windar
Teller of Tales
NO!!!
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Visiting The Jackson Plantation
- Thread starter windar
- Start date
Marcius
Tribune
Ah, those demands of Southern hospitality -- and Northern carnality.
Ted Parry
Governor
I bet you can feel that whip slashing across your tits Dotty ..... Are you going to scream ?
Dorothy Brown
Brown Sugar
There is a German team who do whipping videos with an auto whipping machine
they had this girl backed onto a bondage cross and the whipping machine lined
up with her boobs, she took a hell of a whipping on them but they had to abort
the shoot and take her down,she was on the verge of passing out.
I can identify with that!
I can identify with that, too!
Hot damn, Windar!
I didn't think I was into whipping, you could convert me with much more of this!
windar
Teller of Tales
Hot damn, Windar!
I didn't think I was into whipping, you could convert me with much more of this!
Whipping beats crucifixion in my books (I know, bad pun)
First, if you invest good money in a slave and then crucify them, you have a capital loss. Sure you can deduct it on your tax return, but still it's a loss. Whereas, if you flog them, they can be back at work the next day.
Second, whipping is quick. A few dozen lashes takes 10 minutes. Crux, once the good parts are done, drags on for days. Now some of you devotees will say, so what? But I bet even watching a very sexy girl take 3 days to die on a cross in real time would bore even the biggest crux fans. But we can do the experiment. Watch one of those simulated crux videos over and over for 72 hours straight and tell me your attention didn't wander. Then watch a 10 minute whipping video.
I rest my case. And boy, is my case tired...
The flogging act is inclusive crucifixions.Whipping beats crucifixion in my books (I know, bad pun)
First, if you invest good money in a slave and then crucify them, you have a capital loss. Sure you can deduct it on your tax return, but still it's a loss. Whereas, if you flog them, they can be back at work the next day.
Second, whipping is quick. A few dozen lashes takes 10 minutes. Crux, once the good parts are done, drags on for days. Now some of you devotees will say, so what? But I bet even watching a very sexy girl take 3 days to die on a cross in real time would bore even the biggest crux fans. But we can do the experiment. Watch one of those simulated crux videos over and over for 72 hours straight and tell me your attention didn't wander. Then watch a 10 minute whipping video.
I rest my case. And boy, is my case tired...
Marcius
Tribune
Yeah, well, you can have both.Whipping beats crucifixion in my books (I know, bad pun)
Depends on the flogging, I'd say.
Thank God for that!Yeah, well, you can have both.
windar
Teller of Tales
Yeah, well, you can have both.
Of course, but the crux part takes too long. I bet the crowds that are depicted as watching a crucifixion mostly leave after a few hours.
Yes, one has to exercise some restraint
Yes, probably. But the onlookers had a few beautiful hours on crux place. With eat and drink on camping chairs and under a sun umbrella.Of course, but the crux part takes too long. I bet the crowds that are depicted as watching a crucifixion mostly leave after a few hours.
Yes, one has to exercise some restraint
And maybe, tomorrow again.
Marcius
Tribune
Good thing the guards don't.
Speaking seriously: some of the whipping sentences passed by the Old South courts must've been passed with the intention to kill the slave -- and to avoid paying the slaveholder the monetary compensation that commonly was his due when his slave was hanged.Yes, one has to exercise some restraint
windar
Teller of Tales
Chapter 5 Continued
“What is round two, Bill?” I responded, unsure of what could top round one.
“Bobby, the night is young and the ladies are willing.” I wasn’t so sure about the first and a quick glance at the looks on Lizbeth and Patsy’s faces gave me doubts about the second. Bill continued, “We’ve paid close attention to these girls tits, but I’m sorry to say that we’ve neglected their asses.”
Curious about where this was going, I replied, “I suppose that’s true, Bill.”
“It certainly is,” Bill answered “And we need to rectify that mistake. Ladies get yourselves over the sawhorse.” So, it appeared now that I would see what role that apparatus would play in Bill’s fun and games.
Looking somewhat reluctant, the girls put down their drinks and padded over to the sawhorse, standing next to each other with their groins against the wooden crossbeam, which was long enough to accommodate both of them. Bill went to the cabinet and returned with several short pieces of rope.
