Date: Sun, 20 Jun 2004 15:57:09 -0700 (PDT)
From: Lance Kyle <lokiaga@prodigy.net>
Subject: Seaward Plantation chapter eleven

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 eleven

The soft pattering of feet... the swoosh of water being
emptied from one container to another..... pattering
again... a long pause.... more pattering, more water.....
Mark Appleby had been hearing this rhythm for several
minutes now as he awoke from a deep, restful slumber in his
bedroom in Ashley Plantation.  The bright morning light
coming in his window reminded him that it was fully time he
arose; but what were those sounds?

Pushing up on one elbow and drawing the sheets up to cover
his nakedness, Appleby peered around the corner of his four
poster bed.  The door to the hallway was slightly ajar, not
quite pushed closed.  The door to his dressing chamber,
however, stood open, which he did not remember from the
previous night.  Deciding to risk being seen without his
clothes, he rose from the bed and walked into that chamber.
There was nobody there, but he did see a rather large sort
of tin bucket, a "hip tub," not nearly as large as the claw
footed tub back at Seaward, but definitely large enough to
squat in and get clean.  It was about two thirds full of
steamy water.  On a nearby oaken stand were towels and a bar
of soap.

Deciding that these preparations must be for him, and that
the sound of footsteps and rushing water must have had
something to do with it, he stepped gingerly into the tub.
The temperature was just right, and he sank down into it.
The water level might have been a little higher, but it
would do.  He reached for the soap and had just begun
lathering it up when he heard his bedroom door open, then
shut, and the pitter-pat of footsteps into the dressing
room.

To his surprise, he recognized his visitor.  It was one of
the three boys that Robert Ashley had fucked on the stream
bank yesterday, the coal black, portly boy of about thirteen
or so.  Today he wore a simple uniform in the Ashley livery,
of course, but there was no mistaking who it was.  The boy
was concentrating on carrying a bucket with hot water in it,
and was caught up short in surprise to find that the tub
into which he meant to pour the load was already filled with
a large, muscular naked white man.

"Oh!  Masta, Ise sorry... did I wake you?  Ise heah fo' yo'
bath," he said, a brilliant white smile creasing his jet
black face.  "Lemme jes' po' dis in," he said, carefully
emptying the bucket between Appleby's tucked up legs, but
against the side of the hip bath.  This last addition
brought the water to just the right level.  Appleby studied
the boy as he concentrated on his task.  His close-cut head
showed tiny little snakes of black hair hugging the dark
scalp.  His face was rounded, with full, pouty purple brown
lips.  The boy's nose was broad and flared at the end.  Not
unhandsome, the boy's slight chubbiness leant a girlish
quality to his dark features.

The boy set the empty bucket on the floor.  At the same time
he said, "Ise heah to hep you bathe, mastah," and gently
removed the soap from Appleby's hand.  Was this a regular
service offered to guests at Ashley, or was this some
special dispensation made for him.... and if so, who had
ordered it?  Surely not every guest would want such intimate
attention. Without waiting for acknowledgement or
permission, the boy began scrubbing the white man's back,
running the lathered bar of soap over it with one hand and
rubbing the soap into the skin with the light brown palm of
his dark hand.  Appleby hung his head over the water and
splashed it up onto his shoulder length light brown hair.
Taking the hint, the boy began washing that as well, working
the lather into the hair with both hands, running his
fingers through the fine hair, then splashing water on it to
rinse it.

The boy moved around to the man's front and began soaping
and then rubbing his neck, his shoulders, and then his
chest.  The boy's full lips were parted like a flower bud
that had opened into curling petals and Appleby could hear
the soft sussing sound of his breath--but was it from
concentration or some sort of desire?  The boy gently dug
soapy fingers into Appleby's underarms, ran the bar and his
free hand around the man's chest, and scrubbed down as far
as his navel, which was just below the water.  He shared the
soap with Appleby so that the white man could wash his face.
All the while, the boy's gaze was directed at the man's
body, avoiding direct eye contact.  But now he stopped and
straightened up, standing right by the tub..... he seemed to
be waiting the white man's further instructions.

"What is your name?" asked Appleby gently.

"Ise Hammond, suh," the boy said, grinning.  Then smiling
more broadly, "They calls me Ham, suh," he continued,
pattying his rounded abdomen.  Both man and boy smiled,
sharing the joke.

"Well, Ham, I am Mark Appleby," he said.  "Yassuh," the boy
replied, and again, waited.

Curious as to what might happen, and feeling some measure of
desire, Appleby simply stood up and presented his dripping
wet back to the boy.  This seemed to be what the youth was
waiting for, because again he lathered up the soap and began
washing.  Over Appleby's back he moved the soap and worked
the lather against the skin with his fingers.  Then the
lower back.... and then the hips.  Was it Appleby's
imagination, or was the boy pressing extra hard, kneading
the white man's firm butt muscles more enthusiastically.
No, now there could be no mistake about it.  Then the boy
placed just the edge of the soap into the top of the valley
between Appleby's buttocks; he craned around and looked the
white man in the eyes.  "Mastah?"  Appleby simply nodded.

