I should think so too. You cad, sir!
You are a cad!
Oh.
OK then!
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Visiting The Jackson Plantation
- Thread starter windar
- Start date
OK then!
Marcius
Tribune
The gals sure wish they hadn't taken that break -- two dozen for slacking off seems pretty stiff.
Dorothy Brown
Brown Sugar
Is it just two white men at the plantation if there is a
white woman there too when she has watched two
women being whipped and she has got both men off
with her hands can she be so turned on that she asks
to be whipped too, just as hard and long as the two
black girls. PLEASE.
white woman there too when she has watched two
women being whipped and she has got both men off
with her hands can she be so turned on that she asks
to be whipped too, just as hard and long as the two
black girls. PLEASE.
windar
Teller of Tales
Stop reading ahead, Doro!! Your wishes will be granted, but have patience...
Bill wants to put on a show for his guest, who is rather stiff or will be
You're crucifying girls to get some frickin' extract and I'm a cad?
Houston, we have a problem. Actually, Houston has a BIG problem right now
Dorothy Brown
Brown Sugar
Stop reading ahead, Doro!! Your wishes will be granted, but have patience...
Bill wants to put on a show for his guest, who is rather stiff or will be
You're crucifying girls to get some frickin' extract and I'm a cad?
Houston, we have a problem. Actually, Houston has a BIG problem right now
Oh i am so sorry My Love i did`nt realize i was in it, use a bull whip
and make me scream then make me go into the fields picking cotton
Windar a well done story that has been most enjoyable! The banter following the posts have been entertaining also
windar
Teller of Tales
Thank you very much Tree. It's more of a straight genre story than most of the ones I've written recently and I wasn't sure how people would respond to it. As for the banter, it's what makes CF the place that it is. On the ebook site, although it got a decent number of downloads, the story got a total of one comment, which is pretty typical.Windar a well done story that has been most enjoyable! The banter following the posts have been entertaining also
I never got into e-books (I'm listening to Crash Test Dummies' In the Days of the Caveman as I write this). I will buy the hardback book and find my wife has bought the same e-book. My computer wants to open PDF files in Corel and when it does it doesn't know what to do with it.
But the bottom line I am enjoying 'Jackson Planation'. I lived in Jackson County, Missouri, for 15 months when I was 18 and early 19. His statues are next...
Dorothy Brown
Brown Sugar
Just giving a little background to this lovely story
i am the daughter of the plantation owner, i was
caught with a black cock inside me,{well i love cock
especially black ones}so my father had no option
but to send me to the whipping post and the bull
whip stung my back, my bum, yes, i was naked,
until i was screaming in unending agony and
finally passed out hanging limp in my bonds.
then i was made to work in the cotton fields
before being sent back to the family estate in
England, but worse was to come, i produced a
black baby and brought terrible scandal to the
family name, so i and the baby disappeared
never to be heard of again. a girls life was very
hard in those bygone days.
i am the daughter of the plantation owner, i was
caught with a black cock inside me,{well i love cock
especially black ones}so my father had no option
but to send me to the whipping post and the bull
whip stung my back, my bum, yes, i was naked,
until i was screaming in unending agony and
finally passed out hanging limp in my bonds.
then i was made to work in the cotton fields
before being sent back to the family estate in
England, but worse was to come, i produced a
black baby and brought terrible scandal to the
family name, so i and the baby disappeared
never to be heard of again. a girls life was very
hard in those bygone days.
windar
Teller of Tales
Chapter 4 A Double Whipping
The rest of the day passed slowly. It was hot and humid, the air barely stirring. I excused myself from the porch where Bill sat looking out over his plantation and retired to lie down in my room. I was troubled by the feelings I was experiencing-excited by the prospect of seeing the two slave girls whipped, but also disturbed by the fact that such a thing would excite me. What kind of person was I to experience sexual excitement at witnessing another’s suffering? Yet, I could not deny that I had gotten aroused watching yesterday’s whipping and wondered how I would react to today’s.
I dozed off for a time, awakening to a knocking at my door as the sun was descending towards the horizon. I opened the door to see Lizbeth. “Massa Robert, Massa William sent me to tell you the show be starting soon”.
“I will be down in a moment.” She looked concerned. “Tell me, Lizbeth,” I asked, “What do you think about these two girls being whipped?”
“Well, I suppose they done something to deserve it,” she replied, looking down at her feet. Obviously she was afraid to express dissent against the decision of her master.
I took her chin in my hand and lifted her face so she was looking me in the eye. “Have you ever been whipped, Lizbeth?”
“Of course, Massa Robert,” she replied. “I don’t think there’s a slave on this plantation ain’t been whipped one time or another.”
“Does it hurt a lot?” I asked her.
“Oh, Lord, Massa Robert, it’s the Devil’s own fire when that leather cuts your skin. You feels like you wants to die after just one or two, but you don’t die. It just keeps going on and on and it gets worse with each one.”
“Did you cry out?”
“Oh, Massa Robert, all of us cries out. I like to raise the dead with my screams. You start out trying not to cry, but the pain is so bad you can’t help yourself after a bit.”
“Thank you for explaining that to me, Lizbeth. I’ve never been whipped, so I don’t know how it feels. I’m sorry you had to suffer.”
“Don’t feel bad, Massa Robert; I’s a slave and that’s just how things are. Now you best not keep Massa William waiting.”
“I will be along in just a moment, Lizbeth,” I assured her.
I threw some water on my face and descended the stairs. Bill stood smiling broadly in the front parlor, surrounded by most of the house staff. “Well if it isn’t old sleepyhead,” he announced, chuckling. “You ready for the show?”
“I suppose so,” I replied. Bill led the way out back of the house with the entire retinue following behind him. It appeared this was to be an exemplary punishment which would be witnessed by the entire plantation.