“All right, girls, you know what to do,” he said. And it appeared that they did, for they bent at the waist, their torsos dangling in the air, their hands on the ground supporting their weight. Bill knelt and moved Patsy’s legs apart until each foot was lying against a metal ring that was attached firmly to the floor. He picked up two pieces of rope and tied each of Patsy’s ankles to one of the rings, such that her feet were approximately shoulder width apart.
“Why don’t you do the honors on Lizbeth, Bobby?” he suggested. Following his lead, I knelt and grasped the girls left ankle, moving it until it was next to one of the rings, to which I tied it securely. I did the same with her other ankle. Bill went around the front of the apparatus and tied each of Patsy’s wrists to one of the rings set in the floor on that side of the bar. I needed no prompting to do the same with Lizbeth’s wrists.
Coming back around to stand behind the two now secured slaves, I couldn’t help but notice that the posture they had been bound in, bent at the waist, with their legs spread, left them completely exposed and vulnerable, their cunts fully accessible as was the little bud between the spread cheeks of their buttocks. Despite the fact that I had rather recently emptied my balls in quite a profound fashion and would normally have little interest in sexual activities until some time had passed, the sight of the two girls side by side, totally exposed and vulnerable, overcame my fatigue. As I stared at them, I felt my cock stiffening once again.
Being naked, there was, of course, no way to hide my excitement from Bill. “Well look who’s ready for more action,” he crowed, punching me on the arm. “We’ll have to call you Bobby two times, I fear.” Of course, he was in no better position than I was to hide his arousal, which was also quite evident.
“Bobby, I think it’s getting a bit chilly and these girls’ asses need some warming up, especially with their inner parts spread so open. Would you mind bringing over a couple of the canes hanging in the cabinet there?” Bill asked. I went over and peered into the cabinet. On the back wall, hanging on hooks, were a number of canes that appeared to be made of bamboo or rattan or some similar plant species. I chose two at random and held them up for Bill’s approval. They were about four feet long and as thick as my little finger.
“Flex them and see how much they bend,” he called out. It was hard to imagine that something that thick would be flexible, but I put one hand on the handle and the other on the tip and, with a bit of effort, I bent the cane into a semicircle. “That’s good, Bobby, it’s the flex that transfers the power of your arm to the girl’s butt.” I tested the second one, which performed similarly, then walked back to the spot behind the two slave girls, handing one of the canes to Bill. The sight of the girls’ exposed privates brought my cock once again to full stiffness.
“How’s about we switch, Bobby boy, and you do Patsy and I take Lizbeth?” Bill asked. That seemed only fair so we switched positions. “I’ll start and we’ll alternate until we decide they’ve had enough, OK?” I nodded. “Now watch me and pay attention to how I flick my wrist just before the cane hits the ass. That’s what really gives it the power.” To show me what he meant, Bill took a step back, raised the cane up behind his shoulder and then strode forward, sweeping his arm towards the target, which was Lizbeth’s well-presented derriere, and snapping his wrist just a moment before contact.
The cane struck with the a loud slapping sound, burying itself in the soft butt flesh, causing the fatty tissue to jiggle like a bowl of jelly dropped on the floor. Poor Lizbeth clearly did not enjoy being the object of this demonstration. She reared up, raising her head and began pulling madly at the ropes holding her wrists and ankles in place. A loud moan came from her lips as a bright double line, like a set of railroad tracks rose up on her buttocks.
“Now that, Bobby boy, is how one canes a slave girl. But perhaps we ought to ask Lizbeth to tell us how effective that was.” Bill strode around to the front of the apparatus and grasped Lizbeth by the hair and lifted her face up so that he could look her in the eye. I went over to join him. Tears were running down her cheeks, mucus was flowing from her nose and she was struggling to draw a breath. “Did that hurt, my dear?” Bill asked her.
The question seemed superfluous as her every bodily reaction averred that it did. Nevertheless, she probably felt it would be a mistake not to respond to a question from her master. “Oh, Massa, it hurts so much,” she sobbed, “Please no more.”
Bill put his hand on my shoulder and led me back to the other side of the apparatus. By now the wheal on Lizbeth’s ass had turned several shades of purple. One could almost see it throbbing. She wriggled her buttock cheeks as spasms of pain passed through. I found that sight most erotic and felt myself hardening.
