Lance Kyle

Seaward Plantation

Chapter one

Washing his face and hands quickly from a jug and basin in his private compartment, he took stock of his own appearance in a small mirror as he shaved: A little over six feet [1.80 m] tall, light brown hair worn almost to his shoulders in a fashionably long cut, he was a handsome man of average, muscular build with light brown eyes. Putting on the last of his clean shirts and ties, Mark joined the other early morning passengers in a makeshift dining car. Clutching his chipped mug of lukewarm coffee carefully to avoid spilling it with the jolts and rolls of the train, gnawing on a stale roll, Mark thought back over the recent remarkable changes in his life.

It had been three months since he received word of his Aunt Lucy's passing. He knew her, of course, from her infrequent visits to Boston. His mother's only sister, childless, when she passed from this world at the age of 85 he took the news calmly, sadly, never suspecting what it would mean to him. A week later, he was surprised to receive a letter from his old law school friend, Horatio Smith, telling him that he had inherited his aunt's entire estate. He had vaguely known that Aunt Lucy had used Horatio's legal services, in fact Mark recommended him to her when both he and Horatio graduated from Harvard Law and Horatio returned to Charleston, to his ancestral home. Lucy had lived there since she went to Charleston to marry Richardson Huddle at the tender age of 20, many years ago. Richardson and Lucy settled into the Huddle estate, Seaward Plantation, where he promptly died after six months from falling off a horse, and there Aunt Lucy stayed, never marrying, managing the plantation, for the rest of her life. There were no surviving Huddles. Now, at his own ripe old age of 25, Mark Appleby found a whole new life staring him in the face.

He remembered his surprise at learning of his aunt's death, then the later, greater surprise as he began to read Smith's letter, which turned to astonishment at learning that he had inherited the estate, which occupied an entire island off of Charleston, plus enough wisely invested capital to support him and the plantation for the rest of his life. A rapid exchange of letters and telegrams followed. Raised in an upper middle class Bostonian family, trained for the law with good prospects at a well established Boston firm, Appleby knew nothing of farming, much less of what must be involved in the management of a Southern plantation. What do they grow there? he asked of Smith, what sort of trade is involved?

The answered surprised him: they grow what they need to sustain themselves and they have no sort of trade whatsoever at Seaward Plantation, said Smith. Lucy Huddle had invested Richardson's legacy wisely, and a nice income from securities and properties around the several States and the West Indies kept the Plantation going; besides, it was hardly large enough, nor was the arable land plentiful enough, for raising vast cash crops of cotton or cane as they did on the mainland. Seaward Plantation was a nearly self-sufficient community, walled off from the mainland by the sea. All Appleby had to do was use his legal training to maintain the investments, acquire a working knowledge of the plantation, and settle down to enjoy his inheritance of land, buildings, equipment, livestock.. and slaves.

There was no getting around it. On the property inventory were listed so many buildings, so many acres, durable goods, stock, dry goods, and slaves. There seemed to be two main families of them, about ten or eleven of them. Now, Appleby, like most good Bostonians, opposed slavery. Unlike some Bostonians, that was as far as his involvement went. Certainly he had seen some free blacks on the streets, confronted the occasional freedman servant working for pay, but in general he gave little thought to Africans in America. He was not politically involved, as were so many of his abolitionist kin and acquaintances; he had his hands full learning the legal trade and beginning his career. He certainly had never given thought to owning any Africans, but here he was, about to come into full possession of nearly a dozen of them. The prospect had given him cause for some long and careful thought.

Back in his cabin, he assembled his scattered belongings and began to pack his valise. More of his belongings were in the trunks in the baggage car. Buildings became larger and stood closer together as the train approached the main station in Charleston. Dark clouds of coal smoke rolled by the window as it slowed, brakes hissing and screeching as the station platform came into view. Slower and slower the pistons pumped as the wheels rolled gradually to a stop.

Stepping out into the warm breeze, Appleby scanned the crowds for Horatio Smith. If black people had been a rarity in Boston they were certainly not here: Men in shirtsleeves and frayed pants carrying loads, thin young women with their hair in kerchiefs tending to white children, older (and fatter) women following their mistresses along. Appleby had little time to think about this spectacle, for in the distance he saw Horatio Smith waving his hat and walking quickly to meet him.

"and will I have the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Appleby as well?" Smith had asked in one of his letters. Well, no.. although it would have been possible, since it had been a couple of years since they last saw one another and Smith headed south to begin his law practice. But no, there was no Mrs. Appleby, and not likely to be, Mark had concluded. Not that he had no inclination for marriage or for women. There had been the occasional furtive groping upstairs in Boston mansions while society balls played out downstairs, and twice even the successful attempt at sex. But Appleby knew himself well enough to know that he was. undecided. To be honest with himself, he knew that he also had strong but confusing feelings about men. He had admired with longing but also fear the strong bodies of his friends and classmates on swimming parties at the beach, and sometimes lost his concentration on the lesson during classes as his attention wandered to the golden-haired young face of a classmate across the room. These longings were spent in solitary bouts of masturbation late at night, which only fueled his imagination but did not satisfy his confusing desires. No, Appleby was not ready to commit to women, but more important, not sure that he wanted to. He was.. waiting.

Horatio Smith reached Mark Appleby and welcomed him heartily. "Did you sleep?" he inquired. "Our train service is remarkably up to date but still uncomfortable, especially the overnight."

"Quite well, thank you," replied Appleby. "Now I think my luggage is just here," he said, indicating the baggage car.

"Yes, of course," said Smith, and motioned behind him. An elderly black man with silver hair pushed a cart up behind him. "Well, let me see. ah yes, here are your tags. The three trunks, then? Yes, that will make a good start, you can send to Boston for the rest of your belongings when you see what you need, but really, I think you will find Seaward quite well appointed." Assisted by another black porter, the elderly man wrestled the trunks onto the cart. "We haven't far to go," said Smith, leading the way down a ramp off the platform and onto a brick sidewalk that sloped at a gentle angle through the town and towards the port. The two men caught up on recent events in their lives; Smith himself had married into an old South Carolina family a year ago, although there were no children as of yet. The old slave pushed the cart along behind them as they renewed their friendship. The smell of the sea grew stronger as they drew closer, and amid the wooden buildings with their iron railings and tall roofs one could see the masts of sailing vessels large and small.

"One thing I must ask you again, I suppose," said Smith, and lowered his voice. "Do you still intend to carry out the plan that you have devised?"

"I think so," said Appleby, "but of course I must settle in and see what the lay of the land is. Of course, you have kept this confidential, as I requested?"

"Quite, quite," said Smith," and it is certainly possible. The necessary papers are ready and kept secure in my safe. Whether it is wise I leave to your own judgment. Ah! I think this is the pier just here," he said, directing the little party onto a long wooden platform pushing out into the harbor, flanked on both sides by small craft. Some of them were fishing vessels, hung with netting. Others were pleasure yachts of modest size, awaiting pleasure parties. "And there is Miss Huddle's boat, the Hesperus. Oh, pardon me! I meant to say, your boat, Mister Appleby, Esquire," said Smith with a pleasant smile and flourish of his hand.

The men and their escort of servants and luggage came up to a pleasant little vessel, about twenty feet [6 m] long and stout in the beam, capable of carrying cargo and with what seemed like access to cabin space below. One long mast rose amidships. Appleby took no more than a quick look at the boat, admiring its compact sturdiness and tidy appearance. What arrested his eye instead were the two people who were evidently just loading the last of several large stores of provisions onto the boat. Two black people, a young man of about twenty and a boy of no more than fourteen.

At the sound of Appleby's and Smith's approach, the two blacks scrambled out of the boat and upon the pier. Appleby's usual confidence and self-possession failed him for a moment. Here was a young man and a boy working on his boat 3; and the conclusion was inescapable then, that they were his young man and boy. His slaves. Smith soon confirmed this.

Stepping forward slightly he said, "Troy, Hector, this is your new master. Mark Appleby." Instinctively, Mark's right arm began to move to extend a hand to shake. Sensing it, and tolerant of the different ways of a Northerner, Horatio Smith gently placed his hand over Mark's arm, stopping it almost as soon as it had begun to move. "Mr. Appleby," he said, "these are your servants: Troy," he said, indicating the young man, and "Hector," he said gesturing toward the boy.

"What should we call you, sir?" Troy asked softly, with a slight bow. Both kept their heads down slightly but yet managed to look up enough to survey the situation and get a sense of their new master. "Oh, Mark will be fine," he replied, then realized he had violated yet another local social law when Smith quickly chimed in, "Yes, Master Mark it is, then."

"Master Mark, sir," both slaves said, bowing again. Did Mark detect a slight smile on Troy's face and a quick, questioning look in his direction?

"Y'all come on up and load Master Mark's luggage into the boat, now," said Smith. With graceful speed they jumped from the boat and began lugging Mark's trunks onto the deck of the boat, lashing them securely with ropes. All the while, they kept up quick, sly glances at Mark. If their surveillance was furtive, Appleby's was frank. To say that he was strongly affected by what he saw would be an understatement. As Smith kept up a chatter of small talk, Appleby sank into what was nearly a trance of absorption in the two strong black bodies before him.

Troy was a young man of perhaps twenty, six feet [1.80 m] tall. He wore a simple shirt and pants of a rough material, and sturdy, old homemade shoes. He moved with a powerful fluid grace, shifting heavy loads with ease. His shirttail was out and a large collar was open, exposing glimpses of a powerful body as he moved. Troy's skin was very dark and beautiful, a rich deep flawless chocolate with a light sheen of sweat in the morning sun. His hair was a close-cut cap of solid black, tightly coiled hair that glistened slightly with the perspiration of his efforts. He had nearly black eyes in a strong but friendly face, with a full, broad nose and high cheekbones. Unused to seeing African features, Mark drank in visually what was distinctive about them: the hair, the color, the soft, wide nose 3; and the lips: Full, with a slightly larger lower lip, smooth and dark which highlighted flawless white teeth when he spoke softly to his brother. Mark's gaze did not neglect Troy's physique, either. It was powerful. His chest was like two slices of a dark oak trunk beneath the shirt, each pectoral muscle nearly round beneath a tight, oiled skin. His waist narrowed dramatically through the hips, bulging out again in powerful thighs. It was when he turned in profile that Mark caught his breath – he hoped not so dramatically as to be noticed. It was hard to say exactly what made Troy's buttocks so arresting, so 3; powerfully attractive. They were somehow higher and a little more protuberant than the bottoms of the white men Mark had secretly eyed on the beaches of Cape Cod. A little higher, a little further out, and the effect might have been grotesque, something you could balance a tray on. But no, the shape was just right, as far as one could go in being high, tight, rounded and strong while still being perfectly balanced. Almost in spite of himself, Mark let his gaze rest from time to time on the front of Troy's trousers, where a large and definite bulge promised mysteries that Mark could only wonder about. He became aware of a stirring in his own groin and a feeling of strong but unfocused desire.

If Troy was a stallion, Hector was a colt. If Troy was a brick pillar, Hector was a fireplug. Perhaps five feet [1.50 m] tall, perhaps a little taller, he resembled his brother in many ways. The fourteen year old likewise wore rough, simple clothing and shoes. The sleeves had been torn from the shirt, probably from long wear, so that Mark could see his arms clearly. His muscles seemed somehow longer, smoother, rolling from one into the other, when compared with white boys Mark had known. Small patches of tight black hair could be seen quickly in his armpits as he hoisted loads. His muscles, not as well developed as Troy's, were nevertheless tight and strong already. That butt! already high, tight, and round, it pushed back and up invitingly, straining against his rough trousers as he moved. His face was a bit softer, more rounded, his lips a bit fuller and more moist. He had Troy's jet black skullcap of hair, but worn a little longer. Of the two, Mark thought that Hector stole a glance in his direction a bit more often, a look of questioning, appraising, even 3; did he just imagine it? admiring? Perhaps so. Hector, too, sported a bulge in the front of his frayed pants, and was it, Mark wondered, perhaps a little uneven? A little more swollen to one side and down?

Troy and Hector finished their work and stood in the boat, waiting instructions, stealing glances as they dared. Mark Appleby roused himself from what seemed like a daydream, grateful for his overcoat that covered the swelling of his own penis in his breeches. "Well, I think your servants are ready, sir, to show you to your new home. Shall I come see you, then, in a week's time, with the papers all ready?" said Horatio Smith. "Yes, unless you hear from me to the contrary," said Appleby – but did he catch a look of concern in Troy's eyes as they ended their conversation? Perhaps it was his imagination. Horatio handed him a thick packet bound in ribbon: "You will need to examine these financial records in connection with the estate; also, there is a letter for you from your Aunt." With best wishes for his new life, Horatio Smith bade Appleby farewell and with the carter behind him made his way back down the pier.

"Well," said Mark, turning back to the boat. "So. so nice to meet you both" he said, and caught quick looks from both man and boy that indicated they were perhaps not used to hearing such language – not from a white man at any rate. An awkward moment passed; Mark could not quite grasp that he was to be in charge, since he was the stranger here, at least in his own mind. The strangeness of his situation began to grow on him. "Are we ready to go?" he inquired.

"Yes, Master Mark, any time you are ready, we are," said Troy.

"Very well," said Mark. Starting down the few narrow steps to the deck of the boat, he clutched at the rope that served as a handrail. From the weariness of the journey, or his own confusion, or perhaps the gentle rocking of the boat in the harbor waves, he slipped and began to go down. Quick as a flash, both Troy and Hector leaped forward to keep him from falling, but it was Hector, nearly brushing his older brother aside, who got to Appleby first. Hector held out both hands, which Appleby grasped and held as he steadied himself and continued down the last step. The whole misstep took but an instance, but then Mark Appleby and Hector stood as if frozen in an instant of time, two white hands clasping two black ones. Both looked to each pair of hands, then into each others' eyes. Centuries of difference, enmity, domination and strangeness met and then vanished. The moment was electric and beyond thought, but when Appleby did form words in his head they were, "I am holding this dark brown hand, I am touching this strange, softly oiled skin.and it feels wonderful."

"Hector 3; push off" whispered Troy in a voice balanced between amusement and worry. Hector released Appleby's hands as if they were hot, but kept his gaze locked on Appleby's eyes for an instant longer. There Appleby thought he read some of his own thoughts: strangeness, difference, but also attraction and desire. Then quickly, Hector turned, jumped toward the bow of the boat, untied the ropes securing the boat to the pier, and began to push the craft away with a long oar.

"Please excuse Hector, Master Mark," said Troy, "he doesn't get off the island much. "He 3;" Troy hesitated, then went on in a lower voice. "He hasn't seen white folks much, and white men hardly at all. I guess you're a little different to him, if you don't mind my saying so."

Appleby laughed, relieved in a way that the spell had been broken. "Troy, don't take offense, but your people are sort of different to me, also. There are not many people of your color in Boston," he said. Troy laughed low and gently, nodding with understanding. He risked a more direct look into Appleby's eyes. As with Hector, a flash of understanding and connection seemed to pass between them, seasoned with a little surprise and skepticism on Troy's part, while Mark felt another instant of deep connection and – was it desire? "Sit here, please Master," said Troy, breaking the spell, indicating a low, small bench by the steps down into the hold. Mark settled himself as Troy took up a position by the rudder in the stern of the boat, to Mark's right.

