Once Upon a Time in the South

A Tawdry Tale of Incest and Miscegenation

By Bardot

“Very often the lives we choose for ourselves are not the lives we would choose. Rather, we accept the life that is foisted upon us and make do, extracting the good and enduring the bad for the sake of the good.”

Sandra Jean Leone, a slave, sat with her legs crossed beside a wooded glade a half-mile distant from her ancestral home. She was alone. She’d been sitting here pensively for the better part of two hours watching for the sun’s first rays to creep up along the eastern horizon. Soon enough she had to be getting back, lest the dogs be set on her track.

Her two mothers, Zelma and Phoebe Leone, swam in this same spring as children. They brought Sandra to splash around here, too. Sandra remembered it. Sandra often came to this spring to commemorate them, though she hadn’t seen them in decades. She recalled two women that looked much like she—same hair, same cheeks, same breasts, same eyes. Sandra was half again as light-skinned as they.

She pined for them.

Sandra thought of the two women as her “mothers” though the women were sisters. Her Aunt Phoebe served every bit as much a mother as Zelma. Sandra knew the beating of Phoebe’s heart, knew her scent, knew the curvature of her breasts, knew the poke of her nipples.

The seminal event of Sandra’s life remained their banishment from their home when Sandra was a young child. Sandra remembered every moment of that horrible day. The two women that raised her were dragged off behind horses, in chains, screeching and beseeching for their child. Predictably, their pleas for mercy went ignored. They were traded for “two bucks, a bitch and a babe”. Sandra, too, screamed in terrible anguish as the horses slowly dragged her mothers away.

Sandra often awakened early to trek down to this spring. In this place she communed with her inner spirit. Here, she acknowledged her loss. Here, she re-affirmed her differentness from her contemporaries. From here she reached out across the ethereal abyss to seek out Zelma and Phoebe, the women who first imprinted her with their spirit and their love.

Now, as the first rays of sunlight illuminated the little glade, she noted a wistful fog rising from the surface of the waters. The cool, early morning air condensed just above the surface of the crystalline spring, making the entire pond resemble a kettle of water only now beginning to steam.

Off in the distance a cock crowed. Chirping morning birds sang a cacophonous melody heralding the spring awaken from its nightly slumber. Beams of light now bathed the glade in glorious shadows of mauve, then orange-yellow, then clear as the earth revolved away from its shadow and back into the full glare of the sun’s luminous glow

Sandra stood to welcome the dawn. The mottled quilt covering her shoulders slid to the ground revealing her nakedness. In this, too, she revealed herself as the most glorious creation extant. She was taller than both her mothers. From them she retained a golden crown of curly reddish black hair that she wore in braided ringlets down to her shoulders, parted at the middle. Her face was symmetrical and fair, with cloverfields of brownish freckles on her cheeks, which then dovetailed into a softly dimpled chin. Her lips were luscious and full; her eyes were hazel and slightly upturned at the edges, giving her a somewhat Asian mien.

Sandra was a full-grown woman now. Her breasts hung sumptuously with pouty brown nipples nestling at the center of each, and surrounded by pimply, brownish-pink areolae. She had lengthy dimple-like indentations at key points along her stomach where abdominal muscles lurked. A full, curly bush covered her nectarine vagina. Her hips widened out from her slim waist into a pleasing apple curve and then tapered down the line of her golden amarillo thighs.

Too, she bore none of the keloidal scarring common to most slaves in the South. Those few scars she bore redounded from childhood tomboyisms, not discipline. She had never been whipped by the mistress of the farm, Aisleen Leone, nor had she been forced to endure the hard labor most of the other blacks on the farm were subjected to. In this she knew her differentness. The blacks resented her special treatment. The whites knew she was partially white, just not quite. Without a mother to explain this gauntlet of separateness, Sandra learned very early to stand on her own, asking succor from neither quarter.

Alone among the unmarried slaves on the farm, Sandra had not been required to offer up her sexual services to the male Leone’s. Nathan Leone, the farm’s patron, was her unacknowledged father. At least, he believed this to be the case, as did most of the people on the farm.

In point of fact, his brother Henry Leone was Sandra’s biological father. Only one person in the world knew this—Zelma Leone. Even Sandra had no knowledge of her true lineage. The secret of Sandra’s paternity fled with Zelma’s exit.

Whether Sandra was Nathan’s daughter or his niece was immaterial to the farm’s master. She was his blood. He could never admit such, inasmuch as she was a black woman. In his actions, however, Sandra was family, almost kin. He forbade his wife from whipping her. He forbade his male black slaves from mating with her. One who tried, Johnny Boy, quickly learned the error of his ways. He was beaten and sold on the premise that he’d “eyeballed” a white woman in her nakedness. The real reason for Johnny Boy’s banishment was that Sandra had taken a liking to him.

From this episode Sandra learned to conceal her passions behind a veil of inscrutability. She learned that at any given moment those she loved could be taken from her, never to be seen again. She learned that it were better to listen than to speak, to watch rather than to be watched.

In the complex racial culture of the American South, Sandra was a woman with toes in both camps, yet never really finding a home in either. Her mothers spoke in the argot of slaves, saying “dese” and “dis” in place of “these” and “this”. Sandra grew up under the tutelage of Abigail Leone, a white woman, so she was largely unencumbered with the West African inflection so deeply entrenched in slave dialect. She pronounced “these” and “this” perfectly, and only occasionally laced her conversations with “ain’t” and “y’all”, as she spent her youth conversing with white people of like tongue.

Nathan Leone approved of these dialectic distinctions. If his daughter wasn’t entirely white, she could at least speak like a white person, a capacity that endeared her to the whites even as it alienated her from the blacks. Sandra soon found that she could slide easily between a slave dialect (when the whites weren’t around) and her normal dialect (when they were). This learned linguistic flexibility proved invaluable as she tiptoed thru the racial minefield wrought by her mixed racial heritage.

Sandra stepped into the cold waters of the spring. She struck out into a leisurely stroke until she reached the deeper waters, then jack-knifed down thru the morning’s shadowy underwater sunbeams to the jumbled tangle of fallen trees littering the spring floor. Largemouth bass and schools of specks swarmed here. There were mud turtles and, if she sought them, numerous crawdads and catfish feeding casually, heedless of her approach.

Sandra swam freely here. Her gloriously curly braids trailed in her wake as did her ample pubic hairs, both mounds of wispy curls rippling tremulously as she powered her way thru the crystalline waters, spinning sideways, then somersaulting over onto her back as if she were a freshwater dolphin, more at home in these depths than ashore. Sandra swam for two minutes before being forced to surface for air. She hyperventilated for some seconds then resumed her marine persona, eyes wide open, air bubbles trickling from her nostrils, muscles rippling, curly braids at once trailing then suddenly askew in the weightlessness of underwater space. On a whim she would pause, seal-like, to change direction as she luxuriated in these few priceless, stolen moments of freedom.

Much as her mothers before her, Sandra was a golden goddess of the jungle.

This swim would be the high point of her day and she knew it. The rest of her day would be burdened with the mundanity of farm life and the gossip of her peers. She was, after all, a slave.

Today was Sunday, the third day of Hank and Marlene’s family visit to the Leone ancestral farm. Yesterday, the four cousins from both clans, along with their older sister Abby, had engaged in a typically raucous orgy of incestuous sex, only this time they’d included the elder siblings from Meshach’s brood in the festivities, along with Suzy, another female slave.

That Charlie and Suzy had been involved hadn’t surprised her. Both of them were infamous for their sexual capacities, both intra and interracial.

Of course, she knew that the younger Leone cousins had been interacting sexually for some time. Ben and Jake traded out their sisters each time their families got together like this. Annette and Janice had never once complained; indeed, if their brothers were slow to make surreptitious incestuous plans, the two girls were eager to make their own.

Abby’s participation, too, was nothing unusual. Abby and Sandra had been close friends since early childhood. Abby, three years her senior, remained Sandra’s mentor. They’d been tomboys together. Abby taught Sandra how to swim, hunt and fish. Later, Abby had been Sandra’s very first sexual partner. It had been Abby who first showed Sandra how to masturbate and, a bit later, it had been Abby who’d introduced Sandra to the joys of cunnilingus. Sandra also knew of Abby’s predatory sexual interactions with both Ben and Charlie, both six years her junior. She also was privy to both of Abby’s pre-marital abortions.

The inclusion of the twins, Isaac and Ruthie, had been quite a shock. Isaac was a quiet boy whom Sandra took to be almost virginal. Ruthie didn’t like white people much and wasn’t afraid to let it show in her mannerisms or her tone. Sandra was sure that Ruthie must have been forced into participating, given the varied racial make-up of the crew.

The most stunning development from yesterday’s eventful intercourse was Sandra’s discovery that Charlie’s father Meshach had been putting the wood to both Leone family matrons, Aisleen and Marlene. From the looks of it he’d been tightening up both women for some time. Sandra correctly surmised that the trio had neither the time nor the opportunity to spontaneously pick out a venue for their tryst in Chauncey’s cabin yesterday, so the hook-up must have been pre-planned or triggered by some mutually recognized event. Sandra knew that Master Nathan regularly spent time in Meshach’s cabin with Meshach’s wife Lizzie, enjoying her “poontang”. Sandra had been pleased and gratified to find that Meshach returned that favor each time Nathan essayed a prolonged late-night visit. The question of where Meshach spent his time on the nights of Master Nathan’s visits to Lizzie was no longer a mystery.

Sandra worried over what would happen if Meshach were found out. Both Meshach and his son Charlie were regularly slipping Louisiana black snake into Leone white women. If any whisper of these assignations came out, both black men would be killed out of hand. Likely, any slave who knew of the trysts would be killed also. In the South, “poontang” was a popular tradition. “Coontang”, not so much.

Since the departure of her mothers, Meshach and Lizzie had taken a parental interest in Sandra, as had several other black couples around the farm. She’d been raised in tandem with Meshach’s children, Cora’s kids, Aunt Martha’s kids and the white Leone children. Her primary caregivers had been Auntie Lize, Missus Fiona and Miss Aisleen, though Missus Fiona was gone now.

Sandra felt an almost blood kin relationship to Meshach’s family. She was the eldest daughter—after a fashion. She would reveal no hint of Meshach’s meanderings, if questioned. In fact, if she found out that news of his intimacies with the matrons were about to break, she would be the first to run and warn Meshach.

Meanwhile, she thought it best she hold her peace.

Sandra turned her attention to the business at hand. She twisted her lithe, naked body shoreward and frog-kicked her way to the shallows, surfacing when she could stand erect on the sandy bottom. She waded her way up the embankment to a clump of palm trees. Wary of snakes, she carefully pulled several fallen palm fronds aside to uncover a sturdy iron trident, covered in rust. She picked up a rock and brushed rust away from the sharp prongs until they gleamed dully.

Now she turned back to the spring, trident in hand. She waded out to the deeper waters before striking out into a strong underwater stroke back to the depths and the abundant swarms of fish. Feigning nonchalance, she drifted up to a trio of unsuspecting bass, drawing the trident back ever so slightly. When she got within range, she deftly flicked the trident out and impaled one of the bass, a good fourteen incher. The other two bass scattered into a school of bream, causing the bream to panic and jag wildly.

Sandra surfaced with her catch and swam back to shore. She detached her fish from the trident prongs and gigged it on a trotline. Then she returned to the spring bottom, trident in hand, and promptly snatched up another good-sized fish.

Sandra repeated this process three more times until she had almost ten pounds of fish dangling from her trotline. She enjoyed this method of hunting fish more than using a line and pole. It was more exhilarating. And it was quicker, too, because she could pick and choose her prey.

She took her trident (actually it was Abby’s trident) back to its hidden dugout and covered it with palm fronds. Looking about to ensure discretion, Sandra squatted to urinate. Now she snatched up the fish trotline and, holding the free end of the string with her teeth, swam all the way back across the spring. She found her towel and her clothing, dried and dressed, then picked her way up the overgrown path towards her home.

II.

“Lesbians don’t do that.”

As Sandra Jean swam joyously in the hidden glade, Aisleen Leone was already up and about. She didn’t know where Sandra was nor did she care. The yaller heffah would show up soon enough.

She and Marlene needed to throw together a hardy breakfast for their respective tribes and get them off to church in time for the eleven a.m. service. They needed to bathe before their husbands awakened. Fortunately, it was a weekend, not a weekday, and baths were scheduled. Both women had been clucking around with nigger jizz percolating up in their hot coozes since late Friday night. Damned if it wasn’t time for a good flushing.

Cora and Martha, longtime matrons in the slave community, filled the Leone family washtub basin each Saturday night, bucket by bucket, with water from the pump. At three a.m. one of the black women came back out and stoked a low-grade fire under the tub. By six a.m. that fire was almost out but the water in the tub neared optimal temperature. Aisleen refreshed the fire with fresh fagots as soon as she awakened. Then she went about her normal breakfast routine while the tub heated. By the time she got around to dipping her foot into the water it was piping hot.

Aisleen liked to be the first in the tub, when the water was fresh. Everyone in the family would bathe in these same waters, one by one, with each successive person washing in the accumulated detritus of the persons before. As the men usually bathed last, they often drenched themselves in varying amounts of ripe semen, sometimes as much as a week old.

Aisleen doffed her clothing. She didn’t bother to look about for prying eyes. The only persons up at this hour on a Sunday were women, black women, all of whom were well acquainted with the vision her tits and her chestnut snatch.

Now she took one last surreptitious sniff of her armpits and her puss. She smelled like fuck. Stark visions of the stiff black penis that had scrubbed her vagina so comprehensively just yesterday came flooding back. Her pussy quivered alive at the remembrance. A trickle of Meshach’s seed gurgled from her cleft. She pumped a bit of air into it so that it bubbled up and popped, and in that small burst she inhaled the glorious stench of her adultery. Aisleen had long since abandoned the Non-Cuminpussy Rule that prevented her from accepting seed from her black lovers. The aroma of her sex never failed to titillate her.

Reluctantly, she stepped into the steaming tub after lining it with a thick towel to shield her feet from being burned by floor of the tub. She lay another folded towel on top of the original buffer and sat down. The hot waters covered her body up to her chin. She took a small cake of homemade soap and began to rub it over her skin as it exfoliated in the steaminess of the basin. Too, she took a bit of the soap on her middle fingers and cleaned out her cunt. Her bathwater began to take on a milky hue.

“Aisleen!!!” came a whispered voice from behind. It was her sister-in-law Marlene. “Hurry up and git out’n that tub!! Hank is almost awake. I cain’t have him smellin’ me without I git the chance’t to wash out my cooch. Hurry now!!”

The two women would never talk this bluntly when ears were present. Words like “cooch” and “pussy” always caused them to purple up in embarrassment. They would fan themselves upon hearing such vulgarities, even from the blacks, and weren’t above taking a broom to anyone crass enough to employ such base terminology in their presence.

Between themselves, however, blunt epithets were the currency of the day. Nearing middle age, with nearly grown children, they were forced by culture and tradition to adorn themselves with the puritan mien expected of white women in the South.

Aisleen looked around to ensure their solitude. Not even the blacks could hear them conversing like this.

“You jist hold your horses, there, my pretty. I just got in, ‘n I ain’t washed out my own cooch proper. Take your clothes off slow and I’ll be ready to git out when you’re ready to git in.”

Marlene started to strip naked.

“That boy is sump’n else, ain’t he?”, she opined.

“Who? Shaddy?” Aisleen replied.

“Yes. Who’d you think I was talkin’ ‘bout?”

“That ain’t the point. Is this the right place to be talkin’ ‘bout that?”

“Ain’t nobody around.”

“THAT AIN’T THE POINT. Ain’t you said Hank was gittin’ ready to git up?”

“Yes.”

“Well HUSH your puffy, then!! We can talk later. Here, come git in the tub. We can talk about Sha…, ummmm, this current subject after church.”

Aisleen stepped out of the tub. Marlene handed her a dry towel and stepped into the now transparently milky waters.

“Jist look at all this nigger jizz. He really loaded you up.” Marlene noted.

“Ain’t I jist said hush? ‘Sides, I reckon this whole tub’ll look like ice milk by the time you git your fast li’l hiney out. Leastways I can still see to the bottom of the tub.”

Both women laughed, and in their laughter was remembrance. Yesterday’s encounter was one of the rare instances when the two of them got to go ménage à trois with Meshach, though they’d each had over two decades of separate interactions with the big-dicked black man. Such a threesome was an even rarer treat for the trio inasmuch as all three of them were no longer sprats. It gave the two matrons a chance to walk on the wild side, that is, it gave them a chance to indulge their latent girl-on-girl urges. It gave Meshach the chance to despoil the haughty, prim farm matriarchs, though they didn’t think of themselves as such. Now, as they bathed and prepped, the two white women lingered back over their late afternoon dalliance with their black slave.

As always, the disappearance of their husbands triggered a rendezvous with Shaddy in Chauncey’s little two-room shack. Shaddy was waiting for them when they arrived; Chauncey was awake, sitting in his chair, staring off into space, as usual. Masters Nate and Hank were gone to town for supplies.

The two women doffed their wooden shoes and tiptoed into the shack, still fully dressed. Shaddy, already present, sat on the bed impassively. His penis was out, a lumpish tube of black meat lying along the vertical line of his left thigh.

The Leone women never knew when their husbands would return. Nor did they know if or when Morty or Lize, Chauncey’s parents, would trudge over from next door to check on Chauncey. They risked both these cataclysmic possibilities for the sake of twenty minutes of good dick.

Aisleen and Marlene crowded into the semi-darkened little room. Other than during these trysts, Aisleen rarely interacted with Shaddy. As a visitor to the farm, Marlene interacted with the black man even less often. All three participants knew why they were there this afternoon, though.

“Well, let’s don’t waste no time,” Aisleen opened, as an icebreaker.

She took off her bloomers and offered them up to Shaddy’s nostrils. She wanted her pussy licked. Her underwear reeked with the scent of her desire. Shaddy took her drawers and pressed them against his nose. His penis stirred.

Marlene lifted her dress and stepped out of her bloomers, too, unleashing the piquant odor of her southern crimson triangle.

Shaddy stood and shed his pantaloons. His uncircumcised penis lumbered awake.

Taking charge of the situation, Shaddy pressed Marlene to the floor, drawing her hips upward such that she was situated on her shoulder blades with her dress falling into her face, arms splayed wide for balance, feet dangling askew and resting along the edge of the bed. He positioned himself between her legs so that his cock could inhale the scintillating aroma of her vagina. His dick soon firmed up into the natural crescent of male arousal. Shaddy bent forward a little and christened the length of his undershaft in Marlene’s labial juices. He was aroused further by the level of her heat and wetness, dizzied further still by the wispy embrace of her soft, curly pubic mound. When he dragged the sensitive underside of his pudenda across the opening to her cunt and the thick carpet of curly red pubic hairs parted to give him access, he heard the telltale squishy sound of female arousal. This pussy had entertained monster dick before.

“Lay ‘cross here,” he ordered Aisleen, pointing to the bed. “Open yo’ laigs up.”

Aisleen obeyed him without comment. She spread her legs wide, lifting her knees to avoid Marlene’s feet, and dangling her own feet over the edge of the bed.

Using his thumb, Shaddy pressed his dickhead into Marlene’s hole and slid forward, inch by inch, until his penis disappeared fully. He could feel her pussy lips straining wide and wider, trembling at his girth, hugely grateful to have him ensconced this deeply into her love chasm. Shaddy’s extra four inches of thick, meaty pole gave him a decided advantage over her husband Hank. From Marlene’s position beneath, his engorged member seemed to fill her entire torso, indeed, its imprint stood out noticeably in her belly. Marlene wettened her lips with her tongue, prepared now to absorb the black man’s churn.

Meshach leaned forward. He gave Marlene’s pussy a double pump to ingratiate himself and to more fully absorb her vaginal lubricants. Marlene squeezed some of her juices out along the sides of his shaft to coat his balls. She closed her eyes in anticipation.

Satisfied with thie first insertion, Shaddy’s eyes gleamed up to Aisleen. She lay akimbo on the facing bed. Her pussy was before him now, pleading for attention.

“Where’s mine?” Aisleen’s pussy seemed to mewl. “Her pussy is fulla dick, full to the brim, an’ you ain’t touched me yet! Come on. Lick me! Suck me! Suck me dry!!”

Aisleen undulated her hips invitingly, wafting her scent up into his nostrils.

Though both these women were in their early forties, they were still comely, if not beautiful. They’d spread a little over the years, but the strain of sweaty farm work robbed them of the layers of fat that accumulate on more sedentary matrons. They were still shapely, a tad thicker when viewed in profile, but certainly not grossly so. Both women had small, age-appropriate pouches beneath their navels. Their youthful, svelte abdomens had long since succumbed to the rigors of child birth, but not so much that one might not find their pussies alluring. Their legs and tits were still muscular and firm. The aroma proceeding from their cunts was still sweet, full of the heady pheromones necessary to harden a flaccid dick. That their husbands found regular solace in the embrace of black women drove these women to fulfill their own needs in the embrace of black men, the only difference being that the black men had to be extraordinarily discreet. The white men did not.

Meshach was an experienced cocksman. The scent of Aisleen’s pussy did not cause him to launch a volcano of semen into Marlene’s tangerine pussy. Rather, he disassociated the two pussies mentally and set to work satisfying both. He inched his face forward to Aisleen’s pussy, leading with his tongue. As he closed, the smell of her sex became more and more powerfully erotic. When finally his nose breached her furry mound to nuzzle against her bobbing clitoris all of his senses were engaged.

He flicked out his tongue like a viper, sending red rivulets of passion coursing thru Aisleen’s body. Simultaneously, his pelvis accelerated into a powerful slapping rhythm inside Marlene’s raised cunt, causing her body to recoil like a spring. She lunged her pussy up to him from her shoulder blades and received his downward thrusts. Her dress flopped about, continually slipping into her face as she fucked him.

Tiring of his cunnilingual teasing, Aisleen arched her pussy up to him, desirous of more comprehensive attention and, too, hopeful that his full lips would accept her girly penis into his mouth.

Meshach was used to licking Aisleen’s pussy. He knew that the longer he teased her, the quicker she would come, and the sooner he could slide his dick up into that ass. After all, the pussy was the thing, right?

He nudged forward a bit. Aisleen’s clitoris bulged invitingly before him. He aimed his left nostril down upon it and attempted to inhale, knowing her lustful response to such closure. Like a small dick, her clit surged up into his nasal cavity. She reached down and, using her index finger, quivered his nostril closed about her clit with a series of feather-tipped taps, much as a masturbating woman might. Assisting her run up, Shaddy slipped his tongue up into her pussy as far as it would go. Aisleen quickly reached plateau.

Shaddy offered his other nostril to Aisleen’s surging clitoris. She tightened her ass cheeks and drove her clit as far up into his nose as she could.

“This must be what he feels when his dick is deep inside me,” she groaned.

Her moans of pleasure gave voice to her thoughts. Shortly, both women were struggling to maintain composure under this dual penile and oral assault.

Shaddy began to suck Aisleen’s clit in rhythm with his pelvic thrusts. Both women were sloppy wet already and they hadn’t been fucking for more than three minutes. Shaddy rolled his head and his pelvis in conjunction, giving maximum pressure to Marlene’s pussy while gently sucking and licking Aisleen’s clit.

Marlene came. Her pussy clenched up like a vacuum cleaner, clasping tight about Meshach’s cock as she struggled to restrain herself from crying out in the ecstasy of her suddenness. Chauncey wasn’t the only nigger in the neighborhood who might hear them. Shaddy pressed his cock into her hairy pussy as far as it would go, allowing her orgasm to explode and wash over him like a tidal wave, until finally her vaginal clench subsided and her convulsions abated enough for him to withdraw.

He left Marlene lying on the ground in a disheveled heap, then struggled up to the bedside and inserted his steaming cock into Aisleen’s chestnut pussy, which gaped open and shuddered closed in anticipation of penile insertion, much like a lurking catfish. Shaddy had barely hilted himself when Aisleen’s orgasm consumed her. His massive dick filled the deeper crevices that her husband’s dick never knew. She bucked up to him, seeking to inhale his balls with her prehensile pussy. Her silent scream of orgiastic agony stiffened her entire body into a spasmic rigor. She began to tear at her clothing, as if her orgasm rendered them too painful to bear contact with her naked skin.

When she skittered down from crashing zenith, she felt Meshach’s dick still rock hard inside her pussy. He stared down at her bemusedly, knowing that she could feel the pulse of his manhood thru his cock. Marlene was on her knees next to the conjoined couple, curiously watching Aisleen’s pussy tremble downward from this violent pinnacle. Aisleen’s eyes were closed; she was basking in that mystical, post-orgasmic trance full of light and wonder, spinning wildly. The only thing missing from the experience was that special mixture of hot tapioca and pussyflow crawling from between her buttocks. Shaddy hadn’t blessed her with his seed.

Marlene broke Shaddy’s reverie. She placed her hand on his hip and gave him a little push. It was time for him to pull out; there was more work to be done.

Shaddy withdrew. Marlene gripped his cock and swung it into her mouth. She could smell Aisleen’s vaginal juices on his shaft. Not one inch of his penis was dry; pussy slime gurgled and bubbled up and down the length of his pole. Now Marlene sucked him heartily, taking time to swallow Aisleen’s sticky effluent. Marlene’s sexual motor, drained of energy just minutes before, began to rev back into life.

She maneuvered Meshach out of the way so that her body supplanted his between Aisleen’s legs. Aisleen’s scorched labia were still gasping tepidly, though not so noticeably as before. Marlene continued to slob Shaddy’s dick, adding the scent of her saliva to the odor radiating from his shaft. The luxuriant aroma of spittle, pussy and fertile black dick wafted into the little room. Aisleen noted it. Her catfish pussy started to gape and purr in response to the odor of fuck.

Marlene wanted to try a position that the three of them had only tried once before. She didn’t want to spell it out to Shaddy. She wanted him to figure it out for himself. His sexual IQ always heightened her arousal levels.

To this end she released his cock from her throat, turned, knelt and began to suck Aisleen’s open pussy. She waggled her ass upward to Shaddy, now standing behind her, hopeful that he would take the hint.

He did..

Shaddy grabbed her hips and plunged his already lubricated cock straight up her asshole—ALL the way up. Marlene gasped aloud. This isn’t what she’d intended.

She let him rock her anally for a short period until her rectum absorbed enough lubrication for comfort. Then she looked over her shoulder at him.

“Shaddy. Do that other thing. You know. That other thing. We can do this later.”

Meshach was a bit confused. “The OTHER thing”? What was that? Doggystyle? He pulled his penis from her rectum and moved it downward a bit, to the entrance of her vagina.

“No, Shaddy. Not that. The OTHER thing,” she mumbled, thru a mouthful of fur.

The OTHER thing. The OTHER thing. OHHHH!!!!!!

Shaddy knelt behind Marlene. Marlene went back to licking Aisleen’s pussy. Bent over at the waist, forearms resting on Aisleen’s thighs, dress bunched up around her waist, Marlene opened her legs a bit wider for him. Now he was getting the picture.

Shaddy leaned forward to suck Marlene’s pussy from behind. His nose pressed against the saucy brown sphincter from whence his dick had just exited. She’d washed before this encounter, but her ass still retained an aroma redolent of ass, and even more so because his dick had so recently plumbed her rectum, prying it open to the winds. Her pussy’s ethereal taste overwhelmed him, however, and soon he was sucking and licking her with relish, humming, vibrating his tongue wickedly, like a bumblebee laden with pollen. He even deigned to drag the flat of his tongue over her asshole and up the crack of her ass before retreating to her familiar crimson valley and its billowing, fragrant delights.

Marlene could barely stand up. Her knees buckled under the flickering attention of Shaddy’s tongue. He sucked purple hickeys into her buttocks and her upper thighs. He licked her asshole. He massaged her feet. And ever so often he stood and took some time for himself, inserting his dick into her pussy from behind, causing her to shudder and jerk spasmodically, like a dog whose leg trembles when its belly is rubbed.

Marlene came repeatedly. So comprehensive were her orgasms that Aisleen soon demanded Marlene’s position as the middlewoman in this triune coupling. Only the middlewoman got the benefit of Shaddy’s dick and the taste of a sloppy pussy to boot. Aisleen noted that the black man still hadn’t spilled his seed.

So now Shaddy fucked Aisleen up her ass and her pussy, by turns. He subjected Nathan’s wife to the same treatment he’d given Marlene, mindful that Nathan had fucked his wife Lizzie the night before. Shaddy sucked Aisleen’s hind parts, leaving huge hickeys on her labia as a clandestine message to her husband, his owner.

“I’se de one as OWNS dis pussy heah, MASSUH.”

Aisleen might have been inclined to agree. As the matron of the farm, she had more access to Shaddy than most. She recalled the shocking moment two decades back when she’d first become aware that her mother-in-law, Fiona Leone, regularly indulged herself in the sentient delights of young Shaddy’s massive cock. That day Aisleen’s high-minded ideals about the moral superiority of Southern culture came crashing down around her like so much jagged glass. She realized then that men would be men, and women would be women, and as often as the twain met there would be intercourse. Racial restrictions played little part in this melodrama, serving merely as a veneer of civility over the rampant passions unleashed by instinct and proximity.

Now, as her head snapped back and forth under the power of Shaddy’s wantonly virile thrusts, Aisleen Leone basked in the embrace of her own passions, fully unleashed. Nathan could fuck as many nigger bitches as he wanted. She had the KING nigger and his thirteen inch dick at her beck and call.

If Aisleen felt conflicted about any of this, she never let on. Of late, she’d even taken surreptitious glances at Meshach’s son Charlie, Ben’s friend, only now coming into the fullness of his endowment. She wondered after Charlie’s discretion. After all, Meshach had been only a little older than Charlie when Aisleen discovered his ongoing intercourse with her mother-in-law Fiona.

Suddenly her pussy warmed sharply and she knew that Meshach had cum inside her. What had been a super-heated piston churning in her pussy now ballooned urgently, spitting fire, before metastasizing slowly into a huge fluffy log, awash in a prurient stickiness that at first burned and then quickly cooled into a lubricating gel. She squeezed her pussy around Meshach’s cock and sucked his fiery spew into her womb.

As Meshach drained himself into her, Aisleen turned her attention again to Marlene’s angry crimson mound spread eagled open before her. Shaddy’s prior penile exertions had left Marlene’s pussy lips bloated and wildly askew. Her clit waggled and preened. Too, her silky red carpet lay flat against her vulva, drowning in fragrant sexual juices, exposing her usually hidden sexual organs. Marlene’s vagina gaped open wildly. Aisleen could see clear down past the fire-apple jungle into her inner pinkness.

She leaned forward and inserted her tongue as far up Marlene’s pussy as it would go. Marlene groaned. She clasped her pussy walls around Aisleen’s tongue and gripped it tightly. Aisleen’s upper lip attended Marlene’s clit; her lower lip drifted down to cover Marlene’s sphincter. Now Aisleen flickered her tongue back and forth in Marlene’s pussy, mimicking a small dick. She knew Marlene loved such a feathery touch. Over the many years the two women had finally developed a bit of rhythm to the lesbian aspect of their relationship.

If either woman had been called out for homosexuality, each would have denied it vehemently. They were simply two women that had been close friends as children and had grown close enough so that this sexual dalliance was not only natural for them, it was expected. Neither woman had EVER shared her pussy with any other woman, nor had such a vile thing ever been considered.

Besides, weren’t they both sharing a super-massive cock today?

“Lesbians don’t do that.”

Aisleen tongue-fucked Marlene until she came, thrashing wildly about on the bed. Then both women turned to Meshach to see what could be done about his flaccid cock. Sticky globs of his semen dripped from Aisleen’s ass, yet Marlene’s cunt remained unsullied.

Meshach’s limp cock was still an impressive specimen. It hung in a scimitar arc down the line of his left thigh. Stringlets of jizz dripped tantalizingly from his urethra, down below his knees like a dancing puppet, until the jizz stringlet accumulated enough gravitational force to become a droplet, whereupon it popped the golden strand attached to his peehole and fell to the ground like a raindrop.

The two matrons crowded up to his cock now, eager for him to regain tumescence. They blew him by turns, noting the variegated scents wafting from the convoluted folds of his shaggy foreskin. These retained the aroma of every cleft he’d ever plumbed. In this manner Aisleen and Marlene unknowingly sucked the pussies of scores of local women. Many of these same faint vaginal odors were also invested of their husband’s dicks.

In short order, Shaddy was rock hard again, angled up and ready to go.

He maneuvered Marlene back onto the bed and spread her legs wide so that her ginger pussy fairly screamed its essence into the room. Now he took his penis at the base and whacked it against her pubic mound, using it as a gavel, rousing her drowsy clitoris from its post-coital slumber. Each whack drew arousal blooding back into Marlene’s girly dick. Soon it, too, blossomed erect.

Meshach liked to watch his dick slide slowly up into the fragrant embrace of a sticky pussy. To this purpose, now he centered himself at her entrance and probed forward. Looking down the line of his torso, he saw her labia slide open like a freshly peeled tangerine as his penis eased inside her. She widened to receive him. More and more of her inner pinkness splayed outward as her pussy lips bloomed wide, like an obscene tropical flower, to envelope his cock. Her sticky pubic hairs, wildly tangled and almost an inch and a half thick, tickled his engorged pudenda into her vagina.

When she’d engulfed his cockhead, her pussy lips closed about his shaft with the grace of a Venus fly trap. It was just this closure that Meshach watched for, a thing beautiful to behold—his steaming black dick encircled in the turgid grip of a silky pink pussy. The faintest trace of a grin escaped his lips.

Too, he knew this was the point of no return. Marlene would start revolving her hips in sensual circlets, spiraling his cock deeper and yet deeper into her pussy, scouring her pussy walls with his pud. If she knew how to fuck (and she did), soon his entire cock would be bathed in frothy, funky poochipap.

When he reached bottom, the hot, cushy pudding common to all women would take over. Marlene’s job from that point would be to clasp and suckle at the base of his dick with her labia while she massaged his foreskin back and forth against her deep, inner pudding. If she did it properly he would seize up suddenly and flood her pussy with penis honey. If she did it improperly, Aisleen’s nut-brown pussy was inches away, awaiting its turn.

As always with women, even friends such as these, a small competition was born. Aisleen had won the first round, extracting a huge load of semen from the black man. The task now was to see if Marlene could draw level.

If she felt this competition, Aisleen didn’t show it. She wanted Shaddy to splatter his jism into Marlene’s pussy for a completely different reason, namely, if they got caught Marlene wouldn’t be able to plead innocent. The evidence would be right there.

So as the final inches of Shaddy’s meatpole were disappearing into the wanton heat of Marlene’s luscious sausage grinder, Aisleen leaned over to caress Shaddy’s bulbous nut sac. She knew this action would engender his ejaculate more than any other, save one—a good nut sucking. Aisleen intended to employ that art as soon as she deemed it practical.

Shaddy and Marlene drifted into a consensual rhythm with him rotating clockwise and she rotating counter. Their hips churned together, slowly at first, but picking up speed by degrees. Ever and anon Meshach spiraled his cockhead against her deeper pudding, round and round, occasionally essaying a full withdrawal and following this with a thunderclap thrust, always finishing by grinding his kinky pubic mound against her resurgent clitoris. They fucked with the urgency of teenagers yet, too, with the restraint of seasoned lovers. In doing so, they lay the foundation for a monumental, crashing orgasm, stroke-by-stroke, churn-by-churn, burn-by-burn.

Aisleen watched them fuck with a twinge of regret. She knew that when they did craze asunder under the consummate pressure of a cacophonous eruption, it would be the best of the day. He might bust another nut in Aisleen’s asshole but most of his essence was about to drain into Marlene. She, Aisleen, would only get leftovers. Seeds and duds.

Oh well.

Aisleen leaned forward and took Shaddy’s nuts into her mouth from behind, even as his dick roiled inside Marlene’s pussy. His nut sac was enormous! She couldn’t get both nuts into her mouth at the same time. Also, her nose was planted firmly in his asshole. She took an exploratory whiff. Yes, it was an asshole, alright.

Oh well.

Shaddy moaned audibly like a dying soul. Seconds ago he was on the verge of a gargantuan release. Now Aisleen sucked his seed back into his balls from behind, creating a stasis that agonized him into sexual paralysis. He couldn’t fire. Each millisecond that he withheld his ejaculate, his body wound up like a spinning top, greatly multiplying the potential energies of his final release. Aisleen would suck his balls, alternating this with a luxuriant asshole lick that threatened to release his captive ejaculate, only to suck his burgeoning seed back into his balls an instant later, before it could escape into the tender, nurturing embrace of Marlene’s twat.

This two-way tug-fest was exasperating.

Marlene was more than ready to endure the heat and fury of his cum eruption. As soon as he flushed his jism into her, she was primed to detonate into that rapturous universe of pussy thunder she’d visited earlier. Each stroke that did not deliver up his cock juice only frustrated her into a more tightly wound knot of sexual delirium.

“C-u-u-u-u-m in me-e-e-e!! Oh!! Shaddy!!! C-u-u-u-u-m!!!” she whispered desperately.

Aisleen was the puppeteer controlling their thunder with her rear mount nut sucking, like some deranged, sadistic, mad scientist inflicting pain upon a pair of mewling kittens.

Finally, just when Aisleen thought they might pass out from the delicious dichotomy of her testicular suction, she released Shaddy’s balls from her parasitic grip. Instantly, his ejaculate rocketed forth like a cannonade, triggering Marlene’s mammoth eruption. Such was the force of his release that jism splattered outward from Marlene’s pussy, rocketing backward to drench Aisleen’s eyelids, nostrils and cheeks. Aisleen hadn’t moved out of range quickly enough, nor had she expected his surge to be capable of such a powerful reverb.

A good-natured soul, Aisleen laughed aloud at this wholly deserved comeuppance. Look at that!! Cum was still firing out from Marlene’s pussy in a wickering torrent, soiling the bed and floor. It looked as if Marlene was urinating jism down the line of Shaddy’s cock.

“All that sloppy hot dick fury from one set of nuts!! Wow!!!”

Shaddy lay atop Marlene for ten minutes as the savagery of their joint climax waned into subsidence. Both of them fell momentarily into catatonia. When Shaddy finally summoned the strength to pull out of her pussy, he rolled over and tumbled to the clapboard floor in a heap. His jizz-slickened cock waggled comically, only to flump leaden against the floor. Mechanically, he pulled his dick up to lay astride his stomach.

Aisleen now rose to stand over his limp body.

“This simply won’t do,” she grumbled. “Nathan is gone to town. I won’t git another chance’t like this until Lord-knows-when. Church is tomorrow. I needs ONE more. Jist one!”

Shaddy lay on his back on the floor, still addled by the swirling skeet tornado wreaking havoc in his dome. He was truly spent, lost in a world of carnal delights centered about his penis and expanding outward into an endless boiling firestorm of mushroom clouds and wondrous, gaping monstrosities that rose, crazed and dissipated in his mind. He wasn’t skittering down from his orgasm; he was luxuriating in it. This was his drug of choice.

Aisleen straddled him now, holding her skirt hem aloft. With a precision borne of long practice, she squatted into a football linesman’s stance, lowering her hips until her clit just barely kissed the underside of Shaddy’s creamy dickhead. She inched her clit daintily forward into the lambda shaped valley leading to his urethra, gracefully twiddling his hypersensitive foreskin with her labia. Normally such attentions are a trifle painful to men so soon after a massive orgasm. Aisleen’s pussy was still dripping with cock cream, as was Shaddy’s dick, so he barely noticed the friction.

Every healthy dick in the world can be re-energized by the scent of fresh pussy. Shaddy’s dick was no exception. It was the savory odor of Aisleen’s pussy, more than the feel of her clit, which tweaked his cock alive this day, even though Shaddy’s body shrieked strident vetoes at the prospect of another go.

“Lawd-a-mighty, Meshach, I’se TIRED!!!” his body cried out in its extremis. “Send dese white womens HOME!!”

Despite these pragmatic imprecations, Shaddy’s penis lumbered awake like some preternatural pleisiosaur resurrected from the bowels of a long dormant volcano. Each time Aisleen inched her pussy forward his dick surged a bit. His penile olfactory nerves could taste the sweet, sticky honeypot resonating vibrantly between her thighs.

Aisleen felt his surge with a knowing smile. She was gratified that a woman of her years could still engender such a reaction from a man. Even now she could feel the heat trickling back into his member. Not rushing, of course, but certainly flowing, and with enough volume to change his member from a flaccid lump into a hopefully thick cudgel. Soon she’d be able to nudge his dangling thickness back into her pussy using her fingers. From there, motivated by a few well-timed vaginal contractions, a full, useful erection would certainly ensue.

Aisleen knew what she was about.

And, of course, she was right. Ten minutes on, she and Meshach were fucking with a thunderous violence, sweating, groaning, crashing into each other like fiends. Meshach’s post-coital reticence was gone. In its place was a man whose spent nerve endings allowed him to fuck with reckless abandon, freed from the threat of an early denouement.

He flipped Aisleen over and fucked her up the ass. He watched her ass cheeks tremble gelatinously under his assault. She returned the favor by flipping him onto his back and fucking him Amazon-style, that is, with his legs up in the air draped across her shoulders.

He flipped her over onto her shoulder blades, ass up, then squatted his dick into her from above. He fucked her top-down, with him standing and Aisleen doubled over beneath him, facing away, grunting in a very unladylike manner each time his dick touched bottom.

She blew him repeatedly during these positional transitions, eagerly slobbing her own pussy juices from his thickly veined knob. Shaddy held her head firmly and humped her mouth savagely. Her lips bubbled wide and subsumed inward as his dick churned past her tongue and ever more deeply into her throat. Aisleen made sure to lock his gaze during these interludes. She loved to see the mystical effect her fellatio wielded.

Marlene awakened a fifteen minutes into their fuck session and eagerly joined in, licking whichever orifice was open at the moment, inserting her tongue whenever she thought it beneficial and occasionally availing her southern peach of the pleasure of Meshach’s resurgent dick. This was Aisleen’s turn, after all.

When they finally came, Shaddy and Aisleen were curled over into the sixty-nine position, sucking each other lavishly, and Marlene had her tongue up Aisleen’s ass.

Shaddy didn’t waste all of his seed in Aisleen’s mouth. Since their tongues were servicing holes in such close proximity, he kissed Marlene brusquely as Aisleen gurgled his jism on the other end. Then, using his fist, he clamped the base of his cock and clambered atop Marlene’s puss. He pried her open and delivered up his residual issue.

Now the adulterous threesome lay about the little shack, dangling from the bed to the floor, hair askew, partially dressed, unable to move without tweaking some shrieking nerve ending into alarm. Shaddy lounged back on the bed naked with Marlene, still fully dressed, sitting between his splayed open thighs, kissing his limp dick tenderly. Save for an absence of underclothing, Aisleen, too, was fully dressed. She lay perpendicular on the bed, resting her head against Shaddy’s chest, exhausted.

There was no mistaking the smell of fuck emanating from any of the three. The white women knew that they had to get home and out of these dresses before anyone accosted them. Shaddy, on the other hand, didn’t have a worry in the world. Master Nate was gone—Jimmy crack corn. His wife Lizzie would know he’d been out fucking, but would say nothing. As a couple, they’d long since crossed that bridge.

“Marly. We better be gittin’ back,” Aisleen finally said.

“Yeh. OK,” Marlene replied.

The two women stood and began to look around for their undergarments. Aisleen picked up a pair, noticed they weren’t hers, and handed them the Marlene. Marlene stepped into her drawers and fitted them tightly about her waist. A small wet spot instantly appeared in the fabric. It widened quickly in diameter, leaving the impression that Marlene had peed herself. Marlene dropped her skirt to hide her bloomers from view.

“I seen that,” chuckled Aisleen.

“No you didn’t,” retorted Marlene.

Aisleen slipped into her own underwear. A similar wet spot appeared and spread.

“I seen THAT,” chided Marlene.

“No you DIDN’T,” retorted Aisleen.

Their passions sated, now it was time to return to the façade of respectability they’d earned as farm matrons and church mavens. Shaddy, still naked on the bed, was almost an afterthought, no more consequential than the hidden wet spots widening in their bloomers. He knew it. The two women who, not twenty minutes ago were pleading for his cum, now magically transformed back into stiffly formal forty-ish southern belles, ashamed to say the word “fuck” aloud.

The women straightened their clothing and fixed each other’s hair. When they left this cabin they needed to look like they’d only been there out of concern for Chauncey, not to get their motors plumbed and overhauled.

Without so much as a wave goodbye, they exited the little hut and proceeded back to the big house, wholly unaware that Sandra Jean was observing their egress from her perch in the woods.

Shaddy waited another twenty minutes. Then he, too, dressed and exited the cabin.

III.

Remembrances

All of yesterday’s carnal memories came flooding back to the Leone matrons in that flash of an instant while preparing to bathe that Sunday morning. They remembered the fucking, the sucking and the heft of a huge black dick splattering creamy penis lotion about willy-nilly, with little regard for consequences. It was as if they were young girls again, hiding a suspiciously phallic masturbatory object from the scrutiny of their parent’s purview, and holding the secret of its usage in common.

The two women shared a surreptitious smile, even as they both knew what the other was thinking.

“That was nice, wasn’t it?”

And it was. It was also a dangerous devolution from reality. Perhaps that’s what made it so memorable.

Nathan and Hank Leone had returned from town late the prior evening. Their wagon was still in the courtyard, filled with provisions. They returned so late that no one was available to unload the wagon. Though Buck and Morty had accompanied them to town, the four men decided to crawl into bed first and unload the wagon early the next morning, a Sunday.

One might wonder why the men didn’t pick up provisions when they returned to town for church the next day. Simply put, there were no commercial ventures open on the Sabbath. Farmers had six other days in which to re-stock their cupboards. On Sundays, like everyone else, the merchants closed so that they might attend church.

Next up to the communal bath came Abigail Harkness. Her eyes were still closed with sleep. She trudged up to the washbasin, scratching her hairy armpits and the crack of her ass diffidently, yucking her mouth open and shut to dissipate the taste of morning mouth. The dawning sun caused her to squint a bit. She reeked of the smell of semen. Her aunt caught a whiff and presumed that Abby’s aroma proceeded from a late night encounter with her husband. Aisleen, however, knew her child well. That scent was nigger dick.

Aisleen eyed her daughter in that way that mother’s do. It’s a look that says, “I know what you’ve been doing, Missy May, and you know you ain’t had no business doin’ it.”

Abby noticed her mother’s glare and ignored it.

“Can I use some of this bath water? I must stink sump’n terrible,” Abby grumbled.

“Oooh chile, yes. Git right in. I smelt you all the way over yonder. What you been doin’, girl? Rollin’ ‘round in a barn?” Marlene chortled.

“No, ma’am.”

Abby didn’t care to elaborate. Any response she gave would just be a lie. And both these women before her probably already knew that she’d been fucking. They just didn’t know with whom.

Abby shed her night shift quickly and stepped naked into the murky waters. A hot bath was a rare luxury. Though this water was still quite hot, as Aisleen had predicted it was now completely milky white. One could not see the bottom of the tub.

Abby didn’t care. She was exhausted. Her rendezvous with Charlie last night had left her winded—fully bereft. Only the daunting prospect of arriving at church chock full of nigger jizz animated her body this early Sunday morning. She HAD to wash up.

As the steamy waters enveloped her body, Abby took time to recall yesterday’s session with Charlie. Even now his copious semen oozed from her nether regions, adding its special properties to the creamy texture of the bathwater.

She fondly remembered yesterday’s excruciatingly slow fuck session with the younger black man. No other dick had ever been that far up her auburn snapper, so far up that she felt Charlie’s heartbeat throbbing, thru his penis, next to her own heart. They hadn’t fucked with savage abandon, no. Rather, she’d held him tightly inside her cunt, not caressing their tightly merged genitals with soft, nurturing palpitations, but instead fucking forcefully, straining mightily to gain yet another millimeter of depth. Her furry labia scraped raggedly against his kinky pubic mound. They grinded themselves together with an agonizing rotational lethargy, the pressure mounting and mounting until a colossal fuckquake must ensue. Abby stretched Charlie’s foreskin so far back that she thought it might snap back and pop with the force of a bullet.

They fucked standing up, cheek-to-cheek, sweating profusely as Abby sought to draw him ever deeper, up into the far reaches of her pussy, stretched tightly into those deep pudding recesses where no dick had ever probed. At any moment either of them might have succumbed to a blistering orgasm. But they fought the urge to capitulate, trembling with the massive effort at restraint. Sweat poured from their foreheads, nostrils and lips, dripping down between her tits and trickling yet further down their stomachs before finally seeping into the searing red-hot friction of their conjoined genitalia, thus providing lubricant for another millimeter of insertion. Here at the source of their sexual anguish, much of this sweat boiled away into steamy vapor.

Abby’s vagina quivered about Charlie’s dick, even as she held him locked in place inside her. They gazed deeply into each other’s souls, knowing that any sudden movement would send an avalanche of jism arching into her womb. They grasped each other’s buttocks for leverage. Charlie’s dick never knew such girth as blood surged into it and became trapped in his erectile tissues. He was fit to burst.

Just as he felt about to pass out, Charlie withdrew suddenly and served up a gargantuan thrust that lifted Abby off her feet and filled her pussy with semen. Dollops of that semen oozed into her Sunday morning bath even now. Abby responded with an epileptic climax that left her extremities quivering uncontrollably. Her eyes rolled back into her skull like some nappy African zombie from the islands. She literally fainted for some minutes, only borne aloft by the angular heft of Charlie’s spurting cock. Afterward, both of them fell to the ground, wholly spent, unable to stand erect.

Returning from the memory of orgiastic reverie, Abby sucked bathwater into her pussy and expelled it leisurely, wholly unaware that she was mixing Charlie’s seed with that of his father. She couldn’t remember how long she lay on the floor of the barn in the aftermath of that memorable encounter. She just knew that yesterday’s bone-shattering orgasm exceeded any she’d experienced to date. Quite a feat, considering her history. And there were some niggers on that farm whose dicks were bigger than Charlie’s.

Abby smiled wistfully at the prospect.

“What you grinnin’ about, chile?” snapped Aisleen. “Hurry up and git out that tub. Folks is waitin’ in line!!”

It was true. Annette and Janice were there, standing off to the side, watching Abby ruminate.

Quickly, Abby dunked her head into the milky water. She popped right up, then took a chunk of soap to her hair until it lathered up into a soapy mass. Dutifully, without being asked, Annie and Janice stepped up to the tub and helped her massage the soap into her scalp. When every inch of her auburn tresses were sloppy with foam, Abby doused herself again and rinsed her hair in the milky bathwater. When she emerged, her sister Annie carefully poured a pitcher of clean water over her head. Janice did the same. They rinsed her hair until no hint of bathwater smell remained.

Abby stepped from the washtub, her eyes squinched tightly shut. Annie handed her a towel for her hair and another for her body. Abby stepped out of the tub and stepped to the side. She’d finish drying there.

Janice now stepped up to the tub. She waited for her mother and her aunt to wander off before doffing her clothing. When she finally stepped naked into the steamy waters, only Abby and Annie noted the smashed and matted crimson jungle burgeoning between her legs. Her infamously hairy pubic mound was pasted dry with semen. Instead of bristling eagerly forth from her puss like normal, it lay in an abnormally flat reddish clump, motionless and crusty, with spikey, jagged dreadlocks spiring outward at irregular intervals. Jannie slid quickly into the tub to avoid scrutiny.

“Dang, Jannie. What in the living fuck was THAT?” Abby noted wryly.

“Hush, Abigail,” Annie cut in. “I don’t reckon your pooch warn’t no spring chicken before you got in the tub.”

“I’m just sayin’.” Abby retorted.

Janice submerged herself fully in the tub. A greyish film now covered the milky surface of the waters. Closing about her head, it served as a metaphor for Janice’s moral conundrum. She’d fucked a nigger!!! People knew about it!!! She’d sucked a nigger’s dick!!! He’d spilled his seed into her cooch!! And her throat!!! And her ass!!

And the worst of it was….some part of her wanted to do it again. Some small, infinitesimal, racially corrupt portion of her fiber wanted to feel that lustful, sweaty black dick thrusting inside her pussy until her primal instincts ruptured vibrantly alive and she soared up to the heavens before melting and falling headlong, like Icarus, into the Purgatory of the Damned.

She was going to hell. That much was clear.

How her cousins came to terms with this moral degeneracy she couldn’t understand. Now, she too had become infected with their unquenchable black nigger lust. All the literature warned about this. No Sunday sermon was complete without at least a passing reference.

She should never have allowed Abby and Annie to influence her on this account. It was their fault!! She might have been happy fucking Jake and Ben until her inevitable wedding to an unrelated white man! Why couldn’t she have stood on principle and just said no? She’d tried. Oh, how she’d tried. But it was right there in front of her and….

A burning sensation in her lungs brought Janice about. She surfaced and drew a huge gasp of air.

“I thought you’d fainted, girl. I was about to reach in and git you,” said Annie.

“I’m alright,” Janice sighed.

“No you ain’t. You been moanin’ and moonin’ around since last night. What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’. Nothin’”

“Stop lyin’. It is sump’n wrong. I knows you only too well.”

“Oh Annie!! Why’d you let me git wit’ that nigger? I ain’t wanna do it! I only done it because you looked like you was havin’ such a good time!!! Now I got to go to church today and git my Jesus back!!”

Annie was offended.

“Girl!! Hush. I ain’t forced you to do nuthin’. Plus, if you ever had Jesus you ain’t lost him over a piece of nigger dick. No one does. Just about every woman in that church got more nigger jizz up they cooches right now than you ever had. Besides, you looked happy enough yesterday when Isaac was slammin’ you fulla sausage. I seen a couple times where you jumped up on his dick all fat n’ happy without his askin’.”

“WILL YOU BE QUIET!!!”

“Momma and Auntie is gone. Ain’t nobody here but us. Simmah down! If you feel so bad about it, here, take this soap cake and wash out your coochie and you won’t never have to ride nary nuther nigger dick.”

Janice took the soap and began to scrub her vagina and her furry underarms vigorously.

Abby, who had been standing by listening, now broke into the conversation.

“Janice, don’t feel bad. You can scrub out your puss, but you ain’t never gonna scrub out the memory. Tell the truth: you feel bad ‘cause it felt so good, ain’t it so? You ain’t expected it to feel that good, did you? None of us did. Look, I’m gon’ tell you something. You, too, Annie. Come over here.”

Annie complied.

“You remember that time I had my trouble? (Here she was referring to her last abortion. The child would have been black.) Well, Auntie Beth pulled me aside and told me something that would get rid of the nigger taint, if you’re of a mind to take the medicine. It ain’t easy. And you might have to do some things you wouldn’t have thought you’d do. But you CAN git to be a full white woman again, with no nigger taint, if that’s what you want.”

Annie’s curiosity was piqued.

“Auntie Beth told you what?”

“Never you mind what she told me, my pretty. It ain’t my place to tell you, an’ you ain’t old enough yet to know. She made me do it that one time and I ain’t about to go through it again. I ain’t afflicted with the fear of nigger taint and apparently it ain’t tormentin’ you none either, Ann. But, Jannie, if you REALLY think you need it, ask Auntie about it. Tell her I told you to ask. She’ll set your mind at ease.”

Janice sat up in the tub hopefully. Maybe there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

“Where is Auntie Beth right now?”

“Her and Uncle Frank is down in Texas somewheres, ministerin’ to the troops.”

“When will she be home again?”

“She wrote and said she’d like to come home Christmas but said she couldn’t say which Christmas ‘cause the need was so great where she’s at.”

“Dang!! That’s four months down the road!!”

“And she might cain’t git here, even then. They ain’t travelin’ so much no more. Uncle Franklin has his own church down there. He cain’t just git up and ride out whenever auntie asks.”

“So how is she gonna help ME?”

“If it was me, Jannie, I wouldn’t even worry about it. Your heart’s gon’ hurt you for a little bit. An’ then one mornin’ you gon’ wake up and say you druther have a stiff, fat black dick up in you than worry about what the biddies at church is sayin’ ‘bout you.”

“Yeah, you say that NOW. You already got you a white man. I won’t be able to snag a white man if ever’body says I’m a nigger lover.”

“Yeah, and my white man is gots a white boy’s dick. So what am I gon’ do the rest of my life? Scratch myself? No thank you.”

“Jannie, listen,” interjected Annette. “What you’re feelin’ right now will go away. Believe me, I’ve felt those same guilt pangs. Them feelings don’t come from within you. They come from outside you, from folks that don’t know you. You know who you are and what you’re about. You’re a good, god-fearin’, Christian woman. Cain’t nobody take that away from you. It’s in you. Some ‘a these niggers is good Christians, too. They just happen to be black, is all. I could see if Charlie or Isaac was heathens, runnin’ ‘round rapin’ good white womens and killin’ babies and sayin’ the word “god” before the word d-mn and selling liquor on a Sunday. But they ain’t. I reckon that, if they wasn’t black, they’d be most as good as us or any other white man. You gots to look at it THAT way. Then, when they puts a good dick up in you and you gits to shakin’, you don’t feel so bad afterward, you know? I been there, believe me.”

“Yeah, but…”

“No ‘buts’. Now finish rinsin’ your cooch out. Lemme wash your hair. We gots to be gittin’ along to church. An’ I gots a full load of nigger float rumblin’ inside MY pussy that’s got to come out, too. You ain’t the only one needs a hot bath.”

IV.

“Niggers don’t have souls, Brother”

Four hours later, both sets of racially separate Leone’s were piously attending church. The white Leone’s, Nathan and Hank and their families, cobbled aboard their family carriages and traipsed off to the First Missionary Bapticostal Church of God in town. The black Leone’s—all slaves, Leone’s only by virtue of ownership—held church services in the slave quarters, outside, officiated by the Right Reverend Cleotis Jenkins, from the Jenkins farm. The Right Reverend served the spiritual needs of several farms in the area and had leave to travel between them on Sundays—with a handwritten pass, of course. Religion seemed to keep the niggers in line.

Hank had his black driver pack up his carriage as his family left for church. He would return to his own farm later Sunday afternoon after services. It didn’t make sense for him to travel all the way back to his brother’s farm to retrieve his belongings.

The younger Leone’s begged to travel together in one carriage or the other, but their parents forbade it. Sunday was a time for core families; the younger Leone’s were forced to travel in carriages with their respective parents. Abby and Buck traveled in their own carriage.

Church services in town started promptly at 11:00 a.m. The Leone’s settled into their pews and turned their faces upward to receive The Word. After the hymnal, the Rev. Masterson Sanders began his sermon. Shortly after that, all of the younger Leone’s began to daydream.

Annie: “(My, that Isaac was something else!! If Abby wants Charlie, I think I might gots me a replacement!!)”

Ben: “(I ain’t git my chance’t at Jannie!! Durn that Ruthie’s hide!! I wonder if Jannie’ll give me some pussy downstairs, after services?)”

Jake: “(Uh-oh. I’m gittin’ hard again. Why won’t this durn thing stay down?)”

Abby: “(I’ve got two more days at home. I’m gon’ git me some from Ben tonite. And then I’m gon’ git Charlie to rub me up one mo’ time. That should hold me.)”

Jannie: “(Please, Lord, DON’T let me git pregnant with a nigger pickaninny. I’ll do ANYTHING. Please LORD!! ‘Pon my WORD as a Christian!! ‘Pon my SOUL!!)”

Buck: “(I wonder if Ben give that nigger girl the what for, like he said he was? Doggoneit! I always miss the fun!!)”

Even the elder Leone’s drifted sideways from the text of the weekly sermon.

Nathan Leone: “(I’ve got to have that talk with Benny. It’s long past time.)”

Hank: “(The TAINT!!! Who woulda thought a pretty nigger girl like Sandra Jean would have the taint already? You reckon Nate is lying? No. Why would he lie? Also, how would he know, less’n she give him the taint?)”

Aisleen: “(That durn Abby come out smellin’ like a nigger again this mornin’, and she a married woman!! Who taught her to behave like this!! Oh, Lord Jesus, don’t let my chile git caught up wit’ Auntie Griot again!! Lord, I don’t think my heart can take it!!)”

Marlene: “(OHHHHH!! CUM-IN-MEEEEEEEEEE!!! SHADDY!!!!”)

In this wise, the Leone’s weren’t much different from any of the other parishioners present, who attended church in body but wondered after their own lives in spirit. Occasionally, they spurred the young Reverend along with encouraging mutterings of “Amen, Brother!!” and “Yes, Lord!!” as occasion warranted. Reverend Sanders appreciated these imprecations and re-doubled his efforts on their behalf.

Afterward, few of the parishioners would long remember the gist of his sermon. If the Reverend repeated today’s sermon on the following Sunday, few would notice.

When the last intonations of the closing prayer rang out the congregation rousted itself. There were smiles and handshakes all around. Another fine spiritual feast had been consumed. It was time for socializin’!

Ben made a beeline for Jannie and casually whispered something in her ear. Though she’d agreed to it several times prior, Jannie was in no mood to suck Ben’s dick in the downstairs broom closet this day. Her heart was heavy. Couldn’t he see that?

Ben was perplexed. What was wrong with his cousin? He cast a quizzical eye across the church at Annie who, at that very moment, was being led downstairs to the broom closet by Jake.

Annie shrugged her shoulders to Ben.

“How would I know what’s wrong with her?” she ventured by way of a glance, before disappearing down the stairs.

Back at the Leone farm, the blacks were having church services of their own. Their services differed markedly from the staid and pedantic rituals practiced by the whites. The slave services were rife with song, not sermon. Even the youngest attendees easily learned the repetitive, simplistic lyrics, which were often invented spontaneously right there on the spot. A tambourine and a single drum provided musical accompaniment. Ever so often the spirit would overcome one of the parishioners, usually a woman, and then she would flail about, jagging this way and that, while the drum ramped up a rhythm in time with her gyrations.

This was called “gittin’ de Holy Ghose” and it was a much desired privilege. Those so chosen would literally run up and down, shrieking unintelligibly, and often had to be physically restrained before the song could end. Shortly thereafter, another similar song would start, using the same beat but different lyrics, and de Holy Ghose would descend upon another dancer, or sometimes several.

Those not chosen by de Holy Ghose would hum and shake their heads back and forth in time with the rhythm, awaiting their turn to dance. Rev. Jenkins’ job was to ramp up the delirium until “de Ghose” touched most of the attendees. Then he would make some perfunctory scriptural comments, take up an offering, make an altar call and close with prayer. Any monies received went straight to Massuh Joe Jenkins.

The Right Reverend Jenkins always came prepared to discuss a single scripture that he had memorized. He never took time to point out more than one scripture; he couldn’t read. Fortunately, neither could any of his congregants. Bibles weren’t necessary at these services.

Not surprisingly, these black church religious rituals were hugely popular among both blacks and whites. The blacks liked them because they gave an opportunity to shed the shackles of the larger white culture, inasmuch as Christianity were an alien religion to Africans. These African Americans subsisted on the hope that a better future awaited them in heaven; the present must be endured faithfully until that holy day. The whites liked the services because it was Massuh Jenkins who imbued the Right Reverend Jenkins with memorized scripture during the workweek. More often than not, those scriptures reinforced the concept of white authority and black subjection to authority. Even Christ’s Beatitudes were manipulated into an apologetic for the institution of slavery.

Rev. Jenkins was the tool by which black slaves in the area were placated. He was their opiate.

Meshach rarely attended these church services. His wife Lizzie and their children always attended. Lizzie was infamous for her weekly go ‘rounds with de Holy Ghose. Often she danced thru two or three songs. Those in attendance knew enough to leave her be as she communed with the spirit. Normally a reticent woman, Lizzie’s right hook became a potent weapon under the inspiration of de Holy Ghose. Afterward, she could never remember the number of persons she’d felled.

It was a small congregation. This morning’s attendees included Lizzie and all her children except Charlie. Also in attendance were Morty, Lize and Chauncey, Cora and her mother Andra, Duck and his brood, Homer’s wife Dania and their two sons, Caleb and Martha, Jerome and his six girls, three recently purchased male Africans who spoke no English as yet, Suzy and her mother Gerty, and Sandra Jean. Tom Delaney, the longtime overseer, stood guard. He also served as Rev. Jenkins’ escort.

Cora’s daughter Tilly (fathered by Jerome) was absent. Tilly lived on a neighboring farm and only occasionally visited home. In any case, Rev. Jenkins had already visited Tilly’s farm earlier that morning and served her up with a dose of de Holy Ghose. Cora’s father Seth had passed on the summer before last.

After Zelma and Phoebe’s banishment from the farm, Caleb did eventually reconcile with his old girlfriend Martha. They’d been married for about ten years and had two youngsters. Both of them were full of de Holy Ghose nowadays.

Jerome married Dania’s sister Danielle, who bore him six fresh-faced daughters. The eldest of these was sixteen; the youngest only two. As with Zelma and Phoebe, their story is set for another day.

Duck was there with his twin daughters, Regina and Vera, both now almost grown. His younger son Phillip was there. One of his children was missing and would never attend. It had been Duck who’d impregnated Abby Leone four years back.

Meshach was absent. So was Charlie. Both of them were sleeping off their sexual bacchanalia from the previous day. Neither of them felt much need for de Holy Ghose. On those occasions when Lizzie insisted upon their attendance, de Ghose curiously passed them over.

