Memoirs of a Southern Belle

Memoirs of a Southern Belle




A lost, forgotten journal of a young, aristocratic girl who found herself the pawn of savage lust as a war ripped her nation apart.



Publié par
Date de parution 12 juillet 2013
Nombre de lectures 59
EAN13 9781626573383
Licence : Tous droits réservés
Langue English

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Memoirs of a Southern Belle
This page copyright © 2007 Olympia Press.
The War Between the States — known as the Civil War officially and in benighted textbooks — dealt a cruel blow to the South, from w hich she has not recovered. This horrible, bloody conflict has long been of great in terest to scholars, who have delved into the documents relating to events of the war wi th great interest. Any library of any size, whether in the North or South, contains many volumes of work dealing with the War, plus innumerable diaries, journals, and other accounts of day to day life during that tragic period. Memoirs of a Southern Bellehedone of those journals, though obviously not rus  is into print even upon its discovery. The reason is n ot hard to discover. Dealing not with the war itself, but with the sexual awakening of a young and highly desirable young girl, theseMemoirsshed less light on the war than they do the sexual interests of the young narrator. Fascinating though they are, they would n ot provoke the interest of a pedant more interested in the movement of troops of soldie rs than in movements of the human heart. However, it is to a scholar we owe the discovery of the original manuscript of this journal. It was first brought to light during his r esearch in papers found in a plantation house north of Atlanta, Georgia. Professor Lloyd Ha vinghurst, searching for documents relating to the war, found a packet containing an u nnumbered collection of foolscap sheets, closely written in a feminine hand. He read with interest and then amazement, for the document he had in his hand then was substa ntially that which follows — the diary of a young girl as she learns of sex and endu res the brutality of war almost simultaneously. Professor Havinghurst made a transcription of the e ntire journal before showing it to the family. Upon learning of its, to them, scandalo us contents, the family insisted that the good professor cease his research among their p apers, and privately they each one begged him to forget the journal. This he promised to do, at least in so far as not to reveal its existence to anyone else. He departed th e plantation a much concerned man, for he knew he had the literary find of the century in his satchel, but he could not in good conscience make use of it. The transcript he m ade reposed in his files for many years, gathering dust as Professor Havinghurst cont inued his research into various aspects of the war that interested him. Still, from time to time, the journal would creep into his mind and he would wonder about the people in it, whether their names were real or had been changed to protect their identities. Finally he decided to investigate discreetly and se e what he could discover. He noted the few proper names in the copy in his posse ssion and tried to link the journal with the family from whom he had copied it. Finding , though, that they had always inhabited the house where he had found the journal, he was reasonably certain theirs was not the plantation involved in the early chapte rs. Also, what few geographical facts he could glean from the journal did not coincide wi th anything he could discover at the plantation. Still, he felt the document of great historical int erest, and at his death in 1932 he
bequeathed it to a collector of Civil War documents , who catalogued it without reading it. This man, eminent in many fields, died without ever knowing of the fiery document contained within his collection. No collector coming forward with sufficient capital to purchase his entire collection, items were auctioned in Atlanta just prior to World War II, and once again the journal was sold without any real idea on the part of buyer or seller just what it contained. The buyer stored it with the rest of his collection for the war years, and only after retiring from an active business career did he find time to read it. Shocked and astounded by what he read, he wanted to be rid of it immediately . He was reluctant to burn it, although that was his first impulse, so he offered it to a u sed book dealer at a ridiculously low price. This dealer had several collectors of erotic a for whom he picked up items from time to time, and he instantly recognized an opport unity to turn a high profit. He bought the journal, sold it immediately to a collector in Kansas, and pocketed his profit smugly. The collector, knowing the value such documents hav e, enjoyed it for many years, and then, when he had leisure and the means to affo rd him the opportunity, he, like Professor Havinghurst, tried to discover the names of the people appearing in it. He met with no greater success than Havinghurst had, thoug h he did the professor one better. He endeavored to discover the rest of the journal, knowing that there was at least some possibility of it existing. The family where the professor had worked refused to allow the collector to search their papers, and they even den ied any knowledge of the journal. They claimed that Professor Havinghurst must have f abricated the entire story in an effort to hoodwink someone — though who this could be, the facts of the case do not reveal. In any event, the collector wished to see the journ al in print and brought a typescript of the professor's copy to this publishing house wi th the request that we make it available to as wide a reading audience as possible . In this way, it may be possible to discover more of the facts surrounding this mysteri ous little literary treasure. Someday, it is hoped, the balance of the pages may be found and we will know what finally happened to Melody, whether or not she escaped her abductors who fucked her at every opportunity, whether Ned turned completely ga y as a result of being sodomized so regularly by Luke, and whether Ted remained a bi -sexual cocksucker all of his life. But even without these questions being answered,Memoirs of a Southern Belleis a fine document of a brief period in a tragic life. Dale Koby, A.B., M.A. Atlanta, Georgia March, 1968.
