It was the Year of our Lord 1763. It was the year when the boundary line between Pennsylvania and Maryland was begun by Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon. In February of this same year, the Treaty of Paris ended the bloody French and Indian War, while France yielded up to Great Britain Canada and all her territory east of the Mississippi except Isle d'Orleans. Spain gave up Florida to Great Britain, in return for the restoration of Cuba and the Philippines.
It was as yet thirteen years until the Declaration of Independence. What was known as America was mainly British colony, and in this year of 1763 Pontiac's War against British expansion and occupation of French posts in western territory began with the blockcade of what is now known as the city of Detroit.
It was an age of empires and colonization. Great Britain, France and Holland vied with one another for mastery of virgin lands and the natural resources of those new terrains. And as always, where colonization came, so tyranny and injustice and the exploitation of human beings flourished.
On the 21st day of February, 1763, there began what the noted historian James Rodway, author of "The History of British Guiana," referred to as "probably the most disastrous slave revolt that ever occurred in any colony." Oddly enough, some sixty years later, many Dutch settlers who fled the revolt of Berbice were found in the British colony of Barbados, where a ferocious slave revolt took place also. And yet the latter mutiny of the downtrodden slaves led, just a decade after, to a British proclamation which ended slavery forever in any part of the British Empire. Sometimes injustice can be righted only by the inexorable passage of time....
Today it is known as Guiana, but it was formerly British Guiana, its capital being Georgetown on the Demerara River. The population was polyglot, a few whites and Indians, many East Indians, and many Negroes. Sugar, rum, rice, hardwoods, gold, diamonds and bauxite were then and still are its principal resources. The British settlement in Guiana began in what is now known as Dutch Guiana in 1630, and the Dutch settled Essequibo, Berbice, and Pomeroon in what is now known as Guiana. During the course of Continental and colonial wars involving these three major powers (the Dutch, British and French), the areas changed hands often. It was not until the Congress of Vienna that the present division of the three areas was definitely fixed. Discovery of gold in British Guiana let tb British expansion and to the Venezuela boundary dispute.
But in this year of 1763, in the very first month of this fateful year, the cruelty of the Dutch settlers had aroused the smoldering fury of the blacks. Since the year 1581, Dutch vessels had sailed along the coast and started trading posts and depots at various points. The West India Company had been founded a score of years later, its purpose to establish friendly trade with the natives. Yet those arrogant families from old Amsterdam who settled in this tropical land forgot their cultures and their arts and their humanity. Once they saw themselves but the few whites who could control the lives of so many East Indians and blacks, they reverted to the savage and primitive cruelties of these wild lands, refining them with their own sadistic methods....
It was the thirtieth day of January, at the Vrouerman plantation near Berbice. In the fine house which slave labor had built under cow hide whips, handsome, golden-haired Mevrouw Juliana Vrouerman and her pompous, fat husband Dirk presided, with their effete seventeen-year-old son Hugo and their two insolent daughters, Lillian, fourteen, and Katrina, sixteen.
Juliana Vrouerman was forty, and still handsome. A tropical land and its weather had made her blossom, and her three offspring were as fair as she. Pampered and believing that they were the elite to whom all respective obedience was owed, her two daughters and her son treated the slaves as cruelly as did she and her husband. They could not know what reckoning was to be exacted from all of them.
It was noon, and outside the slave compound, in the clearing, a massive wooden triangle was set into the earth. Fixed to it, her ankles corded to the widely spread lower legs of this isosceles triangle and her wrists drawn high above her head and bound to the very top, was the young brown-skinned maid Luwana, only sixteen and yet sumptuously developed. She had made the blunder of refusing her young master Hugo the favors of her body when he had ordered the overseer, the squat, scar faced Pieter Drumanns, to bring her to his bedroom the night before.
Such mutiny could not be tolerated in a slave, especially a house slave who had more privileges than those who worked in the fields. Hugo had complained to his father, and Dirk Vrouerman had indulgently and laughingly decreed, "Well of course, boy, she's your bitch and you're old enough to be a man out here. Have her thrashed and whatever else you want done with her. You're to be my heir one day, and you may as well show yourself to have authority. That's all these filthy natives understand, the whip and the cutlass and the musket."
The slaves in the compound were already out in the fields, all except Macombu, a tall, muscular twenty-two-year-old East Indian slave who was the betrothed of Luwana. Macombu's father had been Christianized by an English missionary and his sister who had settled first in Demerara, and then on a riverboat moved down the river into the area of Berbice. They had made many converts, and Macombu's father had taught his strong young son the gentle doctrines of the quiet Galilean.
When the young boy had asked his father why it was that the white masters did not behave to all people as was ordered in such doctrines, his father had sighed, shaken his head and replied, "They have forgotten the teachings, and they are stronger than we are. We are not war-like, and so we turn the other cheek when we are slapped or beaten. This you must do also, Macombu, if you live among them and serve them as a slave."
But now, crouching behind a thatched hut at the very edge of the compound, Macombu watched with eyes that were clouded with tears and darkened with hate as he saw the overseer and the white youth, son of the white baas, approach the whipping triangle.
Luwana whimpered as she saw them approach her, and her dark liquid eyes fixed with abject horror on the cowhide paddle which the overseer gripped in his right hand. Instinctively, the muscles of her thighs and bottom tightened as she tried to steel herself for the ordeal in store for her.
Now the overseer, Pieter Drumanns, turned to the towheaded youth beside him and respectfully inquired, "How many, young Mynheer?"
The youth smirked as she stared hungrily at Luwana's brown-skinned nakedness. The plump round bottom cheeks, the long though ripely rounded thighs and the succulently curved calves excited him. So, too, did the bold round turrets of her agitatedly swelling titties, capped with pert buds in the center of narrow dusky-coral aurolae. But most of all, the already thick tufts of black cunthair which fleeced that apex between her straddled thighs and which symbolized for him the carnal usage he had demanded of her and had been refused, made his pulses race with lubricious longing.
"Start with ten and see how the bitch behaves, Drumanns," he said in a hoarse voice. "And then, till she's ready to obey me, understand?"
"Of course, young Mynheer." The overseer posed himself, at the naked young girl's left, his eyes squinting at the spacious round globes of her quivering naked ass, he himself savoring the mobility of her bottom and leg muscles which depicted her increasing apprehension. Then slowly, lifting the paddle, he applied a quick biting stroke which smacked noisily across the centers of both huddled nether hemispheres.
Luwana uttered a strangled cry and lunged forward, her eyes rolling frantically. From his place of hiding, Macombu ground his teeth in futile rage. Already, on the gold-brown sheen of those jouncy, palpitating bottom cheeks there rose an angrily darkening splotch. Moreover, all of her muscles were now set into agitated play, as the bruising and burning shock of the paddle spread through her nervous system.
Two miles to the south of the Vrouerman plantation, there stood the elegant two-story white frame house of the Bardensons. About forty years ago, old Hendrik Bardenson had secured a charter from the West India Company for trading in Berbice. He had been a young man then, and he had quickly won favor with the natives because of his gifts of calico, osnaburg and candies to the children and the women. The women themselves had delighted in the rough but colorful cloth which covered their naked bodies, and there had been several of the handsomer and bolder younger ones who had rewarded him even more by visiting him at night.
When he was forty, old Hendrik had sent to Utrecht for a young bride, Emma, only seventeen and blonde and slim. She had been horrified at the primitive life of this tropical country, and still more so over his ruthless methods with his slaves. He had no bones about fucking the Indian and Negro girls who toiled on his coffee plantation. And he coldly remarked to his young bride, that her only duty was to bear him a son.
But instead she bore him two daughters, and died in the stillbirth of the third child who would have been a boy had both mother and child survived. Morose and frustrated, old Hendrik drank himself senseless, and finally had a fatal stroke in the heat. By now his two daughters had inherited the plantation and they were spinsters. One was Ulrica, thirty-six, blonde, tall and haughty-faced, and her younger sister was thirty-four, Viertje, rather small and with delicate features and dark-brown hair which some neighbors maliciously said had not been inherited from the Dutch side of the bed but rather from the natives with whom her father had fucked so riotously.
Old Hendrik Bardenson would doubtless have returned to haunt his daughters could he have known how they were to run the plantation after his death. They had been brought up by an unimaginative Dutch overseer and his wife, into whose hands the dying plantation owner consigned his girls. They were to be taught, he insisted with his dying breath, all the shrewdness of a man so that they could manage his estate and make a handsome profit out of it. He hoped that one day they would go back home, sell the land at a fine profit and then settle down and find husbands and rear a parcel of children.
What he could not have known was that Ulrica and Viertje had not the slightest interest in me. As early as fourteen, the older Ulrica initiated her sister into the sweet mysteries of girlfucking, of gamming and sixty-nining. And Viertje, being more docile by nature, had found it all the more exciting to evade the vigilance of her guardians and to sneak Off to Ulrica's room during a storm when the rain beat down heavily on the old frame roof of Hendrick's sturdy house, and there entwine her naked palpitating young body with her sister's.
But by now the Dutch overseer and his wife had died, the former from the bite of a deadly centipede, the latter from jungle fever or dengue, as it was known. So by now the two sisters ruled their little world, keeping away from all their Dutch neighbors, for they had no need of them whatsoever and still less for the gossip which began to gather as smoke gathers over a woodfire in the stillness of the night. By now they were confirmed and dedicated Lesbians, and what gratification they didn't take with each other, they took with the slavegirls of the plantation. Old Hendrik, their pioneering father, had planted a good thousand acres in coffee beans and rice and corn and vegetables, and a little tobacco. Now the tobacco was the best yielding crop of all. Ulrica and Viertje had hired a new overseer from Essequibo, a brooding, angular-faced man in his late thirties, Max Courtail, to rule the slaves and to get the most work out of them. Max, though they did not know it, was a wanted criminal back in Delft, for he had killed a young wainwright in a fit of passion over a young tavern wench. He had smuggled himself aboard a freighter bound for Surinam, managed to get off the ship and escape the customs officials at the dock, and made for the jungle. First he became an apprentice on a tobacco plantation near Pomeroon. There the buxom wife of the plantation owner who was fuming with the neglect her husband showed her in bed, lured him into the toolshed, found that he was a robust and enduring cocksmith and systematically helped him rob her unsuspecting, stupid old husband.
When Max Courtail had amassed enough money to buy his freedom and to win a license as an overseer, he left the woman after giving her a sound thrashing with a cane, a thrashing which, to his surprise, made her so passionate that she crawled after him naked and bleeding from the thrashing, her arms entwined around his legs, begging him to do anything he wanted to her if he only would stay.
It was thus that Max Courtail learned the sadistic power and the voluptuous excitement of plying the lash. And since Ulrica, the more dominant of the two sisters, had secret yearnings to compel her female slaves to bed with her under the threat of punishment, it was not long before she discovered her new overseer's gifts in that direction.
About three years ago, shortly after she had hired the man, she had whispered a command to Rosalou, a seventeen-year-old big-tittied black-skinned young Negress to come to her chamber and to have her mother first bathe her and rub her body with cinnamon and nutmeg so as to take away the musky stink of her flesh. But Rosalou had already made eyes at the sturdy black buck, whose straw pallet she longed to share and so she had tossed her head and said that she knew nothing of what her mistress wanted and that surely, a good girl that she was, she could not do anything that was forbidden by the church.
Infuriated by the young girl's arrogance, Ulrica had summoned Max Courtail. Rosalou's insolence soon changed to trembling and then to whimpering terror as the sturdy young Dutch overseer seized her by a wrist and dragged her out to the slave compound.
There he put her in a pair of old wooden stocks. Seated on a stool which was only about a foot off the ground, her wrists and ankles locked in the four holes of the top and bottom horizontal pieces, she remained there all night long, the prey of insects and mosquitoes and of her own growing terror.
In the morning, she was quite ready to do whatever Ulrica wished, but the order had already been given for her thrashing. Max Courtail administered it with such expert cunning that Ulrica found her heart pounding wildly and even dreamed of perhaps renouncing her Sapphic ways to try for once the unknown pleasures of fucking with a man.
He began with a thin switch peeled from a cashew tree. Twenty times he made it curl round Rosalou's shoulders and back and hips, and her wriggling twists and jerks and her piteous shrieks made Ulrica's pussy moisten with feverish longing.
Next, taking a currycomb which was used on the horses, he spanked her plump jutting bottom cheeks as he might those of a child. By then Rosalou was ready to do anything in the world, even give her cherry to the overseer. At last Ulrica decided to forgive the girl, and when she was released from the stocks, Rosalou flung herself down naked before her mistress and implored mercy, swearing that she would do whatever was demanded of her.
That night, she girlfucked with such enthusiasm that Ulrica was enchanted. And so Max Courtail's place had become a sinecure, one that delighted him. The two sisters made no demands whatsoever upon him, except from time to time to trice up and flog a disobedient wench. As for himself, his own little cottage at the head of the slave compound was often visited by the comelier of the slavegirls, who wished toingratiate themselves with him so that if, by some misfortune, they found themselves sentenced to the lash, he would lay it on lightly because they had fucked with him so cooperatively.
On this January morning, Max Courtail's services were once again required to deal out punishment to a recalcitrant East Indian maidservant who, like Rosalou, had refused to yield her body to Viertje Bardenson.
Her name was Lumaria, and it was small wonder that the younger Lesbian sister lusted for her brown-skinned body, for Lumaria's grandfather had been a Dutch trader who had spent a little time at Berbice and impregnated a handsome Carib wench. That Dutch blood combined with the savage strain of Lumaria's antecedents had culminated in an exotic beauty over which both Ulrica and her younger sister had angrily disputed. Finally Ulrica had ceded the girl to Viertje, who, preening herself in triumph, had only two nights ago order Lumaria to come to her bedchamber. But the fat Carib cook, Magnota, had gigglingly hastened up to her mistress's rooms with the unheard-of news that Lumaria had refused the order.
And so Viertje Bardenson, wearing a linen helmet, brown leather boots and man's breeches and a white silk blouse from Amsterdam itself, stood out under the burning sun's rays at the punishment stockade, ready to watch Lumaria receive punishment for her insubordination. Since both she and her sister shared a sadistic love of the whip, there was not only a pillory erected and a crossarm whipping post not far from it, but also the punishment stocks which Rosalou herself had entured. Now, Rosalou was still the paramour of Ulrica Bardenson, though the latter was tiring of her since the girl had grown fat and lazy and looked upon her status as a bed-bitch to Ulrica as a kind of special privilege. It was time, Ulrica had told Viertje only last night at dinner, that Rosalou ought to be sold down the Mazaruni River to some bachelor plantation owner who would take the poundage off that fat bottom of hers with a good cowhiding at least two or three times a week and put her in the fields to sweat off the rest of her lard.
Max Courtail, wearing a straw helmet, breeches, boots and open-necked blouse of coarse cotton, the sleeves of which were rolled up almost to the shoulders to display his muscular, wiry arms, inclined his head respectfully towards Viertje Bardenson. In his private opinion, both she and Ulrica were tasty wenches, a bit long in the tooth, to be sure, but out her in this tropical wilderness a white woman who was still desirable and had not reached the age of forty was eminently fuckable. To be sure, he knew his place, and he knew that if he dared make any overtures to either of the Bardenson sisters, it might well be his life. Any investigation of his past would discover that he was still wanted for murder back in Holland.
Besides, it was a cushy job and it had many privileges which were not written out in the contract that still had a year to run. Even tonight, he was thinking to himself as he waited for Ebenezer, the sturdy Negro houseboy, to bring out the prisoner for her whipping, he was looking forward to a passionate interlude with Marquita, a seventeen-year-old fieldhand whom he had caught malingering and whom he had threatened with a flogging at the stockade. Marquita had fallen to her knees, wound her arms around his legs and, looking up at him with those great dark-brown eyes of her, had whispered, "No whip, no whip and me do jig-jig with white baas tonight, me do jig-jig good, please no whip!" So he had spared her the thrashing she had coming, and tonight he would let her see the cowhide and tell her that if she didn't please him in bed, she would be triced up to the pillory tomorrow morning with a double ration of the lash.
He plucked at his black beard impatiently now, his senses tingling as he thought of the night to come. Then he heard a squeal of pain followed by a sobbing outcry, "You hurt Lumaria, you hurt arm, please, not so hard!"
He squinted in the direction of the house. Ebenezer, the tall, solemn-faced houseboy (the title was denigrating, for Ebenezer was a man of forty-five, enormously strong and yet extraordinarily gentle and docile as a slave) had hold of the Carib girl's arm and was forcing her out toward the stockade. There was a low fence which surrounded it in a massive rectangle, and the three apparatuses of punishment stood out starkly from the house and garden and from the back of the slave compound itself. Most plantation owners maintained just such a site for whipping and torture so that the other slaves might be impressed with what they saw. For the last six months there had been ugly rumors throughout Guiana that some of the more intelligent and younger slaves were thinking of revolt. The Governor-General, Mynheer Jan von Grynn, had already written to Amsterdam to demand more troops to patrol the lands ruled by the West India Company and to give the wealthy plantation owners the protection which their contribution to this New Holland deserved. As yet there had been no answer, but it was a long journey across the Atlantic on to Holland and back. Meanwhile, he had allocated a dozen of his own personal bodyguards to be on patrol.
Ebenezer led Lumaria towards the little gate, opened it and shoved it forward, then dragged the sobbing, pleading culprit towards Max Courtail and Viertje Bardenson. The Lesbian stared greedily at her prey, her eyes glistening to see the high perched, pear-shaped titties straining full against the thin calico dress which was all that covered that lush young body. Lumaria had dark-brown hair which tumbled to her waist, and her skin was a warm golden-brown. There was not the Negroid hint at the nostrils or the mouth, which was extraordinarily full and tremulous, nor to the chin which was dimpled like a white woman's.
When Lumaria saw the three grim apparatuses and the Dutch overseer with his sleeves rolled up and a long cowhide whip in his hand, she balked, planting her bare feet into the earth and trying to hold back: "Oh no, Missy Viertje, oh please no whip, please no whip Lumaria, Lumaria be good!"
"You've had your chance, you stubborn little bitch," the Lesbian snapped. "You've had this lesson coming anyway. You're sulky, flighty and lazy. A dozen lashes will make you learn your place. And tonight we'll see how good you're going to be. Just don't forget that if you aren't, you'll be back in the morning for a double dosage. Trice her up, Mynheer Courtail!"
Max Courtail had already shrewdly guessed the ignoble passions of his two employers. His only personal feeling was that they were wasting perfectly good Dutch pussy on these savage cunts, and he would have been only too happy to have suggested his own sturdy cock as a satisfying substitute. But he knew also from his forays into whorehouses back in Delft and Utrecht and Amsterdam that a woman who preferred one of her own sex to a man was hardly likely to welcome his advances. Once he had seen two blowsy blonde Dutch prostitutes put on a show for a select clientele, during which they had girlfucked and sixty-nined. Then each of them had taken on four men in a row. But those weren't genuine Lesbians, he knew, and certainly Viertje and Ulrica Bardenson had never yet indicated the slightest interest in a man. It was a pity, though, to waste this sweet Carib cunt on them when he could have really satisfied Lumaria. But as a paid servant under contract, he had little choice.
"I don't think the cowhide whip is exactly right for this little slug, Mynheer Courtail," Viertje Bardenson now addressed him in an insolent tone. "I don't want too many marks, but I do want her to suffer. Have you a suggestion, perhaps?"
The switch, or perhaps the paddle, Missy Viertje." He used this title of respect which was most nominally used by slaves because the Bardenson sisters had, at the very outset of his tenure with him, indicated that they wished to be so addressed. He understood with a sort of wry annoyance that by this subtle means they meant for him to understand that he was not much better than a slave himself, though white and paid for his labors. Verdammte, then, what did it matter if he fucked some of their brown-skinned bitches and had his pleasure, having to live in this isolated, Godforsaken jungle where the sun was a torture and the nights sometimes so sticky and hot that one couldn't sleep.
Viertje Bardenson pursed her lips and seemed lost in thought for a moment while Lumaria sobbed and struggled in Ebenezer's grasp. "Very well," she at last decided. "A small paddle, however, and do not leave any defacing marks. I think she has very sensitive skin. Perhaps fifteen with the paddle should suffice, don't you think so, Mynheer, and of course she is to be left out until nightfall in the pillory. It will teach her a good lesson. And only one pannikin of water and no food."
"As you wish, Missy," he bowed to her.
She licked her lips as she stared hungrily at the cowering brownhaired, brown-skinned girl. "I'm being lenient with you, Lumaria," she hissed, her lips moist and quivering as she felt her own sensual ardors roused by the thought of what was to follow. "And tonight, when you're brought to my chambers, I expect to find you a great deal more obedient. Very well then, put her up and strip her for the paddle!"
"Oh please, Missy, no whip Lumaria, Lumaria be good girl, Lumaria do anything you want."
"Keep your little mouth shut, you stupid bitch! It's too late now, and you're not going to buy yourself off this whipping. Go ahead, Mynheer Courtail!"
Viertje Bardenson's face was flushed, for she had been afraid that Lumaria wouldingenuously reveal what it was that Viertje wished of her. To have that stupid houseboy and the overseer understand her very special desires and yearnings would be anathema.
Max Courtail made a sign and Ebenezer dragged the sobbing girl forward. As Max Courtail moved to the pillory and unlocked the padlock which fixed together the top piece to the bottom, Ebenezer pushed the weeping girl towards the pillory. Then both men seized her wrists and pressed them into the narrower holes with one hand, while the overseer used his right hand to bend Lumaria's head down so that the wider yoke might clamp and lock round her soft brown-skinned throat. In a moment, it was done, and she stood on tiptoe, sobbing plaintively as Max Courtail now ripped off the calico dress and found, just as he had surmised, that she was naked beneath it.
