This is my story, please give credit where credit is due.
Thank you and enjoy…I am thinking about writing more. Johncrinshaw1

October 19, 1861
Wilmington, North Carolina
Planter James Hopkins Plantation

When the air turns cool and crisp, it seems the energy it takes to get out of a warm bed becomes insurmountable. Looking out the bedroom window at the sun, as it begins its daily peak over the eastern most hill of the plantation, I gather my will and toss the covers off and heavily flop my feet to the cold floor. My robe is unfortunately right where I piled it the night before. For a brief moment, my thoughts travel back to three days prior. One of our house slaves had unfortunately drawn the ire of the home matriarch (Mrs. Chandler) and after a plantation display of disapproval by one of our best drivers; she was sold to the Lee plantation over in the next county. I have never been one to be attached to property but I genuinely liked her, she was always right there with whatever was needed…this may have been what brought about her demise with Mrs. Chandler. My robe has not been warmed by the fire and laid out for me since she was forced out. Putting on my cold cotton robe, I walk to the window and slide it open. Breathing in the fall Carolina air, the smell of drying tobacco enters my nostrils and upon exhale, I can see my breath. My mind checks off the daily tasks that are to be completed today. It is auction day in town.

Finishing my shave, and putting on my best Sunday attire, (complete with Grandfathers pocket watch from Sweden), I open my chamber door. The smell of warm bread and breakfast floats down the great hall as I head for the dining room. I smile, knowing that earlier, seven year old, Peter (my waiting boy) must have heard me waking up behind the door to my room and he must have hurried to report to the kitchen staff that I had awakened and would soon be wanting my first meal of the day. He must have been waiting behind my door for at least an hour, as he has been trained to do since the beginning of his transfer to house help status. This thought always brightens my mood, he has great potential showing for when he gets older, even if his skin is dark as night.

Breakfast is indeed fulfilling, grits laden with butter, eggs with fatback, and a good strong coffee blend to wash it down. Once again the kitchen staff have proven their worth, a great investment two years ago. Even my dinner parties and evening company have discussed amongst their circles about the food from the dinner table on the Hopkins Plantation. A good investment indeed, for I love the fact that my social status is growing within the community. Grandfather, God rest his soul, would be proud. And now to start the days tasks. Peter is waiting at the entry door with my hat, cloak, and walking cane. Beaming, his white teeth create such a stark contrast against his dark skin, he tells me, “Morn’in Masser Hopkins” and as usual is secretly hoping for one of my treats that I keep in the left pocket of my vest. Satisfied with his work so far, I reach in and hand him a piece of peppermint. He closes the door behind me and as I look in the distance, I see Charlie herding the cows out to the pasture for the day. Looking to the north, the long line of field slaves can be seen heading out to work in the cane fields. Today is going to be a decent and productive day on the plantation. Walking around the west side of the porch, I glance at the stables and feel a stirring within…”not yet, but very soon” I tell myself. “I still have a few things to finish up first.” The tobacco shed is off to the left so I head over to check out the last cutting and see how it is drying. Satisfied, my attention moves to the stable again, but a quick stop at the blacksmith takes precedence. “Hello, Massa Hopkins”, Ray says. “Good morning, Ray. How is the new axle hub coming for work wagon five?” I ask. “Almost finished sir, should be done later today.” He replies. He follows my gaze to the stables and tells me to go on ahead, things are under control and do not need my attention. He is right, things are working smooth this morning and I have much bigger tasks at hand. A quick trip to the stables and then it will be off to the slave trade in the town square.

Walking at a brisk pace, I reach the stables main door and push open the big heavy pine. The place would be empty except for a mare that is six months along and on a special diet. The coach has been wheeled out and presumably the groom hitched it to the team in preparation for my 45-minute trip into town. And, of course, as instructed, off to the side near the hay bales stands Hanna, in her usual position…waiting for me patiently. Her burlap dress drawn up about her waist and her leggings drawn down and laying on one ankle. Barefoot, her legs splayed wide, eyes staring ahead. As she hears my footsteps draw closer she bends over from the waist, puts one hand on the hay bale in front of her and uses her other hand to spread her cheeks wider, just as I instructed the day before. I glance at her chocolate form on display shamelessly in front of me. She is clean and smells of soap, to my approval. Hanna has been much busier in the stables than usual over the last three days. Normally, I would call upon her once a week for my needs to be met, but now that my favorite house slave was sold off three days ago, I have been calling on her daily, always in the morning after breakfast. This morning is no different, in fact it is one of the most important for it is very bad to head to the slave market with a load built up…it can be very difficult to think with the right head when trying to drive a bargain with the slave traders. If release has not been available, it is very easy to get carried away and pay far too much in price for a house slave. So, my release into Hanna this morning feels most important. Stepping closer to Hanna, I undo my belt and lay in next to her on the hay bale. I let my drawers fall to my ankles. My cock is already growing rapidly and I rub my head up and down her pink slit. She stays in that same position, only breathing harder now, knowing full well what comes next. She must have been rubbing herself before I opened the door because she is surprisingly moist already… and her pink inner lips peak from behind her spread black outer lips. Fully hardened now, I place my hands on her hips and line up my head to her moist cunt. Pulling with my hands and thrusting with my hips, my cock in one thrust, plunges deep into her canal and bottoms out when my pelvis meets her cheeks. A grunt erupts from Hanna, at the fast abrupt insertion. Once I am in, her hand leaves her cheek and joins the other one on the hay bale so that she can keep her balance. Pulling back out, I thrust in again, a bit harder this time. I like Hanna, but I like to use her tight pussy in ways that I do not use very many of my other slaves. It feels good to pound a pussy for no other reason then pure pleasure. And Hanna has a fine pussy that was made for me to pound, fast, hard, and with forceful ownership. Pulling out again, I thrust in, and with my cock fully wet and sliding easily I begin my daily exercise. With each forceful thrust, her body lunges forward and my skin slaps against her ass. Each rhythmic slap is met with a grunt from her. Keeping up a good pace for six minutes I can feel the building release coming on. I hear my voice saying “Yeah, that’s it Hanna…take it all, I enjoy using you for my needs, and here it comes….get ready…uhhhh.” I push her head down lower to the hay bale. With a few more deep thrusts I feel myself about to erupt. I pull out and groaning, blow my cum all over her black ass and lower back, the white seed glaring brightly on her dark skin in the dim light. Flicking the last few drops from my tip, I pull my pants up and admire my painting while putting on my belt. With a firm hand slap to her cum covered left ass cheek, I pick up my cane and tell her “well done Hanna, see you again in the morning.” I leave her there, leaning over the hay bale with her clothes and hair disheveled, cum dripping down her ass, and a well used pussy, gaping and still on display. Closing the door, I head for the coach in the front drive with a certain bounce in my stride. One of the team horses that is attached to the coach whinnies from around the corner.

