Date: Sat, 7 Jul 2012 20:12:03 +0000
From: lokiaga@austin.rr.com
Subject: Visit to the Plantation 3

Visit to the Plantation 3
Lance Kyle

Montford Jackson actually awoke from his brief nap with an erection; the
memory of the sixteen year old slave boy he had just penetrated was fresh
in his mind.  For a moment he was sorry he had sent Paris and his thirteen
year old brother, Pompei away, but then he reflected that there was always
that evening to look forward to.  He hoped other duties would not keep
Paris away, for he was sure that dark brown, muscular body offered more
pleasures to come.

Rising and dressing, he found his host already up and reviewing their work
in the library.  Greeting each other, they resumed their task.
Merriweather's affairs were actually rather complicated.  Having no natural
heirs, his estate was to be divided among several charities.  His real
estate--and all property pertaining to it, including the slaves--would have
to be liquidated.  Jackson and Merriweather discussed the possibility that
several neighboring plantation owners would buy his plantation lock, stock,
and barrel, for many of them had children attaining adulthood and the
prospect of establishing them nearby might be attractive.

It appeared to Jackson as if they would complete their work about mid
afternoon. Then it would take some time to write out some copies.  Thinking
ahead, he asked Merriweather to send a slave to the mayor's house of the
nearest small village to inquire whether two witnessed--white men, of
course--would be available to witness the signing of the will in the
morning.  Merriweather took the precaution of also sending a request to his
local minister to meet them there at an appointed hour, for that worthy
would be central to the settling of his estate.

As the two men finished their work, word came back that all was arranged
for the morning.  The will being finalized just as Merriweather wanted it,
Jackson set to copying it and Merriweather to proofreading it, and by
dinnertime the work was done.

Dinner between the two men was both solemn and festive.  Merriweather
seemed relaxed, as if having finally completed one great remaining task in
his life.  As they dined, Jackson's attention was somewhat diverted by the
presence of Paris among the serving staff.  He kept his eye on the
beautiful black boy, and was sure he saw some furtive glances in his
direction.  He was sure he noted that Paris took the opportunity to serve
him in particular.  So the dinner was a diversion for Jackson in more than
one way.

They rose and went out onto the wide verandah to enjoy the summer evening
with drinks.  It was truly dark by the time they bade each other good
evening, lightning bugs punctuating the dark under the trees.  Merriweather
suddenly turned to his friend and said, "Oh!  I must apologize.  You
arrived so late last night, I thought you might be tired.  But tonight I
will see to your comfort as I should."  And here he winked at Jackson and
then shambled off to his own room.  Jackson had experience of visiting
country plantations before, and thought he knew what this would mean, but
he decided to deal with any complications as they arose.

When he arrived at his room, Pompei was in attendance, as he should be in
his role as Jackson's assigned servant.  So was Paris and one other
footman, who were just finishing pouring pails of hot water into the copper
tub for Jackson's evening bath.  Paris and the footmen left, but within a
moment or two there was a soft knock at the door and it was Paris.  He
stood there, his head hanging down, avoiding eye contact, and simply said
"Masta" softly.  Jackson opened the door and let him in, after which the
boy stood uncertainly.

"Remove my boots," he instructed sitting in a chair.  He then removed his
tie and shirt, the boys hanging them up, and then he decided they could
continue their work naked, so he instructed them to strip.  They did, eyes
down, not daring to glance at the white men nor at each other.  They had
just returned from putting their own clothing in the closet where Pompei
was supposed to be sleeping--both with penises semi erect in
anticipation--when there was a knock at the door.  Jackson knew what it
was, and silently motioned the boys to go hide in the closet.  He was
grateful he still had a shirt and trousers on.  Going to the door he opened
it.  There stood the butler with a girl of perhaps fourteen, dressed only
in a nightgown. Both kept their eyes averted downward.

"This is Cassandra, Master," said the butler, gently pushing the girl
forward, "with Master Merriweather's compliments.  She is here to serve
you."  And then he discreetly backed out and closed the door.  Jackson
nodded; he had guessed correctly.  He stepped over and locked the door.
Then he walked around the girl, looking at her.

She was not quite the African dark brown of the brothers; perhaps she had
one fourth white in her, perhaps a grandmother had been taken by a planter
or guest like him, long ago now.  Her features were regular and pretty,
definitely Negroid, her hair a puff of black cloud about two inches long.
She was not tall, but her hips and bottom were becoming those of a woman.
Two pert, not overly large, breasts about the size of oranges could be seen
beneath the nightgown.  "I am Montford Jackson," he said.  She nodded and
whispered "Yes, Masta," her eyes down, very still.  "So you are here to
serve me?" he asked, knowing she was, toying with her.  "Yes, Masta," she
repeated.  "In any way?" he asked.  "Yes Masta," again.

