"Well.... do you accept my offer then, Mary-Beth?"
My pale fingers pressed together on my lap, like a diver, about to leap into
deep water. I glanced up at the man behind the desk. Large, bald, and very
Black, almost midnight in hue. He was dressed in an expensive dark gray silk
suit, arms resting on the polished surface, watching us carefully.
I turned to look at my daughter, Laura, sitting beside me. She had stopped her
fidgeting as our conversation had drawn to what was obviously an awful
conclusion. My husband was dead - everything we had was gone. He had always told
me, if I were in trouble to go and see Peter. I was trying to straighten things
out myself when Peter had phoned to come and see him. I had never expected to
hear what he had just said.
We were in deep trouble. The law would soon be after us for reasons I didn't
really understand. All that was between us and... terrible things including
having Laura separated from me... was... quite simply... to agree to becoming a
slave!
"For Laura as well?" I asked, pulse racing.
"My offer includes the two of you: Mary-Beth and your dau, Laura."
I looked at Laura again; and she looked at me: how much did she understand?
I put my arm around her shoulders. "Will you be gentle with her, please?
She's..."
"Very young. You said that already. And I already said I will be kind to both of
you. The last time I ask. Will you? Or not?" He looked significantly at the door
we had come though less than half an hour ago.
I took a deep breath, straightened up, took my arm off my daughter's shoulders,
and looking into his eyes said:
"I accept."
There was a silence between the three of us. His low voice rumbled again:
"Laura is still technically a minor. Do you accept both for yourself and for
your daughter to become my slaves?"
I fought back panic. "I accept for both of us."
Laura looked up at me. I couldn't bear to meet her eyes. I looked down at the
corner of the large polished desk, my heart thudding in my chest. "Evelyn!" he
called. I heard the receptionist come in, a handsome black woman who had ushered
us into his office.
"Mary-Beth and Laura need transportation to my residence. Now. Have a car
waiting by the time we get to the front of the building. Phone my home and tell
my wife to expect two white slaves, yes, white slaves. Tell her who they are,
she knows them. Then arrange to have men come and clear their apartment, you
have the address. I don't want anything left there that belongs to them or
refers to us. Michael can take charge of it. Go on."
He got up from the desk and gave me his arm. "Mary-Beth" he said. "You have done
the right thing." He put his arm around my daughter's thin shoulders as she got
up with me. "You both have done the right thing. Laura, you should be proud of
your mother. She's a brave woman, like your father was a brave man."
"If he was so brave...." she piped up and we both looked at her. She went quiet.
Peter still held her by the shoulders as he moved us to the elevator.
In the elevator we went down fast, I could feel it in my tummy. We stood in
front of him as he looked at us. I saw ourselves in the mirror behind him. A
middle-aged blonde, dressed in a smart purple business suit and cream blouse,
hair up in a tight bun. Long face, cheekbones slightly high. By my side a girl
who reached to my shoulders, ponytail, hair the colour of ripe straw. She had
the same features as me, still soft with youth, wearing a denim jacket, short
skirt, and white boots to her knee. Peter looked us over: his gaze started with
my face, then down my front between my breasts, to my thighs, knees, and strappy
high heeled shoes. Then to my daughter, looking at her face, down her front, her
skirt, her legs, to her boots... He started on me again, but the lift stopped
and the door opened. He smiled, and stepping out before us, gave me his arm
again, and took Laura by her shoulder.
"Everything will be fine, you will see" he murmured. The enormous car stood
waiting for us, door opened. We scrambled inside (he made Laura go first) and
the door slammed. It was lovely, soft and luxurious inside. I looked back to see
him wave us away. I made a small gesture with my hand at him as we glided off
and rounded the corner.
I knew the house. We had been there a few times. Large and white, in its own
grounds. I took Laura's hand and walked up the steps. Before I had time to look
for the bell, the door opened, and a Black man stood in the doorway.
"Please...." We entered into the hallway: large, spacious, marbled. The door
slammed shut behind us. He pointed to an oak chest at the side.
"Slaves strip naked here, put belongings into chest. Then wait until they are
called." With that, he strode off, into a door at the side.
Laura gasped and grabbed my arm. I looked at her, and our eyes met.
"Oh my God! Mom! Does that mean..."
"Yes hun. Yes... Oh my God is right."
"But..."
"Oh my God. It's part of being a slave here, I suppose. Oh no..."
