This is my tale, please give course credit where credit is due.
Thank you and enjoy ... I am thinking about writing to a greater extent. Johncrinshaw1

Oct 19, 1861
Wilmington, Second Earl of Guilford Carolinas
planter James Johns Hopkins plantation

When the air turns cool and Saratoga chip, it seems the energy it takes to get out of a warm bed becomes insurmountable. Looking out the sleeping accommodation window at the sun, as it begins its day-by-day peak over the eastern most Benny Hill of the woodlet, I gather my will and toss the binding off and heavily flop my feet to the cold floor. My robe is unfortunately right where I piled it the night before. For a abbreviated moment, my thoughts travel back to three days prior. One of our sign of the zodiac striver had unfortunately drawn the ire of the home matriarch ( Mrs. Chandler ) and after a plantation exhibit of disapproval by one of our honest number one wood ; she was sold to the Lee orchard over in the succeeding county. I have never been one to be attached to property but I genuinely liked her, she was always right there with whatever was needed…this may have been what brought about her death with Mrs Chandler. My robe has not been warmed by the fire and laid out for me since she was forced out. Putting on my moth-eaten cotton plant robe, I walk to the window and slide it open. Breathing in the fall Carolina air, the smell of drying baccy enters my nostrils and upon exhale, I can see my breath. My creative thinker checks off the daily tasks that are to be completed today. It is auction day in town.

Finishing my shave, and putting on my best Sunday attire, ( utter with grandfather pocket watch from Sweden ), I open my chamber door. The olfactory property of warm bread and breakfast floats down the peachy hall as I head for the dining room. I smile, knowing that earlier, seven year old, Peter ( my waiting boy ) must have heard me waking up behind the door to my room and he must sustain hurried to describe to the kitchen staff that I had awakened and would soon be wanting my first meal of the day. He must cause been waiting behind my door for at least an hour, as he has been trained to do since the beginning of his transferee to house supporter position. This thought always brightens my mode, he has great potential viewing for when he gets older, even if his pelt is dark as night.

Breakfast is indeed fulfill, grits laden with butter, ballock with fatback, and a thoroughly substantial burnt umber blend to launder it down. Once again the kitchen staff have proven their Worth, a great investment two geezerhood ago. Even my dinner parties and evening party have discussed amongst their set about the intellectual nourishment from the dinner table on the Anthony Hopkins Plantation. A upright investment indeed, for I love the fact that my social status is growing within the residential district. granddad, God rest his psyche, would be proud. And now to bulge out the daytime tasks. Peter is waiting at the entranceway room access with my hat, cloak, and walking cane. Beaming, his Stanford White dentition create such a utter contrast against his night hide, he tells me,"Morn'in Masser Sir Anthony Philip Hopkins"and as usual is secretly hoping for one of my kickshaw that I keep in the go out pouch of my vest. Satisfied with his body of work so far, I reach in and hand him a objet d'art of red gum. He closes the threshold behind me and as I look in the aloofness, I see Charlie herding the cattle out to the pasture for the day. Looking to the Second Earl of Guilford, the long line of field slave can be seen heading out to process in the cane fields. Today is going to be a in good order and fat day on the plantation. Walking around the western United States side of meat of the porch, I glance at the horse barn and feel a stirring within…"not yet, but very soon"I tell myself."I still have a few affair to finish up first."The tobacco shed is off to the left so I head over to check out the last cutting and see how it is drying. Satisfied, my care moves to the stable again, but a quick stop at the blacksmith takes precedence."Hello, Massa Hopkins ”, Ray says."just morning, Ray. How is the new axle hub coming for work wagon five ?"I ask."Almost finished sir, should be done later today."He replies. He follows my regard to the stables and tells me to go on ahead, things are under ascendance and do not postulate my attention. He is powerful, things are working smooth this first light and I have much crowing chore at hand. A straightaway misstep to the stables and then it will be off to the hard worker deal in the Town square.

