WannabeWhitman

The Adventures of Stampley Plantation

Chapters 6-7

Chapter 6
Roadblock to Redemption

He looked sleepily out his bedroom windows and saw the sun beginning to rise in the distance. Today was the day of his journey to Columbus, where he planned to investigate the sale of Elijah and Thad's father and determine what options there were, if any, to buy him back.

Yesterday, he'd been so distraught by the dream of his deceased mother, and so devoted to the idea of redeeming his despicable behavior, that he'd insisted on arranging the trip for the next day. This morning, lonely and half-asleep, he dreaded the length of the journey, and the stress of finding his way around a strange city. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back under his covers and escape the chill of the morning air.

James rose wearily from his bed, walked to the chamber pot in the corner of the room, and let out a hot, light-yellow stream of morning piss. After shaking the last drops from his relieved dick, he wet a cloth in the washbasin beside his bed and proceeded to wash his face, neck, underarms, and crotch. The distractions of this morning routine did nothing to relieve the ache pounding in James's chest.

For one thing, he missed Elijah more than he wanted to admit. There is no lonelier feeling in the world than climbing into a large, empty bed where one has shared pleasure and joy with another human being for the previous ten nights. Of course he would have loved to enjoy the warm grip of Elijah's ass, or release a load or two of cum into the boy's stiffly sucking mouth, but James's sense of emptiness at the boy's absence was about much more than that. He missed hearing the boy's cute snoring in the middle of the night, or the way he'd sometimes mumble incomprehensible sentences in his sleep. He missed the musky smell of the boy's sweat and ass that hung in the midnight air after an hour of intense fucking. He missed the eager, messy way Elijah devoured his breakfast every morning, just as wide-eyed with disbelief and excitement on the tenth morning as he'd been on the first.

James also felt a sense of dread and desperation when he'd consider that it had been almost an entire day since he'd seen the boy. What if Elijah had fallen ill, run away, or – James nearly fainted as he thought of it – taken his own life? What if he'd gotten into a fight with one of the other slave-boys, bruising or permanently scarring his beautiful face? What if one of the older bucks, hearing rumors of Elijah's new duties in the Master's mansion, had decided to have his own fun with the boy's youthful body? Or even worse, what if one of the overseers, oblivious to James's affections for Elijah, had used the boy for a drunken midnight fuck? When James thought of these possibilities, his entire body grew hot and weak with an insane, overwhelming jealousy. He found himself wanting to throw shoes or dishes or lamps against the walls, smashing them in a fury of irrational panic and possessiveness.

James was also having misgivings about his plans to find Elijah's father. They were the misgivings of a man still dedicated to the 'straight and narrow,' but disheartened by the self-denial he knew his moral decision demanded.

On the one hand, reuniting Elijah with his father would make James a popular Master and instill a sense of obligation in Elijah to repay the favor. But on the other hand, bringing the father back to Stampley Plantation would disrupt the dynamic James had been enjoying for the past three weeks. It wasn't as if thoughts of Elijah's helpless, grieving mother never troubled James's conscience. But for some strange reason, the absence of the boy's father made him all the more erotically exciting for James. James liked being the only man in Elijah's life, a fatherly figure with extra benefits. The idea of stealing Elijah away from a mother and father troubled James in a way that dragging him from a broken home didn't. Not to mention that a grown slave man could create a lot more trouble if he took it in his mind to protect his son, drawing unwanted and embarrassing attention to James's new habits.

James slowly dressed in the crisp, clean clothes Abel had laid out for him the night before: a white collared shirt, vest, frock coat, stovepipe hat, and cotton slacks. James grabbed a small leather satchel from his closet and filled it with some money, enough clothes for the next two days, the novel he'd been reading before meeting Elijah, and a signed pass for the stable-boy, so that he could run errands or enjoy some leisure time without being harassed while James was conducting business elsewhere.

After pausing to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, James walked down the marble staircase and out the front door. Jacob the stable-boy stood dutifully beside the hitched wagon he'd pulled up in front of the plantation-house.

" 'Mornin, Massuh James," Jacob greeted him, moving immediately to take the luggage from his hands.

"Good morning, Jacob," James replied, feeling a sudden pang of excitement and nervousness. He hadn't had any interaction with the stable-boy since the day of Mr. Potter's tour, and the striking, even intimidating effect that the young man's good looks had on him came flooding back to his memory. Even with the puffy eyes and chapped skin of early morning, Jacob looked like a beautiful African prince.

Perhaps the day's journey won't be so dull after all, James thought with growing enthusiasm. The stable-boy would definitely make for some pleasant eye-candy to get his mind off Elijah.

Jacob carried James's satchel and placed it in the back of the wagon.

"Do you think it's going to be a hot day?" James asked, his voice breaking like a teenage boy's. He wanted to establish some kind of rapport with the slave, but felt like a blubbering idiot the instant the words were out of his mouth. How absurd, James thought to himself. A Negro slave no older than 19 turning a grown white man nearly twice his age into a stuttering schoolgirl!

"Do the rooster crow in the mornin', Massuh James?" Jacob smiled, instinctively slipping into 'happy darky' mode in spite of himself. He knew most white folks loved clever little comebacks like that.

"Right you are, right you are," James replied, laughing. His body, tense since coming into Jacob's presence, relaxed a little in relief at what felt like a step toward casual camaraderie. "I guess the only thing to cool this summer heat would be some rain, but I suppose we don't want that either if we want to make it to Columbus today."

"You 'sho right about that, Massuh James," Jacob nodded with a strained smile on his face. Goddamn white folks and their fake-ass attempts at small-talk with niggers, Jacob thought with contempt. He noticed James's resemblance to Master Walt and wanted to spit in his face.

"How long you figure the trip will take us?" James asked, walking toward the wagon.

"I reckon we'll get there somewhere abouts sundown," Jacob answered, holding out his ebony-colored hand to help James into the rear wagon seat. "I done took Massuh Walt on this trip plenty of times, so don't worry, you in good hands, Massuh James. I knows all the short cuts."

"Now that's music to my ears," James said, grinning and using the support of Jacob's strong arm to hoist himself up to his seat on the wagon.

Corny-ass motherfucker, Jacob thought to himself, smiling and nodding.

Just as Jacob began checking on the security of the bridles and reins, both men heard high-pitched shouts coming toward them from within the house.

"Master James! Master James!" It was Becky, hollering and waving her right arm for them not to leave. "Don't you boys forget your lunch now," she scolded, shuffling onto the front porch and handing Jacob a basket with a blue cloth covering the top.

James thought he detected a vibe of awkwardness between the two. Probably Jacob's dark skin, James guessed. He knew a lot of stuck up mulattos in the North, and figured there were plenty in the South as well.

"There's enough fried chicken and biscuits for the both of you," Becky beamed, looking past Jacob to where James was sitting in the wagon. "There's a jug of cider too. I hope they feed you well where you're going, but in case they don't, I'll be sure to have a real good meal waiting for you when you get back!"

"Thank you, Becky! You sure do know how to treat a man like a king!" James said, smiling. "I swear you're the best cook in Georgia, Becky. My Uncle sure was lucky to have you around for so long!"

Jacob smirked at Becky, knowing his back was to James. Becky blushed, for more reasons than James knew.

"You two be safe now, you hear?" she said, changing the subject and shooing Jacob away.

"Don't worry about us, Becky," James assured her. "I know I'm leaving my place in good hands with you and Abel. See you in a couple days!"

Jacob carried the lunch-basket to the back of the wagon and secured it with some leather straps. Then he walked to the front of the wagon and hopped onto the flat board making up the front seat about four feet [1.20 m] in front of James. Taking the reins in his hands and nodding with another smirk toward Becky, Jacob gave a sharp flick of his wrists and the wagon took off down the dusty path leading to the main road.

It took James at least an hour to grow accustomed to the noisy jerking and bouncing of the wagon. In Boston and on the journey to Stampley Plantation, James had always ridden by stagecoach, which while bumpy and occasionally dusty, was a much quieter and smoother ride. The sounds of the horses' hooves against the dusty road, combined with those of the turning wheels and rocking body of the wagon, made the ride so noisy that he couldn't talk to Jacob without shouting. After a couple awkward and futile attempts at starting a conversation over the racket, James finally gave up and settled back for a silent ride. James was partly relieved to be spared the pressure and embarrassment of interacting with the young slave.

The freedom from conversation also gave James the opportunity to drool over Jacob's lithe adolescent body without interruption or distraction. Just as he had when Jacob had driven he and Mr. Potter around Stampley Plantation's 3,154 acres that second day, James savored every visual detail of the teenage boy's good looks. Only this time he didn't have to break his ogling down into quick, fleeting glances while pretending to listen to Mr. Potter's boring stories. He could stare as long and intently as he liked, knowing Jacob's eyes were focused on the road.

He started with the stable-boy's thick, wooly hair, tangled and sprouting a good three inches [7½ cm] in all directions. It looked dirty and had flecks of straw and leaves in it. Then James took in the young man's smooth neck, sturdy and colored deep ebony. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on top of the rich dark skin. James's eyes moved slowly to Jacob's slender back, its shoulder-blades pressed out against a beige, scratchy-looking shirt. He loved to watch Jacob's back muscles tense and ripple when the boy would shift in his seat or lean forward, elbows on his knees.

He could see patches of sweat soaking through Jacob's shirt under his arms and across his back. James wondered how the Negro's sweat would smell and taste.

But of course the part of Jacob's body that earned the bulk of James's attention were the muscled half-globes resting on the wooden seat, pressed tightly against the young man's muddy cotton pants as if trying to escape. James shook his head in lustful amazement at the consistent beauty of Negro male buttocks. Every ass on a Negro male he'd seen so far curved firmly up and out from the small of the back in perfect upturned semi-circles. So different from the flat or flabby asses on most white men!

It's just not fair, James thought with amusement. You'd think God could have stopped after endowing the Negro with a phallus longer, thicker, and more powerful than the average white man's. That was certainly generous enough. But no, he also saw fit to bless the Negro male with a temptingly upturned, perfectly rounded backside that made anyone looking at it, man or woman, want to reach out and grasp its firm, fleshy mounds. 'Cursed race' my ass, James chuckled to himself.

A thin line of sweat outlined Jacob's ass-crack through his dirty pants. James's dick jerked to life when he stared too long at it. He got goosebumps when he imagined how exciting it would be to clutch the ripe upturned melons in both hands, slowly spreading them apart to see, smell, and taste the mystery hidden deep in their crease.

It turned James on even more when he thought of the youth's strength and masculinity. James wasn't na‹ve; he knew Jacob probably wasn't a virgin to the realm of all things sexual, as Elijah had been. In fact, James would be surprised if the young man hadn't made at least a dozen Negro girls very happy over the past few years. Picturing the young buck pumping his manhood deep between a pretty Negro girl's thighs only increased his desirability in James's eyes.

But James was aroused to think that Jacob was most likely a stranger to the experience of sex between men. Perhaps not as ignorant to the concept as Elijah had been, but almost certainly just as inexperienced.

James recalled the thrill he'd gotten when Mr. Potter informed him one night that as far as he knew, neither James's uncle or any of his overseers had ever had a liking for boys or men. "Unless they was bought from someplace else," Mr. Potter assured him mischievously, "all the Stampley boys got assholes just as pure and tight as the day they popped out their Mama's bellies." Mr. Potter had gone on to tease him about how lucky a bugger like James was, as he frequently had to pay high prices to replenish the supply of virgins for he, his two sons, and his overseers.

This meant that the idea of sucking a man's prick or taking another man's dick up his ass was probably as foreign and repulsive to Jacob as eating horse manure or fucking a pig. He probably had a gal of his own, maybe even a wife. Hell, he might even have kids for all James knew. The possibility only increased Jacob's masculine, virgin appeal.

What began as casual ogling, intended to pass the time, slowly grew into a maddening lust. James's admiration for the boy's lanky build and tight adolescent muscles soon turned into an intense, demanding curiosity to see, smell, taste, and touch all the hidden and most intimate parts of his stable-boy's body.

If James had been in a similar situation a month ago in Boston, lusting after a young Negro driving one of the city's coaches, he would have had no choice but to suffer his strangling, impotent lust from afar, then rush home for relief from the frustrating substitute of his hand.

But everything is different here, James reminded himself. Jacob was a piece of James's property, no more or less so than the wagon beneath him, the clothes on his back, or the money in his leather satchel. James knew he could stop the wagon, rip off the young man's clothes, and take the stable-boy's body right then and there in the back of the wagon or ditch by the side of the road. And in the unlikely case that his white Southern peers discovered the rape, James knew he would almost certainly have their tacit, if not explicit, approval. Hell, a man like Mr. Potter would hoot and holler and congratulate him on in his depravity. Even the sodomitic nature of the behavior would probably escape condemnation, for the simple fact that he'd be fucking a beast, a piece of chattel, rather than an actual man considered his equal. Knowledge of his immunity from judgment or punishment spurred James on in his lustful thoughts.

Another part of the temptation for James was Jacob's age. Jacob was a young man, fully in the prime of his physical and sexual development. James had taken great pleasure in robbing Elijah of his innocence; there was no doubt about that. But with the exception of his enormous dick, Elijah was still physically and mentally a boy. Any sense of his manhood was only vaguely formed, tentative and hypothetical.

Jacob, on the other hand, was a virile young man. He was probably cocky when hanging out with his buddies or trying to impress the Negro girls. He probably bragged about his dick, and most likely knew how to use it well. In just one day's time, he probably produced enough spunk to fill a bucket. He had curly dark facial hair down his cheeks and above his lips. He had a lithe muscled build that probably made him a frequent victor in boxing or wrestling matches with his Negro pals. He was probably aware, at least vaguely, of the interest some men might take in his dick or asshole, but proudly reserved the first for pussy and the second solely for farting and shitting.

Violating the virginity of a young man, forcing his body's participation in shameful and emasculating acts, would be a thrill far beyond that of stealing a boy's innocence. James's dick hardened in his pants as he realized that taking Jacob's manhood would be a pleasure exceeding even that offered him by Elijah's virgin asshole.

The possibility, once fleshed out in his mind, immediately became an obsession. Fully imagined, it was an experience James couldn't shake from his mind. A life without sampling such a pleasure suddenly seemed unbearably boring.

James looked down with embarrassment at the hard dick clearly outlined against the fabric of his trousers, and hoped Jacob didn't look back at him. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to focus on the dream of his mother and the decidedly non-sexual purpose for the day's journey. He even tried to think of Elijah, but the boy who'd consumed his thoughts just an hour earlier now seemed small and distant in his mind. After more than ten days of fucking the same mouth and ass – beautiful, to be sure, but the same nevertheless – James craved the new pleasures that a body like Jacob's promised.

Just wait to get back to Stampley, James told himself. It would be impossible to enjoy Jacob on the trip to Columbus without inconvenience or embarrassment. But if he waited three days, he could enjoy the young man in privacy for as long as he wanted. Three days felt like an eternity to wait for the pleasure his mind and body now stubbornly demanded. James shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Hoping it would make the time go by quicker, he pulled his hat down over his eyes and fell into an awkward, restless nap.

Jacob hadn't wasted a moment's reflection on his new Master since the trip started, other than to feel tense and annoyed by the man's eyes staring intently at his back. Damn, Jacob thought to himself, ain't there plenty of things to look at besides a nigger's back?!?

The sun rose to illuminate a beautiful day. Jacob enjoyed the smell of the trees, fields and occasional pond or creek they'd pass on their drive. He liked to feel the mild breeze against his face, created by the wagon's movement. His stomach growled in eager anticipation of Becky's fried chicken and biscuits. Sharing the Master's lunch was one of the few perks to these trips. That and the chance to see the city, maybe even enjoy a fling or two with one of the local girls if he was lucky to get leave of the Master long enough.

He thought about how funny Becky had acted toward him that morning. She'd been real distant and weird around him ever since the fling that led to his troubles with Master Walt. She's probably just pissed I don't give her the dick no more, Jacob concluded. He was used to girls and women getting addicted to his dick, then angry when he moved on to give others the same pleasure.

Occasionally Jacob and James would pass other wagons on the road, and Jacob always liked to see if they carried any pretty nigger girls or women. If they did, he'd subtly nod or wink at them in a way that left no doubt in their minds how he felt about their looks.

Of course if there were white women or girls on board, he was careful to look down and away as the wagon passed. He'd heard too many horror stories about niggers being hanged or getting their balls chopped off after nodding at a white woman the wrong way, or letting their eyes linger just a second too long on some white girl's flowing hair or pert young breasts.

Not that Jacob didn't want to look. His attraction to white girls was actually the source of a lot of guilt for the stable-boy. Vicious and permanent as his hatred for white people was, he couldn't help but be curious to know what a white girl's breasts would look like, naked and groped by his rough black hands. Sometimes he'd jerk off to fantasies of his cock stuffed in some horrified white girl's throat, or pumping in and out between her smooth, pale thighs.

Jacob comforted himself with two thoughts. First, his attraction was nothing more than curiosity; he'd never pursued it, and it had never diminished his love of nigger women. He knew plenty of niggers who drove themselves crazy drooling over white flesh either they couldn't have, could have but didn't know it, or could have, did know it, and were just too afraid they'd get caught. Most of the time these obsessions formed after some rebellious teenage daughter or bored housewife used them as their sexual playthings for a week or two, then forgot about them after the thrill of breaking the taboo had faded. At least he'd been spared that fate, Jacob thought to himself.

The second point of consolation was that Jacob's lust for white women was solely a lust for violence. He hated white men, and knew there was nothing the white man feared, forbade, and despised more than the rape of a white woman by a nigger. (Of course it was always considered 'rape,' even when the white bitch initiated and begged for it). In Jacob's mind, there was no better expression of his hatred for white men, no better act of defiance, than to force his African manhood into a white girl's pussy, even if only in his imagination. When he pictured himself fucking a white girl, it was always rape, always an act of punishment and humiliation. With every thrust he was trying to rip open her pink flesh with his black dick, and pollute her body with his nigger sweat and seed. Every white cunt he fucked in his mind was the daughter or granddaughter or wife or mother of a white man he loathed.