CHAPTER TWO
Pieter Drumanns had given Luwana five vigorous strokes of the cowhide paddle. Her golden-brown skin was angrily reddened, and she twisted and squirmed on the wooden triangle to which she was tethered. Whimpering plaints escaped her, and young Hugo Vrouerman, the tow-headed blond only son and heir to this rich plantation, had moved to the girl's side so he could devour with glittering eyes the heaving round turrets of her titties, the deeply dimpled goblet of her belly, and the thick black fleece which did not hide the soft pink twitching lips of her virgin cunt, for the very good reason that her naked young legs were straddled more than a yard apart by cords which fixed to the base of this punishment apparatus.
Pieter Drumanns was forty-two, a year older than the boy's mother Juliana, who was the real baas of the plantation. For Dirk, her fifty-three-year-old husband, was uncomfortably overweight and busy drinking himself to death with good Holland gin, and expending the rest of his energy in fucking the girls from the native compound-probably with his wife's scornful if indulgent knowledge. So it was just as well, Pieter Drumanns thought to himself, to cater to this insolent young puppy's whims. Oh yes, he knew well enough why Hugo Vrouerman wanted Luwana thrashed. She wouldn't do jig-jig for him, and she had a fine body for it, too, by the Herr Gott! He'd be quite happy to take her to his cottage and solace her tonight, after this paddling, only Hugo was going to enjoy that priviledge.
The overseer's mind went back to that sailing on the Dutch ship of the newly formed India Company when he was but a lad of eighteen. He'd been a shoemaker's apprentice back in Gronigen, drearily sick of the beatings and the meager food and the taunting of his master's fat but attractive wife. She'd wanted him to visit her room and fuck her, but two apprentices had tried that already and they'd had their arms broken and were rotting in jail. She was a bitch prickteaser, that woman, and she was in league with the master, her devil-husband. Ah, but he'd been glad to run away when a dark night offered, and stow away on the ship. They had stopped at Surinam, and of course he'd been found the first week of the voyage and put to work holystoning the decks and earning his keep. The captain, a bluff old Dutchman with three boys of his own in naval service, had taken a liking to him and given him good advice. "Ach, Pieter," the old man had said, "all of this country is virgin land and the Dutch are settling in it and making their fortunes. They'll do it quickly before the verdammte Frenchmen and Englishmen find it, you mark my words. You're young, you have a future ahead of you. Get yourself hired out to some plantation as an overseer. You'll start out as an apprentice, naturlich, but don't go native. Don't fuck too many of the girls, though they're beauties, I can tell you. Don't drink too much gin, or the native drink, either. Abstain a bit, and when you're an overseer, you'll have all the pretty wenches to whip and fuck that you can handle, you mark my words."
Yes, that had been sound advice. He had worked as an apprentice, on a rice plantation, run by an expatriate Englishman named Colin Whitehorn. He'd been a very martinet of a master, but he'd had a twenty-year-old wife who'd come in a ship from Southampton. By the time Pieter Drumanns was twenty-two, his master was just about sodden with drink and no good at all to his impatient young wife. So Pieter had serviced her, but unfortunately his master had caught him at it and nearly killed him with a pitchfork. But the young wife had come to his aid when he lay bleeding on the floor from a gut wound, helpless to avert a finishing downward thrust of that horrible weapon. She'd taken an empty gin bottle and smashed her husband's skull. She'd gone to the penal colony near Demerara for ten years for it, too, but at least she'd saved his life. He'd got himself patched up by a friendly old Carib and stayed in the fellow's camp for about three months to get back his strength, and had fucked the old man's granddaughter and given her a brat. Then he'd made his way to Guiana, changed his name (which had been Wolvering) and went to work in a small shipyard near Georgetown. He'd prospered there, and then about ten years ago he'd hired himself out to Dirk Vrouerman. He'd had natives to boss and he'd known how to use the rattan, the whip, and the switch to get the most out of their lazy hides. The old man had seen him one day and taken a fancy to him. He'd brought him out to the fine house and the big plantation and out to the whipping compound and told him confidentially, "My wife's out visiting somewhere down the Mazaruni River, and she won't be back until Monday. I've a little job for you, Mynheer Drumanns, and if you bring it off, I'll sign a contract with you. There's a bitch who's insolent, see, and she needs a good thrashing. You know what I mean."
Oh, yes, he'd known what was meant. It had been a magnificent East Indian girl, probably with a little Dutch blood in her, by the name of Carolya. Tall as a man, with thick black brows, expressive oval face, piercing black eyes, sharp white teeth and a ripe, sensual red mouth. And a pair of the biggest, hardest, pear-shapted titties he'd ever seen on a woman, with an Arsch to match. Her skin had been a fine golden-bronze, and when he'd stripped her naked and fixed her over a swathorse, and then tied weights to her wrists and ankles, she hadn't let out a whimper, but gave him a scornful look.
Oh, he'd made her change her tune, all right. He'd taken a switch and played it over that Arsch of hers, to warm her up a bit, then he'd played it well between the cheeks, right into that dainty brownhole of hers, and into her kootzele, too, until she'd finally yelled for mercy. And then old Dirk had undone his breeches and, without any shame at all, had, standing right before him, gripped the cheeks of her bleeding Arsch, pried them well apart and buggered her.
The next day, he had his contract, a cottage was built for him and he'd moved in, and ever since he'd been overseer to the Vrouermans.
Oh yes, he'd had his share of wenches, to be sure, although he wouldn't get Luwana here. But what he wanted most of all was Juliana Vrouerman herself. Because even at forty, there was a bitch who knew what was what. At times, she'd go out on horseback with him to inspect the fields. He'd watch her post in a man's saddle, wearing breeches and an open-necked blouse and a sunhelmet, and when he saw those fine big juicy Arschcheeks ripple and flex and contract, he'd had such a hard-on that he'd have to hide it so that she wouldn't understand what she was doing to him. He'd give a month's wages right now for just an hour in his cottage with that goldenhaired bitch. He knew that she still had skin pink as a baby's, because one afternoon he'd come upon her bathing in a little creek just beyond the house. She'd been submerged in water up to her titties, but he'd seen them through the bushes, and the pink skin ai he big rosy nipples had made him drool with lust....
"What the devil are you dreaming about?" towheaded blond young Hugo snapped. "Give her the other five now, lower down. Make her yell. Then we'll see what's coming to her."
"Ja wohl, Mynheer," Pieter Drumanns deferentially inclined his head. He took a firmer grip on the paddle, patted Luwana's shrinking, inflamed bare ass with it, then delt her a resounding Thwackkk across the base of both huddling, trembling bottomglobes. With a strident cry, the naked girl lunged forward, and for the first time her tearstained, blotched face turned back to stare at him as if to beseech mercy.
"That's more like it," Hugo Vrouerman approved. "Lay them on even harder now."
It was really a pity to mark up this sweet young Arsch. The paddle bruised and made the flesh swell, and sometimes caused blisters. Not that ten spanks was too many, but the way the young baas wanted them laid on, they might make ugly marks that would last longer than they should. However, he had to do what he was told. He brought the paddle down again in the same place, and this time Luwana screamed wildly, "Baas, baas! Oh, don't whip Luwana, please don't, baas, Luwana be very good to baas, only do stop now, please do stop!"
"We'll see about that, you stubborn little bitch," Hugo sneered. He leaned forward to face the trembling, weeping girl straddled on the shipping triangle. His hands went out to cup the heaving, sweating titties. His thumbpads pressed the firm buds of her nipples back into the aurolae as he leered at her: "Are you going to be very good, do just what I say, hein, Luwana? Maybe I let the overseer stop now, if you say you'll be very good."
"Oh yes, Luwana be very good to young baas, only no more now, no more whipping, Luwana do what baas say, she promise, please!" the young girl wept.
Hugo Vrouerman glanced around. He couldn't see Macombu crouching behind the thatched hut at the edge of the compound, watching his affianced being whipped like this, couldn't see the look of savage hate in the young black's eyes. All he could see was the weeping girl and the magnificent body offered naked to him now, the thighs hugely and obscenely yawned apart, the pink lips of her virgin cunt beckoning him.
"That will do for now," he growled. "Get to hell out of here."
"Of course, Mynheer." The scarfaced overseer inclined his head, tossed the paddle to the ground and walked away. He knew what was going to happen only too well. He touched the purple scar on his left cheek gently. It had been put there by a fiery young Carib girl about six years ago, a girl he had had to whip at Julian's order. Somehow, she'd stolen back to the house, got herself a paring knife and come at him as he was leaving the cottage in the morning to start the work in the fields. It had been a lucky thing he'd turned at the last moment, or the knife would have gone straight into his throat. As it was, the bitch had paid him back for that. He'd had her triced up on the sawhorse, her cunt and asshole smeared with honey, and left all day in the sun for the insects and the mosquitoes to nip. Then at sundown, he'd taken the switch and given her fifty cuts from the nape of her neck down to her heels, then he'd rubbed the bleeding wounds with pimentade and she'd shrieked and pleaded with him to kill her. But of course he hadn't. She was to be sold down the Mazaruni River to a coarse old Dutch miller by the name of Von Cortzing, who would use her, as he used all his women, to be shackled to the grindstone and to pull the heavy wooden lever that would move it, with a tall Demarara nigger standing over them with a cowhide whip to ensure that the millstone moved at the proper speed all day long. But he'd fucked and buggered her to his heart's content before she'd been sent off in chains to the old miller.
Young Hugo's face was flushed and his nostrils twitched, his eyes blazed. He had unbuttoned his breeches, let out his prick, and now his hands were squeezing Luwana's titties.
"Yes, yes, you're going to be very good to the baas," he chuckled. "And I'm going to make sure of it right now. Tonight, when the overseer comes to bring you, you just better be ready. Otherwise, I'll stake you out here in the sun all day long, and I'll have honey rubbed all over you. And then a good thrashing when the sun goes down, Luwana."
"Oh no, no please, baas, no more whipping, Luwana do what baas want!" she whimpered.
With a greed cry of triumph, the sadistic youth thrust his prick against the soft pink lips of her cunt, and the young girl uttered a desolate cry of shame and despair, which echoed out to the waiting ears of her black lover hiding behind the cottage. He, his lips curling back to bare his teeth in a rictus of hate, saw the young white master fucking his beloved sweetheart. He saw Luwana's face twist desperately from side to side, as if seeking aid that would not come. He saw her body shake as the youth, gripping her ass cheeks, thrust himself back and forth inside her tight and bloodied sheath.
And he heard Hugo Vroeurman's bellow of completion as the youth exploded his profaning spunk deep into the young slave girl's cunthole. It was a crime for which Hugo Vrouerman would pay dearly, and the time was not far off for that retribution.
Perhaps the Vrouermans were not aware of the growing restlessness and hostility of their black and brown-skinned slaves, but there were other plantation owners who, the past few months, had observed an outbreak of obstinacy and laziness which had called for many more punishments than were usual in the slave compounds. All of this presaged some kind of revolt, or at least it did in the opinion of Thomas Vanderkuyl whose three-thousand-acre tobacco and rice plantation was located about seventeen miles northeast of Berbice.
He had come to Guiana in his late twenties, the nephew of a ruthless West India Company official whose brutal treatment of his slaves had shocked even the more callous Dutch settlers. Five years later, he had seen his uncle cut to pieces by rebellious Negro slaves armed with cutlasses, and he himself had been spared only because the leader, Maktari, had remembered that young Thomas had once interceded for him when he had been tied to the whipping post and about to be flogged to the blood for a minor offense.
But Thomas Vanderkuyl had never forgotten the vengeful savagery of these blacks and Caribs and East Indians who might be rendered outwardly docile but in whose hearts there lurked always the spirit of vindictive hatred for their white masters. He had begun indulgently enough, inheriting his uncle's plantation and building it by sheer perspicacity and hard work. But he had not married, for the very good reason that he was overly fond of boys. Back in Utrecht, where he had been born, he had been seduced at the age of twelve by a handsome twenty-year-old male houseservant, learned the delights of Frenching and being Frenched, and also, a few years later, of buggering a male lover. Through the years in Guiana, he was careful not to let this weakness be too greatly known, lest it come to the ears of his squeamish and aristocratic neighbors. Their pleasure was with the brown and black girls and that was normal, but his was a vicious vice which might stamp him as a depraved pervert and so cost him the friendship and aid of the community.
Nonetheless, Thomas Vanderkuyl, when he felt the tropical pressures grow upon him to exobritantly, satisfied his rut with a handsome slave boy now and again. The boy was first brought in from the fields and given to understand that if he behaved himself, he would have a position of trust. He would be given livery to set him off from the other slaves, he would feed at the same table with his master, and he would share the master's bedroom. Thomas Vanderkuyl thus found himself a more or less permanent lover, since he used the boy for three or four years until he tired of him. But during that period, he was faithful, as much as homosexuals can ever be faithful. Then, when he no longer cared for the charms of his subjugated body slave, he would sell the latter to a brutal half-Dutch, half-Portuguese slave trader named Adam Roon, who would turn the pampered slave into a field hand, or else kill him under the whip. Thus Thomas VanderkuyPs own conscious was purged, and he made certain that there could be no blackmail of his high reputation in the colony.
But the last three or four years, since he had grown corpulent and more brutal, coarsened by his years of association mainly with his slaves and the secret hours spent with his favortie of the moment, he had begun to restore the whip and the stocks, the pillory and even the branding iron. Only last week, catching two young field hands in the act of stealing some sugar out of the supply house, which had been guarded by a Negro under-overseer named Joseph Asunti, he had had both boys placed in the stocks, seated on broken glass, their body smeared with honey to attract the insects. Joseph Asunti had been stipped naked and tied head downwards on the triangle, and Thomas Vanderkuyl himself had taken a switch and lashed the yowling Negro across his groin and inner thighs and buttocks until blood was drawn as an exemplary lesson in vigilance.
Joseph Asunti had not forgotten that thrashing, and he had also finally guessed his master's shameful secret, which had come to him by rumor from another Negro on a neighboring plantation who had been sold to that plantation by the slave trader himself. And Joseph Asunti had planned to kill his master at the first opportunity. Yet fear of being broken on the wheel or burned to death or hanged first and then disemboweled while still alive-these were the objectlesson methods of execution employed in these barbarous times to warn other rebellious slaves of what dangers they might incur by mutiny-he bided his time, for the news of a general uprising against the hated Dutch settlers had been recently come to his knowledge.
But now Thomas Vanderkuyl's way of life was disturbed not only by the threatened and as yet unseen revolt of the slaves which was fomenting around Berbice, but by a rather unpleasant yet necessary family obligation. Last year his brother had died of a stomach tumor, and had begged him to take his daughter as ward and look after her. His brother had been a diamond cutter in Amsterdam, but speculation in tulip bulbs-a mania which had bankrupted many an otherwise thrifty Dutchman-had left him poor and unable to provide for his nineteen-year-old auburn haired girl Kathje.
He could not very well ignore his brother's dying wish, and so the young woman had arrived on a West India Company ship four months ago. She was prim and proper, demure and deferential, and really intensely beautiful. Had he not been tainted with his lust for young Negro boys, Thomas Vanderkuyl might very easily have determined to seduce his virginal niece. But of course at his age, his passions were fixed habit by now and he was, moreover, not at all attracted to the opposite sex. Nonetheless, Kathje's presence hampered his amorous activities, and also to his great annoyance he discovered that she was highly moral and believed in equality and justice to the downtrodden, which meant his slaves. She had seen the whipping given Joseph Asunti, and she had indignantly confronted her uncle that evening in the drawing room and denounced him as a cruel and inhuman monster.
"Have the goodness to keep a civil tongue in your head since you're under the protection of my roof and my ward as well, Kathje," he had stiffly retorted, his face livid with anger at her impudence. "You've never been to Guiana, and you obviously don't know what a hotbed of mutiny and laziness and disobedience this whole plantation business is. I tell you, girl, without harsh punishments from time to time, these shiftless niggers would eat me out of house and home, ruin my fields, drive me to the poorhouse just like your poor father. No, girl, don't attempt to sit in judgment on me until you've been out her maybe ten or fifteen years and you've learned what to expect from these damned rascals."
"But even if that's true, Uncle Thomas," Kathje Vanderkuyl had argued, color flaming in her tawny-skinned cheeks, "there is simply no excuse to be so brutal with a human being, no matter what he's done. To tie him upside down and to whip him where you did, and naked-it's an offense against heaven itself, Uncle!"
"Verdammte Teufel, girl, I want to hear no more about this! If you don't like it here with me, go back to Amsterdam. If you want to know the truth, I didn't want you here, except that I owe a debt to my brother."
Color had flooded her face even more now, and she had drawn herself up stiffly and said in a cold, impersonal tone, "Thank you for reminding me that I am dependent upon your charity, Uncle Thomas. I will try to keep my opinions to myself from now on while I eat your bread."
He watched her leave the room with a sense of exasperation and futility. And then, because his passions had been warped by these long years out in Guiana, he had found himself thinking that what this little bitch needed was an hour or two in the stocks and a good thrashing on her naked Arsch to acquaint her with the facts of life.
Sadism and lust go hand in hand, and hence even with the homosexually motivated Thomas Vanderkuyl, a gross and unnatural passion began to conceive itself for his beautiful virginal niece. It was a passion that would be thwarted, to be sure, but not without altering the lives of both Kathje and Joseph Asunti.
CHAPTER THREE
Of all the Dutch plantation owners in Berbice, perhaps none was more feared than Aurelia Zertvogel. Her three-thousand-acre coffee plantation provided work for 250 slaves, and she ran her holdings with an iron hand.
It was singular indeed how she had altered in personality since Adrian Zertvogel had brought her from Amsterdam nineteen years ago as his bride. Then she had been a frightened, blue-eyed, yellow-haired and very naive sixteen-year-old girl, who seemed scarcely past the age of dolls and the nursery. Everything was new to her and either wonderful or terrifying, from the marabunta wasp to the picturesque corials (wooden riverboats constructed with leafy branches to form a kind of sheltered top.) Far from her pampered home with a governess to look after her every need, she had adapted almost miracuously to the savage and primitive life of this oppressive jungle colony. She had borne her husband two daughters, seventeen-year-old Diana, as yellow-haired as herself but plump of figure and insolent of face; and the fourteen-year-old Bettina, a tomboyish, mischievous slim girl who was exceptionally precocious for her years and whose temperament was as mercurial as her shimmering russet hair and the changing flux of gold, green, brown and gray in her marvelously large, candid cat-green eyes.
Aurelia Zertvogel had come to hate her husband, because at the very outset of their marriage she had caught him with a native girl late one night in the kitchen where she had gone because she could not sleep and wished something to eat. Still, a bargain was a bargain and she had lived up to it and fulfilled her vows. But as the years passed and his infidelities became more frequent and brazen, Aurelia had begun to wish for his death, and finally, five years ago, it had occurred. He had drunk too much gin and he had gone to a little hut in the slave compound where he had quartered his sixteen-year-old bed-bitch Lumaya, a pretty Carib girl with traces of white blood in her and airs which Aurelia had found much too insolent and presumptuous for the girl's status as a slave. Somehow, going only in his breeches and shirt and without wearing shoes, he had stumbled upon a giant scorpion, and its bite had killed him after three days of indescribable agony.
Aurelia herself had arranged that death; or rather, she had had her Negro lover Tudaro trap a deadly scorpion and keep it in a little box and enrage it by poking at it with a twig till it was certain to strike the first human with whom it might come into contact. She had known her husband's habits, and she had had Tudaro place the box near a little clump of bushes beside the hut, crouching there in wait until he saw her fat, bearded husband staggering towards Lumaya's quarters. Then the box had been opened and the Negro had disappeared into the bushes behind the hut, and the scorpion had done its fatal work.
The next morning, in front of all the assembled slaves, Lumaya had been dragged from her hut by Aurelia's Portuguese overseer Pardiwan, a sadistic and perverted black-haired man of thirty-seven, whose merciless punishments had already caused considerable plotting of revenge among the helpless slaves. Lumaya was placed in the pillory, and her bare feet pressed down upon shards of broken glass-a favorite torment with the crueller Dutch plantation owners for rebellious slaves. Naked as the day she was born, her brown-sheened plump bottom cheeks contracting violently in justifiable apprehension, she had received thirty strokes of the cowhide over her luscious bottom and plump thighs until she had sagged in the pillory, bleeding and half-conscious. Then, at Aurelia's contemptuous order, Lumaya had been buggered by sixteen of the strongest black slaves on the plantation, one for each of her years of life-a vicious and humiliating nuance contrieved by the mistress of the plantation herself. After that, she was given to Alonso Pardiwan to do with as he would. A year later, the girl died as a result of many brutal whippings and depraved tortures which the overseer inflicted on her.
By now, Aurelia made no bones about being serviced by her sturdy Negro lover Tudaro. He was ebony-hued, six feet tall, powerfully muscled, thirty-two years of age and possessed of enormous strength. Just a few months before she had her husband murdered, she had caught him staring at her as she walked through the fields with the overseer. He had been crouching on his hunkers, plucking coffee berries and dropping them into a wicker basket, but his eyes had insolently scanned her and appraised her. That night, she had had him given a dozen lashes with the cowhide and then ordered that he be sent to her chambers when the whipping had been finished. The overseer had led him in, his wrists chained behind him, his bottom bleeding from the weals laid on with a vigorous hand. That same night, Aurelia's husband lay in a drunken stupor in Lumaya's hut, so Aurelia did not concern herself about being interrupted in her planned alliance with this virile black.
