Date: Sun, 15 Jul 2012 14:23:11 +0000
From: lokiaga@austin.rr.com
Subject: Visit to the Plantation 4

Visit to the Plantation 4
Lance Kyle

Montford Jackson woke up pleasantly and gently, but not of his own accord.
On his left lay the sixteen year old black slave boy Paris, his head on
Jackson's shoulder and his chest half on Jackson's chest.  Jackson's face
and mouth were being brushed by the crisp, tight coils of the boy's black
hair.  From there Jackson had a view down the boy's back, the valley of the
spine that lay between the smooth muscles, showing signs of adult
development but still boyish, that valley continuing into the crack between
the pronounced buttocks, slab sided, that rolled up and out in the typical
African manner.

What woke him was that the boy was very gently fingering Jackson's chest
hair.  On Jackson's other side, under his right arm, curled Paris's
thirteen year old brother, Pompei.  Jackson's left arm was up, and so he
now moved it to rub along the deep chocolate, glistening skin of Paris's
back.  The slave boy startled and raised his head off the white man's
chest, looking up at him.

"I's sorry, Masta," he said.  "It's alright," replied Jackson, which caused
the boy to settle back down as he had been.  Then he raised his head again,
then propped himself up on an elbow, and looked up and down Jackson's
torso, carefully avoiding direct eye contact.

"White men got mo' hair than black men, Masta," he said.  "I like it, it
kinda all mannish like, Masta."  Jackson nodded and continued rubbing the
black boy's back.  Looking down he could see his own penis in its morning
erection, and he could feel the boy's similar stiffness against his thigh.
"Some black men get hair, but you are right," Jackson said, "white men have
more."

At the sound of this conversation, Pompei awoke suddenly and likewise
raised himself up on an elbow to look at his brother across the white man's
body.  "Mornin', Masta," the thirteen year old said, sleepily.  Jackson now
began rubbing the thirteen year old's boyish back, as he was doing for his
older brother.  He could see the boys had shy smiles and were exchanging
looks with each other.  Pompei looked down at Jackson's now full erection,
smiled, and said, "You wants us ta do somethin' fo' you, Masta?"

Jackson continued kneading the slim muscular backs of the two slave boys
and thought for a moment.  Then he asked, "The two of you have played
around with each other—naked—before, have you not?  Tell the truth!"
Each boy murmured "Yassuh" and glanced at the other.  "I think there are no
other boys your age here; with the footmen or the butler?"  "Nawsuh," each
said, a little more quickly and assuredly.  "I see.  Paris, I know you have
received it in your bottom, as you did in this room before.  Pompei, have
you?  In your arse?"  Pompei shook his head no, barely breathing the word
in reply.  His expression was a mixture of interest and concern.  "I see,"
said Montford.  "Well, no time like the present."

He quickly arranged matters, placing Pompei on his hands and knees on the
bed, seizing the pomade, and directing Paris to lie on the bed beside them
but not to bring himself or his brother off.  Pompei looked around and back
anxiously, then winced and gasped as the white man inserted a finger coated
with pomade into his anus.  "Relax," directed Jackson.  "I'se tryin',
Masta," the slave boy replied.  Jackson moved his finger in and out of the
deep chocolate, wrinkled anus, then inserted a second one and held it
inside until he could feel the boy relax.  As soon as he did he removed his
fingers, immediately coated his own rampant rod with the lubricant, and
pushed the knob inside the boy's dilated anus.

Pompei gasped and moaned, but steadied himself to receive the white man.
Paris rose a little to observe the white man's rod as it disappeared into
his brother's black ass.  Jackson gave another push: halfway in. Pompei now
cried out but held his ground.  One more push and he was inside, the boy
moaning and gasping.  Jackson held it like that for a moment and then began
rocking back and forth, in and out, as the boy seethed and moaned, crying
"Masta!" from time to time.  Paris watched open mouthed, some clear fluid
leaking from his rampant black cock.  In and out, back and forth, holding
the thirteen year old slave boy with both hands, Jackson pumped faster and
faster.  Then he pushed the boy down flat onto the bed, following him,
covering him completely, cream colored skin flat against dark chocolate,
wrapping his arms around the boy's chest tightly, tweaking his nipples hard
below, and pumping hard now, pumping, pumping, until after a few minutes
Jackson cried out and clenching his buttocks, pushing forward, using his
toes against the bed to push as hard as he could, he forced his penis as
far as it would go inside the black boy, shooting his semen inside.  Pompei
groaned but took the assault.  In a moment it was over and Jackson lay
there, breathing deeply, sighing, considering what next.

