On the Plantation

Here is part 2 of "On the Plantation."

Thanks to all those who encouraged me to complete the story, and sorry it took so long.

Stunned and disoriented, Martha stared at Lucy, prostrate on the floor, for a long moment. There was an eerie silence. When she looked up, all motion on the bed had ceased. It seemed as though they all had suddenly frozen in the midst of their bed-bouncing, wall-thumping rhythm. She saw a grotesque, two-toned, four-headed beast, and all of its eight eyes were staring at her, wide and round.

The sight suddenly struck her as hilariously funny. Her laugh was a harsh, staccato bark, staggering on the ragged edge of hyperventilation or hysteria. But it shook her body loose from its paralysis, jolted her thoughts from shock and dismay. Slowly, she saw past the raw fact, inconceivable but undeniable, that her daughter was getting fucked by black slaves. Her mind began to register just what kind of a fucking her little girl was getting.

And as it did, a notion formed in her mind, and took root, and grew.

It was depraved. It was wicked, sinful, unspeakable.

Irresistible.

"Oh, Christabel," she said, trying to sound stern, "Whatever shall I do with you?"

But her daughter could read her too well; the fear in Christabel's eyes had changed into something like eagerness. Martha let her smile grow.

"I shall have to be cross with you if you have tired these poor men out completely. They still have so much work yet to do. Now come help me with Lucy"

Isaac and Abigail huddled in the corner, watching Martha cautiously. John, Zeke, and Henry were still too stunned to move, but Christabel extricated herself from the tangle of bodies and went into the washroom, returning in a moment with a damp cloth. She knelt beside Lucy, blotting her forehead gently, and grinned at her mother.

Martha watched the men, as she very slowly and deliberately began unbuttoning her blouse. The apparent catastrophe of the ladies' dramatic entrance had thrown all four men into shock, and at first they seemed unable to grasp what was happening. John was the first to recover. Martha saw understanding growing on his face, and between his legs, as his wilted tool began to thicken and lengthen and rise.

"John," she said, "It seems the house staff is not here. You shall have to help me change out of these clothes."

John just nodded, not yet composed enough to speak, and made his way across the room hesitantly, as though still unable to quite believe the turn events seemed to be taking. He stood in front of her, and carefully helped her with the endless buttons and fastenings and lacings. He suddenly gasped as her clothing seemed to fall from her, revealing the firm, heavy globes of her breasts, the lush, solid curves of her hips, the smooth, flawless paleness of her skin. He gasped again as he felt her cool, soft hands grasping his prick, which was burning hot and painfully hard.

Martha stared at the massive weapon in her hands, and when a large drop of pre-cum oozed from the tip, she sank to her knees and licked it off. John groaned, and then was echoed by Christabel. Martha looked over; Christabel was still holding the moist cloth on Lucy's forehead with one hand, but the other was between her legs moving in slow circles as she watched her mother intently. There was yet a third groan, and Lucy's eyes fluttered open.

The first thing she saw was John's ebony pole, cupped in both of Martha's hands. As she watched in horrified fascination, Martha slid the monstrous thing between her lips and began sucking eagerly on it.

"Martha?" she squeaked, "What? No! No, you can't!"

Martha turned to her, licking more pre-cum from her lips. "But I can." One hand was still stroking John's cock, and Lucy noticed that it barely reached halfway around. "I must." Martha's other hand reached down to her pussy, and Lucy's eyes followed it, widening when she saw that Martha was so wet she was actually dripping.

Her own hand imitated Martha's, as if by its own volition, and she was shocked to discover that she, too, was leaking steadily. She shook her head in denial, but Martha smiled gently. "Do you remember our conversation not ten minutes ago?"

Lucy couldn't think straight. "Conversation?"

"Yes. We wondered how we could respond to our husbands' whoring, and we lamented their uselessness in conjugal matters, and our endless frustration and dissatisfaction."

"I remember," Lucy whispered. She could not seem to pull her eyes away from Martha's delicate, graceful little white hand, stroking rhythmically up and down that thick, rock-hard slab of black meat.

"Well, when you speak of problems that seem insoluble, and find the perfect solution laid before you moments later, it would be foolish to ignore it. Who are we to deny providence?"

"Providence? But, Martha... They're slaves! Black!"

