Chapter 4: Amélie's Journal

"You can read it if you want to, Daniel. This last part, I mean."

"Sure?"

I knew Emily spent a lot of time on this. She called it her journal, but it was more a collection of fiction writing and her thoughts, some run-on, some bits and pieces, from whatever was floating through her mind. I'd learned over the years—well, from the get-go really—Emily had a very active imagination. Honestly speaking, a salacious one. It was one of the many things I loved about her. She kept this thing pretty private, though, even if from time to time she'd read me a passage and ask me what I thought.

What I usually thought was that I wanted to jump her bones, right then, right now, but mostly I kept that part of it to myself. Mostly.

"Yeah. Go ahead. Tell me what you think, OK?"

As I opened the cover, Emily grabbed my arm. She was blushing.

"It's a little, um, flowery in parts, Daniel. Maybe even a little over-the-top flowery, so don't laugh, OK?"

This was going to be good.

"OK."

I began to read.

FATHER AND GRACE

June, 1673

Somewhere in the Caribbean

The first time it happened, Amélie thought she was going to die. If so, she reasoned, death was nothing to be feared. Other girls and some of the native women talked about this, but in low voices, low enough that she was never sure she understood exactly what they were talking about. She had no sisters to ask, only her twin brother, Gérard. Their younger brother died before he was five years old from the same tropical fever that took Mother away. That was more than five years ago, and these feelings had only come to her recently.

No, that wasn't exactly true. She'd felt something, she'd never been sure what, for several years, but she hadn't dared to ask anyone. Certainly not Aunt Grace.

When Amélie turned eighteen, Father decided she was old enough to ride without his personal supervision as long as Gérard or someone else accompanied her. Amélie sometimes rode with Anne-Marie, who seemed to know everything, and finally it was Anne-Marie who told her what happened. That was after she stopped laughing, of course. Amélie considered hitting Anne-Marie to shut her up, but what stopped her was knowing there were no other girls her age around, and she would be friendless. Amélie couldn't be friends with the native girls, that wasn't done by people of her class. She was English, born in Norfolk, and brought to the island by her parents when she was three years old. She'd never known any other life. She and Gérard were close, true, they'd always been that way, but Gérard wasn't a girl.

By now, in her nineteenth year, she was used to the heat, the heat that never quite went away even in the earliest hours of the morning. It was oppressive at mid-morning, and unbearable in the afternoon. Life for Amélie and her brother and Anne-Marie and the few boys they were allowed to associate with was conducted between dawn and noon. Only on those days when the rains came did they venture out after the mid-day meal. Even then, whatever coolness there might be was usually overwhelmed by the humidity.

Amélie's father owned one of the largest and most important sugar plantations on the island. The plantation had hundreds of native workers, many of them slaves, although perhaps only a couple of dozen of the workers had duties that brought them into or near the plantation house. Father's sister, Grace, had joined them following Mother's death, and Grace ran the household in Father's name. At first, Amélie didn't understand the whispers from the kitchen help when Grace was out of the room. There seemed to be no end of discussion about her, but no one particularly cared what Amélie thought about anything, which means they had no hesitation in speaking in front of her.

On some mornings, when Amélie was up very early, she left her room dressed only in her nightclothes to enjoy the relative coolness of the garden. No one seemed to mind, even though Father had warned her about snakes, and the early kitchen staff were used to seeing Amélie wander through the kitchen on her way outside. One or two of the kitchen boys seemed to pay a little closer attention to Amélie as she got older and her nightclothes began to hint of previously unobserved curves under their light coverings. Amélie didn't notice, at least at first.

During one of these outings earlier that year she happened to glance up at the covered balcony that ran all the way around the plantation house and connected all of the upstairs bedrooms and Father's study. She and Gérard and Father and Grace often sat out there on warm humid nights to enjoy whatever slight breeze there might be. In spite of the mosquitoes, they all slept with their windows open. They trusted to the netting over their beds to keep the insects away.

That morning, she saw Father and Grace come out onto the balcony from Father's room. She puzzled over this. Perhaps Father had been unwell and Grace had come to help him? They had their arms around each other, so perhaps Grace was assisting Father out to get some fresh air. But Grace had on only her chemise. She would have pulled on her housecoat before going to see Father, wouldn't she?

