This story contains graphic but completely fictional depictions of sex among men and men, and men and underage boys and/or girls. If this offends you, if it is illegal for you to read or download this, or if you are under 18, please go away.
Seaward Plantation
Chapter eleven
The soft pattering of feet... the swoosh of water being emptied from one container to another..... pattering again... a long pause.... more pattering, more water..... Mark Appleby had been hearing this rhythm for several minutes now as he awoke from a deep, restful slumber in his bedroom in Ashley Plantation. The bright morning light coming in his window reminded him that it was fully time he arose; but what were those sounds?
Pushing up on one elbow and drawing the sheets up to cover his nakedness, Appleby peered around the corner of his four poster bed. The door to the hallway was slightly ajar, not quite pushed closed. The door to his dressing chamber, however, stood open, which he did not remember from the previous night. Deciding to risk being seen without his clothes, he rose from the bed and walked into that chamber. There was nobody there, but he did see a rather large sort of tin bucket, a "hip tub," not nearly as large as the claw footed tub back at Seaward, but definitely large enough to squat in and get clean. It was about two thirds full of steamy water. On a nearby oaken stand were towels and a bar of soap.
Deciding that these preparations must be for him, and that the sound of footsteps and rushing water must have had something to do with it, he stepped gingerly into the tub. The temperature was just right, and he sank down into it. The water level might have been a little higher, but it would do. He reached for the soap and had just begun lathering it up when he heard his bedroom door open, then shut, and the pitter-pat of footsteps into the dressing room.
To his surprise, he recognized his visitor. It was one of the three boys that Robert Ashley had fucked on the stream bank yesterday, the coal black, portly boy of about thirteen or so. Today he wore a simple uniform in the Ashley livery, of course, but there was no mistaking who it was. The boy was concentrating on carrying a bucket with hot water in it, and was caught up short in surprise to find that the tub into which he meant to pour the load was already filled with a large, muscular naked white man.
"Oh! Masta, Ise sorry... did I wake you? Ise heah fo' yo' bath," he said, a brilliant white smile creasing his jet black face. "Lemme jes' po' dis in," he said, carefully emptying the bucket between Appleby's tucked up legs, but against the side of the hip bath. This last addition brought the water to just the right level. Appleby studied the boy as he concentrated on his task. His close-cut head showed tiny little snakes of black hair hugging the dark scalp. His face was rounded, with full, pouty purple brown lips. The boy's nose was broad and flared at the end. Not unhandsome, the boy's slight chubbiness leant a girlish quality to his dark features.
The boy set the empty bucket on the floor. At the same time he said, "Ise heah to hep you bathe, mastah," and gently removed the soap from Appleby's hand. Was this a regular service offered to guests at Ashley, or was this some special dispensation made for him.... and if so, who had ordered it? Surely not every guest would want such intimate attention. Without waiting for acknowledgement or permission, the boy began scrubbing the white man's back, running the lathered bar of soap over it with one hand and rubbing the soap into the skin with the light brown palm of his dark hand. Appleby hung his head over the water and splashed it up onto his shoulder length light brown hair. Taking the hint, the boy began washing that as well, working the lather into the hair with both hands, running his fingers through the fine hair, then splashing water on it to rinse it.
The boy moved around to the man's front and began soaping and then rubbing his neck, his shoulders, and then his chest. The boy's full lips were parted like a flower bud that had opened into curling petals and Appleby could hear the soft sussing sound of his breath--but was it from concentration or some sort of desire? The boy gently dug soapy fingers into Appleby's underarms, ran the bar and his free hand around the man's chest, and scrubbed down as far as his navel, which was just below the water. He shared the soap with Appleby so that the white man could wash his face. All the while, the boy's gaze was directed at the man's body, avoiding direct eye contact. But now he stopped and straightened up, standing right by the tub..... he seemed to be waiting the white man's further instructions.
"What is your name?" asked Appleby gently.
"Ise Hammond, suh," the boy said, grinning. Then smiling more broadly, "They calls me Ham, suh," he continued, pattying his rounded abdomen. Both man and boy smiled, sharing the joke.
"Well, Ham, I am Mark Appleby," he said. "Yassuh," the boy replied, and again, waited.
Curious as to what might happen, and feeling some measure of desire, Appleby simply stood up and presented his dripping wet back to the boy. This seemed to be what the youth was waiting for, because again he lathered up the soap and began washing. Over Appleby's back he moved the soap and worked the lather against the skin with his fingers. Then the lower back.... and then the hips. Was it Appleby's imagination, or was the boy pressing extra hard, kneading the white man's firm butt muscles more enthusiastically. No, now there could be no mistake about it. Then the boy placed just the edge of the soap into the top of the valley between Appleby's buttocks; he craned around and looked the white man in the eyes. "Mastah?" Appleby simply nodded.
