Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 ________________________________ This is a story about a sexual FANTASY
written for consenting adults.  If you're not both of those, don't read it.
Characters in a FANTASY don't get sick or die unless I want them to.  In
real life, people who don't use condoms and other safe-sex techniques do
get sick and die.  You don't live in a FANTASY so be safe.  The fictional
characters in my stories are trained and experienced in acts of FANTASY -
don't try to do what they do - someone could get hurt.

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

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

   _________________________________ A House in the Woods - Aisha (M/f,
M+/f, BDSM, oral, anal, best, pierce) (C)Copyright 2003 - Shakes Peer2B
shakes_peer2b@NONOsbcglobal.net (remove 'NONO' from above address)

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

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

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

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

   "Which black people?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   She just nodded.

   "Did someone there tell you about me?"

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

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

   Another nod.

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

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

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

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

   I just looked at her expectantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   I leaned forward in my chair.

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

   She nodded.

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

   Another nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

   ___________________________

   Monday - early morning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Reluctantly, she complied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "All right, come with me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   A chorus of tired, but enthusiastic affirmatives came back.

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

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

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

   "Massa?" she started to say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Tyrell."

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

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

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

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

   "No, no problem."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Anytime!" I smiled.

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

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

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

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