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 show up now and then 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
War clouds chapter three
An overcast sky sent down strong, gusty breezes to trouble the waters off of Charleston Harbor. Troy, Priam, and Appleby had decided to take the Harmony into town rather than the Hesperus, as they expected to begin loading many more supplies than was their usual practice, and the steam launch could carry that larger cargo with its greater deck area and hold. Appleby was by now proficient in sailing either by canvas or steam, as were all of the adult males of Seaward, so he scurried about attending to the boiler with Priam as Troy took the rudder. Chugging straight ahead, the launch set a course for the city. In between his attentions to the boilers, Appleby settled in the stern by Troy, the two comfortably nestled with their arms around each other. Priam sat on a pile of rope facing them, smiling and shaking his head.
"You two are an old married couple, you know that?" he grumbled, smiling. Troy and Appleby leaned a bit away from each other to look the other directly in the face, smiling. "I could do worse," said Appleby. "So could I; don't tell Athena, Papa," chuckled Troy. All three burst out laughing; Athena knew very well the relationship that the two men had and did not mind it in the least, for at Seaward love grew from love and it just meant there was more to go around.
Through the choppy waves the Harmony plowed ahead, and as it went Appleby went over in his head the plans for the day. He had remained a lieutenant in the South Carolina Militia. Over the years offers had come for promotion, but he always argued that his chief duty was to protect Seaward and, with it, the sea lanes that approached Charleston. This rationale made sense to the other officers and so he had kept that assignment; but it was such a small piece of land that they felt a "promotion" was not in order. Appleby could not possibly have cared less; preserving Seaward was his only goal.
Colonel Gillam had retired a few years ago and, as the militia became more regularized, General Beauregard had assumed command. Important officials of the South Carolina government had begun attending more often, and the size of the group and its seriousness of preparation had grown. Appleby had attended regular field exercises of the militia over the years, always bringing Bundit as the least likely of the "servants" of Seaward to betray the true nature of the freedoms enjoyed there. Appleby often found Silas Hornsby, the soldier he had first introduced to the delights of male love, at those exercises. They had not resumed their intimacy but their friendship remained strong. Hornsby had enlisted his own lover, secretly of course, and the two shared a tent at every outing, looking to all the world like comrades in arms. They were--but perhaps in a different meaning of "arms" than their comrades attributed to them.
At the militia meeting today, Appleby also expected to find Robert Ashley. Ah, Robert.... what a long and tangled history they had. Appleby had continued to be invited to periodic social gatherings at Ashley Plantation. There he had met many of the local gentry, including his old friend and attorney Horatio Smith, now the proud father of a little girl with another on the way. Appleby had become a respected if somewhat mysterious member of the Charleston upper crust through these and other social forays. He continued to feign the status of a widower, which was accepted by all because it added to his romantic mystique. But as the years passed, he continued to show no interest in any of the ladies who thrust themselves upon him, and eventually they gave it up, considering him a little eccentric. Virginia and Victoria, the Ashley daughters, both found young men and married. Appleby was heartily glad for it, and attended both weddings to give them his blessing: they would no longer pursue him. About five years earlier Carter Ashley had died of a cancer, leaving his grieving widow and a twenty-year-old Robert Ashley in charge of the plantation. That is when things really began to turn strange.
Appleby had continued his intermittent relationship with Robert as the boy grew into manhood, muscles filling out beneath his strawberries and cream complexion, his page boy haircut growing long, a wispy blonde mustache and goatee gracing his face. Appleby had also enjoyed the intermittent attentions of the slaves of Ashley Plantation, some of whom he grew to know quite well. Tall, handsome, powerfully built Rodney had not aged a day in appearance over eleven years. The slave boys, especially the three with whom Robert consorted most closely, had all grown into attractive manhood.
A year after his father's death, Robert at the age of twenty- one married Emily Bruton, of a well-to-do family from farther inland. Appleby had met her several times, but found her to be quite shy, even timid. Pretty and small, with brown hair and eyes, Appleby strongly suspected that she was but an appendage, a coverup for Robert's more... more nefarious practices and lifestyle. Certainly she always seemed to regard Robert with a look of apprehension, even fear, when they were together. They had a child, a son, in the last year. This blessed event had given Emily a chance to retreat into her domestic arrangements even more, focusing entirely on child-rearing and the management of the main house. Parties at Ashley ceased entirely, and old Mrs. Ashley went to "visit" cousins of hers in Savannah on a more or less long term basis.
Now master of Ashley Plantation at twenty-five, Robert had the money and--with Emily's and his mother's withdrawal--the freedom to live as he wished. On the one hand he plunged into the world of the militia, rising to become a naval captain although only a few tattered gunboats were at his command at that point in time. On the other hand, Robert fell more and more into the world of control and domination that Appleby had noticed in him. Twice more he had asked Appleby to sell Bundit to him, and Appleby's protestations of Bundit's freedom made no difference: he simply wanted to own that Asian flesh. Eventually he had given up asking, but Appleby had the strongest feeling that he was... biding his time. But the real evidence of Robert's decadence, his slide into a wallow of sexual gratification and power over others was The Barn.
The Barn came into existence shortly after Carter Ashley's death and just before Robert's marriage to Emily. The young man, newly in possession of money and power on the plantation, commandeered an old barn on the property. It was renovated completely on the inside and made secure from prying eyes. On the outside, it seemed like nothing other than an old, red barn. Inside.... Appleby's thoughts went back to his first visit there.
