[This is chapter 1 of a five-chapter completed novella, to be finished posting 8 August 2020.] June, 1864, Wellington Place plantation, on the James River, between Richmond and Williamsburg, Virginia It was no surprise that there would be changes—and probably not for the best—when James Matthew's brother, John, arrived from Mississippi to take up the inher...
"Nice Shirt." "Thanks," Eddie Bocco answered. The man who had swung into position in front of him on the dance floor of Club Hercules was gorgeous. He was massive, muscular, and black—a black black even for Africa. Coal black. In contrast to Eddie, the man wasn't wearing a shirt at all. His torso was god-like and gleaming with a thin veneer of sweat in the...
Mr. LaFleur was much more magnanimous about my leaving than I thought he would be. If I'd known he would take it so well—and not only that but help me find another position, albeit temporary—I would have built up the courage to part with him months earlier. It was the morning that he flogged me while riding me like a horse that I decided I could stay no lon...
Jerome stood just inside the doorway at the shadowed end of the room. He should have just turned and gone down the stairs and out to the carriage to tell Thomas that Master John wasn't ready to go yet. That's all Thomas, Master John's carriage driver, had told him to do. But the shock of what he'd found when he'd entered the house on Decatur Street and been...
Young Billy landed in Charleston, South Carolina, by ship, at his uncle's own wharf, Brown's wharf, at the Cooper River foot of Queen Street. He was surprised to find that it was a lot warmer in Charleston in late October than it was in Massachusetts. And after coming from the more staid Boston, he was also taken with the frivolity he found here; it was the...
I knows there was gonna be a might big problem when Massa Edward over at Fairhope was left back when the Tremaines went down ta NawLens for the season. No matter he had fallen off a horse and broke his ankle and it hadn't healed complete yet. They shudda wrapped him up and put him in a wagon and taken him on with them. Didn't no one else on the banks of the...
"I'm sorry, what was that you just said, Mrs. Pettington?" What a tiresome woman. I had just now been distracted from listening to her by the way she snapped her fingers at Kisula and then gave him a distasteful look when he refilled her coffee cup. "I said, Mr. Woolston, that I hardly think we need worry about these rumblings from the tribal huts. England...
Author's note: The following depicts a while male master sexually dominating a black male slave in the period just before the Civil War. I have every intent of writing a black male dom/white male sub story that takes just after the war. If the racial politics of this fiction upsets you, please skip it. When in the summer of 1859 I returned to my family's...
Years and then more than a decade went by with nothing much happening in Emile LaCour's rotting plantation house on the Mississippi beyond the dust accumulating and the oaken walls drying out and spitting. Gage Angle still held his mentor and tormentor in his bed chamber on the second floor of the mansion, shackled to his bed, and rejuvenating himself only w...
Elias hung from the straps in the center of the room as the Master slowly circled him. A whip with several stands of cloth hung at his side. I had witnessed the Master use this very whip on many members of the island plantation. A few were slaves brought over on boats from across the ocean to help pick the fields, but most were white, young men who were brou...