Victoria's Secret the Banana Problem

The three men were nothing if not thorough. As the inspection continued breasts and bottom cheeks were weighed and squeezed, teeth examined, and dirty hair stroked for signs of lice. If Victoria had teased herself with the possibility that her prior acquaintance with the gentlemen might have earned her their respect, or at the very least persuaded them to allow her to keep a minuscule morsel of her dignity, she was quickly disabused of such fanciful notions. Soon Victoria was standing on one foot, hopping up-and-down as Crawly and the other gentlemen openly discussed her charms.

"See how her titties bounce? Ripe little udders those are. Nice and firm. If I owned her I'd have her hand milked every mornin'. Nothing better than sweet English cream in Indian tea."

"I don't think she's giving milk right now, Crawly", Colonel Masterson said, confirming his suspicion by giving my wife's bouncing nipples a few vigorous tugs.

Crawly was undeterred. "Not now she won't, because the little bitch hasn't dropped her litter yet. I'd keep her knocked up right good, dropping whelps by the score, so I could get my money back on 'er, I would."

"A sound business proposition," Lord Humphrey's agreed, enjoying the change in bounce as the exhausted Victoria began hopping on her other foot. "I imagine a litter of white slave girls would fetch a very fair price indeed."

"Yeah, but I'd mate her with the coloreds, too," Crawly explained. "Stronger field stock when you mix the blood lines. Plus this one ayn't so fair as she makes out to be."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"See how much darker she is now then she was a few days ago? Sun did that. Turn around, girl, and show us your bum."

The chain between her ankles was just long enough for Victoria to keep her foot off the ground as she hopped. Still hopping, Victoria turned.

"See? Few hours in the sun, and her arse cheeks look like two brown hamburger buns!" Crawly said, squeezing Victoria's bouncing bottom. "See the way her hair is frizzled into its natural shape? For all her fine airs and her snooty accent, she's got monkey blood in her, no doubt!"

"Lady Victoria, BLACK?" Lord Humphrey said. "A bit tan perhaps, but..."

"Naw, she's a colored," Crawly insisted. "Isn't that right, love? There's a skeleton in the closet. Might not even be legitimate. Probably the serving girl's daughter, if you ask me."

Although quite repelled by the noxious nature of Crawly's comments I was nevertheless intrigued. Victoria had always been EXTREMELY careful to shade herself from the sun, and enormous floppy hats and gallons of sunscreen were her required summer wear. When she sat on the porch at the hotel and enjoyed our tea in the morning, we always got there first to make sure we got the table shaded by both the building and an enormous umbrella. I had never actually seen her tan.

Our caravan had been traveling mostly at night. But even with the limited sun she had quickly acquired a surprisingly bronze skin tone.

Interesting.

I recalled overhearing one of the black servants at her family's estate whispering about Victoria's dread of the sun, calling her "a vampire". The black woman said that when Victoria was little she had stayed in the country for a week, and had played in the fields, and had "gone bad like a banana, first yellow, then brown, then black and spoiled. Her mother was furious!"

I had dismissed the story as a spiteful servant's exaggeration, but seeing how quickly she had acquired an all-over tan, to the point where her shading similar to some of the lighter skin Africans in her coffle, and knowing that she had been in the sun only a few hours each day, I began to wonder.

I could tell from the look on Victoria's face that the remark stung for Victoria shared the prejudices of her class. "I don't object to THOSE people per se," she would often say, "It's there laziness that bothers me. I despise people who always have their hand out, waiting to be GIVEN something."

Now Victoria, penniless and naked in a slave market, was being lumped in with the people she so casually dismissed as "the takers."

"So tell us, my little African Princess," Crawly said, his voice oozing malice, "about the black negro skeletons you've been hiding in your family's castle's closet."

"I don't know what you mean," Victoria said, still trying to hop as Crawly fondled her bottom. I can assure you, Sir..."

Crawly would have none of it. Putting a hand on her tummy so the hopping slave girl wouldn't fall, he delivered a half dozen crisp hard spanks right across Victoria's naked bottom cheeks!

"Oh! Oh! Oh! My Grandmother was Brazilian!" Victoria cried out, shouting as the spanks landed. "My grandfather was spending the summer on the family's plantation in Brazil and he got some servant pregnant, and since Grandma couldn't conceive... But...but mother was white. I swear it."

