by Mark Andrews
“I don’t know,” he said. “I was down near the front. All I saw was his hand for everyone was milling around. He was black, but that’s all I know.”
She nodded. Black white or brindle, it was all the same to her. This sale meant just another step away from her Jason. She still thought of him every day, wondering what he was doing and if he thought of her sometimes.
She was collected by a chauffeur-driven limousine and placed in the luxurious back seat, all by herself, still stark naked and feeling quite foolish as Johnny and Mr Morris saw her off. She was driven to a quite nice, but not top-class house in a good suburb and the chauffeur led her up to the front door, knocked and then departed, ordering her to wait. He got back in his car, which she now realised was hired, and took off, leaving her naked and alone on the front step.
The door opened and she stared, goggle-eyed at the man who grinned down at her. “Come in, Angela,” he said softly.
She didn’t speak. She cried a little, then rushed into his arms. “Jason?” she said at last. “You live here now? Has the mayor bought me back? You look wonderful!” All this came out in short staccato bursts while he held her by her shoulders and stared down into her beautiful violet eyes.
“Yes. No. Thank you,” he said, smiling back at her, his own eyes misty as he stared at his lover. “But first, some clothes?”
“Clothes?” she said blankly. “I’m a slave. It’s illegal, isn’t it?”
“I don’t care. Here, look what I got for you ...” She stared over at the pile of beautiful frocks, skirts, tops, frilly underwear and the like on the table in the front hall then she rushed forward and began to try them on.
“Ugh, they feel horrible,” she said, turning away from the table and back to her tall black lover. “Anyway, they’re the least of my concerns. If you live here now and the mayor didn’t buy me, who did...?” But then she remembered. Johnny had said it was a black man. “It was you who bought me, Jason?”
He grinned. “It was me.” “But how?”
His face sobered briefly then. “You remember Mrs Brown and how badly the mayor treated her?” Angela nodded. “Well one day it all became too much, especially after he had her brought to his room to watch as he fucked one of the slaves. She took a knife and cut off his cock and balls then laughed hysterically as he tried to staunch the massive bleeding. When she was sure he was dead, she killed herself... Guess who was the heir?”
“You?” “Me - and you.”
“Me?” she said blankly. “No, not me. I am a slave - your slave.”
“Yes, indeed you are, but not for long. There is no way to free you under our laws so we are going overseas. This house is rented and I have converted everything Alex owned into jewels ...” He showed her a small bag containing precious stones. “In there is a small fortune. No, not so small actually. They are mine legally and being well- known, are registered to me.” He paused to let this sink in while he kissed her and hugged her now partially clothed body to him, holding her tight as if to ensure she could never get away again.
“And where are we going?”
“I thought Australia. They call it the lucky country. I want to marry you, Angela. We can start afresh there and do whatever we want.”
She began to tear the clothes off her body again while he watched her in amazement. “Angela?” he began.
“Shush,” she said, holding her finger up to her lips and now undressing him. He grinned and helped and when he was as naked as she, he lifted her up in his powerful arms and ran with her into the bedroom.
Their lovemaking was exquisite. Soft and hard, gentle and violent. But it was overlaid with a love so strong it overran the physical act. Afterwards, as they lay together she spoke dreamily. “Does this Australia have any small islands for sale?”
She smiled at her. “I don’t know, why?”
“I don’t ever want to wear clothes again and I don’t want you to either. Naked, together, always, growing our own vegetables, raising a few sheep, our own cow... And making a brood of our own children.”
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