Abigail Hanford stared at her friend in disbelief.
"But why, Christabel? How? Your parents wouldn't leave you here alone, they just wouldn't!"
Christabel Jennings grinned smugly, and mischief glittered in her green eyes. "Daddy was supposed to come back from Atlanta this morning, so Mama took the early coach to go visit her cousin Etta. Only Daddy sent a message with yesterday's coach that he has to stay in Atlanta for three more days. I was outside when the messenger came, so I told him I'd let my Mama know. I guess I forgot."
Abigail shook her head, amazed yet again at her friend's audacity, and already starting to worry what kind of trouble Christabel was planning to get them into.
The two girls had been best friends since before they could remember; in many ways they were very much the same, but in others they were as different as night and day. Both were only daughters of wealthy parents, plantation-owning Southern aristocracy. Both were achingly beautiful, and both were eighteen.
But Christabel could have easily passed for twenty-two; tall for her age at 5'6", her breasts were full and round, and her figure, though slender, was curvaceous. Stunningly offset by her shining red hair, her emerald eyes sparkled with intelligence and humor, and her full lips seemed always curved in a faint half-smile, which gave her an air of flirtatious and knowing maturity. Her personality matched her looks; she was bold, impulsive, daring; dangerously so for a woman of her time. But her beauty, her youth, and her charm, wrapped around a core of genuine kindness and sweetness, made it hard for anyone to stay angry with her for long.
Abigail, on the other hand, could be mistaken for fourteen or fifteen. She was tiny, 5 foot nothing, and beneath the modest dresses her mother insisted on, her firm round buttocks and small, high, perfectly round breasts could easily escape notice. Her hair was so blond it was almost white, and her eyes were the pale blue of a rain-washed sky. Her delicate features and gentle, trusting expression conveyed an almost heart-breaking innocence that made her seem younger than her years.
Yet the two close friends were more alike than they seemed. Both chafed under the restrictive, stilted lifestyle of the antebellum south. Both were prone to sexual thoughts and fantasies, and eager to experience more than the little they both had seen. Both had lost their virginity to the same smooth-talking classmate, Jimmy Robbins. Christabel was first, of course, and was almost the aggressor. Months later, Abigail, more passively, had succumbed to the boy's advances. That had threatened their friendship, briefly. But both had been disappointed by Jimmy's clumsiness, quickness, and unimpressive endowments. Neither wanted to try him again, and the shared experience ended up reinforcing their closeness.
Best of friends they were, yet Abigail was often nervous about Christabel's wild streak, and the thought of three days without any adult supervision to restrain her sounded dangerous. But, she had to admit to herself, it was exciting, too.
She sighed. She knew she would go along with Christabel's notions; she always did, though usually more as observer than active participant. "Three days. What are you planning to do?"
Christabel smiled. "First we're going to have tea and sandwiches, and talk. Later... you'll see."
They sat on the patio, having tea and sandwiches, and Abigail thought everything seemed normal, She was starting to feel a little relieved, maybe a little disappointed, when she noticed something odd.
"Where's the house staff, Christabel?"
Christabel smiled her naughty smile. "They all had errands that had to be done. I'm afraid we're all alone."
Abigail could tell she wasn't going to find out what Christabel had in mind until her friend was ready, so she played along. They sat chatting about everything and nothing, while the sun sank and the song of the crickets rose into the night. At some point, the subject of Jimmy Robbins came up. "Is his little pecker the only one you've seen?" Christabel giggled.
"Yes," Abigail replied.
"Then how do you know it's little?"
"I guess I don't, really. I just thought I should feel... fuller."
"Me too." Christabel got up. "Let's go for a walk."
Abigail felt her tummy tighten. Whatever Christabel had planned, she had a feeling it was coming.
For a while, though, they just walked aimlessly in the cool, fragrant darkness. Then Abigail realized they were down by the slave quarters. "We shouldn't be down here, alone, in the dark," she said.
