• Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.

Hartley House

Go to CruxDreams.com

melissa

Administrator
Staff member
Hartley House

(Pic hosted on bdsmlr)
bdsmlr-75293-qTDMiuXul7-og.jpg


In 1809 one of my ancestors, Isaac Hartley left his West Riding pit village and set sail on a packet ship with his wife Elizabeth and first born, Hiram, to Louisiana. Largely due to his wife’s natural business skills he quickly built up a tobacco plantation with over a hundred slaves. Years later he could well afford to take it easy and become more occupied with local politics. He now had three sons, Hiram, Charles and Joseph and two daughters. Isaac took it upon himself the inspection and buying of newly arrived slaves from Africa. A quick word with the captain and a few dollars later and the younger female slaves were stripped, washed, oiled and ready for inspection. They soon understood that it was mainly the size and firmness of their tits that their new “massa” was interested in and Isaac would get first pick then off to Hartley House!1 Line of slaves.JPG
 

Attachments

  • Line of slaves.JPG
    Line of slaves.JPG
    383.7 KB · Views: 85
Last edited:

Naraku

Draconarius
I hate to inject historical reality into what is clearly fantasy...oh, who am I kidding, you know I love doing this...but, a tobacco plantation in Louisiana is very unlikely. The principle cash crops in Louisiana were sugar cane and cotton. Tobacco was primarily grown in Virginia and North Carolina and, later, Kentucky.
And, just so you know, the US bought Louisiana from France in 1803 and it became a state in 1812. Also, relations between the US and Britain in 1809 were pretty bad and getting worse, resulting in all out war in 1812.

OK. Enough boring history stuff. On with the fantasy!
 

Madiosi

Depictor of Dreams
Staff member
I hate to inject historical reality into what is clearly fantasy...oh, who am I kidding, you know I love doing this...but, a tobacco plantation in Louisiana is very unlikely. The principle cash crops in Louisiana were sugar cane and cotton. Tobacco was primarily grown in Virginia and North Carolina and, later, Kentucky.
And, just so you know, the US bought Louisiana from France in 1803 and it became a state in 1812. Also, relations between the US and Britain in 1809 were pretty bad and getting worse, resulting in all out war in 1812.

OK. Enough boring history stuff. On with the fantasy!

A little adding:
Map of the Louisiana Purchase Territory, 1803
3.jpg

I think, it was a good business for the USA, to buy this territory for $ 15.000.000.
 

melissa

Administrator
Staff member
I hate to inject historical reality into what is clearly fantasy...oh, who am I kidding, you know I love doing this...but, a tobacco plantation in Louisiana is very unlikely. The principle cash crops in Louisiana were sugar cane and cotton. Tobacco was primarily grown in Virginia and North Carolina and, later, Kentucky.
And, just so you know, the US bought Louisiana from France in 1803 and it became a state in 1812. Also, relations between the US and Britain in 1809 were pretty bad and getting worse, resulting in all out war in 1812.

OK. Enough boring history stuff. On with the fantasy!
The story was originally intended to be much longer. One of the future models is called Desire (She gets whipped) and that led me to the Desire tobacco (Perique) plantation in Vacherie La. Some slaves would dance and sing coded songs at church and make their way to the Mississippi using the "Underground railway" all the way up to the Great Lakes passing through some of the free states. Eventually they would reach and settle in Canada. But all that has been done before. I must look up the plantation I had in mind, maybe it was near Baton Rouge. I do remember that all the locations were genuine. This afternoon Hiram has a difficult choice to make.
 

melissa

Administrator
Staff member
Wow!

My late wife had Hartley relatives from the West Riding.

If I'd only known her wealth came from slave trading...........
The Hartleys are indeed my ancestors also. The name comes from old English for deer and wood. Originally they came from France and settled in England around 1104, not long after the battle of Hastings! The name was slightly different and gradually changed to Hartley. Their descendants became Shire Reefs (Sheriffs) and held a great deal of power and wealth. Sadly my branch became coal miners and some did emigrate to America. One direct ancestor settled in Coalville and of course got a job as a miner. There are now thousands of my relatives in the US. Some of them live in Salt Lake City which of course has the world's biggest database for family history.
The pretend part of the "story" continues this afternoon.
 
Last edited:

melissa

Administrator
Staff member
The following extract from some old family documents set me thinking....Screen Shot 12-30-18 at 11.40 AM.PNG

What if they had set off for Lousiana instead and became the owners of a plantation? This was how the story was meant to go..