The house slaves, along with Bill and I, filed into the dirt area with the whipping post. However, it appeared they weren’t going to use the whipping post this time, because Carter had thrown a thick rope with a pair of loops tied at one end over a branch of a large oak tree that was around 10 feet off the ground. I hoped that Bill hadn’t changed his mind and decided to hang the two poor women, but when Carter walked over to the stable and came back with two whips, much like the one that had been used yesterday on Esther, I was reassured at least a little bit, not that they weren’t fearsome objects.
Even though the sun was sinking, it was still very hot and I felt myself beginning to perspire. Fortunately, it seemed our wait was about to end, as I heard the sound of voices singing one of the songs the slaves sang s they worked. The harmonies between the men’s and the women’s voices was really quite beautiful. A few moments later, we saw the field slaves coming around the bend, perhaps a hundred or more of them, moving slowly in a disorganized mass, carrying their hoes and shovels over their shoulders.
As they came near, I could see that they were sweaty and tired from a long day of work in the hot sun. It seemed Bill had a jaundiced view of their work ethic, especially since he had spent most of the day in the shade of his porch drinking ice tea. Soon, all of them had filed into the open space, with Miller the overseer at the rear, keeping the stragglers moving. They assembled in a group opposite Bill and me and the house staff.
Once the entire household was assembled, Bill stepped forward. “We are like a family on this plantation,” he announced. “We depend on each other. Those cotton plants are our livelihood, all of us. And they are at a very sensitive point in their growth right now, very easily strangled by weeds.” He was really laying it on thick.
“That is why every one of us must be diligent and we all must know that there are serious consequences to any failure in discipline. Today, while showing my old friend Mr. Owens around our fields, I saw two of you loafing and failing to do your duty. This must be punished. Frederica and Lillian step forward.” There was a shuffling of feet as the throng of field slaves made a pathway for the two who were singled out to emerge into the open and stand before the Master.
It was obvious they knew that some very severe punishment was coming to them; both were crying. The thinner one, whom I later learned was Frederica, got down on her knees in front of Bill. “Please Massa William,” she begged, “We wasn’t loafing. It was so hot that we need to save our strength so we can work all day long. If we don’t rest every now and then, we’d pass out in the afternoon when it’s real hot. We did all the rows we’s supposed to, I swear.”
Bill looked down at her coldly. “I saw you and my friend Mr. Owens saw you. Now get up and take the punishment you are due or I will add extra. Each of you are due two dozen as it is and I doubt either of you can stand more than that.” Sniveling, but cowed by the threat, she struggled to her feet. “Now both of you take your clothes off, all of them,” he ordered. The two girls looked at each other, then all around as if expecting some white knight was going to intervene, but none was apparent.
I wasn’t surprised by this request, since Bill had told me of his intention that they suffer completely naked, but to see it actually issued in front of the assembled company still carried some shock. And, I must admit, caused a tingle to pass through my groin. That tingle only grew stronger when the two women, realizing that no help was going to be forthcoming, both reached down almost simultaneously and pulled their sweat-soaked blouses over their heads, letting the garments fall to the dirt.
They both had shapely breasts, Lillian’s large, and Frederica’s smaller but both most attractive. I felt my penis beginning to stiffen, a process which only accelerated when they each placed their hands on the waistbands of their skirts and lowered the cloth over their hips, letting it fall to the ground, leaving them to stand completely nude before the assembled crowd.
Once the two frightened slave girls had divested themselves of their clothing, the two overseers stepped forward, as though responding to an unseen signal. Carter took hold of Frederica’s arm and Miller grasped Lillian’s in his large hand and, little deterred by the futile struggles and protests of the two girls, dragged them along the ground until they were underneath the rope slung over the tree branch. The two men raised the girls’ arms over their heads and threaded them through the loops in the rope, pulling it taught about their wrists.
Once the ropes were fast around the slaves’ wrists, Carter took hold of the other end of the rope and yanked hard until the girls were pulled up on tiptoe, then tied off the rope around a lower branch of the tree. Miller knelt down, extracted a shorter piece of rope and tied the girls’ ankles together.
The two poor slaves’ bodies were thus stretched taut, pressed together front-to-front, their breasts squashed together, their thighs and pubes rubbing against each other, forced to look each other in the face. This most lascivious contact had a decided effect on me; my penis was now standing up very firmly inside my trousers.
Of course, since the two slaves were bound front-to-front, their backs and buttocks were left totally exposed, at the mercy of the whips, which the two overseers now brandished. They appeared to be copies of the instrument which had been used so effectively on Esther last night. But whereas she had gotten one dozen, Bill, in his fit of pique or out of plain cruelty or his wish to provide a real spectacle for me had ordained that they would get two dozen. The only saving grace, and perhaps it wasn’t for the two girls concerned, was that the blows would be spread between their backs and their butts.
The overseers had now measured out the proper distance, Carter behind Frederica and Miller behind Lillian. Seeing all was ready, Bill announced loudly, “Two dozen lashes to each of them. Proceed.” And that was what the two men did, striking hard across the women’s shoulder blades. The force of the blows drove each of the women forward, squashing their breasts together. The second blow had both of them writhing in agony, each one’s tits rubbing side to side against the other’s. This erotic dance of pain had my penis rising to full erection, a state that was maintained as the next blows caused a repetition of the breast rubbing driven by the frantic, if futile attempt to escape further searing lashes.
By this point the two hapless girls were moaning and begging for the overseers to stop, something which was as likely to happen as the sun was to rise in the west. Their backs were crisscrossed by vivid welts. Yet again, the leather whistled through the air, slashing against the shoulder blades of the two young women eliciting more howls and writhing.
Six lashes having been delivered, the overseers paused for a moment to catch their breath and wipe the sweat off of their brows. Lillian and Frederica were now only a quarter of the way through their ordeal and it must have been terrible for them to contemplate how much more suffering they still had to go through.
