Date: Mon, 2 Jul 2012 20:26:27 +0000
From: lokiaga@austin.rr.com
Subject: Visit to the Plantation 2

Visit to the Plantation 2
Lance Kyle

Montford Jackson awoke the next morning as early sunlight streamed in the
window.  The events of the night before quickly came back to him.  Pompei,
the thirteen, almost fourteen year old slave boy who had been assigned to
him as his servant for his visit to the Hundred Oaks plantation, was still
snoring softly, entwined in his arms.  Both man and boy had morning
erections.

Jackson thought for a moment; he would be expected to go downstairs to have
breakfast with his host.  And it was entirely possible that the butler
would be knocking on his door at any moment with hot water for washing up,
perhaps even with footmen to take away the cold water from the bath the
night before.  He didn't think he could risk being seen with a naked black
slave boy; it would surely get back to his client.

He reached down and squeezed Pompei's iron hard purple black penis until
the boy awoke with a start.  The slave boy looked around in disorientation
for a moment, then at Jackson, and instantly became aware of his
circumstances.  He looked down at the white hand curled around his hard
black penis.  "Masta?" he whispered, a little tense, expectant, not knowing
what was expected of him.  He kept his eyes carefully diverted down, where
he could see his own erection but also the dusky pink and rose rod of the
white man who held his penis.

Jackson then released the organ and slapped the boy on the butt.  "Time to
get up.  Get some clothes on, the butler may be here any moment."  The boy
leapt from the bed to resume his clothing, a full erection slapping his
abdomen, slipping into the closet to dress.  Just in time; there was a
knock at the door.  Jackson could not be seen naked; he instantly stepped
to the tub of cold water and sank in.  Although not comfortable, he was
grateful that it woke him up, and it gave him an excuse to be naked.

"Come in!" he cried, and the butler with two footmen came in, bearing a jug
of hot water and a smaller basin.  The butler stopped short, blinking.
"Master, you didn't need to bathe in cold water this morning, we brought
hot," he said.  Pompei, clothed, emerged from the closet to hand the soapy
sponge to Jackson.  "It's quite alright, very refreshing in the morning,"
said Jackson, "but I'm grateful for the hot water, please put it on the
dresser...uh, your name, sir?"  "Lucius, Master" replied the butler, who
did as he was bidden.  "We will come back later to take away your
bathwater, Master," he said, and he and the footmen, bowing, left the room.

Jackson rose from the water but told Pompei, "Remove your clothes quickly
and bathe."  The boy did so as Jackson dried himself near by; both
erections had subsided, but man and boy kept a close eye on the other,
Jackson frankly appraising the slim dark brown body, Pompei furtively
stealing glances at the solid body of the white man.  Jackson used the warm
water to shave, standing naked at the dresser, and Pompei also stood naked
by him to assist.  Did Pompei take opportunities to brush his master's
body, to pass close enough for his penis to slap against the white man's
thigh?  Perhaps.  At any rate, Jackson finished shaving and dressed,
assisted by the naked black slave boy, and then Pompei dressed as well.

Ready for the day, Jackson went down the stairs, leaving Pompei and the
footmen to clean up.  He greeted his host, and the two had a pleasant
breakfast.  Martin Merriweather had no family remaining, and the staff he
kept was largely a small household staff.  He leased his agricultural lands
to others who farmed them.  He was too old to live the farming lifestyle,
even or perhaps especially as manager of a large work force.  He had been
enjoying his retirement, but his health was failing and he may have seen
his end coming.  He wanted to make some adjustments to his will and to draw
up some plans for his estate.

Merriweather welcomed Jackson to the breakfast table, but the lawyer could
not help but noticed how ill his client looked.  One of the discreet
servers was a young black man of perhaps fifteen or sixteen who of course
kept his gaze respectfully down, but Jackson was startled by how much he
resembled Pompei.  This one must be an older brother, he decided, and a
good looking one as well.  He was growing into his body; what was a little
outsized on Pompei, such as lips, were full and thick on this one but not
too much.  The broad African nose was just the right size, the inch thick
cap of tight black hair about the same length as Pompei.  The same dark,
flawless skin.  Yes, he must be an older brother.

This was confirmed after breakfast when Jackson went to work on
Merriweather's estate.  It was much reduced from its days of glory; the
lands were still possessed but now under lease to neighboring landowners
for farming.  The household staff remaining was small, less than twelve or
fifteen total.  Merriweather's wife had died some years ago, his only
surviving offspring, a daughter, had since died in childbirth and that
child had not survived.  So Merriweather had drawn up a list of various
charitable causes to which he wanted to leave his estate.

