A gay story: Conway’s Slave Frank Rankin already had his cock out and was stroking it with one hand as he looked at the bed. His other hand was lifting the half-empty whiskey bottle. The noise from the tavern downstairs was permeating up into this small bedchamber, but that might be a good thing in a while when there might be some noise going in the other direction. His shirt was off, his suspenders pressing into his beefy–more muscular than fat–and hirsute torso. The chair he was sprawled in was backed into the desk where he had pen and paper out to write a note. He was facing the bed, however, eyes slitted, cock in hand.
He put the whiskey bottle down on the table and used that hand to release his suspender hooks and to slide his trousers off his legs. He was going to do this. He couldn’t resist. He stroked his cock a bit more but stopped when he was afraid he might come. He didn’t want to bring himself off with his hand. He wanted more than that. But he needed to write the note too. With a sigh, he turned the chair and himself around, facing the desk, and picked up the pen.
Roland Conway
Fairview Plantation
Fairfax County, Virginia
Mr. Conway:
I have located your escaped slave in Frederick, Maryland, across from Harper’s Ferry, and will apprehend him and return him to you at the agreed fee plus the following expenses.
The bounty hunter paused to give a little chuckle, take another swig of whiskey from the bottle, and look over at the trussed up nineteen-year-old black slave, Ned, on the bed in Rankin’s upstairs room at the Frederick tavern. He knew the slave, not fully black, a mulatto at least, and a very handsome light-chocolate mix indeed, was nineteen. He knew that because that was the age that had been given on the escaped slave notice he’d received. Rankin had assumed that the young man was Conway’s by-blow from the fee offered, but now he thought it was something different–or something additional.
Rankin had already apprehended the young man, but Conway didn’t need to know that. Conway hadn’t told him why he was offering so much money for the return of his nineteen-year-old house slave, but now Rankin knew why and he didn’t see why he shouldn’t get some enjoyment out of it too above the fee.
He finished off the letter that would be sent off in the morning, turned his chair around, and sprawled in it, spreading his legs, and taking his cock in his hand, worked it up again. He’d take his pleasure for a couple of days before setting off with the young man to return him to Virginia. He sat and looked at the bed for several minutes, one hand grasping and stroking his cock back to an erection and the other lifting the whiskey bottle at frequent intervals. He was naked. So was the slave. Rankin was tall and husky; hirsute, covered with dark, curly hair; large boned; and big cocked. The black slave was small and slim, sleek, with narrow hips and a creamy chocolate body. He was hard-bodied, though. He’d known hard work, if more likely in the house than in the field. It was pretty clear that his house-slave mother, maybe mixed herself–had been messed with by a white master–just like, Rankin now realized–a white master was messing around with the slave. His mother must be a beauty and taken to the master’s bed because of that, but Ned was a beauty.
Rankin could be sure of what Ned’s function had been before he escaped, because he had offered himself to Rankin and had already shown he knew what was what in servicing a man. The slave had tried to win his freedom with his body, which he must have known would be fruitless, as Rankin could–and did–have the young man’s body regardless of anything else.
The slave was belly down on the bed, spread-eagled, wrists tied off at the corners of the brass headboard and ankles at the corners of the brass footboard. He’d put up a bit of a struggle when Rankin brought him up to the bedchamber above the Frederick tavern and moved to bind him to the bed, but it had been halfhearted, as Rankin had shown him some money and they’d already done it at the side of the tavern. Frank’s saddlebags were stuffed under the young man’s lower belly, raising his pert buttocks, showing his gaping hole, Rankin’s cum dribbling out and down the youth’s spread inner thighs. The ride in this position had been a good, stretching one.
Rankin was taking his time working himself up again and careful not to explode. He wasn’t that sure he had a third, and maybe a fourth, go in him tonight. But, given the opportunity, he’d sure try.
Ned was small for his age, but perfectly formed. Rankin was built big, his bone structure beefy, but muscular rather than fat. He was hung like a bull. But the slave had taken the man’s shaft easily enough, which assured Rankin that the young man had been accommodating, often so, for his Virginia master.
