Whiplash (3 page)

He reached back into his velvet pouch, put another pinch of snuff in his lip, and spat it onto the exact same place on his boot.

“Again,” he said.  So, I cleaned it off - again.  The scenario replayed eight more times, and by the last one my tongue was raw, and the inside of my mouth and throat were covered in brown grime.  I was visibly relieved when he finally put that little, black pouch back into his coat pocket.

Julian reached into his left coat pocket and retrieved his handkerchief.  He thoroughly wiped his fingers and mouth before saying, “Ten, girl.  Your number is ten.  Now fall back in line.”  I shakily stood to my feet and resumed my place shoulder-to-shoulder with girl Number 9. 

Julian came over to stand right in front of me.  He used the same white cloth he’d just used, and wiped my chin and the corners of my mouth.  He slipped my blindfold back over my eyes and cinched it tight behind my head.  His hands slid down over my hair, down the sides of my face and shoulders, down the sides of my torso and hips, then paused there to rest.  He dug his fingers into the soft flesh there, and then dragged his fingernails downward over my skin until his hands came to rest at the apex of my thighs. 

He shoved his hand between my legs, parting them slightly, and pushed all four of his fingers inside of me.  It hurt… very much. Before I could bite my lip to stifle my whimper, the sound had escaped and floated away into the night air.  He slid his fingers back and forth, making several abrasive passes while he hummed casually. 

My head drooped in shame, and I began to cry again when Julian pressed his body up against mine. He pushed back the hair sticking to the side of my face, and whispered right into my ear.

              “It’s going to be almost too easy breaking you, my delightful little hussy. No matter – I’ll enjoy it all the same.”

My distaste for Julian Devereaux resulted in the the single most blood-boiling rage I’d ever known.  I’d make him suffer like he’d never imagined - even if that meant I’d have to do the same thing.

Chapter Two

I awoke the next morning to the sound of gentle tinkling. 
Tinkle-tinkle-tinkle…tinkle-tinkle-tinkle
.  My eyelids did a little tug-o-war as I struggled to peel them apart; they were fused together with a spackle-like mixture of dust and tears.  I scraped the side of my hand back and forth over them until they loosened up enough to open.  When my eyes surveyed my surroundings, I shut them closed and wished for it all to be a dream.  Lying atop a pile of hay, I allowed myself to recall the night before…

After the head count/whipping/disgusting humiliation, Julian walked us down a dirt path for about a mile.  When we stopped walking, he jerkily removed our blindfolds one-by-one and led us into an old abandoned stable that was already lit by wall-mounted oil lanterns.

The smell when he cracked that door open almost doubled me over in dry heaves.  It was obvious that nobody had ever bothered to clean up after the horses had been removed.  The stench of old feces and moldy hay was enough to wake the dead. Hundreds of flies buzzed around and filled the otherwise quiet night with a menacing hum.  Our line of girls trudged in hurriedly, all of us relieved at the prospect of a few hours of rest.

Julian drew the door shut behind me and lowered the cross bar, making doubly sure to secure it tightly.  Once the door was fastened, he stood absolutely still and quiet behind us before casually stalking up to me from behind.  He stopped walking when he was close enough for his body to press up against my back.  He put his hand on my right shoulder - still sore from bearing the weight of his boot for so long - and squeezed it with near bone-crushing force while placing a chaste kiss right at the top of my spine. He licked a trail up the nape of my neck and savored the taste of my sweat, loudly sucking it off his own tongue.

I shuddered out the breath I had been holding, both from the pain in my shoulder and the revulsion in my stomach, prompting Julian to grind his erection into my open palms, still tied together behind my back.   I swallowed my cry and shut my eyes tight to hold back the tears.  He stepped around me and advanced forward toward the front of the line.  On his way, he touched every girl on the line. Some, he caressed on the globes of their rear; others on their breasts or face.

“This,” he swept his hand in a waving motion to indicate the barn, “is your new home.  You will not leave this barn for any reason without being instructed to do so.  I meant what I said about owning you now.  I will keep y’all for as long as I please, but not a second more.  It is in all of your best interest not to cross me.  Do not give me cause to damage or even destroy my own property.”  He grabbed a big ring of keys from his belt and set about releasing us from our shackles.

After the chains were released from our necks and our wrists had been cut free, we were each led into a stall.  Inside my stall, there was rotting hay piled up to form a mound. Several manure piles littered the ground; most of them had completely dried out, but some were still fresh enough to attract flies and dung beetles.  At the very back of the enclosure, in the corner, a small hole had been dug and the dirt from it sat in a big drum off to the side.  I figured the hole was about 4 feet deep, hardly voluminous enough to serve as a privy.  There was hardly any space between where my head would lay at night and that hole.  I imagined how awful it would be to sleep next to my own waste in a hot, moldy barn after only a few days.

