Love and Hate Chapter 4
The whip struck, first tearing up her dress, then digging deeper until it found flesh. Strike after strike it crisscrossed her back like a map. She was on her knees, curled up like a ball, her screams echoed each time the black leather touched her skin. She begged him to stop but he didn’t. No one could. No one dared. He kept whipping her like mad. With every strike, blood splashed on the ground until the woman finally fainted in her own pool of blood.
Elinor woke up drenched with sweat. This wasn’t the first time she has seen this nightmare, probably not the last. It was the first time she had seen her father whipping a house servant like that. Lord Nitingale came drunk one night and before anyone knew what happened the woman was on her knees. It was the first time she had seen her father in such a frenzy state, unfortunately it wasn’t the last. She was barely ten years old when that happened. She couldn’t understand how men could be so cruel specially to women. From that day she vowed never to let anyone treat her like that as long as life flowed in her body.
“Pack up. We are leaving to Lancaster tomorrow,” my husband said. Of course we left two days later. A lady had to pack. I just couldn’t leave without taking my whole wardrobe with me.
We had been married for more than six months now, and during that period I saw my husband less than four. Out of those four times we had sex twice, and in both of those occasions I was fucked in ways and places I never expected. We slept in separate rooms. He never came into mine nor I his. Now if that was not a valid reason for hating him I don’t know what is.
I knew he had another house in the city, however that was the first time he asked me to go with him. I wanted to see the place where my husband spent most of his time. I was also looking forward to stretching my legs and seeing a new town.
“It’s a rather smaller house, my lady, but you might like it,” Mrs Mellow the housekeeper explained when I asked her about it. “It is a town house not far from the port. But I’m sure you are going to be invited to every noble house in Lancaster. After all, you are the daughter of Lord Nitingale and everyone is going to be excited to meet you.” So was I.
The ride in the carriage wasn’t so bad. The scenery was beautiful and the seats were comfortable. I believe it was the most time I had spend with my husband since I was made to marry. However the worst thing any woman could be made to endure is to be so blatantly ignored, and he did it so perfectly. I wanted to throw him or myself out of that carriage but it was moving too fast. I was surprised he didn’t allow the two sluts to come with us to Lancaster. As much as I detested those two I wanted a distraction from sitting face to face with my husband for a whole day in utter silence.
Once again I was left in the hands of the house keepers in my husband’s Lancaster home and was given a separate room to stay. I wondered when or if we were ever going to sleep in the same room, not that I minded. Many married couples slept in separate rooms, but it was his continuous efforts to ignore me that drove me crazy and I could not take it anymore. “I’m not one of your horses to keep locked up in the stables,” I burst out crying after being cooped up in this small house for days. “I want to see the city, walk the streets, mingle with the people. Is that too much to ask?!” I was about to choke.
He looked at me without blinking an eye then said, “I’m going to the docks. Be ready in an hour if you want to come.” damn it… I hate him. One hour?! It takes me twice as much just to strap on my corset. But I wasn’t going to let that opportunity go by. I was waiting for him half an hour later without bothering to wear my corset. I had small breasts so who was going to notice. He did, with a smirk on his face the instant he saw me. I hate him.
Lancaster was an important trading post in this part of the country. Ships came in and out everyday heading to many regions of the world specially to Africa and the Far East. Every kind of commodity was traded here; spices from India, silk from the Orient, porcelain from China but most unfortunately slaves from Africa. Yes. Lancaster was the capital of the English slave trade and I wanted to get out of there. My husband’s dozen or so ships sailed to many far and exotic places and he wanted to make sure one of his was being well stocked for the long voyage to India. Of course the docks were no place for a lady but I wasn’t going to back away from a decision I wrongly made. I needed to get away from the house servants who were driving me crazy with their pampering. A mistake. I should have stayed pampered.
The whip snapped and I flinched. As we were walking back to the carriage I saw an African slave kneeling on the ground and screaming from pain. The man hitting him was laughing with a bunch of his friends. Each time he struck the poor guy I wanted to run, run away from this wretched place. Our ride was parked on the other side of the street so I started walking faster. I looked behind me expecting my husband to be following only he wasn’t there.
“STOP,” I heard Sebastian’s voice yelling, “IF YOU DON’T STOP, BY GOD I WILL WHIP YOU MYSELF.” The man with the whip froze. Everyone in the street did. So did I. No one expected anyone to come to the aid of a mere black slave. I certainly didn’t.
