She breaks

Dear Diary,

The shame of what I have done has left me a shell of my former self. I am back in my cell with this journal as my only companion. The brand on my buttocks burns as though it is still on fire, but that discomfort is nothing compared to the searing pain from my guilty soul.

When Manton told me that he wanted me to write Mama and invite her to join me her in Havenhall I all but laughed in his arrogant face. Now the joke is on me, as the letter has been written and signed and is now in my cousin's hands.

I didn't want to do it; I swear by all that is holy. I didn't want to, but I could not help myself. I don't know if Manton knew that it would be harder for me to see someone else suffer than to feel the pain of the lash myself, or if he did not want to damage the skin of his newest fancy girl. By the time the lash fell across the hanging ****'s back for the third time she was screaming and thrashing as she hung from her wrists.

“Stop this!” The man smiled back at me in triumph before pressing his face into my hair and making it clear what he wanted.

“Only you have the power to make it stop, my dear.”

For the next two or three minutes I held on. I watched the whip tear at the dark flesh of the hanging **** leaving bloody stripes across her back. What made it even worse was the way Manton's hands moved over my much paler body as the **** twisted and screamed. His fingers dug so hard into my breasts that my flesh bulged out obscenely and his other hand reached between my thighs fingering me roughly despite my frantic attempts to press my legs together.

To complain about my trials in the face of what that negro **** was experiencing seems shallow, but Manton seemed to delight in making me squirm and whimper. What made this particularly humiliating was the undeniable way that my body was starting to respond. I still don't understand why I reacted like this but with each strike of the lash I felt a quiver of heat running from my sex up all the way to the tips of my ears.

“Have you ever been lashed?” Manton's voice was a low growl that only I could hear. “Have you ever even been spanked by a man?” I refused to answer him, but my cousin went on without missing a beat. “I bet your mama was whooped often enough.” His fingers dug deeper up into me, and to my shame I could feel my sex start to moisten. "My uncle liked to make his little sluts squirm - just like that nigga whore there." I looked up just in time to see the whip land once again on the poor slaves back and saw her eyes beseeching mine begging me silently to make her torment stop.

"Don't worry, as soon as your pretty ass heals up, I'll bring out 'Ol Hickory' and see how well you take a good old-fashioned paddling." I'm afraid I might have moaned softly, because Manton continued on this new line of torment. "I like to hand uppity fancy girls like you up by their ankles and wack 'em hard enough to get them swinging." I still remember the feel of my cousin's organ pressing against the small of my back. I cried out in frustration and shame, but Manton was expecting this sudden outburst.

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"It might not get those nigga sluts warmed up, but it sure as Hell gets me going. I like fucking them from behind when their asses are still hot and red." The combination of his crude words, the sight of the hanging negro writhing against the whipping post and the way his fingers were jerking inside me were just too much.

"Stop it." The words came out in a broken whisper, but Manton heard me. "With a small gesture with his hand he stopped the next blow, and his fingers paused their ****. "I'll do it. It won't matter anyways - my mother's never coming back to the South, no matter what I say."

Apparently, that was enough for Manton. I used a page from this journal to write a note to Mama, my cousin leaning over my shoulder as I described my good fortune at inheriting Havenhall and inviting her to come visit. It won't matter anyways ... it can't ... oh Lord, please don't let her come.