Date: Fri, 18 Jun 2004 06:27:54 -0700 (PDT)
From: Lance Kyle <lokiaga@prodigy.net>
Subject: Seaward Plantation chapter ten

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 ten

Mark Appleby and Troy had to trust to Hector's good eyes as
the fifteen year old sat in the bow of the Hesperus, craning
forward, peering intently into the morning fog.  Under very
little canvas, the boat glided silently in the calm waters
of the estuary of a creek emptying into Charleston Harbor.
Troy had the tiller, and although there was little fear of
any sort of collision or damage to the boat, still he did
not want to run aground and did not want to miss the pier
and landing for Ashley Plantation.  His master had been
invited for a two day stay there, to meet the local gentry
and make social connections that would serve all the people
of Seaward well.  The hiss of the boat through water and the
croaking of frogs, the thrumming of insects and the birds'
morning chorus were the only sounds Appleby could hear from
his seat in the middle of the boat.

"There! to starboard," cried Hector, pointing ahead and to
the right of the boat.  Troy peered intently into the fog--
then it seemed to lift momentarily, and a long pier came
into view.  An assortment of other craft were secured to it,
from rowboats to sailboats.  Troy and Hector worked to bring
the Hesperus around and up to the pier, gliding in smoothly
and quietly, Appleby helping as he could.  Bumping gently
against the wooden sides of the pier, the blacks secured the
Hesperus to the wooden uprights.  Appleby climbed over the
boat's side and onto the pier.  Troy and Hector handed two
cloth suitcases out to their master, who stood uncertainly
on the wooden planks of the pier.  Troy and Hector joined
him, unsure of what to do in the silent, heavy morning air.
A few feet toward shore he saw a post from which hung a
small bell with a rope dangling down.  Thinking this must be
some sort of signaling system, he rang it a few times, the
sound clear but muffled in the swirling fog.

A couple of minutes passed, then the sound of footsteps from
the shore end of the pier were heard.  A dark skinned man in
a uniform, or livery, emerged from the fog.  He was a little
over six feet tall, and Appleby could tell that he was
powerfully built beneath his uniform.  His skin was coal
black, as was his hair which was a carpet of dense tufts and
knots.  His hourglass-shaped face featured a prominent
forehead and rolling cheek bones that narrowed through the
cheeks and opened back up again in a strong jaw and chin.  A
wide, flared nose ran straight down to full lips that pushed
out from the mouth, purple brown pillows parted by white
teeth.  The man was the picture of handsome masculinity and
strength.  His uniform covered what must be a powerful
physique, a V-shaped chest above slim hips and slimmer
waist.  His walk was graceful, like the rolling prowl of a
powerful big cat.  Appleby could not take his eyes away as
the black man approached--nor, he was aware, could Hector or
Troy, the former muttering "Uh-huh!" under his breath.

"Good mahnin', masta, welcome to Ashley," said the slave.
"I'se Rodney, suh," he said, standing by the white man's
bags, eyes respectfully downcast, awaiting orders.

"Good morning, Rodney, I am Mark Appleby."  He had to remind
himself not to offer to shake hands.  The near gaffe brought
to Appleby's mind again the urgency of keeping the true,
free nature of Seaward a secret from the neighbors.  Turning
quickly, he thanked Troy and Hector and reminded them to
meet him there in forty-eight hours' time.  Turning
reluctantly to step back into the boat again, the two blacks
kept glancing back at Rodney's handsome, imposing face and
figure.  "Yes, master, we will be here," said Troy,
eventually tugging at Hector's sleeve to move him into place
for untying the boat and shoving off.  The Hesperus shifted
some canvas, caught a breeze, and glided back out into the
stream, disappearing into the fog.

Alone on the pier with the handsome slave, Appleby said,
"Well, Rodney, I suppose you should show me the house and
introduce me to your master."

"Yes, suh.  Jes' this way, please."  Rodney picked up the
white man's luggage with ease and led the way back up the
pier and across a gently rising lawn.  As they walked, the
fog began to lift, the sun cutting through the mists with a
golden light.  Appleby was trying to put his finger on what
seemed so different about Ashley Plantation already, even
before he had arrived at the house, and then suddenly it
occurred to him:  it was the uncultivated speech, the
slurring pronunciation, of the slave.  He had the sudden
realization that this lack of skill with the English
language was certainly nothing inborn in Africans, as all of
the people of Seaward spoke with perfect diction--and the
further realization that flawed speech might actually be
encouraged in blacks by a slave owner as a means to develop
a sense of inferiority.  Or, as he put it to himself another
way, to keep a man a slave, train him to speak like one.  He
began to realize how important was his Aunt Lucy's
insistence on proper speech among her slaves, and how well
that expectation had laid a foundation for their own
strength, beauty of character, and inner freedom.

Walking behind Rodney up the gentle slope of the lawn,
Appleby could admire the slave's body from the rear.  His
slab-sided hips displayed the typical high, African contour,
the buttocks rolling up tight and firm, then making a
pronounced curve into the valley at the base of the spine.
His buttocks strained against the fabric of his trousers as
he walked, each cheek muscle rising as the other fell.
Appleby could see, even beneath the livery worn by the
slave, that his back formed long hills of muscles on either
side of a pronounced valley where his spine was.  The black
man's walk was entirely natural, and so graceful it seemed
he almost danced to the beat of an inner music.

Appleby followed this beacon of black-man's-butt onto a well
manicured crushed stone path that led beneath stately live
oaks and eventually through another lawn in front of the
plantation house.  Ashley was a large home, larger than
Seaward although not palatial.  It was apparent immediately
that one of its charms was the formal gardens laid out
around it, with boxwood mazes, knot gardens, herb gardens,
rose beds, and ornamental topiaries distributed invitingly
across the grounds.  The stream that emptied into the harbor
evidently ran close to the house, for its flowing waters
could be heard just beyond a line of trees to Appleby's
right.

