INTRODUCTION

 

It is generally assumed, in the days when slave-trading was commonplace between Africa, England and America (as well as in other parts of the world), that those enslaved were always coloured.

Certainly that is how the vast majority think of slavery In the States and, of course, there is no doubt that most of those who were bought, sold and used rather like cattle were coloured. There have been plenty of books, pictures and films to make that evident.

However, what is not so generally known is that, in the Southern States (the heart of slave-land), whites could be enslaved, too. Admittedly, it was unusual ... but it did happen. And, under the laws of those Southern States it was not considered particularly illegal. Even if someone tried to make out that it was - in a Court of Law - there would be politicians, Judges, even a Governor, prepared to make sure the case would be thrown out. Influence and bribery were rampant. If you were rich and powerful enough, you could get away with murder. Literally.

You could also get away with slavery.

Because it suited the upper crust. Those who ruled.

Nobody, of course, gave a damn about the blacks who were enslaved. There might only be ructions if whites were involved. However, such ructions became mere ripples on the pattern of society. People who mattered turned a blind eye to goings-on which would be considered monstrous today. Because, as it has already been said, it suited them.

It is easy to understand how blacks were enslaved. They were shipped from Africa by the British and simply sold to Americans.

But what about whites? Well, business being what it was (and still is) in the States - that is to say, viciously competitive - men, and their families, could lose fortunes overnight. In order to avoid disgrace, bankruptcy and utter ruin, it was not unknown for a man to barter his wife or daughters (maybe both) in order to escape the clutches of a demanding creditor. Once bartered, those women became the property of that creditor. Legally. Just as if the man had bartered goods against his debts and not human beings. Amazing today ... but not so then, when America was really a rugged country.

This story concerns an estate upon which a number of such bartered white slaves have been assembled - consigned to an existence of cruel servitude.

This estate - Lauderdale - is owned by Mrs. Gloria Vance, a wealthy, well-preserved woman of 40. She lives apart from her husband Charles but they are on good terms and she is often able to profit from his commercial machinations. Charles Vance is ruthless in his dealings and most men who challenge him are ruined. One such man was Ralph Fanshawe who not only lost his estate and all his money but had to barter his wife, Lucinda, as well. Thus Lucinda - a proud, haughty and beautiful woman of 34 - became Charles's property. Quite legally. He, in turn, gave her to his wife Gloria as a slave. Quite legally.

Thus Lucinda (soon re-named Lucy) joined half a dozen other white women, of similar social background to herself, some wives, some daughters, who were kept as slaves on the Lauderdale Estate. They were not field slaves but house slaves and were part of an

entourage which also contained some forty black women.

Gloria Vance was particularly pleased to become the owner of Lucinda Fanshawe since, some time before, they had twice met socially and Lucinda - an 'aristocratic' Bostonian - had rather looked down on Gloria since she had married into 'Trade'. Though a guest on the Fanshawe Estate, Gloria had been treated with a coldness that almost amounted to contempt. So revenge was particularly sweet.

Naturally, at first, Lucinda could not believe her new status. Also, she was rebellious. Quite understandable in a proud woman of her position. However, after two quite merciless thrashings (administered personally by Gloria Vance) she underwent her training as a household slave at the hands of the Housekeeper, Mrs. Duprez and the Major-Demo, Fezel.

Though in despair, though repeatedly degraded, the one thing that helps Lucinda endure is the thought that, one day, she will gain her revenge over Gloria Vance.

But that day may well be a long way off. if it ever arrives. And, meanwhile, Lucinda learns the true meaning of slavery . . . its bitter humiliations, its arduous toil and its repeated torments.

NOTE: The slaves in the Lauderdale household are under the supervision of the Housekeeper and the Major-Demo, who have six male and female assistants known as Flunkeys and Maids.

CHAPTER ONE

 

"Lucy - you are to report to Mrs. Duprez. At once."

Lucinda Fanshawe, who at that moment was on hands and knees putting a good polish on one of the lavatory seats in the guest quarters, rose to her feet. She felt the ache in her back but that was as nothing to the permanent ache in her heart. Nor the stab of fear which had gone through her at the order she had just received. What could it imply? Nothing to her good, for sure.

"Yes, Miss," she said humbly, bobbing a curtsey to the hefty-looking Maid who stood in the doorway. Lucinda had learnt to show respect to all Maids and Flunkeys at Lauderdale, hard and humiliating as that had been. However, to this one in particular - who was Mary, a young woman of Dutch extraction and who was reputed to have the strongest right arm of all the Maids. When she used her 'stinger' on you, you knew all about it ... a 'stinger' being a leathern thong which Maids and Flunkeys carried and which they were empowered to use on all slaves. Up to five strokes at any one time for an offence which might be alleged or real ... such as carelessness, slackness, laziness, lack of respect and so on.

