Lance Kyle

Seaward Plantation

Chapters 11-12

Chapter eleven

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 3; 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 3; 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 3;. 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 3; 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 3; 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 3;. with servants, sir, or cases of unwarranted intervention from 3; 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 3; I wanted to see you," he said. "And I brought you a present. Well, it's for us. I 3; 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 [10 cm] 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 [5 cm]. 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 3;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 3; 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 3; 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 3; 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 3; yet he longed for something more substantive, something he found especially in Troy, but also in Hector, and Pan and Bacchus, and 3; 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.

Chapter twelve

Freeing his hand to negotiate the tricky approach to the pier, Troy spoke.

"Master, I forgot to tell you 3; Cassius and Portia have something to show you. They said they would be waiting for you at the pier."

Appleby was looking forward to seeing the newest residents of Seaward again anyway, but the mystery added to his anticipation. The Hesperus took in canvas and glided gently to a stop at the pier. The mulatto brother and sister were indeed there, and Cassius sprang forward to help secure the boat to the wooden uprights. Portia watched from a few feet away, smiling a big welcome, with something behind her back.

"Welcome back, Master!" said Cassius – and then rushed forward and hugged Appleby tightly, affectionately. Appleby returned the embrace and kissed the light brown slave on his forehead. "Master," said Cassius, "we have something 3; Portia and I have something – to show you!" Troy and Hector, securing the boat and unloading their master's bags, smiled conspiratorially.

"So I hear, Cassius," Appleby said, and smiled at Portia, "What can it be?"

Cassius assumed a stance like an opera singer on the stage, and to Appleby's astonishment began to sing. "ABCDEFG, HIJKLMNOP," he warbled in his mid-adolescent voice. The sixteen year old sang through to the end of the alphabet, with feeling and perfect diction, then bowed low with a flourish of his arm. Appleby burst into laughter and applauded loudly, for there had clearly been progress in rectifying the boy's illiteracy while he had been gone. Then Portia approached, beaming, and sidling up next to Appleby she pulled from behind her back, with great ceremony – a primer! Opening it, glancing repeatedly up at Appleby, she began to read slowly: "Oh, see Nat run. Run, Nat, run!" Haltingly but with no errors, she went on for two pages before snapping the book shut and looking up at Appleby in triumph.

"Wonderful, Portia, wonderful," he said, "How very proud I am of you, and what wonderful progress the two of you have made in only two days!" Affectionately, he put his arm around the seventeen year old slave girl and hugged her. Pulled close to him, she put one of her arms around the white man's waist and hugged back. For a moment the two of them stood there in a friendly embrace 3; and then Appleby began to realize that for his part, at least, it was beginning to feel like something more than friendship, for he felt an unmistakable stirring in his groin.

"Troy taught me, master," said Cassius. "And Hector taught me," said Portia, looking at the black boy. Hector smiled back at her and hung his head for a moment in shyness.

"Well, shall we walk up to the house?" proposed Appleby, and they all agreed. Troy grabbed one of Appleby's bags while Cassius and Hector vied to carry the other one. The whole party set off – but Portia and Appleby kept arms around each other in a light embrace. Did either one try to let go? No, and Appleby wondered what it meant, wondered what his own intentions were – especially when Hector, having lost the bag-carrying privileges to Cassius, came up on Appleby's other side and put his arm around his master as well, interlocking with Portia's arm, the three of them walking together up the lawn toward the house.

As they approached the house, the rest of the people of Seaward came out from barn or cabin to greet Appleby. Pan and Bacchus danced around him with glee, sandwiching him with hard-groined hugs; did these twins ever lose their erections, the white man wondered. On the verandah the boys seized their master's bags from Troy and Cassius and took them up for unpacking. Portia joined Mama Cass and Mama Juno to prepare a community meal for lunch, while Priam, Cassius, and Troy went to attend last minute chores in the hay barn. Athena waved and smiled as she passed by below the verandah, baby Apple in her arm, on her way to help in the kitchen.

Only Hector remained with Appleby. "Master, may I talk to you for a minute?" he asked.

