≈ ANTEBELLUM SLAVERY ≈
by Hunknown
A WORD OF WARNING
This is a fictional tale set in the antebellum Deep South that speaks of slavery; the story is narrated through the eyes of a slave owner, proud son of the slave society, so don’t be shocked if he refers to the black slaves as “Negroes” and believes they’re something in between men and animals.
Also, some scenes are quite graphic and are not for the faint-hearted. That was no time for sweet romance between men.
~ Buck breaking ~
A.D. 1851, Flaussac plantation in Metairie, Louisiana.
André de Flaussac came back home from his daily horse ride around the huge sugar cane plantation and saw Mr. Jenkins, the slaves overseer, coming toward him. From his angry expression, André guessed that it was no good news.
“Don’t tell me…” – André said with a sigh when the overseer was closer – “The three new slaves arrived last week, right?”
“Yes, Monsieur, two of them are lazy, they pretend to be too weak to go on working way before the end of the shift. Anyway, nothing my whip can’t fix. The problem is the third Negro, the one you named Floyd Flaussac: he’s too proud and violent, he dared to attack me! That black buck needs to be broken, Monsieur! I’ve restrained him in the barn, waiting for your punishment.”
“OK, I’m going. Thank you Jenkins.”
André dismounted from his horse, handed the bridles to Jenkins and walked to the barn fuming with rage. «Why are they so stubborn!» – he thought angrily, trying to concentrate on his duty; truth was that André hated that job, ‘buck breaking’, as they called it. For him, Negroes were something in between animals and humans, as his grandfather and his father taught him; and yet, whenever he had to exert such a fierce violence against them, André felt sick. Vile, even.
Because buck breaking wasn’t just a matter of giving a good whipping. André had quickly learned that a lash can fix most of the problems, five lashes on the back for the minor misbehaviors and up to twenty lashes for the serious violations. In his life he never needed to administer the infamous ‘nine-and-thirty’, which meant thirty-nine lashes given all over the body; but when it came to make a stubborn slave accept his role in the plantation, not even the nine-and-thirty would be of any use: the Negro had to be violated in his intimacy, roughly and relentlessly, until any trace of stupid masculine pride was finally stripped away.
The barn was an old stable, originally used to keep goats, until André’s late father decided to plant sugar cane instead of cotton, and the goats were sold. Now the barn was the feared place where all the punishments were administered; his wooden walls didn’t resonate anymore with feeble bleats, but echoed of screams of agony. Way too often, for André’s liking.
“Merde!” – André hissed between his teeth, opening the door. Inside, the light was very dim, because the tall air vents were constantly kept close. In the middle of the barn there was a massive Negro wearing a frail cotton shirt and a sort of undergarment tied around his loins. His limbs were tied to the low ceiling and to posts in the ground, in a wide ‘X’ position. He was so tall that, despite having his legs spread wide apart, he still was taller than André.
André didn’t even look at him: Negroes were all the same, protruding jaws, enormous lips, dark eyes, wide nose and black skin, always slimy with sweat. He took a whip hanging from the wall and held tight the thick lather handle, a special handle with a wider tip and a rough body, purposely used for the buck breaking. Repressing his own disgust, André moved closer to the restrained slave and asked with a low, menacing tone: “What’s your name?”
The man raised his chin and proudly replied, in a broken English: “Me, Kabaka ‘Ngoro Kwanza!”
“NO!” – the master shouted, cracking his whip on the ground. He turned for the first time to the slave and looked into his eyes, and for a moment he held his breath, surprised to see two emerald green eyes staring back at him. And it was not just the eyes: the lips were full but not as much as the other slaves; between them, he had a glimpse of perfectly lined and bright white teeth, giving to the jaws a rather square shape, so different than the usual protruding face of the Negroes; even the skin was different, with its dark caramel tint, not the usual deep black he was used to see.
André wouldn’t have admitted it even under death threat, but he was admired by the handsomeness of the Negro, and for a moment, a short fleeting moment, he looked at the slave as a man, not the sub-human being he was taught to think of them.
“Your first name is Floyd” – André said, in a raising voice – “because I decided it to be. And your last name is Flaussac, as you’re enslaved to this plantation until I decide to sell you. Because that’s what you are and always be, nothing more than a Negro, a black slave! Now, I’m asking one last time, and you better give me the right answer: WHAT’S. YOUR. NAME!!”
The slave didn’t avert his gaze from the white master and replied: “Me, Kabaka ‘Ngoro Kwanza!”
“Damn you!!” – André shouted, furious, and angrily grabbed the slave’s worn-out shirt and ripped it to shreds, leaving it hanging in tatters from the wide black shoulders. Then he hooked his fingers into the waist of the frail undergarment and pulled hard, ripping it away from the man’s loins.
Again, André repressed a gasp of surprise, scanning the muscular body in front of him. The Negro was so massive and tall that, if he wasn’t tightly bound, he could’ve easily broken André in two with his bare hands. The bulging pecs were round and beefy, crowned with unusually meaty nipples surrounded by wide black areolas; the abs were ripped, and the muscles, twitching for the tension, were clearly visible under the caramel skin. Moving his gaze downward, André fixated his eyes on the slave’s impressive manhood, a thick, veiny tube of black meat more than ten inches long, completely covered with a long foreskin and resting on a hairless ball sac so plump and heavy that it seemed to contain two croquet balls rather than male gonads.
In his youthful years, André had heard from his friends lewd tales depicting Negroes as a sort of oversexed animals, bearing meat clubs that could kill a white woman; and sure enough, in his own experience, he could tell that black slaves were usually well endowed, but the black beast he was staring at was something else; a fleeting image of that massive cock, fully hard, shoved into a moist cunt all at once, making the woman cry with pain and pleasure, made his own dick throb into his pants.
André moved closer to the restrained slave, looking straight at his eyes, and raised a hand; the Negro clenched his jaws, expecting to be beaten, but he let out a choked gasp when the master’s finger lightly caressed his meaty nipple, in a circular motion, making the tender flesh harden under his touch. He tried hard to ignore the pleasure that radiated from his nipple and made his cock twitch, but he soon gave up, when the master used his other hand to gently pinch and twist the other nipple.
Truth to be told, the slave had no chance to lay a woman since he was kidnapped from his homeland, in Africa, months before, and his healthy body was so full of testosterone and repressed libido that it didn’t take long until the black beast between his legs started to rise and thicken, throbbing in anticipation.
“I see you like it…” – André mocked him, and the slave felt utterly embarrassed, shook his head and murmured: “M’ssié, beg you, no… Long time no see woman… No touch this way…”
“You’re such a whore, look at you, all excited because a man caresses your tits… You know how I make my bitches squeal with pleasure? I just do this…”
André leaned over the man’s chest and took the meaty nipple between his lips, and then started to dart his tongue on the sensitive flesh, sucking hard to draw more blood into it and make it even more sensitive. With his hand he started to pinch the other nipple more intensely, but not enough to cause any pain, alternating it with flickers of his index nail on the tender tip.
The slave groaned and involuntarily arched his back, thrusting his chest out. His cock was now fully hard and his glans started to peek out of the tight foreskin. Still suckling on the man’s nipple, André moved his hand down, to caress the slave’s groin, play with his pubes, tickle the inner thigh and finally take a good handful of the plump balls.
“There’s so much Negro juice down here, I can feel it…” – André mocked – “It’s boiling up, ready to shoot…”
“M’ssié, stop… Beg you M’ssié… Not… natural…”
“Oh, so you’re begging me not to do… this?” – André said with a mocking grin, while his hand curled around the throbbing black cock. It was so thick that André couldn’t even completely circle it with his fingers; now that it was fully erect, it was about twelve inches long, and slightly curved upwards.
