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AT HIS COMMAND
DOMINATED BY THE BILLIONAIRE
by
Aya Fukunishi
Copyright © 2012 by Aya Fukunishi
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First Printing, 2012
A Bangkok Nights Publication
By ivesting heavily i the refiemet of the curret product lie we feel we ca solidify our market share and wi ew custom more effectively tha by focusig o the developmet of a ew lie. All available resources should be redirected to the Oramis program, ad the roll out of Oramis II should be postpoed util Q3 of the comig fiancial year...
Pam was lost in her own little world, concentrating on her headphones too much to notice that the N button on her keyboard was busted. The last three pages of her transcription would have to be redone, and it was already 15 minutes after the end of her shift.
'Comig fiacial year, Pam? You know you should glance at your screen every once in a while.'
Pam took a moment to register the voice. 'Huh? Oh, for God's sake! This damned keyboard is a piece of junk!'
Arnie grinned. 'I wouldn't say that too loud, Pam. We make that piece of junk.'
'So why can't I get a computer that does what it's told? I must waste half my day fighting with this shit.' She slapped the keyboard in frustration, freeing the stuck key.
khb!jgjnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
'Now I'm gonna miss my bus, and on the worst possible day. My deadbeat brother'll have hocked my TV by the time I get home.' She turned to Arnie, suddenly smiling coquettishly. 'Hey Arn, honey, any chance you could count this as overtime?'
Arnie chuckled. 'Sorry Pam, you know the rules. You can only get overtime if it comes down from the top. I may be the supervisor around here but as far as overtime goes I may as well work in the mail room.'
'Worth a shot,' Pam sighed. 'OK, go on home to your wife's cauliflower supreme, Arn. I'll close up when I'm done.'
'It's OK, I can wait. You know Grace can't cook for shit, bless her heart.'
Pam laughed, glad for the distraction. Arnie always managed to cheer her up. 'Get outta here, old man. You get home late one more time and she'll take that recipe to her sister's place, along with your kids.'
'OK, I'm goin', I'm goin'.' He pulled his jacket over the wrong arm and struggled for a moment before bumping into Pam's desk, splashing cold coffee on a pile of papers. 'Could have married a woman who loved a good steak, but nooooo. I got the one who counts my calories.'
'Count your blessings, Arn. At least you're not going home to a junky brother and an overweight cat.'
Arnie grinned and gave her a wink before walking out the door, leaving her alone in the small office. She sat back for a minute, enjoying the image of Arnie sitting his 250-pound ass down to a plate of steamed vegetables. He always bitched about the strict diet his wife forced on him, but she knew he was happy. Hungry, but happy.
Pam, though, was miserable. The ten hour shifts she worked in this cold, cramped office were far from the life she'd imagined when she first moved to the city. She'd dreamed of working her way up through the company, kicking ass and taking names until she finally got herself an eye watering salary and a corner office on the 45th floor. Instead her career ladder had turned out to be missing a few rungs. After eight years at the company she was still stuck on 12, transcribing minutes from meetings held by people who didn't even know she existed.
It was, in every sense, a pointless job. Nobody ever read her work. In fact it wasn't even uploaded to the network. Most of her transcriptions were held right here on her computer, and weeks could go by without a request for a copy. Not only was her salary barely enough to pay the rent on a studio apartment in a bad part of town but it didn't even provide job security. She expected any day that someone in accounting would finally realize she wasn't needed. It was terrifying.
Twenty minutes later she was finally finished correcting her mistakes, as if it mattered. She saved the file on her hard drive and sent a project confirmation to Records. If anyone wanted a copy she'd get a release request from them, but she never held her breath. The only reason to stay so late to get the job done was that if she didn't she'd get calls and emails from at least five superiors in the morning to scold her for falling behind.
The hallways were empty now. It was almost seven, and nobody worked late in this part of the building. Their jobs just weren't important enough to require it. Pam flipped off the light switch and locked the office behind her before heading to the elevator bank at the far end of the corridor. All three were down at the ground floor but she noticed the executive elevator was heading down. It was at 15 now, and on an impulse she pressed the call button.
Staff on the floors below 25 weren't supposed to use the executive elevator. It was an express reserved for the higher ups, but Pam knew her floor wasn't locked out. Every once in a while an executive would need to make the trip down to 12. She could always recognize them in their expensive suits, walking quickly through the halls as if terrified their silk ties would transform into polyester if they spent too much time down in the ghetto.
The elevator drew to a halt and a tone beeped. Just as the doors began to open Pam panicked, realizing that the car would probably be occupied. She considered for a moment jumping out of the way, hiding behind a pot plant until the doors closed, but it was too late. Whoever was inside could already see her, standing there awkwardly in her cheap thrift store skirt and blouse looking like a kid playing dress up with her mom's clothes.
