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, 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.
“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.”
Jerome whimpered, “Be good to me,” and then almost laughed, as that was what Macey had said to him right before he had fucked her good and hard in that laundry room. And hard had seemed good enough for her to hear her comment on it while it was happening.
Then Thomas fucked Jerome good and hard and took him to glory, and by the time he was finished, Jerome was feeling more pleasure than pain. Half way through the fuck, Thomas pulled Jerome’s shoulders up into his chest, and Jerome turned his head and they kissed deeply and shared in whispers how good the fuck was going. And Jerome proved he could take sex this way by shooting off into one of the buckets.
“You done good,” Thomas said. “I knew you liked it when we kissed and you began fuckin’ me back with your hips. You be made for this.”
Jerome didn’t love it yet, but he liked it well enough to continue with his plan.
“I been tole if I take a cock and love it, the man is my master.”
“I been tole that too,” Thomas answered. “I’d like to fuck you nuff to master you, but I’se not sure you’d be letting me.”
“How can the man tell he is accepted as master?”
“If a man will fuck hisself on the cock is a clue.”
“Fuck hisself? I don’t understand.”
“I can show you.”
Thomas sat on a bench, holding Jerome’s waist, as Jerome sat in his lap, facing him, and on the cock and, at Thomas’s direction fucked himself on the hard shaft by leveraging off the soles of his feet.
Jerome thought he had gotten the idea by the time they both had come again—and he now thought he had enough understanding and preparation to work out his plan.
While Jerome absentmindedly worked a plan in his mind, he remained sitting on Thomas’s cock, and Thomas glided his hands over Jerome’s body, kissed his neck, and moved a hand around to play with the his balls and cock. Jerome barely discerned when Thomas’s cock was getting big inside him again. It was a jolt when he realized it and he moved as if to rise.
“Go down on your all fours on the grass,” Thomas growled.
Jerome did as he was told and Thomas crouched over his hips, grabbed his waist in his hands, and began the fuck again. It was only later that it dawned on Jerome that Thomas had commanded and Jerome had simply complied. Thomas hadn’t even asked if he could fuck him again, and Jerome had no idea what he would have answered if Thomas had asked. Was this, he wondered, what being mastered meant? If so, it was a powerful weapon.
Thomas settled that. He laughed and said, “See it works. You fucked yourself on me and then jus’ did what I told you to do afterward. So’s I’s master of you in the fuck now. You gonna let me fuck you again when I wants to?”
“I guess so,” Jerome answered.
“I guess so too,” Thomas said. Then he laughed again.
* * * *
“Did you feel what your muscles down there were doin’ this time?”
Thomas had become more inventive with Jerome over the past two weeks. Jerome had confided part of his plan to the carriage driver. Naddie’s plan of Master John bedding the housemaid Adelle and then Adelle having some sway over the master couldn’t work because, as Jerome and Thomas knew and Naddie didn’t, Master John preferred lying with men. Thus, part of Jerome’s plan was to seduce Master John so that he could carry on with Naddie’s plan. Thomas had told Jerome that Master John would be a sophisticated and demanding lover, so that Jerome should gain more experience and more knowledge of the various positions himself.
Jerome half expected that Thomas’s main purpose in that was to continue fucking Jerome, but it fit in with Jerome’s plans, and he had to admit he was increasingly falling under the mastery of the carriage driver and was becoming increasingly interested in being fucked by men—and by Thomas, in particular. That didn’t mean he was any less interested in fucking women too. And as a reaction to all of this, he was broadening his own pursuits of the young slave women of the plantation and was almost always well received because of his good looks and well-built body. Slaves could not help but think of themselves as breeding stock, because their masters certainly did, and Jerome was seen as a prime breeding stud. Even the overseer would look the other way and forgive both Jerome’s unfulfilled work and that of the young Negress when he saw Jerome’s rump between two chocolate thighs in the cotton field. Jerome was producing slave babies, which added to the wealth of the plantation.
This had been a new position. Thomas had been sitting on the grass, legs stretched out, and Jerome had been skewered on the cock facing away from Thomas with his legs stretched back past Thomas’s hips and his torso careened out over Thomas’s legs. Thomas had held Jerome tight by the wrists, bowing the young field hand’s chest out. It was hard for Thomas to stroke in this position, so he had instructed Jerome to fuck himself. Frustrated with getting enough leverage on his knees and toes to create the desired friction on the cock, Jerome’s channel had improvised its own solution. The muscles of the channel walls had made love with their undulations on Thomas’s cock all by themselves. Both men had enjoyed that.
