The master's revenge

CHAPTER ONE

The southern plantation owner, whose skin was as white as milk, sat in his over-stuffed easy chair in the corner of the large, plush livingroom inside his mansion.

His name was Bernard Cornfield and he was one of the richest – and meanest – men in the whole south. He turned lazily and found himself looking at his Negro butler, Jones.

Jones had his faded palm beneath a tray upon which was Bernard Cornfield's afternoon mint julep. A sprig of mint stuck up greenly from the top of the long, thin glass.

The glass was three-quarters filled with crushed ice – just the way Bernard liked it. He thanked Jones kindly and the butler turned to leave.

"Oh, Jones?"

"Yes, Master?"

"Ain't there one of them nigger girls I bought last week left to be whipped?"

"Yes, Master. The one named Tammy Taylor. She is the youngest and the smallest."

"Ah, yes. I was saving her for last purposefully," Bernard said with a sigh.

"You want me to fetch her for you, Master?" Jones asked, his thick lips parted.

"That would be good, Jones, but in ten minutes, after my drink," Bernard said.

"You want me to bring her straight here to you?" Jones asked politely.

"No, Jones. Bring her down to the torture room, to save time," Bernard said.

"Yes, Master," Jones said. The Negro turned and left the livingroom. Bernard sipped his drink and felt the ache growing in his balls.

If his wife – Annabelle – ever found out that he was messing with the nigger poontang there would be hell to pay. Only the slaves knew – and they were under strict orders never to mention Bernard's sexual activities to the lady of the house.

Annabelle – luckily for Bernard – was always off riding her horses or shopping in the nearest Georgia town, which happened to be called Stocking Post.

Bernard finished his drink, looking out the window at his massive plantation. The Georgia red clay had been worked and fertilized by the slaves until it yielded crops that would have been unheard of twenty-five years before. It was the nineteenth century, and agriculture was vastly improving. Each year Bernard managed to make a little more money than the year before. That meant he could buy more slaves – and not just the black bucks who put their sweat into the farm, but the succulent nigger cunts as well, which Bernard loved to torture and fuck just about more than anything else in the world.

Bernard had a boner inside his pants by the time he finished his drink. He set the glass down and meandered toward the front room where the door that led down to the basement was.

He quickly went down the rickety stairs into his private torture chamber. He never had to worry about Annabelle discovering his torture chamber. His wife would not have been caught dead in the basement of the mansion. It was dark down there and she might get her dress dirty.

Bernard lit the lamps along the walls as he went down. He was surprised that he arrived in the basement before Jones with the little nigger cunt.

When Jones did bring down the girl, Bernard could see right away that the petite pussy was all upset. Her eyes were red and swollen and her face was stained with tears. Little Tammy Taylor knew that she was about to be whipped – because she had been saved for last – and she had never been so scared shitless in her entire life.

"This is Tammy," Jones said. "Master Cornfield."

"Pleased to meet you, Master," Tammy said weakly.

"You can go now, Jones," Bernard said sternly.

"Yes, Master," Jones said, and headed back up the stairs.

The little black girl was wearing a burlap dress that was hemmed well above her knees. She was the littlest and the cutest of the new slaves Bernard had recently acquired.

"Tammy, you are a beautiful little girl," Bernard said. He licked and smacked his lips obscenely. Tammy could feel a million butterflies flopping around inside her tummy – just as if they all wanted to get the hell out of there.

The little slave could feel her heart pounding as it had never pounded before. Her ticker felt like it wanted to beat its way right out of her chest.

The diminutive nigger cunt could feel the icy sweat of her terror oozing from each and every pore in her body. The scent of her funk wafted up toward her hot nostrils – which were remarkably closed for a girl of her race. Bernard looked at her beautiful face and her golden brown skin and he could tell that – genetically speaking – there was a little cream in her coffee somewhere along the line. "She had a little human in her," as Bernard was fond of saying.

"How old are you, Tammy?"

"I don't know, Master."

"I'll bet you ain't even sixteen," Bernard said.

The girl shivered and was silent.

"You ever been whipped before?"

"No, Master."

"How come?"

"Where I was before, the slaves was only whipped when they disobeyed. I always obeyed."

"Things are different here. There been too many revolts in this county, niggers getting shot on account of they got uppity and tried to make a run for it. I like my niggers to know who's the boss right from the start. Everyone gets a whipping. You are so beautiful I may want to whip you once a week. We'll have to see. Your skin is so beautiful. It will be even more beautiful after it has been marked by my whip."

Tammy could see in the indirect illumination in that torture chamber, that there were many whips on display on the far wall. The walls were made of stone.

There were no windows.

