The Adventures of Stampley Plantation
By WannabeWhitman (Mm, 1st, hist, interr, nc, reluc)
NOTE TO READERS: This is an ongoing series involving slavery in the antebellum
South, non-consensual sex (sometimes with minors), and the use of racial epithets. The
material is mostly of a homosexual nature, but includes some bisexual themes. If you
think any of this might offend you, DO NOT READ. I realize some material may be
distasteful and offensive to some readers, but nobody is forcing you to read it. The
series covers a wide range of sexual expression, however, so just because you dislike
one chapter doesn't mean you won't enjoy others. 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 7: Abel
James was certain he was going to die.
He pictured his emaciated body gasping its last breath, leaving the vultures and
coyotes to fight over its rotting flesh. He imagined a local family, coming to the
creek for a Sunday-afternoon picnic, discovering with horror his crumbling skeleton
still gagged and tied to the tree.
For the first hour following Jacob's escape, James had screamed with all his
strength. But the blue towel stuffed in his mouth, combined with the sound of the
creek's current, made it so that somebody standing just ten feet away couldn't hear
his cries for help.
James waited for the rest of the afternoon, hoping other travelers would stop for a
meal or swim just as he and Jacob had done. He heard only one wagon the entire
time, and could only sit helplessly as it passed without stopping.
As the sun began to set, James's anxiety turned into full-blown panic. His stomach
burned with hunger. His mouth was parched and still sore from its brutal assault by
Jacob's dick. He had to piss so badly that eventually he had no choice but to urinate
on himself. He also needed to take a shit. He could feel some of Jacob's cum still
leaking out his asshole and soaking the back of his cotton pants. But he refused
himself that release, determined to spare himself the shame of shitting on himself
before being rescued.
That night was the longest and most miserable night of James's life. From sunset to
sunrise, James's body was alert and tense in wide-eyed terror. He had no idea
Georgia nights could be so strange and terrifying. Never before had he found
himself immersed in darkness so thick and impenetrable. Insects roamed and bit his
sweaty body. The shrieks of night-hawks and howls of coyotes pierced the night's
silence, freezing James's body in watchful fear. He could hear raccoons and wolves
and god-only-knows-what-else prowling within feet of his defenseless body. Several
times he swore he heard human moans and screams coming from across the creek.
Worse than the terror of James's physical environment were the thoughts plaguing
his restless mind. Like scenes from a nightmare, memories of James's earlier rape
flashed across his mind: The searing pain caused by Jacob's thick cock thrusting
mercilessly into his virgin asshole. The humiliation and helplessness of having his
pride and power as Master completely stripped away. The shame of being called
ugly, hateful names while his ass was pounded over and over, just like a whore's
pussy. The smell of Jacob's hot nigger breath on his face. The feel of the stable-boy's
slimy spit sliding down his cheek and chin.
But even worse, James was troubled by the guilty pleasure he'd felt while being
raped, a pleasure so intense that it had caused him to shoot his load. He recalled the
heat and fullness of having his insides stuffed with a Negro's manhood. The thrill of
surrendering his body in total degraded service to the pleasure of a rebellious Negro
slave. No, surrender and service were words too tame for what had actually
occurred, since James had no choice in the matter. It was more like an utter loss of
masculine pride and power, a brief and strangely liberating role-reversal that
offered a temporary release from the pressures of white American manhood.
These feelings shamed and confused James, especially when the sun rose, several
hours passed, and still there were no hopes of rescue. Such feelings seemed absurdly
irreconcilable with the image of his filthy, famished, piss-soaked body slumped
beneath the tree.
Now it was noon, nearly twenty-four hours after Jacob had bound James's body to
the tree, and James was certain he was going to die. Just as James had begun to
discover the seductive power of his role as slave-master, all the possibilities of his
new life were going to be snatched away from him.
Of course it was that very same power that had placed his life in danger in the first
place. In less than a month, he'd grown so accustomed to his power over other
human beings that he'd callously, carelessly risked his own life, all so he could fuck
an 18-year-old Negro slave.
Just as he was giving up hope of ever being rescued, James heard the rattling of a
wagon driving on the road. It stopped near the path to the creek, and then James
heard the sounds of footsteps coming toward the clearing.
"Hello?!?" a man's voice shouted, growing louder as it approached. "Anybody back
Two men stepped into the clearing, one white, and the other black.
"What the devil....?!?" the white man cried out when James's muffled whimpers
drew his attention to the tree where James was bound. The man was short and
stocky, with dark, beady eyes, and a thin, black beard. He looked like he was in his
"For Christ's sake, untie the man, Lucky!" the white man ordered.
The Negro, whose jaw was hanging open in astonishment at the sight before him,
rushed over to James. He looked to be about 22 or 23 years old. He kneeled down
and hurriedly unknotted the gag around James's head. Even in his shell-shocked
state, James noticed the young man's physical attractiveness, inhaled the distinct,
intoxicating odor of Negro sweat, and swooned from the heat of the slave's skin so
close to his own.
James gulped down the fresh air once the Negro had freed the blue towel from his
"Thank you," James said weakly. "I thought for certain I was a dead man."
The Negro that the white man had called Lucky moved to the back of the tree and
began working on the knots still binding James's hands.
"What in tarnation happened here?!?" the white man asked as he walked to the
creek, kneeled down, and filled a leather canteen with fresh water.
"My slave....Jacob....tied me up....ran away...." James fumbled to form
his words into comprehensible sentences.
The young Negro man undid the last knot, freeing James's arms to hang limply at
his sides. At first James couldn't feel a thing in either arm, but when the blood
finally began to flow freely, it felt like both arms were being stabbed with millions of
"You tellin' me a nigger did this to you?!?" the white man asked, outraged.
He walked over to James, kneeled down, and poured the cold canteen water into
James's parched mouth. The Negro stood behind the white man, watching and
listening with curiosity.
"My name's James Stampley," James explained between thirsty gulps. "I inherited
Stampley Plantation from my Uncle about a month ago. My driver and I were
heading to Columbus yesterday."
"Jesus Christ, you been here all NIGHT?!?" the white man asked sympathetically.
"We stopped for lunch," James explained, nodding toward Becky's basket, now
empty and lying on its side in the dirt. "My slave....attacked me. Tied me up so
he could run away, I guess."
"Well, I'll be damned!" the white man exclaimed, shaking his head. "Walt
Stampley's nephew, huh? It's a shame about your uncle dyin' so sudden like that.
I'd heard his nephew'd taken over the place, but figured I'd meet you at one of the
shindigs over at Sam Potter's place. Sure as hell never thought I'd meet you this
The man took one of James's limp hands in his grasp and shook it vigorously. He
knew the disoriented man before him was one of the wealthiest men in Georgia,
second only to Sam Potter. The beefy little white man knew this meant enormous
political clout and a high social standing, and he was eager to make a good first
"The name's Turner....Frank Turner. I own a small plantation about three miles
down the road. Lucky and me was just on our way to the Potter place when I seen
your wagon and its horses snortin' and neighin' and lookin' like they was ready to
collapse. Somethin' didn't feel right, so's I figured we'd best check things out. And
I'm damn sure glad we did!"
Frank Turner stood up. "Damn it to hell, you took me by surprise so bad I nearly
forgot my manners! You must be starving!"
The beady-eyed white man looked back at the handsome Negro. "Lucky, go fetch
Sarah's ham sandwiches from the wagon!"
Lucky dutifully dashed through the brush toward the wagon, returning moments
later with a basket similar to Becky's. He kneeled down, opened the basket, pulled
out a ham sandwich, and handed it to James. James noticed the slave's eyes were
deep and kind, even though they remained carefully lowered to avoid direct contact
with James's eyes.
James began hungrily devouring the sandwich, swallowing down each salty,
heavenly bite as quickly as his weary mouth would allow.
Lucky stood up beside his Master. Both men now stood over him, watching him eat
as if he were an injured bird they'd decided to nurse back to health.
"Thank you, Mr. Turner," James mumbled with his mouth full.
"Don't mention it, Mr. Stampley," Mr. Turner insisted, waving his hand
dismissively at James. "Any kin to Walt Stampley's as good as kin to me. We'll get
you home safe and sound, don't you worry!"
As James stuffed down his second sandwich, he tried to get a closer look at Lucky
without staring rudely. The young man was a spectacular specimen of Negro
manhood, no doubt about it. He had dark, piercing eyes whose intensity probably
made both women AND men look away in discomfort. His skin was a light, creamy
brown. He had thick, tangled, wooly hair; a large nose with the wide nostrils of
African ancestry; strong, well-defined jaws; curly wisps of dark hair that wandered
down his cheeks but never quite turned into a full beard; deep-red lips of medium
thickness; broad shoulders; and a thin but impressively muscled build. If Jacob's
beauty was that of a full-blooded African taking his first steps into adulthood,
Lucky's was the uniquely African-AMERICAN beauty of an uncertain mixture of
races, the caramel-skinned handsomeness common to most third, fourth, and fifth-
generation slaves, sprouted into full-grown manhood.
Frank Turner looked like his mind was doing somersaults the entire time he
watched James eat.
"Seein' as you're a Stampley, how about I make you an offer you can't refuse?" he
said, grinning and spitting confidently to his left. "Maybe see if I can't make up for
the shitty welcome your nigger done gave you to the fine state of Georgia."
James listened with weary curiosity.
"Since your team of horses sure as hell ain't gonna make the trip back to Potter
County this afternoon, and I only live just down the road, I'll swap you wagons. I'll
even throw Lucky here into the trade, so's he can drive you home. Sounds like
you're gonna need a good stable-nigger, now that your other done run off."
Lucky looked at his Master in sickened surprise. "But Massuh Turner, I...." the
slave stuttered in protest.
"He's a damn fine nigger-boy," Mr. Turner said, patting the stunned man on the
back and drowning out the slave's interruption. "Nothin' like the piece of shit
nigger that done this to you! Lucky'll show you how loyal and hard-workin'
Georgia niggers usually is. Hell, if you leave now, he'll have you home by sundown.
If you don't take a likin' to him, send him back. But if I don't hear from you, I'll
send the papers to you next week."
Lucky's skin turned three shades paler, and he looked like he was going to collapse.
