Slaves of the Billionaire Read Online Free Page B

up in the morning.”
    “Can I see a picture of her?”
    Drake took out his phone. His daughter was blue eyed with lank blonde hair. She had a pointy chin and freckles.
    “She’s pretty,” I said.
    “Her name’s Darlene. She takes after her mother.”
    “Where’s her mother?”
    “Don’t know. She packed up her belongings and left. I filed a missing person report. The police told me that some people just want to disappear.”
    I knew that. I had spent every day since I was a child wanting to disappear.
    “You’re a special girl, Carice.”
    “I’m not.” I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. Drake stroked my hand.
    Two months after the first date, Drake invited me to meet his daughter and father. The home was a white clapboard with a well-tended lawn. There was a child’s pink bike lying on the grass and when Drake and I walked up the driveway a little girl ran out with a chocolate smeared face.
    “Daddy!” Drake swooped her up and kissed her all around her face.
    “You have chocolate on you,” I told Drake.
    He leaned over and kissed me. “Now you have chocolate on you.”
    Drake’s father, Jon, had been a police officer in Queens. His wife had died five years prior from breast cancer, shortly after Darlene was born. Drake’s father was tall, well-built and had a full head of silvery hair. He hugged and shook Drake’s hand and then stared at me with, what I instantly recognized, as disgust.
    “Come in,” he said. His voice was polite and cold.
    After dinner, Drake took me home. Drake was in a good mood and was talking about Darlene’s school recital that he had gone to on Friday.
    “Drake.”
    “Yeah,” he looked at me and smiled.
    “Your father doesn’t like me.”
    “Nonsense. He’s just guarded. He doesn’t want Darlene hurt.”
    Three weeks later, I got a call from Jon.
    “I think you better come over here.”
    “Why? What’s wrong?” I thought something had happened to Drake.
    “You’re a whore, that’s why. Get your ass over here.”
    My hands were shaking as I steered the car towards Plainview. When I got to the house I rang the bell. Jon opened the door. He was wearing a bathrobe.
    “Follow me.” He led me down into a basement. He then took a key from a small box on a tool table. He opened another door and flicked on the lights. There was a bed and array of dildos and vibrators sitting on a bookcase, a free standing wardrobe with costumes, and hanging from the ceiling were numerous ropes, chains and belts.
    There was a mirror above the bed. I could see that the blood had drained from my face.
    “I don’t understand.”
    “Oh, you don’t? I figured you as trash when I first met you. Take off your clothes and shut up. Here,” he handed me a tight, orange latex prison uniform with ‘Inmate 000’ stamped on it. “Put this on. I did a little checking on you. Big juvie record and a few other crimes a few years back. I smelled the filth of jail on you.”
    I stood holding the costume.
    “Put the fucking thing on.”
    I started crying, but I took off my clothes and pulled the prison uniform on.
    “Lay down on the bed.”
    He took a large, brown belt off a rack. Jon then lashed me with it. I screamed and hollered and he hit me more and more. He whacked my buttocks and the back of my thighs.
    “This is your punishment for being a criminal. This is your punishment for being trash,” Jon yelled.
    Jon stopped hitting me. “Do you want more?”
    I was sobbing.
    “Do you want more?”
    My throat felt constricted.
    “Do you want more?”
    “Yes,” I screeched.
    He raised the belt and hit me twenty more times.
    “You like it don’t you. This confirms you're worthless. Get up.”
    I sat on the edge of the bed. He walked to the bookcase and retrieved a large black dildo.
    “Open up,” he said. He put the dildo in my mouth. “Get it wet. Real wet. It’s going in your ass.” I choked, but he only laughed. “Get on your hands and knees. I want your ass in the