He walked up to her and lifted her smooth brown chin, her glance shifting
over to the side.  He held her face there for a moment and then bent down
and kissed her, sucking her full, thick lips in between his, sliding his
tongue into her mouth.  He wrapped his arms around her and grasped her
buttocks with both hands.  She sighed and gave the faintest moan, but
returned the kiss, following his lead in every particular, and lightly
draped her hands on his shoulders.

Then he broke off the kiss and began removing his shirt, then his trousers,
then his undergarments, handing them to the slave girl one by one for her
to hang up.  Once he was naked he caught her glancing furtive--even
appreciative?--glances at his naked body, at his growing erection.  "We
will bathe first," he said, stepping to the tub.  "Remove your garment," he
commanded.  From the corner of his eye he saw the closet door was cracked,
and knew the naked slave boys must be in there, peeking out, perhaps even
now playing with their rampant erections as they watched the bedroom scene
secretly.

He saw an expression of interest in her face.  Martin Merriweather no
longer had THAT many single male guests.  If she had been offered to guests
for this purpose before, it must not have been very often.  Perhaps she was
curious as to what practices she would be put to with this strange white
body.  Her nightgown was quickly removed, revealing smooth brown skin, the
pert orange sized breasts Jackson had imagined, hips that were just going
from boyish to womanish, and a small tuft of black pubic hair.  She stepped
to the tub and he motioned her in.

"Sit in front of me," he instructed.  "In the water with you, Masta?" she
asked in wonder, much as Pompei had the night before.  "Yes," he replied
shortly.  She stepped into the tub, lowering herself in, asking "Like this,
Masta?" as she sat facing him.  He nodded.

Now as he had done the night before he bathed himself with the soapy sponge
as she watched.  They were sitting very close, of course, legs
interlocking.  He then ran the soapy sponge around her breasts and neck,
around her face taking care not to get soap in her eyes, then bade her lean
forward, into him, so he could wash her back.  Her face was close to his
chest, her breasts very near, as he washed her back.  Then he reached into
the soapy water and washed her vagina.  She gasped a little.  He was not
rough, but he meant for it to be clean.

Then he rose but, as she made to do the same, he instructed her "Wait in
the water."  He stepped out of the tub and began drying himself.  "You are
to wash my servants as well," he commanded and then motioned toward the
closet door.  It opened and out came the two boys, penises rampant and dark
purple in their erected state.  Cassandra's jaw dropped as she saw this
spectacle, the boys coming up toward the tub, each grinning a little.

"Masta, I here to serve YOU!" she said.  She put a hand across her breasts
reflexively.  She was looking back and forth between each boy and the white
man, and it was clear, when she glanced at the boys, that it was with a
little look of distaste.  Clearly she knew them.  Had she repulsed previous
advances from each?  Was she friends or domestic enemies with them?  One
thing was clear: she had not anticipated their inclusion in her duties for
the evening.

"That WILL serve me," he said, and in the same breath said, "Pompei, get in
the tub."  Now grinning broadly, the black thirteen year old stepped into
the tub where Jackson had been, his penis bobbing almost in Cassandra's
face as he sat down.  "Wash him," he instructed her again.

She dared not object, but she clearly had a look of--not disgust but
perhaps distaste--on her face as she soaped up the sponge and began her
duties.  Pompei had a big grin on his face.  She avoided eye contact with
him, though.  When it came time to wash his penis below the soapy water it
seemed clear she was only going to dab at it.  "Wash all of him, and
completely," he instructed.  She obeyed, not with alacrity, and everyone
could hear Pompei gasp a little and sigh as her hands disappeared beneath
the water, where she applied to sponge to his rampant organ in earnest.

Both the white man and the sixteen year old black boy were watching this
with totally rampant erections, a few long drops of clear fluid dangling
from the end of the purple black penis.  When Cassandra was done with
Pompei, Jackson commanded him to step out of the tub and dry, which he did,
with an erection that stood straight up against his abdomen.  "Now wash
Paris," Jackson commanded.  The black boy moved with eagerness to get into
the tub.  Cassandra made as if to complain but then saw the futility of it.
Once more, avoiding eye contact with the boy, she washed him, grimacing a
little as she seized his iron hard erection in the water.  For his part,
Paris grinned and moaned and took in as much as his eyes could see.  When
Cassandra was done, Jackson commanded both to rise from the tub and to
towel each other off.  Paris was clearly enjoying this, Cassandra was just
getting through it.  She could have hung the towel on his erection, which
stuck out at a forty-five degree angle from his dark brown body.

