Chapter 1
The small furnished room gave off a used, dusty odor as Carol Lord opened the door. At this early morning hour it seemed worse than ever: it seemed to represent the total decay of her life. But then, it should, she thought. She leaned against the door after closing it and sagged into it, much as she would indent her body to a man-or a woman.
With great effort, she pushed away from the door and went directly to the vanity. The mirror was cracked from top to bottom on the right side. Carol moved away from it and started undressing. Sometimes she stood where the crack split her reflection in half but this morning distortions were unwelcome.
When she had dismissed the last of her clothing, Carol moved a step closer to the mirror. Her breasts were still pert. She remembered the hands and mouths that had played there, but she could not create a memory of the faces to whom they had belonged. Except the hands and mouth of one-Charlotte Watts.
In a sudden panic, Carol turned from the mirror. She choked back a sob and bowed her head, and she remembered-tragically she remembered-how Charlotte had given her an identification, a "Loser" and had also given her a mission to destroy....
The sound of her own uneven breathing filled Charlotte Watts's ears. The palms of her hands were damp, her throat was dry, and she felt her heart pounding. She was so close she could almost touch the two naked lovers, writhing and tearing into each other. Her head buzzed with the sounds of the loving couple. She knew she shouldn't watch ... knew that it was wrong ... lustful ... even dangerous. But Charlotte Watts couldn't pull her eyes away. The surging excitement of the moment brought on by the fierce urgency of the naked lovers glued her to the spot. It was as though her eyes were held by deep, powerful magnets.
Turn away! Don't look! Someone might see you watching!
But Charlotte ignored her own warning signals and instead reasoned with herself that she was perfectly safe, hidden from view, protected by the sweeping branches of the weeping willow tree.
I must not make a sound. Must not even move. Nothing must disrupt this miraculous moment.
Quietly, methodically, with the instinct of a stalking panther in a dark jungle, Charlotte Watts brought her face closer to the window.
Just one more look.
The oil lamp by the bedside table gave enough light for her to see quite clearly. Her eyes flitted over the girl's naked form, then shifted to the man's nudity. Charlotte saw the knot of muscle along the man's jaw tighten as he drew the girl to him.
Swallowing hard she dared to take a step closer.
The open window clearly permitted her to hear.
The air made a tiny hissing sound as she sucked it into her parched throat. Wide-eyed, breathless, she froze in her spot when she heard the man's hoarse whisper.
"Baby, baby. . .you're gorgeous." He leaned down and covered the girl's mouth with his own. "Hell, I can't stop kissing you."
The girl responded eagerly, her body moving in to meet his. She slipped her arms around his neck, her breasts pressing tighter into his chest, sending disturbing shivers through him.
The man's big hand slowly traveled down the softness of the girl's back. "You sure have a solid body, baby-doll," he told her.
The girl pressed her lips against the hard, flat line of his stomach. "You smell so clean ... so like a man," she whispered, her cheek against his belly. "And I love the way your li'l ole beard scratches. I'll sure catch the dickens when I go home. Momma always can tell when I've had you just by looking at my face all red 'cause of your beard."
"What'll she do?"
"Smack me around a bit. Call me a whore. Then she'll forget all about it."
They both laughed. Using his right arm, he drew her up to him in one swift motion and kissed her, his tongue sliding into her mouth.
"Oh, .man," he moaned. "You are the greatest, baby."
Her breath burned along the side of his muscular neck. "Nobody makes me feel like this," she whispered. "Nobody but you. I'll take all the smacks Momma wants to hand out as long as I can have you."
His hands reached forward to grasp her bouncing globes. His fingers rubbed the brown nipples until they hardened and became as large as pecans. Opening her mouth against his, the tip of her tongue teased forward past her teeth. His lips enveloped hers and their tongues engaged in a lovers' duel. Her hand reached below and she felt his mighty bulge. Slowly she inched herself away from him and scooted down-down past his hairy chest and stomach, down past his hips, down to caress his fast rising manliness with her eager lips.
