Chapter 25

"Are you really going to castrate Wren, Mistress?" I asked her over dinner.

"Why yes," Miss Corinne replied in her Mississippi accent, sweet and sing-song. "I most certainly am, Danielle."

"Oh," I nodded.

We were sitting on the roof, fifty stories up in the middle of Memphis, which seemed awfully high to me. Much of it was covered by a large canopy, almost like a circus tent, but open and airy, and the pastel canvas snapped high above our heads in the late evening breeze. It was always breezy up there and even cold sometimes in the fall and winter. There was music playing, a little jazz band was performing, and aside from a café of sorts, there was a swimming pool up there with a bar around it and the whole place was gaily lit with Chinese lanterns and very relaxed. I rather liked the roof a lot.

"I do enjoy the ardent flavor of her personality," my Mistress continued, "but that little negra of mine is downright promiscuous. Don't you think so?"

"Promiscuous?" I giggled nervously thinking I was probably the same way myself.

"Oh, I don't mean with the niggers. That doesn't bother me." The woman took a small bite of her salad. "Delilah, on the other hand..."

"Delilah?" I was eating my own salad and I narrowed my eyes. I knew Wren was fucking Tom Henry and Jericho about as often as she could, but I didn't know about Lilah.

"Oh yes! My little faggot has acquired an indiscreet taste for the fairest sex," Miss Corinne laughed.

"I didn't know that, Mistress," I laughed too, wondering how they'd kept it secret from me.

"Not Delilah's sweet derriere, mind you. My darling Wren prefers the child's quim and I've reprimanded the girl repeatedly," Miss Corinne sighed. "I must confess, that sissy is toiling at the edge of my patience, Danielle."

"Ummmm..." I shrugged, not knowing what I should say since I was jealous of the little negra in any case. Anything I said might sound petty and I was enjoying Miss Corinne's attention too much to spoil it.

"I was rather hoping you'd be a good influence on the girl."

"Me?"

"Being a sincere and devoted faggot, such as you are," my Mistress nodded. "I suspect you don't particularly enjoy being with a woman, do you?"

"I like being with you, Mistress," I answered truthfully, smiling shyly and looking down.

"Heh!" she chuckled lightly.

"I mean, um, when I close my eyes..." I said slowly, not wanting to offend her, " ... I kind of forget you're a woman."

"Why, Danielle! I believe that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me," Miss Corinne leaned slightly closer and her face showed real pleasure. "Thank you."

She reached for my hand and gave me a little pat and then a squeeze and I knew I was blushing then, feeling very happy with myself, and both of us knowing I hadn't lied.

"Oh! Look at that, Danielle." Miss Corinne was looking at an older woman, a Mistress who was sitting down at a table near us with a much younger bedroom buck.

"Ma'am?" I shrugged, only because the woman looked like a dozen others up there and her nigger was very handsome, but nothing special.

"That's precisely what I do not care for," she said in a not-so-low voice. "Women who look like men in drag."

I swallowed hard, nodding politely and looking away as the woman in question turned her head at the sound of my Mistress' voice, some others nearby were looking as well. I knew Miss Corinne wasn't like anyone else I'd ever met, male or female, and she never ceased to surprise anyone who knew her. In this particular instance though, I really hoped my Mistress knew what she was doing. The women who belonged to the Sable Society were the fair cream of Southern Society, as Miss Corinne herself had put it on occasion.

"It would almost excite my blood, Danielle, if she'd done it on purpose," Miss Corinne shook her head sadly.

"Yes ma'am," I blinked rapidly and I wasn't sure what to think or do.

"If I should ever begin to look like ... that, you'll tell me, won't you, Danielle?" Miss Corinne was looking at me and I nodded quickly.

"Yes Mistress," I breathed.

"Oh ... Shhh ... Here she comes now!" Miss Corinne shushed me theatrically and actually giggled, much to my discomfort.

