Chapter 8

The day of Sashille’s defenestration came. In vain Madeline and Solomon both pointed out that ‘defenestration’ should probably refer to the eyes in a person, the others all liked the term. It was more polite than so many of the words and phrases used for removing a girl’s virginity.

She had been quite willing for some time; she had seen that he was, if not a perfect lover, at least thoughtful. He looked after even his black slaves, he was careful not to permanently harm his white sex slaves, he had been persuaded by his new acquisition to fund a church-cum-hospital in the port. He had not even complained that the Jones family had not reimbursed him. When Mrs Standfield had asked about this, he had laughed when Drusilla had said “If he hadn’t funded their ship journey, we’d have taken up a collection to get rid of them ... no offence my dear, but your mother and father were a little irritating.”

“Oh, they meant well” Tiffany responded. She did not disagree though.

“Mr Degas, Am I to understand that you intend to bed the young lady? She is a child.”

“Not so – no, I mean, she is no child. She knows her mind. She has reached the same age as Tiffany was. I confess she is young, but not so young that she wouldn’t be bartered even in England I think. Your concern is understandable; but I shall not be rough – as poor Drusilla, Madeline and Caroline found me. Have they told you how they were brought to realise their position?”

“On their backs, I understand.”

“Haha, only sometimes. I meant, of course, their social position when they arrived. If they have not told you, you should ask them. It would while away the time whilst I am in conference with Sashille Guilleme Ancho-vie. She will not divulge her real name, she says her brother would not want her too.

It would surely be of little interest to anybody to know how Sashille was brought to the position of calling herself a woman. She had already become aware of all the possibilities so it was little surprise to her. What did surprise Solomon Degas was when she dropped her clothing and placed herself bottom up, face down on the bed.

“What? You want to be entered from behind?”

“I thought you would prefer it. I have noticed that the rear entry, and the entry to the rear are your preferred positions.” This was true, he had not realised he was so obvious. He loved to find the target of his lust presented to him as if the woman was totally under his domination, which to some extent of course, they were.

“Yes, that is ... that is such a pretty bottom.” He knelt behind her, opened her wider and kissed the muscle ring that was tightly closed to his entrance (or her exit).

“Well then, ... oh, that tickles!” she laughed. He’d never considered that an anal ring might be ticklish before. He realised there was always something to learn. He carried on, using the occasional extra stimulus to stroke her back entrance, and then her front. “Ohhhh, that is most unusual. Oui! OUI!” As she became more erotically aroused, she also became more French. By the end she was shouting words that were incomprehensible to him. Incomprehensible to his schoolboy level French. School French does not cover such phases as ‘Fucking delightful’ and ‘pinion me now you cock sucking, mother fucking, anal pervert’. Had he understood what she was shouting, he would have realised that she and her brother were indeed not from the upper echelons of French society, which was as he had suspected. But he understood nothing except that she reached a delighted orgasm which was partly brought on by expectation, partly by manual stimulation, and partly but oral stimulation of her backside.