"Stop," he commanded, his hand pulling his tumescence away from her eager mouth. "I got somewhere better for that," he told her. His hand reached down and drew her body up in one full sweep. She felt his thighs against hers, alive, aflame with desire. The girl cried out her joy at his forceful, overpowering maleness; her long, naked legs tightened. "Kiss me, baby," he whispered. "Kiss me, hard."
His mouth frantically sought hers, and she gave in convulsively. She closed her eyes with the sudden sharp pain of his teeth biting into the soft cushion of her lower lip. He was wild. His hands slapped against her sassily bare buttocks and she was pulled forward. Quickly she spread her thighs. Then she felt the hardness of him.
"Oh, yes. Yes, like that," she breathed heavily against his parted lips. "Like that."
Her legs opened and encircled his buttocks. Quickly she locked them tight, feeling the weight of him, pressing, eager.
"Hell, baby ... you're driving me crazy." A groan of frustrated agony rose in his throat. Again he bit into her lips. Now the pain gave way to the violent penetrations that suffused her entire body with delirious pleasure.
"Oh, you rise so nice, honey," she whispered hotly. "So nice and easy."
His mouth ran over her breasts, his tongue searching the mounds of her quivering flesh, his teeth gently teasing the rigid tips. Then he grasped a breast in each hand. "These tits," he whispered, marveling at them. "They're something else-like cupcakes-great big, giant-size cupcakes. They're-" his voice became muffled as he buried his face in her heavy swells.
"Honey. Oh, honey," she breathed, caressing his head.
He outlined the tip of her nipple with his tongue. He pressed his body into her, and they writhed together, their passions mounting.
"Oh, I know you want me," she whispered. "I can feel it next to me, pressing into me, telling me."
He kissed her hungry lips.
"Oh, take me. Take me," the girl begged over and over again, her flaring white buttocks rotating in little circles.
He thrust inward in slow, well-timed movements. Suddenly he changed his rhythm into one of short little jabs. Then he switched their positions. He held her hips tightly and brought her over on top of him. "Make you do a little work, baby," he grinned. He held her hips with his powerful hands and guided her to him, then quickly pushed her away. He kept this up until the girl begged to be taken.
"Oh, honey ... lay me ... lay me," she cried.
Quickly he turned her over and climbed on top of her. He waited for a long moment, studying her face, her breasts, her curvaceous hips-then he buried himself deep into her flesh.
"Oh, like that! Yeah. like that. Oh, hurt me ... lay me good."
This time there was a wildness to her movements. Her thrusting hips met his every attack. A shivery feeling of exquisite agony passed through her as he penetrated deep into the hidden recesses of her body. She absorbed his thrusts. Her hot, sweating buttocks rose high from the bed to meet his burning stabs. Her strength drained, her mouth opened, and once again she begged him to take her and make her one with him.
Now he was ready.
A strangling, guttural cry escaped her lips as her body jerked crazily under him. The glow within them burst into soaring flame, melting their loins as they fell back onto the bed, limp, spent and complete.
Charlotte felt the perspiration slide down the nape of her neck. She inhaled deeply through her mouth, desperately fighting off the dizziness that was enveloping her. Quickly she stepped backward and to the side just as the man lifted his naked figure from the bed, rose and walked to the window to close it.
Holding onto a heavy branch for support she glanced around. There wasn't a soul about. She was all right. Nobody had seen her. She sighed with relief.
Quietly, with great effort, she made her way past the house, careful not to step on a twig that might snap and bring attention to herself. At the stable she turned on the water tap and cupped the cold water to her face. Instantly she felt better. She caught her own reflection in the broken mirror hanging on a nail.
What she saw startled her.
There was enough light to see a round, flushed face staring back at her. The eyes wide, wild. Her lipstick was smeared, and strings of hair held tight to her cheeks, glued by perspiration. But what fascinated her most was the expression of lust written across her face and in her eyes. It was as though Charlotte Watts was staring at the reflection of a stranger. It was then the full impact of what she had done hit her.
She, Charlotte Watts, a respected, leading figure in town, a wealthy plantation owner with one of the biggest tobacco farms in the state ... a peeping Tom. Spying on her own foreman. She had never in her life done anything like this before.
What had possessed her? Why did she do it? What was the matter with her?
