The Adventures of Stampley Plantation - Chapter 2

The Adventures of Stampley Plantation

By WannabeWhitman (Mm, M+g, nc, rape, interr, hist, ds, va)

DISCLAIMER: This story is a homosexual fantasy involving slavery in the antebellum South, non-consensual sex with minors, and racial epithets. If you think any of this might offend you, DO NOT READ. If you live in a country, state, or jurisdiction that prohibits you from reading this material, DO NOT READ. If you are a minor, DO NOT READ. I realize these stories might contain material distasteful, even shocking, to some, but nobody is forcing you to read it. Keep in mind these are only FANTASIES based on our country's racial history and my own conflicted imagination. My intention is not to condone or encourage racism, sex with minors, or rape.

Although this story is set in the antebellum South, I have not done extensive research and cannot guarantee complete historical accuracy. Most of the names, however, are taken from actual records of slave-owners and their slaves.

Any and all feedback is welcome and desired! I would love to hear advice on how my writing might improve, suggestions for future characters or storylines, stories and fantasies of your own, and anything else you might want to share. E-mail me at WannabeWhitman@yahoo.com.

Chapter 2: Surrender

James Stampley woke up the next morning with a hangover of shame and self- loathing.

Nothing wakes up one's sleeping conscience faster than an explosive, ball-draining orgasm, and as James blinked awake to the first rays of sunlight creeping through his bedroom windows, he recalled his rampage of lust from just several hours earlier and for a moment hoped it had all been nothing more than a bad dream.

The warm body of the naked slave boy sleeping soundly in his arms, however, reminded James that his previous night's indulgence had been all too real.

James blinked his eyes in shame when he looked at Elijah's angelic, peacefully slumbering face, dried tear-streaks still on the boy's brown cheeks. In his mind he could still hear echoes of the boy's screaming and sobbing at having his virgin ass torn open by James's furiously pounding cock. The sounds of the boy's forced submission seemed distant and discordant with the peaceful sounds of morning drifting through the bedroom windows. James looked down at Elijah's sleeping face with tenderness, and wondered what demons had possessed him to steal the boy's innocence so sadistically, to take pleasure from the boy's body with no regard for his cries of pain and resistance. And even worse, to find arousing the sounds of Elijah helplessly gagging on his dick, or to find excitement in calling him degrading and hateful names James had never uttered - and never imagined he'd WANT to utter - before that night.

James had seen the light in Elijah's eyes as the boy had described his childhood games to the older white man, but still made the choice to extinguish it. He had known Elijah's mother and little brother were probably suffering through a tearful, sleepless night waiting for the boy's return, and still James had ravaged his little body mercilessly just half a mile away. He realized that his adult dick would cause the boy's untouched asshole enormous pain, especially since spit was his only lubrication, but had still chosen to plunge pitilessly into its virgin depths.

James was already beginning to see the truth in the old Abolitionist mantra that the institution of slavery dehumanizes the Master as well as the slave.

Despite these feelings of guilt, James's dick stubbornly sprung to life as it found itself accidentally nestled between Elijah's smooth, warm ass-cheeks, still sticky from cum that had leaked out of the boy's asshole during the night. The smell of Elijah's nappy Negro hair, the feel of his soft skin beneath James's hands, and the beauty of the boy's angelic sleeping face only made James's dick come to life even faster.

Yes, he had behaved no better than a beast the night before, but James couldn't deny how wonderful it had felt to sink himself deep into the boy's hot, squishy insides, or to feel his dick buried in Elijah's warm, unwilling mouth. Even in his most vivid virginal fantasies, James had never anticipated pleasure as intense and addicting as he'd discovered the night before. As guilty as he felt, James couldn't bear the thought of never knowing such pleasure again.

Perhaps one final fuck before sending the boy home, James thought. He could be slow and gentle this time, giving the boy time to get accustomed to the new sensations. While these negotiations continued, James's body was already making up its mind. His hands softly stroked the length of the boy's neck to his crotch. James's nose began nuzzling Elijah's hair, and his lips began tasting the salty skin of his neck. His dick jerked to its full length, pressing against the tightly sealed crack of the boy's ass.

But just when James's body was reaching a state of arousal that would surely wake the sleeping Elijah, he remembered something that caused him to freeze his exploratory groping.

Abel, the mulatto houseboy, would be arriving at any moment to empty James's chamber pot and pour fresh water for his morning-wash. In his impulsive passion of the night before, James had nearly forgotten his own routine. He was already ashamed enough to have Mr. Potter and that ugly overseer aware of his moment of moral weakness, and he most certainly didn't want Abel or the other slaves to know. He had to admit, a small part of him found the idea of the stunning mulatto houseboy innocently going about his work, stumbling upon the naked Master fucking the ass of one of his younger slaves, looking at the scene in shock and confusion - to be intensely arousing. But in his early-morning state of moral ambivalence, James was in no mood to suffer the inevitable awkwardness of such a moment, not to mention the rumors it might inspire, or the embarrassment it would most certainly cause Elijah.

There was no choice but to send Elijah from his bed as speedily as possible. For a moment, James wondered if his recollection of Abel's impending arrival was an act of divine Providence, rescuing him from the moment's temptation.

James gently but urgently began shaking the sleeping slave boy awake.

"Wake up, Elijah! Elijah, wake up! It's time for you to go home!"

James had to intensify his efforts before the boy finally awoke from his deep slumber, opening his eyes with a startled look, first of confusion, struggling to recall where he was, then terror. James looked away in shame, realizing HE was the source of the boy's fear.

"It's okay, Elijah, I'm not going to hurt you," James said comfortingly. "It's time for you to go, before your mother and brother get too worried about you."

James realized the words probably sounded hollow and absurd to the boy's ears.

Elijah sat up in the bed, rubbed his eyes and looked around the room like he was lost.

"After you've dressed," James instructed, "take the stairs and exit out the front doors. Please be careful that nobody sees you."

"Yes, Massuh, I'll be careful, Massuh," Elijah replied as if talking in his sleep.

He stumbled out of bed in a sleepy daze and began hurriedly putting on the clothes that were still where he'd left them when ordered to strip the night before.

James hoped it was just his guilty imagination, but he thought to himself that the boy looked lost and sad, like a mere shell of the animated, talkative boy that had first entered his room. Deep down James knew it was too late, but he wanted to say something kind to Elijah, something to conclude things between them on a positive note.

"Oh, and Elijah...." James added, as the boy started to leave the room. "I didn't fully introduce myself to you last night. My name is James Stampley. You can call me Ja....Master James," James said, catching himself before committing to an informality he might later regret.

"Yes, Massuh James," Elijah replied impatiently, looking at the floor, before dashing out the bedroom door.

James sat alone for a moment on the edge of the bed, naked and disheveled, asking himself what the hell it was he'd just done. The smell of anal sex and Elijah's skin still lingered in the air, stirring little spasms of sadness and longing in James only seconds after the slave boy's abrupt departure.

