The Billionaire's Plaything

I stared at the ornate doorbell, feeling like the world’s
biggest idiot. As I tried to muster up the courage to press the button, my
ingenious idea seemed far, far more idiotic than it had when I’d woken up in bed
this morning. I sighed, my finger hovering in midair mere inches from the
doorbell.
I should give this up,
I thought, resigned.
Go home, pour
myself some wine, throw a real nice pity party...

As I was about to turn around and
admit defeat, the door swung open. “Mr. Black is awaiting you,” a solemn man
said, his arm tucked behind his back.

“He—what?” I stammered. “I didn’t
even actually—”

“We have been interviewing young
women all day,” the man said.

Is he an actual, real-life
butler?
I wondered, amazed.
Oh my god.
His tone was neutral, but I
sensed that he was rolling his eyes inwardly. “Appointment or not, I presume
you are here regarding the job opening. Mr. Black would like to speak with
you.”

I stepped into the mansion, my
eyes growing wide as saucers as I took in the foyer. It was like something out
of a movie. The house was basically a smaller Versailles on the outside, so I
shouldn’t have been surprised, but if even just the front room was this
incredible—

“Is that a real Blake?” I
squeaked as we walked past a spectacular and dark painting of a woman being
tormented by a demon.

“Of course,” the butler said,
sounding affronted that it had even occurred to me to ask. “Mr. Black is an
avid appreciator of fine art. His collection is one of the finest private
collections in the world.”

I gawked my way up the stairs and
down the hall, hardly able to take in the lavishness of the house. It was one
thing to know how that a person is rich, but for a struggling young lady like
myself, the word “billionaire” hadn’t really meant anything concrete to me.
Seeing this house made it real.

“Mr. Black’s chambers,” the
butler said, ushering me inside. The room looked to be an office, just as
well-appointed as the rest of the house. The butler, who didn’t follow me in,
shut the door softly behind me. I walked slowly into the room, jumping only
slightly when a low voice spoke to me out of a dark corner.

“I am Carter Black,” said a man
that I hadn’t immediately noticed. I gaped even more as he stepped forward: Mr.
Black was not only rich, he was
gorgeous
. His suit had obviously been
made just for him. His dark, slicked-back hair was both sophisticated and
modern, not a strand out of place. His eyes were completely arresting. As I
dumbly reached out a hand, he raised one inquisitive eyebrow. “And you are...?”

“Oh! I’m Cerise. Cerise
Rousseau.” I was astonished when Mr. Black kissed my hand rather than shake it.

“I presume you’re here based on
certain—rumors about me,” he said, his voice like velvet over steel. I could
tell that if I said the wrong thing, I’d be out of here, and fast.

“Yes, and no,” I said cautiously.

He barked a short, hard laugh.
“Some of them are true.” Mr. Black circled me like a lion. I felt like I was
about to be eaten. “I am a difficult man to work with, Miss Rousseau. I don’t
like to be questioned. I don’t like to repeat myself. I am used to getting what
I want. I can be—eccentric. As my personal assistant, your responsibility is to
ensure that I get what I want at all times. Can you do that?”

“Y-yes, sir,” I stammered, my
face flushing beet-red. It sounded like a tall order, but I really needed the
job. I was facing eviction in the next week if I didn’t get some cash.

“Why didn’t you submit your
application with the rest of the group?” he asked coolly. “Or at all?”

“I—I had a job during the
application period,” I said, feeling about as awkward as I ever had in my life.
“There was a misunderstanding, and...” I trailed off, staring at my feet. This
was easily the worst interview of all time.

“Really,” he said, sounding
uninterested. “Very well, you will start tomorrow. I’ll send a suitable
wardrobe to your apartment by then.” I flushed as he gave my best interview
outfit a look that I might have reserved for rotting garbage. “Give your
address to Charles and a car will pick you up in the morning.”

####

“Ms. Rousseau!” an angry voice
echoed down the hall. I cringed, certain I’d messed up yet again. Mr. Black’s
preferences were nearly impossible to keep straight, no matter how hard I
tried.

My new heels clicked on the
marble floor as I rushed into his office. “Yes, sir?” I asked meekly.

“Where is my coffee?” he growled,
his handsome face twisted into an expression of extreme irritation.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I
blurted, my face flushing. That was something I definitely should have
remembered.

“That’s the fourth mistake you’ve
made this week,” Mr. Black said angrily, clearly not ready to let me off the
hook. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Get your coffee right away,” I
said desperately. “And apologize again.”

“I don’t think that will be
enough this time,” he said curtly, his face like a thundercloud. He rose to his
feet, glowering at me. “I am tired of your incompetence!”

“Oh, please, don’t fire me!” I
cried. “I’ll do anything!” I dropped to my knees in front of him, my hands
clasped. “Please, I really need this job!” As I looked up at him, my eyes
brimming with tears, I saw with a shock that his neatly-pressed slacks were
bulging out at the crotch. Without thinking about it, I rested my face against
his thigh, smelling the scent of his expensive cologne.

Mr. Black stared down at me for a
moment, breathing hard, then his fingers were scrabbling at his zipper. I
whimpered as his cock sprang free, my pussy growing wet as I took my first look
at the thick, veiny shaft and swollen, purple head.

“You must do as I say!” Mr. Black
shouted, slapping my face lightly with his dick, first one cheek, then the
other. I felt sticky precum smear across my skin. “Beg for forgiveness!”