"Can't we..."
I shook my head. "Where?"
My heart was throbbing hard by now, as I opened the chest and saw a litter of
women's clothing lying in it. I had my purse in my hand. I placed it inside the
chest. In it were brassieres and panties, skirts, blouses, discarded stockings
and shoes. They looked old, as if they'd been there for years. I took off my
jacket and placed it in there.
"You too, hun."
Laura took a look at my face, and unhappily, took her favorite jacket off and
placed it carefully over mine. I nodded to her. "Rest of it too, hun." I was
already unbuttoning my blouse, pulling it off. As she was struggling with her
t-shirt, I quickly undid my brassiere and threw it in. I helped her off with her
skirt, trying not to notice her eyes on my breasts. She leaned to take her boots
off, I kicked my shoes off and we dropped them all into the chest. We looked at
each other, blushing a little, nodded, and together skinned our panties off and
tossed them in after the rest of our clothes. She carefully shut the lid.
"Mom.. those other clothes in there... whose are they?"
I shook my head "I don't know hun. They looked old."
"Yeah. Can I hold your hand mom? Why did the man say dad had been brave?"
I took her hand as we stood naked in the hall in front of the chest. "Dad's gone
now, hun. We have to look after each other. Peter is a good man."
"Is he mom? He was looking at me funny... and now we're naked. Suppose anyone
sees us?"
I shook my head. "I think we're going to have to get used to not wearing
clothes, hun."
"Oh." My poor Laura, usually in such good spirits, always ready with a smile and
a positive word. Her breasts were just beginning to blossom on her lithe
athletic body. She looked cowed already, defeated.
Another door opened, and Peter's wife walked into the hallway. We had met: not
often, but frequently enough. I had always thought of her as a friend. Her
glance at us had none of the friendship we had shared. "You will both from now
on address me as Madam" was the first thing she told us. "And my husband is
Master." She looked down at Laura. "What's your name, young bitch?"
"Laura... M.. Madam."
Her reaction was swift and unexpected. She slapped poor Laura hard on the face.
Laura began to cry and she grabbed her by the hair. "Wrong."
"I AM Laura, Madam!"
"Not any longer. You're now a young white bitch. That's you name. Young white
bitch. Say it."
"Young white bitch" she sobbed. I clutched Laura's hand hard.
"Don't forget it." She turned to me. "Well?"
"Old white bitch, Madam?"
The blow of my face was sudden - I could feel the room shaking with the force of
it, and my cheek reddened. I had never been hit on the face before. I felt a
wave of sudden anger, quickly followed by a numbing despair.
"White bitch. White bitch, understand? Don't get smart with me. Say it."
"White bitch, Madam."
"Don't hold hands. Follow me, white bitch first."
We followed her down the corridor. I could still hear Laura sobbing a little
behind me. We were taken to a small room with no windows which smelt of urine
and chemicals. Madam filled the space in it by herself, we crammed in,
uncomfortably close to her.
"These are your quarters. You pee and shit into that hole over there, you wash
in the tap over it. Don't try to drink the water, it comes from the sea. The
hose is for washing out your bums and cunts. Over there" she nodded to a small
pile of blankets in the corner "you can sleep. Apart from your head hair, you've
to be shaved completely, from head to toe, yes, even your eyebrows, bitch. Both
of you will cut your hair so it's down to your shoulders. Razors and combs are
over there. Understand?"
Close up beside her in the small room, we both nodded, shocked at the tirade of
words that flowed from her.
"Any marks or blemishes that have not been put on your bodies by us you will be
punished for. In this room you do not talk to each other although I imagine you
filthy white bitches will want to console yourselves with your bodies. Do it in
silence at least. Tonight, after dinner, you will be paraded in front of the
family, so make sure you're ready, arses well washed out inside. Now, I know
you're both thick as shit, but I'll ask anyway. Is there anything you don't
understand?"
I shook my head dumbly. We were the lowest of the low; we had been reduced to
absolute zeros. First our man; then our apartment and belongings; our clothes
and then our very names. I only hoped that Peter - Master - when he came would
leaven the rage this woman had for us. She sneered and shook her head back at
me.
"No? Well, you dumb white bitch, make sure that you and your spawn are ready
when we need you. Oh, fuck the pair of you. You make me sick. That miserable
failure of a husband of yours, I told Peter he was stupid trash from the start,
and now we're saddled with both of what he left behind."