The slave welcomed the sensual touch stiffening and moaning, while his hips thrusted forward, causing the foreskin to retract and completely expose his dark pink glans. The master went on massaging the fat cock, using his other hand and his mouth to make the slave’s sexual excitement reach unbearable levels, but without ever letting him release his seed.
At some point, when the slave was on the very verge of exploding, André stepped back, enjoyed for a moment the sight of the muscular black man writhing with repressed desire and picked up again the whip. He went to a nearby bucket filled with the grease used for the leather saddles and dipped the entire handle of the whip into the slimy cream.
When he moved back to the slave and crouched in front of him, pointing the slick handle to the man’s exposed anus, the slave let out a choked scream and shot to the master a horrified glance: “M’ssié, no… not this… beg you with heart, no! Me be good slave, promise… Me good slave, but not this…!”
“Too late” – André growled, and forcefully pushed upwards the greased handle; the large tip abruptly torn open the outer sphincter and half of the handle entered the violated hole; the inner sphincter tried to resist the painful invasion, but André viciously pushed harder, shoving the entire handle into the ravaged ass.
“AAAAAARRGGHHHH!!!” – the slave screamed out of his lungs, while his entire restrained body bucked violently, unable to stop the cruel impalement. His cock was about to lose its stiffness, but André started jacking it sensually, insisting on the sensitive glans, forcing it to stay hard. When he was sure that the slave wouldn’t lose his erection, the master started pumping hard the whip handle into the broken ass hole, pulling it almost completely out and then shoving it again all the way in, relentlessly, mercilessly.
The coupled violation of his ass and his cock made the slave shake and tremble uncontrollably, while the old barn echoed with his desperate scream of pain. Despite the savage raping in the ass, the pent-up sexual tension quickly brought the slave on the verge of the orgasm; before he was totally lost, he looked down at his tormentor with teary eyes and pleaded: “Beg you, stop, M’ssié! No make me shoot… No make me shoot… NoooOOOOO!!!”
With one last choked scream, the slave stiffened, all his muscles straining in the agony of the climax, and his cock erupted plumes after thick plumes of man seed, and the ejaculation seemed endless. The shameful pleasure coming from his groin mixed with the stinging pain coming from his ass, still wildly ravaged by the hard leather handle. Neither the hand on his cock nor the intruder in his ass stopped or slowed down until the very last drop of his seed fell to the ground… and even then, they went on, relentlessly milking the now sensitive cock and mercilessly breaking through the already split open ass.
“Meeercyyyy!!!” – the slave screamed with the whole voice he had, but André didn’t stop: that was the crucial moment of the buck breaking, violating the slave to such an extent that no trace of masculine pride would be left in his heart and mind. With fierce determination, the white master pulled down the foreskin, exposing the oversensitive glans, and cupped his calloused hand around it, polishing it viciously; and all the while, the whip handle went on pistoning into the slave’s ravaged ass, making him go crazy for the overwhelming sensations.
“No more… No more…” – the slave kept repeating, hissing and grinding his teeth – “Mercy master… Mercy… No more…!”
André went on torturing the bound man for a while, until the proud black slave was reduced to a whimpering and sobbing mess, and his face was streaked with tears. He then withdrew his hands and stood up, while the whip handle slowly slipped out of the loosened hole and fell to the ground.
The master looked at the slave and felt sick. Yes, he had finally ‘broken the buck’, like his father used to do, and his grandfather before him, but at what cost? Looking at the sobbing man’s handsome face, his heart went out to him: it couldn’t be right to make a man suffer that much. A man.
How could his father and grandfather be so wrong? How could the black slaves really be sub-human creatures? If you hurt an animal, it will suffer, and it may even feel fear, but can’t be horrified for an upcoming torture, like the slave did. André couldn’t stop seeing behind his closed eyelids the horror he’d read into the slave’s eyes when he realized what was going to happen to him. Only a man can do that… and that man now was trembling and sobbing uncontrollably in front of him, broken in his intimacy to the very roots.
André moved closer and raised a hand, and the slave instinctively screamed, fearing another torture; but the white master gently place his hand on the man’s chest and said in a soothing tone: “Shh… It’s over… Fear no more, it’s over”. The slave calmed down a little, and his ragged breath became steadier. “Now, tell me… What’s your name?”
“Me… F…Floyd Flaussac [1], me slave…”
Without a word, André quickly untied Floyd from his restraints and for a few moments helped him stay steady on his feet. Then he picked up from the ground the slave’s ripped undergarment and handed it to him: “I… I will give you a new one. Now go. Have some rest.”
Floyd silently turned around and, with uncertain steps, went out, leaving the master alone in the now silent barn. André suddenly pressed his hand on his stomach, rushed to a corner of the barn and puked his guts on the ground.
~ Obsession ~
André lived the next two weeks like in a dream. A bad one. He tried to keep himself busy, but whenever he sat on a chair and let his mind roam freely, the horrified glance of the slave came to his memory; and his heartfelt pleas, uttered with broken voice, echoed in his ears.
But the worse happened at night, when André rolled restlessly in the bed, with images of the slave’s massive black body appearing behind his closed eyes. He still could feel the huge stiff member pulsating in his hand, the taste of the tender nipple into his mouth, the bulging pecs twitching under his fingers. With horror, André woke up with an irrepressible erection, an erection that proved beyond any doubt the illicit and abominable attraction he felt for the black slave: an attraction that André didn’t want to even acknowledge.
When this happened, André quickly got up and rushed to his wife’s room, pretending to feel an ardor for her that couldn’t wait to be satisfied. And in her bed, André drowned his fears and his struggles in the wet tenderness of his wife’s body.
But neither the daily nightmares nor the night dreams ever stopped, and André grew more and more nervous. «It’s his fault!» – he thought one night, unwilling to admit to have become prey of such hideous and lewd desires – «It’s all Floyd’s fault! I’m not like this! I’ll make him pay!»
Looking out of the window, he saw Mr. Jenkins, the overseer, who was heading to his barrack for the night, and shouted at him: “Go take Floyd and bring him to the barn. Prepare him for punishment!”
André quickly got dressed, while a dull rage was building inside him, and stormed into the barn. Inside, Floyd was restrained like the first time, with his arms and legs wide apart, wearing only the undergarment that was his only sleepwear. As soon as André entered the barn, Floyd addressed him with a submissive tone: “M’ssié… Why? Me do nothing bad, M’ssié… Me swear, do nothing bad! No punish me, beg you, no punish, M’ssié!”
André turned around, holding tight the whip in his hand, and looked at the slave straight in his eyes… and those emerald eyes once more pierced his soul like the first time, making all his beliefs and his resolution weaver. The whip slipped out of André hand and fell to the floor, and he moved closer to the restrained slave, while his enraged frown gave way to a compassionate expression. He placed both hands on the slave’s massive torso, contoured the impressive pecs with his fingers and tickled lightly his meaty nipple, eliciting a gasp of surprise and repressed pleasure.
“I already punished you way harsher than any man should ever bear” – André heard himself say with a pensive tone, while his fingers mindlessly roamed the helplessly exposed body – “I won’t be able to sleep until I’ve made amend to you, Floyd. No pain for you tonight, Floyd, only pleasure. I owe you.”
Gently, almost respectfully, André undid the fabric tied around the slave’s hips and freed the impressive member, that was already thickening due to the sensual caresses all over his body. André leaned over and started kissing and licking the man’s torso, giving tender bites to the stiff nipples and caressing with his hands the powerful legs, the firm abs and the muscled biceps. The black snake quickly came to life and started throbbing in anticipation, and André lowered a hand to stroke it, making the long foreskin brush the sensitive glans over and over.
