Book 1 of the Million Dollar Chronicles
by Sir Thomas
- provided for use on SirJeff's Ponygirls by the author.
- do not use without the author's permission.
I remember that gecko character in that movie saying, “Greed is good.” Since seeing that film I’ve discovered greed has its consequences and pitfalls as well. Certainly money is a good reason to do almost anything beyond the bounds of common sense. But there are other reasons to push the limits of reality as well. This is my story.
I had arrived in New York like so many other model-wannabes hoping for instant success and instant riches. I thought I had the figure and the face but I was just under six feet tall and they all wanted more height. By my estimate I was four inches too short. Not that I didn’t keep trying. I must have sent photos to twenty different agencies. I simply kept getting letters saying ‘Thanks but no thanks’. I thought the long blonde hair and the pert breasts would get me in but it wasn’t to be. I tried for months but after a thousand dollars worth of professional photos and countless nights working at every fast food restaurant and two-bit diner I could get work at just to survive in the Big Apple, I was beginning to get desperate. I just didn’t have the luck that I thought I would. That was until I applied at Jupiter Collectables.
Jupiter Collectables was involved in antique jewelry. They had been in business for roughly twenty years from what I could gather. No, I didn’t find work as a model immediately. But I discovered shortly after starting work there that they were their own advertiser. They used their own employees as models. Each week we all participated in modeling the new pieces that would arrive. We were given a one hundred dollar bonus for each shoot. Finally I started making a little extra cash.
As months went by the other help found better jobs and left me with more hours, more responsibility, and more work of course. Eventually I was the only person other than the manager, Fred Coupling, that was left to attend to our clients. Out of necessity more than desire, I learned more and more about the business. Mr. Coupling apparently was impressed.
It was early summer of the year 2008 when I finally got to see the owner. Paul Simmons had flown into New York from his ranch in Nevada. He was younger than I imagined, perhaps in his early thirties. He was just over six feet tall and sported a thin mustache. I guessed he was either Latin or Italian, probably a little of each.
His wife and two beautiful female assistants accompanied him. I took notice immediately of the female assistants. They both were dressed identically. Both were made up exactly alike including the same shade of eye shadow, lipstick and rouge. They both wore their hair in ponytails held in place with identical gold bands. Their blouses were the same shade of beige and they were long sleeved, which seemed strange for this time of year. Their pants were the same black leather cut and their shoes were the same five-inch spiked stilettos.
They also wore a black cloth band round their throats. In the center of the bands were bright singular buttons. One wore gold. The other wore silver. It seemed out of place, even with these unusual outfits.
They both hung onto identical black leather purses. The purses were quite large which hung off their left shoulders. They never seemed to move their left hands from them, as if they were afraid someone might steal them. And they kept their right hands inside their pants pockets.
The most amazing thing about them though was that they remained absolutely silent. They didn’t even part their lips but a handful of times as if their mouths were full.
The wife, her name was Marie, led the women away after the quick introductions. Still they only nodded. Strange!
The owner, Paul Simmons, talked with the manager for a moment then introduced the help, me! I was the only employee left, of course. Mr. Couplings gave me high praise and it seemed that Mr. Simmons was quite impressed. I couldn’t say much.
I was left to tend to the phones and the counter while the bigwigs discussed whatever they tended to discuss. They sat at a table in the back of the room. Mr. Simmons constantly looked up at me in quick glances. When our eyes met I couldn’t say anything of course. I just smiled. He smiled back.
I overheard him say something like, “I’ll talk it over with Marie,” before he headed upstairs. It made me curious.
“What do you think,” Paul asked.
“I like what I see. You think she’ll bite?”
“Probably, but I have my doubts. I don’t think she’ll go the whole nine yards. Maybe though. A million bucks is a lot of scratch.”
“It buys a lot of privilege though. If she accepts, she’ll be well aware of what we expect before she signs the contract.”
“I’ve been through this before, Love.”
