Droit du Seigneur 1
When Talmadge Rice of The Ivies plantation took sick, he went quickly. Knowing he had not long to live, he instructed his sons—Phillip, age 18, and Samuel, age 14—in the affairs of the plantation. It was clear they were going to have to manage business, as their mother Helen was not much use at such things. One of the last matters he brought up, just within a day or two of passing, was that they would have to take over what he had always called, with some pomposity, the droit du seigneur.
A tall, blonde man with a classical education, Talmadge had come upon the "droit" in his historical reading, and it seemed to dignify what was a common practice at plantations at the time—and had certainly been a tradition among the Rices for generations: the white master was to deflower the black slave girls, usually at about thirteen years of age. The idea was for their first male to be the white master. The white patriarchs had, for generations, treated it as if it were a great treat and honor for the girls. Nobody recorded what the blacks thought. In point of fact, much of the grand tradition was bogus, in that nobody could be sure that the girls in question hadn't already been ridden by some randy black boy or older slave. Nevertheless, the white masters acted as if they were the first, taking to bed both the nervous, trembling black girls and the eager ones alike, and not questioning it when there was no blood stain on the sheets the morning after. Although often there was.
Eighteen year old Phillip had not been allowed this task; for sure, he took the black slave girls of the plantation as often as he liked, but only after his father had them the first time. Fourteen year old Sam was a little different.
A year before, when he was thirteen, his father sent Sam to see "Aunt" Sally, the slave woman who had been willing to teach Phillip the ways of sex four years earlier. Every plantation then had an Aunt Sally. They were rewarded for their task and who knows, they may have enjoyed instructing the trembling white boys in how to have sex. By thirteen, though, Sam had known he was different. He was more interested in the slave boys. With no near neighbor and a sheltered upbringing, he had not yet had a chance to act on this dawning realization. He saw the slave men and boys naked, bathing in streams, but with little or no chance to act. His imagination was full of what he might do, but so far they were only fantasies.
Sam decided he'd better go along with it when he was sent to Aunt Sally. She greeted him at the cabin door and as he entered he saw her mate, "Uncle" Henry, prepare to step out of the cabin and leave them to it. Henry was resigned to the practice, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Plus, Sally had probably told him not to interfere, as she would be paid. Sam was seized with a sudden inspiration and instructed Henry to stay, motioning to a chair not far from the bed. The two adult slaves exchanged a look, and then with a slight smile creeping across her face, Sally got down to business. Henry sat in the chair and looked on impassively, but intently. Step by step, and soon Sam was riding atop the black slave woman, his blonde pageboy hair cut hanging down, his rosie hard rod sliding in and out of her vagina. But Sam wasn't looking at Sally, he was looking at Henry. The black man dared not look back, but a bulge was definitely growing in the crotch of his trousers, as he kept his eyes on the two bodies on the bed. Finishing with a powerful but brief shudder and some squirts of his thirteen year old semen into the slave woman Sam withdrew, wiped himself off with a corner of the bed blanket, thanked Sally courteously and gave her the two dollars his father had sent him with, and smiling at Henry, took his leave. He did not know it, but Henry immediately dropped his pants and entered Sally as well, pumping back and forth on the small slick left by the white boy inside her vagina.
So it was the next year, two days after their father died, on the afternoon of his burial, that Phillip and Sam were out riding on their property. Phillip casually brought up the droit and began tossing around ideas out loud as to how they might divide up the chores. Sam had been thinking about that very task, he had his own ideas about it, and he decided it was now or never. He summoned up his courage and told his brother that he intended to deflower the boys.
Sam knew that the odds of encountering true virgins among the slave boys were even less than among the girls. Unfettered by the norms and restrictions of white family life, the black slave boys had very likely been beating off together, poking experimentally into anuses, sucking, and rubbing up against each other from an early age. But the reality that many of the slave girls were not really virgins had never dampened Talmadge's ardor for exercising the droit, and Sam was willing to have a suspension of disbelief as well. At any rate, it would be the first time the black slave boys had experienced a white male sexually, and to tell the truth much of the purpose of the droit was for whites to exercise control over the slaves and remind them who was in charge.
