Date: Sat, 4 Jun 2005 22:26:53 -0700 (PDT)
From: Lance Kyle <lokiaga@prodigy.net>
Subject: Rose and Thorn

MISTLETOE FARM
A cautionary tale

Chapter three:  Rose and Thorn

Sunlight poured through the glass window into the African
hut.  The soft, deep, reedy voices of the natives could be
heard outside as they went about their daily routines in the
barn and kitchen.  Simon Simmons swung his legs out of the
four-poster bed and put his feet on the hard earthen floor
of the hut, at the edge of the lion skin.  Dark hands and
limbs surrounded him, sliding over him, coaxing him back to
the bed where he had rolled and lain with African flesh the
whole night through.  Then the grandfather clock downstairs
chimed, and the hands dissolved, moving back into another
world.  Simon sat on the edge of his bed with his feet on
the wood floor, alone, with a feeling of loss so strong it
brought tears to his eyes.

Looking around, he oriented himself as well as he could to
his bedroom in Mistletoe Farm, but it still seemed a little
unreal, a little misty.  Struggling to his feet, he
staggered down the stairs and wandered into a strange room.
But no, this was his dining room, and there was the son of
the Chief preparing--but no, it was Toby.  Wasn't it?

"Mornin' massa!" said the slim black youth, grinning
broadly.  "I spent the night through with Venus.  We sure do
get along," he said.  Simon nodded and looked at him hard.
Venus..... wasn't she the girl from the hut by the stream,
with the ripe breasts?  Silently, Simon walked up close to
Toby, who set down the basket of bread he was holding and
stood still, eyes downcast.  Simon enfolded the black slave
in his arms, burying his face in the short, thick skullcap
of crisp hair, smelling the clean scent, nuzzling ears and
nose and lips, seeing only dark skin and bright eyes.
Outside, the cry of an elephant could be heard in the
distance.  "Massa," sighed Toby, and tentatively clasped his
master around the hips.  They stood still for a long moment,
and then Simon seemed to awake with a start, and looked at
the purple black eighteen year old as if for the first time
that morning.  He gently pushed away.

"Yes, Toby.  You must save yourself for Venus, and perhaps,
for here, later," said Simon, rubbing his eyes.  Toby looked
at him in concern.

"You feels well, massa?  You alright?"

"Yes, Toby, I am," he replied.  "Thank you for the
breakfast."  He sat down and bade Toby to do the same.  As
with their other meals, Simon kept staring at the slave, who
by now knew simply to continue eating and not question his
master's scrutiny.  When they were finished, Simon went
outside to the privy.  Emerging, he walked toward the wash
house, in the door of which were Toby and Pompey, talking.
Pompey cast a quick glance at the approaching white man and
whispered something, then both slaves nodded toward Simon.
Toby left quickly to return to the main house, while Pompey
remained by the door.

"Mornin' massa," he said, "we all got started on our work
already.  It's a fine mornin' massa."

Simon nodded thoughtfully, looking his slave up and down.
He slowly reached out a hand and laid the palm and fingers
flat against Pompey's shirt front, over the thick slab of
chest muscle.  He held it there for a few minutes,
concentrating, feeling the heat of the flesh, then removed
it and looked once more at the twenty year old's face.
Neither spoke, until Pompey broke the silence.

"You alright this mornin', massa?"

"Yes, Pompey, I----I had trouble waking up."

The black man nodded reflectively.  "Massa, why you reckon
they call this place Mistletoe Farm?"

"I don't know, Pompey," Simon said.  "No doubt there is
mistletoe in the trees."

"Sure, that's right, they likely is," said Pompey.
"Mistletoe, that's the herb you put up high and you sit
under and hope somebody come kiss you, ain't it?"

"Yes, Pompey, it is.  A pleasant practice."

