The Antebellum South was a period in the history of the Southern United States from the late 18th century until the start of the American Civil War in 1861. During this time, the southern states saw large growths in agriculture, dependent on abundant and cheap slave labor. While sexual relations between white slave masters and black women were more common, there are also recordings of sex between white women and black slave men. One of the most famous relationships between a white man and a female slave was that of Thomas Jefferson and Sally Hemings. Even if they were in love, can it really be placed in the same category as other affectionate and consensual relationships? Wasn’t it different because it was between master and slave? This is the story of one white woman’s relationship with a slave living on a cotton plantation in Georgia in 1851.

I am Elizabeth, wife to Richard. As a member of the planter-class, my husband has authority over everything on the plantation … including me.

Truth be known, I am often bored, unable to travel like my husband. I am considered the guardian of the home, responsible for the same household tasks day after day. I keep careful accounts of my family's food and clothing supplies. My husband expects his home to be kept scrupulously neat. He expects my appearance and behavior to meet an equally high standard. You see, I must always present myself as charming and graceful - a must for a lady of my time.  

As my husband is among the wealthier in our area, I frequently plan social gatherings. In addition, I oversee our slaves' duties. It was in the last responsibility that I met one of our slaves, Tom.

You need to understand one of the hardest things about my life is I am held to a higher standard as far as Christian values. Women are supposed to be pure and modest, yet in reality, I am often sexually frustrated. Do you know how I feel to be sexually regulated by the cultural laws of my time? Do you?

You are probably surprised to hear I am often unhappy. A woman living in the privileged class should be happy, right? However, like the black slaves, I live without freedoms, bowing to the will of my husband. And punishments are not only reserved for the slaves. If I fail in my duties, my husband is free, without consequence, to take his hand to me. The worst part is I must turn a blind eye to his affairs, which humiliate me further. Is it no wonder I feel drawn to Tom? We share a bond as two people with freedoms limited. Our circumstances are different, but we nonetheless both serve a Master.

I first noticed Tom in the stables. His brown skin glistened with sweat in the sun, and I found myself aroused. I gazed upon his muscled arms brushing the horses. His body is firm and well-sculpted from his years of working in the cotton fields.

“Good morning, Tom,” I say smiling.

He eyes me curiously, but returns a warm-smiled, “Hello, ma’am.”

I return his smile, saying, "I think I would like to go for a ride on this lovely day."

"Yes, ma'am," he says readying the horse. 

He cups his hand to lift my foot, raising me up to sit side-saddle. 

"Will you walk me down by the pond, Tom?" I boldly ask, wanting some time alone with him.

"Yes, ma'am," he says, quietly, uncertain of my unusual request.

He takes the reins and we head down the path. My eyes scan every inch of his body as he walks, noting the differences between him and Richard. Tom walks tall with pride, despite his social position. I admire that in him. He has a peaceful presence and I enjoy his quiet company. However, I now long to hear his deep, rich voice.

"Let's stop for a bit, Tom," I request.

He pulls the horse up to a tree, and ties him up, then moves towards me to help me down. 

"Let's sit, Tom."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, helping me down to a soft spot of grass.

I spread my petticoat around gracefully, delighting in his lingering looks. Wanting to put him at ease, I start asking him questions about his life, showing my interest in him. He loosens up and tells me his favorite stories of family-time. I discover he plays the fiddle. I marvel at his spirit, despite his circumstances. His spirit is one of joy, shown through his happy singing and storytelling. Funny how I have so many more things than him, yet he seemingly possesses more joy in his heart. Sitting beside him overlooking the pond, his joy spreads to my heart. Contagious. Inspiring. 

Henceforth every time my husband travels, I find ways to spend time alone with Tom. His warm and loving spirit brightens my dismal days. Unable to read himself, he enjoys me reading to him by the pond. We form a friendship during our time together, each fulfilling an emptiness in the other. I long to feel his lips as we sit together under the warm sun's gaze. Maybe it is because it is considered taboo. Maybe, a part of me wants to rebel against all the restraints put upon me. Maybe, I see the man beneath the slave. Regardless, I find myself wanting more from him. I can no longer hold back my sexual desires and bravely invite him to my bed-chamber one evening, knowing he can't refuse me.

What I do is dangerous. If I am caught my punishment will be severe. I secure a condom made from oiled silk for my protection against pregnancy. Despite the risks, I tremble in anticipation and need of my night with Tom. He knocks on my door. I rush to open the door, wanting him desperately. I usher him into my bed-chamber, locking the door behind him.

"Hello, ma'am," he whispers, smiling at me.

"Hello, Tom," I whisper back, returning his smile. 