"Certainly, Hector, shall we sit right here?" Appleby responded, settling into a rocking chair. Hector took another one next to it. He looked searchingly at his master, then hung his head and grinned, then looked back again at Appleby.

"I 3; um 3; I wondered 3; um 3;"

Placing his hand over the dark brown forearm of the boy, Appleby smiled and said, "Hector, you may say anything to me, you may ask me anything. Since when are you shy with me, after all we have done together?" Hector hung his head again and grinned, then seemed to summon up both resolve and language.

"Master 3; did you know that 3; well, do you like Portia?" Appleby's heart skipped a beat.

"Well 3; yes, of course I like her, Hector."

"No, master, I mean, do you really like her? You know," he said, smiling and looking down again, then back, "she likes you. She told me. I mean she really 3; well, you know what I mean, master."

A flood of confusing feelings washed over Appleby, and they were confusing not the least because he did not know his own mind in the matter. Words began to tumble out of him in disconnected phrases.

"Hector, I've never touched her, you have nothing to fear 3; I mean, she is very pretty, I like her very much, I do 3; I would never hurt YOU, Hector, you know that, if you want her, I know she is yours, then 3; I have wondered some times if she 3;. but Hector, I'm not sure of my own feelings 3; but 3;" and on and on in that vein. All the while Hector looked at his master in mounting concern and wonder. Finally, the boy could stand it no longer.

"Master, master, please," he said, grasping the man's shoulder. "You mustn't, master. You mustn't bring that spirit here." Love and admonition were balanced in the serious tone the boy took. Appleby was brought up short.

"What 3; what spirit, Hector? Tell me what it is I mustn't do, please."

Hector rose and stood next to his master sitting in the rocker and hugged his head fiercely, then knelt in front of him and took the man's white hands in both of his brown ones, laid on his master's knee. Love was now mixed with urgency as he spoke gently but forcefully to Appleby.

"Do you own me, master?" he asked.

"Certainly not, Hector, not in any sense. You know that. Those papers 3;"

"Master, nobody owns anybody at Seaward. Papers?! You don't even own Cassius and Portia, 'though you might think you do. But see 3; I don't own Portia, either." He smiled at Appleby, who began nodding with growing understanding. "We share here, master; we share ourselves and we share each other. If Portia loves somebody other than me it just makes more love to go around. And how could I mind if the person she is loving is you 3; and when I love you, too, master?" He paused for breath.

"Remember how Troy shared Athena with me? but see, Athena shared Troy with me, too. It was what I needed. It's what we do here, master. It's the best way. We share."

Appleby heaved a deep sigh of relief; the boy's words came to him as truths he already knew but had hidden from himself. He leaned forward and put one hand on the side of the boy's face, the other around the back of his head against his crinkly hair, and kissed him slowly on the lips, then whispered "thank you" into the boy's ear. Then he pulled back, another concern on his face.

"But Hector 3;. I don't know who I am. I had never 3; I had never even been with a man before coming to Seaward. Just a couple of women. But now, Troy, and you, and 3; I think I found out that that is truly what I want, who I am 3; but I also really do feel something for Portia. Oh, God! and for Athena and Helen," he said, bowing over with his hands on his face, all his guilt and conflict rushing out.

"It's alright, master, it's alright," said Hector, reaching up rubbing his master's shoulders and neck, still kneeling before him.

"But I don't know who I am, Hector. Am I to be with women? am I to be with men?"

Hector looked in wonder at the troubled face of the white man, who was so caught up in webs of his own making. Shaking his head to clear it of those webs, he went right to the point, which was so simple after all.

"Be with the one you're with, master. Do you have to decide? If you feel like it, alright, if you don't, that's alright. Why say you are this thing forever, when you might want to be that other thing the next day?" The clarity of the simple truth flashed on Appleby like lightning. He began nodding, slowly and then more vigorously. What chains from his upbringing had bound him? Those were chains that had been rusting away in the free salt air of Seaward, and would now rust and fall off entirely if he let them.

