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From: Shakes Peer2B <shakes-peer2b@sbcglobal.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} (Repost)A House in the Woods - Aisha (M/f, M+/f, BDSM, oral, anal, best, pierce)
Date: Mon, 30 Jun 2003 20:10:05 -0400
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Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Someone asked for a repost of the first three of these stories, so here 
it is.

As always, FEEDBACK is much appreciated.

I edited the whipping scene in this one to clarify that it was intended 
to cause pain, not injury, as a real bull-whipping would have done.
________________________________
This is a story about a sexual FANTASY written for consenting adults. If 
you're not both of those, don't read it.  Characters in a FANTASY don't 
get sick or die unless I want them to. In real life, people who don't 
use condoms and other safe-sex techniques do get sick and die. You don't 
live in a FANTASY so be safe.  The fictional characters in my stories 
are trained and experienced in acts of FANTASY - don't try to do what 
they do - someone could get hurt.

If you think you know somebody who resembles any of the characters here, 
congratulations, but you're wrong - any similarity between the 
characters in this story and any real person is purely coincidental, 
since all of these characters are figments of my dirty little imagination.

This is my story, not yours. Don't sell it or put it on a pay site. You 
can keep it and/or give it away with all of this information intact, but 
if you make money off of it, you're breaking the law and pissing me off.

_________________________________
A House in the Woods - Aisha (M/f, M+/f, BDSM, oral, anal, best, pierce)
(C)Copyright 2003 - Shakes Peer2B
shakes-peer2b@sbcglobal.net


She fidgeted nervously on the edge of my living room sofa. While I 
waited for her to tell me why she was here, I studied her.

High forehead topped by closely shorn wooly hair, a broad, flattened 
nose that complemented fine, almost delicate, ebony features and a 
strong, sensuous mouth surrounded by full lips that were, at the moment 
pressed tightly together, as she played with the zipper on her purse, 
still trying to figure out how to approach the subject of her visit.

Her breasts sat high and proud behind the fabric of the short, tight 
psuedo-peasant blouse, barely restrained by the unpadded bra that held 
them.  Her hips were broad and flat, and inside the jeans her legs, 
though nicely curved, were slender and tapered gracefully to well 
manicured feet that were just the right size for her five four frame.

"How do you feel about Black People, Mr. Brenneman?" She had finally 
settled on an opening, if not exactly one that went right to the point.

"Which black people?"

She looked agitated. "You know what I mean! Are you biased against Black 
People?"

I looked at her evenly, thought for a moment, and said "Yes."

She sat back suddenly, as though I had slapped her, her eyes wide with 
surprise.  The lack of malice in my smile helped allay the harshness of 
my response, however, and she at least had the sense to ask for an 
explanation.

"Well, at least you're honest about it! Would you care to elaborate?"

"Like my tribal ancestors, I am biased against anyone who is not like me 
- a member of my tribe, as it were - until I have good reason to believe 
that they can be trusted.  It's a human survival trait, and we all have 
it, as evidenced by your need to ask me that question." I held up my 
hand to forestall her protest.

"You wouldn't have felt the need to ask that question of another black 
person.  You have enough in common with other black people that you can 
be fairly certain of how they feel about each other.  By the same token, 
people whom I perceive to be like me - members of my tribe, if you like 
- I presume to have enough in common with me that I can trust them to 
act a certain way in a given situation.  Members of other tribes, that 
is, people not like me - and that includes people who dress radically 
differently from me, people who wear hairstyles that are outside the 
range that I consider normal, etc. - I presume to not have as much in 
common with me.  For that reason, as a matter of self protection, I 
initially trust people unlike me less than people who are like me, as do 
you, as does everyone." I paused, studying her reaction, "If you meant 
to ask if I hate black people because they are black, the answer is no. 
  You may not be a member of my tribe, and therefore subject to 
cautionary distrust, but it's also a survival trait to learn, over time 
and exposure, to trust those who can demonstrate that they mean you no 
harm.  Does this answer the question you wanted answered?"

Finally, she smiled, showing brilliant white teeth. "Yes. Yes it does."

"Good!" I smiled back, "now, can we get to why you're here?"

She started fidgeting again, her opening gambit finished but no 
following moves planned.

"You're a student at Washington State?" I tried to get something going.

She just nodded.

"Did someone there tell you about me?"

Again she nodded. I feared for the integrity of the purse's zipper.

"So you know what I've done for whoever told you to come here?"

Another nod.

"Is that the reason you came here? You want me to do something like that 
for you?"

She stared out the window, played with the zipper some more, and finally 
said, "Sort of..."

I had helped her as much as I was willing to.  Part of the reason I 
could get away with doing some of the things I did with these kids was 
that they either came looking for my services or they allowed me to trap 
them into a situation that would look to anyone else like they 
volunteered, even if they didn't.  If I suggested anything to Aisha, I 
would be making it my idea, not hers.

Finally, she sat up straight and said softly, "I have an assignment for 
my Black History class..." she paused again, composing her thoughts, "I 
have to write a report on what it was really like for black slaves in 
America before the Civil War."

I just looked at her expectantly.

Finally, the dam burst and it tumbled out in torrent of embarrassment. 
"I want to experience the life of a black slave! I want to know what it 
felt like to have someone else in control of your life, to be nothing 
more than property.  I want to BE a slave for a few days!"

I studied her face before replying. "Is this a personal desire, or do 
you just want to write a better paper?"

She looked off in the distance, struggling with herself before replying. 
"Both. I don't believe I can really understand what life was like for my 
ancestors unless I experience at least some part of it for myself, and 
unless I do understand what it was like, I can't reasonably expect to do 
this paper justice."

I eyed her speculatively. "Aisha. You're named after the wife of 
Mohammed. Are you Muslim?"

She fidgeted some more, "No sir, I was raised Baptist, but my moms liked 
that name."

"Do you believe in the teachings of your church?"

"Yes, sir." she looked me in the eye.

I leaned forward in my chair.

"Good, you'll need that faith if you go through with this. You 
understand that a slave with your looks would have, most likely, been a 
house slave - that she would have been required to serve her master in 
more ways than just cooking and cleaning?"

She nodded.

"If I undertake to give you this experience, I will make it as real as 
possible.  Are you willing to live with that?"

Another nod.

"Aisha, look at me!" when she complied, I continued, "This will NOT be a 
game!  For whatever period you set beforehand, you WILL be my slave.  If 
you fail to please me, you will be harshly punished, as were slaves in 
those days. You will be called names that are no longer allowed outside 
KKK meetings. You will be property - handled like merchandise, talked 
about as if you weren't there, inspected like an animal, and sold on the 
auction block.  I will be a hard master.  If you are a virgin now, you 
will not be for long. I will force you to do horrible, painful, 
disgusting things, all AFTER you have completed your days assigned work, 
which will be hard, degrading labor.  You think about what that means, 
and if you still want to do it, come back two days from now - Monday 
morning, early. I need to set some things up to make it realistic. How 
long do you want to be a slave?"

She hesitated, then haltingly replied, "I was thinking maybe a week?"

I went over my calendar in my head. "Five days - Monday through Friday. 
You have to be gone by Friday night."  I didn't feel the need to tell 
her that I was expecting a weekend guest on Saturday.

She smiled, and some of the tension went out of her. "OK."

As I opened the door to let her out, I put my hand on her shoulder. 
"Aisha - I want you to think very hard about what this will mean.  You 
will never be the same person again.  This will be a life-changing 
experience, not just an incremental increase in your knowledge level. If 
you change your mind, don't come back.  If you show up here Monday, you 
will be Netty, a runaway who's about to be caught, and nothing you say 
will change your fate, understood?"

She looked solemnly over her shoulder at me for a long moment, then 
nodded, turned, and walked down the steps to her car.

___________________________

Monday - early morning

The yellow Corolla rolled through the mist to stop in my front yard, and 
Aisha climbed slowy out, wearing a simple, loose, peasant dress.  It was 
cleaner, and in better repair than one might expect of a runaway slave, 
but it would do.

