Diary Of A Plantation Slave Ch 01

Author's Note: All characters are over the age of 18. Character names and events are purely fictional and depict but in no way endorse racism, bigotry, rape or dehumanizing another human being. Please look at the tags before reading as there is scat and nonconsensual toilet play. Heavy racial language and slurs included. If any of these themes disgust or offend you in any way, feel free to skip this story. Everyone else, enjoy.

Friday, September 27th, 1811

Dear Diary,

It feels weird comin' on here and putting words to paper. But a wise person once told me it's never too late to tell my story or change it. So I reckon I 'oughta start from the very beginning.

My name's Mayella. I'm a slave, born and raised. Momma named me Mayella 'cause I was born in the hottest month in Georgia, a real "bright yella' thang'" thanks to my Daddy. He was a white plantation owner, she was his slave, and one thing led to another, they had me.

Momma and I caught all sorts of nasty looks from white folks, but for all his flaws, Daddy was a kind Master who shielded us from judgment and treated us well, even taught us to read and write some. I felt no different than his other chil'ren and for awhile, we lived in that little bubble, where the color of our skin didn't matter.

I thought when the day would come, Daddy would

emancipate

us. That means free us. But one day, Daddy died of a heart attack. Mistress Sinclair - who by then was only his wife on paper - took over his affairs. She threw out his will promising to free Momma and me, and instead split us up and sold us off to different plantations. I became a 19-year old slave with no home, no Daddy, and no Momma, all by my lonesome self.

I cried like a baby when they took Momma. She was gettin' up there in age, and it broke my heart knowin' she'd be workin' her last good years to the bone. But Mistress Sinclair not only wanted the reminder of her husband's infidelity gone, she wanted us punished for it. That woman was pure evil.

As for me, I didn't know much 'bout my new masters. All I knew was I got sold off to the Cryer Plantation. The Cryer family was somethin' mighty big in Chatham County, sittin' on a whole lot of land; 'wealthy' was an understatement. I figured they were just like any ol' slavers who treated their slaves like cattle.

Boy was I wrong.

*************************

Thursday, August 8th, 1811

1 month ago...

"You can't cook worth a damn," The one-eyed butler, Old Man Reesus, gruffs at me, spittin' out the mushy corn I done served up. Darn it, I knew I boiled it too long. "Can't clean for nothin', can't oil neither. I don't know how you made it this long, girl, but you best learn somethin'. 'Cause you not gettin' far with this mess; you gon' get beat or worse."

Tonight's my night to whip up supper and tidy up the kitchen, with Old Man Reesus makin' sure everythin''s in line 'fore Master Cryer rolls in. Old Man Reesus is a grumpy black slave pushin' 70 with white hair and bow-legged limbs, and he can't stand me one bit.

The Cryers got a whole passel of white and black folk to keep the house in order, but Reesus runs the show. He's been here so long, everyone calls him Old Man Reesus. Ever since I landed here a month ago this man always got a bone to pick with me, if it ain't my cookin' or my cleanin'.

I nod, tryin' to hold back the tears from spillin' down my face. Cryin' is just gon' make it worse. Lord, that Old Man Reesus sure can be mean.

But it's true. I can't cook maize, shine floors, or oil lanterns 'cause I never learned. And by the looks of it, I still ain't learn. I don't know how I'm gon' make it 'fore Master Cryer gets fed up and beats me black and blue, but all I can do is try my best.

I scramble to clean up the mess on the counter 'fore Old Man Reesus gets the head house cook, Khadijah, to let me have it too. As I bend down to soak the rag, my heel hits somethin' heavy and metal.

"No, don't go back near the--goddammit!" He curses.

The silver pail on the ground tips over, splashin' brown dishwater everywhere.

Shucks. Now he got a reason to yell at me some more.

My cheeks flush when the kitchen door flies open. Behind me Old Man Reesus stops in a cold panic. I stop too.

"That's enough," comes Master Cryer's deep voice. I turn 'round to face him. He strides in, and the whole place falls silent as a grave. Old Man Reesus's heavy, ragged breaths brush against me while Master towerin' over us, glarin' down at the mess. Like a hawk spottin' a squirrel, he stalks closer. That's when I take a good look at him.

He looks like your average Joe Schmoe, mid-30s with a recedin' hairline but he stands like a man who knows he's got wealth for generations. He's in an ol' wife beater with fancy rolled cuffs showin' his beefy arms. His eyes squint down at us from a plain ruddy face with brown scruff that matches his copper hair.

But it's his energy that rattles me. He's lookin' at me the way the Devil's hounds eye a fresh new soul in Hell, filled with pure malice, sliminess, and a mess of emotions I can't quite pin down.

I feel like I'm starin' at the face of Satan.

"Reesus, grab them rags and start cleanin' this mess up. And send Khadijah to fetch a mop for this filthy floor. Don't make me come back and see it like this again." He spits. The last line is his final warnin'.