“Well, Bobby boy, time to see what you can do,” Bill said. I was a bit dubious that I could deliver a blow anywhere near as effective as he had, nor was I really anxious to cause Patsy severe distress. Nevertheless, I knew that Bill would taunt me if I didn’t try my best. So, I positioned myself as he had done, raised the cane over my shoulder and tried to deliver the blow with the appropriate flick of the wrist.
As the cane struck Patsy’s ass, I felt the force of the impact travel up my arm and heard the loud thwack. For a moment she lay still and I thought that my efforts had been ineffective. But after a second or two, as the double line began to rise up and darken on her skin, I heard her draw a deep breath and utter a loud moan. At the same time, I saw her legs and arms pulling on the bonds as she frantically tried to free herself. I also noted that her hips were grinding against the bar causing her buttock cheeks to rotate most enticingly. My cock was now standing almost straight up.
I stepped aside to allow Bill the room to administer a second stroke to Lizbeth, which landed slightly lower on her buttocks than the first one. Her whole body went rigid and she yelped piteously as a second bright red line rose up on her light brown skin.
I felt ashamed of how aroused I was by the sight of the helpless slave girls forced to endure this awful punishment, but the thought of seeing Patsy’s ass gyrating again due to a cane stroke that I gave her was too much to resist. I swung again, striking as hard as I could right across those delightful round cheeks. The poor girl howled like a banshee and shook her entire body madly as a second set of lines sprung up on those delightful cheeks.
I was in a frenzy now, consumed by lust, beyond all the normal controls imposed by decency and propriety. Heedless of the harm, I was causing, I struck, two, perhaps three more times on the battered flesh. Patsy was also beyond all control, shrieking and pleading for mercy, pleas that my unmoored state left me deaf to. The last stroke, falling on skin already abraded by the vicious rattan, caused the skin to part and a trickle of crimson to flow down the rounded butt cheeks.
My cock was now at full erection, my balls aching for relief that could no longer be delayed. I threw the cane to the floor and positioned myself behind Patsy, grasping her ass to steady myself. It was obvious that any contact with the region that had suffered the searing cane strokes was greatly distressing to Patsy, causing her to yelp with pain, but I was heedless of her feelings. I rubbed my cock along her slit a few times to lubricate myself, then plunged it home.
Once inside her, I rutted away like a bull, pounding my pelvis against her ass. trying to penetrate as deeply as I could. The pounding on her inflamed flesh set the girl to squirming and squealing which only increased my lust and the need to pound her still harder. Finally, I could hold out no longer; I made a final plunge and yelled loudly, emptying my balls inside of her before finally pulling out to rub my shriveling cock against the ridges that the cane had raised on her ass.
Glancing over, I saw that Bill was disporting himself much as I had and soon reached his peak inside the passageway of the lovely, but most agonized Lizbeth. As he was coming down from his climax, I grinned at him and he grinned back at me. “Wasn’t that the best you ever had?” he asked. I could only nod in complete agreement.
I walked over to the table, filled my glass with some whisky and downed most of it. Then, I began untying Patsy, her hands first, then her feet. My lust fully sated, I reverted to my normal gentlemanly demeanor, taking hold of her arm and helping her to her feet. She looked quite well used, her hair disheveled, her face a mess of tears, mucus and saliva, bright red lines across her tits and ugly wheals across her ass.
Still, she was quite beautiful, so I kissed her on the mouth and apologized for hurting her. “It ain’t nothing I’m not used to, Massa Robert,” she replied. I poured her some whisky, which she accepted gratefully, downing the entire glass in one fell swoop. I supposed it would ease the fire that must be burning in her ass.
Bill had now freed Lizbeth who looked much as exhausted and pained as Patsy did and they joined us in a final drink before we all began putting on the clothes we had so hastily removed. It was obvious that pulling the rough fabric over their bruised and battered skin was causing the girls some acute distress, but with some care, they were soon dressed, as were Bill and I. We strolled slowly back to the plantation house as though we were two couples returning from a dinner party at a neighboring plantation. Exhausted I said good night to all, undressed and got into bed and was asleep in seconds.
