The Mandingo Diaries: A Case of Taboo

by Clyde Viechweg

  “Oooooooooh Monica, eat my pussy, oooh, Monica, I want you so bad.”

  I screamed as I came.

  That was the first good come I had since moving back to London. I was looking forward to many more, when out of the blue, I received this letter from the tropics, altering my plans.

  Below, I will publish it in detail.

  My Darling Wendy,

  I sincerely hope that this letter reached you in perfect health. It has been awhile since we last corresponded and I wanted to fill you in on as much as possible.

  How is that handsome little devil of yours? Please pass my well wishes to everyone.

  I have been back now a little over four years. The estate is doing quite well, although our field laborers have being reduced due to being killed in the rebellion.

  We now have switched a large part of our estate over from coffee to a new spice from India called nutmeg. Uncle says this crop will be the salvation of Grenada in the future. I myself remain doubtful, but what do I know? I am not a farmer nor do I wish to be.

  Uncle is quickly becoming a man of status here. Last year, we were guests of honor at the Governor’s ball. It was splendid.

  I wore a white gown made in France, with black shoes from England. Of course my hat was a masterpiece; the shop clerk said it was worn by the ladies of fashion in Paris.

  You should have seen the envious looks I received from those old hags. However, the darting glances of their husbands along with their subtle smiles paid me the highest compliments. Anyway, on to the juicy news.

  Would you believe it? I caught Uncle fucking this young wench. Let me tell you how it went down.

  I had gone to bed a bit earlier than usual. So I happened to get up around one a.m. I was feeling rather thirsty. I turned around and noticed that Uncle was not in bed. I thought that he was downstairs having a late night snack. So I headed down for the kitchen.

  At the bottom of the stairs, I noticed the glimmer of a light under the door of the guest bedroom. I knew we did not have any guest visiting, so I thought that Uncle was probably in there doing some bookkeeping. So I went over to ask him if he would like a drink.

  As I approached the door, I thought I heard a low, moaning sound. So I tiptoed and placed my ear against the door. Wendy, you should have been here to hear that bitch moaning in delight.

  The door was slightly ajar, so I opened it slowly. On the bed was this Negress spread wide open with Uncle's mouth buried in her mound. Her hands was caressing his head; at the same time, she kept lifting her ass off the bed and gyrating against his mouth.

  She had a fit and tight body. Her ebony skin glowed under the light of the lamp. I could tell she was around sixteen or so; you know it can be hard to guess their age. Anyway, I could see that she was inexperienced and that Uncle had taken her to a place of sweet surrender.

  I watched her come three times in Uncle's mouth, wiggling and moaning as a French whore would after being serviced by a fisherman down at the Wharf.

  Then a strange feeling came over me. As I looked on, I could not help but to admire her supple, full, succulent-looking breast topped by two rock hard cherries. I found myself wishing to taste them.

  Continuing up to her mouth, I saw her full lips parted in ecstasy. My pussy started pulsing. I could feel the wetness every time I shifted my stance.

  Uncle soon pulled out his cock, which was rock hard. The last time I had seen it so hard and long was our honeymoon night. Yet now he was here with this young wench, about to service her with my cock.

  I let my nightgown drop to the floor.

  They both turned in my direction. Uncle leapt off, while the Negress pulled the sheet over her.

  “As you were; no need to stop, it's okay,”' I said warmly in an attempt to make them feel comfortable.

  Uncle was shaking in fear of how I might act. His pole somehow had manage to withstand the shock. I quickly grabbed it and pushed him on top of the wench.

  “Look; this is how you suck a cock,” I addressed her.

  Taking Uncle's cock in my mouth, I sucked it back and forth until he moaned out how much he loved me. However, I could see that his eyes were fixed on that little slut.

  At the same time, I pulled the sheet off of her and grabbed one of her breasts. I tweaked on the nipple with my finger until it was swollen.