The two men took some time over the disposition of the slaves.
Merriweather wanted to appoint Jackson executor, and wanted it specifically
stipulated in the will that slave families were not to be split up.
Jackson supposed he had sentimental attachment to them.  He felt it his
duty to propose to Merriweather that he simply free them upon his death.

"Oh no," replied the old man, aghast.  "What would they do?  Where would
they go?  No, no, this is the best condition for them...but together as
families."  It made little difference to Jackson; he likewise believed in
slavery, and he saw Merriweather's point.  He also knew that a family sold
as a unit could be sold apart the next day, but he decided not to press the
point.  In looking over the records and discussing it with Merriweather, he
discovered that Pompei did indeed have a brother, Paris, and a mother, but
no father or sire was listed, as there was for some other household staff.
Jackson shrugged; death was not uncommon at that time, and slaves were
subject to many dangers.  Anything could have happened to the father.  The
two men worked over legalities and drafts of a new will until lunch.  Lunch
was another simple affair; this time the brother, Paris, did not appear to
serve; perhaps he was assigned some other duty.

After lunch Merriweather announced his intention to take a nap, or "siesta"
as he called it with an international flourish.  Jackson saw him to his
room, the old man wheezing at every step, and then decided he would do the
same.  He walked down the long hallway to his own room and opened the door.

He froze.  Two boys were at his wardrobe, and at the sound of his entrance
they immediately turned around.  It was Pompei and his brother, whom
Jackson knew to be named Paris.  Paris had something in his hand which he
instantly thrust behind his back.  Both boys stood stock still looking
down.  Jackson walked up to them.

"What do you have?" he asked the older boy.  The boy hesitated, then
realizing he had no options he brought from behind his back the underwear
Jackson had worn the day before and held it in front of him, wordlessly,
his hand shaking.  Pompei's eyes shifted back and forth between the garment
and the white man.  Jackson thought for a minute; Paris was certainly
examining it, with no good reason.  What interest did he have in it?

Pompei, his eyes still wide but downcast, spoke in a trembling voice.  "It
my fault, Master, I told him to."  Paris, still looking straight ahead and
holding the garment with one hand, gave a quick slap with his other hand to
his brother.  "No, Master, he didn't.  It my fault," he said.  Jackson
stepped forward and took the underwear, holding it, thinking.  If Paris
could have blushed even darker under his dark skin, he did.  Jackson
thought a moment.  Then he made a quick decision.  "Remove your clothing,"
he told Paris, "and you also," he said to Pompei.  Both boys glanced at
each other quickly and then did so, slowly, even reluctantly. Each seemed
to have the fading traces of an erection.  Paris's body was muscled where
Pompei was still smooth; he had the beginning of muscular development,
while Pompei was still a smooth brown tube.  A small tuft of crinkly black
pubic hair sprouted above his penis, which was already man-sized.  "Go to
the side of the bed and put your hands on the bed, bending over," he
instructed them.  Still exchanging glances at each other, they did so.

Now Jackson stepped up behind them and began removing his clothing.  The
boys could hear what he was about, and each ventured one quick glance back
to confirm his suspicions.  Naked, his dusky rose rod beginning to
stiffen. Jackson removed the belt from his pants.  Looking back, Pompei
gasped a little in fearful anticipation.  But then he noticed something.

Jackson doubled the belt over so he held both buckle and end in one hand.
It would hurt, but it was not a whip, it would have no whiplash, and would
do no lasting harm.  Stepping behind Paris, Jackson whacked the dark brown,
round, slab-sided, protuberant buttocks with the folded belt.  Pompei cried
"Masta!" softly and Paris gasped...but then he also looked around briefly.
It was not the pain he anticipated.  What was going on?

Again and a third time, and a fifth, Jackson spanked the muscular, rounded
bottom of the sixteen year old black boy with the belt.  Now Paris gasped,
but did not cry out.  His dark brown skin grew a little darker, but there
was no mark, no blood.  Pompei continued looking in curiosity until Jackson
stepped behind him and gave him five whacks as well, in the same way, with
the same result.  Now Paris could observe the belt, and could see it was
meant to sting but not to harm.