James couldn't believe his ears. Mr. Turner was giving his slave to James just as
casually as he'd given the man his lunch, with not a second's concern wasted on his
decision's disruption of the young slave's life. For all James knew, Mr. Turner was
tearing Lucky away from the only home he'd ever known, perhaps even a wife and
children, with no more thought than he might put into lighting another man's cigar.
While the thought appalled James, it also thrilled him. He found himself excited by
the idea that with just a spoken word, the handsome Negro standing before him was
now HIS PROPERTY, to do with as he pleased. The young slave's bewildered,
helpless expression broke James's heart. But Lucky's masculine body was too
strong a temptation for him, and now that it was within his reach, being forced upon
him, James lacked the willpower to turn down such an enticing offer. Besides, he
wanted to return to Stampley Plantation as soon as possible, and this seemed the
only way to make that happen. Like Mr. Turner said, James could always send
Lucky back after several days.
"That's very generous of you, Mr. Turner," James said weakly. "I appreciate your
Mr. Turner grinned. He hoped James would remember this generosity next time
the Turner Plantation needed a loan, or a good word put in with the politicians in
"You've been a real good nigger for me, Lucky," Mr. Turner said, patting the
shocked slave on the shoulders again. "But your new Master here needs you more
than I do. Go help the poor man to his feet and show him what a good nigger-boy
you can be!"
Lucky walked dizzily over to James, put his arm around his new Master's back,
rested James's right arm across his broad shoulders, and lifted him to his feet.
James thrilled at the touch of the slave's hot, sweat-soaked shoulders and whiffs of
his unmistakable Negro odor.
"And don't you worry about the runaway nigger neither," Mr. Turner assured
James as he followed behind Lucky, who assisted his new Master to the wagon.
"Just as soon as I get this wagon back, I'll let every white man from here to
Columbus know about it. We'll have Columbus County's best hounds and nigger-
catchers on the little coon's trail in less than an hour! You want him dead, alive, or
half-alive?" Mr. Turner laughed.
"Alive," James said distractedly. "Please don't harm the boy."
"Just like your Uncle Walt, I see," Mr. Turner smiled. "The soft-hearted Master.
Most'll say that don't do nothin' but spoil niggers. Me, I like to leave 'em with some
pain to think on while they're shipped back to the REAL punishment waitin' for
'em. But suit yourself, Mr. Stampley, suit yourself."
When he got to the wagon, James looked through his bag and realized Jacob had
stolen his money and pass. He gave Mr. Turner as detailed a physical description as
his exhausted mind could produce, and again insisted that Jacob be caught and
returned to Stampley Plantation unharmed.
Mr. Turner shook James's hand a hearty farewell, and said he hoped to see James
the next time Mr. Potter hosted Georgia's nearby landowners for a weekend of
feasting, dancing, and hunting. He nodded an awkward goodbye to Lucky, but
didn't shake the Negro man's hand. He then proceeded to lead his new property of
hungry, tired horses gently down the dirty road toward his plantation.
Just as James was beginning to hop into his new wagon, his need to shit returned
with a vengeance. With an embarrassed apology to Lucky, James stumbled into the
woods, shoved down his pants, and emptied his bowels. After using some leaves to
clean himself, he returned to the wagon with a sheepish look.
The back of the wagon was loaded with straw, and Lucky had made a bed for James
by patting some of it down in the center.
"You needs your sleep, Massuh James," the young man said in a kind voice tinged
with sadness. "It be a little scratchy, but I reckon it'll feel better than the back of
that tree," he added, smiling weakly.
"Thank you, Lucky," James said, using the assistance of the slave's muscled arm to
help him into the back of the wagon. He was amazed at how quickly the young man
adapted to serving a new Master.
"Lucky," James said softly, before the man hopped onto the front seat. "This is as
sudden for me as it is for you, but I think you'll find I'm a kind Master. I think
you'll find life at Stampley Plantation to be pleasant."
James felt pangs of guilt every time he looked into Lucky's deep, sad eyes, and
wanted to make those feelings go away.
"Naw, it ain't that, Massuh James," Lucky said, his intense eyes looking at the
ground. "You seems like a real good Massuh. The way you axed Massuh Ed to bring
that nigger back alive, that was real kind of you, and I ain't never heard no white
man talk like that befo'."
"What's the matter then, Lucky?" James asked, not certain he really wanted to
know. "Aren't you happy Mr. Turner gave you to a kind Master like me?"
"Oh, yessuh, Massuh James....it just that...."
Lucky stopped in mid-sentence. He was about to say that he'd lived on the Turner
plantation since the age of 13, close to ten years. He was about to explain that he was
leaving behind a wife and three sons, all because of a white man's selfish whim. But
he'd lived long enough to know that even kind-hearted white men like his new
Master could be spurred into a violent rage by the slightest hint of defiance or
ingratitude from a slave, and thought better of sharing his impulsive confession.
"I'se real happy I'se yours now, Massuh James. That be all....I'se just real
happy, I reckon," Lucky said, hopping onto the front seat and taking the reigns in
James smiled with satisfaction, content for the moment to take the slave's word at
face value. His mind was spinning and his body ached. He'd been through a hell of
an ordeal, and desperately needed rest. The rocking wagon made his eyelids grow
Just as he surrendered to sleep, James heard the faint sounds of crying through the
din of the wagon wheels.
Abel loved reading more than anything else in the world.
Books were the only things that kept him from feeling completely, hopelessly alone
on Stampley Plantation, especially now that Master Walt was dead.
As far as his work was concerned, Abel couldn't complain. In fact, he knew he was
probably the luckiest slave his age on the entire plantation. The chores of a house-
boy demanded speed, precision, and initiative, but they weren't physically grueling,
and came with a lot of perks such as better meals, cleaner lodgings, regular baths,
and lots of free time.
But what good was free time, Abel often thought to himself, if he didn't have anyone
to spend it with?
The other slave boys his age had stopped playing with him years ago. He vaguely
remembered a time long ago, when as a little boy he'd played happily with the other
slave children. But when he was around eight or nine years old, some of the older
boys started calling him cruel names like "house nigger," "yellow boy," "whitey,"
and "cracker." When he began crying, confused by the sudden meanness of boys
he'd considered friends, they shouted things like, "Why don't you run to yo' daddy
in the Big House?!? Go cryin' to him! Yo' yellow ass more welcome up there curled
in his lap than you is down here with real niggers!" After running home in tears
several days in a row, Abel was told by his Mama to stay close to the Big House and
quit playing with the other slave children.
At first he missed the company of his childhood friends terribly, but eventually he
learned how to entertain himself. He especially loved to fish. Sometimes when he
fished, he'd make up fantastic adventure stories that he'd run home and excitedly
tell his Mama and Daddy.
But his parents always shooed him away, too busy with work to be distracted by his
childish imagination. Most of the time they treated him no better than the other
slave children. His mother was always preoccupied with cooking or cleaning, and
Abel always had the feeling he caused her more trouble than joy, more annoyance
than pleasure. She never hugged him, sang to him, or played with him the way he'd
seen some of the slave-quarter mothers do with their children. There seemed always
to be some distance between them, some obstacle to her affections that he sensed
His father Abraham was even worse. Abel couldn't recall a single time the man had
looked at him with anything other than icy indifference or gruff impatience. They
never spent time alone, just father and son, and Abel never heard Abraham say
anything to him in a gentle or kind voice. When Abel was snatched from his
childhood freedom and placed in the position of Assistant House-Boy at the age of
twelve, he'd hoped working side by side with his father would bring them closer
together. But it only increased the tension between them, and no matter how hard
Abel tried, his father always found fault with the quality of his work. In a guilty
way, Abel was actually enjoying the independence since his father had grown
gravely ill shortly before Master Walt's death.
Abel was confused and hurt by his father's rejection. He wondered if it was because
Master Walt and his guests always complimented Abel's good looks and pleasant
demeanor, involving him in their conversations and stories in a way they never did
with his father.
In fact, white folks gave Abel more attention and praise than the boy ever received
from his own parents or other Negroes. "My God!" they'd gasp. "I declare, if it
weren't for the boy's hair, he could almost pass for a white boy! What a shame
about the hair, though....I swear it's the only thing 'nigger' about him!"
Sometimes one of Master Walt's buddies would add, "Don't look a thing like that
African-looking nigger father of his," winking mysteriously at Master Walt, who
always turned bright red after such comments.
White folks had been fawning over Abel's beauty and complimenting his "white-
sounding" way of speaking ever since he was a little boy. As a result, he'd quickly
grown to crave the attention and approval of white people, especially Master Walt.
And why shouldn't he, when Master Walt had shown him more kindness than
anyone else in his sixteen years on Stampley Plantation?
It was Master Walt who'd given him his first fishing pole at the age of nine.
It was Master Walt who'd taught him how to read, making him one of the only
literate slaves on the entire plantation. Abel's memories of sitting close to the older
white man on the verandah, feeling Master Walt's strong arm wrapped around his
waist, smelling the older man's cigar-breath when he leaned in close to Abel's face
to teach the day's lesson, were some of the sweetest and most thrilling of his young
life. Master Walt told Abel he was a quick learner, smarter even than most WHITE
boys. He gave Abel special permission to borrow any three books from his library at
a time, with the understanding that he return them in good condition, and never
share them with the other slaves. Abel was a special boy, Master Walt told him.
Most nigger-brains were too tiny to be capable of reading a book, he'd explained.
Abel remembered how special he'd felt that night in the hallway, when Master Walt
had come to his rescue.
One of Master Walt's old buddies from his college days in Atlanta had come to visit
when Abel was thirteen years old. Abel felt uneasy the entire time he served supper
to Master Walt and his friend. He saw the stranger staring at him with a hungry
look in his eyes, a look that scared Abel even though he didn't know precisely why.
The visitor pestered Abel with questions about his age, his parents, whether he was
happy with Master Walt, whether he'd ever been to South Carolina, if he had any
nigger girlfriends, and so on. Master Walt looked tense and uncomfortable, and
curtly told his friend to stop bothering the boy. The guest persisted in his rudeness,
and later when the two men were smoking on the verandah, Abel overheard the
man begging to buy him from Master Walt.