"Yassuh.  I done heard tell of this gal, she don' wanna do
nothin' but sit under the mistletoe all day.  Jes' dreamin'
of somebody comin' to kiss her.  Seems like she sort of got
lost in her thoughts sittin' there.  You think that could be
true, massa?"  And here Pompey raised up his eyes from their
customary deferential look downward to gaze intently at the
white man.

"A curious tale, Pompey," said Simon, his eyes now running
over the black slave's broad shoulders and muscular chest.
"Curious tale--no, I doubt that it is true."  Simon shook
himself.  "Well, I must bathe.  I will be out to supervise
the work a little later."  And with a nod he stepped into
the wash house.  Pompey remained on the stoop looking
thoughtfully at the door for a moment, then went off to do
his work.

Simmons emerged a few minutes later, blinking in the
sunlight, now fully awake.  Returning to the house he
dressed for the day, then began strolling around the farm.
He was pleasantly surprised that his servants had begun work
for the day without instructions, each taking on their
appointed tasks and more.  The hen house had been quickly
organised, the livestock were fed, watered, and seemed clean
and content.  The last of the plots for a late harvest of
vegetables had been sown, and Toby and Venus could be seen
moving through the orchard, assessing the progress of the
fruit crops, picking what was ripe.  With all morning
bathing complete, Aphrodite and Rose were hard at work in
the wash house scrubbing clothing and linens.  Gradually
their handiwork began to appear on lines or flung over
fragrant bushes to dry in the morning sun.  In the barn,
Pompey and Thorn were hard at work organizing supplies,
making them accessible yet as secure as possible from the
ravages of weather and vermin.  Simon was surprised, but
pleased, to see that the slaves had devised their own
systems of organization without being directed, both here
and throughout the farm.  They were making the work their
own.

Seeing his master, Thorn turned and grinned broadly.
"Mornin' massa!  We gonna get us some cats to keep the rats
out!"  Simon smiled and nodded in return.

"Do that, Thorn," he said.  "Perhaps we can have some from
neighboring farms."

With work proceeding apace outside, Simon withdrew to work
indoors.  He had not really inspected his new house
thoroughly, from root cellar to the hot, peaked-ceiling
attic, since moving in but a couple of days ago.  He now
inspected everything thoroughly, and brought his own records
and correspondence up to date.  He could do nearly all his
business through the weekly delivery of supplies from
Roanoke, which would also carry mail back and forth for him.
Indeed, he preferred it this way, to remain at Mistletoe
Farm in his own kingdom and go into town as little as
possible.  As he worked he heard Toby enter and leave the
house from time to time as the youth performed his duties as
house servant, but since there was little to do inside yet,
Simon was alone for most of the day.

In the late afternoon he rose from his work and walked out
to survey the work being done outside.  It seemed as if the
farm were growing more orderly with every hour; the people
were not only performing their chores with good will and
energy, but with care and responsibility as well.  One might
have thought that Mistletoe Farm were, in some sense, theirs
from the improvements large and small they were making to
its lands and buildings.  Nodding with satisfaction, calling
out encouragement, Simmons strolled through his property.

Walking through the vegetable plots, now prepared, sown, and
waiting for rain and sun to bring up late summer crops,
Simmons reached the line of trees on the far edge of the
fields.  Curious, he stepped through them and found, as he
had surmised, a well worn path running parallel to the
trees.  Turning to his right, he strolled but a few yards
along before he heard soft voices and the sound of feet, and
in another moment he saw Thorn carrying a burlap sack, in
the company of a large, muscular black man whom he did not
know.

Both slaves ducked their heads in quick bows upon seeing
Simmons.  Thorn stepped a little ahead.  "Massa," he said,
"this here is Titus, he from the White Springs farm down
yonder," and he pointed down the path in the direction the
two had come from.  Titus bowed again, saying "Massa."

Simon nodded in acknowledgement.  He gazed for a moment at
the dark brown face, trying to place it--and he wondered
whether he was the slave who was sitting and speaking with
Pompey late the previous night.  Simon decided it was not
worth pursuing, and then turned to Thorn.  "And what have
you in the sack, Thorn?" he asked.

