Of course he does

Dear Diary, (May 24th, after a humiliating night)

I hesitate to write any more on these pages. Once again, the first thing that Miles did when he visited me in my prison was to ask for the journal. I had to watch him gloat as he read my account of the pony ride and my shameful response to the touch of the whip running over my sensitive flesh. Perhaps even worse is the way my cousin licked his lips when he admired the sketches I had drawn of my experience.

“Hot dang, girl.” He slapped the cover of the journal with his meaty hand making me start. “I'm going to have you draw these pictures on the adverts next time I have some slaves to move.” His attention moved from the diary to where I was standing by the bed. The only blessing was that I still had clothes on, but I knew that even that would soon be changing. It was almost as if he could read my mind.

“Be a good girl, Bianca.” Manton rubbed his hands together, “Get out of that shift and show your master your pretty little self.” I considered refusing, fighting the man tooth and nail, but the bitter truth of the matter is that he would probably like that. Instead, I did as he asked and pulled the muslin dress up and over my head until I was naked once again.

“I like that look,” Manton chuckled, “Draw this next time.” Perhaps he could tell that I was about to protest, because he reminded me that I was allowed to keep this journal only through his grace. Recording my thoughts and the sketches I have been drawing are the only things that have been keeping me sane, and so I have **** but to do as he says.

__

I expect Miles will like this one. The naked young woman in the sketch looks at the same time, both shy and sexy and if I were a man, I'd want to sample her soft body. Without my fine clothes, and in this **** position, I look far more like the negro fancy maid that he wants than the proud Northern debutant daughter of Italian descent who arrived at Havenhall just days ago.

It was easy to see what was going to happen next. Manton paused only a second or two to admire my naked body before he too started pulling off his clothes with a hurried pace that left no doubt to his intentions.

“You're going to make a fine fancy girl.” He made no attempt to hide his desire as he taunted me, “I wonder if any of your Yankee lovers ever guessed why their demure Italian heiress became so eager to please them with her brown-skinned body.” To be fair, my cousin is not a bad looking man. He is a little heavy in the gut, his skin mottled in places, and his phallus, even erect, was smaller than I expected for such a big man, but it is not his physical appearance that made me cringe. It was his crude observations and his undisguised delight in the power that he had over me.

I didn't really fight Manton when he joined me on the bed, but neither did I make any attempt to please my new master. I did my best to lay still and keep my expression neutral as he climbed on top of me and settled between my spread legs.