The Black Gentleman's Estate

1

The air smelled of blood and gunpowder.

In just a couple of short minutes, the huge, bright house of the wealthy planter Reginald Morris was littered with the corpses of white people, cold-bloodedly shot.

Clutching a still-smoking rifle in his hand, Dantrell stepped over the bleeding bodies. The coal-black skin of the former slave glistened with sweat, the taut ropes of his muscles were tense. The muscles in his rough, broad face twitched, and the gaze of his large, embittered eyes promised nothing good. He cast indifferent glances at the slain, trying to understand who else he might have missed.

His men roamed the house, catching women and tying up servants who surrendered voluntarily

. Those who perished in this slaughter could have survived if they had acted just as wisely. They themselves were to blame for losing their lives. When Dantrell conceived this plan, he knew full well there would be casualties.

Among the dead, familiar faces flashed here and there—Morris's lackeys. There was lame Jacob, who loved to whip the planter's black slaves, and there was Will Birch, who killed Dantrell's brother last summer. Next to him lay freckled Roger, who also loved to mock defenseless slaves. They were all scum in life and deserved death.

Dantrell had prepared the uprising for a very long time, planning it from start to finish. Now the worst was behind him. He had ordered his men not to touch the women and those who surrendered to their judgment without resistance. The men were stripped and thrown into the cages where Reginald Morris usually locked up offending slaves. Dantrell had taken the planter himself alive as well. This fat, lame bastard couldn't fight back and only wheezed, spitting saliva, as he was shoved behind bars with the others. Now everything would be different, the man decided for himself. Slaves and masters had switched places.

By evening, the corpses were carried out of the house and dumped into the river.

The former slaves celebrated their victory, drinking wine from the master's supplies. Dantrell sat among them, glancing at the estate that now belonged to him and the other free niggers. He was the biggest and strongest of them, a true leader. Years of humiliation, torture, and loss had hardened Dantrell. Will, intelligence, and incredible strength had earned him the respect of the other slaves. When he voiced his plan for liberation to them, many doubted, but still followed him. Now they were all free people.

— What will we do next, Dantrell? — asked Noah, the youngest of his brothers and the last of his kin still alive.

— This land belongs to us now, — the man replied calmly. — The estate and the entire plantation are in our hands from now on. We have wheat and corn that can be sown soon.

— So we'll have to work in the fields again? — asked one-eyed Tyrone in surprise.

— We will, but now we'll do it only for ourselves, not for the white masters. The Lord gave us a chance to gain freedom. We must be grateful for that.

— And if other whites show up here?

— Not soon, — Dantrell said confidently. — The war is still going on. The Confederate army is still strong, but it will fall soon, and then slavery in these parts will become a relic of the past. Until then, we'll have to stick together and defend the estate if any of the whites still covet our freedom. We have plenty of weapons. There is livestock in the barn, so there will be milk and meat. We'll grow the rest ourselves on these fertile fields, — he gestured with his hand, showing his people the vast territory that had previously belonged to the cruel planter. — All this is ours now.

— And the women? — asked Jeremiah, nicknamed Dog.

— Yes! We have no women at all! — the others supported Dog. — Only the cook Latonia and her two little daughters — Chalice and Ashandra.

— You forgot about the white women, — Dantrell reminded them. — Upstairs in the estate right now are eight young servant girls: laundresses, maids, that woman who taught Morris's daughters to sing. The young mistresses themselves are there too, as well as the wife and numerous aunts and sisters.

— So they belong to us now too? — Jeremiah asked cautiously, licking his lips.

— Like everything here. Do whatever you want with them, just don't kill them.

Satisfied exclamations rang out among the men.

— How long I've dreamed of this, — Dog clapped his hands.

— Oh yes, fine white meat. — Tyrone broke into a gap-toothed smile. — Bet I'll be the first to knock up one of those tempting females?

— Take them all anytime, — said Dantrell. — Fuck them, stuff their white bellies with little black babies, you can even marry them, but leave Morris's wife to me. That woman is mine from now on.

No one dared argue with him. Dantrell had given them freedom, and he had the right to demand whatever he wanted.

2

With the onset of darkness, the estate filled with screams again. These were the cries and moans of white women, whose bellies were being torn apart from the inside this night by the black members of the former slaves. They had not yet accepted their fate. Most of them kicked and resisted, but some behaved restrainedly, obediently spreading their legs before the niggers heated with excitement.

