A commotion.

In the evening twilight, she could make out the two boys leading in a large pony-girl.  Chickey?

No, it was not her friend.  She had never seen a pony-girl so large and tall.  Wait!  This pony had no breasts! And…then she realized it was a male.  A handsome young male.  What…?

Then it dawned on her.  The stud was for her.   She was not prepared, but nevertheless, grew excited at the prospect.

She stood there, tethered, and warily watched the threesome come down the stable aisle.  He is beautiful!

They opened the stable gate and brought the stallion in.  “Meet Storm, Prancer!” 

She stared at the floor.   

“He’s going to give you a good time! -  a REAL good time! Storm hasn’t had a mare in some time now!  Make you a good foal.”

Storm.  Yes, that’s the man pony Chickey had described!  He sure is one impressive man!

As Cassie watched, they tethered Storm to the rail, and began preparations.  The stallion looked at Cassie with lust from his posture-strapped head as the Horace began to undo his penis harness, which kept his genitals forced back into a non-threatening position.  Immediately, the phallus popped forth, ready for action.  It was huge, just as Chickey had suggested, and Cassie stared fearfully at it.  Meanwhile, Sean was occupied stroking Cassie’s genitals to get the juices flowing – standard procedure.  As usual, he pinched her clitoris – he seemed to get a kick out of that.  But Cassie was to preoccupied concentrating on what was to happen next to care.

“Don’t worry yourself Prancer.  He’ll be gentle.”  The boys both erupted into laughter.

Storm was one of the few pony-boys around; used for stud service only, these ‘fortunate’ few slaves were not, by custom, used for carting or ever raced.   The owners of such studs charged mightily for their service and, if the offspring was a male, they were required, by arrangement, to refund half the money, for the males could not be used for racing. Racing was for pony girls only.  And the county regulated studs – they had to be fine specimens, and there could be only five at any given time.  Bribery to county officials was rampant amongst owners of male slaves whenever a registered stud died.  Owning a stud was lucrative.

They tied Cassie’s head onto a lower rail, forcing her rear end up into the air.  This pushed the corset into her stomach further, and made her groan.

“Don’t worry – he isn’t THAT bad!” laughed Sean.

They grabbed Storm’s reins and brought him over to the girl.  He didn’t waste a second pushing his large penis into her waiting vagina.  Traditionally, when a pony girl was being serviced, the stallion would be whipped on the behind, just to force him in without question.  Storm needed no such coaxing, but, nevertheless, the whip was used.  It made for a violent experience, with Storm loudly grunting through his bit at every thrust, and Cassie doing likewise through her pear bit.

It didn’t take long for Storm to relief himself, pumping his semen into the young girl – she could feel it spurt, hot inside her.

The boys then wasted no time putting his genitals back into restraint, forcing the still semi-erect penis painfully backward, while Cassie slumped, her head hanging from her tether.  The only other similar experience she had had was Master Hawkin’s rape and, while this was not much better, she felt good, knowing she would mother a young black child, but also feeling remorse at knowing she would be bringing another wretched slave into the world. The white man’s rape had yielded no offspring.  She would love this child, no matter what.

Abruptly, the boys roughly placed a leather knob into her vagina – standard practice to keep the semen in and assure conception.  The familiar crotch strap held it in place.

She felt weak, and was left tethered in the same awkward upended position as the boys led Storm out.

What did this all mean?

CHAPTER NINE – SPRING

Spring arrived, and Cassie gave birth to a boy.  Cassie’s papa was proud, even though word had gotten around to him what this meant in terms of his daughter’s future.

So now things were upset a bit.  Hawkins had no pony girl to replace Prancer, just a slave useful only for fieldwork.  Furthermore, Cassie’s reputation had the entire area expecting another fine season with her and her partner, Chickey.  The deal between Hawkins and Mrs. Brady being secretive, it was not generally known of outside the town and the plantation.  How they managed to keep it from Cassie was amazing.  She honestly knew nothing about her doom.  Oh sure, she suspected something was in the wind, with things the way they were going, and with Chickey’s ominous words last summer.  Furthermore, the absence of a rod through her nose now and then throughout the winter seemed particularly odd.  And she was never required to help the house slaves that winter, merely given sewing to do.

