Her Billionaire's Erotic Rules (#1 The Interview): Erotica (Erotic Sex Stories)

Her Billionaire’s Erotic Rules – (#1 The Interview)

Before we entered the conference
room for the interview, Nora Spell, the Executive Assistant, gave me one last
going-over.  She had me turn around slowly, appraising my appearance.  Her
hands stopped me once at mid-turn to brush some lint from my black blazer and
again when my backside was to her.  She ran her hand over my hip, pinching and
pulling, as if to smooth the lines where my lavender silk blouse tucked into
the skirt.  She stepped closer and slid her hand under the blazer, grazing
lightly along my buttocks, again as if smoothing the material.

“We want you to look your absolute
best for Mr. Herron, don’t we?”  I nodded affirmatively.

She smiled.  “Well, I think
Margaret did an excellent job outfitting you.  I’ve worked with Mr. Herron for
five years and I think I have a pretty good idea of what he finds appealing.”

I thanked her again for making the
arrangements and for purchasing the suit.  She held up her hand.

“Nonsense,” she said.  “This all
falls within our wardrobe budget, the same as it would for one of our on-air
personalities.  You’re not wearing pantyhose, correct?”

“No, I’m not,” I smiled.  Nora had
made that requirement quite clear during our first meeting to discuss a special
project for which I was being considered.  I assumed that this directive was
based on some eccentricity of his or Nora’s and I didn’t think of it as
anything unusual.  Corporate dress codes can sometimes be quite esoteric.

“May I see what you are wearing,
please?”  I hesitated, giving her a quizzical look.  “Your stockings, Rachel;
pull up your skirt so I can see.”

I felt awkward, but complied.  I
grasped the skirt and pulled up on the hemline until it reached mid-thigh.  I
looked up at her, as if to say, “High enough?” but she motioned to keep going. 
Finally, she indicated that I could stop once my skin was visible above the
stockings.  My panties of course, were also visible.

“Very nice,” she said,
admiringly.  “I just needed to be certain.  And the lavender panties were a
good choice.”  She lowered my skirt and ran her hands down my hips, smoothing
again.  “Well, are you ready?  It’s time.”

 We exited her office and she led
us through the corridor.  I guessed that Nora was in her late thirties.  She
was tall (statuesque, even), thin but not too thin and undeniably attractive. 
She possessed an air of authority that would be intimidating if she weren’t so
pleasant.  The hall was carpeted and absolutely still and I could hear the
whisk of her nylons as she walked.  Halfway down the corridor, she stopped and
knocked on a door.  A voice called out, “Come in.”

She allowed me to enter first,
then followed and closed the door.  A man I recognized as Mr. Herron was seated
at the head of the conference table.  He looked up from a folder and smiled,
rising.  He walked toward us and extended his hand to me.

“T.G. Herron.  Glad to meet you,
Rachel.”  His hand was large, but his handshake was gentle and warm.  I
responded that the pleasure was mine, ending the sentence with “sir.”

“T.G., please,” he corrected. 
“Actually, we’ve met once before.  Do you remember?”

My face flushed in response.  Of
course, I did.  About a month ago, I was in the break room, pouring a cup of
coffee, when I happened to look over my shoulder and saw Mr. Heron waiting for
me to finish.  I was so rattled that I poured coffee all over the counter.  I’d
pondered the reasons for my reaction many times since.  First, I was shocked
that the head of the network would be fetching his coffee himself.   Doesn’t he
have a lackey for that?  Actually, I’d imagined that he’d have some executive
dining area staffed with his own chef and barista to cater to his refreshment
needs.  I mean, the guy is a billionaire media mogul, for god’s sake!  And to
have him waiting patiently while some 25-year-old production assistant (and an
intern at that!) goes through her ritual of pouring a half cup of coffee, then
adding a splash of creamer, etcetera, was both mind-boggling and embarrassing.

But the most unnerving element was
his appearance.  Handsome, yes, but his face had a weathered, hard-worn texture
and he practically radiated an aura of professionalism and yes, power.  And
this glow had diminished not one watt as he stood before me now.

