Gererations of Slaveboys

GENERATIONS OF SLAVE BOYS

August 1895

Miss Poynton glared at Cornelius Froding Hewel IV.”Your Latin translation appalled me.” The Governess bent her rattan cane. “Do you just spend all your time drawing Red Indians in your copybooks? Do you ever do any work at all?” She paused. “Why should I cane you? You’re a grown man, and a father of three children. You appall me.”

This was true. Cornelius’s father Cornelius Froding Hewel III, (Called “Neil”) was swimming in the river with his grandchildren, Cornelius V (called Corny) and Corny’s brother Billows, and sister Colleen.

What would she do to him? Would she beat him savagely? The night before, Miss Poynton had taken Cornelius down to the plantation ice-house, and stripped him and bound his hands behind his back and made him kneel on a freezing block of ice while she ran a feather up and down and over Cornelius’s hard cock. Miss Poynton, of course, was wearing a warm ermine wrap, and Cornelius was freezing…but he was aroused!  When he’d complained of being cold, she’d taken a bullwhip usually used for the fields and “warmed him up” until there were long red streaks covering his entire naked body! Could today’s punishment be worse?

Cornelius IV looked nervously at Miss Poynton, and at her cane. He might protest that he was too old to be working on Latin, as he was a tobacco farmer…but she looked angry, and she could be quite a nasty Governess!

And then Miss Poynton put down the rattan cane, and stepped to the Nursery closet, where she brought down the Enema bag…and Cornelius quailed inside as he knew…you’re never too old for an enema!

January, 1920

Verlaine Chenoceaux smiled; thrilled as she was by Major Billows Hewel’s proposal of marriage. Veri was a pretty girl, dark haired with a formidable figure,  but somehow she had not gotten married as her friends had in their early twenties, and at thirty-six, she’d been thrilled to meet Billows, who was not the sexiest of men, but he was firm and upright, and he’d been thrilled to begin escorting the shy French book clerk about, in the heyday of the war.

After the Armistice, in 1918, Veri had been sure that Billows would be sent back to the United States, but he was kept over for the Paris Peace Conference and entertained her with stories of overheard treaty negotiations between David Lloyd George, Georges Clemenceau and representatives from President Wilson.

“I want you to return to the United States with me, my beloved Veri” Billows said, on his knees. Normally, the major was very reserved and rigid, and didn’t discuss his feelings. But Veri had found his connection. After Billows had confessed that he needed to be punished like a naughty boy, and that American women seemed put off by this in a masculine Air Corpsman, Veri, who had done it all in her European way, was happy to accommodate him!

Veri looked down at Billows, who was naked on his knees, wearing a platinum blonde wig, heavy face paint and cheek rouge (in the United States, only tramps wore makeup he told her) and she breathed deep, tightening the material of her corset barely covering the tips of her considerable breasts, and lifted her carpet beater, which she brought down hard across Billows’s hard cock.

WHACK THWACK! Billows winced, but said nothing . “So Billi, my pretty girl. You want me to go back to the United States with you, Mon Dieu, what a proposal. You are just a weak, effeminate child. Your nail varnish looks quite appealing.”

“Billi” blushed heavily, and the paint on his nails was hidden as he made a fist. But he looked earnestly up at Verlaine. “Please, Veri. No woman in the United States understands my peculiar needs. I do love you tremendously, darling.”

“Tell me, Billi, my little tramp…will I be able to continue to have other friends?” One of Veri’s weaknesses had always been…handsome, unavailable men, who wanted to marry younger girls, but enjoyed a romp in the hay with good old reliable Verlaine. This possibly was why she had not been able to settle down with a nice boring burgomaster…

“After all, Billi, your penis is tiny and rather pathetic. When I hear of your escapades fighting the Germans in your biplane it makes me laugh, for a little bitch with a wee-wee so small is just—I can’t say it. But I can’t depend on you to make love to me, unless you are going to use your talented tongue…I like ze black men, and there are many in America, no?”