After their brief rest, the two men turned their attention to the as yet untouched buttocks of the two slaves, measuring out their distance then striking at full force across the rounded globes. The sound was different than that made by the whips striking the back, softer, as the leather sunk deeper into the fatty tissue of the buttocks than it did into the muscle and bone of the upper back. This time, as the force of the blows drove the two girls forward, it was not their breasts that rubbed together, but their pubes. That sight was even more erotic than the upper body contortions.
By the time two more lashes had been delivered to the rears of the howling slaves, my excitement had reached a fever pitch. My cock was throbbing, begging for relief. I desperately wanted to pull it out of my trousers and rub it until it released its pent-up tension, but of course the presence of the large crowd of men and women made that quite impossible. I tried to focus my mind on anything but the lurid show in front of my eyes-I tried to name all of the state capitals, I tried to remember the price of cotton on the first of each of the last six months. It was only by the most diligent efforts that I controlled my passions.
Finally, six lashes had been delivered to each of the girls’ buttocks, leaving the flesh a mess of wheals and scrapes. The overseers paused again for a moment, before resuming their flogging of the upper backs of their victims. By this point, the slaves were fatigued from the pain and from their struggles, so their reactions to the blows were reduced to plaintive howls and more restrained gyrations, despite the fact that the whip was striking already damaged flesh, causing blood to seep from a few of the most badly wounded spots.
Once a full dozen had been delivered to the backs of the poor persecuted slave women, the overseers once again turned their attention to the lower area and administered the final six lashes on the buttocks. It was only through a most diligent application of will that I managed to control my bodily reactions. My penis was still hard and somewhat sore, but I seemed not to be in danger of an imminent explosion.
The punishment completed, the overseers began untying Lillian and Frederica. The assembled slaves began dispersing, the house staff moving to prepare to serve dinner to Bill and me, the field slaves to their cabins to prepare their own repasts.
Bill turned to me, smiling broadly. “Now I told you that you were going to enjoy that didn’t I? And judging by the enormous bulge in your trousers, I’m betting you did, Bobby boy. Nothing like two hot young slave girls rubbing against each other as the lash bites into their flesh.”
I honestly didn’t know what to say back to Bill. On the one hand, he was right-it was an incredibly arousing sight. On the other hand, I was wracked with guilt that I had derived enjoyment from watching others suffer and that to some extent I had caused their anguish, if only by being here. And what about Bill? Was this something that he was now habituated to? Had the kind and decent friend I had known at Princeton been so corrupted by the absolute power he held over his slaves that he had lost his humanity? And had I been born in his place or somehow ended up here, would the same thing have happened to me? I pondered these questions as I followed Bill into the house for dinner.
The rest of the day passed slowly. It was hot and humid, the air barely stirring. I excused myself from the porch where Bill sat looking out over his plantation and retired to lie down in my room. I was troubled by the feelings I was experiencing-excited by the prospect of seeing the two slave girls whipped, but also disturbed by the fact that such a thing would excite me. What kind of person was I to experience sexual excitement at witnessing another’s suffering? Yet, I could not deny that I had gotten aroused watching yesterday’s whipping and wondered how I would react to today’s.
I dozed off for a time, awakening to a knocking at my door as the sun was descending towards the horizon. I opened the door to see Lizbeth. “Massa Robert, Massa William sent me to tell you the show be starting soon”.
“I will be down in a moment.” She looked concerned. “Tell me, Lizbeth,” I asked, “What do you think about these two girls being whipped?”
“Well, I suppose they done something to deserve it,” she replied, looking down at her feet. Obviously she was afraid to express dissent against the decision of her master.
I took her chin in my hand and lifted her face so she was looking me in the eye. “Have you ever been whipped, Lizbeth?”
“Of course, Massa Robert,” she replied. “I don’t think there’s a slave on this plantation ain’t been whipped one time or another.”
“Does it hurt a lot?” I asked her.
“Oh, Lord, Massa Robert, it’s the Devil’s own fire when that leather cuts your skin. You feels like you wants to die after just one or two, but you don’t die. It just keeps going on and on and it gets worse with each one.”
“Did you cry out?”
“Oh, Massa Robert, all of us cries out. I like to raise the dead with my screams. You start out trying not to cry, but the pain is so bad you can’t help yourself after a bit.”
“Thank you for explaining that to me, Lizbeth. I’ve never been whipped, so I don’t know how it feels. I’m sorry you had to suffer.”
“Don’t feel bad, Massa Robert; I’s a slave and that’s just how things are. Now you best not keep Massa William waiting.”
“I will be along in just a moment, Lizbeth,” I assured her.
I threw some water on my face and descended the stairs. Bill stood smiling broadly in the front parlor, surrounded by most of the house staff. “Well if it isn’t old sleepyhead,” he announced, chuckling. “You ready for the show?”
“I suppose so,” I replied. Bill led the way out back of the house with the entire retinue following behind him. It appeared this was to be an exemplary punishment which would be witnessed by the entire plantation.
The house slaves, along with Bill and I, filed into the dirt area with the whipping post. However, it appeared they weren’t going to use the whipping post this time, because Carter had thrown a thick rope with a pair of loops tied at one end over a branch of a large oak tree that was around 10 feet off the ground. I hoped that Bill hadn’t changed his mind and decided to hang the two poor women, but when Carter walked over to the stable and came back with two whips, much like the one that had been used yesterday on Esther, I was reassured at least a little bit, not that they weren’t fearsome objects.
Even though the sun was sinking, it was still very hot and I felt myself beginning to perspire. Fortunately, it seemed our wait was about to end, as I heard the sound of voices singing one of the songs the slaves sang s they worked. The harmonies between the men’s and the women’s voices was really quite beautiful. A few moments later, we saw the field slaves coming around the bend, perhaps a hundred or more of them, moving slowly in a disorganized mass, carrying their hoes and shovels over their shoulders.
