New Master at Riverbend

Jerome whimpered, "Be good to me," and then almost laughed, as that was what Macey had said to him right before he had fucked her good and hard in that laundry room. And hard had seemed good enough for her to hear her comment on it while it was happening.

Then Thomas fucked Jerome good and hard and took him to glory, and by the time he was finished, Jerome was feeling more pleasure than pain. Half way through the fuck, Thomas pulled Jerome's shoulders up into his chest, and Jerome turned his head and they kissed deeply and shared in whispers how good the fuck was going. And Jerome proved he could take sex this way by shooting off into one of the buckets.

"You done good," Thomas said. "I knew you liked it when we kissed and you began fuckin' me back with your hips. You be made for this."

Jerome didn't love it yet, but he liked it well enough to continue with his plan.

"I been tole if I take a cock and love it, the man is my master."

"I been tole that too," Thomas answered. "I'd like to fuck you nuff to master you, but I'se not sure you'd be letting me."

"How can the man tell he is accepted as master?"

"If a man will fuck hisself on the cock is a clue."

"Fuck hisself? I don't understand."

"I can show you."

Thomas sat on a bench, holding Jerome's waist, as Jerome sat in his lap, facing him, and on the cock and, at Thomas's direction fucked himself on the hard shaft by leveraging off the soles of his feet.

Jerome thought he had gotten the idea by the time they both had come again—and he now thought he had enough understanding and preparation to work out his plan.

While Jerome absentmindedly worked a plan in his mind, he remained sitting on Thomas's cock, and Thomas glided his hands over Jerome's body, kissed his neck, and moved a hand around to play with the his balls and cock. Jerome barely discerned when Thomas's cock was getting big inside him again. It was a jolt when he realized it and he moved as if to rise.

"Go down on your all fours on the grass," Thomas growled.

Jerome did as he was told and Thomas crouched over his hips, grabbed his waist in his hands, and began the fuck again. It was only later that it dawned on Jerome that Thomas had commanded and Jerome had simply complied. Thomas hadn't even asked if he could fuck him again, and Jerome had no idea what he would have answered if Thomas had asked. Was this, he wondered, what being mastered meant? If so, it was a powerful weapon.

Thomas settled that. He laughed and said, "See it works. You fucked yourself on me and then jus' did what I told you to do afterward. So's I's master of you in the fuck now. You gonna let me fuck you again when I wants to?"

"I guess so," Jerome answered.

"I guess so too," Thomas said. Then he laughed again.

* * * *

"Did you feel what your muscles down there were doin' this time?"

Thomas had become more inventive with Jerome over the past two weeks. Jerome had confided part of his plan to the carriage driver. Naddie's plan of Master John bedding the housemaid Adelle and then Adelle having some sway over the master couldn't work because, as Jerome and Thomas knew and Naddie didn't, Master John preferred lying with men. Thus, part of Jerome's plan was to seduce Master John so that he could carry on with Naddie's plan. Thomas had told Jerome that Master John would be a sophisticated and demanding lover, so that Jerome should gain more experience and more knowledge of the various positions himself.

Jerome half expected that Thomas's main purpose in that was to continue fucking Jerome, but it fit in with Jerome's plans, and he had to admit he was increasingly falling under the mastery of the carriage driver and was becoming increasingly interested in being fucked by men—and by Thomas, in particular. That didn't mean he was any less interested in fucking women too. And as a reaction to all of this, he was broadening his own pursuits of the young slave women of the plantation and was almost always well received because of his good looks and well-built body. Slaves could not help but think of themselves as breeding stock, because their masters certainly did, and Jerome was seen as a prime breeding stud. Even the overseer would look the other way and forgive both Jerome's unfulfilled work and that of the young Negress when he saw Jerome's rump between two chocolate thighs in the cotton field. Jerome was producing slave babies, which added to the wealth of the plantation.

This had been a new position. Thomas had been sitting on the grass, legs stretched out, and Jerome had been skewered on the cock facing away from Thomas with his legs stretched back past Thomas's hips and his torso careened out over Thomas's legs. Thomas had held Jerome tight by the wrists, bowing the young field hand's chest out. It was hard for Thomas to stroke in this position, so he had instructed Jerome to fuck himself. Frustrated with getting enough leverage on his knees and toes to create the desired friction on the cock, Jerome's channel had improvised its own solution. The muscles of the channel walls had made love with their undulations on Thomas's cock all by themselves. Both men had enjoyed that.

