Snowdrops from a Curate’s Garden

[68] CAPITULUM X Under the broad veranda of the family mansion the slaves were drawn up in line, and the overseers with long stock-whips and mighty stiff hair- splitters were guarding them and occasionally sat- isfying their lust upon the smoking arses of the negroes. My father and mother appeared with my sister and myself, and we lost no time in getting into position for those delights that are the cardi- nal of the family system all the world over. As it was my birthday, I had the chief place. My father’s handsome quickening-peg burrowed my juicy bot- tom-hole, while my mother’s central furrow was crushed upon my ploughshare as I lay on my back with my legs in the air. My sister squatted astride my head, and her cauliflower discharged its sweet sauce into my mouth. An ingenious arrangement of mirrors allowed us to see all that was going on, and at a sign from my father the head overseer brought forward a fattish young girl with a quite white skin. She yelled aloud for mercy, but it was no good. In a trice she found herself tied up to a triangle, and a lusty black was snipping great lumps out of her back with his whip. We raved in unison to her shrieks, and in one explosive foam of lust, jetted our family fountains at a single mo- ment. Before the woman fainted, the overseer gave the word to stop. She was a young and modest girl, and at his signal, three huge negroes bounded upon her. Heedless of her cries and tears they plunged their reeking arse openers into her dainty