A Billionaire's Heart
Erotic Romance Bundle
Dalia Daudelin
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The Blackmailed Maid
Forty dollars and eighty three cents and a crystal figurine in the shape of a butterfly hide in my apron pockets. I look around me, checking to be sure that Mr. Rodin isn't anywhere that he can see me as I pick up a beautiful aquamarine ring that once belonged to his late wife. I slip it into my right pocket where it joins the figuring.
My sister's birthday is coming up, and she's going to be 16. I promised her I'd buy her a video game console, and I never break promises for my sister. I wasn't always a thief, of course.
In fact, before the housing bubble burst, my whole family was well off. I was in college, in my second year of studying business when the economy tanked. Nearly everyone in my family was laid off or lost customers or otherwise lost their source of money. At a time when we most needed help, we all lost the people who could help us. We were poor, and my parents could no longer pay for my schooling. Now, I'm forced to be a maid.
I was extremely lucky when Julian Rodin offered to hire me as a maid. He used to be a local politician, and when my dad worked in real estate he sold Julian Rodin his second house. That was a few years ago, and now Julian is extremely wealthy because of some good investments. When he found out how much my family was suffering, he found my mother a job as a secretary at a friend's law firm and invited me to become a maid. He even promised to pay me fairly.
And I guess he has. Fairly for a maid at least. I work hard, though, cleaning this million dollar home with its 3 floors, basement and huge garage. Some days I feel like I should just ask to move in, since I spend so much time here.
I had hoped to go back to school with this money, finish my degree and open my own business, but there's no chance of that happening. No, Mr. Rodin doesn't pay me nearly enough. I can just barely afford my small apartment, which is within walking distance of this mansion because there's no chance I could afford a car.
So I pilfer some things here and there. My pawn shop never asks questions about where I get these things, they just give me the money I need to pay for such luxuries as food and my electricity bill.
It's not as if I have something against Mr. Rodin. He's just a bit stingy with money and would never consider giving me a raise. He's never caught me stealing, and has never indicated that he even notices the things I've taken. Never has he asked me about the things that have gone missing.
Because of that, I've become more bold about it. Instead of stealing forgotten trinkets from the back of his closets, I'm stealing things left out in the open and with much more value. Still, he says nothing.
Slipping into one of the many bathrooms on the ground floor, I wipe down the sink and toilet before heading over to the nearby kitchen. Every time I open the fridge here, I'm surprised by how empty it is. Mr. Rodin eats out fairly often, though, so it's understandable. Rinsing off a recently used plate, I put it into the nearly full dishwasher and start it. My eyes dart to the clock on the oven as I raise my arms and stretch, my right elbow popping. It's barely even 5 PM and I'm already finished cleaning!
Tightening my pony tail, I tug on a few strands of my long black hair and make sure my hair is up tight. I step into the hallway and walk down the long red carpet to he library at the very end.
Mr. Rodin is typing away on his computer as I step in.
“Ah, Sophia,” he says, smiling as he looks up from the screen. He has high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes. I always wondered why he never went into acting. He looks a lot like the villain from that recent comic book movie when you catch him at the right angle. He's tall and handsome, and always seems to be busy with something intellectual.
Music drifts softly from the sleek white computer on his dark mahogany desk, a classical piece that he plays often. I look around the room to be sure it's still clean. This is the first room I lean while Mr. Rodin eats his breakfast so that I'm not in his way while he works. Still, it always smells a bit dusty from the old books lining the walls and sitting haphazardly on tables around the room.
“I believe I'm done for the day, Mr. Rodin,” I reply, bowing my head and stepping my leg back for a curtsey. It's old fashioned, but I'm used to it. It's how he prefers to be addressed, and I'm in no position to deny him that.
“Ah, I see,” he replies. “Well, I had something I wanted to discuss with you, so if you wouldn't mind sitting down?” His hand pats the chair next to him. The cushion is plump and covered with velvet.
