Bianca is brought to Miles' room

Dear Diary, (May 22nd)

It has begun. Last night, I was escorted to Mr. Manton's rooms by Ol' Will, my father's negro doorman. When the grey-haired **** unlocked my door with a small candle in his hand I thought, for just a second, that he was there to set me free. It was a stupid hope, and when I saw the skimpy gown he brought for me to wear I knew exactly why Will was there.

“I'm sorry, Miss Bianca. The new Master wants you in his room.” He laid the white dress on my bed and unlocked the chain from my ankle before backing out.

“You change quick, Miss.” The white-haired negro shut the door until it was open only a crack, “I'll wait out here.”

Judging by the skimpy silk nightgown with the little bow in front, Manton was expecting something special tonight. Even though he heard me when I admitted to Kyleson that I had had other lovers, the nightgown looked like something a virginal bride might wear on her wedding night.

As I write this now, I wonder if my cousin had hoped to claim my maidenhead when he first learned why I was at Havenhall. In this fine lingerie I looked more like the Italian heiress than a negro fancy maid. Old Will was silent as he guided me upstairs, and thankfully, that late at night that there was no one to see me being led to his rooms at our new master's command.

“Oh good,” Manton was waiting for me when I arrived at his room. “Get your pretty brown ass in here, girl.” I stepped forward obediently. I knew better than to say anything. Manton is a disgusting sadist, and I had to be careful not to anger him, so I stood motionless as he pulled out the white silk ribbon that held the gown together above my breasts.

“Good girl.” His voice was unusually gentle, but it was better than the derisive mocking of earlier and at least he wasn't beating me. “I believe you may find that this life suits you.” It was awful, but I didn't protest; not even when Manton pushed the gown from my shoulders and started groping my soft mounds.

__

I suspect my cousin wanted me to object or perhaps plead for mercy, but I was too stubborn to play his game. When he pinched my nipple between his thumb and finger and twisted it hard enough to make me wince, I still held my tongue. I hate myself - in particular I hate the way my teat throbbed into an erect button between his fingers. After one final caress, Miles placed his thick finger under my chin and lifted my head, so I was staring at up him as he spoke.

“Oh, I am going to fuck you, Miss DiFlorentini, but before we get to the pleasurable part of the night, I have a little task for you.” Manton's voice was a cross between a pant and a wheeze, “If you do it well, I will see to it that you keep getting pretty dresses to wear” his fingers dropped lower and stroked me gently just above my breast “and everything you need to keep your skin soft and smooth.” He paused for a second before offering an even more enticing carrot, “I'll even let you keep your diary to write in as you wish. In fact,” he chortled, “I look forward to reading your account.”