Chapter 24

When the conversation again became more general, Sally Duncan spoke up for the first time. Turning towards Andy Taylor at the end of the table she said, "Mrs. Taylor, I think it's about time we cleared the air around here." Sitting up straight in her chair, Sally looked exquisitely beautiful. As Andy had been doing earlier, now Sally was idly toying with her wine glass. She seemed preoccupied by the brilliant burgundy-red color. The people around the table watched her as she seemed to lose track of what it was she had intended to say.

Still looking into her glass she said, "I guess all of you know that I'm from Washington. Most of you know I'm a lawyer. A few of you know I was in the Department of Justice, and a couple of you know I was in the Civil Rights Division."

She paused for a few moments; now she had the undivided attention of everyone around the table. "However," she finally said, "none of you know that I was — am — Assistant Attorney General of the United States, and Director of the Civil Rights Division." Again she paused and added, "The reason I still am is that the Attorney General refused to accept my resignation, so technically I'm on an unpaid leave of absence."

She smiled wryly and continued, "I guess I'm too hard to replace. After all, being a woman and black, they can count me twice against the quotas." Pretending to look embarrassed, she corrected herself, "Oops! Affirmative-action targets!" Looking around the table with her eyes wide with innocence, she asked, "Affirmative-action targets sounds so much nicer than quotas, don't you all agree?"

Then, glaring at her father she said, "But Dad, why couldn't your name be Garçia, or Hernandez, or something? Then they could count me three times. And if a female ancestor had been raped by an Indian and given birth ... Oops! I did it again. Raped by a Native American ... by the way, are you absolutely sure it never happened?

"I mean ... Really! If that had happened, they could count me against four separate quotas!" she said proudly. Then she blushed, shook her head and said, "Damn it! I did it again. Why do I keep saying quotas, when everyone knows they are affirmative-action targets?"

"But that's not really what I wanted to talk about," Sally continued. "That was just some background."

Turning again to Andy she said, "Mrs. Taylor, I am violating my sworn obligation if I do not turn you in. Do you realize what you do here? Do you realize the degree to which you abuse slaves? Why, it's awful! Now I admit slaves are property, not people. Furthermore, we only count as three-fifths of a person. But that's better than nothing, isn't it?

"However, Mrs. Taylor, you abuse your slaves! Take me, for instance." Now glaring at Andy she said, "Have you ever allowed me to sleep on the kitchen floor? Even once? Have you?"

Andy had been thoroughly delighted with Sally's behavior that night. Over the previous two months she had been amazed at the incredibly rapid changes the girl had made in both her body and her attributes. Working with Kelly, Sally had become as much of a lady as either of her daughters. The new element that she had been seeing this evening was an incredible sense of humor coupled with remarkable comic instincts.

Although she did not know where Sally was going, Andy delighted in playing along. "That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!" Andy exclaimed. "Woman, do you know what skin oils do to the wax on a kitchen floor? Do you?" she demanded. "And besides ... You're wrong! Slaves sleep on the ground outside the kitchen door. Hell, everyone knows that!"

Andy raised her chin and sniffed, saying, "Can I help it if those laws were passed before there were high-rise buildings? Can I? We don't have a kitchen door, and there wouldn't be any ground beyond it if we did. You'll just have to continue to sleep in the bed. Besides," she sniffed, "an important part of your duties is to provide warmth for Nita and Kelly with your body."

Now Sally was elated. As she had suspected she would, Andy immediately picked up on what she was doing and was playing along perfectly. Although it was a struggle, Sally was able to maintain a straight face. After appearing to think for a moment, she glared at Andy and said, "Are you sure, Mrs. Taylor? About sleeping outside the kitchen, I mean? Are you absolutely sure?"

Andy just slowly shook her head with an expression of utter disgust on her face. "Well, now I'm certain you work in Washington! All of you idiots down there are at least a day late and a dollar short. Woman, slaves have been sleeping outside the kitchen for over seventy-five years! What in hell is wrong with you people!?" While Andy glared and Sally pretended to look distraught, the others around the table just howled with laughter at the exchange.

"Well ... okay," Sally replied reluctantly. Then glaring at Andy she added, "But you can be damned sure that it's the first thing I'm going to check when I get back to Washington!"

She paused for a moment and then shrugged. "But that wasn't so important, anyway. How about food? Slaves are entitled to their rice ration. We get one scoop of boiled rice a day. Me? You make me eat tournedos, filet of beef Wellington, grilled scampi..." Glaring at Andy she demanded, "Where's my rice!?"

Andy just shook her head in feigned disgust. "Where it has always been, you fool! Right on the damned table." Looking at Jack sitting at the head of the table opposite, she said, "Darling, are you absolutely sure nothing can be done? I know about the disruptions in the slave trade, of course, but still ... I mean there have to be higher-quality slaves available somewhere! There just have to be!" she wailed.