As the two men approached the white, two-story house they
saw a small group of people on the verandah.  A man stepped
out of the group and down the verandah steps as Appleby drew
near, Rodney moving to one side.  He was perhaps in his
fifties, with long, swept back grey hair, handsome regular
features, and meticulously dressed in a linen suit and
cravat, with a flower at his buttonhole.  Smiling a welcome
at Appleby, he extended his hand.

"Welcome to you, sir, I am Carter Ashley.  Welcome to
Ashley!"

"Thank you," said Appleby, taking his hand, "I am Mark
Appleby, of Seaward Plantation.  How kind of you to invite
me for the weekend."

"Not at all, not at all.  We so loved your dear Aunt Lucy,
rest her soul, and heard only recently that you had moved to
Seaward to take possession.  By luck we had planned to give
a ball tomorrow evening--nothing fancy, just a simple
country dance!--and we knew we must invite you.  Come, meet
my family."

Carter Ashley moved with an elegant, even regal bearing and
led Appleby up the verandah steps.  At the top he made
introductions.  "May I present my wife, Honoraria," he said,
"Mrs. Ashley, this is Mr. Mark Appleby, of Seaward."

"So nice to meet you, Mr. Appleby," said a thin, bony woman,
nonetheless handsome for her age.  Thinking quickly, Appleby
cast about in his memory for the appropriate thing to do
when meeting Southern matriarchs.  Unsure, but taking a
risk, he bowed formally and, taking Honoraria's hand in his,
bent over it and kissed the air just above it.  "Oh, Mr.
Appleby," she cooed, smiling and frankly appraising this
seemingly sophisticated young gallant.

"And these are our daughters, Victoria and Virginia,"
continued Ashley, steering Appleby by the elbow to two young
women in hoop skirts who stood nearby.  Not unattractive,
with sausage curls and elaborate morning dresses, a twenty
and an eighteen year old curtsied to their guest.  Repeating
his triumph with their mother, Appleby likewise took and
faux-kissed their hands, which elicited simpers and giggles.

"And this is our son, Robert Ashley," said Carter, beaming
as his daughters parted to let their brother through their
sea of hoop skirts.  Appleby was extending his hand anyway,
and the automatic action of doing so carried him through the
next moment.  For he was momentarily smitten by the
beautiful youth who stood before him.  Of about fourteen
years, Robert Ashley had bright, golden hair in a pageboy
cut, a ruddy pink complexion, and bright blue eyes.  After
his immersion in a world of earth-toned people, Appleby saw
the boy as if he were a messenger from another world.  He
wore simple but expensive clothes, no jacket (unlike his
father) but a cravat.  Beneath his clothing Appleby could
make out the contours of a muscular build on a slight frame;
the boy was not very tall at all, and thin-boned but
healthy.  The boy's bearing was also striking for one his
age; his chin was up, his handshake firm, his gaze frank and
appraising.  "So pleased to meet you, sir," he said, in a
voice that might not have been out of place in one twice his
age.  Having shook Appleby's hand, he stood ramrod straight,
his face friendly but with a look of frank evaluation and
scrutiny crossing his features.  Appleby returned the gaze,
reveling in the ice-blue eyes, a slightly upturned nose, and
bee-stung pink lips.  A light dusting of freckles crossed
his cheeks and nose, adding dimension to his rose and milk
complexion.

It was this youth, not the father, who suddenly turned to
Rodney, who was waiting with head downcast at the bottom of
the steps.  "Rodney, take this gentleman's luggage to his
room, and be quick about it," he said.  Carter Ashley beamed
indulgently at his son, proud of the attitude of command
that was forming in him even at his early age.  Appleby
sensed an inner strength in the youth, but here it expressed
itself as haughtiness, as command.  Rodney obeyed with
alacrity, carrying the luggage up the stairs and around the
party, into the house.

"Well, sir, welcome to our humble home," said Carter,
ushering Appleby into the house.  It was well furnished,
both tastefully and expensively, a rare combination in
Appleby's experience.  The ground floor was larger than
Seaward's, and included a spacious ballroom where the dance
the next evening, he was told, would be held.

"Do you dance, Mr. Appleby?" asked Honoraria Ashley, with a
sidelong glance or two at her daughters, who fanned
themselves as they bobbed and floated in the background.

"I shall try, madam!" he replied.

"I dance very well," said Robert.  "If you are unsure what
to do, you may simply copy me."

Now Appleby looked at the youth with real interest; what
sort of fourteen year old would offer such instruction to a
twenty-five year old adult?!  A tour of the ground floor
continued, and in every room Robert pushed into the
conversation to make some remark or offer an edifying
suggestion.  The rest of his family simply smiled at the
boy, who was clearly the crown jewel of this family.
Eventually Mrs. Ashley asserted herself and offered to show
Appleby to his room on the second floor.  He readily
accepted and they climbed a grand, curving staircase
together.  Honoraria identified portraits of various
relatives and ancestors that lined the walls above the
stairs as they went.

Reaching the second floor, Mrs. Ashley swept down the
corridor and showed her guest into a bedroom near the end.
It was simply but tastefully furnished, with a large four
poster bed, washstand with pitcher and basin, men's
toiletries, and a couple of comfortable wing chairs.  The
room had a small, attached dressing chamber, as did the
rooms at Seaward.  It also contained the slave Rodney, who
was putting Appleby's clothing away in the wardrobe and a
chest of drawers.  He stopped what he was doing immediately
as Mrs. Ashley entered the room, standing still with his
head down.  "Carry on Rodney," she said.  "Yes'm," he
replied and returned to the task.