There had been another weekend gathering at Ashley, and the party had just finished a pleasant lunch. The company was dispersing for various afternoon activities, as was the usual pattern. Old Mrs. Ashley retired to her room while Emily bustled around arranging domestic matters in the house. Robert sidled up next to Appleby.
"Well, sir, a little adventure this afternoon, perhaps? I have recently renovated a barn here at Ashley. I'd like to show it to you," Robert said with a gleam in his ice blue eyes. Appleby agreed, but wondered why he had done so as the two walked across the spacious lawns and through the gardens of Ashley. His ambivalence about Robert and his "adventures," indeed about the social gatherings at Ashley themselves, ran deep.
They made for a large, isolated barn at the far edge of the Ashley gardens. It seemed like any other barn, except for the fact that there were no doors or loft windows open, but rather skylight windows placed high up the roof. Robert knocked on a simple door; it opened and they stepped inside. Robert and Appleby were in a simple room lined with banquettes, or low, upholstered benches. As they came in, three slaves who had been sitting on the benches stood up. Appleby knew them well, and greeted each with a smile: Samuel, the boy Appleby had first fondled in McGillicuddy's slave market, was by then a youth of sixteen. Hammond was twenty at that time; his portly physique had matured into barrel-chested solidity. He was big now, but no longer fat. And Aaron.... certainly Appleby's favorite of the three in many ways, Aaron was then eighteen and still exotically beautiful, his straight black hair now hanging down to his shoulders, his leopard features more manly but still alluring.
The three greeted the two white men with subservient bows and "Masta, masta" all around. At a nod from Robert, the three slaves began undressing, laying their clothing on the banquettes. Appleby's eyes feasted on the unfolding sight, little suspecting what it would lead to. Hammond was stocky and strong, barrel chested and very dark, his body made of slabs of meaty flesh. His boy breasts had grown into heavy lobes with prominent, pointed nipples. The unusually large penis he had as a boy had kept pace with his growth, and was really quite large, dangling purple black and thick beneath a large, frizzy bush of pubic hair. Oblong testicles hung in a loose ballsack. The good natured, round face he had as a boy had become more hardened and defined as testosterone washed through it over the years. Tiny snakes of black hair still covered his scalp. But when he saw Appleby's eyes drinking in his powerful, stocky build, the boy's smile of old flashed in his coal dark face and he nodded at the white man, enjoying the admiration he received.
Samuel's growth had outstripped his muscles, and at sixteen he was skinny although not gaunt. Long, thin muscles rolled down his arms, his belly was a flat plain of medium brown. The thin little penis he had sported as a ten year old was now of average size, but sprang straight out as he lowered his trousers. It bobbed with his movements. His testicles were hugged in tight in front of his upper thighs, and a dense mat of tight, kinky curls sat above his penis. He now looked appraisingly at Appleby as the white man looked at him; they have found occasion to taste each other's sexual favors more than once over the years, and the youth now dared to look at Appleby looking at him. The white man smiled, and the black youth's face broke into a grin.
Aaron was last to strip. He too was thin but better muscled than Samuel. His skin was simply beautiful, flawless and hairless, a chocolate color with an overwash of rust that bespoke his ancestry--of Indians? of Arabs? Appleby was never sure and Aaron himself did not know. His straight black cap of hair had grown and now hung like a curtain down to his neck. His penis was still thick but not especially long, beneath a bush of waving, long black pubic hair. The eighteen year old youth's body was lithe and twisted like a flame as he removed his clothing. Smiling at Appleby, he ran his thumb and fingers over his organ, which leaped to life.
Robert now removed his own clothing, revealing a muscled but thin body covered with a flawless strawberries and cream colored skin. His long blonde hair was pulled back, setting off his mustache and goatee. A pink penis of average size bounced out of his trousers below a bush of dirty blonde hair. Robert nodded an invitation to Appleby. Thinking the room they were in was not well appointed for a bout with the three slave youths, but nevertheless willing, Appleby quickly undressed as well. He had seen Robert stage far more decadent tableaux in the past, this seemed relatively tame. Little did he know....
The two white masters and three black slave youths stood for but a moment, admiring each other, and then Robert stepped to a crank handle in the wall and turned it. Beyond the wall of the room, a bell sounded. Appleby looked around, interest balanced with apprehension. What appeared to be a joint between wood siding in the wall cracked open, and a hidden door appeared, then opened fully. Robert pointed in the direction of the space beyond with a mocking flourish of his arm. The three slave boys went first, eagerly--it was clear they had some idea of what to expect. Robert followed, then beckoned to Appleby. The man shrugged and entered.
The room he stepped into was round. Four doors in the wall stood equidistant from each other. The room was lit with candles, but light also flooded in from a large glass skylight in the ceiling, some twenty feet above. Comfortable upholstered sofas circled the room's centerpiece, which was quite a large, low bed. The walls of the round room were covered with tooled leather. The floor was a thick carpet of multi-colored Oriental design, and Appleby thought he could make out abstract shapes of genitalia in the weave of the rug. The bed was as large as any two large beds Appleby had ever seen, and was covered with a single covering of black satin, with pillows of the same material scattered around it. The sofas, five in number, were upholstered in the same black satin. Appleby thought it was the most decadent room he had ever seen--but he had yet to see the show that Robert had arranged.
