One minute eighteen-year-old milk-chocolate mulatto slave, Angel, was standing on the lower slat of the fence around the horse ring at Reveille Plantation and watching the itinerate white horse trainer, Seth Granger, putting Roman Fire through his paces. In the next minute, it seemed, the small-for-his-age, but strikingly handsome young man was bent over bales of straw in the Ashley River, South Carolina, plantation upriver from Charleston, horse barn, and Granger was behind him, hovering over him, on top of him, one hand gripping the young slave's neck to hold his head down, and the other pulling the Angel's arm painfully up to his shoulder blades, and was fucking the slave to beat the band. Angel wasn't struggling against the assault because he'd been raised to expect this.
Angel was a new slave to Reveille, having been sold there cheaply for as handsome a specimen as he was because on his home plantation up the coast from Charleston at King's Hall, owned by Carlton Crosley, Angel was growing to look too much like Carlton Crosley for the comfort of the man's wife. That and Mrs. Crosley's brother, who lived on the King's Hall Plantation, was fucking Angel. This was too much going on in the family--too much fraternization with the slaves and too many blacks looking too much like Crosley's by-blows for it to continue.
Mrs. Crosley laid the law down and her husband cleaned house. So, as comely as the lad was, good for house slave work, he had to be sold south. Crosley had suggested selling him in Charleston to a male brothel, where he would have fetched good money, but the Crosleys lived in Charleston in the social season, and Mrs. Crosley would have none of that either. The young man's features were just too revealing. They were an affront to Mrs. Crosley, always reminding her of the sins of men. Carlton Crosley was an exceptionally handsome man. Angel was an exceptionally handsome young man. Charleston, where Carlton Crosley often went on business, was too close for Mrs. Crosley, if she could have her way.
Of course, Mrs. Crosley couldn't have her way in everything. She couldn't keep her husband from covering their female slaves or her brother from covering their male slaves. But they could see the sense of selling their by-blows away. There was profit both in begetting them and selling them when they'd come of age.
In Angel's case, she'd held off, because he was growing to be so handsome that she was hoping to have him in her bed herself--she held that what her husband could do she could do as well--but Angel had developed to go with men, so he was of little use to her.
The master of Reveille, Leonard Lexington, came into the barn, hearing what was going on there before seeing it, in time to see Seth Granger mounted on the slave's ass and giving him the cock. Lexington hadn't decided what to do with Angel yet--to bring him into the house, to leave him here in the stables, or to send him out to the plantation's rice fields. Seeing the young man writhing under Granger was helping him decide. It raised in him the lust to cover Angel himself.
"Look lively there, Mr. Granger. Are you taking sport while I'm paying you to train Roman Fire to trot?"
"Roman Fire trots just fine, Mr. Lexington," Granger answered, not letting up on Angel because he was at a delicate stage of the fuck and also because he knew how the master of Reveille swung. "I'm just finishing up here with a bit of pleasure."
"Make it pleasure for the both of us, then," Lexington answered. "I like watching best when I can see the muscles work, when the flesh is there to see. You are a fine figure of a man. Strip yourself and the slave completely. Let me watch you breed him full natural like then."
Granger laughed, pulled out Angel's channel, got them both stripped, and resumed the fuck. He put the young man on his back, grabbed his ankles, wishboned his legs, thrust up inside him, and began the dance of the fuck again. Resigned, Angel lay back on the bale of straw, his head and arms dangling off the far side, and endured. Knowing now of his new master's interest and being more interested himself in working in the house than the fields, Angel turned his face and eyes toward his master, showing a submissive demeanor, seeing a sure-fire means to get on the household staff.
Lexington laughed and said, "Lordy, isn't that a joy to behold? Two prime men's bodies going at each other full tilt." He unbuttoned his breeches, pulled out his hardening shaft, and masturbated to the sight of the itinerate horse trainer taking his sport with the recently acquired young slave. Lexington had marked on the good looks of the young man already. Now he was put into heat by seeing Angel fully in the mild-chocolate flesh being used--and willingly so, or at least not resisting it in any meaningful way.