Paul glanced up at the two silent servants. “Yes, I know you have.”
“You know, Fred’s going to be pissed. We’ve used up all his other help. Shame they weren’t up to it. I hope this one stays a lot longer.”
“That’s just the luck of the draw. Our friend back home seems to like the stock from here more than our other sites. I’m sure it’s a burden for Fred but it’s going to be a few weeks before she has to leave. He has at least a month. If necessary we might be able to move a couple girls from the Philly office. The initial fitting takes two weeks to set up and the first outfits won’t arrive for another month beyond that.”
“That gives him six weeks to find a replacement. Fred should be fine. There are plenty of people in New York looking for a job. He won’t have any problems. Maybe he’ll find another candidate. Anyway, our friend will be here any moment. Why don’t you take the gags out and I’ll go get her.”
When I entered the guest room I found Mrs. Simmons reclining on the love seat while the two girls were seated in single chairs, sipping water. The girls had finally put down their bags and seemed to act more at ease. They both smiled as I entered.
Mr. Simmons sat next to his wife. “You’re probably wondering if there’s something wrong. Relax. There isn’t. From what we’ve heard you’ve done a wonderful job here. We’re quite impressed actually with your photos and we’re well aware of your modeling interests. We have a proposition for you, a proposition that could make you a tremendous amount of money if you’re interested.”
My eyes immediately lit up. Big money? Finally I was going to get that modeling job! But it wasn’t to be for as soon as the wife opened her mouth I knew there was something that was going to drive this conversation onto a totally different track. How different it would be I had no idea!
“Casey, tell me something. Did you find anything strange about our two servants when they arrived?” she asked.
“Well, yes, of course. They both are dressed alike. It’s almost like they were trying to act like twins. But it’s obvious they’re not.”
“Well that’s kind of obvious. Anything else that seemed strange?”
“Well, when I first saw them they didn’t say a word. I also thought the bags were a bit large.”
“What about their hands?”
“Now that was unusual. I couldn’t understand why they kept their right hands in their pockets. I could see them resting their left hand on their purses. I mean it looks all sort of natural at first glance but when you stare at it…”
“We were bound and gagged,” the girl on the right interjected. She seemed to mention this fact in a manner lacking any sort of excitement. It caught me off guard.
“The gold bracelets we’re wearing are handcuffs. See?” the girl on the left noted as she held up her wrists.
“And the gag is made from a leather plug that’s bolted to our tongues,” the other girl said as she held up an oval shaped piece of leather.
I looked at both like they were visiting aliens. “And why on God’s sweet green earth would you do this? Are you nuts?”
“Of course they are not nuts,” Paul stated resoundingly. “They’re just doing what we pay them for. Sandra is about to cash in on her third million. Even after taxes she’ll have close to two million in the bank. Joanne, that’s the one on my left, doesn’t get paid as much since she’s agreed to an easier schedule. But she’s been with me for seven years now.”
“Are you saying their sex slaves?”
“Sandra’s a sex slave. Joanne’s a bondage slave. She doesn’t do sex.”
Then it finally hit me. The reason for this little meeting was evident in their faces. “You’re offering me a job doing this? That’s how I’m supposed to make all this money?”
“Does the sex part bother you?” Marie asked.
“It all bothers me! I’m not a whore!”
“I’m not saying you are,” Marie said.
I stared at them a moment, stewing in my own angry fumes. Damn, I had all these dreams. I was going to be a model. I was going to be making a million bucks a session. I never figured on getting involved with a bunch of perverts.
Then I thought about the bait. A million bucks is a lot of money. I wondered what I’d be expected to do. It had to be horrible. That’s what I thought until I looked at the two girls. I had to ask myself why they weren’t running out the door. I knew there was nobody to stop them. It wasn’t too hard for them obviously. The girl on the Simmons’ right wasn’t making nearly as much money and she wasn’t running. I knew I’d regret it but I had to ask the questions. There was too much money involved.
