Not much has changed since I owned slaves two hundred years ago. I use to love walking out onto my plantation into the cotton fields and seeing the blackmans divert their gaze, trying to pretend that I didn't scare them and make them nervous because all their cocks grew hard. But self control never was a strong suit for the blackmans, every now and again one would lose control of himself and no longer be able to resist looking at me, my beautiful alabaster skin... an offense surely punishable by twenty lashes to his sweaty back. I'd sit with my face to his and meet his gaze, fanning my huge... Show more