Perhaps it can be imagined what it was like for a woman of Lucinda Fanshawe's breeding and background to have to bend, raise her skirt and then receive the 'stinger' across the thin cotton of the drawers she wore. Humiliating and painful as it was when it was a Maid who administered punishment, it was naturally even worse when it was a Flunkey. However, now, after nearly a month at Lauderdale, Lucinda did not delay when she received the order - "Bend over . . ."

For she had learnt, if one obeyed immediately, that punishment would be less painful. Less severe. For the same reason, she also strove, with increasing success, to keep her bottom square whilst receiving the 'stinger'.

One day... But the burning rage and bitter hate in her heart did not lessen.

Oh, one day, Gloria Vance, I will be revenged!

Lucinda hurried along the corridor, then down stairway. Two fashionably-gowned women were mounting it. As she must, Lucinda backed to a wall and curtsied as they went by. She was quite ignored ... and went on her way, gall in her throat. Once I used to dress like that, she thought. Not in a cheap print-striped dress ... with maid's apron and cap.

Down another staircase. Along a more austere corridor. For she was now in that part of Lauderdale know" as 'Slave Quarters'. Then, with beating heart, she stopped before the Housekeeper's wide door. It ebony black high polished, with brass fittings which also gleamed.

Lucinda knocked.

A pause which seemed an eternity. "Come in ..."

Mrs. Duprez was seated behind her desk. She was a striking-looking woman of 35. An octoroon (that is to say with one eighth coloured blood in her), she nevertheless would have been taken for white, except perhaps for a slight Negroid fullness of her lips and wide-flaring nostrils.

Lucinda curtsied then advanced to the desk. The Housekeeper did not look up for quite some time ... and, in Lucinda, the tension mounted. Then, suddenly, hard dark brown eyes were upon her.

"Ah, Lucy ... "

"You sent for me, Mistress." It was the correct form of address ... and it behoved no slave to forget it.

"Naturally, girl, or you would not be here." All female slaves were addressed as 'girl' whatever their age. Perhaps not so bad at 18 or 19 but extra humiliating when one was 34!

"I beg pardon, Mistress." It was best to grovel.

"You will probably have learnt from your fellow-slaves, Lucy, that every Wednesday is set aside for what are termed 'Official Punishments' ."

Lucinda felt a sickness rising. Her heart began to flutter. "That is when," continued Mrs. Duprez calmly, "slaves who have not responded to reminders from the 'stinger' or who have committed some serious offence, are dealt with more severely. They are either caned or birched. And this is done in the main Drawing Room before Mrs. Vance's invited guests."

Lucinda's feeling of sickness increased. So did the fluttering of her heart. She had heard of this enormity yet had not, so far, begun to let herself truly believe it. How could anything so shamingly indecent be considered? Let alone allowed?

"You, Lucy, are to receive such an 'Official Punishment' this afternoon."

Lucinda's legs seemed to turn to water. Her hands were trembling. "B-But ... why ... why ... M-Mistress ... what h-have I done?"

"You have a short memory, girl. When you first came here, you had the temerity to spit upon your new owner!"

That was true. Lucinda's head reeled. Now it seemed impossible that she could ever have dared to do such a thing! Yet, then, it had seemed quite natural. And justified. Oh how quickly she had changed!

"B-But ... I... w-was ... n-new ... Mistress ... I didn't under ... stand ..." Lucinda half wailed.

"That is no excuse," said Mrs. Duprez firmly. "At the time, your owner promised you a birching when your training was finished. Now it has. So now you're going to get it. As to its severity, that is entirely at the discretion of Mrs. Vance."

Lucinda suddenly found herself down on her knees, hands stretching out imploringly. "P-Please ... please .... I beseech you ... Mistress ... birch me now . . . here and n-now ... but not in front of ..." Lucinda burst into tears and covered her face in her hands. Mrs. Duprez sat impassive. "N-Not ... me ... u-ughh ... mmfff ... not me ..." continued Lucinda between her sobs. "Not in f-front of them ... not me ... remember who I ... I r-really am ... oh God ... surely they can't do that to ... m-me ..."

Lucinda Fanshawe was now half pleading and half speaking to herself. The whole thing seemed impossible. Even more impossible than anything that had happened so far. How could she be flogged in front of people like herself ... in front of people, some of whom she had known socially? It was unbelievable to contemplate! An unbelievable horror!

