The Adventures of Stampley Plantation - Chapter 6

 

The Adventures of Stampley Plantation

By WannabeWhitman (MM, rape, nc, reluc, hist, interr, ds, va)

DISCLAIMER: This series is a sexual fantasy involving slavery in the antebellum South, non-consensual sex (frequently with minors), and the use of racial epithets. The material is mostly of a homosexual nature, but does and will continue to involve some bisexual themes. If you think any of this might offend you, DO NOT READ. I realize these stories might contain material distasteful and offensive to some readers, but nobody is forcing you to read it. Keep in mind these are only FANTASIES based on America's racial history and my own conflicted imagination about that history. 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, characters or scenes you particularly enjoy, 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 6: Roadblock to Redemption

James woke up the next morning with an ache in his heart. The feeling had been there when he'd gone to bed, persisted through a restless night's sleep, and now threatened to stalk him for the rest of the day.

He looked sleepily out his bedroom windows and saw the sun beginning to rise in the distance. Today was the day of his journey to Columbus, where he planned to investigate the sale of Elijah and Thad's father and determine what options there were, if any, to buy him back.

Yesterday, he'd been so distraught by the dream of his deceased mother, and so devoted to the idea of redeeming his despicable behavior, that he'd insisted on arranging the trip for the next day. This morning, lonely and half-asleep, he dreaded the length of the journey, and the stress of finding his way around a strange city. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back under his covers and escape the chill of the morning air.

James rose wearily from his bed, walked to the chamber pot in the corner of the room, and let out a hot, light-yellow stream of morning piss. After shaking the last drops from his relieved dick, he wet a cloth in the washbasin beside his bed and proceeded to wash his face, neck, underarms, and crotch. The distractions of this morning routine did nothing to relieve the ache pounding in James's chest.

For one thing, he missed Elijah more than he wanted to admit. There is no lonelier feeling in the world than climbing into a large, empty bed where one has shared pleasure and joy with another human being for the previous ten nights. Of course he would have loved to enjoy the warm grip of Elijah's ass, or release a load or two of cum into the boy's stiffly sucking mouth, but James's sense of emptiness at the boy's absence was about much more than that. He missed hearing the boy's cute snoring in the middle of the night, or the way he'd sometimes mumble incomprehensible sentences in his sleep. He missed the musky smell of the boy's sweat and ass that hung in the midnight air after an hour of intense fucking. He missed the eager, messy way Elijah devoured his breakfast every morning, just as wide-eyed with disbelief and excitement on the tenth morning as he'd been on the first.

James also felt a sense of dread and desperation when he'd consider that it had been almost an entire day since he'd seen the boy. What if Elijah had fallen ill, run away, or - James nearly fainted as he thought of it - taken his own life? What if he'd gotten into a fight with one of the other slave-boys, bruising or permanently scarring his beautiful face? What if one of the older bucks, hearing rumors of Elijah's new duties in the Master's mansion, had decided to have his OWN fun with the boy's youthful body? Or even worse, what if one of the overseers, oblivious to James's affections for Elijah, had used the boy for a drunken midnight fuck? When James thought of these possibilities, his entire body grew hot and weak with an insane, overwhelming jealousy. He found himself wanting to throw shoes or dishes or lamps against the walls, smashing them in a fury of irrational panic and possessiveness.

James was also having misgivings about his plans to find Elijah's father. They were the misgivings of a man still dedicated to the "straight and narrow," but disheartened by the self-denial he knew his moral decision demanded.

On the one hand, reuniting Elijah with his father would make James a popular Master and instill a sense of obligation in Elijah to repay the favor. But on the other hand, bringing the father back to Stampley Plantation would disrupt the dynamic James had been enjoying for the past three weeks. It wasn't as if thoughts of Elijah's helpless, grieving mother never troubled James's conscience. But for some strange reason, the absence of the boy's father made him all the more erotically exciting for James. James liked being the only man in Elijah's life, a fatherly figure with extra benefits. The idea of stealing Elijah away from a mother AND father troubled James in a way that dragging him from a broken home didn't. Not to mention that a grown slave man could create a lot more trouble if he took it in his mind to protect his son, drawing unwanted and embarrassing attention to James's new habits.

James slowly dressed in the crisp, clean clothes Abel had laid out for him the night before: a white collared shirt, vest, frock coat, stovepipe hat, and cotton slacks. James grabbed a small leather satchel from his closet and filled it with some money, enough clothes for the next two days, the novel he'd been reading before meeting Elijah, and a signed pass for the stable-boy, so that he could run errands or enjoy some leisure time without being harassed while James was conducting business elsewhere.

After pausing to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, James walked down the marble staircase and out the front door. Jacob the stable-boy stood dutifully beside the hitched wagon he'd pulled up in front of the plantation-house.

" 'Mornin, Massuh James," Jacob greeted him, moving immediately to take the luggage from his hands.

"Good morning, Jacob," James replied, feeling a sudden pang of excitement and nervousness. He hadn't had any interaction with the stable-boy since the day of Mr. Potter's tour, and the striking, even intimidating effect that the young man's good looks had on him came flooding back to his memory. Even with the puffy eyes and chapped skin of early morning, Jacob looked like a beautiful African prince.

Perhaps the day's journey won't be so dull after all, James thought with growing enthusiasm. The stable-boy would definitely make for some pleasant eye-candy to get his mind off Elijah.

Jacob carried James's satchel and placed it in the back of the wagon.

"Do you think it's going to be a hot day?" James asked, his voice breaking like a teenage boy's. He wanted to establish some kind of rapport with the slave, but felt like a blubbering idiot the instant the words were out of his mouth. How absurd, James thought to himself. A Negro slave no older than 19 turning a grown white man nearly twice his age into a stuttering schoolgirl!

"Do the rooster crow in the mornin', Massuh James?" Jacob smiled, instinctively slipping into "happy darky" mode in spite of himself. He knew most white folks loved clever little comebacks like that.

"Right you are, right you are," James replied, laughing. His body, tense since coming into Jacob's presence, relaxed a little in relief at what felt like a step toward casual camaraderie. "I guess the only thing to cool this summer heat would be some rain, but I suppose we don't want that either if we want to make it to Columbus today."

"You 'sho right about that, Massuh James," Jacob nodded with a strained smile on his face. Goddamn white folks and their fake-ass attempts at small-talk with niggers, Jacob thought with contempt. He noticed James's resemblance to Master Walt and wanted to spit in his face.

"How long you figure the trip will take us?" James asked, walking toward the wagon.

"I reckon we'll get there somewhere abouts sundown," Jacob answered, holding out his ebony-colored hand to help James into the rear wagon seat. "I done took Massuh Walt on this trip plenty of times, so don't worry, you in good hands, Massuh James. I knows all the short cuts."

"Now that's music to my ears," James said, grinning and using the support of Jacob's strong arm to hoist himself up to his seat on the wagon.

Corny-ass motherfucker, Jacob thought to himself, smiling and nodding.

Just as Jacob began checking on the security of the bridles and reins, both men heard high-pitched shouts coming toward them from within the house.

"Master James! Master James!" It was Becky, hollering and waving her right arm for them not to leave. "Don't you boys forget your lunch now," she scolded, shuffling onto the front porch and handing Jacob a basket with a blue cloth covering the top.

James thought he detected a vibe of awkwardness between the two. Probably Jacob's dark skin, James guessed. He knew a lot of stuck up mulattos in the North, and figured there were plenty in the South as well.

"There's enough fried chicken and biscuits for the both of you," Becky beamed, looking past Jacob to where James was sitting in the wagon. "There's a jug of cider too. I hope they feed you well where you're going, but in case they don't, I'll be sure to have a real good meal waiting for you when you get back!"

"Thank you, Becky! You sure do know how to treat a man like a king!" James said, smiling. "I swear you're the best cook in Georgia, Becky. My Uncle sure was lucky to have you around for so long!"

Jacob smirked at Becky, knowing his back was to James. Becky blushed, for more reasons than James knew.

"You two be safe now, you hear?" she said, changing the subject and shooing Jacob away.

"Don't worry about us, Becky," James assured her. "I know I'm leaving my place in good hands with you and Abel. See you in a couple days!"