"Nonsense. We can walk where we want."
As they drew closer to one of the small shacks, Abigail started to hear a noise. A man's voice, and he was groaning, as if in pain, and there was a sound of a woman's voice as well, it sounded almost like she was humming.
"What is that?" Abigail wondered if someone was hurt. But why the humming?
Christabel led her to the wall of the shack, and pointed to a knothole, touching a finger to her lips. Guilty, but curious, Abigail put her eye to the hole.
Candles were burning, and she could see, but at first she couldn't make sense of what she saw. The groans were coming from John, one of the big field slaves. The humming was a young slave woman. She was down on the floor in front of him, and she seemed be trying to swallow... something, a stick or a bottle, something much too big for her mouth. Suddenly Abigail realized what she was seeing, and she fell back, barely restraining a gasp. Christabel was grinning, and she waited while Abigail went back to get another look. Watching, she felt an itchy tingling in between her legs. She was ashamed. A black slave! Still, the woman had been mouthing it so eagerly, and it was big, very big. If the candlelight wasn't playing tricks on her, it was three times the size of Jimmy Robbins' little thing.
As Christabel drew her away from the shack, she felt relief. That hadn't been so bad. Naughty, scary, exciting, but they hadn't been seen, and one more of Christabel's adventures was safely behind her.
But when they had gotten about thirty yards away, Christabel suddenly stopped and faced the shack. "John," she shouted, "I need your help up at the house. Right now. And bring Henry and Zeke and Isaac with you." Abigail's jaw dropped.
There was the sound of hurried stumbling, and perhaps a muttered oath, and then John's voice. "Yes Miz Chriz'bel, right away."
Christabel started toward the house, and Abigail followed, stunned. "Christabel! You, you, you're not. You can't!" Christabel kept walking, and Abigail fluttered along behind her, thinking, "I've got to go, go home, get away." But what she heard coming out of her mouth was, "Can I watch?"
As if she'd said the magic word, Christabel turned and beamed at her, "Get up in my parent's bedroom, and hide in the closet." Abigail scurried to the hiding place; she had to see, she just had to. Could even Christabel be so bold?
Christabel waited in the parlor. The other slaves she'd named, like John, were the biggest, strongest field hands. They were the ones called on for the hardest labor, and whenever she saw them working, their muscles bulging, sweat dripping from their black skin, she felt weak in the knees, and she had to go change into dry panties. She really didn't know why, and she'd never told anyone, not even Abigail, but now she had her chance, and she was going to take it.
The four hurried into the house. "What is it Miz' Chriz'bel?" John spoke for them.
Christabel wrinkled her nose. You've got work to do, but you stink. You're going to have to get cleaned up first." The slaves looked at each other, mystified. They all liked Christabel; she was nice. And nice to look at, too, although they knew they'd best not be caught looking at her. Still, she was a white girl, and white girls are all crazy. They followed her up the stairs. She took them into her parent's bedroom, and pointed at the big master bath. "That's the only washroom that's big enough. Get in there, and don't come out till you're clean." The slaves were bewildered, and starting to get a little worried; where was the house staff? But they did as they were told.
When she heard the sound of splashing and mumbling, Christabel went to the closet, winked at Abigail, still half in shock, and pulled out four of her father's robes. She closed the door, leaving a crack for Abigail to peer through.
"Get them smelly clothes off, too," she said, opening the washroom door. She tossed the robes to the baffled slaves.
"Not the Massah's clothes, Miz Chrizbel, we cain't," muttered John. Christabel put her hands on her hips. "The Massah ain't here, John. I'm the Massah, and the Missus, and you'll do as I say!" She closed the door, and went back to the closet once more. She peeled of her panties, and tossed them on the floor. Abigail could smell her friend's arousal on them; she bent down to look and saw that the entire crotch was soaked. She was feeling more than a little moist herself, and trembling with anticipation.
In a few minutes the four big black bucks came nervously through the door. They were clutching the robes, because Christabel had not brought any belts. "Line up there," she ordered, "let's make sure you're all clean."