Phillip reined up his horse and look long and thoughtfully at his brother. After a few moments he said, "I suppose I'm not surprised." This was fair. Since an early age it was clear that Sam was a little different from his brother; not feminine, but certainly with different interests, different preferences in play. Phillip looked at his brother a little longer and then said, curtly but not unkindly, "As you wish, sir. It will leave more of the wenches for me." The two continued riding on and nothing more was ever said about it between them. Certainly their mother, now retreating into the solitary life and sheltered pursuits of a widow, would never know.
So it was that Sam returned to the plantation house that afternoon thinking furiously, trying to form definite plans out of wild fantasies and impractical imaginings of various sexual acts, possible and impossible. He decided eventually he'd better work at it systematically. He also reasoned that there was likely to be quite a backlog of young males on the plantation, so he arbitrarily set eighteen as the age of slaves with which he would begin, and work his way down in age. That afternoon he summoned the butler and majordomo Hannibal to the study, where he had paper and pen prepared. He asked Hannibal to tell him the names of all the eighteen year old slave boys on the place—then the seventeen year olds—and so on down to the cohort of age eleven, which Sam picked as a reasonable lower limit.
The list complete, Sam turned his attention to the eighteen year olds. There were three. Screwing up his courage again, reminding himself that he had the power to command both Hannibal and the boys he was about to approach, he plunged in.
"Hannibal, I want you to bring James to my room within the hour," he said, picking the first of the eighteen year olds on the list. "Have him bathed first." Hannibal looked thoughtfully in the direction of his young master, although not directly in his eyes, pausing for a moment. Then he muttered "Yes, masta," and slipped out of the study. Sam breathed deeply, senses of dread, anticipation, and sheer lust warring within him. He returned to his room and removed his boots and jacket, leaving on his shirt and trousers. From behind the curtain at his window he stood looking down at the yard, through which he could see Hannibal and James pass.
Sam's heart began to pound when he saw Hannibal leading a large young black slave to the laundry building, where he was evidently to be bathed. Sam stepped back from the window to avoid being seen, but he saw Hannibal wait outside. A few minutes later, the slave emerged and began following Hannibal toward the house. Sam thought he recognized him—it would be unusual if he did not at least recognize the slaves that could be seen regularly on the plantation. Sam tried to compose himself, to calm his heavy breathing, as he moved to the center of the room to await the two.
In a minute he heard footsteps on the stairs and a knock on the opened door, as Hannibal entered, his head bowed respectfully. "This is James, Master," he said, gesturing at the young man behind him. Hannibal urged the manboy forward with a gentle tug of his hand. James came forward, stopping a respectful distance from Sam, his head bowed, and said "Yassuh, Massa Sam."
Sam whispered, "You may leave now, Hannibal. Please close the door," and with a puzzled look on his face the butler obeyed. Sam had given some thought as to what he would do, but inexperienced as he was, his plans were necessarily incomplete and confused. He walked over near the foot of the bed and pointing to the space between him and the bed commanded James to stand there. James taking that position, Sam stared at him for a while. James had a plain, honest, African face, the very dark skin of a pure African who had worked in the sun. Sam figured him for a field hand. They grew tobacco at The Ivies. Their workers were strong but not broken down as Sam had heard they were in the cane fields or cotton plantations elsewhere in the south. James's nose was broad, his lips quite full, his hair a short cap of dense kinks that glistened still with the water from his bath, his eyes almond shaped. Summoning his courage, Sam commanded James to remove the simple canvas shirt he was wearing.
Looking a little puzzled, the black manboy did so, dropping the shirt near his bare feet on the floor. Sam caught his breath. The eighteen year old's physique was well developed, sculpted slabs of chest above well developed little pillows of muscle that flowed down his torso. Long, rounded muscles played down the deep chocolate arms. Sam's eyes wandered to the simple trousers James wore. They were held up with a thin rope used as a belt. Now summoning his courage, Sam quickly reached over and untied the rope. The trousers fell to the floor.
James gasped. A large, long, heavy penis was revealed, flaccid, with two heavy balls in a pendulous sack behind. The penis was even darker than the rest of him, a purple/black/brown. James's eyes darted back and forth from the floor to Sam.
"You gonna finger me, Massa?" he asked, a note of fear in his voice. "You gonna sell me, Massa?" Sam looked up and down James's body and he managed to croak out a reply: "Yes, I am going to finger you. No, not to sell you." James still looked puzzled but a little relieved. Why would the young master want to inspect him physically if not for the prospect of selling him? "Turn around," the white boy commanded.