The party had entered through one of the four doors. The moment it closed, the door on their left and the door on their right opened simultaneously. Through each door came twin boys of about twelve years--but no, now Appleby saw that they were not twins but were surely brothers, and could not have been more than a year apart in age. They were of striking appearance: their features were African with wide, flared noses and very thick, full lips, but their skin showed only the palest wash of coffee. Their hair was a bush of tangled curls, but its color was blonde--whether natural or died, Appleby could not tell. Both boys were naked, thin penises sticking straight out beneath a few wisps of brown-blonde pubic hair and above small nutsacks. Their African ancestry was revealed in their high, uprolling, tight buttocks. The brothers were slim without being skinny, thin pads of muscles on arms and legs, their chests and torsos showing nearly flat plains of flawless skin. Where had Robert found these beautiful creatures, Appleby wondered. He must have searched slave markets up and down the coast until he had discovered such exotics. Appleby shuddered to think what Bundit's fate might have been had he, God forbid, surrendered the Siamese youth up to Robert. And he shuddered with the thought of his own beautiful son, a little darker than these boys, and how he might fare on the mainland.
Looking quickly around, Appleby perceived that the appearance of the two slave boys was having the desired effect. Every cock, including his own, was stiff and some of them showed pearls of precum at their tips. But the show that Robert had arranged was far from over. Each of the brothers held a long black ribbon in his hand which led back through the door. The boys were advancing into the room, and it became clear that the ribbons were attached to something. And then the party discovered what that was: behind each boy came a dark chocolate slave girl, each about eighteen, her hands very loosely tied by the black ribbon. Indeed, it was clear that the simulation of bondage was just for show, but it had the desired effect. Even those men or boys among the party who preferred their own sex caught their breath at the sight, and every single penis was now painfully erect, strings of precum hanging down from many. Each girl was simply beautiful, wearing caps of boyishly short cut, tufted, shiny black hair in an African style, with long curling eyelashes and splendid, large lips rolling out top and bottom. Their melon breasts were round, high, and tight, with purple black, erect nipples. Their hips and bottoms were of the round, wide configuration so typical of African women, and small patches of dense, kinky hair made triangles in their groins.
Each of the light-skinned slave boys led his "captive" up to the bed. With a flourish, the string fell from off of their hands even as each girl climbed up onto the bed and sprawled against the scattered pillows. There they lay, regarding the pack of tumescent males through long, curling eyelashes above heavy lidded, half-closed eyes. Robert, Appleby, and the slave boys came up to the very edge of the bed to admire these beauties, and every cock was sticking straight out or straight up.
The light-skinned boys were not done with their duties, however. Approaching the party, smiling sweetly at the men and youth, each one approached two of the observers. One boy came up to Appleby and grasped his aching red penis with a light tan hand and slowly, slowly began manipulating it. With the other hand he beckoned the nearest slave to come forward: it was Samuel. He likewise grasped Samuel's stiff, dark brown rod with his other hand and slowly slid his hand up and then down. The boy's brother was doing the same with Robert in one hand and Aaron in the other, pumping just enough to maintain rampant erections. It appeared as if Hammond, unoccupied, was the choice for the next development. Robert nodded to him and the large black youth crawled onto the bed.
The girls moved to their knees as Hammond, also on his knees, crawled toward them. Crowding each other to gain a position in front of him, they kissed his full lips with their own luscious mouths, thick, wide, and glistening lips sliding over each other. Hammond's big hands cupped their firm, high breasts or the rounded contours of their butts. Little cries of delight and the sounds of heavier breathing could be heard from the trio. Hands sliding over dark flesh, tongues exploring mouths, the three held that position for some long moments. Then, making his choice, Hammond pushed one of the girls to her back on the bed. Spreading her legs, he positioned the fat head of his large black cock at the entrance to her vagina and moved it slowly, lubricating it with the flow of precum discharging from the tip. Then in one smooth motion he entered the girl, who cried out in both lust and pain as his big, rampant cock filled her. Hammond lay down flat on top of her, one hand clutching her shoulder, the other hand entwined in her short, tufted hair. He was positioned so that the observers were looking directly at his ass and down his back. Hammond began pumping in and out, moving his big, muscular buttocks up and down as his penis slid inside the girl. His friends could see his black shaft making its cycles, encircled by the girl's labia, every time his butt lifted for another stroke.
The other girl lay back against a pillow and beckoned to the onlookers, smiling, a languid expression on her beautiful dark face. Appleby wondered for a moment if she were drugged in some way to be so peaceful and compliant--or did she simply enjoy the experience? His speculations were disrupted by the movement of Samuel next to him responding to the call. His stiff, dark, sixteen year old cock bobbing, the boy wasted no time in crawling onto the bed. On his hands and knees over the girl, between her spread legs, he kissed her passionately, then nibbled her breasts and the pointy nipples. The girl reached around and grasped his firm, high butt, pulling inward. Taking the hint, Samuel pointed the leaking, shiny head of his stiff cock at the girl's love hole and she pulled him right into her. Now the onlookers could also see Samuel's slick, stiff dick sliding in and out of her hole as he raised his butt in the cycle of pumping. The ballsacks of both black slaves were tucked up tight now underneath their penises, and they rose and fell with increasing speed as the black youths fucked the willing slave girls beneath them.
Freed from attending to Samuel, the exotic blonde-African boy who had been slowly pumping Appleby now sank to his knees and took the white man's cock into his mouth. He did not slide it in and out--Appleby was not to come in that way- -but the boy simply caressed the white man's cock inside his warm mouth, maintaining a gentle suction. Appleby sank his fingers into the boy's blonde curls, breathing heavily, lips open, watching the scene on the bed.
