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 sixteen
Even on an island of the South, brushed by warm sea currents, fall brings cool breezes, harvest, and a crispness in the air. Autumn snuck up on Seaward Plantation, bright red and orange leaves surprising the people, clear mornings bringing unexpected new smells. Maybe they didn't notice at first because they were so busy with harvest, care of livestock, and construction. Hard work brought completion to the building projects on the island. New lofts in the storage and hay barns held stores carefully hoarded against the times of trouble that seemed to loom on the horizon. Three stone armories--squat, stout sheds--now housed muskets, powder, and shot, one on the northwest corner of the island, two near the pier on the western side. A stout new cabin wore a drying coat of paint, ready to be occupied by Portia (and whomever wanted or needed to move in with her).
There had been no more field exercises of the South Carolina Militia during this period of harvest, when most of the men would be occupied in fields they owned, rented, or labored in for others. That would resume in late winter or early spring. During one of his regular trips into Charleston for supplies, Appleby met Silas Hornsby on the street and passed a pleasant hour with him in a tavern. Freed by Appleby's prediction of love, and by their own encounter that had set a spark to Silas's sense of possibilities, the youth had indeed met a fellow laborer, living on the outskirts of Charleston, with whom he could find passion. The youth positively glowed in telling Appleby, in a lowered voice, of this new chapter in his life, and Appleby was glad for him.
Meetings of the officers of the militia had likewise been reduced, although there had been one since the field exercises. Appleby felt mixed emotions when Carter Ashley told him that Robert had remained home with a slight cold in the head. He still felt a physical attraction for the boy, but it was balanced with a horror of the lad's quickness to use people who were not white as objects for his own purposes. Appleby accompanied Carter back to their boat at the end of the meeting to see him off, and had a chance to nod hello to Rodney--but no more than that.
The weeks had slipped by quickly as good, healthful, productive work filled the hours on Seaward, and now everyone agreed that the labor of building was completed. Portia was still hanging curtains and arranging furniture in her cabin, but it would be a comfortable home within days-- and in the meantime, there was no shortage of beds on Seaward where she was welcome. One morning the people of Seaward worked until shortly before noon, and then it dawned on them: there was nothing left to do, outside of Portia's domestic puttering. The whole company of the island stood in a knot on the grass in front of the storage and hay barns, hands on shoulders, arms around waists, and looked up at their handiwork.
"It needs something else," said Appleby. Groans and exclamations filled the air. "What else could it need, master?" rumbled Priam. Appleby's tanned face broke into a huge smile: "It needs a party!" Cheers and laughter erupted, as everyone agreed with him. The rest of the afternoon was spent preparing a loft of the storage barn for a party, hanging lanterns, bringing up blankets to spread over crates and sacks, bringing up wine from the Seaward cellar, cooking and baking. Everyone worked to finish the day's chores in preparation for a celebration. Evening came on, as it seemed to sooner every day now, and the night turned comfortably cool and crisp. The loft of the barn was pleasantly lit by oil lamps, and open windows let in the fresh night air.
Long plank tables were set up on the ground floor of the barn, and a sumptuous feast was set out. Talk, laughter, food, drink, and friendship abounded. Little Apple, a crawler if not yet a toddler, squirmed in every lap, taking soft, mashed food from every hand--to the delight of her mother who had been glad to wean her despite her strong maternal instincts. The feast completed, everyone worked to clear away the leftovers and tables, and then the party moved upstairs to the loft on which they had labored so hard.
Priam brought his banjo and played many a tune. People danced singly, in groups, in every conceivable combination. Wine flowed, making friendship friendlier, happiness happier. Apple was stowed in a bundle of blankets in the corner, where she slept soundly despite of--or because of-- the music. The night danced on. Heaving a sigh of satisfaction, Priam announced his intention to retire for the night, seconded by Cass and Juno. As nobody could play his instrument, he took it with them as they climbed down the ladder, waving. The rest of the party settled back comfortably on blankets against sacks and crates or stretched out on the floor, humming tunes together, passing bottles around.
It was Bundit's doing, really. Somebody asked him what songs they had in Siam, and whether they were different, and what dances they did. His head buzzing pleasantly, Bundit began humming to himself softly--then louder--then rose, swaying, taking a few steps tentatively, then more assertively. Soon he was singing and dancing in a Siamese style, his eyes closed, his thoughts floating far away to his native land. He bobbed and floated in the middle of the loft, like a hovering fairy. People clapped to keep time, nodding heads and tapping feet. Heated from the efforts, Bundit pulled his shirt off in one movement and tossed it aside, then continued dancing. Hard, lean muscles on a small frame moved beneath his persimmon colored skin that now had a light sheen of sweat. His beautiful almond eyes remained closed, his rosebud lips were parted, his thick bush of black, winged hair bobbed and swirled as he moved. He was a magician, and his beauty was casting a spell over the whole, tipsy company. Clapping died away, but every eye was on the dancing boy, twirling, singing to himself.