"The old switcheroo?" Crawly sneered. "I knew it. Blood will out. She's a darkie all right. Brazilian's are the worst. Fool you as whites, but they tan up black as yer' boots!"

"See? She's even got a hangman's scar. That's how ya' deal with uppity coloreds...haul them up and let them dangle a while. Sip a beer while 'ya watch 'em kick. Filthy monkeys."

"No, you lie! You lie! I'm white. I don't get darker than this. I swear."

Crawly spun my Victoria around. She was weeping now, more from shame than the spanks I think, as her dark disgrace was revealed to the white men before her. Grabbing her face and handling her roughly, Crawly began a careful analysis of her features. "Nose is a bit wider than it should be. Green eyes show she's mixed, but there's some dark flecks in there, too. Nice full lips, you see? Yes, she's a colored all right."

"I do see your point...perhaps," Lord Humphrey hedged.

"One drop is all it takes," Crawly replied. "I think we should check back on her when they bring her to market," Crawly said. "Another few days in the sun might work wonders. I bet she'll be dark enough to work on my plantation by then. "

"Lady Victoria, a black plantation slave?" Lord Humphrey said, shocked at the idea. "Really, Crawly, that's going to far!"

"Yes, quite right, old sport," Colonel Masterson agreed. "Besides, even if she does darken, to what end? Give the poor girl some clothes, and put her back in the house, and she'll quickly lighten up again."

"Them shackle and beads she's wearing is the only clothes she'll ever have," Crawly spat back. "Those are too good for likes of her, if you want my opinion. If she's dark at the market, I'll buy her, and I'll buy her as a n*****. I'll march her back through the streets n**** naked, and she'll work n***** naked in my fields."

At this the men fell silent, both in embarrassment at his most disagreeable language and the underlying fury at Victoria that they revealed. Sensing the other's reaction, Crawly smiled. "Don't be squeamish, mates. My brand will look fine on her big black arse. And she'll be pleasured by bucks constantly, when she's not being milked for my morning tea."

At this more light-hearted suggestion the men laughed. "Well, the ladies would certainly be amused to watch our little Samba toil in the fields, then serve them tea," Colonel Masterson allowed. "I'm sure they'd enjoy having a black version of Lady Victoria drawing their baths and hauling their bags and polishing their boots." Victoria looked quite horrified as the men laughed out loud at the humiliating suggestion.

Lord Humphrey seemed unconvinced. "I think using her as a plantation slave is a bit of a waste, frankly. She looks quite fit to me. As I recall, you ran in school, didn't you girl?"

I noted with interest that Humphrey now referred to "Lady Victoria" as "girl". How quickly the wind had changed!

"Yes sir," Victoria replied, keeping her face down humbly even as she smiled with pride. "I ran cross country, sprints, and steeple chase. I qualified for the Olympic team, actually, but father wouldn't let me compete. He said it wasn't proper for a girl to run about in shorts, with men watching."

"Quite right" Lord Humphrey agreed. "In addition to being quite a runner, I understand you're a bit of an equestrian, are you not?"

"Yes, sir," Victoria said, unsure of where Lord Humphrey was going.

"I have a friend of mine who's a Sheik, with something of a fascination for fair skinned white women. It amuses him to have them dance bare breasted for his Western visitors, wearing nothing but translucent harem pants. He lets me stable a few girls at his estate who, when they're not being used for my purposes, can be used for his. I'm sure he'd enjoy having a fair skinned green eyed English girl to dance for his guests, and amuse them as he sees fit."

Victoria blanched. The thought of dancing half naked for strangers was shocking enough, but more shocking still if she should encounter someone she knew as one of the guests. But the worst was yet to come.

"Sounds most intriguing. But tell us, what are your purposes?" Colonel Masterson inquired. "Tell us about these stables of yours."

"Nothing much to tell, really," his Lordship replied casually, lighting his cigar. "I keep a string of pony girls there. Sometimes I race them, sometimes I breed them. Sometimes I merely hook them up to a cart and take a few of my friends out for a trot."

"A trot? I scarcely seek how that slip of a girl could carry a walrus like you, Humphrey, let alone a cart filled with your posh fat friends," Crawly snickered.