Although he felt foolish for thinking it, James had to admit that a part of him already missed his slave boy's presence.

For the rest of that day, James's emotional anguish was excruciating.

For hours at a time, James could think of nothing but the brutality with which he had treated Elijah, and the emotional scars it must have inflicted on him. He thought with astonishment of how easily he'd succumbed to temptation, treating Elijah like a brute beast whose only purpose was to satisfy the cravings of its Master - simply because the laws of the corrupt country in which he lived tolerated, even encouraged, such behavior. He even briefly considered the idea of freeing Elijah and his family as absolution for the awful way he'd treated the boy, going so far as to compose half a letter to a local attorney experienced in the legal complexities of manumissions, before tearing it in two and telling himself the matter needed more time for reflection.

By far the worst part of the day, however, was enduring Mr. Potter's cocky, teasing looks over dinner. Mr. Potter seemed to find it especially amusing to lick his lips and make crude suggestive gestures in Abel's direction every time the oblivious houseboy left the dining room to fetch more wine or clear their plates, as if to say, "Now there, Little Jimmy, is another fine specimen of nigger-boy pussy -- why not take HIM to your bed tonight???"

Despite James's visible discomfort with the subject, Mr. Potter's teasing only intensified while the two men enjoyed their after-dinner smoke on the front verandah.

"So, Little Jimmy, how was your first piece of nigger pussy?" he asked bluntly. "Nigger-BOY pussy, I reckon I should say," he added with an obnoxious laugh. "Now didn't I tell you ain't nothin' in this world like nigger pussy? Hell, give me some tight nigger-girl cunt over a white broad's sloppy pussy any day."

"I'm not proud of what I did last night," James replied, fidgeting with his glass of wine. "And if you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about it."

Mr. Potter stopped grinning for a moment.

"Come on now, Little Jimmy, don't go beatin' yourself over the head over what you done to the nigger," he said, patting his deceased friend's nephew on the knee. For a brief moment, a look almost resembling human sympathy seemed to pass over his face.

"Ain't no point to feelin' guilty over somethin' as natural as the sun settin' at night and risin' in the mornin'. Niggers is just doin' what God made 'em for. God made the white man smarter and stronger, and then gave him niggers just like he gave him beasts and women, to work for him and do his bidding. Ain't no harm in treatin' 'em like animals if that's what they is."

Mr. Potter paused, taking a deep reflective puff on his cigar and looking west toward the setting sun.

"Don't worry, Little Jimmy," he continued. "The guilt'll go away by and by. Give it a couple weeks, maybe three. You'll get used to the idea of a different nigger-boy every night soon enough."

"What if I don't WANT to get used to it?!?" James snapped, looking up from scowling at the porch. He was simultaneously irritated by and envious of Mr. Potter's amoral attitude toward the whole thing.

"Shiiiiiit, son, once upon a time I thought the same damn thing, believe it or not," Mr. Potter smiled, although his tone of voice turned the calmest and most sympathetic James had ever heard it. Perhaps he's had too much wine, James thought.

"You ain't the first to feel that way, and you sure as hell ain't gonna be the last."

Mr. Potter paused, as if deciding whether or not to continue.

"I remember my first nigger pussy like it was yesterday. My Papa gave it to me as a present when I turned 15 - probably same as his Papa'd done for him, I imagine. Didn't even take it from our stock neither - got her from a special Atlanta auction, I believe."

He took James's look of reluctant curiosity as encouragement to continue with his story.

"Took me to the overseer quarters late that night, and there she was, standin' there shakin' and cryin', surrounded by a good five or six of my Papa's overseers. Poor little nigger couldn't of been any older than 13. Black as midnight, too, real pretty little thing. They'd pushed one of the overseer's beds to the middle of the room, and the little nigger was already naked and tied by her wrists to the bedposts. 'Virgin same as you,' Papa told me. 'Now strip, fuck her, and prove your manhood to my men.' Those was his exact words. I reckon he figured the plantation would be mine soon enough, and what better way to prove my worth to my future employees than rapin' a little nigger girl right in front of their very eyes? Then the bastard up and left me in the room with 'em. 'Fore he left, he told 'em they could take whatever I left over, but warned, 'Any of you touch my boy, I'll rip your tongue out and hang you with it same as I'd hang a nigger.'"

Mr. Potter laughed bitterly, shaking his head and taking a nervous puff on his cigar.

"My old man left me to prove my manhood, and all's I could keep from doin' was pissin' my pants. Hell, I was probably more scared of being bare-ass-naked in front of Papa's men than I was of tryin' to fuck pussy for the first time. And somethin' didn't feel right in my gut 'bout the whole thing. I gotta admit, pretty as the little nigger's body looked to my horny teenaged dick, I felt sorta bad for her. The nigger bein' my own age and all, and layin' there blubberin' her eyes out and kickin' up her feet, lookin' like she'd seen Lucifer himself come up outta Hell."

Mr. Potter's voice sounded distant and resentful; for a moment he seemed transformed into the scared 15-year-old boy of that late night over four decades ago.

"I even tried to leave, but my son-of-a-bitch Papa'd locked the door on me. I realized that was Papa's way of makin' me into a man. I knew if I backed out I'd never be anything more than a bitch or a nigger in my Papa's eyes, and the eyes of his men. So I whipped out my dick and fucked the little nigger all the same. Fucked her while my Papa's men stood around the bed jackin' their dicks - hell, some of them cocksuckers was probably turned on more by the sight of my naked ass than the actual nigger-girl. Papa wouldn't have said nothin' 'bout it if he didn't have no reason to worry."

Mr. Potter chuckled to himself, finding the thought of his Papa's overseers lusting over his teenaged buttocks strange, funny, and flattering all at the same time.

James didn't want to admit it, but he found his cock lengthening at the image of the horny overseers jacking off to the sight of their Master's teenage-boy-ass pumping up and down into the virgin folds of Negro-girl flesh beneath him.

"The second I was finished, one of them horny bastards climbed right back on top of the little nigger to take my place. Takin' turns like. And Papa didn't come back for me till each of 'em had his way with her at least twice. Poor little nigger probably took a dozen or more loads up inside her virgin pussy that night. When they was done with her pussy they flipped her over and pounded her ass just as many times. Poor thing was nearly passed out, the men's juices oozing out both holes by the time they was done with her. And fuck if I can ever forget the look on that nigger-girl's face. Gave me nightmares for months."

Mr. Potter's voice trailed off and for a moment he seemed to forget James's presence beside him.

James's dick was still semi-hard, but his heart went out to the sensitive teenage boy trapped inside the gruff man smoking next to him.

But several moments later, Mr. Potter's emotional candor disappeared as suddenly as it had materialized.