A wide grin split the deep caramel face.  "Kittens, massa,
three of 'em!  Titus, he gave 'em to me, they has got more
than they needs at White Springs!"  He held up the sack,
which was undulating a little.

Titus chuckled.  "It's true, massa, y'all is welcome to
them, we got lots of cats."

"Thank you, and thank your master for me," said Simon.  "And
you Titus, have I seen you on this path before?  I think
many of the servants of the neighboring farms take this
route, do they not?"  Titus nodded, mumbling a "yassuh."
"So where are you headed to now, Titus?" asked the white
man.

"I is taking a ham to Ol' Mist'ess Woodruff over at Owlcroft
Farm, massa, from my massa Hampton.  Mist'ess Woodruff, she
shore is poorly these days."  Titus hefted his own burlap
sack with the unmistakable heavy lump of a smoked ham inside
it.

Simon nodded.  "I see, I see.  Perhaps one day I shall meet
more of my neighbors.  Well, have a pleasant journey, Titus.
Thorn, perhaps you should feed these kittens and introduce
them to a new home in the barn."

Half an hour later, Simon emerged from the wash house having
cleaned off the day's grime, and was passing Rose and
Thorn's cottage when he heard the low but unmistakable sound
of an "Ow!" from inside.  He stepped onto the small porch
and then opened the door without knocking.  Sitting at the
table was Thorn, his shirt sleeves rolled up, applying a
small amount of some substance to his left hand.  The
fourteen year old started at the unexpected sight of his
master.

"Thorn, did you cry out?" asked Simon, entering and shutting
the door behind him.  "What is the matter?"

"They kittens done scratched me comin' outta the bag,
massa," he said.  "'Dite, she give me some salve to put on
it, it stings a mite," he said, holding up his left hand
which sported three short scratches.  They did not look
serious.  Simon walked around behind the boy's chair to
examine his hand, then released it and patted the boy's
shoulders.

"I think you'll live, Thorn," he said, idly running his
hands along the boy's thin but muscular shoulders and the
rounded curve of the biceps.  "Yassuh," murmured Thorn in
reply, then sat very still and quiet as his master's hands
continued to glide, and then to knead, his shoulders.
Simon's fingers slid down into the open collar of the boy's
shirt, sliding over the smooth, hairless, deep caramel skin.
Looking down at the very short covering of tight, black
kinky hairs on the boy's scalp, Simon continued rubbing and
kneading in a rhythm that seemed to take him away from that
time and place.

The physical attention was beginning to have an effect on
Thorn as his slim, long penis began to push out against the
front of his trousers.  It reminded him of an earlier
promise.  "Massa," he said in a low voice, "is I gonna be a
breeder?  You want me to breed, massa?  Maybe that Venus
gal?" he asked, full of hope.

By way of answer, Simon tugged on the boy's shirt, pulling
it up over his head and arms, the young slave willingly
complying.  Pressing himself against the back of the chair,
leaning forward over the seated boy, Simon rubbed the large
nipples on the thin, muscular pads of the boy's chest.  The
slave moaned very softly, more of a whisper.  "Stand up,"
ordered Simon.

The boy did so, and turned to face his master.  Staring
intently at the thin, muscular tube of the boy's torso, a
deep, rich caramel color, Simon ordered the boy to turn
around slowly, first this way and that.  Like a puppeteer,
he pulled the invisible strings of ownership to make this
flesh move at his will.  And then the white man, almost
absentmindedly, began removing his own clothes.  Thorn
looked in confusion at this spectacle, then away, then back
again, risking glances at his master's face to learn what it
meant.  Simon's shirt fell, then his trousers.  "Remove
those," Simon said to Thorn, nodding at the boy's own pants.
Wordlessly the boy slave nodded and did so, dropping his
undergarment as well, at the same time that Simon did
likewise.  Open-mouthed, the fourteen year old stared at the
naked white man whose penis was quickly rising, fully
engorged and turning redder with every passing instant.
Thorn's own slim, boyish penis sprang instantly erect,
curving up and away from his body above dangling balls.

