Author: Western

Thunder Rumbled in the distance. It’s echoes seemed to bounce endlessly. Lightning struck once, then flashed three more times in quick succession. Those in the mansion felt it was a portent of things destined to unfold.

A figure moved in the lighted second story bedroom of a huge Louisiana mansion known as Oakdale. There would be much anguish in the room that night. Lightning brought out the scene in stark relief. A large negro woman dabbed at her mistress’s face with a damp cloth. Her brown, bloodshot eyes turned to the tall slender young man standing at the foot of the bed. He looked at the negro, trying to avoid the sight of blood on the bed. A huge pile of bloody sheets were shoved between the sick woman’s open legs.

“She’s dying, Captain,” the busty woman said helplessly. He turned, ignoring her. The storm drew closer.

Mamet changed the mound of cloth between the woman’s legs, dropping the bright red sheets into a bucket. A slender negro girl with a kerchief on her head ran out with her hand on her mouth, and the bucket in her hand.

The young man slapped a riding crop against his leg. Those in the room jumped at the startling sound. Captain Roget seemed not to notice the pain. He continued his helpless march from one side of the bedroom to the other. A baby screamed, protesting it’s hunger. After nearly half an hour the noise got through to the young man.

“Mamet, get rid of it,” he said with a snarl.
“Suh?” the woman looked up, startled.
“Get that murdering child out of my house. I don’t care if you drown it, hit it over the head with an ax, or give it away. I do not want that thing within my sight. NOW!” he roared, pointing toward the door. The sound woke the woman on the bed. Her eyes fluttered open. She stared sightlessly for a moment before her eyes focused on her husband.

“My baby?,” she said, her mouth working to say more. I’m sorry,” she finally whispered with a weak smile.

He nodded with a quick jerk of his head. His anguished face and blurry eyes focused on a lightning strike somewhere out in the middle of the cotton fields. He did not want to remember her this way. When he looked back she was gone. She had died with a looked of sadness on her once-beautiful face.

Shuddering, the negro woman closed the dead woman’s eyes and hurried out of the room. In a moment the screams of the child stopped.

With a cry, Captain Roget threw the riding crop into the corner and left the room. He spent the next few hour writing out instructions for his banker and lawyer. He placed the envelopes on the mantle and called the large negro woman back into the room. After a brief discussion he left.
Captain Roget shipped out from the port of New Orleans the following day. He remained gone for the better part of 18 years.

“Oh look at that,” an old negro woman pointed at the bay colt on the front lawn of the mansion. It flung it’s head into the air, then tried to run, but stumbled into it’s mother. Archie, the negro woman’s son, stood holding the mare as the colt began to drink.

“He’s born to run, missus. I think he’s your best,” Archie said proudly to the girl on the porch swing. A happy sigh came from the girl, hidden by the shadows of the porch. She stood and came to the railing. Her green dress flowed out and was pushed against the railing by the breeze. It billowed through in several areas. The woman’s white pleated blouse did little to hide her full womanly breasts. Her brown hair and tanned face were those of her dead mother’s. But only the old negro woman would have remembered that. The young woman was breathtaking, a beautiful and wealthy woman who did her best to manage the duties of running a plantation, under the stern eyes of her taskmaster Earnest Idlerod. Idlerod had been the plantation manager since he was hired by her father 18 years before.

“He has good lines,” she agreed. “We’ll call him Nightmare,” she said happily.
“We will do no such thing,” Earnest Idlerod said, strolling out of the house.
“He’s my birthday present,” she said, raising her chin defiantly.
“Nightmare is not appropriate for a plantation of such prestige, Myrtle” he said pompously, flipping a hand at the horse.

“He’s mine and I can name him anything I want,” she insisted.
“Not while I’m…” he stopped suddenly. His eyes widened. Captain Roget, still dressed for the sea, stood looking at him from across the back of the mare. Earnest rubbed his eyes, thinking it was a ghost. But the stern unblinking eyes stared holes through his soul. He felt himself shuddering. He leaned against the railing for support.

“She’s right of course,” Captain Roget said, strolling around the horse with his hands behind his back. “The young lady has reached the age of majority. Your services are no longer required,” Captain Roget said. “You will be properly compensated for your loyalty.”
“But sir, she’s not…”
“Now,” Captain Roget pointed toward the road, without raising his voice. Idlerod turned and fled.
“Who are you?” Myrtle asked with wonder and excitement.
“Your father,” Mamet hissed from the side of her mouth.
“Daddy?” the girl called excitedly.
“Captain,” he corrected, strolling up on the porch. Myrtle’s face fell. She started to speak and stopped. Captain Roget stalked into the house.
“He… he can’t be my father,” Myrtle gasped in disappointment.
“He is, child, and show him the proper respect. He can be mean,” her eyes went to the open door. “The death of your mother spawned a demon in that man. I wonder why he’s here?”
“For my birthday?” Myrtle asked excitedly.
“He never came for your other birthdays,” she mumbled. “I don’t like it.”
“I will go in and soften him up,” Myrtle laughed.
“Stay away from him,” Mamet warned. But she was talking to the girl’s back. She bounced happily up the steps and disappeared inside.
“Put those horses away,” Mamet called to her son. “Call the hands in, the Captain may want to look them over. Tell your father that he’s here, he’s supervising the plowing of the south 160.”
“Yes mama.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Mamet listened to the dozens of echoes, before the thunder clap murmured into obscurity. Mamet shivered and whispered a prayer. She wished she could hide until she saw the Captain retreating down the long driveway. But she knew she couldn’t. And what if he never left?

