("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
                     `6_ 6  )   `-.  (     ).`-.__.`)
                     (_Y_.)'  ._   )  `._ `. ``-..-'
                    _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,'
                   ((('   (((-(((''  ((((
                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
		_________________________________________
		                WARNING!
		This text file contains sexually explicit
		material. If you do not wish to read this
		type of literature, or you are under age,
		PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
		_________________________________________




			Scroll down to view text


















--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2006.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  You may post freely to non-commercial
"free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.
Thank you for your consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------

The Adventures of Stampley Plantation - 2
by WannabeWhitman (wannabewhitman@yahoo.com)

(Mm, nc, rp, 1st, intr)

***

DISCLAIMER: This story is a homosexual fantasy 
involving slavery in the antebellum South, non-
consensual sex with minors, and racial epithets. If you 
think any of this might offend you, DO NOT READ. If you 
live in a country, state, or jurisdiction that 
prohibits you from reading this material, DO NOT READ. 
If you are a minor, DO NOT READ. I realize these 
stories might contain material distasteful, even 
shocking, to some, but nobody is forcing you to read 
it. Keep in mind these are only FANTASIES based on our 
country's racial history and my own conflicted 
imagination. My intention is not to condone or 
encourage racism, pedophilia, or rape. 

NOTE TO READERS: Although the following is entitled 
"Chapter 1," it is preceded by an extended Introduction 
posted earlier that I'd STRONGLY encourage you to read 
in order to fully appreciate the context and 
characters. 

Although this story is set in the antebellum South, I 
have not done extensive research and cannot guarantee 
complete historical accuracy. Most of the names, 
however, are taken from actual records of slave-owners 
and their slaves. 

Any and all feedback is welcome and desired! I would 
love to hear advice on how my writing might improve, 
suggestions for future characters or storylines, 
stories and fantasies of your own, and anything else 
you might want to share. E-mail me at 
WannabeWhitman@yahoo.com. 

***

Chapter 1: Innocence Lost 

For nearly a week, James Stampley attempted to escape 
his temptations by pursuing other activities. He read 
novels under the shade trees near the plantation house. 
He wrote dozens of letters to his friends and family 
members back home in Boston, even casual acquaintances 
that certainly wouldn't expect any correspondence. He 
explored the numerous bedrooms, passageways, and 
closets in his new home. He organized his new bedroom 
down to the most meticulous details. He took long naps 
on the hammock on the front verandah.

None of this helped. The plantation's vast, dusty rooms 
only made him feel small and lonely. He knew that at 
one point in the not-so-distant past, these rooms had 
been filled with life and laughter, but now they stood 
silent and neglected, save for the weekly dusting of 
Becky, Abel's mother. 

James was too scared of what he'd feel if he visited 
the slave quarters or fields, so he pretty much kept to 
himself. His only company was the loud and tiresome Mr. 
Potter at meal-times, and the occasional nervous 
greeting to Abel when the house-boy would bring him 
lemonade on the verandah, draw his bath, serve him 
meals, or other various responsibilities. Even then, 
James would only allow himself a quick glance at the 
boy's breathtaking features, for fear the next look 
might strike the devastating blow to his moral 
resistance. 

Nights were the worst. Lying in bed, feeling the late-
night breeze from the window pass over his half-naked 
body, his body aching to explore the temptations he 
knew were living, eating, laughing, sleeping, and 
fucking in the slave quarters just yards away from his 
bedroom. Making things worse was James's masochistic 
refusal to masturbate. 

He knew that the smart thing to do would be to jerk 
off; just one quick release would relieve the maddening 
desires building up within him. But no, he thought to 
himself, he'd been doing that for far too many years, 
and he hated the way it dulled his imagination, 
depleted his appetites, and drained his energy in all 
areas of life. Besides, this was a moral battle he 
wanted to win without cheating, and in his twisted 
logic, masturbation was considered cheating. So each 
night James would splash cold water on his aching dick, 
bury his head beneath the pillow and do his best to 
dream of something other than the countless specimens 
of beautiful dark flesh he so desperately wanted to 
enjoy. 

It was a warm night about a week and a half after his 
arrival at Stampley Plantation when James Stampley 
finally reached his breaking point. 

Earlier that day he'd been careless, and literally 
stumbled right into temptation. Bored and restless 
after being cooped up in the house all morning, James 
had decided to go on an afternoon hike, promising 
himself he wouldn't go near the slave quarters or 
cultivated fields where the slave men worked. He kept 
his promise, exploring a trail winding through some 
woods to the left of the slave quarters, but ended up 
stumbling upon a small creek where a dozen or so 
pickaninny boys were splashing and laughing... 
completely naked. 

His heart stopped the instant he saw them, and he drew 
back behind a tree before they had a chance to discover 
his presence. He clenched his eyes shut tight, 
breathing heavily: This isn't right, he told himself, 
spying on these innocent boys' private fun. But he 
couldn't help himself -- the mingling of the high-
pitched laughing and raspy preteen Negro voices was 
like an irresistible siren beckoning him to his doom. 

He turned back around to watch them, mesmerized by what 
he saw. From what he could tell, they were boys 
anywhere from 8 to 14, ranging in color from the 
deepest, purest ebony to the lightest, richest yellow. 
Their smooth, youthful skin glistened from the sun 
reflected off the water dripping down their chests and 
backs to the treasures of their midsections, both front 
and back. James wished he could make time stand still 
so that he could take in the bodies more fully, rather 
than the split-second flashes of dangling boy dicks or 
tiny tight boy asses he could only barely make out 
through all the splashing and water-acrobatics. 

The sight of so much Negro boy-flesh caused his dick to 
grow harder and longer than it ever had in his entire 
life. He probably would have whipped it out then and 
there, splashing his sperm across the tree trunk in 
front of him, had it not been for the sound of one of 
the older Negro women approaching through the woods, 
calling the boys back to the slave quarters for supper. 

The memory of the sight was too strong for his feeble 
moral resistance on this particular night. Mr. Potter's 
words from less than two weeks ago rang in his ears 
like thunder: "Hell, just say the word and I'll have 
one of the overseers fetch you the finest piece of 
nigger pussy in the state of Georgia. Any age, any 
color." 

In the abstract, James had been able to refuse such an 
offer. But now, images of real Negro boys dancing in 
his mind, the temptation was an overpowering reality. 
He knew all he had to do was say the word and any one 
of those boys, or their older brothers, or even their 
fathers, could be his to possess sexually that night. 
Hell, he could have grabbed up any single boy from the 
creek that afternoon, then taken him back to his 
bedroom and had his way with him. Or if he was even 
MORE daring and perverse, he could have fucked him 
right then and there, in front of the shocked and 
curious audience of other boys. 

There was no longer any point in resisting. Just one 
time, James swore to himself. One boy, one night. After 
all, he'd wanted to see what slavery was all about, so 
he was only being thorough in his investigation. You 
have to KNOW something to FIGHT something, he 
rationalized. He would be kind. He would be gentle. 
Deep down he knew that all such resolutions were 
meaningless since the boy, a slave and piece of 
property, had no real choice in the matter, but he 
pushed these thoughts into deep places where they could 
no longer trouble him that night. 

He thought of the two slaves he already knew by name: 
Abel, the mulatto houseboy, and Jacob, the dark-skinned 
stable-boy. Abel was sleeping in the same house but 
sharing a room with his parents, who would probably 
make more fuss than James cared to stir up that night. 
Jacob was a tempting back-up, but James had no clue 
where he slept, and didn't want Mr. Potter to know he'd 
been thinking about this TOO seriously. In the end he 
decided to leave it up to fate. 

Dizzy and delirious with desire and expectation once 
he'd made up his mind, James staggered down the hall 
like a drunken man to Mr. Potter's room. Knowing a 
second's pause could break his resolve, he knocked on 
the door immediately, softly but urgently. He heard Mr. 
Potter mumbling and fumbling for his clothes. 

"What is it, Little Jimmy?" Mr. Potter asked, wiping 
his eyes. But the moment he saw the nervousness and 
desperation on James's face, Mr. Potter's sleepy scowl 
broke into a huge, devilish grin. "Boy or girl?" he 
asked bluntly, sparing James the embarrassment. 

"Ummmmm, I think I'll try a boy, but just this once," 
James replied sheepishly, looking at the ground, to the 
left, over his shoulders, anywhere but in Mr. Potter's 
smirking, gloating eyes. 

"Of course, Little Jimmy, of course. Just this once, 
just this once," he said in mock-assurance, laughing 
and laughing and laughing. 

***

The slave boy Elijah sat Indian-style on the dirt floor 
of his family's cabin in the slave quarters, playing a 
game of homemade checkers with his younger brother 
Thadeus (whom they called Thad). They were using multi-
colored stones they'd collected while swimming at a 
nearby creek earlier that afternoon; Elijah's pieces 
were the darker stones, Thad's were the lighter. Poor 
slave boys had to be imaginative when coming up with 
ways to entertain themselves. 

Elijah's skin was a rich dark brown like his mother's, 
and his face was round and cute with big deep eyes, the 
typical Negro nose, full lips, and thick, wooly hair. 

Despite his enslavement and poverty, young Elijah found 
happiness in these quiet late nights with his mother 
and little brother. Even though he was barely 14, he'd 
been the "man" of the house since his father was sold 
away when he was only 10. He and his little brother 
played with the other slave children during the day 
while his mother worked hard in the fields from before 
he woke up until sunset. 

These few precious hours at night were the only time 
his mother, brother, and he were together, and he did 
his best to treasure every moment. Elijah knew that 
everything would change in a few months when the 
overseers would order him to work in the fields. Some 
of his friends had already been dragged reluctantly 
into adulthood, but Elijah was fortunate to still have 
a scrawny, boyish build, totally free of body fat but 
not yet muscled enough to survive 13 hours of grueling 
manual labor a day. 

