The Billionaire

By Ashley Zacharias

Hey, you heard the latest about Ray Corelli? Yeah, the dot com billionaire who owns Mind Leap. The guy has all those wild orgies up in his mansion, if the stories are true. Well, I heard that he’s got himself a sex slave now. Some woman that he brought back from the Midwest. She’s this gorgeous chick who’ll do anything she’s told. They say she’s the most popular girl at the orgies. Everyone gets to have her. No, not me, for sure. I don’t get invited to his place. But the guys who do – man, oh man – you can just imagine it. I heard there’s nothing she won’t do. That’s what I heard.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashley Zacharias
• Release date: Aug 2, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370845866

Ashley Zacharias

I am a post-modern woman who lives a vanilla life but fantasizes about adventures in masochism. I appreciate readers who purchase my books but, more than money, I need your honest response to my writing. Review my books or contact me at ashleyzacharias.com and let me know what you think of my stories. Good or bad, as long as you are not indifferent, your honest response will help me to write more and better stories.You can find my thoughts about my own stories athttp://ashleyzachariascommentary.wordpress.com/Yours, Ashley

Book preview

A GIFT OF HERSELF, BOOK TWO:THE BILLIONAIRE

by Ashley Zacharias

Copyright (c) 2018 Ashley Zacharias

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction, either in whole or in part, in any form. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy.

Chapter One

The big black Escalade rolled along the country road through the late afternoon warmth. The flat land was covered with acres of crops, punctuated by farm houses, barns, and grain silos, interrupted by the occasional small patch of woods.

A frightened young woman sat in the back seat. She was twenty-five, blonde, beautiful, and nude. Her hands were cuffed behind her back and a chain was locked around her neck. The keys to the handcuffs and padlock were threaded on a red velvet ribbon that was tied about her neck just above the chain — a wry simulacrum of a jeweled choker.

With her hands locked at the small of her back, she was unable to reach the keys and free herself.

A man who was only five years older than she sat beside her, holding the end of her leash. He ignored the driver, ignored the occasional pickup truck that shared the road for a moment, and ignored the pastoral landscape. He had eyes only for the woman. He was enthralled by his newly acquired sex slave.

Though young, he was fabulously wealthy, a billionaire according to his accountants, the founder and owner of an upstart company that was creating a different revolutionary application for personal development this year than it had created last year, or the year before that.

He had enough wealth to buy and sell people, but only in the metaphorical sense. The Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution made literally buying and selling people illegal.

He had not bought this woman — had not paid money for her — but he did own her. The contract in his pocket said so.

He would have his lawyers read the contract and tell him what it meant. But he already knew what they were going to say.

They would warn him that it would be a crime to do anything to this woman against her consent.

On the other hand, if he had her consent he could do whatever he wished, within certain obvious limits. Consent was the key word and the document in his pocket satisfied that requirement.

This woman, for reasons that only she understood, had written, voluntarily and in her own hand, a contract that attested that, by calling herself a sex slave, she was consenting to any kind of sexual activity with her owner or with any other person that her owner designated. She was also consenting to be physically restrained by almost any means and to be physically disciplined by being spanked.

She had demonstrated the sincerity of her consent with her actions. She had voluntarily stripped off her clothes, voluntarily tied the keys to her padlock and handcuffs about her neck, voluntarily locked one end of the chain about her neck to form a leash, and voluntarily cuffed her hands behind her back so that she could no longer free herself.

If that wasn’t consent, nothing was.

The contract she’d written was exceptionally clear on one point. She had to be set free, healthy and unharmed, at the end of the summer — precisely at noon on Labor Day — three months from now. Until then, she would remain enslaved, subservient to the whims and desires of her owner, obeying every command that her owner decreed.

If her owner chose not to keep her, he could not emancipate her; he could only gift her to someone else.

That is how this man, Ray Corelli, had come to possess the beautiful blonde slave. A week ago, she had given herself in slavery to another man, Marty Miller, who worked on contract for Ray. Marty had been able to keep her for only a week before he realized that it was not practical for him to own a sex slave on a farm in the rural Midwest.

Ray, though, lived in Southern California where people were rather more broad-minded. He had a large, private mansion and unlimited resources. If anyone could keep a sex slave for three months, it was Ray Corelli.

And if anyone would want to, it was Ray Corelli. He had earned a reputation as a libertine. He surrounded himself with beautiful, eager women. His legendary parties were often compared to ancient Roman orgies.

The slave’s heart pounded in fear. She had expected to spend the entire summer in servitude to one and only one owner. She had not bargained for being used by man-after-man at orgy-after-orgy for weeks on end.

But that could happen to a sex slave. She had enslaved herself and had no intention of changing the rules now, so for the next three months, she would grit her teeth and endure whatever came. She wouldn’t be happy, but she wouldn’t chicken out, either, no matter how fearful the future she faced.