Jacob carried the lunch-basket to the back of the wagon and secured it with some leather straps. Then he walked to the front of the wagon and hopped onto the flat board making up the front seat about four feet in front of James. Taking the reins in his hands and nodding with another smirk toward Becky, Jacob gave a sharp flick of his wrists and the wagon took off down the dusty path leading to the main road.

It took James at least an hour to grow accustomed to the noisy jerking and bouncing of the wagon. In Boston and on the journey to Stampley Plantation, James had always ridden by stagecoach, which while bumpy and occasionally dusty, was a much quieter and smoother ride. The sounds of the horses' hooves against the dusty road, combined with those of the turning wheels and rocking body of the wagon, made the ride so noisy that he couldn't talk to Jacob without shouting. After a couple awkward and futile attempts at starting a conversation over the racket, James finally gave up and settled back for a silent ride. James was partly relieved to be spared the pressure and embarrassment of interacting with the young slave.

The freedom from conversation also gave James the opportunity to drool over Jacob's lithe adolescent body without interruption or distraction. Just as he had when Jacob had driven he and Mr. Potter around Stampley Plantation's 3,154 acres that second day, James savored every visual detail of the teenage boy's good looks. Only this time he didn't have to break his ogling down into quick, fleeting glances while pretending to listen to Mr. Potter's boring stories. He could stare as long and intently as he liked, knowing Jacob's eyes were focused on the road.

He started with the stable-boy's thick, wooly hair, tangled and sprouting a good three inches in all directions. It looked dirty and had flecks of straw and leaves in it. Then James took in the young man's smooth neck, sturdy and colored deep ebony. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on top of the rich dark skin. James's eyes moved slowly to Jacob's slender back, its shoulder-blades pressed out against a beige, scratchy-looking shirt. He loved to watch Jacob's back muscles tense and ripple when the boy would shift in his seat or lean forward, elbows on his knees.

He could see patches of sweat soaking through Jacob's shirt under his arms and across his back. James wondered how the Negro's sweat would smell and taste.

But of course the part of Jacob's body that earned the bulk of James's attention were the muscled half-globes resting on the wooden seat, pressed tightly against the young man's muddy cotton pants as if trying to escape. James shook his head in lustful amazement at the consistent beauty of Negro male buttocks. Every ass on a Negro male he'd seen so far curved firmly up and out from the small of the back in perfect upturned semi-circles. So different from the flat or flabby asses on most white men!

It's just not fair, James thought with amusement. You'd think God could have stopped after endowing the Negro with a phallus longer, thicker, and more powerful than the average white man's. That was certainly generous enough. But no, he also saw fit to bless the Negro male with a temptingly upturned, perfectly rounded backside that made anyone looking at it, man or woman, want to reach out and grasp its firm, fleshy mounds. "Cursed race" my ass, James chuckled to himself.

A thin line of sweat outlined Jacob's ass-crack through his dirty pants. James's dick jerked to life when he stared too long at it. He got goosebumps when he imagined how exciting it would be to clutch the ripe upturned melons in both hands, slowly spreading them apart to see, smell, and taste the mystery hidden deep in their crease.

It turned James on even more when he thought of the youth's strength and masculinity. James wasn't načve; he knew Jacob probably wasn't a virgin to the realm of all things sexual, as Elijah had been. In fact, James would be surprised if the young man hadn't made at least a dozen Negro girls VERY happy over the past few years. Picturing the young buck pumping his manhood deep between a pretty Negro girl's thighs only increased his desirability in James's eyes.

But James was aroused to think that Jacob was most likely a stranger to the experience of sex between men. Perhaps not as ignorant to the concept as Elijah had been, but almost certainly just as inexperienced.

James recalled the thrill he'd gotten when Mr. Potter informed him one night that as far as he knew, neither James's uncle or any of his overseers had ever had a liking for boys or men. "Unless they was bought from someplace else," Mr. Potter assured him mischievously, "all the Stampley boys got assholes just as pure and tight as the day they popped out their Mama's bellies." Mr. Potter had gone on to tease him about how lucky a bugger like James was, as he frequently had to pay high prices to replenish the supply of virgins for he, his two sons, and his overseers.

This meant that the idea of sucking a man's prick or taking another man's dick up his ass was probably as foreign and repulsive to Jacob as eating horse manure or fucking a pig. He probably had a gal of his own, maybe even a wife. Hell, he might even have kids for all James knew. The possibility only increased Jacob's masculine, virgin appeal.

What began as casual ogling, intended to pass the time, slowly grew into a maddening lust. James's admiration for the boy's lanky build and tight adolescent muscles soon turned into an intense, demanding curiosity to see, smell, taste, and touch all the hidden and most intimate parts of his stable-boy's body.

If James had been in a similar situation a month ago in Boston, lusting after a young Negro driving one of the city's coaches, he would have had no choice but to suffer his strangling, impotent lust from afar, then rush home for relief from the frustrating substitute of his hand.

But everything is different here, James reminded himself. Jacob was a piece of James's PROPERTY, no more or less so than the wagon beneath him, the clothes on his back, or the money in his leather satchel. James knew he could stop the wagon, rip off the young man's clothes, and take the stable-boy's body right then and there in the back of the wagon or ditch by the side of the road. And in the unlikely case that his white Southern peers discovered the rape, James knew he would almost certainly have their tacit, if not explicit, approval. Hell, a man like Mr. Potter would hoot and holler and congratulate him on in his depravity. Even the sodomitic nature of the behavior would probably escape condemnation, for the simple fact that he'd be fucking a beast, a piece of chattel, rather than an actual man considered his equal. Knowledge of his immunity from judgment or punishment spurred James on in his lustful thoughts.

Another part of the temptation for James was Jacob's age. Jacob was a young MAN, fully in the prime of his physical and sexual development. James had taken great pleasure in robbing Elijah of his innocence; there was no doubt about that. But with the exception of his enormous dick, Elijah was still physically and mentally a boy. Any sense of his manhood was only vaguely formed, tentative and hypothetical.

Jacob, on the other hand, was a virile young MAN. He was probably cocky when hanging out with his buddies or trying to impress the Negro girls. He probably bragged about his dick, and most likely knew how to use it well. In just one day's time, he probably produced enough spunk to fill a bucket. He had curly dark facial hair down his cheeks and above his lips. He had a lithe muscled build that probably made him a frequent victor in boxing or wrestling matches with his Negro pals. He was probably aware, at least vaguely, of the interest some men might take in his dick or asshole, but proudly reserved the first for pussy and the second solely for farting and shitting.

Violating the virginity of a young MAN, forcing his body's participation in shameful and emasculating acts, would be a thrill far beyond that of stealing a boy's innocence. James's dick hardened in his pants as he realized that taking Jacob's MANHOOD would be a pleasure exceeding even that offered him by Elijah's virgin asshole.

The possibility, once fleshed out in his mind, immediately became an obsession. Fully imagined, it was an experience James couldn't shake from his mind. A life without sampling such a pleasure suddenly seemed unbearably boring.

James looked down with embarrassment at the hard dick clearly outlined against the fabric of his trousers, and hoped Jacob didn't look back at him. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to focus on the dream of his mother and the decidedly NON- sexual purpose for the day's journey. He even tried to think of Elijah, but the boy who'd consumed his thoughts just an hour earlier now seemed small and distant in his mind. After more than ten days of fucking the same mouth and ass - beautiful, to be sure, but the SAME nevertheless - James craved the new pleasures that a body like Jacob's promised.

Just wait to get back to Stampley, James told himself. It would be impossible to enjoy Jacob on the trip to Columbus without inconvenience or embarrassment. But if he waited three days, he could enjoy the young man in privacy for as long as he wanted. Three days felt like an eternity to wait for the pleasure his mind and body now stubbornly demanded. James shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Hoping it would make the time go by quicker, he pulled his hat down over his eyes and fell into an awkward, restless nap.

Jacob hadn't wasted a moment's reflection on his new Master since the trip started, other than to feel tense and annoyed by the man's eyes staring intently at his back. Damn, Jacob thought to himself, ain't there plenty of things to look at besides a nigger's back?!?

The sun rose to illuminate a beautiful day. Jacob enjoyed the smell of the trees, fields and occasional pond or creek they'd pass on their drive. He liked to feel the mild breeze against his face, created by the wagon's movement. His stomach growled in eager anticipation of Becky's fried chicken and biscuits. Sharing the Master's lunch was one of the few perks to these trips. That and the chance to see the city, maybe even enjoy a fling or two with one of the local girls if he was lucky to get leave of the Master long enough.

