The Plantation Pt. 02

All characters are at least 18 years of age. If the "n" word offends you, in historical context, poor thing. Read something else.

In part 1, we introduced the Claiborne family, owners of a large plantation in Mississippi, shortly before the Civil War. Thomas is the cruel master of the plantation. His wife, Verina, is a kind, but sickly woman, who passes away in the first episode. Rachel is the beautiful young daughter who is, secretly, an abolitionist. Robert is her older brother.

Fall 1861

Rachel could not get used to the fact that both her father and brother were gone. They both had quickly enlisted when Mr. Lincoln had called for a 75,000 man militia after shots were fired at Ft. Sumter. To Southerners, this was a declaration of war. Almost every white male that Rachel knew had joined the rebel army.

She was very happy that her father, Thomas, was not around. She had never been close to him and he had never been particularly affectionate toward her. She had noticed that, since her body had developed, that his gaze lingered on her curves in a most "un-fatherly" way. That made her want to be completely out of his presence at all times.

Her feelings were quite the opposite for her handsome brother, Robert. They had become lovers several months before the war began. When their father wasn't home, they slept together practically every night. They couldn't get enough of each other. Robert was careful not to cum inside his sister except on "safe" days of the month. Rachel meticulously kept up with her menstrual cycle. They were quite satisfied to just pleasure each other with their mouths. From the very first, Rachel had loved sucking him off and swallowing his warm, thick cum. Her brother never tired of worshipping his gorgeous, tall, slender, blonde, blue-eyed, buxom sister with his mouth. There was not a place on her body that he had not licked or sucked.

Rachel had just turned 19 when Robert and their father went off to war. Thomas had been instrumental in recruiting a regiment and, since he was a wealthy landowner, was rewarded with the rank of Colonel. Robert was a Captain in the same regiment. Colonel Claiborne was the first in command of the regiment, while Robert (Captain Claiborne) commanded a company, one of ten in the regiment.

Colonel Claiborne, Rachel's father, had left the overseer, Mr. Johnson, in charge. Mr. Johnson was in his 60's and walked with a limp, the result of a hunting accident when he was a boy. Because of his age and disability he was not expected to join the ranks of those going to war. If there was a man, anywhere, that Rachel despised more than her own father, it was Mr. Johnson. He was harsh toward the slaves, often beating them, even without permission from her father. He always had a large wad of tobacco lodged in his jaw and constantly spat and cursed. He stank. Now that he had been left in charge, Rachel feared for the slaves. She wondered if Mr. Johnson would take advantage of the female slaves like her father did.

She feared most for Charles, a young, handsome, well-built slave that had been Rachel's companion when they were very young. She had secretly taught Charles to read and to do rudimentary arithmetic, but as they grew older they were not allowed to even talk to each other. Charles had been warned that he would receive a whipping if he was ever caught talking to Rachel. Rachel, who had always been very attracted to Charles, was careful not to even catch his eye if anyone else was around.

Rachel had quite accidentally come upon Charles and a young slave woman one day. She hid and watched and listened to them. The young woman was Peg, one of several slaves who were sired by Rachel's father. That made Peg her half-sister. She watched as the two incredibly attractive young people made love. Rachel tried many times after that to watch them again, but only was rewarded a handful of times. She knew that Charles and Peg were in love. She heard Peg talking about how she wanted to either escape or be set free to travel up north so that they could be married and have a family. As it was, few slaves ever married because plantation owners often split families up by selling one or other of the married partners. Rachel thought this was one of the cruelest things that slave-owners did. She fervently hoped that this war would somehow free the slaves.

Rachel had long fantasized about Charles. She considered him to be the most handsome man she had ever seen, even more handsome than her brother, Robert. Long before she and her brother had become lovers, she had often fantasized about Charles. As a young girl, she fantasized about kissing him and hugging him.

Now that Robert was off at war, even though she ached to have her beloved brother back in her bed, her mind sometimes wandered to Charles. She allowed herself to imagine scenarios in which she and the young black slave would make love. She longed to suck his prodigious member, which was even larger than Robert's! She wonder if his cum would taste different than Robert's did. She could almost orgasm just imagining Charles cumming in her mouth. She was aware that, besides the undeniable physical attraction she had for Charles, that there was a taboo element at work, as well. Academically she knew that she should not feel this way - as far as she was concerned, all men were indeed created equal. They were all human beings. Whites were not innately smarter or better in any way than black people. But there was no denying that the culture in which she lived had created the taboo between whites and blacks.