Surprisingly, Samuel came first even though he had started later. He cried out, arched his head back, his whole body bucking and spasming as his seed filled the womb of the girl beneath him. Looking closely, Appleby was sure he could see the black boy's testicles slowly turn inside the tight, dark ballsack tucked up under the squirting penis. Samuel cried out once more, pushed hard, and then collapsed onto the girl, panting heavily. He lay like that for a minute with Hammond still bucking and pumping steadily next to him. Then the black boy rolled off the girl and lay a foot or two to her side, recovering his breath.
Robert gave Aaron a little push, and the leopard-faced young man stepped forward, his rampant black dick sticking straight out. He, too crouched over the black slave girl, kissing her, fondling her breasts. Scrambling forward, he thrust his shaft into her mouth, and she slid her thick, wide lips up and down it as he rolled his head from side to side, calling out "ah, ah!" At that moment Hammond came, slamming his bulk forward into the girl beneath him with such ferocity that her cries joined his. Hammond roared, the clenching of his butt muscles obvious for all to see, as his rampant, swollen dick pumped troops of black-baby-makers into the girl below. Her fingers, around his back, tore at his skin as her own ecstasy mounted, her legs wrapping around his back. The couple lay quivering and panting, locked together, as their shared passion passed.
By now, Aaron had slid back down the panting torso of the girl beneath him and had positioned his wet dick at the opening to her vagina. He thrust it inside smoothly, lubricated by Samuel's semen, and began pumping vigorously. The sun shining through the skylight lit up the dark reddish black shine of his skin, now covered with sweat, and flashed off of his tight, high butt as it pistoned up and down, in and out, the muscles clenching up toward his back with every thrust.
Hammond now rolled off the girl, spent, and lay on his belly a foot or two to the side. Forgetting his manners as a host, consumed in lust, Robert quickly scrambled forward. On his haunches, he pushed his pink, stiff penis into the girl's vagina, now well enlarged and lubricated by Hammond. Bending forward slightly, he roughly grasped the girl's pert, melon-sized breasts in his hands and squeezed, twisting the nipples with his fingers. "Masta Robert!" she cried out in pain, squirming. A high pitched laugh escaped Robert's lips. Pushing forward, he inserted himself completely inside of her, then stretched out to lie on top of the writhing girl. Grasping her wrists, he pushed her arms above her head and pinioned her to the bed as he began pumping in and out. Appleby could now see Robert's pink and red ballsack rise and fall as his penis moved in and out, the light pink color of his shaft contrasting with the dark chocolate black of the flesh surrounding the girl's vagina and anus.
Now Aaron came, groaning, clutching the girl beneath him tightly as he pushed into her, holding their two bodies together. The black slave girl had wrapped her arms and legs around the exotic slave boy and was pulling him into her flesh as well. Their bodies writhed together for a while. Aaron was no longer pumping but every muscle of his body worked as he drained his seed into the girl below. Then he slumped, spent. The slave lay like that for a moment and then rolled off the girl in the direction of Samuel who still lay near her on the bed. Samuel put an arm around the panting, heaving chest of Aaron while Aaron's penis, still erect, leaked a long rope of silver and white drool.
Appleby was completely caught up in the otherworldly scene that Robert had staged. All considerations that might have given him pause in the past were utterly washed away in a flood of hormones. Unable to wait, he crawled up between the legs of the girl who now extended her arms to him. With no preliminaries, he inserted his rampant organ into the girl and pushed. Appleby began swinging his hips, sliding his rigid dick in and out of the slave girl beneath him. He could look down and see the delightful contrast of his rigid red penis sliding in and out of her night-dark flesh, his own patch of curly pubic hair mashing into her thick pad of kinky hair. Looking straight down at her, he locked eyes with her, staring into the dark inviting depths of her eyes. Next to him Robert was pumping vigorously inside the other slave girl. The two white men now looked each other in the eye for a moment, smiled hugely, and returned their attentions to the squirming black slave girls beneath them.
Appleby lowered himself onto the girl, riding on her pert breasts, sliding on a layer of sweat put there by Samuel and Aaron. His penis slid easily in and out of her vagina which was bathed in the accumulated cum of the two slave boys. He tasted her lips, also tasting Samuel and Aaron there, chewing on the large outcurving flesh of the lips.
Next to him Robert cried out, arching and clenching his torso, as he exploded inside the other slave girl. It put Appleby over the edge also. From deep inside him a flood of semen gathered and came roaring out of his penis even as a wild animal cry emerged from his chest. Both white men now bucked and thrashed on top of their slave girls, pushing white man's seed into their waiting vaginas. Then the moment passed and they collapsed, panting onto the girls.
Even before they recovered breath, the three black slave youths with them snuggled in close. Aaron arched over Appleby's back, still astride the slave girl, and wedged himself between the girls and their white masters. Samuel rolled in close to Appleby, his arm around the white man's back, while Hammond did the same for Robert, running his big brown hand up and down the blushing bottom of his master.