"Yay, I felt that," Jerome answered.

"Well, keep a doin' that. A man will go wild with your shaft makin' love to his dick like that."

It was after that, as they lay in each other's arms and Thomas was talking of exotic positions they had not tried yet that he brought up the special act that the truly jaded man who was fucked by men got excited about and sometimes dared. Jerome's breathing became labored at the mere thought of it, but he was sure he could never go to that extreme. And he said so. Thomas's reaction to his response seemed one of disappointment, and Jerome became afraid that maybe Thomas was proposing such an arrangement. But he didn't bring it up again.

While Jerome trained in male seduction and the satisfaction of a male partner with Thomas, he was biding his time. He needed something to happen. And then it did.

The house waiter's arm was scalded in the kitchen one day, and it was clear that it would have to remain dressed and the waiter resting for days if not weeks.

"I don' know what is to do," Naddie spoke in concern. She was merely the head cook, but in reality, at least on this plantation, that also made her responsible for the serving slaves. "He will not have a woman serve him his dinner."

"Let me do it," Jerome piped up to say. He had just fucked one of the laundresses behind the hanging sheets and Macey had heard of it and was giving him the cold shoulder in the kitchen. He had come here, though, to jolly her out of her funk. She was too far along for him to be fucking her, and, when she thought about it, she would realize that he had to be fucking and impregnating some Negress—that the economy of the plantation dictated that. And he continued to show Macey in many small ways that he was truly most fond of her.

"You?" Naddie said as if she had never heard such a preposterous thing. "You is jus' a field hand."

"Yay, but I be workin' with Thomas on the carriages long time now too, and I be picking up the ways of the house. Somebody got to do it. No reason it not be me."

He knew he was the favorite of all her sons and he gave her his best smile. If need be, he'd tell her how important this was for his plan—for all of their futures—but only if he had too. He didn't know how she would react to a man lying under another man.

The look worked. That evening, dressed in a white, billowy cotton shirt, a black velvet vest, and very tight black velvet breeches, Jerome was serving at table.

There were no guests. Master John was supping alone. There was only Jerome in the dining room. Master John insisted on only having one servant serving the table when he dined alone.

Jerome moved as gracefully as he could about the room. He had cleaned himself well and been given a musky cologne to use by Thomas, who said it was a particularly popular one used in male brothels. And Jerome looked as shy and docile as he could and did what he could to leave the impression that he was in awe of the master of the plantation and was attracted to Master John. He smiled a shy smile and took demure looks at Master John whenever it would seem that he didn't want the master seeing him do that—when it was exactly the impression he wanted to leave.

He was standing close beside Master John's chair at the table, serving dish in hand, when it happened. His crotch—on purpose—was on the level of John's face and close to it. John suddenly could not take any more of the dance of enticement. He turned his head toward Jerome's crotch, took in a heady, deep breath—undoubtedly breathing in the musky scent of the handsome young black buck—and put his open mouth on the bulge in Jerome's basket. At the same time he snaked an arm around Jerome's hips and clutched at a butt cheek, pulling Jerome in closer to him. He turned his head up to Jerome's face and Jerome smiled down at him what he hoped would be a smile of acceptance. The master-slave relationship being what it was, John wouldn't have expected rejection, but he might have expected a moment of surprise. Not receiving that caused John to shudder in pleasure. Jerome leaned over and placed the serving dish on the table and then he moved his hand down to his waistband and unbuttoned the top two buttons on his fly.

Master John unbuttoned the rest and pulled out Jerome's cock, swallowed it almost down to the root, and began to stroke it with his mouth.

Victory one, Jerome thought. He remembered the theory that Thomas had told him: that if a man will suck another man's cock, he also will take that cock in the ass.

A bit later Jerome was kneeling on the floor in front of John's chair and between the man's legs and sucking on the master of Riverbend's cock.

And later still, Jerome, sans breeches, was sitting in the dining chair himself, his legs hooked over the arms and a pillow at the small of his back rolling his hips up, and Master John was crouched over him, his hands on the back of the chair and his cock jackhammering Jerome's ass channel, while Jerome moaned and groaned and held John's waist in his hands.

