Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 America was on the brink of civil war.  Many knew it and would do much to
prevent it.  In Kansas, a family of three, the Hotchkiss' owned a small
farm on what they thought to be land out of the way of the abolitionist
fighting.  John Brown was still on the loose and those loyal to him were'nt
known to be kind to those they caught owning slaves.

   John Hotchkiss owned seven slaves to work his small fields; two females,
ages 15 and 20; and three males ages 17, 21 and 29.  He owned one other
person who the rest of the slaves didnt know.  Her name was Clarisa.  She
was only 19 but was firmly built, her breasts the best looking out of the
three females on the plantation.  He kept her in a small room in the main
house and, not to mention, treated her the best.  She got white women's
dresses which Rachel, his wife, left behind when she died earlier that
year. She received three meals a day, and sometimes ate with the family;
she knew arithmetic and could read words that John wanted her to know. 
But, there was a darker cause for Clarisa being there.  If John had a bad
harvest, a slave ran away, a son or daughter had disobeyed him, or
something to that nature he would take his anger out on Clarisa.

   It was late one afternoon when Micheal, John's oldest son came home
early from school.  "Father, I have decided to marry the Richardson girl."

   "I told you she is not welcome in this house.  She is indecent and
un-lady-like."

   "She is just as good as any other."

   "No!  Thats final!"

   "The wedding is in three days...I knew you wouldn't approve so we
arranged it without your knowing."

   "Get out!  Get OUT!  If you ever come back here again you will not live
an hour!" Sure enough, he walked out.  John was enraged.

   Later that night after he had cooled down and put the other children to
bed, he knocked on Clarisa's door.  "Clarisa, open up!"

   She opened the door, "you need somthin?" She asked, the door open just
enough to peak her head out.

   "Let me in" he said calmly.

   "There aint nothin in here there aint s'posed to be."

   "Let me in...now" his voice presented no anger but was firm at this
point.

   "If you says so.." she opened the door letting him walk in.  "What you
be needin from in here?"

   "Micheal is gone...he is no longer welcome here...if he comes around you
tell me ya hear?"

   "Yea masta, I don need know why he aint welcomed here no more I guess."

   "Damn right!" he paused.  "Now then...I put some water on...you look
like you could use a bath."

   "I woul' like that." She left him and proceeded to a small tub in a
separate room.  Her clothes didnt smell but sweat and food grease covered
her skin.  She undid the top few buttons before pulling the dress over her
head.  Her nipples hardening in the cool air of the room.  She stepped into
the tub, the water warm, but no too hot.  There she sat for what seemed
like hours; rubbing her skin, a small bar of soap made by the slaves
outside had no odor but got her clean.

   Footsteps approached, the door swung open and John stood in the opening.
"Out of the water."

   "You says I could takes a bath."

   "I know what I said and I know what Im saying now...get out." He watched
her get out reaching for her night dress which he quickly snatched from
her.

   "Whats am I gonna wear to bed tonight then?"

   "We'll talk of it later," he gently shoved her against the wall, "hands
on the wall, back to me." She hesitated but complied; her tight ass cheeks
faced out towards him.  He pulled a long whip from his coat.

   "I aint done nothin for a whip masta."

   "Eight whacks...if you scream we'll add on two more."

   "I aint done nothin..."

   "Ten then" he cut her off.

   "But..."

   "Twelve." CRACK!  She winced.  CRACK!  Her body jerked, the pain ripping
through her.  CRACK!  CRACK!  Blood seeped through thin cuts in her back.
He dropped the whip.

   "You still got a few more" she pointed out, tears rolling down her
cheeks.

   "Face me!" She turned around.  He approached her, burying his head in
her firm breasts biting her nipples.

   "Ugh..ah!" She moaned, feeling her legs weaken.  He continued and licked
and bit his way down between her legs, his tongue burying itself within
her. Her legs weakened and gave way; she hit the ground hard.

   "Get up!" her legs wabbled.  "Get up!" he kicked her side hard and
watched as she crumpled.  Anger rising, he grabbed the whip from the floor.
CRACK!

   "AHHH!" she screamed.  CRACK!

   "Get up!" he said as he kicked her ribs again.

   "What have I-" CRACK!  She bawled, tears flowing down her cheeks. 
CRACK!

   "Get UP!" he bellowed as his foot made hard contact with her arm.  Then,
without warning, he left the room.  Bruised and bleeding she lay there and
sobbed.

   Moments later he returned and put a rope around her neck, a leash of
sorts.  He began walking, dragging her behind until she was able to get up
and walk.  They went outside underneath a large tree.  He undid his
trousers, "open ur legs!" He didnt give her time to think forcing her legs,
stained with her blood apart.  Now he forced his manhood inside of her as
he tied the rope to the tree.

   "AH!...UHG!" She moaned between bawls.

   Now he pulled a knife from his coat pocket.  A sudden move and the knife
ran her through.  "UGH..." he gurgled.  He removed the knife, her slit now
to the point of ecstasy.

   "Goodbye Clarisa!" he said now running the knife across her exposed
throat.

   No one ever knew Clarisa was killed in a barbaric way.  John had made
the lie that he had sold her for a hefty price and would receive the moeny
in a few days time.