As they came near, I could see that they were sweaty and tired from a long day of work in the hot sun. It seemed Bill had a jaundiced view of their work ethic, especially since he had spent most of the day in the shade of his porch drinking ice tea. Soon, all of them had filed into the open space, with Miller the overseer at the rear, keeping the stragglers moving. They assembled in a group opposite Bill and me and the house staff.
Once the entire household was assembled, Bill stepped forward. “We are like a family on this plantation,” he announced. “We depend on each other. Those cotton plants are our livelihood, all of us. And they are at a very sensitive point in their growth right now, very easily strangled by weeds.” He was really laying it on thick.
“That is why every one of us must be diligent and we all must know that there are serious consequences to any failure in discipline. Today, while showing my old friend Mr. Owens around our fields, I saw two of you loafing and failing to do your duty. This must be punished. Frederica and Lillian step forward.” There was a shuffling of feet as the throng of field slaves made a pathway for the two who were singled out to emerge into the open and stand before the Master.
It was obvious they knew that some very severe punishment was coming to them; both were crying. The thinner one, whom I later learned was Frederica, got down on her knees in front of Bill. “Please Massa William,” she begged, “We wasn’t loafing. It was so hot that we need to save our strength so we can work all day long. If we don’t rest every now and then, we’d pass out in the afternoon when it’s real hot. We did all the rows we’s supposed to, I swear.”
Bill looked down at her coldly. “I saw you and my friend Mr. Owens saw you. Now get up and take the punishment you are due or I will add extra. Each of you are due two dozen as it is and I doubt either of you can stand more than that.” Sniveling, but cowed by the threat, she struggled to her feet. “Now both of you take your clothes off, all of them,” he ordered. The two girls looked at each other, then all around as if expecting some white knight was going to intervene, but none was apparent.
I wasn’t surprised by this request, since Bill had told me of his intention that they suffer completely naked, but to see it actually issued in front of the assembled company still carried some shock. And, I must admit, caused a tingle to pass through my groin. That tingle only grew stronger when the two women, realizing that no help was going to be forthcoming, both reached down almost simultaneously and pulled their sweat-soaked blouses over their heads, letting the garments fall to the dirt.
They both had shapely breasts, Lillian’s large, and Frederica’s smaller but both most attractive. I felt my penis beginning to stiffen, a process which only accelerated when they each placed their hands on the waistbands of their skirts and lowered the cloth over their hips, letting it fall to the ground, leaving them to stand completely nude before the assembled crowd.
Once the two frightened slave girls had divested themselves of their clothing, the two overseers stepped forward, as though responding to an unseen signal. Carter took hold of Frederica’s arm and Miller grasped Lillian’s in his large hand and, little deterred by the futile struggles and protests of the two girls, dragged them along the ground until they were underneath the rope slung over the tree branch. The two men raised the girls’ arms over their heads and threaded them through the loops in the rope, pulling it taught about their wrists.
Once the ropes were fast around the slaves’ wrists, Carter took hold of the other end of the rope and yanked hard until the girls were pulled up on tiptoe, then tied off the rope around a lower branch of the tree. Miller knelt down, extracted a shorter piece of rope and tied the girls’ ankles together.
The two poor slaves’ bodies were thus stretched taut, pressed together front-to-front, their breasts squashed together, their thighs and pubes rubbing against each other, forced to look each other in the face. This most lascivious contact had a decided effect on me; my penis was now standing up very firmly inside my trousers.
Of course, since the two slaves were bound front-to-front, their backs and buttocks were left totally exposed, at the mercy of the whips, which the two overseers now brandished. They appeared to be copies of the instrument which had been used so effectively on Esther last night. But whereas she had gotten one dozen, Bill, in his fit of pique or out of plain cruelty or his wish to provide a real spectacle for me had ordained that they would get two dozen. The only saving grace, and perhaps it wasn’t for the two girls concerned, was that the blows would be spread between their backs and their butts.
The overseers had now measured out the proper distance, Carter behind Frederica and Miller behind Lillian. Seeing all was ready, Bill announced loudly, “Two dozen lashes to each of them. Proceed.” And that was what the two men did, striking hard across the women’s shoulder blades. The force of the blows drove each of the women forward, squashing their breasts together. The second blow had both of them writhing in agony, each one’s tits rubbing side to side against the other’s. This erotic dance of pain had my penis rising to full erection, a state that was maintained as the next blows caused a repetition of the breast rubbing driven by the frantic, if futile attempt to escape further searing lashes.
By this point the two hapless girls were moaning and begging for the overseers to stop, something which was as likely to happen as the sun was to rise in the west. Their backs were crisscrossed by vivid welts. Yet again, the leather whistled through the air, slashing against the shoulder blades of the two young women eliciting more howls and writhing.
Six lashes having been delivered, the overseers paused for a moment to catch their breath and wipe the sweat off of their brows. Lillian and Frederica were now only a quarter of the way through their ordeal and it must have been terrible for them to contemplate how much more suffering they still had to go through.
After their brief rest, the two men turned their attention to the as yet untouched buttocks of the two slaves, measuring out their distance then striking at full force across the rounded globes. The sound was different than that made by the whips striking the back, softer, as the leather sunk deeper into the fatty tissue of the buttocks than it did into the muscle and bone of the upper back. This time, as the force of the blows drove the two girls forward, it was not their breasts that rubbed together, but their pubes. That sight was even more erotic than the upper body contortions.
By the time two more lashes had been delivered to the rears of the howling slaves, my excitement had reached a fever pitch. My cock was throbbing, begging for relief. I desperately wanted to pull it out of my trousers and rub it until it released its pent-up tension, but of course the presence of the large crowd of men and women made that quite impossible. I tried to focus my mind on anything but the lurid show in front of my eyes-I tried to name all of the state capitals, I tried to remember the price of cotton on the first of each of the last six months. It was only by the most diligent efforts that I controlled my passions.
