Chapter 33 – Cutting Cane
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"She's juicy. We'll take them," said Wynona Mapes who happened to have two of her long thin fingers in my twat working my G-spot while her thumb didled my clit. That may have been the first time I had been chosen for something based on my overactive Bartholin glands.
Of course I was juicy. Wynona's fingers were practically whipping up froth. A strange woman was stimulating both nerve centers that our cosmic inventor had placed there to make whores of all we women who would otherwise been good girls. Without them I might be in India helping Mother Theresa feed the starving or care for lepers. But with them I was just anther slut pressing my sex into Wynona's hand wishing she would never stop.
With that remark, Wynona selected the Witherows to work on her family's sugar cane plantation. I was the last of the family to be evaluated. She'd hefted Sam and Carl's cock, made a favorable comment to her husband, Ellis, indicating they were satisfactory then stuck her fingers in Sandra and Monique's boxes. She let her fingers linger in Monique's thirteen-year-old love tunnel as my innocent little stepdaughter moaned, closed her eyes and licked her lips. I would have bet my right nipple that Monique was squeezing Wynona's fingers with all the strength her pussy could muster.
"You like to eat pussy?" Wynona asked Monique all the while finger fucking her step mom's favorite girl slut.
"Yes Ma'am," replied Monique showing some smarts as she humped her pussy against Wynona's hand like a bitch in heat.
"When did you eat pussy last?"
"Last night on the ship."
"Whose was it?"
"Rozz, my step mother."
"She eat yours?"
"Have you ever eaten your real mother's?"
"Would you like to?"
"Yes, Ma'am, I suppose," said Monique perhaps considering the question for the first time and finding it of interest. Do girls fantasize about munching mother's rug? Sure we do.
There were other similar inane questions before she told Ellis to load us into the truck.
It was another bizarre day in paradise. After the William Blunt docked we were marched a half mile inland then trussed up like chickens in a long metal shed. Our hands were tied over a hook suspended from the ceiling. Our feet barely reached the floor. Each family was clustered together.
This was the slave sale part of the experience. Alonzo had informed us that the final days of our trip would be spent working as cane cutters on the several sugar cane plantations located on the island. Apparently sugar cane was a close second to cotton in terms of using slave labor in the new world. I did learn some absolutely worthless historical facts on the trip. Alonzo then gave us a geopolitical lecture on the impact of something he called the American Sugar Quota which protected rich Florida sugar cane growers from foreign competition.
"The big cane growers in Florida bribe the American Congress to limit the amount of sugar that can be imported into the US and they guarantee an exorbitant per pound price for US grown sugar. The end result is that these local people who could export sugar to the US at a very reasonable price are cut out of the market and barely make a living. Another result is that consumers like you are forced to pay five times what you should for a pound of refined sugar," said Alonzo demonstrating his knowledge of international agribusiness.
"He's very correct," whispered Sam to the children and me. "It's a disgrace what goes on in Congress."
I could give a shit less about sugar cane and quotas. I looked around wondering about how and when I would be sexually abused.
"As a result, the people you will be working for are not particularly fond of Americans. Expect to be worked hard and abused like real slaves," said Alonzo.
That said we were strung up to the rafters awaiting the arrival of the plantation owners. The owners came as family units. Her husband Ellis, son Mathew, daughter Alisha and brother-in-law Ed and his wife Bea accompanied Wynona. They were a big strong tough looking bunch, tall, muscled, and black as the ace of spades, a white family's worst nightmare. Mathew took an interest in Sandra ignoring Monique making me think he liked his women on the hefty side. He checked out her holes even licking his fingers and sticking them up her ass.
"She's still tight," declared Mathew. Given the amount of cock we had experienced thus far on the trip, I was surprised anything was tight. "Let's choose them."
"Your mother will decide who we take,' said Ellis revealing he had left his balls elsewhere.
"Why can't I have a say?" asked Mathew.
"Quiet, baby, I'm thinking," said Wynona taking another feel of Sandra's orifices.
"She's a little heavy but I like them that way," said Mathew.