He thought about how funny Becky had acted toward him that morning. She'd been real distant and weird around him ever since the fling that led to his troubles with Master Walt. She's probably just pissed I don't give her the dick no more, Jacob concluded. He was used to girls and women getting addicted to his dick, then angry when he moved on to give others the same pleasure.

Occasionally Jacob and James would pass other wagons on the road, and Jacob always liked to see if they carried any pretty nigger girls or women. If they did, he'd subtly nod or wink at them in a way that left no doubt in their minds how he felt about their looks.

Of course if there were WHITE women or girls on board, he was careful to look down and away as the wagon passed. He'd heard too many horror stories about niggers being hanged or getting their balls chopped off after nodding at a white woman the wrong way, or letting their eyes linger just a second too long on some white girl's flowing hair or pert young breasts.

Not that Jacob didn't WANT to look. His attraction to white girls was actually the source of a lot of guilt for the stable-boy. Vicious and permanent as his hatred for white people was, he couldn't help but be curious to know what a white girl's breasts would look like, naked and groped by his rough black hands. Sometimes he'd jerk off to fantasies of his cock stuffed in some horrified white girl's throat, or pumping in and out between her smooth, pale thighs.

Jacob comforted himself with two thoughts. First, his attraction was nothing more than curiosity; he'd never pursued it, and it had never diminished his love of nigger women. He knew plenty of niggers who drove themselves crazy drooling over white flesh either they couldn't have, could have but didn't know it, or could have, DID know it, and were just too afraid they'd get caught. Most of the time these obsessions formed after some rebellious teenage daughter or bored housewife used them as their sexual playthings for a week or two, then forgot about them after the thrill of breaking the taboo had faded. At least he'd been spared THAT fate, Jacob thought to himself.

The second point of consolation was that Jacob's lust for white women was solely a lust for violence. He hated white men, and knew there was nothing the white man feared, forbade, and despised more than the rape of a white woman by a nigger. (Of course it was always considered "rape," even when the white bitch initiated and begged for it). In Jacob's mind, there was no better expression of his hatred for white men, no better act of defiance, than to force his African manhood into a white girl's pussy, even if only in his imagination. When he pictured himself fucking a white girl, it was always rape, always an act of punishment and humiliation. With every thrust he was trying to rip open her pink flesh with his black dick, and pollute her body with his nigger sweat and seed. Every white cunt he fucked in his mind was the daughter or granddaughter or wife or mother of a white man he loathed.

After several hours, James noticed they'd turned off the main road onto a smaller, bumpier road with less traffic.

"One of the shortcuts I was tellin' you 'bout, Massuh James!" Jacob shouted over the din of the wagon wheels.

James nodded and looked around. The road cut through more forest than fields, and he saw farmhouses, shacks, and plantation-mansions far less frequently than he'd seen to the left or right of the main road.

Of course the lack of scenery only added to the boredom of the trip.

The first few hours of the ride had gone by quickly, but as the sun rose higher in the sky, the heat grew more intense and the length of the trip seemed almost unbearable. James took off his hat and overcoat, removed his vest, and unbuttoned the top buttons of his collared shirt to cool off. He noticed the small patches of sweat on Jacob's back had now spread to soak through most of his shirt.

As the day approached noon, James's stomach began to growl, taunted by the occasional whiffs of fried chicken and biscuits from the back of the wagon. Eventually his hunger became too much to bear.

"Should we stop and eat soon?" James asked loudly, leaning forward. He realized how comically inappropriate it was for him, the Master, to be asking his slave to determine their lunch schedule.

"Massuh Walt and me had us a spot we always stopped at for lunch!" Jacob shouted back. "It ain't too far from here, if you don't mind waitin', Massuh James! Massuh Walt always liked it cuz it gots a creek for some fresh water and a swim to cool off!"

James smiled and nodded his approval.

"That'd be just fine, Jacob!" he yelled, then sat back in his seat. Right now he would welcome anything to break up the monotony of the trip, and quenching his thirst with some cold creek water, followed by lunch and a refreshing swim, sounded heavenly. His dick twitched at the thought of swimming with his slave. Swimming meant being naked. And while he wasn't sure of the proper protocol, he sure as hell had no problem inviting Jacob to join him....which meant all the aforementioned delights of the lunch-break, PLUS a look at the flesh stingily hidden by Jacob's sweaty clothes.

About five minutes later, Jacob pulled the reins back and slowed the wagon to a halt on the right side of the narrow dirt road. About thirty feet from the road James could see a small clearing surrounded by trees. He could see the sparkling of a creek, and now that the wagon was stopped he could hear the sounds of its gently flowing water.

Tying the reins around the hitch to the left of his wagon seat, Jacob hopped out of the wagon and reached out to help James down. James felt a rush of excitement at the hot, rough skin of the youth's hand firmly grasping his own.

"This be the place, Massuh James," Jacob said, unfastening Becky's basket from the back of the wagon. "I thinks you'll like it. I knows Massuh Walt was always real happy stoppin' here. It be real nice and cool in the shade."

Jacob was right. As James followed Jacob through a criss-crossed path twenty feet or so through a tangle of trees and brush, he noticed the air was considerably cooler than where the sun beat blisteringly down on the wagon and road. With Jacob's back toward him, James stole lustful glances at the stable-boy's sweat-soaked clothes clinging to his body, revealing the contours of muscles and dark skin beneath. Jacob led him into a semi-circular clearing at the side of a creek, covered with tangled grass and shaded by the surrounding trees.

"I don't know 'bout you, Massuh James, but I gots to piss like a horse," Jacob declared bluntly, unfastening his belt as he did so. He walked to a far corner of the clearing and began to piss. James could hear the thundering sound of the young man's piss splashing against dirt and leaves. He got a chill of excitement at the sound and tried to picture the dangling appendage producing such a powerful stream. It reminded him of the ache in his own bladder, so he walked to an opposite corner of the clearing to piss.

After emptying his bladder, James collapsed against the thick trunk of one of the trees on the outer edge of the clearing, savoring the pleasant relief of the cool air.

"Thank you, Jacob," James said, his nervousness of the morning returning. "This looks like a wonderful place to stop. Sit down and rest. Lord knows you deserve it after driving in the heat all morning."

"Thanks, Massuh James," Jacob replied, slumping down with his back against a tree several feet from James. Jacob removed the cloth from Becky's basket and dutifully held the basket out to James. James pulled out the jug of cider, two biscuits, and a thick leg of fried chicken. Jacob then eagerly grabbed his own piece of chicken, and once he saw James take a bite, wasted no time hungrily tearing into the meat with his teeth.

The first few minutes were silent except for the sounds of energetic chewing and the occasional compliment to Becky's cooking skills. The fried chicken wasn't as crispy as normal, but the salty coating of grease and flour and the meat already warmed by the heat of the sun combined to make a tasty meal for the two men.

James took a long drink from the cider-jug, then handed it to Jacob, who followed suit. James felt a strong desire to talk with Jacob, to hear about his life on Stampley Plantation and grow acquainted with the young man's humor and personality. But he felt shy and clueless as to how to go about doing so.

Despite Jacob's smiles and jovial words, James sensed a cockiness and detachment that made him uncomfortable. James longed for a sincere friendliness from Jacob. He wanted Jacob to trust and like him in a way he'd never liked or trusted Uncle Walter, and probably any other white man for that matter. Even though he was the boy's Master, James feared that at any moment he'd say something to annoy the handsome young man, and ruin any chance at true friendship between Master and slave.

"How old are you, Jacob?" James asked nervously.

"I'se 18, Massuh James," Jacob said with a mouthful of chicken, focused on shooing away a fly attracted by the youth's sweat-soaked clothes.

"Ahhhh, what I'd give to be 18 again!" James laughed, taking another sip of cider.

Jacob looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"You talk like you'se an old man, Massuh James," he said, thinking to himself that white folks always got so melodramatic over the pettiest things. He remembered Master Walt bitching about his graying hair at least a hundred times on these trips. "You ain't but what....22, 23???" Jacob actually guessed James at 28 or 29, but was an expert in telling white folks what they wanted to hear.

