She could feel the muscles in her shapely gam's getting weaker by the second. The muscles in her legs felt as if they had been turned to gelatin.

Her knees were shaking.

Tammy Taylor was not at all sure how much longer her legs were going to be able to support the weight of her body – all ninety-seven pounds of her. Such was the toll her terror was taking on her diminutive black body. She was wet and slick with sweat. The man could smell her funk. There were many white men who didn't mess around with the nigger poontang on account of they found the scent too strong. Bernard was just the opposite.

There were few things in the world the white master liked better than the smell of nigger cunt. He loved the way it burned his nostrils and his sinuses a little. The scent of a slave pussy always intoxicated him. He liked his cunts dark, with lots of gravy!!!

The little girl managed to get over to the wooden slab torture table before her shapely legs gave out on her.

She stretched herself out on her belly – just as she had been instructed. The man wasted no time getting the torture session started. He was still chuckling a little to himself when he grabbed her slender left wrist with his huge right paw.

Bernard Cornfield pulled the little girl's arm up over her head toward the steel cuff at that corner of the table. She rested her right cheekbone against the hard wood. She could feel her tits being pressed flat against the torture table. Her nipples were erect and hard and throbbing with her fear.

He pulled the little girl's arm so hard that there was a frightening moment or two when Tammy thought he was going to break that wing.

She feared he would break it either at the wrist or the elbow. Indeed, he pulled until her was locked in the straight position.

Tammy's eyes were very expressive. They twinkled with merriment when she was with Jonah – yet they could look dull and somber when she was with a white man.