"Well, Miss Ingersoll. I thought it was you." The woman had gotten up and now she was standing next to our table. "Your daddy let you out of the attic, I see."

"Only if I promised to leave town," my Mistress smiled thinly. "How are you, Mrs. Buckley? And however is your dear husband these days?"

"It's Mrs. Hardesty now," the woman smiled back. She was in her forties and not unattractive, I suppose. She didn't really look like a man in drag at all to me. "Last I heard, Mr. Buckley was planting some nigger named Sugar Daisy down in old Orleans."

"Sugar Daisy?" Miss Corinne clapped her hands and laughed gaily. "What a delightful cachet! I do hope they're happy together."

"Are you visiting Memphis long, Miss Ingersoll?" the woman asked. "The husbands in Mississippi must be lonely in your absence."

"Husbands are always lonely when the bed's too cold, Mrs. Hardesty. You of all people should know that." my Mistress replied. "I'm Mrs. Reiser now, of the Memphis Reisers. I would have thought a woman as well informed as yourself would read the society page."

"Really?" Mrs. Hardesty looked decidedly unhappy with that news, but she hid it quickly. "I've been abroad until recently, traveling with my husband in Europe."

"Oh? And how is the Chancellor these days." Miss Corinne tilted her head.

"The very picture of health, Miss Ing ... I mean, Mrs. Reiser, silly me," the woman smiled apologetically.

"Yes. Silly you," Miss Corinne laughed lightly. "Well, I'd insist that you join me, but I'm afraid the hour is growing late and..."

"Of course it is," Mrs. Hardesty nodded sympathetically. "Oh, we're having a little dinner party, raising funds for my husband's upcoming campaign, perhaps I could send you and Mr. Reiser an invitation?"

"Why thank you, but I do believe we have one," Miss Corinne smiled. "I'm certain my husband will give it due consideration."

"Of course he will."

"But getting Mr. Reiser to pay a thousand dollars for a dinner plate..." my Mistress chuckled, " ... Well, You know how hard it is to get money out of a Jew."

"Oh," Mrs. Hardesty paled. "Your husband is Jewish?"

"A lesbian and a Jew," Miss Ingersoll nodded. "It's the secret of our happy marriage; we're both tight fisted."

"I, uh ... Good evening, Mrs. Reiser." The woman left without another word and Miss Corinne just shook her head.

"Mr. Reiser is Jewish?" I asked her a moment later, because I honestly didn't know if he was or not, but I wouldn't have thought so.

"Danielle," my Mistress looked into my eyes. "We're all Jewish when faced with people like that; don't let anyone tell you different."

"I don't understand," I cleared my throat.

"Hardesty is the Nazi candidate. Well, we don't call them Nazi's here, they're North American Socialists, but it's the same thing though," the woman told me. "And if you're not one of them, you're a Jew or a Bolshevik, or a homosexual, or any of a thousand other things they don't like."

"But my Master..."

"Oh, good heavens, girl!" Miss Corinne chided me with a giggle. "Get your purse, we're going downstairs. The air is foul with politics up here, I swear."

I didn't know anything about politics, of course, nor did I understand my Mistress' remark about everyone being Jewish. A lot of people liked the German's though, but not Miss Corinne apparently and I wondered why. The only thing I really knew for sure was that my Mistress and that other woman, Mrs. Hardesty, they didn't care for each other at all. Miss Corinne wasn't like other women either, she didn't mind letting people know her opinion of them, although she always seemed to find the most polite way possible to insult someone. It was one of the things about her I found very intimidating and I was very glad she was fond of me.

I spent the next few hours playing ornament to my Mistress, staying close and clutching her arm while she moved through the social circles. I didn't mind so much, it was a lot like being with Mr. Reiser when he did the same thing at the Owner's Club. I enjoyed some of the talk, listening to women discuss the latest fashions, for example, but that was exactly the sort of thing Miss Corinne found boring. She had little use for designer clothes, at least those not tailored to her specific and decidedly masculine taste, but I thought it very enjoyable and I found myself wishing I'd worn a real dress and my good jewelry, just to show off a little.

