Hanna, the Plantation Slave

Hanna had been a slave her entire life: It was all that she knew. She was the product of the white Master taking advantage of her ebony mother nineteen years ago and her light brown skin and light brown eyes made it obvious to everyone on the plantation who her daddy was. Her physical traits did not make her a complete pariah amongst the other slaves, but it did not help. On the flip side, the fact that she was obviously the offspring of a white man did come with some advantages. One such advantage was that she became a house slave at the age of fifteen which kept her out of the hot sun picking cotton ten hours a day, six days a week.

Punishments for breaking the rules on the plantation ranged from extremely uncomfortable to downright brutal. Being an attractive, light skinned slave had several times saved Hanna from punishment, but it seemed as if her luck had finally run out.

Hanna now found herself stripped down to her undergarments, nude from the waist up, kneeling on the dirt floor in one of the several bungalows used to imprison disobedient slaves. Her hands were cuffed behind her back and her bare feet were shackled closely together. The sets of restraints were connected with a short, six-inch chain which created a version of a hogtie, but Hanna was able to adjust her position from kneeling to lying down but it was not easy. Her ample breasts made the task a bit more difficult.

The heat in the tin-roofed bungalow was the worst part of Hanna's confinement, which was of course by design. She began to sweat profusely after just ten minutes in the hotbox and she was extremely uncomfortable. The time increments between switching positions from kneeling to lying on her side or stomach became increasingly less as Hanna swapped one discomfort with another. Dirt that was slightly darker than her sweaty, mocha skin was accumulating as she rolled around on the floor and soon she was splattered in crusty mud.

Hanna had been overtly breaking a certain rule in the house for several weeks, with no repercussions until now. William was the son of the Master whom Hanna was rather fond of, and openly flirting with him had finally caught up with her. William himself had a thing for the sexy slave and rather enjoyed Hanna's antics; getting caught making out with her was nothing he had ever wished to have happen.

But here we are: Hanna suffering through her punishment and William forbidden to so much as be in the same vicinity of Hanna.

The pretty slave had been squirming around for several hours before the door to the bungalow opened and an overseer stepped inside. "You look like a mess, Hanna," he said. Being a house slave meant that most of the white workers at the plantation knew Hanna's name.

Hanna, currently kneeling, fixed her gaze towards the door and squinted enough to make out the silhouette of the overseer whom she recognized as Andrew. "This is miserable, sir," she answered.

Warren was the name of the overseer who had trussed up Hanna and left her to swelter in the bungalow. He was a smaller man and not nearly as good looking as Andrew, who was tall with broad shoulders and a chiseled jaw.

Andrew and most of the other overseers were very fond of Hanna. She was attractive, smart and well spoken. If it came down to it and Hanna was sentenced to meet the fate of the bullwhip, there was a good chance that the overseers would make another slave crack the whip.

"It's time," Andrew said. He approached the mud-covered beauty with a ring of keys and detached the short chain connecting her manacles. He remained behind the slave as she struggled to her feet and wrapped his large arms around her while she gained her balance. It was not a blatant effort to rub his erect penis against Hanna's backside, but it happened nonetheless. "Not gonna take off the leg irons or wrist chains. Sorry," he said and released his grasp. "I'll add this, though," he said, holding up a length of hemp rope that would soon become her leash.

"Ugg," Hanna replied, rolling her shoulders to get out some kinks that had set in; the stiff penis of the overseer did not go unnoticed and her mud covered nipples hardened a bit.

The short chain connecting Hanna's ankles made it a slow, excruciating walk to the "punishment" corral and the sporadic tugs at her leash didn't help. The distance was less than a hundred yards, but navigating the gravel path on bare, fettered feet was brutal. The five minute walk seemed like a mile.

The plantation punishments were always carried out at a time when all of the slaves had a chance to witness them. Today's session was to take place in the blazing two o'clock heat, which gave the other slaves a rare respite from their work in the fields.

The field slaves had already assembled when Hanna painfully shuffled her way to the wooden structure in the middle of the courtyard. This structure resembled a modern day jungle gym and it had four sides, each designed to uniquely punish a slave.

It was about a fifty-fifty split between the slaves: half cherished the sight of Hanna's humiliation and half couldn't bear to watch. As Hanna was led past the north side of the structure she spied two sets of stocks that she had witnessed myriad misbehaving slaves' locked up in. In fact, her mother had once had her bare feet clamped between the heavy timbers of the stocks. The overseers had been gracious enough to allow Hanna to give her mother drinks of water and rub her aching ankles and feet while confined. When slaves were sentenced to the stocks, they were stripped from the waist up and their hands were tied behind their backs. The seat the punished slave was forced to sit on was nothing more than a two-inch by six-inch board that was affixed with the narrow end up: very uncomfortable to sit on for several hours.

