Sharecropper & His Stepson

Sharecropper & His Stepson
Caesar Brown chopped the wood with an old ax that had belonged to his father. Born in 1877, he was the son of former slaves. He earned his living as a sharecropper on what had been the Hickey plantation before the Civil War. He was had two biological sons and was on his third wife.

The first wife, Sallie, gave him both sons, Thomas and Leo. She passed away in 1903 from a burst appendix. As most widowers with small c***dren did back then, he almost immediately married. Her name was Lena. He was not overly attracted to her though she was pretty. He just needed someone to cook, clean, and provide sexual release. The light-skinned Lena was single and a woman so she met all the necessary requirements.

The Spanish flu hit the Mississippi town hard. Lena and Leo both succumbed to it in 1918. The oldest Hickey boy, “Deuce”, died of it too while training to go to France to fight in World War I. Caesar found another bride. This time, it was Peggy. She was almost twenty years younger than him and had a 10 year-old son named Robin.

Caesar, along with most everyone else, believed the boy had been fathered by Deuce Hickey. But it was the South and it was 1922 so people did not talk about such things. The man whose naturally brown skinned had been darkened by the Delta sun continued chopping. The defined muscles in his back and arms flexed and contracted as he swung the big ax. He wiped his brow occasionally to keep the sweat out of his eyes.

He heard chatter. He looked over. It was Peggy and Robin.

“Hey, papa,” the adorable k** with curly hair and olive skin waved.
“Hey now,” replied the 45 year-old man.
“Just wanted bring you some lunch,” Peggy who served as a maid and cook for the Hickeys said.
“Thank you much,” the husband grinned.
“And this,” boasted Robin. “It’s a letter from Leo. Came to the big house.”
“What it say,” inquired Caesar.
“Well, we ain’t read it, Caesar. It wunt addressed to nobody but you,” laughed Peggy.
“You wanna read it to me, Robin?”

Caesar could read, but not as well as Peggy or Robin for that matter.

Robin unfolded the paper and began, “Hi Paw. I hope this letter finds you in good health. As for me I’m doing fine. I’ll be finishing my studies soon and a professor has a job lined up for me in Michigan. I’ll be teaching music of course. I think I’m going to propose to Louise. I really do care for her. You’ll like her too. How are things in Mississippi? Did you have a good harvest? How are Peggy and little Robin? Take care, Paw. Truly, Leo.”

“Well good,” remarked a radiant Caesar. He was proud of his son who had escaped the agrarian South and was attending Wilberforce.

Peggy had laid out lunch. There were chicken livers, boiled potatoes, beans, and cornbread. Caesar ate quickly as he wanted to get back to work.

“Befoe I forget. Ol’ Lady Hickey wonderin’ if you can come take a look at dat wobbly bannister today,” Peggy remembered.
“I guess so,” glared the man. “I’ll go up there after I split these next two logs.”
“Great! I’ve got some washin’ to do so I ain’t goin’ back up there today.
“Can I go too, papa,” interjected Robin.
“Hush boy,” snapped Peggy.
“That fine. You can come. Just stay out the way,” Caesar ordered.

Robin was delighted. He had no idea why, but Ol’ Lady Hickey always had some candy or a book or a Bible verse to share with him. He did work in the fields like everyone else, but Dora Hickey often found an excuse for him to come into the house early to sit with her, her daughter, and her granddaughter. He liked her company.

Caesar finished cutting up the firewood. He called out for Robin to come along. His overalls and boots were worn.

Robin ran up ahead. His hair bouncing and his small, cherry-shaped ass flexed with each stride.

Caesar made up the plain-looking, weatherboard covered I-house. It was falling into disrepair.

Unlike it is usually romanticized, most plantations did not have grand mansions at the center of the estate. Most plantations were like complexes containing some slave quarters, pens for livestock, a kitchen yard, maybe some other structures, and regular type home for owner’s family. Also, most slave owners had 5 or less slaves. The Hickeys were in this category during the height of their plantation.

At the apex, the final Master Hickey had 8 slaves and 600 acres. He and his sons worked in the field alongside them. The plantation passed to his sons and continued in the family line. Now, it was resided ruled over by Dora. She had been the wife of Capt. Robert Hickey who was no deceased. She with the unuseful help of her youngest c***d, Winfield, and her son-in-law Ollie Beach, managed the estate now.

