Dominated - The Beginning

His heaving cock glistened with my juices as I opened wide and took it all in my mouth.

I was on my knees in his penthouse apartment, a man I had only met the day before, but who now owned me.

He slid his fingers through my short, jet-black hair, grabbing a good fistful. I could taste myself on him as he slid his thick member down my throat, an act which would have caused a lesser slut to choke, but I had no gag reflex.

I was a good girl.

As he guided my head back and forth, making sure I cleaned his dick base to tip, I could feel his warm seed running down my thigh.

"I don't believe in contraception", he had said, explaining that his semen was too valuable to waste, literally.

You don't become a billionaire by undervaluing yourself.

***

I'd gone to his office for a job, a secretarial kind of role. It wasn't the sort of thing I would normally be interested in, but there weren't many openings for art majors these days, and Greenplace Inc. was a big deal.

What had started as a one-man operation in his parent's garage had exploded into a multi-million, then multi-billion dollar company when Dominic Greenplace had developed a treatment for a disease I couldn't even pronounce.

He became a darling of the business world practically overnight, before his popularity crossed over to the mainstream, the media praising him as a Renaissance Man who could turn his hand to anything.

But just as quickly, he retired from public life. There was much speculation as to why this was, from burnout to some secret debilitating disease. There were even rumours he was being blackmailed to prevent him from curing further diseases, something which would hurt the profits of some very powerful people.

But I didn't care about any of that, I just needed a job. And this one paid, and paid well.

So, borrowing Aubrey's (my BFF's) smartest outfit and spending a few hours preparing my hair and make-up (trying to get the "effortlessly sophisticated" look that went with that kind of job), I attended the interview.

It was a disaster.

He spent the whole time gazing out the window, and every time asked me a question, he'd cut me off, my answer seemingly boring him.

We didn't even discuss my CV or work experience (or, lack thereof) before I was curtly dismissed.

Five minutes I was there.

Five fucking minutes.

I stormed to the underground station, furious and humiliated. I hated that I had failed, hated that I was upset I failed and, worst of all, hated the fact I still found him totally fuckable.

It was no secret Dominic Greenplace was a good-looking guy. Really good looking. Six-five with thick, short black hair, it was said he spent at least an hour or two in the gym every day, and it showed. Even under his personally-tailored suit, you could see his muscles bulge.

He was thirty-eight, but in undoubtedly better shape than I was at twenty-four.

His features I only knew from pictures. Those piercing blue eyes, that jaw as if sculpted from marble, always closely shaven. The model professional.

He hadn't looked at me the whole time, instead preferring the view from the fifty-fifth-storey window, the floor-to-ceiling windows giving a magnificent view of the city skyline.

As I rode the underground, I messaged Aubrey, unleashing a torrent of invective about him.

How dare he?

Self-important prick.

Wasting my fucking time.

I knew there was no signal and the poor girl's messages would suddenly blow up as soon as I got above ground, but I needed to vent.

As soon as I was out of this part of the city (where it felt expensive just to breathe), I was going to buy a couple of bottles of cheap wine (the best I could afford, besides, who cares if it was still morning?) and get smashed watching Real Housewives of the Rich Cunty.

God, I hated them all, but still envied the life they had. If I had a fraction of their money, I wouldn't spend my time complaining about petty shit.

My phone vibrated.

I unlocked it, expecting to see Aubrey having responded to my furious invective with a cat gif, the sort of thing which would totally undercut my rage and send me into fits of laughter at the absurdity of it all.

As I opened the message, I was feeling better already. But it wasn't Aubrey, it was from a withheld number.

Mr Greenplace will send a car for you at 7pm.

Following this message was another, a list of appointments he (or more likely, his secretary) had arranged for me throughout the day.

I didn't recognise any of the addresses and was once again enraged by the presumptuousness.

Who was he to think he could arrange my day without consulting me?

How did he know I didn't have other plans, important plans?

I didn't, but that was beside the point.

My finger hovered over the delete button, ready to be done with this. The guy was clearly not all there. But yet...

