In Service To The Billionaire (4 page)

Elle's upbringing had been a source of constant conflict for the poor dear. Blond and bubbly as she was, she was practically the all-American girl. And when she got her position with her dance company at such a young age, not even twenty, her family couldn't have been prouder.

But then, Elle had decided that honesty was the absolute best policy with her folks, and opened to them about how she was rather bisexual—maybe something like a sixty-forty split between her preference of men and women, respectively.

Her parents freaked out, and now they and Elle only really spoke on holidays. Elle never stayed over at their place in the country, and they never came to visit.

In the meantime, Elle had grown closer and closer to Sophia—which suited Sophia just fine. Sophia was distant from her own mother, and her father had never been a part of the equation to begin with.

Elle and Sophia had, over several glasses of wine, made the mistake of trying to make it work with each other once more. That was quite recent—the weekend after Todd left Sophia, as a matter of fact. Weeks ago. Sophia was completely broken up, and Elle, wonderful, sweet Elle had been there to comfort her.

Their lips on each other’s lips, their legs sliding over each other’s.

It had been hot.

And it had been, they both decided, a bad idea. At the time, Sophia had thought that's all it was—a sweet night to forget the pain. But Elle let it slip that she had heavy, romantic notions still about Sophia which just weren't going away on their own. They each felt nothing but guilty the next day, binging on fast food and crying to each other over the phone. Thankfully, their friendship was strong enough to deal with it.

“Ugh, sorry,” said Elle. “That was my bad, bringing that up. I’m totally cool with, you know. Everything.”

“Me too!” said Sophia. “I don’t know. I’m not like that, where I can just sleep with someone new. I can’t do it like you.”

Elle mocked being offended. “Well don’t look at me like I’m some slut.”

“No, Elle. Come on. You know I don’t think that about you. It’s just...” she sighed. “What I want is hard to find anyway. If I just wanted a cock, I’d wait for Todd to get home, probably.”

Oh god, that was a bit too open. Sophia loved Elle, but she wasn’t sure she trusted her with that information.

Elle leaned forward, her eyes widening. “Oh yeah? Sophia has some special needs? Do tell.”

“Come on. No.”

There were people buzzing around the diner. Sophia already felt too exposed.

“I like being spanked. I’ve told you that.”

Sophia did her best not to roll her eyes, as much as she wanted. “You won’t stop telling me that.”

“Well, I really like it, dammit. So what’s your deal?”

Fine. It had been long enough with only Sophia knowing. Someone else
had
to know, for Sophia’s sake, if only to spread the burden of the knowledge around.

“I want to be...” she took a breath. “I want to be dominated. Like, really dominated by a man. Like, totally.”

“Oh wow...”

“God,” Sophia put her face in her hands. “You think I’m a weirdo. You think I’m just the worst.”

“No, no! It’s nothing like that. That’s totally cool. I mean, it’s not my thing, strictly speaking, but that’s cool. Everybody’s got a thing. I like being spanked.”

“I
know
.”

They both laughed.

“Wow. Domination, huh? You’re a sub.” Elle shook her head. Her salad was done, now. “I’m just so surprised Todd does that. He seems so uptight.”

And Sophia, embarrassed at the whole situation, didn’t have the heart to tell her friend the truth.

Chapter 4

Only once had Sophia ever dared to bring up the subject of domination and submission to her fiancé. It happened the week after he had proposed to her.

They were sitting down in the living room of Todd’s apartment, having finished off a bottle of wine between the two of them, and Sophia was feeling particularly randy...and particularly brave.

“God,” he said loudly. “I’d kill for a blowjob.”

He turned at her and smiled, as if he expected her not to comply, somehow. A failure of communication on her part. Sophia leaned in, wrapping one long leg around his, and slid a dainty hand through his curly brown hair.

“You don’t have to kill for it,” she whispered in his ear. “You just have to...”

“Ask for it?”

She shook her head, feeling so timid.

The problem with being a sub was that it was so damn hard asking to be dominated. Much of the time, you just wanted the person you were with to
know
already.