After several hours, James noticed they'd turned off the main road onto a smaller, bumpier road with less traffic.

"One of the shortcuts I was tellin' you 'bout, Massuh James!" Jacob shouted over the din of the wagon wheels.

James nodded and looked around. The road cut through more forest than fields, and he saw farmhouses, shacks, and plantation-mansions far less frequently than he'd seen to the left or right of the main road.

Of course the lack of scenery only added to the boredom of the trip.

The first few hours of the ride had gone by quickly, but as the sun rose higher in the sky, the heat grew more intense and the length of the trip seemed almost unbearable. James took off his hat and overcoat, removed his vest, and unbuttoned the top buttons of his collared shirt to cool off. He noticed the small patches of sweat on Jacob's back had now spread to soak through most of his shirt.

As the day approached noon, James's stomach began to growl, taunted by the occasional whiffs of fried chicken and biscuits from the back of the wagon. Eventually his hunger became too much to bear.

"Should we stop and eat soon?" James asked loudly, leaning forward. He realized how comically inappropriate it was for him, the Master, to be asking his slave to determine their lunch schedule.

"Massuh Walt and me had us a spot we always stopped at for lunch!" Jacob shouted back. "It ain't too far from here, if you don't mind waitin', Massuh James! Massuh Walt always liked it cuz it gots a creek for some fresh water and a swim to cool off!"

James smiled and nodded his approval.

"That'd be just fine, Jacob!" he yelled, then sat back in his seat. Right now he would welcome anything to break up the monotony of the trip, and quenching his thirst with some cold creek water, followed by lunch and a refreshing swim, sounded heavenly. His dick twitched at the thought of swimming with his slave. Swimming meant being naked. And while he wasn't sure of the proper protocol, he sure as hell had no problem inviting Jacob to join him 3; which meant all the aforementioned delights of the lunch-break, plus a look at the flesh stingily hidden by Jacob's sweaty clothes.

About five minutes later, Jacob pulled the reins back and slowed the wagon to a halt on the right side of the narrow dirt road. About thirty feet [9 m] from the road James could see a small clearing surrounded by trees. He could see the sparkling of a creek, and now that the wagon was stopped he could hear the sounds of its gently flowing water.

Tying the reins around the hitch to the left of his wagon seat, Jacob hopped out of the wagon and reached out to help James down. James felt a rush of excitement at the hot, rough skin of the youth's hand firmly grasping his own.

"This be the place, Massuh James," Jacob said, unfastening Becky's basket from the back of the wagon. "I thinks you'll like it. I knows Massuh Walt was always real happy stoppin' here. It be real nice and cool in the shade."

Jacob was right. As James followed Jacob through a criss-crossed path twenty feet [6 m] or so through a tangle of trees and brush, he noticed the air was considerably cooler than where the sun beat blisteringly down on the wagon and road. With Jacob's back toward him, James stole lustful glances at the stable-boy's sweat-soaked clothes clinging to his body, revealing the contours of muscles and dark skin beneath. Jacob led him into a semi-circular clearing at the side of a creek, covered with tangled grass and shaded by the surrounding trees.

"I don't know 'bout you, Massuh James, but I gots to piss like a horse," Jacob declared bluntly, unfastening his belt as he did so. He walked to a far corner of the clearing and began to piss. James could hear the thundering sound of the young man's piss splashing against dirt and leaves. He got a chill of excitement at the sound and tried to picture the dangling appendage producing such a powerful stream. It reminded him of the ache in his own bladder, so he walked to an opposite corner of the clearing to piss.

After emptying his bladder, James collapsed against the thick trunk of one of the trees on the outer edge of the clearing, savoring the pleasant relief of the cool air.

"Thank you, Jacob," James said, his nervousness of the morning returning. "This looks like a wonderful place to stop. Sit down and rest. Lord knows you deserve it after driving in the heat all morning."

"Thanks, Massuh James," Jacob replied, slumping down with his back against a tree several feet from James. Jacob removed the cloth from Becky's basket and dutifully held the basket out to James. James pulled out the jug of cider, two biscuits, and a thick leg of fried chicken. Jacob then eagerly grabbed his own piece of chicken, and once he saw James take a bite, wasted no time hungrily tearing into the meat with his teeth.

The first few minutes were silent except for the sounds of energetic chewing and the occasional compliment to Becky's cooking skills. The fried chicken wasn't as crispy as normal, but the salty coating of grease and flour and the meat already warmed by the heat of the sun combined to make a tasty meal for the two men.

James took a long drink from the cider-jug, then handed it to Jacob, who followed suit. James felt a strong desire to talk with Jacob, to hear about his life on Stampley Plantation and grow acquainted with the young man's humor and personality. But he felt shy and clueless as to how to go about doing so.

Despite Jacob's smiles and jovial words, James sensed a cockiness and detachment that made him uncomfortable. James longed for a sincere friendliness from Jacob. He wanted Jacob to trust and like him in a way he'd never liked or trusted Uncle Walter, and probably any other white man for that matter. Even though he was the boy's Master, James feared that at any moment he'd say something to annoy the handsome young man, and ruin any chance at true friendship between Master and slave.

"How old are you, Jacob?" James asked nervously.

"I'se 18, Massuh James," Jacob said with a mouthful of chicken, focused on shooing away a fly attracted by the youth's sweat-soaked clothes.

"Ahhhh, what I'd give to be 18 again!" James laughed, taking another sip of cider.

Jacob looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"You talk like you'se an old man, Massuh James," he said, thinking to himself that white folks always got so melodramatic over the pettiest things. He remembered Master Walt bitching about his graying hair at least a hundred times on these trips. "You ain't but what 3; 22, 23???" Jacob actually guessed James at 28 or 29, but was an expert in telling white folks what they wanted to hear.

James laughed, blushing. "That's very kind of you, Jacob. You sure know how to get on your Master's good side! I'm actually an ancient thirty years old!" James pointed to the slight receding hairline that had caused him so much worry over the past couple years.

"That ain't nothin' at all, Massuh James!" Jacob said, shooing James away dismissively. "You still a spring chicken!"

James laughed again, relieved at the pleasant back-and-forth he'd initiated with Jacob.

Jacob found the small-talk tiresome, and wished James would let him finish his lunch in peace. Master Walt never talked this much. He actually ignored Jacob most of the time, which Jacob preferred to James's annoying questions.

But James persisted, asking Jacob how long he'd lived on Stampley Plantation, if he was married or had any family there, what he liked to do in his leisure time, what his Uncle had been like as a Master, and anything else he could think of to avoid an awkward silence and assure the stable-boy that he was a kind and caring Master.

Jacob's replies were brief and showed just a hint of impatience, James thought. They were friendly, even humorous at times, but James couldn't shake the sense that Jacob was simply putting on a show, keeping his true feelings and answers carefully concealed. It seemed like something the young man could do in his sleep, so different from the spontaneous bursts of energy and self-revelation James frequently enjoyed from Elijah.

At first James felt hurt and intimidated by Jacob's cheerful aloofness. His hurt soon turned to frustration, and his frustration quickly changed into anger and horniness. James realized he was probably just deluding himself with his attempts to befriend his stable-boy. Perhaps deep down all he really wanted to do was fuck the young man. Perhaps all he was truly interested in was Jacob's striking handsomeness, and the effort to get to know the boy was just a shallow and disingenuous strategy to get in his pants. Perhaps the institution of slavery made honest friendship between a white man and Negro impossible. Perhaps the kind of interracial intimacy James craved could only be enjoyed through force and manipulation.

These thoughts saddened James, but also freed him to drool over Jacob more confidently. Jacob reclined against his tree, picking the meat out of his teeth with a small twig he'd found on the ground. James's eyes were drawn magnetically to the unmistakable bulge outlined by the thin cloth of Jacob's pants. Every now and then Jacob absent-mindedly scratched or grabbed at his crotch, making James's tortured lust all the more acute. James wondered what it looked like. Was it bigger than Elijah's? Smaller? Lighter? Darker? Thicker? Smellier? Tastier? James felt like he would wither up and die if he didn't feast his eyes and mouth on its mysteries before the afternoon was over.

This was the perfect opportunity, James thought to himself. They had complete privacy. The clearing was back from the road, and the road had seen no traffic since their arrival. Jacob was his slave, and had to obey his orders. He could do anything he wanted with the young man. He could lick every sweaty inch of Jacob's dark-skinned body. He could fuck the aloofness and defiance off the Negro boy's face. He could make him scream and beg for mercy, with nobody around for miles to hear or care. James's dick sprang to life as he pictured the limitless possibilities.

"Let's cool off with a swim!" James suggested spontaneously, leaping to the ground. He'd already made up his mind what he was going to do, but wanted to make the transition as easy and natural as possible.

Jacob looked up, surprised. Master Walt never invited Jacob to join him for a swim, even before the whole Becky fiasco. Jacob waved James away and shook his head.

"Naw, you go ahead, Massuh James, I ain't much of a swimmer." He'd actually been swimming in the creek behind the slave quarters all his life, but wasn't comfortable with the idea of being naked in his Master's presence, and preferred to enjoy a quick nap while James swam.

"Awww, come on, Jacob!" James insisted. "You can't tell me you don't want to get out of those sweaty clothes!" James pointed at Jacob's shirt, which now looked like it had been drenched with a bucket of water.

"If it's alright with you, Massuh James," Jacob asked. "I'd be mighty grateful for the chance to rest my eyes."

James paused, frustrated by Jacob's obstinacy. For a moment he felt self-conscious about the idea of his pale, thin body being naked beside the muscled African's magnificent nude body, and almost changed his mind. The thought of seeing Jacob's youthful body completely exposed was too enticing, however, and he persevered in his plan.

James hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt, stripped it off, and threw it near the tree where he'd been sitting. Jacob looked away uncomfortably. James lifted his legs and removed his shoes. Then he unbuckled his belt, unzipped his trousers, shoved them to the ground, stepped out of them, and then kicked them toward his shirt. His nakedness in front of Jacob made him feel nervous and embarrassed.

His body was slender and in decent shape, certainly nothing to be ashamed of, but James felt insecure about his blindingly pale skin and lack of defined muscles he'd admired on other men his age and younger. His legs were covered in a thin layer of dark curly hair, but his upper body was completely smooth with the exception of a few dark chest hairs. His ass was rounder and fleshier than most white men's, but still scrawny and flat compared to buttocks of African ancestry. A tangled patch of dark brown pubic hair sprouted above his dick. His medium-size balls hung in two pink sacks, covered lightly in wiry brown hair.

Jacob didn't want to look, but still caught glimpses of his Master's naked body in spite of himself. Other than Master Walt, James's was the only white man's body Jacob had ever seen naked. Even the overseers that raped his mother and sister had only bothered to pull their dicks out of their flies. James looked thinner and younger than Master Walt, but with the same pasty-white skin. Jacob wanted to laugh when he caught a glimpse of Master James's shriveled, pinkish dick. Superior race my ass, he thought with cynical amusement.

James walked over to the creek and dipped his toes in the water. It was cold but not freezing – the perfect temperature for relief from the heat of the day. He waded out into the middle, where the water only barely reached his waist. With a sudden plunge, James forced his whole body underwater, then stood back up, laughing and shouting.

"Damn, that was cold!" James said, smiling over at Jacob. "It sure does feel good, though!" He crouched into a sitting position beneath the rushing water, so that only his shoulders and head showed above the water line.

"Don't be such a spoiled sport!" James teased. "The rest of the drive will sure feel a lot better after a nice swim!"

Jacob hoped James couldn't see him roll his eyes. Why couldn't Master James leave him the fuck alone?!? Damn, just because he's a slave doesn't mean he has to be the cracker's best friend. He'd listened to the whiny, fake-friendly voice all through lunch, and now it wouldn't let him catch some shut-eye in peace. He wanted to shout, "Shut the fuck up, you annoying, corny-ass motherfucker!" but instead he just shook his head and said, "No, thanks, Massuh James, I'se content right under this here tree."

"Jacob," James said, his voice growing tense with frustration. "I'm no longer asking you to join me. I'm telling you to join me."

Jacob flinched in surprise. For a fleeting second, his eyes flashed with hostility and his large, wide nostrils flared in defiance. Why the fuck did the man want him to swim so badly? Goddamn crackers and their crazy whims.

Jacob didn't say a word, but reluctantly stood and slowly began unbuttoning his sweat-soaked shirt.

James's heart raced with excitement, faster and more breathless with every button freed by Jacob's large, dark fingers.

Staring blankly in front of him, trying desperately to hide a scowl, Jacob shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and let it drop to the ground.

James stared shamelessly at the young man's disrobing, and gasped at the beauty exposed before him. Jacob's chest was slender but defined with pectoral muscles standing slightly out from the rest of his chest. Two large, nearly pitch-black nipples dotted the rich black skin of each muscle. The young man's abdomen rippled with three muscles on each side. The Negro's skin was covered with a sheen of sweat that made his ebony skin look even more beautiful. A narrow trail of black, curly hair moved down from a small, indented belly-button to the mystery below, still hidden by Jacob's cotton pants.

Jacob suddenly began to feel a discomfort beyond the normal annoyance and contempt he felt around white people. Master James's eagerness for Jacob to swim had seemed odd just a moment ago, but now it was starting to make sense. The man stared at his naked chest as if he was under some conjure woman's spell. Master James had a sparkle in his eyes that Jacob sometimes saw in girls when they watched him working shirtless in the stable, or even worse, when he took off his clothes before fucking them. It was the same eager look he'd seen on Nelson's face that night in the stable, and during all their subsequent encounters.

Motherfucker, Jacob thought to himself. Master James is a cocksucker just like Nelson!

Fuck me, he thought with rising worry. He'd taken plenty of shit from Master Walt and the man's overseers in his young life, but he'd never had to worry about that. He'd heard Nelson's stories. He knew there were plantations where white men raped boys and men instead of girls and women, or boys and men in addition to girls and women. But he'd always thought of that as something that happened to other niggers 3; far, far away from Stampley Plantation. He'd spent plenty of angry, anxious nights after some drunk overseer dragged Laney off to the overseer quarters, but he'd never had to worry that it might be him snatched up and gang-raped in the middle of the night.

Until now. There was his Master, drooling over his naked chest like a dog waiting for its supper, probably stroking his puny little dick under the water. Fuck, fuck, FUCK, Jacob thought angrily. Motherfucker. What the fuck do I do now?!?

He wanted to snatch up his shirt, run to the wagon, and ride until he reached North. But Jacob knew that was a plan doomed to failure. The first white man to see an unfamiliar nigger driving a wagon without a white person in it was sure to start asking questions, demanding a pass, and Jacob would be busted. Besides, his heart was deeply entwined with the lives of those on Stampley Plantation, despite the tragedy he'd suffered there. He couldn't bear the thought of never seeing Laney or Solomon again. And he knew Laney would probably follow in the footsteps of her mother if she lost her only remaining family member.

Jacob felt choked by the same helpless feeling he'd felt as a child when the overseers scattered his marbles and dunked his head in the wash bucket. He seethed with resentment at his treatment, but was powerless to do anything to stop it.

Maybe his fears were exaggerated, Jacob thought hopefully. Maybe the Master smiled out of sincere friendliness, with no ulterior motives. Maybe Jacob's all-consuming hatred for white people had led him to judge a kind, innocent man unfairly.

Jacob bent over to take off his shoes. He unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants, and slowly pushed them to the ground. Now completely nude, Jacob sullenly walked to join James in the creek.

James could feel his body shaking, partly from the chill of the creek water, but mostly from the breathtaking beauty before him. Jacob's legs were thinner than his more developed upper body, but still showed firm muscles, the dark skin covered in tiny curls of crispy black hair.

Most impressive, however, was the appendage dangling between the young African's legs. It was pitch-black with a purplish mushroom head, and hung at least seven inches [18 cm] in its completely soft state. It looked bigger than Elijah's did when soft, and considerably thicker. A thick patch of nappy pubic hair, similar to that on Jacob's head, covered the area above the impressive creature.

James gasped when he saw Jacob's balls. Enclosed in smooth, charcoal-black skin, they looked bigger and heavier than those he'd seen on bulls. Jacob's entire crotch area glistened with sweat, and James felt an urge to seize the stable-boy's dick and balls in his hands and taste their pungent heat before it was too late.

Uncomfortable with his Master's shameless stares, Jacob stepped into the creek and sunk his naked body beneath its waters. The cool water felt good against his hot skin.

For about fifteen minutes, the two men made tense small talk, occasionally diving beneath the water for another refreshing rinse.

James noticed a spider-web of grayish scars across Jacob's back and shoulders, undoubtedly left by dozens of severe lashings. The scars looked painful enough; James could only imagine how they must have looked, raw and bloody in the immediate aftermath of a whipping.

Jacob felt foolish for his earlier fears. James made no attempt to touch him, even in playful splashing and wrestling, and hadn't turned the conversation to anything sexual.

James was thrilled by the young Negro's nakedness so close to his. James knew that his old life in Boston could never in a million years have placed him in such an exciting scenario. He knew what he wanted to do, but didn't know how to go about doing it.

Elijah had been so easy in comparison, he thought. Forcing a sexual encounter with a slave-child in his own bedroom, knowing Mr. Potter was just down the hall in case anything went wrong, was very different than initiating sex on his own, in a strange environment, with a young man, miles away from Stampley Plantation. Knowing the power and threat he held over Jacob didn't make the introduction of the idea any less clumsy or potentially confrontational.

"We best hit the road if'n we wants to make Columbus 'fore nightfall," Jacob spoke up. He was eager to resume the journey and confirm the baselessness of his earlier worries.

"Yeah, you're probably right, I guess we better get on with the day," James said with disappointment. He was beginning to panic. He knew he had to say or do something soon or else he'd always regret losing such a unique opportunity.