Ned’s mouth was gagged with a cloth bandana. There were new, reddish welts on his back. Rankin’s hand whip lay on the bed beside the young man’s trembling torso. There was old welting on the slave’s back, so that too was something the slave’s master in Virginia indulged in. Ned was whimpering through the gag. His eyes were open wide, watching Rankin, sitting at a nearby table, putting pen down, taking another drink from the bottle, and working his cock to full erection again with his hand.
Still stroking his shaft and picking the whiskey bottle up, Rankin rose and walked over to the bed. A swig of the liquor and the whiskey bottle was placed on a nightstand beside the bed, within easy reach of the bed. Rankin came down on the bed on his knees between the slave’s thighs. He took a few minutes to glide his hands all over the beautiful, captive body, following curves and exploring crevices as Ned trembled at his touched and moaned through the cloth gag. Then Rankin picked up the hand whip, which had a thick leather handle on it. He didn’t switch the slave with it immediately, though. Instead, he turned the whip and penetrated the young man’s anus with the thick handle. The slave panted and moaned as Rankin fucked him with the whip handle.
The man stopped to take a few more swigs of the whiskey before pulling the handle out, reversing the whip, and giving Ned a few lashes on his back. Ned’s body jerked and writhed under him to the taste of the whip. His eyes were wide, begging. Rankin crouched over the young man’s narrow hips, aroused by the thought of plunging his bull’s cock between the pert orgs. He moved into dominating position, planting his feet on either side of the boy’s thighs. His body hovered over Ned’s, and his hands ran up the boy’s spread arms, grasping his restrained wrists. Ned jerked and grunted through the gag as the man mounted and penetrated him for the second time in the night in this position. Rankin thrust hard and deep, regaining his earlier stretch of the boy’s channel, and began to pump again. As he fucked, he struck the moaning slave on the buttocks with his hand again and again and again.
* * * *
Rankin hadn’t known that the handsome young black man was a male whore when he’d come looking for the escaped slave, only one among several Rankin was on the look for. He’d known that Conway was offering far too much for a nineteen-year-old, trained house slave or not, but he’d figured that was Conway’s mistake, not his. He was to come to understand why the man was so desperate to have the young man back, though. It wasn’t just that Ned warmed his bed. He was a talented whore while he was doing it.
Ned had come to him. Rankin, using his slave-tracking skills, had thought the young slave–and a few other runaway slaves on his list–might be in this area on the Maryland-Virginia border, Harpers Ferry being a good place for slaves escaping the South to cross into the North, but it was Ned who came to him, in the shadows beside the Frederick tavern when Rankin had come out after his supper for a smoke.
“Suck you off, sir, for a bit of supper?” The voice had come from deeper in the shadows at the side of the tavern. “I give good suck.”
When the young man emerged to where Rankin could see him, he realized almost immediately that he was Conway’s escaped slave. The man’s leaflet described the escaped slave perfectly. Most prominently, the extremely handsome young man had a rosy red birthmark on his throat.
The escaped slave gave him more than just a blow job. Rankin pressed the smaller man back into the shadows and up against the tavern wall, with the older man’s back against the wall. He leaned back, jutted his pelvis out, and unbuttoned his fly with one hand while pressing Ned down to his knees in front of him with the other. Ned gagged on the size of Rankin’s shaft, but he held, giving him expert head. He had a soft mouth, could take nearly the whole length of the thick shaft into his throat, and had special tricks he used with his tongue to bring Rankin quickly to an engorged boil.
Full awareness dawned on Rankin then of why Conway needed to have the young, handsome, black slave back. Being a man’s man himself, Rankin wanted more and got more. Before the whore made him come, he pulled Ned off his knees, turned him and slammed the young man’s body against the wall of the tavern.
“Raise your arms and jut your tail back to me,” Rankin growled.
“For something to eat and maybe some ale,” Ned murmured, trying to keep this to some sort of deal.