“Nnnngghh… M’ssié… No touch like this… Please, M’ssié…!” – Floyd begged every now and then, but André could clearly see from the enthusiast reaction of the slave’s cock that he was doing it right. Still kissing and licking the black skin with passion, André slowly knelt down, until Floyd’s impressive cock was right in front of his eyes… and at an inch from his mouth.
André hesitated. Until that moment, maybe, he could’ve just pretended he was not doing anything bad; but taking a man’s cock in his mouth was a one-way road. Homosexuality wasn’t condoned in any way, especially in the Deep South, not even with a slave. André glanced at the door, knowing that Jenkins was waiting outside: he was painfully aware that if the overseer would’ve seen him in such a compromising position, he would’ve been ruined forever, his reputation shattered, and he would’ve probably been charged with sodomy.
But he didn’t care. He opened his mouth, ignored the feeble “M’ssié, beg you, stop!” uttered by the restrained slave and closed his lips around the thick meat. The first thing he noticed was how hot it felt, then felt the velvety of the skin under his tongue, and for the first time he savored the taste of a man. A man. If ever there was a residual trace of doubt in his mind, that throbbing cock, so stiff and proud, an icon of manliness, blew it away.
André started sucking Floyd’s member in earnest, trying to take as much of it as he could into his mouth, but unable to take even a third of it, before gagging. Despite the discomfort, the man went on licking and sucking it with passion, trying unsuccessfully to emulate the girls who occasionally granted that service to him. Under his fingers, the slave’s muscles twitched and spasmed, and the massive black body trembled with excitement, tightly bound in a position that didn’t allow the slightest movement.
When Floyd’s breath became ragged, André felt happy, because he was about to make him explode, finally making things even with him. But soon the memory of the cruel impalement he administered to the slave came to his mind, along with the merciless violation of his body and the vile debasement he subjected Floyd to. André had crossed many boundaries, that night, to make amend to Floyd, even putting his own reputation at stake, but it wasn’t enough. A quick and inexperienced blow job couldn’t possibly give back to Floyd what André had forcefully torn away from him.
André recoiled and silently stood up. Looking straight at the slave, he started removing his clothes, one by one, until he was completely naked. Floyd tried to guess what was in André’s mind, and looked at him in fear: “M’ssié, not again… Not again, beg you! Cannot stand again… Me do anything, M’ssié, no hurt me again…!”
“I told you, Floyd” – André replied with a soothing tone, taking a handful of grease from the nearby bucket – “I won’t give you any pain tonight. Not the slightest pain…”
André went back to Floyd and smeared his long cock with the grease, all of it, from the very tip to the base. Then he linked his hands behind Floyd’s neck and placed his feet on the man’s spread legs, slowly climbing on him until the stiff black cock was pointing straight at his inviolate anus. Floyd understood André’s intentions and gasped, listening to his words: “I can’t possibly give you back what I so cruelly took away from you. But at least I can give you something in return: revenge. Eye for an eye…”
While André used one hand to point the rock-hard member to his hole, Floyd faintly shook his head and murmured: “Me too big, M’ssié! No hurt yourself, beg you! No revenge, no need!”
“Too late” – André replied with a resolute tone; holding tight to the slave’s neck, André let his feet slip off the man’s muscular thighs, and his lower body fell down on the deadly weapon awaiting under him.
The impalement was brutal, and André felt such a searing pain that it took the breath away from his lungs for an endless moment. Instinctively he clung with legs and arms to the massive black body and buried his face between the bulging pecs, desperately trying not to scream, lest to be heard by Jenkins waiting outside. A choked whine escaped his lips, but it was muffled by the muscular chest of the slave.
It took a couple minutes to André to be able to breathe again, and in that moment he felt the massive cock throbbing inside him and filling him to the brim. While his mind tried to process the overwhelming sensations, André put again his feet on Floyd’s legs and raised his ass from the meat pole, to then lower it again, carefully, because the pain was still almost unbearable.
“Why, M’ssié…” – Floyd whined with a sad expression, his face at an inch from André’s – “Stop, no more, too pain…”
“I’m going all the way” – André replied, touched by Floyd’s worrying about him. Floyd, the man whom André humiliated and hurt so cruelly, was in pain for him! Having his cruelty repaid with such sheer devotion was for André even more painful than the rough impalement he had suffered moments before. Ignoring the pain radiating from his ass, André started humping on the massive cock, trying to do his best to give to that wonderful man, at least, the pleasure he deserved.
Over and over, André went on pumping on the thick meat, and slowly the pain dulled and was replaced by weird sensations coming from inside him. The black beast shifted in and out of his innermost cavities, touching sensitive places that André didn’t even know to have. A fire started burning inside him, and he paced up, breathing heavily and trying to spot on Floyd’s face the signs of the pleasure he surely was feeling. But Floyd kept a concentrated frown, and his eyes were tightly shut, as if he was restraining himself, unwilling to surrender to the pleasure.
“Let go, Floyd…” – André panted, smashing his ravaged ass on the slave’s hips, faster and faster – “Give me this last humiliation, fill me with your Negro seed! Do it! Do it!!”
With a choked growl, Floyd pulled hard on the restraints and his whole body stiffened. His cock throbbed hard inside André and erupted like a volcano, flooding André’s depths with gallons of warm juice, while André felt his head spin. His ass had been violated and bred by a Negro cock: nothing could’ve been more debasing and humiliating… and yet he felt exhilarated, he felt good, finally in peace with himself. At last, he’d made amend for the cruelty he subjected Floyd to.
Panting for the exertion, André climbed off the restrained slave and looked at the long shrinking cock flopping out of his loosened ass. But there was something weird: Floyd’s abs and groin were smudged with sperm, clearly visible on the black skin. It couldn’t be possibly Floyd’s…
André looked down at his own cock, that was still erect and dripping, and for a moment he refused to understand, but the shameful truth was under his eyes: despite the pain and the humiliation, he clearly had an orgasm while riding Floyd’s massive black cock.
«A faggot, that’s what I am…» – André painfully thought, disgusted by himself, looking away not to let Floyd see the stinging shame in his eyes. At least, Floyd was no different than him, André reckoned, judging from the copious sperm seeping out from his loosened ass hole. But… was it really so?
André looked at Floyd’s face, still darkened by a deep frown. Was it a tear, that sparkle in the corner of his eye? Was that really the expression of a man who enjoyed what he’d just done?
« I did it, not him. He couldn’t possibly do anything, restrained as he is…» – André thought, suddenly assailed by the doubts. He dearly wanted to give something to Floyd: did he end up taking again something from him, against his will?
Quickly, André untied the slave, who massaged his wrists with a smirk of pain. “Go to bed, it’s late” – André said in a sharp tone, but Floyd didn’t move. He spread again his legs and raised his hands, holding on the ropes hanging from the ceiling.
“Whip me” – Floyd said, seriously.
“Why on earth should I?” – André replied, shocked – “I’m not going to do anything like that, I told you.”
“You must. Mr. ov’sir Jenkins outside: he evil man, he want hear me scream. No whip, he guess what you do to me. You must. Five lashes.”
André was aghast. Floyd was right, if ever he came out from the barn without any trace of lashing, sure enough Jenkins would’ve thought that he… that he and Floyd…
André looked up at Floyd, at his body covered with sweat, exhausted for the sexual intercourse, and felt sick. After an orgasm a man is more sensitive, all over his body, and whipping Floyd in that moment, just after the pleasure he felt…
“Don’t make me do it…” – André whined, but Floyd replied sternly: “You must. Five lashes.”
André reluctantly took the whip, raised it in the air and gave a weak lash to Floyd; the leather cord caressed the man’s skin rather than bite it. “Harder!” – Floyd hissed – “You lash, me scream.”