The boat wallowed slowly away from the pier as Troy aft and Hector forward scrambled with ropes and booms to raise two sails. A soft breeze caught the canvas and the boat glided into life. No stranger to small sailing boats, Mark watched with anticipation as his slaves expertly guided the craft through the small harbor and out to sea. He fell prey again to the enchantment of the sheer physicality of his servants: Troy's graceful power and strong, solid musculature.. Hector's active, nimble form, more rounded muscles giving witness to a greater strength to come with more years.

Yet despite the activity, Hector approached Mark often to attend to his comfort. "Have this pillow, Master Mark," he would say, or "Let me move this rope out of your way." And as Hector ministered to him, was it Mark's imagination or did his hand intentionally graze Mark's long, light brown hair in back as he adjusted the pillow.. did it stay there a second longer than it needed to.did Hector's forearm rest for an instant longer than necessary on Mark's knee as he reached across to move a coiled rope? Each time the boy approached, Mark took in as much of him as he could: the closeness of his deep chocolate skin, his warm, clean, toasty smell, the wiry, crisp cap of hair. For a few minutes of rest between his duties, Hector sat on the steps just below Mark, sitting very close to his leg but not touching, leaning forward slightly exposing a strong thick neck atop muscular shoulders that sloped downward. Caught up in the moment, before he could think about it Mark reached down and in pure affection rubbed the dark neck, his fingers just grazing the crisp, tight curls of hair above the neck. Startled, Hector froze, then swung his face around to look squarely at Mark, and a brilliant but shy smile broke out on his handsome features. Then the boat rolled slightly, and Hector jumped up to go forward and attend to the rigging.

"Look yonder, Master Mark," said Troy, pointing with one hand as he guided the tiller with the other. "Seaward." Mark looked and saw in the middle distance a smudge on the horizon, an island rising up out of the sea. It would be just barely in sight of the lights of Charleston when they finally reached it. Seaward Plantation.. his new home.

Chapter two

"Welcome home, Master Mark," he said. Appleby grasped the strong brown hand to pull himself up out of the boat, as the boy Hector helped from behind – helped by placing one hand on Appleby's back to steady him and another under his arm to help him up. Standing on the pier, Appleby saw a lush green island rising gently up from the cove, with stone steps laid into a rising path through the trees. "Follow me, please sir," said Troy, and led the way down the pier and up the steps. Hector followed, keeping close by Appleby's elbow, brushing lightly against him as they walked, smiling shyly up at his master in eagerness at the homecoming.

Making their way up the steps through a dense forest of pine and oak, the three emerged into a meadow. They crossed through the knee-high grass flecked with blue and yellow flowers. At one end grazed three cows and a donkey. "All mine," said Mark to himself, "all mine." Through another stand of trees they went and then out into a clearing where Appleby first saw his new home: Seaward. The party stopped to take in the view. Unusually for homes in that part of the world, it was made of stone – the better to withstand the occasional hurricane or strong storm that came through, he would later learn. It rose two stories with a tile roof and was surrounded on the lower level by a white-columned wood porch with white railings that went around the entire circumference of the house. Not enormous by Southern plantation standards, it was nevertheless more space and more grandeur than Appleby had ever imagined having at his young age. As they walked toward the house, he noticed several paths going off into the surrounding trees, a large vegetable garden, and within sight down a couple of the paths were smaller cabins that were, he assumed, for the slaves. These cabins were of wood but appeared to be solidly built and well maintained. Smoke rose from fireplace chimneys in some of them.

A cry went up from the house, answered by a couple of responses from the cabins. From here and there Appleby could see people running or walking toward the front verandah of the house, toward which they were moving. His heart skipped a beat as the full reality of his situation became clearer to him. He was Master here and was about to meet his slaves, people he owned, people he had complete control over. Not for the first time since leaving Boston, he wondered how he would be received by these people, and whether he would be up to the challenges that lay before him, the only one of his color on the island. More people gathered on the lawn just in front of the wide, shallow steps of the verandah. Mark and his two slaves walked up to the group, every eye upon him, and they stopped.

Feeling it incumbent upon him, Troy stepped forward and raised his strong, deep voice. "This is Master Mark," he said, "Master Mark Appleby. Sir, would you like me to introduce the people to you?" he asked.

"Yes, please, and thank you, Troy," he replied. Some of those assembled exchanged quick looks among themselves, then bowed their heads slightly once more, sneaking glances at their young Master who stood before them.

"Well," he said, hesitating, "This 3; this is Pa. Priam," he said, beginning on the left. An older version of Troy stepped forward, a man in his fifties with a full head of short, white hair. He smiled confidently and bowed his head, saying "Master, sir." "Priam," Appleby replied. From a life of physical labor, Priam was still in superb shape, with the body of a man in his thirties. Well muscled, a strong physique was apparent through his clean, rough clothes. His chest was not the hard circles that his son had, but bulged out in well defined lobes, left and right. Hard muscles corded his strong neck still. He stood quietly, his large hands clasped together in front of his groin. Quick glances of pride and pleasure towards his sons were apparent, as were equally quick peaks of appraisal, interest, and caution towards his new master.

"and this is my Ma, Cassandra," continued Troy. "We mainly call her Mama Cass." Priam's wife stepped forward, smiled, and bowed her head quickly. "Master Mark, sir," she said. "I do laundry and housekeeping here, have for forty years for Miss Lucy since she came from yonder, up North," she said. "Anything you need done, you let me know. I reckon maybe your clothes need washing after that long trip from up yonder." It was a statement more than a question. Mark acknowledged her and smiled to himself, for here was a woman who was queen of her domain. Still attractive in her fiftieth year, she was stocky and strong but trim.

"and here's my little sister, Helen," said Troy. From between Priam and Mama Cass pushed a girl of eleven years who nodded shyly and remained silent, peering frankly with dark eyes at Appleby despite her lowered head. She was dressed in a simple one piece shift. The family resemblance among Priam's family was strong. Helen was strong and stocky although not at all fat despite her solid build. Muscles already rolled along her bare arms, and Mark noted the outlines of orange-sized breasts beneath the fabric of her dress.

"Now over here," Troy continued, "We have Mama Juno." A large, round woman stepped forward, and Appleby could tell that the second family of the Seaward Island slaves was being introduced. If Priam and Mama Cass's family was all the same rich, chocolate brown, Mama Juno's family was more a deep caramel. There was no doubt that they were African – Mark doubted there had been much mixing in their past – but the sun of Africa shone through their skin in highlights of deep honey and old gold. Mama Juno was large but solid. "Master Mark," she said, bobbing her head and rushing on with energy, "I cook for you mainly, and clean too along with Mama Cass, work in the garden, a little of everything." Mark nodded at her, smiling.

"and here's my wife, Athena," said Troy. Mark's surprise at this news was evident on his face, as an attractive young woman of twenty stepped forward around her mother. She was quite slim with pert, high breasts – or would have been had it not been for the rounded belly that betrayed a pregnancy. For a moment Mark could think of nothing but Troy's naked figure mounted atop hers, those strong protruding buttocks pumping back and forth as his penis entered her, creating the new creature that now grew within her. Appleby suddenly realized he was staring at her belly in abstraction, and turning his gaze quickly on Troy it seemed that the young black man blushed even darker than he was, as if he knew what his master was thinking. Athena, too, seemed to blush and nodded her head to her master, but did not speak.

"Master Mark, sir, here's the last of us: Pan and Bacchus, but we just call him 'Bacch,' sir. Ummm. they're twins, sir."

Troy indicated two boys of about thirteen years who came forward; no, they didn't so much come forward as hopped, or even skipped. If Hector was a colt, these two were puppies, young man puppies. And they were the most beautiful boys Appleby had ever seen. It wasn't just their bright, playful attitude or the wide smiles on their faces. They were simply as beautiful as girls. Thin, straight, and taught as whips, their tight, plain clothing revealed thin pads of square muscle on their chests, smooth flat bellies, long, thin, well-muscled arms and legs. Their butts seemed perfectly round, bubbles of hard flesh that seemed to ask to be cupped in the hand. Long, thin necks supported oval faces of exceptional beauty. Their dark caramel skin was flawless and radiant, noses were pear-shaped, rounded and flattened in the African manner but not too large, long thick eyelashes curled away from medium brown eyes. And their lips were like trumpets or lilies, full top and bottom and curving out ever so gently that Mark imagined for a moment you could lay a pearl between the top lip and the wide nose and it would stay put. Short caps of hair in tightly curled peppercorns adorned their heads. Appleby didn't stand a chance: his penis responded instantly, pressing against his breeches. It was all he could do to keep from touching these two boys, and all he could think of was that they were his, his!

Afraid that he was wetting the front of his trousers with the clear precum he knew would be leaking from his full penis, he adjusted his coat around him and cleared his throat. "Thank you, thank you all. I look forward to living here with you. I have so much to learn," and with that last statement the weight of his position and responsibilities came back to him, damping down his sudden passion.

Priam stepped forward as the natural leader of the group, his son Troy stepping back in acknowledgment of that, and quickly began to get things in order. The women, respectfully fussing over Appleby, took him into the house to feed him lunch, while the men and boys hitched up a donkey cart and went back to the boat to collect Mark's luggage and the supplies that had been brought from the mainland. Mark could not resist a look over his shoulders at Hector and Troy walking towards the cove with strength and purpose in their step, Pan and Bacch running and jumping around them in excess energy and grace. And did Hector look back over his shoulder briefly at Mark and smile? Perhaps so.

Appleby entered his new home and, as the women hurriedly prepared a meal, he had a chance to look at the layout of the house on the ground floor. Large, spacious rooms were decorated in a plain, if old-fashioned style that reminded him of his Aunt. Everywhere, large French windows stood open to let in the sea breeze, blowing lace curtains gently. He found a dining room, a comfortable library, a large drawing room or salon, a study, and one curious modern innovation: a brick-floored room at one corner of the house in which stood a large claw-footed bathtub, a water-pump, and a small fireplace hung with metal buckets for heating water. Evidently one could bathe in comfort inside and, if he was not mistaken, simply drain the water out through a pipe into the flowerbed outside. Such modern marvels! In the library he found three or four books out on tables or down from the shelves, and he wondered who had been reading them. From a window he could see barns, a detached kitchen, storage sheds, and, he noted for future reference, a large outhouse with a moon (for women?) on one door and a sun (men?) on the other.

Mama Juno called Appleby into the dining room, where a simple lunch of soup, bread, and fruit awaited him. Shy at first, Mama Juno and Mama Cass slowly warmed up to Mark's gentle questions as he ate the meal. Athena smiled shyly but said little as she helped to serve and clear. Mama Juno was widowed, it turned out, 'Papa' having been taken by the sea during a particularly violent storm some ten years ago; Pan and Bacch barely remembered him. Mama Juno, Mama Cass, and Athena had all been born on Seaward Plantation, as indeed were all of the other slaves except for Priam, who had been purchased in Charleston as a young boy of ten, captured and sold from Africa. Juno and Cass had served the Huddle family all their lives, and Miss Lucy when Richardson, the last of the Huddles, died so many years ago.

Appleby was aware of the comings and goings of the male slaves from the banging and bumping of luggage and parcels that he could hear in the passageways and around the house. Mama Cass explained that vegetables and livestock were raised on the island, which was remarkably self-sufficient, and that other stores were purchased on the island and brought over by boat as needed. "Master Smith kept the bills paid in the stores since Miss Lucy passed," she said, "so Troy goes over every so often with Priam or one of the boys and brings back provisions."

As Appleby thanked the women and stood up from the table, Priam entered the room and asked after his master's pleasure for the afternoon. Priam, it seemed, was a sort of supervisor of the Plantation, especially buildings, crops, livestock and so forth outside, and was willing to give Appleby a tour of the island. But tired from the journey, Mark thought it best to explore the house on this first day, a plan agreed to by all. He moved into the study, where he had left the folder of information given to him by Horatio Smith, settled into a comfortable leather wingback chair, and opened the packet. On top of the deeds, lists of securities, records of estate finances and so forth, Mark found a letter addressed to him from his Aunt.

"My dearest Mark," it began, "if you are reading this, then I have departed and you have come home to Seaward Plantation." Mark was touched by the dignified tone and sentiments of family attachment it expressed. It was a long letter explaining various details of business and management related to his properties. Toward the end of the letter his personal interest became more aroused.

"You may have observed by now, in even a short while," it said, "that the slaves of Seaward are somewhat different." Mark wasn't sure what was different about them since he had very little experience of black people, or of slaves, or of the South with which to compare his eventful morning. He read on: "For one thing, they can read and write and do mathematics. I advise you not to publicize this fact. I don't think even dear Horatio Smith knows. It was illegal for me to teach them and it is illegal for them to know all this, but the deed is done and it can't be helped." Well! Appleby had not given much thought to the matter, but now that he considered this news he realized how extraordinary it was. "The servants will know that you know this once you have read this letter," Lucy's missive continued. "You will also note that they speak correctly, and not in any degraded form of English. I taught them to do so myself, and I insisted upon it." Again, Mark had never heard enough Africans speaking to have formed an opinion, but he now seemed to recall a distinctly more 'correct' way of speaking among the slaves of Seaward than what he had heard in passing among the crowds of slaves and servants in Charleston. The letter concluded: "Finally, Mark, learn to love these people – I did – and they will learn to respect, and perhaps love, you in return." Thoughts of Troy and Hector, and of the strikingly beautiful boys Pan and Bacchus, quickly came to Appleby's mind, and whispered "Oh, yes" softly.

The rest of the afternoon went quickly, it seemed. Appleby's legal training helped him to understand the business and financial condition of the estate, which was good. Having mastered these details, Appleby rose and stretched and opened the study doorway into the hall, which nearly knocked over two people who were just on the other side: Pan and Bacchus. Had they been listening at the door? There was nothing to hear but the rustling of papers! Peeking in at the keyhole? There was nothing to see but 3; but him. Mark looked at them in wonder.

"Oh, Master Mark!" said one breathlessly, and the other continued, "We were just now coming to tell you," obviously lying. The first went on, "Mr. Priam says that we are to be the inside boys and take care of you!" Both beamed with pride, their lovely faces lighting up, trumpet lips parting to reveal perfect, white teeth. A light, puppyish energy animated each boy's body.

"Wait!" said Appleby 3; "Which of you is Pan and which is Bacchus? How can I tell?"

One boy put his finger to the side of his soft, wide, pear-shaped nose. "Pan has a mole there," said the other boy. Mark bent closer to see the small, dark brown spot. Inches away from Pan's face, he could smell a breath sweet with bread and mint; his eyes shifted abruptly to Pan's, locked there for a minute, and then recollecting himself he pulled away and straightened up, a swelling feeling evident in his groin. "We are your inside-the-house boys, Mr. Priam says, Master Mark!" contined Bacch. "Miss Lucy had Athena to take care of her, but she's a girl," added Pan, with a hint of distaste.

"So we're going to show you the upstairs and your room!" Bacch continued, and without asking or commenting, and as naturally as could be, he took Appleby's large white hand in his smaller honey-brown hand and began leading him toward the stairs to the second floor. Pan darted ahead, looking back with a mischievous smile at Appleby and Bacchus and, in a couple of pointed glances, at their clasped hands.