"You see how we are here, master. Some of us are almost all one way 3; although even Pan and Bacchus have had their times with Helen!" he said, confirming a suspicion that Appleby had held since soon after coming to Seaward. "Papa is nearly all the other way, although I think," and here he looked pointedly at the white man and smiled, "I think he has tried something different recently." Appleby smiled back and nodded. "Some of us are in the middle, but we go as the wind blows. Who can say who you will want tonight, or in an hour, master? Maybe even Portia!" he said, grinning hugely. "Maybe Mama Juno!" Now, THAT was going too far, but the levity snapped the last link of Appleby's bondage. Man and boy roared with laughter at the thought of his coupling with dear Mama Juno's ample, maternal flesh.

Appleby nearly floated out of his chair, pulling the boy to his feet as well, and hugged him fiercely, grateful for the clarity that the boy's simple truths had brought him. From within came the sounds of lunch arriving from the kitchen and of people gathering. Nodding happily at the boy, Appleby embraced him once more and they went inside. Little did he know how prophetic Hector's comments would be, in more ways than one and sooner than he thought.

A pleasant lunch was followed by everyone dispersing to work at various tasks. Storm clouds began gathering in the middle afternoon, and the wind picked up. As the afternoon wore on, the weather became increasingly threatening. Squalls blew quickly over the island, and it was dark by dinner time. Everyone made their way to their own dwellings to wait out what promised to be a major storm.

Cassius, Pan, Bacchus, and Appleby shared a quiet, simple dinner by lamplight, then settled in to chores or work in the library. The evening wore on and the wind began rushing over the house as if a giant hand was rubbing it. The twins decided that they would take a bath, and soon their natural high spirits, nakedness, and the presence of a tub led to the sound of whoops, laughter, and splashing from the bath room. Appleby and Cassius, meanwhile, worked in the library; Appleby was continuing the lessons in reading and writing already begun in his brief absence, and the two were occupied with pencil, paper, and primers.

"Now, Cassius, you see how the letter 'O' is pronounced in different ways when 3;" Appleby stopped, a wet towel suddenly landing across his head and obscuring his vision. Removing it, he heard a peal of giggles emerge from the hallway outside the library. Deciding to ignore it, he pressed ahead, but then a brush bounced of off Cassius's shoulders, bringing a soft cry of protest to his lips. Appleby glared in the direction of the hallway. "Stop, please, we are concentrating!" There were more giggles.

Man and boy returned to their studies and for a minute there was peace. Then from one direction inside the library came a small hunk of soap that bounced painfully off of Appleby's head, while from another direction inside the room came another piece of soap that landed on the paper on which Cassius was painstakingly writing out simple words, covering the paper with a streak of lather and quite ruining the boy's efforts. Squeals and giggles now erupted from inside the room, and turning around in their chairs Appleby and Cassius saw both twins, freshly scrubbed and as naked as the day they were born, peeking out from behind the reading chairs. It appeared as if sweet reason would be of no avail. Appleby and Cassius put their heads together and whispered for a moment, then each of them bolted out of their own chairs and in the direction of the boys' makeshift forts. Bacchus slipped out of their way, but Appleby and Cassius converged on Pan, trapping him. Appleby grabbed him around the arms and chest while Cassius held on to his legs. Securing the boy tightly, who was by now laughing hilariously and wriggling like an eel, the two captors carried him up the stairs quickly and into Appleby's bedroom.

"The wardrobe, for a moment!" cried Appleby. Swerving by that furniture, he reached in and grabbed a handful of silk cravats that were hanging on a bar. They threw Pan, hysterical with laughter, on the bed face down. Throwing their bodies on top of the thirteen year old to restrain him, Appleby tied both the boy's hands together with one end of a cravat, then pulling the boy's arms and hands together straight up over his head he tied the other end of the cravat tight to the headboard of the bed. Meanwhile, Cassius, sitting on the boy's legs, tight his feet together with another cravat and, pulling them down toward the end of the bed, tight the cravat to the footboard. Surveying their handiwork, they saw the caramel brown boy tied up like a pig on a spit, still giggling uncontrollably, his firm, tight bottom rising invitingly in the air.