As if startled into a recollection of the manly, racist facade he had to maintain in order to preserve his pride as a Southern gentleman, Mr. Potter took an aggressive puff on his cigar and declared, "But that was a hell of a long time ago, Little Jimmy. I only told all that to let you know I can guess what it is you're feelin' inside. But that it's a fuckin' waste of time and energy. Only reason I felt bad at the time was cuz I was lookin' at things all wrong, see??? I was viewin' the little nigger girl like a human, almost like an equal. But what Papa was aimin' to teach me is that niggers AIN'T human, and they sure as hell ain't our equals. They ain't nothing more than property - goods to buy, use, and sell. Soon's you look at it the right way, you'll wipe that scowl clean off your face, and learn there ain't nothin' better than Georgia livin'. It just takes some time, that's all. Soon enough you'll find the cryin' and beggin's all part of the fun."

James nodded distractedly, and took another sip of his wine. He no longer had the will to argue with Mr. Potter.

Despite his resistance to the places his imagination was taking him, James was already picturing ELIJAH in the black slave girl's place, wrists tied to the bed-posts in the dirty overseer quarters of the Potter plantation, only thrown on his stomach instead of his back while the Master's son and half a dozen lecherous overseers filled his ass repeatedly and mercilessly with their runny cum.

He felt an urgent desire to run upstairs and masturbate before allowing the previous night's demons to overtake him once again.

"I'm afraid the wine, your story, or a combination of the two have made me ill, Mr. Potter, and I must retire early," James lied.

Mr. Potter grinned, seeing through the young man's weak excuse. "Sure enough, Little Jimmy. Abel did put out some mighty strong wine tonight."

"I'll be sure to think on what you've told me," James declared as he put out his cigar and set down his glass of wine. With a nod goodnight, he rushed off the verandah and up to his bedroom.

"Now that last statement ain't a lie," Mr. Potter thought to himself with an amused chuckle.

On the second day following James's encounter with Elijah, vivid daydreams of his sexual conquest began to crowd out guilty thoughts of the boy's damaged innocence.

James realized that temptations to sins already committed are ten times more powerful than temptations to sins only imagined. It was easy enough to deny himself pleasure in the abstract, but now that he KNEW what it felt like to swirl his tongue around a boy's mouth, to feel a virgin tongue taking its first tentative licks of his dick, to have a slave-boy's untouched asshole slowly surrender its virginity to the persistent prodding and pushing of his cock - the temptation to experience those ecstasies AGAIN was maddening.

Only intensifying this temptation was the knowledge that the pleasures he'd experienced that night with Elijah were right at his fingertips. All he had to do was say the word and they could be instantly and permanently integrated into his daily routine.

James was also surprised to find that a kind of delirious need and jealousy had crept into his longing for Elijah. He found himself wondering what the boy was doing at any given moment - playing "catch a nigger" with the other pickaninnies? splashing around in the creek with the other boys? hunting for squirrels or rabbits? sleeping? laughing? crying?

When James wondered these things, he'd be overcome with loneliness and anger that the boy was living life WITHOUT HIM. After the addicting power James felt through his sexual domination of the boy, this detachment from the boy's everyday life was a lack of control, a powerlessness he found he didn't like at all.

Sometimes James's jealousy would take an even more irrational form. Even though he knew without a doubt he'd been the first to touch Elijah sexually, James began wondering if Elijah was being enjoyed by one of his overseers, or perhaps one of the older teenaged bucks. In one of his more paranoid moments, the thought even crossed his mind that perhaps Elijah's own mother was using him as a sexual substitute for her sold-away husband. He knew deep down the idea was outrageous, but his body still shuddered with jealousy at the thought.

He blamed these strange feelings on Mr. Potter's story from the evening before. Although the image of Elijah in the Negro girl's place was intensely arousing, it also inspired a fierce feeling of possessiveness mingled with lust at the idea of his slave- boy's body being enjoyed by numerous other men.

Once James's passions had been reawakened by his memories and possessiveness, the all-too-familiar rationalizing began. Sometimes James persuaded himself that he truly wanted to KNOW Elijah - not only his body, but also his thoughts, fears, hobbies, and dreams.

At other times James would barter with his conscience. Just one week, he'd offer, then never again. Just one more week, and then he'd free the boy, his brother, and his mother. He even tried telling himself that a week of unpleasant and degrading sexual services for Elijah would only make him value his eventual freedom all the more.

Through various acrobatics of mental diplomacy between his dick and his conscience, James assented to ONE WEEK with Elijah - no more, no less. He would be kinder, gentler, and spare the boy the verbal insults. He would free the boy along with the rest of his slaves at the end of that week.

It was about an hour after supper when James reached this decision. He'd been enjoying his post-dinner smoke alone, since Mr. Potter had been called away to deal with a captured runaway from his own plantation.

All that remained to be worked out was an arrangement with Abel that would give James undisturbed privacy with Elijah for hours at a time. Knowing his own fickle, impulsive nature, James leapt from his chair on the verandah and walked to the back of the house, looking for Abel. He wanted to finalize the plans before changing his mind.

The kitchen was spotless and empty. He heard Abraham's loud coughing coming from a room to his left - the room shared by Abel and his parents. Abraham was still sick and unable to serve in his normal capacity as Head Houseboy, leaving the responsibilities to his less experienced but more than competent teenaged son.

James heard low, sweet singing coming from outside. Walking through the kitchen and out on the back-porch, he saw Becky taking down clothes from a line where they'd been hanging all afternoon.

"Good evening, Master James," Becky greeted him, smiling.

She was a pretty, light-skinned woman in her late thirties, slightly overweight now but James guessed she'd been quite a beauty in her younger years. Her light skin also suggested to him that Abel was probably a quadroon (one-fourth black), perhaps even an octoroon (one-eighth black) rather than the mulatto (one-half black) he'd originally assumed him to be.

Of course on some level these distinctions were absurd, since the laws of the South lumped even octoroons, often indistinguishable in appearance from full-blooded whites, into the same inferior, despised category of "nigger."

But on another level, these categories had a great deal of social significance to whites and blacks alike. Considered by whites to be smarter and more physically appealing than darker-skinned Negroes - and also due to the largely unspoken awareness that they were almost always the progeny of the Master or one of his sons -- mulattos, quadroons, and octoroons almost always held positions as "house slaves." Darker- skinned Africans toiling in the fields bitterly envied these positions because they typically involved lighter physical labor and included better meals and living conditions, usually rooms in the Master's house itself.

"Good evening, Becky. Delicious supper tonight, as always," James said, smiling.

"Oh, go on, now, Master James, you tell me the same thing every night," Becky replied, playfully waving him away.

James had noticed soon after his arrival how Abel and his parents spoke "proper" English, at least while in his presence. He guessed this was probably due to them having better access to education and more exposure to whites. Although the grammar of his house-slaves far surpassed anything he'd ever heard come out of Mr. Potter's mouth, James thought with amusement.

"That's because I MEAN it every night, Becky," James insisted warmly.

Other than Elijah, Becky and her family were the only slaves James had really talked with one-on-one, and something approaching affection had developed between them.

"I was looking for Abel," he continued. "Any idea where I might find him?"

"Oh, yes, Master James," Becky answered, taking what looked like one of Abel's white collared shirts off the clothesline. "He's taking his bath before bed."

