Taking the Billionaire's Daughter Read online

  Taking the Billionaire’s Daughter

  by

  Katie Ayres

  Copyright 2013 Katie Ayres

  All rights reserved.

  This book is for sale to an ADULT AUDIENCE ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language between characters 18 and older which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re–sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the bookseller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Disclaimer

  This short story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All sex acts depicted occur between characters 18 years or older.

  Blurb: At his billionaire boss’s annual Fourth of July party, Paul Locke stumbles upon a young man being given a very expert blow–job by none other than Chelsea Norton, his host’s beautiful and half–naked eighteen–year old daughter. For years, Paul has chafed at his boss’s insults and put–downs but he’s never found an opportunity to really screw his boss where it counts. Tonight is his lucky night. Paul fucks his billionaire boss’s daughter in the mouth and then in her ass. But, later, as he’s getting ready to leave the party, his boss has a surprise for him. How will Paul react?

  WARNING: This erotica title is for ADULT audiences only.

  Taking the Billionaire’s Daughter

  Paul Locke crossed his arms as he stared out over the moon–silvered still waters of the man–made lake on the Chiswick Estate. In the exact center of the lake, a lighted spire of water fountained fifty feet into the air. Paul had dreamed of one day having a magnificent estate like this, maybe even bigger, but he doubted that would ever happen now.

  Chiswick belonged to Jules Norton, his billionaire boss, and it was a gorgeous place that had been in the Norton family for several generations. Paul knew Mr. Norton hadn’t grown up here. He’d inherited Chiswick when his uncle died childless. Not that Jules had needed it. His father, Julian Norton, had married Georgia Wills, a real estate heiress in her own right so Jules had come from money on both sides. Already wealthy beyond most people’s dreams, Jules had struck out on his own by serving as an angel investor to several technology start–ups that went on to hit the big time. Jules was now one of the richest men on the planet. Paul hated him. He hated every bone in his boss’s body and often thought of quitting his job as a financial analyst with the Norton Group. In fact, if Paul was honest, he thought of it every day but he was almost fifty–two years old. And he’d worked for the man for twenty years, where would he go, at his age?

  Paul made a pretty good salary, $135,000 before taxes, but it was nowhere like the kind of money he’d dreamed of when he first graduated from college. Paul felt like a has–been, like he’d missed the boat. He’d never married, never had children. He’d always told himself he didn’t have the time for a family, slaving away as he did for the Norton Group. Paul often stayed late at the office, trying his best to make his billionaire boss more money and neglecting his own life.

  Life had passed Paul by while he’d waited for something great to happen to him. And, the way, Mr. Norton had been eyeing him recently, Paul wasn’t even sure how much longer he’d have his job. Mr. Norton had never forgiven him for getting it wrong with that biotech firm, Trevira, last year. He’d lost the billionaire a cool three million. It was a drop in the bucket to a man of Mr. Norton’s wealth and Paul’s work through the years had resulted in returns that were worth at least a hundred times that, but what did Mr. Norton care? Paul had long ago realized that rich people never remembered about how you’d helped them in the past. They just wanted to know what you’d done for them, lately.

  Paul had a tidy little nest egg saved away. He supposed he could take it and go live cheaply, but well, in Ecuador or some place with a very low cost of living, but he didn’t want to leave Kentucky. Except for when he’d gone to university in Maryland, he’d never left his home state.

  Paul sighed. Maybe this was the last time he was seeing Chiswick. He would miss the lake and the grounds and the magnificent house. He could faintly hear the music from the house and the noise of the revelers enjoying Mr. Norton’s annual, staff only, Fourth of July party.

  Paul glanced at his watch. It was almost eleven. He supposed he should be getting back. The party had started at eight and should be winding down soon. He’d considered not coming, but he loved the Chiswick Estate and, since he wasn’t best buddies with Mr. Norton, the annual party was his only chance to wander around the lawns and gardens. It was bittersweet walking through the place, knowing he might not get to see it next year, and he was glad for the light of the full moon which had bathed the grounds in a magical silvery light.