Later that night Abel was returning from the east wing of the house, where he'd re-
stocked linens for the next day's baths, when the man met him in the hallway,
blocking Abel's way and staring at him with a scary smile on his face. Before Abel
knew what was happening, the man slammed his small body against the wall and
began licking all over his face. While he forced his tongue into Abel's mouth, the
man crudely cupped the boy's crotch with his right hand, and slid his left hand into
the back of Abel's dress pants, grabbing and squeezing both of the house-boy's ass-
"Such a pretty nigger," the man grunted as he fondled the preteen houseboy's body,
his breath reeking of liquor and cigars. "Such a goddamn beautiful nigger-boy."
Abel was terrified. He had no idea what the strange man was doing to him, but he
knew it felt gross, and he knew the man was touching him in private places where
no other person, not even a white person, should touch him. He screamed with all
the ferocity his still-high-pitched voice could muster.
The man whirled Abel around, shoved his front-side against the wall, and ripped
down Abel's silk pants so that his naked bottom was exposed. Just as the nasty man
started to poke his big, hairy fingers between Abel's ass-crack, Master Walt ran
around the corner - shirtless, shoeless, and obviously disturbed from his sleep - and
lunged at his startled friend with angry curse-words. He threw the visitor against
the opposite wall and punched the man repeatedly in the face.
Stunned and embarrassed, Abel quickly pulled up his pants and watched in disbelief
as his Master pummeled his guest like a madman. In between bloody sobs for
Master Walt to stop, the man begged Master Walt to sell the house-boy to him,
swearing no price was too high for the purchase.
These pleas only seemed to intensify the force of Master Walt's punches. "Don't you
ever touch another fucking hair on that boy's head again, do you hear me?!?"
Master Walt shouted. "That there's a SPECIAL nigger! He belongs to ME! And he
ain't for sale, not now or goddamn ever!"
Although he'd been disgusted by the visitor's rough hands groping his body, Abel
also remembered the thrill he'd felt when he heard the pathetic desperation in the
man's voice. He liked the idea that a grown white man seemed driven half-crazy by
desire for HIM, nothing more than a thirteen-year-old Negro slave! And Abel was
even MORE flattered by how fiercely Master Walt had come to his defense. He'd
stared in wonder and disbelief at two WHITE MEN, fighting over him just like the
knights he'd read about in Master Walt's novels.
Of course even Master Walt's affections had their limits. Despite the more casual
chumminess of their reading sessions on the porch, Master Walt still demanded the
usual slave formalities from Abel when the boy served him. He still laughed and
referred to the boy as a "nigger" in front of company. He'd taught Abel how to
read, but shooed the boy away any time he tried to ask his Master about a
particular novel's author or plot twist. He'd go away for weeks at a time, and only
greet Abel with a cordial "hello" upon his return. Still, Abel lived for the occasional
approving nod or friendly word from the older white man.
But now Master Walt was dead, and Abel felt lonelier than ever.
Abel had hoped his new Master, Master Walt's nephew, would treat him with the
same warmth and attention, but Master James always seemed odd and distracted.
That day Master James scared him half to death while taking a bath, the man
seemed nervous and preoccupied, despite Abel's best efforts to appear friendly and
talkative. Then his new Master had gone and made the strange rule that Abel was
only to go upstairs between 3 p.m. and 9 p.m. every day, further reducing contact
and communication between Master and slave. Accustomed to feeling an outcast,
Abel could only guess he'd done something wrong to displease his new Master,
despite how hard he'd tried to make a good first impression.
Abel's only relief from loneliness came through literature. Reading about great
wars, romances, or adventures on the high seas allowed Abel an escape, if only for
several hours, from his dull, sad life on Stampley Plantation.
On the second night following Master James's departure to Columbus, Abel was
lying in the hammock on the front verandah, reading by the light of the setting sun,
when he was startled from his book by the sound of an approaching wagon. He leapt
from the hammock, worried he might be punished if the new Master caught him
doing a thing as bold as reading in the white man's hammock - something he'd only
dared to do because Master James wasn't expected back until the following evening.
Abel ran to the edge of the porch and squinted to see who was riding in the wagon.
His mother ran from inside the house to join him. Driving the wagon was a young
Negro man neither of them recognized, and stepping down from the back of the
wagon was none other than Master James!
The Negro man hopped from the wagon, put his right arm around the white man's
side, and assisted him to the edge of the porch. Abel noticed his Master's clothes
were torn and filthy, and both cheeks looked bruised and puffy.
"Lord have mercy, what happened to you, Master James?!?" Becky cried out in
Abel stared ahead in speechless surprise. A real-life adventure-story was unfolding
before his very eyes.
"It's Jacob...." James explained in a weary, distant voice. "He's....I'm afraid
he's run away. He beat me, tied me up, and ran away."
Becky gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.
"That stable-nigger ran away?!?" Mr. Potter shouted, coming from the house to
join the others on the porch. He looked James up and down, shaking his head.
"Jesus Christ, Little Jimmy, you look like shit!" he concluded bluntly. "What the
hell did that nigger do to you?!? You reek like a goddamn outhouse!"
"It was horrible....just horrible," James mumbled, hanging his head in shame.
Abel felt sorry for the man, and angry with Mr. Potter for embarrassing him.
"Your Uncle always did have trouble with that uppity nigger," Mr. Potter said,
glaring knowingly in Becky's direction. "Ain't nothin' but trouble ever come from a
nigger that don't know his place, and all's you had to do was look to see the uppity-
ness in that nigger's eyes. I seen this comin' a mile away. Dammit, I never should
have sent a wet-behind-the-years Yankee like yourself on a trip alone with a nigger
Mr. Potter smashed the palm of his hand angrily against one of the verandah posts.
He looked suspiciously at Lucky, suddenly realizing the strange Negro's presence.
"Boy, ain't you one of Frank Turner's niggers?" Mr. Potter asked.
Still supporting James with both arms, Lucky dropped his eyes to the ground and
answered: "Yessuh, I sho is....I mean, WAS."
"Mr. Turner and Lucky here were the two that found me," James explained. "They
saved my life, no doubt about it. Mr. Turner traded wagons and gave me Lucky to
drive me home tonight. Said I could keep him, too."
Mr. Potter laughed. "It ain't so bad bein' one of the richest men in Georgia, now is
it, Little Jimmy? Funny how folks'll start givin' niggers away for free when they
hear the Stampley name!"
"I suppose," James replied uneasily. "Mr. Turner promised to spread the word and
put together a hunt for Jacob, but I'd appreciate it, Mr. Potter, if you could
organize a search for Potter County, in case he made it this far north. I feel so
inexperienced....in such matters. All I ask is that you bring the boy back alive
and in one piece."
"Don't you worry, Little Jimmy!" Mr. Potter boasted, adjusting the wide-brimmed
hat on his head. "In the last five years, I ain't had a nigger run away and NOT
gotten hisself caught! Best record in the county. I got me some of the best nigger-
catchers in the South, not to mention thirty hounds that live and breathe for the
scent and taste of nigger flesh. I'll ride over to my place, get a posse together, and
have the nigger back to you by this time tomorrow, just you mark my words!"
The burly man tipped his hat to the group on the porch and jogged toward the barn
to get his horse, howling gleefully to the sky as he went. "Boy, do I LOVE me a
"ALIVE AND UNHARMED!" James shouted weakly back at him, looking
apologetically at Lucky, Becky, and Abel. The sounds of Mr. Potter's laughter
disappeared into the stable.
James looked distractedly at Becky, like he was looking through a ghost. Despite his
restless nap on the way home, James felt like he might collapse at any moment from
pain and exhaustion. "Becky, please see to it that Lucky here gets a good meal, then
have one of the overseers put him up in one of the slave cabins."
"Yes, Master James," Becky said, a welcoming smile replacing her earlier worried
expression. She nodded for the young man to follow her into the house.
"I'll call for you tomorrow, Lucky," James said, releasing the man's arms to stand
on his own. "We can talk about your new duties here at Stampley then."
Lucky nodded a nervous goodbye, and climbed the steps of the porch to follow
Becky. The sad look from before hadn't left his intense eyes.
"What should I do, Master James?" Abel asked eagerly.
James turned to focus on the boy who until now had been a blurry part of the
background. The boy's piercing green eyes, smiling face, and well-dressed body
came into clear focus. James thought he looked more breathtaking than ever, a
comforting sight for sore eyes.
"I'd like you to draw me a hot bath," James instructed. "As you can tell from my
smell, I sure do need one!" He smiled at the boy. "I'm afraid I'm still weak and may
need your help getting there."
Glad he could be of assistance, Abel wasted no time obeying his Master's
instructions. He slid his right arm around James's back, and allowed his strong
youthful body to be used as the weaker older man's support while they walked
slowly toward James's private bathroom.
Once there, Abel seated James on a wooden stool near the large tin bathtub. James
rested there while Abel left to heat water for the bath. James's mind was still reeling
from the shock of his recent trauma, and his body ached for the soothing heat and
symbolic purification of a long bath. Anything to feel normal and safe again.
Abel returned about fifteen minutes later, carrying two large tin pails of steaming
James looked affectionately at his slave-boy's serious face, focused on completing his
task to perfection. James also admired the muscles of Abel's arms, shoulders, and
back, flexing through his white shirt as he poured the hot water into the washtub.
And hard as he tried, James couldn't take his eyes off the round curves of his slave-
boy's ass, pushing up and out against the tightly-fitting cloth of his dress-pants.
After two more trips to the kitchen and back, Abel smiled at his Master and
announced, "Your bath's all ready, Master James."
Preparing a full bath was tiring work, but Abel was happy to have a role to play in
comforting his injured Master.
"Thank you, Abel," James said kindly. "I can't imagine there's a better house-boy
than you in all of Georgia!"
"I try my best, Master James," Abel replied, blushing and looking away. He was
always thrilled when white people recognized the diligence and thoroughness of his
James stood up slowly and tried to remove his shoes, but doing so only made his
weak body lose its balance. He stumbled forward, and grabbed the side of the
washtub to stop his fall.
"You all right, Master James?" Abel asked, with sincere concern in his adolescent
"I guess I'm weaker than I thought," James confessed sheepishly. "I'm afraid I
might need help getting out of these clothes."
James's request was innocent enough, prompted by the practical needs of the
moment, but his body felt an excited chill when he realized the potentially erotic
nature of his request.
