by Londyn Skye
When Atticus walked away, the lowlife slave trader turned to his partner and asked, “what the hell’s a necrophiliac?”
His toothless partner shrugged. “Hell, long as he keeps payin’ big money, that rich fucker can use all the goddamn big words he wants.” He snapped the reins on their team of horses and rode away with pockets full of cash, and their stolen load of starving women.
Atticus’s threatening final words to the slave traders were proof that he wanted his women in pristine condition. He further proved that after arriving back to Galveston, Texas with his new illegally purchased property in tow. In anticipation of seeing what was lying underneath all Bella’s cuts, bruises, and swelling, Atticus took her immediately to his trusted doctor. The doctor was paid handsomely to keep his services a secret, and to meet all of Atticus’s high expectations. After years of treating his slaves, the doctor knew the list of those expectations like the back of his hand. Once Bella was left in his care, the doctor gave her a thorough exam, to ensure that she was free of lice, disease, and any other major ailments. The doctor then called on a trusted dentist to clean Bella’s teeth and tend to any of her oral issues. For nearly a month thereafter, a team of nurses were then handed the daily task of scouring and moisturizing Bella from head to toe, to soften her skin. They painstakingly tended to her wounds and bruises, mending them in a way that made it seem like they never existed. All along, Bella was fed well, to help add weight to her emaciated frame. Once she was back to a healthy size, a seamstress was called on, to measure her and provide her with an array of well-fitted undergarments, lingerie, and dresses. When Bella was given a clean bill of health, the doctor sent Atticus notice to come and pick up the new diamond that his nurses had polished.
Within an hour of receiving notice, Atticus eagerly returned to retrieve his property. When he laid his eyes on Bella, he froze. For the first time ever, he realized that his assessment about a slave’s potential beauty had been inaccurate. With freshly styled hair, nary a bruise in sight, and Bella’s healthy frame now covered in a form fitting dress, Atticus swore he was looking at a completely different woman altogether. The look on his face was proof that he was awestruck by how greatly he had underestimated how truly stunning she was.
Atticus was literally salivating as he rode home across from his newest “plaything.” Bella did not know where to place her eyes, or how to situate her body, to alleviate the discomfort of being gazed at like she was a meal for a dog who had not eaten in weeks. She could easily sense the repulsive thoughts that were dominating her new master’s mind. She was silently praying to God that he would not act on those desires.
Bella continued praying as the carriage pulled through the gates of Atticus’s estate. Once it came to a halt, Atticus took her by the hand and helped her down. Had Bella bothered to raise her head from its submissive position, her eyes would have taken in the grand sight of Atticus’s mansion. The massive structure could have easily been mistaken as the three-story home of a British royal. The golf course and lake on the sprawling acres of land would have contributed to such a belief. Bella’s head hung too low to notice the unique English architecture, or even the fine details of the handcrafted double doors that she was being marched through. She never raised her head to see the dual staircase in the foyer either. She only noticed the house had stairs at all when her feet were forced to march down them toward “the whore floor,” as Evelyn had affectionately named it. The entire basement belonged to Atticus’s women. Evelyn considered Atticus’s whores as beneath her, and she wanted to be sure they lived that way as well.
Atticus starkly disagreed with his wife’s terminology, though. In his mind, the basement was his pleasure paradise. He considered the stairs he was descending as the hallway to heaven. He certainly had the basement lavishly designed like a paradise on Earth. It could have been considered as the most warm, inviting place had it not been for the fact that it was technically a prison for his illegally purchased whores. His captives were living in a beautifully decorated home within a home, featuring several bedrooms, a kitchenette, and even a massive bathroom with a garden tub. Atticus believed that if he treated his women like goddesses, they would naturally treat him like a god in return. He had no desire to use whips, chains, or forceful ways. There was never any marring, scarring, or brutalizing his women to achieve what he wanted. Such a thing, he felt, would obscure the colorful beauty that he admired so much. He simply provided his women with a lifestyle that would make them want him, just as badly as he wanted them. The way the original pleasure girls seemed to genuinely want him was a caveat that he now needed in order to garner the ultimate pleasure from his sexual servants. The simple thought of a harem of exquisite women, desiring to dote on him like a god, always had a certain part of him rock solid, whenever he set foot in his personal pleasure paradise.