The boy ran the bar of soap in Appleby's ass crack, then with his free hand began rubbing and scrubbing. Coming to the white man's anus, the boy worked some soap just into the opening, a finger making light, shallow circles, by way of cleaning it. Appleby's penis began to swell involuntarily. The boy scrubbed and then rinsed down the white man's muscular legs, barely touching the back of his ballsack as he cleaned between the upper thighs. Working his way down to the water level, again the boy stopped and waited.
Appleby turned around, now fully erect. The boy smiled hugely, lathered up both hands, and laid the soap on the nearby table. He made circles of lather on Appleby's lower belly, his fingers gradually working down into the wet bush of pubic hair, then just his thumbs massaging soap into the flesh right above the white man's penis. The slave boy looked up quizzically at Appleby, who once more simply nodded. With both hands well lathered, the boy gently cupped and rubbed the white man's scrotum, weighing the heavy balls. Then he grasped the rigid pink and red penis in front of him. Ham pulled back the remaining foreskin down Appleby's reddening dick to reveal the pink cockhead. The boy lathered all around it, causing Appleby to sigh with pleasure. Then, the boy paused, simply looking at the rampant erection before him for a moment. Pressing ahead, he grasped the white man's penis tightly in his two coal black hands and began very slowly pumping it.
Appleby felt a wave of pleasure pour over him. The boy was pumping very slowly, very deliberately. It was clear that the front of his livery trousers were tenting out as well. How did the boy know that the white man would find this at all appealing? Had he been sent here by Rodney or by Robert Ashley? The thought went as quickly as it came, engrossed as he was in the pleasure the boy was giving him.
The white man reached out and tugged on the boy's shirt. "Take this off," he said. Wordlessly, the youth complied, baring the almost girlish breasts and rounded belly that Appleby had seen the day before. Again Appleby reached out, this time just to tug at the waist of the boy's pants wordlessly. Flashing another big grin, the boy wriggled out of his pants and then his loincloth. The sight of his nakedness confirmed what Appleby had seen yesterday, that the boy had an unusually large penis for a thirteen year old, with a dense bush of frizzy pubic hair around it. Unleashed, the penis now rose majestically to arch out in front of him.
Appleby stepped out of the tub, took the boy by the hand, and led him into the bedroom. The white man sat on the edge of the fourposter bed, his legs apart, and pulled Ham straight toward him, still standing. Their penises batted against each other and then the boy's slid straight up between them. Appleby wrapped his arms around the boy, who did the same to the white man, and they embraced quietly, their breathing increasing. Running his hands over the boy's back and fleshy bottom, Appleby experienced a different kind of physique from the toned, muscled youths to which he had become accustomed, but it was not unpleasant. While Ham was not fat, he had enough chubbiness to give Appleby something to hold onto. He nibbled the boy's ear and neck, biting gently on the shoulder, brushing the tiny, wiry snakes of his hair with his lips and nose. The white man looked directly into the black boy's eyes, then kissed him on his full lips, then on his rounded cheeks, then back again to his mouth, playing with the full pillows of his lips top and bottom.
Desire was mounting in Appleby. Looking to his bedside table, he saw among some of the men's toiletries for guests a pot of hair oil. Opening it, he began rubbing it in between the boy's rounded butt checks, pushing it into his puckered brown anus. With one hand Appleby pulled the boy up onto his lap, the boy's knees on either side of the white man's legs, which he now closed together. Clutching the boy close to him, belly to belly, he could feel Ham's increased breathing making his fleshy torso expand and contract. With his other hand, Appleby pushed a well lubricated finger into the boy's anus, causing Ham to gasp and close his eyes in pain, but it was a treatment he was well used to, and soon he opened his eyes to stare at Appleby with desire and acceptance. The boy's large penis rode between them, straight up, his coal black ballsack spread out at the base of the white man's penis. Appleby's own rampant cock was now underneath the boy, sticking straight out underneath his ass.
Appleby slicked up his own hard cock with the hair oil, then positioned it at the boy's love hole. With his other hand cupped around the boy's butt, he raised Ham up a little, then lowered him onto his pole. It met some initial resistance and the boy moaned, then it slid all the way into the well-used hole.
The boy's hole was tight and warm. Assisted by Appleby's hands which were cupped around his butt, Ham began bouncing up and down on the white man's rigid penis. The boy's own large cock, slick with precum, slid up and down on the white man's torso and chest, while his ballsack, now drawn tight into his groin, rode the white man's lower belly. Faster and faster he bounced, the red dick sliding in and out of his loosened brown rectum. The white man sucked the boy's rounded breasts and pointed nipples into his mouth, tonguing and biting the tender flesh. Ham steadied himself with both hands on the white man's shoulders, looking into the master's face with intense concentration, curled out lips wide open.
