Way Down South pt1

[johnsmith2007]

Way Down South pt1


Something a bit different. Not sure if I?ll actually continue this or not

Usual warning about nasty violence etc. and please do not take the racial slurs as being for anything other than reflecting the place and time of the story.


I?d decided to throw in my hand when the old geezer with the dented top hat sneezed. I was pretty sure this was his ?tell?, he was bluffing alright. I dug out my watch and slapped it on the table to a low gasp from the other three players around the table. My head swam from too much drink and the cigar, and cum and jizz scented stale air of the bordello, thick enough that a whore could dance on it.
?You?ll have to put up something better than that old copper fob chain to see me, mate? I chuckled leaning back so the chair tilted and my head rested on the bare wooden wall. I always sat with my back to something in these N?Orleans cat houses. On my first voyage aboard a Yankee clipper I?d lost my pay and spent six months on a whaler by not paying attention. Now even in a grog soaked state I missed nothing, and I had my knife always loose in its scabbard, but the scrawny bunch of half-caste Frenchies and dandy plantation managers that inhabited this bordello were no threat. They were nothing like the bastard Jonathans from up New England way. Well, all except the madam herself, a dark eyed raven haired faded beauty, and the massive black who was her shadow as she walked around the various tables.

It all happened very quickly so that I can?t really follow the action when I think about it now. The old geezer looked sorrowfully at the pile of papers he had bet with last time, a set of ownership deeds for property the madam had assured me were a match for my sea boots, tarp and pearl shaving razors, and then lunged into his pocket producing a pistol. Well, over thirty years man and boy swinging on a rope fifty feet above instant watery death made a man quick with his hands and accurate with his throw. I?m always surprised when they scream, but he didn?t surprise me at all, and slowly toppled back with twelve inches of finest Sheffield steel sticking in his gullet, and a low gurgling had to suffice for his last words.

You never really appreciate silence until you kill someone in a noisy tavern or market place. It all goes quite just like after the first broadside? but then your too fucking deaf to hear anything until the Dago or the Frog?s struck, but after this silence everything started up again as if nothing had happened. This was one of those taverns where killings were on novelty.
?Sorry, my compatriot was a bad looser. May I offer you the facilitations of the day and suggest you leave before we have to call the constable,? commented one of my fellow players as he scooped up my winnings and deposited them into my hat. I had wagered the beaver skin earlier and lost, and if truth be told it was only the hope of getting it back that had kept me at the table. It was a lovely black topper and even if it didn?t match my patched sea coat it had cost a fair penny that morning. Anyway, a back exit was indicated to me and the madams N*g*r took my boots and sea chest, and led me out to a wagon hitched up to two big mules waiting patiently in the lane.

?This is now yours Mr Limey,? smiled the big man as his teeth lit up the dark alley. ?Let Mrs Bess get you out of town for a few days so as to let things quite down.? His voice was rich molasses and sounded educated, I can read pretty good myself and us educated fella?s can spot another a sea mile away. He patted the flank of the nearest beast and then chuckled.
?Old man Coote was as mean and nasty as they come, and his three sons hated him, but I think they will have to make a show of chasing you even if it?s only for show?. I?m afraid at this point the air finally got to me and the effects of the strong spirits sent me reeling against the wagon. My last memories were of him helping me into the back and my cloths being peeled off, and then much to my delight a N*g*r gal, as equally naked as I was, snuggling up to me.

The banging in my head when I finally awoke next day was like the bloody Marine lads drumming for stations. However my head cleared in an instant as the recollection of last night came back to me. I was still as naked as Adam but what made me fumble for my blade was the shouting and hollering coming from outside the laced wagon sheet.
?You got her Brute, finish the bitch,? yelled an excited voice and other enthusiastic white southern accented voices joined in the chorus.
?Go for her milk Brute,? called a deeper African male while a howl of females of both races similarly yelled support.
?Rip off her lips,? called a white woman in a particularly refined accent, and then added. ?No not those you fool, go for her sex you dumb beast.? All of this was punctuated by the pop and smack which I instantly recognised as the music of prize fighting.

Then the crowed erupted, roaring and screaming, but as it quietened for the first time I heard screams for the other fighter, three or four black gals hollering support for the female fighter.
?You got his cock Sheba, take his seeds, take his seeds.? I suppose it was around about now that I finally found my breeches and pulled them on and fumbled with the laces of the wagon?s canvas so as to get out. I really wanted to see this fight. Mixed prize fighting was rare, but by the sound of the anonymous crowd this was naked prize fighting, a speciality of the Slave States, and I was eager to sample me an eyeful. And what an eyeful, that N*g*r gal was like a frigate in chase. Blackwall never produced one to match that bitch, she was slim and narrow on the beam, fully fitted with a tight stern, long muscled lean legs for her masts that carried her across the dirt of the prize ring with grace, while her pointing erect bow chaser teats swung like black pearls on her chest and her hard erect brown clit cut the waves of her trimmed vee of curly black cunt hair, dripping with blood and sexual juices. She was excited, and ?gore blimey? so was I, she was as fuckable as any maroon gal I had ever seen. Dragging my eyes away from my black Hipolita I looked about me to see where my sailors luck had landed me this time.