Dantrell sprawled on the huge bed in the master's bedroom, smoking a cigar from Reginald Morris's supplies, and grinned as he looked at the huge portrait of the planter and his family hanging on the opposite wall.

The thirst for blood that had flared up in him that morning had been fully quenched. Now his body demanded something completely different—to relieve the tension of the passing day.

The door creaked open, and Noah appeared on the threshold. The young man pushed a woman inside and looked at his older brother.

— Leave us, Noah. — Even when Dantrell spoke quietly, his voice sounded resonant and commanding.

The guy nodded and darted outside.

— Come closer, — Dantrell ordered her, blowing rings of gray smoke from his mouth.

Samantha timidly approached on legs trembling with fear. Looking her over from head to toe, he occasionally stopped his gaze, now on the excessively large breasts straining under the torn fabric, now on the steep curves of her widely spread hips. And how could such beauty belong to an ugly bastard like Reginald Morris? What could such a repulsive fatso with a tiny appendage between his legs give to this marvelous woman?

Dantrell rose and Samantha suddenly fell to her knees before him.

— I beg you, — she pleaded. — For the sake of all that is holy, stop this madness. My daughters! My sweet young daughters… Why did you give them over to be torn apart by these animals?

— These animals are my friends and brothers, — the nigger replied coldly. — Speak of them respectfully, for now they are the masters here, and you and your daughters are slaves.

Tears burst from her eyes.

— They'll kill my girls.

— They won't kill them. They'll just have a little fun with them.

— I heard their sobs! I saw how their tender little bellies tensed and swelled from the huge appendages of those scoundrels… I beg you, Dantrell, let my daughters be left alone. I'm ready to take their place if I have to.

He only smirked at that.

— You were always a kind and sensitive woman, Samantha, and you're not to blame that your husband is a monster and your daughters are spoiled, arrogant bitches. But, despite that, I will be merciful and leave your daughters alive. However, Lisa and Meredith need atonement and re-education, which my men are currently engaged in. Very soon they will become docile and polite girls. By bearing children for black men, they will quickly curb their arrogance.

— No! — Samantha's face contorted into a grimace of horror. — You can't do that to them! You can't treat your master's daughters so cruelly!

— He is no longer my master, woman! — Dantrell shouted angrily and backhanded her across the face. — Never dare call him that again! I want you to understand one important thing from this day on—you whites are no longer in charge here. You are my slave, and I am your black master. — He took her by the chin and forced her to look into his eyes, full of righteous anger. — I could have given you over to the use of my men, starved for female flesh, but I didn't do it only out of respect, for you were the only one in this house who was kind to me and the other former slaves. And only for that reason, from now on you will become my personal slave. But if you think to disappoint me, I will make you a common whore and you will service the black members of your masters one after another in a circle until the end of your days, I promise you.

His words had the desired effect. In Samantha's gaze, Dantrell read resignation and submission.

— Do you understand me? — he asked for certainty.

— Yes, — the planter's wife barely whispered.

— Address me as your master!

— Yes, master, — she corrected herself and lowered her gaze.

This answer satisfied him.

— Good girl. You learn faster than your daughters, but they too will become better soon. You'll see, black seed works wonders.

— Do you promise to spare their lives, my master? — Speaking to someone who had so recently been her property in such a manner proved quite difficult. The words came hard to Samantha Morris.

— I am not a murderer, woman. — Dantrell frowned. — I only gave justice to those who deserved it. All who died today could have remained alive if they had laid down their arms. Don't worry about your daughters. Soon they will be happy and will themselves know the joy of motherhood. As, by the way, will you.

The woman looked at her new master with an uncomprehending gaze. He leaned over her, huge and mighty, took her by the hair and pulled it slightly, forcing her head to tilt back a little. Now she couldn't have turned away from him even if she wanted to.

— You will bear me a whole bunch of children, — he stated in a tone that brooked no argument.

Samantha shook her head, not believing her ears.

— My master, you cannot do this to me. I am a respectable married woman…

He struck the woman on the cheek again, holding her head by the hair.

— You haven't learned your lesson. You are no longer Samantha Morris, but the personal property and seed bag of a black master. Who is your master?

