The Ten Incarnations of Adam Avatar (48 page)

‘Know what else Hamlet tells Ophelia?'

‘No massa,' said Ophelia. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing deeply.

‘If thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool, for wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them.'

‘I doan understand,' she said.

‘You will,' I said.

I stepped back and unbuckled my belt, wrapping the buckle end around my palm. Then I drew back and let fly at Ophelia's bottom. The leather rang like metal as it struck her plump flesh, which instantly flushed redder than the tiles she writhed against. Ophelia screamed. I drew back the belt and whipped her again. She writhed again. She begged me not to hit her so hard. I ignored her. Again and again I beat her, never hitting anywhere but her bottom, until it was a glowing, angry red. Ophelia sobbed, her body drenched in sweat. I, too, was sweating by this time. I stepped behind her, unbuttoning my trousers. My cock was like iron. But I had no intention of fucking her. I pulled on it until my semen shot out onto her buttocks, then I stepped closer and rubbed my cockhead all over her, wiping my semen into her flaming skin.

I buttoned my trousers and unchained her from the wall. She turned to face me. Tears were streaming down her face, and she held her bruised buttocks like a little girl. ‘From now on, Ophelia,' I said, ‘you will learn what it means to be a slave.'

She left, still crying, and I knew I had begun to master her.

January 7, 1829—

Very busy week. Found a hole in the second copper – it was about the size of a sixpence, probably caused by nails sitting in the bottom. Stopped it with plaster made of wheat-flour & white of an egg made into paste, spread on bit of osnaburg. Ordered new copper when I went into town. Took count of production – 163 pots filled, 10 molasses hogsheads and one tierce. Not good. Purchased barrel of beef, firkin of butter, barrel of salt, & 4 barrels of mackerel.

Books came this week.
Experiments & Observations in Electricity
, by Benjamin Franklin, and
The Natural History of Barbadoes, in Ten Books
by Revd. Mr. Griffith Hughes. I will read Franklin first.

Training Ophelia is now my major project. I keep her in hobbles, so she cannot run away, and she is confined to the house on pain of a whipping. I should say, a SEVERE whipping, for whipping her is an essential part of her training in obedience. On Thursday, I chained her once again to the wall – she began to beg as soon as I carried her into the room but did not fight. I was gentler with her than the first time, but not too much so or else the lesson would have been lost. First, I rubbed oil all over buttocks, working it well into the deep crease betwixt those plump mounds. I then took a candle, of fairly thick circumference, and oiled that as well. I then inserted it carefully into Ophelia's vagina. With this, I fucked her gently, until she spread her feet as wide apart as the chains allowed, jutting out her arse the better to receive this substitute prick. Now the oil and her own juices had made the candle quite slippery. I shoved it as deeply as possible into her vagina, and told her that I was going to give her 20 strokes, but if the candle fell out of her hole while I was doing so, she would get twice as many.

It was amusing to see. She could not crouch because the irons held her arms in an elevated position. So she stood as straight as possible, legs held wide apart by the irons, the yellow length of the candle protruding from her crotch like a fat slug, while I whipped her with exquisite pauses. Each time the leather strap hit her bottom, she was obliged to stay as still as possible, so there was only a slight tremor of her knees and the small bounce of her buttocks as the strap hit. Nonetheless, by the tenth stroke, the candle had slipped out somewhat, and with each further lash, it emerged a little more. On the 18th stroke, the candle fell out. She began begging at once. ‘Please massa, was only two more to go, doan beat me any more massa!' But I was adamant and did exactly as I promised, while she writhed and cried and screamed. When I was done, however, I unchained her and let her ease her burning bottom in the cool water of the bath-tub. I undressed and stepped into the tub.

Without having to be told, she began to soap me. My penis was hard and aching and I came almost as soon as she stroked me with her slippery palm. She averted her face as my semen spurted into the water.

Still sobbing, she asked, ‘Why you beat me so much, massa?'

‘Because I am your massa,' I told her.