And then in an instant he knew that if this morning brought a new sexual
experience for Pompei, it would bring one for himself: something he had not
experienced before.  He pulled out of Pompei with a sucking sound and
rearranged the three of them.  This time he himself lay on the bed, on his
back, and pulled his legs up and apart.  Both boys' eyes grew wide and
Paris gasped.  Jackson nodded to Pompei and said, "Put the pomade onto your
penis, and then into my arse, and push in."

"No, Masta!" cried Pompei, but it was more in wonder than in refusal.  "Do
it now" commanded the white man.  It was all the direction the black boy
needed.  Unskilled and unmindful of any strategy, the slave boy shoved his
greased knob into the white man's anus and then pushed his distended,
purple black dick entirely inside Jackson in one blow.  The man moaned and
gasped, but he was determined to see the experiment through to the end.  He
let nature take over for Pompei.  The thirteen year old slave boy squatted
on his haunches, his penis buried inside the white man, and began rocking
back and forth, pushing in and out.  Paris drew up close to watch the view
of his brother's midnight black penis sliding in and out of the cream
colored buttocks of the white man.

Jackson could see the boy's abdominal muscles working as his pelvis worked,
his arms and hands hanging loosely by his side.  The boy now stared
straight at the white man, all restraint aside, and Jackson locked eyes
with him, and then while they were looking deeply into each other's eyes
the boy moaned loudly and clenched his slab sided, rounded buttocks and
pushed his groin forward, shooting his load into the white man, moaning and
gasping.  And then done, he instantly toppled forward onto Jackson, his
penis pulling out with a plop, gasping and heaving like a beached fish as
he lay on the white man's chest and abdomen, Jackson sliding his hands up
and down the boy's back and buttocks.

Then Pompei rolled off.  "Do the same," Jackson croaked to Paris, who
hesitated for just a moment and then quickly lubricated himself.  Although
his penis was almost mansized on a man-boy body, it entered easily into the
dilated rectum of the white man.  Now it was Pompei's turn to watch as his
brother's big, rigid, purple black penis slid in and out of the white man.
Paris also rocked on his haunches, and Jackson's eyes devoured the black
sixteen year old's body as the muscles played rhythmically.  Paris leaned
forward a little, holding himself up by putting his hands on Jackson's
spread-eagled thighs, and began pumping in earnest.  Pump, pump, pump,
Paris's eyes darting from Jackson's gaze to the white man's chest to his
abdomen to the sight of his penis sliding in and out, glistening now with
pomade and his brother's semen, pump, pump, pump, and then Paris roared,
slamming forward, trembling, bucking and slamming again, then like his
brother collapsing onto the white man, shivering.  His crispy black hair
was against Jackson's face as the white man stroked his muscular back and
what he could reach of the buttocks.  The experience was not bad; he would
be willing to do it again.

As soon as Paris had recovered, the three used the chamber pot, then bathed
quickly in the cold water from the night before.  The slave boys still
showed the same subservience they had before, but was there something new?
Some new kind of regard for the white man who had just given himself up to
them?  Some extra attention and courtesy they paid to him?

Bathed and dressed, Jackson went down to breakfast, leaving the slave boys
to clean things up.  He found Martin Merriweather dressed as for a short
journey, but looking perhaps a little more tired than he had the day
before.  The two shared a pleasant breakfast and then a sturdy but small
carriage was called for, to take the two men to the signing of the will.
Jackson made sure he had all the paperwork with him.

Jackson drove the five miles to the mayor's house in the closest village.
Merriweather was slumped next to him, covered with a blanket despite the
pleasant weather, but the old fellow kept up a conversation even if in a
voice that sometimes trembled.  Jackson was thankful that the roads were no
more rutted than they were, and when they drew up to the mayor's house he
was glad to see that Merriweather's pastor was with the mayor on the
verandah to welcome them.