The boy ran the bar of soap in Appleby's ass crack, then
with his free hand began rubbing and scrubbing.  Coming to
the white man's anus, the boy worked some soap just into the
opening, a finger making light, shallow circles, by way of
cleaning it.  Appleby's penis began to swell involuntarily.
The boy scrubbed and then rinsed down the white man's
muscular legs, barely touching the back of his ballsack as
he cleaned between the upper thighs. Working his way down to
the water level, again the boy stopped and waited.

Appleby turned around, now fully erect.  The boy smiled
hugely, lathered up both hands, and laid the soap on the
nearby table.  He made circles of lather on Appleby's lower
belly, his fingers gradually working down into the wet bush
of pubic hair, then just his thumbs massaging soap into the
flesh right above the white man's penis.  The slave boy
looked up quizzically at Appleby, who once more simply
nodded.  With both hands well lathered, the boy gently
cupped and rubbed the white man's scrotum, weighing the
heavy balls.  Then he grasped the rigid pink and red penis
in front of him. Ham pulled back the remaining foreskin down
Appleby's reddening dick to reveal the pink cockhead.  The
boy lathered all around it, causing Appleby to sigh with
pleasure.  Then, the boy paused, simply looking at the
rampant erection before him for a moment.  Pressing ahead,
he grasped the white man's penis tightly in his two coal
black hands and began very slowly pumping it.

Appleby felt a wave of pleasure pour over him.  The boy was
pumping very slowly, very deliberately.  It was clear that
the front of his livery trousers were tenting out as well.
How did the boy know that the white man would find this at
all appealing?  Had he been sent here by Rodney or by Robert
Ashley?  The thought went as quickly as it came, engrossed
as he was in the pleasure the boy was giving him.

The white man reached out and tugged on the boy's shirt.
"Take this off," he said.  Wordlessly, the youth complied,
baring the almost girlish breasts and rounded belly that
Appleby had seen the day before.  Again Appleby reached out,
this time just to tug at the waist of the boy's pants
wordlessly.  Flashing another big grin, the boy wriggled out
of his pants and then his loincloth.  The sight of his
nakedness confirmed what Appleby had seen yesterday, that
the boy had an unusually large penis for a thirteen year
old, with a dense bush of frizzy pubic hair around it.
Unleashed, the penis now rose majestically to arch out in
front of him.

Appleby stepped out of the tub, took the boy by the hand,
and led him into the bedroom.  The white man sat on the edge
of the fourposter bed, his legs apart, and pulled Ham
straight toward him, still standing. Their penises batted
against each other and then the boy's slid straight up
between them.  Appleby wrapped his arms around the boy, who
did the same to the white man, and they embraced quietly,
their breathing increasing.  Running his hands over the
boy's back and fleshy bottom, Appleby experienced a
different kind of physique from the toned, muscled youths to
which he had become accustomed, but it was not unpleasant.
While Ham was not fat, he had enough chubbiness to give
Appleby something to hold onto.  He nibbled the boy's ear
and neck, biting gently on the shoulder, brushing the tiny,
wiry snakes of his hair with his lips and nose.  The white
man looked directly into the black boy's eyes, then kissed
him on his full lips, then on his rounded cheeks, then back
again to his mouth, playing with the full pillows of his
lips top and bottom.

Desire was mounting in Appleby.  Looking to his bedside
table, he saw among some of the men's toiletries for guests
a pot of hair oil.  Opening it, he began rubbing it in
between the boy's rounded butt checks, pushing it into his
puckered brown anus.  With one hand Appleby pulled the boy
up onto his lap, the boy's knees on either side of the white
man's legs, which he now closed together.  Clutching the boy
close to him, belly to belly, he could feel Ham's increased
breathing making his fleshy torso expand and contract.  With
his other hand, Appleby pushed a well lubricated finger into
the boy's anus, causing Ham to gasp and close his eyes in
pain, but it was a treatment he was well used to, and soon
he opened his eyes to stare at Appleby with desire and
acceptance.  The boy's large penis rode between them,
straight up, his coal black ballsack spread out at the base
of the white man's penis.  Appleby's own rampant cock was
now underneath the boy, sticking straight out underneath his
ass.

Appleby slicked up his own hard cock with the hair oil, then
positioned it at the boy's love hole.  With his other hand
cupped around the boy's butt, he raised Ham up a little,
then lowered him onto his pole.  It met some initial
resistance and the boy moaned, then it slid all the way into
the well-used hole.

The boy's hole was tight and warm.  Assisted by Appleby's
hands which were cupped around his butt, Ham began bouncing
up and down on the white man's rigid penis.  The boy's own
large cock, slick with precum, slid up and down on the white
man's torso and chest, while his ballsack, now drawn tight
into his groin, rode the white man's lower belly.  Faster
and faster he bounced, the red dick sliding in and out of
his loosened brown rectum.  The white man sucked the boy's
rounded breasts and pointed nipples into his mouth, tonguing
and biting the tender flesh. Ham steadied himself with both
hands on the white man's shoulders, looking into the
master's face with intense concentration, curled out lips
wide open.