Returning to the ground floor, Appleby and Cassius found Bacchus somewhat harder to discover since the boy had hidden, but his giggles gave him away and he was pulled out from under the dining room table. His fate was the same, and soon two slim brown boys were laid out and tied down, butts up, on Appleby's bed. The white man and mulatto boy gave a moment's thought as to what to do, then by mutual consent they undressed themselves. Their penises, ruddy pink and medium brown, were already beginning to rise in anticipation.

Appleby began the festivities. "Boys, you have been very naughty to interrupt our work and to spoil Cassius's lesson," he said, "and for that you get this." Standing on the side of the bed nearest Bacchus, he raised his arm and then brought his hand down on the bare butt, palm open, making a tremendous smack. Bacchus gasped, but hardly giggled any the less. Cassius followed his master's example, winding up his arm even farther and swatting Pan's upraised bottom with a crack. Pan shrieked, but directly resumed laughing.

"Are you sorry, now?" asked Appleby. "No!" chorused the twins, laughing. "Well, then," said the white man, and he and Cassius fell to work. Smack! Smack! they went in turns. Soon the twins were moaning in pain but still laughing in between their cries. As moans and cries of "Ow!" and "Don't!" and "Not so hard!" began to predominate, their medium brown butts gradually darkened, bottom-blushes spreading reddish brown over the firm hills of flesh.

Once again the captive boys were asked if they were sorry, and could hardly answer so occupied were they with both soft moans of pain but also persistent laughter. Appleby and Cassius looked at each other; the white man nodded toward the lubricant on the table by Cassius's side of the bed. The mulatto slave helped himself to a big gob of it and passed it to his master. Man and boy inserted some of it in the upraised, winking anuses of the two brown boys on the bed, but not too much – this was not meant to be comfortable. The rest they smeared over their own rampant cocks. Climbing up onto the bed, with coordinated timing they each put their penises against the anus of the boy beneath them, and pushed in with one long movement.

Now, that really did silence the giggles of the thirteen year olds, who gasped and protested. Unheeding, Appleby and Cassius now began to take out their frustrations on the boys, pounding their asses with long, forceful volleys, swinging their hips while they held their torsos up off of the boys, who writhed inches below them. Faster and more forcefully the man and his mulatto slave swung their hips back and forth. Pan and Bacchus were now getting into the rhythm of the coupling and were thrusting their bottoms back toward their lovers as well as they could. Appleby and Cassius, shoulder to shoulder, looked back and forth from each other to the bound boys beneath them, and when they came it was at the same time, both roaring from deep in their chests and slamming forward to press their groins into the brown bottoms beneath them with all their might. They held that position until they stopped quivering, then slumped forward onto the sweating boys below.

In a moment, Appleby felt able to whisper, "Sorry yet?" Another giggle escaped from Bacchus beneath him by way of answer, echoed by Pan who was lying side by side to him, still impaled on the rigid cock of Cassius. Appleby looked at Cassius, lying on the boy next to him, and sighed. "Plan three," he said.

The man and mulatto boy pulled out of the assholes below them and each stood by their side of the bed. They rolled the thirteen year old boys over, an easy accomplishment that merely twisted the cravats tying them hand and foot. The boys' caramel brown, muscled abdomens were slick with their own precum, their dark brown dicks now stuck straight out in the air, and their giggles had returned in full force as they anticipated a sexual adventure of their own. But they did not conceive of what Appleby and Cassius had in mind. Each took up another cravat and tied it as a gag around the boys' mouths, not so tight as to be uncomfortable but tight enough to discourage articulate speech. "Mmmph?" said Pan, echoed by Bacchus's "Wowrrrr."

Appleby and Cassius now lubricated each thirteen year old, stiff cock and lubricated their own assholes liberally, then together they mounted the boys facing their feet, their muscular backs toward the boys' faces. The rigid cocks of the captive twins slid right up the rectums of the white man and mulatto boy. Pan and Bacchus let out gagged squeals in anticipation. What happened next was certainly not anticipated, though. Appleby calmly reached over to the side of the bed where he picked up the primer he had placed there before. Holding it over by Cassius, who was shoulder to shoulder with him, he began.