Mark's head was full of questions about this latest of strange, happy experiences. He was walking hand in hand with a thirteen year old black boy to his bedroom. Wasn't this as strange as it was delightful? More important, what did it mean to the slim boy next to him? He nodded distractedly as the boys showed him each of the six bedrooms upstairs, each with a small, attached dressing chamber. Pan jumped ahead to open each door and describe, with the flourish of a thirteen year old tour guide, the attractions of each room. Bacchus held tight to his master's hand and simply guided him in and out of each chamber as they moved through the house.

Pan opened the last door: "This is your room, Master Mark!" It was pleasant and comfortably furnished, although plainly so. The masculine objects in it – hairbrush, old shaving kit, bottle of bay rhum – made Appleby wonder if this were Richardson Huddle's old room. He noted with pleased surprise that many of his belongings from his luggage lay around the room. "We put your things away, except your clothes are being washed, Master sir" said Pan, quickly opening a few dresser drawers and a tall wardrobe in the corner. "And you get a nice view from here," said Bacchus who led Mark, still grasping his hand, to a window opposite the foot of a large four-poster bed, where the lawn and the sea could be seen below. Breaking his grasp, Bacchus ran ahead to open the window, letting in a cool sea breeze. He remained in front of the window, so that when Appleby came up to it to see the view he had to stand directly behind Bacchus. And as naturally as could be, Appleby put his hands on the shoulders of the boy and gently pulled him back. Bacch came back easily, and even his boyish bounciness eased as he relaxed against Appleby's hard, grownup torso. Each twin was no more than five feet [1.50 m] tall, maybe even a shade less. Looking down quickly from the sea view, Mark was lost in the beauty, difference, and strangeness of the tightly curled peppercorns of hair that covered Bacch's caramel scalp. How long did they stand like that? Probably not long, but Mark was completely lost in the moment. What had previously been an ominous swelling in his groin turned instantly into a full fledged erection, straining against the cloth of his trousers. How could Bacchus not feel that even through the coat which Appleby still wore?

The moment was broken as Pan burst into Mark's consciousness, insistently tugging on his sleeve, pulling him away from the window and the near embrace of his boy slave. "Bacch and I are going to sleep right next door to you, Master Mark, come and see!" and he pulled Appleby to the door of the adjoining dressing room. "See?" he said, pointing out a double-wide pallet that had been recently assembled on the floor, "I sleep on the left and Bacch sleeps on the right." "Hmmmph," said Bacchus, coming up beside them, "sometimes he sleeps on the bottom and I sleep on the top." Appleby looked at the boys quickly, wondering if he had just heard what he heard. Pan gave Bacch a friendly if annoyed jab in the arm, to which his brother replied with an even stronger push. This shove sent Pan back a step against Appleby's right side, nearly under his arm. Instinctively, Mark put that arm around Pan, his open hand naturally coming to rest over the thin square pad of flesh on the left side of Pan's chest. "Now boys, no rough-housing" he said, chuckling. "Yeah!" said Pan, as if chastising his brother, and like Bacchus before him sank back gently into his master's torso. The boys smiled at each other – was it in a sly, knowing way? – and for a moment Mark's open palm glided over the rough cloth between him and the slave boy's chest. He felt a protruding nipple, and pinched it playfully. The raging erection in his breeches that had somewhat subsided returned in full force. "Ouch" said Pan, with no real pain, and bounded away a step, smiling back at his master.

Voices were heard calling from below. Between his work in the study and his tour of the upstairs, the entire afternoon had passed. As if roused from a dream, the boys ran quickly out of the room and down the stairs, followed by their master who was struggling to recover his composure. Pan and Bacchus, full of their new importance as house boys, attempted to serve dinner to their master, but Mama Juno, Mama Cass, and Athena once again took over to set before him a delicious meal of chicken, potatoes, and vegetables grown there on the island. After dinner Appleby sat on the verandah, rocking gently in one of the many rocking chairs that graced the wrap-around porch. Twice he waved at Troy going about his business, and Troy returned a short bow. Twice more he thought he glimpsed Hector at the corner of first one outbuilding and then another; the boy seemed to be peeking at him. A wave from Appleby only made the boy, if Hector it was indeed, slip back behind the building.

A pleasant hour passed as twilight deepened into night. The women, reminding Appleby that country people go early to bed, departed from the house, wishing him a good night. Feeling the tiredness of his journey and the strangeness of the day, Appleby rose to go into the house. But before he could go up the stairs, his boy slaves appeared as if from nowhere, Bacchus with a bundle of cloth in his arms.

"We have your bath ready, Master Mark sir!" announced Pan with a note of triumph. Surprised but pleased at their thoughtfulness, Mark followed Pan into the brick-floored bathroom, where he saw that the claw-foot tub had been filled with steaming water. Bacchus put down his burden, revealing towels and a bathrobe.

"Mama Cass says she wants to wash your clothes, so dirty from travel," said Pan, "so we have to take them to her." Moving quickly before Mark could say a thing, Pan slid off his master's coat, in a few deft tugs untied his tie, and began unbuttoning his shirt. Not to be outdone, Bacchus kneeled down and pulled off first one boot and then another, then Appleby's thick woolen socks. Both boys paused, standing together in front of their master, a pile of his clothing and boots beside them. Mark was so surprised he did not know how to react. He stood there shirtless, revealing a well muscled chest and abdomen. A light nest of hair grew in the center of his chest between two solid slabs of muscle, then ran in a line of light hair that disappeared into his trousers. Appleby's surprise was compounded when he realized that each boy was staring at his chest and muscled stomach, full, thick lips parted slightly, brown eyes staring. Almost absent-mindedly, Pan reached out and undid Appleby's belt – half a second later, Bacchus did the same for the buttons on his trousers. In one motion, they pulled down their master's pants and underwear.

Time stood still. Both boys looked, open-mouthed now and breathing with soft excitement. A seven inch [18 cm] uncircumcised penis sprang from Appleby's groin, with two heavy testicles in the sack of skin beneath. Appleby could feel an impending erection, and he knew that he would soon be fully erect once the surprise of his disrobing was over. The moment was broken in near-comedy however, for he was really not at his cleanest after two days since his last stopover at an inn in Virginia, and Bacchus now acknowledged this evident fact by saying, "Master Mark, you do need a bath!" then, "Oh! sorry sir!" when he realized what he had said. Man and boys chuckled – was it in relief, for all of them? Appleby stepped quickly to the tub, over the side, and lowered himself into the steaming water.

Bacchus quickly scooped up Appleby's clothes and boots, bundled them up, and ran from the room to take them to Mama Cass who was waiting for them in the nearby laundry building. Pan stood by the tub alone for a moment, his eyes hungrily taking in the vision of his master's white body, now submerged and distorted by the water. If he and Bacchus, like Hector, rarely saw white men, this was certainly the first time he had ever seen a white man naked. Thinking quickly, Pan decided to offer his services.

"Would you like for me to wash your back, Master, sir?" he asked, and even before Mark could answer with a smiling nod, he rushed to grab a brush and a bar of soap. Holding the soap tightly in one hand, but so his fingers extended around it, Pan moved the bar around his master's broad, hairless back, sly fingers secretly following the movement of the bar. When he could not pretend to be simply soaping the white man's back any more, he applied the brush in the same way, fingertips gliding over white skin as it went. By this time Bacchus had come running back and stood slightly panting in the doorway. "Uhh 3; want me to wash your front, Master, sir?" he asked? It was a brilliant gambit, and for a moment it succeeded. Snatching up the bar of soap, he gently moved it in circles around his master's broad chest, lingering ever so slightly over the rose colored nipples. It was when Bacch's hand began to move lower, over Appleby's muscled belly, following the line of light brown hair downwards, that an old shyness, even fear, took Appleby over for a moment.

"Thanks, boys," said Mark, and disappeared under the water, his sudden movement and the swell of water pushing both boys back for a moment. All three laughed as Mark emerged from the soapy water, shoulder-length hair streaming wet. "Time to get out," he said. "Is there a towel?" When Bacchus brought one and held it out unfolded from arm to arm, Appleby quickly rose from the tub and took over, taking the towel for himself and drying with it, being careful to keep it over his swelling member.

"But where are my clothes?" he asked. "The change of clothes from my valise?"

"All being washed, Master Mark," said Pan. "But we brought you this old bathrobe we found," said Bacchus, "and Mama Cass says your clothes will be ready tomorrow. He handed his master an ancient masculine bathroom, clean and whole but smelling slightly of camphor and cedarwood. Appleby quickly realized it must have been Richardson Huddle's, and decades old. He wrapped it around himself quickly, then stopped to take in the scene of a still nearly-filled tub and his two boy slaves, who stood nearby awaiting the next instructions. Some deeply hidden spirit of desire awoke and spoke through him, inspiring his next words.

"Your turn," he said, "you two take a bath."

Pan and Bacchus looked at each other, whether in joy or triumph Appleby could not tell. Pan shrugged, Bacchus nodded, and they undressed quickly, not caring that they threw their clothes down on the water-soaked brick. Shirts came off quickly revealing slim, straight, hard young bodies with thin but tough muscled pads on their chests, the beginnings of washboard bellies, and navels that coiled like snails even with the skin of their stomachs. Down came trousers, flung aside. Like a chef will pause before lifting the cover to a spectacular dish, the boys flashed brilliant grins at each other, then cast aside the thin loincloths that served them as underwear. The thirteen year old boys stood naked before their master, who stood stunned by their beauty. An even deep caramel all over, with highlights of honey and darker valleys of chocolate, their skin was smooth and flawless. Round bubbles of hips formed bottoms that Appleby could hardly resist cupping with his hands. Small sprinklings of peppercorn hair dotted their groins just above six inch [15 cm] long uncut penises that, half-erect, curved out and downward. They were very dark, darker than the boys' caramel skin, and like large flower buds, the shafts not too thick and the heads long, hooded buds waiting to open and reveal their nectar. These were the first naked blacks Appleby had ever seen, and he was stunned by their flawless perfection. Both boys looked, not at each other or themselves, but at him, and in that moment they knew what he felt, and they were proud.

The evil spirit of slavery overtook Appleby for just a moment. These delicious young boys were his, he owned them and could do with them what he wanted. He could beat them, he could possess them sexually, he could eat them alive. In that moment, he very nearly wanted to fall upon their candy skin and bite it, licking their sweetness. He barely resisted.

"In the tub with you," he said, but it came out as just more than a whisper. The boys complied, sitting face to face as the water rose nearly to overflowing. Ignoring their master for a moment, they laughed and splashed, each one soaping himself up before passing the bar to his brother. Legs intertwined in the tub. Water flowed over dark shiny skin, making the hills and valleys of their adolescent muscles stand out more clearly. Appleby simply stood and stared, grateful for the robe which hid what was now a towering erection.

Without their master saying a word, the boys leaped out of the tub and each one grabbed a towel damp from their master's use. Drying themselves as much as possible, and quickly, they wrapped the towels around their slim waists and gathered up their damp clothing from the floor. "Time for rest, Master Mark," said Bacchus. The boys leading the way, they made a strange parade up through the darkened hallway and stairs to the second floor. The boys went to their quarters in the dressing room while Appleby walked to the window of his room and collect his thoughts. Strong emotions warred with his utter exhaustion from travel and the tiring day. Hearing bumps and giggles from the dressing room next door as the boys hung out their clothing to dry, he looked out the open window at the moonlit sea and the lawn below. And there he saw.. now he was sure of it. Hector, standing on the lawn with no attempt at concealment, looking up at his window and at him. Was there a look of yearning on his face? It was hard to tell from that distance. Appleby waved to him and this time, instead of running to hide, Hector waved back, then turned and slowly walked in the direction of the slave cabins, head slightly bowed.

"Master Mark, sir, do you need anything else tonight? Maybe you should rest, sir." Pan stood in the doorway between Appleby's room and the boys' chamber, the towel still loosely wrapped around his waist, gaping forward a bit to reveal a few curls of kinky hair. "No, thank you, Pan, I believe I will rest now," said Appleby. Nodding, Pan retreated. Hesitating for a moment, Mark realized he had no clothing at all in the room besides the borrowed robe; it was all being washed by Mama Cass. Uncaring, he cast it aside, slid naked under the cool sheets of the four-poster bed, and fell asleep the instant his head came to rest.

Who could not have powerful dreams after a day like that? Appleby's dreaming mind wandered through strange passageways where dark hands, dark bodies, beautiful dark shining skin was all around him, caressing him, rubbing him. Enormous flower buds burst open, spraying him with fragrant dew. Faster and faster the images came, until the dream broke with a snap and he woke up, starting up onto one elbow. It was then that he realized three things. First, that he had been shouting in his sleep. Second, that his penis was enormously erect, nearly pushing back up against his belly, and glistening with clear liquid. Third, that a naked boy had one foot on the floor, one knee on his moonlit bed, and with both hands was shaking his forearm.

"Master Mark, Master Mark! Are you alright? You were shouting." It was Pan.

It took no more than a second for Mark to decide what he would do, what he must do, powered by a mighty desire built up by his dreams. In one quick, fluid motion he pushed up from his elbow to his hand, arching his body off the bed, and with the other hand he cupped the black boy's whole butt. Mark didn't ask and he didn't tell, he simply scooped the slim young body underneath his own, positioning Pan on his back beneath him, then plunged downward onto the slim brown boy.

Years of longing and a whole day of desire came flooding out. Two rampant cocks, one deep pink and the other deep brown, pointing straight up between their bodies and slick with clear precum, slid up and down against each other. Appleby's strong male body ground into his slave. Pan whimpered in pleasure and put both arms around the strong white back of his master, pulling him closer, willing man and boy to merge through the white and brown skins. Both Appleby's hands grasped the boy's rounded muscular shoulders, while his mouth sought the full, moist lips of the slave. He sucked first one lip and then the other into his mouth, tasting and kneading them with his own. Appleby thrust his tongue into the boy's mouth, running it slowly along the ridges of his perfect teeth, slipping and sliding against the boy's tongue all the while. Then, with a gasp, he broke off and twisted his head to look behind him.

There was Bacchus, awakened by the sounds from the bedroom, already up onto the bed. "Oh, Master Mark sir," he breathed with passionate desire, and before Appleby could say anything in response, Bacchus climbed onto his back. His dark brown cock, slick with precum, slid through the ass groove between Appleby's muscular buttocks, while his brown hands grabbed his master's strong shoulders and held on for dear life. First Bacchus purred with pleasure deep in his throat, but as his thrusts increased in energy an animal grunting, "Unh unh unh unh" took over. Mark Appleby was now sandwiched between his two thirteen year old slave boys. All reason and restraint were gone. Returning his attention to the boy beneath him, Appleby moved both hands to his head, cupping his scalp and reveling in the feel of the crisp, springy peppercorn curls that covered it. He kissed and licked the boy's face, gently pulling the soft pillow of his nose between his lips, and then looked directly into the boy's eyes. He and Pan's eyes remained locked together, piercing deep into each other's secret, as they rutted together in heat, while Bacchus pumped his young butt like a locomotive engine to slide his cock in the slippery groove of his master's butt cheeks.