Then turning back to Sally she said, "I repeat: the rice has been on the damned table! Oh, well," she murmured, "slaves have never been too bright." With a resigned look on her face she asked, "Is there more?"

"There sure is!" Sally exclaimed. "Toilet facilities. Now there I have you cold turkey, Mrs. Taylor. There's no way to squirm out of this one. Slaves get to use their own outhouse!" she declared proudly.

But then glaring at Andy she demanded, "Where's mine?"

"Oh, no you don't, slave! You can't get away with that one," Andy asserted. "What is wrong with you, anyway? Have you never heard of the Environmental Protection Agency — the EPA? Well, have you?" she demanded.

Sally just nodded in the affirmative.

"Well!" Andy said petulantly. "We tried. But that other collection of stupid bureaucrats wouldn't hear of it. I told them that it would just run down the side of the building and down the storm sewer, but they claimed it would pollute New York harbor! Can you imagine anything more stupid than that? One dumb slave is going to add to the pollution of that ... that ... open sewer! But they were adamant." Again Andy sniffed and said, "So if you have a problem, it most certainly isn't with me. Is there anything else?"

"There sure is," Sally declared. "It's the worst form of abuse of all. And the events today are a perfect illustration. For nearly an hour, Nita and Kelly were drinking at my source, and like a good slave, I let them." Now her eyes flared and Sally appeared angry as she continued, "But then, did I get a turn? Hell, no! And, Miss Andy, that is the worst form of torture of all. They let me go down on them just often enough to remind me how gloriously clean and fresh, sweet and wonderful, their virgin cunts truly are. But do they let me savor their sweetness? No!"

Now Sally began to cry but forced herself to continue, "Then just a few hours ago, right before Mr. Wilson arrived, it was time to get dressed. Kelly did it all, including running her fingers lightly all over my body. But did she reciprocate? Did she allow me to caress her satin smoothness? To feel her lovely erect nipples on top of the most perfect pair of tits God has ever created? Did she? Hell, no!"

She pretended to break down in tears with her head down as she sobbed. Then she jerked herself upright again and exclaimed, "And lady, that is really torture!" At that she just grinned and stuck out the tip of her pink tongue at Kelly. Again, everyone howled with laughter.

Then while the people were still laughing, and without saying another word, Sally rose from the table and left the dining room. A few moments later she returned with a shopping bag in her hand and a stack of papers in her arm. After placing the papers at her place, she opened the bag, walked around the table, and gave a long well-oiled whip to each of the men, beginning with Jack Taylor.

While the men looked at the whips in amazement, Sally completed her task, ending by giving her last whip to David Wilson. Fortunately, even though she had had no advance knowledge that Bobbie and Terry Williams would be with them, she had purchased a spare. After repeating the circuit, this time giving a sheaf of papers to each of the men, she sat down again at her place.

"As I said at the outset, I am Assistant Attorney General for Civil Rights. Being a woman, I am, of course, very interested in the fifty-two-percent minority: women." Sally paused, looked thoughtful for a moment, and then interjected, "How did that happen, I wonder? Of course, it's a well-known fact that lawyers can't handle arithmetic — except for calculating their 40 percent of a judgment, of course — but how can 52 percent be a minority?"

She shook her head, apparently baffled, but continued her original line of thought. "Anyway," she said, "I'm very interested in women and their rights. Accordingly — and recognizing that several of us will be getting married soon..." Again she stopped, grinned at Andy and interjected, "Until a few minutes ago, I had no idea just how soon!"

"But anyway," Sally continued, "women's rights. The papers I just passed out contain the definitive decision on the subject handed down by the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court. To the Court's decision, I have added my own annotations, as well as several additional decisions. You see, the court discusses in detail the degree to which a husband has the right — indeed, the duty — to beat his wife in order to maintain good order and discipline in the household. But at the same time, the Court recognizes that a beating can easily be overdone and become spousal abuse."

Sally paused and glared at each man around the table, then continued, "Please keep in mind that this decision was handed down before there was a Civil Rights Act. And also keep in mind my position." Again glaring at the men she said, "I am going to make it my business to ensure that these poor women are not brutalized."

Turning to Andy she said, "For example, Mrs. Taylor, although it is certainly arguable, it is my belief that the torture frame you have in the exercise room is beyond the limit!" She nodded her head firmly and continued, "It's certainly close, I will admit, but in my professional judgment, it goes too far."

She stopped and looked around the table, then went on, "What this dwelling needs is a plain, old-fashioned whipping post. One could easily be installed on the pool deck. When Mr. Taylor disciplines you, he should not use those leather cuffs, either. A few turns with a good strong rope around your wrists should be perfectly adequate. Then, although it's not strictly necessary, my division is coming around to the point of view that a wife may require her husband to alternate his whippings between her back and her breasts. Nipples may be whipped, of course, but the husband must remember that if his wife ends up unable to nurse the babies, it could get very expensive." Sally nodded her head firmly and announced smugly, "He might even need to buy a cow!"

