Christabel was first, of course, and was almost the aggressor. I'm afraid we're all alone." Abigail could tell she wasn't going to find out what Christabel had in mind until her friend was ready, so she played along. "We shouldn't be down here, alone, in the dark," she said. We can walk where we want." As they drew closer to one of the small shacks, Abigail started to hear a noise. Guilty, but curious, Abigail put her eye to the hole.
Months later, Abigail, more passively, had succumbed to the boy's advances. But both had been disappointed by Jimmy's clumsiness, quickness, and unimpressive endowments. They sat chatting about everything and nothing, while the sun sank and the song of the crickets rose into the night. A man's voice, and he was groaning, as if in pain, and there was a sound of a woman's voice as well, it sounded almost like she was humming. Candles were burning, and she could see, but at first she couldn't make sense of what she saw.
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Watching, she felt an itchy tingling in between her legs. If the candlelight wasn't playing tricks on her, it was three times the size of Jimmy Robbins' little thing.
As Christabel drew her away from the shack, she felt relief. Naughty, scary, exciting, but they hadn't been seen, and one more of Christabel's adventures was safely behind her. You're going to have to get cleaned up first." The slaves looked at each other, mystified. And nice to look at, too, although they knew they'd best not be caught looking at her.
Her hair was so blond it was almost white, and her eyes were the pale blue of a rain-washed sky.
Her delicate features and gentle, trusting expression conveyed an almost heart-breaking innocence that made her seem younger than her years.
There was the sound of hurried stumbling, and perhaps a muttered oath, and then John's voice. " As if she'd said the magic word, Christabel turned and beamed at her, "Get up in my parent's bedroom, and hide in the closet." Abigail scurried to the hiding place; she had to see, she just had to. They were the ones called on for the hardest labor, and whenever she saw them working, their muscles bulging, sweat dripping from their black skin, she felt weak in the knees, and she had to go change into dry panties. "Get them smelly clothes off, too," she said, opening the washroom door. "Not the Massah's clothes, Miz Chrizbel, we cain't," muttered John. " She closed the door, and went back to the closet once more.