At this Billows looked somewhat truculent, and a bit rebellious. He was an old fashioned Southerner, and his father owned a huge tobacco plantation back in North Carolina. But he looked up at the beautiful, raven haired girl, and knew there was no hope for him to find another like her.

As soon as he’d hinted of his leanings, Veri had taken him to her rooms and ordered him to drop his britches, just as his governess used to…Veri had taken up an old walking stick of her father’s and beaten Billows’s buttocks until he’d screamed in misery and arousal.

Of course, there would be no more lovemaking. Veri had been a rapacious lover, but when she’d learned that Billows was a submissive at heart, she rarely even let him see her undressed! It was amazing, because in public he seemed to direct her about, and she demurely allowed this…but in her quiet rooms, the tables were certainly turned.

“But of course, anything you want, Miss Verlaine…please marry me, I’ll do anything for you!”

And Verlaine smiled, and opened her sitting room door, and there stood a black G.I., the kind that shined Billows’s shoes in the train station…the kind that plowed Daddy’s fields!

“This is Lemuel, Billows. If you want to marry me, you’ll suck his penis to hardness so he can fuck me, understand?”

And Lemuel unzipped his cock and pulled it out, and Billows, weeping, shuffled on his knees towards the long black schlong…

March, 1930

Verlaine Hewel came into the  Buttermilk Falls Farmer’s Bank. Billows was still at home, in shock that all the stocks had gone belly up, and he, Verlaine, Buzzy (Billows, Jr.) and the other children were in danger of being homeless, and living in their ’28 Packard.

But Veri, who’d worked since she was twelve, was made of sterner stuff. No pampered American, she went to the private door of Llewellyn Gooch, the bank president and knocked loudly.

Gooch, a frostbitten little balding man did not bother to get up, just waving her in. “Hello, Miz Hewel” Gooch gave her a mouthful of yellow teeth, as ugly as antique piano keys. “Please sit down. This Foreclosure thing is so painful for us here at the Farmer’s Bank, we like to think of  you all as family---“

Disgusting. His eyes were gaping at her breasts. Veri casually pulled down the cleavage of her simple print dress, and crossed her legs. She licked a lower lip and smiled at him.

It was all up to her, her husband was useless. Billows had shown such promise as a husband when they’d married, coming back from France. Addicted to Veri’s breasts, he had been easy to control. As soon as they were married, Veri had informed Billows that he could not touch her without permission.

“If you want to stroke these” Veri said, rubbing her hands on her full breasts, bursting out of a snug basque, “You will have to please me, and take good care of this family. Since you were mustered out of the Air Corps, you seem to just want to be a spoiled tobacco heir, and that’s not going to happen. We will move to Buttermilk Falls, where my sister emigrated last year.”

When he had protested, Veri had stripped Billows and locked him in homemade stocks and whipped his bare buttocks, and then turned him over and thrashed his cock and balls with stinging nettles cut from his father’s plantation.

“We are moving away from this grotesque, hot Southern backwater, somewhere quiet and pleasant.” And it was a good thing of course, as after the Crash, the plantation had been sold for back taxes. No more allowance remittances for the useless Billows, or his anxious family. It was up to Veri.

As Gooch began going on about when they could depart their house, Veri leaned over and smiled. “This entire thing is giving me a bit of a heart murmur…” She touched her swelling left breast. “Do you—have any medical experience?”

Gooch jumped up. “I was a medic in France in ’15 as a matter of fact.”  His ugly bulging eyes  undressed her as he came around the desk. Veri let Gooch put his sweaty little palms on her considerable cleavage, and breathed deeply.

“You are such an attractive, exciting fellow” she said in her heavy French accent. “My husband is so—powerless right now. What would we do without—“ And then Gooch began fumbling with her cleavage and bent down to kiss her!