"Now, Cassius, as I was saying, 'O' can be pronounced in different ways. See, in this sentence 3;" The horrible truth began to dawn on the twins. Their master and the new slave boy were simply going to sit on their rigid penises – perfectly still and unmoving. Encased in the warm, moist love tunnels, the organs remained erect and throbbing. But their captors were not going to move a muscle to bring the twins to orgasm, and neither boy was in a position to move his own hips up and down for that purpose. Soon squeals and moans of frustration began arising. Each of the twins shook and vibrated their loins as they could, they thrashed left and right as much as possible, but it was useless.

Now Appleby and Cassius were the ones to begin laughing and snorting. Soon, neither one could maintain the pretense of having a reading lesson. Nodding agreement, each one pivoted around on the rigid cock that impaled them to face the twins, still kneeling calf by calf astride each boy. Leaning forward but not losing their position, they untied the silken gags from between each boy's full lips. "NOW 3; are you sorry?" said Appleby.

What pain could not achieve, the withholding of sexual ecstasy could. "Yes, master 3; oh, yes sir!" came two replies, followed by solemn assurances, delivered pantingly, that they would not misbehave again. At that, the white man and mulatto boy began to rise and down on the dark brown dicks inside of them, massaging bellies and chests, tweaking nipples with their hands. Given some freedom of movement, each boy swung into the motion with vigor, clutching and kneading the strong thigh muscles of the man or boy above them. It did not take long before Pan and Bacchus cried out, torsos twisting up, hips pushing up into the rectums above them, and discharged their semen in long eruptions. Appleby and Cassius slowed their rhythms gradually until each boy collapsed, spent. Then the man and older boy leaned forward on top of the twin beneath them, covering them with their bodies, kissing them lightly until normal breathing returned.

As the sexual storm passed it became clear that the storm outside was increasing. The four rose from the bed and, arms around each other, went back downstairs to wash in the bath room. Thunder and lightning was now all around the house, it seemed, and the wind was really quite strong. Appleby was glad for the stout construction of all the buildings at Seaward. Going back upstairs, they decided that to give each other room, and needing rest, Appleby and Pan would sleep in one bed, Cassius and Bacchus in the other. With goodnight kisses, the couples went off to separate bedrooms to pile in together in sleep.

Appleby awoke in the middle of the night to tremendous thunder. But there, behind the thunder 3; was there another kind of sound, similar to it? There it was again, now nearly covered by the howling of the wind. Rising, he looked out the window, but could see little through the slashing rain against the pane. Then he heard a door to the house downstairs open, the louder rushing of wind, and then the door closed. Quick footsteps up the stairs, then Troy burst into his room, covered up tight in a waterproof cloak.

"Master 3; it's a ship, master! Come quick 3; lanterns, and the spyglass from the library, sir!" Rousing the three boys, Appleby dressed quickly and all four of them hurried after Troy downstairs. Donning the new protective gear Appleby had purchased for everyone, and retrieving the telescope Troy had requested, they followed Troy outside into the wind. There they fell into step behind Priam and Hector, who were leading the way, fighting the gale force winds as they battled their way to the cemetery, the highest spot on the island. Sheets of rain lashed down, and Appleby was afraid they would be soaked regardless of the good clothing and boots they wore. All the while, a sound that was thunder but not thunder sounded periodically amidst the actual storm.

Reaching the lookout point that was the cemetery with some difficulty, a fearful scene was revealed. The lightning was now almost constant, and looking to the east, out into the Atlantic, they saw a merchant ship that had evidently run aground on the rocks and shoals that lay a mile or so beyond the island as a sort of natural fence. It had three masts with now only shreds of sails attached, and a smokestack in the middle, but even as the people from Seaward watched, one of the masts snapped off and literally flew away in the storm. Then a flash erupted from the side of the ship and Appleby knew what was making that strange noise like thunder: the ship was firing a cannon in distress, to call for any help that could be rendered.

