Kyleson knew my mother

Dear Diary, (morning of May 22nd)

I started to describe my encounter with Sean Kyleson last night but was interrupted before I could finish detailing what happened when he stepped into my room from the balcony. I am more than a little confused by what happened last night in my room, but maybe by getting it down in this journal I can find some clarity.

“You are almost as pretty as your mother.” I still remember Kyleson's chilling greeting. It was in part a compliment, but the implied threat behind the words could not be ignored. I remember considering bluffing my way out of this, but there was a steely intensity to his gaze that negated that idea. Instead, I decided to use this opportunity to learn as much as I could.

“You knew my mother?”

“I was there when your father bought her.” Kyleson rubbed his big hands together as he spoke. “She was the star of the auction; at least five other gentlemen wanted her, but your father outbid them all.”

“Are you going to tell anyone?” I tried to sound confident and poised, but as I write this, I very much doubt I succeeded.

“That depends a lot on you, Miss DiFlorentini.” Kyleson replied as he closed the distance between us until he towered above me. “I don't have much to gain by running to your cousins for example, I think I'd do much better letting you stay here in Havenhall,” he paused long enough to boldly lift my chin, so I was looking up at him. “If you and I can come to an understanding.”

“What do you want?” I was in a weak negotiating position; the least I could do was hear him out.

“I want a free hand in managing Havenhall.” I nodded silently, if that is the worst of the deal, I've lost very little. “Irishmen are looked down upon by the plantation owners of the South almost as much as you darkies.” Kyleson's hand was still on my face, sliding from my chin to under my ear cupping my cheek in a clear indication that this was only the beginning of his demands.

“And I want you.” There it was, it could be worse; in spite of Kyleson's curt manner, he was not unattractive. “Mr. Heyward never shared Molly, but I don't mind settling for her pretty, fancy, daughter.”

“You're a pig, Mr. Kyleson. I am the owner of this plantation, I can't be seen with you.”

“You don't have to be seen with me, Miss DiFlorentini.” His laugh was actually warm and attractive and the touch of his hand on the soft skin under my ear made it hard to think. “I just want to bang you like the nigger whore that we both you really are.” He stepped back and started removing his clothes, but his eyes never left mine. “I think that's what you want too.” I still remember the feeling of warmth that flooded my loins as I nodded my head in submission. I hated myself, but Kyleson seemed to know what I needed even better than I did.

The sex I had with Kyleson was exactly I needed. Say what you will about the man's courting practices, as a lover he was as demanding and forceful as I hoped for. Once most of our clothes were removed, he pinned me on my back and bent my knees up until I was folded like a pretzel.

It is a good thing that I was no delicate rose waiting to be plucked. If I had been a virgin, I would have woken the house with my screams as that man plunged his entire length into me splitting me open like a whore, just as he promised. As it is, I am still sore from his energetic coupling and Kyleson had to silence my cries of pleasure with his hand over my mouth before he was done.

He is sleeping now - no wait, he's awake again and not yet satisfied ...