Sold to be a Billionaire's Slave

When my mother died I was left in the hands of the man she should never have married, my stepfather. He was a drunk who worked as a construction worker but loved to gamble and soon he put us in a lot of debt. Every time he lost, he came home angrier and promised he'd change, but he never did. Then one night, I heard him on the phone. "I'll pay you back. I've got something more valuable than money." Something. Not someone. Me. By the time I realized what he'd done, it was too late. Men in black suits came for me, their hands cold on my arms as they shoved me into the back of a car.

I screamed, fought, begged, but no one listened. The last glimpse I had of my stepfather was him slouched in the doorway, smoking a cigarette. He didn't even say goodbye. And then the car doors locked. My fate sealed. The air inside the auction hall felt heavy, sweet with perfume and expensive cigars. The chandeliers above glittered brightly, throwing light across the stage where I stood like a lamb dressed for slaughter. My wrists were bound in silk ribbons. "Lot number twenty-five," the auctioneer boomed. "Young. Untouched. Obedient." My stomach turned. I wasn't obedient. I was terrified. But it didn't matter what I was. What mattered was my stepfather's gambling debts, and the price someone was willing to pay to make them vanish. The bidding began. "One million." "Two." "Two point five." Each number was a chain around my throat. My breath quickened. My eyes searched desperately for an escape, but the guards at my sides didn't blink. Then, from the front row, a voice cut through. Smooth. Low. Commanding. "Twelve million." The room hushed instantly. All eyes turned toward the man who had spoken. He wasn't masked like the others. He was wearing a well tailored black suit with his tie undone. A glass of scotch rested untouched at his table. And his eyes were locked on me. The gavel came down with a slam. "Sold!" The word rang in my ears like a sentence passed. The guards untied the ribbons and shoved me forward. My legs trembled. My lips parted, but no sound came out. Closer. Closer. The man rose slowly from his chair, unfolding to his full height. He didn't reach for me immediately. He only studied me, his gaze sliding over me like a blade. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm but there was nothing gentle in it. "I'm Brayden Gatsby and you belong to me now." "Look at me," he ordered, voice sharp. I wanted to look away. I wanted to spit in his face. But my chin lifted and my eyes met his. The auctioneer clapped his hands together, cheerful. "Congratulations, Mr. Gatsby. A fine purchase." Purchase. The word made bile rise in my throat. Brayden ignored him. His gaze never left me. Then he slowly removed his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. Not out of kindness, it was a claim. A brand. "Tell me," he murmured so only I could hear. "What's your name." My lips trembled, but no sound came out. My throat was dry, strangled by fear. His hand tipped my chin up, forcing my eyes to meet his. "I asked you a question," Brayden said. "Don't make me repeat myself." "Z-Zoe," I whispered. "Zoe," he repeated. The auctioneer cleared his throat. "Mr. Gatsby, the transfer will be processed immediately..." Brayden silenced him with a single glance, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a black card. He tossed it onto the table. The man wasn't just rich, he was powerful. Without another word, his hand closed around my wrist and as we moved through the crowd I kept my head down. The car ride was silent. I sat stiff in the leather seat the black SUV. His phone buzzed once. He ignored it. His gaze remained fixed on me, studying me like a predator studying his prey. When the car slowed, my stomach tightened. Through the tinted window, iron gates swung open, revealing a mansion that loomed like a fortress. The doors opened and cool night air hit my face. Brayden didn't wait for me to move. His hand was at my lower back, guiding me forward. Inside, the mansion was breathtaking, marble floors, chandeliers, art pieces worth more than my stepfather's entire life. He led me past the staircase, down a hallway lined with closed doors until we reached one at the very end. The door opened to a room. The walls were darker here, the lighting softer. My eyes caught the strange items that laid carefully arranged on the table. leather, whips, ropes and other weird items. Brayden closed the door behind us. "This," he said quietly, "is where you'll learn what it means to belong to me." Fear clawed up my throat. "I don't..." His hand pressed to my mouth, silencing me. "Rule number one, Zoe. You don't speak unless I ask you to. Understand?" My wide eyes met his. I nodded. "Say it." "Yes, Mr. Gatsby." His lips curved into a dark smile. "Good girl." "Get on your knees," Brayden ordered. "And pack your hair up." My hands shook as I obeyed, twisting my hair into a messy