In 1859, thirteen year old Victoria's father, Ambrose Whitfield, had the foresight to accurately predict the worst event to ever come to the United States, the Civil War. His 3,000 acre plantation, The Mist, as it had been named by Ambrose's grandmother. Set on the eastern bank of the great river near Port Hudson Mississippi. He owned 120 slaves and farmed 1,000 acres of top quality cotton, all of which was at risk of being lost to an invading army from the north.

He also knew that being a General in the Confederate army would provide him little protection should the south lose and Ambrose could see no clear way to victory given the limited resources the south possessed. He made the decision, against Victoria's wishes, to send his daughter to a private girl's boarding school in Maine, far away from the violence that was coming.

Eight years later, to the day, a train came to a stop at the station in what remained of Port Hudson. Twenty-one year old Victoria stepped down from the rail car with the assisting hand of a recently freed black man, the first she had ever met. When she looked down the platform, it was not her father she saw but Dellia, the black woman who had all but raised her and old William, a black slave of her father's plantation. But he was no longer a slave either. There were no more slaves. The South had lost the war. The South had lost their identity. The South seemed to have lost everything.

She approached Dallia with a questioning look. "Where is Papa?" She asked.

Dallia hesitated. "Your father waits for you at home." She offered. "The war took a toll of Master Ambrose." She added.

"Is he sick?" Victoria asked.

"In a way." Dallia explained. "It's his mind." She said. "Mostly gone now."

William had collected Victoria's luggage and loaded it onto a two seater buckboard. Dallia helped Victoria into the wagon when a gust of wind blew Victoria's bonnet off. "Good graces." Exclaimed Dallia. "Child, what have you done to your hair?"

There sat Victoria, her hair chopped short and jagged, sticking up and out in all directions. And it was as white as a cotton ball. Dallia just stared at her.

Victoria spoke as if her situation was as normal as sunshine in August. "I'm afraid there was an experiment a few years ago that did not go as planned." Victoria said. After reading in a New York paper about a stage actress who had platinum hair and was the latest heart throb of all the young men, she decided to copy it. A late night mixture of Borax powder, Lye soap and kerosene mixed into a paste and left on her hair overnight, proved to be the wrong approach. Within a week, all of her locks had fallen out, leaving her with a totally bald head. She remained that way for months until one day she noticed her hair was finally beginning to regrow. The only problem was that it was totally white and completely unmanageable.

Little more was said about her hair, her father or the war on the ride home. When the big two story white plantation house came into view, Victoria was amazed to see it in pristine condition. She had heard and read so many stories about the complete devastation in the South, she was expecting the worst.

When the wagon came to a stop, she leaped to the ground and ran head long onto the porch and into the great hall. "Papa!" She shouted and hearing no reply, she raced up the curved stairway and down the wide hall to her father's room. The door was closed. She knocked. When it opened, she was face to face with Missy, the black girl who had been her playmate as a child.

Victoria wrapped her arms around Missy and hugged her. "How is Papa?" Victoria whispered. Missy stepped back allowing Victoria to see. Ambrose was in his bed, quiet, still. As Victoria came to the bedside, her father looked so old, so frail, and so near to death. "Papa." She sat to the edge of the bed and rana hand over his cheek.

Slowly Ambrose opened his eyes. "Victoria." He said. "I have prayed for your return." He swallowed hard. "I have saved this place." He said. "It is yours, to do with as you wish."

"But Papa." Victoria started.

Ambrose raised his hand slightly. Rolling his head side to side, he began. "They were burning every plantation, the crops, everything." He said. "I could not let that happen to you. Leaving you with nothing."

"But..." Victoria was trying to tell her father that none of that mattered.

"I made a choice." He continued. "I. I." Tears came to his eyes. "I gave information to the North." He said. "I am a traitor." He was weeping. And then, he was gone. Ambrose Whitfield, Wealthy southern farmer, General, father, traitor was gone and the greatest betrayal of his life was going to be buried with him.

Two months later, Victoria was walking into the barn when she overheard men talking. A number of the former slaves had wished to stay on at the plantation. They had food, and reasonably decent living quarters and truthfully, they had no idea where else to go. "I'll ask Ms. Cotton." One man said as another gasped as he was the first to see Victoria enter the barn. All four men turned to see her grinning at them. The man who had called her Cotton lowered his head. "I most sorry Ms." He hesitated. "Ms. Victoria." He said. "We, I, I mean no disrespect." He said.

"You call me Cotton?" Victoria asked.

The mad shook his head. "No disrespect. Ms."