“And who might you be, Sir?” A well dressed man stepped out amongst the crowd who were laughing earlier. “I’m lord Dodshon Foster and I don’t believe it is of your business what I do with my property.” Even though the man wasn’t pleased with Sebastian interrupting his slave’s punishment, nevertheless he respectfully addressed my husband seeing he must be an important individual by the way he was dressed.
“Preston,” my husband introduced himself, “Sebastian Preston. And I don’t believe that beating a man like that would be good for your business Lord Foster. A live slave is definitely worth more to you then a dead one. Don’t you think?”
Lord Foster looked at my husband and laughed, “you are right Lord Preston. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you without your beard.”
“Oh, yes the beard. I shaved it off a few months ago. My wife doesn’t like it. And call me Preston. Just Preston. I’m no Lord.”
I was standing behind my husband with my jaw almost touching the ground, proud at what my husband had bravely done, but shocked that he knew I didn’t like beards. They tickle and scratch, not that I minded being tickled and scratched right about now.
Lord Foster chuckled again and walked to shake Sebastian’s hand. He looked back at the men behind him and said, “Take the slave and clean him up. Mr Preston is right. He is worth more alive than dead.”
Then Lord Foster turned around and faced me. He bowed slightly and said, “I am very sorry you had to see this my lady, but we had to teach this slave a lesson for disobedience. Unfortunately my views on slavery differ than those of your husbands. He wants to abolish it whereas I profit from it. Anyway my wife was telling me the other day that we should pay you a visit to welcome you to Lancaster and congratulate you on your marriage to Mr Preston. You’ve gotten yourself one mighty prize here. Your husband is one of the wealthiest men in Lancaster.”
“Thank you my Lord. Tell your wife I would be glad to welcome her to my home anytime,” of course I would break both his legs if he dares to step into my house.
Our ride back to the house was shrouded in silence once again but that time I didn’t mind. I was very proud of my Sebastian but still I hated him. I hated him for not showing me who he is, what he is. I hated him for not telling me what he wants off me. Beard or no beard why doesn’t he want to kiss me?! Was I so bad?! Why?! What have I done to him to be treated so?! I was determined to find out.
What I did next was more of a surprise to me then it was to him. I had never done anything like that before, maybe never again. I knew it was a short ride to the house so I didn’t have much time. He was sitting in the seat in front of me so I went down and knelt between his legs. I opened his trousers, took out his cock and put it in my mouth. I had never tasted cock before. I had seen it done. When I was a young girl I saw the cook being so sucked by a maid and I was disgusted. The other time was when I barged into my husband’s study and saw him being serviced by Beatrice. I had no idea what came over me but I couldn’t let that whore have the upper hand. I couldn’t dare look up to see the expression on my husband’s face as I did it. It must have been either shock or pleasure, probably both. I was busy working on his cock, sucking and licking until it quickly grew in my mouth, a very strange sensation. I had always thought that this was heinous act, an act beneath a lady. Something only a servant or a slave would do. Oh was I wrong! What I felt was something completely different. I felt power. At that point I felt he was mine. I could do whatever I wanted and he couldn’t lift a finger to stop me. He was completely under my control and I loved it. Of course I wasn’t an expert like those two sluts back home so I must have scratched and scraped him a few times. But one thing for sure I was determined to show him I was proud of him. Moments later I felt his cock start to stutter. He was about to ejaculate. He tried to push me away gently but I didn’t let go. I kept at it until he exploded in my mouth and I managed to drink as much of his spunk as I could. It was salty but drinkable. An acquired taste I might add. Another experience I never thought I would find myself doing. I stepped back to my seat and adjusted my attire so no one would notice what had happened.
“You still have a drop on the corner of your mouth,” he said before giving me his handkerchief and stepping out of the carriage.
That’s it?! Damn him. That’s it?! After everything I did?!
I hate him…I hate him…I hate him.
Although this is purely a fictional story however I can not help but try to mould it with as much historical facts and events as I possibly can.
Dodshon Foster was an important slave trader operating out of Lancaster in the period from 1750 to the 1780s.
Lancaster was the main port for the English slave trade during that era.
The Nitingale (or Nightingale) Baroness was a real noble house in the British aristocracy.