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In Service To The Billionaire

Page 5

by Heather Chase


  Wrapped in a bun behind her head, her dark-hair was still starkly professional—and yet she knew (from reading naughty stories and seeing plenty of naughty pictures) that a bun in the mind of a sex-hungry man was little more than an opportunity to watch a girl’s hair fall down her back at his behest.

  Arriving at the office at six-fifteen after another morning bus ride, she was happy and congenial to everyone she met. She was surprised to see so many—more than half the staff—already there so early. All of them, perhaps, were hoping to get noticed by Mr. Sand like she was.

  Of course, probably they didn’t want the same kind of attention as Sophia.

  “My my,” said Julie, arranged in a bright blue dress, when she saw Sophia. “Someone’s come prepared.”

  “I thought I would try and be a little more professional—and follow the rules a bit closely today.”

  Julie smiled. “That’s a good attitude to have. He’s ready for his morning coffee, I think.”

  “Yes,” said Sophia. “I know.”

  All that studying last night wasn't for nothing, after all.

  Quickly, she made and then delivered the coffee, her heels snapping on the cool tiles inside of Sand’s office.

  He barely looked up as she approached, buried inside of some mound of paperwork.

  “Here’s your coffee, Sir.”

  She breathed out the word “Sir,” and intentionally capitalized it in her head. She wanted him to feel the respect flowing out of her for him. She needed him to know, one way or the other, how badly she desired his thick hard cock up inside of her cunt, giving her direction, telling her how to feel.

  To have a real dom, a real live dom, right there in front of her—it took all her strength not to fall on her knees and beg for him to choke her hot slut throat with his cock.

  “Thank you,” he said, still not looking up.

  She waited for a few seconds—as the rules instructed—and then began to walk away, just slightly exaggerating her natural strut to give a hot, enticing sway to her ass.

  When she stopped at the door, she turned her head just slightly to see if he had been watching her. She thought she could explain it, if he caught her, by saying she thought she heard him say something.

  Sure enough, his eyes were glued firmly on her ass. She caught him.

  He noticed her catching him—and didn’t seem to care at all. His eyes met hers, challenging her briefly. A hot, satisfied smile briefly crossed her lips and she slipped back out into the office.

  There was lots of work to do. Data to file, paperwork to hand out, mail to rearrange, that sort of thing. Some emails and phone calls went directly to Sand on his private number, but his public address and number went directly to her desk. A large part of her job to screen the mail and calls directed to him from those who didn't have his private number and decide who was actually important enough to bother her boss. If they weren’t important enough, then she would put them on hold indefinitely. Eventually, they would hang up.

  If someone went through this process three times, then they would be upgraded to being put on a to-call list for Mr. Sand, which was hundreds of people long. Someone would rise from the bottom to the top of a given list within six-to-eight weeks, most of the time.

  It seemed a cruel way to handle business, but it wasn't Sophia's place to question. And she didn't want to give Sand the wrong idea about the kind of girl she was—the kind that would question his dominance.

  Oh no, she couldn't even hint at that.

  The atmosphere in the office, generally speaking, was still congenial as it had been the day before, but Sophia had noticed a serious feeling of stress leaking beneath the surface.

  In her work, she found that everyone’s placement inside of the office—aside from Julie, who had to be at the front for reception—was determined by how important Sand thought they were to him. This was an ever-shifting arrangement, she had learned, such that every Monday that a person came in and saw their name plate on their desk in the same place, they breathed a sigh of relief (or possibly frustration, when they had to go search around for their new desk).

  It was her job, she found out, to rearrange people should Sand desire.

  “How’s it going, dear?”

  Sophia looked up from the pile of paperwork in front of her to see Julie’s bright, smiling face. Sophia attempted her own smile.

  “It’s going all right. I’m just still trying to measure up, you know?”

  “Oh,” Julie waved a hand. “I wouldn't worry so much about that.”

  “Are you kidding?” Sophia laughed. “He already thinks I'm unqualified after the bumbly mess I acted like yesterday, and now it's all regaining ground.” She paused. “Right?”

  Julie shrugged. “I suppose that's possible...but I don't think it's very likely.”

  “Why not?”

  “My dear,” said Julie. “All those rules you read for him, and you haven’t realized it yet?”

  “Realized it? Realized what?”

  Julie leaned forward on the desk. “Do you think that you would be hired for this moment for even one fraction of a second if you were even slightly unqualified? Do you think I’m bad at my job, in selecting you as someone to be interviewed? Do you think he wouldn’t have reviewed your file before you were even called?”

  Sophia didn’t know what to say to that.

  “I know he’s harsh, dear. I make no excuses for him. But...” Julie leaned against Sophia's desk for a moment. “...he does get results. He expects those results from everyone around him, that’s all. He views humans as templates, that’s all. And if every template followed his method, then everyone would be a success.”

  “That’s how he sees us?”

  Julie shrugged. “That’s how he sees everything. He’s a very...unique individual.”

  With that, she walked away, leaving Sophia to consider.

  At twelve-thirty, it was time for another cup of coffee—and for Sophia to deliver the batch of paperwork that she had accumulated for him to review and sign.

