The Billionaire's Lesson (2 page)

She turned her head,
caught my eye and nodded. “Go ahead.” I brought my hand
down on her soft buttock and she wiggled her rear in response.

I continued to slap her
with greater speed and force. At first, she emitted little,
appreciative coos, but as my smacks grew in intensity her breath
rattled and rasped. She gaped at me with an expression of fright, as
if I were a monster.

My Dad yelled, “That's
enough. ENOUGH.” I stopped and looked up at him. “You may
go. Here, go to the executive washroom and take care of yourself.”
He threw a ring of keys at me and I missed catching them.

Bending over to collect
them, I took one last look at Roberta's heaving breasts as she
remained bent over the desk. Her nipples hardened to nearly twice
their original size and god, how I would've liked to grab them.

“
Go on,
Junior, leave.”

I skulked out of my
Dad's office. My swollen member, screaming for release. As I closed
the door behind me, he said to her, “Come here, dear, and sit
on my lap. I'd like to discuss some other things you can do for me.”

“
Then what
did you do?” My personal assistant, Becca, the near mirror
image of Roberta, asked.

“
Well, I
did what any young guy in my situation would do.”

“
Which
was?”

“
I went
into the executive washroom and jerked off a couple times.”

She wrinkled her nose
at me, and said, “Ew.”

I mocked embarrassment
by opening my mouth wide and clasping a hand over it. “Anyways,
I can't be satisfied by plain, old vanilla sex. If there isn't an
element of domination, I'm not turned on. So what's the point in us
dating? We take things further and I'll freak you out sex-wise.”

Her face flushed red
and her expression became agitated. “I'm not a prude. I've
never tried this bondage stuff, but that doesn't mean I'm not open to
it,” she said, and crossed her arms emphatically.

“
I don't
know, Becca, you're a bit of a princess.”

“
How so?”

“
Well, over
the year or so we've worked together – believe it or not –
I've actually listened to you a few times.”

She arched her eyebrow
at me, and said, “Part of me is more shocked to hear that.”

“
Right? But
look, you're into fairies, your favorite color is pink and you hum
pop songs by boy bands when you're happy. Also, I'm ninety-nine
percent sure you own a tiara – you do don't you?”

She looked down at her
desk as if searching for a place to hide. “Yes, but my Mom gave
it to me.”

“
Still....”
Damn it. This coming out all wrong. I'm not trying to hurt
the girl's feelings,
I thought.
“Becca, you're sweet and I feel like I can tell you anything –
sharing my little story with you is proof enough of that – I
wouldn't want lose our rapport for all of the world.”

A weak smile spread
across her face. “We seem to get along so well. I thought....”

“
I know....
Anyways, I'm taking off for the day. You can too if you like.”

***

Becca

The
fact that the boss was a billionaire never really registered with me
until that day. In retrospect, it was quite bold of me to propose the
two of us go out sometime – and not just for lunch. Bill
smiled at me, his three dimples deepening; the two on his cheeks and
the one on his chin. I thought for sure he'd say 'yes,' but got the
story of his Dad and Roberta instead. Then his 'no.'

Crushed, I sat at home
mindlessly watching TV, unable to focus on a single line of dialog. I
ate dinner and the zesty flavors of my favorite food, lasagna, were
lost on me. I showered and the pleasurable sting of the water's warm
blast fell on dead nerves.

I stayed up late and
went to asleep later. My exhausted eyes wide open, restless and
itching.

Finally, when I dozed
off, I dreamed of myself floating in a dense, gray cloud. Bill
materialized in front of me, dressed to the nines in a pinstriped,
double-breasted suit. He looked down to my knee and motioned up with
his hand, goading me to lift my dress. It wasn't one I owned though,
it was my imagination of Roberta's.

The blue fabric
crinkled electric and I revealed a pair of glowing white panties
underneath. I turned my back to him and the clothing melted from my
frame. I leaned over and found an old desk to support me.

