In Service To The Billionaire

by Heather Chase

  She was his.

  Chapter 12

  By the age of eighteen, Gerald had been raised largely by a series of mentors, tutors, and whatever servants his uncle, Hamilton, had put on the payroll.

  Uncle Hamilton was responsible for all sorts of good parts of Gerald's life. He owned an unreasonably large house by the beach, where many servants lived and worked alongside Hamilton and now Gerald. He was a fair man, if a harsh one, and always went out of his way to tell Gerald when he was doing right or wrong.

  For example, once, when Gerald was sixteen, he snuck out at night and broke curfew. Hamilton was furious that his rule had been ignored, until he found out that Gerald only did it to give a drunk friend a ride home. Gerald was punished still, but less harshly than he would have been otherwise.

  Trust was everything to Hamilton.

  So, when Hamilton laid down the law with Gerald after his eighteenth birthday, and told him not to fuck the new maid—Gerald tried to comply.

  The problem was that Gerald was young, and handsome, and rich. So, he was just as equateably dumb and opportunistic as anyone else in those circumstances, and certainly no stranger to sex or the wanting of it.

  The new maid, Rose, was just a little older than Gerald. Her hair was red and she was ridiculously busty—to the point where he was always certain that her tight uniform was going to bust open and any moment and reveal the luscious treasure of her tits at any moment. He thought both of these characteristics—her bright red hair and her lovely bust—were somehow rather appropriate of a woman named Rose, though he couldn't explain why.

  He walked into her one day in his room, adjusting his bed. Assuming he had walked in on her doing her normal range of tasks, he apologized.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I'll come back in a bit.”

  “No,” she called out. “Please, Sir. Wait.”

  Shrugging, he stood in the doorway—and then he took a closer look at her.

  Rose was not dressed completely as normal. She had on darker stockings—the kind inlaid with a sexy floral pattern—and her heels were much taller than normal. Her blouse was white and open, her skirt hiked up around her hips.

  “Close the door, please Sir?”

  Eyes locked on her sexy pale frame, he did so. She strutted toward him, smiling sexily, wrapping her hands around his collar and tugging him close.

  “I want you, Sir,” she purred at him. “I know you want me too. I've seen you watching me.”

  “Oh, that's just...I mean, that was...”

  She shook her head, shushing him. Little strands of shiny red hair framed her lovely pale face. “Don't worry, Sir. I like it. I want you to look at more of me. I want you to look...at all of me.”

  She took his hand and slid it on her breasts. Enjoying her hot little gasps, his confidence grew, squeezing her tits harder and harder.

  “You like that, huh? You want me to fuck you?”

  She nodded and shook her head at the same time, some how, eyebrows popping up.

  “Yes, Sir. But I want something...more than that, as well.”

  “Oh,” he smiled. “Of course. I can probably get you a little extra cash, so long as Hamilton isn't around to see.”

  She shook her head once more, unzipping his pants and beginning to stroke his hard young cock.

  “You don't understand. Someone like you, so rich, so handsome...so fucking strong.” She gripped his bicep. “You deserve to have a hot babe begging to do what you say. It's right and proper that you're in control. That you boss me around. That I do just as you say. I don't want you just to fuck me...I want you to dominate me. I don't want you to pay me...god, I feel like I should pay you if you'll dominate me how I need.”

  Gerald had, by this point, had sex before. He was young and handsome and rich, after all. But he had never been quite so electrified as Rose made him feel.

  When she took out his cock, cooing and moaning about how perfect it looked, he felt like she was grabbing a live wire. Every soft little trembling fingertip that ran over his length turned his body totally on.

  It wasn't just that she was so lovely, her lips so red and so soft around his meat.

  No, it was the control that he had. And more than that—the control that she gave him, the control that she wanted him to have.

  Of course, right away, they fucked like bunnies.

  Over the next several days, Rose introduced him to all the finer points of domination. All the sexual notes were hit, of course—spanking, slapping, choking, and tying her down. But also the emotional notes, the real meat of the relationship—admiring a submissive's presence, reassuring her, making her feel secure. Because she knew he was inexperienced, she didn't mind teaching him, asking him to act or respond in different ways.

  She had been, he realized much later, training him to be the perfect dom just for her.

  Just three weeks later, Uncle Hamilton found out about the tryst in a most unfortunate way. He walked in on Rose sucking Gerald off, Gerald's belt looped around her neck.

  Hamilton made no mention of the kink, then or ever. A person's private matters were, by and large, their own. But Rose constituted a problem in Hamilton's view, for one did not shit in one's bed and expect not to make manure by which the flowers of discord were sown. Hamilton sat Gerald down in his study, the fireplace roaring, and gave him a very simple choice. Rose had been terminated, Hamilton explained—Gerald could waste his time trying to find her, or he could forget about her.

  Put that way, it was a simple choice. Gerald was not about to be stopped just because his uncle had fired someone. So, outwardly, he agreed, but secretly he hired a team of private investigators to track Rose down.

  They found her, months later on the other side of the country, living with a man and pregnant with that man's child. The investigators told Gerald she looked happy.

  He never saw Rose again.