Appleby was lost in the Asian youth's swirling, twirling movements, the soft glow of the lamplight on his lovely skin. Then a pressure on his own body brought him pleasantly back to his surroundings. He was sitting next to Hector; indeed, very close to Hector, his arm around the neck of the fourteen year old black boy--and somehow, his hand had found its way into the collar and front gap of the boy's shirt. Appleby had been lightly rubbing the boy's padded, hairless chest, then tweaking his prune nipples. It was as Hector leaned into the white man, his arm around his master's lower back, his other hand rubbing up and down the man's thigh, that Appleby floated back to the here and now. He pulled Hector closer to him, kissing and nuzzling the boy's black, kinky skullcap of hair, and the boy responded by moving his hand to Appleby's crotch, gently manipulating the erection that was evident through the fabric of his trousers. Appleby looked up quickly to see who might be observing this, and he beheld a wonderful sight.
To his left sat Troy on a low crate, his eyes watching Bundit's every move. In front of him, between his legs, on the floor of the loft sat Athena. Troy's strong brown hands were down the loosened front of her blouse, gently massaging her firm breasts. Athena had her head to one side, eyes half-closed, also watching Bundit.... but leaning up against her, between her legs, was Cassius. Athena had one hand running through the mulatto boy's thick, loose black curls, while her other hand was lodged down the loosened front of his trousers, slowly kneading. Cassius had both of his hands underneath Athena's thighs, slowly slipping up and down, and he, too was looking at Bundit, breathing through half-opened lips. Across from this grouping and to Appleby's right....
Pan and Bacchus sat on some blanket covered grain sacks, side by side. On Pan's lap sat Helen, her head leaning against Pan's chest, his chin and trumpet lips in her tufted hair. His left hand was slowly sliding along the girl's lean, dark brown thigh from her knee to the rounded curve of her hip and bottom, visible now that her simple dress was hitched up to her waist. Pan's right arm was around his brother' shoulder. Between Bacchus's spread legs was Portia, her head leaning back against the boy's crotch while he ran the fingers of one hand through her frizzy brown hair and slid the other hand down the front of her blouse to cup a pert, taut breast.
Appleby pulled off his shirt as Hector squirmed out of his own. The black fourteen year old boy swiveled around onto his knees between Appleby's legs, facing the white man, and the two embraced. Appleby pushed forward and slid to the floor, now knee to knee with Hector, bare torsos clutched together. Their lips met and locked in a long, slow dance, tongues sliding on lips, lips sucking tongues. Hector broke away with a gasp of surprise and looked behind him. Bundit had returned from the fairyland in which he was dancing to see the array of coupling bodies he had created, and he was joining the fray. The Asian youth was naked, having shed his trousers as well as his shirt, and was tugging down Hector's pants. Hector rose to assist the process and soon stood naked before Appleby with Bundit's arms reaching around him, gold and tan on deep chocolate skin, his rigid cock sliding in Hector's ass crack. Hector's large, purple black penis stuck straight out at Appleby. The white man tugged Hector and Bundit forward, then engulfed the organ in his mouth and began nibbling at the head with his lips, tugging the top of the hood down with his upper lip as Hector sighed and writhed with pleasure. Bundit's hands slid over the black boy's hairless chest and belly, tugging at his prune nipples until they stood out in erect points. The Asian youth gently bit the black boy's neck and shoulders and nuzzled in his short, crinkly black hair. Surrounded by pleasure, Hector pumped his hips back and forth, sliding his penis in and out of his master's mouth, running his fingers through his long, light brown hair and holding the white man's head--until a wave of ecstasy overtook him. Pushing into Appleby's mouth, his body felt as if it were merging with his master. Not an assault, it was a coupling. Appleby sucked and bobbed his head until the wave of pleasure and love had flowed over and through Hector and his quivering body relaxed. He brought his lips down to Appleby's ears as the white man was sucking the penis clean and whispered words of love and thanks. Then he rolled to the floor and away in the direction of the Pan and Bacchus grouping.
Appleby rose and quickly tossed aside his remaining clothes, but then a realization came to him--especially as he saw that the other groupings had similarly progressed. Surely someone would want lubrication, but who could tear themselves away to go get some? He looked around desperately, and then saw it among the stored goods nearby. Leaping quickly to his side, he tore open a crate and pulled out--udder balm! "This will do," he said half to himself, and brought out three or four cans, rolling some in the direction of the other groupings, keeping one for himself. Back to Bundit as quick as a wink, he and the Asian boy ground together still standing, his arms around Bundit's back, the Asian's fingers clutching the white man's firm butt, grinding cocks together. Bundit slowly slid to the floor, licking, kissing, biting nipples, tonguing the navel as he went, and ended up on his knees before Appleby, his hands still clutching the man's butt. Appleby's rampant erection slid into the rosebud lips in a flash, and the youth's mane of thick, bushy black hair bobbed back and forth as his head rose and fell furiously. Clutching the youth's shoulders, now his hair, Appleby moaned and seethed with pleasure, then threw his head back and howled, pumping furiously into the Asian's mouth, shooting ropes of sperm which Bundit greedily swallowed.
