Black Mistress White Slave Novels & Stories

"She was lucky. She took the money. It turns out your 'loyal' mistress has a price. And it wasn't even that high." "You're lying!" Black barked. "She would never leave me for money!" he gritted. "She did," Rex said. No smile. "You don't have good taste, Black. You like things that are cheap. Things that can be bought with cash. We gave her an offer. Something small.” “She didn't hesitate. She took the money. She’s probably halfway across the country now, laughing at your foolish obsession." Black’s face went from red to a ghostly white.

Sean said firmly. Lightning seemed to flash over Elena's head. Being a mistress, didn't that mean she would be a lustful servant? How was that different from selling herself? But just as Elena was about to refuse the deal, she thought of her mother. She needed the money right away, or her mother's life would be in danger. Elena closed her eyes tightly and took a deep breath. Her fingers squeezed the hem of her skirt, preparing herself for the difficult situation. Elena swallowed and asked in a trembling voice, "So you want me to be your sex slave?"

**Scarlett's POV** After Alpha Xavier took me to the slave masters, my life turned from worse to worst. He practically asked them to give me times two of whatever punishments he gave the slaves, he also asked them to give me the hardest tasks to accomplish and believe when I say, I know nothing about any of those tasks. My back had received numerous whips and my face numerous slaps. If not that I was a wolf, they'd all left a scar and made me hideous.

“Wait,” Cassie cried out when the pace became too much. “You need to listen to me.” Earl Adam halted and marched back to where she was doubled over and panting. “Slaves do not initiate conversations with their masters. They serve a purpose, something you will start to understand very shortly.” “What about your men?” “Eager to share your services, are you, little bitch?” It was so hard to meet his eyes now. That knowing gaze was tearing her apart. “Don’t call them, please. I beg you.”

opportunity to look good infront of my close friends". Shyra sighs quietly, knowing she won't win with her husbands argument. She worries she might get another beating if she does so. Making her way out of the kitchen and up the flight of stairs, Shyra was busy in thought of what ifs. She closes the bedroom door and to her surprise sees a flowing white mid dress that was hung on the bathroom door. Attached to it was a note saying 'I love you - Shane', her heart ached knowing those words meant nothing to her anymore. She takes another look at the dress, it had full sleeve that can hide her bruises on her arm, and a transparent lace trim at the front to reveal a cleavage. She looks around if t

"Let's go back inside your room, Miss Claudia." "It's boring inside!" You can count on it being accurate. While I was their slave, my owner had me locked up for three days after we had a discussion. It drove me practically crazy worrying about everything all day, and I ended up with dark circles under my eyes as a result of not getting enough rest. His proposal made no sense at all. The papers say I had to follow him or risk getting into trouble. Yet I don't believe the things that are written there. Killing someone is difficult in modern times, what with the prevalence of strict moral codes and widespread public condemnation.

She said. “Why not me?” He asked. “Because she’s the Kings slave.” Master's voice came up behind him. “Oh, plea-“ the man turned around and was met with Master's death glare. “My apologies, my king.. I-I didn’t realize..” the man said. “You should have realized the first two times she told you no,” Master said. The man bowed his head and quickly took off. I heard Lillian and Sylvia giggle behind me as they watched the man run away in fear.

The mouths gaped open. The fuck! It was grotesque, and deeply unsettling. Every face was unique, and the expressions were carefully preserved in moments of suffering. Were those faces on the wall…traitors? Former slaves? Enemies? His own people? What did they represent? What was their crime? What was the significance of the crystal shattering? Of his reaction? She swallowed hard, forcing down the bile that rose in her throat. “Don’t look at them,” a voice inside her head whispered. “Don’t let him see your fear.”

Gentle waves lapped against the wooden stilts while a soft sea breeze rustled the palm fronds overhead. Leila Moreau, a 26-year-old Haitian-French luxury brand heiress with smooth caramel skin, long dark curls, and a lithe yet voluptuous figure, stood on the private deck in a sheer white bikini. The warm breeze pressed the fabric against her hardened nipples and the growing heat between her thighs. She had come for a private escape. She found something far more consuming. The villa door slid open. Malik “The King” Baptiste, the world-famous Black Haitian-American music mogul and entrepreneur, stepped inside. Towering at 6’10” with a powerfully athletic build, his dark skin gleamed under the

“would you mind if I help you with some of the chores” “sire, would be mad?” I can’t stay idle. I need to be doing something. “Elena, can I tell you the reason why I am here?” “child, you are here as a mistress like every other lady before you but you are lasting longer than them” Mistress?? sharp mouthed bitch. Elena tucked back a few lose strands of her peppered hair back in the bun. “i was brought here to be a slave” “don’t tell me about whatever kinky stuff you do with sire”