Ravenwood Diaries


Heat Rating: Sizzling
Word Count: 27,000
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Part of this story takes place after the War between the States. As the story unfolds you will see it changing between then and now. It is, I suppose another example of man’s injustice to his fellow man. It is just a work of fiction, placed in a real time in American history.

Polly Anne Treadwell stood on the front porch and watched the long line of horse soldiers ride down the road in front of Ravenwood. They were followed by marching soldiers. To her it seemed that there was no end of them. They just kept coming. Soon, she would be introduced to the Major and in return for keeping her land she would be forced to offer him herself, and then his number two and then others, including the first black man she had ever fucked.

In modern times the owner of Ravenwood discovers Polly's diary and events begin to unfold yet again.

A good erotic story with a great deal of charm and excitement.

Ravenwood Diaries
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Ravenwood Diaries


Heat Rating: Sizzling
Word Count: 27,000
0 Ratings (0.0)
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Chapter 1


Donna Greene would admit to anyone she wasn’t happy about the move. She was a New Yorker, born and bred, and moving to the middle of Alabama was the last thing she wanted to do. She was a city girl living in the country. Her husband, Tom, a chemical engineer for a large textile company, received a big promotion and that took them to the southland.

Donna was trying to make the best of what she considered a bad thing and settled into their new house, trying to make it habitable for the two of them. They had bought an old, old house on several acres. The house had been “modernized” at some point in the past but still needed a lot of work to get it up to her expectations. The grounds had long been neglected.

The first three weeks she unpacked their belongings and supervised a crew of remodeling experts. The house was from the antebellum period and needed a lot of work. By the end of the first month she had managed to get things almost like she wanted them. She could see that restoring the old house to her satisfaction was going to take a lot of time.


“What’s all that junk?” Tom asked Donna. He was looking at a pile of raggedy books and papers.

“I’m not sure, but it seems to be a collection of diaries or journals of some sort. A lot of it is ruined by water and mice. I found it in that old building out back. They call it the smoke house, whatever that is.”

“What do you intend to do with them?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “Maybe I’ll get around to reading some of them. This stuff is nearly a hundred and fifty years old. It seems a shame to get rid of them, don’t you think?” He looked at her doubtfully for a moment then laughed.

“Whatever your heart desires. Me, I’m out of here to play golf. By the way, the pool contractors will start today and I’ve arranged for the landscapers to come after the pool is finished. I’ll see you later.”

Donna made a pot of coffee and sat down to rest and while she did, looked at one of the books. She spent the rest of the afternoon completely absorbed in reading. When Tom got home later he found her still reading from the old books.

“I don’t know her name,” Donna stated.

“Who’s name?”

“The woman who wrote these diaries. I can’t find anything that says her name. Listen to this.” She flipped through the pages and read, “May 11, 1862- Jason and I were married this date. I am so happy even though the war rages all around us. May 23, 1882- Jason received his commission and left this morning to join his company under General Pemberton. June 14, 1863- I received the terrible news that my beloved husband was killed in a battle at Vicksburg. I wish I had died with him, but I must carry on here at Ravenwood. April 22, 1865- This has been a devastating spring for our beloved Confederate Army. We received word that General Forrest was defeated by General Wilson and his gang of Yankees at Selma. We received the terrible news that General Lee Surrendered on April 9th. Ravenwood is in shambles. Most of the servants left last year and we were only able to get a partial crop planted. This seems to be a place of young widows now. There are six of us within only a few miles.’ Tom, I can’t find her name anywhere.”

“Why is it important?”

“I don’t know,” Donna said. “It just is for some reason. She used to live here in this house. This place was called Ravenwood.”

“Yes, that’s what the real estate agent said. I’m sure the local historical society could help if you really wanted to find out,” Tom said. “How about an early dinner, I’m wiped out and early bed sounds good to me.”

“Dinner is in the oven. I’m going to read a while. Go ahead and I’ll be up later.”

The next two weeks were busy for Donna, but she found time to visit the historical society and discovered who the owners had been. Jason Treadwell and his new wife Polly Ann Treadwell. Jason, as she already knew was killed at Vicksburg. According to the records Ravenwood continued as an operating cotton farm until nineteen twelve. Then it had been sold to settle the estate of Polly Ann Treadwell. For some reason it made Donna feel better knowing that the author of the diaries had managed to survive that long, but she was still compelled to read the diaries.



Polly Anne Treadwell stood on the front porch and watched the long line of horse soldiers ride down the road in front of Ravenwood. They were followed by marching soldiers. To her it seemed that there was no end of them. They just kept coming. These days seeing the blue coats traveling back and forth across a vanquished land was not unusual

Mentally she checked her list. Everything of possible value had been buried or hidden. There was precious little left for the Yankees to steal. She hoped and prayed that they wouldn’t discover the milk cow and the few pigs they had hidden in the deep woods.

Polly was surprised when a group of men turned down the lane toward her house. It looked like twenty or so infantry led by one officer on horseback. She waited until the officer reined in his horse.

“Good morning, ma’am. I’m Major Adam Blain,” he said giving her a casual salute. “My men and I will bivouac here if you don’t mind.”

“And if I did mind, you would anyway, I suppose,” she snapped. She looked over his shoulder at the group of soldiers. They were all negroes wearing bits and pieces of Union uniforms. Most were barefooted. She wondered why a major was leading only such a small group.

“I’m afraid so,” he said smiling at her. “We will only be here a few days and I hope you won’t be overly inconvenienced.” He raised up in the stirrups and looked around. “Sergeant, take the men over there by that stream and set up camp.” He turned back to Polly Ann. “My supply wagons will be along shortly. I realize that you may be in short supply of food, but I have foodstuff for my men and some salt pork for you and your family. If you have someone to prepare our dinner, I’ll be happy to join you.” She hesitated, but the offer of his supplies was too much temptation.