“Yes, I remember.  I had spilled
the coffee that day.  And you were so nice to me.  I had tried cleaning the
area and kept making it worse.  And you apologized and said that you were
making me nervous and left.”

He laughed.  “Actually, I was
impressed with your poise under pressure.  I hope that the event broke the ice
sufficiently that you’ll feel comfortable today.  Why don’t you have a seat?” 
He waved his hand toward the far end of the conference table.

Nora pulled out the chair and
pushed it in once I sat.  She took a few steps back and remained behind me. 
T.G. held up the file he’d been reading.

“You have an impressive resume,
Rachel.  We’re glad that someone with your potential has come to work with the
network.  Internships are a valuable means of gaining experience before you
make that first career decision.  That first decision can determine a lot of
things about your future.  If you jump at the first chance you get, say, at a
local station in a small market, you might be setting yourself up for a long,
slow grind to work your way back toward a larger market or a network.  What are
your goals, Rachel?”

I reverted to job interview mode,
hoping that I didn’t sound like it.  “Well, since starting as a production
assistant, I’ve become more interested in the production aspects of news
pieces.  Initially, I was more interested in the writing and I still am, or
possibly easing into facing the camera, but I think working behind the scenes,
organizing things, is something that I’d like to explore further.”

He seemed to be weighing this
response before he spoke.  “Well, you should keep your options open.  I could
see you as an on-air personality.  You’re very attractive.  Don’t be shy about
it.  True, we do tend to favor a certain type of look on our programs.  What
was that Don Henley phrase, ‘Bubble-headed bleached blondes”?  He laughed. 
“It’s not my preference, by the way.  Our analysts tell us that men like having
the news reported and discussed by blonde, bimbo-ish types.  For the record, I
find brunettes, like you, much more attractive, especially those who wear
glasses.”

I pulled at the rims of my glasses
as I flushed.  Did he really say that?

“Now, the truth is,” he continued,
“that we have opportunities here that you won’t find elsewhere.  Why?  Because
I say so!  I can make it happen.  I’m not here to promise anything Rachel, but
I can say that I will give you an opportunity to leapfrog over your peers and
establish yourself in the Big Leagues, if that’s what you’d like.”

I was awestruck and tried to find
the words to express my gratitude.  He held up his hand, indicating that I
shouldn’t even try.

“I know that you’ve got the talent
and the drive to succeed, Rachel.  But I require more than that.  I have to
know that you’re willing to give everything you can to make this happen.  I
need a commitment.  I need your loyalty.  I need your blind obedience in order
for this opportunity to get off the ground.”

I stood, ready to declare my
devotion and allegiance to this man but, again, he held up his hand.

“Don’t tell me, Rachel,” he said
quietly.  “Show me.”

Nora stepped forward and held my
hand.  She placed her other hand on the small of my back and gently pushed me
toward the conference table.  “Go to him,” she whispered.  “Get on the table
and go to him.”

I thought I misunderstood her. 
Was she telling me to crawl to him?  But T.G., still seated at the far end of
the table, held out his arms, gesturing like a parent to a child taking its
first steps.  His hands beckoned me to come forward.

Nora guided me up onto the table,
first one knee and then the other.  She pulled off my shoes and then gave me a
light slap on the butt to propel me.  I’m a very shy person and would have
collapsed in laughter at the thought of how ridiculously unprofessional I must
appear, but between Nora’s insistence and T.G.’s encouragement, I crawled along
the table like someone who’d crossed a desert and had spied an oasis.  I was
compelled to move forward.

The conference table was at least
twenty feet long.  I had to crawl slowly along the hard surface to avoid
putting pressure on my knees.  I felt my skirt hike up to the middle of my
thighs.  Nora walked alongside of me, keeping pace.  I stared straight ahead at
the handsome, smiling man who had just offered me a future filled with
opportunity and recognition.  Finally, an opportunity to advance within the
corporation.  All I had to do was crawl toward it.

“Stop!” he said, suddenly, as I
neared the middle of the table.  “Now turn around facing the other way.”  I
pivoted around, my backside facing him.  “Continue toward me, facing that
way.”  I did as he instructed, crawling even slower now.  Trying to appear as
graceful as I could under the circumstances, I shifted to one hip, one butt
cheek out, extended my leg backward, then shifted to the other side.