After church services, Sandra surprised the little group with her spread of fresh fish. Lize offered up a couple of pullets. The other women cobbled some greens and cornbread together and they all had a sumptuous after-church luncheon.

Tom Delaney looked on with disgust. You’d think these niggers would have better things to do that sit about eating and laughing on a Sunday. If it was HIS farm, you betcha, they’d be out doing something productive, Sabbath or not!

Back at the white church, Nathan Leone sat down to confer with Rev. Sanders.

Nathan Leone: “Thank you for takin’ the time to talk, Reverend.

Rev. Sanders: “Brother Leone, I always have time for you and yours. What can I help you with?”

Nathan Leone: “Well, Reverend, as you know, my boy Bennett done come of age.”

Rev. Sanders: “Yes. And a fine boy he is!”

Nathan Leone: “Thank you, Reverend. I like him. One day he’s gon’ take over the Leone farm and it’ll be him sitting here before you.”

Rev. Sanders: “What can I help you with today, Brother?”

Nathan Leone: “Well, he’s a man now. I need to have a talk with him. I prolly should’ve had this talk with him afore now.”

Rev. Sanders: “Ahhhh. The Nigger Talk.”

Nathan Leone: “Yessir. The Nigger Talk. My daddy give me The Nigger Talk ‘bout this same time when I was a cub. I ‘uz good friends with a nigger down on our farm, same as Benny is now. And I had to give up that friendship in order to become head of the farm.”

Rev. Sanders: “It’s a rite of passage, my son.”

Nathan Leone: “Yessir. It was hard. But I done it.”

Rev. Sanders: “So, brother, you know what’s before you. What can I help you with? Surely you know what to tell young Bennett?”

Nathan Leone: “I know what to tell him. This ain’t rightly about that. This is about ME.”

Rev. Sanders: “You?”

Nathan Leone: “Well, sir, I allus felt bad about what I done.”

Rev. Sanders: “What did you do?”

Nathan Leone: “I…I…threw over my pard. Meshach. We ‘uz pards. And I threw him over. I give him that whuppin’ that time. I’ve took my due out’n his wife on occasion. Anybody’ll do as much, if you’ll excuse me for sayin’. Yit, somethin’ deep down in me tells me…this ‘uz wrong. ‘N I git a funny feelin’ in my stomach when I see him. Shaddy, I mean.”

Rev. Sanders: “But I don’t understand. You know what needs to be done in order to keep up our way of life here in the South.”

Nathan Leone: “Yessir. I do. And I done it. But I ain’t felt good about it.”

Rev. Sanders: “Would you give up your family and your community for your friendship with a nigger? What kind of white man does that?”

Nathan Leone: “No sir. No sir. You ain’t seein’ my point. I done what I had to do. I surely did. I done it. But I ain’t liked it. Shaddy ain’t looked at me the same ever since. He don’t laugh like he used to. He’s positively orn’ry. Won’t talk much. Sometimes I reckon that if he git the chance’t, he might cause me some real harm.”

Rev. Sanders: “That’s exactly right, Brother Leone, he would. And that’s exactly why you did what you had to do. And you done the right thing.”

Nathan Leone: “I know, but…”

Rev. Sanders: “But what, my son?”

Nathan Leone: “Doggoneit, it don’t feel right, Rev’nd! It ain’t never felt right! I ain’t never told nobody this. And don’t you go tellin’ nobody ‘bout it, neither. But Reverend, I ain’t felt right before the Lord ever since.”

Rev. Sanders: “Your conscience bothers you.”

Nathan Leone: “Yessir.”

Rev. Sanders: “Well, Brother Leone, there’s conscience. And there’s duty. You chose duty. It’s what white men do. And stick with, by the way. It’s what makes us white men. Bennett will do the same, as will Bennett’s sons.”

Nathan Leone: “And you don’t think the good Lord Jesus will roll me over for what I done to Shaddy? Give me the shake when my time comes?”

Rev. Sanders: “Niggers don’t have souls, Brother Leone. They’re like cows in that respect. Everyone knows this. I’ve preached on it. It’s clearly taught in the scriptures.”

Nathan Leone: “Soul or no, Shaddy ‘uz my friend. ‘N I throwed him over. That ‘uz wrong any way you look at it. I wouldn’t do my dog like that.”

Rev. Sanders: “Brother Leone, would you have Shaddy laying up with your daughters? Would you have him marryin’ up with your sisters? Would you have our Christian nation become a race of mottled, half-a- nigger, mud people? You’ve got to think of the bigger picture, here. It’s not just about you.”

Nathan Leone: “No sir. I wouldn’t want that.”

Rev. Sanders: “I think you know what you need to do.”

Nathan Leone: “Yessir. Thank you, sir.”

In the downstairs broom closet, Ben and Jake were just finishing up with Annette. Her bloomers were stretched around her ankles. Her church dress was hiked up around her waist. She scooped up the hem and held it tightly in place with her left fist to avoid spotting. Ben fucked her slowly from behind, gripping her wide ass with both hands as his penis roiled in and out of her pussy. She nursed at Jake’s dick on the other end, using her right hand to accumulate Ben’s semen dripping from her pussy before wiping it onto the head of a mop in the corner. The mop had already absorbed five handfuls.

Annie was exhausted.

She’d been doing an awful lot of fucking lately and had precious little sleep to show for it. Here, she’d only agreed to suck Jake’s dick, intending to get back upstairs and into the milling church crowd before she was missed. She calculated it might take two minutes, at most, before Jake’s jizz was sloshing around in her stomach and Jake was properly anesthetized. No fuss, no muss. A little jizz on her breath, maybe, but she had a small, store-bought peppermint concealed in her purse for just such a happy occasion.

And then Ben showed up. What at first promised to be a two-minute dalliance instead became a twenty-minute ordeal.

Ben snatched her skirt up and yanked her drawers down while she was servicing Jake. He slipped his cock into her golden pussy and raked her savagely. In very little time he launched his essence into her. Sated, his dick soon flopped out of her pussy. Jake then decided he wanted some pussy, too, and so he replaced Ben inside Annie’s ass.

Predictably, Jake came quickly, though not quickly enough to end the session. Ben swapped him out and re-introduced his semi-hard dick into Annette’s cum-slickened vagina. He regained his hard-on after some minutes, then settled into this present slow churn.

Jake didn’t faint this time, as he usually did. He rested against the door for a bit, breathing heavily. When he came to himself, he nudged around to Annie’s mouth, where he inserted his flaccid dick and started humping.

“Jeez Louise!!” Annie thought. “We’re in CHURCH!! Cain’t a girl git some rest SOMETIME?”

She hadn’t cum. She hadn’t even come close to cumming. She was only doing this because she loved her cousin Jake and didn’t want him to go home without a good snifter of her pussy. She knew he liked it. And now here comes her greedy-ass brother, doggone-it, bargin’ in where he ain’t had no business bargin’. Ben could get as much pussy as he wanted, anytime he wanted, at home. But the greedy bastard just had to horn in on some of Jake’s pussy here at the church. Hell, Jake would have busted his nuts in her mouth and she wouldn’t need to be standing here scooping up jizz ploppings with her hands and wiping the stickiness on a mop. She could be upstairs right now with the other Christians, chittering with the latest gossip and flirting with the boys.

But NO.

Now she’d got to serve as a cumbucket for two mugs whose jizz reserves didn’t ever seem to run dry. Both these mullethaids had served up truckloads of pussy jelly just yesterday. By rights they should be sleepin’ THAT off.

“Damn! I hope they hurry up.”

She captured another handful of dripping semen and wiped it on the mop.

“If I offered you some pussy, would you take it?”

Later that afternoon, in the hottest part of the day, Sandra Jean skipped out on the after-church luncheon and made her way back to the spring. No one saw her leave. Only after her graceful laughter ceased to regale the little congregation was she missed.

Concurrent with the realization of her absence came the consciousness of time. Tomorrow was another workday. The church dancers slowed from their refreshing sojourn in the bosom of de Holy Ghose and began to make ready for another full week of slave drudgery.

Sandra was gone like an unspoken whisper.

She arrived at the spring and stripped naked, intending to commune again in this, her own personal church. As she had earlier, she swam out to the deepest part of the spring before jack knifing down to frolic, childlike, among God’s underwater creation. Sandra could hold her breath for upwards of three minutes—four minutes if she didn’t exert herself too strenuously. She liked to push these limits just a little further each time she visited this glade.

Sandra loved the turtles. She liked to track them as they scurried from before her using their awkward “first one set of legs on this side, then the other set” stroke. The turtles had no reason to doubt her rapacious predatory appetite. After all, why would she be chasing them if she didn’t intend to eviscerate and consume them?

Sandra chased one turtle then another. There were scores of them. They all had to surface to breathe occasionally, whereas Sandra was doing her best to evolve into a fully aquatic entity.

When she tired of chasing turtles she chased fish. When that pleasure waned, de Holy Ghose came upon her and she performed a graceful, water-borne ballet at mid-spring, weightless, signifying her submission to the Spirit and drinking into herself the joys of God’s freedom.

She partook of this spiritual cup until her lungs finally burned and she was forced to surface. Sandra repeated this dance time and again that afternoon, a shimmering goddess of the deep, golden and lovely, like her mothers before her.

Basking now on the surface while replenishing her oxygen store, Sandra heard her name called from afar. She turned in the direction and saw Charlie standing on the far bank next to her clothing.

“Hi, Charlie!!” she called out.

She swam to him, emerging from the crystalline waters in an unabashedly naked state.

“I knew you ‘uz down here. I seen you sneak off fum de party,” he said.

“I didn’t sneak off. I just left. It was time,” she replied.

“Time fo’ what? Time fo’ you to come play wid’ de turkles again?”

“Yes.”

“Girl, you ‘bout de craziest one I done run ‘cross. Most girls is ‘fraidy cat of turkles and frogs and such.”

“Not me.”

Sandra made no move to dress or to even shield her blazing assets from his purview. She flipped her hair back and wringed it out, holding his gaze steadily with her own. Her tits stood up proudly before the younger man, nipples fully erect from her sojourn in the cold depths. Her pubic mound pooched outward from the slim line of her torso. Water dripped from her curly pubic hairs. She was svelte without being masculine.

Any other man Charlie’s age would have immediately fallen prey to a debilitating erection at the mere vision of her loveliness. Surprisingly, Charlie did not. Instead, he casually removed his own clothing and laid them on the ground next to Sandra’s dress. Now the pair knelt and sat on their garments, side by side, facing the glade.

“You been mighty busy this weekend,” she opened.

“Yeah, I reckon.”

“You give Abby some?”

“She axed me fo’ it.”

“Up in the barn?”

“Yeah. And one or two times down here to de spring.”

This was a tepid opening. Sandra already knew the general outlines of Charlie’s weekend sexual escapades.

“I warned you about her, Charlie.”

“You ack like you don’t like Miss Abby.”

“Oh, go on. You know I love Abby. It’s just that I love you, too. You’re like the little brother I ain’t never had. If you git caught with her, it’s YOU that’ll git whipped and hanged, not her. I cain’t have that. You take a awful lotta risks. An’ you been doin’ it to Annie, too? Psshhh. Supposin’ one of ‘em gits pregnant like Abby done that time? Nobody knows yet who the daddy was. I don’t even know and I’m closer to her than anyone in the world. I just know she come to me and wanted me to take her down to Auntie Griot. An’ I done it. Even her momma don’t know who the daddy was. She’s reckless, Charlie. She’s a good girl, but she’s reckless.”

“What I’m ‘posed to do, Sandy? Bof’ o’ ‘em come to me fo’ some dick. I ain’t went out’n my way to offer it.”

“You ain’t went out’n yo’ way to say no, neither.”

“Pshhhh. How you talk? Who gon’ say no to ‘ary one of ‘em?”

“Hmmmmph. If I offered you some pussy, would you take it?”

“Yes.”

“That’s why I ain’t offerin’ you no pussy.”

He shoved her playfully.

“You don’t offer yo’ pussy up to nobody but maybe de turkles.”

She shoved him back.

“Oh, hush. I give my pussy to somebody once’t. And look what happened to him.”

She was talking about Johnny Boy. The remembrance of that horrible day came searing back to both of them. They both looked down and away to disguise the hurt.

“Seriously, Miss Sandy, you ain’t want nobody else but Johnny?”

She mused silently for a bit.

“I dunno, Charlie,” she offered. “I see ever’body else running ‘round doin’ it. I wanna do it, too. I like doin’ it. I ain’t no cold fish. But I jist cain’t. When I think about what happened to Johnny Boy, Charlie, I jist cain’t.”

“We could do it right here, right now, an’ nobody would know,” he commented.

She laughed.

“As many times as we been out here, by ourselves, butt nekkid, that’s the first time you axed me for some pussy. What’s different about today?”

“I dunno. You seemed kinda sad, maybe, thinkin’ ‘bout Johnny Boy. I thought, maybe, I’d try to cheer you up some.”

“With your dick?”

Here, she reached over and took his dick in her hand and flopped it about. It began to harden.

“Yeah,” he said.

Sandra didn’t chuckle. She looked him in his eyes.

“Maybe another time, Charlie. I’d like that. Now ain’t that time.”

Charlie was neither upset nor chagrined. He’d expected this answer.

The two sat in silence for a time. It wasn’t the awkward silence that follows in the wake of a failed sortie. Rather, it was the silence borne of a long-term friendship, a friendship so deep that Sandra’s refusal was less than irrelevant. Besides, she had left open a glimmer of hope with her “maybe another time” response, which was well more than he’d expected.

Their silence lingered.

“Come take a swim with me?” she finally asked.

The two of them waded out into the water and set out for Sandra’s church.

VI.

“Abby’s pussy has a dirty mouth.”

Abigail Harkness slipped from her sleeping quarters in the guest bedroom, leaving her pussy-besotted husband in a catatonic daze. She was aroused but nowhere near sated from their session. This happened a lot.

They’d returned home from church late that afternoon (sans Hank’s family). The Harkness’ promptly took over the second bedroom previously vacated by Uncle Hank and Auntie Marlene. It had originally been Abby’s room, anyway.

After dinner Abby and Buck retired for the night. Exhausted from the church trip, they’d slept for four hours, awakened before midnight and fucked extravagantly until Buck shot his load. Buck was good now until dawn. Abby, not so much.

She tiptoed her way to the ladder leading to the loft and clambered up as quietly as she could. When she reached the top of the ladder she pushed open the trap door and pulled herself up.

Abby half expected to find her younger siblings engaged in a sexual tryst. Surprisingly, they were not (which explained the unlocked trap door). They were both awake, though, whispering quietly in their separate beds. When the trap door in the floor popped open, Ben and Annie paused their conversation. They didn’t appear to be surprised at Abby’s intrusion. Abby didn’t bother to ask what she’d intruded upon.

“OK, Buck is asleep,” she whispered. “Benny, I need you to finish me off.”

“Dang, Abby. Can we finish our conversation?” sniffed Annie.

“Yes, you can—right after I git what I came up here for. I’m surprised I ain’t catched the two of you doin’ it. What’s the matter?”

“T’ain’t nothin’ the matter. You just rude, is all. What if we was doin’ it? Was you just gon’ jump in an’ move me out’n the way?” Annie retorted.

“Nope. I woulda let YOU finish. I still woulda needed your brother.”

“You’re SO considerate.”

“Hush. Go to sleep. I’m only gon’ be here for a minute. Or five.”

“Can you lock the door, Abby? I just suspect you WANT to git caught.”

Abby knelt and slipped the lock into place.

“Did I git here too late? Are y’all done already?” she asked.

“We done it already one time today. In the broom closet.”

“At church?” Abby asked.

“No. At the dog kennel.”

“Don’t get smart with me, Missy May. I ain’t the one to stand for it. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be gittin’ none o’ Benny’s dick. None at ALL. It was me as showed him how to do it in the first place.”

By this time Abby had shed her nightshift and crawled into bed atop her younger brother, who’d said nothing since her sudden entrance. Ben knew why she’d come. He was silently masturbating under his blanket in preparation for Abby’s inevitable foray.

When she straddled him and found his dick only partially hard, she looked at him disdainfully.

“You’ve had two days to git this thing up and working, Benny. It don’t take that long to git a dick hard. What have you been doing? Here, move your hand. I’ll do it.”

She brushed his fist away from his dick and took it into her own hands, tugging at it clumsily after the fashion of women who don’t have dicks of their own to masturbate nor the many years of practice necessary to perfect the art. She continually missed his sweet spot, either yanking his foreskin forward too roughly or not stretching it back far enough along his shaft. In any case, his tumescence began to wane.

“Benny!! Nooooo!!!!”

“Hush, girl.” he chastened.

He snatched his dick back gruffly and pulled her sticky pussy down upon it. He wasn’t erect, but he knew better than she how to elicit a good boner. He pressed his thumb behind the helm of his dick and used his other four fingers to grip and support his spongy shaft. Using his index finger deftly, he scooched his under-foreskin back a bit to expose his sensitive underpud to her clit. Abby was already wet with Buck’s semen so her outer sexual organs were slippery, easily navigated.

Ben rubbed his underpud back and forth against her clit, allowing her furry auburn pussy lips to glide along the ridges of his shaft. Abby helped him by roiling her pussy softly. In short order Ben’s cock bloomed erect into the steaming engine of pussy churn that his older sister coveted.

He masturbated himself against her pussy for a few more moments. When her breathing became insistent and her eyes began to flutter he dipped a bit, pried her open and entered her. She scraped his foreskin back wickedly, like a banana being peeled, as she clasped his penis tightly during its long, agonizing ascent into her steamy core.

She hilted him with a huge sigh of relief, relishing the feel of his thickness burrowing ever deeper into her cunt, spreading her open in a manner that her husband could never hope to. She ground her clit into Ben’s springy red pubic hair, twiddling her pussy round and about the base of his cock. Her tits flumped forward into Ben’s jaw line. She leaned forward now, supporting her torso with her elbows, her lips whispering tremblets just inches from his, so close that he could smell the taste of Buck’s tobacco, and fucked him with the languid insouciance of a New Orleans whore.

Annie watched her older siblings couple with only a casual interest. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen them embrace, nor would it be the last. Of their generation, Abby was the lead dog, the first among equals, the golden child. Abby called the shots. Annie didn’t feel conflicted in any way about the abnormality of their incest. Abby ordained it. Therefore, it was normal for them.

Likewise, Abby didn’t feel that her incestuous passions were in any way unusual. She’d learned long ago to obey the insistent cries of her vagina as it preened for closure. Even as a youngster her pussy clenched and suckled involuntarily—a gaping chasm of unrequited heat. She knew early on of her trenchant need for a certain friction that might serve as quell for her sexual anxiety. Those women who ignored their sentient needs tended to be stilted, she thought. Uninteresting. Insipid, even. She wasn’t about to allow her life to be dictated by the mores of another. The very idea was hateful to her.

Just now her entire world was focused on the penis surging inside her. Ben’s presence was inconsequential. He was merely the physical body animating the cock that stroked and placated her vagina, that needy orifice which had risen up and subsumed her body to become one with it. She didn’t see Ben as a human being with desires and passions of his own. She envisioned his huge, uncircumcised dick throbbing behind her eyelids, withdrawing and surging inside her, rocking her entire body with pleasure too staggeringly ethereal for description.

She humped him faster and faster until she came, five minutes later, just as she’d predicted. Ben didn’t come. He knew he was being used as grist for her ardor. Abby didn’t release him, either. She held him tightly inside her pussy until the bright universe of her orgasm slowly dripped away into fuck vapor and all that remained was a stiff dick up her ass, in other words, the much desired penis-rich environment.

Slowly, she began to slosh about again atop her younger brother, suckling at his urethra with her deeper pussy pudding.

“Give me that sticky dick honey, you fat, lumbering bastard, you glorious Leone meatpole, you shaggy, purple, stinking, pipe-laying motherfucker!! GIVE IT TO ME!!” Abby’s pussy demanded.

Abby’s pussy had a dirty mouth.

She ramped herself up to her prior level of arousal and basked there.

“Oh, to be at plateau with a beau!! It’s worth more than diamonds! Worth more than gold!!”

Annette, in the other bed looking on, felt her own vagina twitch.

“She’s so good,” Annie thought. “How does she do that?”

Indeed, five minutes of fuck became twenty, then twenty-five, then thirty. Abby was still growling and cooing atop Ben’s cock, off in her own world, wholly detached from reality, unwilling to leave that world for this. She rocked her brother relentlessly. Ben bore up valiantly under her assault.

Finally, she climaxed again and rose up like a crucified martyr, arms raised to the heavens, rocking back and forth like a huge extension of Ben’s erect penis—with tits. For some minutes she balanced there, semi-conscious, mumbling obscene imprecations to the sweaty Church of Abby’s Vagina, the term she’d coined to describe her post-coital mania. If Ben had moved in the slightest degree she would have slumped to the floor. Ben’s steaming cock held her aloft.

When she made no move to extricate herself, Ben scooched up and swung his legs over the edge of his bed. He stood and hoisted Abby up, still firmly connected to her cunt. Recognizing his intent, Annie rolled out of her bed and stood off to the side. Ben lay Abby down in Annie’s bed. Only then did he withdraw his dick from between her legs. Abby was asleep.

Ben lay back down in his own bed. He summoned Annie over. She mounted him and took his still erect penis into her vagina. Annie fucked him tenderly until they both climaxed in unison. Then the siblings fell sleep atop one another.

In the morning Abby was gone.

VII.

“The Nigger Talk”

At dawn on Monday the business of farming returned to the fore. Abby and Buck were still onsite. Nathan Leone rousted up Ben and Buck early to confer with Overseer Delaney about plans for the workweek.

The crops were coming along. It was August. Harvest would be upon them soon. Most of the current slave work consisted of keeping the crops irrigated and pest free.

Nathan had floated the idea of a water tower to his brother Hank over the weekend. The slaves would drive a mill to pump water up into the tower and, once full, the water’s weight and the force of gravity would supply the pressure necessary to irrigate the fields. Voila! No more bucket brigade. It would be a more efficient use of water. And it would be easier on the slaves, too, because they wouldn’t have to drag water from the pump out to the fields.

Nathan postulated this idea to Mr. Delaney and Buck Harkness now and set them about finding the best locations for such a tower. Obviously, the highest elevation on the property would be the best choice. Nathan also wanted estimates as to the tower volume, the cost of materials and the feasibility of building aqueducts from the tower to the fields. This last bit, the aqueducts, proved to be a non-starter. The slaves would dig the necessary trenches wherever he told them to dig.

“I want you two to come up with some sites and git back wit’ me.” Nathan said to Buck and Thomas Delaney. “Benny, I want you to come wit’ me. We gots to have a talk.”

Harkness and Delaney rode off to scout out a building site for the water tower. Nathan and Ben stayed back to round up the slaves and to supervise their work from horseback.

Nathan: “You see these niggers, son? The mens. The womens. The chirrens. Ever’ las’ one ‘o ‘em belongs to you and me.”

Ben: “Yessir.”

Nathan: “You see these horses? You see those dogs? And those cows? They belongs to us, too.”

Ben: “Yessir.”

Nathan: “What’d happen if a man come up and tried to steal one of our horses, son?”

Ben: “We’d shoot ‘em, Pa.”

Nathan: “Exactly. The horses do what we tell ‘em to do and the horses go where we tell ‘em to go. They’s our property. We bought ‘em fair and square.”

Ben: “You think someone is coming to steal our horses, Pa?”

Nathan: “No, Ben. That ain’t what I’m sayin’ at all. Let me try it a diff’runt way. If someone come up to steal one o’ our niggers, what would you do?”

Ben: “I’d shoot ‘em, Pa.”

Nathan: “Right. You’d shoot ‘em. Anybody would.”

Ben: “I’d shoot ‘em if they come for you or Ma or Annie, too, Pa.”

Nathan: “Ummm, that ain’t quite it neither, son. Lemme see….”

Ben: “Pa, is this the Nigger Talk?”

Nathan: “Huh? How’d you know that?”

Ben: “You been harpin’ on white folks and niggers since I was a little boy. All my friends has had they Nigger Talk already. I was wonderin’ when you would git around to givin’ mine.”

Nathan: “So you already know what I’m gon’ tell you?”

Ben: “You gon’ tell me I cain’t hang ‘round with Charlie no more.”

Nathan (relieved): “That’s right, son. That’s right. You know, my Pa give me this talk when I was your age. My Pa—your grandfather—got killt by a nigger girl he was doin’ his level best to help git accustomed to this country, you know, what with the lingo and the customs and all. This ‘uz before you ‘uz born. You know th’ story. He done all he could for that nigger bitch and the first chance’t she got, whilst he was prayin’ to the good Lord Jesus, she cut his throat, stole his money and lit out, tryin’ to make it back to Africa with her ill-gotten gains. It proved to me how niggers really are. My Ma—your grandmother Fifi—who you might remember, died a few years later of heartbreak over Pa’s death, when you ‘uz a li’l boy. She ‘uz relatively young, too, and never took up with another man after my Pa died, bless her heart. Couldn’t bring herself to do it. Broke her heart, it did, the ungratefulness of it all. No matter how good a friends you is with Charlie, you always got to watch him. Like a rattlesnake. Niggers ain’t like us, son, and you got to realize that, if’n you want to ever be a ‘sponsible white man. You got to let ‘em know who’s boss and KEEP lettin’ know who’s boss. This is our country, son. It ain’t Africa. We don’t go stompin’ over to Africa tellin’ THEM what to do. It don’t make sense we’d let them come a-pilin’ over to our country tellin’ US what to do.”

Ben: “Pa? What’s all that got to do with me an’ Charlie? We been pards since we was knee high to a duck. I bet you a dollar to a donut he ain’t like the nigger girl what killt your Pa.”

Nathan: “That’s what he wants you to think, son. First chance’t he gits he’ll turn on you, d’spite all that you done for him. I ‘uz friends wit’ his pappy, Shaddy, back in the day, an’ you see how Shaddy looks at me when I come around.”

Ben: “Charlie says it’s because you put all them stripes on his back that time an’ almost killt him.”

Nathan: “See? Right there. Another nigger lie. Shaddy got caught peekin’ in on a white woman in her bath. It was your Auntie Jo! My Pa seen him do it, too, had him dead to rights. I give him a few licks, yeah. HAD to. It was my sister! If we hadn’t a-been around, like as not he’d-a jumped in the tub with her and violated her right there. A nigger will rape as soon as he’ll steal.”

Ben: “He ‘uz YO friend. You think he woulda did that? I don’t see him lurkin’ round’ no white womens now.”

Nathan: “You shore don’t. I whipped that p’ticular p’version out’n him.”

Ben: “Charlie’s been down to the spring swimmin’ with me and Annie, both. He ain’t never tried nothin’ with her. He treats her like his sister.”

Nathan: “You let him in the same water with your sister? See? That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. You give him a inch, the next thing you know he’ll be wantin’ to be your brother-in-law, usin’ your shithouse and eating off your plates, same as you! No sir. You gots to nip this in the bud. NOW. First one nigger gits wit’ a white girl. Next thing you know the whole country is fulla half-a-nigger mud wumps. The Rev’d Sanders’ll back me up on this. It’s in the Bible! A white man cain’t mix wit’ a black man and come up with a white man. Any mixin’ with a nigger ALWAYS produces a nigger.”

Ben: “Pa? Don’t that make them the stronger ones?”

Nathan: “How you talk?! You see which ones is the slaves and which ones is the masters. But we can only continue to be the masters if we don’t mix! You understand what I’m sayin’?”

Ben: “I don’t think Charlie can git a baby with me, Pa.”

Nathan: “STOP BEING A SIMPLETON!! You know what I’m sayin’!”

Ben: “Pa calm down. I understand what you’re sayin’. I just don’t understand what dat got to do wit’ me an’ Charlie. Charlie ain’t tryin’ to do none of that stuff you said. It don’t hurt nobody if me and him goes fishin’ ever once’t in awhile, or go ridin’, or skylarkin’ about.”

Nathan: “There again!! What’s wit’ this ridin’? You let the nigger ride your horse!?! Niggers don’t ride horses!! Next thing you know you’ll be teachin’ him how to read an’ how to shoot!! I lay I never see anything the like!! Is you a white man or ain’t you!”

Ben: “I’m jist as white as the next one, I reckon, maybe more so. A white man don’t throw his friends over less’n they throws him over first. You taught me that yourself. Charlie ain’t throwed me over no kind of way. Besides, ain’t you felt bad about throwin’ Shaddy over?”

Nathan: “No son, I AIN’T felt bad about it. An’ who told you that anyway? Charlie? I had to choose between his daddy and my family. An’ I DONE it. An’ you gon’ do it, TOO.”

Ben squared his jaw.

Ben: “Pa. It’s sump’n I gotta tell you. I ain’t throwin’ Charlie over. I ain’t gon’ do it. It ain’t right, it ain’t fair. I tell you sump’n else. If it was up to me, or soon as it gits to be up to me, I’m gon’ give him his manumission papers.”

Nathan: “WHAT?!?!?!”

Ben: “You heard me. I’m gon’ set him free. And I’m gon’ give him a li’l piece of land where he can farm and have his own house and ever’thing.”

Nathan: “O MY SOUL!! A NIGGER LOVER!!!”

Ben: “I ain’t no such thing. Charlie is my friend. An’ he’s gon keep bein’ my friend. I’m grown now. I’m sorry if it hurts you, but that’s the way it is.”

Nathan: “I’LL DISINHURIT YOU!! I’LL GIVE THE FARM TO YOUR SISTER!!”

Ben: “Annie won’t do nuthin’ but turn around and give it right back to me. You know that. Abby will do the same. They cain’t run this place. An’ they don’t want to.”

Nathan: “SO YOU CHOOSE THE NIGGER OVER YOUR OWN KIN?!??”

Ben: “No, Pa, you’re wrong. Charlie ain’t none of those things you said he is. An’ neither is his Pa, far as I can see. They don’t want nuthin’ more’n what we want for ourselves. I been waitin’ for you to give me this talk so I could tell you this. I ain’t throwin’ my friend over, nigger or not. Many’s the time he’s stood up an’ yoked me out of a scrape of my own makin’. He’s took whuppin’s from you that rightly shoulda went to me. I owe him a whole lot more’n he owes me. He cain’t he’p bein’ a nigger. ‘N I ain’t gon’ blame him for it. ‘N thass it. I’ve spoke my piece.”

Nathan was thunderstruck. Never in history had any white son ever rejected the wisdom of The Nigger Talk, leastways not in HIS experience. And yet here was his only son, the bearer of the Leone name, flat out refusing the mantle.

No tear had ever graced Nathan’s cheek since the death of his father. Until today. Nathan scrunched his lips up in fury as Ben calmly walked away. A single tear of rage and fury trickled down his cheek.

This was an unprecedented disaster.

Leaving his dad behind, Ben wandered up to the barn where he encountered Ruthie and Isaac quietly talking. At his approach they silenced and straightened. This furtive behavior would have been normal last week. But since the twins had been inveigled into this past Friday’s sexual shenanigans there ought to have been a more surreptitious bond between them, considering that both these males had recently dicked the young girl standing there.

Ben smiled.

“Howdy Ike! Hi there, Ruthie!”

“Howdy Mister Ben,” Ike replied.

Ruthie didn’t reply at all.

“How’s it goin’?” Ben asked.

“Oh, you know, it’s good. How ‘bout you?” Ike countered politely.

Ruthie held her tongue.

“Ike, I was wonderin’ if you couldn’t help me hitch up the wagon? I gots to trundle that load of manure down to the back twenty.”

“Sure, Mister Ben! Glad to!!”

Ruthie rolled her eyes.

“And, Ike? Maybe you could ride down there with me and help me shovel some o’ that cow doodoo into the trenches? It won’t take us long if’n the two of us work at it hard.”

This, of course, meant that Ike was going to shovel while Ben drove the wagon. Nevertheless, it was a considerable departure from convention. Normally Charlie would be asked to help out with such a chore. That Isaac had been selected for this onerous duty was an elevation, not a demotion.

Ruthie noticed it and perked up some. She raised her eyes for the first time to regard Ben, who returned her gaze with a wry smile. This assignment was his indication that he was going to look out for Ike, as he’d promised. Ruthie nodded her head slowly as an acknowledgement of Ben’s deference. Catching his eye, Ruthie nodded towards the barn’s upper loft. This, too, was a subtle signal. She intended to hold to her end of the bargain.

Ben nodded his assent.

Concurrent with this encounter, Charlie was across the compound cleaning out the dog kennel. Abby Harkness walked by carrying a basket of clothing.

“’Morning, Charlie!”

“’Morning Miss Abby.”

“Whatcha doin’?”

“I’se cleanin’ up all dis dog doodoo, ma’am, ‘n fixin’ to feed de dogs when I gits done. It’s Monday again.”

“Well, please hurry. This kennel is mighty ripe.”

“Yes’m.”

Abby lingered a bit.

“Charlie?”

“Yes’m?”

“Ma is ‘bout to go over to the Singleton’s. Buck is off with Mr. Delaney somewhere’s. Benny is headed down to the back twenty. Me and Buck is leavin’ in the mornin’”

“Yes’m?”

“Well…..”

“Ma’am?”

“Could you come up to the house after Ma leaves? I want to show you something.”

Charlie immediately picked up the inference.

“Yes ma’am.”

VIII.

“Is brother-fucking REALLY a sin?”

Two weeks into her self-imposed vow of celibacy, Janice Leone awakened at three a.m. one morning with a fire down below. The embers had been building for days. Every attempt she made to douse the mounting conflagration merely served to fan the flames of her desire.

When she walked about, her huge bush crowded in on itself and tickled her puffy clitoris erect. When she lay down, legs widely askew, her pussy lips gaped open and shut, huffing hungrily for relief. Her lobster-claw clit bobbed aloft unbidden. When she sat down to dinner she concealed a smooth, wooden ball between her legs and squeezed it until she climaxed—silently, of course.

Needless to say, Jannie contributed little to mealtime conversations. Her parents wondered after her stiff upper lip. They noted a certain tremble in her cheeks, a certain stiffness to her bearing, a certain clench to her jaw line. Beadlets of sweat percolated around the perimeter of her hairline, sweat not attributable to the late summer heat.

“Child? What’s the matter? You look positively piqued!” her mother Marlene noted.

Janice managed a tepid smile. She didn’t reply. Couldn’t.

Jake looked on with concern. He knew what Janice needed. Each night he crept into her room with a full-erection. Janice pulled the covers over her head and dismissed him out of hand. She was doing penance for the sin of miscegenation. It wouldn’t do to add the sin of incest to her plate.

Of the two, the former sin concerned her most. Didn’t all the literature say the nigger taint would lead to ultimate damnation in the Lake of Fire? Whereas, all of Adam and Eve’s white offspring committed incest. It’s how the world was originally populated. Cain married his sister and took her off to the Land of Nod, as did Seth, as did all the rest of Adam’s male progeny. The Bible admitted as much.

“Is brother-fucking REALLY a sin?”

Every night in bed she masturbated furiously. Five, six, seven times a night Janice could be found polishing her pearl with an intensity borne of lust. Each devolution into self-love merely provided temporary relief from The Burn. Moments after she recovered from the expansive carnality of her self-induced orgasms, the eternal flame flickered alive in her pussy once again and slowly grew into a bonfire.

What troubled her most was that she didn’t think Jake’s dick could take the edge off any more. She didn’t even think Ike’s dick could do the trick. She wanted…NEEDED…something of Charlie’s proportions. Having seen Charlie in action, only a massive pole like his could bring her proportionately massive clit to heel. She fantasized about Charlie during each of her masturbatory interludes, reaching as far up into her crimson chasm as she could, imagining her small fist to be his dick.

Nothing cooled her motor for long.

Even this masturbatory concession did little to assuage her punishing conscience. She’d been infected with the nigger taint—that wild, seething, animalistic voracity typifying the nigger and separating him from the white. Women who suffered from it were doomed to a lifetime of insatiation, unable to achieve satisfaction by non-nigger means.

Janice cursed herself for allowing herself to fall prey to this affliction. Before her visit to Uncle Nathan’s farm, she’d been perfectly happy with the dicks she’d been exposed to. There was Jake’s dick, of course. And Benny’s, too. Also, there were those two boys from church. Ben’s dick was biggest. When he climaxed inside her, she was happy, rolled over and often fell asleep. She didn’t wake up ten minutes later yearning for a repeat performance. Nor did she feel the need to masturbate avariciously in between sessions.

Where, then, did all this unseemly lust come from? Ike was the only nigger she’d been intimate with. She didn’t have this burn before yielding up her pussy to him. The conclusion was obvious: Ike must have been the cause of her insatiable mania.

She was certain of it.

Two weeks removed from Jannie’s encounter with Isaac, the young woman was on the verge of a total meltdown. She’d capitulated to her brother’s advances three days back. Their sex had been short-lived and violent. Jannie mounted him and fucked him senseless, absorbing four crackling jizz explosions from him in the span of eight minutes. It wasn’t enough. Jake passed out. Annie yanked out her smooth wooden ball and luxuriated herself around it until she, too, achieved a blinding collapse.

She was hopeful that this would end her non-stop hunger for penetration. It did not. As her orgasms fitfully waned, her vagina crept open. A flicker of blue electricity surged across that semen-encrusted hole and melted into the opposite pussy wall, whereupon it rumbled like distant thunder, gathering energy from her pinkness, and flickered back across her gaping, sticky chasm. She felt these things rather than witnessed them.

“Not again!!” she moaned.

Each of the past three nights she’d used her brother like a Chinese dildo. She’d humped him until he couldn’t get it up. Tonight she had to actively go looking for him. Jake was avoiding her.

“This simply won’t do!!” she admitted.

Jannie tried everything. She prayed. She bathed in cold water. She prayed some more. She changed her diet. She put herself through a strenuous exercise regimen.

Nothing seemed to work.

Finally, she inserted the round, smooth wooden ball into her pussy and walked around with it all day. Only this solution took some of the edge off of her debilitating affliction.

She made mental note to visit Auntie Griot at the first opportunity and….

WAIT A MINUTE!!!

Hadn’t Cousin Abby said something about Auntie Beth knowing of a cure for the nigger taint? She had!! Why hadn’t Jannie listened to her whilst she had the chance!! Of course!!! Auntie Beth would know!!

Jannie rushed off to her room and whipped off a letter to her Auntie Beth. Necessarily she framed her questions within the context of helping “a friend”. It wouldn’t do for her to confess that she’d been so afflicted.

After several drafts, the letter was ready. Soon this agonizing lust would be behind her and Jannie would be a full white woman again, thanks to Auntie Beth.

Times being what they were, it might take upwards of a month to receive mail back from Auntie Beth in Texas. In the meantime, Jannie would have to make do.

Blue Jenkins worked as a field hand on Hank Leone’s farm. Now in his late-twenties, Blue had been purchased from the Jenkins Farm for a nominal sum two decades back. Blue was tall, muscular, possessed of a pleasing cinnamon complexion and a square jaw. He had a hairy breast; his head was shaved bald. In deference to his complexion, Blue’s friends called him “Red”.

Except for his golden mien, Blue looked a lot like Charlie. In fact, Blue was Charlie’s older half brother, the product of a tryst between Meshach Leone and Dora Jenkins, a biracial slave, some years back. Meshach never knew his eldest son. He never had any hand in raising him, though the boy grew up five farms away. Blue wouldn’t know Shaddy from a rock in the sea.

Nevertheless, Blue did inherit something of value from his father: a monster cock. This, along with his gallant good looks and his badboy smile, made the cinnamon-hued young man a much-desired commodity among his female contemporaries. Blue’s haul of pubic scalps was double that of his younger half-brother. More, his harem stretched across several farms in the area and included a number of white church matrons.

Janice had noticed Blue working around the farm before but paid him scant attention. “He IS a nigger, after all.” She’d even seen him naked once as he was washing up after a workday. His cock was huge, his musculature equally impressive. Jannie had been chatting with a gaggle of black girls who chirped and giggled at the sight of Blue’s nakedness. Blue noticed the girls ogling him and turned so that they all could get a full on glance at his lumbering member. He wasn’t ashamed of it. He reckoned most of these girls were going to see it up close one day, anyway.

Janice recalled that hot afternoon. She remembered being amused by the reaction of the black girls to Blue’s nakedness. They were falling all over themselves!! For a nigger!! Who would have thought it?

In light of recent events, however, Blue seemed to be the answer to her prayers. She was tired of walking around with this goddamed wooden ball up her pussy. Auntie Beth’s reply hadn’t come yet. Jake was still avoiding her. And, here, this good-looking nigger was walking around all day with an un-fucked elephant trunk in his pants.

“Good-looking”? Did she actually just say that about a nigger?

It was undeniable. Blue was a looker. Too, she’d referred to him as “un-fucked”. This was true in one respect. Whilst Blue HAD fucked just about all the women on that farm, including Janice’s mother, he hadn’t fucked Janice.

“Well, that’s about to change.” Jannie noted with grim determination.

Her logic was unassailable. One, she already had the nigger taint, so one more nigger dick couldn’t hurt. Two, Auntie Beth had the cure, so whatever additional taint she acquired from Blue would be nullified after her auntie came through with the goods. Three, she was horny as shit 24x7. And four, this goddam wooden ball just wasn’t making it.

Jannie cornered Blue in the root cellar late one afternoon after having given him orders to retrieve some ice potatoes. Prior to that, she’d hidden the ice potatoes so that Blue might spend an inordinate amount of time in the root cellar looking for them, just long enough for onlookers to forget he was in there. Twenty minutes later she followed him in.

Blue noted her silhouette in the doorframe.

“I cain’t find ‘em, Miss Janice. I’ve looked everywhere.”

Jannie closed and locked the cellar door behind her. She boldly shed her dress to stand naked before him. Her crimson triangle glowed eerily in the gloom.

Blue wasn’t any newcomer to The Game. Women cornered him alone more than just occasionally. He was neither surprised nor perplexed by Jannie’s actions. She knew them damn ice potatoes weren’t in there when she’d sent him in.

“She just tryna be slick.”

He turned to face her, saying nothing.

“Well?” she said aloud.

Confidently, Blue unbuckled his trousers and dropped them. His lengthy penis did, in fact, resemble an elephant’s trunk. It rolled outward from his pelvis like an archer’s bow and arced forward in a curved line such that his cockhead curled under perfectly to laze between his thighs, just inches above his knees.

Blue crossed his arms. His penis swung back and forth like a pendulum. He made no move to approach her.

Jannie curled her small fist into a standard male masturbatory pose and jerked it back and forth in front of her fire apple pussy. Her tits wobbled. She was ordering him to initiate his own erection. Blue willingly complied. In seconds, his dick rose up from its flaccidity to become a steely, uncircumcised golden beast, raging for succor.

Jannie was amazed.

“Now THAT’s a DICK,” she mused.

Indeed, the cock preening before her exceeded any she’d encountered previously. She couldn’t grip it with one hand. She doubted that she could grip it entirely with two.

Jannie moved forward as if in a trance, fixated on Blue’s transcendently spiring dick. It seemed to suck all the oxygen from the room. She could feel pulsing pressure waves from it, seething hot, exuding virility. She could smell it.

A tremor escaped her pussy and melted away into fuck vapor.

When she’d halved the distance between them, Janice suddenly rushed forward, pushed him back and slammed him against the wall. She gave a little hop, felt his thickness probing past her feathery pubic jungle, felt it slide up into her fragrant wetness without bothering to take aim. She twirled herself easily around his girth, surprising them both. Blue usually had to work to get it in. So tense was she that, as he tapped her cervix, Jannie climaxed. She gave an agonized silent howl that might have awakened the dead—had she’d seen fit to give voice to her sexual derangement. Such voiceless orgasms were the common currency of interracial sexual liaisons in the South.

She didn’t linger about enjoying this early detonation, either. She reckoned it to be the first of many. Jannie began to fuck Blue with the frenzy of the damned. She planned to use his mammoth cock to punish the nigger taint that had tormented her so. Huge power shots and quick, flittering trills dominated her assault. She draped her arms about his neck and humped him fiendishly, standing on her tiptoes, grinding her vagina as far down his shaft as she could wetten. She grabbed his head and kissed him square on the mouth, then she latched onto his neck and sucked first one purple hickey then another, all the while quivering her pussy up and down the length of his huge, elephantine penis.

Jannie came again. And then again.

After her fourth orgasm, Jannie pushed Blue to his knees and fucked his face thru two more climactic cycles. She then bent and offered her ass up to him. Blue was amazed to see her crimson pubic curls blazing past her sphincter and up the crack of her ass, like a grown man’s. Undeterred, he fucked that orifice dry, agonizing over its heated friction. When he finally erupted his cooling jism caused her bowels to sizzle with the crackle of cold water splashed into a hot frying pan. Jannie slumped forward and flopped to the ground—exhausted. Every ganglion in her body shrieked with vibrance.

With some effort, Blue pulled his cock from Jannie’s ass. Jannie’s world spun about. The rushing winds of sexual completion assailed her tumultuously. Semen fizzled from her asshole like carbonated soda and dripped to the ground, coagulating into a large puddle. Jannie was enshrouded in bliss.

Finally her breathing quieted. She flexed her pelvic muscles to see if The Burn intended another flare up.

It gave no indication.

Encouraged, Jannie rose discreetly and dressed. She peeked out the door and, seeing no one, scurried out. Blue was long gone.

Her opening “Well?” had been the only word spoken between them.

IX.

“White Man’s Burden”

For the past fortnight Nathan Leone had been pondering The Charlie Problem. He had nothing against the boy, mind you, in fact he liked him. Ben’s outright dismissal of the seriousness of The Nigger Talk had fomented The Charlie Problem.

White men in the South simply did NOT reject the wisdom of The Nigger Talk. Nathan’s problem was unprecedented.

At first he thought his son was just being rebellious, maybe a little high-spirited. In the days after their conversation Nathan was sure that Ben would eventually see his duty—and do it. Ben was a good boy.

Yet, in those same intervening days, Ben had showed no propensity to wean from Charlie as a friend. The two young men worked together often, still fished together, still went riding together. And to make matters worse, Ben had started including young Isaac in their little clique. Nathan called the trio The Skunk Posse—two blacks and a white.

He considered going to Shaddy and invoking their erstwhile friendship as a means of convincing Shaddy to reel Charlie in, but quickly disabused himself of that notion. Shaddy owed him no favors. Indeed, it was all Shaddy could do to restrain himself when forced to interact with Nathan.

Nathan considered using his authority to order the two boys to self-segregate but quickly concluded this a fool’s errand, too. As the primary heir, Ben had complete autonomy over his time and his projects. He knew that Ben would simply take the friendship underground. He also knew that Ben would resent him mightily for any such imposition. Ben might be so angered that he might not wait until Nathan’s death to emancipate Charlie. This was an embarrassment that Nathan could not possibly countenance.

He considered entrapping Charlie into some gross dereliction of duty. Along this line he thought to find some method of accusing Charlie of stepping across well-defined racial boundaries. But with which white woman? Annie? Oh HELL no! He couldn’t even imagine his baby girl wanting to contend in such a way with a nigger. Not on your life!! Too, he’d need Annie’s assistance with the set up. He knew she would never agree to any scenario that included even the appearance of miscegenation. That prissy girl couldn’t be seen naked, much less touched by some scroungy nigger!

What about Aisleen? She was the only other white woman on the farm. Could Nathan finagle Charlie into position to see Aisleen in her bath on a weekend morning? Would Aisleen agree to it? If she did, that would give Nathan justification to sell the boy and then….oh wait.

Charlie was Meshach’s son. Dammit. He’d have to sell Meshach, too. And Lizzie, too. Dammit.

Aisleen would never go for that. Lizzie was her most valuable servant, all set to replace Lize in the kitchen. And Meshach was still the strongest worker on the farm. Many’s the day when Meshach’s strength alone saved an entire workday by yanking a wagon out of the muck or a boulder out of the path or a cow out of a ditch. Already barely concealing his disdain, Meshach was certain to revolt if Charlie was sold.

The Charlie Problem threatened the welfare of the entire farm.

Late one evening, Nathan decided to discuss the issue with his wife:

Nathan: “I give Benny The Nigger Talk”.

Aisleen: “Hmmmm. What’d he say?”

Nathan: “He give me the what for, that’s what he said.”

Aisleen: “He’s just bein’ hotheaded. You know how he is.”

Nathan: “Thass why I ain’t do nothin’ for a bit. I told him to quit hangin’ round that nigger Charlie. But he ain’t do it. Said he wasn’t GON’ do it. In fact, he’s done added another nigger to his li’l club.”

Aisleen: “Who?”

Nathan: “Shaddy’s youngest boy, the one th’t looks like a girl.”

Aisleen: “Ike?”

Nathan: “That’s the one.”

Aisleen: “What’re you going to do?”

Nathan: “Dunno. I’m thinkin’ about shakin’ things up around here. I might sell the nigger.”

Aisleen: “Charlie?”

Nathan: “That’s the one.”

Aisleen: “You cain’t sell Charlie. It ain’t his fault. He ain’t did nothin’ wrong, Nathan.”

Nathan: “Doggone-it Ice!! I want Benny to do his duty! I done mine!! It’s his turn!!!”

Aisleen: “An’ you ain’t had a friend as good as Shaddy ever since. The two of you used to be inseparable. Now look atcha. It’s all he can do to keep from bustin’ you upside the haid.”

Nathan: “I wish he would try. I ain’t no slouch, you know.”

Aisleen: “He ain’t gon’ try. But he might if’n you go and sell his boy. Think about THAT.”

Nathan: “I have thought about it, Ice. I have.”

Aisleen: “If you sell Charlie, you’ll have to sell Shaddy. An’ Lizzie ain’t lettin’ Shaddy go nowhere by hisself. You know that. You’ll have to sell her, too.”

Nathan: “Yep. I don’t see no other way. I cain’t have these niggers runnin’ my farm. My daddy would roll over in his grave if he knew I was puzzlin’ over what to do with a nigger I owned.”

Aisleen: “An’ it wouldn’t be their fault, Nathan. It ain’t them doin’ wrong. It’s Bennett Thomas. Why you wanna punish them cause YOUR boy is ackin’ a fool?”

Nathan: “Hmmmph. I ain’t told you the worst.”

Aisleen: “Wazzat?”

Nathan: “He told me he ‘uz gon’ free Charlie first chance’t he got. Gon’ give him a little plot and let him live alongside white folk, an’ farm and hunt to boot.”

Aisleen: “No!!”

Nathan: “Yes’m. Perked his lips right up and said he ‘uz gon’ unleash the nigger on the whole neighborhood.”

Aisleen: “Nathan! What’d you say!!”

Nathan: “I called him a nigger lover and told him I’d disinhurit!”

Aisleen: “No!! You didn’t!!”

Nathan: “Did. Meant it.”

Aisleen: “You cain’t mean it, Nathan! Take it back!!”

Nathan: “Oh he come back at me an’ said both Annie and Abby ‘ud give him the farm right back after I passed. And they would, too.”

Aisleen: “Well, they know what’s right. He IS our only boy.”

Nathan: “Dadblameit, Aisleen!! I don’t know what to do!! If this gits out, we’re ruined!! They’ll kick us out th’ church. They’ll shoot my cows in the fields! I won’t be able to sell my goods! We’ll have to pack up and move!! We’ll have to start over someplace else!”

Aisleen: “Lawd, ain’t it so? You want me to talk to him?”

Nathan: “Would you? I don’ think he realizes the damage he’ll cause by unleashing some thievin’, prowling, rapin’ nigger on the good white folks around here. Won’t do Charlie no good, neither. Someone is sure to hunt him down an’ shoot him. That is, if the Law don’t horn in after six months and sell him back into slav’ry. By that time the Leone name won’t mean much ‘round here. D’you think Benny cares about that? I told him I never see the like.”

Aisleen: “I’ll talk to him, dear. Let me talk to him.”

They rolled over in bed and prepared to retire for the night.

Aisleen: “Nathan?”

Nathan: “Mmmmm?”

Aisleen: “Can you spare Shaddy from the fields tomorry? I…I b’lieve I might can fix things up if I talk to him.

Nathan: “Talk to him about what?”

Aisleen: “What we ‘uz jist talkin’ ‘bout. Charlie and Bennett.”

Nathan: “I got to have him tomorry. I can let you have him the day after?”

Aisleen: “OK. That’ll work.”

Nathan: “For how long?”

Aisleen: “Just a few minutes in the mornin’ will do. Won’t take long.”

Two days on, Aisleen pulled Meshach from the early morning work crew as he was washing up.

“Shaddy, I need you to help me out with something at the big house this morning. You can gon’ out to the worksite later on.”

Meshach looked over to Nathan for verification. Nathan nodded. Meshach stepped out of the slave line and stood off to the side.

When the last of the slaves washed and finished the morning gruel, Nathan signaled to Overseer Delaney, who then marshaled the blacks into a line and marched them off to the fields. Nathan followed along on horseback. Meshach remained behind, standing in the same spot he’d originally taken.

“Shaddy, come with me,” ordered Aisleen. She walked away without waiting to see if he followed.

“I wasn’t here when Nathan give you them stripes,” she opened.

Meshach was greatly surprised. He’d thought this little diversion to be another booty call.

“Huh?” he said.

“Yes, that was before we got married,” she continued. “But I heard about it. You wasn’t at me and Nathan’s weddin’. You was laid up. An’ he was your friend. Good friend, too. Shaddy, I…I’m sorry about that.”

Meshach’s eyes narrowed in remembrance.

“I want you to know, Nathan ain’t wanted to do that,” she continued. “His pappy made him do it.”

Meshach still held his peace.

“Shaddy, Nate has been regrettin’ that day ever since. He ain’t got no real friends exceptin’ maybe Hank and Pete Bannister. He’s got some folks at the church that he talks to ever’ now and then. He’s all alone, Shaddy. This farm is all he’s got. He’s got you and the other niggers. And me. And some cows and horses and chickens. But he ain’t got no real friends. You see where I’m goin’, Shaddy?”

Meshach broke his silence. “No, ma’am.”

“He’s lonely, Shaddy. He wants to have friends. But he cain’t have friends and be the boss around here at the same time. It’s what they call The White Man’s Burden.”

The barest trace of a smirk escaped Meshach’s lips. Aisleen noticed it but chose to ignore it. She went on.

“Meshach, you’re a nigger. You wouldn’t, COULDN’T understand how much responsibility white folks has. We’d got to run these farms and build churches and stores and cities and roads and I don’t know what all. We’d got to clear out the Injuns that was squattin’ on our God-given land, whoopin’ and hollerin’ about like savages. We’d got to take care of you niggers and feed and clothe you and learn you to be white, leastways as far as you’re able, so’s you can take on the burdensome work the Good Lord set out for you in the Good Book. Shaddy, that’s a godawful ‘sponsibility. I don’t ‘spect you to fully understand. Nathan takes that ‘sponsibility serious.”

Meshach’s eyes narrowed again.

“Shaddy, my son Bennett and your son Charlie is good friends, the same as you was with Nathan way back when. Bennett is a growed man now. It’s time for them to separate, the way God intended.”

Meshach’s eyes widened.

“Is Massuh gwine whip my boy?”

“No, Shaddy, no. Nothin’ like that at all. I pulled you aside because I want you to talk to Charlie and git him to explain to Benny what a white man’s responsibility is. His Pa tried an’ Benny give him the what for. I thought that maybe you and Charlie could git Benny to see his duty. He likes you. Apparently Charlie’s word means more to Benny than his father’s.”

“You want CHARLIE to give BENNY the Nigger Talk?”

“I ain’t thought about it like that! I guess that is what I’m askin’, yes.”

“Miss Aisleen, I…I…I don’ know how to give The Nigger Talk. That’s white folk bid’ness. I can talk to Charlie, but I…I…don’t rightly know what to say.”

“Jist tell him it’s in his interest to not go fishin’ with Benny from now on. An’ not go ridin’. Tell him it ain’t Ben doin’ this. Tell him he’s doin’ ME a favor. An’ I’ll make it up to him somehow, when I git a mind to do it.”

“Yes’m. Don’t rightly know how he’ll ‘spond. He might give ME the what for, too.”

“Show him them stripes on your back. He’ll understand.”

Meshach’s eyes narrowed again.

“Oh, Shaddy?”

“Yes’m?”

“Can you go over to Chauncey’s place and send Lize up here? I need her. And wait there for a little bit. I ain’t been down to see Chauncey in a minute. I might wander over there to see about him. You catch my meaning?”

“Yes’m.”

“What’s the point of fucking if you can’t bust a nut?”

For six days after her encounter with Blue, Jannie’s burn receded into irrelevance. She cheerfully went about her daily chores. She contributed to dinnertime conversations without the aforementioned tight-lipped strain. She fucked her brother occasionally but with none of her earlier vehemence. She didn’t have to hunt him down for dick. Her smooth wooden ball was a distant memory.

In short, she became Jannie again.

On the seventh day after the Blue tryst, Jannie began to wonder after her hibernating libido. Where was it? She’d fucked Jake several times in the interim, true. But she hadn’t cum during any single encounter. She enjoyed the feel of her brother’s dick riding in and out of her pussy much as a child enjoys playing on a swing set. It was exhilarating. When he came and his jism bubbled up and oozed out of her pussy, there was no reciprocal explosion on her part. She only got a sloppy, sticky ass from the experience and a cold wet spot to sleep in. Jake got all the joy.

“What happened to my nigger taint?” she wondered.

Immediately thereafter she chastened herself.

“Good riddance!!” she chortled.

Before her encounter with Isaac she’d had a normal sex drive. She fucked a lot. Sometimes she came. Sometimes she didn’t.

After that encounter (and until her rendezvous with Blue) she came repeatedly, so often that it became a painful annoyance. The nigger taint left her pussy in a constant state of arousal.

The tryst with Blue had been amazing. He was a bit older than she, handsome, well hung, discreet and competent. He’d cooled the insatiable ardor that had plagued her for weeks.

Trouble was, he seemed to have put it out entirely. The Burn was gone. She hadn’t had an explosive orgasm in a week. Was this the anti-nigger taint? She didn’t want to cum all the time, but she DID want to cum sometimes. What’s the point of fucking if you can’t bust a nut?

She’d seen Blue a time or two since then, too. He’d been affable without being familiar. He acted as if nothing had occurred between them. He’d even fielded flirtatious solicitations from passing black women while Jannie was present, which caused Jannie to pink up in jealousy. How did these black bitches know that Blue wasn’t HER kept nigger? Of course, they couldn’t know, and could never know. Jannie didn’t then realize that a sense of possession—entitlement—is always one of the first consequences of engaging in sexual intercourse. That realization only comes with age and experience. She just knew that she felt disrespected by the incessant flirtations that were part and parcel of Blue’s daily routine.

She approached Blue one afternoon and asked him to bring some ice potatoes up to the big house—and to take his time doing it. She knew he would catch her meaning.

When she stepped into the root cellar twenty minutes later, Blue was already naked. His penis was splendidly erect.

Jannie smiled.

“No, Blue. This isn’t what I meant. Well, it isn’t what I meant for right now. There are too many people around. Put your clothes back on.”

Reluctantly Blue reached for his trousers.

“Wait a minute!” she said.

She skipped over to him and took his penis into her mouth. She hadn’t blown him in their earlier encounter. She wanted to hold the taste of that special bond in her remembrance.

She wettened his dick with some difficulty. Jannie couldn’t get much more than his pud into her mouth. It was as thick as her fist. She gaped wide to accommodate him, flickering her tongue out to tickle his urethral valley and the shroud of his foreskin. She tried to slip her tongue into his peehole.

Blue moved to grip her head with both hands. She stopped him.

“Not right now, Blue,” she said. “I want you to come up to my room, in the big house, later tonight. Real late. OK? I’ll leave the door open.”

Blue was confused.

“In de big house?”

“Yes.”

In that instant Jannie remembered something. Jake might have designs on her pussy tonight, too. Unlike Annie and Ben, Jake and Janice slept in separate rooms. Jake slept in the loft alone. He had to sneak downstairs to claim his nightly due, then sneak back upstairs before dawn. It wouldn’t do for Blue to show up while Jake was being stupefied.

“Wait. I’ll put a rag on my doorknob. If you see the rag, it’s OK to come in. If not, you need to hide in the front room closet until I come for you. OK? And don’t make any noise.”

She slobbed his dick again for good measure, then stood and scurried out.

Janice’s earlier trepidations proved prescient. Jake did, in fact, sneak downstairs for his nightly due. As with their cousins, there was little planning or preamble to their sex, certainly no kissing or conversation. Jake simply crept into Jannie’s room with a big boner. If she was already asleep, he tapped her cheek with his cock to awaken her. Jannie then either sucked him off or fucked him off. Or both.

This night she chose the former.

“Blue’s dick is three times as thick as this,” she speculated as Jake roiled his penis in her throat.

Jake came in her mouth, then melted into her bed, as per his habit. She lay quietly next to him awaiting his recovery. In twenty minutes he would awaken and have a go at her pussy, she knew. She had a cure for that.

Twenty minutes later, Jake awakened abruptly to every young man’s dream. His re-hardened cock was deep in Jannie’s throat. Her freckled face bobbed up and down on it furiously. Evidently, she’d been blowing him for some time. Her saliva bubbled up frothily around his base. It dripped from her lips. Jake was well past plateau. Just as the cognition of time and space returned to the lad, a second orgasmic eruption wracked his body, this one decisive. Jake held the back of her head tightly as he pumped blob after blob of semen into her throat. His hips churned spasmodically. His mouth opened wide in a silent scream of agony. He threw his head back into the cock-induced blindness afforded by a premium blowjob.

Before Jake could pass out, Jannie scooped him aloft and walked him out her door and over to the loft ladder. His penis still waggled and spurted. She couldn’t carry him up, but she pushed him to climb with a series of strident whispers about the dangers of being caught asleep in her room on the morrow. They’d been down this path before. Jake climbed up mechanically without questioning her motives. Long, wispy contrails of semen drifted down the ladder in his wake.

When the trap door closed behind him, Jannie whisked over to the closet and found Blue, as she’d expected.

“Hurry!” she whispered.

Half dragged, Blue stumbled into her room.

“Did you…did you just do de nasty wit’ yo’ brother?” he asked incredulously.

“Don’t be silly,” she replied. “We were talking about something and he fell asleep. I knew you were coming so I woke him up and sent him off to bed.”

Blue was not fooled so easily. The scent of semen wafted in the air. A man knows the scent of jism when he smells it, and especially knows when the scent is mixed with spittle or pussy froth.

Blue began removing his clothing.

“Wait, Blue. I asked you here because…because…well, I want to talk to you about something.”

Blue ignored her. They were going to fuck. He wanted to be sufficiently naked when they did. Besides, they’d never talked before. Why talk now? He didn’t even know this bitch.

“Blue, last week when we done it, I…I wanted you to know. I…I don’t usually do that.”

Blue thought to himself: “Sho’ you don’t.”

What came out of his mouth was: “Yes’m.”

Jannie continued: “I…I was having some troubles. An’…an’ I took advantage of you. You ain’t did nothin’ wrong.”

Blue thought to himself: “Righttttt.”

What came out of his mouth was: “Yes’m.”

“I…I wanted to ask you something, OK?”

Blue thought to himself: “Bitch, git to de point.”

What came out of his mouth was: “Yes’m?”

“Blue, is you never heard of ‘the nigger taint’?”

Blue was genuinely surprised.

“De nigger taint?” he asked.

“Yes. The nigger taint,” she said.

“Ain’t dat what happens to white womens when dey does it wit’ niggers?”

“Yes,” she affirmed.

“Is d’ass what you gots, Miss Janice?”

“I…I don’t rightly know. I…I think I had it. And then I done it wit’ you. An’ it went away. So I ain’t sure what it is.”

“It went away? But you want to do de nasty again? ‘N git it back?”

“I…I…want to do ‘de nasty’. With you. Tonight. Because…well, I…I…when I had the nigger taint I could, you know, ummm….cum. An’ I ain’t been able to….cum….since you an’ me did it.”

“Why, Miss Jannie, dat ain’t de nigger taint. De nigger taint is when you cain’t do but have a nigger’s dick up in you. Black girls git de nigger taint, too, sometimes, ‘n it most drives ‘em crazy. You just did it wit’ Massuh Jake, so….”

“I TOLD you I ain’t did it with Jakie. Don’t you dare think I did. I didn’t.”

“Yes’m.”

He was properly chastened. Jannie began to remove her nightclothes. She softened her tone.

“I…I…want you to make me cum, Blue. Like you done the other day.”

“Yes’m.”

Jannie lounged back on her bed and opened her crimson bush to him. Blue noted that her pussy didn’t look smashed. It looked pristine. Inviting. Maybe she hadn’t fucked her brother after all.

“Miss Janice, if’n you don’t mind, I…I ‘uz hopin’ you would…suck…my dick. First. Like you stotted to do in de cellar. I likes dat.”

Jannie sat up expectantly.

“Bring it here,” she said.

Blue stepped to her and offered his dick up to her face. It was only partially erect. He had to squeeze its base to force blood into it.

Jannie examined his cock up close. She was continually amazed at his length and girth.

“You like gittin’ your…dick…sucked?” she asked.

“Yes’m. I likes it. A lot.”

Jannie lovingly caressed his cockhead in both hands.

“Who else around here has sucked your dick, Blue?”

“Oh, a few. A few. Some ‘um won’t do it cause dey say dey cain’t get it in dey mouves.”

“I had trouble gittin’ it in my mouf, too, Blue.”

