Sacred Night – Pt 2 [MM] [Raceplay]

By Taylor Jones ©2020

PART TWO

BAPTISTE

Baptiste had relaxed. He knew he was still a slave, that he’d better do whatever was asked of him. Still, the ministering hands felt good to him and made him feel special. Despite the heat and humidity, the boy smelled of expensive soap while he reeked of sweat. Yet, Xavier had made it clear that he wasn’t put off by his odor, when even his own wife made him bathe before coming to bed.

Now, the whiteboy was asking to touch his sex. It was probably wrong, but suddenly he sounded so young and innocent asking Baptiste for permission.

“Yes suh,” he said at last. “Go ‘head, touch it.”

Xavier’s eyes popped, as if he were barely able to believe his ears. Baptiste closed his eyes then, and felt the arm thrown over his chest lift and the flat of the boy’s hand trail downward, lightly tracing the cleft of his bunched pectorals, a thumb brushing over the prominent nubs of his ebony nipples. Fingertips glided down the washboard stomach until they ran through a pool of sticky seepage dripping in pearly strings from his dark plum-sized dickhead.

They dipped into the pool, then wet his glans, which was only half emerged from its wrinked black foreskin. Tracing its gentle curve downward, the fingers teased the hood back until the glistening glans emerged, then brushed downward along the tubular belly, which jumped and throbbed under their touch. Baptiste felt fingertips brush through the peppercorn pubes scattered around the base, and finally felt them gingerly encircle the thick trunk of his erection.

Baptiste opened his eyes and saw Xavier’s trembling hand wrapped around his black shaft. It was the first time a whiteboy had ever touched it, and it looked small there, not covering even half of it. The contrast of his deep chocolate dick in the pale hand amazed him. It was a strange day for him but he realized he was loving every minute of it.

It was odd, though. He had seen Xavier’s elder sister go through nigger after nigger after her husband left for the war. She even once sent for Baptiste, but he found her repellent and was unable to get hard. And yet now, for this gentle whiteboy, he was hard as a rock.

“What will yuh do with it now, Massa?” he asked. “Now dat yuh have it in yuh hand?”

XAVIER

Xavier marvelled at how hot it was, how it jumped rhythmically in his grip. He knew now, for whatever a slave’s consent was worth — for when did a slave ever say “No”? — that Baptiste’s body was plainly acquiescent. With a plaintive sigh, Xavier dropped his face into the upturned armpit and pushed his mouth into the course, sweat-drenched tangle. Because a nigger’s diet was heavy in salt, which was absolutely vital for staying hydrated in humid heat, the taste of his sweat was briny. Under that, it tasted something like piss smelled — acrid and sharp, with a bitter base note.

Baptiste’s lowered his arm, as if to stop him, but Xavier pushed in deeper and the arm relaxed lightly atop his head. The whiteboy took his time then, stroking the black dick languidly with a slack grip, while he squeezed liquid from the tight peppercorn coils with his lips and siphoned it into his mouth, sucking up every drop of nigger sweat he could manage.

While Xavier was absorbed in his sensory experience, his mind wandered to the memory of a hateful joke — not a joke, really, but a parlor-tested expression of pure racial contempt. He was asked if he wanted some gink and, as expected, asked what gink was. Gink, he was told, was made by tying a big nigger to a rope and running him behind a horse until he dropped from exhaustion. Then you wrung out the hair in his armpits and you had gink. General laughter and merriment.

Now that he had tried it, he had to agree that he liked gink, but would never come to it by such cruel means. He lifted his sweat-wet face, rose, and scooted across Baptiste’s chest to his other side, brushing his nose across the dark chest to stay in contact.

“Oh Baptiste,” he murmured. “I never, this is just so … like a sweet dream.”

Baptiste offered little resistance when the Xavier lifted his other arm and dove into the armpit, sucking and cleaning it with at least as much care as he did the first. His dick jumped and oozed in the pale hand.

BAPTISTE

Never before had anyone reveled in Baptiste’s sweat. He was used to it and was not repelled by it, but others were. All of his life, women had complained that he sweated to extremes, especially during sex. Now, here was this whiteboy that actually liked it. He was tickled. He could relax.

This arm-pit sucking was the weirdest thing he had ever experienced, so wrong but also erotic. So he lay perfectly still, allowing Xavier to continue having his way.

