Authors: Powerone
Plantation Slaves
Renaissance E Books
www.renebooks.com
Copyright ©
Ebutto and his men surrounded the small village and checked it out for days until he knew exactly how many men were there. He was a slave trader, earning his living capturing blacks and selling them to Europeans who waited on their ships in the harbor one hundred miles from here. He cared little that he was enslaving his own people; the money paid was making him, as well as his men, wealthy beyond their wildest imagination.
Lebino reported to him an hour ago. “There are almost fifty of them. Twenty men, but they carry crude spears and bows, no match for our guns. Most are young bucks, good for the fields in America. We will probably have to kill one or two until they see the futility of their efforts and surrender, hoping that we are only trying to steal their meager food. Thirty women; ten of them too old to even make the trip to the harbor. The other twenty will do well, ten of them young girls just blooming into womanhood. The whites will pay top dollar for them, especially if they are virgins.” Lebino, a ruthless slaver whose callous manner was unmatched, was the second in command next to Ebutto. His only compassion was limited to getting the new slaves to the harbor in good condition so the whites would pay top dollar for them. He rarely touched any of the girls, money more important than taking the virginity of a black girl.
"Then it is settled, we will attack when the sun just starts going down. Most will be eating, unprepared for us. Kill the first two bucks that come out of their huts which should make the rest of them pause long enough for us to gather them up.” Ebutto looked over at the pile of chains. “Get them ready. We will need to control them quickly.” He already had another twenty prisoners just on the other side of the ridge. Once they finished here, it would be time for the long march back to the coast. If they pushed hard, they could make the port in five days, four if the good weather held up. His men numbered just twenty, but the chains and their guns gave them superiority, and their brutal nature put fear in even the hardiest buck. “Make this quick and clean, and by next week we will be sitting in a tavern drinking the white man's liquor, a pretty black girl on her knees servicing our cocks."
It was over in a matter of minutes; the sharp report of the guns scaring the men as they ran from their huts, spears in their hand. The first two fell to the ground, clutching at the blood that gushed from their chest. The women were screaming, grabbing the few small children as if they could protect them. His men rushed into the village; the butt of their rifles smashed into three men before all the rest surrendered. Ebutto's men made them kneel on the ground as the chains were quickly placed on their arms and legs; small iron locks permanently securing them. The women were next; shocked looks on their faces as they cowered in fear. Ebutto looked at each one as they were chained, counting mentally in his head the money they would make. There were ten young girls; five of them would command a high price because their skin brown, not black. The whites preferred the pale brown skin. The chains pulled their arms behind their backs; their small, budding, naked breasts capped by pointed nipples. Though almost naked, Ebutto would dress them completely before selling them; again, the whites’ preference that they be fully clothed. The females knew little of shame and humiliation from baring their naked bodies, but the whites would soon teach them. That and the perverse acts that would be committed upon their bodies.
He had heard that the whites loved to take a girl in the ass. How disgusting. Why would anyone want to stick his cock up her ass when she had a perfectly good pussy for fucking, a hole built for the purpose?
No matter, the whites were only good for their money.
The ship was almost full; the Captain loaded the last of the slaves. The females were placed in one hold, the males in another. He didn't have a large enough crew to outnumber the male slaves, but the chains and the bars would be enough. He would cut their rations and water, making them weak until they were a few days from America. Only then would he begin to fatten them for the slave auction. He hoped it would be a smooth sail, but there were already a few problems that would have to be addressed. A public whipping on the deck, male or female, it didn't matter, was necessary to get their continued cooperation. Over three hundred were jammed into the two holds; cots stacked and lined up; each one of the slaves was chained to the thick wooden bed frames. A can would be passed twice a day for them to relieve themselves, food given at the same time. They didn't want to risk an escape, not that they could go far.
The ship set sail with little fanfare, the harbor full of other slave ships all waiting to fill their holds with black slaves, most destined to the American South to be sold to farm the lands. The Captain spied one ship with the bright flag of a Middle Eastern country; that being the only difference from the others anchored in the harbor. The dark-skinned sailors bustled about the deck as they passed it. The Captain knew of them. They bought slaves, but not for farming. They took the young black girls and boys, very young, not even entering puberty yet. They were bought for the Sultans in the desert, bought to satisfy the perverse sexual pleasures they would inflict on them. Young bodies to be raped by adult cocks, thick flesh tearing into immature organs. He had even heard that they paid top dollar for white girls, blonde prepubescent girls. They had an intense hatred for whites and took out this hatred on the young girls that were captured. They sent the girls to the Middle East to be tortured and raped; their life spans short and painful.
As they set out into the open ocean, the sails billowed as they caught the warm breeze. The crew settled into a routine once the ship glided over the blue waters. Only a week passed before there was trouble below the decks. One of the girls tried to escape and attempted to meet her buck who was being held in the other hold. Both were brought up onto the upper deck, the crew assembled for the public whipping. The Captain knew that his men enjoyed whipping a lovely girl, stripping her naked first; the whip visiting the most intimate parts of her body as she screamed in pain.