She stood there as the men waited. She ran the fingers of her left hand though the mess on top of her head. "I like it." She said. "From now on, call me Cotton." The man started to object. Victoria raised both hands, palms outward. "No." She said. "This is my farm." She said. "And Cotton runs it."

And from then on everyone on the plantation and soon, everyone in town called her Cotton.

That fall, the first cotton crop in seven years was harvested and the yields were better than expected, the quality was premium and prices were at a peek. The plantation accounts were all settled and there was money in the bank. Life was returning to normal for Cotton, finally.

She was sitting on the bank of a pond when a black man came through the trees from the opposite direction. He was leading Missy by the hand. She was not resisting and once at the water's edge, Missy untied her wrap dress and let it fall from her slender shoulders. She then pulled the rope tied around the man's waist and his pants dropped to the ground. The two were nude. Missy was beautiful and the man was as fit as any Cotton had ever seen. When he turned toward her direction, Cotton saw his amazing penis arching outward and nearing full erection. The sight of it was amazing and mesmerizing to Cotton.

What happed next caught Cotton completely off guard. Missy knelt in front of the man, her left hand cupping his huge ball sack, her right stroked the length of his manhood. Even from that distance, she could see the bulbous head of it. And then, Missy slowly worked her lips around that head and was easing a small portion of that cock into her mouth.

Finally the man pushed her back off of him and Missy lay back into the tall grass. When the man knelt between her legs, Missy raised her knees and slid her feet over his muscular back. Cotton's imagination raced as he entered Missy. The girl moaned and he took no time sinking his full length into her.

It was then that Cotton realized this was not a random act. The two must have been engaging in sex together for some time.

The two lay together writhing and moaning for maybe twenty minutes before the man grunted out loud and emptied his nuts into Missy. Cotton was completely aroused by what she was seeing and hearing but also very worried about Missy maybe becoming pregnant.

A few days later Cotton was on the side porch when Missy came from the kitchen with a large bowl of green beans to snap. She sat on the top step. Cotton finally worked up the courage to discuss what she had seen. "I owe you and apology." Cotton started.

"Ms.?" Missy said.

"I saw you and the field hand at the pond." She said. "I shouldn't have watched. I should have let you know I was there." Cotton said.

"So you saw us?" Missy asked. "Together?"

"I did indeed." Cotton said. She smiled at Missy as the girl looked at her.

"He is unlike other men." Missy said realizing she might be giving away too much information about her sexual activities.

"I could tell." Cotton said. "A little intimidating." She said. "And very erotic."

Cotton was surprised and a little shocked at what Missy said next. "Would you want to be with him?" She said. "I think he would like that." She added. "Pretty sure you would as well."

"Missy." Cotton said. "I'm sure that would be very inappropriate." She said it without thinking. Simply caught off guard. "I'm not sure I." She stopped.

Missy stood, her arm around the bowl of beans. "I think you maybe need a man." She offered. "Just like me." She opened the screen door. "You just tell Missy. I sure enough take care of it."

A week later, Cotton came out of the big house. It was near ten at night. She had not had further discussion with Missy about her black man. She took the path from the kitchen door down toward the quarters where the black workers lived. Many were still out on the porches. Although it was Early November, it was still quite warm. When she turned onto the road between the rows of houses everyone became quiet. She walked about halfway down when she saw the big black man who was with Missy at the pond. He was setting on the porch railing, leaning against a post. She had asked Missy what his name was. Thom.

"You Thom?" Cotton asked.

"Yess'm." He said. "You out late Ms. Cotton."

Cotton looked up in the sky. It was a clear night, stars shining. "Though I might take a walk to the pond." She said and simply continued wanking. Past the cabins, disappearing into the trees.

She stood at the edge of the water, arms folded wondering what the hell she was doing. If anyone ever found out what she was thinking, they might run her out of the county if not out of Mississippi.

"Stars more clear down here in the dark." The voice came from behind her. She jumped but she knew who it was before she turned around. What surprised her was the big black man stood there with Missy beside him.

Missy simply pulled the rope around his waist and his pants fell to the ground just like when Cotton watched the two of them. Missy reached and took the big cock in her hand. Up close now, it was even meatier than she had been imagining. Missy was lifting the fat cock causing the purple head to bounce up and down. "Might take that dress off." Missy advised. "You be getting grass stains. Won't come out easy."

Without thinking, Cotton began unbuttoning her dress. She knew this was wrong. Knew it could cause her irreparable harm but she let her dress slip off of her shoulders. The sight of the growing black cock caused her to continue without further instruction. She thumbed her under garment and pushed them over her hips. She stepped free of everything and simply lowered herself into the grass. That tall green damp grass where the big man had taken Missy a few days earlier.