Abel looked up in surprise. He'd been well-trained in the duties of a house-slave by
his father and Master Walt, but never in his four years of service had he been asked
to assist in removing a white man's clothes. In fact, other than seeing Master Walt
shirtless or naked beneath soapy bath bubbles, Abel had never seen a white man
naked. Abel was usually prepared to satisfy any of his Master's needs within
seconds, but this request caught him off guard. Not wanting to displease his Master,
he quickly crossed the room and stood with awkward uncertainty next to James.
"Please take off my shoes, Abel," James instructed, sitting back down on the stool to
collect his composure. He extended his right leg in Abel's direction.
Abel immediately dropped to his knees, took James's right foot in his hands, and
with a slight struggle managed to pull off the man's shoe and sock. James admired
the boy's eager, intense service as Abel did the same with the other foot.
Abel stood up nervously, unsure what to do.
"Thank you, Abel," James said softly. "Now I need you to unbutton my shirt."
James knew he was probably strong enough to undress with just a little propping-
up from Abel, but he wanted to enjoy the moment's full erotic potential.
Abel furrowed his brow with the anxiety of a perfectionist facing the challenge of a
new task. He bent down, reached out, and began clumsily fumbling with the buttons
on James's shirt.
Abel quickly realized that unbuttoning a shirt backwards was a tricky task. He
could feel James watching him intently, but tried to focus his own eyes and fingers
on his Master's shirt. Even though he'd worked in close quarters with Master Walt
for several years, the sudden intimacy of this moment was new and uncomfortable.
James was incredibly turned on by the awkward but intense way Abel tackled his
task, especially when he felt one of the boy's skinny fingers brush against his chest.
He could feel the warmth of Abel's body leaning in close to his own, and James
breathed in the teenage boy's sweet Negro smell.
After he'd completely unbuttoned James's shirt, Abel looked at James as if to ask,
"Step behind me and help pull my shirt off," James instructed.
Abel did as he was told. He stood behind James, reached his arms around to his
Master's front, and took the sides of the open shirt in both hands. He gently pulled
the shirt back over the white man's bare shoulders, and worked the sleeves off each
arm. He wrinkled up his nose at the foul odor of his Master's sweaty, unwashed
body. Abel dropped the dirty shirt on the floor and stood staring at the white man's
pale, lightly freckled back.
"Please....please take off my pants, Abel," James asked, standing up slowly.
James realized that asking such a thing of an equally good-looking Negro boy in the
North would be perceived as absurd, even offensive, but he knew that Abel had no
choice but to obey his orders. He also realized that a boy with Abel's eager-to-please
temperament would feel especially pressured to comply with such a request. After
the devastating powerlessness of the last twenty-four hours, James found this
restored control to be exhilarating.
Abel's body stiffened. He walked back to face James, glanced uneasily into his
Master's eyes, and began nervously fumbling with the buttons on James's pants.
Abel was extremely uncomfortable with the idea of undressing the older white man.
His parents had instilled in him a strong sense of modesty, even going so far as to
make him dress for work in the morning and bed at night in the privacy of the
storage-room across from the room the three of them shared. "We ain't jungle
creatures like the field niggers," his father frequently explained. "We got some
morals about us, like the white folks." As a result, Abel had grown to view the
human body as something private. The only times he'd seen others naked were
when he'd swam with the other slave-quarter boys as a very young boy. Based on
his extensive reading from Master Walt's library, Abel believed nudity was only
appropriate between a man and a woman in the context of marriage or romantic
But the first lesson he'd learned as a house-boy-in-training was never to question
the Master's orders, no matter how bizarre, irrational, or unnecessary. Abel didn't
want to diminish his reputation as an obedient, praiseworthy slave, and he
desperately wanted the new Master to like him.
Abel blushed a deep crimson as he undid the first, second, then third buttons of his
Master's pants, trying to avoid eye contact as he did so. He noticed the thick stench
of urine in the air, but tried his best to conceal this awareness. He looked away in
embarrassment and slowly tugged his Master's piss-soaked pants to the floor.
"Thank you for your assistance, Abel," James said, stepping out of his pants. He
now stood completely naked next to Abel, and hoped the handsome house-boy
didn't find the sight of his body repulsive.
"If it's all right with you, Master James," Abel asked shyly, still looking away from
his nude Master, "I'll leave you to enjoy your bath alone."
"No!" James protested in a voice he realized sounded a little too desperate. "I'd
rather you stay to keep me company. I've....I've just been through a terrible
experience, and I don't want to be alone. And I think I need your help stepping into
"I'm sorry, Master James," Abel said guiltily. "I'll stay with you if that's what you
Abel took James by the arm to assist him into the bath, but avoided looking at the
details of his Master's nudity. All he allowed himself to see was a blurry mass of
white flesh beside him. He firmly grasped James's arm as the man stepped slowly,
one foot at a time, into the tub's steaming water.
James sank blissfully down into the water, and for a second all thoughts of Abel fled
his mind. He laid back and dunked his entire head beneath the water, allowing the
bath to cleanse his aching body of two days' worth of sweat, piss, grime, and shit. At
first the hot water stung his torn, aching asshole, but soon the water's warmth
began to relieve its throbbing pain.
Feeling partially revived, James's thoughts returned to the fun he was having with
Abel. He could tell by Abel's flushed cheeks and embarrassed glances that the boy
was uncomfortable with the situation and doing his best to ignore James's nudity.
But James relished his power to FORCE the boy's attention upon his naked body,
and wanted to pursue that power further.
"I'd like you to help wash me, Abel," James said, his eyes shut in pleasure at the
water's soothing warmth. "I'm afraid that I'm too weak to scrub myself tonight."
Abel's lips parted to protest, but he caught himself. He wanted to explain that he'd
never done such a thing before, that Master Walt had always bathed himself. But he
knew it wasn't his place to question the new Master, especially after what the white
man had just suffered.
More nervous and uncomfortable than before, Abel walked to a shelf on the wall
and retrieved a large, bristled brush and chunk of soap. He walked slowly back to
the tub and stood there looking scared and confused.
James grabbed the sides of the tub and pushed himself into a standing position,
facing Abel. Abel looked anxiously toward his Master's naked body, water running
in streams down the man's skin and dripping into the bath-water below. Abel was
afraid if he looked away too much, he'd make the new Master uncomfortable. But if
he stared too hard, he risked violating the man's sense of modesty. For the first time
in a long while, Abel was at a loss as to how best to please his Master.
Still blushing, Abel dipped both the soap and brush into the hot water, then lathered
the brush's bristles with soap. For a moment, he stood frozen in mid-motion, not
knowing where or how to begin.
James smiled at the boy's uncustomary slowness and uncertainty. He gently took
Abel's right hand (the hand holding the brush), and pulled it toward his chest. He
moved it in a circular motion, showing the nervous boy in front of him what to do.
Abel couldn't believe he was bathing a white man. His initial embarrassment
eventually turned into curiosity, and he allowed himself to focus on the details of the
grown man's nakedness. As he circled the brush around James's chest and stomach,
Abel marveled at his Master's pale skin, many shades lighter than even Abel's own
light-olive complexion. He took in the details of James's thin build, softer and less
muscular than his own teenage body, but firmer and healthier-looking than Master
Walt's. He noticed the patch of curly dark hair in the center of the man's chest. He
glanced at his Master's pink, round nipples, surrounded by wisps of dark hair.
Abel's curiosity was in no way sexual or aroused. It was the same curiosity that
made him so eager to discover, through Master Walt's library, the world beyond
Abel's touch electrified James's entire body with warmth and pleasure. Not since
his mother had bathed him as a young child had James been washed by another
person, and certainly not with the careful attention of a stunningly beautiful mulatto
like Abel. James liked watching Abel's serious face as it examined his naked body in
the way one might stare at an exotic animal at the State Fair. After the shocking
brutality of James's encounter with Jacob, Abel's nervous tenderness was
Abel's curiosity finally led him to glance nervously at the appendage dangling
between his Master's legs, which until now he'd been only vaguely and
uncomfortably aware of. He thought that it looked very different from his own -
tinier, redder, and more wrinkled. He watched it uneasily out of the corner of his
eyes as he scrubbed James's firm, slightly hairy legs, hoping his Master wouldn't
require its thorough scrubbing.
When Abel was finished cleaning James's front side, he looked apprehensively at
James, hoping he was satisfied. James nodded sternly for Abel to devote some
attention to his dick.
Abel looked shyly away as he moved his brush in a clumsy scrubbing motion across
James's soft, stubby dick. Wanting the boy's closer attention, James took hold of
Abel's left hand and placed it on his warm, soapy dick.
Abel's body tensed up at his first-ever touch of another man's dick. He'd touched
his own dick plenty of times. He'd discovered years ago how good it felt to wrap his
hand around it, pumping up and down until hot creamy spunk squirted out of the
tip. But this was entirely different. Master James's dick felt smooth, squishy, and
strange, like one of the thick nightcrawlers he sometimes used for fishing-bait.
As he circled the appendage with his fingers, Abel choked out a throaty,
embarrassed laugh. He washed the thick patch of wiry dark pubic hair above the
soft, stumpy dick. He lifted his Master's flabby dick to scrub its underside, and felt
it jerk and harden from his touch. He gently scrubbed the white man's red, low-
hanging balls, which were smooth to the touch even though they were covered with
tangles of blondish hair. Abel noticed that his Master's eyes were closed in what
appeared to be some kind of reverie.
"Would you like me to wash your back-side, Master James?" Abel asked quietly. As
weird as the whole experience felt, he couldn't help but wonder what the white
man's ass looked like.
Without speaking or opening his eyes, James turned around to signify his assent.
Abel stared a little more boldly now, knowing his Master wasn't watching. Abel
thought James's ass looked odd. It looked round and a little flabby....not fat
exactly, just fleshy. There was a tuft of dark hair trailing from the top of the man's
ass-crack down into the crease below.
Abel scrubbed James's back thoroughly, then tentatively moved his attention to his
Master's ass. He felt like laughing from embarrassment as he awkwardly scrubbed
James's jiggling buttocks.