Lord Humphrey simply smiled as he knelt down next to Victoria, who was still hopping as directed. I watched closely as he began squeezing her bouncing bottom and flexing thighs. "Nonsense. See how long this wretched girl has been hopping? Nice strong thighs on this one. The carts are balanced, and sometimes I'll use a team of girls. This little filly is stronger than you think. See the tightness in her bottom cheeks and calves? Ready to pull the heaviest load up the steepest, muddiest hill."

Mr. Crawly remained unconvinced. "Perhaps, if she'd do it. A human pony, shitting in her own straw? Her ladyship might not stand for it."

Lord Humphrey laughed. "Of course she wouldn't stand for it, old sport. She'd be tied between the shafts with a thick leather bit between her teeth, and a harness holding her in place. As for her liking it, that's what the pony whip is for."

Victoria let out a pitiful whimper as her bottom cheeks clenched under Lord Humphrey's threat.

"I'll burn the Humphrey family crest on her hide, of course. An "H" inscribed in a circle, with lightning bolts for the three bars. I burn the circle on first, then a week later the first bar, then so on. Four brands in all, applied by yours truly, so my little filly understands who owns her."

Victoria shuddered as Colonel Masterson sagely nodded. "She'd make a fine pony girl, all right, and I'd love to have her under the whip. After I buy her, maybe I'll lend her to you for a race, provided you let me take her on a trot. I'd love to see that big bottom of hers wiggling beneath the carriage shafts as I decorated it with the whip."

"You're bidding on her, too?" Crawly said, obviously dismayed at having a third competitor.

"I might." Colonel Masterson lifted Victoria's chin up and looked her in the eye. "Tell me, girl: you did fox hunting on your estate, did you not?"

"Yes sir," Victoria said.

"And you bagged a cheetah on safari last week?"

I grimaced. Victoria and I had fought all week about her safari expedition but she had insisted on going, saying that adding an animal head and a cheetah rug to her study was part of her "family honor." I had been furious with her, and genuinely disgusted by her actions.

"Since your such a skilled huntress, I may purchase you away from Crawly and take you on a different sort of hunt. There's a friend of mine a few miles from here who runs a fox hunt. Of course since the quarry is a bit larger he uses Great Danes rather than hounds. Of course you'll be kenneled with the bitches for a few days so you'll get their scent on you. It will make the Great Danes a bit aggressive, I fear. Then we'll send you out naked into the compound while we have our dinner. After dessert we will release the dogs and hunt you down."

"Will you give her shoes, at least?" Crawly asked.

"Of course not. The animal will be naked as nature intended. There's quite a bit of thistle and a few small lakes. Some of the girls try to hide there, although the dogs always find them. The water can be quite chilly at night, I'm afraid, so hopefully they'll find you before you freeze. There is a grove of trees, about ten miles from the house, if you can find them. You might try for them, for it's far better to be treed then to let the dogs catch you out in the open," he said, chuckling.

"A girl as fit as you might be able to find the trees, although time will not be your friend. There's a wildlife preserve, and from time-to-time one of the larger cats gets past the fence. No danger to us, as they avoid the dogs. But I'm sure you'll find cheetah hunting much different when you are stark naked, and bleeding from running barefoot over the rocks and thistle, with no weapon other than what you can manufacture."

For a moment I thought Victoria was going to faint. She was bringing home a cheetah skin as a trophy. Now she might be the trophy of one of the animals she so callously hunted.

"We usually hunt local girls, as my friends claim that Africans make the best runners. I'll wager him different, and I'm betting with those muscular legs of yours you'll give the dogs quite a run. I'll get good odds and will make a tidy profit when the dogs finally hunt you down. And, of course, as the man who brought the quarry, I'll have first dibs on you."

Mr. Crawly turned to Kaba as he fingered Victoria's wet sex. Despite her humiliation she gasped with pleasure as she pushed back against his hand. "It looks like our randy slave girl has three masters ready to bid on her hot slave pussy. As none of us like to lose, you'll get a lively price for her. Do you mind if we sample the goods now?"

Lord Humphrey discretely passed the flesh peddler a bribe large enough to elicit a very satisfied smile. "As you wish, gentlemen," Kaba replied. "She is at your disposal."

Crawly's cruel smile vanished as he turned to Victoria. "You hear him, my little African princess. On your knees. Time 'fer you to learn some humility, kneeling in the African dirt, servicing a white man like nature intended."

Victoria's eyes burned fire. "No, never! Not you. Not any of you. I'll bite it off first."

