Southern Belle

Foreword

"Oh, fuck me, Brutus, FUCK ME!" Melanie Wilkerson screamed, writhing in ecstasy and raking her nails across the broad sweaty back of the brawny black stud who was humping his burly physique savagely on top of her curvaceous, lily white form.

Brutus slammed his gargantuan eleven inch pecker deep into the lovely blonde girl's impossibly stretched, throbbing cuntal chasm, her legs hooked around his middle, her hips heaving in a frenzy of carnal passion.

The small, canopied bed groaned and creaked as the eighteen year old Southern belle, the daughter of one of the state's most conservative political icons, wantonly fornicated with the big, sweaty Negro manservant.

Brutus suddenly pulled his purplish, vein-latticed mauler out of the blonde slut's tight, satiny cunt and scrambled up on his knees, straddling her middle. Grabbing her big pillowy breasts, he pulled them apart, sandwiching his hefty black prong in the deep cleavage, between the quivering lobes of white flesh.

Oscillating his hips lewdly, he stroked his thick, bulging prick back and forth between her silky, hot breasts. His cock was so long that it bumped against her chin each time he thrust forward.

"AWWWW, SHIT, MA'AM!" he roared huskily, tossing back his black head, "I GONNA SHOOT MY WAD! AAAARRRGH!"

Melanie whimpered in delight, stretching her pouting pink lips wide apart as jets of thick, hot semen spouted from the purplish dick head and spattered over her face...

Chapter 1

"What in the dickens shall I do today?" Melanie Wilkerson pouted pettishly, sitting in the open French window which looked out upon the verdant land and gardens that belonged to her wealthy father.

Melanie was an extremely beautiful girl of eighteen, a lovely combination of woman and child, the type only to be found in the South. She had lambent golden curls which cascaded around her shoulders prettily, framing an oval, porcelain face with enormous, long-lashed blue eyes, a perky upturned nose, and full, strawberry-hued lips. Her complexion was peaches and cream. Indeed, she looked the picture of health, a stunningly gorgeous Southern peach, renowned throughout the county for her lovely features.

Today, she was wearing a white silk dress with puffy sleeves and a dipping cleavage which revealed her ample, jutting breasts, far larger than those of most girls of eighteen. Her figure was like that of an hour glass, lusciously curvaceous with an incredibly slender waist and long, sexy legs. Many a lusty young buck had drooled over the sight of the dimpled Miss Wilkerson parading through the town's streets usually shaded by a parasol, and more often than not, with her begloved hand slipped in the crook of her father's arm.

Rhett Wilkerson was a burly, powerfully built man, a man who was fiercely possessive and extremely ambitious. He was also one of the wealthiest men in the state. The Wilkersons had dabbled in politics since before the Civil War, and there had almost never been a time in recent history in which the family was not represented in the Senate or Congress, or at least the state's legislature. Two times a Wilkerson had served as Governor, and it was Rhett Wilkerson's lifelong ambition to become the third and youngest man in his family to gain that coveted political post.

Wilkerson was not a scrupulous or particularly compassionate man. He could ladle charm when necessary, and during the past few months, he had bombasted the state with an expensive campaign, kissing numerous babies and visiting every orphanage and old folks home he could. Recent polls placed him neck to neck with another ambitious young politician, a handsome Democrat named Lance Hardman. Both men were in their early forties, and therefore, which ever one won the election would become the youngest Governor in the State's history.

The State had habitually elected Democrats to office, but Wilkerson, a staunch and conservative Republican, was banking on the fact that Hardman was known to be a bit too liberal for the people of the State, especially in his attitude toward race relations. And Rhett Wilkerson intended to win the election, whatever the cost...

Melanie was sick and tired of hearing of nothing but the election, day in and day out. She had been forced to accompany her father - a widower - to many a social function, and pose with him for numerous newspaper photography sessions.

If there was one thing that Wilkerson prized above all else, it was his precious daughter. He was fiercely protective of her, and made sure she was under his wing whenever possible. He had spoiled Melanie in many ways, but had hampered her movements at the same time. Especially now that she was blossoming into a young woman and young sparks were perking up and noticing when she passed. Rhett didn't want his daughter sullied, and above all, he didn't want his name to be dragged through the mud during these delicate days before the election. If his daughter should become involved in a sordid affair and the opposition became aware of it, Wilkerson's chances could be ruined.

