In Service To The Billionaire
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Authors: Heather Chase
In Service To The Billionaire
by Heather Chase
Published by Heather Chase, 2013.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
IN SERVICE TO THE BILLIONAIRE
First edition. October 24, 2013.
Copyright © 2013 Heather Chase.
Written by Heather Chase.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Alone, bored, and desperate for someone to dominate her, Sophia had turned to the internet.
It was late—just past midnight on a Wednesday—and she had two glasses of wine in her, enough for her to have her legs spread apart as she sat in her couch with her laptop propped on top of her considerable bust. Staying up so late and drinking may not have been the best idea, with her starting her first day at a new job tomorrow, but she would let “Future Sophia” deal with that.
“Future Sophia” had to deal with all sorts of unsavory tasks—waking up in the morning after not enough sleep, cleaning up dishes left in the sink, sorting that weird pile of junk in the corner underneath the kitchen table, and so on.
But “Now Sophia” was on a chat room, and not for the first time. Her handle,
subvixen
, had netted her quite a number of “hey”s and “hi”s so far, which she promptly and thoroughly ignored for the most part. She thought she was a rather good typist, and well-skilled in delivering thought-out responses to those who spoke to her, and had little interest in those who could not at least pretend to reciprocate her level of effort.
Sophia had, for example, put a good amount of time into her profile—not too long, as she knew basically what she wanted to say—but it was clear enough to say exactly what she wanted and how she wanted to be treated:
Sexy sub lady tired of waiting for a man. Make me your servant. Make me forget all about the others. Train me to be yours.
As she took another generous sip from her rather-generously sized wine glass, another private message flitted up on her screen.
Mistermaster4U: hey babe. love the profile.
Idly, she let her fingers slip around her panties. She clicked over to his profile:
Here to dominate.
Short and sweet. That could be an indication of any kind of quality—good or bad. In the past, she had talked with men who seemed intensely fascinating, who then sputtered out and never came online again. Or there were others who had seemed interesting at first, and then her connection would crap out, or theirs would, ending the line of communication forever.
Why not reply. She was horny.
subvixen: Thank you. Every word is true.
Immediately, a response:
Mistermaster4U: what do u look like?
Sophia made a face. For whatever reason, she was in a mood to forgive the egregious misspelling. Maybe he was just netspeaking for now. Maybe if they got into the thick of things—if there was some honest-to-god pussy-drenching roleplaying going on, then he would pick up the slack. She’d give him the benefit of the doubt for a little while longer.
subvixen: I’m about 5’8”, with long black hair that goes just past my shoulders, framing my sexy face. My eyes are green, my cheekbones pronounced and leading right into a pair of sexy, ready-made-for-kissing lips. I’ve got long legs, big tits, and I work out six days a week (yoga and cardio), so I stay toned. My skin is olive-colored—I’ve got a mixture of Brazilian and Swedish heritage, so my bone structure is just crazy hot.
Mistermaster4U: Nice. And clothes?
subvixen: Not much right now. Tiny lace black panties. A white tank top.
That was all true, mostly. Her panties weren’t lace, and she was really 5’6”, not 5’8”. She didn’t know if she herself would classify her tits as “big,” either. They certainly weren’t small—but a pair of 36Cs never felt “big” to her. Still, men liked big tits, so...she said it. It was the internet—everyone lied at least a little.
Mistermaster4U: so hot
Mistermaster4U: kneel 4 me slut
Sophia sighed. Right. Whatever. She abruptly signed out of the chat and put her laptop down on the ground, the thump of the impact reverberating through the apartment.
She lived in the top floor of a duplex, and the bottom floor had been vacant for more than three months now. It was a fairly nice apartment for the money she was able to spend—it had a small but serviceable kitchen, a large living space that including a dining area, and one bed and bath. She lived alone, though, in the entire building, and so she wasn't worried about making too much noise.
Her fingers sank deep into her panties, thumb slipping over her clit.
It seemed that the only way she was going to be dominated the way she wanted was in her fantasies. Leaning back further into the couch, she considered them.
She wanted a man to grip her by the shoulders and bring her to her knees.
“You silly little slut,” he’d say. “What were you doing, thinking you were in charge of yourself?”
Her voice, a soft whisper. “I don’t know, Sir.”
The man in her fantasies was tall and imposing. Muscled. Rough.
“I’m in charge of you.”
“Yes, Sir!”
“Say it. Tell me.”
“You’re in charge of me, Sir.” She would coo it—each and every word coated in her love and admiration.
“I’m your Master.”
He'd tug her hair a little with that, maybe slap her face with his cock.
“You’re my Master!”
Sophia’s fingers rotated faster and faster across her clit. “Master,” she breathed, still imagining the scene. “Masterr...”
His cock circling around her mouth like water to a drain. “You’re gonna suck me off now, like a good slave.”
“Yes, Sir.”
And he’d shove his cock—all his clothes somehow magically already off—shove his cock down her throat. There would be so much of it. He’d be massive, so massive she didn’t even know how she took it all. His hands grabbing her long, thick mass of hair—every strand grown out just for this purpose, just for him to tug it and use it as he pleased—and then roughly, forcefully fucking her face.
