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The master_s revenge

CHAPTER ONE

The southern plantation owner, whose skin was as white as milk, sat in his over-stuffed easy chair in the corner of the large, plush livingroom inside his mansion.

His name was Bernard Cornfield and he was one of the richest – and meanest – men in the whole south. He turned lazily and found himself looking at his Negro butler, Jones.

Jones had his faded palm beneath a tray upon which was Bernard Cornfield's afternoon mint julep. A sprig of mint stuck up greenly from the top of the long, thin glass.

The glass was three-quarters filled with crushed ice – just the way Bernard liked it. He thanked Jones kindly and the butler turned to leave.

"Oh, Jones?"

"Yes, Master?"

"Ain't there one of them nigger girls I bought last week left to be whipped?"

"Yes, Master. The one named Tammy Taylor. She is the youngest and the smallest."

"Ah, yes. I was saving her for last purposefully," Bernard said with a sigh.

"You want me to fetch her for you, Master?" Jones asked, his thick lips parted.

"That would be good, Jones, but in ten minutes, after my drink," Bernard said.

"You want me to bring her straight here to you?" Jones asked politely.

"No, Jones. Bring her down to the torture room, to save time," Bernard said.

"Yes, Master," Jones said. The Negro turned and left the livingroom. Bernard sipped his drink and felt the ache growing in his balls.

If his wife – Annabelle – ever found out that he was messing with the nigger poontang there would be hell to pay. Only the slaves knew – and they were under strict orders never to mention Bernard's sexual activities to the lady of the house.

Annabelle – luckily for Bernard – was always off riding her horses or shopping in the nearest Georgia town, which happened to be called Stocking Post.

Bernard finished his drink, looking out the window at his massive plantation. The Georgia red clay had been worked and fertilized by the slaves until it yielded crops that would have been unheard of twenty-five years before. It was the nineteenth century, and agriculture was vastly improving. Each year Bernard managed to make a little more money than the year before. That meant he could buy more slaves – and not just the black bucks who put their sweat into the farm, but the succulent nigger cunts as well, which Bernard loved to torture and fuck just about more than anything else in the world.

Bernard had a boner inside his pants by the time he finished his drink. He set the glass down and meandered toward the front room where the door that led down to the basement was.

He quickly went down the rickety stairs into his private torture chamber. He never had to worry about Annabelle discovering his torture chamber. His wife would not have been caught dead in the basement of the mansion. It was dark down there and she might get her dress dirty.

Bernard lit the lamps along the walls as he went down. He was surprised that he arrived in the basement before Jones with the little nigger cunt.

When Jones did bring down the girl, Bernard could see right away that the petite pussy was all upset. Her eyes were red and swollen and her face was stained with tears. Little Tammy Taylor knew that she was about to be whipped – because she had been saved for last – and she had never been so scared shitless in her entire life.

"This is Tammy," Jones said. "Master Cornfield."

"Pleased to meet you, Master," Tammy said weakly.

"You can go now, Jones," Bernard said sternly.

"Yes, Master," Jones said, and headed back up the stairs.

The little black girl was wearing a burlap dress that was hemmed well above her knees. She was the littlest and the cutest of the new slaves Bernard had recently acquired.

"Tammy, you are a beautiful little girl," Bernard said. He licked and smacked his lips obscenely. Tammy could feel a million butterflies flopping around inside her tummy – just as if they all wanted to get the hell out of there.

The little slave could feel her heart pounding as it had never pounded before. Her ticker felt like it wanted to beat its way right out of her chest.

The diminutive nigger cunt could feel the icy sweat of her terror oozing from each and every pore in her body. The scent of her funk wafted up toward her hot nostrils – which were remarkably closed for a girl of her race. Bernard looked at her beautiful face and her golden brown skin and he could tell that – genetically speaking – there was a little cream in her coffee somewhere along the line. "She had a little human in her," as Bernard was fond of saying.

"How old are you, Tammy?"

"I don't know, Master."

"I'll bet you ain't even sixteen," Bernard said.

The girl shivered and was silent.

"You ever been whipped before?"

"No, Master."

"How come?"

"Where I was before, the slaves was only whipped when they disobeyed. I always obeyed."

"Things are different here. There been too many revolts in this county, niggers getting shot on account of they got uppity and tried to make a run for it. I like my niggers to know who's the boss right from the start. Everyone gets a whipping. You are so beautiful I may want to whip you once a week. We'll have to see. Your skin is so beautiful. It will be even more beautiful after it has been marked by my whip."

Tammy could see in the indirect illumination in that torture chamber, that there were many whips on display on the far wall. The walls were made of stone.

There were no windows.

She could see that the center of the room dominated by a large slab table. There ware chains and cuffs at the four corners of the table. She knew those were there so that little girls – such as herself – could be bound in a spread-eagled fashion.

Tammy could see that there were human skulls dangling from the ceiling of that dark and creepy ceiling.

She could tell they were real.

There was other torture equipment on a long table that ran the entire length of the wall furthest from the entrance – equipment that the little nigger cunt could not immediately identify.

"You ever been with a man?"

"Pardon me, Master?"

"You ever been fucked?"

"Yes, Master."

"I suppose your last master popped your cherry."

"No, Master. I got me a man."