Well, I?m as open to new experiences as the next man and having sailed around the world five times before I was thirty I?ve seen a thing or two, but nothing quite like this. The Don?s Manila pit fights and the John Company sponsored Calcutta whore arena?s come close, but lacked the raw simple ferocity of this makeshift open air ?Coliseum?. There was a raged ring of standing spectators around the brawlers, with no real marked off fighting area, but five or six coaches and four, some mounted riders, and the wagon I had just clambered out of, marked off the outer limits. The crowd was as I had guessed a mix of whites of all classes, and house and field slaves from the plantation whose land the fight must be taking place on. Judging by the support for Brute, a handsome boy of maybe eighteen, with a chocolate brown muscled body and close-cropped hair, he was the plantation?s fighter. However as my eyes adjusted to the afternoon Sun (yes, I?d slept the whole morning away) I could see the buck was getting the licking of his life from a similar aged charcoal skinned filly. She was full African, jet black but with that European facial look I?d seen in the Barbary pirates, and her hair was cut and curled in a writhing mop of tight small ringlets that fell to just above her shoulders. Her ebony skin glisten with sweat as she ducked a desperate swinging fist of the boy while to another groan from his watching supporters, she popped another right uppercut into the studs hanging pods.

Bloody hell was he in trouble. Both prize-fighters had bruised and battered faces, but unless you had pickled your mitts into clubs, too much bare fisted face punching would inevitable end up with a misplaced shot and a broken hand. So both teens knew where to concentrate their blows to finish the other boxer in the only way open to them. The black beauty was marked and cut from his fists, but even though both her nice grapefruit sized firm breasts were bruised, and I could see bite and scratch marks on her cunt lips it was the boy?s stomach and groin that had me wincing. His family jewels were swollen to four times their normal size, bearing witness to Sheba?s accurate punching and kicking, and his ten inch cock was bent at an unhealthy angel, purple and dripping scarlet from what looked like a bite mark on the head.

I gasped out ?Fuck me,? in appreciation of the site, which got a chorus of giggles from the three black women standing nearby leaning on the wagon, one of whom, a strikingly beautiful teenage gal, followed this up with a lusty pout of her full red lips and a suggestive caressing of her groin through the white shift that through the heat of the day and her sweat clung to every aspect of her youthful body. In contrast to the naked Sheba her father must have had a powerful white seed, as it had given the filly blonde hair and a pale skin with freckles to go with her mixed African features, and a wonton look that left me in no doubt as to what the girl was thinking.

?My turn tonight,? she called across to me above the noise of the mob, and lasciviously licked her lips, but the older woman of the group, a jet black matriarch and one who I recon had both the looks and experience to give even me a run for money, clipped her across the ear, with a rebuke. As the blond rubbed her head she gave me a cool appreciating look that had my member straining at its roots, not in lust for a youthful exhilarating fuck, but with the expectation of a full nights pleasure and a slow enjoyable rutting.
?Behave Yella, a winner always gets to have the master?s seeds, wait your turn to fight.? She hissed at the girl, maybe two or three year?s younger than the fighting Sheba, while giving me a now open smile. Then the other female of the group turned to survey me and I realised with a shock that that cascade of black hair and brown beautiful face belonged to the gal from last nights dream. No dream obviously, but a full bodied, tall and majestic, cow titted doxy in her early thirties wearing a red dress cut so low it ended up at least three inches below her brown belly button.

A scream of agony from Brute brought my attention back to the fighters. As Sheba wrestled with the mahogany male the naked black female grunted and gasped. I?d not been so hard for along time, and I was hoping the white ladies present didn?t look too closely at my breaches as they looked like I had a hand spike shoved down them, but at the same time I was wishing the fillies would spot my problem and take pity on me. Sheba was a very good prize fighter, quick strong and what had me cheering her on most, as dirty a mauler as I?d seen this side of the China seas. I?d seen my fair share of ?all in fights?, in Pompey. The ?Village Blacksmith?, Tom Parkes, had been famous for his crotch kicking and bear hug lift?s leaving his opponents with blood stained breaches from ball cracking knee drops, but a naked Brute gave the coal black girl perfect targets for her grabbing twisting hands and as the young buck howled in agony Sheba bent down and fastened her teeth onto his ear and yanked back ripping his earlobe.