  Paul murmured a soft good–bye to the fountain and turned to trudge back to the party. The closer he got to the sprawling Norton mansion, the louder the music became. Mr. Norton always hired the same band and Paul had to admit they did a good job of blending new hits with old favorites. As he rounded the path, the last notes of some song he didn’t know died away, and the band swung into a rousing rendition of “Physical” by Olivia Newton–John.

  Paul had just started to cross the lawn to the mansion’s flagstone terrace when he heard a peculiar sound coming from on his right. He stopped and peered into the darkness. The sound had come from the direction of the small walled garden where Mrs. Norton grew a selection of exotic plants obtained from as far away as China and Brazil. The noise came again, a high–pitched kind of panting cry. Paul wondered what it could be. Perhaps a mouse caught by a predatory owl? He was about to walk on when he heard a different sound, more like the murmur of a man’s voice.

  Curious now, Paul crept over to check things out, thankful for the light of the moon so he didn’t trip and hurt himself. At first, when he sidled through the arched entrance to the garden, all he could see were some white flowers scattered here and there but, as his eyes became more accustomed to the deeper darkness of the secluded garden, he heard the cry again. Paul crept quietly around a chest–high plant with long, feathery leaves and then stopped short. A woman knelt in front of a man sitting, with his knees wide open, on one of the wooden benches. The man’s face was hidden in the shadows from a tall nearby shrub, but there was no mistaking what the woman was doing, crouched over his lap like that.

  From where he was, Paul couldn’t see much more of her than the smooth wash of blond hair tumbling down her back and the soles of her high–heeled sandals. She had on some sort of halter–neck dress that left most of the smooth, firm skin of her back, bare.

  Something about what the man was wearing looked familiar and Paul suddenly realized what it was. The man was one of the six valets Mr. Norton had hired. They’d all worn dark burgundy jackets with gold piping and mandarin collars. Paul had simply tossed his keys to one of them and gone inside without giving any of them a closer look. He remembered he’d had the impression that they were Hispanic, but he could have been wrong.

  Paul’s cock stirred at the deliciously illicit sight of the blow job being given outside, in public. Didn’t they care that anyone might see them? He supposed they’d thought they were far enough away from the mansion, and well–hidden in the
small garden. But, this was just the kind of scene Paul normally paid to watch at the porno websites he frequented.

  He crept stealthily around the perimeter of the wall to get a better look at the woman giving the valet such an enthusiastic blow job. A wine bottle set in one of the small alcoves along the wall had probably been put there by the loving couple. Paul picked it up and checked out the elegant yellow and gold label, Martinborough Vineyard’s 2006 Pinot Noir. He remembered that an article in Forbes had declared the expensive wine, one of New Zealand’s best. He supposed they’d stopped to raid Mr. Norton’s wine cellar on their way to the garden which meant at least one of them knew their way around the huge house.

  The bottle was half–empty. Paul rested it back down and kept going until he found a much better view, standing behind a large–leaved shrub just eight or nine feet away from the bench. He’d been right about the valet. Now that he’d grown more accustomed to the walled garden’s greater dimness, he could see the young man’s dark Latino coloring and Hispanic features. But, who on earth was the woman? Despite his closeness he couldn’t tell because each time she sucked the valet’s cock in deeper, a lock of her hair swung down over her shoulder.

  Paul moved further behind the bench as a cloud hid the moon. The valet moaned, his eyes fixed on the woman sucking his cock.

  “Si, mama, si. Como eso. Oh, Dios mio.”

  Paul had no idea what he was saying but the other man’s groans clearly indicated he wasn’t being critical of the woman’s technique. Paul wished the cloud would move away and, suddenly, it did.