She was now in something of a trance. Being with him was about all she could think about ever since she had seen him naked. Now, she was the one nude and vulnerable and about to be the one fucking with him.

He came forward, stepping out of his pants. He was the one stroking his manhood now. Watching her, his lips wet, eyes wide, about to have a white woman. About to fuck a white woman who a few years before, owned him. He knelt between her legs. The big man was not one to make love, not one to be passionate. He was here to fuck her and that was what he did. He rubbed the bulbous head against her already wet labia. She gasped as he shoved into her. Her sex spread open for him. Her vagina welcomed him. She felt a climax grow in her belly before the man could insert but two inches of his hard cock. She rolled her head and pulled her legs up as wide as she possibly could. She gave him room. She gave him encouragement. She was giving him permission to use her.

Just like Missy must have been, Cotton never gave a single thought of the black man finishing inside her. She took his cock, all of his cock until his ball sack was slapping against her ass. His rod deeper inside of her that she could have ever imagined. She lay there. Her ass lifting to meet his every stroke. Her legs pulling over his back urging him forward, into her. She was flowing juices onto his cock, onto the ground.

Eyes glazed, mouth open, her fingers digging into the muscles on his back. Her teeth chewed on his neck. He continued to fuck her. She came and came and when she could barely breathe, he pulled out of her. She whimpered and moaned in protest but he just gripped her leg and rolled her onto her stomach.

With a huge hand in the middle of her back, he guided that meat log back at her cunt and shoved into her. Deep, hard, almost angrily he fucked her. She was at his mercy, there for his pleasure. There to serve him as he had served his owners for years. She was in the throw of her third climax as she felt him stiffen. The head of his cock swelled, lodged deep inside her, the head pressing against the very entrance of her womb. He let out a guttural cry as he came. Stream after stream of seed flowed into her. She was arching her back, lifting her ass, taking the black man as she never dreamed she could do.

Eventually she felt the massing cock begin to withdraw from her. Slowly he left her and she felt more empty than she ever had. She lay there as he stood. She heard Missy hand him his pants then she could not understand what was being said. Eventually she heard movement away, up the trail.

Cotton rolled over. Missy was standing there, she had picked up Cotton's dress and panties. Cotton slowly got to her feet. She was dizzy, having difficulty focusing. She took her clothes from Missy and then to Missy's surprise, she kissed the girl on the cheek. Soft, tender and clearly a 'thank you' kiss.

When she turned to go, Missy said. "The path is this way." Pointing over her shoulder. Cotton continued. "I can't get dressed. I'll go this way back to the house. Maybe no one will see me."

No one did see her but that was not really the issue. Everyone in the old slave quarters, all the blacks, already knew what had taken place between Cotton and the black man. Many of them knew it was likely before it ever happened.

Cotton slept till past noon and when she awoke she was ravenous. She came down to the kitchen instead of waiting for a breakfast to be brought to her room. She entered as Dallia was fetching an apple pie from the oven. She crawled onto a stool and looked at Dallia. "I need some food, please." She asked.

"Sure do girl." Dallia said. You set yourself right there and I whip you up some cakes and sausage. Got some coffee here too." She said that as she poured a cup and placed it in front of Cotton.

"Oh Ms. Dallia." Cotton complained. "I really did it now."

"Aw shucks child." Dallia chuckled. "You just think that right now. Heck, I wish a man like that was about when I was a young one. I be holding my head in the mornings just the same as you do." Dallia dropped two big dippers of batter onto a hot skillet.

Cotton looked at her just now realizing that a lot of people must know what she had done. "I was wrong, very wrong."

Dallia flipped the cakes over. The skillet sizzled. "Child, you give yourself a day or two, you be wanting to be that wrong again."

"No." Cotton protested. "Just can't let that happen.

Dallia slid a plate of pancakes and sausage in front of her. Cotton was gulping it down by the fork full. Dallia passed a small bowl of canned peach halves beside her plate. Cotton began alternating between the dishes. She slowed some about three-quarters of the way finished.

Dallia leaned on the counter in front of Cotton. "Been some very hard years just passed. I think maybe you lucky your place still standing and you have your land." Dallia wiped a rag over the counter top. "Maybe you spend your years enjoying what your daddy died to give you." She patted Cotton's hand. "What or who that may be." She added.

Cotton thought about what Dallia was saying. "However." Dallia added. "I expect putting that black baby in your belly be a lot more fun than keeping it there."