Most nights his mother was too sore and exhausted to 
say much or join in the games; after supper she usually 
just lay on her bed - a small pile of hay with a ragged 
blanket tossed over it, closed in by a rectangle of 
wooden boards nailed together - and listened to the 
games played by her two sons. Sometimes she'd even fall 
asleep earlier than intended, as she'd done tonight. 

Elijah didn't mind his mother's sleepiness; for him, it 
was just nice to feel her warm touch when she'd pat him 
lovingly on the head, or hear her pleasant voice when 
she'd laugh at something Thad or him had said. He and 
Thad usually played games, sang songs, or told stories 
until they could no longer keep their eyes open, 
collapsing in the makeshift hay bed the two brothers 
shared in the opposite corner of the room. 

Despite their age difference - Thad was only 10 - the 
two brothers were very close, practically inseparable. 
Elijah wanted to cry every time he imagined being 
forced to leave his little brother behind to work in 
the fields, knowing the day was near. 

Tonight had been the typical evening. His mother had 
collapsed on the bed immediately following dinner, 
while he and Thad cleared the table and scrubbed the 
dishes. After finishing their chores, the two boys were 
eager to try out their new checkers pieces. The 
brothers had been lost in their game for several hours 
when they were startled by a loud knock on the cabin 
door. Their eyes locked in fear, for it wasn't the 
friendly knock of a neighbor, but the unmistakably 
gruff knock of an overseer. 

Phoebe, Elijah's mother, was jarred out of her sleep by 
the violent sound. Immediately, her blood turned to ice 
in her veins. Terror and confusion crossed paths in her 
sleep-muddled brain. What the hell could the overseer 
want this late at night??? she wondered. 

There had been a time in the past when she'd grown 
accustomed to these late-night visits. In those days, 
there was no mistaking the intentions of the visitor. 
She'd usually be dragged off to the overseer quarters 
for the late-night amusements of one of them, sometimes 
more than one. Occasionally she'd find herself in the 
guest-bedroom of one of Master Walt's out-of-town 
visitors. 

One of the overseers, a toothless, lecherous drunk 
called Mr. Snopes, had taken a particular liking to her 
a few years back, even drunkenly confessing his undying 
LOVE for her one night, begging her to run away with 
him and be his wife. The idea alone was repulsive 
enough to her, not to mention offensive considering she 
had a Negro husband at the time, the father of both 
Elijah and Thad. 

In a risky moment of defiance, she told him bluntly 
that he could take her body as much as he wanted, he 
could even take her life, but no white man would ever 
make her love him. He nearly beat her to death that 
night, but never again raped her. Although she never 
had any concrete proof, she was convinced Mr. Snopes 
had been behind the sudden sale of her husband two 
months later. 

But all that seemed so long ago now. One of the 
benefits of being over thirty was that none of the 
overseers, Mr. Snopes included, ever looked her way any 
more. She was nothing more than used goods to them, and 
happy for it. 

So what could possibly bring an overseer to her cabin 
this late at night? She'd worked hard all day and 
received no lashes. She hadn't stolen any fruit from 
the Master's orchard, or eggs from the Master's chicken 
coop lately, at least not that she could remember. And 
she sure as hell didn't have any daughters, thank God. 

Unless...Phoebe's heart froze in her chest at the idea. 
No, she thought, they couldn't possibly want one of her 
BOYS for such vile purposes. Please God, don't let them 
take my innocent boys, she prayed to herself, trying to 
shield her panic from her son's quizzical eyes. She'd 
heard rumors of such perversions taking place on the 
Potter plantation, but to her knowledge nothing of the 
kind ever occurred under Master Walt. 

Her heart sank as she remembered the latest happenings 
in the white world, the death of her Master and arrival 
of his young nephew from Boston. Surely a relative of 
Master Walt's couldn't have such a filthy mind, she 
tried to assure herself. She'd seen him out of the 
corner of her eye while fetching some clean rags from 
Becky's boy Abel earlier that week, and he seemed 
decent and normal enough, for white folks at least. But 
white folks are animals and devils, she reflected. 
Ain't nothing they won't do to niggers. 

The overseer Mr. Snopes stood outside Phoebe's cabin 
with a malicious grin on his face. Of course he could 
just as easily have stormed in without knocking, but he 
liked the idea of making Phoebe sit in dread for a 
minute or two. "Stupid nigger cunt," he thought to 
himself. "Probably thought I forgot about her making me 
feel like shit that night. This'll fuckin' teach her to 
know her place and not talk back to a white man." 

Who was he kidding, this was more petty amusement than 
profound revenge. He'd gotten over the old hag years 
ago - of course framing her husband for that chicken 
theft had helped -- and been through plenty of nigger 
pussy since. But that didn't mean her defiance that 
night hadn't stuck in his crawl. So when Sam Potter had 
interrupted the Poker game in the overseer's quarters, 
asking him to fetch a pretty virgin nigger boy for the 
new Master, he knew exactly which slave cabin to visit. 

Phoebe's oldest boy Elijah was what the overseers 
called a "pre-breeder," meaning he had the kind of 
striking good looks that promised to make him a 
valuable buck breeder in a couple years. Hell, if 
Snopes's inclinations leaned in that direction, he 
would have already helped himself to some of that 
little nigger's ass. But being fairly confident that 
neither Walt Stampley nor any of his overseers leaned 
in that direction either, he was 100% certain he'd be 
delivering the pure virgin goods to Walt's nephew that 
night. 

And the fact that he knew it would break Phoebe's heart 
to know her son was being raped just yards away from 
her home, helpless to do anything about it, made it the 
sweetest form of revenge. 

"I'm taking your oldest boy," Mr. Snopes said gruffly, 
after a trembling Phoebe opened the cabin's front door. 
The two boys stood a few feet behind her, wide-eyed 
with surprise and terror. 

"He do somethin' wrong, Mistuh Snopes?" Phoebe asked 
optimistically, preferring the whipping-post for her 
son to the awful fate she feared. 

"Ain't nothin' wrong I've heard of," Snopes snapped. 
"The new master wants to see him, all's I know," he 
grinned.

Elijah cocked his head in puzzlement. He didn't know 
whether to be afraid or flattered. He'd never even been 
to the Master's house, let alone REQUESTED to the 
Master's presence. Only white folks he ever saw were 
the overseers and Master Walter when he'd visit the 
slave quarters with gifts at Christmastime. What could 
the Master possibly want with him?

Phoebe's heart sank within her, her worst fears 
confirmed. "What's he want with my boy this time of 
night?" she asked, her voice breaking even as she tried 
to cling to hope. 

"Same reason I came for you all those nights, I 
'spect," Snopes snapped, getting a sadistic pleasure 
from being so blunt about it. 

"Please, no, not my son, not my Elijah," Phoebe cried, 
tears welling up in her eyes. 

She was dizzy and for a brief second thought she might 
faint. Everything was spinning around her. They'd 
already taken her husband from her, and now they were 
about to obliterate her son's innocence, rob him of 
both his boyhood and manhood at once. She knew from 
experience he'd never be the same, he'd always have 
something cold and hard inside him where something warm 
and soft should be. 

She suddenly regretted all her maternal attempts to 
keep her sons innocent of sexual things - deflecting 
their curious questions, only making love to her 
husband in quick midday flings or nights when the boys 
were staying with friends. She winced to think that 
Elijah's ignorance of such things would only make his 
corruption all the more traumatic for him - and all the 
more exciting for the new Master, she thought angrily. 

"Mama, what's goin on? Why's the Massuh want me, Mama?" 
Elijah asked, trying to sound brave but increasingly 
alarmed by his mother's behavior. Thad was already 
crying, but Elijah tried his hardest to hold the tears 
back. 

"I...I don't know, baby," Phoebe tried to comfort him. 

She tried to think fast...for a second she thought she 
might grab the piece of wood they used to poke the 
fire, still glowing from the dinner-fire's ashes - then 
gouge Snopes' eyes out with it before grabbing her two 
boys and making a desperate run for freedom. The 
thought had barely formed in her mind before she knew 
it could never work. Georgia was too far south, she'd 
be torn to shreds by dogs before making it to the 
North, especially with two young boys on her arms. And 
for killing a white man she'd most certainly be hanged, 
and her two sons sold away from one another. 

She decided to try a different approach.

"Please, Mistuh Snopes, I'm begging you...not my eldest 
boy, not my son. Take Lil Rooster instead, Penny's boy 
next door. You know he the same age and ten times more 
handsome." She blushed with shame at the betrayal of 
her neighbor, but desperate circumstances make people 
do desperate things, she rationalized. 

Elijah was even more confused; if the new Master wanted 
to see him, what did his friend Lil Rooster or his 
looks have to do with anything? 

"He wants YOUR BOY," Snopes barked. "I'm gittin tired 
of your whining, nigger. The boy's gotta come with me 
NOW."

"Please, I'll do anything," Phoebe pleaded, grabbing 
hold of Snopes' arm. "I'll...I'll go with you like you 
asked," she cried out in defeat. "Right this instant. 
Just don't take my boy!" 

The sacrifice of her happiness was worth saving the 
purity and happiness of her son. 

"Nigger, please," Snopes laughed. "I don't want your 
tired old bones, bitch. I'm taking the boy." 


Thad was crying even louder now. Tears welled up in 
Elijah's eyes too, the ugly words from Snopes and 
desperate pleading from his mother confirming for him 
that whatever the new Master wanted, it couldn't be 
good. 

Phoebe rushed over to her sons and grabbed hold of 
Elijah's face between her hands. She looked like a 
madwoman, and it scared him. 