XAVIER

Xavier finished the second armpit, gently using the flat of his tongue in broad, slow strokes that left the course hair drier than before. What should he do next, he wondered? Now that he had carte blanche to worship Baptiste’s big, black body, it was like being at a buffet with too many choices.

He let his hand trail down the broad chest and took the huge erection in both hands. Bending, he pulled it to his lips and kissed it softly and repeatedly, moving his lips over the head and down the shaft. But, instead of putting his mouth over it as he badly wanted to, he lay it back and moved to Baptiste’s feet.

There he gave him the foot bath he had promised. Beginning underneath, he licked the flat of his tongue along the soles, taking care not to miss a centimeter of the tired slave dogs, then worked around the sides and down the tops. When the dark melanin glistened with moisture, he worked his tongue between each toe to remove the dust and sweat, finally sucking them individually and then as a group. Stretching his mouth wide around them, he ran his tongue back and forth in the cleft where the toes joined the foot.

When Xavier was finished with the feet, he wanted to demonstrate to Baptiste the seriousness of his submission. Though the big nigger probably wouldn’t know the word, he would certainly be able to feel it.

“Baptiste, please trust me,” he said. “I haven’t any experience in these things, yet I just know this will mean so much to me and will feel wonderful to you.”

Xavier put a hand behind and under each knee and lifted mightily, rolling the heavy nigger backward until his feet were airborne and his boulder-shaped buttocks were cantilevered several inches off the ground. Pushing up and outward just a bit more exposed Baptiste’s dark, puckered hole. Xavier dove in, using the muscular legs as levers to keep the proffered buttocks raised and balanced as he licked deeply into the cleft, moving the flat of his tongue upward under pressure from just above the tailbone to the just below the nutsack.

In the cobalt light of the gloaming, during the first deep swab of his tongue up Baptiste’s ass, the big nigger moaned so loudly that a startled murder of crows took wing from the cottonwood overhead, cawing angrily in protest.

The greasy furrow was ripe with grime and pungent funk, but, to Xavier’s sensibility, it was pleasurably fragrant and savory. He couldn’t get enough. His heat rose to incandescent levels as he dredged the gritty gully with his mouth. More than once, he had to lift his pelvis off the quilt to keep from coming.

When the general area was well-swabbed, he drove his tongue deep into Baptiste’s anus, probing, determined to ferret out any soil and leave him feeling stimilated and refreshed. When it was buried there, he slowed until his tongue was almost still. Fearing that this might be their only time together, he wanted to be aware of every flavor and smell. A voice in his head said, “Taste this nigger, remember his taste, remember his textures, remember his smell.” He didn’t want it to end, and sucked and tongued the dark hole at length.

Finally Xavier’s shoulders ached from the effort, and he lowered Baptiste’s legs. Then, he nuzzled his balls, taking first one in his mouth, then the other. He rolled the scrotal skin in his mouth, enjoying the smoky, salty taste. His right fingers brushed lightly up and down the belly of the black dick, enjoying the little jerks and jumps it made under his touch, the wet ooze that bubbled from the head. His other hand rested flat on the warm ribcage. He felt safe and content lying between the nigger’s strong legs, and looked up into his enraptured face as he ministered to him.

BAPTISTE

Baptiste would not have had the vocabulary to articulate his impressions, had he attempted to do so, but he knew these were the most incredible feelings he had ever experienced. The most intimate parts of his sweaty body had been tasted at length. His dirty, funky feet, his sweaty privates. All of them had been in Xavier’s mouth. Where was there to go from here, he wondered?

Just a day ago, the boy and his family were giving him orders. He was even severely scolded for not taking better care of the garden and allowing weeds to grow. But now, today, the heir to the kingdom had even tasted his raunchy hole. He knew it was raunchy — it had been almost a full day since he had last bathed.

Baptiste had been uneasy at first, but Xavier’s passionate attention calmed him, allowing him to feel at ease while he received the tongue bath. Now, taking an initiative, he reached out and caressed the whiteboy’s milky skin. “Yuh like how de nigger taste, suh?”

Xavier started when the fingers touched his arm. He lifted his mouth from Baptiste’s groin, saliva and sweat dripping down his chin, his face a picture of amazement. Then he grinned.