Bringing up any part of yourself was such a burden for someone to live with. If you did that, they would feel obligated to do what you said...and then you were just giving someone an obligation.

She knew, somehow, that the people she liked really just wanted to do what she wanted because they liked her. Or in Todd's case, loved her. But...well. If she was wrong about that, if they
only
wanted to do it because they liked or loved her, and not because they really wanted to do it—that ruined the whole thing.

But still. Sophia was horny, adventurous. Sliding her leg further up onto Todd's thigh, she continued to nip at his ear playfully.

“What if you just...y’know...ordered me to do it?”

“Ordered you?” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” she whispered in his ear. “You could just grab my hair, pull it back, and say, ‘suck it, slut. Suck me like a good girl.’ Or something.”

He let out a laugh, genuinely amused.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, turning away. “I’m sure that would go over super well. Come on. Be real.”

A discouraging response, if ever there was one. Still, Sophia had gone this far. She had to keep trying.

“What if it did?” she asked breathily. “Wouldn’t that be great for you? If you could just order me around however you wanted, whenever you wanted?”

“You mean like, what, order you to do dishes and clean and stuff? You do that anyway. You’re great at it.”

Clearly, from the tone of his voice, he thought he was being magnanimous.

With a huff, Sophia moved up and walked across the small area of the apartment to the kitchen. Was there any more wine?

“What’s wrong?” he called after her. “What did I say?”

“Nothing,” she shook her head. “Nothing.”

He stood up, then, walking after her. Turning her around, he shut the fridge behind her.

“Come on,” he said, taking her hand. “Tell me. Please. I want to know.”

She took a moment to compose herself, so that not every word was framed in shuddering, pathetic sobs.

“I’m really turned on by the thought of you...of you dominating me. Holding me down. Ordering me around. Like, not for domestic things. Not purely that. Like sexually. You could order me to do anything. Order me to make out with a girl for you, whatever. That’s what I like. I like it a lot.”

He looked stunned. “Have you ever
done
anything like that?”

“No. Not really. I went out with a guy briefly, and we did some stuff. Some hot dom and sub things. But that was it.”

His instant disgust made her completely obfuscate the truth that also involved Elle.

He crossed his arms. “Then how do you know you like it, I guess would be my question?” His face lit up, like he had landed on something big. “Maybe you don’t. Maybe it was just that guy.”

She sighed. He wasn’t getting it.

He wasn’t understanding that a person’s kinks were decided for them, largely, not the other way around. And Todd—so vanilla and normal, which normally was something she loved about him—had just bypassed all of the interesting stuff.

But, trying to acquiesce and be cooperative, she nodded slowly. “Maybe...maybe you’re right.”

Taking a breath, she stood up and hugged him. So much for that effort.

“I’m sorry I’m moody.”

He gripped her hard. “It’s all right. That's all just, super weird, right? I mean, what was this guy like, who actually dug doing that sort of thing?”

“Um,” Sophia felt quite vulnerable now. Todd was talking about someone else...but he was really talking about her. “I don't know. He was a guy.”

“It just seems so...
weird
, you know? That someone would want that? I read that was like a sexual disorder to want that sort of thing. And like, I don't want to see you with another girl. That's weird. It seems like, you know, a sort of insanity to me. I mean, sex with just one person, by itself, is great enough, isn't it? Why complicate things?”

Oh god.

“Y-yeah,” Sophia laughed. “You're right. I'm sorry. This was just...just a joke. Haha.”

Todd, oblivious, nodded.

“You want to be dominated.” He smiled and shook his head. “I guess I'll put you on a leash and tug you around on a collar, huh?”

It was awfully strange, having a mixture of shame and arousal slip through a person at once. The problem was, Sophia would have
loved
if he did that. But no...no, she hadn't been able to stand up for herself, and Todd had made it all a joke, now.

A problem for “Future Sophia,” obviously.

Normally, she loved his ability to make jokes of anything. But when the core of her became the butt of his mirth...it was hard to cope.

That night, they had sex as usual. He even called her a slut and (halfheartedly) tugged her hair, smiling and chuckling as he did it. She had to smile with him, even though on the inside she was completely mortified. Her inner-kink was just sobbing and wailing in a corner, trying to shut off reality.