“You said a million bucks. How hard is it to make that kind of money?”
“Very hard,” Marie noted.
“OK, tell me the details. I promise to remain calm.”
It was Marie who gave the explanation. “We have two levels of service, bondage slave and sex slave. Sex slaves are bondage slaves that do sex.”
“I figured that much out. What else?”
“Bondage slaves work five consecutive days during the week. We have flextime if you like. From Saturday till Friday there has to be five days worked in a row. The bondage slave selects which ones they want to work. They usually take the weekends off. Our bondage involves all sorts of gear; gags, harnesses, leather, pvc, vinyl, heels, boots, chains, rope. As long as it’s safe, we do it. Bondage slaves also must allow for dildos and enemas, not exactly something we enjoy discussing at length you understand. We keep everything sanitary though. We’re very careful about that.”
“How much does a bondage slave earn?”
“A bondage slave earns $100,000 for a year’s work. Five thousand is paid after the first month and the remainder is paid upon completion of the contract.”
“And to earn a million a year, I suppose I would have to let you have sex with me?”
“Yes, but a million dollars buys much more. For that million, sex slaves work 24-7. They get no time off and they are treated much more harshly. Sex slaves have sex on command, all of it oral sex. We will determine who you have sex with and you will not refuse. If you do, you’ll be fined severely. If you refuse often enough, you’ll be fired. You’ll be expected to have sex with both my husband and me, on command!”
“I’m not a Lesbian.”
“For a million bucks, you’ll have to learn.”
“You ask a lot,” I said. But my eyes betrayed me.
“We pay a lot and we expect our money’s worth. If this is too much for you, I’ll stop wasting our time. Should I stop?”
I thought for a moment. “No,” I croaked. My mouth seemed so dry suddenly. A smile appeared on Paul’s face first. Then I noticed they were all smiling. They realized I was hooked. They realized it before I did.
“I suppose I should continue then…”
She went into a lot of details, far more than I expected and far racier than I thought my ears would take. But I sat there stoically knowing that I would be a million dollars richer in a year’s time. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse. Greed is such an ugly thing!
During the next six weeks the couple visited me often, both at work and at my apartment. Marie seemed to lead the discussions. Paul usually sat quietly nearby. Neither seemed to be nervous about discussing sexual matters. It wasn’t so easy for me.
The things they discussed were disturbingly honest. They told me on several occasions the methods they would use to enjoy my body. They talked about the bondage more than anything else. They were always asking me if this frightened me. When I said it didn’t, they didn’t believe me. I confessed that I just wanted the job. I told them I could deal with the fear.
They had me sign a release for my medical records. Since their company already had required me to take annual physicals for insurance purposes, there was already a substantial medical history available. However, since the insurance company was independent of Jupiter Collectables they needed my signature to get the information. It was all routine to them. I really didn’t have a problem with it either.
They explained to me the financial situation as well. Everything was to be above board with regard to IRS issues. All their slaves were actual employees. For tax purposes slaves were designated the role of ‘executive assistant’. They originally thought to call them domestic help but that implied that they were maids. Maids didn’t make a million bucks a year. The discrepancy might raise some red flags. Nobody wanted law enforcement or the media to poke their noses into this matter.
A week after our initial visit I visited a seamstress of their choosing. I had to drive to Manhattan to see her. I was warned it would be traumatic.
Janice Petricovski had her exclusive shop situated on the second floor of a thirty-story office building. The building had been renovated recently, reclaiming the older structure, creating an office building housing a diversity of small businesses. I found her office in the middle of the hall. My heart raced as I rung the bell and waited.
A tall well-tanned woman answered the door. She had full red lips and a lot of makeup. But the thing that I noticed was her long black hair. It was so long it went to her knees! It wasn’t a wig either, according to her. It was real.
