Trigger Warning: This story contains rape, derogatory slurs, and mature content. American slavery will play a major part in this story and the treatment of enslaved black women. Sensitive to these issues I advise not to read.

A/U: Twilight

Rated: M

Pairing: [Past] Jasper Whitlock (Cullen) and OC [Present] Jasper and Alice

Summary: The distinction between the past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.

EXPLICIT SCENE: THIS CHAPTER WILL BE HAVING A EXPLICIT SCENE OF SEXUAL ASSAULT. I ADVISE IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THIS ISSUE OR HAVE BEEN A VICTIM OF SUCH ASSAULT. PLEASE DO NOT PROCEED TO READ THIS CHAPTER OR THIS STORY. I DO NOT WANT TO PUT YOU OR YOU MENTAL HEALTH IN ANY HARM BE READING THIS CHAPTER. THANK YOU.


Oh, Heaven! And is there no relief

This side the silent grave—

To soothe the pain—to quell the grief

And anguish of a slave?

George Moses Horton


Man of Distinction

Present

A man of distinction—a saying that was embedded within the minds of all the young men of the elite southern genteel.

These were the men who would become leaders of their community, take ownership of their father's plantation, and assumed the title of master.

Like cotton, they were king.

To be a man of distinction; there were aspects that came along with that title.

For a man like Jasper Whitlock, son to Andrew Whitlock, one of the wealthiest plantation owners in Texas, to be a man of distinction meant only two devices—power and domain.

Power and domain were how the natural state of order; keeping the civilized from the savages, and man from the beasts. His father had installed these beliefs within him since an early age and even know Jasper still held on to those beliefs. It was the last link he had to his human father….


1854

New Orleans

"A man of distinction that is what you are my son," the heavy slap to his back and grip to his shoulder pulled him to his father side. He was slowly becoming annoyed by these gestures of affection. However, he couldn't deny his father's pride and delight at his only son's success. Jasper had graduated from West Pointe at the top of his class—a true definition of an accomplished southern gentleman.

Andrew Whitlock made it his duty to let everyone know about his son's achievements—newsletter's throughout the state of Texas knew about his top marks. On Sunday service, he had the pastor and the whole congregation to congratulate and send blessings to his son. Brandy and cigar are in one of Olympia's many studies held only the topic of Jasper's feat. When the golden-haired son arrived home—he was welcomed home as though it was the second coming of Jesus. That night his father had made the announcement of his engagement to Ms. Allison Blackwood's, daughter of the second wealthiest family in the county, and that they, father and son, we're going to New Orleans on a business trip.

Jasper looked at his father.

"I am so proud of you, my son, a West Pointe man, who's following the family legacy of distinguishing leaders."

"Thank you, father," Jasper soaked in the words for his father—for he was never one to throw out praises.

"Most men have doubts about their son's—wondering, whether or not if they're ready for the responsibility of passing down their family legacy. I am one of the few who doesn't have that worry my son—you've grown to be a fine man. With that being said, when we get back home I'm giving you, your own property to run, from your wife dowry she'll be bringing you 350 Negros' and I'll be gifting your addition 250 Negros'. It's only right that you now be the head of your own house."

He was shocked.

Jasper thought that he and his wife would be staying with his family on Olympia. The shock that he'll be the master of his own plantation. He was at a lost of words.

"Thank you, father," he stammered.

His father smiled and gave him another affectionate slap on his back "Now, let's get to the main purpose of our trip to New Orleans."

They had been in the city for a few days—enjoying the plays at night, partaking in balls, and other discretions. Nothing that resembling the usual business his father partook in when he accompanied him in the past.

"Where are we going, father? If I might ask?"

"You'll see my son," he smiled, he could sense his father was up to something.


Jasper mirrored his father's smile—he had a feeling that this trip might be worth it.

"Mr. Whitlock, a pleasure of seeing you again," he watched as his father grasped the man's hand.

"Always, Mr. Franklin, I hope everything is to my instructions."

The one name Franklin smiled as he nodded his head, "Everything is according to the standards you instructed."

"Good! May I introduce my son, Second Lieutenant Jasper Whitlock,"

"I hear congratulations are in order," Mr. Franklin said as he took Jasper hand.

"Thank you, sir," Jasper grasping the man's hand.

Hiding his annoyance that once again his father couldn't keep his mouth closed.

It wasn't as if he was in the army, all that hard work—only to have his father pull strings to keep him, his only heir, home—safe from the dangers of war.

"Your father is a very proud man to have a son so accomplish—I hope you appreciate his surprise for you."

"Surprise?" Jasper was flabbergasted. He looked from the annoying man to his father who was now grinning from ear to ear.

"I shall lead you to your private auction," said Mr. Franklin as he turned from the father and son.

"Father?"

"It is only right that you got yourself a Fancy Girl*, after all, no distinguished man should be forelock with the beast of the field. You need a proper wench."

Jasper smiled back at his father knowingly as they followed along.


They were in a private suite—it was a private auction, his father being a long established customer, had made sure that they saw the best stock Franklin and Associates had to offer. Jasper was shaking from excitement—no longer would he have to roam down to the slave corridors at night to slate his needs. He would have the perfect wench to bed.

He knew exactly what he wanted; a wench that was fully built in body and something that he could break into total submission.

"Mr. Whitlock are we to proceed?" Mr. Franklin stated to his father.

"Jasper?" came the drawl of his father voice—a slight hint of merriment in his voice.

"Yes."

"Bring in the first one."

The doors open with two men holding onto a thin quadroon* girl—she had to be no better than thirteen from the looks of it.