James blushed at Becky's surprising announcement, and his dick twitched involuntarily.

Becky paused and looked at James, worried. "I'm sorry, sir, he told me he was done for the day and you didn't need him any more, so I thought it'd be okay for him to clean himself up. You know how dirty a teenage boy can get, even when he doesn't play outside like the other boys."

"Oh, everything's fine, Becky," James assured his Negro cook. "I just needed to make some last-minute changes to my schedule, that's all. The storage-room off the kitchen to my left, right?"

It was a stupid question, because James knew exactly where it was, remembering it from his second-day tour with Mr. Potter. He took his own baths in a private room in another wing of the house. Apparently regular baths were perks for the lighter- skinned slaves.

"You can't miss it. Oh, and Master James...." Becky added, as James turned to go back in the kitchen. "I hope you have a big appetite tomorrow night, because I'm cooking up your favorite: fried dumplings!"

"My stomach's growling already," James laughed, waving goodbye and returning to the kitchen.

He hoped his friendliness had masked the blush on his cheeks and churning of his stomach ever since hearing that the stunning 16-year-old houseboy Abel was just a few feet away, naked and bathing. He knew he could just as easily have told Becky to send her son to him when he was finished with his bath and fully clothed, but he couldn't resist this lucky opportunity to see the boy naked. Until now the only skin he'd seen on Abel's body was his face and hands, since the rest was always covered in crisp, ironed serving-attire, and he felt a delirious craving to see more.

Stay focused, James coached himself. One week with ELIJAH is all you get, and that is your sole purpose for this errand.

James noticed that the storage-room door was partly ajar. It won't hurt to sneak a peek, he told himself. I AM the Master of this Plantation, after all -- I can do anything I damn well please.

Pushing the door open a few more inches, James saw a large rectangular pantry- room with wooden shelves of supplies covering three of the four walls. Large barrels sat on the floor around the edge of the room - James guessed they contained sugar, flour, beer, wine, and other items consumed by the household in mass quantities.

In the center of the room was a circular metallic washtub, probably four feet deep and five feet in diameter. And standing straight up in the tub, facing away from James, was the most breathtaking specimen of the teenage male form he'd ever seen.

Abel was completely naked, scrubbing his chest, neck, shoulders, and back with a soapy bristled brush as steaming, sudsy water dripped off of his glistening golden skin. The 16-year-old houseboy's body was youthful but much more developed than Elijah's scrawny boyish body, with slight adolescent muscles flexing down his back and buttocks as he scrubbed.

James's eyes were magnetically drawn to Abel's midsection, where two muscular mounds of firm, mulatto flesh protruded in almost perfect semi-circles from the boy's back. Completely hairless, Abel's ass was more perfect and inviting than James had ever guessed based on the shapes made out beneath the boy's silk dress- pants. Abel's white ancestry was clear in his face and light skin, but his Negro ancestry was unmistakable in the firm bubble-butt.

James's dick began to stiffen in his pants. The fact that he was spying on this boy's private moment made the sight all the more appealing. He felt a strange and surprising compulsion to run toward the boy, drop to his knees, spread the boy's gorgeous ass-cheeks with his hands, and run his tongue up and down the previously- untouched crack, gradually pushing forward to taste what he could only imagine was a delicious cherry.

James considered the very real possibility that he could order the boy out of the bath, bend him over one of the wooden barrels, and enter the boy's virgin hole right then and there. The idea only seemed problematic when he remembered that both of the boy's parents were only yards away and could discover them at any moment. James realized this was an odd concern; he was the Master, after all. Their son was HIS property, to do with what he pleased. Hell, he could fuck the boy in front of one or both of his parents, and they wouldn't be able to do a damn thing about it. James cringed at his own monstrous fantasies. He LIKED Becky and Abraham, he told himself. They hadn't done anything to deserve such mistreatment, and he dreaded the messiness of screams and tears and drama he'd have to deal with should Becky discover her only son being raped by the Master in the pantry.

Besides, ELIJAH'S was the body he desired tonight, the goal that had led him to this moment in the first place.

James's conflicted thoughts were interrupted when Abel turned around and caught his Master staring. The boy's eyes lit up in surprise, and he dropped the brush into the water beneath him. He immediately moved to cover his crotch with his hands.

"Master James!" the boy cried out in surprise, blushing and looking down to make certain his privates were covered.

This position gave James a chance to admire the boy's taut chest, his stomach rippled with the beginnings of six pronounced muscles, his slender arms, lanky legs, and the tiny, dark-brown specks of nipples against his light-golden skin.

"I'm....I'm sorry, Abel, I didn't realize you were washing," James lied, looking at the walls to avoid embarrassing the boy.

"It's alright, Master James," Abel said, smiling. "You just scared the bejesus out of me, that's all!"

James remembered noticing Abel's winning personality when the boy greeted him upon his arrival to Stampley Plantation. Abel had been a bit wary of him then, but quickly warmed up to his new master in the nearly two weeks following.

"I almost thought I was going to faint for a second," the boy laughed. "Like the women in those books Master Walt taught me how to read."

Still modestly covering his crotch, the boy sank down into the washtub in a crouched sitting position, facing James.

"What do you need me to do, Master James?" Abel asked eagerly, his piercing green eyes sparkling with energy.

If only you knew, James sighed to himself.

"I thought I'd done everything on Papa's list," the boy continued, wrinkling up his face in the cutest puzzled expression. "It's a lot to remember, but I'm trying my best, Master James."

Abel's eagerness to please made James smile, and caused his still semi-hard dick to twitch again.

The boy continued, barely coming up for air: "Your chamber-pot's cleaned out, and I poured fresh water for your nighttime wash. Did I not leave out enough cigars for your evening smoke, Master James? Or would you like more wine? Just let me get dressed, and I'll bring you more wine...."

"No, no, no, nothing like that Abel," James interrupted, laughing. "You haven't done a single thing wrong. In fact, you've been doing a terrific job - even Mr. Potter thinks so."

Abel blushed a deep scarlet across his golden skin at the compliment.

"I just wanted to make a few....ummmm....changes to the schedule," James explained.

"Yes, Master???" Abel asked, and as he listened he lifted up his arms and began absent-mindedly scrubbing at the small patches of dark silky hair in his armpits. James desperately wished he could see the treasure hidden just beneath the sudsy water.

"In order to ensure my privacy, I'd like you to conduct your upstairs tasks ONLY between 3 p.m. and 9 p.m."

Abel seemed puzzled, but nodded his head.

"In other words," James emphasized. "You are strictly forbidden from the upstairs rooms at any other time."

"Yes, Master, that's easy enough to remember, sir," Abel assented, smiling. "But what about your morning wash and chamber-pot?" he asked, seeming sincerely concerned.

"Just leave two pitchers of water in the evening, and that should be plenty," James instructed. "You can empty the chamber-pot in the afternoon. Do you have any questions?"