That part of Atticus was indeed rock solid as he marched down the hallway to heaven and entered his kingdom with Bella. Several Negro women there immediately ceased their conversation, the very second they saw Bella. They quietly eyeballed her as she walked by, each with an unreadable expression on their faces. All their curious eyes continued to follow the new addition as Atticus guided her through his palace. Bella was ignorant to the goddess-like ways she would be treated while there. Fear of the unknown was clear to see in the way she seemed to resist every step toward one of the bedrooms. As every Negro woman there studied Bella’s face, they all noted the silent plea for help written on it. But each woman simply glared back at her, without so much as a twitch in their facial muscles. Bella even swore she saw a smirk on one woman’s face as she swirled the wine in her glass.
Atticus did not say a word to Bella after they entered one of the bedrooms and he locked the door. She was not given any food, wine, or even a formal introduction. But there Atticus stood, methodically disrobing her near the door, breathing harder as he slowly unveiled her bare skin. Atticus’s whole body followed the movements of Bella’s dress as he slid it down. Bella’s trembling and shaky breaths did nothing to stop his unwanted actions. She covered her breasts and her vagina the best she could after he fully disrobed her. He rose up slowly, eyeballing every inch of her on his way up. He suddenly slowed when he reached her vagina. The look on Bella’s face easily gave away how repulsed she was by the way he deeply inhaled the scent of her essence. Like a dog who had sniffed a female in heat, Atticus began to pant as his erection swelled to capacity. Disgusted by his bizarre actions, Bella winced and recoiled slightly. Atticus was too entranced to pay her actions any mind, though. He simply stood tall and stepped back to take in the entire sight of her. The fear written all over her face did not deter him from slowly removing her hands from her private areas. His mouth gaped open as he moved her hands aside. After finally seeing an unobstructed view of his new plaything, he let out a deepthroated anticipatory growl and his erection turned blue with excitement.
Bella’s entire body visibly shook with fear. She quickly covered her private areas again. “P-p-please don’t do this,” she begged, tears running in streams from her eyes.
Atticus took a step forward and gently wiped her tears away. “Relax and you’ll enjoy it,” he whispered in a lust-driven moan. Once again, he then stopped her hands from obstructing his view.
“P-please, I’m b-beggin’ you not to do this,” Bella pleaded. She winced when Atticus took her by the arm and began ushering her toward the bed. She resisted, forcing him to pull her along. Her bare feet slid across the cold hardwood floor until they were near the bed. “Please don’t,” she begged again.
“Shh, don’t force me to tie you up,” Atticus said, gently caressing her face. “I only wanna make you feel good.”
“B-but I don’t w-wanna do this,” she cried.
“You’ll learn to love it,” he moaned in her ear. “They all do.”
Atticus was no stranger to the resistant behaviors of some of his new purchases. Some had started off flailing in fear, leaving him with no choice but to tie their
wrists and ankles to the bedposts. Within weeks, though, they had slowly evolved into the sort of women who were willing to cater to all his needs, some even with an air of pride. Their slow transition into willing participants was the part of the game that aroused Atticus the most. All day, he wondered just when his new plaything’s pleas to stop became begging and pleading for more. He was eager for the fear in her eyes to become a gaze of wanton lust. Anticipation of the day her cries transitioned into moans had his erection nearly blue with excitement, at every waking hour.
Atticus’s confidence in the metamorphosis of his new slaves left him numb to their tears and pleading during his first encounter with them, much like how he now was with Bella. Like taming a wild horse, he looked forward to the challenge of breaking her. He was confident that there would soon come a time when a single look, or command of his eyes, would have her surrendering on her knees, or any other position he so desired. The beginning of Bella’s transition had him on an intense high, so much so that he did not get upset over how extraordinarily resistant she was. None of his other slaves had given him such a challenge, though. Bella’s panic-induced strength, and endless flailing, made it difficult to tie her arms and legs up. By the time Atticus was finished wrestling her into position, he was pouring sweat. When he finally had her secured, he crawled off her and stood at the end of the bed, panting hard as he gazed lustfully at the sight of her legs spread wide.