Caesar walked around to the back. He knocked. Hilda, Dora’s only daughter came to the door. “Miss Hickey want me to look at da bannister,” he lowered his head.

“Oh yes! Come on in. Mama’s in the parlor, Robin.”

Robin darted off. Caesar went to work.

Dora was doing needlepoint on the once-stylish couch. She requested Robin to pick a book of poetry and read it to her.

The house was two stories and two rooms deep. It had a big open hall in the middle with a lovely staircase. Downstairs there was a dining room and sitting room to left. On the right, there was ladies’ parlor in the front and the gentlemen’s study in the back. Upstairs, the layout was identical and each of the four rooms served as bedchambers.

Caesar could hear snoring coming from the upstairs. No doubt, Ollie was passed out after drinking moonshine all morning. The scion of a fallen Confederate dynasty was usually drunk by 11:00 a.m.

Winfield Hickey came out of the study. The slender, blonde-haired, brown-eyed, 22 year-old had only recently returned to Mississippi from a jaunt in New Orleans that resulted in him blowing through all of his money over the course of three years on booze, d**gs, hookers, and gambling. He brightened up and said, “Caesar, I was wondering if you could help me with something in the carriage house.”

“Yes, suh! Be done in a few mo’ minits,” Caesar nodded.
“Perfect! I’m gonna head on over there,” the confirmed bachelor informed him.

Caesar opened the door of the carriage house. The twink already had his breeches down and his small, round tushy out.

“You been wantin’ dis big dick, Win?”
“Oh yes, Caesar,” cooed the white guy.
“Suck on it first!”

Winfield complied. It was an open secret that he enjoyed the company of both men and women, but mostly men. He had actually lived with a mixed race stud in an apartment near the French quarter. He sucked Caesar’s thick nine-inch dick like his life depended on it.

Caesar spat on his hand and fingered Win’s pink rosebud. Soon, he mounted the eager bottom.

“Oh, Caesar! I’m your pitiful little white boy,” cried Winfield Gray Hickey.
“You like this nigga dick, white boy?”
“You know it! Fuck my sissy white ass with the big Black dick!”
“Oh, yeah boy!”
“Punish me for my ancestors being racist assholes,” begged the thin, horny pussyboy.
“Take this big dick, Win!”
“I’m all yours! You own me, Big Daddy!”
“I own yo’ white ass!”
“Yes, sir!”

Back in the main house, Robin asked, “May I be excused, madam?”
“Sure. Take a piece of candy. Where are you going?”
“I just wanna play for a bit.”
“Okay,” smiled the woman unable to say she loved him. “Be a good boy!”

Robin ran around pretending he was a bird soaring high above the trees. He went past the carriage house and heard noises. The door was slightly open so he walked over and peeked inside. He saw Win bending over with Caesar behind him. Caesar’s hands were on Win’s naked body. The two were grunting and panting.

“Yes, Caesar! Give me that big nigger cock,” Win wailed.
“Yes, white boy! Take this dick like a good li’l wench!”
“I’m your gay boy wench, Big Daddy!”
“Yeah, faggit!”

Robin watched as Caesar howled and collapsed on top of Winfield. He snuck away without being noticed.

Caesar and Robin walked back to their one room cabin.

Peggy had dinner ready. It consisted of a small amount of fried pork belly, corn, red beans, and biscuits. She gave Caesar a portion of meat twice as big as hers. Afterwards, they read from the Bible briefly and played ‘20 questions’. They turned in for the night. The sun would be up early.

The next morning, Peggy headed off to work. Robin said he would stay home and help Papa. Caesar was already outside toiling away.

Robin went outside and asked, “Papa can we go for a swim later?”
“Okay, boy! Hand me dat hammer over dere,” the strapping man with the large gut ordered.

Robin assisted as best he could. Caesar appreciated the help.

“Ready now,” Caesar checked.
“Yes, papa!”
“Let’s go!”

The reach the pond and stripped down. They dove in for a quick skinny dip. Robin swam over to Caesar and hugged him.

“What you doin’, boy,” Caesar pushed him away.
“I wanted to play with you like you and Win were doing.” admitted the precocious effeminate youngster.
“What you mean now, boy?”
“I saw y’all in the carriage house yesterday. It looked like fun.”
“Now, dat ain’t nobody bitness. You ought not be spyin’ on grown folks!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Go on and get out da water. We gots work to do!”

