Victoria's Secret: The Conclusion

The carriage ride was as astonishing as everything that preceded it. My coachman was black, and dressed in the finest of 19th century livery.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm not supposed to speak with you, Massah," he replied. "But we get there soon."

His reference to me as master did not totally surprise me, for as our wagon made it's way down the bumpy dirt road the fields around us were filled with black slaves tending to the coffee, banana, and sugarcane fields. The crops seemed quite abundant, and the warm weather and scenic beauty made me wonder if I had indeed time traveled to a plantation paradise.

The next surprise of the day overshadowed the rest. Arriving at a beautiful Greek Revival Mansion I was greeted on the front porch by Mr. Crawford, the beastly, vulgar oilman from the hotel, who shook my hand warmly.

"Randolph, you glorious bastard, you found me! Took you long enough, Ha-ha!"

We sat on the front porch in white rocking chairs, talking as we walked the slaves toiling in the sugar cane fields. Two slave women, bare breasted and naked except for loincloths hanging loosely around their waist, fanned us, while another removed my muddy boots and gently massaged my feet.

"We got electricity here, which ayn't authentic, but what the fuck!" he guffawed. "Course central air ayn't as good as having some little black monkey fanning you with her tits hanging out."

"Where is this place?" I said.

"I don't even know that. I just know how to get here. Doesn't matter where it is. It's when it is. We try to keep it around 1830 here. The good old days. Blacks don't get uppity here."

"No escapes?"

Crawford laughed out loud. "Where would they escape too? A few might lose their heads and run to another plantation, but that just earns 'em a good butt whooping." Only way off of here is that boat, and that gets searched before we leave. Then they're on the landing strip, and we search that too. Anyn't no escapin' here."

"Fortunately we got what we need and the island's big enough to turn a small profit on the agriculture. Plus the slave population is big enough we can breed 'em now without doing a lot of imports. Although we do occasionally bring in a particularly tasty wench."

"Victoria?" I said.

At the mention of the name the black slave girl rubbing my feet looked up. I had supposed that meeting Crawly was going to be my biggest surprise of the day, but when I looked into the face of the African slave girl looking up at me I realized I was wrong.

"Victoria?" I said, scarcely able to believe my eyes. I looked closer. There was a resemblance, but her nose was wide and flat, and her lips puffy and full. Her skin was quite black, even blacker than Victoria had been in the market. But there was something in the eyes...

Seeing my confusion Crawly spoke up. "Don't just kneel there like a lazy sack of rotten black potatoes!" he scolded. "Show 'em your butt brand!"

The African girl rose, and lifted up her ragged loincloth to reveal the large W and circle of stars I had branded on her bottom.

"Victoria!" I said, scarcely able to believe my eyes. "Is it really you?"

"Don't just stand there with your ass in the air. This is a white man, girl. Git on your knees and give my guest a proper greeting!"

Victoria did just that, unzipping my pants and taking me in her mouth as Crawley explained.

"I call her banana Pourie -- putrid banana!" he said, laughing. Stupid wench got her nose flattened out by one of her masters before he bought her. Seems she got all uppity about working in the fields, and kept telling everyone she was really a fine English lady and she'd pay 'em a lot of money if they'd ransom her. Her massah got tired of her backchat and locked her in a brank for a couple of months, which flattened her nose out real good."

"The puffy lips were my idea. Makes her look all good and baboon like, keeps her from getting uppity. Plus when she sucks my dick, she don't miss a drop!" he said, laughing.

It was true enough. Victoria's plump lips formed a tight seal around my cock as she skillfully swirled her tongue and pumped her head up and down.

"Yes, Pourie is a fine breeding bitch. Already dropped a pup. She's about due to be seeded again. 'Course we'll keep her working in the fields right till she drops."

I looked down at Victoria. She looked back, the humiliation burning in her eyes. But I couldn't help but notice her other hand was between her legs, giving herself a good rub as she sucked me off.

"Who was the father?" I asked.

"I'd have to ask the animal husbandry guy," he said dismissively. "He keeps the breeding records. Bitches are easier to control when they realize they don't got no man to protect them, and you can't break up a family on the auction block if there ayn't no families."