“But you done good to git it as far as you done. Some ‘um won’t e’em git dat fuh.”

“It ain’t hard as you had it earlier today, Blue. It ain’t as big.”

She took it into her mouth.

“Do dat,” he said. “’N Keep doin’ dat. It’ll git dere.”

Jannie brushed Blue’s hands away from the base of his dick. She replaced his hands with her own and squeezed so that his cock ballooned into her face. His pudenda burgeoned forth from it enshrouding foreskin. She could see his urethra quivering like a panting puppy. She offered her tongue to it and, in doing so, tasted a whiff of the semen huff buried deep in his testes, priming for launch.

She drew a deeper breath. The aroma of his sex, so close to her nostrils, lit a small, almost imperceptible flame in her genitals.

“There it is,” she sighed. “Finally! Where’ve you been?”

She began licking his cockhead with feathery flicks and long, lavish laps designed to elicit a hands-free erection. A torrent of blood rushed into his tissues. She could feel it, could actually hear it filling out his erectile cavities. She watched his cock expand and lengthen into the golden beast whose legend had fostered this late night booty call.

She released his base. His penis sprang outward magnificently, eschewing all artificial support. Jannie took his cockhead between her lips and French kissed it tenderly, as she might kiss a boyfriend, using her tongue to probe its smooth surfaces, helmet and valleys. Blue roiled his buttocks in small swirlets, returning her French kiss as best he could using his dick, praying that she’d open wider and go just a wee bit further down his shaft. He wanted to feel the heat of her tongue gracing his hypersensitive underpud.

Soon enough, Jannie accommodated his wish. Too, she added a twist she’d learned from her cousin Annie. Using her soft lips, she gripped his shaggy foreskin and drew it up over his pud until the excess skin closed almost completely about it. Then, without releasing his shagginess, she pushed his foreskin back again with her lips. This simultaneously drew his cockhead deeper into her mouth. It also provided the desired softly heated friction to his underpud with her tongue. Jannie found that this method of fellatio received the best responses from the men she’d blown.

Blue was no exception. His legs began to tremble excitedly. He preened up on his tiptoes to gain further purchase in her mouth. He buried both hands in her crimson curls and pressed forward, striving to relieve himself in her esophagus. He hadn’t been this close to a pre-mature ejaculation in years. Maybe there was something to this white girl after all.

Jannie withdrew.

“I thought you was goin’ to make ME cum,” she said to him. “I cain’t cum if you waste all your juice in my mouth on the first go, Blue.”

“Don’t…stop,” he whispered harshly. “Keep…going!”

“No, Blue. You’re gittin’ ready to cum, ain’t you. An’ then you’ll disappear like you done the last time. I looked up an’ you was gone. Here, lick my pussy for a bit, an’ calm down. Don’t worry, I’ll suck Mr. Elephant again before it’s all over, an’ you can cum in my mouf, if you want. Jist don’t cum before I do. OK?”

Blue stepped back from her. His dick lunged upward, ready to spout jism into the first warm, wet edifice it encountered. Blue strained to regain his composure. This little ginger girl knew a thing or two about dick sucking, that much was obvious.

She lay back on her bed and opened her legs to him. Reluctantly, he leaned forward to examine her puss. He fully expected the scent of another man’s dick to greet him, despite the unruffled nature of her pubic mound. He leaned closer and closer. Only the feminine scent of cunt, laced with the faintly acrid odor of urine, rose to his nostrils. This was not a bath day.

Blue marveled at the beauty of Jannie’s cunt. Her full tuft of tangerine/crimson pubic hair formed a perfect triangle at the juncture of her thighs without sprawling past its angular boundaries. Yet he could see thick curls of pubic hair drifting into her ass, encircling her sphincter and northward, finally disappearing high up in her ass crack.

He couldn’t see her pussy lips. They were buried at the bottom of this furry jungle.

Too, he noticed an unnatural, furtive movement in the thick forest at the center of her cushiony triangle. Using his index fingers, he pried her fur apart to unveil Jannie’s crown jewel—a thumb-sized clitoris, complete with a hooded, bulbous clithead. Blue was taken aback. Jannie’s clit resembled a small penis. It waggled anxiously beneath its furry covering, begging to be sucked.

Blue drifted his gaze up to meet Jannie’s eyes. By now she was used to the shocked look men get upon first witnessing her penis-shaped clitoris. It was a look that shrieked, “This bitch is a MAN!!!”

Unperturbed, Jannie calmly queefed her scent into his nostrils. She’d learned that the fragrant scent of pussy is the best way to remind men that, while she might have a small dick at the pinnacle of her cleft, there was a vast, desirable chasm at the bottom of it.

Jannie’s queef brought Blue back into the moment. Somewhere deep in this forest there was a pussy to be reckoned with. And his dick was still rock hard. He needed to prime this pussy for entry. What this bitch wanted was a good ass-licking. It certainly wouldn’t be the first pissy pussy he’d licked, nosirree bob!

Blue probed forward. He flicked his tongue out tentatively. Jannie’s clit lunged for it like a stalking spider. When the two organs met Jannie groaned audibly, a deep, soul-wrenching moan redolent of the depth of her arousal. Blue popped his head up in concern. It wouldn’t do for her moans to bring a white person running. Silence was the order of the day.

Jannie gave him a hand signal to express her understanding of his foreboding. She pointed to her puss and ordered him back in. Blue obeyed. Soon he had the young woman bucking and arching in her bed. She spread her arms wide to grip the edges of her mattress and humped his mouth with a savage, wanton lust that hurtled them both to a soaring plateau.

Under Blue’s lavish tonguing, Jannie’s pussy fire returned with a vengeance. It burned one hole after another into her churning, sweaty abdomen as Blue alternately sucked and licked her bobbing clit. Each time The Burn rose up to consume her, Blue scrambled up and slipped his aching penis into her heaving crimson snatch. Jannie took just a little bit more of his monster cock into her core each time he pried her open, sluicing her frothy cum into him and happily greeting the rampant lust she thought she’d lost. She whispered sibilant obscenities into his ear as his cock drove into her. She kissed him with the exuberant familiarity of a long-time lover, framing his head with her hands.

“Suck me again, Blue! Lick me one more time!!” she insisted breathlessly.

Her unusual genital configuration allowed Jannie to experience both masculine and feminine sensations from their sex. Sucking her clit was akin to getting a good blowjob. Jannie could almost feel the fervent rush of her semen as Blue bobbed her clit gently with his lips. When his tongue wickered forth and slipped into her dripping hole, it drove her wild with desire. If only a regular dick were at once this softly firm and pliable!! If only his tongue were as long as his dick, long enough to invade her pussy and tickle her deeper cushy pudding!! Oh, to be able to squeeze and suckle his tongue with her full pussy!! She humped Blue’s tongue in a vain effort to accomplish just this outcome.

Jannie achieved five thunderous orgasms before Blue filled her cunt with his hot, creamy cum. She managed two more before his second eruption. Her nigger taint hadn’t abandoned her. It just needed a nigger to set it off.

Jannie recalled the advice she’d received from Abby:

“Your heart’s gon’ hurt you for a little bit. An’ then one mornin’ you gon’ wake up and say you druther have a stiff, fat black dick up in you than worry about what the biddies at church is sayin’ ‘bout you.”

It was true. Her conscience driven doubts had been subsumed, first by the manic burn of the nigger taint, and then by the cooling balm of Blue’s lumbering nigger dick.

“OK. I see how it is now, Abby.”

Jannie finished up her session with Blue by sucking a huge burst of jism from his dick as she’d promised. She took him to the edge of paradise, paused for theatrical effect, and then shoved him through the door with a foot up his ass. Jism rocketed from his cock in waves and slid down her throat, eventually coming to rest in her stomach, where it mixed sociably with her brother’s issue. Blue’s dick was so far down her throat when he came that Jannie consumed almost a quarter pint of his seed.

Soon Blue’s ponderous cock waggled uselessly between his thighs, just inches above his knees. Excess semen dripped from his urethra. A cold puddle of his joy juice soaked Jannie’s mattress.

“Blue, I wanna do this again,” she said.

“Tonight, Miss Janice?”

“No, silly. You gotta git outta here before someone wakes up. I mean another time, right here, if’n you ain’t a-feared to come up.”

“When?”

“I’ll come git you when I need you.”

XI.

“The Cracker Talk”

There are no cool, languid evenings in Louisiana in August of any year. The afternoon arrives, stiflingly hot, and remains that way until well past sunset. Gnats and mosquitoes and yellow flies take their toll on anyone foolish enough to linger long outdoors as sundown approaches.

Nathan Leone worked his slave crews until three hours remained of the sun on summer days in August. Harvest was two months distant. As long as the crops were watered and pest free, Nathan’s slaves always had a few hours to themselves before bedtime. The stinging insects usually came out an hour before sunset, and it took an hour for the fieldhands to march in from the fields, wash up and eat. So, when adding it up, Nathan’s slaves had about an hour to themselves daily.

Nathan Leone was amazingly generous.

Some of the younger fieldhands, Charlie included, took their hour of respite down at the spring. They washed the sweat and the stink of their daily toil away in the clear waters of that pristine glade.

Older fieldhands, like Meshach, simply washed up under the pump, then trudged home to prepare for another day of drudgery, working tirelessly at the behest of the white man. It was in these hours that men like Meshach tended to their own lives, parenting their children and establishing what family traditions as they could.

On one such evening, Meshach sat on his little porch, rocking his eight-year old daughter Mattie in his lap. The child giggled and snuggled up to him. She sang little songs, encouraging him to learn the made-up lyrics so they might harmonize. This was Meshach’s only real joy in life. Still, such was his brooding demeanor that he refused to play or sing with the child in the presence of others. He didn’t want any of his neighbors to see him “ackin’ a fool.”

Mattie didn’t care. She loved her father. This was her only real time with him. She draped her arms around his neck and did enough talking for the both of them, often answering her own questions when his laconic nature would not allow him to respond.

More than most, Mattie knew of her father’s pain. She saw the wickedly striped keloids on his back and imagined witnessing that horrific event. She saw the man responsible for those stripes daily. Sometimes that same man would come to her home and invest himself of her mother. On those nights her father would disappear for hours at a time while her mother groaned under the embrace of her owner. Sometimes Lizzie’s groans rose up and became shrieks. Mattie knew these were the same shrieks her father elicited from his wife regularly, inasmuch as their little slave shack only had one room and privacy was an unaffordable luxury. In this way the child learned about ‘doin’ de “nasty”’, as the other children termed it. Mattie wondered when her turn to shriek would come.

After such encounters, her father would be even more taciturn than usual. He and her mother would embrace each other for long periods without groaning, standing up. And Mattie thought she could see the faintest traces of tears in their eyes.

Mattie knew, too, of her father’s wrath. Whenever de Massuh came about, her daddy literally trembled with rage. His jaw stiffened. He moved deliberately, chose his words succinctly. It seemed all he could do to restrain himself from committing a murder. He swallowed hard, mumbled “yassuh” or “no-suh” as the occasion dictated and moved out of range quickly. Unconsciously, Mattie began to adopt these same mannerisms.

She had an older brother named Charlie who did not display these mannerisms. Charlie spent his days laughing and jostling about with another boy who looked a lot like de Massuh. This boy bore a shock of flaming red hair. De Massuh loved this boy, this younger version of himself. It showed in de Massuh’s bearing and his deference towards the boy. Charlie’s fur didn’t get hackled up when the red-haired boy came around. Charlie didn’t even tremble with rage when de Massuh came around. Charlie was easy-going and friendly with both of them.

Mattie couldn’t understand that. While her mother’s occasional full-throated shrieking during de Massuh’s visits didn’t perturb Mattie, her parents’ tears were enough to elicit Mattie’s rage. Something was definitely wrong. Her parents only acted this way after one of de Massuh’s visits. Charlie was her eldest brother; he was a grown up. It seemed that their parents’ tears would be ample evidence of the dangersome effects of associating with de Massuh or his chosen minions. Even a child could surmise that much.

Mattie’s older sister Ruthie had the rage. Mattie could sense it. Ruthie was the spit and image of her mother, yet imbued with her father’s spirit. When de Massuh came to visit, Meshach often had to physically drag Ruthie from the home. Ruthie’s rage would have her fighting at the drop of a hat.

Neither Charlie nor Isaac had the rage. Why? This troubled the young girl.

Just now, though, these thoughts were far from Mattie’s mind. Pinching Meshach’s cheeks between her thumb and forefinger, she was trying to get him to smile. She had a big smile herself and, holding her nose inches from his, she made face after face in a vain attempt to drag a chuckle out of him.

It was all the black man could do to keep from busting out laughing. Mattie’s antics would have drawn hysterics from a mule. Meshach gamely held his composure. His only reaction was to bounce her up and down on his knee and to nod stoically. Mattie knew he was smiling in his heart.

From around the corner now came her mother Lizzie accompanied by Sandra Jean. The two women were engrossed in a deep conversation. Seeing her mother, Mattie jumped from her father’s lap and raced into Lizzie’s arms. She hugged her mother tightly and then leapt into Sandra’s arms after a similar fashion. Sandra tickled and snuggled the child. She tossed her up in the air and tousled her hair. They briefly noogied noses before Sandra released Mattie, who then flew back into her father’s lap.

“Howdy, Shaddy,” Sandra offered respectfully.

Meshach nodded to her gravely.

“I understand you wanted to talk to me?” Sandra said to him.

Meshach stood and handed Mattie to Lizzie.

“Yeah, gurl. You seen Chollie?”

“I think I saw him headed down to the spring with some of the others.”

“How come you ain’t go?”

“I like to go down there by myself. You know that.”

“Yeah. I reckon.”

He scratched himself and stretched.

“Come heah. Walk wit’ me, gurl.”

They left Mattie and Lizzie behind without a word. Meshach walked alongside the young woman for a time without speaking. He walked with a slight limp. Knowing him well, Sandra had learned to let Shaddy speak on his own time. She held her peace.

Meshach broke their silence.

“I seen you out in de woods de udder week.”

“You….seen….ME?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“You know when it was.”

“Oh.”

“Why you ‘uz out dere?”

“I…I…just….I dunno.”

“You wanted to see sump’n as wadn’t none-a yo’ bid’ness.”

Sandra didn’t respond.

“Who you tole ‘bout dat?” he continued.

“No one.”

“You tole Chollie?”

“No.”

“You tole Lizzie?”

“NO!”

“You tole Miss Abby? I know you’se friens wid’ her.”

“No. I ain’t tole nobody, Shaddy.”

“You sho?”

“Yessuh. It warn’t none-a my business. I shouldn’t-a been out dere.”

“Hmmmmmph.”

The pair walked along a bit further, drifting down towards the spring.

“I needs to talk wid’ you n’ Chollie,” Meshach said.

“Yessuh.”

Another silent interlude ensued. Meshach was cheap with his words and bold when he did see fit to expend them.

“You likes my boy, don’t you.”

“Well, I…did he tell you that?”

“He ain’t need to tell me. I see how you talks to him. I see how you looks at him.”

Sandra didn’t reply.

“Is you done did it to him yit?”

Sandra was shocked at this very personal question.

“Shaddy!! No!! He’s like my brother!!”

“But he ain’t yo’ brother. He’s yo’ play-play brother. You’se a li’l bit older’n he is, but dat don’ mean nuttin’”

“I ain’t did it to him. I ain’t did it to nobody, Shaddy.”

“You still thinkin’ bout Johnny Boy, ain’t you.”

“Li’l bit, yeah, I guess.”

“Johnny Boy is gone, Sandra Jean. He ain’t never comin’ back.”

“I know.”

“You cain’t hold on to his mem’ry ‘n miss de thangs as might be right f’ you now.”

“Is that what you want to talk to Charlie an’ me about? Because you know old Massuh ain’t gon’ let me ‘n Charlie git together. He’ll do the same thing to Charlie that he did to Johnny Boy.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Shaddy? Thass why I ain’t did it wit’ Charlie. I like Charlie. I wanna do it wit’ him. I don’ want nothin’ to happen to him.”

“Uh-hunh.”

“Shaddy? I…I…I cain’t do it wid’ nobody, cause of ole Massuh. That’s why I ‘uz out in de woods that day.”

“Huh?”

“I…I…like seein’ other people….do it.”

“You couldn’t-a seen me doin’ it to Missus Aisleen an’ Missus Marlene. We ‘uz in Chauncey’s house.”

“I ain’t seen you. But I knew you ‘uz in there.”

“An’ you seen us come out. An’ you figured we wadn’t havin’ chu’ch services up in dere.”

Sandra laughed.

“No, I knew you wasn’t havin’ church!!”

Meshach snorted a loogie and spat it to the ground.

“Dem hoes been at me since I ‘uz a sprat.”

“Really?”

“If massuh’d leave my woman alone I wouldn’t be tappin’ up his woman,” he lied.

“She could make it hot for you if you didn’t, Shaddy.”

“Yeah. D’ass de thang.”

“Does Momma Lizzie know?”

“Yeah. I tole her. She don’ want nobody else to know, d’ough. D’ass why I axed you if you tole her.”

“No, I ain’t said nuttin’ to her.”

“Well, you ain’t got to tell nobody. L’ess keep dat ‘tween me ‘n you. I done it. ‘N if I git a chance’t I’m gon’ do it again. ‘N if you see me doin’ it, you keep a shop lookout and don’ let nobody come up an’ catch’d me, you hear?”

This vast soliloquy contained more words than Sandra had ever heard Meshach utter at one time. She looked at him with a small smile and a bit of pride that he’d honored her with such a voluble torrent.

“Yessuh,” she replied.

“Yonder comes Chollie now,” Meshach said.

They waited for Charlie to wander up.

“Hey, Poppa. Hey Sandra. What ch’all doin’ out here on de path?”

“We came looking for you,” answered Sandra. “Your dad wants to talk to us.”

“Yeah? ‘Bout what?”

“Now that you’re here, I guess he’ll tell us.”

Meshach frowned his face up as if preparing for an unpalatable task. He hiked up his trousers and scratched his head absently before drifting his palm back through his nappy hair, down to his neckline, where he massaged himself opulently, rolling his head to and fro like a boxer.

“Chollie. You need to stop hangin’ ‘round dese white folks. Dey ain’t yo’ friens. Git you a good woman, like Sandra here. An’ git married. An’ raise up yo’ chirrens. Now. D’ass it.”

Meshach didn’t pull any punches.

Charlie was surprised into laughter. He didn’t realize that his father was deadly serious.

“Git MARRIED? Why?!? I ain’t ready to git married, Pa. An’ me and Sandra is only good friens.”

“Dat ain’t de part you needed to pay ‘tention to, boy.” Meshach intoned.

“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout? I got frien’s. Some um’s black. Some um’s white. Ben is my frien’, Poppy. You know dat.”

Meshach sighed.

“He ain’t yo’ frien’, son. He might used to be yo’ frien’, when y’all ‘uz li’l ‘uns. He ain’t your frien’ no mo’.”

“Why? Has sump’n happened dat I don’ know about?”

“Yeah, sump’n IS happened. You’se growed. An’ now its time to see thangs de way dey is.”

“’N how is dat?”

Meshach sighed.

“Boy, we ain’t frum here. Dis ain’t our place. Dis de CRACKUH place. We ‘uz brought here ‘cause dese lazy, shif’less bastuhds ain’t wanna do dey own woik. Dey come here from someplace else, ‘cross de watuh, and killt all de peoples dat ‘uz here at fust, de Injuns, ‘n dey brought us in to woik dey farms, like cows, ‘n dey treat us like cows, ‘n sponge off’n us like yella flies, ‘n suck de blood right from outta our veins. When de yella fly bite you, is you frien’s wit dat yella fly?”

“Ummmm, I…”

“No! You ain’t frien’s wit de yella fly! De yella fly only come ‘round you so he kin suck yo’ blood. If you catch’d one ‘um and put him in a jah ‘n feed him blood, when he git out he gwine cut back ‘n suck some mo’ o’ YO’ blood. ‘Cause d’ass how he is. D’ass how de crackuh is, son! ‘N you got to see him fo’ how he is.”

“B-but….,” Charlie stammered.

“No buts. When I was yo’ age, Massuh Nate was MY frien’. Leastways I thought he was. He gimme dese stripes to show me what kind of a frien’ he was. An’ from dat day to dis, I woik ‘n woik ‘n woik. ‘N all my woik don’t do me no good. De woikman don’ gits paid!! All my woik go into Massuh Nate’s pocket. I live in the same hut my daddy lived in ‘n I got the same stuff I had when my daddy was around. NUTTIN’. Massuh Nate sucks my blood. ‘N he gimme just enough grits ‘n poke bellies so’s my blood is rich an’ fatty and can make HIM rich. An’ if I don’t do what he say, he’ah kill me ‘n go out an buy anudder nigger dat looks jist like me, an’ won’t think twice about my wife or my chirrens nor de people dat loves me. You see what he done to Johnny Boy? An’ Sandra’s mama Zelma? An’ Zelma’s sister Phoebe? An’ Homer’s brother, Doak? Th’ass what’ll happen to you de minute you say you ain’t got no mo’ blood to suck, and you wanna keep some’a yo’ blood to yo’self.”

“Daddy, Ben ain’t like dat! Why, Ben is…..”

“Ben’s a CRACKUH, son. It’s what crackuhs do. One day you’a wake up an’ de han’ dat you thought ‘uz helpin’ll be de foot d’ass ‘cross yo’ neck. D’ass how de crackuh is, son! Dey’s feeves n’ liars, Chollie, an’ ain’t got de moral sense Gawd give a ‘possum doodihole. ‘N dey gits religion ‘n claims deys gwine off to heav’m. Hmmmmph! All ‘um, ever’ last one ‘um, e’em de chirrens, is gwine scraight to Hell! De Good Lawd gon’ chuckle when dey gits to de gate ‘n axe to git in to de marriage fease. He gon’ say, ‘We don’ ‘llow no yella fly crackuhs in heav’m, son!! I DON’ KNOW YOU!! ‘N I AIN’T NEVER KNOWED YOU!! DON’ ACK LIKE YOU KIN COME A-TROMPIN’ INTO MY WEDDIN’ FEASE WIF’OUT A INVITE!! GO OFF INTO TH’ LAKE PREPARED FOR DE DE’BIL AND ALL DE REST O’ DE CRACKUHS AS LOOK LIKE HIM, YOU GOAT YOU!!’ D’ass where dey weepin’ ‘n de gnashin’ of dey teef is gwine be, Chollie. ‘N if you’se frien’s wit’ ‘em, you gon’ end up in de Lake o’ Fire right ‘long wit’ ‘em.”

Sandra was more than astonished. She’d never heard Meshach hold forth for so long or as passionately on any subject before. He rarely attended church. He couldn’t read, rarely spoke. And yet his scattershot rationalizations of scripture laid over any formal preaching she’d ever encountered.

“An’ if you git in de Lake of Fire right ‘long side ‘em,” Meshach continued, “I won’t be able to dip my finger in de water, come an’ cool yo’ tongue, cause you’a be tormented in de flames! An’ it’a be a big chasm ‘tween me an’ you—a bottomless pit wit’ I dunno what all in it, dragons an’ polecats an’ sich. An’ you won’t have Abraham and de Profits lookin’ out for you, neither. Dey’a be off to de side hoopin’ an’ hollerin’ an’ pointin’ and cacklin’ because you ‘llowed yo’self to git jammed up wit’ a buncha yella fly crackuhs. An’ I don’ want dat. An’ YOU don’ want dat. You gotta staht thinkin’ ahead, son. De Good Lawd don’ like no crackuh lovuhs. Dey’s ever’thang de Good Lawd Jesus wowned us ‘gainst. Dey Gawd’s name is MAMMON. ‘N dey woiships him in woid and deed!!”

“Daddy, where’d you git all dis from?” Charlie interrupted.

“I got it from my daddy, when I was a li’l boy. He was a Rev’nd, and knowed mo’ ‘bout de Good Book den all de crackuhs put togedder. And Nathan’s daddy Edward sold my daddy down de river, ‘cause he ain’t want us to know what de Bible say about crackuhs. An’ I ain’t seen my daddy since. But I know ‘bout how dey is. An’ now YOU know ‘bout how dey is.”

“Daddy, Massuh Nate tried to git Ben to throw me over. An’ Ben tole him ‘NO!’ D’ass what kinda frien’ Ben is. ‘N you want me to throw Ben over? Is d’ass what you sayin’?”

“I ain’t sayin’ nuttin’, boy. I’m tellin’ you what de Good Book say. I’m jist de vessibule by which de Lawd is talkin’ to YOU. You got to make up yo’ own mind and stand up ‘fore de Lawd on yo’ own two feet. I cain’t muscle up to de gate wit’ you.”

“No. I ain’t throwin’ Ben over, Pop. I ain’t gon’ do it.”

Meshach stopped short from launching into another tirade. At Charlie’s admission he fell into a desultory lethargy. He’d been sure that his son would receive his well-considered scriptural wisdom with enthusiasm. Meshach had been practicing that speech for years, itching to deliver it. Charlie’s flat refusal left little room for return fire. Aisleen’s threat still rang in Meshach’s ears.

It was time to play his trump card.

“Chollie, I like Ben for what he done. I can see dat you proud of him, too. His pappy ain’t so happy wit’ him. Push comes to shove, who you thank Ben is gwine choose? YOU? Or his Pappy?”

“He done already chose, Poppa.”

“And you don’ think his Pa is jist gwine sit still for dat? Does you? CHOLLIE! HE COULD SELL YOU!!”

Charlie’s head snapped alert. This possibility had never entered his mind.

“Sell me?”

“YIS!! One day you’a be walkin’ ‘round, mindin’ yo’ own bid’ness an’ de nigger catchers’ll come from outta nowheres an’ snatch you up and drag you off! An’ it wouldn’t be de first time dey done it, neither.”

“Massuh Nate said dat?”

“HE AIN’T HAD TO SAY IT!! I SEEN HIM DO IT!!!”

This possibility threw Charlie’s friendship with Ben into a whole new light. He liked Ben well enough. But he didn’t like him enough to be separated from his family and friends, as happened with Johnny Boy. He looked over to Sandra and saw horror in her eyes.

The three of them walked back towards the farm as Charlie digested this last facet of his servitude. He could actually be sold!!!

Meshach let that idea percolate. It was his ace in the hole.

XII.

“Toot it up”

Ben Leone grunted as his semen sluiced into Ruthie’s throat. They’d been going at it for an hour now. He’d already despoiled her fuzzy twat and her firmly rounded chocolate ass. Ruthie was sloppy wet, greasy with Ben’s cum.

His initial impression had been that the young black girl would be a reluctant participant in these trysts, inasmuch as she was only doing so on behalf of her twin brother Ike. For some unknown reason, she felt that Ike needed Ben’s patronage. She’d made a deal to fuck Ben on demand in return for such oversight. Such deals don’t often lend themselves to deeply passionate sexual relations. Ruthie could easily have incapacitated Ben each time with her Peppermint Twist and walked away sloppy five minutes into each session.

She did not.

She gave him an honest fuck every time they met. And on the last few occasions Ben noted (with no small measure of satisfaction) that she’d struggled to quell her orgasm. Today, she’d failed to restrain that burgeoning upwelling altogether.

Ruthie wiped Ben’s jism from her cheeks and her chin. She flicked it away from her fingers before standing to face him. She looked in his eyes with neither fear nor shame, holding his gaze until he broke the standoff with an ‘Aww shucks’ grin and a self-effacing turnabout.

Surprisingly, Ruthie drew his gaze back to her own, using her hands to turn his face. She was trying to communicate with him as she communicated with her twin Ike. She wondered if Ben would pick up on her non-verbal cues.

Ben gazed at her quizzically, wondering after her intent. She continued to stare into his eyes. Now it was Ben’s turn to struggle. Something was happening here. He didn’t know what.

Finally, Ruthie spoke.

“Ben. That was nice.”

Ben was shocked. She’d used his name!! Ruthie NEVER called white people by their Christian names. She always used titles such as ‘massuh’ or ‘missus’. Even then, she spat the terms out with such disdain that one felt like striking her.

Ben stammered a response.

“You…you liked that?”

“Yes. I did.”

“Whi…which part?”

“I…I liked it when you put it up my coochie real slow an’ deep, like you done.”

“Your coochie?”

“Yea-yuh.”

“What about the other things?”

“Dat ‘uz good, too. But de coochie ‘uz de best.”

“How…how come you ain’t twist me up?”

“I dunno. I…I cain’t cum like dat. D’ass sump’n for you, not for me.”

“You…you like to killt me when you does that, you know. It hurts real good.”

“I know.”

“Did you twist Charlie up? And did he fall out like I done?”

“Yeah. Why you axe ‘bout him? Dis ain’t about him.”

“Do you do it to him a lot?”

“No. Just a few times.”

“Do…you like doin’ it with him?”

“Li’l bit, I guess. It’s weird. I likes doin’ it wit’ you, too.”

“I…I ain’t think you liked me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Why? I ain’t did nuttin’ to you.”

“I dunno. You ‘uz Charlie’s friend.”

“Why you ain’t liked Charlie?”

“I dunno. He’s mean. He used to fight wit’ me and Ikey all de time.”

“He says you an’ Ikey is tattletales.”

“Hmmmmph. We couldn’t whup him. So we got my daddy to whup him fo’ us.”

“But you’se grown now. Shaddy ain’t whuppin’ up on you no more.”

“Yeah. We ain’t chilluns no mo’.”

“Me an’ Charlie is pards, you know.”

“D’ass why I ain’t liked you.”

“But you likes me now?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Why?”

“I dunno.”

“Yes, you do. Tell me.”

“I dunno, I say! Whatchu want me to say?”

“Tell me you want to do it to me every day.”

“You already know dat, Benny.”

“So let’s do it again right now. Toot it up.”

“OK.”

XIII.

Lizzie and Nathan

For a week after Meshach’s Cracker Talk, Charlie lingered about aimlessly. He performed his chores, of course, but then found various reasons to excuse himself from his regular ‘scamper-offs” with Ben. The two young men had a long running habit of dipping out on work, disappearing into the woods for hours at a time and coming home with nothing to show for it except semen drainage.

As the only begotten son, Ben got away with this dereliction of duty. He was spoiled. Ben’s preferred-son status protected Charlie from Massuh Nathan’s wrath.

Meshach’s rare, voluble diatribe left Charlie confused and frightened. It meant Charlie’s happy-go-lucky days were over. The glaring reality of slave life in America now stared the young man straight in the face. Worse, he began to look at his friend Ben with a jaundiced eye. Was Ben truly capable of mirroring his father based on their shared racial heritage? More to the point, was that a bad thing? Massuh Nathan had never treated Charlie badly.

Those stripes on Meshach’s back told a different tale, however.

And then, of course, there was Meshach’s “cracker” story. If Ben was destined to spend eternity in the fiery furnace alongside the other white folk, with no possibility of parole and no invitation to the bridegroom’s wedding feast in heaven, would it behoove Charlie to extend his loyalty into that domain? Forever is a LONG time. Would it be worth it? Charlie had never known his father to lie.

Charlie pondered these things as Ben scoured the neighborhood alone, inseminating the regulars.

Nathan Leone noted Charlie and Ben’s apparent estrangement. Rather than crediting Meshach’s counsel (whose content he certainly knew nothing of) for the schism, Nathan believed that Aisleen’s “White Man’s Burden” talk had done the trick. Often, niggers couldn’t fathom the lengths that white people went to for their benefit. Aisleen was good at explaining the complexities of southern culture. He congratulated himself on having selected such a capable wife. Nathan felt that one more domino would cause whole the house of cards to fall. And he knew just the card he wanted to play.

Every other Thursday, Aisleen got together with neighbors to quilt and gossip. She was usually gone all day. She left her home management responsibilities to Annette. This was part and parcel of Annie’s preparation for southern matronage.

Master Nathan chose one of these Thursdays to play his trump card. First, he encouraged Annette to tag along with her mother to the quilting bee. Aisleen was a bit suspicious of this, but Nathan assured her that Lize was more than capable of seeing after the house duties in Aisleen’s absence.

Next, he cantered off to the fields alongside Overseer Delaney and the slave crews, leaving Aisleen and Annette to make their own travel arrangements. This move was calculated to show his wife that nothing untoward was in the offing.

He watched Aisleen and Annette cobble off from afar. When they were out of sight down the road, he turned to Delaney and said he was feeling a bit under the weather. Would he mind workin’ the niggers alone while Nathan returned to the big house? Delaney agreed without giving a single thought to Nathan’s underlying motives.

Once home, Nathan advised Lize to go and look after Chauncey for the day. She wasn’t needed. Oh, and take Sandra down there, too. Oh, and could she send Lizzie up to the big house?

Lize wasn’t fooled at all by this subterfuge. She was old and very wise to the machinations of the whites. She played her part in this game then moseyed off to her son’s cabin for a rare day of malingering.

Lizzie Leone walked up to the big house resolutely. She entered without knocking. Her husband and sons were off working the fields. Ruthie was around here somewhere; she didn’t know exactly where. Besides, Ruthie wouldn’t enter the big house without being told. Missus Aisleen was gone; the chances of someone ordering Ruthie into the big house were slim. Lizzie was on her own.

“Come on in, Elizabeth. Come on in. Good to see you,” called Nathan from his bedroom.

Following his voice, Lizzie found what she expected to find—a naked white man with an erection. Unfazed, wholly unsurprised, Lizzie began to remove her clothing.

“Hang on there, Lizzie. We gots some talkin’ to do fust.”

“Suh?”

“Yes. I want to talk to you about Charlie.”

“Chollie? What he done did? Is he in trouble?”

“No. Well, he might not be. He could be. Thass what I wan’ talk wit’ you about.”

Lizzie’s anxiety for her son was evident. She wasn’t opposed to fucking Massuh Nathan. Indeed, she’d rather fuck than wash clothes. Meshach was off in the fields. Per their marital agreement, she wasn’t offering Massuh any pussy. She was being ordered to do it. That she enjoyed having a good dick up in her puss wasn’t germane to the agreement.

Nathan stood to exert his dominance over the conversation using body language. His erection wobbled.

“Has Shaddy told you of my concerns?”

“Consuhns, suh? ‘Bout what?”

“About Charlie. And Ben.”

“No, suh,” she lied.

“Well, Lizzie, it’s time for Ben to stand up and be a white man. I done it in my time. My daddy had to do it before me, same as his daddy. Being a nigger, I know you don’t understand this. It’s what makes white folks the masters and black folks the slaves. I tried to get Benny to understand his responsibilities and he throwed me off. Why? It’s because of Charlie.”

“What Chollie did to make Ben throw you off?”

“It ain’t what he did. Benny done that by hisself. I don’t blame Charlie for what Benny done. I’m a fair man. Still, Benny gots to do his duty by his family. And he acts like his friendship with Charlie is more important than his duty to his kin.”

“Dey’s been bess frien’s since dey ‘uz li’l, Massuh. What you want ‘em to do?”

“Tha’ss the thing, Lizzie. You ‘member when me and Shaddy was frien’s like dat? Time came for me to stand up and be a white man, I done it. An’ I ain’t never regretted doin’ it, neither.”

Lizzie held her peace. A spark of remembrance flashed momentarily in her eyes. It came and went so quickly that Massuh Nathan never noticed. He went on.

“It’s Benny’s time, Lizzie. He gots to stop hangin’ out wit’ Charlie an’ take his rightful place as Charlie’s massuh. There ain’t no other way, Lizzie. I wish it was diff’runt. But it ain’t.”

“You right, Massuh Nate. I don’t unnerstand. What dis got to do wit’ me?”

“Well, Lizzie, you’re here. Now. You knew what I wanted when I called you up here. I’m gon’ want some pussy, Lizzie. It’s my due. We been doin’ it since we was young ‘uns an’ I likes it. An’ I think you likes it, too. A white man can call a nigger woman up to his home an’ do it to her like I’m fixin’ to do you. A black man can’t do that with a white woman. You see? Even if he could, no white woman is gon’ let no nigger put his black cackylacky up in her. Tha’ss just how white womens is.”

Lizzie didn’t understand where this was leading. She paused from disrobing.

“I want you to talk to Charlie,” Nathan continued. “I know Shaddy done talked to him already. But I think that if he hears it from you he might come around and accept it without I has to discipline him like I done with Shaddy.”

“Discipline him fo’ what? What you want me to say to him?”

“Oh, just tell him like I’m tellin’ you. It’s better for everyone all around if’n he don’t spend a buncha time hangin’ ‘round Benny. Maybe him and Ike can git to be pards. Ike’s his brother. It’s plenty of young bucks around here that’s better suited for nigger-on-nigger friendships. You don’t want him throwin’ off on his own kind, do you?”

“Well, I…”

“Of course you don’t. You don’t see red birds hangin’ ‘round wit’ blue birds, do you? You don’t see lions hangin’ ‘round wit’ giraffes. It ain’t th’ natural order of things. It ain’t the way Gawd meant it to be, Lizzie.”

Lizzie had heard enough.

“OK, Massuh, I see. I’ll be goin’ now.”

“Wait, wait!! What about us? We got all day here.”

“Red birds don’t hang ‘round wit’ blue birds, Massuh. You don’ never see no purple birds flying ‘round.”

At first Nathan seemed perplexed at her response. “Red birds? Blue birds? What’s she talking about?” Then it occurred to him that she was playing off his own analogy.

“Oh you tryin’ to be funny. That only applies when the red bird is tryin’ to git wit’ the blue bird. It don’t apply the other way around.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, you know why not. Don’t act a fool. We got the whole day to ourselves and you up in here pickin’ over my words.”

“You de one dat said ‘em. I’m jist agreein’ wit’ you.”

Lizzie started to dress.

“Come on, Lizzie, now. Don’t be like that. I’m all in a sweat here. I cain’t hardly breathe for wantin’ to be up in you. You know how I git. Come on, now.”

“Red bird gotta fly, Massuh.”

“Elizabeth! You stop it right now, I say! I’m in a tight here. Don’t make me force you!”

His erection burgeoned upward, pleading for her warmth, even as he employed his stentorian “I’m de Massuh” voice.

When Lizzie continued to ignore him, Nathan bolted from his seat on the bed. He grabbed her arm and twirled her to face him. This time there was no misinterpreting the flash of anger in her eyes or the tightness in her lips.

Nathan backhanded her roughly. Lizzie pivoted from the force of the blow, but didn’t fall.

Nathan slapped her again, this time with an open hand. Lizzie fell to the ground. Rage welled up in her bosom. For an instant, Nathan recalled the beating he had taken at the hands of Zelma and Phoebe. Lizzie was entirely capable of replicating that beating on her own, he knew. She was muscular and husky. Lizzie fought with berserker rage when cornered.

Lizzie remembered Nathan’s beatdown, too. She also remembered the aftermath. The nigger catchers came and took Zelma and Phoebe away, never to be seen again.

As this prospect loomed, Lizzie’s rage waned. Her family lived here, as did all her friends. Besides, she wasn’t the first slave Massuh had slapped. She surely wouldn’t be the last.

She stood to face him. He was disheveled and out of breath, overcome with adrenaline borne of fear. He was alone in a room, with a black woman, as his father had been. He had no weapons handy. This black woman could kill him with her bare hands; she could puncture his carotid artery with her teeth. He could see murder in her eyes.

Lizzie looked him up and down. The instinct to kill subsided before the consequences of the act.

Quietly, Lizzie began to shed her clothing. Once naked, she stepped into Aisleen Leone’s bed and spread her legs. Her curly black pubic mound peeled open like a flower.

“That’s more like it,” Nathan Leone grumbled.

He mounted her and clumsily slipped his penis into her pussy.

XIV.

Jannie’s Lament

One might wonder, given the copious volumes of semen being absorbed by young vaginas on the Leone Farms, why more of the women didn’t conceive. The answer is simple: Pure Dumb Luck.

Few, if any, of the women took precautions against pregnancy. They fucked. They went home and prayed against the possibility of pregnancy. They fucked again. Rinsing semen from their pussies in the spring and/or wiping semen from their pussies with a rag constituted their primary methods of birth control. In both cases they missed fertile clumps of that baby-making material. Often, jism would seep from their vaginas for days after the fact.

When these birth control methods failed (and they DID fail) there was always a foolproof fallback method that everyone knew of but few discussed openly—Auntie Griot.

Auntie Griot was a free black woman who lived deep in a swamp miles from nowhere. Few knew how to get there. She was widely believed to be a witch. As such, most blacks avoided her like the plague. Their superstitions precluded them from associating with the dark arts.

The whites did their best to foster these superstitions. Ghosts, witchery, signs, dreams and the occult were useful agents of fear and, ultimately, tools of subjugation.

The whites weren’t above using Auntie Griot’s skills for their own benefit, however. In addition to being a noted necromancer, Auntie Griot was a skilled abortionist. She manufactured the potions and poultices that negated the undesirable after effects of her clients’ lust. Of course, she augmented her chemistry with dread invocations and smoky claptrappery designed to enhance her reputation.

Among both blacks and whites alike, abortion was viewed as the blackest of sins. Not only was it murder, it compounded as a cover story for fornication. Either of these sins was mortal in and of themselves. Not even the Blood of the Lord could cover this dual mortal sin.

Consequently, those requiring Auntie Griot’s services kept that need in strictest confidence. It was whispered, accomplished, and never spoken of again.

Two months after her visit to her uncle’s farm, Janice Josephine Leone found herself in need of Auntie Griot’s services.

She’d missed one iteration of her normal menstrual cycle, dismissing this as a fluke. Janice occasionally missed cycles. Panic set in when the second scheduled cycle came and went.

Who was the father? Jake? He was her only regular partner, damn him. Yet Jake was the most likely culprit. It could not have been Ben. She and Ben had missed their main opportunity for intercourse, though she’d blown him after church a few weeks back. Blowjobs don’t produce children.

Who could it be? Who could it be?

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

It couldn’t be!!! Nope. Nope. NO! That possibility was beyond the realm of consideration.

Auntie Beth’s letter sounded promising. Yet the letter only mentioned the cure for the nigger taint. It didn’t mention pregnancy. Auntie Beth also confirmed that she would be home for Christmas. Jannie’s imaginary “friend” could take the cure at that time. Uncle Franklin was now ordained, consecrated and qualified to administer the cure.

Did the nigger taint cure include a remedy for being two months late, whatever the race of the culprit? No. Jannie didn’t suspect it would.

ABBY!!

Suddenly, everything became clear.

This was a job for Abigail Patricia Harkness.

Jannie rushed from her church pew to corral Cousin Abby milliseconds after the last intonations of ‘Amen’ reverberated across the little church.

“Abby, we gotta talk.”

“Sure, Jannie. Whatcha need?”

“We gotta talk in private, Abby.”

“Oh? It’s like that?”

“Yes. It’s like that.”

The two women wandered down to the basement and found an empty room. Jannie checked the closet to make sure they weren’t intruding on a tryst. Finding no one, she got right to the point.

“Abby, I’m late. I need to go see Auntie Griot.”

“No!!!”

“YES. And I don’t need no lecture, neither.”

“How late?”

“Two months along, give or take.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“I’m not sure who an’ it don’t matter no how. This ain’t gon’ git that far. I need to see Auntie. NOW.”

“Well, if you need to see her, you need to see her. When can you get away?”

“I want you to tell my Ma that I’m going to your house for a few days. I want you to go to my Ma and ask for me to he’p you out with sump’n. If I ask her, she’ll be ‘spicious.”

“Did you bring some clothes wit’ you?”

“’Course not! How ‘uz I gon’ ‘splain that? You tell my Ma you need my help for sump’n, fierce like, and you’a gimme some clothes and bring me home.”

“OK.”

“Well? Don’t keep loungin’ about down here in the basement. You gotta make it seem like you’se in a sweat to have me at your place, cain’t do without me. Go upstairs and hunt mommie up. Then you come and git me and we’ll play like I dunno nuttin’ ‘bout it. I’ll ack like I got so much to do and might cain’t come, but then I’ll agree to come. At the last minute. You got it?”

“Sure, Jannie. I got you.”

Abby played her part in this small farce marvelously. She begged her Aunt Marlene for Jannie’s assistance with a birthday surprise she was planning for Buck, improvising this small lie on the spot. She promised to have Janice back home by the following Sunday at the latest. Marlene never considered any malevolent intent on Abby’s part. She agreed to the visit, if Janice would. She sent for Janice, who acted as if Abby’s program were wholly new. Janice came up with any number of excuses why she might not be able to serve, but ultimately gave in, using her affection for her older cousin as the deciding factor.

This was only the first ruse necessary for the trip to Auntie Griot’s place. Abby and Jannie still had to convince Buck that the trip was an innocent lark. Buck knew of Auntie Griot’s reputation. He would never have allowed any visit to Auntie’s place without a stern interrogation of the principals. Abby and Jannie had to come up with an excuse for their absence after they arrived at the Harkness place.

“We could say we’se gone off to the quiltin’ bee, Jannie, and be gone all day,” Abby offered.

“Quiltin’ Bee ain’t till Thursday, Abby. I don’ wanna wait that long. I gots to git this settled NOW.”

“It’s a three hour trip out to Griot’s place, Jannie. Three hours out, three hours back. No tellin’ how long we’ll have to wait if’n she ain’t home. She could be out in the swamp roundin’ up potions. It ain’t like she knows we’se comin’.”

“Cain’t we send a nigger out there and tell her to wait for us?”

“We could do that. What’s to stop the nigger from spreadin’ news of our visit around? This ain’t like gittin’ a piece of coontang, which everybody does now and again. This is serious business. White folks go off to Auntie Griot wit’ one purpose in mind.”

“You ain’t got a nigger on this farm that you trust?”

“Nope. Not one. If our niggers git three hours out, they might be tempted to run. And then, when we caught ‘em, they’d be SURE to tell where we’d sent ‘em. No Ma’am. I ain’t reskin’ THAT. We got to do this job on our own time.”

“Yeah. But Thursday? That’s four days off!!”

“It’ll git here soon enough. You just hold your horses and bide your time. Your mama ain’t expecting you till next Sunday, anyways. You can keep me company in the mean time, an’ tell me how all this come about. You still ain’t said who the daddy is.”

“I don’t wanna say.”

“You gon’ say if you want ME to put you up. An’ tell the truth, too. Is it a nigger?”

“ABBY!!!”

“It’s a fair question. Last time I talked to you, you ‘uz miseratin’ ‘bout doin’ it to Charlie’s little brother. You thought you ‘uz gonna die!! That ‘uz a couple months ago, need I point out. Some coincidence. Is it him?”

“Oh, Abby! I don’t know!! I jist don’t know!!”

“Is it some other nigger I don’t know about?”

Jannie waved her off.

“It IS some other nigger!!”

Jannie looked at her in exasperation.

“Come on, Jannie. You know I ain’t gonna tell nobody. Who am I to tell on somebody? I been up to Auntie Griot’s twice!! Now, who was it? Was it Georgie? He gots a big ‘un. I seen it one time when he was peein’ ‘gainst a tree. Was it Sammy? Was it Boy Jimmy? Was it Blue? You can tell me, Jannie. I won’t tell.”

Jannie threw up her hands.

“It was Blue? It WAS Blue, wasn’t it!! He’s older’n me, Jannie!! An’ he’s right purty for a nigger, too! Hmmmmmph! You got a good ‘un! I’ve heard stories about him!!”

“No, it wasn’t Blue. I dunno where you got that from.”

“I GOT IT FROM YOU!!! When I mentioned Blue’s name, you flinched. I seen you do it! You ain’t flinch when I mentioned all those others. It was him, wasn’t it?”

“Abby,….I…I…”

“Look, chile, I ain’t gon’ tell nobody. You ain’t got to worry about that. Now, gimme the details!! What happened? Was it good? What did he say when he seen your big ole peenie clit? Did you make him suck it before you give up the puss? If I was you, I’d make all of ‘em suck it first, even Jakie and Benny!! It don’t make no sense to have your own little dick and don’t git it sucked. I wouldn’t, anyway. Your peenie is the biggest one I’ve seen, girl!”

Jannie laughed. Her clitoris was almost legendary in their family. She’d long since given up on making excuses for it or being embarrassed by it.

“Yes,” she said.

“Yes what? That was a whole buncha questions in there. Yes to which one?”

“Yes, I made him suck my peenie.”

“I KNEW IT!!! I KNEW IT!! Was it good?”

“Omigod, Abby, it was amazing!! He sucked it again and again and again. An’ when I would start to cum he would jump up and put his dick all the way up in me, real fast and hard, but he wouldn’t cum. And when I finished coming he would go back down and suck my peenie again, an’ each time he done it I was just ‘bout to explode! And his dick is so big!!! It’s bigger than Georgie’s dick!! It’s bigger than Charlie’s dick!! It’s huge!!!”

“Bigger’n Charlie? I can’t believe that!!”

“It is!! An’ he’s thicker, too!! Hangs almost down almost to his knees!!”

“Chile, you’se a lie. They don’t make ‘em that big. Next you’ll be tellin’ me that you got it all the way up in you.”

“He did git it all the way up in me, deep as all get out. I ain’t get all the way DOWN on him, is the thing. I looked an’ he had about four inches of dry dick after we got done.”

“But you took the rest, wide and all?”

“Yep.”

“An’ he sloppied up your pussy?”

“Yep.”

“You lyin’. I’m gon’ have to see this for myself. How many times you done did it to him?”

Jannie quieted.

“How many!!”

“We…we been doin’ it pretty regular. He…he…comes up to the house after I put Jakie to sleep.”

“Jake been sloppyin’ you up, too?”

“Y-yeah. Sometimes. A lotta times.”

“An’ Blue been spillin’ his jizz up in you, too? The same night?”

“I told you I dunno who the daddy is. You just had to make me out to be some kind of a whore.”

“You ain’t no more a whore than anybody else. I told you I wasn’t gon’ tell nobody, not even Annie, though I know you’a tell her yourself.”

“I ain’t gon’ tell Annie. I wouldn’t-a told you ‘ceptin’ I needed someone to take me out to see Auntie. I woulda went by myself if I knew how to get there.”

“Well, don’t worry. I’ll take you. On Thursday, like I said. Now we got to find a way to go see Auntie and make our way over to that quiltin’ bee. It won’t do for Buck to ask about the Bee and one of the biddies tell him we wasn’t there. You let me handle this. Now, tell me more about Blue!!”

Thursday finally came. Abby flicked her driving switch out and started the horse team off toward the quilting bee. She was an experienced driver. She didn’t want her regular driver, a slave, to know where she was actually going. Her plan was to git along down the road towards the bee, then double back to the swamp mouth (a narrow isthmus), drive the horse team to a hidden glade, tie them up, and then she and Jannie would proceed via flatbottom boat to Auntie Griot’s place. If they made good time they could get back to the carriage by early afternoon, proceed to the quilting bee, and make plausible excuses for the late arrival.

Jannie sat in the passenger seat of the little carriage, dressed demurely, as if going to a church social. Abby wore driving pantaloons, knee-high boots and a blouse. She packed a dress similar to Jannie’s in a suitcase; told her husband she’d change into it at the bee. She also packed a pistol in her carrying purse.

Buck hadn’t presented any problems about the trip. It was a two-hour ride. Abby could manage it easily, though he wondered after her rationale. Abby hated hanging around the dowagers who attended the bee. Buck figured she was making the trip on Jannie’s behalf. Jannie was well on track to becoming a dowager queen.

Abby waited until they were out of sight from her farm before getting to the crux of things.

“OK, so you’re going to hook me up with Blue when I come over to your farm week after next. He’ll know why I’m there, right?”

“Right,” said Jannie.

“You don’t mind me tippin’ in on him? I gotta see this dick for myself.”

“It ain’t like he’s my husband, Abigail. He’s just a nigger.”

“I just don’t want you givin’ me the stank eye if I git him all the way wet and you couldn’t.”

“You ain’t gon’ git him all the way wet. Not less’n you pee on him.”

“Stop it.”

“If your pussy goes that deep, the back of your pussy must be in your throat.”

“Stop it,” Abby chided again.

“Mine’s is pretty big, you know. I done took my share of big ‘uns.” Jannie continued.

“Can you take Charlie all the way? I can. But Annie can’t.” Abby challenged.

“I think I can. An’ I woulda, too, if you hadn’t took my turn down at the spring that time.”

“You told me you ain’t want none cause he’s a nigger! But then you settled for Ike.”

“Yeah. You hogged Charlie the whole weekend.”

“I thought you ‘uz so down in the mouth about nigger fucking? What changed your mind?”

“I dunno, Abby. It was crazy. I was so upset because, you know, we wasn’t raised up like that. If our mommas knew what we was doin’, it would kill them! They ain’t done none of the things we done. They’re white!! I love my momma. She would be so hurt if she found out I let a nigger put his dick up in me without hollerin’ for help. But I seen you and Annie havin’ so much fun down at the spring I just ain’t want to be left out. And afterward, my conscience got to pesterin’ me so bad! But what happened next was the worst!”

“You got the nigger taint.”

“Yes!! How did you know? Abby, it like to killt me! Did you git it, too?”

“Yeah. Long time ago, now. I remember it.”

“How did you git past it? Seems like I couldn’t git enough dick! Soon as I got thru one nut, I’d got to have another. It’s all I thought about, mornin’, noon and night! I couldn’t sleep. I ‘bout wore poor Jakie out. He was scared to see me comin’. Ran the other way soon’s I come ‘round the corner. Abby, I was thrashin’ my peenie ten times a night an’ it ain’t did a thing! If I coulda bent over double and sucked her, I woulda did it!! She just wouldn’t stay down! So I remembered seein’ Blue’s dick one time over to the nigger washhouse. An’ so I came up with a plan to catch him alone. Ain’t no nigger gon’ turn down a white woman’s pussy, ‘specially one as juicy red as mine’s is. So we done it and the next thing I knew, my nigger taint went away!!”

“That’s the taint, alright. That’s what happens.”

“But Abby!! It went away an’ all of a sudden I couldn’t bust a nut at all!! I give Jakie full access, much as he wanted, but I couldn’t nut, no matter how long he went at me. So I called Blue out one day, and he sucked me alive, an’ then I could nut up again. So now, when I feel my girlie peenie drainin’ away, I call Blue and he wakes her up for me. I don’t want to be on fire all the time, but I do like to be on fire some of the time.”

“Ain’t it so? I feel like that too, Jannie. That’s the exact same thing as happened to me!!”

“An’ if we’d just stuck with white boys, it wouldn’t be like this,” Jannie said, with a measure of regret.

“Yeah, but when you git a good nut now, don’t it feel good? Whether it’s a white dick or a nigger dick. It’s like havin’ a jug fulla lightning tricklin’ slowly out your pores, ain’t it?”

“It is!! Lightning in a jar!”

“I couldn’t give that up. I’d got to have it ever once’t in awhile.”

Janice now felt the need to make a confession that she’d been withholding for days.

“Abby? Auntie Beth wrote me.”

“YOU TOLD HER YOU HAD THE NIGGER TAINT!!!??!?”

“No. ‘Course not. I told her it was a friend of mine. She said Uncle Frank had the ability to administer the cure. Said they’d be home for Christmas. Said my friend could be a full white woman again, if she took the cure.”

“UNCLE FRANK? OMIGOD. I took the cure, Jannie. But it wasn’t Uncle Frank who done the administration. It was that old pastor, the one that retired last year. What was his name? Goins. Pastor Goins.”

“You took the cure? But you’re still doin’ it to niggers, Abby.”

“Jannie, you don’t want the cure. It’s worse than doin’ it to niggers. Believe me, I know. You’a take the cure and be alright for awhile. But one day you gon’ see Blue out and about and your peenie is gon’ quiver in the jungle. An’ ever’ time after that it’s gon’ quiver a little more until one day it’ll stand straight up, like a li’l stiffie, an’ won’t go down. It’ll be the nigger taint all over again, like to drive you crazy. The cure don’t clean up the nigger taint. It only holds it at bay for a little. You’d got to keep takin’ the cure, over and over. And when you find out what the cure is, you’a be sick to your stomach. I took the cure once. An’ I said ‘Never Again’. It ain’t worth it, Jannie. An’ you ESPECIALLY don’t want to take the cure from Uncle Franklin. Take my word.”

“Well, I just wanna get rid of this baby. I can worry about the nigger taint come Christmas.”

“We’re about an hour out. Let’s hope Auntie G is home.”

XV.

In pussy scent there is truth.

Annette Leone masturbated herself slowly in the evening gloom of her bedroom loft. She stroked her clitoris between her middle finger and her index finger, allowing it to bloom and ebb according to her whims. Occasionally, she would slip one of her fingers up her ass, then draw it out for a wistful sniff. She wasn’t trying to achieve completion. She hoped her brother Ben would arrive soon and fuck her into that realm.

Ben had come home late all week. Who knows where he’d been? Usually, when he arrived in the loft, Annie was asleep. That had never kept him from awakening her with his dick in the past. Each night this week he popped open the trapdoor in the floor and crawled into his own bed, exhausted. He hadn’t fucked her in five days. There’d been a similar abstinent period in each of the prior several weeks.

Something was definitely wrong.

Annie hadn’t fucked Charlie in weeks either. The two young men, once inseparable, now seemed to be on opposing schedules. Charlie went down to the spring with the other slaves. He never seemed to have time to sneak off with Ben. He didn’t seem to want to make time for it, either. When the two came across one another they seemed amiable enough. They bantered and laughed. But afterward, they drifted away from each other without comment. Charlie missed plenty of opportunities to sneak up into the loft, too. Annie had done everything short of giving him an appropriate time, minute and second and he still hadn’t showed up.

Something was wrong. Annie was getting the shit end of the stick.

She was determined to get to the bottom of the problem. Tonight. She, Ben and Charlie had been regular partners. She knew of no reason why their routine encounters would take such an unusual tack. So she toyed with herself, making sure she was wet and ripe for the moment when Ben finally did arrive.

In pussy scent there is truth.

She heard a furtive step downstairs and knew it to be her brother. Soon he’d be climbing the ladder to the loft. Annie took the edge of her blanket and waved it over her naked pelvis, seeking to spread her scent into the room. She wanted Ben to know she was receptive.

Ben climbed up into the loft and wordlessly crawled into his bed, ignoring her mating aroma completely. Annie was wholly flummoxed.

“Ben,” she said aloud.

Ben didn’t answer.

“BEN!”

“Hunh? What?” Ben stammered. He was almost asleep already.

“Benny, what’s the matter?”

“Nuthin’. Nuthin’.”

He rolled over, turning his back to her.

“BEN! It IS something wrong. Don’t turn away from me.”

She leapt from her bed and snatched his covers away. Immediately, a second odor, similar to her own, billowed forth into the room.

“You been off fuckin’ again,” she noted.

He snatched his blanket back.

“So? We ain’t married. You act like I cain’t git me a piece now and again.”

“I know, but….”

“You SHOULD know. I don’t tell you who to give your pussy to. You give your pussy to Charlie an’ I ain’t say a word. Now I hear tell that Ike’s been up in you, too! How many other niggers are you goin’ to fuck?”

“THEY’RE YOUR FRIENDS!! YOU SAID IT WAS OK AS LONG AS THEY WAS FRIENDS!!”

“I ain’t say that at all. I said CHARLIE was OK. You fucked all them other niggers on your own.”

“Is that why you ain’t axed me for no pussy all week?”

Ben grunted and turned away from her.

“I SAID DON’T TURN AWAY FROM ME. LOOK AT ME.”

Ben turned back to her without comment.

“Benny, don’t you want my pussy no more? I used to couldn’t keep you off’n me.”

“Annie, I…I…”

“Come on, Benny, let’s do it. I ain’t had none since last week. NONE. You ain’t gotta go in on top of Charlie’s jizz or nothin’. I’m clean and washed. And wet. See?”

She scooted forward and preened her golden mound up to his face.

Ben stared into Annie’s pussy. It was beautiful. He could tell from its smell that she’d been masturbating, hoping that he would top her off. Heat scent drifted from her labia in palpable waves. Ben struggled valiantly to drive some animus into his dick, but Ruthie had sapped him of his strength. Each night this week he’d requested (and received) her Peppermint Twist as a finisher. It was a wonder that he could stand up straight. His dick was burnt raw. Too, it reeked of Ruthie’s vice-grip twat. There would be no sister fucking this night, that much was sure.

“Annie, I...I cain’t right now. I’m SO tired. We might could try it in the morning?”

“Hmmmmph. Don’t do me any favors.”

“I’m sorry, Annie. Truly I am. You ‘member that time when Abby was here? An’ I had that problem? Well, it’s back. I need a good two days of sleep afore I can work it like a man again. Right now it hurts. My dick hurts real bad.”

“Apparently not bad enough,” Annie sniffed. “Who you was wit’ tonight? Suzy? Jemmy Jenkins? Tilly?”

“It ain’t none-a your business who I was wit’. I’m a grown man.”

“Tell me, Ben. You’re throwin’ off on me. I’m the one as has given you the most pussy, and the best pussy, even when you ain’t know what you was doin’. We ‘posed to be doin’ it long after we both gits married and moves on. You remember that? DO YOU? Who was it, Ben?”

“ANNIE! Go to sleep!! I promise I’ll do it to you in the mornin’. PLEASE!”

“Who WAS it, Ben?”

She reached down and grabbed his dick in her fist. Ben howled out loud.

“WHO WAS IT?” she demanded between clenched teeth.

“OMIGOD!! IT WAS RUTHIE!! LEGGO!! LEMME GO!! IT WAS RUTHIE!! OMIGOD!!!”

“RUTHIE!!” Annie expostulated before dropping his cock. “THAT BITCH!!!”

The two women were the same age, but had never liked each other. Now Annie had additional reason to hate the sassy black girl. The heffah had been fucking Annie’s main source of dick, leaving Annie to masturbate frantically alone in the dark.

From downstairs Annie heard her mother’s voice calling up, asking after Ben.

“Are you OK, Benny? I thought I heard you holler.”

“We’re OK, Ma!” Annie called down. “He stumped his toe on the bed and then he fell and bashed his shin. Woke me up with all this racket. I’ll look after him.”

“OK.”

Missus Aisleen turned and went back to her room.

“What if she woulda come up here and catched you standin’ over me naked!!” Ben whispered fiercely.

“Shut up.” Annie replied.

She sat down on her bed and stewed for a few moments. The time had come for her to bring things to a head with Miss Ruthie the Nigger Leone. This bitch had it coming.

First things first, however.

“I tell you what, Mr. Limp Dick. You might cain’t fuck me. But you damn sure can suck me. And you better do it, too.”

“Or what?” he asked.

“Think about it,” she replied as she stepped across him to straddle his face.

Normally a man that’s been recently fucked out will recoil from pussy, unless it is new pussy. Sexual over-indulgence produces a temporary sensory high that’s a bit painful and often includes a certain revulsion for the female touch. It is a short-term malady, peculiar to men, and never lasts more than an hour. It can also be cured with fifteen minutes of REM sleep.

Annie’s pussy wasn’t new. Ben knew every fold and crevice of that well-oiled edifice intimately. He knew its smell, he knew its taste. He knew its tremble, heft and thrust. Whereas the mere sight of Annie’s nakedness might normally bring an enormous erection to a long dead corpse, awakening Ben’s cock this night was going to be a monumental task.

Annie lowered her labia to Ben’s lips. Her vertical slit sat in perpendicular juxtaposition to his mouth. The luxuriant aroma of her pussy, always a powerful aphrodisiac, now aroused the spent abdominal nerves that pump blood into a rising dick. It is these nerves that are the source of the pain in a fucked out male. They scream for succor, for sleep, while the penis screams for blood, ever more blood to fill its erectile cavities.

The scent of Annie’s pussy drove a white-hot dagger of pain into Ben’s lower abdominal extremities. His penis demanded filler. His nerves demanded rest. Annie’s pussy demanded his tongue. Annie’s asshole demanded his chin.

“WHY did I let Ruthie twist me up?” he groaned. “Anybody with any sense woulda known Annie was gonna want some tonight!! Oh lordy, this hurts!! Oh it hurts!!!”

Ben’s penis lay in a leaden lump between his legs. His pelvic nerves were revolting against any further arousal. They would supply no more blood to his greedy cock The burn of this revolt seared his abdomen like a white-hot cattle brand.

Meanwhile, Annie fucked his face with increasing ardor. Her eyes were closed. Her silky vulva scrubbed his nose and cheeks fervently. Her tits bounced and swayed. She was imagining that his tongue might expand to fill her completely, like a dick, yet she was hopeful that her efforts would bring life to Ben’s sodden poker.

Ben could feel her hardened clit dancing about his nostrils. His hot breathing animated that sensitive organ like a blacksmith’s billows. It expanded and receded obscenely with each exhalation. Annie re-positioned herself and drove her clit into his mouth as if it were a dick, using his mouth as her own private pussy.

As Annie’s thrusting became more and more insistent a small miracle occurred. Blood breached the dam of Ben’s refusal. It slowly began to trickle into his cock. That Ruthie-deadened member stirred. Ben was amazed. Too, he was a bit pleased. His cock had never failed him. (Well, except for that one time with Abby.) Here it was again, rising up to do battle.

By the time Annie climaxed, Ben’s dick stood in regal salute. He didn’t wait for Annie’s glorious orgasmic interlude to wane, either. He scooted out from under her, positioned her hips in the air, doggystyle, and drove his dick into her ass with a fury. He hoped the ecstasy of Annie’s internal heat would quash the pain of his few revolting abdominal nerves. He fucked her quickly, like a great cat, eschewing lengthy insertions for the quiver of speed. Once he found the area in her rectum that supplied the most friction to his sweet spot, he concentrated on that area, working it maniacally.

