In Service To The Billionaire by Heather Chase Read Free Book Online Page A

on was exclusive—for men doms, anyway, with income verification and so forth. She signed up for it easily, however—all she had to turn in, as a woman, was “proof of attractiveness,” which meant giving a photo of herself, dressed in a random outfit that their generator asked for. She supposed they got a lot of fakes, once upon a time.
    So she found herself redoing her make-up for the day, putting on what they asked for—a white-striped shirt with something orange in her hands. She just picked an orange. Using her phone, it was simple enough to take the photo and then upload it and wait.
    She expected to have to wait a day or two—but she got a response verifying her acceptance within thirty minutes as she idly stroked her hot cunt, licking her lips at Sand's profile, reading through the packet of his rules (his orders , she now considered them), and losing herself in a dozen little fantasies.
    Quickly, she set about to writing a profile . She used the same sign-in as she did in the chatrooms, subvixen, and the same profile as well. For her profile picture, she put up a photo with her wearing nylons and her highest pair of heels, showing off the tight, luscious curve of her legs beneath the tight cloth of one of her clubbing dresses.
    She got up, typing her own message in response to his profile:
    ExecStud,
    I love the profile. I have to tell you, I’m all you want and more.
    I read things like what you have there, and I can’t help but want to obey and give you everything you need.
    I know you must get hundreds and hundreds of requests all the time from girls on this site, their pussies dripping with the need for your incredible cock.
    How can I prove to you that I’m the real deal?
    - subvixen
    And then for the rest of the night she studied his orders in the packet and fingered her hot pussy until she fell asleep, dreaming up all the ways that he would command her to prove her worth.

Chapter 8
    Waking up the next morning—bright and early at 5 AM on Friday—she expected to be tired. She expected, really, to have her original disdain of the job returned, and that all the interest that had built up the night before would have evaporated like so much smoke.
    But no. She woke up, in fact, gripping her pillow tight, her fingers on top of her luscious mound, her consciousness switching on in fact to her moaning out, “Oh Masterr...oh Master...” again and again.
    So, yes—she was going to follow through with the plan. Make him want her—online and at work—and then cash in on the build-up of his desire.
    It felt so empowering to have a plan.
    To that end, she hopped into the shower and quickly prepared herself—within an hour, the hot young twenty-two year-old was dressed as sexy as she dared.
    She wore a tight white blouse, which she felt was sort of a staple in hot office fantasies. If at any time that felt too daring, she had a neutral (if also rather tight) black sweater to pull over her ample breasts. Smoky dark stockings lined her long legs, the lovely shape of which were advertised doubly by her sharp tight gray skirt, the hem ending right above her knee. Her high-heeled shoes provided a modest lift—three inches—enough to show off without overtly advertising.
    Wrapped in a bun behind her head, her dark-hair was still starkly professional—and yet she knew (from reading naughty stories and seeing plenty of naughty pictures) that a bun in the mind of a sex-hungry man was little more than an opportunity to watch a girl’s hair fall down her back at his behest.
    Arriving at the office at six-fifteen after another morning bus ride, she was happy and congenial to everyone she met. She was surprised to see so many—more than half the staff—already there so early. All of them, perhaps, were hoping to get noticed by Mr. Sand like she was.
    Of course, probably they didn’t want the same kind of attention as Sophia.
    “My my,” said Julie, arranged in a bright blue dress, when she saw Sophia.