But no help could come; it would have been suicide even to attempt taking the Hesperus out in this storm. The ship sat at an odd angle, evidently hooked onto a reef or mighty boulder below the water line. Smoke streamed out of the smokestack, but to no avail; she was a stern-wheeler, but it could be plainly seen that the storm had smashed her paddles. A few pieces of board flapped and circled crazily at the rear of the ship. Suddenly a quick flash of white steam cloud emerged from the middle of the ship. The storm blew it away in an instant, but then there was a tremendous explosion. Evidently sea water had reached the red hot boilers. The wind quickly cleared the smoke and steam to reveal a horrible sight: only one half of the ship remained, and it quickly tipped at a forty-five degree angle and was gone. Dark objects floated here and there on the boiling water, and that was all that remained.

"Quick, to the shore!" shouted Troy, "maybe somebody will make it ashore!" By the quickest path the three men and four boys fought the storm down to the beach. Breaking into teams, they spread out north and south, and for an hour patrolled the beach. Appleby, working with Hector and the twins, was returning from the southern extremity of the beach when he saw it just off shore: a raft, or really just a part of the hull of the ship, tossed about by the towering waves. And on it there hung the figure of a person.

Sending the twins to the north to fetch the rest of the party, Appleby and Hector calculated where the shipwrecked sailor was most likely to make shore. His battered bit of wooden hull was flung ashore by a mighty wave about where they calculated, but as they ran up to it they could see nobody – the piece of wreckage was washed bare. Another wave came crashing in and, as it receded, they saw the figure of a man lying on the beach, tossed down by the wave like driftwood. They ran to it and, each grabbing an arm, hauled the body up the beach and out of the way of the next wave, which pursued them like a fury. Finding the shelter of three trees that were clumped together, they put the man down on his back.

Appleby quickly checked; it was hard to tell in the storm, but he seemed not to be breathing. Flipping him onto his side and coming around behind him, Appleby reached around and squeezed hard just below the rib cage, then squeezed again. It worked. The man jerked frantically, rolled over onto his hands and knees, and vomited violently onto the sand. Gasping for breath and desperately sick, he continued retching and vomiting, spewing sea water out of his gut and lungs, fighting for air. The sound of feet thudding on sand could be heard even above the storm as the rest of the party came up.

"Any more besides this one?" asked Appleby. Everyone shook their heads in sorrow. "Well, we cannot wait and watch any longer," he said, "we will be swept away ourselves if we remain, and this one needs attention," and a huge wave that came nearly up to their location confirmed his words. "Who is fastest?" he asked, and Hector stepped forward wordlessly. "Hector, run, rouse the women, tell them what has happened and ask them to bring herbs and medicines to the house; we will put him upstairs." Off the boy went with remarkable speed, as the rest of the party locked arms to lift the gasping, exhausted man and carry him off.

Making as much speed as they could without doing more harm to the castaway, the party worked their way against the storm back to the house. As they came up the verandah steps the door was flung open, held by Hector. Mama Cass, Mama Juno, and Portia stood with lanterns and healing supplies within. Athena had apparently remained behind in her cabin because of baby Apple. The castaway was carried in through the pantry. Semi-conscious, eyes fluttering behind half-closed lids, he seemed not to be in good shape at all. Tsking and clucking, the women took command. They stripped off his wet clothing, or what remained of it from the lashing of the sea, and then led the way upstairs, pots and vials of medicines and steaming herbal concoctions in hand. Appleby, Cassius, and Priam carried the naked man up the stairs and laid him gently on towels that had been spread in one of the bedrooms. The boys followed closely, observing every detail. Then the males were shooed from the room by the women who closed the door and gathered around to practice their healing arts.

In the hallway the exhausted men and boys stood around, dripping, looking at each other in shock and wonder. Bacchus, standing near Appleby, tugged at the sleeve of the white man's rain gear. "Master 3; master, why are his eyes like that? His skin, his hair? Is he alright, master?"

