Chapter 3 – Chapter 3

The next morning I descended the stairs, wearing a white shirt and brown breeches. Banished were my black priest's vestments, white collar, and the gold cross necklace. I could not be a priest today. All I could think of was lying under Philip, becoming one with Philip. But I found no evidence of Philip about. Only elderly slaves, mostly women, and one grizzled old man, the driver of the carriage, who also seemed to function as the house's butler.

"No, Massa, Great Massa never appears in the day. He moves at night and sleeps in the day. I wouldn't expect to see him about again until this evening. He said that you might like to ride the plantation today."

Indeed I did choose that pastime as I waited for Philip to be about again—to, I hoped, renew his working of my body—working me in ways I'd never experienced before. I didn't know what had pulled him away from me the previous night. But I was determined for us to overcome that, to move on from where we had left off. We had just reached a level of totally synchronized movement, getting the most from a glorious fuck. The sense of him feverishly consuming me was sending shudders up my spine.

It took me the rest of the daylight to cover Evernew and the adjacent DuCarde-owned plantations. I was struck while riding the grounds of Evernew plantation to find only women, of all ages, and boys and old men working the fields. I would have expected to see young men too. I had wanted to see young, muscular, black bucks working the fields, stripped down to the waist. Watching them and imagining one of them between my thighs, working my channel with a thick cock—like I enjoyed in the brothels of New Orleans.

But there were none to be seen at Evernew proper. The wonder of this was that there were children around. There were women of child-bearing age, in abundance. Some even with seeded bellies. They must have been plowed by some younger man rather than the bent-over old men I saw in the fields. But none were in evidence. So the scarcity must have been something happening fairly recently. I didn't connect that with the reappearance on the scene of Philip DuCarde.

As my wanderings took me farther from Evernew, I did begin to see young, black bucks working in the fields. They were as muscular as I dreamed under the strain of the hard field work. Near the banks of the Mississippi, I left the saddle of my horse, tying the reins to a tree near a puddle of water and a lush stand of grass to give the horse a respite.

The stand of trees was bordered by a cotton field on the other side of the stand of trees from the riverbank. I stood there, watching the slaves at work, admiring the physiques of the young, black bucks. One, in particular, was noticing me, as well. I recognized the look he was giving me—of lust and want—and a touch of anger. Those were the black bucks I paid for in New Orleans—the ones who wanted to break me as much as fuck me. It was the penance I pretended was sufficient—that they leave me broken and gasping, beyond satisfied. The sin and the recompensing penance combined in one.

I knew how to return such a look. I stripped off my shirt and gave him a smile. I knew that I had a body to please a man who appreciated a well-worked torso. He unlaced the codpiece of his breeches and let a huge, half-hard cock flop out, probably trying to shock me. I didn't flinch. I just stood there, staring him down, a smile on my face. He looked around for an overseer or other observing field hand and, seeing none, looked back at me and inclined his head, his hand going to his cock and giving it a couple of shakes.

I inclined my head in answer, turned, and slowly walked into the trees.

The big black buck fucked me as I reclined between the roots of a giant oak tree close to the bank of the Mississippi. Both of us made guttural, animal rutting sounds as he pushed his knees between my spread thighs, held my legs, bent, spread, and raised in the crook of his arms, and thrust hard and deep.

It was just the fuck I needed. No talking—indeed, I had no idea if he could speak English or not; his body was so magnificently native that he could have come straight out of Africa to between my legs. Just grunting and groaning, thrusting and breeding. Fucking like animals. Me thumping and clawing at his chest while he, positioning his face close to mine to watch my reaction to the wild thrusts of his cock, sneering and, no doubt, taking out on me all of his hate and frustration toward his white overlords.

I took everything he had to give and just collapsed over to the side after he'd pulled out of me, grasped my hair, and forced my mouth down onto his cock to clean it. With just a grunt then, he was gone, and I remained, whimpering and sighing as the golden fingers of the sunset spread across the wide Mississippi at my feet. Broken, but freed, I told myself by the penance I had taken—until the next time I strayed.