They had taught her the white man's language, and she knew just enough words to understand what they wanted. There were a couple of other girls from her village, but the majority of them were strangers. The hold smelled bad, the cots cramped together. She had tried to escape one day when they brought in the cans for their waste, slipping out when they unlocked her chains for short minutes. She had hidden to one side, another girl making a commotion and snuck out the door before anyone saw her. She was going to meet her husband and hoped that he was as successful as she in escaping. She wasn't sure how they would get off the boat, but her newfound freedom made her giddy.
"Grab him,” the guards ran over and grabbed the black buck as he hid behind the crates in the hold. They surrounded him, their pistols pointed at him, coaxing him out from behind the large wooden crate. They were surprised when the girl came out after him. “Damn, how did she get loose?” They put the chains back on them. “Take them up on the deck. We're going to have a whipping party.” The sailors were excited at the thought of witnessing the whipping of the lovely girl. The First Mate was an expert with a whip, able to make the tip of the long strands go anywhere he wanted it to go. He would make sure it visited every intimate nook and cranny in the lovely girl's body before she was sent back down into the hold.
The Captain looked at the young girl, his cock shoved hard against his tight pants. Her skin was jet black. Her hair was short and kinky, cut close to her scalp. She was dressed in the standard dress given to the slaves by her captors, a thin shift that did little to hide the body underneath. He was sure that she wore only thin white panties, one size for all. Her hips were beginning to blossom into womanhood; a nice ass jutted the back of the dress out. The chains holding her hands behind her back forced her chest out, small titties pushed out the thin fabric of the dress. But he could make out large nipples that tried to shrink in fear. She didn't know what was going to happen, but she knew she was in trouble. He looked over at the buck she was with. Tall, over six feet, large muscular arms and legs. He would have been dangerous if he didn't have the thick iron chains on his arms and legs. He wore a short loincloth around his waist, but it could barely cover the massive weapon that was so boldly outline by the small garment. It was an old wives tale that all blacks had big cocks, but this one was truly exceptional. He hated to ruin such fine specimens, but he needed to show the others the futility of escape. The battered bodies of these two thrown back into the holds would keep the rest of them submissive until they got to America.
"String up the buck,” the First Mate eager to get the whipping of the male over with first. Then he could concentrate on dragging out the exquisite torture of the lovely girl. Then she would service his cock with her mouth, her other organs too beaten into a pulp to fuck.
It took five of them to tie him up, the black powerful. Finally, they clubbed him over the head knocking him unconscious; they were able to put him in the ropes before he regained consciousness. He was strung up between the two posts a foot thick; his arms spread wide to the massive beams that jutted out from the deck. The thick iron rings hung high on the posts, heavy nuts on the other side to hold the bolts in place, securing it without fail. His arms were pulled tight; his muscles in the upper arms so taut that they almost tore. His legs were next, yanked harshly to the side until the ropes were pulled through the rings on the bottom of the posts. The sailors enjoyed pulling them wide, getting back at him for putting up such a fight. He was gaining consciousness, finding his legs spread so wide that he was almost split up the middle. One of the sailors yanked off the loincloth, leaving him naked, his back to the First Mate. His ass cheeks were yawned apart. But it was the spread of his legs that showed his balls hanging down. They looked like a large bag with wiry black hair covering the black, wrinkled skin. Even his cock hung down, far below his balls; the massive weapon large even when it was soft. He looked over his shoulders at his wife, she was held tight between two sailors and one of them openly fondled one of her small breasts as she struggled. He had hatred in his staring gaze as he eyed the First Mate, but could do little except wear himself out struggling.
"Whip the black bastard!” The sailors that gathered around wanted to see blood. They didn't want to run into this angry black again and hoped that the First Mate would whip him so severely that he would be no good until they arrived in America.
The First Mate picked up his trusty bull whip, a loud report heard as he snapped it to one side. The curled leather whip shot out to snap off a chunk of the thick wooden railing. He moved behind the buck and checked the distance. He would start with his back, then his calves moving up to his thighs. He would finally dance the whip between his legs. He loved the high-pitched scream he could extract from even the hardiest buck when the whip found its target between the legs and caught the dangling balls or his asshole. Finally, he would curl the tip of his whip around his cock, hitting the fat flesh with precision. He wouldn't be servicing any of the girls soon after that.
The buck bit his lip as the whip struck his back slicing a deep gouge along the black skin. As it grew red, the blood dripped from the welt. The First Mate moved down, two inches lower, a new line going from right to left. A grunt issued from the buck this time. He counted the stripes along his back, ten of them from his shoulders down to his waist. The welts were turning red, blood running down in rivulets. The buck screamed at the next blow, the First Mate working the whip downward, cutting across at least five of the welts. “Yes, now the black bastard will sing for us.” The First Mate became more enthused, the whip moving with greater power, each time trying to extract a louder scream from the large buck. He was singing nicely now; his screams almost hoarse by time the First Mate had lashed him vertically ten times. His back was a checkerboard of welts and blood. His wife was pleading in her unintelligible tongue, the sailors holding her tight as she cried. They ignored her pleas, the one sailor still rubbing her little tittie even as she begged for her husband's pardon. The buck had forgotten about his wife by this point, the pain overriding.