Spent, Appleby dropped to the floor, kissed Bundit, then took up the udder balm and anointed the youth's reddish gold, rampant cock with it. Smearing some in his own anus, Appleby turned around onto his hands and knees. Bundit positioned himself behind Appleby's ass and pushed first the head and then the whole shaft of his dick in. Appleby gasped, but heedless of the discomfort he immediately began pushing his ass back into the youth, hungering for the feel of that reddish gold penis moving inside of him. As Bundit began moving in and out of Appleby's ass very quickly, almost fluttering his hips, Hector moved around behind Bundit to enclose the Asian youth's boxy chest in his dark chocolate arms. Caressed from behind and fucking in front, Bundit began crying out and moaning in some unintelligible language, his body frantically pistoning back and forth, then slammed forward into Appleby so hard he pushed the strong man to the floor, following him down with bucking hips, pulling Hector down behind him. Sandwiched between the two, Bundit quivered and shook as the last of his semen drained down into the white man beneath him.
Floating on a pleasant buzz from the alcohol, mashed beneath two beautiful, panting, warm bodies, Appleby did not exactly doze--and it took but a few minutes in real time--but his thoughts drifted to another moment of sweet afterglow a month or so ago. He was lying on a similar happy cloud following a long session of sexual intimacy, on his back in his bed in the main house. Troy, panting, was lying half on top of him. Troy's dark chocolate skin covered the rolling mounds of muscle in his shoulders and arms, and Appleby ran his palms over that shiny dark skin, squeezing lightly. Appleby's face nuzzled Troy's tight, short, black hair as it lay at the white man's chin level. Troy's cheek lay against Appleby's padded chest, now rising and falling with a more even breath. Troy's right arm was up, his fingers caressing Appleby's hair, while his left hand twined itself in the small patch of hair at the center of the white man's chest, sliding over to tweak his pink nipples.
Troy propped himself up to look closely at the hair on Appleby's chest, twirling and pulling it. Bringing his eyes close to the man's tanned white skin, he brushed it lightly, licked it, then rolled the nipples, again looking closely as pink shifted to red and back as blood came and went in the tissues. Then he scooted up to Appleby's shoulder length, light brown hair and ran strands of it through his fingers, sniffing it, tasting it. A low, throaty chuckled rolled out into the room.
"People sure are different, aren't they, master? All these colors, all these kinds of hair."
Appleby smiled and agreed, then put his own hand to Troy's hair, running his fingers across the crinkly, crisp texture. He moved an index finger to Troy's plum-like lips, the lower one large and glistening.
"Bundit's different, too. I like his skin, kind of like a peach, and his hair, too," said Troy.
Appleby nodded, and then a serious look came over his face. He pushed himself up on an elbow. Troy did the same, the two lying side by side, relaxing penises drooling their last silver lines into a puddle on the sheet between them. Appleby spoke in a soft, troubled voice.
"But Troy.... would you be here with me if my skin was your color? Would I be with you, would I be at Seaward at all if I weren't white? How can we know?"
Troy smiled and placed a hand on Appleby's cheek. He thought for a moment, considering the matter carefully.
"Well, master.... I don't know. I love you; you know that. That means I love the things about you that are you. That includes how you look, but it's also how you are inside. This.... this is about those things you were thinking about when you came back from soldier camp, isn't it?" Appleby nodded, casting his eyes down. Troy flopped onto his back and looked at the ceiling.
"Maybe... maybe some people LIKE to do it with others because they HAVE to. Maybe I do sometimes. Every now and then," he said, grinning and turning back toward Appleby, "I get some soft cloth and tie up Athena when we do it. Man, I get so hard when I do that! It's like I can make her do what I want her to do, and.... ah!" he rolled luxuriantly on the bed, an incipient erection returning to his penis at the very thought. "I don't think she minds. Maybe she likes it. She never said not to. Sometimes... sometimes she likes me to swat her butt, too," he said, grinning.
"But that's not like being a master and slave, that's not like really and legally owning someone."
Troy thought for a minute. "No," he said, shaking his head, "no, you're right, it's not."
Appleby groaned. "I wish I'd never come to Seaward.... as a white master. On the other hand, I never lived until I came to Seaward. And... I like being who I am. And now I couldn't live without Seaward." He shook his head in thought. A moment passed, then Troy spoke again.
"Now that I think about it.... master, I think it's just human nature. We need to give a little pain, we need to get a little pain. It's when things get out of balance that you have trouble." Appleby listened carefully, nodding slowly. "Some of those other plantations, master, I know.... the white folks give pain all the time and the black folks get it all the time. That's not right. There's no balance."
The two lay side by side some moments longer, processing these thoughts. Troy spoke up again: "The same with color, master. If anybody, black or white, liked somebody only for their color, or their hair.... or didn't like somebody for the same reasons... or that was the only reason they had to be with them, or not to be with them, well that would be bad. You need balance. If someone's color isn't part of what you like about them, that's too bad. Look, master," he said, propping himself up by his elbow, "It's just color and hair and all that, it doesn't matter. But oh! master! it's all this wonderful color and all these kinds of hair, and that sure does matter! Aw, we are who we are, master, and we can't get away from that. We'll never figure this out, master! We just have to find people to love and love them in the ways we can do it."
Appleby looked at Troy for a minute, taking it all in. Then he smiled, and Troy broke out in a huge grin. "Troy," he began,"are you... are you always going to call me 'master'? Shouldn't we move away from that?"