  One more situation out of his control. He made a silent vow to make it the last time that happened—losing control of someone he loved.

  Of course, it did happen again. Over and over, Gerald was presented with the simple, awful truth that he could no more control what happened in his life than he could sew with water.

  Three years later, Uncle Hamilton died of a heart attack. Gerald, having just graduated with his MBA in record time from his ivy-league school, turned out to be not quite so dumb as he acted sometimes. And he within ten years, he had turned Hamilton's multi-million dollar software business into a multi-billion dollar global empire.

  Chapter 13

  Sophia held Sand tight, unable to get enough of his perfect, manly mass. His amazing, woodsy scent. The chiseled, hard nature of every new muscle she felt at every second that her fingers traveled over his body.

  Dreamily, she decided that she was going to tell him she was sort of engaged. Sort of. He would understand. He would understand that she would end it for him. She was going to tell him she wanted to end things permanently with Todd—or do whatever Sand wanted her to do. Yes.

  She was his slave, after all. He was her Master. There couldn’t be any secrets between them.

  As she snuggled deeper into the thick, luxurious leather of the couch and the strong cords of his muscles, part of her had to admit that she was turned on by how rich he was. It wasn’t that she wanted his money, or wanted him to spoil her (though what girl wouldn’t want at least a little spoiling from a billionaire).

  No, it was more...subversive than that. She loved how powerful his wealth made him, and how much of his time it ate up.

  Here was a man who could have anything, anyone. Any woman. For him to choose her to dominate, to own and eliminate the will of completely—a time-consuming enterprise if ever there was one—it meant that she was just that much more special to him.

  It all felt so very perfect.

  But then, her phone rang in her purse, breaking her post-orgasmic medley of admiration.

  Her purse buzzed incessantly at the other end of the hall, forgotten the night befo
re amidst the frenzy of their lovemaking. Over the course of the night, they fucked twice more—each time with him spanking her hard and giving her another mind-melting orgasm.

  She was determined to ignore the phone—and did so successfully for the first two series of rings. But then it started a third time.

  Sand slapped her ass, a little sore from his attentions the night before. “Just get it, yeah?” he said groggily. “The sooner you do it, the sooner you can get back here and suck me off like a good girl.”

  Now she had an order to follow. Of course she would answer.

  “Yes, Sir,” she purred.

  Holding a spare blanket across her body, she walked across the large living room and picked up her phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Miss Brooks?” asked an officious voice. “Is this Miss Brooks?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is Blue Mercy Hospital. I am afraid we have some bad news.”

  “Bad news?”

  Instantly her mind raced, grip tightening on the phone. Her mother? Her sister?

  “Yes ma’am. Your friend, Elle McHenry, listed you as an emergency contact. She’s been in an automobile accident. Her condition right now is critical.”

  “Oh my god.” She held a hand to her mouth.

  Sand, from across the living room, tried to get her attention to tell him what was happening. She shook her head at him, trying to get him to wait.

  “Yes ma’am,” said the voice on the phone. “We would like for you to come in right away, and to please let anyone else know who Elle would want to have near.”

  “Okay,” she breathed. “Yes. Okay. Thank you for calling.”

  With the call ended, she rushed through the apartment, focusing only on the next task. Slip on her underwear. Slip on her dress. Oh god, her dress was in tatters. Find a dress. Find any clothing at all. Then put on her shoes and her sweater and grab her purse. Do all those things right now.

  She tried desperately not to focus on the way she had completely been ignoring or barely responding to Elle's texts and messages over the last week with her focus on Sand. Guilt hammered at her heart.

  “Hey,” Sand said, sitting up. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” she said, mind still racing. “No, something. My friend, my good friend. My best friend. She’s in the hospital. I have to go. I have to get some clothes. I think the depot store might be open already. Or maybe I can drive home naked? I can do that, right? Can I borrow your sheets? I can wear them while I drive, I think.”

  Sand stood up, his nakedness plain in the early morning light streaming in from the tall windows.

  “Sophia, stop.”

  “No, it’s just, I have to get dressed here somehow—maybe I can wear a blanket? And then I have to get to the apartment so I can get actually dressed so I don’t look like a complete naked slut in the hospital, and then we have to get to work and make sure that everything is running okay, and then we should get to—”

  He held up a hand. “Stop.”

  “What?”

  “Stop. All of that. Stop. We don't have any work today. It's a holiday, remember? Working on holidays is my job, not yours.” He pointed to a doorway down the hall. “In the closet in the other room, I have a few spare outfits for you. You get dressed with that. You go to the hospital. You see your friend. You tell me what you need. These are the things you're going to do.”

  Sophia needed a moment to process all of that.

  “You have spare outfits for me?”

  “For...women. I don’t know if they’ll fit—but they should work until you get home.”

  “You keep spare outfits for women here?” she raised an eyebrow.

  “I like to tear clothes off. Often and early, usually.” He shrugged. “I'm a passionate man.”

  She grinned, despite the situation. “Yes, you are.”

  He smiled back. “Anyway, I thought it would be a nice thing to be prepared.”