Philip was sitting at a grand piano in the main parlor of Evernew when I returned to the house, nearly hobbling, as I mounted the portico steps. His playing was expert. Yet another surprise about Philip. I wondered how many surprises there were in him that I didn't know about.

I started to shrug my shoulders back into my shirt as I entered the room.

"No, leave it off," he said as he saw me. "I am, as you can see, bare-chested too."

I certainly could see that. I normally wasn't aroused by hairy men. But the pattern of the hair on his chest and down the centerline of his torso was sexy and made me want to take my eyes lower than that. Knowing already how magnificently he was equipped didn't take the wonder away of imagining the view below the beltline.

"You aren't wearing your clerical vestments tonight. Good. Come here; sit with me."

I went to him. No mention of why he'd left me so abruptly the previous night. I did notice that his hand was bandaged, though. I didn't feel that he wanted me to ask about what had gone wrong, so I didn't. He pulled me down into his lap, facing the piano, and placed my hands on the keys. Positioning my fingers, he caused me to play a simple tune. His chin was on my shoulder, his lips buried in the hollow of my neck, kissing, licking, and nipping with his teeth there. I didn't think he even was looking at the keyboard, and yet he was able to manipulate my fingers to play recognizable tunes.

"You play remarkably well," I murmured.

"I want to play your body as well as I play this piano."

"I want that too," I admitted in a low, hoarse voice.

"I want you to come upstairs with me now," he growled. I could feel from the strength of his cock against the small of my back that he wanted me. "Just you, nothing from the church."

"No, nothing from the church," I murmured, laying my head back on his shoulder and turning my face to his for a deep kiss.

* * * *

Just like the black slave on the banks of the Mississippi, but harder, more intense. I was on my back on Philip's bed, my legs bent, my heels dug into the mattress, leveraging my counterthrusts upward, as Philip knelt between my thighs, slamming deep and hard up inside me. One hand trapping one of my wrists above my head to the surface of the bed. The other hand gripping my throat and holding my head hard into the mattress. I was clawing at his bicep with my free hand, gagging at the grip of his hand on my throat, fighting for air, but moving my pelvis in hard counterthrust to him, taking him as hard and deep inside me as I could.

Like the black slave, he brought his face close to mine, capturing my eyes with his pale-blue orbs to watch my reactions to the thrusting of his cock and the clutching of his hand on my throat. I stared back, a stare of willingness, acceptance, challenge. Do your worst, my gaze tried to convey to him. It's what I need. It's my penance. The sin must have its penance.

A leery smile from him, just like that of the black slave. The mouth opened. I saw the prominence of the incisors. I hadn't noticed how canine his smile was before. His hand left my throat and went to the side of my head, his fingers lacing into my blond, curly hair, pulling my head sharply to the side.

A brief look of triumph in his face and then the face dipped to my exposed throat. I let out a cry and jerked hard as the incisors tore into my throat. Writhing under him, I fought, but not for long. The feeling of warmth, of well-being, of being as one with him, overtook me and I relaxed under his control—his physical, mental, and emotional control. I was fully his now, and we both knew it. The thrusting of his cock continued, but not as frenetic as before, and I now discovered that I could move my pelvis in perfect sync with the digging of his cock, which was thickening and lengthening in consort with his snuffling, all-consuming feeding at my throat.

My knees moved with the fuck, moving out as his cock pulled back, sometimes nearly bringing the bulb back to the entrance and then coming in, hugging his hips close, as he plunged deep inside me. My hands went to his shoulder blades, opening and closing their grip on his hard flesh in perfect rhythm to the fuck. His sucking at my neck was in perfect rhythm as well.

"Yes, fuck me, suck me," I murmured over and over again, as I became lightheaded. I was floating on the clouds. Not a worry in the world.

I roused in a double explosion, my eyes opening wide, cries in harmony—from Philip as well as me—as we both exploded in a massive, shared ejaculation. A flash of fright went through my body, as he pointed his face toward the ceiling and let out a haunting howl.