She could see that the center of the room dominated by a large slab table. There ware chains and cuffs at the four corners of the table. She knew those were there so that little girls – such as herself – could be bound in a spread-eagled fashion.

Tammy could see that there were human skulls dangling from the ceiling of that dark and creepy ceiling.

She could tell they were real.

There was other torture equipment on a long table that ran the entire length of the wall furthest from the entrance – equipment that the little nigger cunt could not immediately identify.

"You ever been with a man?"

"Pardon me, Master?"

"You ever been fucked?"

"Yes, Master."

"I suppose your last master popped your cherry."

"No, Master. I got me a man."

"Who?"

"His name be Jonah."

"Oh, yes. He's been fucking you? Good. I hope he knocks you up and you make babies like a bunny. I could use a little return on some of my cunt investment. Seems like I should get more out of the deal than a sore cock."

"Yes, Master," Tammy said – even though she was not entirely sure what he was talking about.

"I remember Jonah. The big buck I bought at the same time I got you. The one with the good teeth. I like good teeth in the mouth of my slaves. It looks good when I have company over."

"Yes, Master."

"That's something I should tell you know, because you are going to have to know sooner or later. I throw a lot of parties and there are a lot of male guests. You will be doing domestic chores during these parties, serving food and drinks. But that's not all. Remember, when I have company, you must obey all of the guests just as you would obey me."

"Yes, Master."

"If one of them, or three of them for that matter, men I mean, want to take you down here and whip you and fuck you, then that is their right. If you disobey I'll just have to cut off old Jonah's gonads – and then he won't be no good to your cunt no more."

"Please don't do that, Master."

"Then you understand the rules?"

Tammy nodded.

"Good, now get out of that rag dress so's I can see what you got," Bernard said. He could feel the hot blood of his masculine arousal pumping into both the head and the shaft of his cock.

Bernard Cornfield could tell that his cock was getting a little bit longer, a little bit thicker, and a little bit harder with each beat of his hard.

The white master could feel the ache in his balls getting worse rapidly too. His testicles felt as if they had swollen to twice their normal size by that time.

His dick felt like it was going to come bursting right out of the crotch of his increasingly tight trousers.

He could feel his thick jism swimming around his swollen glands of manhood inside his scrotal sack impatiently.

The little girl lifted her dress up over her head. Her head got caught inside for a moment but then tugged free. She was barefoot and naked beneath her burlap dress. She stood before her brand new master every bit as naked as the day she was born.

"Precious. Very precious," Bernard Cornfield said. He liked his nigger poontang on the diminutive side – and Tammy sure did fit the bill. She looked even younger than she was – and that was just fine with the white man. His motto had always been the younger the better when it came to nigger poontang.

He could see that Tammy Taylor stood only an inch or two over five feet tall – and there was no way she weighed more than ninety-five or a hundred pounds.

She had her kinky hair braided and held in place with many little pink bows. Her face was round and very cute. She had features that looked as if they should have been painted on the face of a Negro doll.

Her skin was very smooth. She had a perfect complexion. It was clear to anyone who looked at Tammy that she had never suffered from a facial blemish.

Her eyebrows and her eyelashes were just as black as the hair on her head. In spite of the fact that she had never plucked them, her eyebrows grew slenderly, and femininely angular.

Her eyelashes were very long and curled upward at their tips. They were longer than the lashes of any of the white women Bernard knew – and the white women wore mascara to lengthen and thicken their lashes. The slaves, the female slaves, were not allowed such vanities – of course.

Her eyelashes were so long that they licked lightly at Tammy Taylor's high cheekbones each and every time she blinked. Her nose was remarkably slender – almost pointy at the tip – but she had the thick sensuous lips of her race.

In spite of her diminutive stature – Tammy had extraordinarily large breasts. Her tits were not only big, but they were perfectly shaped. The man could feel his mouth watering when he got his first look at her tits. He had seen them at the auction when he bought her – but he had forgotten just how delicious they were.

Her tits were firm and full with youth.

Her breasts were both pert and perky.

They rested very high on Tammy's chest.

Her nipples pointed slightly upward.

Tammy's tits were rounded at their bottom and sloped at their tops. They curved back toward her armpits, making her waist look almost painfully thin. She did have a slender waist. Indeed, it only measured twenty-two inches.

Her nipples were the color of chocolate. Her pupils were actually dark brown – but they looked just as ebony as her hair in the limited illumination in Bernard Cornfield's creepy torture chamber.

Her hips were rounded both at the sides and the rear. Her ass cheeks were every bit as smooth as when she was a baby. Her thighs were smooth also and tapered gracefully and perfectly from her round hips to her unscarred knees. Her legs were not long but they were shaped the way a woman's legs are supposed to be shaped. Her calves were rounded but not overly muscles. Her ankles were trim and her feet were dainty. The master could not help but notice that the little girl's toes were chubby and cute. Her toes, which were wiggling against the bare wood floor, were all very close to the same length, including her two big toes.