I hesitate for a moment, pressing my hand against the goods in my apron. They shouldn't be too obvious, so I smile and walk around the chair. Sitting down, I cross my bare legs in front of me. Another part of the job: I'm only allowed to wear dresses. It's a bit humiliating, but I do it. I've actually come to enjoy it, wearing a dress makes me feel a bit free.
“I feel awful even asking you this,” he starts, leaning forward and putting his hand over mine. “But I can't seem to find my gold cufflinks and the camera I bought two Christmases ago. Would you happen to have moved them while cleaning, or seen them anywhere?”
I gulp and feel my heart jump. Oh god, I hope he can't hear it pounding against my chest. Those cufflinks brought in $200 to pay for my ridiculous electricity bill two months ago, and the camera was worth $500 when I sold it on Ebay. That bought me some new dresses and shoes as well as a month's worth of food. My hand is still covered by his, and I find myself worrying that he might be able to feel my pulse. I smile and shake my head, pulling my hand back and willing my heart to slow to a normal pace. “No, sir. I haven't seen anything like that.”
He leans back, sticking his bottom lip out a bit. Mr. Rodin looks like a pouting child as he leans like that, a few errant black hairs dashing across his forehead. “I see. That's very unfortunate.” We both remain silent for a few minutes, until the awkwardness gets to me while he continues to pout.
“Ah, well, I have to get to shopping...” I say, starting to stand up.
“Yes, I forgot your sister's birthday. Well, one more thing before you go. Could you take a quick look at this for me?”
He presses his hand against his computer screen, turning it to face me. On the screen is 4 photos. It takes me a few moments as I scan them to realize they're all of me. Black and white photos that look like stills from a video camera... My eyes widen. Each of the photos show me stealing something. Did Mr. Rodin install security cameras?!
Mr. Rodin shifts in his seat. “Now, if you had confessed to me, if you had been honest with me, things would have been much more simple. I would have fired you and sent you on your way.” His voice is deeper now, like a dog's growl. Dread washes through me. “But since you lied to me, more drastic measures are called for.”
“Mr. Rodin, please! I'm so sorry! Please don't call the police!”
He scoffs at me, crossing his arms and frowning. “I very well should call the police. But no, I won't do that right away. After all, your dad is a friend of mine and we wouldn't want him to see these photos, would we? And I don't want to shame him by sending his eldest daughter to jail. If you don't want to be put behind bars, you're going to have to do absolutely everything I tell you to do.”
My heart skips a beat and my eyes widen. Is he saying what I think he is?!
“To make this easier on you, and beca
use I'm such a good guy, I'll also give you a raise. But only if you do absolutely everything I tell you to do, without question and without attitude.” He moves in close to me, looking into my eyes. His cheekbones look sharp in the lighting. “Do you agree to my terms, or should I call the police?”
I can't move. I can barely breathe. My hand comes up to my chest and I lean over, trying to force air into my lungs. Mr. Rodin picks up his cell phone, his lips again pressed into a hard line. He swipes his thumb against the screen. “No, wait!” I yell. He stops, his eyes flicking up to mine. “I agree.”
His lip twitches into a wicked smile. I feel nauseous and my head feels fuzzy.
“Stand up.”
As I scramble to my feet, he stands as well. Next to him, I am very short. He grabs my arm and forces me to turn around, facing his desk. Pressing against my shoulders, he forces me to bend over until my breasts press against the desk and my ass is in the air.
Warm fingers press against my inner thigh, kneading into my skin. I want to move away, to turn around and slap him. That's not an option. A small gust of air flows over my ass as my skirt is flipped up and over my ass. For a second I'm thankful that I wore my best panties today. They're pretty and pink, bikini-bottom style.
Mr. Rodin's hands knead into my ass cheeks, and rub over them gently. It's kind of like a massage, which I can't help but enjoy after a few hours of cleaning. When he pulls my panties down, though, I clench my ass cheeks together and gasp. My hands ball up into fists and I close my eyes, waiting for his next move.
