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Before I started reading, I got myself comfortable on the large hotel room bed. I was still pretty drunk even after the sobering experience of discovering that Manton had attempted to steal the diary. I knew from experience that a few preventative measures could help reduce the worst of tomorrow's hangover. I took two aspirin with plenty of water and then filled up both available glasses with ice water for the morning.

I changed into a lacey nighty so sheer that it was basically translucent and that ended mid-thigh showing off my legs. I bought it over a year ago as a valentine's day surprise for my lover. It certainly spiced up the night, but it didn't save the failing relationship as we broke up a little over a month later.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror as I finished in the bathroom. With my straightened hair and sexy lingerie, I looked for all the world like one of the sketches in Bianca's journal.

Probably because the strong wine that was still clouding my thinking, I felt a little thrill at the idea that I might be bid on by men interested in me only because of the way I looked and what it might be like to fuck me. Don't get me wrong, I'm proud of the work I do, and I think I have an agreeable personality, but to have my value be determined solely by my appearance ... or my ability to please a man in bed ... dear God, I'm so horny!

I settled onto the Queen-sized bed with the journal and freshly charged vibrator close at hand and pick up Bianca's tale where she left off after being dominated by a surprisingly forceful Mr. Thornton.

Dear Diary, (still early morning May 23rd)

_I thought surely, after Mr. Thornton so thoroughly mounted me that the young gentleman would send me away. Apparently, I underestimated just how easy it is for a Southern white man to use a negro woman as an object for his pleasure. Now that I have time to think the matter over, I wonder if perhaps Mr. Thornton was expressing the anger and hurt that he has felt these past two days. First the young lawyer learnt that I was the daughter of a formerly enslaved fancy maid, and then when I came to him, that I was not the sheltered innocent he believed me to be. I had heard from my mother's many callers_ that in the South in particular, the virtue of a young woman was the most important attribute in perspective brides. If that is the case, I must have been a supreme disappointment to the young lawyer.

Alternatively, it is possible that Mr. Thornton knew even better than me what I wanted from a man. That under my veneer of sophisticated deportment, expensive dresses and the best education that money could buy I was little more than a whore - just like my mother. I'm loath to admit this, but when I was on my hands and knees and Mr. Thornton had a handful of my carefully straightened hair in his fist, I experienced the most intense orgasm I can remember. Perhaps I am the whore that he took me for.

“Clean up this mess.” Mr. Thornton pointed down at his long, curved phallus that was gleaming with my juices. I was still on my hands and knees and Mr. Thornton had moved from behind so that now he stood just inches from my nose.

“What?” I was still recovering at that time, and perhaps not as sharp as I might have been, but I had no idea what the man wanted from me.

“Use your mouth and clean me off.” Even with that much clearer command I still hesitated. Because of my mother, I knew in a theoretical sense about oral sex, but it was not something that I engaged in with my lovers. I probably would have eventually used my mouth on a man; perhaps when I was in my flow and wanted to please my lover. However, that penis would be clean and dry, not slathered with the juices fresh out of my vagina.

“I'm waiting, Bianca.” Mr. Thornton placed his hand on the back of my head and pressed his still half-erect manhood against my nose ...