Date: Sun, 26 Jun 2005 05:12:28 -0700 (PDT) From: Lance Kyle <lokiaga@prodigy.net> Subject: Mistletoe Farm: Good Neighbors MISTLETOE FARM A cautionary tale Chapter Five: Good Neighbors "Come on, now, massah," coaxed Pompey. Into the early morning light he led the smiling white man who looked around him vaguely at the yard and outbuildings of Mistletoe Farm, gathering shape from out of the dawn shadows. Simon Simmons stopped a few feet beyond the cabin door of Pompey and Aphrodite. He looked around, then shook his head as if to clear it, looked around again. "How long..... how long has it been, Pompey? How long have I....been with you and 'Dite?" he asked, abstractedly. "Oh, three days or mo', massa, mainly in our cabin. Course, you came out to wash and use the privy, but near 'bout three days, massa." Simon nodded again, looking around, still as if in a dream. "It seems so strange," he said. "This.... forgive my asking, this is Mistletoe Farm, is it not?" Pompey nodded and murmured, "Yes, massa." Simon nodded, but remained where he was. It was then that Pompey, who stood naked next to his master this whole time, turned slightly in toward the white man, who was wearing simple trousers and a shirt. The black man reached down to grasp the master's hand and placed it on his thick, purple black penis which down over his massive scrotum. Simon started and shivered, then looked down at the sight of his own hand encircling his slave's solid cock. He nodded, giving the organ a slow, gentle pump or two. "Les' go, massa," whispered Pompey, nuzzling the white man's ear through the shock of cornsilk blonde hair. One step and then two, and Pompey was leading the white man toward the privy. Simon looked straight ahead of him, one arm now around the strong chocolate brown shoulders of his slave. He spoke not a word. In the privy, Pompey set his master on the hole and stood directly in front of him. Simon sighed, his vision taken up with the muscular hills and valleys of Pompey's strong abdomen, ripples of muscles beneath a smooth dark skin. The white man strained to urinate and to shit while he pulled the strong brown body that was his toward himself, nuzzling the black man's nipples, licking the skin below the chest.....as he had done so often over the last three days. Pompey stood there, cradling his master's head in his strong hands. Then, perceiving Simon was done with his business, Pompey reached for one of the stacked corncobs nearby and, bending the white man forward, cleaned his bottom while Simon continued to press his face against the slave's abdomen, breathing in deeply the scent of his skin. Pompey pulled the white man up, along with his trousers, and led the way from the privy to the wash house. "Take them clothes off now, massa," whispered Pompey, and Simon complied, as the slave pumped water to fill the galvanized metal tub. Gently, Pompey helped his master into the tub, helped him to sink down into the soapy water. The slave ran a bar of soap all over the white man's skin, rubbing lather into his skin, into his hair, reaching down below to clean his genitals and behind to rub his bottom, probing an inch into the rectum to make sure it was clean. Simon sat still, sometimes sighing and sometimes gasping in surprise as he felt himself grasped or touched here and there, but otherwise silent. The sun was fully up when they were finished. Cleaned and toweled dry, Simon was led by the naked slave out into the bright morning light. By now the rest of the servants were up and about their business. Pompey made a point of pulling slightly on the white man's elbow to stop him. The slave spoke brightly: "Well, massa, everbody is up and out!" Did Simon hear him? Probably at one level. But his sense of sight may have overwhelmed any other awareness that he had. For the people of Mistletoe Farm, his slaves, were going about their business stark naked, every one of them. "Mornin', massa!" cried Thorn cheerfully, his young penis bobbing as he walked by carrying a load of grain from the barn to the kitchen. Simon looked at him in astonishment, following the sight of his caramel brown, round, high buttocks pistoning up and down as the boy walked away from him. His vision was disrupted by Venus passing by, her high, pert breasts bobbing as she carried a bucket of water toward a cabin. "Massa!" she said, smiling cheerfully. Simon wheeled partially around to watch her go, her ample round hips swaying alluringly as she went by. The white man was not even aware of Pompey's gentle grasp of his hand, and movement of that hand to Pompey's own penis once again, so that the white and black man stood together like that, white hand around the coal black rod, watching as the naked slaves of Mistletoe paraded by. Then Pompey broke into the moment as he pushed slightly with his hand on his master's elbow, and they started toward the house, Simon still looking to the left and the right in amazement as all the slaves of Mistletoe went by on their morning business, long and