When Appleby came he clutched the boy's body to him tightly
and took the boy's neck into his mouth, biting hard.  Ham
wrapped his arms around the white man's back and pulled
himself tight into his chest.  Since Appleby was not in a
position to push up into the slave, they simply locked
together as the white man's semen flowed in a steady stream
up into the slave boy.  Appleby breathed heavily, sucking
and biting the black skin of Ham's shoulder.

As his orgasm subsided, Appleby lay back flat on the bed and
pulled the boy up and off of his penis, then kept pulling
him so that the large, purple black penis slid right into
the white man's mouth.  Ham gasped and cried "Oh, mastah,
oh... you gonna do dat?  Oh!"  It was clear that no white
person had ever offered him this service before.  A vigorous
suction by the white man's mouth was the only answer.
Consumed with lust, the boy began pumping furiously, face
fucking the white man vigorously.  Appleby fought down a gag
reflex and tilted his head to better accommodate the well
endowed slave boy.  After the stimulation given to his
prostate gland by being fucked, it did not take long:  Soon
the boy gave out a high pitched squeal and slammed forward,
bucking and jerking as his own semen shot into the white
master's mouth.  The boy remained poised on his hands,
quivering, then collapsed off to one side, panting.

Man and boy recovered side by side on the bed.  Appleby
turned to him, propped up on one elbow, lightly stroking and
tickling his barrel abdomen and chest, which brought a sigh
and a series of giggles to Ham.  But duty called both of
them in different ways.  Rising, they both cleaned
themselves in the bath water and dressed.  Appleby gave the
slave boy a light kiss on the mouth and a smile, then left
him to clean up the room and to empty the bath while he went
downstairs.

The Hunnicutts were still at table eating their breakfasts.
Appleby helped himself from the sideboard, engaging in light
chatter with his fellow guests.  Conversation floated in
from the hallway telling them that others had already eaten.
As they finished their coffee, Carter Ashley came in to wish
them a good morning.

"Anyone for some shooting this morning?  Not quite the
season yet for quail, but we have some doves and several
nice rabbit warrens."

The Hunnicutts demurred, but Appleby eagerly accepted.  He
had not been a bad shot back in Massachusetts, and had been
meaning to try his skills with the rabbits of Seaward.
Also, he meant to teach his former slaves how to defend
themselves and the island should that become necessary, so
the practice would do him good.  Ashley found some suitable
clothing for tramping in the field that would fit Appleby,
who quickly changed.

The Ashley children joined their father and Appleby on the
lawn.  Several slaves whom Appleby had not seen before were
there as bearers and to flush the game.  They were
accompanied by a collection of dogs--terriers, beagles and
pointers.  Appleby bowed graciously to Victoria and
Virginia, praising their colorful if impractical hunting
attire.  Robert seemed uncharacteristically subdued.

"How do you do, sir," said Appleby, mock-formally, shaking
the youth's hand and bowing.  "Very well, thank you," he
replied, somewhat uncertainly.  But as the party began to
move toward the fields, Appleby made a point of hanging back
at the start to walk with Robert a short distance, and to
squeeze his neck and shoulder once, briefly.  The boy shot a
careful, neutral look at the older man, who returned a
smile.  Robert grinned shyly in return, speechless for once,
and then walked ahead to offer his father loud advice on the
best places to look for game.

Appleby had forgotten how much he enjoyed shooting.  A
little rusty at first, he soon picked up the proper rhythm
of leading the game with the shotguns, which were kept
loaded for the party by the accompanying slaves.  Dogs
flushed rabbits or retrieved doves, according to their
nature.

A small horsecart loaded with picnic supplies pulled up
under a nearby ash grove, and the party washed the black
powder smut from their hands and face before sitting on
spread cloths for lunch.  Mrs. Ashley and the Hunnicutts
walked out from the house to share in the feast, while Mrs.
Reynolds preferred to remain inside, pleading a sick
headache.  The young ladies asked Appleby to tell them
stories of his upbringing in Boston, which he did, but as a
strategic exercise.  He took care to compare Massachusetts
unfavorably to South Carolina, to disparage the factory
system, to praise the Charleston weather over Boston's, and
on and on.  The party nodded sagely as he continued, and he
felt he was certainly building his ethos as a Southern
gentleman and plantation owner, which was exactly the
persona he intended to build.  Robert sat near him, again
uncharacteristically quiet, but helped the older man to
various dishes from time to time.

As the party walked back to the house, Carter Ashley took
Appleby by the elbow to move slightly apart from the rest of
the party.  "Sir, may I have a word with you?"  he asked.

"Certainly, sir."

"I sense, sir, that your recent change in life, your
acquisition of Seaward, and perhaps your own innate
tendencies as a gentleman," and here he bowed slightly, a
gesture returned by Appleby, "have disposed you not only to
the Southern way of life but to the Southern point of view."