“Yay, I felt that,” Jerome answered.
“Well, keep a doin’ that. A man will go wild with your shaft makin’ love to his dick like that.”
It was after that, as they lay in each other’s arms and Thomas was talking of exotic positions they had not tried yet that he brought up the special act that the truly jaded man who was fucked by men got excited about and sometimes dared. Jerome’s breathing became labored at the mere thought of it, but he was sure he could never go to that extreme. And he said so. Thomas’s reaction to his response seemed one of disappointment, and Jerome became afraid that maybe Thomas was proposing such an arrangement. But he didn’t bring it up again.
While Jerome trained in male seduction and the satisfaction of a male partner with Thomas, he was biding his time. He needed something to happen. And then it did.
The house waiter’s arm was scalded in the kitchen one day, and it was clear that it would have to remain dressed and the waiter resting for days if not weeks.
“I don’ know what is to do,” Naddie spoke in concern. She was merely the head cook, but in reality, at least on this plantation, that also made her responsible for the serving slaves. “He will not have a woman serve him his dinner.”
“Let me do it,” Jerome piped up to say. He had just fucked one of the laundresses behind the hanging sheets and Macey had heard of it and was giving him the cold shoulder in the kitchen. He had come here, though, to jolly her out of her funk. She was too far along for him to be fucking her, and, when she thought about it, she would realize that he had to be fucking and impregnating some Negress—that the economy of the plantation dictated that. And he continued to show Macey in many small ways that he was truly most fond of her.
“You?” Naddie said as if she had never heard such a preposterous thing. “You is jus’ a field hand.”
“Yay, but I be workin’ with Thomas on the carriages long time now too, and I be picking up the ways of the house. Somebody got to do it. No reason it not be me.”
He knew he was the favorite of all her sons and he gave her his best smile. If need be, he’d tell her how important this was for his plan—for all of their futures—but only if he had too. He didn’t know how she would react to a man lying under another man.
The look worked. That evening, dressed in a white, billowy cotton shirt, a black velvet vest, and very tight black velvet breeches, Jerome was serving at table.
There were no guests. Master John was supping alone. There was only Jerome in the dining room. Master John insisted on only having one servant serving the table when he dined alone.
Jerome moved as gracefully as he could about the room. He had cleaned himself well and been given a musky cologne to use by Thomas, who said it was a particularly popular one used in male brothels. And Jerome looked as shy and docile as he could and did what he could to leave the impression that he was in awe of the master of the plantation and was attracted to Master John. He smiled a shy smile and took demure looks at Master John whenever it would seem that he didn’t want the master seeing him do that—when it was exactly the impression he wanted to leave.
He was standing close beside Master John’s chair at the table, serving dish in hand, when it happened. His crotch—on purpose—was on the level of John’s face and close to it. John suddenly could not take any more of the dance of enticement. He turned his head toward Jerome’s crotch, took in a heady, deep breath—undoubtedly breathing in the musky scent of the handsome young black buck—and put his open mouth on the bulge in Jerome’s basket. At the same time he snaked an arm around Jerome’s hips and clutched at a butt cheek, pulling Jerome in closer to him. He turned his head up to Jerome’s face and Jerome smiled down at him what he hoped would be a smile of acceptance. The master-slave relationship being what it was, John wouldn’t have expected rejection, but he might have expected a moment of surprise. Not receiving that caused John to shudder in pleasure. Jerome leaned over and placed the serving dish on the table and then he moved his hand down to his waistband and unbuttoned the top two buttons on his fly.
Master John unbuttoned the rest and pulled out Jerome’s cock, swallowed it almost down to the root, and began to stroke it with his mouth.
Victory one, Jerome thought. He remembered the theory that Thomas had told him: that if a man will suck another man’s cock, he also will take that cock in the ass.
A bit later Jerome was kneeling on the floor in front of John’s chair and between the man’s legs and sucking on the master of Riverbend’s cock.
And later still, Jerome, sans breeches, was sitting in the dining chair himself, his legs hooked over the arms and a pillow at the small of his back rolling his hips up, and Master John was crouched over him, his hands on the back of the chair and his cock jackhammering Jerome’s ass channel, while Jerome moaned and groaned and held John’s waist in his hands.