This was not the entire truth, though. It may seem that my treatment of Ophelia is cruel. But my regime of punishment was no unconsidered matter. Slaves who rebelled as Ophelia did always bore the marks of their transgressions – both ears would be cropped or both nostrils slit, or at the very least they would be branded on the cheek. If a slave attempted to kill a master, or any white man, they would be executed. Ophelia had escaped all of these punishments simply because of her wondrous face and form. But I knew it could not last. There would come a time when she would be disfigured, or even hanged, if she did not learn her place. For her own good, therefore, I need to teach her obedience. But only drastic measures can work. Ophelia is docile now, because I keep her in continual terror and because she believes I cannot be harmed. But I have seen her original defiance, and I know I face no easy task. There is still rebellion in her, which she hides only to avoid worse punishment. But I know it is there. Some women are like wild animals: they can never be domesticated, but they may be tamed. Ophelia is one such.

January 14, 1829—

Varied Ophelia's training this week. Tied her to my bed with silk scarves, face-up. Since my four-poster bed is quite wide, she was spread-eagled to to fullest stretch of her limbs. Her breasts were pulled tight and her cunt yawned pinkly. Despite her fair skin, her labia are brown and plump. From the resigned expression on her face, I knew she thought I was going to rape her. Instead, I went into the bathing-room and returned with my razor. Her eyes widened when she saw its gleaming length and she began to pull against the scarves. But I had been a sailor, and my knots were well-tied. I sat down on the bed beside her and put my finger to my lips.

‘Don't scream or I will have to gag you,' I said.

‘Wha yuh gwine do?'

I didn't answer her, but dipped my shaving brush into my shaving cup and began to lather her cunt. Her thighs stiffened in dread, remaining so all through my careful removal of her pubic hair. When I was done, I wiped away the lather with my towel and leaned close to admire her baldness. A musky scent mixed with soap entered my nostrils. I badly wanted to suck her, but that would have been inappropriate. Instead, I went to the dressing-table and fetched a bottle of oil and, pouring a libation into my palms, I massaged her breasts and thighs thoroughly. Then I poured some oil directly onto her cunt and began to masturbate her. I had watched Ophelia so often through the peephole that I knew exactly what spot, what speed, what pressure, gave her the most pleasure. I proceeded very slowly, three times bringing her to the brink and stopping, so that the fourth time she was actually thrusting her newly-shaven cunt against my moving fingers that I might bring her to a climax.

I then opened the door and called Little Mimber inside. I took her from behind, against the door, while Ophelia lay bound to the bed and watched.

(It is a pity I can never publish these entries, for they are far better, in my opinion, than those of that scion of French nobility, the Marquis de Sade.)

January 21, 1829—

Should I always punish Ophelia on Thursdays? Or is it better to keep her uncertain, never knowing when she may transgress? Last Thursday, she spilled wine on the tablecloth while serving me. I said nothing, but that evening, I tied her face down to the bed. For the first time, I saw her trace of her old defiance, when she said she had done nothing to be whipped for. I told her about the wine, and she said she didn't think she should be beaten for that. ‘I disagree,' I said. I placed three pillows beneath her stomach so her arse was elevated high into the air. I have never seen a more erotic sight. Her arms were spread to their fullest extent, bound by blue silk cords. Her legs were bent at the knees, froglike, in an ungainly sprawl. Because of her position, her buttocks were pulled apart. I could see her most secret hole, and the pouch of her pussy beneath. Her thick yellow hair lay across the bed, partly obscuring her features. Had I the artistic skills, I would have spent the night carving her likeness. Though only after I had treated with those fleshy mounds as they deserved.

I used a short, flat strap with a cylindrical wooden handle. The end of the leather had been split into fronds. Ophelia had begun to get used to my belt. But this strap introduced her to a more exquisite pain, especially when the fronds impacted on the inner curve of her buttocks. She shouted then in true agony. I used this device on her for almost a full hour, by which time her shrill cries had subsided to whimpers. I then spent another 15 minutes, buggering her with the handle of the whip.

When she had come, I untied her and gave her the whip to wash off the shit which had stained the handle.

I think I will keep to the Thursday schedule. I will always find some excuse to punish her, but she must realize that she is being punished for the sake of punishment. I do not want her uncertain - I WANT her to know that her punishments will be as sure and as regular as the rising of the sun.

