This is a story that I started writing about a year ago and haven't quite finished yet. I kind of lost interest in writing and have been working too much lately. Please note that this is one of those things I warned you about up at the top. What? You didn't read that? Go back and try again.

AN: This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, incidents, and dialogue, except for incidental references to public figures, products, or services, are imaginary and are not intended to refer to any living persons or to disparage any company's products or services.

Ron Millionaire: Everyone Has a Price
Ned has just handed me an envelope, “From the boys in corporate.” The envelope has a subheading: Naco Royalties Check. I reminisce a bit over my creation, the Naco. What a wondrous day in history. Kim says something derisive, but I ignore her.

Bonnie, who has been harassing me from behind, grows impatient at my dawdling. “Can I order now, please?”

“Un momento, por favor.” Kim says, although I’m not really listening to her. “Open the envelope Ron; maybe the check's big enough for you to Grande Size.”

I rip open the edge of the envelope, not knowing what to expect. The last check I received was barely enough to buy that Club Banana jacket for Kim. Which, although she loved, she immediately exchanged. I slide the check out and feel faint, my head is swimming. My mouth dries, I begin to stammer. I try to speak, but am unable to. “It's for nuh-nuh-nuh... Nine…”

The simultaneous shouts of Kim and Bonnie break my stupor. “Ninety-nine million dollars!”

Bonnie immediately latches onto me, pressing her hot body tightly to my back, running a hand through my hair. “Ron Stoppable, you are such a hottie.” She says, dropping her free hand from my shoulder into my front pants-pocket.

“Are you saying that because I'm rich?” I ask after a beat.

“Uh huh.” She pants into my ear, licking it lightly, as her fingers dig deeper into my pocket.

A money grubbing whore, that is just so, “Cool!”

Sadly, she removes herself from me, “Call me later, after you cash that check Ronnie.” She leans into my shoulder, pressing her breasts against me, kissing my cheek before she walks out.

I think Kim is saying something, but it is incomprehensible to me. I’m lost in thought. About Bonnie. About the money. Every fantasy, a reality. Every possibility a reality. Reality.

The bleak reality that is my life. I find myself sitting in a booth. It’s not even a good one, being that it is too far from the counter. Kim asks me, or tells me. “You know money can’t buy happiness, right?”

Happiness, Ninety-nine million. Satisfaction, Ninety-nine million. Bonnie, Ninety-nine million. Kim, Ninety-nine million. Tara, Ninety-nine million. Sex, Ninety-nine million. Bonnie, Ninety-nine million. Sex with Bonnie, Ninety-nine million dollars.

I wave the check, which is by now rather crumpled, in her face. “Are you sure KP?” A question that I don’t expect her to actually answer, and she doesn’t. She just gives me that look. The same look as when I had that stylish haircut. When I was using the HenchCo ring.

An empty plate sits on the table before me. I may have eaten my entire entrée, without even knowing it. Or perhaps Rufus did. I’m not certain.

Kim has the most beautifully deep emerald-green eyes I have ever seen. Why I am just now noticing that, I’m not sure. She raises an eyebrow and is about to speak.

“Oh, okay, I get it.” I say, cutting her off. “You think this is gonna be one of those times when I suddenly turn into some out-of-control guy and go way overboard with the whole money thing.”

She pauses, carefully answers, “Well, yeah.”

I hear myself saying that the money will not change me. I even find myself wanting to believe it. I stand up and excuse myself, “I need to go.” I head out of Bueno Nacho and begin to walk uptown. Hopefully I can get to the bank before it closes. I do.

A Mr. Joshua Mallon, God I hate him so. Like I don’t have enough people named Josh to deal with. Is more than eager to assist me in managing my new found fortune. He suggests a money market account, for easier access. I insist on putting a million or so into a more readily available source. Cash.

Cash is, as I have noticed, a most persuasive argument. Accepted everywhere and easy to carry. I step from the bank lobby and hail a passing cab. I climb in and tell the driver, who appears to be Puerto Rican, “Upperton.”

