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Southern Belle white goddess & the black slave
Soft, slow Southern accent begins — low, intimate, dangerous.
There’s something… in the dna, sugar.
Something passed down from generations of women like me — tall, blonde, born to rule. Born to sit high while the world kneels below.
My ancestors didn’t earn their power… they inherited it. Just like I inherited these full lips… this thick hair… these heavy, milky tits that weren’t made to feed babies… they were made to be worshipped.
And you? You weren’t born to sit at the table, baby.
You were born to clean under it.
You were born to sweat in the sun while I sipiced tea in the shade… to tremble when I call your name… to empty your wallet just to hear me say, “Good boy.”
It’s in yourdna too, isn’t it? That itch to serve. That ache to be used. That need to prove you’re nothing without me.
You don’t decide to be my slave.
There’s something… in the dna, sugar.
Something passed down from generations of women like me — tall, blonde, born to rule. Born to sit high while the world kneels below.
My ancestors didn’t earn their power… they inherited it. Just like I inherited these full lips… this thick hair… these heavy, milky tits that weren’t made to feed babies… they were made to be worshipped.
And you? You weren’t born to sit at the table, baby.
You were born to clean under it.
You were born to sweat in the sun while I sipiced tea in the shade… to tremble when I call your name… to empty your wallet just to hear me say, “Good boy.”
It’s in yourdna too, isn’t it? That itch to serve. That ache to be used. That need to prove you’re nothing without me.
You don’t decide to be my slave.
Soft, slow Southern accent begins — low, intimate, dangerous.
There’s something… in the dna, sugar.
Something passed down from generations of women like me — tall, blonde, born to rule. Born to sit high while the world kneels below.
My ancestors didn’t earn their power… they inherited it. Just like I inherited these full lips… this thick hair… these heavy, milky tits that weren’t made to feed babies… they were made to be worshipped.
And you? You weren’t born to sit at the table, baby.
You were born to clean under it.
You were born to sweat in the sun while I sipiced tea in the shade… to tremble when I call your name… to empty your wallet just to hear me say, “Good boy.”
It’s in yourdna too, isn’t it? That itch to serve. That ache to be used. That need to prove you’re nothing without me.
You don’t decide to be my slave.
There’s something… in the dna, sugar.
Something passed down from generations of women like me — tall, blonde, born to rule. Born to sit high while the world kneels below.
My ancestors didn’t earn their power… they inherited it. Just like I inherited these full lips… this thick hair… these heavy, milky tits that weren’t made to feed babies… they were made to be worshipped.
And you? You weren’t born to sit at the table, baby.
You were born to clean under it.
You were born to sweat in the sun while I sipiced tea in the shade… to tremble when I call your name… to empty your wallet just to hear me say, “Good boy.”
It’s in yourdna too, isn’t it? That itch to serve. That ache to be used. That need to prove you’re nothing without me.
You don’t decide to be my slave.