Just as Abel was wondering how thorough he should be, James reached back and
parted his ass-cheeks, signaling Abel to clean between them. Abel's nose wrinkled
up in disgust. He didn't even like cleaning his own ass, and certainly didn't want to
put his hands anywhere near another man's asshole. He looked away and blindly
lunged the brush up and down the older man's parted crack, hoping his motions
would clean the dirty deeper place sufficiently.
Finally James sank back into the water to rinse the soap from his body.
"Thank you, Abel," James said, smiling. He'd thought the intense intimacy of being
washed by his innocent house-boy would be enough excitement for the night, but he
still found himself unsatisfied. The striking beauty of the teenage boy's face was
certainly a thrilling sight to behold, especially at such close range, but James longed
to see more of the boy's beauty revealed. He also felt a desperate need to ward off
the disturbing flashbacks of Jacob's angry, animalistic expressions while raping
James's face and ass, and what better than Abel's handsome, sweet-tempered face
and virgin body to keep him company and distract him from loneliness and
"I'd....I'd like you to join me, Abel," James said nervously. He was scared of the
young man's response, especially after Jacob's rebelliousness the day before.
"Master?!?" Abel gasped in surprise. He became so flustered that he accidentally
dropped the scrub-brush clattering to the floor. "I'm not sure what you mean,
"I'd like you to join me in my bath," James explained hoarsely, his heart racing
wildly. "I know it might sound strange, but it's really not. In Boston, men bathe
together all the time. It's a social activity, just like smoking cigars after dinner on
Abel's mind was a muddle of confusion. Instinctively, Abel resisted the idea of
sharing a bath with another man, especially his Master. Not since a little boy had he
been naked around anybody else. His body was private, and the idea of having it
exposed to his Master's eyes seemed inappropriate somehow. But at the same time,
Abel felt flattered that a white man as wealthy and important as Master James liked
him enough to invite him to participate in a "social activity," just as he might ask
Mr. Potter to join him for a smoke after supper. He remembered Master Walt
teaching him to read on the porch, and wondered if sharing a bath might bring him
just as close, if not CLOSER, to the new Master as those experiences had brought
him to Master Walt.
"Ummmm...." Abel hesitated, hoping to avoid the situation without seeming
disobedient. "Don't worry about me, Master James. My folks and I take our baths
in the storage-room off the kitchen, remember?"
"Oh, I remember," James replied, smiling. "But there's plenty of room in this tub
for two, and I'd really love the company. Besides, you're already half-soaked from
washing me! Come on, get out of those clothes and hop in here with me!"
Abel looked anxiously around the room, as if seeking an escape. He knew it was his
duty to please his Master, but until now he'd never been asked to do anything that
made him feel this self-conscious and hesitant. Abel knew he had no choice: Not only
would a refusal to cooperate spoil the reputation he'd worked so hard to establish,
but it might also lead Master James to demote him to a lowly field nigger.
"Yes, Master James," Abel said softly, looking nervously at the ground.
James noticed the lack of typical enthusiasm in Abel's voice, but was relieved to see
that the boy was going to cooperate. He could feel his heart thumping violently
against his chest in anticipation of seeing the unclothed body he'd imagined and
drooled over since his very first day at Stampley Plantation.
Abel slowly unbuttoned his vest, took it off, folded it neatly, and laid it on the
wooden stool. He looked back at James with a tense, nervous smile, then began
unbuttoning his dress shirt. James's heart beat even faster as he saw patches of the
boy's smooth, golden chest through the gradually opening shirt. When all the
buttons were unfastened, Abel awkwardly shrugged the shirt off his shoulders,
folded it, and laid it on top of the vest.
James reeled from the initial impact of seeing so much of the boy's bare skin at
once. He admired the slightly pronounced pectoral muscles, dotted with two tiny
dark-brown nipples. He smiled lustfully at the cutely protruding belly-button
resting beneath rippling abdominal muscles. He noticed the boy's rich-golden skin
glowing with a sheen of sweat. James thought to himself that it was a shame such
beauty remained concealed beneath layers of clothing most of the boy's waking
Abel noticed James's blatant ogling with a combination of pride and discomfort. He
normally liked it when white folks complimented his good looks, but this felt
different. Master James's expression resembled the creepy looks of the man who
wanted to purchase him, and later attacked him, when he was thirteen, more than
they resembled the affectionate smiles of Master Walt.
But Abel knew he couldn't stop now. He lifted one leg to pull off his shoe and sock,
then did the same with the other. He fumbled reluctantly with the buttons of his
dress-pants. He slid them hurriedly to the floor, moving quickly to cover his crotch
with both hands. His handsome face flushed crimson once again.
Hands still shielding his crotch from James's gaze, Abel walked shyly toward the
tub and stepped in, sinking down to hide his nakedness beneath the dirty, sudsy
water. He sat there, knees pulled to his chest, shivering with nervousness and
James's legs stretched out to brush against Abel's warm, silky-smooth sides, and his
dick jerked in excitement from the thrill of first contact.
Aroused as he was, James didn't want to repeat the mistake he'd made with Jacob,
especially with a young man as friendly and innocent as Abel. Part of him really did
desire the house-boy's company, and wanted to put the trembling boy at ease. For
about ten minutes the two men sat together, at opposite ends of the tin washtub,
talking awkwardly at first, then warmly, about the most minute details of life on
James asked Abel about his childhood, how he'd learned to read, what kinds of
books he liked to read, and what else the teenager enjoyed doing in his spare time.
For a few moments, Abel forgot his self-consciousness and lost himself in the thrill
of what felt like the start of an actual friendship with his new Master. It reminded
Abel of his talks with Master Walt, only Master James seemed even MORE
interested in the answers to his many questions.
For James, even this lighthearted conversation was erotically charged. He loved the
sound of Abel's adolescent Negro voice, deep but just a few years past puberty, as
the young man eagerly shared stories of his life with probably the first white man
who'd ever given a damn. He lost himself in the piercing intensity of the house-boy's
beautiful green eyes. He loved watching Abel's red, wet lips, somewhere between
full African thickness and barely-distinguishable Caucasian thinness. He admired
the beauty of the boy's nose, slender with just a hint of flared nostrils reminding one
of his African ancestry, a few cute freckles speckling its golden complexion.
James suddenly felt a maddening need to possess the boy, more sudden and intense
than anything he'd felt with Elijah, Thad, or Jacob. He felt like a connection with
Abel's beautiful flesh had the power to purge his memory of all shame, violation,
and ugliness associated with his brutal rape by Jacob.
"Let me wash you," James announced spontaneously, interrupting a story Abel was
telling about the biggest fish he'd ever caught.
Abel's chest tightened. He felt embarrassed and disappointed at having his story cut
short by the new Master, whose mind was obviously focused elsewhere. He also
didn't want to expose his body to the gaze and touch of another man.
"That's all right, Master James," Abel responded, trying to sound as casual and
friendly as possible. "I can wash myself. I'm nearly grown, and besides, I'm not
weak and injured like you."
James laughed. Abel's obvious attempt to protect his modesty only turned him on
all the more.
"True, true," James said, grinning. "But I'd like to wash you nonetheless. Let me
return the favor."
Abel blushed at his Master's eagerness. He wanted to escape the awkwardness of the
situation without jeopardizing the freshly-formed camaraderie between he and
Master James. He decided to try an honest approach.
"I don't know, Master James," Abel confessed nervously. "Ever since I was old
enough, I've washed myself. It doesn't feel right being naked in front of somebody
else, especially you."
"There's no need to worry," James assured him impatiently. His voice took a
sterner tone. "This is perfectly normal for many Masters and slaves."
Abel winced at the reminder of his lowly position in life, especially after his načve
and eager hope only moments earlier that he and the new Master were beginning an
actual friendship, perhaps something deeper and more enjoyable than he'd known
with Master Walt. His heart sank with disappointment at the tone of disapproval in
Master James's voice, a tone rarely heard by Abel from anyone other than his
"Hurry up, Abel," James ordered, trying his best to sound kind despite his rising
excitement and impatience. "The water's starting to get cold."
Abel covered his crotch with his hands, and stood up slowly. The air felt cold on his
wet body and covered his skin with goose-bumps.
"That's a good boy," James encouraged, realizing with a flash of shame that he was
praising Abel in the same way one talked to a dog being trained.
The vision of beauty before him quickly chased all pangs of conscience away. Abel's
nearly-white skin glistened from the water running down his chest and stomach. His
tiny brown nipples poked out from the cold air. His smooth, lanky legs shivered
from the cold.
James picked up the soap lying on the floor beside the washtub, then stood to face
Abel, no more than a foot from the boy's naked, goosebump-covered body.
Abel flinched when he saw that James's dick had grown considerably since he'd
washed it. It had hardened to its full seven inches and now jerked eagerly upward in
Abel's direction. It looked like a hungry red snake coiling to strike.
Abel felt his stomach growing queasy. He knew his own dick only got hard when he
thought about the naked women painted in some of Master Walt's books on famous
artists, or when he pictured scenes from the more bawdy, scandalous works in
Master Walt's library. Abel had read enough to know that there were mysterious,
wonderful pleasures men could take from women's bodies. He hadn't figured out
EXACTLY what they were just yet, since he rarely encountered any females other
than his mother, but he knew it had something to do with men's dicks and the hair-
covered mounds between women's legs.
If Master James's dick was hard, that meant Abel's teenage body was exciting his
Master in the same way! It meant his Master was looking at HIM in the same way
Abel looked at women. The creepy way Master Walt's college friend had looked at
Abel when he was only thirteen.
In a way, Abel found it flattering. He liked being set apart from other slaves for his
beauty, light skin, and diligent work. But he also felt like Master James's stares
hinted at some danger, only barely formed in Abel's innocent, optimistic mind.
James soaped Abel's neck, shoulders, arms, and chest, gently at first, then more
firmly. After working up a lather on the front-side of Abel's upper body, James
dropped the soap into the washtub below and began massaging the soap into his
house-boy's smooth golden skin.
At first James touched Abel tentatively, as if he feared Abel might shatter into a
million pieces beneath his fingers, the boy's rare beauty torn from his grasp for
eternity. Encouraged by Abel's slender teenage muscles, tightened in discomfort,
James increased the intensity of his touch until he was groping every inch of the
boy's upper body.
Abel's body cringed from the first sensation of another's touch. The friction of skin
against skin felt surprisingly good, but at the same time strange and somehow
wrong. Master James's body was too close, too intrusively intimate. Other than his
brief attack, this was the first time Abel's highly-prized privacy had felt threatened.