walking at a brisk pace, I reach the stable briny door and push open the big heavy pine. The place would be empty except for a mare that is six months along and on a special diet. The coach has been wheeled out and presumably the groom hitched it to the squad in readying for my 45-minute misstep into town. And, of grade, as instructed, off to the side near the hay bales stands Hanna, in her usual position…waiting for me patiently. Her gunny dress drawn up about her waist and her leg covering drawn down and laying on one mortise joint. Barefoot, her legs splayed wide, eyes staring ahead. As she hears my step lot closer she bends over from the waist, puts one hand on the hay Basel in front of her and uses her former hand to spread her impertinence wider, just as I instructed the day before. I glance at her chocolate form on exhibit shamelessly in straw man of me. She is clean and look of soap, to my approval. Hanna has been much busier in the stables than usual over the concluding three days. Normally, I would call upon her once a week for my needs to be met, but now that my deary family slave was sold off three daytime ago, I have been calling on her daily, always in the morning after breakfast. This sunrise is no unlike, in fact it is one of the most important for it is very bad to head to the slave grocery with a load built up…it can be very difficult to imagine with the rightfulness brain when trying to drive a buy with the hard worker trader. If acquittance has not been available, it is very gentle to get carried away and pay far too lots in monetary value for a theater slave. So, my dismission into Hanna this dawn feels most important. Stepping finisher to Hanna, I undo my bang and lay in future to her on the hay Basel. I let my knickers fall to my ankles. My peter is already growing rapidly and I rub my head up and down her pink cunt. She stays in that same position, only breathing harder now, knowing broad well what comes following. She must have been rubbing herself before I opened the door because she is surprisingly moist already… and her pink inner lips peak from behind her pass around Black person outer lips. Fully hardened now, I place my hands on her hips and dividing line up my head to her moist cunt. Pulling with my work force and thrusting with my hip, my rooster in one thrust, plunges deep into her canalise and bottoms out when my pelvis meets her cheeks. A grunt erupts from Hanna, at the dissipated disconnected insertion. Once I am in, her deal leaves her impudence and joins the former one on the hay bale so that she can keep open her residue. Pulling back out, I thrust in again, a bit harder this prison term. I like Hanna, but I like to use her sloshed pussy in ways that I do not use very many of my other slaves. It feels full to hammering a pussy for no other reason then pure joy. And Hanna has a fine cunt that was made for me to pound, fast, firmly, and with forceful possession. Pulling out again, I thrust in, and with my cock fully wet and sliding easily I begin my day-by-day exercise. With each forceful drive, her body lunges forward and my pelt slaps against her ass. Each rhythmic smacking is met with a oink from her. Keeping up a good tread for six minute of arc I can find the building release coming on. I hear my vocalism saying"Yeah, that's it Hanna…take it all, I enjoy using you for my needs, and here it comes….get ready…uhhhh."I push her head down down to the hay bale. With a few more deep thrusts I feel myself about to ignite. I pull out and groaning, blow my cum all over her black ass and humiliated back, the white seeded player glaring brightly on her benighted skin in the dim light. Flicking the live few drop-off from my tip, I pull my drawers up and admire my painting while putting on my whang. With a firm script slap to her cum covered unexpended ass boldness, I pick up my cane and recount her"well done Hanna, see you again in the morning."I leave her there, leaning over the hay Bale with her clothes and haircloth disheveled, cum dripping down her ass, and a well used pussycat, gaping and still on display. Closing the threshold, I head for the coach in the social movement effort with a sealed leap in my stride. One of the squad horses that is attached to the coach nicker from around the corner.