So, Melanie was beginning to feel stifled and restless. She wanted more out of life than she was getting, and one thing that whetted her appetite was the thought of getting a handsome young beau. Up until now, Rhett Wilkerson had scared off any young pup who had come to woo his daughter. Wilkerson wanted to choose Melanie's prospective husband carefully, and not until she was twenty would he even consider the question. But he did have his eye on young Nestor Previtts, whose father came from one of the oldest and most distinguished, and richest, families in the state. But Melanie hated Nestor.

"He's skinny and has pimples and smells bad," she pouted to her girlfriends.

What she secretly longed for was a handsome young man who resembled her brother, Jarvis.

Jarvis Wilkerson was twenty, and extremely handsome. He stood six foot one inch tall and weighed a hundred and ninety pounds. He had short, light brown hair and green eyes, set in an insolently handsome face, which could crease into a dazzling smile. His body was muscular and streamlined from much horseback riding, and he was an excellent polo player. His father wished that Jarvis, considered one of the State's more eligible young bachelors, would show a little more interest and ambition in something other than horses and girls, but he indulgently felt that after all, Jarvis was young and had to sow his wild oats.

Melanie often complained that her older brother was allowed to do as he pleased while her activities were severely limited, and her father had sternly reported that she was a lady and was expected to behave like one.

"With a young man, it is different," Rhett had said, with maddening sexism.

Thinking of this now, as she perched in the French window, basking in the warm sunlight, Melanie scowled with childish anger, her baby blue eyes snapping with Wilkerson fires. Like her father, she was stubborn and strong-willed and liked to have her own way.

Not that she resented Jarvis for having more privileges than she did. Melanie was devoted to her older brother, worshipped him, in fact. Just the thought of him made her heart go pit-a-pat, and she dreamed of being swept off her feet by a gallant young prince who looked exactly like Jarvis.

Melanie had been too carefully brought up to suspect that her feelings for her brother were more than romantic fantasies. She had no idea what incest was, and did not recognize her incestuous feelings for her brother for what they were.

But she was definitely aware of sex. She had discovered long ago, when she was twelve, that by touching the soft and delicately fringed mound between her legs with the cuticles of her fingers, she could create the most exquisite sensations. And the whispering, giggling talk of her girl-friends had given her a shadowy suggestion of the actual act of fornication. She had seen men with their shirts off, and she had certainly watched the crotches in men's pants and dreamt about what those bulges contained. Against her father's strict orders, she had sneaked out to watch stallions being mated to mares, and had found the sight extraordinarily exciting, sending a flush of warmth coursing through her nubile young body.

Her one actual contact with sex had come several weeks earlier when she had nearly created a scene by opening the door to her father's bedroom and found him lustily mounting Dahlia, the black girl who helped in the kitchen. Melanie had only caught a glimpse of the lewd scene before she hastily retreated, but it had been enough to sharpen her curiosity. She had seen her father's broad, sweaty, hairy back and Dahlia's luscious, mahogany colored legs wrapped around his waist. She had watched the way his hard buttocks flexed and lifted and fell, and had heard Dahlia's delighted whimpers and moans as the big stud entered her again and again...

Melanie felt a stab of envy for Dahlia which she would never have admitted aloud. The pretty black girl, a gorgeous mulatto, was twenty-five and had worked with the cook in the Wilkersons' kitchen since she was nineteen. Now Melanie realized that her services had been procured in order for Rhett Wilkerson to have a mistress, for she had come to work at the house weeks after the death of Melanie's mother.

Dahlia may have been poor and black, but she had a happy, carefree manner and lifestyle that Melanie secretly envied. She knew Dahlia was a slut, and there was something titillating about the idea.

Brutus, the hulking black buck who helped out with the horses, was constantly hanging around the kitchen and Melanie had seen the way Dahlia flirted with him. She wagered, in fact, that Dahlia did a lot more than just flirt with the huge black stud.

Melanie felt a tremor of excitement shudder through her again, and her loins became warm and moist. With a sigh of boredom and oppression, Melanie jumped out of the window and flounced out of the lavishly decorated room.

She wandered through the huge mansion aimlessly, feeling utterly bored. Rhett was away on the campaign trail, of course, making another of his endless appearances at a factory or something. Jarvis was out riding with his buddies. And Melanie was all alone in the huge house with the servants.