“Oh, yes!” he exclaimed with the guileless enthusiasm of a young boy. “I would be happy to lick you from head to toe! I never tasted anything so good!”

He scooted up and pulled Baptiste’s erection sideways across his lap. Face flushed with heat, Xavier pressed his open mouth to it and slid back and forth along it like it was a large ear of corn, his tongue wetting the urethral tube underneath that bulged like a garden hose. After a time, the whiteboy lifted his head again and focused on the nigger’s face, the gentle gaze filled with delight and adoration.

“I wish we had more time,” he said. “You’ll be expected at home soon, and there’s so much more I would like to do. If you would like anything in particular, Baptiste, I will do it without question. When I am with you — if I can be with you — I would like you to think of me as your slave.”

Baptiste heard the words but they took a while to register. Xavier his slave? That confused him. He couldn’t put the whiteboy to work, he couldn’t make him plow the field. What the boy seemed to want was his big, black body — that he had shown great affection for. And the only thing the nigger wanted at present was to see how much of his dick he could fit between those pretty lips, which had probably never opened so wide. Nevertheless, he wanted them on his black snake and he wanted them right then.

XAVIER

Xavier gazed hopefully at the handsome black face — a face that was older and, in so many ways, he thought, wiser than him. “Slave” was a silly thing to say, he thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to say what he really felt, that he wished somehow Baptiste was his father and he his son. How proud he would feel then, to have blood running through him from a nigger of such strength and character.

Baptiste looked hesitant, then his nostrils flared a bit, and gripping his dick around the base, he pointed it at the whiteboy’s mouth and wrapped the other hand around the back of the blonde head. Xavier was astonished, seeing what the nigger wanted of him. So much so that he kept staring without moving as the big hand pulled his head toward the black dick. Baptiste tugged harder and he slipped, landing face down in the damp pubic tangle.

“Oh Massa,” Baptiste exclaimed, spooked. “Ah’s sorry to be so rough!”

“Not at all,” Xavier assured him, lifting his face, abashed at his clumsiness but eager to calm Baptiste. “I’m happy you want that. I just wasn’t sure!”

He lowered his face to the black dick, feeling like the luckiest whiteboy on earth, and yawned open his mouth. Somehow he’d get it in, he thought — he wanted to so badly.

As his mouth enveloped the dark plumhead, it slid onto his tongue, gliding on a coating of its own slick ooze. He tightened his lips around the inky foreskin gathered in folds at the coronal ridge, and pushed it backward along the shaft. As he did, copious amounts of viscous fluid spilled from the folds and its salty sweetness flooded his mouth, making him drunk with desire. He stretched his jaws, demanding compliance, and pushed his head down the corrugated black hardness until the pungent dickhead nudged the entrance of his throat.

He paused for a long, quiet moment, absorbing the enormity of a whiteboy’s mouth stretched wide around a field nigger’s big erection. The salty seepage continued, some accumulating at the throat portal and lubricating it with a gummy aggregate, while some continued on down his throat. He knew he couldn’t get more down without Baptiste forcing it, but he hoped he would.

“Maawleehgh” He try to say Baptiste’s name, then, seized with submissive passion, tried to say, “Oh nigger!” but it came out “Onn Aannah.”

BAPTISTE

Baptiste didn’t understand the utterance, but he heard the urgency in it. Still, he felt he was being teased. Only the head and a couple more inches were in the whiteboy’s mouth, and there was so much more to go. Also, he couldn’t enjoy it because, after drinking so much ale, he had to pee. He didn’t want to interrupt Xavier’s progress but felt he had no choice.

“Massa, scuse me fo a minute,” he said. “Ah have to go by dat tree an pee.” Xavier looked up at him and tried to shake his head, keeping his mouth on the nigger manhood. Baptiste repeated that he had to go and got up on his knees. Xavier followed him into that position, keeping the black dick pressed all the way to his throat, and Baptiste warned him again.

“Massa, please,” he said with urgency. “I gots to pee right dis moment.” When it became clear the boy was not backing off, Baptiste had no choice but to start peeing, fearing that he would be hanged for it.

But Xavier stayed in place, drinking the sudden flood of urine as fast as he could gulp, and there was alot. It felt incredible to Baptiste, the whiteboy’s tongue swirling around the dickhead and through his forceful stream. None spilled either, which surprised him.