Annie bore up under his assault. This was the lover she wanted, not that fucked out rag who’d climbed into bed twenty minutes ago and passed out. She received his innumerable thrusts with the heady joy of youth. Too, she prayed that he would be heedful of her vaginal need. Annie knew that she’d get only one nut out of him this night.

“Ben. Ben! My pussy. Put it in my pussy!!”

Annie’s demand broke Ben’s selfish dedication to his own imminent release. He withdrew from her rectum, dipped south, and slid his steaming cock past her wettened labia and into her pussy. Annie groaned with satisfaction. Here it was, finally, the thick wad of lust she needed to sate her own prurient desire. It had been so long!!

Now Ben changed tactics. Instead of inch fucking her with short, quick thrusts, Ben elected to longstroke her, withdrawing entirely before whipping his thick sausage back into the full length of her hole. Annie trembled. Beads of sweat arose on her lower back. She closed her eyes in bliss and resumed her march back up to completion.

“PLEASE hold out, Ben. I’m almost there! Don’t cum yet. I…can…feel…it…coming, Ben! Oh! Your dick!! Oh, Benny!! Such a dick!! It feels SO good!!! OHHHHHH!”

Annie’s fuck talk always drove Ben to pinnacles of exertion. He squeezed off his burgeoning seminal eruption until the last possible moment. When it became impossible to withhold any longer, he warned her of his capitulation.

“ANNIE? ANNIE! It’s coming!! I’m coming!! It’s….It’s….HERE!!!!!!!”

With that he splattered her pussy with a single, spiraling jet of cum. It was all he had to give. Ruthie had drained his reserves. Instantly, Ben’s penis softened and his abdominal nerves resumed their shrieking agony. Ben’s orgasm fought to subsume the pain. He was being torn between a universe of pleasure and a universe of torment. Now he was truly fucked out.

Annie didn’t care. She’d gotten hers. She wasn’t sloppy wet, like usual, but she’d achieved the vaginal churn she’d craved.

Ben slumped over and passed out in his bed. Annie remained in the doggie-style position for some minutes as her orgasm dissipated.

Then she rose up, stepped into her own bed and fell instantly asleep.

XVI.

Auntie Griot

“YOU. Again?”

Auntie Griot seemed neither pleased nor surprised at Abby and Jannie’s arrival.

“It’s not me this time, Auntie. This is my cousin Janice. She…she needs your help.”

“Same t’ing?”

“Y-yes.”

“How long?”

“Two..two months.”

“Who de fadduh?”

“That’s not…that’s not…she doesn’t know.”

“Black or white?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Does you wants my he’p or don’t ya?”

“She doesn’t know.”

“Ahhhhhhh.”

Auntie stepped aside to allow the two white women entry to her decrepit, windowless hut. A small cooking fire glowed in the corner, its smoke captured by a dilapidated pipe contraption Auntie had rigged up from a tin rain gutter. The walls were lined all around with shelves containing small bottles of this and that. Only Auntie knew the contents of each bottle.

Like her home, Auntie was a small woman, very black, with thick lips and inquisitive eyes. Her hair was unkempt. She tied it up with a scarf, but it poked out in dreadlocks from various openings in the cheap fabric. She was dressed in a mismatched wrap that barely restrained her sagging breasts. She looked very old, but was only in her late forties. Her hands and feet bore the calluses of a hard life.

Auntie was born a slave. Her birth name was Lucinda; Cinda for short. As a three-year old, she’d been raped by the teenaged scion of her owners. His name was Edmund. The rapes continued until she was ten, at which point Edmund married and moved away from home. By that time young Cinda was tolerably well acquainted with the ways of men. Her first pube had yet to sprout.

Auntie’s mother Pam was a powerful Creole shaman. She, too, was a slave. She knew of Auntie’s ongoing molestation and devised potion after potion against Cinda’s attacker. None of her furtive assassination attempts succeeded.

Pam’s inability to protect her daughter ate at her vitals. Though still relatively young, she deteriorated noticeably after each failure. Her heart broke a little more each day, the pain made worse because the pedophile made no attempt to disguise his predilection, nor did his parents particularly care about his predations upon Pamela’s child.

Pam’s final attempt to poison Edmund failed comically when the e-coli based potion she concocted for his dinner was accidentally fed to dogs. Certain that the poison would work and subsequently be detected, Pam ingested the same poison. The dogs survived. Pamela did not.

Young Cinda grew up in her mother’s shadow. She learned much under Pamela’s tutelage, such as it was, and before Pam’s death already possessed a store of knowledge that made her an asset to her farm. Among her fellow slaves she was viewed with awe. She had a capacious ability to cure common ailments, bruises, welts and sores. Like the whites, she also had the ability to exploit slave superstitions with what they perceived to be magic. Cinda didn’t talk much. She let her peers believe what they would.

Often her potions were mere placebos. Time was a better healer. Cinda took credit for all successes, however. She blamed absence of faith for all her failures.

Cinda’s value to her owners allowed her great leeway to haunt the swamps and woods for herbal medicines. Some of her concoctions actually worked. These successes, combined with her rape-inspired sexual reticence, added greatly to her reputation. By the time she reached her teens, she was widely known as an accomplished shaman. Some viewed her as a witch. Even some whites came to her for cures not readily available to Western medicine.

When Cinda was sixteen her rapist, his wife and two young children visited his childhood home. They were feted with a gala dinner by doting grandparents. Cinda was called to work kitchen duty. Three days later (after returning to his home) Edmund came down with a crippling stomach ailment. The ailment proceeded to subsume him in pain and cramps. A week later he died, not of the ailment, but of the agony.

Cinda succeeded where her mother had failed. She was never suspected in Edmund’s death.

Some years later Cinda’s owner took sick from the same stomach ailment that afflicted his late son. As the man devolved into the grip of agony, Cinda stepped forward and gave him a potion that not only cured his cramps but also supplied a pleasant euphoria, which soon led to addiction. Once addicted, the man came to rely more and more upon Cinda for succor. Eventually, he agreed to give her freedom and patronage in exchange for an unchecked supply of her secret ailment potion.

Cinda took his money and retreated into the swamp, venturing out only rarely. It was about this time that she took the name “Griot”, a West African term for “historian/poet” that American slaves bastardized to mean “witch doctor”. It was more a title than a name.

She spent all of her time mixing potions made of animal parts, fungi, insects and various plants she found in the bayou. After her last encounter with her rapist as a ten-year old, no man’s penis ever found its way into her vagina again. Unaware of Cinda’s unsavory history, most came to believe her to be virginal. This anomaly only enhanced her reputation as a witch.

“Sit up hyeah. Ope’ yo’ laigs. Lemme see yo’ poosy.” Auntie instructed Jannie.

Jannie was a little taken aback by the black woman’s directness. Abby nudged her into compliance.

“Do what she says,” Abby whispered.

Jannie hopped up onto a dilapidated wooden table, pulled down her bloomers and opened her legs to the black woman. Auntie gazed upon Jannie’s crimson forest dispassionately. She took a flat piece of wood, rounded at the ends, and pried Jannie’s labia apart. Unintentionally, Jannie’s clitoris began to rise. She hadn’t been fucked in more than a fortnight.

Auntie noted Jannie’s arousal distastefully.

“Looka dat. Yo’ peenie risin’ up. Like a man,” she said aloud.

Jannie snatched her dress down to cover herself.

“You shoulda did dat befo’ de man got you big. Don’ make no sense to do it now. ‘S too late.”

“Are you gonna help me or not!!” Jannie pleaded.

“Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. You got plenty at’tude fo’ yo’ Auntie.”

“She didn’t mean it Auntie. She’s scared. I’m scared for her.” Abby interceded.

Auntie sniffed in disdain.

“De faddah dis child is black,” she mentioned casually. “Whatcha wan’ do? Keep it?”

Jannie’s worst fears were confirmed.

“How…how do you know?”

“You gotta poosy stretch. Too stretchy for de white boy.”

“I…I don’t wanna keep the child, Auntie.”

“Hmmmph.” Auntie sniffed.

She wandered over to a shelf and picked out a small, blue jar. She wandered back over to Jannie and stood there, looking at her. At first confused, Jannie finally took the hint. She hitched back up on the table and opened her legs.

Auntie took her index finger and probed up into Jannie’s vagina. She twirled it a bit, then drew it out and sniffed it.

“It’s a black ‘un, alright,” she observed.

Jannie looked at Abby in amazement. Abby just shrugged.

Now Auntie coated her index finger with a foul-smelling liquid from the blue jar. The stench was horrible. Auntie moved to re-insert her finger into Jannie’s pussy. Jannie scooted back.

“You’re not going to put that stuff in ME, are you?” Jannie said, gagging from the smell.

“You wan’ keep de baby or doncha?” Auntie remarked.

Abby encouraged Jannie to submit.

Auntie took her index finger and jammed it back up into Jannie’s cunt. She twirled it so that each of her pussy walls was coated. Instantly, Jannie felt a burning sensation that, in no small measure, resembled the tingle from nigger taint.

Auntie now took the same index finger and scooped out some solid crystallizations from the bottom of the blue jar.

“We got to git dis all de way to de back, chile. So hold on.”

She jammed her finger back into Jannie’s pussy.

“Push, chile. PUSH.”

Jannie began to hump Auntie’s finger, seeking to get it all the way to the back, though she knew it to be an impossible task. Her pussy was a lot deeper than a single finger length. Shortly, Auntie acknowledged the futility of the effort.

“You got’s a big ‘un. Dat’s for shore. OK. Hold on.”

She pulled her finger from Jannie’s twat and reached for a small chest from under her bed. She rummaged in the chest for a bit and came up with a cloth wrapped object that turned out to be a twelve-inch glass dildo of unknown origin. In the pudendal head of the dildo was a small depression where a man’s urethra might normally be. Auntie scraped the vestiges of the crystalline effluent from the blue bottle into this depression. She scooped out some more from the blue bottle and topped off the urethral depression with it.

Abby and Jannie could tell that this dildo had plumbed scores, perhaps hundreds of clefts. Its odor rivaled that of the blue jar.

Auntie carried the dildo carefully upright to Jannie.

“Stand up, chile.”

Jannie stood.

“Hike up yo’ dress.”

Abby helped Jannie hike up her dress to expose her cunt.

“Hold still now….”

Auntie jammed the dildo up Jannie’s cunt in one stroke. It disappeared behind her labia, totally engulfed. Her pussy lips closed about it slowly, like a Venus Fly trap.

“Now, quick! Go lay down ‘pon de bed on yo’ back!! Hike yo’ hips up in de air!! Hold it dere! Yes, d’ass it.”

Jannie cut a ridiculous figure, hoisting her hips into the air on the black woman’s bed with her dress flopping into her face. Supposedly gravity was going to do the job Auntie’s stubby fingers could not.

“Stay like dat fo’ five mo’ minutes. Nah, you. Abigail. Where’s my money?”

Abby pulled out a roll of bank notes from her blouse.

“One hundred dollars?”

It was an obscene amount for that day and age, but far less than the cost of bearing a biracial child.

Auntie snatched the money and counted it. She stepped outside and framed the notes against the sun to verify authenticity.

Satisfied that she was not being duped, Auntie went back over to the shelf and took down another bottle, this one green.

“Have she take spoonful o’ dis tonight, tomorry night ‘n Satiddy night, too, ‘fore her go to bed. I don’t reckon she gwine have to worry ‘bout givin’ up no poosy dis week. She poosy gon’ stink too bad. No wash she! Let she stink! You know de drill. You been through it.”

“Yes. I remember.”

“Nah gon’ home. ‘N don’ come out hyeah no mo’.”

It was the same advice she’d given the last two times Abby had visited. It was the same advice Auntie gave to everyone.

“Do you smell that? DO YOU SMELL THAT?” complained Jannie.

She and Abby were in their carriage on the way to the quilting bee.

“Smell what?” replied Abby disingenuously.

“DON’T BE STUPID, ABBY!! YOU smell that stink, same as me!! I can’t go to the bee smelling like this!! Every time the wind shifts my dress, I smell like some sweaty nigger in the field!! WORSE, even!! I smell like some DEAD sweaty nigger!! LONG dead!! I am NOT going to the bee like this. Take me home!”

“We can’t go home yet. We have to show up at the bee, Jannie.”

“NO, ABBY!! Did you smell like this when she did yours?”

“Yes.”

“And what did you do?

“I rubbed myself up with some strawberries.”

“Where we gon’ git strawberries from!! Strawberry season done been and gone months back!!”

“Relax. It doesn’t work.”

“What did you end up doing?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

“Tell me!! You shoulda told me this before we went out there!!!”

“You DON’T wanna know.”

“ABBY!! Just TELL ME.”

“OK. I went into the barn and threw myself into a pile of horseshit.”

“WHAT?!?!??”

“Yep. Hair and all. That give me an excuse to take a bath. The thing is, you can’t wash your coochie out.”

“WHAT?!?!?”

“You gotta let it percolate for a week. Or the cure might won’t work.”

“So why you threw yourself in the horse doodoo?”

“It give me an excuse for stinkin’. I washed and washed, but I ain’t washed my cooch. Buck kept sayin’ “You missed a spot!!” An’ he wouldn’t let me in the bed. I had to sleep in a bedroll. You will, too.”

“AND WHAT IF I CAN’T GIT TO THE BARN BEFORE THOSE BEE BIDDIES SCOOP US UP?!”

“I’m counting on that. We’ll tell ‘em you already fell in the shit. They’ll send us home. But we DO have to go there. Matter of fact, you need to git down an’ roll in the dirt some now, before we get there.”

Jannie castigated herself again for getting herself into such a pinch.

“NEVER AGAIN,” she vowed.

XVII.

“Mattie’s momma is suckin’ dick!!”

“WHO PUT DAT KNOT UPSIDE YO’ HAID, GURL!??!” Meshach shouted.

There was no mistaking the bruise under Lizzie’s left eye. Nor was there any mistaking the aroma of the jism trickling down her thighs. Lizzie made no attempt to disguise either tell. She raised her head and looked her husband straight in the eyes. She didn’t have to say a thing.

“AWWWW HELL NO!!” he ranted, recognizing the work of his nemesis immediately. “HE DONE GON’ TOO FUH NOW!!!”

He went to storm out of their hut.

“Shaddy. SHADDY! COME BACK. It ain’t nuthin’ we kin do ‘bout it.”

Lizzie ran and grabbed him by the arm. Meshach was fit to be tied. He wanted to protect his woman, but she was right. There really was nothing to be done. Nothing that wouldn’t rebound right back at his family, anyway. He allowed himself to be restrained.

Shaddy was so furious that his whole body shook. He balled up his fist and bit down on it to contain himself. Nathan had finally exceeded his boundaries. Meshach knew that story about being too ill to supervise the field hands had been complete bullshit.

Lizzie went to hug the hatred out of him, as she had always done. This time her husband stood stone still. He didn’t reciprocate her tender entreaties. They stood together as Mattie remembered them, except Meshach’s arms remained at his sides. He didn’t hug his wife, nor did he shed a tear.

Lizzie tried to render some emotion from her husband. There was none, save rage, to be had. When she drew away to regard him, his eyes had gone dead. He’d made up his mind.

“Lizzie. We gots to go see Auntie.”

“Shaddy!! NO!!”

“You heard me, woman!”

“What about de las’ time you went out dere, middle o’ de night, Shaddy, muckin’ ‘round in de swamp, like to got et up by a gator? ‘N what she told you? You cain’t do it but so many times but dey’a git ‘spicious!! How many ‘um gon’ die o’ stomach cramps fo’ dey figgers out how it come about? It’s been fo’, maybe five ‘um already!! ‘N dey-a come arter you ‘n me AN’ Auntie, string us up like hawgs!! ‘N dey might comes arter de chirrens, too!! I…I be OK, Shaddy, dis just a li’l knot. It don’t hurt. He…he just wanted some pussy, is all. ‘N I gi’ven him some lip ‘fore I thought about it, you know, pretended I ‘uz gwine walk out wid’out g’vin him none. An’ he hit me ‘fore HE thought ‘bout it.”

“You g’ven him some pussy?”

“Yeah. Had to.”

“Goddamit!”

“Don’ say dat, Shaddy! De Lawd gon’ hear you! N’ He know ‘n I know I ain’t gi’vin out muh pussy of my own will. I had to. You said it yo’self: it don’t count if dey makes you do it.”

“Lizzie, I’m tellin’ you, it’s got to be anudder way. Maybe Auntie gots sump’n better’n de stomach potion by now. Lizzie, we gots to try!! I cain’t live like dis no mo’!! I gots to stan’ up an’ be a man!!!”

“Hunny, I know how you feels!! Don’t you think I wanted to bust him up? An’ I coulda, too. He had me up to de big house. Wadn’t nobody dere but us!”

“You ‘uz gon’ hit him back?”

“Thought about it, yeah.”

“But you ain’t do it.”

“No.”

“D’ass de thing, Lizzie! We’s ALWAYS thinkin’ ‘bout it!! But we ain’t never DO it! You see how Auntie took down dem udder crackuhs!! We GOT to git her to he’p us wit’ Massuh Nathan!!”

“NO, Shaddy!! NO!! Come here, baby. Lemme kiss you up. Lemme suck yo’ dick a li’l bit. You’a feel better. I ain’t all dat banged up, see? Lemme wash my pussy out an’ you can do it to me while de sun still out. N’ I’ll holler real loud so’s yo’ friens’ kin pat you on de back. Only don’t go out to Auntie’s place!! You gon’ git caught, I knows it in my heart!! An’ den I’ll die!! I’ll just die!!”

She knelt before him gratuitously and pulled his cock from his pants. Their front door was open. They were easily viewable by the entire neighborhood.

Lizzie took his dick into her mouth and began to chickenhead him. She needed to distract him from the dangerous mission he’d conceived. He was still sweaty and dirty from a hard day in the fields. A quick blowjob would be a welcome respite from the workday, a spontaneous diversion from their regular sexual schedule.

Too, she knew that a public blowjob such as this would encourage Shaddy’s friends to demand the same from their spouses. It would be a feather in her husband’s cap, at least among HIS friends. Her friends would be giving her the stink-eye for months about it.

Meshach’s dick firmed up. He allowed her to blow him while his mind was elsewhere. Could he get out to Auntie Griot’s place and back before the dawn? Would she be home? How would he avoid the nigger catchers who lurked in the shadows everywhere after dark? They certainly would mistake him for a runaway.

“Oooh!! Look!! Mattie’s momma is suckin’ dick!!”

A pack of black children formed up outside Meshach’s door. He slammed the door shut, but it bounced right back open. He didn’t bother to shut it again.

“Oooh!! Go git Mattie!! Hurry!”

“GO, Miss Lizzie!! GO, Miss Lizzie!! GO!!”

“When I grow up my dick gon’ be just dat big!!”

“Mine’s already is!!”

“I wanna see ‘em do it!! Right in de pussy! Dat’s what comes next, you know. De NASTY!”

“I seen Miss Lizzie’s pussy before. She gots a purty one. You ‘member dat time?”

“Nuh-unh!!”

“Yuh-hunh!!”

Two or three adults came out and shooed the children away, all the while taking in huge eyefuls of the action. The children scattered but drifted right back as soon as the adults walked away. Several husbands pulled their wives aside to whisper in their ears.

Soon enough Mattie came running up. She’d seen her mother slob knob before. It wasn’t anything new. Mattie ran up on her porch and pulled the door shut. Then she stood outside it to guard her parents’ privacy. Some of the children pointed and laughed at her. Mattie gave them the finger. When her parents finished, she was going to hunt each and every one of these little bitches down and whip their monkey-asses.

XVIII.

Aisleen and Nathan

Aisleen Leone returned from her quilting bee in an ebullient mood. She’d learned a new stitch, had a great time with her daughter, and caught up on all the gossip. Taken all around, it had been a fantastic day.

Nathan was just galloping up as she arrived home. It was just after dark. He was awash in mud.

“You just gittin’ home now? Where you been?” she queried.

“The red steer got caught up in a ditch. Took me and Delaney and four niggers to git him out. I been gone the better part of the afternoon.”

“You eat yet?”

“No. Believe me, I was tempted to kill that damned cow and eat him on the spot. I’m starved!”

“Well, come on in. I’ll roust up Lize and Lizzie. See if we cain’t both gobble sump’n down. I’m hungry myself. What’s all that mud? You’re a sight!”

“I told you the cow got caught up in the ditch. Did you reckon the ditch ain’t had no mud in her?”

“Well, go wash up. I’ll make you a plate. Annie, run down to the nigger quarters and git Lize. See if she has any of them beans leftover from the other day. Have her cut me off a hunk of salted ham from the smokehouse, big enough for the three of us. I’ll go scratch up some cornbread. Hurry now!”

“Momma! We gon’ have some ham? It ain’t Christmas.”

“It ain’t Mexico, neither, child. An’ if you want a piece you’ll hurry along before I change my mind!”

Ham was an unusual midweek delicacy. Her mom must be in a festive mood. Annie scurried off to the quarters.

“Nathan? GO WASH UP. I ain’t havin’ you in my house looking like half a white man and half a nigger. Take them clothes off!!”

She stepped to him and began to undress him. Nathan dismissed her mothering attempts. He began to strip his own clothes as he wandered over to the pump.

Flustered, Aisleen went into the big house and started setting out plates by candlelight. She rummaged around for foodstuffs that might be added to their late dinner. She found a loaf of Sunday bread, a cup of oleo butter and an onion.

Nathan was still outside washing off so Aisleen decided to change into her nightclothes. She puttered into her bedroom and lit another candle. A vaguely familiar aroma caught her attention, causing her to pause. What was it? Was it?…Was it?…No. It couldn’t be. She and Nathan hadn’t been intimate in a fortnight. She took another sniff. It sure smelled like…

She waved the candle over the bed and found it. A huge wet spot left a dried up stain on her bedspread. In fact, there were THREE wet spots comprising one larger wet spot. Each separate spot was fringed with a thin, spidery brown border. Aisleen had been grown long enough to discern the distinctive outlines of a dried up jizz puddle or three. Someone had been fucking on her bed.

THE SONUVABITCH. It wasn’t enough that he spent night in and night out down to the nigger quarters. Now he was bringing nigger bitches up to her bedroom and leaving his pussy-juice laced semen on their bed. He didn’t even have the common decency to clean up the mess!! Yanking some cow out of the mud, indeed!!

By the time Nathan came up to the big house, Aisleen was an iceberg of fury.

“Nathan? Could you step in here, please?

Not seeing any food on the table, Nathan complied.

“What’s this?” she asked icily, pointing to the stain.

Nathan knew exactly what it was the moment he walked into the room. Dammit!! He’d forgotten to change the bedding. He decided to play it on the dumb.

“It…it looks like a stain, honey.”

“Look at it CLOSE, DEAR. Recognize what kind of a stain that is?”

“I dunno. Coffee? Did you spill something?”

“Coffee. Riiight. OK. Would you mind helping me change this bedspread? Funny that the coffee didn’t soak thru to the mattress, hey?”

“That is unusual for sure. That’s a good thing.”

Aisleen quelled her anger. There’d be another stain on that mattress soon enough. And she knew just the man to supply the ‘coffee’.

XIX.

“BITCH?!? WHO YOU CALLIN’ BITCH…BEYITCH?”

At six feet tall and one hundred fifty five pounds, Annie Leone had four inches and thirty pounds on Charlie’s sister Ruthie. She was also white, which counted for a great deal. The two women had never liked each other much.

It was well past time for a showdown.

The news that Ben was being sent home fucked out by the young black girl sizzled in Annie’s craw. She didn’t much mind who Ben fucked—as long as it wasn’t Ruthie. And, of course, as long as Annie got hers.

Annie figured she could whup Ruthie straight up. She’d long wanted to whup this nigger bitch in the worst way. Annie might have just accosted Ruthie at the first opportunity and trounced her for the whole farm to see. She’d have her parents and her brother (maybe) backing her up, along with Mr. Delaney. Ruthie would never dare fight back when faced with the full firepower of the white Leone clan.

Annie didn’t want anyone jumping in and helping out, though. She meant to teach this bitch a lesson she’d never forget in a fair fight. This black heffah had just a bit too much sass and a tad too much ‘tude for Annie’s tastes. Now it came to light that Ruthie had been skimming Annie’s night dick off the top? Oh no. That wasn’t going to work.

If she could just get Ruthie off someplace alone. Annie thought she knew just the place.

The young people on the Leone Farm set up their nighttime trysts using a system of known hand signals, head nods and sidelong glances. One glance and a thumbs up might mean “midnight in the barn”. Another glance and a head nod might mean “three o’clock at the spring”. A sly smile might mean “my place, REAL late”. In this manner all of the furtive sexual needs on the farm were met without much interference from the church mavens.

Sometimes an intermediary was sent on behalf of a participant. Annie planned to send such an intermediary to Ruthie with a message to meet Ben down at the glade early on Saturday morning.

Everyone knew that Sandra communed at the spring early on Saturdays, splashing around with turtles and otters and such. She generally could be counted on to be back on compound before breakfast. From then till around ten a.m. the spring was usually clear. Annie’s intermediary advised Ruthie to show up at eight for an early assignation with Ben. Ruthie received and scheduled the rendezvous in her head.

Come Saturday, Ruthie arrived at the spring on time. She wore a flimsy single piece tunic with no underwear. She didn’t expect to be clothed for long, anyway.

She’d come to enjoy her sexual liaisons with Ben. He was fun to be around. He had this quirky way of ejaculating that made her feel trembly and warm. It wasn’t the lustful, sticky warmth she felt with her brother Ike. It was…something she couldn’t properly describe. Her agreement with Ben was there to protect Ike. Slowly, it was becoming something more.

Seeing no one, Ruthie removed her tunic and took a leisurely naked swim across the spring. She took Sandra’s usual route, pausing to admire the flora and fauna below, but not deigning to interact. That was Sandra’s thing. By Ruthie’s reckoning Sandra thought she was some kind of a mermaid.

Ruthie reached the other bank and turned to head back. Something on the far bank caught her eye. It was a white person! Not Ben…but….ANNETTE!! THAT BITCH!! And the heffah was holding her tunic, tossing it in the air malevolently!

Ruthie dived back into the spring and made a beeline for the white girl. With each stroke she looked up, expecting to see Annie racing off with her clothing. Annie just stood there awaiting Ruthie’s arrival.

By the time Ruthie dragged herself from the waters, she was in a fine fury. She knew she couldn’t just demand the return of her garment under threat of an asswhipping, as she would do with a black girl. She could show rage in her face but must control her voice, lest this small misunderstanding balloon into something bigger.

Annie hadn’t moved. Ruthie was perplexed. Why toss her tunic with an unspoken threat if the threat wasn’t forthcoming? Annie disabused her of this confusion.

“Bitch. It wasn’t Ben who called you down here. It was ME.” Annie growled ominously.

“BITCH?!? WHO YOU CALLIN’ BITCH…BEYITCH?”

Ruthie’s rage was never more than an insult away. That respectful, subservient voice control option was a thing of the past now.

“I called YOU a bitch, BEYITCH. NIGGER BEYITCH!! Whatchu gonna DO about it, BEYITCH?” Annie countered.

These were fighting words no matter which side of the racial divide. Obviously, Annie had come down here to scuffle. No one else was around.

Ruthie couldn’t believe what she was hearing!! She’d DREAMED of just this scenario!!

“Oh, YOU came down here to fight? Well, CRACKER BEYITCH, let’s GO.”

Ruthie charged at the white girl with a ferocity befitting her long suppressed disdain. She was much smaller than Annie. That’s the only thing that made for an even fight. Pound for pound, Ruthie was tougher than any teen on the farm, male or female, except for maybe Tilly.

Ruthie knew this was an unwinnable fight, long term. She would be punished severely for this. She certainly would endure a whipping, as her father had. She just knew that this might be her only chance to get her licks in before the full weight of the whites came down upon her. Ruthie was tired of holding back.

They clashed in a violent tangle of fingernails and feet, kicking, biting and scratching. Ruthie grabbed handfuls of Annie’s blonde hair and yanked her head back savagely Annie drove her nails under Ruthie’s left tit like a shiv and twisted. They cursed and kicked one another, then fell to the ground and wrestled where Annie’s weight advantage gave her the upper hand. Ruthie escaped then turned on Annie like a hellion, gouging her skin until it bled, and slapping at her face like a clever boxer.

Annie dived on the smaller girl again and dragged her to the ground. She pushed Ruthie’s face into the gravel and shoveled mud into Ruthie’s mouth. Ruthie swung a wild elbow, catching Annie on the cheek and leaving a half-inch deep scar. Annie picked up a rock and whipped it at Ruthie’s face by way of retaliation. She missed her face, but hit her square in the neck, causing the black girl to cough and gag uncontrollably. Then she jumped on Ruthie from behind, trying to choke her out. Ruthie reached back and snatched Annie’s tunic over her head, then swung her round and round until the garment came off completely.

Now both women were naked.

They fought and cursed for what seemed like hours though in reality their battle only lasted minutes. Too, the language pouring from their mouths would have made a sailor blush. Ruthie called Annie a “goat-necked cracker, poochipap-licking bitch child of a whoring snout pig”. Annie retorted with “You nappyhead fucking bag of dog shit sucking, bug-eyed, itty-bitty-titty, slut whore!!”

Both of them seemed to like characterizing the other as a “whore”. It was a common theme.

Now both women were bleeding from a dozen different contusions. The fight spilled out into the water where they took turns trying to drown each other. Annie fish-hooked Ruthie and, in return, received a similar hooking of her vagina, which prompted Annie to refer to Ruthie as a “filthy lezzie cunt licker”, even though Annie was not at all unfamiliar with that genre.

Annie peed on Ruthie’s neck. As soon as she’d gained enough leverage, Ruthie returned the favor on Annie’s tits.

By the time Ben trotted up, both women were gasping, disheveled and bloody. Ben was aghast.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!!?!? CUT IT OUT!! CUT IT OUT NOW!!!” he yelled at them.

Ben dove between the women and separated them. Ruthie collapsed into the dirt. Annie stood off to the side, hands on her knees, sweating and breathing heavily.

“LOOK AT YOU!! WHAT THE FUCK!!! WHAT’S GOING ON HERE!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING??!!!” Ben berated them.

Like any male, Ben was blithely unaware of the tensions simmering between women in his sphere. He had no clue that Annie and Ruthie were on the verge of a meltdown, had been for years. He just played off their constant sniping as “chick drama” and never gave it a second thought.

Obviously, he’d been wrong. It seems he’d arrived just in time. These two heffahs were trying to kill each other.

In typical male fashion, Ben deduced that he was the reason for the fight. These two were fighting over his dick. Annie’s recent realization of Ben and Ruthie’s nocturnal activities was the root cause of this. What other reason would women have for fighting? He was wrong, of course, but neither woman had the strength to disabuse him of this notion.

“Is this about me? IS IT? Because I FUCKS WHO I WANTS WHEN I WANTS!! IT AIN”T UP TO A’RY ONE OF YOUSE HEFFAHS TO TELL ME WHO I FUCKS!! YOU GOT ME!!?!?”

Ruthie didn’t bother to respond. Neither did Annie. They were amazed that he could be this blindly self-serving.

Ben continued to rebuke them.

“YOU CAIN’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!! IN FACT, YOU!! C’MERE! I got sump’n for yo’ ass.”

He grabbed Annie and pulled her into the water. Annie grudgingly complied. Ben dunked her. He used his hands to wash away the sweat, dirt and blood she’d accumulated from her recent tussle. Annie was a bloody mess.

When he’d cleaned most of her wounds he snatched Annie around so that that both were facing Ruthie, who was still lying limp on the sward. Ben stood behind Annie.

“You! Ruthie! LOOK!! Watch this here!!”

He hiked Annie’s hips up in the air. When he rose up behind her, Ruthie could see that he wielded a massive erection like a Cossack saber. Annie tried to push him away, but he slapped her wrist aside, grabbed her round by the crotch and punched his cock up into her ass. Annie gasped.

Ben pushed his dick forward until Annie’s hot stinkhole dragged his scruffy foreskin back as far as it would stretch. His cockhead sniffed its newly warm, pungent edifice and expanded redly. It had sniffed this chamber before, yes, basked in its aroma.

Ben began to fuck his sister anally with a fury heretofore unseen. He tortured her with piston-like thrusts that scraped her ass raw. Annie pleaded for him to stop or, at least slow down. She’d gone from a fighting death grip to a steaming fuck grip without a single ounce of lubrication. Some of her wounds continued to bleed. Ben dunked her to diffuse the blood, but continued to fuck her while she was underwater.

Ruthie looked on with increasing concern. Annie didn’t look like she was enjoying herself. All this over a misunderstanding? It didn’t seem right. Finally Ruthie spoke up.

“Ain’t no need to do her like dat, Benny. We wasn’t fightin’ over you.”

She used his Christian name, not his title. It indicated their advancing intimacy.

“Oh, you wasn’t, was you? C’mere!!” Ben said angrily, ignoring her familiarity.

With that he cast Annie aside like a bedside cum rag. He stumbled awkwardly up to the sward, grabbed Ruthie and dragged her out into the water. She didn’t resist. Ben washed her roughly as he’d washed Annie, splashing water into her wounds and hair. Then he bent her over and plunged his dick up her ass.

“Benny, no!!” she cried out.

“Shut up,” he growled.

Now he fucked Ruthie with the same vehemence as he had Annie, straining mightily to drive his point home, using his dick.

This was Ben’s lion’s roar. Annie and Ruthie were being shown the machismo of the big dog on the block.

Ruthie’s head flopped back and forth. She cried out in her extremis. Yet the timbre in her voice dipped slowly, almost imperceptibly, metastasizing from fear and pain into… lust.

“Ben. Ben. Benny!….oh….OH! OHHHHHHHH!”

Annie looked upon the fornicating duo with resignation. She was exhausted. But the sight of Ben and Ruthie fucking tweaked her libido and slowly rinsed away the adrenaline leftover from her earlier grapple. Ben was fucking Ruthie with a will.

Annie’s ass was hot. Her labia began to swell. Despite her dislike for Ruthie, she had to admit that the bitch could fuck. Even now Ruthie was giving as good as she was getting. She humped Ben’s thrusting cock with vigor, finishing each full insertion with an ass shimmy that must have been peculiar to black girls. Annie had never seen such an opulent sexual finishing move. Ruthie fucked like she was dancing to an internal rhythm all her own, a driving tropical beat that contrasted sharply with the melodious stringed harmonies investing Annie’s sexual siren.

Annie debated whether she ought to pick up and quietly leave or stay and wait a turn.

Shortly, Ben made that decision for her.

He withdrew from Ruthie’s ass just as she was about to climax. Waves of her heat vaped away from his retreating cock in an ethereal miasma. Ruthie’s flustered look of consternation followed him back over to Annie, whom he scooped up, hoisting her legs open to grip her ass while supporting her whole body from the crooks of her knees. She draped her arms around his neck for support. Ben poked her once, twice and yet a third time before his cock found the entrance to her pussy. Annie spiraled herself down around his pole gratefully.

If she were under the illusion that Ben intended to fuck her luxuriantly this time, he quickly moved to rectify that misconception. Ben staggered backwards, carrying Annie into deeper waters that might better support her weight. Then he started to anger fuck her just as he had earlier—fast, hard and deep.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-OHHHH!!! F-U-U-C-C-C-C-K-K-K-K-K!!!!!!!” Annie cried as Ben’s fierce pounding widened her baby chute.

Annie preened open to accept her brother’s naked thrusts. Their genitalia merged and smashed under water, soundlessly, but the liquid waves they generated spread and lapped against the shoreline in mid-sized whitecaps. When Ben withdrew he created a vacuum in her pussy that sucked water inside. When he slammed forward he forced water out of her pussy, giving her lift and thrust. Ben could feel torrents of water being ejected forcefully from Annie’s cunt down onto his submerged feet as he drove his cock into her.

Annie lolled backward and forward in the joy of their sex. Her earlier altercation was nearly forgotten now in the blissful, fervent stroking of the moment. Her erotic impulses rose up and provided balm for her hurt. Tomorrow she would have a good-sized shiner, numerous cuts and scrapes, a sprained wrist and a broken toe. Today she had a good dick up her ass, pounding her with the fervor of a steam engine. Her pussy ejecta threatened to lift her into orbit.

It was an even trade.

When Ben felt the smooth, feathery vaginal waves indicating the onset of Annie’s orgasm, he fuck-walked her back to shore.

“Oh, Ben! Don’t pull out yet!! Give it to me!! HARD!! FINISH ME!!”

“No,” he said. “I’ll finish when I gits good and damn ready. You wait here.”

He dropped Annie and reached for Ruthie who, unlike Annie, never considered leaving the glade unsated. She’d had her fight. Now she wanted to fuck.

Ruthie grabbed Ben by the wrist and pulled him up on the sward. So he wanted to fuck, hey?

“OK, boy. Let’s go.”

She lay back on the grass and opened her legs to him. He pussy quivered up its desire for insertion. Ben could see Ruthie’s erect clitoris lounging languidly at the crown of her slit. It wasn’t nearly as big as Jannie’s red lobster claw, but it was mobile and gleamed wetly. Ruthie was ready. Her pussy juices percolated sweat clusters along the ridges of her labia. These accumulated into droplets that trickled down into her asshole. Ruthie was hot.

A wicked thought now occurred to Ben. Annie thought (and was proud of the fact) that Ben had never licked any pussy other than hers. She’d had to inveigle him, practically implore him to do it. Ben wasn’t real big on “lickety split”.

Here was a juicy black pussy splayed out before him and a frustrated white pussy dripping in the water behind him. This was a teachable moment. He looked over his shoulder at Annie.

“Come here, girl. Lay down there, on your back. Yes, just like that. Open your legs.”

He positioned the two women opposite one another so that their ankles touched while he stood between them. Then he squatted, facing Ruthie, showing his asshole to Annie. Both women were puzzled as to his intent.

Holding himself up gingerly, he stepped across Annie’s thighs, descended a bit, and pointed his dick toward her twat. It took an awkward down angle. Seeing this from above, Annie reached down and took his dick with her fist. She pulled it backward, like a lever, and pointed it into her cunt, arching her hips up to receive it. When her labia closed about his shaft and she’d gained four inches of cock she let him go freely inside. He couldn’t withdraw too quickly from this position or his cock would pop out.

Now the floor of Annie’s cunt received the scruffy pudendal attention normally reserved for the roof of that orifice. It was a different feel, an awkward angle not unlike doggystyle, but it felt good!! Annie was still at plateau from their earlier coupling. She began to hump him with increasingly wild concentric circlets, angling his cock against pressure points inside her pussy that rarely received dick friction. Annie could see Ben’s asshole down the line of her torso. His balls roiled and scraped against her hairy pubic mound. She noted the scrunchy line of stitchery that bound his testes up the middle. She imagined a Creator in heaven with a needle and thread, balancing a bouncing baby boy in His lap, ass up.

“So that’s how men are sewn together!” she mused.

Full again with dick, Annie closed her eyes and rode the wave up to completion.

Meanwhile, Ben was going to town in Ruthie’s twat with his tongue. Just as Annie was (ostensibly) the only notch on Ben’s cunnilingual resume, Ruthie now added Ben to hers. No other man had ever licked Ruthie’s pussy.

Predictably, Ruthie went wild with desire. Like most women, her first experience with tongue was an eye opener. That pliable organ was everything a dick ought to be, except size-wise. A tongue can luxuriate a clit. A dick cannot. A tongue can be both feathery and firm. A dick only has the latter property. A tongue can drift south and salivate a sphincter and a pussy by turns. A dick can only bludgeon.

Ruthie felt she’d added a valuable asset to her sexual quiver. From now on, her pussy was going to get licked EACH time she engaged a penis. Ike was going to get onboard with her program before another sunset.

Like a teenaged boy’s first penile exposure to feminine pinkness, Ruthie rose up and climaxed extravagantly seconds into Ben’s cunnilingual foray. She came again moments later, and again five minutes down the way. Ben had found the weapon he needed to counter Ruthie’s doggystyle dominance.

Annie, too, was having multiple orgasms as Ben humped her below. Twice during this session Annie and Ruthie came in tandem, shrieking and bucking like broncos. Ben, now in full command of both pussies, had to fantasize about green fields and birds in order to restrain his ejaculate.

Ben stood and switched positions. He fucked Ruthie from the down angle and licked Annie as he had Ruthie. Annie was more used to getting head than the black girl, so she was more able to withstand the heavenly anguish of Ben’s slobbery tongue. Still, Ben elicited two more gyrating orgasms from his sister, accompanied by her obscene epithets applauding his efforts.

Ruthie, more comfortable with dick than with tongue, fucked him with a vengeance. She tried to twist him up with her prehensile pussy, but the angle was bad. Ben kept slipping out. Each time this happened, Ruthie scrambled to re-insert him. The awkwardness of their positioning consistently thwarted her ability to achieve more than a single penile orgasm.

Soon, Ben was ready to nut. He stood, stepped across their bodies and lay back flat on the sward.

“Come up here,” he demanded, cupping his head in his palms, elbows splayed wide. His dick stood like a stone sentinel, angled at sixty degrees, casting a shadow against his abdomen.

The two women now took up positions on either side of him and, in tandem, began to suck his dick. When Annie took the pud, Ruthie took the shaft. When Ruthie took the pud, Annie took his balls. They slobbed him lavishly and, in this dual fellatio, melded a bond that hadn’t previously existed. They shared a monster cock between them like a strawberry ice cream cone. For the first time ever, the two women smiled at each other. The hatred in their eyes softened.

Ben came, launching a towering jet of semen five feet into the air. His women didn’t suck jizz directly from his cock. Instead, they took turns trying to catch his seed with their mouths after it peaked and fell back to earth. They made a game of it. Annie won, garnering three spurting dollops of jizz to two for Ruthie. After Annie claimed the jizz catching championship, she and Ruthie both laughed and wondered why they’d hated each other in the first place.

Too, they knew that this was Ben’s first orgasm of the day. If they were lucky, they’d get three or four more chances to vie for the jizz gulping title.

XX.

The Twerk

After Ben’s spiring orgasm, Ruthie, Annette and Ben lay on their backs counting clouds in the morning sky. Annie and Ruthie reveled in the afterglow of their completion.

Still awash in the vestigial-juices of her sojourn in prurience, Annie finally got up the nerve to ask the question she’d been burning to know.

“Ruthie, what was that ‘shimmy’ thing you did while Ben was humpin’ you from behind? You kinda did a little spin and a twist and I seen his eyes git to rollin’ in his head.”

Ruthie laughed.

“Oh, that? We calls dat de Twurk.”

“The TWERK?”

“Yeah.”

“Who taught you that?”

“Didn’t nobody teached me. All de nigger girls does it. I jis’…I jis git to quiverin’ and tightening my pussy real fas’, like. An’ it feels good to me, ‘specially when I gots a big dick up in dere.”

“Can you show me how to do it?”

“I kin soon as Benny’s dick gits hard again.”

“OK.”

Annie sat up and took Ben’s limp cock into her mouth. She nursed at him until she felt a surge that she knew to be the first stirrings of his resurgence. Ruthie watched her suckle for a bit, then joined in by licking his balls. Using her index finger, she toyed with his sphincter. In minutes, Ben’s cock roared to life.

The two women took turns chickenheading him. They competed to see who could get the furthest down his deep purple, thickly veined staff, each leaving a spittle bubble as a marker indicating distance. Annie won that competition, too. She’d been sucking this dick for years.

“OK, he’s hard now. Show me that little wiggle thing you do. The Twerk.” Annie asked.

Ruthie said, “OK, I’m-a show it to you in de air first. You do what I do. And then I’m-a let him put his dick in my pussy and twurk him. Then you do it like I done it. You’a make him come real fast, so be careful, OK?”

Ruthie stood and bent forward, hands on her knees. She raised her ass up in the air and began to shake it. Ruthie was athletically firm but, like most black women, she had a little jello in the trunk. She now began to hump the air with such speed and dexterity that her jello was still on the downswing while her ass rose on the upswing. This created a flapping effect that Annie wasn’t sure she could replicate, though her ass was larger than Ruthie’s.

“Now watch this!” called Ruthie.

As her ass continued to churn, Ruthie now clenched and unclenched her butt cheeks in rhythm with her hummingbird quick pelvic gyrations. Her pussy gaped open and shut, its pinkness exposed one second and cloaked by her labia in the next. The very speed of her erotic palpitations caused Annie to gasp for breath. Ruthie’s vaginal scent permeated the glade. The Twerk dictated that Ruthie’s upper body remain stationary. Only her ass flopped up and down. She looked back at Annie over her shoulders with a look that sneered, “Let’s see you do THIS, bitch!!”

Annie stepped up gamely and tried to twerk. They two women stood next to each other and shook their asses erotically. The scent arising from their efforts doubled once Annie’s pussy joined the fray.

Annie squatted, bent at the knees as Ruthie had done, and shook her ass fervently, holding her torso forward at a rigid forty-five degree angle. She couldn’t twerk as fast as Ruthie, but her jello flop had a more dramatic effect. And when she began to gape her pussy open and shut, Ben, looking on, couldn’t resist. He’d never seen a white girl shake it like this. It was amazing!! He leapt up and jammed his dick into Annie’s gyrating pussy from behind.

At first Annie slowed to allow him fully inside. Ben castigated her for slowing.

“Keep going! Keep GOING!!” he gasped.

Annie picked up the pace. Her gaping pussy sucked him expertly inside. Once there, her pulsing undulations brought him to the verge of climax within seconds.

“This is…great…Ruthie!!” Annie gasped. “He…he’s getting ready to cum already!”

“Don’t make him cum yet, Annie, not without I gits my turn!!”

It was too late. Ben splattered Annie’s pussy with a gargantuan load of freshly minted jism. He grunted with relief as he delivered his penis jelly. Semen splashed out of Annie’s cunt and crept down her thighs. Annie was pleased, but nowhere near sated.

“Is that it? That’s ALL? What’s in this for me?” she asked Ruthie.

“De twurk ain’t fo’ you. It’s fo’ him. It’s how you gits him to bus’ his nuts if you ain’t got dat much time o’ youse in a hurry, or somebody is comin’ an’ you don’ want ‘em to see you doin’ it.”

“Yeah, but I’m exhausted here. My stomach is burning from all this rump shakin’. An’ I’m all sloppy with his stinky jizz. An’ I ain’t come close to bustin’ my nuts!”

“You need mo’ time to nut’ up den him. If you needs a good nut, you gotta take yo’ time an’ build it up. Mens ain’t like dat. De twurk is fo’ his nuts, not your’n”

“Sheee-it. My nuts are just as important as his’n. What’s the point of fucking if I cain’t git a nut?”

They both laughed with their newly found camaraderie. This last comment was a time-honored female maxim.

Ruthie said, “Let’s git his dick up one mo’ again. I’m gon’ try an’ show you how to do de Twist, you reckon? It’s a little like de twurk, but you really gotta use yo’ pussy muscles an’ ratchet ‘em up. An’ you can knock ‘em out wid it. He won’t want no mo’ pussy de rest o’ de night. An’ den you can git some sleep.”

“OK,” replied Annie.

The two women resumed their oral ministrations at the tip of Ben’s drained cock. Jism dribbled in halting spurts from his urethra. Slick backwashes of the stuff oozed from behind his rugged foreskin where it coated his hidden purple pud in slime. Each woman tenderly pulled his foreskin back and lapped this jism into their mouths as a kitten laps milk.

Ben’s post-coital rigor burn prevented a quick erection, though his penis yearned for filler. He allowed the women to suckle his limp dick as he savored the afterglow of his most recent eruption at the behest of Annie’s racheting pussy. That had been amazing!! As many times as he’d relieved himself in Annie’s pussy over the years, this last fuckquake ranked right up there with Ruthie’s Peppermint Twist as fully debilitating. And now both these heffahs, one black and one white, were sucking at his dick yet again!!

He lived in the best of both worlds.

Ben congratulated himself for choosing to sneak off for a swim at the perfect time. Who knew these two had chosen this day to settle their differences? He’d wandered in upon their fight purely by chance. Before this, he had to sneak off to fuck Ruthie and then tend to Annie as his strength permitted. Now he could fuck both women in tandem and satisfy his lusts in either pussy while the other woman watched.

Should he tell Charlie? Why? Charlie had been real distant lately. What was wrong with him?

Besides, why should he tell Charlie? It’s not as if Charlie hadn’t fucked both women outside of Ben’s purview. He had. But he’d never fucked both women together. Only Ben had the cajones to pull that one off. Ruthie and Annie had always hated each another. And now, look at them. Sharing a floppy dick together. Annie was giving Ruthie tips on how to suck a fat cock. And Ruthie was actually following her instructions with a smile rather than her patented look of disdain.

No, Ben thought, this is something that might be better kept to himself.

Soon enough, Ben’s ruminations gave way to a third expansive erection at the lavish oral attentions of the two women. His semen still dripped from Annie’s ass, so Ruthie mounted him and took her turn atop his dick. She fucked him slowly so that Annie might watch her pinkness expand and ebb along the length of Ben’s penis. Her fully blooded labia wobbled sensually as she engulfed him, then preened open obscenely as he withdrew.

As when performing the Twerk, Ruthie held her upper body rigid. Only her hips churned atop Ben’s dick. She arched upward so that her pussy lips held him in place at the entrance to her cunt; Ruthie paused ever so briefly there to allow his dick to sniff at her wetness in the open air. Then she cruised down the quiver of his shaft, luxuriating in the feel of his thick cock widening her twat and the sloshy feel of his scruffy foreskin scrubbing her pussy walls. Ruthie closed her eyes as her sexual motor revved.

Annie looked on anxiously. Since she hadn’t cum the last time, shouldn’t this still be her turn? Shouldn’t Ben finish her off before starting up with Ruthie? It only seemed fair. She didn’t want to disturb her recent détente with the black girl, but what if Ben busted his nuts and couldn’t get it up again? Then Annie’s half burned sexual candle would trudge home in a state of glow. She’d be miserable the rest of the day. No, she had to find some way to get one more turn at Ben’s dick. She watched Ruthie heave and thrust atop her brother. Her pussy scalded him deliciously.

A wicked idea now came to mind.

Annie crept up between their legs on her hands and knees. She could see their genitalia merging and retreating with increasing ardor. Ben was rocking Ruthie’s pussy with powerful thrusts that generated a loud thwacking sound as she hilted him. Each time his penis disappeared fully into her cunt, Ruthie grunted with the anguish of a woman giving birth. Annie could see Ruthie’s chocolate labia throbbing and pulsing in a salaciously prurient resonance. She could cum right now if she wanted to. But it was clear she just wanted to fuck. Selfish bitch. She was peeling him, layer by layer, until all that might be left might be a pinkish purple smoking stump of a penis, useless for all intents and purposes.

“Let’s see how this heffah responds to some girlie tongue….”

Annie crept forward. The aroma of their sex assaulted her senses. Ruthie’s pussy juices curdled about Ben’s shaft in dripping floods of pungent, colorless effluent. Ben’s cock glowed purple, then crimson, then chestnut by turns. All these sexual stimuli combined with the sound of his sticky penile thrustings to create a perfect microcosm of youthful sexual intercourse.

Annie crept closer and closer. She could see Ruthie’s sphincter quivering open and shut just inches from her nose. Ruthie’s ass cheeks wobbled wide and snapped shut as she impaled herself downward on Ben’s cock. From this short distance, the odor of their sex was both overwhelming and deeply sensual.

Annie flickered her tongue out and grazed Ruthie’s inner butt cheek, millimeters from the entryway to her rectum. Ruthie screeched like a bobcat. Thinking Annie’s flicker to be a snake (or some other such unsavory critter), Ruthie leapt three feet into the air, leaving Ben’s steaming cock to probe for warmth in the naked air. Ruthie’s arms and legs flailed comically as she searched for a landing spot far away from the offending critter. Seeing Annie crouched between Ben’s legs, the culprit immediately became clear. Ruthie landed, catlike, on the balls of her feet.

“Was that YOU trying to lick my ass?” she hissed.

“Yes.” Annie blithely responded.

“WHY??!?”

“Did you like it?

“YOU’RE A GIRL!!!”

“So?”

“SO YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE LICKIN’ ANOTHER GIRL’S TOONCEY!”

“Calm down. It ain’t as bad as you make it out. I was tryin’ to lick Ben’s peter rabbit an’ I missed. You can git back on, less’n you wants me to gits my turn.”

“Nope.” Ruthie countered. “You lemme finish my turn. Then you can git back up on it. You ain’t foolin’ nobody.”

“Ruthie, if you let him pop it out ever once’t in a while, I can suck him and put it back in for you.”

“You gon’ suck my pussy juices off his dick? Without washin’?”

“Is yo’ pussy dirty? Is you gots the taint?”

“NO!!”

“Then yes.”

Ruthie had never sucked a pussy before. She’d never considered it. From an early age she’d been fascinated by Isaac’s penis, extending this fascination to penises in general when she learned that all men possessed them. She’d also been gratified to learn that men yearned to suck her pussy, though she’d been reticent about it. Having a woman’s face so near her genitalia, even when filled with dick, was a new experience, especially coming so soon on the heels of Ruthie’s first official tonguing.

“Look, Ruthie,” Annie continued. “I done already tasted yo’ pussy on his dick. An’ you done tasted mine. You might as well lemme taste the real thing. It ain’t much diff’rent than when a man licks you, ceptin’ I know what I’m doin’ and mens is all over the place most of the time, an’ a lot of the time they miss your spot or cain’t find it in the first place.”

This was true. Ruthie’s only experience with cunnilingus had been earlier that same day. It had been good, but too often Ben had hit her spot and passed over it to graze less sensitive pastures. Any attention he paid to her sweet spot seemed, at best, incidental. Still, it had been an amazing experience.

“Can I git somebody to put a good pussy on my dick? It’s gittin’ lonely down there,” worried Ben aloud. His dick preened for wetness.

Ruthie stepped across Ben’s body to resume her mount. She reached down and guided his surging cock back into her slit. Annie hadn’t moved from her kneeling position between Ben’s legs. Ignoring her, Ruthie quickly worked herself back to an acceptable level of sexual frenzy.

When she felt Annie’s tongue slip the length of her ass crack she stifled the urge to flee. Annie’s tongue was hot. It didn’t feel unpleasant. Annie sucked a hickey into Ruthie’s crack, though it only showed as a purple darkness in her ebon skin. Ruthie slowed her liberal thrashing of Ben’s penis to allow Annie to suck her. Far from being unpleasant, it added dimension to her craze for completion.

Ruthie arched her ass up and released Ben’s penis to Annie’s fellatio. A trickle of Ruthie’s pussy juice accumulated at her entrance. It dribbled out on a single sticky web-like strand, coming to rest on Annie’s nose. Ignoring this, Annie sucked Ben’s cock opulently for a few moments, then returned it to its place of honor between Ruthie’s legs.

Ruthie humped Ben now with a certain expectation of Annie’s cunnilingual intrusion. Annie did not disappoint. She lapped at Ben’s shaft whenever Ruthie’s pussy exposed it to purview. When Ben’s cock was buried in Ruthie’s pussy, Annie lapped at Ruthie’s asshole, occasionally drifting downward to slip her tongue between Ben’s cock and Ruthie’s labia, or just as occasionally kissing Ruthie’s fuzzy twat. This was another first in a day of sexual firsts. And when Ruthie felt her orgasm burgeoning upward she released Ben’s cock, again, to Annie’s esophagus. In this manner Ruthie rode the wave up to the brink of completion then back down into the valley of lust. She performed this sequence repeatedly, priming her sexual pump for a mammoth detonation.

“Ummm, Ruthie?” Annie interjected hesitantly. “Can I git a turn? He ain’t gon’ cum no time soon. An’ I’m frightful wet. I don’t think I can hold it much longer. Please?”

Ruthie was reluctant to give up her spot. She had Ben on that taut dividing line between plateau and explosion, difficult to achieve without spilling over into the Universe of JizzSwim. They were at a perfect symbiosis. Ruthie started to say no, but an idea came to mind.

“You’a lick my pussy out, like you said?” Ruthie bargained breathlessly.

“After I git done? Yeah.”

“An’ you won’t make him bus’ his nuts in you? You’a leave dat fo’ me?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“An’ you’a lick my pussy after he bus’ his nuts in me?”

“I guess.”

“Fo’ real?”

“I SAID YES!!”

“OK.”

Ruthie extricated her vagina from atop Ben’s cock. It still stood erect; it didn’t bounce off his abdomen as some dicks are prone to once released from the sticky sweetness of an aromatic cunt.

Annie scrambled up and took her place atop her brother. It was clear that she was already nearing climax. She inhaled his penis with the groan of a woman long deprived.

“RUTHIE!! It’s your turn to lick!! Give me some tongue!! HURRY!!”

Ruthie hadn’t agreed to this quid pro quo.

“I ain’t said I uz’ gwine lick yo’ pussy!! You’se de one ‘posed to be doin’ de lickin’!”

Annie arched her ass up and down on Ben’s cock with a will.

“JUST DO IT, RUTHIE!! DO IT NOW!!!!”

Ruthie was a bit taken aback by this strident demand, borne of lust. An hour ago Ruthie would have dismissed the idea of sucking pussy out of hand, white mistress be damned, along with every other pussy sucking white bitch on the planet.

Suck a pussy? Sheee-it.

Having experienced Annie’s vaginal kisses moments before, though, Ruthie had to admit to a certain lingering curiosity. She had no problems sucking a dick. Why not suck a dick wrapped in pussy? How bad could it be?

“RUTHIE!!! NOW!!! I’M ALMOST THERE!!!”

Ruthie took up Annie’s position between Ben’s legs. She could see Annie’s thick ass rising and churning downward upon Ben’s dick. Annie was tense. Beadlets of sweat percolated on her lower back. She was ready to cum.

Ruthie leaned forward, so close that the heat of her exhalations breathed waves into the sloppy liquid cum dripping from Ben’s cock, so close that Annie’s ass crack, on the downstroke, cleaved itself on her nostrils. In this manner Ruthie got her first full whiff of a woman’s orificial trinity: twathole, peehole and asshole.

She closed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. Annie’s butt crack caught it on the up stroke, burying Ruthies chin, lips and tongue in the bouncy firmness of her ass cheeks. On the ensuing downstroke, Annie lurched outward to capture the feel of Ruthie’s tongue against Ben’s plunging shaft followed by her taint and sphincter. Ruthie did not balk from this familiarity. Indeed, she stuck her tongue out further, using it to lave and buff those cum-lubricated surfaces.

Ruthie noted that Annie’s crotch smelled like fuck, that is, she smelled like dick, pussy and ass. From Ruthie’s close range the odor was greatly magnified and concentrated into a deep sexual musk. It was a natural odor designed to arouse and titillate a human being’s long dormant animalistic instincts. Ruthie thought that she might recognize Annie’s peculiar aroma if Annie squatted and peed on a bush.

There was no doubt but that Annie’s sexual passions derived from some bottomless reservoir of lust deep within her soul. As her pussy widened about Ben’s thick cock and Ruthie’s tongue inartfully danced about it, a great, heaving apparition engulfed Annie’s body, transporting her into a realm of heat and shimmering light. A huge conflagration boiled up to consume her. She burned away into magnesium ash while the real world dissipated into vapor and faded from view.

Her pussy locked tight about Ben’s cock. She quite forgot her promise to leave his semen to gurgle in Ruthie’s pooncey. Ruthie looked on anxiously again. Annie had already stolen one of her turns. It looked like she was about to steal another.

“ANNIE! ANNE!!! ANNETTE!! Git up! He ‘bout to cum, I knows it!! You ‘posed to let him shoot it in me!!! Come on, Annie, GIT UP!!! It’s my turn!!”

Annie ignored her. She squeezed her pussy tight about him, seeking to add his juice to the hot magma of her orgasmic fire. Ben seemed willing to comply.

“GIT UP, I SAY!!!!” Ruthie screeched.

With that, Ruthie jumped up and, using both hands, shoveled Annie’s body off of Ben’s cock. Annie sprawled into the grass, hugely annoyed to have her orgasm interrupted in such an abrupt manner. Ruthie leapt to replace her, angling her cunt down upon him. Just in time, too. As soon as his cock breached her labia, Ben came. Ruthie spiraled down upon his dick, accepting his gushing spurts warmly. It wasn’t as good as if she’d been right there on the razor’s edge with him, but at least now she was sloppy wet with cum. Jism poured from her pussy under the force of gravity, coating his balls, and trickling down into his asshole. Ben slumped into stupification.

Ruthie waited for his cock to ebb. She raised up into a linesman’s squat and looked down her torso towards their conjoined genitalia. She could see Ben’s cock pulsing weakly, trying to deliver the last droplets of his semen into her. Too, she could see her hairy pussy, dominant and angry, full of cum but also more than ready to continue the battle. His cock draped limply from her hole, held only in place by her muscular acuity. Ruthie released him. Immediately his cock flumped to his stomach, where it gasped for air like a winded marathon runner. A FAT, winded marathon runner.

Ruthie rolled off of his body and lay on her back next to Annie.

“You ain’t had to push me, you know. I was fixin’ to git up,” Annie said.

“You wasn’t gittin’ up fas’ enough,” retorted Ruthie.

“How you know what I’se fixin’ to do? ‘Sides, I left you his nut, like I promised.”

“Yeah, you did. But jist barely. I almost missed him.”

“Why you want his jizz up in you? You want you a little half a niglet pickaninny?”

“Nope. It ain’t dat at all. I wants to see de look on yo’ face when I splatters his juice in yo’ mouf, like it come from my dick. You promised me. Now git to lickin’.”

Ruthie lay back and spread her legs wide.

“Jis hold your horses, there,” Annie said. “I gots to pee.”

Annie stood and squatted. Unembarrassed by this new familiarity, she relieved herself on the ground.

XXI.

The Potion

Meshach pulled his three eldest children together late one afternoon soon after the aforementioned events.

“I wants y’all to stay home tonight. No sneakin’ out.”

The twins, Ruthie and Isaac, were flabbergasted. How did their father know that they’d recently begun sneaking out at night, a lá Charlie? They both made sure to leave late and return early. In every case, Meshach had been snoring loudly when they’d left.

Charlie wasn’t at all surprised. Their father wasn’t anybody’s fool. Charlie responded on behalf of his siblings.

“OK, Pa.”

“I’se gwine out tonite. If you hears sump’n ‘bout me ‘fore I gits home, you don’ know where I is or where I’se gon’. Yo’ mama gon’ be lookin’ fuh me, too. I’m fixin’ to go in hyeah and put her to sleep. You know how I do. If I ain’t back ‘fore de mornin’, you jist go ‘bout yo’ bid’ness like nuttin’ happened. If dey axes you where I is, you don’ know. N’ you DON’ know, cause I ain’t fixin’ to tell you. Chollie, you in chahge till I git back. Got it?”

“Yeh, Pa. Where you goin’?”

“WHAT I JIS’ SAY?! You don’ know. ‘N you don’ WANNA know. I’a be back.”

With that Meshach disappeared into their little home. Soon after, Lizzie’s dolorous moans reverberated across the slave quarters. These were received with knowing smiles and ribald chuckles from Shaddy’s neighbors. After twenty minutes her groans faded away. The blacks shuffled back to being about their own morbidly insipid lives. It was bedtime. Soon, other feminine groans could be heard from various other little slave shacks. One by one, candles were extinguished. The black Leones settled in for yet another night of enslavement.

Meshach peeked out his door for onlookers. Seeing none, he slipped off into the darkness at a trot.

“You reckon Poppa is gwine run off?” asked Ruthie.

“No, he ain’t gwine run off,” mimicked Charlie sarcastically.

“He ain’t never gone off at night like this before.” Ruthie continued, ignoring Charlie’s mimicry.

“He said he’d be back ‘fore de morn’.” Charlie responded. “Momma is ‘sleep. Git in yo’ bed, bof’ o’ you, an’ be quiet. She gon’ be up an’ axin’ questions soon enough. You be ‘sleep when she do, you hear me?”

“What if I ain’t?”

“Pa is gone. I’se de one in charge. You ain’t too big to take a asswhippin’.”

“Yes I is.”

“NO. You AIN’T.”

Ruthie considered this threat and found it plausible. More than plausible, it was absolutely probable considering the temporary power shift. She made a silly face at Charlie as a preface to her retreat.

The youngsters settled in for the night. Charlie became pensive as he considered the ramifications of his father’s absence. Where could he be going? When would he be back? What would Charlie do if he didn’t return? All these questions raced through the young man’s mind.

Ruthie felt the distinctive poke of Isaac’s perpetual erection in her lower back. She knew Charlie was still awake. She also knew that he was aware that the twins were nightly lovers. She shifted casually to open her vagina to her twin, felt him probe forward to slip inside from behind. The dim light of the cabin reflected her bright eyes. Lying on her side, she could see Charlie watching them fuck in the darkness. Ruthie locked his gaze. She parted her lips suggestively as Ike churned her hips.

Charlie ignored her.

Meshach loped along, clinging to shadows in the darkness, keenly aware that the nigger catchers were out and might be just behind the next tree. He chose his route carefully, tending to travel wide of the main road, far enough back that he might sneak up behind any lurkers before they were aware he was upon them.

