The Weekend with the Rich Bitch
As I walked into the lavish mansion, my heart raced with excitement. I was there for a job interview, but as soon as I saw the luxurious interior and the breathtaking view from the foyer, I knew it wasn't going to be an ordinary weekend. The butler led me to a private study where a woman sat behind a desk, poring over some papers. She looked up and smiled at me, revealing a set of perfectly aligned white teeth.
"You must be Peter," she said, her voice velvety smooth. "I'm Kitsy Vixen. Please, have a seat."
Her office was decorated in shades of gold and silver, with priceless antiques adorning every corner. The scent of expensive perfume filled the air, and I could feel my body responding to the sensual atmosphere.
"So, Peter," she began, leaning back in her chair. "I understand you're interested in working for me this weekend?"
I nodded, trying to contain my nerves. "Yes, ma'am. I've heard great things about you and your... unique hiring process."
She chuckled softly, her dark eyes twinkling with amusement. "Is that so? Well, I must say, I was quite impressed with your response. It shows initiative."
She stood up from her desk and walked around to the front of it, a graceful feline movement that seemed almost predatory. She stood before me, towering over my five-foot-nine frame.
"I have a very... specific task in mind for you this weekend, Peter," she purred. "Are you ready to take on the challenge?"
My heart hammered in my chest as I nodded, not daring to speak.
"Good," she said, her voice dropping an octave. "Because once we start, there's no going back."
She led me down a long corridor, her heels clicking against the marble floors. We entered a lavish bedroom with a four-poster bed and a fireplace blazing in the corner. She turned to face me, her lips pulled into a seductive smile.
"It's time for you to earn your keep, Peter," she said, her voice low and hypnotic.
With that, she pushed me onto the bed and began to undress, her movements slow and deliberate. She was wearing nothing but a black lace bra and panty set that left very little to the imagination. As she crawled onto the bed, her body pressed against mine, I couldn't help but feel a surge of desire.
"Relax, Peter," she murmured, running her fingers through my hair. "You're going to love this weekend."
And with that, she leaned in close, her warm breath brushing against my neck. "You're going to be my fart slave."
As the words sank in, a wave of shock rippled through me. But before I could react, she pressed her hand against my crotch, and I felt her warm, moist breath against my ear.
"And you're going to love it," she whispered, her voice dangerously seductive.
