Loving My Master

Richard Cunning Jr knocked back another glass of champagne to calm himself. He was wise enough to know that all he was succeeding in doing was building the rate of his beating heart and fuelling his excitement. He could see Abigail Hemming glancing in his direction and giggling with her friends. He knew why as well, for when dancing with her, he had compared her creamy white skin to another in his mind. He'd rather let himself get away with his thoughts and when he had brought her in close on the floor, she'd clearly felt the graze of the rigid length in his tight pants.

When he found himself growing hard again he tipped them a wink and strolled out into the Doncaster's gardens.

Growing up in the colonies, he had little true interest in ballroom dances and the pomp and ceremony of public life. He wasn't out of place, for he'd learnt the part well and could dance better than most on his tidy feet. But in truth he'd much rather be in one of the port towns tipping back rum or else with a horse between his legs, from which height, the world was exhilarating.

There was something else he wished between his legs too and just thinking about the dark close knit hair and those round buttocks that jiggled when she walked made him twitch in his white breeches and he tried to shake it off. His lust had been building in him for some time, coming in awkward situations. His tented pants would be the talk of the island before the week was out and he could only mutter a prayer that his father hadn't been about to witness it in person.

Having made up his mind he tossed the empty champagne flute into the bushes and made for the stables.

Richard Cunning used the servants entrance to the house. He used the entrance regularly, not overly bothered on customs or particulars.

He had also hoped that by using the back door, he might bump into the maid Phoebe.

Only the serene black face of George the butler greeted him. On a drunken impulse he improvised and asked the man to send up his mothers maid Ethel, to soak a stain from his shirt, knowing full well the old crone was away with his parents.

'Ethel is away Sir, but if you'd like to give it to me, I'll see that Phoebe takes care of it when she finishes the thorough clean of your parents bedroom.'

'I won't trouble you with it George, I'm going up now, I'll, aha, give it to her personally. You should go to bed, it's getting late.'

'I shall do so immediately Sir.' the butler replied, his heavy lidded eyes blinking slowly. Richard knew too well that the old coot would finish his slow rounds regardless.

The maid had all the furniture out to clean the skirting boards, but stopped when he entered.

As he threaded his way to her she turned to the tall mirror, her breath fogging the glass in quick succession as she watched him prowl towards her. He stood a head taller than her so that he could look down over her curls into the reflection of her eyes. They were a deep brown, black in the lamplight where even his colourless eyes were dark. He put a hand to her neck and slipped the bow of her apron undone and with the other wrapped around her, he tugged the bib from her chest. His fingers made short work of the buttons below, and when she glanced down at his hands, one long digit tipped her chin back up to watch them in the shining glass.

Her breasts were easily cupped in his large hands and when he squeezed her nipples, areole and all, even she was astounded by their darkness against his white flesh.

To keep her shaking hands busy, he moved them to the hem of her dresses from where she knew instinctively to draw them up past her navel and hold them to her stomach. He trailed a hand up the between her thighs, his fingers gliding along the soft brown of her skin until they reached the plump mound between. His hands knew what they were doing without need of help from his eyes, so he concentrated them instead on watching hers watch his fingers part petals of her womanhood and display the shocking pink beneath.

Phoebe had almost grown used to feeling disgust at her body's treacherous ways. But when his fingers reached the most treasonous button her body had, and applied themselves diligently to the task of unmanning her, her shame was little more than a blush in her cheeks as she groaned aloud.

She hated the sound as she hated him, this embodiment of slavery and sin. She'd pledged herself never to let any man touch her, afraid to love, for what is love in the eyes of a slave holder. And furthermore, the fear of becoming with child, a precious life born into bondage like she had been.

But this man, oh this man, he could force her to break every sacred promise she'd ever made. And not just because he owned her body, but also because he was becoming to own her soul.

Tears rose to her eyes and she fell forward across the glass, her lips leaving prints in the moisture her breath had left as she cried out. But it wasn't with anger or fear but desire and lust, so lost was she.

He seemed lost too, for she could feel him shake slightly. From him it wasn't fear or anger either; she could see his eyes alight again, his hands once so controlled became frenzied by lust, his ruling emotion. It was only at that point that his emotions almost quenched hers and it could've been that moment that she attempted to stop him or cry out for help. He stopped her instead though, by an action that surprised her more than any other. He spun her to face him and before she could pull away or even look into his eyes, he leant down and kissed her.