When Appleby came he clutched the boy's body to him tightly and took the boy's neck into his mouth, biting hard. Ham wrapped his arms around the white man's back and pulled himself tight into his chest. Since Appleby was not in a position to push up into the slave, they simply locked together as the white man's semen flowed in a steady stream up into the slave boy. Appleby breathed heavily, sucking and biting the black skin of Ham's shoulder.
As his orgasm subsided, Appleby lay back flat on the bed and pulled the boy up and off of his penis, then kept pulling him so that the large, purple black penis slid right into the white man's mouth. Ham gasped and cried "Oh, mastah, oh... you gonna do dat? Oh!" It was clear that no white person had ever offered him this service before. A vigorous suction by the white man's mouth was the only answer. Consumed with lust, the boy began pumping furiously, face fucking the white man vigorously. Appleby fought down a gag reflex and tilted his head to better accommodate the well endowed slave boy. After the stimulation given to his prostate gland by being fucked, it did not take long: Soon the boy gave out a high pitched squeal and slammed forward, bucking and jerking as his own semen shot into the white master's mouth. The boy remained poised on his hands, quivering, then collapsed off to one side, panting.
Man and boy recovered side by side on the bed. Appleby turned to him, propped up on one elbow, lightly stroking and tickling his barrel abdomen and chest, which brought a sigh and a series of giggles to Ham. But duty called both of them in different ways. Rising, they both cleaned themselves in the bath water and dressed. Appleby gave the slave boy a light kiss on the mouth and a smile, then left him to clean up the room and to empty the bath while he went downstairs.
The Hunnicutts were still at table eating their breakfasts. Appleby helped himself from the sideboard, engaging in light chatter with his fellow guests. Conversation floated in from the hallway telling them that others had already eaten. As they finished their coffee, Carter Ashley came in to wish them a good morning.
"Anyone for some shooting this morning? Not quite the season yet for quail, but we have some doves and several nice rabbit warrens."
The Hunnicutts demurred, but Appleby eagerly accepted. He had not been a bad shot back in Massachusetts, and had been meaning to try his skills with the rabbits of Seaward. Also, he meant to teach his former slaves how to defend themselves and the island should that become necessary, so the practice would do him good. Ashley found some suitable clothing for tramping in the field that would fit Appleby, who quickly changed.
The Ashley children joined their father and Appleby on the lawn. Several slaves whom Appleby had not seen before were there as bearers and to flush the game. They were accompanied by a collection of dogs--terriers, beagles and pointers. Appleby bowed graciously to Victoria and Virginia, praising their colorful if impractical hunting attire. Robert seemed uncharacteristically subdued.
"How do you do, sir," said Appleby, mock-formally, shaking the youth's hand and bowing. "Very well, thank you," he replied, somewhat uncertainly. But as the party began to move toward the fields, Appleby made a point of hanging back at the start to walk with Robert a short distance, and to squeeze his neck and shoulder once, briefly. The boy shot a careful, neutral look at the older man, who returned a smile. Robert grinned shyly in return, speechless for once, and then walked ahead to offer his father loud advice on the best places to look for game.
Appleby had forgotten how much he enjoyed shooting. A little rusty at first, he soon picked up the proper rhythm of leading the game with the shotguns, which were kept loaded for the party by the accompanying slaves. Dogs flushed rabbits or retrieved doves, according to their nature.
A small horsecart loaded with picnic supplies pulled up under a nearby ash grove, and the party washed the black powder smut from their hands and face before sitting on spread cloths for lunch. Mrs. Ashley and the Hunnicutts walked out from the house to share in the feast, while Mrs. Reynolds preferred to remain inside, pleading a sick headache. The young ladies asked Appleby to tell them stories of his upbringing in Boston, which he did, but as a strategic exercise. He took care to compare Massachusetts unfavorably to South Carolina, to disparage the factory system, to praise the Charleston weather over Boston's, and on and on. The party nodded sagely as he continued, and he felt he was certainly building his ethos as a Southern gentleman and plantation owner, which was exactly the persona he intended to build. Robert sat near him, again uncharacteristically quiet, but helped the older man to various dishes from time to time.
As the party walked back to the house, Carter Ashley took Appleby by the elbow to move slightly apart from the rest of the party. "Sir, may I have a word with you?" he asked.
"Certainly, sir."
"I sense, sir, that your recent change in life, your acquisition of Seaward, and perhaps your own innate tendencies as a gentleman," and here he bowed slightly, a gesture returned by Appleby, "have disposed you not only to the Southern way of life but to the Southern point of view."
