other side Robert leaned his thigh up snugly against Appleby's own leg, moving it in tiny, sensuous motions. And, sitting with arms crossed, Robert's hand was positioned to allow him to extend his fingers unobserved to exert slight pressure on the older man's upper arm.
The meeting was called to order. Guests were introduced, Carter Ashley rising and introducing Appleby with great ceremony. There were nods of greeting, and polite applause rippled through the room. There followed the most tedious string of reports from various worthies on the purchasing of arms, on political developments at the local, state, and national levels, on news of any heinous crimes or troubles with Indians or slaves, and on and on. Plans were made for various upcoming events. Then the floor was open to questions and discussion; Appleby remained quiet, observing who expressed which opinions, catching the general drift of public sentiment and resolving to parrot that back to the good burgers of Charleston whenever he could. The last item of business was nomination of new members. Carter Ashley rose and moved that Mr. Mark Appleby of Seaward Plantation be considered for a commission as lieutenant in the South Carolina Militia. The motion drew a second, and murmurs of interest and approval, but the bylaws required that it be voted on after a period of thirty days. The nomination was entered into the minutes and placed on the agenda for the next month's meeting.
The meeting was adjourned, and the group rose, milling about in clusters of conversation. Appleby made sure he repeated the strongest pro-South opinions he could to the men who came up to speak to and congratulate him. As the men began to leave, Carter Ashley shook Appleby's hand once more and said that he needed to attend to one more pressing engagement before returning home that afternoon. Robert, standing nearby, spoke up at that point.
"Father, I have nothing to do until you are ready to return. May I accompany Mr. Appleby down to his boat? Perhaps I could show him the Swan on the way," he said, naming the Ashley vessel. Carter approved, asking his son to remain at the boat until his return, then hurried off to his appointment. Robert looked Ashley square in the face, now grinning conspiratorially. The boy took the man by the elbow and led him out of the Armory and into the streets, where they made their way down to the water.
The Swan was at a berth two piers away from the Hesperus, so Troy and Hector would not have seen the boy leading their master in that direction. The Ashley's vessel was considerably larger than the Hesperus. As Appleby and Robert approached her, three male slaves who had been sitting on her deck rose up and stepped onto the pier where they lined up in a row. They were evidently her crew, wearing the Ashley livery, and they stood in some semblance of military attention as their young white master approached.
Appleby realized as they came up to the three that Rodney was one of them. "At ease!" barked Robert, and the three relaxed into a more natural posture, although remaining in line. Appleby and Rodney locked eyes. Appleby nodded and smiled at the slave, who returned the tiniest of nods and the slyest of grins, being unable to greet the white man more effusively. "You three," said Robert, officiously, "here are some coins. Go buy yourselves some root beer at that inn," indicating an establishment just up the street from that pier, "and remain outside there until I come for you. Mr. Appleby and I have some private business to discuss." The three accepted the coins, thanking their master, and were moving off when a fourth figure scrambled out of the below-decks cabin of the boat and joined the three adult slaves. It was the leopard-faced, exotic boy whom Appleby had bedded along with his master at Ashley.
"Stop--not you, remain here," said Robert. The twelve year old stopped submissively and awaited his master's pleasure; but his eyes, carefully scanning his master's guest, betrayed a recognition of Appleby. He cast a careful, blank, guarded look at the white man, who returned a silent but obvious wink. The ghost of a smile crossed the boy's striking features, then he lowered his eyes. Rodney and the other two men now departed, Rodney risking a quick backward look, answered by another smile from the white man.
With no further need to assume authority over adult men, Robert seemed to relax a little. "This is the Swan," he said, waving his arm at the boat. "Come," he continued, taking Robert by the hand and leading him through a gap in the ship's railing and onto the deck. Robert gave Appleby a very quick tour of the deck, and then plunged down the short, narrow flight of steps into the cabin below. Appleby followed, ducking his head, and Aaron the twelve year old slave brought up the rear.
