New Master at Riverbend

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Jerome stood just inside the doorway at the shadowed end of the room. He should have just turned and gone down the stairs and out to the carriage to tell Thomas that Master John wasn’t ready to go yet. That’s all Thomas, Master John’s carriage driver, had told him to do. But the shock of what he’d found when he’d entered the house on Decatur Street and been waved to the second door down the hall on the second floor held him plastered to his shadowy vigil spot long enough to engage his curiosity.

He was old enough to understand this between a man and a woman—he’d been fucking cook’s daughter, Macey, long enough in the smoke house himself that she was waddling around supporting her belly with both her hands and with a big smile on her face. And he did the field hand Lottie regularly out in the cotton field too. She was too old to bear, he thought, but she knew what to do with a young man’s cock. She’d been riding his since he became a grown man, old enough to go to the fields. These things Jerome already understood in his nineteenth year on this earth. But this. This was not something he had considered possible.

When Jerome had quietly pushed open the door and stolen in, he was suspecting something like this was going on. Everyone knew what went on in the Decatur Street house. But he didn’t expect this. He didn’t expect this at all.

A small black man of not more than Jerome’s age was lying on his side on the bed—naked. He was up on one elbow and his back was turned to Jerome. Young Master John, also naked except for the billowing white cotton shirt with the flounces on it, open so that Jerome could see his hard-bodied chest, had the fingers of one hand buried in the black, wooly hair of the black man’s head, holding the head to his groin. The black man was moving his mouth down and up on Master John’s cock. The white man’s other hand was reaching down and gripping the black man’s cock and was stroking it.

Jerome hadn’t ever seen anything like this at all. He should have turned and run out, but this was something entirely new to him, and Jerome was the curious type, especially where it came to sexual activity. And not knowing any better, the old master not having pushed the Riverbend plantation slaves to attend church, Jerome had no internal prejudices set on things such as this. Slave row at Riverbend was an earthy place. As soon as he had become aware of his sexual nature, Lottie was showing him how it could give him pleasures that transported him from the hardships of plantation life. She didn’t tell him that it was only something that men and women did.

Still, it had not occurred to him that there were other couplings possible such as this one.

Before Jerome could get the notion to leave and go tell Thomas that their new master, John, didn’t appear to need the carriage any time soon, the tableau on the bed was changing. Master John was standing on the floor on the other side of the bed and had turned the black man on his side and lifted the man’s left leg to rest his ankle on John’s shoulder. The black man’s plump buttocks were plastered to the white man’s pelvis, and the white man was fucking the black man’s ass with long deep strokes. Master John was still fisting and stroking the black man’s cock, and the black man was moaning and writhing against the deep stroking inside him. He had his left arm raised and a black hand palmed on the white chest, whether to try to push the white man away or to establish a connection to the man fucking him, Jerome couldn’t tell. His other hand was stretched out across the bed and he was clutching the bed cloth in a fist. It seemed to Jerome that he was bunching and releasing the material in the same rhythm that Master John was stroking him with his cock. Whether or not that was so, Jerome saw it as so—and it aroused him.

The black man’s face was turned toward Jerome, set in an expression of almost pleading. Jerome wondered if the man could see him there in the shadows. Possibly so. There was little danger that Master John could see him, though. White slaveholders rarely saw their slaves even in broad daylight; they looked right through them as if they weren’t even there. The black man’s eyes were opened wide, glittering, and his mouth was slack. He was moaning and groaning.

Master John turned him again, to his back, his buttocks at the edge of the bed. The white man grabbed the black man’s ankles with his fist and brutally jerked them wide. He was leaning over the black man’s chest, growling and grunting. His hips were pistoning fast and hard. The black man was clutching at the bed cloth with both of his fists and writhing under the white man and babbling incoherently and crying out at each deep, rapid thrust.

Master John tensed, abruptly stopping the thrusts. His body jerked and his head turned up toward the ceiling. Jerome saw in his face the same ecstasy he saw in Macey’s when he released his seed in her. One, two, three more pumps and Master John let out a long sigh and collapsed on top of the black man, who just lay there, gaziantep suriyeli escort moaning.

Jerome realized that he had wet himself with his own sticky manseed. He hoped that Thomas wouldn’t notice that when he returned to the carriage. Master John’s ejaculation, though, broke the spell, and Jerome realized that he had been away from Thomas too long. He withdrew quietly and then clattered out onto the street.