heavy dark penises swaying, full breasts bobbing, the muscles of firm, high buttocks working as they walked. Into the house they went, and Pompey led the way to the dining room. Simon sat down abstractedly in a chair at the table, looking around as if his house were unfamiliar to him; and in truth, it had been days since he had been here. "Breakfas' right away, massa!" said Pompey cheerily, then slipped through the door behind where Simon sat. The white man was alone in the room for a moment, then heard footsteps behind him and saw a naked brown hand and arm place food and drink before him. He half turned and looked up. It was Rodney, from Owlcroft, likewise naked. His graceful head on its long neck looked down at him, a smile splitting his Asian, delicate features. Rodney's body was lithe, muscular but without the development of Pompey, or even of Toby. His body was a thin tube of meat, strong as a whip, sinuous as a snake. A nest of peppercorn curls just above his genitals matched the same pattern on his head. "Heah somethin' to eat, massa," said Rodney, setting the plate and mug down. And then he quietly placed his own penis on the table and remained standing there. It was a beautiful organ, chocolate dark, swelling as it grew out of his body like an eggplant of flesh, prominent veins running the length of it, a lighter cockhead peeking out of a hood of foreskin. Simon could just see two large testicles hanging low in a long, pendulous scrotum sack just below the level of the table. Simon looked at his plate of greasy sausages and eggs, then down at the graceful, curved organ that simply lay on the table, inches from the plate, then back up the curved plane of Rodney's torso to his bright eyes shining above high, delicate cheekbones. "Eat, massa!" he said, and gently reached through the cornsilk hair to caress the back of the white man's neck. Simon turned to look at the knife and fork as if they were new, strange instruments. Then he picked them up and began to eat, slowly at first, then hungrily....but his glance kept flickering over to the naked black man who stood close beside him, gently rubbing his neck, softly whispering "Massa, massa" as the white man ate. Simmons ate slowly, chewing distractedly, looking down to his side at the naked penis that lay still on the table, breathing the clean, wholesome odor of the dark chocolate body next to him. The spell was shifted, although not broken, by a sound of footsteps on his other side, and a voice: "Coffee, massa?" Looking to that side, Simon beheld Toby laying a cup by his plate and filling it with steaming coffee from a pitcher he carried....and Toby was completely naked as well. "Toby!" Simon croaked in a hoarse voice, "why is Rodney.... where did..... and you, why are you naked, and why--" By way of answer, the young man put the pitcher down on the table and then, standing as close on his side as Rodney was on the other, hefted his own huge penis and placed it on the table. Longer than Rodney's, longer and more massive than anyone's at Mistletoe, it lay like a hunk of meat, full and potent, inches from Simon's hand on that side. The white man looked down at its magnificence, lost in its fleshy heft, in the slight sheen of the skin, in the outline of the heavy cap beneath the hood of foreskin. "Massa," Toby crooned softly, "I is yo' slave. You is my massa. I do what you tells me, massa. You is my massa, suh." Toby placed his hand on his master's shoulder nearest him and began to knead it slowly, in time to Rodney's continuing massage of his neck. His eyes on Toby's penis, lulled by the soft declarations of slavery and ownership, Simon fumbled for the cup and brought it to his lips, slurping the hot liquid, his gaze transfixed on the heavy organ that lay on the table. Was it minutes or hours that the three stayed this way, kept this tableau in place? The spell was broken by the rumbling of wheels distantly heard, then the more distinct creak of a cart outside. Rodney and Toby in an instant broke into action. Rodney pulled back the white man's chair while Toby helped his master to stand. "Massa! our first delivery from Roanoke, massa! It been a week since we was all there!" Toby led Simon to the door, his huge penis swinging gently like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. The door opened and Pompey appeared, now fully clothed, to take his master by the arm and lead him a step or two onto the verandah. Wheeling around, Simon looked back inside the house: both the slaves who had served him at breakfast were gone. Turning around quickly, he observed the same level of busy activity, coming and going, in the yard and buildings of Mistletoe. But wonder of wonders! every slave was fully clothed. Simon could only stand and stare. Had he imagined his earlier vision of brown and black bodies going to a fro, their naked skin shining in the morning light? Pompey took Simon by the elbow and led him gently down the steps. As he reached the bottom, the white man was aware of quick steps