“I’m so sorry,” I cried, a bit
surprised at how much I was enjoying being utterly repentant. I had developed
love-hate feelings with Mr. Black in the two weeks I’d been working for him—love
for that face and that ridiculous body, and hate for his awful attitude.
Something about this situation created the perfect fusion of the two. My pussy
was nearly dripping. “I’m so sorry, I’ll do better next time—”

As I pleaded, Mr. Black cut me
short by sliding that fat cock into my mouth. “Yes, you will,” he snarled, his
fingers grabbing my hair. I struggled not to gag as his lengthy shaft slid down
my throat. Even as the tears in my eyes spilled over my lids and trickled down
my cheeks, I felt my panties soak through with arousal. I moaned desperately as
Mr. Black fucked my face roughly. With his free hand, he grabbed the collar of
my expensive silk blouse, which he had, of course, paid for, and wrenched it
open. Buttons flew across the floor as my lace-clad breasts spilled out.

“Take that off,” he ordered, his
hips bucking rhythmically. I awkwardly reached behind my back and unhooked the
gorgeous black bra, my tits bouncing out as Mr. Black continued to use my
mouth. I felt almost animalistic as I knelt with my thighs spread wide and tits
bared, my boss’s cock plunging down my throat. I’d never been more aroused.

From the looks of it, Mr. Black
hadn’t, either. His lips were slightly parted, and small groans escaped him as
he used me just as he liked. With his hand hard on the back of my head, I
couldn’t have moved away if I’d wanted to. I didn’t. The salty taste of his cum
spread across my tongue as his cock dribbled thick white fluid. His thrusts
sped up, and I struggled to stretch my jaw wide enough for that his thick
shaft.

Mr. Black groaned desperately,
pulling his cock out of my mouth and jerking it in his tight fist towards me.
Hot, thick ropes of cum spurted over my face and tits as he orgasmed. I smiled
with smug satisfaction, licking at a droplet of semen that had landed on my
lips. Mr. Black stood stock-still for a long moment, then adjusted himself,
zipping his pants up again.

“Get out of here,” he said
stiffly. “Clean yourself up, then send Charles to me.” He turned his back to
me.

I was confused, and, frankly, a
little hurt. Here I was, all hot and bothered after being totally dominated,
slathered in my sexy boss’s semen, having given what I thought was a stellar
blowjob, and that’s the thanks I got? Frowning, I gathered the remains of my
blouse together and headed off to the bathroom to wipe down. Fortunately, there
was a closet of extra clothing for me in the upstairs hall. I changed and sent
Charles in to Mr. Black’s office, brainstorming how to get him to let loose
like that again.

Imagine my dismay when I could
barely get him to look at me for the rest of the week. He didn’t even say
anything when I intentionally put one too many sugar cubes in his coffee,
although I could tell from his moue of disgust that he noticed. I purposefully
left my buttons unbuttoned low, hiked my skirts up, anything I could think of.
I’d pretty much given up by Friday afternoon, but my hopes were rekindled when
Mr. Black slunk out of his office and sat at the chair in front of my desk.

“Ms. Rousseau. Cerise. We need to
talk,” he said seriously. “What I did the other day—that was totally
unacceptable. I don’t believe it’s a good idea for you to work here anymore.”

“No!” I cried, dismayed.

“It’s all my fault, of course.
I’m granting you a severance check that should more than make up for my...
breach of decorum.” He handed me a check. My eyes nearly bulged out of my skull
when I saw the amount, but I steeled myself.

“I don’t want your money,” I said
bravely, tearing the check in half. “Unless I’m working for it, that is. I want
to do what we did again.”

“Pardon?” he said, his voice like
a glacier. “You must be mistaken. I—”

“I really, really liked it,” I
whispered, flushing. “You taking over like that.”

He sat stone-silent for a long
minute. “If that’s true...” Mr. Black said slowly. “If that’s true, would you
care to accompany me for dinner this evening?”

“Mr. Black!” I exclaimed, leaping
to my feet. “I would love to. Am I un-fired?”

“We’ll see,” he said, the corner
of his mouth twitching up. “And call me Carter.”

When I got home, I tore through
my closets searching for something nice enough to wear on a date with a man
like Carter Black. I’d thrown everything I owned onto the floor in a fit of
panic and was on the verge of tears when my doorbell rang. It was a deliveryman
with a garment bag and several boxes of what appeared to be accessories. I
signed for the packages, then whisked them inside.

The garment bag had a note on the
front:
Cerise, I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of procuring
you an outfit for tonight. Consider this my apology. -C.G.
I gasped as I
unzipped the garment bag. Out slid the most elegant dress I’d ever seen. It was
floor-length, and the perfect shade of wine-red. I could tell by the weight and
the shine of the fabric that it was top quality—not that I knew anything about
silk, of course. It fit me like a glove. I didn’t know how he did it—he’d never
taken my measurements for either my work clothes or for this, but the dress fit
like it had been made just for me. The other boxes included a spectacular (if
precariously tall) pair of black pumps, earrings and a necklace that I was
sure
couldn’t be real diamonds, and—

I gasped, nearly dropping the
last box. My hands shaking a little, I pulled out a black lace teddy and a
thong that was barely more than a string. “Carter, you naughty boy,” I
murmured, setting them aside. There were two more things in the box, obscured
by tissue paper. My face had turned about 50 shades of red by the time I had
them both unwrapped.

The first item was a pair of
nipple clamps. They were small, and when I tested them on my fingers, I could
tell they wouldn’t pinch too hard. Still, they would be juuuuust barely visible
through my new dress, if one was looking—and in a dress like that, people would
be looking. The second item was an egg-shaped vibrator with no controls or
switches on it. There was another note in the box:
Make sure to wear these,
too. -C.G.