'Going down?' The man leaning casually against the back wall of the elevator raised an eyebrow and looked at her imploringly. For a moment Pam was struck dumb. The occupant of the elevator was a man she'd seen only twice before, but he'd made a starring appearance in her dreams countless times since. Tall, well built and blessed with a granite jaw the stranger had seemed, the first time she saw him stalking the halls, as if he'd just stepped out of a casting session for the latest Superman movie.
The resemblance hadn't been lost on her co-workers. Even Arnie called him the Man of Steel, though not without a hint of envious sarcasm. He was everything a man secretly dreams to be. His strong, chiseled figure was obvious beneath his beautifully tailored suits, and on those rare occasions he'd blessed the lower floors with his presence all activity had stopped as every last woman looked up from her work. Anyone unfortunate enough to have been holding a pencil in her mouth as the dark, swarthy stranger walked by would have spent the rest of the day picking splinters from her teeth.
All attempts to discover the identity of the beautiful stranger had failed. The executives on the upper floors didn't mix with the likes of the staff on 12. They lived in different worlds, separated by an unspoken code that boiled down to just a few words: they're better than you. Don't even think about it.
As Pam dumbly stared into the elevator she couldn't help but think that everything about this man was impeccable. His dark gray suit was cut perfectly, understated but clearly outrageously expensive. A sober silk tie fell smoothly between pecs that were hinted at by the cut of his shirt, and his shoes and briefcase looked like those Pam had only ever seen in the window displays of exclusive stores, just single items under subdued lighting. He could have been a mannequin in a store that asked to see a no-limit credit card before they'd even let you through the door.
His clothing, though, was nothing compared to his face. His jaw was square to an almost comical degree. When Pam saw him for the first time she finally understood why cartoon superheroes all look the same. The strength and confidence he exuded with that face was enough to make any woman - and men, for that matter - feel safe and protected. Nothing could harm a man with a jaw like that. It was enough to deflect bullets.
Even his ludicrously masculine jawline was no match for his eyes. Even as Pam stood there she knew she was staring, lost in deep, dark whirlpools from which there was no hope of escape. She could feel her knees quake as she stared, so entranced that she didn't hear him speak until he repeated his question.
'Are you getting on?'
Pam could barely bring herself to form the simplest of words. 'Yes,' she whispered, still frozen to the spot. After a moment she gained control of her weak, shaky legs and stepped inside just as the doors began to close on her. She only just made it through, yanking her purse through the closing gap, but not before she'd triggered the sensor. The doors sprang back open for a moment before closing again.
God, this is embarrassing!, thought Pam. She couldn't have looked any more like a rube if she tried, screwing up an entrance to an elevator while wearing clothes this guy would hesitate to use as dish cloths. She stood facing the door, desperate to reach the ground floor and escape, but until then she was forced to stand against the mirrored walls, visible to the godlike stranger from every angle.
Pam couldn't tell if it was just her humiliated mind playing tricks on her but it seemed as if he was watching her with quiet amusement. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she caught a glimpse of a smirk in his distorted reflection. She wasn't surprised. It was clear that he lived in a world populated only with strong, confident, well-dressed and beautiful women. Pam obviously fell miles short.
She imagined he'd be whisked from the front of the building into a waiting limo that would take him to his luxurious penthouse or a restaurant where the appetizers cost the same as a week's rent. He'd never be forced to come into contact with women like Pam. His life would be free of unremarkable women who buy their clothes in the sales, or even check the price tag. He'd probably never met a woman who wore plain white panties with perished elastic at the waist. He lived in a world in which women wore lingerie 24/7. He could have anyone he pleased.
Pam's cheeks grew crimson as the elevator moved as if through molasses. The display told her they were at the 8th floor but she felt as if she'd already been there an hour. She willed the red LCD to count down more quickly, begging for this moment to be over.
Suddenly, cruelly, as if guided by a spiteful God, the lights went out and the car ground to a halt. A loud alarm filled the darkness and Pam flinched with shock. After a few moments the lights returned, but the only sound was the alarm. They were still.
Why are we not moving?, thought Pam, feeling panic rising in her throat. She clutched her purse with white knuckles, praying to feel the jolt of the car begin to descend. She didn't enjoy tight spaces at the best of times, but right now she'd sell her soul to be free of the elevator. She was desperate to be among her own kind, the hopeless wage slaves riding the bus home to their cramped apartments. Every moment she spent in this man's presence was another moment she knew she was beneath him.
Behind her she heard the man sigh softly, and a moment later he stepped forward beside her and pulled open a panel beneath the keypad. With a flick of the switch the alarm stopped, its painful trill echoing for a moment through the car, and in the sudden silence the man reached for the red emergency telephone.
