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Southern Comfort - Book 1  by Victor Bruno

Southern Comfort - Book 1  
(Victor Bruno)

Southern Comfort - Book 1


Chapter 1


Edward T. Monson strolled to one of the long windows of his sitting room.  It was on the first floor and looked out over the green, undulating lawns of the Chesterfield estate.  His estate.  He felt very content; very relaxed.  Most men of his age (coming up for 43) would have done, of course, if they had just been as deliciously sucked as he had by a pretty 17 year old girl.  A girl with a body and abilities far more mature than her years.

That girl was Tess, his personal slave.  She had been assigned to that role some two months previously and Edward T. Monson had by no means tired of her.  Possibly I shall keep her around for another couple of months at least, he thought, before changing her for something different.

Tess had caught his eye immediately.  She was tall and lissom with olive-coloured skin and she was an octoroon.  This doubtless accounted for her wide, full-lipped mouth ... a mouth simply made for sucking.  Although she could not easily be mistaken for a white girl, Tess was, in fact, classified as a Negress.  Not that that made much difference.  In most of the State - and certainly in Nashville County - it was perfectly legal to own black or white slaves, provided proper formalities were gone through.  Those were minimal in the case of a Negress.  Whether black or white, slaves had no rights and were treated alike.  They were mere chattels, there to be used for work or amusement.  They could be mercilessly punished at the whim of Master or Mistress.  Even if a slave died under the whip, the owner was not held responsible.  The matter was simply reported, recorded ... and then forgotten.

It was a system very much to Edward T. Monson’s liking.  Also that of his wife, Gertrude.  Not to mention the score of more estate owners in Nashville County who all had large retinues of slaves.  The majority of these toiled in the fields but a select number, mainly girls, were assigned to household duties.  As Tess had been.  She had begun her servitude at 16 as one of Mrs. Monson’s maids but, once spotted by Edward, she quickly found she had new duties.  Gertrude had no objection.  She had plenty of slaves in any event and she liked to keep her husband happy ... being well aware of his predilection for nubile young girls.

Tess had not taken too kindly to this change.  She was understandably nervous.  Even more understandably frightened.  Most understandably of all, she was repelled at the idea of becoming a plaything of a man old enough to be her father.  The girl’s feelings, however, were of no account.  It was for her to obey and submit.  Edward T. Monson found it necessary to personally give Tess several sound thrashings ... and finally a very severe one .... before he considered the girl adequately malleable to his demands.  Even then, she had a lot to learn.  But Edward was a patient man and, indeed, training such ripe young beauty was a pleasure in itself.  Tess’s bottom felt plenty of leather and willow during this period!  And, on several occasions, that shapely posterior was made to writhe in agony as whip was laid across it.

In course of time, such treatment became no longer really necessary.  All the same, Edward T. Monson always kept a leather-soled slipper handy and, on occasions, Tess would go across his knees and get a whacking from it. Simply because he enjoyed giving it to her.

Immediately he got to the window, Edward’s attention was caught by what had become known in the County as an ‘equipage’.  This was something which was becoming very fashionable and being taken up by most landowners around.  It consisted of a light-weight, big wheeled open carriage, but, instead of a horse or horses between the shafts, there were slaves!

An equipage could be pulled by a single ‘pony’ (that was the name given to any unfortunate slave assigned to this arduous and degrading form of servitude), or by a pair of ‘ponies’ or sometimes, as now, by three ‘ponies’.  Edward at once assumed that this particular equipage belonged to a certain Mrs. Emma Arbuthnot for she had been among the first to widen the shafts of her carriage to accommodate three slaves between them.

“Tess ... bring me my opera glasses...”

The pretty young octoroon hurried to a drawer where the glasses were kept.  She was virtually naked, wearing only a red satin cincher-corset (very common amongst slave-girls).  From the tight-nipping corset ran four thin red suspenders, these holding up a pair of black net stockings which were slipped into a pair of very high-heeled red shoes.  Edward always designated what Tess should or should not wear.  Sometimes she was kept completely naked; at other times she was fetchingly, and partially, garbed as she was at that moment.  It was rare indeed for the girl not to have her breasts, buttocks and pussy invitingly on show.

“Here you are, Master.”

Edward took the glasses without even glancing at the girl who stood alongside him awaiting any further order she might get.  By now, Tess had learnt to obey instantly whatever Edward T. Monson commanded.  Leather and willow had taught her to do that.  She did not delay no matter how humiliating or unpleasant the order.  It might, for example, be “Show me your arse, girl.”, or “Show me your cunt, girl.”  Tess did so, as enticingly as possible.  She was Edward’s ‘plaything’ and she knew it.  For him it was rather like having a ‘Human Doll’ to amuse himself with.  To look upon, to fondle at will, to slap, to degrade, to fuck.  Edward could do whatever he wanted with this delicious female creature and he knew it.  That knowledge was a source of constant satisfaction to him.

