Savannah Affair Ch. 10

Savannah Affair Part 10

Bo gets a Surprise

This story is entirely fictional--as any real student of the history of the Civil War will attest. I strongly suggest that you read the first chapters before this one. Bo has really changed. In a few short years, he has matured from a gay Southern playboy, filled with seductive wiles, to the head of a reviving plantation, with responsibilities and promise. And he has realized that it is time for him to make some decisions that will govern the next decades of his life. All characters in this story are over 18. © Copyright, 2025, Brunosden.

22

It had been a long and difficult 18 months since the end of the War. Bo had been released from prison in Savannah, and, after re-uniting with a boyhood slave and friend, he had returned to his the plantation of his youth. His father left soon after his arrival, leaving him with his inheritance--a falling down and failing plantation, previously devoted to growing mostly rice and indigo, no workers (slaves) and little money.

Bo had convinced Joshua to return to Howellwood to help. And they had resumed their lop-sided affair (master-slave, now free man). Nothing much changed between them. Good friends (step-brothers, probably with the same Daddy), fuck buddies. Bo always topped, refusing to allow Joshua to penetrate with his trophy black dick. Joshua had been conditioned to be a slave, and deep down he loved Bo. So he accepted the situation.

It was late fall when they arrived. Some slaves had stayed on and were squatting in the rundown former slave quarters. They were starving and cold. Bo brought some livestock and bought some grains to stave off the hunger. Ultimately Bo hired them as share-croppers. Others returned during the following months of the cold winter. There was food--barely enough, purchased by Bo with the last of his money--which was supplemented by Joshua's savings, as a male prostitute in Savannah.

But, things began to settle down. They managed to plant, and to harvest. And after a year, it seemed Howellwood might survive--it might even thrive. Bo and Joshua worked well together, and Bo continued to take Joshua to his bed.

But, Bo had lost Joshua who had fallen for a young African who appeared at their doorstep, asking for work, late in the same winter. Bo understood the attraction, and deep down he knew that someday Joshua would find someone who loved him back. Kinde was an unbelievably attractive black man-boy, regal in appearance and bearing. And Bo had repeatedly refused to make a full commitment of his love for Joshua. How could he deny Joshua the pleasure of a real lover?

Bo was exhilarated with the success of the first planting season (Howellwood would survive), but depressed and alone. He had no one, and little prospect of finding anyone in the rural remote South. He had gone to Savannah where he had attended the first of many post-War debutante balls. He had met and tentatively selected a wife-mistress for Howellwood, but he had held off on the commitment. Meanwhile, he had spent ten days wallowing in the luxury of Tom O'Malley's mansion--and enjoying the wonders of Tom's bubble butt and talented chute. It was fun, but Bo knew there was no future. He needed a man, not a femboy cum slut. And he guessed that, in time, Tom would wander when he discovered other cocks that might provide a new flavor of pleasure.

So he had started the process of recovering his townhouse inheritance in Savannah and returned to Howellwood.

The last cargo vessel to take away the crop was due tomorrow. Then, the crop would be gone until next year, and his treasury would be secure for another year. Life at the plantation would slow. And Bo would have time to think--really too much time to think. In the past, planters like Bo had gone to Savannah for a few months to party with others, meet friends, and sleep with paramours, perhaps even find mates. But, there would be no "season" in Savannah. The Yanks had taken over, and the remaining Southern aristocracy were laying low, afraid to show any wealth--for fear the Northern carpetbaggers would find a way to take it or tax it away. Many had sent their daughters to Europe so they wouldn't come into contact with those vile Northern boys, the new invaders. Bo had decided to return for a month, mostly to wind up his affairs, perhaps to take up again with Sara Maybelline. Then he knew he would be in for a long, lonely winter.

He considered taking passage with Banks back to Savannah with the last cargo, but realized he had nowhere to go. He didn't know where his Daddy had gone, although Tom had heard that he had retired to England with his brother. But, he had had seen that the Howell townhouse in Savannah was being "squatted" by white trash, after the Yankee administrators had decamped. It was going to take effort and time to get it back. Then he wondered why? What is in Savannah for me? Did he really want to refurnish the house, keep it up, staff it, and re-enter Savannah society? Besides, the New Savannah, now flooded with Northern entrepreneurs and flimflam artists, would remind him every day of its former glory. And depress him even more.