"NO!" shouted Troy, grinning ferociously, and then arced over the white man and planted a ringing slap on his bare bottom, "and you can't make me!" Appleby howled in pain and delight, grabbed the squirming chocolate body next to him and..... but that scene faded back into memory as Appleby floated into the present and, looking straight ahead, saw what had been developing with Pan and Bacchus's grouping.
All four were naked by now: the caramel chocolate thirteen year old twins, the dark chocolate eleven year old girl, the seventeen year old mulatto girl. Pan was still sitting on some blanket covered sacks of grain, leaning back, his legs now straight out in front of him with his heels dug into the loft floor. Eleven year old Helen straddled his lap facing him, her legs splayed out on both sides of his thighs. Her orange size, pert breasts were at Pan's face level, and he was greedily sucking them, tonguing and biting her round, prune colored nipples. His caramel brown hands were cupped around each dark, round globe of her buttocks. Helen had one hand on Pan's shoulder and the other around the boy's dark chocolate cock. She was moving just the head of his rampant penis up and down in the entrance to her vagina, the slick precum coating the lips and clitoris while she slowly rocked her hips back and forth. Appleby was struck once more by how much she looked like a boy.... a boy with breasts and a vagina. Her resemblance to her brothers, Troy and Hector, was powerfully attractive at that moment, as if she were a younger, feminine brother to the two. As he watched, Helen lowered herself onto Pan's rigid cock, bringing a gasp to his lips. She began a steady rise and fall as he leaned back at an angle against the stack of grain sacks, his hands now grasping her small breasts and kneading them.
Bacchus, close by, was standing up in front of Portia, who was on her knees in front of him--his hands buried in her cloud of frizzy brown hair, his engorged penis completely swallowed inside her rosebud mouth. He was slowly gyrating his hips, his eyes closed and head back, as Portia bobbed her head up and down. In the boy's mind, was it Portia, or a female at all, who was servicing him in this way? The two held that position for a moment longer, then Bacchus pulled out. His rampant cock bobbing in the air, arching out and up at an angle, he directed the taller, seventeen year old mulatto girl to swivel around onto her elbows and knees. Bacchus quickly slipped behind her, placed his swollen dick at the entrance to her love tunnel, and pushed in. Portia moaned with pleasure, swinging her head from side to side, pushing her hips back greedily to receive him. The two were placed so that, once locked together, they were both facing Appleby. Bacchus began pumping in and out, his hands grasping the girl's hips, but his eyes were communing with Appleby. Portia was swinging her hips back and forth in time to Bacchus's pumping, her head hanging down some of the time, but when she brought it up her eyes locked onto Appleby's.
Appleby's gaze, however, was distracted by a gasp and cry from Helen. In the throes of her own orgasm, she was shuddering, grasping Pan tightly by the neck even as she continued to bob up and down on his rampant dick. As her cries subsided, Pan's began. His fingers tightened painfully on the flesh of the girl's bottom as his hips thrust upward and he howled, head thrown back, breath seething. The long muscles of his thighs popped and flexed beneath caramel skin as he pushed his semen into the dark brown girl.
But then Appleby's eyes were drawn to the other couple, for Bacchus, pistoning his hips rapidly back and forth, sliding his rampant cock in and out of Portia, was crying "Ah! Ah! Ah!" and then his torso curled forward as an orgasm slammed through him and into the mulatto girl, bellowing, grasping her shoulders and pulling himself into her. Her vagina bathed in the thirteen year old's warm, slimy flow, Portia moaned and writhed beneath him, her own orgasm a steady thrumming of passion that matched the boy's wild clenching thrusts. They held that position for a minute longer, quivering and shaking, then rolled together onto the floor at the feet of Pan who still held Helen in his arms, both of them spent, his arms around her as she lay her head on his heaving chest.
Appleby felt as if he had come again, although it was only the stimulation of his imagination. He rolled over onto his back, panting, staring at the pointed arch of the barn roof above. Recovering himself from the sights, sounds, and feel of all that was around him, he saw in his imagination a recent scene play out in the shadows of the roof. It was only two weeks ago, and he had returned to Ashley Plantation for another social weekend of dancing, shooting, and meeting the local gentry. His thoughts drifted back....
The visit was much like his earlier experience. Victoria and Virginia continued to ply him with their charms, although his continued masquerade of widowerhood kept them at bay. There was another ball with many of the same gentry in attendance. Mrs. Reynolds, the recent owner of Portia and Cassius, was also there, still her sour self in black weeds. Appleby enjoyed renewing the personal and sexual contacts he had with the slaves of Ashley Plantation, especially the strong, manly Rodney and the exotic Aaron-- and of course with Robert.... The blonde boy still exerted a strong attraction on Appleby, but he understood the youth to be ultimately toxic. In the midst of their most passionate couplings Appleby could keep an emotional distance, knowing the potential for evil within that golden head, behind the crystal blue eyes, beneath the strawberries and cream complexion. Or was it... was it that Appleby saw himself hiding within the boy, and feared for what the lad might call out in him if he followed him too closely in his games? One remarkable afternoon from that visit now came flooding back to Appleby as he lay on his back in the loft, listening to the carnal sounds around him.
