Slave Owner Costume Novels & Stories

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.

No matter what it took. As we were speaking, a knock on the door interrupted us. We all turned to the door as it opened, and a group of pack slaves entered. They were dressed in long, flowing gowns that reached the floor, with hoodies covering their faces. The gowns were a deep, rich purple, and they seemed to glow in the dim light of the room. The pack slaves moved with a quiet, almost eerie efficiency, their eyes cast downward as they approached us. They bowed down in unison, their hoods casting shadows over their faces.

“I’m not a girl. Why I am supposed to wear a dress?” “So, this is what His Highness meant. Aithyean clothing is very different. You are a pleasure slave, as such your wardrobe is designed to be pleasing to your master. You will find much of your wardrobe is similar just in various colors and styles, all designed to be comfortable and please your master.” The man said bluntly. “You should be thankful that the prince wants you in clothing at all. Most pleasure slaves, particularly those in the capital, are required to go naked apart from jewellery ornamentation.”

But this time, Betty leads me to another direction. Seeing me puzzled, Betty explains, “ I am Bruce is slave now, so I live in a different place.” When I open the door, I am shocked. Her room is so big that I can hardly believe that this is a slave room. Laura, the Luna, has a room of a similar size. Betty walks in casually and opens a large wardrobe. I am dumbfounded again. The ceiling tall wardrobe is filled with dresses of all kinds. You can find whatever you need in the wardrobe. Betty sits beside the dressing table and points at the dressing table lightly. “ You can choose the jewelry here.”

"This girl over here forgot who she is. A slave. A slave to the boss and she makes herself comfortable in this house which is not acceptable. Slaves aren't given a room neither are they made to stay with the boss," she said out loud and dragged her by her hair to fall on her fours. "She dared seduce the boss and because of that, she feels like a boss too, not having respect for everyone who has been here before her." She added, trying to make everyone see the wrong Loretta did even though she did nothing.

I'm blown away by how many dresses are stuffed into the little closet. Reds, blues, greens, yellows, pinks, oranges, and an abundance of other beautiful colours. I glance over at Cesar, changing in the corner. He slips on a red breechcloth with a brown leather waist covering. He then dips two fingers into a wooden paint bowl, spreading paint all over his naked chest. I look in the closet for a red dress. I feel somehow connected with my master and can't help myself when I think about matching him. I select a red silk dress from the wardrobe and begin to change behind the wardrobe door. There's a cracked mirror beside the door, and I look at myself to make sure I appear alright.

That dead, empty stare that said there was nothing left to fight for. I refused to look like that. Marietta approached me. "Child," she said softly. "Come with me." She led me to a small room at the end of the quarters. Inside was a basin of water, a bar of soap, and a simple black slip dress neatly folded on a stool. "Wash yourself. Put this on." She gestured to the dress. "You'll be expected to wear this at all times. It's the uniform for female slaves." I stared at the dress. It was flimsy, barely more than a nightgown. The thought of wearing it—of being paraded around in it like some kind of decoration—made my stomach churn.

A silk robed man and his equally silk robed wife step forward. "I'll like ten slaves." The crowd hushes as he says this. Maybe it's because he didn't pretend like the others and uses 'slaves' or maybe it's because he's voice and his charisma commands respect. The pudgy man is stunned but he quickly recovers and puts on a mask of indifference. "I'm honoured Sir." He gives a lowly bow." They are really affordable. They go at two gold coins each."

“Glad to see that the cat didn’t get your tongue, Cory. I do not keep such slaves. I found them completely boring.” “But ... isn’t it ... odd?” Xavier laughed again. “What does the color of my clothes tell you, Cory?” It was only then that Cory looked closer at the man’s attire. He was completely dressed in black, austere clothes. Surrounded by luxury, slaves, and servants, the rulers, the highest class of masters, had only one restriction to abide by. Their clothes could be no other color but black. “Master, you are among the rulers,” he whispered.

“As long as all parties are willing, treated with respect, and not minors, there is nothing wrong or right. It just is what it is.” “Give me…” He struggled. “Take your time,” she replied, easily, her eyes rising to beyond the booth. A man dressed in a pink dress that stretched over tightly across his chest and just covered his assets, and thigh high fishnets held up with pink ribbon, worked his pink glittery heels and glittered red beard as he served them. A pink collar around his neck read: SLAVE. He set a metal shaker, a cocktail glass, and two tall glasses of clear liquid onto the table.