James laughed, blushing. "That's very kind of you, Jacob. You sure know how to get on your Master's good side! I'm actually an ancient THIRTY years old!" James pointed to the slight receding hairline that had caused him so much worry over the past couple years.

"That ain't nothin' at all, Massuh James!" Jacob said, shooing James away dismissively. "You still a spring chicken!"

James laughed again, relieved at the pleasant back-and-forth he'd initiated with Jacob.

Jacob found the small-talk tiresome, and wished James would let him finish his lunch in peace. Master Walt never talked this much. He actually ignored Jacob most of the time, which Jacob preferred to James's annoying questions.

But James persisted, asking Jacob how long he'd lived on Stampley Plantation, if he was married or had any family there, what he liked to do in his leisure time, what his Uncle had been like as a Master, and anything else he could think of to avoid an awkward silence and assure the stable-boy that he was a kind and caring Master.

Jacob's replies were brief and showed just a hint of impatience, James thought. They were friendly, even humorous at times, but James couldn't shake the sense that Jacob was simply putting on a show, keeping his true feelings and answers carefully concealed. It seemed like something the young man could do in his sleep, so different from the spontaneous bursts of energy and self-revelation James frequently enjoyed from Elijah.

At first James felt hurt and intimidated by Jacob's cheerful aloofness. His hurt soon turned to frustration, and his frustration quickly changed into anger and horniness. James realized he was probably just deluding himself with his attempts to befriend his stable-boy. Perhaps deep down all he REALLY wanted to do was fuck the young man. Perhaps all he was TRULY interested in was Jacob's striking handsomeness, and the effort to get to know the boy was just a shallow and disingenuous strategy to get in his pants. Perhaps the institution of slavery made honest friendship between a white man and Negro impossible. Perhaps the kind of interracial intimacy James craved could only be enjoyed through force and manipulation.

These thoughts saddened James, but also freed him to drool over Jacob more confidently. Jacob reclined against his tree, picking the meat out of his teeth with a small twig he'd found on the ground. James's eyes were drawn magnetically to the unmistakable bulge outlined by the thin cloth of Jacob's pants. Every now and then Jacob absent-mindedly scratched or grabbed at his crotch, making James's tortured lust all the more acute. James wondered what it looked like. Was it bigger than Elijah's? Smaller? Lighter? Darker? Thicker? Smellier? Tastier? James felt like he would wither up and die if he didn't feast his eyes and mouth on its mysteries before the afternoon was over.

This was the perfect opportunity, James thought to himself. They had complete privacy. The clearing was back from the road, and the road had seen no traffic since their arrival. Jacob was his slave, and had to obey his orders. He could do anything he wanted with the young man. He could lick every sweaty inch of Jacob's dark- skinned body. He could fuck the aloofness and defiance off the Negro boy's face. He could make him scream and beg for mercy, with nobody around for miles to hear or care. James's dick sprang to life as he pictured the limitless possibilities.

"Let's cool off with a swim!" James suggested spontaneously, leaping to the ground. He'd already made up his mind what he was going to do, but wanted to make the transition as easy and natural as possible.

Jacob looked up, surprised. Master Walt never invited Jacob to join him for a swim, even before the whole Becky fiasco. Jacob waved James away and shook his head.

"Naw, you go ahead, Massuh James, I ain't much of a swimmer." He'd actually been swimming in the creek behind the slave quarters all his life, but wasn't comfortable with the idea of being naked in his Master's presence, and preferred to enjoy a quick nap while James swam.

"Awww, come on, Jacob!" James insisted. "You can't tell me you don't want to get out of those sweaty clothes!" James pointed at Jacob's shirt, which now looked like it had been drenched with a bucket of water.

"If it's alright with you, Massuh James," Jacob asked. "I'd be mighty grateful for the chance to rest my eyes."

James paused, frustrated by Jacob's obstinacy. For a moment he felt self-conscious about the idea of his pale, thin body being naked beside the muscled African's magnificent nude body, and almost changed his mind. The thought of seeing Jacob's youthful body completely exposed was too enticing, however, and he persevered in his plan.

James hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt, stripped it off, and threw it near the tree where he'd been sitting. Jacob looked away uncomfortably. James lifted his legs and removed his shoes. Then he unbuckled his belt, unzipped his trousers, shoved them to the ground, stepped out of them, and then kicked them toward his shirt. His nakedness in front of Jacob made him feel nervous and embarrassed.

His body was slender and in decent shape, certainly nothing to be ashamed of, but James felt insecure about his blindingly pale skin and lack of defined muscles he'd admired on other men his age and younger. His legs were covered in a thin layer of dark curly hair, but his upper body was completely smooth with the exception of a few dark chest hairs. His ass was rounder and fleshier than most white men's, but still scrawny and flat compared to buttocks of African ancestry. A tangled patch of dark brown pubic hair sprouted above his dick. His medium-size balls hung in two pink sacks, covered lightly in wiry brown hair.

Jacob didn't want to look, but still caught glimpses of his Master's naked body in spite of himself. Other than Master Walt, James's was the only white man's body Jacob had ever seen naked. Even the overseers that raped his mother and sister had only bothered to pull their dicks out of their flies. James looked thinner and younger than Master Walt, but with the same pasty-white skin. Jacob wanted to laugh when he caught a glimpse of Master James's shriveled, pinkish dick. Superior race my ass, he thought with cynical amusement.

James walked over to the creek and dipped his toes in the water. It was cold but not freezing - the perfect temperature for relief from the heat of the day. He waded out into the middle, where the water only barely reached his waist. With a sudden plunge, James forced his whole body underwater, then stood back up, laughing and shouting.

"Damn, that was cold!" James said, smiling over at Jacob. "It sure does feel good, though!" He crouched into a sitting position beneath the rushing water, so that only his shoulders and head showed above the water line.

"Don't be such a spoiled sport!" James teased. "The rest of the drive will sure feel a lot better after a nice swim!"

Jacob hoped James couldn't see him roll his eyes. Why couldn't Master James leave him the fuck alone?!? Damn, just because he's a slave doesn't mean he has to be the cracker's best friend. He'd listened to the whiny, fake-friendly voice all through lunch, and now it wouldn't let him catch some shut-eye in peace. He wanted to shout, "Shut the fuck up, you annoying, corny-ass motherfucker!" but instead he just shook his head and said, "No, thanks, Massuh James, I'se content right under this here tree."

"Jacob," James said, his voice growing tense with frustration. "I'm no longer asking you to join me. I'm TELLING you to join me."

Jacob flinched in surprise. For a fleeting second, his eyes flashed with hostility and his large, wide nostrils flared in defiance. Why the fuck did the man want him to swim so badly? Goddamn crackers and their crazy whims.

Jacob didn't say a word, but reluctantly stood and slowly began unbuttoning his sweat-soaked shirt.

James's heart raced with excitement, faster and more breathless with every button freed by Jacob's large, dark fingers.

Staring blankly in front of him, trying desperately to hide a scowl, Jacob shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and let it drop to the ground.

James stared shamelessly at the young man's disrobing, and gasped at the beauty exposed before him. Jacob's chest was slender but defined with pectoral muscles standing slightly out from the rest of his chest. Two large, nearly pitch-black nipples dotted the rich black skin of each muscle. The young man's abdomen rippled with three muscles on each side. The Negro's skin was covered with a sheen of sweat that made his ebony skin look even more beautiful. A narrow trail of black, curly hair moved down from a small, indented belly-button to the mystery below, still hidden by Jacob's cotton pants.

Jacob suddenly began to feel a discomfort beyond the normal annoyance and contempt he felt around white people. Master James's eagerness for Jacob to swim had seemed odd just a moment ago, but now it was starting to make sense. The man stared at his naked chest as if he was under some conjure woman's spell. Master James had a sparkle in his eyes that Jacob sometimes saw in girls when they watched him working shirtless in the stable, or even worse, when he took off his clothes before fucking them. It was the same eager look he'd seen on Nelson's face that night in the stable, and during all their subsequent encounters.

Motherfucker, Jacob thought to himself. Master James is a cocksucker just like Nelson!

Fuck me, he thought with rising worry. He'd taken plenty of shit from Master Walt and the man's overseers in his young life, but he'd never had to worry about THAT. He'd heard Nelson's stories. He knew there were plantations where white men raped boys and men instead of girls and women, or boys and men IN ADDITION TO girls and women. But he'd always thought of that as something that happened to OTHER niggers....far, far away from Stampley Plantation. He'd spent plenty of angry, anxious nights after some drunk overseer dragged Laney off to the overseer quarters, but he'd never had to worry that it might be HIM snatched up and gang- raped in the middle of the night.

