Hired Harem Pt. 1

   "Take your clothes off," I said.
   Tiffani-Amber Thiessen was sitting in the visitor's chair on the other
   side of my desk, looking at the contract she was here to sign. I hoped
   that she wasn't actually reading it, but just checking that it really
   was the same contract she'd already had her lawyers check out. She
   looked up from the paper when I spoke.
   "What?" she said.
   "Take your clothes off," I repeated.
   "I haven't signed this," she said. "So you can't order me around yet."
   "Not yet, no," I said. "But since you're about to agree to obey my
   every whim for the next year, I thought you might like an opportunity
   to see if you can stand it at all before you sign."
   She frowned. "How's that?"
   "You must have imagined by now what it'll be like to be my slave," I
   said. "But reality is never quite the same. Actually standing there
   undressing while I leer at you may not feel like you have imagined.
   So, here's a chance to find out what you'll really feel before you
   commit yourself fully."
   I smiled at her. "If you really do intend to sign that paper it'll
   only be a couple of minutes difference anyway, since undressing is the
   first thing I'll tell you to do after you sign."
   She thought about it for a few seconds, and then she put the paper
   down and started to unbutton her blouse.

   I'd met her at one of those Hollywood parties with lots of wannabe
   celebrities, a couple of actual celebrities and a handful of money
   people. I regularly get invited as one of the money people, since I
   lucked out big-time during the dotcom era. I hardly ever go, but this
   time it'd been one of those days when nothing whatsoever seemed fun,
   so I'd decided to drop in and see if I could entice some pretty girl
   into my bed. I'm no good at that, in spite of the advantage of
   fabulous wealth, so a couple of hours into the party found my standing
   at a huge balcony overlooking a tasteless but well-kept garden and a
   huge pool full of pretty wannabes all trying to look prettier, sexier
   and funnier than each other.
   "Sad, aren't they?" someone suddenly said.
   I looked to the side, and there she was. Tiffani. I recognised her, of
   course. She's one of those not quite top-notch celebrities who most
   people will recognise at sight but most won't be able to name.
   "How so?" I said.
   "The deperation," she said. "The intense desire to be someone."
   I don't remember much of the converstaion that followed. It wasn't
   very memorable, for the most part. We talked about fame, and the need
   to be seen, and what extremes people would go to to achieve it. Empty
   talk. Anecdotes. Rumours. Things like that.
   Until I suggested that she had it easy, since she was already rich and
   famous.
   "Yeah, right," she said, with a very bitter tone to her voice. "If it
   only was that easy. Fame is a race to stand still, and sooner or later
   you get tired."
   "But certainly you wouldn't dream of doing the things the girls down
   there will," I said.
   "Of course I would," she said. "I'm not getting any younger. I'm
   thirty years old, and it's already getting really hard to get parts.
   But, unlike them down there, I'd only do things if I knew they'd
   really get me something. No empty promises here. But if someone were
   to offer me, say, my own TV series with marketing campaign and all, I
   would do anything to get it."
   "Anything?" I said. "Really anything?"
   She looked straight at me, an unreadable expression on her face.
   "Pretty much," she said. "You offering?"
   "A TV series is a lot of money," I said. I could easily afford to
   waste that kind of money, of course, but it was still a lot. "If I
   were to spend that much, I would require a lot in return."
   Her eyes narrowed. "Such as?"
   "I don't know," I said. "I never thought about it. It'd have to be
   something I couldn't get any other way. You for a sex slave or
   something like that, I guess."
   "All right," she said. "Give me a hard offer, in legalese on paper
   with a dotted line to sign, and I'll do it. Be your slave for a week
   or something."
   A sense of unreality filled me. This conversation couldn't really be
   going on. Things like this didn't happen.
   "Not nearly long enough," I heard myself say. "Make it a full year and
   we have a deal, though."
   "A real TV series," she said. "With me as the star. 22 episodes, lots
   of marketing."
   "I'll have my legal people draw up a contract," I said. "Come by my
   office tuesday afternoon if you really mean business."

