Part 6 (1/2)
Some hours later, Mrs. Dodge returned. This time she was carrying a green print dress and flat shoes. She hurled those at Flame the dress fluttered ineffectively through the air but the shoes struck her solidly in the chest and said, ”Report to the back door of the house in five minutes for your afternoon duties.”
The dress was a standard cotton housedress that slaves were given when they were required to come to the house. The shoes were the usual low flats.
There was no underwear.
As a lady, Irene had always seen the slave's housedress as a demeaning garment that covered the slave's body with a shapeless, poorly-tailored sack that made the slave almost s.e.xless.
Now, as a slave, feeling the housedress from the inside, Flame saw it entirely differently, though no less demeaning. It was nothing but a curtain to hide rampant s.e.xuality from public view. And, like a curtain, it could be raised in a flash to bare the naked flesh underneath for quick and convenient use.
She had never realized that if James had cornered one of his slaves in the laundry or pantry, he could have raised her skirt, f.u.c.ked her, and dropped it back over her in less time than it would have taken Irene to unlace the bodice on her dress.
She wondered if James had ever done that.
She wondered if Dodge were going to do that to her this evening.
The life of a slave was far less predictable than the life of a lady. That's what she had wanted and that's what she was getting. Unpredictability by the shovelful. Which included getting a rock-hard c.o.c.k shoved into her hot, steamy c.u.n.t at any time without warning.
The standard layout for houses with kennels was for slaves to move between them by one of two paths. For daily activities, the slave exited the kennel by a door to the outside and entered the house through an exterior door in this house, a door directly into the kitchen as opposed to James' manor, which had a kitchen courtyard with doors to both the kitchen and the service hallway.
For special events slaves providing entertainment in the drawing room after dinner, for example they used a covered corridor between the kennel's pleasure room and the drawing room or parlor in the house.
In James' manor, that corridor had been sunken below ground level; in the Dodge house, it was above ground and had the appearance of a high stone garden wall.
Because Mrs. Dodge had requested Flame's presence for ”legitimate” service, Flame was expected to go outside and enter directly into the kitchen.
There were no windows in the kennel. When she opened the door to the outside, she was surprised to find that it was raining not a drizzle, but a downpour.
She sprinted from the kennel to the house as fast as she could but she couldn't avoid getting wet. When she entered the kitchen, the light cotton was clinging to her legs, b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and b.u.t.tocks.
Mrs. Dodge looked at her in disgust but didn't deign to comment.
”You'll b.u.t.terfly a chicken for dinner. You will serve it with asparagus with orange sauce, roasted new potatoes, and a tomato-sweet pepper-onion salad. We'll have creme caramel for desert. We eat at six.”
Flame stared at Mrs. Dodge in horror.
”Well? What are you waiting for? Get that chicken marinating.”
Flame shook her head slowly.
”Are you refusing to work?” Mrs. Dodge's voice was low and menacing.
The punishment for refusing to work could be as severe as the owner wished. Disfigurement, mutilation, or even death was not unheard of.
Flame fell to her knees in terror. ”Please. I want to do it but I can't.”
Mrs. Dodge kicked her, swift and sharp, in the ribs. It hurt. ”What do you mean, you can't?”
”I can't cook. I don't know how to cook. I've never cooked a meal in my life.”
Mrs. Dodge kicked her in the ribs again. ”Useless c.u.n.t.”
Actually, Flame's c.u.n.t was the one part that Mr. Dodge found most useful.
”What can you do?”
”Embroider. Tat. I can paint in watercolors and oils. I play the flute and clavier. Some of my lyric poetry is pretty good.”
”Useless c.u.n.t.” Mrs. Dodge kicked her a third time.
”Please. I want to learn to cook. Please. Show me how so I'll be able to do it the next time.”
”You don't know how badly I want to cut your t.i.ts off and make you fry them in b.u.t.ter for your own dinner.”
Flame knew. She had wanted to do horrible things to James' slaves, too. But Mrs. Dodge wouldn't do it. She wouldn't destroy property that was worth a hundred-thousand plaqs. Or so Flame hoped.
”However much Frank paid for you, it was way too much, I'm sure of that.” Mrs. Dodge kicked her again.
Flame's ribs were suffering acute pain. If Mrs. Dodge kicked much harder, she might break them. It could happen. Flame realized that Mrs. Dodge had no idea that she was kicking a hundred-thousand plaq slave around her kitchen. She probably thought that her husband had paid ten or fifteen thousand for her.
Flame should have guessed that Mrs. Dodge would be ignorant of her value. James had never told her how much he paid for his slaves, either. Irene never knew that a slave could cost more than a hundred thousand. If the cost of Feather were any indication, James might have paid nearly half a million for his stable.
Flame's mind boggled at the thought.
Her more immediate concern was that Mrs. Dodge might kill her if she thought that she wasn't worth very much.
”Please let me learn to cook. Please. I'm begging you.” She was begging for her life. Literally.
”I'm not teaching you to cook. You need something to do? You get a bucket and a scrub brush from the laundry and you scrub this floor. You start scrubbing in here and you keep scrubbing until every inch of tile in this whole house is clean enough to eat off. And it better be because you're going to be eating off it tonight.”
”Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am.” The servile grat.i.tude in Flame's voice was sincere.
Flame didn't rise to her feet, but scrambled across the floor to get out of the kitchen as quickly as she could.
Mrs. Dodge hurried her on her way with a parting kick to her b.u.t.t. She connected hard. It hurt because Flame was still bruised from Mr. Dodge's paddling last night. Flame squealed in pain.
She found the bucket and filled it with hot water in the set tub.
When she returned to the kitchen she asked, ”Do I just use water, or should I put some soap or something in it?”
”Stupid, useless c.u.n.t. Put in a cup of vinegar.”
”Yes, ma'am.” Flame returned to the laundry room and found a bottle of vinegar under the sink. She didn't have a cup measure, so she poured a generous amount into the bucket.
The tiles were hard on her knees but she ignored that and scrubbed with vigor. While she was scrubbing, she kept an eye on Mrs. Dodge's boot.
Recipes. Of course. Mrs. Dodge had laid out recipes on the counter and consulted them as she cooked. If Flame had realized that, she would have tried to follow them rather than admitting to Mrs. Dodge that she was helpless in the kitchen.
She saw Mrs. Dodge add spices to oil in a bowl and then put the chicken into it and leave it there. That must be the marinating that she had mentioned.
Next, she chopped vegetables. Two tomatoes, a long red pepper, and half an onion went into a bowl. Mrs. Dodge poured oil and vinegar into another, smaller bowl and whisked in various herbs and spices. When it was well mixed, she poured it over the vegetables.