The Accountant

By Ashley Zacharias

You won’t believe the rumors that I’m hearing about some church over in Poway. One of the elders – the CFO of a high-tech company, no less – is suffering from a terrible temptation. A beautiful young woman moved into his house. She says that she’s his sex slave, and he’s her owner. That’s right! The harlot says that she’ll give him any kind of sex that he wants just for the asking. He can tie her up; he can beat her; whatever he wants. She’ll even have sex with other men if he tells her to. And it’s not just men, she’ll service homosexual women, too. His minister tried to help him resist the temptation, but she’s too much even for a man of God. There’s rumors that all the elders in the church are sinking into the pit of moral depravity. She’s a modern Whore of Babylon and the church is Sodom and Gomorrah risen again. I fear for all their souls.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashley Zacharias
• Release date: Apr 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463675229

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 THREE: THE ACCOUNTANT

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 naked slave slowly pushed the door open. She didn’t know whose house she was entering. She knew only that her previous owner, a high-tech billionaire named Ray Corelli, had given her to a new owner. He hadn’t even done it in person but had instructed his driver to dump her in front of this house, handcuffed and hooded.

Because her eyes had been covered by the leather hood, she had not seen her new owner; she had only heard the driver tell him that she was his sex slave now. For the next month, he could do anything that he liked with her, except maim or kill her. He would have to set her free on Labor Day.

This was the beginning of August, so she would have to serve as this man’s sex slave for the next five weeks.

Becoming a sex slave had been her idea. At the beginning of the summer, she’d told her first owner that he could do almost anything to her, including giving her away, as long as she was released, healthy and unharmed at noon on the first Monday in September. No perversion was too extreme. No demand was too outrageous.

That turned out not to be true.

When she’d voluntarily enslaved herself two owners ago, she’d believed that she could force herself to perform any consensual sexual act that didn’t cause permanent injury. But when her previous owner had ordered her to fuck two horny dogs — a German shepherd and a bull mastiff — she’d failed. She tried, but she couldn’t bring herself to let the animals penetrate her.

She couldn’t fuck an animal, but she still believed that she could perform any sexual act with another consenting human adult if her owner commanded her to do it. She might not enjoy it, in fact, she might hate it, but she could force herself to do it.

Maybe this owner would put that belief to a more rigorous test than her previous two owners.

She was too tired to care. She was so exhausted that she could barely stand.

Her previous owner had been so angry with her refusal to let herself be fucked by those two dogs, that he had subjected her to exceptionally cruel bondage overnight. The key to her handcuffs had been put into her mouth and then she was gagged and blindfolded with a leather hood. She hadn’t dared to sleep a wink for fear that she would accidentally swallow the key.

She had only been able to relax her mouth when her hood was removed a few minutes ago and she’d been permitted to spit the key out on the asphalt.

Her new owner had left her alone in the driveway with instructions to unlock herself and come into the house. Finding the key when blindfolded and using it when her hands were cuffed behind her back had taken some time and effort. Now that the hood and handcuffs were discarded on the driveway, she was bound only by her contract. A contract that she’d written herself at the beginning of the summer, and that she was determined to complete, no matter the cost.

She was afraid of what was going to happen next. She didn’t know who owned her this time, but Corelli, her previous owner, was a control freak. He hadn’t really cared about the dogs, he’d only ordered her to fuck them in front of an audience to prove that he could force her to debase herself even more than she already had. When he’d publicly failed to force her to do it, he’d become angry and vindictive. He no longer wanted her, but he did want to punish her. She had no doubt that he had given her to someone who would treat her even more cruelly than he could.

Her only protection was the terms of her contract. Her original contract was a single handwritten page. That had been sufficient for her first owner, who was basically a decent man. But her previous owner had set his team of lawyers on it and they had expanded it to more than two hundred and fifty pages. She hadn’t bothered to read it all; his lawyers assured her that they had adhered to the terms of her original contract. Their excessive verbiage only specified what would happen in different cases; they had taken care to retain all of the limitations and protections that she had written herself.

The house that she was entering now was not the sprawling mansion of her previous owner but was a modern two-story house that was likely built in the sixties. It was big enough to fit a large family comfortably. When she pushed the door open and stepped inside, she found it furnished in a clean, modern style. The pieces, though simple in design, were well constructed from quality materials. They were expensive. She would bet that they had been selected by a professional interior designer. Her new owner was not a pauper.