Master James stood so close that Abel could smell the older white man's short, hard
breathing against his face. It smelled like a combination of ham and peppermint.
The warmth of Abel's skin drew James's fingers like a magnet, and he felt an
uncontrollable urge to explore every contour, every bone, and every rippling muscle
of Abel's breathtaking body. His hands wandered greedily all over Abel's chest. He
pinched the boy's hard, tiny nipples between his index finger and thumb. He rubbed
the back of his knuckles against the young man's taut abdomen. He tweaked Abel's
large, protruding belly-button, but resisted the temptation to lick it with his tongue.
Eager to explore further, James dropped to his knees so that his face was just inches
from Abel's skinny hands, still nervously covering his last vestige of privacy.
James's right hand searched beneath the water for the soap. When he'd found it,
James looked up at Abel's beautiful face, its eyes still closed in obvious uneasiness.
James's body shivered in anticipation of the treasure about to be revealed, just
inches from his face, the mystery he'd try to steal glimpses of while Abel served him
dinner, the prize he'd pictured a dozen different ways, the beauty James had come
torturously close to beholding the day he spied on Abel bathing in the storage-room.
With his left hand, James firmly grabbed Abel's right hand and pried it away from
the boy's crotch.
Abel looked down helplessly when he realized what was happening. "Please don't,
Master James...." he tried to protest, but the words caught in his throat.
James pried away Abel's other hand to expose the 16-year-old house-boy's
manhood. What James saw before him was more beautiful than anything he'd
imagined, more beautiful even than Elijah's, Thad's, AND Jacob's.
Its beauty had nothing to do with size. It only hung about four slender inches in its
soft state, considerably smaller than the other post-pubescent penises he'd seen. The
boy's white ancestry had clearly won that hereditary battle, James thought to
But to James it was a thing of flawless beauty, the perfect length and thickness to
match its possessor's lanky teenage build. It was circumcised and darker than the
rest of the young man's body. Above it was a small patch of black, wiry hairs, more
similar in texture to James's own pubic hair than to the nappy curls of Elijah and
Jacob. Beneath it hung two hairless, medium-sized balls.
James immediately grasped his slave-boy's tempting appendage, and was surprised
by its smoothness. He fondled it with his left hand while his right hand rubbed soap
to create lather on its shaft and the pubic hair above it. James again dropped the
soap and used both hands for his eager explorations. He enjoyed flapping the dick
around with his right hand and cupping Abel's soft, warm balls with his left. James
resisted the temptation to suck the dick into his mouth, but eagerly inhaled the
unique, intoxicating scent of the teenage boy's crotch.
Abel's breathing became shorter and faster the moment James's hands began
groping his manhood, which until this day had been untouched by any but his own
since infancy. Abel tried to convince himself that this was still a normal bath, that
Master James had done nothing beyond what one would expect from someone
assisting with a bath. But something about his Master's dazed smile and heavy
breathing told Abel that this was different. There was something urgent, something
hungry in the older white man's touch.
After thoroughly soaping and examining every beautiful wrinkle, flap of skin, and
vein of Abel's pretty dick, James grabbed Abel firmly by the hips and spun the boy
around so that the two glorious half-globes of the boy's ass were right in front of
If Abel's white parentage was obvious from his dick, the boy's African heritage was
unmistakable from his perfectly rounded, high-sloping, hairless buttocks. James
couldn't help himself, and immediately clutched Abel's butt-cheeks in both hands,
squeezing and groping their firm flesh so intensely that he left red fingerprints on
the house-boy's beige skin.
He found the soap again and rubbed it gently around both buttocks. James was
breathless to explore his favorite part of every teenage boy's body, their most
private, fiercely guarded, masculine stronghold. The body part whose existence its
teenage possessors are oblivious to until it's threatened, at which point they defend
it intensely, sometimes even violently.
Taking a deep, trembling breath, James grasped Abel's left butt-cheek and pulled it
back from the boy's ass-crack. Every muscle in Abel's ass clenched defensively, so
strongly that it made James lose his grasp and sealed the ass-crack tightly shut
Abel instinctively covered his eyes with his right arm in awkward adolescent
embarrassment. He knew his asshole needed washed, but to have it washed by
another man, especially a WHITE man he wanted to please and impress, felt
strange and humiliating. He hoped he wouldn't accidentally fart while his Master's
face was just inches from his butt.
James tucked the soap under his arm and pried open Abel's smooth, muscled ass-
cheeks with both hands. He shook his head in wonder at the beautiful pucker
winking at him nervously. Abel's asshole was completely smooth, about the size of a
nickel, and, thanks to his white forefathers, colored a deep, virgin pink.
James retrieved the soap with his right hand and pushed it deep into Abel's crack,
rubbing it up, down, and in circular motions until he worked up a thick lather.
James was spellbound by Abel's adolescent asshole, which looked so different than
the others he'd seen since coming to Stampley Plantation. Eager to explore the
deeper tunnel it guarded, James pressed the tip of his index finger against the
wrinkled opening, clenched shut in naturally defensive tightness.
"Bend over," James ordered in a stern but gentle voice. He sounded like a man
who'd been charmed into a trance by a fortune teller.
Abel looked over his shoulder with a worried expression on his face, but slowly
complied. He felt awkward and embarrassed, bent over with his ass-cheeks spread
in front of Master James's face, his hands propped on the edge of the tin washtub.
He didn't understand why Master James was trying to push his finger into the hole
where shit comes out. Abel was always careful to wash his ass thoroughly, but never
worried about cleaning INSIDE his asshole. What would be the point?
Abel's stomach tightened as he remembered the thick, hairy fingers of Master
Walt's college friend, poking around his butt-hole that night in the hallway. Abel
squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to believe Master Walt's nephew could be
similar to the ugly man who'd attacked him. But clearly the opening deep within his
ass-crack held some kind of appeal for both men.
Perhaps it was similar to the attraction Abel himself felt toward the small hairy
place between the thighs of the nude women in the paintings? Abel couldn't see any
comparison between the two. The women's privates were mysterious and beautiful.
A boy's asshole was a sweaty, smelly place where shit comes out. Yet here was
Master James, pushing his finger against the tightly sealed muscle, just as Master
Walt's buddy had done three years earlier. Only this time there was no Master Walt
to run to his rescue.
With Abel now bent over, James resumed his efforts to break past Abel's cherry
with his index finger. He dunked his finger in the lukewarm bath-water, rubbed it
against the soap until covered in a slick lather, then pushed against Abel's
vigorously defended virginity. The warm water and soap worked as a lubricant to
soften and widen Abel's tight asshole, and eventually the sealed muscle parted
slightly to allow the tip of James's finger.
Abel's body lurched forward in pained surprise, and his head whipped around to
look over his shoulder.
"Please take it out, Master James!" Abel grunted. "That really hurts, Master
James! I never clean up there anyway. PLEASE take it out!"
Abel expected to hear James respond with a sympathetic apology, but instead met a
gleeful grin and indifferent silence. He felt James push his finger about an inch
deeper, and Abel let out a raspy grunt of pain. Was Master James actually
James stared in awe at the strong, pink muscle clutching at his index finger. Abel's
virgin asshole sucked at his finger like a newborn baby on its Mama's tit. James
loved the sight of his innocent houseboy's muscular body arched in submission, as
his own finger sank deeper and deeper into the boy's butt-hole.
All thoughts of Jacob and the intense pain caused by the attack on James's own
asshole were far from James's mind. James was caught up in a delirious lust for one
of the most beautiful Negro boys he'd ever seen, and the rush of restored power was
all he now needed to overcome the humiliating ordeal of the past two days.
James wiggled his finger around, savoring the silky texture of Abel's rectal lining,
then pushed deeper until his finger was buried to the knuckle. James heard Abel's
sharp, panicked breathing, and the sound turned him on all the more. With another
wiggle and lunge, James sank his finger all the way into Abel's warm, squishy guts.
Abel cried out in a raspy, pained voice, and his body lunged forward to escape the
James pulled his finger out slowly. Abel refused to look, too scared and embarrassed
to see what remnants of the shit he'd taken earlier that afternoon might have been
pulled out by his Master's finger. James saw that his finger was covered in ass-slime
and several specks of shit. Surprisingly, James didn't find this disgusting. In a
strange way, the fact that the mess on his finger had been excavated from the
deepest, most private part of Abel's body made it almost beautiful. Besides, James
knew such a mess was to be expected from a teenage boy, dragged without warning
into a sodomitic encounter.
James rinsed off his finger in the bath-water, lathered it up again, then pushed it
gently back into Abel's soapy asshole. He wriggled his finger around, grasping at
any specks of slime or feces he could feel. When he withdrew his finger the second
time, there was still some mess but considerably less. James repeated this several
times until his finger came out covered only in water and soap suds. James tenderly
pulled Abel's body down in the bath-water, rinsing all soap-suds from the boy's
With Abel now thoroughly washed, James was desperate to sample the boy's beauty
in as many ways as possible before releasing the hot semen he could already feel
churning in his balls, eager for escape.
He stood up, pulled Abel into a standing position, and turned the dizzy boy to face
him. The boy's red, panting lips and confused, pained expression were too much for
James. He seized Abel by the back of the head with both hands and pressed his lips
against the boy's, slurping on their thick wetness for all he was worth.
Abel instinctively pressed his lips together in sputtering disgust, but quickly realized
that such outright defiance was a surefire way to anger his Master. Abel felt trapped
in a slow-motion dream. He couldn't believe Master Walt's nephew was assaulting
him with slobbery kisses just like those shared by lovers in the romances he'd read.
Only this was a grown white Master treating his 16-year-old slave-boy like
The idea both disgusted and excited him. It disgusted him because he was a normal
teenage boy attracted to girls, and the idea of kissing another man seemed about as
ludicrous and unnatural as kissing a duck or a tree. But on the other hand, he'd
envied the attention of white men all his life....not their sexual attentions, but
their social attention and affection. And wasn't Master James lavishing him with the
attention Abel had always craved, albeit in a bizarre and unexpected way?