1809. Isaac Hartley was just 24 yrs old and had already spent more than half his life down the mine. He should have been working the night shift but his boss had changed the rotas. Now he was trudging home through the streets of the small West Riding pit village that had been his home and his world all his life. More than twenty of his friends and workmates would never be able to do the same. A massive methane gas explosion had snuffed out their lives. For most of them the end would have been quick. Rescue efforts were futile. Just a question of waiting for the fire to burn out before even thinking of bringing their charred remains to the surface. Before he opened his front door Isaac vowed that non of his children would ever follow him down the pit. Elizabeth, four years his junior greeted him ..."My God Isaac ...what's happened?"

By the time the last of his pals had been buried his plans had been made. His dad, Benjamin had made sure that Isaac attended Sunday School so he could learn to read and write. Most of the village kids did likewise. It kept them out of bother on their only day off work and it was fun, especially the picnics and prize giving. First it was the Bible, huge chunks of it, then later books and newspapers...there was a whole new world out there beyond the village. America!

The journey to Liverpool was uncomfortable but nothing like the nightmare waiting for Isaac and his family in the docks. Three sons, Joseph, Charles, Hiram and two daughters, Mary and Charlotte all bound for Louisiana. Isaac had secured steerage passage on a packet ship waiting a week or so more for further mail, cargo and passengers to make the trip profitable.

The journey was horrendous. Cramped, damp, rat infested and dismal below decks and above the cargo. It was the best he could afford. The company provided steerage passengers with food which they had to cook in a kitchen just 12ft by 6ft...and shared! Elizabeth was a tough Yorkshire lass and did her best to maintain order as people often fought to occupy the kitchen. Sickness was rife and Isaac's youngest son succumbed to some bad illness and was buried at sea. Could things get worse?..a thought that often occurred during the voyage.

Twenty years and several children later Isaac strolled around his tobacco plantation. Not the biggest in Louisiana but with nearly one hundred slaves it was one of the most impressive for miles around and Hartley House dominated the landscape, just as Isaac did. Within weeks of arriving on that dreadful ship Isaac had figured his way around loans, property deals and land. He was a fast learner and possessed an uncanny skill for making a quick profit. He could earn money, lots of it without descending into the bowels of the earth. This was truly a land that God had called him to. It was Elizabeth's idea to grow tobacco and neither she nor Isaac had any religious or moral objections to using slave labor. The blacks were soulless creatures more related to monkeys than man. They could imitate and learn enough English to carry out orders and were essential for the economic viability of the plantation. Apart from the capital outlay there was running costs of food and clothing but little else. They all needed training and a few were more difficult than others but there wasn't one that didn't respond to a whipping when needed. Today Isaac was was at a slave auction in town and Hiram was left in charge of the plantation and entertaining three guests, Alice, Charlotte and Mary Wardle, three cousins from the North Riding. Their parents were farmers but had invested wisely in railways and property on the coast. Making money from visitors was much easier than keeping a dairy herd. Not as wealthy as the Hartleys but certainly not short of a bob or two and here they were visiting their American cousins. Breakfast had finished, Daisy, one of the house maids was clearing the plates. She informed Hiram that the uppity slave Abigail was bound to the whipping tree and awaiting her punishment when master Hiram was ready.

“You three girls want to see a whippin’ ?” Hiram inquired of his cousins.

“Oh yes!..we’d love to.” Charlotte quickly accepted on behalf of her sisters just in case they thought of declining. Charlotte was the youngest and usually got her own way.

“What has this Abigail done wrong to deserve a whipping?”. Mary felt uneasy about actually seeing a slave punished but didn’t wish to appear rude.

“Well now, as Daisy said Abigail is becoming one uppity little nigger, giving lip to all manner of folk around here. Time she was reminded of her place. I’ve had occasion to whip her before as I recall. You’d think that she’d have learned her lesson..goin’ to give her a real painful lesson this time.” Charlotte’s eyes grew wider as she suppressed a smile, but her sisters frowned. Hiram wiped the crumbs from his face and drained his tea. Daisy was already standing with a tray holding Hiram’s favorite whip, a bottle of Seagrams and a bowl of some kind of ointment.

The ladies and Daisy followed Hiram to the main entrance, down the steps, across the lawn and past some of the slave quarters toward his whipping tree where Abigail, tightly bound had no option but to wait. She wasn’t going to beg, certainly not in front of his cousins.