We got down to business quickly. She told me she only had two hours before her next client arrived but she said we would have plenty of time. She started by having me try on a number of kinky outfits made of leather and pvc. None fit quite right in her estimation. She made a number of marks on the leather and pvc outfits before allowing me to remove them.
She also had me wear a pair of hip boots. The shoe portions fit fairly well in my estimation. However, she wasn’t satisfied completely with this fit either. She made a number of notes before pulling the boots to my hips. She took more measurements and made even more notes.
Gloves were presented. But before I was allowed to put them on she needed to trim my long nails back a bit. Each finger was then carefully examined as the gloves were applied. She also measured the diameter of my wrists with hands relaxed as well as with hands formed into fists. She measured the length of my arms from armpit to fingertip and from fingertip to center of my shoulder blade.
When I questioned her about all this she told me that she guaranteed every stitch of clothing she made fit perfectly. She took extra precautions to ensure that every outfit could be worn comfortably as well. Everything I wore for the next year would either be made by her or by one of her assistants. She inspected every item meticulously. Her business even made the footwear. I was impressed.
Next we got into more intimate measurements. Now she needed to check the dimensions of my breasts. I had to assist this time. First she took a rough measurement with a pair of calipers. I was happy to see that they had rubber tips on them. She next went to a drawer and pulled out a stainless steel ring. She warmed it with her hands and presented it to me. “Press it tightly around your right breast,” she ordered. When I did it I noticed it was tight enough to make my breast stand out firmly.
After she examined my breast and approved of the ring’s fit she produced a small white board with black grid lines on it. With my free hand I was ordered to hold this board against my breast so she could take a couple of pictures to get the exact shape documented. She took three photos. We then repeated the process with my other breast.
She then made me gather my long hair into a bun and don a skullcap. A larger board, this one made of Plexiglass was produced and I was ordered to hold the board against my right ear as she took more pictures through the glass. She took pictures from all sides.
Then things got very interesting. She warned me that these would be the toughest measurements. She needed to measure my orifices. She promised to be as gentle as possible but warned that I would not like it. I didn’t.
I suppose the easiest measurement was my mouth. She inserted a hard rubber cone between my teeth until my jaw was aching and I was groaning loudly. She apologized for the discomfort and promised it would only take a second to measure me. The cone had ridges every half-inch and she noted the ridge that was used. Then she took more pictures in profile of my face through the grid from both sides before removing the device. Finally she used small calipers to measure the length of each of my teeth.
The lower orifices were measured as well. I won’t go into as much detail in this regard. She used similar cones and pressed firmly after lubricating me front and back. She was right. I didn’t like it a bit.
That was the end of that session. She told me that I wouldn’t see her again unless my dimensions changed substantially. She also informed me that my first outfits would be delivered to my employer in a week or two. She asked me to thank them for the business. I promised I would.
A week later the couple visited me again, this time with a contract. The position read ‘Executive Assistant Level II’ and the salary was listed as $1,000,000 upon completion of a year of service. Further details indicated that I was to be paid $5000 in advance. After thirty days if either my employer or myself terminated my services I would receive severance pay in the amount of $10,000. All fines and penalties would only apply if I completed the full year of service.
The cost of the penalties was not listed on the contract but they informed me that every refusal would cost me $10,000. I would be warned once before they deducted the fine. In addition I would experience physical punishment for refusal to submit to their orders. “Pain?” I asked. The told me that if they couldn’t get pleasure from me one way then they’d get it another way. Pain was an option. So was the act of using exceptionally severe bondage methods.
Still, I thought about that million bucks. “Was I that greedy?” I asked myself. I didn’t have to answer that question. I just reached for the pen and signed. That was my answer.
A few days later Marie visited me in the late afternoon at my apartment. She had brought a brown bag filled with fruits and vegetables. I thanked her for the effort but she told me these were for something special. I was curious.
“You already indicated that you never had oral sex, right?” she asked as she unloaded the various items onto the counter.