And it was Savannah where Bo had met Hank, seduced him, and in just hours, had found himself seduced. The memory was simply way to painful.

Bo's story continues....

Late in the morning, there was a shout from the wharf. "Ship Ahoy! Ship Ahoy!" Banks and his vessel had arrived. In a few hours the indigo would be loaded, and winter could officially begin for the plantation. But, at least for the next few hours, I'd have some companionship and purpose. I rose from the veranda and began to stroll to the repaired wharf. The Heloise was just tying up. Banks was on deck, dressed in dapper suit and overcoat, and waived. "It is wonderful to see you again, my dear friend. Congratulations. I hear things are almost normal."

"Welcome, Sir. It is good to see you as well. Your confidence in us has helped us to make it through. I don't think 'normal' is a word I would use. But, we did have a successful crop, and my farmers are enjoying the fruits of their labors for the first time. Maybe in a few more years."

Joshua, Kinde and a dozen of my men had come to greet the ship. And the children were buzzing around the wharf in excitement. It was rare to have visitors, and a ship! It was large, with small vestigial sails used primarily at sea and two large smoke stacks. Almost as large as Howellwood Manor itself. Everyone was fascinated with the ship, but the children were exuberant in their praise. Eyes were wide with excitement--which would produce dreams of other places for many months to come. The Heloise could cross the seas!

"Cook has prepared a lunch for us. I presume you have time? We can load this afternoon. Or must you sail today?"

"We will leave tomorrow. I'm looking forward to enjoying your company. And talking about next year. And my men are looking forward to an evening with the young ladies--they are still here are they not?"

Joshua answered, "Yes, they are here. But, no longer slaves. The men will need to negotiate."

He laughed. "Most of them are married. They understand what it means to negotiate. I'm sure they will enjoy the challenge."

The anchors were dropped and the planks were secured. Banks came ashore to shake my hand. "It is good to see you again Howell." His shake lingered as his eyes proposed a question. (I realized that we had toyed with the idea of having a bit of fun together, but circumstances had always intervened. Maybe this trip?) "I have brought a passenger. Not really a passenger, but a skilled sailor trying to learn the River. He expects to be piloting one of these vessels soon. I presume he is welcome as well."

"Of course."

23

Just then, a man, dressed in the uniform of a naval captain, navy blue with bright gold buttons emerged from the hold. "Captain, please join us. Let me introduce you."

The man walked to edge of the deck and turned to face us. And I gasped. It was Hank--Captain Henry Morris. His uniform had changed from the Union army to that of a merchant marine naval officer, but he looked the same. Tall, with dark hair, blue eyed and sporting a well-trimmed very short beard on a square face. He was dressed in a military uniform with vest which seemed to be pulling tightly across his broad shoulders. He had not aged a day. He smiled and lit up my soul.

The captain responded from the vessel; then he continued down the plank, "I think we've met, Banks. It is good to see you again, Mr. Howell. I presume the wounds have healed?" He approached and took my hand, as another tapped my shoulder. I felt the shock. He whispered, "I almost don't recognize you with clothes, Bo." And then a bit enigmatically, he added, "And I do look forward to inspecting those wounds for myself. I hope our medics took good care of you."

I was like a stone. Silent. Unmoving. Shocked beyond belief. It was Hank in the flesh. He looked good, very good. Then, my ass twitched and my cock began to stiffen.

Banks stood to the side, perplexed that we had met. Hank had apparently not given him any details. "Mr. Banks, the Captain was my Union interrogator after I was wounded in the War and became a prisoner. We met in Savannah, and he incarcerated me at Fort Pulaski where he was the senior intelligence officer." Banks said nothing, wondering how captor and prisoner had become friends.

"It is good to see you too again, Captain. I wrote to thank you for your consideration at the end of the War. Your commendation ensured that I was treated reasonably well at the POW camp after you left. But, I presume you didn't receive my notes."

We paired off and began the walk to the house. Banks at first seemed upset that Joshua moved beside him, but soon realized that Joshua wanted to speak of the logistics of loading. And that there was clearly something going on between the Captain and me that belied my former prisoner status. So the Captain and I walked together, shoulders touching. And Banks despaired once again of a liaison with me.