As she closed the car door and started walking toward the house, a pack 
of hounds came baying out of the woods, charging full speed toward the 
startled girl.  Frightened, she started back toward the car, but seeing 
that the dogs were angling to cut her off from both the car and the 
house, she had no choice but to head for the woods. She was fast, and it 
took them a few minutes to catch up with her, but within fifteen minutes 
I heard the dogs sounding off as if they'd treed a possum.  A few 
minutes later, a couple of the 'overseers' I'd hired from a Seattle 
theatrical agency, rode through the clearing, dragging the frightened 
young girl behind their horses, as she stumbled barefoot over rocks and 
sticks.

I came out on the porch in costume as they led her past the house. "You 
boys ain't huntin on my prop'ty are ya?"

One of them pushed his hat back on his head and grinned up at me. "Jes' 
a lil coon huntin' Mr. Brenneman, sir.  This hyere's that Franklin girl 
that run away the other day. Thought the hounds was gonna tear her to 
pieces afore we got there."

I squinted in her direction. There were a few tears in the dress, and 
she was somewhat dirtier than before, but otherwise she looked OK. 
"Don't look too much the worse for wear. You boys wa'nt out there long 
enough to take a turn with 'er.  Fine lookin' negra like that, I'd a 
thought you'd still be workin' 'er over."

He looked sourly at his charge. "Yeah, me an' Clem here shore debated on 
that, but ol' Mr. Franklin, he's figgerin' to sell her, an' reckons 
she'll fetch a higher price if she's pure.  Tol' us he'd have us flogged 
an' sold for horsemeat if'n we laid a finger on 'er.  Ask me, bitch'd be 
worth more if'n she knowed whut she'uz doin'."

"You say the Franklins is sellin' her? When's the auction? I been 
needin' me a house slave." I eyed the bedraggled figure tethered behind 
the horses.

"He said soon's he gits done whuppin' her for runnin', he's agonna sell 
'er to the highest bidder." He mopped his brow with a dirty looking rag, 
"Seems they's gittin' too old ta put up with a high blooded negress like 
her. Need one that's already broke to the plow, he says."

"Well, tell him not to start without me," I headed back toward the 
house, "and tell 'im to go easy with that bullwhip a' his. I ain't 
buyin' no damaged  goods! Jes' let me git my ol' nag saddled up an' I'll 
be right along!"

About half an hour later, I rode into the clearing we had set up for the 
slave auction. The actors playing Mr. Franklin, the overseers, other 
buyers, and even a few 'bucks' were milling about the post in the center 
of the clearing where the girl stood chained, facing the post while my 
own two dogs paced around the edges of the clearing, ignoring the hounds 
tethered to a nearby tree.

'Mr. Franklin' raised his hands and shouted "Ok, Brenneman's here and 
we're burnin' daylight! Let's git this show on the road! This hyere's my 
Netty.  Raised her myself from a pickaninny, and the ungrateful bitch 
done run away two days ago.  I reckon it's my responsibility to punish 
her for that, but then I want to git shut of her, so I'm gonna have Clem 
here give her twenty of his best, an then we'll start the biddin'!"

'Clem', wearing an evil grin, stripped off his hat and coat and handed 
them to the other 'overseer'.  He stepped up behind 'Netty' and, in a 
single jerk, ripped the back off her dress, leaving her back bare.  The 
agency had assured me that he was expert with the bullwhip, so I crossed 
my fingers and hoped.

He snapped the whip experimentally, close enough to her ear that she 
could feel the displacement of the air that accompanied the sharp 
'CRACK!' as the tip reached supersonic speed at the apex of its arc. 
Her involuntary cry and the jerk of her head away from the noise caused 
a ripple of laughter from the audience.

Apparently satisfied with the feel and balance of the whip, he took up 
position about six feet behind and a little to the left of where the 
poor girl stood trembling, the sheen of sweat on her ebony back glinting 
in the morning sunlight.  I reminded myself to give the agent a bonus, 
this guy WAS good.  He didn't crack the whip against her skin, which 
would have done her tremendous damage, but laid the last two feet of 
braided leather across the flesh of her back just as it was building up 
speed for the snap, leaving a vicious red welt and eliciting a 
blood-curdling scream from 'Netty'.

I was pleased to note that the whip had, while causing a great deal of 
pain, stopped short of stripping the skin off as it was capable of doing.

In my experience, most people can't conceive the level of pain that can 
be produced by an expert whip wielder until they experience it.  I was 
sure Aisha had had no real concept of what it would feel like.

After the fifth lash, she passed out, hanging limply from the shackles 
on her wrists.  After someone threw some water in her face to revive 
her, Doc Miller gave her a quick check, and nodded as he stepped back.

The sixth stroke finished the job of removing her dress, and 'Clem' 
started distributing his blows between shoulders and knees.  Twice more 
she had to be revived. By the time it was over, Netty had red stripes up 
and down her back, buttocks and thighs, but none overlaid each other. 
There was a little blood trickling from some of them, but not much, and 
on the last lash, Clem let the frayed leather tip of the braid snap into 
the crevice between her buttocks, drawing a renewed shriek of pain and 
outrage from his victim as it expended most of its force on the tender 
ring of her anus.

"A'right, Clem!" Mr. Franklin stepped forward, "That's twenty. 
Drummond, get the salt and then le's get over to the block so's our 
customers can get a good look."

The other overseer approached Netty's sobbing form with a cloth sack. 
Holding it with his left hand he withdrew a handful of a coarse white 
substance from the bag and threw it onto Netty's wounded back. Wherever 
the skin had parted, the salt stuck, and as it dissolved into the 
wounds, she started screaming again, hugging the post as if trying to 
hide inside it. Drummond threw two more handfuls of the salt on her 
wounds before putting the bag aside and releasing Netty's shackles from 
the whipping post. He and Clem had to support most of the sobbing, 
moaning weight as they led her, leg shackles still around her ankles, 
over to the low box we were using for an auction block.

They lifted her onto the block, but she had trouble standing until Mr. 
Franklin threatened to have her taken back to the whipping post.

"You make me proud today girl!" he ordered, "So help me, if you don't 
fetch me a decent price I'll keep you and put you in the stables for the 
horses to breed!"

Somewhere she found the strength to stand and wipe the tears from her 
face.  It wasn't until that moment that she realized she was standing on 
display in front of a group of strangers, stark naked. She raised one 
arm to cover her breasts while the other hand strove to hide her mound.

At the audience's protest, Franklin struck her hands sharply with the 
riding crop he carried, and ordered, "Drop those hands girl! I ain't 
gonna get nothin for you if they cain't see what they's buyin'."

Reluctantly, she complied.

En masse, the prospective 'buyers' surrounded the block and started 
poking and prodding at the helpless young girl.  Someone made her open 
her mouth so he could inspect her teeth.  They poked at and kneaded her 
breasts, pinching the nipples to see if they'd get hard. They made her 
spread her legs and hold her buttocks apart while fingers and walking 
sticks probed the openings for tightness.

Throughout this humiliating inspection they were making comments 
designed to drive the asking price as low as possible. Franklin, for his 
part, did his best to point out favorable factors and rebut the detractors.

"Hmph! Ain't got no tits to speak of!"

"Next to them mountains yore Elly has to lug around in a wheelbarrow, 
ain't nobody got tits, Bobby.  Them thar's grade A number one suckling 
teats for man or pickaninny!"

"Them thar hips ain't gonna carry many pickaninnys. Shore as hell ain't 
no breedin' stock!"

"Look at that bone structure! That there basket'll carry more fruit than 
YOU can put in it, Willy! Look how nice an spread them hip bones is - 
hell she could carry a whole litter!"

"Feels a little loose up here, Franklin. You sure you ain't already been 
keepin' her in the stables?" That one got a laugh from the other buyers.

"You got my personal guarantee! Ain't nobody's nor nothin's dick been up 
any of them holes.  I been savin' this one special, an' even that little 
needle you call a prick'll have trouble gittin up there, its that tight!"

"Skinny legs. Ain't got no muscle in them arms neither. Hell, Franklin, 
I hope she knows her way around a bed, cause this'n ain't gonna be good 
for much else."

"Only bed she knows her way around is the one she's been sleepin' in. 
You buy 'er, and you can train 'er the way you want 'er - don't havta 
put up with nobody else's idea about how she oughta suck yer little 
weenie!  An don't let them arms or legs fool ya! She didn't stay on the 
run two days from bein' weak!"