Floating on a peaceful cloud of afterglow, Appleby saw that the party was not yet over. Onto the now crowded bed scrambled the blonde-African slave boys, each with a pot of lubricant. Appleby saw Robert push his torso up off the slave girl a little, nod toward Hammond, and simply say, "Him." The twelve or thirteen year old exotic boy nearest to them crawled over to Hammond, dipped his fingers into the pot, and began lubricating the big slave's anus. Knowing what was coming, Hammond lifted his hips up and spread his legs to receive this service, grunting as the boy thrust one and then two slimy fingers into his butt. Meanwhile, Robert began moving his hips back and forth ever so slowly and slightly--he was using the warm love tunnel of the girl beneath him to achieve a new erection. In and out just a little, in and out.... and then with a little more vigor. In a minute or two Robert pulled out of the girl, his rampant red penis now fully erect again, slippery with his and Hammond's semen. Moving a foot or two to the side, his straddled the big, firm butt of Hammond as the slave youth remained lying on his belly. The blonde African boy removed his fingers, Hammond's anus now dilated. Robert put his hard dick in place and pushed. Hammond cried out, "Masta!" and then gasped, panting, as the rigid white penis penetrated all the way into him. Robert remained on his haunches, his dick plunging down into the upraised bottom below him. He began rocking his hips back and forth, and kept time to his movements by slapping the hard black butt every so often.
The sight of Robert's rigid pink penis sliding in and out of the chocolate hills of Hammond's butt inspired Appleby. His dick sprang to life of its own accord inside the girl, who writhed in pleasure at the feeling of renewed rigidity. But she was not to be the object of his attentions this time. The white man looked at the blonde-African boy nearest him and nodded at Aaron. Understanding the gesture, Aaron, lying on his back between the two slave girls, pulled his legs up. The twelve or thirteen year old exotic boy now lubricated Aaron's anus, inserting two fingers to expand the hole. Aaron nodded at Appleby and the white man pulled out of the black girl beneath him, moved over between Aaron's legs, and put the head of his rigid dick to Aaron's anus. He pushed. Aaron took in breath sharply but did not cry out. The black slave wrapped his arms and legs around Appleby's back and drew the white man down onto him. The two looked deeply into each other's eyes, smiling, sharing breath as Appleby began a slow rhythm.
Then Appleby, inspired, shifted his glance to Samuel. The skinny black sixteen year old lay on his side, watching the proceedings, clutching his own penis which was now stiff again. Appleby looked to the slave boy with the lubricant: "Do me," he said. Unused to doing this to a white man, the boy hesitated, but Appleby nodded again and thrust his butt up invitingly, but not so much as to dislodge from Aaron. Eagerly, the blonde-African now lubricated and enlarged Appleby's asshole. Samuel began panting between parted lips in anticipation, and was back between Appleby's legs before the slave boy was even finished with his task.
When Appleby's anus was adequately greased, the boy withdrew and Samuel positioned his rampant dark brown dick against the white man's love hole, then pushed. The discomfort was not great, as Samuel was not overly large in any part of his body. Appleby was now riding between two black boys, plunging down into the warm anus of the eighteen year old exotic beneath him, burying his face in the youth's thick, straight black hair, biting his dark brown neck and shoulder, while skinny Samuel mounted the white man from behind. Samuel wrapped his arms tightly around the white man's chest and clung to him as he pistoned his hips in and out frantically.
Already nearly at the brink from the ongoing stimulation of the afternoon, Robert and Appleby both soon came, grunting and moaning as they pushed down into the slave boys they were impaling with their spouting dicks. Samuel was not far behind, suddenly spasming and clenching his hips to shoot a load of semen into the white man to whom he clung. Cries and groans filled the air for a moment, and then there was stillness. The white men rolled off of the black slaves to lie on their backs, nestled among the other dark bodies on the bed. Samuel necessarily rolled off in the process, but hugged Appleby tight as they lay side by side. Hammond rolled over onto his back lying next to his master, the white man's semen leaking from his ass down onto the bed.
One more stage of the adventure: the young slave boys now bent their curly blonde heads over the groins of Hammond and Aaron, tasting the male and female discharges that still lingered there. The boys sucked each stiff organ into their mouths, bobbing their heads. Hammond and Aaron groaned and gasped, their prostates already stimulated by being fucked, and held the slave boys by their curly heads. It did not take long, and soon each bucked upwards, shouting, to spurt their final loads of semen into the waiting mouths of the slave brothers. The two boys swallowed hungrily and, when the crisis had concluded, withdrew.
Moments passed as quiet and peace was returned to the scene. Now the two younger boys came forward with basins of scented water and towels. The whole company, black and white, male and female, helped one another to clean up after the long sexual struggle they had experienced that afternoon. The white men and the older black youths then rose from the bed to stand and watch. The blonde-African boys found the black ribbons and loosely tied the hands of the slave girls again. Tugging gently the boys pulled the girls toward the doors. Heads down, submissive smiles on their lips, the girls rose from the bed and followed the boys through the doors, which closed behind them.
The white men and black slaves stood around as if recovering from a dream. Robert opened the door and led them back to the room they had first entered. They dressed, then emerged into the waning afternoon sunlight. Appleby bade the three slaves adieu as they departed in one direction. He and Robert walked back to the main house, exchanging smiling glances, Appleby shaking his head in wonder and not a little exasperation. It had been a marvelous experience, but his belief in Robert's capacity for excess had only been confirmed.
The memory passed, and Appleby shook his head to clear it as he saw that the Harmony was nearing the piers of Charleston Harbor. There seemed to be greater traffic around the pier as they docked in the usual place, more coming and going of men in uniform, more loading and unloading of cargo. What were unmistakably cannons could be seen under canvas coverings lined up on the pier or on the decks of cargo vessels, while wooden pallets with pyramidal stacks of cannon balls, and kegs of gunpowder, were lined up here and there.