  The woman looked startlingly familiar. Paul peered at her and then recoiled in shock. It was Chelsea. Mr. Norton’s eighteen year–old daughter! He couldn’t believe it, but there was no mistaking those high cheekbones, that aristocratic nose. Of course, he couldn’t see the shape of her lips, clamped tight as they were around the man’s cock. She, or maybe the valet, had pulled the two sides of her bodice together in the middle of her chest. Her pale, round teenaged boobs were completely exposed. Paul’s mouth watered as he ogled their juicy loveliness, but what on earth was the rich teenager thinking of, behaving in this wanton way?

  Paul had heard through the office grapevine a couple years ago, that the Nortons were having all kinds of problems with their youngest daughter. She’d apparently been expelled from a series of elite high schools before her parents surrendered and hired a tutor for her. Had she graduated? Was she in college? Paul racked his brain trying to remember the last piece of gossip he’d heard about her, something about her being caught giving head in the bathroom at the Kentucky Derby. Not the ordinary bathrooms, of course, the one in The Mansion, the exclusive VIP section.

  Paul’s cock hardened as watched the two young people in absolute fascination. He should do something, he should pull the girl away from the man, he should tell Mr. Norton. But, Paul didn’t really feel like doing any of those things. Instead, he felt a sort of sneering amusement. Jules Norton and his wife, Sophia, might be perennial invitees to the Governor’s Mansion. They might be regularly photographed attending fancy soirees in New York and D.C.. Jules Norton might always make the top Wealth Lists around the world, but none of that meant a fig to Chelsea Norton. When she wanted a good, hard cock to suck she, clearly, didn’t ask to be presented with a pedigree or a bank reference, first. And the rich little girl knew how to give good head! Paul could see that clearly from where he stood.

  Her head bobbed up and down in the valet’s lap as his hand mussed her hair. Chelsea wasn’t allowing anything to distract her as she deep–throated the young man’s cock.

  “Oh, si, Mama,” the boy groaned. “I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come en su boca, mamacita.” He pushed himself off the bench, thrusting his groin into the teenager’s face as she quickened her pace.

  The young man cried out, his hips jerked and jerked again. Paul saw Chelsea’s throat working and knew she was swallowing the Latino’s jism. What a dirty little rich bitch, he thought. He felt an insane desire to laugh. He couldn’t believe he’d just witnessed a teenager worth billions giving head to some valet who probably made less in a year than she spent on her wardrobe each month. Paul gripped his hardened cock, suddenly wishing she would suck him off, too.

  Just then a bug landed on his neck. Without thinking, Paul cried out in disgust and slapped at himself. He squashed the bug with his hand and wiped the bloody little remains off on his pants. Only when he looked over at the couple did he realize he’d drawn their attention. The Latino had jumped to his feet and was buckling himself back up, his frightened eyes on Paul. Chelsea had sat back on her haunches and was watching him with a slightly stupefied expression on her face.

  “Who are you?” she asked. She gave a small hiccup and her expression changed to surprise. “Goodness! I’m sorry,” she apologized, showing her good breeding and excellent upbringing hadn’t gone completely to waste.

  “Let’s go, come on.” The valet reached down to grab her arm but she jerked away from him.

  “I haven’t finished my wine yet.” Chelsea looked around. “Where’s my wine?”

  Paul retraced his steps to the alcove and picked up the bottle of Pinot Noir.

  “Is this what you’re looking for, Chelsea?” he asked, walking over to where she still sat on the ground.

  “Man, you know her name?”

  “Of course, I know her name. She’s Jules Norton’s daughter. The man who owns this place.” Paul waved his arms to indicate the whole Chiswick Estate. “If he finds out you’ve gotten his daughter drunk and made her suck you off, well, I just wouldn’t want to be you. He’s got a bad temper. Very bad.” The young man looked stricken.

  “But I didn’t make her drunk. I swear I didn’t,” he protested. “And she came on to me. She came out the front door saying she wanted her car and I was trying to help her find it and she just grabbed my cock.”

  “Is that the truth?”