"No, Master James, I'll do just as you say, Master. You don't have to tell me to do a thing twice," Abel assured him.

"Well, good night then, Abel," James said slowly, reluctant to leave the naked bathing beauty before him. But the promise of the night's more immediate rewards urged him on.

"Good night, Master James," Abel said in his cute adolescent voice, still focused on his battle with the dirt under his armpits.

Having overcome one temptation, it was now time for James to give in to another.

All he had to do now was visit the overseer quarters, find the ugly overseer he'd seen two nights earlier, and discreetly ask him to find the same boy and send him to his Master's room.

Visions of Abel's gloriously naked body flashed through James's mind as he walked toward the overseer cabins, but he knew the night had other pleasures in store for him.

When Elijah stumbled home to the slave quarters two days earlier, he felt the way he guessed some of the slave men and women felt around Christmastime after consuming too much alcohol. The world around him seemed to be spinning, and he found it difficult to walk straight.

In less than half a day, the boy's world had been transformed from a place of relative safety and contentment to a place of danger and fear. He had left his home a carefree boy who loved playing with friends and being near family, but now returned to it a sad and scared young man with an aching asshole, knowledgeable of perversions his former self could have never imagined.

As Elijah walked back to the slave quarters, he caught himself looking worriedly over his shoulder every few feet, scared that Master James might drag him back to the big house at any minute.

He could still feel some of the Master's juices sloshing around his insides, so his first stop was one of the five outhouses on the southern edge of the slave quarters. After emptying his bowels, he hiked to the creek, where he hoped to wash and make it home before the other slave children woke up and started playing outdoors. There was a time he would have boasted to his friends of his personal invitation to the Master's house, but now he viewed it as something secretive and shameful.

Stripping off his soiled clothes, Elijah bathed more aggressively than he ever had in his entire life. He scratched and scrubbed at his skin like a wild animal, desperately trying to rinse all traces and odors of the older white man from his skinny body.

When he returned home, he found Thad sitting at the table, sound asleep with his small head buried in his arms. Their mother had already left for the fields, and Thad had obviously been trying his hardest to stay awake for his older brother's homecoming.

Tears welled up in Elijah's eyes when he recalled the fun of their checkers game the night before, a symbol for him of a better time that was now forever lost.

Closing the front door quietly, he walked over to Thad and carried him gently to their bed in the corner, collapsing on it with him. Neither boy having had much sleep the night before, they slept there together all morning and afternoon. Elijah's arms spooned Thad much like his Master had spooned him earlier that morning.

At one point Thad stirred and sleepily asked, "You okay, 'Lij?" Elijah responded by squeezing his brother's arm and nuzzling closer.

Some of the slave children knocked on the door, curious about their playmates' unusual absence; when nobody answered, they ran off laughing, assuming the two boys had probably just gone fishing.

When Phoebe returned home around sundown, Thad was up and preparing dinner, but Elijah was still on the bed, curled up in a fetal position.

Tears immediately began running down Phoebe's cheeks, and she ran to cradle her eldest boy in her arms. She'd promised herself she wouldn't cry, but the sight of her shell-shocked son lying there looking so lost and helpless was too much for a mother's heart to bear.

Elijah melted under his mother's touch, and his young body began sobbing convulsively. The comfort of his mother's arms allowed him, however briefly, to be a child again, and he released all the emotions built up over the past day.

Phoebe rocked Elijah in her arms, whispering soothing words in his ears while Thad watched them both, confused and helpless. It didn't seem to him like Elijah had been whipped, as his young mind had feared, and everything about his clothes and appearance seemed normal. Thad had no idea what had happened to his older brother in the new Master's house, but he knew it must have been really bad, maybe even WORSE than a whipping.

"Now, now, Elijah," Phoebe said softly. "You'se alive, son, and I thank the Lord in heaven for that much."

Elijah gasped for air in the midst of his tears, trying to calm his sobs.

"Don't forget what I told you, son," Phoebe continued. "White folks can be mighty wicked sometimes, 'specially those with slaves. But it don't matter what white folks do to us, they can't take away the love we feel in our hearts. They can starve us, whip us, sell us and....hurt us, but none of that will EVER stop me from lovin' you and Thad, you hear???"

And with that, Phoebe got up from Elijah's bed, went over to examine Thad's supper preparations, and did her best to return to their normal routine. She knew her son had needed her comforting arms, but at the same time she didn't want to coddle him. She didn't know EXACTLY what Elijah had been through the night before, but she knew that whatever it was, he was certain to see much worse in his future. The life of a Negro slave was difficult - Lord knows she knew that firsthand - but licking your wounds and feeling sorry for yourself didn't do anything but make things worse. As much anguish as it caused her to see her son's wilted spirit and hollow eyes, she was determined to continue with life as if nothing had happened.

Both mother and son breathed a huge sigh of relief when no overseer came knocking on their door that night.

Elijah remained in bed all the next day, other than a couple visits to the outhouses behind their row of cabins. Sometimes he slept, at other times he stared at the cabin's walls and tried to ward off flashbacks of the older white man gagging his mouth and mounting him from behind.

Normally Elijah was the first to leap from bed in the morning, eager to play with the other slave children, but today he felt weary and disinterested. His eyes had been opened to a strange, confusing world where white men enjoyed licking inside Negro boys' mouths, grabbing them by the hair and calling them "niggers," and shoving their dicks into their shit-holes. Suddenly the world of silly games and splashing around in the creek with the other kids seemed small and childish to him, remote and inaccessible.

Every hour or two Thad would run back to the cabin from playing with the other children, and beg Elijah to join him and the others. His brother's strange behavior worried him, and today's games just didn't seem as much fun without Elijah's energy and creativity.

"Come on, 'Lij, come outside, won't you???" Thad pleaded. "It ain't no fun without you. And Lil Rooster's cheatin' again at 'catch a nigger', but I know he won't try it if you was around to catch 'im. Plus Moses and me found us a new fishin' spot we wanna show you."

But Elijah just shooed Thad away and turned toward the wall.

"Suit yourself, 'Lij," Thad said dejectedly. "But all of us misses you real bad. I told 'em you was sick, but I ain't tell 'em 'bout the new Massuh askin' for you. They just think you sick."

Elijah was in the same pitiful position when Phoebe returned from the fields.

"Get your butt outta bed, young man!" she ordered. "You think you a rich little white boy that can lazy around as he pleases??? Get up and help your Mama with supper."

Elijah rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and reluctantly obeyed his mother's wishes. He had to admit it felt good to stretch his stiff limbs and get his mind off his troubles for a little while.

After supper, Phoebe talked him into joining her and Thad in a game of marbles they'd made, like the checkers game, out of pebbles. For a good hour he enjoyed a brief escape from his sorrow, even laughing in spite of himself at his mother's jokes, or one of Thad's gleeful expressions when he'd win a round.

This pleasant domestic scene was rudely interrupted, however, when Mr. Snopes flung open the front door without knocking.

