Slaves of the Billionaire Read Online Free PDF Page B

clients. All men looking dapper and sporting Rolexes. If I read the newspapers or gossip columns, I might have recognized some of the men, but I was blissfully unaware of current events and I liked that the Pit encouraged anonymity from both parties.
    Sister Light escorted me to a play room when I arrived. I walked in and saw Trent sitting on a leather chair in the corner. The play room had a little cell replete with bars, a metal desk with a light hanging above it, a metal chair, a bucket, cattle prods hanging on the walls, and a small box with with wires.
    “Take off your clothes. Take everything off and sit in the chair at the desk.”
    I complied. Stripping had made me immune to nudity. I stood in the cool room and faced Trent. I then took a seat on the metal chair, which felt very cold on my skin. Trent took handcuffs out of his pants and hooked my wrist to the desk.
    “What’s your name?”
    “Vanessa Vampire.”
    “That’s not your name. Tell me your name. Tell me your real name.”
    I hesitated. I liked being unknown. Trent paced around the table.
    “ Carice. Carice Monroe.”
    “Good. Tell me about your father.”
    My reaction was reflexive. “No.”
    Trent grabbed the box with wires. He attached wires to my breasts and my vagina.
    “Tell me about your father.”
    I remained stubborn. “No.”
    Trent pressed a red button and I felt electricity zip through my body. My clit felt hot, almost burning. The sensations were painful, but pleasant.
    “That was a low voltage. I will go higher. You won’t like it. No one will hear your screams. You are chained to the desk. You are mine. My prisoner. I will torture you without restraint. Now, tell me about your Father.”
    “He was a drunk.”
    “Did he touch you?”
    “He beat me.”
    “Did he touch you sexually?”
    I had a sudden urge to run, hide and cry. I shook my head. Trent adjusted a knob and pressed the red button. More electricity shot through me and I cried out. It hurt. My clit felt raw and my nipples were throbbing.
    “I’m going to ask you again. Did your Father touch you sexually?”
    “Yes.” My voice was very low.
    “What did he do to you, Carice?”
    I was getting angry. “He fucked me, alright?”
    “Don’t talk to me like that, Carice. You need to understand your place in this room. You are nothing and I am everything.”
    Trent removed one of the cattle prods from the wall. He turned it on and it sizzled. He poked my leg with it. I felt a sharp zap. I yanked on the handcuffs. I felt panicked. The past two weeks my mentors, the other women, talked a lot about trust.
    “Your Master will care for you, if you trust them,” they said. They all said it. It was a mantra at the Pit.
    “What did your F ather do to you?” Trent was standing over me. His voice sounded concerned. I nudged my head towards him. I wanted to touch him. I wanted comfort. He yanked my head back by my hair and spit in my face. “What did he do?”
    “He came in my room one night. He was drunk. He climbed on top of me. He kept saying I was bad. That I was teasing him. He said he wanted my cunt. He used that word. Cunt. He took my virginity that night. I felt so awful. I wanted to die. When my Dad left my room I swallowed aspirin. But I didn’t die. I just got sick.”
    “Good girl. Very good.” Trent stroked my hair. “Did you get pleasure from your Father?”
    “No!”
    “Don’t yell, Carice.”
    “No, I didn’t.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then why are you here? It’s not unusual for a victim to feel pleasure from the abuse. This is well known by therapists. The guilt over feeling the pleasure can destroy some people. It’s difficult to deal with. It’s difficult to understand that pain can bring pleasure. Our culture disputes that proposition. And yet, here we are. Did you get pleasure from your Father?”
    I thought hard. I reached back into the past that I was running from. “Yes.”
    “Good Carice. That’s why you are here, with