She looked at me as if a new idea had struck her. "Hold your head up, bitch."
I stood with my head raised, afraid of what was going to happen.
She slapped me hard over the face. The second time was also painful, far more
despair inside of me than anger. "That's for the crap I had to put up with you
from all these years." She made a fist and punched me so hard in the breast I
fell against the wall. "And that's for breeding with that cunt. You, young
bitch...." I was gasping for breath, in agony, doubled up, as I saw Madam slap
her face, shouting at her, and then punch her in the belly so she fell over the
shithole.
We were both groaning in pain, trying to lift ourselves to standing, when she
left, slamming the door behind her.
I only hoped that this would pass. I held onto Peter's promise that he would be
kind to us. Of course, he had never said anything about his wife. What else was
there to take?
"Why, mum?"
"Ssshhhh" finger on lips, stroking her hair. Because we have to, I said to her
with my eyes. Because there is no other option.
Somehow we managed to get ourselves back together. There was a single bulb in
the high ceiling, and we wordlessly spent what felt like hours going over each
other's bodies with a razor, carefully scrubbing off all the hair: everything
went, even the little pale hairs that Laura had on her body since she was a
baby. Without eyebrows, Laura looked very young. I later saw that it made both
of us look so, but after we had been there a few weeks, we had grown used to
that look.
Undoing, brushing and cutting the hair on our heads took ages, but we finally
managed to make a decent enough trim that ended at our shoulders. We washed each
other under the cold tap, squealing a little and shivering. There seemed to be
nothing to dry ourselves with, so we took it in turns to wipe each other's
bodies with our hands. My breast still hurt where Madam had punched me, and I
was gentle over Laura's little tummy.
The hose stuck one end on the tap, and the other end was tapered, so when I put
it into my bottom, it slid in, almost with ease. I gently turned the tap on,
Laura watching me with concern. I felt the cold water roll inside me, making my
hips and tummy feel shaky. At the point where it began to get painful, I turned
the tap off, withdrew the hose, and squatted down over the hole. Ahhh... relief!
I put the hose in again, and this time Laura turned the tap on... very slowly,
as I had done before. I felt myself filling again with the cold water, and
nodded to Laura when to stop. In all, it took four fillings for me to be
satisfied that I had washed my bottom properly, Laura working the tap.
I made Laura squat, and gently pushed the end of the hose in her little bottom.
She moaned in discomfort, and I patted her head. I turned the tap on and watched
her face startle as she felt the water enter inside her. A frantic waving of the
hand. I turned it off. When I took the hose out, she gushed into the hole and
sat crouched there, panting, blinking tears. After a moment I put the hose back
inside her for her next dose...
Several times that afternoon we almost spoke again, but one of us always managed
to silence the other with a small smile and a finger on the lips. We lay cuddled
on the blankets, the floor hard underneath us, not enough for covering. Her
naked body nestling against mine, my arms over her shoulders. Why had we never
done this before? I asked myself. I remember in that moment the sweetness of my
daughter's embrace was almost too lovely to bear.
Her hands lay soft on my breasts, and I felt my nipples rising as I thought of
our two shaven bodies lying side by side. My hand slid down her tummy, and
sought out her little slit. She was already moist and looked at me with wide
eyes and my finger crept deeper inside her pussy. I felt her hand over my
vagina, fingers slipping easily inside, reaching my clitty. She began to breathe
short little sips of air and arched her back away from me, presenting her pussy
by opening out her legs. I watched her start her orgasm, and then felt as if I
was floating through the air as the wave inside me rose and crashed over,
sending me into a delicious spasm of cumming. I don't remember ever having one
so good.
We had both cum. Hard. We lay looking at each other, still breathing rapidly,
when there was a harsh banging on the door. We flew apart, Laura sitting up, as
the door crashed open. It was the man who had admitted us. Our hearts were
pounding with guilt.
"Time for slaves" was all he said. "Follow me, little bitch first."
Laura gave me a look miming thanks to God as we got up and left the room. We
walked down corridors into the better furnished part of the house. I watched
Laura's body move gracefully, head turning from time to time to look
inquisitively at some of the elegant furnishings. My pussy still felt squelchy,
I wondered if hers did too. It was night outside, and lights were on everywhere.
We passed several servants padding around in uniform who did not seem to see us.
All white, I noticed.
We stopped at a small room, at the other end of which was a large door to
somewhere from which there were voices and the sounds of plates and glasses.