She was in a robe and nightgown, and she had walked towards him, scanning him as insolently as he had scanned her out in the fields. Then she had torn away his loincloth and her eyes had glittered at the sight of his prodigious prick, already in violent erection. "Well, Tudaro," she had said in a mocking drawl, "this deserves a more serious punishment, you know. It wasn't enough you dared to raise your eyes to me this morning in the fields, but now you actually lust for your mistress. Are you forgetting that I'm white and you're black?"
He had been the proud son of a Guiana chief, sold into slavery by his own brother a decade ago. He did not flinch, but stood there staring at her impassively. And then he said in his guttural bass voice, "I not forget Missy white. I as good as she, I son of king. Missy make me her slave, she not own my soul."
Such talk would have meant death, for it was the rankest insubordination and dangerous treason for a slave to utter. But Aurelia had no intentions of putting Tudaro to death. She wished him for two purposes: to service her long-frustrated and burning cunt and to dispose of the one obstacle that stood in her way towards full control of this lucrative plantation, her husband. So she had calmly removed her robe and stood there in the frail white nightgown, letting his eyes feast on the high-perched, closely spaced round globes of her titties which were still magnificently firm and without sag, and the girlishly slim waist and the lusciously rounded hips flaring from it, and on the long full womanly thighs. Where the sun had not bronzed her from her excursions into the fields, her titties and belly and loins were a warm carnation tinting. He could see through the nightgown the thick dark-golden curls of her cunthole, and his aching, violently erect prick throbbed and jerked convulsively, the lips of the meatus puckering and twitching as his rut was almost overwhelmingly evoked by the sight of this magnificent white female.
Aurelia had tilted back her head and burst into almost mannish laughter. "You talk big, nigger," she had taunted. "So you are the son of a king, are you? Let us see if you are a man in spite of being a nigger. Are you man enough to fuck me and to give me pleasure?"
"Yes, Missy."
"Prove it," she had laughed. Then, seizing him by the shoulder, she had pushed him towards her huge canopied bed, then tugged off her nightgown and stood naked before him. Then, watching his face congeal with lust, she had laughed softly and flung herself onto her back, spreading her thighs and pillowing her head on her arms. "Then do it!" she had hissed.
Tudaro, chained though he was, had mounted on the bed and got between her straddled thighs. Slowly he had poked for that golden-furred pink cleft of hers, tantalizing her as he pretended not to be able to find the orifice, till almost impatiently, tears of lust in her eyes, Aurelia had arched and squirmed herself like any two-dollar whore who was impatient to begin the business.
"Damn your black hide, do it, fuck me!" Aurelia had groaned after her Negro slave-lover had in his own way punished her by denying her what she sought, a token way of showing that while she might command his flesh, she was not yet the possessor of his spirit. "I'll have you flayed alive, I'll have you sit on hot broken bottles all day long-I command you to fuck me!"
"In this bed, Missy, you have made me as much a man as you are a woman," had been his simple, challenging reply. "I am slave to Missy, but now here there is neither slave nor Missy, there is only man and woman, and no woman tells Tudaro how he must make love."
At once the Dutch matron realized that she had found a true adversary in this slave, and so her mood at once changed. Wheedlingly, arching and squirming herself, she tried to make cohesion between her itching cunt and his savagely erect black prick until at last he gratified her. With a single thrust, he hiked himself to the balls, and Aurelia uttered a moaning cry of rapture, her face twisting to one side, the eyes huge and glazed, the lips parted. For the first time she had really found a man capable of satisfying her wakened lusts. No longer was she the innocent cloister-bred girl from Amsterdam, but a panting, shuddering, naked and demanding female whose hot blood had not yet been appeased by the ineptness of her drunken, loutish husband. Tudaro had planted his sword deep in her sheath, and he lay there atop her, while she clawed at his back and shoulders with her fingernails, and at last tendered him the supreme tribute that a white woman could give a black man: her trembling, moist red lips sought his mouth in her attempt to entreat him to give her the love she had so long been denied.
Then and only then, when he knew her to be a humble petitioner in the bed of lust, where he would be at least her equal and surely her master, did Tudaro begin to fuck her. Drawing his spear back to the very brink of her cuntlips, till she moaned and sobbed in torment, he thrust himself back and forth with a regular and inexorable rhythm until soon Aurelia flung her legs round his black thighs and ground her cunt to take all of his weapon that she could and keep it there in her burning maw.
When his bubbling jet burst into her womb, she uttered a low throaty scream of intolerable deliverance, and glued herself to him. But then, practical even in matters of fucking, she swiftly disengaged herself and hurried to her bathroom to douche out his black seed, for she had no wish to become pregnant by a slave. It would weaken her hold, it would offer her up as a laughing stock to all the other Dutch settlers in Berbice. She would rule here and make this plantation the greatest of all them, create a dowry for her two daughters, marry them off to the most eligible young men of good birth and family, but all the same she would take her pleasures in secret and Tudaro would be not only her lover but her aid in running the plantation. There were things a man only could do which not the most intrepid woman could achieve, she knew.
Her only outward sign to the other slaves that Tudaro had become virtually an overseer on the plantation was to dress him in red livery with gold buttons and a pair of knee-length black leather boots. She officially appointed him the majordomo of her household, but she let him know that he was not to overstep the proprieties. Only the other night, while lying in bed with him, gritting her teeth to hold back the furious waves of come which his rooting prick had roused in her ardent cunt, she had panted, "I've seen you looking at Diana and Bettina, you black dog you. Just have a care I never catch you doing anything more than looking, or I'll have Alonso crucify you and tear off that great black prick of yours with red-hot tongs, do you hear me?"
Tudaro had chuckled, his black hand squeezing Aurelia's swelling titties, and he had stared mockingly down into her glazed, dilated eyes. "I hear you good, Missy. Long as you fuck so good, Tudaro not want any other white woman, you savvy? You still bery good in bed, Missy Aurelia, like young girl. Good. You keep that up, I not need any other woman. Besides, your girls are like children, they know nothing about pleasing strong man like Tudaro."
And then, before she could remonstrate with him for his insolence, the sturdy Negro had begun to tweak her nipples until they stiffened and darkened, and his mouth had come down on hers, while his prick had slid to the very depths of her torrid cunthole. Moaning with joy, she had locked her legs around his bottom and again merged to him with all the feverish haste of her hot-blooded nature. It was as if she was trying to make up for the lost years with her useless husband, who had never given her pleasure, and who had preferred his native sluts to her own opulent charms.
But Tudaro was quite wrong if he believed that Diana and Bettina were innocents. They had, after all, been born here in the tropical land and they had seen and learned much of human nature as they had grown up on this plantation. Each of them had been given a young slavegirl to act as maid, to brush and comb their hair, to help them dress, to draw their bath, and to do all those personal little intimacies by which a slave can ease her young mistress' day.
Golden-haired Diana in many ways had the brooding sensual nature of her own mother. At seventeen, she was already a woman, and she longed for a man. But it was in her mother's plans not to have her betrothed until she reached the age of eighteen, still a year off. So, just two months before, the plump, insolent-faced teen-aged girl had experimented with her brown-skinned maid Cortissa.
Cortissa was a half-breed slave, half Carib, half Spanish. She had come from the Orinoco with several other slaves on this same plantation, since as the result of the Proclamation in 1717, each planter was allowed to have six Indian slaves who might be acquired by purchase or barter from that region. She was exceptionally alluring, with a kind of warm olive complexion rare among the slaves. Those who were of Negro-White mixtures had a kind of muddy olive tint to their skin, but here one found pink mixed with Cortissa's duskiness. She was gentle and self-effacing, of medium height, with wavy dark-brown hair and, at the age of seventeen-the very same age as Diana-already had a sumptuous figure. Her saucily rounded calves and thighs merged into a most enticing round upstanding bottom, the cheeks of which were deeply grooved and still the more provocative. Her titties were hard, closely spaced and exuberantly thrusting young melons, whose jiggling under the calico dress she wore had drawn the lustful gaze of many a slave toiling in the fields. Aurelia, however, had not the slightest intention of allowing the maid-slaves of her two daughters to have any sexual union with the fieldhands, for both these girls from the Orinoco could one day be sold for an exceptionally high price to one of the older Dutch plantation owners, to serve as concubines. If they lost their virginity to a black, their price would drop and their desirability wane in the eyes of their prospective buyers. It was Aurelia's plan to dispose of them in due time; Cortissa the very next year, by which time she fully believed Diana would be engaged and wed, and then Bettina's slave Noura in about four years from now.
She would have been apoplectic if she could have known that both her daughters had already experimented sexually with these delectable slavegirls, the more so because the sin of Lesbianism was absolutely unthinkable to her, fullblooded woman that she was who could take only a man of exceptional power and virility for her lover as she had done with the Negro Tudaro.
It had been an exceptionally warm evening and Diana had been restless. Cortissa had brushed and combed out the long golden hair of her young mistress, which fell to her waist, while Diana sat staring at herself in the oval gilt-framed mirror. Her eyes had fixed on the mirror and seen the jutting turrets of Cortissa's titties, and suddenly an inordinate and restless desire had taken possession of her. She had from time to time seen some of the slave Negresses fucking their mates when she had strolled out beyond the slave compound and towards the long clumps of bushes which fringed it. The excitement of watching naked bodies coupling and entwining had wakened all her young ardors. But since her mother had several times lectured her on what she might expect and she must not think of mating with a man until the right bridegroom could be found, she had remained unfulfilled-save with her own finger in the dead of night, lying alone in her bed and speculating on what it would be like to have a strapping black buck housed between her plump thighs.
As she looked in the mirror she saw Cortissa smile, and her desire flared. Turning suddenly, she hissed, "Take off your dress, you pretty bitch. I want to have some fun with you. And mind you, not a word to anyone, or I'll have you put in the pillory and whipped within an inch of your life!"
"Yes, Missy," Cortissa had stammered, blushing hotly. She had drawn off her calico dress and stood there naked, the dark patch of pussyhair shielded with her own soft trembling palms. Diana had picked up the silver-backed hairbrush, and had given Cortissa's plump bottom a sound whack with the flat back which made the naked slavegirl squeal. "Get into bed," she had commanded.
After the girl had obeyed, Diana languidly stripped naked, her heavy young titties bobbing as she approached the wide bed. Still holding onto the hairbrush, she had got into bed and turned on her side towards her trembling maid-slave. "Now feel me and kiss me, bitch," she had whispered hoarsely.
Cortissa, who knew nothing of such unnatural love, had awkwardly obeyed. But Diana had become incensed at the girl's timidity. She had reached over and applied several stinging smacks of the hairbrush to Cortissa's bare behind, and ordered the girl to press tightly against her body. This done, she gripped the slave's neck with hex free hand and began to kiss her on the mouth, while urging her victim to rub pussy to pussy and titties to titties. She enforced these orders with repeated spanks of the hairbrush until the young Orinoco girl began to sob and squeal. These sounds only kindled fresh passion in the sadistic teenager, and now she began to feel the seething turbulance which this friction wakened in her virgin cunt.
Before the night was over, Cortissa had been forced to kneel between her young mistress' thighs and gamahuch her, while Diana lazily reached out and applied the hairbrush here and there to the upturned hips and reddening asscheeks of the sobbing and docile maid-slave.
Since then, Diana had on several occasions forced the girl to service her in Lesbian manner. What she could not know was that Cortissa hated her for it, for her own young ardent cunt burned with desire for none other than Diana's mother's lover Tudaro.
Bettina, even though she was only fourteen, had also experimented with her maid, Noura, who was a year younger than Cortissa and somewhat svelte, with a charming oval face and huge dark-brown eyes. Noura's titties were like small but hard pears, and she had long thighs and sinuous calves and the same creamy skin which made Cortissa so fascinating.
Bettina had already taken the maid over her lap for a naked spanking about a week ago, wanting to distract herself from the boredom of the plantation and the heat and opressive listlessness of this jungle setting. Noura felt ashamed and dirtied by having to yield to her young mistress, whom she regarded as still a child. For she too longed to be fucked by one of the sturdy black slaves in the field, and her choice had fallen on a tall, bearded young Negro named Mowliga.
After the spanking, Bettina had made the weeping girl kneel down between her straddled thighs. Then, her fingers twisted in Noura's thick tresses, she had forced her slave to suck and lick her pussy until she creamed.
Noura had gone out to the slave compound after her mistress had fallen asleep, and there she had stolen into the hut where Mowliga and his mother and father slept. She had wakened the bearded young Negro, whispering to tell him of the shame she had just experienced and begging for his caresses.
But the Negro slave knew only too well what terrible punishment would be his if he dared fuck the lovely Orinoco girl. He had already had two whippings at the triangle, laid on heavily by the Portuguese overseer, and he had no desire for another dose. But he did solace Noura by licking and sucking her titties and playing with his finger in her virgin quim until the girl groaningly achieved hot come. And before she left the hut, she made him promise that one day he would really fuck her and make her forget what the wicked young white Missy had forced her to do.
It would not be long before the revolt of the slaves against their Dutch masters and mistresses would call for a terrible expiation by Aurelia Zertvogel as well as by her young daughters Diana and Bettina.
CHAPTER FOUR
It was nightfall, and in the big house of the Bardensons, oil lamps burned in the two huge bedrooms of Ulrica and Viertje. The rest of the household had gone to sleep; the two sisters were enjoying their perverse nocturnal pleasures.
Ulrica, her pale yellow hair combed into a thick plait which fell nearly to her waist, stood naked except for a pair of kneehigh-length black leather boots. In her slim aristocratic hands she held a black leather riding crop, and her pale blue eyes glittered and narrowed as she stared down at the crouching naked figure of the young Negress Rosalou.
"You heard, I am sure, you black bitch," she gloatingly declared, "what happened to Lumaria today for disobeying my sister's orders."
"Oh yes, Missy, me hear, me obey you, me do all you want," Rosalou gasped, as she looked fearfully up at the svelte and somewhat angular body of her Lesbian dominatress.
"See that you do, then, you black slut. Now, do you see my whip?"
Rosalou nodded, trembling with terror at the sight of that glistening black leather riding crop. Her big fleshy bottom and ripe titties had already felt the stinging kiss of that coercive implement on many an occasion since she had been forced to surrender to Ulrica Bardenson's despotic and lustful whims. Her only consolation was that she had a secret which she had still been able to keep from her cruel mistress. That first time, after the overseer had whipped her, and after she had gone to Ulrica's room and yielded her trembling, welted body in the bed of Sapphic lust, she had been sent back well after midnight to her hut. But there Kogaya, the handsome young buck whom she favored, had been hiding in wait tor her. He had taken her in his "arms and torn off his loincloth, and she had squealed with delight to feel the hard rooting spear of his virile young manhood prod against her chafed and tingling cunt. Ulrica had made her rub herself there with her finger and then rub against her mistress' body till it felt very sore. But it had been better than another whipping. Also, the white baas-woman had made her almost have pleasure, so that her nerves were wildly strained and in need of appeasement.
Kogaya had fucked her good and hard, flinging her down oil lamps burned in the two huge bedrooms of Ulrica and Viertje, knowing that if the overseer found them both, it might mean a terrible thrashing and then branding, but pretty soon she had given up even that token protest and had wrapped her arms and legs round him and given him back kiss for kiss as her body strained against his filling him with so much desire it was amazing.
She hoped that she was going to have a baby by Kogaya, because then that accursed Baas-woman wouldn't want her body anymore. Maybe she was only a stupid black girl, like the mistress said, but just the same she knew that Missy Ulrica hated men. Yes, she hoped that Kogaya's seed had done its work and planted a baby in her belly.
It was the only hope she could cling to now as Ulrica flicked her ebony shoulders with the flap of the riding crop and hissed, "Then hug my legs and kiss my boots, you dirty little slut, and do a good job. Use your tongue on them so that they really shine. I want to see your face in them, Rosalou."
Crouching down even lower and with her bottom upreared, the shuddering young Negress began to comply with that degrading order. Her lips pressed against the dusty leather boots, and under an encouraging flick or two of the crop, she thrust out her tongue and began to scrape the leather here and there until at last Ulrica was satisfied.
"Look up at me now, Rosalou," the blonde Lesbian commanded, her voice husky with mounting passion. She had small titties, like oranges, widely spaced, with soft little pink nipples like a baby's, but the thick dark-blonde bush of her pubic hair was so shaggy and abundant that it completely hid the lips of her pussy. She had put some kind of sweet scent on it now, for Rosalou could smell it. Her eyes rolled to the whites, her face congealed with fear as she studied her naked imperatrix.
"And now, Rosalou, kiss my legs and do it very slowly until you get to where I want, you understand, you stupid little black bitch?" was the sneering order.
The crop rose in the air and slashed down over the glistening black shoulders, and Rosalou uttered a strangled cry of pain as she frantically clutched her mistress' legs with her lovely plump round arms and began to slobber feverish kisses over the pale-white-skinned slender thighs. Ulrica began crying out with all the fears and anticipations of love that had grown inside of her. The girl still swung the love rendering crop with all her strength. To encourage the whimpering girl crouching before her, she applied capricious little whisking blows with the instrument which accelerated Rosalou's obedience..But then at last she felt the young Negress' lips press against her cunt. "Oh yes, there, now kiss me good there, or I'll have Mynheer Coftail shred your fat bottom with the paddle!" she panted.
Rosalou obeyed, conquering her revulsion, even as her lips and tongue servilely paid homage to the Lesbian dominatress' quim, she was thinking of Kogaya. Perhaps if Missy Ulrica didn't want to keep her here too long tonight, she could sneak back to his hut this time and do jig-jig with him....
Viertje Bardenson, too, was naked in her brown leather riding boots which caressed her sinuous calves and lower thighs and whose heels helped to pedestal her relatively short height of five feet three inches. Her face was a prim cameo, and her hazel eyes were large andingenuous, like a child's. But her titties were large and gourd-like, with brownish-coral aurolae and pert nipples, and the wide shallow cleft of her navel was almost an obscene aperture and seemed to wink at the'kneeling, softly sobbing naked brown-skinned girl before her. Like her sister, Viertje's pussyhair was extremely thick and curly, dark-brown, and there were similar tufts in her armpits. Her buttocks were boyish, upstandingly rounded and very tightly spaced, her thighs rather slender and somewhat short.
"Are you going to be a good girl now, Lumaria?" she crooned.
"Oh yes, Missy," the girl sobbed, "me be very good, me do whatever Missy want, that true, I swear."
"We'll see. Stand up now, turn around, put your hands on your knees and bend over," Viertje ordered.
The girl slowly rose, and began to cry, obviously believing that she was to receive another dose of the lash.
She bent over to receive her lashes, but very hesitantly, and very, very slowly.
"Stupid little bitch, I will thrash you if you keep up that Whining!" Viertje snapped. "Now do what I tell you and be quick about it! I just want to see how your bottom looks after the paddling!"
"It hurts Lumaria," the girl whimpered as she slowly bent over, put her hands on her knees, and thrust out her ass.
The numerous swats that she had already received had left many angry dark-red splotches on that golden brown skin from the tops of the girl's hips to the place where her lovely, ripely contoured thighs merged with her posterior. Some of the splotches were bluish now, and her flesh quivered uncontrollably. She had spent several long, agonizing hours locked in the pillory in which she had been placed for the paddling, and she had had only a little water and no food. There would be food later, after she had pleased her Lesbian mistress and to make certain that she would please her, Viertje had ordered her overseer to bring a macquary to her chambers. This was a whip plaited from fibers obtained from the aeta palm, and it stung and cut and rasped bare female flesh. The Dutch overseer had fitted it to a wooden handle, to give it more heft to Viertje's slim arm. It lay on the foot of the bed.
From her position, Lumaria rolled her luminous eyes at the naked lash, lying where she had first seen it, where Ebenezer had put it.
Viertje Bardenson's eyes burned with an unholy light as they contemplated that shuddering bare behind, the lovely rounded thighs. "Bend lower down," she directed in a hoarse voice that betrayed her unholy passion. When the girl obeyed with a sobbing gasp of terror, she could see the soft pink lips of Lumaria's cunt framed by the dark-brown pussycurls, and she could see also the sinuous shadowy cleft separating the plump bottomglobes. Her blood was hot within her, and her heart was pounding wildly. "Does it still hurt, Lumaria?" she demanded in a voice that was suddenly solicitous and throbbing with a feverish desire.
"Oh yes, Missy, it hurt bad, I never be bad again, please no whip no more, please no!" Lumaria groaned. "Can I stand up now, Missy, please?"
"When I tell you to unless you want a taste of the macquary," her mistress irritatedly responded. "How old are you, girl?"
"S-seventeen, Missy."
"Have you ever been with a man? You know what I mean, you little bitch, slept with one-tell me, quickly!"
"Oh no, Missy, Lumaria good girl, Lumaria no sleep with nigger." the girl gasped. Those of Carib or mixed Dutch or Spanish blood, Viertje Bardenson knew, prided themselves as being far higher in blood than the blacks whom the Dutch, through their West India Company, had brought in from Africa. Rosalou was just such an African slave, a second-generation product born here in Berbice from a mother and father who had seen the light of day in the Cameroons. Rosalou was fat despite her youth, but this sweet bitch would never be fat, only tempting with that wonderfully warm-sheened skin and those pear-shaped titties, and that almost perfect face. The lips and the nose and even the forehead of this young girl reminded Viertje of an exquisite fourteen-year-old girl from Amsterdam, the niece of one of the plantation owners here in Berbice, who had come to visit him last year and then gone back to Holland. She had lusted for that girl, but of course it was unthinkable. If only there were other girls of her own race and country here, who could be slaves, forced to share her bed. But of course there weren't, that was why one did what one could and had pleasure with these slaves.
