Secession or Sex Session?

May 22, 1856.

It was a cold, dreary night in the middle of October. I was hard at work responding to letters from my constituents.. The backlash from my statements about emancipation had not been as great as I had feared, especially from that rapscallion Preston Brooks. I sipped some tea at my desk, and bent over to reach some files. Suddenly, I felt a sharp sensation from my rear end, one of severe discomfort. With the turn of my head, I felt the pain a second time, and realized it had to be the cane of the one and only Preston Brooks. He had snuck into my office once again, that sly dog. My heart began racing when i realized how vulnerable I was in my current position.

"You shouldn't have said those things, Sumner," He said with fire in his eyes, "if i believed you to be a gentleman I'd challenge you to a duel, but someone like you deserves a good caning." My eyes widened as I saw him raise his cane, and my world went dark before I could even begin a cry for help.

Hours later, i woke up to the feeling of leather straps wrapped tightly around my wrists and ankles. I looked around me and found that I was in a small room with a small window on one wall, and I realized I was strapped upright to a vertical bed. I looked directly in front of me and recoiled when I saw the figure of Preston Brooks hunched down below my waist. I felt something warm drizzling down my chest and over my privy areas.

"What is that?" I asked, my voice quavering despite my efforts to remain composed.

"Grapeseed oil," he replied, licking his lips.

When I saw his devilish expression, I knew I was in for a night unlike anything I had ever experienced.

"It seems like my wooden walking cane hasn't had the intended effect. But do not fear, for I've brought a cane of a different variety."

With a hungry expression on his moonlit face, he started to unbutton his trousers.

I found myself sweating with anticipation, and could feel the beads of sweat run down my fear-stricken brow. Tears began to well up in my eyes as I saw the shadow of what appeared to be Brooks's other 'cane.' His pants were already in a pile by his legs on the floor, his undergarments next to them. It didn't take long for Brooks to remove his jacket and unbutton his shirt, and add them to the pile.

Standing right before me was a sight which I never could have imagined to behold. A fully nude Preston Brooks basking in the light of the full moon. His cane was by far the most prominent feature of his body. I would never have expected it to be so long, and, I must admit, impressive. Mine paled in comparison.

I gulped, both in fear and newfound excitement, of the possibilities that were before me. I closed my eyes, and I felt my own cane begin to stiffen, the tip beginning to brush against some oily surface. In a sudden realization, I opened my eyes and saw Brooks's back in front of me. I knew then that what I had felt was none other than Brook's posterior. I could vaguely make out its two cheeks, and from this outline I could approximate the position of the anal cavity. I knew what he wanted, and I knew there was no other choice for me. Subsequently, I realigned myself such that my cane matched up perfectly with the cavity.

I took a deep breath, and thrusted forward with all of my might. The grapeseed oil that Brooks had poured over my chest and cane before made it surprisingly easy to pass through and penetrate to the rectum. The immediate sensation overwhelmed me; it was an indescribable mix of pain, but pleasurable pain, joy, excitement, yet there was still a tinge of the fear from before.

The screams and moans reverberated across the room, ricocheting off every wall. They were so loud that I was afraid of anyone outside the room hearing our affairs, but then I doubted that anyone was even within a 5 kilometer radius. I'm certain that Brooks took extreme precautions in bringing me here.

We continued this anal penetration for several minutes, a repetitive motion of in and out, the continued moans echoing in every corner of the room. When it seemed like he had had enough, he began to extricate himself slowly from my body. Despite my insane pleasure during the activity, I was strangely delighted that we were finished.

But oh, how wrong I was.

When Brooks turned around, I saw that he had a massive grin on his face. He dashed around behind me, and within an instant, I felt a hard presence in my behind. I screamed in pleasure, for the pain was minimal - I assume Brooks had taken care to lubricate his own cane with grapeseed oil, facilitating the process for both of his. Now it was his turn, yet he thrusted with exponentially more force than I did. Not only was it more exciting, but it newly instilled fright within me. What more did Brooks plan to do? Regardless, I had no choice but to comply.