"They are men, Lucy. Have you never thought of them as men? Have you never watched them? Have you never noticed their strength, and the masculine beauty of bodies shaped by the hard labor we so unjustly force upon them?"

"Unjustly?" Lucy had never suspected Martha of abolitionist sympathies, and it was hard to think about such difficult things as she watched Martha's hand rhythmically stroking.

"Of course. Slavery is a relic of a barbaric past; no other civilized nation still permits it. In fifty years it will pass away; and in a hundred it will be remembered with shame and revulsion."

Lucy watched Martha's hand, her mind reeling.

Martha went on. "They are men. And such men! Have you never looked at them and felt desire?"

"No! Never!" Lucy never had.

Martha smiled. "But you are now, aren't you?"

Lucy moaned. Still staring at Martha's hand, she allowed herself to recognize that her fascination was not for her friend's lovely hand, but for the massive black bludgeon in it. She realized that her own hand was moving in exactly the same rhythm against the hot wetness between her legs, and she yanked it away, frightened and flustered.

She wrenched her stare away from John's black dick, whimpering in frustration as propriety and tradition wrestled within her against desires she had never before experienced. As she did, she saw Abigail smiling down at her.

"Isaac knows what to do, Mother," she said calmly, "He can help you." She squatted down and lifted Lucy's skirt, and peeled off her undergarments, moving slowly but firmly, and with an expression of such affection and encouragement that Lucy felt as though she were the child, and Abigail the mother. She was so disoriented by this feeling that she didn't resist, but went limp, allowing her daughter to move her about like a rag doll. Suddenly, as though she'd lost track of time in her confusion, she realized that her legs were spread, and that she could see the top of Isaac's nappy head between her thighs.

She was about to recoil, to pull away in instinctive revulsion. A lifetime of conditioning rose up in her for an instant, as strong or stronger than the aching, feverish desire that had somehow gripped her. But it was too late. Isaac's tongue slid up the length of her steaming, quivering pussylips, and flicked across the throbbing pink pearl hidden there, and a shock wave of ecstasy raced through her, sweeping everything else away. Her back arched and her hips rose, seeking more of the exquisite pleasure, and she was helpless to stop it. Isaac devoured her greedily, attacked her with a touch that was somehow both gentle and forceful. With fingers and tongue and lips, he explored her, invaded her, overwhelmed her. She trembled and moaned, helpless with pleasure, as he stroked and sucked and licked and nibbled her to a state of frenzy. Then he settled into a persistent, rhythmic pressure with his tongue against her swollen, superheated clit, while his thick fingers reached inside her, finding a place she had never known about, sending her spiraling into a place she had never been.

She felt a need for release so intense it was almost painful, almost unbearable. But she sensed that release was coming, and that made the need bearable, made it into another kind of pleasure. Even her ingrained sense of the depravity of the act, and her wanton surrender to it, somehow heightened and magnified her ecstasy. She had become a flaming arrow, speeding toward an explosive target.

And then she hit the target, and the whole world exploded. She heard someone screaming, and realized vaguely it was her, and then she slipped into darkness.

When her eyes opened, she wondered idly how long she'd been out. Her limbs felt heavy as lead, but it was a pleasant feeling, a feeling of blissful lassitude and contentment.

She had actually only lost consciousness for a few seconds, but her confusion was understandable; the intensity of her orgasm had inspired a quick reaction. By the time she got her bearings and looked around everyone had paired off and the room was full of the sounds of mouths sucking and flesh slapping and voices moaning and groaning and yelping and squealing and whimpering.

Still a bit dazed, she looked for Isaac, and realized he was right where he had been; between her legs. But he was up on his knees, and in his fist was – what?!? A sense of alarm tried to push past her complacent afterglow; she had thought John's cock was enormous, but Isaac's coal-black shaft was a terrifying absurdity, nearly a foot long, and as thick as her wrist.

Even as she thought this, she realized that she was not terrified at all. She realized, in fact, that she wanted that monstrosity inside her, wanted to feel it stretching her, filling her, fucking her. She reached down and touched it, stroked it, thrilled by its thickness, its length, its heat. It felt so hard, yet the skin was so soft, like an iron bar wrapped in velvet. But she couldn't wait. She took it with both hands and gently guided him to where she wanted it, where she needed it. It took some effort to get it all inside her, and when she felt his balls nestled against her ass, she had an odd feeling of achievement, as though she had accomplished some important and difficult task. She wondered briefly about this feeling, but then wondering and thinking ended, and there was only feeling, as he stroked in and out of her, fast and hard, then slow and hard, then fast and hard again, until her orgasms piled on top of each other so that she couldn't tell anymore when one ended and another began.

