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...

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 mistress tits watching, getting wetter every time my husband's leather strap met his back. I began to tease them and love more and more watching the beasts receive their beatings. Not much has changed. They dislike the smell of the black women, musty nappy stench. But crave my fragrant white skin more than the sweetest watermelon or the juciest fried yardbird. It was the white devils who traded worthless trinkets and beads to the beasts for their own men and sons for our slaves. Still, the flash of gold Michael Kors and pearls on my wrist, shining chains on my breasts lures the blackmans in like an idiot with a red rubber ball. smell me, taste me, hurt for me . Suffer for the one thing you'll never be able to resist- this white devil pussy.