"Are you bored?" Miss Corinne asked me.

We were sitting in The Prance, a club of sorts and so called because the Society dressed the niggers working there as pony boys. They were all beautiful young men, dressed with leather harnesses, cock rings, and butt plugs with long silken horse hair tails extending up and out from their hard round butts. They could be gagged with bits and bridles, which usually hung loosely beneath their chins until needed. Long leather reins trailed across their broad shoulders and down their backs. The men were all large and quite muscular, an average sized woman could ride one if she desired, bareback of course. Or fuck one, if she wanted, and most often that was done bareback as well. All the pony boys had undergone vasectomy.

"No Mistress," I smiled at her, sipping champagne in a small crescent shaped booth with a low table in front of our knees.

"Yes you are," she decided, lifting her hand to call over one of the ponies. "I'm bored too."

"Ma'am?" The boy was gorgeous, like all the slaves in The Prance were, his body sleek and well-defined and dark like Swiss chocolate. He was oiled as well and smelled of something, jasmine maybe, or sandalwood perhaps. I couldn't decide, but I liked it and I felt my penis throbbing as I looked the boy up and down slowly.

"I'm bored," my Mistress sighed. "Prance for me."

"Yes ma'am." The pony smiled and that was the real reason he was there in the first place, and the reason for that low sturdy table in front of us.

There were a number of other ponies dancing and the music was non-stop and I suppose the place was very much like one of those burlesque strip clubs they have in Orleans, although I'd never been inside one of course. I'd heard of them though and I imagined this place was similar. It was lit in red mostly, loud and warm and intended to excite the blood.

We watched as the man got on the table and he was graceful doing it, despite his size. He danced for my Mistress in his bare feet, moving his body in time with the deep bass rhythms that shook me all the way down in my tummy. The slave's muscles seemed to ripple beneath his gleaming black skin and his cock was long and thick, hard as if it were sculpted from solid mahogany with the foreskin pulled back to reveal a light, pinkish glans. I stared at his penis, watching it move stiffly, weaving and bobbing above the nigger's big balls as they swung between his smooth brown legs. It was very erotic and I was feeling very relaxed after drinking more champagne that evening than I usually did.

"Dance with him," Miss Corinne urged me with a soft laugh. "Go on, get on the table. Have some fun with him."

I giggled a little self-consciously and reached down to unstrap my shoes, kicking them off as I felt my own girl cock pressing against the tiny thong trying to hold it captive. The pony grinned at me, lifting a hand and crooking a finger at me before turning to shake his wonderfully chiseled ass for my Mistress. His tail was long and auburn, brown and red and he bent over, with his muscular legs spread so we could see the base of the buttplug. The plug must have been buried deep inside the man's rectum, I thought, and I found my mouth watering as I gazed upon his plum sized balls swinging in his smooth sack.

I climbed onto the table slowly, and it was low anyway and very sturdy, large as well, enough so that we had room enough to stand together anyway. We danced closely, as my Mistress wanted and I was laughing, my hands were roaming his body and feeling the slave damp and slightly greasy with the oil he wore. He was hard though and I delighted in exploring his muscles and it made me buzz with desire, a primal lust to possess that man, or better yet be possessed by him. He was touching me as well, smiling and sliding his hands around my waist, lifting my top slowly while Miss Corinne gave her happy approval, telling the nigger to undress me.

My lavender blouse came off easily as I lifted my arms, undulating my body in time with his. When my firm black tits came free I turned to my Mistress, cupping them for her and offering my aching nipples which were puffy and swollen with excitement. I squeezed my breasts and thumbed the tips, giggling and watching her face. I bent over for her, letting my tits hang heavily from my chest, my flawless skin drawn taut by their weight. The pony boy moved behind me, holding my hips and pressing his wonderfully hard cock against my skirt. He rode my ass playfully, grinning as I pressed myself back to meet him, grinding myself lewdly against his gyrating pelvis.