John was plunging his cock into Martha, and struggling furiously the entire time to keep from cumming. She was making it difficult, because she seemed to have some sort of muscular control that allowed her to squeeze him like she was milking a cow, and because each time she was about to cum, which was often, she would look intensely into his eyes and whisper, "I'm gonna cum now," as if she were telling him some deep, dark secret, and then she would launch into a frenzied stream of babbling and squealing and profanity, as her body thrashed violently, and her miraculous little cunt, already so wet, would suddenly flood, clutching and gripping at him fiercely all the while.

Suddenly, she looked at him and frowned, noticing the extreme effort he was making at restraint. She nibbled at his ear and murmured a question. "What's wrong?"

Through gritted teeth, he told her. "Don' wanna cum yet. Can't cum in you. Don' wanna stop."

She smiled. "It's alright. After Christabel, the doctors told me I can't get pregnant again. You can cum inside me. I want you to cum inside me. I want to feel it, I want to..."

John gave up then, and finally relaxed his control. Immediately, the long suppressed orgasm began to build up in his balls.

"Ohhhh," she moaned, "Ohhh, yesss. I feel, it, I feel it, it's getting even bigger, you're going to cum in me, you're going fill my pussy with your cummmm!" Then she looked intensely into his eyes and whispered, "I'm gonna cum now." She lifted her face to his and kissed him deep and hard, slipping her tongue into his mouth and then sucking his tongue into hers, while her body went as stiff as a board and her pussy gripped him like a fist, and she squealed and screeched her ecstasy into his mouth. John came so hard he felt like he'd shot not just the contents of his balls, but his balls themselves into her; he thought for a moment he might look for them and find only an empty sack of wrinkly skin. But before he had a chance to worry too much about it, he sank gently down beside her, and was asleep before his body even reached the bed.

Isaac, about this time, realized that he was unable to hold back for one more second, and he forced himself to pull out just before the first great spurt of jizz erupted from him. Not having had time to think about it, or give Lucy much warning, he was surprised by her speedy reaction. She spun around in time to catch that first shot on her pretty face, and most of the rest in her eager mouth. This increased the intensity of his orgasm significantly, and soon he, too, was snoring softly.

Some time later, John woke up and looked around the room. Everyone was asleep but Martha, who had slept for a while and then gone to the kitchen, returning with a large tray of turkey sandwiches. He realized that it was the smell of food that had awakened him, and it soon had the same effect on the others.

There was an awkward silence while they ate, as each examined private thoughts about the possible repercussions of this extraordinary event. Each, that is, except for Martha, who watched the general discomfort with an air of amusement. When she thought she had let them stew long enough, she carefully explained her plan.

As she spoke, the glum, worried faces brightened, and by the time she finished, the mood had lightened so much that haphazardly donned clothing began to be shed once more.

Some time later, they happened to find themselves arranged in a rough square. The women were all on hands and knees, their excitement enhanced as they watched each other enjoy the black poles that were ramming each of them from behind.

Zeke, stuffing Abigail's tiny blonde cunny, and Henry, plowing Christabel with great enthusiasm, both realized at virtually the same moment that they were nearing the end of their control, so that both did the quick change they'd gotten used to, and smoothly redirected their swollen rods into the little white asses that were bobbing so prettily before them. This bit of accidental choreography caught Martha's attention, and she didn't want to be left out. Looking back at John, she begged him, "Fuck me in the ass John. Please, fuck my ass with that big black dick, please!"

John didn't really need to be asked more than once; adopting the technique of lubing with her copious flow, and preparing the way with a finger, he soon was fucking her ass just as hard as he'd earlier been pounding into her pussy. Lucy watched and listened as the three anally penetrated women expressed their appreciation and encouragement in various ways. She felt a bit left out, but also a bit scared. She feared that Isaac's freakish prick would split her right open, so she didn't dare encourage him to do so. But she began, nevertheless, to hope that he would. So when she felt his finger slipping into her anus, she immediately came, and when she had the strength, she reached back and pulled her ass cheeks apart, laying her cheek on the floor and looking back up at him eloquently.