“Certainly, Major,” she said. “Send the food to the back door and my cook will receive it. Supper at seven?”


“That was a fine supper,” Major Blain said pushing his chair back from the table. “My thanks to you, Ma’am.” He poured both of them a drink from the bottle he brought.

“Most welcome, Major. Thank you for the food.” She had been lucky that the crop had matured enough so that she could dig a few new potatoes and not disturb the plants. She sent her cook, Doris, to gather some poke salad and the early garden produced enough green plants for a salad. Together with the cornmeal and salt pork he had delivered, it was a nice repast. Better than she had had in a long while.

“Are you alone here?” he inquired.

“No, my husband will be home shortly. I expect him any time now. I…”

“Please, Mrs. Treadwell,” the officer interrupted her lie. “Forgive me, but I know your husband was killed during the battle at Vicksburg. I was asking about your help. How many laborers do you have?”

“Oh, I have five families, share-cropping,” her face was red being caught in the lie.

“Colored people?”

“Yes, they are all freed slaves. Why do you ask?”

“Finding out which farms can produce crops is part of my responsibilities. How long ago was your husband killed?”

“June of sixty-three,” she answered. “Why is that important?”

“It’s not important for any reason other than I was trying to assess how long it had been since you had a man to warm your bed.”

“How dare you, sir!” she said jumping to her feet. “That is insulting. Please leave my house at once.”

“Be quiet and sit down,” he said calmly. “You have to learn one thing. You rebels are at the mercy of the Army of the United States of America. You live here only because we allow you to. If I say so, you will be taken from this place to live or starve on your own. You lost the war, Mrs. Treadwell, so you have no right to be insulted. Sit down I said!” She slowly sat back down. “Drink your whiskey,” he continued calmly. “Have you been chaste, Polly?”

“Of course I have! What do you take me for?”

“I take you for a young, beautiful woman,” he answered with a smile. “One who is going to be very nice to me if she wants to keep her farm.” Polly was shocked into silence. “Do you get my meaning, Polly Ann Treadwell?”

“This plantation has been in my husband’s family for generations,” she finally managed to utter. “By what right do you threaten to take it away?”

“The right of the victor, my dear lady,” Adam Blain said. “Your husband was an officer in the rebel army and as such, forfeits all right to claim on this land.” He paused and took a sip of his whiskey. “However, as I said, all is not lost. The men from the Office of Reconstruction will be along any day and my word will have a lot of influence with them.”

FYI {Reconstruction was that period between eighteen sixty-five and eighteen seventy-seven. The so called period of readjustment following the Civil War. At the end of the Civil War, the defeated South was a ruined land. The physical destruction wrought by the invading Union forces was enormous, and the old social and economic order founded on slavery had collapsed completely, with nothing to replace it. The eleven Confederate states somehow had to be restored to their positions in the Union and provided with loyal governments, and the role of the emancipated slaves in Southern society had to be defined. Reconstruction was also a golden opportunity for who the southern called carpetbaggers to gorge themselves on the spoils of war.

Carpetbaggers came like locus and took everything, land and farms included, for themselves. It wasn’t unusual for carpetbaggers to be in collaboration with the Office of Reconstruction. The further away from Washington they were, the worse the reconstruction people became.}

Polly Treadwell was aware of the absolute power these people had over her. For nearly a year after the war ended she was in constant dread of when they would come to Ravenwood.

What Major Blain didn’t tell the woman was because she was producing crops with black share-croppers she would have been exempt from forfeiting her land. The reconstruction people would not have dared to take her farm. Even the northern newspapers were taking a dim view of their high-handed seizures.

“Now, Polly,” the major said. “What’s it going to be? Be nice to me and keep your land or lose it?”

“I shall do whatever I have to do to keep my husband’s land,” she answered coldly.

“A wise choice,” the officer said. “Stand and take off your clothes, please. Let me feast my eyes on the body you are offering me.”

“Here? In the dining room? I can’t…” her voice stopped when she saw the hard look he gave her. She rose and slowly, face red with acute embarrassment, took off her threadbare dress and under clothing. When she was naked before his steady gaze she gave him a direct look. She made a resolution that this Yankee soldier would not beat her into total submission. She turned around when he motioned for her to do so. No man had looked on her naked body in over three years. Her embarrassment was mixed with a kind of eagerness. It had been so long.

When Jason had taken her virginity on their wedding night he called sexual intercourse ‘fucking’. It was a new and naughty word for her. He always referred to sex as that, and she relished the word as she had the act itself.

“Come over here,” Blain said, his voice husky. The woman had proved to have a delicious body under her rags. “Pull my boots off and help me undress.”

Polly did as she was ordered. She moved without hesitation, because she told herself that she was under duress. She reminded herself that she had no choice in the matter. Polly removed his heavy boots and pulled his suspenders down. He shoved his pants down as she unbuttoned his shirt. Soon he was as naked as she was. At his order she led him to the bedroom where she submitted to him. Reluctant at first, but quickly warming to the situation. Major Blain took her twice before falling into a deep slumber.

Polly lay awake for a while. First just basking in the afterglow of the long denied sex and then thinking about how she would control this man to Ravenwood’s advantage. When she awoke she was a little disappointed that he was gone. She rose, made her toilet and went down the stairs. She was surprised that there was a package of real coffee on the table. There had been no real coffee at Ravenwood for many years.

While the day was still cool she worked in the vegetable garden. As she chopped the weeds she noticed two colored soldiers leading the milk cow to their encampment. She mutter a few un-lady like curses. That meant they had found the hogs also.

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