She found him sitting at a desk in an office on the first floor, off the entryway. Now that she was no longer blindfolded, she recognized him immediately. Eldon Carstairs was Ray Corelli’s business manager — the Chief Financial Officer of his company, Mind Leap Applications. In her opinion, Carstairs was little more than a glorified accountant. In the opinion of some others, he was a financial genius.

She had seen him only twice before, the first time to give him a blowjob on her owner’s orders. Those orders had been directed at him as well as at her. Carstairs had refused to accept the blowjob at first, protesting that he was a family man and a Christian. He had allowed her to put her mouth on his cock only when his boss had given him no choice.

Once she’d begun, he’d received her service with enthusiasm, but after it was over, he had slunk off in a fit of guilt, silent, blushing, refusing to meet her eyes.

Remembering that, she wondered who was being punished the most here, her or him. Carstairs managed Corelli’s business, but she had the impression that they were not friends. In fact, Corelli took pleasure in bullying Carstairs in public.

When Carstairs became aware that his new slave was standing in the doorway, he gestured to a chair in front of his desk without looking up from his work. He was reading a large document — the stack of paper was looked to be half a ream.

She recognized it as the slave contract that Corelli’s lawyers had prepared. Carstairs seemed to be looking for loopholes as he flipped over page after page. He was spending about ten seconds on each page — not enough time to read them in detail, but enough to get the gist of every paragraph.

She sat quietly and watched him for half an hour.

He appeared to have no interest in her.

It made her antsy to be sitting naked in front of a man and not have him ogling her body. She was young and beautiful. Her body was stunning. Her tits were full and round and her legs long and lithe. Her ass was shaped like a valentine. It was true that she was somewhat soiled, having been mistreated for the last twenty-four hours, including having to squirm around on the driveway on her butt, trying to find the keys by feel so she could unlock her handcuffs and remove the blindfold. Nevertheless, she was still a sexpot underneath the dirt, body odor, and greasy hair.

What kind of red-blooded man would rather read a two-hundred-and-fifty-page contract than fuck an utterly submissive woman sitting in front of him? If the dirt was a concern, he should be taking her to a shower, scrubbing her clean, and then fucking her brains out.

Ignoring her violated the laws of nature.

When he finally turned the last page, he looked at her through horn-rimmed glasses. What am I going to do with you?

Whatever you like, as long as you don’t permanently injure me. Like fuck my brains out, you moron. She left that last part unspoken, but implied.

He shook his head. Do you know what a white elephant is?

It’s something you don’t want.

It’s worse than that. When a member of the King of Siam’s court displeased him, he would give them a wonderful gift. An albino elephant is rare and precious. The problem is that an elephant, whether white or ordinary gray, is an expensive animal to maintain. It needs a large enclosure, eats a vast amount, and has to be tended constantly. An ordinary elephant can be put to work, moving logs, carrying passengers, and so forth, to earn its keep. But a white elephant, a gift from the king, is too important to be put out to hire. It has to be pampered. The king and the courtier both knew perfectly well that the gift of a white elephant would bankrupt the courtier. So, members of the king’s court were careful never to displease him, lest he give them a wonderful gift of a white elephant.

And in your mind, I’m your white elephant? The slave was both surprised and offended.

Don’t you?

No. I’m no elephant. I cost little. I take no salary, I eat less than most people, and I sleep wherever I’m told. And she could be rented out if that were his preference. There was nothing in her contract that specifically prohibited making her prostitute herself. He would only be required to take reasonable steps to ensure that her tricks didn’t injure her or expose her to disease. Not provide absolute assurance, only take reasonable precautions. She could refuse to be made a streetwalker but could not object to be made a call girl for select clients if he took reasonable precautions to screen them for STDs. Like have them make a verbal statement to that effect.

She had no desire to be prostituted.

Your cost to me isn’t financial. It’s personal. I have a wife and two children, eight and twelve years old. I am an elder in my church. How on earth am I supposed to explain you to them? He tilted his head at her. You’re nude.