  This time, as she walked in, his eyes were all over her. It was as if he was expecting her.

  “You upgraded a bit, didn’t you?”

  She could sense that he was trying to compliment her. And—knowing that he was such a dom—she didn’t feel as offended as she would have otherwise.

  “Yes, Sir. I thought being in your presence required a bit more...style than I had previously shown.” She tried to make her voice soft, agreeable. “Please, do let me apologize for not having it right the first time. I hope this outfit is more agreeable, Sir?”

  His hands came over the cup, his fingertips just barely glancing against hers. It was enough. She let out a hot breath and turned away.

  “That will do for now,” he said.

  “Thank you, Sir. I appreciate you noticing my attempt, Sir.”

  She started walking back to the door, but Sand continued—so Sophia paused.

  “At least until your first paycheck comes through. I expect a certain level of tailoring quality for your clothing.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said, continuing to the door.

  She rushed to the bathroom. Once safely inside a stall, she slipped her left hand into her mouth, tongue sliding hard against her fingertips wanting to suckle down any bits of his body’s imprint on her.

  Her right hand climbed up into her panties. There was no restraining her passion. Her panties—flimsy and lace—moved aside quickly, and she found her entrance. Any part of him at all—any thought of him, any residual feeling of him that could be pushed inside of her body was.

  “Oh my god,” she moaned.

  Her fingers slid in and out of her entrance. Bliss spread through her body like a fast-acting fever. There was so much need inside of her—such vicious, terrible, insatiable need for his control and approval!

  “Mister Sand...” she breathed out, her face pressing against the bathroom door. “Mister Sand...Mister Sand...Master Sand...”

  It d
idn't matter that she was at work. It only mattered that she was obeying, that he was thinking more of her, that she was earning his approval and making him watch her and notice her and want her...

  Biting down on her lips, she came. Hot squeaks and soft mews pushed out from her mouth as she struggled to keep quiet in the bathroom.

  Taking a few moments, she gathered her thoughts and herself. Then she stepped back out into the office once more.

  Chapter 9

  That night, after a long and satisfying day of work doing everything she could to help Sand, she came home and saw a response to her message to him.

  She was terrified to use the office computer to respond or even check her account—if he saw her on the site at all (and there was no reason to think that he wasn’t watching, looming inside of his enormous, opaque office), then he would surely be able to piece it all together.

  subvixen,

  The real deal must provide a proof of purchase. You can hardly expect me to entertain offers without knowing what I’m getting, yes?

  Send me a picture.

  Send me a few.

  Grinning wickedly, Sophia slid back into the couch, sliding her hands up and down her body. This was just what she wanted to happen. Of course she wanted him to see her body. She just didn't want him to know it was her...not yet.

  So, she couldn’t show him her face, of course—but she could show him all sorts of other things.

  After an enthusiastic finger-fucking session to finish off Friday night, dreaming of all the hot things Sand would do to her, she planned to spend all day Saturday planning and dressing.

  Distantly, she felt glad that had never stopped taking her birth control. Once every few months, it would deliver an outrageous mood swing or two, but this sort of opportunity made it all worth it.

  She wanted to feel him unhindered by anything. His naked cock, pulsing hard in her hot cunt. Oh yes.

  Waking up at about ten in the morning Saturday, she started judging and preparing a possible outfit.

  With frustration, she saw the bag for her wedding dress deep in the back of her closet as she searched. That was embarrassing, now.

  At one point, Sophia had everything almost nearly planned for the wedding. They had a place—Grove Park on the East End—and a day, and were narrowing down on a caterer and had invitations picked out and save-the-dates sent.

  No longer, of course. The dress still seemed like the biggest muck-up of all. Her mother had helped her to pay for it—and Sophia could still return it and get most of the payment back—but she just hadn’t been able to, yet. Another part of her life that waited for Todd.

  Sighing, she put a few extra sweaters on top of the bag so she wouldn’t look at it, and went back to work on preparing outfits for Sand.

  She faced a momentary happy interruption around one in the afternoon, when the car shop called her to tell her that her vehicle was finally ready to pick up. The shop was, thankfully, just a short walk away. The cost—more than a thousand dollars—made Sophia’s heart beat rapidly, but with the pay coming in from the new job, she felt confident she could pay it all off on next month’s credit bill.

  That was freeing—knowing she didn’t have to stress about payments. Any slight dissatisfaction with the job’s responsibilities and long hours eroded even more. Her growing sexual enjoyment was quickly supplemented with practical enjoyment.

  Back home, she resumed work on her outfits for the photos. It wasn't until late in the afternoon—past five o'clock, in fact—that she was really satisfied.

  On her computer, reading and re-reading Sand's sexy message, she noticed that Todd had sent her some email or another.

  Ugh, whatever. She didn't even bother opening it. As far as she knew, it would just be more nebulously shitty ideas about the future which may or may not include her. Past behavior, she knew, was the best indicator for future behavior...and Todd's past behavior had left her scarred and burned.

  If she was going to focus on something she couldn't control completely, it may as well be on trying to get someone to control her.