Looking at the boy, Appleby suddenly realized with a shock how isolating it must be to live in the paradise of Seaward; how much wisdom that way of life imparted, but how much basic experience must be lacking. Gently, he explained: "Oh, yes – he is quite ill from the shipwreck. But as for his appearance 3; I expect that he is Chinese, or Japanese perhaps. He is from Asia, I suppose. That is how people look over there."

Looks of wonder passed all around, and "China," "Japan," and "Asia" were repeated as if they were magical incantations. The party began to move downstairs, stripping off their wet gear and hanging it in the bath room and the pantry to dry. By the time Appleby had put off his own wet things and come back out, he discovered the entire male population of Seaward in the library, some of them half naked from shedding sodden clothing, pulling out atlases and books to look up these magical places. For a moment it almost seemed magical to Appleby, as well; how did someone from Asia end up washing ashore off the coast of South Carolina?! But then it occurred to him that sea lanes had always mixed the dust of many lands throughout history, and this must be no exception. Ships of many nations came and went through Charleston. Ships' crews were often quite a mixed stew. At any rate, they would know his story soon, when the new arrival was well enough to talk 3; IF he were ever well enough to talk.

Appleby, the twins, and Cassius went back upstairs to fetch spare clothing for their friends; the door to the sickroom remained shut, the sound of coughing and retching coming from within. Sharing the dry garments all around, they bade everyone good-night as the company went back out into the storm, which seemed as if it had moderated somewhat in the last half hour. The remaining four waited in the library, reading, then heard the sounds of footsteps on the stairs. Cass and Juno lumbered down them and into the hallway.

"He is mighty sick, master, but he will make it," said Juno. "He must rest in bed and not be moved 3;or excited," she said, wheeling upon her twin sons with this last statement and shaking a finger at them, glaring ferociously. They shrank back cowed, nodding dutifully. "Portia will sit with him for a while," added Cass. The two women bundled up against the wind and rain and walked back out into the storm.

Appleby, Cassius, and the twins crept back upstairs quietly. The sickroom door was ajar, so Appleby opened it a bit more and peered in. Lamplight cast soft shadows in the room. Portia was sitting in a chair by the invalid's bedside, spooning between his lips a strong smelling herbal mixture. Smiling at Appleby's appearance, she set the bowl down, felt the man's forehead, then slipped out into the hallway.

"It is best that he be watched all the night, and likely through the day tomorrow," she whispered. "I can sit with him."

"I shall rest for just a few hours more and then come to take your place, if you will show me what to do," said Appleby. Portia nodded a hurried agreement. A soft groan from within the room recalled her to her duty. "In a few hours, then," she said to Appleby, and slipped back inside.

Appleby slept hard for a while, then awoke. The wind by now was a soft rushing sound, but there was no longer any sound of thunder, lightning, or rain. Looking out the window he could actually see glimpses of the moon peeking out now and then from behind the scudding clouds. Consulting his pocket watch, he realized it was time to go relieve Portia.

Stepping quietly into the hallway, he opened the sickroom door slowly, not wanting to startle anyone. The patient lay on the bed all bundled up, sound asleep, snoring steadily. A smell of herbs and medicine, sharp but not unpleasant, hung in the air. Portia likewise was asleep, still sitting in the chair, her chin on her hand. In the lamplight Appleby was struck by her beauty, her rounded face enveloped in a halo of frizzy brown hair, her light brown skin darker in the shadows, her full lips slightly parted. The fabric of her blouse stretched taught over her breasts, and rose and fell lightly as she breathed. Her physical resemblance to Cassius was remarkable, but of course she was also different, possessing her own feminine beauty.

Not wishing to startle her, Appleby stepped up close to her and whispered her name. Not getting any response, he reached out and touched one shoulder lightly. Portia awoke suddenly, starting up and rising in confusion – right into Mark Appleby. His hand, which had been on her shoulder, remained there, steadying her. Reflexively, she put a hand on his side to regain her balance. She looked into Appleby's eyes in confusion for a moment, then everything fell into place. "Oh, master! I was asleep," she said, and a smile crossed her lips. He smiled back. Their eyes locked. It was like kicking a stone down a rock slope, for it started the avalanche.