Pushing his torso up off of Pan with both hands, Appleby pushed harder into the boy slave's groin with his slick cock. Pan held his master's chest up with both palms open, his thumbs flicking at Appleby's rose colored nipples. Bacchus picked up the pace of his frantic humping, as he reached one arm around his maser's chest and with the other hand ran his fingers through his master's long, soft hair, marveling at its silky texture, so different from anything he had ever known. For perhaps a minute the three held this position, pushing into each other with furious passion.

"Oh, Master, Oh Master, Oh.. Ooooooooo!" cried Bacchus. Appleby could feel Bacch's whole body spasm with the pleasure of his orgasm, and what felt like a lake of warm fluid began spreading across Appleby's back as his slave shot great gouts of white cum between them. Bacchus wrapped both arms around Appleby's heaving chest and pull tight as he continued bucking. When the last shudder had run through the boy's body, he rolled off to the side of the bed. Appleby also rolled off in that direction, lying on his back between his two boy slaves, moving Pan with him in one fluid motion. Pan was now lying on top of his master, cocks grinding together, but not for long. Appleby grasped Pan just at the base of the butt, just where his strong brown thighs began, and with one long pull moved the boy's entire body up in the direction of his head. Scrambling to keep from hitting the headboard of the four-poster bed, Pan grasped the wood with both hands at the same time that his long, slim brown penis slid into his master's mouth. Gasping with surprise and pleasure – for he never dreamed that a white man would do such a thing – Pan began pumping his cock in and out of his master's mouth.

Appleby was overwhelmed with this new experienced and sucked hard on his boy slave's dick. The sweet salty taste of precum filled his mouth. Each of his hands cupped one of the firm brown bubbles of the boy's ass and with the rhythm that Pan set, helped to pump his loins back and forth, pistoning the boy's dick within his mouth. Suddenly, a moment of sweetness that Appleby had never felt before and never expected to feel overcame him. Bacchus, recovered from his wild orgasm, had flopped over onto his master and taken the deep pink, slick cock fully into his own mouth. Sucking hard, he bobbed his head up and down, fighting down the need to gag when the rampant cock touched the back of his throat.

Suddenly, with an animal wail in no language ever heard, Pan slammed his pelvis hard against his master's face, mashing his master's nose and upper lip with his wiry pubic hair, and began shooting great ropes of semen down his master's throat. He pulled his cock halfway out of his master's mouth, then slammed forward again, hard. Appleby had given no thought to this moment, caught up in passion as he was, so he had given himself no time to be squeamish about it. Giving way to the intensity of Pan's frantic slamming into his face, Appleby swallowed frantically, nearly taking the hooded tip of Pan's cock down his throat. Then, just as the slave boy's buckings ceased, his peppercorn pubic hair pressed firmly against his master's nose, Appleby felt something unimaginably strong begin to move through him. Called by the powerful sucking and bobbing of Bacchus, it was not just an orgasm. Years of denial and longing boiled up in his chest, moved through his heaving belly, and erupted out of his iron-hard cock into the mouth of his slave boy. Bacchus grunted with pleasure and satisfaction and pushed his face aggressively into the soft pubic hairs of his master, taking the explosive flood of white cum that was erupting from the penis he held in his mouth. Appleby, his mouth full of Pan's hard, still penis, could only roar deep down in his throat, moaning like a wild beast at the moment of its death.

It seemed to last forever, but eventually a peace descended upon the man and his boys there on the bed. Pan slipped his penis, now wilting slightly, out of his master's mouth, slid down along Appleby's side, and flopped one arm over his master's chest. Bacchus swallowed the last of his master's cum, licked the penis clean, and stretched out on the other side from Pan, putting his arm around his master's belly. One arm around the back of each slave boy, Appleby pulled them tight to him and stared straight up. Silently, tears of relief and release welled up and overflowed his eyes, running down his cheeks. But what came out of his chest and mouth was a deep, hearty laugh. He was rewarded with answering giggles from each boy, and each boy softly rubbed and patted his chest and belly. Turning to the left and then to the right, he planted a loving kiss on the kinky hair at the top of each boy's scalp, as they each snuggled in closer to their master. Now utterly exhausted and at peace, Mark Appleby drifted away into sleep.

Chapter three

Opening his eyes with a start and looking to left and right, he realized that he was alone in bed; the boys had left some time during the night or morning. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he sat up, his back momentarily sticking to the sheet. He smiled when he remembered the cause of that: Bacchus's semen had pretty well coated his back and then Appleby had rolled over onto it.

What time was it now? Fumbling for his pocket watch beside the bed, he saw it was ten o'clock in the morning already. Stretching his muscles, still tired from travel, and moving slowly, he stood up. Looking beneath the bed he found a chamber pot, which he used. On a dresser he also found a pitcher of water, a large bowl, towels and a bar of soap. He silently blessed the boys who had evidently brought that here in the early morning. With these he cleaned himself pretty well from the night before, scrubbing off crusts of dried semen and any other soil.

Inspecting the wardrobe and dresser drawers, he saw that his clothes still had not been returned from washing. Worse, even the ancient dressing gown he had worn briefly the night before seemed to have disappeared, perhaps also gone to the wash. Trapped! Appleby said to himself with a smile. He walked to the open window, drawing the lace curtain across it to hide his nakedness.

A brilliant blue sky flecked with sailing clouds covered the sea, visible beyond the lawn surrounding the house and the woods beyond that. He knew from the records left to him by Horatio Smith that the island was about sixty acres, not huge but large enough to sustain some vegetable crops and livestock and to provide some variety in terrain. Down below just beyond the roof of the verandah, his attention was suddenly riveted by the sight of his two thirteen year old slave boys, Pan and Bacchus, each with a large bundle in his arms. They were on their way into the house from one of the smaller stone outbuildings. Memories of last night's passionate sex flooded Appleby's memory, and he smiled to himself, while an involuntary stiffness sprang to life in his groin. Then he noticed that the boys had stopped to talk to Hector, the fourteen year old boy who had fetched him from Charleston harbor the day before with his older brother, Troy. Heads leaning close, the three boys, two caramel colored and one a deep chocolate brown, seemed whispering with animation. Then Pan and Bacchus broke away and headed toward the house, out of sight under the roofline of the verandah. Hector swung his head to look directly at his window, a look of wonder, disbelief, and amusement on his face. Suddenly aware of what might well have been their topic of conversation, Appleby quickly ducked out of sight behind the curtain. Hector nodded his head as if to himself, flashed another of his brilliant smiles, and walked off thoughtfully.

Appleby heard the kind of crashing on the stairs that only two thirteen year old boys in a hurry could make, then a sudden quiet and the slow opening of the door. As the door fell back, both boys were revealed standing cautiously in the doorway, quickly surveying the scene. A wave of sudden shyness and reserve came over their faces, unsure of their reception after last night's passionate excesses. They slipped quickly into the room, closing the door behind them.

"We came with your clothes, Master Mark, sir," said Bacchus, his head bowed and waiting.

"Mama Cass says the heavier clothes will be dry later, we'll bring them up then," said Pan, likewise quiet, waiting, with a carefully neutral look on his bowed face. Both boys avoided looking directly at their naked white master, whose penis was by now half erect.

"Thank you, boys. Would you please set the clothes down over there," Appleby said, indicating the dresser and a sofa. The boys did as they were told, then stood waiting.

"Come here," he said. Clouds of worry crossed their sunny faces as the two boys approached their master, stopping two feet [60 cm] away. Appleby looked down at first one and then another, sensing their uncertainty and confusion. The boys held their heads bowed down, but were now gazing at their master's penis, which was slowly rising – they exchanged quick sidelong glances with one another.

Appleby hooked the index finger of each hand under each boy's chin and drew them gently closer. "Thank you," he said, lifting Bacchus's chin and kissing his full lips, "for last night," he continued, lifting Pan's chin and kissing him likewise. Both boys loudly exhaled, broke into sly grins, and rushed their master, holding his chest and belly tight. Appleby gathered both slave boys to him with his arms, embracing them in return, sliding his hands under their rough shirts to massage their smooth, muscular backs. Their hugs grew tighter. His hand slid down to their waistbands, secured by a length of thin rope, meeting resistance. Both boys stepped back quickly and writhed out of their clothes. Shirts came off with a flailing of arms, slim brown fingers fumbled at waists while smiles grew, then off came pants and thin loincloths. Each boy grabbing one of his master's hand, and Appleby being fully willing, they rushed for the bed.

The white man and his two black slave boys tumbled like puppies onto the rumpled sheets. Nobody held any position for long before reaching for another body, grasping another warm skin. If the night before was a storm of driving, machine-like passion and desire, this was a morning of exploration, delight, and joy. Man and boys were exploring each other, he uncovering the secrets of their bodies while they discovered his.

Appleby murmured with delight as he first ran his fingers and then mashed his nose, his lips, into the tightly curled peppercorns of their scalp hair – then the looser whorls forming small tufts under their arms, which he licked and kissed as they twisted with pleasure, and the small patches just above their penises. The boys called each other to run their fingers through Appleby's shoulder-length light brown hair, so soft and light, then in turn his underarm hair, the triangle of light hair at the center of his chest, the line of silken strands that ran between well developed abdominal muscles to the cloud of soft hair above his penis, hair which they pulled into their mouths to suck and feel, humming with pleasure. Appleby moistened his fingers with each boy's saliva and then ran them over their lilly-like lips, so full and curving outward, clearly defined lines separating them from the caramel skin. At the same time, each boy in his turn ran a single fingertip over the thin, pink lips of his master, and each boy giggled as the white man caught the finger in his mouth and playfully bit it.

Pan and Bacchus ran their palms over their master's pink/tan/white skin, marveling at the flecks of pink and red freckles, sucking on his deep rose nipples, brushing the soft hairs on his arms and lower legs, giggling with the holiday spirit of freedom at doing such a thing to a white man. Their master sucked and kissed their necks, then shoulders, then the broad, thin planes of their chests and raisin nipples, the rippled skin of their bellies, discovering highlights of dark gold and chocolate flecked in the dark caramel, tasting the sweet skin until neither boy had any part he had not tongued. He looked with delight at their lighter, tan colored palms and soles of the feet, tracing the darker colored lines that ran across them. Appleby peeled back the foreskins from the long heads of their cocks, like dark brown tulips on long, slim stems, the unhooded glans a lighter color than the dark purplish skin. Drops of clear precum oozed out as he slowly kneaded each penis, squeezing out drops like pearls. The boys took turns looking closely at the skinned back penis of their master, tracing the blue veins under the skin, loving its dark pink color and the heavy weight of the shaft and the ballsack beneath it. Lying mouth to genitals, man and boys spent long minutes looking, touching, tasting, bending, pumping.

Ecstasy came as a surprise to them all. Lying on top of his master, sucking on the white man's balls while slowly moving his penis in and out of his master's mouth, Pan came before he knew what was happening, his young body less easy to control than his master's. Without warning he arched his chest and face up from his master's groin, pressed his own penis down into Appleby's mouth, and cried out, "Aaaah! ahhh!" as his semen flowed out steadily. Falling off his master's body just enough to let Bacchus take his place, Pan lay there with both arms around one white leg, holding it tight and panting, a thin line of clear liquid and white semen oozing out of his penis onto his master's ribcage. Bacchus took up the task of sucking his master, while Appleby gladly took this second black boy's cock into his mouth already slick with cum. Pan had done most of the work needed, though: within seconds, Appleby's torso tensed, his thighs tightened while his buttocks clenched, moving a volcano of semen into the waiting mouth of Bacchus, who greedily swallowed his master's seed for the first time. Appleby's arms tightened around the perfectly curved, bubbled bottom floating above his face while he sucked harder on his slave boy's penis. Bacchus exploded in one huge rush of semen, shouting in a hoarse roar that sounded like the man he would grow into some day, then rolled off onto the other side of his master from Pan, gasping for breath.

Man and boys lay like that recovering their breath; slowly one and then another sat up on the bed, and all three, sighing happily and sitting cross-legged, leaned in for a happy embrace. Aware of all he had yet to do, Appleby kissed both boys lightly, then leaped out of bed and sponged himself again at the basin, the boys coming around to help with washcloths, hands, and towels. Each boy followed suit to clean himself at the basin, and all three dressed. Looking at his watch again, and seeing it was nearing noon, Appleby embraced each slave boy quickly and went downstairs, leaving them to restore his room and bedding to order.

Reaching the first floor, Appleby entered the dining room where Mama Cass, Mama Juno, and Athena were just finishing preparations for his lunch of vegetables and a simple farmer's cheese, all made on the island. His gaze rested on Mama Juno's dark caramel color, so similar to that of her sons upstairs. He wondered how much she knew of their activities last night and this morning, and whether she minded. Her manner toward him seemed no different, quietly respectful and businesslike.

For this meal, the two older women rushed off to attend to other duties as soon as the lunch was placed before Mark. As he ate, Athena bussled about quietly, serving him as needed. Her answers to his questions about the plantation, the location of buildings, how the cheese was made and so forth were friendly and respectful but shy. Watching her while he ate, Appleby asked, "Athena, when is your baby due?"

"Any day now, Master. Seems like I'm ready for it, too," she said, a shy smile spreading over her beautiful face which shared the family coloring, the same out-turned trumpet lips as her mother and brothers. Appleby thought once more of Athena lying with Troy and the passion that had brought her to this time, two beautiful and strong bodies rutting in animal rhythm. All of a sudden he was overcome with an inner conviction as strong as his need to speak it:

"Athena – when your baby is born, it will be beautiful."

She stopped in surprise, a little more stunned to hear him say such a thing than he was to have said it. A look of wonder replaced surprise, and then a look of calm pride as she drew herself up and replied, "Yes, Master, thank you – I believe it will be, too." The two looked at each other smiling in nearly a conspiratorial way. The moment was broken by Priam's entering the room and removing his straw hat.

"Good afternoon, Master, sir, I expect you were very tired from the journey," he rumbled in his deep base voice. "Hello, Athena," he said, acknowledging his daughter-in-law, who smiled in return. "Papa Priam," she replied.

"Master Mark, sir, I expect you will want to see the rest of the plantation and the island today?" Appleby eagerly agreed. "I will get one of the boys to show you, if that is alright, as Troy and I are bringing in hay," he said. "And if you have letters you wish to send, or notices to go into town, Troy sails out to meet the mail boat as it passes by about three o'clock this afternoon, sir."

Pleasantly surprised at this unexpected arrangement, Appleby immediately went to the study, where he wrote several letters he had decided to send, and a note to Horatio Smith. Emerging into the hallway he found Mama Juno, and asked her to give the letters to Troy. She agreed; but he thought a small wrinkle of concern creased her brow as she saw the note to Smith.

The day was sunny and pleasant, and Appleby decided to forego wearing a coat. Selecting a walking stick from a collection in a stand in the hallway, he began to move toward the front door but was nearly run over by the twins rushing ahead of him from the stairs.

"We're going to take you on your tour, Master Mark!" said Bacchus, full of eagerness. "Yes, we'll show you everything," said Pan, with a knowing look. Both boys pushed out the front door ahead of Appleby. There they ran smack into Hector, who stood at the top of the stairs leading down to the lawn, a heavy cloth bag over his shoulder.

