Before the
emancipation of the slaves, my father, who was of
English origin, owned vast and rich
plantations in the
Antilles It was on one of them that I was born. At my baptism, I was given the name of Regine.
I do not
believe that my
readers will be interested in my infancy with such details as my first tooth and my childhood diseases. The first event that pertains to my subject occurred when I was sixteen years old, and I remember it as if it were yesterday.
At that time, I was given to the care of a Negress named Dora whose sole task was to look after me. Through her, I learned that my mother who died shortly after giving me birth was nothing but a favourite slave. It seems that she was a rare beauty with a complexion almost as white as that of a European woman. Dora told me that I looked very much like her.
I should mention that my nurse was very learned in herbs. She boasted that with her knowledge, she could cure any ailment known to man.
One herb that she often picked during our strolls she used in place of tea. It also possessed soporific powers. I remember always falling into a delicious sleep right after she gave me a cup of the brew.
One evening, she prepared the beverage, but I noticed it had a more penetrating odour than usual. Perhaps because of my stomach, it had a disagreeable taste. When she was not looking, I started to empty the contents of the cup in a flower pot, but she caught me. At her insistence, I did manage to get a few drops down.
The need I had for sleep undoubtedly came from the brew, but it seemed weaker for I woke up after only a few hours. Moonbeams were shining through the curtain into my room. By their light, I was able to make out the clock face. It was just a little after midnight.
I felt nervous and feverish. I put my hand on my cunt. I found the two lips and the satiny mons veneris. With my finger, I gently rubbed the crevice that separated them. I could smell a delightful scent emanating from it. I felt it half open under my fondling. It seemed to me that this organ I had just discovered was intimately and mysteriously bound to my life, to the very source of my being. At that time, I was ignorant of the marvellous key which, when inserted, starts the mysterious action.
But now that the veil had been partially lifted, my curiosity was all the more whetted. Also, many things I had only guessed at before became clearer. I made up my mind to find all I could about the subject.
I was lying in bed, wrapped up in those thoughts, when a low whistle caught my attention. Dora also had heard it, for she quickly got up and whispered: “Is that you, Dandy?”
The whistle was repeated.
“It's all right for you to come in,” she said. “The child is dead to the world.”
A dark form appeared at the window. I recognised him. He was an overseer, a good-looking mulatto who was known to be a passionate admirer of Dora. He took her in his arms and gave her a long kiss.
“Are you sure the girl is sound asleep? I'd like to take a look at that little cunt of hers,” he said.
“Of course she's asleep. My herb tea never fails.”
Walking on tiptoe, the mulatto approached my bed. Gently he lifted the sheets and slipped his hand between my thighs. I pretended that I was asleep, although I found it hard to remain motionless. His fingers were tickling me. Soon I experienced that pleasure I had before. For fear that the delightful sensation would stop, I kept myself rigid as a rock.
“What an adorable little cunt she has,” he commented. “Do you know, Dora, I'd like to be the first to pluck that enticing flower.”.
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