He chose his footing carefully. While there might be ears about, there certainly were snakes. This reluctance to expose himself slowed his progress. He calculated a five-hour trip out, four hours back. The slave catchers wouldn’t be so prevalent after midnight. Besides, once he got out to Swamphead, the nigger catchers would be behind him and he could make better time.

Auntie Griot wouldn’t be awake when he arrived. She wouldn’t be pleased at his arrival either. She wasn’t expecting him.

It didn’t matter. Auntie would grumble at the morning sunshine. When (and if) she finished grumbling she would listen to his plight and do her best to help. Then she would rustle him up some grub, give him some unsolicited advice and send him on his way with yet another grumble about people who show up uninvited, and finish with a threat not to repeat the mistake.

He just had to get there.

Meshach arrived at Swamphead just a little behind schedule. He wasted another forty-five minutes scrutinizing the area from a hidden culvert. If there were slave catchers about, this is where they would congregate. It was the entrance to the swamp, a choke point at which they might scoop up valuable assets. Meshach could swing wide of Swamphead, but the alligators on either side of the entryway made that decision perilous. Meshach peered at the little isthmus for any sound or movement. The slave catchers always traveled with horses; they couldn’t keep those animals quiet forever.

After waiting a prudent amount of time, Meshach approached Swamphead at a furtive trot. This was the most dangerous part of the trip. He was totally exposed. If he could get across the isthmus he knew that Auntie kept a flat bottom boat hidden in the bullrushes about a mile up the way for just such travelers as he. One either poled or sloshed from there out to Auntie’s place. Meshach planned the former.

On the return trip he could avoid the isthmus altogether. He could drop Auntie’s flatboat off anywhere. She would find it, eventually, and hide it in the regular spot. No one was ever caught sneaking out of Swamphead.

Reaching the isthmus, Meshach fairly flew up the dark road. They might be behind him, they might not. He didn’t intend to lounge around waiting to find out.

It was pitch black here. The moonlight didn’t shine through the thick trees on either side of the dirt road. It wasn’t much of a road, anyway. It was a path, partially overgrown with flora. The path ended at a clump of cypress trees. Those visitors with no business at Auntie’s place would do well to turn back the way they came. It was the rare traveler who knew enough to uncover Auntie’s flat boat from among this clump of trees. Even rarer was the traveler who knew the way to her little hut on the bayou.

Meshach was one of the few.

Finding the boat, Meshach set off in the darkness of the swamp. There were signposts for the vigilant—a peculiar shaped tree stump here, a protruding log there—barely discernible in the gloom. Keep to the left of the nest shaped dirt mound on the far bank. Travelers who came upon the raccoon colony were close.

Well past midnight, Shaddy rapped on Auntie’s door. She was awake; seemed to be expecting him.

“Shaddy. Long time.” she deadpanned.

“’Cinda. How you?”

He used her familiar birth name to let her know that he was there on a mission of supplication.

“So. You got troubles?” Auntie queried.

“I reckon.”

“Nathan Leone.” she accurately guessed.

“I…I…yeah. It’s him.”

“I thought we talked about this befo’?” she observed.

“I know.”

“Well?”

“He…he…slapped my woman. Put a big knot upside her haid.”

“Lizzie?”

“Is I got a diff’rent woman udder den dat?”

“Don’t git smart wit’ me, boy.”

She was older than he. She could take this liberty with his manhood. Shaddy ignored her.

“I…I…cain’t take it no mo’, ‘Cinda. I…I…gots to do sump’n.”

“An’ you wants de stomach poison.”

“Yis. D’ass what I want.”

“You wants to kill him.”

“YIS!”

“De stomach poison don’ kill, you know. It just make ‘um hurt real bad.”

“It killt de udder ones.”

“No. Dey killt dey selves from de pain. If dey’d waited, de poison ‘ud wear off.”

“I don’ think he’a wait.”

Auntie considered this request in silence for a few moments.

“You know he daughter ‘uz up heah de udder week,” she said.

“Annie?”

“No. De udder one. De fas’ one.”

“Miss Abby? What she want?”

“She brought dey cousin, de redhead wid all de freckles. Some nigger loaded her up.”

“She say who it was?”

“No. An’ I ain’t axed.”

“It ain’t Chollie, is it?”

“I say I ain’t axed. Wadn’t my bidniss.”

“I think Chollie tapped de redhead up a few months back.”

“Well, she ain’t said dat. She had de stretch, d’ough. Coulda been Chollie.”

“Hmmmmph.” Meshach grunted with resignation.

They regarded each other silently for a few more moments in that awkward pause before the arrival of a decisive point. Auntie knew that Meshach would be pressed for time. He had to be back before dawn. Finally she spoke.

“I ain’t got no mo’ o’ de stomach potion. Cain’t find one o’ de ‘gredients.”

Meshach slumped. His visit had been in vain.

“I got sump’n better, d’ough.”

Meshach looked up hopefully. Auntie stood and shuffled over to a shelf where she rummaged for a moment before settling on a small blue bottle. She poured some of the contents of this bottle into a smaller, clear bottle, then raised it to a candle to measure the dose. Not fully satisfied, she poured a bit more liquid from the blue bottle and sloshed it around. She turned and handed the clear bottle to Meshach.

“Give him dis.”

“What is it?”

“Nevermine what it is. Don’t git none of it on yo’ skin. Put it in he scrambled aigs one mornin’. Den, go n’ bury de bottle in de woods. It’a take a few days to show some symptoms, but if he don’t take de antidote by de t’ird day, d’ass it fo’ him.”

“Wha’s de antidote?”

“It’s in dis here green bottle.”

“Kin he git it from de white doctor?”

“No. I’se de only one has it. He gots to come to me.”

“If he come to you, will you giv’n it to him?”

Auntie paused. She looked down at the ground disgustedly.

“I reckon I gots to.”

“Why?”

“If he axe me to he’p him I gots to. Dat’s jist de way it is, Shaddy. I cain’t jis’ let him die on my do’step. What you think I is?”

“What if he don’t axe?”

Auntie brightened up.

“If he don’t axe, den he on he own. I ain’t got no ‘sponsibility fo’ him.”

Shaddy wondered after her inconsistent morality. She could willingly provide the means of Nathan’s demise, but if he requested the cure, she was obligated to provide that, too. Unless, of course, Nathan didn’t ask. Then her conscience was clear. She seemed more eager to provide the potion than the cure. Auntie was a strange one.

“Is he gwine taste dis if I put it in his aigs?”

“No. An’ make sure you put it in AIGS befo’ dey’s cooked. Don’ pour it over cooked aigs. An’ cook de aigs in butter. Don’t giv’n it to him no udder way, you hear me? If you do, he-a taste it and might won’t eat it all.”

“I don’t make his breakfast, Auntie. D’ass Lize and Lizzie what does dat.”

“’N you bet’ not tell a’ry one o’ dem heffahs wha’s in de bottle. Dey’a git de holy ghose and won’t pull thru, dadblame ‘em!! I see it too many times. You wants to put him away, YOU make de aigs.”

“If I make de aigs, he’a suspect me arter he git sick.”

“WHAT I SAY, BOY!!? Is you wan’ take de crackuh out or ain’t you?”

“Yes’m.”

“IS YOU WAN’ GIT CAUGHT?”

“No ma’m.”

“Den do what I say!! Find a way!! Don’t I gen’rully know what I’m about?”

“Yes’m.”

Auntie rumbled around in her cupboard and came up with a smoked ‘possum shank and a loaf of hard tack. She shoveled these provisions into a bag before handing the bag to Meshach.

“Take these,” she said. “An git along wit’ you. An’ don’ come back out here. An’ watch out fo’ de nigger catchers. An’ put my boat back where you found it!!”

Shaddy thanked her graciously.

“Yeh, yeh.” she said before closing her door in his face.

XXII.

The Wet Spot is the thing…

Aisleen Leone positioned her naked behind exactly over the spot on her bedspread where she’d found Nathan Leone’s triple-outlined wet spot the week before. Their bedspread had been hand washed and dried since then. No evidence of Nathan’s extra-marital malfeasance remained.

Duck looked down at her quizzically. She’d been sucking his cock for twenty minutes by the side of her bed. Soon as he was ready to cum, she’d hiked herself up on the bed and cocked her legs open. He could see her chestnut pussy triangle in wild disarray, moist and damp, just as he’d remembered it from the last time they’d fucked each other some years back. She seemed to be angling her vagina at a precise target on the bed. Her blouse covered her breasts, but she wore no skirt. Meanwhile Duck’s erect penis strained against bare air.

“Come on, Duck,” she huffed breathlessly. “Put it in. Put it in NOW.”

She placed her hands under her buttocks and hoisted her pussy up to him. Like a magnet, Duck’s dick swung toward her open cunt. He clambered up on the bed, positioning himself between her legs. His cock strained in the air between them. This wouldn’t take long. Already his pre-cum gurgled at the entrance to his urethra.

He gripped his shaft in his palm and guided his cock into her, pausing to wipe his pre-cum on her clit. Aisleen was slippery wet. She managed his insertion easily despite the wide gap between now and the last time they’d fucked. She felt him sliding into her deeper warmth and yet deeper, until she was full and her labia gaped wide about his testicles. She could feel his kinky pubic hair scraping her inner thighs. She reached up to massage his chest and his muscular triceps.

“Cum in me, Duck. I want you to cum. DO it, Duck. It’s been so long! DO IT!!”

Duck didn’t want to be remembered as a one-minute man. He had his pride and his reputation to consider. A stiff dick on the verge of capitulation respects neither of these artificial constructs. As Aisleen’s silky vaginal warmth caressed his rock hard cock with fluid bubbles of tremor, Duck’s jism welled up within him, ballooning his nuts obscenely until the agony of restraint melted before the necessity of redemption. He fired burst after burst of sticky white cum into her, hosing her cunt down with his seed. It spilled from her opening, creating a wet spot as wide as her ass in the blanket. Duck grunted with the effort. Aisleen caressed his angular shoulder blades with undue care as he emptied himself into her. She felt relief, but not satiation.

For the moment, the wet spot was the thing. She could feel the creepy crawly drip of Duck’s semen oozing over her ass cheeks. She tightened these deliberately so that more jizz might soak the bed. In doing so, she massaged Duck’s softening cock into her sticky cunt drip, laving him with her heat. Each of her post-coital squeezings sucked vestigial spurts of semen from her black lover, now slumped atop her, breathing raggedly, and on the verge of sleep. She bore his full weight.

“Duck. DUCK!! Wake up. That was good, Duck. But a little quick, don’t you think? Roll over here. Onto your back. Yes, like that…”

His lengthy cock, awash in semen and smelling of vagina, lay off to the side, dangling over his left hip. Aisleen lifted and dropped it heavily.

“That’s the dick I’ve missed all these years. Why’ve you been keeping it away from me?”

Still in a post-erotic daze, Duck didn’t respond. He knew she’d been fucking his friend Meshach in the interim. He’d been surprised when she’d fingered him for this current assignment.

“What if I told Shaddy you were a ‘one-minute man’?” she teased.

Duck was perplexed at this admission. Technically, such a threat would be a tacit admission that she’d been fucking niggers. Shaddy, who wasn’t supposed to be fucking her anyway, also wasn’t supposed to know that she’d laid up with another black man, especially one of his friends.

“You can tell him if you want,” Duck responded. “I don’ care.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“It’s yo’ pussy, Miss Aisleen. I reckon you can giv’n it to whosomever you wants. I ain’t gwine put my dick up in Shaddy, so he don’ care how long it take me to bus’ a nut, whether it be one minute or a hund’d.”

“I bet you’d care if I was to tell Master Nate!” she cautioned.

“Why’d you wanna do dat? You de one axed me here. I ain’t come on my own.”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t tell HIM that.”

Duck was chastened. Here it was. The Threat.

“Maybe I bet’ leave, Miss Aisleen.”

“Oh lay down. I’m just teasing you. You know I ain’t gon’ tell nobody you was here. I’m happy you came. We ain’t been together in a long time. You still look good. You got all those big muscles.”

She was patronizing him in that way women do. Flattery first, then the favor request.

Duck fell for it. He lay back down on the bed.

“Duck, I need you to do it to me again,” she said. “An’ this time, take your time. We got all day. Nathan’s gone off. Ain’t nobody here but us.”

It was the favor request. Duck fell for that, too.

“I wouldn’t-a cum dat fas’, Miss Aisleen, ‘cept you sucked me so good I couldn’t hold out.”

“Do you need me to suck you again?”

“I reckon. Only don’t hold out til I’se ready to bus’. Just git him hard an’ I’ll take over from dere.”

“OK.”

She lifted his dick from his hip and began to suckle at it.

XXIII.

“Don’t you think it’s time to get mad about it?”

As Duck’s cock slid again into Miss Aisleen’s gullet, Charlie and Sandra were performing the graceful dance of the watery deep at the spring. Charlie was a vision of youthful vigor—lithe, muscular and handsome—yet he struggled to acclimate himself to Sandra’s chosen church. Chasing the ‘turkles’ and fishes was one thing. Holding his breath for four minutes was quite another.

Repeatedly, Charlie had to bolt for the surface after a mere minute below. Sandra waited patiently for him in the depths as he topped off his store of oxygen. Once submerged, she could see him getting anxious for oxygen after forty seconds. By the one-minute mark he was almost frantic. Big, strong Charlie—a shark on land, a minnow in the water.

Sandra didn’t mind. It had taken her entire life to build up a tolerance for oxygen deprivation. It took time, endurance and discipline.

Too, she’d spent years coaxing Charlie into the water with her. Charlie was deathly afraid of snakes. The spring teamed with them. After they slid into the water and disappeared, Charlie was certain they took up residence in Sandra’s church. Did he want to attend services with vipers? No. He did not.

Only recently had he agreed to follow Sandra out into the deep water where he watched her perform her reverent, naked aquatic undulations. He kept a sharp eye out for snakes, moderately surprised to see none about. There certainly were enough of them lounging along the shoreline.

Once adrift, Annie attempted to teach him neutral buoyancy, that is, the ability to achieve total symbiosis with the weight of water. Mastering this skill was crucial to the performance of the water dance. Sandra wanted Charlie to be her dance partner.

It was going to take some time, she could see.

Sandra surfaced and pulled her hair back from her eyes. She drew a whisper of breath. Charlie was already at the surface treading water. He drew breath in great gasps, though he’d surfaced almost a minute before.

“Are you OK?” she asked.

“Yeah! I’m fine!!” he choked out.

“It’s gonna take some time, Charlie. Try to do it a little bit at a time. You’re not going to be able to do the whole four minutes in a single go.”

“You been sayin’ that. An’ I been tryin’. I cain’t seem to git past the li’l bit I’m already able to do. I feel like I’m drownin’ all de time.”

“You’re doing a lot better now than when you started, you know. When you first came out here you could only hold your breath for thirty seconds.”

“Was you countin’?”

“Yes. I was.”

“You mus’ be part fish. I ain’t never gon’ be able to hol’ my breff long as you can.”

“I’ve been doing this a long time, Charlie.”

“Gimme a minute. An’ we can try her again.”

“No, Charlie, let’s go ashore. I want to talk to you about something.”

They swam to the shallows, stood and walked up the bank. Both of them were naked as the day they were born. Charlie’s muscles gleamed in the sunlight. Sandra’s breasts wobbled tightly. She, too, was a vision of loveliness. They sat down together, as per their custom, and faced the spring.

“What’s goin’ on between you and Ben?” she asked.

“Why?”

“I ain’t seen the two of you hangin’ ‘round like you used to.”

“Oh.”

“Is it the Cracker Talk?”

“You ‘uz dere. You heard it.”

“Yeh, I was there. I also heard you say you wasn’t gon’ throw Ben over.”

“I said dat.”

“Well?”

“You don’ understan’”

“No. I don’t understand. Tell me.”

“YOU DON’ UNDERSTAN’!! His Pa put all dem stripes on my Pa’s back!! His Pa comes to my house in de mi’l o’ de night an’ puts his dick up my momma’s pussy, an’ my Pa cain’t say nuttin’ ‘bout it!! His Pa is de one sole yo’ momma!! ‘N he can sell you and me quick as giggin’ a frog!! We ain’t nuttin’ to him!!”

“You’ve knowed all that your whole life. An’ you wanna git mad about it now?”

“Don’ you think it’s TIME to git mad about it?”

“Yeh, but what’s all that got to do with Ben?”

“You think like a girl. When de time comes, don’ you think Ben’ll do de same thing? He might don’t do it now, but soon enough de cracker in him’ll come out.”

“OK. So what’s he gonna do? Hang you up for doin’ it to his sisters? Ain’t he doin’ it to ‘em, too?”

“Dat ain’t….dat ain’t got nuttin’ to do wid it.”

“It’s got everything to do with it. What happens when Annie gits married? Suppose’n she tells her husband his dick ain’t what your’n is, the way Abby does? What if Buck finds out you AND Ben been doin’ it to Abby, recent-like? He’s gon’ come over here and shoot you both in the face. Ben is in the same boat YOU’RE in, Charlie.”

“I ain’t looked at it like dat.”

“No, you AIN’T looked at it like that. You and Ben could be in a shitpot fulla trouble if a’ry one of them gals says a word, whether it’s now or twenty years from now. Ben could deny it, but he cain’t deny it if BOTH Annie and Abby come out and say it.”

“How dey gon’ say sump’n? Most o’ de time, it’s dem dat’s axin’ for dick!! We ain’t forced a’ry one ‘um!!”

“Hmmmmph. Listen at you. Who’s the one thinkin’ like a girl now? It ain’t a white person in this state that’ll believe Abby Harkness taught YOU how to fuck when you was a ‘leven-year old, or will believe Annette Leone wrapped her mouth around YOUR dick without you puttin’ a knife to her throat.”

“You got a point dere.”

“An’ it might be one or two of ‘em’ll believe Ben, but not if both gals report it. What’s to stop either of ‘em from gittin’ de Holy Ghose and makin’ confession? Not now, but maybe later on when dey got chirrens and is tryin’ to git into heaven?”

Charlie considered this onerous scenario. All the white women he knew did just that.

“Oh! Sandra!! What I’m gon’ do?”

“I been thinkin’ on this, Charlie. You an’ Ben need each other. If any of this comes to light, they’ll come for you both. And Ben might git away. He’s white. But they’ll git you. Push comes to shove, you gotta make it so that Ben’ll want to take you along if he has to run. You see where I’m at?”

Charlie was genuinely frightened now.

“Oh Lordy!! I ain’t see none o’ dis comin’!! I just seen dat white poochipap layin’ up in front ‘o me an’ I did what any man ‘ud do!!!”

“Oh, hush. You see MY poochipap all the time and you ain’t did ‘what any man ‘ud do’ on ME. I see you lookin’ at it every time we come out here. I’m most near white, too.”

“I know, but…”

“Hush now, I say! Hush!! This is what you gon’ do. You gon’ forget about the Cracker Talk. An’ you gon’ make up with Ben. He told his Pa he ‘uz gon’ free you, ain’t he? After you make up with him, you start whisperin’ in his ear about gittin’ free. He listens to me sometimes. I’ll start whisperin’ in his ear, too. If he frees you before Abby and Annie git to be old church biddies, you can skedaddle off to the North, Illinois maybe, where they ain’t got no slaves. Don’t stay here. GO!! And take me with you.”

“What?!?”

“You heard me.”

“You wanna go wit’ me?”

“I jist said so, ain’t I?”

“B-but you ain’t never offered me none. I…I thought you ain’t liked me like dat.”

“Shut up. You ain’t dumb. You know I’m gon’ offer you some pussy when de time comes. An’ you gon’ take it. You know you are. It’s all you been thinkin’ about.”

Charlie perked up. Sandra was right all the way around.

“Why you don’t offer me some today? We’se alone.”

“Because today AIN’T your day. That’s why.”

“Oh.”

XXIV.

Christmas Cheer

Christmas 1844 brought all the wandering Leone’s back to their ancestral farm for a riotous celebration of family, home and hearth.

Hank Leone, the youngest sibling, brought his brood—Marlene, Jacob and Janice—as well as his driver, a slave named Blue Jenkins.

BethAnn and Franklin Jefferson, still childless, made the long journey from Texas to attend, bringing along Franklin’s young assistant pastor, John Mullins, and John’s wife Myrtle.

The eldest Leone sibling, Josephine McNulty, attended along with her husband Robert and their three children: Wilson, Patrice and Jameson. Their presence bespoke volumes, inasmuch as Josephine McNulty and Aisleen Leone had had a falling out earlier in the year and hadn’t spoken since. This Christmas engagement was a chance for them to patch their differences.

Buck and Abby Harkness, the only married members of the new Leone generation, also attended.

In addition to these kinsmen, the Leone’s also invited neighbors. They invited Joe and Sally Jenkins and their four young boys. The Jenkins’ brought along two slave nursemaids, Jem and Merci.

Also invited were Aisleen Leone’s older sisters, Isabel and June, and their families.

Nathan made sure to invite his close friend Pete Bannister, his wife Samantha, and his two daughters, Mary Lynn and Polly Lynn. Charlie’s cousin Tilly attended alongside the Bannisters; her mother Cora worked on the Leone farm.

The big house certainly didn’t have room to accommodate all these invitees. Nathan Leone engaged his closest neighbors to house the spillover. Most of Nathan’s neighbors had rooms to spare, though homes in that rural farm sector were typically a mile apart. Those families that agreed to put up Leone attendees were automatically invited to the Christmas Day event.

Guests began straggling in to the Leone Farm two weeks before Christmas. BethAnn Jefferson and her crew were the first to arrive. She and her husband took up the guest bedroom. Uncle Franklin’s associate pastor and his wife settled in the anteroom for a few days, then moved over to an adjoining farm to make room for Leone blood relations.

Aunt Josephine and crew arrived a week later. Normally, she would have barged in and started dictating sleeping arrangements more in line with her status as the eldest living Leone. Her recent spat with Aisleen cooled that idea. No sense starting another cat fight on the host’s territory. Josephine graciously allowed Aisleen to suggest sleeping arrangements. She and her husband Robert took over the Leone anteroom, along with their daughter Patrice. Her sons Wilson and Jameson bunked out in the attic with Ben. Wilson took Annie’s bed. Jameson slept on the floor. Annie came downstairs to bunk in a bedroll with Patrice.

These made for tight sleeping arrangements. Hank Leone hadn’t even arrived yet. Eventually, the Leone families would have to pair off by sex. This meant the men would find spots on the floor while the women took the available beds. It was cramped, true, but they were family, so they made a way.

XXV.

The Cure

Auntie Griot’s stinky pussy lotion potion caused Janice Leone to spontaneously abort her bi-racial child. As Abby predicted, it took a week for the stench to dissipate. Janice was convinced that the smell encouraged her incubating embryo to hold its breath until it self-asphyxiated. Indeed, the aroma wafting up from her cunt nauseated Jannie the entire week. It caused her pet dogs to swing wide of her. She wore three pairs of bloomers around the house to dampen the afterburn, and her mother Marlene still looked around crazily for the source of the odor each time Jannie approached.

“Something crawled up my cooch and died,” Jannie said.

Jannie avoided her regular lovers for a month after applying Auntie’s lotion. She rejoiced when her menstrual cycle returned, all the while reiterating her resolve to never risk a second pre-marital pregnancy.

It didn’t mean she was becoming celibate. Her burn was far too pronounced for that extreme a solution.

Rather, she made it clear to Jake, Ben and Blue that their semen was for her esophagus or her asshole, not her pussy. She enforced the Non-Cuminpussy Rule ruthlessly. Any breach of this rule, she warned, would result in enforced celibacy for the offender—with extreme prejudice.

Jake, of course, was the first to rebel against this vaginal tyranny. Jannie might tell Ben where to spill his jizz (Jake still didn’t know about Blue), but she damn sure wasn’t going to regulate HIS orgasms. Jake mounted her late one night and, as his eruption built, Jannie tapped his butt to remind him to pull out. Jake ignored her. What was she gonna do? Shriek and wake the whole house? He continued to hump her pussy wildly, asserting his rights as her primary.

The next thing he knew, a razor sharp dagger was making a pointed dent in his carotid artery.

“Pull out,” she said quietly. “Pull out NOW.”

He did so.

She ordered him from her room. Jake was forced to masturbate in the solitude of his attic loft to finish. Annie didn’t even bother to suck him off. She banned him from her room for a week.

Jake got the message.

Jannie was so pleased with her abortion that she quite forgot having inveigled her Aunt Beth into her sexual milieu.

Auntie Beth corralled Jannie at the Leone Christmas celebration and sat her down for a talk.

Aunt Beth: “OK, I gathered from your letter that you have a friend with the nigger taint. Did you invite her over for Christmas like I said? Is she here? Is she coming?”

Jannie: “Ummmm, no. She cain’t make it here, Auntie.”

Aunt Beth: “You know, I’m gon’ be here for a few weeks. Maybe I can talk to her at church?”

Aunt Beth: “Ummmm, no. She…she had to go off to visit relatives. Won’t be back for awhile.”

Aunt Beth: “Jannie, what’s her name?”

Jannie: “She don’t want nobody to know, Auntie.”

Aunt Beth: “Jannie, come on now. In all my days, when someone comes up to me askin’ about a friend, they really askin’ ‘bout theyselves, ain’t it so? Is you in trouble? You can tell me. I won’t tell nobody.”

Jannie: “Auntie! NO!! It’s not me.”

Aunt Beth: “You sure? You know I helped somebody else in our family out once, I won’t say her name but you know her, and I ain’t never told no one ‘bout that yet. And she was ever so grateful, and thanked me for showin’ her the way to righteousness, and been on the straight and narrow ever since. Ever’body falls short now and again, even me. It takes a strong woman to admit what she done wrong and asks for help. Come on, chile, you can trust me. Is you in trouble?”

Jannie: “Auntie, I…I…”

Aunt Beth: “It is sump’n. I can see it in your eyes. Tell me, chile. I cain’t he’p you if I don’t know what it is. It’s the nigger taint, ain’t it? You got it. Tell the truth.”

Jannie: “No ma’am. I ain’t got it. I…I…”

Aunt Beth: “Janice, we’ve always been close. Do you trust me? Do you? Let me help you. I want to.”

Jannie: “Auntie, it’s not me. It’s…it’s…”

Aunt Beth: “Would it help if I told you that I had that problem when I was your age? ‘Course you cain’t tell nobody. But, yes, I had it.”

Jannie: “AUNTIE BETH!! NO!!!”

Aunt Beth: “Yes, it’s true, I’m ashamed to admit. Just between me and you.”

Jannie: “What did you do?”

Aunt Beth: “This ain’t about me. This is about you. I’ll tell about what I had to do if you tell me your problem.”

Jannie: “Auntie, I’m fine now. Abby helped me fix it. It’s not a problem anymore.”

Aunt Beth: “ABBY helped you fix it? Now I’m curious. What did she tell you?”

Jannie: “Oh, Auntie, I…I…I don’t wanna talk about it now.”

Aunt Beth: “OK. Just tell me what Abby told you.”

Jannie: “She…she told me about some ritual that cleans up the nigger taint. She said I wouldn’t like it. But she ain’t tell me what it was. She said I should ask you. That’s why I wrote.”

Aunt Beth: “So you DID have the nigger taint. Don’t lie.”

Jannie (pausing uncomfortably): “Yes’m”

Aunt Beth: “And how’d you get rid of it?”

Jannie: “It…it just went away, Auntie.”

Aunt Beth: “On its own?”

Jannie: “Yes’m.”

Aunt Beth: “I’m not surprised. Janice, you might not feel it, but it’s still there. The nigger taint don’t just run off on its own. You gotta take steps.”

Jannie: “But I feel fine, Auntie. Really, I do.”

Aunt Beth: “That ain’t the point, Janice. The point is, do you want to march through the Pearly Gates with all the other white women when your time comes? You cain’t do it, less’n you cleanse yourself of the nigger taint, you know.”

Jannie: “Abby ain’t say nothin’ about that.”

Aunt Beth: “That don’t surprise me none, neither. That’s somethin’ you gotta find in your own soul.”

Jannie: “Auntie? What’s the ritual? Can you tell me?”

Aunt Beth: “I can. But I won’t. Not until you know in your soul that you want to be a full white woman again. You’re my niece and I’ll love you anyway. But you cain’t git to heaven with the nigger taint. The Bible is clear on that.”

Jannie: “Auntie, let me pray on it.”

Aunt Beth: “I was about to make that same suggestion, chile.”

Jannie immediately went and hunted up Abby.

Jannie: “OK, now I’m curious. What is this Cure you mentioned? I just got done talking to Auntie Beth. She mentioned it, too, but she ain’t say what it was. You done the same thing back in October. Is it some kinda medicine? Uncle Franklin ain’t no doctor so I know that cain’t be it. Is it some kinda layin’ on of the hands? Anointin’ with oil? What?”

Abby: “She ain’t tell you what it is? She come right out an’ told me when I needed it.”

Jannie: “I told her I ain’t think I needed it.”

Abby: “That’s probably why she ain’t tell you what it is.”

Jannie: “Abby, tell me what it is. I won’t tell nobody else. Please?”

Abby looked around to make sure no one was listening in.

Abby: “You sure? Once I tell you this, it ain’t no goin’ back.”

Jannie: “I’m sure. Tell me.”

Abby: “OK. It’s this. You gotta let a consecrated white man purify your body of the nigger taint.”

Jannie: “OK. And? What’s so secret about that?”

Abby: “Using his dick.”

Jannie: “WHAT?!?!??”

Abby: “You heard me.”

Jannie: “Using his dick WHERE?”

Abby: “Don’t ask stupid questions, Janice.”

Jannie: “WHAT?!?!?”

Abby: “Yes. THERE.”

Jannie: “Who’s the consecrated white man? Rev. Goins? That old potato?”

Abby: “He’s the one that done ME. The other one is….”

Jannie: “Who?”

Abby: “UNCLE FRANKLIN!!!”

Jannie: “OH…MY…GAWD!!!!!”

Abby: “Now you see what I’m sayin’.”

Jannie: “You mean to tell me that Auntie Beth is gonna have Uncle Frank put his dick up in me? To clean me out? So I can git to heaven?”

Abby: “Yep. Less’n you want the old potato. He can do it, too, if he’s still alive.”

Jannie: “I ain’t ‘bout to let Uncle Frank do it to me!!! He’s my uncle!! That’s SICK!!!!”

Abby: “I told you you ain’t wanna know.”

Jannie: “Are you sayin’ I cain’t git to heaven without fucking Uncle Frank?”

Abby: “I ain’t sayin’ it. Auntie Beth is sayin’ it. I told you what I thought that day when you got your first piece of nigger dick and you was in the tub trying to scrub it out.”

Jannie: “That’s the craziest shit I ever heard!”

Abby: “Well, it gits crazier. You got to let Uncle Frank put his dick wherever a nigger’s dick has been. Think about THAT.”

Jannie began to have visions of Blue’s thunderous dick and each of the orifices he’d penetrated.

Jannie: “Everywhere?”

Abby: “EVERYWHERE.”

Jannie: “I…I…I cain’t do it, Abby. I’ll get sick.”

Abby: “Well. Now you know why I ain’t wanna tell you what it was.”

Jannie: “And you let that old man put his peenie up in you? An’ in your mouth? An’ in your butt?”

Abby: “I cut him off after he cum in my pussy. I could barely feel his little wrinkled up, scrunched up dick. And he smelled bad, like whale oil gone sour. It’s a good thing he cum quick. I was about to push him off.”

Jannie: “So you ain’t finished the treatment.”

Abby: “Nope.”

Jannie: “So you still got the nigger taint?”

Abby: “Yep.”

Jannie: “An’ it don’t bother you none?”

Abby: “Jannie, I’m gon’ fuck niggers. I like how they dicks feel. It don’t make no sense for me to be no hypocrite about it. If they don’t let me into heaven with the white folks, I’ll go to heaven with the niggers. Leastways my pussy’ll be happy.”

Jannie: “An’ you’re comfortable with that?”

Abby: “I am.”

Jannie: “So why’d you marry Buck?”

Abby: “Oh that’s a whole ‘nuther story. He’s my husband and I love him. That don’t have nuttin’ to do with whose dicks I prefer. I’m tellin’ you this because you’ve got to come to some of your own decisions and feel comfortable with them. How’re you and Blue gittin’ along?”

Jannie: “Oh, you know. I fucks him now and again when my burn gits me goin’. I don’t let him cum in my pussy no more, neither him nor Jakie nor Benny. He come here with us, you know. He drove.”

Abby: “I know. I did it to him when I come over to your place last month, you ‘member? I’m going to try and do it to him again while I’m here. You wasn’t lying, he gots a big ‘un. I couldn’t wet him down to the stump.”

Jannie: “I thought Charlie was your nigger dick over here?”

Abby: “Not anymore. Not if I can git Blue.”

Jannie: “Well, you can have him while we’re here. I need a break. He’s like to split me in two sometimes.”

Abby: “You crazy, you know that? You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

XXVI.

Dad?

Meshach knew Blue for a long lost son the moment he set eyes upon him. Even though he’d always lived within ten miles of the boy, Shaddy hadn’t seen his eldest child since Blue was a three-year old. Slaves didn’t often travel, except to go to church alongside the whites. Shaddy rarely attended church.

When Blue drove Hank’s carriage up to the Leone Farm, Shaddy was helping Charlie shoe one of the horses in the barn. Hank’s arrival set off a family celebration; the Leone slaves all turned out to laud Hank and his family as if they’d come over from China and had been gone for years. In truth, Hank only lived over in the next parish and saw the his brother’s crew every Sunday at church.

Blue stepped out of the carriage and reined the horses. Meshach glimpsed him momentarily, did a double-take, then locked upon him with the recognition of kinship.

Of course, Blue had no clue of Meshach’s identity. He knew Meshach’s name. That was it. He had neither feeling nor need of his father. He was long past that paternal longing.

Not so for Meshach. Knowing that he had another son out there left a hole in Meshach’s heart the size of Texas. And now that son stood before him.

Lizzie knew about Blue. Blue’s mother Dora had been a competitor for Meshach’s affections in their youth. Dora became pregnant; Lizzie became Meshach’s wife. None of Lizzie’s children knew about Blue, not even Charlie. If Meshach ached for his eldest, he never let on to his immediate family. Charlie noticed his father staring after a well-formed golden man tending to horses in the Leone courtyard and wondered after the connection.

It wasn’t just Meshach casting eyes upon the young man. Blue had a dynamic magnetism about him that drew the attention of women from miles around, both black and white. He had a smoldering volcanism in his deep hazel eyes that bespoke deeper fires. He had that muscular frame from years of hard work. He had masculine facial features, neither Caucasian nor Negroid, but a pleasing mélange of both cultures that appealed to many—a square jaw line, sensual lips, arching eyebrows, a chocolate/caramel voice, a bald head. And he had that magnificent dick protruding from the southern juncture of his chiseled abdomen. He carried himself with a smooth confidence, not at all subservient, but not arrogant either. He referred to all women, black and white, as “Miss So-and-So”, inserting the name as apropos. And in his voice was a boyish innocence that belied his extensive sexual resume. Blue lost his virginity to a grown woman as an eight year old.

“Pa? Who’s that?” asked Charlie.

“Don’t rightly know.” Meshach lied. “Whyn’t you go over dere an’ axe Jakie he name? Look like he come wit’ Marse Hank ‘n nem.”

Of course, Shaddy knew Blue’s name. He thought it might be wise to verify before making an approach. As far as Meshach knew, Blue was still on the Jenkins farm.

Charlie sidled up to Jakie and Ben as the cousins were excitedly making plans for the week. Ben regarded him coolly. They hadn’t spoken much in a couple of months.

“Hey, Jake!!” Charlie offered. “How you?”

“I’m good, Charlie!! And yourself?”

“Oh, fair to middlin’ I reckon. How was your trip?”

“Good, Charlie! Good! You look like you ain’t missed any meals, hey?”

“Oh, shucks. You reckon I’se got fat?”

“No. That ain’t it. I’m just saying you look good. For a nigger, I mean. Say, ain’t we gon’ have some fun this week!! Weee-DOGGY!! Where’s your sister, Charlie?”

He winked at Charlie knowingly. Ben’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh, she ‘round here somewheres. I cain’t keep up wid’ de heffah. I’m sure you-a see her ‘fore long.”

“Ben, my Pa says the Jenkins’ is comin’! Ain’t that the ones with that girl Jemmy? You know who I’m talkin’ ‘bout,” Jake rambled.

“They comin’. Don’t know if they gon’ bring Jem. Hope they do!”

“Me, too!! She was a feisty one, remember!!?”

“You ain’t gotta tell me!!” Ben responded.

Charlie interrupted: “Say, Jake? Who’s your driver? Look like I might know him.”

“Our driver? Oh, all the niggers call him Red. I think his real name is Blue. Jannie calls him that, anyway. Ain’t that sump’n? Red and Blue? Where d’you know him from, Charlie?”

“He…he just look familiar. I might don’t know him. Don’t recognize de name, anyway.”

“So who we gon’ do this week? I meant ‘WHAT’!!” laughed Jake.

“Well, me and YOU are gon’ do what we always do, and that’s run ragged. Charlie, here, has got better things to do. APPARENTLY,” said Ben.

It was a naked dig and it stung. Charlie pursed his lips and ignored it. Since his conversation with Sandra, Charlie had been looking for a means of rapprochement with Ben. He didn’t know how to form the words to repair their friendship. Now Charlie was being pointedly disinvited from the week’s festivities.

“I…I’d like to tag along, Benny,” Charlie asked.

“That’s OK. Isaac will come.”

Another dig.

“OK”, said Charlie.

He turned and trudged back to the barn.

“What he say?” asked Meshach, more anxiously than Charlie thought due.

“He say de niggers call him Red. But he real name is Blue,” answered Charlie.

This confirmed Meshach’s suspicions.

“Boy, when you git a chance, I want you to go over to dat nigger and invite him up to de barn. I wanna talk to him. Dey gon’ make him sleep up here anyway. Pretend like you showin’ him to his quarters. OK?”

“Yessir,” responded Charlie.

A half hour later, after Blue carried Hank Leone’s bags into the big house and sorted out the horse team, Charlie and Blue marched up to the barn. They were familiar friends by this time. Charlie offered to help with Blue’s chores. Such selfless altruism engenders easy friendships.

Besides, Blue was on unfamiliar territory. He might need an ally as imposing as this strapping youngster.

Meshach waited on them.

“Red, this is my father,” Charlie introduced the men using Blue’s common moniker.

Blue extended his hand in friendship. Meshach left him hanging. Blue’s greeting smile trailed away.

“What’s your mama’s name, boy?” Meshach asked.

“Dora Jenkins, sir,” Blue responded.

Meshach poked out his lips. He gave Blue a stern look. Blue was head and shoulders taller than Meshach. He interpreted Meshach’s taciturn demeanor as provocative.

Meshach looked Blue up and down with a critical eye. Using baby steps, he circled the young man, examining him as if he were a racehorse or a fresh African fieldhand. Blue held his ground.

Charlie wondered after his father’s behavior. He’d never known his father to be this rude.

When Meshach came full circle again to face Blue, he looked his son in his eyes.

“I am Meshach,” he said.

Blue’s eyes widened. ‘Meshach’ was his father’s name. Charlie still didn’t understand.

“Meshach?” Blue parroted haltingly.

“Yes.”

“And they call you….Shaddy?”

“Yes.”

Blue didn’t know what to do next. The man standing before him brought him into this world. He’d also abandoned him, never lifted a finger to support him. Blue was torn by the twin demons of rage and resentment, yet considering their servitude he knew that neither demon applied. This was, at last, his Daddy.

Shaddy opened his arms wide. The two men hugged each other in a crushing embrace. No one was more confused than Charlie.

The men hugged tightly for a full minute, saying nothing. When they finally pulled away to regard one another, this time as family not as strangers, Meshach looked to Charlie and demoted him to second son.

“Chollie. Dis is yo’ brudder.”

XXVII.

Ben and Ruthie

It was winter now on the Louisiana bayou. The days were fair and sunny, temperatures topping out in the high sixties. The nights were cool, some cold, dropping down to freezing. The swimming hole remained a constant 72º year round, but because the air temperature fluctuated so drastically, swimming became a pyrrhic luxury. Only Sandra found the will to venture into the pond. Many mornings the smoky mist drifting from the surface of the waters daunted even she.

The arrival of so many guests at the Leone Farm left scant provision for normal sexual antics. Only the slaves maintained their sexual schedules, largely because they didn’t have or require privacy. In the slave quarters, when Dick met Pussy all the neighbors were aware.

Ben and Ruthie had been fucking opulently for the better part of the autumn. They found privacy in the big house when everyone else was out working, or down at the spring, or sometimes up in the barn. Once they fucked in the white folks outhouse. Ruthie vetoed a mulligan on that one; she said the stench put her off.

As their sexual trysts became more and more common, the pair became more and more comfortable in public. Ruthie dropped the formal title “Master” from Ben’s name. She spoke to him with noticeable familiarity, even in mixed racial company. Ben never chastised her for taking these liberties. Indeed, he seemed to relish her lingering smiles and their shared sidelong glances.

Annie noticed her brother’s subtle relationship with the black girl. Ruthie obviously wasn’t just a piece of poontang to him. She’d inveigled her way past that. On those nights Ben came late to the attic loft, Annie knew where he’d been and with whom.

After their vicious catfight at the spring, Annie and Ruthie came to an understanding. They would never be the best of friends, but at least they didn’t hate one another. Some nights Ruthie would sneak into the attic loft and the trio would reprise their aforementioned ménage a trois at the spring. Annie even managed to get Ruthie to suck her pussy a time or two. And so Annie didn’t look askance after Ruthie’s familiarities. Annie accepted her role as Ben’s secondary cumbucket. That time had come.

One day after the arrival of Hank Leone and crew, Ben pulled Ruthie aside and asked her to meet him out at the treehouse. It was the only modicum of privacy left on the farm.

Ruthie lingered down to the edge of the woods. When she thought no one was looking, she scurried into the trees and disappeared. Ben was there when she arrived.

“I thought I wasn’t never gone git free,” she said. “Every time I went to jump the fence, somebody was callin’ my name.”

“Same here,” Ben responded. “I sneaked out behind the kennel and come up thru the woods. That doggone Jake won’t let me out of his sight!!”

He pulled her to him roughly and smashed his lips against hers so that their teeth bumped. Recovering easily, they fell into a long, luxuriant soul kiss, intertwining tongues and nibbling at each other’s necks. Ben ran his hands up under Ruthie’s demitasse breasts. Her nipples were hard, foreshadowing her wetness. She surrendered herself to his groping.

Cupping her head in his right hand, Ben drifted his left hand down to her crotch, where he scooched her skirt up to fondle her naked cunt. He stroked her cleft with his middle finger until her clitoris rose and her moisture coated him. Still kissing her deeply, Ben drew his middle finger up to his nose where the scent of her heat could more fully intoxicate him. His cock raged inside his pantaloons. Ruthie yanked his pants down to free the struggling beast.

Instead of driving for an immediate insertion, Ben knelt before her and kissed her snatch through her clothing. This was a signal. Cunnilingus had become his habit of late. Ruthie liked it. Ben found the taste of her cunny honey to be rapturous.

Ruthie placed her foot upon his shoulder and raised her dress, exposing her saucy pussy. She was dripping wet. Her labia preened open and shut, fairly glowing. Ben moved in to lick at the split. He masturbated himself slowly as Ruthie roiled her hips in his face, kissing and nibbling at him, this time with her pussy. She left no spot uncreamed. Pussy juices formed droplets in his eyebrows. Standing aloft, she dragged her sphincter from his nostrils to his chin, where her pussy puckered up and French kissed his mouth, using her clit as a tongue. Then she hunched north and offered her asshole to his mouth.

Ben licked her prodigiously. Ruthie came just as prodigiously. Using two hands behind his head to guide him, Ruthie humped his face savagely each time her clitoral erections burst alive and she was drenched in the sunshine of her lust. So comprehensive were her orgasms that she was reduced to tears. Joyful tears, yes, along with involuntary, spastic pelvic circumlocutions.

When he felt he’d extracted the bulk of her stored energy, Ben stood, lifted her aloft and impaled her on his cock, carrying her like a baby. Fifteen seconds later a torrent of his jism flooded the ground at his feet. Ben’s nuts shriveled as he pumped surge after surge of jism into her pussy. Ruthie careened through yet another exuberant orgasm.

“WOW!! THAT WAS QUICK!! BENNY!! I THINK YOU’RE TRYIN’ TO BE LIKE ME!!”

It was Jake.

Ruthie shrieked. She hopped down off Ben’s dick, which bounced back up like a spring borne lever. He hadn’t finished coming. Weak spurtlets of jism bubbled from his cock even now.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT HERE, MAN?!??” Ben groused to his cousin.

“I come lookin’ for YOU, of course!! I knowed you wasn’t in the house or the barn, so I figured you’d be out here fuckin’! An’ I was right!! Ain’t this the nigger bitch we had the last time I was here? She put that Twist on you again, hey? I ain’t never seen you cum that fast!!!”

Jake began to disrobe as Ben pulled up his pants. Ruthie stood off to the side. Though her dress covered her breasts and genitals, she still used her hands to cover the wet spots their spillage caused in her raiment.

Ben noted Jake’s assumption of imminent familiarity. He wanted to fuck Ruthie.

“No, Jakie,” Ben said.

“What are you talkin’ about?” said Jake, continuing to disrobe.

“I said NO, Jake. This is mine. I ain’t sharin’ today.”

Jake paused, somewhat in shock. Ruthie paused, too. Her amazement exceeded Jake’s. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“No?” Jake repeated incredulously.

“No, I said.” Ben reiterated.

“But she’s right here!! She’s wet!! She’s good to go!! If you ain’t want me to have her pussy, at least let me git a good suckin’!!”

“I said NO. I meant NO. That’s it.”

“As many nigger bitches as I’ve hooked you up with, now you wanna hold back on me? WOW!! You think you know a guy!! And then….”.

“I’ll get you somebody else. Not her.”

Joy bubbled up in Ruthie’s heart.

“Are you….are you…stuck on this here nigger bitch?” Jake asked.

“I ain’t stuck on nobody. Put your clothes back on. I’ll git you a nigger. Just not her.”

“Aww, come on, Benny!! I’m all ready to go here!! Look! My dick is already hard.”

“I said NO.”

Ruthie raised her head up and looked Jake in the eye. She sauntered over to Ben and stood behind him. A white person had stood up to another white person on her behalf!! She was amazed. She’d never seen it happen before. Normally, these people were complete moral degenerates. Benny had just earned his pussy quota for the year.

Reluctantly, Jake stepped back into his pants. He puckered his lips up in disgust and frustration.

Then Ben performed an act that forever endeared him to the girl. He turned to her and kissed her on the mouth, right in front of his cousin. He even slipped her some tongue.

“Gon’ home now,” he said to her. “I’ll meet you out here again tomorrow. Same time. Without Mr. Nosey this time who, I’m sure, WILL BE GLAD TO STAY AT HOME.”

Ruthie smiled at Ben demurely before making a face at Jake and scampering off.

“What the FUCK was that?” Jake said after she’d gone.

“That was none-a your business. You shouldn’t-a come out here. I have some white women lined up for you and me. Ruthie ain’t ours. She’s mine.”

“Yeh, but…”

“’Yeh but’ nothing. I ain’t sharin’ her no more.”

“Aww, Benny! I had my dick all primed up for the Twist. You don’t have no white girls can do it like Ruthie can.”

“Annie can do it.”

“What?!?”

“Annie can do it. Ask her.”

“How do you know?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out. You want to git twisted up, ask Annie.”

The two boys made off thru the woods on the back route to the big house.

XXVIII.

Cum Puns

Later that same day Ben and Jake returned to the treehouse, this time accompanied by a pair of raven-haired beauties: Mary Lynn and Polly Lynn Bannister. The Bannister girls were a couple years older than the Leone boys. Their father Pete was a close friend of both Nathan and Hank Leone, so close that the Bannisters considered themselves blood cousins of the Leones. Pete brought his family up to attend the Leone Christmas celebration. They lived on a farm about twelve miles distant.

It was a crisp day. The sun shone brightly, but one could tell that the temperature would fall as soon as its warming rays melted over the horizon.

Each of the new arrivals rode up on horseback, picking their way thru the woods from the far meadow on the other side of the wood. Mary Lynn and Polly Lynn were skilled riders. They wore knee-high riding boots, tight slacks and smart waistcoats over their button-up blouses.

This venture started out as a lark, a ruse by which Ben and Mary Lynn bet on which of the four was the better horseman. They all mounted steeds and took off racing. This provided a plausible rationale for leaving the family celebration. Once out of sight they circled back up to the treehouse through the forest, where the foursome had more prurient machinations in mind.

“THIS is the treehouse you were telling me about, Benny?” observed Mary Lynn. “It sure don’t look like no hotel.”

She and her sister began unpacking riding blankets from beneath their saddles.

“It ain’t no hotel,” Ben retorted. “But it’s good enough for what WE need it for.”

“I dunno, Ben. It’s getting’ a little nippy out here. You sure you wanna do this?” Polly Lynn commented.

“YES I’M SURE. The longer we wait the colder it’s gonna get. Lemme help you, there. Grab aholt of these rungs. Like that. Yeah. Climb up there. Just like that. Come on now, Mary. It’s your turn.”

Jake looked at Ben with a leer. These were the white women Ben had promised earlier. Ben reminded Jake to retrieve his own riding blanket. After the girls were aloft, Ben and Jake climbed up. They found the girls standing in the treehouse in the midst of something of a sisterly tiff.

Their riding blankets were laid out neatly on the floor, but it was obvious that Polly didn’t want to be here. She complained about the accommodations and the temperature, which hovered in the mid-sixties and was dropping fast.

“We brought blankets of our own, Polly,” Jake interjected.

“I don’t care,” she retorted. “You might want to freeze YOUR hiney off out here. I certainly don’t.”

Mary Lynn felt differently. She was ready to get things going.

Mary Lynn sought to force the issue. She began to undress. The boys watched her expectantly. First her boots came off, then her waistcoat, then the riding pants, then the blouse. When she was down to just her skivvies and her girdle she stopped.

“Are you gonna make me do this alone?” she asked her sister.

Reluctantly, VERY reluctantly, Polly began to strip. Only then did Mary Lynn continue.

She took off her girdle to expose her tits. Jake and Ben noticed something strange, something not quite right about her naked form. Her tits were fine. Fabulous even. There was something else about her, something they couldn’t quite put their fingers on.

When Mary Lynn took off her bloomers that ‘something else’ became glaringly evident.

SHE’D SHAVED HER PUSSY BALD. Additionally, she had no underarm hair, no hair on her legs or forearms.

Neither Ben nor Jake had ever seen a grown woman shorn of pubic hair. Even their mothers had huge tufts of hair under their arms, as did their sisters, as did most of the ladies at church, as did all the women they’d fucked, including the black ones. It wasn’t culture, it was nature.

Mary Lynn’s bald cooch was a shocker.

“Can I have one of those blankets?” she asked.

Ben hurriedly shoved a blanket into her hands. She wrapped up in it and lay down atop her own thick riding blanket on the wooden floor of the treehouse.

Shortly, Polly Lynn stood naked before them, too. Except for her luscious tits, she too looked like a two-year old in a grown woman’s body. Not a hair to be found south of her eyebrows. She snatched Jake’s blanket and wrapped herself in it.

“Are you two gonna take your clothes off?” she remarked acerbically. “Because I can put my clothes back on and leave. I don’t need your dicks that bad. Let’s get this show on the road or go home!”

The boys began to undress hurriedly.

Ben and Mary Lynn had planned this thing so it was only natural that they bunk together. Polly Lynn would bunk with Jake, wholly unaware of his predilection for premature ejaculation. If she’d known, as she noted afterwards, she certainly wouldn’t have bothered to come (pun not intended).

Mary Lynn opened her blanket long enough for Ben to dive in. Then she wrapped him up in it to conserve heat. They began to fumble at each other’s genitals. Ben was amazed at the smooth, baby-like feel of her vulva. Mary Lynn’s cleft was cool, not syrupy warm as Ruthie’s pussy had been earlier. Her clit was a small bump, unlike Jannie’s red lobster claw.

Mary Lynn grasped Ben’s nuts. She was pleased to feel his penis expanding out of her palm and up the line of her wrist. She massaged her wrist against it and felt it thicken. She surreptitiously drew her hand up to her nostrils to smell him. Such curious wonder is common for persons unfamiliar with the sexual patterns of their partners.

“Ben?” she whispered.

“Yeah?” he replied.

“Your dick smells like it’s been in someone else’s pussy already today.”

“No, that’s not it. I ain’t washed him yet. That’s all it is.”

“Ben?”

“Yeah?”

“I know what pussy smells like. And it’s this.”

“That’s probably from the other day.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Mary Lynn took a big swipe of her own pussy and drew it up to Ben’s nostrils. Ben drew a whiff. Her pussy smelled as if she’d just stepped from a perfume bath.

“That’s what I smell like,” she said.

Then she offered her other hand up to Ben’s nostrils. Huge difference.

“And that’s what I smell like, too, but only a little off, because it’s not me, it’s somebody else, with your juice dripping out. I’m guessing Annie? Jannie?”

“No.”

“It’s not a nigger, is it? Because if it’s a nigger’s pussy I can’t let you ride up in my poo-nan. I cain’t abide nigger pussy. Just tell me it’s a white woman.”

“It is.”

“OK,” she said. “Oh, one more thing. I’m not going to suck her juices off your dick, if you don’t mind. I don’t mind sucking dick, you know, but it’s gotta be my juice. Or none at all.”

“Ummmm…OK.”

“But you can lick me, if you want. I’d like that.”

“How I know whose dick been up in your pussy today?”

“You don’t,” she replied.

She pushed his head up under the covers toward her hairless snapper.

Meanwhile Jake and Polly were getting right to it. Once wrapped in blankets, Jake tried to wrestle the naked girl into a standard, male-dominant, missionary position. Polly out-wrestled him. She straddled him, pressing her clit into his pubic mound while his arching dick missed her coochie and rode between her thighs and up the crack of her ass, where she trapped it in her butt cheeks. He could feel heat pouring from her pussy and her sphincter against the northern ridge of his shaft.

Polly waited for his move to withdraw such that he might choose an orifice. She really didn’t care which.

Instead, she felt a pulse between her legs, then a familiar wetness, another pulse and then an avalanche of sticky cream oozing from between her crack. He’d cum.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!?” she said aloud in amazement.

Jake was already drifting into delirium, borne into that murky realm by his spurting penis. Polly hadn’t even had time to give him the “Don’t cum in me” warning.

She looked over at Mary Lynn who also was fluttering into bliss under Ben’s oral ministrations.

“He came already!” Polly mouthed silently.

Mary Lynn didn’t see her. Her eyes were closed; her pussy was liquid with tongue. Polly could see the bulge of Ben’s body moving in sensual grooves beneath Mary’s blanket.

“MARY!!” Polly hissed aloud.

Mary Lynn opened her eyes groggily in surprise.

“HE CAME ALREADY!!” Polly repeated angrily.

Ben responded from beneath the blanket: “Yeah, he does that. Give him ten minutes and he’ll be ready to go again.”

He went back to servicing Mary Lynn’s cunt.

“BUT HE’S ASLEEP ALREADY!!” Polly snarled.

“GIVE HIM TEN MINUTES!” Ben barked back.

Polly stayed mounted atop Jake as his cock retreated. She felt his cum trickle down between her thighs to plop against his nuts and further still to the blanket below. She’d been only partially aroused in the first place. This cheap, boyish finish left her more angry than horny.

When Polly looked up again, Ben was mounted over her sister, missionary position, giving her the business. Mary Lynn’s calves were wrapped around his buttocks. She moaned gutturally with each driving thrust. Her pussy purred.

“How do I ALWAYS pick the wrong dick?” Polly asked rhetorically.

Ben didn’t know what to think of the smooth, natural sheen of Mary Lynn’s hairless cooch. It felt like a butt cheek fuck, no, a titty fuck. Where was that scrubbing washboard hairy friction he was used to? Where was the pubic grind? Where was the piquant stench of pussy musk? Mary Lynn’s bald pussy reeked of hoity-toity sterility. They weren’t fucking. They were making love.

She seemed to enjoy it well enough. Her cunt wasn’t very deep. She couldn’t accommodate his whole ten-inch cock. This fact alone bolstered his ego erect as Mary Lynn thrashed her clammy pussy up to receive his thrusts.

After Mary’s second orgasm, ‘making love’ became a chore for Ben. He wanted to fuck. Ben pulled out of her pussy and gave her head a tug south.

“Suck it, Mary Lynn,” he breathed callously. “That’s your pussy juices on there now.”

“Wait. Hold up. He ain’t cum yet?” Polly interjected from the blanket wrap next door.

“No, I don’t think so.” Mary Lynn replied as his cock loomed before her nostrils.

“Then get up and switch. You already came, Mary Lynn! I heard you. You take Mr. Deadwood here. I’ll take Benny. An’ we can finish up and be home before Mom and Dad miss us. Hurry now, don’t be selfish!”

At first, Mary Lynn was reluctant to yield her spot. Polly was obviously the dominant sister, just as Abby rode herd over Ben and Annie. Ignoring Mary Lynn’s indecision, Polly was already squeezing her way into Mary’s blanket wrap before Mary made the move to switch out. By the time Mary Lynn slipped into Jake’s blanket, Ben was driving his penis into Polly from behind and wondering where her labial friction was, inasmuch as her pussy, too, was bald.

Mary Lynn sighed. She was happy. Two nuts in one day? Same guy? That was a good day any way you looked at it. And she wasn’t sloppy with jizz, too? Pisssh!! At least now Mary Lynn could brag to Annie about having entertained Ben’s cock.

She snuggled her head between Jake’s cheek and shoulder and tried to drift off to sleep. Polly was next door encouraging Ben to go harder. Mary listened to the persistent slap of Ben’s nuts thwacking against Polly’s vulva, skin on skin, muffled beneath their shared blanket. Polly was older. Her pussy was deeper, too. Ben’s nuts didn’t schmash against Mary’s ass like that. His thrusts left several inches of cock base exposed to the elements. Mary Lynn waited for them to finish.

She wondered how Ben could hold out for so long. Usually, the men she allowed to ease into her pussy came quickly, tantalized by the unique feel of her hairless pie. Ben did not. Strange.

It had been Polly who’d coerced Mary to shave her pussy. She’d read in some magazine that French women considered excessive body hair to be vulgar. Polly thought that bald pussies would enhance sexual relations. It would attract more and better quality men, maybe even some Frenchmen. It might even lead to marriage. The two sisters bought in to the European idea.

As Mary Lynn half considered this mishmash of rambling, run-on ruminations, she felt the first stirrings of a poke between her legs. Mr. Deadwood was coming awake. She looked down at Jake. His eyes were fluttering. He wasn’t fully awake, but apparently his dick was.

The poke became more pronounced as Jake’s dick sniffed out Mary Lynn’s pinkness. His erection rose like a bloodhound, zeroing in on her entrance. It parted her labia and continued rising into her vagina without assistance. Jake was unaware.

Mary Lynn waited until Jake’s cock extended to its full length inside her. He wasn’t as thick as Ben, or as long, but she wasn’t complaining. He still could fill her up. She eased down upon him until he reached bottom. She still couldn’t feel his pubic hair brushing against her pussy lips.

She closed her eyes and began to slowly masturbate herself using his penis as a fob. Since Jake wasn’t awake, his only contribution to their lovemaking was a cock stiffened by its mania for the glorious scent of pussy. Mary Lynn scooted up on her elbows and knees so that her weight wouldn’t awaken the boy. Only her puffy pink poon roiled Jake’s dick in lush pelvic circlets. Maybe, just maybe, she could manage a third tumultuous devolution into the lavish world of fuck craze before Ben finished with Polly.

Now both Bannister sisters were filled with Leone dick. As children, their parents hoped they might eventually get together with the Leone boys as grownups and so join their families in kinship. They couldn’t imagine both daughters being fucked rawdog on the floor of an open-air treehouse. For that matter, they couldn’t imagine the Leone boys having regular incestuous relations with their own sisters. Both these unimaginable childhood scenarios eventually came to pass.

Ben pulled his penis from Polly’s pussy and plunged it up her pooper. Ass feels like ass, tight and unyielding. It’s supposed to be bald, no fur cushion needed, just the bouncy buffer of the buttocks.

Ass is also not sterile; ass smells like ass.

Once firmly ensconced inside her behind, Ben’s gasping cock heaved a sigh of relief. It bloomed anew. Polly’s ass smelled like a normal ass. Shaven pussy smells like lye soap; no, it has a non-odor that a seasoned cock finds disconcerting. A fuckable pussy needs to either stink with sweat or bubble with sunshine. Good pussy does not smell of bald, bland indifference. A dick needs to know a pussy is THERE. Jake’s rising dick only ferreted out Mary Lynn’s scent because Ben’s dick had already elicited her deeper juices. A normal woman’s pubic hair is redolent of these. Pubic hair fosters the ethereal feminine pheromones a normal dick longs to savor.

Ben’s decision to take the southern route rejuvenated his flagging penis. He came inside Polly’s ass violently, then waited for his seed to percolate down and saturate her labia before turning her over to have a missionary go at her pussy. This time her aroma was more palatable to his discriminating penis. It sniffed her out and hardened accordingly. Shortly after, he was back at the bottom of her pussy, churning up her pudding.

Polly, who’d had real reservations about this rendezvous, now was glad she’d come (pun intended). She climaxed in waves as Ben humped her, matching him thrust for thrust. They crashed into one another with an animalistic zeal that belied Polly’s haughty European “bald pussy” underpinnings. When they finally merged into synchronicity, Polly’s scream of completion was heard over in the slave quarters.

“Ooooooh!! You hear that? You heard it? Somebody doin’ de nasty out in de woods!!” laughed young Mattie to her playmates. “It sound like a CRACKUH!!”

“Nuh-Unnh!!”

“Yuh-Hunh!!!”

A group of black children ran down to the fenceline to see if they might catch the offending fornicators in the act.

XXIX.

Self Lovin’ 1

As the big house filled with Leone relatives and friends, Sandra Jean was the only person who kept a room to herself. Her little attached bedroom, never too big to begin with, barely had enough room for one. She benefited by being partially black. None of the white Leone’s would agree to sleep in her bed. Otherwise, she may have gotten the boot.

Sandra accepted this reality with a wan smile.

“I might wouldn’t want to sleep in my own bed after one of them slept in it, anyway.”

It was cold outside. Sandra snuggled up under a thick quilt. She shivered until her body heat, radiating inside the quilt, warmed her little cocoon. She could hear the mumbled voices of the white Leone’s thru the thick logs of the big house, laughing and celebrating. Despite their shortcomings, they were a close family. They loved one another. Only the smidgen of Negro blood in her veins kept her separate from the revelers on the other side of the wall.

When Sandra’s cocoon warmed sufficiently, she rolled over onto her back. It was time to perform.

She allowed her imagination to drift aloft into a dream world of her own making, a world wholly apart from the dreary reality of slavery on a farm.

In her mind’s eye she saw herself naked at the spring, performing her water dance in the crytstalline depths, worshiping at the feet of Creation. She was weightless, angelic in aquatic ballet, golden, beautiful, more a whisper of nature than an appendage of same. Her curly hair drifted angelically from her scalp and her pubic triangle. A beatific light proceeded from her body. And all God’s creation applauded her performance with song.

She essayed a triple back flip, gracefully drawing her right foot up to her left knee and sweeping end over end, using her hands as rudders. She dribbled air bubbles from her nostrils to maintain neutral buoyancy; otherwise the air pockets in her capacious lungs would force her to drift aloft.

Sandra rolled into an Iron Cross, in which she formed her body into a crucifix, arms extended perpendicular to her torso, toes arrowed straight down. She held herself rigid in this position, body angled at sixty degrees from the vertical, until the weight of her muscular frame superceded her lift and she began to founder.

From here she jackknifed into a triple forward header, rolled upright, then quivered her ankles together in a powerful soubresaut that rocketed her skyward. A full moon illuminated the glade. Sandra could see it glimmering directly above the surface of the spring as she ascended. When she breached the surface she pirouetted, drew a full breath and slid back into her worship in the depths.

Something caught her eye. Something above was out of place.

Sandra abandoned her dance. She trickled to the surface, breaching without causing a splash whisper, eyes fully open, focused on a shoreline shadow.

There!

A man stood where no man ought. Sandra subsumed the urge to flee. Who was it?

It was a black man in a smart soldier’s uniform, carrying a long rifle. He stood at attention, as if guarding Sandra’s private dance from intruders. Sandra thought she might recognize him. She frogkicked her way to shore.

Sandra emerged from the shallows like a stalking water cat, soundless, intense. Her uniformed sentinel had not moved, nor was he startled at her onset. She crept up to him in her nakedness. Water beaded from her golden skin as if from wax. She approached him in angles. At any moment she was poised to spring away into the safety of the pond. He made no move toward her, spoke no sound.

It was Charlie. She did know him after all.

She straightened and strode to face him. The faintest trace of a smile flickered across his lips.

“And have you come to worship with me?” she asked.

“I am,” he replied.

“You cannot worship in this garb,” she intoned.

“I am aware,” he replied.