Once we were all in our stalls, Julian addressed us again.  “I can tell by the look on some of your faces that your sleeping quarters aren’t to your liking.  Well I’d be happy to accommodate anyone who is less than pleased.  Perhaps a night or two in the hotbox will inspire a change of opinion… Are there any volunteers?”  He paused for a moment, as if he’d actually thought any of us would take him up on the offer.  

“No?  No one at all?  Well then, I bid you wenches a good night.  Rest assured, this will be the best one you’ll ever have.  Thank you for your cooperation, gals.  Get to sleep.”

He exited the barn and closed the door behind him.  The sound of iron scraping against iron came next, followed by an earth-shaking BOOM as the barn door was secured and locked from the outside.

None of us spoke.  We just stood in deafening silence for several minutes before a few of the girls broke down crying.  I fought back my own tears as they began to sting my eyes and blur my vision.  I couldn’t show any weakness in that moment – I had to draw on my own strength. It wasn’t as if any of the other girls could have helped me anyway, because we were all in the same sinking boat, together.

Another tinkling of that bell brought me back to the present.  Steeling my resolve, I took a deep breath and made a move to sit upright.  Tightness pulled across my chest and down toward my navel.  It felt like I was made of leather and being stretched beyond the limits.  Looking down, I saw my flesh had been raised into an angry, red welt from the lash of Julian’s bullwhip.  The stripe spanned from my left shoulder almost clear down to my right hip, bisecting my torso. 

He had marked me, and I was none too pleased.  My skin had always been a point of pride for me - not nearly as light as some of the girls in the barn, but beautiful and flawless nonetheless.  Dark bronze in color, it was a blend of the dark chocolate tones of my father’s skin, and the burnt toffee hues of my mother’s.  Julian had marred its pristine surface for no other reason than to satisfy his own twisted desires.   Pushing my hatred for Julian aside for the moment, I sought out the source of that bell’s tinkle and stood up to assess my surroundings.

Between the two rows of enclosures stood a colored woman holding a little hand bell, gently shaking her wrist to produce that little jingle that had awoken me.  She was about five and a half feet in stature, with inky black hair coiffed to perfection around the delicate beige skin of her face.  Her eyes, so deceptively kind, were big, round, and the color of sun-burnt wheat.  Around her long, slender neck was a choker-like necklace studded with different types of sparkling jewels.  Her breasts were full, and they almost spilled over the neckline of a delicate, ivory, satin bodice that encased her narrow torso.  Full, shimmering skirts flowed out from her cinched waistline before stopping barely an inch above the ground.   Simply put, she was beautiful, and she might’ve looked like a dream if I’d not been stuck in a nightmare. She waited until we were all standing with our eyes on her before she spoke to us.

“Good morning, ladies.”  She smiled warmly and waited for us all to return her greeting.  A few of the girls did; I did not. “My name is Vivian, and I’ll be your overseer.  In case you’ve not been made aware of what your duty will be, I will make it plain for you.  You are here as the whores of this estate.  Master Devereaux has decided to revisit a business venture involving services catered to…
gentlemen callers.
” 

She looked around at all of our stunned faces and took on a leisurely stride up and down the midline of the barn.  “I’ll be with you every day, readying you to serve the patrons of Maison Devereaux upon its completion.  You’ll learn to think, act, dress, and entertain as a wench should. You won’t like me, and that’s okay.  I’m not here to be your friend.  My sole purpose here is guaranteeing the success of a business.”

Once she laid out the specifics of what our daily routine would be, she lined us up for a head count - luckily, without the whip - gave us each a modest dress to wear, and led us out of the barn toward an open pavilion set in a central courtyard.  Although it was still the early morning, the sun was already torturing us with the heat of its rays.  Sweat dripped freely down my face and neck before splitting off to run down my back or between my breasts.  The salty fluid stung me as it ran down over the welt I’d gotten the previous night.  I sighed in relief when we made it to the shade of the pavilion. 

Several black-skinned slaves were already situated under the hood, gathered in small groups, eating at wooden tables.  I caught a glimpse of what they had in their dishes and prayed to God that we’d not be forced to eat it.  It appeared to be leftover from the previous night’s dinner at the Big House, and it had all been mixed and mashed together to form a slop more suitable for hogs than humans; if that’s what we even were anymore.

