A Sex Slave to Slaves

Abigail Brewster, Abby for short, was a rather naïve 18-year-old, having led a sheltered, albeit pampered life on the plantation of her parents, Jackson and Rebecca Brewster.

Her naiveté stemmed from the fierce protectionism her father displayed anytime the girl was exposed to outsiders. Sure Abby had been present during the frequent parties her parents threw, or attended, as a part of the southern society of the privileged class around central Georgia. Her debutante cotillion, though late in occurring due to Jackson’s protectionism, was approaching.

Yet, in all of these parties, her father had hovered around her like a vulture waiting to swoop in on a dead carcass. Anytime a young man had gotten too friendly with Abby, he would move in and usher her away to another group that consisted primarily of other young women and girls.

His protectionism stemmed from his experiences with Abby’s mother, Rebecca, when they were courting. Rebecca, though from outward appearances a proper lady, was a seething slut underneath. It was one of the things that had attracted Jackson to her.

Rebecca defiantly pushed the status quo of ‘second class citizenship’ the women were compelled to live under in these earlier less enlightened times of the early 19th century south. She had had no qualms with giving herself over sexually to Jackson while they were courting, when discretion would allow them the opportunity. She justified it as part of her defiance, though truth be told, it was because Rebecca loved sex and had from the very first time she had blindly stumbled into it shortly after the onset of puberty.

“If a man can cavort around shamelessly, why can’t a woman?” Rebecca had said in justification to her love of sex with Jackson. Their frequent trysts fortunately didn’t result in pregnancy, and Rebecca was always aware of the need for discretion. She had learned that she could enjoy whatever liberties she desired, just as a man could, if she only maintained discretion.

Rather than following the norm and making use of her charms then abandoning her perhaps with a label of shame on his tongue, Jackson had married the woman, because his romantic heart had fallen in love during the frequent tête-à-têtes where he and Rebecca would discuss her feelings regarding her pursuit of her lusty desires just as a man would, justifying it as a pursuit of equality for the sexes.

Susan B. Anthony whose times were decades in the future had nothing on Rebecca Brewster. Ms. Anthony, the most noted of the future suffragettes, was still a toddler when Rebecca had started her quiet campaign on behalf of women as justification of her slutty pursuits.

Abby had the same headstrong nature as her mother. Jackson had seen this at an early age and didn’t want his only daughter to perhaps fall victim to the fate Rebecca had avoided. Being shamed by an unfortunate pregnancy or shunned and labeled a tramp by those she let sample her charms.

Jackson doted on the girl as compensation, for holding her a virtual prisoner. So though protected to this point and a virgin, she was extremely spoiled and could be rather precocious. All these things worried Jackson and so this guided his behavior in regard to his only daughter. He spoiled her to compensate for what he realized was over-protectionism.

Abby loved her father, but often resented his protectionism. She would have dearly loved to have the opportunity to spend time alone with the young sons of other plantation owners that often accompanied their fathers for business at Jackson Brewster’s “Shaded Oaks” plantation. She had started getting funny feelings in her private parts, as she called them, at puberty when boys were around. She had even touched herself ‘down there’ on occasion and had found the activity pleasing. She was her mother’s daughter in most ways.

In spite of her resentment of her father’s behavior when young men were around, it wasn’t unusual for her to be ‘in his hip pocket’ most of the day. Today was no exception.

The year was 1858. The season late spring. Jackson sat at a table on the large front verandah of the plantation house taking his morning coffee and reading the paper as he usually did during the more temperate months, Abigail sipping tea and chattering incessantly as was her nature when the two were together. Abby wore the flowing dress of her position in society. Actually it wasn’t a dress, but layer upon layer of petticoats, covered with a lightweight lace coverlet that could be called a dress. Jackson, always the Southern gentleman, wore a three-piece suit in keeping with current style.

At first glance one would think the two were off to some formal get-together.

“Father, what does that headline in the paper mean?”

Jackson closed the paper from the business pages where the current cotton futures were quoted and looked again at the headline and story he had read earlier. In big bold letters the paper declared “Slave Uprising Quelled at Peach Orchard Farms.” The other bold headline questioned, “Is Secession and War Inevitable?”

