Date: Mon, 31 Dec 2012 19:44:51 -0500
From: lokiaga@austin.rr.com
Subject: Visit to the Plantation 10

Visit to the Plantation 10
Lance Kyle

Early the next morning Biscuit was the first to arise, extricating himself
from the tangle of darker chocolate and light cream limbs.  As Montford
Jackson stirred awake to look at him quizzically, Biscuit whispered, "I has
to serve mah Massa, suh.  Thanks, Massa.  I, uh...I kin work fo' you agin'
if'n you like," and then he quickly tugged on his clothes and slipped out.
Jackson could hear the door downstairs open and close as the sixteen year
old mulatto slave boy let himself out to return to his home just across a
back fence from the Jackson house.

As sixteen year old Paris and thirteen year old Pompei began to stir, their
morning erections pressed against Jackson's thighs on either side.  He
reached around and hauled Pompei atop himself, both their erections pressed
against each other and aligned against their lower bellies.  Jackson
slowly, luxuriantly kissed the dark chocolate slave boy, his hands running
through the tight cap of kinky wool, down the boy's back, kneading and
cupping the round, protuberant, slab sided buttocks.  Pompei lazily but
eagerly responded, his tongue playing with his white master's tongue, his
boyish hands cupped around the white man's strong shoulders.  They were
interrupted by Paris who propped himself up alongside them and claimed his
own share of deep kisses from his white master, then slid his mouth down
the white man's body nibbling the neck and shoulders, the chest and
nipples.  Paris's hand meanwhile rubbed his brother's buttocks, one finger
sliding up and down in the tight crevice between the mounds.

But Jackson wanted more of Biscuit, and wanted his slave boys and himself
to be in full readiness for the return of the mulatto boy from next door.
With much reluctance, he broke off their fondling and announced all three
were to arise.  He also asked the boys to invite Biscuit back for another
session that evening, to be paid the same as he had been before.  Paris and
Pompei readily agreed, and smiled their own evident eagerness at a repeat
of the pleasure from the day before.

Jackson went off to work and the boys settled into their daily chores.
Jackson stayed away most of the day, occupied with work at his office.  In
the early afternoon the boys were working in the yard and heard a whistle.
It was Biscuit, at the fence between the properties.  Going over, the three
boys grinned sheepishly at each other and at first seemed not to know what
to say.  Biscuit broke the ice.

"Yo massa, he nice," said the mulatto.  "He, uh, he do dat a lot wit'
y'all?"  The boys nodded yes, now smiling.  "Uh huh," continued Biscuit.
"We, uh, we sho' had a good time.  What, uh, what all he do wit' yo?"  Now
the flood gates opened and, keeping their voices down so as not to be heard
by neighbors or by Biscuit's master, they described every act and position
they had ever taken with their white master.  Biscuit listened,
alternatively open-mouthed and smiling.  Soon his hand was grasping the
evident bulge in his crotch.

"But," said Pompei, seeing Biscuit's massaging of his growing erection,
"Masta say can you come again tonight?  He pay you," he said.  Biscuit
brightened, thought for a moment and agreed that he could.  "Then you
bettah not be playin' wit' yo stuff," said Paris, "Masta gonna want all yo'
man juice tonight."  Biscuit nodded agreement and left off fondling
himself, although evidently with some reluctance.

When Jackson returned home a little before the dinner hour, he was relaxing
in his study with a bourbon when the boys came to tell him that Biscuit
would indeed return that evening.  Jackson smiled his pleasure at this
news.  "You boys didn't shoot your stuff today, did you?  I want you ready
tonight."  Both boys hurriedly assured him they had not.  Then the sixteen
year old Paris made a mistake.

"Masta, can WE get some money, too, like Biscuit?"  With no hesitation,
Jackson slapped the boy across the face, not hard enough to damage but hard
enough to hurt.  "What are you talking about, boy?" he asked, anger rising.
"You are my slaves.  I own you.  I owe you nothing.  You will do what I ask
you to because you are my property.  Do you understand?"  Paris, his head
down and tears starting in his eyes from the slap, muttered "Yes Masta,
sorry Masta, I'se real sorry."

Jackson was not quite over his anger.  He knew he had to nip this kind of
thinking in the bud.  "Drop your pants," he ordered the sixteen year old,
as he sat down in a nearby chair.  Paris obeyed, his midnight black sixteen
year old's penis hanging flaccid.  "Come here," Jackson said, and he tugged
the boy into position to bend over his lap, his tight rounded buttocks
exposed, the boy touching the floor with his fingertips, his toes on the
floor at the other end.  "I will teach you to be insolent," he said, and
with his palm he smacked the firm buttocks hard.  Paris winced, but did not
complain.  He knew this could be worse; it involved no whip, and he well
knew that it might have.  Again and again, Jackson spanked the boy.  Paris
groaned and winced, but made no complaint.

