Romance: The Billionaires Collection (Watched By A Billionaire, Stranded With A Billionaire, Caught By A Billionaire, Billionaire Stepbrother)

by Lexi Duval

  “Ashley, you look stunning already, and we haven't even got started on you yet.”

  He takes me through a high arched entrance and into an ornately decorated building, the sort of old Victorian structure you'd expect to see in England or somewhere across Europe.

  Inside, it's all plush reds and golds, and the entire thing carries a Gothic feel that's a tiny bit unnerving. But still, Randall's affable air and constant smile makes me feel a little more at ease as he leads me through and into a dressing room.

  “This is Charlotte and Matilda,” he tells me, pointing toward the two women waiting in the room. “They will make you look even more fabulous. I will be back just before the performance starts, OK?”

  I nod, and watch him leave, feeling like a nervous child pining after their parents as soon as he's left the room.

  The two women, however, are incredibly polite and chatty and set to work in designing my look as soon as I've had a shower in the adjoining bathroom.

  Within an hour, I'm stood looking at my reflection in the mirror, my skin feeling soft and smooth and bereft of any lingering hairs. I'm wearing some simple frilly lingerie, a dark tone of red with black lining, that cups my breasts together and feels soft and gentle against my skin.

  My hair is shining bright and wavy, my eyes sparkling a shallow blue, with all of it brought out by a generous application of make up.

  “You look amazing, Ashley,” the girls tell me once the job is done and Randall re-enters, uttering the same sentiment.

  “A vision,” he says, before pulling me out of the chair and leading me to the door.

  He begins reciting the procedure to me once more. Thirty minute performance, the guy will be called Brett, I must smile when I enter, make sure I put on a good show.

  Make it great, and I'll earn more...

  The thought rolls about in my head, the only thing keeping me from going mad.

  I continue down the corridor, and my heart race continues to leap forward, picking up speed. Randall stops me at the door, and tells me to take off my robe, and with a final smile he walks back off down the corridor without looking back.

  And now it's just me and whatever's waiting beyond the door. A man, ready to fuck me. Millionaires, billionaires, ready to watch.

  And me.

  I walk through, my legs tingling and heart pacing.

  You can do this, Ashley.

  Chapter Five

  I quickly take in my surroundings, but there's little to see.

  The room is square, glass walls on each side reflecting what's within. In the center of the room is a bed, covered in nothing but white sheets, and above lights shine down, creating a quiet buzzing sound.

  My eyes fall to the man by the bed, standing, waiting, looking at the door. He wears a mask on the top half of his face, something Randall had told me about, and a pair of white underwear, unmarked of any label or brand.

  Nothing else covers his gorgeous physique, every inch of him exposed. The sight of his fit, toned, frame brings a pang of relish to my body. He looks just like the sort I'd go for. A model type, the sort of body you'd see on an Abercrombie ad modeling underwear.

  I smile, as told to, and walk forward, hearing the door shut quietly behind me. There's no other sound in the room, no indication at all of people behind the walls, watching me as they drink and smoke.

  I wonder if they'll be chatting too, mingling as if I'm purely a sideshow. The idea gives me more confidence – the thought that, perhaps, they're not paying full attention.

  My body continues to shake slightly as I walk in, and immediately he begins walking toward me. He walks gracefully, his muscles twitching and clenching and tightening with each stride.

  He reaches me, and I look through the small holes in his mask, trying to find something in his eyes. All I see is a dark expanse within, his eyes shrouded in shadow, his breathing silent and mouth clamped shut, jaw set and cleanly shaven beneath his mask.

  Randall's voice echoes in my ear.

  “He won't speak. Let him take charge, feel your way into the performance...”

  I stand, and wait for Brett's hands to raise. They do, sliding up my sides, crisscrossing across my navel, rising through my cleavage. The softness of his touch sends a spark through me as his fingers touch the flesh of my breasts, quickly passing and rubbing over my shoulders.

  He takes my hand, steps backward until we're by the bed. Already I'm thinking about how much time has passed, about how long might be left.

  I stand, arms down my side, awkward and chest heaving as his hands reach behind my back and pop open my bra strap. It falls quickly loose, and Brett slides his hand over me, in one motion removing my bra and gliding his hands across my nipples.

  Another jolt rushes through me, my body tensing in an odd mixture of apprehension and pleasure. His hands now meet my chest, freed of its bonds, his fingers working around my nipples and across my flesh with the dexterity of an artist.

  My body shudders again, and I wonder what to do with my hands. I try to forget the fact that people are watching, and imagine what I would usually do.

  I'd touch him back.

  So I do.

  My hands glide forward, and mimic his gentle feel, exploring the shape of his muscles, his pecs and abs, as he is doing mine. I feel his nipples harden too, the skin on his body standing on end. And beneath his underwear, I see a familiar bulge growing.

  I drop my hands, and run them over his imprisoned cock. It's quickly hardening, and I can feel the full 8 inches Randall told me about. The touch sends another lightning strike down on me, and a light slickness starts to develop between my thighs.

  His hands now mimic mine, dropping to my panties, rubbing gently at the outside of the skimpy fabric. The moisture of my pussy quickly sinks into the underwear, his fingers soon growing moist with my juice.