Leaning down in a hysterical whisper she warned, "Do 
whatever the new Massuh wants, you hear, boy?" 

Elijah started crying. Phoebe tried to shake some 
courage into him. 

"I can't save you. I wish to God I could, but I can't, 
so do EVERYTHING he asks. Listen to your Mama, now. 
Don't scream and don't fight, no matter how bad it 
gets. I want you coming back to me ALIVE, you hear?" 

She cringed to imagine what that reunion would be like, 
and grabbed her son's head to her breasts in a thick 
embrace. "Don't matter what no white man do to you, 
Elijah, yo' Mama LOVES you and that's all't matters in 
this world."

Snopes was disgusted by this sentimental display. The 
whole thing had almost ceased to be any fun. He tore 
Phoebe away from Elijah, tossing her to the corner of 
the room where Thad ran to her embrace. 

"You gonna come easy-like, or do I gotta carry ya?" 
Snopes demanded. 

"I'll go easy like, sir," Elijah mumbled, wiping away 
his tears and looking for his mother's nod of approval 
from the corner. 
"That's a good nigger boy," Snopes laughed, leading 
Elijah out into the thick nighttime darkness and toward 
the Master's house. 

***

James knew there was no turning back now. There he was 
sitting on the edge of his bed, shaking with 
anticipation, facing the young Negro boy brought to his 
room just moments ago by an ugly overseer. 

All fears that he might be disappointed with Mr. 
Potter's choice disappeared the moment he saw the 
handsome, brown-skinned youth enter his room. Now the 
boy stood with his arms to his side just a few feet 
away, visibly shaking and with signs of tear-streaks on 
his smooth caramel cheeks. 

James knew he should feel compassion for the boy, that 
he should sign manumittance papers for him that very 
second and ship him off to the North first thing in the 
morning.

But the devil in his nature had already taken over, and 
all he felt was arousal at seeing the boy's tear-
stained face. He looked the boy up and down, observing 
his wooly, disheveled hair; thick, purplish-red lips; 
ragged cotton clothes, glimpses of the boy's brown skin 
showing through the holes; the small, scrawny body, 
still very much a boy's but with the faint hints of a 
man's developing muscles. 

James literally shivered in anticipation of the 
pleasures to come. His dick was growing hard in his 
pants just from LOOKING at the fully clothed boy 
standing before him, at James's complete mercy. 

James was determined to take his time; this was a one-
time indulgence, after all, so he might as well make 
the most of it. Besides, there was no reason to rush - 
he could take all night if he wished. Hell, he could 
take all of the next day, the next WEEK, if he wanted 
to. 

James was still committed to treating the boy kindly. 
He called the boy over to sit beside him on the edge of 
the bed. 

Elijah approached nervously. Every sensation was new 
and overwhelming: this being his first time in any kind 
of house, let alone his MASTER'S house, and having seen 
so few white men in his young life, let alone sat 
beside them so intimately. What he wanted to do more 
than anything was run as fast as he could out of that 
room and back to the arms of his mother and brother. 
But he remembered his mother's instructions, and 
shifted nervously into a sitting position beside the 
white man. 

"What's your name?" James asked, in a voice much 
gentler than Elijah expected based on his few 
experiences with the plantation's overseers. 

"Elijah, sir," the boy replied in a sullen, raspy 
voice, looking at the floor in front of him. 

"What a beautiful name," James said. "Biblical name, 
isn't it?"

"I believes so, Massuh," Elijah mumbled. 

His lips looked full and wet, and James felt an almost 
uncontrollable urge to kiss them. Take your time, he 
coached himself. You have all the time in the world - 
enjoy every minute of this.

"How old are you?" James asked, knowing the boy beside 
him couldn't be any older than 15, maybe an 
underdeveloped 16. 

"I'se 14, Massuh," the boy answered, still staring 
intently at the ground, confused by the unexpected 
kindness and ordinariness of the new Master's 
questions. 

Absolutely perfect, James thought to himself. If he was 
totally honest with himself he knew he'd found males 
everywhere from 9 or 10 all the way up to his own age 
and slightly older appealing, but something about the 
adolescent male - especially the adolescent NEGRO male 
- right on the threshold from boyhood innocence to 
manhood, was more arousing than any of the others. He 
might be an obnoxious asshole, but Mr. Potter had 
guessed his tastes perfectly with very little to go on. 

James started to tell the boy not to call him "Master," 
but stopped himself. He had to admit, every time the 
boy called him that in his hoarse, frightened voice, it 
sent thrilling goose bumps down his spine. 

"Are your parents on this plantation? Any brothers or 
sisters?" James asked, trying to put the boy at ease 
with the friendly small talk. He'd read enough about 
slavery to know that many children were sold away from 
their parents and siblings at a young age, or have 
their parents and siblings sold away from THEM. 

"I live with my mother and little brother, Massuh," 
Elijah explained. "They sold my daddy away when I was 
ten." 

"I'm sorry to hear that, Elijah," James said, 
sincerely. "How old's your little brother, and what's 
his name?" 

"We calls him Thad, sir. He ten now, almost eleven." 

"I see," James replied. He'd only been trying to get to 
know the kid a little, but the image of this boy's 
younger brother caused his cock to twitch against his 
will. Despite his resolve to make this a one-time deal, 
his mind was already racing ahead to possible 
adventures in the future. 

"What do you and Thad like to do for fun?" James asked, 
continuing his attempt to put the boy at ease. It 
seemed to be working, as Elijah now nervously eyed him 
out of the corner of his eye from time to time, instead 
of staring at the floor. 

"We loves to fish, Massuh" Elijah told him, almost 
breaking into a smile. "Sometimes we play 'catch a 
nigger' too. It's a game where one of us is the slave-
catcher and the others is runaway niggers. We all run 
and hide while the slave-catcher tries to get us. We 
pick a tree or rock we call the 'Norf,' and everybody 
who gets to the 'Norf' 'out gittin caught is a free 
nigger. Everybody the slave-catcher gets and the last 
person to the 'Norf' is out the game, till the next 
game at least." 

Elijah gasped for air in the midst of his enthusiastic 
story, realizing he'd just said a bunch of words to a 
WHITE MAN, his new MASTER no less, the way he'd talk to 
Thad or Lil Rooster or his Mama. He looked sheepishly 
over at James, as if to ask if he should continue. 
James, charmed by the cute Negro boy's sudden burst of 
energy, nodded for him to continue. 

"We also likes to swim, 'specially in the summertime 
cuz of the hot sun." 

James smiled to himself, realizing Elijah had probably 
been a part of the group of naked boys he'd lusted 
after that afternoon. Maybe his brother, too. How 
fitting, James thought. 

Elijah continued: "And sometimes us older boys hunts 
for squirrels and rabbits and snakes and things like 
that. The overseers only give us meat but once a month, 
so when we cans we tries to catch some extra." 

"Do you like being a slave?" James interrupted, hating 
himself for asking such a stupid question as soon as 
the words escaped his lips. 

The question caught Elijah off guard. He started to 
explain his feelings on the matter, but before he'd 
uttered a word he caught himself and answered, "I 
'spects so, Massuh. Ain't known nothin' else to compare 
it to, I 'spose. We treated real good, Massuh, so I 
ain't a nigger that's one to complain." 

One of the first lessons a black child's taught is to 
ALWAYS tell a white person what they want to hear, 
truth be damned. 

Elijah shifted uncomfortably on the bed. For a few 
peaceful moments he'd almost forgotten his mother's 
emotional breakdown and the strangeness of his present 
circumstances. He was eager to get back to telling the 
oddly curious white man about his life. 

"I'm sorry for interrupting, Elijah," James apologized 
as if reading the boy's thoughts. "What else do you and 
the other children like to do?"

Smiling with another sheepish sideways glance, Elijah 
continued. 

"Today we played checkers with some rocks we found down 
by the creek. I was the dark rocks, Thad was the light. 
I beated him every time, though," he boasted, smiling 
widely to reveal a mouthful of large, pearly-white 
teeth and purplish gums. 

James thought to himself that his Uncle must have 
provided the best dental care money could buy. Probably 
an investment he made back triple-fold in slave sales, 
he reflected cynically. The boy's smiling mouth, deep-
red tongue, and moist lips set James's dick off to 
twitching again. 

He realized, somewhat ashamedly, that the small-talk 
had probably been just as much for himself as it was 
for Elijah, but now he was feeling very relaxed in the 
boy's presence and eager to enjoy what the slave boy 
had to offer him beyond his cute, precocious stories. 

"If your brother's as handsome as you, your mother sure 
is going to have her hands full shooing the girls 
away," James teased. 

Elijah thought it a strange turn in the conversation. 
The other Negro women were always fawning over him, 
telling him how good-looking he was, how much he looked 
like his father, and a few pretty girls had even tried 
to kiss him once or twice, but it felt strange to hear 
such a compliment coming from a man - especially a 
white man. And it was even weirder to hear his new 
master talking about his little brother in the same 
way. 

"I 'spose so, Massuh. Thank you, Massuh. I ain't never 
really looked at my brother like that, sir, but the 
women that watch us is always sayin' he handsome."

An awkward silence followed. James took a deep, shaky 
breath, his body literally trembling with excitement. 
He breathed in the musky, intoxicating smell of the 
black boy beside him, a mixture of sweat, food-smells, 
his tangled hair, the unique smell of Negro-skin, and 
lake-water still lingering from his afternoon swim. 
James's imagination was already going wild with all the 
things he wanted to do with this boy; he was just 
uncertain how to make the transition without scaring 
the boy away. James laughed to himself at the thought. 
On some level he was deluding himself into believing 
the boy actually WANTED to be dragged away from his 
mother and brother to be with a strange older white man 
in the middle of the night. 