Brute was in trouble, the N-g-r gal had his balls in both hands and was head butting him repeatedly while screaming and spitting into the suffering boys face. Eventually, to a groan from the crowd and a cheer from the four black females who were standing beside the wagon, Brute collapsed to his knees, and as Sheba kicked him nonchalantly in the face sending him flat on his back, a tall elderly white man who sat astride a large bay called time.
?The boys on the ground, Mrs Clarke you?ll have a minute to put your buck back together, but first Mrs Bess get your belt ready as you have thirty welts at the field hand for his third knock down before Mrs Clarke?s house gals get to tend to the boy.?

To my surprise Mrs Bess wasn?t one of the mules, but the mature black women I had exchanged smiles with as she leaned on the wagon. With a yell she tucked up her dress and ran quickly across the dirt bare footed to set about whipping the cringing boy with a large leather belt as he rolled across the ground trying to shield his head and cock as best he could from the flailing women.
?Your old hag of a mother?s not going to recognise you Brute when my daughters? finished with. And then you belong to me.? Laughed the forty something African. ?Just tell her Jasmine is ready any time old Mr Clarke will let her out of his bed to fight me.? The laughing women shot a glance at a white women sat in an open buggy, and even I could see through my hangover the fury behind the forced calm smile of the mistress of the plantation.

?Enough Mrs Bess,? called the man on the horse, clicking open a gold hunter on a dangling chain, and he nodded across at the red faced blonde haired white women. ?Your gals have got sixty seconds to get him up to make scratch?. I?m not sure what Mrs Clarke?s servants did to revitalise their stud but he somehow made scratch. My eye however had been on the administrations being given to the black Amazon who had been sat on a bench by the wagon?s wheel only a few feet from me. The blonde gal and ?big tits? were washing down the naked girl, and she shivered and shook herself as the water splashed across her and steamed off her hot body.

To say, as the gents have it that I was ?distracted? was no joke.
Every bit wobbled and it was all on a plate, but I couldn?t touch.
Fuck.
Well, yes, exactly.
I?m afraid I missed the call to scratch as when the black in the red dress led Sheba back to the ring I pulled the blond N*g*r gal round the back of the mules and she rode me like some crazed jockey in the Derby till I shot my load while the mob screams drowned out her wails of pleasure and my satisfied cry of relief as I plugged her.

As I did up by buttons on my breeches she sneaked under the mule team and rejoined the other women, but I was soon aware the mobs mood had changed and the fight had slowed. As I wandered round the wagon I realised all three black females were now looking worried and a glance at the fight showed the reason why.
?Break her Brute, Break her?, called the white women in the open buggy as the crowed growled its approval of their fighter. In the centre of the clearing Brute had hoist Sheba up off her feet in a tight, back breaking, rib cracking bear hug. His muscled arms bulged with the strain of holding up the tall powerful Amazon and even as I looked on he gasped and clinched his grip tighter eliciting a gurgle from the ebony girl. The naked cherry was trying to find his eyes but he had turned his face away from her searching claws, but then she stiffened and started to whimper. Brute had at last followed his owner?s instructions and his strong right hand had slipped to the black girl?s ass and two fingers were now scratching and ripping at her hole. Then she gave out a gurgling scream as the other teen forced his fore finger between he cunt lips and gouged at her clit.

The three women beside me were shouting and cursing and weeping in frustration at the impending destruction of their fighter. The blonde girl I had just been fucking was screaming the loudest as if to make up for her missing support when the fight had gone so disastrously wrong for her friend. Sheba?s head lolled to one side as the boy now paraded her around the clearing as his supporters took turns to congratulate him on his comeback. We all knew what was coming and the raucous crowed led by the white women in the coach counted down from one to ten before Brute dropped like a stone to land Sheba?s already battered clit onto his boney rock hard knee. My ebony princess howled and rolled around on the floor as the buck took his applause and a young muscled mullato women rushed at Sheba to administer thirty lashes from the belt as instructed by the mounted white man.

?Well, both Brute and Sheba are now even at three knock downs a piece,? drawled the rider as he flicked open his watch. ?Sixty seconds to scratch Mrs Bess or I?m afraid your daughter will be the property of Mrs Clarke,? the crowd laughed and mocked the black woman as she scooped up her injured offspring, and I could not but feel a bit of pity for her as the three blacks by the wagon tried to massaged some life back into the battered gal.