What’s your name?

The chain clanked softly when she turned her head to meet her new owner’s eyes. The only name I have is whatever name you give to me.

Maybe I’ll just call you Slave.

As you wish.

The man thought for a moment. Maybe I’ll call you Slut.

As you wish.

Because that’s what you’re going to be, you know. You’re going to be my slut who spreads her legs for every man who comes to my house.

As you wish.

That’s a lot of men. A hell of a lot of men. I throw big parties. Huge parties. All the time. You might get fucked by a thousand men in the next three months.

As you wish.

Fucked in every hole in your body. Your whole body will be dripping with cum. You’ll be swimming in it.

She didn’t bother answering again. Why was he saying these things to her? Was he trying to shock her? Did he get a thrill out of making her afraid of him and what he might do? Was this his idea of degrading and dehumanizing her?

He pouted. What do you think about that?

I don’t think anything. I will do as you command.

What if I command you to give me a blow job right here, right now?

She jangled her handcuffs. If you uncuff me, I’ll unzip you.

If I don’t, then you can use your teeth.

She bent over to grab the tab to his zipper in her teeth.

What are you doing? He grabbed her head and pushed her back upright.

I’m trying to open your zipper with my teeth, like you commanded.

I didn’t tell you to actually do it. We were speaking in hypotheticals.

I’m sorry that I misunderstood, sir. She struggled to suppress her smile. If he wanted to push her to revolt, he was going to have to do a lot better than asking for a no-hands blow job.

Yeah, well listen closer next time. When I give you a command, you won’t be in any doubt. I’ll bark and you’ll jump. Got that?

Yes, sir.

Okay. He turned back to face the road.

She smiled inside. He might have pushed her away, but when she’d put her face in his lap and snuggled down, looking for his zipper tab, she’d felt his boner against her cheek, swollen and rock hard.

He wanted her, whether he liked it or not.

It wouldn’t be long until he took her.

She could feel a damp spot growing on the seat under her. He was a stranger to her, and he’d done nothing to make himself attractive or desirable, but she was ready to be taken, regardless of her fear.

Chapter Two

Rocco was a disciplined man. He glanced in the rearview mirror only to check for traffic, which was light on these rural roads. He kept his gaze away from the naked woman sitting behind him as best as he could. It wasn’t difficult because he mostly saw her face in the edge of the mirror. To see her body, he would either have to crane his neck and raise himself in his seat, or reach up and tilt the mirror down.

His eyes met the woman’s in the mirror only once. Ray told her that she was going to have to spread her legs for every man who came to his house. When she’d told Ray that she would do as he wished, she’d looked at Rocco in the rearview mirror.

Neither she nor Rocco smiled when their eyes met, but they held each other’s regard for a long moment. He knew what she was thinking. She was wondering if Ray’s driver was ever in his house and if he would be included in the men who’d be invited to share her sex.

The answer to both questions was maybe. This woman wouldn’t be the first that Ray offered to him. He was a generous man; he had women to spare, and he liked to show his appreciation to his help. Rocco might well get a blow job, but nothing more any time soon. Ray only passed women along to his driver for unlimited use when he had no further interest in them. Rocco might well be be enjoying this woman’s body soon enough, but only if she disappointed her owner. Rocco hoped she would fail. Fucking her would be a most pleasurable experience.

He wondered if she had ever been fucked by a black man before.

It annoyed him that she referred to herself as a slave. The privileged bitch didn’t know shit about slavery. Rocco’s ancestors on both his mother’s and father’s side had been slaves in Alabama and Mississippi. His family passed stories of that hell down through the generations. Memories of slavery — real slavery — lived in his blood and bones.

He’d like to give this pretentious white bitch a taste of real slavery, not whatever silly game she was playing with Mr. Corelli. He’d like to see her spend the rest of her days working her fingers bloody in the cotton fields and the rest of her nights getting raped by her master.

She wouldn’t last a week living the life that his ancestors had endured for generations.

When he got hold of her, he wouldn’t be able to right all the wrongs that his people had suffered, but he would make damned certain that she understood what slavery meant and would regret with all her heart that she’d ever dared to playact the part of a slave.

He prayed to God that Ray would tire of the bitch soon.

They were fortunate that the Thorley County Regional Airport was close to Barricksberg. The drive from the Millers’ farm, where Ray had taken possession of his slave, to the airport took only twenty minutes. And they were fortunate that the airport had sufficient runway length to accommodate business jets.

When he drove through the gate, a guard checked his ID and then glanced in the back to see his passengers. The old man’s eyes widened when he saw that the young woman was not only naked, but had a chain locked around her neck. Even so, he made no comment. She wasn’t asking him for help, so he merely took a good look at her fine tits, smiled, and wished them all a good day.

She blushed under his stare. She had not been a sexual slave for long and was not comfortable in the role.