"Can I feel your hair, Elijah?" James asked shyly, 
amusing himself with this request for permission he 
knew was unnecessary. 

Elijah too was surprised by the older white man's 
nervousness, but even more surprised by the strangeness 
of his request. Why on earth would this man want to 
feel his hair??? he wondered. 

"Ummmm, I reckon, Massuh," the boy answered in an 
uncertain voice. "It got sorta messy from swimmin', 
though, and ain't combed the way Mama likes it." 

James's hand was shaking as he reached for the Negro 
boy's tangled mop of nappy hair. He'd always looked 
with curiosity at the different hair textures of the 
free Negroes in Boston, but never worked up the nerve 
to ask any one of them to let him TOUCH it. Now, as he 
laid his hand gently atop Elijah's head, he was 
fulfilling just one of countless fantasies he hoped to 
fulfill that night. 

The slave boy's hair was both rough and soft to the 
touch, black and crinkly and a little greasy. James 
could smell its distinct Negro odor from where he was 
sitting. 

Elijah's body tensed up at the older white man's first 
touch. He'd been enjoying the conversation about his 
favorite childhood games, but this felt...different, 
somehow. Sort of like his mother's tender touch, yet 
different in a way that made Elijah uneasy without 
knowing why.

James first stroked the top of the boy's head, as he 
would a puppy's. Gaining courage, he began running his 
fingers deeper through it, savoring the unique feel of 
it against his skin, thrilled by this first intimate 
touching of the boy. As he ran his fingers through the 
nappy hair first gently, then more earnestly, flashes 
of him grabbing and pulling and holding that hair in a 
different, more erotic context, brought his dick 
springing to life. 

"Do you know why you were brought here, Elijah?" James 
asked, barely able to hide the growing excitement in 
his voice. He truly had no idea how the boy would 
reply. 

"No, sir," Elijah said quietly. His fear from earlier 
began to return.

"Well, what do you THINK is the reason I had you 
brought here?" James continued his playful 
interrogation. The boy's innocence was turning him on 
even more than stroking his hair had done.

"I dunno, sir," Elijah answered, looking at the ground 
again as he talked. "I guess I thought you was gonna 
whip me, Massuh. When I was little, Mistuh Snopes took 
my Mama away 'most every night sometimes. My Daddy 
tried to make like it didn't bother him none, but one 
time I saw him cryin' when he thought Thad and me was 
'sleep. And Mama always looked like she'd been cryin' 
too, when she come back to us. I always 'sposed she was 
gittin whipped. So when Mistuh Snopes come for me, I 
'sposed he was gonna whip me too." 

James smiled sympathetically at Elijah's renewed burst 
of talkativeness. "No, nothing like that, Elijah," 
James said, still stroking the boy's thick hair. "I'm 
not going to whip you. In fact, I'm not going to hurt 
you at all..." 

Elijah's eyes lit up with relief. Maybe his Mama was 
just mistaken. Maybe the new Master just wanted to get 
acquainted with one of his new slaves. 

"...as long as you do everything I say," James added in 
a more serious voice. 

Had James really just threatened the boy with a 
whipping? He should be ashamed of himself for even 
THINKING of hurting the scared, innocent little slave 
boy beside him, let alone verbalizing such a threat. 
But a man's lust at its peak will make him do things 
once considered immoral and unthinkable, James 
realized. He was surprised by his own rising courage in 
the situation, and couldn't deny the thrill it gave him 
to let the boy know he was at his Master's complete 
mercy. 

"Do you understand me, Elijah?" James continued 
sternly. "Do everything I tell you to do, and you won't 
have to worry about getting whipped tonight." 

"I...I thinks I understand, Massuh," Elijah answered 
meekly, again recalling his mother's instructions. 

But for the life of him, he couldn't imagine what it 
was his new Master wanted from him. Did Master want him 
to clean his bedroom? Maybe massage his feet, like his 
Daddy used to do for his Mama? Or did he simply want to 
do something as harmless and strange as...stroke his 
hair? None of the last hour's occurrences made any 
sense to the 14-year-old Negro slave. 

"Good, I'm glad we have an understanding," James 
continued firmly. "Now, Elijah...I want to kiss you."

Forgetting where he was and who he was with for a brief 
second, Elijah's head whipped to the side with a 
confused, scrunched-up expression, looking at James as 
if the man had just ordered him to grow wings and fly 
back to his cabin.

"Huh?!?" the boy grunted. "I mean...uh, is you SURE, 
Massuh?" 

His body stiffened, and he began to feel sick to his 
stomach. His new Master wanting to KISS him was the 
last thing he'd expected. 

"I'm sure, Elijah," James insisted. "And remember, 
EVERYTHING I say. Or else I'll have no choice but to 
have Mr. Potter or one of the overseers whip you." Once 
again James felt the thrill of unrestricted power 
overtaking him. 

"Have you ever kissed anyone?" he asked.

"Ummmm...some of the girls is always tryin' to kiss me, 
and I guess I'se kissed a few of 'em back. But Massuh, 
I thought kissin' was only 'sposed to be for boys and 
girls. Never heard of two BOYS kissin' before."

James shivered with guilty delight at the boy's purity 
and cluelessness. 

"Do you find the idea strange and disgusting?" he asked 
the boy bluntly, perversely hoping for an answer in the 
affirmative.

"No, I guess not, Massuh," Elijah lied. He definitely 
found the idea strange, and even a little bit 
repulsive. When he'd kissed girls it had always felt 
sort of slobbery and weird, and he imagined kissing a 
grown man - especially a grown white man - would be 
even worse. 

"Good," James replied, guessing the boy wasn't telling 
the whole truth. "You might not have heard of it 
before, but some men actually PREFER kissing other men 
or boys." 

Elijah crinkled up his nose in disgust at the idea. 

"I know it probably sounds weird to you," James 
continued, intensely aroused by these first tentative 
steps at corrupting his ignorant, innocent slave boy. 
"But it can actually feel really good," he explained, 
feigning an experience in such things that he didn't 
have. Elijah's lips were going to be the first ever 
that his own would touch. 

"Just relax, Elijah, while your Master kisses you." 


Taking hold of the back of Elijah's neck, James pulled 
the boy's uneasy face to his own. First he simply 
pressed their two faces together, inhaling the rich 
smell of the boy's skin and sweat and hair. The 
sensation was intoxicating. 

Now, holding the back of the boy's neck with both 
hands, James began kissing all over the boy's face - 
his sweaty forehead, his brown cheeks still streaked 
from his earlier tears, his medium-sized Negro nose 
with its nostrils flaring in fear, his eyes clenched 
tight in surprise and distaste with his Master's 
strange behavior. 

The boy's eyes shut tightly in discomfort and 
reluctance only further inflamed James's craving for 
the flesh of the slave boy beside him. His mouth moved 
down to the nape of Elijah's neck, lapping at the boy's 
smooth, salty skin like a wild dog taking the first 
hungry bites of his freshly caught prey. He could feel 
his own dick lengthening down his leg, pushing up 
against the cloth of his pants. 

He felt like a man possessed, licking up the boy's neck 
to his ears, lapping his wet tongue all around the 
insides of both ears, lightly biting them as Elijah, 
ticklish, tried to pull away. James's strong hands held 
the boy's head firmly in place, however, as he then bit 
the boy's cheeks, his nose, the cute fold of skin above 
the boy's lips. It was like all his repressed desires 
of the past twenty years were unleashed with the first 
touch of the boy's skin. He was like a madman, sweating 
and panting with every taste of the boy's sweet face. 

He then moved his own lips to meet Elijah's thick, 
reddish-purplish lips glistening moistly. Elijah's face 
scrunched up the moment his Master's lips touched his, 
instinctively tightening to resist the weird sensation. 
James dug his fingers into the back of Elijah's head as 
a non-verbal demand for cooperation. The lust-crazed 
white man kissed the boy's upper and lower lips 
individually, taking each between his lips and teeth, 
biting and licking them before firmly covering both at 
the same time. James's narrow, red lips kissed the 
boy's thick, juicy lips fiercely - sometimes breaking 
to lick his cheeks, then back to the corners of the 
boy's mouth, then back to his wet lips. 

Aroused by Elijah's obvious embarrassment and 
discomfort, James pried open the boy's mouth with his 
adult tongue, forcing his way into its sweet depths 
that even the little Negro girls had probably never 
explored. 

The Master had never felt sensations so delicious and 
sensual; the slave boy, on the other hand, felt like 
the man was trying to devour his face. 

James swirled his tongue all around the insides of 
Elijah's mouth, running it across the front and tops 
and backs of the boy's teeth, lapping at the roof of 
his mouth, prodding deep into the back of the boy's 
throat, straining toward his esophagus. 

Elijah's mouth smelled and tasted faintly of cornbread, 
no doubt the remnant of his supper that night. It also 
tasted - and here James thought he must certainly be 
imagining things - like something distinctly boyish and 
innocent. 

The sweetness of the boy's saliva was addictive. For a 
moment James almost felt he could be content doing only 
this for the next few hours before sun-up, but even in 
the midst of his frenzied lust he remembered his 
decision to limit this to a one-time thing, and knew he 
must do everything with this beautiful boy before the 
chance escaped him. 

James suddenly tore his mouth away from the boy's, and 
sat there staring ahead in distracted bliss, still 
stroking the back of Elijah's head with his left hand. 

Both man and boy sat stunned and breathing heavily; 
James from the exhilaration of the first kiss and 
anticipation of pleasures to come, Elijah from shock 
and confusion. 