She had already crossed the taboo boundary of incest - sex with her brother, she admitted to herself, excited her much more than if he were someone unrelated to her. She knew that the taboo of interracial sex, while not founded on anything innately factual, was nevertheless real. Her body immediately reacted every time she thought of it. Her pulse quickened, her breasts tingled, and she became wet between her legs. Even her mouth watered.

One day, as she sat in the yard, reading a novel, she saw a young slave boy running toward the house. She could see from a distance that something must be wrong. She stood and dropped her book onto the grass.

"Miss Rachel, Miss Rachel, they's whippin' Charles! Come quick!"

"What do you mean they're whipping Charles," she demanded. "Who is they?"

"Masta Johnson! He whippin him!" the boy shouted, tears streaming down his face. "Please come, Miss Rachel. He mos' kill him!"

Bolts of adrenaline shot through her body as she ran, following the boy toward a large shed some hundred yards from the plantation house.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight that greeted her as she rounded the corner and looked inside the shed.

Charles was tied to one of the foundation poles of the shed. He was stripped to the waist with huge, bloody whelps criss-crossing his back. Even his pants were pulled down to his knees and bloody whelps were on his legs; blood could be seen through his underwear. The overseer, Mr. Johnson, wielded a horse whip. Rachel's mouth fell open in a silent scream as the awful, rawhide whip made contact with Charles' back, ripping another stripe of his flesh. Charles, tears running down his face, made no sound.

"Stop it, damn you!" Rachel yelled as she ran toward the overseer. Mr. Johnson, shocked to see Rachel, stepped back, startled.

Then a malevolent smile crossed his face. "I'm in charge here, young missy. You ain't got no say in this. Get on back up to the house."

Rachel's eyes flashed fire. She clawed at Johnson's face and grabbed at the whip. "I'm in charge, here!" she screamed. "While my father is not here, our slaves are not going to be whipped. Do you understand?"

Johnson spat. "Nigger lover, are ya? Yo' old man is the owner and he put me in charge. When a nigger gets out of line, he gets whipped. That's the way it is."

Rachel glanced over at Charles, who only stared into space. His body was shaking and his breathing was ragged. His eyes met Rachel's. "They done sold Peg," he moaned.

Rachel looked at Johnson. "Is this true? You sold Peg?"

"Peg and a bunch of the others. Yore daddy's orders. He sent a message," he said, matter-of-factly, then spat again. "I'm just doing what I was told. Then this un tried to follow em."

"Mr. Johnson, you are relieved of your duties," Rachel said, through clenched teeth.

Johnson laughed. "You can't fire me, missy. Yore daddy gives me my orders."

"Cut him down. Now!" she shouted.

Grudgingly, Johnson took his knife and cut the ropes that were binding Charles. Charles fell to the ground like a sack of rocks. He moaned.

Rachel, for the first time, noticed that a great many of the slaves were gathered, watching. She turned to them and, with her voice shaking, said, "I hope to God this war ends slavery in this country. If I had the power to do it, every one of you would be free today."

Turning to Johnson, she said, "What would happen, Mr. Johnson, if all of these people here decided to do to you what you just did to this man?"

For the first time, Johnson looked unsure of himself. "They know better. Any of em try to do anything to me, gets shot!"

Rachel looked over the crowd of at least 30 slaves, many of whom were able-bodied, grown men. Then she looked back at Johnson. "You have one hour to get your sorry, white-trash ass off this plantation. These people will do what I tell them. Are we clear?"

Johnson spat. "Your daddy oughtta whip your ass, nigger lover."

"Are we clear?" she shouted.

Johnson spat again, took a long look at the throng of slaves, threw his whip to the ground and walked away.

Rachel squatted and called the boy who had reported the beating to her earlier. "You keep an eye on him. If he tries to do anything to harm this property or anybody here, you come straight up to the big house and get me. When he leaves, you come and tell me."

The boy grinned, despite everything. "Yes'm! I sho will!"

