Romance: The Billionaires Collection (Watched By A Billionaire, Stranded With A Billionaire, Caught By A Billionaire, Billionaire Stepbrother) (4 page)

Within an hour, I'm stood looking at my reflection in
the mirror, my skin feeling soft and smooth and bereft of any
lingering hairs. I'm wearing some simple frilly lingerie, a dark tone
of red with black lining, that cups my breasts together and feels
soft and gentle against my skin.

My hair is shining bright and wavy, my eyes sparkling a
shallow blue, with all of it brought out by a generous application of
make up.

“
You look amazing, Ashley,” the girls tell me once
the job is done and Randall re-enters, uttering the same sentiment.

“
A vision,” he says, before pulling me out of the
chair and leading me to the door.

He begins reciting the procedure to me once more. Thirty
minute performance, the guy will be called Brett, I must smile when I
enter, make sure I put on a good show.

Make it great, and I'll earn more...

The thought rolls about in my head, the only thing
keeping me from going mad.

I continue down the corridor, and my heart race
continues to leap forward, picking up speed. Randall stops me at the
door, and tells me to take off my robe, and with a final smile he
walks back off down the corridor without looking back.

And now it's just me and whatever's waiting beyond the
door. A man, ready to fuck me. Millionaires, billionaires, ready to
watch.

And me.

I walk through, my legs tingling and heart pacing.

You can do this, Ashley.

Chapter Five

I quickly take in my surroundings, but there's little to
see.

The room is square, glass walls on each side reflecting
what's within. In the center of the room is a bed, covered in nothing
but white sheets, and above lights shine down, creating a quiet
buzzing sound.

My eyes fall to the man by the bed, standing, waiting,
looking at the door. He wears a mask on the top half of his face,
something Randall had told me about, and a pair of white underwear,
unmarked of any label or brand.

Nothing else covers his gorgeous physique, every inch of
him exposed. The sight of his fit, toned, frame brings a pang of
relish to my body. He looks just like the sort I'd go for. A model
type, the sort of body you'd see on an Abercrombie ad modeling
underwear.

I smile, as told to, and walk forward, hearing the door
shut quietly behind me. There's no other sound in the room, no
indication at all of people behind the walls, watching me as they
drink and smoke.

I wonder if they'll be chatting too, mingling as if I'm
purely a sideshow. The idea gives me more confidence – the thought
that, perhaps, they're not paying full attention.

My body continues to shake slightly as I walk in, and
immediately he begins walking toward me. He walks gracefully, his
muscles twitching and clenching and tightening with each stride.

He reaches me, and I look through the small holes in his
mask, trying to find something in his eyes. All I see is a dark
expanse within, his eyes shrouded in shadow, his breathing silent and
mouth clamped shut, jaw set and cleanly shaven beneath his mask.

Randall's voice echoes in my ear.

“
He won't speak. Let him take charge, feel your way
into the performance...”

I stand, and wait for Brett's hands to raise. They do,
sliding up my sides, crisscrossing across my navel, rising through my
cleavage. The softness of his touch sends a spark through me as his
fingers touch the flesh of my breasts, quickly passing and rubbing
over my shoulders.

He takes my hand, steps backward until we're by the bed.
Already I'm thinking about how much time has passed, about how long
might be left.

I stand, arms down my
side, awkward and chest heaving as his hands reach behind my back and
pop open my bra strap. It falls quickly loose, and Brett slides his
hand over me, in one motion removing my bra and gliding his hands
across my nipples.

Another jolt rushes through me, my body tensing in an
odd mixture of apprehension and pleasure. His hands now meet my
chest, freed of its bonds, his fingers working around my nipples and
across my flesh with the dexterity of an artist.

My body shudders again, and I wonder what to do with my
hands. I try to forget the fact that people are watching, and imagine
what I would usually do.

I'd touch him back.

So I do.

My hands glide forward, and mimic his gentle feel,
exploring the shape of his muscles, his pecs and abs, as he is doing
mine. I feel his nipples harden too, the skin on his body standing on
end. And beneath his underwear, I see a familiar bulge growing.

I drop my hands, and run them over his imprisoned cock.
It's quickly hardening, and I can feel the full 8 inches Randall told
me about. The touch sends another lightning strike down on me, and a
light slickness starts to develop between my thighs.

His hands now mimic mine, dropping to my panties,
rubbing gently at the outside of the skimpy fabric. The moisture of
my pussy quickly sinks into the underwear, his fingers soon growing
moist with my juice.

The silent in the room is suddenly ended, the lightest
sounds of romantic music coming from speakers up above. The noise
makes me feel more comfortable, helping me lose myself in the moment
as my hands tickle under the waistband of his underwear and begin
pulling them down.

As I do, his hands meet my shoulders, and slowly usher
me down without words. I drop to my knees, drag his underwear to his
ankles. He steps out of them carefully as his cock extends out in
front of me.

I take the shaft, place the tip in my mouth, and roll my
tongue around it. Above, he looks down on my through his mask, the
black holes of his eyes giving away no emotion.

But my focus isn't on his mask, it's on his cock,
sliding it up and down my throat, pulling the majority of his eight
inches into my warm, wet mouth.

I suck his cock with control and relish, devouring it
like it's a delicious meal. Something to be savored, enjoyed, treated
with respect.

Now I'm not thinking about the time any longer, and
before I know it more has passed than a realize. I'm just beginning
to work out the rhythm of his growing breathing when he pulls me
away, kneels down himself, and removes my panties.

