The Sugar Cane Plantation

She always felt so much at home when she visited the island. Silly really since she spent almost all of her time elsewhere -- working long, tedious hours at the law firm so. Still, her vacations always brought her here -- to the warm breezes, the smell of the ocean, the lush foliage -- so it seemed that each time she was able to visit, she was coming home. This time it would be a little different. In the past she had always stayed at one of the big resorts. The ones with the private beaches, and golf courses, and spas, and all of the amenities to make her feel lazy and pampered. But not this time.

Back in the city, enjoying drinks at a local watering hole with some friends she had been showing some pictures of her last getaway. Almost out of nowhere a well dressed man had asked her if she enjoyed her stay, mentioning the island by name -- obviously recognizing her destination from the pictures he could see from his perch behind and slightly above her table. She turned, surprised that he had been able to identify the place just from her typically tourist pictures, and at the same time a little pleased that there was someone else in this big, barren city that knew "her place". Some pleasantries were exchanged and at some point he had asked her where she stayed when she visited and she had reeled off the names of the various resorts she had sampled. He casually mentioned that she might enjoy the Sugar Mill the next time she was there.

Later, on her computer her search revealed that in fact the island had been a sugar producer in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, cultivating a substantial sugar crop which eventually yielded a significant rum production, the export of which supported the island and most of its inhabitants. Finally she found what she was looking for -- the website of a bed and breakfast located deep in the rain forest. The owners had located an old sugar mill and preserving as much of the old architecture and structure as possible had restored it. A plantation house, the sugar mill itself and numerous outbuildings, all long abandoned and overgrown, had been restored to yield a small hotel and restaurant. The website stressed that every effort had been made to retain the original style and texture such that visitors could experience life as it must have been many years ago, tempered of course by the addition of modern amenities.

So it was this beautiful morning that she found herself in a Land Rover traversing the twisting roads and trails, climbing through the lush rain forest up the side of the mountain, peering through the window for a glimpse of a roof, then a stone wall. Around another bend and they pulled into a courtyard. She had expected it to be hot and humid, but a cool breeze off the ocean made the tropical vegetation soothing and inviting. A young boy appeared to take her bags and show her to reception where she was met by a distinguished looking man who introduced himself as Robert, the owner of the retreat.

Her room was perfect - just what she had expected - open and spacious - a wonderful view of the Caribbean far below, curtains wafting in the breeze. She decided to just sit, relax and enjoy. Fruit and wine appeared and she spent the afternoon lazing in her surroundings.

That evening at dinner she met other guests - not that many and of course Robert appeared as the gracious host. After dinner Robert asked if anyone cared to join him for a cigar and cognac. Surprisingly no one else accepted, but having a weak spot for a good cigar, she nodded. They sat on the open veranda, alone, as he snipped a cigar and prepared it for her - she took it and luxuriated in the heady aroma - and sat back to relax and enjoy the evening. Robert, ever the gracious host asked her if everything was to her liking. She replied that it was all perfect but told him she wanted to know more about the place. Robert took a long drag on his cigar, sipped some cognac and said "I thought you'd never ask. This place is my favorite topic of conversation."

For what seemed like a few minutes but she later realized had been over an hour, he expounded in great detail on the history of the place. It had been in his family for generations - back to when it was a working sugar cane plantation. The fields were lower down, but due to the heat and insects, the living quarters were here, high on the mountainside where the trade winds provided a constant cool breeze. The resort itself had been resurrected from the main house, while the small restaurant and bar was once the cookhouse. There were other outbuildings which he would be happy to show tomorrow if she was interested.

Having slept like a baby, caressed by the cool breeze she was up the next morning looking forward to the promised personal tour. As she was finishing breakfast Robert appeared, joining her for coffee and explaining the realties of life on an 18th century sugar plantation. Finishing he offered his arm and they set off to explore the grounds and the other buildings. One more interesting than the next - as history seemed to unfold itself. The old machinery that crushed the cane, extracting the sweet juice, the large vats where the water was boiled off, leaving the dark, sweet sugar, all seemed to tell their own stories. As they wandered around she spotted off to the side a building that they had not toured, and asked about it. "That building was one that I was hesitant to show you, since it refreshes memories of a darker time, but your curiosity is apparent, so see it you shall." As they walked toward the building, Robert explained that in its day, the plantation had been operated by slave labor. She had not given it much thought, but it became clear that in those days that was the norm. He explained that this building housed the slaves, with sections for the men and the women. As they entered the dark building she realized that it had been kept largely intact. The cots still lined the walls. She closed her eyes and wondered what it must have been like here three hundred years ago when this place had been packed with captive bodies, toiling against their will. They wandered further into the building and then back outside by a back entrance where she noticed still another, small building and inquired. "That is a place that you might find offensive" replied her guide. "It contains some of the more distasteful aspects of the slave trade, but at the same time I find it fascinating, so if you're not easily offended...." She answered by heading off in the direction of the building. When she tried to open the door she found it locked - with a modern deadbolt lock which she found curious. Robert produced a key and as they entered she was further surprised when a flipped a switch and the interior was illuminated by lights. She could not help wondering why anyone would bother to modernize the old building when it was apparently not being used for anything.