Until now. There was his Master, drooling over his naked chest like a dog waiting for its supper, probably stroking his puny little dick under the water. Fuck, fuck, FUCK, Jacob thought angrily. MOTHERFUCKER. What the fuck do I do now?!?

He wanted to snatch up his shirt, run to the wagon, and ride until he reached North. But Jacob knew that was a plan doomed to failure. The first white man to see an unfamiliar nigger driving a wagon without a white person in it was sure to start asking questions, demanding a pass, and Jacob would be busted. Besides, his heart was deeply entwined with the lives of those on Stampley Plantation, despite the tragedy he'd suffered there. He couldn't bear the thought of never seeing Laney or Solomon again. And he knew Laney would probably follow in the footsteps of her mother if she lost her only remaining family member.

Jacob felt choked by the same helpless feeling he'd felt as a child when the overseers scattered his marbles and dunked his head in the wash bucket. He seethed with resentment at his treatment, but was powerless to do anything to stop it.

Maybe his fears were exaggerated, Jacob thought hopefully. Maybe the Master smiled out of sincere friendliness, with no ulterior motives. Maybe Jacob's all- consuming hatred for white people had led him to judge a kind, innocent man unfairly.

Jacob bent over to take off his shoes. He unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, and slowly pushed them to the ground. Now completely nude, Jacob sullenly walked to join James in the creek.

James could feel his body shaking, partly from the chill of the creek water, but mostly from the breathtaking beauty before him. Jacob's legs were thinner than his more developed upper body, but still showed firm muscles, the dark skin covered in tiny curls of crispy black hair.

Most impressive, however, was the appendage dangling between the young African's legs. It was pitch-black with a purplish mushroom head, and hung at least seven inches in its completely soft state. It looked bigger than Elijah's did when soft, and considerably thicker. A thick patch of nappy pubic hair, similar to that on Jacob's head, covered the area above the impressive creature.

James gasped when he saw Jacob's balls. Enclosed in smooth, charcoal-black skin, they looked bigger and heavier than those he'd seen on bulls. Jacob's entire crotch area glistened with sweat, and James felt an urge to seize the stable-boy's dick and balls in his hands and taste their pungent heat before it was too late.

Uncomfortable with his Master's shameless stares, Jacob stepped into the creek and sunk his naked body beneath its waters. The cool water felt good against his hot skin.

For about fifteen minutes, the two men made tense small talk, occasionally diving beneath the water for another refreshing rinse.

James noticed a spider-web of grayish scars across Jacob's back and shoulders, undoubtedly left by dozens of severe lashings. The scars looked painful enough; James could only imagine how they must have looked, raw and bloody in the immediate aftermath of a whipping.

Jacob felt foolish for his earlier fears. James made no attempt to touch him, even in playful splashing and wrestling, and hadn't turned the conversation to anything sexual.

James was thrilled by the young Negro's nakedness so close to his. James knew that his old life in Boston could never in a million years have placed him in such an exciting scenario. He knew what he wanted to do, but didn't know how to go about doing it.

Elijah had been so easy in comparison, he thought. Forcing a sexual encounter with a slave-child in his own bedroom, knowing Mr. Potter was just down the hall in case anything went wrong, was very different than initiating sex on his own, in a strange environment, with a young man, miles away from Stampley Plantation. Knowing the power and threat he held over Jacob didn't make the introduction of the idea any less clumsy or potentially confrontational.

"We best hit the road if'n we wants to make Columbus 'fore nightfall," Jacob spoke up. He was eager to resume the journey and confirm the baselessness of his earlier worries.

"Yeah, you're probably right, I guess we better get on with the day," James said with disappointment. He was beginning to panic. He knew he had to say or do something soon or else he'd always regret losing such a unique opportunity.

Jacob stepped out of the creek, water sparkling and dripping from his smooth ebony skin.

James's dick sprang to full instant hardness when he saw the flawless ass before him. It was ten times more breathtaking than anything he'd imagined while staring at its clothed curves earlier that morning. Two rich-black upturned half-melons sprung out from the small of his back, their muscles flexing as Jacob walked toward his clothes. Their beauty was marred only by crisscrossed grayish scars, similar to those on the young man's back.

James felt an urgent uncontrollable impulse to rub his nose up and down the dark crease of Jacob's ass-crack, to pry them open with his fingers and tongue.

"Stop!" James shouted hoarsely, causing Jacob to turn his head in surprise just as he was leaning down to retrieve his pants, which were resting at the foot of the tree he'd leaned against at lunch.

"Massuh?!?" Jacob asked uncertainly.

The change in his Master's tone of voice was unmistakable. This is it, Jacob thought to himself. The Master's going to try to rape me, just like those bastards raped Mama and Laney. FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.

James walked out of the creek like a ghost from a swamp. His body was trembling with nervousness and excitement.

Jacob cringed when he saw that his Master's dick was now a rock-hard seven inches, jerking toward the sky. It looked red and angry.

"Do as I say, and don't cause me any trouble, Jacob," James instructed, hoping he sounded more intimidating than he felt. "I know this might sound strange, but I happen to find you....remarkably handsome. And as your new Master, it's my right to take pleasure from your handsomeness however I see fit."

Jacob stared at him with a look of undisguised hatred.

James shuddered, seeing laid bare the animosity he'd earlier guessed was beneath the surface of the boy's jokes and obsequiousness.

Suddenly James realized the almost laughably absurd danger of the situation he was in. Here he was, a soft, skinny white man with no whip, knife, or gun, trying to rape a strapping young buck at least five times stronger than him, miles from any white people who could come to his rescue if Jacob took it in his mind to resist his rape with violence.

But wasn't that precisely the perverse brilliance of Southern slavery?!? In many regions of the South, Negroes outnumbered whites twenty to one, so what stopped them from banding together to slaughter their Masters and claim the land for themselves???

FEAR. Fear and ignorance. Ignorance that kept most slaves from knowing anything of the world beyond their own plantation. Ignorance from hearing over and over and over again that niggers are stupid, passive, weak, and helpless - intellectually inferior to the smarter, stronger, and more powerful white race. Messages of degradation and impotence repeated so often that some slaves end up believing they really ARE nothing more than dumb, cowardly niggers.

Ignorance is the fertile breeding ground for fear. Fear of the whip. Fear of having one's limbs or genitals amputated. Fear of physical torture. Fear of death.

But more powerful even then self-interested fear, James knew, was the fear driven by love. Fear of seeing one's wife, husband, parents, or children whipped, raped, sold, or killed. Fear of being separated from one's family and childhood friends, from the only life one had ever known.

And this fear, James recognized, was the very thing that would allow him to abuse and enjoy Jacob's body without fear of resistance or danger. Fear was the thing that permitted him the exquisite pleasure of dominating someone so clearly his physical superior.

"Face forward with your back toward me!" James ordered sternly, stroking his dick in his right hand. "Place both hands against the tree, spread your legs, and bend over!"

"Massuh James, I don't understand...." Jacob said, shaking his head. "I thought we was goin' to hit the road, Massuh James."

"This won't take long," James said, thinking in the back of his mind that HOURS wouldn't be long enough for him to enjoy this handsome buck in every way he wanted. "You heard what I said, Jacob. Spread your legs and bend over with your hands against the tree! NOW!"

Jacob saw the older white man stroking his hard, veiny dick, and knew it could only mean one thing. The image of Nelson sprawled across the wooden stool that night in the stable flashed through his mind.

HELL NO! Jacob swore to himself. There was no fucking way he was going to let ANY man, especially a goddamn sissy cracker, fuck him like a bitch. It was one thing to get his dick sucked by another nigger friend of his, and to fuck him in the ass. That really wasn't all that different from fucking pussy, and there sure as hell wasn't anything bitch-like about that. Solomon and Charlie had done it too, and they for goddamn sure weren't bitches. But there was no way in hell he was going to let a white man's dick fuck his asshole just like it was pussy. No man, not even Nelson or Solomon, was ever going to use his ass that way.

James saw the angry panic in Jacob's eyes, and quickly tried to steer clear of a confrontation.