KIND SIRS, I must begin by asking that you judge me not too ha rshly as you read what follows. Times are very hard — the War has lasted much beyon d everyone's expectations and our fortunes much depleted accordingly. My father, as did all his friends, sent such support as he could to aid our brave men who were s erving so valiantly with General Lee, but the tide had not been stemmed and the Yank ees were battling to overwhelm our beloved South. My story begins with my sixteenth birthday — a day that ordinarily would have been filled with gaiety, many guests and our house-slave s scurrying about happily. As it were, only a few slaves remained. The others were, for the most part, either runaways or those freed by my father as it became more and m ore difficult to keep them. Even in view of the hard times, I could not suppress my hap piness upon waking up on my birthday — and our story begins at this point.
“Melody! Wake up, child. Melody, come now,” I heard as my mother shook me gently. Sleepily, I stretched beneath the warm cove rs, my eyes partly open — frowning at the harsh light that invaded my room — then smil ing up at the beautiful face that beamed down at me. As always, I was awed by the lov ely presence of her. She was truly a handsome woman, full-bodied and with regal bearing — and I was always pleased when people compared me favourably with her , saying that I had already acquired so much of the beauty that was to be my he ritage. Playfully, Mother stripped the covers back from me and laughed as I fought to lower my shift over my otherwise nude body. Though I had been quite warm under the covers, the sudden rush of cool air chilled me and I shivered unaccountably. She took my hand and helped me from the bed, commen ting as she looked down my shivering form, “Sometimes it is hard for me to believe that you are really sixteen years, but when actually seeing what a lovely body you have developed, it brings home to me that you are no longer a child. Soon, child, the way of the world will come home to you, and you will blossom into a beautiful woman.” “Oh, Mother,” I cried as I hugged her, “do you really think I am pretty?” I needed no answer, for I had seen the looks from t he men many times as I passed them by — and even some of the men slaves, those wh o had been made braver by the fortunes of the war, had given me sidelong looks. T hese looks both frightened and strangely excited me, but all in all I still wanted to hear my mother tell me I was pretty. “Of course you are, my darling. If I had possessed your young beauty at the same age as you, I warrant that I would have made a much better bargain than that which I have elected to live with.” “Why, Mother, what would father say about such a th ing? Are you not happy with him, and with me?” The strangeness of her comment t ook much of the lightness from our conversation, and she was at once regretful and on guard. “Hush, child. Of course I have been very happy with your father,” and hugging me to her breast, “and I could not be more pleased with y ou. Only, remember, as you grow older and start to think about the man that you wan t to settle with for the rest of your life, it is not merely whether or not he can care for you and provide for you, but can he maintain his role as a man and manfully care for yo ur needs.” I blushed as I caught the full meaning of her state ment, and full realized the portent of her remark. Father was some years past fifty, an d my beautiful mother had yet to reach her late thirties, as they say. She had marri ed quite early in life, and I had been a very immediate result. Naturally, I had many times overheard in the scullery, snide remarks among the help regarding the lovely young m istress of the house and the 'elder gentleman' that had to try so hard to maintain his position. Now that I had grown older, I full knew as to what position they referred — that of 'making the beast with two barks,' as it is called. “Ah, but I embarrass you talking of such things. Bu t I want you to remember well what I have said to you,” Mother said. Quiet now, I pulled my shift over my head, and quit e naked, walked to my closet. Mother stopped me and turned me to face her — her e yes sweeping over my full-rounded breasts and hips — pausing at the yellow fo rest of hair between my thighs, then returning to my face. “Melody, you will never again have what you have no w. A sweet virgin — trusting and unknowing as to the ways of a man — with a trea sure most men would give their very lives to possess. Have you kept yourself pure — tell me true, my child?” I lowered my head, fully conscience of her gaze swe eping over my naked body as I
