Blue Jenkins worked as a field hand on Hank Leone's farm in Northeast Louisiana. He was a slave. Now in his late-twenties, Blue had been purchased from the Jenkins Farm for a nominal sum two decades back and retained the Jenkins' family name. Blue was tall, muscular, possessed of a pleasing cinnamon complexion, a dazzling smile and a square jaw. He had a hairy breast; his head was shaved bald. In deference to his complexion, Blue's friends called him "Red".
Except for his golden mien, Blue looked a lot like Charlie Leone, the nineteen-year-old cock-of-the-walk on Nathan Leone's farm. Unbeknownst to both, Blue was Charlie's older half brother, the product of a tryst between their father Meshach Leone and Dora Jenkins, a biracial slave, some years back. Meshach never really knew his eldest son. He never had any hand in raising him, though the boy grew up five farms away. He'd seen Blue once or twice over the years. Those occasions meant little. Blue wouldn't know Meshach from a rock in the sea.
Nevertheless, Blue did inherit something of value from his father—a monster cock. This, along with his gallant good looks and his badboy smile, made the cinnamon-hued young man a much-desired commodity. Blue's haul of pubic scalps was double that of his younger half-brother. More, his harem stretched across several farms in the area and included a number of middle-aged white church matrons.
Janice Leone, Hank Leone's crimson haired eldest daughter—recently turned eighteen, noticed Blue working around their farm before but paid him scant attention.
"He IS a slave, after all."
She'd even seen him naked once as he was washing up after a workday. His cock was huge, his bulging musculature equally as impressive. Jannie had been chatting with a gaggle of black girls who chirped and giggled at the vision of Blue's nakedness. Blue noticed the girls ogling him and turned so that they all could get a full on glance at his lumbering member. He wasn't ashamed of it. He reckoned most of these girls were going to see it up close one day, anyway.
Janice recalled that hot afternoon. She remembered being amused by the reaction of the black girls to Blue's nakedness. They were falling all over themselves!! For a slave!! Who would have thought it?
In light of recent events, however, Blue seemed to be the answer to her prayers. Since her recent visit to Uncle Nathan's farm (where she had her first encounter with a black man's dick), Jannie had become afflicted with the "taint"—that wild, seething, unseemly lust white women get for the lumbering penises of unwashed slaves. She was tired of walking around with this unquenched burn in her crotch. Masturbation didn't cool the fires. Neither did her brother Jake's tempestuous but quick late night excursions. And now here, this good-looking, bald-headed slave was walking around all day with an un-fucked elephant trunk percolating in his pantaloons?
"Good-looking"? Did she actually just say that about a black slave?
It was undeniable. Blue was a looker. Too, she'd referred to him as "un-fucked". This was true in one respect. Whilst Blue HAD fucked just about all the women on that farm, he hadn't fucked Janice.
"Well, that's about to change." Jannie noted with grim determination.
Her logic was unassailable. One, she already had the taint, so one more slave dick couldn't hurt. Two, her Auntie Beth claimed to have the cure, so whatever additional taint she acquired from Blue would be nullified after her auntie came through with the goods. Three, she was horny as shit twenty-four seven. And four, walking around with a goddam wooden ball up her puss just wasn't making it.
Jannie cornered Blue in the root cellar late one afternoon after having given him orders to retrieve some ice potatoes. Prior to that, she'd hidden the ice potatoes so that Blue might spend an inordinate amount of time in the root cellar looking for them, just long enough for onlookers to forget he was in there. Twenty minutes later she followed him in.
Blue noted her silhouette in the doorframe.
"I cain't find 'em, Miss Janice. I've looked everywhere," he offered, in that mewling tone that slaves disingenuously used with whites of the day.
Jannie closed and locked the cellar door behind her. She boldly shed her dress to stand naked before him. Her crimson triangle glowed eerily in the gloom contrasted against her alabaster skin. Her breasts pouted jauntily; her pink nipples were already erect. She exuded the ethereal scent of a woman who has taken a fully naked bath in the pussy of another fully naked woman.
Blue wasn't any newcomer to The Game. Women cornered him alone more than just occasionally. He was neither surprised nor perplexed by Jannie's actions. She knew them damn ice potatoes weren't in there when she'd sent him in. Blue dropped the slave mewl tone.
"She just tryna be slick."
He turned to face her, saying nothing. His level gaze bespoke his true masculinity.