Abel's entire body remained tense, but he eventually relaxed his lips enough to
allow James to suck on them. As James sucked, nibbled, and licked at Abel's juicy
mulatto lips, Abel could sense the desperate need and loneliness in the older white
man's kisses. A deep-down part of him wanted to surrender to the kisses, to satisfy
the hunger causing his Master to slurp at his face so passionately. He parted his
mouth to allow access to James's roaming tongue, and even tried to return the
man's affections with a couple awkward kisses of his own.
When James felt Abel's body soften and succumb to his assault, James's lust flared
into a wild frenzy. He shoved his tongue as far into Abel's mouth as it would go,
lapping at the boy's esophagus, the slick insides of his cheeks, the roof of his mouth,
his tongue, his teeth, his gums. Abel's mouth tasted faintly of fried chicken,
probably left over from that evening's dinner. But it also tasted like something else,
James wasn't sure what exactly. It was a sharp, almost sugary, taste.
As James lapped crazily at Abel's mouth, his hands explored the boy's wet, short-
cut Negro curls, wandered down his smooth, warm, lightly muscled back, then
groped and slapped the boy's protruding buttocks.
"Abel...." James moaned in the midst of his kissing.
"You're....so....beautiful...." he repeated over and over. "I've wanted this
from the first moment you greeted me at the stagecoach."
James's mutterings reminded Abel of the only other white man who'd desired him
like this, or at least the only other white man bold enough to pursue the fulfillment
of his lust. He cringed as he remembered the man repeating "such a pretty
nigger....such a goddamn beautiful nigger-boy" over and over and over in the
same dazed, far-off voice Master James now used.
Abel wondered with an equal mix of dread and curiosity how an encounter like this
would end. The first time he'd been lucky -- Master Walt had stopped things before
they'd really begun. But now that Master Walt was dead, and his nephew the
assailant, Abel had the sad, sick feeling that he had no choice but to see this through
to its end. Unless he wanted to throw away his chance at true friendship with a
white man, and trade his life of relative comfort for decades of grueling labor in the
Abel cautiously licked his own tongue around Master James's mouth, trying hard to
seem like he was enjoying it. It was weird and gross to taste another person's saliva.
But it seemed to make Master James happy, and that was the important thing.
James was euphoric. He hadn't planned or expected such an encounter, but it was
turning out to be the perfect thing to heal his broken mind and body. Never in a
million years could his former Northern self have imagined possessing such flawless
Negro beauty in the flesh. He felt drunk with power, desire, and something like true
affection for the cooperative, sweet-tempered boy in his arms.
James pulled away from the kiss, and licked up a string of saliva running down
Abel's chin. It tasted warm and sweet, with an odor and flavor only a Negro boy's
body could produce.
James dropped to his knees. Such beauty as Abel's demanded to be worshipped,
even by a white man. James sucked Abel's flaccid penis into his wet mouth and
began sucking energetically. The smooth, dark-brown skin of Abel's manhood
tasted salty and sweet, just like the boy's mouth. James swallowed Abel's dick all
the way to its base, then sucked back toward the head in a tight, slow movement. He
repeated this several times until he felt Abel's dick begin to stretch and thicken in
Abel's strange nightmare had suddenly taken a turn for the better. It was all
happening so fast. He remembered reading about a blowjob in one of Master Walt's
dirty novels, given by a prostitute to a wealthy politician. Abel had always wondered
what it would feel like, but he'd never imagined there were men who gave blowjobs
to other men, not to mention WHITE men who liked to give them to Negro boys!
Nothing in Master Walt's books or Abel's own countless jerk-off sessions had
prepared Abel for the intense pleasure of his first blowjob. The sensations created
by Master Walt's hot, saliva-filled mouth sucking his prick into its warm, wet cave
were thrilling beyond belief.
Intensifying these physical pleasures were the sights and sounds of his white Master
on his knees, moaning and slobbering and worshipping his Negro slave's prick, just
like the whore in the book. He was proud to know a white man had found him so
desirable that he'd been willing to degrade himself to the point of taking his dick in
Part of Abel knew this was wrong and unnatural. Men weren't supposed to do this
with other boys or men. And white men definitely weren't supposed to serve black
boys or men in this way. But the pleasure was so sudden and intense that Abel
couldn't help but close his eyes and moan with satisfaction. To make himself feel less
compromised, he imagined Cora, the pretty light-skinned slave-woman who
sometimes picked up food rations at the Big House, on her knees sucking his dick
instead of Master James. His dick jerked to life, stretching out to a skinny seven
inches in James's eager mouth.
Encouraged by Abel's responsiveness, James picked up his pace. He held the base of
Abel's dick with his right hand and pumped furiously up and down Abel's shaft
with his mouth. He occasionally pulled off to catch his breath and lap hungrily at
Abel's smooth, salty balls.
For a split second, James recalled the screams and helpless gagging provoked by
Jacob's oral assault the day before, and James felt overwhelming gratitude and
affection for the sweet-spirited, compliant slave-boy giving him this gift.
James could almost deep-throat Abel's slender seven inches without gagging. He
buried his nose in the rich smell of Abel's curly black pubic hair, so similar in
texture to his own. He loved pulling off long enough to look at Abel's pretty, golden
rod, glistening with spit. He savored the sweet taste of the boy's precum. He looked
up at his house-boy's eyes, shut in reluctant enjoyment, and listened to Abel's raspy
groans of conflicted pleasure.
As he feasted like a starving man on the dick he'd pictured and desired from his
very first day at Stampley Plantation, James reached around to clutch Abel's
muscular ass-cheeks in both hands. Still sucking as if his life depended on it, James
pushed the tip of his index finger into the hot, tight tunnel of Abel's virgin asshole.
Abel jumped in pain and surprise, but kept his eyes closed in concentrated pleasure.
James wiggled his finger in and out of Abel's ass, massaging the house-boy's
Abel squirmed and adjusted to the new feeling. The pain Abel had felt at James's
earlier finger-entry turned quickly to intense enjoyment, similar to the pleasurable
sensations of taking a shit. Before Abel could realize or stop what was happening,
his body was seized by the most powerful orgasm of his teenage life.
"Master James, I....I think I'm going to shoot!" Abel cried out in warning, not
wanting to infuriate the white man by dumping a load of cum in his mouth.
But it was too late. James heard Abel's warning but wanted more than anything in
the world to drink his house-slave's thick teenage cum. What better way to possess
the boy's beauty than ingesting his reproductive fluids? James kept Abel's dick
buried deep in his throat and gulped down stream after stream of hot, creamy cum
as they shot out of the boy's dick with full force. The fluid tasted thick, slimy, and
delicious - partly salty and partly sweet.
Abel unleashed such a powerful current of cum that some of it spilled out of James's
mouth and down his chin. Not wanting to waste a single drop of Abel's precious
fluid, James scooped it up with his fingers and licked them clean.
Abel's chest heaved up and down from the exertion of his orgasm. He looked down
in amazement at the older white man devouring his dick-juice like it was the finest
of gourmet wines. He'd tasted his own cum once before, but found the texture and
taste disgusting, sort of like eating snot. Abel realized Master James must really like
him, if he was willing to suck his dick and swallow his spunk. He remembered
Master Walt saying Abel was "special," and guessed that Master James must think
he's "special" too, to make his body feel so good like that. He must be special, Abel
thought to himself, for men like Master James and Master Walt's friend to pursue
him the way they had.
Maybe the sexual attentions of a man like Master James wouldn't be so bad after
all. The first part of the encounter had been weird and horrible, but the blowjob
had been incredible.
James stood up and gave Abel a deep, tender kiss. Abel scrunched his face up in
disgust when he tasted some of his own dick-juice still swimming in Master James's
mouth, mixed in with his saliva.
Abel noticed his Master's dick was still red and rock-hard, and realized his post-
orgasmic relief might have been premature. He sensed that the night's encounter
wasn't quite over, but he wondered how Master James expected to find his own
For a split second he considered dropping to his knees as Master James had done,
and repaying the favor, but the instant he thought of it he wanted to puke. If the
taste of HIS OWN cum made him sick, there was surely no way he could give
another man a blowjob without gagging or throwing up. Abel prayed that Master
James wouldn't demand something so extreme from him.
But James hoped to take his release through an act of service far more demanding
than Abel's innocent mind could imagine. The intense eroticism of undressing,
bathing, fingering, kissing, and sucking the handsome mulatto-boy he'd drooled
over for nearly a month, had worked James into such a fit of obsessive lust that he
knew he couldn't last much longer than five or ten minutes at the most. But he also
knew he couldn't go to sleep that night without taking pleasure from his house-boy's
virgin asshole. He'd lusted after the teenager's muscled ass-cheeks curving beneath
the boy's dress-pants for weeks, and now, finally, one of the most beautiful boys
he'd ever laid eyes on stood naked and vulnerable before him - his slave, his
property, at his complete mercy. And as weak and weary as James's body truly was,
lust fueled it with adrenaline and he knew he would not be able to rest until he'd
plundered the boy's most private, protected depths.
James pulled away from Abel's lips and nuzzled Abel's ear, arms wrapped tightly
around the boy's skinny waist.
"I....I need one more thing from you tonight," James mumbled. He sounded like
a sleep-talking man lost in a lovely dream from which he hoped he'd never awaken.
Panic seized hold of Abel again, but even in his fear he was eager to please the white
man who promised to fill the void Master Walt had left in his lonely life.
"Yes, Master James?" Abel asked, trying to hide the worry in his voice. Everything
had turned out so well, he didn't want to spoil it all now.
"Step out of the tub," James instructed. His voice sounded gentle but distant.
Abel looked at James with a puzzled look, but obeyed immediately. Water dripped
off his skinny legs into a big puddle on the wood floor. James stepped out as well
and stood beside Abel. He reached into the washtub and pulled out the clump of
Abel was confused. His heart pounded nervously in his chest. Did Master James
want to wash him again? But that didn't make any sense.
Abel grew short of breath when he saw James lathering up his dick with the soap.
Earlier that hour, the man had done the same thing to his finger before pushing it
into Abel's butt-hole. Certainly Master James wasn't going to try to....
There's no way such a thing could be done! It's a physical impossibility, Abel
assured himself. If such an act existed, surely he'd have encountered it at least once
in one of Master Walt's books. A dick is thick and long, but an asshole is tiny,
smaller than a button! The Master was only BARELY able to force his FINGER
into the miniscule opening. Surely he wouldn't be insane and cruel enough to try
such a dirty, painful thing!