There are men that eschew the Sports Illustrated model types and prefer their women with a little or even a lot of meat on them. S&M seems to have more than its share of big boned women.
"Fat girls are more fun to whip," declared one of the dominants at the Hellfire Club one night when I was watching him decorate a 250-pound femme's ass to resemble a barber pole.
"I see what you mean," I said admiring the way her heavily dimpled butt was laced with bright red stripes some of which were tinged with bright drops of blood. Apparently cellulite cuts easier because her ass was dripping the red stuff. She was a player, however. "Harder," she croaked once she got her breath after the dominant's whip had cared a deep red groove in a cheek. It's difficult to scream and talk.
"And they give you a better reaction to pain. Watch," said the master expertly snaking the tip of the whip between her legs to land on her cunt. The bullwhip perfectly bisected her pussy lips sounding like a rifle crack as the tip snapped across her hole and clit. She reacted with an ear splitting scream and bodily contortions that practically ripped the whipping post out of the concrete floor.
"See," said the dominant proudly.
I did see his point. The whip had more surfaces to land on and the effect seemed to be greater. When I dropped by later to check on them she was standing in a puddle of her own piss blubbering while the dominant applied sea salt to her cuts.
Decision made, the Witherows climbed into the back of a five-ton truck. We were soon joined by the five Barlows: Dave, Denise, Tracy, Billy, Tom, and Steve, the three Connelly's: Warren, Margaret, and Lucinda, and the three Sheffields: Bruce, Deirdre and Sarah. Ellis raised the tailgate and the truck took off for a long drive down a winding dirt road.
In spite of the bumpy ride, I fell asleep with Sandra and Monique in my arms. I woke up when the truck stopped in front of a group of small one-room cabins where the cane cutters lived. It looked like a shantytown. It was early afternoon and we were promptly marched off to a nearby cane field.
There were several hundred locals busy cutting and hauling sugar cane. They halted work temporarily to eye the newcomers. It was mostly men but there were a few women.
Ellis presented us to Cosmo (yes I know it's a fucking dumb name but Cosmo it is.) who was in charge of the harvesters. We were each given a machete and shown the rudiments of cutting sugar cane. It's doesn't require skill but it is hard work. The fact that we were buck-naked and everyone else half naked made it a little weird. The heat and humidity were off the scale. I was sweating in no time. Deciding that dehydration and heat stroke were a real possibility I shepherded Sandra and Monique over to the large water can for a drink.
I was standing there drinking from one of the tin cups that we all shared when a whip landed on my backside wrenching a scream out of me. I grabbed my buttocks and danced around wondering if the fiery pain would ever go away.
"I didn't say it was break time," said Cosmo advancing on me whip in hand.
"We were thirsty," I replied.
"No one gets water until Cosmo blows the whistle," said Cosmo referring to the metal whistle he wore around his neck. "You stay there," said Cosmo blowing the whistle. That brought everyone over to the water can.
"This new slave doesn't know the rules. I need to teach her what happens when someone violates the rules. Stretch her over the table, Amos," said Cosmo to the crowd.
A brute grabbed my wrists and pulled me on top of a nearby table they used to keep accounts of how much cane had been harvested.
"Since you're new, I only give you ten," said Cosmo.
I was face down on a rough wood table. My toes barely touched the ground and my tits were mashing into the table's surface. Cosmo delivered a damn nasty whipping that set my backside on fire and left my voice raw from screaming. After the tenth blow, Amos released me and I felt to the dirt a sobbing wretch trying to deal with agonizing pain stretching from my butt to the tops of my shoulders. I curled up on the ground in the fetal position crying my eyes out promising to be good and follow the rules. Cosmo had laid it on hard making an example of me.
"Back to work," yelled Cosmo blowing the whistle. "Not you," he said to me as I was attempting to rise and go back to the row of cane I had been harvesting.
I was lying in the dirt sniveling when Amos took a few steps to stand over me. When I looked up, I had a good idea what I was in for. He was a magnificent physical specimen the sort of lean tall muscular black man that populates the rape fantasizes of white girls. His enormous hands and feet were a dead giveaway that he was well endowed. He was only wearing sandals and shorts held up by a piece of rope. He reached down and untied the rope letting the shorts fall to the ground then stepping out of them.