I glanced at my boss
behind me, I said, “Go ahead.” He brought his large hand
up and as it fell, I awoke. Covered in cold sweat. Fingers buried
deep in my drenched folds.

“
What a
mess,” I whispered. My room, barely illuminated by the early
morning sun, made me aware of the earliness of the hour.
Great,
how am I going to get through work today with only a few hours of
sleep?

***

I probably
should have called in sick, but what would be the point. The hardest
part of my job had always been waiting for something to do. Not that
I would, but I could have slept at my desk if I wanted.

Bill's
office light was off when I got in at nine that morning, if he wasn't
in by that time he usually didn't come in at all.
Free day
for me.

I played a
few rounds of solitaire, caught up on the latest celebrity scandals
and drank copious amounts of java. By lunch, I grew tired and found
myself drifting to sleep. Needing something more than coffee to keep
me awake, I did the one thing I always feel sketchy about doing while
punched in; I checked the personal ads on Craigslist.

The
“m4w” posts were, as usual, littered with listings from
obnoxious frat-boys and old, sad-faced men pictured with shirts
lifted.
Nothing to see here.

I moved on
to “missed connections” and read the dreamy, little
memories of brief encounters. Wishing I'd find myself described,
knowing it was silly of me to hope and, of course, finding nothing.

Bored, I
navigated over to the kink forum. The fantasies, descriptions and
details of people in what they called, “The life,”
ignited my interest. I envied every word of a submissive woman's tale
of being tied, teased and tormented. Forced into revealing her
innermost desires and held accountable for all of them.

One
post after another I read and my inner legs pressed tight together,
churning in agonizing pleasure.
There's a hole in my sex
life. A hole that's been ignored far too long,
I decided.

I found a
posting titled, “I need a dom...” and murmured, “You
and me both,” as I clicked its link. Her words reflected my own
thoughts. Her sexual frustration, her inability to share her needs
with a partner, her lust for a man, very close to her, who refused
her, saying she was too nice.

The
first reply was more of a rebuke, it read:
I'm sick of
reading about submissives whose fantasies are unfulfilled. What the
hell is the deal? Make an ad, describe what you want and move along.
Its pathetic to pine after men who clearly aren't that into you.

I kind of
felt stung at this random person's reply like he or she was writing
it to me.

On a
whim, I hit the new post button in the personals and began to write
one for myself. My title?
Hot 4 Dom.
I
started the ad with,
Dear Sir,
feeling
adventurous, I added,
or Sirs. Recently I've become aware
of a deep desire to be spanked and used as a man's toy. Being tied up
sounds pretty fun too. I need someone who I trust. Someone willing to
guide me and unleash my wild side, especially if that requires a
tether. I –

Suddenly, my
office door was thrust open and in walked Bill. I gasped at his
unexpected intrusion and frantically clicked “minimize”
on my browser. The shot of adrenaline I received then sure went along
way towards waking me.

He looked
groggy and out of sorts. His thick, dark brown hair flat on the side
as if he'd slept with his head pressed to the desk. His disheveled
clothes the same he'd worn the day before with his shirt unbuttoned
about halfway down his tanned, muscular chest. His handsome face
covered in the thin stubble of a days growth.

Bill peered
at me curiously through his azure blue eyes. His stare crystallized
into amusement and those dimples of his deepened. “What're you
doing?” He asked as he approached my desk.

“
Uh,
nothing.” I grabbed my mouse and attempted to shut the window
containing my little ad. Unfortunately, I missed clicking “close”
and hit “maximize” instead. I flicked my wrist and
reached the top bar, but it was too late. His hand clasped mine and
for several seconds he read my words.

Not even one minute
passed, but it might as well have been an hour. Was I going to lose
my job? How would he react to my waste of time and money?

He cleared his throat.
“You're doing it wrong. You won't be finding what you want that
way. Trust me, I know.”

I exhaled deeply.
“I-I'm sorry?”

He shook his finger at
me accusingly. “You have any idea how hard it'd be for me to
find a replacement for you if you got yourself killed?”