  Taking my mouth off Uncle's cock, I guided it between her legs and rubbed it up and down her slippery pussy. They both moaned loudly. I was driven by a jealous but dark sexual desire.

  Uncle anxiously pushed it into her tight little hole.

  “Aaaaaaaah ssssssssh,” was the cry that escaped her lips.

  I started to lick and suck on her breast while my fingers made small circles around her clit. Seeing her mouth opened, moaning, made me so hot, that I leapt up quickly and straddled her mouth.

  She tried to move her head away, but I clamped down firmly on it. Uncle held her hands while continuing to drive his shaft deep and hard into her. This caused her to open up her mouth and I grinded my pussy on top of it.

  “Lick it, lick it. That's it, just like that, ooooh, mmmmh, don't stop until I tell youuuuu,” I cried in pleasure.

  Uncle leaned forward and licked my taut nipples. My whole body felt like I was floating on a cloud.

  Soon, I heard Uncle burst out moaning, “Ooooooh God, I am here, I am here.” His chest heaved up and down.

  The wench soon followed, bucking and shaking, but her cries were muffled on my pussy. The muffled sound vibrated my clit, sending me falling into a world of sated bliss.

  After that night, I have developed a taste for girls. I have had her several times this week. My favorite is when we grind our clits together in a scissors position. I can come twenty times in half an hour that way. Another strange thing is I sometimes think about you when I am coming. Please don't think ill of me for it.

  Anyway, sorry for all the details; hope you come visit soon.

  Oh my, I nearly forgot. Big John is not dead. A Big John did get poisoned, but it was not ours.

  Apparently, he had been hiding out in the Grand Etang Mountains all this time. He was captured a week ago and will be returned to our estate after he serves a three-month prison sentence. It could have been worse but Uncle's newfound status saved the day. I cannot tell you how relieved I was at hearing this news.

  How often do dead lovers return from the grave? All I do every day now is count the days down when I will suck on that juicy cock.

  I just thought you might want to know. Anyway, all my love and well wishes.

  Love always,

  Monica Stanley

  August 7th, 1799.

  The Mandingo: The Return of Big John (Part 4)

  Dear Diary,

  Once again, I find myself at your altar, baring my heart and soul in confession. It has been many, many years since last I have come to you, my true friend, who knows how to keep matters of the heart hidden from the vipers of society.

  Looking over my last entry, I see twenty years has elapsed. I am now forty-four years old and I seek the solitude of you, my old faithful friend, for in your blank pages, I find no judgments or instructions, but just space for my joys, burdens, success, and failures to unfold.

  As you remember, I had booked a passage back to Grenada on board the Lady of the Sea, an English schooner, after receiving word that Big John had risen from the dead.

  The trip from London to Bridgetown Barbados took forty days. I had secured a good cabin so that my son Marcus and I would be as comfortable as can be in such circumstances.

  On evenings when we were not being tossed to and fro by the mighty Atlantic Ocean, I would walk around the deck with my son and talk about life. He would look up and listen with a smile that reminded me so much of his father.

  There were many other families making the trip; most were dirt poor, but there was a glimmer of light in their eyes of finding a brighter future in the tropics. I could make out a couple of the accents spoken, some being Scottish and Irish.


  As I cast my eye on the vastness of the ocean with no land in sight, I thought about my life and how it paralleled that of the ship. We both were headed to a place in the future, that we expected to be there awaiting us. However, between there and here lay a great chasm to cross and many things that could alter our course and forever change our future or, worse, end it.

  However, the ship's compass kept her steady onwards to her goal. A compass is like faith in a woman; it keeps her on a path too. They both see into the future and guide us in the present.

  Anyway, to cut a story short, we arrived in Barbados and, after a day of tallying, we headed to St. George's Grenada.

  Sailing into the port of St. George's, I was struck by its colonial charm and natural beauty. Its natural harbor provided a refuge for ships in a storm. A giant U shaped the waterfront promenade where people were bustling about their daily business. Most buildings had colorful red tops left over from the French.