Finally, the banter died down and Franklin called for quiet to start the 
bidding.  As scripted, my high bid of eighty dollars beat out everyone 
else. I paid Franklin with a real check written for the agreed upon fee 
for him and his fellow actors.

As I put the shackles back on Netty's wrists and tied a rope around her 
neck to lead her home, Aisha burst out crying.

"Please, Mr. Brenneman!" she sobbed, "I had no idea it would be this 
bad! Please let's end this!"

I looked at her, shock and disdain showing in my face. "What's the 
matter with you girl! You act like you think a slave's got a say in 
whether she hasta be a slave or not!  Ain't but two ways to get outa 
bein' a slave - die or be manumitted.  You damn near got to do the first 
'un by runnin' an' if you try it agin, you'll WISH you had died! To get 
manumitted, you gotta please your master sump'n pow'ful an' make 'im go 
all mushy inside so he'll set you free. So far, you ain't makin' a whole 
lotta progress on that'n!"

Aisha stared at me for a long moment as the message sank in, then 
started sobbing quietly as I mounted my horse and led Netty, naked, down 
the trail to my house.

After stabling and grooming the horse, while Netty stood sweating, naked 
in the sun, I led her to another whipping post I had installed at the 
back of the clearing where my house stood.  Warily eyeing the iron 
handle sticking out of a red hot brazier, she asked, "What are you going 
to do?"

"Le's get somethin' straight right now, girl! I don't care what fool 
notions ol' Franklin put in yore empty little head. In my house, slaves 
speak when spoken to, an' they call me 'Master'! You got that!"

"Yowsa, Massa!" she tried to make it ironic, but in the context of the 
role play, it fell flat.

I started fastening her shackles to the post above her head. "Now, I 
ain't takin' no chances with you runnin' agin, so I'm gonna brand ya, 
an' ever'body'll know yore mine."

"Please, Mr., I mean Massa Brenneman!" she begged, really frightened, 
"I'll do anything! I won't run anymore, I promise! Please let me show 
you how much I want to please you!"

It was pretty close to the reaction I was looking for. I didn't really 
want to put any permanent marks on the girl.

I looked hard at her for a few seconds, then unfastened the shackles, 
pushing her to her knees in front of me.  She was clumsy, and 
inexperienced, but this was apparently one of the things she'd psyched 
herself up for when preparing for this simulation.

It wasn't the best blowjob I ever had, but she tried.  She gagged as I 
entered her throat, but on the third try managed to keep it under control.

"Breathe through your nose, girl, and relax," I told her, a bit more 
gently than I had yet spoken to her, "relax and let it happen, cause 
it's goin' to, like it or not!"

Soon, her nose was buried in my pubic hair, and I held her there for a 
few seconds, letting her throat accustom itself to my girth.  I took a 
few slow in and out strokes until her hands stopped their involuntary 
little pushes against my thighs.  When her hands slid around to the 
sides of my thighs, I grabbed her head with both hands, and started to 
pump, jacking off with her skull.

She knelt in the dirt and let me use her face for my pleasure.  As I 
reached my peak, I stabbed my dick as far down her throat as it would go 
and released my load directly into her stomach.  A few seconds later, 
her hands started pushing weakly at my thighs as she struggled to draw 
air.  I withdrew slowly, savoring the tiny aftershocks caused by her 
spasming throat on the super-sensitive head of my cock.

I tucked myself back into my pants and said, "We'll have to work on that 
some, but at least you was tryin'. I'll hold off on brandin' ya for now, 
but so help me God, nigger, if you ever even LOOK like you might be 
thinkin' about runnin' I'll put that brand right in the middle of your 
forehead!" and I pushed my index finger against her forehead to 
emphasize my point, "an' then I'll heat that brand white hot and shove 
it so far up that little black cunt of yours that every little nappy 
headed bastard you drop for the rest of yore life'll have a big ol' 'B' 
right there too! You got that, girl?"

She nodded, wide-eyed, "Yes, M-Massa! I ain't gonna run none, Massa!"

I guess having to do some of what she'd anticipated had finally helped 
her slip into character, past the shock of her earlier treatment.

"All right, come with me."

I lead her into the house and showed her the little storage room under 
the attic stairs that I had cleaned out and furnished with a corn-husk 
mattress. There were a few rags of clothes on some shelves, but little else.

"This is where you'll sleep when you're not in my bed. Yonder's some 
clothes.  Git sump'n on an' meet me in th' kitchen, through 'at 'ere door."

When I bought this place, there was an old cabin where my house now 
stood, and inside that cabin, along with a few other interesting items, 
was a wood-burning cookstove.  I had kept most of what I found there in 
a shed out back, never really expecting to have a use for them, but 
reluctant to part with such antiques.

It had taken a little work, but over the weekend I had replaced my gas 
stove with the old wood burner.  I decided against replacing the 
refrigerator, mainly because I didn't have a ready source of ice for the 
old icebox, but I tripped the breakers for all the other circuits in the 
house so that nothing else electrical could be used, including the 
electric water pump.

I had never removed the old hand pump behind the house, but it took a 
little work to replace the dried out leather seals with new ones, and 
get it primed and working again. My home was as close to antebellum 
technology as I could get it in two days. I even had candles and 
kerosene lamps for light.

When Netty padded into the kitchen, wearing a patched burlap shift, 
wincing a bit as her bruised feet fell on the hard wood of the floor, I 
showed her the stove, where to put the wood, how to control the draft, 
and where to find pots and pans.  She looked stunned that I had gone 
this far with her project.

I took her outside and showed her how to prime the pump with water from 
the bucket hung under its spout, cautioning her to make sure there was 
always water in the bucket.  I then showed her the smokehouse, where 
most of my meat hangs. This, I didn't have to simulate. There was ham, 
bacon, jerky and smoked salmon as well as some venison.

Then I showed her the wood pile and the stump I use for a chopping 
block, instructing her in the fine art of splitting wood. I showed her 
the size pieces I wanted used in the stove, and the size for the 
fireplace.  I also made sure she picked up the smaller pieces and 
splinters and stored them in the kindling box.

"Now you best get a move on girl." I squinted in the direction of the 
sun "ain't got but a couple hours afore dinner, an' I'm lookin' for'ard 
to a hot meal. Pick me a mess a them turnip greens yonder in the truck 
patch an' cook 'em up with some fatback fer flavor, an' grill me one a 
them fresh meat steaks I got in th' icebox.  They's some chit'lins in 
there fer yore supper, an' you c'n eat whatever's left a them greens 
when I'm done with 'em."

She started for the house, and I hollered, "Where you goin' girl?"

She turned, confused, "Why, to fix your dinner, Massa!"

"How you gonna do that 'thout no firewood?" I asked, disgustedly, "Ol' 
Franklin done got the better of me on this deal! He didn't let on a bit 
that you was dumb as a post!"

"You mean, I got to chop the firewood, too?" she asked in despair.

"Who you think's gonna do it? The dogs?" I shook my head at her, "Damn 
girl! Why you think I wasted all that time showin' this stuff to ya?"

I stalked off into my shop, while she struggled to pull the axe out of 
the stump.

I watched on the security monitor in my shop as she chopped away, 
getting better as time went on, but almost losing body parts a time or 
two.  Finally, she had what she thought would be a sufficient stack of 
wood for the stove, and after several trips had filled the woodbox in 
the kitchen. I didn't have time to teach flint & steel firemaking, so I 
left a box of kitchen matches for her to use.  After wasting a few and 
not having much luck, she finally remembered the kindling box, and after 
taking the wood out, placing the kindling, then rebuilding the fire with 
the wood she had tried to use before, she got a decent blaze going.

I had chosen steak and greens because grilling and boiling are the 
easiest ways to cook when you're not in good control of your heat 
source.  After allowing the pot of turnip greens to boil over a couple 
of times, she finally got the hang of the draft controls and how to 
balance them against the amount of wood in the firebox.  She had found 
some herbs in the garden and growing wild around the clearing, and had 
added some of them to flavor the food.  Dinner was a little after dark 
and I scolded her for taking so long with it, but, despite her 
unfamiliarity with the stove, the steak was cooked just the way I like 
it - red in the middle, but not uncooked, and the fat around the outside 
almost crisp, but not burned.  The turnip greens, however, were a 
pleasant surprise.  The herbs she added offset their slightly bitter 
taste, and softened the influence of the salt pork.

