A complex arrangement

Dear Diary, (continued from last entry a few hours later, when Mr. Thornton was done using me)

My mother's greatest fear has come true. I have been enslaved by a Southern master.

Well, in truth it is a little more complicated than that. While it is true that Mr. Thornton has collared me, my legal status is uncertain. As a lawyer, Mr. Thornton is well aware that if I were indeed enslaved, or in any other way taken out of the picture, that Havenhall and all its belongings would revert to my cousin.

Mr. Thornton has instead decided to keep our relationship hidden from the eyes of any who might take advantage of my questionable status to lay a claim on my property.

After making me kneel before him and collaring me, Mr. Thornton made clear that our relationship had changed.

"You, my dear Miss DiFlorentini, will in all appearances maintain your hold on Havenhall and all its business dealings." I lifted my gaze to meet his stern look in confusion and perhaps a glimmer of hope. Mr. Thornton was quick to put me in my place.

"You're still a nigga whore." He chuckled as her ran his hand through my hair, "we both know now that you are as tainted as any other mixed blood ****. Any doubt about that has been cleared up by the way you let me plow your swampy slit." I blushed fiercely as I remembered how I had whimpered and begged as he claimed me. I was in no position to refute his claim. "I do like a pretty, light-skinned fancy maid now and again when the need for release finds me, so that is going to be one of your functions here in Havenhall."

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My eyes lowered once again to his feet. He called me a 'nigga whore' ... he said he was going to use me for his 'release', but in spite of all that I could feel a tingling in my fingertips and nipples. How could that be? As Mr. Thornton went on describing my new dual life, the need to serve him grew harder and harder to deny. It did not help that as he stood before me his loins were level with my face. I could smell the musk from his unwashed member and see the bulge in his trousers.

It seems that, in the public's eyes I would remain the mixed-blood heiress and Mr. Thornton my assistant and confident, but when we were alone like this, the collar would once again be locked around my throat. When alone I was to call him Sir or Master, and I must without hesitation serve him in any way. Just a month ago I might have laughed at a situation like this, but here deep in the **** states, I knew I was powerless.

I could either submit to his degrading demands, or risk having my partial slavery made official. I could only imagine what my cousin would be willing to pay to have his one-time rival collared and chained at his feet. At the thought my hand came up to touch the iron band locked around my neck. It was cool and slightly rough under my fingertips, certainly not a piece of jewelry, but at the same time I had to stifle back a soft moan as I got even more aroused.

I think perhaps that Mr. Thornton heard my muffled whimper or perhaps had noticed the repeated glances I took at his groin, because his careful description of how I was to behave ended abruptly as he took me by my hair and pressed my nose against his crotch.

"Do you like that, slut?" He asked as he ground his pelvis against my cheeks and lips, "do you need more of your master's dick to keep you nice and sloppy?"