Laura and I looked at each other in hope, because it had been morning since we
had last eaten. You know how hunger makes the sense of smell keen. The man
rummaged around but all he gave us each was a candle, and then set a little
yellow paper crown over each of our heads, pulling our hair gently with his
stubby brown fingers so it fell down naturally around our bare white shoulders.
He produced two paper sashes, of the same color, on which was written 'HAPPY
BIRTHDAY'. A little fumbling, and we donned the sashes, over one shoulder,
between our breasts, and down to the hip on the opposite side. He adjusted
Laura's to the size of her small body. Laura looked like a parody of a young
beauty queen.
He sniffed our pussies and we both blushed. "Hot bitches... good... Hold candles
out in your right hands, yes, like this. Good bitches." He lit the candles at
the same time as we heard people in the room singing the happy birthday song. I
strained to hear. "Happy birthday, dear Michael..." The old man grinned. "Young
Michael, he's 19 today, a fine man, like his father. You two bitches are his
birthday present. He's gonna love the two of you... you look really pretty...
Oho... they stopped singing. Okay little pretty bitches, off you go, walk side
by side, slowly, to Master Michael."
Oh no - with us still wet from cumming! The room was not brightly lit for which
I uttered silent thanks. Around a large table full of plates and glasses, now
turned towards us, were Master, Madam, the daughter Jenine who was only two
years older than Laura, and Master Michael, tall, athletically built, with a
thin frizz of beard around the edge of his jaw. I had known them all socially.
Now I was walking to them slowly, bare-footed over the parquet flooring, naked,
shaved, and holding a glowing candle, my daughter beside me. I caught sight of
us in a mirror at the back. We could almost have been sisters. The paper crowns,
the sashes, the way our blond hair fell... one smaller and more petite version
of the other, down to the sizes of our breasts.
"Stop" Master rumbled. I glanced at him. Michael was sitting with his back to
the table. We stopped a few paces in front of him, seeing him looking at us with
interest. His gaze glanced over our breasts, then alternated between Laura's
bare pussy and mine. Did he notice? He gave a small boyish sigh of pleasure.
Master got up and stood between us and Michael.
"You will soon be a man, my son, and a man needs women around him. I know you've
sometimes said how much you liked the mother bitch, and so I've got her here for
you." His black hand passed over my breast, and squeezed it. "They're white
bitches, but they're rewarding to own. You, mother bitch, you're going to make
sure that both you and the young bitch learn to serve Master Michael correctly.
You, young bitch, you're going to learn how to love and look after your Master
so he's always got some pretty eye-candy around him."
He beckoned to Michael, who stood up, already I could see with a considerable
erection.
"Thanks dad" he grinned shyly.
"You're going to have to learn how to enforce discipline, how to make these
bitches do exactly what you want them to do."
"I got a great role model, dad." That earned him a smile from his father as well
as his mother, sitting close to her daughter on the other side of the table.
Tonight was a man's night. The skins of the two men glowed in the soft lighting.
Michael took Laura by the wrist, and gently held the candle up. He steadied it
in his hand, and then blew out the flame. Laura gave a small gasp. He took the
candle off her, and flicked it, spattering her with the wax diagonally over her
body. Laura screamed - more from shock, I hoped, and he held her arm tightly in
his big black one, getting down to a crouch in front of her, face right in front
of her pussy.
"You gonna be my nice little bitch?"
"Y.. yes, Master Michael." I could hear the terror of not addressing him
correctly in her voice. He touched her pussy lips with his finger, up from
underneath. Did he feel anything?
"And you gonna give me a little pussy every night I want it?"
"Yes of course Master Michael."
He straightened up and looked down on her. "Of course you will, bitch. And your
mommy's gonna teach you too."
He stood in front of me and took my hand which held the candle.
"This is the bitch I always had wet dreams about" he looked over my body,
tracing the line of my breasts with his finger. "Thanks, dad." He puffed gently
at my candle, and blew out the flame so the wick smoked. He took it out of my
unresisting fingers, held it over my breast, and poured a little candle wax over
my nipple... it stung, but not so painfully I made a noise.
"Dad says you have to kneel in front of me and make a wish, each of you....
so... down you go..." We knelt down, side by side, Laura's bare arm brushing
mine.
"Little bitch...." he addressed Laura. "Put your hands together... yeah... now,
what do you wish me?"