I looked down at Victoria. There were tears in her eyes, even as she was rubbing herself to climax. I had never been so turned on in my life. It was the completeness of her subjugation and the delicious irony of my racist wife's predicament that thrilled me the most. Like Crawford, she had often referred to slavery as "the good old days." Now it was 1830, and she was a black slave trapped on an island where escape was impossible. The hopelessness of her situation caused my cock to stiffen further as her puffy negro lips slid up-and-down my tool.

"But Victoria is white," I said.

Crawford guffawed out loud. "Don't look white to me. We got real strict racial laws down here. One gentleman brought his wife here -- she was Italian, I think -- and the Sheriff picked her up. She ended up in court, then naked on the auction block. I think he was able to buy her back, I think, after the original owner had his fun with her."

Crawford returned his attention to Victoria. "I plan on keeping this wench knocked up all the time," Crawford explained. "Matter of fact I have the animal husbandry guy coming over today. Paying some big bucks for some of their best studs. You want to watch her get seeded?"

At this Victoria's eyes went wide with panic. Popping my cock out of her mouth she pleaded for mercy. "No, Massa, no. Don't seed me, Massa! Not in front of HIM!"

Crawford looked first to me, then to Victoria. Realizing her fate was in my hands, she looked up at me. I had spent a long time trying to find her, but now that I did my feelings toward her were dispassionate and cold. I was angry at how long I had searched for her, angry at the worry she had caused me, even angry that she stopped sucking my cock. And why was I the one unworthy of watching her bred? Sensing a chance to finally strip her of her arrogance and punish her for her haughty mistreatment of me during our marriage I turned to Crawford and nodded.

Crawford guffawed loudly as he slapped his knee. "Ha, ha, ayn't nothing like watching a bunch of wenches getting seeded. Don't worry, were gonna knock this little sow up good and you're gonna get to watch the whole business. Going to cover her with some really fine studs."

"What you doing, girl? Get busy...back to work. That's a white man's tool in front of you. Get sucking!"

Victoria, tears in her eyes, expertly took my member in her mouth. Her technique had improved immeasurably and she had doubtlessly spent much of the time we had been apart with various male members in her mouth. Smiling down I enjoyed both her tears and her skill as I blew my load into her belly.

The next several hours were quite interesting as one of Crawford's men gave me a tour of the plantation. He showed me the slaves toiling in the fields, the enormous slave powered cotton gin and cotton press, and where they loaded the wagons to market. It was all quite interesting, like a school field trip to a historical exhibit, but my mind kept drifting back to Victoria.

When at last I rejoined Crawford I noted the time and asked him which bedroom Victoria would be bred in. He laughed out loud.

"You still ayn't gettin' this, are you boy? We breed our goats and pigs and wenches outside in the old barn. You'll know it by the smell," he said, laughing. "It's from the pigs. Go out and take a look if you want; I think they already got your little sweetie Pourie waiting with the other wenches. I'll be out in a few ticks."

The pig barn was a bit of a walk from the main house but Crawford was right that you could find it on smell alone. The structure itself looked very old and I noticed some cracked or missing slats near the top. With the noise of the hogs snorting and rooting about I was able to enter the bar without the slave girls inside hearing me.

The large barn was divided into sections with a central aisle running down. As I entered the noisy pigs were to my right and the goats were penned toward the rear on the left. There was also a loft stuffed with hay, but it was the pen to my immediate left that commanded my attention. The four wenches who were selected for breeding were standing naked and at attention a few feet in front of the pigpens with their hands bound behind them and coarse hemp nooses around their necks.

Unfortunately it was difficult to spot Victoria because they all had burlap saps over their heads, covering their entire faces except for a whole for their mouths. I was very glad that I had had the foresight to brand Victoria's ass, for I wouldn't have been able to find her if it wasn't for the large W and the circle of stars that I'd had the foresight to burn into her backside.

The mouth hole in her sack was held open by an iron metal "O" that was fitted in her mouth and held it open so wide that her teeth and tongue were clearly visible. The spider gag in turn was held in place by a strap that was buckled tightly to the back of her head.