“What is round two, Bill?” I responded, unsure of what could top round one.
“Bobby, the night is young and the ladies are willing.” I wasn’t so sure about the first and a quick glance at the looks on Lizbeth and Patsy’s faces gave me doubts about the second. Bill continued, “We’ve paid close attention to these girls tits, but I’m sorry to say that we’ve neglected their asses.”
Curious about where this was going, I replied, “I suppose that’s true, Bill.”
“It certainly is,” Bill answered “And we need to rectify that mistake. Ladies get yourselves over the sawhorse.” So, it appeared now that I would see what role that apparatus would play in Bill’s fun and games.
Looking somewhat reluctant, the girls put down their drinks and padded over to the sawhorse, standing next to each other with their groins against the wooden crossbeam, which was long enough to accommodate both of them. Bill went to the cabinet and returned with several short pieces of rope.
“All right, girls, you know what to do,” he said. And it appeared that they did, for they bent at the waist, their torsos dangling in the air, their hands on the ground supporting their weight. Bill knelt and moved Patsy’s legs apart until each foot was lying against a metal ring that was attached firmly to the floor. He picked up two pieces of rope and tied each of Patsy’s ankles to one of the rings, such that her feet were approximately shoulder width apart.
“Why don’t you do the honors on Lizbeth, Bobby?” he suggested. Following his lead, I knelt and grasped the girls left ankle, moving it until it was next to one of the rings, to which I tied it securely. I did the same with her other ankle. Bill went around the front of the apparatus and tied each of Patsy’s wrists to one of the rings set in the floor on that side of the bar. I needed no prompting to do the same with Lizbeth’s wrists.
Coming back around to stand behind the two now secured slaves, I couldn’t help but notice that the posture they had been bound in, bent at the waist, with their legs spread, left them completely exposed and vulnerable, their cunts fully accessible as was the little bud between the spread cheeks of their buttocks. Despite the fact that I had rather recently emptied my balls in quite a profound fashion and would normally have little interest in sexual activities until some time had passed, the sight of the two girls side by side, totally exposed and vulnerable, overcame my fatigue. As I stared at them, I felt my cock stiffening once again.
Being naked, there was, of course, no way to hide my excitement from Bill. “Well look who’s ready for more action,” he crowed, punching me on the arm. “We’ll have to call you Bobby two times, I fear.” Of course, he was in no better position than I was to hide his arousal, which was also quite evident.
“Bobby, I think it’s getting a bit chilly and these girls’ asses need some warming up, especially with their inner parts spread so open. Would you mind bringing over a couple of the canes hanging in the cabinet there?” Bill asked. I went over and peered into the cabinet. On the back wall, hanging on hooks, were a number of canes that appeared to be made of bamboo or rattan or some similar plant species. I chose two at random and held them up for Bill’s approval. They were about four feet long and as thick as my little finger.
“Flex them and see how much they bend,” he called out. It was hard to imagine that something that thick would be flexible, but I put one hand on the handle and the other on the tip and, with a bit of effort, I bent the cane into a semicircle. “That’s good, Bobby, it’s the flex that transfers the power of your arm to the girl’s butt.” I tested the second one, which performed similarly, then walked back to the spot behind the two slave girls, handing one of the canes to Bill. The sight of the girls’ exposed privates brought my cock once again to full stiffness.
“How’s about we switch, Bobby boy, and you do Patsy and I take Lizbeth?” Bill asked. That seemed only fair so we switched positions. “I’ll start and we’ll alternate until we decide they’ve had enough, OK?” I nodded. “Now watch me and pay attention to how I flick my wrist just before the cane hits the ass. That’s what really gives it the power.” To show me what he meant, Bill took a step back, raised the cane up behind his shoulder and then strode forward, sweeping his arm towards the target, which was Lizbeth’s well-presented derriere, and snapping his wrist just a moment before contact.
The cane struck with the a loud slapping sound, burying itself in the soft butt flesh, causing the fatty tissue to jiggle like a bowl of jelly dropped on the floor. Poor Lizbeth clearly did not enjoy being the object of this demonstration. She reared up, raising her head and began pulling madly at the ropes holding her wrists and ankles in place. A loud moan came from her lips as a bright double line, like a set of railroad tracks rose up on her buttocks.