The three men of Seaward secured the Harmony, then walked to the end of the pier. Troy and Priam were armed with fistfuls of orders for goods that they would gather and deliver to the Harmony during the day, or, in some cases, have brought out to the island. Appleby had some orders that he could best place, such as purchases of gunpowder and shot, and so he went on his way to accomplish those tasks. He had asked Troy and Priam to meet him on the sidewalk outside the meeting hall where the militia was to gather a few minutes before the gavel would fall.
Appleby spent most of the day going about his business, ordering supplies for the provision of Seaward. He stopped by Horatio Smith's office as well to bid him good-day and inquire as to his growing family. Finally the time for the meeting of the militia arrived, and he hurried to the hall. There he found Troy and Priam on the sidewalk, as appointed, their heads carefully down and gaze averted from the passing white men. Appleby swallowed, not for the first time nor for the first hundredth time, his sense of anger and injustice at a world that would enforce such degradation, but he showed no sign of his disgust outwardly.
Entering the hall, Appleby took care to sit near the front, but bade Troy and Priam to bide their time at the back of the room. He saw Robert Ashley and greeted him in a friendly way. The twenty-five year old young man, but among the more senior naval officers in the militia, now took a seat at the head table in front of the room. He and Appleby exchanged many a glance and knowing look throughout the proceedings.
The meeting began, and the topics discussed confirmed Appleby's sense of an impending conflagration. Stirring rhetoric of states' rights and nullification alternated with personal attacks on Abraham Lincoln and factual discussions of war preparations. It was clear that preparations were being made to move on federal forts and properties in the Charleston area, and that nobody expected any sort of compromise to be reached that would fend off war. Appleby sat silently, hiding his grim thoughts behind a neutral exterior.
Toward the end of the meeting, General Beauregard called upon Appleby, who had asked for a spot on the agenda. Appleby rose and stepped to the front of the room.
"My fellow citizens of Charleston," he began. "You know me. You know that I have lived for more than a decade among you, that I claim family ties to South Carolina, that I own property here, that I have been a faithful member of this militia." Heads nodded all around. "I will not say that I come to you in fear, for fear is weakness. But I see that war is afoot in the land, and I come to you with... foreboding. I have no doubt that the good citizens of Charleston and the strong arms of this militia can drive any Northern enemy from this city and the harbor--" and Appleby was interrupted with shouts of "hear, hear!" and "with God's help!" "--but what of the waters beyond? What of Seaward Plantation, alone on an island just beyond the arms of land that Providence has provided for the protection of this fair city? I do not fear for myself, dear friends, but for what Seaward represents to the safety of South Carolina. Should an enemy land on Seaward, could even the fine navy of the militia," and here he gestured toward Robert Ashley who puffed himself out in pride, although he commanded only a ragtag collection of leaky vessels and gunboats, "could even that navy, I say to you, come to our aid in defiance of a Unionist fleet? And if not, what then? What mischief might an enemy do that had a foothold on Seaward?"
The gentry and greybeards assembled looked grave and shook their heads, considering the grim truths that Appleby was saying. Actually, what he feared was precisely the other way around: an expedition from Charleston itself that seized Seaward to fortify it against federal forces. Appleby was trying to turn the issue the other way, and gave the company a moment to let his remarks sink in. He continued:
"You know that I have served as a lieutenant in the militia for nearly eleven years now. You know I have the defense of South Carolina and of my own property and property rights at heart. So I come to you with a proposal to keep the enemy from Seaward, to keep the foe at bay." Of course, he did not say that he considered the foe to be the present company that listened so attentively. "I propose, my friends, that the South Carolina militia think of Seaward not as an isolated island but as a first line of defense against the enemy. I propose that cannon be placed on Seaward, ready to fire on vessels that would rip her from the fabric of South Carolina. I have, as you know, faithful servants of my own on Seaward, and I propose to train them in the use of these cannon, just as many of you have trained your own servants in the defense of your homes."
At this point the treasurer of the militia rose, one Mr. Hurley, a local businessman. "But Mr. Appleby, sir, what of the cost? As you know, cannon are very dear, and at the present time we are so pressed with the need to purchase so many provisions...."
Appleby drew himself up. "You are correct, Mr. Hurley, the cost is very dear. But what is the price of liberty sir? Yet I ask myself that question, not you, not this goodly company. What price liberty, sir? I hereby pledge my own treasure to purchase these cannons and bring them to Seaward. I have some friends yet in armories in the North. It is not too late to order cannon and have them delivered to Seaward. I pledge to bear the financial cost, my friends, so that the price of liberty may be paid!" It was stirring rhetoric, and members of the militia again buzzed enthusiastically and there were one or two "huzzahs" shouted out.
General Beauregard then rose to speak. "You are a true patriot, sir, but I have one more concern. Your servants, sir? Can they be trusted? We all know that there have been unfortunate uprisings throughout the South. Can your servants be trusted to fire cannon upon the enemy, sir?" The company now was silent, and Appleby could hear his own heart beating. It was, of course, the key question, and everything depended on what would happen next.
"Quite so, sir, quite so. I may assure you in no uncertain terms that my servants are willing to defend Seaward and South Carolina from any enemy. But let me ask you to examine them yourselves, my good friends, to determine the answer to that question. I have brought two of my most faithful servants, leaders among the others, so that you may ascertain their fitness for this momentous duty. Troy, Priam, will you come forward?"