Once inside she noted that it was a well balanced mix of the old with the new. Furnishings and fixtures appeared much as they must have two hundred ears ago. At the same time lights and the subtle whisper of air conditioning reminded one that it was indeed the 21st century. Robert's words cut into her reverie as he explained the building.

His great, great grandfather it seemed had been a physician and scientist and had become fascinated with the studies of Mendel in the field of genetics. His studies and research had been frustrated by his own father when the need to come here and manage the plantation required his presence. Although at first resentful, he soon realized that with the groups of slaves at the plantation he had in fact stumbled into a laboratory the likes of which he could never have had in Europe. He had everything he needed right at his fingertips.

Of course there were problems. People, even slaves tended not to be overly cooperative when it came to sexual relationships. Obviously for any experiments in genetics to work, one must control the mating pairs, and he set out on an elaborate plan to do just that. To insure that he could experiment in breeding to develop the best traits in slaves - strength, endurance, docility, moderate but not excessive intelligence, etc., he made careful arrangements to control sexual activity among the slaves.

First, the women were separated from the men - and this building, where you are standing was where the female slaves were housed. No male slaves were permitted in or near it. The females were used solely for domestic work and did not go to the fields. The males worked the fields and were kept away from the house and in particular, this building. The females were confined here.

"This was the sleeping area" her host mentioned as they walked through a large room lined with beds on both sides. She saw the barred windows and took notice of the long chains that spanned the length of the room, passing through rings at the base of each bed. Noticing her gaze, Robert confirmed " yes the women were chained to their beds each night". She felt herself blushing slightly as she felt a tingle go through. She recalled her comfortable bed of last night, then thought of what it would have been like here. Lying on the small cot, waiting as the overseers came and chained her to her bed, where she would stay until released. Hmmm - that delicious tingle again.

The tour continued until they found themselves in a room that could only be described as overwhelming.

Along each one side of the room were several small cells. Obviously intended for only one occupant, each was scarcely four feet wide and six feet deep. Just enough room for the small cot, toilet and sink. Again the thought struck her -- "they didn't have toilets and sinks in the 18th century -- who would want to modernize these dreadful facilities and why?"

She turned and noticed the other items in the room. Off to one side was a frame-like contraption with straps strategically placed. She noticed a wooden framework at one end with cut-outs obviously for the neck and wrists, but the arrangement of the rest of confused her. Opposite it was a vertical pole with rings located at various heights. Given the realization that this had been a place for dealing with slaves, and having seen the cells and the beds with chains, it was obvious to her that she was looking at a whipping post. But again, the nagging thought -- none of these things looked old, or worn out. This was a humid climate -- the wood should have been rotted through and through, yet it was well cared for and in good condition.

Robert interrupted her thoughts with his "ever the pleasant tour guide" narrative. "This room had several purposes and as you can see, we've tried to restore it to look much as it did, with some improvements, three hundred years ago." Just as she was about to ask why anyone would want to restore such a room he continued. "This room was where the female slaves were brought for punishment -- ergo the whipping post, but in keeping with my great, great grandfather's curiosity and fascination, it was also the breeding room." She gasped out load as Robert smiled and continued his explanation.

"Human nature being what it is, my ancestor could not count on the female slaves pairing with the male slaves that he had selected in order to further his genetic goals. People are fickle that way. So, in order to insure the controls of his program, he created this room. Here the females would be brought, during their fertile time, fastened into the breeding rack (pointing at the wooden framework she had seen earlier) and the selected males would be brought in to impregnate them". She knew she was blushing and must have had a look of shock one her face, but Robert graciously made no mention and continued his explanation.

"I know by our standards it seems cruel and inhumane, but please consider the times. These people were slaves -- not regarded as human and it was certainly the owners' prerogative to select whether or with whom they would have children. This was a controlled breeding program, much as today we devise for livestock, because in those days that's all these people were regarded as -- livestock.

She suddenly blushed even more -- not because of anything that Robert had said, but at the sudden realization that that same thrill as before had rushed through her and that inexplicably she felt her sex becoming moist. "This was insane" she thought to herself." Her I am listening to this man tell me about breeding slaves, and explaining this barbaric room, and I'm getting turned on"

If Robert noticed her blush and quickened breathing he said nothing, but he did respond to her staring at the breeding rack. "This device really was quite effective, albeit cruel" he explained. The female knelt on these pads, where her legs were strapped, which as you can see by the spacing had the effect of spreading them far apart. Then her head was lowered to fit along with her wrists in the holes you see in the wooden frame".

She felt herself blushing even more as she imagined a woman, strapped into the framework, her head and wrists fastened low, her rear high in the air with her legs held wide apart. "What a terribly exposed, vulnerable and obscene position" she thought to herself. Almost as if he read her mind, Robert continued... "the position left a woman open and exposed in every way. Her panties were now quite wet and would have to be changed. The mental picture of a woman fastened like that, unable to move, obscenely expose and unable to even close her legs was obscenely delightful.