Edward focused his glasses and the three figures between the shaft suddenly seemed to be only a few yards away.  They were all harnessed and the arms of each were folded behind, high up on the back, held by a single, laced-up leather sleeve.  The two female ponies each wore head-plumes, the male had a band around his forehead.  The central pony was a tall, strong-looking Negro.  He was bollock naked and Edward noted, in passing, that he was exceptionally well hung.  Not that that sort of thing interested him particularly since he was very heterosexually orientated.  He noted that the harnessing was of the usual kind ... that is to say, from a waist strap another broad strap came down tight over the belly, splitting in two just above the root of the penis so that two thongs ran underneath, one on each side of the groin, then re-forming into a single strap which was attached to a bar several feet back.  This bar, in turn, was fastened to the carriage itself.  The Negro also wore bridle and bit, the reins from which ran back and were looped to a brass rail at the front of the carriage.  This slave, Edward saw, looked resigned but sullen.  He was what might be termed the main driving-force of the equipage but, all the same, there would still be plenty of work for the other two Ponies.  These were both female ... and white.

Both were similarly accoutred .. each having a black cincher-corset which rose up from the waist to give under-support to their breasts which, nevertheless, were three quarters exposed.  As in the case of the male, a strap hung down and again divided just above the mound of Venus and thus becoming two under-thongs which left the sex fully displayed.  As was the case with 95 per cent of female slaves, both were depilated.  Edward approved of that.  He far preferred female slaves to be quite hairless in their sexual regions.  It displayed them to so much better advantage.  They were like little girls ... yet they were big girls!

The pony next to the left-hand shaft was fair and blue-eyed.  Edward put her in her mid-twenties.  Quite pretty.  She, too, looked resigned but not sullen.  Simply hopeless.  And, one could sense, absolutely submissive.  She must, thought Edward, be an experienced pony.  There did not seem to be  a trace of rebellion left in her. 

The pony next to the right-hand shaft was a different kettle of fish, however.  She, Edward realised, was quite new to the game.  In the first place, her head had been pulled back and up, the rein having been tautened - so that the bit cut into the sides of the pony’s mouth - and then tied to the brass rail.  It looked most uncomfortable!  Saliva dribbled down from the sides of the pony’s mouth ... and Edward saw a look of unimaginable horror and despair in a pair of lustrous, dark brown eyes.  This woman, he guessed could be in her early or mid-thirties.  Her figure was maturely fulsome and her cincher-corset was cruelly tight which enhanced the hour-glass effect of swelling breasts and hips.

That nose ... sharp and tip-tilted.  It had a natural disdain about it.  Did he not recognise it?  Surely ... yes ... surely!  Yes, he had more than once seen that nose looking most disdainful in a socialite drawing room.  And this confirmed what had already been rumoured for some time.  And that was that Mrs. Emma Arbuthnot had recently acquired a quite exceptionally slave.  A slave by the name of Eleanor Gordon-Bradshaw.  Indeed, the Honourable Eleanor Gordon-Bradshaw!  For the lady in question was of English birth and connected to the aristocracy.  Her husband, a business adventurer, had brought her with him to America.  Unfortunately, through gambling in cotton futures he had lost heavily and been forced to sell all his assets in order to survive.  Eleanor was one of those assets.  She fetched a good price at a private slave auction ... partially on account of her handsome looks but mainly because of her breeding.  Many a parvenu merchant, or his wife, liked the idea of having a member of the English aristocracy as a slave.  Mrs. Emma Arbuthnot liked the idea more than most.  She had paid more than she would have wished for Eleanor and it was natural she should wish to get her pound of flesh out of her.  After a gruelling four-week ‘breaking in’ period, Nellie (as she was renamed) was assigned to the stables for pony training.

“Well I’m damned,” said Edward under his breath.  “Who ever would have believed it!  There’s a lady who can’t be taking too kindly to being between the shafts.”  That was, to say the least, an understatement!

Lowering the glasses, Edward, almost absent-mindedly it seemed, fondled Tess’s soft bottom. Invitingly, the girl parted her long limbs a little. Edward didn’t bother to take advantage of the invitation. “How would you like to be a pony, Tess?  he asked.

He felt the girl give a little shudder.  “I wouldn’t, Master,” she answered in a whisper.

“I can’t say I blame you,” smiled Edward.  “Here, take a look through the glasses.”