"The skirt too ... Everything," Miss Corinne commanded, sitting back and rubbing the bulge of her strap-on through her breeches.

The slave took her directions well and I grinned at him over my shoulder as he found the clasp and zipper of my miniskirt, releasing it from around my waist. I stepped out of it as the leather fell around my feet and kicked it off the table and carelessly onto the floor. I could feel the pony boy's cock against my flushed skin now, riding the deep groove between my ass cheeks with the tip pointed towards the ceiling. His cock was hot and heavy and the glans wet with precum and I realized other people were watching us, other women and their bucks sitting nearby, and some of them pointed and whispered as they could see my balls clearly and then my cock as I pulled my thong aside.

We turned to face each other, the pony and me, and that was when he discovered I wasn't like the other bedroom negras. The look on his handsome face was precious and he stared down between us, seeing his large black cock suddenly rubbing against my much smaller, but no less strident erection. I kissed his chest then, putting my arms around him and pressing my fingernails into the man's flesh in case he had some thoughts of moving away from me. He probably did, because the nigger didn't look nearly so eager anymore, but he was just a pony boy and my Mistress was right there to make sure he behaved himself. The Society had its own whipping post, its own rooms devoted to nothing but correcting a slave's bad attitude, and perhaps that was on his mind, more than dancing with another boy.

Miss Corinne liked the scene unfolding before her, certainly. She did love seeing our cocks pressed together and while the pony stiffened slightly with his unreasonable anxiety, I reached down to take both of us in hand. I pressed our cocks together and slid my fingers back and forth around us while I used my mouth on his nipples. He wasn't going soft anyway and that was probably due to whatever it was that they fed those boys to keep them hard all night long, maybe that same oil the cock fighters used, I wasn't sure. He was hard as a rock though and so was I, with my Mistress clapping her hands and nodding happily at our little display.

"Go down on her, boy ... On your knees now!" Miss Corinne was saying.

She leaned forward almost breathlessly, her white skin flushed pink with excitement, and this was one of the things she liked best. She wanted to see this obviously straight young buck sucking my sissy girl cock, knowing he'd never done any such thing in his life. It seemed for a long second that the nigger might almost refuse and I wondered how my Mistress would have taken that. Not too well I imagined, and so I urged him gently, releasing our cocks and putting my hands on his shoulders. I was pushing him down, although he was so much bigger and stronger that I couldn't actually force him to do anything.

The pony relented though, surrendering to what he knew was inevitable. Like it or not, the slave was going to suck my cock and that just made it better for both of us, Miss Corinne and myself, I mean. The man's obvious reluctance turned us on even more and I thrust my hips forward so my cock was pressed against the nigger's belly and then his chest, sliding across his smooth dark flesh and leaving a thin trail of damp excitement behind. I pushed him down until the boy found himself kneeling on the table and I had my hands on his head. I pulled him towards me, feeling his reluctance and not caring. He was just a slave like me and we don't get to decide what we want or don't want, he knew that as well as I did.

"Suck it for me," I whispered and I didn't even know if he could hear me above the music, but he could hear my Mistress just fine, some of the other women too as they were shouting encouragement.

Anything different was interesting and seeing a gorgeous pony boy going to his knees for a beautiful sissy wasn't a usual occurrence, in this club or anywhere else, and the women loved it. I stroked the man's short hair, soft and kinky and shorn close to his scalp, and my penis was sliding across his face by then, not into his closed mouth, but across his cheeks and up along his nose as I pressed my small hairless balls to his chin and lips. I was almost standing tip-toe and giggled at the spectators' urgent coaxing and even a few threats. One woman, apparently one of the Sable Society's few white employees, was promising the boy that if he didn't suck me, she'd tie him down and let her dogs use him as a bitch. I didn't know if she was serious or not, but she sounded like it and the man finally did open his mouth for me.