James did so, revealing a strong back, strong sloped muscles down each side and the long valley of the spine which ended in thick but slab sided buttocks that rolled back and up above sturdy, powerful legs. Taking the plunge, Sam took a step forward so that he was very close to James and began kneading his shoulders, the tops of the shoulders and then down the back, kneading deeply into the powerful muscles, thinking as he did so that this body belonged him, it was his property, he could make it do as he wished. In between massaging the black teen's flesh, Sam managed to quietly remove his own clothing and drop it to the floor. His rosie fourteen year old shaft sprung straight out and then up, but James could not see this.
Sam continued sliding his hands down the eighteen year old's body, pausing to massage the buttocks deeply, parting the cheeks a bit to run his thumb up and down the crack, lingering a moment on the anus to rub it gently. James gasped but not in pain, and merely mutter "Massa" under his breath. Kneeling, Sam continued working the slave's body, kneading the legs all the way down. Then Sam stood up suddenly and commanded James to turn around.
When the eighteen year old slave boy saw his master standing naked in front of him he gasped, called "Massa!" again, and quickly averted his eyes. The midnight black penis was maybe a little more distended now from the handling he had received, from the deep rubbing of his anus and buttocks. Quickly Sam abandoned all caution and seized the black staff, squeezing it, standing it straight up between them, moving in close enough to James that his own rod was just touching the slave boy's thighs. Out of arousal, for now his penis was certainly growing with the white boy's stimulation, or out of fear, James gasped again and whispered "Massa, what you goan do? What you wan' me ta do, Massa?"
And then Sam pushed himself into the dark body, wrapping his arms around the teen's back, as the slave's arms were held out at an angle from his body. The slave boy was completely at a loss, totally without any idea as to what was happening. The top of Sam's head came to James's chin; had they been of a more even size, Sam had thought about kissing him, but in the heat of moment he decided it was too awkward. Hugging the black slave tightly, he ran his hands over the back and buttocks again, laying his cheek against the thickly padded slave's chest. Then, on an inspiration, he took one and then the other nipple between his lips, gently massaging them, tonguing them. James gasped again and moaned, but whether in passion or wonder or confusion Sam could not tell. The slave boy was not, at any rate, initating anything himself.
Holding the slave like that for a moment, Sam put an inch between them and aligned his erect, vertical penis with the much heavier organ of the slave, which was now likewise standing straight up from the white boy's ministrations. Holding the two rods together, one black and one white, Sam began pumping them with both hands; one hand would have sufficed for himself, but James's meat was much bigger and longer. Standing on tiptoe, straining against the black teen's body, Sam was pumping the penises together for all he was worth. He came first, stifling a cry as he shot a plume of white semen up, onto the black penis, onto the heaving deep brown abdomen where it lay, splattered. James was now breathing more heavily and Sam could sense he was pushing a little with his buttocks, but Sam held his still rigid cock against the black boy's with one hand and with the other pumped the midnight black meat as hard as he could, his own semen now making a froth of lubrication, until James likewise groaned, cursing softly, and released a torrent of semen from the big bulb at the end of his rod, splattering over his abdomen, the white boy's chest, a dollop or two even landing in the boy's blonde page cut. Sam slowed his pumping and as James finished shuddering, as the semen stopped flowing, Sam released the two and took a step back to survey the scene. Two bodies, one black and one white, splatted with their shared spendings, stood panting a few inches from each other.
Sam had made no plans, no fantasies beyond that. For a moment he traced his finger in the semen on the black boy's torso and on his, no longer recalling which belonged to whom. Then with a shuddering sigh he whispered, "Thank you. That is all, you may leave." Without even trying to clean up, James quickly pulled up his trousers and put on his shirt, only half buttoned. He knew not what to say either, but ducking and nodding he whispered, "Yassuh, Massa, thank you Massa, I go now," and opening the door just enough to slip out he closed it behind him.
There, it was begun. Sam, his breath returning to normal, wiped himself up, and wiped the floor where some splashes of semen had fallen, and began thinking...thinking of how news of this encounter would spread, he was sure of it...thinking of what he might have done differently...thinking of what he would do next time. His own queer exercise of the droit du seigneur had begun.
More to come, comments welcome Lance Kyle lokiaga@austin.rr.com