The Life of a White Slave,
- the (mostly) true account of my role as a white slave and how that changed my life -
I have lived for the last year with my Black Master in a 2-story townhouse on a quiet residential street lined with palm trees – a few miles from the beach in Florida.
The front door opens into a small hallway with a door to the living room on the right – furnished with a leather sectional draped with zebra and leopard prints - glass tables –walls hung with Afro-centric art and fabrics – 60 inch flat screen TV.
To the left is my Master's study - bookcase lined with works by black authors only – everything from the well-known Autobiography of Malcolm X to the obscure and rare Royal Parchment Scroll of Black Supremacy by Rastafarian Master Fitz Pettersburg.
On the wall are carved wooden masks from Ghana and Nigeria, and crossed spears with sharp iron points – called assegais – wielded by Zulu warriors. Atop the mahogany desk sits a computer with a large monitor.
Usually there is music playing – mellow jazz or R&B.
The fully equipped kitchen adjoins the dining room with glass doors that slide open onto a fenced-in patio – where there is a grill and picnic table.
Upstairs are 3 rooms – the Master bedroom (aptly named), and a windowless room not much bigger than a walk-in closet with a cot, altar, chamber pot, and an iron bolt with a long chain attached.
The last room upstairs doubles as "my" bedroom in case explanations are necessary – which hasn't happened yet. Households like ours are more common than anyone suspects – that of a Black Master and his white male or female slaves – but it is still not socially acceptable – not yet – something that may change, I think, in the years to come.
Most nights I sleep alone and naked in my Master's king-size bed (also aptly named) – except for my leather collar and padlocked chastity belt – while he sits in his study at the computer. Before retiring promptly at 10:00, I douche and apply lubricant between my ass cheeks.
Most mornings I am awaked at 6:00 by my Master's large, powerful hands – squeezing my buttocks or pinching my tender, swollen nipples.
He then proceeds to fuck me for half an hour – what He calls a "short fuck" – just enough to get His rocks off – often tense and horny after chatting the night away on Skype and Messenger with submissive whiteboys (like me) with black dick fetishes (like me) – making money.
After he has finished fucking, I have an hour to shower, dress, make a few sandwiches and grab some fruit -and whatever else to prepare for work – catching a bus by 7:30.
Home again by 5:00 – time to cook my Master's dinner. Sometimes I am allowed to join him at the dining room table. Sometimes alone in the kitchen, depending on his mood.
Between 6:00 and 10:00, I clean the entire apartment, making sure the toilet and shower are well scrubbed - do laundry, and work out with free weights in the basement – the dungeon he calls it - keeping myself in shape because he wants me in top condition.
If time permits I am allowed to watch some TV – but only what my Master condones – and then naked in his bed by 10:00. That's my average day.
How did I get into this, you must be wondering?
It began a year ago when I saw my Master's profile on a domination site:
"Black Dom seeking white subs for schooling in the white slave lifestyle. If u are curious how u can serve the Black Man in America, contact me. I'm talking to u, bitch!"
For some reason – I felt like he was speaking to me directly – as I had always been fascinated by Black Men – their swagger, strength, and legendary sexual prowess. I always wanted a Black Man in my life – but was too intimidated to approach one.
He called himself THE MASTER – and provided this concise description: "6 feet tall, 229 lbs, 35 yrs old, bisexual black dom, chocolate complexion, gentle when I want to be, hard when I need to be. If you want to know the size of my dick, contact me and I may let you know."
There were 2 pics: 1) a tall, husky, muscular bull of a man, fully dressed, arms folded, wearing shades, and 2) a face photo – handsome, eyes gleaming with mischief, perfect teeth grinning, mustache and goatee, wearing a white wool cap, and beckoning with one long finger as if to say: come to me!
I sent an email telling him about myself – along with a pic of me naked- hands covering my crotch like a modest virgin– ashamed of my little white cock - to show I was sincere, and waited anxiously for a reply.
It came a day later:
"Yeah – I'll train u to be a white slave – add me to Yahoo Messenger and greet me when u see me online – do it now, cunt!"
Not long after that we chatted. He told me he had been in the business of training and using white slaves for several years – and was ready for another white fag.
Of course, I had to give something as proof of my sincerity and submission – a white fag tax on a regular basis. I offered $50, but that was not enough. Desperate to win his approval, I offered $100 a month.
"Make it twice a month, and I will accept you," he wrote back.
That was a little steep – but I was intrigued – and decided he was worth it.
In any case, I figured I could always back out if I wasn't satisfied. I later learned he was amenable to lesser tribute from other fags – but he saw my potential and knew what I was capable of. He also accepts gifts from his Amazon wishlist and payments through Paypal.
