Novel & Cerita Slave Owner Costume

said Becky, shaking her head. “No, you need it! Don't you wanna change that white dress with another color?" Becky looked at him in amazement, “Are you for real?” James just shrugged curtly. It might sound like something trivial, but for Becky, it was a big step. Because the white dress that she had always been wearing was a symbol of slavery that James made for the women who became his slaves. That meant there was little hope for her... "Where's Megan?" she asked, looking around, as they were walking across the living room toward the exit of the villa.

Of all the places here, this would be my favorite. "Food will be brought here, Miss," Dion informed me. "Stop being good to me. You don't have to do that." Dion gave me a small smile. "I hope your new master will be kind and good." At the sound of the new voice, the slaves inside looked at us. They were all clean, wearing the same white dress which fell above their knees. The clothes emphasized their hourglass figure, and their skin was flawless. They stood and inspected me. There were a total of ten females, all with hair not reaching their shoulders.

"Oh... And why is she a witch?" "She's done horrible things to my lady. She has lived a rough life you know. And now she has been sold to be a slave in Kerstone." Constance finished with a sigh. Mateo understood her. "And I'm guessing that's why you're dressed like that?" "Like what? I'm, but, a maid. This is how I'm to dress." Constance replied looking down at her dress. "Then your lady? Is that how she was supposed to dress?"

Even so, it felt warm and lived in. It finally registered in my mind that I was in pre-civil war time when a dark skinned male dressed in livery clothing walked in with the stately grace that you’d expect from a footman. These were probably not servants, but slaves. A tinge of disapproval touched my core before I remembered that this was a vision and not reality.

And now, his sharp eyes are sweeping the room—calculated and clinical—searching the space for any more threats. My shock slowly melts away and I take a better look at the woman. Her dress is simple and unpatterned. The cut and design looks just like the servant’s uniforms we saw earlier, but feminine. It brushes her knees, the fabric tailored but modest, with subtle embroidery at the hem. A high collar covers her throat… but just above it, I glimpse metal. A glint of iron. My stomach clenches. There’s a collar around her neck. Which confirms it— she’s one of the captured slaves.

I hissed gulping down a lip as ran my stare through the arrange of cheap, plain, off-the-whitesh blouse and a simple black pencil skirt that was probably a size too big, The fabric felt scratchy against my skin. Marcus had ordered them for me. This was my disguise. The great Alyssa White reduced to this. Ugh! Almost like I haven’t been doing that for that asshole for a whole seven years. I dressed quickly the cheap clothes making me feel small and insignificant which is probably the whole point. I looked at the clock on my bedside table and my heart jumped. I was running late. My first day as Damon’s slave and I was already messing up more reason for him to torment me.

Mo was less subtle; the sense of humour was there, you just had to dig a little deeper to find it. * Liz’s POV When I saw the choice of costumes for the big night, I was excited at first, forgetting the implications. There was a slave girl one comprising bra top, thong and lilac gauze masquerading as a skirt or a cheongsam dress suitable for a courtesan. Byron said I looked good in both. I told him it was up to him as my master to dictate what I wore and did it respectfully, lowering my lashes. My reward was a lingering kiss and the promise of a playroom visit which would leave me wanting more.

Since then, I had curled up in bed, drowning in sickness and pain—until he suddenly barged in. Sighing heavily, I moved toward my small wardrobe, pulling out the first dress my fingers touched. Not that I had much to choose from. My wardrobe held only a few things—the servants’ uniform and four worn-out dresses. That was all. That was all I owned. The mansion staff received generous monthly salaries, but me? I was never paid. Because I wasn’t a worker—I was a slave. An omega. Paying for the sins I knew, deep down, my parents never committed.

he narrates and I was quite thrilled by that. Everyone dressed has their attire that signify what rank they belong to. It was clear now, why that princess ordered me to serve the king. Mave whimpers at me, she was annoyed that I was engaging in a talk and not attending to her needs. I just wanted to make enquiry if perhaps any slave was brought in recently. That's because I had a feeling evander was close by. Judging from the way this man talks, I could tell he knows everything around this place.

Of course, such thought only existed in Jean's mind. Indeed, she still needed to work. This time, the middle-aged man touched Jean's smooth thighs, who only wore a skirt above the knee with stockings as a compliment. Of course, it wasn't her wish to wear clothes like that, but all the nightclub workers where Jean worked wore the same costume as her. Jean was furious. No one should ever touch it. She would scold the man if a baritone didn't disturb the whole room. "She's mine," Said the one from the corner of the sofa where he sat.