The Billionaire's Lesson Read online

  The Billionaire's Lesson

  By

  Anya Adonis

  Copyright © 2012 Anya Adonis

  All Rights Reserved

  All Romance ebooks Edition

  ***

  Bill

  One of my most formative memories took place in my Dad's office on the top floor of a posh highrise he owned. I don't remember if it was the one in Chicago or New York.... The location, I guess, isn't important.

  Anyways, I'd just turned eighteen and was meeting with him in regards to the financial feasibility of buying a car. He, as he always did, made me research the topic, prepare supporting materials and report my findings to him in a professional manner.

  He took in my information without a word. His smooth, wrinkled face blank of expression. I remember desperately trying to determine if he'd arched his eyebrows, even a little bit, at my final conclusion.

  Dad let out a stern sigh and prefaced his remarks in his usual fashion. “Son, with you having grown up wealthy, I've always been concerned you don't grasp how desperate people are for money; how they'll do anything for more – ”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.” Impatient at hearing the same old spiel, I rudely cut him off.

  My Dad frowned at me and his face grew red. “So you're asking me for a favor and you dare, no, have the gall to be ungrateful, before I even consent?”

  “Well, it's my money, Dad. You're in control of it now, but you won't be forever.”

  “You're assuming more than you know. You know, if you're deemed unable or incompetent or, hell, if you piss me off... you won't receive a nickel.” He paused to laugh bitterly at my shocked gasp. “In fact, that would make you the first man to bear the name William Worth, since your great-grandfather, to be poor.”

  I'd always taken for granted at twenty-one I'd be rich. No mention had ever been made of it being up to my Dad. “I-I'm sorry. Forget the whole thing.”

  He knitted his fingers together, tsk-ed, and said,“You know I won't, Bill. Not unless you earn back my respect. Like I always tell you, 'don't give anything away for nothing.' Your inheritance is expected to be valued at one point two billion dollars. It's of grave importance you learn to appreciate the power of such fortune.” His eyes narrowed and he glared at me.

  I avoided his stare and looked down at the plush Berber rug under my feet. “What do I have to do.” My Dad's punishments, though not cruel were generally of the unusual nature.

  “Hmmm.” He stroked his chin dramatically. “I'd really like to make sure you appreciate the message I've tried to instill in you. I suppose, it's been a little much for me to expect you'd simply understand the concept without a demonstration.... Patty,” he said, speaking into the intercom on his desk.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Have the new hire, Roberta, report to me at once.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “I think you'll like Roberta, she's young, a little older than you at nineteen and very cute.” He placed his hand to the side of his mouth, and whispered, “I wouldn't bother trying to take her out if I were you, she's a good girl or so I'm told.”

  The door buzzed open and in walked a timid brunette in an old, blue dress. I judged by how threadbare it was around its hems it may have been the only outfit she owned. It was too bad too, in the right clothes with her brown hair styled and makeup done, she'd have been a total knockout.

  She stood in front of my Dad's desk, arms not just crossed, wound tight around her torso, head bowed, tremors shaking through her long, skinny legs. “You, uh, called, Mr. Worth?” She asked, so softly I could barely hear her.

  “SPEAK UP, when you address me,” Dad roared.

  “Yes, sir,” she said, her voice too high, too shrill.

  His brow creased. “Dear lord, you're a mess, child.”

  “Sorry....” Her whole body quivered and she looked longingly at the stylish chair next to where I sat. With great difficulty, I caught her eye and motioned for her to take a seat.

  She rested the weight of her arm on the armrest, and Dad said, “I wouldn't do that if I were you. He's not the one who writes your check.” Roberta resumed her earlier pose. “Now uncross your arms, puff out your chest and hold your head up high. If you're going to make it in the business world you must exude confidence.”

  She, of course, did as she was told. Her erect stance a mockery of professionalism as her long, nylon-ed legs wobbled, her red face purple-ed and her eyes misted.

  Dad didn't betray his delight with a grin, but I, having spent so much of my life decoding his cryptic expressions, detected in his slightly arched eyebrows his pleasure. He left her hanging like that for a time, and said, “Very good, Roberta, you may sit down now.”

  She exhaled deeply and confused creases weaved their way across her forehead. I imagine, she was wondering what she'd done wrong and expected she was unaware of her role as a pawn.

  I would've liked to tell her sorry, run my fingers through her hair and tell her everything would be alright – anything to make her smile, to wipe the kicked puppy dog look from her face.

  Dad assumed a canned fatherly tone, and said, “It was very difficult, I imagine, for you to get your job here.” He pulled out a personnel file, smacked it down on his desk and after leafing through it for a few seconds, he said, “First real job, too.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Satisfy my curiosity will you? What circumstances have compelled you to join the workforce?”

  “My Mother was a seamstress, but since she's taken ill she wasn't able to keep the business going. I took a secretarial course and got a job here.”

  “The pay is barely enough, isn't it?”

  “We manage.”

  He tutted and gave her a hurt look. “Don't lie to me, Roberta.”

  She let out an almost exasperated sigh.

  She might just have a little spirit in her, underneath her shy exterior.

  “The pay... it's barely enough,”she said, and the little fight in her seemed to fade.

  “But better than anywhere else though?”

  “Yes.”

  “You appreciate that, at least?”

  “I do.”

