Slave Owner Costume Novels & Stories

I shot him a glare over my shoulder before saying, "We don't have to get ahead of ourselves. Please, all we want to do is get to safety. I'm sure you aren't here to kill us slaves. There's no reason why you should want us dead. We're not your enemies." Just then, his eyes trailed down my body and he took in my appearance. I wasn't dressed as a slave. I wore a black pencil skirt and matching blazer, and the white top beneath my blazer was ruffled and clean except for a few stains of dirt. This was my standard uniform as a supervisor. They couldn't have guessed that I truly had been bought because to my knowledge, no slave ever became a supervisor. The slave supervisors were always cruel with

Although I did get in a lot of trouble before since it wasn’t easy for me to wake up to the alarm set for me in the beginning, but besides that, I think I’m doing great so far. I took a quick shower and wore my usual attire—just a plain white oversized shirt that fell until my mid-thighs. As if the collar wasn’t enough, human slaves are also usually dressed as basic as possible, the bare minimum being a shirt and underwear. Luckily for me, even for a human, I was pretty petite, so the shirt given to me covered me up nicely.

I stand still, wondering what I am to do With myself. "You come over here at once!" They say to me in a thick Baritone voice that sends shivers down my spine at once. I am terrified as I walk to where they sit. "Good day ma!" I greet at once with my gaze right at the floor. "Sit down!" They say to me and I heed at once. They begin to rub their hands on my face with all of their beautification objects, making me so uncomfortable. I manage to sit through until they were done. One of them rise to her feet and takes out a blue sleek gown that sets me on fire. I fall in love With it the moment I lay my eyes on it and temporarily, I forget that I am a slave and I have no rights of my own.

But to be honest, my dressing is nothing like that of a slave because like I said, I am Master Stone's favorite toy. The other slaves dare not speak to me in the face because I can ruin in their lives with just a snap of my finger. Slaves are being dressed in sack clothes, but as the master's favorite, I'm an exception. I'm allowed to wear expensive dresses, and to walk around freely without being forced by the guards to work in the field. I got straight to the master's door, and knocked two consecutive times. The Master's guards walked straight to me and grabbed my hand.

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.