And then Veri reached over to Gooch’s crotch, unzipped his pants and pulled out his puny penis and testicles. Gooch began trembling all over in excitement, but then she squeezed his nuts, HARD.

Llewellyn  Gooch fell to his knees. But in spite of his shock and pain, Veri was pleased that he still seemed mesmerized by her breasts, and yes, was also staring at her long legs. Veri began stroking and pulling Gooch’s penis, and it got hard, but as he rose, she squeezed his balls again and he fell back to his knees.

“Take off your clothes, NOW” Gooch obeyed, and watched dumbly as Veri unsnapped his red suspenders from his trousers and fashioned a loop, which she pulled round his penis and nutsack, before yanking it hard.

Then, Veri reached into her handbag and brought out a riding crop, a long, wicked looking one. She had been teaching horsemanship to private school girls here in Buttermilk Falls, and although she always instructed them to just touch the horse’s rump to spur them on, and NEVER hit them, there were no such rules for foreclosing bankers.

WHACK! The riding crop stung the tip of Gooch’s cock and then she quickly whipped each of his nipples, ordering him to keep his hands behind his back. “Would you like to kiss these?” Veri asked sweetly as she pushed her cleavage together.

Gooch nodded. He had slept with a number of poverty-stricken wives and daughters, (and then foreclosed on them anyway) but this French biddy was the cutest he’d ever seen. “I’d love to kiss your honeys, Miz Hewel.”

WHACK! CRACK! The riding crop landed twice on Gooch’s cock, and then Veri stood, dragging Gooch up by his balls, which were locked into the suspender, and as he struggled to rise, she whacked him in the face and chin.

But, as he pulled back, Veri grabbed Gooch by the ears and pulled him into her tender bosom, and hypnotized, he began kissing the beautiful globes. She let him breathe in her perfume, and then pushed Gooch away, harshly slapping his face.

“What-what’s wrong?” Llewellyn Gooch said brokenly. “I-I thought—“ And then Veri explained. Within half an hour, the mortgage had been paid, Veri had been hired as a well compensated secretary, and Gooch was busily licking between Verlaine’s thighs.

February, 1948

Buzz Hewel  sat down across from the regal Cairn Gillian, who he noted from her file, had been born Lychorinda Annunziata before being discovered by Sam Goldwn. No, she didn’t look Irish, despite her almost violently honey blonde hair. And she was forty-two! Unbelievable. She looked barely thirty…huge boobs.

Buzz gazed at Cairn with hungry eyes. “I want you to know, I just loved you in “Art By Accident” he said, smiling. “It’s one of my favorite talkies.” Buzz paused. “You were also brilliant as the nun in “Father O’Ryan’s Crusade” and with Jimmy Stewart in that bank robbery picture. I’ve got all your Photoplay covers.”

Cairn tossed her amber curls and stared at the young FBI agent. “I don’t care, Agent Hewel. The Committee has summoned me, and I want to get this over with.” Cairn paused. “But I’m not naming any names, soldier-boy.”

She looked so severe! Buzz thought she reminded him of Mother…how Mother would curse in French when he got a C on his report card, her eyebrows would thunder, and he’d be stripped naked, in front of his giggling siblings and forced to undergo a vicious thrashing with her razor strop!

But he had to continue this. This woman was not just an actress. She was a danger to the mores of America. She was a COMMUNIST!

“Now, Miss Annunziata, er, Miss Gillian…I have been authorized by the House Un-American Activities Committee to ask you about your speaking at a 1944 rally for Earl Browder, who was General Secretary for the Communist Party.”

But then he paused. Dammit! But he had to say it. “You-you look so much like Sister Mary Floria in the movie right now. It was the only one of your flicks I was able to see as a kid. My mother was a strict Catholic, and the Legion of Decency prohibited your other films. When Mother discovered that I’d seen “Art By Accident” she was furious.”