Jerome was flat on his stomach, stretched out on the carpet next to the dining table and John was riding his ass, when Master John leaned down, putting his mouth close to Jerome’s ear, and whispered, “You cannot be an innocent. No innocent knows how to do that with his channel muscles. You will be in my bed tonight.”
“Yes, Massa. Whatever Massa wants,” Jerome purred. And then he gave a big smile. Victory in phase two.
God, the man could fuck, Jerome was thinking as Master John mounted him for the third time in his bed that night. But then Jerome knew that was the case already, having again had to wait for Master John for a couple of hours at the Decatur Street brothel not many days earlier. Master John was on his knees on the bed, with Jerome’s buttocks resting on his thighs, Jerome’s legs bent, and his feet flat on the bed next to Master John’s hips. John was clutching Jerome’s waist and pulling his channel on and off the cock, having tired of keeping his own hip action in motion to help him ram the cock home repeatedly.
He had been explicit in telling Jerome how much he liked the young black slave’s body and that Jerome would be sleeping with him for the foreseeable future—all good portents for the success of Jerome’s plans.
But the key thing was that the man seemed to be tiring, and Jerome wasn’t, having made the man do most of the work. At the point of Master John’s ejaculation and as he was allowing his body to relax and fall onto Jerome, the black slave took his chance. As John came down, Jerome turned both of their bodies so that Master John was still on his knees, but Jerome was on top of him, pressing his chest down on the surface of the bed and rubbing his own cock up and down in the crease between John’s buttocks. Weak from the night’s exertion, John hunched there, panting. He was saying something, but Jerome wasn’t listening to him. He grabbed John’s wrists to help keep him immobile and moved his mouth to the puckered hole between the butt cheeks.
John squeaked and moaned as Jerome’s tongue did its magic of opening the hole and lathering it up. Satisfied he could get in and just a bit surprised at how quickly it opened up and that Master John wasn’t fighting him hard enough, Jerome mounted the man’s hips and worked his cock into the channel.
The white man bucked and writhed and cried out within Jerome’s grip. Jerome started stroking, running the thought over and over again in his mind that a man who will suck the cock will take the cock in the ass. And the master is the one with the cock in the other man’s ass.
He fucked fast and hard, reasoning that if he was going to master John, it couldn’t be a tentative matter.
Somewhat to his surprise, when he starting listening to what Master John was sounding off about, it turned out to be exclamations of passion. “God yes, fuck me! Deeper! Harder! Faster!”
The man was happy to be fucked. It was a revelation to Jerome and one that immediately endangered his plan. How easy would it be to master a man by the cocking if he was well used to being cocked. And a further revelation to Jerome was that he was enjoying fucking the man. So, there were men who could genuinely enjoy both fucking another man and being fucked by another man. Jerome marveled at all there was about the mysteries of life and fucking that he had never known.
Still, he fucked on, and Master John encouraged him to do so.
The next afternoon Jerome appeared in the kitchen house decked out in the white shirt, velvet vest, and tight black breeches he’d spent several hours putting back into order. At first the laundress he’d been fucking, who already was beginning to show the evidence of another of his children, was helping him. But she also wanted him to take time to give her a fuck, and he was much too spent to do that, so she’d deserted him to finish his own repairs.
“Ya can take those right off,” Naddie spat at him when he entered the kitchen.
“I be serving Massa at supper,” he said. “I have to wear these.”
“No ya don’t have to serve Massa at supper. He sent word you to be excused. That you got other duties. That you gotta rest. I’m using Nathan.”
“Nathan be an old man, Naddie,” Jerome said.
“Right. Thas right,” Naddie retorted. “Seems only an old man is goin’ be able to serve twice in the dining room when Massa sups alone. Don’t try to hide from me what ya doin’ with that man. Sound gets outta that dining room just fine.”
“I’se a plan, Naddie. Now you know why Adelle didn’t work. Now you know a man’s got to do it. We has to try to keep the fambly together here. I’se jus’ doin’ what I has to do.”
Naddie began to cry. She collapsed in a chair and Jerome went over and stroked her hair.
“You tell me to stop and I’ll stop, Naddie. But it’s for the fambly. Should I stop?”
Naddie didn’t answer, but when Jerome reached the door, she mumbled. “Jus ya all be careful. Them white men is mean bastards.”