"Oh God." Cotton gasped.

Dallia laughed. "You just go on ahead and enjoy that boy." Dallia offered. "Wish I could be so fortunate." She looked directly at Cotton. "Worse be the worse, there be a way. Not to worry yourself so."

Cotton didn't know exactly what Dallia meant but she was making her feel a little better.

It was a week later when Cotton road the one seat buggy out to the north fields. There were three teams of mules with cultivators behind. The last field had been picked and the hands were turning the last of the cotton plant under ready for next season. She turned the buggy and headed to the main barn.

When she reached the big double front doors of the barn she pulled the horse up. Before she could get down, Thom Appeared from inside and came to the head of the horse. "Just set." He said and took hold of the harness guiding the rig into the barn. Once inside, he came to the side of the buggy and offered Cotton his hand. She stood and reached for his hand but Thom put a hand on either side of her waist and easily lifted her up and out of the buggy, setting her firmly on the ground. He released her immediately.

The act surprised and flustered Cotton. She stepped back as soon as Len released her. "What you think?" Thom said. "I not going to do something you not want." He said. "A week ago, you want to be with Thom. That was good, yes." He shook his head. "You safe round me." He said. "Round all us. You will see."

Cotton stood there. Finally she said. "About that. Last week. When we were..." She stopped.

"Sure." Thom said. "You worried." He looked at her. "We maybe not ought to go to that pond again?"

Cotton nodded slowly and not too convincingly. Thom went over and sat on some straw bales. "Course, could once more. Just to be sure." Cotton looked at him. She knew she was already weakening. She started to shake her head no when Thom pulled the rope around his waist.

Cotton was trying to speak, to say the words that would get her out of the barn and back to the main house.

Thom stood and jet his pants fall free. He kicked them to the side. "Come." He held out a hand.

Cotton heard herself saying no and that she had to leave but she saw herself moving toward Thom and no words were actually coming forth. When she reached Thom, He undid her pants and turned her to face the bales. He pushed those pants down to her thighs and leaned her forward.

Cotton found herself with her chest on the straw and her panties being tugged down. The autumn air on her pussy was cool but as soon as Thom stepped up close behind her, she could feel his heat and then she felt the heaviness of his massive cock. He let it slide across her ass and let the head slip between her ass cheeks. She moaned as he rubbed it along the folds of her labia. She arched her back.

Cotton was once again helpless to the will of Thom. He knew it. He took his time. No one on the plantation would dare enter the barn while he had Cotton in there. He rubbed the head against her vaginal opening. Cotton was craving him again. She pushed back against the fat purple head. As the length of the cock seduced her sex, she could actually feel the veined ribs along the sides of it.

Thom worked the tip of it into Cotton and she groaned with release. She shuddered as she felt the start of an orgasm. The intense pleasure she received from his cock was indescribable. When he entered her, she grunted and began to fuck him. She wanted it inside of her. She wanted him to give her what she had been craving since he pulled free of her a week ago.
Thom pushed and five inches of black rod drove her over the cliff. She came and came and she was already dripping and it was running down her leg. Over and over she shook as he sent more dick into her vagina. She rolled her head.

"Please." She whispered.

"What?" Thom said.

"All. Please." She pleaded.

Thom sent his full length into Cotton and she started bucking and working her ass up and down on his rod.

A second wave crashed over her and Thom fucked her hard and fast and a third wave followed and he was relentless. Long strokes, the full length of that massive cock was driving her crazy. She was on a steady come. She had no control and she was in heaven.

Thom drove into her and out to the fat head and back again, over and over. She was in a state of near unconsciousness. She was just fucking a black man in a barn on a bail of straw. She was right where she wanted to be, doing exactly what she wanted to do.

But when Thom slowed, Cotton realized he was nearing climax himself. "Please. Don't, Thom, Not inside of..." Thom pressed his cock so deep she could feel it against her cervix. The sensation as the head of his cock became swollen with blood made her forget everything.

Cotton moaned. She was breathing so rapid and deep that she thought she might pass out. Thom gripped her hips, pulled her tight against him, his cock buried in her, he began to empty himself, again and again, and Cotton would feel the cock pump and she would experience the gob of seed being delivered deep inside her. She remained there, kneeling in front of him, accepting all he wished to give her.

And she would remain there as long as he wanted to use her.

She would finally dress and leave him but she would return whenever he would give her a slight nod of the head. She would meet him beside the pond late at night or in the barn anytime of the day. She came to need him far more than she feared the inevitable consequences.