I sheepishly told her she was correct. I never did this with a man or a woman.
“For the kind of money we’re paying we expect it to be done on command. You do understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Well, these fruits and vegetables will help you learn. We’ll start with the pear. I want you to watch carefully so you can practice while I’m not here. Now I cut the pear lengthwise then coat it with honey and salt. It isn’t the same thing but it will get you used to the idea of licking salty things. Later we’ll do the same thing with a rare piece of steak. Now get on your knees and lick the pear. Try and imagine that it’s me.”
I looked at her in disbelief as I took the pear and dropped to my knees. The taste was strange since the pear was heavily salted. I hardly tasted the sweetness of the honey. Marie made me do it five times more until she was completely satisfied that I was comfortable with the strange act.
Next she had me watch as she bored out a tiny butternut squash with a long drill bit. I kind of knew what was coming since the shape and diameter of the stem was roughly the size of a man’s cock. She took a half cup of skim milk and thinned it with water. Then she added some cornstarch and nearly a quarter cup of salt to it. After warming it in the microwave for a few seconds she began stirring. As it cooled it thickened. She finished the process by putting the mixture in the freezer for a minute or two. When it came out it looked like slime. Then she took a cooking syringe and injected half of it into the squash.
“Get on your knees again,” she ordered.
When I did she told me to open wide and stick out my tongue. She informed me that her husband liked to see his slave in a submissive pose before partaking. I was to make every effort to keep the tip of my tongue beyond my lips when performing the act. “It’s a difficult way to do this but it’s how my husband likes it. Oh, by the way. This stuff doesn’t really taste exactly like his juices. But it is salty and it is a bit thick. I want you to get acclimated to the feel of it more than the taste,” she told me as she held the squash to my lips. I didn’t like the taste at all but she said I needed to get used to it as she had said. I repeated the process once and used up the remaining mixture.
She left me with enough materials to last for a week. In that time I was expected to practice and become accustomed to oral sex. Marie told me to always do this on my knees because that was the way I would do the real thing. She reminded me to try and use my imagination and think of it as real. “Remember,” she said, “When you get to Nevada you’ll be expected to do these things on command and without hesitation. Our tolerance will be very limited. We’re paying you far too well to expect otherwise.”
Marie visited me three days later and approved of my demonstration. I still wasn’t comfortable with the acts I was forced to perform but I was getting more accustomed to it. A week later when she visited again I had no problem sucking on the squash for her or licking the pear. Since I was doing these exercises several times a day they were no longer major distractions. I wondered how I’d feel two weeks from now when I had to do it for real.
It was now time for my visit to the tattoo artist. I was ordered to visit a woman in Brooklyn and I was told to take the day off. This wasn’t a big deal now since Fred had found my replacement, a tall redhead named Susanne. I had a feeling I’d be seeing her in Nevada before long.
Anyway, the artist was a small oriental woman named Luanne. She was very funny and joked about her lack of height often. She was hardly five feet tall.
She had three tasks. First she needed to shave and depilate my entire body from neck down. After having me strip naked and lie on a plastic sheet the shaving was done with a special electric razor. The depilating cream actually felt cool, even when she applied it to my underarms and crotch. After I was toweled down, she applied a neutralizer, a soft pink cream that stopped the process and prevented irritation. She informed me that this treatment was extremely harsh and only needed two sessions as opposed to the normal six. A week later I’d have to come back for a repeat session. I could expect no hair to grow below my neck for a number of years after that.
Next she needed to give me a small identifying tattoo. It was placed under each breast and depicted a pair of slave girls kneeling and facing each other with arms splayed beside them. She did them in shades of gold and silver ink. She said it was a special process that she had developed herself. They looked almost embossed.
Finally it was time for my piercings. The first was the worst, my tongue. There were three holes that needed to be placed. She first had me stick out my tongue as she coated it with a white paste. Soon my tongue went numb. Then she placed a metal plate over my lips to hold my mouth open. “You OK?” she asked. I nodded.