“Which one honey?”

“The one on War, Daddy.”

“It simply states that if the Federal government continues to trample on State’s rights the Southern states will have no choice other than to secede and create a country of their own. To do so will likely result in civil war between the southern and northern states. The article says it appears to be the only possible conclusion to this whole slavery abolition issue. The Federal government is stacking the deck against the slave states by only allowing new states that ban slavery to join the Union. Once Congress is stocked with legislators that oppose slavery a vote to ban it will take place. This over sight by the Federal government violates the constitutional provisions of strong state governments that rule themselves.”

Abby thought her father the smartest man alive and his explanation seemed to indicate this fact, once again. Her concerns were entirely self-centered though.

“But daddy war will mess up my cotillion, won’t it?”

“No baby if war does come it is still years away and the Southern delegation in the Federal Congress is doing what it can to prevent secession and the inevitable war that would follow. It is only if the Federal government continues to try to run roughshod over the states in violation of the constitution that secession and civil war would result.”

A buggy turns the corner off the little dirt road into the entrance of Shaded Oaks Plantation. The wooden sign built into the stone revetment that adorned either side of the entrance road, simply stated “Shaded Oaks, Cotton and Premium Stallion Service, Proprietor Jackson Brewster” The huge tree, cotton boll and stallion burnt into the plank of wood, along with a huge O with a curly-que top.

The occupants of the wagon were Thomas Kincaid and his 18-year-old daughter Cynthia. No strangers to Shaded Oaks, they were always in attendance when the Brewster’s threw one of their gala parties. Thomas Kincaid and Jackson Brewster had attended school together and Cynthia and Abby were friends, since childhood.

Abby loved when the Kincaid’s visited, because Cynthia, or Cyn for short, would tell her stories of ‘sparking’ with boys when she could steel away from her parents watchful eyes. Abby had no experience, with her father’s over-protectiveness, in this regard and the stories thrilled her and titillated her senses. Cyn told good stories.

Stories of clandestine trysts, stories of stealing away with one handsome boy or another and allowing them access to her charms and the young woman’s body that hid under layer upon unending layer of petticoats, bloomers and corset-like bodices. Cyn was still a virgin like Abby, but to hear her tell it you would think she was the biggest whore in all of Baldwin County, Georgia.

Her stories of allowing the boys to slip their hands under her petticoats and into her bloomers, only to stop them if they tried to take things further, thrilled Abby.

Abby would have let them go further. At least in her mind anyway. Many were the nights she had lain in bed, the oppressive heat and humidity preventing sleep from easily steeling up and overtaking the senses. On these nights Abby’s hand would slip under her gown and into her bloomers and touch her self ‘down there’.

Her mind would be on the one story that she was the most fond of in Cyn’s repertoire of decadent tales.

Cyn had told her of witnessing two slaves actually having sex in the barn one day. The details of how his male part had disappeared into her female part were so exacting, Abby was able to paint a fairly accurate picture in her mind of an event, she had yet to witness, let alone experience, on her own.

Cyn had told Abby how she had used her finger that night to reenact the event in the privacy of her room, her finger serving as the thrusting male part. Cyn had confided how it had hurt when she had gotten a bit exuberant as her excitation grew, thrusting her probing digit deeper into her love canal, and had experienced pain and found blood in her bloomers the next day.

So though Abby routinely rimmed the entrance of her pleasure palace, she wouldn’t allow her finger to slip inside. Besides the stiff little nub above the tiny hole was so much more sensitive and pleasure producing if she showed it attention. Her interest in sex was growing by the day, so Abby looked forward to these visits.

The Kincaid’s buggy comes to a stop under one of the stately Oaks the plantation is named for and Thomas exits the buggy and secures the horse that pulls it to the hitching rack then goes to the opposite side of the buggy to help his daughter exit. The two start up the stone walkway to the front of the palatial mansion and Jackson Brewster hails his longtime friend.

“Thomas, welcome. What brings you by this morning?” Jackson lays the paper he was reading on the table as he stands to greet his company.