For a moment, Elijah thought his task was done, and 
half-expected his new Master to send him back to his 
mother and little brother at any moment. Without 
thinking, he wiped off his face with his sleeve, then 
flashed James a frightened-apologetic glance when he 
realized what he'd done. 

James laughed at the boy's understandable behavior. 
"How did that feel, Elijah?" the older white man 
inquired.

Elijah looked nervously toward the window, then back 
toward his Master. 

"It was...kinda weird-feelin', Massuh. I ain't never 
had nobody try to eat my face like that before." 

James laughed again, the gradual softening of his cock 
reversed by the boy's confused reaction. 

Elijah was telling the truth this time. But now that 
the white man's onslaught was over, he concluded it 
hadn't been TOO awful. Bizarre and a little gross, 
maybe, but if that was all his Master wanted from him, 
he could go home a happy boy. 

"Now I want you to strip for me. Shirt first," James 
ordered, inspired by his growing dick. 

He was treated to a repeat of Elijah's earlier look of 
surprise and resistance. 

"Massuh???" Elijah asked, thinking he must have heard 
wrong. "But I'se done everything you told me to do, 
Massuh, so why's you gonna whip me?" 

The only reason for stripping that Elijah's virgin mind 
could fathom was to prepare for a whipping. He'd once 
snuck off with some of the other boys to spy on Mr. 
Snopes whipping Lil Rooster's daddy, and recalled his 
surprise and embarrassment at seeing the adult man tied 
to the whipping post, bare-naked. 

James chuckled again at the boy's naiveté. 

"Don't worry, Elijah, you haven't done anything to earn 
a whipping. Just like I was telling you before about 
men like me who enjoy kissing boys, there are also some 
men who like looking at boys' bodies." 

Elijah furrowed his brow again, but James continued: 
"You see, Elijah, I'm one of those men. I think you're 
an incredibly handsome young man, and I want to see you 
without your clothes on." 

Elijah blushed, both flattered and disgusted. So much 
for his ordeal being over after the kissing, he 
thought. He couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that 
a grown man - a grown WHITE man, no less - would want 
to see a 14-year-old Negro boy naked. 

Elijah's heart sank at a sudden thought that crossed 
his mind. He remembered the day a few months back when 
he caught the stable-boy Jacob's little sister Laney 
bathing in one of his favorite fishing-holes. He 
remembered crouching behind the trees, staring 
mesmerized by her naked body. Of course he'd seen his 
Mama naked, and the breasts of some of the older Negro 
women when they nursed the infants, but Laney was a 
girl his own age. 

He recalled the tingling he felt throughout his whole 
body when he saw her small breasts shiny from the 
creek-water, her deep-ebony skin, her round, thick 
behind when she bent over to wash her hair. He recalled 
how it made his dick get hard the way it would 
sometimes when he was asleep, and how he'd 
instinctively reached beneath his pants to touch his 
dick, and realized how good it felt when he wrapped his 
fingers around it. He couldn't precisely say just what 
it was about her body that he found exciting, or what 
he wanted from it, but he knew he wanted SOMETHING. 

And maybe, Elijah began to formulate the fuzzy idea in 
his mind, his new Master wanted to feel the same thing 
from him. Without knowing precisely why, Elijah found 
the idea unnatural and unsettling, something ugly and 
wrong when contrasted with his attraction to Laney. 

"Stand in the center of the room and remove your shirt, 
Elijah," he heard the older white man say more 
insistently. James was enjoying telling the wide-eyed 
boy what to do. 

Elijah slowly stood up, crossed the room, and stood 
facing his Master who remained sitting on the edge of 
the bed several feet away. 

"Just my shirt, Massuh?" Elijah asked as he fumbled 
with the buttons on his ragged cloth shirt. 

"Just your shirt for the moment," James explained, 
eagerly staring as the boy slowly unfastened one 
button, followed by the next, then the next. 

A few moments later, Elijah's shirt parted to reveal a 
glimpse of the youthful chest beneath. Looking sullenly 
at the ground, Elijah slipped the shirt off of his 
shoulders and let it fall to the floor. 

James smiled at the sight of his caramel-colored slave 
boy stripped to the waist. He admired the boy's 
slender, almost bony, build; the rib-cage pressing out 
against his skin; the large dark nipples standing out 
against the lighter brown of the rest of the boy's 
chest; the cute protruding belly-button, slightly 
deformed from a hasty and most likely undoctored birth; 
the slight muscles rippling across his pectorals and 
upper arms. 

James took a deep breath, half-fearing he might 
suffocate from exposure to so much beauty at once. 

"Turn around," he commanded, and the boy awkwardly 
complied, still staring at the floor. 

James looked lustfully at the bony shoulder-blades 
jutting out; the brown back-skin glistening slightly 
with nervous sweat; the faint hint of spine showing 
through the skin, trailing down...down...down to the 
two firm, upright melons still hidden beneath the boy's 
sagging waist, pushing up and out against the pants-
cloth a good five or six inches, as if the round bottom 
might rip through the material at any moment. 

"Remove your pants," James said hoarsely, choking on 
his own nervousness and desire.

Elijah clenched his eyes shut in frustration, knowing 
his Master couldn't see his less-than-enthusiastic 
reaction from where he was sitting. He hoped the night 
would be over soon. The weirdness of the whole thing 
was beginning to overwhelm his healthy mind, and 
besides, he was growing increasingly sleepy after a 
long day of swimming and playing with his friends. 

He slowly began to untie the thin rope tied through his 
pants-waist, then pushed them to the ground and stepped 
free of them. Now he stood completely naked, his shirt 
and pants in a crumpled pile on the floor. 

James gasped audibly, stunned by his first-ever up-
close look at a Negro boy's naked buttocks. Till now 
he'd had no choice but IMAGINE that mysterious flesh 
cloaked by the pants of various Negro boys and men 
based on the shapes he could make out through their 
clothes. Elijah's two round globes sloping in a nearly 
perfect semi-circle to meet his skinny legs were as 
flawless as James had hoped and imagined they'd be. So 
different from the still-nice but scrawnier, flatter 
buttocks of the white boys he'd sometimes spied on in 
Boston. 

James's right hand went instinctively to his dick, 
which had now reached its full length of seven granite-
hard inches of medium thickness. He could already feel 
the hot, sticky moisture forming at its tip, and was 
almost embarrassed that he felt this aroused just from 
LOOKING at the naked Negro slave. 

"Stay just how you are, and don't look at me," James 
commanded. 

Elijah tightened his eyes shut again, but did as he was 
told. 

James began rapidly unbuttoning his own shirt, flinging 
it to the side of the bed. He then stood up to remove 
his shoes and trousers, returning completely naked to 
his sitting position on the edge of the bed. 

Elijah heard rustling behind him, but couldn't guess 
what his Master was doing. The only thing he could 
think was that perhaps he was getting out an easel and 
charcoal or paint to sketch his picture. He remembered 
hearing talk of such a thing from some of the 
"educated" Negroes awhile back - artists who liked to 
draw fancy pictures of naked men and women. Maybe the 
Master's just an artist who wants to draw my picture, 
Elijah thought hopefully.

James began gently touching his own cock, which was now 
deep red and jutting upwards at an almost parallel 
angle to his stomach. He tried to savor every gorgeous 
feature of the naked slave boy in front of him. 
Suddenly he couldn't wait to see the boy's surprised 
reaction when he saw his naked Master. 

"Okay, I want you to turn back toward me, now," James 
instructed. 

Elijah slowly turned around to face his Master, 
involuntarily letting out a cry of surprise and dismay 
when he saw the white man completely naked, grinning 
and stroking a hard red dick, a pile of discarded 
clothes at his feet. 

Elijah's head started spinning, and he felt foolish for 
his "artist" theory of just moments before. He wanted 
to scoop up his clothes and run out of the room, but 
his mother's warnings kept ringing in his ears. And 
while he was still as confused as ever about his 
Master's intentions, any hopes of them being benign and 
harmless were quickly slipping away. 

James's dick throbbed two or three times when he saw 
Elijah's jaw drop open in shock at his nudity, and the 
wetness at its tip only increased when he saw the 
breathtaking appendage dangling between the boy's thin 
legs. 

My God, James thought to himself, perhaps the "myth" 
disparaged by his Abolitionist and colored 
acquaintances up North had some truth to it after all. 
In its completely soft state it hung a good six inches, 
incredible for a still-developing boy of Elijah's age. 
And knowing that his own dick sometimes withdrew like a 
turtle when he was cold or afraid, James couldn't help 
but wonder if he was beholding Elijah's manhood at its 
unnaturally SHORTEST length. It was circumcised (due to 
ancient African custom or slave-master's orders, James 
wasn't sure), looked slightly darker than the rest of 
him, and hung heavily over two perfectly round, medium-
shaped testicles. 

"Beautiful...simply beautiful," was all James could 
utter, causing Elijah to wince with embarrassment. 

James was ravenous to devour every inch of the boy's 
beautiful body just as he had done to Elijah's face and 
mouth only moments ago. But more urgent even than his 
curiosity to explore the slave boy's flesh was a rising 
desire to assert his mastery over the boy, to truly 
FEEL what having another human being at one's total 
mercy was like. 

A small part of him, tucked away very deeply in this 
moment, truly felt sorry for the poor boy, torn from 
the familiarity of home and family and whisked off to 
be the sexual toy of an older white man he'd never met. 
It was this compassion that had caused James to swear 
to himself that he'd treat the selected slave with 
nothing but kindness. 