"Open up that robe John, let's see if you washed up good."
"Oh, no Miz, I cain't do that."
"I won't have any dirty niggers in my house, John, nor disobedient ones, neither. Now, open it!"
Shaking his head, John opened the robe. Despite his fear of the dangerous situation, he could feel his cock beginning to swell as Christabel stared at it.
"Looks clean," she said, "but let's make sure." Before the bewildered man could react, Christabel had dropped to her knees before him, and took his rapidly growing prick in both her small white hands. Stunned and frightened, the slaves could only stare, wondering how far the beautiful teenager would go with her teasing. She looked up at John. "You know what Mama says when she wants the floors cleaned real good? She says to make 'em clean enough to eat off of. Are you clean enough to eat off of, John?" Without waiting for an answer, her pink tongue darted out and touched the tip of his ebony pole. "Mmmm." John stared in disbelief as she forced the huge head into her little mouth. Seeing his black cock sliding into the lovely white face of the Massah's young daughter, John gave up any resistance. He might hang for this, but he was past caring.
Christabel moaned, and popped the enormous rock-hard black shaft from her mouth. She stood and lifted her skirts, revealing her bare pussy, with its fringe of flame-red hair. Juice was running down the insides of her quivering thighs. Without a word, she turned and walked to her parent's bed. She climbed on and got on her elbows and knees, sticking her perfect little lily-white round ass in the air like a bitch in heat, and looked over her shoulder at John, her eyes commanding and pleading.
In a haze of lust, John got up behind her with his cock in his fist. He forced it into her dripping pink pussy, and with one long slow push, drove his thick nine-inch monster balls deep into the tightest, hottest, wettest cunt he had ever encountered. As he pressed forward, Christabel's low moan turned into a high-pitched squeal, but she was still forcing herself backwards against him. When his balls were up against her, he took one firm white ass cheek in each big black hand, and waited.
"Ohh, it's filling me," she groaned. "Now do me, fuck me, fuck me hard."
John slowly pulled almost all the way out, and then suddenly began ramming the little squealing, yelping redhead again and again, as hard and fast and deep as he could. "AIEEEEEE! YESSS! YESSS! OH, LIKE THAT! FUCK ME! AAAAAAAH! FUCK ME WITH THAT BIG FAT BLACK DICK!"
John fought back the churning in his balls, not wanting this to end too quickly. As he pumped the little teen, he reached beneath her and found her swollen clit with his fingers. Christabel screamed. "AAAAAAAAAAAAGH, YAH, YAH, YAH, I'M GONNA, GONNA CUM, GONNA CUM, CAUSE I'M CUMMING RIGHT NOWWWWW!" Her body convulsed, and then her arms collapsed, unable to hold her up. But John was holding her hips now, and he kept pounding her relentlessly, mercilessly, until she came again, and yet again. John knew he couldn't fight his own need anymore, but crazed with lust as he was, there was still a little voice of self-preservation in the back of his head. "If she has a black baby," he thought, "we'll likely all be hanging from the trees like fruit at harvest time." So he held onto a last bit of self control, and after her third orgasm left her dazed and helpless, he pulled out and maneuvered his cock to her mouth. Her eyes widened with surprise, and some fear, as the huge load of spunk came boiling out of his balls, filling her mouth and threatening to drown her. But she swallowed some, and let the rest run down her chin, and her eyes glazed with pleasure once again.
John collapsed on the bed, drained, but Christabel gently stroked his cock and balls, and he knew he would be ready again soon. The other three field hands waited, their cocks sticking out like flagpoles. Christabel looked over. Henry and Zeke were about as well equipped as John, but her eyes widened when she saw Isaac's fearsome weapon. It looked to be a foot long and as big around as her mama's rolling pin.
"Come here Henry, Zeke," she said. Isaac's face fell, but she shook her head. "Don't worry Isaac, I'm saving something special for you."
