You ask to meet the buyers

"I want to meet the buyers," I said, still feeling dizzy, and more than a little unsure.

"That's a good girl," she said said, her voice oozing condescension as she patted me on the head like a pet that had pleased her. "Now just lay down on your tummy on the bench. That's it. Turn your head to the side, so you're facing the wall, away from the buyers."

The bench was roughly hewn, and not particularly comfortable, but at least it removed the danger of me falling over, as in my **** state I found moving increasingly difficult. I didn't resist as Margaret pulled my hands to the floor, and clicked the shackles around my wrists.

"What are you doing?" I said, jerking at my bonds.

"Don't worry your little old tiny brain about it, girl," she said. "Let's leave the thinkin' to the white folks, she chuckled. "Now let's get those legs spread, shall we?"

She pulled my right foot down, shackling it, then my left. Lastly, she collared my neck to the bench, rendering me unable to stare at anything but the naked, shaved pubis of the terrified looking black girl art work frozen in place, chained against the wall. I was as helpless as she was, but at least I was dressed.

That comfort didn't last for long. I gasped as I felt the scissors begin to cut my clothes. "Wait!" I said, jerking against my bonds. "Don't cut my clothes! What willI wear?"

Margaret chuckled. "What a girl like you SHOULD wear, my dear. I'm going to dress you up in the height of 1840's negro fashions, just like the other girls. You're a negro now, and that means I'm going to sell you negro naked."

She didn't use the word "negro" of course, but my brain struggled to process the actual word she was using, coming off her white lips.

I begged her to stopped, but she made quick work of my clothes, and by the time she finished I was having increasing trouble even forming words, and my struggles were reduced to little movements of my fingers.

"Now, the art work I was selling was a disobedient little thing, and she had two lovely whip marks on her bottom. Obviously your training has been quite lax, as you don't have a properly marked backside, although with your self regard and poor attitude you clearly need some. Now, if I don't give them to you, the buyers might realize I'm selling them a fake."

Again, she didn't use the word negro. I couldn't see her pick up the whip, and I didn't see it until she dangled the popper in front of my terrified eyes. it was a long dressage whip, about three foot long, and I knew if she swung it it would pack quite a punch. The business end, the popper, was loose leather, and hung freely from the end. It was a comically colorful purple color, and the handle was gold, with the Havenhall logo.

Margaret made sure I got a good view of the whip. It brushed my nose, and I whimpered, causing Margaret to chuckle cooly.

Margaret cracked the whip in the air, causing my cheeks to clench, and my heart to race.

"Yes, you know what it's for, don't you? Look at you, you even peed a little on the bench. I shouldn't punish you for that, I suppose. Animal instinct, I suppose. All livestock respond to the crack of the whip."

I whimpered again, clenching my cheeks as Margaret slowly drew the wicked lash across my naked black bottom. "Oh, yes, a couple of lashes would make this black caboose of yours picture perfect, just like in the book. An artist's finishing touch, as it were. What's it's going to be, n*****?"