Oak Alley plantation

[gerembeau]

Oak Alley Plantation, April 6, 1865, late morning


In a flash, in a fraction of a second, Ada re-lived the ordeal of Harriet Spykes that she had almost forgotten over the years. With her limbs bound cross-wise to the planks, she turned her head to and fro, but the column of northerners climbing the hill far to the north was way beyond the range of her voice. Why had they abandoned her, why had they left her in exactly same position as that black woman she had enjoyed watching suffer?

Jesse leaned over her "Remember how you forced my mother to suck the foreman?" Ada didn't answer, but she flinched when inquisitive fingers began to forage the edges of her vulva. After a few moments, despite her efforts to resist the stimulation, she felt her vagina moisten, facilitating the comings and goings of a large, hard, dirty fingernail. She could not offer her slaves the spectacle of her orgasm, she bit her lip to hold back. But at the same time, Jesse had begun to lick her breasts, and when the pink nipples were hardened and prominent enough, he took them into his mouth, sucking them hungrily like an infant. Then, when her clitoris was as tense as her breast tips, she surrendered, shaken with spasms, releasing on to his hand the secretions of the fecund woman that she was, to the greatest delight of the jeering slaves. She screamed wildly in the next second when Jesse bit her breasts, one after the other, leaving deep traces of bloody bites.

A woman, not young, not beautiful, approached. She was holding a piece of wood that was still burning, Ada recognized the bow of her violin. Slowly, the woman walked the flame across her armpits, without sparing the bases of her breasts, well-formed hough already slightly flopping under their weight.

Ada raised her head, her eyes bulging as she begged the woman to stop. But Margaret, Jesse's grandmother, continued to take her time, unperturbed, dividing the cremation of the hair into several stages, until she had two lobster-red armpits. Ada was now crying non-stop. Then she let out a howl of unquenchable terror when she saw the stick, still glowing and smouldering, approaching her amber, lightly hair-tangled mons.

This colour astonished the black women, and all of them had moved closer to compare Ada's vulva with their own. It was Jesse who held the stick now, but the woman held back his hand as he was about to apply the flame to Ada's crotch brutally. He understood the lesson, and proceeded in small strokes, first letting the flame lick the little fuzz below the navel, then, starting from the edges, describing concentric circles that gradually reduced the perimeter of the large triangle. The red skin peeled off in some places where the flame had re-visited.

Ada was panting every moment, shuddering at the idea that this torch could sink into her vulva at any moment and deflower her hymen. The burns had become almost unbearable, and Ada fainted for the first time when the torch remained targeted a little longer on her large lips to remove the last vestiges of her bushy fleece. The smell of the charred hairs reminded the circle of slaves of a Sunday roast pig.

 

[gerembeau]

Oak Alley Plantation, March 24, 1860, just before noon

John slowly readjusted himself. He was proud that he had been able to take advantage of his unusually long member to put on an unforgettable show for this gathering of wealthy landowners, whose disdain for their employees was familiar to him. He intended to outdo himself now for the rest of the program.

He firmly grasped each of the four ropes that stretched the limbs of the moaning young woman to further shorten the ties. Harriet was now literally crucified, head down, limbs stretched to breaking-point, muscles protruding and belly hollowed out. Her torso was thrown forward, as the hooks holding the ropes on her arms were much further back than the other two. She could only shake her head and sweep the ground with her long, frizzy mane.

No preamble this time, John was going to go straight on to the still bloody leather whip and focus on two targets to vary the torment. In the middle of the pubic triangle, the two greater lips stood out clearly, with finer hairs which surrounded the channel of a widely opened pink vulva widely. Harriet was conscious of the spectacle which she was presenting, but knew that in a few moments, she would not think of it any more. The first blow slipped down her thighs towards the slit, a test-flick which made her buttocks and thighs quiver, stretched as the ywere.

The second, more precise, sank between her thighs and struck one of the large lips, but this was still only an apéritif, notwithstanding Harriet's cry of pain.

John took a few moments to savour a swig of whiskey from the glass that the cook had handed him. He also savoured the spectacle of those two beautiful breasts offered like fruits, that he intended to reduce to pulp in the minutes which would follow.