While John rested, and Isaac waited and wondered, Christabel started working on Henry and Zeke, stroking, licking, and fondling them, rubbing their black tools against her cheeks and her breasts, sucking them greedily into her mouth while she looked into their eyes adoringly.
Inside the closet, Abigail's eyes were as wide as dinner plates. Sometime, she didn't know when, she had found herself rubbing away at her aching pussy. She wanted to see Christabel get fucked again.
She soon got her wish; before long, Christabel was back on all fours, with Henry plowing her pussy, while Zeke stuffed his black rod deeper and deeper into her pretty young face. She seemed to be gagging on his thick meat, but she eagerly forced her mouth down on it anyway.
John cautioned Henry, "Don't shoot in her!"
Henry didn't want to pull out, but suddenly inspiration struck. As he fucked away at her pussy, he a lubed up a thick black finger with her flowing juices, and slowly slid it into her puckered anus. Filled at both ends with ramming cockmeat, the added stimulation put Christabel over the edge again, and she was launched into a shuddering, whimpering orgasm. Quickly, taking advantage of the relaxation of her muscles in the aftermath, Henry pulled his cock from her pussy, and almost without losing his rhythm, started fucking away at her tiny asshole. Around the cock filling her mouth, Christabel's moans took on a painful, frantic sound, but her sucking did not falter, and her hips kept meeting Henry's powerful thrusts. Soon Both Henry and Zeke started fucking her harder and faster, and her squeals lost the painful edge, but became more urgent, and suddenly they were all groaning and cumming together, as loads of cum erupted in her throat and her ass. The sight of her friend getting her ass and face blasted with nigger cum brought Abigail to her climax, and she let out a high pitched little squeal despite her best efforts to stay silent. She didn't think anyone heard her, though, with all the other noises. Still, she pulled away from the door, holding her breath, motionless.
Christabel suddenly stepped to the closet door and pulled it open. Abigail gasped, yanking her hand out from between her legs. Her dress was pulled up, her frilly pink panties down around her ankles. Her face was flushed, and her nearly hairless little pink pussy glistened wetly. Trembling, her voice came out as a squeak. "Oh, no..."
"Oh, yes," Christabel answered. "Isaac." Her eyes remained locked on Abigail's. "Put her on the bed." The big slave seemed nervous, but he obeyed, scooping up the diminutive blond and laying her gently on the sheets. She squirmed feebly, murmuring, "No, no, oh, no." "Take her," Christabel said.
Isaac was frightened, but the command of his little mistress -- and the sight of Abigail's petite white body and sopping wet pussy -- overrode his fears. Easily controlling her weak struggling, he dropped his face to her crotch and started gently licking. She gasped, still whimpering, "No," but he could feel almost immediately that she was responding, lifting her hips to give him better access to her juicy slit. He slowly increased the speed and force of his tongue, concentrating more and more on the hard little nub of her clit. In less than a minute, "No, no, no," became "Oh, oh, oh."
And less than a minute after that, Isaac felt her slim white thighs clamp around his head with surprising force, so tightly that he could only dimly hear the blond teenager wailing, "Aaagh, aagh, wha, what's happening to MEEEE?!? Oh GOD! Oh GEEEAAGHA!" Her body bucked uncontrollably in the throes of a shattering orgasm, one that made any pleasure she'd ever given herself with her hands seem less than nothing by comparison. Isaac was rewarded with a sudden gush of sweet, tangy, teen pussycum, and then the girl collapsed, limp as a rag doll. He heard Christabel moaning, "Now fuck her! Fill that sweet little young blond pussy with your big black fuckstick!" But he needed no encouragement; he was already moving the fat black plum of his cockhead towards her dripping pink cuntlips. He rubbed it up and down, flicking her hypersensitive clit, and she gasped, opening her eyes wide. "No," she whimpered, but she was spreading her legs wide and staring at his cock with a mixture of fear and hunger in her eyes. The big slave slowly pushed into her. She was so tight he thought it might not be possible, but so wet that he slid steadily in. "AWWWW OWWW," she groaned, and he paused to let her body adjust to the massive invader. Slowly, he began to move again. "OHHHH," she moaned, and then, "Oooooh." With each slow thrust, he penetrated further into her sweet young cunt, and soon he was fucking her steadily and deep. "So bigg, uh, uh, uh," she grunted in time with his rhythm, and then suddenly her arms and legs wrapped around him. "OHHH. Ohh, my God. It's good! It feels so gooood! YES!! YESSS! FUCK ME! FUCK MEEE! Oh, Oh, Ohmygod, Ohmygod, Ohmygod, I feel it, it's gonna happen, it's gonna, AAAAAGHAAAH!"
