Barn-Boy, Author at NSFW story

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” – Hamlet (1.5.167-8)

PART ONE

XAVIER

As Xavier Wellington rode the plantation, his attention wandered from his daily survey of operations. His eyes sought out Baptiste, the strong, fortyish field slave. The big nigger was everything that Xavier’s peevish, drunken father was not — kindly, sober, and temperate in thought and speech, so much so that Xavier couldn’t recall a time when he had not adored him. Sometimes, he even thought his feelings might be reciprocated, detecting in Baptiste’s eyes a warm light when they conversed. His own eyes, without a doubt, must have betrayed his lifelong infatuation.

He soon spotted Baptiste, for indeed, he was hard to miss. At well over six feet, he towered a head above the other slaves as they tended the Wellington tobacco crop. At an age when most slaves began to wither under the yoked burdens of hard work and mediocre nutrition, Baptiste seemed to thrive. Stripped to the waist in dark cotton trousers, woolen socks, and undyed leather shoes, with a course linen shirt tucked into the back of his trousers, he carried himself with unassuming dignity. Read more »

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. Read more »

Author: Barn-Boy

Sacred Night – Pt 1 [MM] [Raceplay]