To see the breeding room

Dear diary, (May 23rd mid afternoon)

My understanding of the operation of Havenhall has grown considerably in the past few hours. Perhaps even more importantly, the understanding between myself and Mr. Kyleson and our roles when it comes to the operation of this plantation has also become clearer.

When Mr. Kyleson took me by the hand and led me through a narrow passage, I was not surprised when we arrived in a small room with a narrow bed standing in the corner. I was not expecting him to steer me to a small viewing window that looked into an adjoining stall. In the dimly lit room, were three negro slaves perhaps a little younger than I, standing naked except for the collars around their necks and the shackles around their wrists. All three of these young women were dark-skinned, wide-hipped women with full hanging breasts and exuded a primitive raw sexuality that made my breath catch in my throat.

(artwork: TastyGeezer on imagefap.com)

“Do you see them there, Miss DiFlorentini?” Kyleson had positioned himself behind me with his mouth so close to my ear that I could feel the warmth of his breath. “Your father bought these negro breeders two days before his ****. They have been locked in here for the past week, and we'll have to attend to them soon.”

“Attend to them how?” I remember asking even though it was quite apparent what their role on this plantation was likely to be.

“Your father prided himself on selecting the right bulls to cover his slaves,” Sean rested his big hands on my hips with a familiarity that I should have resented but could not bring myself to shake him off. “Is that something you'd be interested in helping with?” When I didn't answer immediately, he pressed against me even more firmly. “Do you want to examine the male field slaves when they return to their pens this evening?” His Irish brogue dropped into a throaty whisper, “Are you going to run your hands over their muscular chests or feel the girth of their rampant black cocks as they stand proudly erect?”

The words of my overseer were accompanied by his hands moving over my body, much like he suggested I examine my stud bulls. His strong hands cupped my sensitive breasts squeezing them until I gasped in discomfort and then even sliding his right hand down along my silk undergarment and pressing it into the 'V' formed by the junction of my thighs.

“Please, Mr. Kyleson ...” I don't think, at the time, that I knew what I was asking for, but the man probably wasn't listening to me anyways.

“Your Pappy liked to bring his fancy girls here and watch the big bulls rutting on the young breeders to get in the mood. When he was good and ready, they go at it on that bed there.” This time I did moan quite loudly and through the blurry glass I saw the three new slaves look up at the unfamiliar sound. “Get out of those pretty silks, Miss DiFlorentini. I'm going to use you like a stud bull covering one of those darky sows. If I'm lucky, I may even plant an Irish babe in your nigger womb.”

“Please, no!” I protested weakly, “I came here to thank you, not be inseminated like one of those new breeding slaves.”