Chapter 6

The bedroom is quiet, dark. The curtains are still open and soft winter moonlight spills across the floor. The sheets and blankets have been kicked off the bed in a tangled heap. In a miracle of near-biblical proportions, you and I are not screwing anymore — finished for the moment. I am seated between your legs, reclining against your chest. I feel your hands in my hair, stroking it, rolling it between your fingers. We are — incredibly — just talking. To be more specific, I am talking at your request, one you may live to regret. Your request: "Tell me everything you remember."

"Not anything before a couple of years ago. My first memory is of being blindfolded and bound. I was on horseback, riding in front of someone. It was hot; very hot, it seemed. I later realized the heat was not from the weather. It was the result of a fever brought on by an infected gash on my head. In any event, I drifted in and out of consciousness. I don't know for how long... many days. I have flashes of memory. I hear voices, men. Much of what they say is jumbled in my head but some things make sense to me: 'You shouldn't have hit her so hard, ' 'It's no problem. Just look at her. She'll sell in a heartbeat, ' 'If she dies, we get nothing, ' 'Make her drink, ' 'We can't stop. We can't take her back to Texass. We'll all be killed.'

"Perhaps it was a benevolent God that sent the fever. I'm sure if I had total recall I would be insane. I don't know how many men there were: five or six, maybe. I remember a sense of motion: a sea voyage. I remember some things very vividly. There are times when it's quiet and I am alone that I still I can still feel their fingers on me, smell the stench of them. I remember pain, and rape, and screaming. No details, mercifully. Just impressions and hatred.

"Time passed. The first recollections I have of day-to-day living were in a house of some sort. Very small: only a single room. There was a woman who cared for me. She fed me, bathed me, nursed me. I was sick and weak for a long time. There was just one man here. He never entered the house, but stood outside always, guarding the door which was kept locked from the outside. The only reason I knew of him at all was that the woman cooked for all of us and I'd see him when plates were passed out the door to him. The woman was deaf. It drove me to the brink, having no one to talk to, not being able to learn a thing about where I was or, more importantly, who I was.

"After a few weeks I felt stronger. One day, a different man came to the house. He was quite good-looking and for a minute I just stared at him. He came in, sat down, and told me the facts of life: One, I was a slave. Two, he had a potential buyer for me. Three, one wrong move and I'd be dead. He said the last in such a soft, cold voice that I believed him. Then he asked, 'What's your name?'

"'Katherine, ' I replied automatically. I have no idea whether that is really my name or not."

Julia had joined us in bed. Kate, that girl reads minds! First, of course, she remade the bed and joined us. You moved so you were curled up spoon-fashion against my body with your luscious buns trying to swallow my cock. Julia climbed in and backed against you so you were sandwiched between the two people who love you the most of anyone in the world. I could feel you take a deep breath and relax. When you twisted your head, I melted my lips to yours in a kiss of the purest love. Fortunately, our passion was satiated for a while.

Breaking our kiss, Julia's face was turned toward you, waiting. The sighs from both of you when your kiss dissolved was lovely. After wriggling your body to get fully comfortable, you whispered, "Thank you both so very much. This makes it easier for me to speak of my humiliation."

Julia reached up and turned out the light, leaving us bathed in the moonlight shining in the window. You continued your tale.

"We were to leave the next morning. I spent that night thinking, planning. I couldn't just bolt. I knew I had to wait, play the game, see what the next move was going to be, and where I would end up. I slept, prepared now for anything, or so I thought. In the morning, my hands were bound. I rode in front of the man to the outskirts of a town, and then up to the front of a large house. I was pulled from the horse and led up the front steps.

"A woman was waiting there, a tiny thing, five feet tall and about as wide. The first words that came to mind on seeing her were nouveau riche. Too much jewelry, too much perfume, wearing a dress that was the most hideous shade of lavender and so covered with ruffles and flounces the poor thing looked like she was drowning in them.

