Y'all remember that in these parts, we used to have plantations, and those
plantations were worked by slaves. Those slaves did not have a good life,
not like these here "love slaves" you hear about bein' locked up in bedrooms
and cellars and such. Their lives were hard because they were worked hard.
On a plantation with a good manager and an overseer who was fair, you could
go for months without feeling the stroke of the lash, and if you worked hard
they let you alone. Where the people in charge were professionals, they
didn't mistreat their slaves too bad, even if it wasn't no sort of life
you'd wish on your worst enemy.
But there were other places, places where the owners done the slave
management. They was European, they was hard and they was cruel. Worst of
all was their kids, who had power of life or death over the poor wretches
their Daddy owned. Think what you was like as a teenager, then think if your
worst enemy at school had been able to have you lashed on whim. Or if you'd
had that power over them. You'd have made their lives hell, wouldntcha?
This plantation here, the old Erikson place, that was a small one run by the
family. But this little place has its claim to fame. Listen up and I'll tell
The plantation owner, Jon Erikson, he wasn't such a bad old stick. He'd
married late, to a very young wife, and his wife had died giving birth to
Astrid, their first child. It weren't to shocking that old Erikson doted on
the girl, what looked so like her mother. Astrid had old Erikson twisted
round her pinky. She weren't just spoiled rotten, she was rotten to start
with and then got worse. Astrid used to beat the slaves whenever she was
bored, and she was always bored. Maids got a thrashing for laying out the
wrong dress. Menservants got a thrashing just so she could see the big
strong men helpless in front of her. When she was a little older, she
thrashed them so she could see the sweat on their strong bodies.
Well, you can only push people so far. Astrid had got bored of her riding
crop and had had a paddle made up special. A paddle with spikes, so that she
could see pinpricks of blood when she struck and watch it mix with the
sweat. The slaves, they weren't having any of that. Astrid couldn't flog
hard enough to scar with the crop, but no fathers were going to stand by
while this girl scarred sons and daughters. Them slaves did the only thing
slaves can do- they prepared to escape. Old man Erikson had boats, and they
had a man who knew how to sail and they were going to sail themselves to the
Caribbean and find an island. Only thing left to do was overpower the guards
and the family. Old man Erikson put up no fight, raised his hands up,
surrendered peaceful and let them lock him away. They overpowered the guards
and overseer, and you don't want to know what they did to them, but it
weren't nothing they hadn't had coming.
That left little Miss Astrid. They was going to just lock her up and leave
her, but Ezekiel Jones had other ideas. Ezekiel had been Miss Astrid's
favorite whipping boy for years, first as a kid then as a young man. Ezekiel
had grown up strong and muscular and handsome, and Miss Astrid surely did
love to have him strapped down and bared for the whip. She loved to run her
little hands over his muscles in between each stroke, or kneel down and
watch the sweat trickle down his back. Once or twice, when no-one was
looking, her little hands had strayed between his legs. She surely did love
what she discovered there, too.
Ezekiel bust into her bedroom before she knew'd anything was going on. She
had been admiring herself in the mirror, playing with her wicked new paddle
and practising the arch look she was going to use when she had that firm
black body strapped down in front of her. When the door bust open she didn't
even really look alarmed. It was only the black boy, she'd start the
whipping a bit earlier than planned. Then he rushed her. She barely had time
to be surprised before he was on her.
Ezekiel knew what he was about. He'd got her trussed up like a chicken ready
for the grill in a few seconds. Just like she done to him, all them years.
He thought about what to do to her, now he'd finally got on top. He plain
didn't know. He looked around her room for inspiration. Behind his back,
Miss Astrid was wriggling around, trying to get untied. She'd got her teeth
to the ropes and was pulling free by the time Ezekiel turned around. He tied
her tighter, raised his hand to slap her across the face. She flinched back
from him, and Ezekiel lowered his hand. In all the years she'd whipped him,
she'd never touched his face, not to whip nor to caress. He couldn't do it
to her neither.
But it weren't right to let her free. He had to do something. He tried
spreading her legs apart with a spreader bar and cuffs, because he hated
that. Somehow it didn't look right on her. He made her bite the wicked new
paddle, watched amazed as she started to drool. She just plain couldn't help
it. Ezekiel decided what he was gonna do.
Ezekiel stuffed the bit gag for her horse into Astrid's mouth. She squealed
and the squeals turned to burbles as she started to drool. Didn't matter
what she did, she just drooled and drooled. Ezekiel laughed at her and she
blushed right scarlet.
Ezekiel knew what he wanted to do to her, now. He wanted her brought low,
not hurt. He grabbed the front of her gown and pulled it down, shoved clamps
onto her nipples. Remembered years of tearful frustration as those breasts
had been right by his face as he was bent over for a whipping. Remembered
how her soft little hands had felt, between his legs. It was time to repay
the favour. Ezekiel Miss Astrid's thighs apart. He cupped her pussy in his
strong hand, stoked her there, gentle and soft, like she stroked him. And
Ezekiel found out something. Miss Astrid wasn't just dribbling from her
mouth. Miss Astrid might be fighting and glaring, but Miss Astrid's pussy
was calling a different tune. Miss Astrid's body was hugging up to his. Miss
Astrid, she wasn't fighting for real no more.
When they came to unlock Old Man Erikson, they found his daughter gone. Old
Man Erikson refused to put up any reward, refused to sign anything to get
them slaves chased down. He kept the reason why secret to his grave. But
they say his daughter had spoken to him before she left, and they say that
in the waters of the Caribbean there was a pirate ship with a black captain
and his first mate was a white woman with long blonde hair. They say they
been married at sea, on the run from the authorities. Seems like maybe love
slavery is just a bit older than you thought.
(With apologies to anyone from the Southern USA for my atrocious attempt at
a Southern drawl and for mangling your history beyond all recognition. This
is just a littile light escapist fantasy, and is not meant to belittle the
dreadful suffering of the real slaves. But as for mangling history, I can't
being doing any worse than the U-boat film, The Patriot, Braveheart, Robin
Hood Prince of Thieves and all the rest of Hollywood's recent output.)