Elsie's calf muscles screamed, and her lungs ached, but she continued to run at as full a pace, as she could manage...She could hear the dogs, distant yes, but getting closer. Elsie tucked her skirts into her waistband, so her stride would be wider. Her fat shoulder-length, jet-black, plaits bounced haphazardly around her youthful, heart-shaped, face. Only her eyes, a hypnotic shade midway between deep-brown and hazel, betrayed her true age and depth of life.
She was running away from the only home she knew...The Keyes' Plantation.
~~~
Elsie, was one of Mistress Keyes's most valued house-slaves. As beautiful as she was knowledgeable in the ways of house service, she never failed to complete Mistress Keyes's lavish parties.
Mistress Anne Keyes inherited the Keyes's sugar plantation when her father died of typhoid fever.
She took over, hired loyal overseers to be "the men" of the property, while she herself bravely, ran the plantation's affairs. But she had a not-so-secret addiction. She had an extremely healthy sexual appetite. Her parties, were fronts for her liaisons.
Many men came and went through the years. Her bright green eyes, full freckled bosom, and strawberry blond hair attracted virtually any man she wanted. She confided in Elsie, the slave girl she grew up with, about all her dalliances.
Elsie, had been her father's gift, the playmate and sister her dead mother could no longer provide. They had been together since they both were eight. Elsie, herself had been bought and separated from her own dear mother.
In an odd twist of fate, that separation from her mother gave them both a shared pain that brought them closer together. Some men, of course, had wanted Elsie, but Anne protected her. As much as she loved the girl, she felt a strange power in being able to captivate her whenever she liked, about her sexual escapades. She also knew the reality was that it was not as fulfilling, as she made out. The illusion was kept up in her mind whenever she boasted to innocent, little, Elsie. She was protecting herself as much, if not more, than her precious, Elsie.
The evening that changed Elsie's world, came like many. Anne threw another lavish party. This one, she did in hopes that the stranger every eligible Southern Belle had spoken of, would come through. She had heard he was tall, dark, foreign, and rich. It was all she knew of him.
"He had an air of a man looking for something." The older ladies would say.
Hopefully, that something would be her.
Sure enough, he did come through her door...And he was more handsome and charming than she ever imagined. His face seemed to be chiseled from marble, but his liquid blue-black eyes, softened his sharp features. His lips were as full and welcoming as any woman's, but he was no less masculine for them. His shoulders were broad and his strength and shape were clear even through his aristocratic clothing...He wore two pieces of jewelry. A minute dangling pearl in his left ear and large blood red ruby on his right fore-finger. His hair was a rich dark chocolate brown, it's shoulder length waves full and pleasantly messy.
He parted his lips slightly to kiss the back of Anne's outstretched hand. Anne melted. She had never seen anyone, man or woman more beautiful than the creature that stood before her...Elsie, as usual, stood by her mistress, her two braids cris-crossing the top of her head, making her fresh features all the more child-like. Her lithe figure barely filled her clean-starched, sepia, petticoats, two shades lighter than her own rich brown skin. She stood with her head bowed, her lowered lashes forming two perfect half-halos on her high cheekbones, almost touching a sweet little beauty mark, beneath her right eye. She was ready to fulfill any request. Her hands were folded modestly across her stomach. Even as beautiful as she was, she was expert at making herself invisible next to her mistress.
Tonight though, she felt something...different, an invisible pull at her thoughts, and memories...She frowned and peeked at the stranger as subtlely, as she could manage. From her still lowered eyes, she really saw him. Her instincts told her, he was the source of her odd feelings...
Her breath caught and all at once, strange images, words, and feelings, flooded her consciousness.
~~~
...A woman who looked like her was being pulled along the desert in a muslin covered caravan...Her eyes were kohl-rimmed. Her lips were stained a deep maroon. Every inch of the woman seemed to be covered in gold...In fact her layered necklaces seemed to be only thing covering her small pert bosom, again like her own. And there on her right cheek was the same beauty mark. The rocking of the caravan was lulling in the desert heat. The woman yawned...and fell asleep...