Appleby's other arm came up and he caressed her other shoulder. She put her other hand on his waist. And they came together in a passionate, long kiss. Truly, in that first embrace it did not matter who was male or female, black or white; there was an electric attraction powered by both flesh and spirit that transcended such trivial differences. Lips explored lips, tongues slid along tongues – they broke apart, breathing heavily, then came back together again in a tight embrace, Appleby burying his face in the sweet-smelling halo of Portia's soft, frizzy hair.

"Can 3; can he be left for a moment?"

Breaking away to look closely at her patient, Portia said "Yes." Taking her hand, Appleby led the way to another empty bedroom, thinking that at this rate he would need to build an addition to his house before long. Slipping from the silent hallway to the room, the white man and mulatto slave girl embraced again with passion, then began pulling clothes away from each other. Appleby took the lead, lifting fabric, undoing buttons, encouraging the girl to remove her garments. Soon she stood naked before him as she had the first day he saw her. Only his shirt and undergarments remained. Gently, smiling up at him, she unbuttoned the shirt and let it slide to the floor 3; then tugged at his undergarment, which likewise dropped away. His penis, already hard, sprang out. Gently, she grasped it with one hand, while she placed her other hand on the white man's broad, muscular chest, running fingers through the sparse patch of hair in the center that ran in a line down to his groin. Appleby cupped the seventeen year old slave girl's firm, pert breasts, then lowered his head to suck the dark copper nipple in a wider aureole. The moon, intermittently uncovered by the passing clouds, lit their tanned white and light brown bodies with moving patches of yellow light.

Portia breathed heavily, sighing with passion. Appleby took her hand and led her to the bed. Falling together side by side, their hands began voyages of exploration, sliding and probing, fondling and patting, ruffling and smoothing. Rolling over on top of the girl, Appleby's rampant penis leaked precum onto her rounded but muscular belly. He kissed her lips again, her face, the side of her face and neck, and then stuck his tongue in her ear, working it around as the slave girl writhed in pleasure beneath him, pulling him closer to her with her hands around his shoulders.

He could wait no longer. Rising up a little on one hand, he positioned his rampant, hard cock at the girl's vaginal opening and moved the dickhead up and down a little in the opening. It was already moist with the girls secretions, and became more so with his precum. Then, gently and with great tenderness, he entered her.

Portia cried out, but not in pain. Her eyes were wide, her hands clasped around the white man's neck, her fingers tugging at his long light brown hair. Her legs, bent at the knees, were spread wide as the muscular white man began to glide in and out of her. She began pushing up to meet his thrusts, then to move her pelvis in a slow spiral that gave Appleby exquisite pleasure. Faster and faster he pumped, taking long, loping swings in and out of her. Feeling his climax approaching, he lowered himself to her, his chest riding on her sweat-slick firm breasts. He grasped her by the shoulders and she clutched him around the back and the two pulled into each other, holding each tightly as he came, whispering her name over and over, pushing his groin into hers as her hips moved slowly up and down. Then she shuddered and clenched, in the throes of an orgasm herself, moaning from deep inside her chest. Slower and slower they moved, their breath ragged and labored, and then they stopped and were still.

Each held the other; soft cooing sounds, gasps, and moans filling the silence. Appleby rolled off of the slave girl and, lying on his side, traced paths with his fingers against her shiny, light brown skin. Portia caressed the white man's face in her hands, running her fingers lightly over his lips and nose and through his hair.

"Cassius has been very lucky," she said, naturally revealing her knowledge of her brother's recent experiences at Seaward. "So have I," she said.

"And so has Hector," chuckled Appleby, laying everything in the open.

A fond look came into her eyes. "So has everyone at Seaward, I think, master. I do not remember being seen by you that first, terrible day at Mr. McGillicuddy's, but Cassius told me everything. Thank you so much, master," she said, pulling him to her again and embracing him tightly. "But you have a patient, doctor!" she said, smiling. Grinning back, Appleby rose and quietly dressed himself again. By the time he was done, Portia lay asleep on the sheets. He covered her gently with the sheets, then slipped out the door and down the hall to take up his watch.

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

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