answered her, “Mother, I have always done as you ha ve told me. Several times, I have thought of coming to you with things that at the ti me have seemed very strange to me, but I thought that I was merely being a silly girl.” Mother seemed to become quite alarmed, and she crie d out, “Tell me, Melody — has anyone bothered you ... inthatas she nodded at my body. “Has any man way?” dared presume to put his hands upon your body?” Her very attitude frightened me and I immediately d ecided not to reveal any of my foolish fears to her — above all, not wanting to start any additional trouble in the already hectic times of which I was a part. “No, Mother, no one has bothered me. Sometimes I on ly wish they would. Is anything wrong with me?” Relieved, I saw that this remark seemed to satisfy any fears that mother might have had, and she patted me on my naked rump and said, “Ah, child — no — there is nothing wrong with you. You are growing up, that is all. No w get dressed quickly and come down to breakfast. It is getting late and your fath er must leave soon. He wants to see you before he goes.” “In that case, I'll slip on this robe and come down with you. I will eat with you and come back and dress later,” I said as I quickly sli pped into a dressing gown and followed her out the door. Mother looked reproachfully at me as I followed her down the hall. “You are getting much to big to walk around the hou se like that. Even the servants are bound to notice that you are quite naked under that thin wrap.” “Oh, please, Mother, I don't want to miss Father an d I promise to be very proper. No one will notice, I'm sure.” I knew quite well what she referred to. My full bre asts stood out round and pointedly against the thin fabric, my hips and rump were clea rly moulded as I walked, and I must admit the knowledge of this gave me no small thrill and I watched for each furtive glance from the house-boys as I passed them. I fanc ied I could see their pants bulge with sudden passion as they glimpsed my charms. As I entered the dining area, my father arose and g ave me a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. I felt a little sorry for him at that time, for I had just begun to realize what he must have been going through, trying to keep pace with a lovely and passionate young wife. While eating breakfast, he explained to us why he m ust leave for such an extended period of time. He went over in great detail the th ings we must do in many different situations, the care we should take, especially in this time of war and tremendous upheaval. Soon thereafter, he excused himself, and with a fin al good-by kiss to Mother and a hard squeeze for me, he mounted his horse and rode off down the long road leading to our house. I watched as Mother stood looking as he went out of sight, then she sighed deeply and I could not tell whether it was in grief or relief. I looked at her strangely but I could tell that I was no longer in her thoughts and I followed her back into the house. I knew that we were now on our own, and the thought o f it sent a small chill down my back. As I sat back down beside mother, I noticed t hat she, too, had chill bumps — and the slight smile that played about her lips was strange indeed.
ALL DURING THE DAY, MOTHER HAD TRIED TO REMAIN attentive to me — trying to keep up the appearances of a special day for her daughter, but I knew that her mind was elsewhere. At the end of the day, I was just as happy that it was over — glad that
we could both stop the pretense. I did not know wha t was bothering her, but merely passed it on as grief at my father's leaving. That night, I had only just crawled into the bed wh en the door opened and Mother came into the darkened room to bid me goodnight. Th is was not her practice, and I was no little curious about it. Returning her kiss, I g azed thoughtfully after her as she left the room, but then sleep overtook me and I dropped off quickly. Sometime during the night, a sound awakened me. A v ery small sound, but one unusual to the normal sounds with which I had becom e familiar. Sitting up in the bed, I strained to hear better — wondering what could have made such a noise. As I leaned forward in breathless quiet, I heard it again. A no ise high pitched in quality — a painful sigh, if you will — or one of passion. Although half-frightened out of my wits, I quietly left my bed and slowly tiptoed out into the hall. Standing very still, I waited for th e noise again and was not disappointed. This time the sounds seemed to be coming from the e nd of the hall — the area of my mothers room, and I silently crept down the hall un til I was stationed furtively outside her door. The sound was very clear now from inside the room, and I stealthily opened the door. At first, I could not trust myself even t o breathe as I looked through the slight crack that I had made in the doorway. The room was lighted by the fire in the hearth, the rosy glow cast its light fully throughout the entir e room. Although the hall in back of me was quite dark and I knew that it would be very har d for anyone in the room to tell that the door had been opened, I still feared to go further, and satisfied myself with the small crack through which I looked. My breath caught in my throat as I looked first to my mother's bed, and the scene that seemed to leap out at me. A man lay stretched out on the bed, his arms and legs outflung, and quite naked. That is, everything I co uld see seemed to be naked — but his middle was obscured by the nude shape of my mot her as she kneeled over his lap, giving the appearance of sitting on his lap, or mid dle. Her hair hung down, long and loose over her face, a s her head hung bowed over his reclining form. Her hands supported her weight on e ither