Imagining that Bella was eager to see him nude, Atticus began making a show of himself. He slowly took off his shirt, revealing a chest sprinkled with graying hair, and a once solid frame that was beginning to sag in his middle age. He unlatched the button on his pants, slid them down his legs, and stepped out of them. Still fantasizing that Bella was enjoying the show, Atticus slowly lowered his boxers. With his eyes fixated on her, he then began to stroke his member. His eyes suddenly rolled back, his breaths deepened, and his mouth began to water as he imagined her body creating the pleasurable sensations currently rushing through him. Taking his time before getting to that moment, Atticus stopped stroking himself and kneeled at the end of the bed.
Not bothering to wipe the drool seeping from his mouth, he began suckling Bella’s toes. After savoring the taste of each one, he crawled over top of her and gazed down at her flawless face. The tears running in streams from her eyes compelled him to kiss her tenderly on the forehead. He then nipped at her earlobe. “Relax,” he moaned in her ear. It was something that Bella could not fathom doing, especially as he began to sniff her hair and neck, like a ravenous dog getting to know the scent of his mate’s pheromones. Her trembling intensified as Atticus began perusing her body with his hands and mouth, kissing, licking, and sucking nearly every inch of her. While Bella lie there feeling tortured, Atticus was thoroughly enjoying the feel of her soft skin against his lips, as he worked his way toward the erogenous kingdom between her thighs.
Saliva flooded Atticus’s mouth and spilled from his lips the moment he thrust his tongue inside of Bella’s intimate abyss. Like a connoisseur of fine wine, he let the taste of her insides linger on his tongue, savoring it for a moment. He moaned loudly after her sweet nectar permeated his taste buds. Her distinctive taste shot straight into the sensory system of his brain and was filed amongst the flavors of his other pleasure girls. The catalog of their various scents and flavors was pleasantly locked away in his long-term memory, making it easier for him to select which dessert would best satiate his cravings on a nightly basis.
After cataloging Bella as by far his favorite flavor, Atticus dove in to finish ravenously devouring her. However, Bella did not derive an ounce of pleasure from what would normally be extremely erotic stimulation. It only escalated her cries for him to stop and caused her to struggle even harder to free herself. Her actions still did nothing to cease Atticus’s invasion, though. If anything, her struggles only added to the excitement of his first encounter with her. He was now dying for the day when he felt her quivering give way to erotic trembles of pleasure. His ears were eager to hear her sobs decrescendo into raspy, deep-throated moaning. Her defiance simply made him crave the day when Bella was excited to have him stroking inside of her, lost in the throes of passion along with him.
Desperate for that day to come, Atticus finally lifted his head from between Bella’s thighs. He then sheathed his pulsating member and began kissing his way up her body. Nary a goosebump raised on Bella’s skin, nor did a single butterfly flutter through her stomach as he pressed his lips to her. She was becoming more and more panicked the closer he grew to her face. Once parallel with her body, Atticus began breathing harder and harder. Bella, in turn, began sobbing uncontrollably, as she continued thrashing and begging him to stop. Atticus paid her pleas no mind, though. He only cared to listen to every nerve, muscle, and urge in his body that was screaming for an orgasmic explosion. Even as Bella’s demands to stop were being shouted near his ear, Atticus still insisted upon kissing her on the forehead. He kissed her softly as if that’s all it would take to stop the river of tears from coursing down the sides of her face.