Soon, she began to have second thoughts. As soon as he managed to get the head of his oversized member into her, she found that it hurt like hell. She began to think that he was just too big, and she too small. "Oh, oh, it hurts," she cried "Aaahh! Owww! Stop, Isaac, I can't, I can't take it!"

Isaac held still, and caught Abigail's eye. She told her mother, "I took it. You can take it. It hurts at first, but it gets good. Oh God, Oh God, it gets so fucking gooo-ood!"

So Lucy tried to relax, and soon enough the others saw her expression change and knew that it was, indeed, getting good.

Although Lucy had had more orgasms than she could count, and had long before shed her reluctance and inhibitions, she was still not quite as vocal as the rest. Martha wondered whether some residual shyness or discomfort prevented her friend from expressing herself in any articulate manner; she seemed to be holding back, as if by that restraint she was clinging to some element of self-control.

Isaac finally matched the pace of the other three, so that all were hammering balls deep with furious speed and power into the lovely white butts before them, and Lucy finally spoke up.

"Ohhhh, God, OhGod, OhGod. I'm taking it! I'm taking that cock in my ass! Oh it's big, it's so big. It's so big and black! Ohhhhh! Martha! Christabel! Oh, Abigail, Abigail, I'm taking it! I'm taking it and I love it! OHMYGODILOVE IT!!! Abigail! Ohh, I'm a slut! I'm a little tramp! OH GOD! I'm just a dirty, filthy, slutty, little assfucked, black cock loving whore!!! OH! FUCK THAT ASS, FUCK MY ASS! Oh, FUCK!!! Gonna cum, gonna cum so fucking HAAAAAAAARD, AAAAAGH!"

This remarkable speech had predictable results, launching a chain reaction of orgasms that threatened to shake the house from its foundations.

The house did not, in fact, collapse, which was fortunate for the jumbled pile of exhausted, satiated humanity which littered the floor for some time afterwards, utterly incapable of motion.

Some weeks later, Robert waited for Jasper, carefully keeping a smug expression from his face. For a while, he'd begun to worry that Martha was onto him. She'd been cold, and found excuses to be away whenever he returned from Atlanta. Perhaps she'd been suspicious; not that she could really stop him from taking his pleasures as he wished, but she could make things uncomfortable for him.

What a stroke of luck that she'd developed this gardening obsession. It occupied her flighty female brain, which was all to the good. She simply must turn the small courtyard at the center of the house into a lovely garden, and she was full of design ideas, and schemes that she'd probably never get straight, since she redesigned the thing almost once a week. He had worried about the expense then, until he convinced her that she could use the slaves rather than hiring workmen. And if slaves had to dismantle and reassemble her precious garden again and again, it cost him nothing.

And, best of all, she actually preferred to have the work done while he was out of the house -- out of her hair, as she put it, so she could concentrate. So she'd been much more understanding about his 'business' trips, and had even encouraged him to take Jasper along, so that Lucy could concentrate on the grand project as well. Women! All caught up the imaginary importance of their silly little projects. He glanced across the table at her; she was staring into space, doubtless fascinated with some trivial notion or plan she had for the work on the garden this weekend.

Since this garden project had captured the attention of Lucy and the girls, as well as Martha, they all had seemed much happier, which meant peace and freedom for him and for Jasper. He supposed he should say something to seem supportive and concerned with her silliness, but he couldn't imagine what someone who was really supportive and concerned would say.

As long as she keeps the expenses down, he thought, wondering what grandiose notion was occupying her mind. That gave him a thought. "Well, dear," he asked, "Are you satisfied with John and the men?"

She looked at him oddly, and he wondered if it had been a mistake to bring it up.

"The men. John and the other field hands. Are you satisfied with their work on the garden?"

"Oh." She smiled. "I'm sorry, I was thinking of what I want to accomplish this weekend." In fact, she had been thinking that she had come to quite enjoy the taste of Lucy's pussy as she licked it off of one black cock or another, and what she wanted to accomplish this weekend was a visit to sample the flavor at its source, and she suspected Lucy would endorse this plan enthusiastically. She did not, however, provide these details to Robert, but merely answered his question quite honestly.