The whip hit again Floyd’s back, this time leaving a visible trace, but without drawing any blood: André knew how to use a whip and carefully calibrated the blow. Floyd screamed loud, louder than any slave would do after such a weak lash, and André knew he was exaggerating for Jenkin’s benefit. Four more lashes, four more harrowing howls of pain, and it was over. André dropped the whip to the floor and shot a contrite glance at Floyd: “I’m sorry. I just can’t do anything right with you. Now go. No, wait! Let me at least do this…”
André picked up from the floor the strip of fabric that was Floyd’s undergarment and carefully tied it around his hips, with respect. Floyd didn’t object, and let his master service him keeping a confident stance, as if he was used to be serviced like that.
When done, André stood up and looked with suspicion into Floyd’s eyes, who kept his gaze. “Who are you?” – André asked pensively. “Me, Floyd Flaussac, me slave” – the man replied, but his tone didn’t show any trace of submission. Then, he silently turned around and went away.
~ Guilt, shame and desire ~
A month went by, a month during which André carefully steered away from Floyd. When, early in the morning, he heard the Negros moving to the fields for their work shift, he didn’t look out of the window like before, and avoided any chance of staying close to the black slave that still haunted his mind and his loins.
Slowly André recovered from the pain radiating from his torn ass, but the fire that enflamed his nights couldn’t be put off just as easily. At night, every little detail of Floyd’s manly body came to his mind, and his restless dreams were populated by the dirtiest and most immoral sexual acts a man can indulge in. He tried to soothe his struggles in his wife’s bed, at first, but it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t what his body and soul longed for. Not anymore.
André had only himself to find relief, and when he woke up in the middle of the night, consumed with the desire, his hands took tender care of his body, caressing a torso that wasn’t Floyd’s, stroking a cock that wasn’t Floyd’s and igniting a fountain of male seed that wasn’t Floyd’s.
In the morning André felt angry with himself, for being so weak, for being such a faggot, drooling for a man like a cheap whore, but the next night the shameful passion flared again, unstoppable and unrestrainable.
In the middle of a moonless night, André climbed off his bed, put on his trousers and walked out of the house, almost in a trance. He crossed a dirt clearing and silently opened the door to one of the slaves’ barracks. Inside, in the almost complete darkness, lied about twelve slaves, soundly sleeping on their dirty pallets. The air smelled of sweat and urine, but André didn’t even notice it: his eyes were rooted on Floyd, resting on his back on a pallet too short for his massive frame.
André moved closer, careful not to make any noise, and stood next to the sleeping slave, admiring his muscular chest, his big nipples, his handsome face and the big bulge filling his poor undergarment. The white master threw away any caution and knelt at the bedside; he slid one hand into the slave’s undergarment and took a good handful of the marvelous black beast sleeping into its lair. He was not afraid to wake Floyd up, he wanted him to be fully awake and enjoy every moment of it.
“M’ssié!!” – the slave whispered, shocked to see his master there, in the slaves’ barrack, with an imperious hand into his underwear. Floyd darted his eyes around, worried that one of his fellow slaves could wake up and see them doing… that. “M’ssié, no… Men can see! M’ssié!!”
André couldn’t think straight, consumed as he was from the desire burning inside him. He wanted, he needed to service that beautiful black body, make it tremble with pleasure and explode like a geyser, come what may. He pressed a strong hand on the slave’s mouth, muffling his worried whispers, and with the other hand tore away the man’s undergarment, setting the big black cock free.
Not an inch of Floyd’s body was spared from the lustful kisses of André’s lips, the lascivious licks of his wet tongue, the manly caresses of his calloused hand over the now rock-hard cock. Floyd squirmed and trembled, touched in that intimate way like never before, in places that sent shivers of guilty pleasure through his spine.
André pressed his hand harder on Floyd’s mouth and took the black beast into his mouth, pressing his head down, desperately trying to take it all, but it was an impossible task, it was too thick, too long. But he didn’t give up, and went on shoving his head down on the stiff rod over and over, each time making the fat glans crash against the back of his throat, trying to break it open.
The total silence was only broken by the snoring of the sleeping slaves, and André furiously bobbed his head on the black meat, lost in the delirious desire to give it all to Floyd, to give him a pleasure that he could not regret. He took a deep breath and pushed hard one last time, feeling his throat finally give way to the huge intruder. Crossing that last boundary sent a jolt to André’s groin, and his trapped cock exploded in a torrent of sperm that drenched his underwear and his trousers. The pleasure was so intense and unexpected that André would’ve have screamed, if his throat wasn’t stuffed beyond limit by Floyd’s throbbing manhood.
He recoiled, feeling short of air, and went on pumping hard on the sensitive meat, letting it slide over and over through his sore throat muscles; but he didn’t care for his own discomfort: judging from the trembles of Floyd’s body, the slave was about to fall into the abyss, and André wanted to give him all he had to give. A couple more thrusts, and Floyd stiffened, his mouth still kept firmly shut by the master’s hand; André opened wide his eyes, feeling the thick black meat throb hard into his mouth, like a living creature; and then he felt the thick, savory cream flooding his mouth and sucked hard, trying to gulp down all the man juice flowing out of the wondrous cock.
The complete silence of their act contrasted so dramatically with the intense, overwhelming sensations they both were feeling, and their hearts thumped so hard that their heads felt dizzy.
Slowly, André came to his senses, felt Floyd’s cock shrinking between his pursed lips and let it go. The sight of the now semi-flaccid member resting on the slave’s ripped abdomen was so hot that André had to force himself not to take it again into his mouth. Instead, he placed a tender kiss on the spent glans, paying homage to that wonderful piece of manhood, and finally took his hand away from Floyd’s mouth.
The slave propped himself on his elbows, breathing heavily, and looked intensely at André, who felt uneasy. Was there a hint of reproach into his gaze? Was Floyd silently accusing him of violating his body and abusing his virility once again? The darkness was to thick to really see the slave’s expression, and André stood silent, hoping to hear a word of appreciation, or at least of acceptance, from him, but the slave’s lips were sealed.
At long last, Floyd took a deep breath and whispered: “Never here. Slaves can see. Barn better.” And then, in the darkness, André seemed to spot a slight movement in Floyd’s head, as if he was silently dismissing him. Confused and guilty as he felt, André lowered his gaze, rose on his feet and went away, sneaking between the sleeping slaves like a cat in the night.
~ Nine-and-thirty ~
The next morning, Floyd was surprised to see André waiting for him out of the slaves’ barrack. “A man should speak the language more fluently, and should be able to read and write” – André said, concise as usual – “I told the overseer to send you back home one hour earlier, every day, and I gave instructions to the house servants to let you enter the house. Look for Mama Ru, the cook: she can teach you. And… she will pass you something good to eat, too.”
Floyd was conflicted, he didn’t want to be special, he didn’t want to be treated differently, but he couldn’t pass the chance: he had no hope to go back to his homeland, that country was now his home, and learning to speak a good English, and to read and write, was more than he could hope for, given his situation.
Besides, Floyd didn’t miss what André had just said: “A ‘man’, M’ssié? Me slave.”
“A man, that’s what I said! Why do you have to make everything so difficult for me, Floyd?”
The slave felt guilty and respectfully lowered his gaze: “Thank M’ssié. You kind. Me learn, no disappoint.”
André stifled a smile of affection. “Now go, Mr. Jenkins is waiting for you.”
Floyd proved to be an exceptional learner; day by day, his English greatly improved, and when André peeked in the kitchen, he could always see Floyd concentrated in reading aloud what Mama Ru told him, and asking questions to better understand what he was reading. Moreover, André noticed that some of the other slaves had started speaking English more fluently, clear sign that Floyd was passing down to some of his fellow slaves what he learned during the day. André had realized long before that most of the slaves regarded Floyd as a guide, a leader and a protector, and he could now understand why.
