Money Can’t Solve All Problems

Thaddeus G. Rockefeller, yes, one of those Rockefellers, was currently partying it up in an exclusive New York club. The cover charge was $10,000, and the whole thing screamed rich. However, this club was the brainchild of one Landon Peterson. Landon was a 26 year old, who was relatively fit, but not at the “attractive” level many guys wanted. After repeatedly finding himself stood up on dates, even one with a close “friend” from college, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He partnered with some people he had found on the black market to create an exclusive club that was actually a front for slave trading. Landon had his eyes set on Thad ever since he posted his first thirst trap on Instagram.

The plan was simple enough. Landon and his associates had done their research, and clubs like these had their patrons sign contracts so that they wouldn’t needlessly wreck the place or some shit like that. However, nestled inside this paperwork was a clause that gave away your rights as a human. Thad glanced at the paragraph, if that, as he signed and initialed the document. There were two girls he wanted to introduce him to, as their boobs were nearly bursting out of their dresses, not to mention their Kim K-like asses. Landon smiled as he saw Thad give the forms back to the bouncer.

Landon talked to the bartender through an earpiece, and told him that Thad Rockefeller was the man whose drink needed to be drugged. He complied, being an investor in the slave trade business himself. Thad never suspected a thing, and that was the whole point. The drug wasn’t a knockout drug; it actually caused Thad to get drunker than he normally would on the same amount of alcohol. That meant in just two glasses in, he was drooling sloppily at the two girls, plants by the slave trade business themselves. This job had helped pay for the surgery needed to look like that. As a result, Thaddeus was kicked out, and his limo was brought around.

As the bouncer helped him inside, Landon smiled from the front seat. Two of the goons the company employed knocked out the real driver, and Landon replaced him. As he drove away, another agent of the company discretely stripped Thad, and then moved into another part of the limo. Landon had originally planned to get him to strip in the club, but considering the fucking limo had two separate fucking hot tubs inside, having a mole inside would be safe.

Thad’s drunken stupor was slowly wearing off, and he was able to notice that he was nude.

“Driver, why I am nude?” he asked, a bit groggily.

“Because my slaves are required to be nude at all times,” said Landon, after he opened the gap.

“Slaves? Am I your slave?” he asked. He wasn’t sure if the alcohol was still messing with his head.

“Yes, you’re my slave, Thad. The paper’s right in front of you.” Thad was able to see a paper in a container hooked on the wall. He was able to understand most of it, as the drug was starting to wear off, and two drinks normally meant nothing to the hard-partying stud.

“I signed this!? But you’ll never get away with this! My parents will know when I don’t come home!”

“Oh, I plan to make it well-known that you’re my slave. Why don’t you read Section Three, Subsection B out loud?”

“As the slave is no longer legally classified as a human being, ownership reverts to the first person who signs this document.” Thad looked down and saw that on the other side of the page, right at the bottom, Landon had signed his Thomas Jefferson.

“Our lawyers say that’s a rock-solid argument for any court.”

“But I’m a Rockefeller! We can give you as much as you want!”

“Oh, I don’t want money. I just want you!” Landon made sure his new slave could see his face in the rearview mirror. He had a sly grin on his face, just as he pulled up to his apartment. “Get out,” he ordered.

“But I’m nude,” Thad replied. He had even seen a beat cop patrolling the street nearby.

“You’re a fucking piece of property, and you don’t need to be covered up. Now get out of the damn car.”

“Fine,” Thad said, stepping out into New York City in the nighttime. As he hoped, the beat cop was starting to walk down the street. He had a puzzled look on his face, but then lit up when Landon came around. He waved to the cop and escorted his new slave inside. “Do you know him?” Thad asked.

“First off, slaves don’t speak unless spoken to. And no, I don’t. My guy in the police department probably briefed him.”

“Your what!?” Thad was able to get that out before Landon spanked him on his butt. It was so hard, he dropped to his knees and cried out in pain.

“Get up, you fucking bitch.” With tears in his eyes, Thaddeus complied, and followed Landon down a flight of stairs to the basement. As Landon flicked the switch, Thad saw just what would happen in the basement. Various BDSM equipment was strewn about, along with some gym equipment. The bathroom, or more accurately the toilet, was in the middle of the room. There was no bed to speak of.

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