Melanie was going past the kitchen, idly wondering if perhaps she could telephone her best friend, Missy Simpson, when she heard voices which made her stop just outside the door. She heard Dahlia's rich, feminine laugh, and a deep, rustling masculine voice, which she recognized as belonging to Brutus. A crafty look came over the Southern belle's features, and she crept to the door and very gently pushed it slightly ajar, placing her eye against the crack. From that position, she got a good glimpse at the kitchen.

Dahlia was leaning coquettishly against the stove, her warm brown eyes twinkling with excitement as she tilted her pretty head up to look into the jet black, ruggedly masculine features of the man they called Brutus.

Dahlia was dressed in a floral patterned frock which complemented her dusky skin and luscious figure well. The mulatto servant knew how pretty she was, and made the most of her physical assets. Now, she was thrusting her full, pendulous breasts forward sensuously, and the large, melon-shaped lobes of flesh pressed against the thin material of her blouse. The round pouting circles of her pointy nipples were clearly outlined by the thin material, and Brutus' smoldering eyes kept darting down and ogling them greedily.

Brutus was a brawny, impressive specimen of manhood. Standing six feet two inches tall and weighing two hundred and forty pounds of solid musculature, he was a great hulking brute of a man, with broad shoulders and a powerfully built chest. He was wearing a short sleeved shirt that was open to the navel, revealing the hard jutting curves of his pectoral muscles, and the rippling-washboard definition of his belly. The tight tan breeches that hugged his legs and thighs were tenting alarmingly at the crotch, revealing the gigantic proportions of his sexual organs quite clearly.

Dahlia's doe-like brown eyes dropped bashfully from Brutus' face and fleetingly glanced at the big stud's crotch, and Melanie could see a tremor of excitement rush through the lovely mulatto slut's body.

"Aw, c'mon, Dahlia," Brutus coaxed, smiling at her lewdly, "Ain't nobody gonna stop us! Les go out to the barn for a while. Dotty's gawn to her Maw's place fer the afternoon, and the Wilkersons, all 'cept Miss Melanie, is gone away. An' Miss Melanie never has no business down at the barn!"

Dahlia giggled, wiggling her hips teasingly and said, "Now, Brutus, you is bad! You knows that Dotty tole me to look after the kitchen for her till she comes back! What if she comes back early and finds me not here? I'll get my ass beat, that's what!"

Brutus smiled wolfishly, licking his sensuous thick lips, and said huskily, "Yeah! She ain't the only one who'd like to beat dat ass, Dahlia! Only, when I does it, you gonna like it!"

Lewdly, the big brute reached down and rubbed his throbbing crotch with his big fingers. He reached out and grasped Dahlia's small brown hand and drew it against his groin, pressing it there and swiveling his hips.

Dahlia's eyes widened as she felt the stiff throbbing of his lust-thickened meatiness through the coarse material of his trousers, and she gave a little whimper of excitement.

"You sees how much I wants you, Dahlia," Brutus said hoarsely, "C'mon, les go to the barn."

Dahlia's resistance had fallen completely. She raised her swimming brown eyes, large and trembling with excitement, and slightly parted her full, moist lips.

Brutus gave a low growl and bent down, wrapping his powerful arms around her slender form and crushing her willowy young body against his huge physique, smothering her lips hungrily with his own.

Melanie shuddered in lascivious delight as she watched the two Negroes kiss passionately. Her own body was stirring with the warm juices of passion, and her cunt began to tingle and quiver in sympathetic excitement. She gaped as she watched Brutus' big mouth open wide and cover the lower part of Dahlia's face as he forced his long thick tongue deep into the mulatto wench's mouth.

Brutus' big hands slid down Dahlia's back and dug into the high, firm cheeks of her succulent ass, squeezing them lewdly as he crushed his pelvis against hers.

Struggling, Dahlia pushed away from him, panting hard, her eyes wide with mingled passion and nervousness.

"Not here, fool!" she gasped, "Miss Melanie's likely to walk in on us, and then there's no telling what might happen! Let's go on out to the barn."

Brutus grinned wolfishly and said, "I thought you'd nevah ask!"

They went together to the screen door that faced the barn, and exited separately. Brutus went first, striding rapidly across the lawn towards the barn, and Dahlia tripped nervously behind him, her big brown eyes darting back and forth to make sure no one was watching them.