Lucy Hanford watched the coach roll into town, and was surprised to see Martha Jennings step out of it. Martha looked tired. As always, Lucy had to marvel at her friend's beauty. Her perfect hourglass figure had hardly changed in twenty years. She had always had a seemingly impossible body, all lush voluptuous curves, and yet firm and resilient, and seemingly impervious to gravity. She had been jealous of Martha's figure, years before, but that had passed. When she confessed, Martha told her that she had envied Lucy's petite and seemingly ageless body, and felt like a clumsy cow by comparison.
Knowing that Martha had left just that morning, planning to visit her cousin, she wondered what had happened. She hurried over to greet her friend. Martha smiled when she saw Lucy, but the smile was weary, even a little grim.
"That was a quick visit," Lucy observed. Martha grinned, cheered by Lucy's concern. "The coach threw a wheel and the axle broke. So I had to catch the coach heading back here when it passed. I spent all day traveling in the dust and heat, and I got nowhere."
"Aw, I'm sorry, that sounds awful." Lucy looked sideways at Martha. "And you missed seeing dear cousin Etta."
Martha had to grin again at Lucy's expression. "Etta's a cantankerous, addled old witch who could talk the ears off a deaf man, and you know it."
Lucy gave her a searching look. "I know it. So why do you visit her so often?"
Martha shook her head, and they walked together in silence for a while down the road that went out to both of their homes.
"It's Robert," Martha finally blurted.
Lucy raised her eyebrows, but waited.
"Do you know what sort of 'business' he goes to Atlanta for?"
Lucy sighed. "I can guess. Jasper goes to whores, too."
Martha stared at her friend. "Jasper, too? Aren't we good enough? Look at you! You could pass for Abigail's sister. Why would Jasper go to some filthy whore?"
Lucy shrugged. "And you're the most beautiful woman in the county, maybe in the state. It's not us. They're men."
"And what a waste of good money, anyway. When he wants to do it to me, he rolls that fat sweaty body on top of me, and grunts for a few seconds, and he's done."
Lucy shrugged again. "Jasper's just the same. Like I said, they're men. They're all like that."
Martha looked at her friend. "For years I put up with it, and now I find out he's been whoring, probably all along. How do you stay so calm about it?"
Lucy smiled sadly. "I've known a long time. I was angry, but what could I do? It's a man's world, you know that."
"Maybe so. But we don't deserve to be treated this way. I don't know what I'll do, I don't know what I can do, but I'll think of something."
Lucy shook her head. "You always were a spitfire. When you figure it out, let me know, maybe I'll join you."
They walked in silence for a while, until they came to Martha's gate. "Do you want to come in? It'll help me put off talking to him for a while."
Lucy nodded. "Sure. I probably need to rescue Abigail from whatever adventure your little troublemaker has got her into this time."
As they neared the house, Martha frowned. "Something's wrong. Where's the household staff?" The house seemed deserted, no servants, no sign of Robert. The women began to get worried. They headed up the stairs, and they heard something. The sounds were coming from the master bedroom; it had to be one of the girls, practically howling in pain or grief or... something. They hurried to the door and rushed in.