Cairn smiled, and tightened the material around her breasts. “But that just came out a year ago. You’re obviously in your late twenties, you can go to any movie you like now, can’t you, Agent Hewel?”

“Mother found the ticket stubs in my pocket when I was visiting home, and she got quite upset, I’m afraid.” Buzz said, wincing at the memory. “She is very old fashioned about discipline, even though  I’m-um, twenty-six now.”

Cairn Gillian laughed, and tossed her blonde locks. “What does she do, Agent? Does she take your pants down, and your undies, and whip your buttocks with a hairbrush? I bet she does. And I bet you’re a crier, even at twenty-six. Just a crybaby.”

Buzz blushed hotly. “I-I don’t know how you could guess what—but I don’t cry. A little bit. No. I’m an FBI agent! And I fought as a U.S. Marine in the Pacific.”

“Oh, c’mon, Agent Hewel.” Cairn said contemptuously. “I’ll bet if I took your pants down right here in the office, and used my own hairbrush on your buttocks.” She pulled a paddle-sized hairbrush from her purse. “You’d cry like a little girl. And you’re here, persecuting me just because I sympathize a little bit with the Communists.”

Suddenly, Buzz was enraged. He was an adult. He WAS.  Buzz stood up and made his hands into fists, and stomped his foot. “I am a grown man, and you are the subject of an investigation and—“ he looked at Cairn, who had pulled her chair back, and crossed her long legs—my God, she was more beautiful than Ava Gardner, than Grace Kelly—and was tapping the huge hairbrush in her palm.

“Come on over here, Agent Hewel.” Cairn Gillian said softly. “I’ll make a deal with you…if you can take a spanking from me, I’ll turn over all my friends and resign from the Screen Actors Guild…but if I can make you into a crybaby, you give J.Edgar, and Congressman J. Parnell Thomas a clean bill of health for me…”

Half an hour later, Buzz was kneeling on the floor, his buttocks welted, and through tears was writing a report describing Cairn Gillian as Glinda the Good Witch in the fight against the Reds.

He stood up, naked, and began crying again, covering his face in his hands like a little girl. Cairn gently pulled Buzz over to her, pulled him into her lap to comfort him, and began pulling and stroking his cock, which was admittedly, quite hard. As she stroked it, it became harder and harder.

“It’s not your fault you’re  a weepy little sissy, darling” Cairn said as she kissed Buzz’s hair as she rubbed his cock faster and faster. “I can imagine you think that marching about in that ridiculous FBI gray flannel suit makes up for the fact that you’re just a little queer, a fairy, a pansy who’d be happier, wearing nail polish and a frilly white dress, skipping rope.”

Buzz blew his nose. “Mommie used to make me wear dresses and nail polish and compete in Double Dutch jump roping contests with my sisters. I was the laughing stock of the boys in the neighborhood, but actually I won a lot of competitions!”

“Yes, that’s right, darling Buzz-boy” Cairn Gillian said as she severely pinched Buzz’s penis right before he was to achieve orgasm, bringing him into a fresh torrent of tears. “Skipping rope is much more your speed. You should give up all this FBI nonsense!”

July 1967

Billows “Binky” Hewel VII, chemistry professor and bass guitarist in the band “Gerbil Grant and the Electric Bananas” smiled at the girl waiting for him on the Buttermilk State University quad. Binky loved the Sixties, and letting it all hang out.

Binky had just walked out on his wife and little Billows (Biff) Hewel VIII, and was making the scene, man! It was too bad about Carolyn and little Biff, but Binky was living it up as an intellectual-stud! Peter McCorliss, Renaissance History instructor came up beside Binky. “Dude, is she yours? Does she go to school here?”

Binky smiled uneasily. “No, not exactly, Pete.” Binky had met Muriel at the PainCafe, an alternative nightclub. They had been seeing each other for a few weeks, and she was definitely different, that was for sure, man!

