Interview with a Billionaire

A reporter hoping to get her big break gets more than she bargained for.

Celia shifts in her seat, alternating between making infinitesimal last minute adjustments to her appearance and watching the clock--despite the floor to ceiling windows comprising the back wall of the penthouse office that James Henneson's assistant had guided her to.

The windows afford her a stunning view of the city skyline, but still, Celia can't tear her eyes from the sleek chrome clock mocking her as it adds minute after minute to the tally of Mr. Henneson's lateness. How embarrassing it would be to have to return to the office after her first big interview, her first chance at a worthwhile assignment, and tell them that Henneson had never even shown up. She sighs and brushes a lock of golden hair out of her face with her pen. Oh, well. At least she'll get home at a reasonable time. Episodes of her favorite soap opera were burning a hole in her DVR, and with the chiseled jawlines, piercing eyes, and large, strong hands of the actors . . . well, she'd find some way to occupy her time.

At that moment, the glass door behind her swings open, and in steps Mr. Henneson himself.

As abashed as she feels getting caught off guard thinking about the hidden contents of her sock drawer, Celia can't help but notice that Mr. Henneson checks off the first two items she finds most attractive in the soap opera actors.

She rises from the cushy chair she had been sitting in, smoothing down her skirt, which she had realized far too late--as in the moment she sat down in the aforementioned chair--is just a smidge too small and as such rides up when she sits. Celia makes a mental note to keep her legs shut.

"Ms. Smith, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

Mr. Henneson offers his hand, and Celia notes that the final item on her checklist has been fulfilled as well. His hand dwarfs hers, and she suppresses a school-girl giggle.

Get it together, Celia. You're on assignment.

Henneson smooths the lapels of his suit as he takes a seat on the couch opposite Celia, lounging back in a way that quite gives him an air of ownership over everything in the room. Perhaps even Celia herself.

"Please, call me Celia," she tells him as she sits, too, trying to make the crossing of her legs look graceful.

"Celia, then."

His voice is honey, making Celia's mouth water, and she swallows before beginning.

"First of all, Mr. Henneson--"

"James."

"Right, James," she smiles at the taste of his name dropping so casually from her tongue. "Thank you, James, for agreeing to meet with us. Trend Magazine is truly honored to have the opportunity to feature you as our Man of the Year, and to give us the chance to get inside the head of someone as impressive as yourself. A self-made billionaire by the age of thirty. It's quite a feat."

James inclines his head toward her, his hand, strong and sinewy, making a practiced gesture--this is not his first time feigning humbleness, while still acknowledging his own acclaim and power.

"Ask me anything," he tells her, pouring himself a glass of amber scotch from a crystal decanter on the table between them.

And so she does, finding it remarkably easy to talk to James, even as her stomach is filled with butterflies. After the first few questions, they are trading off like old friends reunited. They cover his best tips for aspiring entrepreneurs, his favorite suit designers, most frequented vacation spot. Celia struggles to jot it all down, her handwriting turning into a frantic scrawl as she tries to focus on James' words rather than the curve of his lip, the veins in his hands, the way he emanates an easy ownership of everything around him, a cool confidence that spins Celia's head.

"And so, along with running such a widespread business empire, I expect there must also come a fair amount of stress?" Celia asks, and James laughs.

"You could say that," he takes a sip of his scotch, adam's apple bobbing. "Of course, I have the luxury of being able to delegate tasks to any number of aides or advisors, which helps. But you can't exactly delegate someone to make you relax, now can you?"

"It might be a bit beyond their employee contracts," Celia quips, brushing aside the less than professional thoughts that had begun to enter her mind. "So if you don't mind me asking, how do you relax when you find the stress--erm, building up?"

Celia cringes at her wording, but James seems not to notice. Or maybe he's just being polite.

"Well, I made certain that each of my apartments was equipped with a walk-in shower, surrounding jets--

James, dripping, beads of water rolling down his bare chest.

"And, of course, you can never go wrong with a long, hard workout. I always say, the best way to clear a mental problem is to do something physical."

Celia swallows hard. "So, showers and workouts," she observes.

"Showers and workouts. Well, there is . . . one other thing . . . but we'd have to keep this off the record. Just our little secret," he tells her slyly in that honey voice, casting her a glance that sent heat rushing to her cheeks and between her legs. They had remained tightly closed throughout the interview, even as she felt wetness growing there when her thoughts got away from her. She parts them slightly now, leaning closer.

"Of course, off the record," she replies.

"Hmm, how should I put this?" he ponders, not breaking eye contact with Celia. "Sometimes a workout isn't quite enough to destress. Everyone loves a good endorphin high, but I find that often it's not enough physical release."

"Right," Celia says in a small voice, now less worried about James catching a glimpse of her panties as she is leaving a mark on his chair. She raises her pen to her lips to give her mouth something to focus on lest she say something wrong.

"Sometimes nothing can satisfy me. And what I need more than anything is a whore to fuck."

James' voice has changed suddenly, and Celia's clit throbs in response to it, her head whirling as if she were in a dream.

"You look like you could be just that whore, Celia."

His eyes rove her body, greedy, hungry. The aura of ownership James had exuded before has turned to one of domination. This room was his. Everything in it was his. And that absolutely included Celia, whether she liked it or not. But, oh, did she like it.

"Don't think I haven't seen the way you look at me, Celia. The tremble in your voice with every question, the flush in your cheeks, the way you trace that pen around your lips like it's the tip of my cock."