The company had finished a pleasant lunch and were dispersing for separate pursuits in the afternoon. Some were to take strolls through the well tended gardens of Ashley, others to nap, and some were organizing a card game in the parlor. Appleby had just risen from the table and walked into the hallway, thinking of what he would do, when Robert slid up to him and whispered beneath his breath, "Come with me, sir. I have a duty to perform this afternoon and I think you would like to help me do it."
Mystified, Appleby nodded his agreement, and the two left the house. They took a path away from the house, gardens, and river toward some utility buildings in the distance. Appleby thought he could see a smokehouse and perhaps a hay barn among other structures. Robert kept quiet, smiling to himself, as they walked along. Going past the smokehouse, Robert gave a low whistle. From behind the back of the smokehouse there slipped three black boys--the same three, Appleby now saw, he had seen Robert fucking on the banks of the stream that memorable afternoon some months ago: First came the ten year old boy Appleby had fondled at McGillicuddy's soon after arriving at Seaward. Appleby still did not know his name, but he remembered his muscular build on a small frame, his dark chocolate color with a wide, turned up nose and knots and whorls of black hair on his head. Next came Aaron, the twelve year old leopard faced boy, who smiled a welcome which Appleby returned with feeling. Finally Hammond, the somewhat fleshy, dark-skinned thirteen year old whose trousers hid, Appleby knew, a surprisingly large penis for his age. Hammond likewise recognized Appleby, a wide, white grin splitting his round face, and Appleby nodded and smiled back.
"You know Aaron," said Robert. "This is Hammond," he said, gesturing at the grinning thirteen year old, "and Samuel," indicating the ten year old. Samuel nodded at Appleby and softly said, "Masta," then hung his head. He betrayed no memory of their meeting at McGillicuddy's, for which Appleby was grateful. Appleby smiled all around and then asked Robert, "Well, sir, what duty is this you are to perform?"
"One of the servants was caught stealing a ham. Father asked me to punish him, as I am old enough to learn my duties as the future master of Ashley," said Robert, his chin tilted up.
Appleby's smile vanished in an instant. "I shall not stand by while you whip a servant, sir," he said, "I will not allow it."
Robert looked at him curiously, his head cocked to one side. "Whipping? Hmmm... that's an idea. But no, no sir, not whipping. Another kind of penalty. A kind of punishment. Although I do wonder whether they come to enjoy it. We are missing several hams lately." Turning on his heel he led the way to a nearby hay barn. Open mouthed but now intrigued, Appleby followed--if nothing else he could at least attempt to head off the worst of Robert's excesses.
As they approached the hay barn, two adult male slaves rose from where they had been sitting outside the door. "Is everything ready?" asked Robert. The men nodded, mumbling "Yes, masta," eyes averted. "Good. You may go now. We will release him later." The men hurried off, but Appleby detected some curious backward glances from them. Whatever lay within, how many such scenes had they arranged for their young master?
Robert pushed open the barn door and led the way in. It was shaded but not dark, light coming in from open windows in the loft and from between ill-fitting boards in the siding. Stacks of hay bales filled the barn, a sweet aroma baking out of them in the afternoon sun. The group followed Robert around the corner of a tower of bales and found four stacked, rectangular bales covered with an old, dirty, but soft blanket. On top of that blanket was a slave, his feet planted on the ground, his torso stretched out belly-down on the blanketed hay pile, his butt a little lower than waist high and presented for all the world to see. Appleby could see that soft but strong cloths secured his ankles to stakes in the ground--his wrists were likewise tied by soft cloths that looped under a hay bale, keeping him pinned to the stack. His head was turned to see the group as they came in. "Masta," he said softly, "I'se sorry.... please don' whip me, masta," he said.
"Whipping, what's all this talk of whipping," said Robert, who walked over to the bale and then actually did pick up a short whip that was lying beside the bound black man. "Maybe some day, sir, if you make a habit of this sort of thing. For now," he said, tossing the whip aside, "we have another sort of punishment in mind for you." The man's eyes grew wide in both fear and hope.
Appleby was completely on edge. He was ready to intervene in an instant, determined not to see the man suffer. This spectacle of bondage was repellent to him, and yet.... his eyes could not help but drink it in. The man was powerfully built and would stand six feet or more upright. Sculpted muscles on his arms, shoulders, and legs rolled in hills and valleys beneath a dark chocolate skin that shone with a thin layer of sweat. His short, kinky cap of hair had bits of straw in it. Taking a few steps to his side, Appleby could see that the man had been arranged so that his scrotum and penis hung down the front of the stack of hay on which he was trussed, a heavy ballsack dangling down against a large but flaccid penis pressed up against the blanket over the side of the hay. His bottom was the typical muscular black man's butt, and in this position it described almost a sharp angle as it stuck out into the air. His feet were staked widely enough apart so that a dark reddish brown anus could be seen in the ass crack just above the sack of testicles. Appleby's penis stiffened immediately. The pointed hills of the slave's black butt sloped down to long rolls of muscles up both sides of his back. Appleby saw with relief that his skin betrayed no scars or marks of whips. "God help me; God help us all," he thought to himself as desire warred with conscience.