"Didn't you tell me you have a little sister?" James asked threateningly. "I'm not going to hurt you, but if you refuse to cooperate I'll have no choice but to hurt you AND the person closest to you."

Jacob's eyes flickered with impotent rage. He was ashamed that he'd thought for even a second that James might actually be kind and sincere. Goddamn cocksucking bastard ain't no different than the rest of 'em, he thought.

"I'm sure you wouldn't want anything to happen to your little sister, would you?" James continued, his desperation to experience the delights of Jacob's flesh making him resort to these cruel threats. "Like being whipped....or SOLD???"

Jacob knew his options were limited. He clenched his muscles in masculine resistance, but slowly spread his legs and leaned forward with his hands pressed against the tree. He felt shamefully feminine in that position.

James could hardly believe this was happening. Just a few stern threats and a proud, manly slave like Jacob was bent over in complete submission. Jacob's dark upturned mounds were a temptation he could no longer resist. A temptation he no longer had any REASON to resist.

He walked forward, dropped to his knees, and grabbed Jacob's firm, fleshy ass- cheeks in both hands. Streams of water still trickled down the slave's smooth, ebony skin. James clutched, groped, and smacked the black buttocks like a child who's just opened a long-requested Christmas toy.

Jacob shut his eyes tightly in hatred and embarrassment.

Impatient to see the prize protected beneath both muscular mounds, James spread Jacob's ass-cheeks with his fingers. There, clenched tightly and deeply within the boy's ass-crack, was Jacob's virgin asshole. The slit was slightly longer than Elijah's, but sealed just as tightly. The tiny wrinkled hole was a lighter purplish color that stood out against the rest of Jacob's black skin, and it was surrounded by several curly wisps of Negro hair. The hair trailed up and down the insides of Jacob's ass-crack. James thought to himself that the asshole looked angry and defiant, just like the young man to whom it belonged.

Desperate for intimacy with Jacob's most prized and protected body part, James buried his face between the firm mounds of the young man's ass. He smashed his nose against the wrinkled opening and inhaled deeply. It had a strong, musky smell, a combination of skin, sweat, shit, and creek-water. Not as clean as Elijah's, but strangely more enticing.

James knew most men would find what he was doing repugnant, but he didn't care. The aroma and closeness to the young man's body was intoxicating. He shot out his tongue and licked up and down the outer edges of Jacob's crack. Urged on by the salty taste of the boy's sweat, James circled his tongue around Jacob's anus, then lapped hungrily across its surface.

Jacob's body tensed in surprise and discomfort. This wasn't part of the horrors he'd imagined. Never in his life had anyone licked his ass like it was pussy. Not even Nelson, who tended to be more sexually adventurous than most of the girls he fucked around with. And while Jacob had licked pussy plenty of times, he'd never even CONSIDERED the possibility of licking a girl's asshole. Why the hell would any man with even half a dick want to lick another man's shitter? Filthy pervert cracker motherfuckers, Jacob thought with disgust. What the fuck will they come up with next?!?

James forced Jacob's cheeks apart with both hands, holding the ass firmly in place while he feasted on it like it was the last meal he'd have for days. He poked and swirled his tongue around Jacob's purple pucker, savoring its tangy, forbidden flavor. He spit a big glob of saliva right on the clenched little hole, then spread the wetness around with his tongue. He hoped the warmth and lubrication of his spit would loosen the stubbornly sealed gateway to Jacob's insides. He longed to push his tongue deeper into the boy's tunnel, to fuck him with his tongue the way he planned on later fucking him with his dick.

Jacob lurched his body forward in an attempt to escape these strange new sensations, but Master James had his butt firmly in his hands. His initial disgust quickly turned to surprised and reluctant pleasure. No tongues, fingers, or dicks had ever come within a foot of his asshole, so he'd never known being touched where his shit comes out could feel so....good???

He moaned in spite of himself at the pleasure the man's warm slurping was giving his tensed-shut asshole. He hated to admit it, but it almost felt as good as getting his dick sucked. It didn't make his dick get hard, but it still felt amazing. He felt guilty for feeling anything from a white man's touch other than disgust and hatred.

Jacob dismissed his guilt and realized that the REAL thrill came from seeing a white man in such a degraded position, performing such a filthy act. And not just that, but doing something so nasty and humiliating to a NIGGER'S asshole! He felt a little uncomfortable bent over like a bitch about to get fucked, but other than that what he was doing wasn't any worse than letting Nelson suck his prick. He liked seeing his Master worship his sweaty asshole like it was some kind of sacred shrine. His dick began to rise when he thought of his Master down on his knees, slurping greedily away at the very hole through which he'd taken a shit in the outhouse earlier that morning. This made him push his ass against the white man's face, and relax his asshole to let his Master's tongue sink deeper into him.

James was encouraged when he noticed Jacob thrusting his ass eagerly backward, allowing James to bury his tongue even deeper into the slave-boy's tight opening. The deeper his tongue reached, the hotter and tangier the boy's ass tasted. James shuddered with excitement when he imagined how good it was going to feel to plunge his hard seven inches into the stable-boy's obviously virgin hole. But he knew he had to pace himself....there were other parts of the boy's body he wanted to enjoy first.

James pulled his face out of Jacob's ass and took a breath of fresh air. He could still smell the boy's ass on his nose, lips, and chin. James jerked Jacob's body around to face him, pushed him into a standing position, and leaned him back against the tree.

James smiled and winked at Jacob when he noticed that the slave's thick purplish cock was now half-hard and still waking up. Jacob looked away and shut his eyes, annoyed and embarrassed.

Still on his knees, James wasted no time grabbing Jacob's shaft with his left hand and swallowing half of it into his mouth. Like Elijah's, Jacob's dick was circumcised. But that was where the similarities ended. To James, the 18-year-old's cock felt and tasted completely different from the younger slave-boy's. While it wasn't as long, it was considerably thicker, and had the distinct weight, girth, and power of a full-grown African's.

It also had a thick musky smell....or perhaps that was still the boy's ass he was smelling. No, it was a different smell this time, something potent and nutty emanating from Jacob's gigantic, heavy-hanging balls.

James eagerly tried to fit as much of Jacob's manhood into his mouth as possible, but its thickness stretched his lips painfully and made it impossible to slide much more than two-thirds of the dick in his throat. He made a valiant effort, however, sucking and moaning and licking Jacob's shaft just as enthusiastically as he liked to have his own dick sucked by Elijah.

Jacob was aroused by much more than the pleasurable sensations of having warm wet lips wrapped around his prick. That was a feeling as familiar to him as taking a piss. Dozens if not hundreds of girls had sucked him off, and that wasn't even counting Nelson. As far as blowjobs went, Master James's was average, somewhere between a virgin's clumsy biting and Nelson's expert deep-throating.

But Jacob had never been sucked off by a white person, male or female, and it turned him on immensely to watch his Master groveling and gagging on his knees like a nigger bitch. Jacob had been forced his entire life to place white folk's pleasure before his own. He knew that legally he was considered the equal of the horses he cared for, a piece of livestock whose sole purpose in life was to make white folk's lives easy and pleasurable. But here was a white man devoted to HIS pleasure, sucking a nigger's dick like it was the most natural thing in the world. And he seemed to be ENJOYING it, just like the nigger women enjoyed it, and just like Nelson always enjoyed it.

That was the only thing disrupting Jacob's pleasure. He didn't WANT James to enjoy it. Where was the fun in degrading a white man if the sissy cracker LIKED being degraded?!? Jacob was intoxicated with this newly-discovered power, and he wanted to test its boundaries. He wanted to cause his Master pain and suffering and TRUE humiliation.

No longer thinking rationally or cautiously, Jacob reached out and grabbed a handful of hair on the back of James's head. It felt soft and thin in his hand, so different from the thick nappy tangles on most niggers. He reached out with his other hand and snatched another handful. Tightening his grip on both clutches of hair, Jacob yanked James's head toward him, forcing the older white man's mouth to take more of his dick.

James's eyes shot open in surprise, but he didn't put up a fight. Jacob held James's head in place and began forcing his dick deeper into the man's throat.

He shoved until all eight inches were stuffed into the back of Master James's throat, causing him to gag and try to pull off for air. The sound of his Master's gagging turned Jacob on all the more. He'd always liked to hear the same sounds coming from Nelson and the nigger girls he messed around with, but this was even more intense because it was a WHITE MAN gurgling and choking like a helpless slave.