"Very well," she said, mollified. "I am going to give you a chance to be my maid, Lumaria. You remember, you were whipped today because you didn't want to serve me and obey me. You found out what happened when you disobeyed, didn't you?"
"Oh yes, Missy."
"Just don't forget that lesson. But if you're good, if you do everything I tell you to, if you please me, you shall have a pretty new dress, yes, perhaps even beads for your lovely neck, and the best food in the house. You'll eat here in my room, and you will bathe me and help me dress and comb my hair. You'll have a good life, Lumaria. But you must never, never, never in the world sleep with a slave. I shall have Mynheer Cortail watch you all the time and report back to me, and if I find that you have ever slept with a man, Lumaria, I'll have the skin taken off your back and bottom and cayenne pepper rubbed into the raw flesh, do you hear me?
Lumaria wailed at this dire threat, bobbed her head and turned her tearstained face back round towards the naked Dutchwoman. Her movement made her titties and bottomcheeks jiggle, and Viertje's lust was by now overpowering.
"I told you not to whine," she hissed, drawing back her right hand and applying an energetic smack with the open palm to Lumaria's naked behind which drew a wild squeal of pain from the young sufferer. "Now get down on your knees and face me, clasp your hands together and look up at me, I own you, I am your mistress, and you are going to do everything I tell you to. Either that, or I shall have the overseer take you out to the punishment shed. The pillory is nothing to what is in there, girl. There is a turning spit in there, and you will be tied to it and a fire lit under you. And while you turn, the overseer will lash you with this macquary, do you understand? And if that isn't enough, there is a block and tackle which will lower you from the roof of the shed so that your tender bottom rubs against broken glass. Would you like that, Lumaria?"
The naked brown-skinned girl uttered a shriek of mortal fright and flung herself down on her knees before Viertje Bardenson. Her arms wound round Viertje's thighs, her tear-stained face looked up beeseechingly. "Oh no, Lumaria be very good, Lumaria do everything Missy want, you see." she pl-edged.
"And you won't have anything to worry about, Lumaria. Now, I want you to kiss me right here." Viertje put her right forefinger to her hairy cunt, staring down greedily at the girl's upturned, poignantly lovely face. Lumaria's eyes widened, for she was a pure virgin and had never heard of the forbidden love between two females, an act which was taboo in her own tribe and punishable even by death. Seeing the girl's incredulous look, the Dutchwoman went on, "I told you, you have to do everything I tell you to, is that understood? Either that, or I'll have you whipped and tortured until you'll wish you'd never been born, Lumaria! Don't look so shocked, you know nothing of pleasure, so I am going to teach you. And because you're a virgin, no man is ever going to get you, not one of those dirty blacks. I'm keeping you for myself, girl, and you'd best promise yourself to be very diligent and learn whatever I teach you if you want to have a good life here on this plantation. Now do it!"
Conquering her revulsion. Lumaria was able to press her trembling lips against Viertje's cunt. But then she shrank back, and the Dutchwoman's face twisted with fury. "Don't do that again, or I'll call the overseer in right now," she angrily exclaimed. The fingers of her left hand twisted in the long shimmering dark-brown tresses, yanked them viciously until Lumaria's congested face was forced inexorably up against her pussy. "Do you want the whip?" she panted, wantonly arching her loins until her cuntfleece ground against Lumaria's trembling mouth. "Kiss me good, kiss me sweet now, little bitch!"
Cowed by her terror and her bottom still painfully throbbing from the paddling, her limbs still numb and aching from the long sojourn in the pillory, Lumaria obeyed. Her lips pressed tremulously but lingeringly against the furry thatch of Viertje Bardenson's cunthole, and the naked Dutchwoman uttered a groan of lascivious delight, her fingers twisting still harder in her slave's hair to compel Lumaria to remain thus in obeisance.
And when the naked, trembling slavegirl had by lips and tongue roused her Lesbian mistress to pitch, Viertje flung herself down on her brocade-covered bed, then ordered the frightened naked girl to come lie upon her. Her hands clutching Lumaria's swollen bottomglobes, gouging them with her fingernails to quicken the girl's compliance, Viertje taught her new loveslave the perverse ritual of girlfucking....
Max Courtail was in his breeches and sandals, his lean hairy body naked to the waist and glistening with the sweat of the stifling humidity which engulfed the plantation even at night in this season of the year in Giuana. His cook, fat Benije, a giant Negress from the slave compound whose seniority upon the plantation and whose docility had earned her the privilege of serving as a combination cook and housekeeper to the overseer, had given him chicken and rice and baked a spice cake, tidied up the cottage and then gone back to her own hut. He was waiting impatiently now for Marquita, the youngest daughter of Satambo, a tall forty-two-year-old Carib who was one of the best field hands on the Bardenson plantation. There was no doubt that some generations back, Satambo's antecedents had had either Dutch or Portuguese blood in them, for Marquita with her warm brown skin and brown hair and brown eyes was in her way almost as lovely as Lumaria.
He puffed at his short pipe now, his mind summoning up the events of the day. He really hadn't laid the paddle too hard on Lumaria's juicy bottom, and probably by now that damned Dutchwoman was rubbing kotzeles with her. She and her sister, a fine pair! If ever word got out to the slaves on the other plantations what these two sisters were doing, there might well be an uprising. Come to think of it, he hadn't liked some of the rumors he'd been hearing lately. Old Mynheer Kroom's best field hand had run away after a flogging and been gone a week before they tracked him down. The old Dutchman had him buried in the ground up to his neck and then invited his friends over for a game of bowling. The balls were heavy and round and made of metal, and after about half an hour, the field hand's skull was crushed and he was dead. But while he waited there for his death, he'd cursed old Mynheer Kroom, told him that the obeah had been said over him and all his people and his land and that the black curse of awful death would come to claim him to punish him for all his cruelties to the slaves.
And then there'd been Walari, that young, insolent dog of a field hand who'd worked in the coffee fields for the van Ruyters down the Mazaruni River to the south. He'd been a hot-blooded young buck, and when the young baas had had his girl put in the stocks and switched because she wouldn't fuck with him, Walari had come to the girl's hut late at night and run away with her. They'd been found a few days later trying to cut through the jungle to find a little tribal village of friendly Caribs who would give them a canoe and food and help them escape the accursed white masters. The girl had been whipped to death in front of Walari's eyes, and then he'd been broken on the wheel and his prick and balls lopped off with a cutlass and a blazing torch thrust into the gory wound. But before he died, he'd shrieked out his curse against the white devil-masters, predicting that the slaves would rise and avenge the wrongs done them in blood for blood, death for death, whipping for whipping, and rape for rape.
No, he didn't like the looks of things, and even if the Governor-General had used some of his own bodyguards to patrol, it still wouldn't be enough. Here the whites were outnumbered by at least fifteen or twenty to one, and even if they had the muskets and the pistols and the pikes and cutlasses, one never knew how fiendishly clever these slaves could be in looting and raiding. Over a hundred years ago, he'd been told, there had been an uprising of slaves, and many whites had died and many blacks had been crucified and hanged and disemboweled.
He tapped out his pipe into an earthen bowl, frowning to rid himself of his black thoughts. Then there was a timid knock at the door of his cottage, and he grinned wolfishly. He strode to the door and opened it, and he saw the young field hand Marquita whom he had pardoned from the whip in return for her submission tonight. She wore only a calico wrapper, her feet were bare, and her hair was tumbled down over one side of her face and there were tears shining in her dark-brown eyes. More than likely she was a virgin, and also more than likely old Satamba had told her to be good to the Mynheer overseer, for he knew that if she wasn't, he himself might be given the hardest chores on the plantation and the least rations. This way, there'd be extra meat for his family and calico and osnaburgs for his womenfolk and perhaps even a few beads for Marquita.
"Shut the door, girl," he curtly ordered. "You're prompt, and that's good. Now let's see how well you can obey me. Don't forget, when Akari told me you hadn't picked your quota in the fields, you were down for a whipping at the post. And you'll still get it if I don't like you tonight, understand, girl?"
Marquita nodded, biting her lips and staring down at the floor. She stood with her arms at her sides, abject and submissive, her full young titties rising and falling with erratic rhythm, for she was truly a virgin. And just as Max Courtail had guessed, her father had instructed her well for this night, urging her to satisfy the white baas so that there would be good things for the family. He had even tried to convince his daughter that by sleeping with the overseer, she would be looked upon by the other slaves as one high in favor and privilege, and it might help her later on to find the best husband among the slaves.
But what Max Courtail did not know was that Satamba had had tears in his eyes too when it had been time for his young daughter to go to the overseer's cottage. He had put his hand on her head and murmured, "I know it is a sin and I know that you have eyes only for Buwara. But you are not spoiled for him, my daughter. And tell yourself that this is not your doing but that of the evil white baas who comes to our land with the whip and the musket and the cutlass and makes slaves of us. Tell yourself also that I see in the stars and I hear in the rooster's crow a day of vengeance for us all. Do not weep, Marquita. But if you must, then know that soon your oppressors will weep tears of blood for their crimes against you and all your people."
Max Courtail felt his prick thrusting violently against the fly of his breeches as he approached the trembling, downcast young girl. With an oath, he ripped away the wrapper and exposed her voluptuous young nakedness. His eyes blazed at the sight of the proud brown-sheened titties, with their narrow, dark aureolae and the saucily developed buds in their centers, at the dark curly triangle which marked her maiden cunthole, and at the fine round thighs and calves. Her father and mother had annointed her with a sweet-smelling oil of the palm and the acacia, so there would be no musk to offend his nostrils. He unbuttoned his breeches and let his prick spring out, glorying in the throbbing urgency of it, in the heavy rigidity of it. At thirty-eight he was still as much a man as any plantation owner here in Berbice. What he wouldn't give right now to have Ulrica and Viertje, yes, and Marquita too. All three of them, in the bed, vying for his favors! He laughed thickly, impatient to assuage his lust which just thinking of the haughty Bardenson sisters had aroused.
As his hands gripped Marquita's shoulder and drew her to him, he plunged his flushed, sweating face into the valley of her titties, inhaling her sweet smell which mingled with her body sweat. She wasn't a nigger, but she had a sort of tangy odor that sharpened all of his lust-senses. And what pleased him most was that he was going to be first to take her, not that tall glowering brute of a Buwara, the twenty-four-year-old African slave who outpicked any of the other field hands in the tobacco or the coffee fields. A brute like that wouldn't know how to enjoy a sweet piece of kootzele like Marquita, no, by the Herr Gott. His mouth crushed hers now, as his hands squeezed her quivering ass cheeks and pushed her right up against his prick. It rubbed against the shallow wide dimple of her navel, and he could feel her squirming uneasily and hear her stifled whimpers as he took possession of her. The blood sang in his veins with an exultance such as he'd rarely known. It was almost as good as fucking the Bardenson sisters, because Marquita didn't want him, and was afraid of him, and yet she had to obey or get the whip. But the best of all would be with those damned Lesbian bitches who dressed like men and acted like men and thought they were smarter than men. If there were an uprising, which the Herr Gott forbid, Max Courtail thought to himself, as his fingers squeezed Marquita's quaking bottomglobes, then all he wanted out of it was a chance to be alone with those two women and to show them what a man could do for them and make them forget their dirty games.
He could feel the hard cones of Marquita's titties rubbing against his sweating, hairy, naked chest, feel the muscles of her sweet, resilient young arsch tensing and flexing as his fingers dug into the meat of her behind. There was no more delightful sensation in all the world than to have your fingers pressed as far as they could go into the satiny warm ass flesh of a young girl who knew she was going to be fucked, and to watch her face twist in fear and shame because she knew exactly what was going to happen to her. In one way, fucking a slave like this was tolerable only because you could enjoy the cringing terror of a girl like Marquita right now, when she was at the moment of losing her cherry and becoming a woman for the first time.
"Get over there on my bed and be quick about it," he growled. The whimpering naked girl turned and stumbled toward the bed, and Max Courtail did not even bother to take off his breeches, quite content to let his rigid prick bob and jiggle as he strode after her. Kicking off his sandals with a close look at the floor to make sure there were no centipedes or scorpions, he watched Marquita arrange herself timidly, her huge tear-sparkling eyes fixed on him and mostly on the swollen spear of his sexual weapon.
He grinned crookedly as he got onto the bed with her, and he grabbed her titties and mounted her at once. His prick unerringly thrust for the furry gate of her cunt and found the lips and penetrated until he could feel the halt called for by the membrane of her maidenhead.
"You do jig-jig good now, or I whip hard," he warned in a husky, trembling voice which betrayed his overweening rut. And then, grinding his teeth, he set himself and lunged forward, shattering her maiden seal. Marquita uttered a shriek of pain at this perforation, twisting and struggling to get loose. But he had harpooned her, and his palms mashed down the heaving spears of her big firm warm titties, and his eyes devoured the shrinking, congested and tear-stained face of this virgin at bay who was virgin no more.
Then he began to plow into her, his forefinger reaching into the warm, moist fissure between her jouncy ass cheeks, until he at last grazed the dainty shrinking petals of her bung. Her whimpering gasps only excited him the more, and now he pitilessly gouged his finger up to the hilt inside her asshole and began to wriggle it back and forth, timing these maneuvers with the thrusts of his heavy, aching prick.
But the savage impetus of his lust, accumulated all through this hot and oppressive day and heightened by his secret lechery for the Bardenson sisters, betrayed him now. He suddenly felt himself explode and with a curse dug into the balls as he sagged over her. The hot drench in her cunt sheath made her gasp and stiffen, her eyes rolling to the whites. With an oath again, he pulled himself out of her humid, distended and bloodied scabboard, and then, kneeling beside her, seized her tumbled hair as a kind of cloth to cleanse his bloodied weapon and thus efface the testimony of his vicious pillage of her virginal body.
But even though he had spent profusely, he was still besieged by lust with all the images leaping into his mind of the two Dutch women naked in their boots, their hands bound behind their backs, weeping and kneeling before him as he swung the long gray cowhide whip over them and commanded their obedience to his every whim.
"You haven't finished yet, Marquita," he told the softly weeping girl who lay there crumped on the bed, hiding her face in her hands, "Get busy now and get me ready again. You're tight and hot, and I'm going to stretch you before you leave here, you'll see. Now take me in your mouth!"
He touched her trembling lips with his forefinger, caught her attention and then put his finger back on the tip of his limp prick. A look of supreme revulsion congealed the lovely young girl's tear-stained face and she whimpered, shook her head.
Max Courtail leaped from the bed with a bellow of anger. In the corner of this bedroom, there was a stiff, flexible switch made from the durian tree, peeled and soaked in vinegar to render it more supple. It was about three and a half feet long, with a ferociously tapering tip of about six inches in length, and a solid end to serve as handle. Seizing it, he slashed it over the girl's belly and Marquita shrieked in agony, rolling back and forth, rubbing her welted flesh where the switch had kissed. "You obey me, or else it's the post for you tomorrow morning, bitch," he snarled.
As she twisted onto one side, he slashed the switch diagonally over her brown-sheened ass, and her piercing scream of pain made his prick stiffen with anticipation. She rolled over and over now, one hand rubbing her belly, the other her bottom, tears running down her face and looking imploringly up at him: "No whip, Baas, Marquita do, only please, do not whip!"
She was babbling.
"Then prove it, you little heathen slut!" Max growled. He beckoned with the switch, "Get on your knees and crawl to me, Marquita!"
And when she had obeyed, her shoulders shaking with great, choking sobs, her lovely dark eyes enormous and glazed with tears, he commanded, "Take off my breeches!"
When she had done this, with feverish haste and a sweet awkwardness that made his prick ache all the more, he pointed to his weapon and in a husky, shaking voice commanded, "Now, put it in your mouth and suck and kiss it; use your tongue and lick it good, or else, verdammte, I'll give you the whipping of your life tomorrow in front of all the slaves!"
He could hear her retch and see her face twist in an abysmal revulsion, but fear of pain and the promised thrashing overcame even that revolt. Whimpering now, her eyes closed, her body shivering as with fever, Marquita leaned forward, her hands tremblingly placed against the backs of his thighs, and he could feel the brush of her trembling soft, warm, moist lips against the tip of his straining prick.
A little later, she was mouthing his weapon, still whimpering, her back welted from half a dozen savage swipes of the switch in his right hand. His other hand was twisted in her hair, forcing her to comply with his whim, and he had taught her how to french. So avidly delighted was he by the sucking sensations of her virgin mouth that he permitted her to take all his drench, making her choke and gag and bow her head down to the floor as long spasms seized her naked, brown-skinned body.
In his mind's eye, it was both Ulrica and Viertje Bardenson who crouched before him now in their turn, subjugated and compliant, ready to give up their Lesbian amours under the whip and to service a virile man like himself for the first time in their lives. That was his dream, and out in the little Carib villages far along the coast, the drums of obeah were beating to herald the coming uprising which, like a pitiless and murderous hurricane, would level everything in its wake and leave blood and death to mark its passage.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was a Friday night, the second week of February in the year 1763. Down the narrow shores of the Canje Geek, a few miles before it connected with the wider, turbulent Corentyne River, the sky was muddy gray and the jungle on the opposite bank stood out against it in a jet-black concentration. The harsh cry of the carra-carra bird was heard in the distance, and the gray water of the canal, daubed with red reflections from the long sunset, was patterned with ripples. A swimmer hidden by the darkness made his way along the east bank. Then he hauled himself onto the earthy bank and crouched there a moment, gulping in air. When he straightened, he seemed to be listening for something. And then there was the sound of muffled drums beyond him and to his right, from the blackness of the jungle beyond.
Behind him came the hacking yap of a wild raccoon, and then the snarl of a jaguar, followed by a piercing squeal as the raccoon met swift and violent death. This was the impenetrable jungle, which not even the white man with all his muskets and great ships and gold doubloons had been able to conquer. And in the safety of that jungle, the obeah man was summoning the faithful to the ritual of voodoo.
The man who had swum the canal was none other than Joseph Asunti, and on his thighs and buttocks there were still the purplish weals of Thomas Vanderkuyl's switch. He was a few inches over six feet in height with a proud and haughty face, a hawk-like nose, and even though he was of Negro descent, Joseph Asunti could boast of some white blood hundreds of years ago among his forebears. It was this pride, this linkage with the blood of his hated master, which made him the more vengeful as he planned the revolt of the slaves around the colony of Berbice.
He followed the sound of the drums, and now there were two of them, beating in cadence one against the other. One was soft, the voice of the female, and the other harsh and resonant, the voice of the male, the voice of the obeah who was Luktari.
Joseph Asunti knew that if the white overseer, Groot Damje, were to find him missing from the Vanderkuyl plantation, it might well mean his life. But he had made certain that Groot, a fifty-year-old former captain of the Dutch marine who had been disgraced and broken of his post when he had made his ship founder in the Delft Canal fifteen years ago, could not possibly be concerned to see him out in the slave compound. He had told young Nanni, the lovely sixteen-year-old daughter of his best friend, Wabbari, to go to Groot's cottage and do jig-jig with him and also to take him a jug of palm wine. Old Groot loved wine as much as he loved women, and Nanni, who had been told the reason for Joseph Asunti's leaving the plantation tonight, was more than willing to forfeit her tender maidenhead to the fat brutal Dutch overseer.
Joseph Asunti paused, listening for the drums to make certain he would take the right path. In this immense and black jungle, a false step could mean painful, lingering death in one of the mucky marshes of the quicksand, or perhaps stepping on the nest of a black widow spider whose bite caused convulsions and death within a dozen hours in the most horrible agony. Or again, it might be the black tarantula, or a giant scorpion or even a centipede who could sting in the darkness and thus kill the intruder, even though he were black and loved the jungle as much as the insects and the snakes and the animals which sought their refuge here.
He had stolen a hanger from the toolshed, so as to chop his way through the thickness of the jungle and the picking up the rhythm of the drums, he moved with certainty, barefooted and naked but for a loin pouch, his black body glistening with the water of the canal. There would not be many slaves at the "obeah" council tonight, but those that were there were going to be restless.
The Dutch had tyrannized the slaves too long, and too viciously, for them to accept the fact that they were to be submitted to subjection for another lifetime. The obedience and docility that they had previously pushed was now being supplanted with surliness and the growing restlessness of the natives.
But it must be done carefully, because if the big plantation owners suspected, they would take precautions, arm themselves against attack, deal out crueller punishments than ever, and perhaps crush the very leaders of this planned revolt before they could gain a foothold among all the slaves. It would be necessary to have the greatest unanimity in this undertaking, if it was to succeed. First, the slaves of the Bardensons must revolt, and then the slaves who toiled for his own cruel master, for here there were stores of arms, he knew. There were muskets and powder and bullets and cutlasses, tar and daggers, ropes and chains. Once those two plantations fell, the slaves could unite and, fully armed, strike everywhere till it seemed that in every direction the oppressed would be avenging the shame, the degradation and the torments which their white masters and mistresses had unthinkingly inflicted on them, considering them little better than animals, respecting none of their feelings nor even their unions with their beloved mates.
It could no longer be borne, this usage of men who had once been proud warriors from Africa or the Caribbean or from the jungles of Brazil. Now they were governed by the whip, by broken bottles and hot pitch poured on their bleeding wounds, by savage mutilations and brandings, and always by the whip even to the tenderest of their young females. And now their women were being taken in to the big houses to be playthings for the white baas and his white bitch, like those Bardenson bitches who, all the slaves knew throughout Guiana, dig jig-jig with their own sex. It was a foul and noisome thing, and it must be punished in blood.