I left some of the greens for her and fed the meat scraps to the dogs, 
retiring to the living room to read a book by the light of a kerosene 
lamp, while she contrived to make the chitterlings I had bought for the 
occasion edible.

A bit later I heard soft padding as she diffidently stepped into the 
light of my lamp. "What is it, Netty?"

"I want to wash up the supper dishes, Massa, but they ain't no water."

I looked sharply at her "Is the pump broke?"

Her hand flew to her mouth as she realized what was expected of her. 
"Oh, no, Massa! I'm sorry Massa! I'll fetch some, but the fire's almos' 
out in the stove an' there ain't no more wood in the box."

"Then I reckon you better git some more. I don't want my dishes washed 
in cold water." As an afterthought, I added, "Don't forget to leave some 
water in the primin' bucket!"

It took her a couple more hours to chop enough wood, boil water for 
washing, and figure out how to get the dishes washed, dried, and put 
away. She swept the kitchen without being told, then reported to me in 
my bedroom, where I was undressing for bed.

Netty knocked quietly on the doorframe and waited for my command before 
entering.  I was just taking off my pants when she stepped into the 
room. She almost backed out when she saw my state of undress, but I 
waved her impatiently inside.

"Come on, girl, you gonna see more a me than this 'fore long, so they 
ain't no call to be shy now!"

"I - I'm sorry, Massa!" she stared at her hands, "I done got the dishes 
washed an' put away, and swept the kitchen."

"It's about time. I shore hope you git faster at them chores purty 
quick." I finished taking off my trousers, and since I wore no 
underwear, I sat on the edge of the bed naked. "Go clean yourself up, 
girl! You smell like a pig sty. Then come on back an' we'll try you out. 
  I wanna see if I got my money's worth from ol' man Franklin."

She started to complain, "But I'm so tired! Can't we just..."

Then, seeing the look on my face, she finished lamely, "...Uh, yes 
Massa! I'll jes go freshen up a bit and be right back."

Netty found a bit of warm water still in the pot on the stove, and 
wetting a rag in it washed her face, underarms, and between her legs, 
then tiptoed into my room and slipped under the covers with me.

Her voice turned sultry as she reached for my manhood, stroking its 
already hard length, "I'll take care of this for you, Massa!"

She ducked her head under the covers and engulfed my member in her hot, 
wet mouth.  She really worked at it this time, driving her mouth down 
the shaft until her nose dug into my scrotum, licking around the glans 
on the outstroke, and moaning sexily as she took me back in.  It felt 
much better than the first time, but I wanted something more this time, 
and I wasn't going to let her get away with finishing me off in her mouth.

I threw the covers back, and, grabbing a handful of the close-cropped 
wool of her hair, threw her backwards on the bed.  Grabbing her ankles, 
I bent them back toward the headboard until her thighs flattened the 
mounds of her breasts against her chest.  Without hesitation, I plunged 
my rampant spear as far into her as I could.  She had started to 
lubricate as she sucked me, but it wasn't much, and it took three 
herculean thrusts to part her inner folds and give me full access to her 
depths. Each push was accompanied by a blood-curdling scream, as my cock 
stretched and abraded her tender passage.  I rested only a moment before 
withdrawing fully, only to plunge all the way back in with one long, 
slow stroke.  As I hit bottom this time, I was serenaded with a guttural 
groan that slid up-scale to a respectable high 'C'.  Fortunately for 
both of us, her vagina began secreting copious slimy fluids, easing the 
friction of my passage while enhancing the sensation.

Soon I was pounding her mercilessly, her feet flailing above her head as 
I strove to nail her pelvis to the mattress.  Thanks to the earlier 
blowjob, I was able to hold out a bit longer - pummeling her for a good 
forty five minutes before coating her insides with my discharge.  I 
don't know how many times she came in the process, but by the time I 
rolled off she seemed near passing out.

She rolled over and tried to cuddle with me, cooing "Oh, Massa!"

I pushed her head down and said harshly, "Clean me up, girl, then get 
back to your own bed."

I thought I felt a tear or two puddle on my belly as she licked me 
clean, then made her way in the dark to her little room under the stairs.

Daylight found me pounding on the door of Netty's little cubbyhole. 
"Where's my breakfast girl! Sun's already up an you ain't even got wood 
in the box yet! Yer gonna earn some more time on the whippin' post fer 
this!"

She staggered out, sleep still clouding her mind and lack of it making 
huge circles under her eyes. "I'm sorry, Massa! I'uz jes so tired, 
Massa! It won't happen again, Massa, I promise!"

I swatted her burlap covered bottom, hard, and admonished sternly, 
"Better not, girl! You better learn pretty quick about splittin' enough 
wood for a whole day or more, or ya'll spend all yer time back an' forth 
'twixt post and pile! Now rustle me up some bacon an eggs an' be quick 
about it!  They's some grits in the pantry you can boil when my food's 
up, but don't be usin' too much salt, that stuff's hard to come by out 
here!"

It took almost two hours to get breakfast, and the bacon was sliced a 
little thick, but it wasn't bad for a first effort, so I only griped a 
little and went off to my workshop while Netty cleaned up, then headed 
for the wood pile.  About mid-morning, I slipped up behind her and took 
the axe from her hands.  Bending her over the stump, I took her quickly 
from behind, without saying a word.  When I was done, I made her lick me 
clean again, then told her what I wanted for lunch.  I inspected her 
hands that were bleeding from numerous popped blisters and gave her a 
couple of clean rags to tie around them.

"You take care a them hands," I admonished, "you ain't much good to me 
'thout 'em!"

I screwed Netty again while she was preparing my lunch, and 
mid-afternoon, when she deemed she had enough wood split to last a 
while, I took her again before sending her off with a hoe and a file to 
weed the truck patch.

I made her cook a cherry pie for dinner, thinking it would give me 
another excuse to punish her, but though the top crust was a little 
darker than I like, the pie was delicious, as was the rest of dinner. 
Since she had already stockpiled wood, cleanup took much less time, and 
the sun was just going down as we crawled into my bed.

Netty could barely move as she stretched out on my clean sheets, but 
didn't protest as I pulled her head backwards over the edge and fucked 
her throat for a few minutes.  I withdrew from her mouth, saliva 
dripping from my cockhead and flipped her end for end.  Her ass 
protruded nicely as I laid her face down with her knees on the floor and 
entered her pussy from behind.

She was used to my size by now and almost purred as I stroked deeply 
into her dripping vagina.  When I pulled out and nestled the tip of my 
glans against her crinkled anus, though, she jumped and spun around. 
"Oh, no! Please not there, Massa!"

Without a word I grabbed her by the hair and dragged her, shrieking and 
scrabbling at my hand, to the whipping post.  She cried and begged even 
louder when she finally saw where I was taking her, but I went silently 
about the business of shackling her hands far above her head.

She hadn't given me the excuse I planned for this punishment, since she 
did so well with the pie, but this would be even better.  From a nearby 
table, I picked up a hammer and one of the nails I had left soaking in a 
container of alcohol. Still without speaking, I grabbed her right nipple 
and stretched it as far around the post as I could, while her cries 
escalated, their pitch rising as panic took over.  I positioned the nail 
carefully, warning her about the consequences of moving, and with a 
single blow drove it an inch into the side of the post, through the 
chocolate flesh of her tortured nipple.

Netty's shrieks had every dog and wolf in earshot howling, but my place 
is far enough from anyone else that I wasn't worried about being 
interrupted.

Retrieving another nail, I watched the whites of Netty's eyes roll as 
they followed the deadly little spike around the post, where I captured 
her other nipple and nailed it to the post as I had the first.  I gave 
each nail another tap to be sure it was securely imbedded in the 
splintered wood of the whipping post.  Satisfied that she'd not be going 
anywhere without leaving behind a goodly chunk of sensitive flesh, I 
returned the hammer to the bench and released her hands from the shackles.

