Date: Wed, 8 Aug 2012 1:22:11 +0000 From: lokiaga@austin.rr.com Subject: Visit to the Plantation 6 Visit to the Plantation 6 Lance Kyle Montford Jackson rose early the next morning to head off to Hundred Oaks, to settle the estate of his friend and client, Martin Merriweather. He had an important errand to do on the way, one for which he had already prepared. He stopped at the government court house to register the sale of three slaves--the boys Paris and Pompei, and their mother--by himself as executor of the estate to himself as private purchaser. He paid a fair price for them, and the estate was that much the richer. Jackson wanted to arrive at the plantation as the clear and legal owner of those slaves. He really didn't care about the mother, but he knew that the boys would be happier if she were with them, and besides, if he were setting up a regular staff back in his home, she would be handy for cooking and cleaning and the like. It was a long ride, but he pressed on, pausing only long enough to rest and feed his horse. Evening shadows were gathering as he rode into the yard of the old plantation house. Slaves came to take his horse away and to carry his luggage up to the room. The butler was on the steps to greet him obsequiously. Most of all, though, he noticed the boys Paris and Pompei, shyly casting grins in his direction as they took over the luggage and bustled up the stairs with it. The butler offered Jackson a drink, which he accepted, and then the lawyer announced his intention to retire for the evening, as the next day promised to be busy. The butler quietly asked if he wanted the slave girl Cassandra sent to his room. This time, Jackson felt he could afford a polite refusal; he did not care what the butler thought and Merriweather was no longer there. Bidding the butler good evening, he mounted the stairs. He entered his room and locked it. The slave boys Paris and Pompei were smiling, eyes averted, and greeted him with subdued warmth. Walking up to them, without ceremony he commanded them to undress. When they were naked, penises half erect in anticipation, he began what he had been fantasizing about for days. He knew that when slaves were sold on the auction block they were often examined, naked, by prospective owners. It served the practical purpose of showing whether there were any visible deformities, whip marks, and the like that would warn a buyer off. But he also knew that the examinations served the purpose of reminding the slaves that they were property, to be used at the whim of white men, that they had no status of their own from which to refuse. He wanted that experience for himself now. Although he had already seen and touched every inch of these boys, he now wanted to experience that full control over another that slavery gave, and that an examination would signal. "You boys should know that I have bought you...and your mother. You will be coming back to my home," he told them first. Delighted grins broke out on their faces as they exchanged glances. "But when slaves are bought they must first be examined. I have never examined either of you, and I aim to do that now." A puzzled but accepting look now crossed their faces. "Paris, you first, step over here," he commanded. The sixteen year old chocolate brown boy did so readily and stood before the white man, his midnight purple shaft still bobbing semi-erect before him. Jackson began. He ran his fingers through the crisp cap of black crinkly hair, looking for scars or swellings, all over the boy's head. He turned the head to one side and then the other, fingering the ears and looking inside, rubbing the lobes as he did so. With his thumbs he massaged the face, the forehead and cheeks, while the boy kept his eyes downcast. He tilted the head back, pushing the nose up a little to look into it. The nose had the typical African broad, flat bridge and wide nostrils, with a little bit of a button to the very end. Jackson pushed up on the eyelids that gave an almost almond slant to examine the eyes, pulled down on the rounded lower lids with slightly sagging skin. He held the boy's thick, full, flaring lips in his fingers and pulled them out and up or down, then pulled the jaw down to open the mouth and look inside at the tongue and the rows of even teeth. His hands slid down the strong but narrow neck, down the triangles of muscles above the collarbones that promised a man's growth yet to come. He cupped the rounded, smooth shoulders, ran his hands along the collarbones, the boy's dark chocolate skin shining of its natural oils. He slid his hands down the boy's dark arms, following the long muscles that rose and fell in long hills down his arms, to the boy's hands, a little large for his body, strong, promising a man's future growth, then turned the boy's hands over and examined the light tan palms, noting the clear ridge where dark chocolate turned to light tan between the top of the hand and the palm. Pushing the boy's arms up he rubbed with his thumbs the small bush of peppercorn tight hair in the boy's armpit, then slid his hands down the muscular sides and around to the belly, muscled but still with a bit of a boy's curve, then up over the man-boy's circles of developing chest muscles, pinching the penny sized nipples as he did so. Now Jackson called for a chair, which Pompei brought. He could see Pompei's thirteen year old penis was in full erection from witnessing his brother's examination. Jackson sat in front of Paris, the sixteen year old's midnight black shaft now also in full erection, and worked his hands down the boy's thick but slim thighs, squeezing the muscle groups gently as they rolled to his knees then again to his feet. Paris sighed in pleasure at all this. Jackson commanded the boy to turn around and bend over, and spreading the boy's thick, slab sided buttocks he examined the anus for piles; he well knew there would be none. Again his hands kneaded the back of the boy's legs all the way down, as Paris moaned again in pleasure. Jackson commanded the boy to turn around again and told Pompei to bring a towel, which he spread on the floor between them. "Now I must see whether you will make