Alice, Charlotte and Mary stood to one side while Daisy handed Hiram his whip. They were surprised to see the slave completely nude. “You’re going to whip her naked Hiram?” asked Mary adjusting her glasses.

“Oh hell no dear cousin! Do you think I’m some kinda pervert? I might take my jacket and hat off but I’ll keep my pants on.” The girls looked at each other then at Hiram’s pants where a growing bulge at the front was becoming rather obvious.

“Just as well.” whispered Alice, “I think this girl’s in enough trouble already.”

“Isn’t she the wrong way round for a whipping?”, Alice asked of her host.
ybpDe2B.jpg

(Pic hosted externally)

Hiram looked at Abigail then at Alice. “Er no! I could tie her upside down but there’s no real advantage. Now do stand aside a little more ladies. We don’t want any spots of blood spoiling those mighty pretty dresses.”

“Hiram..what on earth are those metal spikes for around the tree?” Alice pointed to the metal device.

“To make sure she sticks her tits out, nice easy targets”


“WHAT!..I mean pardon me!..does that mean you’re going to whip her breasts Hiram>”

“They’re tits Alice, Negresses have tits though some are more like the udders on your Friesians.”

“We don’t farm anymore.” Alice replied rather curtly.

“Now...if you don’t mind I have work to do.”..Hiram gauged the whipping distance by previous markers left on the ground, adjusted his stance and raised the whip. All eyes fell on Abigail who closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. The first lash produced a short sharp crack followed by a scream which silenced any noise coming from the fields. Abigail had decided not to pretend that she wasn’t in pain because Hiram would then probably whip her harder and for longer and besides she knew from past experience that screaming did help distract from the pain just a little. Another crack then another and another each time a new angry red weal appeared clustered around her nipples. Mary was mortified but Charlotte was transfixed. She was absorbing and relishing every moment. The crack, quivering flesh, cries of pain, the scent of fear, sweat and blood was intoxicating. She wanted this feeling to go on and on. She had never experienced a feeling like it. Her thoughts were rampant. She imagined herself wielding the whip, choosing tender bits of flesh to torment. Playing with her victim, inflicting varying amounts of pain where and whenever she liked. Then it stopped….

“Is it over?”, Charlotte asked, trying hard to sound matter of fact and not disappointed.

“Oh no, just having a spot of refreshment and a little rest.” Hiram took a swig or two of Seagrams then reached for the “ointment”.

“Is that to help heal Abigail’s wounds?” Mary asked hopefully.

“Well no not really. It’s a mix of English mustard and hot pepper juice. I’m gonna rub it into her tits afore I whup ‘em again. She’ll scream so loud it’ll scare the shit outa the field hands for miles around.”

“Ethics Hiram! What about ethics?” Mary quickly responded.

“Ethics eh? Hmmm? I don’t know ‘bout that. I find that mustard and pepper juice works just fine.”

Mary stood open mouthed while Hiram rubbed the fiery mix into Abigails swelling breasts. Her screams were truly horrendous. Seizing the moment Charlotte stepped forward and dipped her fingers into the bowl and began applying some of the ointment herself. “I think you missed this bit Hiram. And what about underneath? I could lift her tits by her nipples like this while you whip the undersides.”

Abigail was developing an intense dislike for Charlotte.

“Too risky. You’d need strong gloves in case I miss. Maybe next time. Now please step back all while I finish her punishment.”

Cries of intense pain and anguish filled the air and very probably did cause many a field hand, especially the women to just pop behind a bush for a minute or two. When it was over Charlotte was first to examine Abigail’s tortured flesh. “Are you going to whip her anywhere else?” she asked.

“No. This tree is just fine. Been using it for a few years now. The sound travels really well from here. Most slaves can hear it.” Hiram strode up to Abigail. “Next time you get uppity with anybody I’m gonna give your ass a real good whippin’.”

A picture of a little donkey tied to the tree and being flayed alive sprang into Alice’s mind. She was about to make a strong protest when Charlotte caught her arm. “He means he’ll whip her backside dear. Now tomorrow we must go to the BigRiver Bookshop in town and buy an American English dictionary.”
The girls and Hiram retired to the house for tea and cake leaving Daisy to tidy up and see to Abigail. Charlotte was reliving every moment.
 