"'Well, what do you think?' the man asked.

"She frowned and said in a soft voice, 'I don't know about her, Gilbert. Too pretty by half. I just don't know.'

"At this point, Gilbert turned on his charm. 'Oh, Miss Leila, she doesn't hold a candle to your radiance. Why, a lady of your breeding, charm, and beauty has no reason to be worried about the presence of a lowly slave in her house. No one will even notice her with you about.' He favored her with a dazzling smile. Miss Leila giggled and blushed. The whole thing was one of the most nauseating scenes I have ever witnessed. I fully expected Gilbert to leave a trail of slime behind him wherever he went. 'The girl is a steal at the price I'm asking. She's healthy, has a very subservient disposition, and is fully trained as a lady's maid.'

"At this string of lies and ironies — a steal? More like stolen! — I began to cough to cover the laughter welling in me. Then Gilbert's hand moved behind me and I could feel a knife in my back. He apparently had one hidden in his sleeve. My coughing suddenly stopped.

"Miss Leila batted her lashes at him. 'Well, all right. If you think she'll work out, I'll give her a try. I want a guarantee, though.'

"'Of course she is guaranteed. Have I ever steered you wrong? Trust me. She'll be a wonderful addition to your household.' The knife dug into my back a bit harder. I was seething, but wisely refrained from speaking.

"Miss Leila moved to the front door and Gilbert followed with me in tow. God help me, the inside of the house! How can I do justice to the tackiness of it? If I described the details of it, you wouldn't believe me. Let's just say that a black velvet painting of Elvis would have lent the place some class.

"After the transaction was completed, Gilbert left after a last meaningful look at me. I said nothing, too stunned by my surroundings to make a sound. Miss Leila motioned for me to follow her. We moved up the stairs to a door which she swung open to reveal a bedroom. My first impression was of red. After blinking a bit, I realized that all of the furniture was gold, much of it covered in malevolent scarlet: the bedcovers, the sofa and chairs, the vanity bench. The walls were papered in red with a gold pattern of fleur de lis, and the curtains and carpets were the same shade of red. I was sure I had died and gone straight to hell. What sin I had committed to deserve this fate I didn't want to consider.

"Miss Leila turned to me and misinterpreted the expression on my face. She smiled broadly and said, 'It is a most magnificent room, isn't it?'

"The only thing I could think of to say that would keep me from making trouble for myself was, 'It is stunning, madame!' That answer seemed to satisfy her.

"She showed me to a small room off of this one. It was mercifully stark. A uniform was laid across the bed. 'Put that on. I am expecting company, so be quick about it. My hair needs your attention and you must help me change into something more elaborate, '

"I nearly choked at that last statement. I crossed to the bed and picked up the uniform. It wouldn't have been so bad except that, as was Miss Leila's style, it had lace ruffles on the cap, collar, and cuffs. The apron was the most useless confection I have ever seen, all gauze and lace. My first action was to start ripping these silly attachments off the clothes.

"Miss Leila heard the tearing and came running. 'What are you doing? Do you know how much I paid for that?' She then proceeded to tell me exactly how much.

"I responded, 'I will not wear that as it is. Absolutely not. If you want to look like a ten-year-old's birthday cake, you have at it. I will not.'

"She was clearly at a loss, then a light came into her eyes. 'Fine, miss, don't wear it. However, you should know that you will not wear anything else. It's that or nothing.'

"I was beginning to see that Miss Leila was an impossibly stupid woman and not much at dealing with slaves. 'That is perfectly acceptable, madame.' With that reply, I stripped off the rags I was wearing and stood before her stark naked. Her mouth fell open and she stared at me as I brushed past her to the wardrobe. I threw open the doors and turned to her. 'Did you have something in mind to wear this evening, madame?' She nodded mutely and pointed. I pulled out what she indicated, helped her to change, and sat her at the vanity to begin work on her hair.