“Now that, Bobby boy, is how one canes a slave girl. But perhaps we ought to ask Lizbeth to tell us how effective that was.” Bill strode around to the front of the apparatus and grasped Lizbeth by the hair and lifted her face up so that he could look her in the eye. I went over to join him. Tears were running down her cheeks, mucus was flowing from her nose and she was struggling to draw a breath. “Did that hurt, my dear?” Bill asked her.
The question seemed superfluous as her every bodily reaction averred that it did. Nevertheless, she probably felt it would be a mistake not to respond to a question from her master. “Oh, Massa, it hurts so much,” she sobbed, “Please no more.”
Bill put his hand on my shoulder and led me back to the other side of the apparatus. By now the wheal on Lizbeth’s ass had turned several shades of purple. One could almost see it throbbing. She wriggled her buttock cheeks as spasms of pain passed through. I found that sight most erotic and felt myself hardening.
“Well, Bobby boy, time to see what you can do,” Bill said. I was a bit dubious that I could deliver a blow anywhere near as effective as he had, nor was I really anxious to cause Patsy severe distress. Nevertheless, I knew that Bill would taunt me if I didn’t try my best. So, I positioned myself as he had done, raised the cane over my shoulder and tried to deliver the blow with the appropriate flick of the wrist.
As the cane struck Patsy’s ass, I felt the force of the impact travel up my arm and heard the loud thwack. For a moment she lay still and I thought that my efforts had been ineffective. But after a second or two, as the double line began to rise up and darken on her skin, I heard her draw a deep breath and utter a loud moan. At the same time, I saw her legs and arms pulling on the bonds as she frantically tried to free herself. I also noted that her hips were grinding against the bar causing her buttock cheeks to rotate most enticingly. My cock was now standing almost straight up.
I stepped aside to allow Bill the room to administer a second stroke to Lizbeth, which landed slightly lower on her buttocks than the first one. Her whole body went rigid and she yelped piteously as a second bright red line rose up on her light brown skin.
I felt ashamed of how aroused I was by the sight of the helpless slave girls forced to endure this awful punishment, but the thought of seeing Patsy’s ass gyrating again due to a cane stroke that I gave her was too much to resist. I swung again, striking as hard as I could right across those delightful round cheeks. The poor girl howled like a banshee and shook her entire body madly as a second set of lines sprung up on those delightful cheeks.
I was in a frenzy now, consumed by lust, beyond all the normal controls imposed by decency and propriety. Heedless of the harm, I was causing, I struck, two, perhaps three more times on the battered flesh. Patsy was also beyond all control, shrieking and pleading for mercy, pleas that my unmoored state left me deaf to. The last stroke, falling on skin already abraded by the vicious rattan, caused the skin to part and a trickle of crimson to flow down the rounded butt cheeks.
My cock was now at full erection, my balls aching for relief that could no longer be delayed. I threw the cane to the floor and positioned myself behind Patsy, grasping her ass to steady myself. It was obvious that any contact with the region that had suffered the searing cane strokes was greatly distressing to Patsy, causing her to yelp with pain, but I was heedless of her feelings. I rubbed my cock along her slit a few times to lubricate myself, then plunged it home.
Once inside her, I rutted away like a bull, pounding my pelvis against her ass. trying to penetrate as deeply as I could. The pounding on her inflamed flesh set the girl to squirming and squealing which only increased my lust and the need to pound her still harder. Finally, I could hold out no longer; I made a final plunge and yelled loudly, emptying my balls inside of her before finally pulling out to rub my shriveling cock against the ridges that the cane had raised on her ass.
Glancing over, I saw that Bill was disporting himself much as I had and soon reached his peak inside the passageway of the lovely, but most agonized Lizbeth. As he was coming down from his climax, I grinned at him and he grinned back at me. “Wasn’t that the best you ever had?” he asked. I could only nod in complete agreement.
I walked over to the table, filled my glass with some whisky and downed most of it. Then, I began untying Patsy, her hands first, then her feet. My lust fully sated, I reverted to my normal gentlemanly demeanor, taking hold of her arm and helping her to her feet. She looked quite well used, her hair disheveled, her face a mess of tears, mucus and saliva, bright red lines across her tits and ugly wheals across her ass.
