Unknown - The master_s revenge

Annabelle was convinced that her husband – along with all of the other members of his gender she had met in her life – were crude, uncivilized and disgusting.

They were animals rather than people with only one thing on their minds. It never occurred to Annabelle when she was diddling herself that she was being slightly hypocritical when it came to her opinions of men.

On this particular morning Annabelle took a long shower and spent much time soaping herself up between her legs. She could feel the tingling down there and she knew that she was going to have to touch herself until she had an orgasm.

Masturbation was like taking a healthy shit as far as Annabelle was concerned. She had something poisonous lodged inside her system – and it had to be set free!

She cursed her own horniness and sometimes denied her own pleasure to herself. Seconds after an orgasm was through she could tell herself that it hadn't really felt very good at all.

The only reason she did it was to get rid of the sinful pressure in her loins, much as she might have taken a tonic for one of her many migraine headaches.

Still, no one wondered why Bernard Cornfield had married Annabelle in the first place. The truth of the matter was that she was one of the most beautiful women in the entire Georgia county.

She was a tall, statuesque woman, standing five feet seven inches tall. She was very light in her coloring, and had a perfect hourglass figure.

Annabelle's hair was very long and light blonde in hue. She had the sort of hair that would bleach to a near-white color after not much time in the golden sunshine at all.

But this never happened. Annabelle would not have been caught dead in the sun with a parasol or a broad-brimmed lid. Her skin was very fair and she was convinced that too much sunshine would ruin her milky complexion forever.

The women of the nineteenth century American South were not interested in tanning themselves. Who wanted dark skin? Why, that would make one more like a nigger, wouldn't it?

Annabelle's spun-gold hair fell in thick waves over her shoulders, spilling gracefully low down her back. Her hair came down almost all the way to the top of the crack of her ass.

Her golden tresses were parted in the middle – revealing a straight line of pink scalp down the center of her head's crown. Her hair fell onto her forehead in the front on downy bangs that came almost all the way down to her neatly plucked eyebrows.

Annabelle's eyelashes and eyebrows were just as light as the hair on her head – as was the short and curly hair that grew above and to the sides of her precious pussy.

It was not a surprise to anyone that Bernard and Annabelle had no children. Everyone who knew Annabelle could tell she was a cold fish, and none of Bernard's friends – at least not his male friends – ever thought twice about his decision to get a little something on the side from his nigger girls now and again.

Annabelle's women friends sometimes tried to talk to Annabelle about her icy ways. They warned her that she would lose her husband if she didn't give him what he wants.

Lie back and enjoy it, they told her. It's not that bad. Sometimes it can be a lot of fun, they added. But Annabelle would hear none of it.

She told her friends that they had all been brainwashed into enjoying sex by their animalistic hubbies. Eventually the woman gave up on Annabelle. She was a lost cause. Her knees had been glued together when she just a little girl – and it would take more than a friendly word of advice to pry those shapely gams open.

Annabelle's eyes were almond-shaped and hauntingly beautiful. Her eyes were the color of a summer sky – a sky totally devoid of cotton clouds.

As Annabelle stepped out of the shower that morning she was unaware of the fact that Bernard was down in the torture chamber with Tammy Taylor.

It never occurred to her that her husband fooled with the dark meat poontang on the plantation. She thought white men were as disgusted by the black animals that worked for them as she was.

Then again, Annabelle had heard that there were men who got so horny that they fucked the farm animals, but she didn't think Bernard was that sort. He wouldn't fuck a cow or a mare or a sheep or a goat or anything like that.

Those people, the people that did that disgusting act with animals, should be put in the nut house with the nymphomaniac prostitutes from Atlanta.

Annabelle had a tiny nose. It was a mere button, and it turned up a little at its tip. Her mouth was not large, but her lips were full and sensuous.

Looks can be deceiving. A stranger would have thought – upon seeing Annabelle Cornfield for the first time – that she was oozing lust and hot to trot.

Her lips were puffy and pouting, the upper lip forced to protrude in a very cute way by her slight overbite. Her cheeks were rosy at the cheekbones.

She kept her lips slightly puckered and parted at all times. She licked them frequently to keep them moist. She wore a cherry-red lipstick on her lips. She thought her lips were shaped like a heart when she had them puckered – though no one else had ever seemed to notice this.

Yes, Annabelle Cornfield was walking through life looking as if she needed to be kissed very badly. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

Her teeth were very white. Her breasts were large and finely shaped. She had a slim waist and round hips. Her legs were very long and she looked great in the flowing dresses she wore when the Cornfield's threw one of their wild parties. Ever since the white woman had been a little girl she had taken to womanly vanities like a fish takes to water. She loved putting on her make-up – mostly because it gave her an opportunity to spend a long time examining her own face in the looking glass.

Ever since she was little she had been obsessed with her manicure and pedicure. She always kept her fingernails very long – and filed carefully so that each nail was precisely the same length.

Annabelle filed her nails so that they had a common curve to their tips. She always kept her nails painted a deep red color – the color of blood as it oozes from a recently opened wound.

She correctly assumed that this crimson hue went very well with her perfect peaches and cream complexion.

Naturally enough, she always painted her toenails so that they matched. Her nipples were very pink and they were erect as she stepped out of her bath.

She toweled herself off slowly. She could feel the hot blood of her, feminine sexual arousal pumping downward in her body. Washing and rinsing her private parts had gotten her libido worked up. She cursed herself for being human with human urges – and she cursed herself for feeling what every other woman on earth feels. She decided to jerk herself off quickly so she wouldn't have to spend much time thinking about how sinfully wicked she was being in the privacy of her bath.

Annabelle sat on her toilet with her knees apart. She could tell that her inner and outer cunt lips were both swelling rapidly with the blood of her womanly horniness. She could tell that it wouldn't be very long at all before all of the mucous membranes between her parted thighs were thoroughly engorged with that hot blood.

She could feel the little glands deep inside her cunt starting to secrete her natural lubrication. She could tell her cunt was getting moist.

She knew that it wouldn't be moist for long. Soon, she knew, she would be soaking wet down there between her milky white thighs. She could feel her clitoris growing.

The center of her warped womanly desire was filling with blood and approaching engorgement along with the rest of her pussy's tissues.

She could feel her nipples getting harder and larger. She could hear her breaths getting shorter and closer together. She could feel the pace of her heartbeat quicken.