Life in Alabama in 1855 wasn’t too bad, well, it wasn’t now anyway. My name was Olatunji when I was captured in Africa five years ago. I’m called Charles now. When I got to America, I was sold to Mr Kevin Nichols. His wife is Miss Catherine.

Luckily, I wasn’t put out in the fields. I knew how to cook and am very organized. Not to mention, I was a Prince in Africa and the other slaves who were captured with me knew it and respected me. So, I became the overseer for all of the female slaves and the male children until they’re 12. After that, the women stayed working in the main house and the slave huts while the males went to work in the fields

The women on the plantation take care of the house, the cooking, and the slave quarters, making sure everything is cleaned every day and the master and misses have every whim catered to. And, it’s my job to make sure they do it.

The male field hands have a rough life. They work hard, maybe 12 hours a day. The field bosses treat them terribly and the whipping post is where they end up if they need to be disciplined. I never liked that. The whip would strip the skin from their backs and leave scars that lasted forever.

Of course, there had to be discipline for the women and young boys too, but I handled that with my trusty paddles. The fear of getting their ass worn out by me was what kept them in line; well, most of the time anyway.

Today was just one of those days, I guess. Mistress Catherine called me to the main house because of trouble between two of the house girls. One was Phoebe, who was about 25 and the other was the oldest house girl, Hannah, who was over 50. They had actually gotten into a physical fight over something stupid. Mistress Catherine wanted them disciplined and right now.

I told the two girls to follow me out to my cabin in the slave quarters area. By the time we got there, both of them were pleading with me, but we were way past that.

In my cabin, I had a table, shorter than a normal table, that I used as a work area, but also for paddling when needed. I told both of the girls to pull off their dresses; there was no need for them to remove underwear as the slaves never wore any.

Hannah was the one who should have known better; she was going first. She is a big woman with a hugely wide ass. I bent her over the table and quickly tied her hands to the front legs and her knees to the back legs. Spreading the knees that wide tightened up the ass skin like a drum and spread the cheeks apart to expose the tenderest skin between the ass cheeks.

She was sobbing and begging, but I wasn’t there to decide if they should be paddled; Mistress Catherine had already done that. I was there to make them wish they had never gotten into a fight with each other.

My paddle for the adults is about 3/4” thick with a business end about 30 inches long. It has penny sized holes drilled in it for the skin to pop through which created blisters that would last long after the paddling was over.

Hannah’s ass cheeks were clenching and unclenching, as she wiggled as much as she could, and her asshole was doing a winking motion. She was ready.

Hannah’s butt was so big that my paddle would only cover one side at a time. It was going to take six swats to cover the entire expanse of it, so I told her that she was getting 24 swats; enough to punish every square inch of her ass four times. I didn’t really like putting the wood to the older women, but she had to stay in line, same as the rest, or Mr Nichols might decide to send her to the whipping post.

She was in the middle if begging when I reached back as far as I could and slammed the first swat into the top of one cheek. It dented the flabby flesh of her butt about an inch and shut her up in mid-sentence as she inhaled deeply. When she exhaled, she screamed like someone had branded her with a hot iron.

She was in the middle of more begging when the second swat landed on the same side, but where her cheeks met her thighs, the ‘sit spot’. Another massive inhale and another animalistic scream.