They helped the old gentleman into the house where the mayor had asked a
nearby shopkeeper to join them.  Since the church was a beneficiary of the
will, the pastor could not witness it, but Jackson wanted him there to
observe the ceremony and so he would understand what was happening.
Jackson explained the documents and received Merriweather's affirmation
that they were all in order and reflected his wishes.  Then copies were
signed by Merriweather and the one master copy witnessed by the mayor and
shopkeeper.  Jackson kept the master copy in his possession but left one
copy with the pastor and one for Merriweather.  Drinks were offered and
toasts given up all around, jokes made that the will would not be needed
for decades yet, although Merriweather clearly had little time left.
Jackson found occasion to step aside with the pastor and leave him contact
information so that he might be informed once the old gentleman had passed.

Merriweather and Jackson had lunch in the tavern, and Merriweather asked to
stop by the homes of two or three friends—for likely the last time,
Jackson thought.  So it was approaching supper time when they returned to
Hundred Oaks and the slaves ran out to secure the carriage and horse and to
help Merriweather into the house.  The two men sipped bourbon on the porch
and then went in for a light supper, Merriweather eating very little.  Once
again, Paris was in attention, and flashed a shy smile at Jackson more than
once when the black boy perceived he was being watched.  Merriweather
lasted but another hour on the verandah afterword and then announced he
would go to bed.  The butler helped him in, Jackson finished his drink, and
then went up to his own room.

There were Paris and Pompei waiting for him, perhaps with an air of
eagerness, certainly a kind of cheerfulness that went beyond what was due
from them as servants.  Jackson had not been in the room five minutes when
there was a knock.  It was the butler, offering up Cassandra again.  The
young black girl stood with eyes averted and simply stepped forward as the
butler put a hand on her back.  As Jackson went to close—and lock—the
door behind her, he noticed she cast a swift glance at Pompei and Paris,
who were frankly staring at her with big grins on their faces.

With the door shut, Cassandra said softly—or was it
pointedly?—"Masta," and stood in wait for her instructions.  Jackson
seated himself in a chair and commanded her to remove his boots.  She did,
and then he handed her one item of his clothing after another, which she
took, eyes still averted, and hung up.  When he stood naked before her, his
dusky rose penis at half staff, he commanded her to remove her simple
nightgown, which was off in a flash, and she stood naked before him.  He
took her into his arms, kissing her deeply, fondling her orange sized
breasts and cupping her round buttocks.  Then he said, "Undress these boys
as well."

He was sure he heard a slight sigh but she turned without further murmur
and began undressing Pompei, whose face burst into a huge grin, and who
managed to paw her brown bosoms in the process.  Thinking he would simply
follow the white man's lead, the instant he was naked he scooped the older
girl into his arms, standing not quite as tall as her, kissed her and
kissed her breasts as his eager thirteen year old hands cupped her
buttocks.  He released her, his deep chocolate dark penis now fully at
attention, and she turned to Paris, likewise removing his clothing.  The
randy sixteen year old immediately seized her as had Pompei and Jackson,
pressing his rampant purple black penis against her abdomen as he kissed
her and squeezed her buttocks.

Now Jackson slipped into the bathwater and commanded the slave girl to do
the same, facing him as she had the night before.  Again they washed each
other, she winced but did not object as he gently slid his fingers into her
vagina.  But this time he pulled her a little more closely toward him and
reaching around, stuck a finger into her anus, lubricated by the soapy
water.  She gasped in surprise as she held on to the white man's shoulders,
but did not object.  And then Jackson commanded, "Do that to me."  A series
of thoughts could be traced racing across her face as she reached around
behind the white man and inserted a brown finger into his anus, as far as
it could go, and she moved it in and out a few strokes as he had done for
her.