"Oh shit," I whispered to myself as I came to a kneeling or is that worshipful position before one of the bigger dicks I had encountered. I'm not one on keeping statistics and I never bothered to ask Amos the length and girth of his pecker but I will say that when he put his cock in me I experienced a combination of pain and pleasure that I didn't forget.
"Suck it white slave," intoned Amos grabbing his peter and holding it up for me.
The crowd was walking away slowly looking over their shoulders to see how I would react to mega-cock. In the past there must have been white women who literally fled before Amos's schlong
I placed one hand around it noting that my fingers didn't come close to reaching all the way and passed my tongue over the cock head which was colored somewhere between bright pink and light red. It had an inky black shaft with a lighter colored head so you could find it in the dark and guide it into the appropriate hole.
I teased the piss hole with my tongue and was surprised to learn that the opening was large enough to accept the tip of my tongue. I worked his piss hole extracting a few drops of strong yellow. My other hand stroked what must have been the biggest nut sack in the Caribbean. They hung down a good six inches. I sucked one of his testicles barely able to get half of it in my mouth. I wondered if scientists had identified the gene sequence in the double helix that created cock and balls like these. If you could develop a form of gene doping that would give every man a dick like Amos' all wars and conflicts would end since all we humans would do is fuck. It was sheer delight to suck that dick and rub it across my face feeling the heat it generated.
I forgot all about the whelps throbbing across my posterior, as I got busy sucking his uber cock. Black men are known for their virility and all too soon Amos was fully erect.
"On your back," ordered Amos pushing me down in the dirt. Somehow the fact that he was going to screw me in the dirt increased the eroticism. Thinking of myself as an unredeemable slut about to get screwed by a fabulously well equipped but semi-literate cane cutter while groveling in mother earth was about as sordid a scene as I could imagine.
I rolled on to my back rubbing my clit as I lay down in the soft earth. Contact between my recently whipped rear and the ground added another level to the sexuality of what was about to happen. I checked my well and found it pumping oil. Like Wynona said, I was juicy. I reached up, grabbed my big toes with my thumb and first two fingers pulling my knees down to my side. Yoga taught me there is an energy source in the big toe that can be released by squeezing the toes hard. I waned to release that energy into my cunt. Plus I wanted to be open and ready for penetration.
Amos knelt down between my legs. He slapped his peter several times against my clit. It was like a meat hammer pounding my tender flesh. It hurt and I moaned in response. I looked up to see Cosmo standing beside the kneeling Amos. Cosmo shorts were down by his knees. He was fisting a cock that you would call very large if you didn't have Amos's to compare it to. The fact that there was going to be a second act thrilled me to the core.
This was not a foreplay fuck. It was a use the bitch screwing. Using the tip of his dick, Amos plowed my furrow that spilled open like a Kansas cornfield before a fully rigged John Deere. He forced the head just inside my vagina, gave me his 'this is going to hurt like hell and I will enjoy that' smile then lunged forward.
"Of fuck yes," I cried out as I felt that schlong create a white-hot column of pain that traveled from my opening to the very depths of my uterus. Amos was not a 'I'll take it slow so you can get used to it' kind of man. He wasn't sensitive or thoughtful. Over the next five days I saw him ram that pussy stretcher in all the women and several of the men. It was always the same. You had to take it and deal with the pain somehow.
My vagina had seen an awesome amount of peter since we sailed on the William Blunt. It was well trained to accommodate dicks large and small but Amos's peter was so wide and so long it traveled where other penises had not even thought of going. It's girth made you feel like your guts were going to burst and when it reached bottom somewhere past your navel it brutally slammed into certain vital organs causing a dull throbbing pain that hurt like hell.
Amos' thrusts were matched by my grunts. He'd withdraw until only the cock head was still in my pussy then he'd give a full drop lunge that took him to the point where his nut sack slammed into my ass. Amos pounded me for a long time before he delivered his load of semen to my uterus.