The space was cramped but comfortable, a long, narrow room with two narrow couches along both sides and a wider couch at the far end. Pillows scattered about gave evidence that the couches could be used for sleeping as well if the Swan were on the water overnight. A tiny door by the couch at the far end led to the head, while behind them was access to a small cooking galley as well as the hold and other utility areas of the boat. Portholes let in light on both sides of the cabin. Robert went halfway back up the steps and pulled down a hatch, closing off the cabin to the outside. He and Appleby stood then, looking at each other intently, while the slave boy Aaron stood off to one side watching the two, waiting for instructions.
Robert took two quick steps across the cabin and was into Appleby's arms, holding him tightly. Appleby returned the embrace, burying his face in the golden pageboy hair of the fourteen year old. He moved one hand to the side of the boy's face and tilted his head up. He swam right into the boy's ice blue eyes for a minute, then let his gaze wander over the freckled strawberries and cream complexion, settling on the boy's bee-stung lips--which he kissed passionately. Robert moaned softly, then pushed back and, without comment or ceremony, began pulling off his clothes. Robert nodded curtly toward Aaron and said, "You, too." Appleby likewise began kicking off boots, dropping trousers, tearing off jacket, shirt, and cravat.... and before long all three stood naked.
Robert threw himself into Appleby's arms again, his erection jutting upward. Standing, the two pushed into each other, Robert grasping the man's muscular back, Appleby with his hands down around the boy's rounded bottom, pulling it tight into his body. Robert pushed up on his toes into the larger man, sliding his penis rhythmically up and down in little jerks against Appleby's belly which was becoming slick with precum. Evidently the boy had had time to think about this encounter, for his moves were sure and premeditated. He broke the embrace and slid slowly to his knees, his mouth working furiously all the way down to suck and bite Appleby's nipples, lick the skin over his muscled abdomen, tongue his navel, and pull his pubic hair with his teeth.
The adult's rigid red penis slapped the blonde boy in the face as his knees reached the floor. Slipping his face beneath the organ, he took each testicle into his mouth, sucking so hard that Appleby winced and cried out in protest. Shifting his attention, the boy's full lips moved up and found the man's penis, licking it on the underside all the way up. He grasped the rod with his hand and looked up at Appleby through long, blonde lashes: "I want you like this. I want to swallow it," he said, tensely, then took the man's penis into his mouth. It was clear that Robert, for all his experience in being sucked by his boy slaves, had little or no experience in the reverse, for Appleby had to whisper "no teeth" more than once, but the boy soon improved his technique and his mouth rode the man's rigid cock with increasing speed, up and down, slurping and sucking.
Appleby buried his fingers in the boy's blonde hair, pulling the head into his groin--but the man's eyes were elsewhere. For Aaron had silently moved into position a few feet behind Robert. The boy's thick, puckered lips were parted, moistened by his darting tongue, and he was panting lightly. The boy's thin, reddish brown, muscular tube of a body was rigid with desire, his belly a little forward, his chest a little back, his prominent rounded buttocks pushing out behind, which gave him a slightly swayback profile. Aaron's thin, dark penis was held in his hand and he was slowly, slowly running his thumb and three fingers up and down the shaft. The boy's dark, almond shaped eyes were locked onto Appleby's eyes. White man and black slave boy communed wordlessly in that gaze.
Appleby felt himself balanced between two erotic worlds: His hands and dick told him he was being sucked by the beautiful blonde boy who squatted on his knees before him, but his eyes made a connection beyond mere flesh with the beautiful reddish chocolate boy with the straight black hair a few feet away. Appleby's passion over the next five minutes was like a pot on the flames; it went from simmering to boiling, and then to overflowing. With a roar, he bucked his groin forward, pulling the blonde head in toward his groin, never breaking the visual lock on the eyes of the black slave boy a few feet away. Robert sucked and swallowed desperately, not losing a drop as Appleby cried out again, spewing sperm from his rigid penis into the blonde's mouth.