In two steps Simon was on him, catching the boy up in an
embrace.  Thorn gasped and exclaimed "O!"  He had dallied
with other boys of his home plantation, and had heard of
masters taking their pleasure with slaves, but this was his
first physical contact with a white man.  Both man and boy
were lost in the experience of different skins and hair,
standing tightly together, grinding their bodies into one
another and hands sliding up and down and around backs and
buttocks.  Thorn's mouth, at chest level, licked and sucked
his master's white skin and pink nipples.  Their penises
slapped and slid together, lubricating each other with
precum.

Now breaking the embrace, Simon swept the boy's thin, naked
body up in one swoop and carried him to the larger of the
two beds in the room, laying him in the middle.  Covering
the boy's body with his own, his head over the slave's
groin, Simon took the slim but iron hard penis into his
mouth even as the boy, in wonder, accepted the red and
purple white man's rod that was pressed down upon his own
mouth.  Man and boy, white and black, master and slave
sucked and fondled, hips gently moving up and down to slide
cocks into willing mouths.

A creak of the floorboards startled the two on the bed, and
they both looked up, craning their heads around each other's
bodies.  There was Rose, having entered the cabin
unobserved, her hand on a basket of freshly gathered field
greens which she put on the table.  She was staring with
open-mouthed wonder at her brother and master engaged in
passionate fellatio.  Simon leapt from the bed, while Thorn
covered his genitals ineffectually with his hands.

In two steps Simon was upon Rose, holding her in a
passionate embrace by the shoulders, kissing her full lips.
She gasped, still wide-eyed, her fingers splayed in the air,
not knowing what to do.  She was certainly not a virgin, the
young girls of her home plantation having engaged in sexual
play from an early age, but this kind of passion from a
white master was new to her.  "Strip," Simon said, taking a
step back, and she willingly if warily complied in an
instant, still unsure of what was to come.  Her curved,
muscular fourteen year old body was revealed, dark caramel
skin stretched tight and oiled over small, full breasts and
rounded buttocks and belly.  Thorn gasped upon seeing his
sister naked, although Simon had a good idea it was not for
the first time.

Taking the slave girl's hand, Simon led her to the bed and
moved her into place next to her brother, who quickly
scooted over, his eyes all over his sister even as he
continued to cover his own nakedness.  Simon lowered himself
on top of the girl, his slick, leaking penis now sliding up
and down her rounded belly, his hands cupping the orange
sized breasts, lips and teeth tasting of shoulders and
nipples and arms.  In an instant, Rose was responding in
like fashion, her hands clutching at her white master's back
and buttocks, heedless of her naked brother lying beside
her.

Simon reached down to spread the girl's legs apart and then
placed the slimy head of his rigid dick at the entrance to
her vagina, moving it up and down for lubrication.  He gave
a gentle push and she cried out.  More stimulation of her
clitoris with his cockhead followed, and another attempt,
which seemed to bring the girl pain as well.  Her fourteen
year old body was not ready yet, too caught up in passion to
relax sufficiently.  It was the reverse situation from
yesterday's experience with Venus, in which Simon had to
penetrate the older girl to make room for Toby's massive
penis.  That strategy suggested a similar plan for today.
Sitting back on his haunches and moving to the end of the
bed, Simon turned to Thorn.

"Thorn, you wish to be a breeder?  Then show me your work
now, with your sister."

"My--my sister, massa?"

"Yes, now," the white man ordered.  Thorn looked to his
sister, who smiled a little and nodded, caught up as she was
in the passion of the moment.  It confirmed what Simon had
guessed, that the two had played their own little games
before this.  "Yassuh" breathed the slave boy, then turned
over onto his sister.  Eager, she reached down to grasp his
rigid, curving rod and placed it in the entrance to her
vagina.  Lubricated by their white master's precum, Thorn's
cock now easily slid into Rose's relaxing vagina.  She cried
out, but now in passion rather than discomfort.

