She lets Kyleson do as he wishes.

Dear Diary (Morning of May 23rd)

I had to pause last night in my journaling. In part, because my eyes were getting too tired to see the words I was putting on the page, but also if truth be told, because remembering the shameful way I let Kyleson use me made me itch and burn in a most unladylike way. I retired to my bed in the hope of sleeping away the feelings, but no sooner was I beneath the covers than my hands went between my legs to quench the fire.

I don't know how my Irish overseer seeks to know what I need even more than I do myself but once again when I placed myself in his strong hands, I was at least for a brief moment in time relieved of the stress and uncertainty of my precarious position her at Havenhall.

“What are you doing here, Miss Diflorentini?” Kyleson's voice was low and deep as he loomed over me threateningly. I remember stammering out something about Angelica needing a lesson, but he just laughed at me. “Light-skinned house niggas like you are only here in my barns for two reasons: to be disciplined or to be bred.” He pushed me forward until my bare breasts were pressed against the rough wood of the barn's wall. “Which is it, Mis DiFlorentini, are you here to have a baby planted in your ripe womb?”

“No.” I remember wondering at the time why my denial sounded so weak. “Please, don't ...”

“Well, then this pretty nigga must be here for a lashing then.” I tried to stop him again, but he lifted my wrists to the leather loop that hung from an iron hook and secured my wrists with the efficiency that can only come from countless repetitions. “Don't you worry none, lass. I'll use the suede flogger, it'll tan your back good'n red, but it won't break the skin.”

“No!” This time my protest had all the strength and firmness I could muster, but it made no difference at all as Kyleson pulled off first my skirts and then the ruffled leggings. As he tossed them to the side, he explained that oftentimes house slaves wet themselves when they feel the lash for the first time.

“I'd hate to send you back to the big house with piss-soaked delicates.” I was mortified. Not only was I going to be humiliated by this coarse Irishman, but now, in addition, I have to make sure I don't lose control of my blader.

The whipping was worse than I could imagine. I will not detail the shock and pain I felt as even this, the 'gentlest' of all the whips, landed on my back. Nothing in my life had prepared me for the explosion of fire that came again and again as I hung from my wrists. I'd like to report that I gritted my teeth and bore the pain in stoic silence, but that is far from the truth. By the third time the flogger landed on my bare back I was whimpering like a little girl, begging Kyleson to stop, offering to let him do whatever he wanted if he just had mercy on me. The one small relief I can report is that after the sixth and final blow I still had control of my bladder. Other than that, I had lost any remaining pride I might have still had and when Kyleson picked me up in his arms I clung to him and like the pleasure **** he now knows I am, my loins burning with almost as much heat as my back.