a breeder," he said. He knew it was absurd, he had seen, felt, and tasted the boy's semen before, but he was determined to go through with the ritual. "Have you been with a girl...other than Cassandra?" he asked as he cupped the boy's ballsack, heavy and wrinkled but now tightening up against his body in anticipation. "Yessuh," breathed the sixteen year old. "You make a baby?" he asked, now seizing the boy's fully erect, painfully straining penis in his white hand. "No suh" breathed Paris, now almost panting. Jackson nodded and began pumping. "I have to see if you are a likely breeder," he said, and Paris could only nod in agreement, now pushing his groin out and up a little as the white man's hand slid up and down, tightly grasping the thick, warm, pulsing black rod. It did not take long. The black slave boy began to moan as the crisis came on him. His thirteen year old brother slid up beside him to steady him as with a strangled cry he threw his head back, pushed his groin forward, and sent one and then two long ropes of semen straight up into the air, white drops splattering his dark chocolate, heaving abdomen and then running down his shaft and the white hand that was slowing in its pumping. Pompei steadied him, his eyes on the flow of white from his brother's penis. The eruption ended up dripping onto the towel on the floor between them. Jackson released the penis, which slowly began a curve downward, a silver thread of fluid falling to dangle a few inches from the end. "Yes, that will do," said Jackson, then rose and turned to Pompei and said, "You next." Paris stepped aside and Pompei took his brother's place, his toes on the towel in his brother's semen, as the white man went through the same motions with him. The boy also declared he had been with a girl before Cassandra, as indeed he might have; there were plenty of willing young black girls in nearby plantations and he might well have been thrusting his hard little rod into them from a young age. His body was a younger, slimmer, less developed version of Paris's and Jackson touched every inch of it, sliding over the thinner muscles. Then he also seized the boy's penis and began pumping while Paris stood just behind his brother to support him. He had waited longer in a state of erection and so it took very little time at all for Pompei to cry out, curl his torso and splash out a couple of dollops of his thirteen year old's semen on his own dark chocolate abdomen and running down the white fist that was pumping him, dribbling down below onto the towel. Jackson nodded again and, drying his hand on the towel, proceeded directly to undress, the boys helping him. Jackson had great need, but he also intended to take the boys without ceremony or discussion, again an assertion of his status as master over these black boys. The moment he was undressed, his own man's organ springing out fully erect, he positioned Paris at the end of the bed, still standing, and bade the boy lean over against the bed. Jackson thrust an oiled finger into the boy's anus, causing him to gasp, then oiled his own shaft and in one move forced it into the boy's anus then plunging all the way in. Paris cried out but did not move. Jackson began pumping with a sense of purpose, his hands clutching the boy's muscular hips, fingers clawing deeply into the butt muscles, pumping hard, pounding, grunting now with every collision, every forcing of his penis inside the boy, and then with a cry he slammed forward, pushing the boy against the bed, his hands now against the boy's muscular shoulders as he emptied himself into the black bottom. He had just finished shuddering when he withdrew, his penis still hard, and commanded Pompei to take his brother's place. Paris moved to the side, not complaining but with a few tears in his eyes, and Jackson quickly oiled the boy's anus, then plunged into him before he could lose his erection. Pompei cried out but held his ground, feet on the floor and elbows on the bed, as Jackson landed fully within hm. The white man pumped slowly at first, then as he felt a full erection return he began to pump more vigorously. Jackson's sexual ardor was inflamed but it still took him longer than it did with Paris, pumping vigorously while Pompei whimpered and gasped but held his ground. But eventually a second orgasm came on and he slammed forward, pushing the black thirteen year old to the bed, covering him as he drained the last of his semen into him. Then he withdrew in a long, single, motion, with a sucking sound. The three washed up quietly, the boys not angry but subdued, looking expectantly at Jackson as will dogs that have been whipped. Jackson remained carefully neutral, and even when he piled into the middle of the bed, a black slave boy on either side, his arms around them, it was in a quiet and matter of fact way. There would be time for emotions later. They drifted off to sleep as master and slaves, with no doubt as to those statuses. It was a different matter, although still rich with the taste of slavery, the next morning. Part of owning another person, owning their whole body, their total allegiance, is that one develops a kind of affection or attraction, based on the fact that this body, this face, this penis, it all belongs to you. When Jackson awoke the next morning he found Pompei, on his right side, was stirring also. The slave boy startled awake and looked at his master, expectantly. Jackson turned some to his right and wrapped the boy's slim brown body in his arms, now kissing him fully on the lips. The boy returned the kiss, and they were soon pressing urgently against one another, mouths fully engaged, Jackson sucking and tonguing those full lips so different from his own and yet fully his own now. Behind him he felt Paris stirring and then a brown arm flop over his torso from behind, a fully erect penis press against his buttocks as Paris joined in the embrace. He turned and left Pompei to hug him from behind, to press a morning erection against his buttocks, as he took Paris in his arms and kissed his full lips deeply. Jackson rolled onto his back and pulled his legs up, motioning Pompei to squat behind his anus, greasing