Abby’s greeting to her friend isn’t quite as subdued.

“Cyn! I was so bored. It is such a welcome sight to see you here.”

The two girls draw a few feet away from their parents and begin to chatter, while the two men discuss their business.

“Today is the day you are breeding Firestorm to Coquette. I thought to come by and witness how my investment is being utilized. Your stud fees for Firestorm are outrageous.”

“I guarantee a live birth Thomas you needn’t worry about your investment. What you think I am a shyster or something?” Jackson has a broad smile as he finishes his comment, so it is obviously a rhetorical question. Thomas responds anyway.

“No Jackson, nothing like that. Call it due-diligence.”

Jackson pulls a pocket watch from his vest pocket, the fob attached to the button on the vest and glances at its face.

“The boys should be taking Coquette to Firestorm at any moment now, would you like to watch the breeding?”

“Yes, let’s do.”

The two start off the verandah and Abby and Cyn fall in step behind them. They walk across the open area at the side of the main house and coming around the corner, a huge barn comes into view, a smaller one a few feet further to the rear of its larger counterpart. The same large O symbol with the curly-que top that dominated the sign at the gate is painted on both.

The smaller barn is used for feed storage now, the bigger barn becoming necessary when Jackson had decided to breed horses commercially. The four enter the larger barn.

The interior of the barn is a bustle of activity. Slaves, clad only in pants, most secured with a belt made from hemp rope, move about the barn in the performance of their chores. The early season heat and humidity has their muscular bodies coated in sweat and glistening as their muscles ripple under their bronze to black skins.

They call out instructions and comments to one another, their English barely intelligible as it is heavily laced with colloquialisms and accent. They move with practiced efficiency as the head stableman, Abraham directs their activity.

The four approach the breeding stall as Coquette is being led inside. The beautiful Bay mare a fine specimen of care and breeding, has her tail bound in cotton cloth, as she was made ready for breeding earlier. Jackson explains the requirement to Thomas.

“The mare’s tail is wrapped so if she should flash her tail after Firestorm mounts her it won’t wrap around his breeding tool and possibly cause a cut that could lead to infection.”

“Wise precaution Jackson.”

Thomas is out of his element here, as he has no experience breeding horses. He merely agrees with Jackson to be a part of the conversation.

Another slave leads Firestorm into the stall. The proud Sorrel stallion a superb specimen of horseflesh prances as he catches the scent of Coquette’s heat. His deep almost burnished red coat the source of his name.

His penis begins to grow and extend from the protective sheath that hangs from his belly. His huge balls swinging in their sack as he came into the stall begin to draw up with his growing lust.

Coquette has been secured to a huge post in the ground on one side of the stall, the lead rope of her halter tied through a hole drilled in the top of the post. The slave who had lead her in stands at the side of her head, safe from any harm that might ensue as the potentially violent breeding occurs. The slave leading Firestorm lets the lead play out as the stallion moves toward the mare, also remaining a safe distance away.

Firestorm walks up behind the mare and starts to nuzzle her exposed vagina. Coquette squeals as mares typically do prior to breeding. Jackson goes on with more explanation.

“A mare spends several days coming into heat and several days going out of heat. During this time she smells of her heat. There are only one or two days in the middle of this time frame when she is actually fertile and will accept the attentions of a stallion. If she is coming in or past her fertile days she will kick and fight the stallion when he tries to mount her. The slaves will pull Firestorm away from Coquette should she start to fight his advances and we will try again tomorrow, and everyday until she accepts his advances, or it becomes clear we have missed her heat peak. Abraham is well experienced in breeding horses, so that probably won’t be the outcome.”

Firestorm continues to nuzzle the mare’s vagina and to raise his head skyward and curl his upper lip as stallions do in their mating ritual. Coquette continues to squeal but makes no attempts to kick. In fact she moves one of her hind legs sideways as if to prepare to steady her self for when the stallion mounts her. Firestorm finally mounts the mare.

Coquette gives no resistance as the stallion comes down on her back and starts thrusting for a target. The slave that had stood by after tying the mare quickly moves in and grasps the cock of the stallion and guides the appendage into the mare. Coquette lowers her head to the ground and submissively submits to the stallion’s attentions.