knot at the crown of my head. I didn't dare look up at him. Brayden circled me, slow and deliberate, like a predator studying prey. He stopped in front of me. His hand gripped my chin, tilting my face upward until my eyes were locked with his. "Tell me, Zoe," he murmured, low and dangerous, "are you a virgin?" My lips parted, but the word caught in my throat. His thumb brushed across my bottom lip, pressing just enough to remind me who held the power. "Answer me." "Yes," I whispered. A flicker of satisfaction passed over his face. "Good. Then I get to break you in." His belt buckle clinked, and he freed himself from his slacks. My heart pounded as he guided me closer, pressing the heavy length of him against my lips. "Open." I parted my mouth hesitantly, the taste of salt filling me as his thick length slid between my lips. His hand fisted in my hair, guiding me. I gagged against him but his grip only tightened. "That's it," he growled. "Take me like a good slave girl." The tears that stung my eyes weren't just fear, they were arousal, burning through every nerve. When he finally pulled back, a string of saliva connected me to him. My chest heaved. He gripped my jaw. "Get On the bed." I stumbled to my feet and climbed onto the mattress. Brayden stripped his shirt fully, his muscles flexing under golden light. He joined me on the bed, pinning me with his weight. His hand slid beneath my dress, fingers tracing the trembling line of my thigh until they found the damp cotton of my panties. "You're already wet," he said with quiet satisfaction. "You like being touched like a dirty whore. Don't you Zoe?." I gasped when he tore them aside, sliding a finger inside me without warning. My back arched, a cry breaking free, but his mouth captured it with a hard, claiming kiss. He pulled back only to whisper, "Say it. Say who you belong to." "You," I panted. "Mr. Gatsby, I belong to you." He slipped his belt free again, fastening it tight across my hips to pin me in place. Then he pressed himself against me, the thick head nudging at my entrance. And then he thrust into me, hard. Pain cut sharp, burning through me, but underneath it flickered something hotter, dangerous. Brayden didn't slow. His thrusts were ruthless, each one pounding me deeper into the mattress until I could hardly breathe. His hand closed around my throat, not too tight, just enough to remind me I was his. "Look at me," he commanded. I forced my eyes open. His gaze locked on mine, hungry. "Good girl," he rasped, and the pain shattered, giving way to blinding, consuming pleasure.

When I woke, my body screamed. Every muscle ached reminding me of what he'd done. My thighs burned, the belt marks across my skin throbbed with dull pain. The door opened. Brayden Gatsby stepped inside, He held a folder in his hand. "Sit up." I did. Because what choice did I have? He came to the bed, placed the folder in my lap, and opened it. "Your life, Zoe, no longer belongs to you. You will follow my rules. If you dare to break them, you will regret it." His tone was clipped and businesslike. He flipped the first page. "Rule number one: You speak only when spoken to. Ever.

Anywhere." My throat tightened. He waited. "Yes, Mr. Gatsby." "Rule number two: Your body is mine. That means no refusal, no hesitation, no boundaries unless you're on your period and I choose to set them." My stomach dropped. "Rule number three: You will kneel whenever I enter the room unless ordered otherwise." The words stung like a slap. "Rule number four: There is no privacy. Cameras monitor you at all times. What you eat, how you sleep, how you touch yourself, everything belongs to me. My cheeks flamed. Cameras? Always? "Rule number five: If you try to escape, if you defy me, if you betray me, I won't kill you. I'll ruin you. I'll make sure you beg me to put you back in chains. if you disobey, there will be punishment." My throat burned. "What kind of punishment?" He leaned down, close enough that I felt the heat of his breath against my ear. "That's for me to know," he whispered, "and for you to find out." I swallowed, throat dry. "Do you understand?" My voice cracked. "Yes, Mr. Gatsby." "Say it like you mean it." "Yes, Mr. Gatsby." He leaned down, fingers tilting my chin up until I had no choice but to look into his eyes. "Good girl." Then, with a cruel smile, he handed me a pen. "Sign at the bottom. And welcome to your new life." My hand shook as I scrawled my name. Zoe Brant. It looked so small beneath his signature. That evening, he dressed me in black silk. A collar snapped around my neck. I was leashed. "Where are we going?" I whispered before I could stop myself. The chain jerked hard, cutting me off. "Rule number one," he reminded coldly. My lips clamped shut. He led me into an elevator, down to a level of the house that felt like stepping into another world. The air was thick with perfume and smoke. Music thrummed, low and decadent. Then the doors opened, and