Brooks did not stay within me for as long as I was in him. When he pulled out, I knew that we were not done. Brooks went to the corner of the room and grabbed a stool. I eyed him pulling it to the front of the bed, and he rushed to climb upon it. As he rose, his cane brushed across my body, and I felt it stiffen even further. By the time it reached my tensed face, it was solid wood. It slapped my chin and cheek before coming to rest immediately before my mouth.

I closed my eyes, for I could not look straight at it. But since I could not keep him long, I reluctantly parted my lips and moved my head forward. I felt the edges of the cane brush the corners of my mouth, and I could taste the slight flavor of the remaining grapeseed oil as the cane ran over my tongue. I wrapped my lips around the base of the cane as it reached the back of my mouth, and then I began to sway my head back and forth, rubbing my moist lips against his wooden cane. I could feel the cane rising even higher, touching the roof of my mouth, and just as it did, I sensed a hot liquid gush from the tip. It filled my mouth, mixed with my saliva, and ran down my esophagus. It tasted of Southerner.

As this happened, I bit down on Brooks's cane, and he shouted with glee. He removed his cane from my mouth as I grinded my teeth on it, and he continued to scream until the tip had exited. Following this, he jumped down from the stool, kicked it away into a corner with a fervor that I had not seen in him until this point, and crouched down, level with my own cane.

He did not hesitate for a moment, and the next thing I knew, his lips were moving along. I could not resist the sensations; my cane began to rise and stiffen, and it didn't take long before the liquid emerged. I could hear him swallowing slowly in the silence, savoring every gulp of that fluid. Brooks then proceeded to bite down on my cane, just as I had on his. The shock drove me to a new level of pain and pleasure, and it continued to escalate as Brooks dragged his teeth along. As he reached the tip, I couldn't help it, and I came once more. Even he was surprised by this, but he swiftly rushed to catch the liquid on his tongue. Again, he swallowed meticulously, even more so than before, and I could tell that he was thoroughly satisfied.

I took one last cursory glance around the room and was immensely happy to see that there were no other objects in the room, and it seemed that Brooks finally reached his threshold of excitement. I waited for Brooks to rise from his hunched stance, but he did not. I looked down upon his body, and saw that it was limp on the floor.

I was stunned. He was not breathing. My mind began to race. I would not be able to escape this room. I would have to spend the rest of life looking at his naked body in front of me. The panic was too much to handle. Somehow, though, I recovered from my initial shock and began to bend down to inspect his corpse.

It was then that he jumped. He became alive with animation, and he grabbed my head with his hands. He pressed his lips against mine, and I could feel how hardened they were after the fluid had dried. It was a passionate kiss; his tongue melding with mine and becoming one. I could taste the hints of grapeseed, Southerner, myself, as we intertwined our pallets. The kiss lasted for what seemed like ages, but eventually, Brooks broke free. I waited patiently for him to unshackle me from the bed, but all he did was gaze at my body.

He then turned and briskly walked away, unlocked the door, and strode out of the room. The door shut behind him and I could hear the distinct sound of the lock clicking.

Intermission - 7 months

December 25, 1856

It has been a great many days since my imprisonment in Master Brooks's cell. When I questioned him on the public's reaction to my sudden disappearance, he informed me that he found a man who shared my exact facial features, and has paid him to act exactly as I do. This man is Charles Sumner now; he is the one who will go down in history textbooks. The real Sumner, trapped in a room known only to Preston Brooks. But the public will never find out.

Master Brooks is a good man. He feeds me, despite leaving me shackled onto this bed, day and night. There is a bucket behind me for my feces and a bucket in front for my urine. He is kind enough to wash my rectum and cane, and also gives me a daily bath. However, I know that this is for his personal pleasure.

Time is meaningless to me here. Rather than days and nights, I break my days up based on when Brooks makes his conjugal visits. Perhaps it isn't so bad; maybe i'm better off here. What was once pain is now pure pleasure; I have become accustomed to the sordid activities that Master Brooks has conceived. At least I do not have to witness the plague that is dividing our country in two, but perhaps having seen the split of Master Brook's posterior for 7 months as he pounds onto my cane is just as terrible. But like I said, I've grown used to the sight, even to the point where I am in constant glee, so I shall never know. Master is all I will ever know, and maybe, he's all I will ever need.