His voice was hoarse when he spoke to Robert. "You... you are not hurt him, sir, I won't stand for it." Robert smirked: "Hurt him? Well, no more than he might enjoy-- afterward if not at the time. But at any rate, he must learn not to steal, don't you agree?" Then the boy snapped his fingers at the three slave boys who were with him. Grinning, all three immediately dropped their clothing and stepped barefoot away from their bunched trousers. Robert reached between some bales and pulled out a pot of some sort of lubricant, grease or oil, which he had evidently put there for the purpose. This he set on the top of the hay stack right beside the slave's upraised bottom. Looking at the spectacle for a moment, Robert raised his hand and brought it down with a ringing smack on the black skin of the butt, eliciting a gasp and "Ah!" from the slave. Robert did it again, then stepped back and began removing his own clothing. Naked, he leered at Appleby and, nodding at the upturned bottom, said "Join us?" Then he stepped up to the naked, bound slave to begin the "punishment."
Robert beckoned the ten year old Samuel to come forward. He did, a hungry, expectant look on his features. He (and the other boys?) had evidently joined with their young master in this exercise before. Robert scooped a hunk of goo out of the pot of lubricant and smeared it on the boy's small, stiff erection...but not on the waiting anus beside them. Samuel turned to the upraised bottom of the black slave on the hay bale, but he was a little short to reach. Robert stepped around behind him and, grasping him around the chest, lifted the boy up a few inches. Samuel spread the black ass cheeks with one hand and with another placed his stiff little penis at the anus. Robert pushed forward, leaning into the boy, his own hard cock mashed against the boy's thighs, and Samuel's penis slipped right into the waiting butt.
The bound black slave grunted out an exclamation of surprise- -"uh?" Samuel's legs hooked around the bound slave's legs and his hands were splayed out on the man's hips, supporting the boy's body. Hanging off the back of the slave, plugged into his butt, Samuel now began a furious fanning of his hips back and forth. His soft, high voice began breathing a rhythm of "unh, unh, unh, unh" as he moved in and out, in and out. Moments passed as the tempo of his pumping increased. The muscles of his young butt flexed rhythmically, then clenched, and he froze, quivering, a high pitched squeal coming from his throat. The boy hung there a moment more in the throes of his dry orgasm, then his head lolled forward. Pushing off the slave's butt with his hands, he bounded back and down four inches to land on the barn floor. Turning, he absolutely strutted away in the direction of the other slave boys, a huge grin on his face, greeted by back slaps and cheers from his fellows.
Robert beckoned twelve year old Aaron to come forward, which he did, his thick shaft bobbing. Greased well by his young white master, Aaron stepped forward, just able to reach his target. With no ceremony he put the head of his rampant black cock to the man's relaxed anus and pushed. The bound slave did gasp this time, and craned his head around to see who was inside of him. Aaron began moving back and forth, in and out, and twice brought his palm down with a hard slap onto the hills of buttocks that rose up in front of him, but the bound slave did not protest. Faster Aaron pumped, and then slammed forward, head back, crying out, clenching into the man's bottom. Then Aaron's knees buckled and he slumped forward, holding himself up with his hands on the man's back. But a moment passed, and he stood, pulling his penis from the black behind in front of him, trailing a thin thread of semen. Like a conquering hero, he also was hailed by his fellows.
Thirteen year old Hammond did not have to be coaxed to come forward. He eagerly stuck out his large, purple black penis to be greased by his master, then stepped up behind the bound black slave and with quick efficiency impaled him with the rigid shaft. The man caught his breath, but by now his anus was well enlarged and lubricated. Hammond put the whole strength of his legs into bucking back and forth, back and forth, also spanking the black bottom in front of him, calling out "Yeah! that'll teach ya! Learn that!" When he came his feet did a brief little drumming dance on the floor and he pushed forward, rocking on the balls of his feet, his torso curling forward and down, pushing his semen into the waiting rectum to join the load that was already there. Panting, he held the position for a moment, then withdrew to walk with a proud look on his face to join the knot of slave boy admirers.
Appleby simply did not know what to do or think during this tableau. Was he witnessing a rape? Certainly the black man, tied down as he was, could not have been a willing participant. Yet not once had he protested, except against what he feared would be a whipping at the start. More amazing still, it was clear that his once flaccid penis, hanging down against the soft blanket in front of the hay, was now fully erect, a thin line of precum hanging to the floor. The man's heavy breathing...was it from pain or passion? Or could he tell the difference? Appleby's own rigid cock was painfully erect, straining against his trousers from within.
Young Samuel, smiling at his master, stepped up again to the bound slave, but this time he sat on the ground by one of his tied-down legs. The ten year old put one arm around that leg and with his other hand he grasped the dangling, rigid penis of the bound man and began pumping it, running his fist up and down the hanging shaft. The slave began to groan and, to the extent he could, to move his hips up and down.