I was fully his.

I drifted off afterward, all quiet except for the sound of the suckling at my throat, Philip's cock flaccid, but deep inside me. Snuffling at my throat, a lick along the vein line, and then the prick once again of the teeth, and the sound of the ocean in my inner ears as my vein pulsed and Philip fed. The draining sensation, lightheadedness, the glow of a bright light from afar and the sound of eerie music.

When I woke, I was on my stomach. My arms and legs were extended to and tied off at the four corner posts of the bed. Pillows were stuffed under my midsection. The drapes were pulled, but I could see around the edges of them that it was daylight. I didn't feel as drained as I had the previous night when I blacked out. I was regaining strength. But I was restrained, so I wasn't going anywhere.

Nighttime again, lifting my buttocks in the air. Philip came down on top of me, stretching out on me, close. Entering my ass and beginning to pump. He grasped my hair and pulled my head to the side. His teeth slit into the vein at my neck, and he noisily began to feed.

I didn't care. I never felt as close to a person before as this—as well taken care of as this—as aroused and sensual as this. I set my pelvis in motion against his stroking, surprised a bit at how much effort it took. I drifted off into a haze, listening to the sucking sounds at my neck. Taken fully by my lover. Wanting him inside me, needing him inside me. Giving everything I had to my lover, because I couldn't get enough of what he gave to me. Jolted once more by the howl at the moment of ejaculation.

Suspended over the side of the bed, in Philip's arms, holding me close from behind, his cock up inside me, moving in and out, deep, shallow, then deep again. Not exactly standing on my own. I doubted I had the strength to stand. One arm around my midsection, palming my belly with his hand, holding me up, bent over toward the bed. The other hand buried in my hair, pulling my head back into the hollow of his neck and twisting it to the side. Teeth slicing into the vein of my exposed neck, sucking, suckling.

"Yes, yes, take me to paradise." Not knowing if I had had the strength to say that out loud. But it was what I wanted to convey. I wanted him to take me now, all the way, all the way to paradise. The paradise of that bright light, the ethereal music, the sense of sitting on a fence, not caring which side I fell on but feeling the sensation of the beginning of a slow fall—in some direction.

Barely awake again, head buzzing, having difficulty forming a thought. On my back. No restraints this time. None needed. I wasn't going anywhere. I could barely lift my hands, let alone move off the bed. Philip kneeling between my thighs, pulling my legs up to a bent position. My not being able to hold them there myself. Just letting them flop to the side. With a little laugh, he pulled them up into his hips with his hands. Positioning his cock at my now-gaping hole, reamed to his requirements at his thickest, he easily slid inside, deep. Fucking me there, like that, to his ejaculation, his howl, my weak-flow response.

Too tired. Too tired to care. Craving for the sensation of the pulsation at my neck, the feeding of my lover, giving over everything I had, my very essence of life, to my lover.

Holding there, waiting to harden again, he lowered his face to mine.

"I'm going to give you peace now," he murmured, his smooth baritone voice honey to my soul. "It has been glorious, but it's time."

"Yes, take me to heaven," I whispered back.

He laughed, a low, guttural laugh. "Just so," he said. "You know, you were the best. Over the centuries you still were the best. I couldn't resist; I couldn't space you out. I had to have all of you at once. Your father was good, but you are the best, and you know why?"

"No, why?" I murmur, not really caring why, but he seemed to want to tell me. And whatever Philip wanted, I wanted as well. Anything, as long as he took me to heaven again, let me dance and float on the clouds to the sensation of his suckling at my throat. As long as he brought me to the bright light, the heavenly choir, the fence.

"Because you are a priest, of course. Taking the godly and bringing it low. Making it knuckle, bow, and scrape to me. Begging me for my attentions. I couldn't prolong that. I had to use you in one orgy of victory over heaven. The dark forces winning."

"I was never a very good priest, you know. I'm not sure I count for much there."