  The silent in the room is suddenly ended, the lightest sounds of romantic music coming from speakers up above. The noise makes me feel more comfortable, helping me lose myself in the moment as my hands tickle under the waistband of his underwear and begin pulling them down.

  As I do, his hands meet my shoulders, and slowly usher me down without words. I drop to my knees, drag his underwear to his ankles. He steps out of them carefully as his cock extends out in front of me.

  I take the shaft, place the tip in my mouth, and roll my tongue around it. Above, he looks down on my through his mask, the black holes of his eyes giving away no emotion.

  But my focus isn't on his mask, it's on his cock, sliding it up and down my throat, pulling the majority of his eight inches into my warm, wet mouth.

  I suck his cock with control and relish, devouring it like it's a delicious meal. Something to be savored, enjoyed, treated with respect.

  Now I'm not thinking about the time any longer, and before I know it more has passed than a realize. I'm just beginning to work out the rhythm of his growing breathing when he pulls me away, kneels down himself, and removes my panties.

  He begins eating my pussy, hitching one leg over his shoulder, holding his hands under my ass to keep my balance. I yelp as his tongue darts inside me. I sigh deeply as his lips close around my clit.

  I'm in a state of delirium when I feel myself lifted and tossed back onto the bed. Before I know it he's pulling my legs apart and has his tongue inside me again, his fingers working their way around my lips and folds.

  As if working to a specific schedule in his head, he stops, suddenly, and positions himself in front of me. I lie my head back as his dick begins its journey inside me, sliding in through my wet hole.

  He's bigger than most men I've fucked, but not the biggest, and there's no pain except for the lightest moment of discomfort. But as Randall told me, I don't grimace of make any sounds of displeasure. Like a true actress, I merely moan and groan in all the right ways until he's pounding me hard and all I feel is the manic thrusting of his cock and the touch of his balls slapping at my ass.

  Suddenly, as he changes posit
ion and flips me round to fuck me from behind, I feel the bed begin to turn, the entire room slowly spinning around in a clockwise motion.

  It must be for everyone to see all angles, I think to myself, before the sensation of his cock filling me up once more makes me forget it all.

  Intermittently, he pulls his cock out and begins eating me from behind. I feel his tongue snake over my asshole, probing somewhere I've never been probed, before his dick re-enters and throbs inside me once again.

  By now, I'm completely lost to it all, the fact that people are watching me at this very moment becoming irrelevant at worst, and exciting at best. The feeling is odd, but I get a buzz of satisfaction at the idea that my sex is considered good enough for such highly vaunted public consumption.

  Brett flips me into various positions, continuing to pummel me at different angles and with different levels of intensity until he works out what really makes me tick. Soon, I'm coming, my pussy growing even wetter, my groans echoing around the room and, at times, becoming shrieks.

  Somehow, I'm even louder than normal, losing myself to the performance, trying to make it as appealing to the men beyond the glass walls as I can.

  What do they want to see? What do they want to hear?

  I ask myself these questions, pushing Brett onto his back and riding him hard, flipping around and doing the same in reverse.

  Before the 30 minutes is up, I've come again. And it's all real. No faking, no need. Brett has elicited the right response, and the situation itself has only served to enhance it.

  And then, right on cue, Brett comes too. With the control of a tight rope walker, he pumps me full of his come right when the scheduled end of our performance is due, hitting the high notes and finishing on a climax that's sure to receive a round of applause beyond.

  At least, if it was the equivalent of a stage show it would. Because that was the finest fuck of my life.

  But there is no applause. There's only me and Brett, the guy in the mask, who's pulling out of me, his dick still dripping come and pulling me up to my feet.

  Suddenly, the light in the room changes, and it stops moving, and I notice the walls turning black as if the view from both ends is now blocked.

  “Clean yourself up,” says Brett. “They want to see the sex, not the clean up.”

  Already I can feel his semen dripping down my legs.

  Then he pulls his underwear off the floor and puts them back on, before heading toward the door on the opposite side of the room to which I entered.

  “You were good, by the way,” he says before leaving. “Good for a first performance. Maybe we'll work together again.”

  And then he's gone, leaving me suddenly alone and feeling awkward all of a sudden.

  I clean myself, and put my panties and bra back on, and just as I've done so, the door opens and Randall walks through, beaming.

  He passes me my robe, and helps it over my shoulders.

  “How did it go, Ashley?” he asks.

  “Um...good, I thought.”

  “And what did Brett say at the end?”

  “He said I was good.”

  “Excellent. Well, that's all for tonight my darling. I'll get some feedback from the clients and I'll be in touch soon with payment. That will be your base rate along with whatever tips you might have received.”

  He pulls a more serious look, his smile dissolving.

  “Just before you go, assuming things went well...how did you feel about it all?”

  It's scary how good it felt...

  “It felt good. I...enjoyed it, actually.”

  His smile returns.

  “Good. Very good. And if we invite you back again?”

  Now it's me who smiles, the thought of at least another twenty grand taking me another step closer to my dream.

  “I suppose, Mr Taylor, that I'd have to accept.”