Stepping behind her, I grabbed her hips and leaned over to whisper in 
her ear. "Learn this lesson once and for all, slave! You NEVER refuse 
your master ANYTHING! If I want to stick a hot poker up your butt, I'm 
goin' to do it, one way or another! Now reach back and spread those 
cheeks, or by god, I'll let one of the horses break you in!"

Still sobbing, her face pressed against the rough wood of the post, she 
nodded, "Yessah, Massa!" and reached between us to spread her buttocks 
as widely as she could.  The entire sequence had taken only a couple of 
minutes, and I was harder than ever and still somewhat slick from her 
vaginal lube.

I pushed in slowly, but didn't stop until my pubic hair was flattened 
against the backs of her hands, eliciting a long, low moan from my 
unwilling victim. Her chute was hot and tight and felt so good around my 
cock that I held myself inside her for a few seconds before withdrawing, 
slowly and steadily until the flared rim of my knob was pulling at her 
anal ring from inside. Twice more, I savored the feeling of incredible 
heat as the greasy tube of her rectum and colon massaged the length of 
my erection on the inward plunge, and sucked at it on the retreat. 
Gradually, the speed of my strokes increased as I explored other 
pleasures within the rubbery confines of my slave's bowels.  I poked and 
prodded this way and that inside Netty's increasingly receptive ass 
until even the numerous emissions I'd already had couldn't hold me back, 
and I pistoned rapidly and deeply into her, bruising her face against 
the post. Each time I withdrew and started back in, Netty thrust 
backward to meet my stroke, stretching her abused nipples further and 
further from her body, until we finally crashed together in climax, her 
pelvis doing rapid circles around the base of my cock while I pumped 
load after load into her spasming colon.

Somewhere along the line, she had let go of her buttocks and grasped the 
post to help her body respond to my thrusts. Now, only her arms wrapped 
tightly around the post kept her nipples intact as her knees weakened 
and threatened to collapse.

I withdrew slowly as aftershocks raced up and down my spine, and watched 
my juices drip from her distended ass and run down her legs.

It was a warm night for this part of Washington, so I shackled Netty's 
wrists again, pulling them tight to make sure she wouldn't inadvertently 
rip her nipples out if she fell asleep, then ordered Caesar and Czar to 
guard her, and went back to bed, my slaves plaintive cries of "Massa? 
You ain't gonna leave me out hyere is you? Massa?" following me to the door.

Bright and early next morning I woke the exhausted girl where she hung 
in her chains with cries of "Le's go, Netty! Daylight's a burnin'!" 
Unceremoniously, I pulled the nails from the post, then worked them free 
of her nipples, to renewed moans of pain from the abused girl.  As each 
nail came free, I tossed it aside and replaced it with a stainless steel 
ring from the alcohol container. These rings were split and flattened on 
the ends so that a quarter inch of each end formed a semicircular 
crescent in cross section. The flats were designed so that when joined 
together, they completed the toroidal shape of the ring.  A pin was 
fixed to one of the flats that matched a hole in the other.

When both rings had been inserted, and the ends fit together, I took 
Netty into my workshop and had her kneel beside the anvil as I finished 
the job of joining the ends of the rings together by striking the 
exposed end of the pin with a ball peen hammer until it spread like the 
head of a rivet, permanently sealing the rings in place.

When I was satisfied with my work, I lifted Netty to her feet by pulling 
upward on the rings. "I hope we won't have to repeat this lesson again, 
Netty. I don't like to think what I'll have to do next time!"

"We won't, Massa! We won't!"

I sent her off to get breakfast and got busy with the cell phone making 
sure preparations were in place for the 'party'
  I planned to throw that night.

When we finished breakfast and Netty had cleaned up the kitchen, I sent 
her off with wrapped hands to work on the woodpile. "We're havin' a 
party tonight, Netty, and I'll need to bathe, so make sure you got 
enough wood for lotsa hot water, an be quick about it. You still gotta 
get the house cleaned up, fix a fancy dinner, an' then get yourself 
cleaned up to look presentable for our guests."

I didn't bother her too much during the day, except for feeling her up a 
little - I wanted to save us both for tonight.

Netty worked like a demon, and by six o'clock, the table was set and we 
were both dressed in pre-Civil War Southern finery.

She had a little trouble moving around with the bustle but managed not 
to knock things off the shelves as she greeted our 'guests' at the door 
and led them into my 'sitting room'.  Netty was the epitome of 
graciousness as she served them drinks and lighted cigars, ignoring the 
comments about her body and speculations about what use I had made of it.

Dinner was an unqualified success, and I even allowed my slave to sit 
with us for dessert.  As the brandy flowed and my guests started feeling 
the glow of its warmth, one finally asked the question that was on all 
their minds. "So, Brenneman, what's this entertainment you've got 
planned for us?"

I smiled my most gracious host-smile, stood, and raised my glass. 
"Gentlemen!" I announced with a flourish, "I give you my new house 
slave, Netty.  She will be our entertainment for tonight.  You may do 
anything you wish with her that doesn't damage her.  I have found her to 
be willing and adventurous, and I'm sure you will enjoy her as much as I 
do!"

As I turned to beam at my slave where she sat, stunned by my 
announcement, she said "Massa? You ain't gonna let all these men at me 
is you?"

In one step I was over her. Putting my glass down, I reached into the 
bodice of her gown and twisted her nipple rings. As she gasped I 
whispered "You will pay later for embarrassing me in front of my 
friends, when I show you once and for all your true place in this 
household. In the meantime you had best get out of those clothes as 
quick as you can, and do your damndest to please each and every one of 
them. If I hear any complaints, you will feel the lash fifty times - 
AFTER the punishment I've already planned for you!"

Giving the rings another yank, I backed away. Shaken, Netty rose from 
her place at the table, and with trembling hands undid the fasteners of 
the dress. It fell away, leaving her torso clad in a frilly period 
undergarment as she wriggled out of the petticoats and bustle.  She 
stepped free of the encumbering garments, and bravely fixed a smile on 
her face, turning to the waiting guests while pulling at the bows that 
held her single remaining garment closed.

"How can Netty please you fine gen'men?" her voice was a little shaky, 
but had taken on a sultry quality that had more than one portly guest 
mopping his brow.

When no one answered right away, she walked toward the 'sitting room', 
still pulling at bows, saying, "I'm gonna just step in hyere an' git 
comf'table, if you gen'men 'ud care to join me."

By the time they had established enough of a pecking order to get 
through the door, she had finished removing the lacy undergarment and 
stood facing the door, clad only in the shoulder-length silk gloves from 
her costume.

As my guests spilled through the doorway, rushing toward her, Netty 
stopped them with an upraised palm and asked innocently "Are all y'all 
gen'men gonna play with Netty with your clothes on?"

The room became a tornado of flying clothing as they each strove to be 
the first to get naked. In minutes the young girl was on her knees 
surrounded by cocks of all sizes.  She started around the circle, doing 
her best to give each of them the best blowjob she could.  At least two 
shot off as soon as they felt the heat of her mouth. Another, a fat 
gentleman with a really short dick finally had to lay down so she could 
get her head far enough under his enormous belly to take him into her 
mouth.  The last guy, a middle aged man with a beer gut, had such an 
enormous tool that I thought Netty would dislocate her jaw trying to 
take him in.  It was obviously extremely uncomfortable, and she looked 
once at me for reprieve.  Receiving none, she went back to work, and, 
several minutes later, with tears squeezing out the corners of her eyes, 
her nose pressed into his pubic hair.

The guy was amazed. "Damn! She got it all! Nobody ever swallowed the 
whole thing! Oh shit!"

And with that he shot his load deep in her throat while Netty struggled 
to keep him from breaking her nose as he pressed her face further into 
his groin.

After Netty got her breath back, she looked around to see if there were 
any more cocks needing attention. One of the younger men hooked an index 
finger into one of her nipple rings and led her to the back of the sofa. 
  He forced her legs apart and bent her over the back of the cushions, 
then without preamble, drove his long, hard cock into her pussy from 
behind. Something in the previous activities must have aroused her, 
since he had no trouble getting right into a rapid rhythm.  Watching her 
buttocks jiggle, and her nipple rings dance as her partner bounced his 
pelvis off hers got some of the others going again.  One of them, a 
portly gentleman with an average sized dick, stuck it into her mouth as 
Netty moaned in response to the pounding she was recieving.