I froze. It wasn't a house, it was a club. His club. Men and women lounged with glasses of champagne, their attention turning instantly to us. To me. Brayden pulled me into the room like a prize animal, curious eyes followed eyes, whispers spreading. "Who's the new one?" "She's stunning." "He bought her at the auction last night, didn't he?" My stomach turned. Shame filling my body. He stopped in the center, tugging the leash until I dropped to my knees. The floor was cold and every face was on me. "This," Brayden said clearly,"is Zoe. She belongs to me. You will not touch her. You will not speak to her. But you will watch as I teach her obedience." Laughter rippled. Glasses clinked. My pulse pounded in my ears. "Up," he ordered. I scrambled to my feet. "Take off the robe." I froze. His eyes sharpened. The crowd hushed. "No," I whispered. "Not in front of them. Please..." The leash snapped tight, choking me. "You dare defy me?" His voice was a razor. Tears stung, but something in me snapped. "I won't do it!" "Rule number two," he said. "Your body is mine." My stomach twisted. I shook my head once. His grip tightened, fingers digging into my cheeks until tears burned the corners of my eyes. "Do you want me to show them what happens to disobedient little slave pets, Zoe?" "No, Mr. Gatsby," I whispered. His lips curved. "Then obey." He ripped the robe from my body, baring my naked frame to every pair of hungry eyes in the club. My arms instinctively tried to cover my breasts. Then he bent me over the nearest table, pulled the belt free from his waist, and brought it down hard on my ass. I gasped, tears spilling, heat pooling low in my stomach. The crowd roared. Applause, whistles, laughter. They loved it. The crowd's cheers still rang in my ears when he dragged me out of the club. My legs trembled, every step a reminder of welts stinging across my ass. We didn't speak on the ride back. He sat beside me in the car and I sat naked. By the time we reached his mansion, my body was humming with fear and shame, and but a part of me wanted more. He led me straight to the room as the night before. His playroom. "You humiliated me tonight," he said softly. "In front of my people. Do you know what that means, Zoe?" "That I disobeyed..." "And?" "That I have to be punished." A cruel smile curved his mouth. "Good girl. You're learning." He tied my wrists to the bed, the leather straps biting into my skin. Then he opened a drawer. And inside lay clamps, gags, blindfolds, toys I didn't even know. He put the clamp on my nipple making me cry out, the sound muffled when he shoved a gag into my mouth. Tears blurred my vision. I hated him. I hated what he was making me feel. And yet, when his hand finally slid between my legs, testing how wet I'd become under his punishment, I felt ashamed of how much I wanted him to continue. "You see?" His voice was velvet over steel. "See how wet you are? You enjoy being paraded like the slut you are," I shook my head, choking on the gag, but my body arched into his touch anyway. "You want it, don't you?" he murmured. "You want to come." I shook my head, moaning. He pressed the handle of the whip against my clit, grinding just enough to make my back bow. My muffled cries filled the room. "Say it," he demanded, pulling the gag down just enough. "Beg me." "I..I can't.." His hands tugged on the nipple clamps. I screamed. "Beg." "Please!" The word tore out of me. "Please, Mr. Gatsby, I can't take it anymore! I'll do anything...just let me....let me..." His chuckle was dark, satisfied. "That's better." He spanked me hard before sliding his fingers inside me, curling deep. My walls clenched greedily. My own moans disgusted me, but I couldn't stop them. The rhythm built, ruthless and unrelenting, until I shattered, screaming his name, my body convulsing around his hand. When it ended, I slumped against the restraints. Tears stained my cheeks, shame burned me from the inside out. He stroked my hair almost gently, removing the gag, unclipping the nipple clamps one by one. "Do you understand now?" His voice was velvet over steel. "I own you." I sobbed, "Yes, Mr. Gatsby..." His hand shot forward, grabbing my chin, forcing my tear-soaked face up to meet his eyes. "Say it," he ordered. "Say I own you." "You. Own. Me," I whispered, each word a shackle tightening around my soul.

I woke up to the sound of voices. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. My body still ached from the night before. The voices grew louder. I slid off the bed, wincing at the soreness between my thighs, and tiptoed to the door. It wasn't locked this time. "You think the mafia will wait forever?" the stranger growled. "You're supposed to marry his daughter!." My stomach twisted. Mafia? Marry? Brayden's voice was calm, "I don't take orders. Not from him. Not from anyone." the stranger snapped back, "You owe him, Gatsby. Your father promised him that before he died." Brayden's tone was ice.

