Bound To You

Chapter 3- Clara

My heart was beating out of my chest as I made my way toward Mr. Bettencourt's office. I heard a firm and deep voice say, "Let her in." The way he spoke was demanding, impatient, and sexy. Tracey swung the door open and let me into the room. As I suspected, everything was dark and minimalist. No photos, artwork, or fuss. He had a large gray desk in the middle of the room, fixed in front of a wall of windows. The view looked out upon the city and from what I could see, had a perfect sight of the Empire State Building. I could only see Mr. Bettencourt's back as he looked out the window. "Ms. Walsh, I've been expecting you."

As he turned around, the lights illuminated his face and I could see all his features. His eyes were brown and darkened in an intimidating fashion as I approached. Every aspect of his face looked as though an artist perfectly chiseled it. His cheekbones sat high and his jawline was so sharp it could probably cut through a diamond. Upon said jawline was brown stubble and a mustache that circled his mouth. And his lips, oh his lips, looked soft and pouty. Was it bad that all I could think about was kissing him? Mr. Bettencourt's hair was short on the sides but full on top, his brown locks slicked back for a clean look. His crisp white shirt sat upon his tanned skin and I noticed his red tie. Red seemed to be an interesting choice. Most businessmen choose blue or black, as those seem to be professional colors. The only men who chose red ties were politicians and aggressive people. He was expressionless and stood tall, definitely over six feet. It was only when he spoke that I realized I'd be staring, "Ms. Walsh, are you mute?."

I was shocked to hear him speak to me in such a manner. I panicked, "Sorry, Mr. Bettencourt," I stuttered, "I guess I'm a little nervous."

"I asked you how you were." The way he spoke was so direct, almost mean.

"I am well, Mr. Bettencourt. How are you?"

"Fine. Take a seat." He ordered me and I followed his command without question. I watched as he carefully began pacing in front of me, "Ms. Walsh, your resume was unremarkable."

My feet shuffled underneath the chair as my face began to flush, "I apologize if my resume wasn't of interest to you, but I assure you that I could perform any task of need."

"So is there anything else I should know about you other than that you have essentially no work experience or education."

Who did this guy think he was? He has all this money so he thinks he walks on water? I straightened my back and stuck out my chest with pride, "Well, I do have my high school diploma and I worked as a babysitter for four years. I wouldn't necessarily call that unremarkable, sir." I noticed he shuddered when I referred to him as "sir."

"Ms. Walsh–"

"Clara."

I could see the rage filling his eyes, "You do not interrupt me." Silently, I complied out of fear of what would happen if I crossed him again. He continued, "Clara, I can see you take direction well. This position requires compliance. How could you exemplify that?"

"Well, how does anyone exemplify compliance? I can't answer that with a statement. It would require an example on my end."

"Very well." He walked over and stopped right behind me, "Stand up." I did as I was told and stayed facing away from him. He barked another command, "Bend over."

"What?" I looked back at him with a confused expression. Before I could respond, he spoke, "No questions. Do as you are told. Bend over and put your hands on my desk. I will not ask again."

Without another word, I performed the action, feeling very uncomfortable and exposed as I did so. From the corner of my eye, I saw him delicately take out what looked like a checkbook and fountain pen from a drawer. Both items were placed in front of me. I froze when I heard his voice, "Take the pen and write a check for $10,000."

I didn't hesitate as I began to write the check. This was normal, right? He probably just wanted to make sure I had financial literacy skills which were important for a personal assistant to have. After writing the numbers, there was one question I had to ask. With my body shaking from anxiety, I asked, "Who do I make this out to?"

I heard him sigh and say, "Ms. Clara Walsh." Immediately, I stopped what I was doing and stood up. There was no way I heard him right, "Excuse me, sir, what did you say?"

"You heard me. Also, have I asked you to stand upright yet?" He said with a straight face.

"No, sir."

"Bend over and write Ms. Clara Walsh."

"Yes, sir."

I looked down again, bent over as I was told to, and slowly wrote my name on the line. When I finished, I stayed in place, waiting for another command. I shuddered until I heard, "Sit down."

I did so and then felt his waist against my back. I could feel the warmth of his torso against my blazer, and then his arms came around me, hands touching the desk. I could feel his breath on my neck and my body tingled with every exhale. With him so close, I could smell his cologne, with hints of citrus and amber. Oh God, he smelled divine. He picked up the pen and began to sign his name. In one swift motion, he tore off the check, stood erect, and handed it to me. Dumbfounded, I said, "Mr. Bettencourt, I can't accept this."

His brow furrowed, "Why not? Most people would kill to receive this check. Are you ungrateful?"

"No, sir. I just feel it's inappropriate to accept money without doing work first."

"Who said you didn't already work?" A grin formed on his face. "You followed every command and exemplified compliance. I could use that in a slave."

"Excuse me?" Fear rushed through my body. Nicholas Bettencourt, the billionaire, just told me he wanted me to be his slave. I froze in place as my thoughts began to rush. Should I run? Am I supposed to respond? What would even be the appropriate response to this? I continued to stare at him, check in hand, with my mouth hanging open. I waited for his response.

"Well?" He asked, "Are you up for the job? Of course, it would be a live-in position. I'll take care of the necessary arrangements. You'd be fed, dressed, and any needs would be taken care of. As far as payment, how does $20,000 a month sound? That would be your allowance. I could get you moved into my penthouse today. What do you say, Clara? Would you like to be my slave?"

My knees began to knock as my breathing quickened. I didn't think I wanted to be a slave, but I could surely use the money and the security of not having to pay rent. What would my family think? What would Lexie think? This went against every moral I learned in church as a little girl, yet I couldn't stop thinking about living in luxury in my dream city. Why would he even want me? I'm not that pretty. Sure, I know how to do my hair and makeup, as well as dress myself nicely in what I could afford. My natural appearance, however, was decent at best. What would make the richest, sexiest man in the world want me? I parted my lips, "I... I don't know what to say."

He cleared his throat and shot daggers into my eyes, "I know it must sound confusing now, but I want to make myself clear. I don't want a relationship. I just want sex. You see, Clara, I'm a very lonely man with strong desires. My mind is twisted, I have fantasies and urges. I need a release. You are to be a sex slave to me, nothing more. We aren't to have conversations or form a relationship. When I want you, I will have you, no questions asked. You are to perform any duties I need of you and you cannot refuse. If you try to push these boundaries, you will be released immediately. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"So, are you agreeable to this?"

Taking deep breaths, I pondered his question. With this deal, I'd be stripped of all my choices regarding sex. I'd essentially become his prostitute. Nevertheless, I couldn't help but wonder what the fantasies were that he was talking about. Did he mean, like, roleplay? I've never even done that before. Yes, I've had sex, but it wasn't good sex. My first time was like anyone else's. I met him one summer at the lake and we did it in the back of his dad's truck. It wasn't romantic or anything, but it wasn't rough or intense. Now, I was given the option to have an allowance and luxury living accommodations in exchange for my body. I took a hard swallow and sighed, "Yes, sir. I will be your slave."