Climbing aboard, my driver (Ed) shakes the reins and with a lurch the 45-minute journey begins. The road is mostly smooth, except for the stream crossing at the edge of my property. A constant reminder that I need to get the two carpenter slaves out here to rebuild the bridge that washed out during the spring flood. 30 minutes later, as Charles and I pull up to the town square, I step off and he heads the team off to the stables to wait for my call. Glancing at my pocket watch, I whistle and think that I cut it a little close this time…only 10 minutes to spare before the auction begins. Not much time to peruse the inventory. I head over to the cells and hitching posts where the slaves are kept restrained. 9 hitching posts in the ground with five slaves tethered to each one. These are separated into male and female posts in order to keep the bulls separated due to their instinct to bend a female over and breed her then and there. A quick walk through of the males and only one has my interest. His mark alerts me of his origin. He is up for sale from the Roswell farm, and looks to be used to some hard labor in the sugar boiler. I write down his number “41” and the maximum price that I am willing to bid for him. Over at the female posts my walk through leaves me empty. None there are worthy of the Hopkins plantation. Either too young or too old. Entering the cell section of the market, the roof over hangs cutting the light down to a dim glow. The cells are where the new slaves are kept, after spending some time in recovery due to the long trip in the belly of a boat in terrible condition and food rations; they are auctioned off to the highest bidder once they regain strength and color. Not needing any males, I move toward the female cells. I find there are three cells with 10 in each one. Used to being looked over they pay no notice to the buyers as we walk by. Some in rags, some naked…I find two that I would want to consider purchasing as my new house slave. Both are lighter skinned and both are of age so it comes down to the final price. A bell in the square alerts me to the fact that my ten minutes are up and the event is starting.

I quickly leave the cells and head for the square in order to obtain a decent place in the crowd. In blocks of ten the slaves are led up onto the platform and presented. Any remaining clothing is removed briskly and the auction starts. My male comes up and the bidding quickly rises to above my allotted amount and another gentleman purchases him, I believe it was Don the feed store owner, but it doesn’t really matter. The line moves quickly and another ten, then another…until finally one of my light skinned house slaves is on the platform with ten others. The fist two on her right are naked and sold quickly to another plantation owner. The auctioneer steps over and grabs the arm of my choice slave and pulls her to the edge of the platform and rips off her sparse rags. Her arms stay limply at her sides as the bidding starts. My eyes travel up her strong shapely legs, over her thick black pubic mound, up her waist to her pert nipples standing at attention in the cool morning air. Her eyes are staring at nothing, maybe a spot on the stage at her feet. I find her skin color to be perfect, she appears healthy and clean from disease. Realizing the bidding has already started, I raise my hand and am recognized. This motion happens another six times before I decide the price is to high and I wait for the other to be brought out. Choice number one is purchased and escorted off the stage to the staging area where she will be paid for, papered, and shown to her new master.

Two groups of ten later and my other pick is front and center. Being naked already she is not stripped, and her hands rest gently at her sides. She is staring straight ahead into the crowded square accepting her future. My eyes travel over her light body, she is quite a bit darker than the first girl, but would still represent a Hopkins household well. Smiling, I raise my hand to bid. The bidding price rises quickly. I run a quick calculation in my head and take into effect the difference in not buying the sugar boiler from the Lee farm. “Going once, twice….” I raise my hand again and take the price up another 10 dollars. After a pause, “Sold” is echoed across the grounds and she is escorted over to the stairs to await my claim in the staging area. Stepping purposefully, I make my way over there.

I hand the money to the clerk. He writes my information on the transfer of property ownership records. He also writes a ledger in his record book. While my new house slave looks on, I place my signature on the paperwork. Once the transaction is complete, I call for Ed to bring the coach. Turning to my newly acquired property, I let her know my name is Master Hopkins.

---