Laura looked a little nonplussed, blinked a few times, and then said "A happy
and successful life, Master Michael. With me to care for you."
He stroked her cheek. I knew she was afraid he would hit her, but he didn't. "Is
that what you really wish?" he asked. She nodded. "Wow... that's what I call a
real gift! You, mommy bitch... what do you want to wish me?" His dark eyes
locked with mine. I smiled, putting my hands together in front of me as Laura
had done, and bending my head a little. "The same, Master Michael. Many
possessions, wise decisions."
He slapped the side of my arm. "I think I already prefer the young bitch."
His father stood behind us, and put his big hands on our shoulders. "Well, I
think it's time for Michael to get to play with his new pets, don't you think,
ladies? Michael, take the little bitch just now, I want a word with this one."
And suddenly, we were being steered away. Michael led Laura by the hand, as if
she was his girlfriend, but Master held me hard by the nape of the neck. The
room he pushed me into was a study, books on the walls, a desk, the lot.
He eased himself down on the chair, I stood in front of him, feeling slightly
silly: naked, still in the paper crown and the sash. My pussy still felt wet.
Was he looking? Moments passed.
"Well?" He rumbled.
"It's... not what I expected, Master" I said cautiously. "I think I may have
made a mistake."
"No."
"Pardon me?"
"You haven't. You wanted this. And you wanted it for your daughter too. Look how
quickly you agreed to all that nonsense this afternoon. You were made to be
slaves. All you white girls with your superior smiles and your flaunting looks.
Every time you look at a man, you provoke them. Take me if you dare, you say to
our faces. And most white men are weak. Even when they marry you and make you
bear their litters, they still don't dare to put you where you need to be. Your
husband was a feeble cunt. He's dead, and now I've taken the pair of you. If you
weren't born to be a slave you'd have protested, tried to run, not co-operated.
Did you?"
"But..."
"That's right, you didn't, you're a stupid white bitch, born for slavery. And
so is your daughter. You both crave Black cock, and we're going to teach you to
love it."
I gasped at the unfairness and injustice of it all. "You said, you'd be gentle!
I thought you'd protect us, look after..."
"Stop it." He got up and raised his hand over me. "Don't expect any kindness
from me, you piece of trash."
I realised he'd enjoyed saying every word. I was mesmerised. I cringed, looking
up at his hand. He seized me by my nipple, the breast where Madam had punched
me, and pulled me upright - oh it hurt enough!
"Do you think I'm going to slap you? Or do you think people don't do that to
people?"
"Please..." I gasped.
His heavy black hand came crashing down over my face, and he pushed me back too
so I fell sprawling at his feet, my head dizzy. Perhaps I banged myself on the
floor as well. I stared up at him, my legs wide open, pussy glistening,
shameless.
"Black people do what they like to white bitches. It pleases us to forget you
were ever human in the way we treat you." His shoe was near my pussy. I didn't
dare move. "You'll get enough inside that pussy tonight, I won't spoil Michael's
fun. He's young, he can cum over and over again. Get up."
I scrambled to my feet, breathing hard.
"Straighten yourself up, bitch, so it doesn't look as if I've been manhandling
you."
I looked in the mirror. One side of my face was red, and my paper crown was
askew. I straightened it on my head, and smoothed the sash down. I stroked my
red cheek and gave him a small smile.
"Not... ever? For old times?..."
"Don't be an asshole. You teach your bitch daughter how to serve Michael,
because she'll be his slave for life. When you get old and stupid, we'll farm
you out somewhere, so make sure she learns. Michael has to learn too, how to
behave decently, but I want him to retain his natural arrogance. If I notice him
becoming docile, I shall cut off your daughter's tits however big they are and
throw her on the rubbish heap after them. I know you're a clever one, you went
to college. But here you're fuckmeat, you're for fucking and beating. Bitch."
My last hope had been extinguished. After our names and identities, the last
thing to be taken was that we were people. I felt I had thrown us into
free-fall, a dizzying dropping with nothing at our feet. I swayed and grasped
the wall for support. He watched me, looking at the effect of his words on me. I
saw him nod imperceptibly. It was a nod as of confirmation to himself and it
chilled my heart.
He opened the door and led me out. "Michael's room is down the end of the
corridor, here. I'm not going to interrupt him tonight, let him have his fun.