"Oh, they have, sir, beyond any question. Property and blood, sir, property and blood will do that," Appleby replied, uttering a bald-faced lie.
"Excellent! May I ask, sir, if you would consider joining the South Carolina Militia, perhaps at an officer's rank, some day? It is but wise preparation, sir, to have a force of armed citizenry in case of local uprisings, difficulties with, uh..... with servants, sir, or cases of unwarranted intervention from.... from other States, sir." Ashley looked at Appleby with a knowing, conspiratorial look. Appleby actually winked at him, nodded vigorously, and said, "Nothing would honor me more, sir. I am not sure what I can do from my home, being somewhat isolated, and of course I am not often in Charleston, but what I can for South Carolina, sir," and here he drew himself up tall and extended his hand, "I shall do!" Ashley stopped and grasped Appleby's hand in both of his, pumping them vigorously.
"Capital, capital! Yes, I quite understand, involvement is difficult, but perhaps you would consider some sort of minor commission and perhaps attend occasional meetings in town?" Appleby readily agreed, inwardly overjoyed. He had hoped for something like this, and his plans appeared to be proceeding apace. "I shall speak to the commanding officers locally, sir, and recommend you," said Ashley. Taking Appleby by the elbow, they stepped briskly after the others.
The company dispersed upon entering the house, some to read, some to nap. Robert smiled shyly at Appleby, then scooted off to pursue his own plans. Appleby found Mrs. Reynolds in the library as he passed by. He stopped and entered the room.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Reynolds, I hope you are feeling better?"
"Somewhat, Mr. Appleby, somewhat. Thank you for asking. Did you enjoy the shooting party?"
"Yes, madam, I did." There was a pause. Appleby wanted to know more about this woman who had so recently owned Cassius and Portia, and who had, he felt, done wrong by them. "I am sorry that I never knew your late husband, madam, and I am sorry for your loss."
"Thank you, very kind of you to say so, Mr. Appleby."
"I'm sure your late husband was a fine, Christian man."
Mrs. Reynolds paused, pursing her mouth and looking to the side, then back directly at Appleby. "Mr. Reynolds had many Christian virtues," she said. "Of course, if you will forgive me, sir," and she bowed slightly to Appleby, who bowed back, "men are prone to many vices. We women suffer from them, sir, we do."
"Then let me apologize on behalf of my sex for your suffering, madam," replied Appleby, bowing again with a flourish of his hand. A rare, infrequent smile cracked the face of Mrs. Reynolds briefly before gloom settled back in. Appleby bade her good day and withdrew. Although he could not condone her behavior toward Cassius and Portia, he felt he now had some understanding of how she must have felt, of the bitter reminder those two were to her of her husband's infidelities. In the context of what must have been her very traditional morality, that would have been a source of ongoing pain to her.
Appleby made his way to his room to nap, in preparation for that evening's ball. Mercifully, nobody interrupted his slumbers, and he emerged fully rested. The plan was for the ball to begin about the usual time for dinner, with a buffet supper available throughout the evening and dancing until the wee hours. The sound of carriages pulling up and the increase in volume of conversation on the lawn outside gave evidence of new guests arriving for the ball. Appleby dressed carefully, being sure to put on his black clothing again, and as the hour for the festivities approached he made his way down the hall and the stairs to the floor below.
He entered a swirling sea of women in hoop skirts and men in evening dress. The guests he already knew at Ashley delighted in leading him here and there by the arm, introducing him to the gathering of Charleston gentry. As he passed clusters of women he saw them whispering behind their fans, bright eyes following his passage. Bearded patriarchs greeted him gravely and courteously to his face, tugged at their whiskers thoughtfully and put their heads together in conference as he passed along the way. As the cool of the evening descended and the small orchestra struck up the music, he asked a very few of the women to dance: certainly Victoria and Virginia Ashley, a few of the older matriarchs. But not too many--a young "widower" cannot appear too gay and carefree, after all.
From time to time, Appleby caught sight of Robert Ashley. Dressed in his evening best, he was gallantly escorting some of the very youngest young women who had come with their parents, talking to a few other male guests of his own age, playing the junior host. But Appleby was likewise aware of Robert's gaze from time to time throughout the evening, a furtive surveillance of where he was standing and with whom he danced and talked.
As the evening wore on, Mrs. Ashley took him by the arm and led him through a French window onto the verandah to savor the cool air. "You are quite a success, Mr. Appleby," she said, revealing the key to the many covert looks and whispered discussions he knew he was invoking. "And I may tell you," she said lowering her gaze and speaking in a confidential tone, "that many a young heart here tonight awaits the time when your sad loss has receded into distant memory." He smiled wanly and looked out at the horizon, striking a pose of tragic suffering. A bit later in the evening, Carter Ashley took him through the same French window to speak into his ear, "Appleby, I have spoken to Colonel Gillam. Told him what a fine shot you are, sir! The Colonel is pleased that you might consider a commission in the militia, sir. You must come to one of our meetings soon," which invitation Appleby readily accepted.