Holding James's head firmly in place, Jacob thrust in and out of the man's throat like it was a tight wet pussy. He stood up from leaning against the tree, allowing himself the freedom to pump with all his might.

James began to panic.

At first he'd felt an unexpected thrill when Jacob grabbed the back of his head. He got chills at the first sense of powerlessness, the knowledge that things were suddenly out of his control. He enjoyed the sound of the young man's masculine grunts, and the aggressive thrusts that shoved the thick African manhood further down his throat than Elijah's had ever been. He savored the sweet taste of the boy's sweat, skin, and precum, and was surprised to find that he LIKED the feeling of another man's penis filling his mouth.

He'd enjoyed sucking Elijah's dick, but this was even better. Was it because he'd surrendered the power of the act to Jacob, as he'd never done with Elijah? James got no real PHYSICAL pleasure from the act, and his dick had even softened since switching his attentions from Jacob's ass to the boy's dick. In fact, the hard, meaty appendage stabbing the sides of his mouth and back of his throat was uncomfortable at best, painful at worst.

But he had to admit, there was something unexpectedly thrilling about having his mouth used as a Negro boy's pussy. He imagined all the girls Jacob had probably fucked in the same exact way he was now fucking the face of his older white Master. James's dick twitched at the thought of being the receptacle for the pent-up seed stored in the big balls slapping against his chin with every thrust.

But the motions of Jacob's hips had become more aggressive, more demanding, and James was growing frightened. Several times he started to throw up his lunch, quickly swallowing it back down before the next violent thrust. He worried that perhaps this intensity wasn't typical of the stable-boy's manly fucking motions, that the power dynamic established earlier had been forgotten or abandoned.

James screamed through his forced sucking, and pushed against Jacob's naked muscled legs. As James had feared, the stable-boy was too strong for him and his resistance was futile. Jacob's legs stood immovable, and his large hands continued to force James's mouth down on his dick.

Jacob was caught up in a frenzy of lust and sexual power unlike any he'd ever experienced. His white Master's screams only intensified his furious pounding. He looked down with angry, open eyes at the sight of his thick, soot-black dick slamming in and out of Master James's thin, red lips and pasty-white face. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever witnessed.

He knew when the Master tried but failed to push him away, that Jacob then had complete control. His sexual pleasure and craving for revenge pushed all thoughts of Laney, Solomon, even his own survival, completely out of his mind. All he wanted was to savor the most explosive, ecstatic orgasm of his life while hurting and humiliating a white man.

Jacob slapped James on the cheeks as he continued impaling the man's face with his dick. His slaps were mild at first, but grew harsher until they made loud smacking noises and left red handprints on the man's pale skin.

"You like the taste of coon dick, cracker?!?" Jacob taunted, pulling his dick out of James's mouth and slapping it across the man's cheeks while he waited for an answer.

James was scared for his safety, but against his will felt a sharp pang of excitement at being degraded by one of his own slaves. He wondered if Elijah had felt similarly when James had degraded HIM in a similar fashion.

James gasped for air, but couldn't bring to his throat the self-degrading words he knew Jacob wanted to hear.

With his left hand, Jacob yanked James's head back by the hair. With his right hand, he hit the man full and hard across the face.

"What the fuck did I ask you, you little fairy cocksucker?!?"

James felt true terror now. He could already feel his cheek growing swollen and puffy where Jacob had hit him. He looked at the ground in dread and disbelief at the violent turn his afternoon plans had suddenly taken. He looked desperately toward the road and started screaming for help at the top of his lungs.

Jacob backhanded James with his fist. Now both of James's cheeks were bruised and swollen.

"Scream like that again and I'll fuckin' DROWN your Yankee ass in the creek, you hear me?!?"

Jacob shoved his thick pole all the way to the back of James's throat, then pulled out with deliberate slowness. "Now answer my fuckin' question....you likes the taste of nigger dick?!?"

James gulped in shame and looked at the ground. "Yes," he mumbled.

"Yes, WHAT, you stupid ofay motherfucker?!?" Jacob was relishing the performance he'd fantasized about all his life.

"Yes, I do love nigger dick," James said softly.

"Say it likes you fuckin' mean it!" Jacob ordered. "You know how lucky you is to get a taste of this dick?!? You know how many nigger bitches'd kill they own best friend for one TASTE of this motherfucker?!?" He waved his thick pole obnoxiously in James's face.

"I LOVE NIGGER DICK!" James yelled angrily. "What the hell do you want from me?!?" he pleaded helplessly. "I love the way they look! Their size! Their smell! Their taste! What else can I say?!?"

Jacob laughed contemptuously and shoved his dick back in James's mouth.

"Now that be more like it, MASSUH James," Jacob said, sarcastically exaggerating James's title of authority. "Now worship that African dick like the white pussy-boy you is!"

James's eyes welled up with tears when he recalled his nervous attempts to befriend Jacob earlier that morning. How long ago that now seemed! And not more than ten minutes earlier he'd been selfish and foolish enough to think he was actually going to have HIS way with the young man's body! How quickly and horribly circumstances can change, he thought to himself.

James's throat choked and burned with every angry thrust of the African's massive dick.

Jacob's eyes moved from the older white man's thin lips, dripping with spit and precum, to his pale ass. Thoughts of his next pleasure began to form in his mind. He'd always wanted to rape a white woman as a way to get back at all the white men who had ever done him harm. But wouldn't raping an actual white MAN be the more targeted and satisfying revenge?!? Especially a white man whose intentions just moments ago had been to take Jacob's OWN virginity??? Besides, he already knew how good a tight asshole felt wrapped around his dick, and he could only imagine how much BETTER the asshole of his helpless Master would feel. Too bad the sissy's pussy probably already been fucked a hundred times, Jacob thought.

Jacob yanked James's head off of his dick. "Turn over so's I can fuck that cracker pussy with this big African dick!" Jacob ordered.

James's eyes grew wide in terror. In all his years of lusting after men and imagining the possibilities of male-male sex, James had never once had the desire to feel another man's cock fucking his asshole. The idea of fucking OTHER men's assholes had always been appealing, and had now become an addiction after discovering the exquisite pleasures of Elijah's teenage asshole. But having his OWN ass ravaged the way he longed to ravage others....HELL NO! He'd always imagined it would cause excruciating pain, and the screams he'd witnessed from Elijah and Thad hadn't been too reassuring.

But now he was staring at Jacob's throbbing black monster, and the young man was planning on fucking him with it....violently and without mercy, no doubt!

James jerked out of Jacob's grip and scrambled toward the creek, hoping he might be able to cross it and run to safety. Jacob laughed at the skinny white man stumbling around like a crazed animal.

"Where the fuck you think you gonna go, you stupid-ass cracker?" Jacob said, laughing unsympathetically.

He pounced on James and pinned him to the ground. James was sprawled flat against the dusty Earth, paralyzed beneath the weight and strength of Jacob's muscular black body laying on top of him.

Jacob wasted no time finding his desired target. He had no desire to dirty his fingers by touching the white man's asshole, so he hoped the slobber still dripping off his dick would be enough lubrication to enter James's body. He arched his hips, pointed the enormous mushroom head of his midnight-black dick against his Master's tiny pink pucker, and shoved with all the strength his 18-year-old body could muster.

James's screams pierced the countryside's peaceful afternoon air. Jacob watched with delight as his thick shaft ripped into the white man's pink pussy. Based on its tightness and the pain of the man's screams, Jacob guessed with surprise that his Master was a virgin after all. The knowledge only made the assault all the more empowering and exhilarating for Jacob.

Without pulling his dick out, Jacob reached back and grabbed the blue cloth from Becky's lunch basket. He leaned forward and stuffed it in James's mouth to muffle the man's blood-curdling screams.

Smashing his body flat against James's, Jacob pumped his hips slowly up and down. In that position, Jacob's dick stayed deeply implanted in James's asshole, and every thrust only pushed the dick deeper, or moved it around in circular motions.

Jacob stayed in a slow rhythm at first, enjoying the hot soupy tightness of his white Master's violated insides. He savored the sound of James's screams of pain, now choked off by the blue towel. He listened eagerly to the squishing, slurping, farting noises of his dick plunging up and down into the white man's torn-open asshole. Damn, he's got a tight asshole, Jacob thought. Definitely tighter than any pussy, and even tighter than Nelson's!

