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 sixteen, 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 sixteen. 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 women 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 eighteen 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 seventeen. 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.