If Dahlia had known that every movement she and Brutus had made, and every word they had spoken, had been seen and heard by Melanie Wilkerson, the black servant would have died in horror. But Melanie had no intention of reporting on the lusty black couple. She merely wanted to find out what it was that they did in the barn which was so exciting.

The crafty blonde belle waited until the big barn door swung shut behind Dahlia. Then, she darted across the kitchen and out the screen door, and rapidly and noiselessly approached the barn.

Having been raised on her father's estate, she knew every nook and cranny like the back of her hand. And Melanie knew how to get into the hay loft in the barn without having to go through the door.

She hurried around to the back of the barn. A window high up led into the hay loft, and a thick rope dangled to the ground from a nail several inches below the window. Knots at various intervals in the rope made foot and hand-holds.

Though she behaved very much like a lady in public, the instincts of a tomboyish girlhood still remained intact in Melanie's lively form, and she had no trouble at all clambering up the rope once she had kicked off her shoes. She peered cautiously over the edge of the window, and then slipped inside. She crawled on all fours through the hay until her face reached the square hole that looked down into the barn. She heard the restless stirring and neighing of the horses, and the sighs and moans of two other beings.

Peering over the trap door, she found to her delight that she had a perfect view of the illicit scene that was unfolding beneath her.

Brutus had taken Dahlia into one of the empty horse stalls. A ray of sunlight made its way through a crack in the barn wall and bathed the two lovers in a golden honeyed beam.

The black stud was kissing Dahlia hungrily, and he had hoisted up her skirts and was running his big coarse hands over the luscious, smooth lobes of her tush.

He pulled away suddenly, panting with lust, and tossed off his shirt impatiently, revealing his brawny, muscular torso. Then his hands flew to his belt, and in a matter of seconds, he had shed his pants and was standing before Dahlia in all his naked glory.

Melanie could barely keep herself from gasping aloud in utter astonishment. Her big blue eyes grew wide with wonder. She had never seen a man's penis before, though she had frequently imagined what they were like. Brutus' prick looked absolutely gargantuan! It looked like the cock on one of the stallions her father frequently put to stud!

Melanie's exaggeration was not too far from the truth. Brutus was indeed extraordinarily well hung. His pride and joy was a full eleven inches in length when completely erect, and was almost as thick around as a man's wrist. This lusty length of gristle and flesh thrust before him like a small arm with a balled fist on the end, throbbing impatiently.

Dahlia gazed down at it, trembling in excitement, uttering a little cooing sound of desire. She reached down and rubbed the palm of her hand across the bloated purplish tip, smearing the droplet of pre-come that had formed there all over the glans.

She encircled the pulsating shaft with her fingers and stroked her hand lovingly up and down, squeezing lightly. With her other hand, she titillated the black stud's enormous, baseball-sized balls, lifting them and testing their weight, scraping her fingernail across the scrotum. Brutus' huge frame shuddered in appreciation as the sultry mulatto wench stroked his humongous whanger. He licked his lips in lascivious anticipation.

"C'mon baby," he said huskily, "let me feel that warm mouth of yours on me!"

With a sigh of excitement, Dahlia dropped to her knees in the hay and stared at the protruding appendage which pointed at her face. Puckering her lips, she pressed them against the mushroom-shaped tip, laving out her tongue and swirling it across the corona, mewling in delight as she tasted his musky masculine flavors.

She stretched her jaws until they threatened to snap and took the entire crown into her mouth, slurping at it lewdly, running her fingers up and down the shaft.

Brutus moaned in appreciation, reaching down and digging his fingers into her kinky brown hair, bucking his hips lustily and forcing several inches of his thick sex tool deep into her mouth.

Dahlia gagged slightly as the thick tip punched against the back of her throat, and then she swallowed hard, letting the first few inches of the horsedick slide down into her aching, constricted throat. Brutus threw back his head and howled in delight as the entire length of his enormous pecker disappeared into the warm slick interior of Dahlia's oral orifice. Dahlia's 'O' shaped bloated lips pressed into the crinkly patch of pungent pubic hairs encircling the thick base of Brutus' lance, and she shuddered in pleasure as she savored the sensation of having her mouth and gullet completely stuffed with the young stud's joint.