Chapter 1
“Good morning Mrs. Jackson,” said the leering white man at the front door. “We’re
just here to do the monthly inspection of the property ma’am. You know how it is.”
She did indeed. Cynthia Jackson lived in dread and loathing of the monthly
“inspections of the property,” conducted by the landlord’s agent. Loathing because of the
greasy middle age white man who always came. Dread of what her husband would do if he
found out what the man was doing to his wife.
“I’ll just have a look inside ma’am,” he breathed. “Just to make sure all the
fixtures and appliances are working. Yor` husband and boy? They ‘round.”
“Lyndon,” she called back into the house.
“Mom?” her son answered.
“I… I need some things in town… There’s a list on the refrigerator.”
“Now? But mom, I’m trying to finish my school work…”
“Right now, Lyndon,” said his mother firmly. “Take the walk into town.”
“All right, all right.” He eyed the white man suspiciously.
At sixteen Lyndon knew enough about the facts of life to wonder about why his
mother always sent him into town when the inspector arrived. The problem was that he just
couldn’t imagine his beautiful mother in any kind of liaison with a man other than his
father. They were a close knit family and he knew his mother and father were totally
devoted to one another. It was unthinkable that she’d betray him. Especially with such a
revolting white man.
Lyndon took the list and left, starting down the road. But he was nagged with doubt
about what was going on at the house. His mother seemed upset, as she always did when the
property was inspected.
His father had worked at the plant down on the river since the disastrous collapse
of the dry rice market. That had followed the Biowar, fifteen years ago. The family had
never recovered financially and had been forced to sell the once profitable farm, which
had been theirs for generations. But his father was a proud man. He had elected to stay on
the land and work it for the new white owner. He also took a job at the pallet plant,
working long hours for low, exploitative wages. Someday, he told Lyndon, they would buy
their land back. His father always had faith. If they worked hard and saved… someday they
would win.
The elder Jackson was never around during the day and Lyndon was in charge of doing
the routine maintenance on farm equipment, so his father could work the fields after
hours. That job and his schoolwork kept him busy- when he wasn’t being sent into town on
some foolish errand.
Lyndon looked back up the road. He was becoming a man and he knew his duty was to
protect his mother. He wondered if she was in trouble. The idea of leaving her alone with
so unsavory a man made him uneasy, but in truth it was his curiosity that convinced him to
go back.
He hesitated at the front door, knowing deep inside that he shouldn’t be there and
that his mother had told him to go into town. But at that instant, he heard what sounded
like a slap and a gasp. He went into the house as quietly as he could. The sound had come
from his parent’s bedroom and was followed up with what sounded like frightened pleading.
He almost went barging in, demanding an explanation, but the door to the room was ajar. He
peered through the crack and nearly heaved with disgust and shock.
There was his lovely dark skinned mother kneeling on all fours on the bed while the
ugly, pasty fleshed white man humped her obscenely from behind. He was slapping her rear
cheeks with his open palm.
“Come on bitch, push that black pussy meat back to me… oh yeah baby.”
“Uuuggggghhh,” she groaned with pain from his blows and his violent lunges.
“Please… You’re hurting me!”
“Too big for ya baby?” he laughed. “Am I better than that nigga husband of yours?”
“No… You’re hitting me.”
He slapped hear again and the woman gasped from the sting. She pushed herself back
to give him more contact and tried her best to grasp his cock with vaginal muscles.
“Please don’t mark me… If my husband finds out he’ll… he’ll.”
“He’ll do nothing,” said the white man. “Or I’ll tell the owner you’re abusing the
property and he’ll have you thrown out. You wanna see your son and husband on a work gang?
That’s where they put homeless niggers now!”
“Please… oh please. My husband is a hard worker and a good man, but… I’m afraid of
what he’d do… you don’t know. You don’t know…”
Lyndon seethed with rage at the treatment of his mother. He started toward the
kitchen. He was sure he could kill the white man with one of his mother’s butcher knives,
but an instant later, something held him back.
He was afraid. Not for himself, he was no coward. But he loved and trusted his
mother. She obviously knew what she was doing. If he broke in on them now he knew it would
cause a hell of a row. The white man might hurt her, or worse, his father might find out.
He wasn’t sure why he feared that possibility so much except that he knew somehow that it
would be catastrophic to his family. And Lyndon wanted more than anything to spare his
mother the awful shame. He decided to follow his mother’s judgment, but stay and make sure
she was all right. The rough handling she was receiving from the man however made it hard
to control his emotions.