Tess had no wish to do so, but she didn’t hesitate.  The sight of the huge Negro was frightening ... that of the women pitiful.  Fancy being secured along-side such a brute, just as if one were an animal, she thought.  How awful!  Her existence was bad enough but that of a pony must be ten times worse.  Was he allowed to ... did he?  Tess’s mind reeled away from the horrifying implications.  Her Master’s voice enlightened her.

“How would you like  to share a stable with that buck, eh Tess” he asked.  “They’re all in together, stallions and fillies alike.  Bet those two get plenty of black meat o’nights!”

He felt Tess shudder again and it occurred to Edward that it would be rather amusing to watch Tess being fucked by such a brute.  He would arrange it sometime.

“Put the glasses away and fetch me a pink’un,” ordered Edward T. Monson.

Tess scurried off and was back in moments with a glass of pale pink liquid.  Edward drank half a dozen of this potion every day ... since they were designed to fortify his already powerful sex drive.  Despite his age, it was quite common for Edward to slake himself, one way or another, two or three times a day.  His sensible adage was that there was no point in having unlimited opportunities for self-indulgence if you were not in condition to take advantage of them.

He gave Tess’s right buttock cheek a none too gentle slap.  “Set out my riding clothes,” he ordered.  Once more Tess scurried off to obey.




Edward T. Monson descended the wide, curving staircase which was the centre-piece of the vast entrance hall of Chesterfield.  A female black slave, who was polishing the brass lattice of the bannisters, curtsied deferentially as he passed.  Edward ignored her.  All the same, if she had omitted that act, Edward would have sent her to an overseer with instructions that her black ass be well tanned.  Discipline was very strict in the Chesterfield household and the prime instigator of that was his wife, Gertrude.  Edward was happy to back her up in every way.  It was his opinion that, if slaves ever thought you were going a bit soft on them, they took advantage.  So there was no softness in the Chesterfield regime.  Good work was expected not praised.  Bad work was punished ... and no excuses were accepted.

Passing through the hall, Edward made his way to the main drawing room where he reckoned Gertrude would be entertaining Mrs Arbuthnot.  He entered without knocking and was intrigued rather than surprised to see that the two women were not alone.  One of his wife’s maids, a black girl by the name of Jennie, was kneeling on the seat of an upright chair.  Her skirt was pinned up and her white drawers were down.  Several weals encircled her quivering black bottom and her knuckles were taut as she clasped two wooden knobs which decorated the top of the chair.  Gertrude, he saw, was using a cane.

“Good afternoon, Edward ... excuse me a moment, my dear...”

“Of course.”  Edward bowed towards Mrs. Arbuthnot and smiled.  The cane cracked across Jennie’s ample bottom and she yelped loudly, squirming vigorously left and right but managing to hang on to the chair knobs.  Gertrude always administered two extra strokes every time hands came away from those knobs.  Her slaves knew it... so they had a great incentive to hang on.

“Careless slut!”  rapped Gertrude as the cane cracked down again.  Edward appreciated the jelly-joggling of the black flesh as Jennie absorbed more pain.  Idly, he wondered what the girl had done.  It could not have been too serious otherwise she would have been sent to an overseer for proper punishment.  These on-the-spot punishments (of which Gertrude was inordinately fond) were usually for minor infringements.  Mrs. Arbuthnot clarified the matter by pointing to a splash of milk which disfigured a polished tea-table.  Ah ... so that was it.  Yes, discipline was certainly strict on the Chesterfield estate!


Jennie got another...


The frizzy head was thrown back, the ample black bottom squirmed again.  In Edward’s experience, these darkies were usually much tougher than white girls but a cane got through to them all the same.

“All right, Jennie, get off ... and pull your drawers up.”  With a dry sob, the girl did so, wriggling from side to side as she tugged up the thin, tight-clinging underwear.  So thin was it, the rigid weals just raised could be seen through it and it certainly offered no protection.  However, Gertrude made it a principle to punish on the ‘bare’, whether the slave be male or female, black or white.  “Now go and clean that mess up with your tongue.”  Obediently, Jennie carried out this humiliating order.  “If there’s any more of this carelessness, I’ll send you for a proper hiding.  Understood, girl?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” answered Jennie, completing her licking.  Her voice was humble and accepting.  Now twenty, she had been a slave since her early teens so was used to this kind of treatment and hearing such threats.  She was also used to being thrashed without mercy for even quite minor faults.  This enabled her to answer with demure respect in her voice.

Edward seated himself while Jennie resumed pouring coffee, setting a cup for him too.  “Nice to see you, Mrs. Arbuthnot,” he said politely.