"I do hope you will be comfortable here, Mr. Appleby," she
said. "If you would like to wash up from your journey and
see to the final disposition of your belongings here, then
please rejoin us downstairs so you may meet some of our
other guests and then have some luncheon."

Appleby agreed that he would be right down.  As soon as she
left, Rodney spoke to him softly.  "Masta, suh, ah put yo'
suits an shirts in heah," he said indicating the wardrobe,
"an' yo' other things heah," half opening one of the dresser
drawers.  "Yes, thank you, Rodney," said Appleby.  Coming up
beside the slave, who stood perhaps half an inch to an inch
taller than did he, Appleby opened the dresser drawers all
the way and nodded with approval, also putting his hand on
the slave's shoulder and squeezing it in a friendly way.  At
that touch, Rodney became perfectly motionless, eyes still
cast downward.  It was as if he was... waiting.  He appeared
perfectly submissive to whatever experience, good, bad, or
indifferent, might be signaled by the white man's friendly
caress.  A clean, manly scent, flavored with the sea, came
off of the large black man.  Startled at himself, Appleby
realized there was a swelling beginning in his groin.  He
quickly removed his hand from the muscular shoulder.

"Well, yes, ah, you may go now, Rodney, thank you."  The
slave said "Yassuh," and left the room quickly, silently.
Appleby washed in the basin with soap and water, adjusted
his clothing in the dresser mirror, and went into the
hallway.  The corridor was decorated with more portraits,
landscapes, and still lifes hanging from the picture rail
above, and by small busts in a Classical theme on pedestals.
He found the curved staircase and walked down it.

Carter Ashley was passing by the bottom of the stairs.  "Ah,
all settled in, I see.  Is everything satisfactory, sir?"

"Yes, quite, thank you, sir," said Appleby, trying carefully
to match the formal style of his host.  He had decided that
he needed as much as possible to make contacts and to create
just the right impression with the local landowners during
his visit to Ashley.

"Let me show you the library, the billiard room, and so
forth," said Ashley.  There followed a good hour of touring
the well-stocked library, the billiard room which not only
had a large, felt covered slate table in the middle but
comfortable wingback chairs here and there with low tables
next to each.  A trolley at one side of the room contained
decanters of what appeared to be whiskies, brandies, and
port wine, plus a box of cigars.

Robert Ashley met the men in the hallway as they moved into
Carter's inner sanctum, his gun room.  "I am quite a fine
shot, sir," puffed the youth, and took Appleby by the elbow
to show him an array of fine sporting pieces, shotguns and
muskets in glass-fronted cases lining the walls.  "Do you
ride, sir?" Robert asked, raising one eyebrow.  "No, I'm
afraid we have no room for horses on Seaward," replied
Appleby, trying to decide whether to be annoyed or amused at
this strutting youth.  He decided to postpone that decision
so he could simply drink in the boy's gold and pink beauty
some more.  Carter smiled indulgently as his son showed
Appleby the decorative accoutrements of fox hunting that
hung from the walls, interspersed among the firearms.

The tour of the room was interrupted by the appearance of a
stout, middle-aged male slave of milk chocolate complexion
in the doorway.  "Dinner is served, mastas," he said.  "Very
good, Toby, we---" began Carter, and Robert finished for
him:  "...we shall be right in, of course."  The men walked
down the hall where they found a few more guests outside the
dining room door.

"Mrs. Reynolds, may I present Mr. Mark Appleby, of Seaward
Plantation," said Ashley, "Mr. Appleby, Mrs. Letitia
Reynolds of the Caspar Plantation."  Appleby bent over the
extended hand of a tall, thin, bony female dressed all in
black.  His gallant gesture, which had worked so well with
the Ashley women, had no impact at all on the sour, stony
expression of Mrs. Reynolds.  "Pleased," she said.  "My late
husband and I knew your Aunt Lucy well," said this sphinx.
Returning some pleasantries, Appleby's mind was occupied in
trying to recall where he had heard about this person, or
her home.  The Caspar Plantation..... it nagged at his
thoughts, for he felt sure he was familiar with that name.
Appleby was also introduced to the Hunnicutts, a pleasant
portly couple of middle age from the White Oaks Plantation,
on the other side of the Charleston Harbor.  He began to
wonder whether there would be anyone else at all near his
own age, besides the young Ashley women.

They all went in to sit down for a pleasant lunch.  Appleby
found himself seated between Victoria and Virginia, who
seemed to be in some friendly competition to gain his
attention in conversation.  For the first time, the thought
floated in to him like a dark cloud in a blue sky:  Was he
invited here for matchmaking purposes?  Were these sisters
on display for his choosing?  He was instantly determined to
be pleasant but on his guard.

Appleby also noticed immediately that he was seated across
the table from Robert Ashley.  The boy's eyes shifted left
to center to right and back again as he watched the
interchange among his sisters and their guest, back and
forth as if he were at a tennis match.  Aware of his
interest, during a pause in the conversation Appleby stared
directly, frankly at the boy and smiled knowingly.  Robert
held his gaze for a moment with his crystal blue eyes, then
dropped them in confusion and looked down at his plate.  At
that moment Appleby felt what he had assumed was the table
leg shift away from his foot.  Was it Robert's foot instead?
Appleby tentatively moved his own foot in the direction of
the object and encountered it again a couple of inches from
where it had been.  This time it moved back toward him,
gently but deliberately leaning against his foot.  Appleby
looked again at Robert, a slight, questioning smile on his
lips.  Robert looked up furtively from his plate with a
neutral expression, held Appleby's gaze for but a moment,
then returned to his meal.  Their feet remained leaning
against each other for the rest of the luncheon.