Her host must have had some inkling of her arousal, but went on with his explanation. "You will notice that there is no cross brace at the rear of the framework. This allowed the male complete, unobstructed access to her from behind and there was nothing she could do". That was it. She felt her sex lubricating freely and held the whipping post she had been standing near to steady herself. The whole idea of a woman fastened in that obscene position for the purpose of being fucked (one could hardly call it making love) was having a intense effect on her. This room had had one purpose and one purpose only -- to degrade a human female to the level of breeding stock. To fasten her, against her will onto the breeding rack and have her be serviced like an animal. She shook her head because she had no idea why she was getting so turned on. She was an educated professional woman who should have been repulsed at the thought of lowering the human female to such a base level, but her drenched panties proved otherwise.

Almost as if it was someone else speaking, she heard herself asking reason for the cages. Robert, ever the gracious host explained that when there was more than one woman to be bred - another rush as he used the term so casually with regard to a woman as opposed to a horse or cow -- they would be kept in the cells to wait their turn on the breeding rack. "Also," he continued, "the cells were used as a form of punishment. As you can see they are quite small -- only enough room for a few paces. If a female was not cooperative, or had otherwise earned punishment, a week or so locked in one of those cells often made her far more docile.

The rush again as she looked inside the closest cell. It was small -- smaller she realized than she had assumed when they came in. The cot ran nearly the full length of the cell. The toilet and sink occupied the space between the cot and the wall at the far end. This left an area about three feet by four feet open -- not a great deal of space. To make it even smaller, the ceiling was only about six feet high. She noticed that the door was ajar -- should could not resist -- she swung it open and stepped inside. "Here let me close the door slightly" Robert said from behind her, as he swung the door closed but did not lock it. "See how small it is and how quickly it would become quite oppressive?"

She turned to face her host, looking at him through the bars of the door that he held closed with his hand. Again that rush of arousal. What was it that was turning her on so much about being in this cell with the door not even locked? Was it the thought of being locked in with no escape? Perhaps naked as she waited her turn on the breeding rack? What would it have been like to have been locked in here, watching another female slave naked, led to the rack and fastened into it? Seeing her strapped down, completely exposed, open and vulnerable as she waited for the male that would copulate (what a nice clinical term -- but no, he would be fucking her) with her to be brought in. She wondered what would be going through the woman's mind as she lay in her restraints, knowing that she was going to be penetrated, possibly impregnated, and no way to stop it.

"Please beg my pardon" Robert's voice cut into her reveries", but are you alright? You appear a little flushed perhaps we should go outside". Jerking herself back to reality, she quickly agreed as he swung the door open and she stepped back out, back into freedom. They walked back to the main building. As she showered later, she could not help but let her fingers drift first to her breasts, rolling the nipples between her fingers, and then down to her sex. She began gently stroking, then let her fingers move more rapidly and with more pressure as the images of the breeding rack, the whipping post and the cells came back to her. She came suddenly and violently. It had been a long time since she had experienced such an intense orgasm, so quickly. In its aftermath, she began to ponder, wondering why the visions of confinement, punishment and degradation aroused her so much. No, there was no sense mincing words or trying to fool herself. She, the proud, strong, independent professional woman, was going nuts at the idea of a woman being locked up, whipped, and finally being bred like an animal.

Dinner was pleasant -- once again Robert was ever the gracious host. He asked her whether or not she had enjoyed the tour. She assured him that it had been fascinating. Was there a bit smugness on his smile when she said that? She was beginning to enjoy his company, and wondered idly if there might be something to allow to develop during her stay.

The next day she decided to go exploring herself and wandered about the grounds. Here and there were crumbling old segments of walls and stone fences. She loved the idea that the rocks and stones she was looking at had been in place for three hundred years or so. It put things into perspective. She had no particular goal in mind as she wandered about but was not surprised when she looked up and noticed that she was standing once again in front of the quarters for the female slaves that had aroused her so the day before. As she wandered up to the entrance she noticed that they had apparently forgotten to close and lock the door when they left yesterday, because it was slightly ajar. Why she found herself going inside, she could not say (her perhaps would not admit even to herself), but she didn't care. As she walked through the large communal sleeping room she let herself imagine the scene three hundred years ago -- all the women stretched on the cots, chained by the ankles to the long anchoring chain. Knowing that until the overseer came to unlock them the next morning, they were captives. She shivered slightly as she entered the breeding room, again taking note of the very contemporary light switch. She also noticed that the switch was a dimmer, so the level of light could be adjusted. Her mind was churning. "What was Robert using this room for? If it was supposed to be a museum of sorts, why worry about the lights being dimmed? And why, she wondered, as she opened the door to one of the cells and stepped inside, the plumbing in the cells? Certainly that took away from the historical realism and served no useful purpose -- unless...." And why, she wondered was it all so exciting to her -- and it was. Just the act of stepping into the cell had started the little thrills to shoot through her.