"Oh, they have, sir, beyond any question.  Property and
blood, sir, property and blood will do that," Appleby
replied, uttering a bald-faced lie.

"Excellent!  May I ask, sir, if you would consider joining
the South Carolina Militia, perhaps at an officer's rank,
some day?  It is but wise preparation, sir, to have a force
of armed citizenry in case of local uprisings, difficulties
with, uh..... with servants, sir, or cases of unwarranted
intervention from.... from other States, sir."  Ashley
looked at Appleby with a knowing, conspiratorial look.
Appleby actually winked at him, nodded vigorously, and said,
"Nothing would honor me more, sir.  I am not sure what I can
do from my home, being somewhat isolated, and of course I am
not often in Charleston, but what I can for South Carolina,
sir," and here he drew himself up tall and extended his
hand, "I shall do!"  Ashley stopped and grasped Appleby's
hand in both of his, pumping them vigorously.

"Capital, capital!  Yes, I quite understand, involvement is
difficult, but perhaps you would consider some sort of minor
commission and perhaps attend occasional meetings in town?"
Appleby readily agreed, inwardly overjoyed.  He had hoped
for something like this, and his plans appeared to be
proceeding apace.  "I shall speak to the commanding officers
locally, sir, and recommend you," said Ashley.  Taking
Appleby by the elbow, they stepped briskly after the others.

The company dispersed upon entering the house, some to read,
some to nap.  Robert smiled shyly at Appleby, then scooted
off to pursue his own plans.  Appleby found Mrs. Reynolds in
the library as he passed by.  He stopped and entered the
room.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Reynolds, I hope you are feeling
better?"

"Somewhat, Mr. Appleby, somewhat.  Thank you for asking.
Did you enjoy the shooting party?"

"Yes, madam, I did."  There was a pause.  Appleby wanted to
know more about this woman who had so recently owned Cassius
and Portia, and who had, he felt, done wrong by them.  "I am
sorry that I never knew your late husband, madam, and I am
sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, very kind of you to say so, Mr. Appleby."

"I'm sure your late husband was a fine, Christian man."

Mrs. Reynolds paused, pursing her mouth and looking to the
side, then back directly at Appleby.  "Mr. Reynolds had many
Christian virtues," she said.  "Of course, if you will
forgive me, sir," and she bowed slightly to Appleby, who
bowed back, "men are prone to many vices.  We women suffer
from them, sir, we do."

"Then let me apologize on behalf of my sex for your
suffering, madam," replied Appleby, bowing again with a
flourish of his hand.  A rare, infrequent smile cracked the
face of Mrs. Reynolds briefly before gloom settled back in.
Appleby bade her good day and withdrew.  Although he could
not condone her behavior toward Cassius and Portia, he felt
he now had some understanding of how she must have felt, of
the bitter reminder those two were to her of her husband's
infidelities.  In the context of what must have been her
very traditional morality, that would have been a source of
ongoing pain to her.

Appleby made his way to his room to nap, in preparation for
that evening's ball.  Mercifully, nobody interrupted his
slumbers, and he emerged fully rested.  The plan was for the
ball to begin about the usual time for dinner, with a buffet
supper available throughout the evening and dancing until
the wee hours.  The sound of carriages pulling up and the
increase in volume of conversation on the lawn outside gave
evidence of new guests arriving for the ball.  Appleby
dressed carefully, being sure to put on his black clothing
again, and as the hour for the festivities approached he
made his way down the hall and the stairs to the floor
below.

He entered a swirling sea of women in hoop skirts and men in
evening dress.  The guests he already knew at Ashley
delighted in leading him here and there by the arm,
introducing him to the gathering of Charleston gentry.  As
he passed clusters of women he saw them whispering behind
their fans, bright eyes following his passage.  Bearded
patriarchs greeted him gravely and courteously to his face,
tugged at their whiskers thoughtfully and put their heads
together in conference as he passed along the way.  As the
cool of the evening descended and the small orchestra struck
up the music, he asked a very few of the women to dance:
certainly Victoria and Virginia Ashley, a few of the older
matriarchs.  But not too many--a young "widower" cannot
appear too gay and carefree, after all.

From time to time, Appleby caught sight of Robert Ashley.
Dressed in his evening best, he was gallantly escorting some
of the very youngest young women who had come with their
parents, talking to a few other male guests of his own age,
playing the junior host.  But Appleby was likewise aware of
Robert's gaze from time to time throughout the evening, a
furtive surveillance of where he was standing and with whom
he danced and talked.

As the evening wore on, Mrs. Ashley took him by the arm and
led him through a French window onto the verandah to savor
the cool air.  "You are quite a success, Mr. Appleby," she
said, revealing the key to the many covert looks and
whispered discussions he knew he was invoking.  "And I may
tell you," she said lowering her gaze and speaking in a
confidential tone, "that many a young heart here tonight
awaits the time when your sad loss has receded into distant
memory."  He smiled wanly and looked out at the horizon,
striking a pose of tragic suffering.  A bit later in the
evening, Carter Ashley took him through the same French
window to speak into his ear, "Appleby, I have spoken to
Colonel Gillam.  Told him what a fine shot you are, sir!
The Colonel is pleased that you might consider a commission
in the militia, sir.  You must come to one of our meetings
soon," which invitation Appleby readily accepted.