The floor suddenly creaked beneath him and the white man turned nervously, looking
toward the door.
“That boy of yours going into town like his mama said?” he panted.
“He went into town, don’t worry,” she breathed.
“And your husband?”
“He won’t be home from the plant for another three hours. Please, let’s just do
this and get it over with!”
The white man chuckled, “not so fast Mrs. Jackson. We have to savor our time
together, baby.”
Lyndon hear his mother grunt and was actually thankful for the anguish in her
voice. It told him for sure that this act was not a betrayal of his father. It was
coercion and his mother, right or wrong was doing what she thought she had to do to
protect her family. She had absolutely no positive feeling for the disgusting man who was
battering her from behind.
Another pop resounded in the room. “Ahhhhhh,” his mother cried, as the man yet
again slapped her hard on the rear cheek.
“Get that brown ass moving now, baby,” said the white man. “Wave that hot little
nigger butt for me.”
The hapless woman complied, her face a mask of shame as she looked back at him as
he resumed his coital thrusts. He was pawing her, running his hands along her flanks
between slaps. His breathing thickened and Lyndon knew he was fast approaching an orgasm.
The boy nearly retched with the thought of the white man’s slime being injected into his
young mother, but he managed to control himself, even watching now with morbid
fascination.
The white man was pounding into the woman now, causing the bed to creak and his
mother to gasp with unwanted sensation. Lyndon could see the small, putrid white penis
disappear into his mother as the man’s paunchy belly bounced against her lower back like a
bloated bag of jelly. The black boy was astonished, and could hardly suppress a laugh at
the size of the man’s organ. He couldn’t be giving her much pleasure with his four inches,
but he did reach down to fondle the woman’s clit gently, causing her to shut her eyes
tightly and hump back to him. Lyndon could tell that his mother was feeling a kind of
illicit pleasure, in spite of herself.
“Uggghhh,” she grunted, as he pulled back violently on her hair.
“Let me hear you say it, nigga bitch. Tell me how much you love it!”
“Ple… please…” she hissed. “Give it to me… hurry…”
The white man was pounding his meat into her to the hilt, laughing with triumph as
he felt her shudder and gasp. His hairy buttocks flexed and jiggled with every thrust and
he reached forward to pull at the lovely woman’s dark nipples. He grunted and pushed
himself into her as far as he could, holding her captive with his weight. Then he was
ejaculating, pumping his filth into her as he bellowed like a beast.
“Ahhh… Aaahhhhhggg… Haaaaaaaahhh… There it is bitch, your white man’s cum. Take
it!”
The black woman groaned and pushed back against him, never breaking the fast rhythm
until he was utterly spent. Then she quickly pulled away off his crank, obviously thankful
the ordeal was over.
“Well, Mrs. Jackson,” said the man after they’d dressed and he was headed out. “The
property’s in good shape. You’re OK for another month.” The white man laughed as if he’d
made the cleverest joke he’d ever heard. Then, mercifully, he left. Lyndon had already
sneaked out the back door.
Two hours later, Lyndon arrived home carrying the bag of small items from town that
they had not so desperately needed. He was putting things away in the kitchen when he made
his decision.
He took a deep breath. “Mama, I know what that white man does to you. And I know it
ain’t your fault.”
His mother closed her eyes as one more shame washed over her. It was several
seconds before she spoke.
“What you know boy, you keep. You understand. You tell nobody. Ever.”
“Mama, how can you let him keep doing that? We gotta do something about this.”
“This is Louisiana, boy,” said his mother, her lovely dark face contorted with
fear. “You wanna see your father lynched? He’ll kill that white man if he finds out. Then
the landlord’s men will come for him. Your great, great grandfather was hung by the Clan a
hundred years ago. Times are like they were then.”
Lyndon turned away, tears for what his mother was going through streamed down his
face.
“I hate the whites! I wanna kill them all,” he said, fists clinching in rage.
“It’s not all the whites, boy. Don’t hate an entire race ‘cause of the doin’s of a
few.”
“But the way they treat us… what they did to dad… what they’re doing to you.”
Cynthia sighed. “You don’t remember much before the Biowar, Lyndon, but we had
rights then. The whites didn’t feel threatened and we lived together, mostly without hate.
People do things when they’re afraid, boy. Since the Biowar we outnumber the whites. But
they have the property and the guns. They got the power, son.”
