Edward considered himself a lucky man. His life was the embodiment of power and wealth. He sighed in contentment and set down the documents he had been reviewing. His eyes wandered to the three-piece wall art hanging in front of him. It was a striking series of black-and-white photos, a three-piece art sequence featuring a young woman's buttocks.
The first image captured her from behind, bent over a desk with her back arched, presenting her arse to the camera. Her posture tense. The second piece depicted a blurry motion as she seemingly struggled. She was hunched over with a leg up, trying in vain to shield her already bruised bottom and her hand covering the other cheek from the unseen hand delivering the caning. The final photograph, 'The Aftermath,' showed her slumped over with an air of acceptance, the arse now welted red and her legs slightly spread for the camera to capture her glistening cunt. A picture of surrender and vulnerability.
'The colonial girl' -- the portrait was called. It was a spectacular set of art if he said so himself. The theme of discipline and submission clearly unfolded through the progression of images. He had received so much admiration for it from his guests when he received them in his study, some even offered to pay for a copy.
The door opened, interrupting his thoughts. A petite woman with medium tan skin entered, carrying a tray with his coffee. The girl was naked except for a simple black leather collar around her neck. He accepted the coffee presented to him wordlessly. As he took his first sip, the girl gracefully knelt at his feet. So very well trained already, he mused, so much different from the insolent young woman who was presented to him just earlier this year. Then again, having zero autonomy must have made her feel more helpless and dependent on him. She was smart enough not to want to lose his favour.
"William has asked again if he could have a copy of your arse to display in his home. I'm rather tempted to sell him a copy," Edward said while stroking the girl's hair, purposefully trying to get a raise of her. Sure enough, there was a defiant fire in her eyes when their gaze met, but again, she was smart enough not to reply with anything.
He chuckled and continued sipping his coffee, "Don't look at me like that, runt. Or William will have a brand new original portrait for himself and not just a copy."
Runt looked down upon hearing the veiled threat in her owner's words. He probably was just teasing her but she could never know with him, better safe than sorry. She knew he could be wicked with his cane.
Edward stroked his colonial girl's hair again and smiled when the little girl leaned to his touch. For all her brattiness, he had always seen the real need and want to be dominated in her. A desperation to submit and be owned, even if she was too prideful to admit.
He observed her silently for a moment, reflecting on how much she had changed since she first came into his life. The colonial girls -- that was the derogatory name they called the coloured girls who entered the indentured servitude system. It was an old concept, taken and rebranded as something new and civilised. People were not wrong to call it modern slavery when it's basically the practice of taking a coloured girl into the home of a white man with the expectation that she is to serve and obey her white benefactor in exchange for his protection and financial compensation. He took ownership of runt the day he paid off her debt. That was her price. A sum that she could never even dream of having but a trivial coin lost between the folds of his fortune.
He had a brief flashback of the first time he saw a colonial girl being used at a work-related social gathering. A coloured girl kneeling between his business partner's legs, servicing him.
"Doing exactly what her ancestors did for mine. I can't believe we allowed them to delude themselves into thinking they are our equals," his business partner had sneered before cumming down the poor girl's throat.
It was common practice for successful white men like himself to take a coloured girl in their household to fulfill their needs. He did not have any plan to take one for himself at first but his friends had persuaded him, convincing him that it would make his life and work more bearable.
After all, it was not considered gentlemanly to bring one's wife along on a long business trip, and even less so to be rough with her after a demanding day at work. No, a wife was for social appearance, an equal partner to be treated with gentleness and respect. A colonial girl, on the other hand, was a role of servitude. If he came back to the hotel and wanted a hole to fuck, she was there to get on all fours with her ass raised in the air, spreading her hole like a bitch in heat without him having to dine and wine her. And if he came back frustrated after a failed negotiation, she was there to stand with her hands behind her head and swallow back whimpers as he used her tits like two stress balls attached to her chest.
His divorce was just finalised last year, he realised that he was, after all, in the market for a new companion. He did not have the time to court a wife, but a pet -- he could spare some time to train. That was all a native girl was to a white man during the colonial era hundred years ago: a white man's pet, a source of amusement and a means to fulfill curiosity; a housekeeper as well as a set of holes to fuck. Convenient. By the blood that flows in their veins, they deserve the same rights as their ancestors.
When considering a colonial girl, Edward was spoiled for choice. For a while, he entertained the thought of picking out a coloured girl who did not speak a word of English and then training her to respond to his commands like he would with a dog. As amusing as that would be, he thought it would be too tiring on top of his work, so he had chosen runt instead. He was glad he did.
Though he could have gone for the younger girls just touching 18, he thought that the company of a woman in her mid-twenties would be better. Young enough but experienced and more engaging, and he was correct. Despite her age, runt retained a touch of innocence, a remnant of her sheltered upbringing. At 24 he thought she was too old to still be a virgin. Embarrassed and devastated, she had confessed to him that she was saving it for someone special. He would be lying if he said that it did not stroke his ego to be the first to introduce her to the world of pleasure, it awakened his primal instinct, a powerful feeling of ownership.
The first thing he did upon owning her was replace her native name. She had a beautiful native name, as lovely as the girl herself was but he had renamed her runt due to her petite frame and because her gaze when she looked at him reminded him of the small, helpless puppy he had as a child--the runt of the litter.
She had glared at him, showing her contempt for the name, especially since she understood its meaning. Fluent in English, had gone to university and received a proper education. It was a shame that she had failed to settle the accumulated debt from her personal loan after graduation. That was how she ended up kneeling on his feet naked, stripped off dignity and forbidden from pride. She could lie through her teeth, to herself even, that she was only doing this because of the debt but her body was far honest. There was no denying how much she enjoyed a white man's touch, considering her glistening cunt every time he toyed with her. All the colonial girls were white-worshipping whores and she wasn't above them. And Edward took great joy in reminding her of this.