Late in the evening, Appleby surveyed the panorama of
dancers, the knots of finely dressed people here and there,
the long buffet table, and decided that his work here was
done.  He felt a longing for the simpler, open life he had
back at Seaward, to which he would return in the morning.
Slowly he worked his way toward the stairs, and at a moment
when nobody was looking, walked up them quickly.  He was
mistaken, however; his departure was not unobserved.  Two
figures slipped out of the shadows of a hanging curtain and
followed him at a distance.

Reaching his room, Appleby carefully removed his evening
clothes, this time hanging them neatly in the wardrobe.  He
was down to his shirt and undergarments when, as had
happened the previous evening, he heard a knock on the door.
Was it Rodney again, come to repeat last night's pleasant
encounter?  Appleby cracked the door open, keeping his semi-
clothed body out of sight.  It was Robert Ashley.  The boy
looked left and right down the hallway and whispered loudly,
"May I come in?"

In answer, Appleby opened the door and let the boy in.
Robert was drawn up short by the sight of Appleby in a shirt
and undergarments; he simply stood, staring.  Appleby smiled
and closed the short distance between them, putting one hand
on the boy's shoulder and with the other raising his chin.
He looked into the crystal blue eyes beneath the blonde
bangs and then kissed him on his full lips.  Robert moaned
softly and put his hands on both of Appleby's arms.

"I.... I wanted to see you," he said.  "And I brought you a
present.  Well, it's for us.  I.... I thought you might like
it, after yesterday," he said.  Puzzled, Appleby looked at
him questioningly.

Robert stepped quickly to the door and opened it, gesturing
into the hallway.  In through the door slipped the leopard
faced boy from the day before, the exotic twelve year old
who had been fucked by Robert on the banks of the stream.
Robert had both arms around the boy's shoulders and the two
stood there, Robert smiling hopefully.  "This is Aaron," he
said, indicating the slave.  Aaron's deep dark almond shaped
eyes stared neutrally at Appleby out of his long, thin,
ruddy-brown, almond shaped face.  Up close, Appleby could
see that the slave boy's hair was jet black and shiny, but
straight, a short helmet.  His lips were a purple brown
pout, as high as they were wide, as if perpetually being
presented for kissing.

"Hello, Aaron," said Appleby.

"Mastah," returned the boy, quietly, still looking at the
white man.

"Aaron, take your clothes off," commanded Robert.  The boy
obeyed with alacrity, shedding his simple livery shirt and
trousers and kicking his loincloth and shoes aside.  The boy
was thin but uniformly muscled.  His four inch penis sat
under a tiny patch of pubic hairs that waved out wildly into
the air, and above a ballsack that dangled down an inch or
two.  The slave boy's cock was unusually thick for its size,
and as he stood naked under the gaze of the two whites, it
gradually became erect and stuck out in front.

"Aaron, remove my clothing," said Robert, who clearly had
plans for orchestrating this escapade.  Deftly, the slave
boy's long brown fingers unfastened his young master's
buttons, removing the coat and shirt, pulling off the
cravat.  Evidently used to this task, he quickly unbuckled
Robert's belt and lowered the white boy's trousers and
undergarments.  Robert's strawberries and cream complexion,
his golden blonde hair and ice blue eyes, took Appleby's
breath away once again.  The rounded pads of the boy's chest
were beginning to rise and fall with a heavier breathing.
Aaron knelt down in front of the young blonde god to remove
his boots; his master's pink and red penis was now erect and
waved in his brown face.

Both boys now stood together, a magnificent contrast of
colors, Robert's more defined musculature contrasting with
the thin, muscled tube that was Aaron's body.  Appleby was
simply lost in the display of beautiful young maleness
before him.  "Aaron....undress Master Appleby," ordered
Robert.

The slave boy had little work to do by then, and Appleby
eagerly assisted.  Off came his shirt and undergarments, and
the man stood naked before the boys, his penis fully erect
and leaking a long string of precum.  He didn't know where
to begin, but a wave of sexual aggression overtook him and
he was determined not to dance to Robert's tune.  Turning to
the white boy, he drew him close to him, arms on both
shoulders, and kissed him passionately.  Robert gasped,
clutching the older man's upper arms.  It was a tutelage in
how to kiss.  Appleby sucked the boy's pink lips, then
inserted his tongue into his mouth.  Robert tentatively
pushed his tongue forward, which Appleby gently but
forcefully sucked into his own mouth.  Tongues played over
the ridges of teeth, dancing together from one mouth to the
next.

