Billionaire Dom: The Beginning

By E. F. Foster

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

Unemployed and broke, her life changes completely when a reclusive billionaire makes her the subject of his darkest obsessions.

As he moulds her into his perfect plaything and brings her into a world where even your wildest dreams can become reality, she has one final choice to make:

Will she return to her old life and retain independence or bend to his will and find freedom through submission?

The first entry in the Billionaire Dom series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: E. F. Foster
• Release date: Sep 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005343057

E. F. Foster

Everyone remembers their first.Whether that's their first time or their first time with a new partner (or partners) or trying something outside of their comfort zone, there is an excitement and anticipation that can be hard to recreate.The erotic works of E. F. Foster look to capture that feeling as people explore their sexuality and their sexual preferences in new and exciting ways, binding it to the page for others to experience again and again.

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Billionaire Dom: The Beginning

Copyright © 2022 E. F. Foster

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

ISBN: 9781005343057 (ebook)

Billionaire Dom: 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,