"Master wants the boy again," he growled. "Guess the boy's got talent," he added, smirking and obscenely licking his lips. "Master said the boy knows his way to the big house."

Phoebe's heart sank within her. She knew some white men only liked the thrill of a conquest and frequently used a particular Negro girl only once before moving on to others. She'd hoped this would be the case with Elijah, but Snopes's ugly presence proved otherwise.

The smile on Elijah's face from moments before faded immediately, and the pit in his stomach returned with a vengeance. His young body shuddered in anticipation of another violation. Unlike two nights earlier, there was now no confusion, no hopeful curiosity that a visit to the big house might be more adventure than nightmare. He knew what was in store for him, and resigned himself to his fate.

Looking first at his mother, then his little brother, in a gloomy and wordless farewell, Elijah got up without protest and followed Mr. Snopes out of the cabin.

As he sat on the edge of his bed waiting for Elijah's arrival, James felt a confidence he hadn't known two nights earlier.

Now that he'd pushed through the initial embarrassment of requesting the repeat visit, and rationalized away his shame at forcing Elijah into a situation the boy most certainly dreaded, James's mind and body felt freed up to enjoy the night's sexual adventures.

He also liked the idea that Elijah now KNEW what was expected of him, allowing James to enjoy the boy's body without a lengthy, awkward "seduction."

The moment Elijah stepped sheepishly through the bedroom door, closing it quietly behind him, James leapt off the bed and threw himself at the boy's stiffened body like a stallion in heat.

In his mind he'd planned to make pleasant conversation first, but the sight of the boy's scrawny brown body clothed in tattered rags inflamed him with an impatient lust.

James seized Elijah's body in his arms and smothered his head and face with urgent kisses. He felt like a man drinking his first drops of water after months in a barren desert. He licked and slurped at the boy's forehead, eyebrows, earlobes, neck, Adam's apple, and nose, relishing the delicious Negro taste of the boy's sweaty brown skin.

Elijah stood awkwardly in the midst of this onslaught, eyes closed and surrendered to his Master's gross affections.

Sucking on Elijah's thick, pliant lips, James half-carried, half-pushed his slave- boy's young body toward the bed. He collapsed onto the bed on his back and pulled Elijah's body on top of his.

As James continued devouring Elijah's face, now shiny with James's own saliva, his hands greedily roamed up and down the boy's backside, spending extra time cupping and kneading the boy's round, fleshy buttocks through the material of his tattered pants.

Elijah lay like a dead-weight on his Master's body, still uncomfortable with the weird feeling of having a grown man's tongue licking around his mouth, and his hands touching all over his body. He could feel James's rock-hard dick grinding into his own soft dick through their pants, and began dreading the searing pain it would cause as soon as it found its greedy way to his asshole.

James suddenly reversed positions by flipping Elijah onto his back. Now James lay on top of him, still exploring the boy's mouth with his tongue and grinding his hips against the boy's stomach and crotch.

Although he'd already seen the beauty hidden beneath his slave-boy's rags, James craved the sight of the boy's naked flesh as intensely as he had the first time. Pulling briefly away from kissing Elijah's mouth, James began hurriedly unbuttoning the boy's shirt, yanking it out from beneath him and tossing it to the floor. He gasped at the beautiful sight of the boy's skinny, heaving chest laid bare before him, but continued to remove Elijah's shoes, then unfasten Elijah's pants, pulling them down off of him and sending them flying to join the shirt and shoes on the floor beside the bed.

Even though Elijah knew what to expect this time around, the feeling of being stripped naked by a strange older man was still uncomfortable and unpleasant. It made him feel weak and helpless. He turned to look blankly out the window as James stood beside the bed and began removing his own clothing piece by piece. If he was lucky, Elijah thought, this might be over faster than the first time, allowing him to return home or at least find escape in sleep, even if it was in the Master's bed.

Now completely naked, James climbed back on top of his naked brown-skinned slave, burying his head in the crevices of the boy's neck and rubbing his fully erect dick into the boy's stomach and against his nappy black pubic hairs. Sometimes it nudged at Elijah's own sleeping six inches of Negro cock, and sometimes it poked even lower into the crevice of the boy's warm ass-crack.

As he kissed and grinded into the boy, his fingers toyed with Elijah's tangled crispy hair, savoring its unique feel against his skin. James filled the room with the sounds of his pants and moans of pleasure, but Elijah remained eerily stiff and silent.

Eager to explore Elijah's fresh young body in a way he hadn't taken time to during their first encounter, James moved his mouth slowly down the length of the boy's body. He paused to taste the boy's wide, dark nipples, which stiffened under the attention of James's tongue. He continued his descent, stopping to lap hungrily at Elijah's cute, protruding belly button, rubbing his cheeks against the warm, smooth-brown skin of the boy's stomach. He crept slightly lower, pressing his nose into the boy's curly black pubic hairs, taking in a whiff of their sweaty, intoxicating scent.

James pulled his head back and stared for a moment at Elijah's impressive manhood, at least six inches but still soft, hanging heavily to the side above two surprisingly large testicles. In his fumbling eagerness two nights before, James had denied himself the exploration of the boy's massive dick, but he wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.

He lifted the heavy piece of flesh from its resting place, savoring the feeling of its smooth fleshiness beneath his fingers. Holding the boy's black manhood in his delicate white fingers sent shivers down James's spine.

So THIS is the origin of so much controversy, James thought to himself. So much envy and strife. And it's no wonder, he concluded. If this slave-boy's dick was the average, the superiority of the black man's genitals was certainly no myth.

James also got goose bumps when he considered the great taboo he was violating, far beyond the same-sex nature of this encounter. The black male's phallus was strictly forbidden to white women (and by extension, white sodomites like himself); it was something to be castrated, symbolically and sometimes literally; something primitive, dirty and disgusting to be feared, reviled, and turned into the butt of jokes. Yet here James lay with his face just inches from an African dick, eager to worship it in a way that transgressed all racial and sexual boundaries.

Elijah's eyes opened wide when he felt his Master take his warm, limp dick in his hands. He'd touched his own dick plenty of times since that day in the barn after catching Laney in the creek, but this was the first time ANOTHER person's hand was wrapped around his dick.

It was a completely new sensation, strange and tingly. Elijah's surprise only increased when he felt his Master begin licking his balls the same eager way he'd licked around inside his mouth. It was a weird feeling, ticklish but not unpleasant.

But Elijah's head jerked off the bed to look down in amazement when James actually placed his lips over the head of Elijah's own still-sleeping dick. He couldn't believe what was happening. Master James was beginning to do the same degrading thing he'd forced Elijah to do two nights ago. It didn't make any sense. Although he hadn't understood its purpose two nights ago, he quickly observed that his own mouth around his Master's dick gave his Master great pleasure. But here was his Master....doing the work of a slave??? Was Master James going to give HIM pleasure? Or did he just enjoy sucking on Negro boys' dicks the same way he liked feeling their hair and eating their faces? The shocking reversal of roles was a new thrill for Elijah, and caused his comatose cock to twitch awake in his Master's warm mouth.