He could see that the diminutive slave had very little pubic hair. Most of the nigger wenches had shaggy kinky hair all over their mounds, along the sides of their pussies, in between the cheeks of their ass, and even sometimes sprawling out unattractively onto the insides of their thighs.

But Tammy had none of this.

She simply had two curls of black hair which grew above and to the sides of her clitoral foreskin, at the very face of her sloping mound.

Less than a third of the little girl's mound was covered with hair – and the hair that did exist, Bernard Cornfield could tell – was downy soft.

Judging from the little girl's mound, the white master correctly assumed that she was completely bald along the outermost edges of her vulva. He correctly assumed that she was equally hairless in the cleavage between her delicious round and brown ass cheeks.

"Now I want you to get upon that table and stretch out," he said.

It was clear from the tone in the man's deep baritone voice that he was not then – nor would he ever be – in the mood to take no for an answer.

He was not making a request.

He was giving a command.

"On my belly or my back, Master?" Tammy inquired.

"On your belly. First the whip," he said with a laugh.

"Please have mercy on me, Master."

"You are a little fool. Mercy! Ha! I don't even know the meaning of the word," the man said. He laughed an intrinsically sadistic laugh, throwing back his head.

Tammy trembled worse than before.

She could feel the muscles in her shapely gam's getting weaker by the second. The muscles in her legs felt as if they had been turned to gelatin.

Her knees were shaking.

Tammy Taylor was not at all sure how much longer her legs were going to be able to support the weight of her body – all ninety-seven pounds of her. Such was the toll her terror was taking on her diminutive black body. She was wet and slick with sweat. The man could smell her funk. There were many white men who didn't mess around with the nigger poontang on account of they found the scent too strong. Bernard was just the opposite.

There were few things in the world the white master liked better than the smell of nigger cunt. He loved the way it burned his nostrils and his sinuses a little. The scent of a slave pussy always intoxicated him. He liked his cunts dark, with lots of gravy!!!

The little girl managed to get over to the wooden slab torture table before her shapely legs gave out on her.

She stretched herself out on her belly – just as she had been instructed. The man wasted no time getting the torture session started. He was still chuckling a little to himself when he grabbed her slender left wrist with his huge right paw.

Bernard Cornfield pulled the little girl's arm up over her head toward the steel cuff at that corner of the table. She rested her right cheekbone against the hard wood. She could feel her tits being pressed flat against the torture table. Her nipples were erect and hard and throbbing with her fear.

He pulled the little girl's arm so hard that there was a frightening moment or two when Tammy thought he was going to break that wing.

She feared he would break it either at the wrist or the elbow. Indeed, he pulled until her was locked in the straight position.

Tammy's eyes were very expressive. They twinkled with merriment when she was with Jonah – yet they could look dull and somber when she was with a white man.

Here eyes welled with tears and then overflowed. Her salty rivulets of despair and terror ran down the sides of her face and dripped onto the table.

Some of the little tears made it all the way to the corners of her trembling lips – and then onto her slightly thickened tongue.

Her tears tasted terrible.

Bitter.

It was as if that saltwater had been tainted and made poisonous by the acute fear the girl was experiencing.

She knew that her master's whip was going to hurt worse than anything she had ever known before.

She knew that her master's whip was going to hurt more than anything she could possibly have imagined.

The man clamped the steel cuff around the little girl's wrist, tighter than it was supposed to be. She winced and let out a squeak of pain.

Tammy learned at the last second that the insides of those cuffs were sharply toothed, so that they bit into her wrist flesh causing great agony.

She could tell that the cuff was leaving an ugly ring around her wrist – a ring that would remain long after the cuff had been removed.

The sharp teeth on the insides of that cuff were breaking the skin in a couples of laces – making the nigger cunt bleed a little bit.

Bernard liked drawing blood.

He liked the smell of blood.

He liked the taste of blood!

The cuff was so tight around the little girl's wrist that it completely cutoff the circulation of blood to her entire left hand. Her fingertips bulged and changed color, becoming a much darker shade of brown.

Her fingertips were filled temporarily with pins and needles. She could tell that it couldn't be long before the tips of the digits on that hand were completely numb, the feeling sucked away by her master's bondage.

Tammy tried to wiggle her fingers at the knuckles – and she found to her horror that she could only do this with an ever-increasing amount of difficulty.

Tammy knew that her fingers would soon be rendered immobile by the steel restraints Bernard Cornfield was administering at that moment.

Seconds after the man clamped the first cuff in place her circled all the way around the table – moving with amazing brace and coordination for a man his size.