As Amélie watched, Father and Grace turned to each other, and Grace said something to Father. She leaned close to him to say it, and Father replied, smiling. Then Grace moved into Father's arms and kissed him, first on his check, then on the lips. That was a little unusual but not totally unfamiliar to Amélie. Sometimes relatives kissed each other on the mouth, but usually not quite as long as Father and Grace were kissing.

Amélie felt a flutter in her tummy as Father held Grace in his arms, and Grace seemed to be trying to get even closer to him. She was moving her body against Father, at first gently, but then harder. Father seemed to like that, as he laughed when they broke their kiss for a moment. But only for a moment, long enough for Father to lower his hands to Grace's bottom and pull her once more to him.

At that point Amélie realized it might be better if they didn't see her. She stepped back into the foliage surrounding the green lawn that the household gardeners kept closely cropped. She already knew enough to know what they were doing was something they probably didn't want anyone else to see. She was receiving signals she barely understood, but they were exciting and she wanted to see what happened next. Desperately.

Father didn't disappoint. When their last kiss ended, he moved his hands up to capture Grace's breasts, an action that seemed to drive her into a frenzy. Grace writhed on his hands, appearing to push her boobs against Father's palms, while one of her hands found its way to the front of Father's dressing gown and began to massage something below Father's waist.

Amélie's own hand held her breast and her erect nipple, while her other hand, without her thinking about it at all, moved first to her waist and then, as she moved one foot apart from the other, to her special spot. Her crinkly hair was already becoming damp, even wet, the further she explored.

Anne-Marie had told her about this, after she had stopped laughing that day and after Amélie had decided not to hit her. She was glad of that when she and Anne-Marie retreated to her room and, shutters closed against the sunlight and the room overly warm, they had undressed and Anne-Marie had given Amélie a short but very instructive course in her own anatomy. They'd tried to be quiet during this exploration, although Amélie suspected that the second-floor maids had probably heard them.

As Amélie watched now, her own hands busy, Father gently turned Grace to the balcony rail. Amélie worried for a minute whether they'd be able to see her, until she realized Grace's eyes were shut. Not in pain, though, if the smile on Grace's face was any indication. Behind her, Father loosened his robe. Amélie caught a glimpse of his member, but only a glimpse, as Father stepped up close behind Grace and pressed himself against her.

Grace made a sort of cry, a strangled whimper as Father's hands came forward to cup and press her breasts. Actually, he seemed to grab them hard, and Amélie wondered if that hurt. If it did, it was apparently not too much to bear, because Grace's smile never went away, and Father removed his hands and held her hips as he began to move behind her.

Amélie's own hands were busy imitating, as well as she could, the movements of Father's hands on Grace. She approached that very good feeling, the one Anne-Marie had introduced her to, quickly. So quickly that she closed her eyes and clamped her lips shut to avoid crying out when the moment came.

When she opened her eyes she almost screamed. Gérard stood beside her. He put his hand over her mouth and that terrified her even more, until Amélie realized he was smiling. When he saw she wasn't going to cry out, he released her. Out of the blue, he leaned close and kissed her. Somehow, that seemed to fit the moment and Amélie kissed him back. This made her tremble, but it was even more exciting than watching Father and Grace.

"Gérard, what are you doing?"

"Watching you."

She looked at him, looked down, and realized his trousers were open and his member, his 'cock' as Anne-Marie called it, was out. It was stiff.

"What is that?"

Gérard laughed.

"You know what it is."

He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her back to the veranda.

"Watch now, Amélie, my sweet."

Father was moving quickly behind Grace now, grunting as he thrust forward. Grace had pulled the straps of her chemise down, and her full breasts swung with each thrust of Father. With a cry, Father stopped his thrusts and held himself close to Grace.

Behind her, Gérard reached around and cupped Amélie's breasts. She liked the feeling, but this was much more than she and Gérard had ever done before. She remembered that Anne-Marie had hinted at other things she and Gérard had done, and the way Anne-Marie described their games made it sound as though she and Gérard would welcome Amélie to join them.

Without thinking about it, Amélie leaned back into Gérard's arms. She sighed.

