Read Online The Price of Hannah Blake by Walter Donway - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Walter Donway
Tags: Novels
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famished, and, when they were seated, Charlotte next to her, Hannah ate, simply ate, steadily and greedily—now, for this moment, satisfying, quite wonderful, if the world would end after breakfast. Then, Charlotte began to put food from her tray onto Hannah’s. “No, not your breakfast,” Hannah protested.
When Charlotte smiled she seemed impish, with eyes that glanced a little sideways, and wide, generous lips that pressed together as though suppressing laughter. Her cheeks dimpled deeply. “It is all right, Hannah.” She laughed. “Soon they won’t let you eat this way, weigh you, tell you what you can eat.” She added, “But it’s okay, now. They starve you, at first; enough hunger, and the other thoughts seem unimportant—you know, the avalanche, the rock-slide, in your mind. Your belly belongs to the duke.”
That phrase again. Hannah kept eating. When she stopped, she had formulated a thought. She turned to Charlotte and said, earnestly, “I could never go on a stage naked. It’s wrong. It’s a sin.”
Instead of answering, Charlotte asked, her voice lowered, “Did Charles and the boys come for you last night?”
She knew! Perhaps they all knew?
Hannah nodded, not looking at her, reaching for her tea. Charlotte said, whispering, “And Charles left you creaming in your pants?”
Hannah had no idea what that meant. Well…some idea, as she thought back, now—the slipperiness down there, between her legs, Charles’s fingers sliding around and around. Was that “cream”?
But this young woman, beautiful, so warm to Hannah, looking pure in white, like boys in the great church she once visited on Christmas—boys at the altar. But she spoke so casually, “creaming.”
“They did it to you, too?”
Charlotte grinned. “Two years ago. I never had been touched by a boy. I knew I would die of shame when Charles handled my titties. He touched my cunt and I begged him over and over to stop. But he kept doing it and my cunt began to feel like a volcano! I didn’t have the slightest idea what was happening. How I suffered that night, after they left me; I wish I had known about playing with my clit.”
Hannah was bewildered, but wildly curious. Charlotte could tell her things, what it all meant. She asked, hesitantly, “Did Charles say all those things about your body?”
Charlotte nodded, “Yes, sure. But that doesn’t mean he was insincere, last night. You are beautiful, as magnificent as any woman here. Your breasts are bigger than mine, but they jut right out. You are lovely.”
Hannah stared hard at the scraps on her plate, blushing. Charlotte asked quietly, “Are you going to fight it, Hannah? Some do, even with the warnings and all. Sure, Charles was playing with your pussy and loving it, but he showed you something—not just told you, showed you—that here anything can be done to you. Because you are the duke’s sweet meat.”
Hannah still said nothing. Charlotte said, again “Some of us had to fight it. There is a terrible price.”
Hannah managed to glance up at her, briefly. “Did you?”
“No, I didn’t because someone talked to me—like I’m talking with you.” She said, “Just glance at the table in front of us, way to the left. You see an African girl?
“Although they took her from a plantation in Jamaica,” she added.
Hannah casually moved her head, as though scanning the hall, and saw an extremely tall, powerful-looking black girl with a profile of perfect beauty. Even from here, Hannah saw the girl’s breasts were very large, but held up the cloth of her blouse like a shelf. It was striking and unbelievable, in public. Hannah’s eyes came back and she looked into Charlotte’s face. She nodded.
Charlotte said, voice low, “She told me when I got here. I’m grateful to her. Her name is Myra. She fought from the start, literally fought; she’s like a lioness. They didn’t give her to the guards right away; but they could get her to do nothing.”
Hannah
When Charlotte smiled she seemed impish, with eyes that glanced a little sideways, and wide, generous lips that pressed together as though suppressing laughter. Her cheeks dimpled deeply. “It is all right, Hannah.” She laughed. “Soon they won’t let you eat this way, weigh you, tell you what you can eat.” She added, “But it’s okay, now. They starve you, at first; enough hunger, and the other thoughts seem unimportant—you know, the avalanche, the rock-slide, in your mind. Your belly belongs to the duke.”
That phrase again. Hannah kept eating. When she stopped, she had formulated a thought. She turned to Charlotte and said, earnestly, “I could never go on a stage naked. It’s wrong. It’s a sin.”
Instead of answering, Charlotte asked, her voice lowered, “Did Charles and the boys come for you last night?”
She knew! Perhaps they all knew?
Hannah nodded, not looking at her, reaching for her tea. Charlotte said, whispering, “And Charles left you creaming in your pants?”
Hannah had no idea what that meant. Well…some idea, as she thought back, now—the slipperiness down there, between her legs, Charles’s fingers sliding around and around. Was that “cream”?
But this young woman, beautiful, so warm to Hannah, looking pure in white, like boys in the great church she once visited on Christmas—boys at the altar. But she spoke so casually, “creaming.”
“They did it to you, too?”
Charlotte grinned. “Two years ago. I never had been touched by a boy. I knew I would die of shame when Charles handled my titties. He touched my cunt and I begged him over and over to stop. But he kept doing it and my cunt began to feel like a volcano! I didn’t have the slightest idea what was happening. How I suffered that night, after they left me; I wish I had known about playing with my clit.”
Hannah was bewildered, but wildly curious. Charlotte could tell her things, what it all meant. She asked, hesitantly, “Did Charles say all those things about your body?”
Charlotte nodded, “Yes, sure. But that doesn’t mean he was insincere, last night. You are beautiful, as magnificent as any woman here. Your breasts are bigger than mine, but they jut right out. You are lovely.”
Hannah stared hard at the scraps on her plate, blushing. Charlotte asked quietly, “Are you going to fight it, Hannah? Some do, even with the warnings and all. Sure, Charles was playing with your pussy and loving it, but he showed you something—not just told you, showed you—that here anything can be done to you. Because you are the duke’s sweet meat.”
Hannah still said nothing. Charlotte said, again “Some of us had to fight it. There is a terrible price.”
Hannah managed to glance up at her, briefly. “Did you?”
“No, I didn’t because someone talked to me—like I’m talking with you.” She said, “Just glance at the table in front of us, way to the left. You see an African girl?
“Although they took her from a plantation in Jamaica,” she added.
Hannah casually moved her head, as though scanning the hall, and saw an extremely tall, powerful-looking black girl with a profile of perfect beauty. Even from here, Hannah saw the girl’s breasts were very large, but held up the cloth of her blouse like a shelf. It was striking and unbelievable, in public. Hannah’s eyes came back and she looked into Charlotte’s face. She nodded.
Charlotte said, voice low, “She told me when I got here. I’m grateful to her. Her name is Myra. She fought from the start, literally fought; she’s like a lioness. They didn’t give her to the guards right away; but they could get her to do nothing.”
Hannah
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