I checked the time of the first appointment and switched trains, heading back into the city.

I figured I had nothing to lose and whatever these places were, I was making damned sure he was paying.

***

I followed the Google Maps directions down the street, my face glued to the screen. It wasn't so much I didn't know where I was going, but rather it gave me an excuse to not look up.

Even though this morning I had thought I looked rather smart, I now felt like a vagrant who had just rolled out of her cardboard box in a back alley reeking of piss.

The people here were magnificent. They positively radiated beauty, as if each one were hand-crafted by the Lord above, perfect down to the minutest detail.

Their clothes, hair, make-up, teeth. Every single fibre of their being exuded perfection. It was like I was an ogre who had accidentally climbed to the top of Mount Olympus, surrounded by Greek Gods and grateful just to be breathing in such rarified air.

You have reached your destination.

I checked the address and pressed the buzzer. The building was innocuous, with no indication of what this place was.

I felt unnerved, what if this was some kind of weird sex cult where they sacrificed unsuspecting virgins as a Tribute to some demonic force?

I was no virgin, but still...

There was a click and the door opened slightly. I entered the building, ready to flee at the first sign of a robed-figure wielding a sacrificial dagger.

"Good morning", said the lady behind the desk.

Like everyone around here, she was ridiculously beautiful. Tall and elegant, her figure slim, her features Asian, most likely Japanese.

"Hi", I said, "I've got an-"

"Yes, a Miss Chloe Goodhart." She brushed a few keys on the computer and then moved from behind the desk. "If you'd like to follow me."

I did as I was told and followed her down the non-descript corridor. Her figure breezed elegantly ahead of me, her outfit accentuating her ass.

I'd never been one of those women who was turned on by watching other women, but she was simply mesmerising.

"Just through here", she said, holding a door open.

"Thank you", I said, as I passed into the next room.

It was like entering another world.

The bright lights illuminated the colourful room, as the smell of the sweetest flowers permeated the air.

Various young women, all Japanese, all wearing silk kimonos moved around with delicacy yet with purpose.

There were jars and bottles containing a variety of unidentified lotions and potions.

One of the women, shorter than me (even at five foot four), with jet black hair cut into a bob, ushered me into a side room, where she left me.

There was nothing but a shower, a towel and a kimono, similar to the ones the other women were wearing, but with a different pattern. Presumably to differentiate me from the staff, not that that was difficult.

I took off my (well, Aubrey's) clothes and stepped into the shower.

The water was the perfect temperature and I could feel the warm water opening up my pores, revitalising my skin.

It was almost as if even the water was different here.

There was no soap, so I washed myself with pure water, rubbing my face and feeling the make-up I'd spent so long applying that morning, wash off. My hair, styled the best I could, was soon flattened by the hot stream engulfing me.

There was a gentle knock at the door and I realised I must have been standing under there too long.

I shouted an apology and, switching off the shower, grabbed the towel. It was fresh and soft and I doubted it would absorb anything. Never in my life had I had a towel which was both fluffy and had the ability to dry you. All my towels were old and thread-worn. Flat, but perfectly tuned to the task of drying you.

So it would be no exaggeration to say these towels were a revelation. Soft, fluffy and they dried you!

Truly, this was some black magic fuckery.

Once dry, I slipped on the kimono, the pure silk soft against my freshly bathed body, opulently so. I hung the towel behind the door and looked for my clothes, which I realised had been taken.

I left the shower room and re-entered the main hall.

"Excuse me", I said, to one of the passing women. "I'm looking for my clothes."

She smiled and informed me that all my clothes would be cleaned and delivered to my home. I had the feeling she would have much preferred to simply have them burnt, but she never let it show.

Before I had a chance to check they had my address, I was whisked off to another room. Here, I was eased into a leather chair, which reclined until I was nearly horizontal.

The lights were dimmed, and the scent of incense floated in the air, as a gentle melody came from some unseen speakers.

I felt at peace, as if I were in a Buddhist retreat, on the path to enlightenment.

Suddenly, a group of six women descended on me and got to work.