“I do believe Massa John be ready soon,” he said breathlessly to Thomas when he arrived back at the carriage. “But he ain’t ready now.”

“Why you be so long in findin’ that out?” Thomas asked suspiciously. “You find some pussy to poke for yerself while you in there?”

“No, no. They’s not want to tell me where he was. Took me a time to get them to check on him. You know I can’t ‘ford the pussy they got in there.”

“You such a handsome stud, I figure they give it to you for free just so they can watch. Nice big cock like yours and fine body.”

Jerome blushed—if a black man can blush. Thomas had been talking to him like this for some months. It was only now that Jerome could come to the point of considering what Thomas might be meaning about that. True that often when he was sluicing himself down, having come for the fields, Thomas was there to jabber with him while he was naked. Jerome would need to give that some thought now. Now that he knew that men did it with men too.

Fifteen minutes later, Thomas gave Jerome the evil eye. “Thought you said the massa was about done.”

“That’s what they tell me in the house,” Jerome answered defensively.

“Best I go check, I guess,” Thomas said, moving to get down from the driving box.

“No, I’ll go,” Jerome answered.

He went quietly back upstairs. Although patrons and servants of the house were moving about, no one saw him or challenged him. There were advantages to being invisible to the whites, Jerome thought as he approached the second door down the hall.

The black man was on all fours in the center of the bed and Master John was crouched over his pelvis, fucking him in long, fast strokes. He was cupping the black man’s throat from behind and arching his back up. The black man had a wild-eyed look in his eyes and his tongue was lolling out of his mouth. That’s how Jerome liked to fuck Macey. Lottie liked that position too, but she preferred Jerome fucking her in the ass when he took her this way. He never realized that it could look so arousing. Master John was leaning well forward on the black man’s buttocks so that Jerome could clearly see the thick white cock burying itself in the black asshole and then sliding out and then in again. He focused his attention on that action and felt chills running up his spine. He envisioned himself as poking a white man like that—maybe even Master John, although that gave him a start and a jolt of fear—and maybe even being poked like that.

He was surprised at the thought—but he was even more surprised that he didn’t shrink from the thought.

He did, however, step out of the room and down the stairs and out to the carriage.

“I reckon Massa John won’t be ready for a time yet,” he told Thomas.

Thomas didn’t bother to ask why. It wasn’t the lot of a slave in the plantation world to ask why, just to stand by, invisible, until some white person told them what, where, and when.

* * * *

The various strata of the Riverbend plantation community had been living carefully and on the edge of concern for several months now, since even before young Master John came to take up residence. The Rembeaus, the family that had owned and lived at Riverbend for generations, were almost all gone now. Master John was the last of the lot, and he was just a cousin to Master Edward, the patriarch of the family last in residence here. But Master Edward’s family had, to a member, been taken by the fever while visiting a plantation farther down the Mississippi, and Master John had inherited.

The big concern was what Master John was going to do with Riverbend. There were rumors that he would break up the place—sell the land and sell the slaves too. Neither the slaves nor the next strata up, the overseers, liked this thought one little bit. For the slaves, it inevitably meant a breakup of a community that had lived here for some hundred and fifty years, including, probably, family units. To the overseers it meant new, quite possibly less-desirable, employment needing to be found.

Nothing had transpired yet, but everyone was living in fear. Some, the customary leaders of the slave community, a small network of the older women who were house or kitchen slaves, were not content with sitting and waiting.

“How long has your Adelle been housemaiding at the big house, Naddie?”

“Ever since the young massa arrived. She done everthin’ I told her to do—leastwise she claims so—and still he not taken her to his bed.”

“Ever thing?” Zumma Mae said, with astonishment. “She a right tempting morsel. I can’t see no white man not wanting inside that if she be shashaying around his bed already.”

“I don’ know what else to try, Zumma Mae. We always have someone in the massa’s bed to give us some voice in how things run around here. We gotta do somethin’. I can’t live with the thought of being parted with any of my kin. Thas happenin’ elsewhere, but we don wan it happenin’ here.”