The drums grew louder now as Joseph Asunti hacked his way through the undergrowth, holding his breath at times to hear the "hisk-hisk" of the tarantula or the sibilant hiss of the mamba. But now he could see a faint glimmer of light and he pushed his way more confidently until at last he came into a clearing. Giant trees, some with bark blasted by lightning, framed this narrow space. And in the center was a small fire, and circling the fire there were black candles thrust into the rich black earth, lighted and with their flames rising high as if to the very heavens.
Luktari, who wore a goatskin and on his head the horns of a goat, crouched before the fire, rubbing his hands over the candles. Beside him there knelt a naked young girl hardly out of puberty, with only a necklace of cowrie beads and a similar circle of beads round her belly from which there fell a pendant of larger shells which covered her almost hairless cunt. Her hair was black and tumbling beyond her shoulder blades, and her face was elfin, her eyes huge and luminous. She held the feet and the neck of a rooster, a black rooster, between her hands and her naked titties.
There were perhaps twenty slaves on the other side of the fire, all kneeling and chanting, lifting their palms to the sky and then prostating themselves before the obeah man and the virgin. Joseph Asunti sank to his knees as he entered the clearing and prostrated himself with his arms reaching out toward the fire. He called out in the Carib tongue, for that was the language of secrets and of obeah so that the white baas would not understand.
Luktari, a frail little white-haired man in his sixties, legs and arms emaciated and ribs plainly showing, turned and smiled benevolently. "Come forth among us, Joseph Asunti," he called in a soft voice. "It is the hour. It is the hour when we shall set the time for great deeds that will free our people from slavery."
"So be it, by the blood of the virgin and the sacred rooster," Joseph Asunti replied, still in the Carib tongue.
A murmur of approbation rose from the slaves on the other side of the fire. Joseph Asunti recognized many of them. There was even Akata, from the Governor-General's own household, an invaluable ally because, being able to read and write, he could easily spy and learn what the hated whites were planning by way of counterattack in the event of revolt and the displacement of troops and arms.
"Speak unto us, Joseph Asunti," Luktari intoned.
The tall Negro rose, bowed his head in respect for the obeah man, and then knelt down before the young virgin. "My brothers, we can no longer endure torture and the whip and the contempt of our white masters," he began. "This very night, I come to you with welts of the whip upon my flesh. Because two young boys escaped prison, my master had me tied head downward from the triangle and lashed me as if I were a puking child. Men of courage and proud ancestors can no longer endure such shame. We must strike and avenge all our brothers who have perished under the lash, in the stocks, in the whipping and torture sheds, on the gallows of the white baas! This we must do!"
A loud shout greeted this pronouncement. Joseph Asunti held up a hand for silence, and then resumed: "Let us all keep silent, tell not even our sweethearts or wives what we plan this night. Let it be taken from the entrails of the sacred rooster what day the gods favor for our revolt against the tyrants. Then let us swear that none of them shall escape, not their wives nor their children nor their sweethearts. We shall avenge rape for rape, blood for blood, life for life. We shall let them taste the whip and the stocks, the pillory and the post as they have made us suffer them for so many years!"
A louder cheer greeted this vengeful declaration. Now Luktari gestured for silence. The naked young girl beside him rose and held out the rooster, which flapped and crowed and struggled in her soft hands. The obeah man took a dirk with an ivory handle, stolen from his own master, the Predikant Laurens Bourmeister, turned it downwards and kissed the ivory cross-like part. A low murmur rose from the kneeling slaves beyond him.
Then, reversing it, he stood to face the young virgin who held out the rooster. With three swift slashes, he eviscerated it, and let the still-smoking entrails drop onto the ground. Then, as the maiden dropped the dead carcass, he pressed the bloody blade against the valley of her hard pear-shaped boobies, and then again against her belly over the navel and finally towards that cave that all ambitous men are constantly seeking, the cunt.
Next he squatted, murmuring mysterious incantations, while the maiden moved to the fire and brought back a black candle. Lifting it high, she let the wax drip onto the entrails.
And then the "obeah" man straightened and, holding out his arms to the kneeling slaves, cried out, "The gods of Dambella say that it shall be on the first and twentieth day of this month. The signs are good, my brothers. Let Akata, who is in the big house of the great white "baas" tell us where the soldiers are and how many there will be to guard the plantations. All of you, awaiting the signal of the crowing of the cock at dawn, will find what weapons you can and strike down your own oppressors. Death to the whites, shame and torture to their bitches who have used our women and have laughed to watch their men enjoy their profanation!"
A hideous chorus of affirmation clamored from the slaves. Luktari turned to Joseph Asunti, whose eyes blazed and whose chest heaved with emotion. "Let the sacrifice be made!" he decreed.
Joseph Asunti tore aside his loinpouch. His hands cupped the small but beautifully formed titties of the young virgin as he flung her down upon the ground beside the entrails and the carcass of the cabalistic rooster. With a shout of joy, he thrust his heavy prick against the tender lips of her soft hairless quim, and her cry was drowned out by the shouting cries from his companions beyond the fire.
As he worked himself over her, digging to his balls with heavy hard thrusts, the maiden whimpered, but returned his passion as her fingernails scraped his flesh and her bare legs locked over his.
And when he had finished with her and staggered away, drained of his juices, one by one the men from beyond the fire hurried towards the sprawled naked young girl and mounted her. It was an orgy of profanation, and it was a symbol of how the slaves would avenge their suffering upon the virgin daughters and the wives alike of their white tyrants.
* * *
The night of February 20th, 1763-the heavy tropical rain was pounding on the roof of the Zertvogel house. Locked in her bedroom with her black lover Tudaro, Aurelia Zertvogel shivered voluptuously as her arms and legs embraced him tightly. She could feel the hot dig of his stiff cock back and forth inside her quaking love-chasm, and the knowledge that she had committed mortal sin with this slave over whom she had the rights of life and death only aided to the lubricity of her ardor.
He raised his head from her panting titties, now, his hands moving down to stroke her supple thighs in the white lace stocking which she wore, held up by elastic garters high up on her legs. She felt more wanton this way than if she had been all naked, and the sight of his glistening black skin against her pale flesh intensified her passion.
He was teasing her now, aware of his mastery over her. His cock had moved just outside her seething lovehole, and the tip was prodding the outer lips of her quim as she writhed and whimpered and gasped, "You black devil! Put it back in there right away, I order you, do you hear me, Tudaro?"
He laughed hoarsely. "Missy like to give orders to slave, she do. But soon no white Missy can give orders to slaves, you see. "What are you talking about, Tudaro? What insolence is that? Remember, you still belong to me, I can have you thrashed and branded, yes, and tied over broken bottles in the hot sun till you beg my pardon!" she hissed.
"I know all that, Missy Aurelia. You whites, all of you, think yourselves big and proud, think nigger dirty animal, stupid slave, no good except for hard work and the whip. But the time coming soon when you and all your friends get sorry you treat us so bad," he vowed. His face had taken on a strange look, and even in the throes of her carnal passion, even as her thighs twitched and her pussy grew hot and molten in her fierce desire to be fucked, she could not but look at him with wondering eyes.
He grinned crookedly. "Missy Aurelia hot meat, all right. Tudaro see she don't get hurt when things change here in Berbice. You be good to Tudaro, he treat you right. Now, you want Tudaro do good jig-jig with you, Missy Aurelia. Maybe even with your girls!"
She uttered a cry of horror and-rage at this lewd intonation. Twisting herself out of his graps, she struck him in the face with all her might. Tudaro laughed and then gripped her wrists and spread them out in either side of her head, immobilizing her. "Missy got fire in her blood, fire good for jig-jig, and I think now you want good fuck-fuck, even if you say no. You behave, or your girls get fuck-fuck too and not the way they like from other slaves."
Her face livid with fury and shame, Aurelia Zertvogel tried to draw up her knee to kick her black lover. But he was far too strong for her. Now fully mounted over her, he grinned into her contorted face as his prickhead thrust against the moist pink lips of her slit, found the way and inserted himself. Then with a lunge, he hilted himself to the balls.
Aurelia Zertvogel moaned and closed her eyes, twisting her face to one side. Now she was defeated. The throbbing rhythm of his fucking, the hard, distending spear of his manhood chafing the walls of her tight and burning quim, tore away all pride, honor and self-esteem from this beautiful and perverse Dutch matron. Suddenly her stockinged legs clutched over Tudaro's bottom, and she began to meet his thrusts with her own straining and arching pressures. Her eyes were shining now and her lips curled back from her teeth which chattered. Her nostrils twitched, and the pulsebeat in her slim throat was hammering. Inflamed in all her senses, Aurelia Zertvogel was no longer the mistress of a great plantation and its cruel despot, but rather a passionate and uncontrollably wanton woman who wanted nothing more than to be vigorously fucked by her black slave.
And while the rain poured down upon the Zertvogel house, her daughters Diane and Bettina were amusing themselves with their own lust-slaves. Cortissa, Diane's own age, knelt naked upon her young mistress' bed and put her mouth to Diane's soft quim. In another room nearby, russet-haired Bettina's cat-green eyes were dilated and misty with passion as Noura lay over her and began to rub cunt to cunt in the age-old ritual of Lesbos.
There was a rumble of thunder in the West, and out in the jungle the rebellious slaves who had stolen away from their plantations were gathering to begin the uprising against the hated white masters and their women. Joseph Asunti had been elected captain of the rebels, and he had drawn up his battle plans. The slaves had managed to steal several muskets and barrels of gunpowder from the toolshed on one of the nearby plantations. The overseer had gone to his cottage drunk and bawling for his bitch, and one of the rebellious slaves who had stayed there to spy on the overseer and to report to his fellows, had urged one of the young slavegirls to attend him and keep him distracted so that the ammunition might be stolen for the rebellion. The lock on the toolshed was easily broken and two of the slaves from the same plantation helped carry the weapons and the cask of gunpowder out into a thicket near the cacao trees and to cover the spoils with heavy canvas to protect against the very heavy downpour.
Joseph Asunti had conferred with the obeah man Luktari. It had been decided to strike simultaneously at half a dozen of the nearest plantations. Taking the whites by surprise should mean an early victory. Then the slaves would seize the guns and cutlasses and gunpowder and and store them in one of the plantations which they had conquered. It would be their headquarters, and from there they could direct their attacks against the other owners, freeing their slaves and rallying those to their own cause. A body of slaves would attack the Governor-General's fort, guarded only by local militia. If that were conquered, then the slaves would be in full control of Berbice.
On the plantation of Thomas Vanderkuyl, Joseph Asunti had come back to his hut on this stormy night. He wished the revolt to begin with the death of his own tyrannical master, who had shamed and flogged him in view of all the other slaves. And as he crouched in his hut listening to the drumming of the tropical rain upon the thatched roof, he peered out and saw the light in the big house across the way. He remembered his master's niece Kathje, that lovely young Missy with her hair like a sunset and her spirit and her beauty. He had heard her tell her uncle, even while he was being flogged, that it was barbarous and inhuman to treat any man like that, no matter what the color of his skin was. He had heard his master impatiently growl, "He's a rebellious slave, Kathje, an animal who needs to be broken in and taught a lesson. It's the only lesson these ignorant bastards understand, so don't tell me what to do because you've never worked a plantation before."
He ground his teeth together because he thought of the brutality of his master. He knew his master's secret, for some of the young Negro boys who had been forced to let Thomas Vanderkuyl bugger them or made to suck his cock had confided in him. To be sure, they had all been sold away from the plantation and by now were dead or else so brutalized by their new owners that they did not dare speak of what had been done to them. Even tonight, he spat upon the floor to think of it, his master was playing his filthy games with young Kuvaba, a shy, moonfaced boy of sixteen, with chocolate-colored skin and a big bottom and plump thighs like a woman. It was unnatural, and it called for vengeance.
But his thoughts dwelt on Kathje. If she could be captured and held as hostage, even if the battle should go badly against all the slaves, he would be able to bargain with the hated whites for her safety and release. Yes, he quickly decided, he would make her his prisoner. Not only that, to pay her uncle back for the depravities and the tortures inflicted on his friends and on himself, he would even do jig-jig with that sweet Missy! He would make her take off her clothes, slap her bare behind, order her to kneel down and to kiss his legs and then his prick. He would see if her fine talk about all men being equal was more than words, whether she would go to bed with him if she knew that otherwise it would mean the stocks and the cowhide on her bare back and bottom and those fine titties of hers too.
He put out his hand and grasped the hilt of a rusty cutlass he had found in the jungle near the clearing where the obeah man had rallied all the slaves to this final time of reckoning with the white baas. It had been a lucky omen. It was an old weapon, and it had lain there perhaps twenty or thirty years. Perhaps some other eager slave, burning with the desire for freedom, had used it to kill a hated white master or mistress. Undoubtedly he had been killed himself in turn, but he had exacted vengeance with this weapon. The dark rust stains on the blade were doubtless those of human blood. It would be the weapon that would take the life of Thomas Vanderkuyl, he had sworn it upon the black candle and the black rooster.
On the Vrouerman plantation, fat old Dirk lay on his back and watched a pretty young sixteen-year-old Negro girl shuck down her osnaburg and move naked to the bed, her eyes downcast. The rain on the roof was a pleasant sound for the dissolute husband of the indomitable Juliana. Dirk was thinking with relish how his son Hugo was finally proving himself to be a man. That had been a nice little thrashing the boy had given Luwana. And then to fuck her after it, while she still stood bound to the triangle, that had been worthy of himself in his younger days. But now, fat and growing old, he wished the comforts of passive enjoyment. So the girl now moved over him, on all fours, her big round black titties dangling like ripe fruits. He grinned at her, then nodded. The little bitch had spent a week in his bedchamber by now, and she was learning his ways. A good caning over her plump arsch the first night had really quickened her ability to comprehend what he wished of her.
His smile deepened as her soft hand took hold of his prick and began to fondle it to hardness, while the fingers of her other hand opened up her own plump pink quim. Then with a whimper she introduced his shaft into her slot and sank down slowly. With a grunt of delight, Dirk Vrouerman panted, "Now you do jig-jig slow, Orani. I'll give you a good thrashing if you don't do it right tonight. Put your hands under me and put your finger in my bottom, you know the way I like it!"
Out in his cottage, Pieter Drumanns was fucking a Carib girl no older than the one his master was enjoying at this very moment. The squat, scarfaced overseer was frankly worried about some of the things he had been hearing and seeing. Some of the slaves had grown more insolent than they had ever dared to be before, and in the morning he was going to tell Mynheer Dirk that in his opinion there should be more whippings of the worst offenders in full view of all the other slaves, just to teach them a lesson.
The rain made its sound on the roof of the Bardenson house too, where Ulrica and Viertje were enjoying their Lesbian pleasures with their two young slaves. In his hut, the overseer Max Courtail had called Marquita back to service him. He had taught her how to open up the cheeks of her plump sweet arsch and crouch down with her forehead pressed against the pillow so that he could put his prick into that dainty little pink bun of hers. Last night, he had had to whip her a little to get her to agree to this, for the moment his cock had prodded the tender and unused orifice, Marquita had screamed with pain and wriggled away. Tonight, however, she let him do it submissively enough, though she whimpered and groaned and begged him not to push in so hard and fast because he was really hurting her.
Yes, he'd heard a few rumors about the slaves all over Berbice, but he wasn't too worried. The militia was well trained and it would certainly prevail over a handful of disorganized, ignorant slaves.
He grunted with pleasure as he pressed himself to the very hilt inside Marquita's asshole, his fingers reaching for her titties and pinching them cruelly till the young girl sobbed and groaned. If any of the slaves tried to rebel here on this plantation, he told himself, there would be lots of whippings and tortures, and he would be the one to inflict them. And then the pretty girls would be all the more respectful of him and come to his cottage just as Marquita had done tonight in order to win his favor. No, he wasn't worried at all. In fact, in a way, he even hoped there would be some sort of small uprising, just so he could keep his hand in practice and thrash pretty arsches like the one his prick was in right now.
CHAPTER SIX
Dawn came early on this February day, the more brilliant after the heavy rainstorm of the late night. There was a fresh clean smell in the air, a dampness which brought with it the good fragrance of the rich earth and of the flowers and the trees and all that jungle foliage. The sky was no longer a muddy gray or ominously shadowed with blackening clouds, but instead blue and pellucid. And all around there was a stillness as if the world had been suspended in time and space and were waiting for some signal, some momentous harbinger of great deeds to be announced.
Max Courtail groaned, being roused by long habit out of a deep drugged sleep that always seized him after a night of vigorous fucking. He blinked his eyes, slowly sat up, and saw lying beside him, face down, her hair tumbling to her waist, the lovely naked Marquita. He chuckled, remembering the pleasure she had given him. Raising his hand, he smacked her bare bottom and she awoke with a squeal, wriggling over onto her side and reaching back to rub the place he had spanked while she stared at him with huge dark eyes. "Time to be at work, you lovely bitch," he chuckled. "Go get my breakfast and be quick about it. Coffee and some fruit and there's some of the baked bread Cook sent over to me last night for my supper. I've got to be out in the fields early and see what damage that rain has done to the crops!"
"Yes, Baas," Marquita mumbled, hastily scrambling out of the bed and hurrying for the room to do as bidden.
Max Courtail yawned, scratched his head, and then got to his feet. Verdammte, that little brown-skinned slut had given a good account of herself last night. He could still feel on his back the marks of her fingernails when he'd had her for the second time. Then he'd made her lick and suck his schwans, and for a finale he'd made her put a bolster under her belly and arch up that nice big ass of hers so that he could bugger it. She'd squealed like a stuck pig, and how she'd wriggled and twisted, till the walls of her asshole had fairly ground his prick to shreds. He'd have to have her back in a night or two, because this was really an eager piece, as hot as cayenne pepper, just the style he liked. It was a pity that the two white women he worked for, Ulrica and Viertje Bardenson, couldn't have been here last night to watch how he had served the slavegirl. They might even have got envious and volunteered to take her place. The thought of that made him guffaw. He rubbed his belly, feeling the exultance of his manhood. Even out in this damned tropical country, he was still very much a man and with plenty of good years left and plenty of hot nights for fucking.
In the distance, there was the sound of the cockcrow, and he squinted. There weren't any roosters on this plantation, for one reason or another. Maybe it was the Van der Looten plantation down the road a piece. There it went again, and this time it was louder. And then his jaw dropped as he remembered that one of the slaves had mumbled to him only last week, about the obeah and the curse of Damballa. Those bloody niggers cut up a rooster and they could tell what was going to happen from looking at its carcass, he'd heard. They had all sorts of unholy mumbo-jumbo going on when they prayed to their old dark gods for rain or fertility for one of their women at marriage time. Maybe there was more to this than just a hopeful rumor. Maybe those damn niggers were really going to take matters into their own hands. He might as well take along his musket to the fields, and his pistol, too.
"Marquita!" he yelled. "Where the hell is my breakfast? Damn it, you big-tittied bitch, I'll put you in the pillory this morning after all, see if I don't! Marquita, answer me!"
There was silence in his cottage now and now Max Courtail was really worried. He went over to the rack on the wall and took down his musket. Then he swore violently. Somebody had done something to the trigger, and had even smashed the stock. It was worthless. He flung it down on the floor with an angry oath. Then he pulled open the drawer of an old mahogany secretary which the Bardenson sisters had given him in which to keep his ledgers and account books of the plantation, searching for his pistol. Der Teufel, that was gone too! What the hell did it all mean?
He stumbled out into the hallway, pulled open a closet door and seized his cutlass. He could lop off a few nigger heads with this well enough, and once these miserable slaves came up against the least sign of force, they'd fade away like the morning dew under the hot Guiana sun, see if they didn't!
The girl was gone, there wasn't any doubt of it. The bitch had probably stolen his pistol, and most likely she'd been the one who'd smashed the musket while he lay asleep. But at least she hadn't killed him, that was something. Wait till he got his hands on her! He'd tie her up by the thumbs so her feet wouldn't even touch the ground, and he'd take a cacao tree switch to her, right on the titties and up between her long sleek legs. He'd make her promise everything just to be pardoned what he'd do to her, and then he'd make her do it and back she'd go to the pillory for a really good hiding. It would teach her once and for all not to dare touch the white baas's weapons or anything that belonged to him.
He flung open the door in a blistering rage, brandishing his cutlass. Then he heard the cock crow for the third time. And out of the bushes which fronted his cottage, there stepped a sturdy young black slave whom Max Courtail at once recognized. "Kogaya, you black devil, what the hell are you doing out of your hut? Don't you know you're supposed to wait there until I take all you black bastards out to the fields to work?"
"Yes, Baas."
"So you want a good whipping, do you? Just wait till I get the slaves out there, you'll have it, Kogaya. Now I recognize you. You're the one that's sweet on that bitch Rosalou, aren't you?"
"That right, Baas. Kogaya remember how you whip poor Rosalou when Missy Ulrica want her to do bad jig-jig with her up in her bed."
"What the devil's that to you, you black bastard? You're not married to that bitch, and Missy Ulrica own you, and I take orders from her. That's why I whipped Rosalou, not because I had any particular wish to do it."
"That not so, Baas." The sturdy young Negro smiled insolently, and Max Courtail gnashed his teeth as he took a step forward, the cutlass upraised. "All slaves know the overseer Baas like whip naked girls, like make them cry, like make them come to his hut to make sweet-sweet wid him. But no more now. Your time all gone for that, Baas."
