by Q. Zayne
“I mean it. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m not exactly sheltered. I promise not to slap you.” I meant it as a joke, but he winced. I bet he’d been slapped, more than once.
“This is the deal. The usual deal is I offer a young woman who needs help a special opportunity to put on a show on my private island, The Billionaires Club. A sex show.” He raised his brows, no doubt knowing he was confirming what I already suspected. “She signs a contract for the job that includes a detailed non-disclosure agreement. After the show, I transfer $10,000 into her account and we give her safe transportation home.” He raised his brows, eying me, assessing me. “In your case, I’m making a different offer. Instead of the one-time payment, I propose that you live on the island after the show and complete your degree — all expenses paid.”
“That’s a hell of a deal, for a one-night sex show. Or are you proposing that I be sexually available while I live on the island?” Something smelled rotten in Denmark. I had Hamlet on the brain. To be or not to be had crossed my mind more than once since xxx told me to pack my stuff and get out.
Gabe’s eyes widened. “Nothing like that. The sex show is a one-night event. In some cases, as long as 24-hours, but we decided that was too hard on the girl. This show, the one I want you for, is a special event.” He frowned. “Well, I won’t waste time describing the usual auction with the club members.” He took a deep breath. “Are you sure you want to hear this? It’s rather — extreme.”
I nodded. What on earth was it? Gabe didn’t seem the kind of man to hesitate about anything. He seemed as eager to describe his proposition as a guy might be to ask his maiden aunt to pick him up some wank magazines.
“This time, I’ve recruited recently-released convicts from maximum security prisons all over the world. Men who fit a profile for muscularity, genital size, and an array of psychological traits including dominant sexual proclivities toward women that will ensure an exciting show. We’ve heightened security throughout the island and have done a thorough medical screening on each man. The ex cons are guests at the island as we speak, awaiting participation in the show.”
He said...the one I want you for. I suppose he had me right there.
“You’re asking me to,” I swallowed, “Be gang banged by ex cons. Not just any ex cons, newly-released huge ex cons from maximum security pens — guys who haven’t had sex in freaking years. They don’t put jaywalkers in those place.” I flashed on the kinds of entertainment enjoyed by the ancient Romans. Those tastes hadn’t died out.
His eyes gleamed. “I know.”
Okay, he was twisted. And despite the unlikeliness of it, he was apparently a sadist. Or at least, a sadistic voyeur, instead of a bottom boy like most powerful men. I quashed my urge to imagine what a certain racist, homophobic, asinine political candidate liked in the bedroom. Nope, couldn’t help it, saw him getting banged with a bit in his mouth and big, ruffled panties around his knees — by an androgynous hooker sporting a mammoth strap-on, dressed in nothing but red lipstick and cowboy boots with spurs. Ride that piggy hard, girl.
“Sometime, I’d like you to tell me what goes though that mind of yours.” Gabe grinned.
His killer smile brought me back. Right. The proposition was on the table. This guy, in all seriousness, was offering to change my life. To rescue me in a way I’d barely ever dared to dream of being rescued.
In return, I would have to let some of the world’s most dangerous men ravage me for a night — in front of an audience of billionaires. Crazy. It was completely crazy. But Gabe didn’t look crazy. He looked sweetly sincere, enough to bring all my daddy issues, the good ones, right to the front of the line. In fact, I stood there creaming my panties over his wanting me, even though what he wanted me for was a sex show that sounded brutal and degrading.
Yeah, that could be hard to take. But I’d been surviving for months as a sex object for guys who blew their loads watching me mime sex acts on stage. All for a lot less money, and for club owners with a lot less class.
But would a girl survive what he had in mind?
“This isn’t — snuff?”
