Kyleson has a job for her

Dear Diary, (May 24th, late afternoon)

I am truly a wicked woman. I wonder what my mother would say if she knew what I just did; would she be proud of how I handled myself or angry that I am becoming part of the system that she escaped from almost twenty years ago? I did not, as a reader might suppose upon reading the final note of my last entry, slip into Mr. Thornton's room and make my desire for him plain. Not that I have discarded that idea. Mr. Thornton is much more like the gentlemen suitors that I am accustomed to in my life in Philadelphia than the coarse Irishman who uses delights in making me uncomfortable with my new position as mistress of Havenhall.

This morning shortly after I finished writing the letter to my mother, I was in the parlor wondering how I should approach Mr. Thornton about staying on here in Havenhall in an advisory role. There should be enough income from an established plantation like this to offer the man a decent retainer so long as word of my tainted heritage does not ruin the normal procedures. As I was considering how best to convince the young lawyer to join my cause, Ol' Tom knocked politely on the door and announced that 'Massh Kyleson was hoping to speak with me.' I hope that I looked far cooler than I felt when I nodded. I remember wondering if Sean had changed his mind about leaving me in peace here within the sanctuary of the white walls of the manor house. Could I stop him if he wanted to have me ride him right here in the salon? Would I even want to?

Mr. Kyleson however was true to his word so I cannot answer that particular question. My overseer had come to my domain on official business and was as deferential and helpful as any Mistress might hope from her hired man.

“There is a matter that needs attending to, Miss Diflorentini.” The Irishman's brogue made my insides warm even though his manner was above reproach. “Do you remember we spoke yesterday of the new breeders that your father purchased?” It was hard to forget the three dark-skinned slaves I saw standing in the **** barn, even with all the other activity that followed on that dirty bed.

“Yes Mr. Kyleson, have they taken ill?”

“No Ma'am, but they have spent far too long waiting to be put out with the other does. With your permission, I'd like to get them working out in the fields?” When I nodded Kyleson went on without missing a beat. “One of the does is coming into heat and should be covered as soon as possible so we don't miss a chance to get her carrying.” The breeding of new slaves was, I knew from looking at the ledgers, a major source of revenue for Havenhall but still I felt my chest tighten when I realized what Kyleson was asking (telling) me. Again, I nodded. It is one thing to agree to have a **** work in the fields, it is a slightly different matter to order her to be **** for the sole purpose of bringing yet another unfortunate **** into this world ...

“Good.” I think Sean might have sensed my discomfort because he immediately offered me a way to distance myself from the consequences of my decision. “I assume you want me to choose the right bull?”

“That's not what my father did, is it?”

“No Ma'am, your father was very ... hands on in the breeding of his negros. But, he was after all a man ...” I don't know if it was the man's smirk, or his belief that I could not assume all the roles my father did, but without further thought about what I was saying I rose to my feet and made it clear to my overseer that I was in charge of Havenhall.

“Find me three or four candidates, Mr. Kyleson.” I put as much **** as I could into the words, “I will make the selection after lunch.”

I believe I surprised the man, but by the time he was backing away I saw a hint of a smile on the normally somber face.

Because of my pride, I found myself a few hours later, back in the **** barns standing in front of a trio of naked black studs. One of which I recognized as Conrad the blacksmith. Each of the three bulls was already mostly erect and I confess I stared with a mixture of amazement, horror and desire at the three impressive shafts that were bobbing up and down before me.

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Each of these monsters was easily the length of my forearm, and I could not help but imagine what it would feel like to have one of those members split me open. I could sense the snickering of Kyleson as he watched me take in the sight and remembered how he said my father had been very 'hands on' in his selection of breeding bulls. The room became suddenly silent as I wrapped my fingers around the first of the three shafts and squeezed it like I was selecting a cucumber from a farmer's stall.

This was the first black penis that I have ever held, and I have to admit that the power to hold a man like this in my hand was as exciting as the actual act itself. The man's member stiffened noticeably in my grip, and I smiled just a little. Only after I had taken each of the three slaves in my hand did I make my selection, it was I have to admit a pretty random choice. All three of the men looked fit and healthy and if the member that I selected to impregnate the collared woman waiting in the adjoining room was slightly shorter than the other two, it more than made up for it in girth. I can't believe I was going through with this ... I didn't even know which of the three slaves was going to be bred, but in my mind's eye it was the tall **** who somehow looked proud even with the chains and collar around her neck.

Conrad and the other fieldhand appeared understandably disappointed, but they would get their chance soon enough with the other new slaves. I knew at that moment that I was not going to stop this heinous practice, and that I was indeed (like my father) going to personally select the bulls for each breeding.

“A fine choice, Miss Diflorentini.” Kyleson was already pulling a burlap sac over the ****'s head explaining as he tied the bag loosely around the man's neck. “We've found that the bulls are less attached if they do not know which of the brats running around the yard are their offspring, and the breeders don't know which of their fellow slaves got to fuck them.” Kyleson paused for a second.

“Your father would often stay and watch, Miss Diflorentini,. Either with the pair or up in the viewing room with a fancy girl ... ” The implied question was impossible to ignore.