Celia's mouth waters at the thought of sliding her lips over what she was sure must be the massive tip of his cock into her mouth, running her tongue over every inch, feeling it twitch in desire for her.

Without breaking eye contact with Celia, James reaches slowly down, metal clanking as he undoes his belt, pops the button on his pleated pants, unzips them with an aching slowness, and pulls out his cock, its pink tip thick. Celia could tell from where she was that James was rock hard, a ropey vein running down his engorged cock.

"Come taste it."

Celia rises without thinking, her body moving on autopilot. Her hands move to tug her skirt back into place, but James stops her with a sharp "Ah, ah. Leave it."

James rises as she approaches him, his cock within arms reach now, her soaked pussy aching for it.

In a sudden movement, James puts his hands on her shoulders and pushes her down, his cock slapping her face as she drops to her knees. Celia has all but forgotten where she is, why she's there. She's forgotten everything but the primal urge driving her as she takes James' cock into her mouth, nearly as wet as her pussy, and begins to work, hearing James moan as she slides further and further down his length, using her hand to tease his balls.

Pulling James' cock out of her mouth, Celia begins to stroke the length with her hand, jerking him as she slides the head of his cock sloppily around her lips, closing her eyes and reveling in the gasped "fuck" that espaces his lips.

A moment later, James' hand tangles in her hair, yanking her upward and into a standing position.

By now her skirt has hiked up so far as to conceal almost nothing, and James' cock presses hard against her as he pulls her close and slides his hands down her back, beneath her skirt and underwear to grasp her bare ass, strong fingers digging into the plump cheeks.

When he releases her a moment later, Celia is ready to cry out, beg for more, but when she finally does cry out it is because James has yanked up her skirt, brushed aside her panties, and thrust two fingers inside her. Her cunt tightens instantly around them, unwilling to relinquish the pleasure of him inside her.

She lets out a half-choked moan, but she doesn't close her eyes, because James' other hand, which had been working to strip off her button down and bra, is now wrapped around his cock, jerking himself as he works his fingers in and out of her slick hole. Both hands move faster and faster, Celia's orgasm growing.

"You like that, don't you, you whore? Cum. Cum for me."

As he says it, James releases his cock and places the pad of his thumb on Celia's clit, rubbing in firm circles until Celia is shuddering, crying out and soaking his fingers.

"Clean them," he tells her, and she takes them obediently into her mouth, licking them clean.

When she is finished, James orders her to take off her skirt and panties.

"That's right," he says greedily, his eyes gleaming at the sight of her shaved pussy.

JAmes licks his lips and then in a flash, forces her around, placing a hand on the back of her head to bend her over the couch. His fingers find her pussy lips, spreading them as if doing an inspection of some sort, making small noises in the back of his throat. He dips a fingertip in between them.

"Still wet," he observes, and then suddenly it is not his fingers tapping at her entrance, but the head of his cock. The throbbing in Celia's clit ceases to be because of her orgasm and begins to be due to desire once more.

He teases her with it, sliding it over her engorged clit and making her shiver before finding her entrance and thrusting forward, his hands pulling her hips in toward him as he does. Celia's head spins as James thrusts into her again and again, his hands coming around to tug at her pink, pointed nipples, squeezing down hard. They travel then to her ass, spreading her cheeks to thrust his cock further inside her, his moans growing louder and more frequent, and Celia feels a surge of pride amongst the pleasure.

"Oh god," she moans, eager to please her owner, "Yes, James. My cunt belongs to you."

"Goddamn right it does," he growls. "Your pussy is mine. This is mine."

Celia gasps as James reaches down and pinches her clit between his fingers, rolling and tugging at it in a way that Celia had never thought to try, alone at home with her dildo and soap opera stars. It sends waves of pleasure rolling through Celia's body and she can feel tears forming in the corners of her eyes as another orgasm builds.

James seems to sense it and the hand not dominating Celia's clit tightens in her hair.

"Cum for me, Celia. That's all you want, isn't it? I want to feel your dirty little cunt tighten around my cock. Stubborn whores get punished."

The growl of his voice and the mere thought of being punished by James sends Celia hurtling over the edge, gasping for air, her body rocking, making her legs tremble until she almost cannot stand.

"Oh no, you're not done yet," James chides her, and after a final, hard thrust, he extracts his cock from her aching pussy and next thing she knows, Celia is being forced back down to her knees.

James' cock is shining and slick with her juices.

"Open up," he commands.

Celia opens her mouth wide, stretching her tongue out, a filthy slut hungry for confirmation of a job well done.

"That's a good girl," James whispers, and wraps his hand in her hair once more. His eyes are closed and Celia can sense that he's close. She aches for it to happen, wants it almost as badly as she had yearned for her own climax, so much so that she moans in desire.

This seems to spur James on as he jerks his cock faster and faster until a vocal groan escapes his lips and he drops thick ropes of cum over Celia's face and mouth, smearing it around as he comes down from his orgasm.

A bit of cum drops onto Celia's shoulder, and James releases her hair, gazing down at her with a smirk.

"I feel much better now, thank you."

Celia remains on her knees as James quickly assembles his items and gets dressed. The salty taste of cum is heavy on her lip, and she can feel his hot jizz cooling on her cheeks and chest.

In a matter of minutes, James is dressed again, dapper and professional, as if nothing had ever happened. In fact, the only sign of their tryst is Celia herself. She is just beginning to search for her clothing when James flicks a business card at her, a phone number scrawled across it, and makes his way to the door.

"Call me when the story drops," James says without looking back, and leaves Celia to get dressed alone.