But a far more powerful urge, birthed at the moment he 
knocked on Mr. Potter's door and now stoked into an 
uncontrollable blaze, was tempting him to degrade the 
slave boy, to relish Elijah's awe and discomfort and 
reluctance, to gloat over this loss of innocence. James 
knew he'd probably loathe himself the next day, but in 
the frenzied lust of the moment he felt like a man 
having an out-of-body experience. There was a certain 
freedom and exhilaration in surrendering to his more 
shameful cravings. Sampling a taste of the boy's 
impressive manhood could wait for later; right now his 
only interest was in TAKING the boy's more figurative 
manhood, and achieving his own pleasure in the process. 

"Come here, boy," James barked. 

Elijah was startled by the fact that this was the first 
time his new Master had called him something other than 
his first name. He was used to such treatment from the 
overseers passing through the slave quarters, even from 
the older Negro women who watched over the children, 
but he'd liked the way his new Master called him kindly 
by his actual name. The sudden change in tone alarmed 
him, and he hesitantly walked toward the naked white 
man sitting on the bed. He felt like something terrible 
was about to happen - not a whipping, not a beating 
even - but something terrible nevertheless. He had no 
idea what. 

"Get on your knees, boy!" James ordered. 

The wicked temptation to call the boy a "nigger" had 
formed in his mind, but was still doing battle with his 
Northern/Puritan/Abolitionist conscience. 

Elijah hesitated for a second, looking enviously toward 
the freedom and purity beyond the bedroom windows. 

"NOW!!!" James raised his voice. "You do as I say and 
you don't get whipped, remember?!?" 

"Yes, Massuh, I remembers and I'se sorry, Massuh," 
Elijah apologized, dropping immediately to his knees on 
the cold wooden floor between the slightly spread legs 
of his Master sitting on the bed. His sweet-natured 
head still couldn't picture what it was his Master 
wanted from him in this position. 

"I want you to kiss my dick and put it in your mouth," 
James stated bluntly. He'd all but abandoned his 
initial plan to be kind and was past the point of no 
return toward Plan B. 

Elijah visibly cringed at the command. The picture that 
came to his mind of him sucking on his Master's penis, 
like a calf on its mama's teats, almost made him vomit. 
The best he could guess was that the Master wanted to 
piss in his mouth; why else would he demand such a 
thing? 

"But, Massuh," Elijah stuttered. "Please, Massuh, I'll 
do anything you ask, just please don't makes me do 
that. It ain't... natural."

"You're beginning to try my patience, boy," James 
growled, and he meant it. It was obvious from the slave 
boy's reaction that he'd never blown a buddy, or older 
teens in the quarters, or even his father or little 
brother, nor had he ever had the mental capacity or 
need to imagine such behavior. Elijah's complete and 
utter purity was a maddening aphrodisiac. 

"You heard what your Master ordered," James continued. 
"Now DO IT before I tie you to the whipping post 
myself!" 

James was pretty certain he didn't actually mean it, 
but it was fun to see the alarm it caused on the boy's 
expression. 

Elijah frowned and leaned cautiously closer to the 
older white man's crotch. James knew he could force a 
blowjob with two strong hands placed to the back of the 
slave boy's head if he wanted to, but watching Elijah's 
awkwardness and trepidation was making for quite the 
erotically charged show. 

James's hard, throbbing-red cock was just inches from 
Elijah's wet lips, the bottom-lip on which the boy was 
biting down out of embarrassment and apprehension. 
Elijah squeezed his eyes shut tightly and slowly leaned 
toward the appendage straining to lodge itself in the 
boy's warm virgin mouth. As his face got closer, Elijah 
could feel the heat emanating from his Master's aching 
member. The boy thought it smelled sort of disgusting, 
like a mixture of sweat and milk. The smell caused 
Elijah to yank his head back suddenly. I don't care 
what he does to me, Elijah concluded to himself. I 
don't care what Mama said, I swear I'll throw up if I 
put it in my mouth. 

"I reckon you'll have to go ahead and whip me, Massuh," 
Elijah said resignedly. 

James was snapped out of his fantasy by the boy's 
defiant words. 

"You'd rather be whipped than put my dick in your 
mouth?!?" James asked. "Now there's some crazy nigger 
logic," he added harshly, surprised at his own first 
use of the racial epithet. He could tell by Elijah's 
hurt expression that the boy was surprised too. James 
had heard Mr. Potter complain repeatedly over the last 
week and a half about various forms of "nigger logic," 
but never thought in a million years that he'd hear the 
expression come out of his own mouth. 

"I'se sorry, Massuh," Elijah said weakly, looking 
gloomily at the floor. "I tried, but I just can't do 
it, so I 'spose you gotta whip me instead." 

James wasn't sure whether to be amused or enraged at 
the slave boy calling his bluff. 

If he was totally honest with himself, James knew that 
the boy's intensified resistance was only turning him 
on all the more, further inflaming his lust for power 
and dominance over the Negro. In his altered state of 
mind he decided to take things to another level. 

"Look here, nigger..." James growled, shivering again 
at the thrill of speaking the forbidden word. "You're 
going to do what I asked you to do, or else it's not 
just going to be your own naked hide bloody and scarred 
for weeks, but your Mama's and brother's too." 

Elijah's eyes grew wide in shock and despair, and 
started to well up with tears. 

James knew he should be appalled by his words, but this 
was a high he'd never experienced before, and he was 
going to enjoy it while it lasted. He felt like one of 
the villains in the Abolitionist novels, and decided to 
perform the role with the required severity. 

"And not only that," he continued. "If your little 
brother actually SURVIVES his whipping, tomorrow 
morning I'll sell him so far down the river you'll be 
sure never to see him again for the rest of your 
pathetic nigger life." 

James winced as he saw a thick, salty tear trickle down 
Elijah's cheek, and realized he was making the same 
barbaric threat against Elijah that Mr. Potter had made 
against the little Negro boy he raped that night years 
ago in his slave quarters. Oh, God, James thought to 
himself. I haven't been here even two weeks and I'm 
already turning into that monster? 

The sight of the naked, crying slave boy kneeling 
before him was too overpowering, though, and he 
rationalized it by telling himself they were just 
hollow, melodramatic threats to intimidate the 
rebellious boy into pleasing him sexually. 

"Your Mama, too," James added for effect. "So what's it 
gonna be, boy?!? Licking my dick, or whippings and 
never seeing your family again - it's your choice." 

By this point Elijah was mustering all the big-boy 
strength he could to keep from sobbing, but the 
occasional rogue tears still escaped his watering eyes. 
Now his mother's own tears, screams, and instructions 
began to make more sense to him. She must have foreseen 
all this and STILL ordered him to obey the new Master 
no matter what. He couldn't let her down, and he 
certainly couldn't bear life as a slave without his 
Mama and Thad. 

With renewed courage and conviction, Elijah clenched 
his eyes shut and leaned in so that his face was 
directly touching his Master's dick. 

"Now that's more like it," James sighed, looking down 
at the boy's resentful fumblings, eager to enjoy the 
show. 

Elijah kept his face smashed awkwardly against the 
white man's dick for a few moments, uncertain how to 
proceed. He then started pecking at it like a drunken 
rooster, his lips still clenched closed in resistance. 
He was surprised by the dick's heat, as well as its 
soft skin and sweaty wetness. He noticed that it 
twitched occasionally as his mouth peppered it with 
awkward kisses. 

"Relax your mouth and lick it," James coached, the 
pleasure of his own first blowjob greatly enhanced by 
the fact that it was the boy's first as well. 

Part of him wanted to grab the back of the boy's head 
and rape his face, but decided to enjoy the boy's 
virgin groping a little longer - the other stuff could 
come later. 

Elijah reluctantly parted his lips and cautiously began 
to peck at his Master's dick with his tongue. He 
desperately wanted this nightmare to be over, but in 
his state of boyish innocence he didn't yet realize 
that the more aggressively and skillfully he pursued 
his assigned task, the sooner his suffering would be 
over. 

At his Master's urging, Elijah's tiny licks slowly 
turned into tentative longer licks up and down the 
seven-inch pole. James grabbed hold of Elijah's right 
arm and led the boy's hand to the base of his dick, 
encouraging him to hold it firmly while he lapped at it 
up and down like one of the lollipops he sometimes 
enjoyed at Christmastime. Only instead of tasting 
sweet, his Master's dick tasted hot and salty - not 
disgusting necessarily, but certainly not what he'd 
consider appealing. 

For James, the feel of the teenage boy's hot breath 
against his crotch and long licks up and down his dick 
was exquisite torture. Being new to the whole 
experience, he hoped he'd wouldn't release before he'd 
enjoyed the boy in every way possible. 

"Lick my balls, too," James grunted, pushing the boy's 
head down to his large testicles covered lightly in 
wisps of blondish hair. 

The boy, his eyes still shut tightly, wiggled his 
tongue all over them, disgusted by what he was doing 
but hoping he was mustering up enough energy to fool 
his Master. He noticed a deep, nutty smell that was 
distinct from the sweaty, milky smell of the white 
man's skin. He was hoping his Master would change his 
mind and be content to stop at just the licking. He 
didn't see how he could possibly put the man's large, 
hard penis in his small mouth. 

As if reading the boy's mind, James ordered, "Now put 
it in your mouth, nigger-boy." The nasty words somehow 
made the early stages of this blowjob even sweeter. 

Elijah started to protest but remembered the horrible 
threat to his mother and brother's safety that was 
driving this entire encounter. Gulping nervously, the 
boy directed the older white man's dick to his mouth 
with his hand, and placed it awkwardly between his 
thick, wet lips. 

"That's it, just like that, boy," James encouraged, 
aroused beyond his wildest imagination by the sight of 
his strong white dick penetrating what most certainly 
had to be one of the purest, most virgin boy-mouths on 
the entire plantation. 