"I like that, Gérard."

He kissed the side of her neck. My, Amélie thought, this is getting very interesting. She tilted her head forward so Gérard could kiss the back of her neck. He returned to the side, soft kisses, but Amélie felt every one of them. Felt them all the way down to between her legs. It seemed her breasts, their nipples erect, were communicating directly with her special spot as well.

Amélie felt Gérard begin to move behind her, and she cried out.

"Ssh, Amélie!"

"Gérard, I don't want you to do that, what Father and Grace did."

"Never, my sweet. Nothing you don't want me to do."

Amélie could feel Gérard's manliness pressing against her bottom. That felt very good, but she had no desire to have him go further.

"Rub on me, that is all right, but nothing more, yes?"

"Yes, Amélie."

Gérard began to rub himself against her bottom. His movements became more frantic until he froze, just as Father had done, and Amélie felt something hot and wet through the thin fabric of her nightgown.

Her inner tomboy impelled her to twist out of his arms and push him. Gérard fell back a step, a look of surprise on his face, his cock now kind of limp but still sticking out of his trousers. Amélie pressed her advantage. She did what she'd seen the native boys do, put one foot behind his and push, and Gérard went down. Lucky for him, there was still some mown grass where they were.

Amélie fell on him, her legs on either side of his torso, and held his arms down. One part of her knew he was stronger than she was, even if as twins they were about the same size and weight. Nevertheless, surprise and Gérard's weakness after coming—she'd learned that term some time ago—worked in her favor, and she had him pinned.

Something came over her, and all of a sudden she leaned down to kiss him. It wasn't a soft kiss. All of her frustration, all of her hunger, came through the kiss, and she mashed her lips against his. When she felt his lips part, she put her tongue between them and found his tongue. This was even better than when she and Anne-Marie had done it together in her room that special afternoon.

Without her knowing how it happened, Gérard's arms were free and he wrapped them around her as they kissed. Also without knowing how it happened, her legs parted and she extended herself full-length on her twin. Their kiss seemed never to end, and once more without knowing how it was happening, she was moving on top of Gérard. She felt his manhood harden beneath her as it rubbed on her special spot.

Her movements grew more frantic, the rhythm of their thrusts and counter-thrusts seeming to match their parts exactly—and in a pattern she had not known until now. What had been an abstract idea all of a sudden became something very concrete, very real, and very very delightful.

Amélie broke the kiss.

"Gérard, what is happening?"

He smiled.

"Don't worry. Something good."

"You're not going to—?"

She couldn't finish the sentence.

"Of course not, Amélie."

He thrust against her.

"But I'm going to make you feel good."

Amélie knew he was right as that special feeling grew and grew and before she knew it she disappeared under a wave that seemed to toss her and turn her and send her gliding into the most restful and lovely place she could imagine.

Beneath her Gérard thrust, holding her bottom against his man parts, until he froze and once again she felt wetness. She must look a mess, she thought, but she didn't care.

"He did what?"

Amélie was pretty sure Anne-Marie knew exactly what had happened, but anyway, no matter.

"He rubbed against me and his wet stuff came all over my nightgown."

Anne-Marie put her hand over her mouth to stop the giggle.

"Really? This is Gérard we're talking about?"

Amélie nodded. The three of them had played around enough by now that it was no secret Anne-Marie and Gérard had an unusual relationship, even if Amélie had not yet been a part of the special games they played.

"Yeah."

Amélie laughed.

"Twice."

"What were you doing there?"

"Watching Father and Grace."

"What were they doing?"

Amélie looked at Anne-Marie.

"Kissing."

"What else?"

"Father was holding Grace, you know, like this."

Amélie made to cup her breasts.

"Is that all?"

Amélie shook her head. Anne-Marie could be so persistent at times. She liked talking about this, though.

"No. Father was behind Grace, moving."

Anne-Marie put her hand over her mouth again.

"He was fucking her?"

"Ssh, Anne-Marie."

"Really fucking her?"

"I think so."

"She's your father's sister, Amélie."

Amélie shrugged. She didn't care. She hugged Anne-Marie and toppled her over on the bed.

"Enough talk. I need kissing."