Jerome, who was standing in the kitchen doorway and watching Macey move around, putting pots she cleaned away and moving things back and forth into and from the larder room, muttered under his breath, “Usin’ wrong bait, I’se supposing'”

“What’s that you say, Jerome?” Naddie asked, turning to him. “And wha ya doin’ sniffin’ around here for, anyhow? Don’t think like I don know what you after. Well, you already seeded up Macey here. You can just take it on out to the field. I think I hear Lottie a’callin’ you.”

The women sitting around the table cackled and Macey looked embarrassed and went into the larder room and didn’t come right back out. Jerome didn’t budge from the doorway.

“Nothin’. I was saying nothin’.” But he sure was thinking about it.

“Might not be nuff on this problem anyhow,” Zumma Mae picked up the discussion. “The man could plow Adelle from sundown to sunup and still come away and sell her momma on the auction block. Thas just the way white man do it.”

“I suppose,” Naddie said, but she added with a determined voice, “But someone gotta do somethin’ about it.”

The women were deep in conversation, so Jerome took his chance and slipped by them and into the larder. He came up behind Macey, who was facing a shelf, and embraced her, putting both arms around her and cupping one full, ample breast with one hand and her bulging belly with the other. Macey gave a low cry, but nuzzled back into him like she’d both expected and wanted this.

“What you doin’ here sniffin’ round me, Jerome? You already did your bizness here. You don’t want no fat woman.”

“I always want this woman,” Jerome whispered. He sniffed at her hair, “You always smell so fresh and flowery.”

“Flowery, eh? You can’t even pick out a flower and bring it to me if you gonna try that silliness on me?”

“It don’ matter. I figure you like my dick as well as the next man’s. A hard dick is as much flower as I need bring you, I figure.”

“More. You know that. You my master. You know that. You git that dick up inside me and move it and you know you my master. That I do anything for you. Ohh, Jerome. You shouldn’t . . . not in here. They’s busybodies just in the other room.”

Jerome had hiked up her gunnysack dress, finding, as he expected, no clothing underneath, and was cupping her triangle and working a finger inside her, looking for the spot that made her moan.

She moaned.

“Let them find their own dick,” Jerome murmured. “If you promise not to make no noise, I’ll promise not to either.”

“You stop that now, boy. You know this tain’t the time nor place.”

“With you any time or place is right.”

She moaned again as, having bunched the dress up around her waist, Jerome unbuttoned and released himself. He covered her mouth and nose with his hand to muffle her cry as he pushed up into her and started to pump slowly.

When he felt she could control herself, he dropped the hand back to her breast. “You still think we shouldn’t be doin’ this, sugar?”

“Jus’ be good to me, Jerome. I tole you already. You get that dick of yours up there and I’ll do anythin’ you want.”

He proceeded to be good to her.

A voice floated in from the kitchen. Naddie’s voice. “Don’t ya think I don’t know what ya doin’ in there, Jerome.” The voice wasn’t angry though; it had a tinge of laughter to it.

Jerome wasn’t just fucking, though. He was also thinking. What had she said—twice? Get that dick up in her and he could do anything he wanted with her. There was something to think about in that. And what Jerome was thinking was that just maybe Naddie had the right idea but was looking at it from the wrong direction. When he thought of “the wrong direction,” he gave a little laugh.

“What you find so funny?” Jerome, Macey asked in a breathy voice.

“Not a thing, sugah. You just keep pushin’ back on it like that, and we do just fine.”

* * * *

Jerome stood inside a two-walled isolated area set off behind a shed near the end of the Riverbend slave row, sluiced the first bucket of water over his body, and followed the rivulets of water down his torso and on to his thighs with his hands. He sensed that Thomas was nearby, watching him, and he smiled. This was working as he meant it to. He turned three-quarters sideways toward where he presumed Thomas was standing and moved a hand down to his basket, first cupping his balls and the underside of his cock and then moving his hand to his cock and giving it a few languid strokes.

He lifted his eyes and looked into Thomas’s eyes. Yes, there is want there, he thought. Now that he knew that men did it with men as well as with women, he could clearly see the want in Thomas’s eyes. It wasn’t any different, really, than the want he’d seen in Macey and Lottie’s eyes—indeed, in the eyes of most of the slave women. He just hadn’t looked for it in the eyes of a man before. He smiled at Thomas, and Thomas gave an embarrassed start.