She awoke in the night to a strange silence and stillness...She peeked through the fabric into the night and saw nothing, no one. Her attendants had vanished. She walked a few paces away from her caravan, the gold on her body jingling rhythmically, with each swaying step...She called out in another language, but Elsie could understand...It was the name of her most trusted body-guard, Kartush...
The perspective suddenly shifted...She was watching herself, from a hidden angle, only a few feet away...Kurtush lay at the feet of a white man. She could feel her heartbeat quicken as she observed herself...Felt herself taken aback, attracted, wanting, desiring...
The memory jumped forward to being imprisoned by a strange man with white skin, unruly wavy brown hair, and fur on his chest, features her people did not have...His men had wanted to violate her to humiliate her people, but he'd kept them from doing so...She appealed to his obvious sympathies, to keep herself safe. She felt lost, frightened. She could not understand this man's tongue. Some nights he'd just come into her tent, where she lay tied and observe her...
The perspective shifted...She was so different from the women of his own people...So thin, she looked like she'd break under the burden of all that gold...And yet...Her defiant eyes, betrayed her strength of heart. There was no falseness in that look, she'd sooner die than let them use her against her people.
Her hair perplexed him the most...It was done in the most intricate style he had ever seen. Like shiny, little, ropes all around her head...He reached out and touched a few...She did not flinch, when he did this. They didn't feel like ropes. They slipped, easily between his fingers...His eyes wandered all over her, curiously...She was thin, yes, but she did not lack in shape.
Her hips and buttocks were high and round. Her tiny dark areolas peeked through her many necklaces whenever she shifted, marking a deep contrast between them and her noticeably smooth brown skin. He saw that she did not have the soft dusting of peach fuzz on her body, like the women of his people. She was, from what he could see, completely hairless, but for her brows, lashes, and head. His hand slid from her hair to her skin...It was enticingly smooth.
Sarinah, the young Queen of the dark tribe of deep South-East Afrika lay in front of him. She was the key to untold riches. All he had to do was be willing to destroy her...At this moment, he didn't think he could even bluff it.
Sarinah was not afraid of this pale stranger...He had kindness in his eyes and a clear desire for her, which she could see he tried to keep locked inside. He was different from the men of her tribe. He was well-muscled, but not as tall nor lean, as they were. His eyes frightened her a bit. She had never seen eyes the color of a dark sapphire...She realized she wanted him too and saw a way of creating a little more protection for herself...She leaned into his touch, dipping her cheek into his huge calloused hand.
He removed the gag from her mouth and tasted the cinnamon derived stain on her lips...Both their hearts pounded in their chests...Jarred hoped his men would stay asleep...Sarinah hoped they would too...It would be all to easy for this to give them an excuse for gang-rape. He pulled a small sharp blade from his belt. He reached around her, as if embracing her and cut the bonds on her hands.
He then moved his hands down her body, caressing her hips and legs as he went and cut the bonds from her ankles. This done, he searched her face for something...Approval? Acquiescence? Desire for him?
Ever so gently, he kissed her again...At first, she simply allowed him to do so, exploring her mouth with a restrained hunger. And then she joined him, kissing, fondling, stripping his clothing and her one piece of real clothing, a bit of beaded muslin, secured by a decorative rudimentary belt...
They're bodies undulated together like snakes...Their gasps and grunts stifled by their fear of being caught. When at last, he felt her warm, tight, wetness spasm around him, he could take no more and pushed as hard and deep as he could, releasing his seed deep into her womb...He grunted and bit hard into the folded fabric beneath her... He lay there for what seemed like only a blink, before snapping to reality.
He could not risk being discovered...They both kissed each other desperately, knowing that what had changed between them could not be undone. Even she, with her intentions to use, found her heart open to this strange, but handsome man....
After dressing and tying her up again, more gently this time, he left the tent. It was a few hours before sunrise. What met him when he went outside were his men, all dead, their throats ripped out by some beast. The sheen of two eyes and the gleam of huge fangs shown in the darkness...The creature's mouth dripped with blood and gore...It sniffed the air...
"I smell fucking." It whispered.
It stood up to it's full height and he saw that it was not a beast but a man...?
Jarred, slipped the tiny silver blade into his palm and waited...