Finally, six lashes had been delivered to each of the girls’ buttocks, leaving the flesh a mess of wheals and scrapes. The overseers paused again for a moment, before resuming their flogging of the upper backs of their victims. By this point, the slaves were fatigued from the pain and from their struggles, so their reactions to the blows were reduced to plaintive howls and more restrained gyrations, despite the fact that the whip was striking already damaged flesh, causing blood to seep from a few of the most badly wounded spots.
Once a full dozen had been delivered to the backs of the poor persecuted slave women, the overseers once again turned their attention to the lower area and administered the final six lashes on the buttocks. It was only through a most diligent application of will that I managed to control my bodily reactions. My penis was still hard and somewhat sore, but I seemed not to be in danger of an imminent explosion.
The punishment completed, the overseers began untying Lillian and Frederica. The assembled slaves began dispersing, the house staff moving to prepare to serve dinner to Bill and me, the field slaves to their cabins to prepare their own repasts.
Bill turned to me, smiling broadly. “Now I told you that you were going to enjoy that didn’t I? And judging by the enormous bulge in your trousers, I’m betting you did, Bobby boy. Nothing like two hot young slave girls rubbing against each other as the lash bites into their flesh.”
I honestly didn’t know what to say back to Bill. On the one hand, he was right-it was an incredibly arousing sight. On the other hand, I was wracked with guilt that I had derived enjoyment from watching others suffer and that to some extent I had caused their anguish, if only by being here. And what about Bill? Was this something that he was now habituated to? Had the kind and decent friend I had known at Princeton been so corrupted by the absolute power he held over his slaves that he had lost his humanity? And had I been born in his place or somehow ended up here, would the same thing have happened to me? I pondered these questions as I followed Bill into the house for dinner.
Dorothy Brown
Brown Sugar
OH WOW YES!!
It Get`s Better Every Chapter
It Get`s Better Every Chapter
geolier
Tribune
And I liked if it were a cruel and mighty (rich) woman, having whipped her former (female) neighbour who has been sentenced to slavery.
Dorothy Brown
Brown Sugar
Ok i will be a bitch to the plantation owners wife
i will even seduce her husband,will that do for you
The Beast
Tribune
Like always
.
My wish coming true with the last chapter. And unexpectly in double version.
windar
Teller of Tales
All the wishes will be granted to those who are patient.My wish coming true with the last chapter. And unexpectly in double version.
windar
Teller of Tales
Chapter 5 An Evening’s Entertainment
Dinner was somewhat subdued compared to the previous evening. I was wrestling with my feelings over the events I had just witnessed. I noticed Bill drank several glasses of wine, so perhaps he was too. Patsy and Lizbeth seemed nervous, their eyes darting between me and Bill, as they brought in the various courses and took away the plates. Perhaps they saw the brutal whippings of the two field slaves as auguring something unpleasant.
However, as the dessert, a delicious rum-soaked cake slathered with cream, was being served, Bill became more talkative. “I’m betting you will want a bit of release tonight, Bobby boy. At least your trousers said so a little while ago,” he said, re-adopting his more customary jovial style.
I assumed he meant relief of the sexual variety and, while the urgent ache brought on by the erotic dance of the two slave girls under the lash had lessened, it was far from gone. It was more like a pile of hot coals smoldering, but ready to burst into flame at the least gust of wind. “Yes, I would be much obliged if Patsy and Lizbeth would visit my room again tonight.”
“Well, Bobby, I suppose that could be arranged, but I was thinking of something different, something we could both do that might be a whole lot of fun.”
“I certainly didn’t lack for fun with those two lovely ladies last night,” I replied.
“I wasn’t thinking of leaving them out of my plans for tonight, Bobby. No not at all. I would say their presence is absolutely essential, in fact,” Bill said.
Puzzled, I said, “I’m not quite sure what you mean.”
Bill quickly wolfed down the last bit of rum cake on his plate, swallowed the wine in his glass in a single draught and stood up quickly, if a bit unsteadily. He picked up a candlestick with a lit candle and said, “Come with me, Bobby, and you’ll see.” Intrigued, I pushed my chair back from the table and stood, then followed him as he led the way out back of the house, across the parade ground where the whippings had occurred and past the stables and a few other out buildings.
Finally, we crossed a grassy field, making our way carefully by the light of the candle and the half-moon peeking through the clouds, and arrived at a solitary out building, rather small, with no windows and only a single door. Opening the door, Bill entered and began lighting the candles set in holders on the wall. As the light dawned in the dark space, I saw a strange piece of furniture, a contraption that looked somewhat like a sawhorse, with a long bar at approximately waist height and straps attached to the legs at several places. I also noted that there were iron rings set into the floor and various ropes hanging from the ceiling.
“This is my playroom, Bobby boy,” Bill explained, though what he meant by that wasn’t entirely clear to me. “I had it specially fixed up a few years ago and I like to come here and have fun with the slave girls and every so often invite a good friend or two to join me.” I nodded, not sure of what the appropriate words would be.
“Come over and have a look at this,” he suggested, walking over to a large cabinet set against the far wall. As I arrived to join him, he extracted a key from his pocket and unlocked the cabinet. Inside was a collection of whips of various types, canes, shackles and various devices whose use I shuddered to guess at. “These are some of the toys I like to play with in here.” He grinned at me.
“They look interesting,” I offered.
“Oh they are, Bobby, very interesting. That’s exactly the right word. Check this one out,” he said, handing me a short leather whip, such as jockeys use. “Go on, try it,” he urged, pointing at a pillow tied to one of the vertical posts that supported the ceiling. The pillow had two semicircles, drawn in ink, separated by a small space and was obviously designed to mimic a human rear end.