XAVIER

Xavier clung to the thick hose as the sudden, powerful torrent of piss hit the back of his throat. Had he gulped less frantically, it would have spilled from the corners of his mouth or backed up through his nose. The piss was thick and strong, with a sharp, bitter pungency under the strong brine. Nevertheless, and though his senses reeled, he drank and drank and drank. It was like drinking from a race horse, there was so much, but the whiteboy was determined to tend to the nigger’s pleasure.

When Baptiste eventually finished, Xavier’s stomach was bloated with nearly a quart of urine. A field nigger’s warm, distilled masculinity was all he could smell or taste at that point, and he held on to a mouthful at the end, not wanting the experience to end. He felt humble having it in his mouth, savoring it as he gazed shyly up at Baptiste. Finally, reluctantly, he it trickle over the back of his tongue and down his throat to join the rest.

“Baptiste,” he said, sighing. The nigger looked at him expectantly, eyes wide as if fearing what he might say. Xavier belched and shook his head, blushing deeply, then looked up and said, “Thank you. I wanted to do that ever since I saw you pee by the field.”

“Would you like me to suck you some more?” he asked. “I can try to take more, but let me know if my teeth scrape. I haven’t done any of this before.”

BAPTISTE

Baptiste, relieved beyond measure, smiled and laughed audibly. He liked this new skill Xavier had developed. He would have liked the whiteboy to be near every time he needed to pee, but knew that would not be possible.

Now, the offer to suck even more of him made his dick jump in anticipation. He had never found a woman that could fit much of it into her throat. He hoped that Xavier, being a sturdy lad, would be able to take more of it.

With taciturn brevity, he grunted and said “Yes, Xavier, yes.” It felt so odd calling the young master by his name. In the back of his mind, he feared he would pay dearly for it at some point. Yet, right now, he was enjoying the familiarity.

Caressing Xavier by the back of his head, he pulled him onto his musky black mast, watching it pry the whiteboy’s lips apart as it pushed into his mouth. When teeth scraped, he grunted softly, patiently signaling his disapproval. With each grunt, Xavier’s mouth shifted and adjusted until he got it right and the big nigger moaned with pleasure.

Baptiste’s manhood was easily eleven inches when rock hard, but the taper in the upper part allowed the whiteboy to get about halfway onto it, with some firm assistance. Xavier couldn’t take it all because the bottom half was just too thick, but even so he had swallowed far more than anyone else. Baptiste was amused at how red the whiteboy’s face turned as he fed him more. He’d seen Xavier flushed like this before, when he was disciplining a slave, but now his face was red for a different reason, and that was his own nigger fucktool.

XAVIER

The moon had risen, limning Baptiste’s obsidian musculature in pale blue. His manner had evolved over their hours together from confused tension to confident insouciance. Seeing that the whiteboy wanted nothing so much as to please and worship him, for whatever reason, he grasped the back of Xavier’s head and guided it up and down his spit- and cum-slick erection.

With almost fatherly patience, he pushed his black dick down the boy’s throat past the sticking points, holding it there as the neck expanded and the throat stretched around it. Each time, when Xavier finally struggled for oxygen and his body bucked in protest, Baptiste let him withdraw for air.

Coming up, Xavier panted and gasped brokenly with his mouth loosely encircling the Baptiste’s dickhead, and tears ran down his beet-red face. But he nodded vigorously, giving his continued consent and encouragement, and afterward drove his throat back onto the shaft with renewed dedication. The salty ooze that burbled regularly from the piss slit stoked his passion and provided the lubricant needed for the nigger’s dick to impale his throat.

The cicadas had stopped their chirring as suddenly as if a conductor had tapped his baton to end an orchestra’s tuning session. Baptiste relaxed into a nice, easy rhythm. pushing half of his dick into Xavier’s throat, then pulling back out. As his thrusts grew more aggressive, the night filled with the rhythmic “Guk! Guk! Guk!” of his hard sex pistoning in and out of the open throat.

Xavier was lost to passion and didn’t care. As the nigger speared his throat, it felt full to exploding with every thrust, his neck muscles pushed apart in ways they had never experienced. Yet, at the same time, lying there between Baptiste’s legs, he was as content as he had ever been and in no hurry for it to end, feeling as though he had found a second home.