Sandra stepped back. Charlie lay down his rifle. He unhooked his soldier’s cap, unbuttoned his coat, stepped out of his boots. He folded his clothing neatly on the shoreline. Soon, he was as naked as she.

“Come,” she said.

He followed her into the inky depths. They frogkicked out to the center of the spring pausing to ventilate their lungs. Charlie knew what to do. Sandra didn’t have to coach. He took her hand. They jack-knifed in tandem and slid into the maw of darkness, with only the silvery moonlight as witness.

Once submerged, they danced synchronously, mirroring each move perfectly, each feathery flicker signifying a point of worship, as if in oneness they offered up praise.

This Charlie had no problems with oxygen deprivation. They danced for five minutes, eight, even ten before slithering to the surface for air. Charlie even took the lead in their dancing, demonstrating precise moves for her to mimic.

A great warmth enveloped her. Her body began to shimmer with light, as did his, such that the darkness around them receded and only a core of lambent illumination remained. They were fireflies of the blackness. They could see the creatures of the deep at the edges of their glow looking on in wonder.

Now a new factor became evident. Sandra could see that her partner was aroused. His penis bulged like a lever from its position between his legs. Yet he didn’t have that glazed, catatonic leer that overwhelms men when their penises are depriving their brains of oxygenated blood. His look remained angelic, as if this erection were merely a natural by-product of their worship.

Sandra swam to face him. They drifted at mid-spring, neither rising nor sinking. They’d achieved symbiosis with the weight of water.

Sandra took his penis and slipped it into her vagina as if clicking a key into a lock. She wrapped her ankles around his calves.

And so they fucked, glowing bodies, weightless, enthralled by true mating dance of the spirit driven. His penis fit her perfectly. Charlie’s opulent insertions wafted them aloft like a pair of conjoined jellyfish drifting with the tide. She draped her arms around his neck and kissed him luxuriantly.

They were one.

Sandra stroked her clitoris erect through this portion of her nightly fantasy. Her curly pussy was sticky wet. More, Sandra’s womanly aroma resonated silkily under the trapped heat of her quilt. She drew her fingers to her lips and took a lavish lick.

In the next instant, without any logical segue, Sandra and Charlie were fucking righteously atop his soldier’s uniform at the water’s edge. In this vision their romantic interlude dissipated before another, less tender, vision of sexual intercourse. She and Charlie attacked each other like animals. They fucked with the savage energy of pack dogs, in which the strongest dog, Charlie, won out and was taking out his aggression on his prize, Sandra, as her numerous defeated suitors mewled and whined about, humping the air to alleviate unsatiated sexual tension.

He fucked her face to face, each of them snarling, biting lips and tongues, groping and howling. He fucked her from behind, slamming his thickness into both her holes as her head snapped back and forth under the impetus of his powerful thrusts. He fucked her standing up, with one of her ankles balanced on his shoulder and the other balancing her body, tippy-toe, on the ground. He ate her pussy, attempting to drive his head fully into her pinkness. Why not? He didn’t need air. He could hold his breath for ten minutes. He turned her body upside down to lick her pussy while she sucked his dick, flickering his ankles to express his level of arousal. She could feel the tip of his nose sniffing her asshole as he probed her vagina with his tongue. He hoisted her aloft and fucked her face to face again, with her ass spread wide and the crooks of her knees resting in his arms. He shoved his cock down her throat and fed her with his semen. His penis dripped with an endless supply.

Sandra came time and again under the intensity of these erotic visions and the expertise of her vibrating middle finger. She had a dildo that she employed on occasion. Once she got past the jellyfish fantasy, however, she often found it an inconvenient reach. If the dildo wasn’t already handy, Sandra’s own exuberant visions served just as well. She often ended these masturbatory diversions by fisting herself. Hence, the dildo was, just as often, extraneous.

Some nights Sandra fainted while masturbating. She awakened many mornings to find her small fist wedged firmly up her cunt.

XXX.

The Miscegenationists

Ben and Jake weren’t the only Leone’s finagling to bust their nuts extravagantly during the holidays. The young female Leone’s, led by Abigail Harkness, also conspired to envelope themselves in dick. Not surprisingly, Abby’s dick suppliers of choice ran counter to her own race. Her sister and cousins just had to tag along for the ride.

A cold Louisiana pre-Christmas morning gave way to a warm, sunny afternoon. Ben left Jake, Wilson and Jameson to meet up with Ruthie at the treehouse, as he’d planned. The Leone girls took this opportunity to nance along down to the spring. They packed some blankets and a picnic basket full of cold fried chicken and biscuits.

“We’re not going swimming,” Abby told to her parents. “We just need to get out of the house. It’s crowded!!”

Abby, Annie, Janice, Mary Lynn and Patrice cobbled off on a day walk. Polly Lynn opted out. Buck and Jake offered to go along “as protection”, but Abby insisted it be a ‘girls only’ affair.

“We can handle ourselves,” she said.

She felt that if she made a bigger deal about it, her husband might sneak after her and ruin her plans. She kissed him as reassurance of her fidelity.

“I’ll be back,” she drawled.

Of course, Abby knew that Blue and Charlie were already down at the spring. The holiday season applied to the slaves also. Harvest was over. After the morning roll call, no one kept much track of where the niggers went.

There weren’t any guarantees that Abby’s little troupe wouldn’t be followed, however. Abby forced the girls to draw straws to determine which of them would forfeit dick mount and serve as lookout. Annie drew this duty.

“DAMMIT! DAMMIT!! DAMMIT!!!!” she loudly complained. “Jannie, swap out with me after you git yours. PLEASE?? PRETTY PLEASE???”

“Nope. No way.”

“Patrice?” Annie wheedled.

“Are you nuts? HELL no.”

“Mary Lynn?”

“Annie, I would but…. Lemme see how it goes.”

Annie knew better than to ask this favor of Abby. Abby hadn’t even bothered to pull a straw. She was going to get some dick regardless of the outcome of the dick lottery.

Annie pulled a book from the picnic basket along with several pieces of chicken.

“Can I at least go down there with you and see the nigger’s dick?”

Annie was referring to Blue. Janice and Abby had been extolling Blue’s virtues.

“You can come look, but then you gotta git back up the path,” Abby decided. “Jannie, you do the lookout until she gits her eyeful. You’ve already seen his dick, anyway.”

Blue and Charlie weren’t the only blacks waiting at the spring. Isaac was there as well. The three of them had been bonding as siblings since Meshach’s surprise announcement of Blue’s paternity.

Charlie showed Blue around the Leone farm. He brought him up to speed on the various inter-relationships extant, told him about who was fucking whom, warned him about who was a rat and who could be trusted. He told Blue what he knew about Masters Nathan and Hank. Blue was most surprised to learn that his half-sister Ruthie was fucking Bennett Leone of her own accord.

“You let her do that?” he asked Charlie.

“Ain’t up to me. She grown.” Charlie responded.

“She yo’ SISTER,” complained Blue.

“All dem women you fucked got brudders, too.”

“Poppa know ‘bout it?”

“I don’ think so. He know she sneak out at night. He don’ know wit’ who.”

“So tell me about dis Annie. Dis muh’fug’in Ben dickin’ MY sister, I might’s well dick his’n.”

Blue was already taking his eldest sibling responsibilities seriously.

“You done already dicked his sister. Abby. Remember?” Charlie reminded him.

“Oh. Yeah. Fo’got ‘bout dat. She here?”

“You ain’t recognized her when she come up?”

“Does you know how many womens I fucks? I cain’t keep track ‘o all ‘um.”

“She de one axed us to meet her down here!!”

“Dat ‘uz her?”

Charlie shook his head in disbelief.

Abby and her charges came marching up shortly after lunchtime. Charlie, Blue and Isaac were seated on the sward across the spring. The women would have to skirt the perimeter of the entire spring to reach them, unless they swam. Also, the men were on an exposed bank. Anyone could see them from a distance.

“Charlie!!” Abby called out. “Meet us over on the other side!!”

She pointed to the halfway point, a sheltered culvert hidden from view by the grassy sward. The sward was actually the bank of a wooded peninsula projecting out into the spring proper. Behind it was a deeper spring. Beyond that was the hidden culvert.

The three black men stood and moved off in the direction of the new rendezvous point.

As might be expected, Mary Lynn, Patrice and Annie were excited about the prospect of seeing Blue naked. Abby and Jannie had exaggerated his proportions to the point where the three newbies expected to see a soft dick that skirted his ankles, a dick they could suck while standing up, a dick that Blue himself could suckle without bending his head. Charlie’s twelve-incher was no longer the farm’s standard bearer.

Plus, Blue was a grown man. He was older than Abby. Up to now, the girls had been fucking boys they’d grown up with, boys whose penises they’d ogled and toyed with as youngsters, boys who’d been their contemporaries. Blue was a generation up from Ben and Charlie and Jake and even Abby, to a certain extent. Blue represented a rite of passage.

“I’m gon’ wet up his stump. You watch me,” Abby vowed.

The girls giggled in anticipation of seeing a monster’s monster cock. It had been decided that Abby would have the first go at him. Jannie would finally get her chance to fuck Charlie and then graduate to Blue after Abby finished. The other girls would wait their turns.

Upon seeing Isaac, however, Patrice and Mary Lynn jockeyed childishly for position.

“I got first dibs!!” they each shouted in unison.

“JINX!!!” shouted Patrice.

Mary Lynn’s ‘jinx’ rejoinder was a tad late. Not only did Patrice get dibs on Isaac, she earned the right to knuckle punch Mary Lynn in the arm for free or, failing that, Mary Lynn had to remain silent until another ‘jinx’ was announced. Mary Lynn didn’t bother to try the “double jinx” gambit. It only led to the inevitable “infinity of infinities jinx” rejoinder and an argument without end. Mary Lynn accepted her knuckle punch graciously.

Now today’s lineup was set.

As had been previously agreed, Annie sauntered up to the meeting with the black men specifically so that she might get a look at Blue’s cock. Then the agreement held that she would return to a strategic spot on the path from where she might warn the miscegenationists of any intruders. Jannie hung back in her stead.

The white women came up and immediately began laying out blankets on the ground. They paid the black men scant attention. Abby supervised.

“Overlap that one, Patrice. No, a bit more than that. Things might get a little hectic. I don’t want to feel grass against my ass. Now. Pull that one up a bit. Spread out that lump. MASH IT DOWN. Yeah, mash it. Like that. Good.”

Annie set the picnic basket off to the side.

“Shouldn’t we eat first? What if the ants come?” she offered.

“You eat. I came out here for some dick.” Abby snipped.

Annie took out a chicken thigh and began to nibble it contentedly. Mary Lynn pulled out a wing. Since neither of them had any immediate prospect of dick, they weren’t in any hurry to arrange the bedding.

Abby looked upon the malingerers with disgust.

“Blue, pull your dick out so Annette can take her chicken and leave,” Abby ordered while still laying out blankets.

Blue just looked at her stupidly. He wasn’t here to participate in any dog and pony show with these youngsters. Abby noticed his reluctance.

“Well? Go on. SHOW HER.” Abby demanded.

Blue looked to his brothers. They’d never seen his elephant trunk penis, either. Charlie and Isaac shrugged noncommittally.

Never shy about his cock, Blue casually untied his pantaloons, stooped a little and pulled them to the ground.

His cockbase appeared first, a huge, rounded lump protruding from the southern vortex of his torso. Next, his thick golden shaft came into view, fat and muscular, thoroughly invested with bluish purple veins. As his pantaloons drifted further south, Blue’s shaft dangled further and further down the line of his thighs, past the twelve-inch mark, past the mark any of the attendees thought possible. His dick seemed to lumber earthward forever. When his pantaloon waistband reached his knees, Blue’s uncircumcised cockhead finally came into view, shrouded atop his cockhead like a wasp’s nest. His flaccid cock was easily as long as a grown man’s forearm. His cockhead was as thick as a fist.

Annie gasped both in fear and admiration.

“Wow!”

Charlie and Isaac looked at each other in amazement.

“Wow,” they repeated in unison.

Abby sailed in.

“OK, now you’ve seen it, Anne. Git along with you. Go git Jannie. If he’s still hard when we git done with him you can try him. Otherwise, you may have to wait until another day.”

“Can you get that thing up in your poochie?” Annie asked, ignoring Abby’s orders.

“YES. I can. An’ so can Janice. It’s you that has the teeny tiny tooncey. Now do what I told you to do. GON’, now. GON’ on.”

Annie began to move back up the trail, slowed by her fascination with Blue’s elephant trunk.

“Charlie, you and Ike take off your clothes, too. We ain’t got all day.”

It was as if she’d already forgotten Annie’s presence.

“Patrice, if you want, you can take Charlie until Jannie comes up. Don’t make him cum or she’ll be mad. Mary Lynn, that leaves you with Ike.”

Abby began to disrobe. The other white girls took her cue. Soon everyone in the culvert stood naked, except for Mary Lynn, who still wore her bloomers.

“Come on, Mary Lynn, hurry up. You ain’t got nuttin’ everybody here ain’t already seen,” Abby said.

“I…I…kinda do.” Mary Lynn responded.

She pulled her drawers down and stood naked before them.

For the second time that day, everyone present gasped in awe. Mary Lynn’s pussy was bald. Blue’s dick, Charlie’s dick and Isaac’s dick all leapt to attention at the sight. None of them had ever seen a bald pussy, except on the under-aged, not even in a European magazine. It was as if an invisible silk cord drew their erect penises in a direct psychic line to Mary Lynn’s shaven pussy.

“What…the…fuck…!” Abby stared.

“You…shaved your pussy?” Patrice asked incredulously. “WHY?!?”

Before Mary Lynn could answer, Blue made a move for her. He snatched her up, yanked her legs apart and splayed her out on the blankets.

“Wait!! Blue!! It’s not her turn!! It’s MY turn!!” exclaimed Abby.

Too late.

Even as Abby spoke, Blue was using his dick to wedge Mary Lynn’s pussy lips apart.

“BLUE!!!” Abby shrieked in frustration.

Thinking quickly, Patrice grabbed Charlie and mounted him. It was obvious that Abby would turn to his twelve-incher after Mary Lynn widened enough to accept Blue’s penis. Patrice used Charlie’s cockhead to waggle her internal lubrication about her labia, then rushed him inside her pussy, twirling herself down upon him with reverence. She wanted to be fully engaged when Abby realized that young Ike was the only option left.

Blue was having trouble getting his dick inside Mary Lynn’s cunt. Their circumferences just didn’t match. It was like trying to fit a big round peg into a small round hole. Seen head on, Blue’s thickness blocked Mary Lynn’s entire vulva from view. Her opening just wasn’t wide enough to accept his cockhead.

Spreading her legs wide and using her thumbs for guidance, Mary Lynn peeled her pussy lips out of his way, off to the side, into the valley created by her thighs on either side of her vulva. His cock was so thick it tended to pull her labia into her pussy with it.

She wanted to feel him inside her, wanted to know that she had the capacity to fuck with the big dogs. Each time he probed forward, however, the pained look on Mary Lynn’s face told him that there just wasn’t enough grease on the axle.

“Blue!! I’m right HERE!!!” Abby whined, pointing to her vastly more capacious pussy.

Blue struggled to push inside Mary Lynn’s bald pussy, however. This was a brand new experience for the Cunt Master. If he could ever fit even his pud into her he was sure he would cum with the explosive force of a cannon.

“Hold on, Blue,” Mary Lynn suggested.

“Thank GAWD,” thought Abby. She mistakenly thought Mary Lynn was giving up.

Blue backed off. His cock raged to get back at Mary Lynn’s tight, little pussy.

Then Mary Lynn performed an act that became legend in the annals of the Leone fuck wars. Using her hands to lift up her buttocks, Mary Lynn foisted her cunt up into the air from below, doubling herself over. Then she leaned forward, inch-by-inch, drawing her face closer and closer to her vagina, until the two finally met on more-than-friendly terms.

With that, Mary Lynn began to lick her own pussy.

“WHAT…THE…FUCK!!!” Abby cried.

“DAMN!! LOOK AT DAT!!!” said Blue, who thought he’d seen it all.

Patrice and Charlie paused in their strident penile manipulations to watch.

Isaac began to masturbate over the self-licking white girl.

It was obvious that this wasn’t Mary Lynn’s first foray into double-jointed cunnilingus. She licked herself with an efficiency that bespoke long years of practice. She found her spots expertly. Soon, not only was her clitoris bulging from its restraints, her pinkness gleamed wide and sticky. Her perky little naked cunt bubbled with froth.

Five minutes in to this awkward self-attention, Mary Lynn nodded to Blue.

“Try to put it in now, Blue,” she invited. Sweat beaded her forehead.

Blue nudged up between her legs gingerly. He could see hundreds of small, pink nodules set against her white skin, empty hair shafts that Mary Lynn had shorn from her vulva with a straight razor. He gripped his shaft with two hands the pointed it into her gleam. Amazingly, this time his fat cock slipped inside. She engulfed his cockhead, then three inches of shaft, then four. But that’s as far as he could get. Widening a pussy does not equate to deepening one.

Blue eased back, allowing her pussy to roil his foreskin up and over his pudenda. Now he pushed forward slowly, this time allowing her pussy to sensually stretch his foreskin. He withdrew again. Ecstasy percolated up from his loins.

“BLUE!! DON’T DO IT!! NOT YET!!” cried Abby.

He pressed forward. Mary Lynn quivered expectantly. Like an inexperienced novice, Blue’s jism spilled into Mary Lynn’s shaven pussy, slathering her with cream. His body quaked with relief. It was the quickest orgasm he’d experienced since his early teens.

Mary Lynn’s legs were splayed out perpendicular to her body. Though she was greatly aroused, she didn’t cum along with Blue. He’d cum too quickly.

Mary Lynn was comforted that she’d been chosen by the Cunt Master and taken his best shot—with a little help from her tongue. That ought to earn her some bragging rights.

Blue slumped over her. After a few minutes her tight pussy became a torment, almost a tourniquet. With some effort he withdrew from her cooch. His tremendous dick was limp again, dribbling jizz from its opening. Mary Lynn had one more card to play.

“Wait, Blue. Watch this!!” she called.

She doubled over again and began to lick his semen from her cunt, all the while looking him in the eye, using her pussy muscles to push out a voluminous pool of his jism. She lapped it up, allowing it to dribble from her tongue. It was a bold move. Blue’s penis quivered alive at the sight.

“Oh, NO you don’t.” Abby barged in. “Not again. IT’S MY TURN!!!”

Abby lay back on the blankets, pulling Blue atop her using his cock as a tug rope. She manipulated his drained cock to her entrance and stuffed it inside, using her fingers.

“He might not be fully hard NOW,” she thought. “I’ll get him there, damn these thievin’ hoes.”

Isaac knelt before Mary Lynn and slipped his cock into her overflowing pussy. Apparently, he didn’t mind sloppy seconds.

After some minutes, Jannie finally came wandering up. She found what she expected to find: three fucking couples, one of whom’s dick was rightfully hers. She had no clue about Mary Lynn’s cunnilingual gymnastics, nor could she see Mary Lynn’s hairless pie. Ike’s ass obstructed her view. His dick plumbed her hole.

“Come on, Patrice, get up. I’m here now.” Jannie said with authority.

It was her turn. Mary Lynn was fucking Patrice’s partner. That left Treecey ass out. Jannie didn’t really care what Patrice did as long as she freed up Charlie’s dick for duty. Jannie hoped that Charlie wasn’t already ready to cum. She wanted the full measure of his attention, excepting the jizz-in-pussy part.

“FUCK that shit,” she mused. “Hard dicks are easy enough to come by; he’ll rise up again soon enough. I don’t need any more of Auntie Griot’s stinky ‘poosy lotion potion’.”

Patrice dutifully disengaged from Charlie’s dick. They’d been tooling along at plateau. Not too fast; not too slow. She had a good pussy high going, so she was mellow, going with the flow. Wasn’t there another available dick around here? Sure there was. She went over and lay down next to Mary Lynn. She opened her legs.

“Come on over when you’re ready, Ikey!” she whispered. Her pussy high made her more amenable to altruism.

Meanwhile, Jannie shed her clothing and was squatting over Charlie’s dick. The last time they’d been down to the spring together she’d missed the opportunity to fuck him. Her reticence to cross the racial boundary left major dick on the table.

Since then she’d come to terms with her pussy’s strident demands for seizure. She’d fucked Isaac. She’d fucked Blue. She’d beaten back the nigger taint and an unexpected pregnancy. It was time that she and Charlie exchanged genitalia ambassadorships. Good relations required such protocol. Besides, Charlie was the only nigger in his family she hadn’t fucked.

“This completes the trilogy.”

Lying on his back, Charlie looked down the line of his body toward his feet. Between Jannie’s hanging pink breasts he saw Jannie’s big red pooncey hovering over his palpitating cock. Like any normal cock, his penis had sniffed out her heat and was seeking her opening. Jannie was looking down the line of her body, too, watching the cumbersome dance of their unmerged genitals. It looked like a game of Whack-a-Mole where she swayed her hips sensually, trying to snag Charlie’s cock between her labia, missing all too often. Charlie reached down to point his dick up into her. She slapped his hands away. She wanted to capture his erect penis in its wild, undomesticated state.

He could feel her silky bush caressing him softly when she missed. Each time his cockhead came close to her slit, electric currents ran up and down his shaft in wild, conical jags. Patrice’s fragrant pussy lotion already frayed and crackled along its length. It dried quickly in the air. In order to maintain his pussy high, he needed Jannie’s sticky warmth to envelope him.

Jannie caught Charlie’s dick on the nub of her giant clitoris after several abortive attempts. It wasn’t much of a purchase, but it was enough so that she might clasp him with her labia and scooch him inside. She swirled down upon him like cream into coffee.

“There it is,” she cooed to herself contentedly. “That’s it right there. Not too long, not too fat, not too skinny. This dick is just right.”

She quickly worked herself into a state of cock-induced euphoria.

From Charlie’s perspective, Jannie’s pussy was a long time coming. He’d always referred to her as Miss Prissy the Red. Though she’d been serving up pussy to Ben and Jake for years, she refused to play in the spring when blacks were present. According to Ben, she refused to talk about their ongoing sexual trysts, pretending such were illusory. When she’d finally agreed to attend an interracial fuckfest down at the spring, it had been Annie and Abby’s gargantuan orgasmic acrobatics that enticed her into the fray, not any pre-meditated lust for black dick.

Now she was mounted over him, grinding up and down on his cock with a will. Her tits flopped in his face. Had it been Blue who’d turned her out? Naturally, Blue had already given Charlie all the details of his autumn-long fuck sessions with Jannie. This same Blue was three feet away, sluicing sausage into her married cousin, Abigail Harkness.

“I’m gon’ cum in dis here pussy,” Charlie vowed. “I’m gon’ fill dis pussy UP.”

Jannie read his intentions.

“Don’t cum in my pussy,” she whispered breathlessly.

Charlie knew that she’d allowed Isaac and Blue and Ben to cum inside her.

“Why not?” he asked.

“Just…don’t,” she huffed between thrusts. “Tell me when…you’re…ready. I’ll suck you off”

Oh! A blowjob, thank you. From the girl who wouldn’t even splash in the same pond with him six months ago. Now all of a sudden she’s willing to gulp down his jizz.

OK. Fair enough.

Josephine McNulty’s only daughter Patrice was already a widow by age eighteen. Like her cousins, she’d begun her sexual career as a teenager. Unlike her cousins, she became pregnant. Her mother, upon being advised of the pregnancy, eschewed the Auntie Griot solution so popular with the region’s fornicating youth. She forced Patrice to get married as a fourteen-year-old, three months into the pregnancy. Patrice’s husband, Jackson Simmons, was only a year older.

Jackson and Patrice Simmons moved to Tennessee to be near Jackson’s family. They settled east of Memphis, where Jackson took employment in a wood mill. Their little family seemed to thrive. Two years later, however, Jackson was killed in a hunting accident. Patrice, never too fond of being away from her own family, decided to return to Louisiana. Her in-laws convinced her to leave her son, Jack Jr., with them in Tennessee. This decision, while tragic, was laced with a special irony. Jack Simmons Jr’s biological father was Jacob Leone of Louisiana, Patrice’s cousin.

Patrice moved back in with her parents. She mourned the loss of her son greatly. The loss of her husband? Not so much. The young pair fought often. Jackson had a murderous temper. The “killed in a hunting accident” story was a ruse. He’d been out hunting with friends, started drinking, got into a fight and was subsequently shot. His friends concocted the “hunting accident” story to cover their own asses.

On this sunny afternoon, seventeen months into her repatriation, Treecey Simmons lay naked on a blanket in a hidden culvert. Four feet away her cousin Janice was straddled across a black man. His large penis cruised in and out of her hairy cunt. Patrice could see Jannie’s crimson afro subsuming a cock that one might have thought it incapable.

Three feet beyond that an even bigger cock was plumbing Abigail Harkness’ trim punani. Abby strained to engulf it. Her eyes were squinched tightly shut. She ground her teeth together, snarling in determination. Even so, two or three inches of fat cock base remained dry. That cock’s owner, a slave named Blue, smirked as he fucked Buck Harkness’ wife with vulgar, liquid undulations of his lithe hips and deep chocolate-voiced recriminations. He looked Patrice in the eye as if to warn: “You’re next”.

Just next door, Mary Lynn Bannister was entertaining yet another black dick, spoon fashion. She held her right thigh aloft to expose access to her bald pie. Her black lover was mounted behind her. Both of them lay on their sides. Even though her lover wasn’t as well endowed as the other two men, he looked like he knew what he was doing. He tortured her with a Gatling gun patter before changing pace to roil her pussy for precision and depth, alternating these two sequences in tandem with Mary Lynn’s full-throated groans.

Patrice took a good long look at Mary Lynn’s dick-filled pussy. Not a pube to be found! She looked down at her own auburn snatch. It was thick and verdant, lushly evident of her Leone genes. Her armpits matched her poochipap in both grade and volume. Patrice hadn’t seen her own naked vulva since she was ten. She wondered what it would feel like to go bald down there.

There! Mary Lynn was coming yet again, her third gambol down the waterslide to ecstasy, catapulted there by Ike’s probing dick. Perhaps this time she would parole young Ike to perform inside Patrice’s patiently waiting poon. Patrice hoped so anyway. She was losing her high. She kept flicking her index finger southward to fan her flames.

“Not to be too pushy, but this IS my turn, you know,” she posited.

Mary Lynn seemed blithely unaware.

Patrice went back to scrutinizing Mary Lynn’s vulva. Bald!! Not even a nub!! Shouldn’t there be some peach fuzz, some five o’clock shadow, some nascent evidence of Mary Lynn’s brunette underpinnings? Mary Lynn must have shaved her pussy that very morning. But that would have been impossible!! They’d all been together. When did she have time? Patrice wondered at Jannie’s reaction when she finally noticed Mary Lynn’s shaven peach. Clearly, the girls had found that evening’s discussion topic.

AND THIS HEFFAH HAD LICKED HER OWN PUSSY!!! Let’s not forget THAT part!! Mary Lynn definitely had skills.

“If I could do that, I’d never leave the house,” Patrice said aloud to no one in particular.

Patrice considered her own bountiful vaginal thatch again. She ran her fingers down to splay open her cleft, peeling her labia back from her clit and into the curly tresses of her bush. It felt good. It felt better than good.

“Isaac, are you ready yet?”

She drew her fingers up to her nostrils. Nice.

“I wonder what Mary’s coochie smells like?”

It’s amazing what women think about while waiting to be serviced.

Patrice sat up and tried to replicate Mary Lynn’s move. She rolled up her hips, straining to smash her pussy and her face together. Her backbone refused to accommodate.

“Shit.”

Isaac pulled his cock out of Mary Lynn’s twat. She slumped over in exhaustion. He rolled over and leered at Patrice. His dick was still hard. It dripped with Blue’s semen.

“THANK GAWD!!”

Patrice roiled her hips invitingly.

Several feet away, Abby Harkness was totally exhausted. Try as she might, she couldn’t get Blue’s dick all the way up her puss. He’d forced open her cervix, as painfully unappetizing as that might sound, and two inches of cock base still remained unlaved by her clasping labia.

Abby strained to pull him yet deeper. Already the two of them were in agony. A cervix is an unrelentingly tight muscle designed to accommodate exiting babies, not invasive penises.

This was no longer about the joy of intercourse. This was about conquest.

Later that night when the Leone girls got together to gossip, Abby knew that Mary Lynn was going to be the talk of the farm. Abby had to admit that licking one’s own bald pussy was an impressive kudo. She wanted to be able to trump Mary Lynn’s fecundity with an accomplishment no woman in the area could claim: she’d deep-pussied Blue Jenkins, wet him to the bone.

To this end she made sure that all the other women present in the hidden culvert could hear her strident cries of fulfillment, could see the depths to which Blue’s cock had penetrated, could judge for themselves how wide Abby strained in order to accommodate him. The tension in her vagina hovered near the breaking point.

“One...MORE!!” Abby cried as she strove to pull him further into her uterus.

There it was! Another precious inch!! In her mind’s eye she could see Blue’s balls centimeters away from her preening pussy lips, just waiting to be kissed.

But not just yet. She’d never known this much fatigue. She had to rest for a few seconds to catch her bearings. HAD to.

This proved to be a mistake. Her cervix actively worked to expel the intruder. While Abby was resting she lost half the recent purchase she’d struggled so hard to gain.

Meanwhile Blue’s cock felt disgust at having to endure a second vaginal tourniquet in as many women. It softened noticeably. Whereas once his cock had been a ramrod of destruction, now it metastasized into a loofah of loaf, draining expansion blood back into his body as a natural reaction against the pain of constriction.

This proved to be good news and bad news. The good news was that Abby’s strangling cervix didn’t hurt him as much. The bad news was that he couldn’t probe forward. Abby’s womb found it much easier to expel a soft cock than a stiff one.

In the end, Abby’s cervix won. It routed the invader, forcing Blue’s dick back into the vaginal chamber from whence it had come. Too, his loss of tumescence enabled Abby to squeeze that last inch of cock base into her pussy and, in doing so, claim a victory of sorts. He was fully wet.

His return to her vagina proper reinvigorated him. His cock ballooned at finding its natural home and, so doing, forced his cock base out beyond the clasp of her labia. She would not be able to say she’d engulfed his entire erect penis. Though technically she’d wet him to the bone, she also had to admit that kudo came with an asterisk.

“Oh fuck.” Abby sighed with resignation.

“Yes’m,” answered Blue.

It took a moment for that sequence to register. When it did, Abby shook her head in frustration.

“Roll over,” she ordered.

Blue complied.

Now both she and Janice were mounted atop their steeds, fucking in unison. Janice was a lot further along, inasmuch as Abby had been fucking for conquest not completion. Jannie’s eyes were closed. She was drifting aloft in the murky nebula of pre-orgasm, that heady realm where fucking feels the best, that universe where the physicality of sexual intercourse makes the time and effort worthwhile.

Jannie hadn’t seen Blue’s dick disappear completely into Abby’s cooze. She wouldn’t be a reliable witness. Abby looked over at her cousin Patrice. Young Isaac was fucking her ragged. The sticky sound of their merging genitalia reverberated across the glade. She, too, would be unable to verify Abby’s successful consumption.

Mary Lynn? Ah, yes. Abby caught Mary Lynn’s eye. At least she’d been watching. Mary Lynn winked at Abby and nodded her approval.

“Good,” Abby thought. “Mary will back me up.”

Abby returned to massaging her pussy up and down the length of Blue’s cock.

When she sensed that Charlie was ready to cum, Jannie bounced off his cock and took it into her mouth. She was serious about the Non-CuminPussy Rule.

“Look at Treecey over there. She’s drippin’ with Isaac’s baby juice an’ she already has a baby up in Tennessee that she don’t see. ‘Bout to git another one, I reckon.” Jannie mused.

It was true. One could see Isaac’s semen flooding out over Patrice’s buttocks. He’d paused for a moment or two to effect delivery, but went right back to straight fucking her a minute later. Patrice made no effort to limit his access. She fucked him as if she hadn’t had any dick in days, at least not since the night before last, when both Ben and Jake had slipped her some salami up in the barn.

“They wouldn’t have to tell ME twice, I betcha THAT much,” said Jannie.

Her visit to Auntie Griot had been the most humiliating experience of her young life. She planned never to repeat it. To that end, she reckoned that semen was a dish best served orally. It was too dangerous a medium south of her navel.

Charlie’s penis pulsed angrily before her face. She gripped it in both hands, noticing its chocolate black contrast against her white skin. His urethra quivered open and shut like a lurking lamprey. Any second now his ejaculate would blossom forth. She wondered whether there would be a short eruption followed by a mammoth second spurt or whether the first spurt would be decisive, followed by increasingly smaller discharges? As soon as she got it into her mouth she’d find out.

“This dick smells like poochipap.”

It did. Jannie’s sloppy froth coated him from stem to stern. It curdled on his shaft in foamy effervescence stirred up by their strident mating. As far as dicks go, it only lacked the smell of her ass to make it fully succulent. Jannie reckoned she could do without that last bit.

His cock lingered the full length of her face from her chin to her crown. Starting at his base, she luxuriated her nose up and down its length as if appreciating a fine wine.

Charlie was becoming anxious. He needed a vessel in which to spill his seed. Jannie was taking too long.

“Put…put it in, Miss Jannie. I’se…I’se ready.”

Jannie engulfed his pud in her mouth and strained forward, past his helm and down onto his shaft. She held him there. Charlie’s jism fired into her mouth, filling it completely. Jannie swallowed his spew. His second spurt was identical, filling her mouth to the choke point before Jannie gulped it down. His third and fourth spurts were not as comprehensive, but still representative of his ardor. She swallowed these as well. Jannie massaged his nuts sinfully to ensure that she received the full heft of his yield. Semen dripped from her sensual pink lips. It dribbled down her chin. She looked Charlie in his eyes without bothering to wipe his seed away.

Charlie keeled over, stricken. His first visit to Jannie’s southern honey pot and his subsequent journey down her northern piehole had been agreeably memorable. Isaac had warned him. This Jannie was something else!!

Jannie licked Charlie’s semen away from her face. She used her index finger to shovel those jism dollops beyond her tongue’s reach into her mouth. Then she sucked the residual cum from her finger.

Jannie was pleased. She’d put her man out of commission on their first go. That was something she’d be able to brag about later. Her burn remained unquenched, however. Charlie had failed to bust her nuts, despite Annie’s assurances that he would.

“If he don’t bust your nuts, you ain’t got no nuts to bust.”

Jannie noticed that Patrice and Abby were still fucking clamorously. Blue was pounding Abby’s snatch from below; she still straddled him. The pair reminded Jannie of a rodeo bronco tossing its rider into the air, except Blue’s cock was so long that Abby never fully disengaged. Occasionally Jannie could see his pud pausing briefly at Abby’s furry entrance before he fired another thunderous jolt the full length of her twat. Abby’s flying body crashed back down onto his nuts each time he rocketed her aloft.

Abby’s eyes rolled up into her eyelids. She came repeatedly. Like a dazed rodeo rider who has hung on just a bit too long, she was looking for the off ramp.

“Blue. Let her up,” Jannie asked.

Blue ignored her

“BLUE!! LET HER UP!” Jannie ordered again.

Blue slowed. Abby rolled over onto her back, fucked into a hazy oblivion. Her legs were open. Steam fizzled listlessly from her cunt.

“What in the hell is wrong with you?” Jannie chastened as she took Abby’s place atop Blue’s penis. The newly conjoined couple quickly moved into bronco-busting mode.

Jannie’s last comment before blasting off was a warning about despoiling her pussy with jizz.

“Don’t cum in my pussy. I’ll suck you off,” she said.

When Annie came screeching up into the hidden culvert she found Blue mounted over Jannie from behind, Abby and Charlie reprising their “don’t hump, just squeeze” session from the barn, standing up. She found Isaac fucking Mary Lynn up the ass. Treecey Simmons was tonguing Isaac’s balls.

“HUMP YOURSELVES!! SHOVE!!!” Annie cried. “BUCK AND JAKE ARE COMING!!!”

She didn’t need to say anything more. The black men hurriedly rousted themselves from whichever orifice they’d been plowing, threw on their clothing and disappeared into the woods. The white women scampered about, pulling on clothing, flicking away semen and primping their hair. They had to re-arrange the blankets to make their positioning seem innocent and random. They had to turn the blankets over to disguise the wet spots, too. These reversals turned up errant grasses, sticks and leaves from the ground, so the blankets had to be flushed and beaten clean with fists.

By the time Buck and Jake walked up, all five women were sitting demurely on clean blankets, fully clothed, eating chicken and biscuits, gossiping and giggling loudly. Ripe fannies covered those random areas where jism soaked through. With the exception of Annie’s and Jannie’s fannies, each of those punanies leaked from every cranny.

“See? I told you,” said Buck.

Jake wasn’t so easily deceived.

“Annie, you seen us coming. Why’d you run?”

Annie was prepared for this question.

“I ain’t see’d you. I seen a snake. That’s why I run.”

“You seen a snake. At Christmastime. In the daytime?” Jake probed.

“Aint’t that what I just got done sayin’?”

“Well, why’d y’all come all the way back here where no one can see you? Why you ain’t just picnic up on the near bank?”

“’Cause maybe we ain’t wanted no busybodies interruptin’ us, you ever think of that? Niggers come down here all the time.” Abby interjected.

“That’s why we come,” said Buck. “It’s several niggers Papa Nathan is lookin’ for an’ cain’t be found. We came to make sure YOU ain’t found ‘em.”

“Really? Who?”

“It’s Shaddy’s boys, includin’ the one Shaddy just found out about. You seen any niggers down here?”

“No we ain’t seen no niggers. Just you two. Is Shaddy gone off with ‘em?”

“No, he’s accounted for. His boys ain’t. They ain’t been gon’ long; we seen ‘em this morning. We figured they might be down here. Then we remembered y’all was down here, too. Papa sent us down to check on you.”

“We’re fine.”

“Well come on. You better come on home. Until we find these niggers, y’all might be in danger.”

“Can we finish eatin’?”

“I guess so. Say, Treecey, hand me one of them pieces of chicken. I’m starvin’.”

XXXI.

Wilson McNulty

Alone among his male contemporaries, Wilson McNulty had never laid a dick upon any of his siblings or cousins. Wilson was the second eldest child of the new generation of Leones, the firstborn son of Robert and Josephine McNulty. Only Abby Leone Harkness superceded him in rank.

As a child he’d been quiet, always the odd man out. When the various Leone tribes got together, Wilson sat up under his mother tending to her needs. A glass of water here, a girdle adjustment there. A peach. A foot massage.

By the time Ben and Jake came along, Wilson was four years old, almost an eternity in child years. Ben, Jake, Annie, Janice and Patrice roughhoused together while Wilson dutifully minded his mother’s admonitions. When Josephine bore a second son, Jameson, even that child was better acclimated into Leone family culture than his older brother.

Wilson never seemed to fit in.

There was something about Wilson that put his younger contemporaries off. He didn’t look or behave like the other Leone’s. The children sensed it without rationalizing it.

Wilson’s mother tried to cover over the disparity. She doted over the boy, gave him everything he asked for. This further alienated Wilson from his siblings and cousins, who viewed these entitlements as somewhat ‘fancy’. Wilson didn’t get whippings. He got talked to. Wilson didn’t help out in the barn. He did housework.

Wilson had a secret to which only his mother Josephine, his aunt BethAnn and his grandmother Fiona were privy: Wilson was not his father’s child.

Since his birth, no person (other than the aforementioned trio) suspected Wilson’s paternity. His mother had been married for more than a reasonable amount of time when Wilson was conceived. It was assumed that Robert was the father.

This assumption proved fallacious.

Josephine McNulty became pregnant with Wilson while undergoing a church ritual designed to rid her of the ‘nigger taint’. Wilson’s father was a man named Rev. Chester Goins, twenty-five years Josephine McNulty’s senior. Reverend Goins convinced Josephine that her only hope of heaven relied upon cleansing her vagina with a consecrated white man’s sperm. Despite being dubious of his claims, Josephine underwent the treatment. When she popped up pregnant, it was easy to assign paternity to Josephine’s husband Robert. There were no DNA tests to prove otherwise. Besides, it was entirely possible that Robert could have been the real father. It’s not as if Josephine and Robert McNulty hadn’t been intimate the week of Wilson’s conception.

This last fact heartened Josephine during her pregnancy.

After Wilson’s birth it was evident that he was a dead ringer for Chester Goins. He had few Harkness or Leone traits. This prompted Josephine McNulty to confide her fears to her mother and, soon after that, her sister. Fiona Leone swore her daughters to secrecy.

Robert McNulty accepted the boy as his own, never suspecting otherwise. Robert bragged about the youngster relentlessly, made a point to note that he and the child favored each other as any proud father would. Many people agreed with him then went away scratching their heads. The boy simply did not look like Robert McNulty. But who were they to judge? No one suspected Josephine of infidelity. If they did suspect her, Rev. Goins would be the last person who’d be suspected as her partner in adultery.

Once, when he was twelve, Abby Leone tried to inveigle young Wilson into a sex game. By this time Abby was just making strides towards acknowledging her own rampant sexuality. The two cousins were alone. Wilson had a dick. Abby had an appetite for same.

He allowed her to fondle him with some trepidation. It felt good. When she suggested that they merge genitalia, however, young Wilson was aghast. He’d seen plenty of female genitals, including his mother’s. They stunk. Unlike a penis, where what you saw was what you had, female genitalia were internal. Anything at all, including intestines and babies, might be up in a woman’s puss, waiting to fall out. Women squatted over buckets and peed from their pussies. For all he knew, they dookied from them, too. Plus, pussies were forever bleeding from some monthly malady peculiar to women, yet the women didn’t die. To young Wilson’s mind, a woman’s sex organs were not just mysterious, they were disgusting.

He’d pulled away from Abby’s grasp and run. She didn’t chase him.

As the other Leone’s came into the fullness of puberty, one by one, Abby showed them the ropes. She never got around to approaching Wilson again. When the young Leone’s got together and talk of poontang, coontang or regular tang bandied about, Wilson was pointedly left out of the discussion. Though younger than he, all of the young Leone’s took Abby’s cues. Wilson became something of a pariah.

Other than this, Wilson developed normally. He began to masturbate when he was thirteen. A few months later he added fantasy to his masturbatory interludes. It wasn’t the vision of pussy that elicited Wilson’s plentiful teenaged erections.

It was the vision of dick.

Wilson was fascinated by his own penis. He spent much of his time alone, examining it, patting it, cajoling it, jacking it. He tried to kiss it once, but it wasn’t quite long enough. He felt shame at having tried.

Young Wilson masturbated ferociously, six, sometimes eight times a day. He took every opportunity to spend time alone that he might empty himself of seed. His mother noticed that he spent a lot of time in the outhouse.

“Willie? Are you feeling OK?”

“I’m fine, Ma,” he replied.

Another person noticed Wilson’s affinity for visiting the toilet. This person watched as Wilson moved about the farm seeking solitude. He began to track Wilson’s movements.

It was a black boy, Roland, a boy about Wilson’s age. Roland, too, was something of a pariah among the blacks. He had several older brothers on the McNulty Farm yet, like Wilson, kept mostly to himself, choosing to live in the shadows. He, too, spent a lot of time in the Negro toilet.

He haunted Wilson for months before gathering the courage to expose himself, not literally of course, but by way of intent.

Wilson exited the outhouse one night. Roland stood off in the shadows, under a tree, an incubus of the night. Wilson saw him and ran into the house.

This same scenario played out the next night. Wilson ran into the house; Roland didn’t menace or follow. Third night? Same thing. Wilson never mentioned the mysterious dark stranger to his parents. He peered out the window and watched him standing alone in the twilight. One minute he was there and in the next was gone.

On the fourth night Wilson called out to the boy.

“What do you want?”

Roland stepped forward. He pulled out his penis. Wilson could see its heft in the evening gloom. Roland was thin, almost waif-like. His penis was substantial.

Wilson ran into the house.

On the fifth night, Wilson didn’t go directly to the outhouse. He wandered up to the trees and found Roland standing there in the darkness. He regarded the boy silently. This time Wilson pulled out his penis first. Roland reciprocated. The two teens moved together with hesitant baby steps, slowing until their pudendae briefly kissed.

Then Wilson turned and ran into the house.

XXXII.

Wilson and Abby

In the decade since Wilson’s youthful encounter with Roland, he’d gone about his own sexual journey. He and Roland eventually got together, sampled, and parted. Wilson came to learn the difference between a rectum and a vagina. He preferred the former.

As an eighteen year old, Wilson visited New Orleans. He found the city fascinating, found more pariahs like himself and Roland, men who lived in the shadows and preferred to remain there. The mid-nineteenth century South held no public place for men who preferred rectum.

Wilson moved to New Orleans two years later. He took up a room in a boarding house popular with men who lived in the shadows. He took a job as a dishwasher and quickly moved up to a position as bartender, based upon his popularity with the patrons.

Wilson’s parents were monumentally proud of him. He’d ventured out on his own and made a measure of success. Neither of them had any clue about his sexual preference.

Wilson’s cousins weren’t so willfully blind.

After Wilson turned down his chance at Abby’s pussy (he being the only one to do so), she began to question his manhood. After all, “Who turns down pussy as righteously fine as this?” That alone was an indication of moral degeneracy on Wilson’s part.

Still, Abby didn’t know what homosexuality was. It was never discussed in her home or her church. She didn’t know any homosexuals. They may as well had been a species of men with vaginas on their knees and penises for thumbs, men wholly alien to her experience.

Abby didn’t consider herself homosexual, even though she ate pussy and spent time grinding vulvas with her best friend Sandra Jean. Abby liked dick. When dicks weren’t readily available, her vagina still needed its rightful due. One time, in desperation, she’d allowed a hound to mount her after the animal started humping her leg in response to the subtle odor of her menstrual cycle. It happened. She cataloged the experience and went on with her life. The hound ejaculated too quickly to do Abby’s vagina any good.

Abby never considered that men might want to rub penises. Where was the fun in that?

Wilson attended the Leone Christmas celebration of 1844 upon the invitation of his mother. He didn’t come home often. When he did, he felt guilty about making excuses to leave so soon afterward. At home he lived in the shadows. In New Orleans, there was some sunlight, at least.

Also, Wilson had some unfinished business with Abby. The cousins had last seen each other at Abby’s wedding, when their breach was rather obvious. Wilson wanted to close the breach. He wanted to discuss their original sexual encounter, to explain himself. He was tired of running away. He knew he needed Abby’s support if he wanted to remain fully engaged with his family.

He approached Abby one evening that Christmas with a warm smile.

“Hey, Abby!! Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Abby wasn’t angry with Wilson. Their breach had nothing to do with mistreatment or any disagreement. Abby just found him strange.

“Sure, Willie!! What’s up?”

“Not here. When you get a few minutes I want to talk with you alone.”

“Uh-oh. That sounds like trouble. What have you done?” she probed with a knowing smile.

“Oh, you know. Little bitta this, little bitta that. It’s nothing big I want to talk about. Just when you can spare a moment. Maybe we can go out for a walk?”

“Sure, Willie! It’s good to see you! You look good!! You must be having fun down in N’awleans.”

“Yeah, it’s the big city.”

“Say, Willie, I’ve been thinkin’ about comin’ down that way. Maybe we can get together? Maybe you can show me around?”

“Sure! That’d be great. You’ll love it.”

“OK. Lemme go see about Buck. He’ll be looking for me if I leave the house. Sun’s gon’ be down in a half hour or so. It ain’t got cold yet. Maybe we can wander out tonite?”

“Sure, Abby. Whenever you get a minute.”

Abby wandered over to talk to her husband.

Twenty minutes later, the two eldest cousins from the new batch of Leone’s were wandering out in the yard. They approached the path to the spring, but turned and took a circuitous route around the perimeter of the property. They laughed after one thing then another. Wilson spoke about some of his experiences in New Orleans. Abby gossiped about life at home in his absence. As darkness settled in, Wilson got to the point of his mission.

“Abby, you remember that time you asked me to do it to you? And I run off?”

“What are you talking about?” she replied, feigning ignorance.

“You know what I’m talkin’ about,” he countered resolutely.

“No. I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. Everybody around here is doin’ it, even now. I ain’t stupid.”

“Well you certainly ain’t know nuttin’ back then!!” Abby laughed.

“I…I was young,” he replied.

Abby lowered her head.

“Yeah. I probably shouldn’t have pushed you,” she admitted.

“Well, everybody looks at me funny, ‘ceptin’ my Ma and Pa. Before that everybody looked at me funny ‘cause I was my Mama’s favorite. After that it was like you all were thinking I was from outer space.”

“You always kept to yourself! You ain’t come out to hang around wit’ us. What you wanted us to do?”

“I know. I know. I…that’s what I wanted to talk with you about.”

“You’re movin’ back home?” she asked hopefully.

“No.”

“No? Well what, then?”

“I…I want to…do it.”

“You want to DO IT?!??”

“Yes.”

“With who?”

“With…you. I’m ready now.”

“With ME? I’m a MARRIED WOMAN!!”

“I know. I…I just feel like I missed my chance and…and…you ain’t forgive me for it.”

“Oh hush, boy. I ain’t thought about that since it happened.”

“Then how come nobody else offers me none? Annie ain’t never offered me none. Jannie or Patrice, neither.”

“It ain’t up to them to offer you no pussy, Willie. You gotta ask for it!!”

“It ain’t pussy I’m after, Abby.”

“Oh? What is it that you want?”

“Can…can I show you?”

Abby was genuinely intrigued.

“You cain’t tell me?”

“It-a be easier if I show you.”

“Is I’m gon’ have to give you some? ‘Cause I’m married now, you know.”

As if that mattered.

“Well, come over here. Behind this tree. It’s dark. I’ll show you and you can decide.”

“I ain’t givin’ up no pussy, Willie. You had your chance.”

“OK, OK. Just come over here. Let me show you.

The cousins stepped behind a large oak tree. Wilson reached into his pants, fumbled around for a minute and drew out with a sonuvabitchuva cock. It was erect.

“DAMN, WILLIE!! I knowed you had a big ‘un when we was kids, but it’s growed a tad since then, ain’t it?!?” Abby marveled.

“You can touch it, if you want to.”

Abby reached out tentatively, as one does when attempting to pet a stray dog whose temperament is in dispute.

Wilson’s cock rivaled Charlie’s. It left Ben’s cock in the dust. This was the largest white penis Abby had encountered to date. Unbeknownst to Abby, this was the true source of Wilson’s popularity in New Orleans.

“This what you wanted to show me?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes.”

“It’s ALL you wanted to show me?”

“N-no.”

“What else?”

“I…I want…I want to put it in you.”

“Willie, I’m MARRIED!”

“I don’t want to put it in your pussy.”

“You don’t want my pussy?” she asked, fearful of his answer.

“I want to put it in your butt.”

“My butt?”

“Yeah.”

She looked down at his gigantic penis. It reared up like a stallion. Abby’s libido, never far beneath her surface, made a snap decision.

“OK,” she agreed.

Abby peeked around the edge of the tree to see if they were being observed. All of the windows in the big house were lit up. There were no human silhouettes in any of the windows. Behind them the forest loomed darkly.

“What if someone sees us from the woods?” she worried.

Wilson had already hiked up her skirt and pulled down her drawers. She gripped the tree.

“I’ll be quick,” he said.

“In that case, I’m changing my answer to ‘no’,” she retorted.

XXXIII.

The Gossip Session

Blue, Charlie and Isaac emerged from the woods well before the Leone girls returned from the spring. They brought with them the carcass of a jackrabbit from a trap they’d set. Marse Nathan was all lathered up to give them a caning for being AWOL, but when he saw the rabbit he figured they had good reason to be absent. They were merely out supplementing their Christmas gruel.

In truth, it had been Blue’s idea to set the rabbit trap in case they were missed. He knew that the whites would admire such thoughtful industry. It saved them the cost of a meal.

Charlie noted Blue’s foresight. It was smart to walk into camp with a meal in hand. It provided plausible deniability in case they were accused of being someplace they hadn’t ought be. Charlie upped his assessment of Blue accordingly and made a mental note to follow suit the next time he went down to the spring to fuck white women.

An hour later all five Leone girls came trudging home accompanied by Buck and Jake.

“Did ya find ‘em, Uncle Nate?” Jake called out.

“Yeh. They come shufflin’ up ‘bout an hour back. Been out in the woods trappin’.”

“I told you they wasn’t run off. I told you they’d be back.”

“Never mind that. Ben just come home hisself. I need the three of you to help me put up the tents. It’s too many people in the house. We gon’ have to sleep outside for a few nights.”

“Outside? What if it gits cold, Uncle Nate?”

“What’re you, a baby? We lets the womens sleep in the house and we menfolk sleeps outside. Make a fire if we has to. Pete and Hank is gonna throw in, too.”

And so the Leone men set about staking out positions for small canvas overnight tents. Ben came up carrying an armful of firewood, intent upon accumulating a store of heat producing fuel. Abby, Annie, Jannie, Mary Lynn and Patrice went into the house to assist with the dinner.

Later that night, with a house free from the prying ears of nosey male relatives, the Leone girls climbed into the loft for a gossip session. Aisleen, Marlene, Josephine, BethAnn, Isabel, June and Samantha had the entire lower floor to themselves. The younger girls crowded into the attic to chirp.

As always, Abby got things started.

Abby: “Mary Lynn, what give you the idea to shave your poonie? How you gon’ marry one of OUR boys lookin’ like that? Leone women all gots big, hairy pussies. You ain’t even got any hair left under your arms!!”

Annie: “Wait. What? Who shaved they pussies? Mary Lynn? When she did that?”

Jannie: “Yeh, that’s right!! Who? I ain’t seen anything like that.”

Abby: “That’s ‘cause neither one of you was there when she first poked it out. It’s bald as an egg. Polly? You knew about this?”

Polly Lynn: “Well, I….”

Mary Lynn: “Her pussy is shaved, too!!! She’s the one made me do it!”

Abby: “WHAT??!?”

Annie: “Oooh!! Lemme see!! Lemme see!!”

Abby: “Hush, girl. Don’t be such a lezzie. Mary, we’ll take your word for it. Ever’body here knows what a pussy looks like.”

Patrice: “I dunno, Abbs. I ain’t seen my real pussy since I was a little girl. I don’t remember what it looks like. It’s always been at the bottom of my fur. I…I kinda liked Mary’s new look.”

Mary Lynn: “Yeah!! So there! Leastways my pussy can breathe.”

Abby: “Well, that’s just the first thing. What about that other thing, Mary?”

Annie: “What are you talking about? What other thing?”

Jannie: “Yeah. What?”

Polly: “MARY!! You didn’t!!!”

Annie: “What am I missing here? I ain’t being the lookout ever again.”

Abby: “Mary licked her own puss, Ann.”

Annie: “Get out. Nobody can do that.”

Patrice: “She did. I seen it.”

Annie: “How?”

Abby: “WITH HER TONGUE, DUMBASS.”

Jannie: “How’d she get it down there?”

Abby: “SHE YANKED IT OUT AND WIPED HERSELF WITH IT.”

Annie (ignoring Abby): “Mary?”

Mary Lynn: “I just…I just can, is all. Polly can do it, too.”

Polly Lynn: “I CAN NOT.”

Mary Lynn: “Yes you can. Don’t lie.”

Annie: “So, lemme get this straight. Both of you hussies got hairless pies. And both of you can lick your own pussies? An’ you ain’t thought enough to warn us or ask whether we wanted in?”

Mary Lynn: “Annie, I ‘uz gonna tell you when I got the chance. But we just ain’t had the time to talk.”

Annie: “So you just learnt how to lick your own pussy since the last time you was here?”

Mary Lynn: “No. You know I been real flexible since we ‘uz kids what with the climbin’ and the swimmin’ and all. It’s just easy for me to do. One day I got tangled up and my face was next to my pussy. I thought about it and figured out a way to benefit, is all. I ain’t think I’d ever have to explain it.”

Annie: “So you been doin’ it since we was kids?”

Mary Lynn: “On and off, yeh, I guess.”

Annie: “An’ you asked me to lick your pussy that time, and I done it, an’ you coulda did it for yourself?”

Mary Lynn: “That’s….that’s different…”

Annie: “No it AIN’T different, Mary!! Don’t ya see? You coulda told me this!! You SHOULDA told me this!! We’re sisters!!!”

Abby: “Oh, for the love of…”

Annie: “Shut up, Abby. This ain’t about you. Mary, it’s about TRUST.”

Mary Lynn: “I’m sorry, Annie.”

Annie: “That ain’t it, neither, Mary. I WANT YOU TO SHOW ME HOW!!! Don’t you think I could benefit, too?”

All the girls broke up laughing at this unexpected change of pace.

Mary Lynn: “I don’t know that I can show you, Annie. You’re a big girl. I’m a lot smaller than you. You probably can hotch my whole body up on your doodihole, if you poke it out.”

Annie: “I ain’t that big. At least lemme have a look at your baldy cooch. I ain’t seen one of them on a grown woman since probably never.”

Mary Lynn lifted her skirt and peeled her bloomers down. Annie and Jannie virtually fought each other to get an optimal view. The other girls had already seen Mary Lynn’s nakedness.

Jannie: “WOW!! So that’s what my cooch looks like under the red wall of fur?”

Annie: “Your cooch always looks like a pussy triangle with a dick fighting to git out. An’ your big ole peenie is just the tip of it.”

Jannie: “Ain’t I told you to stop laughin’ about my peenie? You’re just mad because mine’s is bigger’n your’n. Besides, my coochie is deeper’n your’n, too. I took Charlie balls deep today. Can you do it? Can you?”

This was an ongoing good-natured feud between the two cousins. Annie chose to ignore Jannie’s challenge. She peered closely at Mary Lynn’s vulva. It looked like a baby’s cooch.

Annie: “Does doin’ it feel better like that?”

Mary Lynn: “Maybe not better. Just different. I did it to Benny and Jakey yesterday…”

Annie: “Down at the treehouse. I knew it.”

Mary Lynn: “Yeah, down at the treehouse, and it felt good to ME, but I ain’t git the impression that Benny was all that thrilled wit’ it. Jakey liked it well enough. An’ today, when I showed it off to the niggers, all three of they dicks rose up, real fast like, and pointed right at me, like I was a magnet. An’ I made Blue cum in two seconds!! He ain’t cum that fast in nobody else’s pussy. He chose me over ever’body else. An’ then Ike cum three or four times in me, before Buck and Jakey come up. I’m a little sloppy yet. Can you smell it?”

Jannie: “Wooooh, chile, yes!”

Mary Lynn: “Do it stink?”

Jannie: “Not really ‘stink’. I can tell you a thing or two about ‘stink’. I can tell you been fuckin’, though. Is this your first nigger dick?”

Polly started.

Mary Lynn: “No. Me and Polly…”

Polly Lynn: “YES. It is.”

Mary Lynn: “Oh, that’s right. Yes. It is.”

Jannie: “So you DON’T know about the nigger taint?”

Mary Lynn: “The nigger taint?”

Jannie: “Tell her, Abby.”

Abby: “How would I know about the nigger taint? Today was my first time, too.”

This absurd lie brought the whole house down. All the girls laughed to the verge of tears, including Polly. Downstairs, their mothers wondered after the ruckus.

Aisleen: “What’s all that noise up there!!!”

Annie: “It’s nothing, Mama!! Polly farted out loud!!”

Samantha Bannister: “Oh, my word!!”

Aisleen (chuckling): “Oh. Okay!”

The girls quieted. Mary Lynn was still displaying her punani to the group.

Abby: “Polly let’s see yours. You ain’t come with us today.”

Polly: “Mine don’t look no different from hers.”

Abby: “You too good to show us your puss? I’ll show you mine.”

Polly: “Am I the only person in the world that hasn’t seen your pussy?”

Abby: “What’s THAT supposed to mean?”

Polly: “Nothing. Nothing.”

Abby: “No, no. Say what you mean. Are you implying your pussy’s any better’n mine?”

Polly: “Mine’s is certainly less popular.”

Abby: “Bitch!! You got a lotta nerve!”

Annie (interceding): “OK, OK, you two. Simmah down. Patrice wants to say sump’n. Come on, Treecey. You been too quiet.”

Patrice: “I’m OK.”

Annie: “No, go on and tell them what you told me.”

Patrice: “Annie, I’m embarrassed.”

Annie: “It’s nobody here but us, Treecey. We ain’t never ratted you out or nothin’. Tell her.”

Patrice: “OK. But don’t nobody laugh, OK?”

Annie: “We ain’t gon’ laugh. I might be asking the same question as you!!”

Patrice: “OK, here goes. Mary Lynn, where’s your straight razor? I think I wanna give her a try.”

Abby: “OH MY GAWD!!”

Jannie: “I knew it!! I knew it!!”

Patrice: “What? I just wanna see how it looks!!”

Polly: “It’ll grow back thicker than it was, Treecey.”

Mary Lynn: “Yeah, an’ you’ll have to shave all the time, because when it starts to grow back and the nubs come in you’ll git the itch.”

Jannie: “I ain’t NEVER shaving MY bush. My name is Leone.”

Patrice: “Well, I want to shave mine.”

Mary Lynn: “You sure?”

Patrice: “I’m sure.”

Mary Lynn reached into her skirt and pulled out a small pouch. From this pouch she extracted a miniature straight razor. She popped it open for display.

Patrice: “That’s it?”

Mary Lynn: “That’s it.”

Patrice hiked her skirt up and pulled her drawers down.

Mary Lynn: “You wanna do it or you want me to do it?”

Patrice: “You can do it. I might miss and cut off sump’n I need.”

Abby lit a candle and drew it near. Patrice lay back on Annie’s bed. She spread her legs open for Mary Lynn. Annie, Jannie, Polly and Abby firmed up in a huddle around them, intensely watching the proceedings.

Starting at Treecey’s bikini line, Mary Lynn proceeded to dry shave her bush. She worked with the deliberate speed of a surgeon, moving down the left side of Treecey’s vulva, then the right. She took particular care around Treecey’s inner pussy lips and her taint. Within fifteen minutes, Treecey’s once curly mound was shorn of its lush covering, leaving a childishly pink vulva glowing between Patrice’s legs. Treecey got up and paraded her newly bald pussy around the room. Her cousins all laughed and clapped. They encouraged her lift up her dress and show off by shaking her ass sensually. Annie was so pleased with Treecey’s results that she stood up on her bed and twerked.

Abby: “Whoa!! What was THAT?!? You’re dancing like a nigger bitch fucks!! Who showed you how to do that?”

Annie: “Oh, hush. You’re just jealous because you cain’t shake it like I can!! Come on, Treecey, let’s show ‘em how it’s done!!”

With that, Patrice leapt up beside Annie and the two women began to quake their asses. It took Patrice a few minutes to get the rhythm. The two women held their torsos aloft at a forty-five degree angle, hands on their knees, and vibrated their behinds up and down so fast that their flops overlapped on the upswing and the downswing, just as Ruthie had demonstrated. Both white women snuggled their skirts up to show off their naked asses. When Annie started queefing her scent into the room, Mary Lynn jumped up to join them. Jannie soon followed. Finally all six women were twerking and laughing uproariously. The small room smelled like a lesbian fuck riot, redolent of sweaty pussy, half the pussies bald, the other half bushy.

One by one, the girls faltered due to exhaustion. Twerking consumes calories by the ton. Annie started the dance fest and was the last to falter. When she finally swayed and fell, she was awash in sweat. She’d pulled her clothing off during the rave up and now, like her relatives, lay naked, strewn across the two beds. Her head lay across Polly’s belly. One leg lounged on Jannie’s knee, the other leg rested on Abby’s tits.

The girls quieted. These gossip sessions had bonded them together as family since they were children. This is where all their secrets were divulged and debated. This is where Treecey’s pregnancy was first noted, where the family’s propensity for incest was discussed and acceded to, where the Church of Abby’s Vagina concept became a thing, where the rampant miscegenation in the region first conflicted with the faux Judeo-Christian ethic underlying the culture.

Now Abby added another building block to the long history of Leone lore.

Abby: “OK, here we go. Let’s get this out of the way. I did it to Wilson the other night.”

Crickets. The shock from this announcement stunned the girls into a ribald silence. Finally Annie offered up the unspoken elephant in the room.

Annie: “Doesn’t…doesn’t Wilson….like….boys?”

Abby: “He does.”

Annie: “Do…do you have a dick that we don’t know about?”

Abby: “I don’t.”

Annie: “Well…how?”

Abby: “He asked me for some.”

Annie, Jannie, Patrice, Polly (in unison): “Some DICK?”

Patrice: “Jinx!!”

The girls ignored her.

Abby: “No, he ain’t asked me for no dick. You remember that time I told you that he run off when I offered him some pussy?”

Annie: “That was ten years ago!!”

Abby: “He said he felt bad about runnin’ off. Said he felt like we was leavin’ him out of things because he ain’t liked a woman’s pussy. Said he wanted to make things right.”

Patrice: “An’ you give him some PUSSY? That’s a first. He ain’t never bothered about MINE.”

Abby: “I ain’t give him no pussy.”

Patrice: “You sucked him off. I knew it. He likes that.”

Abby: “I ain’t sucked him, neither.”

Annie: “Well? What then?”

Abby: “He wanted some ass.”

Annie: “OH. Ok. That makes sense. You let him ride up your poop chute.”

Abby: “Has any of you ever seen his dick?”

Patrice: “Of course I have. He’s my brother.”