"I could see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to think of something to make me come to heel. I don't think striking me even crossed her mind, not that it would have changed anything if she had. I was nearly finished when I saw the light in her eye again. 'You will accompany me downstairs this evening. You must attend to my needs at all times and I feel that I will require your assistance quite a lot tonight.'

"I shrugged, and replied, 'As you wish, madame, ' She seemed at bit put out by my answer as she clearly expected I would prefer to be dressed before her guests. She miscalculated.

"A knock came at the bedroom door and a voice announced that the guests had arrived. We descended the stairs and crossed to the dining room where the guests had assembled. Miss Leila stood in the wide doorway for a moment to let the group drink in her radiance while I stood just behind her to the left in full view of everyone. Although I had guessed that naked slaves were not all that unusual, the contrast between Miss Leila and my naked body had the desired effect. My ego received a major stroke when the gathering became completely silent, staring. Miss Leila, of course, thought this homage was for her and began to preen like a peacock. I smiled to myself. Mission accomplished.

"The evening passed and was generally uneventful, save for a few hearty pinches on my tits and ass and an occasional intimate caress of my pussy. But it was a small price to pay. The subsequent weeks passed in much the same fashion. Miss Leila suddenly found that her invitations were very much in demand, particularly from the gentlemen.

"It took quite some time before she figured out that it wasn't her charm and good taste that was causing this popularity. When she finally did put two and two together, she was absolutely livid at my surreptitious humiliation of her. She banished me to the kitchen. My parting shot to her in a voice absolutely dripping with sarcasm, 'And this is how you thank me? After all I've done for you?' I followed up with a very wicked laugh.

"I should have known this victory was going to cost me dearly, and it did. I now fell under the supervision of Maurice, the chef, a man of some cooking talent and even more eating talent. The man was of a rather impressive size. We did not get on well, to put it mildly. My mouth got me into trouble every minute of the day, it seemed. It was very hard for me to resist jabbing that fat, pompous ass whenever the opportunity presented itself which was surprisingly often. In the end I screwed myself royally. I'd had about all I could take, when one afternoon Maurice began to criticize me for some minor infraction. His timing could not have been worse, as I was sitting at a table-size cutting board julienne-slicing carrots with a rather large knife.

"I exploded and began to stalk him about the kitchen brandishing the knife. At the end of my ranting and raving I stabbed the knife hard into the cutting board for emphasis. That was my first mistake. I drove it in so forcefully I couldn't get it free, and I found that my position as stalker quickly became that of stalkee. After cornering me, he grabbed my hair and began slapping me viciously across the face, palm to my left cheek, backhanding me on the right, again and again.

"I started out clawing and scratching in defense, but before long my head was spinning. I stopped all offensive action and concentrated on protecting myself. He let me go and I dropped to the floor in a heap.

"He stood over me for a couple of minutes saying something I don't recall. Gloating, I suspect. Then he turned away from me.

"I was about to make my second mistake. I had gathered my wits together enough so that when he started to walk away, I stood up and pulled a cast-iron frying pan from a hook on the wall beside me. I came up behind Maurice and let him have it in the back of the head. It made a dull thud on contact and Maurice collapsed in a heap unconscious. I checked and found that he was still breathing and still had a pulse.

"When I looked up, I found a servant standing over me with a club. 'Miss Leila is calling Gilbert. You! Back up against the wall and don't move until he gets here.'

"In the intervening time, I had ample opportunity to contemplate how seriously I had screwed up this time. If I had not done my damnedest to push Miss Leila's buttons, if I had not let my temper run out of control with Maurice, everything would have been different. I would have been alive if not happy.

"I sat there naked on the kitchen floor, quietly with my back to the kitchen wall, resting my chin on my knees, playing with the end of my single braid. By my lack of self-restraint, I had signed my own death warrant. I had absolutely no doubt that Gilbert would kill me. I suppose it is normal to think back on one's life at moments like this. However, as I scanned my memory I found that I had very little to reminisce about. No childhood memories of Christmases or bedtime stories, no first love, no triumphs... nothing. Perhaps the saddest part for me was the knowledge that all of my memories involved misery and failure.