Suddenly, Xavier felt a rumbling deep in his bowels. The quart of bladder brine had moved through him like a saline purgative, and now, obviously, an evacuation was imminent.

“I’m sorry,” he said, pulling back suddenly, semen and drool streaming from the corners of his mouth. “Nature calls.”

He struggled to his feet, gulping air, and dashed for the high brush near the creek. His bowels gurgled, rumbled, and cramped as he ran. Almost before he could squat, a foul brew of loose solids and brackish, sour-smelling brown liquid exploded from him. The eruptions continued for a time, tapering off until he mostly sprayed clear, recycled piss, and even that eventually subsided.

When at last his bowels were empty, Xavier waded into the creek, squatted, and washed himself, taking time to also rinse his face and gargle. He returned to Baptiste sheepishly, his slender body a luminous pale blue in the moonlight.

“Well, at least I am clean as a whistle inside,” he said, straddling Baptiste’s stomach as he sat. Then he leaned forward and, placing his hands lightly on the brawny, black shoulders, lowered his head until the side of his face nuzzled the nigger’s neck. “I thought we might uh — because I’m cleaned out, would you take me as you would a woman? In my backside?”

BAPTISTE

Baptiste knew he had already crossed every boundary ever posted “No Niggers Allowed,” but he also knew this was his time and he was going to take the whiteboy as he did a woman. That meant legs over his shoulders with eyes locked as he penetrated the small hole. So he rolled the whiteboy onto his back, got him into the position, and prepared to enter him.

He was raised to believe men didn’t do this to men, even think about it, that it was a sin for which you could be stoned. But the boy had spent the last hour fondling, massaging, sniffing, and tasting him — pushing him past the point of no return. Xavier was the only person that mattered to him right now. Everything else he put out of his mind.

He aligned his massive dickhead with the whiteboy’s waiting hole and began to push. It hurt him. He could tell by the way Xavier grabbed him by the flanks and gritted his teeth. He certainly didn’t want to give him pain, but, he thought, what kind of slave denies his master’s wishes?

“Nigger dick feel good, massa?” he asked, already knowing the answer. The women in the village said Baptiste had the biggest one in these parts. Now the whiteboy could say the same, too. Knowing he might die for this, he was going to make sure the whiteboy remembered how it felt. He pushed deeper.

Before the dickhead was halfway through the tight opening, Xavier barked in shock, snapping back his head, and pressed his hands against Baptiste’s torso. Baptiste was almost as surprised by the cry of pain as Xavier himself, and froze above him, searching his face for permission to proceed.

When Xavier’s hands eased up and his face relaxed, Baptiste took it for ascent and pushed harder. His virility was a blessing, because, with every push a small flood oozed from his swollen plumhead into the whiteboy’s hole, sliming it with lubrication. Baptiste pressed harder, and the sphincter yielded completely, allowing the glans and an inch of the shaft to pop inside. Xavier gasped and stiffened in pain, his mouth a silent “Oh!”

Seeing the pain in Xavier’s face, Baptiste withdrew a half inch, paused a moment, then lowered his weighty butt and insinuated that much again, along with an additional inch besides. He continued this way, impaling the boy an inch, retreating, then pushing in even further, using the motion and his massive girth to massage the tightness out of each section as he pried it open. When Xavier could tolerate more pain, the nigger dug deeper.

When Baptiste came up against one of the tight inner sphincters, he pushed slowly through it, pulled his dickhead back and pushed through again, repeating the sawing motion until the constricted muscle stopped fighting and surrendered into creamy submission. Xavier writhed with agony during these intestinal battles, his pale face and body beading with sweat.

“Cr- cramping . . . bad,” Xavier said. Yet, his hands, resting lightly on Baptiste’s flanks, signaled his assent to the continued assault, and his eyes glazed with a creamy, raped look. His pale fingers raked tenderly along his lover’s sweaty ribcage, clutching spasmodically at times when he seized up with pain. When the nigger was halfway in, he gasped, a look of worshipful suffering on his young face, and said, “Oh, Baptiste.”

XAVIER

Hearing his pained passion, Baptiste astonished Xavier by putting his big arms around him and pulling him up and forward into a sitting position on his lap. He held him tight against his chest in a powerful embrace, several inches of the thick, black erection still visible beneath the skewered whiteboy. As Xavier’s own weight pulled him slowly down the shaft, Baptiste opened his mouth and swallowed most of his jaw and mouth in a passionate kiss.