"Bend over," James ordered matter-of-factly, nodding toward the wooden stool
upon which Abel's shirt and vest still lay folded.
"Please don't hurt me, Master James," Abel pleaded, his worst fear now
materializing. He looked sincerely frightened. "I've done nothing but good work for
you, Master James, you said so yourself. You said I'm probably the best house-boy
in Georgia, remember? I've done everything you asked me tonight, but please not
this. Not what I think you want to do to me!"
James was thrown off guard by Abel's resistance, so different from the boy's usual
cooperative attitude. But unlike Elijah and Jacob, Abel's tone of voice told James
that his house-boy lived to please his Master, and would ultimately surrender to his
will should James choose to ignore Abel's cries for mercy. And unlike Jacob and
Elijah, Abel seemed to have a sincere respect and liking for James. Maybe even an
attraction? Whatever it was, James found it endearing, and for a second considered
sparing the handsome, sweet young man what he knew from firsthand experience
would be a painful ordeal. But the temptation of Abel's upturned, inviting buttocks,
never before entered by another man's dick, was too immediate, too intense. James
felt he couldn't live another hour without sampling the delights of the Adonis's
"Don't worry, Abel, I won't hurt you," James assured the house-boy. At this point,
he'd say anything to possess the body of the boy in front of him.
Abel still looked scared and uncertain. He desperately wanted to take Master James
at his word. The sting of betrayal, following so soon after Master Walt's death,
would be devastating. He skeptically turned his back to James and placed both
hands on the edges of the wooden stool. The round, golden half-melons of his
teenage ass were raised into the air, in James's direction. Abel looked around,
hoping against hope the Master wasn't going to do what he thought he was going to
do. But when James began rubbing the soap along his ass-crack, lathering up his
asshole as he'd done before, Abel knew for sure what was about to happen.
Abel jerked to a standing position in one last protest. Abel felt like the stability of
his whole identity, his masculinity, his entire FUTURE, was at stake in what was
about to take place. Almost like reading Master Walt's books would never feel the
same if he let the older white man shove a dick in his asshole. Like NOTHING
would feel the same if he submitted to something so painful and degrading.
"Please, Master James!" Abel pleaded. "This isn't right, Master James. It isn't
natural for men to do something like this to each other. This kind of thing's for
girls, and I ain't a girl, Master James. I'm....I'm a MAN."
James smiled impatiently. "You didn't seem to mind a few minutes ago when I was
sucking your dick like a girl."
Abel blushed and looked away in embarrassment.
"Did you like how that felt, Abel?" James asked bluntly.
Abel hesitated. "Yeah, I reckon I did," he confessed quietly.
"Think of that as my gift to you," James explained. "Now it's time for YOUR gift to
ME. Isn't that only fair?"
James knew deep-down this was rape. In a free society, a stunning boy like Abel
wouldn't be caught dead in the company of an older white man like James. The only
reason James had this opportunity in the first place was because he'd inherited Abel
as a piece of his Uncle's property. But James didn't want it to FEEL like rape. Not
like it had with Elijah. Not like it had with Jacob. Not this time. He wanted Abel to
cooperate. He NEEDED that cooperation for his healing to be complete. If Abel
gave up his virgin ass in return for the blowjob, James could maintain the illusion
that their sexual encounter had been one shared between equals.
Abel's mind was spinning. His bliss from moments earlier was already spoiled.
Disobeying Master James now would make all his earlier sacrifices worthless, as
he'd most likely end up a field nigger after all. And who knows, perhaps
surrendering to the pain of having a dick forced into his asshole would remind
Master James that Abel was "special," and seal them together in friendship. Abel
calculated that it couldn't take much longer than one of his average jerk-off
sessions. And it couldn't hurt TOO badly, could it?
"I guess you're right, Master James, that's only fair," Abel conceded, hanging his
head in defeat.
Abel bit his bottom lip, squeezed his eyes shut, and bent over the wooden stool,
gripping its edges in dread of the assault to come.
James's body trembled in anticipation as he finished lathering up the tiny pink
pucker of the mulatto-boy bending over in front of him. He moved into position,
standing behind Abel and grabbing the boy by his slender, smooth hips. He looked
down and nearly exploded cum all over Abel's back just from the SIGHT of the
boy's perfect bubble-butt, flexing its muscles in resistance of the anticipated
James pulled Abel's ass against his crotch. He nudged his throbbing cock into the
folds of Abel's clenched ass-crack. He used his hands to spread both ass-cheeks so
he could see his desired target. The dark-pink cherry's heat drew the tip of his cock
to its tiny opening. Even with the generously-applied lather, James had to push with
the strength of a full thrust before the tip of his dick ripped open the beautiful boy's
tiny wrinkled pucker.
Abel's entire body tensed and lunged forward, but he didn't scream or cry like
Elijah, Thad, or James had done when each lost his virginity. He simply gritted his
teeth, tightened his grip on the stool, hung his head in concentrated endurance
toward the floor, and resolved to withstand the assault no matter how painful it
James had intended to open Abel's narrow virgin tunnel inch by inch, but once he
felt the warm, wet grip of the teenage boy's untrammeled passageway, he couldn't
resist the urge to force his dick into the boy's hot bowels as deep as it could go. The
feel of Abel's anal walls pushing to expel their intruder made James want to
conquer them all the more. James grabbed Abel's hips and shoved his dick all the
way inside, watching it sink past the anal ring until James's curly pubic hairs were
smashed against the muscles of Abel's ass.
Abel's entire body tightened in pain, but all James could hear was a quiet gasp of
shock at the previously unimagined agony. The sound of Abel's raspy voice grunting
in pain and humiliation at the loss of his virginity nearly pushed James over the
Knowing he wouldn't last long in the grip of such a tight and flawless ass, James
began bucking like a wild donkey. He fucked Abel with an onslaught of deep, fast
thrusts that tore through the boy's narrow anal cavities each time, widening them to
allow the next penetration with greater ease. The loud slurping noises of Abel's wet
asshole sucking tightly and greedily on his dick echoed in James's ears like beautiful
Abel grunted in pain with every lunge forward, but made no effort to escape. Abel
suffered each thrust bravely, but hoped each one would be the last. He even pushed
back a little to allow James the deepest possible access to his insides. In sacrificing
his body to such a degrading, disgusting act, Abel at least wanted his Master to take
the greatest possible pleasure from his body. Despite the enormous pain being
inflicted upon his innocent body, there was still a kind of pleasure in knowing he
was giving Master James what sounded like immense pleasure, based on the man's
ecstatic grunts and moans.
So THIS is what Master Walt's friend wanted from him that night in the hallway,
Abel thought to himself as he endured James's animalistic fucking. Abel's heart
sank as he realized this might be the ONLY thing his new friend and Master, the
man bucking deep into his guts like a wild animal, wanted as well, the opportunity
to fuck him? What if this was all Master James had EVER wanted from him???
Maybe the man's expressions of friendliness and affection were no more than crude
attempts at seduction, like the villains in romantic novels??? Perhaps this was all
Master Walt had ever meant by calling Abel "special"? This ability to take another
man's dick up his high-yellow ass??? Abel's heart broke to consider it, but maybe
this was what Master Walt had always wanted too, but always been too afraid to
pursue??? Maybe that's all the white folk's compliments had ever been about -- his
beauty, his high-yellow skin, and the muscled ass they all wanted to fuck??? What if
Master James planned on discarding Abel's body like a dirty rag once he'd taken
his pleasure from it???
In an effort to last longer, James changed his speed to slow, deep strokes. He looked
down and watched his dick, now covered in soap-bubbles, lather, precum, and ass-
slime, exiting and entering the boy's tender insides. He leaned forward to inhale his
slave's curly Negro hair, lick the back of his sweaty light-olive neck, or nibble his
house-boy's large adolescent ears.
"You're so beautiful....so beautiful....so....damn....beautiful," James
whispered hoarsely in Abel's ears. He could feel a climax overtaking his body,
inspired by the complete possession of the handsome boy gasping in pained
submission beneath him. He could feel the heat and moisture of Abel's glistening
buttocks and dark intestines feasting hungrily on his dick. He breathed in the
intoxicating smell of butt-fucking a Negro boy, similar to the smells when he fucked
Elijah, but at the same time unique.
In that moment, James felt his power restored. He felt no shame over his own rape.
He felt no desire for revenge against his attacker. He felt like he could be completely
happy fucking this same beautiful boy every day for the rest of his life. He even
wondered if Abel could be taught to reciprocate his feelings, in a way he doubted
Elijah ever could.
These sensations and emotions combined to push James over the brink of orgasm.
He pummeled Abel's asshole with a few final, furious thrusts, then flooded the
young man's bowels with what felt like gallons of steamy, runny cum. He pumped
his seed so deep into the boy that he half expected to see cum running out of Abel's
nose and mouth.
Abel could feel the hot fluid coursing through his rectum. He felt helpless and
degraded, but at the same time deeply, inextricably connected to the older white
man whose dick still jerked and throbbed inside him. He knew his life at Stampley
Plantation had been altered forever. For better or worse was still to be determined.
James pulled his half-hard dick, covered in soap and ass-juices, out of Abel's pink,
panting asshole. James watched in amazement as Abel's rosebud clenched shut, a
little less tightly than it had before being plucked. As it closed, it expelled a long
stream of runny cum that ran down the boy's hairless ass crack, trickled down his
right leg, and dripped onto the floor.
Abel stood up, stumbling dizzily to the side as he returned to reality. His asshole
burned as if someone had shoved a nest of angry hornets up inside it. He glanced
nervously but hopefully in James's direction, trying to gauge his Master's post-
orgasmic attitude toward his de-virginized slave. Abel didn't know if he could bear
to discover that the surrender of his masculine pride and virginity, the submission
of his body to his Master's painful demands, had all been for nothing.
James greeted Abel with a warm, anxious smile. He was worried that his handsome
slave-boy would now look at him with bitterness and resentment.
"I think we need another bath," James said, laughing and looking at the two men's
sweaty, cum-sticky bodies.
Abel broke into a relieved smile. Perhaps things wouldn't turn out so badly after all.
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.