Knock, and enter when he calls." With that, he turned his back and strode off. I
had no option. I walked slowly down the carpeted corridor in my bare feet to the
heavy wooden door.
I raised my hand, and knocked, firmly. I heard a small scream inside, and then
Michael's "Who that?"
"Mother bitch" I replied.
"Git your ass in then."
Something had already gone horribly wrong. I saw Laura huddled in a bundle in a
corner of the large bed, weeping. Michael was standing in the centre of the
room, completely naked. His cock! It was as long as my forearm, and as thick as
my wrist. He had been circumcised, and his cockhead gleamed in the light, the
rest of his shaft a darker, velvety brown springing rampantly from a mound of
dark pubic hair under his athlete's stomach. His large balls swung loosely
beneath. In one hand, he held a wide leather belt, doubled up. His other hand
held his cock half way along its incredible length, pointing it at Laura.
"The little bitch won't let me fuck her" he snarled. "I'm going to beat the crap
outta her until she says yes."
"Noooooo...." wailed Laura.
I stepped in front of Michael, and put my hands on his bare chest, heart
beating, thinking calming thoughts. The tip of his cock brushed against my
stomach. "I think Laura is scared of the size of your manhood, Master Michael.
It might be better to get her used to it by slow degrees."
He smiled at me - he was still a teenager with an impulse to warmth. "I want a
fuck, bitch" but he was more gentle.
I turned to my daughter. "Laura? Come here and don't be offended. Michael wants
to enjoy us, not to damage us." I took her hand and we stood in front of
Michael. She was very shaky, I saw there were already a few weals on her skin
from the belt. "Go on, kneel down in front of your new Master and take his cock
into your mouth.... that's it..."
Laura's fingers didn't go round the girth of it, and her mouth barely took the
bulge at the front of his cock. It hurt me suddenly, to see my daughter kneeling
in front of Michael, so intimate with a man, her slender whiteness against his
large black body.
"You too, bitch... do it together.... I never had two bitches suck me at
once..." High-spirited, like a child in a sweetshop. I realised that with his
girth he might not have the chance to make love to a normal woman.
Later, he raped me for the first time while Laura knelt close by on the bed and
watched. I tried not to show my pain so as not to frighten her, but when he
later raped my asshole, plunging himself inside my guts all the way I was unable
to help myself and cried in anguish as he split me apart. Laura learnt to clean
and suck him off, and then we settled on the bed, my pussy and bottom still
throbbing dully, leaking with blood and cum. None of us could sleep immediately.
Michael stroked our bodies; played with my large breasts and Laura's small perky
ones; stroked our pussies, put his finger into Laura's. He made us turn around
and stroked our backs and bottoms, until finally we cuddled up on either side of
him, stroking his chest and belly. Laura dropped off to sleep first as her
stroking became quieter and quieter. Then he, with a loud sobbing sigh...
In the early morning, I woke to find him shaking my shoulder, leaning on his arm
above my head.
"What... Oh... M... Master?"
"I want to fuck your dau, Mary-Beth. Will you help me, please?"
"Oh God! Just the tip, Michael. If you go too deep you might kill her.... here
Laura... don't be afraid honey... it's going to happen soon anyway and Michael
has to be able to hold his head up when his dad asks him did he have us both the
first night." I smiled at him, and started playing with Laura's pussy. "Michael,
suck her little titties and tickle her nips with your tongue. Let's get her nice
and wet for you..."
With some sobbing and crying, we managed to insert the head of his cock into my
daughter's pussy, and true to his word, he only fucked her very shallow and I
stroked his shaft and balls with my hands to make him cum. After he had spurted
his seed inside her he was extremely tender and cradled her shaking white body
in his big muscular black arms. All of a sudden, a bond seemed to have arisen
between us - how I could not imagine. Born slaves?
Time passed; we dozed, Michael holding Laura's body to him as she stopped her
sobbing and fell asleep again, one hand over her pussy. And then he woke again
and told us to get out and return to our room. Did we know where our room was? I
nodded. "Michael... we're very hungry, we haven't eaten since yesterday
morning...."
We were sitting on the edge of the bed. He was silent for a moment; then he
suddenly growled, got up, grabbed our heads by the hair, and banged them
together, hard. We squealed and howled, loosing balance and falling against each
other's bodies.
"You filthy bitches!" I could see a young man's anger masking panic in his face.