"No, he said. I am taking Master Mark on the tour." It was not angry or hostile, it was simply a clear statement of what was going to happen. Although only a year older than the twins, Hector at that moment radiated an unmistakable spirit of masculine authority. Pan and Bacchus stopped in surprise, looked at each other and their master with wide eyes, and then quickly agreed. Their high spirits recovered, they returned to the house to do chores, while bidding their master a good day.

"Well, Hector, it seems that you won out!" said Appleby, smiling. Shy now with the adult man, despite his victory, Hector's dark face was nevertheless split by a dazzling smile as he hung his head momentarily. Perking up, he said, "Master, are you ready to go? I can show you everything, and I brought along a picnic," indicating the cloth bag he carried. "Lead on!" said Appleby.

With growing pride and confidence, Hector led the way, first showing his master the outbuildings around the main house. At the outhouse Hector retreated a few steps while his master went inside to make use of it. It was hardly the modern convenience Appleby was used to in Boston, but he supposed it would make do. Divided between a male side and a female side, he was pleasantly surprised that the smell was not as offensive as he had feared. Inspecting the structure afterwards, he discovered that it sat on an incline and that the lower parts were open from the back, with a system of ventilation. Straw was thrown over the leavings, as were kitchen scraps. It was in effect an effective composting system for the plantation's gardens.

Moving on, Hector showed his master the laundry building, the kitchen, the smokehouse, and simple workshops. Sacks of grain filled the loft of a barn, where hung preserved hams and sausages, as well as dried fish. Master and slave boy also walked past the cabins where the servants lived. Mama Juno had her own now that the twins had effectively moved into the main house. Hector knocked at the door of his parents' home and, hearing no word from Priam or Mama Cass, entered and invited Appleby in. Clean, well built, and simple, with sanded wooden walls and floors, the ground floor was one large room with chairs, a straw bed by a window in the corner, a small iron stove for heating and simple cooking, lanterns, even homemade art and wood carvings on the walls and table. A ladder led to a loft upstairs.

"Is that where you stay?" Appleby inquired.

"No, Master, my sister Helen stays there." He pulled the door to the cabin behind him as they stepped outside. "I stay in the loft of Troy and Athena's cabin," he continued, gesturing to a similar structure across and down the path.

"They don't mind your sleeping there?" asked Appleby in some surprise.

"No, Master," said Hector, suddenly shy. Appleby dropped the subject in deference to Hector's silence.

They walked on to explore the larger grounds beyond the immediate area of the main house. Small, well tended fields of hay and wheat grew, separated by lines of trees. When Appleby looked closely he could see they were fruit and nut trees. The plantation was well organized to be as self-sustaining as possible, and with the supplies stored in barns and the cellar beneath the main house, it could survive long stretches of bad weather or isolation from the mainland. Cattle, chickens, and pigs were in their proper enclosures, and a single donkey for the donkey cart.

Three natural springs dotted the island, generating tiny creeks that ran through cuts down to the sea. These and a few well water pumps provided the island with all the fresh water the inhabitants needed. Hector led the way toward a path that ascended the one feature that might reasonably be called a small hill. Following behind, Appleby found himself strongly stirred by the bottom of the slave boy who went in front of him, moving and straining beneath the cloth of his breeches as he walked. Before yesterday he would not have allowed himself to think, to imagine, about such things, but he did now. Reflecting as well as enjoying, he decided that for most white males he had known, the shape of the buttocks was such that they curved down, the lobe of the bottom (so to speak) on the lower end, just above the thighs. But he had found no such thing with the African males of Seaward, especially Priam and his sons, Hector and Troy. Their butts pushed up, a gentle curve rounding the tops of the buttocks. It created an indentation that marked the beginning of the spine, which then ran up a markedly indented valley between two long hills of strong back muscle. Picking up the pace, his eyes were never more than a few short feet away from the strong, tight butt of his boy slave; he hardly saw the scenery for taking in this more pleasurable sight. Twice, as the path grew rocky, Hector reached back and offered his master his dark brown hand. Appleby gratefully took it for the help up, and Hector smiled, pleased at being able to help his master, holding on until his master released his grasp.

At the top of the hill was a simple cemetery. Weathered stone and wood markers showed the resting places of the two groups of Seaward: white people on one side, black people on the other, but with no fence or barrier between them, merging together into the earth as they had, inevitably, in life. Appleby and Hector caught their breath as they surveyed the scene. From the spot the entire island could be seen, as well as the smudge of Charleston in the distance. On the west side, toward the mainland, Appleby could see the island's boat under a single sail, with Troy at the helm, slowly intercept a larger craft heading toward the port. It was too far to tell with certainty, but Appleby supposed that he was handing off the mail Appleby was sending, and perhaps receiving any that was directed to the island. Standing on top of their world, Hector put his bag to the ground for rest. Next to him, Appleby put his arm around his slave boy's neck, hand dangling down over his chest.

"Thank you for showing me all this," he said.

Surprised, Hector looked up quickly at his master with a bright grin, then lowered his head shyly. "You don't have to thank me, Master, it's my job." Then, in confusion, he added, in a softer voice, "Anyway, I want to do it for you." Appleby felt a surge of affection for this shy boy-man, and opened his palm to rub Hector's chest lightly. The boy leaned into his master ever so slightly. His solidity gave Appleby a flash of insight: Hector was in many ways a man inside a boy's body, five feet [1.50 m] tall or a little over, with signs of a strong male character about to burst forth in the coming years. Master and slave boy stood like that for a minute, then Hector looked up and asked, "Want to go down to the beach, Master?" Appleby readily agreed, and they collected bag and walking stick to follow another path down to the sea.

They were on the eastern side of the island, away from the western cove that looked over to Charleston. Here there was real, sandy beach, about fifty yards of it that stretched to the sea. Some sort of palm tree grew at the top fringe of the beach, mixed with scraggly evergreens. Hector led the way to the south. Appleby followed happily, stopping to pick up pieces of driftwood or interesting stone, studying the occasional large boulder that lay on the sand. Hector swerved inland at a place where the line of sand made a sort of natural land-cove among the trees, creating a protected spot surrounded by green and out of the sun. Here Hector opened his bag and pulled out a large sheet which he began to spread on the spot, Appleby readily helping him. Out of the bag came a flask of water, some cold chicken, a stone crock of butter, fruit, and a loaf of freshly baked, whole grain bread. Hector offered the water to Appleby who took a deep swig, and then offered it back to Hector. Looking at his master to see whether he meant the offer, Hector accepted the flask and drank gratefully. Then Appleby reached for it again and put his lips to the same hole from which his slave boy had just drunk, and took another sip. He smiled at Hector, who dipped his head and looked away, confused as to what this intimacy meant.

Man and boy stood looking at the sea, enjoying the breeze – and Appleby enjoying the figure of his slave boy, standing just a little between him and the sea. An idea took form in his mind, an idea that would have remained only that before yesterday. But freed by his experiences on Seaward Plantation in the last twenty-four hours, Appleby decided to act on it.

"Do you want to swim, Hector?" he asked. Hector turned around and flashed a bright smile, nodded his head quickly in agreement. He hadn't had time to think of what that meant. Appleby bent over to pull off the short boots that he wore, then straightened up and quickly removed the shirt he wore, now damp with perspiration from their walk. Hector's full lips parted and eyes grew wide in surprise. He could not remove his eyes from his master's muscular chest and the small hills of his abdominal muscles, the deeply indented navel. Hector did not have time to recover from this revelation, for Appleby, standing straight as a rod with his eyes on his slave boy the entire time, unfastened his trousers and slid them and his undergarment down in one motion, kicking them off to the side as they reached his feet.

Hector swallowed so hard that Appleby could hear it from six feet [1.80 m] away. The slave boy was absolutely gaping at the white man who stood naked before him, the first such body he had ever seen, with its play of very light tan, pink, and white skin. His eyes opened even wider at the sight of his master's seven inch [18 cm] long penis, now visibly growing and slowly moving out from the master's thigh.

"Hector?" prodded Appleby, trying not to smile outwardly as much as he was inwardly, pleased with the effect he knew he was having on his black slave boy. As if startled from a dream, Hector made a quick decision – really, the only decision he could make under the circumstances. He kicked off his simpler shoes, tore off his plain shirt and dropped the rough trousers he wore on the sand. Hesitating, looking quickly into his master's eyes for any sign of disapproval, he tugged down the loincloth he wore and, as it tumbled to the shore, stood there naked, six feet [1.80 m] away from his master.

Appleby had become used to the lithe, taut bodies of the twins over the last day. Here was something different: the burgeoning body of a man taking form on the frame of a fourteen year old boy. A slight sheen of perspiration and oil coated Hector's skin of deep bittersweet chocolate, highlighting the long, smooth muscles that rolled up into bulges on the shoulders, arms, and legs, that made regular, rolling hills down his belly. His chest was two rounded pads of muscle, showing strength and development where the twins' chests were flatter, his nipples two prunes where the twins had raisins. His slight movements as he cast his clothing aside made his muscles move with strength and authority beneath the dark, dark brown skin. Hills of muscles grew tight on his thighs, which were like two pillars of oak. As he turned to one side to kick his clothing away, Hector's high, tight, ample butt was visible, so much more muscular than the twins', a pad of muscle seeming to lift them up toward his back. Appleby caught sight of short sprays of wiry black hair tufted under his arms. At the base of his belly was a nest, not of the tight peppercorns the twins sported but of wiry, long black hairs spreading over and around the sides of his genitals. Boy though he was, his eight inch [20 cm] penis was larger than his master's, whose attention was arrested by the magnificent organ. Stories and whispers from his Boston childhood returned to him, legends of the superior masculine endowments of the black man. It seemed to be true in this case. His penis was longer than his master's, and somewhat thicker. It seemed outsized for the somewhat smaller head, hooded in skin still despite the fact that it, like his master's cock, was slowly rising and filling. If Hector's skin was dark chocolate, his penis and the heavy, pendulous sack behind it, were blacker than black, black with suggestions of purple and blue deep within the skin.

Man and boy stood transfixed for a moment, then Appleby broke the spell and ran to the sea, laughing, calling to his slave to follow. Hector followed, and with heavy cocks swinging, man and boy splashed into the sea. Appleby turned when waist deep and splashed the boy as the water came up to his chest. Pleased at the attention, Hector returned a tentative splash that one could have read as an accident, unsure how far to go with his master. When Appleby laughed and splashed back, Hector returned fire with a right good will, and man and boy frolicked in the gentle waves. Wiping his face from a particular strong surge, Hector looked around and could not see Appleby. Fear for a moment that he had lost his master at the height of such a pleasurable moment seized him. Then he felt strong arms under the water seize his legs and pull him under. Appleby, a powerful swimmer trained in the sea off Massachusetts, had swum under water and tackled his slave boy around the knees. Man and boy broke water again, laughing and shouting.

Appleby wiped the salt water from his eyes and then it was his turn to look around in wonder at the disappearance of his slave. He had not long to wait, for Hector, following his master's lead, was swimming towards the white man underwater. Not yet daring enough to physically tackle his master, though, Hector swooped up out of the sea just in front of Appleby, propelling himself out of the water with his powerful legs. Surprised, Appleby instinctively reached out both arms, catching his slave boy under the arms with his hands on the boy's rib cage. Quick as a flash, and just as instinctively, Hector reached his hands out and grasped his master's upper arms, dark brown fingers closing around the fair, tanned skin over smooth, rounded muscle. He sank back down to his feet, but man and boy were by then in an embrace neither had planned. For a moment they both stood in plain surprise, looking each other closely in the eyes, the white man's hands on his slave's side ribs, the boy holding his master's upper arms just below the shoulder.

Lightning might have struck at that moment. Appleby's hands slid completely around Hector and pulled him close, one hand pulling at the long planes of muscular back, the other reaching down to grab the prominent buttocks. Hector kept his hands on his master's arms, but slid willingly into the embrace. Appleby and his black slave boy pulled into each other, their erect penises standing upright between their bellies and meeting, rubbing together in the sea water. Their faces close together, Appleby looked deep into Hector's eyes, dark as well water. He kissed the broad, rounded nose, the dense lines of eyebrows, and then the lips. Hector's upper lip was pleasantly full, but not as large as his lower lip, which curved away sweet and moist as a fruit, slick and shiny as a plum. Black and white mouths met, Hector's tongue frantically, wildly invading his master's mouth, all restraint now gone.

"Kiss slowly," breathed Appleby into his slave's ear, then returned to the kiss. Taking the hint, Hector's tongue joined Appleby's in a dance of exploration rather than conquest, and for a moment they both sucked on one another, taking lips into mouths, running tongues over the ridges of white teeth, playing with the tips of their tongues. Hector's hands slid off his master's arms and around to his back, and he pulled tight. His strength reminded Appleby again that although fourteen, he was something more than a boy. A man's passion and desire fueled a boy's body, and Appleby and the slave boy for a moment met each other's passion and strength equally, struggling to see who could caress and fondle the hardest.

Both broke off as if by agreement at the same time, and holding hands they ran back up the short sandy beach. Breaking ahead a bit, Hector threw himself on his back on the cloth he had earlier spread for their picnic, opening his arms to receive his master. Appleby nearly dove into him. Master pushed down, grinding his penis into his slave's lower belly, while the boy pushed upward just as hard in return, and with both arms tight around his master's back, pulled him down into himself. Struggling, whimpering with effort and passion, man and man-boy kept up this locked struggle for a moment. Then Hector parted his thighs and slipped his legs around his master's lower back, crossing his ankles together over his master's bottom. Thrusting down again, Appleby's rampant penis encountered something that made the boy wince and cry out softly. Appleby suddenly realized what it was; his penis had prodded the wrinkled asshole of his slave boy, and slick though it was with precum, it was not slick enough to go farther.

Appleby thought quickly. This was all new territory to him, but of course he had heard the whispers and stories from other boys in his teen years. Hector kept his ankles crossed over his master's hips, and seemed to be waiting for what was to come next, looking with trust and desire into Appleby's face. Deciding to explore the new territory before him, Appleby looked around desperately. The stone crock of butter! Set out for their picnic, it was within easy reach. Pushing quickly off of his slave boy, Appleby reached for the crock and peeled off its covering. Appleby squatted on his haunches and reached into the crock, coming up with a wad of semi-soft butter. He pushed Hector's legs up and back, the boy's knees approaching his brown chest. He smeared the butter all over his rampant, aching penis, and then over his slave boy's dark brown, wrinkled asshole. Pushing a finger into the hole brought a yelp from Hector. Moving more gently, he moved his finger in circles, taking care to smear more butter inside with each revolution. Slowly he felt the circle loosen. Removing his finger he grasped his hard penis, placed the swollen purple head of it at his boy slave's love hole, and pushed it in with one steady shove.

Hector gasped and held his breath. Involuntarily his hands reached out for his master's torso. But as his master began to slowly move in and out of him the pain changed. It became a pain-with-pleasure. Still rocking on his haunches, Appleby could not take his eyes away from his deep pink and purple penis sliding in and out of the dark chocolate bottom of the boy. Shifting position, he leaned out over the boy, stretching his legs straight back as Hector wrapped his legs around his master once more.