As the company rose from the meal, Mrs. Hunnicutt spoke.
"Are you looking forward to the ball tomorrow evening, Mr.
Appleby?"

"Yes, madam, I'm sure we all are," he replied graciously.
Letitia Reynolds, hovering nearby like a thundercloud,
mournfully intoned, "Not all, sir, not all.  This is my
first time to leave Caspar since my dear husband passed, but
a few weeks ago.  I shall be at my prayers all that
evening."  Again, the mention of Caspar Plantation nagged at
Appleby; where had he heard of it, and why?

As the party went into the hallway, Appleby noticed that
Robert had disappeared, run off to do normal fourteen year
old boy things, he supposed.  Carter Ashley made his
apologies to Appleby, saying he must attend to some
correspondence in his library during the afternoon.  The
Hunnicutts were all for napping.  Ashley proposed to Appleby
that he might want to tour the grounds of the plantation.
"Would you like one of the servants to be your guide, sir?"

"It's not necessary, thank you," he replied.  "I have fewer
servants at Seaward than you do, thank you, and am quite
accustomed to solitary walks outside."

"Ah, yes, your stock of servants may be depleted due to your
Aunt's long illness and sad decline," said Ashley.  "In
fact," he said, snapping his fingers in sudden recollection,
"I believe you have already begun to rectify that, have you
not?  I was passing by Mr. McGillicuddy's establishment just
two days ago and he said you had recently purchased some
property from him, have you not?"  Appleby nodded agreement,
willing the name of the odious McGillicuddy not to have any
effect on his face.  But then he had another, instant moment
of real need to control himself, for he remembered all of a
sudden where he had heard of Caspar Plantation.  It had been
the home of Cassius and Portia!  He could not help himself,
but wheeled around to look for Mrs. Reynolds, but she had
retired to her bedroom... no doubt, to her prayers.  She was
evidently the woman who had sold her husband's children
because they embarrassed her.

"Sir?" inquired Ashley, in surprise at Appleby's sudden
movement.

"Oh, nothing, I beg your pardon, a thought about another
matter occurred to me.  Yes, yes sir, I did purchase two
servants at that establishment."

"Well, perhaps you are interested in more, eh?  We do have
many servants here, perhaps too many.  Indoor servants, I
think McGillicuddy said you were interested in?"  He paused
in thought.  "I could offer you Rodney, who carried your
bags, at a very fair price."  Appleby began to protest, but
it appeared that in this part of the South, shopping for
slaves was a pastime not to be denied.  "No, no, absolutely
no obligation, but he really is a very good servant and is
somewhat superfluous to our needs.  I shall send him to you
this evening after dinner so you can see for yourself
whether he would be suitable."

Appleby felt himself back at McGillicuddy's, and in spite of
himself he felt a warmth in his groin at the thought of
"seeing for himself" whether Rodney would be a suitable
slave.  Needing to say something, he could think of no
plausible reason to give in disagreement:  "Very kind of
you, sir."

"Well, enjoy your walk, then sir, make yourself quite at
home," said Ashley, and bowing slightly he withdrew to the
library.

Appleby set out on a walk, first selecting a walking stick
from a collection near the front door.  The grounds of
Ashley Plantation were lovely, the gardens well kept.  He
amused himself for at least an hour in two mazes that were
made of boxwood cut chest high, winding his way down false
alleyways and true ones until he reached the small gazebo
that stood at the center of each.  Wandering through
flowerbeds he enjoyed the fragrance that washed over them in
the warmth of the afternoon.  Indeed, it was beginning to be
a bit too warm; Ashley did not enjoy the sea breezes of
Seaward and was consequently inclined to be hotter.  Walking
farther down a path, he emerged through a gate beneath an
arch of ivy and entered a rough path that skirted a field
planted with what he thought was cotton.  He could see rough
slave cabins across the field and a small gang of slaves
working in the fields near them.  Coming to a fork in the
path, he took the one that led to the river which he knew to
be just beyond a tell-tale line of trees no more than a
quarter-mile away.

Appleby was drawn to the idea of water, a little homesick
for Seaward, and hoping that it might be cooler on the banks
of the stream.  As he drew nearer to the banks, it sounded
as if he was not the only one with that idea, for he could
hear voices and the sound of splashing that grew louder as
he approached.  Some heavy undergrowth grew along the banks
of the stream, punctured here and there by cleared spaces
that evidently led down a short bank to the water.  The
sound of voices was very near now, and they sounded like
young people, perhaps boys or young men.  Not wishing to
intrude on a private party, Appleby pushed into the
undergrowth as much as he could, and finding a convenient
place to wriggle into the greenery, he moved the branch of a
bush slightly away and looked down the short incline onto
the scene below.  It was breathtaking.

Four naked boys had evidently been playing in the water of a
swimming hole formed as the stream widened over a hard clay
bottom.  Appleby's attention was immediately drawn to the
one fourteen year old white boy--Robert Ashley!  The boy was
shepherding three black boys out of the deeper part of the
stream until they stood mid-calf deep in the water.  Robert
was slim and thin-boned, but well muscled.  His chest was
two pillowed rounds of muscular pads with small copper
nipples on the lower, slightly outside edges.  The
suggestion of abdominal muscles was forming but not well
defined, although there was no fat on his torso at all.  As
he turned to move the black boys into position, Appleby
could see that Robert's slab sided bottom was firm and
followed the more typical white boy's pattern of half-moons
on the underside.  The white and pink complexion of his face
was continued across his body; not a chalk white but not
tanned, his skin looked like a dish of cream in which
strawberries have been soaking--and Appleby began wanting to
taste that cream.  Robert's arms and legs were well
proportioned, and as with his abdomen there was muscular
development but not the hard, chiseled definition that could
be found on Troy, for instance.  His penis was five inches
long and nearly erect, sticking out and then downward at the
tip, over a darker, purple red ballsack that was pulled up
tight and beneath a small tuft of gold-brown pubic hair.
Robert's pageboy hair was wet and lying in a mat closer to
his head now.  His bee-stung lips were parted in
concentration and, Appleby imagined, a heavier pace of
breathing.