But an orgasm was only a small part of the satisfaction Jacob craved. Increasing the speed and intensity of his thrusts, he leaned his sweaty face next to James's so that he could whisper in the white man's ear.

"You feel that, motherfucker?!? You feel that nigger dick up inside your pussy, cracker?!?"

James nodded frantically in pained assent. His eyes were clenched shut and he bit down on the rag shoved in his mouth.

"Yeah, you crackers all the same," Jacob continued. "Always actin' all high and mighty like you the rulers of the whole goddamn world, treatin' niggers like shit, when all you cocksuckers really want is a nigger's dick up yo' ass! You'se all pathetic, if you ask me."

Jacob spit on James's face in disgust and continued pummeling the ass beneath him with deeper and harsher strokes.

James had never felt pain so excruciating in his entire life. He prayed to God he'd pass out and be spared the rest of his nightmare. It felt like someone was shoving a fiery torch through his asshole and deep into his rectum.

After the first five minutes of alarming pain, his ass grew slightly more accustomed to the invasion. At first he thought he was going to shit himself, and then he realized it was just the bizarre feeling of having Jacob's huge pole, thicker than any shit he'd ever taken, rubbing against the part of him that gave pleasure when taking a shit. As much as he hated to admit it, Jacob's thrusts were actually giving him pleasure, mixed with the persistent pain of having his virgin tunnel plunged open.

A twisted, deep-down part of him found a forbidden thrill in being hit, yelled at, spit on, and anally raped by a handsome young African like Jacob. And didn't he deserve such treatment anyway, after the way he'd abused Elijah and Thad??? James could still smell the lingering scent of Jacob's ass on his face, mingled with the distinct Negro smell of Jacob's flaring nostrils, greasy hair, and sweaty skin leaning against his face as the young man whispered insults in his ear. Jacob's breath was hot with the lingering smell of fried chicken. James thrilled at these smells and the sticky warmth of the stable-boy's lithe naked body smashed against his own pale, scrawny build.

God, this is fucked-up, James thought to himself. And wasn't he largely to blame? Wasn't this exactly what James had planned on doing to Jacob just a half hour earlier, only with the positions reversed?!?

Did it really have to be like this? Clearly he derived at least some pleasure from having his mouth and anus enjoyed by the Negro slave. And Jacob obviously took pleasure from the act as well. What if everything wasn't so fucked-up down here in the South? Maybe under different circumstances he and Jacob might be doing this willingly, mutually??? Who knows, perhaps they might be lovers?

James shut his eyes and imagined Jacob's brutal thrusts as aggressive but tender lovemaking between equals: the one needing to dominate after a lifetime of submission, the other thrilled to submit after a lifetime of unasked-for power? James's heart ached to think that the pent-up needs on both their parts could only find expression in a brutal, ugly scene such as the one playing itself out this afternoon.

Jacob's thoughts were far from dreams of an interracial utopia. He buried his face in James's soft, sandy-brown hair and slammed his body into the one beneath him with ferocious force. His body began transporting him to the place of hatred and violence he always visited just before a climax. Only this time he wasn't fucking a scared little nigger girl incapable of comprehending his hatred, but fucking the very OBJECT of his hatred, a white man who symbolized every white man he'd ever known.

This knowledge worked his mind into a frenzied state of heightened hostility and rage unlike any he'd ever known. He clenched his eyes shut and remembered the smelly overseers dunking his head in the wash-bucket when he was a little boy, laughing and slapping his terrified face every time they pulled his head out of the water. He remembered the looks of horror, then surrender, on his mother and sister's faces as they were raped in front of him and his father. He remembered the look of hollow-eyed grief and defeat in his father's eyes when the man told Jacob they'd found his mother's body in the creek. He remembered the countless whippings ordered by Master Walt out of petty, spiteful jealousy. He remembered the morning he woke up to find his father gone, sold without having the chance to tell his children goodbye.

Jacob concentrated on these memories in a furious, wild-eyed rage, smashing his body violently into the man crushed beneath him, over and over and over. Tears of grief and helplessness flooded his eyes. He'd always known it in the back of his mind, but now Jacob realized this would probably be his last fuck on Earth. His whole body tensed as he unleashed all his hurt, fury, and powerlessness in one explosive, suicidal orgasm.

He slammed his hips as deeply into James's body as he could, spurting stream after stream after stream of scalding cum into the white man's battered body. All his memories, all his pain flooded his Master's bowels in one euphoric, transcendent release.

James's dick was aroused in spite of the pain by the thrill of being mounted by Jacob, like James was the buck's favorite piece of nigger pussy. When he felt the young Negro's hot, thick semen pouring into his guts, James felt for a second that he was LUCKY to be chosen as the cum-rag for a beautiful young man like Jacob. He thought of the hundreds of potential children swimming in the stable-boy's seed, and felt a sense of possessive pride knowing they'd be permanently absorbed into his own flesh and blood. Throbbing involuntarily, James's dick shot four sticky streams of cum onto the grass beneath him.

Jacob had only collapsed for a minute or two atop James's limp body before feeling the rush of defeat and despair now that his temporary power, seized by force and violence, was gone from him forever.

He looked around him like a man waking from a deep, drunken stupor. What the fuck did I just do?!? he thought with rising hysteria.

His mind, still cluttered from the high it had just experienced, raced to consider his options.

Returning to Stampley Plantation was out of the question. Master James would order him raped, tortured, and hanged, without blinking an eye.

He could murder the white man and dump his body in the creek, eliminating the only witness to the crime, then run for freedom up North. No, that would be foolish, he concluded. His chances of actually escaping were slim to none, and a slave with the blood of a murdered white man on his hands was almost certainly doomed to be lynched, while a runaway might still come out with his life, minus a foot or finger or balls. Jacob could also gamble that shame would make James report his disappearance as a simple runaway, keeping the rape and assault to himself.

Jacob winced when he thought of Laney. But he had no choice. He'd been a fool, and now he had to face the consequences. He knew time was of the essence. The more miles he put between himself and this place before news reached the slave- catchers and surrounding communities, the better his chance at making it out of this alive.

He reached over and pulled the belt out of his pants, which were still lying where he'd left them when ordered to swim by the grinning Master James. He yanked James up by the arms, snatched the gag out of his mouth, and dragged him over to one of the trees on the outer edge of the clearing. He could see cum leaking out of the man's ass and down his leg.

"Please, Jacob, don't kill me!" James begged. He was still shell-shocked from his rape, but alert enough to know that the fear of punishment for one crime might lead a slave like Jacob to commit even worse crimes.

Jacob looked around wild-eyed, like he wasn't sure where James's voice was coming from.

"Do as I tells you," Jacob instructed distractedly. "Or I WILL fuckin' kill you. Now put on your clothes." He wanted to eliminate as much suggestion of rape as possible. Make it look like an average robbery and escape.

Jacob stood over James as the trembling man put on his clothes. Jacob pushed him into a sitting position at the foot of the tree, then pulled his arms back around the thick trunk and tied his hands tightly together with his belt. He then shook out the blue towel, still wet from James's saliva, and tied it around the man's head as a gag, stuffed once again in James's mouth.

Jacob knew others occasionally used this spot for breaks in their travels, but hoped he'd have at least three or four hours before James was discovered. A whole day, if he was lucky.

Jacob hurriedly put on his clothes, then stuffed the chicken and biscuits left over from lunch in his pockets. He glanced guiltily at James's pleading eyes, but spit in his direction to show what he still thought of the cocksucker who'd wanted to rape him.

Jacob ran to the wagon and looked cautiously down to the road to see if anyone was coming. He frantically went through James's luggage, where he was thrilled to find money and a slave pass already signed. Now there's a stroke of luck, Jacob thought to himself.

He stuffed both the money and pass in his back pocket. He walked to the front of the wagon and affectionately petted his horses goodbye. They were the only things left from his life at Stampley Plantation to which he could say goodbye.

A tear of sadness, regret, and fear escaped down his cheek. Jacob brushed it away with his sleeve, and then took off into the woods.


Any and all feedback is welcome and desired! I would love to hear advice on how my writing might improve, characters or scenes you particularly enjoy, 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.