Slaves of the Billionaire (6 page)

             
“Are you Dresden?” she asked. I knew from the voice that it was the woman from the phone call.

             
“Yes.”

             
The woman extended her hand. “I’m Molly and this is Lester. Nice to meet you.” Lester looked me up and down slowly.

             
“You’re kind of obvious,” I snapped.

             
“Hoho. We got a live one.” Lester smiled and sipped his coffee.

             
Molly laughed. “Well, I suppose I should explain things. Lester, get some more fold up chairs.”

             
Lester retrieved two more chairs and we sat in a semicircle with me in the center. Molly began to explain the job. At first, I was appalled. Then I was disgusted and then I was intrigued.

             
“How’s the pay?”

             
“Excellent. Even by New York standards.”

             
“I’m interested.”

             
Molly laughed and played with her charm bracelet. “You have to pass the test first.”

             
“What’s the test?”

             
Molly handed me a long string.

             
“What am I supposed to do with this?”

             
“You show me. You, my dear, get to dominate Lester.”

             
I looked at Lester and he smiled. “I can do anything?” I asked.

             
“Anything.”

             
I stroked the string in my hand and started to remember all those times I punched the neighborhood boys in the balls.

             
“Take off your pants, Lester.”

             
Lester smiled and took off his pants and underwear. His balls were low hanging and his penis was curled up like a snail. I took the string and tied up his balls. I lopped the string round and round.

             
“Follow me, Lester.” I then led Lester around the office by the string I had tied to his balls. He gave little resistance. If I pulled too tight he would experience tremendous pain. I yanked the string a few times. He moaned and rose up on the balls of his feet. Molly started clapping.

             
“Bravo,” she uttered.

             
“Do I get the job?” I asked.

             
“You get the job.”

             
For the next ten years, I molded and sculpted myself into Dresden, the Dominatrix. I kept my name as I figured it was my Dad’s abusiveness that led me to enjoy beating and degrading men so much. My clients called me Mistress Dresden. I got the nickname, in the BDSM community, of Mistress Dread. I was harsh. I zapped balls with electrodes with joyous abandon. I rammed 10 inch dildos in men’s asses. I peed on them. I put them in cages and filed my nails. I made them eat my pussy while I watched TV. I kicked them. I stomped on them. I whipped them. I cut them. I hit them with bricks. I degraded them. I told them they were worthless. I loved every moment of it.

             
Trent called my 800 number and asked for an 11 PM slot. Usually, the receptionist at High Power Industries booked my clients, but she was out ill and I was left answering the phone one night as I listened to Tori Amos. I told Trent I was busy. He demanded. I told him to fuck off.

             
“Please,” he said.

             
I sighed. I was bored with the conversation and I was tired of Tori Amos’ voice. I gave Trent the address to my dungeon.

             
“If you’re one fucking minute late, I’m gone and I’m billing your credit card.”

             
I didn’t dress up. I wore a skirt and a green blouse. I pulled my hair back into a bun and pulled my contacts out. They had been bothering the whole night. My glasses were expensive and chic. I only wore them when a client requested it. There was something about Trent that irked me. I didn’t want to let him think that I cared about my appearance. I looked in the mirror. I looked like a school teacher. I smiled at myself.

             
“Teach the boy a lesson,” I mumbled.

             
Trent was waiting outside the door of the dungeon.

             
“You’re early,” I said.

             
“Does that please you?”

             
I laughed. “No. I told you not to be late, not early.”

             
I opened the door and turned on the lights. My dungeon was clean and sleek and filled with naughty toys and implements. It was my office. It was my life. I kept it orderly and well-maintained.

             
Trent stood in the middle of the dungeon. He was dressed in an expensive suit and was wearing a Rolex, the usual bauble of my clients. I wasn’t impressed with him. I knew who he was. He was dating Alexia, the uber model. She showed up at all the high end functions in Manhattan draped across his arm like a puppy dog. Wealthy men loved being dominated. Most of my clients were wealthy and successful. Trent was not unique.

             
I set my purse down. “Did you fill out the questionnaire?” I had my clients fill out a questionnaire of likes and dislikes. It helped me understand their limitations and true desires.

             
Trent smiled. “No. I can just tell you what I’m into.”

             
“OK. So what are you into?”

             
“Domination.”

             
I sneered. “That’s why we're here, isn’t it? You’re wasting my time.”

             
Trent grabbed my arm. I tried yanking it away, but his hand kept a strong grip on my forearm.

             
“Let me go,” I told him firmly.

             
Trent released his grip. I slapped him across the face. He didn’t flinch.

             
“We’re done,” I told him.

             
Trent tried to pull me closer to him. I pulled back and slapped him again. Trent fell to his knees and buried his face in my crotch.

             
“Get the fuck off me.” I pounded his back with my hand. Trent released me. We stared at each other for a few seconds. I felt desire licking my body. I reached down and roughly pulled Trent’s hair. I spat in his face twice. Trent’s mouth was open and he was breathing heavily.