Abby: “Why you ain’t never told us how big it is?”

Patrice: “His’n ain’t no bigger than Jake’s or Ben’s or Jamie’s. Least not as far as I could see.”

Abby: “You ain’t never seen it hard?”

Patrice: “Nope. None of us have. We’re WOMEN.”

Abby: “Treecey, it’s HUGE! He gots a nigger cock!”

Patrice: “Oh, stop it. No he don’t. I seen plenty of cocks and his ain’t as big as any of the nigger dicks I seen today.”

Abby: “A soft dick don’t tell the whole story, Treecey. Charlie’s dick is about the same size soft or hard. Willie’s dick grows twice over when it gits hard, maybe three times over. An’ it’s thick, too.”

Annie: “A white dick? Big as a nigger dick? An’ he wastes it on boys? Why, he could have every white pussy for fifty mile around!!”

Jannie: “An’ twice on Sundays!!”

Mary Lynn: “So what happened, Abby? Tell us!!”

Abby: “Well, we was out walkin’ and talkin’. We went ‘round the property a time or two before he come to the point. Came right out and said he wanted some booty. Then he pulled his tickalacka out, an’ it was already hard!! I like to fainted!! But you know, I ain’t one to leave a hard dick on the table. I tried to talk him out of it, you know, kinda half-hearted like. But I ain’t never see a white dick that big, so you know I had to have it. We scooched up behind that big old oak tree down by the tree line, where no one could see. Then he pulled my dress up and put it in. Girl? Big nigger dick is one thing, but big white dick is sump’n else!! My ass wasn’t juicy either. It was dry. And I hadn’t long been come from the outhouse, so I was a little ripe.”

Annie: “A LITTLE ripe? I’d got to wait three weeks before I’ll go in the toilet behind YOU.”

Abby: “Shut up, Annie. You’re always talking. Anyway, he put it in and got to thumpin’. It hurt at first. I cain’t juicy up my doodihole just from thinkin’ about dick, the way I can with my pussy. But when she finally got lathered up and he started goin’ to town, girl, it ain’t a nigger ‘round here could hold a candle to him! He fucked my ass so good my pussy started to sweat!! He just slammed that fat old dick up me, faster and faster, till I just had to reach down and jiggle Jane.”

(‘Jane’ was Abby’s private name for her clitoris)

Abby: “Soon’s I touched her, she rose up an’ busted my nuts to shreds an’ I started shakin’; you know how I do. An’ Willie, he just kept a-humpin’! He ain’t slowed down one whit. I wasn’t near ‘bout through wit’ the first pussy shakes before here come another. An’ then another! I kept trying to git him to put that big ole pecker in my pussy, but he wouldn’t do it. By and by, I could smell my doodihole gittin’ riper and riper. I ‘uz afraid he could smell it, too. It ‘uz right under his nose. He musta smellt it. But you know what? I think he ‘uz used to that smell. When it hit me, I ‘uz a li’l embarrassed, you know, because that’s how girls are. We cain’t bear it. But when it hit him, he was all like, groanin’ happy, like it was roasted chicken he smellt, not ass, and he ain’t eat all day. He started hittin’ it harder and harder! An’ you know, that just shook me up and made me cum some more. He was way deep in my doodihole, like I could feel him in my stomach, an’ his dick was all twirled up round and round in my chitlins. Lemme tell you, I ain’t been fucked like that in a coon’s age! Well, we was fuckin’, standin’ up, and I cain’t tell you how many times my knees buckled an’ I wanted to faint. But he just went and went and went. Finally, Buck come out the house and called out for me in the darkness. He reckoned I’d been gone long enough. That’s the only thing made Willie stop. He pulled out and I yanked my drawers up. Don’t you know his dick was still rock hard? We waited until Buck went back into the house before we come out from behind the tree. Then we come up to the house, laughin’ and gigglin’ like nuttin’ had happened. If you woulda looked real close, Willie’s dick was still hard when we come up, sliding down his leg like a big sausage in his pocket. I watched him. It ain’t softened for a hour. He kept lookin’ at me the whole night. Every time I see him now he’s givin’ me the eye, like he wants to git back in there and sloppy me up. I don’t mind tellin’ you, I’m gon’ try him again before he goes back to New Orleans.”

An extended silence ensued as the Leone girls digested this information.

Jannie: “So….does this mean he’s gon’ start doin’ it to girls?”

Abby: “It might. He prolly ain’t gon’ want no pussy, though.”

Jannie: “That’s me all over. I git tired of warnin’ people not to cum in my nook. He can sloppy up my booty all day long an’ I won’t care. You reckon he’ll give up some tongue?”

Abby: “If you got a dick, then yeah, probably.”

Jannie arched her hips and spread her legs. She forced some blood into her clitoris. Her crimson thatch trembled as her peenie sprang forth.

Jannie: “You reckon that’s dick enough for him?”

Annie: “It’s dick enough for US. HE prolly is used to sump’n bigger.”

XXXIV.

Ruthie’s in Love

In the slave quarters, winter nights were agony. Their clapboard hovels weren’t heated; worse, their small hearths weren’t big enough to heat their homes. Their blankets were little more than threadbare sheets. They often had to cling together, as a family, for warmth.

Meshach’s single room shack had a small cooking hearth that provided a modicum of heat. He was fortunate in that his wife had collected a number of ratty old blankets and sewn them together atop each other. Slaves didn’t host quilting bees. Lizzie’s foresight saved her family the frozen torture that many slaves endured in American southern winters.

In the big house, the Leone girls were still chattering about this and that. They lay naked atop one another, secure in the knowledge that thick cotton quilts, a well built home and superior weaponry separated them from the elements.

In Meshach’s home, Mattie wedged herself in between her parents’ bodies and curled up in a bed not big enough for one grown up, much less two and half. The twins were ‘asleep’ in their small bed, too. Charlie stretched out on a pallet across the room.

Charlie, Ruthie and Isaac didn’t creep out much during winter nights. Fucking in the cold air took some of the excitement out of the rendezvous. Winter nights lent themselves to snuggling up next to a regular lover—a wife, a girlfriend, a boyfriend—not just a warm body for the purpose of semen swapping.

Ruthie and Isaac were regular lovers. Every night, come hell or high water, Ruthie and Ike took time to fuck. In the past they’d wait for their parents to start snoring and for Charlie to sneak out before getting started. Since Charlie now knew their secret his presence in the room was no longer a factor.

On the evening of the big Leone gossip session, Ruthie and Isaac lay spoon-fashion in their bed. As soon as Shaddy started snoring, Isaac’s penis rose up to cleave Ruthie’s butt crack, as it had every night for years. He waited for her to make the necessary positional adjustment that he might enter her.

“No.” Ruthie whispered.

Ike didn’t think he’d heard her correctly.

“No?” he repeated.

“Yes, NO.” Ruthie said.

“Yes, YES? Or NO yes?” Ike stammered.

“NO!” Ruthie reiterated.

“Why? Is you on de rag?” Ike asked disingenuously. He knew she wasn’t.

“No, Ike. It ain’t your’n no mo’.” Ruthie admitted.

This admission hit Ike like a thunderclap.

“It ain’t mine? Why?” he whispered.

“It just ain’t, is all. We gotta stop doin’ it.”

Ike was confused. They were twins! This was their thing!!

“Why?” he repeated.

“There ain’t no ‘why’. It ain’t yo’ pussy no mo’.”

“You mad ‘cause I went down to de pond wit’ Blue and Charlie?”

“No.”

“Well? What?” he probed.

Ruthie sighed deeply. Earlier that day she’d met Ben down at the treehouse while all the other young people were down at the spring. They’d kissed deeply, kissed with flickering tongues, moistened lips and probing hands. And in their kissing Ruthie found something in her heart that hadn’t existed before. Ruthie found love. She was in love with a white boy, of all people. He’d stood up for her. He’d denied her sex to his cousin Jake. He could have gone down to the spring and had his choice of white women today, but no, he’d come to the treehouse to be with Ruthie.

He wasn’t just using her as a repository for his jism. He’d chosen her.

“I…I only wanna do it wit’ Ben from now on,” she told him.

“Ben?!?”

“You heard me.”

Isaac laughed. He thought she was kidding. He reached down to pull her shift up and so expose her ass to his dick.

“I SAID NO, ISAAC.” Ruthie whispered harshly. “I MEANT NO.”

Isaac was taken aback. She WAS serious. He looked down at his penis in the darkness. It strained to break past the flimsy cotton garment shielding Ruthie’s puss from invasion. Ruthie was laying on her side with her back to him—perfect spoon position. He noted the rise of her behind from the svelte indentation of her lithe waist. So round! So supple!! And now she was giving it all to a white boy?

‘Taken aback’ quickly metastasized into anger.

“HE DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOU!” Ike raged.

“Whether he do or whether he don’t, I give a shit about him. And as long as I feel this way, I don’t want nobody else’s dick up my pussy. That’s just how girls is, Ike.”

“But you ain’t gimme no warnin’!! I thought yo’ pussy ‘uz mine all de time! You said so!”

“You my brudder, Ike. We cain’t git married.”

“YOU CAIN’T MARRY HIM, NEITHER. HE WHITE!!!”

“I know,” she said with regret. “I dunno why I feel like dis. I jist know that I don’t WANNA give my pussy out to nobody but him. I ain’t felt like dis befo’.”

“You…do you love him?”

“I…I dunno. I ain’t never felt like dis. It’s new fo’ me. I jist…I jist wanna save my pussy fo’ him.”

“I bet you he ain’t savin’ his dick fo’ YOU.”

“That don’t matter, Ike. He a man. I can only tell you how I feel. I cain’t speak fo’ him.”

“He USIN’ you, Ruthie! Cain’t you see?”

“He might be. I can only tell you ‘bout me. One day I might don’t feel like dis.”

“An’ when dat day come, can I git some pussy?”

“Yes, Ike.”

“But not now?”

“Not now, Ike.”

XXXV.

First Kiss

Dawn exploded over the Louisiana backwoods with a brilliance befitting the glory of Creation. It was cool outside, not cold. Sandra sat alone beside the church of her choosing, the spring, and watched as foggy mists drifted away from the still, clear waters. She was wrapped in a thick quilt bequeathed her by Aisleen Leone on Master Nathan’s orders. Of course, the quilt was a hand-me-down.

Sandra was troubled. Yesterday, Charlie and his brothers had been out here enmeshed in the crèamy thighs de la Leones, pouring jism into any snatch that presented itself. From her hilltop aerie she’d watched their little interracial orgy. She’d wanted to masturbate. The sight of Charlie’s pole being encumbered by so many pussies put her off, though. Of late, Charlie had replaced Johnny Boy as her fantasy soldier. He seemed to be enjoying himself just a tad much yesterday.

And where was Mr. Toot it Up, anyway? He was supposed to had been down here half an hour ago. Sandra turned to look pathward. No Charlie. She turned back to face the spring.

Shortly something caught her eye. There he was, coming around the spring from the back route. He’d gone two miles out of his way.

“Hey, Sandra!!” he called out cheerily. “Sorry I’m late!!”

Sandra didn’t reply. She waited until he meandered up.

“Hey!” he said again.

“You’re late.” Sandra said coolly.

“I know. Marse Nate and all de rest o’ dem was out in de yard sleepin’ in dey tents. Dey’d a seen me if I took de paff. So I lit out through de woods an’ come up de back way. I ain’t wanted dem to axe me no questions ‘bout where I ‘uz gwine.”

“They saw ME and ain’t say nuttin’.” Sandra mentioned.

“Dat’s because you’se YOU. You ain’t ME.”

Sandra saw the logic behind his rationale. Changing tactics, she formed her face up into the pout that she’d been practicing since yesterday afternoon.

“Wha’s wrong?” he asked.

“You know what’s wrong,” she replied.

“You mad because I’m late?”

“No.”

“Well? What?”

“Where was you yesterday?”

“I was….I was…”

“Yeah, I know where you was.”

“How you know where I was?”

“YOU WAS DOWN HERE!! YOU WAS DOIN’ IT TO WHITE GIRLS!!”

“So?”

“AIN’T I TOLD YOU TO STAY AWAY FROM ‘EM? IT AIN’T LIKE THEY TRYIN’ TO HELP YOU. THEY JUST WANT SOME DICK. THAT’S ALL YOU IS TO THEM.”

“So?”

“AN’ WHAT HAPPENS IF ONE ‘UM GITS PREGNANT?!? AN’ WHAT HAPPENS IF YOU GIT CAUGHT!!!”

“I guess I’ll git sold.”

“THAT’S RIGHT!! AN’ THEN WHAT ABOUT ME!!!!”

“Sandy, you ain’t givin’ up no pussy. Yeh, you said you might giv’n me some by and by. That ain’t he’pin’ me now. My dick gits hard a whole lot ‘n I cain’t think good when it do. An’ even if’n you do giv’n me some, it ain’t gon’ be no diff’rent than if I git caught doin’ it to Annie or Abby or Miss Treecey. Marse Nate gwine whup me and den he gwine sell me. Is dat gon’ stop me from fuckin’ hot pussy? NO!! I still needs to git my dick wet ever’ once’t in awhile.”

“What about you gittin’ free and goin’ up North? Ain’t we talked about that?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“What about that, Charlie? What about you takin’ me with you? What about US?”

“Even if Ben free me up, Marse Nate ain’t gon’ let you go wit’ me. You knows dat.”

“I AIN’T GON’ ASK HIM, CHARLIE!! I’m just gon’ come on my own!!!”

“’N den what? He just gon’ send de nigger catcher arter you. Like as not dey-a snatch me up ‘n bring me back, too!!! Besides, where you git all dese wile ideas, Sandra Jean? Who you been talkin’ to?”

“I BEEN TALKIN’ TO YOU, YOU MULLETHAID!! Don’t you wanna git free? Don’t it mean anything to you to be able to decide on your own where you wanna go and how you wanna get there? Do you like havin’ to worry about letting another grown man decide who you gon’ do it to and when, or where you gon’ work and how long you gon’ stay? And even more than that, don’t you hate wakin’ up every day not knowing if that man has found you out and might come and whup you and sell you away from your family? CHARLIE!! Don’t being free mean more to you than some white girl’s pussy? Cain’t you add things up and see what’s more important? Would you risk your life for some cracker pussy? Would you risk OUR life together for some cracker pussy?”

“Well, I….”

“Did you git right with Ben, like I asked?”

“I ain’t had time to….”

“DO IT, CHARLIE!! DO IT TODAY!!!”

“He…he ack like he don’t wanna be….”

Sandra didn’t wait for him to finish. She bent him over backwards and swept him up in a crushing kiss that lasted a full minute before either of them drew breath. She shoved her tongue so far into his mouth she could taste his tonsils. It was their very first burst of unbridled passion. A boundary had been crossed. Only in this, their first kiss, had Charlie been able to discern the depths of her emotion.

“Dang!” he thought as she poured herself into him. “This…is...NICE.”

When she pulled her lips away she gazed deep into his eyes. Her heart raced. Now her cards were on the table.

“DO IT, Charlie. Do it for ME. I’m begging you, PLEASE!”

Then she snatched up her blanket and scampered up the path towards home.

Charlie knew that he’d rather have another one of Sandra’s kisses that all the pussy in Louisiana.

XXXVI.

Reconciliation

True to his word, Charlie tracked Ben down later that day.

Charlie: “Ben? We need to talk.”

Ben: “Ben? Don’t you mean MASTER Bennett?”

Charlie: “So it’s like dat now?”

Ben: “YES. It’s like THAT.”

Charlie (ignoring him): “Ben, I…I’m sorry. I ain’t mean to throw you over like I done. I ‘uz wrong.”

Ben: “YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT YOU WAS WRONG. I WENT AGAINST MY OWN PA FOR YOU. AN’ YOU AIN’T HAD THE SPINE TO STAND UP FOR ME. WHAT KINDA PARD IS THAT, CHARLIE? HUH? WHAT KINDA PARD IS THAT!!”

Charlie: “My Pa give me a talkin’. Said you could buy ‘n sell me for little or nuttin’. An’ I got scared.”

Ben: “SCARED?!? WHY I WANT A FRIEND THAT’S A SCAREDY CAT? MY PA OWNS YOUR PA!! WHICH OF ‘UM IS MORE SCAREY!!!”

Charlie: “I…I know. I jist needed some time to think on it. An’ the first thing I needed to say ‘uz I’m sorry. An’ it won’t happen again.”

Ben (sobering): “You know, your Pa and my Pa ‘uz friends once, before we was born. GOOD friends. PARDS.”

Charlie: “I know.”

Ben: “An’ now they ain’t. They’s master ‘n slave.”

Charlie: “I know.”

Ben: “Charlie, I ain’t ever wanted that for us! You know that! You done stood up for me many’s the time. You ‘member that time you whupped Freddy Minor down by the river? An’ his Pa wanted to have you horsewhipped ‘cause you’se a nigger and Freddy warn’t? You whupped him ‘cause he chunked that rock at my head. I ain’t forgot.”

Charlie: “Yeh. An’ you wouldn’t let your Pa give me over to ‘em. I ‘member.”

Ben: “That’s what pards do, Charlie. And now your Pa is whisperin’ in your ear about who-knows-what, and you give me over to him. Charlie, that ain’t how pards do each other!!”

Charlie: “You’se right, Ben. It won’t happen again.”

Ben: “You’re doggone right it won’t happen again, you knucklehead!! We’se PARDS. An’ it better STAY that way. We ain’t our Pa’s. I ain’t gon’ throw you over just ‘cause you made a mistake. You owned up to it like a man. An’ that’s all real pards has to do. C’mere, you black sunuvabitchuvabastard!!!”

The two men embraced.

Ben: “I don’t mind tellin’ you, I was a little put off by how you ‘uz ackin’. I ‘uz mad. Isaac is OK for a buddy, but he ain’t no pard.”

Charlie: “He’s alright. He just young, is all. I’m bringin’ him along.”

Ben: “Say, Charlie? I did wanna talk to you ‘bout sump’n. I ain’t know how to ‘proach you.”

Charlie: “Wuzzat?”

Ben: “Well, you know I been doing it to Ruthie.”

Charlie: “Yeh. How’s that comin’ along? She twist you up?”

Ben: “Sometimes, yeh. That ain’t what I wanna talk about, though.”

Charlie: “Sump’n else?”

Ben: “Yeh. Don’t tell nobody this, OK? This gotta stay between us.”

Charlie: “OK.”

Ben: “I like her.”

Charlie: “You LIKE her?”

Ben: “Ain’t that what I just said?”

Charlie: “No, you mean, you LIKE her? Like really LIKE her? You ain’t just tappin’ her up for de Twist?”

Ben: “Yeh. Like that.”

Charlie: “Oh, shit.”

Ben: “ What?”

Charlie: “’Den I got sump’n to tell YOU. An’ you cain’t tell nobody.”

Ben: “OK.”

Charlie: “She like you back.”

Ben: “How do you know?”

Charlie: “De udder night she ‘uz in bed wid Isaac an’ he went to do it to her an’ she said ‘no’. Said she wanted to save her poochipap for YOU.”

Ben (huge smile): “She said that?”

Charlie: “I heard her clear as a bell. Said she loved you.”

Ben (even bigger smile): “She said THAT?!?”

Charlie: “Yep.”

Ben: “An’ then what happened?”

Charlie: “Ike tole her dat she couldn’t marry you ‘cause you’se white. An’ she said she ain’t care. Said long as she felt like dis about you, she wasn’t givin’ up no pussy, no how, no way, only to you.”

Ben: “If she was white, I would marry her in a minute, you bet!!”

Charlie: “She ain’t white, Benny.”

Ben (sagging visibly): “I know. What I’m gon’ do?”

Charlie: “I dunno, Benny. Lemme think on it for a bit. I might can come up wid’ a s’lution.”

XXXVII.

Wilson Goes for Baldie

Abby and her small troupe of gossipers conspired to get Wilson McNulty alone. The poor fellow never knew which Pandora’s box he’d opened by exposing himself to Abby’s sexual purview. Inasmuch as the men and women on the farm now bunked in segregated quarters, it was easy to single out Wilson much as a pack of lionesses target weak wildebeests.

First, Wilson was informed of being so targeted. Abby told him that she had the means and the desire for a second go. Was he game? Of course, he was.

Second, the elder Leone matrons were herded from the anteroom on one pretext or another by the sub-lionesses. Wilson lounged about on the porch while his male contemporaries performed chores in the yard. Once the anteroom was cleared, Abby snatched Wilson inside and scooted him up into the loft. Then the matrons were again allowed free access to the anteroom. The men barely missed young Wilson; the matrons never knew he was there. He lived in the shadows. “He’s around here somewhere’s.” As a non-critical component, his whereabouts were inconsequential to the management of the enterprise.

Abby, savvy as always, came back down the ladder to scope out the landscape. If Wilson were missed, she’d arrange for him to be found. If not, the plan would move to Phase Two.

Wilson was not missed.

Now all the sub-lionesses went about their daily household chores. They cooked, cleaned and gossiped. There were so many Leone’s about that no one thought to ask after young Wilson. Both the men and the women assumed he was with the other group.

This served Abby’s plan. She waited fifteen minutes and, when a free moment presented itself, she scooted back up the ladder to the loft.

Now there were two missing Leone’s. Abby locked the trap door in the floor behind her. She turned to Wilson. This broad daylight encounter could only work in absolute silence. Even the sticky slapping sound of their fucking had to be minimized. Did he understand? He did.

Abby turned away from him. She held her skirt aloft to expose her naked ass. There was no need for negotiation; both of them knew why they were there.

What Wilson didn’t know was that he’d also been targeted by each of the sub-lionesses waiting downstairs. When Abby had her fill, Annie was on tap. After that, Patrice. After that, Polly Bannister, then Jannie Leone, then Mary Lynn Bannister. The plan was to proceed up the ladder, one by one, until Wilson was drained or dead. Whichever came first.

Patrice didn’t understand why she had to be third.

“He’s MY brother, after all. I should be FIRST.”

“I’m ALWAYS first, Treecey. You know that. You all drew straws and Annie won. You came in second. That puts you behind me and Annie. Fair’s fair.”

“But how come YOU never draw straws? You always assume first place!”

“I’m the oldest. When you git to be the oldest, you can go first. OK?”

“But you had your turn at him the other night!! You should be at the end of the line now!!”

“That was then. This is now, Treecey. You know the rules.”

This muddled logic confused the girl. She still thought she should get first dibs by right of relation. Abby ignored her.

Up in the loft, Wilson advanced upon Abby’s naked ass. Since their prior encounter he’d been obsessed with the possibility of a return engagement. His penis was erect from the moment he climbed up into the loft. The sheer audacity of their sex and the possibility of getting caught accentuated his desire. Abby’s anal capacities rivaled any man’s, the difference being that, with Abby, he hadn’t cum. Hadn’t been able to.

She preened up on her toes before easing her ass down upon his cock. He waggled a bit to get situated, prying her open for the sake of depth. His cock eased into her, inch by inch, until he was balls deep and the stench of her rectum coated his shaft. He withdrew and snapped off a firecracker thrust that caused her to moan.

“Shhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!” he cautioned.

He repeated the move; she repeated the moan.

“SHHHHHHHH!!!! I can’t get caught up here!!!”

She flashed a wicked grin over her shoulder.

“You just do your part. I’ll handle the rest.”

Wilson withdrew until his pud rested, again, at her entrance. He loved watching his cock tremble in the instant before insertion, loved watching the stretch, the widen, and the inevitable closure about his shaft as he plunged forward into the depths. He loved seeing the darkened skin encircling sphincters, loved to see the tight stitching that bound a body together at the asshole. Most of all he loved the sensation of being engulfed in another human body. A woman’s rectum differed little from a man’s. It was their furry girly parts that put him off.

Abby’s buttocks spread wide as Wilson plowed her open. She closed her eyes and visualized his penis filling her torso, just as she did each time a hard cock invaded one of her orifices. Once inside, she felt as if she could masturbate him by massaging her tits or roiling her shoulders…or swallowing deeply. Big cocks were a girl’s best friend. And when they erupted? Don’t ask.

Abby’s tits flapped as Wilson humped her. She rode the crest of the wave.

Twenty minutes later, Wilson was still humping. Abby had already crested and crashed three times.

“Are you gonna cum?” she whispered breathlessly. “My time is almost up.”

“Your TIME?!?”

“Yes! My TIME. Annie is up next.”

“You never said anything about Annie!!”

“Well I am NOW. She’s downstairs waiting.”

“If I cum in you, I won’t be able to do anything with her!”

“That’s why you should have cum ten minutes ago!! You’d be ready to go again by now.”

He pulled his cock from her ass.

“Oh, go get her,” he said. “How many others?”

“Everyone.”

“EVERYONE?!?!”

“Nobody told you to be so…good.”

Annie’s turn was next. Wilson’s balls slapped against her furry blonde snatch as his cock cruised in and out of her asshole. Her ass cheeks wobbled tremulously. Annie cruised along at plateau, snapping off one orgasm after another as she crested and waned.

Wilson put in another twenty minutes of sweaty wet work yet he still hadn’t cum. Annie, on the other hand, felt she had found the ass dick of her dreams. Abby told the truth—Wilson knew more about the art of fudge packing than any of her prior cornholers. When her twenty minutes were up she made a mental note to append herself to the end of today’s line. She wanted another go.

Next Treecey climbed into the loft. She and her brother were both a little embarrassed at the circumstances. They’d never interacted sexually. Treecey knew of Wilson’s sexual preferences without having ever discussed them.

When she snapped the trapdoor shut behind her, Wilson’s dick was still massively erect. It dripped with Abby’s and Annie’s anal perfume. He blushed and turned away from her.

“Why are you a part of this?” he asked.

“I dunno, Willie. Abby set it up.”

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he grumbled.

“I…I think I want to.”

“Why? Because everybody else is? What am I, some kind of sideshow freak now?”

“No, Willie. Abbs ain’t said nuttin’ but good things about you. I suppose this is her way of lettin’ you into the family, like you asked.”

“I gotta fuck my way in?”

“I guess.”

“An’ how many people have YOU fucked to be ‘in’ the family?”

“You ain’t gotta put it like that. I like to fuck just as good as anybody else.”

“But why fuck people in your family?”

“I dunno. That’s just how Abby does it. We just followin’ her.”

“Go back downstairs. I don’t wanna do it to you. Send up the next one.”

Patrice looked crestfallen.

“Why you look like that? Did you come up here on your own or did Abby send you?” he continued.

“I come up on my own.”

It was true. He was her big brother. She’d always held a small crush for him. That he’d never participated in incestuous sex, even though everyone else had, made him something of a desirable target. Further, Abby’s description of his penis’ expansive properties made Patrice curious. She needed to see it to believe it.

He turned back to her. His penis had slumped. It certainly didn’t look gigantic. It looked like an ordinary cock. She turned to climb back down the ladder.

“Wait,” he said. “Come back.”

Treecey paused.

“I ain’t mean to hurt you, Treecey. Whyn’t you stay up here and talk with me for twenty minutes? We ain’t set down an’ talk in years. Then you can go back down an’ tell ‘em whatever you want.”

“Is that what Abby and Annie did?”

“No,” he admitted.

Treecey sat down on Ben’s bed. She didn’t know what to say, so she opened with a truism.

“Abby says you got a big ‘un. She says you got the biggest white boy dick she’s seen.”

“A lot of ‘em say that.”

“It don’t look all that gigantic to me,” she went on.

“He ain’t fully awake right now.”

She quieted, as if debating her next question.

“Willie, I just wanted to see it, is all. If you let me see it, I’ll gon’ about my business.”

Wilson laughed easily.

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine!!”

It was the typical rejoinder between youthful siblings. He hadn’t been serious. In fact, he was mocking young Abby’s opening line from their teen years. Patrice took him seriously, though. She stood and lifted her skirt. Wilson was shocked. HER PUSSY WAS COMPLETELY BALD!!! PINK!! With a deeper pink slit in between.

He’d never seen one like this, not on a grown woman.

“Wh-wha’s that?” he stammered.

Patrice hadn’t remembered that she’d shaved. She looked down, realized her nakedness, and dropped her skirt.

When she looked up, Wilson’s dick was hard. Now it was her turn to be shocked. How did it happen so quickly? His dick WAS huge! Abby hadn’t exaggerated.

“Lemme see it again, Treecey!!”

Patrice raised her skirt. Wilson’s cock locked in place, pointed straight at her cooch. Wilson looked down at his steaming pole. He looked up at Treecey. Was this really happening?

Treecey lay back on Ben’s bed. Wilson moved forward, drawn by an invisible, taut cord between his straining urethra and Patrice’s glimmering vagina. She opened her legs to him. He scooched forward again, as if moving in slow motion while the world raced past. Their genitals kissed briefly, snuggled for position, then merged with a graceful fluidity. He disappeared inside her. In instant later, Treecey’s pussy was filled with cum. She felt the hot, saucy slosh of pelvic lubrication.

Unbeknownst to Patrice, this was Wilson’s first successful heterosexual experience. His body wracked with spasms. He jerked to and fro as his jism rocketed into her.

He now knew why he’d avoided women for so long. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the feel of pussy. It was that he perceived women’s genitals to be unclean. Excessive pubic hair, common to all women of the day, turned him off. Treecey’s bald pussy changed his perspective.

They fucked three more times in Treecey’s allotted twenty minutes. Each time, Wilson opted for her hairless pussy over her burgeoning ass. When they finished and Polly made her way up the ladder, Wilson waved her off.

“I’m done,” he said. “Another time.”

He believed Treecey’s pussy to be an outlier. He couldn’t know that Polly’s pussy was bald, too. What were the chances?

XXXVIII.

Heresy

Treecey’s conquest earned some valuable bragging rights. Wilson was no longer a prissyboy!! He’d actually plumbed a pussy!! And not just once, but several times!! When she was again alone with the sub-lionesses, Patrice proudly displayed the evidence of her sexual fecundity leaking from her twat.

“How’d you git him to do it, Treecey? Tell us!!”

“I…I ain’t did much. Just showed him my pussy, is all. Soon’s he seen it his dick was all, like, “BOOOIIIIINGGGG!!!!” An’ he hopped up on me an’ put it in. He cum REAL fast, faster’n Blue did wit’ Mary Lynn. One pump and BAM!!”

“An’ you said he got hard again and again? An’ he ain’t asked you for no doodihole nary time?”

“Nope. Not once. Straight tooncey the whole way.”

“Maybe it’s just ‘cause you’se his sister?”

“He ain’t wanna do it to me at first. Sent me back downstairs! He ain’t wanna do it till he seen my pussy, I’m tellin’ you.”

“An’ you ain’t blowed him?”

“Nope. Not even once.”

“Hmmmmph.” Annie said. “He ‘uz up MY doodihole the whole time an’ ain’t busted nut the first.”

“Mine, too.” Abby added.

“I bet you it’s because she shaved!” Polly offered.

“YEAH!! That has to be it!! He done seen plenty of hairy pussy. I practically threw mine in his face an’ he run,” said Abby.

“Maybe he ain’t wanted sloppy five hundredths, Abby.” Polly smirked.

“Bitch! Ain’t I told you….”

“ALRIGHT! ENOUGH!! We gotta find out what it is about Treecey’s pussy that turned Willie around. It’s two more hairless pussies in this room. If one o’ you Bannisters gits him hard, we’ll know what we’re workin’ with,” Annie deduced.

“I’m gitting the nubs, Annie.” Polly admitted coyly.

“Me, too,” said Mary Lynn. “It’s been a coupl’a days.”

“Well go upstairs and shave ‘em off, then! We’ll git Willie back in here later on and, if he snaps to attention when your pooncey flumps out, then we’ll know what it is that brung him around.”

“That’s a good idea!! I’ve got a better one, though.” Jannie added. “He might git hard on Polly ‘cause Polly is new pussy. But suppose’n YOU, Annie, go and shave YOUR pussy, then offer it to him. He ain’t wanted none at first, but if he change his mind on YOUR baldy, then we’ll know for sure what brung him around!!”

“She’s right, you know,” said Polly.

“Why I got to shave MY pussy, Janice? Why don’t you shave YOURS?” Annie snipped.

“Ain’t you listened to what I said? Mine’s is new pussy, too!! I ain’t fucked him yet. He quit before my turn came up!! Only yours and Abby’s is old pussy to him. We gotta make sure that ain’t the thing!!”

“Oh, OK. I get it,” said Annie.

“Get what?” asked Aunt Marlene. She’d just walked in the house, followed by Samantha Bannister and Josephine McNulty.

The lionesses turned to Annie expectantly. Quick pivots were staples of Leone gossip sessions.

“OH!! Jannie was just sayin’ the Apostle Paul was at the Sermon of the Mountain. I said maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t, but if he WAS he was just standin’ in for the Apostle Bill, and left right after the catfish and the cornbread was served. Ain’t that right, Jannie?”

Jannie picked up the tenor.

“No. You said he’d left BEFORE the fish an’ grits was served. An’ so I asked you how he knew all what the Good Lord said after he skipped out? Paul wrote them four gospels and quoted Jesus like he heard all the after dinner preachin’ direct, not like somebody told him about it the next day, second hand, where he might lay off some of the details, and leave ‘em out’n the Good Book. It’s all right there, inspired and profitable, all writ down in the Book of Relevations.”

Polly chipped in: “And what I wanted to know is how Paul got up and skipped without Jesus knowin’ he’d left the wedding feast? Just got up and rousted clean out! If it was me, I’d-a fired him before the next cock crowed, and brought in the Prophet Samuelson, because he was frightful strong and whupped all them Canaanites with Balaam the Mule’s jawbone that time, and didn’t stop to git his hair cut, because a bear come out the woods and chased his nephews. A body’d think HE might could keep people from smouchin’ them fish that the Lord jacked out of his bag with a pole that ain’t had no hook. After all, it was a heap-a folks there. The Good Lord couldn’t keep his eye on the whole pack. Some ‘um coulda been Philippines and I don’t know what all! Once them folks show up it’s “Katie bar the door”!!”

This dizzying array of convoluted scriptural heresy went uncorrected by the three matrons. The girls may have been sketchy on certain points but, on the whole, it was good to see them sharpening their theological acuity.

“Never mind all that,” Samantha Bannister said. “Did y’all finish cleanin’ that cane like I said? I don’t see no stalks in the yard.”

Mary Lynn piped up.

“Yes’m! The niggers come up and cleaned up the stalks. Uncle Nathan took the cane over to the mill for squeezin’s. He said he gon’ keep some for makin’ ‘lasses and some for makin’ hooch. Said he had a surprise for us when he come back, Ma’am.”

“Annie? Did you pluck them chickens?” added Josephine.

“Not yet, ma’am. I got caught up in the conversation. I ‘uz jist gittin’ ready to head out that way.”

“Polly? Did you shave that mold off the smoked ham? Lawd knows I don’t like mold!”

“Yes’m. Right away!”

“I asked you is you done it a’ready, not if you’se fixin’ to do it.”

“Yes’m!!”

“Abby, these are YOUR charges. You’re s’posed to be makin’ ‘em jump. Land sakes!! Me and yo’ mama and yo’ auntie’s is too OLD to be doin’ ALL the work around here! It’s time for you young ‘uns to pitch in on your own!! We shouldn’t have to be lightin’ in on you for every little detail!! You act like them little girls down at the church showin’ out for the boys! ‘Ceptin’ ain’t no boys here but our own!! C’mon, now! Snap to it!!!”

The young lionesses were properly chagrined. There was a lot of work still to be done. Guests would be arriving. The big dinner was near ‘bout upon them and here they were arguing over some faggot’s dick.

Abby formed her face up into a matronly glare. She began snapping off orders left and right while her contemporaries giggled. They knew that as soon as the real matrons left, dick would again become the topic du jour. Why? Because dick was the underlying credo at the Church of Abby’s Vagina. Abby was the High Priestess of that church. Abby’s younger contemporaries were its bishops.

And so the girls went about their chores, three of them happily, the other three with a sense of deprivation. Abby assured this latter group that they would get their chance at the very next opportunity. She ruled the prior drawing of straws to be canonical. Any new drawing could only take precedence after the prior drawing’s lineup had been exhausted.

Wilson McNulty still reigned at the top of the lioness’ food chain, although Annie and Polly voted for a chance at Blue. Annie was given dispensation to take on Blue at her convenience, inasmuch as she’d already taken a turn at Wilson and missed her turn with Blue down at the spring. Wilson was Polly’s next in line; her bald pie would be used as an indicator of Wilson’s actual preference. If his dick sprang to attention upon first exposure then baldie was the thing. If not, Wilson’s unexpected sudden reversal had to be Treecey related. (The girls conveniently ignored the ‘new pussy’ angle)

Polly was given private time to get her nubby box in order.

Jannie and Mary Lynn were put on the butter churn for obvious reasons. Annie and Patrice were sent to gut and pluck chickens. Abby assigned herself to matron duty. Someone had to hang around their elders and make them feel useful as mentors.

XXXIX.

Schemin’ on Poontang

Out in the yard, the Leone menfolk were practicing a similar credo, just from a different perspective. The elder Leone men were zeroing in on poontang. Nathan Leone favored a group encounter with Lizzie and Cora. He remembered a similar tent encounter with them from his younger days, an encounter that left an indelible mark on his psyche and a passion for the two women that had never abated.

Hank and Pete Bannister favored younger fare. Hank wondered (again) after Sandra Jean’s availability. Failing that, he’d seen Duck’s two daughters—Regina and Vera—around the farm. Were they prime? What about Meshach’s daughter Ruthie? What about Jerome’s girls? Or Tilly? Or those two nigger girls that came over with Joey Jenkins, what were their names? Jem and Merci? Yeh, them.

“Ain’t we done did it to Lizzie and Cora enough?” Hank opined.

Nathan had to concede his brother’s point. The poontang tradition held that his guests’ wishes had to be respected.

“But not with Sandra Jean. She ain’t available.”

Nathan Leone had another consideration. Wasn’t it past time to bring the boys in on the poontang tradition?

“I mean, it’s a good bet my boy has already been up in them poontangs you just mentioned, anyway. If you wanna gon’ on in behind him, be my guest. I won’t do it. I want me a grown up woman. I’ve knowed them girls you mentioned since they come out the poochipap, ‘ceptin’ the ones as come over with Joey.”

“That’s the thing, Nate. Somebody’s gotta break ‘em in! It’s Christmas!! It ain’t no harm!! Besides, nigger women like it, and it don’t matter how young they is. Eight years old, seven. I’ve heard tell that some fellas will take ‘em as five year olds. I won’t do it. But some has.

“That’s sick, Hank. Little niglet like that barely has enough hair on her poon to make it worth your while. She’ll cry the whole way.”

“Well, I ain’t suggestin’ we go THAT young. But I also ain’t suggestin’ we go for they grandmammie’s neither. Let’s go for sump’n nice an’ plump right in between the two.”

“Girls that young don’t often have they own place down in the quarters. Still living wit’ they mammies, most ‘um. I went after a young ‘un once and her sister beat the hell outta me ‘fore I could git my bearin’s. You willin’ to run that resk?”

“A nigger bitch cain’t whup all of us!! Not if we all gang up!”

“Us and the boys, too? I dunno that I want Ben to see me tappin’ nigger ass. It’s one thing for you to see it. It’s another thing for him to see it.”

“Well, then, don’t bring him along! Him and Jake and Jamie will jist light out and disappear for hours. It ain’t like they won’t find sump’n to do.”

“Alright. So who is you settled on?”

“Well, we’ve done did Shaddy’s wife. Let’s do his daughter!!”

“All four of us on just the one?”

“Sounds like fun, don’t it!”

“I seen that girl fight. You’re gon’ have to put her down.”

“Down cold? You don’t reckon she’ll give it up easy, like her Ma?”

“No, I don’t reckon she’ll give it up easy “like her Ma”. The only reason her Ma gives it up easy is because we been doin’ it to her since she was a young ‘un. We don’t know Ruthie like that. If Ruthie’s the one, I’m out. We ain’t growed up wit’ Ruthie; she don’t know us like friends. We’s allus the masters to her. It’s a difference between her and her mama. I’m bettin’ Ruthie can whup two of you by herself. You won’t come out of it without a knot upside yo’ head, I can tell you that much, or maybe five knots an’ a broke tooth. An’ she won’t care that you’se white, not one bit.”

“Hmmmmph. Well, Joe, what about your two? The light skinned one and the black one? You’ve done did them, ain’t you?”

“I’ve did the yaller one plenty times. Merci is her name. She has a little room next to our house like Sandra Jean has here,” Joe Jenkins offered. ‘I ain’t did the black ‘un. I don’t seem to like ‘em too black. ‘Sides, I’m bettin’ this Jem’s a fighter, just like Shaddy’s daughter. You can tell by lookin’ at ‘em sometimes whether they’ll take to the poontang proper or not. ‘N I got them young ‘uns, my four boys, too. I cain’t afford to take that resk and git banged up over some nigger pussy.”

“Is you willin’ to offer the light skinned one up?”

“She’s part white, Hank. That’s the only reason she takes to the poontang. The white part in her is partial to white dick. She ain’t gon’ fuck much different from a white woman.”

Joe was trying to put them off. He suspected that he was related to Merci, much in the same way Nathan suspected blood kinship with Sandra. Neither man had any inkling of the incest taking place under their noses.

“Joe, I ain’t gon’ turn down no white pussy, even if it’s only part way white. Is she prime or ain’t she?”

“Well, you know how it is, Hank. She IS part white. She’ll do it with me, but she don’t wanna do it wit’ nobody else. You understand where I’m at?”

“No, Joe, I don’t understand. Is she your slave or ain’t she? Will she do what you tell her to do without goin’ buck wild and wakin’ up the whole neighborhood?”

“Hank, I druther we didn’t. Cain’t we pick someone else?”

“Lizzie and Cora?” Hank noted sarcastically.

“Hank, if that’s all that’s available without a fight, I’ll buy in. Sure, we could whup the nigger girls into doin’ what we tell ‘em, but it’s Christmas. This don’t really seem to be the right time to…”

“Oh, hush, you big baby. You all gon’ on and git Lizzie and Cora. I’m gon’ see if I can git me sump’n wit’ less mileage.”

Likewise, the younger Leone males were making plans for the holiday. They had a wider selection than their forebears. Usually Ben took the lead in their whoremongering decision-making. This season he was unusually quiet. Jake stood in.

“OK. Are we going with the white meat or the dark meat? I don’t mind telling you that I’d like a do-over with that Polly Lynn. I think she’s mad at me!!”

“It’s because you’re too old for this five seconds and pass out thing.” Ben commented. “Girls in our family might go for that ‘cause they know you, but them Bannister girls is gonna want sump’n better.”

Jameson kept silent. He was only sixteen years old, still learning his trade as a cocksman. Five seconds, to him, was a good first effort. Jake and Ben were his mentors.

“Jamie!! Both of them Bannister girls ain’t got fur the first!!!” Jake bragged. “You shoulda seen ‘em!!”

“No peach fuzz?”

“Not a lick!!”

“That’s wrong. Polly told me she shaved her pussy so’s we WOULD lick her.” Ben said. “She likes gittin’ her pussy licked.”

“What? She ain’t asked me to lick her up. I woulda done it an’ ain’t thought twice.”

“But you thought it was better to let her whup you at rasslin’ before jizzin’ up her butt cheeks before you could put it in.” Ben replied.

“THAT AIN’T WHAT HAPPENED.”

“I was there. I saw what happened. Ain’t no need to lie on that account. She pinned you, both shoulders to the ground. You busted your nuts in her crack soon as she touched you, then she climbed over on me for a finisher, like any decent woman would.”

“IT’S A NEW PUSSY!! I cain’t be blamed for that!! Did you tell her that?”

“I ain’t had to tell her. Your dick told on you before I got a word in.”

“OK, so this is about me, hey? What about that nigger girl that you been sneakin’ off to see every day? What about THAT?”

“Shut up, Jake.”

“NO! NO!! What about THAT, BENNETT THOMAS LEONE? An’ I asked you to share me a piece an’ you told me NO!! What about THAT, huh?”

“I said, SHUT UP, JAKE.”

“Jamie, this nigger bitch twisted him up an’ the next thing….”

An instant later Jacob Leone was sprawled out on the ground. Ben cold-cocked him and was standing over him with menace.

“I TOLD you to shut up. I meant it.”

Jake rolled himself up into a crouch and sprang in for a double-legged takedown. The two boys began to tussle in earnest, flailing blows and cursing each other. Jamie didn’t lift a finger to break up the scuffle. None of the adults within earshot made any move to step in, either. These two had been goin’ at it like this since birth. They’d do their best to kill each other right now. An hour from now they’d be best friends again.

Finally Wilson came around a corner and snatched the boys apart. They continued to rage at one another as if they wanted to continue the fight, but neither wanted any part of Wilson, who could probably whip them both. And had.

“The fuck are you two doing?!” he snarled.

“He started it!! He got mad because I said sump’n about his nigger bitch…”

“I SAID, SHUT UP JAKE.”

Ben escaped Wilson’s grasp and pounced on Jake again. This time his punch bloodied Jake’s lip. Jake’s teeth ran red. The punch really hurt; it wasn’t a love tap.

“THE FUCK’S THE MATTER WITH YOU!!!!” Jake spat, blood dribbling down his chin.

“I told you to shut up. Some things ain’t fittin’ for talk.”

“I’M TALKIN’ ABOUT A NIGGER BITCH!!!!”

Ben drew his fist back again. Wilson stepped in between.

“Just shut up, Jake,” Wilson advised. He turned to Ben confidentially. “What in the living fuck is he talkin’ about? What nigger bitch?”

“It’s nothing. Nothing.”

Wilson could see the rage in Ben’s eyes. He couldn’t imagine that pursuing this line of questioning was going to produce results much different from the earlier fracas.

“Alright. Well, gon’ over there and help my daddy out with makin’ those stakes. We ain’t had enough of ‘em last night. Some of the tents come a-loose. Jakey you come with me.”

“Come with you where?” Jake asked.

“Anywhere but here. You talk too much. An’ it’s a lot of ears around.”

“But Willie, he….”

“Shut up, Jake.”

XL.

Aisleen’s Poosy Stinks

The Leone matrons—Aisleen, Marlene, Josephine, BethAnn—were the only Leone’s not obsessed with getting their genitals scraped that Christmas. Instead, they focused on the preparations necessary to make the holiday memorable for their families. They emphasized the essence of “being a Leone” and the responsibilities borne of that tradition. Leones were bedrock Christians, pillars of the community, hard working white folk, determined to build a great nation by the land they’d conquered using guile and guns, and the sweat of the niggers that worked it.

Of course, that’s not exactly how they framed the story. They took full credit for the sweat, reasoning that no one actually cares about the oxen that pull the plows. It’s the oxen driver who gets credit for the work performed, not the oxen.

The matrons chattered incessantly among themselves, telling stories about their travels, bragging about their children, worrying over every little thing, gossiping about those matrons not present to defend themselves.

Church gossip was especially prevalent. In those small communities the church was often the most common denominator. Everyone knew everyone else; if someone’s child got out of line it wasn’t unusual for the adult who witnessed the crime to administer punishment. Then the unfortunate youthful perpetrator would have to endure further punishment at home. This double (and sometimes triple) jeopardy kept youngsters in line. It kept the community functioning inside of church prescribed limits. It also served as grist for gossip.

And so the women gossiped and pecked, heedless of the sexual whirlwind swirling about them. The matrons operated under the assumption that there was too much work to be done to allow for any such shenanigans. Somehow they forgot their own youthful indiscretions, by which chores were ditched in favor of dick at every reasonable opportunity. Surely their own daughters weren’t as flighty as their mothers had been, and why bring it up just now?

There were better moments to recall Aisleen’s teenaged pursuit of a husband and her subsequent pre-marital pregnancy. Josephine and BethAnn didn’t often think wistfully back to their vivid battles with ‘the nigger taint’, nor did they linger long over the measures they’d taken to be cured of that vacuous malady. Marlene fondly remembered her first sexual encounter with her future husband on the night of his father’s murder. She didn’t think much about her adulterous interracial antics since then.

Aisleen Leone did have something on her mind that week: that goddamned Duck and the wet spot incident. Why had she done it? What had she been thinking?

Of course, Nathan had come home later that night and seen the dried up wet spot without suspecting, just as she’d intended. He’d thought the damned spot was his. It never occurred to him that his wife might be capable of such visceral payback. She was white for God’s sake!!

That incident was two months past. If questioned, Nathan would barely remember it.

Yet the incident had one unanticipated side effect.

As the Leone’s congregated for a raucous Christmas celebration, Aisleen went about her chores wearing three pairs of bloomers and a cotton pad. These precautions were necessary to cover the stench of Auntie Griot’s stinky poosy lotion potion.

XLI.

Self Lovin’ 2 - Ben

Usually Ben and Jake bunked in the same tent. Their earlier altercation prompted Jake to seek separate living quarters.

“I’m not talking to that guy until he apologizes,” claimed Jake.

Ben was indifferent. His mind was elsewhere. If Jake wanted to act like a li’l bitch, that was on him.

“I’ve been totin’ his ass for too long as it is,” Ben groused.

Ben buttoned himself into his bedroll. He ducked his head under a blanket that doubled as a pillow. The night might get cold. His bedroll would serve as a bulwark against the weather but breathing chill air overnight often leads to a bad case of the sniffles.

Ben closed his eyes. He began to recount his day. He’d met Ruthie down by the treehouse again and fucked her sideways. When the last spurt of jism gurgled forth and the scent of their merged genitals could no longer animate his penis, she’d squeezed him thrice, expelled him, then licked him clean from ass crack to schlong cap. Then they’d kissed just a bit too long, lingering tongues, not wanting to part, before finally disappearing, like ghosts, back into their separate racial realities.

On his way back to the big house he’d come across Jem. She’d given him that puzzled “Are we gonna fuck or what?” look. Ben came to realize that what he’d mistaken for the “last erection of the day” was merely “the last erection of the day on Ruthie’s watch.”

Jem was another version of Ruthie—dark, exotic, lovely. Big white teeth. Curly hair. Impish eyes. And a willing, hot pussy.

He felt a pang of guilt. These urges were supposed to go away once love rang true. Not five minutes ago, he’d been awash in the grip of his beloved’s urgency! How could his primal lust spring back so quickly from its sojourn in that tempestuous valley of heat?

And yet, here it was, tapping his head with a brick. A mere glance from Jem was enough to arouse his cock, still slippery fragrant with Ruthie’s juices.

Eyes still closed in his bedroll, Ben reached down to loosen his penis from its shackles.

In his mind’s eye, Jem stood naked before him. Ruthie stood at her side. The women could have been twins. Both of them wielded saucy, demitasse tits and firm, athletic bodies rippling with muscles. Their hands and feet were delicate, graced with long, pianists’ fingers and equally well-defined toes. Their lips were luscious and full. Jem’s pussy was hidden behind a large bushy mass of curly black fur. The outlines of Ruthie’s pussy, so familiar to Ben, were evident; her pubic hairs were curly and sparse. Her protruding slit was framed by her bulging labia.

Neither girl smiled. They smoldered. They were each the personification of the lust they represented, ready at any moment to cloak a penis in thick, dripping honey, thence erupt into Edenic bliss.

Each woman reined a magnificent steed, each of whom snorted impatiently. In the backdrop, a blue-green ocean lapped lazily against a blazing white-sand beach. Palm trees lingered in the late afternoon breeze. On the horizon, billowy grey cumulus clouds heralded a warm evening shower.

Bennett Leone de Leonicia, a prince of the realm, rode up on a regal steed of his own, all white with a golden tan muzzle. Ben, too, was naked. His thick penis lounged haughtily off to the side of his thigh, a loyal adjutant guarding the prince’s jewels.

At his approach, the two black girls mounted their steeds easily, waiting for the prince to canter up. He did so with aplomb, giving each girl a gallant nod. Only then did the naked beauties smile conspiratorially.

With a quickened “HA!!” they bolted off down the beach, leaving their prince behind. He smiled at this futile gesture. Spurring his horse, he quickly overtook them.

Now the three naked royals raced up the beach, Bennett at the center, ears peeled back, red tresses flowing in the wind. He grinned at the black women on his flanks, urging them on. He didn’t want to win the race outright, although he knew that such was inevitable. His mighty steed was undefeated in such impromptu contests.

Indeed, the prince approached the finish line leading by a length. Then, as always, he reined his horse and allowed the women to cross the line first. And, as always, his steed reared on its hind legs, cursing loudly in a language only horses understand. Alone among the competitors, his horse understood there is no substitute for victory, gallantry be damned!

Prince Bennett chuckled. He gamboled across the finish line at a leisurely trot.

Ruthie and Jem dismounted and tethered their steeds to a palm tree. The prince regarded their nakedness from astride his mount.

It was time.

The prince dismounted. He didn’t bother to tether his horse. The animal was well trained. The prince approached the two women, who returned his gaze with looks of anticipation. This encounter was not a ritual. It was a most desired privilege.

The three of them clasped hands and closed their eyes as if in prayer. Indeed, the prince’s lips moved in silent imprecation. Energy seemed to flow from his body into theirs, slowly at first, but with increasing amplitude. Untouched, Prince Bennett’s naked penis began to rise. His cockhead peeled forth from its enshrouding cloak like a morning glory before the sun.

Now the energy flow between their naked bodies became a living thing. They seemed to glow, to vibrate, to resonate in tune with an unseen frequency.

Prince Bennett was fully erect now, as were the clitorises of the two black women. Their genitals quivered to close the gulf between their physical bodies.

Something more ethereal was on tap.

For twenty minutes they stood nakedly aroused on that beach, restraining the urge to mate, until the lip of a full moon crested over the ocean’s horizon, and the sun’s last rays left a rosy glow in the West.

Prince Bennett now squeezed the hands of his two charges, as if to inject the last remnants of his amperage into their svelte chocolate bodies.

This was the trigger.

Clear ejaculate poured from Ben’s erect penis. It didn’t spurt, it sprayed. Similar ejaculate extruded from the urethras of the women. These ejecta met and mixed, expanding into a bubble shaped cocoon that enveloped the trio and soon wafted them aloft. The substance had the consistency and vibrant coloration of a soap bubble, yet the bubble, when pricked, wouldn’t pop.

As one might imagine, the footing inside this slippery enclosure was tenuous. The bubble bore them skyward with a haunting lethargy. They slipped and crashed into each other as it curled, unable to stand erect. The bubble lubricated their bodies with shine. It rotated and tumbled them, ass over elbows, like a carnival ride, but always slowly, in tune with, yes, an unsung luxuriant sexual tempo.

The trio laughed giddily, like children, and gazed upon the ocean below in wonder. The full moon limned the night sky, bathing the ocean whitecaps in its glow. Prince Bennett slipped along inside the soap bubble on his back, cresting and sliding as it rotated. His erection still preened. Princess Ruth managed to gain purchase astride him. She deftly slipped his penis inside her vagina, it being the least slippery place in the room. Princess Jem mounted his face, gripping his head firmly to hold herself in place.

And so they fucked.

The prince lost himself inside the chocolate vaginas of these, his two favorite princesses. Princess Ruth nurtured and coddled his thick cock with her heated pinkness while Princess Jem irradiated his nostrils with her feminine odor. She humped his face, using her labia to kiss and nibble at his lips. So agile was she that when she slid south to suckle at his neck, she left an angry red vaginal hickey as a territorial marking. Princess Ruth leaned forward from her mount and applied a similar hickey to Princess Jem’s labia. Of course, it didn’t show.

With difficulty the two women exchanged places. Now Princess Jem’s thick, spongy pubic mound spiraled downward upon the prince’s cock. Friction at last! She humped him, balls deep, before retreating so far up his shaft that only the wispy kiss of her labia held the purpled crown of his cock in place. Then she inhaled him again on the downstroke, gasping desperately to be so pleasurably impaled. He struggled to rub his cockhead into the deeper molasses of her inner pudding.

Princess Ruthie fucked his tongue with quick, catlike thrusts. She’d already burst through one orgasm and was fighting toward another. The prince knew of her first devolution because her intoxicating scent exploded up his nostrils like a drug that crinkled into a sparkling shower of panoramic light in his brain. Ruthie howled. She pressed her cunt into his mouth and poured her essence into his throat.

Prince Bennett ejaculated. When the swoon of his ecstasy abated and he opened his eyes it was Ruthie’s face before him, not Jem’s. Ruthie’s pussy received his royal issue. He hadn’t been aware that the girls had swapped positions.

Princess Ruth disengaged. A flood of semen dripped from her cunt. Amazingly, his cock was still fully erect. Princess Jem mounted him. Soon, she too was filled with spunk. Prince Bennett’s unconquered cock still spired aloft.

He turned back to Princess Ruthie, resting on her back beside him in their floating bubble. He noticed that her calves breached the bubble, dangling outside of it. He rolled atop her body and entered her effortlessly. Princess Jem then mounted him, sandwich fashion, and grinded her furry mound into his asshole. She returned a bolt of his sticky effluent to that pungent orifice.

And so they fucked.

Ben masturbated through several iterations of this fantasy, erupting time and again without bothering to clean his bedroll or his nightclothes of semen.

When finally sated, the royal trio noted that their buoyant bubble ship had drifted hundreds of miles out to sea. Ominous cumulus clouds encircled them, flashing heat lightning. The gallant prince calmed the princesses fears as best he could.

The bubble suddenly burst. The young royals tumbled to earth, faster and faster, finally dissolving into droplets of rain that peppered the deep ocean waves for miles around.

Darkness befell the lovers as if, in death, they found sufficient solace to quench their soaring lusts.

With the coming of the morning sun, the three royals washed up onto a sparkling white sand beach, reanimated into their human selves, a little tired but none the worse for wear.

They mounted their patiently waiting steeds and galloped home.

Darkness befell Ben. He fell asleep in his tent with his sticky flaccid dick turtling between his thumb and forefinger, shaft in hand, tired, but none the worse for wear.

XLII.

Self-Lovin’ 3 - Jacob

In another tent not far away, Jacob Leone masturbated over a bevy of beauties: Abigail Harkness, Polly Lynn Bannister and Ruthie Leone.

“Why should I have to yank spank over these bitches?” he wondered. “They’re right here!!! The only one I’ve been up in is the nigger!!!”

He didn’t count his early denouement with Polly as a successful coupling. Even his encounter with Ruthie at the spring had been brief. She’d smoked him like a cigarette.

In his mind’s eye, though, his debilitating fondness for new pussy became the malady of his conquests. He was projecting.

“Take Abby, there. Everybody in the world has fucked her. Except ME…an’ maybe that faggot-ass Wilson. She won’t even give me a sniff!! Hmmmmph!! Well. That’s about to change.”

He envisioned Abby as a golden leopard advancing upon him in the evening gloom of his loft bedroom. She had the upright ears of the great cat, and its tail, and she went on all fours like a cat, but otherwise she had the form of a naked woman with great succulent breasts and a silky cunny to die for, no longer merely auburn, but spotted with dark leopard’s rosettes.

Her oval eyes gleamed in the darkness as she stalked her prey. Paralyzed by the exquisite fear an animal feels in the instant before its death, Jacob’s penis arched up into a perfect crescent. He was naked. His heart raced. There was no escape.

The great leopard pounced. Time slowed. Jake watched the leopard’s airborne leap, marveling at its grace and power. Long forgotten sequences of his young life raced before his eyes. The cat hurtled towards his exposed neck seeking the kill bite. Jake threw up his hands in desperation.

Then Abby was upon him. Her hungry jaws closed upon his neck. But where she expected bloodthirsty fangs he experienced soft, moistened lips. Where he expected ripping talons he experienced gentle stroking. Where he expected death he experienced the warm, wet enclosure of a silky cunny desperate for dick. HIS dick.

She sought and found his protuberance, positioned her slit atop its helm. As he peeled her vagina open she froze. Her small paws rose up in the anguished prayer of the spirit laden; she exploded with the power of the sun, bathing the small room in light and sound. Her tail whipped about manically; her haunches gripped him in place, preventing his escape. She screamed horrifically. And all the world knew that another wild vagina had been subjugated by the rampant virility of Jacob the Bold.

Heedless of her cries, he fucked this panther girl into submission. He rolled her over and fucked her from behind, animal-fashion, with her fluffy tail jerking about between their conjoined bodies, flitting about his nose, cheeks and ears. He grasped her tail and drew a whiff of the furry tip. It reeked of the smell of vagina. Obviously, when prey were scarce, she’d used it as a dildo to cool her own ardor.

Jacob the Bold fucked Abigail the Cat savagely as she yowled and hissed and struggled. One might have thought she were trying to escape his clutches. No. These animated gyrations were the telltale signs of her sexual extremis. She had to fight and struggle to paint the entirety of her fertile vagina with dick. Only the most rigorously vetted males were chosen for this task.

Lesser males were killed and eaten. Jacob was not one of these.

From the instant Jacob pried her pussy apart she came. The tremulous waves of a regular orgasm paled before the crashing tsunamis raging the length of Abby’s feline orifice. Each time she snapped tight about his dick another mountainous wave crashed down and she was consumed in delirium. Jacob’s penis served as the earthquake that roiled her oceans. Abby clenched. She screeched. Jacob gripped her haunches tightly, serving up the steaming hot dick she so craved.

Jacob could feel his own orgasm building. He could feel his dick, lengthening with each stroke, driving to deliver a gargantuan serving of his seed.

Something was wrong.

Jacob looked down. Abigail was limp!! The heffah had passed out!! SHE WAS ASLEEP!!! His cock still raged inside her, but Abby was unresponsive! SHE’D FAINTED FROM HER PASSION!!

SUNUVABITCH!!

Jacob jacked his dick furiously to simulate Abby’s expressive orgasm, yet the vision of her limp cat-body wouldn’t allow him to peak. He jacked himself faster and faster. His cock wouldn’t respond….until…

Abby’s cat body morphed now into the slender white form of Polly Lynn Bannister. Hairless and tailless, Polly’s shimmering black tresses fell about her shoulders wantonly. Jacob looked down. He was mounted behind her. His sausage-like penis strained between the grip of her alabaster ass cheeks; his pud bounced off her lower back.

Polly arched her behind up at an obscene angle, agonizingly slowly, almost doubling herself over backwards, tensed like a spring, such that her ass might touch her shoulder blades. As she arched, Jacob’s penis slid down the line of her ass crack, paused at her sphincter, lingered over her taint until, at last, it centered itself at the entrance to her bald pussy. Only then did Polly release her backbone from its fervent u-shaped tension. She eased down upon his cock until her puffy pussy lips engulfed his shaft, then met and kissed his furry tangerine pubic mound. She wettened him fully in one go.

Now she arched her ass back up the length of his penis, just as slowly, until she released him. This time his pud slid upwards across her taint, drew an expansive whiff of her asshole, and meandered its way up the valley between her ass cheeks, lubricated by Polly’s fragrant pudding. She bubbled her ass cheeks wide and clenched at his shaft on its journey north.

Ass cheek is not pussy. Real pussy is offended at the pretense.

So Polly arched her back again, dragging Jacob’s cock back between the valley between her cheeks, over her asshole and taint, until finally his penis crested between her labia. She queefed to create a vacuum, then allowed this vacuum to draw him back inside her holiest of holes. He watched her ivory pussy lips pinken with blush as she widened to accept him.

“I am REAL pussy,” Polly’s vagina personified as Jacob’s penis slipped into her aromatic liquid depths. “There is no substitute.”

No introductions were needed.

Jacob’s image of the leopard woman receded before this new vision of loveliness. He humped Polly’s ass lavishly before deciding he needed to see her face in order to accentuate his finale. He withdrew and turned her over onto her back, expecting to see her glowing with the gratitude of the properly fucked.

Polly was asleep. Out cold. She’d cum as her pussy personified itself. And now she was sleeping off that vibrant glow.

SUNUVABITCH!!

Once again Jacob attacked his pole with a vengeance. This was the second pussy that had gone dead on him in the past few moments!! Even in fantasy, the irony of this pre-mature completion escaped him. What was wrong with these bitches?

“Come on, COME ON!!!” he huffed.

His penis saw no reason to perform before the dead.

Jacob skipped his fantasy back to the point when he first entered Polly from behind. He replayed that moment over and over in his mind. He watched her morph from a cat into a woman. He came close, but was unable to spew. Polly just wasn’t awake long enough to trigger his orgasm. Jake’s palm was not new pussy.

Suddenly the little room filled with light. An apparition appeared, an angel, complete with oversized wings and a see-thru gown. The angel floated in mid-air. A beatific look proceeded from her face. Jacob knew instinctively that this vision was not of this earth.

First, this angel was black. It was Ruthie. Jacob had never seen a nigger angel. He’d never thought niggers evolved to the angelic plane. Nothing in his religious schooling even suggested it as a possibility. They weren’t blonde. They didn’t have blue eyes. How could they become angels?

He suspected this angel was a demon sent to entrap him.

“GET BEHIND ME, SATAN!!!” he muttered aloud.

The black angel made no move.

“I SAY, FOUL DEMON GO OUTTTTTT!!!!!!”

(He’d heard this imprecation in church.)

The black angel made no move.

Then it occurred to him—this angel was Ben’s nigger bitch! Had she died and gone to heaven? When had it happened? Was she now accusing him before the Throne? How could she do that? This bitch had the tightest corkscrew pussy in seven kingdoms!!! He’d caught her siphoning jism from Ben’s dick just the other day!! If she told on him, he was certain to return the favor. So THERE.