Jacob stepped out of the creek, water sparkling and dripping from his smooth ebony skin.

James's dick sprang to full instant hardness when he saw the flawless ass before him. It was ten times more breathtaking than anything he'd imagined while staring at its clothed curves earlier that morning. Two rich-black upturned half-melons sprung out from the small of his back, their muscles flexing as Jacob walked toward his clothes. Their beauty was marred only by crisscrossed grayish scars, similar to those on the young man's back.

James felt an urgent uncontrollable impulse to rub his nose up and down the dark crease of Jacob's ass-crack, to pry them open with his fingers and tongue.

"Stop!" James shouted hoarsely, causing Jacob to turn his head in surprise just as he was leaning down to retrieve his pants, which were resting at the foot of the tree he'd leaned against at lunch.

"Massuh?!?" Jacob asked uncertainly.

The change in his Master's tone of voice was unmistakable. This is it, Jacob thought to himself. The Master's going to try to rape me, just like those bastards raped Mama and Laney. FUCK. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.

James walked out of the creek like a ghost from a swamp. His body was trembling with nervousness and excitement.

Jacob cringed when he saw that his Master's dick was now a rock-hard seven inches [18 cm], jerking toward the sky. It looked red and angry.

"Do as I say, and don't cause me any trouble, Jacob," James instructed, hoping he sounded more intimidating than he felt. "I know this might sound strange, but I happen to find you 3; remarkably handsome. And as your new Master, it's my right to take pleasure from your handsomeness however I see fit."

Jacob stared at him with a look of undisguised hatred.

James shuddered, seeing laid bare the animosity he'd earlier guessed was beneath the surface of the boy's jokes and obsequiousness.

Suddenly James realized the almost laughably absurd danger of the situation he was in. Here he was, a soft, skinny white man with no whip, knife, or gun, trying to rape a strapping young buck at least five times stronger than him, miles from any white people who could come to his rescue if Jacob took it in his mind to resist his rape with violence.

But wasn't that precisely the perverse brilliance of Southern slavery?!? In many regions of the South, Negroes outnumbered whites twenty to one, so what stopped them from banding together to slaughter their Masters and claim the land for themselves???

FEAR. Fear and ignorance. Ignorance that kept most slaves from knowing anything of the world beyond their own plantation. Ignorance from hearing over and over and over again that niggers are stupid, passive, weak, and helpless – intellectually inferior to the smarter, stronger, and more powerful white race. Messages of degradation and impotence repeated so often that some slaves end up believing they really are nothing more than dumb, cowardly niggers.

Ignorance is the fertile breeding ground for fear. Fear of the whip. Fear of having one's limbs or genitals amputated. Fear of physical torture. Fear of death.

But more powerful even then self-interested fear, James knew, was the fear driven by love. Fear of seeing one's wife, husband, parents, or children whipped, raped, sold, or killed. Fear of being separated from one's family and childhood friends, from the only life one had ever known.

And this fear, James recognized, was the very thing that would allow him to abuse and enjoy Jacob's body without fear of resistance or danger. Fear was the thing that permitted him the exquisite pleasure of dominating someone so clearly his physical superior.

"Face forward with your back toward me!" James ordered sternly, stroking his dick in his right hand. "Place both hands against the tree, spread your legs, and bend over!"

"Massuh James, I don't understand 3;" Jacob said, shaking his head. "I thought we was goin' to hit the road, Massuh James."

"This won't take long," James said, thinking in the back of his mind that hours wouldn't be long enough for him to enjoy this handsome buck in every way he wanted. "You heard what I said, Jacob. Spread your legs and bend over with your hands against the tree! NOW!"

Jacob saw the older white man stroking his hard, veiny dick, and knew it could only mean one thing. The image of Nelson sprawled across the wooden stool that night in the stable flashed through his mind.

HELL NO! Jacob swore to himself. There was no fucking way he was going to let any man, especially a goddamn sissy cracker, fuck him like a bitch. It was one thing to get his dick sucked by another nigger friend of his, and to fuck him in the ass. That really wasn't all that different from fucking pussy, and there sure as hell wasn't anything bitch-like about that. Solomon and Charlie had done it too, and they for goddamn sure weren't bitches. But there was no way in hell he was going to let a white man's dick fuck his asshole just like it was pussy. No man, not even Nelson or Solomon, was ever going to use his ass that way.

James saw the angry panic in Jacob's eyes, and quickly tried to steer clear of a confrontation.

"Didn't you tell me you have a little sister?" James asked threateningly. "I'm not going to hurt you, but if you refuse to cooperate I'll have no choice but to hurt you and the person closest to you."

Jacob's eyes flickered with impotent rage. He was ashamed that he'd thought for even a second that James might actually be kind and sincere. Goddamn cocksucking bastard ain't no different than the rest of 'em, he thought.

"I'm sure you wouldn't want anything to happen to your little sister, would you?" James continued, his desperation to experience the delights of Jacob's flesh making him resort to these cruel threats. "Like being whipped 3; or sold???"

Jacob knew his options were limited. He clenched his muscles in masculine resistance, but slowly spread his legs and leaned forward with his hands pressed against the tree. He felt shamefully feminine in that position.

James could hardly believe this was happening. Just a few stern threats and a proud, manly slave like Jacob was bent over in complete submission. Jacob's dark upturned mounds were a temptation he could no longer resist. A temptation he no longer had any reason to resist.

He walked forward, dropped to his knees, and grabbed Jacob's firm, fleshy ass-cheeks in both hands. Streams of water still trickled down the slave's smooth, ebony skin. James clutched, groped, and smacked the black buttocks like a child who's just opened a long-requested Christmas toy.

Jacob shut his eyes tightly in hatred and embarrassment.

Impatient to see the prize protected beneath both muscular mounds, James spread Jacob's ass-cheeks with his fingers. There, clenched tightly and deeply within the boy's ass-crack, was Jacob's virgin asshole. The slit was slightly longer than Elijah's, but sealed just as tightly. The tiny wrinkled hole was a lighter purplish color that stood out against the rest of Jacob's black skin, and it was surrounded by several curly wisps of Negro hair. The hair trailed up and down the insides of Jacob's ass-crack. James thought to himself that the asshole looked angry and defiant, just like the young man to whom it belonged.

Desperate for intimacy with Jacob's most prized and protected body part, James buried his face between the firm mounds of the young man's ass. He smashed his nose against the wrinkled opening and inhaled deeply. It had a strong, musky smell, a combination of skin, sweat, shit, and creek-water. Not as clean as Elijah's, but strangely more enticing.

James knew most men would find what he was doing repugnant, but he didn't care. The aroma and closeness to the young man's body was intoxicating. He shot out his tongue and licked up and down the outer edges of Jacob's crack. Urged on by the salty taste of the boy's sweat, James circled his tongue around Jacob's anus, then lapped hungrily across its surface.

Jacob's body tensed in surprise and discomfort. This wasn't part of the horrors he'd imagined. Never in his life had anyone licked his ass like it was pussy. Not even Nelson, who tended to be more sexually adventurous than most of the girls he fucked around with. And while Jacob had licked pussy plenty of times, he'd never even considered the possibility of licking a girl's asshole. Why the hell would any man with even half a dick want to lick another man's shitter? Filthy pervert cracker motherfuckers, Jacob thought with disgust. What the fuck will they come up with next?!?

James forced Jacob's cheeks apart with both hands, holding the ass firmly in place while he feasted on it like it was the last meal he'd have for days. He poked and swirled his tongue around Jacob's purple pucker, savoring its tangy, forbidden flavor. He spit a big glob of saliva right on the clenched little hole, then spread the wetness around with his tongue. He hoped the warmth and lubrication of his spit would loosen the stubbornly sealed gateway to Jacob's insides. He longed to push his tongue deeper into the boy's tunnel, to fuck him with his tongue the way he planned on later fucking him with his dick.

Jacob lurched his body forward in an attempt to escape these strange new sensations, but Master James had his butt firmly in his hands. His initial disgust quickly turned to surprised and reluctant pleasure. No tongues, fingers, or dicks had ever come within a foot of his asshole, so he'd never known being touched where his shit comes out could feel so 3; good???

He moaned in spite of himself at the pleasure the man's warm slurping was giving his tensed-shut asshole. He hated to admit it, but it almost felt as good as getting his dick sucked. It didn't make his dick get hard, but it still felt amazing. He felt guilty for feeling anything from a white man's touch other than disgust and hatred.

Jacob dismissed his guilt and realized that the real thrill came from seeing a white man in such a degraded position, performing such a filthy act. And not just that, but doing something so nasty and humiliating to a nigger's asshole! He felt a little uncomfortable bent over like a bitch about to get fucked, but other than that what he was doing wasn't any worse than letting Nelson suck his prick. He liked seeing his Master worship his sweaty asshole like it was some kind of sacred shrine. His dick began to rise when he thought of his Master down on his knees, slurping greedily away at the very hole through which he'd taken a shit in the outhouse earlier that morning. This made him push his ass against the white man's face, and relax his asshole to let his Master's tongue sink deeper into him.

James was encouraged when he noticed Jacob thrusting his ass eagerly backward, allowing James to bury his tongue even deeper into the slave-boy's tight opening. The deeper his tongue reached, the hotter and tangier the boy's ass tasted. James shuddered with excitement when he imagined how good it was going to feel to plunge his hard seven inches [18 cm] into the stable-boy's obviously virgin hole. But he knew he had to pace himself 3; there were other parts of the boy's body he wanted to enjoy first.

James pulled his face out of Jacob's ass and took a breath of fresh air. He could still smell the boy's ass on his nose, lips, and chin. James jerked Jacob's body around to face him, pushed him into a standing position, and leaned him back against the tree.

James smiled and winked at Jacob when he noticed that the slave's thick purplish cock was now half-hard and still waking up. Jacob looked away and shut his eyes, annoyed and embarrassed.

Still on his knees, James wasted no time grabbing Jacob's shaft with his left hand and swallowing half of it into his mouth. Like Elijah's, Jacob's dick was circumcised. But that was where the similarities ended. To James, the 18-year-old's cock felt and tasted completely different from the younger slave-boy's. While it wasn't as long, it was considerably thicker, and had the distinct weight, girth, and power of a full-grown African's.

It also had a thick musky smell 3; or perhaps that was still the boy's ass he was smelling. No, it was a different smell this time, something potent and nutty emanating from Jacob's gigantic, heavy-hanging balls.

James eagerly tried to fit as much of Jacob's manhood into his mouth as possible, but its thickness stretched his lips painfully and made it impossible to slide much more than two-thirds of the dick in his throat. He made a valiant effort, however, sucking and moaning and licking Jacob's shaft just as enthusiastically as he liked to have his own dick sucked by Elijah.

Jacob was aroused by much more than the pleasurable sensations of having warm wet lips wrapped around his prick. That was a feeling as familiar to him as taking a piss. Dozens if not hundreds of girls had sucked him off, and that wasn't even counting Nelson. As far as blowjobs went, Master James's was average, somewhere between a virgin's clumsy biting and Nelson's expert deep-throating.

But Jacob had never been sucked off by a white person, male or female, and it turned him on immensely to watch his Master groveling and gagging on his knees like a nigger bitch. Jacob had been forced his entire life to place white folk's pleasure before his own. He knew that legally he was considered the equal of the horses he cared for, a piece of livestock whose sole purpose in life was to make white folk's lives easy and pleasurable. But here was a white man devoted to his pleasure, sucking a nigger's dick like it was the most natural thing in the world. And he seemed to be enjoying it, just like the nigger women enjoyed it, and just like Nelson always enjoyed it.

That was the only thing disrupting Jacob's pleasure. He didn't want James to enjoy it. Where was the fun in degrading a white man if the sissy cracker liked being degraded?!? Jacob was intoxicated with this newly-discovered power, and he wanted to test its boundaries. He wanted to cause his Master pain and suffering and true humiliation.

No longer thinking rationally or cautiously, Jacob reached out and grabbed a handful of hair on the back of James's head. It felt soft and thin in his hand, so different from the thick nappy tangles on most niggers. He reached out with his other hand and snatched another handful. Tightening his grip on both clutches of hair, Jacob yanked James's head toward him, forcing the older white man's mouth to take more of his dick.

James's eyes shot open in surprise, but he didn't put up a fight. Jacob held James's head in place and began forcing his dick deeper into the man's throat.

He shoved until all eight inches [20 cm] were stuffed into the back of Master James's throat, causing him to gag and try to pull off for air. The sound of his Master's gagging turned Jacob on all the more. He'd always liked to hear the same sounds coming from Nelson and the nigger girls he messed around with, but this was even more intense because it was a white man gurgling and choking like a helpless slave.

Holding James's head firmly in place, Jacob thrust in and out of the man's throat like it was a tight wet pussy. He stood up from leaning against the tree, allowing himself the freedom to pump with all his might.

James began to panic.

At first he'd felt an unexpected thrill when Jacob grabbed the back of his head. He got chills at the first sense of powerlessness, the knowledge that things were suddenly out of his control. He enjoyed the sound of the young man's masculine grunts, and the aggressive thrusts that shoved the thick African manhood further down his throat than Elijah's had ever been. He savored the sweet taste of the boy's sweat, skin, and precum, and was surprised to find that he liked the feeling of another man's penis filling his mouth.

He'd enjoyed sucking Elijah's dick, but this was even better. Was it because he'd surrendered the power of the act to Jacob, as he'd never done with Elijah? James got no real physical pleasure from the act, and his dick had even softened since switching his attentions from Jacob's ass to the boy's dick. In fact, the hard, meaty appendage stabbing the sides of his mouth and back of his throat was uncomfortable at best, painful at worst.

But he had to admit, there was something unexpectedly thrilling about having his mouth used as a Negro boy's pussy. He imagined all the girls Jacob had probably fucked in the same exact way he was now fucking the face of his older white Master. James's dick twitched at the thought of being the receptacle for the pent-up seed stored in the big balls slapping against his chin with every thrust.

But the motions of Jacob's hips had become more aggressive, more demanding, and James was growing frightened. Several times he started to throw up his lunch, quickly swallowing it back down before the next violent thrust. He worried that perhaps this intensity wasn't typical of the stable-boy's manly fucking motions, that the power dynamic established earlier had been forgotten or abandoned.

James screamed through his forced sucking, and pushed against Jacob's naked muscled legs. As James had feared, the stable-boy was too strong for him and his resistance was futile. Jacob's legs stood immovable, and his large hands continued to force James's mouth down on his dick.

Jacob was caught up in a frenzy of lust and sexual power unlike any he'd ever experienced. His white Master's screams only intensified his furious pounding. He looked down with angry, open eyes at the sight of his thick, soot-black dick slamming in and out of Master James's thin, red lips and pasty-white face. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever witnessed.

He knew when the Master tried but failed to push him away, that Jacob then had complete control. His sexual pleasure and craving for revenge pushed all thoughts of Laney, Solomon, even his own survival, completely out of his mind. All he wanted was to savor the most explosive, ecstatic orgasm of his life while hurting and humiliating a white man.

Jacob slapped James on the cheeks as he continued impaling the man's face with his dick. His slaps were mild at first, but grew harsher until they made loud smacking noises and left red handprints on the man's pale skin.

"You like the taste of coon dick, cracker?!?" Jacob taunted, pulling his dick out of James's mouth and slapping it across the man's cheeks while he waited for an answer.

James was scared for his safety, but against his will felt a sharp pang of excitement at being degraded by one of his own slaves. He wondered if Elijah had felt similarly when James had degraded him in a similar fashion.

James gasped for air, but couldn't bring to his throat the self-degrading words he knew Jacob wanted to hear.

With his left hand, Jacob yanked James's head back by the hair. With his right hand, he hit the man full and hard across the face.

"What the fuck did I ask you, you little fairy cocksucker?!?"

James felt true terror now. He could already feel his cheek growing swollen and puffy where Jacob had hit him. He looked at the ground in dread and disbelief at the violent turn his afternoon plans had suddenly taken. He looked desperately toward the road and started screaming for help at the top of his lungs.

Jacob backhanded James with his fist. Now both of James's cheeks were bruised and swollen.

"Scream like that again and I'll fuckin' drown your Yankee ass in the creek, you hear me?!?"

Jacob shoved his thick pole all the way to the back of James's throat, then pulled out with deliberate slowness. "Now answer my fuckin' question 3; you likes the taste of nigger dick?!?"

James gulped in shame and looked at the ground. "Yes," he mumbled.

"Yes, WHAT, you stupid ofay motherfucker?!?" Jacob was relishing the performance he'd fantasized about all his life.

"Yes, I do love nigger dick," James said softly.

"Say it likes you fuckin' mean it!" Jacob ordered. "You know how lucky you is to get a taste of this dick?!? You know how many nigger bitches'd kill they own best friend for one taste of this motherfucker?!?" He waved his thick pole obnoxiously in James's face.

"I LOVE NIGGER DICK!" James yelled angrily. "What the hell do you want from me?!?" he pleaded helplessly. "I love the way they look! Their size! Their smell! Their taste! What else can I say?!?"

Jacob laughed contemptuously and shoved his dick back in James's mouth.

"Now that be more like it, Massuh James," Jacob said, sarcastically exaggerating James's title of authority. "Now worship that African dick like the white pussy-boy you is!"

James's eyes welled up with tears when he recalled his nervous attempts to befriend Jacob earlier that morning. How long ago that now seemed! And not more than ten minutes earlier he'd been selfish and foolish enough to think he was actually going to have his way with the young man's body! How quickly and horribly circumstances can change, he thought to himself.

James's throat choked and burned with every angry thrust of the African's massive dick.

