Vintage gay sex with white mastet and male black slave

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements. Author's note: The following depicts a while male master sexually dominating a black male slave in the period just before the Civil War.

If the racial politics of this fiction upsets you, please skip it. When in the summer of I returned to my family's home and plantation in North Carolina, I was escaping the very heart of Yankee-dom for the beauty of the South. I had graduated Harvard University just months before.

On his deathbed in earlymy father had made me promise to finish my education there. The management of our vast estate, including its slaves, was left to our chief overseer and my uncle, my father's brother-in-law, who occupied a nearby plantation of half its size.

Even at half, Uncle Bob's place still was among the biggest, and he had made a fortune with his cotton mills in the north. He offered us a considerable sum, although not worth its full market value. My mother and I decided to be magnanimous and refrained from haggling.

I received 45 percent of the amount, and my mother an equal share. The remaining 10 percent would go toward large dowries for my sisters. They did not lack for suitors before this windfall, and the dowries only increased their numbers. It would be a short time indeed before wedding bells would be heard.

My mother and my sisters moved permanently to our Charleston house, which they much preferred anyway. It was at this point that my own story really begins. As befitting a young gentleman of means and education in the antebellum South, I needed a valet.

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I chose Charlie, a Negro of 22 years who had grown up on our plantation. He had no children and no slave wife, a bit unusual at that time. Both his parents were gone — his father sold many years before and his mother dead of yellow fever. Taking him with me to New Orleans where I planned to read law would not entail any drama of separation.

However, Uncle Bob seemed oddly distressed when I informed him of my plans. I asked him if anything was wrong, but he demurred and consented to my taking Charlie with me. The two of us left by ship in the autumn of to sail around Florida into the Gulf of Mexico and then onto our destination.

That first night in the private cabin of the steamship brought a revelation. I had eaten heartily and had more than one glass of wine. The attractiveness of the female passengers had only served to stoke the fires of my own steam engine. As Charlie helped me undress before putting on my night clothes, I made a joke about my tumescence.

Charlie was on his knees in front of me as he pulled my pants off and away from my now naked feet. He looked up at me and asked, "Would you like me to help relieve your swelling, sir? I used to do it for your Uncle Bob, Mister Dowling. Pardon me, if I do not have Mr. Twain's skill for translating the dialects of Negroes to the page.