  “Excellent. Because I think this could turn into a very prosperous relationship for both of us.”

  And with that, I leave the building, step back into the chauffeured car, and return to my parent's house, the smile never leaving my face.

  PART TWO

  Chapter One

  Dressed in jeans and a simple light blue blouse, I feel a little under dressed. Although, next to Randall Taylor, most people would probably feel the same.

  He's wearing another fantastic suit, the color of shallow water with a red bow tie that makes him look like quite the character. Which, I suppose, he is. I'm sure not many people who see him would place him as a man to put on private sex shows for rich men.

  He's sat in front of me now in a fine restaurant, ordering a bottle of wine that I've never heard of and that, as the menu tells me, costs over two hundred bucks. So, only about ten times what I'd usually expect to pay...

  Of course, he's already made it clear that he is paying for this dinner and that, as my boss, he's responsible for letting me enjoy these little perks.

  “This is a business dinner,” he tells me, “so it will be written off as tax by my shady accountant.”

  I can only imagine what his accounts looks like. Not only does he put on the sex shows, but he also offers other services that he hadn't enlightened me to.

  Frankly, I think it's best if I don't ask.

  Around us are finely dressed people drinking fine wine from fine glasses. It's all very urbane and sophisticated, perhaps the sort of restaurant my father might go to if he was entertaining a wealthy client or was taking my mother out for an anniversary dinner.

  For me, it's a rarity, and I'm really wishing that Randall had been more clear about where we were going. His instructions do tend to be vague from time to time, and in this case I'd have liked a heads up so that I could have dressed appropriately.

  When I voice my concerns, however, he only tells me that I look delightful and that I'm by far the most beautiful looking woman here, jeans or no jeans.

  As always, his charm brings a smile to my face and helps me forget about my own minor insecurities.

  When the wine is delivered, Randall takes some time testing it and tasting it and very much appearing the connoisseur before finally nodding to the waiter and letting him fill both our glasses. I've never been a huge drinker, but this wine is certainly agreeable to my palate.

  For a little while we talk pleasantries, and Randall inquires politely about my mother, who he met a few weeks ago, and my father, who he hasn't met and never will.

  He asks me if I've told them what I'm doing, and I say no.

  “Good thing too,” he says. “Parents are protective to the point of being overbearing and constrictive. I hope you're not feeling ashamed of what you did the other night?”

  I shake my head.

  “Not really. I suppose I feel a bit strange, but that's natural, right?”

  “Completely natural. It would be odd if you didn't.”

  We order our food, and continue to the small talk until our main dishes arrive and Randall has seemingly exhausted his ability to engage in such pointless chit chat.

  “Right, Ashley, so let's speak about your performance.”

  I find my body reacting to his words, my throat going a little dryer, my heart beating a little faster. I take a sip of wine and set my eyes on his, which are smiling.

  “I've had some feedback, and the general impression is that you did very well. You are, as most people have said, a natural.”

  “Well, that's good...”

  “It is good, because it puts more money in your pocket and mine.”

  He pulls out his phone, and taps on the touchscreen a few times. Somehow the sight of his old fashioned suit and high tech, modern cell phone makes me giggle inside.

  “Right, with your base rate and tips combined, your overall rate for the night came to a little over fifty thousand dollars.”

  I drop my fork to my plate, still stuck with a juicy piece of chicken.

  “You're joking...”

  “No joke my dear. One client in particular offered a fantasti
c tip, although I won't divulge the amount. Suffice to say, it's the highest opening for a new performer we've ever had.”

  “Wow.”

  “Wow indeed.”

  Fifty thousand dollars! That's way more than I was earning per year at my junior editors job!

  “But why?” I ask. “Why so much money. I'm not a celebrity or a porn star or anything.”

  “It's not about that, Ashley. The money seems like a lot to you, but to these men it's nothing. Many of them are billionaires who earn millions of dollars every single day. They could have fifty thousand fall out of their back pocket and will have earned it back by the time they bend down to pick it up.”

  He has a long sip of wine, before clipping his fingers at the nearest waiter and gesturing for him to bring another bottle.

  “Ashley, my dear, soon your own perception of money will change. Some of our performers are now millionaires themselves off the back of these shows. There's no reason why you won't be able to do the same.”

  Millionaire? Me? Just for having sex? It doesn't seem feasible, possible. How can that be? Why would my pussy be worth so much money?

  “I don't think I'll ever understand it,” I say, finishing my inner dialogue out loud.

  “Well, believe me, you'll get used to it. This dinner, for example, will cost me almost a thousand dollars. To you that sounds exorbitant, yes?”

  I nod.

  “Well, to me it's a drop in the ocean. It's the equivalent of someone going to McDonald's or Burger King, perish the thought. If you continue the way you're going, it will be the same for you soon.”

  I agree with him vocally, although inside I'm still trying to figure out whether I'll ever think of a thousand dollars as spare change.

  “Anyway, back to business. The money will be wired to your account next week. Have you any idea what you're going to tell your parents?”

  “Truthfully, no. But they're unlikely to even find out and I'll be looking for a new apartment immediately as soon as I have the money.”