Jacob's eyes moved from the older white man's thin lips, dripping with spit and precum, to his pale ass. Thoughts of his next pleasure began to form in his mind. He'd always wanted to rape a white woman as a way to get back at all the white men who had ever done him harm. But wouldn't raping an actual white man be the more targeted and satisfying revenge?!? Especially a white man whose intentions just moments ago had been to take Jacob's own virginity??? Besides, he already knew how good a tight asshole felt wrapped around his dick, and he could only imagine how much better the asshole of his helpless Master would feel. Too bad the sissy's pussy probably already been fucked a hundred times, Jacob thought.

Jacob yanked James's head off of his dick. "Turn over so's I can fuck that cracker pussy with this big African dick!" Jacob ordered.

James's eyes grew wide in terror. In all his years of lusting after men and imagining the possibilities of male-male sex, James had never once had the desire to feel another man's cock fucking his asshole. The idea of fucking other men's assholes had always been appealing, and had now become an addiction after discovering the exquisite pleasures of Elijah's teenage asshole. But having his own ass ravaged the way he longed to ravage others 3; HELL NO! He'd always imagined it would cause excruciating pain, and the screams he'd witnessed from Elijah and Thad hadn't been too reassuring.

But now he was staring at Jacob's throbbing black monster, and the young man was planning on fucking him with it 3; violently and without mercy, no doubt!

James jerked out of Jacob's grip and scrambled toward the creek, hoping he might be able to cross it and run to safety. Jacob laughed at the skinny white man stumbling around like a crazed animal.

"Where the fuck you think you gonna go, you stupid-ass cracker?" Jacob said, laughing unsympathetically.

He pounced on James and pinned him to the ground. James was sprawled flat against the dusty Earth, paralyzed beneath the weight and strength of Jacob's muscular black body laying on top of him.

Jacob wasted no time finding his desired target. He had no desire to dirty his fingers by touching the white man's asshole, so he hoped the slobber still dripping off his dick would be enough lubrication to enter James's body. He arched his hips, pointed the enormous mushroom head of his midnight-black dick against his Master's tiny pink pucker, and shoved with all the strength his 18-year-old body could muster.

James's screams pierced the countryside's peaceful afternoon air. Jacob watched with delight as his thick shaft ripped into the white man's pink pussy. Based on its tightness and the pain of the man's screams, Jacob guessed with surprise that his Master was a virgin after all. The knowledge only made the assault all the more empowering and exhilarating for Jacob.

Without pulling his dick out, Jacob reached back and grabbed the blue cloth from Becky's lunch basket. He leaned forward and stuffed it in James's mouth to muffle the man's blood-curdling screams.

Smashing his body flat against James's, Jacob pumped his hips slowly up and down. In that position, Jacob's dick stayed deeply implanted in James's asshole, and every thrust only pushed the dick deeper, or moved it around in circular motions.

Jacob stayed in a slow rhythm at first, enjoying the hot soupy tightness of his white Master's violated insides. He savored the sound of James's screams of pain, now choked off by the blue towel. He listened eagerly to the squishing, slurping, farting noises of his dick plunging up and down into the white man's torn-open asshole. Damn, he's got a tight asshole, Jacob thought. Definitely tighter than any pussy, and even tighter than Nelson's!

But an orgasm was only a small part of the satisfaction Jacob craved. Increasing the speed and intensity of his thrusts, he leaned his sweaty face next to James's so that he could whisper in the white man's ear.

"You feel that, motherfucker?!? You feel that nigger dick up inside your pussy, cracker?!?"

James nodded frantically in pained assent. His eyes were clenched shut and he bit down on the rag shoved in his mouth.

"Yeah, you crackers all the same," Jacob continued. "Always actin' all high and mighty like you the rulers of the whole goddamn world, treatin' niggers like shit, when all you cocksuckers really want is a nigger's dick up yo' ass! You'se all pathetic, if you ask me."

Jacob spit on James's face in disgust and continued pummeling the ass beneath him with deeper and harsher strokes.

James had never felt pain so excruciating in his entire life. He prayed to God he'd pass out and be spared the rest of his nightmare. It felt like someone was shoving a fiery torch through his asshole and deep into his rectum.

After the first five minutes of alarming pain, his ass grew slightly more accustomed to the invasion. At first he thought he was going to shit himself, and then he realized it was just the bizarre feeling of having Jacob's huge pole, thicker than any shit he'd ever taken, rubbing against the part of him that gave pleasure when taking a shit. As much as he hated to admit it, Jacob's thrusts were actually giving him pleasure, mixed with the persistent pain of having his virgin tunnel plunged open.

A twisted, deep-down part of him found a forbidden thrill in being hit, yelled at, spit on, and anally raped by a handsome young African like Jacob. And didn't he deserve such treatment anyway, after the way he'd abused Elijah and Thad??? James could still smell the lingering scent of Jacob's ass on his face, mingled with the distinct Negro smell of Jacob's flaring nostrils, greasy hair, and sweaty skin leaning against his face as the young man whispered insults in his ear. Jacob's breath was hot with the lingering smell of fried chicken. James thrilled at these smells and the sticky warmth of the stable-boy's lithe naked body smashed against his own pale, scrawny build.

God, this is fucked-up, James thought to himself. And wasn't he largely to blame? Wasn't this exactly what James had planned on doing to Jacob just a half hour earlier, only with the positions reversed?!?

Did it really have to be like this? Clearly he derived at least some pleasure from having his mouth and anus enjoyed by the Negro slave. And Jacob obviously took pleasure from the act as well. What if everything wasn't so fucked-up down here in the South? Maybe under different circumstances he and Jacob might be doing this willingly, mutually??? Who knows, perhaps they might be lovers?

James shut his eyes and imagined Jacob's brutal thrusts as aggressive but tender lovemaking between equals: the one needing to dominate after a lifetime of submission, the other thrilled to submit after a lifetime of unasked-for power? James's heart ached to think that the pent-up needs on both their parts could only find expression in a brutal, ugly scene such as the one playing itself out this afternoon.

Jacob's thoughts were far from dreams of an interracial utopia. He buried his face in James's soft, sandy-brown hair and slammed his body into the one beneath him with ferocious force. His body began transporting him to the place of hatred and violence he always visited just before a climax. Only this time he wasn't fucking a scared little nigger girl incapable of comprehending his hatred, but fucking the very object of his hatred, a white man who symbolized every white man he'd ever known.

This knowledge worked his mind into a frenzied state of heightened hostility and rage unlike any he'd ever known. He clenched his eyes shut and remembered the smelly overseers dunking his head in the wash-bucket when he was a little boy, laughing and slapping his terrified face every time they pulled his head out of the water. He remembered the looks of horror, then surrender, on his mother and sister's faces as they were raped in front of him and his father. He remembered the look of hollow-eyed grief and defeat in his father's eyes when the man told Jacob they'd found his mother's body in the creek. He remembered the countless whippings ordered by Master Walt out of petty, spiteful jealousy. He remembered the morning he woke up to find his father gone, sold without having the chance to tell his children goodbye.

Jacob concentrated on these memories in a furious, wild-eyed rage, smashing his body violently into the man crushed beneath him, over and over and over. Tears of grief and helplessness flooded his eyes. He'd always known it in the back of his mind, but now Jacob realized this would probably be his last fuck on Earth. His whole body tensed as he unleashed all his hurt, fury, and powerlessness in one explosive, suicidal orgasm.

He slammed his hips as deeply into James's body as he could, spurting stream after stream after stream of scalding cum into the white man's battered body. All his memories, all his pain flooded his Master's bowels in one euphoric, transcendent release.

James's dick was aroused in spite of the pain by the thrill of being mounted by Jacob, like James was the buck's favorite piece of nigger pussy. When he felt the young Negro's hot, thick semen pouring into his guts, James felt for a second that he was lucky to be chosen as the cum-rag for a beautiful young man like Jacob. He thought of the hundreds of potential children swimming in the stable-boy's seed, and felt a sense of possessive pride knowing they'd be permanently absorbed into his own flesh and blood. Throbbing involuntarily, James's dick shot four sticky streams of cum onto the grass beneath him.

Jacob had only collapsed for a minute or two atop James's limp body before feeling the rush of defeat and despair now that his temporary power, seized by force and violence, was gone from him forever.

He looked around him like a man waking from a deep, drunken stupor. What the fuck did I just do?!? he thought with rising hysteria.

His mind, still cluttered from the high it had just experienced, raced to consider his options.

Returning to Stampley Plantation was out of the question. Master James would order him raped, tortured, and hanged, without blinking an eye.

He could murder the white man and dump his body in the creek, eliminating the only witness to the crime, then run for freedom up North. No, that would be foolish, he concluded. His chances of actually escaping were slim to none, and a slave with the blood of a murdered white man on his hands was almost certainly doomed to be lynched, while a runaway might still come out with his life, minus a foot or finger or balls. Jacob could also gamble that shame would make James report his disappearance as a simple runaway, keeping the rape and assault to himself.

Jacob winced when he thought of Laney. But he had no choice. He'd been a fool, and now he had to face the consequences. He knew time was of the essence. The more miles he put between himself and this place before news reached the slave-catchers and surrounding communities, the better his chance at making it out of this alive.

He reached over and pulled the belt out of his pants, which were still lying where he'd left them when ordered to swim by the grinning Master James. He yanked James up by the arms, snatched the gag out of his mouth, and dragged him over to one of the trees on the outer edge of the clearing. He could see cum leaking out of the man's ass and down his leg.

"Please, Jacob, don't kill me!" James begged. He was still shell-shocked from his rape, but alert enough to know that the fear of punishment for one crime might lead a slave like Jacob to commit even worse crimes.

Jacob looked around wild-eyed, like he wasn't sure where James's voice was coming from.

"Do as I tells you," Jacob instructed distractedly. "Or I will fuckin' kill you. Now put on your clothes." He wanted to eliminate as much suggestion of rape as possible. Make it look like an average robbery and escape.

Jacob stood over James as the trembling man put on his clothes. Jacob pushed him into a sitting position at the foot of the tree, then pulled his arms back around the thick trunk and tied his hands tightly together with his belt. He then shook out the blue towel, still wet from James's saliva, and tied it around the man's head as a gag, stuffed once again in James's mouth.

Jacob knew others occasionally used this spot for breaks in their travels, but hoped he'd have at least three or four hours before James was discovered. A whole day, if he was lucky.

Jacob hurriedly put on his clothes, then stuffed the chicken and biscuits left over from lunch in his pockets. He glanced guiltily at James's pleading eyes, but spit in his direction to show what he still thought of the cocksucker who'd wanted to rape him.

Jacob ran to the wagon and looked cautiously down to the road to see if anyone was coming. He frantically went through James's luggage, where he was thrilled to find money and a slave pass already signed. Now there's a stroke of luck, Jacob thought to himself.

He stuffed both the money and pass in his back pocket. He walked to the front of the wagon and affectionately petted his horses goodbye. They were the only things left from his life at Stampley Plantation to which he could say goodbye.

A tear of sadness, regret, and fear escaped down his cheek. Jacob brushed it away with his sleeve, and then took off into the woods.

Chapter 7
Abel

He pictured his emaciated body gasping its last breath, leaving the vultures and coyotes to fight over its rotting flesh. He imagined a local family, coming to the creek for a Sunday-afternoon picnic, discovering with horror his crumbling skeleton still gagged and tied to the tree.

For the first hour following Jacob's escape, James had screamed with all his strength. But the blue towel stuffed in his mouth, combined with the sound of the creek's current, made it so that somebody standing just ten feet [3 m] away couldn't hear his cries for help.

James waited for the rest of the afternoon, hoping other travelers would stop for a meal or swim just as he and Jacob had done. He heard only one wagon the entire time, and could only sit helplessly as it passed without stopping.

As the sun began to set, James's anxiety turned into full-blown panic. His stomach burned with hunger. His mouth was parched and still sore from its brutal assault by Jacob's dick. He had to piss so badly that eventually he had no choice but to urinate on himself. He also needed to take a shit. He could feel some of Jacob's cum still leaking out his asshole and soaking the back of his cotton pants. But he refused himself that release, determined to spare himself the shame of shitting on himself before being rescued.

That night was the longest and most miserable night of James's life. From sunset to sunrise, James's body was alert and tense in wide-eyed terror. He had no idea Georgia nights could be so strange and terrifying. Never before had he found himself immersed in darkness so thick and impenetrable. Insects roamed and bit his sweaty body. The shrieks of night-hawks and howls of coyotes pierced the night's silence, freezing James's body in watchful fear. He could hear raccoons and wolves and god-only-knows-what-else prowling within feet of his defenseless body. Several times he swore he heard human moans and screams coming from across the creek.

Worse than the terror of James's physical environment were the thoughts plaguing his restless mind. Like scenes from a nightmare, memories of James's earlier rape flashed across his mind: The searing pain caused by Jacob's thick cock thrusting mercilessly into his virgin asshole. The humiliation and helplessness of having his pride and power as Master completely stripped away. The shame of being called ugly, hateful names while his ass was pounded over and over, just like a whore's pussy. The smell of Jacob's hot nigger breath on his face. The feel of the stable-boy's slimy spit sliding down his cheek and chin.

But even worse, James was troubled by the guilty pleasure he'd felt while being raped, a pleasure so intense that it had caused him to shoot his load. He recalled the heat and fullness of having his insides stuffed with a Negro's manhood. The thrill of surrendering his body in total degraded service to the pleasure of a rebellious Negro slave. No, surrender and service were words too tame for what had actually occurred, since James had no choice in the matter. It was more like an utter loss of masculine pride and power, a brief and strangely liberating role-reversal that offered a temporary release from the pressures of white American manhood.

These feelings shamed and confused James, especially when the sun rose, several hours passed, and still there were no hopes of rescue. Such feelings seemed absurdly irreconcilable with the image of his filthy, famished, piss-soaked body slumped beneath the tree.

Now it was noon, nearly twenty-four hours after Jacob had bound James's body to the tree, and James was certain he was going to die. Just as James had begun to discover the seductive power of his role as slave-master, all the possibilities of his new life were going to be snatched away from him.

Of course it was that very same power that had placed his life in danger in the first place. In less than a month, he'd grown so accustomed to his power over other human beings that he'd callously, carelessly risked his own life, all so he could fuck an 18-year-old Negro slave.

Just as he was giving up hope of ever being rescued, James heard the rattling of a wagon driving on the road. It stopped near the path to the creek, and then James heard the sounds of footsteps coming toward the clearing.

"Hello?!?" a man's voice shouted, growing louder as it approached. "Anybody back here?!? Hello???"

Two men stepped into the clearing, one white, and the other black.

"What the devil 3; ?!?" the white man cried out when James's muffled whimpers drew his attention to the tree where James was bound. The man was short and stocky, with dark, beady eyes, and a thin, black beard. He looked like he was in his mid-forties.

"For Christ's sake, untie the man, Lucky!" the white man ordered.

The Negro, whose jaw was hanging open in astonishment at the sight before him, rushed over to James. He looked to be about 22 or 23 years old. He kneeled down and hurriedly unknotted the gag around James's head. Even in his shell-shocked state, James noticed the young man's physical attractiveness, inhaled the distinct, intoxicating odor of Negro sweat, and swooned from the heat of the slave's skin so close to his own.

James gulped down the fresh air once the Negro had freed the blue towel from his dry mouth.

"Thank you," James said weakly. "I thought for certain I was a dead man."

The Negro that the white man had called Lucky moved to the back of the tree and began working on the knots still binding James's hands.

"What in tarnation happened here?!?" the white man asked as he walked to the creek, kneeled down, and filled a leather canteen with fresh water.

"My slave 3; Jacob 3; tied me up 3; ran away 3;" James fumbled to form his words into comprehensible sentences.

The young Negro man undid the last knot, freeing James's arms to hang limply at his sides. At first James couldn't feel a thing in either arm, but when the blood finally began to flow freely, it felt like both arms were being stabbed with millions of needles.

"You tellin' me a nigger did this to you?!?" the white man asked, outraged.

He walked over to James, kneeled down, and poured the cold canteen water into James's parched mouth. The Negro stood behind the white man, watching and listening with curiosity.

"My name's James Stampley," James explained between thirsty gulps. "I inherited Stampley Plantation from my Uncle about a month ago. My driver and I were heading to Columbus yesterday."

"Jesus Christ, you been here all night?!?" the white man asked sympathetically.

"We stopped for lunch," James explained, nodding toward Becky's basket, now empty and lying on its side in the dirt. "My slave 3; attacked me. Tied me up so he could run away, I guess."

"Well, I'll be damned!" the white man exclaimed, shaking his head. "Walt Stampley's nephew, huh? It's a shame about your uncle dyin' so sudden like that. I'd heard his nephew'd taken over the place, but figured I'd meet you at one of the shindigs over at Sam Potter's place. Sure as hell never thought I'd meet you this way!"

The man took one of James's limp hands in his grasp and shook it vigorously. He knew the disoriented man before him was one of the wealthiest men in Georgia, second only to Sam Potter. The beefy little white man knew this meant enormous political clout and a high social standing, and he was eager to make a good first impression.

"The name's Turner 3; Frank Turner. I own a small plantation about three miles down the road. Lucky and me was just on our way to the Potter place when I seen your wagon and its horses snortin' and neighin' and lookin' like they was ready to collapse. Somethin' didn't feel right, so's I figured we'd best check things out. And I'm damn sure glad we did!"

Frank Turner stood up. "Damn it to hell, you took me by surprise so bad I nearly forgot my manners! You must be starving!"

The beady-eyed white man looked back at the handsome Negro. "Lucky, go fetch Sarah's ham sandwiches from the wagon!"

Lucky dutifully dashed through the brush toward the wagon, returning moments later with a basket similar to Becky's. He kneeled down, opened the basket, pulled out a ham sandwich, and handed it to James. James noticed the slave's eyes were deep and kind, even though they remained carefully lowered to avoid direct contact with James's eyes.

James began hungrily devouring the sandwich, swallowing down each salty, heavenly bite as quickly as his weary mouth would allow.

Lucky stood up beside his Master. Both men now stood over him, watching him eat as if he were an injured bird they'd decided to nurse back to health.