Late in the evening, Appleby surveyed the panorama of dancers, the knots of finely dressed people here and there, the long buffet table, and decided that his work here was done. He felt a longing for the simpler, open life he had back at Seaward, to which he would return in the morning. Slowly he worked his way toward the stairs, and at a moment when nobody was looking, walked up them quickly. He was mistaken, however; his departure was not unobserved. Two figures slipped out of the shadows of a hanging curtain and followed him at a distance.
Reaching his room, Appleby carefully removed his evening clothes, this time hanging them neatly in the wardrobe. He was down to his shirt and undergarments when, as had happened the previous evening, he heard a knock on the door. Was it Rodney again, come to repeat last night's pleasant encounter? Appleby cracked the door open, keeping his semi- clothed body out of sight. It was Robert Ashley. The boy looked left and right down the hallway and whispered loudly, "May I come in?"
In answer, Appleby opened the door and let the boy in. Robert was drawn up short by the sight of Appleby in a shirt and undergarments; he simply stood, staring. Appleby smiled and closed the short distance between them, putting one hand on the boy's shoulder and with the other raising his chin. He looked into the crystal blue eyes beneath the blonde bangs and then kissed him on his full lips. Robert moaned softly and put his hands on both of Appleby's arms.
"I.... I wanted to see you," he said. "And I brought you a present. Well, it's for us. I.... I thought you might like it, after yesterday," he said. Puzzled, Appleby looked at him questioningly.
Robert stepped quickly to the door and opened it, gesturing into the hallway. In through the door slipped the leopard faced boy from the day before, the exotic twelve year old who had been fucked by Robert on the banks of the stream. Robert had both arms around the boy's shoulders and the two stood there, Robert smiling hopefully. "This is Aaron," he said, indicating the slave. Aaron's deep dark almond shaped eyes stared neutrally at Appleby out of his long, thin, ruddy-brown, almond shaped face. Up close, Appleby could see that the slave boy's hair was jet black and shiny, but straight, a short helmet. His lips were a purple brown pout, as high as they were wide, as if perpetually being presented for kissing.
"Hello, Aaron," said Appleby.
"Mastah," returned the boy, quietly, still looking at the white man.
"Aaron, take your clothes off," commanded Robert. The boy obeyed with alacrity, shedding his simple livery shirt and trousers and kicking his loincloth and shoes aside. The boy was thin but uniformly muscled. His four inch penis sat under a tiny patch of pubic hairs that waved out wildly into the air, and above a ballsack that dangled down an inch or two. The slave boy's cock was unusually thick for its size, and as he stood naked under the gaze of the two whites, it gradually became erect and stuck out in front.
"Aaron, remove my clothing," said Robert, who clearly had plans for orchestrating this escapade. Deftly, the slave boy's long brown fingers unfastened his young master's buttons, removing the coat and shirt, pulling off the cravat. Evidently used to this task, he quickly unbuckled Robert's belt and lowered the white boy's trousers and undergarments. Robert's strawberries and cream complexion, his golden blonde hair and ice blue eyes, took Appleby's breath away once again. The rounded pads of the boy's chest were beginning to rise and fall with a heavier breathing. Aaron knelt down in front of the young blonde god to remove his boots; his master's pink and red penis was now erect and waved in his brown face.
Both boys now stood together, a magnificent contrast of colors, Robert's more defined musculature contrasting with the thin, muscled tube that was Aaron's body. Appleby was simply lost in the display of beautiful young maleness before him. "Aaron....undress Master Appleby," ordered Robert.
The slave boy had little work to do by then, and Appleby eagerly assisted. Off came his shirt and undergarments, and the man stood naked before the boys, his penis fully erect and leaking a long string of precum. He didn't know where to begin, but a wave of sexual aggression overtook him and he was determined not to dance to Robert's tune. Turning to the white boy, he drew him close to him, arms on both shoulders, and kissed him passionately. Robert gasped, clutching the older man's upper arms. It was a tutelage in how to kiss. Appleby sucked the boy's pink lips, then inserted his tongue into his mouth. Robert tentatively pushed his tongue forward, which Appleby gently but forcefully sucked into his own mouth. Tongues played over the ridges of teeth, dancing together from one mouth to the next.