Over time, André had come to terms with his irrepressible attraction to Floyd. He still felt dirty and lewd, imbued as he was in the strongly homophobic culture of the antebellum Deep South, but no matter how hard he tried to stay away from Floyd, when he couldn’t restrain himself anymore he sneaked in the middle of the night to the slaves’ barrack and brought Floyd to the barn to soothe, for a short while, the fire burning inside him.
But despite the explosive orgasm he granted to Floyd, André always had the doubt that he was molesting him, abusing his power, rather then pleasure him. Floyd, for his part, did nothing to dispel André’s doubts, never revealing what he felt deep inside.
Often, when they entered the barn, Floyd assumed the punishment position, grabbing the ropes hanging from the ceiling and spreading his legs, offering himself to his master in the most vulnerable and submissive position; in most cases, André caressed Floyd’s body, sucked his cock or stroked it to orgasm, masturbating himself while doing it. In few cases, Floyd fucked André or sucked him off, but never on his own initiative: he always waited for the master’s request. André, for his part, never tried to fuck, or even touch, Floyd’s ass, not once.
Every now and then André, in the quiet moment of the sexual afterglow, asked to Floyd: “What’s your name?”, hoping to hear again that beautiful African name that Floyd bore when he was a free man; if only once Floyd would repeat his real name, André would’ve known that their sexual intercourses were consensual, pleasurable acts between two free men. But the proud black man always replied, now in a better English: “I am Floyd Flaussac, your slave.”
Only once André took courage and asked openly: “Do you hate me for what I do to you, Floyd?”
There was a tense silence in the barn, and then Floyd replied in a low voice: “No.”
“So, you… you like what we do together, right? Tell me you like it, tell me you want it as much as I do…”
A deep frown darkened Floyd’s handsome face when he repeated, for the umpteenth time: “I’m your slave.”
André felt a grip on his heart, and silently stood up, got dressed and exited the barn. While crossing the small dirt clearing leading to the mansion, he didn’t notice his wife spying on him from a window on the upper floor. «That filthy Negro!» – she thought angrily, while her usually gruff expression became even sharper.
Truth was that in the last months André had given up altogether to pretend to have any sexual desire for his wife, and had stopped to pay her nightly visits. After all, it wasn’t a love marriage, never been; André’s wife was a cold woman, authoritarian and always unhappy, and often she blew off the steam mistreating the female house servants and having the overseer lash them, enjoying the sight of the Negro women squirming and screaming under the whip.
Still at the window, she saw the door of the barn open again and Floyd cautiously coming out, and an evil smirk appeared on her face.
The next morning, at dawn, André was woken up by screams of pain coming from the barn and jumped off the bed; he looked down and, much to his horror, saw Mr. Jenkins coming out of the barn, followed by two Negroes supporting Floyd to help him walk. He looked barely conscious.
“What the hell is going on here??” – he angrily asked to Jenkins coming out of the mansion. Jenkins flashed an evil smirk and replied: “Nothing you should worry about, Monsieur. That Negro has been punished as he deserved. The nine-and-thirty, as per Madame’s order.”
“The nine-and-thirty??” – André shouted, horrified – “It’s been decades since we last administered it! How you dared to do that to Floyd!!”
Jenkins’ expression become harder and he spat to the ground: “I don’t discuss your wife’s order, Monsieur. I don’t know what the Negro has done, but it’s none of my business. I only know that giving thirty-nine lashes made my arm sore. Now let me make sure that in an hour that Negro is on the field, a few lashes are not a good excuse to avoid his dues.”
“No!” – André replied, barely restraining his anger – “Floyd can’t go to work today!”
“Oh, I see…” – Jenkins said with a mocking tone – “Monsieur has a soft spot for a certain Negro…”
André felt lost: had Jenkins found out or guessed what went on in the barn at night? Despite the inner turmoil, he kept a firm tone: “Watch your mouth, Jenkins! I… I’m going to Metairie to attend some business and I need protection. Floyd is the biggest and strongest Negro of the plantation, that’s all. For the next three or four days you’ll do without him.”
Fuming with rage, André went back to the mansion and stormed into his wife’s room. She welcomed him with an evil grin, but the grin quickly died on her face when André said coldly: “I’m more than sure that your family in France is eager to see you again. You should pay them a visit. And take with you all your clothes, because it will be a very, very long visit. I’m going to our town house in Metairie for a few days, and when I come back I don’t want to find you here.”
“You… You can’t be serious!” – the woman replied, pale in the face – “That Negro… he assaulted me! He tried to sneak into my bed at night!”
“You should choose better your lies” – André replied – “No man, whatever color is his skin, would willingly sneak into your bed. You heard me, start packing your bags. Farewell forever, and bring my respect to your father.”
André moved down to the kitchen and addressed the cook: “Mama Ru, go to the barrack, Floyd needs your healing touch. Bring the ointment with you, not the one you use for the slaves, take the one from my bathroom. Then get ready, you and Floyd are coming with me to Metairie, and we’ll stay there until Floyd recovers.”
~ The greatest gift ~
It took almost a week for Floyd to recover. Mama Ru healed his wounds with loving and capable hands, while attending the house; André spent the first days sitting on an armchair, in Floyd’s room, in deep concentration. So many thoughts crossed his mind! Then, one day, he was suddenly all business, wrote some long papers and went out, to visit his lawyer.
On the sixth day, in the morning, André entered Floyd room and found him in a fairly good shape: “Do you feel to make a buggy ride? I want to go to a place with you.”
Floyd quickly got off the bed and got dressed; André felt his guts wrench looking at the slave’s beautiful dark skin covered with bruises and scars. His pain didn’t go unnoticed to Floyd, who flashed a grateful smile: “They will eventually go away, M’ssié. Most of them.”
They took a long ride on André’s buggy, out of town and across the verdant country, until André stopped near a placid secluded lake. There was no one around, they were perfectly alone.
“What are we doing here, M’ssié?” – Floyd asked, and André smiled, sitting on the grass and pulling Floyd next to him: “Nothing, just taking some leisure time alone, the two of us, away from the plantation, away from my wife…”
“…And away from Mr. Jenkins” – Floyd added, cautiously.
“That’s one thing that will soon change” – André stated resolutely, but soon he frowned: “Many things are going to deeply change, I’m afraid. I’m not blind like most of the other plantation owners: in few years the entire slave society will be swept away, and us with it. You are the living proof of how unhuman and wrong this system is. My doom is sealed, Floyd, I won’t be able to run the plantation without slaves. I will lose everything. But not now, it will take some years. And yet, I’m about to lose right now what I cherish most…”
André took a folded paper from his jacket and handed it to Floyd, who looked at his master puzzled: “What’s this, M’ssié?”
“You can read now, but I’ll make it short: this paper states that at the end of the season, after harvesting the sugar cane, you will be a free man. No one better than you can understand what it costs me letting you go, but keeping you enslaved is like keeping a firefly in a jar: it slowly withers and dies. I can’t let this happen: you are a free man, Floyd.”
“And this is written in this paper?”
“Written, signed and countersigned by my lawyer.”
“But you’re the master. Before the end of the season you could change your mind and write another paper, or just rip this one to pieces…”
André got pale: “Do… Do you really think this of me? I would never do that. Tell me you believe me!”
Floyd didn’t confirm nor denied. He stood silent for a while and then said: “It’s a very generous gift. I… I don’t know what to say, M’ssié. I can only heartily thank you. I wish I could give you something in return, but you know… I own nothing. I’m a slave.”