"This one is named Charlotte—a virgin; making her easy to mold to your liking," said Mr. Franklin, as the men placed her in front.

Jasper walked to the girl; she was shaking like a leaf, terror so clear in her eyes, as tears trail down her face. He touched her face examining—the fear that radiated off of her was tempting.

He had always had this knack of reading peoples emotions absorbing and manipulating them to his power. He let go of her face and moved to unloosen the buttons from her top. At that point, the girl started to recoil back—struggling in the two guards hold on her.

"A feisty one I see there," came from Andrew, as he took a sip of his brandy in the far corner.

"A little spirited, but nothing a good beating wouldn't fix," he said ripping the girls top and exposing her bare breast.

They weren't fully formed to his liking—perky they were, but he would imagine so with her being so young. He moved his hand over and squeezed her left breast. He started to roll the mound seeing how it would feel when he was relieving himself on her.

He stopped his actions and moved to walk behind her. She was a tiny thing—he would break her; not even mentioning that she didn't have any child-bearing hips.

She'll surely die from childbirth or only able to carry one child to profit.

Jasper returned to his original spot facing the girl.

If he didn't know she was a Negress, he would've sworn she was white. Something that he wasn't looking for. Her face was completely wet from the tears. Her shacking becoming worst.

A smirk tug at his lips.

"Not this one—as appealing it would be taking her virginity—she wouldn't last. And I don't need a nigga that passes."

"You heard the gentlemen, take her away, bring in the next one."


Present Day

A smirk tugged at his lips at that day, he had been through several girls—all of them frightening, various shades, and body types. Still, he hadn't found the right one for his sadistic pleasure. He needed the right type of terror and it felt as though he wasn't going to find it in that stock. Until the last moment, Franklin had shown him her.

Jasper pushed his head on the glass—the sight before him lost as the image of his Josie came to his mind's eyes. He could still remember the very detail of that day so many years ago.


"I have one more girl left for you," said Franklin, "this one is a mulatto* or Creole, whichever term that catch your fancy Mr. Whitlock."

"Does it matter? They're all nigga's," he said causing both Franklin and his father to laugh.

"True. However, this one was sold to pay off debt, she comes from an elite family, so she will make a great ladies maid if you so wish it—when you're not using her for other needs."

"Good, that will kill two birds and one stone," agreed his father.

The sound of the guards bringing with them the last girl; however, the sight before him set him ablaze as they placed her in front of him.

She was an inch shorter than him—a good advantage, the dress she wore hide little to the imagination—she was simply in fine fabric in the style of the savages from which she came from. Her curves were on full display. He looked down at her hips—child bearing hips, she would be able to carry a child and more. Good for him whenever he may need an additional profit.

Her eyes were downcast—not a single sign of fear, but he could feel it like waves sending him a shot of euphoria. The gold earrings complemented her warm complexion with the red turban covering her hair—a few black coils revealing it's self, making him want to tear the cloth to see what she hid.

He walked over to her she smelt of rose water like the rest of the girls he had seen today—but the smell seems to compliment her more than the others. The oil that glistens her skin made her skin even warmer. He took in her features; she had the markers of the Negros broad noise and full lips. She was a beauty compared to the others he had seen today.

He proceeded to untie the top of her dress. Letting the fabric fall to the ground as his eyes lingered on her mounds of flesh. They were round and big—mature, he took the right breast in his hand and squeezed tightly.

His thumb rubbing her nipple on the process. His eyes feasted on the soft mound in his hand. The excitement to possess this woman was like water to a dehydrated man. Taking in the flat tone of her stomach and the curves that were simply screaming to be wrapped in his arms.

He stopped, deciding that he wanted to see all of her, removing the last piece of clothing, she stood completely naked in front of him and the others.

"What a fine piece you have there," chuckled a now inebriated Andrew.

"She's the most expensive out of the girls—she's going for a good $3,000, she's of age, virgin, and health," boosted Franklin proudly.

"She'll be worth every penny."

Jasper had drowned out both his father and that fool Franklin; he had moved behind her to get a better view of her. Her skin was unmarked—supple, but what caught his eyes, dear lord, he couldn't stop his hand from groping her behind.

He could feel her tremble and a new surge of dread came from her. Dark fantasy clouded his thoughts as he thought about taking her.

She was the one he wanted. He released her flesh from his hands and moved to face her.

The girl was catatonic but he could feel her distress

"What's your name?"

She was silent.

"You heard him girl speak!" yelled Franklin, making the girl jump.

Jasper caught something from her but she wasn't loud enough.

"Say it again?"

She swallowed.

"Josephine…my name is Josephine."


I want to say thank you to those who stay and continue to read this story. It was pretty rough writing this chapter. I made a trigger warning on my blog for those who may find the subject of sexual assault triggering. I understand that many may not want to continue support. On my Word Press Nefertiti Edges Kinky, you can also look up me up by my pen name on Facebook. I will be having a chapter breakdown and Fancy Girl blog to accompany this chapter on my blog.

Fancy girls (I won't go into great details here I will be having a blog post on the history of the Fancy Girl trade) – Fancy Girls were often light skin or mix black women who were sold as concubine's/sex slaves. They were sold at a higher price then field hands.

Quadroon – an archaic/offensive term; a person who is one-quarter black by descent.

Mulattoo—an archaic/offensive term; a person who is mixed white and black ancestry, especially one white and one black parent.

Creole of colored—but as a group of mixed-race people developed from unions between Europeans, Africans, and Native Americans, the term Creoles of color was applied to them.