Breaking off, Appleby picked Robert up and carried him, like a bride over the threshhold, to the bed, laying him in the center on his back. Then he returned to the slave boy. Appleby put his hands to both sides of the boy's head, running his fingers into the slave's coarse, straight black hair, tilted up his head, and kissed the pouty lips. Tentatively, the boy reached up to put his arms around the white man's waist; when that was not refused, the slave pulled himself in tighter, mashing his penis against the white man's upper thighs, feeling the rigid red cock against his own abdomen. Appleby reached down and in back, cupping both hands around the tight brown bottom of the boy and pulled him in tight as he continued the long kiss. Then he scooped the boy up as he had Robert, one arm under his knees and one under his shoulder, and carried him to the bed, where he laid him down tight beside his young blonde master.
Appleby swung onto the bed and lowered himself onto the boys. Now shifting to the left and now to the right, he humped the blonde and the black boy alternately, fondly the rigid cock of the one he was not lying on top of, then switching off. The boys made a tangle of arms that clutched around Appleby, feeling the muscles of his chest, pulling and scratching at his shoulders, wrapping legs around legs. Appleby kissed first one and then the other, licking faces and biting ears in a frenzy of lust.
Then swinging off to the side of Robert away from Aaron, Appleby reached for a pillow which he shoved under the white boy's firm butt. A worried look came into the freckled pink face and Appleby wondered momentarily if Robert was new to being fucked even if he was no stranger to fucking. First time for everything, he thought. Appleby reached over to the bedside table and opened the pot of hair oil, scooping a gob of it with two fingers. He pushed Robert's legs open and drew them up, then began massaging the oil into his pink anus. Fear and desire warred in the face of the young blonde boy; it was clear this was new territory and that he was tempted but hesitant. Aaron turned slightly toward his young master and grasped the rigid pink cock, jacking it slowly up and down with his brown hand while with his mouth he nibbled at the white boy's nipple.
Appleby inserted one and then two fingers into Robert, causing the boy to gasp. Making slow circles, the boy's anus slowly dilated. The time had come. Coming up with another dollop of hair oil, Appleby reached for the stiff, fat cock of the black slave boy.
"No!" cried Robert, this time forcefully and with no ambivalence. "Not by him!" A quick wave of disappointment washed over Appleby, then anger. He thought to himself that the white boy did not know what he was missing--but he did not wish to preside over a rape.
"Alright," he said, "then by me." He diverted the oil to his own large penis, slathering it on quickly, then moved into position between Robert's legs which he pushed up toward the boy's chest. Robert's eyes grew big now that the moment of crisis was upon him; had he made a mistake not to accept the smaller cock of his black slave boy first? He had little time to think about it for Appleby, annoyed at the blonde boy's petulance, put his cock head to the pink anus and pushed. Robert writhed in pain and let out a strangled cry, pushing against the older man's chest, but to no avail. In one move, Appleby was fully inserted inside the white and pink butt of the boy.
Appleby arched his chest and torso over the boy; his head was over the top of Robert's golden pageboy hair. He was waiting for the change he knew would come, and it did: Robert's breathing changed from pain to passion, gasps soon became heavy breathing. Appleby pulled nearly all the way out, then pushed back in, then began a steady rhythm. Robert's hands on the man's chest began to clutch and scratch at the skin over the muscled pads, tweaking the pink nipples. He crossed his legs over Appleby's lower back.
Holding himself up on only one arm, Appleby reached for the black slave boy next to them, who had continued masturbating his young master all the while. Appleby grasped the slave boy's arm and moved him into position at the end of the bed. Seeing what was required, Aaron stretched out above Robert's head, his groin tightly wedged against the top of his master's head, his thin brown legs stretching down over the white boy's shoulders, the beige pads of his feet pressing against the blonde boy's hips. Robert wriggled and rolled his eyes up in alarm, unsure that he wanted the slave boy's dick and asshole so close to his blonde hair; but Appleby saw to it that he had no choice. The white man now lowered his torso onto the blonde boy's chest and face, and took the slave boy's dark brown dick, bobbing just above Robert's forehead, into his mouth. Appleby began sucking, bobbing his head up and down in rhythm to his hips. With his mouth he sucked the slave boy. With his dick he fucked the blonde boy, who squirmed helplessly under the weight of manhood above him. Aaron began pumping his hips as well and entwined his fingers in the white man's long light brown hair; it was clear he had never received his kind of service from a white person before.
Carefully observing Aaron's building passion and monitoring his own, Appleby brought off the slave boy and himself at nearly the same time. Aaron cried out and twisted, thrashing, pumping a small amount of watery cum out of his twelve year old dick into the sucking mouth of the white man. A second later, Appleby slammed forward and down into Robert, filling the white boy's rectum with long spurts of semen. Thrashing and bucking, the black boy and white man emptied themselves, lying shaking and panting at the end.