Robert now stepped up to this humping butt, his pink, rigid cock bouncing, drooling precum. He made no effort to lubricate it, nor was any needed in truth. The brown black anus was fully relaxed, winking open, a thin stream of mixed semen oozing down onto the back of his ballsack. Robert slapped the upraised bottom once more, hard, then asked in a loud voice, "Will you steal again?" The bound man, panting, gasped and gave the right answer: "Naw, suh, nevah agin'" Did he mean it, Appleby wondered? Was this an experience to avoid or to be courted? Robert nodded, then quickly rammed his rigid cock into the anus. Back and forth he slammed violently, his tight scrotum banging against the ballsack of the black slave. A reddish tinge crept over his strawberries and cream complexion. The dimpled hollow in the flat of each hip flexed as his groin pumped in and out, and then he threw his head back, cried out, and pushed into the slave's buttocks, even as he grasped the man's hips and pulled them back to him. Quivering, shaking, he held that position for a moment, his breath seething and ragged. Then his body slumped, his knees bending slightly. Another moment and he pulled out, this time a larger stream of semen trickling from the anus. But suddenly the anus closed as the bound slave's butt muscles clenched, for Samuel's ministrations had brought him to his own orgasm. Shots and ropes of white semen poured down from his rigid penis with a force that made them splatter on the barn floor.
Robert stood, his organ wilting somewhat, and regarded this discharge with interest. Then he turned to Appleby, smiling triumphantly. "Your turn," he said, pointing to the waiting butt. Appleby was breathing heavily, conflicting emotions warring in his chest. With a tremendous struggle he said, "I think not," wheeled, and marched from the barn. As he slammed the door behind him he heard Robert's peal of raucous laughter. Looking down, he saw that a thin line of precum oozed from the front of his trousers and was swinging as he walked. Embarrassed, furious at himself yet still containing high volts of unreleased sexual energy, he dabbed away the liquid with his handkerchief, shifted his garments, buttoned up his jacket, and walked away from that scene as fast as he could.
Appleby sought the peacefulness of the stream, walking alongside of it, trying to sort out his thoughts and emotions. The fall air, full of woodsmoke, moss, and the sea, helped to calm his thoughts. Walking on a path by the water, he passed one of the many breaks in the undergrowth that had been cut to allow access to the stream. He noticed, looking through this cut that someone was sitting on the banks of the stream. Appleby turned, scrambled down the bank, and found that it was Rodney, fishing. The man welcomed him warmly. Yearning for Rodney's calm centeredness, Appleby asked if he could sit down and watch him fish.
"O' course, masta, sit heah. Wish I had a pole fo' you!"
Appleby gratefully sat next to him, briefly rubbing the black man's shoulder companionably. Moments of quiet peace passed. Then Rodney's wooden bobber ducked once, twice, and disappeared beneath the surface of the water. Quickly he jerked the rod, setting the hook, and soon pulled in a catfish, twisting and jumping on the line. Appleby congratulated him, patting him on the back, then grew thoughtful as Rodney added the fish to a line on which he was keeping his catch.
"Do you think the fish minds, Rodney?" he asked, a smile on his lips.
"Reckon so, masta. Course, the fish, he don' care about the worm that was on that hook neither! So, what goes aroun' comes aroun', masta!"
Appleby nodded. "But Rodney, shouldn't we care? I know you want that fish for your dinner, but is it right to use the fish, to make it suffer, for your pleasure?"
Rodney looked at the white man as if he had landed from the moon. "Why, masta, what did y'all have fo' lunch?"
Appleby laughed and hung his head. "Chicken."
"Well, suh.... reckon the chicken minded it?" Rodney asked. Appleby laughed again.
"I suppose he did, Rodney, I suppose he did."
A few more thoughtful moments passed, and Rodney spoke again. "I dunno masta, mebbe somehow the fish DID like the fight. Now, when I skins him and fries him, then he'll mind, cuz that's goin' too fa'! But not fo' me. Got to eat. You do too, masta."
Appleby nodded. "How about people, Rodney? Do you think people ever want to be used, want to be hurt? Or, from the other side, is it always bad to use other people if it makes you feel good?"
Rodney looked directly at Appleby. He began slowly. "Well, masta... you an' me, we has had some good times together, right?" Appleby smiled and nodded, rubbing Rodney's shoulder again. "Masta, I know you used me sometimes, but I didn't mind, cuz like with the catfish, you didn' skin me! Know what? Sometimes I used you! Beggin' yo' pardon, masta, but I did. I liked the way you looked and felt....." his voice trailed off. Then he smiled and continued: "It's jes'.... some people use people too much. Balance. You gotta have balance."
That word again, "balance." Troy had said much the same to him. It was beginning to make sense. All these torments of control, race, power... you just try to pick your way through the minefield the best you can. You balance. Appleby nodded at Rodney and smiled at him, then the two sat together companionably, Appleby's hand resting lightly on Rodney's muscular shoulder, for the rest of the afternoon.
In a flash, the vision from Ashley came tumbling down in pieces, and Appleby was on the floor of the loft again. A cry of ecstasy had recalled him to where he was. Turning to his other side, he saw what Troy, Athena, and Cassius had been up to. Cassius lay on his back on the floor; it was he who had just cried out. Troy still sat nearby on a crate, naked, his dark body a symphony of muscled hills and valleys, his chocolate skin shining in the lamplight. His big, erect cock stood straight up out of his lap as he slid his fist up and down it while he surveyed the spectacle on the floor. Athena had just lowered herself onto Cassius's rigid brown dickhead and was slowly describing circles with her hips, tantalizing the panting mulatto boy who lay beneath her. Athena looked to her side and saw Appleby. Her hair stood out in all directions in short, braided tufts, pieces of straw stuck in it here and there. She was breathing through her mouth in her passion. And in her passion she looked straight into Appleby's eyes, smiled, and beckoned with her head.