Attachments

  • Abigail.jpg
    Abigail.jpg
    273.7 KB · Views: 389
Last edited:

melissa

Administrator
Staff member
Decisions, decisions!! (Hosted externally)

bdsmlr-75293-PRzRvFnCGP-og.jpg
3 sisters.jpg

Decisions, decisions!...which one shall I buy?...perhaps both?. Isaac's eye had been caught by this fine pair (of slaves). The ship had sailed in from Senegambia so they could be Mandingo or maybe Bambara. It no longer made any difference to them as Christians considered them as non human and their Islamic slave traders back in the Fuuta Jahon considered them as pagans. In any event they were partially house trained so they could be used as servants. He would explain to Elizabeth as tactfully as possible that she is no spring chicken any more and could do with more help around the house. Elizabeth was no fool but did allow Isaac considerable leeway in his choice of slaves. It was her idea to grow tobacco as the indigo industry had long since died and cotton could be hard work and its value in the markets was inferior to that produced in Surinam, Cayenne and the W.Indies. Tobacco and sugar were always in demand she reasoned.

Isaac was no spring chicken either but you are only as old as the tits you grope he reasoned as his mind raced with all the different sex acts he could make the slaves perform. He often had little orgies while his wife was out playing bridge, taking tea, shopping and generally socialising with her growing group of friends and other plantation owners.
 

Attachments

  • sisters.jpg
    sisters.jpg
    481 KB · Views: 74
Last edited:

thehangingtree

Proconsul
Staff member
The following extract from some old family documents set me thinking....View attachment 658371

What if they had set off for Lousiana instead and became the owners of a plantation? This was how the story was meant to go..



1809. Isaac Hartley was just 24 yrs old and had already spent more than half his life down the mine. He should have been working the night shift but his boss had changed the rotas. Now he was trudging home through the streets of the small West Riding pit village that had been his home and his world all his life. More than twenty of his friends and workmates would never be able to do the same. A massive methane gas explosion had snuffed out their lives. For most of them the end would have been quick. Rescue efforts were futile. Just a question of waiting for the fire to burn out before even thinking of bringing their charred remains to the surface. Before he opened his front door Isaac vowed that non of his children would ever follow him down the pit. Elizabeth, four years his junior greeted him ..."My God Isaac ...what's happened?"

By the time the last of his pals had been buried his plans had been made. His dad, Benjamin had made sure that Isaac attended Sunday School so he could learn to read and write. Most of the village kids did likewise. It kept them out of bother on their only day off work and it was fun, especially the picnics and prize giving. First it was the Bible, huge chunks of it, then later books and newspapers...there was a whole new world out there beyond the village. America!

The journey to Liverpool was uncomfortable but nothing like the nightmare waiting for Isaac and his family in the docks. Three sons, Joseph, Charles, Hiram and two daughters, Mary and Charlotte all bound for Louisiana. Isaac had secured steerage passage on a packet ship waiting a week or so more for further mail, cargo and passengers to make the trip profitable.

The journey was horrendous. Cramped, damp, rat infested and dismal below decks and above the cargo. It was the best he could afford. The company provided steerage passengers with food which they had to cook in a kitchen just 12ft by 6ft...and shared! Elizabeth was a tough Yorkshire lass and did her best to maintain order as people often fought to occupy the kitchen. Sickness was rife and Isaac's youngest son succumbed to some bad illness and was buried at sea. Could things get worse?..a thought that often occurred during the voyage.

Twenty years and several children later Isaac strolled around his tobacco plantation. Not the biggest in Louisiana but with nearly one hundred slaves it was one of the most impressive for miles around and Hartley House dominated the landscape, just as Isaac did. Within weeks of arriving on that dreadful ship Isaac had figured his way around loans, property deals and land. He was a fast learner and possessed an uncanny skill for making a quick profit. He could earn money, lots of it without descending into the bowels of the earth. This was truly a land that God had called him to. It was Elizabeth's idea to grow tobacco and neither she nor Isaac had any religious or moral objections to using slave labor. The blacks were soulless creatures more related to monkeys than man. They could imitate and learn enough English to carry out orders and were essential for the economic viability of the plantation. Apart from the capital outlay there was running costs of food and clothing but little else. They all needed training and a few were more difficult than others but there wasn't one that didn't respond to a whipping when needed. Today Isaac was was at a slave auction in town and Hiram was left in charge of the plantation and entertaining three guests, Alice, Charlotte and Mary Wardle, three cousins from the North Riding. Their parents were farmers but had invested wisely in railways and property on the coast. Making money from visitors was much easier than keeping a dairy herd. Not as wealthy as the Hartleys but certainly not short of a bob or two and here they were visiting their American cousins. Breakfast had finished, Daisy, one of the house maids was clearing the plates. She informed Hiram that the uppity slave Abigail was bound to the whipping tree and awaiting her punishment when master Hiram was ready.