He moved like a cat.

He was a wild jungle beast.

He moved about the torture table as if he were encircling his helpless prey. His cock was thoroughly engorged with the hot blood of his masculine arousal, making a huge bulge in the crotch of his tight trousers.

He repeated the process with the other arm and soon Tammy could not feel anything more in her right hand then she could in her left. She could not wiggle the fingers on either hand any longer. He then moved to the foot of the wooden torture table.

Bernard Cornfield grabbed both of the little girl's trim ankles at the same time, one in either hand.

He imagined himself making a wish over a wishbone – and then pulled her legs apart with a single outward sweep of both of his strong arms.

He opened her up.

Tammy could feel her thighs parting to a perfect ninety-degree angle – and then further. He separated her legs to an obtuse angle. Her feet were pointing toward the corners of the wooden slab at the foot, where the other two steel cuffs were waiting. The balls and sole of her feet – like Tammy's calloused palms – were much lighter than the rest of her body. Friction wore the color right off, Bernard figured.

The little girl could feel the lips of her teenaged pussy and the cheeks of her baby soft ass parting along with her shapely legs. He clamped the cuffs on her ankles – again drawing blood on spots.

Her toes became numb.

She was bound stringently.

Both her elbows and her knees were locked in the straight position. She had been chained to the torture table so that she could not move a muscle.

Tammy found that the only part of her body that could move was her head. If she strained she could lift her head from the table a few inches. She could even turn her face from side to side a little bit. But the little girl quickly discovered that this took so much energy that it was not worth it.

The man then crossed the large torture chamber to the wall where his many whips were displayed. He had whips of four and five lashes. The leather lashes also had varying knots tied in them. Some of the lashes had been soaked in a special brine solution so that they would mark the skin upon impact.

Tammy knew her ass cheeks would never look the same. From that point on – for the rest of her useless life – her ass would bear the marks of Bernard Cornfield's whip. She tried to preserve her dignity. She said a silent prayer.

She did not want to grovel. She did not want to shame herself by crying out with the pain. She prepared to bite her fleshy bottom lip in an attempt to stifle her inevitable exclamations of agony.

The man chose his most vicious whip.

It had a leather handle molded to fit Bernard's hand.

The whip was of the five-lash variety and soaked in brine. He knew that this whip – when used properly – caused more pain than any of his others.

He wasted no time.

Once he had the whip in his palm he moved to the side of the torture table. He could see the girl's muscles jerking with her dread. He gripped the handle of the whip so hard that each and every one of his knuckles turned even whiter than they were already. He was right-handed.

Bernard raised his right arm high over his head at that point.

He then brought the whip down as hard as he could and jerked upward with his strong wrist at the last second to crack the lashes.

Crack!

Tammy heard the loud sound of the whip on her flesh a fraction of a second before she felt the pain. The time lag was the same she had noticed after stubbing her toe. It took a long second for the pain to make its way through her terrified nervous-system to her already reeling brain.

The sound of the whip alone was enough to make the girl wince. The whip sounded like a shotgun blast as it cracked off both of her ass cheeks at the same time.

Then she did feel the pain.

It didn't take long for Tammy Taylor to realize that all efforts on her part to stifle her cries of agony were to be in total vain.

Her efforts were futile.

"Aaaarrrrgggghhhh!!!!" the nigger cunt screamed.

She could feel each and every nerve-ending in her body being affected by her pain – a pain that was, indeed, more intense than any discomfort the diminutive slave had previously known.

Crack!

She jerked violently once again. The pain from the first blow had only just begun to fade when it was renewed to its agonizing fullest.

She screamed again – but this time the exclamation was not as loud, nor as long. She was already becoming exhausted. She involuntarily tried to twist her arms and legs to get her ankles and wrists free – even though she knew in her conscious mind that there was no way she could wriggle herself free in a million years. She found that her struggling only made the teeth on the insides of all four cuffs bite into her flesh that much deeper.

Crack!

Her eyes were so swollen from her weeping by this time that she found she was having an ever-increasing amount of difficulty blinking.

The insides of her eyelids suddenly felt as if they were made of a particular rough kind of emery board. She felt all cried out, she sobbed but no tears came.

Crack!

This time the man sensed that the nerve-endings in her ass were becoming numb, so he whipped the back of her left thigh instead, so that the horrible pain would be as fresh as ever. She felt close to passing out.

The entire room was spinning. She prayed that she could lose consciousness and find the blessed peace of sleep. She could not feel pain in her mind unless it was awake. She stayed awake through the entire whipping however. She was merely moaning, and gurgling in her throat, at the end. She was completely exhausted. She felt as if she would not be able to get off the table, even if the cuffs were removed. Every muscle in her body was aching.