Elijah wrapped his mouth tightly around the head of 
James's dick, but to James's surprise and amusement the 
boy just stayed still in that position, holding the 
dick in his mouth. In the boy's confused mind, he still 
thought his Master wanted him to drink his piss. He 
even tasted something hot and salty, expected a gushing 
stream of disgusting urine to flood his mouth at any 
moment.

James laughed at Elijah's clumsiness, and was turned on 
even more. He realized giving head wasn't exactly a 
concept that came naturally to teenage boys, unless 
they'd already been lucky enough to have it performed 
on them, which Elijah clearly hadn't been. 

James ceased with the derogatory language for a moment: 
"Don't just hold still, Elijah," he explained. "You 
have to MOVE IT AROUND in your mouth. Move your mouth 
up and down on it, and swirl your tongue around while 
you do it." 

He figured that should suffice for an urgent in-the-
moment tutorial. Hell, the only reason he knew even 
that much was from dirty books and the crude jokes of 
his bachelor friends. 

"Haven't you ever touched your own dick to make 
yourself feel good?" James asked. Elijah thought of 
Laney and mumbled a shy assent, his mouth still perched 
atop his Master's dick. 

"Well, it's like that," James went on to explain. "You 
move your mouth up and down like you would your fist. 
But this time your goal is to make ME feel good, you 
hear me?" 

Suddenly everything began to make more sense to Elijah. 
The reason the new Master wanted him. The new Master's 
odd requests. The new Master wanted Elijah the way 
Elijah wanted Laney. The new Master wanted Elijah to 
make his dick feel good the way it felt when Elijah 
touched himself that day by the fishing-hole. He still 
found it unbelievable that an older white man could 
desire a poor, dirty slave boy, but the proof was right 
in front of him...between his lips, in fact. 

Elijah tried following James's advice. Holding the dick 
at its base with his right hand, he began bobbing 
awkwardly up and down; at least it felt to him like he 
was bobbing up and down, but in reality his lips were 
barely descending beyond the head of James's dick. 
James had to warn Elijah about covering his lips with 
his teeth before the boy settled into a motion that 
seemed to please his Master, for the moment at least.

"That's it, Elijah. That's a good nigger," James 
moaned, the power-lust returning. "Take it deeper in 
your mouth, boy." 

Elijah tried to do as he was told but started to choke 
from the new sensation of having his mouth invaded by 
this hard, veiny appendage. Startled by the shock, he 
took his mouth off the dick and gasped for air. 

The choking sound only stirred within James a fiercer 
lust. He should feel bad for the poor kid - and he 
honestly did, at least a little bit - but rather than 
provoking his pity, the choking sound made him want to 
hear the sound again, and again. 

"Did I tell you to take a breath?!?" James taunted. Now 
he was bored with the boy's clumsy little show and 
urgently wanted to bury his aching dick as deep into 
the boy's warm mouth as he possibly could. 

"No, Massuh...I'se sorry, Massuh, I'se trying Massuh," 
the boy apologized, still fighting back tears. 

He immediately enveloped his Master's dick once again 
with his lips already sore from the unaccustomed 
strain. He gagged again when he tried to take more than 
three inches into his small mouth. 

With that, James impatiently grabbed the back of the 
boy's head and forced it down deeper on his dick, 
causing the boy to moan loudly in shock and protest. He 
could tell from the boy's desperate moaning that he was 
trying to speak, but he held his slave boy's head in 
that position without releasing the firm grip on the 
back of his head. 

Drunk with this new sadistic sensation, he sat up 
straighter and began thrusting his dick deeper into 
Elijah's throat, simultaneously forcing the boy's head 
down with his hands. He did this with slow thrusts at 
first, then picked up speed until he was stabbing the 
boy's face with furious strokes. 

James couldn't believe how intensely good it felt to 
have his dick engulfed by the boy's slobbery warm 
mouth. The physical sensations of the boy's tongue and 
cheeks and roof of the mouth massaging his prick 
combined with the forbidden psychological thrills of 
calling the boy a "nigger" and hearing his frightened 
moans combined to create a deliriously pleasurable 
experience. 

The boy was screaming in protest, tears streaming down 
his face, but the cock stuffed in his throat muffled 
his panicked screams. And it wasn't as if anybody was 
around to hear. If Mr. Potter could hear the sounds of 
struggle - and James highly doubted it - he'd probably 
just laugh or jack off to them himself. 

Elijah was certain he was going to pass out at any 
moment, either from lack of air or trauma from the huge 
dick violating his no-longer-virgin mouth. A couple 
times he started to throw up, but quickly swallowed it 
back down to keep from displeasing his wild-eyed 
Master. He wished more than anything that he could 
somehow make his spirit leave his body, only to return 
when this hell was over. 

James kept his eyes open the entire time, intently 
watching the young boy's clenched eyelids as he thrust 
deeper and deeper, refusing to pull out, forcing his 
entire cock down the boy's throat until his pretty 
Negro lips were pressed against his tangled patch of 
dark pubic hairs. From time to time the boy would open 
his eyes, looking up at him wide with pleading and 
terror, then clench shut again when he realized it only 
provoked deeper and harder thrusts. 

Sensing the boy was truly beginning to suffocate, and 
certainly having no intentions of killing the boy, 
James grabbed two handfuls of Elijah's thick, nappy 
hair and violently yanked the boy's head backwards so 
that his mouth slid off his dick with a sudden slurping 
sound. James held the boy's head backwards like that 
for a moment so that Elijah was forced to look up at 
him, gasping for air with his mouth wide open, dripping 
with saliva and precum. 

After savoring this arousing image for a few moments, 
James forced the boy's open, panting mouth back down on 
his dick, this time thrusting all the way, then all the 
way out, back and forth like a bull in heat. 

Fearing he might explode in the boy's mouth at any 
second, but still eager to enjoy the boy's OTHER 
orifice, James pulled out, released Elijah's head, and 
ordered him to lie down on the bed, on his stomach. 

The boy stood up dizzily and stumbled over to the side 
of the bed, where he collapsed as ordered. His now-open 
eyes looked sad and distant; gone was the energetic 
spark they'd shown when he first entered the room not 
even an hour ago. He looked almost as if he'd been 
drugged. 

Elijah was relieved to have the nightmare of the 
previous ten minutes over with. He hated the hot, tangy 
taste that still clung to his mouth from the dick that 
had just been crammed into it, but at least he was able 
to breathe freely again. He desperately hoped that any 
second the new Master would order him to put on his 
clothes and return home. Perhaps the white man had only 
ordered him to lie on the bed as a friendly gesture, a 
chance to catch his breath, maybe even sleep, before 
going home. 

Sprawled naked on his stomach, Elijah savored the sweet 
smell and softness of the plush bed, so unlike his 
scratchy bed of blanket thrown over straw. He continued 
sniffling, but was gaining comfort in the fancy bed and 
realization that he'd survived the hardships of the 
evening intact. That is, until he felt the Master's 
naked body sit on the bed beside him, causing a renewed 
pit in his stomach to form. His fears were only 
confirmed when he felt the Master's large hands begin 
caressing and kneading his butt-cheeks. His body tensed 
up immediately and Elijah squeezed his eyes against yet 
another bizarre surprise. 

His surprise grew into alarm and disgust when he felt 
the Master's index finger running down his crack, along 
the surface at first, then deeper into the folds of his 
bottom until he could feel it brushing against the 
tight, tiny hole where his shit comes out. His head 
whipped around in disbelief and protest, but his 
questioning look was simply met with a menacing smile. 

"Massuh, please don't touch me there," Elijah pleaded. 
"Massuh, this just ain't right, Massuh." 

"Listen, nigger-boy," James demanded. "You still ain't 
learned your proper place on this plantation, your 
proper role in relation to the white man." 

James cringed at his own words but still loved every 
minute of it. 

"Shut your little pickaninny mouth and let me do as I 
please. Ain't no right or wrong about it, boy. What I'm 
about to do is gonna make your Master feel REAL good, 
and that's exactly what you're here for." 

He looked at the naked Negro teen sprawled beside him, 
the tight mounds of his ass upturned and giving away to 
his probing finger. He savored the feel of the firm 
buttocks cupped in his hands, the sounds of Elijah's 
whimpers when James's finger circled his asshole (an 
asshole tinier and tighter than anything he'd ever 
imagined), the look of a beautiful cocoa-skinned slave 
boy lying before him, at his complete mercy, and 
couldn't wait a second longer to experience for the 
first time what it feels like to fuck a boy in his 
asshole. 

James's words only further confused Elijah. Asses are 
private and dirty, he thought; what enjoyment could 
anyone in their right mind possibly gain from massaging 
or fingering them?!? 

Just then he felt the Master roll over on top of him, 
smothering the boy's small frame with his much larger 
body. For a second Elijah wondered if the Master wanted 
to wrestle, as he and his friends sometimes liked to do 
on a boring summer day. Then he felt the Master's hard 
dick, still wet from his own mouth's slobber, begin 
poking around at his butt-cheeks, sliding between his 
crack. It felt strange having his ass parted by 
something hard and thick. He then felt the tip of his 
Master's penis prodding at the little hole where his 
shit comes out. 

In a flash of terror and panic, Elijah suddenly 
realized what it was his Master was attempting to do. 
To make his dick feel good, like it can with one's 
hands, and apparently with another person's mouth, the 
Master was trying to push his large dick, thicker than 
a quarter, into his tiny butt-hole, tinier even than a 
button! 

He remembered joining some of the other slave-children 
in watching the stable-boy Jacob in a similar position 
with Sophy one afternoon in the barn. He could never 
forget the image of Jacob's dark-black, muscular ass 
rising and falling in the air as he smashed his body 
over and over again into Sophy while she lay on her 
stomach beneath him, very similar to the way he was 
beneath Master right now. He remembered hearing Sophy 
screaming like the womenfolk in church or in 
childbirth, only louder and like she was dying. 