             
“I want you,” he said.

             
“Fuck.” My clit felt like it was on fire. I hit Trent again. I hit him hard in his shoulder. We made eye contact and then the madness began. We started tearing at each other. Hitting, kissing, licking and moaning. We fought like enemies, but moaned like lovers. He tried fisting me. I whacked him on his head.

             
“No!” I yelled. He paid no attention. He worked his hand in. He was splitting me open. I wrapped my legs around his neck.

             
“Give me your cock. I want your cock.”

             
I grabbed hold of his pants, pulled them down and encircled my hands around his penis.

             
“Is this what you wanted? To fuck me?” I lifted his cock up and slapped his balls. Trent moaned very loud this time. I slapped his balls again. I then pushed away and grabbed a narrow belt from a drawer.

             
“I’ll show you who’s in charge,” I said.

             
I hit his balls with the belt until he seemed on the verge of crying. “You’re in trouble, Dresden.”

             
“Fuck you.” I stalked across the room. Trent ran up behind me and pulled my hair. My whole body went backwards. I jabbed my elbows back into the chest. Trent ripped open my blouse and reached his hand into my bra and squeezed my nipples so roughly that I screamed. I did a backward kick and Trent went sprawling on the floor. I dug my high heeled shoe into his penis and balls.

             
“I’m in charge, Trent. Yes, I know who you are.”

             
“I want you to know,” he said. “I’ve known about you for a few years. Mistress Dread. Dresden Moore. I know who you are.”

             
I pushed my foot deeper into his balls. “How do you know my name? Dresden Moore.”

             
“I know lots of things, Dresden.”

             
I felt angry. I bent over and started beating his chest. At first, Trent took it. Then he started hitting back. Suddenly, we were in a full fight. He finally wrestled me to the ground. He lay on top of me and we stared at each other, breathless from the battle.

             
“I know you, Dresden.” He spoke the words with strength and conviction. I almost believed him. He kissed me then. I slapped his face. He kissed me again. Our tongues began to fight and then I felt his cock slide deep inside me. I reached up to strangle Trent. I dug my fingers into his throat. He groaned and grimaced and I released my hands. His thick cock continued to push into me. I hadn’t had sex in two years and I was luxuriating in the feelings.

             
“You’re mine, Dresden,” muttered Trent. “Give yourself to me.”

             
“I’m no one’s,” I said.

             
Trent pulled out of me. “You’re mine,” he reiterated.

             
“No, you’re mine.” I slugged him across his chest. Trent pushed on my legs and then pulled me by my hair to the cage situated against the west wall.

             
“Get in,” he said.

             
“No!”

             
Trent shoved me into the cage and locked it. He left the dungeon. I was trapped.

             
“Let me out of here, you bastard!” I was seething and panicked. Trent had gained the upper hand.

             
Trent ignored me and dressed. He then left the dungeon, while I remained trapped in the cage. I curled up and cried. I berated myself for allowing a client to dominate me. It had never happened before. Never.

             
Trent came back after what seemed like an hour. He let me out of the cage and stroked my hair. “You did well,” he said.

             
I cried from relief onto his white shirt.

             
“You’re an ass,” I exclaimed.

             
“I know.” Trent stroked my back.

             
“I never want to see you again.”

             
“Yes, you do. I gained the upper hand. That intrigues you.”

             
Trent scheduled a session once a week. We battled like enemies, fucked until I was sore and then parted ways. Trent always overpowered me. He was immune to my thrashings. He always managed to overpower me.

             
“You’re letting me control you,” Trent had told me. I didn’t think that was true. Trent was strong, controlling and fierce. I fought like a knight of the round table, but he beat me into submission each time.

             
“I’m done with you,” I told him one night.

             
“No, you’re not.” Trent pulled my head back and kissed me.

             
“Don’t do that. Don’t you dare.” I grabbed a whip and lashed Trent. He tried to grab the whip out of my hand, but I pushed him away with my other hand and attacked him again. Trent yelped. I was strong and I didn’t rein in my strength. I could see welts forming on his back.

             
“Bitch,” yelled Trent. He managed to grab the whip from my hand. He pushed me against the wall. He then dragged me to the Web. The Web was leather and metal and was six feet high. There were restraints to prevent a person from moving. Trent forced me against the web and secured my hands and feet.

             
“This is over Trent. Let me go.”

             
“It’s not over until I say it is,” said Trent.

             
I rattled the web, but couldn’t move or break free. I was mad, upset, and on the verge of tears.

“Let me go!”

              I heard Trent searching through drawers. “Stay out of my things, Trent.”

             
I then heard Trent’s footsteps. He was behind me and stroking my hair. Trent pressed something cold against my skin.

“What is that?” I was
worried. Tears crept down my cheeks.

“This
is what you want, Dresden. You don’t want power. You want to submit.”

“No, I don’t. We are so done Trent.”