  The thought of him having regular women visitors—regular women who he fucked into such complete oblivious states that he could essentially ruin whole outfits of theirs—struck hot little chords in Sophia’s mind. She didn’t mind. All she would want was to be at the top of his list.

  Exclusivity didn't matter that much, to her. Not with him—not with her Master.

  But she couldn’t focus on that now.

  “Thank you,” she said, her affection for him only growing. “I’d love to talk to you very soon, if that’s possible.”

  “I understand. But,” he spread his hands. “You have to go.”

  “Right.”

  She slipped up close to him and hugged him tightly, daring to pull his head down for a passionate, sizzling, grateful kiss.

  “Thank you, Master,” she whispered again.

  Within five minutes, she had on loose-fitting jeans and a designer t-shirt from the closet and was piling into her car.

  On her way home, she called Elle’s parents—even with estranged as they were, Sophia knew they would want to know about Elle. Or, maybe she just hoped that.

  “I don’t know why they didn’t call you,” explained Sophia, leaving a message on their phone. “I guess maybe they just saw my number in her recent calls list a whole bunch?”

  Let Elle sort out that whole mess, right?

  If Elle was okay, that is.

  No, of course she was okay. Of course she was.

  * * * * *

  For hours, Elle was in surgery.

  Sophia had arrived at the hospital as a house of fire, ready to tear down all the doors in order to make sure her friend was okay. She didn't know how she was going to do that, of course, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Elle was hurt and Sophia was her best friend and that meant she had to be with her.

  But, the nurses talked her down. There was nothing she could do but wait—what Elle needed was surgical care, which Sophia had absolutely no expertise in.

  So, in the sterile blue waiting room, on a pleather chair, in borrowed clothes, Sophia waited. Elle had a concussion and a piece of wreckage from the accident jammed in her shoulder—which is what the surgery was for. Her prognosis was good.

  Finally, a tall nurse built like a linebacker came out to see Sophia. Her hands were large and well-used, no doubt, to administering treatment.

  “She's out of the woods now,” the big nurse said with a smile. “Another few hours and you'll be allowed to see her, I should think.”

  Sophia shook her head. “That won't do at all. I need to see my friend, now.”

  Part of her need, she knew, was that the sooner she could make sure Elle was okay, the sooner she would be able to go back and serve Sand again.

  But the more substantial part, truly, was just to see her friend.

  The nurse shook her large head. “I’m very sorry, ma’am. I am sure she is your good friend, but that doesn’t mean you’re allowed to see her.”

  Sophia, already having been waiting for such a long time, brimmed with the need to see Elle. She stood up, crowding the big nurse.

  “Now, you listen to me, lady. My friend is hurt. Her family knows about it, and might come tomorrow if it conveniences them. My friend is hurt,” she said again, “and she deserves to know that people care about her, and have seen her. I am not asking to disturb her or to interfere with your works. I know how to step out of the way of someone doing their job. All I want is the ability to look at my friend and tell her honestly, when she is well, that I came to see her.”

  For a few moments the nurse just stared at her.

  “Please,” Sophia said urgently. “You would be doing me and her both a favor.”

  The nurse stepped to a nearby desk and picked up a phone. “Let me see what I can do.”

  Minutes later, the nurse guided Sophia through the hallways to Elle’s room. “You’ve only got about two minutes.”

  “I understand,” she said. “Thank you.”

  The inside of the room smelled like vinegar. There was nothing
on the walls, save for an abstract color painting of green and blue squares.

  Elle, just out of surgery, was still heavily sedated. She had the whole room to herself, and was buried under white sheets and bandages around her eye and forehead.

  “It looks worse than it is,” said the nurse. “We took some extra precautions because of her concussion. Believe it or not, she should be up and on her feet in just a couple of weeks.”

  Sophia gripped Elle's hand, holding it tight. There was nothing she could do—and Elle did not seem to notice that she was there, really. The drugs were still too strong in her system.

  “Hang in there, buddy,” Sophia said to her softly. “I’ll come and visit every day.”

  * * * * *

  When she came back home in the late afternoon, waiting on her doorstep was an arrangement of purple and yellow flowers—and a note.

  Call me.

   M

  From someone else, it may have seemed like a request. From him, she knew it was an order.

  After stepping upstairs to put the flowers in a vase with some water, she pulled out her phone and called him.

  He picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

  “Hello...” with all the excitement from the day, she forgot her place for a moment. “Sir.”

  “Is everything all right?” His voice was loaded with concern. “Your friend, she's well?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I think so. I don’t know.”

  She sat down next to the vase, admiring the lovely, healthy glow of the flowers and enjoying their heady scent. Quickly, she ran down the details of the accident for him.

  He made a comforting sound. “It will be all right.”

  Sophia, no longer moving to a clear goal or waiting to hear news, suddenly realized she was more than a little exhausted by the ordeal. She dropped to the ground in front of her chair and leaned back against the chair.

  “Ugh, I hope so. I talked with the nurse after seeing Elle, you know? And I just broached the subject of payment. And god, the bills! Elle’s a dancer, like a stage dancer for a company, and she doesn’t get paid that well.”

  “How much are they?”