Jerome would take whatever blessing he could get. So, this was enough for him. He wouldn’t tell her all of it. He wouldn’t tell her that he enjoyed both fucking men and being fucked by them. That didn’t mean he enjoyed fucking women any less. And Naddie hadn’t said all that much about the big stomachs being seen on the young Negresses of the plantation. Naddie liked her grandbabies well enough.
That night was the test of the next strategic phase of Jerome’s plan. Master John fucked him just as he had observed John fucking the male prostitute at the Decatur Street house. First sidesplitting him and stroking his cock and then like a dog, crouched over Jerome as he was on all fours on the bed. But then Master John asked for the fuck himself.
This was the most dangerous point of all of this.
“I be tired. I don’ think I can fuck you as long as you want.”
“It’s what I want. You were supposed to get rest today. I heard you were in the field. I don’t want you using your energy in the field anymore.”
I be in the field fucking Berta, Jerome thought, and almost laughed. Making more babies for your wealth. But that’s not what he said. He had been building up to this moment.
“I be tired, but my cock still be strong. If you want it, you can ride it.”
Make them fuck themselves and then you are master, Jerome heard Thomas saying to him.
“Lie on your back,” Master John said.
Exhilarated, Jerome turned onto his back. Just as he had promised, his cock was hard and erect. John straddled his hips, facing him, and slowly descended on the cock. He rode the cock hard and wild like he was a ship being tossed on a stormy sea. Jerome came first and then John moved up to straddle his chest, and Jerome sucked him to an ejaculation.
They settled down, stretched along each other’s bodies, and dozed. Jerome awoke with the sensation of Master John stroking his cock. This was the next danger point. Would John want to fuck him or be fucked.
“I want your cock again,” John murmured.
“I still be tired.”
“I want the cock.” It was almost a whine.
“You be havin’ to ride it yourself.”
This time John rode the cock in the opposite direction, facing Master Jerome’s feet. He asked the young black man to raise his knees, and he clutched them in his arms and pushed them out and in to match the rhythm of his rise and fall on the cock.
After several minutes, deciding that he had made his point and that he could acknowledge he was rested enough, Master Jerome rose and pulled John over to the side of the bed, with Master Jerome standing on the flour between John’s thighs and pounded John’s ass, while the white man writhed and cried out in ecstasy and clutched the bedspread in his claws.
Jerome sensed victory, but he didn’t feel he could risk yet making the demand he was building up to. That John let men fuck him—and therefore at least partially master him—before Jerome had was disturbing. Perhaps the fucking didn’t completely subjugate him.
But then Jerome remembered what Thomas had said some days before about some special act—that if a man experienced that and was one of the few men who loved having it done, that it was the ultimate leverage over a man who wanted to be fucked by men. It might be too much. It might destroy all of the work Jerome had already done. But if Jerome could think of one man who would melt to that act, it would be this man, John Rembeau.
The next night he had Thomas waiting in the shadows of the bedroom, just another invisible slave, when he entered the bedroom. John was there before him as well. He was wearing just a robe, open to reveal the well-muscled line of his body and a half-erect cock. He was standing in the center of the room, reflected in the dim, dancing light from the fireplace and holding a snifter of brandy. He had already been drinking heavily.
“Strip down and come here,” he commanded, and Jerome did so, a bit worried that the man was going to reassert control. Perhaps even send him away as a threat to the man’s authority. He put the snifter down on a table as Jerome approached. Jerome, like all of the slaves, wore a leather collar. That was all he was wearing now, but it clearly marked him as the slave. As he reached John, the white man grabbed the collar from behind and pulled Jerome’s lips up to his—Jerome being shorter and trimmer than John—and took him in a brutal kiss. As they were kissing, he reached down and grabbed Jerome’s balls and squeezed them until Jerome’s eyes watered. He refused to cry out, though.
There was an ottoman right behind where Jerome was standing, and John pushed Jerome down in a sitting position on that. He reached over, picked up the snifter, took another deep drink, and then put it back on the table. He moved his legs between Jerome’s thighs and Jerome reached out and cupped John’s balls and brought the cock to his mouth and sucked it. John picked up the snifter again, while moving his hips in a face fuck of Jerome’s mouth. Nothing was being said by either man. All that could be heard was heavy breathing. John didn’t seem to notice, though, that three men, not two were breathing heavily in the room.