?You Sir,? with a start I realised the horseman was talking to me, ?Mr Limey I assume, the new owner of these four fine fillies. I?m Captain James.? Well, my names Jones, Jack to my friends, but I wasn?t going to argue with the authority in these here parts. Especially one who had just credited me with the ownership of four, or maybe now three, of the finest looking black cherries this side of Jamaicie. ?This fight had long been planned with old man Coote, and I thank you for honouring his promise, and providing such fine entertainment this sunny Sunday afternoon.? As they lifted Sheba to her feet, he smiled across at me, and I?m afraid I nearly just ran then and there. He was weighing me up alright and I had the feeling I was ending up on the light side of his scales.

?Love, Mr Limey is a strange thing isn?t it?? He said as he raised his hand acknowledging that Sheba had staggered to her mark and made scratch.
?These two want to be together so the only way for that to happen is for one of them to beat the other senseless so their owner can claim the worthless carcass after the fight.? His hand fell and the crowd roared as the fight recommenced, but I just caught one last comment before the mob?s screams rose to a crescendo.
?But what a breading pair these two would make in any man or women?s bed.?


John

Hope you liked that.

Please give me some feed back on this one as I might developed it into a new series.

[MikeJV]

Pretty good, and it has potential for alot of good fights, mixed and cat. If you want to do a couple sequels I say go for it.

I do have a comment and Owner/Mod here, in a story don't be afraid to use any appropriate language, as you seem to do with a certain word. At the top of your post you gave a warning about language, violence, etc.... if anyone can't habdle the language, they don't have to stay.... this board is here SPECIFICALLY for extreme stories like yours, anyone not smart enough to know that or able to handle it shouldn't be here and probably aren't even wanted. This place is not for the weak stomached, anyone that don't like it, can leave.... and won't be missed. All the regulars here know this, it's why they're regulars here, most forums don't post the extreme stuff many of us enjoy. (me, you(johnsmith), Cage, Cat, Jessika, Malcore, 'C'... the list of great members here goes on)

MikeJV

[Ted Mark]

Wonderful.

I love Ethnicity. Ethnicity is FLAVOR when we come to consider woman flesh.

And as to women flesh, I like is raw, I like it the way you serve it.

Don't be shy. I think I'll be hav'en seconds, if I may?

[agraf74]

A promising series it is. Hopefully the Narrator will be revealed, step-by-step, from bordello card player to New Orleans slave owner; he may have started as a British sailor, and progressed through prisoner of the Spanish, to international buckaneer, having seen the five parts of the world: Manila Don's pit, Calcutta John Cy's arena, Dahomey female army's "boot camp", and so on.
Way Down South pt2 shall finish what you started, and to quote the Narrator in part 1, I hope you'll have mercy on us readers, and deliver us quick from "tent pole" suffering.
Next chapters would be titled differently, as from the view point of a sailor's "black book", Way Up Calcutta, Eastern Bound in Manila (manila ropes fighting?), etc.
Please try to describe the ethnic fighters correctly, which I think I can ask, given that I share Ted Mark and others' views on ethnicity. I abhor racism, and I love women of all descriptions. Like butterflies, they are Nature's enhanced achievements in colour variety! And as fighting women goes, they are as short lived, helas, as butterflies [img]redface.gif[/img]
I suppose you "blipped" the word "nigger" because you did not want to hurt some readers' feelings. may I note here, for you and others' benefit, the great lesson I received from an English language master, commenting on an attempt by me at story writing. I'd tried to "sex it up" using a number of four letter words, and he kept telling me to delete it, and use an alternative. Then I went doing it by myself, and when I was about to substitute some nasty insults traded between the characters, he told me to leave them as it were. Seeing my surprise look, he explained: "It is perfectly alright to use foul language when it's the character using it, if it is according to the character, and situation. It's the Author's own words that shall always be nice."
I noticed that the White Mistress incites her slave to go for the girl's sex, rather than "cunt", and that shows how you dominate that rule of gold. We know that that Mistress is an upper class lady, a bitch of course, but a lady, who we always will ove to see fighting later (eventually a jealousy sword duel over the Narrator, against a French buckaneer in chapter 8...) but who will not utter obscenities as her "slave pets" do.
So, yes, your story is greatly inspiring, and worth some sweat and tears under the shining sun, across the seven seas and the five continents. For now, lets just go <u>way down south part 2</u>.

<font color="#a62a2a" size="1">[ June 29, 2008 12:57 PM: Message edited by: agraf74 ]</font>

[MikeJV]

Thanks agraf, the "author's words" stuff is what I said, in my own way. (I'm no good at expressing myself sometimes) In the place/time of his story, that was as common a term as "you" is today.

MikeJV

[johnsmith2007]

Thanks guys, I'll be working up some plot lines based on 'Jack Jones', and post part two asap

John