“Oh, no. No.” He turned pale and his sensual mouth turned down. He looked sickened by the idea. “In fact, the non-disclosure contract goes on for pages. The lighting is designed so you never see the club members. You won’t be able to identify anyone. And even as a resident of the island, you won’t have contact with club members. So provided you’re honest and sign the contract, you’re free to leave at any time. Our medical staff, overseen by my friend Justice, an eminent physician now exclusive to the club, has examined and screened every one of the men to ensure there will be no health risks. And we have the most qualified security staff. Should you agree, the activities will include deviant acts and unprotected sex with all the men, but I promise you that you won’t come to any harm. No damage, no scars. Although I’ll warn you the men are huge. It isn’t unusual for a girl to be sore and limping after a show at The Billionaires Club, and some BDSM activities involve pain, but no one will injure you, I swear to that.”
I sat there speechless. It was too much to take in. Everything he said made a strange kind of sense. If he was bullshitting me, he was remarkably good at it. The details, the sincerity in his eyes and face, everything suggested that this was for real.
But could I really do it?
“Look, I know I’m asking a lot. I’ve never done this before, but I’m not going to ask you to sign the contract yet. Though I do ask you, on your honor, to never reveal anything about The Billionaires Club. If you agree, I’ll fly you to the island and let you take a look. No one will touch you. Just come for a visit. If you decide not to do the show, I’ll pay for your transportation home and make sure you’re back in time for class. If you decide to stay, we can send for your things and prepare you for the show. What do you say?”
I never knew what a winsome smile was until I saw his. And at his mention of getting back to class, my heart sank. Going to class would be pointless if I was going to have to drop out due to lack of funds. What were the odds that I could get another job and get paid in time to evade eviction? “Yes. All right, Gabe. I’ll take a look. And cross my heart” I used my finger to make an X between my breasts, “I’ll keep your secrets.”
“I’m delighted. I’m hoping you’ll be so entranced by my island you’ll want to stay. We’ve got everything you could possibly need, so you won’t have to pack. I’m betting you’ll love my place.” Gabe grinned and shook my hand. Wow, he had big hands. I blushed.
My mother, God rest her soul, would be appalled. I’d just agreed to fly to a private island with a strange man. Going anywhere with a stranger was high on the list of things not to do if you’re a girl, but so were a lot of things that had happened in my life. This at least, was something I chose.
“Are you ready to go?”
“Ready? You mean right now??” I stared at him, my heart speeding.
“Yes, right now. You’ve got the day free, I gather. There’s my car.” He nodded toward a shiny green Jaguar, a classic. My real dad loved vintage cars. He would have admired this beauty. Yeah, I wanted to take a ride in that. Could see myself in it with my gold hair flying, smiling next to Gabe, his big hands on the wheel. This was insane. Things like this did not happen in real life.
Fear gripped me. I felt cold. And shaken. What was I doing? No one would know where I was. But even if I went home or texted my roommates, who would care? I had no family, no boyfriend, nothing to be here for, no one to help me. If my instincts were right, no matter how much of a pervert he might be, Gabe did want to help me.
I eyed the car, its gleaming chrome, the jaguar on the shapely hood leaping into the future. Gabe extended his hand. I gave him mine. He led me to his car and opened the passenger door. A gentleman. Major points. My skirt rode up so high, I couldn’t avoid giving him a flash of my new white lace thong. Something had made me want to wear white that morning, as though deep inside I knew I was about to get a shot at a
new life. Gabe gave me a little salute, the side of his hand touching his brow, and closed the door. I was really doing this.
He drove well, attentive to the crush of traffic with its fast cabs, lumbering busses, lost tourists and masses of people who didn’t belong behind the wheel. As we left the city, I managed to stop gripping the seat and relax. He took us across the bridge and into a hilly, relatively unpopulated part of the East Bay, unknown terrain for me. There were probably still wild animals out there in the golden fields with clumps of trees. A whole different world from San Francisco, closer to the rural landscape where I grew up. My eyes stung. No going home for me, not ever. When Mom died, the proceeds from the sale of the place covered her funeral, my computer, my move to San Francisco and a few months of rent. My inheritance was long gone, and that place, tainted with memories of my step-dad, stopped being home long before Mom died. But it still gave me an empty feeling inside; the place where I grew up belonged to someone else and I’d never have a home to go back to. I felt adrift in the world. It stunned me that someone, someone handsome, intelligent and wealthy, was offering me a home. My chest filled. I didn’t really know what to do. I felt too overwhelmed to talk. I was relieved when Gabe put on some music, old blues, and let the sultry music fill the silence between us.