Still, she was quite beautiful, so I kissed her on the mouth and apologized for hurting her. “It ain’t nothing I’m not used to, Massa Robert,” she replied. I poured her some whisky, which she accepted gratefully, downing the entire glass in one fell swoop. I supposed it would ease the fire that must be burning in her ass.
Bill had now freed Lizbeth who looked much as exhausted and pained as Patsy did and they joined us in a final drink before we all began putting on the clothes we had so hastily removed. It was obvious that pulling the rough fabric over their bruised and battered skin was causing the girls some acute distress, but with some care, they were soon dressed, as were Bill and I. We strolled slowly back to the plantation house as though we were two couples returning from a dinner party at a neighboring plantation. Exhausted I said good night to all, undressed and got into bed and was asleep in seconds.
Dorothy Brown
Brown Sugar
Can you tell me where this plantation is situated
i wish to enroll as a slave girl,just one question
what happens if a wear my master out.
i wish to enroll as a slave girl,just one question
what happens if a wear my master out.
Saying nothing.... off for a cold shower, so I am!
Jon Smithie
Tribune
Here's a genteel but passionate Southern belle who has been observing all the attentions you boys have been bestowing on the servants, (generally not referred to as "slaves" by the quality) and is quite jealous. The poor, deprived, young thing.
(Vivien Leigh as Scarlett O'Hara, Gone With The Wind.)
(Vivien Leigh as Scarlett O'Hara, Gone With The Wind.)
Dorothy Brown
Brown Sugar
windar
Teller of Tales
Chapter 6 A Business Proposition
I slept deeply and descended in the morning as Bill was finishing the last of his breakfast. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he greeted me.
“I see you got up bright and early this morning,” I replied.
“You know us rural folk, Bobby, up with the sun. Not like you city people lying in bed until all hours,” he replied, shaking his head. “Lizbeth!” he shouted. The girl appeared in her usual serving costume, her face looking a bit weary, but much closer to its habitual loveliness than it had after her caning last night. However, I noticed she was moving a bit slower than usual and wincing whenever certain movements aggravated the burning in her tits and ass. “Bring Mr. Owens here some breakfast, and be quick about it unless you want another party tonight.” She hurried out to the kitchen as quickly as her feet could carry her.
“I’m sorry, Bill, but I really don’t think I’m up for another party tonight. Perhaps in a few days I might consider it, but not so soon.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Bobby, even I have my limits. And the girls need to recover. Sure I could invite a couple of the other slave girls, but there’s a reason I chose Patsy and Lizbeth; they can really take a lot of punishment and still give a lively performance. Some of the others have been known to pass out and there’s not much fun in that. But I must tell you Bobby, you showed a real aptitude for punishing these slave girls, especially for a Yankee not brought up around such things. I was very impressed.”
I supposed he meant that as a complement, so I thanked him. Lizbeth returned with a plate of ham, eggs and grits, moving gingerly. This Southern food was agreeing with me almost as much as the Southern women.
Bill continued, “It seems to me that you could do real well down here, Bobby. Imagine how much fun we could have with a party like last night anytime we felt like it, slave girls in your bed, plenty of Sarah’s good cooking to fatten you up.”
I swallowed a mouthful of ham and grits before replying. “It certainly is tempting Bill, no doubt about it. But I’m number two at van Vliet and the firm is making plenty of money. I get a good bonus every year and the old man is telling me that he might want me to take it over if he dies or can’t run things anymore.”
“Well, let me ask you this Bobby-do you have some ready cash or access to it?”
I put my coffee cup down. “Yes Bill, I haven’t spent much out of my bonuses over the last few years. I’ve been saving that up for when I meet the right girl. New York society women don’t come cheap.”
Bill laughed. “Well, neither do our Southern belles, Bobby. But why tie yourself down right now when there are plenty of slave girls you can have lots of fun with? If you’ve got some cash and access to the bankers on Wall Street, I have a business proposition that might interest you.”
“I’m listening,” I replied.