"H-Have m-mercy, Mistress," she whimpered. "Just this once. Punish me now ... if it must be. I implore you. I beseech you ..."

Still impassive, Mrs. Duprez rose from behind her desk. "Lucy," she said severely, "for some reason or another you, as a slave, seem to expect to be treated differently to others. You refer to your past. To what sort of person you were. That is now quite irrelevant. Now you are simply a slave. Owned by Mrs. Vance. Your status, like all her other slaves, is the lowest of the low. And you are all treated equally ... no matter whether you are a nigger's bastard daughter or an ex-Boston lady. I should have thought that had got through to you by now."

"Urrrfff ... uuuuumnfffff ... uuuuuummffmff ..."Great sobbing moans were coming from Lucinda.

"Get up ... and bend over ..." Mrs. Duprez already had her 'stinger' in her hand. "It seems you need a further reminder."

"P-Pleee ... eeease ... ooohhh ... p-pleee ... eeease ..." begged Lucinda. All the same, she staggered to her feet. She knew the importance of swift obedience. Still sobbing, she bent over and lifted her three quarter-length skirt. Her fulsome bottom curved, thinly covered by white cotton drawers.

Thwack!

"Oww ... aahhh ... oww ..." The bottom twisted but remained still presented.

"What are you, girl?"

"A ... a ... s-slave ... Mistress ..."

Thwack!

"Aaagghh ... oowww!" Lucinda squirmed almost to her knees, then recovered.

"Whose slave?

"M-Mer ... Mrs .... V-Vance's s-slave ... M-Mistress ..."

"And she owns you completely ... and legally?"

"Y-Yes yer ... essss ... M-Mistress ..."

Thwack!

"So there is no reason why you should be treated differently from any of her other slaves? Black or white?"

"N-No ... no ... Mistress ..."

Thwack!

The fourth stroke was harder than those which had preceded it and Lucinda writhed down to her knees and her hands flew back to clasp at her burning flesh.

"AAAAAGHHH ... AAAAGGGHHHHH!"

"Up, girl, up! Present your backside again. At once ... at once!"

Somehow Lucinda made herself do it. Remembering to pull her skirt high again.

"So don't forget it again," said Mrs. Duprez, surveying the twisting-clenching buttocks before her. "Otherwise, I'll see to it you get a caning you'll remember for many a day!"

Thwack!

"OOOWWW ... 0000HHH ... OWW ..." The fifth was another hard stroke, which had Lucinda squirming to her knees, hands clasping once again. Slowly Mrs. Duprez walked back to her desk and resumed her seat. "All right, Lucy," she said to her sobbing victim, "that's enough. A few from a 'stinger' is about the least you'll get here. I think you are aware of that by now. Stand up, girl, stand up!"

The voice was authoritative, not to be disobeyed. Not for an instant. Unlike the Flunkeys and Maids, there was no limit to the number of strokes of the 'stinger' which the Housekeeper was empowered to administer.

Lucinda stood up. Swaying. Tears running down her cheeks. Oh how her poor flesh burnt! And all because she had made a perfectly natural plea.

"Now, Lucy," Mrs. Duprez was saying, "I don't want to have to keep on reminding you. Here, you are just another slave. To be treated like all the rest. If I do have to remind you, as I have said, next time it will be a good caning. And that, too, will be in public."

"Mmmfff ... mmmmffff ... mmmmffff ..." sobbed Lucinda. What she had once tried to pretend was both untrue and impossible was now clearly true and possible. Her very soul seemed to shrink at the thought of it.

"Have I made myself quite clear, girl?"

"Yer ... mmfff ... Y-yer ... ess ... mmfff ... M-Mistress ..."

"Good. So you will report here, at my office, this afternoon at two thirty p.m. Then, with any other offenders, you will be taken to the antechamber of Mrs. Vance's Drawing Room. To await your just desserts."

"Mmmmffff ... mmmfffff ... mmmffff ... "

"Stop snivelling, girl ,,, get out of my sight ... and back to work!"

Just in time, Lucinda remembered to curtsey; then she tottered rather than walked from that dread room. Her mind was bubbling with disbelieving horror. How could she endure ... how could she survive ... the utter degradation which had been planned for her?

It did not seem possible that she could. Yet, in her heart of hearts, Lucinda knew she was going to have to face that utter degradation.

That very afternoon.

But how could she?

Surely there must be some way of escaping it!

 

***

 

"Bella ... Bella ... can't you help me ... surely there must be some way out?"