side of him as she sat, leaning forward. I was looking at them from the lower end of the bed , and could see very well her spread legs splayed apart over his up-thrusting mid dle. Just as I was about to cry out, fearing I knew not what, I saw mother slowly raise herself from his middle, and I immediately realized the reason for her cries. As her bottom raised, I could see plainly the thick and shining shaft on which she had been impaled. I was close enough to see the wal ls of her 'furry nest', as she called it to me, clinging to the hard pole as she sought t o escape from it. But then, to my amazement, just as she was about to pull her nest c lear from it, she sank back down — her back arching as she did so — until I knew that the long and terrible rod between the man's legs was imbedded deep within her belly. Just as I was about to cry out for him to release h er, I heard her high-pitched cry once again and I held my breath as she once again r aised and lowered herself on the thing. Now I knew, as I watched her working herself up and down the slippery shaft, moaning and crying, that this was something she wan ted to do, and her sounds were those of pleasure, not pain. I realized with a shoc k that she was being fucked, and enjoying every minute of it. Naturally, I had overheard the maids talking about love and the ways of men, but this was the first time that I had ever really conn ected the things they discussed with real people and the actions of people. As I watched , all of the things that I had heard
suddenly came into focus and for the first time, I understood the function of men and women to each other, and how they accomplish it. Fu cking was no longer a mystery to me, and my cunt began to flow with hot juices as I continued to watch. At this realization, my face and body flushed hotly as I suddenly knew what my mother and this man were doing, and I knew instinct ively that she was wrong to fuck anyone except my father. At this moment, whether it was right or wrong seeme d to make no difference to her and I could see her bouncing up and down faster and faster, her cunt swallowing the enormous shaft time and time again. Her soft flanks quivering as she squirmed about on it, then with a loud groan, she collapsed agains t him. I heard her saying something, moaning into his neck as she shuddered again and again over him, but I was too far away to hear her exact words. Making no sudden moves, I allowed my hand to creep under my gown and I had to suppress a groan myself as I cupped myself between the legs — running one finger up and down the now-moist lips of my cunt — shyly inse rting the finger part way into it as I continued to watch the scene before me. This was not the first time that I had engaged myse lf thusly, but it was the first time that I had understood the action that I had unconsc iously copied, and the soft tip of my finger now urgently sought the sensitive button tha t I knew would bring me the ultimate pleasure I sought. My knees fell apart as I leaned heavily against the door frame, my finger working wetly in and out of the thick lips of my cunt — rub bing firmly against the stiff tip underneath. As I fingered myself so deliciously, I did not fail to notice that Mother had rolled over and the naked man followed so that his hard body now covered hers. He hooked his arms under her knees and pulled them up so that each knee was even with her head — widely spread, one on each sid e of her face, and folded lewdly. As he raised up, I groaned softly as I saw the leng th of his giant cock, stiff and throbbing, aimed straight at the meaty, parted lips of her cunt. Her thighs still glistened with the juice that had overflowed from her, and hi s naked belly had the same sheen, wet and slick. With his arms still under her knees, holding her na ked body in a giant U against the bed, he spread her even wider apart — her arms outs tretched and pinned down by his hands as he began jabbing against her openly expose d bottom with the pulsing, purple head of his blood-gorged cock. Mother moaned piteously as he battered against her, then she caught her breath sharply as he found the mark and the enormous bulb split the soft lips apart and plunged deeply into her cunt and belly. Her hips su rged up to meet his thrust and I could see his heavy balls swing wetly against the p arted cheeks of her soft buttocks with each ramming entry. My finger worked rapidly in and out and I felt the love juices pour down, lubricating my tiny slit. The hot flow seemed to burn my hands as I rubbed my entire cunt harder and harder, squeezing one climax after another from it as I continued to watch as the man administered such a violent fuck to my wildly receptive mother. Finally, I could stand no more as I made myself wea k from my own manipulations, and the fear that my mother would become aware of m e in her door made me decide that it would be well for me to take my absence. So mehow, even then, I knew that she could do nothing to me for my nocturnal peeking, bu t I did not want to let my knowledge become known at that time, nor did I want to embarr ass her as this certainly had no bearing on my love for her — but it did make me won der about many things.