Soon, the two established a cadence, bouncing her back and forth between 
them like some surreal ping-pong match.  Netty put her hands on the hips 
of the gentleman at her face - at first to steady herself, then, as she 
got accustomed to being volleyed back and forth, to push and pull at him 
in time with his thrusts into her throat.  Her seemingly willing 
complicity in the face fuck excited him no end, and he changed his 
timing to match that of the fucker to the rear, both of them pounding 
into her at once.  He emitted a strangled cry and pulled his throbbing 
member from her mouth, firing shot after shot of white jism onto the 
dark skin of her face. By the time he finished shooting, cum dripped 
from her hair and face, and at least one shot had gone over her shoulder 
to leave a white stripe on her back.

The sight of his partner's orgasm set the younger gentleman off, and he 
pushed as far into her as he could, firing a stream of hot juice deep 
into her tunnel. He pulled out and his second shot put another stripe 
down her back that ended in the crevice of her ass, where it ran down 
and pooled in the depression of her anus, soon to be joined by the 
waning spurts from the young man's shrinking member.

Netty had not cum, but rested, bent over the back of the sofa as the two 
left in search of resting places of their own.  Her respite didn't last 
long, as one of the better hung gentlemen stepped behind her upturned 
buttocks. "Well, Miss Netty, since you was kind enough to get it all 
slicked up for me, I reckon I'm obliged to accept the invitation of that 
fine looking ass."

She looked stricken as the purple head of his turgid member started 
burrowing its way into her cum lubricated anus, but a quick glance at my 
stern expression reminded her of the consequences of disobedience. 
Instead she reached behind her to pull her cheeks apart and said, "Oh 
yassah! Miss Netty been waitin' for one a you fine gen'men to take 
pleasure in her back hole!  I'd be right honored if you'd poke that ol' 
cob up there an' stir up my insides awhile!"

She gritted her teeth and tried to hide her grimace as the blunt end of 
his club stretched her still sore anal ring and bulled its way deep into 
her bowels.

"Well, with such a fine welcome as that, how can a gentleman refuse?" he 
grunted as he pulled a little way out, then forced more of his 
vein-bulging shaft into the tight restriction of her hole. "I hope 
you're ready, Miss Netty, cause my ramrod's 'bout to bottom out in yore 
barrel!"

With that he gave a final shove and slammed her thighs against the back 
of the sofa as his wiry brown pubic hairs mingled with her tightly 
curled black ones.

"Oh, Suh!" Netty grunted, fighting back tears, "'at 'eres some cannon 
you done shoved into my port! I hope it ain't gon' blow me apart when it 
shoots!"

He laughed as he started stroking, using the lube from first guy's cum, 
"When this cannon shoots, you'll feel it all right, but it don't shoot 
nothin' that'll damage your breech!"

The heat and tightness of her rectum soon drove all thought of repartee 
from his mind as he thrust deeply into her colon.  One of the others, 
also of goodly size, grew impatient, and not wanting another blowjob, 
said, "Stand 'er up an' turn 'er around there, Joe.  Ain't no reason we 
cain't make use of both holes at once!"

Joe, liking the idea, grinned and grasped Netty under the arms, grabbing 
her rounded tits as he stood her up, embedding himself deeply in her 
chute. He held her tightly to him and straightened his legs, suspending 
her from his cock up her ass and his grip on her mammaries.  Netty's 
eyes rolled in panic as he turned and perched his buttocks on the back 
of the sofa, but all she said was "Oh, my!"

The second guy lifted her ankles above her shoulders as he rubbed 
himself in the wetness of her slit, finally angling his rampant cock for 
entry, knees slightly bent.  He thrust his hips forward and straightened 
his legs, spearing all the way in with a single stroke.  Netty's groan 
could have been pain or pleasure or both.

The doubly impaled slave girl wrapped her arms around the second guy's 
neck, helping support her weight as Joe stood up behind her. The two men 
tried, without much success, to get a rhythm going, and  Netty finally 
had to take over the task of fucking the two of them, slamming backwards 
to take the cock in her ass, then jerking forward to drive the one in 
front up her pussy.

The dual sensation of a long hard dick in her ass and a similar one up 
her cunt began to have an unwanted effect on her psyche, and she turned 
into a total slut, pistoning back and forth on the two poles, rotating 
her hips to feel the sensations as the cock heads were pushed this way 
and that inside her.  She came three times, driving the men closer and 
closer to their own culmination. After her third orgasm, her movements 
became so erratic that the guys once again took over the fucking, 
pulling out and ramming in at the same time, faster and faster, until 
their hips seemed to blur with the speed of their thrusts. Netty climbed 
higher and higher with each plundering stroke, shrieking and moaning as 
the engorged shafts ravaged the tender tissues of her nether regions. 
Joe grabbed her nipple rings and used them to pull her downward onto 
their rods with each trip-hammer thrust of their hips. Netty's screams 
became one long, drawn out howl as her pelvis gyrated wildly around the 
impaling members. The men could do little but hang on for the ride as 
her spasming muscles tightened around their flesh and drove them over 
the precipice to blast hot lava into her sensitive membranes. The 
sensation drove her to her own explosion. She gave a high-pitched squeal 
of pure animal abandon, her hips slammed forward and back spasmodically 
three or four times and she collapsed into the arms of her rapists, 
groaning weakly.  They had just enough strength to control the fall as 
their knees folded and dumped the three of them on their sides.

Netty got only enough respite to drink some water as others, re-aroused 
by the scene they had just witnessed, wanted another turn with her.  She 
lost herself in a landscape of sluttish abandon as cock after cock 
dumped its load in or on her.  At one point she found herself sitting 
astride one gentleman, his staff buried deep inside her vagina, as 
another forced its way in alongside the first.

The fat gentleman left after a second blowjob, embarrassed by his 
inability to achieve penetration in either of Netty's lower openings, no 
matter what the position.

The guy with the monster dick hyperventilated as he was fucking her 
pussy, and had to take the rest of the night off.

Finally, everyone was sated, and a bedraggled Netty lay in the middle of 
the living room floor, covered in sweat and drying cum, while the others 
lolled around on the furniture, still playing with sore, limp members, 
hoping to revive them for one more round.

Not having participated in the festivities, I asked, "Has my Netty 
pleased you gentlemen adequately?"

A chorus of tired, but enthusiastic affirmatives came back.

"That's good.  It will keep her off the whipping post for a while." I 
looked hard at the tired, smeared face of my slave "but there's still 
the matter of her questioning my decision to offer you her services."

Pulling her by the hair, I bent her over an ottoman. She was so tired, 
she made no fuss, but just lay there. "I promised her that at the end of 
this evening I would show her her true place in this household."

She didn't see the signal I gave to Caesar, who, with Czar, my other 
Timber Wolf - Malamute mix, had been quietly watching the festivities 
from a corner.  The sights and smells in the room had long ago got his 
purple shaft out of its sheath, and he wasted no time mounting Netty's 
backside.  She was startled at the dog's unexpected playfulness, but 
didn't think much of it until he laid his head on her shoulder and 
tucked his front paws in the crease between her thighs and belly.  Her 
eyes got huge when she felt his pointy, wet member poking at her backside.

"Massa?" she started to say.

I bent down where she could see my face. "Are you about to question me 
again, slave?"

She turned her face away, tears starting in the corners of her eyes, and 
lay her head on the ottoman. "No, suh."

"Good! Now help Caesar here find what he's lookin' for!"

Shoulders shaking with her sobs, Netty reached between her legs and 
found the dripping shaft, reluctantly aiming it at her once tight hole, 
now a little the worse for wear.

As soon as Caesar felt the warm wetness around the pointed tip of his 
shaft, he flicked his hips forward, driving the entire staff and the 
furry tip of his sheath into her well-used opening.  The violence of his 
entry brought her head up, and a moan issued from her lips as the 
already growing knot in the middle of Caesar's cock rasped across her 
abused tissues.

Netty's eyes bulged as the knot rapidly swelled to its full softball 
size, locking them inextricably together.  This was what Caesar liked 
best - ramming his bitch with short, machine gun strokes while his 
enormous knot stretched and stroked her insides, ensuring that she 
couldn't get away until he had claimed her completely.  His brother, on 
the other hand, enjoyed long pistoning strokes and his knot didn't swell 
until just before he impregnated the bitch.