Four fell to their knees, one at each foot and hand. They cut, clipped, raked and filed my nails, buffing out any imperfections, of which there were many.

Meanwhile, the other two women hovered over my head, inspecting plucking, waxing, and removing hairs I didn't know I had.

They worked diligently and efficiently, not saying a word and despite the myriad sensations, I found the whole experience rather relaxing.

I'd never fully appreciated the benefits of being pampered, but now I couldn't imagine a life without it. Not that I'd ever be able to afford something as fancy as this place ever again.

Then, just as quickly as they appeared, they were gone.

I sat there as the chair slowly raised to an upright position, and I felt my face glowing. I looked at my nails and was astonished. They were perfect.

I'd never had particularly pleasant fingernails (not to mention toenails), and had a habit of biting them to the quick. But now they looked, well, human.

As I marvelled, another woman gently guided me out of the chair and into yet another room.

Here there was a table and various bubbling pots, presumably some kind of massage room.

The lady told me to take off my kimono and I explained sheepishly that I didn't have anything on underneath.

"Yes", she said, simply.

I thought about arguing with her, but I was feeling too relaxed for that, so I slipped off my kimono, covering myself with my arms, even though she seemed completely indifferent to my state of undress.

She indicated to the table and I lay on my front.

"Turn around", she gently instructed and I obeyed, relieved when she lay a towel across my naked body.

She left the room and I closed my eyes, enjoying the relaxed vibe that seemed to vary from room to room, but still exuded a deliberate, holistic aura.

Soon, the door opened and another woman walked in. Without warning, she removed the towel and I scrambled to cover my naked body.

Not that I was ashamed, for I had a good figure. My tits were plump but perky, my stomach was flat (god knows how, with my diet) and my legs were toned (one good thing about being too broke to drive!)

The woman gently took one hand and then the other and placed them by my sides. She looked at me closely, inspecting every inch, as if making an evaluation.

She crossed the room and returned with a hot towel, which she gently but firmly placed across the top of my face. The hot water stung slightly where the ladies had been busy plucking, but I was a big girl, I could take it.

But I knew I couldn't take what was coming next.

I heard the woman potching with something, and then I felt it, the warm wax settling on my skin.

She rubbed the wooden stick down my thighs, my legs, even my toes. A plentiful layer, before gently smoothing the waxing strips onto them.

I braced myself but knew it was too late. She yanked at the strip and it came away in one smooth motion.

I yelled in pain, but she seemed not to notice, for a moment later she repeated the process.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Until my entire legs were red raw.

Then I felt her gently spread my legs apart.

"No, no", I insisted, sitting up violently, my towel mask falling to the floor. "No waxing."

"It is part of the orders", she explained, continuing to prepare the wax.

Orders?

That son of a bitch thinks he can order me to have my bits waxed?

Before I had a chance to decide the next course of action, she had already applied the wax and strip.

She walked over and picked up the towel off the floor, discarding it in a hamper in the corner, before preparing me a fresh one.

"It's better you don't see", she said, lowering me to the table and again covering my eyes with the towel.

She ripped off the wax, taking the majority of my (admittedly plentiful) pubic hair with it. I screamed in pain and then she did the second, then the third.

"All done", she said and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Just the arms left. And under."

I gently sobbed as she applied the wax to the only hair left on my body, stripping me bare like a Barbie doll.

My entire body burnt and I had no idea how I could get off the table, let alone get out of the building. Just then, I heard the door open again, followed by the shuffling of multiple sets of feet.

"Please, no more", I whined, desperate for it to be over.

"One last treatment", came a soothing voice.

What that treatment could be, I couldn't possibly imagine.

The towel on my face was quickly replaced with another, and in the brief interlude, I could sense the lights had dimmed.

The smell had also changed, a mixture of perfumes and oils had entered the room. I listened as the liquids splashed about in their little bottles, like a collection of tiny oceans, the sound soothing me.

Moments later, I heard the pop of bottle corks and felt the dribble of liquids across my body.

Suddenly, several sets of hands were on my naked body, nimble feminine fingers carefully working the oils into my delicate skin.