"Thank you, Mr. Turner," James mumbled with his mouth full.

"Don't mention it, Mr. Stampley," Mr. Turner insisted, waving his hand dismissively at James. "Any kin to Walt Stampley's as good as kin to me. We'll get you home safe and sound, don't you worry!"

As James stuffed down his second sandwich, he tried to get a closer look at Lucky without staring rudely. The young man was a spectacular specimen of Negro manhood, no doubt about it. He had dark, piercing eyes whose intensity probably made both women and men look away in discomfort. His skin was a light, creamy brown. He had thick, tangled, wooly hair; a large nose with the wide nostrils of African ancestry; strong, well-defined jaws; curly wisps of dark hair that wandered down his cheeks but never quite turned into a full beard; deep-red lips of medium thickness; broad shoulders; and a thin but impressively muscled build. If Jacob's beauty was that of a full-blooded African taking his first steps into adulthood, Lucky's was the uniquely African-American beauty of an uncertain mixture of races, the caramel-skinned handsomeness common to most third, fourth, and fifth-generation slaves, sprouted into full-grown manhood.

Frank Turner looked like his mind was doing somersaults the entire time he watched James eat.

"Seein' as you're a Stampley, how about I make you an offer you can't refuse?" he said, grinning and spitting confidently to his left. "Maybe see if I can't make up for the shitty welcome your nigger done gave you to the fine state of Georgia."

James listened with weary curiosity.

"Since your team of horses sure as hell ain't gonna make the trip back to Potter County this afternoon, and I only live just down the road, I'll swap you wagons. I'll even throw Lucky here into the trade, so's he can drive you home. Sounds like you're gonna need a good stable-nigger, now that your other done run off."

Lucky looked at his Master in sickened surprise. "But Massuh Turner, I 3;" the slave stuttered in protest.

"He's a damn fine nigger-boy," Mr. Turner said, patting the stunned man on the back and drowning out the slave's interruption. "Nothin' like the piece of shit nigger that done this to you! Lucky'll show you how loyal and hard-workin' Georgia niggers usually is. Hell, if you leave now, he'll have you home by sundown. If you don't take a likin' to him, send him back. But if I don't hear from you, I'll send the papers to you next week."

Lucky's skin turned three shades paler, and he looked like he was going to collapse.

James couldn't believe his ears. Mr. Turner was giving his slave to James just as casually as he'd given the man his lunch, with not a second's concern wasted on his decision's disruption of the young slave's life. For all James knew, Mr. Turner was tearing Lucky away from the only home he'd ever known, perhaps even a wife and children, with no more thought than he might put into lighting another man's cigar.

While the thought appalled James, it also thrilled him. He found himself excited by the idea that with just a spoken word, the handsome Negro standing before him was now his property, to do with as he pleased. The young slave's bewildered, helpless expression broke James's heart. But Lucky's masculine body was too strong a temptation for him, and now that it was within his reach, being forced upon him, James lacked the willpower to turn down such an enticing offer. Besides, he wanted to return to Stampley Plantation as soon as possible, and this seemed the only way to make that happen. Like Mr. Turner said, James could always send Lucky back after several days.

"That's very generous of you, Mr. Turner," James said weakly. "I appreciate your kindness."

Mr. Turner grinned. He hoped James would remember this generosity next time the Turner Plantation needed a loan, or a good word put in with the politicians in Atlanta.

"You've been a real good nigger for me, Lucky," Mr. Turner said, patting the shocked slave on the shoulders again. "But your new Master here needs you more than I do. Go help the poor man to his feet and show him what a good nigger-boy you can be!"

Lucky walked dizzily over to James, put his arm around his new Master's back, rested James's right arm across his broad shoulders, and lifted him to his feet. James thrilled at the touch of the slave's hot, sweat-soaked shoulders and whiffs of his unmistakable Negro odor.

"And don't you worry about the runaway nigger neither," Mr. Turner assured James as he followed behind Lucky, who assisted his new Master to the wagon. "Just as soon as I get this wagon back, I'll let every white man from here to Columbus know about it. We'll have Columbus County's best hounds and nigger-catchers on the little coon's trail in less than an hour! You want him dead, alive, or half-alive?" Mr. Turner laughed.

"Alive," James said distractedly. "Please don't harm the boy."

"Just like your Uncle Walt, I see," Mr. Turner smiled. "The soft-hearted Master. Most'll say that don't do nothin' but spoil niggers. Me, I like to leave 'em with some pain to think on while they're shipped back to the real punishment waitin' for 'em. But suit yourself, Mr. Stampley, suit yourself."

When he got to the wagon, James looked through his bag and realized Jacob had stolen his money and pass. He gave Mr. Turner as detailed a physical description as his exhausted mind could produce, and again insisted that Jacob be caught and returned to Stampley Plantation unharmed.

Mr. Turner shook James's hand a hearty farewell, and said he hoped to see James the next time Mr. Potter hosted Georgia's nearby landowners for a weekend of feasting, dancing, and hunting. He nodded an awkward goodbye to Lucky, but didn't shake the Negro man's hand. He then proceeded to lead his new property of hungry, tired horses gently down the dirty road toward his plantation.

Just as James was beginning to hop into his new wagon, his need to shit returned with a vengeance. With an embarrassed apology to Lucky, James stumbled into the woods, shoved down his pants, and emptied his bowels. After using some leaves to clean himself, he returned to the wagon with a sheepish look.

The back of the wagon was loaded with straw, and Lucky had made a bed for James by patting some of it down in the center.

"You needs your sleep, Massuh James," the young man said in a kind voice tinged with sadness. "It be a little scratchy, but I reckon it'll feel better than the back of that tree," he added, smiling weakly.

"Thank you, Lucky," James said, using the assistance of the slave's muscled arm to help him into the back of the wagon. He was amazed at how quickly the young man adapted to serving a new Master.

"Lucky," James said softly, before the man hopped onto the front seat. "This is as sudden for me as it is for you, but I think you'll find I'm a kind Master. I think you'll find life at Stampley Plantation to be pleasant."

James felt pangs of guilt every time he looked into Lucky's deep, sad eyes, and wanted to make those feelings go away.

"Naw, it ain't that, Massuh James," Lucky said, his intense eyes looking at the ground. "You seems like a real good Massuh. The way you axed Massuh Ed to bring that nigger back alive, that was real kind of you, and I ain't never heard no white man talk like that befo'."

"What's the matter then, Lucky?" James asked, not certain he really wanted to know. "Aren't you happy Mr. Turner gave you to a kind Master like me?"

"Oh, yessuh, Massuh James 3; it just that 3;"

Lucky stopped in mid-sentence. He was about to say that he'd lived on the Turner plantation since the age of 13, close to ten years. He was about to explain that he was leaving behind a wife and three sons, all because of a white man's selfish whim. But he'd lived long enough to know that even kind-hearted white men like his new Master could be spurred into a violent rage by the slightest hint of defiance or ingratitude from a slave, and thought better of sharing his impulsive confession.

"I'se real happy I'se yours now, Massuh James. That be all 3; I'se just real happy, I reckon," Lucky said, hopping onto the front seat and taking the reigns in hand.

James smiled with satisfaction, content for the moment to take the slave's word at face value. His mind was spinning and his body ached. He'd been through a hell of an ordeal, and desperately needed rest. The rocking wagon made his eyelids grow heavy.

Just as he surrendered to sleep, James heard the faint sounds of crying through the din of the wagon wheels.

Abel loved reading more than anything else in the world.

Books were the only things that kept him from feeling completely, hopelessly alone on Stampley Plantation, especially now that Master Walt was dead.

As far as his work was concerned, Abel couldn't complain. In fact, he knew he was probably the luckiest slave his age on the entire plantation. The chores of a house-boy demanded speed, precision, and initiative, but they weren't physically grueling, and came with a lot of perks such as better meals, cleaner lodgings, regular baths, and lots of free time.

But what good was free time, Abel often thought to himself, if he didn't have anyone to spend it with?

The other slave boys his age had stopped playing with him years ago. He vaguely remembered a time long ago, when as a little boy he'd played happily with the other slave children. But when he was around eight or nine years old, some of the older boys started calling him cruel names like 'house nigger,' 'yellow boy,' 'whitey,' and 'cracker.' When he began crying, confused by the sudden meanness of boys he'd considered friends, they shouted things like, "Why don't you run to yo' daddy in the Big House?!? Go cryin' to him! Yo' yellow ass more welcome up there curled in his lap than you is down here with real niggers!" After running home in tears several days in a row, Abel was told by his Mama to stay close to the Big House and quit playing with the other slave children.

At first he missed the company of his childhood friends terribly, but eventually he learned how to entertain himself. He especially loved to fish. Sometimes when he fished, he'd make up fantastic adventure stories that he'd run home and excitedly tell his Mama and Daddy.

But his parents always shooed him away, too busy with work to be distracted by his childish imagination. Most of the time they treated him no better than the other slave children. His mother was always preoccupied with cooking or cleaning, and Abel always had the feeling he caused her more trouble than joy, more annoyance than pleasure. She never hugged him, sang to him, or played with him the way he'd seen some of the slave-quarter mothers do with their children. There seemed always to be some distance between them, some obstacle to her affections that he sensed only vaguely.

His father Abraham was even worse. Abel couldn't recall a single time the man had looked at him with anything other than icy indifference or gruff impatience. They never spent time alone, just father and son, and Abel never heard Abraham say anything to him in a gentle or kind voice. When Abel was snatched from his childhood freedom and placed in the position of Assistant House-Boy at the age of twelve, he'd hoped working side by side with his father would bring them closer together. But it only increased the tension between them, and no matter how hard Abel tried, his father always found fault with the quality of his work. In a guilty way, Abel was actually enjoying the independence since his father had grown gravely ill shortly before Master Walt's death.

Abel was confused and hurt by his father's rejection. He wondered if it was because Master Walt and his guests always complimented Abel's good looks and pleasant demeanor, involving him in their conversations and stories in a way they never did with his father.

In fact, white folks gave Abel more attention and praise than the boy ever received from his own parents or other Negroes. "My God!" they'd gasp. "I declare, if it weren't for the boy's hair, he could almost pass for a white boy! What a shame about the hair, though 3; I swear it's the only thing 'nigger' about him!"

Sometimes one of Master Walt's buddies would add, "Don't look a thing like that African-looking nigger father of his," winking mysteriously at Master Walt, who always turned bright red after such comments.

White folks had been fawning over Abel's beauty and complimenting his "white-sounding" way of speaking ever since he was a little boy. As a result, he'd quickly grown to crave the attention and approval of white people, especially Master Walt. And why shouldn't he, when Master Walt had shown him more kindness than anyone else in his sixteen years on Stampley Plantation?

It was Master Walt who'd given him his first fishing pole at the age of nine.

It was Master Walt who'd taught him how to read, making him one of the only literate slaves on the entire plantation. Abel's memories of sitting close to the older white man on the verandah, feeling Master Walt's strong arm wrapped around his waist, smelling the older man's cigar-breath when he leaned in close to Abel's face to teach the day's lesson, were some of the sweetest and most thrilling of his young life. Master Walt told Abel he was a quick learner, smarter even than most white boys. He gave Abel special permission to borrow any three books from his library at a time, with the understanding that he return them in good condition, and never share them with the other slaves. Abel was a special boy, Master Walt told him. Most nigger-brains were too tiny to be capable of reading a book, he'd explained.

Abel remembered how special he'd felt that night in the hallway, when Master Walt had come to his rescue.

One of Master Walt's old buddies from his college days in Atlanta had come to visit when Abel was thirteen years old. Abel felt uneasy the entire time he served supper to Master Walt and his friend. He saw the stranger staring at him with a hungry look in his eyes, a look that scared Abel even though he didn't know precisely why. The visitor pestered Abel with questions about his age, his parents, whether he was happy with Master Walt, whether he'd ever been to South Carolina, if he had any nigger girlfriends, and so on. Master Walt looked tense and uncomfortable, and curtly told his friend to stop bothering the boy. The guest persisted in his rudeness, and later when the two men were smoking on the verandah, Abel overheard the man begging to buy him from Master Walt.

Later that night Abel was returning from the east wing of the house, where he'd re-stocked linens for the next day's baths, when the man met him in the hallway, blocking Abel's way and staring at him with a scary smile on his face. Before Abel knew what was happening, the man slammed his small body against the wall and began licking all over his face. While he forced his tongue into Abel's mouth, the man crudely cupped the boy's crotch with his right hand, and slid his left hand into the back of Abel's dress pants, grabbing and squeezing both of the house-boy's ass-cheeks.

"Such a pretty nigger," the man grunted as he fondled the preteen houseboy's body, his breath reeking of liquor and cigars. "Such a goddamn beautiful nigger-boy."

Abel was terrified. He had no idea what the strange man was doing to him, but he knew it felt gross, and he knew the man was touching him in private places where no other person, not even a white person, should touch him. He screamed with all the ferocity his still-high-pitched voice could muster.

The man whirled Abel around, shoved his front-side against the wall, and ripped down Abel's silk pants so that his naked bottom was exposed. Just as the nasty man started to poke his big, hairy fingers between Abel's ass-crack, Master Walt ran around the corner – shirtless, shoeless, and obviously disturbed from his sleep – and lunged at his startled friend with angry curse-words. He threw the visitor against the opposite wall and punched the man repeatedly in the face.

Stunned and embarrassed, Abel quickly pulled up his pants and watched in disbelief as his Master pummeled his guest like a madman. In between bloody sobs for Master Walt to stop, the man begged Master Walt to sell the house-boy to him, swearing no price was too high for the purchase.

These pleas only seemed to intensify the force of Master Walt's punches. "Don't you ever touch another fucking hair on that boy's head again, do you hear me?!?" Master Walt shouted. "That there's a special nigger! He belongs to ME! And he ain't for sale, not now or goddamn ever!"

Although he'd been disgusted by the visitor's rough hands groping his body, Abel also remembered the thrill he'd felt when he heard the pathetic desperation in the man's voice. He liked the idea that a grown white man seemed driven half-crazy by desire for him, nothing more than a thirteen-year-old Negro slave! And Abel was even more flattered by how fiercely Master Walt had come to his defense. He'd stared in wonder and disbelief at two white men, fighting over him just like the knights he'd read about in Master Walt's novels.

Of course even Master Walt's affections had their limits. Despite the more casual chumminess of their reading sessions on the porch, Master Walt still demanded the usual slave formalities from Abel when the boy served him. He still laughed and referred to the boy as a 'nigger' in front of company. He'd taught Abel how to read, but shooed the boy away any time he tried to ask his Master about a particular novel's author or plot twist. He'd go away for weeks at a time, and only greet Abel with a cordial 'hello' upon his return. Still, Abel lived for the occasional approving nod or friendly word from the older white man.

But now Master Walt was dead, and Abel felt lonelier than ever.

Abel had hoped his new Master, Master Walt's nephew, would treat him with the same warmth and attention, but Master James always seemed odd and distracted. That day Master James scared him half to death while taking a bath, the man seemed nervous and preoccupied, despite Abel's best efforts to appear friendly and talkative. Then his new Master had gone and made the strange rule that Abel was only to go upstairs between 3 p.m. and 9 p.m. every day, further reducing contact and communication between Master and slave. Accustomed to feeling an outcast, Abel could only guess he'd done something wrong to displease his new Master, despite how hard he'd tried to make a good first impression.

Abel's only relief from loneliness came through literature. Reading about great wars, romances, or adventures on the high seas allowed Abel an escape, if only for several hours, from his dull, sad life on Stampley Plantation.

On the second night following Master James's departure to Columbus, Abel was lying in the hammock on the front verandah, reading by the light of the setting sun, when he was startled from his book by the sound of an approaching wagon. He leapt from the hammock, worried he might be punished if the new Master caught him doing a thing as bold as reading in the white man's hammock – something he'd only dared to do because Master James wasn't expected back until the following evening.

Abel ran to the edge of the porch and squinted to see who was riding in the wagon. His mother ran from inside the house to join him. Driving the wagon was a young Negro man neither of them recognized, and stepping down from the back of the wagon was none other than Master James!

The Negro man hopped from the wagon, put his right arm around the white man's side, and assisted him to the edge of the porch. Abel noticed his Master's clothes were torn and filthy, and both cheeks looked bruised and puffy.

"Lord have mercy, what happened to you, Master James?!?" Becky cried out in shock.

Abel stared ahead in speechless surprise. A real-life adventure-story was unfolding before his very eyes.

"It's Jacob 3;" James explained in a weary, distant voice. "He's 3; I'm afraid he's run away. He beat me, tied me up, and ran away."

Becky gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.

"That stable-nigger ran away?!?" Mr. Potter shouted, coming from the house to join the others on the porch. He looked James up and down, shaking his head.

"Jesus Christ, Little Jimmy, you look like shit!" he concluded bluntly. "What the hell did that nigger do to you?!? You reek like a goddamn outhouse!"

"It was horrible 3; just horrible," James mumbled, hanging his head in shame.

Abel felt sorry for the man, and angry with Mr. Potter for embarrassing him.

"Your Uncle always did have trouble with that uppity nigger," Mr. Potter said, glaring knowingly in Becky's direction. "Ain't nothin' but trouble ever come from a nigger that don't know his place, and all's you had to do was look to see the uppity-ness in that nigger's eyes. I seen this comin' a mile away. Dammit, I never should have sent a wet-behind-the-years Yankee like yourself on a trip alone with a nigger like him!"

Mr. Potter smashed the palm of his hand angrily against one of the verandah posts. He looked suspiciously at Lucky, suddenly realizing the strange Negro's presence.

"Boy, ain't you one of Frank Turner's niggers?" Mr. Potter asked.

Still supporting James with both arms, Lucky dropped his eyes to the ground and answered: "Yessuh, I sho is 3; I mean, was."

"Mr. Turner and Lucky here were the two that found me," James explained. "They saved my life, no doubt about it. Mr. Turner traded wagons and gave me Lucky to drive me home tonight. Said I could keep him, too."