Charlotte wiped her hands dry on her riding pants. Reaching into her boot she pulled out a whip. Nervously pacing back and forth, she hit the palm of her hand with the whip's handle.
How long had it been since Harold had died? Two years?
Two years of running a tobacco empire, overseeing the plantation, hiring, firing. Up at three in the morning to protect the precious tobacco fields from the elements of nature, board meetings, work ... work ... work.
Two years, of sexual repression. What she had done literally was become a slave to the plantation. Never seeing anybody except the overseer, the foreman, the field workers, her bookkeeper, and lawyers. She hadn't had a vacation in all that time.
Charlotte glanced into the mirror again.
I'm still young, she told herself. Thirty-five is young. I'm not a raving beauty but I'm not bad looking. Most important I still have a good figure.
Her mind raced back to the naked girl. Cal, her overseer, had been mesmerized by that girl's breasts. Hell, thought Charlotte, mine are bigger and just as firm even though I'm fifteen years her senior.
Well then, what's wrong?
I'm wrong! That's what. It's me. I'm suffocating on this plantation.
The naked image of the girl returned to Charlotte's thoughts.
Why am I thinking about her? Do I see myself in her?
The image of the man returned. The way he took the girl's brown nipple in his mouth. The way he tugged at the girl's buttocks bringing her closer as he dug his manhood into her.
Abruptly she turned and walked through the stable until she came to the stall of a black stallion. Reaching up she stroked the horse's ebony mane. Lifting the bar, she opened the door.
"Come, Thunder," she whispered. "Take me for a ride. Take me far away across the fields." She snuggled her face next to the horse's neck, led him outside, and mounted him.
Charlotte Watts rode with that pliable insolence which marks the expert. She rode fast, whirling up the brisk little hills, then swooped down into the rich green valleys. After a while she reined the horse to a stop.
All about her lay the tobacco fields, as far as the eye could see. It was all hers. The Watts plantation. One of the biggest in Louisiana. Her empire left to her by her husband. Well, she didn't give a damn now. There was no one to share it with. What good was working the plantation if she was so miserable inside? What did it all mean, this great empire, these great riches, this great power?
Charlotte heard the voice of her dead husband. It returned from the past and it was saying the same words: Remember, Charlotte, the Watts name is aristocracy. There's little of that left in the world today. Keep it in mind. You are better. You have power. You are a superior being. When I'm dead and gone I want you to run this plantation with the firm hand of a man. If a foreman is insolent, fire him and get one who can produce and whom you can control. Let nothing interfere with the workings of the field. Protect the precious young tobacco. The fields are your life, and they will be until the day you die. Remember, Charlotte, the land will outlast me, and you; therefore treat it as a god.
Charlotte brought a hand up to her brow. How she had held that man in awe. He had been more like a father to her than a husband. She believed his every word. But somehow, now, this very minute, she was confused. What he had told her now seemed insignificant. Downright stupid. A pack of lies. There was something else much more important that needed to be taken care of. That was Charlotte. "Me ... me," she whispered. "I want to live ... to enjoy ... to partake. I want to love."
Again the image of the naked couple came to her. A thrilling shiver raced down her spine. Tomorrow, she decided, she would take off and get as far away from the plantation as she could. She would go to New Orleans. Take that long-needed vacation. Do nothing but enjoy ... have fun. To hell with the plantation.
"I need love," she whispered. "I can't exist without it."
Her fingers gripped the reins, her foot dug into the horse's flanks and Thunder took off.
Through tearstained eyes she saw the lights of the ranch in the distance. A smile came to her face as her hands yanked the leather, and the horse whirled up, his two front legs dancing in air. "Come on, Thunder," she whispered close to the horse's ear. "Let's show 'em!"
She jabbed her heel into the horse and headed him down a hill, around a pond to the fields. A long low laugh came from deep inside Charlotte's throat as the horse bolted, then sped like lightning. Now she used the whip.
"Faster, faster," she shouted.
The horse shot through the fields, his racing hooves tearing through the young, green tobacco leaves, ripping them to shreds as Charlotte shouted her rebellion, her delight, to the universe.