And, despite her best efforts, despite all her trying to get in that proper head space, she couldn’t orgasm, and truth be told—she could barely enjoy him at all.

Chapter 5

Back at work, after lunch, she tried to learn the ebbs and flows of the office. An average of three people came and dropped by something for her to review and give to Sand every five minutes.

After Elle left lunch early to get back to her dance studio, Sophia had been able to spend a good half-hour reading the packet. She found out all sorts of odd, idiosyncratic information:

- Mr. Sand arrived every morning at 6 AM. Her own arrival was not to happen past thirty minutes of his.

- Mr. Sand wanted constant streams of new, non-lyrical music that “wasn’t any of that weird new-age crap.” Repetitions of music he had already heard would be frowned upon.

- Entering his office was to be preceded by three knocks, every time, even in emergencies.

- Anyone besides her attempting to enter his office was to be accompanied by her, and every word exchanged between he and the visiting party written down.

- If Mr. Sand wore a cream-colored tie, he wanted a salad for lunch. A blue tie indicated something meaty. Three blue ties in a row indicated he was going to be skipping lunch altogether.

It was, all in all, a lot to take in.

Gathering her composure, Sophia entered his office with another cup of coffee. One sugar, no cream, spun three times around with a cinnamon stick.

She entered the office and took exactly seven seconds to approach his desk at the other end of the room. He was typing at a computer, and apparently hadn’t noticed her.

That was fine by Sophia.

She walked around to the far right side of his immense tree-stump desk, and set down the coffee on the self-heating coaster within arm’s reach. The only way this was possible was by bending over, revealing her rather substantial breasts.

Keeping his focus on the computer, he didn’t seem to notice.

She waited for five seconds at the edge of the desk, not looking directly at him, awaiting further instructions. When he didn’t say anything, she let out a breath and began walking out—doing her best to time it to about seven seconds. Any longer was dallying, and any time shorter was rushing. Everything had to be done in its exact time—all of this information in the packet.

“What perfume are you wearing?” he asked, just as she had her hand around the knob.

She looked back. He was still typing, not looking up from the computer.

“Hunger,” she said, raising her voice just enough to be heard across the long cavern of the office. “It's by um, Olgo Meve, I think.”

“Give yourself a wash, yes? You smell like a dog’s washtub. Try some Coco Chanel #5. It’s cliché, I suppose, but at least it’s not offensive.” When she didn’t say anything to defend herself, he continued. “You could stand a different hair-cut and some nicer clothes as well, I suppose, though you can wait for your first paycheck for that. In any case, you’re not allowed to appear like trash. Or smell like it.”

“Y-yes...” she struggled for a moment. “Yes sir.”

Struggling to keep her composure, she stepped out of the office and immediately rushed to Julie.

“I need you to keep a watch on my desk for five minutes, please.”

She said each word hurriedly, not knowing at what point her immense embarrassment was going to transform into shame and self-hatred.

“Of course, dear,” Julie smiled, apparently already understanding. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes!”

Of course it wasn’t. Sophia slipped into the bathroom, locking it behind her, and tore off her blouse. Almost she didn’t even bother to unbutton it, but then she would have to face Sand with a ripped piece of clothing—she didn’t even want to imagine the consequences in that case.

He had been so...so brutal. So cold. She didn’t deserve that. She had dressed
nice
. She didn’t just go around thinking how proud she was that she looked like trash—and she
didn’t
look like trash. She had on perfectly acceptable office attire.

Tears holding back nobly behind her eyes, she splashed water up on her neck and face, trying to wash off any traces of the perfume she had on.

With a pang of irritated sadness, she recalled just hours before when she had been disgusted that he gave her the once-over with his eyes. Now it seemed as though that wasn’t because she was attractive. It was because he found her to be
trash
.

She wasn’t sure which was worse in his eyes—being someone attractive who didn’t know how to work, or being someone attractive who dressed like trash (and who probably still didn’t know how to work according to his imperious standards).