The brandy finished, John pulled his cock out of Jerome’s mouth and went down on his knees between Jerome’s thighs. He took Jerome’s cock in his mouth, while he fingered Jerome’s balls and rimmed and invaded Jerome’s ass with his fingers when he got tired of the ball work. Jerome laid back on the ottoman, his head dangling off the other end and his arms dangling off the sides.
Moments later John was fucking Jerome’s ass and Jerome was giving appropriate moaning and groaning sounds. But this didn’t last long. This wasn’t what John seemed mainly to be interested in, although he thrust to an ejaculation that Jerome felt flow deep inside him. Withdrawing his cock and moving his legs over Jerome’s hips, John descended on Jerome’s cock and started fucking himself, leveraging his rises and falls off the soles of his feet. Now he was the one moaning and groaning.
Master Jerome was smiling an inner smile. What John wanted most from him was his cock, and he was willing to fuck himself to get it. Jerome was the master. But there was one last act to try to drive this home.
Thomas was stealing across the room. Big, hulking Thomas. Thomas of the monster cock. When he reached the ottoman, he grabbed John by the hips and pulled him off Jerome’s cock. Surprised, John let out a shriek and went pale in terror as he turned his head and saw the other, giant black man.
Wasting no time, and standing right there, crouching a bit down, to give him a good center of gravity, Thomas just lifted John up and set him down on his erect, upturned cock. John’s cries of violation and fear quickly turned into those of passion and ecstasy as Thomas began to pump John’s channel up and down on the massive cock. As John settled down, Thomas turned him around so that they were facing each other, and John locked his fists behind Thomas’s neck and began to move his own pelvis in counterthrusts to take as much of the big cock inside him as possible.
The time of reckoning, Jerome thought, as he rose from the ottoman and approached the two men. Thomas, seeing Jerome coming and knowing what the plan was, slowly bent backward, shifting weight here and there to maintain his balance. Jerome came up behind them, pulled John’s butt cheeks wider, and positioned his cock head at the place where John’s rim stopped and the top of Thomas’s embedded cock began.
There was no room there to squeeze anything in, but, slowly, to the tune of John’s cries, Jerome made room for his cock to slide in on top of Thomas’s cock. And then, Thomas holding his cock still, Jerome started to pump. John was writhing and clutching as Thomas’s biceps and bulging pecs and flopping around and crying out.
The first time Jerome heard the man screaming “Fuck, yes. Plow me. Fuck me. Harder. Deeper!” he knew that he’d guessed right.
Thomas laid John’s body on the bed. The man was sobbing. But it was a well-fucked sob, and he was babbling. “The . . . best . . . damn . . . fuck . . . I’ve ever . . .” He looked up at Jerome and whispered, “Thank you.”
“It’s just the first of two,” Jerome said.
John whimpered and began to pant.
The second time, Jerome laid on his back on the bed for a while and let John fuck himself on the cock, facing Thomas who was kneeling over Jerome’s legs and feeding his cock into John’s mouth. After a while, Jerome pulled John’s back down into his chest and Thomas grabbed the white man’s legs behind the knees and spread him and worked his cock in above Jerome’s. And this time it was Thomas slow pumping his cock. Both Jerome and Thomas managed to come together inside the stretched channel and John seemed quite pleased.
Later in the night, in the darkness, with John and Jerome stretched out together and in an embrace that was marked by brief dozes and short sessions of kissing, John spoke for the first time since Thomas had left them.
“He was magnificent. Where did you find him?”
“He Thomas, your carriage driver,” Jerome answered. He tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, although he was thinking, he’s driven your carriage since you came here and he’s just another invisible black slave to you?
His restraint apparently worked, as, oblivious to the insensitivity he’d shown, John whispered, “Please bring him back from time to time. I have never been as satisfied as I was with what the two of you did. Not every night, but every so often.”
“As long as I be in service to you. Yes, I be your slave. I do whatever you want, of course.”
“My slave? No, you are my master. I want you here with me forever.”
Jerome’s heart leaped. Was he on the brink of the ultimate victory?
“I can’t be here forever if you might sell the plantation and break up the slave community. I be but a slave. You own me.”
“No, as I said, you own me now. And I will never sell you—and I won’t sell this plantation either.”
“The slaves, though. They all be my fambly.”
“And they will all stay.”
Master Jerome sighed a sigh of victory and happiness and moved slave John onto his side and slowly entered his channel with his commanding cock.
There was a new master at Riverbend plantation.