To avoid slicing too quickly at the base of the generously offered nipples, he began with two brief blows across the breasts, not very accentuated, but which left two livid traces on both sides of the areolas, provoking an outburst of yelping from Harriet. The crushed breasts regained their volume after spreading to the sides. The areolas and the very dark breast tips were highlighted by two parallel scarlet stripes.

Satisfied with this beginning, John continued with a series of heavy but leisurely lashes, that swung down from the thighs to the vulva, protected for the most part by a thick bush. Harriet let out a moan that she managed to hold in, partially, for the moment, with each slow, heavy stroke. It was as if she felt a stick hitting her mound with a throbbing regularity.

Soon tiring of this little game, John returned to the sumptuous breast and caressed it for a long time, assessing the sensitive weight of the glands in the hollow of his palms, examining carefully the wounds he had already caused.

The granulated areolas were his next targets, the very precise blows flattened them, making the nipples project, provoking a wave of pain through the lactiferous channels. Her torso tensed to breaking-point, Harriet cracked for the first time and implored for mercy with all her might.

"Finally, the nigger's begging!" "Too late, baby," "No, keep going!" "She's getting what she deserves" "We want more!" "She's not so sexy to excite the men, now!", were the only reactions that her supplications earned.

It was time for John to get down to business, time first to tighten the ropes that held Harriet's legs even more. Now she was totally spread apart, her legs hard as two trunks of wood, and her vaginal orifice was wide open. The taller men had a perfect view of the small labia forming two petals that had turned peony red.

 

[gerembeau]

Oak Alley Plantation, April 6, 1865 in the early afternoon

"She's just like us, it's just a hole that's not cleaned every day " the young niggers giggled as they gazed at Ada's clean-shaven privates.

She slowly emerged from her nightmare under Jesse's lashes. Shame gripped her as she knew that the traces of her last period were clearly visible for all to see. But she didn't have time to regret that she'd been surprised by the attack on the plantation before she'd taken her bath. Jesse had returned with the slave-branding iron.

"No, not my cheek, please."

Jesse hesitated for a moment, so troubled by the beauty of her face that he could not bring himself to mutilate it. The iron went a little lower, finding a large portion of skin under the base of her breast, and sank for a short time in the small cushion of flesh.

" 'OA' You belong to us now!" Jesse sneered. A long, primal scream echoed around the ruins of the villa.

It was now the turn of each slave to reach into the still smouldering wreckage of the plantation for unconsumed branches that were still glowing. An old man with a short white beard, dry and skinny, chanted a spiritual, singing of sacrifice and liberation.

In turn, women and men alike, the slaves came to crush the still hot ashes of their sticks on Ada's body, spreading myriads of glowing embers that slid over her burning skin. The cascade of sparks mingled with copious streams of sweat, the hissing merged audibly with the racket all round her.

Jesse and his Aunt Sarah put an end to the celebration by raising their hands. It was up to them to avenge Harriet in the cruellest way possible. It was Sarah who approached first, she had let the handle of John's whip catch fire in the cinders of the plantation's pallisade. She took it with her gloved hand and walked it across the woman's very pale thighs, with their myriad of red burns, merely brushing the few remaining hairs, letting the epidermis gradually redden.

Then the flame rose up a little higher, lingering a few seconds while Ada endeavoured to retract her lower abdomen, while uttering groans. She fell silent abruptly after a few seconds as the shaft sank deep into her vagina. Sarah turned and swung the whip several times without succeeding in reviving her.

It took Jesse a long time to bring her back to consciousness, punching her breasts from underneath so they tossed up into the air, alternating with vigorous pinches of her nipples. When Ada opened her eyes, it was to find the handle of the whip in front of her face, on which the flame had been rekindled and almost blinded her. The young Negresses had examined Ada's breasts with curiosity, the amazing network of bluish-green veins stood out against the sheer skin. They wondered if it was a sign of good milk production or not, and how would these breasts react under the burning?