Mr. Potter laughed. "It ain't so bad bein' one of the richest men in Georgia, now is it, Little Jimmy? Funny how folks'll start givin' niggers away for free when they hear the Stampley name!"

"I suppose," James replied uneasily. "Mr. Turner promised to spread the word and put together a hunt for Jacob, but I'd appreciate it, Mr. Potter, if you could organize a search for Potter County, in case he made it this far north. I feel so inexperienced 3; in such matters. All I ask is that you bring the boy back alive and in one piece."

"Don't you worry, Little Jimmy!" Mr. Potter boasted, adjusting the wide-brimmed hat on his head. "In the last five years, I ain't had a nigger run away and not gotten hisself caught! Best record in the county. I got me some of the best nigger-catchers in the South, not to mention thirty hounds that live and breathe for the scent and taste of nigger flesh. I'll ride over to my place, get a posse together, and have the nigger back to you by this time tomorrow, just you mark my words!"

The burly man tipped his hat to the group on the porch and jogged toward the barn to get his horse, howling gleefully to the sky as he went. "Boy, do I love me a nigger-hunt!!!"

"ALIVE AND UNHARMED!" James shouted weakly back at him, looking apologetically at Lucky, Becky, and Abel. The sounds of Mr. Potter's laughter disappeared into the stable.

James looked distractedly at Becky, like he was looking through a ghost. Despite his restless nap on the way home, James felt like he might collapse at any moment from pain and exhaustion. "Becky, please see to it that Lucky here gets a good meal, then have one of the overseers put him up in one of the slave cabins."

"Yes, Master James," Becky said, a welcoming smile replacing her earlier worried expression. She nodded for the young man to follow her into the house.

"I'll call for you tomorrow, Lucky," James said, releasing the man's arms to stand on his own. "We can talk about your new duties here at Stampley then."

Lucky nodded a nervous goodbye, and climbed the steps of the porch to follow Becky. The sad look from before hadn't left his intense eyes.

"What should I do, Master James?" Abel asked eagerly.

James turned to focus on the boy who until now had been a blurry part of the background. The boy's piercing green eyes, smiling face, and well-dressed body came into clear focus. James thought he looked more breathtaking than ever, a comforting sight for sore eyes.

"I'd like you to draw me a hot bath," James instructed. "As you can tell from my smell, I sure do need one!" He smiled at the boy. "I'm afraid I'm still weak and may need your help getting there."

Glad he could be of assistance, Abel wasted no time obeying his Master's instructions. He slid his right arm around James's back, and allowed his strong youthful body to be used as the weaker older man's support while they walked slowly toward James's private bathroom.

Once there, Abel seated James on a wooden stool near the large tin bathtub. James rested there while Abel left to heat water for the bath. James's mind was still reeling from the shock of his recent trauma, and his body ached for the soothing heat and symbolic purification of a long bath. Anything to feel normal and safe again.

Abel returned about fifteen minutes later, carrying two large tin pails of steaming water.

James looked affectionately at his slave-boy's serious face, focused on completing his task to perfection. James also admired the muscles of Abel's arms, shoulders, and back, flexing through his white shirt as he poured the hot water into the washtub. And hard as he tried, James couldn't take his eyes off the round curves of his slave-boy's ass, pushing up and out against the tightly-fitting cloth of his dress-pants.

After two more trips to the kitchen and back, Abel smiled at his Master and announced, "Your bath's all ready, Master James."

Preparing a full bath was tiring work, but Abel was happy to have a role to play in comforting his injured Master.

"Thank you, Abel," James said kindly. "I can't imagine there's a better house-boy than you in all of Georgia!"

"I try my best, Master James," Abel replied, blushing and looking away. He was always thrilled when white people recognized the diligence and thoroughness of his work.

James stood up slowly and tried to remove his shoes, but doing so only made his weak body lose its balance. He stumbled forward, and grabbed the side of the washtub to stop his fall.

"You all right, Master James?" Abel asked, with sincere concern in his adolescent voice.

"I guess I'm weaker than I thought," James confessed sheepishly. "I'm afraid I might need help getting out of these clothes."

James's request was innocent enough, prompted by the practical needs of the moment, but his body felt an excited chill when he realized the potentially erotic nature of his request.

Abel looked up in surprise. He'd been well-trained in the duties of a house-slave by his father and Master Walt, but never in his four years of service had he been asked to assist in removing a white man's clothes. In fact, other than seeing Master Walt shirtless or naked beneath soapy bath bubbles, Abel had never seen a white man naked. Abel was usually prepared to satisfy any of his Master's needs within seconds, but this request caught him off guard. Not wanting to displease his Master, he quickly crossed the room and stood with awkward uncertainty next to James.

"Please take off my shoes, Abel," James instructed, sitting back down on the stool to collect his composure. He extended his right leg in Abel's direction.

Abel immediately dropped to his knees, took James's right foot in his hands, and with a slight struggle managed to pull off the man's shoe and sock. James admired the boy's eager, intense service as Abel did the same with the other foot.

Abel stood up nervously, unsure what to do.

"Thank you, Abel," James said softly. "Now I need you to unbutton my shirt."

James knew he was probably strong enough to undress with just a little propping-up from Abel, but he wanted to enjoy the moment's full erotic potential.

Abel furrowed his brow with the anxiety of a perfectionist facing the challenge of a new task. He bent down, reached out, and began clumsily fumbling with the buttons on James's shirt.

Abel quickly realized that unbuttoning a shirt backwards was a tricky task. He could feel James watching him intently, but tried to focus his own eyes and fingers on his Master's shirt. Even though he'd worked in close quarters with Master Walt for several years, the sudden intimacy of this moment was new and uncomfortable.

James was incredibly turned on by the awkward but intense way Abel tackled his task, especially when he felt one of the boy's skinny fingers brush against his chest. He could feel the warmth of Abel's body leaning in close to his own, and James breathed in the teenage boy's sweet Negro smell.

After he'd completely unbuttoned James's shirt, Abel looked at James as if to ask, "What now?"

"Step behind me and help pull my shirt off," James instructed.

Abel did as he was told. He stood behind James, reached his arms around to his Master's front, and took the sides of the open shirt in both hands. He gently pulled the shirt back over the white man's bare shoulders, and worked the sleeves off each arm. He wrinkled up his nose at the foul odor of his Master's sweaty, unwashed body. Abel dropped the dirty shirt on the floor and stood staring at the white man's pale, lightly freckled back.

"Please 3; please take off my pants, Abel," James asked, standing up slowly.

James realized that asking such a thing of an equally good-looking Negro boy in the North would be perceived as absurd, even offensive, but he knew that Abel had no choice but to obey his orders. He also realized that a boy with Abel's eager-to-please temperament would feel especially pressured to comply with such a request. After the devastating powerlessness of the last twenty-four hours, James found this restored control to be exhilarating.

Abel's body stiffened. He walked back to face James, glanced uneasily into his Master's eyes, and began nervously fumbling with the buttons on James's pants.

Abel was extremely uncomfortable with the idea of undressing the older white man. His parents had instilled in him a strong sense of modesty, even going so far as to make him dress for work in the morning and bed at night in the privacy of the storage-room across from the room the three of them shared. "We ain't jungle creatures like the field niggers," his father frequently explained. "We got some morals about us, like the white folks." As a result, Abel had grown to view the human body as something private. The only times he'd seen others naked were when he'd swam with the other slave-quarter boys as a very young boy. Based on his extensive reading from Master Walt's library, Abel believed nudity was only appropriate between a man and a woman in the context of marriage or romantic passion.

But the first lesson he'd learned as a house-boy-in-training was never to question the Master's orders, no matter how bizarre, irrational, or unnecessary. Abel didn't want to diminish his reputation as an obedient, praiseworthy slave, and he desperately wanted the new Master to like him.

Abel blushed a deep crimson as he undid the first, second, then third buttons of his Master's pants, trying to avoid eye contact as he did so. He noticed the thick stench of urine in the air, but tried his best to conceal this awareness. He looked away in embarrassment and slowly tugged his Master's piss-soaked pants to the floor.

"Thank you for your assistance, Abel," James said, stepping out of his pants. He now stood completely naked next to Abel, and hoped the handsome house-boy didn't find the sight of his body repulsive.

"If it's all right with you, Master James," Abel asked shyly, still looking away from his nude Master, "I'll leave you to enjoy your bath alone."

"No!" James protested in a voice he realized sounded a little too desperate. "I'd rather you stay to keep me company. I've 3; I've just been through a terrible experience, and I don't want to be alone. And I think I need your help stepping into the bath."

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

Abel took James by the arm to assist him into the bath, but avoided looking at the details of his Master's nudity. All he allowed himself to see was a blurry mass of white flesh beside him. He firmly grasped James's arm as the man stepped slowly, one foot at a time, into the tub's steaming water.

James sank blissfully down into the water, and for a second all thoughts of Abel fled his mind. He laid back and dunked his entire head beneath the water, allowing the bath to cleanse his aching body of two days' worth of sweat, piss, grime, and shit. At first the hot water stung his torn, aching asshole, but soon the water's warmth began to relieve its throbbing pain.

Feeling partially revived, James's thoughts returned to the fun he was having with Abel. He could tell by Abel's flushed cheeks and embarrassed glances that the boy was uncomfortable with the situation and doing his best to ignore James's nudity. But James relished his power to FORCE the boy's attention upon his naked body, and wanted to pursue that power further.

"I'd like you to help wash me, Abel," James said, his eyes shut in pleasure at the water's soothing warmth. "I'm afraid that I'm too weak to scrub myself tonight."

Abel's lips parted to protest, but he caught himself. He wanted to explain that he'd never done such a thing before, that Master Walt had always bathed himself. But he knew it wasn't his place to question the new Master, especially after what the white man had just suffered.

More nervous and uncomfortable than before, Abel walked to a shelf on the wall and retrieved a large, bristled brush and chunk of soap. He walked slowly back to the tub and stood there looking scared and confused.

James grabbed the sides of the tub and pushed himself into a standing position, facing Abel. Abel looked anxiously toward his Master's naked body, water running in streams down the man's skin and dripping into the bath-water below. Abel was afraid if he looked away too much, he'd make the new Master uncomfortable. But if he stared too hard, he risked violating the man's sense of modesty. For the first time in a long while, Abel was at a loss as to how best to please his Master.

Still blushing, Abel dipped both the soap and brush into the hot water, then lathered the brush's bristles with soap. For a moment, he stood frozen in mid-motion, not knowing where or how to begin.

James smiled at the boy's uncustomary slowness and uncertainty. He gently took Abel's right hand (the hand holding the brush), and pulled it toward his chest. He moved it in a circular motion, showing the nervous boy in front of him what to do.

Abel couldn't believe he was bathing a white man. His initial embarrassment eventually turned into curiosity, and he allowed himself to focus on the details of the grown man's nakedness. As he circled the brush around James's chest and stomach, Abel marveled at his Master's pale skin, many shades lighter than even Abel's own light-olive complexion. He took in the details of James's thin build, softer and less muscular than his own teenage body, but firmer and healthier-looking than Master Walt's. He noticed the patch of curly dark hair in the center of the man's chest. He glanced at his Master's pink, round nipples, surrounded by wisps of dark hair.

Abel's curiosity was in no way sexual or aroused. It was the same curiosity that made him so eager to discover, through Master Walt's library, the world beyond Stampley Plantation.

Abel's touch electrified James's entire body with warmth and pleasure. Not since his mother had bathed him as a young child had James been washed by another person, and certainly not with the careful attention of a stunningly beautiful mulatto like Abel. James liked watching Abel's serious face as it examined his naked body in the way one might stare at an exotic animal at the State Fair. After the shocking brutality of James's encounter with Jacob, Abel's nervous tenderness was immensely comforting.

Abel's curiosity finally led him to glance nervously at the appendage dangling between his Master's legs, which until now he'd been only vaguely and uncomfortably aware of. He thought that it looked very different from his own – tinier, redder, and more wrinkled. He watched it uneasily out of the corner of his eyes as he scrubbed James's firm, slightly hairy legs, hoping his Master wouldn't require its thorough scrubbing.

When Abel was finished cleaning James's front side, he looked apprehensively at James, hoping he was satisfied. James nodded sternly for Abel to devote some attention to his dick.

Abel looked shyly away as he moved his brush in a clumsy scrubbing motion across James's soft, stubby dick. Wanting the boy's closer attention, James took hold of Abel's left hand and placed it on his warm, soapy dick.

Abel's body tensed up at his first-ever touch of another man's dick. He'd touched his own dick plenty of times. He'd discovered years ago how good it felt to wrap his hand around it, pumping up and down until hot creamy spunk squirted out of the tip. But this was entirely different. Master James's dick felt smooth, squishy, and strange, like one of the thick nightcrawlers he sometimes used for fishing-bait.

As he circled the appendage with his fingers, Abel choked out a throaty, embarrassed laugh. He washed the thick patch of wiry dark pubic hair above the soft, stumpy dick. He lifted his Master's flabby dick to scrub its underside, and felt it jerk and harden from his touch. He gently scrubbed the white man's red, low-hanging balls, which were smooth to the touch even though they were covered with tangles of blondish hair. Abel noticed that his Master's eyes were closed in what appeared to be some kind of reverie.

"Would you like me to wash your back-side, Master James?" Abel asked quietly. As weird as the whole experience felt, he couldn't help but wonder what the white man's ass looked like.

Without speaking or opening his eyes, James turned around to signify his assent.

Abel stared a little more boldly now, knowing his Master wasn't watching. Abel thought James's ass looked odd. It looked round and a little flabby 3; not fat exactly, just fleshy. There was a tuft of dark hair trailing from the top of the man's ass-crack down into the crease below.

Abel scrubbed James's back thoroughly, then tentatively moved his attention to his Master's ass. He felt like laughing from embarrassment as he awkwardly scrubbed James's jiggling buttocks.

Just as Abel was wondering how thorough he should be, James reached back and parted his ass-cheeks, signaling Abel to clean between them. Abel's nose wrinkled up in disgust. He didn't even like cleaning his own ass, and certainly didn't want to put his hands anywhere near another man's asshole. He looked away and blindly lunged the brush up and down the older man's parted crack, hoping his motions would clean the dirty deeper place sufficiently.

Finally James sank back into the water to rinse the soap from his body.

"Thank you, Abel," James said, smiling. He'd thought the intense intimacy of being washed by his innocent house-boy would be enough excitement for the night, but he still found himself unsatisfied. The striking beauty of the teenage boy's face was certainly a thrilling sight to behold, especially at such close range, but James longed to see more of the boy's beauty revealed. He also felt a desperate need to ward off the disturbing flashbacks of Jacob's angry, animalistic expressions while raping James's face and ass, and what better than Abel's handsome, sweet-tempered face and virgin body to keep him company and distract him from loneliness and nightmares?

"I'd 3; I'd like you to join me, Abel," James said nervously. He was scared of the young man's response, especially after Jacob's rebelliousness the day before.

"Master?!?" Abel gasped in surprise. He became so flustered that he accidentally dropped the scrub-brush clattering to the floor. "I'm not sure what you mean, Master James."

"I'd like you to join me in my bath," James explained hoarsely, his heart racing wildly. "I know it might sound strange, but it's really not. In Boston, men bathe together all the time. It's a social activity, just like smoking cigars after dinner on the verandah."

Abel's mind was a muddle of confusion. Instinctively, Abel resisted the idea of sharing a bath with another man, especially his Master. Not since a little boy had he been naked around anybody else. His body was private, and the idea of having it exposed to his Master's eyes seemed inappropriate somehow. But at the same time, Abel felt flattered that a white man as wealthy and important as Master James liked him enough to invite him to participate in a 'social activity,' just as he might ask Mr. Potter to join him for a smoke after supper. He remembered Master Walt teaching him to read on the porch, and wondered if sharing a bath might bring him just as close, if not closer, to the new Master as those experiences had brought him to Master Walt.

"Ummmm 3;" Abel hesitated, hoping to avoid the situation without seeming disobedient. "Don't worry about me, Master James. My folks and I take our baths in the storage-room off the kitchen, remember?"

"Oh, I remember," James replied, smiling. "But there's plenty of room in this tub for two, and I'd really love the company. Besides, you're already half-soaked from washing me! Come on, get out of those clothes and hop in here with me!"

Abel looked anxiously around the room, as if seeking an escape. He knew it was his duty to please his Master, but until now he'd never been asked to do anything that made him feel this self-conscious and hesitant. Abel knew he had no choice: Not only would a refusal to cooperate spoil the reputation he'd worked so hard to establish, but it might also lead Master James to demote him to a lowly field nigger.

"Yes, Master James," Abel said softly, looking nervously at the ground.

James noticed the lack of typical enthusiasm in Abel's voice, but was relieved to see that the boy was going to cooperate. He could feel his heart thumping violently against his chest in anticipation of seeing the unclothed body he'd imagined and drooled over since his very first day at Stampley Plantation.

Abel slowly unbuttoned his vest, took it off, folded it neatly, and laid it on the wooden stool. He looked back at James with a tense, nervous smile, then began unbuttoning his dress shirt. James's heart beat even faster as he saw patches of the boy's smooth, golden chest through the gradually opening shirt. When all the buttons were unfastened, Abel awkwardly shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, folded it, and laid it on top of the vest.

James reeled from the initial impact of seeing so much of the boy's bare skin at once. He admired the slightly pronounced pectoral muscles, dotted with two tiny dark-brown nipples. He smiled lustfully at the cutely protruding belly-button resting beneath rippling abdominal muscles. He noticed the boy's rich-golden skin glowing with a sheen of sweat. James thought to himself that it was a shame such beauty remained concealed beneath layers of clothing most of the boy's waking hours.

Abel noticed James's blatant ogling with a combination of pride and discomfort. He normally liked it when white folks complimented his good looks, but this felt different. Master James's expression resembled the creepy looks of the man who wanted to purchase him, and later attacked him, when he was thirteen, more than they resembled the affectionate smiles of Master Walt.