I had expected it to burn, but it was like a soothing balm, calming the inflamed pores which had been through so much.

Their fingers caressed every inch of my body, from my neck to my breasts, down my belly to my legs and my feet.

One woman was even running her hands over the top of my opening, the oils soothing my most delicate region.

It was almost sexual without being sexual at all, and I realised why men crave the touch of soft, supple, female flesh. But still, it had been a long time since someone had touched me there, sexually or not, and I felt myself becoming lightly aroused.

The image of the receptionist popped into my head and I imagined her touching me, her perfectly maintained body pressing on top of me, her fingers slipping into me.

I moaned softly as a gentle orgasm rippled through me, as the women continued their work, seemingly not noticing, and I drifted off to a gentle, peaceful sleep.

***

When I awoke, I was alone. The towel had been removed from my face, and my soft kimono had been respectfully draped over my naked body.

I sat up, expecting to feel incredibly sore, but aside from a mild tingling, I felt fine.

I stood up and slipped on the kimono, which felt even softer on my sensitive skin.

I looked down at my transformed body and was amazed at what I saw. My skin was positively glowing and there was not a single hair to be seen.

I ran my hand down over my pubis, now completely smooth.

I knew they'd taken a lot off, but I'd expected them to at least leave a little landing strip.

But I guess those weren't the orders.

I loosely tied the kimono closed, and went out into the hall. Here I was sat down once again, this time the only procedure involving a cup of green tea and a small fruit plate.

I ate the precisely prepared pieces, not realising how hungry I had become, and drank the warm, soothing tea.

I closed my eyes and relaxed.

"Pardon me", said one of the ladies a few minutes later, "your transport has arrived."

"I didn't order a taxi", I said, without thinking, the defence mechanisms of poverty never far away.

"It was ordered by Mr..."

"By Mr Greenplace", I finished. She nodded in acknowledgement.

I stood and realised there was one important and obvious fact I had managed to overlook.

"I don't have any clothes", I said.

She nodded and smiled and guided me into another room.

Here was a set of clothes laid out, a plain cream jogging outfit and a set of simple white panties, no bra.

A matching pair of white socks and oversized trainers sat next to the outfit.

I carefully slipped on the smooth panties and the jogging outfit, the loose fit perfect for my delicate skin.

I stepped out of the room and was gently ushered to the entrance.

I walked down the corridor and saw the receptionist back at her station, who smiled at me, showing off her perfect teeth.

I smiled back and wondered if she went through that same process.

Or was that just for me?

As I left, I thought about her completely smooth body and felt myself getting aroused again.

***

Outside, there was a stretch limo and I nearly laughed at the ostentatiousness of it.

The driver was already waiting to open the door for me.

"Morning, ma'am", he said, deferentially.

"Good morning", I said, as I got in.

The inside was larger than some of the apartments I'd rented, the fittings nicer than any furniture I'd ever owned (or more precisely, the furniture that was there when I moved in).

I sat on one of the large leather sofas and looked around. There were TV screens and buttons, mini-fridges with champagne and bottled water.

"Please, help yourself", came a voice over the intercom, the driver presumably.

"Oh no, thank you", I said, almost as if afraid I would be charged for taking something from the mini bar.

I looked out through the tinted window and saw we were already underway. The drive was so smooth I didn't even realise we'd started moving.

I stared, fascinated by this world that I would never be a part of. Even now, I felt like an interloper, an intruder, though it wasn't my idea to come here.

It was then I realised I still had no idea what the "idea" was.

For sure, it involved me being pampered and waxed, my body smooth and supple. But I wasn't quite sure if this was a process he put all his secretaries through or just the ones he wanted to fuck. Maybe there wasn't a difference?

I laughed.

Why would he want to fuck me? He's Dominic fucking Greenplace. He's a fucking billionaire.

He takes trips around the world for fun. He owns a fleet of private planes and multiple luxury yachts. He even has his own spaceship for fuck's sake!

He fucks supermodels and actresses, popstars and the eligible daughters of Old Money.

Why would he be interested in me?