"Some sweet talk and you think you own me, right?" He banged out heads together
again. Laura was weeping loudly. "Shut the fuck up! No more sweet talk. You are
bitches. You are slaves. Slaves call me Master and I call them bitches, right?"
He shook our heads again but this time he didn't bang them together. "You filthy
bitches go back to your room and be ready when I call you." He flung us away
from him."Now!!!"
I took Laura by the hand, and we turned to creep out, weeping quietly.
"No... stop." More gently. "Little bitch.... come here and help me shower. You,
mommy bitch.... get this room straightened. It looks a filthy mess." It was a
typical boy's bedroom: clothes strewn everywhere; magazines, records, memories
of younger interests gathering dust on the shelves. Posters of Black pop idols.
I could hear a giggling and laughter in the shower; they both emerged, looking
like superb young animals. "Go on mommy bitch... take a shower.... you can
finish later... little bitch here is gonna learn to dress me."
And so it was that later we walked down to breakfast, following the lead of our
Master: Laura, and then I. We knelt on either side of him and he gave us little
bits of food from his fingers while his parents sat back with grins on their
faces. The two white serving girls in their uniforms pretended not to notice us,
and when breakfast was over Jenine was allowed to take Laura away to "show her
some toys."
"See what I mean?" said Michael's father as he passed me on his way out. "Born
to be a slave."
***
All this took place in 1982, the year my husband died. It was a terrible 24
hours for both of us, all the more so because I later came to realise that I had
in fact been rushed and swindled into making myself and my daughter into slaves.
I know the 1980s were not good times for Black American families, but it was
also a very bad time for our family.
For four years we lived in terror of his thick black cock. By the end of that
time Laura was old enough to bear the force of his passion as well as his anger.
She was always a comfort to me, when I would be thrown back into that small room
after the usual savage abuse by Michael, his father, or some other friends or
relations to whom I was their white cum-bag or whipping-girl. And when it was
her turn, I would try to comfort her quietly and make her remember that things
like love and compassion exist. Sometimes we would both struggle together
limping to that hateful room, sobbing bitterly and holding each other for
support.
Jenine used to enjoy hurting her and humiliating her, sometimes in front of
other girls of her own age. Laura and I used to mouth each other's names in the
darkness, a finger on each other's lips, to remind ourselves of who we were,
because otherwise we would have forgotten our names and responded only to
'bitch.' As she grew older, Jenine became less and less controllable, and I
feared not only for Laura, but also for Jenine herself.
Then I was sold to an old couple who wanted a slave for more normal duties like
housework and cooking. At least in my new home I wore a plain black uniform,
like an old fashioned maidservant, and was only fucked when Madam was away.
Master called me his "belly warmer." Madam beat me rarely for which I was very
grateful.
When I left Laura, she was a beautiful woman, and had a lovely appearance on the
occasions she was dressed to go outside in the normal world. The day I was to be
taken away I looked at her naked body closely, committing every crease and every
mark to memory. It was the same body I had bathed on my arm and whose nappies I
had changed and whom I had dressed in pretty dresses in another life. Only when
you looked closely did you see the scars over her pussy and anus, the premature
sag of her breasts from frequent beatings on them, and the faint lines over her
torso and legs where whip injuries had not healed well. I too had marks like
that, but it was sad to see them on a young woman.
I lost all contact with Laura from then on. Serving and looking after old people
steadied me and I even had time to start reading again. At first it was hard as
I realised that indeed I did have something else that had been taken away; I
missed her dreadfully. Then I noticed sometimes days would pass and I did not
think of Laura or feel her presence around me. Then sometimes whole weeks.
In 1996 one summer's day, old Madam showed me a paper cutting. There had been a
party in Galveston. It would seem Laura had jumped naked from a high storey
window, and had landed, mangled on a spike fence. Death had been instantaneous.
Laura had been 'acting strangely' at the party, 'under the influence of drugs
taken previously.' Police did not investigate the matter further, because Laura
'had led a risky lifestyle for many years.' I sank my head in my arms on the
table and wept bitter tears at the fate of my lovely daughter whom I had
betrayed so badly. Madam put a hand kindly on my heaving shoulder.
"I'm sad for you, girl" she said softly. "It's so awful when a young person goes
to the bad and destroys themselves."
I realised she was speaking of Laura, and on that day, my bitterness was
complete for I had lost the hope of everything. Madam must have seen me looking
at the kitchen knives in a lingering fashion that evening, because she held my
arm and whispered to me "We're mothers. It's our duty to keep them alive inside
us, as we've always done." Her own boy had died in 'Nam.