"What the hell do you mean talking to me that way? I'll take the skin off your back with a cowhide, I'll make your black ass bleed on broken bottles in the hot sun-"
"No, Baas. No more you do that to no one here." Kogaya suddenly drew from behind his back a long bamboo tube which he put into his mouth, then puffed. There was a soft sucking sound and Max Courtail staggered back, staring stupidly down at his waist, where a tiny dart pricked. Its tip was brown-stained, and in a flash he knew with sickening horror what it was. Curare, the deadliest of poisons, once used by the headhunters. He tore the splinter away, and strode forward, lifting the cutlass in a blow that would cleave the Negro slave from crown to crotch. Then there was a buzzing in his ears, and the cutlass dropped from his nerveless hand and he pitched forward onto the earth. Kogaya spat at him, stooped and retrieved the cutlass. Then, brandishing it to the blue sky above, he uttered a long, triumphant cry, and then followed it with the cry of the cock. The time had come....
The slave Akata had rallied twenty slaves from a neighboring plantation and, as soon as the sun hesitantly appeared upon the horizon, had given the signal for the uprising against the house of the Governor-General Mynheer Jan von Grynn. The pompous, white-haired official was sound asleep, but no slave girl attended him, for at his age he was beyond lusting for tender black or brown flesh. His household slept also, for he was a lenient and kindly man for the most part, and whippings were few on his plantation and in his household. It was not Akata's plan to kill the Governor-General, but to disarm his militia and to acquire the huge store of arms and gunpowder in the graystone building to the left of the slave compound. Two soldiers stood guard before this building, after the long stormy night.
The stormy night had lent to the confusion of the situations that were impending. The guards were impatient for their replacements to come. Meanwhile, four of the slaves crept round the sides of the building, two of each whose duty it would be to strike down each of the guards. Swiftly it was done, and the thrust of a cutlass into the backs of the two unsuspecting soldiers dispatched them. Then Akata, taking a heavy stone, smashed it against the padlock and with a shout of triumph, burst open the heavy door. The four slaves who had murdered the two guards hurried inside, while he gave his orders to his younger lieutenant Naranji, a huge Senegalese who had been brought from Africa with his two young sisters and his older brother a dozen years ago to toil for the white masters. Naranji had seen his sisters fucked and whipped by their white baas, had seen his brother branded and whipped to death for mutiny, and he too had sworn an oath of vengeance against his master, the sadistic Mynheer Hans Vorbeier, who resided on the plantation next to the lands occupied by the Governor-General.
Muskets, cutlasses and gunpowder thus fell to the mutinous slaves, who hurried back into the thick undergrowth beyond the elegant house of the Governor-General, and thence to the canal where they had secured a corial into which they swiftly loaded their spoils. Akata and his men hurried to the huts of the slave compound, to rouse the sleeping slaves and urge them to join the rebellion. Of the seventy-five East Indian and Negro slaves owned by the Governor-General, only thirty-two wished to gain their freedom in this violent way, the rest being afraid or loyal.
And so, with only the murder of two men, Akata and his followers had scored a vital victory, in procuring arms and ammunition which would be used in the uprising and which would make this struggle for freedom against tyranny a long and bloody one indeed....
Aurelia Zertvogel lay sprawled on her back, faintly snoring, wearing only her lace stockings and garters, her pink-sheened flesh showing the bluish bruises of Tudaro's black fingers. A smile wreathed her lips, and her magnificent titties rose and fell in all their sumptuous firmness, as if they remembered the ardors of this stormy night and yearned to rekindle them.
Tudaro was not beside her, however. Nor had he donned his house livery. Knowing that it was her habit to sleep often until noon following a night of orgy with him, he had wakened just before dawn, slipped out of her bedchamber, gone to a closet where he knew a pair of breeches and a torn shirt were concealed, and had put them on. Then he had crept carefully down the stairs and into the pantry, whence he had gone cautiously down a narrow flight of stone steps leading to the cellar of the great house. There was an old trunk at the back against the wall, with an ancient lock upon it. Once, while cradled in his arms after a furious fuck, his white mistress had told him that the chest had belonged to her grandfathered that there were doubloons of gold and silver in it as well as an old cutlass with which he had killed at least a dozen attacking warriors of a strong Carib tribe. It would be only justice to use that same weapon against the hated whites. But Tudaro did not plan to kill Aurelia or her two Lesbian daughters. Having conferred with Joseph Asunti soon after the night after the obeah, he had proposed that the three females be abducted and used as hostages, and Joseph Asunti had eagerly agreed.
It was easy to break the lock of the old trunk, to find the sack of doubloons and the old rusty cutlass. As his fingers closed round the metal grip, he felt a surge of power. Once again he was a prince of his tribe, before his brother had betrayed him into slavery. No, he would not kill the white Missif baas, but he would repay her for those lashes she had given him in order to have him brought to her bedchamber to do jig-jig with her. By the gods, he would have been willing to take her as a man takes his woman without the lash, but she had tried to show him that she owned him. Now the tables would be turned indeed!
He took a deep breath, and then hurried back up the narrow stone steps and through the pantry. There in the kitchen was a sleepy young Negro boy of about sixteen, Katara, whom he knew to be loyal to the mistress. He put the point of the cutlass to the boy's neck and growled, "If you keep mouth shut, you live. Else I kill you, you hear, Katara?"
The boy whimpered and nodded, his eyes rolling to the whites in his terror. "Good. Go to the compound now, waken the slaves, tell them it is the hour of the cock," Tudaro commanded. "Get Felix and Louis, they know what to do. Be quick or I kill!" and once again he pricked the boy's neck. Katara bobbed his head, then fled from the kitchen. Tudaro chuckled, but it was not the fright of one of his own people that he wished; what he longed for was to see these shameless white bitches cringing before him and his brothers, their eyes huge with terror, their lips trembling, their words faint and babbling as they begged for their lives. Oh they would not die, but they would wish they had a thousand times over! And now he must see to Bettina and Diana. Those two little sluts would still be in their beds with their slavegirls. He knew well that Cortissa and Noura would take pleasure in avenging their own shame upon their cruel young mistresses.
In a few moments, Felix and Louis hurried into the kitchen. They were intelligent field-hands, both Negroes, looked upon by Aurelia Zertvogel as her best workers and, indeed, almost held the posts of assistant overseers. Quickly they grasped what Tudaro had to say to them, grinned and nodded. Then they hurried up the stairs, as he followed behind them. A few moments later, a dozen more slaves burst into the house, all armed with cutlasses and hangers and shovels. Three other slaves, equally armed, hurried towards the cottage of the cruel Portuguese overseer, Alonso Pardiwan. One of those slaves was a young black who had been in love with the martyred Lumaya, whom the overseer had tortured and whipped to death through a year of hellish suffering.
Pardiwan was waking to the morning, giving his brown-skinned bed-bitch Ularia, a pretty seventeen-year-old Carib girl, brusque orders to fetch his breakfast and to help him on with his boots. She was in the act of pulling them on when the three slaves smashed the window of his cottage and entered. He pushed her away and groped for his pistol which was on the table, but the young Negro who had loved Lumaya lifted his shovel and brought it down with all his strength on the overseer's wrist, almost severing it. With a shriek of inhuman agony, Alonso Pardiwan doubled over, nursing his bleeding, dangling wrist. The slave struck again, and this time against the base of his neck, killing him. The frightened girl began to scream hysterically. "Be quiet, you stupid bitch," the Negro who had killed the overseer growled at her. "Now you're free, so come with us where we shall live in the jungle and kill all these cursed white bosses who live by the whip!"
The girl did not hesitate. Her back and buttocks bore many pale scars from the times Alonso Pardiwan had thrashed her in order to rouse his own perverted lust. She stopped crying, drew herself up proudly, and then spat into the face of the dead overseer. A moment later, she and the three slaves had left the cottage.
Bettina and Diane Zertvogel had indeed enjoyed the submissive compliance of Cortissa and Noura. They had not left their beds, and they as well as the slavegirls were still sleeping when Tudaro's men broke into their rooms. Both of Aurelia's daughters were swiftly bound and gagged, and dragged out of the house, wearing only their nightgowns. Cortissa and Noura followed joyously, pinching and slapping those young girls who had formerly ruled their destinies but would no longer.
And then Tudaro went back to the bedroom he had quitted, to waken his mistress and to tell her that she was now his slave.
Joseph Asunti boldly entered the house of his master Thomas Vanderkuyl and found his master at breakfast, wearing only a robe and slippers. The fat homosexual uttered a cry when he saw the cutlass in his slave's hand: "No, Joseph, for the love of God in Heaven, don't kill me! They'll break you on the wheel, they'll hand you and rip your guts while you're still alive, don't kill me. I'll give you money, I'll give you your freedom!" ' "I have my freedom already, Baas. Your death will win it for me," Joseph Asunti chuckled mirthlessly as he thrust the cutless into his master's heart, then wrenched the bloody blade free. Then he too spat into the face of his dead master.
The slaves of the Vanderkuyl plantation awaited his signal, and when he emerged from the house, uttered the crow of the cock and waved the bloody cutlass, loud cheers burst from them. Now milling around, they begged him for leadership. "We shall take over this plantation, because it is centrally located and from here we can attack all the other cursed whites in Berbice," he told them. "But you are not to harm the niece of the cruel white baas. I shall take her myself as hostage. You may have all the other women that we bring here for punishment, but not her. That is all I ask of you, and I will lead you to victory."
They cheered him again, and then he went back up the stairs to the room of Kathje Vandkerkuyl.
The beautiful young auburn-haired woman had been wakened by the death-cry of her uncle, had put on her robe over her nightgown and was just about to leave her room when Joseph Asunti came down the hallway. At the sight of that bloody cutlass, she drew back with a cry of terror.
"Don't be afraid, Missy," he said to her, pushing her back into the room and closing the door behind him. "I do not war upon white women, and you have been kind. You spoke for me when my master had me whipped. No, I will not kill you, but you shall be my slave."
Her eyes flashed furious defiance as she drew herself up: "But that would be to make a slave of me, Joseph Asunti! And so you are no better than my uncle when it comes to that. I will not be your slave, I would rather die."
"You will think differently when I have taught you how to be a woman," he chuckled. Lowering the cutlass, he reached out his other hand and seized her robe and then tried to drag it from her. She cried out and slapped his face.
"Aiiee, but you have spirit and fire, woman!" he delightedly exclaimed. "I was right in not killing you. I shall be the new Governor-General of Berbice, and you shall be my wife!"
Kathje Vanderkuyl put her hand to her mouth, her eyes staring as if hypnotized by this wiry Negro. Then she shook her head and in a low shaky voice replied, "I told you I would rather die than be your slave. I do not want to see any man hurt or punished unjustly. But you shall not do this to me, Joseph Asunti. I will fight you to my dying breath, you will have no pleasure in me. I warn you, do not attempt this or I shall kill myself the first chance I have."
"You won't die, Missy. When I am in you doing jig-jig, when my big black prick is in that soft pink cunt of you, Missy Kathje, you will beg me to kill you with love, and that I will do," he coarsely retorted. Then opening the door, he called to two of the slaves who were standing guard: "One of you will stay in here with the Missy, the other outside to guard the door. And you, Damura," scowling at the man he had ordered to guard Kathje Vanderkuyl in her own room, "do not let me hear the white Missy complain that you have been bad to her, or I will kill you with this cutlass!"
"I will not touch her, Joseph Asunti, I give you my word."
"It is good. Guard her well. Now I must go see to the attack on the other plantations!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
On this same morning simultaneous attacks in every direction in the colony of Berbice brought quick victories to the rebellious slaves. The obeah himself, Luktari, took over the house of his master, the gentle, elderly Predikant Laurens Bourmeister, but assured the old man that he would not be harmed. Indeed, the minister of the colony had done his best to beg the plantation owners to stop the whippings and the tortures inflicted on the helpless slaves, believing that through kindness more work could be achieved and more harmony between blacks and whites. And so the old man was locked in his room, and a guard sat over him who was to bring food and drink and to see to his comforts. And the old man, his voice trembling as he made the sign of the Cross to Luktari, said steadfastly, "May God protect you as He protects your master. But it is wrong, Luktari, to take vengeance into your own hands, thus saith the Lord. Do not kill, for it is a mortal sin."
"No, Predikant," Luktari had responded in a voice that trembled with anger, "you are a good man and thus I will not harm you. But when you say that it is evil to kill, what you say is good only for the blacks. Your white baas has a different law and he goes to your church on Sundays to be forgiven his evil. It is not right, Predikant, that is why we fight, not for blood and not for the white women and not for gold but for our freedom under the same God in whose name you speak to us. And I will speak no more with you until at last this war is won and we are free."
Since the house of the old minister was not far from that of the Governor-General, Luktari decided to make a second headquarters there. Many of the plantai ion owners on the edge of the Dutch colony ol Berbice had been warned by their slaves, those who had treated them well, and they had already begun to flee down the canal as well as down the Mazaruni River to seek protection. There was a stockade and a fort built about twenty-eight miles northwest of Berbice, and there they flocked with what gold and priceless possessions they could hastily take from their houses before the vengeful army of the slaves should reach them.
But at the Vrouerman plantation, the young East Indian slave Macombu had hurried to the cottage of the overseer Pieter Drumanns, the man who had paddled his beloved Luwana and prepared her for young Hugo Vrouerman's rape. He carried with him a short axe used to chop down the sugar cane when it came time to burn and prepare for a new crop. Two savage blows of that axe, and the overseer lay dead on the floor. Then, hurrying back to the compound, Macombu rallied the other slaves, who forced their way into the house. Two slaves ran to the bedroom of old fat Dirk Vrouerman, flung open the door and clubbed him to death with shovel handles. Then Macombu hurried to the bedroom of the young son, Hugo. When he flung open the door, he uttered violent oath in the Carib tongue. For there was Luwana, her wrists tied behind her back, and the young towheaded baas mounted over her, doing jig-jig with her while she twisted her face to one side and sobbed and groaned. Macombu could see that on the bed there lay a leather dogwhip, and the bloodied tips at the end of the thong told him that it had been used viciously this past night.
He lunged forward and caught the youth by the scruff of the neck, pulling him off the brown-skinned girl who whimpered and groaned. As Hugo sprawled to the floor, Macombu's eyes fixed on the panting titties and belly of his beloved, and he saw the angry, purpling weals which that dogwhip had laid on. He seized the whip, bent down and flogged the naked youth as he would a child, across the buttocks until Hugo yowled and twisted over and over, begging for mercy.
"Yes, I give you mercy, I give you life, but never again you do jig-jig with slavegirls," Macombu jeered. He made a sign, and two of the slaves caught Hugo and forced him to his feet, held him tightly. The blond youth began to whimper like a child, then to plead brokenly for mercy, promising them gold and even women if they would only spare him.
Macombu still held the bloodied axe he had used to kill the overseer. Now a third man, at his sign, seized young Hugo Vrouerman's cock between left thumb and forefinger and pulled it out as far as it would go. His eyes glittering, the young East Indian slave lifted the axe and brought it down with all his might. A frenzied shriek of indescribable agony rent the air as Hugo Vrouerman, jerking and twisting against his captors' hold, stared at the bleeding stump of what had been his virile young manhood. Then he began to scream, "Kill me, kill me quick, oh my God, kill me, have mercy, don't leave me this way!"
But Macombu beckoned to another slave who had entered with a torch, bent on setting the house aflame. "No fire house," Macombu told the man, "heal wound with fire, it clean good, clean out Baas Hugo's dirtiness." And he gestured with the axe.
The two men held Hugo Vrouerman as in a vise of steel as, shrieking and jerking, he tried to avoid the horrid cauterizing which Macombu planned for him. But the Negro slave grinned savagely as he applied the torch slowly towards the bleeding wound, and at last the searing hiss of the torch was heard and the stench of burning human flesh. Hugo Vrouerman stiffened, his eyes rolling, then he hung limp and unconscious between his guards.
"Come!" Macombu panted, "we find Missy and her two young bitches, we catch them good, make them slaves, put them in stocks and whip and do jig-jig with them!"
Golden-haired Juliana Vrouerman was still sleeping when the slaves broke into her bedchamber. The noise wakened her, and she sat upright, with a cry of fright, a hand pressed against her panting titties which the thick white nightgown concealed. Macombu showed her the axe and leered, "Missy get up now, time for breakfast, Missy eat good so she stay alive!"
"Oh God-what is this-that axe and the blood-oh, my God, what have you done?"
"You got no husband no more, Missy Juliana," Macombu grinned. "You still got son Hugo, but he not do sweet-sweet wid slavegirls, I fix that good. Now you get out of bed, you my prisoner. You my woman now, Missy Juliana!"
"Oh no, it's not possible. You've mutinied, you're slaves, and you'll be hung-they'll put you to death for this! Oh Dirk, my poor husband, and my son, my son!" Juliana Vrouerman cried.
"Missy keep mouth shut or Macombu whip good on bare ass," the East Indian jeered at her. He made a sign, and the two of the Negro slaves seized the cowering golden-haired matron and dragged her out of bed. His eyes roamed over her magnificent body, observing how her panting titties rose and fell with turbulent emotion, how the thick stuff of the nightgown shaped out her superb thighs and the still flat, sleek goblet of her belly. He licked his lips in hungry, ruttish anticipation. "Fred, Dwamba," he said, "you go to Missy Juliana's daughters, you find them in their rooms."
"Oh, no, you fiend, don't you dare hurt my daughters, they haven't done anything, they're too young-oh God, if you've any mercy, don't touch them!"
"They not too bad for whites," Macombu mockingly agreed. "We maybe give them little switching on their bare asses, teach them how to jig-jig with good strong men. Slaves no more, men now! Go get them quick, bring them downstairs. Come, you two, bring Miss Juliana downstairs too now. We go over to Joseph Asunti soon."
As the two slaves dragged Juliana Vrouerman down the stairs, she could hear the screams and appeals for mercy from her two daughters, whose rooms the slaves had just entered. She had just time to look inside her son's bedroom to see him stretched out naked on the floor with a blackened wound where his cock had been, and then she fainted, and was dragged along by her two grinning guards.
Thus far, Lillian and Katrina had not succumbed to the vicious depravity which the tropics seemed to have induced in most of the Dutch settlers of Berbice. Oh, to be sure, they had discovered the joys of frigging themselves, but they did it in secret, not with each other. Nor did they, like Aurelia Zertvogel's daughters, amuse themselves with naked young slave girls. But they were arrogant, insolent and accustomed to having their own ways, to being pampered every moment of their lives out here on the plantation. Their mother had doted on them, and so it was a rude awakening indeed when they found themselves clad only in their nightgowns being dragged out of bed by Negroes and Caribs who brandished cutlasses and muskets and shovels, and who pinched and prodded them as if they were cattle going to an auction. It was retaliation for all the blacks had suffered here in Berbice, and it was more humiliating for the girls because they were chaste, despite their arrogant and willfull ways.
Lillian Vrouerman, though only fourteen, was indeed tempting. She wore her hair in two long braids, and its dark-brown shimmering luster contrasted with the pale white skin of her dimpled shoulders, her gracefully long, svelte thighs and her pert, upstandingly jutting, oval-shaped ass cheeks. Her titties were like apples, closely spaced, but very firm and with well-defined aureolae and nipplebuds.
Indignantly, she ordered the slaves to take their dirty hands off her, but a jeering laugh was her answer and one of the men, a brawny Negro named Asuma, reached behind her and pinched one of her bottomcheeks through her nightie and then when she cried out and tried to jerk away, put his right thumb and forefinger to one of her titties and pinched it hard so she yelled out in pain.
Three other slaves had burst into the bedroom of Katrina, Juliana's sixteen-year-old black-haired daughter. Her warm, olive skin and her glossy black hair which she wore in a cluster of curls around the sides of her head and her forehead, made her exceptionally enticing to the avid slaves who seized her and dragged her out into the hall. Of medium height, she was already possessed of a sumptuous body, much like her own mother's, big gourd-like titties, spaced widely apart, in no need of any support because of their proud jut, a slim waist which flared into ample hips and broadly-curved full young thighs, and an exquisitely lascivious black beauty spot just an inch to the right above her chinbone.
The three women were united downstairs in the salon, where Macombu made the decision that he would take over this plantation and use the house as his headquarters. Let Joseph Asunti and the others have their own places for attacking the whites; he was content to remain here with the prizes he had taken this morning.
At the Bardenson plantation, the fat Carib cook, Magnota, had known that there would be an uprising this day. One of the slaves had wakened her before dawn and whispered to her what the obeah man Luktari had predicted. Ebenezer, the Bardenson houseboy who bitterly resented that title because he was a mature man and had keen intelligence, had opened the door for Kogaya, after he had come back from Max Courtail's cottage after leaving the overseer dead from a poisoned dart. He and Kogoya hurried upstairs to the rooms of Ulrica and Viertje Bardenson, and the two mature sisters shrieked in shame and horror when the doors were flung open and they found themselves stared at by the menacing slaves with weapons in hand, while beside them lay their naked slave bedpartners, Rosalou and Lumaria.
"You see, Ebenezer," Kogaya turned to the mature, liveried houseservant, "how your fine Missy Ulrica and Viertje make sweet-sweet with our women? They dirty bitches, both of them, not have guts to make sweet-sweet with strong men. That all change now, you see, Ebenezer.
You want to do jig-jig with either Missy? I let you, I Kogaya. If you want to do fuck-fuck with them both, I tell you, you can."
"Not now, Kogaya. Wait until the night comes," the mature houseboy chuckled as his eyes feasted on the nightgown-clad, shrinking figures of the two Bardenson sisters.