“You’re not anymore. And I don’t ask anything in return, nothing. I only wish, now that you’re a free man… I wish you could give me, out of free will, what I once tore away from you with blind brutality. But I understand that it will never happen. You’re not like me, you don’t feel what I feel…”
Floyd didn’t say anything. His frowned expression clearly revealed that what André was asking went against Floyd’s nature. But then, Floyd inhaled deeply, as if he had fought and won an inner battle, and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the masculine, powerful chest that André admired so much.
“You don’t have to do it, Floyd. You’re a free man, now.”
Floyd didn’t stop, and unlaced his trousers, to then pull them away. He slowly removed his undergarment and lay on the grass on his back, completely naked, under André’s shining eyes. He raised his legs and hooked his hands behind his knees, offering to André his most guarded portal, the portal that André once broke open with sheer violence. His flaccid member rested on his perfect abs, and though totally limp, it was a beauty, and icon of masculinity.
André’s heart was beating so fast that he was hyperventilating. With hurried hands, André opened the front of his trousers and took out his member, as stiff as a rock. He moved closer to Floyd, but he stopped him: “M’ssié, please… You too, take off your clothes. Don’t take me like a whore, take me like a man takes another man.”
André felt sorry, because the last thing he wanted was to humiliate Floyd, and quickly got rid of his clothes. He knelt between Floyd’s splayed thighs and started kissing them, sensually, brushing the dark skin with his lips, slowly moving down to his crotch. He took Floyd’s dick in his hand and was happy to see it twitching and getting stiffer.
With tender care, he worked the entire shaft with his tongue, pulling down the long foreskin and revealing the dark pink knob, that swelled proud in the sunlight. He parted his lips and welcomed the velvety member into his mouth, savoring again, for the last unforgettable time, the taste of that wonderful exotic man coming from the other side of the world.
Floyd uttered a soft moan of pleasure, and André realized with joy that it was the first time that Floyd did that: he usually stood perfectly silent, muffling even the irrepressible sounds of the climax. But not that time: now he was moaning, enjoying the warm tongue dancing on the most sensitive part of his body. This fueled Andre’s passion, who started bobbing his head in earnest on the stiff pole, going deeper at each thrust.
This time André didn’t have to almost choke on the huge member, he’d learned how to relax his throat and let the long snake slide in, and when the tight throat muscles brushed against the engorged glans, Floyd moaned louder and his hips tilted forward, to push his cock even deeper into the tight passage.
André realized that Floyd was dangerously close to his climax and recoiled; he spat twice on his hand and wetted his own cock, that had not lost a fraction of its stiffness. “Is your offer still valid?” – André asked, brushing his wet fingertips on Floyd’s wrinkled anus, and the man silently nodded, almost holding his breath. After that first, painful time, Floyd’s ass had never been violated again, and he was afraid to feel again the unbearable pain he felt back then.
“I… I can’t say I’m an expert in doing this” – André confessed shyly – “but trust me, I’d never hurt you.
Floyd nodded again, and André pressed his cock head on the black clenched hole. “Show me your trust, Floyd. If you want me inside you, open yourself to me and let me in. You can do it, relax, breathe. This time I’m not going to force you, not for the life of me.”
The tight hole twitched and then slowly relaxed, cautiously opening up to welcome the tender intruder. Floyd gasped in alarm when the fat knob plopped inside him, but soon he hastened to say: “Don’t stop, M’ssié, it doesn’t hurt, I’m just… nervous.”
“This may help” – André said with a rascal smile, and took Floyd’s big cock into his hand; he started stroking it very sensually, concentrating on the sensitive head, and enjoyed the sight of Floyd reclining his head and closing his eyes, won by the pleasure radiating from his groin. The inexperienced hole relaxed some more, and André took the chance to slowly push his entire member into Floyd’s warm cavities.
Compared to Floyd’s black beast, André’s manhood looked like a tiny prick, but still his endowment was definitely something an inexperienced ass couldn’t take in stride. Floyd felt stuffed and filled to the limit of physical pain, and his handsome face at first contorted in a smirk of discomfort; but when André, ever so gently, started easing his member back and forth into the tight passage, Floyd opened wide his eyes, gasping with surprise, finding hard to believe that it could be so sweet, intimate and pleasurable.
“M’ssié… oohhh… M’ssié…” – Floyd murmured with slurred voice, rolling back his eyes for the pleasure, unable to complete the sentence. But André didn’t need any confirmation: looking at Floyd squirming and moaning under him fueled his passion; always taking great care, André started moving faster, digging deeper into the warm chute, in the desire to explore all of Floyd’s hidden places and give him an unforgettable pleasure.
Because, despite the joy André felt in that moment, he was painfully aware that it was the first and last time he could enjoy such a deep intimacy with Floyd.
At each thrust of André’s hips, Floyd’s stiff cock throbbed and burped out little globs of clear fluid that ran down the long shaft. The black man, by now, was moaning loud, giving voice to his pleasure, welcoming the exquisite invasion with unrestrained passion. André wanted that moment to last forever, but he knew he couldn’t hold back much longer. He paced up his thrusts and was about to take Floyd’s cock in his hand, to stroke it to the climax, but before he could touch it, the black snake stiffened and started shooting plumes after plumes of man cream, while Floyd rolled his head from side to side in delirious.
The sight of that wonderful black man feeling such an overwhelming pleasure ignited André’s groin; with one last wrecking pound, André dug his manhood as deep as he could into Floyd and flooded his insides with all the juice his gonads could provide, in a seemingly endless orgasm.
When the mind-blowing pleasure subsided, André moved to pull out, but Floyd held him with his legs and arms: “M’ssié… Stay… Don’t let it end, M’ssié…”. With a tender smile, André leaned over Floyd and stood there, on top of him and inside him, holding him tight and smelling the warm scent of his skin.
After a while, André rolled on his side and lay on the grass, next to Floyd, looking pensively at the immense sky above.
“Tell me again your name, Floyd. That beautiful African name that you once told me…”
Floyd frowned, as if he was recalling painful memories, but then raised his chin and suddenly he looked fierce, proud, like that first day, before André shattered him in unspeakable ways. “Me, Kabaka ‘Ngoro Kwanza!” – he said with a faraway look in his eyes – “But now I know your language: I am King ‘Ngoro the First”.
André was aghast: “King? You mean… a real king? Ruler of your people?”
“I am. I was. A ‘Kabaka’ is more a guide than a ruler, but it makes no difference now. That life is lost forever. That name doesn’t exist anymore. My people has been dragged away from our land and sold like beasts in slave markets, to face a life worse than the worst nightmare.”
André had already understood how wrong was slavery, but those words were like a sharp knife cutting through his flesh. But at very least, he’d sensed how special Floyd was, even among his own people, and had granted him a less harsh treatment… Right?
“You… You too lived a life worse than a nightmare with me, Floyd? I know I’ve done… horrible things to you, but I tried to be a good master for you. You’re special, you are… so different than the other slaves!”
“I’m not different, M’ssié. I may look different because I come from another part of our huge land, but they are just like me, men dragged away from their land and treated like beasts. They… we own nothing, we have no rights, our life is literally in your hands. I was lucky, in a way, I’m here with you, but my men, back at the plantation, are still forced to work beyond their limits, and get ill and die for the harsh life conditions. Some of them were subjected like me to your cruel ‘buck breaking’, and way too often we all feel the bite of the lash for no reason whatsoever. I tried to help and console my men, teach them, pass them over what Mama Ru gave to me to eat, but they’re too many and I’m just one.”
“Your… men?” – André asked – “Is there someone of your people at the plantation?”
“I make no difference, they all look at me as a guide, as an older brother, and I try and help them all. But yes, there are two men of my people at the plantation, the slaves you bought with me, whom I tried to defend from Mr. Jenkins’ terrible lash, and he accused me of assaulting him. I never touched him, but he didn’t care, he wanted you to break me… and you did.”