My heart pounded so loudly in my heaving breast tha t I thought that they must surely hear it as I softly closed the door and sile ntly moved down the hall to the safety of my own room. Stealthily, I closed my door and bo lted the lock. As I pushed the bolt home, my heart almost stopped as I felt a rough palm suddenly clamping over my mouth, pulling my head back painfu lly against I knew not who as an arm gripped my body, almost squeezing the very brea th from me. “Not one sound, little one,” a hoarse voice whisper ed in my ear. “It is not my intention to hurt you or cause you any discomfort, but if you make the slightest noise I shall be forced to silence you. Do I have your word ?” Trembling with fear, I nodded my head as best I cou ld with his hand still tightly holding the lower part of my face. He moved his han d only inches away from my mouth, testing carefully what my reaction would be. Without turning to face him, I said as softly as I could manage, “Please sir, do not hurt me. What do you want of me? I have nothing of value and there is no money in the house.” My voice quivered badly, and I was sure tha t I would faint at any moment and put an end to this terrible dream. I felt his hands move under my arms, and my heart l urched as I felt him close a hand over each of my soft, full-thrusting breasts, squeezing and rolling them about in a maddening fashion — the thin material of my night s hift being no barrier at all. I heard him chuckle softly to himself as he felt my tiny, p ink nipples become quite firm as they rubbed up against his palm. “Do not mistake me for a highwayman, little one. I have no intention of stealing your possessions,” he laughed softly. By then, I knew full well his intentions and all of my mother's warnings came to mind — the terrible things that a cruel man could do to a helpless young girl, truly a fate to be avoided at all cost, but to my horror — I was too w eak with fear to even attempt to remove the bold hands that so skillfully fondled my breasts. I feared for my life and could not bring myself to cause him any difficulty at all. Sensing my surrender, he turned my body and walked me in front of him over to the hearth — the warm fire being most welcome to my tre mbling condition. As I saw that he did not intend to do me any immediate harm, I gaine d some measure of courage and spoke to him, “Why do you want to harm me, sir. I h ave done nothing to you and promise to keep your secret if you will only leave me.” He only laughed at my pleas, and it became harder a nd harder to ignore the wicked feelings coursing through me as his fingers plucked and rolled my nipples in a most lewd fashion. I suppose my body was still much arou sed from the gentle work of my finger-fucking a few moments ago, and he soon had m e moaning softly, as all resistance left me and I could only hope that he wo uld leave me unharmed after he had finished whatever he intended. As he turned me to face him, I looked up at him and with tears in my eyes, begged, “Please, sir. I am only just turned sixteen, and a virgin. Don't hurt me, I beg of you.” As I spoke to him, I was relieved to see that he wa s not ugly or gross in build, but a man that I would judge to be only a few years older than my mother. As I thought of my mother some several rooms remove d from my own, and busy fucking — as I very well knew — a strange man of he r own, I wondered what her thoughts would be if she knew that I too was about to be similarly engaged. My thoughts were interrupted as he laughed again at me, saying, “A virgin you may be, but you certainly acted very wicked indeed, at the door down the hall.” He grinned at the shock that must certainly have re gistered on my face, and I could
feel the blood rush as I blushed down to my breasts . “Oh sir, surely you did not see. I am so embarrasse d I wish I could die. Please do not look at me.” Instead, he put his hand under my chin and held my face up as he spoke softly, “Oh, yes little one. I must look at you and ask why you would watch my friend as he relieved himself with the beautiful lady of...


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