After Granger tensed and released, tensed and released, and pulled away, letting Angel's legs fall to where he was dangling at four points off the bale of straw, open and vulnerable, panting and whimpering, Lexington walked over, moved one hand between the young man's thighs while still working his own shaft with his other hand. He fingered the slave's hole, smiling at hearing the gasp when he penetrated with the fingers, until he was ready to come, upon which he turned his own erection to the young man and released on Angel's belly.
Abraham, Lexington's older slave carriage driver, was standing by, as was his job to do. When Lexington had come and stuffed his shaft back into his breeches and was buttoning up, he turned to Abraham and said, "I've decided this young darkie will do in the house. Clean him up and send him to Betty in the kitchen. Tell her to have Elias train him to serve table."
"Yes, massa," Abraham answered, bowing his head and turning his gaze to the ground, but Lexington had already turned his back on the tableau and was going back to the big house.
That night it was Lexington who was kneeling between the young man's thighs in his fourposter bed at the big house. It was Lexington who was holding the young slave's legs raised and spread, with his hands gripping the young mulatto's ankles. Angel, defeated by the whip laying beside him in the bed, his back and buttocks covered in welts, was arching his back; jutting his pelvis up by demand; panting and moaning, his hands clutching at the headboard overhead to keep himself steady; as he took a cock that was thicker, longer, and more cruel than that of either Seth Granger's or Mrs. Crosley's brother.
But Angel was enjoying a bit of smile for himself. He was in the house, not the fields. Being taken or not was not in the options. He was a small, well-formed young man, more pretty than handsome. He would be taken in the fields as hard as he was taken in the house--just not as comfortably.
* * * *
Angel came into the kitchen house, saying, "Who's come, Betty? There's a fancy carriage out in the--" but then he stopped because it was evident who at least was one of those who were visiting the plantation. The who was there, lounging at the kitchen table, big, jet black, and overpowering in stature and Africanness. There were slaves who had been here for generations, many of whom, like Angel and Betty, the plantation's chief cook, had become more white than black by the breeding habits of their masters. And there were some, like this hulking monster of a man, who seemed to have come straight out of the African wild. This coal-black, magnificently hulking example of manhood bore the patterned stippling on his face of native arts being applied only in Africa. The man turned, took Angel in with a piercing gaze, and gave him a white-toothed smile.
"This here is Black Bill, bringing his man from the city to see Massa Leonard," Betty said. By the look of the food that had been placed in front of the man, Betty was impressed with him and going all out with hospitality. There was no mistress at Reveille Plantation, so Betty, a handsome, substantial, and buxom woman in her forties, who was at least a quarter white herself, had usurped much of that role for herself, encountering no opposition--not even from Leonard Lexington, who cared most about having good food on his table when he wanted it and his house slaves in order. Between them, Betty and Elias, the house manager, kept a tight rein on the house servants.
Betty would have given the big, black visitor more than just food service if he'd shown the interest. When he didn't, she was able to hold her pride because she had every studly buck on slave row at her beck and call. They kept her sassy and pregnant most of the time. It was evident she would be happy to add this big, black bull of a visitor to the list of men who had lain between her thighs and given her the poke and a baby, though.
"What city?" Angel asked, innocently. He'd been brought down from the north and had little idea where he was now.
"Why, Charleston, of course," Betty said.
Then the monster of a man, black as coal but muscular and handsome in self-assured way, spoke, his voice deep and reverberating between the white-washed stone walls of the kitchen building.
"I'se driver for Massa Clive Calvert," he said, with a show of pride. "He done be the owner to the finest gamblin' house and gentlemen's club in Charleston, he do, and he be here to squeeze what Massa Lexington owes him for gamblin' and other pleasure outa your massa. And I do see where Massa Lexington must get a lot of his pleasure right here on his own plantation." The latter remark was added with a leer in Angel's direction. Neither Betty, who hadn't been looking and therefore assumed the remark was for her, nor Angel got the inference then, but Angel certainly did a bit later.