Not gonna be the stocks for me today, Hanna mused as she was led around to the east side of the structure, the side that was typically used to punish a misbehaving slave's bare feet. At least that is what Hanna had witnessed in the past. Bastinado is what they had planned for her, and most likely something else...

Andrew released his grasp of Hanna and then waved over two younger male field slaves who each had a large bucket of water. One at a time, they tossed the contents onto Hanna to remove some of the filth she had accumulated struggling around in the bungalow.

Andrew's strong hands grasped her by the shoulders and forced her down to a kneeling position on a wooden platform that was only up off the ground by a few inches. He removed the leash from her neck and the leg irons and then positioned her so that her bare feet were dangling over the edge of the platform and he swiftly lashed her ankles to the wood, using leather straps that were attached.

The overseer, a true lover of female feet, could not help but admire Hanna's soft, soles. They were the soles of a house slave who had access to the Mistress's pummel stone and the expensive oils that were kept in the master bedroom.

Without addressing the assembly, Andrew grabbed the thick strap that he would use to whip Hanna's soles. The overseer had applied that very strap to dozens of slaves previously, but none of them as gorgeous as Hanna. He had never once broken the skin of a slave with this strap, but he knew that it caused excruciating pain.

Bastinado was one of the milder forms of punishment at the plantation that was usually dedicated to individuals who committed minor infractions. Slaves who had experienced multiple forms of punishment debated which was worse, eight hours in the stocks or the bastinado; neither was pleasant and good arguments for both sides were presented.

Without having to make eye contact with any of her fellow slaves, Hanna could feel their eyes staring at her in her helpless state. Hanna had often wondered how she would feel being the one in public bondage, and not just an observer. She was ashamed to admit that it had always turned her on to watch other slaves tied up and flogged. It did not matter much if the subject was male or female; she became damp in her crotch for each and would often times masturbate to what she had witnessed. Now that she was the one tied down, the mystery of whether or not it would turn her on had been solved: she was.

Her crotch moistened and her nipples grew even harder as she knelt and waited for her first lash which was delivered with a thundering crack. The pain was delayed a second before it reached her brain and that is when she let out a cry. Her left arch burned a fire that she had never felt before. The second lash wasn't as loud when it snapped down on her right sole, also on the arch. A second passed, and then the fire matched that of her left foot.

The lashes continued and the poor punished girl's arousal grew with each crack. By the time the tenth and final blow had been delivered, Hanna was breathing hard and the crotch of her handwoven undergarments was soaked in her juices.

Andrew stepped back from the platform and wiped his brow, admiring Hanna's now reddened soles. He hung the strap on a nail that had been pounded into the post to the left of Hannah and then released her ankles from the straps. After easing the slave up and off the platform by her shoulders, he then led her to the post to the right of where she had been kneeling.

He gently nudged Hanna towards the post until her nose was within inches of the smooth wood and then removed her wrist chains.

"Arms up," he commanded, not giving Hanna much time at all to massage her aching wrists.

Hanna obeyed and then the overseer swiftly bound her hands with the end of a long length of rough hemp rope. The rope led from her hands to a pulley affixed to the top of the post. Andrew took up the slack enough to get her on to her tiptoes.

A humiliated and horny Hanna waited for what she knew was next in her ordeal: standing on the pegs.

She raised her right foot to step up but Andrew stopped her. "Not just yet," he grumbled.

Hanna felt his strong hands grab her hips and then she felt him pulling down her undergarments. She was devastated at what was happening, as it was very rare for a female slave to be stripped completely naked and put on display.

"Step out," the overseer commanded, referring to the ball of material now covering her feet.

"Please, no," she begged in a half whisper. "Please let me keep them."

"Hurry it up," he said, coldly.

One sore foot at a time, Hanna reluctantly slid out of the last of her clothing.

"Up on the pegs," Andrew then ordered.

The pegs were drilled into the post about a foot off of the ground, and one foot at a time she climbed up. Almost instantly, the discomfort in her arches began to set in. The overseer took out the new slack from the rope and now Hanna was stretched to her limits.

To make matters worse, the diabolical design of the setup was such that the pegs were attached to the corners of the post, and not the sides. This meant that sharp corners pointed towards her ankles, her nose and her crotch.

Another unpleasant surprise came when Andrew produced a pair of nipple clamps from his pocket and dangled them in front of the crowd of slaves, their eyes squinting to see what he was displaying. The rudimentary clamps were essentially a smaller version of thumbscrews, and they were connected by a short chain of tiny links. Andrew approached the bound woman from behind, wrapped his arms around her and began to play with her dark nipples. When they had hardened enough to his liking, one at a time he screwed on the clamps, causing an immediate shot of pain that made Hanna yelp upon each application.

"For good measure," he said with an evil smile.