— You, — she dropped submissively, breathing heavily. — You are my master and my lord.

— Don't anger me further, — Dantrell threatened through gritted teeth. — Otherwise I will exchange my mercy for wrath, and you won't like it. Think of your daughters. I can put them not only under a crowd of niggers greedy for female flesh, but also under the dogs in your husband's kennel or better yet under his stallions standing in the stable. Do you want that?

— No, — she burst into tears, imagining the horrifying picture of her daughters being torn apart by horse members. — Don't be so cruel, my master.

— Then don't dare contradict me again.

— Yes, my master, — Samantha swallowed bitter tears.

— Now tell me who you are.

— I am your slave.

This was not enough, and he turned a demanding, expectant gaze on her. Suppressing her pride, she answered him:

— I am your white whore!

— Better.

— I am a sheath for your black member, — this came to her especially hard, but elicited Dantrell's approval.

— Prove it, — he ordered, pulling off his linen shirt.

Barely seeing his powerful torso, with taut muscles and abdominal cubes showing through the skin on his flat stomach, Samantha involuntarily gasped. The nigger's body evoked conflicting feelings in her. On one hand, before her stood a black-as-coal dirty slave, the mere thought of intercourse with whom would have previously caused only rejection. Reginald always said that niggers were stupid and disgusting animals. On the other hand, few white men possessed such a harmoniously built and strong body. Heat and attractive emanations of immense strength came from him. For a moment, the woman wondered what it would be like to lie submissively and spread her legs under such a male as he. This thought frightened and at the same time embarrassed her. From shame, Samantha's cheeks became redder than before.

Dantrell untied the laces of his breeches and they fell at his feet.

Downstairs in the estate, Samantha had already seen the members of the black slaves who were raping her daughters and other girls. They seemed huge, inhuman to her, but what burst out of her newly-made master's trousers made the woman's eyes widen and freeze in horror. Dantrell's huge, tense phallus was blacker than night. A web of thick veins wrapped around the long, high-standing shaft. It seemed to her that his manhood was even thicker than her wrists, but she didn't dare compare them. The massive head crowning the hard organ looked somewhere just above the top of her head. Examining the nigger's member, she also noted the large, heavily hanging balls in the black scrotum.

Samantha suddenly remembered her first night with her husband, and how painful it was for her then to take his male nature into herself, how hard the tight walls of her vagina stretched. But her husband's member wasn't even fit to be a doormat for what now swayed before her face. This thing will tear her apart if it goes inside, she thought with horror. But at the same time, a strange and long-forgotten feeling suddenly filled the lower part of her abdomen. She also remembered how she had grown accustomed over time to the sensation of male dignity inside, how she then gave birth to her daughter Elizabeth, and the next year to the second—Meredith. After childbirth, lovemaking with her husband ceased to bring her pleasure. When he entered her, she didn't even feel it, sometimes even falling asleep right during the process. Reginald was never enough for long anyway. He ejaculated quickly and in small portions, after which he fell on his side and fell asleep with a sense of duty fulfilled. Over the years, their short passion faded, turning into nothing but disappointment. Samantha didn't even remember the last time she made love with her spouse. Now she was about to do it for the first time with another man, and this man was a dark-skinned slave with a huge member. Even if she wanted to run away, she couldn't.

Dantrell towered over her like a huge black rock, frozen in anticipation of her actions. Swallowing her sense of pride and disgust, she hesitantly touched his loins, which were radiating heat, with her hand, encircling the thick organ with a tight ring. Grabbing her mane of chestnut hair again, he pulled her closer, forcing her to lightly touch the tip of his member with her sensual lips.

The woman tried to pull away, but fighting a male superior in strength to her was useless. He wanted her to kiss his shaft, to take him in her mouth, as dirty sluts do. But Samantha was of noble blood. It was unbecoming for her to bestow such caresses on a man. She wanted to object, but then remembered how that could end.

Wiping away tears and wrinkling her small nose, she touched her lips to the massive black head. Then she kissed the bumpy shaft and the balls hanging beneath it. Dantrell pressed his free hand on her jaw, forcing her to open her mouth wide, and immediately pushed his chocolate snake inside. The woman choked, rolled her eyes, and made a dull, gurgling sound. The n