coming down after him. He half turned to receive a piece of paper that was thrust into his hand. "Massa! Here yo order fo' today, suh!" It was the seventeen year old girl from the creek, last seen pistoning up and down on Simon's erect penis as he lay in a nest of writhing, naked slave girls but three.... was it just three?..... days ago on the clay banks of the swimming hole. She was fully clothed. She smiled brightly, bobbed her head, and returned to the house. "Who?" muttered Simon, turning to Pompey, "How did she come to....." But the male slave did not let him finish. "Here the men from Roanoke, massa, they has this week's order. You need to give them next week's," whispered Pompey in his master's ear, meanwhile urging him gently forward, nodding and grinning at the two rough looking white men on the bench of the wagon that two strong horses pulled into the yard. "Mahnin', Mister Simmons," said one of them. "You... you is Mister Simmons, isn't you?" Simon could only nod, looking left and right for brown flesh, wondering what was happening to him that morning. Pompey stepped forward a bit. "Massa, he don' feel right this mornin', massas, but he feel better directly!" said Pompey, nodding and grinning. The two white men on the wagon bench looked at the slave, then at the white man, eyed him closely, taking in his distracted look, his simple clothing. They nodded. "Well, Mister Simmons, we got yo' order here," said the other driver. Pompey gave a barely perceptible signal and slaves appeared from left and right. Among them Titus.... the tall, muscular slave from White Springs began helping to unload the wagon along with the rest. And then the huge, muscular bulk of Romulus came into view, seizing a barrel and hoisting it onto his shoulder. Open-mouthed, Simon stared after the two slaves he had seen only as passers-by before. Why were they here, how did they come to be here? He barely had time to think about it. Pompey spoke up again, addressing the two men on the wagon. "Massa, he got an order fo' next week. It what you call a standin' order, right massa?" Pompey nudged his master. Simon nodded and looked vaguely at the sheet of paper in his hand, covered with writing and figures. Pompey prodded him gently again and he held it forward, shuffling uncertainly toward the wagon. One of the men on the bench leapt down and took the paper. He looked it over, looked closely at Simmons, then back at the paper again, then nodded. "Yessir, we can bring these things once each week. Charge it to your account? Yes, very well sir," said the driver. Simon looked at the paper disappear into the man's pocket and tried to recall what was on it..... tried to recall when he had drawn the order up. In a few moments the wagon was empty. The drivers clucked at their horses and, as the empty wagon moved slowly from the yard, one of them called back over his shoulder, "Sure hope you feel better next time, Mister Simmons!" Simon could only nod as the wagon moved out of sight. He watched it go for a moment, then looked around the yard of Mistletoe again. Thorn, Rose, and Aphrodite stood here and there, waving in the direction of the now vanished wagon.... and all three of them were as naked as the day they were born. "Come inside now, massa," said Romulus, his huge bulk swelling up on Simon's side. The white man started as he realized that the slave was now naked, huge muscles, great lobes of chest meat, heavy hams, a thick, heavy penis all clearly visible on the muscular mountain of a man. As Romulus took Simmons by the hand Pompey simply seemed to disappear, or to slip around a corner, melting away like the morning dew.... or was the white man just so distracted by the mountain of naked muscle next to him that he did not notice when or how his own slave departed? Still enveloping the white man's hand in his enormous paw, Romulus led Simmons upstairs and into his bedroom. They stopped just inside the door. "You rest now, massa," he breathed throatily, his thick fingers unfastening the buttons on the white man's shirt, then on his trousers. Both garments slipped to the floor and Simmons stood naked before the huge black man. His eyes ran up and down the hills and valleys outlining his massive muscles. Simmons's hand was just reaching out to grasp the thick, purple black cock when Romulus scooped the white man up in one swift, sure movement. Carrying him in his arms like a new bride, he took him to the bed, where the sheets were turned back in expectation. Simon buried his face in the rolls of muscle on Romulus's chest and shoulder, nuzzling the chocolate skin that stretched smooth and hairless over the slave's hard flesh. Romulus laid the white man down and Simon reached out his arms to pull the slave down toward him.... and in a flash, the huge man turned on his heel and left silently. Simon was left sitting up in bed, his arm still outstretched, completely at a loss. Had he just imagined these slaves from neighboring farms? Had he only dreamed a vision of naked