  Using her phone, she posed in her small bedroom and took several different photos of herself in the hot little outfit she had put together just for him.

  Near the back of her closet, mostly unused, she had her “little black dress.” Sleeveless and tight, it had a keyhole opening framing her expansive cleavage—supported by a lacy black bra. The hemline ended well above her knees, transitioning sexily into tight smoky-dark stockings with little dark flowers patterned down to the coup-de-grace, expensive four-inch pump heels with red bottoms.

  She took shots of her hot stocking-clad legs rubbing against each other. Her devastatingly high heels, precariously balanced on one another. Her earrings, danging down and shining brightly against the dark mass of her perfectly arranged hair. Her cleavage, one small drip of perfectly aroused sweat sliding down her chest and balancing on the luscious curve of her tit. Her sexy gold choker necklace, dangling so close to the delicate muscles of her neck—almost like a collar.

  She took hundreds of pictures...and over the course of a glass of wine and a few hours, whittled that number down to twelve.

  With a deliberately long breath, she attached all the messages and pressed send, and let him have all of it.

  Along with it she wrote a message:

  ExecStud,

  I completely agree—you should be able to see what I look like. But I should be able to see what you look like as well. I love the look of you in that suit. Is there any way I could get a glimpse of any of the parts underneath? Your rockhard abs, or your rockhard chest, or your rockhard...other things?

  But just to prove to you that I’m not all talk, here are some bits of me for you to enjoy.

  If you have any requests, just let me know. I'm very happy to dress how you like.

  Your

  subvixen

  For the rest of the weekend, she planned out a whole progression of outfits for the next week, continually pushing the issue of Todd's email out of her mind.

  * * * * *

  On Monday, following her plan, she wore a tight navy blue business suit with a tight, brief pencil skirt running just over her knees. Along with that, she wore the jewelry from the picture—stud earrings and her tight choker necklace. It was not a common sort of necklace, but not completely unusual.

  Still, Sand eyed it curiously when he saw it on her Monday morning as she delivered his coffee.

  “That's an interesting piece,” he told her. “On your neck.”

  “This?” Sophia smiled. “My old boyfriend gave it to me.”

  “You have a boyfriend?”

  Sophia smiled—she had hoped he would asked.

  “I did. Not anymore.”

  She strutted out of the room elaborately, letting him ponder that.

  On Tuesday, she wore a tight navy suit jacket top with skintight leather leggings. By now, she was easily pushing the boundaries of good taste...but she didn't care. She figured if he fired her for being too sexy, then that was the perfect excuse to let him know that it had all been for him. From the photos she took, she wore the tall black heels with the red bottoms.

  That caught his attention all right. Those heels were over five hundred dollars—an incredibly expensive birthday gift from Todd, in fact, a few weeks after their engagement. He never once complimented them on her.

  “You’re looking sharp today, Sophia,” Sand said to her, as she strutted in and dropped off a stack of paperwork for him to sign. “I don’t want it to seem as though I’m not noticing the effort you’re putting in.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful, Sir,” she said, her voice a soft, easy purr. “I’m so glad to be...sharp.”

  Perhaps out of someone else’s mouth that would have sounded strange or silly. But the way Sophia held her clipboard so close to her chest, and the way that she let the word slide longways out of her mouth guaranteed that Sand at least knew she had other things on her mind.

  Her smiles bec
ame easy, sultry, and permanent. She wanted him to know that she was in a good mood around him—that she was, in fact, just generally happy. Who wanted to be with someone who was down all the time?

  Besides her, of course, wanting to be with Sand. But that was different. His mood would improve once she was sucking his cock regularly behind his desk. A nice little blowjob with every little drop of coffee he took down. Wouldn't that be nice?

  She could just spread his muscled thighs, let his hot blond pubic hair tickle her nose, and engorge herself on his fat, incredible cock...

  In the afternoon, she caught him working out, delivering paperwork that she had described as “urgent.” The hardness of his muscles, the gripping tightness of his frame, the way his veins popped and the sweat gleaned on his skin...all of it stuck in her head. He caught her staring. She didn't care, and just flashed him another happy, sultry smile.

  At home, Tuesday night, she fingered herself furiously, thinking of his hot, amazing frame and all the ways she could convince him to look at her tight body.

  On Wednesday, she wore a tight peach jacket with an incredibly open blouse. Any time that she bent forward, it was possible to see the lacy black lines of her nearly translucent bra—the same bra from the photos she sent. Her earrings were from the photos as well—and she was almost certain he picked up on them.

  She walked into his office, holding a few forms for him to examine.

  “Finished yet?”

  “Of course, Sir. I just had one question,” she said, bending over toward him just as she had fingered her pussy thinking about the night before, “Did I fill this out correctly? I’m so worried that I made a mistake. I apologize for asking, as I know you’re so busy, but I got a little mixed up.”

  Her breasts, overflowing from her blouse, pressed warmly against each other. On display, just for him. The thin fabric around their heavy flesh strained. Locks of her long, dark hair slid down her face, framing the sexy gap they created.

  “No,” he said, clearly only staring down her cleavage. Her breasts so pert, so firm and together. “No, that looks good. Well done.”

 

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