"Gilbert arrived. I didn't move from my place on the floor. He walked over to me and stood a second, just looking at me with an unfathomable expression. Again I was struck by his looks, dark and beautiful, if it's possible for a man to be that. He indicated that I should hold out my hands which I did, and he bound them tightly before me. I had already decided that I was going to keep my bearings on this, no bribe attempts or blubbering. If he was planning to kill me, I would maintain a little dignity in going. He pulled me up and out the kitchen door to where his mount waited. He sat me before him and we started off, to where I had no idea. All of this was accomplished in silence.

"After a few minutes, I heard him whisper in my ear, 'Your face is a mess. It's a pity really, ' I had not even thought about it until he mentioned it, but now I put my fingers to my cheeks, wincing a bit as I felt the swelling. I can imagine how I must have looked. Several more minutes passed before he continued, his voice low and melodic, 'Why, Katherine? I warned you and you didn't listen. Now you have left me with no choice. An example must be made of you. I can't have transactions turn out this way. It's very bad for my reputation. You understand?'

"His voice was so smooth, so gentle, I felt almost hypnotized by it and my body began to relax against his. He controlled the reins with one hand, while his other came around to cup my tit, his fingers lightly teasing my nipple which hardened almost immediately. He laughed softly and murmured, 'Ah, Katherine, it really is a shame.' My eyes closed and I allowed the sensations caused by his voice and hand to take over me. At least I had this, I thought, this awareness of my own sexuality before I died.

"He pulled the horse to a stop and I opened my eyes. We were in a town, at what seemed to be the central square. Gilbert slid out of the saddle and lifted me down. I found myself facing him, his lips not an inch from mine. 'I wish this were not necessary, ' he whispered, 'but you have left me no alternative.'

"With that, I felt his lips brush mine in the lightest of kisses. I remained silent. He turned and led me to a tall post in the middle of the square. People were bustling about their daily tasks, but some noticed Gilbert and me and stopped, standing about here and there.

"I was confused. What the hell is going on? I thought to myself. Oh, well, I suppose he plans to kill me here. Make an example of me, as he said earlier. To be honest, I didn't care. I didn't stop to think about what the post had to do with anything.

"Facing the post, my hands were tied above my head. I relaxed against it, my mind wandering to some other place, preparing to die, making my last private confession of my sins to God, asking his forgiveness and praying for redemption. I heard a hiss in the air, then a crack as a whip struck my body. I felt the snaking of it down my back. I snapped back into reality. I had not seen the whip and the first lash came as a total shock.

"At the beginning I felt nothing, and I thought, 'That ought to hurt. Why doesn't it?' It started as a sting and built over a course of seconds to a line of fire. The second lash fell. Again, nothing then the burning, seeming more intense this time. The third time, I hissed an indrawn breath, refusing to make a sound. Again and again the whip bit into the skin of my back and ass. The tears began to flow and I took my lower lip in my teeth, biting down hard, holding back the screams building inside me. More... so many more. The pain had become like an inferno, consuming me.

"I don't know how many times the lash fell on me before the first scream ripped from my throat. It went on for a long time unintelligibly, then it turned into words. Words begging him to stop, pleading for him to slit my throat, to please kill me now, my promises to do anything, be anything, say anything, if only he would stop. He didn't. The whipping continued endlessly, it seemed. I could feel the blood running down my back and legs, the agony as new lashes fell across previous ones. Just before I lost consciousness, it stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

"I felt the ropes loosen at my hands. My legs wouldn't support me and I collapsed at the base of the post, shaking and sobbing. I heard Gilbert's whisper in my ear, 'I stopped. Haven't you anything to say, Katherine?'