I know he won’t make the first move, so I do, leaning my head upon his shoulder, snuggling against his strong body. His hand rises to gently stroke my hair. My fingers roam up and down his muscled arms, feeling every bulge. My husband, Richard, is rather slim, his body not developed due to a lack of hard labor in his life. But, Tom is different. My hands move around to feel his back – his broad, strong back. His hardness excites me.

Slowly, I unbutton his worn, dingy shirt. He says nothing. Does nothing. I let it fall to the floor, the evidence of his erection in full view. I circle him, taking in his manly form. His back is scarred from a lifetime of whippings. I cringe as my fingertips trace each welt, causing him to shiver. For the first moment ever, I think about the pain he has endured … and feel empathy.

As I move back around, I lift my face up, inviting him to kiss me. Seeming somewhat uncertain, he lowers his lips to mine. His full lips graze mine with the softest of kisses. Pulling back, his brown eyes lock with mine. He seeks my approval to continue. My what power I feel. I nod my approval.

His arms encircle me, bringing me in closer for more kissing. His bigger lips create a different kissing experience indeed, compared to Richard’s thin lips. His tongue parts my lips and pushes inside my mouth with an urgency I have never felt before. My husband and I rarely enjoy open-mouth kisses. I grow wet below exploring this type of kissing, our tongues moving about in reckless abandon.

I break away and turn, requesting his help slipping out of my petticoat. I feel his fingers fumbling in his tasks. After my layers of outer clothing are removed, I take off my remaining undergarments, standing naked before my slave, my lover. His eyes rake over my nude form. His hunger for me is evident, which arouses me. I see Tom desperately wants me - is attracted to me. He removes his pants and I gasp. His manhood is quite startling – big and black. Breathing heavily, we stand before each other naked.

“Bed me,” I whisper, reaching for his hand.

And like a caged animal finally released, he takes me in his arms and kisses me ravenously, raking his hands over my breasts, between my legs, everywhere. Oh, my!

He lays me on my back on the bed, spreading my legs. Lowering himself to the floor, he lifts my legs over his shoulders. I have never felt anything so wild and inappropriate, and I like it. Before I can react, his mouth is on my most private parts, doing things never done before to me. A rough tongue licks every inch of my body between my legs, providing me previously unknown sensations. I cannot hold still and writhe on the bed, powerless to stop him. Power is exchanged as the powerless takes control.

Richard never introduced me to such pleasures. Our sex is always so controlled. These feelings are like nothing I have felt before. Erotic. Sensual. Passionate. Dirty. Tom slips a finger inside my warm sex and I cover my face with a lacy pillow to stifle my screams.

“Tom,” I whimper.

“Feel good, ma’am?” he lifts his face to ask.

“Yes, please don’t stop, Tom,” I plead.

He buries his face back between my legs and within minutes I feel my body shaking, trembling, exploding. After I recover, I reach into my night table and hand him the condom. He immediately rolls it over his thick manhood. Moving up onto the bed, he pulls me up beside him, covering my body with his larger frame.

I raise my legs to wrap around his full buttocks, needing him to bed me now. I feel his large manhood pressing at my sex. Not too gently, he enters me, causing me to cry out. I bury my face in his perspiring neck, losing myself to these sensations. He fills me completely and begins to move in and out of my sex. My hips buck up to meet him, needing him deeper and deeper. He grunts in my ear, arousing me all the more.

His throbbing manhood stretches me beyond what I thought possible - such a full, satisfying feeling. Every nerve in my body is firing, my hips meeting him thrust for thrust. He raises his head to capture my eyes. I don’t see a slave at this moment. I see a man – a warm-blooded, powerful, loving man. His lips mash against mine in an urgent kiss. Sounds of our bodies smacking fill the air. Black skin and white skin merging in a forbidden embrace. Powerful thrusts continue to pummel my sex. My, what strength and virility he has. My fingernails dig into his scarred back as I approach my release. He senses my need and plunges his manhood deeper with a burning need. I release, panting against his neck. His low growls tell me he is releasing his seed inside me. We cling to each other as if afraid we will never feel this way again. We will. 

Am I genuinely attracted to Tom or am I using sex with him to compensate for my lack of power with Richard? I don't know, but I still find the experience incredibly enjoyable. Is Tom with me because he is my slave? Or would he choose my company if he was free? I choose to think the latter. Our relationship continues for many years, never discovered by my husband. Tom is like the key which unlocks my chains. However brief my freedoms, it is worth the risk I take. 

Like most things, there was a dark side to these relationships. If a white woman was caught with a slave, she might accuse the slave of rape – a believable claim. Black men were thought to be more lustful during these times. Therefore, rape was more likely believed than a white woman choosing illicit sex. Some things have not changed. There is still a difference in views of sex between the two sexes. Often, men are praised for their sexual cravings and experiences, while women are scorned and judged. Lush gives all a safe place to explore their sexual appetites.