The cab makes several stops. I have him wait while I shop. A new wardrobe, nothing but the finest. Some hangers on, several bodyguard types and a few personal assistants. As well as an apartment, furnished of course.

I don’t give the building manager my real name, not that it would matter. I’m only 17. I can’t sign a binding lease. “Call me Mr. Franklin.” I say, handing him $250,000. Two years rent, plus a bonus for himself.

My immediate business dealings finished, I have the cabbie drive me home. I stiff him on the tip. Not like I’ll ever see him again anyway.

School

"Yoo-hoo, hotness." It's Bonnie, running up the hallway of school with a playful look in her eyes. She tries latching on to me.

Big Nick pushes her away. "Hands off The Ron."

I tip my sunglasses, looking first to him and then to Bonnie. "It's ok dude, she's in the circle."

Bonnie rushes back to me, tracing my chin with her hand flirtatiously. "Remember how I've been mean and abusive to you since, like, junior high? Well, you know, I was playing hard to get right?"

I put my arm around her, brushing my hand against her right breast before letting it grip her around the waist. "Baby - The Ron knew, the Ron knew."

A hand reaches out and grabs onto me, pulling me away from Bonnie. "Ron, what are you doing?" It's KP. "Handing out money to everyone who walks by?"

I don't have time for her right now, maybe later. "Oh, sorry Kim." I tuck a few bills into her hand and tell her, "Here, get yourself something nice."

I walk back over to Bonnie, putting my arm around her again, "Let's ditch this place, just you and The Ron."

"Whatever you say, The Ron." She pulls herself closer to me and gives Kim a glance that says, 'he's mine now.'

Oh, how little she knows.

I have my driver drop the rest of my posse off at a club. After they are out of the limo I tell him to take us to the apartment I rented last night in Upperton.

The Apartment

I sit back into my chair as Bonnie stands in front of me. She is wearing a red halter top and black faux leather mini. She looks, great. I lift the remote off the arm of the chair and use it to turn on the several video cameras and televisions that I have setup around the room. Some of the monitors show Bonnie from various angles, two others show me. One a slightly off-center frontal shot, low across the floor. The other a view from behind and slightly above.

I peel a dozen or so bills off the stack of hundreds in my hand. "I want you to." I pause, motioning for her to lean forward, as I quarter fold them and stuff them into her cleavage. "Take off your top."

She pulls the bills out from between her substantial, and obviously fake, breasts. "I don't know about this Ron." I glare at her, she hesitates, adding apologetically. "The Ron."

I pull a few more bills off the stack, handing them to her. "The top."

She tucks the money into the waistband of her skirt. Her hands move up, arms crossed under each other, to grasp the lower edge of her top. She closes her eyes and begins to pull the garment up and off. Slowly.

"Nice." I say, genuinely, impressed at just how easy this seems to be.

After she throws the shirt off to one side she reaches around behind her to take off her bra. It is a leopard print, silk or perhaps satin.

"No." I say forcefully. "Leave it on."

She stands in front of me, half undressed, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She is nervous, probably wondering just how far I want to go with this.

I stare at her, taking in the gentle curvature of her breasts. Her nipples hardening in the cool air of the room, straining against the sheer fabric of her bra. I allow her to ponder her fate for nearly a minute before I speak. "The skirt." She stands, her arms crossed just under her chest. She must want some more money. I remove a few more bills from the stack, probably not as many as it took to get her to remove her top. I hold them out for her, she reaches for them. I pull them away playfully. I giggle, she frowns. I relent and hand her the cash. Smiling. "The skirt." I repeat.

She tucks the new money in alongside the money I gave her to take off her top. She slowly, very slowly, begins to pull the skirt down off her hips. I lean forward in my chair for a better view. She stops. Then starts again. The skirt falls to the ground at her feet. She steps one foot out of it and kicks it aside with the other. No visible tan lines as of yet.

"Very nice." I say. Leaning back into my seat.

She definitely has a hard body. All those years of ballet and cheerleading did it good. I want to see more of it. "Why don't you, pirouette or something." I ask her. I tell her.