He pulled up at an airstrip and parked in a low white building, the only building in sight. Okay, I was going to trust this guy, though being driven to a remote location wasn’t helping. He led me out into the dazzling sunlight on the huge expanse of payment that led off into the sky. Clicked a button and the door rolled down securing his Jag.
“This way.” I had no idea what to expect, just teetered after him in my work shoes, rushing to catch up to his long-legged stride. His broad shoulders made him a joy to watch. The man had the fluid, strong moves of a former athlete. Baseball maybe. I could picture his fine ass in a baseball uniform.
Once past the building, the jet came into view. “Holy —.”
“She’s a beauty, isn’t she? Come aboard.” He led the way. His amazing watch flashed in the sun. It had an instrument panel of dials. An aviator’s watch? Or maybe something else, a controlling device suited to a master of the universe, the utterly potent hero or villain of the future I was about to fly into.
Once inside, he closed the hatch. I heard the step unit, whatever that was called, rolling away. Everything was automated. That’s why there was no one around. I’d stepped into a science fiction flick. That was one way to ensure privacy, set things up that required no staff. My heart raced and I swallowed a lump in my throat.
Of course, this level of privacy would be ideal for abduction, say in case Gabe was actually involved in organ harvesting or sex trafficking. But seriously, while I was aware many men found me sexy, I wasn’t deluded as to my value. Sure, I was busty with a narrow waist, well-proportioned hips and ass with the curves that attracted men to turn their heads when I walked by, but so were countless women. Being blonde with blue eyes and delicate features with full lips was an advantage for getting jobs that depended on media-approved looks, but I wasn’t some rare beauty. Girls capable of exhibitionism or in any way suitable for prostitution, the abducted and drugged version or otherwise, were available everywhere. There was no reason to go to so much time and expense for one girl.
I’d read that sex trafficking operations had moved to local abductions to save on transportation expenses, changing the game from one of luring poor girls from other countries with false job offers, to one of nabbing tourists. Unless I was confusing a movie with real life. Sex trafficking was the sort of thing that seemed to get sensationalized all the time by people looking to sell something. It was hard to believe in it, horrible to think about it happening to someone scared and trapped in that life, even though some reports seemed legitimate. More than the idea of forced prostitution, what really got to me was all the corrupt people that let it exist.
But nothing about Gabe gave the impression of being criminal. Nor did he come across as an actor, or a liar. He gave the impression of a man who owned the world, who had massive resources available, who yet retained humility and compassion. Even his choice of a vintage car and taste for old Blues gave me a sense of a good man — and comparisons with my father, also a good man, were unavoidable.
He turned to me in the plane’s casual seating area with anchored luxurious seats. “Make yourself at home. There’s a restroom toward the rear on the left. You have fifteen minutes until it’s time to fasten your seat belt. Help yourself to a hot shower. There are towels and robes in the cabinet. If you want, you can hang up your dress and wear a robe for the flight. Leave the heat lamp and fan on in the john and your dress and things will be dry by the time we arrive.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I didn’t love the idea of flying in a bathrobe, but it was a hospitable and sensible suggestion. I didn’t want to stay in the wet dress that kept threatening to show my goods every time I moved. “Where’s the flight crew?” The plane seemed unoccupied. Completely silent. With the hatch closed, I couldn’t hear the wind, though I saw a mass of weeds roll down the runway like a tumbleweed in a Western.
“You’re looking at him,” he saluted and gave me his winsome smile. What wouldn’t I do for this man?
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Gabe turned smartly and let himself into the pilot’s cabin in the nose of the plane.
I headed for the head, or whatever you call it on a freaking private jet, OMG, what was I doing?