“Yes, yes, I’ll take care of you–afterward. Jut your ass back to me.” Ned then did so with no more than a murmured objection given too low to understand.
The young man panted and moaned as, having pulled his trousers and undergarments down to his ankles, Rankin went down on his knees, palming the black slave’s belly with one hand, and buried his face in the small man’s buttocks crack. The hole opened right up for him. Rankin was assured that Ned was no virgin–that he had been trained to take a man’s cock to the point of being an experience male whore. In any case, the young man didn’t offer much, if any, resistance. The young man was a real honey. Rankin thought he’d died and gone to heaven.
Rankin mounted and fucked young Ned there, against the wall, and, having breeded him, picked him up, went to the back of the tavern, mounted the back stairs to the room he had rented above, tied the young man to the bed, and quickly had his way with him again. He needed no further evidence that he was hot for the young man than that he had hardened up quickly for a second fuck and was looking forward to having more.
Despite the sexual prowess he exhibited and that he had initiated the sex, Ned seemed to be in shock from the surprise of how quickly this developed. But, as they became embroiled in sex, he gave no indication that it was anything he hadn’t done before or wouldn’t do again for a man to aid him in his escape and getting him that “bit of supper” he needed to survive.
Rankin could well understand why Conway was offering the recovery reward he was. Rankin would return Ned and win the fee–but he would enjoy a bit of what Conway got from the tasty little whore before he did so.
* * * *
Rankin rode the slave hard but it wasn’t long before he was getting a surprising reaction. Ned was bucking back with him. They were reaching a vigorous, wild-ride level of fucking, and the slave was participating in it as much as his restraints permitted. Rankin felt like he was on a bucking horse, getting the ride of his life. Ned’s channel walls also went into motion, showing why Conway wanted him back so badly. The muscles of his passage walls grasped at the buried cock, undulating over it, making love to it and milking it. No other man’s passage had done this with Rankin’s shaft before during sex. He rushed to an ejaculation and collapsed on the young man’s back.
“Whooie,” was about all he could say. The ride had been exhausting. He reached over for the whiskey bottle and then, his head spinning, let himself relax on top of the bound slave, his face nuzzling into Ned’s throat. The wide ride had dislodged the young man’s cloth gag, and he whispered to Rankin in a husky, sultry voice.
“You want to know what I done with Massa Roland?” the boy asked. “Massa Roland, he one demanding man–and what that man taught me to give to another man–what I could give to you to bring you pleasure like you never had before… you want to get what he gets to want to have me back so bad?”
“What do you do for Conway?” Rankin asked, his words slurred from the combination of sexual exhaustion and the booze. That had been some ride. He could see why Conway was so hot to have the black beauty back. He was a sexual treasure. There was more the tasty little whore could do–higher levels of sexual pleasure he could take Rankin to?
“You can’t know if you keep me bound like this. Free me and lie on your back for me. I will give you pleasures such as you never knowed before.”
Rankin didn’t release the young man right away. He rolled off him, sat in a chair facing the bed, and reached for the bottle of whiskey. His head was spinning. His imagination was running wild. He wasn’t thinking too straight. All of his sensations went to his reengorging cock, though. There was a better ride to be had with this darky than the one he’d just given him? Had Conway found the answer to a life of pleasure with this black treasure? What the plantation master was offering to get the whore back argued that he had.
He rose and moved over to the bed, releasing Ned’s ankles and then his wrists. The young man sat up in the bed, rubbing feeling back into his wrists and giving the man standing there, holding a nearly empty whiskey bottle in a hand and swaying slight, a saucy look. “Come lie on your back on the bed,” he mewed. “I love your muscular body and your bull’s cock. Let me make love to your bull’s cock.”
With Rankin on his back, his head swirling in a daze, working hard to keep himself from exploding, he moaned and purred, as, hovering over him, kneeling between his legs, Ned kissed up his legs to his groin and took possession of the man’s cock with his mouth. Ned’s hands continued gliding up to Rankin’s pectorals, searching through the chest hair for the man’s nipples and, finding them, rubbing and tweaking them, while he gave the man head.
