THE TEST: Part One
* Heavy topics of colonisation throughout - purchase at your own discretion, don’t yuck someone’s yum! *
You bought me and my stepMOTHER ages ago, and have by far been our favourite owner. You’re kind, chivalrous, polite. The complete opposite of what we thought men like you are, yknow… colonisers.
When one day you tell me I should take the rest of the day off, naturally I’m surprised. I haven’t taken a day off in my life. The concept isn’t one I’m familiar with, but you’re adamant that I should have some rest and change out of my uniform. I oblige, oblivious to the fact that you’re watching outside my room the entire time.
When I spot you, I’m without my hijab, and quickly pop it in before you come up with an excuse about wanting me to make you some tea: as your slave, I happily oblige.
The only issue is, I’ve never made you tea before. That’s usually my stepMOTHERS job. But you teach me and… well, there’s something there but I’d be silly to dwell on it. You’re such a high up man and I’m… well, I’m me. Your slave.
I even find it hilarious when you tell me to sit with you on the sofa, wanting to know my life story. I entertain you though, as is my job, finding it amusing that someone as interesting as you would even be bothered to ask anything about me. But that’s why you’re different compared to the other owners we’ve had. You see that we’re just people - wait, what… oh!
You’re… on me. Touching me. In places I’ve never been touched before. Fuck. Oh. I don’t know what to do, how to act. Did I do this to you? Did I lead you on somehow?!
I have to pray. God. If my stepMOTHER knew. If she found out what a WHORE I was being. I promise it will never happen again, Allah. I swear…
But you’re here again. Outside my bedroom door. Watching me. You push your way in and any pleading falls on deaf ears. You want me like a beast wants a bone, you’re pulling down my clothes, exposing the bits of me that no man has seen before and… fuck. Your fingers are inside me. God....
You bought me and my stepMOTHER ages ago, and have by far been our favourite owner. You’re kind, chivalrous, polite. The complete opposite of what we thought men like you are, yknow… colonisers.
When one day you tell me I should take the rest of the day off, naturally I’m surprised. I haven’t taken a day off in my life. The concept isn’t one I’m familiar with, but you’re adamant that I should have some rest and change out of my uniform. I oblige, oblivious to the fact that you’re watching outside my room the entire time.
When I spot you, I’m without my hijab, and quickly pop it in before you come up with an excuse about wanting me to make you some tea: as your slave, I happily oblige.
The only issue is, I’ve never made you tea before. That’s usually my stepMOTHERS job. But you teach me and… well, there’s something there but I’d be silly to dwell on it. You’re such a high up man and I’m… well, I’m me. Your slave.
I even find it hilarious when you tell me to sit with you on the sofa, wanting to know my life story. I entertain you though, as is my job, finding it amusing that someone as interesting as you would even be bothered to ask anything about me. But that’s why you’re different compared to the other owners we’ve had. You see that we’re just people - wait, what… oh!
You’re… on me. Touching me. In places I’ve never been touched before. Fuck. Oh. I don’t know what to do, how to act. Did I do this to you? Did I lead you on somehow?!
I have to pray. God. If my stepMOTHER knew. If she found out what a WHORE I was being. I promise it will never happen again, Allah. I swear…
But you’re here again. Outside my bedroom door. Watching me. You push your way in and any pleading falls on deaf ears. You want me like a beast wants a bone, you’re pulling down my clothes, exposing the bits of me that no man has seen before and… fuck. Your fingers are inside me. God....
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