brown skin in the yard of Mistletoe? A quick pattering of feet in the hallway broke his spell of musings, and he craned his head forward to see who it might be. It was Thorn. The fourteen year old caramel brown boy glided into the room, utterly naked. He stopped by the edge of the bed, his body a sinuous S curve of muscular flesh, the late morning light glowing on the soft sheen of his brown skin. His penis curved out over his tight package of balls, beneath a small tuft of tight curls, curved out like a dark brown flower. His rosebud thick lips were parted slightly. He spoke. "Massa.... massa, I is yo' slave. You owns me, massa. This...." and he ran his hands up and down his slim flanks, over his muscular, curving abdomen, "this be yours, massa." Simon, stunned, transfixed, nodded, and reached out his hand, placing it on the rounded but hard belly before him. "Massa," continued the boy in a throaty whisper, "Massa, you gots to beat me, massa. Whup me, massa. Show me who the massa heah." And at that he turned around and bent over, showing his perfect, dark caramel brown, rounded bottom to his master. Hesitantly, Simon reached out again and placed his palm on the tight skin over the firm buttocks. Then he raised his hand, and then brought it down in a slap on the boy's bottom. Then again, and again. Sitting up, the white man swung his legs out over the side of the bed. Reaching out, he seized the slight frame of the black boy and swung him over his lap until the boy lay, his groin over the white man's lap, his bottom in the air, legs and torso stretched out over the bed on which Simon Simmons sat. The white man beheld the perfect hill of buttocks before him, then reared his hand back and brought it down hard on the bottom, slapping it with open palm. Thorn gasped. Again Simon spanked him, and again, Thorn gasping each time, now moaning a little. On his naked thighs and groin, Simon could feel the black boy's erection growing with each spanking. The caramel brown buttocks grew darker, a rusty purple brown hue creeping under the caramel brown skin as Simon spanked him again, then again. Finally, he pushed the boy off to stand by the bed again. His penis, now fully erect, arced out and way from his body, pointing up, a thin thread of precum dangling from it. Thorn did not give the bedazzled white man time to plan what was next. Reaching for a pot of goose grease that was by the bed--was that here a few days ago?--Thorn reached down and began lubricating his master's penis, which began rising to full staff with that attention, and after the spanking stimulation. The white man's reddish cock rose rock hard in the black boy's hands. Reaching behind himself, Thorn rubbed some of the grease into his own rectum. Quickly, before Simon could react, Thorn threw himself over his master and onto the bed, lying on his back, pulling his knees up to his chest, spreading his thighs, baring his well- oiled anus. The white man needed no prompting. He swung around quickly and put the swollen head of his cock to the greased orifice, then pushed. Thorn cried out and arched his back as the white man slid all the way in with one push. Holding himself up off of the caramel brown body with his palms on the bed, Simon waited for the crisis to pass. In a moment Thorn nodded and whispered, "Fuck me, massa." Completely caught up in the lustful moment, Simon began pistoning back and forth, slowly pumping, pumping. He craned his head down to taste the full, moist lips of the boy beneath him. Thorn wrapped his legs around the white man's back, locking his ankles together. Simon sucked and bit the boy's lips, licked his nose, nuzzled his bush of thick, short hair, licked and bit his neck. With every swing he pushed his penis as far into the boy as he could, the black youth grunting with the exertion. The boy's own penis stood erect between their abdomens, now slapping up against the white man's belly, now flopping down against his own brown stomach. Faster and faster Simon went, and then from far away in his thighs, his groin, his lower belly, the storm gathered, the orgasm built up steam like a distant but fast-approaching locomotive, and then it slammed through and out of Simon, pouring down into the bottom of the writhing slave boy as Simon arched his body and roared, breath seething and ragged. Clenching tightly, his whole body contracted as the orgasm washed through him, then with a mighty shudder he collapsed on top of the boy. Thorn held the white man tightly to him as his master shook and gasped while the storm passed. As Simon's breathing returned to normal, as his muscles relaxed, he slipped into a deep and dreamless sleep. As Thorn heard his regular, deep breathing, he gently rolled the white man off of him, the now limp ruddy penis pulling out of him with a plop. The white man was still asleep, and Thorn slipped from the room. Simmons slept through that day and the next night, recovering strength. He awoke once in that time with the need to urinate. Disoriented, unsure