  “Good.” Dad's face broke into a sickening grin. He didn't smile much and when he did, well, it wasn't generally a good thing. My nerves wound up tight, anxious of what he'd say next.

  He placed his hands on his desk and weaved them together, absentmindedly twiddling his thumbs. “I would like to help, give you a raise and perhaps some other consolations.” He let her ruminate on this for a moment before frowning at her. “Unfortunately, your performance has been barely adequate. It would be difficult to justify the extra expenditure to your supervisor, particularly when others are more deserving.”

  She was bad at hiding her emotions. It was hard for me to watch as she crumpled in her seat.. I wondered if she had any inkling, as I did, that he was leveraging her, breaking her down, getting her cornered and desperate,

  “However.” His eyes gleamed and he stared at her perky breasts, clearly contained in a white bra as the sad state of her dress' fabric was nearly transparent from wear. “Were you to assist me in a personal matter, I might be able to justify an increase in pay. Would you be interested?”

  A lump formed in my throat and I swallowed it back hard. Where is he going with this?

  She smiled cautiously. “Yes sir, I would.”

  “Excellent. Now understand, due to the sensitive nature of this matter, you will need to sign a nondisclosure waiver.” He reached into his desk and quickly scribbled out a few notes on a form he removed. Passing the paper to her, he pointed to a signature line, and said, “Sign here, dear.”

  I'd had enough. She was signing her soul to the devil
whether she knew it or not. “Dad – ”

  “Not now.” He waved his hand dismissively at me and shot me a warning look.

  She signed, dated the agreement and asked, “Okay, what now?”

  “I need you to do one more thing, to show me you're the right person for the task. Stand up please.”

  Roberta, still weak in the legs, pushed herself to her feet, her hands clenched to the armrests for support.

  “Now, lift your dress up to your waist.”

  She looked at him with disbelief. “What did you say... sir?”

  “Lift your dress to your waist,” he said, enunciating each syllable with great emphasis as though she was slow.

  “I-I – ”

  “I'm going to put a number down on a piece of paper; if you simply show me your panties, I will write you a check for that sum, regardless of whether you do anything more.” He picked up a spiral notebook and with his finest solid gold pen wrote down a sum. He motioned for her to stand beside him and showed her the amount. “Is that agreeable? You're just showing us your underwear after all. I expect we're not the first men to have seen them.”

  Her face burned bright red and she bit her lip. “Okay.” She slowly reached down to the bottom of her dress and began to pull it up.

  “No, no. Do that over there.” He gestured to the side of his desk. “Junior won't be able to see.”

  The lump in my throat grew even tighter as I watched her staring in our direction blankly. It was like her soul was being extracted before my eyes.

  “Now, lift up.”

  A visible shiver shook through her and she pulled the fabric to her waist. She went to push it back down immediately after, but Dad snapped, “You aren't getting paid for a mere panty flash, keep your dress up until I tell you otherwise.”

  Uncomfortably, she shifted her weight from foot to foot. God, it must have been so awkward for her given she wore white granny panties and a pair of busted, tan garters that barely held her knee-high nylons in place.

  “Turn around. I want to see your derriere.”

  Obediently, she pivoted around with a shuffle of her feet. Even in her saggy underwear, I could tell she had what one would describe as a heart-shaped butt; round at the bottom and tapering to her thin waist in an elegant curve.

  “Come closer.” She went to drop the cloth down again, but Dad wagged his index finger back and forth, and said, “Ah-ah. Keep it up.”

  He examined the front of her underpants, pushed his fingertip into her mound and chuckled. “My, my, you're enjoying this. You're absolutely wet to the touch.”

  Dad continued to molest her through the thin cotton fabric of her panties and an unfiltered groan left her lips. Her chin tilted back and she squeezed her eyes shut.

  I have to admit, I felt angry with her, as if she'd betrayed me somehow. Not only was she proving him right, she was enjoying herself.

  Shortly thereafter, her noises turned into breathless sighs. Dad asked, “Roberta remember that number I wrote down?”

  She nodded her head and looked at him through inquisitive eyes.

  “Let's say we put a one in front of it. Would you be willing to strip naked and let Junior spank you?”

  “Yes,” she said, without a moment's hesitation.

  He patted her on the rear affectionately as she turned and removed her clothes. “Good girl.”

  Her pale flesh exposed, a wry little smile played across her face at our aroused attention. The bashful girl of earlier was replaced by a woman, newly aware of her sexual charms. She placed her palms on the front of Dad's desk and assumed the position. “How's this?”

  “Perfect,” he said, and looked over at me. “Billy-boy, you do this and you regain my respect.”

  So you see. My punishment was to punish someone else, someone poorer, more desperate. A masterstroke from my Dad in proving his point, I guess.

  I stood up, at first, to storm out of the room, to leave my inheritance behind me, to yell. But here's the thing, on standing, I realized I'd become painfully erect. The wind in my sails died and my cheeks burnt hot with humiliation.

  “Come on. This will only take a few minutes of your time, and then you can go and do whatever it is you do,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

  I glared at him in displeasure and stepped behind Roberta. My dick throbbed and pulsed at the sight of her voluptuous bottom and her petite, naked figure. She seemed too delicate, too fragile to be able to take the abuse I was charged to give her.

  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, w
ere 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.