And here Master was trying to do to him like Jacob done 
to Sophy. Only Jacob and Sophy seemed okay somehow, not 
like this. Master was trying to kill him, to split him 
in two! 

His instinct for self-preservation making him forget 
the serious threats hanging over his head, Elijah 
attempted to slide out from beneath the Master and 
scramble away from the bed, only to be smothered with 
even greater force and restrained by fists forcing down 
the small of his back. 

Eager to split open the ripe virgin melons beneath him, 
James crudely spit on his already-wet dick and plunged 
it with brutal force into the dark, cutely wrinkled, 
tightly clenched circle of the boy's asshole, pushing 
past the boy's last seal of masculine pride and 
virginity. 

Elijah screamed out in an agony even the boy's worst 
fears hadn't anticipated. It felt like someone was 
ripping into his insides with the fiery end of the 
thick stick used to poke at the fire. James shoved the 
boy's head into the pillows to muffle his screams, but 
that did nothing to relieve the pain and sense of 
violation he felt inside. 

Just minutes ago, Elijah had no idea such an activity 
even existed, but now that he was experiencing it 
firsthand, he felt a deep sense of anger and shame at 
the new Master for causing him such pain so casually 
and callously, for stealing something, he wasn't sure 
what exactly, to do with his pride and respect as a 
boy-almost-a-man. 

He felt the man's penis push slowly against the tight, 
resisting walls of his ass-tunnel, deeper an inch or 
two, then back a little bit, then deeper again, only a 
little bit further each time - causing brand new 
sensations of pain every time the ruthless dick thrust 
into a deeper part of his insides. 

He heard the gross slurping sounds of his asshole 
sucking on the white man's cock, and prayed to God it 
wouldn't come out with any shit on it. He didn't see 
how it couldn't - it was his ASS, after all - but he 
hoped for the best nevertheless. 

In the midst of the relentless pain, images from his 
life as a regular Negro boy flashed across his mind - 
the fun he'd had at the swimming-hole earlier that 
afternoon, playing checkers with Thad earlier that 
evening, watching Laney bathe in the fishing-hole - and 
those scenes felt like they'd happened years ago, like 
parts of a different life. As he thought of these 
familiar people and scenes from his everyday life, he 
missed them terribly, and started sobbing into the 
pillows. 

James heard the boy crying and only increased his 
intensity. He moved from gradually prying open the grip 
of the Negro boy's stubborn anus, to bucking up and 
down atop the boy, pushing harder and deeper and faster 
with every thrust. 

If he thought fucking the boy's mouth was a joy beyond 
words, the sensations of fucking his firm, brown, tight 
boy-ass were a million times more intense. The squishy 
warmth of the boy's bowels engulfing his cock created a 
delirious pleasure never experienced through 
masturbation, and the boy's muffled screams and groans 
of pain (but perhaps pleasure, he wondered???) only 
intensified that pleasure. 

Sometimes throughout his fucking the boy, James laid 
flat on top of him, kissing his nappy hair, his dark 
sweaty neck and ears and shoulders as he slammed his 
manhood deep into the boy's guts without mercy. As an 
added thrill, he whispered dirty things in the innocent 
black boy's ears: 

"You like this, nigger?" he'd say. 

Or things like, "You want me to shoot my Yankee juices 
in your nigger boy-pussy?" 

Or, "This is to teach you who's the nigger and who's 
the Master around here, boy. Your ass is MINE and 
nobody else's, you hear me? I'm your only Master. If 
even one of the OVERSEERS tries to get a taste of this 
sweet cherry, they'll have me to answer to. You're MY 
nigger-bitch and MY nigger-bitch only, you hear? What 
do you say, boy?!?" 

James grabbed the boy's hair and yanked his head 
backwards off the pillow long enough to hear him sob, 
"Yes, Massuh, I hears you, Massuh...I'm your nigger, 
Massuh, nobody else but yours, Massuh..." before 
letting his head bury itself back into the pillows. 

At other times James liked to push the boy up on his 
knees, head smashed into the pillows with his ass in 
the air, so that James could position himself on his 
own knees between the boy's legs. This gave him a 
better view of the tender ass he was plundering. 

He liked to shove the boy's head down into the pillows 
in this position, giving him more power to keep the 
boy's body firmly in place. 

He liked to listen to the wet slurping sucking sounds 
of the boy's tight asshole inhaling his cock. 

He loved looking down and watching his manhood, now 
covered in spit and precum and slime from the boy's 
intestines, slamming in and out of the boy's asshole - 
disappearing within the caverns of the boy's small, 
boyishly muscular ass-cheeks, violating what had 
previously been the most sacred, private, and intimate 
part of the boy's body, then reappearing again as it 
dragged with it the now-stretched circular lining of 
the boy's anus, coming all the way out with a plopping 
sound to reveal the boy's tiny gaping asshole, 
clenching open and shut, open and shut as if begging 
for more. Then diving his dick back into the inviting 
hole for another rapturous plunge. 

As James fucked Elijah in this fury of lust-mingled-
with-cruelty, he couldn't believe that just two weeks 
ago he'd been a lonely but morally upstanding bachelor 
with what he thought to be fairly solid Abolitionist 
beliefs. Yet here he was essentially raping a 14-year-
old Negro boy, pillaging the boy's sweet young cherry 
for his own selfish pleasure. Worse yet, calling him 
hateful names and turning a blind eye to his heartfelt 
tears. 

But pangs of conscience are no match for a young man 
burning with decades of pent-up lust, and tonight 
James's darker nature was in complete control. As the 
gulping sounds of the rhythmic pounding into the boy's 
ravaged ass continued, James pictured scenes from 
Elijah's childhood - playing "catch a nigger" with his 
friends, splashing in the creek with the other boys, 
smiling at his mother's warm embrace - and these images 
of innocence enraged his lust for the boy's flesh all 
the more. 

James's panting was getting heavier, his moans of 
ecstasy louder. 

He knew that part of why those images turned him on was 
because he was robbing Elijah of his cherished 
innocence, making it so that the boy could never again 
return to those scenes of innocence in quite the same 
way. This was ultimate power, he realized as he sensed 
what felt like an ocean of hot semen pressuring to be 
released; this ability to permanently and completely 
control and ruin another human being's life. 

With that thought and the culmination of the night's 
countless new erotic sensations, James unleashed a 
torrent of hot fluid deep into the slave boy's aching 
bowels. 

Elijah, no longer crying but nearly passed out from the 
previous twenty minutes' excruciating pain, felt the 
stinging warm juices shooting through his insides, some 
seeping deep into his intestines, the rest leaking back 
out of his weary asshole. He realized with shame and 
disgust that the white man on top of him had just 
filled him with his seed -- the same sticky, strange-
smelling stuff Elijah had discovered he could produce 
from stroking his own penis while hidden away in the 
corner of the barn the same day he saw Laney in the 
creek. 

He didn't know exactly what it was, but he guessed that 
it had something to do with his tingling attraction to 
Laney, to Jacob and Sophy in the barn, and to making 
babies, although he wasn't sure why he thought that. 
And it had something to do with the sweaty, panting man 
collapsed on top of him, whose softening dick was still 
buried in his burning asshole. 

After a few moments of silence - blissful and intimate 
for James, awkward and sickening for Elijah - James 
rolled off of the naked slave boy. 

He wet a washcloth with the water in the basin beside 
the bed and used it to clean off his dick. It was 
surprisingly clean, he thought, especially after having 
feared the worst -- just the slime of cum and the boy's 
internal juices. James guessed the afternoon swim had 
probably helped. 

He then wet the rag again and used it to tenderly wipe 
up the combination of spit, slime, and blood from 
around the boy's deflowered asshole. In his post-coital 
calmness, James's cruelty had been replaced by an 
overwhelming tenderness for the boy. 

"You'll be sleeping with me tonight, Elijah," James 
announced quietly. 

With that he blew out the room's lamps and candles, 
returned to the bed, and cradled the shell-shocked 
black boy in his grown-up arms, spooning against 
Elijah's back with his arm wrapped around the boy's 
chest. 

James thought about how wonderful this intimacy with 
the boy's warm body felt. He thought about how 
drastically his life had changed in just two short 
weeks. He thought about how silly and naïve he'd been 
to think this would only happen once. His mind already 
began racing toward other boys on the plantation: 
Elijah's little brother Thad. Jacob. Abel. Not to 
mention the dozens of other boys and men he had yet to 
see or hear of. Imagining the limitless possibilities 
of Stampley Plantation, James fell soundly, blissfully 
asleep. 

Despite the aching tiredness Elijah felt after a long 
day and his recent ordeal, he found it impossible to 
fall asleep for several hours. He thought of his life 
that would never again be the same again. He thought of 
his mother and Thad at home waiting anxiously for him 
to return. He thought about how silly and childish his 
games of checkers or "catch a nigger" seemed compared 
to what he'd just been through. He thought of Laney and 
wondered if she'd look at him and be able to tell that 
he'd had the Master's dick stuffed in both his mouth 
and ass. 

But more than anything, he wondered about HIMSELF and 
what the future held in store for him at Stampley 
Plantation. 

And the moon shined down upon the sleeping white man 
with his arms wrapped tightly around the scared, naked 
black boy; if one looked carefully, they'd see the 
boy's sad eyes still awake and blinking, and one final 
tear escaping down his cheek. 

***

Any and all feedback is welcome and desired! I would 
love to hear advice on how my writing might improve, 
suggestions for future characters or storylines, 
stories and fantasies of your own, and anything else 
you might want to share. E-mail me at 
WannabeWhitman@yahoo.com. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 46