[Entries for the next four months are all in this vein. In May, Ophelia runs away but is found in three days – A.A.]

May 30, 1829—

When I returned with Ophelia, the carpenter and blacksmith had prepared the bathing room as I had instructed. Thus far, my sessions with Ophelia had lasted no more than an hour, at most three. ‘This will take the entire day,' I whispered in her ear, before I began. For it was clear that my lessons had not penetrated her, perhaps because I had not. I intended now to carry her into a world of pain where I was her god. First, I put an iron collar around her neck, and bent her over a small but solid mahogany table with a chain-and-ring set in its surface. The collar was attached to this, keeping her bent over. Her hands I tied behind her back. Her legs remained free, but because of her position, she was balancing on the balls of her feet. I started slowly. I spanked her buttocks with my bare hand, alternating five slaps on each buttock. It was not long before they blushed red. My slaps were at first gentle, but by the end of half-an-hour, the ceiling beams almost vibrated with each blow. Ophelia did not cry out, nor did I expect her to. She had endured far sharper pain on that plump portion of her anatomy over the past months.

After this, I used the short strap on her. Again I started slowly, with light blows. But it was not long before she began to wince. I did not increase the power of my blows, but I spanked her steadily for another half-an-hour. When I was through, I was sure her bottom felt as if it were afire. Still she had not cried out, and it was only as I was fetching my belt that she groaned in agony. It was not her bottom, though, but cramps which struck her hamstring and calves because of her position. I went back and massaged her legs until the muscles loosened – I did not want her to be distracted by pain not caused by me. The belt I used at half-strength: enough to bring forth yelps, but not screams. She did not beg – she knew it was useless to do so.

When I finished with the belt, her bottom was a fierce, almost glowing red. Then I took up the springy gauva-wood switches. On the first cut across her buttocks, Ophelia screamed. I hit her again at once, and continued without respite until the whip broke. But I had many switches to hand, and took up another with scarcely a pause, continuing to beat her with sharp, stinging strokes that cut red marks, then weals across her derriere.

At this point that something very strange occurred. Suddenly, it seemed to me that Ophelia was not a quadroon, but an Indian girl with long black hair. And, to my shock, I saw a pool of red spreading from beneath her stomach. But the greatest shock of all was my own reaction to this: a cold and cruel satisfaction. This state lasted only seconds, I believe, and then I saw that Ophelia had swooned.

I took the respite to recover, and also soothed Ophelia's backside with a gollypot of salve. My next plan was to haul Ophelia up by the newly-installed ceiling chains and spank her cunt, but it was at this point that she called my name. ‘Adam.' She had never called me anything but Mister Chardonbois or Massa.

‘Yes, Ophelia?' I asked.

She licked her lips and said, ‘Spank mi with yuh hand.'

I said, ‘What?' I was very surprised.

‘Spank mi wit yuh hand again.'

‘You like it?' I asked her.

She said, ‘Yes.'

So I spanked her. And, although I had enjoyed whipping her, the pretty way she jutted out her bottom to meet my spanks, and her ‘Ahs' of pain-and-pleasure made my cock rise hard within my trousers. When my arm got tired, she said, ‘Fuck me.'

Again I found myself saying, ‘What?' I had been waiting to hear those words for many months. But I had expected to wait many, many more.

She said, ‘Fuck me. Please.'

So I removed my clothes and, with Ophelia still bound and bent over, put my cock into her from behind. I came almost at once, violently, but so great was my excitement that I softened only a little and was able to continue thrusting vigorously into her warm slippery hole until, within minutes, I came once again. I barely unlocked all her restraints before collapsing, exhausted, on the bathing room floor.

[Diary entries for rest of year detail sexual relationship with Ophelia. Many perversions are described, including regular menage a trois with Little Mimber, Beneba and occasional other female slaves. There is never normal sex with Ophelia. She is described as a willing and even creative participant, but my own recollection, two hundred and seventy years later but unclouded by lust, is that Ophelia took part partly to avoid the more painful sex acts. Only the following August entry departs from this pattern – A.A.]