Pulling out of Robert, Appleby simply slid down the boy's body, past his abdomen which was slick with sweat and precum from the fourteen year old's own dick, and took the boy's pink cock into his mouth. Already slick with Aaron's cum, Appleby's lips and mouth slid quickly up and down Robert's rigid penis. Now it was the white boy's turn to grasp the man's hair, to thrash and moan, and soon to come, crying out and pushing up his groin into Appleby's face, heels and shoulders rigid and supporting his arching body as it pumped semen up into the mouth around his dick. Now it was Robert's turn to collapse, panting, eyes closed. Appleby moved up to lie along one side of the boy, while the black slave stretched out on the other side. As regular breathing returned, three sets of hands moved lightly over bodies, sliding over sweat and cum slicked skin, dark brown and peachy white. Speech was limited to soft whispers, to expressions of wonder, to calling out names. Breathing returned to normal, then slowed. Three heads, one blonde, one brown, one jet black, lolled together as sleep rolled over them all.
Appleby awoke alone from a long, restful sleep. The boys had evidently slipped out in the night so that they would not be missed. The stained, rumpled sheets were a reminder that last night's encounter was no dream, it had actually occurred. Feeling a need to relieve himself, Appleby found the chamber pot under the bed. He stood, stark naked, and began pissing into it. At that moment his door began to open. Unable to stop the strong flow, and wondering who would enter without knocking, Appleby simply continued to urinate. Rodney stepped into the room.
"Mahnin', mastah, let me hep wit dat," he said, closing the door and walking quickly over to take the chamber pot. He held it between them, of necessity standing close to Appleby, as the piss continued to stream out of his penis. Rodney looked down with interest at these proceedings. When Appleby was finished Rodney quickly covered the pot with a cloth and set it aside.
"I poured yo' bath already, mastah," he said.
"Thank you, Rodney," said Appleby, standing naked in front of the black slave. Involuntarily, his penis began to fill, rising slightly. "Hammond helped me yesterday," he added, and look inquiringly at Rodney.
"Yassuh," Rodney said, grinning hugely and hanging his head. "I thought you might lak his hep, suh," he said. The mystery was solved; it was Rodney, having learned of Appleby's proclivities, who had sent the chubby brown cherub Hammond to his bedroom the previous morning. Appleby smiled broadly at Rodney, and the two men stood for a moment exchanging a frank moment of understanding and mirth. Rodney's glance flickered now to the white man's growing morning erection.
"Is they anythin' ah can do to hep you this mahnin' suh?" he asked. Appleby thought of their encounter two evenings ago, in which he had taken some advantage of their position as slave and potential buyer. The thought came to him that he might make the balance between them a little more even.
"Let me do something for you, Rodney," Appleby said, and sat down on the bed. "Remove your clothing, please." A look of surprise and wonder crossed the coal black, handsome face, but he did as he was told. Soon he stood naked before Appleby, his large, thick penis now also rising. Appleby simply gestured for the man to come forward, which he did.
Inching closer and closer, Rodney gasped when the white man leaned over and took his black dick into his mouth, pulling him even closer with his hands on the slave's hips. "Oh, mastah, no, you shouldn't suh!" he cried, but he did not resist. Pulled right up to the edge of the bed between the white man's legs, Rodney's dick was buried between his pink lips. Two white hands reached around and grasped the firm, high butt muscles of the slave, and gently moved them back and forth. Picking up the rhythm, Rodney began breathing hard and moaning softly. Tentatively and then eagerly he ran his fingers through the white man's shoulder length brown hair. The newness and excitement of this situation, being sucked for the first time by a white man, was almost too much for him. He came quickly, sighing loudly and simply pushing his groin forward into Appleby's face. The white man drank the copious spew of semen that flowed into his mouth. Rodney quivered, sighed again, and was still.
Appleby held the black cock, still rigid, in his mouth for a moment, then gently pushed the slave back a step and rose from the bed. "Lie here," he said, indicating the bed. Rodney lay down on his back, wondering what was in store for him. Appleby simply stretched himself out on top of the slave, pushed his rampant penis through the man's muscled thighs just below the tight ballsack, and began slowly pumping up and down. White skin slid on coal black skin, lubricated by sweat. The channel between Rodney's thighs became slick with the white man's precum, which aided in the increasing energy with which Appleby leg-fucked the slave. White and black man clutched each other together, grasping shoulders, sliding arms and hands around backs, fondling butt muscles. Appleby's mouth was not quite even with Rodney's so instead he kissed the dark, shining skin on the slave's neck and shoulders. His hair spread out over the black man's lower face. When Appleby came he cried out "hunh, hunh, hunh" and pumped his semen down onto the sheet below Rodney's ass, and the two men held each other tightly during the white man's passion. Finished, he simply lay there, looking closely at the depth of color in the coal black skin, lightly rubbing the flesh of the slave beneath him, while Rodney held him tight, softly saying "Mastah, mastah, mastah."
