"Tammy, you are a beautiful little girl," Bernard said. He licked and smacked his lips obscenely. Tammy could feel a million butterflies flopping around inside her tummy – just as if they all wanted to get the hell out of there.

The little slave could feel her heart pounding as it had never pounded before. Her ticker felt like it wanted to beat its way right out of her chest.

The diminutive nigger cunt could feel the icy sweat of her terror oozing from each and every pore in her body. The scent of her funk wafted up toward her hot nostrils – which were remarkably closed for a girl of her race. Bernard looked at her beautiful face and her golden brown skin and he could tell that – genetically speaking – there was a little cream in her coffee somewhere along the line. "She had a little human in her," as Bernard was fond of saying.

"How old are you, Tammy?"

"I don't know, Master."

"I'll bet you ain't even sixteen," Bernard said.

The girl shivered and was silent.

"You ever been whipped before?"

"No, Master."

"How come?"

"Where I was before, the slaves was only whipped when they disobeyed. I always obeyed."

"Things are different here. There been too many revolts in this county, niggers getting shot on account of they got uppity and tried to make a run for it. I like my niggers to know who's the boss right from the start. Everyone gets a whipping. You are so beautiful I may want to whip you once a week. We'll have to see. Your skin is so beautiful. It will be even more beautiful after it has been marked by my whip."

Tammy could see in the indirect illumination in that torture chamber, that there were many whips on display on the far wall. The walls were made of stone.

There were no windows.

She could see that the center of the room dominated by a large slab table. There ware chains and cuffs at the four corners of the table. She knew those were there so that little girls – such as herself – could be bound in a spread-eagled fashion.