Over the next few months I paid my taxes as demanded – eagerly I might add – always turned on sexually - and received in return regular chats and Skype sessions – during which he verbally abused me and taught me how to serve Black Men.
Believe me when I say I was in white fag heaven!
Some of his lessons included:
Always give up my seat on the bus or train to older Black Men and Women, but not to young Black Men. He was concerned they would see me as a punk and did not want me to encourage them to take advantage of me.
"You're MY bitch," he said.
Keep a journal of my sexual activities – a daily record of how often I masturbated – and to what. For me, that meant stories I read online for the most part.
Pics of Black Men are hot, but they don't turn me on as much as the written word. From time to time I had to e-mail my journal – which he read to understand how my white fag mind worked.
I was also to write down his orders, advice, and words of wisdom. Such things as: "love plus fear equals respect," and "when a slave gets paid, his Master gets paid."
Another favorite saying of his: "Obedience is a virtue!"
Whenever possible I was to pay for a Black Man's drinks at the bar – anonymously – but never too much since he wanted me to be able to pay my taxes on time without fail.
Once, when I sent off my taxes a day late, he ordered me to write 100 times: "I am a worthless white cunt," which I had to mail to his PO Box.
Another time, he ignored me for an entire week – and I never suffered so much in my life –thinking he was fed up with me – and that I was worthless even as a slave.
I cannot express how grateful I was when I heard from him again – it was like the center of my existence had been torn away – leaving me alone and without purpose, a total failure.
Those lessons sunk in – took hold - and I came to love and fear and respect this Man – more than I ever imagined was possible. It felt so right, so good, being under his control, learning from him, useful for the first time in my life.
I could have been like a lot of white fags – seeking thugs for cheap encounters – one after the other – putting my life at risk for a short-lived thrill – but this was better: knowing my taxes, along with those from many others, contributed to his life – allowing him to pursue his interests – treating him to the life he deserves.
Came the day when THE MASTER informed me I was his Number 1 Fag Bitch – and that was the happiest day of my life!
6 months later, he decided I was primed and ready to join his household. It was a dream come true.
I left all my possessions behind and moved in. Found a job in the area and had my paycheck automatically deposited to his bank account – except for $50 a month - which was mine to buy him gifts on his birthday and at Christmas.
When we are out in public – I keep a few steps behind – following his lead – like his shadow – sporting my best apparel because my appearance reflects on him.
He takes me out to dinner and the movies. I have come to appreciate his taste in all things – music, literature, films – everything. Sometimes he asks for my opinion – although I am always careful to phrase my answers cautiously - with the proper tone of respect.
It's a good life - I have never regretted it once, not even when he punishes me.
There was a recent event in the headlines – about a young black man in a hoody whose murderer was acquitted - whose name I will not mention lest it provoke my Master – when HE took out his wrath on me – a white scapegoat – making me crawl naked on all fours and eat dog food from a bowl on the kitchen floor for a week.
But I deserved that.
Another time I vomited while choking on his massive black cock – as punishment I was chained to my room – and he did not speak to me for days.
I deserved that too.
I also know what it is to be whipped with a leather belt – sometimes for no other reason than because I am a white fag and Master wants me to remember that. It stings, and I scream like a bitch, and my ass is sore for days – but because it pleases HIM – I accept punishment without complaint.
When he calls me a white cunt or white bitch – I know he is not just trying to excite me with those words – although that is the effect he has - he means what he says! That is truly how he sees me – a white cunt fag bitch.
I am not his lover – not his friend – I am his bitch.
But most of time, he is tender and gentle – taking good care of me – seeing that I eat well and keep in shape – letting me jerk off while he fucks me. Mostly he calls me his white fag cunt – but sometimes he slips and calls me "baby" and my heart melts.
"Love plus fear equals respect!"
When I go to work each day my pussy has been soundly fucked – and I feel him inside me. My nipples are sore and swollen – poking through my tee-shirt but I am proud because HE made them that way.
When he teases me about my little white cock – 5 inches hard - it IS humiliating – I guess it will always be – I am reminded that HE is a real man and I am just a little dick whiteboy – who would experience little or no sex at all if it was not for him using me as he pleases.
I am a hole for his sexual needs – to soothe his tension – but most importantly, I am his property – seeing to his every need, and being the white cunt slave I was born to be – for the one and only Black Master I will ever need.
THE END
Author's Note: This story is mostly factual. I have embellished things to make it more entertaining, but the essential truth underlies all I have written. If you are curious about this lifestyle – white slavery – or desire to contact my Master, feel free to email me at: kingspawn1961@yahoo.com.