WHACK!
The first slap on my ass brings me painfully back to reality. The second knocks the wind out of my lungs, forcing me to gasp again. Mr. Rodin brings his hand down over and over again, pummeling my ass until tears sting my eyes and roll down my cheeks. “Please, stop!” I cry, sniffling. I try to get away from him, but his strong hand grabs my arm and keeps me painfully still as he spanks me.
“You don't get to tell me when to stop, you slutty thief!” WHACK! WHACK! Each word is punctuated with another slap. “I'll stop once you've learned your lesson!” Again, he slaps my ass with my force now. I squeal and cry, in the back of my mind knowing my butt's going to be bright red and painful for hours after this punishment.
Even further back in my mind, I secretly like it.
The spankings stop, and for a brief second I'm allowed to catch my breath. My butt cheeks sting so bad I can't hold back a few sobs. His hand gently, tenderly caresses my ass cheeks. It hurts, but it's soothing at the same time. Moving down slowly, his fingers press against my vulva, sliding up and down my pussy lips. “You're shaved. And wet, too.”
He slaps his fingers against my vulva, just hard enough for it to sting. Circling his fingers around my clitoris, he presses hard. I wiggle my ass in response, enjoying the feeling. I blush, and I moan.
But then he slaps my clit with two fingers. The pain and pleasure mix and force me to orgasm instantly, my toes curling and my teeth clenching. He pulls his hand away from me, spinning me to face him. My knees wiggle beneath me, because they are weak. He presses down on my shoulder.
“Suck my cock.”
I'm mortified, my mouth dropping open, but there's nothing I can do. I slowly go down to my knees, my mouth at the same height as the tent in his pants. I become acutely aware of the fact that yes, I am actually wet. My panties are still down around my thighs, and my wetness threatens to drip down my skin and onto the floor. And who would have to clean that up? Certainly not Mr. Rodin.
I watch Mr. Rodin's hands unbutton his pants, the brass button of his black slacks popping out of the hole. Slowly, he pulls the brass zipper down. Zzzzzip! And down come his pants, leaving him in boxer briefs, a steel gray color and tight enough for his bulge to be obvious. There's a small wet spot where the tip of his cock touched and left a bit of precum, evidence of his arousal. From a foot away, I can smell his manliness. It's clean, but still masculine.
Still, despite my horniness, I don't want to put him in my mouth. I whimper and look up at him with pleading eyes, which he ignores. I resist when his hand presses against my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, the ponytail now loose. He sighs, pulling back that same hand and snapping it against my cheek. The slap shocks me.
“Stop resisting,” he commands.
Tears sting my eyes again. I allow him to push my head forward. My mouth opens and I stick my tongue out slightly, wetting his skin as his large, hard cock moves into my mouth. I press my taste buds against his skin, swirling my tongue against him. He twitches, and lets out a small moan. I slide my tongue all around the base of his cock, stimulating him the way I read about in the fashion magazines I browse while shopping. Slowly, I let his shaft penetrate my throat.
I'm surprised to find I don't have much of a gag reflex. He presses my head down, burying my nose into his pubic hair. My mouth has completely engulfed his prick. I hold my breath as long as I can, but still he doesn't let up and I start to struggle. Eventually, he lets me up to breathe, giving me a moment to collect myself.
On my own, I grab his cock and swirl my tongue around the ridge of his cock head. This makes him groan and sigh before he presses my head back down and making me deep throat him again. After a while I get used to this pattern, holding my breath as long as I can and then pulling up. He speeds up, his eyes rolling back into his head as he groans. He humps his hips up toward my face, fucking my mouth as if it were a pussy. The lewdness of this is making me so horny that I have to squeeze my thighs together, which sends a shock of pleasure through my body.