Man and boy, master and slave, black and white, the two became one as they struggled together, locked together physically, Appleby's chest and belly now sliding against his slave boy's torso, lubricated by sweat and by the precum from Hector's rampant penis which still extended between them. Appleby buried his face into the neck of his slave boy, sucking and licking the skin, then sucking and chewing his dark earlobe, breathing heavily into the ear. His hair, still wet from the sea, lay in strands across Hector's face. Pantings became language as he began to repeat the boy's name, "Hector, Hector" in rhythm to his pumping. Appleby's hips soon began pistoning in and out, picking up speed like a locomotive, until, also like a train, he slammed forward into his slave boy, filling his guts with what felt like pints of white man's semen.

Slumped over the squirming boy, Appleby took great gulps of air into his lungs – but not for long. Aware of the remaining needs of the twisting slave beneath him, Appleby pushed up off of him and rocked back on his heels with his thighs bracing against the boy's bottom and his still-hard penis still impaling the boy's asshole. Reaching his hands underneath the boy's lower back to hold it up, Appleby curled forward and, thankful for his agility, was able to take the first half of the boy's hard, slick penis into his mouth. Hector's legs were now locked around his master's lower back, his master's penis still inches inside of him, his own penis sliding in and out of his master's warm mouth. Hector's torso curled up and forward and he dug his elbows in the sand to support himself. His face was inches away from the top of his master's head, the long hair of the white man flicking Hector in the face as his head flailed up and down on the boy's black cock. The sight and the feeling was more than Hector could stand and he violently erupted in Appleby's mouth. His legs unhooked from around his master and, feet slamming onto the cloth, he pushed his groin up into his master's face. Appleby's cock popped out of the slave boy's ass with the force of the explosion. Again and then again he slammed upwards, filling his master's mouth and belly with his potent young semen. Then it ended and he collapsed flat on his back, his master coming down in exhaustion on top of him.

The master and his slave boy breathed in rhythm with each other, slowing, their spirits floating in peace. Each ran his fingers through the other's hair, smiling in delight at the difference in textures. Then Appleby pushed himself off and stood, regarding for a moment the naked, nearly black figure of his slave spread-eagled on the cloth beneath him. Appleby extended his hand and Hector grasped it, allowing himself to be pulled up into a gentle embrace. Then wordlessly, Appleby turned and, taking the boy's hand again, ran into the sea to bathe.

They exchanged no words but laughter and smiles, then returned from the sea to the cloth, arms around each other's shoulders. Hector put out the picnic supplies, as the sun was dipping towards the horizon, eagerly helping his master to the good, simple food they had with them. When he offered the remaining butter they both laughed, and spread it upon their bread with extra zest, nudging and winking at each other. The meal done, they lay side by side, speaking in low throaty voices of small things: the setting sun, the feel of the sea, the soft shore breeze, the different birds in the trees above. Time came to leave, and they wrapped up the picnic things in the bag Hector had brought. Hector led the way to a path that took them up a gentle incline back towards the main house. Walking now beside the boy, now a few steps behind him, Appleby thought he saw something new: a manly swagger, a confidence in his step, so different from the equally delightful frisking of Pan and Bacchus.

Twilight had fallen deeply when the path split, close to the main house. "I have to go down this way to take these things to Mama Juno," said Hector. If you go that way you'll go by the cabins and straight on to the big house," he continued as he gestured down the other path. Then, before Appleby could make any move, Hector dropped the bag, pulled his master to him and hugged him fiercely, kissed him softly on the lips, then grabbed the bag and disappeared wordlessly in the twilight down the other path.

Appleby watched him go, his heart full. Then he continued on his way silently, treading on the soft pine needles that carpeted the path. The cabins were still dark as he approached them. Feeling a need to urinate, he swerved off the path to walk the rear of a cabin to relieve himself against a tree, then continued on with the intention of returning to the path.

It was then that he heard sounds, not exactly voices but human, coming from the cabin behind which he had peed, and he saw a window with a light inside and a curtain drawn partways across. The night was nearly dark now. Approaching the window stealthily he peeked in, aware that since the room was lighted from inside as well as curtained, its occupants would not be able to see him. Holding his breath for quiet, he crept up to the window and peeked through a convenient hole in the curtain to see what was making the sounds. It was Priam, buck naked, on his knees and powerfully fucking Mama Cass whose strong, wide bottom was presented to him as dogs do it while her chest and shoulders rested on the bed. Low, rhythmic moans came from her with each slam of her husband's penis into her vagina. Priam was muttering words under his breath that Appleby could only half make out.

Time was when Appleby might have maneuvered to keep the woman in sight through the hole in the curtain, but that time was before his experiences of these two days on the island. Now he felt a hunger to see the man whose son he had just fucked on the beach. With Priam's figure opposite the center of the window, Appleby found that if he moved one way he could see Priam's powerful buttocks clench and unclench rapidly as he slammed his penis into his wife. He had the same high, tight ass as his sons, unslackened by his fifty years. Appleby smiled as he recognized the upward rounded countours of the bottom that he now knew so well. Sweat streaming down the older man's dark back gleamed in the lantern light. Shifting to another angle and peering through another hole, Appleby could see more of Priam's great lobes of chest muscles that bounced and clenched as he rode his wife, could see his well-muscled abdomen tightened hard in the effort of his labor. His older, still handsome face mouthed words and grimaced in pleasure and struggle.

Unfortunately, Appleby had arrived late in the game, for soon Priam gave a great shout that Appleby was sure must bring someone running, bucked hard four times, then collapsed onto his wife's padded bottom, pushing both of them down to the bed. Afraid that the commotion would bring someone to investigate, Appleby pulled away from the window, feeling despite his own efforts of the day a swelling in his groin. He tiptoed softly on the pine needles around the far end of the cabin, thinking to slip back to the path and on to the main house. As he cleared the corner of the house and had but a few steps to the path, he looked back and saw sitting on the simple front porch of the cabin the figure of a boy dressed in white clothing that caught the last of the fading light. Caught! Appleby said to himself, then looked closer and realized it was no boy but instead the eleven year old daughter of the couple he had just seen, the sister of the boy whose flesh he had penetrated on the beach: It was Helen. She was looking right at him. Then she put her fingers to her lips and – it was so hard to tell in the dark, had she winked at her master? A shy smile flashed white teeth in the dark. With nothing else to do about it, Appleby smiled and winked back, waved, and slipped away quickly on the path.

Coming into the main house a few minutes later, he found Pan and Bacchus waiting for him in the library, reading books in the library. They leaped up when they saw their master enter and frolicked round him with cries of "Oh Master! we have missed you!" and "Did that Hector show you everything? Was he good to you?" and "We have fresh clean sheets on the bed for you!" and other exclamations of joy and solicitation. They seemed pleased and even relieved when he assured them that Hector had indeed given him a very good afternoon – but of course, he spared them details.

The boys were all for drawing their master another bath, but he told them that he had bathed in the sea – twice! They agreed that a sea bath was better than the tub, and so bringing the lanterns with them they led the way to the stairs up to the second floor. There was a boy on either side of him, telling him news of their own activities, plucking at his shirt to gain his attention away from a brother, holding and squeezing his hand when they wished to emphasize a particularly important point, chattering all the while.

Once in Appleby's bedroom, the boys worked quickly to make it comfortable. A wind was up off of the sea, and clouds were gathering, scudding across the moon; it seemed as if a storm might come up, and the temperature was dropping a few degrees. Pan lowered the windows that were open against the chance of rain. Bacchus helped his master to wash up, showing him the full pitcher of water by the basin, handing him the soap and towel as he needed them. Pan came up as Appleby was drying his hands and face and said,

"Master, do you need this?" He was holding the chamber pot. Despite having relieved himself behind Priam and Cass's cabin, Appleby felt that he could do so again before sleeping. Pulling his penis out, it seemed natural to urinate into the porcelain pot held by the two brown hands. Bacchus craned his head around to see the proceedings as well, both boys studying their master's organ as much in curiousity as desire. Shaking out the last drops, Appleby continued to disrobe, not stopping at his underwear but becoming naked entirely. The boys stowed the chamber pot away quickly and returned their attention to their master, standing quietly and smiling, awaiting orders.

"Boys – Bacch, Pan, prepare for bed. Would you," he said, hesitantly, "would you like to sleep with me tonight?"

"Yes!" they both said with hasty delight, and rushed into the adjoining dressing room. When they emerged naked moments later, Appleby was sitting up in bed with the covers around his waist. The two naked brown teenage slaves, smiling broadly, ran for the four-poster bed, slim brown penises half erect and flopping, and crawled under the covers with him. All three had felt a temperature drop in the last few minutes and were grateful in that moment just to snuggle in together. Appleby was happy and at peace, reclining back against the full, stacked pillows with a caramel brown boy on each side. Indeed, he was happy enough, and tired enough from the day's sexual labors already, that he said to himself that it was enough to be there like that.

Reaching across Bacchus, who was on the side closest to his bedside table, he turned down the wick on the oil lamp until it went out. A few rays of moonlight from time to time came through the gathering clouds into the room. The boys seemed to understand that tonight would be a time of physical closeness but not necessarily physical passion – a time for touch but not for grasping.

"Tell us about when you were a boy, Master Mark, sir," said Pan.

"Oh? That wasn't that long ago, you know!" he said, which solicited giggles from the boys. He pulled them close, arms around each, rubbing gently on sides, backs, hips. They cuddled close to their master, curling the hair from his head, underarms, and chest around their fingers. Appleby began stories of summers at Cape Cod, of games on the lawn, of favorite toys. Soon the boys, enchanted by tales of wonder from far away Boston, fell asleep. Appleby sighed with contentment and drifted away himself.

Chapter four

Craning his head up off his pillow, he realized the sound of washing was from a torrential rain outside, the wind pushing waves of airborne water against the window. He gave thanks for the sound stone construction of Seaward, its solid tile roof and tightly shut windows and sank back into bed. And then his immediate surroundings rushed into his consciousness in a pleasurable wave. He was lying on his left side, tightly spooned between his two thirteen year old caramel brown slave boys. His left arm was under the neck of the boy in front of him, Bacchus, his left hand spread out on the boy's taut, flat padded chest. His other arm flopped across the boy's abdomen, his right hand cupping the slave's lower belly. But on Appleby's other side, Bacchus's twin brother Pan aligned his slim body with his master's strong back. Pan's left arm was extended beyond his head, his hand resting lightly entwined in his master's light brown shoulder-length hair, while the boy's right arm crossed over to caress his master's chest, his fingers lightly grazing the man's nipple.

Of course, there was more to the arrangement than that, as you would expect from three healthy young males on first awakening. Appleby felt the thick head of Pan's penis pressing hard into his naked lower back, and a little wetness from some clear precum that had oozed out in the early morning. Appleby's own rigid cock felt warmly encased by something; shifting a little so as to move it, he realized it was lodged between the upper thighs of the boy in front of him who was spooning back into his belly. Out of curiosity, to see whether Bacchus matched his bedmates, Appleby's right arm slid a few inches down from the slave boy's lower belly, over the small, crisp patch of pubic hairs, and stopped short at a barricade: the slim shaft of the boy's dark brown cock was pointing up toward his slim chest at a forty-five degree angle.

Sliding his right hand around the obstruction of Bacchus's erect penis, Appleby caressed the soft, wrinkled skin of the boy's full, hairless scrotum. Plucking up tiny ridges of skin, the rolled them between his fingertips, 'scratching' all around the dark ballsack in that way. Bacchus woke with a gentle start and a sharp intake of breath, then snuggled back into his master's belly with a sigh of contentment. He began massaging his own stiff penis until his master's right hand slipped up to take over that job for him. Appleby's large man's hand slid slowly up and down the boy's penis, now slick with precum, bending the tip downward at the end of each stroke, which made the boy moan softly and clench his buttocks. Bacchus moved his right hand back to grasp his master's thigh and pull himself farther into his master's hard chest and belly. Appleby began slowly moving his own penis between the thighs of his boy slave, in the warm groove just where the thighs came together at the testicles, a groove now slick with precum.

Pan awoke from the gentle movements in the bed, his head starting up to look around in confusion. "Wha'?" he said, then realized the game that was going on. His master and brother were locked together so closely that he could find no place to insert his hand between them to fondle the white man, so he reached his right arm over his master's side to grasp his brother's ribs and pulled all three together tightly. His left hand, entwined in his master's long light brown hair, gathered it up in handfuls, bringing it to his face where he smelled and tasted it. Pan pushed his own penis hard against his master's lower back, making a slick surface on which his hard erection could slide. He moaned and gasped with the pleasurable effort of riding his master's hairless back.

Pushing his cock in and out of the wet groove between his slave boy's thighs suddenly put Appleby in mind of his rapture on the beach with Hector the previous afternoon. He had a sudden yearning for that kind of experience again, but he was sure there was no stone crock of butter in the bedroom to smear on his hard penis! Lifting his head to make a quick survey of the room, Appleby spied the basin, jug of water, and bar of soap. He quickly broke away from his slave boys and leaped from the foot of his bed, which brought soft protests from them both. Sitting up on the rumpled sheets, they look with curiosity as he softened the soap in the water and then began lathering up his penis which stuck straight out from his body. "Oh!" said Bacchus, quickly exchanging a look of surprise with Pan, which became looks of comprehension. Smiles of interest and expectation, and perhaps a few wrinkles of worry, broke out on their deep caramel, boyish faces. They understood perfectly the experience that would soon be theirs. Both thinking the same thought, and each greedy with desire to please their master and themselves, they scrambled to the edge of the bed as their master approached with the softened soap.

They positioned themselves side by side, thighs crammed together, knees on the very edge of the bed, pale tan soles of feet sticking straight back, torsos supported on their elbows. "Me, please, Master!" pleaded Pan on the left, and "No, it's my turn," said Bacchus on the right. Coming up to the edge of the bed, Appleby was nearly overwhelmed with the sight of two brown globes of deep caramel, with the darker valley at the center of each that led from wrinkled brown asshole down to their dangling scrotums and penises. Stepping right up to the edge of the bed, he lathered both his middle fingers well with the soap, then inserted them into his slave boys' holes.

Each gasped, in surprise and discomfort, as his slippery fingers pushed all the way in. He began a slow rhythm of in and out, spiraling his fingers more and more with each stroke. At first the boys squeaked with discomfort, then began to purr and moan with pleasurable expectation. Appleby could feel each asshole loosen and widen, the sphincters relaxing. It was time.

Lathering his achingly rigid cock once more with the soap, Appleby stepped behind Pan, on the left. He placed the head of his penis at the slave boy's brown love hole and pushed. Younger and smaller than Hector, the boy's hole resisted at first and Pan gasped. Then, with a plop, first the head and then the shaft of the white man's penis entered the long, moist tunnel inside the black boy slave. Pan put his head down and moaned in pain. Appleby moved back out slowly, and the boy gasped again, then he pushed forward, picking up the rhythm gradually. Pan's gasps of pain gave way quickly to moans of pleasure, and he struggled to push back into his master's slowly pumping groin while still staying on the bed. All the while, Appleby was reaching to his right, his right middle finger reinserted into Bacchus's asshole. Bacchus squirmed with delight, muttered "my turn" and "please, master" under his breath as the white finger moved in and out, expanding the circle of his hole.