It was so passionate, his mouth grasping her plump lips in his. His hands had stopped groping beneath her dress but instead held her fast, pulling her to him in this fierce embrace as he kissed her with everything he had.

It was the first time they'd kissed, the very first time ever for her and no kiss, anywhere in all the world would have compared. It was enough to settle all thoughts and feelings she possessed for when the kiss broke slowly, her mind was made up.

It was she who took his hands then, the power shifting to her for the first time. She led him to his parents bed, pulling him along, not that he needed to be persuaded.

She turned to face him once more, ceding power back into his hands, which he used to push her down onto the coverlets.

Two buttons held the flap of his trousers up, which she deftly undid, it fell away so that his erection rose like some beast from the mist. It would've been funny, if not for the fact that it was the first time she'd seen one in such a scenario. There was little modesty left to slaves, who lived, dressed, slept, bathed and mated in close confines, but still this was the first time she had seen one up close in a state of rigidness.

It was long enough for her to place two small hands along its length and still have the purple head left sticking forward. That was all she could do, not just because she had little idea how to administer to such a thing, but because he groaned aloud and was suddenly upon her.

His hands were grasping her thick thighs, his mouth mauling playfully at her breasts. It was she who pulled up her skirts and parted her legs, but he who pulled them about his waist. She knew it was a natural occurrence but didn't expect things to go together so well. They were made to fit, but without any help from his hands he was able to glide within her near instantly, the head slipping straight inside.

It hurt but a little before it was in, and once it was, he transferred her legs to his shoulders and pushed himself further inside. From such an angle she was bent near in two, and was sure she could feel his cock halfway to her stomach. It seemed huge, forcing further inside her so that she winced. Even its girth made her feel as if it was pushing in all directions, opening her up and sending shockwaves through her body.

Richard was drunk, and drunk also on the scent and sight of this beauty before him. Entering her for the first time, it was all he could do not to come immediately. He felt her resistance give, but a half-second before he slid fully inside her. The subtle gripping of his shaft as she adjusted to him almost tipped him to the edge and over; for the first time he worried that he might not last long. The past weeks had led to this point, all the frustration and tension building to this moment and now that they were here he feared he would be unable to sustain it.

His concerns washed away upon looking down at her, for he could see how taunt her body was. He fancied he knew enough about women to know that she too wouldn't last long. Apart from the slight wince when he first penetrated her, she appeared to be quite comfortable with him inside her. Without pain, she was left with pleasure. He could see the way her eyelids fluttered when he moved, her lips twitched as if in silent prayer and short, sharp breaths whistled through her pretty lips. Furthermore, he could feel her toes curl and uncurl as he drew himself out and then pushed back in.

Phoebe fell into his rhythm before long, her eyes clutched shut as she tried to adjust to so many feelings, both physical and otherwise. She was aware that she was making a low 'ngh' noise each time he thrust and tried to focus on other things, less self consciousness ruined the moment.

His speed had increased to the point where the great four poster creaked and shook with their movement and she feared that it would attract the other servants. They both were making such noise that she forced the blankets to her mouth and pulled his head into the crook of her neck or against her jiggling boobs, to muffle their moans.

Each thrust drove her further up on the bed so that she had to keep wiggling back down to where he had kept his feet planted firmly on the floor in order to thrust down with greater effect. After some time she found it easier to throw her arms round his neck and hold to him instead, letting him set the speed and power and she instead trying to keep him deep within her.

When they were so lost that they cared little for the noise they made, she dug her nails into the skin at his back to the point that it must have been painful, but he didn't seem to care, instead it drove him to new levels so that at one point he reached down and pulled her dress apart straight down the middle, the cheap calico material tearing in half with two swift tugs.

There was no time to wonder how she would get to her room with her nakedness showing.

Now that their skin touched, she could feel the heat beneath his curly chest hair. He was dripping wet, both from the heat of their coupling and the baking Caribbean weather, so that droplets of sweat dashed against her breasts and she could taste the salt of it when she bit his shoulders as her orgasm began to build.

As his furious energy flagged and he readied for one last thrust, she dug her heels into the soft flesh of his bum and held him inside her.

She felt his come, warm as his cock twitched, pumping it out. She knew that she'd probably decided her own fate and a melancholy was building within her as her orgasm had before, to tackle it she held on to him harder than ever.

He could use her, he had. He may one day abandon her, he could. She had put herself in his hands and she could do little else now. But she would trust him, despite it all.

She had always been his, bought and paid for, but that didn't mean that he couldn't also be hers.