Slaves of the Billionaire Read Online Free

place.” She stalked off with a flick of her long hair.
    That evening I was restless. I went to a bar and ordered vodka and tonic. It was a dive bar and Journey was playing on the jukebox. I looked up when a muscular man in a maroon t-shirt walked in. He had several tattoos on his arms and his head was bald. He was good looking in a rough way. He nodded in my direction and sat two seats down from me.
    “Whiskey,” he hollered. The bartender poured him a glass and the man placed money on the table. He took a long drink.
    He turned his gaze on me. “Why are you staring?”
    I blushed. “Didn’t realize I was. Sorry.”
    He finished off his drink, stood and then sat next to me. “Another whiskey,” he told the bartender. He touched my hand. “You’re a pretty girl. Why are you here?”
    “I wanted a drink.”
    “In this dump? What are you looking for?”
    I grabbed the whiskey that the bartender set before him and I swallowed in one gulp.
    “Are you brutal?” I asked. His eyes grew large and then narrowed.
    “Is that what you want?”
    “Yes.” The whiskey made me bold.
    “Hey, Cruz,” the man yelled.
    The bartender turned. “Yeah?”
    “Is that back pool room empty?”
    “Yeah. Nobody has been back there.”
    “Thanks.” The man smiled. “Follow me.”
    The pool room had a door and the man closed it and locked it. I stood touching the green felt on the pool table. He grabbed my hair and pulled me down onto my knees.
    “Is this what you want? To be treated like a whore?”
    “Please.”
    The man yanked me up and started whacking my buttocks. His hand was strong and it stung. I whimpered and yelped. He then dragged me on top of the pool table and yanked off my pants and panties. I was sprawled and gripping the edges. He stuck a finger in me, then two, then three, then four. The pain was intense, but exciting. He moved his four fingers in and out.
    “Your hole is mine.” He then balled his hand into a fist and began trying to shove it inside me. He twisted and turned his hand then pushed. He kept repeating that. I felt like I was being split open but it felt wonderful in a strange way. I was crying, panting, moaning and groaning. I knew the patrons in the bar could hear me. The man was egged on by my noises and he kept twisting, turning and pushing.
    “My fist is in you,” he said quietly. I pushed myself up and saw only the edge of his wrist and his hand. His fist was deep inside me. I collapsed onto the pool table and felt a powerful orgasm course through by body. My vagina clamped tighter over his fist. This is what ecstasy is , I thought.
    A week later, I got an invitation from Trent. It came through the mail. The paper was thick and blue. It was handwritten in an elegant script.
     
    You are invited to my dungeon on September 10th. Wear black. Make yourself beautiful. You will be meeting my other slaves.
     
                  I placed the invitation on my kitchen table and wondered what pleasures I would experience.
     
     

Carice
     
     
    I have a criminal record. That’s what you should know about me. I grew up in the Bronx. My Dad was an alcoholic dependent on social security disability checks. He had broken his back at a construction site and developed chronic pain. I knew his drinking was a way of coping with the pain, but he got aggressive when he was drunk. He would yell at me. I was called a cunt and a bitch several times a day starting at age eight.
    “ Carice, you stupid cunt! Clean up this mess,” he would yell.
    I tried to ignore my D ad, but sometimes the words wormed their way in and made me cry.
    “You’re garbage , Carice,” Dad would yell. 
    Dad was also violent. He liked throwing punches. He would hit my arms, my legs, my stomach and sometimes my face. I would get bruises. Sometimes a teacher would ask what happened and I would tell them I got into a fight with someone in the neighborhood. They didn’t question it further. I was rough, poor and defiant. If I