Robert was arranging a work of art in flesh, a stage upon
which he would soon perform. All four boys were facing
Appleby, but could not see him in the bushes. The three
black boys with him ranged from about ten to perhaps
thirteen or fourteen, and Robert was lining them up in front
of him, all still calf-deep in the slowly moving waters.  On
his left was the youngest boy of about ten, thin framed but
muscular, of a deep chocolate color with a half inch long
cap of kinks and knots in his hair, a pretty face with full
lips and a wide but turned up nose--Appleby realized with a
shock who it was.  The young boy he had examined at
McGillicuddy's!  Evidently recently purchased and brought to
Ashley.  The memory of that moment added to the swelling
intensity in Appleby's groin.

Robert pushed the boy on his upper back and knowing what was
wanted, probably from experience, the ten year old bent
over, hands on his knees, and spread his legs slightly.  He
presented the target of his love hole in a firm, round butt
to his young master.  The boy's small, thin penis was fully
erect, stiff and wagging with every movement.  He looked
behind him in expectation, a slight smile on his face.

Next in line, in the middle, was a boy of about twelve whose
striking, unusual looks quite took Appleby's breath away.
Of a medium chocolate color but with an overwash of rust,
his body was a muscular tube of meat, rolling chains of
muscles but without the definition and bulk that would come
to him later.  A four inch long penis that was unusually
thick for his age jutted out and curved at an upward angle,
ready for action, above a ballsack that hung down slightly.
A tiny patch of pubic hair in tight kinks sat above his
genitals.  What was most striking, though, was his face:
strangely beautiful, he looked like a leopard.  The face was
long, shaped like a vertical almond, and thin but with a
rosebud mouth of purple brown lips that seemed set in a
perpetual pucker, presenting themselves as if to be kissed.
And his eyes!  Also almond shaped, but horizontal almonds,
with black pupils and thick, wide eyebrows.  Jet black but
straight hair grew in a short cap on his head.  Appleby felt
he must surely have Arabic, or perhaps Indian, the blood of
different continents mixed in him somehow.  He also bent
over at his master's push, grasped his knees, and looked
behind him to await his young master's pleasure.

The last boy was coal black, so black he was purple, perhaps
thirteen, and a little portly.  His chest bulged out
slightly in boy-breasts, almost but not quite girlish in
their contour.  His abdomen was firm but rounded, with
little muscular definition.  He had very little hair on his
close shaved head.  Beneath the suggestion of a roll of
flesh grew a large penis, perhaps six inches long,
surprising hefty in one his age, and surrounded by a halo of
black, frizzy pubic hair.  He, too, bent over to grasp his
knees and await his master's commands.

Robert surveyed his handiwork for a moment, then fell to the
task.  Reaching down to the clay bottom of the stream, he
brought up some slimy, smooth clay and moved from one boy to
the next, rubbing it on and into their waiting anuses,
eliciting grunts and gasps from the boys as the shoved his
slick fingers into their bodies.  Satisfied with his work,
Robert then slicked up his own pink penis with the brown
clay, mixing it with the clear precum that dripped from it.
The time had come.  Appleby pushed forward even farther into
the bush, daring to part the branches wider to improve his
view.

Stepping up to the ten year old boy, Robert Ashley pushed
his penis in all the way with one motion, causing the boy to
cry out and bite his lip.  Ashley pumped quickly, burying
his penis fully inside the ten year old with every stroke.
Then he withdrew with a plop, causing the boy to gasp, and
moved to the leopard boy in the middle.  Again, Robert
rammed his rigid cock into the boy at once, again provoking
a cry of pain.  He remained in this boy somewhat longer,
pumping vigorously, hands around the boy's hips to hold
their bodies together.  Again he withdrew, and moved to the
chunky boy on the right.  Robert's penis was now iron hard
with stimulation, and was jammed in one movement into the
boy's fat bottom, with the expected result of a cry of
protest.  Even faster now he pumped in and out of the boy's
butt, but this time slapped the boy's bottom and hips with
his hand, slapped them hard with an open palm.

Back and forth he went from one boy to the next.  By luck or
by design, when he came it was in the ass of the leopard-
faced boy.  Robert began to cry "Unh, unh, unh, O!" and
began quivering.  He gave three violent pumps and threw his
head back, gasping and moaning as he pushed his groin
forward and kept it there, emptying his seed into the exotic
boy in front of him.

Robert kept his head back until his passion subsided, then
opened his eyes.... to look directly into Appleby's eyes.
The white boy's tilted head gave him an angle of view up the
slight incline of the bank and directly into the bush from
which Appleby had observed the whole scene.  Robert froze,
panting heavily, mouth agape, his blue eyes boring right
into Appleby's.  Appleby flashed him a brilliant smile,
mimed a clapping of hands, waved his hand in a flourishing
salute, and withdrew from the bush and back onto the path.
None of the black boys, their heads down, had seen him at
all, and Robert had remained frozen in.... what had Appleby
seen in his eyes, beyond sexual ecstasy?  Was it terror?
Embarrassment?  Or just desire?