With the eagerness of a fourteen year old, Thorn began
pumping his penis in and out.  The boy's and girl's
straining feet touched Simon's knees as he sat directly
behind Thorn to watch, enjoying the sight of the boy's
rounded muscular bottom rising and falling, the muscles
working in rounds as they clenched and pushed in rhythm.
Rose pulled her brother's thin torso down onto her small
breasts and rounded girl's belly and then wrapped her legs
around him to anchor the iron rod that he now plied in and
out, in and out.  Thorn began an animal sound, a kind of
keening noise, that grew stronger and wilder until the boy
threw his head up from his sister's shoulder and bellowed,
clenching, his pelvis slamming forward into the girl as his
orgasm flooded her vagina with semen.  Shuddering and then
pumping, it took several seconds for the boy to drain
himself into his sister's vagina.  Finished, he slumped
forward.  But he was not to rest there, for Simon swatted
his upturned bottom with a loud smack.

"Move over," he commanded the slave boy.  With a gasp, Thorn
pulled his still rigid cock out of his sister.  Her vagina
winked open now, a smear of the black boy's white semen
clearly visible.  Assuming a position again with his
cockhead at Rose's vagina, Simon pushed tentatively, then
glided in all the way on a road of the black boy's sperm.

Rose gasped and arched her back, pushing her small rounded
breasts up into the muscled chest of the white man above and
inside of her.  Instinctively her hands reached up to grasp
Simmons around his back, then around the small of his back,
pulling him down into her.  Her deep caramel body writhed
and she began whispering "O! Massa, O! Massa" rhythmically.
Simon's hands now squeezed her breasts, now grasped her slim
but muscular shoulders, his mouth tasted her puffy nipples
and then again her sweaty neck and then again her full, out-
turning lips.  Not fast but powerfully, the white man's hips
began pistoning in and out of the black slave girl while she
thrashed and moaned on the bed.

Alongside them, Thorn risked first one hand and then two on
his master's bottom, squatting by the two heaving buttocks,
kneading and pushing the firm white hills of the man's butt
as he pounded his sister's cunt.  A thin line of semen still
hung from the tip of the slave boy's long, dark chocolate
penis.  Suddenly Rose cried out frantically and began
shuddering, digging her nails into the small of Simon's
back:  her ecstasy was upon her.  Simon's speed doubled,
pistoning in and out with the speed of a fan, and then he
too cried out and slammed forward, grinding his pelvis
against the slave girl as he shot his own semen into her
vagina to mix with her brother's.  White man and black girl
remained clutching, writhing, gasping for another moment as
the slave boy squeezed his master's tight bottom.  Then the
master slumped down, exhausted, draining the last of his
sperm into the moaning girl beneath him.

In a sense, Simon didn't really awake from his doze of
repletion for the rest of the day.  From then until the next
morning, there was never a moment when he was not clutching
dark caramel flesh to his own tanned white body.  When Thorn
rose to use the chamber pot, Simon held Rose between his
legs, leaning her back against his chest, fondling her
breasts as she held the pot for her brother.  When Rose left
the bed to prepare a simple meal for the three, Simon rolled
on top of Thorn and explored his mouth with his own, tongue
sliding over thick, rolled lips, gliding along teeth,
dancing with the black boy's tongue.  Reliving childhood
memories of his friend and slave Brutus, Simon sucked the
black boy's stiff young penis until it shot out another load
of semen into his mouth, at the same time that Rose
struggled to suck and swallow from his own man's cock.  When
at last he slept it was with a face buried in dark, tight
curls and hands on a firm brown buttock, while at his back
the half erect penis of a slave boy lay against his bottom.
Outside, Simon Simmons's farm echoed to the cry of giraffe,
lion, and peacock.  There was a faint drumming in the
distance.  His dreams were of a world and a continent far
away.