The crisis passed; Appleby drew in ragged gasps of breath as Robert sucked the remaining cum from his penis, then licked the shaft up and down and around the head to clean it. Then the boy stood up, his lips glistening, and reached for Appleby's hands in both of his. He stood there, his slim reddish organ painfully erect; it appeared as if he had not thought beyond this point, or was unsure of what Appleby would agree to do.
Appleby's view of the black slave boy was blocked by the blonde beauty now. Thinking quickly, he led Robert by the hand toward the wide couch or bed at the back of the cabin, nodding back at Aaron to follow them. Appleby threw himself on his back on the bed. "Any oil or lubricant?" he asked. Robert nodded, and quickly turned toward a low cupboard to pull out some hair oil, which perhaps he kept there just for the purpose. Appleby wanted to give Robert what he guessed woudl be a new experience. He quickly rubbed some of the oil on his own anus, lying back on the bed and raising his legs for the task. He pushed some of the oil into his own love tunnel, then motioned for Robert to crawl up between his legs. Appleby looked around the white boy and nodded at Aaron, inviting the black slave boy to stretch out alongside him on the bed. Grasping the blonde boy's throbbing penis, he oiled it, then lay back again as he pulled the boy toward him, raising his legs to cross them over Robert's back..
Robert's full mouth made an "O" and he breathed in sharply as he realized that he was about to fuck his first white man, after many similar experiences with black boys.... and black men? Appleby did not know. There was little time to speculate, as Robert's fourteen year old organ pushed up against his anus. There was a momentary pain, then the sphincter relaxed and the boy's organ easily slid into the rectal canal. Supporting himself on the palms of his hands, Robert's torso arched out over Appleby as his hips began pistoning in and out, picking up speed. Aaron lay beside them, looking from one to the other, slowly masturbating while he breathed through parted, thick lips. A look of wonder remained on the blonde boy's face, now mixed with a frantic animal passion, as he moved toward his climax. Unable to pace himself, the fourteen year old soon shouted out, "O! God!" and slammed his groin forward into Appleby's butt, held it there, pumped three more times crying and moaning, slammed once more, and collapsed on top of Appleby.
Incoherent moans and cries of "ah! ah!" escaped from the blonde boy as he heaved for breath. His penis plopped out of the man and the boy rolled off of Appleby and to the side. Appleby turned slightly to his other side to grasp Aaron's skinny, muscular body, and he rolled the slave boy into the same position that Robert had held but a moment before. But then there was a breathless, panting cry from Robert:
"No! No, not with one of them. It isn't right. They are for our pleasure, not the other way around." Robert panted heavily, but whether from the aftermath of his own orgasm or his outrage that Appleby would let himself be fucked by a slave boy, the white man could not tell. For a moment, Appleby's look of amazement and incredulity locked with Robert's look of scandal. Then Appleby simply turned from Robert to the black slave boy who was crouching between his legs. Appleby raised his legs once more and pulled the twelve year old into position. His slim brown penis slipped easily and without additional lubrication into Appleby's well-fucked anus.
Robert gasped and flopped back on his back, staring at the cabin ceiling, recovering breath. Aaron was now where Robert had been, arched out over the white man, his penis well up into the wet, warm rectal tunnel. Appleby now locked his legs around the black boy's back, and the slave began moving his hips--slowly, experimentally at first, feeling his way in an utterly new experience. He cast sidelong glances at his young white master, who continued looking straight up at the ceiling, catching his breath. Then he looked down at Appleby in wonder at this white man who would permit such an intimacy.