of the time or place, he swung his legs over the bed. Instantly a pair of strong brown hands held a chamber pot for him, while another slim, coal-black hand gently grasped his penis and directed the flow. Finished, he flopped back into bed, and sleep. When he finally awoke, it was to a tremendous sense of loss that come rushing in on him. He was alone, but with a need for brown bodies that felt like a need for air. He did not have to wait long, lying there curled up, yearning but with no plan for alleviating his lack. Toby came into the room, naked except for a simple white loincloth around his genitals and waist. "Come, massa, le's get dressed. You got to inspect the new slaves," he whispered. Confused, Simon nevertheless allowed Toby to dress him as he gazed deeply into the youth's chocolate dark skin. Toby led his master down the stairs and gave him a little to eat in the dining room. Toby stood close, his enormous penis swelling out the loincloth in plain view of the white man, as Simmons downed the simple meal. Then Toby helped him to his feet and led him outside, blinking in the sunlight, to the barn. The center of the barn was wide, a dirt floor strewn with straw. "You sit heah, massa," said Toby, indicating a bale of hay. Simon had no sooner done so than he heard a shuffling sound. Around the corner, into the barn, came a line of black slaves, hands bound with white hemp rope behind their backs, each wearing nothing but a simple white loincloth. "These yo' new slaves, massa," whispered Toby. "They yours, they fo' you to use, massa." Trembling, Simon stood up. He had met every one of the five slaves who now lined up before him, but he had fallen completely into the drama of the slave coffle that they were now enacting. The line of bound slaves stopped once they were inside the barn. The first two Simon recognized as the two thirteen year old girls from the creek swimming hole several days--or weeks? or years?--ago. Gleaming white loincloths covered their waists and groins, while their arms were bound behind them by white rope, their bound wrists resting on their firm, tight buttocks which already gave promise of a high, round, African shape. The girls heads were down but their small, conical breasts pointed straight out. The breasts pushed out as their arms were pulled behind them, bound behind. Their dark skin shone under a light wash of sweat and oil. Simon stepped up to them. "What is your name?" he asked the first, "and yours," turning to the second girl. He began tugging on the loincloth of the first girl. "I is Sheba, massa," she said, and gasped as her loincloth fell, revealing a tiny patch of curly black hair above her vagina. "I is yo' slave, massa," the thirteen year old said. "I is Queen, massa," said the second one, whose loincloth now likewise fell to Simon's tug. "You owns me massa." "I own your breasts," whispered Simon as he stepped up to her cupping her pert, fleshy cones. "I own your belly," he murmured as he ran one hand over the tight-skinned, muscular curve of her torso, stopping to rest in the tiny patch of pubic hair. The girl's breathing came heavier now, and she whispered, "yes, massa." Simon stepped back to the first girl and fondled her in the same way. Both were so young, just thirteen, with such promise of womanhood already. Then, his eyes lingering on them, he stepped down the line to find one of the nine year old girls from the swimming hole next, her hands tied at the wrist behind her back, resting against her boyish bottom. Her head was down but she was grinning widely. "What is your name?" asked Simon as he caressed her shoulders and ran his hands down her skinny arms. "Hannah, massa," she said, giggling. Simon lifted her small face under the chin and they looked into each other's eyes. In a flash he bent down and kissed her, sinking his tongue into her mouth, half-lifting her off the ground by seizing her buttocks from behind. The girl moaned and twisted but could not escape. When the white man finished possessing her mouth, her small full lipped mouth, he set her back down again. Now she looked down once more, panting, no longer grinning in play. The white rope that went from Sheba to Queen to Hannah led on next to the huge bulk of Romulus, his hands likewise tied behind his back at the wrists. Simon stood half a head shorter than this muscular mountain of a man. He whisked the simple white loincloth off in an instant, revealing the thick, veined, purple black penis hanging over heavy, pendulous testicles. The slave was sheer beef, rolls and lobes of muscles, with no hair on his body but for a tight skullcap and a tightly coiled patch of black hair around his penis. He held his head down, his eyes focused on the ground. Simon stepped closer to him and put the palm of his hand on the man's thick lobe of a chest. He pushed a little, moving the solid tower of muscle not a whit. He glided his hand over the hairless plane of the thick, dark chest. Simon looked over at the last slave in line; it