Appleby walked back up the path toward the house, checking
his trousers to make sure that his own erection was
subsiding and had not leaked through the cloth, chuckling to
himself about the episode.  He was glad he had discovered
the pompous little prat, Robert, in a human moment.  But
what the outcome would be of his knowledge, and of Robert's
awareness that he had been spied upon, he could not tell.

By the time he entered the house, it was nearing time to
change for dinner.  Appleby washed up at the basin and put
on his best suit.  Returning downstairs, he found the others
in the library.  The men were enjoying bourbon and branch
water, while the women sipped tiny glasses of sherry, except
for Mrs. Reynolds who sat somewhat apart, sour faced and
stony-still.  Conversation was cordial, and Appleby was
asked many questions about his background and inheritance
from Lucy.  He assured them that he had never been happier
than when he came South, and foreswore any further contacts
with the North, a stance that brought smiles and murmurs of
approval all around.  Mrs. Hunnicutt had asked a question
thinly veiled to ascertain his marital status when into the
library came Robert Ashley, looking freshly scrubbed and in
a good suit.  Everyone's attention was diverted to the
beautiful, blonde boy, and Mrs. Hunnicutt temporarily lost
interest in the question she was asking.  Appleby smiled
good naturedly at Robert, and greeted him in the chorus of
others.  The boy darted furtive looks at Appleby but avoided
standing near him.

The group was called into dinner and everyone was seated in
the same places as at lunch.  "Did you enjoy your walk
around Ashley?" asked Carter Ashley of Appleby.

"Oh yes, very interesting, he replied."  Seated directly
across from him, Robert, his head down, shot a quick,
appraising glance at him, then looked away.

"They have lovely gardens, here, I think," said Mr.
Hunnicutt.  "Did you see any interesting sights?"

"Oh indeed, some marvelous sights, quite interesting
indeed," replied Appleby, smiling broadly all around at the
company.... and when his smiled came to rest on Robert
directly across the way, the boy was looking at him more
directly now, quizzically, weighing the man's every word.
Appleby nodded imperceptibly at him, and the boy dropped his
head again.  But under the table, Appleby felt once more the
intentional placement of a shoe alongside his own.

Victoria and Virginia regaled Appleby once again in
conversation, a sort of light-hearted flirting that could
not but be noticed by the company.  Their mother, Honoraria,
beamed her approval at their efforts.  It was then that Mrs.
Hunnicutt recalled her fateful question, which she now
asked.

"Mr. Appleby, I take it there is no Mrs. Appleby?  No one
who claims your heart up North.... or here in Charleston?"
Simpers and giggles erupted on either side of Appleby,
giving him time to think.  He looked down in momentary
confusion, and the sight of his own clothing gave him a
sudden inspiration.  He was then glad that he came from
plain, severe New England stock--for his suit of clothes was
black and simple.  Indeed, since he had decided he needed to
dress more formally for the occasion, all his clothing was
black.... just like that of the Widow Reynolds.  A flash of
inspiration bolted through his brain.

Appleby raised his head as the company waited for his
answer.  "Alas," he said, "there is no Mrs. Appleby..... any
longer."  A soft gasp escaped all the females at the table.
"She was taken away from me after but two years of
marriage," he said, lying through his teeth, "and is now
with the Lord.  I cherish her memory," he said, and looked
into the middle distance above Robert's head.  "I may some
day love another, but it is soon.... too soon," he added,
lugubriously.  Now sighs and soft whispers of agreement
escaped the women at the table.  Victoria and Virginia
looked a trifle disappointed, but the presence of a gallant
young widower in their midst, no doubt experienced in the
ways of women, who might--some day!--become available again
added a delicious note of intrigue and romance to the
character of their guest.  Robert, meanwhile, looked
curiously at Appleby, as if he could see through the ruse
and wondered what it meant.

After dinner the women moved to the drawing room while the
men enjoyed port around the table for a while, talking
politics and business.  Appleby avoided all controversial
subjects, quietly learning as much information as he could
about the society in which he found himself.  Robert Carter
was allowed half a glass of port, but soon asked permission
to be excused and slipped out of the room.  The men then
joined the ladies in the drawing room and were entertained
by songs sung by Victoria, accompanied by Virginia on a
small piano that was not in the best of tune.  More pleasant
conversation followed, and then the party dispersed for bed.

Appleby's room was at the end of one hall, and it appeared
as if he had no neighbors next to him, at least for that
evening.  He was two doors away from his room when the door
to one of the unoccupied rooms that had been ajar opened
fully.  It was Robert, who gestured fiercely for Appleby to
come into the room.  He did so, and Robert closed it behind
him.  The boy's beautiful face was a battleground for
several conflicting emotions, each of which Appleby read
plainly:  embarrassment, anger, fear.... and what else?  Was
there any sort of desire in that mix?

"Listen," whispered Robert fiercely, "what you saw today.
You don't understand, it.... it wasn't what it seemed.  And
you'd better not tell anyone.  Did you tell my father?
Because if you do tell, you'll be very sorry, sir, believe
me I can make you---"

Appleby stopped him by raising a single index finger and
holding it to Robert's lips.  "Listen:  first, don't
threaten me--boy," he said, and now fear definitely took
center stage on the boy's beautiful features.  "Second, I
don't care and I don't mind what you did today."  Now, a
look of wonder and then appraisal crossed the boy's
features.  "And third--"  and here Appleby moved the index
finger from the boy's lips to under his chin, tilted the
face toward his own, and kissed the boy passionately.