But Abel knew he couldn't stop now. He lifted one leg to pull off his shoe and sock, then did the same with the other. He fumbled reluctantly with the buttons of his dress-pants. He slid them hurriedly to the floor, moving quickly to cover his crotch with both hands. His handsome face flushed crimson once again.

Hands still shielding his crotch from James's gaze, Abel walked shyly toward the tub and stepped in, sinking down to hide his nakedness beneath the dirty, sudsy water. He sat there, knees pulled to his chest, shivering with nervousness and embarrassment.

James's legs stretched out to brush against Abel's warm, silky-smooth sides, and his dick jerked in excitement from the thrill of first contact.

Aroused as he was, James didn't want to repeat the mistake he'd made with Jacob, especially with a young man as friendly and innocent as Abel. Part of him really did desire the house-boy's company, and wanted to put the trembling boy at ease. For about ten minutes the two men sat together, at opposite ends of the tin washtub, talking awkwardly at first, then warmly, about the most minute details of life on Stampley Plantation.

James asked Abel about his childhood, how he'd learned to read, what kinds of books he liked to read, and what else the teenager enjoyed doing in his spare time. For a few moments, Abel forgot his self-consciousness and lost himself in the thrill of what felt like the start of an actual friendship with his new Master. It reminded Abel of his talks with Master Walt, only Master James seemed even more interested in the answers to his many questions.

For James, even this lighthearted conversation was erotically charged. He loved the sound of Abel's adolescent Negro voice, deep but just a few years past puberty, as the young man eagerly shared stories of his life with probably the first white man who'd ever given a damn. He lost himself in the piercing intensity of the house-boy's beautiful green eyes. He loved watching Abel's red, wet lips, somewhere between full African thickness and barely-distinguishable Caucasian thinness. He admired the beauty of the boy's nose, slender with just a hint of flared nostrils reminding one of his African ancestry, a few cute freckles speckling its golden complexion.

James suddenly felt a maddening need to possess the boy, more sudden and intense than anything he'd felt with Elijah, Thad, or Jacob. He felt like a connection with Abel's beautiful flesh had the power to purge his memory of all shame, violation, and ugliness associated with his brutal rape by Jacob.

"Let me wash you," James announced spontaneously, interrupting a story Abel was telling about the biggest fish he'd ever caught.

Abel's chest tightened. He felt embarrassed and disappointed at having his story cut short by the new Master, whose mind was obviously focused elsewhere. He also didn't want to expose his body to the gaze and touch of another man.

"That's all right, Master James," Abel responded, trying to sound as casual and friendly as possible. "I can wash myself. I'm nearly grown, and besides, I'm not weak and injured like you."

James laughed. Abel's obvious attempt to protect his modesty only turned him on all the more.

"True, true," James said, grinning. "But I'd like to wash you nonetheless. Let me return the favor."

Abel blushed at his Master's eagerness. He wanted to escape the awkwardness of the situation without jeopardizing the freshly-formed camaraderie between he and Master James. He decided to try an honest approach.

"I don't know, Master James," Abel confessed nervously. "Ever since I was old enough, I've washed myself. It doesn't feel right being naked in front of somebody else, especially you."

"There's no need to worry," James assured him impatiently. His voice took a sterner tone. "This is perfectly normal for many Masters and slaves."

Abel winced at the reminder of his lowly position in life, especially after his na‹ve and eager hope only moments earlier that he and the new Master were beginning an actual friendship, perhaps something deeper and more enjoyable than he'd known with Master Walt. His heart sank with disappointment at the tone of disapproval in Master James's voice, a tone rarely heard by Abel from anyone other than his father.

"Hurry up, Abel," James ordered, trying his best to sound kind despite his rising excitement and impatience. "The water's starting to get cold."

Abel covered his crotch with his hands, and stood up slowly. The air felt cold on his wet body and covered his skin with goose-bumps.

"That's a good boy," James encouraged, realizing with a flash of shame that he was praising Abel in the same way one talked to a dog being trained.

The vision of beauty before him quickly chased all pangs of conscience away. Abel's nearly-white skin glistened from the water running down his chest and stomach. His tiny brown nipples poked out from the cold air. His smooth, lanky legs shivered from the cold.

James picked up the soap lying on the floor beside the washtub, then stood to face Abel, no more than a foot [30 cm] from the boy's naked, goosebump-covered body.

Abel flinched when he saw that James's dick had grown considerably since he'd washed it. It had hardened to its full seven inches [18 cm] and now jerked eagerly upward in Abel's direction. It looked like a hungry red snake coiling to strike.

Abel felt his stomach growing queasy. He knew his own dick only got hard when he thought about the naked women painted in some of Master Walt's books on famous artists, or when he pictured scenes from the more bawdy, scandalous works in Master Walt's library. Abel had read enough to know that there were mysterious, wonderful pleasures men could take from women's bodies. He hadn't figured out exactly what they were just yet, since he rarely encountered any females other than his mother, but he knew it had something to do with men's dicks and the hair-covered mounds between women's legs.

If Master James's dick was hard, that meant Abel's teenage body was exciting his Master in the same way! It meant his Master was looking at him in the same way Abel looked at women. The creepy way Master Walt's college friend had looked at Abel when he was only thirteen.

In a way, Abel found it flattering. He liked being set apart from other slaves for his beauty, light skin, and diligent work. But he also felt like Master James's stares hinted at some danger, only barely formed in Abel's innocent, optimistic mind.

James soaped Abel's neck, shoulders, arms, and chest, gently at first, then more firmly. After working up a lather on the front-side of Abel's upper body, James dropped the soap into the washtub below and began massaging the soap into his house-boy's smooth golden skin.

At first James touched Abel tentatively, as if he feared Abel might shatter into a million pieces beneath his fingers, the boy's rare beauty torn from his grasp for eternity. Encouraged by Abel's slender teenage muscles, tightened in discomfort, James increased the intensity of his touch until he was groping every inch of the boy's upper body.

Abel's body cringed from the first sensation of another's touch. The friction of skin against skin felt surprisingly good, but at the same time strange and somehow wrong. Master James's body was too close, too intrusively intimate. Other than his brief attack, this was the first time Abel's highly-prized privacy had felt threatened. Master James stood so close that Abel could smell the older white man's short, hard breathing against his face. It smelled like a combination of ham and peppermint.

The warmth of Abel's skin drew James's fingers like a magnet, and he felt an uncontrollable urge to explore every contour, every bone, and every rippling muscle of Abel's breathtaking body. His hands wandered greedily all over Abel's chest. He pinched the boy's hard, tiny nipples between his index finger and thumb. He rubbed the back of his knuckles against the young man's taut abdomen. He tweaked Abel's large, protruding belly-button, but resisted the temptation to lick it with his tongue.

Eager to explore further, James dropped to his knees so that his face was just inches from Abel's skinny hands, still nervously covering his last vestige of privacy. James's right hand searched beneath the water for the soap. When he'd found it, James looked up at Abel's beautiful face, its eyes still closed in obvious uneasiness. James's body shivered in anticipation of the treasure about to be revealed, just inches from his face, the mystery he'd try to steal glimpses of while Abel served him dinner, the prize he'd pictured a dozen different ways, the beauty James had come torturously close to beholding the day he spied on Abel bathing in the storage-room. With his left hand, James firmly grabbed Abel's right hand and pried it away from the boy's crotch.

Abel looked down helplessly when he realized what was happening. "Please don't, Master James 3;" he tried to protest, but the words caught in his throat.

James pried away Abel's other hand to expose the 16-year-old house-boy's manhood. What James saw before him was more beautiful than anything he'd imagined, more beautiful even than Elijah's, Thad's, and Jacob's.

Its beauty had nothing to do with size. It only hung about four slender inches [10 cm] in its soft state, considerably smaller than the other post-pubescent penises he'd seen. The boy's white ancestry had clearly won that hereditary battle, James thought to himself.

But to James it was a thing of flawless beauty, the perfect length and thickness to match its possessor's lanky teenage build. It was circumcised and darker than the rest of the young man's body. Above it was a small patch of black, wiry hairs, more similar in texture to James's own pubic hair than to the nappy curls of Elijah and Jacob. Beneath it hung two hairless, medium-sized balls.

James immediately grasped his slave-boy's tempting appendage, and was surprised by its smoothness. He fondled it with his left hand while his right hand rubbed soap to create lather on its shaft and the pubic hair above it. James again dropped the soap and used both hands for his eager explorations. He enjoyed flapping the dick around with his right hand and cupping Abel's soft, warm balls with his left. James resisted the temptation to suck the dick into his mouth, but eagerly inhaled the unique, intoxicating scent of the teenage boy's crotch.

Abel's breathing became shorter and faster the moment James's hands began groping his manhood, which until this day had been untouched by any but his own since infancy. Abel tried to convince himself that this was still a normal bath, that Master James had done nothing beyond what one would expect from someone assisting with a bath. But something about his Master's dazed smile and heavy breathing told Abel that this was different. There was something urgent, something hungry in the older white man's touch.

After thoroughly soaping and examining every beautiful wrinkle, flap of skin, and vein of Abel's pretty dick, James grabbed Abel firmly by the hips and spun the boy around so that the two glorious half-globes of the boy's ass were right in front of James's face.

If Abel's white parentage was obvious from his dick, the boy's African heritage was unmistakable from his perfectly rounded, high-sloping, hairless buttocks. James couldn't help himself, and immediately clutched Abel's butt-cheeks in both hands, squeezing and groping their firm flesh so intensely that he left red fingerprints on the house-boy's beige skin.

He found the soap again and rubbed it gently around both buttocks. James was breathless to explore his favorite part of every teenage boy's body, their most private, fiercely guarded, masculine stronghold. The body part whose existence its teenage possessors are oblivious to until it's threatened, at which point they defend it intensely, sometimes even violently.

Taking a deep, trembling breath, James grasped Abel's left butt-cheek and pulled it back from the boy's ass-crack. Every muscle in Abel's ass clenched defensively, so strongly that it made James lose his grasp and sealed the ass-crack tightly shut again.

Abel instinctively covered his eyes with his right arm in awkward adolescent embarrassment. He knew his asshole needed washed, but to have it washed by another man, especially a white man he wanted to please and impress, felt strange and humiliating. He hoped he wouldn't accidentally fart while his Master's face was just inches from his butt.

James tucked the soap under his arm and pried open Abel's smooth, muscled ass-cheeks with both hands. He shook his head in wonder at the beautiful pucker winking at him nervously. Abel's asshole was completely smooth, about the size of a nickel, and, thanks to his white forefathers, colored a deep, virgin pink.

James retrieved the soap with his right hand and pushed it deep into Abel's crack, rubbing it up, down, and in circular motions until he worked up a thick lather. James was spellbound by Abel's adolescent asshole, which looked so different than the others he'd seen since coming to Stampley Plantation. Eager to explore the deeper tunnel it guarded, James pressed the tip of his index finger against the wrinkled opening, clenched shut in naturally defensive tightness.

"Bend over," James ordered in a stern but gentle voice. He sounded like a man who'd been charmed into a trance by a fortune teller.

Abel looked over his shoulder with a worried expression on his face, but slowly complied. He felt awkward and embarrassed, bent over with his ass-cheeks spread in front of Master James's face, his hands propped on the edge of the tin washtub. He didn't understand why Master James was trying to push his finger into the hole where shit comes out. Abel was always careful to wash his ass thoroughly, but never worried about cleaning inside his asshole. What would be the point?

Abel's stomach tightened as he remembered the thick, hairy fingers of Master Walt's college friend, poking around his butt-hole that night in the hallway. Abel squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to believe Master Walt's nephew could be similar to the ugly man who'd attacked him. But clearly the opening deep within his ass-crack held some kind of appeal for both men.

Perhaps it was similar to the attraction Abel himself felt toward the small hairy place between the thighs of the nude women in the paintings? Abel couldn't see any comparison between the two. The women's privates were mysterious and beautiful. A boy's asshole was a sweaty, smelly place where shit comes out. Yet here was Master James, pushing his finger against the tightly sealed muscle, just as Master Walt's buddy had done three years earlier. Only this time there was no Master Walt to run to his rescue.

With Abel now bent over, James resumed his efforts to break past Abel's cherry with his index finger. He dunked his finger in the lukewarm bath-water, rubbed it against the soap until covered in a slick lather, then pushed against Abel's vigorously defended virginity. The warm water and soap worked as a lubricant to soften and widen Abel's tight asshole, and eventually the sealed muscle parted slightly to allow the tip of James's finger.

Abel's body lurched forward in pained surprise, and his head whipped around to look over his shoulder.

"Please take it out, Master James!" Abel grunted. "That really hurts, Master James! I never clean up there anyway. PLEASE take it out!"

Abel expected to hear James respond with a sympathetic apology, but instead met a gleeful grin and indifferent silence. He felt James push his finger about an inch [2½ cm] deeper, and Abel let out a raspy grunt of pain. Was Master James actually enjoying this?!?

James stared in awe at the strong, pink muscle clutching at his index finger. Abel's virgin asshole sucked at his finger like a newborn baby on its Mama's tit. James loved the sight of his innocent houseboy's muscular body arched in submission, as his own finger sank deeper and deeper into the boy's butt-hole.

All thoughts of Jacob and the intense pain caused by the attack on James's own asshole were far from James's mind. James was caught up in a delirious lust for one of the most beautiful Negro boys he'd ever seen, and the rush of restored power was all he now needed to overcome the humiliating ordeal of the past two days.

James wiggled his finger around, savoring the silky texture of Abel's rectal lining, then pushed deeper until his finger was buried to the knuckle. James heard Abel's sharp, panicked breathing, and the sound turned him on all the more. With another wiggle and lunge, James sank his finger all the way into Abel's warm, squishy guts. Abel cried out in a raspy, pained voice, and his body lunged forward to escape the intrusion.

James pulled his finger out slowly. Abel refused to look, too scared and embarrassed to see what remnants of the shit he'd taken earlier that afternoon might have been pulled out by his Master's finger. James saw that his finger was covered in ass-slime and several specks of shit. Surprisingly, James didn't find this disgusting. In a strange way, the fact that the mess on his finger had been excavated from the deepest, most private part of Abel's body made it almost beautiful. Besides, James knew such a mess was to be expected from a teenage boy, dragged without warning into a sodomitic encounter.

James rinsed off his finger in the bath-water, lathered it up again, then pushed it gently back into Abel's soapy asshole. He wriggled his finger around, grasping at any specks of slime or feces he could feel. When he withdrew his finger the second time, there was still some mess but considerably less. James repeated this several times until his finger came out covered only in water and soap suds. James tenderly pulled Abel's body down in the bath-water, rinsing all soap-suds from the boy's skin.

With Abel now thoroughly washed, James was desperate to sample the boy's beauty in as many ways as possible before releasing the hot semen he could already feel churning in his balls, eager for escape.

He stood up, pulled Abel into a standing position, and turned the dizzy boy to face him. The boy's red, panting lips and confused, pained expression were too much for James. He seized Abel by the back of the head with both hands and pressed his lips against the boy's, slurping on their thick wetness for all he was worth.

Abel instinctively pressed his lips together in sputtering disgust, but quickly realized that such outright defiance was a surefire way to anger his Master. Abel felt trapped in a slow-motion dream. He couldn't believe Master Walt's nephew was assaulting him with slobbery kisses just like those shared by lovers in the romances he'd read. Only this was a grown white Master treating his 16-year-old slave-boy like a 3; lover?!?

The idea both disgusted and excited him. It disgusted him because he was a normal teenage boy attracted to girls, and the idea of kissing another man seemed about as ludicrous and unnatural as kissing a duck or a tree. But on the other hand, he'd envied the attention of white men all his life 3; not their sexual attentions, but their social attention and affection. And wasn't Master James lavishing him with the attention Abel had always craved, albeit in a bizarre and unexpected way?

Abel's entire body remained tense, but he eventually relaxed his lips enough to allow James to suck on them. As James sucked, nibbled, and licked at Abel's juicy mulatto lips, Abel could sense the desperate need and loneliness in the older white man's kisses. A deep-down part of him wanted to surrender to the kisses, to satisfy the hunger causing his Master to slurp at his face so passionately. He parted his mouth to allow access to James's roaming tongue, and even tried to return the man's affections with a couple awkward kisses of his own.

When James felt Abel's body soften and succumb to his assault, James's lust flared into a wild frenzy. He shoved his tongue as far into Abel's mouth as it would go, lapping at the boy's esophagus, the slick insides of his cheeks, the roof of his mouth, his tongue, his teeth, his gums. Abel's mouth tasted faintly of fried chicken, probably left over from that evening's dinner. But it also tasted like something else, James wasn't sure what exactly. It was a sharp, almost sugary, taste.

As James lapped crazily at Abel's mouth, his hands explored the boy's wet, short-cut Negro curls, wandered down his smooth, warm, lightly muscled back, then groped and slapped the boy's protruding buttocks.

"Abel 3;" James moaned in the midst of his kissing. "You're 3; so 3; beautiful 3;" he repeated over and over. "I've wanted this from the first moment you greeted me at the stagecoach."

James's mutterings reminded Abel of the only other white man who'd desired him like this, or at least the only other white man bold enough to pursue the fulfillment of his lust. He cringed as he remembered the man repeating "such a pretty nigger 3; such a goddamn beautiful nigger-boy" over and over and over in the same dazed, far-off voice Master James now used.

Abel wondered with an equal mix of dread and curiosity how an encounter like this would end. The first time he'd been lucky – Master Walt had stopped things before they'd really begun. But now that Master Walt was dead, and his nephew the assailant, Abel had the sad, sick feeling that he had no choice but to see this through to its end. Unless he wanted to throw away his chance at true friendship with a white man, and trade his life of relative comfort for decades of grueling labor in the fields.