“What about…” he lowered his voice unconsciously. “What about the African occupied
states? I’ve heard they may drive west again soon… Mama they may invade the rest of
America, take it like they took Africa… I hear the stories of what our people have done
there. Their leader is the greatest man alive… that’s what people say.”
“I don’t know son,” she sighed. “I don’t know if they’re our people just because
they’re black…”
“But mom, we’ve got to do something.”
She shook her head. “Son, you keep your mouth shut. If you love your father and me
you’ll say nothing, you understand? We’ll survive and times will change. You’ll see boy,
times will change.”
Lyndon did keep quiet. Every month the odious white man returned to abuse his
mother. And every month he held his tongue, bottling up the fury inside whenever he saw
the man’s smug grin.
Then it happened. His father came home from the plant early to find his mother and
the white man fully engaged.
Lyndon had seen his father angry, but not like that. His countenance was calm, as
if perfectly under control. He did not even raise his voice. But the boy caught his breath
when he saw his father’s eyes. There was something there beyond hate or vengeance,
something bordering on madness.
He seized the helpless, scrawny white man by the neck even before he had a chance
to put his clothes on. He literally dragged him out like so much refuse- to the ash pile
behind the barn. His mother ran behind them and Lyndon followed, powerless to interfere,
even if he were so inclined.
Both his mother and the white man were pleading, begging Lyndon’s father to relent
from the horrible revenge they were sure he was about to extract.
“Please…” sniveled the terrified man. “I won’t come back, I swear! Oh god… please.
What are you going to do?”
Without uttering a word, Lyndon’s father took a heavy chain and padlocked it around
the man’s neck. He secured the other end to a stump. When he emerged from the barn with a
can of gasoline, Lyndon’s blood ran cold.
“NOOOO, oh god, Malcolm no!” cried Mrs. Jackson, pulling at his arms and pleading.
“Do you know what they’ll do to us if you? If you…”
“The white man was crying, begging abjectly as the aggrieved black husband began
dousing him with the flammable liquid.
“Please Mr.… I never did her no harm… I told you I’ll never come back…”
“You must drive the evil from among you,” intoned Malcolm, his eyes glazed. “This
is the day of reckoning, white beast!”
“Mister this is crazy,” cried the man. “Please let me go… no… NOOOOOO!”
Lyndon’s father had struck his lighter and was holding it in front of the petrified
man. He had backed away as far as the chain would allow and was whimpering with fear.
“Now burn all the way to hell, white man!” Malcolm said softly, and touched the
flame to the man’s shirt.
Instantly the ugly man erupted into flames, screams of panic and agony leapt from
his throat as Lyndon’s mother wailed hysterically. Lyndon ran to bring a water hose from
the house but it was already too late. The man’s dying shrieks faded as he lost
consciousness. Seconds later his entire body was being consumed.
“Filth is cleansed by fire,” said Malcolm, as his wife clung to him and sobbed.
Lyndon could feel the heat of the fire and nearly retched from the stench of burning
flesh. But the rest of his life he could never forget the sound of the man’s screams- as
he descended from hell, into hell.
The landlord’s response was swift and terrible. The next night a score of white men
surrounded the Jackson home. The Jackson men stood their ground but in the end were
overwhelmed. The whites beat Lyndon and his father senseless and dragged them from the
house. The elder Jackson was dispatched with a shotgun blast to the head as his horrified
family looked on. Then they proceeded to take turns raping Mrs. Jackson, while one of them
struck Lyndon in the head with a gun butt every time he tried to get up.
The boy lay still, sobbing with rage and frustration. It took them over two hours,
but they finally finished pouring their filth into every one of his mother’s orifices. The
last man, a big, slow-witted brute was angry that the exhausted woman was not responding.
He stabbed her in the abdomen.
“You stupid motherfucker,” yelled the white man who seemed to be in charge. “No one
told you to kill her. We had plans for the bitch!”
“Sorry…”
“Sorry’s gonna get your ass kicked, boy. Now get on the truck before I let this
nigga boy here butt fuck you like you did his mama.”
The dim witted young man hurried to the truck as the older white man turned to
Lyndon who was still trying to get up.
“You be outta here by morning boy, you hear me? We see you around here you end up
like your father.”
“I’m gonna kill all of you,” said Lyndon weakly. “You white bastards. One day I’ll
watch you all die!”