"Trembling and unsteady, I heard my own voice, my instinct taking over, knowing what he wanted to hear, 'Thank you. I was wrong. Very bad. It won't happen again.'

"No, he hadn't killed me, but for the first and only time in my life I experienced a complete and total humiliation, an absolute loss of dignity and control. Nothing of that scope or magnitude has ever happened to me before or since."

As I finished, Master, I could feel your cock probing at my ass. Did the story of my whipping turn you on? But then Julia wriggled her ass against my mound and her voice came to me in the moonlit room, "If this was the worst humiliation, what about the dogs? How could anything be more humiliating than that?"

I laughed softly. "Trust me, darling. That was a walk in the park by comparison. I was locked up with the dogs because there was still something in me that wouldn't bend, wouldn't break. I still had something of myself. At the end with Gilbert, I had nothing. I was empty. It took a very long time before that changed, and I found something still in me that was vibrant and alive. I never thought I'd have that again, but it came back, slowly. And now? My darlings, snuggling between you two, my dearest loves, is the only thing that permits me to tell this tale."

I smiled in the darkened room, kissed Julia gently, and continued, "No, love, the dogs weren't even close. But I digress..."

"I remember very little of how I ended up at Edmund's tavern, The Sign of the Golden Bear. I might have arrived there five minutes or five days after the whipping, I don't know. The only thing that does stand out for me was staring at the cracks in the floorboards of the tavern and hearing Gilbert's voice saying to Edmund, 'As you can see, you must beat her regularly and often. She can be very difficult. But I'm sure you can handle her.'

"With that last statement, he turned to me, took my chin in his hand, forcing me to look at him. I studied his face, looked into his eyes, committing every detail to memory. 'You know the score, Katherine, ' he whispered. 'Don't make me return, ' I said nothing, merely nodded slightly. He handed Edmund the end of the rope that was tied around my neck, smiled at me, then left. It was the last time I ever saw him.

"Edmund led me up the stairs to a small room. The furnishings consisted of a pallet on the floor, a battered chest, and a dilapidated washstand with a chipped pitcher and bowl. He untied the ropes at my neck and hands. After dealing a sharp slap to my cheek, he said, 'Get dressed. Your clothes are in the chest. Don't wear the nice dress, wear the other. You have three minutes. Come down when you're done.'

"He left me. I opened the chest and found two dresses inside. One looked like a drab, dirty gray sack, the other was flaming red, with a neckline that started below the breasts and with the hem pulled up to the waist in both front and back. I was at a loss and my time was running out. Which of these was 'not the nice one?' I decided on the gray. I chose correctly, but not quickly enough.

"My first beating at Edmund's hands came when I reached the bottom of the stairs. 'You're late, ' he explained. 'When I give you instructions, I want them obeyed. I gave you three minutes. It took you five, ' With that, he pushed me face down on a table, lifted my skirt, and began applying heavy strokes with a riding crop to my ass, unhealed as it was from my whipping from Gilbert. The pain was intense, but having been down the road to hell once, this was more like a primrose path by comparison.

"When he was done, he shoved me down to the floor and called out loudly to his wife, Hortense. She came in and I was put to work under her direction. For the next several months, all of my work was done in the early mornings and afternoons, when the tavern was either closed or had very few patrons. I scrubbed floors, washed dishes and clothes, peeled vegetables, worked in the garden in back. I was whipped, beaten, or slapped at the slightest (or no) provocation by either Edmund or his Hortense.

"I found out that Edmund didn't allow his slaves to cook, as he'd had a bad experience in the past. As a result the slaves weren't allowed around cutlery. However, the woman, Ellie, who was the cook, might as well have been a slave. She was the sole support of her large family, and Edmund paid her nearly nothing. She was trapped there by Edmund's threats that if she left him, he'd see to it that she'd never work anywhere else. She could easily have been a palace chef as her cooking was sublime, but Edmund was well connected in the town and could have made good on his threat.