“Oh, whiteboy,” Baptiste murmured in a low rumble. “Ah knows it be alot o’ nigger, but take it all up inside yuh. Don’ fight it. Yew a nigger’s whiteboy now.” His eyes glowed joyfully with aggressive lust as he swathed the Xavier’s face with his mouth.

“Ungh, I want …” Xavier said, grimacing in pleasure and pain. His hole was stretched beyond anything he had ever contemplated, and he was shocked at the pain. But Baptiste’s roving, fleshy mouth raised his passion to a fever and, though his sphincter felt like a taut rubber band about to snap and he cramped intolerably, he wanted more than ever to give Baptiste everything he needed. “I want it, nigger.”

“Dat’s it, whiteboy,” Baptiste cooed, running his big paw up and down over the boy’s back and neck. “Ah feel yuh slidin down. Yuh jus about dere. Put yuh arms round mah back an hang on. Ah’ma punish dat spot til it give in, den ah promise yuh gon feel good.”

Baptiste hugged the boy tightly to his chest and rocked his hips up and down, sawing the thickest part of his shaft in and out, prying at the innermost sphincter from various angles. He used the boy’s weight against him, pressing him downward while he pushed up with the full weight of his heavy, muscled butt.

“Das it, whiteboy,” he said. “Yuh wanted a nigger up inside yuh so let it be.”

The constricted opening finally gave way, Baptiste’s dickhead broke through, and the pale buttocks settled completely onto his lap. As the black shaft speared up fully inside him, Xavier’s pupils were pinholes of agony in eyes white with shock. His mouth agape in a soundless wail, a thin, tortured keening finally made its way out from somewhere deep his his chest.

“Shhhh, baby,” Baptiste cooed, keeping the boy in his tight embrace as he kneaded, kissed, and comforted him. “Das gon be okay in jus a few minutes, whiteboy. Jus sit quiet while yuh nigger hold yuh.”

Baptiste held him, and though in great pain, he quieted. The nigger rocked them and continued slowly sawing his fucktool in and out. For the half hour or so this last duel was fought and lost, Xavier felt the wiry pubic bristle scouring his raw, distended anus, and he knew that Baptiste’s entire dick was inside him. When the innermost section of his bowel was exhausted and gooey, the terrible cramping spasms finally gave way to exquisite — almost overwrought — rippling thrills that radiated throughout his body.

“Yuh all mine now, whiteboy,” Baptiste said, rubbing his nose against Xavier’s as he caressed his face. His mouth closed over Xavier’s again and his tongue plunged deep into the boy’s mouth, swathing the interior. Xavier kissed him back now, hungrily, his own hands roaming, stroking the strong, black body. He sighed “nigger,” and a soft, gentle “whiteboy” came in return, and they repeated these endearments over and over as they exchanged a volley of searching, tender kisses.

“Gon niggerfuck yuh hard and deep now,” said Baptiste, after their ardor had settled a bit. “Dat’s what ah gon do. Gon dig deep and dig me out a special spot where only ah can reach. Dat gon be yuh nigger spot. Dat gon be de spot only ah can fill, where ah make mah whiteboy come and come. Gon make yuh a nigger’s whiteboy fuh sho.”

BAPTISTE

Baptiste placed his hands under Xavier’s impaled ass, then lifted his body and rolled him onto his back, following after him with his big black body, staying inside him. Putting the whiteboy’s legs over his shoulders, he moved slowly at first, withdrawing with the deliberate slowness of a hand-cranked drill press until his dickhead was just out, then he dipped the head in and out through the spasming hole until it gaped and made the “blip! blip!” sound of a leaky wellhead dripping into a horse trough. When it had no resistance at all, he pushed inward again just as glacially, seeking out spots that had tightened up, punishing them with his subtle sawing motions until they creamed out.

“Gettin yuh ready fo a hard, deep drillin, whiteboy,” he said. “Not gon hurt mah precious Zave, no way.”

When he could locate no residual fight anywhere in Xavier’s bowel, he went up on tiptoes and fingertips and then, as promised, started to spear the whiteboy with long, deep, gliding strokes. Pulling back his thickness until the tip lightly touched the distended anus, he made several dipping motions, then plunged balls deep again. He repeated it over and over, churning the boy’s colon into a buttery, receptive chute.