Utterly taken aback, completely caught up in the moment,
Robert breathed in loudly through his nose.  The older man's
tongue was invading his mouth, sliding along his teeth.
Robert's bee-stung lips were being sucked into Appleby's
mouth.  The boy awkwardly put his arms loosely around the
man's waist.  Tentatively, he inched closer.

The moment was broken suddenly.  "Robert!?" came a female
voice on the stairs.  Appleby broke off the kiss and looked
down at the panting boy, smiling.  "Your mother wants you,"
he said, with a hint of irony in his voice.  Breathing hard,
completely at a loss as to how to respond, in a totally new
element, the boy shook his golden head as if to clear it,
looked hard at Appleby, then bolted silently from the room.
"Coming mother," he was heard to say at the top of the
stairs--then the sound of footsteps, and then quiet returned
to the hallway.  Appleby stepped into the empty corridor,
then walked the few feet to his bedroom, which he entered,
closing the door behind him.

Tired from the day, Appleby was grateful for the quiet
solitude of his room.  An open window let in the sounds of
the country night air, crickets singing and the "Chuck
Will's Widow" calling out.  He took off his jacket and hung
it over a chair back, then his cravat, and his trousers.
Appleby had just removed his shirt and added it to the pile
when he heard a knock on the door.  Was it Robert come back
for more?  He opened the door a crack and peered around it,
keeping his body, which was now clothed only in his
undergarments, out of sight.  But it wasn't Robert.  The
powerfully built slave Rodney stood there, smiling shyly,
his white teeth shining in the darkened hallway.

"Evenin', masta, Masta Carter sent me," he said, leaving
unspoken the purpose of the visit.

"Oh, Rodney, thank you but I had forgotten.... I'm
undressing," replied Appleby, opening the door just a bit
farther, a bare shoulder visible.

Looking beyond the white man into the room, Rodney said,
"Lemme help, masta, I sees yo' clo'es on de chair," and he
put gentle pressure on the door with his hand.  Appleby gave
way, and the slave prowled past him into the room where he
began busily hanging up the clothing that had been discarded
on the chair.  Appleby, naked except for the undergarments
covering his loins, closed the door and then simply stood
and watched.  Even at a mundane task like this, the slave's
body moved with grace and power.  Desire began to build in
Appleby, coupled with the knowledge that he had full power
to act on that desire.  But some measure of decency remained
in his not wanting simply to coerce the man into anything
demeaning.

Finishing his task, Rodney stood before the white man, head
slightly bowed; but his dark eyes were flicking glances at
the nearly naked Appleby.  "Ise done, suh.  Masta Carter, he
say you lookin' fo' a house slave.... mebbe me?"

Appleby took a step toward Rodney; he could almost feel a
physical aura of muscular power and sexual vitality emanate
from the slave.  "Rodney.... Rodney, you don't have to do
this, you know. I don't really need a slave.  It will be
alright."

Much to his surprise, Rodney's face came up, covered with a
look of disappointment.  "Don' you wanna see how strong  I
is, masta?  I has strong muscles, suh," he said, and he
stepped close enough to Appleby to raise the white man's
hand and place it on his own biceps.  "I works real hard,
masta, Ise worth the price," he said, just a touch of
pleading in his voice.  It dawned on Appleby then that the
man actually wanted to have his body admired....that he was
in some way proud of himself as a commodity to be bought and
sold--and examined.

"Very well, Rodney," was all Appleby could say, but it was
enough.  Now grinning broadly, the black man pulled off his
shoes and began unbuttoning the shirt of his uniform.  Off
it came and onto the chair.  Rodney straightened up tall
before proceeding as if to advertise this first set of
products.  He stood a little taller than Appleby.  It was
true, he was well muscled.  His chest was in the shape of a
shield, thick pads of muscle with prune sized and prune
colored nipples.  His hairless abdomen showed definite
development, hills and valleys in perfect symmetry marching
down to a light colored navel that pushed out from the skin
a quarter of an inch.  Rodney twisted a little, to stretch
and to show the white man the snaking of his muscles beneath
his coal black skin, which gleamed in the light of the
candles in the room.  He now looked frankly at Appleby for a
sign.  Appleby was lost in looking at the slave's skin, his
muscles, but he gave a brief nod.

Down came the black slave's uniform trousers and off to one
side, then a brief pause, and he dropped his loincloth.  His
abdomen slid above each hip in well defined ridges down
toward his pubic area.  A surprisingly large bush of frizzy
pubic hair bloomed around a purple black penis, about the
same size as Troy's, above a ballsack that dangled three
inches below, showing the outline of two heavy testicles.
The slave's well muscled legs were like oak trunks growing
from the floor.  There was a long pause.  Appleby suddenly
came to himself, realizing that he was literally slack
jawed, breathing through his mouth in concentration on the
sight before him.  He looked at Rodney, who flashed a
brilliant white smile with his full, heavy lips, and nodded
an invitation at the white master.  It was time to begin.

Stepping behind the slave, Appleby began massaging his neck
and shoulders.  Thick, fleshy muscles sloped from the corded
neck to the outside of his shoulders.  Appleby's white
fingers kneaded the muscles of the neck, working up into the
hair which stood in a boiling sea of knots, whorls, and
tufts about half an inch long.  Contrasting this to the
tight skullcaps of crinkly hair on the heads of Priam and
his sons, Appleby was reminded that African hair had as much
variety as European hair, in its own way.

Back down the neck came the white man's hands, digging deep
into the masses of shoulder muscle, thumbs pushing in
between the well defined deposits of hard flesh.  One hand
on each side, Appleby massaged his way down the two long
hills of back muscle, thumbs digging into where they joined
in the deep valley of the spine.  By now Rodney, although
standing stock still, could be heard to breathe a little
more rapidly, and he grunted with pleasure as the white man
dug into his muscles.