Thomas and Jackson watch the breeding as it occurs, Abby and Cyn standing a few feet further behind also watching the activity. The two girls mesmerized by the animal sex they are witnessing.

Abby watches the slave guide the stallion’s huge cock into the mare, and as the mare becomes submissive and accepting of the stallions breeding. She feels her own sex become wet and start to bloat with the blood of her lust as she witnesses the sight. She isn’t lusting for the stallion’s cock or anything as lewd as that. It is the mere act of the copulation that excites the girl.

She has seen other animals breed on the plantation, but not since Cyn had explained the details of her finding and observing the two slaves having sex. Now the detail of the two coupling is made real as she watches the stallion and mare repeat the act in animalistic terms that corresponds with the act in human existence.

Five maybe six thrusts later the stallion unloads his potent sperm into the mare and quickly dismounts. During the copulation, the stallion bites the back of the mares neck and his violent thrusts are almost brutal, yet the mare stands submissively and quietly accepting his rampaging attention without moving a muscle.

After he his pulled himself from her back, his cock drips the remnants of his lusty load as it starts to draw back into the sheath on his belly that protects it. The slave that had led Firestorm to the mare moves in quickly and carries a bucket of clear water and washes the stallion’s penis before it draws back into the protective sheath. The stallion stands docile, his spirit quieted in the aftermath of the breeding.

The other slave moves forward and starts to attend the bite mark in the mare’s neck in an attempt to preclude infection. The mares tail stays up away from her sex and the outer lips of her vagina ‘wink’ and small amounts of the stallion’s semen are expelled from her in small rivulets. After a few moments her tail clamps to her external labia, as if to hold in the remaining seed.

Abby is on fire. Her virgin pussy fully bloated with the blood lust provides. Her clit or ‘little nubby’ as she calls it, stands erect like a small penis between her legs. She has never felt it grow so stiff and hard. She feels the moisture of her sex leak out of her and as it begins to soak the crotch of her bloomers. Again her lust isn’t fueled by desire for the stallion, it is the act of the breeding that has consumed her thoughts. In her minds eye she isn’t seeing a stallion breeding a mare, but a man and a woman in the throes of sexual involvement.

The strange thing is the man’s cock, something she has never seen, looks like a horses appendage in this expose in her mind. But the raw action of the two is even more brutal than the stallion’s advances on the mare. The woman in her minds eye accepts the advances of the man and submissively allows him to use her body.

Her father, his guest and her friend turn to leave the breeding area and Abby stands transfixed not cognizant of anything, but the lurid scene playing out in her mind.

Her father reaches the entrance of the barn and turns and calls to his daughter.

“Come now Abby.”

Abby is shaken from her reverie and blushes profusely as if caught in the very act her mind was playing out as she replies.

“Coming father.”

They return to the verandah and the coolness of its shaded offerings. Cyn and Abby draw away and allow their parents to discuss the business that needs concluding, then the Kincaid’s return to the buggy still tied at the fence and depart.

All day Abby replays the morning’s events in her mind, alternately with her own vivid scene of human sex. Mid afternoon she returns to the barn in hopes of witnessing another breeding. She doesn’t know all breeding is done in the relative cool of the morning hours.

She finds the big barn deserted and starts to search for Abraham and the other slaves that are usually present. Her search takes her to the smaller barn, now used to store the bales of hay and grains, grown and purchased to feed the plantations animals. Several of the stalls have also been converted to slave quarters for the men that tend the animals in the barn.

All the slaves are quartered in workgroups. The house slaves in quarters on the backside of the huge plantation house, the field slaves in small communities near the fields, and the barn and animal tender slaves in rooms in the small barn. Abraham, as the overseer, and the only married barn slave, has a small house behind the barns where he and his family are quartered. His wife Lucinda and his daughter Jasmine, work as cook’s in the plantation house kitchen.

Abby enters the small barn and stops just inside the door to allow her eyes to adjust to the darkness inside from the bright sunlight of the barnyard. As she stands she hears an unusual noise. It appears to be coming from the stall immediately to her front and right.