Then the black boy simply exploded into a frantic pistoning, all restraint and questioning put aside. Loud slaps from his lower belly meeting Appleby's thighs and hips filled the cabin, and a steady cry of "unh, unh, unh" came from his full, parted lips. His cries increased in loudness as his hips began drumming a steady staccato beat against the white man--and then he howled and ground his groin against Appleby's butt, twisting his torso and wailing like an animal beneath the moon. He simply held his groin there as his twelve year old penis shot its modest load into Appleby, but the ecstasy he felt was greater than anything he had ever experienced. Spent, he collapsed onto Appleby's torso and lay there, heavy breathing interspersed with a high keening sound from his throat.
Minutes passed in stillness, if not silence. Aaron was the first to rise, perhaps worried about his standing with his young blonde master. He withdrew from the bed and began dressing again in the Ashley livery; then he quietly slipped up the stairs, Appleby smiling at him as he went. Once the black boy was gone, Robert turned on his side toward Appleby, his penis leaking a thin line of watery semen onto his thigh. Appleby turned toward him and put one hand around the boy's blonde head, drew him close and kissed him on the lips. Robert looked at Appleby with a range of conflicting emotions moving across his beautiful face.
"Appleby.... Mark.... I don't know. It seems so... so improper. I cannot imagine. But.... did it feel good? Is it different?"
"Yes, Robert. It felt good. It was wonderful to be with you... and wonderful to be with Aaron in that way. You should try it." Robert smiled, flattered at his own sexual attractiveness, but then shook his head in sorrow. He rose from the bed and began dressing, followed by Appleby. The two climbed up through the opened hatch and onto the deck. Shadows of late afternoon were gathering, and they both knew that Carter Ashley would soon return. It was time for Appleby to go.
Appleby shook Robert's hand, holding it longer and squeezing it tighter than formality required, looking into his crystal blue eyes for what felt like a long time. Turning to go, he stepped onto the pier and began walking back toward shore. Passing a thick wooden upright, he heard a soft, whispered voice: "Goodbye, mastah.... an' thank you, suh. Thank you...." It was Aaron, sitting on the planks with his back to the wood; he had been waiting for the white man there. A feeling of tenderness, and sorrow for his situation, flowed over Appleby, but he could not show it publicly in that place. He reached down briefly to run his hand quickly over the slave boy's straight, black hair and caress the back of his neck, then he stood back up and smiled. "No, Aaron.... thank YOU. Until the next time." For the first time, the boy's exotic leopard face split into a huge, wide smile. Appleby turned and walked to the end of the pier, then over to his own and back up to the Hesperus. The Swan was no longer visible from there among the other boats and ships.
Troy and Hector were already aboard, waiting patiently for their master. All were eager to be off, to return to the haven of Seaward. They worked to cast the boat off, and it glided into the harbor, adding canvas as it gained open water. They shared stories of the day's adventures with each other, although Appleby glossed over his experiences on the Swan. It troubled him.
Sitting next to Troy at the tiller in the stern of the boat, and away from prying eyes, Appleby put an arm around the black man's shoulders and squeezed him tight. Hector was occupied with the rigging ahead of the mast. Appleby looked hard at Troy for a moment, who looked back at Appleby with a wide, questioning grin.
"Troy.... Troy, are you happy being black?" Then Appleby looked away and shook his head; it sounded so stupid. "I mean.... I don't know what I mean. Would you make things different if you could?"
Troy took a moment to compose his reply; how could he not have considered the question before?
"Master.... I didn't like being a slave. I don't like having to act as I do in Charleston. I know some servants at other plantations are made to hate their color, how they look. I see them in town, I know how it can be--although Miss Lucy never made us feel like that. But me...." here he stared out to sea, showing Appleby his strong, brown, masculine profile. "For me, I really like it since you came. And I like it being at Seaward. And.... I guess I like being black. I think I look pretty good." He broke into a boyish grin.
Appleby pulled his friend tight and kissed him hard on the cheek. "Yes... yes, I think you look pretty good, too, Troy. And I, too, am glad I'm at Seaward." The two sat side by side as the Hesperus ran free before the wind, making for a small island in a hostile sea.