The taste of Elijah's dick was sweaty and odd to James, but the novelty of the sensation and awareness of its taboo urged him on. He took all six soft inches in his mouth without difficulty, burying his nose against the boy's dark pubic hairs. A strong, sharp odor emanated from the boy's crotch, unlike anything James had ever smelled before, even from his own sweaty crotch. Negro dick must have a smell and taste all its own, James thought to himself.

James swirled his tongue around the base of Elijah's dick, then tightened his thin wet lips as he retreated back to the boy's dickhead. He repeated the motion, and this time felt the boy's cock jerk a couple times, hesitant but responsive.

With his mouth still enveloping the boy's dick, James glanced up to see Elijah watching his every move with curiosity and wide-eyed wonder. This reminder of the boy's innocence turned him on even more, and he increased the speed and intensity of his sucking.

James watched in his own amazement as the boy's dick sprung to life, thickening and hardening into a throbbing, massive beast. James lapped at the boy's balls and licked up and down the dick's length, encouraging its speedy growth. In less than a minute, Elijah's dick was a breathtaking nine inches, a huge monster that seemed out of place attached to the boy's scrawny 14-year-old body.

This new size and shape made it more difficult for James to fit in his mouth. Holding the throbbing dark meat by the base, James could only force half of its length into his mouth before choking from the intrusion. He continued slurping it in and out of his mouth as best he could, encouraged by Elijah's raspy, reluctant moans of pleasure.

Elijah was guiltily enjoying these new sensations. It was the first time in both encounters he'd felt anything resembling physical pleasure. Part of him wanted to resist the feelings he was being made to feel by the same man who had caused him so much physical and emotional pain. But his dick responded against his will, and Elijah had to admit that the feeling of his Master's hot mouth engulfing his prick was pleasurable beyond belief. It felt similar to his own hand pumping up and down in the barn, only hotter, wetter, and ten times better.

Plus he got a secret thrill from looking down and seeing his MASTER'S head bobbing up and down on his sweaty teenage dick, no different than he'd been forced to do as a slave just two nights earlier.

He also liked the slurping sounds of his Master's lips going up and down his shaft, the sounds of his strained breathing, and the occasional choking noises he'd make when taking too much dick in his mouth. Elijah was tempted to place his hands on the back of his Master's head, just as his Master had done to him, but he knew it was too risky. He didn't want to do anything that might interrupt the intense and mounting pleasure in his loins.

James was surprised by how much he enjoyed the feel of his slave-boy's thick dark meat pumping in and out of his mouth. The act had a forbidden submissive quality, to be sure, but it was also a subtle assertion of his control and domination of the boy equally powerful to anything he'd done two nights before. The intensity and duration of his slave-boy's pleasure was completely at James's mercy. Elijah's taut boyish body writhed and trembled under his manipulations. He could take Elijah to the brink of orgasm only to pull off and leave him begging for more.

James also got an erotic thrill from imagining his own mouth as a slave-girl's tight virgin pussy, sucking in the boy's literal manhood as that pussy would under different circumstances. He imagined Elijah in a field, or a barn, or a slave-cabin, pumping his adolescent cock into one of the Negro girls, making her moan in pleasure, perhaps even impregnating her with his hot shooting cum. But Elijah WASN'T enjoying such a scenario the way a normal Negro boy should be. Instead he was lying helplessly beneath a perverted older white man sucking greedily away at his virgin cock. And THAT was a kind of power as resonant and addicting as any other in James's mind.

Elijah's head now rested back on the bed, eyes closed in transcendent pleasure.

James pulled off the boy's dick to catch his breath, drool stretching between the dick and his chin. He took as much of Elijah's large balls in his mouth as he could, swirling his tongue against the soft dark skin.

Adventurous by nature, James licked slightly lower, up and down the boy's black taint, mostly smooth with darker-colored skin in the creases of the boy's legs and ass. Drawn by a musky, intoxicating aroma, James inched his tongue even lower, until he was licking dangerously close to the boy's tiny wrinkled asshole.

Elijah's eyes shot open in amazement. Surely his Master wasn't going to lick....THERE???

James himself was confused by the behavior. He remembered his sudden urge earlier that evening to rush forward and spread Abel's firm golden ass-cheeks with his tongue. Just days ago he would have found the idea distasteful, even disgusting - licking another male's asshole like nothing more than a dirty dog. But now the dark pucker between the boy's two perfect mounds attracted his tongue like a magnet. This was the most private and intimate part of a boy's body, after all, and he desperately wanted a taste.

James pushed Elijah's legs up and back, raising the boy's small ass to his hungry face. There was a distinct funky smell - not dirty, but not exactly clean either. A combination of dirt and sweat and the intestines hidden just beyond the tiny, tempting entrance. He took a long, teasing lick first across one brown ass-cheek, then the other. He swirled his tongue tentatively around the boy's tiny clenched asshole, then poked a couple quick times at its wrinkled blackish-grayish-purplish center.

The first tastes seemed okay, salty like the rest of the boy's body, only a different texture, and tangier. Aroused by this new forced intimacy with the boy's body, James began licking more aggressively, eventually lapping and slurping and sucking at Elijah's asshole like a pickaninny eating watermelon.

Elijah couldn't believe an older WHITE man would ever want to lick a Negro boy's dirty asshole. The idea of himself doing such a thing to another person, even a girl like Laney, made him want to throw up. But to his great surprise, the sensations his Master's actions were sending through his body were intensely pleasurable. Before two nights ago the only times he ever paid any attention to that part of his body was when he wiped with leaves or dried corncobs after taking a shit in the outhouse, and he certainly never imagined it could inspire interest from anybody else, let alone be capable of stimulating such arousal in his young body.

The white man's licking tickled at first, but as James's tongue became more aggressive and persistent, circling and probing the contracted ring of his anus, the feeling grew more pleasurable. Elijah's breathing grew heavier and his body squirmed involuntarily at the new sensations. He felt his asshole growing wetter and warmer, and he even felt the grown man's tongue begin pushing into him, just as his larger, harder dick had done two nights ago. Only this feeling was an ecstasy he'd never known existed, whereas the other was a painful nightmare.

James enjoyed tormenting his slave-boy by going back and forth between gulping down his throbbing nine inches and slobbering over his tight panting asshole. When his mouth was on the boy's dick, James could taste a sweet, sticky substance in his mouth, and knew the boy was ready to unleash a torrent of sperm any second. But just when the boy's dick would begin twitching in anticipation of orgasm, James would pull his mouth off and devote attention to licking his ass.

He could hear the frustration in Elijah's quiet sighs, moans and gasps, and got a devilish thrill from knowing the boy was too scared and powerless to protest. James's own dick was jutting straight out and dripping with precum, energized by this game of simultaneously worshipping and torturing his beautiful slave boy.

James's complete control in that moment reminded him that he OWNED Elijah, that the boy's own pleasure was fun to toy with, but that it was his OWN pleasure that mattered first and foremost.