The white man sneered and walked off. Shouts and laughter ensued and seconds later
the beaten boy heard the engines of the pickup trucks as they sped away.
Lyndon crawled over to his mother to see if he could help. But there was blood
everywhere and he could sense she was dying.
“I’m gonna kill them… I’m gonna kill them all, mama,” Lyndon cried.
“No Lyndon… promise me son,” she whispered feebly. “Promise me you won’t let hate
guide your steps. I know what you seen son and I know it ain’t right. But hate will take
your soul if you let it…”
“But mama, they… they…”
“I don’t care about them son, they’re nothin… I’m thinkin of you… Take your
revenge, boy on the one’s who done it. Summon your courage, but don’t hate… It’ll kill you
Lyndon… Hate’s what done all this…”
Lyndon held his mother’s head as he felt the life drain from her. After she died he
stayed almost until morning, and then left before first light without burying his parents.
Four years later the Prophet’s African army launched its long anticipated main
invasion of the American Mississippi valley states. From their bases in the mid-west which
they already held, and their ships in the Gulf of Mexico their forces quickly secured a
beachhead across the Mississippi River. New Orleans and the delta they took quickly, but
the main problem was the City of Baton Rouge, a white stronghold. It was a lynchpin of
defense for the whole Mississippi basin and was well defended.
The Africans were now the world’s super power. They had better equipment and their
soldiers were superbly trained. If they could find a road through the swamps and
backcountry, they could penetrate the enemy’s perimeter and achieve a quick victory.
Otherwise assaults could take months and cost the lives of thousands of soldiers.
Moreover, the African authorities had plans for the white populous and wanted to avoid
indiscriminate bombing at all costs. Unfortunately all the roads into the city were well
guarded.
Except for one; a small farm-to-market road that led into an older, slum-ridden
section of town and did not appear on any maps. Lyndon knew it well. He had been living a
hand to mouth existence, hiding out in the bayous after his parents had been killed. He
was wanted on trumped up charges and knew if he was captured that he would end up on a
work gang. He never ventured to town on any other route.
After the Africans had established themselves, Lyndon had defected. He volunteered
his services to the African commander and led the Prophet’s army through the bayous and up
the narrow road to complete victory.
Lyndon was a hero. Days after the battle he met the general of the African forces
and they talked over lunch. He told the officer about the conditions for blacks in
Louisiana and about his own story.
“…So that’s about it, general. They’ve been oppressing us since the Biowar, when
most of them died. Now we can get our lands back and live with dignity.”
“We have come to help all black men realize their birthright as masters of the
earth,” said the general. “Allah has raised up the prophet Hakeem and declared that the
time of the white man’s dominance is over. It is a new age, young Lyndon. The Adamic Black
man has come into his inheritance.”
Lyndon understood little of what the general had said, but he expressed his
gratitude to him for the deliverance of the State’s black people.
“What are your plans, Lyndon?” asked the general.
“I… I guess I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I never thought I had a future till now.”
The general sat for several moments, deep in thought. Then he looked at the young
man to whom his army owed a great debt. “I have the power to sponsor a small number of
civilians to University in Africa. You would have to convert to Hakeem Islam and become an
African citizen, but your future could be bright indeed.”
“My mother always wanted me to get an education,” said Lyndon.
“Then you must come. Your future is in Africa. I’ll have the documents drawn up
today. Have you thought about what field you would like to study?” asked the general. “It
is important to have a goal in life, especially at your age.”
“I… I don’t know. I never thought I’d get the chance to go to college…”
“Why don’t you study slave management? It is an exploding field with limitless
possibilities and,” smiled the general. “It will give you a chance to take your revenge on
these animals. We must grind the Cauc into the dust with the heels of our boots before we
can transform him into useful livestock. We need our best and brightest young black men
such as yourself to accomplish this quickly, within a generation. The Cauc must never be
allowed to rise again.”
“But… there are so many of them,” said Lyndon. “Even after the biowar.”
“That is good,” bellowed the general, playfully. “Many slaves make a man rich. And
you could become very rich, young Lyndon.”
Lyndon nodded and frowned, it was a bit disconcerting to have one’s fortunes change
so quickly and so profoundly, even for the better. He had lived in fear of the whites all
his life. Now he could have Caucasian slaves. It was indeed something to ponder.
“The women?” asked Lyndon. “I could have a white…?”