Breaking off, Appleby picked Robert up and carried him, like
a bride over the threshhold, to the bed, laying him in the
center on his back.  Then he returned to the slave boy.
Appleby put his hands to both sides of the boy's head,
running his fingers into the slave's coarse, straight black
hair, tilted up his head, and kissed the pouty lips.
Tentatively, the boy reached up to put his arms around the
white man's waist; when that was not refused, the slave
pulled himself in tighter, mashing his penis against the
white man's upper thighs, feeling the rigid red cock against
his own abdomen.  Appleby reached down and in back, cupping
both hands around the tight brown bottom of the boy and
pulled him in tight as he continued the long kiss.  Then he
scooped the boy up as he had Robert, one arm under his knees
and one under his shoulder, and carried him to the bed,
where he laid him down tight beside his young blonde master.

Appleby swung onto the bed and lowered himself onto the
boys.  Now shifting to the left and now to the right, he
humped the blonde and the black boy alternately, fondly the
rigid cock of the one he was not lying on top of, then
switching off.  The boys made a tangle of arms that clutched
around Appleby, feeling the muscles of his chest, pulling
and scratching at his shoulders, wrapping legs around legs.
Appleby kissed first one and then the other, licking faces
and biting ears in a frenzy of lust.

Then swinging off to the side of Robert away from Aaron,
Appleby reached for a pillow which he shoved under the white
boy's firm butt.  A worried look came into the freckled pink
face and Appleby wondered momentarily if Robert was new to
being fucked even if he was no stranger to fucking.  First
time for everything, he thought.  Appleby reached over to
the bedside table and opened the pot of hair oil, scooping a
gob of it with two fingers.  He pushed Robert's legs open
and drew them up, then began massaging the oil into his pink
anus.  Fear and desire warred in the face of the young
blonde boy; it was clear this was new territory and that he
was tempted but hesitant.  Aaron turned slightly toward his
young master and grasped the rigid pink cock, jacking it
slowly up and down with his brown hand while with his mouth
he nibbled at the white boy's nipple.

Appleby inserted one and then two fingers into Robert,
causing the boy to gasp.  Making slow circles, the boy's
anus slowly dilated.  The time had come.  Coming up with
another dollop of hair oil, Appleby reached for the stiff,
fat cock of the black slave boy.

"No!" cried Robert, this time forcefully and with no
ambivalence.  "Not by him!"  A quick wave of disappointment
washed over Appleby, then anger.  He thought to himself that
the white boy did not know what he was missing--but he did
not wish to preside over a rape.

"Alright," he said, "then by me."  He diverted the oil to
his own large penis, slathering it on quickly, then moved
into position between Robert's legs which he pushed up
toward the boy's chest.  Robert's eyes grew big now that the
moment of crisis was upon him; had he made a mistake not to
accept the smaller cock of his black slave boy first?  He
had little time to think about it for Appleby, annoyed at
the blonde boy's petulance, put his cock head to the pink
anus and pushed.  Robert writhed in pain and let out a
strangled cry, pushing against the older man's chest, but to
no avail.  In one move, Appleby was fully inserted inside
the white and pink butt of the boy.

Appleby arched his chest and torso over the boy; his head
was over the top of Robert's golden pageboy hair.  He was
waiting for the change he knew would come, and it did:
Robert's breathing changed from pain to passion, gasps soon
became heavy breathing.  Appleby pulled nearly all the way
out, then pushed back in, then began a steady rhythm.
Robert's hands on the man's chest began to clutch and
scratch at the skin over the muscled pads, tweaking the pink
nipples.  He crossed his legs over Appleby's lower back.

Holding himself up on only one arm, Appleby reached for the
black slave boy next to them, who had continued masturbating
his young master all the while. Appleby grasped the slave
boy's arm and moved him into position at the end of the bed.
Seeing what was required, Aaron stretched out above Robert's
head, his groin tightly wedged against the top of his
master's head, his thin brown legs stretching down over the
white boy's shoulders, the beige pads of his feet pressing
against the blonde boy's hips.  Robert wriggled and rolled
his eyes up in alarm, unsure that he wanted the slave boy's
dick and asshole so close to his blonde hair; but Appleby
saw to it that he had no choice.  The white man now lowered
his torso onto the blonde boy's chest and face, and took the
slave boy's dark brown dick, bobbing just above Robert's
forehead, into his mouth.  Appleby began sucking, bobbing
his head up and down in rhythm to his hips.  With his mouth
he sucked the slave boy.  With his dick he fucked the blonde
boy, who squirmed helplessly under the weight of manhood
above him.  Aaron began pumping his hips as well and
entwined his fingers in the white man's long light brown
hair; it was clear he had never received his kind of service
from a white person before.

Carefully observing Aaron's building passion and monitoring
his own, Appleby brought off the slave boy and himself at
nearly the same time.  Aaron cried out and twisted,
thrashing, pumping a small amount of watery cum out of his
twelve year old dick into the sucking mouth of the white
man.  A second later, Appleby slammed forward and down into
Robert, filling the white boy's rectum with long spurts of
semen.  Thrashing and bucking, the black boy and white man
emptied themselves, lying shaking and panting at the end.

