It's Just a Matter of Breeding

"Oh my God," I said in a hushed, soft voice as Zeke brought me to orgasm. I don't think I had fully realized how much I missed the feel of orgasming on his cock.

The only thing that tempered my happiness with Zeke was having to submit to Masta Phillip who still came to my cabin late at night. Zeke knew about Masta Phillip and his visits (how could he not?), but he knew he could do nothing to prevent them. He told me once how one night he had opened the door to the cabin only to find Masta Phillip on top of me taking his pleasure. He said he stood there a moment or two fighting the urge to pull him off me and kill him. Instead, he closed the door and walked back to the Quarters feeling less than a man, unable to protect his woman.

For a long time, I didn't think Masta knew about Zeke, but when the Missus was away visiting her sister, Masta called me to his bedroom and wanted to have sex. He stripped my clothes off me and once I was naked made me get on my hands and knees in front of him. He didn't take his clothes off, just unbuttoned his pants and took his already stiff cock out. With me in a position of total submission, my head and shoulders lowered, my ass high and accessible to him, he pushed his leaking cock inside me and with short, quick, deliberate thrusts like the dogs you see in the front yard, began to use me.

"He fucks you this way doesn't he?" He asked.

I did not reply.

"You like it? You like it when he fucks you hard and deep don't you? I know you do because I've heard you moaning and whimpering when he fucks you from behind like a damn bitch in heat."

That's when I knew he was aware of Zeke, and rather than being angry and vindictive, he was aroused by the sight of Zeke and me having sex.

I think Masta Phillip would intentionally come to my cabin when he suspected Zeke would be there. He would quietly enter the cabin and if he found Zeke and me in bed asleep, he would make Zeke get up and wait outside on the porch while he crawled into our bed and fucked me. On more than one occasion when Masta discovered Zeke sweating and grunting on top of me, he would stand and watch as Zeke filled my pussy with his cum. Masta would then order Zeke to pull out, and he would slide his rock hard white cock into my already cum filled pussy and ejaculate almost immediately.

*****

This went on for a few months before it became obvious that I was again pregnant, but this time, I did not know whose bastard it was, my black lover Zeke or my white slave owner Masta Phillip. I said nothing to either man, but as my body began to change and my sexual needs and desires increased it became apparent that I had been successfully bred by one of them. When Zeke looked at me, I could see the questions and concerns and knew he wanted this baby to be his. For Masta, my pregnancy regardless of whether the baby was black or white meant an increase in his property, but also the increased opportunity for the sexual excitement and activity that he craved.

I was miserably torn between my feelings for Zeke and my repulsion yet undeniable lust for my Masta. As my belly grew bigger and my breasts heavy with milk, Masta delighted in the inevitable sensation of his long, thick dick sliding into my hot, wet pregnant pussy and sought me out sometimes daily to satisfy his needs, his cravings.

Yes, Masta Phillip like many men enjoyed pregnant sex. I recalled him saying one night when he had me bent over and was pumping wetly in and out of me, that, "I don't know what it is Dilcy, it was never like this with my wife. The bigger your belly and milkier your teats become the hotter and wetter your pussy becomes. You make me so hard, my balls ache."

*****

Things on the Weeping Willows Plantation came to an unexpected head several weeks before the birth of my third child.

Miss Jolene had been away at a neighboring plantation nursing a sick friend for a few nights and was due home late that evening.

I had been upstairs readying the bedroom for her return when to my surprise, Masta Phillip walked in. Closing the door behind him, he came toward me and ripped away the worn bodice of my dress.

"Uhmmmm," he moaned as he sucked and squeezed my teat encouraging tiny droplets of milk to form.

Masta freed his swollen white cock. It was huge, pulsing and beginning to leak.

"Get up on the bed Dilcy. I need to put this into that hot brown pussy of yours," he said while stroking himself. Even though he knew Miss Jolene was on her way home, for some perverse reason only he understood, Masta Phillip wanted to have sex in their bed.

"Masta . . . Masta, Miss Jolene gon be here soon," I had hesitantly, not wanting to incur his displeasure.

"No need for you to be concerned about that, I'm the master here, not her and not you," he said, a warning tone unmistakable.

Successfully asserting his dominance over me, Masta Phillip quickly became comfortable between my legs. Having been chastised, I lay under him without further protest as he buried his cock deep inside my pussy, his stroking and thrusting seeming to go on for a long time.

I didn't want to, but I could feel my hips reluctantly begin raising and lowering to meet his thrusts, his rigid cock all but demanding my sexual response. I listened, the sounds of his moans and animal like grunting echoed in the room as multiple times he brought himself close to erupting before forcing himself to pull back. Caught up in his passion, Masta Phillip had lost track of time, and just as he stiffened and began spewing thick, warm cum against my already pregnant womb, the bedroom door flung open, and there stood Miss Jolene. Mouth agape, anger and mortification hardening the features of her face, Miss Jolene stared in shocked silence before turning and storming out of the room.

She had been aware of Masta's late night visits to my cabin, she had turned her head and chosen to ignore (accept?) his flagrant fondling and caressing of me in her presence, and despite his many other indiscretions she had even accepted him impregnating both of us.

"God damn it!" he cursed to himself.

In spite of what others may have thought, Miss Jolene didn't see herself as being a total fool; she had had enough and Masta Phillip fucking his daughter/slave in her marital bed was more than she could bear.

"Jolene . . . Jolene," Masta Phillip called as he ran buck naked down the hall after her, his now soft, limp cock swaying impotently from side to side.

No one was surprised (at least not among the house slaves) when two weeks later, they found Masta Phillip in his study, shot to death by his quiet, brow-beaten, mousey little wife . . . Miss Jolene.