"Come here," Jackson ordered the thirteen year old Pompei, and the slave
boy drew near, trembling a little in case he were in for something similar.
"Spank your brother as hard as you can, as I have done," he said.  Pompei,
his wide lips apart and his eyes big, gave a smack with the palm of his
hand to his brother's buttocks.  "Do it much harder, or else you will be
next!" warned Jackson.  Pompei nodded and then spanked his brother once,
and then again, with all his strength.  Paris cried out a little, but kept
his position, bottom up on the white man's lap.  "Once more!" commanded
Jackson, and Pompei obeyed, smacking the buttocks hard.  "Now, stand up and
put your pants back on" commanded Jackson.  Paris stood, tears running down
his cheeks, but Jackson was not surprised to see that his penis had become
half erect, and indeed had left a small spot of clear liquid on the white
man's trousers.  Jackson rose and quickly pulled the boy to him, covering
his full, ripe lips with his own.  The kiss was hard and passionate, and
the slave boy was gasping when his master released him.  "Never ask such a
thing again," he said, and Paris readily replied, "No Masta, sorry Masta."

After dinner, as the evening shadows lengthened, a knock on the back door
announced Biscuit.  Jackson was already in his bedroom, and the three boys
came right up to the chamber.  Jackson first gave the mulatto boy two
dollars, which he thanked the white man for and put into his pocket, then
stood waiting instructions.  "The three of you undress," commanded Jackson,
as he did so himself.  In a moment the boys, helping each other, were out
of their clothing and standing in randy readiness, deep midnight black
cocks and one medium brown cock half erect, ever so slowly rising.

Jackson pulled the mulatto boy to him, still enjoying the newness of his
somewhat different color, the slightly different texture of hair, the
beautiful face.  He covered the full lips with his own, his hands running
over the slave boy's back and bottom, kneading the firm buttocks and
causing the boy to wince as his ungreased finger pressed into the boy's
anus.  Near them, he saw Paris and Pompei kissing one another, their coal
black erections now full and batting against each other.  In a moment
Jackson released Biscuit and pulled Pompei to him, now taking the thirteen
year old boy's mouth and grinding his groin into the slave boy's groin,
while he could see the sixteen year old slave boys doing the same but
inches away.  Then it was time to switch again, and Jackson covered Paris,
kissing him hard, fondling the buttocks that must still have smarted a bit
from the spanking, while Biscuit took charge of the thirteen year old
Pompei and kissed him deeply.

All four penises were now rampant, erect and rock hard.  Jackson had given
much thought to what he wanted to do.  He threw himself on the bed and then
pulled his legs up to his chest.  "Oil me," he commanded Biscuit, who
seized the nearby pot of grease and began sticking one and then two greased
fingers into the white man's anus.  "Now oil Pompei," he commanded, and
Biscuit thoroughly lubricated the thirteen year old's erection while the
deep chocolate boy whimpered in delight.  "Now fuck me," Jackson commanded
Pompei, and the boy lost no time in entering his master.  Jackson wrapped
his legs around the boy's back as the slave began pumping, exercising no
restraint whatsoever.  Paris on one side and Biscuit on the other now began
fondling and kissing both slave boy and white man as Pompei pumped
furiously, whining in his throat, breathing hard, faster and faster he
slammed into the white man's anus and then he climaxed, his torso bending
forward as his head flew back and a strangled roar escaped from him.  He
slammed once more and held that position, trembling and shuddering, until
he was drained of semen, and then fell off onto one side.

"Now you," Jackson commanded Biscuit, and the sixteen year old mulatto boy
instantly got into position and placed the knob of his erect penis against
the white man's anus, relaxed and lubricated by the entrance and
ejaculation of the thirteen year old Pompei.  Now Biscuit began pumping as
Jackson wrapped his legs around the boy.  Taller than Pompei, his lips
reached Jackson's and the two held a kiss the entire time, eyes sometimes
meeting eyes, sharing breath as they panted heavily while not breaking off
the kiss until Biscuit squealed, his mouth still covered by the white
man's, and he bucked once, twice, three times, shooting his sperm into the
white man as he clenched the master's shoulders with his brown hands.  As
he finished he finally broke off the kiss and sucked in air greedily as his
body trembled, spasming in the last throes of his climax.

Paris did not need to be told what to do.  Jackson's anus was yawning, a
thin dribble of semen running out of it, as Paris inserted his midnight
dark shaft into the white man and took up the same position as Biscuit,
locking a kiss onto his master and holding tightly to the white man's
shoulders as he pumped and pumped.  The sweat of three boys and a man
slicked up the contact between his deep chocolate skin and Jackson's cream
colored skin, and he slid on this sheen of sweat as he pumped and pumped
and then broke off the kiss to roar, shooting his load into the white man's
anus, shuddering and bucking again and again.  He slid out when finished
and then all three boys cuddled in together on either side of Jackson.

"Biscuit, suck me," gasped Jackson, his desire at a fever pitch from the
three fuckings he had just received, his testosterone level likely elevated
from the semen he had absorbed.  Biscuit instantly obeyed but had not taken
the rose colored rock hard shaft in his mouth long before Jackson erupted,
the two darker slave boys fondling and kissing him as he shot one long
stream of semen after another into Biscuit, who swallowed it greedily.

Jackson, lying back on the bed now and grasping for breath, instructed
Pompei to bring water and washcloths and to clean everyone off, which he
did.  All traces of semen and shit erased, the white man pulled the slave
boys down into him, in a big tangle of fondling and hugging and kissing,
and once again they drifted off to sleep in a haze of post coital bliss.



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