She stood and motioned for a couple of the men to help her with Charles. "Bring him up to the house. Take him upstairs. We'll put him in Daddy's room. Some of you women bring some medicine - whatever you can find. We have plenty of whiskey. He needs salve and whatever else you can find. We have some laudanum left of mama's for pain, too, I think."

The women hurried off as the men helped to get Charles to the house and up to their master's bedroom.

*****

A week later

Overseer Johnson had left within a couple of hours of the incident. Rachel was sure that she would hear back from him, in one way or another. Right now, however, most every able-bodied man was away at war. She was sure that every slave in the area could just walk off the plantations if they were minded to do so. The problem, of course, was that there was no place to go.

The day after Charles' beating, when they were sure that he was out of danger and that he would recover, she called all the slaves into the yard and talked to them from the porch. She asked them to continue with their assigned tasks, as usual, but assured them that, if it were ever up to her, that they would all have their freedom. She told them that she thought slavery was a terrible evil and that she would devote her life, if need be, to abolition. Some of the slaves had cheered. Many more wept openly. Several were heard to say, "God bless Miss Rachel."

She spent long hours helping with Charles. She tenderly rubbed salve on his wounds and found, on more than one occasion, that she couldn't control her emotions. Charles and the other slaves informed her what had happened. Peg and some of the other slaves had indeed been sold to someone in Louisiana. They were gone. There was no getting them back. None of them even knew who bought them. She would have to wait until her father came home to find out and then, she promised them, she would do everything she could to persuade him to purchase them back. She knew, though, that it would not happen. Charles and Peg would never see each other again.

Late one afternoon, a week after the beating, Rachel found herself alone with Charles in the darkening room. She found herself talking with him about when they were small and had played together. She asked him if he could still read and do arithmetic. For the first time, she detected a tiny smile on his handsome face. "I can read fine, Miss Rachel. Do numbers, too. I done taught some of the others."

"Charles, please call me Rachel. In God's eyes I am not your master. I don't own you and I don't want to own you."

"Rachel... You're the best person I ever met," he whispered as a tear rolled down his cheek. "You the onliest one..."

She took his hand and stroked the callouses with her fingertips. "These hands... they're so big and strong and calloused from all the hard work you've done in your life... It's not right, Charles. You should be paid for your work. You should be able to marry who you want and have children... you should be free," she sniffled.

"I love Peg," he moaned. "I never gonna see her no mo. I feel like I done died. That whupping don't hurt near as bad as I do inside, Miss Rachel..."

"Loneliness is a horrible thing, even for me," she said. "I sure don't miss my daddy, but I miss Mama and Robert. I really miss Robert. I know it sounds silly, but he was almost like a boyfriend to me after Mama died."

"I thought about that a lot, Miss Rachel... uh, Rachel. I knowed you must be lonesome. I knowed when Master Robert leave that you gonna be lonely, here by yourself, no white people around 'cept old Johnson."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "That man is way lower in my eyes than any slave - I have no use for white trash. My daddy is in that category."

"I ask you somethin', Miss Rachel?"

She smiled. "You can ask me anything."

Charles grinned, then said, "No 'fense, but you know yo daddy is daddy to a lot of the slaves, including my Peg?"

Rachel couldn't help but laugh. "Of course I know it. Everybody knows it. I just hope my poor Mama didn't know. Now can I ask you something?"

Charles nodded. "Sho."

"Someone told me once that Peg and I favored. You ever notice that?"

"Oh, Miss Rachel, we ought not talk 'bout that!"

"You brought it up, Charles. After this person said that, I noticed it, too. Come on, tell me."

"She a little fatter round de middle. Darker, 'course. Yeah, I noticed it."

Rachel continued to hold his hand, but laughed. Without thinking, she brought his hand up and kissed it.

Charles pulled his hand away as if he had been scalded. "Miss Rachel!"

"I'm sorry, Charles. I didn't mean anything by it. That's just a way that us white folks have of showing affection," she said calmly. "Charles, I'm going to say something to you now. Believe me, I mean no offense at all. I swear."

"What, Miss Rachel? I do something wrong?"

"No, absolutely not. Here goes," she said as she took a deep breath. "You stink."

A deep scowl crossed his face, but when he saw that Rachel was smiling, he started laughing. "I guess I do. Ain't had no baf since I got whupped."