"Yessuh," I glance at Old Man Reesus whose voice is barely a whisper when talkin' to Master. He looks like he's been shakin' bad but shoots me daggers with his eyes before snatchin' the rag from my grip. I flip the pail back over and start cleanin' too when his voice stops me cold.

"Not you, girl. You c'mere with me." He don't say my name but it's clear who he's addressin' and my stomach does sommersaults. I'm like a dear in headlights. I can sense Old Man Reesus's beady eyes on me but instead of his usual annoyance, I see plain ol' sadness. Master turns on his heel without another word and with that leads me down the dim lit hallway.

As we stroll down the cold empty hallway, we pass by portraits of the Cryer ancestors, chalky white devils with soulless stares that haunt me. The air somehow feels thicker and muffled. Classical music wafts through the silence. I ain't never wandered these parts of the house before, and I reckon I never want to again.

We stop at Master's room. The door swings open and I must've been stuck still 'cause I hear,

"You waitin' on somethin', girl? Get in here."

I step in all nervous as the door closes behind me and wring my hands on the apron of my cottage dress, a frumpy ol' thing that now feels scratchy with its thin fabric. He looks me up and down.

"So you like pissin' me off, huh girl?"

I flinch and lower my head in shame. "No, suh."

"You and your knuckleheaded brain ain't think to look 'fore you knock somethin' over?"

"I'm sorry, suh. It won't happen again."

He sneers, mockin' me. "'It won't happen again', is that right? How many times you gon' say that? You's a grown slave and you can't even boil corn. It's CORN and WATER for Christ's sake. Jesus, if you's like this o'er here, what in tarnation did Master Sinclair do with you for 19 years?"

I wince when he mentions Daddy. I'm itchin' to say back in my old life, I was more than just a house slave cookin' and scrubbin' but the way he's lookin' at me, I know this ain't a road I wanna go down.

"You gon' answer me, Mayella? What'd you do for your old Master?"

It's his first time sayin' my name and I'm petrified. He says it slow, in a different kind of tone and we's less than an arm's length apart now.

"I dunno, suh."

"You don't know?" He takes another step forward.

"No, suh. I mean, I was a g-good slave there, suh. I-I c-cleaned and c-cooked sometimes. But I t-tended the animals well and m-made sure whatever Master Sinclair needed he got."

I'm shakin' bad 'cause I'm thinkin' 'bout Old Man Reesus sayin' how the time's gon' come when I get my ass beat by Master Cryer, and Master Cryer looks like he's fixin' to do just that.

He backs me against the wall, so close his wiry beard scratches my cheek with every musky breath on my earlobe. I feel somethin' hard pushin' up against my crotch, and I can smell cheap whiskey on him.

"So y'were a real good slave girl, huh?" He whispers all low in my ear."You know how to please Master well and give him what he needs? Then you better prove it to me right here, Mayella."

My neck hairs stand on end.

"Get on this here bed. Now, Mayella," he barks, and my eyes snap shut, body tremblin'. I pray he ain't askin' what I think he's askin', what his body's sayin', but my prayers are ignored when the sound of a pant bucklin' and a belt cracks into the air.

SNAP!

"Now!"

My eyes pop open and startled, I go face down on the bed with my legs danglin' off the edge. He don't have to tell me twice. My heart's poundin' and I'm shakin' all over. I ain't never been with no man, ain't never bared myself for nobody. Never even kissed a boy. I feel the bottom of my dress tear first then my panties as he climbs on top o' me, plunges his hard manhood into my untouched hole and makes me a woman.

The whole room stops for a moment as we both let out a gasp. I feel a tinglin' in my legs and then they go numb, I can't move a thing.

The hurt's too much. It feels like hot coals and pressure up in me all at once, like nothin' I ever felt.

He stills himself in me, tight as a board then draws out and slams back into my soiled womanhood, yankin' my kinky hair in his fist.

"This how you pleased yer Master, ain't it Mayella? " He's pantin' like a hound, sweat drippin' down his beard while he hammers into me. "Such a fine yella' thang. All you niglets know how to do is spread them legs and let Master take this pussy real good, this sweet pussy. O'er and O'er and O'er again."

The walls echo with the slick sound of Master pumpin' himself hard into my wet abused 'pussy' as he calls it. With each 'o'er', he slams into me and I struggle to catch my breath.

The pain's eased now that my pussy is slicked up with our juices but fear's slid right in its place. It's like a madman's taken over Master, nothin' but pure carnal lust in his eyes.

I try to fight the sweat beatin' off my brow as my breasts jiggle out my dress, bouncin' to his rhythm.

He frees my hair from his grip and reaches 'round my chest, manglin' the two caramel globes like dough.

"Good nigger lettin' her Master fuck her good, this here's how you give him what he wants. Master gon' give you somethin' real good, Cumdump. Uggghhh!"

He's right up close to my ear, cooin' and spewin' more filth til I can't. His voice fades away and the colors in the room start to blur til the blues and reds and browns all become one starry blob and the Beethoven music down the hall is blarin' in my eardrum and the heat from Master's breath and my dicked-down pussy blends into one.