Troy and Priam came forward. Appleby had coached them in what to do, but now was the moment of truth. Could they pull it off? Slowly, they came toward the front of the room. If Appleby had seen them from a distance he would not have recognized them. Their shoulders slumped, their gait was shuffling. He now realized that they were wearing older clothes, not rags but not the good material that the people on Seaward wore every day. Troy's and Priam's heads were bowed as they came forward. Almost trembling with fear and anticipation, Appleby threw them in the lion's den. "Troy, Priam, answer these gentlemen's questions, if you will."
"Yassuh," they both whispered; had Appleby heard them correctly? Nodding toward the General, he sat down to see how the fate of Seaward would be determined. Beauregard stared at the slaves for a moment. They were... yes they were, Appleby realized, they were actually bobbing a little, in a sort of cringing fashion, heads turned toward the head table but eyes cast down. Beauregard spoke sternly: "Well, your master has said that you are willing to learn how to use cannon to defend Seaward. If a Northern enemy comes, could you do this? Would you do this? Would you fire on Yankee gunboats and soldiers?"
A moment passed as Appleby's heart turned over two or three times. Then Troy stepped forward and raised head and voice. "Lawsy, massah, laaaawwzzeee! We'uns don' want dem Yankees comin', nassuh, nassuh no way!" His eyes were huge and round, nearly bugging out, his lips slack, but his voice was all sincerity. Appleby stared at him stunned, taking in for a moment the artistry of the performance. Then like a freight train, the desire to laugh out loud hit him hard. He feigned a coughing fit to hide the impulse to simply howl, hiding his face behind his hand, as Troy continued. "Lawsy, no, massah, don' let none o' dem Yankees come heah. Massah, Ise gwine do anyting, anyting a'tall, to keep dem Yankees away. Ah lubs Seawa'd, massah, ain't gonna let no Yankee come take it!" Appleby twisted in his chair and coughed hard again, covering his face with a handkerchief, stamping his foot. An elderly gentleman sitting next to him patted him on the back.
"And you, boy, what say you?" asked Beauregard of Priam, who was certainly less a "boy" than he was. Priam shuffled forward, shaking as if he had the palsy. A startling, high pitched whine erupted in the meeting room. "Ah, save us Lawd, saaaaaaave us all!" cried Priam in a screeching voice. He was bucking and bobbing, eyes rolling, hands raised palms outward. "I shoots dem Yankees, Lawd ah do, I kicks 'em, massahs! Lemme at dem Yankees! I shoots de cannon, if'n massah Appleby tell me how. Lawsy, lawsy!" he concluded in a high pitched, cracked voice. At that Appleby coughed so violently, slapping his own knee, that Robert was obliged to bring him down a drink of water from the table. He drank it, giving himself a moment to compose himself. Wiping the tears from his face that had rolled down his cheeks with his handkerchief, he composed himself with a mighty effort, knowing what was at stake. Then he rose.
"You see my friends, what these servants," and he gestured toward Troy and Priam but did not dare look at them, "these good and faithful servants are willing to do to assist in the defense of this great state. Let me go from here now, my friends, to order cannon, shot, and powder. Let me not delay. Give me your blessing to arm Seaward and protect the liberty of South Carolina!" It was such a stirring peroration, coupled with the obvious sincerity of his slaves, that half the militia rose then to shout its approval, and the rest applauded. "So be it!" declared General Beauregard.
"Then, sir, with your leave, I depart this place immediately to order these defenses for the island and the state. There is not a moment to lose." Beauregard nodded and Appleby wheeled away with almost unseemly haste, holding his hand to his face as he strode from the room. His servants, faces averted downward, followed him as quickly as they could bob and shuffle. Members of the militia applauded Appleby as he went, and some drew swords to hold above his head as he passed, which he acknowledged with nods and a wave of his handkerchief even as he continued to cover his face.
Appleby burst from the building onto the street in frantic haste, followed closely by Troy and Priam. Snorts, gasps, and a high pitched keening sound escaped from his two companions. When he could struggle to find words as they hurried along he simply whispered urgently, "Hold it! Hold it!" Careening down the street, looking left and right, Appleby finally found what he wanted: a deserted alley half hidden behind a cart with no open windows overlooking it. He lunged into it, closely followed by the two black men. The instant they were inside, howls and roars of laughter exploded from them. Weeping and choking with laughter, they slapped their knees, slapped each other on the back, laughing until they were hoarse. "Lawsy! Lawsy!" said Appleby in a high pitched mimicking tone, bringing more gales of laughter from his friends. They laughed until they wept. Eventually they regained control of themselves, wiping their own and each other's faces with handkerchiefs, sighing and restoring composure to their features. At last they looked at each other with satisfaction, nodded, and headed back out to the street.
On the way, Appleby stopped at the telegraph office to fire off several urgent messages that he had composed the day before in anticipation of being allowed to send. He had over the last eleven years nurtured contacts with armories and arms merchants in the North, where they were much more plentiful and better equipped than in the South. His task there completed, he conferred with Troy and Priam as to the day's activities. They assured him that the Harmony was fully loaded, the hold filled and crates and barrels lashed to the deck. It was time to return to Seaward.
The three returned to the pier, Appleby in the lead, Troy and Priam maintaining the illusion of subservient slaves by walking several steps back, although they conversed easily as they went along. The three turned onto the pier and, still talking, headed toward the Harmony's berth. As they drew near it they saw they had a visitor standing on the pier next to the boat: a short young man or perhaps a boy, hat pulled down over his features, dressed in simple but good clothing. "May I help you, sir?" inquired Appleby politely. The figure straightened up, removed the hat with a flourish, revealing-- Marcus!