Pulling out of Robert, Appleby simply slid down the boy's
body, past his abdomen which was slick with sweat and precum
from the fourteen year old's own dick, and took the boy's
pink cock into his mouth.  Already slick with Aaron's cum,
Appleby's lips and mouth slid quickly up and down Robert's
rigid penis.  Now it was the white boy's turn to grasp the
man's hair, to thrash and moan, and soon to come, crying out
and pushing up his groin into Appleby's face, heels and
shoulders rigid and supporting his arching body as it pumped
semen up into the mouth around his dick.  Now it was
Robert's turn to collapse, panting, eyes closed.  Appleby
moved up to lie along one side of the boy, while the black
slave stretched out on the other side.  As regular breathing
returned, three sets of hands moved lightly over bodies,
sliding over sweat and cum slicked skin, dark brown and
peachy white.  Speech was limited to soft whispers, to
expressions of wonder, to calling out names.  Breathing
returned to normal, then slowed.  Three heads, one blonde,
one brown, one jet black, lolled together as sleep rolled
over them all.

Appleby awoke alone from a long, restful sleep.  The boys
had evidently slipped out in the night so that they would
not be missed.  The stained, rumpled sheets were a reminder
that last night's encounter was no dream, it had actually
occurred.  Feeling a need to relieve himself, Appleby found
the chamber pot under the bed.  He stood, stark naked, and
began pissing into it.  At that moment his door began to
open.  Unable to stop the strong flow, and wondering who
would enter without knocking, Appleby simply continued to
urinate.  Rodney stepped into the room.

"Mahnin', mastah, let me hep wit dat," he said, closing the
door and walking quickly over to take the chamber pot.  He
held it between them, of necessity standing close to
Appleby, as the piss continued to stream out of his penis.
Rodney looked down with interest at these proceedings.  When
Appleby was finished Rodney quickly covered the pot with a
cloth and set it aside.

"I poured yo' bath already, mastah," he said.

"Thank you, Rodney," said Appleby, standing naked in front
of the black slave.  Involuntarily, his penis began to fill,
rising slightly.  "Hammond helped me yesterday," he added,
and look inquiringly at Rodney.

"Yassuh," Rodney said, grinning hugely and hanging his head.
"I thought you might lak his hep, suh," he said.  The
mystery was solved; it was Rodney, having learned of
Appleby's proclivities, who had sent the chubby brown cherub
Hammond to his bedroom the previous morning.  Appleby smiled
broadly at Rodney, and the two men stood for a moment
exchanging a frank moment of understanding and mirth.
Rodney's glance flickered now to the white man's growing
morning erection.

"Is they anythin' ah can do to hep you this mahnin' suh?" he
asked.  Appleby thought of their encounter two evenings ago,
in which he had taken some advantage of their position as
slave and potential buyer.  The thought came to him that he
might make the balance between them a little more even.

"Let me do something for you, Rodney," Appleby said, and sat
down on the bed.  "Remove your clothing, please."  A look of
surprise and wonder crossed the coal black, handsome face,
but he did as he was told.  Soon he stood naked before
Appleby, his large, thick penis now also rising.  Appleby
simply gestured for the man to come forward, which he did.

Inching closer and closer, Rodney gasped when the white man
leaned over and took his black dick into his mouth, pulling
him even closer with his hands on the slave's hips.  "Oh,
mastah, no, you shouldn't suh!" he cried, but he did not
resist.  Pulled right up to the edge of the bed between the
white man's legs, Rodney's dick was buried between his pink
lips.  Two white hands reached around and grasped the firm,
high butt muscles of the slave, and gently moved them back
and forth.  Picking up the rhythm, Rodney began breathing
hard and moaning softly.  Tentatively and then eagerly he
ran his fingers through the white man's shoulder length
brown hair.  The newness and excitement of this situation,
being sucked for the first time by a white man, was almost
too much for him.  He came quickly, sighing loudly and
simply pushing his groin forward into Appleby's face.  The
white man drank the copious spew of semen that flowed into
his mouth.  Rodney quivered, sighed again, and was still.

Appleby held the black cock, still rigid, in his mouth for a
moment, then gently pushed the slave back a step and rose
from the bed.  "Lie here," he said, indicating the bed.
Rodney lay down on his back, wondering what was in store for
him.  Appleby simply stretched himself out on top of the
slave, pushed his rampant penis through the man's muscled
thighs just below the tight ballsack, and began slowly
pumping up and down.  White skin slid on coal black skin,
lubricated by sweat.  The channel between Rodney's thighs
became slick with the white man's precum, which aided in the
increasing energy with which Appleby leg-fucked the slave.
White and black man clutched each other together, grasping
shoulders, sliding arms and hands around backs, fondling
butt muscles.  Appleby's mouth was not quite even with
Rodney's so instead he kissed the dark, shining skin on the
slave's neck and shoulders.  His hair spread out over the
black man's lower face.  When Appleby came he cried out
"hunh, hunh, hunh" and pumped his semen down onto the sheet
below Rodney's ass, and the two men held each other tightly
during the white man's passion.  Finished, he simply lay
there, looking closely at the depth of color in the coal
black skin, lightly rubbing the flesh of the slave beneath
him, while Rodney held him tight, softly saying "Mastah,
mastah, mastah."