After a while, I begin to wonder if he's going to cum in my mouth, but as soon as he gets too lose, he pushes me away. “Stand back up, Sophia.”
I do. I'm just as invested in this now as he is. I'm actually excited to see where this will go next.
“From now on, when I tell you to do something, you will say 'Yes, sir,' is that understood?”
I nod. He's turning into a real Dom here! “Yes, sir.”
“Every day that you are here and do everything I tell you without error, I will give you a 50 cent raise.”
I nod again, squeezing my thighs once more and holding back a moan. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now turn around and lift up your ass, you fucking slut.”
The harsh language turns me on, making my stomach jump with excitement. This makes me hesitate, but before he can reprimand me, I turn around and say once more, “Yes, sir.”
I arch my back and lift my ass in the air. Being this exposed feels so naughty, so wrong. He touches me again, his fingers slipping up and down my wet vulva before pressing against my stiff clitoris. Mr. Rodin moves his fingers in a circle against my sensitive button, making me wiggle and gasp. I can't help but moan in response.
Mr. Rodin steps up closer to me and slaps his cock against my pussy a few times, the meaty instrument hitting my slit. I'm so eager to have him in me that I'm actually shaking, and almost ready to beg him when he finally presses his cock against my opening. My fingers and toes curl at the size of him.
The pressure is almost too much, but before too long his cock head pops inside of me and slowly sinks in. I slowly breathe out as he fills me. Oh god that feels good.
He bottoms out on me, only his balls out of me now. His cock rests gently against my cervix until he pulls out slowly. His cock thrusts back in, his hands holding my hips. His strong hands, guiding me so that I move in time with him. Moving slowly at first, the feeling is luxurious. My tits swing below me, and my eyes flutter with each gasp.
Reaching under me, he grabs my tits. His thrusts go fast and shallow as he pinches my nipples, making them hard. I can feel everything inside me start to tighten, and tingle. My body is taking control now, my orgasm unavoidable.
My juices droll down his cock. I bite my lip and let out a muffled moan as his cock continues to pleasure me, fucking me faster and harder now as he races towards his own orgasm. I feel like I'm exploding, my pussy is twitching and my nipples are tingling. “Oh god!”
I cry as my knees shake beneath me.
And then he cums, his hot stream of semen hitting my walls and sending me instantly into another orgasm. My hips instinctively buck back into him as he shoots 5 or 6 strings of cum deep into me.
He grunts with his last bit of cum and pulls out. “Get on the floor and clean me up,” he commands.
“Yes, sir.” I turn around and fall to the floor, still horny but slavishly licking and sucking my own juices off of his prick. I lick his balls and his thighs before he pulls away and pulls his boxers and pants back up.
“I think that will do for today, Sophia. I'll see you tomorrow.”
I watch with my mouth open and my pussy still dripping as Mr. Rodin strolls out of the room. I don't move until I hear him walk up the stairs and turn on the shower in the master bathroom.
The Billionaire's Passion
I met him by chance on the beach. I had been lounging on my day off, reading a perfectly scandalous romance novel and doing my best to forget the horrible week I had at work. He was a shadow, the bright sun behind him drowning out his features, standing by the waves. I only saw him from the corner of my eye at first, his black hair fighting against the wind.
He looks like the model on the cover of the novel I'm reading. I allow myself to imagine his thin but strong body against the heroine, his long fingers exploring her folds. The heroine of the novel is curvy, large, like me. Her hair might be darker than mine, her face may be shaped more like a heart, but when I read this novel I imagine her to be me. Picturing myself and this stranger meeting in the same passionate way as the woman in the novel is beginning to make me a bit wet and my face warm.
The sun is starting to set, the pinks dancing with the blues behind fluffy clouds while seagulls call and dive for leftover snacks. The man is wandering the edge of the beach now, seemingly in deep thought. I peek over the tan pages of my novel with my round, green eyes to get a better look at him.
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