She kicks off her shoes and shifts her weight.

"Slowly." I add.

She stops and begins to turn on her right foot, arms stretched out above her head. She has nice lines, almost as good as KP's. Or so I imagine. I notice something… amiss. "Stop!"

I reach out and pull her to me, turning her to get a better look. I was right. She has a mole. On her left buttock. I pick at it a bit with my fingernail. At least it isn't hairy. "Interesting mole you've got here Bon Bon." I spank her lightly.

I explore with a youthful abandon, tracing my fingers along her spine. I begin to run my hands over her body. Up and down the insides of her thighs. Using both hands I squeeze her ass firmly. Good musculature. Under the lacy fabric of her panties. She shivers slightly, and mewls like a kitten, as my hand moves around to the front. "Hmm." I hum, almost questioningly. She's a hairless.

I toss the rest of the stack of hundreds on the floor in front of her. "Get on all fours." She drops down to her knees and then leans forward onto her hands.

I stand up, remote in hand, and begin to get undressed. After I have my shirt off I check the video cameras. I step behind her, wearing only my boxers, and drop to one knee, grasping at the slight fabric of her undergarments.

Bonnie is definitely going to earn her money tonight.

Oh, What A Night

Bonnie is in front of me on her hands and knees. I take a firmer hold onto the waistband of her panties and begin to remove them. First off the right cheek, then the left. She must have a tanning bed at home. Or maybe she lays out in the nude. She has no tan lines at all. Very sexy. I rip the delicate fabric and throw the panties, which are now no more than just a rag, away.

I begin to work on removing her bra. Momentarily ignoring her, now naked, lower half. I'll never understand why they make the clasps so difficult to operate. It turns out to be an up and to the right motion that releases the strap. I refasten and unfasten it several times, practicing. I release the clasp for a final time and toss the bra off to one side.

Her ample breasts now hang freely. Nipples pointing, slightly offset, toward the floor. "Why are your nipples like that? Did they botch your implants?" I ask.

"No." She says, sounding annoyed. "They've always been like that."

"Always?" I am confused. I reach out and attempt to straighten them. I fail.

"Since they got," she hesitates, "…bigger, yes."

"Strange." I move around her, kneeling, almost sitting on my heels, directly in front of her. I continue to play with her breasts, feeling for any irregularities. I begin to swat at them, bouncing them back and forth between my hands. I lose myself in the fleshy rhythm.

I feel a strange sensation. Bonnie's hand. Slid into the fly of my boxers. Grabbing my package. I slap it away. "Never. Touch me. Unless I tell you to. Do you understand?"

She looks away, ashamed, saying nothing.

I slap her face. "Do you understand?"

"Yes." She answers, pitifully.

I slap her face again, harder. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, The Ron." She whimpers, her eyes red with tears.

"Sit back on your heels."

She complies, "Yes, The Ron."

I stand up and begin to walk around her, slowly. I trace my finger behind her ear, gently. Her lower lip trembles. I notice it. I squat down behind her. I whisper into her ear. "Does that feel good?" I trace my finger over the same spot. "Me doing this?"

Her lip trembles again, her voice wavers as she answers. "Yes, The Ron."

"Are you a virgin Bonnie?" I ask suddenly.

She hesitates before finally answering. "…No, The Ron." It begins to annoy me, her slowness. I stand. Seriously considering slapping her again. I don't.

"Good." I smile, deviously. "Get on your knees, so I can see your ass."

She doesn't.

I put my heel into the small of her back, "I said," and push her down onto the floor, "Get on your knees."

She snivels a bit, as she pushes herself up onto her hands and knees.

"This would be easier," I tell her, soothingly, stroking her face. "If you would just do what you're told."

She sobs a little, like that's going to matter to me. "Sorry, The Ron." Her voice remains low, broken. But I hear her.

"Shhh. It's okay." I stand up, "I don't want to hurt you…" and head for the bathroom. I open the medicine cabinet. Retrieving a bottle of Club Banana Exclusive: Strawberry Sensation lotion, a few vinyl surgical gloves, and a box of latex condoms.