It wasn't the right thing to say to him—at least he obviously didn't think so. But I was beyond rationalizing or gauging what I was saying. Still, it was the simple truth. I now fully realized it. I would be no loss to the church. I wanted him to stop talking and to go back to fucking and sucking me. And I could feel him going hard again inside me. Raising his anger had helped make him hard. He began to fuck me hard. Thrusting deep, cruelly.

It was what I wanted, though. The only penance I knew to offer. He was leaning in, his face close to mine again, a hard leer on his face.

I turned my head to the side, exposing my neck to him. Offering him the ultimate sacrifice. It was the first time I had offered my vein to him. His eyes opened wide, and I gave him the beatific smile I had learned to bestow on parishioners at the seminary.

"Your sins are forgiven, my son," I murmured.

His head dove down, his teeth cruelly digging into my neck. The sucking, hard and cruel, commenced immediately. This was it. We both knew that. Painfully, slowly, I moved my hands down to his buttocks and held them there as he thrust hard up inside me, again and again, angrily, insistently. I grasped his buttocks to me and weakly moved my pelvis with him, wanting him to know I accepted him to the end.

I was floating again, off toward heaven again. At peace, entirely satiated and at one with Philip's body, every part of his body synchronized with mine in the working, the draining of mine. I felt my ejaculate spread up his belly. My hands fell away from his buttocks, my body fully his now to do what he wished. I stretched my arms out straight from my body, my body completely open to him.

"Take me, I am fully thine."

I heard the music, coming in gently over the sound and feel of suckling at my neck. My ears were buzzing underneath the sound of the music, which was fading away. I felt myself totally relaxing, beginning to fall away from the fence, hearing the sucking sounds of his mouth, the slap, slap of his thrusting cock.

The howl as he released his seed. But a different sort of howl—more forlorn, ending in pain and frustration, rather than one of victory.

I felt so at peace, so "I don't care," so loving of the release he was providing me, so . . .

I was surprised—disappointed—when I woke up and realized I wasn't in heaven—or the other distinct possibility, hell. That wouldn't have surprised me in the least. I was lying on Philip's bed, and daylight was filtering around the edges of the drapes on the window again. Somehow, I had survived the night—unless, of course, this was what heaven—or hell—were like. Wouldn't that be ironic? Heaven—or hell—was Philip's bedroom at Evernew?

I lay there for some time, taking inventory. I was semiparalyzed, but the slow increase in aches and pains—and the sound of my own groans—informed me that I was beginning to regain strength. But I knew I would not survive another night of this. I had no idea why I hadn't passed in the previous night—or maybe the night before that. I'd lost all concept of time. All I knew was pain, and the heightened awareness of how much higher my sexual satisfaction could soar than I ever realized before.

Not that that was doing me much good. It was something to contemplate if I survived another sunrise.

My attention was arrested by the clinking sound approaching up the staircase. I looked down the length of my naked and bruised body and saw the grizzled old driver cum butler walk into the room carrying a tray laden with food on porcelain plates. He lowered the tray to the foot of the bed and went over to the windows, one by one, and pulled the drapes. Blinding light flooded the room.

"I thinks you need to try to eat your fill of this food and rest a while before trying to rise, Massa," he said as he turned and walked over to the side of the bed. There was no sign of judgment in the old man, and, indeed, I presumed that he had seen all, knew all.

"Philip? Master DuCarde?" I managed to croak out. My throat was dry, and I realized that I was ravenously hungry as well as thirsty. How many days had I been on this bed?

"Massa Philip, he done packed up and left before daybreak," the old man said. "I think it be a while before he visits Evernew again." Did I catch a glint of a smile float across the old man's face?

"Left?"

"Yas, sir. And I think you be needin' this back," he said, as he drew my gold cross on the chain out of his pocket and handed it to me. "Sorry. I had to borrow it for a bit last night." The satisfied smile on his face spoke volumes to me. "If I was you, young Massa, I'd be keepin' that closer to me in the future."

I had to admit that he had a good point.