“Take a swing, Bobby, pretend it’s Lizbeth’s ass,” he said. I swung my arm swishing the leather into the soft pillow. “Oh come on, Bobby, harder, man, use your whole body.” He walked over to the cabinet and returned with a jockey’s whip virtually identical to mine. He wound up, leaning his entire torso back, then threw his full weight forward, slapping the leather into the pillow at full force, releasing a number of feathers that floated slowly to the ground.
“That’s how you do it Bobby,” he said. “It’s no fun if the slave girl doesn’t feel it. Now show me what you can do.” Not wanting to be bested by my old friend, I gripped the whip tightly in my hand and imitated his motions, slashing hard into the pillow, sending feathers flying as Bill had done. I could feel the force radiating up my arm from the contact. “That’s the way, Bobby boy! That’ll get them howling!” Bill cried.
Once he was confident of my proficiency with the whip, Bill showed me how to use one of the supple canes, demonstrating the well-timed wrist flick that would transmit maximum force and send the feathers flying.
As we were catching our breath from these exertions, there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Bill shouted. The door opened to reveal Lizbeth and Patsy, looking even more nervous than they had at dinner. “Don’t be shy ladies, we won’t bite, at least not too hard,” Bill called, beckoning them in.
I was struck again by how lovely these two slaves looked, especially by the soft glow of the candles that lit Bill’s playroom. “Mr. Owens and I were just warming up for the festivities, weren’t we Bobby?” I nodded. “Let’s all have a drink and toast good times,” Bill suggested.
He went over to the cabinet that held the whips, canes and other equipment and extracted a large bottle of whisky and four glasses, which he set down on a small table that lay against one of the walls. He poured a generous helping into each of the glasses and handed one each to me, Lizbeth and Patsy, taking the last one for himself. “To a great evening,” he announced, as though we were all going to a cotillion, then raised his glass and took a generous swallow. The rest of us followed suit.
“Now, I think you ladies ought to make yourselves comfortable, don’t you?” Bill continued. Patsy and Lizbeth had clearly participated in such evenings before, since they seemed to know exactly what this meant. They began unbuttoning their blouses, revealing the breasts that had given me such pleasure the previous night. They quickly slipped the blouses off and deposited them on a chair. Without pausing they lowered their skirts, stepped out of them and laid them on the chair as well.
The sight of the two women standing there naked, submissively waiting to please Bill and me was the breeze I needed to reignite the flames of lust that had been kindled by the whipping I had watched earlier in the evening and which I has suppressed until now. My cock began to harden in my trousers.
Bill picked the riding whip up off the table. “Patsy, you know what’s coming right?” he said. Looking fearful, but resigned, she raised both hands over her head. Bill measured his distance, drew the whip back and slashed it viciously across her breasts, causing them to shake most erotically. Though the girl had clearly been prepared for the lash and had steeled herself to absorb it, her knees almost gave way before she steadied herself and stood there, gasping for breath as a dark red welt rose up across the top of her breasts.
“That’s good Patsy, hold your position,” Bill said menacingly. He wound up and slashed the whip across her breasts a second time, this time catching the areolae. Patsy twisted madly moaning in agony, but finally managed to control herself and stay still. Her gyrations caused my penis to twitch in my trousers.
“Now Bobby,” Bill said, “It isn’t right that Lizbeth is left out of the party, is it?” Now, this was the moment of truth. I feared that my presence had sparked the whipping of Frederica and Lillian, but that wasn’t really my doing, at least not directly. Now, though, I was being asked to deliberately hurt another human being, one that had done me no wrong and in fact had shared my bed and given me great pleasure. But I didn’t want to disappoint my host, nor could I ignore the insistent pressure in my loins that only grew at the prospect of seeing Lizbeth suffer at my hand.
Over-riding my conscience, I raised the whip and slashed it lightly down onto Lizbeth’s breast. She flinched slightly, but otherwise showed no reaction. “Oh, come on Bobby!” Bill taunted. “What was that? You barely touched her. Put some force behind it like you did with the pillow. Lizbeth has played here many times before, she can take it.”
Goaded by my friend, I raised the whip and rocked back, then slashed the leather across her lovely tits with as much force as I could muster. A look of intense agony darkened her face and her body went through a series of gyrations before finally coming to rest. She was panting from the pain, tears welling up in her eyes as she stared at me, her mouth open trying to draw air into her lungs, a bright red line marking where I had struck that looked like it was burning deep into her. What did she think of me? Had she expected better of me? What did I think of myself? But whatever my mind thought, my penis had thoughts of its own. It was throbbing mightily at the sight of the distressed girl and the knowledge that I had delivered the pain she was enduring.
“Now that’s more like it Bobby,” Bill cried. “Give her another one just like that.” Overcome by lust and pride, I raised the whip and delivered a second brutal lash to Lizbeth’s tits. She yelled loudly and twisted even more wildly, but maintained her position with her arms above her head. I suspected that the rules of Bill’s game imposed a serious penalty for breaking the position, something which he confirmed for me later.
Tears were flowing down Lizbeth’s cheeks as the second line of fire developed on her tits. I heard Bill administer a third strike to Patsy and I did the same to her friend, eliciting howls of agony and even more strenuous gyrations. By this point, my arousal was close to the boiling point. I slashed the whip twice more in rapid order onto Lizbeth’s breasts and felt myself close to the point of no return.
Desperate now, I threw the whip onto the table and tore my clothes off, my rampant erection pointing almost straight up. “Lie down,” I ordered the girl. She lowered her hands and lay on the floor. Oblivious of everything else, I hurried to get on top of her and slid inside her, thrusting as deep as I could. I was too much involved in my own pleasure to turn my head to see what Bill and Patsy were up to, but the sounds suggested they were comporting themselves much as Llzbeth and I.