Rachel stood and busied herself lighting the kerosene lamp. Then she brought the water basin and sat it on the bedside table. She took a bar of soap and soaped up a wash rag. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and started washing his face.

"Miss Rachel, no! You ain't gon' bathe no nigger..."

"Charles, do not EVER refer to yourself in that way again. You aren't a nigger. I detest that word. You are a man. You've been injured and you need a bath. I'm not too good to wash you off a little."

"It just don't seem right, Miss Rachel..."

"Charles, do you know any Bible stories?" she asked, as she began to wash his bare, muscular chest.

"Oh, yes'm. I know a lot of Bible stories. I can read it a little. Old Miss Jenny got a Bible hid. She can't read it, but I go over there and pick out a little of it sometimes." Jenny was an ancient slave who was so aged that she wasn't expected to do much work.

"You remember what Jesus did the night before he was crucified?" she asked, scrubbing now at his stomach.

"Well, lemme see. He ate a meal with his 'postles. That what you mean?"

"His Apostles got in a fuss. They were arguing over who would be greatest..." she prompted.

"Yes'm. I member that..."

"Jesus knew that he was going to be killed the next day, but he got a pan of water and washed their feet, with them sitting there arguing about who was the greatest." Suddenly her voice caught. She reached for a towel and wiped her eyes. "Don't you think, Charles, if the savior of the world can wash the feet of that bunch, that I can wash you?"

"You a good woman," Charles said. "I 'preciate you. You don't know how much."

"Raise your arms up," she said. When he did, a look of disgust crossed her face. "You stink!" she smiled as she lathered the rag and began washing his underarms.

She reached for the sheet and, without hesitation, pulled it down to the foot of the bed. Charles was completely naked underneath. She already knew that he was because she had been in attendance several times, and even helped, when they put salve all over the whelps on his back, buttocks, and legs. Until now, however, she had not seen his naked penis. It gave her a thrill to see it, especially since he seemed to be semi-erect.

"Miss Rachel, I be nekked!" he yelled, then moaned at the pain of the sudden movement.

"Listen here, Charles. You are injured. I'm going to give you a bath, and you have to be naked for that to happen. Right now, this is my duty. Don't make it hard on me. Okay?"

Charles reached and lay both hands over his genitals, but nodded.

As Rachel scrubbed his feet and then up his legs, she could smell the funky, unwashed smell, of his genital area. Potentially, this naked black man could turn her on like nobody else on earth, but the foul odor emanating from his loins was disgusting. She lathered up his inner thighs as he continued to stare at the ceiling, unmoving as his hands lay over his massive genitals.

"Move your hands," she said gently. "I know it's embarrassing, but it has to be done."

Charles moved his hands and kept his arms straight by his sides. She noticed that his cock seemed to have shriveled, but it still looked huge to her. She felt a distinct tingling in her breasts and pussy as she began to lather up his horse-size balls. She tentatively swiped the washcloth over his penis, trying to wash the entire thing without touching it with her hands - the very thing that she intensely desired to do.

Unexpectedly, Charles grasped his penis and held it by the head with his fingertips, giving her easier access. She swiped the cloth on the underside, and dared look in his face. He was looking into her face with an expression that was totally indiscernible. Was it fear? Embarrassment? Pleasure? Expectation? A mixture of all of these?

She smiled and almost laughed. "That expression, Charles. Do you always look like that when a woman washes your penis?"

Charles emitted a short, quick snort. "Sheeittt, Miss Rachel. Don't be joking when you doin that!"

"I don't have to tell you that you can't ever, ever tell anyone about this, right?"

"Don't you worry, Miss... I mean, don't worry, Rachel."

Rachel rinsed the cloth and lathered it up again. This time, she took his penis in her hand and made sure that she washed the entire thing. It started growing in her hand as she washed his nuts and then behind them. The feel of his massive penis growing hard in her tiny hand caused two simultaneous thoughts to pop into her mind - that she wanted to continue to do this for hours and that she needed to get this done and get out of there as quickly as she could. She knew that her nipples were hard and that her pussy was lubricating itself. Her mouth watered - she wanted nothing more than to take this magnificent man's cock into her mouth and give him as much pleasure as possible.