Netty's belly, where it hung over the edge of the ottoman, looked as 
though someone's fist was slamming back and forth inside.  Despite her 
soreness, the effect of the vein-covered bulge on the poor girl's G-spot 
couldn't be denied, and the pointed tip of the long spear burrowing 
through her cervix and into her womb three or four times a second, 
snapped her out of her funk like a rubber band.

"Oh my god! Oh no, oh no, ohnoohnoohnoohno!" in spite of herself, 
Netty's hips started gyrating around the hammering animal cock as her 
cries changed to, "So good! Oh yes!"

At another signal, Czar left his resting place and took up position in 
front of Netty's face. "Netty," I said, "Czar needs you to pleasure him 
too!"

The words barely registered, but she opened her eyes, seeing for the 
first time Czar's engorged member dripping pre-cum in front of her nose. 
  He moved sideways with his front paws until he was standing partly 
over her shoulder watching his brother's furry pelvis slamming into 
Netty's ass.

Lost in a fog of lust, Netty opened her mouth and sucked the swollen red 
shaft inside. Czar lifted his hind leg and humped until his sheath 
touched her upper lip, then started 'treading' as best he could on three 
legs, stroking his long sharply pointed spear in and out of her throat.

Netty, foundering in the depravity of being fucked front and rear by her 
master's dogs, moaned around the pistoning shaft.

Caesar, meanwhile, was approaching his completion. He tightened the grip 
of his front legs around her hips and started driving for depth, working 
with each jerk of his pelvis to get his shaft as far inside his bitch as 
possible, his tail tucked between his legs as if to add that extra 
little impetus to each push.  He gave one final thrust, scrabbling with 
his hind feet as if to climb in, and let loose a torrent of superheated 
dog goo, directly into the slave girl's womb.

The feeling of Caesar's hotter-than-human firehose going off in her most 
private recesses, sent Netty into a whining, screaming fit.  She sucked 
madly at Czar's cock as the inflating knot scraped across her teeth, 
trying to get as much of it inside as possible.

Czar, however, was unwilling to trust his sensitive knot to the sharp 
edges of the girl's teeth and declined to push it in, once it got to a 
certain size.  Undeterred, Netty kept sucking, mewling and bucking 
against Caesars still erupting shaft.  The hot wet mouth with it's 
swirling tongue was enough for Czar, and he opened the spigot, shooting 
copious streams of viscuous dog cum down the girl's throat.  The sheer 
volume of his discharge took her by surprise, and she pulled back 
involuntarily, catching the remainder of his spew on her face and hair. 
  That was the trigger that sent Netty over the edge, thrashing 
spastically under the furry bodies of her canine lovers as she fell into 
oblivion.

Some of the 'guests', freshly aroused by what they had just witnessed, 
wanted another go, but I threatened not to pay them if they didn't get 
dressed and leave. Reluctantly, they did so, and by the time the last 
one descended the porch steps, Caesar had uncoupled himself from the 
unconscious Netty.  I wet a rag and cleaned her up as best I could.  Not 
ready to get too far out of character yet, I nudged her with the toe of 
my boot until she roused enough to crawl into her cubby hole under the 
stairs.

Surprisingly, she was up before the sun and had my breakfast on the 
table by the time I finished my morning ablutions. She gave a subdued, 
though not sullen, "Mornin' Massa." in response to my greeting, then 
silently went about boiling grits for her own breakfast.

"One more night," I thought, as I studied her, "can she take it?"

She ate with good appetite, then wrapping her hands in rags again, 
headed for the woodpile.  I concluded that while she was troubled, she 
wasn't broken, and decided to let her see it through.

She didn't complain, and even responded enthusiastically, if somewhat 
distractedly, when I bent her over the woodpile just before lunch and 
took my pleasure in her ass.  She was trying so hard to really fit into 
her role that I despaired of finding a good excuse for the punishment I 
had planned as the last act of this play.

As she was cleaning up after lunch, however, she dropped and broke a 
dish, turning instantly to me with a stricken look on her face. "I'm 
sorry, Massa! It jes slipped out from my han'! I din't mean nothin' by it!"

I stood facing her, hands on hips and said sternly, "Netty, you been 
mopin' 'roun here like a sick puppy all mornin'! I ain't totally sure 
you're cut out to be a house slave!  Clean that mess up an' get your 
chores finished while I calc'late what to do 'bout you!"

While she went about her business, I slipped off into the woods to meet 
with the actors for the last scene of my production.

I had converted an old shed to a 'slave barracks' for the final part of 
this charade.  It was separated from the house by a stand of trees, so 
my agent had been able to get his people in without being seen from the 
house.

The dogs were with me when I entered the 'barracks' and stood just 
inside the door while my eyes adjusted to the dimness. Caesar and Czar 
worked their way around the group from opposite ends of the semi-circle 
they formed around me and the door.

There were fifteen black men in that room, hired by my agent in San 
Francisco, to be 'slaves' in the concluding act of Aisha's play.  He had 
been instructed to brief them, so this meeting was just to wrap up any 
last minute details.

"Ok, Sam told you what's going on?" They all nodded, and I continued 
"All right. Remember, you are to be rough, but she's not to be injured 
in any way!  Anyone who goes over the line will have to deal with me, 
understood?"

"Remember guys, this is a play!  This young lady is making a tremendous 
sacrifice to learn something important, so let's make sure she can make 
use of that knowledge when we're finished." My gaze traveled around the 
room, meeting each pair of eyes in turn.  Only one wouldn't meet my stare.

I walked over to him.  "What's your name?"

"Tyrell."

"Tyrell, here's the money you were promised." I handed him a folded wad 
of cash.  "We won't be needing you for this. Go on back down to the 
road. The bus is waiting there. It'll take you back into town and 
there's a room in the motel for you. The others will join you tomorrow."

He took the money but looked confused. "What'd I do?"

"Nothing, Tyrell." I came in close and looked into his face, "These 
gentlemen will be enough for what I have in mind, so you get paid for 
doing nothing. Will that be a problem for you?"

I wasn't close enough to be threatening, but was far enough into his 
personal space to make him uneasy. He glanced around the room and found 
nothing but curiosity on the faces of the onlookers.

"No, no problem."

I let him out the door and signaled Czar to follow.  The others were 
curious about why I made him leave, but I told them, "It was just a 
hunch, and it wouldn't be right to discuss unconfirmed hunches with you 
guys. For all I know, he's the nicest guy in the world, but I don't want 
to take any more chances than I have to with this young lady's safety."

I showed them the bundle of ragged clothing they were to wear for the 
part, and gave them each a key to one of the numbered footlockers 
stacked behind the 'slave quarters' so they could secure their clothing 
and personal belongings, then sent them off to another clearing where I 
had set up exercise equipment.  Their instructions were to get as sweaty 
as possible, and return to the 'barracks' around sundown.

Czar had returned from seeing Tyrell to the bus, and I sent the two of 
them to ride herd on the actors, as I had with the first group the day 
Netty was 'captured'.  I didn't expect any trouble, but I seldom let 
strangers onto my place, and I didn't want them wandering around, since 
a lot of my activities involve things that neither I nor the other 
participants would care to reveal to the public eye.

By the time I returned to the house, Netty had finished chopping wood, 
had cleaned up the mess from last nights activities, and was busy 
preparing dinner.  The meal was great, but her distraction caused her to 
make a couple of minor flubs that added to her offenses list.

She cleaned up after the meal and was pulling the burlap shift over her 
head as she headed for my room when I stopped her.

"This ain't workin' out, Netty girl. I know you been tryin' somethin' 
fierce, but you jes' ain't cut out to be a house slave."

She looked devastated, "Please don't whip me no more, Massa! I'll try 
harder! I'll be the bes' house slave evah! Please, Massa!"

"I ain't gonna whip you, girl, so stop yer squallin'!  In th' mornin' 
you're to go out with the other field slaves and see if you're any good 
at that.  If nothin' else, maybe you can give them hard workers 
somethin' to work hard for." I turned her by the shoulders to face the 
back door. Pointing through the screen, I continued, "Now you jes' go on 
down 'at 'ere path to th' barracks an' make yourse'f to home.  Them 
boys'll show you where to bunk down, an' you can get a fresh start 
tomorrow."