“Oh do call me Emma, please ... Edward,” came the gushing response.  Mrs. Arbuthnot was typical of the female slave-owning class.  Over-dressed, over-weight and over-bearing.  Like Gertrude, she was in her mid-thirties, exceedingly wealthy and used to getting her own way in everything.

“That’s a nice equipage you’ve got there, Emma,” said Edward conversationally.  The black girl was bending very close to him as she poured coffee into his cup and he could hear her quick breathing.  Her big breasts were bursting through the almost transparent white blouse she wore, strong nipples prominent.  Like all female slaves, she was permitted a reinforced half-cup brassiere of white material.  Slave-owners, incidentally, each had their own ideas about uniform in the household.  Some insisted that just a simple smock be worn; others preferred more conventional dress.  Gertrude Monson’s female slaves all wore white drawers and brassiere, a thin white blouse, a red linen skirt which did not quite reach the knees and a little white mob-cap with red ribbon ... plus red ankle-boots with high heels.  Rather fetching!  Male slaves wore a white shirt, red Bermuda shorts, cut very tight.  They went barefoot.

“I am glad you approve,” said Emma Arbuthnot smugly.  “It’s my first threesome but I’m afraid one of them needs a good deal more training.”  Edward could guess which that one was!  “I only use a threesome on the highway,” went on Emma, “on my estate, I prefer a single or a well-matched double.”  Edward nodded understandably but all this was rather new to him.

“Do you use females as singles?” he enquired politely.  “I mean, are they strong enough?”

“Oh yes!” replied Emma emphatically.  She smiled faintly.  “The whip can be quite a stimulant to extra effort.”

Again Edward nodded.  So he could imagine!  He thought of the inexperienced bottom of Mrs. Gordon-Bradshaw getting such a stimulant ... and found it both amusing and exciting.  This pony business could well be worth going into.  He would talk with Gertrude.  “And, of course then, you will use females in doubles,” he said.

“Yes,” nodded Emma.  She had on a large, broad-rimmed blue hat, decorated with small waxed fruits.  “And when I do, I like the two ponies to be of the same standard of training.  It’s no good having one moving smoothly and the other frequently stumbling.”

“Quite so,” said Edward.  “And ... as to training?”

“Most of the initial training is done in singles,” replied Emma, “though, from time to time, a new pony will be put between the shafts with more experienced ponies.  That sometimes brings them on.  I’m hoping that will be the case with Nellie - one of those outside at the moment.”

So, reflected Edward with even more amusement, that was what the Hon. Eleanor Gordon-Bradshaw had become.  Nellie ... a simple pony-girl.  It would indeed be a pleasing diversion to have such a possession, would it not?

“Have you ever considered owning and training ponies, my dear?”  he enquired, turning to Gertrude.  “It seems quite the thing these days.”

“I have indeed,” smiled his wife.  “In fact, Emma and I were discussing that very thing this afternoon.  With your permission, of course, I propose to have some of the general stables converted into pony stables as soon as it can be arranged.”

“By all means go ahead, my dear” he nodded.  “We must keep in the fashion.”

Jennie was close and bending again, refilling his cup.  He recalled, long ago now, when the girl was seventeen and not quite so buxom, he had sent for her and fucked her.  It had been quite amusing.

“Would you not like to have a spin, Edward?” asked Emma.  “As an expert carriage driver, you’ll not find it difficult.  The principles are the same.  Control but not over control.  Patience but firmness.”

Edward found his nerves give a little tingle at the suggestion.  “Well, that’s very kind of you...” he murmured.  It would be his first taste of this new craze.

“Bess and Jake are well trained,” said Emma Arbuthnot, “but, as I say, you’ll find Nellie rather inexperienced.  Inclined to stumble a lot.  Make allowances but also use your whip when you feel it has been earned.  It is the only way she’ll learn.”

“Yes ... quite so,” nodded Edward.  He exceedingly liked the idea of using a whip on the once-aristocratic rump of the Hon. Mrs. Gordon-Bradshaw!  It should be noted that Edward T. Monson felt not the slightest compassion for this wretched unfortunate woman who had once been of his own class.  Once sold into slavery, she became of the same status as all the other slaves ... and was considered and treated accordingly.  Owners, if ever, rarely felt sorry for slaves.  They just made use of them.  “I’ll be on my way then,” said Edward, standing up and giving Emma a small, formal bow.

“Enjoy yourself,” smiled the plump, cruel face under its fruit covered hat.

“Let us know all about it when you get back,” joined in Gertrude.

“I will,” replied Edward.  He closed the door behind him.  This, he said to himself, is going to be rather fun.