“There’s a plantation down the road, belongs to an older man named Marston. It’s good land, perfect for cotton. He’s fallen ill and his doctor says the climate down here isn’t good for him. His son is a drunken wastrel who spends his time and the old man’s money drinking and gambling in Charleston, when he isn’t drinking and gambling in London or Paris. The old man would love to sell the place to someone with some ready cash. You could buy the whole thing, the land, the house, the slaves, all of it. With sound management there’s no reason it wouldn’t have profit margins just as good as this place.”
“But I like New York, Bill. I like it here too of course, but I would miss the hustle and the bustle.”
“The way I see it, Bobby, you wouldn’t have to live here. We could be a partnership; you’d supply the capital and I’d supply the management expertise and we’d split the profits 50:50. The beauty of it is that you’d have a good reason to come down here once or twice a year and we could have some good fun. There are some nice female slaves on that plantation, I can assure you and they’d be yours to do with as you’d like. Of course you couldn’t take them up to New York, but down here, they’d do whatever you wanted. Or else they’d get whipped.”
“I don’t know, Bill, I’d have to look at it carefully; it’s a big investment.”
“Well of course, Bobby, I wouldn’t expect you to put up money without checking things out. You’re a Princeton man, after all. But will you do me this favor? Let’s go take a look around the plantation and see if old man Marston can take us through the accounts. Will you do that for me?”
“Sure, Bill,” I replied, “But no commitments.”
“That’s fine, Bobby. I’ll have George go over there and see if Marston can receive us this very afternoon.” Bill summoned him and sent him off to see if Marston was available. It turned out that he was and he would be happy to accommodate us after lunch.
The Marston plantation was, as Bill promised a fine spread of land. The fields were well-tended by a large crew of field slaves, and his cotton plants looked just as vigorous and healthy as Bill’s. The house was well appointed in typical Southern style. Marston himself looked to be around 70 years of age, though that may have been partially due to the effects of the illness, which had him coughing and wheezing as he rose to greet us. Despite his weakened state, he was cheerful and polite, offering us tea and cake, which were brought by a female house slave named Lucy, every bit as attractive as Lizbeth and Patsy. The other female servants we saw going about their duties looked quite lovely as well.
After we had enjoyed the small repast, Marston took us through the books. All appeared to be in order; the profit margins were excellent and the investment would be recouped in less than 10 years as long as cotton prices remained near where they were. Finally, Bill and I rose and thanked Mr. Marston and I assured him that we would give things serious consideration.
Riding back to his plantation, Bill was ebullient. “It’s a good profitable farm, Bobby boy, top quality land and the house is very spacious and comfortable. And did you catch the ass on Juicy Lucy, the serving girl? Oh, it would take the cane beautifully.”
“Indeed it would,” I replied. It was certainly something to consider. I imagined myself a real Southern planter, living in a big house with white columns surrounded by slave girls who would serve my every desire. I could have them whipped for any trifling offense if I chose and no one could stop me. I could even build a play room such as Bill had and amuse myself with the slave girls whenever and however I wished. It was a tempting prospect.
I slept deeply and descended in the morning as Bill was finishing the last of his breakfast. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he greeted me.
“I see you got up bright and early this morning,” I replied.
“You know us rural folk, Bobby, up with the sun. Not like you city people lying in bed until all hours,” he replied, shaking his head. “Lizbeth!” he shouted. The girl appeared in her usual serving costume, her face looking a bit weary, but much closer to its habitual loveliness than it had after her caning last night. However, I noticed she was moving a bit slower than usual and wincing whenever certain movements aggravated the burning in her tits and ass. “Bring Mr. Owens here some breakfast, and be quick about it unless you want another party tonight.” She hurried out to the kitchen as quickly as her feet could carry her.
“I’m sorry, Bill, but I really don’t think I’m up for another party tonight. Perhaps in a few days I might consider it, but not so soon.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Bobby, even I have my limits. And the girls need to recover. Sure I could invite a couple of the other slave girls, but there’s a reason I chose Patsy and Lizbeth; they can really take a lot of punishment and still give a lively performance. Some of the others have been known to pass out and there’s not much fun in that. But I must tell you Bobby, you showed a real aptitude for punishing these slave girls, especially for a Yankee not brought up around such things. I was very impressed.”