Anne-Marie complied. Amélie thought she heard something at the door, but Anne-Marie's kisses were more important and she forgot about it.

IMPERTINENT BUT DELIGHTFUL STAFF

[Undated entry]

Will Mademoiselle have breakfast in her room?"

The maid stood beside Amélie's bed. Amélie thought the expression on her face was a little impertinent, but the natives were so dark it was often difficult to see what their expressions meant. Amélie looked down and realized her nightgown was askew and her left breast was visible. She pulled her top together and looked back at the maid and thought she saw a smile disappear.

"Yes, thank you, Sandrine."

Sandrine paused to look back from the doorway.

"Mademoiselle is very beautiful."

Amélie blushed. She felt hot and wet at the maid's words so tried to pretend she hadn't heard.

Sandrine paused one moment more, then left and closed the door behind her. As the door closed, Amélie looked over to the wardrobe. The door opened, and Gérard stepped down. His grin was infectious, and in a moment he and Amélie were holding their sides as they laughed.

"You're a fool, Gérard. She almost caught us."

Amélie's voice was husky with desire. Her relationship with Gérard had changed in the weeks since she and Gérard had watched Father and Grace on the balcony early that morning. Today, the maid had interrupted them just before the crucial moment, which explained why her breast was bare and her nipple erect when Sandrine entered the room.

"She knew anyway."

He fondled his erection, visible through the light linen trousers he wore, and prominent in any event. Amélie didn't have a lot to compare with Gérard, but what little she knew and had seen told her he was bigger than most men. Gérard's bare chest displayed his swimmer's physique and did nothing to cool Amélie's ardor. Quite the contrary. Before she could stop herself she reached up to pull Gérard down again to her breast, where he immediately seized her nipple with his lips once more and explored between Amélie's legs with his right hand. She began to squirm and to press her center up against Gérard's knowing digits.

"God, Gérard, harder. Harder, my love."

"I'm going to ravish you, Amélie. Again, and again."

"Promise?"

"Until you beg me to stop."

"I won't, ever. I want you day and night. I don't care what others think."

"Will you share me?"

"With Anne-Marie?"

"Yes."

Amélie closed her eyes as she felt Gérard's fingers brush her good spot.

"God."

"How about Sandrine, Amélie?"

"I want you to fuck her, too. I want to watch."

"Only watch?"

Between her gasps, Amélie said, "I want her to eat me while you fuck her."

Gérard laughed.

"Done."

As he spoke, there was a soft knock on the door, and Sandrine entered. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Gérard and Amélie. Setting the breakfast tray on a side table, she stepped slowly toward the bed. Her smile was wide.

"Mademoiselle? Monsieur?"

Gérard stopped what he was doing and turned to Sandrine. He didn't say anything, but he didn't attempt to cover himself, and it was quite evident to Amélie and Sandrine that he had gone from tumescent to ready. More than ready. For herself, Amélie was dripping with desire. She motioned Sandrine to come closer. When Sandrine got to the bedside, Amélie pulled her down the way she had pulled Gérard earlier, and kissed her.

Amélie almost climaxed when she felt Sandrine's lips on hers, followed by Sandrine's exploring tongue. Amélie began to stroke Sandrine's flanks on her way to Sandrine's breasts, but stopped when out of the corner of her eye as they kissed, Amélie saw Gérard step behind Sandrine and lift her smock over her head to display Sandrine's smooth ebony skin. Sandrine wore only the loosest of pantalets of coarse cotton underneath her shift. Her firm breasts with their black nipples needed no support, as she had not yet borne children.

Not yet borne children. Amélie suspected Sandrine knew where to find the herbal potions the island women used to prevent pregnancy or to stop an unwanted pregnancy from proceeding. She was certain given how at ease Sandrine was when handled by a man, Gerald. When handled by herself, for that matter. This would certainly not be the first time Sandrine's depths were plumbed by an erect cock.

Amélie knew that white women had learned where to find or purchase the necessary herbs. While it was possible Grace was barren, Amélie thought she probably had a source for when circumstances required, considering her relationship with Father. And perhaps Father wasn't the only one enjoying Grace's charms. Besides, from stories Anne-Marie told her, there was a brisk trade in the plants and the potions made from them. Anne-Marie knew this from listening to conversations between her mother and the ladies who called on her.