   Her blouse came off. She had a white lace bra under it, and her
   substantial breasts swelled enticingly inside it. Her high-heeled
   shoes followed, and her modest tan knee-length skirt fell to the
   floor. Her panties matched the bra, of course.
   "Is that enough?" she said.
   "You've still got clothes on," I said. "So no."
   Her hands were working at the bra clasp behind her back almost before
   I'd answered, so I guess she didn't really think it was enough either.
   She took it off and dropped it on the floor, her beautiful tanned
   breasts hanging free. My gaze was riveted to them. I'd seen them in
   those old magazine pictures, of course, but, as I'd told her earlier,
   reality was quite another thing.
   She got out of the chair and, once standing, took her panties off and
   stood entirely naked before me. By far the most attractive thing that
   had ever been seen in that office, I can tell you.
   "Well, that worked," she said. "Can we sign now?"
   I handed her a pen and watched with delight how her breasts moved as
   she bent down to the desk and put her name on the dotted line under
   the legalese, next to where I'd already signed mine.
   She stood up straight again, put her hands on her hips.
   "Well, I'm yours," she said. "What now?"
   I had the grandfather of all hard-ons.
   "I was planning to slowly and carefull explore your body, to touch all
   of it and find out what it felt like," I said, "but I really think
   I've changed my mind. There'll be time enough for that later. Right
   now, I'm hornier than I've ever been in my entire life and I just want
   to fuck you. So I guess I will. Are you wet?"
   She parted her legs a little and reached in between them with her
   hand. When it came back out again, she showed me a finger glistening
   with moisture. I got up from my chair and walked around the desk.
   "Lie on your back on the desk," I said. "Put your ass right at the
   edge with your legs hanging off it. Then spread your legs as wide as
   you can."
   She sat down at the edge of the desk and laid down as I'd told her,
   pushing a few papers aside first. She didn't say anything, and
   suddenly she didn't look so confident any more. She hesitated
   noticeably and closed her eyes before she parted her legs.
   For some reason, her visible discomfort aroused me something terrible.
   I wanted to just pull my pants down far enough to free my cock, grab
   on firmly to her legs and ram it into her, as hard and as fast as I
   could manage.
   I forced myself to wait, if only a little. I ran my fingers along the
   smooth skin of her inner thigh, then up along her tender vulva. She
   gasped and arched her back a little. If in an attempt to get me to
   touch her harder or to get away from my touch, I couldn't tell. Nor
   did I really care. I pushed my finger in between her labia, probing at
   the entrence to her vagina, making sure it really was as wet as she'd
   shown me. Pushing my finger ever so slightly inside her hot, wet
   vagina brought another soft gasp from her, and with that the last of
   my self control went. I dropped my pants and underwear and, spreading
   her labia with my fingers for easy access, pushed it into her.
   The feeling was divine. I love pussy in general, and the moment of
   first penetrating one is one of the most exquisite feelings there is.
   Entering a famously beautiful woman who was willingly under my total
   control, my very own sex toy, with no need for me to care the
   slightest about her pleasure or even comfort, made the experience
   undescribably delicious. As my hips reached hers I stopped, simply
   relising the tight, hot, wet feeling of her. I looked down, loving the
   sight of her snatch stretched by my flesh. My hands travelled up her
   body, sliding along her smooth flesh and delicious curves until I
   reached her wonderful breasts. I grabbed them, massaging them roughly
   as I started moving my hips back and forth, sliding my penis just out
   of her and then penetrating her again, and again, and again.
   I'd like to tell you that I went on like that for a hours and hours,
   bringin her to one screaming orgasm after another, but I didn't. I was
   so damn turned on by the whole situation that I unceremoniously
   exploded into orgasm at something like the fifteenth trust, giving
   poor Tiffani nothing but frustration and discomfort.
   Which, I guess, she'd better get used to. I still have no intention to
   care about her pleasure. She's my toy. She's here for my pleasure.
   And there just aren't words to tell you how much that turns me on.

   When she came back from the bathroom I'd told her to clean herself up
   in, she reached for her clothes.
   "No," I said.
   She looked up at me. "What?" she said.
   "I haven't told you to dress," I said. "So don't."
   "You want me to go home naked?"
   I glanced at the clock. "You're not going home for another
   three-hundred and sixty-four days and twenty-three hours," I said. "If
   you've forgotten, you're my slave now. You stay with me. And I want
   you naked."
   She sat down, looking deflated.
   "I'll have to make some calls," she said after a little while.
   "Arrange to have the plants watered and the dogs cared for and such."
   "My staff are taking care of it," I said. "Don't you worry."
   "Right," she said. "So what do you want me to do now? Just sit here
   without any clothes on?"
   "Pretty much," I said. "I have some work to do. While I do it, I want
   you to sit there with your legs spread wide and masturbate."
   She looked away. "Until I come?" she asked.
   "No," I said. "Until I tell you to stop."
   "And then?"
   I couldn't help smiling.
   "And then you have two more holes for me to try out," I said.