Slaves of the Billionaire (4 page)

“That was twisted and sexy baby,” he said as he winked at me.

As I was cleaning the blood from my body in the dressing room, Trent Raider walked in. I didn’t know who he was, but his suit was flawless and he was handsome. He had a stern look on his face. I could tell right away, you couldn’t mess with him. He was confident, not arrogant. There was strength in his body, but his mind was the real muscle. I just knew that.

“Interesting routine.”

“That’s the first time I did it.”

“Did you like it?”

“Very much.”

“Have you ever worked in a dungeon?”

“I’m not even sure what that is.”

“It’s a playroom for dominant men and women. I think you would be a good fit for one in Manhattan. It’s called The Darkest Pit. You would make a good sub. You’re rough, though. I could groom you. I could turn you into a powerful woman who submits.”

“Would I be yours?”

“You would be a slave to any man who pays. Don’t worry. All the men are vetted. You have no idea how powerful the men are that go to the Darkest Pit.”

“A slave. That’s new to me.”

Trent raised his perfectly plucked eyebrow. “I doubt that.” He came towards me and grabbed my vagina with his right hand. I could smell
a light musky cologne on him. I found the firm set of his mouth alluring. “You like that don’t you? You’re a true submissive. You’re a whore and you know it. But you haven’t accepted it yet. You’re confused. There is so much frustration inside you.”

My eyes were watering from the pressure of his hand.

“I want to be a slave.”

He smiled and kissed my forehead. “I know you do.”

The Darkest Pit was in mid-Manhattan. I met with a tall, red haired woman named Sinister Light. She was beautifully dressed in black stockings and a skirt. Around her waist was a slate colored corset that cinched her waist. She surveyed me and then sent me off to several stylists with her recommendations.

“Come back tomorrow at noon after you’ve had your makeover.”

The next day I walked into the The Darkest Pit with hair that had been expertly highlighted, lightened and curled. My eyes were kohl lined and highlighted with gold dust eyeshadow. I was wearing a tight red dress, a garter belt and a demi bra that pushed my breasts upwards.

“Ravishing.”
Sinister Light looked delighted.  I had never felt beautiful until that moment.

I spent the next two weeks being schooled. Various women, both submissive and dominant, sat with me for hours talking about BDSM, switching, topping, whips, canes, pain and so many other things that I had never heard or read about. At the end of the two weeks, I met with an aging, love
ly looking woman, named Grace, who was dressed in a light blue suit. She told me she was a therapist. I had to be cleared by her to work at The Darkest Pit. I found this strange. I was nervous meeting with her. I had talked to social workers and psychologists in the past, usually in jail or for probation.

“Don’t be nervous,” she said. “Just be honest.”

I told her everything including my drunken and abusive father and my incident with Jon. Grace’s face was neutral and made no comments. She was quiet for some time.

“Let me ask you, when you are submissive what comes to mind?”

I thought for a moment. “Peace.”

I didn’t hear anything for three days. I
lay around my apartment, watched TV and tried not to stare at my cell phone every twenty seconds.

On the morning of the fourth day, Trent called me.

“Be at The Darkest Pit at 8:00 PM tonight. Wear red.”

The Darkest Pit, despite it’s off putting name, is an elegant and exquisitely decorated place. It is filled with ornate furniture, golden mirrors, maroon plush chairs and couches, a long bar with mahogany
wood and overly polite staff. There is a long hallway with multiple rooms and behind each door is a play room in various themes. The rooms are all sound-proofed and the carpet in the hall is so plush that you can’t hear your footsteps. I have never been in the play rooms. My training took place in small offices on the other side of the Pit and at the long bar. I occasionally got glimpses of clients. All men looking dapper and sporting Rolexes. If I read the newspapers or gossip columns, I might have recognized some of the men, but I was blissfully unaware of current events and I liked that the Pit encouraged anonymity from both parties.

Sister Light escorted me to a play room when I arrived. I walked in and saw Trent sitting on a leather chair in the corner. The play room had a little cell replete with bars, a metal desk with a light hanging above it, a metal chair, a bucket, cattle prods hanging on the walls, and a small box with
with wires.

“Take off your clothes. Take everything off and sit in the chair at the desk.”

I complied. Stripping had made me immune to nudity. I stood in the cool room and faced Trent. I then took a seat on the metal chair, which felt very cold on my skin. Trent took handcuffs out of his pants and hooked my wrist to the desk.

“What’s your name?”

“Vanessa Vampire.”

“That’s not your name. Tell me your name. Tell me your real name.”

I hesitated. I liked being unknown. Trent paced around the table.

“
Carice. Carice Monroe.”

“Good. Tell me about your father.”

My reaction was reflexive. “No.”

Trent grabbed the box with wires. He attached wires to my breasts and my vagina.

“Tell me about your father.”

I remained stubborn. “No.”

Trent pressed a red button and I felt electricity zip through my body. My clit felt hot, almost burning. The sensations were painful, but pleasant.

“That was a low voltage. I will go higher. You won’t like it. No one will hear your screams. You are chained to the desk. You are mine.
My prisoner. I will torture you without restraint. Now, tell me about your Father.”

“He was a drunk.”

“Did he touch you?”

“He beat me.”

“Did he touch you sexually?”

I had a sudden urge to run, hide and cry. I shook my head. Trent adjusted a knob and pressed the red button. More electricity shot through me and I cried out. It hurt. My clit felt raw and my nipples were throbbing.

“I’m going to ask you again. Did your Father touch you sexually?”

“Yes.” My voice was very low.

“What did he do to you, Carice?”

I was getting angry. “He fucked me, alright?”