Aware that he must prepare to leave, Appleby rose, pulling
the slave up off the bed as well.  They embraced once more
and then Appleby led Rodney into the dressing room where
they both used the hip bath, helping each other to soap up,
toweling each other off in turn.  They both dressed for the
day.

Appleby stopped as he was preparing to leave the room and
said, "Rodney... I am glad you are happy here.  If ever you
are not happy, get word to me at Seaward Plantation,
alright?"  The slave looked with amazement and appreciation
at the white man, grinned and nodded. Appleby kissed Rodney
once more quickly before going downstairs for breakfast,
leaving the slave to clean up the room and to pack his
belongings for the return home.

Most of the guests were gathered for breakfast when Appleby
arrived in the dining room, including a few new additions
who had arrived for the ball the night before.  Colonel
Gillam of the Militia was there, and Appleby had a brief,
productive chat with him in which many pro-South and pro-
South Carolina sentiments were expressed by Appleby, who
kept his fingers mentally crossed.  It was agreed that
Appleby would come into Charleston at a date in the future
to attend a meeting of the Militia.

Coming out of the dining room, Appleby found Robert Ashley
in the hallway, evidently waiting for him.  Mindful of the
need to be careful lest another guest suddenly appear, the
two shook hands gravely and exchanged the most polite
greetings--but Appleby smiled broadly and winked at the boy,
who grinned shyly.  The time had come for Appleby's
departure from Ashley.  To his pleasant surprise, Carter
Ashley announced that Robert had especially asked permission
to escort him down to the pier.  Mr. Ashley shook Appleby's
hand with genuine warmth, and invited him to return at any
time.  Appleby returned thanks, and felt a small measure of
regret that he could not reciprocate the invitation; Seaward
must remain hidden from outside scrutiny.  All the ladies
gathered round and curtsied, and Appleby trotted out all his
old-world charm once more, leaving sighs and longings in his
wake.

Rodney was waiting on the verandah with Appleby's bags all
packed.  Did Robert know about Appleby's sexual encounters
with Rodney and his surrogate, Hammond?  Appleby could
detect no sign of it as Robert curtly ordered the slave to
bring the bags along behind them.  Chatting carefully about
neutral subjects, Robert and Appleby walked across the lawns
and through the groves of Ashley, down to the pier.  There
they waited, and the trio played a silent game of
communication by looks--Appleby winking at the boy, the boy
smiling back and blushing on occasion, Appleby also winking,
unobserved by Robert, at Rodney who stood somewhat apart,
and the slave grinning gratefully as he lowered his head.

Eventually, Robert turned to the slave and said, "You may
go, now Rodney."

"Yes, mastah," he said.... looked once more at Appleby, who
favored him with the subtlest miming of a kiss, behind
Robert's back.  The black man hung his head, grinned hugely,
and was gone.

Once the slave's broad back was out of sight, Robert looked
around carefully, then embraced Appleby tightly.  "I shall
miss you," he said, fiercely.  Appleby returned the embrace,
then lifting up the boy's chin, looking at his beautiful
gold-pink-blue features, and kissed him passionately on the
lips.  The sound of canvas flapping in the near distance
made them push back suddenly, and there coming around the
bend of the stream was the Hesperus, Troy at the helm,
Hector in the bow.  The boat glided up to the pier and was
temporarily secured there by Troy and Hector, who made only
the briefest, respectful acknowledgment of their master,
heads lowered.  They put the luggage on board and waited.

Appleby and Robert shook hands once more, and spoke their
formal goodbyes.  But the handshake lingered a shade longer,
and was a bit firmer, than formality required.  Appleby
boarded the boat, which was pushed off, and he and Robert
waved to one another until it glided around the bend and was
gone.

Appleby heaved a deep sigh and, instead of sitting in the
middle, sat in the stern right next to Troy.  Hector
squatted on a pile of rope, regarding the two.  A spirit of
love and lightness seemed to fill Appleby, and he wondered
why.  Robert Ashley was wonderful in bed, stunningly
attractive, and yet.... what was it?

Then it came to him, in a metaphor.  Robert was a big, gooey
cake, covered with the sweetest frosting.  Wonderful, sweet,
a marvelous indulgence, and yet.... yet he longed for
something more substantive, something he found especially in
Troy, but also in Hector, and Pan and Bacchus, and.... what
was it?  It came to him.

"Good roast beef," he said, turning to Troy.

"Master?!" came the quizzical response, a big smile of
curiosity cleaving Troy's honest brown face.  "Are you
hungry, master?"

"Good roast beef, that's what you are," he told the amused
slave.  "And," turning to Hector, "good, honest root
vegetables.  That's what a body needs."  Troy and Hector
looked at each other; had their master gone crazy while in
foreign parts?  Appleby roared with laughter, joined by his
two friends, and the Hesperus glided down the river toward
home.