In Service To The Billionaire by Heather Chase

boulder-like bicep, kissing there softly while he nonchalantly continued to finger-fuck her.
    There was a security camera in the elevator. She realized that everything he did to her was monitored.
    Screw it. She didn't care. Let them watch. All she cared about was her Sir's cock getting hard and ready to slide up inside of her hot sub body.
    As the doors opened to his enormous condo, a part of her mind not drowning in seas of lust managed to wonder at the vast gap in their respective wealth. Everything about Sand’s living situation seemed like the opposite of Sophia’s.
    She lived in a tiny two-bedroom duplex apartment on the bad side of town that was maybe seven hundred square feet.
    He, on the other hand, lived on the top floor of an illustriously built complex, owning a three-story 50,000 square foot condo all to himself.
    His floors were wood-paneled.
    She was lucky to have anything on the floor at all outside of carpet that was strangely flea-infested during the summer, despite never owning a pet.
    His entryway was the size of her entire apartment, and her bathroom would have fit inside of the marble fountain right in the middle of his entryway.
    As much as she didn't want to make a big deal about his wealth...it was increasingly hard not to. And with her first exposure to all of it heightened with Sand's strong fingers pressing hard up inside of her needy, sopping-wet pussy, every bit of opulent richness made an even more indelible impact on her brain.
    With a smile and a kiss, he slipped his hand out of her, gesturing for her to follow him past the entryway into a large, two-story living area with a sunken-in seating area. Enormous windows made up the wall, giving a premium view of the lights of the city.
    She noticed that the space was all strangely barren of technology—until she watched him touch a few wood panels on the wall, and realized that those and some other panels on the floor and ceiling could flip around or rise up or sink down to reveal a speaker, or a panel, or a television, and so on.
    She watched him open one such panel—inside were a series of boxes, each with their own key. He unlocked one such box—small, the size of a handbag—and walked with it over to a large leather couch. He set the box down on the stand, and then took off his coat, throwing it a good ten feet onto the other side of the couch.
    “So,” he said finally, sitting down on the couch and crossing his legs. “You want to be my slave, yes?”
    She nodded, standing in front of the couch, her dark hair shuffling past her shoulders. “Yes, Sir. Very much, Sir.”
    “Come here, then, like a good slave.”
    Just almost she took a step forward—but then she noticed the expectant gleam in his eye. She wasn’t supposed to come forward—she was supposed to come forward “like a good slave.”
    She got down on her hands and knees and began to crawl forward, staring up at him the whole time. Her sexy, beautiful hair splayed out down her back and side. Her hot ass displayed so prominently.
    You own this, her crawl said. You own me.
    Anxiety and doubt struck at her, but they were trying to scale a tall, tall wall of arousal. Fighting those negative feelings off, she ended her crawl by slipping into his legs like a cat, purring and sliding her body up one strong leg.
    Her breasts pushed around his knee and she slid up, staying on her knees.
    “Was that acceptable, Sir?” she asked. “If not, I am happy to crawl for you again.” She shrugged, raising an eyebrow and licking her lips. “Or do anything else.”
    One dainty, needy hand slid around his crotch, taking hold of his cock once more. Just as she had wanted and hoped, he was hard as a rock. He put a hand through the thick mass of hair, admiring her beautiful face, her cleavage.
    “No, that was very good.”
    His gaze followed hers on his cock, and they both watched his clear bulge stiffen and extend in his pants underneath her grip.
    “Please,” she said. “May I stroke