Manor of the black Lord. Part 3
His words had the desired effect. In Samantha’s gaze, Dantrell read humility and resignation.
- You understood me? He asked to be sure.
“Yes,” said the planter’s wife, barely audibly.
- Treat me as your master!
“Yes, sir,” she corrected and lowered her gaze.
This answer satisfied him.
- Good girl. You learn faster than your daughters, but they will soon get better. You will see, the black seed works wonders.
“Do you promise to keep them alive, my lord?” – It turned out to be quite difficult to talk with someone who had recently been her property in such a manner. Words were difficult for Samantha Morris.
“I’m not a killer, woman. Dantrell frowned. “I only gave justice to those who deserved it. All who died today could survive if they laid down their arms. Don’t worry about your daughters. Soon they will be happy and themselves will know the joy of motherhood. As, however, you.
The woman looked at her new master with a blank look. He bent over her, huge and mighty, took her hair and pulled it back slightly, forcing her head to tilt back a little. Now she couldn’t turn her back on him even if she wanted to.
“You’re giving me a whole bunch of children,” he rapped out in a tone that required no objection.
Samantha shook her head in disbelief.
“My lord, you cannot do this to me. I am a respected married woman …
He hit the woman on the cheek again, holding her head by the hair.
“You haven’t learned your lesson. You are no longer Samantha Morris, but the black master’s personal item and seed bag. Who is your owner?
“You,” she said, panting, obediently. “You are my master and my master.
“Don’t make me angry anymore,” Dantrell said menacingly. “Otherwise, I’ll change my mercy for anger, and you won’t like it. Think about your daughters. I can put them not only under a crowd of niggas greedy for female flesh, but also under the dogs in your husband’s kennel, or better under his stallions that are in the stall. Do you want it?
“No,” she burst into tears, imagining a horrifying picture of her daughters being torn apart by horse members. “Don’t be so cruel, my lord.
“Then don’t you dare contradict me anymore.
“Yes, my master,” Samantha swallowed bitter tears.
“Now tell me who you are.
- I am your slave.
It wasn’t enough, and he turned his eyes to her, demanding more. Suppressing her pride, she answered him:
- I am your white whore!
- It’s better.
“I’m the cover for your black cock.” It was especially hard for her, but Dantrell approved.
“Prove it,” he ordered, pulling off his linen shirt.
As soon as she saw his powerful torso, with tight muscles showing through the skin and cubes of abs on a flat stomach, Samantha gasped involuntarily. A nigga’s body caused conflicting feelings in her. On one side before her stood a pitch-black dirty slave, the very thought of intercourse with whom before would have caused her only rejection. Regenald always said that niggas are stupid and disgusting animals. On the other hand, few white men had such a harmoniously built and strong body. Heat and attractive vibes of incredible strength emanated from him. For a moment, the woman wondered what it was like to lie submissively and spread her legs under a male like him. The thought frightened and at the same time embarrassed her. Samantha’s cheeks were reddened with shame.
Dantrell untied the ties of his breeches and they fell at his feet.
There, on the first floor of the estate, Samantha had already seen members of black slaves who raped her daughters and other girls. They seemed to her huge, inhuman, but what burst out of their pants of her newly-made master made the woman wide open her eyes and freeze in horror. Dantrell’s huge, tense phallus was blacker than night. A cobweb of thick veins wrapped its long, high-sticking trunk. It seemed to her that his dignity was even thicker than her wrists, but the woman did not dare to compare them. A massive head crowning a solid organ looked somewhere just above its crown. Examining member nigger, and she noticed a large, heavy hanging in the black eggs scrotum.