“You three girls want to see a whippin’ ?” Hiram inquired of his cousins.

“Oh yes!..we’d love to.” Charlotte quickly accepted on behalf of her sisters just in case they thought of declining. Charlotte was the youngest and usually got her own way.

“What has this Abigail done wrong to deserve a whipping?”. Mary felt uneasy about actually seeing a slave punished but didn’t wish to appear rude.

“Well now, as Daisy said Abigail is becoming one uppity little nigger, giving lip to all manner of folk around here. Time she was reminded of her place. I’ve had occasion to whip her before as I recall. You’d think that she’d have learned her lesson..goin’ to give her a real painful lesson this time.” Charlotte’s eyes grew wider as she suppressed a smile, but her sisters frowned. Hiram wiped the crumbs from his face and drained his tea. Daisy was already standing with a tray holding Hiram’s favorite whip, a bottle of Seagrams and a bowl of some kind of ointment.

The ladies and Daisy followed Hiram to the main entrance, down the steps, across the lawn and past some of the slave quarters toward his whipping tree where Abigail, tightly bound had no option but to wait. She wasn’t going to beg, certainly not in front of his cousins.

Alice, Charlotte and Mary stood to one side while Daisy handed Hiram his whip. They were surprised to see the slave completely nude. “You’re going to whip her naked Hiram?” asked Mary adjusting her glasses.

“Oh hell no dear cousin! Do you think I’m some kinda pervert? I might take my jacket and hat off but I’ll keep my pants on.” The girls looked at each other then at Hiram’s pants where a growing bulge at the front was becoming rather obvious.

“Just as well.” whispered Alice, “I think this girl’s in enough trouble already.”

“Isn’t she the wrong way round for a whipping?”, Alice asked of her host.

Hiram looked at Abigail then at Alice. “Er no! I could tie her upside down but there’s no real advantage. Now do stand aside a little more ladies. We don’t want any spots of blood spoiling those mighty pretty dresses.”

“Hiram..what on earth are those metal spikes for around the tree?” Alice pointed to the metal device.

“To make sure she sticks her tits out, nice easy targets”


“WHAT!..I mean pardon me!..does that mean you’re going to whip her breasts Hiram>”

“They’re tits Alice, Negresses have tits though some are more like the udders on your Friesians.”

“We don’t farm anymore.” Alice replied rather curtly.

“Now...if you don’t mind I have work to do.”..Hiram gauged the whipping distance by previous markers left on the ground, adjusted his stance and raised the whip. All eyes fell on Abigail who closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. The first lash produced a short sharp crack followed by a scream which silenced any noise coming from the fields. Abigail had decided not to pretend that she wasn’t in pain because Hiram would then probably whip her harder and for longer and besides she knew from past experience that screaming did help distract from the pain just a little. Another crack then another and another each time a new angry red weal appeared clustered around her nipples. Mary was mortified but Charlotte was transfixed. She was absorbing and relishing every moment. The crack, quivering flesh, cries of pain, the scent of fear, sweat and blood was intoxicating. She wanted this feeling to go on and on. She had never experienced a feeling like it. Her thoughts were rampant. She imagined herself wielding the whip, choosing tender bits of flesh to torment. Playing with her victim, inflicting varying amounts of pain where and whenever she liked. Then it stopped….
View attachment 658372

“Is it over?”, Charlotte asked, trying hard to sound matter of fact and not disappointed.

“Oh no, just having a spot of refreshment and a little rest.” Hiram took a swig or two of Seagrams then reached for the “ointment”.

“Is that to help heal Abigail’s wounds?” Mary asked hopefully.

“Well no not really. It’s a mix of English mustard and hot pepper juice. I’m gonna rub it into her tits afore I whup ‘em again. She’ll scream so loud it’ll scare the shit outa the field hands for miles around.”

“Ethics Hiram! What about ethics?” Mary quickly responded.

“Ethics eh? Hmmm? I don’t know ‘bout that. I find that mustard and pepper juice works just fine.”

Mary stood open mouthed while Hiram rubbed the fiery mix into Abigails swelling breasts. Her screams were truly horrendous. Seizing the moment Charlotte stepped forward and dipped her fingers into the bowl and began applying some of the ointment herself. “I think you missed this bit Hiram. And what about underneath? I could lift her tits by her nipples like this while you whip the undersides.”

