Abigail Hanford stared at her friend in disbelief.
"But why, Christabel? How? Your parents wouldn't leave you here alone, they just wouldn't!"
Christabel Jennings grinned smugly, and mischief glittered in her green eyes. "Daddy was supposed to come back from Atlanta this morning, so Mama took the early coach to go visit her cousin Etta. Only Daddy sent a message with yesterday's coach that he has to stay in Atlanta for three more days. I was outside when the messenger came, so I told him I'd let my Mama know. I guess I forgot."
Abigail shook her head, amazed yet again at her friend's audacity, and already starting to worry what kind of trouble Christabel was planning to get them into.
The two girls had been best friends since before they could remember; in many ways they were very much the same, but in others they were as different as night and day. Both were only daughters of wealthy parents, plantation-owning Southern aristocracy. Both were achingly beautiful, and both were eighteen.
But Christabel could have easily passed for twenty-two; tall for her age at 5'6", her breasts were full and round, and her figure, though slender, was curvaceous. Stunningly offset by her shining red hair, her emerald eyes sparkled with intelligence and humor, and her full lips seemed always curved in a faint half-smile, which gave her an air of flirtatious and knowing maturity. Her personality matched her looks; she was bold, impulsive, daring; dangerously so for a woman of her time. But her beauty, her youth, and her charm, wrapped around a core of genuine kindness and sweetness, made it hard for anyone to stay angry with her for long.
Abigail, on the other hand, could be mistaken for fourteen or fifteen. She was tiny, 5 foot nothing, and beneath the modest dresses her mother insisted on, her firm round buttocks and small, high, perfectly round breasts could easily escape notice. Her hair was so blond it was almost white, and her eyes were the pale blue of a rain-washed sky. Her delicate features and gentle, trusting expression conveyed an almost heart-breaking innocence that made her seem younger than her years.
Yet the two close friends were more alike than they seemed. Both chafed under the restrictive, stilted lifestyle of the antebellum south. Both were prone to sexual thoughts and fantasies, and eager to experience more than the little they both had seen. Both had lost their virginity to the same smooth-talking classmate, Jimmy Robbins. Christabel was first, of course, and was almost the aggressor. Months later, Abigail, more passively, had succumbed to the boy's advances. That had threatened their friendship, briefly. But both had been disappointed by Jimmy's clumsiness, quickness, and unimpressive endowments. Neither wanted to try him again, and the shared experience ended up reinforcing their closeness.
Best of friends they were, yet Abigail was often nervous about Christabel's wild streak, and the thought of three days without any adult supervision to restrain her sounded dangerous. But, she had to admit to herself, it was exciting, too.
She sighed. She knew she would go along with Christabel's notions; she always did, though usually more as observer than active participant. "Three days. What are you planning to do?"
Christabel smiled. "First we're going to have tea and sandwiches, and talk. Later...you'll see."
They sat on the patio, having tea and sandwiches, and Abigail thought everything seemed normal, She was starting to feel a little relieved, maybe a little disappointed, when she noticed something odd.
"Where's the house staff, Christabel?"
Christabel smiled her naughty smile. "They all had errands that had to be done. I'm afraid we're all alone."
Abigail could tell she wasn't going to find out what Christabel had in mind until her friend was ready, so she played along. They sat chatting about everything and nothing, while the sun sank and the song of the crickets rose into the night. At some point, the subject of Jimmy Robbins came up. "Is his little pecker the only one you've seen?" Christabel giggled.
"Yes," Abigail replied.
"Then how do you know it's little?"
"I guess I don't, really. I just thought I should feel...fuller."
"Me too." Christabel got up. "Let's go for a walk."
Abigail felt her tummy tighten. Whatever Christabel had planned, she had a feeling it was coming.
For a while, though, they just walked aimlessly in the cool, fragrant darkness. Then Abigail realized they were down by the slave quarters. "We shouldn't be down here, alone, in the dark," she said.
"Nonsense. We can walk where we want."
As they drew closer to one of the small shacks, Abigail started to hear a noise. A man's voice, and he was groaning, as if in pain, and there was a sound of a woman's voice as well, it sounded almost like she was humming.
"What is that?" Abigail wondered if someone was hurt. But why the humming?
Christabel led her to the wall of the shack, and pointed to a knothole, touching a finger to her lips. Guilty, but curious, Abigail put her eye to the hole.
Candles were burning, and she could see, but at first she couldn't make sense of what she saw. The groans were coming from John, one of the big field slaves. The humming was a young slave woman. She was down on the floor in front of him, and she seemed be trying to swallow...something, a stick or a bottle, something much too big for her mouth. Suddenly Abigail realized what she was seeing, and she fell back, barely restraining a gasp. Christabel was grinning, and she waited while Abigail went back to get another look. Watching, she felt an itchy tingling in between her legs. She was ashamed. A black slave! Still, the woman had been mouthing it so eagerly, and it was big, very big. If the candlelight wasn't playing tricks on her, it was three times the size of Jimmy Robbins' little thing.
As Christabel drew her away from the shack, she felt relief. That hadn't been so bad. Naughty, scary, exciting, but they hadn't been seen, and one more of Christabel's adventures was safely behind her.
But when they had gotten about thirty yards away, Christabel suddenly stopped and faced the shack. "John," she shouted, "I need your help up at the house. Right now. And bring Henry and Zeke and Isaac with you." Abigail's jaw dropped.
There was the sound of hurried stumbling, and perhaps a muttered oath, and then John's voice. "Yes Miz Chriz'bel, right away."
Christabel started toward the house, and Abigail followed, stunned. "Christabel! You, you, you're not. You can't!" Christabel kept walking, and Abigail fluttered along behind her, thinking, "I've got to go, go home, get away." But what she heard coming out of her mouth was, "Can I watch?"
As if she'd said the magic word, Christabel turned and beamed at her, "Get up in my parents' bedroom, and hide in the closet." Abigail scurried to the hiding place; she had to see, she just had to. Could even Christabel be so bold?
Christabel waited in the parlor. The other slaves she'd named, like John, were the biggest, strongest field hands. They were the ones called on for the hardest labor, and whenever she saw them working, their muscles bulging, sweat dripping from their black skin, she felt weak in the knees, and she had to go change into dry panties. She really didn't know why, and she'd never told anyone, not even Abigail, but now she had her chance, and she was going to take it.