Myrtle suddenly rushed out of the house. She was almost in tears. She looked stricken.
“All hell is about to cut loose,” Mamet said aloud, looking at the storm.

Captain Roget wiped his mouth on a white napkin and laid it on his lap. He looked at Mamet, standing by the mantle, and beckoned her forward.

“Mamet, turn the keys over to my daughter,” he said without preamble. Mamet nodded wordlessly. The key’s were symbolic only in most cases. Although there was a key to the family safe and smoke house on the ring. She kept the keys hanging on the wall of her room. The symbolism of the keys centered around the management of the plantation house. She who held the keys, controlled the home.

“Miss Roget,” he spoke quietly to his daughter at the far end of the table. “Do you feel you are adroit enough to assume these duties?”

“Father?” she asked in surprise. Her glass of red wine tipped and spread over the white table cloth, and her flowing white dress. She gasped and jumped up with an oath.
“Possibly not,” he said with a twist of his mouth.
“Daddy, that’s not fair,” she gasped, tossing her napkin on the table.
“Do not address me as daddy like a common street tramp. I am a captain, address me as such.”
“This isn’t your ship, daddy,” she said defiantly. After getting over her initial nervousness, defiance was easy. She had been defying Earnest Idlerod for years.
“Really?” he said in a deceptively mild voice.
“Shut up, Mamet,” he said, cutting her off as she automatically came to Myrtle’s rescue.
“I will not be treated like one of your negroes,” Myrtle said triumphantly.
“No, you won’t,” he said. “Mamet, get me three large men from the slave’s quarters,” he said, standing and advancing toward Myrtle. Mamet turned and rushed out. Myrtle was disdainful of her quick obedience. In a moment Archie, and two other hands known as Jonah and Willie stood near the mantle. They looked fearful. Captain Roget looked them over for a moment and nodded.
“Gentlemen, my daughter has ruined beautiful new dress. Rip all clothing from her body and toss it into the fireplace. Everything!” he commanded over her objections.

Myrtle’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. The three men hesitated for only a moment. Mamet moaned in fear.

Myrtle tried to turn and run, but they caught her before she took more than three steps. Myrtle shrieked and struggled. Archie held her in his strong arms while Jonah and Willie tore the clothing from her body. Her breasts were bared first. Everyone paused for a moment as the mammoth globes of white flesh were laid bare. They bounced gently in the subtle lamplight.
“Continue,” Captain Roget called. The three men continued with no further prompting. “Mamet, get me my riding crop,” he ordered.
“But suh, do you really wanna do this?” she asked in a pleading voice.
“Yes. Don’t make me tell you twice.”
“Yes suh.”
She returned with the 20 year old crop held in her hands. She reluctantly surrendered it beneath his stern gaze.

Myrtle now stood in all her glorious naked beauty. The contrast between her ivory white complexion, and the sun darkened men standing around her, was startling. Captain Roget grabbed Myrtle by the hair and dragged her over to the door. He pushed her hair into the crack of the door, near the upper hinge, and pulled the door closed. She stood caught in the door, naked, horrified and afraid.

“You will address me as CAPTAIN!” he yelled, bringing the crop down on her perfectly shaped ass. She screamed, an unearthly heart-rending scream of one who has never been mistreated before. It was a vocal scream, as well as an eruption of the soul. She struggled to pull her hair from the door, but it was impossible.

“You will speak to me with RESPECT!” he screamed, bringing the riding crop down again. She screamed again, then hung helplessly sobbing.

“And you will give me immediate obediance!” he said in a calmer voice, slashing the piece of leather across her shapely ass one last time. She simply hung sobbing now. He dragged the end of the crop through the delicate valley between her legs. She shuddered. He ran it over and around each breast. She opened her eyes, a look of pleading in them. He noticed the smoothness and gentle sweep of her neck up to her firm, proud chin. He saw how her breasts were large, but firm. The cleavage started well up on her chest, just below her neck. Her waist was slender, her stomach firm, and her light brown bush was shapely, almost manicured. Her pussy was small and delicate. He looked her over as he would one of the prize race horses on the plantation. He took in all her best features, and all her flaws.

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