Jerome was flat on his stomach, stretched out on the carpet next to the dining table and John was riding his ass, when Master John leaned down, putting his mouth close to Jerome's ear, and whispered, "You cannot be an innocent. No innocent knows how to do that with his channel muscles. You will be in my bed tonight."

"Yes, Massa. Whatever Massa wants," Jerome purred. And then he gave a big smile. Victory in phase two.

God, the man could fuck, Jerome was thinking as Master John mounted him for the third time in his bed that night. But then Jerome knew that was the case already, having again had to wait for Master John for a couple of hours at the Decatur Street brothel not many days earlier. Master John was on his knees on the bed, with Jerome's buttocks resting on his thighs, Jerome's legs bent, and his feet flat on the bed next to Master John's hips. John was clutching Jerome's waist and pulling his channel on and off the cock, having tired of keeping his own hip action in motion to help him ram the cock home repeatedly.

He had been explicit in telling Jerome how much he liked the young black slave's body and that Jerome would be sleeping with him for the foreseeable future—all good portents for the success of Jerome's plans.

But the key thing was that the man seemed to be tiring, and Jerome wasn't, having made the man do most of the work. At the point of Master John's ejaculation and as he was allowing his body to relax and fall onto Jerome, the black slave took his chance. As John came down, Jerome turned both of their bodies so that Master John was still on his knees, but Jerome was on top of him, pressing his chest down on the surface of the bed and rubbing his own cock up and down in the crease between John's buttocks. Weak from the night's exertion, John hunched there, panting. He was saying something, but Jerome wasn't listening to him. He grabbed John's wrists to help keep him immobile and moved his mouth to the puckered hole between the butt cheeks.

John squeaked and moaned as Jerome's tongue did its magic of opening the hole and lathering it up. Satisfied he could get in and just a bit surprised at how quickly it opened up and that Master John wasn't fighting him hard enough, Jerome mounted the man's hips and worked his cock into the channel.

The white man bucked and writhed and cried out within Jerome's grip. Jerome started stroking, running the thought over and over again in his mind that a man who will suck the cock will take the cock in the ass. And the master is the one with the cock in the other man's ass.

He fucked fast and hard, reasoning that if he was going to master John, it couldn't be a tentative matter.

Somewhat to his surprise, when he starting listening to what Master John was sounding off about, it turned out to be exclamations of passion. "God yes, fuck me! Deeper! Harder! Faster!"

The man was happy to be fucked. It was a revelation to Jerome and one that immediately endangered his plan. How easy would it be to master a man by the cocking if he was well used to being cocked. And a further revelation to Jerome was that he was enjoying fucking the man. So, there were men who could genuinely enjoy both fucking another man and being fucked by another man. Jerome marveled at all there was about the mysteries of life and fucking that he had never known.

Still, he fucked on, and Master John encouraged him to do so.

The next afternoon Jerome appeared in the kitchen house decked out in the white shirt, velvet vest, and tight black breeches he'd spent several hours putting back into order. At first the laundress he'd been fucking, who already was beginning to show the evidence of another of his children, was helping him. But she also wanted him to take time to give her a fuck, and he was much too spent to do that, so she'd deserted him to finish his own repairs.

"Ya can take those right off," Naddie spat at him when he entered the kitchen.

"I be serving Massa at supper," he said. "I have to wear these."

"No ya don't have to serve Massa at supper. He sent word you to be excused. That you got other duties. That you gotta rest. I'm using Nathan."

"Nathan be an old man, Naddie," Jerome said.

"Right. Thas right," Naddie retorted. "Seems only an old man is goin' be able to serve twice in the dining room when Massa sups alone. Don't try to hide from me what ya doin' with that man. Sound gets outta that dining room just fine."

"I'se a plan, Naddie. Now you know why Adelle didn't work. Now you know a man's got to do it. We has to try to keep the fambly together here. I'se jus' doin' what I has to do."

Naddie began to cry. She collapsed in a chair and Jerome went over and stroked her hair.

"You tell me to stop and I'll stop, Naddie. But it's for the fambly. Should I stop?"

Naddie didn't answer, but when Jerome reached the door, she mumbled. "Jus ya all be careful. Them white men is mean bastards."