"Who?"

"His name be Jonah."

"Oh, yes. He's been fucking you? Good. I hope he knocks you up and you make babies like a bunny. I could use a little return on some of my cunt investment. Seems like I should get more out of the deal than a sore cock."

"Yes, Master," Tammy said – even though she was not entirely sure what he was talking about.

"I remember Jonah. The big buck I bought at the same time I got you. The one with the good teeth. I like good teeth in the mouth of my slaves. It looks good when I have company over."

"Yes, Master."

"That's something I should tell you know, because you are going to have to know sooner or later. I throw a lot of parties and there are a lot of male guests. You will be doing domestic chores during these parties, serving food and drinks. But that's not all. Remember, when I have company, you must obey all of the guests just as you would obey me."

"Yes, Master."

"If one of them, or three of them for that matter, men I mean, want to take you down here and whip you and fuck you, then that is their right. If you disobey I'll just have to cut off old Jonah's gonads – and then he won't be no good to your cunt no more."

"Please don't do that, Master."

"Then you understand the rules?"

Tammy nodded.

"Good, now get out of that rag dress so's I can see what you got," Bernard said. He could feel the hot blood of his masculine arousal pumping into both the head and the shaft of his cock.

Bernard Cornfield could tell that his cock was getting a little bit longer, a little bit thicker, and a little bit harder with each beat of his hard.

The white master could feel the ache in his balls getting worse rapidly too. His testicles felt as if they had swollen to twice their normal size by that time.

His dick felt like it was going to come bursting right out of the crotch of his increasingly tight trousers.

He could feel his thick jism swimming around his swollen glands of manhood inside his scrotal sack impatiently.

The little girl lifted her dress up over her head. Her head got caught inside for a moment but then tugged free. She was barefoot and naked beneath her burlap dress. She stood before her brand new master every bit as naked as the day she was born.

"Precious. Very precious," Bernard Cornfield said. He liked his nigger poontang on the diminutive side – and Tammy sure did fit the bill. She looked even younger than she was – and that was just fine with the white man. His motto had always been the younger the better when it came to nigger poontang.

He could see that Tammy Taylor stood only an inch or two over five feet tall – and there was no way she weighed more than ninety-five or a hundred pounds.

She had her kinky hair braided and held in place with many little pink bows. Her face was round and very cute. She had features that looked as if they should have been painted on the face of a Negro doll.

Her skin was very smooth. She had a perfect complexion. It was clear to anyone who looked at Tammy that she had never suffered from a facial blemish.

Her eyebrows and her eyelashes were just as black as the hair on her head. In spite of the fact that she had never plucked them, her eyebrows grew slenderly, and femininely angular.

Her eyelashes were very long and curled upward at their tips. They were longer than the lashes of any of the white women Bernard knew – and the white women wore mascara to lengthen and thicken their lashes. The slaves, the female slaves, were not allowed such vanities – of course.

Her eyelashes were so long that they licked lightly at Tammy Taylor's high cheekbones each and every time she blinked. Her nose was remarkably slender – almost pointy at the tip – but she had the thick sensuous lips of her race.

In spite of her diminutive stature – Tammy had extraordinarily large breasts. Her tits were not only big, but they were perfectly shaped. The man could feel his mouth watering when he got his first look at her tits. He had seen them at the auction when he bought her – but he had forgotten just how delicious they were.

Her tits were firm and full with youth.

Her breasts were both pert and perky.

They rested very high on Tammy's chest.

Her nipples pointed slightly upward.

Tammy's tits were rounded at their bottom and sloped at their tops. They curved back toward her armpits, making her waist look almost painfully thin. She did have a slender waist. Indeed, it only measured twenty-two inches.

Her nipples were the color of chocolate. Her pupils were actually dark brown – but they looked just as ebony as her hair in the limited illumination in Bernard Cornfield's creepy torture chamber.

Her hips were rounded both at the sides and the rear. Her ass cheeks were every bit as smooth as when she was a baby. Her thighs were smooth also and tapered gracefully and perfectly from her round hips to her unscarred knees. Her legs were not long but they were shaped the way a woman's legs are supposed to be shaped. Her calves were rounded but not overly muscles. Her ankles were trim and her feet were dainty. The master could not help but notice that the little girl's toes were chubby and cute. Her toes, which were wiggling against the bare wood floor, were all very close to the same length, including her two big toes.

He could see that the diminutive slave had very little pubic hair. Most of the nigger wenches had shaggy kinky hair all over their mounds, along the sides of their pussies, in between the cheeks of their ass, and even sometimes sprawling out unattractively onto the insides of their thighs.

But Tammy had none of this.

She simply had two curls of black hair which grew above and to the sides of her clitoral foreskin, at the very face of her sloping mound.

Less than a third of the little girl's mound was covered with hair – and the hair that did exist, Bernard Cornfield could tell – was downy soft.

Judging from the little girl's mound, the white master correctly assumed that she was completely bald along the outermost edges of her vulva. He correctly assumed that she was equally hairless in the cleavage between her delicious round and brown ass cheeks.

"Now I want you to get upon that table and stretch out," he said.

It was clear from the tone in the man's deep baritone voice that he was not then – nor would he ever be – in the mood to take no for an answer.