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She pulled out her schedule sheet.“Blahnik.”“She’s cool,” I said. “She’s my guitar teacher. I also sang duets with her daughter occasionally before class. Do you play an instrument?”“I had piano lessons for a few years when I was little, but I haven’t played in ages. What about you Clarissa?”“Unlike Mike here, who has a wonderful voice, I can’t carry a tune if you give me a bucket! Never tried to play an instrument. Jason?”“I sang in some musicals, but no instruments.”“Well, there goes my idea for starting a band!” I chuckled.“Why?” Jason laughed. “We teach Clarissa to play drums. Everyone knows drummers can’t sing worth a damn! Sandy can play keyboard, I can play bass, because anyone can play bass, and you play guitar!”I laughed, “And our name?”“The Three Musketeers, of course!” Sandy laughed.“You’re making a big assumption if you think you can teach me to play drums,” Clarissa laughed. “I am the proverbial white girl with NO rhythm. Larry and Carter were giving me all kinds of grief. She helped a man climb with her until he could not step higher, and she took him to my shade.She was determined but weary, small for her age, young for her lessons. She whispered to herself as she lay her charge before me. Her words were prayers and curses. She spoke aloud only encouragement to the man as she knelt over him. She trembled, hoping he did not notice her tremors.Grief and injury tumbled in turmoil beneath his head scarf. Relief and regret broke through as the woman tended his wounds. His humble cloth glistened with blood. Flies landed on it and nourished themselves. He shouted passion, delirious sympathy and desire overwhelmed him. He loved her. He wanted her. She assured him. She loved him. She wanted him. She wept.Through my leaves, the man looked toward his god for mercy. Warm light sprinkled upon him. The woman bathed his forehead with water from a plastic jug. Removing the scarf was forbidden to her. Rivulets, pink like the petals of my spring, washed into the.
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Again, he measured the cane against her bottom, then the thrumming was heard, followed by another scream and the appearance of another red line. Ten more strokes of the cane followed, at a rate of about one a minute. Between each, she performed the same routine of rising to her knees and massaging her bruised behind. She was crying openly now and deep sobs wracked her body. However, each time, she again bent low, arched her back and thrust her bottom back for the next cruel stroke of the ravaging cane. It seemed as though each time she bent even lower, moving her knees out to the edge of the chair so that she could bend even deeper. Her vagina lips were now opened to show her moist pink interior and her puckered anus seemingly winked out at us. When she had received all dozen strokes, Ahmed placed the cane in his left hand and gently assisted the slave girl to stand again in front of the chair. After letting her regain her composure for a moment, he then led her down to the front of.

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