Abroad Ch. 17

As an awkward black youth, the brothel owner Mr. Jones was tempted and rejected by white girls. It left an emotional wound that never completely closed. Anne reminded him of them and he responded accordingly.

He punished her for the slightest infraction, suspending her by her bracelets from a tree branch and working her over till she could barely remember her name. When he was done he let her kneel in the sand.

Drenched in sweat, her hands bound behind her, she opened her mouth for him. His member was already stiff and swollen.

And black. As she wrapped her lips around it, she remembered her ancestors on their plantation. Now she was his property, glad of the opportunity to do penance, to abase herself.

Gently she licked it with her tongue, careful not to overexcite him and shorten the encounter. Slowly she drew him into her; she caressed it and let him take the lead.

He put his large hands on her and pulled her toward him. It rammed deeper in her and she struggled not to gag. She was under his control now as he pushed her head back and forth.

Without warning it burst in her, filling her with his seed in great spasms until she thought she would choke on it. He put a hand on her forehead and pushed her away. She hoped she had pleased him and bent down to kiss the ground at his feet.

Later he had her hung up in a basement cell and fed her dinner with a spoon.

When the evening's customers were done, he had her disinfected and sent up to his bedroom where he used her on the cold stone floor.

Afterwards he spread her against the wall and pinned her wrist and ankle bracelets to it. She spent the night there with a cloth covering her eyes and a towel beneath her opened legs.

She was used to this from her training at the academy and slept fitfully, awakening from time to time at noises. Mr. Jones getting up, for example. On his way past her he would fondle her breasts and pat her on the belly; she liked that and smiled at him in the semidarkness.

Occasionally she heard another girl brought in to spend the night with him in bed. A pang of envy creased her forehead but it was a good reminder. Her place was on the floor, or the wall.

Her moist skin attracted flies; she surrendered to them as well. They did not sting but drank the salty beads of sweat that covered her after a session. She held herself very still so as not to frighten the creatures away, and was pleased to be of use.

He made her available to the kitchen staff and groundskeepers. Anne abased herself to the least of them.

And he began to feed her peyote.

It left her with the strangest dreams. In one, she was swimming in the ocean, or maybe lying on the seabed, when she was approached by a giant octopus, larger than any she had ever seen. At once it covered her, blotting out the light of the sun overhead, and penetrated her in all her places at once. She writhed in delight and made way for him; he was followed by another and another, until a whole school of them had taken their pleasure. They released her and she floated slowly up to the surface, awaking to find herself on the floor of a crib with a platoon of soldiers looking down at her.

In another, she was a doe pursued through the forest by wolves. Unable to outrun them, she surrendered to the pack, ready to be torn apart and devoured. But instead each of them mounted and took her; first the leader and then each of his companions, a dozen or more. This time when she came around, she was draped over a padded chair surrounded by the members of a football team.

In time, her mild acceptance of all the punishment he meted out abated his anger. He allowed her marks to heal, and renewed only enough to make her appealing.

After the first day she was separated from Rae and saw little of her; in the parlor waiting for customers, or being taken upstairs by one. She missed her friend. But one day Mr. Jones led the two of them down to her cell.

He handed Rae a leather strap and let her take a few strokes in the air with it.

Anne grew wet with anticipation. Was he going to let Rae use it on her?

He was. Her first stroke to Anne's breasts drew a moan. Anne was pleased to see Rae's authoritarian side re-emerging and yielded herself up to her new mistress.

Rae proceeded through the exercises, and soon she could reduce Anne to a bitch in heat; she said "good girl" and rewarded her with a cookie of pressed feed if she did well.

Or if she did not then Rae spanked her. Mr. Jones put Anne over a stool, her hands bound in back, and gave Rae a wooden paddle.

Anne's rear was a bright red from the exercise afterwards; he left the two to kiss and make up.

Afterwards they made love on the floor, Rae on top, the cold stone beneath Anne's buttocks cooling the fire.

During the middle of the day, after they had cleaned their cell and the parlor and cribs upstairs but before customers arrived, he let Rae take Anne outside. She attached the leash to Anne's collar, or sometimes to the steel ring between her legs, and led her around the grounds for half an hour or more.

Anne preceded Rae like a little pet, or lay on her back to be used beneath a tree.

He let them share a cell; between her submission and their passionate entwining Anne soon forgot all her previous lovers.

Even Francesca; she was grateful to the woman for selling her instead of having her strangled, but Anne was a creature of the present.

She would come to a bad end, everyone told her that - but for now she was in paradise.