The black angel made no move.

He scrutinized her more closely. She looked like Ruthie, yet she didn’t look like Ruthie. Her mien was too kind, too ethereal to be Ruthie. The real Ruthie always regarded Jacob with disdain, as if his mere presence soiled her existence. She’d fucked him, but it certainly wasn’t for HIS benefit. And she didn’t seem to be chomping at the bit for a return engagement, neither.

Too, hadn’t his cousin and best friend Ben cold cocked him at her mention? Hadn’t Ben denied him her services, something no friendly white man would ever do? What was this nigger doing in his room, anyway? How’d she get here?

“W-what do you want?” Jacob asked.

The black angel made no move.

He looked closer. Yep, this was Ruthie, alright. He recognized the saucy tits, the rounded hips, the patchy poon with the flappy lips. Her see-thru gown covered none of these features.

“I know it’s you, Ruthie. What are you doing here?”

Her voice rang out clear as a bell.

“I am come that you might cum, Bold Jacob.”

“What?!?”

“I am clear?”

“What!?!?”

“So.”

The apparition shivered slightly. Her clothing dissipated. Now she drifted nakedly, borne aloft by her wings. Jacob’s cock peeled erect again. His fear dissolved along with her raiment. Jacob was surprised to note that she too had a tail, like Abby’s, but it was jet black, with a poof of thicker black pubic fur at its tip. She used it to navigate in space, swinging left to navigate to the right and vice versa.

Otherwise she was fully Ruthie in ghostly form, a vapor, a mist. Jacob could see thru her body to the furniture behind.

She fluttered her wings the slightest bit and began to drift forward. Jacob lay back. He offered his crescent dick up to her.

Ruthie’s mien remained angelic. There was neither lust nor covetousness in her eyes. She approached him from above.

Now positioned directly above his body, Ruthie’s voice rang out again.

“Is this what you need to release your seed, Bold Jacob?”

Jacob wasn’t sure what she meant. He didn’t respond.

“Are you SURE, Bold Jacob?”

“I am,” he finally confessed.

Using her fingers, she reached down to peel her labia apart. She spread her legs. Slowly, she descended to his arching penis. Millimeters from his tip, she asked him again:

“Are you SURE, Bold Jacob?”

Jake shook his head yes.

She gave him a few seconds to change his mind. He made no move to do so.

A mouth now extended from her vagina, complete with lips, tongue and teeth. The mouth glommed onto Jacob’s penis. The tongue, just as misty as the rest of Ruthie’s angelic form, slipped into Jacob’s urethra and insinuated itself the full length of his erection. It enveloped and caressed his testes from within.

In that instant, Jacob’s entire body dissolved into vapor. His semen rocketed forth.

Jacob was soon distressed to find that his new body was composed wholly of powdery jism particulate. As he emptied himself into Ruthie, his body wasted away like sand into an hourglass. He became smaller and smaller. Too, he could see his semen accumulating inside Ruthie’s spirit body as milk poured into coffee. He tried to pull his penis from her vaginal mouth, but the vibrant sensations of his ongoing orgasm overwhelmed his survival instinct.

His dick dissolved into her. Then his ass. Then his thighs. Then his torso. Soon, the whole of his body was invested within Ruthie’s dark form, changing her coloration from deep chocolate to a golden caramel. Jacob became his orgasm, jagging about Ruthie’s spirit body in a never-ending paradise of sparkle.

Ruthie smiled. She withdrew her mouth vagina back into the recesses from whence it arose. Then Ruthie, too, disappeared into the realm of imagination from whence she’d been summoned.

Hours later, when Jacob recovered from this wicked fantasy, his whole bedroll and his nightclothes were drenched in cold semen. And the cool Louisiana night had taken a turn for the worse.

SUNUVABITCH!!!

XLIII.

Self-Lovin’ 4 - Wilson

In yet another nearby pup tent, Wilson McNulty contemplated his own circumstances. He’d fucked a girl!! And not just once for experience’s sake. He’d fucked her several times, found her bald poochipap to be just as exciting as a man’s asshole.

She was his widowed sister!!!

As one might imagine, a man who has been homosexual his entire life might find these circumstances morally troubling.

“Am I a man’s man? Or have I been pretending all these years?”

Further, he wondered where his relationship with Patrice would lead. They’d always been traditional siblings. Incest had never been considered. Even now, Wilson felt conflicted, slightly nauseated at the idea of rubbing genitals with a sister.

“It’s just wrong, isn’t it?”

Yet the vision of her hairless pie remained framed in his brain. Every time he considered it his penis leapt. That had never happened before. A woman’s genitalia never affected him in this manner.

“Ah, pussy!! Soft and pink!!”

He wondered after what might make this new experience better.

In his mind’s eye he saw Abby, Annie and Patrice standing naked. Their backs were turned to him. They were posing seductively. He could see their hourglass forms; Annie’s ass was widest. The curves of their supple breasts were evident from between their armpits. Patrice and Abby preened up on their tiptoes. All three girls winked at him suggestively over their shoulders.

This was going to be an easy choice. Of course he was going to go with the baldie. This time he was going to take her up the bum while the other two watched.

Wilson closed his eyes and took his penis in hand to steady himself for the ride.

Amazingly, there was no penis to grip. He patted around his groin searching for it. It had to be there somewhere. Wilson jerked upright in his bedroll. His penis was gone!! In its place was a smaller penis, the size of a lobster claw, and a wet vertical slit bereft of pubic hair.

HE HAD A PUSSY!!! A BALDIE!!!

Nothing in his experience exceeded the shock young Wilson felt at this unbidden transformation. He liked his dick!! They’d been best friends since childhood. Who’d authorized this change? He didn’t want, didn’t NEED a pussy.

Now the three naked women turned to face him. If the shock of finding a pussy in his crotch subsumed him a moment ago, nothing prepared him for the vision before him now. Each of the girls wielded an erect monster cock, dicks so big that their puds poked out between their supple breasts. All three women were circumcised. Abby leaned her head forward and sucked her own monster cock salaciously. It barely fit in her mouth.

A closer look revealed that these women still had vaginas from whence their penises emerged. Their clitorises were intact atop the base of their shafts. Each of their vaginas gaped wide about these protuberances. The cocks pulsed obscenely, like living hearts. If they erupted and then subsided, Wilson surmised that they might then withdraw back into that sticky velvet cloak of vaginal embrace.

These cocks didn’t appear to be in any danger of subsidence.

“Come, Wilson. Let us witness thy nakedness,” the three women chanted in unison.

Wilson was understandably reluctant. Somehow, he’d been shorn of his crown. The magnificent cock he’d sported earlier no longer loomed between his legs. Instead, there was this…this…

“Stand, young Wilson. See that we are one.”

Wilson’s reticence piqued their curiosity.

“Wilson? STAND!”

It was as if their bidding superceded the backbone of his will. He stood to face them.

“A SPLIT TAIL!!!”

The women burst out in laughter. Wilson withered before them, as if his vagina were a penis recovering from a swim in the North Atlantic.

“LOOK AT THAT!!! A BALDIE!!! A PINKIE!!”

“I AM NOT A WOMAN!!” he ranted.

The women huddled together. Abby, always the catalyst for any new adventure, had an idea. When the huddle broke, the trio advanced upon poor Wilson, encircling him without menace.

“Wilson? You like our dicks, do you not?”

“I…I…do.”

“Wilson? Look at mine. It appeals, yes?” said Abby.

She lifted her penis up for his approval, stroking it sensuously. It smelled like a dick. Musky. Sweaty. Masculine. Its scent contrasted markedly with the sweet pink scent of Abby’s breasts and the fresh jasmine of her hair. Her eyes sparkled with pride, as if her erection were a gift she’d spent weeks crafting, and only now felt worthy of presenting.

Wilson leaned forward tentatively to take a whiff. He first noticed its bulbous head, unencumbered with foreskin, as per his preference. It was long and thick, wrapped in bluish veins. Unlike a normal male erection that darkens as it fills with blood, Abby’s cock had the fresh pink coloration of a healthy woman’s vagina. Its powder blue veins gave it the unusual appearance of an infant’s play toy.

Wilson noticed, too, that Abby’s underarms were bald, another rarity in that day and age. She had no pubic hair. None of the girls did. Wilson felt a familiar warmth begin to simmer in his groin.

“Wilson?”

Her query broke his reverie.

“Yes?”

“I…I want…I want to put it in you.”

“You…you want to…?”

“Yes. I want to.”

“I…I…”

He wasn’t averse to the idea. Wilson wasn’t sure which orifice she wanted to penetrate. He had a new one to offer. She took his hand and pirouetted him about.

“This way?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Wilson was well aware of the proper stance. He set his feet and bent his knees. He would know soon enough whether he would need secondary support. He closed his eyes and waited.

Abby’s cock brushed up between his butt cheeks. He leaned further forward to give her a proper angle. She painted his asshole with her cock, drawing long, lavish strokes from his labia up the valley of his crack. He paused expectantly each time she passed over his opening, hoping that she would probe forward. She insisted on this cock tease as preparation for the rimming to come. Abby knew a thing or two about rim jobs.

Once, when his pussy lips closed about her cockhead and his wet, feminine opening trembled acceptance of her advances, Wilson felt himself slipping down the grease pole of vaginal insertion, a world of vibrancy he’d never known. But Abby pulled back. She drew his feminine stickiness up to his anus and twirled it there to mix with an earthier odor, much as a French saucier crafts a spice mint to accentuate an aperitif.

“Come on, Abby!! Come on!!!”

He became increasingly desperate for deeper penetration. Abby just chuckled in a deep, low tone.

Wilson noticed now that Patrice was lined up behind Annie, fucking her asshole with long, spiraling strokes. Annie’s dick, still erect, swung with the rotation of her hips to the tune Patrice twiddled. Annie looked to be in palsy or, better, the grip of some orgasmic fiend stroking the delicate sexual strings of her rectum. Her breasts swayed in circular concert with her cock.

“I want that.” Wilson implored.

Abby continued to cock tease.

Now Annie seemed to come back to herself with vision and purpose. Dragging Patrice along by the cock, Annie moved in behind Abby. Wilson watched her helplessly over his shoulder. Annie knew of his plight. Moving with deliberation and skill, Annie now inserted her erect cock into Abby’s asshole. Abby’s eyes drifted gratefully. The three women were intertwined. When Annie probed forward, Patrice withdrew. When Annie withdrew, Patrice slammed forward with a powerful thrust. They fucked with the perfect synchronization of dancers, never out of step, yet always on the verge of a capitulation. The sticky sound of their plunging dicks reverberated in Wilson’s ears.

“I WANT THAT!!” he implored again, this time aloud.

“Shall I be quick, Wilson?”

“NO!! JUST PUT IT IN!!”

Abby grinned.

“Perhaps we should just let you watch, Penisita?”

“NO!!!”

Frustrated into action, Wilson tried to capture her wayward penis with his sphincter. The cock plowing furrows in her own ass distracted Abby, lest she might have taken notice of Wilson’s furtive attempts to impale her dick. Instead, she dreamily continued to brush his ass with knobby paint strokes that titillated but failed to gratify.

“DAMMIT!!”

Wilson began timing her. He knew she would pause to twirl at his entrance before moving up his crack. He just had to capture the pud and the shaft would follow. He counted her paint strokes. One. Two. THREE!!! With that, he gave a little hop and caught her on the upswing. The tight musculature of his hole slipped open to accept her. An instant later his rectum was filled with dick.

“FINALLY!!”

Now all four of them were connected. Wilson’s anal energy flowed into Abby, thence into Annie, thence into Patrice. In turn, each of those penis bearers reflected and amplified that energy, returning it to the bowels from which it originated with shrill grunts and sibilant moans. It didn’t take long for Wilson to pick up the rhythm of their conjoinment.

Occasionally, Abby would lean forward. Then Wilson could feel the wobble of her breasts against his back. He could feel Annie’s cock giving Abby the shakes. Abby wasn’t shy about vocalizing her contentment.

The women called each other by their childhood nicknames, encouraging better tempo or depth, or complimenting a well-placed stroke. Wilson heard his sister Patrice use language that he knew she hadn’t learned in church. Of the four, she was the only one that didn’t have a dick up her ass.

Too, Wilson noted something eminently strange. He felt he had the makings of a huge erection boiling up in his loins. Indeed, he felt the thickness and the surge. His vagina felt full. It trembled with heft.

He ignored that sensation for the moment. Abby was giving him the business and advising him that his ass belonged to her now, and further testifying that he needed her permission to dole it out to any other entity, present company included. Did he agree?

“Huh?”

“SAY IT!! SAY ‘IT’S YOUR DOODIHOLE NOW, ABIGAIL’!! SAY IT!!! SAY IT OUT LOUD!! UNNNGGGGHHHH!!!!”

“I…I…”

“AYE YI YI!!! SAY IT, WILSON!! YOU HEARD ME!!”

“It’s…it’s…”

“SAY IT!!”

“IT’S YOURS!!!”

“It’s my WHAT?”

“IT’S YOUR DOODIHOLE!!”

“That’s what I wanted to hear. Is it Annie’s doodihole?”

“Huh?”

“YOU HEARD ME!! IS IT ANNIE’S DOODIHOLE!!”

“NO!!”

“IS IT TREECEY’S DOODIHOLE?”

“NO!!! It’s YOURS!! It’s ABBY’S DOODIHOLE!!”

“That’s right, you pipe-laying, bald pussy, dick sucking motherfucker. IT’S MINE. Come here. Let’s see what you can do with THIS.”

With that she served him up a series of monumental trills that rocked him to the core. She gripped his hips and rocketed powerful thrusts deep into his bowels. Annie tried to keep time in Abby’s ass, but failed. Her failure threw Patrice off. Soon, the melodious, synchronous harmonies of their earlier fucksong degenerated into an off-tempo, imbalanced performance in which Wilson and Abby were the primary actors while Annie and Patrice struggled to keep pace.

“She always does this,” Treecey commented. “She’s so selfish.”

Patrice tapped Annie on the ass.

“Enough of this. Let’s go.”

Annie pulled out of Abby’s ass. She turned to Patrice who, in turn, lay back into the missionary position, thighs open. Her penis bounced between her breasts. Annie mounted her from above. She pushed forward a bit and entered Treecey’s ass. Treecey shut her eyes. Once hilted, she nipped up and took her own penis into her mouth. The two cousins fucked in this manner, sharing Treecey’s penis like a lollipop between them.

Abby continued to fuck Wilson from behind. She ground her teeth together with the fury of her lust. She filled him with jism without losing tumescence, pausing only long enough to deliver up her seed. Wilson could feel her squirt, felt her hot semen liquefying his anus again and again. The thickness in his vagina became more and more evident as his ardor mounted.

Now a new thing occurred. Wilson could see a Wall of Boiling Fire advancing relentlessly upon his Nameless Beach. His time was upon him. His toes quivered. The heat and light of their carnality enveloped him, leaving him adrift in bliss.

A hugely erect penis burst from his vagina. This was the thickness he’d felt, cloaked inside his feminine orifice. His penis was bigger than those of the women. It was not pink and blue. It was angry. Purple. Nut brown.

Now spent, Abby’s cock hung like a rope from his ass. It seemed to know that a real dick, a man’s dick, had arrived. It was time to recede. Wilson turned to face her. He watched her penis retreat into her vagina much as a diner slurps up a thick strand of spaghetti. Soon, only a naked woman stood before him. No trace of her girly penis remained. He twirled her about.

“Let’s see whose ass it is that belongs to WHOM!!”

And so he returned her earlier anal attentions in spades, leaving her rectum well lubricated with his seed. He had her kneel and swallow. He even pursued her dick far up into her pussy and rubbed his quivering, nut-brown vibrancy against the flaccid cock nub he found there. Abby shrieked and shrieked. In the end, she confessed Wilson’s ownership of all the assets south of her navel, and agreed to get his permission before sharing, even though her partner might be her spouse.

This placated him for the moment, but did little to assist Annie and Patrice, both of whom soon fell before the scythe. He fucked each of them up the ass, in turn, before accepting their oral worship and filling their bellies with seed. He sandwiched himself between them, with his dick up Treecey’s rosy pussy while simultaneously accepting Annie’s dick up his ass. He sucked each of their dicks, in turn, even Abby’s dick, which had boldly recovered from its earlier flaccidity, and now Wilson’s stomach, too, was bursting with jism.

Finally, when he only had the strength for one final go, and he’d drained all three women of their energy such that they lay limply at his side, cocks withdrawn into steamy vaginas, semen dripping from every orifice, no one willing to volunteer for even that one last, mind-numbing, “time for sleep” session, up walked Blue.

And his golden penis was monstrously erect.

XLIV.

Self-Lovin’ 5 – BethAnn & Josephine

In the big house, too, the matrons and the young lionesses hunkered down for the night. Aisleen Stenstrom Leone shared her bed with her sisters Isabel and June. Josephine McNulty and BethAnn Jefferson slept together in the guest bedroom. Abby, Annie, Jannie, Polly Lynn, Mary Lynn and Patrice slept cramped together in the attic loft. Sally Jenkins slept alongside Samantha Bannister in the anteroom. The Stenstrom girls and the Leone girls were used to such close quarters, having grown up together. Sally Bartlett Jenkins and Samantha Bannister weren’t acquainted well enough to share a bed, so they took the open quarters.

The guest bedroom originally belonged to Josephine and BethAnn. The two sisters were thrilled to be once again paired in the chamber of their youth. Somehow the room had become much smaller as they’d aged. The bed was the same, though, as was the company. The women had been best friends as children. Though they’d drifted into different worlds as adults, their youthful bond remained. Each night found them whispering stories designed to replenish that bond. Only the most heartfelt admissions need apply.

On the first night of their confinement, the sisters whispered for hours. Josephine talked about her husband Robert and her three children, each of them blessed with differing concerns and personalities. She asked after BethAnn’s childlessness; Beth still fretted over it. She still hoped the Good Lord would see fit to grace her with a child of her own even at this late stage. Beth talked about she and Franklin’s ministry outreach, how many lives they’d touched, and how the Word was being broadcast capably, regardless of her inability to conceive. She confided that she believed the nigger taint had something to do with her barrenness. She thought that maybe it hadn’t been extracted in time or maybe it fouled her pipes. In any case, she thanked the Good Lord for her blessings. Beth vowed to continue working for the good, even in the face of her own crushing burden.

Josephine chattered on and on about her riff with Aisleen, enlisting BethAnn as an ally just in case the undercurrent of residual anger burst into a conflagration over the holiday. Beth attempted to act as a conciliator. If push came to shove, however, she told Josephine that she could count on her for support.

The two women talked about their nieces and nephews, commented on how much they’d grown and noted how proud their mother Fiona would be of all of them. It’s a shame that she’d passed on so suddenly and wasn’t she missed? Certainly she was.

Finally, the conversation flagged. Josephine took this as a cue.

“You ready?” she’d asked.

“Yes, I think so,” answered BethAnn. She knew exactly what Josephine meant.

Lying on their backs in their childhood bed, the two women opened their legs and began to masturbate in tandem, as they had as teens. Their calves overlapped. Each woman took her clitoris between her index and middle finger and began to twiddle, faster and faster, all the while entertaining fantasies designed to loft them into sexual mania. This was a ritual of their younger days. Both women had been looking forward to this devolution into deja vu.

In BethAnn’s fantasy, she was her younger self, proceeding into heaven alongside a bevy of similarly clad white women. Each of the women stepped up to St. Peter and were granted admission to the Pearly Gates, based upon their whiteness and purity. They all wore flowing white garments. Their angel’s wings were presented with official pomp and circumstance.

The women passed through the gate and found themselves in a vast kingdom of light that stretched as far as the eye could see. White women were everywhere, giggling and gossiping. In Beth’s vision of paradise, heaven was an after church social composed exclusively of white women.

Curiously, an ebon monolith attended each of these women. There were muscle-bound black men everywhere, standing at attention. It was obvious that the black men were out of place. They never spoke, preferring to stand silently by the side of each white woman, forearms protruding perpendicular to their bodies from their waists. Fluffy white towels draped over every black arm as if the men were butlers. Additionally, each of the black men was naked save for a skimpy leather loincloth that covered the base and a short length of penis. Their puds and a significant portion of their cocks dangled free. All the black men were circumcised.

White women, young and old, sat on divans or couches and carped among themselves. Occasionally, a white woman would reach over and draw one of the black penises into her mouth, as if taking a drag on a cigarette. They were already in heaven. The nigger taint didn’t apply.

As BethAnn looked out upon the expanse of chattering women she noticed that a number of them were being sexually serviced by their black butlers. No one appeared to notice or care. The women being so serviced continued to gossip as if nothing untoward were occurring.

“Did you hear what Harriet did at choir? My Land!! Chile, please.”

“Yes, if I’d missed that many notes I would have just shut it down, you mark my words.”

“I never heard the like!!!”

Each of these three women had black dicks up their asses. BethAnn didn’t know any of them personally. She meandered about, trying to find her couch and her attendant.

Every now and again a burst of music and clapping could be heard. During such interludes a white man would appear. He would be just as tall and muscular as the black butlers, except his hair would be blonde. His nose would be straight. His lips would be thin. Too, his loincloth covered his penis completely.

These white men were feted and cheered, then hustled off into another section of heaven, BethAnn knew not where.

Beth found her couch. It was made of blue silk and laced with gold threading. Precious stones were embedded in the lining. Her Negro stood off to the side, arms bent at the elbow, each draped with a dazzlingly white towel. His penis hung to his knees, indifferent to the purposes of his loincloth. He gazed upon her dispassionately.

“Hello. I’m BethAnn Jefferson. And you?”

The Negro didn’t reply.

BethAnn looked around. Some of the white women in her vicinity appeared to be newbies, like herself, but a few of the women appeared to have been there for some time. One woman nearby was spread-eagled on her couch, legs in the air. Her black butler was fucking her lavishly. She had a smile on her face that bespoke bliss. Her butler appeared to be straining, like a man ready to spill his seed yet reluctant to do so.

BethAnn watched them fuck for a while. Finally the black man slumped. His ebon body glowed orange, then golden, then faded to black.

“Almost!!” the white woman teased.

The black man pulled his penis from her vagina and resumed his vigil at her side. Her pussy gaped. BethAnn noticed it was not sloppy with seed.

Tentatively, BethAnn approached the woman.

“Hi. My name is BethAnn Jefferson, from Louisiana. And you?”

“Hello! My name is Georgia Hinkle! Originally from Kentucky. How are you? Welcome!! You look like a first day-er.”

“Yes! I am. I’m finding all this a little confusing!!”

“Honey, we all did. You get used to it.”

“It’s all so…so different from what I thought it would be.”

“Oh, you mean all the niggers?”

“Well, yes. I’d thought…I’d thought…”

“You’d thought heaven was only for white people. We all did.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I guess someone has to tell you. Heaven IS only for white people!!”

“What? Then…why…?”

“These ain’t niggers you’re seeing. They’re white men that’s got the nigger taint.”

“WHAT?!?”

“Yep. They come into heaven as niggers.”

“Oh!!!”

“And your job (and my job, by the way) is to purify them and turn them white.”

“So…this nigger that you just fu…er, did it to is actually a white man?”

“Yep.”

“So why does he still look like a nigger?”

“That’s the fun part!! This nigger here used to be my husband. At home he fucked nigger women left and right, right up under my nose, sometimes in my own bed. So when I got here, they assigned him to me for clean up. The thing is, up here we’re made a little bit different. In the back of my pus…er, private parts is a long, silky…I don’t know what to call it but it acts like a penis. When he puts his penis into me, my penis slides up into him through his peehole. If I cum inside him, he’ll turn white, starting from his nuts and proceeding to the rest of his body. If I don’t cum, he has to try again.”

“So you ain’t cum inside him just now?”

“Nope.”

“How come?”

“I ain’t wanted to.”

“Well, ain’t that sump’n? How long you been holdin’ out on him?”

“Been twenty-two years, now, or thereabouts.”

“He looked like you ‘uz hurtin’ him.”

“I was.”

“You bad thing!!”

“It’s up to me if he turns white. He shoulda thought about that before he come up here with the nigger taint.”

“So who is MY nigger? My husband Franklin ain’t passed on yet.”

“Who knows? It’s somebody’s husband that come up here with the nigger taint. He ain’t gonna tell you who he is. If you bust your nuts in him, he’ll walk away today as a white man. If you don’t, he won’t. That’s the main benefit of being a righteous white woman.”

“So I can fu…er, do it to him right now?”

“Yep. He’s hopin’ you do, anyway. Look at him. Good sized dick on him.”

“I saw a white man a little while ago. Couldn’t see his dick.”

“He was a nigger ten minutes before you saw him. Somebody musta cum inside him and turned him white. What’d they do with him?”

“They rushed him off. Dunno where.”

“None of us know where they take the white men after we cleans them up. They just disappear.”

“How long will we have this duty?”

“I dunno. All the women here had the nigger taint at one time or another and got cleaned up. I understand that it’s a bunch of white women that come up with the nigger taint and ain’t cleaned up before they got here. I reckon they come up as niggers, too. They just ain’t in our section.”

“Oooh!! Can you imagine coming up as a nigger? That’s got to be some punishment!!”

“Tell me about it. Say, are you gonna fu…er, do it to your nigger today? I need to cu…, er, clean somebody up. I just ain’t want to clean up MY nigger.”

“What happens if you clean up my nigger?”

“You’ll have to wait until another one comes available.”

“And when will that be?”

“Couple days, usually.”

“And what am I supposed to do in the mean time?”

“Join the choir. Everyone else does.”

“I think I’ll hold on to my nigger, thank you. I noticed you ain’t offered your nigger up by way of trade.”

“You might cum in him. I don’t want that.”

“See?”

BethAnn drifted back over to her ebon sentinel. She lifted the flap of his loincloth. His balls were huge. She lifted his penis up and took it into her mouth.

BethAnn toyed with her vagina languidly while concocting this outlandish scenario of the afterlife. She’d made it into heaven with the other white women. That’s all that counted.

Right next to her in bed her sister Josephine envisioned an entirely different scenario.

In Josephine’s fantasy she, too, was a vision of her younger self, only more attractive than her genetics might have otherwise dictated. Her infamous schnozz didn’t define her. The dark shadow on her upper lip and the random hairs on her chin softened into a perfect pink complexion, free of blackheads and healed over acne scars.

South of these noticeable imperfections, her body remained pristine, with luscious pink nipples and a hot poochipap/doodihole combo that elicited boners in young and old alike.

Just now young Josephine was having her way with a group of men. She was on her knees, positioned doggystyle on a low divan with her ass in the air. The men—some black, some white—encircled her. All the men wielded enormous erections. They stroked these in her direction until their turn at her ass might come, at which time they mounted her and guided themselves into her stink. Some held her by her slim waist. Some gripped her ass cheeks. Their dicks pried her open. Each man sought to probe as deeply as his penis might penetrate.

Josephine felt each man ejaculate inside her as a billows huffing oxygen onto hot coals. A steamy core of whiteness flared inside her that rose up to become a blinding explosion of light before cooling, by degrees, into a bluish mist. Then another, differently appointed dick found its way up her bunghole. Josephine sighed. She summoned the strength to engulf yet another random cock. Each cum-siphoned dick drooped after soiling her bottom. The men masturbated themselves erect again while waiting another turn at Josephine’s aromatic funk. She never failed to enliven them.

The men encircling her were faceless waifs. Josephine only distinguished them by the feel of their dicks in her ass.

“That’s Bobby right there. His dick points down. It’s got a little bump about three inches down from the head, right along the rear scruff of his foreskin. And that’s Duck. Gawd! He’s so big!!! Duck likes it rough. He’s like to give me a headache what with all this juking back and forth. I like it, though. He really stirs up the jizz.

“I dunno who this one is. He ain’t real long, but he’s fat. Thick, like a dill pickle. He’s got small hands. I can feel ‘em on my hips. And all he does is push it up there and grind. I wish he would do more of the ole in/out. He’s gon’ bust nut here in a minute. It don’t ever take him long.

“Ooh, chile, my ass is stinkin’. Ripe ain’t the word for it!! I can smell it. So can they. So much jizz!! That ain’t all me. I wish one of ‘em would think to take a run up my puss. It’s right there. But no, all they want is doodihole. Selfish bastards.

“That’s Shaddy right there. He likes to massage my tits while humpin’. Oooh, that’s it, Shaddy. Right there!!! Faster. FASTER!! GODDAMMIT!! I SAID FASTER!!!”

Shaddy came. Presently another dick found its way up Josephine’s ass.

“That’s Joey Jenkins’ dick right there. It’s long and skinny. I remember it from that time at the church. He’ll cum and try to play it off so he can git another turn without pulling out. He can do it, too. He’s done did it twice already and none of the others knew. ‘Mr. Two Times’, that’s what I call him.

“And that’s gotta be Franklin. He’s cleaned up my nigger taint a time or two. He likes to put in just the head and circle it around. He won’t go all the way in until he’s ready to jizz me up. I ain’t got the heart to tell him that ain’t the way it works. He’s got to put it all the way up there to do me any good.

“OK. There’s his nut. He’s done. Who’s next? Ahhh, there it is. This one’s another nigger dick. Jerome? No, it ain’t quite Jerome. Jerome is a lot bigger’n this. Homer? No. I see Homer still standin’ in line.”

She looked back over her shoulder.

“IT’S CALEB!!! When did HE git in line? I thought he was fulla the holy ghose? He brags about it enough. What’s he doing rimming my ass? I ain’t gon’ complain, though. He’s pretty good! Martha musta showed him a thing or two about cornholin’.”

Josephine’s imaginary fudge packing festival became reality in her hairy pussy. As she masturbated, her juices pooled up and spilled over the soft ridges of her labia, draining into her ass. Her clit knobbed and preened. Josephine climaxed repeatedly. Her body shivered and quaked.

BethAnn noted her sister’s masturbatory fecundity from the intensity of her vaginal fragrance. It billowed into the room.

“Joey must be having the circular fudge packing fantasy again. It’s time for me to catch up,” BethAnn noted.

BethAnn stood from her blue silk couch amidst the thousands of like couches in heaven. She pulled her gleaming white gown over her head. Her tits bounced. Her silent Negro stood before her, naked except for his leather briefs. His penis lobbed erect, animated by BethAnn’s nurturing fellatio and the vision of her heavenly sexual organs. BethAnn felt empowered at the knowledge of her sudden ability to whiten.

“Would you become a white man again?” she asked the Negro.

He did not respond, though his penis yearned and swayed aloft at the bell tone sound of her voice.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said.

She turned away from him and poked her ass out for his consideration. Her hirsute, heart-shaped vulva nudged from between her ass cheeks. Guided by his dick, the Negro stumbled forward. He pressed his penis between her labia, seeking her vaginal opening.

“Not yet,” she whispered.

She reached back to position him at the opening to her rectum.

“Now push,” she ordered.

The Negro probed forward. BethAnn stood her ground. Her sphincter eased open without lubrication. Beth was more than a little amazed. Apparently her slippery pussy penis wasn’t the only anatomical modification mandated by her spirit body. This man’s cock was huge; BethAnn expected more pain from its initial insertion.

Georgia Hinkle looked on from across the way. BethAnn’s first heavenly tryst seemed to remind Georgia that her anus was a viable option. Georgia turned to her Negro husband and lifted her gown. Wordlessly, he hardened and went straight at her pussy. She corrected him as BethAnn had done. She didn’t think she could inseminate him from this vantage.

All of the white women in BethAnn’s vicinity now picked up this anal meme. Soon that little segment of heaven was rife with the aroma of rectum.

BethAnn gripped the edge of her couch and allowed her Negro to fuck her up the ass. They were standing. This was her first sexual coupling using her new spirit body. Whereas having sex in the flesh was all about friction and depth, having sex in the spirit was an entirely different venture. All of her senses came into play. BethAnn heard, felt, smelled and tasted her Negro’s dick as it bulged up into her rectum. Her bowels glowed brightly from the experience. It was as if all the sensitive neural ganglions in her brain were now concentrated in her ass.

Too, there was another sensation that she could not describe. It was a sense of oneness, of unity, of dual invasion. Her spirit seemed to connect with that of her Negro. For the first time in her life she could feel a man’s sensation of heat closure as her rectum tightened about his cock. She could feel the stretch and the slide, knew the abdominal boil, the burn, the wonder and the explosive circus of light.

“It’s so different from a woman’s sense of fulfillment when a penis is sliding home!” she thought. “I feel invaded and like an invader at the same time!!”

Indeed, she felt as if she had an ass penis that penetrated and invested the Negro through his dick.

“This must be what Georgia was talking about.”

She felt her spirit spreading throughout his body channeled through his urethra, felt his passions, felt his testosterone billow, felt his erection sniffing the remains of yesterday’s lunch in her bowels, yes, tasting it. She felt his spirit body close about her ass penis, massaging it with masturbatory fervor until the twinkling lights of her orgasm burgeoned into hot stars that sprayed from every pore. She felt the very atoms in her body bursting into energetic photons shrieking out into the universe, carrying the sound, smell and taste of the conjoined couple gripping the blue silk couch.

Unlike her fleshly body, these sensations did not rise, crest and wane. They rose and continued to rise. And as long as BethAnn entertained the black dick in her ass, she shared the Negro’s vision. It was an apocalyptic merger, much like the fusion of two hydrogen particles, commensurate with the energy released from same.

BethAnn luxuriated in this vision. She was, however, unthrilled with the taste of yesterday’s lunch.

“I wonder what my pussy tastes like. To his dick, I mean.”

She reached back and gave his chest a little push. It was a declination.

At first the Negro was reluctant to disengage. BethAnn turned her head to view him better. His body glowed with all the colors of the rainbow, much like a cuddlefish. In one moment he was blue, then orange, then green, then purple. These colorations combed the length of his body like waves of cilia. A golden white light projected from his eyes. His orgasm, a burst of oneness (not jism), was upon him.

“Wait!” she said. “I want to taste you in my…my pussy.”

The golden white light projecting from the Negro’s eyes flamed up into magnesium burn. Hurriedly, he pulled his dick from BethAnn’s ass, positioned himself at her sticky entrance and plowed his cock into her pussy.

An entirely new set of sensations now enveloped them. New coloration waves washed over the Negro’s body. BethAnn heard the squishy sound of his dick roiling her vaginal juices. She smelled the pheromonal odor common to healthy women—fishy, a little pissy, with an ethereal side odor of musk. Most piquantly, she tasted her own cushy pudding through the Negro’s penis. It was true manna, redolent of a heady liqueur that both satisfied and titillated. It was music. It was the thrilling sensation she’d felt when that first penis kissed her labia as a teen, in tandem with the righteous fear of discovery, the remembrance of which heightened her pleasure immeasurably. She felt his cock strengthen under the mind-altering effects of this vaginal opiate. Her pudding manna certainly didn’t taste of yesterday’s lunch. It tasted of wine and song and baby’s breath.

Too, she felt her own mystical penis materialize. It vaped around the Negro’s shaft and tickled him before becoming a living thing and sifting its way up his urethra. More and more of her mystical ‘penis’ entered his body as BethAnn’s passion mounted and her spirit photons scattered to the winds. She tasted his testes and his vital organs before wrapping around his cerebral cortex like a stalking viper. Color changes raced up and down his body in vibrant ripplets.

When enough of her ‘penis’ invested his body, BethAnn felt golden. She whipped her visceral spirit penis tight, drew it back and struck the Negro again from inside his body. He screamed. His body wracked with rapidly jagging colorations, consumed by the agony of his lust.

When BethAnn released his penis from her vaginal grip, a white man stood before her, naked as her Negro, wearing the same loincloth. His penis did not dangle beneath the hem of his garment. He looked down for it, seemed perplexed at its absence.

Stringed instruments and crashing cymbals played in the background. Cheers erupted. Then angels came and hustled the newly minted white man away.

“You just had to try it out on the first go,” Georgia Hinkle called out to BethAnn. Georgia’s Negro husband was still mounted over her ass pummeling away. Rainbows whipped the length of his body. Each piston-like insertion illuminated as brightly as a flash bulb, creating a strobe light effect. They appeared to be fucking in slow motion, though BethAnn knew this not to be the case.

“That was AMAZING!!!” BethAnn replied, referring to her recent sexual encounter.

“Don’t get too happy,” replied Mrs. Hinkle with a smile. “You won’t get another nigger for a few days. You’ll have to play with yourself until he shows up.”

Georgia rose up on her tiptoes and offered the fullness of her doodihole to her nigger husband. She sighed and rocked herself in tune with the rhythm of his effort.

BethAnn snapped awake from her reverie. Her hand smelled fishy, a little pissy and a trifle musky.

She looked over at her sister. Josephine was asleep already. Her fingers lingered gently atop her bushy pussy.

BethAnn closed her eyes. Shortly, she too was asleep.

XLII.

Poontangin’ It

A late knock on his ramshackle door brought Meshach about. He and Lizzie were lying in bed with their daughter Mattie wedged between them for warmth. The child was asleep, as was Lizzie. Shaddy’s guard was up. The farm was fairly infested with white people. Soon enough he knew there would be an obligatory visit to the slave quarters.

Meshach’s foreboding proved prescient. Nathan Leone stood on his porch. Behind Nathan was Pate Bannister. Behind Pete was Hank Leone. Behind Hank stood Cora, who looked down at the ground, gripping her elbows uneasily.

Nathan said, “Shaddy, we come for your wife, you know. Company’s company. You ain’t got to git up this time. We’ll take her with. Lizzie? Throw sump’n warm on and come with us.”

“Marse Nate, Lizzie is asleep. Ever’body is.”

It was true. All of Meshach’s children were abed, including Charlie.

“Oh, that’s alright, Shaddy. We won’t wake the chilluns. Just give Lizzie a tap and tell her we’re here. And, look! We brung Cora so she’ll be more comfortable.”

Lizzie looked up from her bed groggily. She sized up the circumstances instantly.

“It’s alright, Shaddy. I…I’se up. Lemme put sump’n on.”

It’s not as if she had a hooded terrycloth robe and a matching set of slippers with which to nance about in the coolness of the evening. Lizzie grabbed a pair of Meshach’s trousers and threw them about her shoulders as a shawl. She gave her husband a look that only a husband might interpret correctly. She pressed his cheek with hers.

“I’ll be back,” she said.

Shaddy’s stone-faced rage didn’t go unnoticed by the white men. They just ignored it as inconsequential. What was he gonna do? Fight? They took the two black women and trundled them off to the little tent city on the other side of the big house.

Meshach paced around his little hut for five minutes after they left. Then he, too, disappeared into the night.

The three white men led the two black women to their shared tent.

XLIII.

“Now we get to FUCK!!”

Sandra Jean Leone, a slave, sat with her legs crossed Indian style beside a wooded glade a half-mile distant from her ancestral home. She was alone. She’d been sitting here pensively for the better part of two hours watching for the sun’s first rays to creep up along the eastern horizon.

It was Christmas Day in Louisiana, characteristically cool. Sandra wrapped herself in a thick, cotton quilt taken from her own bed. Beneath that she wore a mammy-made cotton shift and some socks. Beneath that she was naked.

She’d been toying with the water dance fantasy in her mind, embellishing new moves for she and her soldier lover. She imagined sucking his penis underwater without having to surface for air. She envisioned his tongue investing her vagina totally as she lingered, mid-spring, weightless in her church. Always her fantasies ended with a violent explosion of passion, in which the two lovers divested themselves of their spiritual trappings and became like the great beasts, howling in the frenzy of their lust.

Each time she awakened from this dream her fist reeked of her sex. She wished that it smelled, too, of musk and smegma, the man smell that her pussy lacked.

“I want it SO bad!” she said aloud.

“Want what?” answered Charlie.

Sandra sprang upward and backward, stumbling over herself to escape the stranger.

“What are you DOING out here in the dark!!!” she hissed.

“I knowed you ‘uz down here. Figgered I’d come join you.”

“YOU SCARED ME!!!”

Charlie grinned.

“I coulda been a wildcat or a bo’ hog You ‘uz so wrapped up you ain’t seen me nor heard me comin’.”

“DON’T DO THAT!!”

She was hyperventilating.

“OK. But kin I git a li’l bitta that blanket? It’s cold.”

She opened the blanket to him. They sat and huddled together under its warmth. Soon enough, Charlie smelled Sandra’s fist. It was obvious what she’d been doing. Tactfully, he chose not to mention it. This impromptu visit might yield an unanticipated benefit after all.

“You spend a lotta time out here by yo’self. In the dark,” he ventured.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“What you be thinkin’ about?”

“Oh, this and that.”

“You don’t wanna tell me?”

“It ain’t really much TO tell, Charlie.”

“Yes it is. I knows you. You always got sump’n goin’ on up dere.”

He pointed to her noggin.

“Well, if you KNOWS me, you oughta be able to tell me what I’m thinking.”

Charlie started to make a comment about her fist odor at this juncture, but decided against it. They weren’t far enough into the conversation to bring up the evidence of what she’d really been thinking about. This was an unfortunate miscalculation on Charlie’s part. Sandra already knew he could smell her pussy-soaked fist. Its odor was compelling. If he’d asked, she would have told him the truth about it. The first step in any long-term relationship is often the admission of an embarrassing truth.

“Did you fix things with Ben, like I asked?” she countered instead.

“Yeah. We’re OK now.”

“What’d he say?”

“Oh, dis and dat. Said I’d throwed him over and he wouldn’t-a done me like dat.”

“But you’re OK now?”

“Yeah.”

“I think he likes Ruthie.”

Charlie imagined this was a deep, dark secret between he and Ben alone.

“Why you say dat?”

“I see ‘em sneakin’ off.”

“Togedder?”

“Not together but at the same time. They disappear for a hour or two then you see ‘em again.”

“You disappear every morning ‘bout de same time, too!!” Charlie countered.

“Yeah, but ever’body knows I’m down here.”

“Dat’s true.”

“When I disappear it ain’t nobody else disappears ‘long side me.”

“What about me?”

“You don’t come down here wit’ me all that often, Charlie. And when you do come, we jist talk and swim and go on.”

“Dat ain’t MY fault. I’ve offered you some dick ever’ now and again.”

“You act like I gotta jump up and down on your dick whenever it git hard like these white girls around here do. I ain’t the one, CHARLES.”

”Yeah, but you COULD he’p me out ever once’t in awhile, SANDRA. I ain’t never throwed you over and left you fishin’.”

Boldly, Sandra snatched her fist out and shoved it right up under his nose.

“You smell that? DO YOU SMELL THAT? That’s what your dick would smell like EVERY DAY if I had my druthers, CHARLES NELSON. THAT’S what a GOOD pussy smells like, not like all these worked over, ‘ever’body gits a chance’, white girl pussies that YOU’VE been dippin’ YOUR wick into, CHARLES NELSON.”

Charlie was taken aback by her boldness. She got right to the point.

“Here, lemme smell that again,” he grinned.

She balled her fist up and put it up to his nostrils again.

“Dat’s YOUR pussy on dese knuckles?”

“Yes. It is.”

“You put your whole fist up your pussy?”

“When I’m thinkin’ ‘bout YOU, yes, I do.”

“Why you ain’t jist come and axe me fo’ some dick? I’d-a give you some.”

“BECAUSE YOU JUST GIVE YOUR DICK AWAY TO ANY OLE BODY!!”

“So?”

“I want it to be mine.”

Charlie knew then that he was on to something.

“I don’t b’lieve you can fit yo’ whole fist up your pussy,” he challenged. “You lyin’.”

Sandra lay back and scooted her skirt up. She balled her fist up and, using the knuckle of her index finger as a cudgel, pried her vagina open. She’d done this enough so that she didn’t have to watch. Instead, she locked Charlie’s gaze with her own daring him to look away. He looked on in amazement. She was demonstrating an embarrassing truth.

Her pussy widened slowly about the width of her fist and, when it reached maximum diameter, it closed swiftly down the short side of her fist such that only her wrist dangled from her opening. Then Sandra began roil her hips sensuously, without shame. In her mind’s eye her fist was Charlie’s real dick, three feet under her nose and a bit to the left, struggling to be free of his trousers. She could smell it. She pulled her fist from her cunt and foisted it up again to his nostrils.

“You believe me now?” she asked.

“I reckon so!”

He took her fist to his lips and kissed it. Now he pried each finger open and sucked it in turn. Sandra watched him with compassion. Finally she spoke.

“Charlie, it’s not just about my pussy. Pussy is both the cheapest and the most expensive thing in the world. Anybody can get it; it don’t cost much. It’s expensive in that, once you get it, you often pay for it for life. And sometimes you pay for it with your life.”

Charlie nodded. Her scent had already siphoned reason from his brain. Whatever wisdom about pussy she had to offer now had to filter through that same medium, the hot miasma of lust fermenting in his brain. His dick was erect, attuned to the song of a vagina it had never plumbed.

Sandra’s words were wasted. She looked at the huge lump in his pants, noticed too the Neanderthal glaze covering his eyes.

“He’s just a man.”

Her fantasy about their shared, synchronous water dance came crashing down around her. All that remained was the segue of her dream—their shared primal lust patterned against a backdrop of barking yips and mewls offered up by Charlie’s defeated canine rivals.

That would have to do.

And yet, she’d under-estimated him. The lust from his eyes came, not from the scent of her pussy, but from the probability of her kiss. Since the first time they’d locked tongues Charlie yearned for a second encounter. In offering her fist she was offering up her puss. Charlie wanted something better: her lips.

He leaned in to kiss her. Sandra was confused as to his intent. She lounged back and opened her legs to him. Gently, her pulled her upright.

“Kiss me,” he said.

She did. And in his kiss she discerned the water dance she’d fantasized. The pageantry. The majesty. The spirituality. This was a man for whom sex had always been a given. It was the emotional quality of love that eluded him. Now he poured that quality into his kiss, describing his heart to this woman using his lips and tongue, not his penis.

They kissed tenderly at first, then with increasing passion, flickering their tongues, nibbling, suckling, biting. Sandra’s nipples stood erect as any penis, as did her clitoris. None of these erotic zones came close to the pure, unbridled lust of their kissing.

They kissed for so long and so lovingly that, when Sandra finally took his hand and placed it upon her breasts, she climaxed. And when he finally drew her hand to grip his penis he, too, erupted. Both of them broke down laughing because they knew that these were the reactions of children, not seasoned lovers, nor bestial pack dogs. In kissing they had resurrected the childlike wonder that comes from a pure heart, where the joy of giving is vastly more valuable than that of receipt.

Sandra knew that this was her water dance, performed in her church. She explained her vision to him.

“You wanna go swimming, right now, in the cold, before we do it, and then do it underwater?” he asked incredulously.

“No, Charlie. Don’t you see? We’ve already done the water dance! Now we get to fuck!!!”

XLIV.

Conspirators

Christmas morning found the Leone farm enmeshed in a beehive of activity. There were, as yet, no young children to regale with the standard Christmas tale of Santa Claus and elves. Indeed, Christmas in the South remained a religious tradition centered on the Birth of Christ. It was not yet a giant commercial venture generating forty percent of annual retail sales.

The Leone’s planned a large breakfast followed by a trek to church. To that end they engaged all of their slaves, including Sandra and Charlie, who’d hastened home from the spring. Merci and Jem joined in with Ruthie, Regina, Vera, Jerome’s girls and Tilly. Lize headed up the breakfast preparations, as always, assisted by Cora and Lizzie.

The slaves prepared bacon, biscuits, grits, ham, eggs and cornbread, along with overripe sliced peaches, pecans sweetened in molasses, orange juice, cow’s milk, potatoes fried in butter and onions, along with slabs of pan-seared catfish and ears of corn. It was a feast fit for kings. The Leone’s, their friends, family and neighbors sat down and feted themselves for a successful year, attended by the onlooking black slaves.

Much was said of the past year. Much more was promised of the coming year. One huge topic simmered in the backdrop. Where were the children?

The Leone principals were not yet old. Too, the present generation of Leone’s were coming into their primes. Only one grandchild had been produced: Jackson Simmons Jr. He lived in Tennessee. None of the other fertile young Leone adults had children, nor were any planned.

The elder Leone’s looked to Abby to set the tone. She’d been married for several years; the more intuitive surmised that she could not claim to be barren. Nor was she known to be out of practice. Yet she was childless.

Annie and Jannie were right on the cusp of motherhood. Neither girl had a steady boyfriend. Both were assumed by their parents to be virginal.

It was known that Ben had a couple of niglet children. Of course, it wasn’t said. Even if it was mentioned, niglets didn’t count. Niglets were the unfortunate product of the poontang tradition. Whites viewed them as “improvements to the bloodlines”.

Jake was, well, Jake. And Wilson? No one really expected any children out of him.

The Leone matrons whispered all these things among themselves. Christmas always is better when young children are about.

After breakfast the Leone’s dressed and cobbled off to church, all except for Abigail, who claimed a touch of the fantods. “I must have eaten a bad piece of fish.” Buck offered to stay behind and tend to her. She shooed him off, claiming that she’d be fine on her own, and would he be kind enough to take notes on the sermon? Missing the Christmas service pained her so.

Of course, Abby’s bout with the fantods was short lived. She waited an hour after her family left, then gave a surreptitious knock to the wall of her room. Expecting this, Sandra responded with a similar coded knock, unchanged since their childhood. There was a thump and some scraping. Then a hole opened in the dividing wall. On each side of the hole a woman held a strategically placed plank. Abby and Sandra peered at each other through the hole.

“Have you got him?” Abby asked anxiously.

“He’s right here.”

Charlie’s head popped up behind Sandra’s. He looked amazed.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Come on through!” Abby said.

Sandra climbed through the hole into Abby’s room. Charlie continued to stare in wonder.

“Are you just gonna stand there looking all stupid, Charlie? Come on!” demanded Abby.

Charlie climbed through the hole. Abby replaced the plank on her side of the wall.

“Did you lock your door?” she asked Sandra, out of habit.

“Of course.”

Now all three of the conspirators stood in the guest room of the big house, Abby’s childhood room.

“You’re sure?” Abby asked Sandra.

“I think so.”

“OK, it’s about time, I guess.”

“About time for WHAT?” Charlie interjected.

“About time that YOU two got together.”

Charlie was again amazed. How did Abby know that he and Sandra had gotten together?

“Have you give up the pediwinkle yet?” Abby asked Sandra casually.

“Not yet. You made me promise. I got close, though.”

“Good. Good. Charlie, I guess it’s time we told you what’s goin’ on.”

“Dat ‘ud be good, Miss Abby, cause I shorely don’t know.”

“You know Sandra Jean, here, is my sister, don’t you?”

“I know’d y’all ‘uz friends.”

“No. Sandra Jean is my sister. You and Ben is friends. Sandra and me is more’n that. Been more’n that since we was chirrens. You see this hole in the wall? If anyone ever finds out ‘bout it, we’ll know it was you that told. Up until today it was only two people that knew it ‘uz there. We brung you in ‘cause Sandra say she ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“READY FOR SOME DICK. That’s what.”

“What…what dat got to do wit’ you, Miss Abby?”

“Ain’t I jist told you she my sister? How I’m-a let her git some dick without I try it out first, to see if it’s prime?”

“You…you brought me here to fuck me?”

“No. I done already did that. I told her all about it. She say she ready, so, it’s time for you to start doin’ it wit’ her now.”

Sandra looked at him coyly.

“Is dass why all you wanted to do dis morning ‘uz kiss?” he asked her.

“I started to giv’n you some this mornin’. Then I remembered the plan.”

“The Plan?”

“Yeah. Abigail says she wants to watch.”

“Watch?”

“Yeah, WATCH,” Abby interrupted. “I might jump in an’ help out a li’l bit, if I git my dander up.”

He turned to Sandra.

“Is…is dis what happened to Johnny Boy?”

“He…he got this far, yes.”

“An’ you giv’n him some?”

“Yes.”

“Did Miss Abby giv’n him some, the way she giv’n me some?”

“That ain’t none o’ your business, Charlie.” Abby interrupted. “You just be happy I showed you what to do. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t git half the pussy you DO git. Lotta young boys ‘ud be happy to have someone to git ‘em wet, the way I showed you how to do.”

“So…so you ‘uz jist primin’ me for Sandra?”

“No. I ‘uz primin’ her for Johnny Boy. Johnny Boy is gon’, now, an’ she’s got her cap set for you. That’s the only reason youse here today. Do you want the pussy or don’t you?”

“I…reckon.”

“You RECKON? Nigger, you ain’t gon’ git no finer pussy than this. Other than mine, I mean. Ain’t been no whole buncha dicks up this cooch. Only Johnny Boy, as I know of. I’ve licked this pooncey, I’ve grinded it out, and if it ain’t the primest pussy in the country, I don’t know what is. You’re damned lucky she chose you to do the water dance with. DAMNED lucky, is all I can say. Sandy, take that dress off. Show him.”

Sandra stepped out of her dress. She lifted her head and regarded him regally.

“Yes, I AM a water goddess. Behold me, soldier.”

Charlie’s cock solidified. Abby’s breath quickened.

“Now. Do you wanna reconsider that ‘reckon’ with something a bit more definite?”

“I…I…”

Abby shed her clothing.

“Maybe this will help you along?”

She clenched her vagina. Her pubic mound nestled.

“Yes. I am,” he said.

Sandra smiled. She stepped around him and sat down on Abby’s bed. She opened her legs to him. He could see the lush curls of her mound resonating. Her gleaming labia exhaled fresh sunshine into the room.

“THAT’S what I’M talkin’ about!” said Abby. “Fuck the SHIT out of this nigger, Sandy.”

Charlie dropped his trousers. His cock leapt. He stepped to Sandra as if swimming in a daze. In the far distance he imagined the sound of pack dogs yammering while his dick plunged through the heated craze of battle to close upon the one vagina it had been fitted for from the beginning of creation. Time slowed. He became his erect penis, sniffing out the pink enclosure that had beguiled him for lo, these many months.

As he got closer and closer, he sensed her heat pouring forth, a volcano of lust begging for closure, longing to envelope and suckle him.

“Yes, closer, come closer, let me taste you, you black pole of fuck vapor, you steaming engine of righteous motherfuck!”

When his pud met her labia it triggered a hot whirlwind that danced up and down his shaft, tantalizing him, scribbling cryptic runes that only his aching nerve endings could decipher. He pressed forward as his ecstasy mounted. It was as if a hundred million tiny mouths nibbled hickeys into the pulsing skin surrounding his cock. He pressed forward again and his eyes fluttered uncontrollably. By the time he reached her sticky pudding his ejaculate was already imminent. He blasted into her. Abby watched penis honey gush from Sandra’s hole. Sandra smiled weakly.

It had been so long!!

He withdrew and served her up another saucy platter of jizz. His third plunge offered yet another. Abby nestled in under the edge of the bed and caught his semen in her mouth as it dripped from Sandra’s butt cheeks.

“Don’t…don’t stop…Charlie. I…I…” Sandra gasped.

She needn’t have wasted her breath. Charlie wasn’t nearly finished. This early denouement was a function of long unrequited lust, not ineptitude. Charlie trembled as he emptied himself. Already his synapses were firing for a second, longer-lived eruption.

Sandra could feel him pulsing inside her. She’d fantasized about just this thing repeatedly—draining his cock so that she might feel it re-energize, re-thicken and finally reverberate. She lavished herself about him.

“Fuck me, my darling. OH! My CHARLIE!! FUCK ME!! I’ve waited SO long! SO LONG!! Don’t stop!! Don’t ever stop!! I…I want…I WANT TO TASTE YOU with my pussy. OH!! It’s SO good, Charlie!! Give me your jizz!! Over and OVER!! I want you to make me a baby!! OH!! CHARLIE!! FUCK MEEEE!!!!!!”

Charlie metastasized into that lead pack dog, straining, growling, yipping and nipping. Their sex became animated…bestial. Abby looked on.

“I didn’t know he could do all THAT.”

He fucked Sandra with increasing zeal. She came repeatedly, screeching her lust in profanities and epithets, slamming her pussy into him. This was no water dance.

“FUCK! FUCK!! OH!! FUCK ME!!! HARDER!! CHARLIE!! HARDER!!!”

He obliged her, splattering her with semen so often that he often forgot to savor the run up. They slammed each other as a conjoined pair that had waited too long to consummate and now only needed to sate their most sensational animalistic desires, freed from the wistful, fantasy lovemaking that they’d toyed with earlier.

“Give it to me. GIVE it to me. GIVE ME! GIMME GIMME GIMME GIMME! MY pussy, Sandra. MINE!!! SSSSS-HAAA!!! FUCK!!!!”

Abby was amazed.

“ALL THE WAY UP, CHARLIE!!! HOLD IT THERE!!!!! DEEP!!”

Abby had advised Sandra of the crushing relief provided by the slow, tectonic grind. Having fucked through several iterations of popgun eruptions, Sandra wanted now to explode.

“HOLD IT UP THERE TIGHT, CHARLIE!! DON’T PULL OUT!!!” Sandra screeched.

Charlie knew then that she’d been talking to Abby. This was how Abby liked to fuck. He grinded his cock as deep into Sandra as it would go. She wet him to the nub.

Now he tried to push himself into her womb. He pulled her up so that they were standing, cheek-to-cheek. Sweat poured from their foreheads and came to a sizzling vape in their conjoined genitals. They clawed at each other to gain girth and depth. Sandra grinded her clit into his pubic mound mercilessly. She dragged her nails down his back. Their orgasm built, re-doubled, tripled, and tightened yet again like a noose.

“That’s it right there, Sandy!!” yipped Abby. “Hold it. HOLD it. HOLD IT!! Don’t let go!! Hold it!!!”

Sandra jerked tight about his cock. She could taste it in her throat. So DEEP!! SO BIG!!!! OH!! OHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

“NOW, SANDRA, NOW!! HIT HIM!! HIT HIM HARD!!!”

Sandra wound her ass up and served Charlie with a cataclysmic thunderclap. This time his jism poured out in a torrent, not a single spurt as had been the case during his prior three eruptions. He assailed her for a full minute with constant bursts of semen. His jism poured down her thighs and calves to coat her ankles in slime.

When she felt him finally wane, Sandra slipped off his lever and knelt to suckle some of his issue. It was the first time she’d taken him into her mouth. On her knees before him, she worshipped at the core of his sensuality. His dick sizzled before her nostrils.

“That’s my girl!!” cried Abby. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about right there!! That’s what I was tellin’ you about, girl!!! Ain’t this dick dick enough for you? Tell the truth now! Smell it! Taste it!! Suck it down!! Was I lying? Was I?”

The room began to spin. Sandra melted to the ground. Abby gently lifted her up and laid her down on the bed. Sandra’s strident sexual concussions had left her temporarily disabled. Abby leaned into Sandra’s sloppy pussy and began to suck out Charlie’s jism.

“I’ll take some of this joy juice off your hands, baby. You don’t need it all,” she commented greedily.

Charlied nudged up behind and slipped his semi-flaccid cock easily into Abby’s perpetually wet pussy. He watched her pussy lips widen to accept him. She turned to him.

“You can fuck me until she starts to wake up. Then, no more. This is my baby’s dick from now on. You understand?”

XLV.

Eggs

The Leone clan returned from church late Christmas night sans the Bannisters, who peeled off and returned home after services. Buck Harkness rushed to find his wife. Abby Harkness felt fine. It had only been a touch of stomach flu, she said. She just needed some rest.

The Leone’s segregated themselves by sex again, with the men sleeping outdoors in tents and the women huddling up in the big house. As they settled in for the night, Prince Bennett resurrected himself from Ben’s deeper consciousness, as did Jacob the Bold from Jake’s fantasy world, as did Wilson’s dick girls.

The elder Leone males recalled an evening spent taking turns at the poontang pump, mounted over Lizzie and Cora, trying to rekindle an experience long past. Nathan and Franklin remembered that evening fondly. Hank, a bit less so. He still wondered why Sandra Jean was off limits. Why stoke old pussy when new pussy was so readily available?

So it was no surprise when Sandra and Ruthie and Merci and Regina and Vera advanced into Hank’s tent, fully naked, and began to perform the exotic dance peculiar to Negresses, each of them taking turns to squat over his face and gyrate to and fro, unwashed, while the others fought for the right to suckle his twenty-inch cock.

Buck Harkness considered a similar fantasy, only in his mind’s eye his wife Abby was the lead dancer and her sister Annie sucked his lengthy cock from behind. His shaft was long enough that she could pull it up the crack of his own ass from between his thighs. Both women mounted him doggystyle and fucked themselves with his reverse crescent cock.

Jameson masturbated over Patrice, the Bannister girls and a couple of girls from church. The women were all aligned in a circle, legs spread open to him, while he dipped his wick into each pussy, sampling the heat, liquidity and depth of each, spilling jism at will, enjoying their tortured lust for even a minimal go at his irrepressible knob.

Rev. Franklin Jefferson, of course, masturbated over Lizzie. In his vision of paradise, she blew him repeatedly, swallowing his issue with the same delirium with which he spewed it. The taste of his semen enraptured her. She pulled his cock from her pussy or her asshole in order to guzzle tankards of it. She lapped up his spillage. She was a jism drunkard, unable to quell her lust for the fruit of his testes.

The Reverend ejaculated time and again under these graphic ruminations. He never seemed to tire of Lizzie’s hot, luscious fellatio.

Joe Jenkins masturbated over Merci and Sandra Jean. He was partial to high yaller girls.

Nathan Leone did not masturbate. He fell immediately asleep in his bedroll. He had a bad case of gastritis.

“Must have been those collard greens,” he thought wearily.

In the big house, all of the elder Leone matrons masturbated over remembrances of men they’d fucked, both black and white. Marlene masturbated over Blue. Alone among them, she actually had experienced his elephantine cock between her thighs.

Blue was also the subject of the younger Leone women’s masturbatory fantasies, all except for Abby, who didn’t need to fantasize because, at that very moment, Blue’s cock was cruising in and out of her ass. They were alone in the barn loft. Charlie stood guard. Two inches of Blue’s cock stump remained dry.

But not for long, according to Abby’s reckoning.

In the morning Overseer Delaney reported Sandra and Ruthie and Isaac missing. Nathan Leone took little note. Sandra was lingering long down at the spring, he knew, like always. Ruthie and Isaac were probably sleeping off some sexual delirium and would be home soon enough.

“Young people!!”

Nathan had been right about Sandra. She’d whispered into camp shortly after breakfast was served, acting like she’d been there the whole time. Nathan was appeased by her presence. He promptly forgot about Meshach’s twins. It was still a holiday. He wanted to enjoy his family before they had to up and leave. The twins would show up. They always did.

The following morning Overseer Delaney reported the twins missing again.

“Did you ask Shaddy if they come home yesterday?”

“Yessir. He said they come and go as they pleased. He say he ain’t seen ‘em.”

“WHAT?!? Git him up here.”

Mr. Delaney strode off. Ten minutes later he hustled Shaddy up in front of Nathan.

“Where’s Ruthie and Ike?” Nathan demanded with annoyance. He felt a little piqued, as if coming down with the stomach flu. Delaney looked a little piqued, too, a little green around the gills.

“Ain’t seen ‘em.” Shaddy replied. His voice revealed a bit more impertinence than was due. There was a certain cockiness about him, bordering upon levity.

“You ain’t seen ‘em? Ain’t dey yo’ kids?”

“Dey’s grown now.”

“Grown? Don’t dey still live in yo’ house?”

“Yassuh.”

“Well, WHERE ARE THEY?”

“Ain’t seen ‘em.”

“Ain’t seen ‘em since WHEN.”

“Been two…mebbe three days now.”

“TWO OR THREE DAYS?!?”

Meshach let his statement stand.

“WELL?!? WHICH IS IT? TWO DAYS OR THREE DAYS? I ain’t got time for this foolishness, Shadrach.”

“It’s been three days, Massuh. Since dat day you an’ Marse Hank and Mistuh Delaney et up all them aigs.”

~Bardot

I am Bardot. Thank you for considering this narrative, my third.

If you’ve read my other works, you’re aware of my sesquipedalian tendencies and my penchant for florid description. With this installment I hope to regale you with my snide sense of humor:

“Ben pulled his penis from Polly’s pussy and plunged it up her pooper. Ass feels like ass, tight and unyielding. It’s supposed to be bald, no fur cushion needed, just the bouncy buffer of the buttocks.”

This may be the funniest paragraph written in any enhanced romance novel. Ever. Believe me, I’ve read a bunch of these books. I think I’ve got them all topped.

You may disagree. Some people take their erotica seriously. Humor often clashes with the masturbatory urge. I get it. There’s more than enough debauchery in this book to subsume my random comedic flourishes, if laughter isn’t your thing.

“Nuh-Unnh!!!”

“Yuh-Hunh!!!”

“With the exception of Annie’s and Jannie’s fannies, each of those punanies leaked from every cranny.”

You gotta admit, that’s funny right thur.

There’s also a lot of gratuitous racism in this book. I fucking hate racists. But I felt that the narrative required a bit of authenticity about the time period, so…

The characters contained herein are fictional, wholly unrelated to anyone living or dead. This statement absolves me from legal liability. You can’t sue me claiming that I stole your story or wrote about something you did. I thought all this stuff up on my own.

Anyway, enjoy! After this book I’m going to take a sabbatical from writing smut and work on an engineering project wholly removed from this genre. There may be another book. There may not. I’ve enjoyed writing this trilogy as much as I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it.

And remember, if you’ve purchased the print version and the pages get too sticky, you can always purchase another!!

Bardot can be reached at bardot1990@gmail.com

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