Appleby suddenly pulled completely out of Pan with a wet sucking sound, which brought the boy's head up with a gasp and a small yelp of protest. Taking one step to the right, Appleby placed his penis at the bottom hole of the second black slave boy, and pushed. Already opened from Appleby's finger fondling, the love hole relaxed more easily and the white man entered the boy entirely. It was Bacchus's turn to moan, raising his head to look around, putting his head down low to see between his own brown legs and past his dangling penis to his master's light colored legs and large, hanging pink and purple ballsack moving back and forth. Appleby now reached to the left and inserted two lathered fingers into Pan, to mollify the boy for his momentary lack of attention.

After a few moments of this, Appleby switched again, then after a few minutes more he went back again. Each change brought a soft moan of protest from the boy he left and a gasp of pleasure from the boy he impaled. Sensing that this could not continue forever, Appleby cried "Up, Pan" to the boy he was fingering. Looking to his master for directions, which were given with a quick gesture, Pan rose from his position and stood on the edge of the bed, putting one foot over his prostrate brother, straddling his brother's bucking back and presenting his rock hard penis, standing nearly flush with his belly, to his master. Appleby took the slave boy's dark brown penis into his mouth and began sucking and pumping furiously in time to the rhythm with which he slammed his own penis into the brown boy beneath. Pan grasped his master's shoulders, then his hair, then his head, wildly bucking and emitting animal sounds of "Eeee, eeee, eeee" as he began to lose control. Time lost all meaning as man and boys, locked together physically, became one, lost in pleasure.

It happened at nearly the same time. Pan came violently, pushing forward into his master, who could barely remain on his feet with this onslaught, the slave boy clutching frantically at his master's tanned white shoulders. Four times the boy pulled his hips back as if to wind up and throw, which he did with his whole young body. Appleby leaned into the boy's groin, swallowing frantically, while both his hands were busy in pulling the hips of the boy below in and out. Pan's ejaculation had no sooner subsided than Appleby's began. Pulling his head back away from Pan's dripping penis, Appleby slammed his muscular groin forward into Bacchus's butt. Throwing his head back with a low roar from the back of his throat, Appleby shot long ropes of white cum into his black slave's asshole, working his penis in and out frantically. Unbalanced by his master's spasm, Pan stepped backward and lost his footing, falling on his back just beyond his brother's head, his legs stretched back alongside his brother's arms and knees.

Bacchus felt his master's violent passion subsiding. Desperate for release, he lunged forward, releasing his master's long red penis with a loud sucking sound, and scrambling forward he sank his own cock into his brother's mouth which was open and panting. Surprised but willing, Pan began sucking hard on his brother's rigid penis while Bacchus began pumping his hips for all he was worth, his hands on the far edge of the bed.

Appleby, drained, slumped forward against the near edge of the bed, watching the boy he had just fucked scoot forward towards his brother. The white man was treated to the sight of the dark caramel brown hips of the boy clench and unclench in quick succession as Bacchus face-fucked his brother. A muscular dimple appeared and disappeared in rhythm. After the stimulation to his prostate administered by his master's fucking, it did not take long. With a long howl, Bacchus slammed forward into his brother's face, nearly gagging him. Straining forward to squeeze every ounce of spunk into his brother's mouth, on his final push Bacchus did push too far and went tumbling over his brother's face and onto the floor on the far side.

Panting, swallowing, Pan and Appleby looked at each other in surprise, Pan coming up off his back and twisting half around to look at his brother on the floor. Appleby craned forward to see what he could see. Master and slave boy held that position for only a second, their penises slowly wilting and dribbling the last off their cum onto the bed. Suddenly they heard first a giggle, then maniacal laughter coming from the floor. Bacchus rose up halfway and clambered back onto the bed, laughing at his unintentional fall. Pan and Appleby both broke into guffaws themselves, Pan choking in his laughter as unswallowed dribbles of his brother's semen blew out his nose. Appleby rolled forward in his laughter, and lolled on the bed in a tangle of pleasure and intimacy with his slave boys. It was in that happy moment of laughter, crossed limbs, and gentle caresses that Appleby felt a strong emotion. He had felt hints of it before in the last two days, but knew it for what it was when it came to him full-blown: he felt love for these two boys who were wholly his, owned and possessed by him.

Keeping that knowledge in his heart to ponder later, Appleby sent the boys down to the bath room to pump and heat water for a bath. They threw on some clothing and ran downstairs to the task. Shaving carefully at the bowl, now murky with soapy water, Appleby turned over the images of the boys in his mind, caressing each one again in his imagination. Gathering up the old but clean bathrobe he had been given on his first day, he went downstairs to find the bath room. Passing by the dining room, he noticed a simple breakfast of bread and jam on the table, but there was no sign of the women. The storm continued to howl outside; perhaps their absence was due to the weather, but it was clear that someone had been here early to leave the food in haste.

Entering the bath room with its brick floor, large claw-footed tub, pump and stove, Appleby found that the boys had heated and pumped enough water to fill the tub. Casting aside his robe, he sank gratefully into the warm, steaming water. A pleasant inspiration seized him.

"Boys, come take a bath, too. Just one at a time," he said. They needed no second invitation, although Appleby did think he would have to mediate a dispute as to who would go first. In the end, Pan stepped into the warm water and sank down with his back to his master's belly. Although both the white man and the dark brown boy sported half erections in the warm water, it was a time for the pleasure of caring touch alone. Their wet legs slid together as Appleby soaped and scrubbed the boy's back, then reached around in front to wash his chest and belly, being careful to clean his underarms as well. Gently, Appleby pulled back the skin from Pan's penis, still sensitive from his recent passion, and cleaned the organ thoroughly, Pan giggling with boyish delight.

"Up with you now," he said, helping to push Pan up and slapping his dark golden brown bottom as it cleared the water. With a mock yelp, Pan hopped out of the tub, Bacchus slipping in nearly before his brother was out. Bacchus sat facing his master, each one's legs wrapped around the other's hips, their semi-hard penises bobbing together in a friendly fashion underwater. Appleby cleaned Bacchus as he had Pan, but in addition he soaped his fingers lightly and gently rubbed and caressed the boy's face, as Bacchus held his eyes closed in bliss. Then Bacchus soaped and scrubbed his master's chest and belly and then returned the favor by pulling back his master's foreskin and gently cleaning his penis as the white man had done to him.

Finished with their bath, man and boy emerged to accept the towels that Pan offered them. The boys put their clothes back on, while Appleby donned his bathrobe to return to his room. Dressing quickly, he returned to the dining room where he invited the boys to join him in his breakfast. Ravenous from the morning's exercise, all three quickly finished the bread, and also some fruit they found in a bowl on the sideboard. As the boys cleared away the remains of the meal, Appleby went to the window and looked out.

He had been aware of the howling of the storm all along, a fact confirmed by the sheets of water that blew against the windows. The boys scurried around to light fires in the fireplaces of the dining room, study, library, and Appleby's bedroom above. Peering into the storm, Appleby thought he heard a change in the howling of the storm. It came and went, then came more consistently, a high pitched keening that would last for perhaps twenty seconds at a time. Trying to identify the sound, walking from window to window, he began to realize that it came from the slave cabins. He was wondering whether he should investigate when a dark shape loomed out of the swirling rain, ran down the verandah to the door nearest the outdoor kitchen, and burst into the stone-floored pantry, dripping water and admitting wind and rain. It was Hector, wrapped in an oiled, weatherproof cloak.

"Master Mark!" he cried. "It's Athena! Her time has come! In our cabin." And then he was gone back out into the storm.

Appleby would have liked to have seen Hector again for the first time since their afternoon together yesterday under more private circumstances, but fate had arranged things differently. Pan and Bacchus frisked around in a state of high excitement. On the pantry wall were three rain slickers, long oilskin cloaks. Appleby sent Bacchus for his boots upstairs and put them on, then he and the twins donned the cloaks and hurried out, making sure to shut the door against the storm behind them.

Wrapping their cloaks around them, hoods pulled low over their faces, they fought the wind and rain to make their way down the path that led to the slave cabins, and found the wooden structure shared by Troy, Athena, and Hector. They entered and shut the door behind them quickly. Spacious enough for its three usual occupants, the single room bottom floor seemed crowded. All the slaves of Seaward were there. On the bed lay Athena, drenched in sweat and paler than her usual dark caramel brown, but with a look of fierce determination and strength on her face. A rich, strange animal odor of unfamiliar body fluids came to Appleby's nose, and he began to feel the mystery and strangeness of what was happening on the bed. The smell was overlayed with a strong medicinal, herbal odor coming from a pot simmering on the wood stove. Mama Juno and Mama Cass sat stolidly in chairs on either side of the bed, mopping Athena's brow, spooning herbal tinctures into her mouth, and murmuring soothingly to her. Helen, the little sister of Troy and Hector, sat upstairs on the edge of the loft, her thin dark legs dangling off into the air. Appleby thought she smiled quickly at him, the only witness to his peeping tom adventure of the night before, but then her face retreated into neutrality and watchfulness. Priam stood with his back to the window, ramrod straight and a rock of strength, looking out the window at the rain.

Troy, Athena's man, paced back and forth from the end of the bed to another window, stopping at each turn by the bed to look at his woman with concern. Hector, too, seemed unusually agitated, his usual quiet strength troubled by the unfolding events. He sat in a chair near the bed but not too near, drumming both feet against the floor, flipping a piece of kindling wood between his hands.

Seeing the new arrivals add to the crowding, the older women decided to take matters into their own hands.

"Priam! Haven't you got chores to do in the barn? Are all the animals safely in, are the cows milked?" said Mama Cass to her husband. Priam smiled quietly and made no answer, but knelt to pick up a waterproof canvas which he began to arrange around himself.

Mama Juno rose and spoke sharply to her sons: "Pan, Bacchus, go to the kitchen and take bread, cheese and fruit over to the master's house, that's all he will get for lunch and dinner today, and then do your chores, change the sheets, clean up over there!" And turning to the white man, she said, "Begging your pardon, Master Mark!" but it was clear she was doing no such thing and that she expected him to depart as well. Smiling, Appleby and the twins prepared to leave – but he did wonder for a moment why she specified a change of sheets in her instructions to the boys.

Appleby, the twins, and Priam left, the older black man to go about his chores with the canvas wrapped tightly around him, Appleby and the boys to return to the house. They did not hear what instructions were given to Troy and Hector, whether they were sent away or allowed to remain. The twins and their master stopped by the separate kitchen building and loaded up on provisions, which they carried back to the pantry in the main house.

A long afternoon ensued. Master and slaves shared another simple meal of bread and cheese. The boys began their chores of cleaning, restoring the upstairs bedroom to order and putting down fresh sheets (what must the older women think of the rate at which his sheets needed washing? Appleby thought to himself). As the boys went about their business all over the house, Appleby found an opportunity to explore the one part of the house he had not yet seen, the cellar. In the coolness of the stone-lined basement he found foodstuffs stored, the last of the previous fall's fruits now wrinkling. Old broken furniture was piled in one corner. Approaching a row of self-standing shelves in another corner, he was pleased and astonished to find row after row of dusty wine bottles. Eagerly examining the labels, he found cobwebbed bottles of old claret from Bordeaux, as well as Burgundy. A few were less dusty and of more recent vintage, so he surmised that his Aunt Lucy had purchased them. But most must have been put down by Richardson Huddle decades ago, and if aging improved wine at all they would be at their peak. A whole section of old Napoleon brandy excited him, and he stuffed three bottles in his pockets and under his arm to take upstairs.

Appleby no sooner cleaned the dust of years off of the bottles and placed them in the study than a howl of wind and a crash signaled the opening of the pantry door. This time it was little Helen, wrapped in oiled canvas, standing dripping on the floor. Like a prophetess of old she raised an arm and uttered the single word "Come!' then turned and ran from the house. Calling to the boys, Appleby and the twins once again put on their rain slickers and ran to the birthing cabin.

Entering, they found everyone there once again – but no, there was one more! For there sucking at Athena's breast was a new baby! Troy sat by her side, holding Athena's hand with a look of proud strength on his face. Hector ran up to his master as soon as he entered. "It's a girl!" he said, and taking the white man by the hand led him to the bedside. The boy's strong hand gripped Appleby's so tightly he thought it might break. Appleby could hear the boy's rapid breathing and could almost hear the pounding of his heart.

Athena opened eyes, tired from her labors but strong and shining, and looked at her master. She made no attempt to cover her bosom at which the infant sucked. She looked straight into Appleby's eyes, the intensity of the moment of new life cutting through any difference and division. Then she said in a whisper that nevertheless carried throughout the room, "You were right, Master Mark. She is beautiful."

Tears sprang to Appleby's eyes. Please God, he prayed, don't let me lose control here. He could but nod vigorously, and smiled to fight back the trembling of his lower lip, then turned and looked out the window at the storm until he regained his composure.

At that moment, Mama Juno rose up by virtue of her status as new grandmother to take command. "All the men folks, out!" she declared. "Hector, you're going to have to move back to Priam's and Cass's and share the loft with Helen for a few days. Priam, go, find some more chores to do. Pan and Bacchus, I need you close in case Cass and I need someone to fetch wood or water, so move back next door into the loft of our cabin, I'm sure Master Mark can make do without you for tonight at least. Begging your pardon, if that is acceptable, Master Mark," she added, but it was clear that she was not really seeking permission. He might be her master, but such advantages gave way in the world of women and childbirth. "Troy, can't sleep in this bed for a while, find someplace else," she said, her voice a little softer. Gathering rain gear about them once more, everyone dispersed out into the storm. Pan and Bacchus waved goodbye for the day to their master, saying how much they would miss him, asking if he would be alright. He reassured them, and returned alone to the house in the rain.

The quietness inside the lonely house was balanced with the continued storm outside. Appleby stood by the window looking out, just able to make out the hay and storage barn near the border of trees. He noticed then a figure, blurred by the driving rain, run into the barn, then back out again. He could only tell that it was dark skinned and, as far as he could tell, was unprotected from the storm. Donning his rain gear, Appleby set out once more, heading straight for the barn. As he came nearer the figure approached again, heavily ladened, and ran into the barn just ahead of him. Appleby followed quickly and there on the straw-covered floor stood Troy. The twenty-year old black man was soaking wet, completely, and was putting down a load of bedding that he had fetched from a cabin. The bedding itself was hardly less wet than he, having been hauled there through the rain.

"Troy, what are you doing?" asked Appleby in amazement.

"Oh, Master Mark!" Troy said with a start, surprised by the unexpected appearance of his master. "You scared me! Well, sir, I guess I'll sleep here in the barn for a few nights, until the women folk let me back in," said, his strong, dark face breaking into a wide grin of dazzling white teeth.

Appleby looked at the drenched bedding and knew it was hopeless. "Come, help me spread these things out over the straw to dry," Appleby said to the slave, "and then come to the house. There are five perfectly good empty bedrooms there and you are not going to sleep on wet bedding in a barn." Troy was going to protest, but the white man was already spreading the soggy blankets out over stacks of straw to dry. The young man helped his slightly older master and when done, the two of them peered out of the open barn door.

"The rain is coming down as hard as ever," said Appleby. "Haven't you any covering?" he asked the younger man.