“I… I will never forgive myself for what I did to you” – André said with wet eyes, looking away to hide his shame. Floyd noticed it and his voice become a soothing caress to André’s ears: “You should, M’ssié, because I did. The day you hurt yourself, forcing my manhood into you in such a brutal way. I didn’t want you to do it, your pain was my pain, but that day you showed me that a good heart beat inside you, despite the horrible things your culture taught you. You are different now, you’re not anymore the man I first met. And I’m sure you will be more merciful with my brothers, when I’m gone.”
André nodded, feeling a lump in his throat. After a long pause, he asked: “Say, Floyd… In your homeland, in your culture, is a relationship between men… acceptable?”
“It’s against Mother Nature’s design, M’ssié! Two men can’t… they just can’t… do that” – Floyd replied almost shocked, but then his tone softened – “And yet, it may happen that a man… feels an unnatural attraction for another man. When this happen, the man is doomed to live his life without ever finding his peace, because these are illicit desires that must be fought and nipped. Never, never they should lead a man to act… against nature, or the man would be… lost.”
André, hearing Floyd’s words, felt his heart beat faster. Maybe the sorrow and the tension he always spotted on Floyd’s face, when they had sex, didn’t mean that he felt violated and forced to do something he felt disgusting; could it be that André, in those years, had forced Floyd to do something that deep inside he desired? Or rather Floyd, as a slave, had no option but accept those hideous sexual acts only because he was ordered to? But then… did it really make any difference?
André felt sick, vile. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself, he couldn’t deny that Floyd, in those years, never showed any enthusiasm or passion in what they were doing, whatever his reasons were. The moans of pleasure that resonated on the lake shore moments before were the first Floyd had ever uttered: they couldn’t dispel the memory of the deep frowns, the wet eyes and the smirks of discomfort that way too often André spotted on Floyd’s face. After all, male slaves had no contact with the few female servants living in the house; and a man’s body, loaded with repressed sexual tension, always responds to a sensual touch, no matter how disgusting that touch is for the man…
André took a deep, ragged breath and said in a low voice: “Floyd, I’m sorry for the suffering I caused to you. But fear not, your pain is over, as you’re a free man now, you will soon go away, to a new life, without me forcing you into something that disgusts you so much.”
Floyd fumbled shyly with his undergarment and lowered his gaze to the ground, with an embarrassed half-grin on his mouth: “There’s still a month, M’ssié” – he said under his breath – “I’m… I’m still your slave.”
They exchanged a glance full of unspoken sorrow, desire and fear, and then silently stood up, got dressed and went back home.
~ Epilogue ~
Ten years had gone by since Floyd’s departure. What happened in those years proved to be worse than André’s worst predictions. It took a Civil War to get rid of the slave system, and the country’s economy crumbled down to its foundations. The abolition of slavery, in the end, didn’t make black people’s life much better, as most of them lived in poverty and were often arrested, charged with vagrancy and sent to forced labor. A different name for slavery, but still slavery.
When Floyd entered the large gate of the Flaussac plantation was surprised to see it still active, unlike most of the other plantations, that had been abandoned. The sugar cane had been replaced by cotton, and there were many black workers still working in the fields. In the distance, he saw the elegant mansion, still as beautiful as he remembered it, and hurried ahead, holding tight the hand of the child walking next to him.
He climbed to the main door, that was open, and hesitated: when he was a slave, he wasn’t allowed to enter the house; he’d been a free man for ten years but, silly as it was, he still felt uncomfortable entering the big mansion.
“M’ssié?”, he called, cautiously, and was surprised to see André coming out of the kitchen, rather than down the stairs to the noble floor. “Floyd!! I can’t believe it!!” – André exclaimed joyfully, and ran to give a big hug to the tall black man. “And you’re not alone!” – he added turning to the child – “Who is this little man you bring with you?”
“My son, M’ssié. He’s eight years old now, his name is Adane. Adane Flaussac. I’m sorry, I had to give him the family name written on the paper you gave me, but if you…”
“It’s perfectly fine, I’m happy with that. Hey, kid! Would you like to meet other children like you? If your father agrees, go to the workers’ quarters, across the clearing, and they will take good care of you!”
Floyd nodded his consent and the boy scampered away.
“So, you have a child…” – André said walking Floyd to the living room and sitting with him on two armchairs – “What about his mother?”
Floyd frowned and replied: “She died giving birth to Adane. But it’s been long ago. What about you? Do you live alone in this huge mansion?”
“My wife, thank God, never came back from France. And I never felt the desire to have any other… close relationship with anyone. Geez, I must look like a desperate lonely man” – he chuckled – “because every now and then one of the women come to me and… well… offers me company; and once, now don’t laugh, I even found one of the male workers, naked, in my bed! But really, I never felt the need to do anything with them. It feels wrong, in a way, and no one can understand me better than you…”
Floyd flashed a shy grin and changed subject: “I’m surprised to see the plantation still active. I traveled the South, in the last years, and most of the plantations are abandoned or destroyed…”
“Well, I have to thank you for this, Floyd. What you told me at the lake, about me treating the slaves like beasts, hit me deeply. I knew that slavery was about to be abolished, though I didn’t foresee the War; so, after you went away, I called all the slaves and told them that I was going to sell the crops to the market, and whatever amount of money I got from the sale, I would’ve shared with them. I fired Jenkins and asked to some black workers to be plantation managers: they would’ve managed the money, the work shifts, the stages of cultivation. It was their idea to plant cotton, instead of sugar cane, and now, after the War, I can say it was a smart idea, as the price of the cotton rocketed. I asked for me only a fraction of the money, but not for my own pleasure: just to keep this house well maintained. I was prepared to even cook for myself and clean the house, but the women were adamant: according to them, these are ‘a woman’s duty’, would you believe it.”
“But you didn’t free the slaves…” – Floyd commented, and André smiled faintly: “Not for the reason you’re thinking about. I kept them as slaves as long as I could, only to let them test my new system of running the plantation. If I had freed them immediately, most of them would’ve run away, wasting the chance of their lives. But when slavery was abolished in this State and all the slaves were declared free men, most of them decided to stay. Actually, many former slaves from other plantations came here to join us. We’re always short of capable hands, here. Speaking of which, what about you? You don’t look… please take no offence… to be swimming in money. I guess it’s not easy for a black man, even a capable and educated men like you, rebuild his life.”
“I had a hard time, you guessed right. I’m still having a hard time, and with a child to nurture everything is twice as difficult. But I didn’t come here to ask for anything, M’ssié. I came here… don’t know… to…”
“You’re here, Floyd, that’s all that matters. And I really wish you’ll stay. There are so many rooms in this house, you could live here with your kid and…”
“No!” – Floyd said resolutely, and soon softened his tone – “I mean, you’re very kind, M’ssié, but I told you, I’m not different than the other slaves…”
“Workers” – André corrected.
“Workers. I prefer to live in the barracks…”
“The workers’ quarters” – André corrected again – “You’ll be surprised how comfortable they made them. Men can now get married and live with their family: Adane will be well guarded while you are away. You could be the supervisor…”
“I will work in the fields” – Floyd said sharply, uneasy – “I’m still strong and able to do my share of work.”
“Floyd… Floyd look at me” – André said with sympathy – “It’s me you’re talking with. There’s no reason to feel embarrassed for anything. You can do whatever job makes you feel good, and live where you prefer, I won’t object. But stay here, that’s all I ask. And take for granted that I… I will never… come visit you, day or night, in case this is one of your concerns.”