And with that Victoria spat in Crawly's face.

"I am sorry, gentlemen," Kaba replied. "The girl is untrained. We have many other girls who—"

"I don't want another girl," Crawly said. "I want her. And I want to see her punished."

"Yes, quite right," Lord Humphrey agreed. "Girls like her must be taught their place."

Colonel Masterson nodded. "The empire was built on discipline. Impossible to be too strict about these things."

Kaba nodded. "I have a young lad who needs training in such matters. Perhaps this is an opportunity."

The men nodded. And with the unanimous verdict of the tribunal Victoria's fate was sealed.

With her legs already in shackles securing her was easy. A large cinderblock was placed between Victoria's spread legs, over her chain, and three more blocks placed on top of the first. A second pile of cinderblocks was placed a few feet in front of her.

The purpose of this was not clear until one of the slavers produced a piece of wood about a meter long that had been carved into a sort of triangle. The triangle was placed on top of the two piles of cinderblocks, forming a sort of sawhorse that Victoria was obliged to straddle with her legs spread wide. A set of cuffs around her wrists, tucked neatly under the other cinderblock, left her immobile, although she was able to strain up a bit and lift her crotch and torso off the triangle she was resting on. This freedom was welcome, for the wooden board her pussy was resting against was clearly most uncomfortable, even if the sight of her squirming bottom was most entertaining to the three men who watched her.

Victoria strained to raise her bottom up and take the weight off her sex, spreading both her bottom cheeks and her legs as she strained. As I watched her squirm I realized that she was suffering on a crude African version of the Spanish Donkey, the medieval torture device used on heretics. Lord Humphrey must have been thinking the same thing, for he remarked to Colonel Crawford how "charming it was that men from every culture on earth eventually discover the same techniques for breaking-in willful girls."

"They're breaking-her-in," I thought. "Training her like a pony, or a dog." From the way she was crying and squirming, I imagine it was quite painful, although I eased my conscience by remembering was for her own good. Recalling the rope around her neck in the marketplace I knew that her punishment could be much worse.

Mercy? No. This simply had to be done, and the sooner the better. Victoria had volunteered to be a slave girl, and if she were to survive in her new role she must learn obedience.

Through her sobs Victoria watched as one of the slavers handled a bare chested teenager a long dressage whip, a little more than a meter in length. I jumped at the sound of the cracking whip, which reverberated through the air like a gunshot. The whip was not huge, but it was a nasty little bastard, and I knew that it would teach the bound slave girl a lesson she would not soon forget.

A part of me wanted to intervene, even as the bulge beneath my robe stiffened. But I knew that Kaba was an experienced slave trainer, and would give Victoria the discipline she needed. Better to simply observe as justice was done.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! The whip snapped in the air as the boy got a feel for his new toy. Victoria, looking over her shoulder watched him, her naked and defenseless bottom clenching at the sound of each pistol shot. Her mental anguish as the whip cut through the air was palpable.

I flashed back to Victoria scoffing as her father reprimanded her for using "too much whip" when she rode. Now the wheel had turned. She was once again in the saddle, but now she was riding a spanking horse, and Victoria would feel precisely what a pony whip felt like. I knew the lesson would be severe, but I vowed no interference because I knew it was a lesson she needed to learn. Colonel Masterson was right: it was impossible to be too strict about such things.

The boy handling the whip cracked it quite well, although he walked with some difficulty. I guessed his age to be about 18 or 19 although his growth was clearly stunted, probably from poor nutrition. His teeth were bad and the man training him talked to him gently.

"Dudu is not very bright," Kaba explained, "but young men like him often make excellent whip masters. If they cannot earn female companionship with charm or good looks, their resentments can be put to good use as they take great pleasure in whipping female bottoms."

Pausing, Dudu moved in closer and took careful aim.

CRACK!

The sound a whip makes is actually a small sonic boom created when the whip tip breaks the sound barrier, a dry scientific fact that is worth considering when evaluating the whip's effect on a bare female bottom. Victoria screamed like a banshee as the first stroke hit her ass, a tad off center, striping the left cheek a bit more than the right. Keeping in mind the purpose of the stroke was to teach a disrespectful slave girl obedience the stroke was very fine indeed.

However in whipping slave girls as in most other matters, practice makes perfect. I watched closely as Dudu, learning from the first stroke, raised the whip again.

CRACK!