Vivian walked us over to a bin full of different fruits and vegetables. I gathered handfuls of berries, corn, and tomatoes; there wasn’t much else to choose from.  It was late summer, and before the autumn crop would be made available to us, the summer harvest had to be eaten.  I dipped myself a cup full of lukewarm water from a barrel and fell back in line.

Once I placed my plate on the tabletop and sat down, I was absolutely ravenous.  Truth be told, I’d never cared much for tomatoes, but I’d eaten all four of those I had on my plate before some of the other girls had finished one.  I ate up the berries and corn with the same zeal and then gulped down my water in mere seconds.  Because it’d been several days since I’d eaten, the influx of nourishment made me feel a little bit ill.  I pushed back from the table, folded my arms on the edge of it, and rested my head on top of them. 

I was staring at the ground, watching the movement of the shadows being cast by my swinging legs when another moving shadow blocked out all of the sunlight I’d been using to entertain myself.  Warily, I raised my head and peered over my shoulder to see a broad, sweaty, wall of muscle fast approaching me.

I felt my body temperature shoot up to a blistering level.  It
was
hot outside that morning, but by that time my body had already become adjusted to the day’s weather.  That man seared me with one glance, and the mere sight of him made me squirm in my chair.  His butterscotch complexion and honeyed eyes made my mouth water, and I wondered if he was as sweet as he looked.

I had to look away before I leapt right up out of my seat and into his sculpted arms.  I snuck a peek at his backside when he turned right.  I could see the rippling musculature contract and flex under the cloth of his trousers.  I think I licked my lips before turning my head back around to face Vivian and the girls.  Everyone had stopped eating - some in mid-bite - and was looking down the table at me, sitting there all glassy eyed and practically panting.

Vivian was staring at me with one eyebrow raised.  Her hands were clasped together, with her forefingers steepled and propped up in the hollow under her chin.  She seemed to be waiting for me to explain myself, but I waited for her to speak first.  After a few tense moments, she did. 

“Number 10, you’ll do well to mind your own affairs.  The field hands’ comings and goings are not any of
your
concern.   

“I- I’m sorry, Miss Vivian. I wasn-“

“Mis
TRESS
Vivian.”

“Ma’am?”

“I said it’s Mis
TRESS
Vivian, to you.  As your overseer, I demand that you give me the utmost respect.  Call me Mistress, and don’t force me to correct you on that point ever again.” 

Her voice was raised now, and everyone under the pavilion stopped talking amongst themselves and turned to observe the activity at our table. 

It incensed me - Vivian sitting at the head of the table as if she were actually
somebody,
talking to me as if I were not.  Hell, she was nothing more than a nigger gal herself.  Underneath all her silky clothes and sparkling jewels was just another piece of Master’s property.  Yet, there she was, talking down to me like I was actually beneath her; and right in front of everybody. 

“
Mistress?
”  I retorted.  “I thought that title was reserved for a Master’s wife; maybe even just an intimate partner.  But
you
?  Aren’t
you
just the
help?”
 

With a satisfied sigh, I sat back in my chair and waited for her to respond.  Daintily, she folded a napkin she’d been using and laid it on the table beside her half-empty plate.  She stood, smoothed out the wrinkles of her skirt, and came to stand at my shoulder.  When I looked up at her, she backhanded me across the right side of my face, sending my head spinning to the left.  The metallic taste of blood splashed across my tongue, and I used my hand to wipe away some that had made it to the corner of my mouth.

I shot up out of my seat like a cannon, and whirled around to face her.  She stood just as tall as I did, but I knew that her fancy shoes had boosted her up three or four inches.  My eyes shot fire straight into hers.  I slowly unclenched my fists and flexed my fingers to create a nice, wide-open palm. Just as I was about to raise my hand to slap her face, the familiar ‘CRACK’ of Julian’s bullwhip snapped everyone still and quiet.

Vivian became second priority to staying out of the range of that torture device.  Everyone under the pavilion had their attention set to Julian; the field slaves, the overseers positioned at each corner, the girls, even the dogs lying about had their heads raised and cocked to the side in question.

“Well now, what have we here?”  Julian asked as he walked toward our table, returning his bullwhip to its coiled state.  Upon his approach, he caught sight of my face and his eyes widened slightly before narrowing into angry slits. 

“Vivian, are you responsible for this?” His eyes were still focused on my quickly swelling lip, and he didn’t even look away when Vivian answered.

“Yes, Jul-…Yes Sir, I am.”

“And why is that?”