“Don’t talk to me like that, Carice. You need to understand your place in this room. You are nothing and I am everything.”

Trent removed one of the cattle prods from the wall. He turned it on and it sizzled. He poked my leg with it. I felt a sharp zap. I yanked on the handcuffs. I felt panicked. The past two weeks my mentors, the other women, talked a lot about trust.

“Your Master will care for you, if you trust them,” they said. They all said it. It was a mantra at the Pit.

“What did your F
ather do to you?” Trent was standing over me. His voice sounded concerned. I nudged my head towards him. I wanted to touch him. I wanted comfort. He yanked my head back by my hair and spit in my face. “What did he do?”

“He came in my room one night. He was drunk. He climbed on top of me. He kept saying I was bad.
That I was teasing him. He said he wanted my cunt. He used that word. Cunt. He took my virginity that night. I felt so awful. I wanted to die. When my Dad left my room I swallowed aspirin. But I didn’t die. I just got sick.”

“Good girl.
Very good.” Trent stroked my hair. “Did you get pleasure from your Father?”

“No!”

“Don’t yell, Carice.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you here? It’s not unusual for a victim to feel pleasure from the abuse. This is well known by therapists. The guilt over feeling the pleasure can destroy some people. It’s difficult to deal with. It’s difficult to understand that pain can bring pleasure. Our culture disputes that proposition. And yet, here we are. Did you get pleasure from your Father?”

I thought hard. I reached back into the past that I was running from. “Yes.”

“Good Carice. That’s why you are here, with me, in this room. You need to confront all your desires and fears. Be honest. Trust that I will not destroy your mind, even though it may feel like I am destroying your body.”

Trent unhooked the hand cuffs.

“I have to pee,” I said.

“There’s a bucket over there.” Trent’s voice suddenly sounded kind.

“Joking?”

“Not at all.”

I walked over and straddled my legs over the bucket. I spent thirty seconds trying to pee. Trent was watching me. He was waiting. I felt so exposed. Eventually, the urine began to trickle out and the bucket began filling with my urine.

“In the cell,
Carice.”

I entered the small cell, which was actually a large cage. A Great Dane could fit into it. Trent pushed me in and then locked the door.

“I’ll be back,” he said.

Trent was gone for a long time. Eventually, I curled up and went to sleep.

“Time to play, Carice.” He banged on the cell. My body jumped. It took several moments to realize where I was. Trent opened the cell and dragged me out. “Performance time.”

Sinister Light was in the room, holding a robe. She draped it over me and then guided me out of the play room, down the hall and into another play room. There were four men sitting in maroon leather chairs, drinking and smoking cigars. There was a raised platform in fro
nt of the chairs. The men were chatting with each other and paid no attention to me. Trent pushed me forward.

“Gentlemen, I present my newest slave. She’s here for your pleasure.” Trent took the robe from my
body. “Here’s the rules Carice. No eye contact, no saying ‘no’ and no crying. Understood?”

I nodded my head.

“Get on all fours on the platform.”

I did as told. The men kept talking and I saw Trent sit in one of the empty chairs and sip a drink. I waited for some time. My knees were starting to hurt. I released the tension in my neck and let my head hang low. My long hair dangled down and touched the platform. The men were talking about a court case. They were talking about bribing a judge. Eventually one of the men got up and stood before me. I could only see his leather tassel loafers.

“Have you fucked this one, Trent?”

“No. Haven’t had the pleasure yet,” said Trent.

“I think I’m going to make her lick my shoes. Slave, lick my shoes.” The man laughed. Then his voice grew serious. “I mean it, lick my shoes.” He put his foot on the edge of the platform. I leaned over and stuck my tongue out. I touched his shoe gingerly with my tongue. The man laughed again. “You’re licking Italian leather. These shoes cost two thousand dollars. Lick them like their special.” I swallowed and then started lapping with my whole tongue, not just the tip. The man laughed again. “That’s awesome. I love it when a woman licks my shoes. Gets me harder than a fucking metal rod.” The man took his shoe away and then propped up his other foot. I started licking again. “I’m bored. You’re a boring, groveling idiot. Is she a fighter, Trent?”

“Oh, yes. She’s tough and rough. I’m working on smoothing her edges. Did you know she has a criminal record? She’s one of those co
nfused girls who was abused by Daddy. I think I made a breakthrough tonight, though. She’s coming to terms with her depravity.”

“A criminal, huh?
Well, idiot slave you’re in a room full of lawyers. We can crush you legally.” The man laughed again. “Maybe we can plant some evidence on her. Get her jammed up in the court system. She could sit her ass in prison. Jail is for babies. Prison is for the idiot cunts.”

I started crying. I didn’t want to, but the man made me scared.

“I think she’s crying Marcus.” One of the other men spoke.

“I told you no crying,
Carice.” Trent did not sound happy.

“I’m going
to break you.” The man laughed. “Physically, mentally, sexually, emotionally. I will break you every way I can. Can I have her Trent? I mean permanent. My own slave. No sharing.”

“Not yet.” Trent shook the ice in his glass.

“Why not?”

“Because she’s mine.”

“I want her.”

“You can have her after I have used her.”

“Fuck, you get all the good ones. What if I don’t want your leftovers?”

“I have more money than you, Marcus.”

“That’s true.”

The man walked around to the side of the platform and pushed his foot on my back. He pushed until I collapsed. The man laughed again.

“Get up, idiot.”

I got back onto my hands and knees. The man pushed on my back again. I collapsed. I got back up. The man and I did this ten times and each time he laughed.

“I’m bored,” he said again. “Idiot slave. Where’s the cane? I want to whack her ass.”