Stacy flew across the foyer of her mansion. Along the way he discarded items of her riding attire; her gloves, her cravat, her jacket, letting the pieces fall to the polished marble floor.
"Jezelle," the pretty blond bellowed, "draw my bath!"
"Oh yes'm," she heard her maids voice from some unseen location.
Stacy strolled up the curved stairway to the second floor landing and her master bedroom. She threw open the double doors to her room. Who had shut those curtains, she wondered. She craved the sunlight, lots of it. She violently tugged the chords that opened the curtains, flooding the room with bright afternoon light.
"Hello, Stacy," came a male voice from behind her. She wheeled about to see her husband, Stanley, sitting upright on their broad bed.
Stacy froze in terror. She had not expected Stanley to return from the capital so soon. She had just returned from her afternoon tryst with Rufus and even now the evidence of her infidelity was soaking into the crotch of her riding breeches. Rufus had given her a cream pie that she had not been able to adequately wipe away before redressing at the stables.
"Are you so happy to see me that you are stupefied, dear?" Stanley laughed, throwing back the covers, drinking in the silhouette of his wife against the huge window of their room. He approached her and kissed her gently on her forehead. She could sense the tension in his wife's slim body, but mistook it for excitement.
Stanley was tense too. He knew his wife would be ravenously horny after his long absence. But he felt totally spent after his earlier episode with the pretty black main, Jezelle, and would not be able to accommodate his young wife's certain lust.
Stacy knew that Stanley would doubtlessly be rutting for a roll beneath the covers with her, and yet she was still wet and sore from her frolic with Rufus less than an hour previously. In addition, she had made a present to Rufus of her thong panties, a trophy of sorts, and she was shy some cotton under her breeches.
"I am so pleased to see you home...so unexpectedly. What a surprise," she said somewhat too formally.
"Not as much as I am happy to be home, my love," he said in an oddly detached way.
"I must be a fright! I've been riding for hours. I really should bathe immediately, dear."
"Indeed, my dear. You look thoroughly bedraggled."
"Oh, you know... the demands of the gallop can wreak havoc with one's appearance," she replied, studying the ceiling with apparent and sudden interest. "I must have worked my mount into a fine lather today."
"That is quite all right, Stacy. I have been up all night and all morning, and I really must take a short nap."
Stanley returned to his bed and was soon snoring softly. Stacy sat soaking in her bath, reflecting on the morning fireworks with her new lover, Rufus Johnson. Her hand glided over her womanhood and she could feel the changes Rufus had made to her body with his relentless fucking and his huge manhood. Becky was toughly in a state of vexation over what, if anything, she could tell her husband should he notice the changes. Later she relaxed in the large den, sipping a glass of wine and studying the huge portrait of Stanley's ancestor, Confederate General Thaddeus Garner, dressed in his immaculate grey uniform and staring out sternly into the room. Most of the traditions and customs of the Garner family had been started by General Garner. But Stacy knew the revered gentleman was a fraud, a military man who had never heard a shot fired in anger and had never held a military command. He had spent the War of Northern Aggression safely in the Confederate Capital of Richmond as the inspector of this or that department—nothing that ever exposed him to any danger. What a reprobate you were, Stacy mused. But the good general had been the role model of succeeding generations of Garner males.
"He shor be a stately gen'lman, missus," came Jezelle's voice.
Stacy frowned at having the silly black maid tread upon her reverie. "Oh, I do suppose so, in his way, Jezelle," Stacy replied, her voice dripping with annoyance. Jezelle dutifully refilled Stacy's glass.
"Take care, you silly wench! You've spilled wine on my dress!"
"I shor am sorry, missus Garner! I shor am!"
"Oh! Just leave me in peace!"
"Yessem, I do dat."
Stacy detested the obsequious maid, but could not fathom why. Certainly the maid was inept, but she was quite young and had not fully mastered her craft as a servant. She would doubtlessly improve given time and the right amount of abusive incentive. Perhaps it was the unrefined beauty of the girl that Stacy objected too. Stacy had noticed that the girl's dusky good looks and innocent nature had the male staff licking their lips every time the maid passed them by.
Stacy decided to call her good friend, Peaches Hill, and invite her out for a late lunch. Her own vigorous session with Rufus that morning had left her ravenously hungry.
"Yes, Peaches. I will meet you at the stable club."
Stacy and Peaches sat in the fashionable café at the clubhouse for the stables. Stacy was gazing about hoping to catch sight of her lover, Rufus, but she could not find him. Peaches, a slightly older woman, was all abuzz with the latest gossip. Stacy endured these sessions because she found Peaches amusing in many ways. Her large-busted red-headed friend had gone to the same exclusive women's college as did Stacy, although a year ahead of her, but since they were from the same county they had quickly struck up a close friendship. Poor Peaches! She was in an unhappy loveless marriage to a much older man, a local banker, and so the woman's thoughts often turned to romance...or just plain sex.
A young black waiter sat their salads on the table before the two women. Peaches stopped talking and longingly watched the tight buns of the waiter as he walked away.
"Oh, the scandal!" Stacy said.
"Whatever do you mean, dear friend?" Peaches was a portrait of innocence.
"I was the way you were looking at that darkie! For shame, woman!' Stacy kept her voice low to avoid the neighboring tables from eavesdropping.
"It's no sin just to peek!" Peaches said with a crooked smile. She leaned forward and whispered, "They say these negro boys have a much larger wanger than normal men!"
Stacy rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't know about THAT!"
"Nor I. But it is told that they do. I suppose it's from all that running around through the jungle they do... or did... with their parts hanging free."