"Actually, I did get your notes. But, I had no way to return correspondence. We were told that the postal services had not been restored in the South. But, I've read each of them more than once. And when I did, I resolved to return to Savannah some day. I had no idea how to reach you. But, a few weeks ago, I returned. Originally, during the Occupation, I had found the city and its inhabitants to be really quite friendly--at least one of them. I wanted to see how the War had changed the city. It is recovering, but is no longer so friendly, and certainly not so romantic as it once was. Perhaps it was the absence of one I had met briefly there once. I learned in Savannah that you were attempting to restore the plantation." He looked around. "I think you have done very well." Again he lowered his voice, "Much better than I would have expected from a young spoiled rake. You've become a man, Bo, a man of substance. It becomes you. Really becomes you."

I turned to those following us. "We are going to dine outdoors under the old trees beside the house. You see, we have no dining table or chairs inside. The Yanks borrowed most of our furniture for firewood, and I've not had the time to replace it. Mr. Banks, be sure that all the crew are invited. We are now very democratic in this place."

Lunch was a riotous free for all, with children running around, and black women heaping platters with the largesse of the harvest. A roasted pig was carved and served. Long planks on saw horses formed tables, while others reclined on blankets on the lawn. By early afternoon, we were sated and sleepy.

Then, the work began. Joshua sensed something about the Captain and me. And as the meal ended, he approached, "We don't need your labors this afternoon. Sit and enjoy the afternoon with your friend. I am sure you have much to speak about."

Soon the big house was deserted as the children were taken for naps, and the men and crew moved to the rice barn to uncover the barrels of indigo. Hank removed his jacket, cravat and vest and draped them over a chair. He opened the neck of his shirt, and I noticed the black curls of the hair which bisected his pecs. He looked good enough to eat for dessert. "Let's go inside. It's getting cool."

"If you insist, Bo. But for me, your very presence is warming me. I have pictured you in my mind's eye for months. Little did I realize that you could get even better looking than the boyish angel I once knew."

As we walked through the large front door, Hank pulled me into his arms, "Must we begin again? I don't have much time. The Heloise will sail at dawn--with or without me. It will be your choice. Can we make believe that night in my quarters was last night? Surely, you have a decent bed in this big old place." He pulled me into an embrace and our lips touched. He pulled me even tighter. His hands fell, insinuated inside my belt line and as his fingers spread over my ass. Oh, Fuck! He was taking liberties with me already. PLEASE! He squeezed, and I felt his erection. I guess he was serious about taking up where we left off. With a deep sigh of contentment, I broke the clinch and began the climb to my room. He followed closely. The room had been cleaned and the bed had been made. In fact, it was the only room in the mansion which I had restored so far. He crowded behind me, slipped his hands up under my shirt, roamed over my muscular pecs, and began to tease the nipples. He squeezed and held. Electricity shot through my chest and reached down to my groin. The he pulled off my shirt and opened his. His chest touched my back again and the fingers returned.

"I see you remember by soft spots."

"Yes, and I seem to recall that doing this hardens them." He circled the pec, and his thumb and forefinger squeezed even harder. A bolt of lightning spread through my body, and I think I must have moaned. I backed into him and let him hold me to his chest. Then I felt his lips sucking on the back of my neck. Surely he would leave a mark. He thrust his hips forward. I felt his cock which unbalanced me. I fell to the bed, arched over the edge. His hands slipped down, undid the waist ties, and in another few seconds had pulled my britches to the floor, drawing the loose skivvies with them. I lay naked on my belly arched over the edge of the giant bed. I could feel his heated stare. And the groan. "So fucking beautiful."

He bent in, his knees dropped to the floor, and his hands spread my legs. He began to lick the scars, first on the calves, then the thighs, his tongue progressing up my leg. "You have healed well, Reb. Very well." By then, I was shivering with desire. His fingers spread my cheeks and the tongue swirled around the rim. His lips attached and he began to suck as his tongue penetrated. Fuck I needed this. I've needed this so badly.