The sight of the boy's tiny throbbing pucker, shiny and warm with saliva, eventually became too much for him. Without warning, James flipped Elijah over on his stomach and stuffed a pillow beneath him, forcing his boyish brown bubble-butt into the air.

A look of surprise and sudden anxiety replaced Elijah's look of bliss from just seconds earlier. His heart sank in dismay and disappointment at this sudden turn of events, but he knew there wasn't a thing he could do other than submit to the excruciating pain. This was his fate, what he'd known was coming all along; the rest had simply been a confusingly pleasant surprise. He had no choice but to grit his teeth, bury his head in the bed, and hope for a rapid conclusion to his Master's angry thrusting.

James looked down with curiosity and arousal at the reddish head of his rock-hard cock pressing up against the clenched resistance of Elijah's still-virgin-like asshole. The ass pounding of two nights earlier had done nothing to damage the boy's natural tightness. It took a brutal push to break past its stubborn seal, assisted by the slick wetness left over from James's own tongue and saliva.

Elijah screamed out in pain and immediately covered his head with a pillow. There was no crying tonight, as the pain was now expected, familiar, and inevitable.

James was also more merciful the second time around, taking his time. He looked down with wonder at his cock slowly forcing its way, inch-by-inch, deeper into Elijah's rectum.

Once he had all seven inches buried inside the boy, James savored the hot slurping wetness of the boy's guts. He pulled out just as slowly, his dick now covered in the slime of saliva and the boy's insides, watching the boy's anal ring gripping his cock as if it would never let go.

Then he pushed all the way back in, a little harder and faster this time, relishing the sound of Elijah's gasps of pain.

Elijah's pain wasn't as brutal and unfathomable as last time, but it was still searing and relentless. It sort of felt like he was taking a huge shit over and over again, only sometimes it burned against his insides. Sometimes Elijah could get used to taking his Master's dick when it was all the way in his ass, but the worst pain came when the older white man pulled nearly or all the way out, only to tear right back through the entrance to his tender aching hole.

Elijah still couldn't believe it - one minute he'd been enjoying a game of marbles with his mother and brother, and the next minute he had a huge white dick shoved into his shit-hole.

James's breathing grew heavier as his own body began to rise and fall, rise and fall, eventually ramming his dick into the boy's little body with furious speed and intensity. Like last time, James occasionally laid his body flat against the boy's back, the sweat of their bodies sticking together in the heat. He forced the boy's head to face to the side so that he could smother it with kisses and witness every time the boy's facial muscles tightened up in pain from another deep thrust.

No angry, hateful words this time; this encounter felt different somehow. James was content just to witness Elijah's complete and delightful surrendering of his teenage body to his Master's pleasure.

In fact, no words at all were exchanged between the Master and slave. Just James's grunts of pleasure and Elijah's cries of pain in his raspy adolescent voice.

Finding a guilty pleasure in Elijah's pained expressions, and sensing the boy's desire to hide his head in shame beneath the pillow, James decided to try a new position. His hard cock still impaling the boy's small ass, he turned the confused Elijah around on his back like he would a hog roasting on a skewer. This allowed James to force Elijah's legs up and spread-eagle into the air as he resumed slamming his dick in and out of the boy's tense body.

Elijah's dick had softened dramatically from the sudden pain of getting fucked, but Elijah's pleasure was now the farthest thing from James's mind. James loved to watch his own forehead drip sweat into Elijah's face while he fucked furiously away. He also enjoyed looking down at the boy's cute angelic face with its eyes clenched shut in pain, and teeth biting down on his juicy bottom lip.

Occasionally James leaned down to kiss Elijah and force his tongue down his throat, much the same way that his dick was stabbing the boy's bowels. Something about having Elijah's skinny hairless legs spread open beneath him intensified James's pleasure in the boy's submissiveness. He loved this thrill of using the boy's body in ways new and constantly changing for both of them.

As he felt the hot juices of the past two days surging within him, milked by the fierce grip of the boy's asshole and wet silky texture of the boy's insides, James felt suddenly possessed to abuse the boy in a way his imagination had just now spontaneously directed.

He could feel the explosion of his sperm mounting....mounting....mounting toward its escape. But at the moment he knew its release was imminent, James jerked his dick out of Elijah's ass with a loud slurping noise, moved onto his knees (straddling the boy's chest), and unleashed four hot, splattering shots of cum on the boy's startled, resentful face. Elijah's face clenched tightly in resistance and disgust, waiting until James had shaken every last, creamy drop onto the black boy's mouth, chin, and chest. It was Elijah's first experience smelling and feeling cum that wasn't his own, and having it dripping all down his nose, lips, and chin made him feel disgusted and degraded.

For James, it was a sight of beauty to behold as he panted in post-orgasmic pleasure, catching his breath. Returning to reality from the euphoria of his climax, James shuffled to the side of the bed, wet a cloth towel in the washbasin, and tenderly proceeded to clean the sticky, smelly mess from the boy's face and chest. He then wiped up the saliva and ass-juices from Elijah's asshole that was still gaping open just as James's dick had left it, as if still waiting for its invader's return.

Without putting out the lights, James snuggled up beside the boy, wrapping his right arm across Elijah's heaving chest. Elijah stared awkwardly at the ceiling, reflecting on the evening's new pleasures and degradations. He missed the familiarity of his own bed, and wished he was cuddling with Thad rather than this strange, sweaty white man. He wondered how much longer Master James would demand his company that night.

"You're going to be my favorite slave if you keep this up," James teased the unhappy boy beside him. Elijah smiled weakly in response.

Remembering his new arrangement with Abel, James explained, "For the next week, you're going to be my own personal slave, do you understand, Elijah? We're going to do this again and again, as often as I'd like. And since I don't know how often that's going to be, I'll need you here every day and night, to keep me company and be available when I'm ready."

Elijah looked at his Master with surprise and disappointment written all over his face. He couldn't imagine a life without seeing his mother and little brother.

"Don't worry," James assured him. "You can go home at three o'clock every afternoon, as long as you're back here by nine. I'll give you one of my old watches so you can use it to tell the time. That should give you six hours every day to see your mother and brother, play with the other slave children, and anything else you'd like. Do you understand this arrangement, Elijah?"

"Yes, Massuh James," Elijah replied wearily.

Elijah wondered if he truly understood. Master James had only mentioned a week, but what about after that? Would this be the form his life as a slave would take from this point on - a lonely, unhappy boy giving up his ass to his Master's dick whenever it was demanded of him? Could he ever get used to the horrible pain, or the weird, shameful way it made him feel inside? Would he ever be a NORMAL boy again?

Elijah tried to look into the future, but it offered him no comfort or answers.

And his heart sank with disappointment as he realized the older white man next to him was already snoring in his ear.

Any and all feedback is welcome and desired! I would love to hear advice on how my writing might improve, suggestions for future characters or storylines, stories and fantasies of your own, and anything else you might want to share. E-mail me at WannabeWhitman@yahoo.com.