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From: WannabeWhitman <wannabewhitman@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Adventures of Stampley Plantation: Chapter 7 (Mm, 1st, hist, interr, nc, reluc)
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Date: Sun, 20 Aug 2006 04:10:01 -0400
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<1st attachment, "The Adventures of Stampley Plantation - Chapter 7.doc" begin>

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 <a
href="mailto:WannabeWhitman@yahoo.com">WannabeWhitman@yahoo.com</
a>. 

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 here?!? Hello???"

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 mid-forties.

"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 dry mouth. 
"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 needles.


"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
way!" 

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
impression.

"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 kindness."

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 Atlanta. 

"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 hand. 

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
heavy. 

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 only vaguely.

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-cheeks. 

"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 shock. 

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 like him!" 

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 nigger-hunt!!!"

"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 water. 

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 work.

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 voice. 

"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, "What now?"

"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 passion. 

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 the bath." 

"I'm sorry, Master James," Abel said guiltily. "I'll stay with
you if that's what you want, Master." 

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 Stampley Plantation.

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 immensely comforting. 

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 nightmares? 

"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, Master James."

"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 the
verandah." 

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 hours.

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
embarrassment. 

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 Stampley Plantation. 

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 nave 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 father. 

"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 himself.


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
James's face. 

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
again. 

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 ENJOYING this?!? 

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 intrusion.  

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 skin. 

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 a........LOVER?!?


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 fields. 

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 his mouth. 

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 his mouth. 

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 adolescent
prostate. 

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 release. 

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 soap. 

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 virgin
ass.

"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 violation. 

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 became. 

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 edge. 

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 music. 

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 <a
href="mailto:WannabeWhitman@yahoo.com">WannabeWhitman@yahoo.com</
a>.

















 











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