Rosalou and Lumaria supervised the binding of their former mistresses. As the guards forced Ulrica and Viertje's wrists behind their backs and corded them, their two former paramours mocked them: "Eh, Missy Ulrica, maybe you tell me now to kneel down and make kisS-kiss between your legs, the way you do when I in bed with you," and "it different now, not so, Missy Viertje? You have whipped me hard because I do not do bad things with you. Now maybe I see you get whipped so you do bad things with men."
Their faces turned crimson with shame and, groaning, their eyes closed, the two Bardenson sisters endured their moment of torment. But they were far from suspecting to what extent this torment could go, once unleashed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
By the end of that grim day of February 21st, 1763, the rebels had gained control of nine of the largest plantations in the colony of Berbice. By that time also, most of the other settlers had reached Fort Nassau, where four hundred soldiers were quartered, half of them Dutch, the other British. The Governor-General himself had managed to escape surveillance and make his way with his faithful valet, a Carib named Philip Armenda, through the jungle and across the creek and on to the fort where he intended to rally the whites in their stand against the mutinous slaves.
It was destined to be a siege that would last until New Year's Day of the year 1764, and there would be treachery among both whites and blacks, surrenders and betrayals.
By nightfall, Joseph Asunti had sent a messenger to Fort Nassau with a dispatch for the Governor-General himself. The terms were simple; the whites would surrender half of Berbice, and all the slaves would take the rest, going high along the Mazaruni River. Once they set foot on the land which they believed should be theirs, they would be free men and never more, nor their descendants after them, endure the lash and the yoke of slavery.
The message was ignored, the messenger himself hanged from the walls of the fort in plain sight of the rebels, who, on the other side of the river bank, fired muskets and uttered savage cries at this treachery. It was the first act, it would not be the last. And treachery would be answered with treachery, execution by execution.
The next morning, when word had come to Joseph Asunti of how his messenger had been treated, he had Hugo Vrouerman brought out into the slave compound, naked save for his calfskin boots, pale and faint from the atrocious gelding and cauterizing which had been inflicted upon him the day before. His wrists bound behind his back, he was forced to the pillory, his neck yoked into the center hole. Then he was whipped with a switch, just as Asunti himself had been whipped. And then, as he sagged, half-conscious and bleeding, the slaves took him out of the pillory and dragged him to the top of the torture shed where so many of them had suffered under the orders of his brutal father Dirk. There a sharpened stake, about waist-high, had been set into a hogshead of earth. Two slaves seized each of his legs, and two others held him by chest and back as they lifted him above the stake, then set him down on the sharp point which entered his anus. Slowly they dragged him down while his hideous cries filled the air until he was impaled. And there they left him to linger in an atrocious death that took five hours.
Juliana Vrouerman and her daughters Lillian and Katrina, wearing only their nightshifts, their hands bound behind their backs, their mouths gagged, were forced to watch the execution, kneeling on the rude ground while the grinning Negro and Carib slaves gripped them by the shoulders and by the hair and forced them to stare upwards at Hugo's writhing, tortured body.
Juliana's face had congealed with horror and she had closed her eyes to shut out the hideous agony of her son. It was true that she had had no love for her fat husband Dirk, and after their children had been conceived, she knew that he would never be truly faithful to her. Yet that boy had been her hope, even though he was dissolute and cruel like his father. Now he was gone, and she was in the hands of these murderous animals.
But Joseph Asunti had gone back to the house of his master, where the lovely auburn-haired Kathje Vanderkuyl was imprisoned and awaiting his emprise of her voluptuous virginal body. The slaves of the Vrouerman plantation thronged around him, acclaiming him as the leader, asking him what they should do with the white Missy and her two bitch-daughters. "Enjoy them, take them as if you were free men, which you are," he said curtly. "But do not kill them. We shall need them as hostages when we parley with the white soldiers and the great white baas at the fort."
A howl of joy went up at these words, and the men rushed towards the three kneeling female captives. Juliana, Lillian and Katrina were dragged to their feet, hurried towards the punishment area, that place where so many innocent girls and men had endured shame and torment to satisfy the brutal whims of Dirk and his son Hugo, yes and of Juliana and her pampered young daughters themselves.
Two men forced Juliana Vrouerman to the wooden triangle where her son had had lovely young Luwana bound for the paddling which had coerced her into yielding her tender cherry. They corded her wrists high above her head and fixed them to the top of this device, and then ripped off her nightgown so that she was naked. Then, as she tried to clench her legs and to twist and jerk away, the grinning blacks squatted and bound her slim ankles to the widely spaced base of the isosceles triangle.
After that heavy storm of two nights ago, the weather had become deadly calm and the sun was burning pitilessly, without a cloud in the sky. The crowd of slaves pressed, closer to the triangle, circling it, their eyes devouring the magnificent naked body of the woman who had once been their owner and who had autocratically sent them to this very triangle or to the torture shed or to the stocks or pillory. Tractioned and straddled as she was, Juliana Vrouerman displayed the sumptuous glory of a body that even at forty could whet the prick of a man to violent hardness and desire. Her big round titties, widely spaced and high-perched on her pink-sheened chest, showed no sign of sag or flaccidity.
The tautness of her body made the big rosy nipples stand out as if tumescent, and they could see the quivering of her smooth flat belly with the wide shallow kiss-nook marking it so intimately. Below that, the thick dark-golden curls of her cunt which almost but not quite covered the soft fleshy pink lips of her quim. The magnificently muscled long yet beautifully rounded thighs, the highset, chiseled calves, and then most of all the sumptuous, full round ass cheeks, upstandingly rounded and with a gradually sinuous crease between them. That crease was distended now because of the exaggerated straddle of her naked legs, and hesitantly at first, then more and more boldly as their courage grew, the slaves poked her naked body with their fingers, gibbering in their native dialects or addressing her in pidgin English to shame and humiliate her: "White Missy have good ass for the whip, nice pink soft skin mark good with switch or cowhide-big boobies, plenty of milk for sucking, Missy can make baby yet with jig-jig, hee hee!-Missy proud, how Missy like being naked now and have slaves poke and pinch and slap her behind, huh?" And they suited action to word, many of them reaching out their hands and smacking Juliana Vrouerman's bare ass till the firm resilient globes quaked and shuddered, and the bright pink splotches of those humiliating slaps were imprinted lasciviously on the finely grained naked skin.
Then they took away the gag, and crowded close to her, slave after slave moving up to face her, tugging off his loinpouch and rubbing his prick against her cunt. They would not fuck her yet, not until nightfall. No, the white Missy-Baas would be whipped and left out here in the hot sun, just like she had done to them. Then at night, after they had eaten and drunk their fill of rum and gin, then they would do jig-jig with her. And they would have the two bitch-daughters, the whelps of this she-wolf, make sweet-sweet together. Already Macombu, Luwana's lover, had told the excited slaves what he had heard of Viertje and Ulrica Bardenson, how those two cruel white women did not fuck with men but instead with themselves and with their slavegirls. Well, the white Missy-Baas would be made to watch her own daughters lie together on the ground before all the men, yes, and she would be made to tell them how to make sweet-sweet under the switch!
Finally it was Macombu, the acknowledged leader on this plantation and who the other slaves agreed had the most right to hate these Vrouermans, who called out, "Move away now, it time we punish Missy Juliana! We do this just right, just so, like white baas do it to us. That way, whites can't say we stupid animals. Get away there, you can touch Missy Juliana all you like after she have her whipping. We leave her all day in triangle, under hot sun, only little water. But no jig-jig, nobody, you understand that? Nobody touch Missy Juliana till tonight. I, Macombu, tell you when you have her."
Grudgingly, the crowd of slaves moved back from the trembling naked body of their former mistress. Juliana's face was livid with shame, her eyes were closed, but her body was quaking uncontrollably. These filthy niggers had fingered her private parts, even put their fingers inside her bottornhole and made her gasp against her will and jerk, and she wished she could have died rather than give them that satisfaction, the horrid brutes!
She had never been whipped in all her life, even as a little girl. She had had a passion for the whip true enough, but to inflict upon others. Often, when she knew that her fat husband would be taking himself off to the slave huts or having one of the little bitches up to his bedroom and be of no use to her at all, she would go down to watch the overseer thrash a naked girl or a man. And sometimes, when she wore her riding breeches, she would slip her hand into the pocket and finger her pussy stealthily, so that she could release the excitement that flooded through her when she heard the cries and saw the cowhide or the paddle leave its mark on shuddering black or brown flesh.
"Ohh, Mutterlein," her younger daughter Lillian cried out, "what are they going to do to us? Oh I'm so afraid, Mutterlein!" The slaves had already removed the gags from the two girls' mouths, but they were forced to kneel in their nightshifts, their wrists still bound behind their back.
"Shut up, girl," Juliana groaned, grinding her teeth and steeling herself. "Don't give those filthy animals any satisfaction, they are happy when you're afraid! Be brave as I am. You too, Katrina!"
"Missy-Baas talk big," Macombu jeered as he stepped forward now, having gone to the punishment shed and found the arsenal of whips and paddles, canes and switches, which Pieter Drumanns had used. "We see how brave Missy is when she get paddle on her big naked ass. I pay you back for Luwana myself, Missy Juliana!"
He had chosen an oval-shaped leather paddle, with a short handle, which the overseer had enjoyed using because it could be inflicted at close range and so bring him closer to the naked body of an attractive young slave girl. He stepped close to Juliana Vrouerman now, at her left, his eyes devouring the straining turrets of her panting titties, seeing the shadowy curls of her cuntfleece as he looded over her tethered body. Her golden hair had been twisted into a thick braid which fell to her shoulder blades. He put out his left hand and caressed her head and the braid, and she gasped between clenched teeth, "Get it over with, you beast, do it! You can kill me, but you'll not hear me cry for mercy, not once, d'you understand?"
"Missy very brave,, like Macombu say. We wait and see how brave Missy really is," he chuckled. Now, transferring the paddle to his left hand, he roamed his right palm over her sumptuous bare ass cheeks, patting and squeezing, caressing and slapping, pinching and tweaking the shuddering pink flesh until Juliana Vrouerman squirmed and twisted frantically, dying a thousand deaths of humiliation, trying to clench her legs because she knew that her cunt was on view to all these animals.
Then playfully he goosed her, and she uttered a sharp cry and turned her face back to over her shoulder to stare at him: "Oh you wait, Macombu! Just you wait till the soldiers come! I'll watch you being whipped to death, or hanged and your guts cut out of you while you're still alive! You'll pay me back for that!"
"I pay Missy right now," he laughed brutally. Then, the paddle once again in his right hand, he moved back a step or two, gauged the distance, raised the implement and swept it solidly across the tops of Juliana Vrouerman's bare hips with an angry crackkk!
The golden-haired matron stiffened, her head tilting up, her eyes wide with surprised pain. Then her body jerked sporadically forward, amid the jeers and catcalls of the eagerly watching slaves.
On her pink flesh, an angry bright red splotch attested to the vigor of that first stroke. A second followed almost at once, but this smacked wickedly across the very center of the right bottomcheek. Then came a third, to the summit of the other globe. Each time, the sumptuous naked body on the triangle was wrenched by a spasmodic twisting movement, and she sucked in her breath loudly each time, her eyes closing and her fingers twisting and clawing high above her head.
Katrina and Lillian were weeping now, cringing in their terror as their captors gripped them by the shoulders and the hair, forcing them on their knees to watch the punishment of their beautiful naked mother. Macombu grinned at them and winked: "Your turn comes soon, little Missies," he encouraged. Then, ferociously, he returned to his captive. Three times he sent the paddle cracking sonorously across the broadest curves of both shuddering naked ass cheeks. Juliana could not suppress a strangled groan of agony at the last, and her body plunged forward as if controlled like a puppet by invisible strings. Roars of obscene laughter filled the air, and the mocking insults and taunts of her captors assailed her from every side.
Macombu felt that she was challenging his powers. Taking a firmer hold on the paddle, he lowered it and swept it upwards, so that the edge and end collided with an angry smackkk with the lower summit of first one ass cheek and then the other. This stinging pain was unspeakably agonizing, and Juliana Vrouerman again lunged forward, but this time her bottom seemed to shake from side to side as if trying to disperse the pernicious flames that were devouring her tender naked flesh.
Now, taking a deep breath and pausing while he studied the agitated muscular play in her legs and bottom, in her arms and shoulders, the deepening hollow of her smooth back, he began to spank her quickly. They were short stinging strokes, alternating on the bottom cheeks, beginning at the top and working towards the base and then back up again. Without counting, but maintaining a steady cadence of about ten spanks a minute, Macombu relentlessly applied the paddle.
Juliana Vrouerman lifted her face towards the sky, then bowed her head. Whimpering gasps escaped her tremblingly compressed lips, her nostrils flared and shrank, and her body repeatedly lunged and twisted, made supreme efforts to clench her thighs. Her fingers were seen to claw the air, and sweat began to ooze from the tufts of her armpit hair and down her shuddering sides. Tears also flowed from her dilated eyes, but she suppressed with heroic and almost unbelievable stamina any outcry for mercy.
Even her daughters were impressed, and watched the spanking with faces congealed in horror and disbelief.
At last Macombu stopped to get his breath, and stepped back. Juliana Vrouerman's magnificent ass was an angry red now, inflamed and visibly painful, the cheeks contracting and yawning uncontrollably. He frowned, and then moved in front of the helpless naked woman. "You very brave, but Macombu know how to make you beg, Missy-Baas!" he jeered.
Then, remaining in front of her, he slowly drew back his right hand and brought the paddle forward with a cruel smackkk against the side of her left tittie.
Juliana Vrouerman uttered a scream, high-pitched and prolonged, lunging backwards, her face tilting back and contorted with torment: "Aahrrr! Ach, mein Gott im Himmel!
Not there, in pity's name not there!"
"At last I find tender place for whip, Missy so she cry," he jested. The paddle now smacked her other tittie, and it would seem to bound and jiggle, then to redden under the harsh shock of the leather implement and once again Juliana screamed aloud in her agony, lunging backwards and twisting and shaking herself, jerking at her bound wrists as she tried to free herself from the whipping triangle.
Now playfully Macombu smacked her belly several times with the flat of the paddle, and then the front of her thighs on which he concentrated for two or three minutes. Juliana's cries were hoarse now, and this time she was begging, not for mercy, but to be put to death: "Aiiii! Eowwuuu, oh for God's sake kill me, kill me, you dirty coward, you filthy black beast! Oh not there, my God, I'm only a woman, kill me, you monster, you devil! I'll hang you myself, I'll cut your guts out, I'll geld you-ahrrrroweee!! Not there, oh my God, kill me and be done with it!"
Satisfied, he flung down the paddle and turned to stare at the breathless, excited slaves. "There, you see! Missy Juliana not so proud now, not like whip so much as when she gave it to us, eh? She stay an hour in sun, it good for the nice red color on her ass and boobies and legs. But nobody now do jig-jig with her or I kill, understand? Now the two young Missies, it their turn to get whipped! Get them naked, bring them here!"
"Oh no! We're helpless! We never hurt you, don't whip us, oh please don't!" Lillian wailed as two of the grinning Negroes ripped off her nightshift and dragged her to her feet. Katrina began to struggle with her captors, kicking and twisting, but in vain. Her nightshift was ripped from her, and her voluptuous young olive-skinned body with her surprisingly big round titties drew gleeful comments from the avid slaves who crowded round her, fingering those luscious love globes, her bottom and her thighs, poking at the black curls of her virgin cunt, slipping their fingers into the sinuous crease between the cheeks of her shuddering, tightening ass.
Yet in a way Lillian excited the slaves more, though younger, for her lithe body was delicious with its pale white skin, the saucy oval cheeks of her behind, the perky apple-round globes of her young titties which heaved in terror. They pulled at her long braids, pinching her nipples, slapping her belly and bottom, some of them muttering in her ear what they would do to her tonight, how they would make her do jig-jig, suck their cocks and lick them, too. She would be their white bitch, and if she did not please them when she made sweet-sweet with them, they would cut off her titties with the cutlasses.
Half-fainting with terror, weeping and pleading, the two naked young sisters were forced to the apparatuses which awaited them. To the left of Juliana at the triangle was the stocks, the low two-sectional device the upper half of which yoked the wrists of the captive, the lower half of which clamped over the ankles. A low stool was before it, and on it were still the shards of ground glass used for a previous punishment of a rebellious slave. But they had no wish to mar Lillian's exquisite pale white skin, and so the stool was cleared. Instead, they put prickly thorns, small spiny thorns from the durian tree which would not mar the flesh too much and yet be atrociously painful. Two men held her while four others opened the stocks and in turns yoked her wrists and ankles. Then they forced her down, and she immediately tried to arch herself and to shriek for mercy as the tiny, spiny thorns bit into her tender bottom. The stool was low and not too wide, so that the outer curves of that voluptuous oval-cheeked ass of hers emerged beyond it, and thus she could be whipped there as well as all over her back and shoulders and the upper arms. A one-eyed Carib, Andreas, who had had his eye put out with a red-hot poker for daring to lift his hand to his master, Dirk Vrouerman, when a year ago the fat plantation owner had struck him across the face and accused him of insolence, begged for permission to use the switch on the younger girl, and was granted it. A long slim switch, peeled from the acacia tree, whistled through the air and Lillian cringed and turned her face back, tearfully imploring mercy, swearing she had never hurt any of the slaves, begging them to spare her.
To the right of Juliana Vrouerman was the pillory, and here Katrina, black-haired and big-tittied and haughty, was incarcerated.
The adjustable headpiece could be raised or lowered by pegs which shifted into place along the vertical upright; they placed it so that she had to stand on tiptoe, stark naked, her neck and wrists clamped in the hokeholes.
Godambu, a brawny, squat Surinam Negro who had twice been put in the stocks and whipped while sitting on broken bottles, demanded the right to flog the young white Missy, and Macombu acknowledged his claim.
For the olive-sheened, plump jutting bottom cheeks of the older girl, a short cowhide whip was selected from the punishment shed. Godambu brandished it in the air, cracked it a few times, and cackled with glee as he watched Katrina's body stiffen and squirm in terrible apprehension.
Then, at a sign from Macombu, both men began to whip the naked daughters of Juliana Vrouerman.
The golden-haired matron, agonized by what she saw, cried out shrilly, "Herr Gott, no, not them, they've done nothing, they're too young! Do it to me, if you must whip someone, do it to me! I will kill you all! I will have you hanged, whip me, I'm your enemy, not my poor girls!"
But it availed her nothing. As she writhed and twisted, she saw with growing horror and despair the tender bodies of her two daughters jerk and twist under the wicked hiss-crack of the switch and of the cowhide, heard Lillian's pathetic shrieks, her babbledingenuous entreaties for pardon; heard Katrina's haughty voice break into hysterical sobbing as the older girl imploringly demanded mercy, even abjectly cried out, "I'll do anything you want if you'll only stop, oh I can't bear it, oh you're killing me, mercy, you're killing me!"
But the whipping went on until the backs and bottoms and shoulders of both young girls were bloodied and they sagged, fainting, in the punishment apparatus. Juliana Vrouerman knew with terrible anguish that it had been her own cruelty and that of her husband and her son which had visited this retribution upon her innocent daughters ... retribution which was only just beginning.
CHAPTER NINE
On the Zertvogel plantation, Tudaro had taken full command. Aurelia, at his orders, had been spread-eagled on her huge bed, stripped naked except for her fine lace stockings and garters, with her legs hugely parted and her arms dragged beyond her head and to either side of the bedstead. Her body tautly tethered, unable to move, she had endured an agonizing morning and afternoon. Tudaro himself had come to bring her a cup of water, but no food, and she had reviled him, threatened him with all kinds of punishments. He had only grinned at her and turned the cup so that the water splashed into her face. "You slave now, Missy, not baas no more," he had told her. "Tonight, you going to see how your girls get taught good lessons. Maybe you not know they sleep with slave girls, do dirty things with them instead of with men the way fine women should, maybe their mother teach them now, maybe Tudaro and Missy show your girls how to fuck-fuck."
Then Aurelia Zertvogel had uttered a cry of utter and abysmal horror, for she had indulged her own perverse passions so long that she had neglected all concern over the welfare of Diane and Bettina. She had heard, to be sure, that the girls at times pinched and tormented and even whipped their young slavegirls, but this was only natural. After all they were born to the blood, they would inherit the plantation after her death, so why should they not be taught early in life how to rule and to command? But what Tudaro had told her about their Lesbian pleasures, a dark and brooding and unnatural thing in this land of jungle and primitive passions and cruelty, now left her consternated and afraid.
The slaves had locked Diane and Bettina in a narrow closet near the attic of the Zertvogel house, and left them there to wait in the darkness and in their growing dread of what would be done to them. At dusk, Todaro and several of his appointed aids, among whom were the Negroes Felix and Louis, raided the kitchen and ordered the all too willing cook to prepare a feast for them. They rummaged in the cellar and brought up bottles of plain wine, gin and rum and brandy, and within an hour or two most of them were quite drunk. But Tudaro as well as Felix and Louis retained their sobriety, so that they might enjoy the vengeance they had planned on Aurelia Zertvogel and her two perverse young daughters.
They took with them half a dozen Carib and Negro slaves who, like themselves, had not drunk too much and who had especial reason to see this vengeance exacted.
When they opened the closet and found the two girls cowering there, they laughed and joked as they dragged Diane and Bettina out and forced them towards the bedroom in which their mother lay spread-eagled and naked.