Commanding her to wait in the water, Jackson rose and toweled off while he
told Pompei to enter the tub.  Jackson commanded them to wash each other
thoroughly—even though he had just done so to the slave girl—and when
it came time for the new addition of cleaning the anus, a look of distaste
definitely appeared on the girl's face but she allowed the black slave boy
to insert his finger into her anus and pump it—eagerly—and did the
same for him, with perhaps a little more force than was necessary.  Now
Pompei rose from the water, stiff erection bobbing, and Paris entered it to
go through the same process.  As soon as both had inserted brown fingers
into each other's anus, pumping them, Jackson commanded both to rise and
towel off.

Now Jackson proceeded to lie on his back on the bed, his head propped up a
little with a pillow, and commanded the black girl to squat on his chest.
When she had done so, knees on the bed on either side, he moved her
forward, moving the girl's love triangle directly into his mouth.  Finding
her love button he began tonguing and sucking it, even as she gasped first
in surprise and then in pleasure.  He kept at it, his hands raised up and
palms splayed against her orange sized brown breasts, until she gasped,
then began to tremble, and then cried out while writhing.  The white man's
attention to her clitoris had brought her fully to orgasm, perhaps her
first such experience with a male.  For certainly when he pushed her down
his abdomen, she was looking at him with a frank expression of new
interest.

Without ceremony he landed her on his penis, pushing his groin up to
penetrate her.  Once fully inside he pulled her down onto him, her thighs
splayed and knees on the bed beside his hips.  He held her brown body
tightly against his, his face in her tight crown of kinky black hair.  But
he held still, not moving yet.

"Pompei," he said, looking over the girl's brown shoulder at the thirteen
year old boy who stood nearby, his purple black penis bobbing with
excitement.  "Use the pomade and enter her bottom," he said.  "Wha?" cried
Cassandra involuntarily and squirmed a little, attempting to look behind
her, but Jackson held her tightly.  In an instant Pompei was on the bed,
inserting a greased finger into her anus, greasing his own knob, then
holding it against her and pushing in completely in one long push.

She cried out, her guts now filled with a white penis in front and a black
one behind, but Jackson held her firmly.  He could feel the slave boy's
legs on either side of his own.  Pompei leaned forward on her and began
pumping slowly.  Jackson began pumping in a countercycle, pulling out as
the black boy pushed forward, thrust up as he pulled back.  He and Pompei
could see each other over her shoulder, her head turned to the other side
moaning and gasping.  Jackson could just reach the boy's shoulders and held
him tightly as he pumped.  It was the most extraordinary sensation for man
and boy, as if they were actually fucking each other at the same time.
They could feel the other's organ sliding in and out through the thin wall
of flesh that separated rectum from vagina.

Jackson held himself back, allowing the black boy to build to his climax,
which erupted as he clenched, shouting and moaning, pushing his groin
forward as he emptied his seed into the slave girl's bottom.  He shuddered
and collapsed, breathing heavily.  Jackson gave him but a moment and then
instructed Paris to do the same.  Pushing his brother, still panting, out
of the way, Paris entered the dilated anus in one push.  The girl cried out
again but Pompei's smaller penis had enabled Paris's nearly man sized organ
to slide in easily.  He could feel the coating of his brother's semen all
the way in.  His legs likewise straddled Jackson's.

Now Jackson did not hold himself back as Paris began pumping in earnest.
Again, it was for both man and boy as if they were pumping inside each
other.  They looked deeply into each other's eyes.  Jackson came first,
pushing up hard into the girl and roaring as he shot a fountain of semen
into her, but Paris was not far behind, and he began his climax before
Jackson was through, slamming down into her, squeezing his rounded, slab
sided buttocks together to empty his semen into her rectum to join that of
his brother.  Pompei, lying next to them, smacked his brother's bottom
three or four times during this by way of encouragement.

Jackson allowed Paris to rest there a little longer, still feeling the
black boy's engorged penis on the other side of a thin wall of flesh around
the tube he himself occupied.  Then when Paris rolled off to the side away
from Pompei, Jackson pushed the girl up and told her to bathe.  The man and
boys cuddled in the bed while she did so, and put her nightgown back on.
Jackson thanked her and asked her to leave them.  She did so, apparently
with some amount of eagerness to be gone.  Exhausted, the white man and the
two slave boys remained in bed, cuddling, kissing, stroking lazily, until
they feel asleep together.



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