Aware that he must prepare to leave, Appleby rose, pulling the slave up off the bed as well. They embraced once more and then Appleby led Rodney into the dressing room where they both used the hip bath, helping each other to soap up, toweling each other off in turn. They both dressed for the day.
Appleby stopped as he was preparing to leave the room and said, "Rodney... I am glad you are happy here. If ever you are not happy, get word to me at Seaward Plantation, alright?" The slave looked with amazement and appreciation at the white man, grinned and nodded. Appleby kissed Rodney once more quickly before going downstairs for breakfast, leaving the slave to clean up the room and to pack his belongings for the return home.
Most of the guests were gathered for breakfast when Appleby arrived in the dining room, including a few new additions who had arrived for the ball the night before. Colonel Gillam of the Militia was there, and Appleby had a brief, productive chat with him in which many pro-South and pro- South Carolina sentiments were expressed by Appleby, who kept his fingers mentally crossed. It was agreed that Appleby would come into Charleston at a date in the future to attend a meeting of the Militia.
Coming out of the dining room, Appleby found Robert Ashley in the hallway, evidently waiting for him. Mindful of the need to be careful lest another guest suddenly appear, the two shook hands gravely and exchanged the most polite greetings--but Appleby smiled broadly and winked at the boy, who grinned shyly. The time had come for Appleby's departure from Ashley. To his pleasant surprise, Carter Ashley announced that Robert had especially asked permission to escort him down to the pier. Mr. Ashley shook Appleby's hand with genuine warmth, and invited him to return at any time. Appleby returned thanks, and felt a small measure of regret that he could not reciprocate the invitation; Seaward must remain hidden from outside scrutiny. All the ladies gathered round and curtsied, and Appleby trotted out all his old-world charm once more, leaving sighs and longings in his wake.
Rodney was waiting on the verandah with Appleby's bags all packed. Did Robert know about Appleby's sexual encounters with Rodney and his surrogate, Hammond? Appleby could detect no sign of it as Robert curtly ordered the slave to bring the bags along behind them. Chatting carefully about neutral subjects, Robert and Appleby walked across the lawns and through the groves of Ashley, down to the pier. There they waited, and the trio played a silent game of communication by looks--Appleby winking at the boy, the boy smiling back and blushing on occasion, Appleby also winking, unobserved by Robert, at Rodney who stood somewhat apart, and the slave grinning gratefully as he lowered his head.
Eventually, Robert turned to the slave and said, "You may go, now Rodney."
"Yes, mastah," he said.... looked once more at Appleby, who favored him with the subtlest miming of a kiss, behind Robert's back. The black man hung his head, grinned hugely, and was gone.
Once the slave's broad back was out of sight, Robert looked around carefully, then embraced Appleby tightly. "I shall miss you," he said, fiercely. Appleby returned the embrace, then lifting up the boy's chin, looking at his beautiful gold-pink-blue features, and kissed him passionately on the lips. The sound of canvas flapping in the near distance made them push back suddenly, and there coming around the bend of the stream was the Hesperus, Troy at the helm, Hector in the bow. The boat glided up to the pier and was temporarily secured there by Troy and Hector, who made only the briefest, respectful acknowledgment of their master, heads lowered. They put the luggage on board and waited.
Appleby and Robert shook hands once more, and spoke their formal goodbyes. But the handshake lingered a shade longer, and was a bit firmer, than formality required. Appleby boarded the boat, which was pushed off, and he and Robert waved to one another until it glided around the bend and was gone.
Appleby heaved a deep sigh and, instead of sitting in the middle, sat in the stern right next to Troy. Hector squatted on a pile of rope, regarding the two. A spirit of love and lightness seemed to fill Appleby, and he wondered why. Robert Ashley was wonderful in bed, stunningly attractive, and yet.... what was it?
Then it came to him, in a metaphor. Robert was a big, gooey cake, covered with the sweetest frosting. Wonderful, sweet, a marvelous indulgence, and yet.... yet he longed for something more substantive, something he found especially in Troy, but also in Hector, and Pan and Bacchus, and.... what was it? It came to him.
"Good roast beef," he said, turning to Troy.
"Master?!" came the quizzical response, a big smile of curiosity cleaving Troy's honest brown face. "Are you hungry, master?"
"Good roast beef, that's what you are," he told the amused slave. "And," turning to Hector, "good, honest root vegetables. That's what a body needs." Troy and Hector looked at each other; had their master gone crazy while in foreign parts? Appleby roared with laughter, joined by his two friends, and the Hesperus glided down the river toward home.