Abel cautiously licked his own tongue around Master James's mouth, trying hard to seem like he was enjoying it. It was weird and gross to taste another person's saliva. But it seemed to make Master James happy, and that was the important thing.

James was euphoric. He hadn't planned or expected such an encounter, but it was turning out to be the perfect thing to heal his broken mind and body. Never in a million years could his former Northern self have imagined possessing such flawless Negro beauty in the flesh. He felt drunk with power, desire, and something like true affection for the cooperative, sweet-tempered boy in his arms.

James pulled away from the kiss, and licked up a string of saliva running down Abel's chin. It tasted warm and sweet, with an odor and flavor only a Negro boy's body could produce.

James dropped to his knees. Such beauty as Abel's demanded to be worshipped, even by a white man. James sucked Abel's flaccid penis into his wet mouth and began sucking energetically. The smooth, dark-brown skin of Abel's manhood tasted salty and sweet, just like the boy's mouth. James swallowed Abel's dick all the way to its base, then sucked back toward the head in a tight, slow movement. He repeated this several times until he felt Abel's dick begin to stretch and thicken in his mouth.

Abel's strange nightmare had suddenly taken a turn for the better. It was all happening so fast. He remembered reading about a blowjob in one of Master Walt's dirty novels, given by a prostitute to a wealthy politician. Abel had always wondered what it would feel like, but he'd never imagined there were men who gave blowjobs to other men, not to mention white men who liked to give them to Negro boys!

Nothing in Master Walt's books or Abel's own countless jerk-off sessions had prepared Abel for the intense pleasure of his first blowjob. The sensations created by Master Walt's hot, saliva-filled mouth sucking his prick into its warm, wet cave were thrilling beyond belief.

Intensifying these physical pleasures were the sights and sounds of his white Master on his knees, moaning and slobbering and worshipping his Negro slave's prick, just like the whore in the book. He was proud to know a white man had found him so desirable that he'd been willing to degrade himself to the point of taking his dick in his mouth.

Part of Abel knew this was wrong and unnatural. Men weren't supposed to do this with other boys or men. And white men definitely weren't supposed to serve black boys or men in this way. But the pleasure was so sudden and intense that Abel couldn't help but close his eyes and moan with satisfaction. To make himself feel less compromised, he imagined Cora, the pretty light-skinned slave-woman who sometimes picked up food rations at the Big House, on her knees sucking his dick instead of Master James. His dick jerked to life, stretching out to a skinny seven inches [18 cm] in James's eager mouth.

Encouraged by Abel's responsiveness, James picked up his pace. He held the base of Abel's dick with his right hand and pumped furiously up and down Abel's shaft with his mouth. He occasionally pulled off to catch his breath and lap hungrily at Abel's smooth, salty balls.

For a split second, James recalled the screams and helpless gagging provoked by Jacob's oral assault the day before, and James felt overwhelming gratitude and affection for the sweet-spirited, compliant slave-boy giving him this gift.

James could almost deep-throat Abel's slender seven inches [18 cm] without gagging. He buried his nose in the rich smell of Abel's curly black pubic hair, so similar in texture to his own. He loved pulling off long enough to look at Abel's pretty, golden rod, glistening with spit. He savored the sweet taste of the boy's precum. He looked up at his house-boy's eyes, shut in reluctant enjoyment, and listened to Abel's raspy groans of conflicted pleasure.

As he feasted like a starving man on the dick he'd pictured and desired from his very first day at Stampley Plantation, James reached around to clutch Abel's muscular ass-cheeks in both hands. Still sucking as if his life depended on it, James pushed the tip of his index finger into the hot, tight tunnel of Abel's virgin asshole. Abel jumped in pain and surprise, but kept his eyes closed in concentrated pleasure. James wiggled his finger in and out of Abel's ass, massaging the house-boy's adolescent prostate.

Abel squirmed and adjusted to the new feeling. The pain Abel had felt at James's earlier finger-entry turned quickly to intense enjoyment, similar to the pleasurable sensations of taking a shit. Before Abel could realize or stop what was happening, his body was seized by the most powerful orgasm of his teenage life.

"Master James, I 3; I think I'm going to shoot!" Abel cried out in warning, not wanting to infuriate the white man by dumping a load of cum in his mouth.

But it was too late. James heard Abel's warning but wanted more than anything in the world to drink his house-slave's thick teenage cum. What better way to possess the boy's beauty than ingesting his reproductive fluids? James kept Abel's dick buried deep in his throat and gulped down stream after stream of hot, creamy cum as they shot out of the boy's dick with full force. The fluid tasted thick, slimy, and delicious – partly salty and partly sweet.

Abel unleashed such a powerful current of cum that some of it spilled out of James's mouth and down his chin. Not wanting to waste a single drop of Abel's precious fluid, James scooped it up with his fingers and licked them clean.

Abel's chest heaved up and down from the exertion of his orgasm. He looked down in amazement at the older white man devouring his dick-juice like it was the finest of gourmet wines. He'd tasted his own cum once before, but found the texture and taste disgusting, sort of like eating snot. Abel realized Master James must really like him, if he was willing to suck his dick and swallow his spunk. He remembered Master Walt saying Abel was 'special,' and guessed that Master James must think he's 'special' too, to make his body feel so good like that. He must be special, Abel thought to himself, for men like Master James and Master Walt's friend to pursue him the way they had.

Maybe the sexual attentions of a man like Master James wouldn't be so bad after all. The first part of the encounter had been weird and horrible, but the blowjob had been incredible.

James stood up and gave Abel a deep, tender kiss. Abel scrunched his face up in disgust when he tasted some of his own dick-juice still swimming in Master James's mouth, mixed in with his saliva.

Abel noticed his Master's dick was still red and rock-hard, and realized his post-orgasmic relief might have been premature. He sensed that the night's encounter wasn't quite over, but he wondered how Master James expected to find his own release.

For a split second he considered dropping to his knees as Master James had done, and repaying the favor, but the instant he thought of it he wanted to puke. If the taste of his own cum made him sick, there was surely no way he could give another man a blowjob without gagging or throwing up. Abel prayed that Master James wouldn't demand something so extreme from him.

But James hoped to take his release through an act of service far more demanding than Abel's innocent mind could imagine. The intense eroticism of undressing, bathing, fingering, kissing, and sucking the handsome mulatto-boy he'd drooled over for nearly a month, had worked James into such a fit of obsessive lust that he knew he couldn't last much longer than five or ten minutes at the most. But he also knew he couldn't go to sleep that night without taking pleasure from his house-boy's virgin asshole. He'd lusted after the teenager's muscled ass-cheeks curving beneath the boy's dress-pants for weeks, and now, finally, one of the most beautiful boys he'd ever laid eyes on stood naked and vulnerable before him – his slave, his property, at his complete mercy. And as weak and weary as James's body truly was, lust fueled it with adrenaline and he knew he would not be able to rest until he'd plundered the boy's most private, protected depths.

James pulled away from Abel's lips and nuzzled Abel's ear, arms wrapped tightly around the boy's skinny waist.

"I 3; I need one more thing from you tonight," James mumbled. He sounded like a sleep-talking man lost in a lovely dream from which he hoped he'd never awaken.

Panic seized hold of Abel again, but even in his fear he was eager to please the white man who promised to fill the void Master Walt had left in his lonely life.

"Yes, Master James?" Abel asked, trying to hide the worry in his voice. Everything had turned out so well, he didn't want to spoil it all now.

"Step out of the tub," James instructed. His voice sounded gentle but distant.

Abel looked at James with a puzzled look, but obeyed immediately. Water dripped off his skinny legs into a big puddle on the wood floor. James stepped out as well and stood beside Abel. He reached into the washtub and pulled out the clump of soap.

Abel was confused. His heart pounded nervously in his chest. Did Master James want to wash him again? But that didn't make any sense.

Abel grew short of breath when he saw James lathering up his dick with the soap. Earlier that hour, the man had done the same thing to his finger before pushing it into Abel's butt-hole. Certainly Master James wasn't going to try to 3;

There's no way such a thing could be done! It's a physical impossibility, Abel assured himself. If such an act existed, surely he'd have encountered it at least once in one of Master Walt's books. A dick is thick and long, but an asshole is tiny, smaller than a button! The Master was only barely able to force his finger into the miniscule opening. Surely he wouldn't be insane and cruel enough to try such a dirty, painful thing!

"Bend over," James ordered matter-of-factly, nodding toward the wooden stool upon which Abel's shirt and vest still lay folded.

"Please don't hurt me, Master James," Abel pleaded, his worst fear now materializing. He looked sincerely frightened. "I've done nothing but good work for you, Master James, you said so yourself. You said I'm probably the best house-boy in Georgia, remember? I've done everything you asked me tonight, but please not this. Not what I think you want to do to me!"

James was thrown off guard by Abel's resistance, so different from the boy's usual cooperative attitude. But unlike Elijah and Jacob, Abel's tone of voice told James that his house-boy lived to please his Master, and would ultimately surrender to his will should James choose to ignore Abel's cries for mercy. And unlike Jacob and Elijah, Abel seemed to have a sincere respect and liking for James. Maybe even an attraction? Whatever it was, James found it endearing, and for a second considered sparing the handsome, sweet young man what he knew from firsthand experience would be a painful ordeal. But the temptation of Abel's upturned, inviting buttocks, never before entered by another man's dick, was too immediate, too intense. James felt he couldn't live another hour without sampling the delights of the Adonis's virgin ass.

"Don't worry, Abel, I won't hurt you," James assured the house-boy. At this point, he'd say anything to possess the body of the boy in front of him.

Abel still looked scared and uncertain. He desperately wanted to take Master James at his word. The sting of betrayal, following so soon after Master Walt's death, would be devastating. He skeptically turned his back to James and placed both hands on the edges of the wooden stool. The round, golden half-melons of his teenage ass were raised into the air, in James's direction. Abel looked around, hoping against hope the Master wasn't going to do what he thought he was going to do. But when James began rubbing the soap along his ass-crack, lathering up his asshole as he'd done before, Abel knew for sure what was about to happen.

Abel jerked to a standing position in one last protest. Abel felt like the stability of his whole identity, his masculinity, his entire future, was at stake in what was about to take place. Almost like reading Master Walt's books would never feel the same if he let the older white man shove a dick in his asshole. Like nothing would feel the same if he submitted to something so painful and degrading.

"Please, Master James!" Abel pleaded. "This isn't right, Master James. It isn't natural for men to do something like this to each other. This kind of thing's for girls, and I ain't a girl, Master James. I'm 3; I'm a man."

James smiled impatiently. "You didn't seem to mind a few minutes ago when I was sucking your dick like a girl."

Abel blushed and looked away in embarrassment.

"Did you like how that felt, Abel?" James asked bluntly.

Abel hesitated. "Yeah, I reckon I did," he confessed quietly.

"Think of that as my gift to you," James explained. "Now it's time for your gift to me. Isn't that only fair?"

James knew deep-down this was rape. In a free society, a stunning boy like Abel wouldn't be caught dead in the company of an older white man like James. The only reason James had this opportunity in the first place was because he'd inherited Abel as a piece of his Uncle's property. But James didn't want it to feel like rape. Not like it had with Elijah. Not like it had with Jacob. Not this time. He wanted Abel to cooperate. He needed that cooperation for his healing to be complete. If Abel gave up his virgin ass in return for the blowjob, James could maintain the illusion that their sexual encounter had been one shared between equals.

Abel's mind was spinning. His bliss from moments earlier was already spoiled. Disobeying Master James now would make all his earlier sacrifices worthless, as he'd most likely end up a field nigger after all. And who knows, perhaps surrendering to the pain of having a dick forced into his asshole would remind Master James that Abel was 'special,' and seal them together in friendship. Abel calculated that it couldn't take much longer than one of his average jerk-off sessions. And it couldn't hurt too badly, could it?

"I guess you're right, Master James, that's only fair," Abel conceded, hanging his head in defeat.

Abel bit his bottom lip, squeezed his eyes shut, and bent over the wooden stool, gripping its edges in dread of the assault to come.

James's body trembled in anticipation as he finished lathering up the tiny pink pucker of the mulatto-boy bending over in front of him. He moved into position, standing behind Abel and grabbing the boy by his slender, smooth hips. He looked down and nearly exploded cum all over Abel's back just from the SIGHT of the boy's perfect bubble-butt, flexing its muscles in resistance of the anticipated violation.

James pulled Abel's ass against his crotch. He nudged his throbbing cock into the folds of Abel's clenched ass-crack. He used his hands to spread both ass-cheeks so he could see his desired target. The dark-pink cherry's heat drew the tip of his cock to its tiny opening. Even with the generously-applied lather, James had to push with the strength of a full thrust before the tip of his dick ripped open the beautiful boy's tiny wrinkled pucker.

Abel's entire body tensed and lunged forward, but he didn't scream or cry like Elijah, Thad, or James had done when each lost his virginity. He simply gritted his teeth, tightened his grip on the stool, hung his head in concentrated endurance toward the floor, and resolved to withstand the assault no matter how painful it became.

James had intended to open Abel's narrow virgin tunnel inch by inch, but once he felt the warm, wet grip of the teenage boy's untrammeled passageway, he couldn't resist the urge to force his dick into the boy's hot bowels as deep as it could go. The feel of Abel's anal walls pushing to expel their intruder made James want to conquer them all the more. James grabbed Abel's hips and shoved his dick all the way inside, watching it sink past the anal ring until James's curly pubic hairs were smashed against the muscles of Abel's ass.

Abel's entire body tightened in pain, but all James could hear was a quiet gasp of shock at the previously unimagined agony. The sound of Abel's raspy voice grunting in pain and humiliation at the loss of his virginity nearly pushed James over the edge.

Knowing he wouldn't last long in the grip of such a tight and flawless ass, James began bucking like a wild donkey. He fucked Abel with an onslaught of deep, fast thrusts that tore through the boy's narrow anal cavities each time, widening them to allow the next penetration with greater ease. The loud slurping noises of Abel's wet asshole sucking tightly and greedily on his dick echoed in James's ears like beautiful music.

Abel grunted in pain with every lunge forward, but made no effort to escape. Abel suffered each thrust bravely, but hoped each one would be the last. He even pushed back a little to allow James the deepest possible access to his insides. In sacrificing his body to such a degrading, disgusting act, Abel at least wanted his Master to take the greatest possible pleasure from his body. Despite the enormous pain being inflicted upon his innocent body, there was still a kind of pleasure in knowing he was giving Master James what sounded like immense pleasure, based on the man's ecstatic grunts and moans.

So this is what Master Walt's friend wanted from him that night in the hallway, Abel thought to himself as he endured James's animalistic fucking. Abel's heart sank as he realized this might be the only thing his new friend and Master, the man bucking deep into his guts like a wild animal, wanted as well, the opportunity to fuck him? What if this was all Master James had ever wanted from him??? Maybe the man's expressions of friendliness and affection were no more than crude attempts at seduction, like the villains in romantic novels??? Perhaps this was all Master Walt had ever meant by calling Abel 'special'? This ability to take another man's dick up his high-yellow ass??? Abel's heart broke to consider it, but maybe this was what Master Walt had always wanted too, but always been too afraid to pursue??? Maybe that's all the white folk's compliments had ever been about – his beauty, his high-yellow skin, and the muscled ass they all wanted to fuck??? What if Master James planned on discarding Abel's body like a dirty rag once he'd taken his pleasure from it???

In an effort to last longer, James changed his speed to slow, deep strokes. He looked down and watched his dick, now covered in soap-bubbles, lather, precum, and ass-slime, exiting and entering the boy's tender insides. He leaned forward to inhale his slave's curly Negro hair, lick the back of his sweaty light-olive neck, or nibble his house-boy's large adolescent ears.

"You're so beautiful 3; so beautiful 3; so 3; damn 3; beautiful," James whispered hoarsely in Abel's ears. He could feel a climax overtaking his body, inspired by the complete possession of the handsome boy gasping in pained submission beneath him. He could feel the heat and moisture of Abel's glistening buttocks and dark intestines feasting hungrily on his dick. He breathed in the intoxicating smell of butt-fucking a Negro boy, similar to the smells when he fucked Elijah, but at the same time unique.

In that moment, James felt his power restored. He felt no shame over his own rape. He felt no desire for revenge against his attacker. He felt like he could be completely happy fucking this same beautiful boy every day for the rest of his life. He even wondered if Abel could be taught to reciprocate his feelings, in a way he doubted Elijah ever could.

These sensations and emotions combined to push James over the brink of orgasm. He pummeled Abel's asshole with a few final, furious thrusts, then flooded the young man's bowels with what felt like gallons of steamy, runny cum. He pumped his seed so deep into the boy that he half expected to see cum running out of Abel's nose and mouth.

Abel could feel the hot fluid coursing through his rectum. He felt helpless and degraded, but at the same time deeply, inextricably connected to the older white man whose dick still jerked and throbbed inside him. He knew his life at Stampley Plantation had been altered forever. For better or worse was still to be determined.

James pulled his half-hard dick, covered in soap and ass-juices, out of Abel's pink, panting asshole. James watched in amazement as Abel's rosebud clenched shut, a little less tightly than it had before being plucked. As it closed, it expelled a long stream of runny cum that ran down the boy's hairless ass crack, trickled down his right leg, and dripped onto the floor.

Abel stood up, stumbling dizzily to the side as he returned to reality. His asshole burned as if someone had shoved a nest of angry hornets up inside it. He glanced nervously but hopefully in James's direction, trying to gauge his Master's post-orgasmic attitude toward his de-virginized slave. Abel didn't know if he could bear to discover that the surrender of his masculine pride and virginity, the submission of his body to his Master's painful demands, had all been for nothing.

James greeted Abel with a warm, anxious smile. He was worried that his handsome slave-boy would now look at him with bitterness and resentment.

"I think we need another bath," James said, laughing and looking at the two men's sweaty, cum-sticky bodies.

Abel broke into a relieved smile. Perhaps things wouldn't turn out so badly after all.

NEXT PART