I pull the gloves on, first the right and then the left. I toss the box of condoms onto the floor next to Bonnie. Not that I'm planning on using any.

"Pleasure yourself. While I watch." I order her. Pulling my chair closer, for a better view. I sit down. She begins. Masturbating first with one finger, then two. I reach out and move a camera, not the one I moved earlier, closer. Zooming it in for a close-up of her fingers in motion.

After a minute, or two, perhaps even three, I am sufficiently aroused. I'm raging. Hell, I could probably drive nails with it. Mentally, I put that on my things to do to Bonnie list.

I slide out of my chair and kneel behind her. I am solid, trembling. Filled with anticipation.
I remove the lid from the bottle of lotion. The terrifying thought that ‘I should have gotten something else' cascades through my mind. This will have to do.

I begin to pour the thick creamy lotion onto the small of her back. A ready reservoir.
She begins to shiver, her entire body quivering. One of my fingers joins the two of hers. She's having another orgasm. This makes three so far. The contractions, they are an interesting sensation.

I pull my finger out, using her juices to draw a capital letter 'R' on her ass. A stylized branding of my property. She belongs to me now.

I own her.

Out of breath she slumps down, resting her head on the carpeted floor. The lotion is slowly running up her back, the wrong direction for what I have in mind. I grab a handful of her long brown hair and jerk back on it. Pulling her upper body up off the floor.

She screams. "Stop it Ron!" She cries. "That hurts!" Seething, struggling.

I pull back, harder, violently. Bringing her head to mine, her chin pointing straight up to the ceiling. "What the fuck did you say!" I spit the words into her ear. Before pushing her, quite forcefully, back to the floor. Her head... her face, makes an interesting ka-poonk noise as it bounces off the carpet. "I own you bitch…"

It Gets Worse

I roll Bonnie over onto her back. Spreading her legs. She struggles against me, unwilling to give herself to me.

…

The Ron balled his hand into a fist and landed a crushing blow against her cheek. "Stupid bitch!" Blood oozed from her now split lip.

He placed a hand on her throat, just under the jawbone. Leaning forward applying steady pressure. Choking her. She slapped him. Once. Twice. Forcefully.

Ineffectually.

She tried a third time. He blocked her hand. Seizing her fingers, mashing them together. She screamed as he twisted and broke at least one of her fingers.

"You dirty fucking whore!" The Ron forced himself into her. He was not kind, not loving, not caring. He was brutal.

…

Bonnie is everything I hoped… Everything I knew she would be.

She spasms and gurgles, coughing up blobs of bloody saliva. Her eyes roll back into their sockets. This is going too far…

…

The Ron removed his hand from her throat and adjusted his grip on her. Taking her wrists he pinned them against the floor at her shoulders.

Color began to return to her face. The blue of her lips slowly replaced by a more natural red.

He pulled back and almost out before her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. Hips lifting off the floor, humping her body against his.

"That's my good girl." The Ron spoke.

…

We establish a rhythm, moving together as one. Until we reach climax.

…

The Ron collapsed onto her, still inside, his head resting next to hers. She licked his neck, his ear. His mouth moved, as if too speak, but no words came out. He lifted his hand to her breast. Caressing it, rolling the nipple between his fingertips.

She whispered. "I... love you... The Ron."

"Me or my money?" The Ron asked, roughly pinching her nipple.

She squealed, in a mix of pleasure and pain. Her eyes began a frantic search for his, finally they locked. Wanting to communicate… something.

Pleading?

Desire?

Love?

What?

…

Confusion.

…

I smile, weakly, and roll Bonnie over. Pulling her onto her hands and knees.

There is still a small amount of lotion on her back.

Good.

I dab a gloved finger in and begin to trace my way down her cleft. Stopping short of my final destination.

…

Her battered body shuddered at the realization of what The Ron wanted.

What he paid for.

…

The Ron swirled his index finger around her ring, before letting it settle in the center. "Take it." he commanded.

"Yes." She answered, her breath still coming in short gasps. "The Ron."

