Intro: A Slave in Exchange Contract

Master always wanted a black female slave. He said especially because of what happened in this country centuries ago it made it even more titillating, thrilling for him, though all the more rare to find a willing participant in said demographic.

What black woman in her right mind would sign up for something like this?! Read on.

Master has a dog. This dog is treated no better or worse than his slaves. Dogs are owned like living, breathing, property– A slave. He had a dog cage he was eager to use and I volunteered my services to inhabit his dog cage. I wanted solace in somewhere cramped, something new I could experience while I write. I told him on one condition only–I was to have a journal and pen to write in my cage. He agreed. His plan was to keep me there while he’s at work–doing what civil engineers do.

Master fails to mention that he already possesses a white slave until 2 weeks into our texting stages. Like all men–dogs–liars of omission! Master was afraid of telling me earlier, afraid I wouldn’t be interested in carrying the conversation off-site from where we met. Master claims he doesn’t use his white slave for sex, rather she chauffeurs him around, makes him a drink, takes off his boots and cleans the house every day. The difference between her and Me is that she actually wants to be there for nothing at all. I had an ulterior motive.

Surgery. Elective, cosmetic surgery for a nose job. A much needed refinement and retuning of my nose. There are more differences between she and me but I will embark on those later.

I was livid. I told him I was not bi. He told me she wasn’t either. He reassured me there will be no bisexual action between the 2 slaves. She belongs to him and I would belong to him.

We talked for about a month. He wanted me to start immediately. No later than his birthday late September. I wanted to wait till November. I didn’t want to rush, but he was so eager.  He wanted me to be his 34th birthday present.

He changed his mind about wanting to be called either daddy or master–instead, just Master. He felt master was more domineering. I was crushed. He even had a surname that was suitable for being called daddy. “Foster.” Foster Daddy. Suitable since we’re not the same race and all. He could be my “Brad Pitt” and I his “Zahara” and runaway together–we would be Woody Allen & Soon-Yi part deux. But I was dreaming too hard.

He commanded  me to send a nude picture of myself to him with the words MASTER’S drawn in lipstick across my chest. I told him NO. Absolutely not! I do not ever send nude photos to strangers, hell even to those I don’t consider strangers. You never know what kind of future you’re destroying by sending those. He kept pressing and I was willing to let him go and never speak to him again–that’s how passionate I was against nude photos, but he was so intrigued by the idea of having a black slave that he was willing to let that request go.

He waited until literally the last few days before his birthday to purchase a cheap plane ticket. He claims it was because he didn’t want to waste money on someone who may flake.

That should have been red flag #1–Not just his lack of trust in me, but I would later find out he’s a bit of a penny pincher. Will I ever get this goddamn nose job?

To be continued…

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