  Arriving back at the estate, we were greeted by Monica and Uncle. I was so happy to be back, I felt the weight of the stressful trip fall off my shoulders. Marcus ran off chasing chickens in the yard, bringing a smile to my face. I knew then that life here for him would be one of adventure and wonder.

  We quickly settled in and life returned to normal on the estate. I could not help but to notice that Uncle now had a bounce to his step too. Ah, the power of young pussy in deluding the mind into believing the fountain of youth springs forth from it.

  Monica and I took a walk three days later when I had gathered my land legs back. We walked up the plateau, where we looked out on a few scattered islands in the distance.

  “You did not waste any time in getting here,” said Monica with one of her sarcastic smiles.

  “Not really; I had already planned on making the trip when your letter arrived,” I lied.

  “Big John comes back tomorrow morning,” said Monica.

  “Good, there is plenty of work around here for him to do. God knows Uncle can do with the help,” I replied coyly.

  “Listen, Wendy, let’s cut the bullshit. You came back here because you're in love with him. Besides, he is your child's father. Do you not realize that you both can never have anything but sex. John is a slave!” exclaimed Monica.

  “I cannot dispute what you are saying, but I never thought that I would have developed this emotional attachment to him. Every time I look at Marcus, I am faced with remembering him,” I snapped back.

  “Listen, you have to let it go. If word gets out that he is your son's father, it will end badly for him,” replied Monica ominously.

  Heeding the subtle warning, I changed the topic to matters of fashion. The tension was broken for the moment and we were able to share a couple of laughs.

  The next day, Monica and I were standing on the veranda when Big John was brought back in chains.

  Big John stood half-naked, with sweat pouring down the valleys of his sculpted body. He held his head high and tilted his chin up to the side in a proud manner. I realized then and there that this man body might be in chains, but his spirit was a free and proud.

  Looking across at Monica, I could see the lust cloud her face. Here we go again.

  The next morning at breakfast, Monica said that she was feeling for a beach bath because her back was hurting. She was taking Big John to carry her things and to protect her if the need arose.

  That bitch! I looked at her and she gave me a wicked but triumphant smile. She was getting back at me for that night and there was nothing I could do about it.

  So it was with a heavy heart that I watched them head off. Yeah, right. I ran into the room and quickly changed into some pants and shirt. I pulled on my boots and headed out the door and followed them down to the beach.

  It was a long, hot walk in every way. Passing under a mango tree, Monica quickly looked around and jumped into his arms and started kissing him passionately. I could see tears flowing down her cheeks. That bitch was in love with him and she had the audacity to pin it on me.

  I felt the stabbing pain of jealousy in my chest. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I fought them.

  Breaking the kiss, they continued on to the beach. The beach was deserted. They headed for the shade of a large Sea Grape tree. John spread a large blanket so that they could sit. Monica positioned herself between his legs and he wrapped his arms around her. They then struck up a conversation as if they were old friends. I had always thought it was just about sex; now I had to acknowledge I was mistaken.

  Creeping closer, I found some cover in a patch of bush and trees about ten feet from them. It's a good thing too, that the wind was blowing away from them to me, so that I could easily hear their conversation.

  “I missed you so much. I was so afraid that you had been killed in the rebellion and not a day would go by that I did not pray for your safety. Was I ever on your mind? Did you long for me in those years living in the mountains?” asked Monica.

  “Yes, I must say I missed yuh too.

  “Life was not easy in the mountains, but you know that freedom is not freely acquired.

  “I knew of the plans for the rebellion and I had relayed it to a few trusted brothers. Your family safety was never threatened at any time, for I must say that you have treated us as fairly as possible under these conditions. We are fed well, given the weekends off, and allowed to practice our religion and beat our drums. At no time are we beaten, which cannot be said about conditions on other estates.