Jesse lifted her right breast by the nipple and placed the tip of the whip directly on the skin, withdrawing it immediately. A huge blister appeared. Ada sobbed and prayed convulsively, louder than the murmur of the crowd. A slightly smaller blister appeared under the left breast, and Jesse returned to it for good measure. Then he dotted the tops of the breasts with small strokes that cauterized both wounds, and drew a cluster of brown spots, from some of which blood flowed as the epidermis split. When each globe was completely decorated, Jesse stopped the cruel game and started to burst the blisters by resting the handle of the whip down on them for a few seconds.

Something seemed to crack in Ada's scream, her vocal cords broke, she fainted again. It took Jesse half an hour to revive her by vigorously rubbing her body with the salt-filled glove. Then came the turn of the pearly breast tips on brown areolas. This time, Jesse moved the flame suffciently far away to roast them very gradually, raising blisters, then scars, and finally burns.


She was not yet dead when she felt herself being grabbed by her limbs and torn apart again, but this time stretched over the pit where the buffalo were cooked on feast days. The roar of the flames quickly drowned out the laughter of the slaves as they made their way down to the river. It had been a beautiful day...

 

[gerembeau]

Oak Alley Plantation, March 24, 1860, morning


Harriet prepared for the big ordeal by trying to immerse herself in her fondest memories. She saw again the intense look in her husband's eyes as he talked to her by the river. She let out a choked "hagh" of pain as the strap-on fell exactly in the center of her vulva, seriously damaging her vagina. And her urine mingled with the tiny geyser of ruddy blood that splashed into her belly.

John gave her time to recover a little, he didn't want her to pass out too often.

When she stopped moaning, panic-stricken at feeling the rivulets of blood which were trickling into her her nostrils, her sex ablaze, she was to take on her breast-tips the most violent blow of whip she had ever felt. Her long nipples had been brought down savagely towards the ground by all the width of the strap, and were still burning a few moments later when John aimed at the ample base of her breasts, whose first fatty tissues yielded under the next three strokes. Two lacerations had appeared, across her ribs, more gushes of blood to join the one from he shredded vagina.

Harriet fainted, as it was meant to happen. A few moments later, the bucket of water that revived her also washed the blood off her torso, her face and her wounds. Thus the spectacle would become more visible again.

Harriet moaned like a little girl. Not only because of the pain in her brain, but also because of the knowledge that she was already no longer a woman, the ruin of her body was irreversible. Already, the Woodbridge girls turned their eyes away from a spectacle that had become a butchery, they did not imagine so much blood being spilled, and especially the vision of a full-frontal flogging, something they had never requested for the punishment of their negresses.

However, most of the men had gradually moved their seats forward to witness the end more closely.

It came very quickly. John struck two very violent blows that cut the large protective lips into pieces, and the last two literally crushed the hood and clitoris with a sound that mixed shock and splashing. The vision of the shapeless mass of raw flesh raised the hearts of the women, whose fans waved faster.

Harriet emerged from the nothingness under the pain of the cigar which cauterised her left breast. She no longer had the strength to shake her head. Few heard her plea, "Finish me, please." John raised his blood-stained head and whispered, "It won't be long now."

The whip came down on her proud breasts. First it was the long nipples skilfully sliced by downward switches, tender pieces of flesh thrown to the dogs attracted by the smell of blood and driven away by the slave hunters.

Harriet had not screamed for a long time already, her body only reacted with jerks that were chiefly reflexes. Then it was the areolas that gradually disappeared, bursting and leaving two gaping holes.

Finally, John came back on the base of the breasts already partly butchered to complete the total mutilation of the mammary glands of what was once a beautiful and tenderly caressed bosom. Harriet was probably already dead when the detached globes fell into the dust.

The audience rose to their feet, it was almost time to eat, and the appetites of the men had been furiously whetted by the sight of a pleasing Negro cow being tortured with such refinement.

 

[gerembeau]

Oak Alley Plantation, April 6, 1865, mid-afternoon

Richard Wilkes and his Bushwackers emerged from the clearing. The second raid at Easttown was too close to the outskirts of Baton Rouge. They had been expected, and the shambles had left only six survivors, one of them seriously wounded.

Over the hill, they saw thick black smoke billowing up nearly to the clouds. It was not until Hood's column had finished crossing the plain that they rushed at full speed along the trail that led to the plantation.