I devoted myself to taking care of them, especially when medical complications
ensued for both. Eventually they went to a nursing home, and I was sent back to
the house where I had experienced slavery for the first time.
It was not well looked after. Madam had left Master Peter for another man soon
after I had left; Master Peter had a heart attack on the very day Laura was
murdered, when he was sailing his dinghy on his own; he died they said of a
broken heart. Jenine had peaked on her use alcohol and drugs and began a
lifetime of going in and out of expensive sanatoriums. Then Mike, by then head
of the family, horribly, died of cancer.
Jenine lived as a semi-recluse, a little mad perhaps. My job was to look after
her and manage the few servants that were left. I had a nice room, and would
sometimes wander around the house, looking into the rooms where Laura and I had
lived out our time. The little room in which we had been kept was awful beyond
imagination: I couldn't believe how anyone could have lived there. In fact, none
of it made much sense any more. I spent most of my time trying to talk to Jenine
or at least do little things to make her feel better. She looked much older than
me and sometimes didn't speak to anyone for days.
"It was as if his guardian angel had left him" she said one day. I knew the
people she was speaking of, and held my breathing not to miss a single syllable.
"From the day she died Mike's fortune went bad and then badder. He cared for her
but of course he also did revolting things to her in case anybody thought he was
soft. He was always very sweet on his pretty little white slave and bought her
things. She used to like nice clothes. And shoes. The day she died she was naked
but for a pair of heels. Always loved heels, it made her look the right size
next to him because he was always so big. But when she died he kind of crumpled
and went fat and I never saw him look so big any more. He was given bad advice
and he did stupid things and he associated with people who were not as good as
he ever was. It was the stupidest thing he ever did. He always had to act the
bravo man. Perhaps she cursed him as she fell. I hear that kind of curse is
terrible and can do a man away. Perhaps she cursed all of us because none of us
have been the same since."
There was a long silence. I stroked her hand, my pale white fingers on her
wrinkled brown. I thought of Laura suspended naked in the air, watching the
ground rising up towards her, Mike's bellow still ringing in her ears. Realising
she had experienced her final moment of terror and would soon, finally, be at
rest.
I shook my head and stood up. I had brought Laura up never to curse but to
bless. And although she was the one who died instead of me, and I the one who
had betrayed her, I nevertheless saw a glimpse of hope. Perhaps this was Laura's
precious, parting gift? I looked down at Jenine, nearly 40, Black, lined face
like a wizened 70. I was 54. Although no longer a beauty I knew that there was
some part of life left to live for me and that my daughter would not have
begrudged it.
"I'm her mother" I replied, my voice catching a little harsh. "You want a curse
lifted? Ask me. But there's a price. Ask me the price."
"Price?"
"Yes Jenine. The price."
She looked up at me, startled. "You're Mary-Beth, aren't you?" Her eyes began to
fill with tears and she took my hand and held it to her breast. "What will bring
them back to me? What can stop a curse? Apology? Money? Freedom?"
"All three... bitch."
She sobbed and kissed my hand over and over again. I could almost feel the
ground solid under my feet.
"Well... do you accept my offer then, Jenine?" I felt the return of Laura's
presence beside me.
***
Afterword
I met Mary-Beth at a Reiki healing workshop in Needles, Nevada. Needles is just
on the edge of the desert, the spiky hills above the town a sure sign to the
weary travelers down the old Route 66 that they have finally come to the start
of somewhere better in their lives. She spoke to me of her work with single old
people back in Ohio, where she lived with a guy who ran a hardware store. She
showed me his photograph - he had white hair and warm smiling eyes, leaning
against a pile of buckets, arranged like cups on a tarot card. "We're not
exactly Romeo and Juliet" she said. "But we get along."
Later that evening, having heard that I wrote from time to time, and perhaps
also inspired by some kind of chemistry between us, she said she had something
special to tell me that she wanted me to write down. We drove out to the lake
and sat on the stone bridge above the marina and she told me the whole story of
her first 24 hours of slavery and how she had come to be here.
"Tell it in a sexy way" she said as we parted. "I know it may sound strange to
you, but it is a story about love and sex. And try not to let the Black people
sound like monsters. They were very passionate and caring people deep down. We
had all just lost our way. It could have happened to anyone."