Feeling myself close to climaxing, I stopped moving, lowered my head and began licking her tits, running my tongue along the wheals left by my whip strokes and sucking lustily on her swollen nipples. Even that mild pressure was sufficient to cause Lizbeth evident distress, as judged by the look of pain that passed over her face and the mewing sounds that came from her mouth.
That pushed me over the point at which any self-control was possible. I began thrusting madly into her female parts and soon was myself groaning and roaring as I emptied myself into Lizbeth’s vagina, the waves of pleasure seeming to go on and on before finally ebbing as I collapsed on top of the poor girl, gasping for air.
Eventually, as the spasms subsided, I withdrew and got off Lizbeth and lay beside her on the floor, my heart pounding from the excitement and the blessed release. After a few moments of recovery, Bill got up and went to the table to retrieve his drink. Patsy followed him and a few moments later Lizbeth and I did the same. We stood there drinking and smiling at each other like guests at a cocktail party, except that we were all naked and the girls sported nasty looking welts on their breasts.
I was wondering what Bill’s plan was for the rest of the evening and if it might not be time to get dressed and head back to the plantation house and my bed-a good night’s sleep seemed in order after the excitement of the day. Bill, it seemed, had other plans. He downed the rest of his whisky and turned to me. “Ready for round two, Bobby boy?” he asked.
Dinner was somewhat subdued compared to the previous evening. I was wrestling with my feelings over the events I had just witnessed. I noticed Bill drank several glasses of wine, so perhaps he was too. Patsy and Lizbeth seemed nervous, their eyes darting between me and Bill, as they brought in the various courses and took away the plates. Perhaps they saw the brutal whippings of the two field slaves as auguring something unpleasant.
However, as the dessert, a delicious rum-soaked cake slathered with cream, was being served, Bill became more talkative. “I’m betting you will want a bit of release tonight, Bobby boy. At least your trousers said so a little while ago,” he said, re-adopting his more customary jovial style.
I assumed he meant relief of the sexual variety and, while the urgent ache brought on by the erotic dance of the two slave girls under the lash had lessened, it was far from gone. It was more like a pile of hot coals smoldering, but ready to burst into flame at the least gust of wind. “Yes, I would be much obliged if Patsy and Lizbeth would visit my room again tonight.”
“Well, Bobby, I suppose that could be arranged, but I was thinking of something different, something we could both do that might be a whole lot of fun.”
“I certainly didn’t lack for fun with those two lovely ladies last night,” I replied.
“I wasn’t thinking of leaving them out of my plans for tonight, Bobby. No not at all. I would say their presence is absolutely essential, in fact,” Bill said.
Puzzled, I said, “I’m not quite sure what you mean.”
Bill quickly wolfed down the last bit of rum cake on his plate, swallowed the wine in his glass in a single draught and stood up quickly, if a bit unsteadily. He picked up a candlestick with a lit candle and said, “Come with me, Bobby, and you’ll see.” Intrigued, I pushed my chair back from the table and stood, then followed him as he led the way out back of the house, across the parade ground where the whippings had occurred and past the stables and a few other out buildings.
Finally, we crossed a grassy field, making our way carefully by the light of the candle and the half-moon peeking through the clouds, and arrived at a solitary out building, rather small, with no windows and only a single door. Opening the door, Bill entered and began lighting the candles set in holders on the wall. As the light dawned in the dark space, I saw a strange piece of furniture, a contraption that looked somewhat like a sawhorse, with a long bar at approximately waist height and straps attached to the legs at several places. I also noted that there were iron rings set into the floor and various ropes hanging from the ceiling.
“This is my playroom, Bobby boy,” Bill explained, though what he meant by that wasn’t entirely clear to me. “I had it specially fixed up a few years ago and I like to come here and have fun with the slave girls and every so often invite a good friend or two to join me.” I nodded, not sure of what the appropriate words would be.
“Come over and have a look at this,” he suggested, walking over to a large cabinet set against the far wall. As I arrived to join him, he extracted a key from his pocket and unlocked the cabinet. Inside was a collection of whips of various types, canes, shackles and various devices whose use I shuddered to guess at. “These are some of the toys I like to play with in here.” He grinned at me.
“They look interesting,” I offered.
“Oh they are, Bobby, very interesting. That’s exactly the right word. Check this one out,” he said, handing me a short leather whip, such as jockeys use. “Go on, try it,” he urged, pointing at a pillow tied to one of the vertical posts that supported the ceiling. The pillow had two semicircles, drawn in ink, separated by a small space and was obviously designed to mimic a human rear end.
“Take a swing, Bobby, pretend it’s Lizbeth’s ass,” he said. I swung my arm swishing the leather into the soft pillow. “Oh come on, Bobby, harder, man, use your whole body.” He walked over to the cabinet and returned with a jockey’s whip virtually identical to mine. He wound up, leaning his entire torso back, then threw his full weight forward, slapping the leather into the pillow at full force, releasing a number of feathers that floated slowly to the ground.
“That’s how you do it Bobby,” he said. “It’s no fun if the slave girl doesn’t feel it. Now show me what you can do.” Not wanting to be bested by my old friend, I gripped the whip tightly in my hand and imitated his motions, slashing hard into the pillow, sending feathers flying as Bill had done. I could feel the force radiating up my arm from the contact. “That’s the way, Bobby boy! That’ll get them howling!” Bill cried.
Once he was confident of my proficiency with the whip, Bill showed me how to use one of the supple canes, demonstrating the well-timed wrist flick that would transmit maximum force and send the feathers flying.
As we were catching our breath from these exertions, there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Bill shouted. The door opened to reveal Lizbeth and Patsy, looking even more nervous than they had at dinner. “Don’t be shy ladies, we won’t bite, at least not too hard,” Bill called, beckoning them in.
I was struck again by how lovely these two slaves looked, especially by the soft glow of the candles that lit Bill’s playroom. “Mr. Owens and I were just warming up for the festivities, weren’t we Bobby?” I nodded. “Let’s all have a drink and toast good times,” Bill suggested.