“See, whiteboy, ain’t dat sweet?” he asked. “Yuh bein niggerfucked proper now, jus like yuh wanted.”

“Ungh, nig- nigger!” Xavier’s face was contorted with pleasure as Baptiste plumbed his entire depth, his tenor cries of passion musical and true. The nigger gradually increased the intensity and speed of his thrusts until the air filled with hard, wet slaps.

“Oh Zave, oh baby,” Baptiste gasped, head thrown back as he pounded the whiteboy with the full weight of his heavy, muscled butt. Sweat beaded and ran down his flanks. He redoubled his efforts and soon a warm mist of perspiration rained down on Xavier. “So good, whiteboy, so good!”

“Baptiste! Oh!” Xavier moaned, eyes glazed and distant. His ivory penis stiffened and slapped Baptiste’s dark belly and he lifted his butt to fully accept the hard thrusts. Breathlessly, he cried, “Nigger, fuck me hard!”

“Dat’s right, whiteboy, beg yo nigger!” Baptiste urged, his hips slapping in hard, deep thrusts. “Beg yo nigger to make you come!”

“Nigger spot! You’re hitting the nigger spot!” Xavier exclaimed, his face taking on a startled, expectant look. “Fuck me hard! Niggerfuck me! I’m gonna come, nigger! I’m gonna come! Oh nigger! Ahhhhhhhrrrgh!”

XAVIER

Then Xavier came. Hard, rhythmic spurts geysered from his jerking dick and splattered their chests, necks, and faces. As they continued, he was lost to the moment in anguished, overwrought passion, the intense orgasm forever linked in his mind to the massive dick churning his bowel nearly to bursting.

Baptiste never eased up his deep, slapping thrusts as his whiteboy came, and Xavier felt the hard contractions in his colon rippling around the entire length of the pistoning shaft.

“Oh, Xavier, honey!” Baptiste exclaimed with a loud grunt, trembling. The boy’s spasming gut was putting him near the edge, and plainly, he could hold out no longer. “Gon come, whiteboy! Gon fill yuh with nigger cream! Take all mah nigger cream!”

Then semen exploded from the Baptiste’s bowel-slick bludgeon. His eyelids fluttered, his gapped teeth clenched, and he pulled Xavier tight against him in a crushing embrace as he erupted. The nigger jammed his truncheon in hard, all the way to the balls, threw his head back, and let out a beastial roar into the night, shaking them both as his entire body convulsed in ecstasy. Somewhere, unseen, a bobcat answered with a startled squeal.

Xavier felt the contractions of Baptiste’s swollen member, felt volley after volley of hot cream hose his insides. So much cum flooded his open, abused chute that he could feel it seeping out the tight junction of their bodies, running in viscous streams over his upturned ass.

BAPTISTE

Finally, the convulsive paroxysms pumping out the biggest load of his life slowed, and Baptiste sagged. He slumped onto Xavier, his big, black body glued to the whiteboy’s by their commingled cum and sweat. He lay there, panting.

Well, this was a day of firsts, he thought as he inhaled deeply, catching his breath. Never had he ever dreamed he would be fucking a man. And not just any man, but his owner.

Of course, his sisters and other female slaves were regularly used by the master and his friends. Sadly, this was as commonplace as it was expected. And hung niggers such as himself had been used to please the master’s homely female relatives that were unlucky in love. Slaves kept things running smoothly, both in the field and behind closed doors. That was the way it was, what he had always known.

Yet, on this plantation, this was the first time a nigger was used to please a male slaveowner. Everything had changed, it seemed.

Xavier’s cum was still on Baptiste’s full lips. He lowered his face and shared it with the whiteboy as the two kissed sweetly, their passion spent. Were we actually making love, he asked himself? Could it be love? Wasn’t it more than fucking?

Nah, it wasn’t, he concluded. In the morning, both of them would return to their respective places in society, Baptiste pushing a plow and Xavier buying more of them with the money he made trading away one of Baptiste’s friends or family. Nothing would have changed except the thick ropes of nigger cum still inside the whiteboy when they woke.

Once he finished mulling over the possibilities, he settled heavily on Xavier and collapsed into sleep.