The extent of the disaster overwhelmed them. Not a survivor in sight.

Wilkes, who had been waiting for the war to end so he could start courting Ada, stared at Burnett's body as the Bushwackers searched the rubble for survivors. With a crazed look, he stared all around, spinning like a top. His eyes stopped on the scene of a barbecue - so the northerners had dared to feast at the site of their massacre?

As he approached, he noticed that the carcass on the gibbet was almost intact. Something shapeless was hanging from it. As he ran, a feeling came over him that turned into a certainty after a few more steps. He fell to his knees. Ada's long tresses were floating in the wind. There was nothing else to be recognized in the charred mass of flesh that had once been a pretty girl, though a depraved one.

His howl of a wounded beast awoke the old man with the white beard who'd been drinking Burnett's fine wine. He emerged staggering from the stable ...

“It weren't no northerners could do that, must have been the Indians.”

"You ain't got no Seminole within fifty miles," replied another Bushwacker.

"No, that was the niggers," said a third.

Wilkes seemed to emerge from his trance. With the point of the sword at his throat, the old man confessed all.

"Where are they?

As soon as he'd said, "At the river," his last words were drowned in his slit throat.

All the men, and the older women, had been cut down at the riverside. The Bushwackers were driving the three most beautiful young women who had escaped the massacre at swordpoint.

Richard Wilkes forced them to kneel before the remains of Ada. They wept for a long time, swearing that they had nothing to do with it, that it was the men, that they had wanted to defend her. A few well-struck slaps rendered them mute, just limited to sobbing pleas.

The Bushwackers had all undone their pants, except for the wounded man lying on the grass. The girls were raped for a long time in all their orifices, their breasts pounded savagely, forced fellations obtained with blows, the ejaculations over their braids, plaits or foreheads.

They were terrified to see that the soldiers had left hanging from the great main-beam of the stable three pairs of threatening hooks with long sharp points, the use of which they easily guessed. With a shiver of terror they glanced at each other, their eyes bathed in tears.

But they had not imagined that they would first be bound, each in her turn, with their arms crossed between the uprights. Richard Wilkes, sword in hand, approached Sarah, the oldest and plumpest, for having already fed two niggers, but not knowing what she had done.

Ignoring her pleas, he drew a complete rectangle on her body with his sharp sword-point, outlining her torso, running along the sides and catching the cunt by splitting the gap between her vagina and her anus.

Satisfied with his work, he cleaned the blade of his sabre, and approached his victim, who uttered a high-pitched cry as he peeled off a piece of epidermis with his fingernail from one corner, then from the other, before pulling gradually at the skin.

During the whole course of the skinning, and especially when the tips of her breasts were torn off, Sarah never stopped screaming, not even when her voice broke at the beginning of the attack on her pubic triangle. The Bushwackers held her tightly, as the sinister hooks, that seemed to be lurking, descended.

Wilkes tested the resistance of the breast with small strokes, and, even without the skin, the hook bounced off the full, firm breast, until it sank, firstly a few millimeters, before piercing completely through the gland and, under a little more pressure, protruding out.

Just as trees in the South sometimes bore strange fruit, the beam now supported three young women hanging by their raw, disproportionately stretched, melons, which the jackdaws would feast on until the bodies were too decomposed to stay in place.

Night was falling when the confederates trotted off, still dazed by their outburst of violence they never thought themselves capable of.

They were heading for the Everglades to be forgotten by Yankees until the war was over, until Lee surrendered at Appomatox.

The Everglades, its swamps, its mangroves, its alligators and the Seminole war-party that awaited them...

 

[gerembeau]

That's all for now.
One more time, I do thank Eulalia, you can't figure how complicated it is to do an "idiomatic" translation when the author uses of obsolete words...
I have some other texts. The collaboration with Eulalia encourages me to finish a story written 20 years ago ! And I have a new one already translated, you'll get it "for a rainy day" as Eulalia says -

 

[Madiosi]

Now in the archive:

https://www.cruxforums.com/xf/resources/oak-alley-plantation-by-lionrobe.948/

and in the libary:

https://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/crux-forums-e-book-library.4744/post-697566

 

[gerembeau]

I do thank you.