"My father's promises died with him. I won't chain myself to that spoiled girl." The man's voice hardened. "You realize her father holds a major stake in your empire." Brayden leaned back, unbothered. "I have businesses spread across the world. I don't need him." The man snapped. "If you refuse to marry her, then you'd better find someone else, someone the mafia can accept. Otherwise, you risk losing everything your father built." And with that he turned and left but the words lingered. Mafia. Marriage. Promises. I had been sold to a man with dangerous enemies. I hadn't even caught my breath when the door burst open. A tall beautiful woman entered. "So it's true," she spat. "You bought a new toy." Brayden appeared behind her. "Get out, Alessia." She ignored him. Her eyes raked me over like I was filth. "Pathetic. She's not even pretty. Just a scared little tramp. This is what you've replaced me with?" Alessia's laugh was sharp, brittle. "I should've known. You were always a freak, Brayden. Always chasing control because deep down, you're still that broken little boy. And now you need slaves to feed your weird fetish and fantasies?" Brayden's voice was calm, but lethal. "Alessia You have no right to be here." "On the contrary," she purred, "I have every right. My father still expects you to marry me, Brayden. We were meant to be." Brayden's reply was tight. "Get out, Alessia." She flinched. Then her eyes cut back to me with pure venom. "Good luck, little slave girl. You're just another hole for him to fuck. He'll destroy you just like he destroyed me." And then she was gone. The silence that followed was worse than her words. Brayden stood there, watching me. "She doesn't matter," he said flatly. But she did. I saw it in the tightness of his jaw, the flicker in his eyes. Whoever she was, she'd cut him once, deep. Before I could form a reply, he spoke. "Come." He put the leash on me and led me out of the playroom and out of the mansion. We turned into a grand hallway lined with floor-to-ceiling windows. My legs trembled, sore from the night before. I stumbled. Pain shot up my knees as I fell to the ground. "Careful there," a man's voice said. Warm. Kind. I looked up. It was one of the staff, broad-shouldered, dark hair, a simple shirt rolled at the sleeves, offering his hand. I took it before I could think. He pulled me up with steady strength. "Thank you," I whispered. The man's eyes softened. He gave me a small nod. And then the leash snapped hard. My body jerked back, colliding with Brayden's chest. "She doesn't need your help," Brayden said, voice low and lethal. The man's jaw tightened, but he dipped his head respectfully and stepped back. Brayden bent low, his lips brushing my ear. "Rule number one, Zoe. You don't speak unless spoken to. And you never thank another man for touching what belongs to me." "Yes, Mr. Gatsby," I whispered. "You broke a rule" He said leading me back into the mansion. To his playroom. Brayden shoved me inside, the heavy door slamming shut behind us. "On your knees," he ordered. My knees hit the cold floor. His hand tangled in my hair, pushing my head back so I was forced to stare into his dark eyes. "You broke my rule. Twice." His voice was low, dangerous. "You spoke when you weren't spoken to." His thumb brushed across my lower lip "And you dared to thank another man for touching you." "I...I didn't mean.." "Silence." The word cracked like a whip. He released me only to pull a black velvet blindfold from the drawer beside the wall. He tied it around my eyes, plunging me into darkness. My breath hitched. Every sound was louder. Every brush of his hand made me flinch. "Spread your knees," he commanded. I obeyed, trembling. "Do you know what happens when you break my rules, Zoe?" His voice was smooth, mocking. My lips trembled. "...No, Mr. Gatsby." "You suffer." The first crack of the whip landed across my ass. Fire exploded through my body. I cried out, jerking against the restraints. "Count," he ordered. "One!" I gasped. The next strike came harder. "Two!" Again and again until my voice broke, the leather searing me, branding me with his discipline. My body shook, tears spilling hot beneath the blindfold. By the tenth strike I was sobbing, pleading. "Please... please, no more..." But instead of mercy, I felt his hand between my thighs, pressing into my soaked heat. "You're dripping," he murmured against my ear. I shook my head desperately. "No Sir..." He pushed two fingers inside me. My hips bucked against him. "That's it," he growled, curling his fingers deep. "Cry and beg all you want, little slave. Your cunt belongs to me." The rhythm built until I was clawing the floor, torn between pain and unbearable pleasure. My orgasm ripped through me violently, leaving me slumped and shaking. Brayden removed the blindfold, forcing me to look at him. His expression was unreadable, a mix of satisfaction and something darker. "Why me?" My voice cracked. "Why did you buy me?" "Because you were mine the moment I saw you," he murmured. "And I don't let what's mine slip away."