was Titus, not as massive as Romulus but with muscles and facial features sharply etched as if testosterone were an acid, a river molding its way through the hard earth. Titus could wait, Simon thought. Then he stepped back and called, "Toby!" "Yes, massa." "Untie this one," he said, nodding at the nine year old Hannah. "Yes, massa," Toby murmured and quickly unbound the thin girl's wrists, but leaving the other slaves tied together. Simon reached out and pulled the girl over by her shoulders, placing her in the tight space between him and Romulus, facing the huge slave, her back to Simon. Hannah's eyes grew wide, staring at the powerful man's thick penis which was inches away from her at her chest level. Romulus stared impassively, curiously down at the nine year old girl, his eyes flickering in Simon's direction. Once his glance darted over at Titus, and Titus returned a curt nod, but Simon did not see the exchange. The white man grabbed the black girl's thin wrist and moved her hand forward, molding it part-way around Romulus's penis. She giggled and grasped it eagerly; it was clear she had done this kind of thing before, and not only to Simon on the creek bank. "Pump it," Simon commanded, and she began to do so. Standing directly behind the girl, looking down into her dark, short tangle of kinky hair, Simon held her tight by her skinny shoulders, once again running his hands up and down her arms, then around over the thin, boy's chest, tweaking her coffee-bean nipples, down onto her flat, taut belly, then back to her shoulders. Hannah, lulled by the white man's ministrations, bent to her work, her body swaying with the rhythm of her fist as it slid up and down as much of Romulus's shaft as it could encircle. The huge black man seemed to brace himself, his wrists still bound behind him, looking without expression at the thin black girl in front of him, but his breathing was now coming faster and harder. In another minute small specks of clear precum began flying out of his penis as, iron hard, the little black girl continued to beat it with a sense of purpose. Simon's gaze ran back and forth from the thin girl he fondled to the massive black slave the girl was masturbating. Suddenly, without warning, Romulus gave a grunt and then a deep, intense rumble in his chest and throat. Without ceremony, he pushed his groin forward and shot great ropes and dollops of semen straight out onto the smooth, dark chocolate body of the nine year old girl before him. Hannah giggled again and slowed her pace, then stopped entirely as the semen stopped flowing from the thick, hot, pulsating cock in her hand. She dropped the organ and stood still, waiting. Simon reached over and around her, seeing the great drops and streams of white semen on her dark body. He began smearing it, on her boyish chest and thin, nubby nipples, down onto her belly, making her torso shine with Romulus's copious semen. Hannah giggled again, watching the white man's handiwork. It was when Simon reached even farther and pushed a dollop of semen into the girl's hairless, unsuspecting vagina that she winced, crying out. But the semen was lubrication for the white man's finger, and it went in up to the first knuckle. Simon gave thought to the black man's sperm now swimming in the virgin canal of the young girl, smiled, and wiped his hands on Hannah's back and rounded buttocks. He pushed her away, commanding Toby, "Secure her again." Toby did so as Simon moved on to the last slave, Titus. Muscular but not bulky, Titus stood lean, chiseled, as if he had been hewn from ebony. Unlike most of the other male blacks, he had a diamond of tiny peppercorn tufts of hair in the center of his chest that narrowed and traveled down his abdomen to bloom again in a full bush of tight peppercorns around a heavy, full, unusually thick penis that curved out and over heavy, low-hanging testicles. He stood still with his head down. Simon walked around him to the back, then to the front, then back again. The slave's muscular arms were tied by the wrist, resting now on his firm, high, slab-sided buttocks. Simon stood behind the black man and began kneading the buttocks, digging deep into the hard muscle. Titus's fingers twitched but he did not move or cry out as the white man dug into the muscle of his butt cheeks, pressing in to push against bone. Stepping back, Simon hauled his arm back and brought it down in a tremendous smack on the bottom, then again and again. Then he walked around to the front of Titus. The black slave's penis, perhaps against his will, was semi-erect, beginning to arc out and to the left. Simon nodded and smiled. The white man turned to Toby: "Take them into the big house and put them in my bedroom. Release them there," he said. Toby murmured "Yes, massa," and led the five blacks away in a line, hands still bound by the rope that connected them. Simon watched them go, then walked to the privy to relieve himself. Then to the wash house, where he cleaned himself completely. Emerging into