Jackson stepped up and embraced Cassandra again, his man's penis pressing
straight up against her abdomen, more forcefully now slipping his tongue
into her mouth and sucking on her full lips.  Then he broke off and
commanded her, "Lie down on the bed."  He made as if to take one side of
her and told Paris, "Lie down on her other side."  Here she gasped in
dismay again, and cried, "Masta, I is for you, Masta!"  In answer he turned
her half around and swatted her firm, round brown bottom hard with his
hand, then again, then half dragged her to the bed and threw her on it.
She had a shocked expression on her face, but it was clear she would not
object again.

Jackson commanded Pompei, "Squat between her legs."  He did, shivering in
anticipation, his erection so hard it looked as if it might break to be
entered into her.  Now Jackson began kissing Cassandra again and rubbing
her breast on his on side, her abdomen--but he instructed Paris to do the
same on his side, and even relinquished the girl's full lips so that Paris
could apply his own full, sensuous, thick brown lips to hers.  While Paris
was kissing her, Jackson told Pompei to put some pomade on his penis and
finger and to insert the finger into her vagina.  The boy leaped from the
bed and returned in a flash, eager to obey.  They heard the girl moan
beneath Paris's kisses as the younger boy's brown finger entered her
vagina.

"Now enter her," Jackson commanded Pompei, and the thirteen year old did so
in a flash.  Cassandra cried out, but not in pain.  Paris broke off kissing
so he could carefully watch as his brother's purple black penis entered the
brown girl's vagina.  Pompei had no constraint, no sense of prolonging the
experience, he pistoned his firm brown hips as fast as he could, lying
directly on top of her, licking and sucking her breasts which were about
where his mouth naturally came.  In his urgency it did not take long; he
shivered, screamed, clenched his body, and slammed his groin forward.  And
then it was done and he collapsed on her heaving abdomen.

"Do the same," said Jackson to Paris, and the boys switched positions.  Now
Pompei lay at the other side heaving and panting, while Paris, not
bothering with lubricant, plunged his black man's penis into the girl's
body.  She cried out again, this time in ecstasy but also a little
discomfort, as the dark brown boy sported a man's penis on his teenage
body.  Holding himself up off of the girl with his elbows on the bed, Paris
likewise kissed and licked from her orange size brown breasts to her neck,
and likewise began slamming in and out with a boy's sense of urgency.  And
so it was but a moment before he roared, bucked once and then once again,
clenching his slab sided, rounded buttocks as his body slammed forward,
shooting a load of semen into her, quivering and shuddering as his climax
washed over him.  He jerked once more and collapsed on her body, heaving.

Jackson's plan was complete.  Females were not his preference, although he
had tried them, but he knew he would have to pleasure this girl slave or
his employer might wonder at it.  He knew he could do it best if he could
plunge into a pool of semen left by the two boy slaves, and that is what he
immediately did, pushing Paris over to where he had been and without
ceremony entering Cassandra, who cried out again.  The white man could feel
the path of slippery semen left by the black boys, and it fueled his
passion.  He held himself as close to Cassandra as he could, hands gripping
her shoulders tightly, his solid man's body crushing her girls' breasts,
his mouth covering hers.  He was aware that each slave boy was watching him
closely.  He began pumping, faster and then faster.  Not because he was a
boy but because he was stimulated to a fever pitch of excitement, it did
not take him long either, and after some minutes he roared, pulled himself
down into the exhausted body of the girl beneath him, and ground his groin
against her as he added his white man's semen to the black boy's cum that
already filled her.  He took his time to recover.  When he could sense that
everyone's breathing was back to normal he pulled out of her and rocked
back on his haunches.  He bade the boys to come and look as a stream of
their combined semen trickled out of her.  Cassandra moaned a little and
kept her head turned to the side.

Now Jackson commanded everyone to wash, and he participated in soaping all
three of the teenagers.  They dried, and then he thanked Cassandra and told
her he would have no further use for her that evening.  She nodded; he
supposed that something she had been retained through the night and
sometimes sent away.  She put her robe on and thanking the white man but
avoiding any gaze at the black boys, she slipped from the room.

Jackson locked the door again; he wanted no further surprises.  Now he took
to the bed to sleep, but commanded the black boys to join him.  They
muttered acquiescence.  There was to be no discussion of whether they
enjoyed their evening, no small talk.  Jackson had enjoyed it, and that was
all that mattered.  Now he wanted to sleep surrounded by smooth dark brown
bodies, to have one near him should he awake in the night with needs, and
so he slept in the middle, a dark brown boy snuggled up next to him on
either side.

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lokiaga@austin.rr.com