Reaching the black man's butt, Appleby really dug in,
working the slab sided thick muscles that rolled up high and
tight, sloping down into the bottom of the spine.  Each hand
grabbing a hard butt cheek, Appleby squeezed and kneaded,
his thumbs sliding in the ass crack, finally meeting at the
anus.  Appleby pried the heavy butt muscles apart revealing
a wrinkled purple black love hole, which he scratched and
lightly probed with his thumbs.  "Masta!" sighed Rodney, now
almost squirming with a pleasure he had not expected to
feel.  This certainly went beyond any physical examination
he had ever experienced.

Appleby removed his own remaining undergarment with one
motion, then stepped naked around to the front of the black
slave.  "Masta!  Wha'....?" cried Rodney, his eyes growing
wide at the sight of the naked white man who stood before
him.  Appleby did not answer, but put both hands on the
sides of the slave's face and began running his fingers
lightly over the contours of his face.  The man's thick
purple brown lips were parted to reveal perfect white teeth,
and he was panting.  Impulsively, Appleby pulled the head
sightly forward and kissed him full on the mouth, eliciting
a soft groan from the slave.  Appleby's tongue darted into
the man's mouth, where it was met with a tentative push from
the other's tongue.  Pulling away, white and black man
looked directly at each other, panting, all pretense of a
commercial inspection now gone.

Appleby began kneading the pillows of muscle on the man's
upper arms, following the chain of hills and valleys down to
the iron hard forearms and eventually into the hands, which
Appleby held in each of his.  Both penises, purple black and
dusky red, were rampant, Rodney's curving somewhat to his
left, occasionally slapping each other as they met in a
dance between the two men.  As it was clear that the slave
would remain passive, Appleby, still holding each black
hand, raised them to his waist, which the black man now
embraced.  This freed Appleby's hands to massage the heavy
pillows on the shield shaped chest, tweaking and pulling the
nipples, working the abdominal muscles in a leisurely
journey down to the black man's groin.

Reaching that destination, Appleby toyed with the full bush
of wiry pubic hair, slid his hand around the massive organ
to cup the ballsack, which was now tucked up tight, and then
seized the black man's heavy penis.  Not daring to go
further himself, Rodney simply held on to the white man's
waist firmly.  But his eyes traveled up and down over the
white man's muscular body, drinking in every detail.

Using both hands, Appleby pumped the heavy organ up and
down, up and down, holding it straight up between them.
Rodney remained standing still and upright, but his
breathing was becoming labored.  Then the black slave began
rocking, pulling his hips back and camming them upward, back
and up, back and up, and then in a strangled cry he pushed
up and forward.  Great spouts of white semen came out, some
spraying up onto his coal black, shiny chest, some onto
Appleby, some running down the shaft and the two white hands
that held it.  Removing one hand, Appleby cupped it under
this flow, collecting the harvest of the black man's seed.
Again and again the organ erupted as the pumping of
Appleby's hand slowed and his other hand filled with slimy
juice.

The black man's orgasm was over; he panted heavily and
looked directly at the white master in wonder and joy.  Of
course, Appleby was not through with him.  "Turn around,
bend over, put your hands on the bed," he ordered, and the
slave complied.  "Spread your legs."  The wrinkled purple
black love hole was revealed.  Appleby annointed it with
some of the semen he held in his hand, shoving some of it
into the anus, causing the black man to grunt.  Then Appleby
slathered the remainder of the cum all over his own rampant
organ and, wasting no time, stepped up behind the black man,
positioned his purple red cockhead at the anus, and shoved
it inside in one push.   Rodney gasped and let out a muffled
cry, even though the white man's dick was lubricated with
the black man's own love oil.

The passage was quite tight, both because Appleby had spent
little time enlarging it with his finger and because of the
powerful ass muscles on either side.  Appleby began moving
in and out, faster with every passing moment.  His slimy
hands clutched the black man's hips.  From his standing
position, the white master could develop real power in his
ability to thrust, and slammed his penis fully into the
slave's love tunnel with each cycle.  Soon, Appleby felt his
ecstasy build in his lower belly, then erupt out of his
rampant organ and into the black man's rectum.  Barely
remembering to muffle his cries so as not to attract
attention, the white man hissed, groaned, and cried out in
whispered rapture, pumping and pushing until all his seed
had filled the black man's anus.

They stood like that, both panting, until Appleby's
softening penis slid out of the slave's anus with a plop.
Tugging Rodney to an upright position, Appleby turned him
around and embraced him tightly, which was returned at first
hesitantly and then with real feeling by the black man.
They held that position for a moment, then Appleby stepped
back.  Putting one hand on the side of the black man's
sweaty face, he asked, "Rodney.... do you really want to be
sold away from Ashley Plantation?"

The man's face betrayed a war between telling a white man
whatever he wanted to hear and telling the truth.
Eventually the latter won out, and he broke into a wide
grin.  "No, masta, suh, not really.  I mean, if you really
wanna buy me, tha's alright, but.... no suh.  I lak it heah.
I got me a gal heah," he said, grinning more broadly.

"That's alright, it's alright, Rodney.  I wouldn't want you
to be unhappy."  Bending forward again, Appleby kissed the
black man on the lips lightly.  "Thank you for all this,
Rodney," he said.  "Thank you masta," came the surprised
reply; clearly, Rodney had rarely encountered this level of
feeling and intimacy with a white man before.

Both men washed up at the basin.  Rodney dressed himself,
although Appleby remained naked, for bed.  "Until tomorrow,"
he said, at the door, kissing the slave lightly on the mouth
once before opening it.

"Yes, masta, until tomorrow," he replied, and then he was
gone.