The sight that greeted them froze both women in their tracks, unable to speak or move. There on her parent's marital bed, on her hands and knees, Christabel was thrusting her ass violently backward to meet the powerful thrusts of two enormous black cocks, one plundering her red-haired pussy, and the other ramming into her obscenely stretched asshole. A third black pole was fucking her mouth furiously, obviously going right down her throat as she gurgled and moaned.
On the rug by the side of the bed was Abigail, on top of another nigger prick, her head thrown back and her eyes closed as she slammed her tiny body down again and again on the monstrous ebony tool that was splitting her asshole. She was frantically frigging away at her almost hairless little pussy, wailing and gasping. Nobody in the room had yet even noticed the two distraught mothers.
Lucy Hanford, recovering her voice, but not her wits, asked a very foolish question. "Abigail, what are you doing?!"
Abigail looked up at her mother, with glazed eyes, and answered her. "I'm getting fucked, Mommy. I'm getting fucked in my tiny little white ass with a HUGE black cock. It's in my ass, Mommy, and it hurts, but it's good, and it made me cum. It made me cum, and ohgod, ohgod, it's gonna make me cum AGAIN! It's gonna make me, make me OOOOHGAAAHHH!! OHHOHHHGAAAAHHHD!!" Her body stiffened and convulsed as she moaned and squealed, and suddenly the big field slave beneath her let out a long, low groan. Abigail practically leaped off him, cum trailing from her ass, and rushed to capture his still spurting rod in her mouth, eagerly slurping and swallowing his black seed.
Martha leaned heavily against the doorframe, and Lucy fainted dead away.
Stunned and disoriented, Martha stared at Lucy, prostrate on the floor, for a long moment. There was an eerie silence. When she looked up, all motion on the bed had ceased. It seemed as though they all had suddenly frozen in the midst of their bed-bouncing, wall-thumping rhythm. She saw a grotesque, two-toned, four-headed beast, and all of its eight eyes were staring at her, wide and round.
The sight suddenly struck her as hilariously funny. Her laugh was a harsh, staccato bark, staggering on the ragged edge of hyperventilation or hysteria. But it shook her body loose from its paralysis, jolted her thoughts from shock and dismay. Slowly, she saw past the raw fact, inconceivable but undeniable, that her daughter was getting fucked by black slaves. Her mind began to register just what kind of a fucking her little girl was getting.
And as it did, a notion formed in her mind, and took root, and grew.
It was depraved.
It was wicked, sinful, unspeakable.
"Oh, Christabel," she said, trying to sound stern, "Whatever shall I do with you?"
But her daughter could read her too well; the fear in Christabel's eyes had changed into something like eagerness. Martha let her smile grow.
"I shall have to be cross with you if you have tired these poor men out completely. They still have so much work yet to do. Now come help me with Lucy"
Isaac and Abigail huddled in the corner, watching Martha cautiously. John, Zeke, and Henry were still too stunned to move, but Christabel extricated herself from the tangle of bodies and went into the washroom, returning in a moment with a damp cloth. She knelt beside Lucy, blotting her forehead gently, and grinned at her mother.
Martha watched the men, as she very slowly and deliberately began unbuttoning her blouse. The apparent catastrophe of the ladies' dramatic entrance had thrown all four men into shock, and at first they seemed unable to grasp what was happening. John was the first to recover. Martha saw understanding growing on his face, and between his legs, as his wilted tool began to thicken and lengthen and rise.
"John," she said, "It seems the house staff is not here. You shall have to help me change out of these clothes."
John just nodded, not yet composed enough to speak, and made his way across the room hesitantly, as though still unable to quite believe the turn events seemed to be taking. He stood in front of her, and carefully helped her with the endless buttons and fastenings and lacings. He suddenly gasped as her clothing seemed to fall from her, revealing the firm, heavy globes of her breasts, the lush, solid curves of her hips, the smooth, flawless paleness of her skin. He gasped again as he felt her cool, soft hands grasping his prick, which was burning hot and painfully hard.