"No master, but," chuckled Troy deep in his throat, "I'm as wet as I can be now, I might just as well run." Seeing the sense of this comment, Appleby wrapped himself up in his rain slicker and both men ran for the house, quickly entering through the pantry door which they shut tight against the storm. Both men took off their wet boots and left them on the stone floor to dry. Appleby took off his slicker and hung it up on a peg where it could drain. Then he looked at his slave with concern, for the young man was soaking wet and the day was getting cool once more.

"Come upstairs to dry, I'm sure we can find towels and you may use some of my clothes until yours have dried," Appleby said. A look of surprise appeared on Troy's face. "Upstairs, master?" he asked, almost in wonder, as if he had been invited to a cave of rubies and diamonds. It was clear that he had rarely if ever been on that floor.

"Surely, come along with me, please," said the master, filled with a sense of concern that Troy not catch cold. He led the way through the hallway and up the stairs quickly, as Pan and Bacchus had led him on his first day there. Opening the first door he came to, he saw that the fireplace had been set with kindling and wood – perhaps even years before! – but had not been lit. Finding a match on the mantel, he set the fire, which caught and, thankfully, began to burn without smoking. Troy stood somewhat dazed just inside the room as the white man moved quickly to attend to his needs. Finding no towels in the room, Appleby stepped into the hallway and opened the door to a small butler's pantry, revealing stacks of clean, folded towels. He returned to the room with several of them and handed them to Troy.

"Thank you, master," said Troy quietly. He looked his master full in the face, searching his eyes for any hint of manipulation or advantage in these kindnesses the white man was showing him. "Thank you. It's been a hard day 3; a good day, but a hard one." Troy turned to arrange the towels on a washstand in the room.

"Yes, I know it has," replied Appleby. "For you, and 3; well, it seemed to me that Hector was quite excited by the birth of your daughter, he must be a devoted brother-in-law."

"Brother-in-law? Oh yes, Hector is quite excited and concerned." Troy paused, carefully choosing his words, seeming to make a decision in his mind before going further. "He's not excited as a brother-in-law, Master Mark. Hector is excited," he paused, "because he might be the father." If it were possible for Troy's deep chocolate skin to darken, it did so now with a blush.

"The father 3; Hector? Of that baby?!" Appleby was so stunned that he sat down on the edge of the bed which was right behind him. The white man knew from his own experience that the black teenager was fully capable of filling Athena's uterus with his man seed, and he knew that Hector stayed in the loft of Troy's and Athena's cabin, but this was unexpected. He looked in shock at Troy, who smiled back, picking absently at his soaking wet shirt.

"But 3; but don't you mind, Troy? You seem not upset at all," said Appleby, and then blushed, conscious that he must sound like a Boston prude.

"Upset? No, Master, I'm not upset at all" said Troy very softly 3;and then in one movement he pulled his sodden shirt off. The twenty year old black slave carefully draped the shirt over a nearby empty quilt rack so that it might dry, but Appleby scarcely noticed that activity, mesmerized as he was by the sight of Troy's naked torso. His chest was two nearly round pads of muscle, two inches [5 cm] thick and curving gently out, with two thick, prune-like nipples just on the lower edges of each breast. Well defined pads of muscles marched in soldierly array down each side of his abdomen. His navel was a whorl like a snail, and flush with the dark skin covering the tight muscles of his belly. He appeared to have no fat on him at all. His waist was slim but looked as tight as a steel spring. There was no hair at all on his dark chocolate skin, which shone with a light coating of natural oil and with the moisture from the rain. A well defined ridge of muscle ran out from his thick neck to shoulders that bulged out, muscles rolling away from strong bone in a wave of flesh. The wave continued down his arms, where muscles worked underneath dark skin at every small movement of the young man. Clearly visible tufts of wiry, spiraling hair were peeking out from his underarms.

"Not upset at all," he continued, looking up at his master then and flashing a brilliant smile of sympathy and acceptance for the shocked white man. "It happened one day about a year ago. Hector was thirteen, and had been staying in the loft of our cabin for some time. One day Athena and I were in bed, naked 3; you know, Master," he said, blushing again. Appleby nodded his agreement and swallowed hard, unsure whether he could speak at all. "We were making some noise, I guess, but then I heard some noise upstairs. We had thought we were alone in the cabin. I slipped out of bed quietly, even though I was naked, and went around to the ladder. Those cabins sure are built strong," he said, shaking his head and smiling, "because I could climb right up the ladder without making a sound. As soon as my head cleared the loft level, I saw Hector, also with no clothes on, lying on his side with his ear to the floor, trying to listen, and playing with himself. You know what I mean, Master," he said.

Appleby nodded quickly. "Well, I jumped up the last three rungs of the ladder quickly and stood there by him. I sure scared him, seeing me there all naked, and him being naked!" said Troy, shaking his head in amusement and chuckling. His deep, soft laughter animated the muscles of his belly and chest, which moved beneath his deep dark skin. "I knew what he needed, Master," said Troy, turning his gaze directly into his master's eyes, "so I took him by the hand and led him down the stairs and into our bed. It was OK with Athena, and OK with me. He shared that bed with both of us until Athena got pregnant, even after for a few months. Of course," Troy said, shifting his gaze away into space, "we couldn't do anything for the last few months, neither Troy nor me. That's been real hard."

Troy tugged, then tugged harder at the wet cord holding up his soggy pants, looking to the side as he did so, remembering. The cord moved half an inch [1¼ cm] .

Appleby found voice at last. "But, how could you not mind that your brother shared a bed with you and your wife?"

Troy looked at Appleby, and a clear strength came into both his voice and face. "You may have noticed there aren't women or girls Hector's age here on the island. Not for Pan and Bacchus either, although they might not mind that so much," he said, a slight grin spreading on his features, "but it's difficult for Hector. Our bed is what he needed."

The last word hung in the air as Troy's tugging finally worked, and both pants and wet loincloth fell to the floor in one motion. The young black man stood naked before his master. The poetry of hills and valleys of muscle that ran down his arms was echoed in his legs, with bulging thighs and narrower but well defined calves. Troy bent to pick up his breeches and loincloth and turned to arrange them on the quilt rack to dry along with his shirt. In profile, he showed the same high, tight, top-padded butt that Appleby had seen on Hector and Priam. Every move worked a muscle in his legs, rolling movements of power and grace beneath the spread of deeply dark hairless brown skin. Troy turned back to face his master.

"Here on Seaward Island, all we have is each other. Each one gives to others what they need." Troy looked down. He might have been looking at his genitals, and Appleby surely was. Here one would have no doubt of the rumors of the superior endowments of the African male. Troy's penis was not out of proportion to his body, his body was so gracefully muscular that the ten inch [25 cm] long shaft and thick circumference of the nearly black organ seemed perfectly right. As with Hector, the head was somewhat smaller than the shaft, a lighter brownish purple tip peeking out from the hood of midnight skin. Heavy balls filled a hairless scrotum behind this magnificent penis.

Appleby simply stared at his slave's dark body, taken away by its beauty and strength and then with a start realized that the young man's penis had begun to grow. More of the brown-purple head moved out of the hood of skin, and the organ began to rise slowly out and away from Troy's body. Not curved, it straightened out and began to rise in a stiff salute. Appleby tore his gaze from this sight and shot a quick glance at Troy's face. The young man was smiling at his master; he had been observing the white man all along.

"At Seaward, each one gives to others what they need." Troy repeated the simple truth. "We give you what you need, Master Mark," said Troy, "and I think you give us what we need when we need it." The utter truth and beauty of Troy's words filled Appleby with lightness and joy, and he rose from the bed. Smiling with understanding and gentleness, the powerful black slave walked the four steps it took to stand directly in front of his master. Grinning from ear to ear now, Troy's strong dark fingers went right to the top button of Appleby's shirt and methodically began to undo each one. As he neared the last one, Appleby came to his senses and quickly undid his own trousers, sliding them and his underwear to the floor.

It was Troy's turn to step back. As with his brother and the twins, he had never seen a naked white man before. Appleby, although not as muscular from hard work as Troy, had his own beauty of white tanned, pink and rose skin and hard, sculpted muscles. For a moment Troy drank in the sight, then looked quickly into his master's face. It was Appleby's turn to smile, as he realized what a revelation this experience was for his slave. Troy's left hand came up to fondle his master's light brown hair in wonder. His right hand moved quickly here and there over the white skin before him, touching quickly, learning quickly, feeling rose colored nipple and light tufts of hair on chest and above the penis. Appleby during this examination laughed, and put both hands on either side of Troy's face. His skin was soft and smooth but beneath it even the muscles of his jaw were powerful. Appleby fondled Troy's small ears, and ran his hands through the thick skull cap of wiry, kinky hair that the slave wore. His hands moved to the back of Troy's strong neck and he moved the slave toward himself. The flesh of the young black man's mouth was full, pushing forward his lips that were full and very dark, like Hector's, the lower lip large and moist.

The two men, black and white, came together in a crash of passion. Appleby soon came to know that this was no boy, the kind of lover to which he had become accustomed over the last few days. Appleby and Troy ground together, their penises crossing like swords, both fully erect now. Troy pushed forward and Appleby went back onto the bed, Troy following and mounting him face to face. When the white man sucked his slave's lips, pulling the black man's tongue into his mouth, the young African responded in kind, enveloping his master's thin white lips with his own until Appleby feared they would be pulled completely off. When the white man thrust his pelvis upward, grinding his penis against the hard belly and crinkly pubic hair of his slave, the black man thrust back down even harder. Appleby clasped both arms around the black man's back and pulled him down into himself, while Troy slid his arms around his master's shoulders and pulled upwards in a fierce hug. Legs wrapped around legs, feet rubbed against feet, and the big four-poster rocked and groaned with the struggle it supported. As if by unspoken agreement, Troy turned his body around and came back down upon his master, taking the deep rose penis into his mouth and sucking, while Appleby sucked his slave's balls and pumped the huge penis with his hand as clear precum poured out of it.

Appleby didn't really think about what he did then; he simply knew that he wanted it and, although Troy had said nothing, he knew what his slave wanted, too. Gathering his strength, Appleby pushed the slave off and ran to his room. He returned with a bar of wet soap. Troy's look of confusion and question at the sudden departure turned to a look of amazement, hope, and questioning. He knew what the soap was for as well.

"Are you sure, master?" he asked. By way of answer, Appleby began applying soap liberally to the rock hard black penis that now extended nearly a foot [30 cm]. Troy leaned back on the bed, his feet on the floor, supporting himself on his elbows as his master ministered to his rock hard dick. Quickly soaping his own butt hole, Appleby climbed onto the bed on his back, shoved a pillow under his hips, and raised his legs in the air, bent at the knees.

Troy needed neither invitation nor directions. Clambering into position, he put the end of his huge penis against his master's wrinkled pink love hole. It was fortunate for both of them that the men of Troy's family had somewhat smaller heads on their organs than the diameter of the shaft, for it did not take much pushing for the first inch of Troy's penis to pop into his white master. "That's not so bad," thought Appleby, and then sharp pain shot up through him as Troy pushed the rest of his soapy cock slowly into his master. Once completely in, he slumped forward over his master, the top of his kinky-haired head brushing the white man's chin, and lay there, sucking at his master's rose colored nipples until the pain subsided. Appleby communicated that fact by a gentle movement of his hips. Troy responded in kind, slowly increase the pace as he pumped his penis in and out of his master. It never felt comfortable to Appleby, but it felt good, feeling as if his entire gut was filled with the black man's penis with every forward stroke, giving himself to his slave in that way.

Troy never lifted his head from his master's chest. He laid his cheek on the hard, muscular pad of the white man's breast. Eyes an inch from the pink and white skin, tongue occasionally flicking out to lick, a thin line of drool flowed out of the black man's full mouth. With his powerful hips he plowed his master's ass, gradually picking up speed. His hands were under Appleby's shoulder blades, fingers over the tops of his shoulders, pulling the white man into him. Appleby's lips and nose mashed into the wiry, jet-black hair of the slave's head, smelling the clean body oils and rain water there. The white man lifted his head as much as could to look beyond the heaving, sweating shoulders of his lover, down the long dark glistening lines of back muscle on each side of the valley of the spine to where the dark padded buttocks were clenching and unclenching, pistoning like a machine.

The faster Troy pumped the harder he held his master, refusing to release him, black skin pressing down into white as if the two would merge. Ecstasy could not be delayed forever. A small sound began in his throat, "Nnnn, nnn, nnn, nnn" and it built into words: "Oh master, Oh my God, Oh master, Oh – " and then a full throated bellow. At last Troy lifted his head from his master's chest and roared up into the white man's face, sweat flying in beads from his face and forehead. His whole body clenched, driving his enormous penis as far as it could go into the white man's guts. He pulled the organ halfway back, pumped vigorously five times, pushed and roared again, holding the spasm for seconds. Then, utter collapse and silence.

But not silence, for Troy was whispering and crying: "Oh master 3; Oh I needed that 3; Oh my master, Oh be my master." Appleby caressed the wooly head with both hands, rubbing his face in the crinkly hair. The white man's own needs were near their peak, but he held them back to help his black slave get through this moment. A great sigh shook Troy's body – he was still – and then he quickly arched up. In an unintentional mimicry of what his master had done with his brother the day before, Troy planted his knees on the bed and pushed forward to keep his enormous penis inside the white man's intestine. Curling forward, the slave took the head of his master's dick into his mouth, rolling it with his big lips while his tongue rubbed it top and bottom. Appleby writhed in pleasure, his legs locking around his slave's lower back, digging his heels into the ample muscled pads of his buttocks. Moving his head downward, Troy took the whole penis in his mouth and began sliding his head up and down. The white man gasped and moaned, writhing with pleasure, arms flailing, hands slapping the bed, slapping the black man's shoulders. Appleby put off the moment as long as he could. Unable to delay, he put his head back and roared. He clenched his legs so tightly even the powerful slave thought his spine might break. The white man's arms could not find his slave to grasp; instead, his fists pounded on the bed, clenching at the sheets. A mighty blast of sperm worked its way from his lower belly up his penis, exploding into Troy's mouth. The black man sucked furiously, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. His white master's hips bucked twice more, he shivered as if with cold, and collapsed flat on the bed.

Troy pulled the pillow out from under his master's hips and stretched out beside him on the bed. Turning in toward each other, the men ran their fingers over each other's faces, exploring, learning, smiling. When they became more aware of their surroundings, the window was dark and the fire was low. Rolling out of bed, Troy fetched the chamber pot from below. He held it while both men pissed into it, laughing as they crossed lines of urine, deep pink and red penis sometimes slapping against the midnight black cock of the slave.

"Build the fire," Appleby said softly to his slave, then ran from the room. Through the darkened house he went, naked, as the storm continued to push rain against the windows. Finding what he sought, he ran back up the stairs and into the room with a bottle of Napoleon brandy and two glasses. Troy's face lit up with surprise and a deep chuckle formed in his chest. "Have you ever had this?" Appleby asked.

"Miss Lucy gave us some every now and then at Christmas," the slave replied. The two men climbed back into the bed under covers, grateful now for the fire in the grate and the warmth of each other's bodies. Appleby poured two drinks, gave one to his slave 3; to his friend. They looked into each other's eyes and silently touched glasses in a toast that each man felt in his heart. Snuggling together, sipping, as each drained the glass he fell asleep in the rainy night.

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