  “But I was and still am a slave. Julien Fedon sent bokors to the estate at night that instilled the spark of hope that we all dimly carry in hopes of one day returning to our motherland or at least standing as equals in this beautiful foreign land. Sensing the opportunity, I grasped at it.

  “Knowing your strong spirit, Monica, I have no doubt that had it been you in my place, you would have led the rebellion yourself.”

  Monica turned and looked up at him with a smile and he lowered his lips and kissed her.

  “Everything went smoothly except that Fedon did not want to burn the capital. Had we done that, our victory would have been complete. Instead, he wished to squeeze them over time to acknowledge his cause was a just one and to come around to it.

  “Clearly, this was naive on his part, for the Britain bows to no one, especially a Mulatto who is considered black in their eyes.

  “A few months later, the British sent for a mercenary force of six thousand well-armed Germans, English, and French soldiers, who was joined by our own misguided brothers. Together, they quickly made short work of our rag tag army.

  “Fedon disappeared one night from camp and, without his leadership, all was lost. So tasting freedom even though so briefly, I was not in the lease bit inclined to return to the estate. So I roamed the mountains with two companions for years, eating and living off the land.

  “It was only the power of sex that caused me to be captured. I use to come and sleep with a slave woman every night and I must have been observed. For three months ago, in the morning, I work up to rifles pointed to my face.

  “The rest of the story, you know yourself.” This ended Big John's narration of his adventures.

  Monica stood up and took off her clothes. She signaled for him to do the same. When they were naked, she led him into the water. I could see them kissing and caressing each other hungrily. It's just something about pouring out your heart to someone that you care about that leaves a void to be filled, and Monica intended to do so.

  She licked the salt water off his nipples while her hand was busy pumping his shaft underwater, causing the water to foam up. John eyes were closed and his head was thrown back.

  Lifting up, he brought her to rest on his cock. I could tell the exact moment he penetrated her, for I first saw the look of pain, followed by her lustful cries that made between my legs wet.

  Monica rode up and down Big John's dick as the Lady of the Sea rode the waves of the Atlantic Ocean over from England to Barbados. Only in Monica's case, there was t
o be no port of call.

  John turned and walked to the sand, carrying Monica. The sight of him walking out of the water reminded me of Poseidon the Greek god along with his harpoon, which had impaled poor Monica.

  Turning to face the sea, he sat down and lay on his back where the surf broke. Monica then started riding him, leaning forward with her fingers firmly entrenched into the muscles of his broad chest. She galloped towards the Promised Land.

  From my vantage point, I watched her beautiful breasts rise and fall. I could only imagine Big John's cock hammering her drenched pussy while the waves slapped her arse.

  “Oooooh, ooooh, mmmmmmh,” I moaned as I started gyrating on my hand. I imagined that it was I who had mounted him and was having my pussy violated.

  “Oh, Big John, ooh, John, that's how I like it, ooooh, I want to come,” I cried out as I watched them fuck.

  Hearing my own lustful cries only made me hotter. I was on my stomach with my hand under me, gyrating as hard as I could. My fingers were sticky with the juice from my pussy.

  Soon, I saw a pained expression crease Monica's face, pained because of the intensity of pleasure. I knew she was about to come.

  Then her body shook, her head shot up, and a lust-filled cry rang out over the roar of the waves. At the same time, Big John lifted his ass off the sand, clenching and unclenching it. That told me he was spraying her stuffed pussy with his Mandingo juice. I came violently on my hand.

  A while later, they got up and went to have lunch. Then they fell asleep in each other’s arms. I left them there and headed home, for I was starving. Why does coming make people so hungry?

  It would be two months before I got to be reunited with Big John's cock, for Monica was always in the way. So it was only by a bold move I made that it happened.

  Uncle had gone to the capital as usual to drop off sugar. Monica, of course, stayed home and so did I. So we had our supper together, but no words were exchanged. When I was finished, I retired to my room. Minutes later, I heard Monica making her way up the staircase. Her bedroom door opened but was not closed.