the black boy's penis, and then pulling the boy forward as the midnight black thirteen year old's penis slid into him. He wanted this not because he thought he owed the slave boy anything for his forceful violation of him the night before but because he simply wanted a purple black penis inside of him. Pompei slid in and then held himself up off the white man with his tan palms splayed against Jackson's cream chest, looking deeply and longingly into his master's eyes as he pumped back and forth, back and forth, whimpering now not with pain from his own violation but with pleasure, and then he groaned, curled forward, and spasmed as he emptied himself into the white man. He was shuddering and gasping when Jackson pushed him off and tugged Paris into place for the same thing, placing the thick sixteen year old coal black dick at his anus and with his heels pulling the black boy forward so that Paris slid into the white man's anus on a slick of his brother's semen. He sat there on his haunches, pumping back and forth, his heaving torso straight up above the white man so that Jackson could see the beating of his heart beneath the skin of his chest, could see his belly muscles working as he labored back and forth, back and forth, and then Paris also moaned and bucked, twice and then three times, as he emptied a load into the white man. He stayed motionless, tall, for a moment, then gave a last shudder and toppled back to Jackson's side. The white man simply indicated his towering dusky rose erection and said, "Suck it." Pompei, recovered from his orgasm, leapt to it and began sucking vigorously, while Paris helped by wrapping a chocolate fist around the white man's shaft. In but a moment Jackson groaned, pushed his groin straight up, and shot a fountain into Pompei. He collapsed back and Paris pushed his brother off the oozing dick, taking it into his own mouth in time for a second fountain from Jackson. Between the two black slave boys they cleaned the organ off completely. After they had cleaned up, as they were getting dressed, Jackson explained the day's procedure to them, confident that word would get around among the slave community. He was to meet with Alexander Wendell and his son Wallace today. Wallace was getting married, and Alexander was eager to set his son up with a complete establishment, lock, stock and barrel...including human stock. Jackson casually mentioned his desire to sell the property whole, splitting up the slave community as little as possible, and his idea that this sale would achieve that objective. He reiterated again that the boys and their mother were his property, however, and should prepare to come with him. As soon as he went down to breakfast the boys scampered off, Jackson knew they were going to spread the news to all the other slaves. The Wendells arrived, by appointment, shortly after breakfast. Jackson, with the help of the butler, gave them a tour of the property. Many of the fields were under lease to others, but the rents would accrue to the estate and once the leases were up the lands could be reclaimed. The buildings and equipment were examined, and seemed satisfactory. After the tour, the Wendells asked about the "servants," by which they meant the slaves. Jackson read off a list of the slaves to be gathered to the butler, a list including all but the three he had already purchased. Soon they were all, the butler included, gathered inside a nearby barn. The Wendells and Jackson walked over to inspect them. There were only about nine or ten of them. The older men and women were given cursory examinations, but the younger men and women were told to strip, and one by one each stood naked in front of the rest of the community to be fingered in detail. Jackson watched with particular interest as young Wendell fondled and fingered Cassandra, who stood naked, her orange sized breasts pert and taut, a look of careful detachment on her face. The young men, whom Jackson knew as footmen and stable hands, were rubbed and examined closely, and yes they also were masturbated, showing with rich streams of white semen their suitability to breed. The examination of the property complete, the Wendells withdrew apart a few feet and discussed the matter among themselves. When they came back, they had an offer of money for the whole parcel. Jackson countered, they countered, but before long the matter was settled. The slaves heard enough of the transaction, which deeply affected their lives, to know exactly what was transpiring, and they whispered among themselves. The deal struck, Jackson turned to them to announce that the whole estate remaining after the sale of three slaves to himself, and they all knew who those three were, was to be sold to the Wendells, who intended to establish young Master Wallace as owner of the plantation. Wallace was brought forward and introduced as their new master. The slaves smiled and nodded, muttering their welcomes to the white man, and Cassandra looked at him with special interest. The white men repaired to the house to finish the paperwork, while now a real conversation sprang up among the slaves. They bade farewell to Paris, Pompei, and their mother, but they all felt a great deal of relief that the sale of the estate had occurred without further dissolution, and that most friendships and family bonds would survive. Inside, the white men finished paperwork and then all three mounted horses to ride to the nearest county seat, where the documents would be entered into the records of the court. They enjoyed a meal in a local pub together, and then Jackson rode back alone. For the rest of the day he labored over getting all the paperwork in order, preparing documents to be filed with the court for disbursement of the estate, making sure everything was in proper form. He interrupted his work with a light, solitary supper, and finished just as evening shadows were darkening. He put everything in order to take to the courthouse the next day. Leaving the butler to turn out the light and lock the doors, he mounted the stairs to his room, and his property. Comments welcome lokiaga@austin.rr.com Please donate to the Nifty Archives!