"She's all yours boss," said Amos to Cosmo as he dismounted.
My back was covered in sweat and mud. Cosmo grabbed me by the hair and ordered me to assume the dog style position.
"Get your head in the dirt," ordered Cosmo pushing my face into the soft moist earth filling my nose and mouth leaving me to spit mouthfuls of mud on the ground in front of my face.
Cosmo passed his dick over the opening of my vagina soaking it with Amos' semen. Two thumbs yanked my sphincter open. Cosmo hawked a large gob of sputum in my open anus then slipped his cock into my rectum and began to pound away.
I pushed back to meet him each time he thrust forward.
"That's right, fuck my ass, tear my shithole up," I chanted as I met thrust for thrust.
I was into that kind of cold heartless sex where you neither know nor care about your partner. You don't want to know them better or sit and have coffee and learn how they feel about the war on terrorism or whether they have family or pets. Your interest in them ends at the base of their cock.
Cosmo blew a load in my rectum then hawked another gob of spit into my open asshole as he pulled out. I'd fingered my clit to get me off. I was coated in mud and sweat.
"Open your mouth," yelled Cosmo once again using my hair to pull me to a kneeling position. Cosmo and Amos pissed all over me. I swallowed several mouthfuls to keep Cosmo happy.
They sent me back to the harvest coated with a thin layer of mud that had absorbed enough urine that I smelled like a poorly maintained public toilet.
When it got toward dark, cane cutting stopped. We were marched back to the shantytown where slaves and natives crowded into a communal shower. Several of the slave women found that their ablutions included reaching over and grabbing their ankles so a native could grab a quick piece of ass. Monique was lucky enough to get it at both ends from two of the men.
Dinner consisted of local fare and wasn't bad considering. I'd classify it as healthy plain country cooking. After dinner the Mapes showed up and informed the Sheffields that they would be sleeping in the plantation house. Bruce, Deirdre, and Sarah left with the Mapes. I noticed several of the locals roll their eyes as the Sheffields left. Something was up.
After dinner, Cosmo assigned us slaves to different cabins for the night. They broke up the families. I wound up going with Dave Barlow and Lucinda Connelly to Cabin 4. It was as bare bones a place as you can imagine. A single bulb illuminated the room.
"Floor," ordered the local who seemed to be in charge of our cabin.
They put the three of us on the rough wooden floor and screwed us in all three holes only two in Dave's case. It was as simple as that. I was between Dave and Lucinda on my hands and knees. We knew the drill. We were going to be fucked whether we liked it or not so why not like it. I set the pace by moaning and cursing as different locals mounted me. Lucinda like all the young girls on the William Blunt had lost any pretense of innocence. They screwed their daddies, brothers, mothers and more total strangers than they could count. They'd developed a taste for dick and learned that the traditional wisdom that sex was much better and more meaningful with someone you love was pure bullshit. Having a long hard black dick up your ass in a cane cutter's shack felt just as good as if it was Mr. Wonderful's prick in the honeymoon sweet at the Bellagio. Perhaps I am too cynical.
Dave's asshole was dripping cum before long. He surprised my by displaying considerable enthusiasm for being a bottom. He demonstrated a real zeal for taking it at both ends and swallowing ejaculate. Once he leaned over and kissed me sharing a mouthful of spunk that he had just taken. Dave may have been a bully when he was dealing with skinny white boys like Sam Witherow but if a muscular cane cutter wanted to fuck his man cunt he wasn't about to object.
The three of us stayed on the floor until everyone in the cabin was satisfied. There was one woman who wanted her rug munched and Lucinda and I obliged. She surprised me by squirming under Dave for a regular fuck while he was being buggered. Frankly I was too tired to do anything other than cooperate and hope it would be over so I could get some sleep.
It was later when I was lying in my bunk that I heard screams. My bunk was against one of the walls and there were tiny cracks in the boards. Through one I could see up the hill to the plantation house. I heard a long wail of pain that sounded like Deirdre Sheffield.