Robin climbed out defeated. He bent down to gather his clothes. His round derriere glistened in the sunlight. “I won’t tell, papa! I’m sorry! Forgive me?”

“You okay, Robin,” Caesar consoled him.
Robin brightened up. “Yay!”
“Do you really wanna see how I played with Win?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Well come over here!”

Caesar led him to the thicket. He tugged on his fat dick and said, “Lick it like a piece uh candy.”

Robin obeyed.

“That feels good, baby boy,” Caesar groaned. “Now open yo mouf as wide you can. I’ma stick it in there.” He guided his tool past the red lips and down the punk’s throat. “Good, boy! Now move yo head back an’ foath!”

After getting nice and hard, Caesar picked up the miniscule sissy. His behemoth body dwarfing that of his step son. He flipped the k** around and spat on his tight brown hole. He licked it for a while.

“Oh wow,” purred Robin. “That feels good, papa!”
“Papa know, baby boy! I’m finna teach you how to take dick!”

Caesar put Robin on the ground. He got on top and pushed in slowly. “I know. Just breathe,” he instructed. “I’ll be gentle.”

“Ooh,” whined Robin. “It’s so big!”
“You gon’ get used to it. Relax, boy!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Dere you go. It goin’ in nice an’ slow!”

Caesar moved his hips with caution. He felt the boipussy giving way. He sped up his rhythm.

“Oh, papa,” cried Robin.
“Do you like it,” checked Caesar.
“Yes, papa! It feels good!”
“Yeah! It do feel good. Dis my li’l faggit ass now, baby boy!”
“Yes, sir!”
“You hot li’l daffodil boy for Papa!”
“Yes, Papa!”
“Tell me you mah, daffodil!”
“I’m your daffodil, Papa!”
“Damn right, faggit! Yo ass tight!”

Caesar erupted. They got dressed. On the walk back he asked, “You wanna do dat again?”
“I do!”

That night after dinner, Caesar asked Peggy if she wanted to look at the stars. She declined, but Robin was game. Caesar fetched some of his and headed out the door.

They found a spot to sit.

“Drink summa dis,” Caesar offered. “It gon’ make it easier for me to fuck you!”
“Oh yeah?”

Once Robin was tipsy, Caesar put the boy on his lap.

Robin bounced up and down. Caesar gripped his neck.

“Ride this dick, daffodil faggit,” barked the beefy man.
“Yes, Papa! I love it!”
“You love dis big ol’ dick in yo’ pretty young ass, Daffy?”
“Yes, Papa!”
“Yo’ name Daffy from now on, faggit!”
“Yes, sir!”

Caesar flipped Daffy on his side and continued plowing. “Don’t it feel good?”
“Oh god yes,” screamed the boi.
“You my pretty ass li’l faggit!”
“Yes, Papa!”
“Who you gon’ tell?”
“That’s right, Daffy! It our secret! Take dis big dick!”
“Give it to me, Papa!”
“Oh shit, daffodil! I love this faggit asshole!”

Caesar got on top while Robin was flat on his stomach.

“Ahhhhh. It’s so big,” whined Daffy.
“Yeah, baby boy. Dis a big grown man dick. Take it!”

They fucked under the moon until Caesar released his load.

From then on, Caesar and Robin, or Papa and Daffy, fucked anytime Peggy was away.

Caesar Brown: b, 1877 (45 yrs old), 6’3”; 240 lbs; big gut. Muscular arms and back, brown skin darkened by the Mississippi sun
Peggy Brown: b. 1896 (26 yrs old); 5’2”; matronly body; medium skin tone;
Robin (Hickey) Brown: b. 1912 (10 years old) Peggy’s son by Jack

The Hickey Family
Robert Hickey – deceased patriarch
Dora Hickey – b. 1878 matriarch
Robert Hickey II “Deuce”: b. 1897, d. 1918 on way to WWI (spanish influenza). Fathered c***d (Robin) with Peggy when he was 15. Not formally acknowledged by the Hickeys
Hilda Hickey Beach: b. 1899
Winfield Hickey: b. 1900; son, confirmed bachelor. Back from New Orleans
Ollie Beach: Hilda’s drunkard husband from a fallen Confederate family
Louise Beach: Hilda and Ollie’s 3 year old daughter

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