It may have been his imagination and the anticipation of it, but Rankin did feel that he was being pleasured sexually as never before, and he engorged to throbbing and went into a deep pant.
Rankin groaned as Ned moved up his body, positioning his hole on Rankin’s throbbing shaft, and slowly sheathing the cock with his channel, once again setting the muscles of his passage walls into grasping and undulating over the moving cock.
Ned’s hands glided up Rankin’s arms, causing the man’s arms to rise above his head and to spread, bringing his fists to the corners of the brass headboard, which grabbed at the brass rungs, helping Rankin to gain the leverage to raise his hips and rhythmically thrust up into the young man’s channel.
The restrains that had captured Ned’s wrists were still right there, at the corners of the headboard.
Rankin’s head was reeling from the whiskey he’d consumed. All of his sensations were focusing on those passage muscles making love to his erection, but his brain was fogging up and he was losing consciousness.
* * * *
The wagon was a good two hour’s ride up the pike toward Gettysburg, when the big black, Horace, turned it off the track into a grove of trees and stopped it facing a large pond, where the horse would take a drink and chew on the tender grasses on the pond bank. It was time for Ned to pay for the ride.
The young black escapee leaned over from beside the wagon master on the bench, unbuttoned Horace’s trousers, and pulled out a big black snake of a cock, already in erection from what Horace knew he would be getting for taking Ned north from Frederick. Ned felt safe with the man. He had answered to the name and description of the man he was to see in Frederick to give him safe passage up to Gettysburg, where Roland Conway’s son, Ronald, had moved. Ronald had been Ned’s preferred lover at Fairview Plantation even while Ned was in the master’s bed, and Ronald had engineered Ned’s escape as soon as he had settled into the printing business in Gettysburg.
Horace was a big bull stud of a black man, and Ned didn’t mind giving it to him for safe passage. It was nothing strange for Ned to do. On the plantation he’d taken it from any man, white or black, who wanted it that way. He’d be taking it in Gettysburg from young Ronald Conway too, but they were real lovers. Ned wanted it that way. When Horace was filled out almost entirely too big to take, Ned moved over into his lap, facing him; reached down, grasping the root of the man’s cock to hold it steady; and with a deep moan slid down the pole.
* * * *
Frank Rankin came to flat on his back, naked, and with his arms raised above his head, spread, and his wrists tied to the top corners of the headboard. The liquor had put him into a drunken stupor and, eventually, put him out of consciousness. He was embarrassed and initially a bit angry. There also was an unfamiliar pain, which he realized after a few minutes was the handle of the hand whip buried in his ass. This was an entirely new sensation for him. He remembered enough to know that it was what had made him come in a geyser–the whip handle moving in his ass channel.
The black slave, Ned, of course was gone. Rankin’s money pouch was laying on the nightstand next to the bed, beside the empty whiskey bottle. Did he drink all that, Rankin wondered, or did the escaped slave finish it off? He could see that some money was missing from his pouch, but not all. Later, when he counted it, he estimated that the slave only took as much as Rankin would have had to pay for a night with a professional whore.
Fair enough, he thought. Ned was better than any male whore Rankin had paid for. That calmed him down and made him laugh. He’d found the darky easy enough this time. He’d find him again, and when he did, he’d enjoy him fully again–this time more wary about the slave’s intelligence and skill at gaining and maintaining control–and he’d still get the big fee from Roland Conway for returning him. Now he knew the whore was built for endurance. He wouldn’t go as easy with him the next time.
When his thoughts turned to his current predicament, though, he didn’t feel like laughing. He was bound to the bed, on his back, naked. And the liquor was gone. It was going to take some effort to get out of this if he couldn’t free at least one of his wrists. And someone was going to find him in this condition. It might take a while to find him, though. There was so much noise coming up from the tavern room below that it was no use trying to yell for help until the morning.
Shit.