Amélie's musings stopped when Sandrine climbed onto the bed and pulled the covers down. Amélie's nightgown displayed both breasts now, and she sat up to permit Sandrine to pull it down.

"Mademoiselle is beautiful." Sandrine repeated her earlier words.

Amélie reached out to trace around and under Sandrine's firm left breast.

"As are you, Sandrine."

Amélie leaned up to kiss Sandrine once more, then dropped her head to kiss first one of Sandrine's breasts, then the other. She pulled back and looked into Sandrine's eyes.

"You are beautiful, Sandrine. I want you."

Sandrine nodded. "Yes, Mademoiselle." With that she stretched out beside Amélie and Amélie felt Sandrine's arms encircle her. Sandrine's hands drifted to Amélie's bottom, and Amélie found that even more exciting. When Sandrine gently pushed Amélie onto her back Amélie almost climaxed. She knew what was going to happen, this wouldn't be the first time, thanks to her many moments with Anne-Marie, but it was the first time with a native, with a woman whose skin was so dark it was almost blue, and so smooth it seemed to reflect the light.

Amélie smiled up at Sandrine and parted her legs. Sandrine moved slowly down Amélie's body, giving proper attention to every single detail on her journey to Amélie's center. The sides of Amélie's neck, each breast, each nipple, soft kisses over Amélie's tummy. Then a long, excruciating pause where Amélie's crinkly fur began, when Amélie almost felt she had to beg to get Sandrine to continue. At last Amélie felt Sandrine separate her thighs a little more, and Sandrine's lips explored her pubic thatch until she reached Amélie's nether lips.

Oh, my, Amélie thought. Anne-Marie was never this clever. Sandrine, a true mistress of cunnilingus played Amélie like a violin, or perhaps a bass tuba, if Amélie had ever thought of such a thing, as she drove Amélie to higher and higher planes of ecstasy. Planes where only angels dwelt, where one's proximity to the Supreme Being created an orgasmic fervor, a total collapse of all feeling and light, or perhaps such a condensation of all of it into one explosive ball of lust and anticipation and pressure that one felt about to fly apart at the slightest further touch. A tiny part of her mind told Amélie she was reading too many of the wrong kinds of books, but at this point she didn't care.

Amélie was spared that last exhaustive moment when Sandrine suddenly ceased her movements and her kisses and her exploring fingers.

"Sandrine?"

Sandrine looked up at Amélie, her eyes empty. When Amélie looked behind Sandrine, she understood. Gérard had entered Sandrine after he pulled her up on her knees, and had begun his rhythm. Amélie knew Sandrine needed a moment to accommodate herself to Gérard's massive man tool, his throbbing organ of lust, his fountain of manchowder, his, well—Amélie lost her train of thought at that point as Sandrine began to move against her in time with Gérard's thrusts.

"Oh," came from Sandrine's mouth, followed by "Oh, oh, oh, oh" as Gérard increased his movements in frequency and strength. Sandrine returned her mouth and tongue to Amélie's pussy and the added knowledge that Gérard was fucking Sandrine as Sandrine ate Amélie was enough to push Amélie over the edge, and the wave carried her down and down and smooth and yet smooth until at last she came to rest.

Until Gérard reached his own climax and, at Sandrine's urging, pulled out and moved around her to Amélie. Amélie's eyes opened for a second when the first splash of Gérard's cum struck her cheek, hot and burning, but burning in a good way. She opened her mouth.

"Gérard!"

Gérard obliged by filling her mouth with his throbbing organ and finished his spurts with rapid thrusts, almost choking Amélie. It was enough for Amélie to have another orgasm, a small one. When he finished, Gérard leaned down and kissed Amélie. She knew he didn't fear tasting himself. In fact, she wondered whether he ever tasted manchowder from the source. She thought perhaps he had.

The three of them stretched comfortably side-by-side. After she dozed, Amélie whispered.

"Will they miss you in the kitchen, Sandrine?"

Sandrine jumped up.

"Yes, Mademoiselle."