With Bella’s screaming at a fever pitch, Atticus finally introduced her to the only part of himself that he felt she ever needed to become acquainted with. Overcome with pleasure as he slid into her, Atticus’s moan came out like the carnivorous growl of a wild animal. He began pumping forcefully inside of her much like one too. After sliding inside of her against her will, the only thing Atticus had turned on in Bella was her defense mechanism. His unwanted invasion into her body was tantamount to injecting her with a powerful anesthetic. Her thrashing suddenly ceased. She laid there as stiff as a porcelain doll. The tears rolling down the sides of her face were now the only thing moving. But she could not feel the moisture. Her senses had completely shut down. Her vocal cords muted her ability to plead. She became deaf to Atticus’s heavy grunting, a hair’s breadth away from her ear. Her eyes remained open in a glaring trance, but she was unable to comprehend what she was seeing. She could no longer smell Atticus’s breath and his odd natural body odor. She could no longer feel his drool, as it fell in a stream from his mouth and cascaded down her cheek. Nor could she feel Atticus’s sweat slicked body slithering across her skin, as he stroked inside her. She was even numb to his forceful penetration. Bella’s natural mental defense mechanism was working overtime to keep Atticus’s heavenly dream from being her hellish nightmare.
Despite Bella lying there like a corpse, Atticus continued trying to launch his body into the clouds. The way he moved within her proved how every first encounter with a new slave revitalized his youthful virility. He pumped hard inside of Bella, deriving the ultimate satisfaction from her misery, so much so that his pleasure-filled grunts echoed loud enough to be heard on the entire whore floor. With every thrust of his hips, he was confident that he was bringing Bella closer to being the sort of pleasure girl who begged to have an erotic moment with him like this one. He began imagining Bella standing quietly amongst all the other pleasure girls in her custom designed lingerie, hair perfectly styled, make-up precise, and thick lips glistening. The thought of Bella gazing at him, seductively begging him to choose her with her eyes, suddenly made Atticus burst inside of her. He howled uncontrollably from the intense rush of pleasure, as his first test ride came to an abrupt end. After only a few powerful strokes, it was over.
Atticus momentarily laid there buried between Bella’s thighs in a weakened heap, after completely draining his stones. After gathering his strength, he raised up and gazed appreciatively at her for temporarily suspending his body in the heavens. For Atticus, the pleasurable ride was twenty-three seconds of pure bliss. For Bella, however, it felt like being paralyzed in a surreal out of body experience, witnessing twenty-three years of her own torture. The moment Atticus pulled out of her, Bella quickly returned from her out of body experience, just in time to feel him kissing her passionately on the lips. Repulsed by the sheer gall of his so-called affection, Bella’s lips did not reciprocate his movements. But the way Att
icus smiled at her and kissed her forehead proved that he had enjoyed her nonetheless. Despite her disgust, her restricted hands left her unable to wipe away the residue his lips left on hers.
Atticus slithered off Bella and stood at the end of the bed. He continued to gaze at her as he unsheathed himself and put on a robe. He then sat on the side of the bed, ran his hand slowly down Bella’s stomach, and dipped his finger into her abyss. “Your pussy was far betta’ than I imagined,” he professed, having the audacity to say such a thing while she was still tied up against her will. “And your flavor is unlike anything I’ve eva’ tasted before,” he said as he withdrew his finger from her and slid it into his mouth. Her sweet flavor made him moan and caused his eyes to flutter close. When he opened them again, he gazed at Bella in an erotic trance. “I can’t wait to taste you again,” he moaned in an eerie tone that made her skin crawl.
After reluctantly pulling his eyes away from Bella’s flawless face, Atticus finally untied her. He then took her by the hand and helped her out of bed. Bella’s extremities had gone numb from her constant struggle to free herself. But her mind was too flushed with anguish to notice the pins and needles feeling suddenly prickling her hands and feet, as blood finally began to circulate in them again. Atticus suddenly caressed her face and kissed her lightly on the lips, tasting the salty trail left by her non-stop tears. “If you’re good to me, I promise I’ll always be good to you,” he stated. “Go ahead and get dressed.”
Bella still just stood there trembling, with tears spilling down her cheeks, unable to get her racing mind to command her body to move. When she failed to pick up her dress, Atticus helped her into her clothing. He then held her hand, emerged from the pleasure room, and escorted her through the main room of his paradise. This time, Bella’s head hung too low to notice the expressions on the faces of the Negro women she had been dragged past earlier. They stopped doing their chores again and discreetly looked her up and down, understanding all too well what she had just gone through. Their sympathy for her, however, was nearly nonexistent. They were confident that she would soon grow to have their unique mentality about their circumstances.