She began slowly grinding back. Taking him into her.

She moaned, "It feels so good. So dirty. But, so good."

Her breath juddered out in hitching gasps as The Ron slid his finger further in. Smiling broadly, he gently pushed it deeper. "At least one part of you is still virgin."

"Yes, The Ron." She slowly moved her hips back, further onto his extended finger.

Reaching for the open bottle of lotion, squeezing some more of it onto her ass, The Ron positioned himself behind her. Slathering some of the thick creamy lotion over his erection.

"Go slow." She begged, her voice weak. "Please."

"I will." The Ron said, sounding quite sincere, but obviously lying.

Her body tensed as he pressed his tip against her.

"Relax." The Ron said, calmly. She did. "That's better."

He moved quickly, taking her remaining dignity in one agonizingly painful thrust. She screamed and struggled to free herself from his violation.

"That's my good girl." The Ron said mockingly, moving his hands over her hips, her back, gripping the backs of her upper arms. He pulled back and thrust again. Punching into her. Deep. Brutal. Again. Again. Faster. Faster. Faster!

"Whose bitch are you!" The Ron shouted, pounding her harder and harder.

"Yo-Oh-oh-huh-Shhh!" She was babbling… Incoherent.

"Whose bitch are you!" The Ron was yelling now, his sweat dripping down onto her back, his hips pushing into her, into her, pushing her face along the floor.

She was making mewling noises now, no longer trying to pull away, beaten, broken, resigned to being used by him. Abused by him.

…

I know that I'm gone, so far gone.

I want to make Bonnie bleed, just to see if I can…

…

I can… I do.

…

"Beautiful." I speak with a voice not my own.

…

The Ron orgasmed, collapsing on top of her. Nibbling at her neck, her ear, telling her how much it meant to him.

How special she was…

That…he…loved…her.

She whimpered that she loved him too.

The Ron slid his hand between her legs. Massaging her sensitive nub between his finger and thumb. "You belong to me. I can do whatever I want to you... whenever I want. Can't I?"

"Yes." She whimpered, her voice trembling.

"Yes, what?" The Ron persisted, giving it a rough squeeze.

"Yes, The Ron." She squealed.

…

I turn her to face me. Bonnie is sitting sidelong on her legs. I pull her bloody, tear-streaked face to mine - and gently kiss her bruised, swollen cheek. Moving my tongue around behind her ear. I nibble at her earlobe. Bonnie is kissing my neck.

I trail soft kisses down to her breasts.

Suckling.

Salty sweet.

Licking.

Nibbling.

Delirious.

Chewing.

Biting.

Babbling.

Choking.

Fade.

To.

Black.

…
The macabre shadows of night give way to the bright pastels of morning as I open my eyes.

I see Bonnie stumble past me…

Fully dressed. Wads of cash in her hands. Arms clenched across her stomach. Blood trailing in thin lines down the insides of her thighs.

…

Lying on the floor. The Ron smiled.

"She'll be back."


That Morning
I am supposed to meet Kim this morning for late breakfast. Although I'm more in the mood for lunch. 'Bueno Nacho at nine' she said. It's ten after, I'm late.

I see her sitting in a booth. Our booth. A good one, located next to a window and near the counter.

She is so reliable, so predictable. I calm myself. Everything is going to be all right. I slide into the seat across from her. "Morning, KP. Sorry I'm late."

She doesn't return my pleasant greeting. "You totally skipped school yesterday. Didn't you?"

"Yes I did." I notice Tara Mathews and her brother - stepbrother actually - Andy are in a booth across the lobby from us. Tara is just about perfect looking -- long blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, a tight yet very flexible body. She also has an enthusiastic zest for life. A willingness to try just about anything once.

"I had things to do." I catch a glimpse down Tara's blouse as she's leaning over to pick up a dropped napkin. Very nice. Looking back at Kim, I add, "I was busy."

"Doing?" She asks, her voice has a strange suspicious tone in it.

Bonnie. "I… was…busy." Purposefully drawn out. A subtle warning for her not to ask again.