She pulled on her pantalets and drew her shift down over her shoulders as she moved to the door. She picked up the tray on her way out. Amélie briefly wondered what explanation Sandrine would have for returning an untouched breakfast to the kitchen, but decided that was for Sandrine to worry about.

Amélie's train of thought was interrupted when Gérard kissed her.

"Did you like that, my love?"

Amélie nodded without speaking.

"She's a hot number, our Sandrine."

He laughed.

"Do you like her accent?"

It was Amélie's turn to laugh.

"I do. Where is she from?"

"Martinique, I think. Someone bought her there and brought her here. I understand she didn't speak a word of English when she arrived."

Amélie thought she heard Gérard snort.

"But she learned fast, especially the words for 'fuck, ' 'cock, ' 'cunt, ' 'pussy, ' 'cum, ' and such. I don't know how Father found her, but I think her owner, the man who brought her here, failed in business. I suspect Father had some challenging bidders when she was auctioned.

Amélie stretched. Gérard watched her with approval in his eye.

"Gérard, I haven't been fucked yet this morning."

Her wish was Gérard's command. That's what she loved about him. After a thorough reaming by Gérard, she dozed. When she awoke he was gone.

NOT A LADY

[Undated entry]

"I win!"

Amélie sat on the small native boy, not any larger than she was. It was hard to tell which one was white and which one was black. The mud from the tidal flat was dark and sticky and covered them from top to bottom.

The boy smiled, his teeth white in the middle of black.

"Yes, Emmie!"

Neither one was five years old, but at that age it didn't matter. When they were old enough for school, which for Amélie really meant old enough to sit in a small drawing room with a series of tutors brought at great expense from England, they would go their separate ways. For the boy, it meant work in his family's garden plot.

"Amélie, we must talk about manners."

Amélie sighed, but she was careful not to do aloud. Father was going to give her another lecture. Or, rather, he was going to let Grace give the lecture while he read the two-month-old newspaper from London.

"Yes, Aunt Grace."

"Young ladies do not fight. Especially not with natives."

"But I didn't hurt him, Aunt Grace."

"It does not matter, Amélie. It is not done. You must understand this."

"Yes, Aunt Grace."

Amélie figured it would be easier to agree and worry about getting caught the next time. If there was a next time. As it turned out, her next fights were wrestling matches with Gérard. Until they entered adolescence they were pretty evenly matched, and for a year or two Amélie was taller than Gérard and usually had the upper hand. But it was only temporary. Gérard, who had been swimming since he was a baby, soon began to put on muscle and weight and by the time Amélie began to sprout curves and to learn about all of the marvelous things her body was capable of, Gérard won every time.

It was common among their contemporaries to marry as early as age fifteen. Father insisted Gérard wait until his education was complete and he returned from England. As for Amélie, she refused the few suitors their small community offered. Father and Grace showed their displeasure but Amélie was immovable. She didn't know what she wanted, but she knew she did not want to be the bride of one of the local cloddish sons of another plantation owner.

Thus it transpired that Gérard and Amélie celebrated their majority still unmarried and still resident in Father's house. The following year Gérard would sail for England and the University of Oxford. Undecided herself about her own future but certain it did not lie on the island, Amélie was growing desperate to find a way to accompany him.

In the meantime, with the added freedom that came with her eighteenth birthday, Amélie applied some of the lessons she'd learned from Anne-Marie. She didn't understand the connection, the why of it, that is, but she understood and loved the feeling when it came. The struggle, the physical struggle, metamorphosed for her from fighting to arousal, to the avalanche of emotions and physical side effects of sexual longing.

Amélie wasn't sure, but she thought she surprised Gérard the first time this happened. They had been wrestling, hidden away in an unused bedroom on the far end of the guest wing of the plantation, because Father and Grace had told them it was unseemly for them to wrestle together any more, even if they were brother and sister. Or perhaps because they were brother and sister.

The guest wing had been built when the house was expanded, shortly after Father had purchased it, and at a time when prices for sugar cane were exceptionally high. The demand from England and the rest of the European continent seemed to be unlimited. As a result, Father and the other planters on the island had increased production to the point where there was hardly a single square yard of cultivatable land on the island that did not already have its quota of cane.