He went over to the cabinet that held the whips, canes and other equipment and extracted a large bottle of whisky and four glasses, which he set down on a small table that lay against one of the walls. He poured a generous helping into each of the glasses and handed one each to me, Lizbeth and Patsy, taking the last one for himself. “To a great evening,” he announced, as though we were all going to a cotillion, then raised his glass and took a generous swallow. The rest of us followed suit.
“Now, I think you ladies ought to make yourselves comfortable, don’t you?” Bill continued. Patsy and Lizbeth had clearly participated in such evenings before, since they seemed to know exactly what this meant. They began unbuttoning their blouses, revealing the breasts that had given me such pleasure the previous night. They quickly slipped the blouses off and deposited them on a chair. Without pausing they lowered their skirts, stepped out of them and laid them on the chair as well.
The sight of the two women standing there naked, submissively waiting to please Bill and me was the breeze I needed to reignite the flames of lust that had been kindled by the whipping I had watched earlier in the evening and which I has suppressed until now. My cock began to harden in my trousers.
Bill picked the riding whip up off the table. “Patsy, you know what’s coming right?” he said. Looking fearful, but resigned, she raised both hands over her head. Bill measured his distance, drew the whip back and slashed it viciously across her breasts, causing them to shake most erotically. Though the girl had clearly been prepared for the lash and had steeled herself to absorb it, her knees almost gave way before she steadied herself and stood there, gasping for breath as a dark red welt rose up across the top of her breasts.
“That’s good Patsy, hold your position,” Bill said menacingly. He wound up and slashed the whip across her breasts a second time, this time catching the areolae. Patsy twisted madly moaning in agony, but finally managed to control herself and stay still. Her gyrations caused my penis to twitch in my trousers.
“Now Bobby,” Bill said, “It isn’t right that Lizbeth is left out of the party, is it?” Now, this was the moment of truth. I feared that my presence had sparked the whipping of Frederica and Lillian, but that wasn’t really my doing, at least not directly. Now, though, I was being asked to deliberately hurt another human being, one that had done me no wrong and in fact had shared my bed and given me great pleasure. But I didn’t want to disappoint my host, nor could I ignore the insistent pressure in my loins that only grew at the prospect of seeing Lizbeth suffer at my hand.
Over-riding my conscience, I raised the whip and slashed it lightly down onto Lizbeth’s breast. She flinched slightly, but otherwise showed no reaction. “Oh, come on Bobby!” Bill taunted. “What was that? You barely touched her. Put some force behind it like you did with the pillow. Lizbeth has played here many times before, she can take it.”
Goaded by my friend, I raised the whip and rocked back, then slashed the leather across her lovely tits with as much force as I could muster. A look of intense agony darkened her face and her body went through a series of gyrations before finally coming to rest. She was panting from the pain, tears welling up in her eyes as she stared at me, her mouth open trying to draw air into her lungs, a bright red line marking where I had struck that looked like it was burning deep into her. What did she think of me? Had she expected better of me? What did I think of myself? But whatever my mind thought, my penis had thoughts of its own. It was throbbing mightily at the sight of the distressed girl and the knowledge that I had delivered the pain she was enduring.
“Now that’s more like it Bobby,” Bill cried. “Give her another one just like that.” Overcome by lust and pride, I raised the whip and delivered a second brutal lash to Lizbeth’s tits. She yelled loudly and twisted even more wildly, but maintained her position with her arms above her head. I suspected that the rules of Bill’s game imposed a serious penalty for breaking the position, something which he confirmed for me later.
Tears were flowing down Lizbeth’s cheeks as the second line of fire developed on her tits. I heard Bill administer a third strike to Patsy and I did the same to her friend, eliciting howls of agony and even more strenuous gyrations. By this point, my arousal was close to the boiling point. I slashed the whip twice more in rapid order onto Lizbeth’s breasts and felt myself close to the point of no return.
Desperate now, I threw the whip onto the table and tore my clothes off, my rampant erection pointing almost straight up. “Lie down,” I ordered the girl. She lowered her hands and lay on the floor. Oblivious of everything else, I hurried to get on top of her and slid inside her, thrusting as deep as I could. I was too much involved in my own pleasure to turn my head to see what Bill and Patsy were up to, but the sounds suggested they were comporting themselves much as Llzbeth and I.
Feeling myself close to climaxing, I stopped moving, lowered my head and began licking her tits, running my tongue along the wheals left by my whip strokes and sucking lustily on her swollen nipples. Even that mild pressure was sufficient to cause Lizbeth evident distress, as judged by the look of pain that passed over her face and the mewing sounds that came from her mouth.
That pushed me over the point at which any self-control was possible. I began thrusting madly into her female parts and soon was myself groaning and roaring as I emptied myself into Lizbeth’s vagina, the waves of pleasure seeming to go on and on before finally ebbing as I collapsed on top of the poor girl, gasping for air.
Eventually, as the spasms subsided, I withdrew and got off Lizbeth and lay beside her on the floor, my heart pounding from the excitement and the blessed release. After a few moments of recovery, Bill got up and went to the table to retrieve his drink. Patsy followed him and a few moments later Lizbeth and I did the same. We stood there drinking and smiling at each other like guests at a cocktail party, except that we were all naked and the girls sported nasty looking welts on their breasts.
I was wondering what Bill’s plan was for the rest of the evening and if it might not be time to get dressed and head back to the plantation house and my bed-a good night’s sleep seemed in order after the excitement of the day. Bill, it seemed, had other plans. He downed the rest of his whisky and turned to me. “Ready for round two, Bobby boy?” he asked.
Dorothy Brown
Brown Sugar
Wow, two very very lucky girls
Will You Stop Getting Me Horny
Will You Stop Getting Me Horny