Jerome would take whatever blessing he could get. So, this was enough for him. He wouldn't tell her all of it. He wouldn't tell her that he enjoyed both fucking men and being fucked by them. That didn't mean he enjoyed fucking women any less. And Naddie hadn't said all that much about the big stomachs being seen on the young Negresses of the plantation. Naddie liked her grandbabies well enough.

That night was the test of the next strategic phase of Jerome's plan. Master John fucked him just as he had observed John fucking the male prostitute at the Decatur Street house. First sidesplitting him and stroking his cock and then like a dog, crouched over Jerome as he was on all fours on the bed. But then Master John asked for the fuck himself.

This was the most dangerous point of all of this.

"I be tired. I don' think I can fuck you as long as you want."

"It's what I want. You were supposed to get rest today. I heard you were in the field. I don't want you using your energy in the field anymore."

I be in the field fucking Berta, Jerome thought, and almost laughed. Making more babies for your wealth. But that's not what he said. He had been building up to this moment.

"I be tired, but my cock still be strong. If you want it, you can ride it."

Make them fuck themselves and then you are master, Jerome heard Thomas saying to him.

"Lie on your back," Master John said.

Exhilarated, Jerome turned onto his back. Just as he had promised, his cock was hard and erect. John straddled his hips, facing him, and slowly descended on the cock. He rode the cock hard and wild like he was a ship being tossed on a stormy sea. Jerome came first and then John moved up to straddle his chest, and Jerome sucked him to an ejaculation.

They settled down, stretched along each other's bodies, and dozed. Jerome awoke with the sensation of Master John stroking his cock. This was the next danger point. Would John want to fuck him or be fucked.

"I want your cock again," John murmured.

"I still be tired."

"I want the cock." It was almost a whine.

"You be havin' to ride it yourself."

This time John rode the cock in the opposite direction, facing Master Jerome's feet. He asked the young black man to raise his knees, and he clutched them in his arms and pushed them out and in to match the rhythm of his rise and fall on the cock.

After several minutes, deciding that he had made his point and that he could acknowledge he was rested enough, Master Jerome rose and pulled John over to the side of the bed, with Master Jerome standing on the flour between John's thighs and pounded John's ass, while the white man writhed and cried out in ecstasy and clutched the bedspread in his claws.

Jerome sensed victory, but he didn't feel he could risk yet making the demand he was building up to. That John let men fuck him—and therefore at least partially master him—before Jerome had was disturbing. Perhaps the fucking didn't completely subjugate him.

But then Jerome remembered what Thomas had said some days before about some special act—that if a man experienced that and was one of the few men who loved having it done, that it was the ultimate leverage over a man who wanted to be fucked by men. It might be too much. It might destroy all of the work Jerome had already done. But if Jerome could think of one man who would melt to that act, it would be this man, John Rembeau.

The next night he had Thomas waiting in the shadows of the bedroom, just another invisible slave, when he entered the bedroom. John was there before him as well. He was wearing just a robe, open to reveal the well-muscled line of his body and a half-erect cock. He was standing in the center of the room, reflected in the dim, dancing light from the fireplace and holding a snifter of brandy. He had already been drinking heavily.

"Strip down and come here," he commanded, and Jerome did so, a bit worried that the man was going to reassert control. Perhaps even send him away as a threat to the man's authority. He put the snifter down on a table as Jerome approached. Jerome, like all of the slaves, wore a leather collar. That was all he was wearing now, but it clearly marked him as the slave. As he reached John, the white man grabbed the collar from behind and pulled Jerome's lips up to his—Jerome being shorter and trimmer than John—and took him in a brutal kiss. As they were kissing, he reached down and grabbed Jerome's balls and squeezed them until Jerome's eyes watered. He refused to cry out, though.

There was an ottoman right behind where Jerome was standing, and John pushed Jerome down in a sitting position on that. He reached over, picked up the snifter, took another deep drink, and then put it back on the table. He moved his legs between Jerome's thighs and Jerome reached out and cupped John's balls and brought the cock to his mouth and sucked it. John picked up the snifter again, while moving his hips in a face fuck of Jerome's mouth. Nothing was being said by either man. All that could be heard was heavy breathing. John didn't seem to notice, though, that three men, not two were breathing heavily in the room.