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The master_s revenge
CHAPTER ONE
The southern plantation owner, whose skin was as white as milk, sat in his over-stuffed easy chair in the corner of the large, plush livingroom inside his mansion.
His name was Bernard Cornfield and he was one of the richest – and meanest – men in the whole south. He turned lazily and found himself looking at his Negro butler, Jones.
Jones had his faded palm beneath a tray upon which was Bernard Cornfield's afternoon mint julep. A sprig of mint stuck up greenly from the top of the long, thin glass.
The glass was three-quarters filled with crushed ice – just the way Bernard liked it. He thanked Jones kindly and the butler turned to leave.
"Oh, Jones?"
"Yes, Master?"
"Ain't there one of them nigger girls I bought last week left to be whipped?"
"Yes, Master. The one named Tammy Taylor. She is the youngest and the smallest."
"Ah, yes. I was saving her for last purposefully," Bernard said with a sigh.
"You want me to fetch her for you, Master?" Jones asked, his thick lips parted.
"That would be good, Jones, but in ten minutes, after my drink," Bernard said.
"You want me to bring her straight here to you?" Jones asked politely.
"No, Jones. Bring her down to the torture room, to save time," Bernard said.
"Yes, Master," Jones said. The Negro turned and left the livingroom. Bernard sipped his drink and felt the ache growing in his balls.
If his wife – Annabelle – ever found out that he was messing with the nigger poontang there would be hell to pay. Only the slaves knew – and they were under strict orders never to mention Bernard's sexual activities to the lady of the house.
Annabelle – luckily for Bernard – was always off riding her horses or shopping in the nearest Georgia town, which happened to be called Stocking Post.
Bernard finished his drink, looking out the window at his massive plantation. The Georgia red clay had been worked and fertilized by the slaves until it yielded crops that would have been unheard of twenty-five years before. It was the nineteenth century, and agriculture was vastly improving. Each year Bernard managed to make a little more money than the year before. That meant he could buy more slaves – and not just the black bucks who put their sweat into the farm, but the succulent nigger cunts as well, which Bernard loved to torture and fuck just about more than anything else in the world.
Bernard had a boner inside his pants by the time he finished his drink. He set the glass down and meandered toward the front room where the door that led down to the basement was.
He quickly went down the rickety stairs into his private torture chamber. He never had to worry about Annabelle discovering his torture chamber. His wife would not have been caught dead in the basement of the mansion. It was dark down there and she might get her dress dirty.
Bernard lit the lamps along the walls as he went down. He was surprised that he arrived in the basement before Jones with the little nigger cunt.
When Jones did bring down the girl, Bernard could see right away that the petite pussy was all upset. Her eyes were red and swollen and her face was stained with tears. Little Tammy Taylor knew that she was about to be whipped – because she had been saved for last – and she had never been so scared shitless in her entire life.
"This is Tammy," Jones said. "Master Cornfield."
"Pleased to meet you, Master," Tammy said weakly.
"You can go now, Jones," Bernard said sternly.
"Yes, Master," Jones said, and headed back up the stairs.
The little black girl was wearing a burlap dress that was hemmed well above her knees. She was the littlest and the cutest of the new slaves Bernard had recently acquired.
"Tammy, you are a beautiful little girl," Bernard said. He licked and smacked his lips obscenely. Tammy could feel a million butterflies flopping around inside her tummy – just as if they all wanted to get the hell out of there.
The little slave could feel her heart pounding as it had never pounded before. Her ticker felt like it wanted to beat its way right out of her chest.
The diminutive nigger cunt could feel the icy sweat of her terror oozing from each and every pore in her body. The scent of her funk wafted up toward her hot nostrils – which were remarkably closed for a girl of her race. Bernard looked at her beautiful face and her golden brown skin and he could tell that – genetically speaking – there was a little cream in her coffee somewhere along the line. "She had a little human in her," as Bernard was fond of saying.
"How old are you, Tammy?"
"I don't know, Master."
"I'll bet you ain't even sixteen," Bernard said.
The girl shivered and was silent.
"You ever been whipped before?"
"No, Master."
"How come?"
"Where I was before, the slaves was only whipped when they disobeyed. I always obeyed."
"Things are different here. There been too many revolts in this county, niggers getting shot on account of they got uppity and tried to make a run for it. I like my niggers to know who's the boss right from the start. Everyone gets a whipping. You are so beautiful I may want to whip you once a week. We'll have to see. Your skin is so beautiful. It will be even more beautiful after it has been marked by my whip."
Tammy could see in the indirect illumination in that torture chamber, that there were many whips on display on the far wall. The walls were made of stone.
There were no windows.
She could see that the center of the room dominated by a large slab table. There ware chains and cuffs at the four corners of the table. She knew those were there so that little girls – such as herself – could be bound in a spread-eagled fashion.
Tammy could see that there were human skulls dangling from the ceiling of that dark and creepy ceiling.
She could tell they were real.
There was other torture equipment on a long table that ran the entire length of the wall furthest from the entrance – equipment that the little nigger cunt could not immediately identify.
"You ever been with a man?"
"Pardon me, Master?"
"You ever been fucked?"
"Yes, Master."
"I suppose your last master popped your cherry."
"No, Master. I got me a man."
"Who?"
"His name be Jonah."
"Oh, yes. He's been fucking you? Good. I hope he knocks you up and you make babies like a bunny. I could use a little return on some of my cunt investment. Seems like I should get more out of the deal than a sore cock."
"Yes, Master," Tammy said – even though she was not entirely sure what he was talking about.
"I remember Jonah. The big buck I bought at the same time I got you. The one with the good teeth. I like good teeth in the mouth of my slaves. It looks good when I have company over."
"Yes, Master."
"That's something I should tell you know, because you are going to have to know sooner or later. I throw a lot of parties and there are a lot of male guests. You will be doing domestic chores during these parties, serving food and drinks. But that's not all. Remember, when I have company, you must obey all of the guests just as you would obey me."
"Yes, Master."
"If one of them, or three of them for that matter, men I mean, want to take you down here and whip you and fuck you, then that is their right. If you disobey I'll just have to cut off old Jonah's gonads – and then he won't be no good to your cunt no more."
"Please don't do that, Master."
"Then you understand the rules?"
Tammy nodded.
"Good, now get out of that rag dress so's I can see what you got," Bernard said. He could feel the hot blood of his masculine arousal pumping into both the head and the shaft of his cock.
Bernard Cornfield could tell that his cock was getting a little bit longer, a little bit thicker, and a little bit harder with each beat of his hard.