Climbing aboard, my driver ( Ed ) shakes the reins and with a lurch the 45-minute journey begins. The road is mostly polish, except for the stream crossing at the edge of my belongings. A constant quantity reminder that I need to get the two carpenter slaves out here to rebuild the bridge circuit that washed out during the spring torrent. 30 minutes later, as Charles the Bald and I pull up to the Ithiel Town square, I step off and he heads the team off to the horse barn to wait for my call. Glancing at my pocket lookout, I whistle and think that I cut it a piddling skinny this time…only 10 transactions to spare before the vendue begins. Not much sentence to peruse the inventorying. I head over to the cells and hitching billet where the slaves are kept restrained. 9 hitching Post in the ground with five hard worker tethered to each one. These are separated into male and female posts in fiat to keep the Irish bull separated due to their instinct to bend a female person over and cover her then and there. A prompt walk through of the males and only one has my interest. His Saint Mark alerts me of his ancestry. He is up for sale from the Roswell farm, and looks to be used to some strong labor in the sugar steam boiler. I write down his issue"41"and the maximum damage that I am volition to bid for him. Over at the female berth my walk through leaves me empty. None there are worthy of the Sir Frederick Gowland Hopkins orchard. Either too young or too old. Entering the cell department of the marketplace, the roof over knack cutting the easy down to a dim radiance. The jail cell are where the new slaves are kept, after spending some time in convalescence due to the recollective trip in the stomach of a gravy holder in terrible term and food rations ; they are auctioned off to the gamey bidder once they regain strong point and color. Not needing any male person, I move toward the female person cellular telephone. I find there are three cells with 10 in each one. Used to being looked over they pay no notice to the emptor as we walk by. Some in tag end, some naked…I find two that I would want to consider buying as my new home slave. Both are lighter skinned and both are of age so it comes down to the net terms. A chime in the lame alerts me to the fact that my ten transactions are up and the event is starting.

I quickly leave the mobile phone and head for the square in parliamentary procedure to obtain a decent place in the gang. In cube of ten the slaves are led up onto the weapons platform and presented. Any remaining clothing is removed briskly and the auction starts. My male comes up and the bid quickly rises to above my allotted amount of money and another valet de chambre leverage him, I believe it was Don the feed computer storage proprietor, but it doesn't really matter. The line of merchandise moves quickly and another ten, then another…until finally one of my light skinned sign of the zodiac slaves is on the chopine with ten others. The clenched fist two on her rightfield are naked and sold quickly to another plantation owner. The auction off stone's throw over and catch the arm of my choice striver and pulls her to the sharpness of the platform and rip off her sparse sheet. Her arms stay limply at her English as the bidding starts. My eyes travel up her unassailable shapely legs, over her thick fateful pubic hammock, up her waist to her pert nipple standing at attention in the cool morning air. Her eyes are staring at nothing, maybe a post on the level at her fundament. I find her bark color to be perfect tense, she appears goodish and clean from disease. Realizing the bidding has already started, I raise my hand and am recognized. This gesture happens another six clock time before I decide the Leontyne Price is to high gear and I wait for the other to be brought out. Choice number one is purchased and escorted off the stage to the staging area where she will be paid for, papered, and shown to her new master.

Two groups of ten later and my former pick is front and center. Being au naturel already she is not stripped, and her handwriting rest gently at her sides. She is staring straight ahead into the crowded lame accepting her future. My eyes locomotion over her lite physical structure, she is quite a bit darker than the first girl, but would still represent a Hopkins home well. Smiling, I raise my hand to bid. The bidding price rises quickly. I run a immediate computing in my head and take into impression the difference in not buying the sugar kettle from the Lee farm."Going once, twice…."I raise my bridge player again and take the price up another 10 dollars. After a suspension,"Sold"is echoed across the grounds and she is escorted over to the step to expect my claim in the staging area. Stepping purposefully, I make my way over there.

I mitt the money to the clerk. He writes my information on the transfer of property ownership platter. He also writes a ledger in his record book. While my new house slave looks on, I place my signature on the paperwork. Once the transaction is complete, I call for Ed to land the coach. Turning to my newly acquired dimension, I let her sleep with my public figure is Master Hopkins .