  “Yes, sir. I swear. I wouldn’t have touched her otherwise. I mean, she’s gorgeous and everything, but I know my place.”

  “Hmmm.” Paul was already convinced it wasn’t the boy’s fault. From all he’d heard about the girl in the last couple years, it sounded like just the kind of thing she’d do. And, what healthy man could resist a cock–grab by a beautiful and obviously horny teenager?

  The whole situation made Paul uneasy. “Mr. Norton has some friends in high places, the highest.” Chelsea hiccupped again and tried to grab the wine bottle but he held it above her reach. “He can make your life very difficult for you if he hears about this.”

  “Please, sir. Please don’t tell him. I didn’t know she was his daughter. Es la verdad.” The valet edged toward the doorway, his expression piteous.

  “This doesn’t sit well with me, young man,” Paul said sternly. “But, if you hurry back to your duties, I can let it end here.”

  “Please, sir. Gracias. Gracias.” The valet spun out through the doorway and Paul soon heard him crashing through the stand of forsythia outside. His lips twitched. Sophia Norton was crazy about her garden. She wouldn’t be pleased to see her prize hybrid forsythias trampled to the ground.

  A soft snore near his knees brought Paul’s attention back to Chelsea. She’d laid her arm along the seat of the bench, rested her head down and, apparently, gone to sleep. Paul stared, bewitched, at her. The last time he’d seen her she’d been a precocious, long–haired brat of twelve who’d eaten too much cake and been sick in the middle of the party. Since then, she hadn’t attended any of her father’s annual parties. Paul remembered what the valet had said about her asking for her car. Perhaps she hadn’t been planning to attend this one either, but had gotten distracted by the young valet’s dark good looks.

  Paul squatted down to take a closer look at her. She was well and properly drunk. He could smell the alcoholic fumes rising from her. By rights, he should shake her awake and march her spoiled little ass up to the house, but the germ of an idea was unfolding in his mind.

  Asleep,
Chelsea looked like a magnificent angel, just a little slightly worse for wear with her long blond hair all messed up and a smudge of dark lipstick on her cheek. Paul leaned in and peered at her. Unless he was mistaken, a gob of the valet’s come had dribbled out of the corner of her open mouth and down her chin.

  Paul’s cock grew rock–hard as he stared at the sleeping teenager. How pretty she was with her shining blonde hair, pearl–white skin and dainty lips.

  She hadn’t covered her luscious little boobs back up and her dress was rouched high up around her hips. Paul was overtaken by the sudden desire to see the teenager completely naked. He moved behind her. If he undid the buttons at her neck he could probably lift her flimsy dress right off over her head or pull it down around her ankles. He rested the wine bottle on the ground, moved her hair out of the way and worked at the three small buttons. Chelsea didn’t move. Paul had big hands and big fingers and the buttons proved hard to maneuver through their small slits. Paul was tempted to simply tear the fastenings, but a little patience was rewarded when he was finally able to undo the top.

  Paul let the ends flop down around her waist and went around to take another look at the sleeping girl. Now, she was topless, but he wasn’t satisfied. He bunched the chiffon skirt of the dress in one hand and then, holding her up by one arm, hauled it down around her hips to her ankles. He thought he heard something rip but he didn’t let it worry him. The Nortons could afford to buy a thousand more dresses like it. Hell, they could afford to buy the designer’s atelier where it was made and the designer, too. He threw the dress over the bench and lowered Chelsea back to her previous position.

  Paul rubbed the teenager’s pink nipple. The nearly–nude girl made a small sound and slid sideways until she was lying on her side on the flagstones. Paul’s throbbing cock strained against his pants. He wanted to take it out. He wanted to put it inside her. The thought took him by surprise because he’d been thinking he would only take a look at her naked body. He wanted to see what generations of blue–blooded ancestry had wrought. He hadn’t thought to take it further than that. Chelsea was still little more than a child. If he remembered correctly she was eighteen or nineteen. Legal, but also his boss’s daughter.