Master lets out a loud grunt and grips me tight as he shoots his seed deep in me. I'm too weak to fight it. He keeps on me, spurtin' out a second, then third, then a final load, his balls spasmin' to fill me with every last hot gush of his spunk.

He pulls out, and it feels like a leech's been ripped off my body. My down there starts to ache. I know I'll be sore come mornin'. I know his cum's leakin' out of me right now, but exhaustion takes me 'fore I can do a lick to stop it.

He takes a fist full of my hair and spins me 'round till I'm knees bent, eyes trained on his leg thrown on the bed.

"We far from done, niglet. Go on and open that pretty mouth, 'cause you gon' learn how to clean a real dick and ass today."

He shoves his manhood into my mouth, and I hold his thighs for balance as that sweet and salty twang of juices floods my tongue. I got no choice but to suck and he groans.

He grabs my head with both hands and tries to bury himself as deep down my throat as he can, till my nose is pressed right against his belly. I gag, spit slobber runnin' down my chin but he keeps a mean grip. His dick hardens, shimmyin' like he's searchin' for just the right spot while I squirm.

"That's it, right there. Be a good nigger and drink for your Master."

I'm hit with a rancid stream of urine. Ain't no way to describe this awful concoction. But I got no choice but to let this man piss a lake in the back of my throat and fill me up like a pitcher.

As I drink, Master slaps my cheek till I look up at him with my bloodshot eyes. He wants to see my face as I swallow him. As I'm crouched down, sniffin' his sweat-soaked skin, degraded further than I ever thought a slave could. He eases his grip on my hair, cooin' at it, sayin' I'm his good girl, his good nigger.

He musta known I was comin' outta steam 'cause when the last of it trickles out he pulls free from my jaw. I pull away, blinkin' tears, gaspin' for air as I put my hand on my belly and process the wringer this man just put me through.

"I ain't said you were done yet, did I? Keep them nigger lips wide open and stick that tongue out for me."

He turns 'round so his ass is towards me, one hand grippin' my curls and drags my tongue up and down his hairy asscrack. I taste sweat, hair, skin, and somethin' else altogether.

He slows down when my tongue flicks his taint, and moans, flexin' his wrinkled asshole. The hairy thing that probably ain't been washed since the second comin' of Christ pulses angrily in my mouth.

I gag and try to force the urine bubblin' up my throat back down, 'cause I can't stand the taste of ass and shit and piss in me at the same time. So I swallow it fast and start with slow licks, hopin' that'll soothe the beast. His ass is wet thanks to me and has a tarry taste, but I pray to God this goes over quick. Lord have mercy.

Master unleashes a grunt from the depths of his soul and without no warnin' pumps hot steamin' shit down my throat. It comes fast, thick and sluggish like molasses. I feel my gag reflex take over, but Master's grip on me worsens, forcin' every morsel of it to stay put.

The taste is awful. I blink away the tears fallin' on my face. I relax my jaw to let my throat open up and pinch off the thick brown snake into smaller logs as it slides down.

Bit by bit, the pieces find their home in my belly with the urine and come. I lick til I've licked into the bottom of his ass with nothin' left to swallow, and pound at his thigh to beg for release.

He releases me and I shudder to the floor. I'm all tapped out. My lips raw and swole, my pussy worn. My hair and dress and mouth stained with sweat and piss and shit. I don't know what emotion is runnin' inside me, but outside I'm goin' through every one of 'em. Master's eyes glower at me and he cups my chin in his hand, lookin' me over.

"This here's how it's gon' be from now on, Mayella. Your ol' Master may have taught you how to be a dumb nigger. But you gon' be a good one with me.

"Problem with niggerlovers is they let their spawn think they too good for nothin' and can amount to somethin' if they light enough. But you's a nigger, and the best thing a nigger can do is serve his Master as the cumdump and toilet he s'posed to be.

"You keep at it, and y'er won't be worryin' 'bout none of this housework stuff here. So you's best learn now, nigger. "

Those mark his last words and my cue to leave. My legs get a mind of their own and somehow I find my way to the door while I process it all.

The floodgate of tears come just as the door shuts behind me.

I feel so broken, so defiled by this man. Part of me thinks if I wasn't such a screw up, I could've avoided landin' in this mess. But another part of me thinks it was bound to happen. Sure as shootin', he'd've set his eyes on the naive yella-skinned girl with a white Daddy to teach her a lesson. Whole time I was prayin' I'd never get lashed when I oughta been prayin' to stay outta Master's sight. Now I'm forced into the perversions no proper white woman would ever see.

I'd do just 'bout anything not to do this. I thought I'd feel shame but all I got is this hollow shell of who I used to be 'fore I walked into his room.

A door creaks shut behind me, and I reckon it's Old Man Reesus's room. But I ain't even got the strength to be embarrassed. I make my way to my cot in the slave quarters. First thing I do when I get there is head straight to my john, empty it all outta my system, and rock myself to sleep.