“I fucking own you,” he would grunt, shoving hard into her face. “Look at me. Look at my eyes. I fucking own you!”
Gasping, panting, breathing out a chorus of “Yes, Masters” over and over, Sophia came. Her slender body buckled in her couch, her moans echoing off the walls.
As the bliss slipped away, all she could think of was how empty it felt, just masturbating out her needs like that. She was so
lonely
lately. Nothing filled the void.
It had been this way ever since Todd left.
She had been so very ready to marry Todd. Their marriage was, in fact, due to happen a little less than a month from now, originally. But then, a month and a half ago, his feet got cold—Antarctic, really.
“I just need some time to think this all through,” he said. “I feel like...I feel like you've been pushing for this marriage to happen so hard that I haven't had time to figure out what I want for myself.”
And Sophia, stunned, could barely form a response other than, “Oh. Well, please do what makes you feel best.”
And what made him feel best, apparently, was to take off to Europe for three months and do some traveling.
Alone. Without her.
With hindsight, of course, she could clearly see that
he
was the one who had proposed to
her
when
she
wasn't sure about the relationship to begin with. That she had been more than willing to do
anything
for him before this incredible breach of her trust.
And the very worst part was that she knew that even when her “fiancé” came back home—if that was even the correct term for someone who just took off to Europe for a quarter of a year to think his entire life over without her—even
if
he held her in his arms again and was by her side every night, he wouldn’t ever want to take part in dominating her like she needed so fucking bad.
Chapter 2
The following morning, Thursday morning, Sophia woke up groggily at five-thirty, stumbling out of bed and not really waking up until the warm water of her shower hit her face.
Today, she started her new job as a personal assistant at the enormously affluent Sand Enterprises.
Sand Enterprises was a billion-dollar company, responsible for countless jobs across the nation and the globe, with its headquarters right there in Sophia's city. She had heard rumors that Gerald Sand himself worked in the office—though of course she knew that was silliness. Billionaires spent their time playing golf in super-secret zero-gravity space stations or something, not running an office.
Sophia had no idea who she would be a personal assistant for—she had heard only that it was someone “high up on the food chain.”
She believed that much—the salary was ostentatiously high for a position that, to her, didn't entail that much expertise. From what she understood, she would mostly be answering phones and running messages, that sort of thing. With bonuses and benefits factored in, she would be earning close to six figures. That kind of money, for Sophia, was utterly life-changing.
She had over thirty thousand in student loans that would be erased—if her casual calculations were correct—well within the space of a year so long as she budgeted everything well.
That debt had been hanging over her head for a long time—since before she graduated college. To know that it was within her reach to eliminate the debt entirely was completely transformative.
Sophia had been surprised to land the job—to land any job at all, really. She had followed her heart in college, and gotten her liberal arts degree in Philosophy and English. Even without regretting a single credit hour from studying Kant and Rousseau, or Chaucer and Wolfe, she still had enough presence of mind to realize how much she had limited herself coming out of her small-town college.
Even all the networking she had done was only with professors around the college—and the only openings they could help her with were to take even more coursework to get a graduate degree.
Maybe a graduate degree was in the cards, maybe not. For now, Sophia felt as aimless as she had the day that her entrance counselor at Carter State College asked her what she wanted to do with her life.
Frowning, and looking down at her twiddling thumbs, Sophia had said, “I don't know. Something that fascinates me.”
“Well, dear,” said the kindly young counselor, blond hair in a bun. “What sort of things fascinate you?”
That question had troubled Sophia for as long as she could remember. She couldn't put a pin on what fascinated her—some things just
did
and others just
didn't
. She was in love with the way Spanish sounded, and learned all she could of the language for two solid years...and then just as suddenly dropped everything and sold every book she had on the subject.
One year, when she was twenty, she had decided she would get into wood carving—and bought a great carving knife, several awls and a mallet, and only ever carved (a very poor version of) a cardinal.
The only thing that had ever stayed constant with Sophia was her kinky sexuality—and she was terrified that the only reason that had stayed constant was because she had never been able to encounter it consistently in real life. This fear of disappointment shaded every new fascination she held—that just as soon as she would enjoy something, all the joy would be sucked out of it, like the air from a balloon.
This new job she had gotten through her a friend of her father's, who had heard about it through his lawyer, who knew of it through
his
accountant...and so on. In any case, the opening was only available for a day.
Sophia was lucky enough to already have a cover letter and resume put together (at the insistence of virtually all of her college professors who she had petitioned for advice on getting a job before this), and was able to get her materials in under the deadline.
The interview process had been a nightmare—three rounds of interviews from men in suits who had clearly decided that for the rest of their lives they were better than her, as
they
wouldn't be caught dead interviewing for such a lowly position.
But apparently, she had been able to hold back her resentment of their false-superiority, and impressed each one. No more than three hours after the interviews had ended Tuesday, she received the call saying she got the job, and would start Thursday.