As morning broke he pottered about only concerned with what would happen after the first meal of the day. He dressed himself, at the table his father grunting at the boy's attire. The sight of a soft, deep blue velvet jacket and britches, the voluminous white shirt, neck-tied by a bright orange scarf securely fastened with an emerald broach, once owned by his long since departed mother having died during childbirth, just another thing his father seemed to blame and curse him for.
They walked out into the glaring midday sun; the boy could barely keep up with his towering father's large frame having to jump and skip every so often, the boy's smart leather shoes,the buckles gleaming, was starting to take on a grey haze as they approached the dais. Haggard figures trudged up and down this makeshift stage being examined while the boy's father's head was buried deep in the market catalogue as he viewed the inventory, suddenly motioning towards the boy, pushing him forward never once taking his eyes off the sheet.
Just up ahead was a youth, deep chestnut in complexion, refined yet strong limbed, with features just as delicate as the white boy observing him.
"This is the one I'm interested in. A last minute addition to the sale looks to be from the warrior class of the Ashanti, Benin kingdom if I'm in any way correct." Said the old man, confident in his expertise, he then pats it on the head.
"Good. Has Damp, shiny hair."
The old man patted the smooth chest then squeezed a nipple, making the black boy produce a high pitched squeak.
"Smooth skin, open your mouth, I said open your mouth!" The handle of the old man's riding crop was jabbed in the side of the black boy's jaw.
"Virgil come here son look in the mouth of this negra." Virgil felt awkward in never before being in such close proximity to anyone. The black boy's skin glistened with sweat.
"Blow boy."The old man gave the subject a hard stare.
The warm air going into the white lad's face invigorating him.
The old man tapped his son on the shoulder with the crop, calling him to attention.
"Loosen you pants!"
The black boy's trousers soon slipped down to his ankles.
"Check the corn holder".
But the boy did not hear these words only felt his hand being almost wrenched from its socket; being guided to the slave's thick, bobbing penis. Virgil could feel the blood pulsing within it.
"Now check the twins, there are two, aren't there?" He paused, "They should also hang." the dark Bulbous mass was fuzzy, warm and comforting; made his hand seemed so small in comparison.
"He's yours."
Those words shooting into the boy's ear just as his father, nodding went in the direction of the
Sales office. Men such as he had no need to bother where bidding was concerned as Radley
Byfordham James will always put down an attractive bulging wad of cash.
The slave boy was frog-marched back to the estate.
YOU ARE READING
I will choose
Science FictionA boy has to learn about the family business and has to jump in at the deep end leading to eye-opening, life-changing events!