Abigail was developing an intense dislike for Charlotte.

“Too risky. You’d need strong gloves in case I miss. Maybe next time. Now please step back all while I finish her punishment.”

Cries of intense pain and anguish filled the air and very probably did cause many a field hand, especially the women to just pop behind a bush for a minute or two. When it was over Charlotte was first to examine Abigail’s tortured flesh. “Are you going to whip her anywhere else?” she asked.

“No. This tree is just fine. Been using it for a few years now. The sound travels really well from here. Most slaves can hear it.” Hiram strode up to Abigail. “Next time you get uppity with anybody I’m gonna give your ass a real good whippin’.”

A picture of a little donkey tied to the tree and being flayed alive sprang into Alice’s mind. She was about to make a strong protest when Charlotte caught her arm. “He means he’ll whip her backside dear. Now tomorrow we must go to the BigRiver Bookshop in town and buy an American English dictionary.”
The girls and Hiram retired to the house for tea and cake leaving Daisy to tidy up and see to Abigail. Charlotte was reliving every moment.
One wonders if Charlotte would like to see Alice at the whipping post...
 

Jollyrei

Angelus Mortis
Staff member
“Well no not really. It’s a mix of English mustard and hot pepper juice. I’m gonna rub it into her tits afore I whup ‘em again. She’ll scream so loud it’ll scare the shit outa the field hands for miles around.”

“Ethics Hiram! What about ethics?” Mary quickly responded.

“Ethics eh? Hmmm? I don’t know ‘bout that. I find that mustard and pepper juice works just fine.”
:jaja-no::lol: Nicely done, Melissa!
 

Eulalia

Poet Laureate
Staff member
The story was originally intended to be much longer. One of the future models is called Desire (She gets whipped) and that led me to the Desire tobacco (Perique) plantation in Vacherie La. Some slaves would dance and sing coded songs at church and make their way to the Mississippi using the "Underground railway" all the way up to the Great Lakes passing through some of the free states. Eventually they would reach and settle in Canada. But all that has been done before. I must look up the plantation I had in mind, maybe it was near Baton Rouge. I do remember that all the locations were genuine. This afternoon Hiram has a difficult choice to make.
Indeed, I find this at: http://www.waymarking.com/waymarks/WM528V_Desire_Plantation_House_Vacherie_LA

Desire Plantation House is locally significant in the area of agriculture as the only remaining resource associated with the historically important perique tobacco industry of St. James Parish. There were attempts to cultivate tobacco in much of Louisiana during the eighteenth century, chiefly for the purpose of making the European market independent of British tobacco grown in the eastern colonies. By the 1780's the Louisiana area produced about a half million pounds annually. But in the nineteenth century tobacco was largely displaced by sugar and cotton. By the mid-nineteenth century the only remaining tobacco growing area was St. James Parish, where perique tobacco was produced on a small commercial scale by family farmers. Perique is a pungent flavorful black tobacco cured by fermentation in its own juice under pressure. Regarded as a rare and exotic product, it is used to "flavor" other tobaccos in pipe and cigar blends. Much prized, its consumption traditionally has been the province of connoisseurs, and most of it has been produced for the European market.
 

melissa

Administrator
Staff member
Rose and Hyacinth (Pic hosted externally)

Marcus Godbehere was one of the overseers on the Hartley House Plantation. He always considered himself to be a good Christian and believed in the “welfare” of the slaves under him..especially the female ones. On a Sunday morning before Church he liked to inspect the daughters of the slaves.
inspection.jpg
Today would be a topless inspection as he was interested in making sure that their breasts were firm and healthy and their tongues and lips in good working order. He would have all the suitable female slave girls perform simple jumping up and down exercises and then select one or two for further examination. Today he selected the sisters Rose and Hyacinth.
CSX47Na.jpg

Now it was decision time. Should he take Rose or Hyacinth, or maybe both back to his cabin to continue their free Sunday sex education lessons. A few extra rations and a promise of no whippings for a month would ensure little protest from the girl's parents. Their mother was a Creole called Celeste, sold along with her toddler daughters to an Edouard Planchard for $1 200. His plantation was bought out by Elizabeth in a blatant piece of asset stripping when he became too ill to continue the business.
 

Attachments

  • 4aDecisions3.jpg
    4aDecisions3.jpg
    478.8 KB · Views: 74
Last edited:
Top Bottom