But dying? No, not really on her mind at all.  Papa could barely keep his tears inside of him when he thought of the future.

Master Hawkins named the child ‘Orion' Hawkins.

Cassie was to be hung shortly after the birth.  Two days before the scheduled day, Papa, sobbing, broke the terrible news to his beloved daughter.  She accepted it quietly, without a word, and sullenly prepared to die.  Her only regret was that Orion would be motherless.  Papa would care for him, but he was old.

About the same time, the event was proclaimed to the public, as was the custom.  There would be two hangings that day:  Cassie and, a recaptured runaway slave named Rufus.  It was his second offense, the first having been punished with the removal of his tongue and the pronouncement that he be shackled to a heavy, four-foot beam of wood across his shoulders, day and night, for thirty days. During those thirty days, he pushed the millstone. They meant to make an example of him.

Cassie reflected during those two days on her past. It had been a miserable life.  Her only solace had been Papa and now, her new son.  She would gladly be a pony girl if they let her live and see Orion even once week.  But slaves had no voice.  None.  She had assaulted a little boy, and for that she had to pay.  Her fate had to become an example for other slaves to fear.

So, on that day, as many slaves as could be spared were forced to come to the execution, and see what happened to a slave that kicked white children. 

There was little ceremony.  Their feet in chains, and their arms in shackles behind their back, the two slaves were brought by wagon up to the big tree in the center of Beaufort, used for such occasions.  The crowd was large, for many had heard of Cassie’s now-famous performance last summer, and came to see her demise.  Most regretted it, but it WAS the custom!  Of course, Mrs. Brady was there with her son. “You’ll see what happen to niggers that have gone bad!” she said in triumph.   

The day was fairly hot, and the sweat and tears trickled down Cassie’s to be absorbed by the simple white cloth gag, which tightly punctuated the fact that she had no voice.  Dressed in a simple shift, with no shoes, her presence was a far cry from that magnificent pony girl of last season.

The white crowd was unusually hushed, and of course, the slaves said nothing.  Eavesdropping on the murmuring of the whites, one could hear expressions of sympathy for Cassie, regrets that she would not be spared for the races – and, of course, there were the usual rantings of the 'nigger-haters.'

To the front of crowd moved the mayor – resplendent in his top hat and dignified outfit.

“Ladies and gentlemen of South Carolina,” he began.  “We are here today to mete out justice to these two niggers, who have found a way to spit on the hands that feed them.  Gentlemen…”

With that, the sheriff and his helpers dragged the unfortunate duo onto a wagon, and proceeded to adjust the ropes about their necks.  Although she had accepted her fate, Cassie’s face was a portrait in fear.  She only wished Papa was here, so she could look at him once more before dying. The other slave was also resigned to his fate, but his face was blank, without any emotion at all.

The blindfold afforded to white people in such circumstances was denied the slaves.  They were to die without dignity.

They were ready – the mayor had his hand in the air, when a wagon, horses flying, came speeding down the street, the driver on his feet, yelling, “Wait, wait!”

The mayor put his hand, and the crowd began murmuring.  The driver jumped from the wagon and ran up to the mayor.

“Just in time!  I have an order from Governor Beecham to stay the hanging of a nigger...a…Cassie Hawkins?  Is that her (pointing to Cassie)?”  He handed a paper to the mayor.

Reading it, he said to the crowd, in an officious voice, “This is an injunction to stop the hanging of the slave Cassie.  There will be an executive hearing in this matter next week.”

Many in the crowd sighed a sigh of relief upon hearing this.  The slaves in attendance were smiling.  But not for long, when they realized that Rufus would not be spared.

“Take the girl from the wagon and remove her hanging rope,” said the mayor.

That done, he wasted no time in giving the order to race the horse from under Rufus, who died quickly, his neck broken.  Cassie looked on in horror, seeing in her mind’s eye her own body hanging there, and her tears once more moistened the gag, which had not been removed.  Poor man.  Poor, poor man.

 It was a day of mixed feelings for many in the crowd.  But not for Mrs. Brady, who was visibly angry.

Hawkins and his son, however, had a difficult time keeping smiles from their faces.

 “Now what?” was the question on everyone’s mind, including Cassie’s.

CHAPTER TEN