Now Muriel was twirling a strand of her cherry-red hair and wrinkling her nose at Binky impudently. His cock strained against the nasty little Iron Maiden she’d locked on him the week before.

It had scared the daylights out of Binky when Muriel had tied him to an eyehook in the ceiling of her little apartment and begun teasing and thrashing his cock with a cut off fiberglass fishing pole…but he’d kept on seeing her!

Ever since the Pill had hit, women had been willing targets everywhere…he’d fucked nine women in his seminar this year, and dozens of groupies were breaking down his hotel room when he toured with Gerbil Grant and the Electric Bananas.

But now his balls and cock were locked in the Iron Maiden, and this girl, she refused to have sex with Binky! Not only wouldn’t she fuck him, but after locking him in this Hungarian steel monster she’d ordered from overseas, he couldn’t fuck anyone else… and yet, he loved it!

Saying goodbye to Pete McCorliss, Binky walked up to Muriel and leaned down to kiss her, and she threw her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear.. “What would you think if I took the tree branch lying on the ground and took your pants down and whipped your skinny little ass in front of all these adoring little coeds of yours, Binky?”

Then Muriel shoved her pink tongue in his ear, licking and exploring about, and she then rubbed her crotch against his, her denim miniskirt driving up against his professor’s corduroy pants.

Binky moaned. It had been some time since she’d removed the Iron Maiden, and the last time Muriel had taken it off, she’d just rubbed and tickled his hard cock until he’d nearly cried in frustration!

The last few times they’d gotten together, Muriel had tested him on his chemistry knowledge, quickly discovering that Binky actually knew little more than his students…he’d bribed his way to his PhD.

Muriel had used her blacksnake whip and her cattle prod (having grown up on an Australian dairy farm, she had those sorts of things) to encourage Binky to be a little less arrogant…and certainly he was far more humble now. But he certainly didn’t want to be humiliated in the quadrangle of the college that employed him!

But she was rubbing her knee against his crotch now, and kissing his neck…and telling him what a wimpy little creep he was at the same time. This was so weird! Muriel had a way of giving you shit and turning you on at the same time! She was skinny, had crooked teeth, small tits and zits galore…she wore thick glasses, had hearing aids, one of her feet was shorter than the other, she had one of those high heel shoes  AND had to use an inhaler for childhood asthma, but Binky thought she was the hottest woman he’d ever been with!

“Is your cock hard, Binky?” whispered Muriel mischievously. “Does it hurt against the metal of my nice Iron Maiden…you think you might want to fuck me, you worthless little faggot?” And she took him by the hand, leading him into a gathering of trees near the Richard Speck Memorial Mathematics Building.

A few moments later, Orella Vauxhall, who was considering changing her first name to Sunflower, was walking leisurely out of the Speck building after her Commutative Algebra seminar, and looked casually to her right, thinking she might smoke a joint in the bushes.

And then Orella/Sunflower looked again, her eyes widening. There was a naked guy, an older dude, the cat had long hair and a beard, but he was real old, like thirty…and he was handcuffed to a tree branch, and this skinny red haired  chick was pulling his dick with one hand, and whacking it with the other, which held a long, thorny twig.

Orella could tell the dude was trying not to howl. What the fuck? He looked  terrified, but what kind of idiot would let some girl tie him to a tree branch, man? And she was whacking away at him, too.

And then, while Orella watched, dumbfounded, the girl pulled the guy down, took off the cuffs, and he shoved his head under her miniskirt! What the fuck? He was going down on her! And she was still whacking his skinny ass, which was sticking out from under her miniskirt.

And then, she hit him a little harder, he pulled out from under her skirt and got up and started running, and the girl chased his naked ass around the Speck Math Building, whacking away!

Orella wondered if maybe she SHOULDN’T change her name to Sunflower. Obviously she was having some sort of acid flashback. She tied her long hair in a ponytail and headed for the Buttermilk University Campus Crusade for Christ clubhouse. Things just had to change, man!