Latitia Ch. 08

And she was hirsute. Her hair gave her distinct sideburns well down her cheeks. Without the robe you could see large breasts, I guessed her at a D cup, with oversized nipples on small areolas. But what drew the eye was the circle of coarse hair around each nipple. When she raised her arms, the hair of her armpits ran well down the inside of her upper arms and her sides. Her pubic hair started above her belly button and spread, thick and lush, almost to the points of her hips. It was a thick delta running down her thighs several inches and when she turned you could see that it spread up the crack of her ass to form another delta at her tailbone. You could see hair distinct enough to be seen even from the distance the camera was, on her arms and legs. I thought she was just about the sexiest thing I had ever seen.

After he finished the parade across the stage and all of the property had been, well, "introduced," I was still having trouble coming to grips with the language at that point, and the last slave was chained to the wall, the fat man announced, "Open Inspection."

The camera did sort of a slow stroll as potential bidders moved to, well, "inspect the livestock" is the phrase that fits.

Here's one example. One pair of men, clearly the boss and the foreman (overseer?), the way they interacted reminded me of John Dutton and Rip, a pair you fans of Yellowstone will recognize. At one of the women, a matronly looking black woman with kinky hair streaked with grey, a "mom-bod" suggesting several children from the lack of waist and tracery of stretch marks, and heavy, sagging breasts, they had this conversation.

"You think the wranglers deserve a comfort girl?" the boss asked,

The foreman said, "Well, I'm not sure about 'deserve,' but I know they'd like one," and he finished with a little chuckle.

"Well, let's see," the boss said and closed the distance between himself and the woman. The image of livestock was reinforced by the way he, well, "inspected" her. He started at her hair, tugging a little, apparently checking to see if it was falling out. Then his fingers went over her face. He pushed gently above her eyelids, looking at her eyes, using fingers in her hair to turn her head so she could inspect her ears. When he pushed her lips up to inspect her teeth the image of livestock was complete. His final, well, "check" was to reach down between her legs, making her squirm as he apparently probed, and then sniffed his finger.

"She's clean," he said and the foreman nodded. Later, they bought her for $2,700.

Meanwhile -

Apparently, the young man we had been following was getting a lesson.

"Daddy," he said, making me kind of cringe. I'm a midwesterner and to me, your father is "Dad" or sometimes "Pop," or "The Old Man" when talking among friends. I first encountered an adult man calling his father "Daddy" in basic training. It grated then, and it grates now, but I recognize it as a Southern thing.

I digress.

"Daddy," his voice was the first thing of him to enter the scene, "You promised one of my own when I turned 18. I think I want this one."

The camera picked them up as they moved toward the hirsute black woman I had noticed earlier.

She stood, naked, head hanging, as they approached.

When the older man reached for the tag on her ear she turned her head away and he slapped her hard enough to snap her head around.

"Hey, now," the fat man called, his voice recognizable by now, "don't damage the merchandise."

"Sorry," the older man said, but he didn't seem sorry at all.

His fingers went to her hair and he jerked her head back, forcing her to look at him.

"Damn, son, I don't know," he said, "it looks like this one just stepped off the boat. I wonder if she speaks English."

The son moved into the frame, obviously looking her up and down.

"What's your name, girl," the father asked, fingers in her hair, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"Matilda," she said.

"Well," he said to his son, "at least she speaks, and I suppose she's housebroken."

"I want her, Daddy," the son said and I thought of every trust fund kid I had encountered and the stories Latitia told me about her rich, entitled students. He had that air of perfect entitlement about him.

"Let's inspect her," Daddy said.

And the camera stayed on them as she was inspected like any head of livestock. He started at her hair, using his fingers to part it and look, carefully. "Lice or fleas," he explained to his son. He lifted an eyelid, "Yellow eyes are a bad sign," checked her ears, "Accumulated crud is a bad sign."

She turned her head away again, almost reflexively, when he started to use his thumbs to spread her nostrils, drawing another hard slap, and then he lifted her lips, inspecting her teeth and then telling her to open her mouth and stick out her tongue. "Lots of niggers get herpes and god knows what else the way they fuck and suck like animals," he explained.

He continued on, lifting her arms, putting that amazing mass of armpit hair on display, while he checked her hands and skin and then did the thumbs to part the hair and check for lice and fleas. All the while he was explaining to his son what he was doing, while she cried softly, tears wetting her cheeks and snot running down her lips and hanging from her chin to make her breasts shiny.

The final indignity he heaped on her was when he reached down between her legs, obviously probing and making her squirm. He brought his hand to his nose and sniffed. "That's what good clean nigger pussy should smell like, son. Different from those white girls you've been spending time with, ain't it?"

And then the son did the same inspection, under Daddy's watchful eye and regular coaching.

The entire video ran for almost two hours, and I watched every minute of it. Once the inspection was done, the auction started. First up was the fat granny who went for $850 to a mom, dad, and two kids family. I assumed they had just bought a nanny. I watched as the tall, sun-weathered woman bought Rufus for $3,200. The highest price of the night was for the "high yellow" woman with the perfectly "white" name of Eileen. She went for $8,400 to a white man who could play Colonel Sanders if they ever make the movie. The Daddy bought the Son the hirsute woman for $2,700.

As the credits played I leaned back and realized I was flushed and so goddam hard I hurt.

"Oh, Daisy," I said aloud, "I have just seen your future, and it is going to be SO much fun."