My Killer Boss

December 26th, 2017

My job is to run this house. His house. I am to manage the housekeeper, the cook, the butler, and even communicate with his secretary. Mason Montgomery doesn't make a single decision, and it's all up to me. My job would be a piece of cake, if only he communicated. Since starting a month ago, I've made so many mistakes that I am convinced he has hired me for the comedic relief of toying with me by trial and error.
On this particular morning, Mr. Montgomery has already left for the office to do whatever it is he does. I don't ask questions. The paycheck is more than generous enough to ensure my submissive silence. The sun is out, shining through the floor to ceiling windows as I watch the small flat screen on the kitchen wall while seated at the breakfast bar, sipping black tea and eating toast. Pulling the tie from my honey colored hair, I shake it loose and listen as the newscaster delivers the crime and weather news for the day. I suppose it's my job to know the weather and headlines.
"Enjoying your breakfast?" A deep voice rumbles from behind me, and I drop my toast, spinning to see Mr. Montgomery staring at me. Even in a plain aqua colored button up shirt, black slacks and some leather shoes that were meant to look business casual, he's intimidating. Standing over six feet, four inches, he was nothing but solid muscle. His short hair is mostly black, only graying at the temples. Warm whiskey eyes mirror the smirk on his face, as I hastily brush crumbs from my own shirt and stand.
"Mr. Montgomery," I choke out.
"Relax, Emily," he speaks, in a gentle tone, as he addresses me by my first name, just like he does with all of his staff. "I simply forgot my tie. I suspect that may be because one was not laid out for me this morning."
Shit! I think to myself. "My sincerest apologies, Mr. Montgomery. I can get one for you right now if you'd like." Stupid, stupid, stupid, I mentally chastise myself as I rush past him.
A firm grip on my arm stops me in my tracks, and I look at the masculine fingers wrapped around my bicep and then to the face inches from mine.
"I'd like a moment with you," Mason breathes into my ear. My spine is so stiff, as I smell his cologne and subconsciously lean into him, mentally pleading for him not to fire me. At forty-two years old, he's fifteen years my senior and I'm not sure if that adds to his intimidation factor or not.
Mr. Montgomery turns with his grip still on my arm and escorts me away from the prying eyes of the maid. As we march up the stairs, I open my mouth to apologize again, promptly closing it when I see him glance at me out of the corner of his eye. His jaw is set, and his fingers are biting into my arm.
Quietly, we push down the elegant hall, toward the master bedroom. When one of the cherry doors open, I'm still stunned. With firm pressure, he encourages me into the room, before shutting the door.
The bed is a king, covered in scarlet and gold, a huge four poster bed. Straight ahead is a balcony, with floor to ceiling glass doors and a fireplace is to my right. There's a huge cherry desk to match the mantel and I find on of the two doors I need. The closet.
"I'll just find a tie for you, sir," I stutter, looking down at the grip on my arm.
"That's not why you're here, Emily, but first," I watch as he bends down, taking one of my feet out of its heel, sliding one hand down my thigh to cradle my calf, and then the other. God he does smell so good. "You're not tripping over the carpet on my watch."
"Thank you, sir, but that's not necessary," I murmur as he stands close to me again, my back to the double doors that we just came through. "About your tie," I say, the words immediately cut off as his hand covers my mouth. Pressing his body against mine, he pins me back, nudging my legs apart with his knee.
My eyes go wide and I shake my head no, my heart pounding out of my chest. I'd rather be fired. I don't want to be sexually assaulted.
His hand travels up my thigh, as his small beard scratches against my neck. "Each time you mess up," he whispers to me, pausing to nip my lobe, "I'm going to punish you. And before you say no, let me remind you," he says as his fingers slip into my panties, caressing the poor, swollen lips between my legs. "You signed a contract. No quitting for at least a year. For any reason. No talking to anyone about our business relationship," he chuckles and I feel like vomiting. But he's right. If I quit, if I break any of my contractual agreements, I don't get a one hundred and fifty grand check. I need that money.
Tears spring my from my eyes, and he smiles, licking one off of my cheek. His fingers push into me painfully, and I sob ugly sobs against his hand.
"You'll learn to love this," he tells me and I shake my head against the door once more as his thumb finds my clit, rubbing circles in an attempt to get me to respond to him.
"All you have to do is cum for me," he says, taking his hand away from my mouth to yank my shirt up over my breasts. Pulling one of out my bra, he laughs when he sees one hardened nipple. He looks me in the eye, as his fingers slowly move in and out of me. "I wonder if you'll cum for me, if I suck this pretty little thing into my mouth," he rubs a thumb over the pebbled flesh and I brace my hands on his shoulders.
"You're an animal, get off of me!" I growl at him, tears falling down my face.
My reply doesn't faze him at all, and I watch as he sucks my nipple into his mouth, his beard scraping the sensitive flesh of my breast. "Cum for me," he says, as he holds my nipple captive with his teeth. "This will all be over if you just give me what I want."
"Never!" I try to buck away from him, but his fingers slide deeper, finding my gspot. The suction of his warm, mouth on my flesh and his curled fingers stroking my gspot and circling my clit make me fall apart and my body sags against him.
Mr. Montgomery smiles as he watches me succumb to his actions. Shame and disappointment course through my body.
"I like taking things that aren't mine," he coos to me, pulling his fingers away from my flesh and licking them clean. "Forbidden fruit is always the sweetest. Rather, stolen orgasms are." He actually winks at me.
My spent body is laid on his bed, my legs weak, my body shaking with the sobs of despair. I lift my head with surprise and reluctance as he kneels at the foot of the bed, lifting my skirt, "I think I'll steal another and then call it a day."