When they shoved the girls inside, Bettina and Diane uttered simultaneous cries of shame and fear to see their mother so treated, and then Tudaro closed the door and locked it as Felix and Louis and the other six slaves took charge of the two frantic, struggling girls. In a trice they were stripped naked as the day they were born, even when Aurelia Zertvogel stridently cried out to her black lover to spare them, to punish her instead if someone must be punished. And then she conjured him in the memory of their illicit love: "Ach, Gott, Tudaro, is this the way you repay my love for you, my kindness? Don't you know that I set you up as my majordomo? Why do you do this to me, why do you lead all these slaves against my daughters and me?"
"You are evil woman Missy," he chuckled. "You know very well why you want Tudaro to do jig-jig with you. You tired of your fat old husband, so you tell Tudaro to get big scorpion and put him where Baas step on it. You kill your husband, Missy Aurelia. You have Tudaro whipped and you tell him to come to bed and fuck-fuck with you, not like man but like dirty slave. No more slaves now in Berbice. Now you see how I punish you. And your girls, dirty little bitches who play with slave-girls and make them do filthy things, instead of doing fuck-fuck with strong men like me and Felix and Louis and J a war a there." He pointed to a tall bearded Carib who, naked but for a loinpouch, gripped a cutlass and grinned at the two shrinking, sobbing naked young girls.
"This bed good and big and wide," Tudaro went on, "But now I think Missy Aurelia, you let your daughters lie down there now so they get ready to do fuck-fuck with men. Felix, Louis, cut her loose, and then tie her to chair beside bed so she have good view. Maybe she help tell Diane and Bettina how to do fuck-fuck nice and sweet with black and brown man, eh?"
"No! You monster, you fiend! You black bastard, I'll see you hanged for this, you dare touch my girls and I'll kill you myself." Aurelia shrieked, tugging at her bonds, arching her body till her bubbies jiggled, her eyes glowing with hate and fury.
Felix and Louis quickly cut the cords binding her wrists and ankles and dragged her from the bed. She fought them like a tigress, till Jawara hurried over and put the point of the cutlass against her navel, warning, "Missy shut up, or me cut Missy's guts out, Missy die slowly!"
Conquering herself, pale and almost fainting, Aurelia Zertvogel did not resist now as the three men forced her into a huge straight backed chair standing at the window and facing the big bed. They bound her with her wrists behind her back, corded her ankles to the lower legs, tied another cord around her waist at the back of the chair and made it fast. Then as Jawara stood behind her, cutlass in one hand and reaching over with the other to fondle her titties and to pinch and pat and slap them, Felix and Louis fell upon each of the young naked girls in turn. In a few moment, Bettina and Diane found themselves lying side by side, straddled and spread-eagled, tied till the cords chafed their delicate wrists and ankles, their young cunts gaping to show the soft pink lips which had never known man's stiff ramrod.
Then there was a soft knock at the door, and Tudaro himself opened it to admit lovely Cortissa and Noura, the two slave girls who had been the coerced Lesbian partners of these young girls. They were naked save for high-heeled sandals, which they had stolen from their young mistresses' rooms, and they wore some of the jewelry they had found there also.
"It good you come, Noura and Cortissa," Tudaro laughed. "You know how Missy Diane and Missy Bettina do sweet-sweet wid you in bed. Now you tell all these good men what they like most, where they tickle nicest, so we teach them how to take man and do sweet-sweet dat way instead!"
"Oh no, Mummy, help me, don't let them touch me, oh please, oh Mummy!" Russethaired young Bettina screamed, turning her tear stained, congested face towards the chair in which her naked mother was bound. On Diane's haughty, lovely face, there was a look of loathing and fright, her lips curling back from her sharp little white teeth, as she saw the men shuck down their breeches or their loinpouches and bare their swollen pricks.
"Don't touch me, you dirty black beast, you n-n-niggers!" Diane shrieked.
"That not nice to say, Missy," Tudaro reproved the goldenhaired older daughter as he moved towards the bed. He put both thumbs and forefingers to her nipples and pinched them viciously until Diane's head tilted back and her eyes bulged and her mouth gaped in a frenzied shriek of agony. "Say you sorry now, Missy Diane! Beg pardon of good black men and say you never call them nigger again, do it or I pinch them off!"
"Eeeowwouu!! I'm sorry-I didn't mean to say n-nigger. Oh stop it, you're killing me, let go of my breasts, oh Mummy, make him let go, I'm sorry, stop it, pleease!" Diane screamed.
"Young Missy Diana, her boobies, they're red tender." Cortissa giggled. "Her cunt nice and tender too. She likes to have me kiss it long time befoe she gets hot to do jig-jig wid me.
"Very good, Cortissa," Tudaro grinned. "You tickle now, you kiss a little now, you make Missy Diane hot so she want to be fuck-fuck with good black man!" And then, scowling down into Diane's tearstained, contorted face, he growled, "You better beg quick that good black man do fuck-fuck wid you, Missy Diane, or we take you out to whipping shed and switch you good all over, on your boobies, yes, on your ass and between your legs too, your hear?"
Cortissa crouched at the side of the bed, running her slim hands over Diane's straddled thighs, while the golden-haired girl began to whimper and to twist her face from side to side. Then the slave girl, with a wink at the avidly watching rebels, bowed her head and put her lips to Diane's gaping pink cunthole and began to kiss and lick and suck. Diane closed her eyes and arched and wriggled, but soon the intolerable and exquisitely precious titillations of the young slaveghTs gamahuching began to have an amorous effect upon her sapphically attuned loins. Her nipples had stiffened and darkened, and her body began to jerk and twitch feverishly.
"She ready now, Tudaro," Cortissa proclaimed as she straightened from the bed.
"You ready now to do fuck-fuck with good black man, Missy Diane?" Tudaro demanded. Seeing that Felix wore breeches with a black leather belt in them, he gestured towards the handsome, stalwart fieldhand, who promptly tugged out the belt and handed it to him. Doubling it, Tudaro lifted it high and then brought it down several times over Diana's naked belly and upper thighs. "You ready, Missy Diana?" he repeated, and then again began to whip her belly and thighs.
"Good! Then you pick man now to do fuck-fuck wid," was Tudaro's order.
"Oh you demons, you brutes!" Aurelia Zartvogel raged, trying to jerk herself free of her bonds, "You wait, you'll pay for this, I'll watch all of you die in front of me! Don't touch my girls, for God's sake, Tudaro! Take it out on me instead!"
"What for, Miss Aurelia?" Tudaro jeered at her. "You and I do fuck-fuck so many tunes, you not interest me no more, not wid these two sweet young bitches here all naked now. I think I gonna do fuck-fuck wid them both, then I tell you if I want you anymore, Missy Aurelia. All right now, Missy Diane, who you want make you a woman? Quick now, or I whip right here!"
Lightly, then, he flicked the doubled belt right into Diane's gaping cunthole, and the maddened young girl screamed out, "You-you, Tudaro, only stop, no more, do it to me, but don't whip me any more, I can't stand it!"
"You hear, Missy Aurelia? Your own daughter, the one who looks most like you and the older, too, she got good sense, she know good black prick when she see it. All right, Missy Diane, I fuck you now. Missy Bettina, you watch good and learn!"
With a lewd chuckle, he stripped himself naked. Even as Aurelia Zertvogel shrieked and prayed to the heavens above to stop this infamy, her black majordomo mounted the bed and flung himself over the straddled goldenhaired young girl. His hands squeezed her titties, his mouth came down hard on hers even as she closed her eyes and tried to twist her face away. His prick gouged into the tender aperture which yawned so lewdly as an invitation, and poor Diane groaned and sobbed as she felt him inexorably perforate her cunt and thrust beyond the maiden seal to hilt himself deep inside her no longer virgin sheath.
Then he fucked her violently, as he might have done with her mother, sparing her nothing. His lithe wiry muscular black body jerked and threshed as piston-like, his prick dug back and forth inside her tender young scabbard, distending it, chafing it cruelly, while she moaned and sobbed as his mouth covered hers in sucking greedy kisses.
With a shout he exploded his essence deep into her, and then drew out, his prick bloodied as the sign that he had taken her cherry. Then moving towards the straight backed chair in which her mother sat, he chuckled obscenely. "Now, Missy Diana woman for fact, no more dirty games with girls. She nice and tight, tighter than you, Miss Aurelia. You see, she never have man before!" And with this, gripping the sides of the chair, he arched himself and began to rub his bloodied prick on one of Aurelia Zertvogel's heaving naked titties, staining it with the blood of her daughter's cherry. Her eyes rolled to the whites, she uttered a strangled cry, and then she sagged unconscious in the chair.
"Oh Mummy, they've killed you!" Bettina screamed, weeping bitterly. But Noura moved over to the side of the bed on which the russethaired younger girl lay and bent down and gloating began to suck one of Bettina's exquisite virgin quim. "She nice and tender like Missy Diane, and she go off quicker, like firecracker, when she get tickled between legs," Noura observed for the benefit of the grinning, naked mutineers.
"Go get bottle of gin, quick, Felix," Tudaro commanded. "Wake up Missy Aurelia, she gotta see how Missy Bettina make sweet-sweet wid Louis. You go first with her, Louis. Just get on her now and feel her up some, don't fuck-fuck till Missy Aurelia wake up good!"
"I'll do it, I always like cute little Missy Bettina, I be her father now and teach her what girl do with man," Louis chuckled. Naked, his long prick bobbing between his wirey, hairy thighs, he flung himself down on the frantic younger girl, and, lying on his side facing her, began to play with her titties and belly and pussylips, prodding her hip and thigh with the head of his swollen prick while she moaned and sobbed hysterically.
Felix now returned with a bottle of Holland gin. Smashing the mouth of the bottle against the wall, Tudaro walked over to the straightbacked chair and poured some of the liquor over the slumping naked body of Aurelia Zertvogel. Then, plunging his left hand in her disheveled hair and yanking it brutally, he tilted up her head until slowly her eyes began to blink. Then he forced her to open her mouth and swallow several hearty swigs of the strong gin.
"That better now! Now you see Missy Bettina do sweet-sweet wid Louis. Look there, see, on the bed! You tell Missy Bettina what she have to do to make Louis happy. He say he be like father to her, and that good!"
"Oh no, oh please, Tudaro, let him have me instead, I'll do anything you men want, but let my poor girls be, they're too young too innocent-"
"Innocent? Noma and Cortissa not say so. They cruel girls, they like you, Missy Aurelia. But they still young enough to learn good lesson. Now is time for lesson. Louis, go fuck-fuck Miss Bettina good. Make her yell and say you real man now!" he commanded.
"Oh no, Mummy, please, I don't want him-aarr, oh it hurts, oh take it out, eeouuww, oh please take it out of me, you're killing me, I can't stand it, you're tearing me there, oh Mummy, please make him stop!" Bettina's insolendy haughty voice rose now in a frenzied scream as Louis jabbed at her tender quim and, inserting himself, with several savage lunges, broke through her cherry and hiked himself in her tight young aperture.
Then he began to fuck her as furiously as Tudaro had fucked Diane, while the sobbing young girl screamed and begged him hysterically to stop. Only when he had exploded his viscous drench deep into her womb did he finally stagger to his feet and exhibit to the horrified mother his bloodied organ, proof of her younger daughter's profanation.
"Very good, Louis," Tudaro approved, "now we take all girls, give them nice bath, clean them good, put perfume on, then we bring them to bed. Mother in middle, each girl on side, all three better please new masters, or tomorrow all three in the pillory for good whipping!"
The three naked captives were unbound, dragged to the bathroom where Noura and Cortissa scoured them with sponges and warm water, then laved their shuddering brushed bodies with perfume, opening the vials and pouring out the contents.
Then, weeping and begging for mercy, Aurelia Zertvogel and her two daughters were dragged back to the bedroom and once again tied upon the bed. She in the middle as he had ordered, Bettina at her left, Diane on her right, their thighs gaping apart, their ankles and wrists corded to the bedposts. And through that long and hellish night, the first triumphant night of the slave rebellion in Berbice, all three captives learned the bestial passions of slaves who would be free and who showed by their prowess in the bed of rut that they were men most of all.
CHAPTER TEN
Kogaya, who had killed the Bardenson overseer with a blowgun dart dipped in curare, had rallied the slaves on this plantation. He had sent one of them to meet with Joseph Asunti and another to confer with Tudaro, indicating that he would await orders for a general attack upon all the other plantations. Meanwhile, he proposed, he and the slaves here would remain in charge of the Bardenson house and grounds, an excellent vantage place for defense against any possible attack or reprisal on the part of the Dutch milita.
Joseph Asunti sent back word that it would be well to wait two or three days for all the slaves throughout Berbice to come forward and offer themselves in the service of the rebels, so that a general attack might be planned against Fort Nassau, thus having satisfied the military side of this rebellion. So far as his own duties were concerned, the young black lover of Lumaria now decided to take revenge upon Ulrica and Viertje Bardenson, who had had Lumaria and Rosalou whipped in order to coerce them to their Lesbian desires.
Just as with Bettina and Diana Vrourerman, the two Bardenson sisters had been found in their bechambers attended by their two slave-bitches, naked and cowering, their backs and bottoms marked with new welts from riding crops which Ulrica and Viertje had used the night before to compel even more lascivious tributes from their helpless slaves. The two sisters were at once bound and gagged and blindfolded, wearing only their shifts, and then at noon, when the sun was at its zenith in the heavens, Kogaya ordered a dozen slaves to take the two women out to the punishment stockade where the pillory, the stocks, and the crossarm whipping post stood as grim reminders to the rebels what torments they had endured under the imperious and merciless whims of the two sisters.
A dozen slaves now arranged themselves on each side of the two naked, fettered women, armed with cowhide paddles, acacia switches and thin supple canes peeled from the bamboo shoots which grew in such plentiful abundance near the marshy ground of the rice and cane fields. Two of the strongest blacks now crouched behind each wheel, seized the heavy round handle like a windlass, and began to turn at the same time. Their bodies revolved as on a turning spit, and the slaves hooted and jeered and cried out encouragements to the whippers as the pale naked bodies of the Lesbian sisters revolved a few times.
"Now, Missies," Kogaya called, "we going to switch your asses good till you show us how you do jig-jig, how you suck cunt and make poor little slavegirls do that to you, filthy thing instead of fuck-fuck with good strong man! Begin, stripe their skins and make them sing out and do their filthiness together!"
Now in unison, the twelve whippers on each side of the martyred Bardenson sisters raised their weapons and simultaneously brought them down. Viertje Bardenson, uppermost at the moment, received the full brunt of that dreadful assault over her thighs and bottom and lower back, and a wild shriek of torment was torn from her.
"You show us now, Missies," Kogaya commanded, "or we whip you till the blood comes, you suck and lick and kiss, just like you do with Rosalou and Lumaria!"
Out of capricious sadism, some of the whippers now lowered their implements and flicked them up to attack the naked titties of first Viertje and then Ulrica, and the two helpless naked women screamed in agony at this new and indescribably painful torment. As they were revolved inexorably round and round, first one coming to the top with her bottom and back and thighs exposed to the twelve whipping implements on both sides of her, her features contorted, her eyes dilated supremely and her mouth gaped in a long raucous yell of agony.
It was the height of humiliation.
Finally, their bodies burning and striped and wealed, Viertje and Ulrica Bardenson began to gamahuch each other, in this obscene pose of sixty-nine which their own slaves had devised as part of their expiation for the wrongdoing towards the laborers on their plantation. Yet the whips continued to fall, and their screams and pleas and babbled entreaties for mercy delighted the avid throng, while Kogaya ordered them to keep on with their lustful work lest they be whipped till the skin was flayed from their bottoms.
At times, one of the more sadistic whippers would send his cowhide whip or even the tip of his bamboo cane right into the gape between the women's naked, shuddering legs, attacking both asshole and pussy, and causing the most unspeakable suffering. The naked bodies vibrated and jerked as in the throes of copulation, and now they could plainly hear Viertje and Ulrica, in the midst of their plaints and groans and sobs and supplications, sucking and licking and kissing, just as if they were alone in their own bed performing the rituals of Lesbos.
At last, induced by the agony of the whip and her own need for fulfillment, Ulrica's body stiffened and then her head bobbed forward as she felt herself brought to pitch by her sister's frantic lips and tongue. Kogaya now called upon them to halt flogging Ulrica, and to concentrate on poor Viertje, whose jouncy, smaller and almost boyishly compact ass cheeks were livid now with stripes and splotches from the flogging.
Ulrica, to save her sister more of this agony, plunged her tongue deep into her sister's cunthole, rubbing her clitoris, sucking and kissing, until at last Viertje shrieked out under an avalanche of whiplashes and then thrashed and squirmed in the release of orgasm.
Then Kogaya ordered that the women be smeared with syrup and honey, to draw the flies and mosquitos, and to be left out under the broiling sun until mid-afternoon. Then, he warned them, they would be obliged to show their humility by surrendering themselves to any black or Carib who desired them.
Laughing and cheering, hugely amused, their passions impatient to be consummated but obeying the orders of their chief Kogaya, the slaves trooped back to the Bardenson house, where Magnota, the gleeful, plump Carib cook, served them a veritable feast.
Under the sun, the two naked women, suspended and bound together, their mouths still pressed against each other's pussies, writhed and moaned and wept and prayed for death. They could feel their skins burning, not only from the lashing, but from the pitiless sun. Now swarms of insects descended upon them, making them jerk and twist as if they were still performing their obscene Sapphic gymnastics. Almost fainting with pain and agony, they at last lay twitching and shivering, till at last the hour had come, an hour that seemed a full eternity to achieve till the time they heard, vaguely in their dulled and waning senses, the brutal shouts and obscene catcalls of the approaching rebels.
"Oh, pray to the dear Gott they will kill us now and be merciful," Ulrica moaned. "I cannot bear any more, my dear sister, oh what have we done to deserve such agony?"
But her question was to be unanswered, for now the slaves descended upon the two tethered, suspended naked women and took them down from the torture wheels. Now they rubbed their bodies with wet canvas, scouring and chafing the tender skins which were already furiously reddened from the hot sun. Viertje and Ulrica cried out piteously as even this ministration caused new agonies. And at last when they were cleansed of the honey and syrup, they were flung down on the ground on their backs, pegged out and tied by wrists and ankles to the heavy wooden pegs. Once again, side by side, they would share a communal destiny: they would now be fucked by any who desired them.
And first to approach them came the houseboy Ebenezer, resplendent in his livery, a dignified and quiet and mature man who till now had been a model of deference and humility and obedience in the Bardenson household. But he was grinning now, his eyes bloodshot with drink, and he swore in vile Carib and pidgin English at the helpless naked women as he began to strip off the raiment which had marked him as a house slave to Viertje and Ulrica Bardenson.
And when he was naked and his prick enormous, he crouched down before them, as if selecting the one he would prefer to violate. Cringing and squirming, weeping, they hysterically begged him for mercy, urged him in the name of honor and of his fidelity to them all these years to save them from these madmen, these animals and brutes who would all be hanged and broken on the wheel for their rebellion.
Ebenezer ignored those supplications. His hands squeezed and caressed the charms of each of them, Viertje's luscious gourd-like titties, and then the thick dark-brown pussycurls which he obscenely yanked and tweaked till the smaller, younger Dutchwoman screamed and twisted and jerked against her bonds. Now it was Ulrica's small orange-like boobies and dainty little pink nipples-hardened and darkened by the ferocious sun which he pinched and patted and slapped, and now it was her thick dark-blonde pussybush which he tweaked and plucked at, his fingers squeezing their inner thighs, prodding the lips of their cunts, those cunts which until this moment had never known the profanation of man.
At last he selected Ulrica, and as he mounted over her, the older woman turned her face towards Viertje and shrieked wordlessly in her loathing and despair. But already Viertje was being commanded by her first suitor, Kogaya himself. His prick in savage erection, the young black mounted over the smaller, younger Bardenson sister, thrust his hands under her striped and livid ass cheeks, squeezed them, as he steered himself toward the pink lips of her gaping cunt and thrust home until he had shattered her maidenseal and hilted himself inside her sheath.
And now the two ravishers began to fuck them violently, without pity or slackening, and their bodies vibrated and threshed on the ground, and their moans and sobs and babbled entreaties were music to the ears of the watching slaves.
And when those two men had risen, their cocks bloodied from the pillaging of those two mature maidenheads, there were other men to replace them, a line behind each of them to await turn with Viertje and with Ulrica Bardenson.
Until nightfall, the two women lay on the ground, tethered to their pegs, their thighs and bellies and pussyhair clotted with drying male spunk from the repeated fuckings.
And when the blacks and the Caribs had the women revived by dashing buckets of cold water into their faces, and then force-feeding them.
The horrors were almost too great to recall for the Bardenson sisters. They couldn't imagine why they had been chosen to receive this fate, why they, above all others, had come to such an uncivilized, horrid place to live.
They knew-for it was an assured fact-that they were to be kept alive at all costs, for they would be the whores now of any slave on the Bardenson plantation who lusted for them.
The shame of it! They could hardly bear it at all-to have reigned almost supreme and now to be brought so low....
They would not be granted the death they prayed for, not until four months later when, by accident, gunfire from the militia would strike them both and put an end to their servitude as the slaves of those whom they had first so cruelly enslaved.
Both of them, in their servitude, could remember back to their days of sisterly pleasure in one another, of the loving treatment they had given and received.
Nothing could have ever compared with their love for one another, both physical and emotional-but that was over now, definitely over. Both Bardenson sisters knew there was no hope.
The evening air was cool, and the breeze floated around their posted bodies, but could not soothe them. They felt the pain of all their suffering, and in spite of it all, they could feel a relief-it was over, for a while, at least.