This is a first, Hanna thought to herself, having never seen a slave's nipples become the subject of a punishment. The taunt chain made sure that the bound slave could not press her chest against the post without wrenching both nipples. The added device caused her not only more discomfort, but also more arousal. Damnit!

For almost two years, Andrew had been hoping that Hanna would upset the Master enough to warrant punishment. It was an extreme circumstance when the Master determined what the punishment for an offender should be, and typically let Andrew decide a slave's fate. He had consciously held back a bit while whipping Hanna's feet, but he could tell that the leather was still causing extreme pain. The nipple clamps were his new idea and he had been waiting for months to spring them. With a rock-hard dick, he stood back and admired Hanna's predicament.

Hanna explored her options, trying to coordinate a less stressful position, while considering the many variables involved. She had to constantly adjust her feet to find a new place for the pegs to dig into her soles and if her chest got too close to the post the clamps would bite at her nipples.

Rotating the pressure on her tootsies became a pattern: she would go from her heels, to the arches, to the balls of her feet and finally to her toes. Then she would repeat the pattern. With each new position, she would have to adjust her center of gravity and she quickly discovered that when she was balancing on her heels she was forced to thrust her hips forward, wedging her crotch into the corner of the unforgiving wood.

Fifteen minutes into her ordeal, every inch of both of Hanna's feet were throbbing and her wrists and shoulders were on fire. Being on her heels with the corner of the post digging in to her pussy might not have been the most comfortable position, but it did feel the best. In fact, it felt so good that she desperately wanted to rub her pussy up and down against the smooth, but hard, wood to pleasure herself.

Hannah had been on the pegs for nearly thirty minutes when the spectating slaves were called back into the fields. She was now alone, save the onlooker whom she could see was propped up against a tree and resting in the shade with his hat pulled down over his eyes.

Slowly the sweaty slave began to rub her pussy up and down against the post in short strokes. Her movement was seriously compromised due to her bondage, but it was enough to eventually bring her an orgasm of tremendous strength.

Hanna could not control herself. She became weak in the knees and she let out a thundering moan that awakened Andrew from his nap. The onlooker raised the brim of his hat enough to see that Hanna was now off of the pegs and dangling from the post. A smile consumed his face as he watched the young woman's desperate attempts to get back up on the pegs.

In the past, Andrew would simply watch in amusement when a slave slipped off the pegs, as it happened nearly every time this punishment was administered. It was usually the result of exhaustion, but this was the first time he had witnessed an orgasm be the cause of the inevitable predicament.

He slowly rose to his feet and sauntered over to the post. "Need some help?" he asked and then chuckled.

"Please, sir," Hanna was able to eke out, out of breath and in obvious pain.

The overseer grabbed her underneath her armpits and hoisted her back up on to the pegs. "Help with your next orgasm, I meant."

Hanna was still discombobulated. "Huh?"

"I'm gonna finish you off in my quarters," he told her and began to untie her hands.

"I see," she murmured, still a bit out of sorts. Quickly she figured out that Andrew was planning on jamming his large dick into her moist pussy and a surge of shameful excitement flooded her brain.

Once Hanna's wrists were free, the overseer helped her off the pegs and tossed her dirty undergarments at her feet and she slipped them on. She immediately placed her hands behind her back, almost begging for the wrist chains.

"As you wish," Andrew said and retrieved the manacles from his belt. He swiftly clamped them onto her wrists.

"And the leash," she said in a tone that was just short of demanding. "You can keep the leg irons."

Andrew did not know what to make of the slave's ardent attitude. He was not upset, but he did want control back. "Take them off," he said, pointing to Hanna's drawers.

Having her hands chained behind her back made the task all the more challenging, but with a lot of shimming she was able to get them down to her ankles. She then flicked them aside with her foot.

"Now pick them up with your mouth," the overseer commanded. Hanna gingerly walked over to the undergarments, knelt down and clinched the material between her teeth. "Back on your feet," Andrew ordered.

"Mmm, mmm," she mumbled, and struggled to her feet.

"You suggested this?" Andrew asked, tapping the leash that was tucked into his belt.

Hanna simply nodded.

"Very well. Spread your legs."

Hanna had another twinge of excitement and spread her feet to just past shoulder-width. The overseer nudged her left ankle to make her spread even wider.

He took the hemp rope out of the belt of his pants and adeptly tied a slipknot around the slave's tiny waist. Then, he passed the loose end of the rope through her legs (from back to front) and then back up between her stomach and the raspy belt that now encircled her. With his right hand firmly grasping the loose end of the rope, he reached under Hanna's dripping wet crotch. With his left hand, he wedged the rope up in between Hanna's pussy lips and then gave it a good tug with his right hand.

Hanna let out a moan that was muffled by the dirty undergarments and then she was tugged towards the onlooker's quarters for what figured to be a sweaty afternoon of rough sex. She couldn't wait.