“You wanna lift the other bucket over me, Thomas?” Thomas, dressed only in his breeches, came slowly forward. He was trembling as he lifted the bucket of water over Jerome’s head and let the liquid roll down his body. Thomas was a massive man, standing a good head taller than Jerome and with bulging arm, chest, and thigh muscles. Jerome felt diminished in his presence, needing to act carefully, because if he gave too much too soon, the man would overpower him and just take what he wanted and walk away. Jerome needed him to want him so badly that the massive man would follow his lead.

“Umm, feelin’ good,” Jerome whispered, running his hands down his torso to his thighs again. He could hear the catch in Thomas’s breath, and before the man could move away from him, Jerome reached back and took Thomas’s hands, bringing his arms around his body. He held one hand to his breast and moved the other one down to cover his genitals. Thomas was trembling. He asserted some control, however, pulling his hands away and running them over Jerome’s body as he wished, but when the hands stopped roaming, they were back where Jerome had put them. Jerome was fighting hard the moan his throat wanted to give in response to the feel of the massive cock running up from his waistline. If the man wasn’t so much taller than Jerome, Jerome was afraid that the cock would be in place already and that Thomas would just hold Jerome in a tight embrace and enter and take him right there.

“Me bein’ wrong, Thomas? Does you not want to fuck with me?”

“Yes, I want to fuck you. Very much. But you only lie with women.”

“I was thinkin’ that to. But do you know what Massa John was doin’ in that Decatur Street house?”

“Yes, I know well.”

“And that he was doin’ a man?”

“Yes, I know that too. White massas do what white massas want to do—with who they want to do it to.”

“I watched. I be gone so long because I watched.”

“Ah. And you be curious now, be you? How it feels to have a man inside you? Or you inside him?”

Thomas wasn’t trembling as much. He was holding Jerome closer to him, with a stronger embrace, and he was starting to work Jerome’s cock. It was dawning on him that perhaps this really was an opportunity. Jerome could feel the hardness of the man in the small of his back. And now he was the one trembling a bit.

“Yes, I be curious. Havin’ another man inside me. But I be also a little afraid. How can I tell it will give me pleasure?”

“There is a way I see that tells,” Thomas whisper. “I always find that if a man can suck a cock, he can enjoy it up his ass.”

“So, you think . . .?”

Thomas was already gently turning Jerome’s body and pushing the young man down onto his knees closely in front of him. His hardened cock was now pressing into Jerome’s cheek, and Jerome just opened his mouth and took the bulb of it inside. Thomas sighed and shuddered, and Jerome showed that he needed little instruction to do what came naturally.

Lifting him back up, Thomas placed his lips on Jerome’s and, though it surprised him, Jerome went with the kiss.

“Kissin’ be as good a buildup to a fuck as anything else—as with a woman,” Thomas said. He went in for another kiss, and while they were engaged in this, Thomas took both of their cocks together and stroked. Jerome was trembling again and released a moan.

“You can suck the cock and you can moan to a kiss,” Thomas whispered. “I think you can moan to a cock inside you too. Is it what you want to try?”

“Yay, it is,” Jerome murmured. He wasn’t fully convinced himself, but he wanted to try it with Thomas first to see if he could endure it—at least whether or not he could convince another man he wanted it and then could take it with a smile.

Thomas gently turned Jerome around, facing away from him. “Bend over. Bend over and spread them legs,” he said. And as Jerome did so, Thomas knelt down behind him, snaked a hand between his thighs, and grabbed Jerome’s cock. Then Thomas’s mouth went to Jerome’s ass.

“What?” Jerome asked in surprise and half shock as he felt the wetness of the tongue at his channel entrance.

“Hold still. You be unused and I be big. We need to get you more open or you not bein’ enjoyin’ this much.”

Jerome found himself sighing and moaning again as new sensations of pleasure rolled in waves over his body. The stroking of his cock didn’t hurt either.

At length, Thomas stood, bidding Jerome to stay as he was but to spread his legs even further, and Thomas was slowly working his cock inside Jerome’s ass, as the young man panted and grunted and groaned and tried his best not to scream out or try to escape.

“Let your body go limp and breath regular. I be in now. We rest and then I take you to glory. Your doin’ good. The hurt will go in a bit. You need to be stretched to fit.”

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