I’ll be happy to wear clothes. Anything you like. A baggy sweatsuit and sneakers would suit me just fine.

He shook his head in dismay. You think wearing baggy clothes is going to make any difference to my wife? Are you out of your mind?

No. I’m just saying that you don’t have to keep me nude. Since the beginning of June, when she’d shucked her dress before giving herself to her first owner, she’d worn clothes only on rare occasions, and those clothes had been erotic costumes designed to emphasize her sexuality, not preserve her modesty. She’d love to wear a nice, comfortable sweatsuit again.

And I’m just saying that the clothes won’t make any difference. No matter what you’re wearing, you’re still going to be a sex slave and everyone who has ever seen you is going to know it.

That was true. Her previous owner had made no secret that he owned a sex slave. He had hosted orgies for dozens of people and had made her his guest of honor. He’d put her on display, naked, for all to see and use.

Carstairs had never attended the orgies — he probably wasn’t invited — but that didn’t matter. Even those colleagues and acquaintances who were never invited were still keenly aware of who she was and what she did.

When she’d first decided to enslave herself for the summer, she hadn’t realized that she would be put on display for the entertainment of so many people. That was something that she’d never desired but had been unable to avoid.

If you don’t want me, then you can give me away.

Carstairs laughed bitterly. You don’t give the king’s wonderful white elephant to someone else. Not if you want to stay in his good graces. Maybe I can give you away after a few weeks, but not until Corelli has seen how much I appreciate his generosity. No, I’m stuck with you whether I like it or not.

She didn’t want to think that anyone was stuck with her., though paradoxically, she had to accept her new circumstances as perfectly natural. Sex slaves don’t get to choose their owners.

That was not quite true. She had chosen her first owner. But the clause in her contract that allowed her owner to give her to someone else under the same terms meant that she lost control of who owned her after the first man.

At the outset, she’d planned to have only one owner. She’d expected that the first man she gave herself to, a computer programmer and hobby farmer, would keep her for the whole summer. He was unmarried and lived on a farm. He was a perfect owner for a sex slave.

But circumstances had conspired against her and he’d been forced to give her up.

Now, two owners later, she was here, owned by some old prude who didn’t even want her.

Not that old — Carstairs was around forty, fifteen years older than her — but old enough that she never would have chosen him as her lover.

Is your wife around?

Choir practice. Then she volunteers at the church afterward. She’ll be gone for another two hours. She’s gone for half a day, three days a week. And sometimes in the evenings.

And your children?

They’re spending the summer with Emily’s parents up in Salyer in Northern California, fishing and hiking and riding horses. They won’t be back until school starts.

So, the children were of no immediate concern, only the wife. You probably want me to get cleaned up and dressed before your wife comes home.

I want you gone before then, but that’s not possible, so you better have a shower and get into some clothes. I’ll show you to the guest room.

When he stood up, the slave glanced at his crotch. His hard-on made a visible bulge, but he acted like he wasn’t the least turned on by her.

That was the weirdest thing that she’d experienced in the last two months of sexual slavery.

Chapter Two

The slave felt much better once she was clean. She was still bone weary from suffering through a sleepless night, but at least she felt human again. Nothing made her feel less civilized than not having brushed her teeth recently. Being hooded and having her hands cuffed behind her back all night because she’d refused to fuck a couple of dogs had been a misery, but it hadn’t made her feel as dirty as having sticky teeth the next day.

She dried herself, then wrapped the bath towel around her torso and stepped out of the bathroom.

The house had five bedrooms, all on the west side of the house. Each of the two children had their own room and Carstairs and his wife slept in the oversized master bedroom. That left two bedrooms for guests.

Carstairs had taken her to the one furthest from the master bedroom, which also happened to make it the bedroom closest to the main bathroom. With the children gone for the summer, she would be the only one using that bathroom; the Carstairs used their ensuite when they were upstairs and the powder room near the back door when they were downstairs.

Her room had a large window that looked toward the ocean, half a mile away. The house was built on the side of a hill so it looked over the houses across the street. The view was lovely, which is why all of the bedrooms had picture windows on this side.

There was a deck with a table and a couple of chairs outside her window, but she had no access to it. The master bedroom had the only door leading outside, making the deck the Carstairs’ private domain.