After a minute of attack, he backed off. He stood and I heard his trousers fall to the floor. The quiet, soft moans coming from both of us were soon interrupted. In a voice reminiscent of the hours under his torture, he called out, "Where's the fuckin' lube, Reb? Or do you want me to take you dry? It's what you deserve, after all, for deserting the Union." I pointed without turning. I was so ready to be taken. Curiously my Yank, needed to be in control. I was his prisoner again, and he could take what he wanted. And, I needed to be dominated. I needed to be taken by a real man. I arched my back and pushed up into him. His hands reached under to feel my cock. He stroked it a few times, but it was already rigid and leaking pre-cum. Then he bounced the balls in the palm of his hand, and used his fingers to massage them. "Nice, very nice. I think these are all mine now. Don't you agree, Reb?" I didn't answer--he knew my answer.

He pushed me up onto the bed and pulled a bolster from the bed and jammed it under my gut as his hands moved to my hips to bring me up and steady me. I arched my back to position for his entry. Utterly committed. Utterly submissive. Utterly in love. I felt his cockhead at the gate. I relaxed. And he lunged, popping through the ring and landing square on my prostate. I hissed in pleasure. "There, Captain, right there. You have found the treasure. Do your worst... or your best. I've been waiting forever."

Soon he was using powerful thrusts to open and excite me. He was relentless, hard and dominant. Then, he stopped suddenly. He pulled out and strangled my cock into remission. "You once promised me minutes, not seconds of pleasure. Now it's my turn." Then he picked me up and threw me on my back on the center of the coverlet. His hands went behind my knees, and he lifted. Seconds later he had re-entered and begun the assault again. But, now I could see his eyes. They were deep, deep blue. And his nose. It was flaring with effort. And his moist black locks falling casually over his forehead. There was no New England Puritan left. He was an animal, aroused, hot, almost red with exertion. And he was a beauty, a trophy any hunter would prize. But, I realized instantly. I'm not the hunter. I'm the prey. And loving every second of it.

I pulled my hands out, grabbed his glutes, and used them to pull him deeper. I could feel the tension in his glutes. He was cocking for fire. The gut pulled in to coil. Then, he strained, bent and took my mouth with his, and exploded into me, pushing me over the edge. I felt his cock expand, the throb of his shaft and the heat and pressure of his spunk. Spurt after spurt of my cum landed on our chests--and his chin. Then, he collapsed and released my legs. I wrapped them around him. "Don't leave, Hank. Please don't leave. My bed. Or this place."

He rolled to the side and pulled me into his hairy chest. I think we dozed for a few. Then I opened my eyes to find him staring into my face. "You are so beautiful, my rosy angel. So beautiful. I knew you were my angel from almost the first second. You take my breath away. Before you were a mere boy, a selfish scheming one at that. Now you are a man of character and responsibility. I lusted for the old Bo. I'm in love with the new." He continued to stare unblinkingly into my eyes as his hand stroked my body.

Minutes later, he flipped on his belly. "It's your turn, Bo. If we are to be together, you must own my ass as I do yours. Jam him in. Make me feel that beast! I can take it."

"You are so romantic, Hank!" But I rolled on top, pulled his cheeks apart and started to feast. He was indeed no longer my Puritan. He was writhing in pleasure, peppering his moans with the words of dirty love, pleading for my dick. I could take no more. My cock was rigid and my balls had already replenished. I flipped, pushed his legs apart and positioned. I pushed. He was tight. Very tight.

"Easy there tiger. That's a virgin hole you're invading."

A virgin? Really?

I pulled back, greased again, and began to apply steady pressure. The entry was slow, but, fuck, he was so tight. It felt that I was trying to push my steely dick into the pinkie finger of one of mother's kid gloves. He began to stretch, and as I deepened, he lifted hard from the bed and completed the penetration. I bottomed, and he whistled. "Right there, Bo. Don't move. Home at last. He's home at last."

Perhaps a minute later, he relaxed and I could feel his chute responding to the girth of my cock. He was using anal muscles to massage and draw me deeper inside. His muscled ass was so different from the boys--or Tom--with whom I had coupled. I could move, and I did. Slowly, then faster. Short strokes, then long strokes where I almost pulled out before plunging again. Hank was active, spreading his legs to urge me deeper and pushing up hard when I was on the downstroke. Moaning in pleasure. Finally, I called out my orgasm, knelt back on my haunches and drew him into my lap. I reached around and fisted his cock, cradling his molten balls in the palm of the other hand. His head turned and we kissed. I shot deep and hard. And then I felt his shaft stiffen and enlarge as he too shot his second load of spunk. Several heavy long ropes of pearly cream. The wonderful aroma of musk, blended with testosterone perfumed the air. I guess the coverlet is going to need to be washed!