“Magnificent,” he declared. 
“Rachel, you have an ass that men would fight wars for!”  I giggled at that. 
“Shhhh,” he scolded.  “Just keep coming back, slowly; that’s it.”  I knew I was
nearing the end of the table when I felt his hands clasp my buttocks, bringing
me to a halt.  His fingers squeezed and kneaded the roundness of my butt and
stroked my hips.  I felt like I might faint.

“I have to see your ass,” he
whispered hoarsely.  “Some bodies look better clothed, but I have a hunch
that’s not the case with you.”  His hands ran up my thighs, pulling the skirt
up with them.  I felt the skirt flip up on my lower back.  I was now exposed to
him.

“Gorgeous!  Nora, come look at
this.”  Nora walked out of my view.  I heard an intake of breath behind me and
then a hand touched my lower back and trailed down and around my ass.  Then a
firm slap on my right ass cheek sent a tremor through my whole body.

I heard a chair sliding along the
carpet and his body pressed against my back, enveloping me in an embrace.  His
hands clasped and squeezed my breasts, as he pulled my bottom against himself. 
“What are they?” he asked.  “34B’s?”

“Yes!” I choked.  My blood was
racing and my body felt inflamed.  I was being mauled and I loved it!

“Lie down on your back, now,” he
said.  I did as I was told, crumpling onto the table.  My knees dangled over
the edge and I felt my legs being parted.  “Help her!” he said to his
assistant.  Nora took my hand and brought it down to my panties, rubbing it
along my pussy.  When she let go, I continued to rub myself, pushing the silky
material between my lips, in and out.  I stared at the ceiling.  Had the lights
gone down?  It seemed darker in the room.  Or had I been transported to another
place, to some laboratory of depravity where I was a specimen to be observed
and probed?

Nora leaned over me, her face
inches from mine and began unbuttoning my blouse.  She leaned closer, her
breath warm on my face, smiling as her hands undid my blouse.  Her hand slipped
inside the blouse and along my belly, then snaked inside the cup of my bra,
caressing my breast and squeezing the nipple.  Her lips brushed mine and I
breathed into her mouth.  At the same time, I felt T.G.’s mouth envelop my damp
fingers, his tongue running over them, hungrily licking the juices they’d
stirred.  Then, precisely as Nora’s lips met mine, he pulled aside my panties
and covered my cunt with his mouth.  His tongue entered me and curled and
wiggled within me and my mouth replicated those motions in Nora’s mouth.  I
began to fuck her mouth with my tongue as the excitement in my pussy boiled
over.  I bucked my hips and moaned and ground my pelvis against T.G.’s mouth. 
Finally, kicking and quivering, I came.

Nora disengaged, giving my lips
one brief kiss before rising.  I lay flat on my back, spent, in another world,
but saw her glide over to T.G., who now stood upright.  They embraced and she
kissed and licked at the damp sheen on his face.  He continued to rub his hand
along my stocking leg, as if to calm and console me.  As she kissed him, Nora
unzipped his pants and exposed his swollen cock.  A strand of fluid dripped,
dangling from the purplish head.

“I need release, Rachel,” he said
evenly, as if to say. You know what to do.  Pulling myself up on to my knees, I
positioned myself in front of him, mouth open.  Nora rubbed his cock back and
forth and then lowered it to my lips.  His cock splashed and erupted, pumping
gobs of semen onto my tongue.  It tasted hot and salty and delicious.  It ran
down my chin and so I closed my lips around the head of his cock.  He grabbed
my hair with both hands and pulled and pushed my head against him until he was
done.  Then he let go, pushing my head away.

Nora walked to another door and I
heard water running.  She dabbed at T.G.’s face and then gingerly wiped his
drooping penis.  Then she bent and wiped at the semen on my chin.  Her
attention seemed maternal, so I half-expected the little kiss she bestowed on
my cheek.  She then stepped back from the table and stood rigidly, which I understood
to mean that we were done and I should remove my sex-dazed carcass from the
conference room table.  They both assisted in helping me onto my feet.