Lucinda was addressing the only other white woman in her slave-group which numbered eight. They were eating a frugal midday meal, during which talking between slaves was permitted.

"How?" Bella's voice was blank and hopeless. She was another bartered wife, once Isabella Runcorn, and buxomly attractive at 28. She had paid all too many visits to the Wednesday afternoon Drawing Room meetings.

"Help me escape... now ...."

Isabella looked at Lucinda as if she were an idiot child. "Haven't I told you it's impossible? And what they do to you if you even try?"

"Yes ... yes ... but anything would be better ..."

"You think so? Tied on the end of a chain to a buck nigger. Out in the fields under the lash. It's certain death. And a nasty one. Do you want to die?"

Lucinda didn't. She was young and vigorous. Life had given her a lot. And she wanted that life back. Above all, she wanted it back so that she could make Gloria Vance suffer far beyond anything she was suffering at that moment. If that were humanly possible!

"No," whispered Lucinda after a long silence.

"Well ... don't be stupid, then. You'll have to go through with it. Don't you think I felt the same as you do now? The first time. Don't you think I feel the same very time I'm taken there? Of course I do! They love seeing you shamed. They love watching you writhe. Hearing you scream and beg. But there's no escaping it."

Lucinda covered her face in her hands and sobbed quietly. "They don't deserve to live. They're not human," she managed to say at last. Isabella made no reply but simply placed a comforting arm around Lucinda's shoulders.

She understood. She understood all too well. She was just glad that she was not on the list who would be going to the Drawing Room that afternoon!

 

***

 

"Somewhat surprisingly," said Mrs. Duprez, "you are the only girl on my weekly list. Fezel has two, however. Both blacks. There were one or two very near ... but managed to get away with it."

Lucinda, standing again before the Housekeeper's desk, was scarcely listening. Her mind was in a turmoil. Could this all truly be happening to her? To her?

Oh dear God, it seemed it could!

"Remove your cap, apron and dress, Lucy ..."

Lucinda looked aghast. This meant she would be wearing only cincher-corset, thin drawers, stockings and garters, and high-heeled shoes. Her breasts would be fully exposed.

"P-Pleee ... eeease ..."

"You should have done that already. But, as this is your first 'Official Punishment', I'll overlook it."

"Oohh ... p-pleee ... eeease ..."

"Do it, girl. NOW!"

Sobbing, Lucinda removed the items demanded. Her magnificent breasts, supported by cups at the top of her cincher-corset, were thrusting, white half melons with nipples, pale brown, firmly prominent. Mrs. Duprez was fully aware of the utter shame Lucinda Fanshawe was facing but it affected her not one iota. She had a job to do ... and it was a job she was happy to do. It was a pleasure for her to see proud women humbled.

"Now, Lucy," said Mrs. Duprez, standing up. "I advise you to be on your best behaviour. Any recalcitrance, any bad behaviour and you'll only make things worse for yourself. Understand that fully." She paused. "I know you may find it a little difficult, particularly on this first occasion, but I earnestly warn you to heed my advice."

Lucinda burst into a flood of tears and fell, clasping at Mrs. Duprez's knees.

"Merceee ... merceee ... anything but this!"

"Now, Lucy, I have warned you ..."

"But you must understand ... you must!"

Of course, Mrs. Duprez fully understood. Also, if she had had the time, she would have given Lucinda yet another taste of the 'stinger' for her behaviour.

"Get up girl. This is my last and final warning. This kind of talk and behaviour in a slave simply cannot be tolerated. Get up .,. this instant!"

Weeping, Lucinda managed to haul herself up. "Ooohh ... ooohh ... I wish I were dead," she moaned.

"I don't think so," smiled Mrs. Duprez. "You're too young for that. Here, girl, swallow this. It will make you feel a bit better." She extended a large pink pill to Lucinda. It was a form of sedative ... a nerve-calmer for others under extreme stress. In fact, it worked quite well.

Nervously, Lucinda took the pill and the glass of water which went with it. What did it matter what it was? She gulped the pill down ... but her naked breasts continued to heave under her sobs.

She will cause quite a sensation, thought Mrs. Duprez, eyeing them. She is not only one of the most aristocratic but also one of the best-built slaves we have had here for some time. Yes ... the gentlemen guests would be most delighted!

"Follow me, Lucy ..."

Sick to the pit of her stomach, Lucinda Fanshawe followed the Housekeeper from the room. At that moment, to her, it seemed like the end of the world. She was a prisoner leaving the Condemned Cell for the gallows. This was the final, utter, screaming-shaming horror ...