I made myself stay calm and keep walking. I had no idea where we were going, so I’d take the opportunity to relieve myself before we took off. I made the mistake of taking a road trip with my roommates, down the coast to Big Sur, and one girl was so annoying — instead of going when we made stops to eat or get gas, she’d whine for a stop in between. That was only a small example of that girl and the others getting on my nerves. My first year at college, which was my first year in a city, came as a revelation that many people were raised without any instructions about consideration for others, so their entire day, every day, was me, me, me. I became a loner. I lived with five girls, but the less I had to deal with them, the better. I got up before dawn to have time to myself and spent most of my time in my room. I wouldn’t mind seeing any one of my roommates at the center of an ex-con bang. But me?
I found the restroom and used it. I felt better after a hot, pulsing shower. The cushy towel soothed every inch of my body and the heat-lamp and blow drier took away the last of the chill. I left my shoes to dry, too. Clad in nothing but a fluffy white robe, I steeled myself for the flight. The room was big and softly lit, with curved lines from the jet’s body. The rich knew how to live. I smoothed my hair and freshened my lipstick at the mirror molded to the wall. My hair was windblown and my eyes looked like a caged animal’s, but all things considered, I looked all right. I wrung out my dress and hung it up. I would have chosen something other than a fire engine red skin-tight mini dress to meet Gabe, if I’d had any idea I was about to meet a billionaire who’d offer to change my life. I pressed my lips together, blotted my lipstick.
Would I like it, life on a private island? Going to classes online instead of in person with people I had nothing in common with after a train ride crammed in with people who stank of BO or too many smelly products? Mm. Let’s do the math. But was I seriously considering dropping everything and taking Gabe up on his invitation for a new home? A new home after I gave the erotic performance of my life as the hired sex job for a gang of huge ex cons. There was that minor detail.
I padded back to my seat on the cushioned carpet. Gabe’s jet was nothing like the few commercials planes I’d experienced.
I sat in a window seat and fastened my seatbelt.
“All set? Don’t worry about a thing. The skies are clear and we’ve got an easy flight ahead,” Gabe assured me via the sound system, like a silky DJ talking over the Blues.
“All set,” I yelled. I hoped I was. I tapped my foot to the music’s sexy rhythm.
The engines purred. In a few heartbeats the plane rolled down the runway. I watched the hills accelerate outside my window, a single wisp of cloud made a streak on the light blue sky over the bay. The plane rose. He was smooth. An excellent takeoff. I relaxed, let out my breath.
The buildings and gold meadows receded. We flew over the bay. I looked down on the Golden Gate, the ships becoming smaller and smaller, the highways shrinking to ant trails.
We were on our way to the island. Just a visit. I didn’t have to decide yet.
But I knew, even if Gabe didn’t, he’d hit on a secret fantasy. That ultimate scene of being used by brutal men, cock after cock and not being responsible for any of it.
Gabe offered me the ultimate freedom, and the ultimate incentive. He’d pay me an amazing amount by covering all my living expenses for the duration of my education, and all the fees for my degree. He’d give me the means to meet my goal, achieve my dream. No one in my family ever went to college. Not aunts, uncles, cousins, no one. Mom dropped out of high school. This was my way out of the rural life, the not-home I couldn’t go back to anyway. I’d get my degree, and even if I didn’t make it as an animator, I could teach. I’d get an ESL certificate and I’d be employable anywhere in the world. I’d never be helpless again.
But could I pay the price he was asking? Could his therapists and doctor really help me afterward if I entered the nightmare where brutal, truly dangerous men got to use me all night for the entertainment of a bunch of perverted billionaires? Maybe that’s how it worked, the billionaires secretly imagined themselves at the center of all those sex-ravenous studs, bottoms by proxy… But doing the show might take me apart. It was one thing to have secret fantasies, another to surrender to extreme acts in real life.
And he wanted me to sign a contract. That made me have to take responsibility. It would be much easier if he was abducting me, taking away all control.
Maybe Gabe was a sadist.