The men were simply stunned. "How... what?" said Appleby, unable to form a sentence.
"Hi, Papa Mark, Papa Troy, Papa Priam! I hid in the hold on the way over, I didn't think you'd find me! I've had such a good time today. Papa Mark, people thought I was white as long as I kept my hat down. Some nice white lady asked me where my "good mama" was! I've been all over Charleston!"
Appleby wheeled around and thanked whatever higher powers there were that they were at that moment unobserved. Troy and Priam continued to simply stare, open-mouthed. Priam found voice first.
"Get. On. That. Boat. Now." he said, a quiet, deadly earnest in every syllable. Marcus looked crestfallen, as if a good joke had been misunderstood. "But Papa," he began. Now Troy stepped forward and grabbed the boy by the collar, swinging him bodily in one move onto the boat. Priam and Appleby now leaped onto the boat, untying the ropes that secured it to the pier. Troy had flung Marcus onto a crate near the tiller, and there he sat while the men scurried around with extra haste to put out to sea, looking about them nervously. The boat chugged away from the pier, picking up speed as her boilers built up a head of steam. It was only when the boat was well underway and out into the harbor that Priam and Appleby had the luxury of collapsing onto piles of cargo near the stern. Troy was at the tiller and, when he was not scanning the horizon for the best course, glared with a singleness of purpose at young Marcus, who by now was beginning to be frightened.
Priam and Appleby sat for a moment. Appleby felt physically sick, sure that he would vomit over the side at any moment. Priam again was the first to find the strength to act. He took one step toward Marcus, hauled him to his feet, wound up one arm and planted a swat on the boy's butt that could be heard half a mile off, then put him back down. Marcus began blubbering. "It was just for fun," he said amidst his tears, "I didn't do anything wrong."
Appleby still could not speak. How fortunate he was that Priam and Troy were equally "Papas" to the young miscreant and were fully empowered to act as such while Appleby recovered himself. Troy next found voice. "You young fool!" he shouted, as Marcus recoiled. "You could have been taken into slavery! You could have been kidnapped onto a ship! What were you thinking?"
"But I wasn't!" wailed Marcus.
Appleby at last spoke. "Marcus... it wasn't just your own risk. You could have betrayed the whole island. You are a walking advertisement of the different life we lead there. You could have... have drawn attention to us," and everyone understood the deadly seriousness of this last charge. Even Marcus, now openly weeping, hung his head and cried that he was sorry. Appleby rose and fell upon the boy, wrapping him tightly in his arms, tears of fear and relief streaming down his own face, and held him like that as the boat made top speed for Seaward. The group was silent for the rest of the voyage except for the boy's sniffling.
Coming within a mile of the pier, they beheld a sad sight: Portia, pacing up and down, waving a kerchief at them as soon as she had them in sight. As soon as they were within shouting distance they could hear her cry: "Marcus! Is he with you? I can't find him anywhere!" Marcus, now heartily ashamed, stood up on a crate and waved. At that his mother simply collapsed, weeping, on the pier. The men got the boat to the pier and secured it as soon as they could. Marcus jumped from the boat and ran to his mother, who first enveloped him in her arms. The men came up behind. "He stowed away. He has been wandering the city alone all day" was all that Appleby could say. It was enough. It was like reading out a death sentence. Portia enfolded the boy again, weeping. Then she stopped, stood up, and swatted him nearly as hard as Priam had. "Come!" was all she said, grabbing his shirt and dragging him, wailing, off in the direction of their cabin.
Hector, the twins, Cassius, and Bundit had arrived, attracted by the sounds of the boat arriving but also by the commotion. They were, to a man, horrified at the news of Marcus's caper, Bundit no less than any of the others. They shook their heads in silence for a while, then began to unload the supplies into the donkey cart that Pan had brought down, their mood balanced between shock and relief. It took some time to unload the stores and put them away. As soon as the task was finished, Appleby went directly to Portia's cabin. He knocked softly and she came to the door. Seeing who it was, she slipped onto the porch, closing the door quietly behind her, and then collapsed into Appleby's arms, weeping softly.
After a moment she composed herself and stepped away to pat her hair into place and wipe her eyes. "He is sleeping," she said. "He knows how wrong it was. Oh, master! what are we to do?" Appleby could not answer her, but only shook his head and held her once again until she had regained her composure. "I must check on him," she said, smiling through tears at him--kissed him lightly on the lips--then went inside.
Appleby walked forlornly back to the house, sinking heavily into a rocking chair on the verandah. He looked out into the night. There were footsteps inside, and Troy came out of the house. He smiled at Appleby, looked out into the dark, then sat down next to him. Reaching over, he squeezed the white man's hand with his strong brown one.
"What are we to do with Marcus, Troy? What are we to do about the war that's coming?" asked Appleby, shaking his head.
"I don't know, Master Mark. Whatever it is, we can't do it tonight. You need some rest, master."
Appleby nodded wearily, but kept rocking.
"I told Athena I might be away tonight. Master... would you like some company tonight?" His hand squeezed Appleby's again, gently.
"I would Troy. Yes, I would, thank you. Just... just someone to hold me and keep the world away."
"I can do that, master," said Troy, and rising, he led his friend upstairs.