Rocco could have parked closer to the aircraft than he did. It amused him to make the slave walk an extra fifty yards across the tarmac, her nude body on display to anyone who was at the airport.

Not many business jets landed here, so a dozen private pilots, mechanics, and maintenance staff were standing around, gawking at the shiny new Gulfstream.

When Rocco killed the engine, he looked at the woman in his rearview mirror again and smiled, but she didn’t see that. She was looking at the men who were standing around on the tarmac. She knew what was coming; she shrank in her seat.

Tough. If she wanted to call herself a slave, then she could damned well feel like one. And slaves had a lot to fear.

Ray, sitting beside her, seemed not to notice that Rocco had parked the car an unnecessary distance from the plane.

Rocco got out of the driver’s seat as soon as he killed the engine. He wasn’t required to open and close doors for Ray, but he was required to get out of the car first because his main job was not to be a driver, but to be Ray’s bodyguard. He had to survey the scene for potential hazards before his client exposed himself.

Rocco scanned the rooftops for snipers, examined the men who were standing around to see if any of them were taking a special interest in his passengers, and looked for any sign of weapons. He saw nothing troublesome. He didn’t expect that he would. Ray Corelli had a high profile in Southern California, but was unknown out here in the Midwest.

Ray didn’t wait for an all-clear signal, he emerged from the back seat as soon as he’d taken his seatbelt off and opened the door.

He didn’t look self-conscious as he strode across the apron toward his plane, his slave’s leash clanking in his hand.

She trotted after him, her hands still cuffed behind her back. Her tits and ass bounced lively with every step.

Rocco took the rear position, alternately watching the slave’s naked ass cheeks flex and sway and watching the other men on the runway ogle the naked slave.

Not a single man spared a glance for either Ray or Rocco. Every eye in the place was glued to the naked beauty. It was just as well. Rocco’s dick was hard as stone in his pants and he suspected that Ray was in the same state. He’d prefer that the gawkers not take note of that. It was unprofessional.

The slave didn’t like being displayed in public. She was blushing so hard that even her shoulders were turning red.

Rocco smiled at that.

As they walked, he had an opportunity to study the fading bruises on the slave’s ass. She’d been beaten hard within the past week. He wondered if he would be given an opportunity to refresh those bruises. He would love doing that. If Ray decided that his slave needed discipline, he might delegate that task to his bodyguard.

Rocco tried to think of a diplomatic way to suggest to his boss that he be made the designated disciplinarian.

Chapter Three

The black tarmac was hot under the slave’s bare feet.

She kept her head down, watching the ground as she walked across the apron. Men were standing around, starting at her, enjoying the show. Undoubtedly more men were watching through the windows of the small buildings next to the hangers. She expected that the ground controllers in their tower had suspended takeoffs for a few minutes while they looked down on her, too.

Being naked in public was bad enough, but being led on a leash with her hands cuffed behind her back was unbearably humiliating.

She could feel a hot flush overflowing her face, creeping down her neck, and spreading across her shoulders.

Ray, holding the end of her leash, was walking quickly, making the chain rattle with every step.

She had to scurry to keep up; if she allowed the leash to pull taut, she might be jerked off her feet. She had no desire to fall face-first onto the pavement.

Her unsupported breasts bounced freely as she trotted.

The door to the jet folded down to provide a short, narrow staircase. There was no real handrail, just a grab bar at the top. If the slave’s hands had not been cuffed behind her back, it would have been easy to reach. But they were, so she couldn’t stabilize herself.

The man holding her leash either didn’t consider her problem or didn’t care. He marched up the four steps without looking back.

The slave had to follow sharply. She watched each step intently as she mounted them, terrified that she was going to slip off and tumble to the pavement below.

On the final step, Ray paused to duck into the plane and she, following close behind, lost her momentum. The stairs heaved slightly as the large black man behind stepped onto them.

With one foot on the second step and the other on the third, she wavered and began to lose her balance.

Quick, strong hands grabbed her hips from behind and steadied her, saving her from a fall.

She looked back over her shoulder at the driver. Thank you. Her gratitude was sincere.

The man didn’t reply, but nodded slightly to acknowledge her thanks.

A slight tug on her leash informed her that her owner was inside and the gangway was clear for her to proceed.

The handful of men nearest the aircraft applauded and whistled as she ducked inside. She didn’t acknowledge their ovation. She might be the slut on display, but it was Ray’s show; he should take the bow.

A man in uniform was standing in the doorway to the cockpit. Welcome aboard.

Thank you. This time she was less sincere. This aircraft was going to fly her to San Diego where she would spend the next dozen weeks being raped by innumerable men. Not raped — she had given her consent — but not making love, either. Being used like an inflatable sex doll would be the best description. Her feelings and concerns would be irrelevant.

She had fashioned her own fate, but she hadn’t anticipated the unexpected turn that it was taking. It didn’t matter. She would remain on her tortuous path all the way