Devil’s Darling by Untamed JanJan

Author:Untamed, JanJan [Untamed, JanJan ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The House of JanJan
Published: 2022-07-30T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

T he streets are always moving with life. Saddle horses, coaches, mule carts, people on foot; I see it all. And the crowds are generously speckled with dark faces. I am not the only slave waiting with the horses. In fact, some are walking around and standing in what shade they can find. One barefoot male is smoking. He is dressed in rags and his ankles are shackled. None of that can diminish his handsomeness. He is the handsomest man in the state.

“Stop staring at him.” I mumble under my breath. “I have Elliot and he is handsome also.”

The man in chains stands tall and proud. His self-confidence is uncommon in slaves. The males on the plantation walk with hunched shoulders and their heads down. They speak in soft voices and never smoke. Old Phil barely feeds and clothes them. Luxuries like tobacco and drink are for devils, not slaves. Two slave women are laughing and talking amongst themselves. Old Phil doesn’t allow us to socialize. It could lead to revolts.

“A pretty hat for a pretty lady.”

My hand raises to touch the bright hat with embarrassment. The hat was not meant for me. It was meant for someone free who could pay for it. I ignore the man in chains.

“You sure look sad for it to be such a warm day.” He continues to flirt with me. “Somebody beat you up good. Looks like you can use protecting.”

“Go away.” My eyes stare ahead. “You will get me into trouble.”

“Why would anyone beat on a sweet girl like you? I know slaves, and you ain’t the troublemaking sort. Are you shy? I like shy women.”

The man is making me nervous. I am certain he watched Dominic go inside the store.

“You’re dark, but you’re too soft to be a field hand. Your master keeps you in the house. White men love their bed wenches.”

How does he know that? And why does it make me feel lower than a worm? The truth makes me feel ashamed. Everyone who sees me knows that I am for fucking. They know my days begin and end with me on my back. This is the longest that I have gone without being fucked while I am well enough to do it. The bed wench who hates being raped by Old Phil is at peace and resting comfortably. The willing bed wench who lays down for two brothers with an ache in her cunt, misses having a cock inside her. My cunt is aching from thinking about it.

“You should go. I am bad luck.”

“We are talking is all.” His white smile is pleasant. “I’m Leon. What’s your name?”

“They call me Coffee.” I say shyly.

“What do you call yourself?”

He wants to know what I call myself. A slave. No one has called me Marceline in several years. That is a lie. Someone called me Marceline this morning when he told me that Brat died. No one besides him calls me Marceline.

“Pleased to meet you.”

It begins an innocent conversation about his northern accent and where he is from.

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