I supposed he meant that as a complement, so I thanked him. Lizbeth returned with a plate of ham, eggs and grits, moving gingerly. This Southern food was agreeing with me almost as much as the Southern women.
Bill continued, “It seems to me that you could do real well down here, Bobby. Imagine how much fun we could have with a party like last night anytime we felt like it, slave girls in your bed, plenty of Sarah’s good cooking to fatten you up.”
I swallowed a mouthful of ham and grits before replying. “It certainly is tempting Bill, no doubt about it. But I’m number two at van Vliet and the firm is making plenty of money. I get a good bonus every year and the old man is telling me that he might want me to take it over if he dies or can’t run things anymore.”
“Well, let me ask you this Bobby-do you have some ready cash or access to it?”
I put my coffee cup down. “Yes Bill, I haven’t spent much out of my bonuses over the last few years. I’ve been saving that up for when I meet the right girl. New York society women don’t come cheap.”
Bill laughed. “Well, neither do our Southern belles, Bobby. But why tie yourself down right now when there are plenty of slave girls you can have lots of fun with? If you’ve got some cash and access to the bankers on Wall Street, I have a business proposition that might interest you.”
“I’m listening,” I replied.
“There’s a plantation down the road, belongs to an older man named Marston. It’s good land, perfect for cotton. He’s fallen ill and his doctor says the climate down here isn’t good for him. His son is a drunken wastrel who spends his time and the old man’s money drinking and gambling in Charleston, when he isn’t drinking and gambling in London or Paris. The old man would love to sell the place to someone with some ready cash. You could buy the whole thing, the land, the house, the slaves, all of it. With sound management there’s no reason it wouldn’t have profit margins just as good as this place.”
“But I like New York, Bill. I like it here too of course, but I would miss the hustle and the bustle.”
“The way I see it, Bobby, you wouldn’t have to live here. We could be a partnership; you’d supply the capital and I’d supply the management expertise and we’d split the profits 50:50. The beauty of it is that you’d have a good reason to come down here once or twice a year and we could have some good fun. There are some nice female slaves on that plantation, I can assure you and they’d be yours to do with as you’d like. Of course you couldn’t take them up to New York, but down here, they’d do whatever you wanted. Or else they’d get whipped.”
“I don’t know, Bill, I’d have to look at it carefully; it’s a big investment.”
“Well of course, Bobby, I wouldn’t expect you to put up money without checking things out. You’re a Princeton man, after all. But will you do me this favor? Let’s go take a look around the plantation and see if old man Marston can take us through the accounts. Will you do that for me?”
“Sure, Bill,” I replied, “But no commitments.”
“That’s fine, Bobby. I’ll have George go over there and see if Marston can receive us this very afternoon.” Bill summoned him and sent him off to see if Marston was available. It turned out that he was and he would be happy to accommodate us after lunch.
The Marston plantation was, as Bill promised a fine spread of land. The fields were well-tended by a large crew of field slaves, and his cotton plants looked just as vigorous and healthy as Bill’s. The house was well appointed in typical Southern style. Marston himself looked to be around 70 years of age, though that may have been partially due to the effects of the illness, which had him coughing and wheezing as he rose to greet us. Despite his weakened state, he was cheerful and polite, offering us tea and cake, which were brought by a female house slave named Lucy, every bit as attractive as Lizbeth and Patsy. The other female servants we saw going about their duties looked quite lovely as well.
After we had enjoyed the small repast, Marston took us through the books. All appeared to be in order; the profit margins were excellent and the investment would be recouped in less than 10 years as long as cotton prices remained near where they were. Finally, Bill and I rose and thanked Mr. Marston and I assured him that we would give things serious consideration.
Riding back to his plantation, Bill was ebullient. “It’s a good profitable farm, Bobby boy, top quality land and the house is very spacious and comfortable. And did you catch the ass on Juicy Lucy, the serving girl? Oh, it would take the cane beautifully.”
“Indeed it would,” I replied. It was certainly something to consider. I imagined myself a real Southern planter, living in a big house with white columns surrounded by slave girls who would serve my every desire. I could have them whipped for any trifling offense if I chose and no one could stop me. I could even build a play room such as Bill had and amuse myself with the slave girls whenever and however I wished. It was a tempting prospect.