He begins eating my pussy, hitching one leg over his
shoulder, holding his hands under my ass to keep my balance. I yelp
as his tongue darts inside me. I sigh deeply as his lips close around
my clit.

I'm in a state of delirium when I feel myself lifted and
tossed back onto the bed. Before I know it he's pulling my legs apart
and has his tongue inside me again, his fingers working their way
around my lips and folds.

As if working to a specific schedule in his head, he
stops, suddenly, and positions himself in front of me. I lie my head
back as his dick begins its journey inside me, sliding in through my
wet hole.

He's bigger than most men I've fucked, but not the
biggest, and there's no pain except for the lightest moment of
discomfort. But as Randall told me, I don't grimace of make any
sounds of displeasure. Like a true actress, I merely moan and groan
in all the right ways until he's pounding me hard and all I feel is
the manic thrusting of his cock and the touch of his balls slapping
at my ass.

Suddenly, as he changes position and flips me round to
fuck me from behind, I feel the bed begin to turn, the entire room
slowly spinning around in a clockwise motion.

It must be for everyone to see all angles
,
I think to myself, before the sensation of his cock filling me up
once more makes me forget it all.

Intermittently, he pulls his cock out and begins eating
me from behind. I feel his tongue snake over my asshole, probing
somewhere I've never been probed, before his dick re-enters and
throbs inside me once again.

By now, I'm completely lost to it all, the fact that
people are watching me at this very moment becoming irrelevant at
worst, and exciting at best. The feeling is odd, but I get a buzz of
satisfaction at the idea that my sex is considered good enough for
such highly vaunted public consumption.

Brett flips me into various positions, continuing to
pummel me at different angles and with different levels of intensity
until he works out what really makes me tick. Soon, I'm coming, my
pussy growing even wetter, my groans echoing around the room and, at
times, becoming shrieks.

Somehow, I'm even louder than normal, losing myself to
the performance, trying to make it as appealing to the men beyond the
glass walls as I can.

What do they want to see? What do they want to hear?

I ask myself these questions, pushing Brett onto his
back and riding him hard, flipping around and doing the same in
reverse.

Before the 30 minutes is up, I've come again. And it's
all real. No faking, no need. Brett has elicited the right response,
and the situation itself has only served to enhance it.

And then, right on cue, Brett comes too. With the
control of a tight rope walker, he pumps me full of his come right
when the scheduled end of our performance is due, hitting the high
notes and finishing on a climax that's sure to receive a round of
applause beyond.

At least, if it was the equivalent of a stage show it
would. Because that was the finest fuck of my life.

But there is no applause. There's only me and Brett, the
guy in the mask, who's pulling out of me, his dick still dripping
come and pulling me up to my feet.

Suddenly, the light in the room changes, and it stops
moving, and I notice the walls turning black as if the view from both
ends is now blocked.

“
Clean yourself up,” says Brett. “They want to see
the sex, not the clean up.”

Already I can feel his semen dripping down my legs.

Then he pulls his underwear off the floor and puts them
back on, before heading toward the door on the opposite side of the
room to which I entered.

“
You were good, by the way,” he says before leaving.
“Good for a first performance. Maybe we'll work together again.”

And then he's gone, leaving me suddenly alone and
feeling awkward all of a sudden.

I clean myself, and put my panties and bra back on, and
just as I've done so, the door opens and Randall walks through,
beaming.

He passes me my robe, and helps it over my shoulders.

“
How did it go, Ashley?” he asks.

“
Um...good, I thought.”

“
And what did Brett say at the end?”

“
He said I was good.”

“
Excellent. Well, that's all for tonight my darling.
I'll get some feedback from the clients and I'll be in touch soon
with payment. That will be your base rate along with whatever tips
you might have received.”

He pulls a more serious look, his smile dissolving.

“
Just before you go,
assuming things went well...how did you
feel
about it all?”

It's scary how good it felt...

“
It felt good. I...enjoyed it, actually.”

His smile returns.

“
Good. Very good. And if we invite you back again?”

Now it's me who smiles, the thought of at least another
twenty grand taking me another step closer to my dream.

“
I suppose, Mr Taylor, that I'd have to accept.”

“
Excellent. Because I think this could turn into a
very prosperous relationship for both of us.”

And with that, I leave the building, step back into the
chauffeured car, and return to my parent's house, the smile never
leaving my face.

Chapter One

Dressed in jeans and a simple light blue blouse, I feel
a little under dressed. Although, next to Randall Taylor, most people
would probably feel the same.

He's wearing another fantastic suit, the color of
shallow water with a red bow tie that makes him look like quite the
character. Which, I suppose, he is. I'm sure not many people who see
him would place him as a man to put on private sex shows for rich
men.

He's sat in front of me now in a fine restaurant,
ordering a bottle of wine that I've never heard of and that, as the
menu tells me, costs over two hundred bucks. So, only about ten times
what I'd usually expect to pay...

Of course, he's already made it clear that he is paying
for this dinner and that, as my boss, he's responsible for letting me
enjoy these little perks.

“
This is a business dinner,” he tells me, “so it
will be written off as tax by my shady accountant.”

I can only imagine what his accounts looks like. Not
only does he put on the sex shows, but he also offers other
services
that he hadn't enlightened me to.

Frankly, I think it's best if I don't ask.

Around us are finely dressed people drinking fine wine
from fine glasses. It's all very urbane and sophisticated, perhaps
the sort of restaurant my father might go to if he was entertaining a
wealthy client or was taking my mother out for an anniversary dinner.