"Pompei, fetch the pomade from the dresser," commanded Jackson, and the
boy, wondering at the sudden cessation of his brief punishment, did so, his
penis now bobbing at half erection.  He handed it to Jackson, who
commanded, "Stay here."  Coating two of his fingers with the lubricant, he
stuck one and then two into the puckered purple black anus of Paris, the
boy gasping at the unexpected intrusion—but he remained with his hands
on the bed.  Then Jackson took a big dollop of the pomade and smeared it
all over Pompei's penis, which was now standing at full attention.  Pompei
stared at the white hand ministering to his purple black cock, then risked
a glance of astonishment at the white man.

"Come closer," he commanded Pompei, who was already pretty close.  With one
hand on the boy's now rampant dick and another on his back, he guided him
up to his brother's buttocks.  "Master!" cried Pompei when it was clear
what was to happen.  Jackson placed the boy's iron hard purple black cock
at his brother's anus and with the other hand cupped the boy's rounded
brown buttocks and pushed.  Pompei was quickly completely inside his
gasping brother, up to the few curling pubic hairs above his embedded dick.
"Now pump," he commanded Pompei.

Paris grunted and sighed but kept his position, although he did look around
from time to time at his brother.  Was this the first time they had done
this?  It was unclear.  Jackson had a tight grip on the young boy's firm
buttocks and was moving them back and forth but then nature took over.
Pompei grasped his brother by the hip and began pumping back and forth, his
buttocks flexing with every forward push, back and forth, back and forth,
until he tensed, shuddered, groaned, and pushed hard into his brother's
bottom.  "Oh!" moaned Paris, who held still to receive his brother's semen.
Pompei trembled once or twice more, then gave a huge sigh and slumped.
Jackson grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back, the purple black penis
sliding out of his brother's wrinkled anus with a plop, leaving a little
string of semen and pomade dripping from the end.

Jackson positioned Pompei right next to him and handed him the pomade.
"Put this on me," he commanded, and his eyes growing wide, Pompei obeyed,
lubricating the iron hard dusky rose erection.  Then with one hand Jackson
put his knob to Paris's anus and pushed.  He put his other arm around
Pompei and pulled him in close to both him and his brother's buttocks.
Paris gasped, but his brother had opened the sphincter and the large white
man's penis went in easily.  Jackson could feel the lubrication of Pompei's
small amount of semen in the rectum.  Jackson put one hand on the small of
Paris's back, his other arm around Pompei, and began slamming back and
forth powerfully.  Paris grunted and moaned now, but did not fight back or
refuse the penetration.  Back and forth Jackson went.  Pompei now rapidly
shifted his gaze from the white man's face and body to the sight of the
heavy white man's dick going in and out of his brother, and when Jackson
began moaning and then cried out, slamming forward into Paris, Pompei put
an arm around the white man to steady him as he stood there trembling,
shooting his white seed into the brown slave boy's bottom.

Jackson gave one final tremble and a gasp, and then withdrew with a plop.
Now more semen and pomade began seeping from Paris's anus and began to
dribble down his leg.

"Stand up and turn around," he commanded Paris.  The instant the boy was
facing him, still panting, his full lips parted, Jackson seized the slave
boy by the shoulders and kissed him fully on those lips.  The boy's man
sized erection stood straight out from his dark brown body. Paris grunted
with a start, then began moaning softly, his hands splayed in the air.
Jackson stood there for a moment holding the boy-man's body close to his,
then turned to the younger boy and kissed Pompei in the same way.

Now Jackson astonished both boys by dropping to his knees in front of Paris
and taking the man-boy's full, throbbing erection into his mouth.  He
grasped Paris's rounded buttocks with both hands while sucking and pumping
on the man sized purple black cock, rubbing the knob with his tongue,
sliding the thick purple black shaft in and out.  Paris gasped and moaned
and began a quick back and forth rhythm with his hips. Pompei stood close
by, his arm around his brother's pumping buttocks.  When Paris shuddered,
cried out, and nearly buckled at the knees as he shot his boy-man's load
into the white man's mouth, Pompei held him tightly, supporting him, his
own penis resuming an erection.

Jackson held that position until Paris stopped shuddering, until he was
sure he had drained the black boy of his semen.  Then he rose, wiping fluid
from his lips, and commanded the boys to join him at the basin to clean up.
The boys kept exchanging glances, now frankly looking at the white man's
face for signs of what it all meant.  Having wiped himself up, Jackson took
a sponge and cleaned Paris's bottom and thighs, where semen had dribbled
and was drying.  He then instructed them to dress, as did he.

"Try to arrange to come back tonight," he told Paris, then commanded both
boys to leave, as he was going to rest.  They did, whispering together as
they went down the hallway after closing the door behind them.

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