The iron metal ring holding Victoria's mouth open looked quite old and uncomfortable and I wondered for a moment if it might not be authentic to the period, perhaps a relic of a slave plantation Victoria's ancestors had owned. But terrible as her gag and hooded blindness were I was quite sure that Victoria's immediate concern was the hemp noose that had been fitted on her neck, and was pulled so taught that Victoria and the other wenches were literally forced to dance on their toes.

The noose around Victoria's neck had been thrown over a beam running the length of the barn and was knotted off to one of the posts. Oblivious to my presence all four girls rubbed their thighs together and moaned softly as they tried to "juice" themselves in preparation for being put to stud.

The nooses themselves struck me as somewhat quizzical as clearly they made no sense as a practical matter. One certainly wouldn't want to hang a wench after having paid good money to have her put to stud. Perhaps the girl's precarious position was an idle but nonetheless terrifying threat to make them cooperate?

All four girls had nooses around their necks, but their was enough slack in the line that the girls could avoid hanging themselves by shifting their weight onto their toes and the balls of their feet, which unlike their heels were close enough to the ground to give them support. It was, I'm sure, a most uncomfortable and terrifying position, and I was quite surprised when Victoria decided on her own to up the ante and make her situation even more distressing.

I must confess that seeing my haughty wife with a hangman's noose around her neck did present a certain delicious irony. Victoria had always been a strong component of capital punishment, and of hanging in particular, which she referred to as "a short drop" or "dancing on air."

"There's nothing wrong with him that a short drop couldn't cure."

"Dirty black darkies. They all belong on the end of a rope, if you ask me."

"They should hang a few of the Sambos just for show. It would be a lesson to the rest."

Now my wife's racism had come home to roost and it was her black neck that was being stretched by the noose. Back in London it was precisely the sort of punishment "for a girl of her sort" that Victoria would have approved of.

Given the precariousness of her situation my jaw dropped with astonishment as Victoria lifted her feet up off the ground, putting her full weight on the noose around the neck. She began to gurgle and choke immediately as the noose tightened around her throat, but during that time she rubbed her legs together furiously, a motion which caused her to swing first clockwise and then counterclockwise as she swung in the noose!

After almost a full minute of hanging Victoria's feet finally dropped, and she shifted her weight up, managing to get some air into her lungs.

I looked at her, dumbfounded. During my time in London I had tortured myself with the idea that poor Victoria was being subjected to all sorts of abuses that she was powerless to resist. Indeed, I was afraid that Victoria might indeed meet her end dangling from a rope. Remembering back to her first experience in the slave market and her near hanging at the hands of the recalcitrant donkey I would have supposed that putting a noose around Victoria's throat would be the most horrifying thing possible. You can imagine my surprise when I discovered that the perverted little negress was not only NOT frightened, but was actually hanging herself for the thrill of it.

In that moment I realized what a fool I had been in trying to rescue her, and why she had treated me so badly when I suggested that I might take her home. The little jigaboo was ENJOYING hanging from a rope in the barn, and was getting off on it!

As I remembered the heartache and time wasted grieving for Victoria all sympathy drained from my body. So the little black bitch like to play games, did she? It was time to play a game where she wasn't in control.

I waited until she did her trick again, and raised her knees to "hang" herself. As she dangled, every so gently I pulled on the rope raising her ever so slightly until unbeknownst to her she was several inches higher than she was previously.

After she tired of her mock hanging she lowered her feet to discover that she was dancing on air!

Although I couldn't see her face I could tell from her cry of panic that while she might have had no idea how her game had gone afoul she realized that she was in a very grave position indeed. In a blind panic she kicked and cried out as she twisted in the air, which only had the unintended effect of tightening the noose still further. Whether in panic or because of loss of control the little bitch actually pissed herself, and I fought the urge to laugh as her stream sprayed everywhere and formed a muddy puddle in the dirt.

Watching her dance and kick I felt most entertained by her lovely if frantic ballet, at least until the voices outside told me that my amusing game must come to an end.

Letting the line go I watched as Pourie fell, then jerked up violently as she reached the literal end of her rope. She found her footing in time for Crawford's entry.