'This is Robert Foster in the express elevator. Is there a problem?'
The timid, tinny voice that replied through a speaker mounted by the phone was apologetic. 'I'm sorry, Mr Foster. We lost power for a moment. The backup generators have kicked in, but we think the cut may have tripped the circuit breakers for the elevators. Sit tight, we'll have you moving in just a few minutes. I'm very sorry for the inconvenience, sir.'
Pam felt her panic subside, replaced by a touch of amusement. The famously surly technicians in the building would have, as Arnie always put it when they had problems with the old, temperamental electrics, 'counseled patience' if it had been Pam on the phone. In other words they would have told her to 'hold your fuckin' horses and wait for us to get to you.' Whoever this Mr Foster was he certainly seemed to merit special treatment.
The man replaced the phone in its cradle and glanced at his watch, sighing with frustration. Pam waited for him to move back to his old spot but he remained beside her, towering over her diminutive form. Foster had a good 6 inches on her, and in the suddenly claustrophobic space she felt as if he controlled it all. There wasn't an inch of space in the elevator that didn't feel like it belonged to him.
Including her.
Pam began to feel even more self conscious, as if she were trespassing in the man's home. She tried to shrink even further but it just wasn't enough. She imagined her cheap, drugstore scent filling the elevator, invading the nostrils of this man, evicting the fresh air and overwhelming his own expensive cologne. Nothing about her could possibly match up to him. She furtively sniffed the air, and in her mind she detected nothing but her own cloying, unpleasant scent. He must be disgusted to even share his space with me, she thought.
So why is he standing so close?
She could pick up his scent now, rich and fresh with tones of citrus. Despite his cool, relaxed appearance there was also an edge of sweat, masculine and rough, along with the deep, warm scent of his leather briefcase. She took a deep breath of him, wishing she could, just for a moment, bury her face in his chest and take a long, deep draught.
In moments she felt that familiar sensation of arousal. Between her legs, beneath her ugly polyester skirt and the cheap, thin cotton of her panties she felt a tingling sensation, a feeling deep inside that called out in hunger. It was a feeling she knew well after many months without a date, so many long nights alone with only her fingers, her vibrator and her imagination for company. It was a feeling that haunted her at the slightest provocation and overwhelmed her until she was sated. She'd have to masturbate the moment she got home. Maybe even before that, maybe in the bathroom on the ground floor. If she didn't touch herself she knew the lust would tear her to shreds. Her pussy was already on fire. She felt as if she'd explode at the slightest touch.
Pam knew he could hear her breath quicken, a shallow pant that only served to increase her arousal. She couldn't help herself. Images flashed through her mind of their naked bodies writhing around the floor of the elevator. She couldn't stop herself from imaging the taste of him as she gratefully worshiped his manhood, thanking him as he used her, begging him for more until he came in her, over her, filling her with his gift until she overflowed. She wished she could turn to him, to use this blessed private moment to pounce, to offer herself as a gift. She'd do anything for this man. This god. She'd happily belong to him.
Her arousal was tinged with shame and embarrassment. Pam knew this man was as far above her as she was above a dog in the street. There was no way he could possibly be attracted to a woman like her with her dowdy clothes, her plain face and her dull personality. Someone like her could never be with a man like him. She didn't deserve it.
And then she felt him. A hand came to rest on the small of her back, touching her confidently and without embarrassment. There was no hesitation on his part. It was a touch that suggested ownership. She felt the h
and push her forward slowly but firmly until her belly pressed against the mirrored doors of the elevator car.
Pam's breath came quickly now she felt the cold steel of the door against her body. His hold on her was absolute. His large, strong hand closed over her back almost completely, easily blocking any attempt to twist from his grip. She was powerless. She couldn't even bring herself to speak. What are you doing? She knew she should yell out, fight back, reach in her purse for her mace, kick out with a heel. She knew this was wrong, but her body was frozen stiff.
The smell of his cologne overwhelmed her now, filling the small space as his breath quickened and the air grew warm around them. It was intoxicating. She felt lightheaded and weak. Her mind raced with fear, confusion and excitement. What does he want with me? Despite her fear, though, she still made no move to resist.
The man released her from his hold for a moment, sliding his hand up her back until he reached the back of her neck, pushing her head down the door until she was bent awkwardly forward at the waist. Pam felt his free hand dip to the back of her knee, pulling her legs open commandingly. She almost stumbled on her heels but his firm grip steadied her until she stood sprawled against the door with her legs splayed open, her cheek pressed against the cold steel.
Dominated by the Billionaire: The Boxed Set Page 1