Her Breeding Bull Billionaire

By: Francis Ashe


A day after my husband called the number listed on the application, we got a call back. The man in question, a guy named Clark Richards, informed us that he would like to meet before going forward. He informed us that we were to meet him at his office the following day at half past eight.

“He’s interviewing us,” I said to Jeff as we parked and made the hike past security and down a long wood-paneled hallway to a private elevator. The only buttons on the elevator’s panel were labeled ‘executive’ and ‘lobby’. “I like him already.”

Jeff nodded. I could tell he was nervous. He always got like this when we met a bull. Something about this guy though, was different. I thought maybe it was just the gravity of the situation, the baby and all, but he insisted that was not the case.

“This is such a different world than we’re used to, Ash,” he said, “I mean, what does this guy do anyway?”

Good question, I thought. “Well this architectural monstrosity is labeled ‘Clark Richards Financial Group’ so maybe he’s some kind of investment consultant?”

He shook his head. I could tell what he was thinking.

“Honey,” I said, “we can turn around if this is making you uncomfortable.”

“Oh no, no,” Jeff stammered, “I’m really, really excited. All this power, all this wealth. Just imagine...” His thought hung in the air as the elevator acknowledged the end of the ride with a friendly chime.

“Are you... Mistah and Missus... uh... Hanson?” The secretary said as we exited the elevator into a futuristic-looking space surrounded entirely by windows. The office behind her was marked ‘Clark Richards, CEO’ and, except for the clear door, was all frosted glass. She looked like a sit-com stereotype - popping gum, nasally voice, oval glasses and too much lipstick.

“Yes ma’am,” I said, “I’m Ashleigh and this is Jeff.”

“Okay. Mistah Richards has been expecting you. Go on back. It’s the... uh... big glass door behind me with the stencil of his name.” She returned, immediately, to her magazine and popping gum.

I pushed open the door, Jeff behind me. As soon as we were both inside, it swung closed with a magnetic click! Behind the very clean mahogany desk across the room sat the man from the pictures.

“Good morning,” I said, crossing the room. I stuck my hand out, but he just gestured to the two chairs.

“Please, sit.” He said, and as we did, he stood.

“Now, before we begin, I realize that my demands are a little abnormal. But understand that my time is valuable. I have to know that what I’m doing will benefit my desires before I waste it on frivolity.” His voice was calculated.

I’ve seen alpha type guys before, but holy shit. I looked over at Jeff, who seemed cowed by this man’s wealth, confidence and obvious power. As for me, I just wanted him to throw me across this desk and fuck my brains out.

“You – ah, Ashleigh? Are you ovulating presently?”

That took me out of my little fantasy. “Well, yes... sir, I am. But what does that...?”

“Good. I like the way you look. I can tell you’re serious about this arrangement. I only take women when they’re ready for me. My time, as I said, is valuable. Who are you?”

“I’m... uh, I’m Ashleigh and this is Jeff.” Jeff nodded.

“No, I mean who are you? Why should I want to give you a child? You see who I am, what I offer you. Why are you worth my effort?”

That took me aback.

“Well, I’m an artist. I teach classes at the university in town, and I also have a studio. Lots of... ah... painting. Is... what I do. Painting.” The last time anyone had dumbfounded me like Mr. Richards just did was, well, probably in High School.

He shifted his gaze. “And you?”

“I’m... uh... sales manager. I’m the sales manager at the software company down the street. Intellitrac.”

“Hum. Well, alright.” Mr. Richards leaned back against his desk and wrung his hands. “You say you’re a teacher, Ashleigh, at the university? Are you a professor? Graduate student?”

“Yes sir, I’m a professor. And run the studio, which does well for itself.”

Clark Richards answered with another cryptic nod and more hand wringing. His face did soften a bit. He looked pleased.

“So that’s the business of it. I’m satisfied. I can’t have any possible offspring of mine being placed in helpless situations. You understand.”

Unbelievably, I nodded.

“One last thing, though,” he said as he pushed off the desk and moved across the room. “I need to know that you’ll be able to satisfy me sexually. Men like me can afford to be choosy. Ashleigh. Prove to me that you’re worth my time and my energy. I have a meeting in eight minutes. Make it quick.”

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