Sensing an explanation for the girl's condition was required Crawford confirmed my hypothesis. "Best to keep the wenches on their toes for this," he said, chuckling at the cleverness of his pun. "Some of 'em don't much like being seeded, so I like to get them strung up all good and proper so their feeble minds can understand that it's best to obey."

Hooded, with her drooling mouth split open, her hands tied behind her with coarse rope, and a noose around her neck, I wasn't sure how Victoria could fail to obey but as a guest here I felt it was best not to argue.

A table was setup a few feet away and after an elegant white tablecloth was added several servants came in so that Crawford and I could enjoy wine and cheese while we waited for the bucks to arrive and the festivities to begin. It was quite an incongruous scene, a wine and cheese party hosted in a barn with noisy, smelly pigs a few yards away, and four negresses jerking on their ropes as they danced for our pleasure. However Crawford seemed not to notice and conducted our lunch as if we were dining in the height of plantation elegance. The wine was excellent and the conversation consisted of Crawford explaining the art of matching the bucks and wenches to breed "the best stock" for future generations.

"Take your bitch over there, Pourie," he said, pointing at Victoria with the tip of his riding crop. "Smart but uppity, with maybe a bit too much white blood in her. We keep 'em hooded so they don't know who the daddy is. Don't want them to think of themselves as humans. Best to breed her with a real darkie, like someone from the Congo. Mount her with some big black studs with lots of spunk!" he laughed. "Yeah, your Pourie's a sweetie, and I keep her knocked up most all the time. In fact, I put her titty milk in my tea every morning. An English girl flavoring my English tea! Ha-ha!"

"Still, I need to lay the strap on her lazy black behind more days than not. Most wenches, you whup 'em, they get the idea. But the more you punish Pourie, the more she misbehaves."

For a moment I considered revealing Victoria's perverted nature to her master. However I held my tongue so as to not interfere with any future punishments Pourie's misbehavior might earn her.

I was more than a little tipsy from the wine by the time the animal husbandry expert and his assistants arrived with the studs. As there were only four girls I was surprised to see them lead in 20 naked, muscular black men, all hooded like the girls were, and with their feet shackled together and their hands shackled tightly behind their backs. The men all had numbers painted on their chests in white, and upon entering the barn and greeting Mr. Crawford the first thing the breeder did was walk down the line of wenches and as each name was called out paint a white number across her naked tits.

Hallie was 957 Peaches was 1078 Pourie was 754 Tyra was 9373

The nooses were taken off the girl's heads and as Crawford and the breeder consulted their ledgers to confirm which studs would be put to which wenches, the slave mongers forced the wenches to their knees and quickly stripped the bucks pants off.

"Let's do this quick, bitches, there's no time for romance!" he sneered.

With the "O" gags in their mouth there was no way any of the women could resist, but none seemed inclined. The animal husbandry man and his assistants had their fun first. With no small amount of curiosity I watched my proud wife eagerly suck the cock of a pock faced fat man who looked like the sort of chap who might have fixed our toilet back in London. It as a bit messier than he usual work with much more drool, most likely because her mouth was locked into an "O" like some living sex doll.

By the time they finished we were ready for the main show and I watched as an enormous black stud (138) was placed in front of the open mouth of (1078).

"Just fluff him up, now," the man ordered, patting the black skinned girl on the head, "And don't you be spurting your spunk in her mouth, boy, or it's the whip for you!"

My dirty Pourie sucked off 2200, but was actually rutted by 194. He took her hard and fast, and in less than a minute he groaned into his gag as he spurted in her. As Pourie was the first to finish she was also the first to be covered by a second stud, as 7608 mounted her and began pumping into her briskly. He took a bit longer than the first and I watched with dispassionate interest as his tight black bottom bounced up and down as he inseminated my grunting wife.

I thought of how prissy Victoria had always been in bed and how she had always laid there lifelessly as she succumbed to her wifely duties, no doubt thinking of the Queen. Now she rocked her hips and wrapped her chained legs around her black breeding stud as he pumped her like a jackhammer. At first I had thought it incongruous to breed her in the pig barn, but as her grunting and squeals melded in with the other sows I realized it was the perfect place for her to be bred. As the dark black African spurted his load into her I watched as Pourie experienced what could only be described as a quivering slave-gasm.