“Yes,” laughed the general. “All Caucs are owned slaves in Africa and all the
Prophet’s overseas possessions. There are millions of them in Africa and millions more
here on the frontiers, waiting to be captured. Allah has supplied a great source of wealth
with which to build the global African economy.”
An aide approached and whispered to the general, who smiled and gestured. Lyndon’s
eyes bulged when a soldier appeared, leading two young white girls.
They were naked and their fair skins flushed as they tried to hide their charms. It
was a futile effort. Both girls had their wrists bound behind them; their breasts and sex
were open for all to see. There were coarse chains attached to collars on their necks and
their faces grimaced with shame.
“These two Cauc females are daughters of the city’s richest families,” said the
general. “As you can see they are totally raw, no training or conditioning at all. I give
to you until you leave for Africa, as small compensation for your bereavement. As their
master you may do with them as you wish. But I suggest you keep them as body slaves. They
are not unpleasant to look at. And it would be fitting.”
“Umm… yes, I agree,” said Lyndon. He did have a liking for the white girls, but had
thought them unattainable- until now. Now he could actually own them as slaves! The
thought of having these two, from the same class as those who murdered his parents, send
chills of lust up his spine. Visions of the glorious punishments and humiliations he could
devise for them flashed through his mind and made his cock throb.
“You must remember your family and what was done to them,” said the general. “Use
these women hard. That’s what they’re for. Rape them for your father and think of him
every time you sate yourself with their bodies. Show no mercy.”
Lyndon nodded.
The young women were made to stand directly in front of the two black men. One
blond and blue eyed, the other brunette with deep brown eyes, they looked away as if
trying to maintain some measure of dignity. Their chains rattled lightly as the trembled,
yet it was obvious by their demeanor that they were yet to be totally subdued. They glared
red-faced, mortified to be naked in front of men of color, but there was no mistaking the
defiance and contempt in their eyes. Their fear and shame was matched only by their
hatred.
When Lyndon reached out tentatively to fondle the breast of the dark haired girl,
she flinched and pulled away. It was the blond who retorted.
“Leave us alone. How dare you treat us like this. We’re prisoners of war and we
have rights…!”
The general motioned to the aide and the man delivered a vicious slap to the girl’s
face, almost knocking her down.
“You will not speak to your master with that tone, Cauc,” said the general. “And
you both should be on your knees.”
“We aren’t kneeling in front of niggers,” she shrilled. “Go back to the jungles in
Africa.”
The aide pulled a baton from his belt and the general said evenly. “Go to your
knees, both of you. Or I’ll have my man break your legs.”
Both captives stared at him wide eyed but made no moves.
The general sighed. “The fair haired one first.”
The aide made to swing the heavy club but the dark haired girl screamed; “alright…
we’ll kneel… please don’t hurt us!”
The blond, the more assertive of the two was grave faced. Something in the
general’s calm bearing terrified her more than more than if he had been shouting. The man
had absolute power over them and it was clear he was not bluffing. She looked at her
beautiful friend and at the man waving the shiny black lacquered baton.
Something in her spirit died at that moment as she sank to her knees, before the
African men. She was followed quickly by the frightened brunette who closed her eyes tight
as if to shut out the reality around her. But the blond girl gazed with seething rage
through her impotent tears. She knew, as did their captors, that their new existence as
slaves had begun.
“You see, young Lyndon,” chuckled the general. “It is possible to train these
creatures with the proper motivation. But you must always remember what they understand
most is fear and pain. Deal them both out liberally and you’ll have no trouble with your
Caucs.”
Lyndon watched, savoring the moment now. It was obvious that these women were used
to living in ease and luxury. He could sense their underlying pride and arrogance they had
acquired from their former stations. The young blond especially conjured within him sweet
thoughts of revenge and savage lust. He would indeed mete out pain and fear to them, mixed
with more degradation than they could ever have thought possible. They would pay for what
their kind had done.
Lyndon once again fondled the dark haired girl’s soft, silky hair. Be brought his
hand beneath her chin and tilted her blushing face upward. She whimpered, staring at him
like a small animal caught in a net. He reached over to the blond, grasping her breast,
rubbing her nipple roughly with his thumb. She tensed with loathing, but he could see the
terror and helplessness in her eyes.
The soldier led the two hapless girls off as they sobbed softly. Lyndon had a
raging hard-on and was surprised to find himself so exited by their plight. But they were
very beautiful- and they belonged to him.
For the first time in his life, he felt like a master.
| 