the sunlight, he looked around him--but was he seeing Mistletoe Farm? Head high, he strode resolutely toward his house: Up the verandah, up the stairs, and then into his room. He had a momentary sense of disorientation. Nearly all the furniture had been removed. What remained was a carpet of mattresses, featherbeds put side by side to cover the entire floor. The whole room had become a bed. A pot of goose grease lay to one side of the room. Standing quietly, watchfully, on the featherbeds were the five slaves from the barn, the females clustered together, Titus and Romulus against another wall. None of the Mistletoe slaves were apparent, nor had he seen any of them in crossing the yard. Simon lowered his head like a lion before the charge, his eyes sweeping over the "new slaves." Frantically, he tore off his clothing, soon standing as naked as the blacks were, on the featherbed carpet. Walking up to them he moved slowly from one end of their line to the other, looking at them, now and then reaching out to touch an arm, cup a breast, or lift a penis tip with just a finger. Then he seemed to make a decision and to focus. By then, his own penis was nearly erect, a long, thick shaft of reddish flesh- --although no match for most of the black organs to be found on Mistletoe. His cock swinging, rising, Simon pointed to Romulus. "You, on your hands and knees here," he said, then pointed to the featherbed. Romulus darted a quick, questioning look at Titus; had Simon been able to see it, he would have made it out to be a look of protest. But Titus nodded and whispered something sharply under his breath. Slowly, the massive black slave came closer to Simon, looked at the featherbed, looked at the white man, sighed deeply, and dropped to his hands and knees. Simon slipped down behind the massive slave on his knees. Two hard, huge buttocks presented themselves, a sweat- shining ass creek between, and a black-brown starfish of an anus in between. Reaching for the goose grease, Simon slicked up his own penis, still rampant and now rock-hard, and then stuck first one and then two fingers into the big slave's bottom. Romulus grunted and braced himself, knees and elbows on the floor, head down, preparing for the onslaught. Simon placed the fleshy head of his cock against the anus and pushed. Romulus cried out. He pushed again, and just the head popped in. Seething, Romulus put his head down and clenched his hands. Inch by inch Simon worked his way in, while Romulus wept and moaned, surprisingly so for so large a man. Was he unused to this treatment, in contrast to the other male slaves Simon had fucked? It took a couple of minutes to be fully landed inside Romulus. Simon only grew harder and more turgid during this time, his cock achingly hard inside the soft, warm anus of the black slave before him. Completely inside, Simon began moving in and out, slowly at first and then with more energy, enjoying the sight of his reddish pink shaft sliding in and out of the dark chocolate bottom of the slave in front of him. His white thighs and scrotum banged against the hard, solid body crouched before him. Fully into his rhythm, Simon beckoned Titus to come over. Uncertainly, the chiseled hard masculine slave approached. Simon beckoned him into place at Romulus's other end. Uncertain at first, and then grasping what was wanted, Titus planted himself on his knees in front of Romulus's head. He reached down and gently brought the huge slave's head up, whispering to him. Romulus, breathing heavily with the rhythm of Simon's pistoning in and out of his ass, raised his head and, at Simon's and Titus's direction, craned his head forward. He picked up Titus's dick with his lips, the rod growing ever longer and harder, took it in his mouth and then swallowed it. The mountain of black flesh that was Romulus was now being fucked by the white man on one side, and face-fucked by his fellow slave, Titus on the other. Stoically, he braced himself in the middle to receive both ministrations. Simon, when not following the movement of his own dick in and out of Romulus, looked directly across the broad, muscular back at Titus, in a similar position on the other end of the slave, his dick going in and out of Romulus's mouth. Simon caught Titus's eye and, greatly daring, the slave held the gaze, the two men locked in a shared experience across the back of the large man who was giving them both such pleasure. Suddenly, Simon's gaze was blocked. Hannah, the nine year old girl, had leapt onto Romulus's buttocks, straddling both them and the white man who was fucking the black slave rhythmically. Giggling, she faced Simon and wrapped her skinny legs around his back. Pulling him forward with her arms, she pulled his face into hers, greedily seeking a repeat of the deep kiss she had experienced for the first time only a few minutes before, seeking his white man's thin lips with her small, rosebud, full lips. Simon pulled the thin girl slave into himself, kissing her passionately, devouring