As she walked slowly down the path to barracks, occasionally looking 
over her shoulder at the house, I retired to my study to watch the 
proceedings on the security monitors.

She arrived at the slave quarters just as the last of the sweaty 'field 
slaves' were returning from their day's labor.

One of them stopped and asked, "What you want down here, girl?"

Netty looked at her feet and muttered, "Massa done sent me down heah. He 
say I ain't no good at bein' a house slave, so I gotta try my hand at 
bein' a field slave."

The speaker guffawed and, opening the door ushered her in, announcing to 
the others. "Look whut Massa Mike done sent us fo' Chris'mas!  Tendah 
young house slave di'nt suck his white worm good 'nuff, so he give 'er 
to us!"

Netty was mortified, "That ain't why he sent me! I di'nt do the house 
work good 'nuff, so he want me work in the fields!"

They all laughed at that. "Then why he send you to th' men's barr'cks, 
girl?"

"Oh, no!" she cried, cringing as they surrounded her and started pulling 
at her shift, "This cain't be happ'nin'!"

I watched for as long as I could keep my eyes open, while the 'field 
slaves' took their revenge on the 'uppity house slave', shoving cocks 
into every opening, time and again, sometimes two to a hole, often 
taking her three at a time. After a while, her body betrayed her once 
more, and through a lust-drugged mist she climaxed over and over again. 
The deeper her degradation, the higher her peaks, until finally, around 
three thirty, there were no more hard cocks to use, and she fell into an 
exhausted, troubled sleep.

When I watched the tapes later, I saw that several times during the 
remainder of the night, one or another of the men would wake up and take 
her unresisting body again.

As the sun came up, I opened the barrack's door, and wrapping a blanket 
around the exhausted girl, carried her up to the house.  I started the 
water in the shower running to get it warm, and while waiting, presented 
Aisha with an authentic looking letter of manumission in the name of 
Netty Franklin. She smiled weakly, and mouthed 'Thank you'.

I took my own clothes off and supported Aisha in the shower, washing 
places she was too tired to reach, and shampooing her hair. I then put 
her to bed in the guest room while I went back to the barracks and paid 
off the actors. Some of them tried to refuse payment, saying it was the 
most pleasurable job they'd ever had, and they'd do it for free any 
time. I insisted, however, and soon they were all back on the bus with 
Tyrell, headed back to San Francisco.

While Aisha slept, my contractor replaced the antique wood burner with 
my gas stove, and, after he certified that it was leak free, I went 
about preparing as sumptuous a meal as I could dream up.

Doc Miller was there when she finally awoke, hungry and needing to use 
the bathroom.  He gave her a thorough examination, and left various 
antibiotics and salves to combat infection and help heal her numerous 
small cuts and abrasions, then left us alone.

Aisha said little during the meal, only occasionally asking for another 
helping of this or that.  When we were full, I sat on the sofa in the 
living room with the cognac bottle nearby, and motioned for Aisha to 
join me.  Covered neck to ankle in a soft, fluffy robe, she gratefully 
accepted the snifter of cognac, took a sip, then put her head on my 
shoulder and cried.  Her body was wracked with sobs for more than an 
hour, and all I could do was hold her.

Eventually, there were no more tears, and wiping her face on the sleeve 
of the robe she looked up at me with reddened eyes.

"That was only four days and four nights! How could they stand it for a 
lifetime!" her left fist beat ineffectually against my chest.

I hoped I didn't sound too pedantic when I replied, "Humans are 
amazingly adaptable creatures, we can survive many things and learn to 
avoid others.  Your ancestors had, as you have seen, a really hard life, 
but they found ways to cope.  Some learned to 'read' their masters so 
they could avoid doing things that would earn them the worst 
punishments. A few actually succeeded in running away, despite the 
risks. Within the community of the slave quarters, they came up with 
diversions that provided at least some outlet. Many found comfort in 
religion. Not being real slaves ourselves, it's impossible for us to 
know the depths of anguish they felt, when, for instance, families were 
torn apart to be sold to different owners, nor is it possible for us to 
know all the devices they used to make life bearable, however miserable 
it may have been."

She was silent for a long while, occasionally wiping her nose on the 
tissues I handed her.

"You know what the worst part was?" she looked up at me with those big 
brown eyes, and continued as I shook my head, "The worst part was that 
when you and the others were doing the most horrible, degrading things 
to me that I could ever imagine, my body was having the most wonderful 
feelings. I NEVER had orgasms like that before!"

"Why was that the worst part?" I thought I knew, but she had to work it 
out for herself.

She thought it over, sipping from her cognac. "It was the most 
humiliating betrayal imaginable.  My body in ecstasy while my mind 
screamed in torment - I still don't understand it."

"Maybe this will help." I palmed my snifter and swirled the contents 
around the sides, "Most of our attitudes about the pleasures of our 
bodies come from our religious teachings.  Near as I can tell, those 
writings were done, not by Jesus Christ, Allah, or any other deity or 
earthly incarnation of a deity, but by the MEN who ran those religions - 
by our standards, very primitive men.  Men are, by nature, selfish, even 
now.  If men had things the way they wanted, their women would be total 
sluts with them, and ice cubes with everyone else.  Furthermore, women 
would be totally faithful to their men, but men would be free to have 
sex with as many women as they could.  Your namesake provides evidence 
of the selfishness of men's lust. Mohammed married A'isha when she was 
six, and at 54, consumated his marriage with her when she was only nine."

I set my glass down and refilled hers before continuing, "That's my beef 
with religion. For some people, a religion can be a tremendous source of 
comfort in hard times, but for the unscrupulous and power hungry, it 
makes an ideal tool for controlling the attitudes of thousands, even 
millions of people.

"People are led to believe that what their bodies feel can be controlled 
by their minds, and to a certain extent, that's true, or fantasies 
wouldn't play such a prominent role in our sex lives. On the other hand, 
there are certain physical reactions over which we have no control.  We 
may be able to control, in some circumstances, what we do about those 
feelings, but we can't control the feelings themselves.

"Beyond that, our bodies and minds are extremely complex organisms that 
nobody understands fully, and they often work together to cause 
unexpected reactions to different stimuli.  What that means is that, 
even though the horror, pain and humiliation you felt was real, somehow 
your body connected them with the physical sensations it was 
experiencing, multiplying its reactions, all through no fault of yours. 
I won't say that you're the same person that you were, because this 
experience has changed you, but at the core, the real you is still 
intact.  You just know more about yourself now."

She stared off into space for a while, then started to get to her feet. 
  "I'll have to think all this through some more, but I think you're on 
to something.  Anyway, I'd better get dressed if I'm going to get out of 
here tonight, like you said."

I held onto the sleeve of her robe, keeping her from rising. "You're not 
going anywhere tonight.  You still need to sleep, and that brandy isn't 
going to help your reaction time. You can leave in the morning."

She settled back into the crook of my arm and smiled up at me, finally 
showing a little of the Aisha who had sat here almost a week ago. 
"Yassah, Massa!"

I shook my head, "No, not Massa. Not tonight."

She snuggled her head into my shoulder and lost herself in her thoughts 
and as I triggered the remote for my sound system, soft jazz filled the 
room.

A few minutes later, she was snoring softly, and didn't wake up as I 
carried her into the guest room and tucked her in.

She was almost finished dressing when I knocked on her door the next 
morning. The small duffel I had brought in from her car was open on the 
bed as she bent to tie her shoes.

When she straightened, I noticed the outline of the rings under her top. 
  Pointing to them, I asked, "Do you want me to remove those before you go?"

She fingered them thoughtfully for a moment, a small shudder going 
through her body.

"No, not yet." she said, "Can I come back later and have you take them 
out if I change my mind?"

"Anytime!" I smiled.

She kissed me lightly on the cheek, whispering, "Thanks for everything."

I saw her to the door and held it open as she skipped down the steps and 
threw her bag into the car.

"Let me know how the paper turns out!" I said as she slid behind the wheel.

I barely heard her shout "I will!" as she sped down the trail, waving 
out the window at me...

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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