We fell to the pillows, each on our backs. We were silent for a few minutes, content to have our bodies touching. That's when he told me the story. One of the guards at the brig had alerted Sherman to the fact that Captain Morris was using unusual tactics to extract information. "He's fucking them, Sir. And they seem to like it. I think he does too."

"Sherman was aghast and furious. I assumed a court marshal and perhaps even a firing squad were in my future when I heard the accusations. He asked me to confirm or deny. Denying would have finished the careers of the young men who had reported me--lying about a superior officer was a fatal offense in Sherman's book. I was silent--which he took as confirmation. He stood silent before me, contemplating his next. He knew my father and owed him a favor. So he didn't arrest me and place me in line for execution. I was transferred immediately to the infantry--the front line on our march to Charleston. If I survived the dangerous vanguard assignment, he would discharge me. If not... well..."

"You know the next part. As we began the march to Charleston, Lincoln suddenly removed Sherman, recognizing that his extremely harsh tactics might shorten the war, but it would make a subsequent peace impossible. Lincoln was ready to reconcile. Sherman's command was inconsistent with that."

"Two months later the war was over. Most of us were released immediately from active duty, wherever we were except for those who volunteered to administer the spoils. I wasn't offered that opportunity, I'm pleased to say. I struggled for weeks to get home."

"When I got there, everything was different. My quiet life in Boston, and the beginning of my career began. There was no danger. No excitement. And no you."

"I tried for a year, working in Father's bank. But, I felt like a walking dead man. Savannah had captured my imagination. And so had you. So, one day, after reading that they were seeking captains with naval experience to take up the growing trade on the Southern rivers. I resigned and headed for Savannah. I looked for you, but found no evidence. I went to the townhouse, but it was empty and boarded. There was evidence that it had been trashed, but no one was there--not even in the secret basement where we had first met.

I wandered Savannah for a few days, making inquiries about the need for pilots on the river. One day I met a guy, a very feminine chap--actually, he met me. I was walking on the quay, and he invited me for dinner. At dinner, I knew he wanted more from me. He obviously wanted me to fuck him. He was rich, well-dressed and lived in a grand mansion. But, I couldn't do it. During the dinner, he mentioned that his good friend Bo Howell was trying to resurrect Howellwood from its ashes and bones. I decided immediately. I had to get here. I asked around and heard that Banks was the Howellwood agent. So I lied to Banks--told him I was a seasoned sailor (actually I am) and looking for a riverboat position (which I was not). He was looking for river pilots for his growing fleet of river-going vessels. With the coming of steam propulsion, the production of the South would be collected by river-going steamers and transferred in the big port cities to ocean-going vessels. He invited me on this trip, purportedly to entice me to sign on. It was kismet. I knew I had to find you. And here I am."

I rolled into him and grabbed his semi, once again. "I would say you are almost here, Hank. Another few minutes, and I'm going to expect you to perform again."

"How can I stay? I'm not a farmer, although I'm willing to learn if you are the teacher."

"I think there are things you... we... can do for you to earn your keep. I can have a place in Savannah restored if I wish--and there is no reason why we can't use the leverage of our success over a few years to purchase a fleet of river-going vessels. Banks and others are wasting money using their large ocean going steamers to ply the waters of the River. We can collect the product and take it to Savannah for him. His company might even be convinced to finance us--if we promise them ready access to product."

"Dear Hank, of course you may stay. If you hadn't asked, I was going to tie you to these bedposts until Banks departed. So I'd have more time to seduce you. You may stay, at Howellwood, in this bed, and inside me--whenever you wish, forever if possible. I've known we belonged together since that first moment when you swept the coverlet from my naked body and drooled over my body and my cock. I could see the lust and the love in your eyes. And I dreamed of your body, noting your most attractive asset through your tight uniform pants."

Then, I released his hardening cock and rolled onto my belly. "We have time for a little more torture before dinner, Captain. Don't go easy. I can take it. And believe me, I'll give you anything you want. Now and always."

"After all, we live for today, but tomorrow is another today. I can't wait."

BD