Appleby crawled the few feet needed to reach the couple on the floor, arriving just as Athena lowered herself entirely onto Cassius's rod, bringing another gasp of pleasure to his lips. There was no mistaking Athena's femininity, but Appleby found her family resemblance to Pan and Bacchus irresistible, as he had with Helen's and Portia's resemblance to their brothers. Her caramel skin shone with a light wash of sweat in the lamplight. Appleby moved around behind her to see Cassius's brown dick buried entirely within her, his tight, wide ballsack just outside her vagina. The white man's penis sprang into life again, powerfully erect. He looked up at Troy, who smiled hungrily back at him, running his brown hand up and down his black dick.
While remaining impaled on Cassius, Athena cocked her hips up and back toward Appleby; it was unmistakably an invitation. Reaching for the nearby pot of lubricant, Appleby smeared his dick with it, then inserted some in Athena's waiting anus. She gasped but held still for the coming onslaught. Two fingers entered her, describing slow circles. Then Appleby positioned his straining cockhead against her anus and pushed. She gasped, but pushed back, and his reddish dick slid all the way in. Scrambling on his knees, the white man pushed his groin all the way into the caramel colored ass in front of him. In that moment, he looked up and saw Troy. The black man was on his knees in front of Athena's face, feeding her his mammoth cock. She took it into her mouth and began bobbing her head up and down. Below, Cassius began pushing his hips up and down in a determined rhythym.
It was an experience that simply took Appleby away to a new level. He and Troy were each on their knees, serviced at two different ends of Athena, but they were looking deep into each other's eyes, lips parted, gasping. All the love and passion the two men felt for each other was channeled through the willing body that joined them. They were fucking her and they were fucking each other, face to face, three feet apart. But at the same time, Appleby could feel Cassius's rigid dick sliding in and out of Athena through the thin layer of flesh that divided rectum and vagina. As Appleby slid in and out his penis was also caressing Cassius's brown dick as it did the same but an inch or so away. Appleby's full ballsack slapped against Cassius's tight, drawn-up nuts as the two lay against each other beneath their sliding dicks. The mulatto boy pushed Athena up with his hands over her full, tight breasts, and he could look up and see Troy's mammoth dick sliding in and out of her mouth, a thin line of drool and precum hanging down from her lips onto the boy's cheek.
The four were so tightly connected it seemed as if they could feel the ecstasy within each others' bodies, knowing the pleasure each other one felt. For as long as they could they held their positions, pumping, sucking, moaning, panting. And then the dam could hold no longer. Athena, her mouth full, moaned loudly with a high pitched keening, quivering and shaking. Her jerking vagina sent Cassius over the edge. He bucked his hips up repeatedly, crying out as he tilted his head back toward Troy's thighs, shooting long ropes of sperm up into Athena. Appleby could feel the mulatto boy's cock swell and stiffen through the wall of Athena's flesh as it pulsed out its seed; it was too much, and he himself now slammed forward, emptying his sperm into the waiting rectum in front of him. But he kept his eyes locked on Troy's eyes--in spirit he was emptying his love into the black man, who knew it--and then Troy's passion came pouring out into Athena as he cried out, pushing forward, sending a wave of ecstasy and love back toward Appleby.
The four held their positions a moment longer, panting, gasping--then first Troy pulled back and collapsed to the floor, Appleby pulled his penis out with a plop, and Athena rolled off of Cassius and to the side. The four entangled themselves, laughing softly, recovering breath. Then they felt more arms, more legs, more gentle caresses: the others in the party, who had witnessed their passion, were piling in with them to share in the joy of their afterglow. Soon there was a mat of intertwined, caressing bodies of many colors comfortably entangled on the floor of the loft. Soft laughter gave way to sighs which gave way to slow, regular breathing. First one and then another fell deeply asleep.
Some time after midnight, rising to urinate, Priam saw the lamps still glowing through the windows of the loft. Climbing quietly up the sturdy ladder, he beheld the wondrous sight. Chuckling softly to himself, he gathered up some folded blankets nearby and tip-toed to the group. Some of them he caressed: softly touching Helen's forehead and hair, gently squeezing Hector's upturned butt, laying his hand as a blessing on Appleby's naked chest as it slowly rose and fell. Last he stopped by Troy, where he gently squeezed his son's flaccid penis and bent down and kissed him lightly on the lips. Rising, Priam covered the group with blankets. Still they slept. Then he extinguished the lamps one by one and returned to his cabin. The peace of the night settled over Seaward.
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Greetings, gentle readers! In the next episodes we will fast forward to 1861 and all of its troubles and challenges.... just as soon as the characters of Seaward tell me what they have been doing in the meantime. Thanks for your supportive comments, they are always welcome.