“Thank you, M’ssié. You’re very kind. I almost forgot how is getting a helping hand when in trouble. It’s hard out there, M’ssié, and with the War and all, life has become even harder. My Adane deserves something better than living like this.”
André found himself peeking into Floyd’s shirt, that had opened and was giving a tempting glimpse of the black man’s still powerful pecs; he quickly averted his gaze and said: “I’m happy you’re back. Now go to the workers’ quarters, look for Tim and Jim, you know them, they’re the two men who came here with you, they are both managers of the plantation. They will assign you an accommodation, for you and Adane.”
Slowly, the sun set below the horizon and the night fell over the Flaussac plantation. The women who had cooked André’s dinner cleaned up the kitchen and went away, and André started undressing, to go to bed. He heard a soft knock on the door and a black boy cautiously peeked in: “Sorry to disturb you, Monsieur, but I’ve been asked to tell you to go to the barn.”
“The barn? Who asked you that?” – André inquired, but the boy had already scampered away. He got dressed and went downstairs, wondering what was there to see, in the barn, a place abandoned for almost a decade because of the countless painful memories it held within its walls.
André cautiously entered the old barn and closed the door behind him. In the darkness, he saw the indistinct shape of a tall, muscular black man with his arms and legs spread wide apart, in what used to be the punishment position, and his heartbeat paced up. He didn’t need to see his face: André instantly recognized Floyd by his massive frame and by his wondrous member that, unlike the other times, was now standing at attention, rigid and proud, throbbing in anticipation.
“Me Floyd Flaussac” – said the man in a whisper – “Me slave.”
“Slavery has been abolished years ago” – Andrè said, getting closer – “You are a free man. A wonderful, beautiful free man. And you don’t have to do this for me, Floyd.”
André dove his eyes into Floyd’s green emeralds and spotted a desire, a fire that he’d never seen before. “Please, M’ssié. Let me be again your slave. Please.”
Everything was clear for André, at long last. Floyd himself told him, at the lake, that his culture was even stricter about homosexuality than in the Deep South; but a slave can’t oppose to the master’s will, can he?
With his heart thumping like a drum, André extended a hand and touched lightly with his finger Floyd’s nipple, and the man responded with a choked gasp, arching his back, begging for more. Andre’s hands explored the beautiful dark-skinned body, the body that ever so often had populated his dreams in the last ten years. His fingers gently pinched the nipples, contoured the creases of the firm abs, played with the pubes and sneaked down to the plump balls. “Nnngghh… M’ssié… Please…” – Floyd moaned, his cock bobbing up and down, as if it was animated by a life of his own.
André knelt in front of the bound man and took possession of the throbbing member with both hands, sensually massaging it with slow strokes, staring with rapt eyes at the velvety glans coming out of the foreskin and then hide again into its tender nest.
All of the sudden, Floyd stiffened and uttered a choked grunt, and a powerful shot of viscous cream hit André on his face, and then another, and another, while Floyd bit his lips to keep his cries of passion restrained. When the massive ejaculation ceased, André stopped his hands and looked up at Floyd, sorry that their moment of intimacy had ended so early. But Floyd urged him with a fire in his eyes: “Don’t stop, M’ssié, I’m yours, my body is yours, don’t stop…!”
The slow massage resumed, and Floyd hissed between his clenched teeth, bearing with valiancy the temporary oversensitivity of his member, but clearly enjoying, at least in part, the breathtaking sensation. André remembered with a pang of pain the first time they met in the barn, when he viciously tortured Floyd when he was most sensitive, and instinctively stopped stroking the massive cock; instead, he started licking the long shaft with tenderness, down to the base, and then opened wide his lips and took the ragged balls in his mouth, rolling the plump gonads over his tongue and bathing them with saliva. His hands moved to the back and took possession of Floyd’s firm buns, diving his fingertips in the warm flesh.
“Take me, M’ssié…” – Floyd murmured with a pleading tone – “Take me like you did at the lake…”
André didn’t need to be told twice, as he already felt on fire; with few rushed movements he tore away his own clothes and then pressed his naked body on Floyd’s back, while his hands roamed on the massive torso, squeezed the nipples and stroked the throbbing cock.
“Do you really want it?” – André asked, and Floyd almost screamed: “I’m your slave, M’ssié! Please… Oh, please…!”
André settled with that sibylline answer; apparently, Floyd was not prepared to betray his own beliefs, his own culture, and willingly offer his ass to a man, but his deep desires were plain as day. He wetted his stiff cock with some spit, and once again knocked at Floyd’s back door. This time he didn’t have to wait: he clearly felt the tight ring open up for him, and he thrusted his hips forward, sinking his manhood into Floyd’s warm depths.
Slowly at first, and then at a faster pace, André made love to Floyd’s sweet ass, rejoicing at the passionate moans of pleasure that the black stud couldn’t restrain. André took his time, he slowed down and paced up, bringing himself and Floyd to peaks of pleasure that neither of them had ever experienced. While pounding on the firm ass, André caressed Floyd’s torso from behind, squeezed his nipples, fondled his balls and stroked his cock, careful not to push him too far.
Floyd was delirious and André, too, was about to shoot, so he stopped and pulled out; his moved around the bound man and stood in front of him, admiring for a moment his black heaving body, spread in such a vulnerable position and glistening with sweat. He pressed his whole body over Floyd’s and held him tight, and then started brushing his own cock over Floyd’s, over and over, making their groin shift over each other, with the two stiff members trapped in between.
Their eyes met, and it was clear to both of them that the moment had come: they breathed hard, stiffened and exploded at the same time, showering their abs and groins with gallons of mixed man juice. André’s hips went on moving sensually until both of them had completely drained their balls.
André dove again his eyes into Floyd’s green emeralds and his lips trembled, unable to let those sweet words, ‘I love you’, escape them. But he couldn’t stop his mouth to lock on Floyd’s, in a passionate, churning kiss, the very first they’d ever exchanged, the very first they both had given to another man.
With their head spinning, oblivious of the rest of the world, the two men went on kissing with desperate passion, sharing an intimacy they’d never experienced before. Floyd let go of the ropes he’d been grabbing during their love-making and flung his arms around André, holding him in a powerful, almost possessive hug.
At long last, their lips parted, and they stood there, breathless, clinging to each other in the middle of the old barn. Floyd had his eyes wet, and after a long silence he said, with broken voice: “This is too sweet, too perfect not to be part of Mother Nature’s design…”
“Yes, this can’t possibly be wrong” – André echoed – “Too bad that the other people don’t understand, but I don’t care. All I know is that I never felt good like I feel with you.”
“I think I will stay for a while, if you let me, André…” – Floyd said, calling for the first time his friend, his lover, by name.
André smiled wide: “I’d be glad if you could stay for life, ‘Ngoro.”
-~~~≈≈≈ooOoo≈≈≈~~~-
[1] Some may recognize the name, ‘Floyd Flaussac’: you’re right, he’s the great-great-grandfather of Floyd Flaussac LaCour, the butler at Maison de la Motte. The butler LaCour is proud to bear the name of his ancestor as much as he’s proud of his black heritage, being a ‘quarteron’, a quadroon, as he has one quarter of black blood in his veins.
The slave Floyd Flaussac had a son, Adane, who married a white girl; they had a mulatto daughter, who in turn married Joseph LaCour, a poor white man of French descent. LaCour and his mulatto wife gave birth to a quarteron son, who was named after his ancestor. Please note that ‘Flaussac’ was the family name of the slave (being enslaved to the Flaussac plantation), but it then became a middle name for the young Floyd Flaussac LaCour.
You can read more about the butler Floyd Flaussac LaCour in “Rowan’s Journey”, Ch. 52, ‘An astounding butler’; and also in “The Cove”, especially in Ch. 10-11 and Ch. 40.