She gives me another of her 'looks'. But smiles, stands up. "Let's order."

We walk together to the counter. Kim orders first. "A Vegetarian Skillet Scrambler and a Diet Coke."

"You should really get a Diet Pepsi instead Kim. It's much better."

"Really?" Kim asks. "What do you mean?"

"It's lighter, crisper… fizzier. Better."

"Fine. I'll have a Diet Pepsi."

I order. "Two Nacos, a Tacadia, and a Diet Pepsi."

The girl behind the counter informs me. "Sorry, we're still on breakfast."

I ignore her and restate my order. "I want 2 Nacos, a Tacadia, and a Diet Pepsi."

"I'll get the manager."

"Is there a problem?" It's Ned, the assistant manager.

"The Ron wants to order… 2 Nacos, a Tacadia, and a Diet Pepsi."

"I'll handle this Stacy." He dismisses her. Finally, someone that grasps the concept of - the customer is always right. He reviews our order. "Let's see, you've got a veggie Skillet Scrambler, 2 Nacos, a Tacadia, and 2 Diet Pepsis." I nod affirmatively. "No problem. Go ahead and have a seat." He points his hand toward our booth. "I'll bring it out to you as soon as it's ready."

…

The Ron wants you to see how 'Everybody Else' lives as much as you can. Learn how good you have it and to appreciate what you don't have to deal with, and just how well off you really are. Fuck sitting around whining and neurotically analyzing yourself all the time, and get used to the fact that more often than not, people are petty and trained to look for flaws, not redeeming features, and that mentality has obviously influenced you and hence your own distorted views of yourself.

…

"…it's pronounced Ar-ma-nee, Kim, not Ar-man-ee," I pause, taking a drink, "and secondly --"

"Excuse me. Here you go…" Ned arrives with our food. "Veggie Skillet Scrambler for Kim. 2 Nacos and a Tacadia for you, Ron. Enjoy." My order has been Grande sized, compliments of the house. Two full bottles of Diablo sauce, red and green, are also on the tray.

"Thank you." Kim says.

"If there's anything else you need…refills on your drinks…anything. Just let me know." Ned is obviously hoping for a tip of some sort; though accepting tips is expressly forbidden, by rule, in the Bueno Nacho Employee Handbook.

"We will…Thank you." I wave him off, picking up the bottle of red Diablo sauce while beginning to unwrap one of my Nacos. "Now Kim, as I was saying…"

…

The Ron can't really blame you - you and The Ron both were brought up in a society devoid of real community, where faith and real friendships count for nothing and social and material status is everything, no matter how it was earned. It's no surprise that you turned on the path that you did - a lot of people are even worse than you, although you're bad enough as it is. You probably have no comprehension of what The Ron is saying, and you're probably going to laugh, but The Ron is telling you anyway, in the hope that a part of you will get it on some level.

…

She's cute as a button. A pink cotton sundress, small embroidered flowers on the bodice. White tennis shoes, with pink stars on the sides. Ashley Mathews -- Tara's little sister. Skipping down the sidewalk, heading home.

I have my driver slow the limo as we approach her. Opening my window, I lean forward in my seat and call out to her. "Ashley." I repeat. "Ashley."

She stops, turns, smiles. A schoolgirl smile. "Hi, Ron."

I return her smile with one of my own. "I was just on my way…" Pausing, I clear my throat. "Do you want a ride home?"

"Mommy says I'm not supposed to." She shrugs, looking up to me.

"I won't tell her if you don't." I motion for her to come closer. Just a little… closer. "It'll be our little secret."

"I'm not supposed to." She takes a half step back.

I open the door, just a crack, and, in the friendliest voice I can muster, tell her. "We can get ice cream."

"Ice cream?" A warm glow of expectation and happiness lights up her face.

…young…

"All you want." I smile, nodding, slowly opening the door.

"Promise?" There is an undeniable eagerness in her voice… a twinkle in her blue eyes.

…innocent…

I hold the door open. "Promise."

"Okay."

…alone…