her nine year old mouth and lips, as she pulled herself tightly into him. In a flash, the most extraordinary thing happened. Building in his thighs, buttocks, and loins, Simon's orgasm came on like a powerful engine. When it blasted forward out of his dick and into Romulus, it took Simon with it. Shooting sperm directly into the big slave's ass, Simon's whole being moved forward, into the kneeling Romulus, into Hannah, through Romulus's submissive body and into Titus, who was spouting his own orgasm now into the mouth of Romulus. Slamming forward, crying one last cry on the earth, Simon's whole being moved foward into dark brown skin, kinky hair, firm and muscular bodies. Hannah squealed with the intensity with which she was held as she rode Romulus's well- fucked hips, pulled hard into Simon's bucking abdomen. Simon went away into another world for some time, and came back to himself an hour or so later as two thirteen year old brown girls rolled him over on top of them. Entering first one, who arched her back and cried out but held on to the white man with her hands, and then the other, who winced and moaned but braced her feet against the featherbed and took the master inside of her entirely, Simon fucked first the one and then the other. Biting, licking, sucking one set of small, pointed breasts and then another, Simon pulled out of one and pushed into another, then reversed, back and forth for what must have been an hour more. By chance he was deep inside Sheba when he came, bellowing, melting down into her as his semen flowed down, merging with her flesh as he had with Romulus, Hannah, and Titus, vanishing into brown as his white fluid pumped out. ............................................................ ........................................ ............................................................ ........................................ A little less than a week later, a wagon rolled into the yard of Mistletoe Farms. Toby, dressed in a respectable set of livery clothing, came out to greet the two white drivers and the heavily laden wagon drawn by two horses. "Mister Simmons here?" inquired one driver. "Naw suh, he still a little porely, but he leave this heah order for next time. He call it a standin' order," said Toby, smiling, looking down, shuffling his feet, and handing the driver a sheet of paper. The driver read it, grunted, showed it to his companion, then looked hard at Toby. "Alright," he said, "sorry yore master ain't feelin' right. I 'member from last week. Y'all come take all this away," he said, waving at the heavy load of food, clothing, shoes, farm implements, liquor---and firearms. From around the side of buildings several slaves emerged to unload the wagon, and in a wink it was empty. The white driver looked again at the order for next week--indeed, it was a signed order for standard weekly deliveries--folded it and put it into his breast pocket, clucked at the horses and pulled slowly away. Several eyes saw him do that. >From behind curtains in an upstairs bedroom, Simon Simmons looked down at an angle, furtively. As soon as the wagon was out of sight, two brown arms reached across his naked chest and abdomen and pulled him away from the window. He went, smiling. In the downstairs parlor, a man dressed as a Virginia country gentleman released the curtain he had pulled partially aside so as to view the spectacle of the wagon and its delivery. The well dressed man turned to his guest who sat at a desk, smoking a cigar. "They accepted it," said Pompey. "Well done, your skills have come in handy. Once you have taught the rest of us, I hope we can all do as well." Titus tapped the cigar against the ashtray and nodded, flicking a spot of ash off of his frock coat. "Each one teach one, as they say. The Mistletoe people are making great progress in learning. That, I think, was part of our bargain?" Pompey grinned and nodded. Titus continued: "I think I have a shift in the bedroom upstairs tomorrow at noon. Well, a small price for what we have gained, I suppose." His companion nodded. "Tell me," said Titus, "how you knew that 'Master' Simmons would break as he did?" Pompey sat down in an easy chair next to Titus, took up a china cup of coffee, and considered carefully. In a moment, he turned to the visitor and conspirator from White Springs and replied. "I think all white folks might go that way. You spend yo' whole day thinking about color, worrying about it--well, that ain't no different from spending yo' whole day dreaming about color, 'bout how we look--like the world he caught up in now." Titus nodded, and bade him continue. "I could tell from the start that Master Simon could be caught up in thinkin' too hard about this, just like anybody can 'bout what interests them the most. Only thing, this was to our advantage. I think," he said, reaching for a cigar of his own out of the box newly delivered, "I think mebbe Master Simon jes' sat too long 'neath the Misteltoe." The end. Comments welcome: lokiaga@prodigy.net