XAVIER

A soft breeze had stirred, and the cottonwood leaves above them rattled in their flippy-doodle manner. Baptiste’s full weight pressed down on him, but Xavier squeezed the nigger tightly, his face pressed into the side of the his neck as he slept. He traced the silky, muscled contours of his black lover with his fingertips, committing them to memory, wishing this could go on forever. But he remained wide awake, rehearsing in his mind the things he would say to Baptiste when he woke. He turned his nose into the course hair and inhaled the salty fragrance of oily sweat, reveling for the moment in his deep contentment.

“I love you, Baptiste,” Xavier murmured into the hair. Feelings of gratitude mixed with fears of impending loss, giving rise to tears that flowed down his face. Somewhere nearby, a pack of coyotes sang like mournful banshees. “I think I always have.”

He knew for certain that, if it were up to him, Baptiste would remain in his life forever, in whatever capacity he chose. But the rub was, the choice would not be his to make. In January, Lincoln had proclaimed the emancipation of slaves in the rebel states, and recently Sherman had demonstrated how easily the president’s edict could be enforced, destroying everything in a sixty mile swath on his way to seizing Atlanta. The chickens of attempted secession had come home to roost, and the outcome was no longer in doubt. Baptiste was free, and free to choose the future he wanted.

Xavier would not have had it any other way. He made no secret of despising slavery, and was in fact derided by other whites as a nigger lover. Ironic, he thought, because he was a nigger lover. When the Southern students at Princeton had given their final salute to the U.S. flag in 1861 and marched off campus for the last time, Xavier had remained at his studies and given vocal support to the Northern cause.

Now he was a nigger’s lover as well, and he wanted this love the rest of his life. He wanted the aching fullness in his gut, the crushing weight of the big, muscled body, the intoxicating musk that even now wafted into his nostrils. But he knew that, in large part, Baptiste was there because he had assumed he was still a slave, and love had to be freely given or it was not love, but carnal larceny.

In the morning, Xavier would divulge to Baptiste the reality of his status as a free man, apologize for his outrageous liberties, and offer him the position of agricultural foreman with its attendant salary and accommodations. Yet, he knew that, even if his beloved accepted, he could never again be the one to initiate intimacy. He would make himself available for whatever Baptiste needed, if he needed it, but his sense of honor wouldn’t allow him to again use his position to pressure him into sex.

He had known bliss once, and hoped to the bottom of his soul that he and Baptiste might remain close, that they might laugh and drink together often, and share the delight of watching his children grow up healthy, happy, and free. If they could have that, it was enough.

EPILOGUE

The lovers passed that long, sacred night joined together in a tight, coital embrace, their hearts heavy with doubt. But in the days and years that followed, Xavier was as good as his word. Better, in fact. He became the best possible version of himself, an example of beneficence and reconciliation not emulated often enough in those bitter times.

Following the South’s surrender, the plantation became a harmonious, and well-fortified, sanctuary from the vitriol and terrorism unleashed upon former slaves by vengeful whites. The Klan, unaware that Xavier had armed the freemen, made one midnight run at the plantation, and ended up burying four of their own, including a sheriff’s deputy and a Baptist preacher. They didn’t attempt it again.

Though some of the freed slaves left and followed the union army north, many remained and helped build an operation of shared prosperity. Sizable lots with houses and gardens were parceled out to former slaves for their personal use, and salaries were paid for their work on the plantation. Baptiste stayed on as foreman and, because Xavier never married or sired an heir, his children and their descendents inherited the entire holdings. One of them eventually served in the Congress of the United States.

And what of Xavier and Baptiste? Well, Hamlet was right. The landscape of the human heart is another thing that is too varied to be mapped in the philosophies of men. Baptiste’s children eventually left for school and his wife passed on. In the years afterward, and there were many, some noticed that often about dusk the plantation owner and his foreman would disappear for hours. On those occasions, in the gloaming, keen observers might have noticed a murder of crows suddenly take wing above the creek where it turned south.

The End

Acknowledgment. I want to convey my heartfelt thanks for the contribution of JJ, an online roleplay partner, to the development of these characters. They took on added dimensions because of his participation. –TJ

Thank you for reading. Reposts and sharing on social media and among individuals are permitted, provided the copyright notice is included. Further revisions may occur for other venues. Copyright 2020 by Taylor Jones; all rights reserved.

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