"Now why, you might wonder, is your frame illegal? I admit, it is new and obviously quite expensive. I will further admit that such frames were not known even to exist 300 years ago by the settlers in New England." She looked thoughtful and added pensively, "My research indicates that they were developed in the Middle Ages and later used extensively by the Inquisition. In general, though, they were never commonly used in the Colonies; they were restricted to the Spanish possessions.

"Again, why is it illegal? Well, first of all, we must remember that there is a very strong — if indistinct — line between discipline and torture. A whipping on the back is certainly acceptable. The buttocks, as well. Of course, they are more often spanked.

"Spanking, of course, does not even enter into this discussion. Spanking a wife is not only normal and expected, it is a husband's duty. In fact, the judge comments — favorably, I might add — that there are many men who schedule a certain time each week — Saturday night, after dinner, for example — to spank their wives whether they need it or not."

Looking almost triumphant, Sally continued, "Now those men truly love their wives! Each week they demonstrate their high regard." Again, Sally's facial expression changed and she continued her original line of thought. "But back to the frame. What's wrong with it? Well, for openers, being whipped on the inner thighs and in the cunt is, I believe, beyond the pale."

Looking around at each of the men again, she held up her hands, seeming to hold off their objections, and continued, "Now I admit that there are occasions when a wife has been so terribly evil — overcooking prime ribs of beef, for instance — that a normal whipping is just not adequate. But I warn you, if you whip your wife outside these guidelines, you better be prepared to have a particularly good reason or you'll be in big trouble.

"Now, I sincerely hope you study the decision I passed out to you very carefully. In it, there is a schedule of punishment strokes the court held to be appropriate for the circumstances defined. For example, a poorly-cooked meal is worth ten strokes with the whip."

Looking around again, Sally seemed to be striving for the men's comprehension as she added, "Please remember, these are only guidelines rather than hard-and-fast rules. I mean, if she really ruins a meal, twenty or twenty-five would be acceptable."

Then, with a note of triumph, she said, "Now, about the whips themselves which I gave to each of you. These are the largest whips specifically cleared by the Court for use in disciplining wives. Remember, though, again we're talking guidelines, not rules. These whips are completely legal."

Looking around the table proudly, she interjected, "And some of you people don't think the government does anything of any value. Hah! These have been carefully tested. If you look at the butt, in fact, you will see that it has been CPSA (Consumer Product Safety Administration)-certified. So there!" After looking around the table proudly, she continued, "At the other extreme, thirty-foot bull whips have almost always been held to be abusive. Now where, you may wonder, is the line? Well, there is, of course the usual gray area in the law."

Looking around at the men, this time she picked on Jack and asked, "Mr. Taylor, let me ask you: Seriously, don't you think that the ten-foot whip you're holding in your hand should be adequate to maintain Mrs. Taylor's love and devoted attention? After all, you're quite strong and that whip will always draw blood. Can't you live with that? Used regularly, I guarantee that Mrs. Taylor will always carry the visible marks of your love on her body to proudly display to all of her friends as evidence of your love and caring." With her eyes wide she asked, "Now I ask you: Is it really necessary to be abusive?"

Jack just shook his head in disgust. "Damned Washington bureaucrats! Why, in the name of Heaven, do you people have to inject yourselves constantly into private matters? Is there no right to privacy? I thought Mr. Justice Brennan found one in the emanations from the penumbra of the Constitution, or something." He quickly thumbed through the pages of the court decision and finally said with poor grace, "But hell, I guess you can't go through life always fighting City Hall. I'll try it, but I am certainly not going to like it."

Then he glared at Sally suspiciously and asked, "Are you sure about the marks, though? Absolutely sure? Because I don't know what Andy would do without the stripes on her body."

Then his face fell, and he shook his head sadly. "She'll be so upset, though. You can't believe how proud she is to be able to show off the cuts on her inner thighs and cunt. Her friends are so jealous!" He grinned and continued, "The way they are achieved, though, is our secret. But it absolutely drives her friends crazy! They have no idea..." Again he shook his head and muttered, "Without using the frame, I just don't know..." Then he looked up and asked, "But, Miss Duncan, what about that whipping-post thing?"

"I'm glad you asked, Mr. Taylor," she replied, "because there is something I forgot to mention. I said you should secure your wife's wrists around the post before you whip her. However, I forgot the rest. You see, it is not only appropriate, it is really necessary for you to leave her tied to the post for an hour or so after the discipline. This allows her time to reflect on her shortcomings and think of how she can make herself into a better wife for you in the future. But more than ... about two hours ... begins to become abusive. And if you leave her tied there for more than six hours — particularly if it is a hot, sunny day — you have clearly crossed the line. Do you understand?"