“
I –
”

He let out an
exasperated sigh, and said, “Whatever. Let's get some work done
today, shall we? Print out the TPS reports and bring them to my
office.” He stormed out, slamming my door shut on his exit.

***

An hour
later, I rapped on his door frame, bearing the thick sheaf of
printouts against my side. My nerves raw, I comforted myself by
biting my nails.

“
Come
in,” he called

I plunked the paperwork
down in front of him. At the sight of a trail of flecks from my red
nail polish, I swiped the papers clean, causing several to spill on
the floor.

“
Damn it,
Becca.”

“
Sorry,
sorry, sorry.” I wore a tiny, little skirt, and as I stooped to
collect the mess, instantly regretted my choice of attire. A draft of
air hit my rear, covered then in only a pair of black thigh-high
nylons.
Shit. I'm not wearing any panties. Of all days to
forget to do laundry.
Maybe
he isn't paying attention?

No luck, though. My
eyes met his as I stood and it was clear from his expression he'd
seen all.

My cheeks rushed with
blood and I smiled feebly at him. In response, he shook his head, and
asked, “Can you, at least, get them in order?”

“
Yes, sir.
Sorry.”

“
Quit
saying you're sorry. You're driving me nuts with how much you've used
that word today.”

“
I'll do
that. Sorry....”

“
Becca....”
He warned.

I covered my mouth to
suppress a nervous giggle, and said, “Oops.”

Several agitated
clearings of breath came to me from his direction while I collated
the papers. When all was in order, he received the reports, swiveling
in irritated arcs on his executive chair.

“
Should I
go?” I asked.

“
No, not
yet.” He eyed me on and off while he browsed the data. Halfway
through the stack, he rested his chin on his palm and gazed ominously
at me. He crumpled one sheet after another into a ball and threw it
away. Minutes later, he said. “My trash is full, Becca, take
care of it please.”

I wasn't sure if
I heard him correctly, at first.
Is he really telling me to
dump his wastebasket?
“Um,
sorry, did – ”

“
There's
that word again. Come on, take care of it.”

I leaned down in front
of him, taking care to grip my skirt to prevent it from riding high
again. His eyes pored over the line of cleavage visible under my
shirt. He pointed behind me. “Make sure and get it all. There's
a bit that didn't make it in the can in back of you.”

I turned and he pulled
the hand that guarded my decency – what was left of it, anyways
– away. “Crawl for it.”

Wordlessly, I crouched
low, letting the cloth slowly ride up to my waist. As I moved
forward, I exaggerated each movement of my knees, each wiggle of my
hips.

He got up and stood
over me. “An epilog to the story, I told you. Roberta ended up
blackmailing my Dad. I know you're not her, but that had a strong
effect on me too. Nearly as much as spanking her shaped me sexually.
Can I trust you to not burn me?”

I met his worried gaze,
my heart fluttering with excitement, my pussy aching for him. “Tell
you what. Show me what you think would freak me out, right here,
right now. My body is yours to do anything you so desire with. If I
don't like it or you don't, we go back to our lives as normal. You
have my word.”

He squatted down behind
me and his finger traced the line of my nether lips. “Fair
enough. I suggest we use the light system though: red meaning stop,
yellow meaning slow and green meaning go.”

He pulled a lacy length
of cloth from his pocket, draped it over my eyes and cinched it tight
around the back of my head. “Is this alright?” He
whispered.

“
Yes.”
I closed my eyelids to keep out the little I could see under my crude
blindfold. He wanted me immersed in darkness for a reason.

His hands poked and
pushed my thin nylons into the secret nooks and crannies of my pussy
and my asshole. He breathed in the scent of my juices and sighed with
pleasure as though smelling a rose.

He moved up to my
breasts, opened my shirt and removed one after the other from my bra.
In my darkness, my sense of touch became oversensitive. His fingers
tweaked my nipples from base to tip. The nubs grew painfully tender
from his repetitive milking motion.