I simply wanted to be a slave, or even less I wanted to be just an animal.

It's been years since I decided that I did not want to be a free man anymore.

I did not want to decide anything, to take no decision. I did not want an ordinary life, family, friends, home, and bills to pay.

I wanted to be enslaved, or even less; I wanted to be just a despicable animal.

It took me some years to find a way to fulfill my dream.

I've searched social networks, apps, and the entire world web.

With great difficulty, I found only one group specialized in people trafficking that believed and accepted to market me. They said that one of the few countries in which an adult male and white man can be kept as a slave naturally is Swaziland.

There, debt slavery, caste, or voluntary slavery is accepted with normality.

The problem is that tourism to the country does not exist, obtaining visas is very difficult, and the value of a slave is meager.

Selling me there would not make any profit to the group. I had to pay all the costs and the gain of the traffickers.

But it was what I had always dreamed of.

In Swaziland, I could not return or contact anyone I ever knew.

After the difficulties were overcome, once I could be delivered as a slave there, I would be a slave for the rest of my life.

I did not have any real estate; I sold my car, gave the apartment that I rented, closed my bank accounts, and donated all my clothes, cell phone, and other belongings to a church.

I handed over all my money and my savings from years of work to the guys who dealt with my sales.

When I got to the airport, I had the ticket, the passport and only the clothes I wore.

It's been more than ten years since I arrived with a tourist visa. As soon as I disembarked, I was waited at the airport by four of my Master's employees. I think I was the only white man that landed that day.

They did not tell me anything, and they did not seem to speak English; they just put me in the truck and took a beautiful, well-paved road.

During the trip, I could see many sugarcane plantations and forests.

After two hours of travel, we arrived at a beautiful, big property.

The servants took me to a shed, and I understood they wanted my documents and told me to undress. I obeyed.

They put a chain on me like a leash and chained my feet.

They defined my name as "Nguruwe," which years later I understood to be "pig."

In these ten years, I still can not understand a Swahili word; I know only the essential words:

Truck: Lori

Download: Pakua

Food: Chacula

To sleep: Kulala

Take a shower: Omba

Punishment: Adhabu

Stick: Weka

Whip: mjeledi

Stay four: Kaa nne

Lay: kulala

Kneel: Kneel - they speak a few words in English.

Open your legs: Fungua miguu yako

Suck: kunyonya

They understand that a slave should not speak cause animals do not speak.

No one asked or explained anything, and I never talked or repeated anything they spoke.

When for mistake I say something, I usually get a slap or a thrash on the face.

I never wore any clothes or shoes and never slept in a bed. Never again have I used a bathroom or cutlery and dishes.

The man who bought me never wanted to know me, never had the curiosity. I understood that I was purchased as any other animal; there was nothing strange or abnormal.

I work in the fields or loading and unloading the trucks.

Almost all employees are men and blacks. Others are working as slaves, with chains on their necks and feet, but only I get naked all the time. All employees can beat me, and many of them beat me for whatever reason or even for no reason at all. My body, especially my legs and butt, are marked by stick strokes all the time.

I work every day, from dawn to sunrise, without rest or even on Sundays. The food is good, I can not complain. As the farm has horses and cattle, the vet examines me, vaccinates and cares for the injuries, and cuts the sugar cane crop causes.

I sleep chained to a pillar of the shed. I am raped practically every night, several times. During the day, in the middle of the work I obey when they order that I suck the dick of some foreman, manager or a simple employee. I can not disobey and admit I love to suck big dicks.

Some of them take pleasure in pissing in my face; others order that I drink the piss in front of all so that the other workers watch and debaucher. When I stumble and fall on the ground, some beat me up with the sticks, others kick me to get up, others brutally step on my face with their muddy boots. None of them have shown pity or treated me with respect in all these years. Some are spatially cruel and sadistic.

The photo above was taken by a white businessman in town when I was chained to the farm truck. They took me to town to unload the goods at the market. On these occasions, a white slave like me arouses a lot of curiosity and astonishment, attracting onlookers. Some are even more amazed when they realize that my dick gets hard when they humiliate or spank me. I'm not surprised; I'm still excited and happy whenever I'm treated like the pig I always knew I was.

I was born for that, so I've never been so happy. That was the life I wanted.