“I have three holes to make. I’ll then install these stainless grommets. It won’t hurt, I promise.”
She placed a metal template on my tongue which had two small pins in it. I didn’t feel the pins go into my tongue but it was quite uncomfortable to hold my mouth open like this with my tongue extended. When she was happy with the arrangement she used a special tool which followed the hole in the template. It bored through my tongue, inserted the grommet from the top and pressed the mating piece up from underneath. Then it heated the entire assembly to cauterize the wound. Each grommet was coated with a thick healing cream which softened when it was heated. The hole ended up being 1/8 inch in diameter but the grommet was three times that size. It would not come out without special tools. The other two grommets were installed in like manner, giving me one on each side of my tongue and one at the tip. I was very happy to get these gadgets out of my mouth.
She was far from finished however. “Tilt your head back, Honey,” she ordered politely. She inspected my nose carefully with a small flashlight before applying more of that numbing cream. The tool previously used had interchangeable heads. This new head was elongated and curved to get well up into my nose. I felt the jaws snap and I jerked even though I didn’t feel any pain. I now had a grommet in my nose.
A similar process was performed on my ears with slightly smaller inserts. Two holes were placed in each ear, one in the lobe and one in the upper rear. She also pierced my breasts and my clit using short stainless tubes to connect the metal grommets. These tubes were spring loaded to keep them pulled firmly against my skin. Finally she placed four grommets in each nether lips.
She told me to roll over for my rear grommets. “Excuse me?” I asked. She told me that she needed to install special studs in my rear near my anus to hold in a butt plug. I questioned her on this but she said she was going to be exceptionally careful when she did this and that every other slave of my owner has this procedure done. I rolled over and closed my eyes. For a million bucks? Sure!
She was extremely careful about this operation. She sterilized the area with a special cream. Then she spread my cheeks and applied a UV lamp for a full two minutes to kill any remaining bacteria. She changed rubber gloves while the lamp was applied and washed up for the final act. The device she used more closely resembled a pop-rivet gun and needed to be operated manually. The rivet itself resembled a small half inch metal ball. There was a breakaway nail inside which would detach when the ball flared to nearly an inch. As part of the same operation, when the handle nearly reached the end of its travel a small gold plate was pressed into place. It snapped over a small rounded post which was sticking through the skin. A tiny hole was left vertically through the post. A small button was inserted and pressed in place. It both sealed the opening that the nail had occupied and contained the spring loaded device that would hold the fastener that would be inserted at a later time. She repeated the process three more times. When she was finished I had four small gold buttons surrounding my anus.
She was finished at last. I had so many holes in me I thought I’d spring a leak whenever I drank something. She gave me a pair of emerald earrings and told me to insert them. They were real emeralds too! She also gave me a can of spray, which I had to apply several times a day to fight off infection and promote healing. I even had to spray it in my mouth. It tasted terrible.
A week later I returned. Marie met me at the parlor. She wanted to see how my rings looked. Luanne checked all the grommets and found them all virtually healed, including the ones in my ass. She then produced a set of gold rings which she clipped to my breasts, clit and sex. She produced a larger ring and inserted it into my nose. Finally she had me open my mouth and stick out my tongue. She didn’t do anything with these grommets though. Marie said that would come next week when we left for Nevada.
The rings were all removed. Marie said that there were a number of ways to use the grommets and that placing rings into them was only one use for them. She didn’t go into details. She didn’t want to spoil the surprise I guessed.
The only items left on the agenda were the moving arrangements. Marie told me that I should pack only the valuable or fragile stuff. A specially trained moving crew would take care of the mundane task of packing.
Marie also provided me with a thousand dollars in cash to take care of any lease discrepancies. I had already given notice and told my neighbors that I was moving out west. Marie and Paul constantly reminded me to tell people so that no one would think I had disappeared unexpectedly.
To Chapter 3