Page 1 of Possessive Billionaire
1
Mason
“The way I see it,Governor, you’re approval ratings are in the tank. You’re being labeled the most incompetent governor in American history. And that’s quite an achievement, believe me. Even your own party has left you out to dry. So now you’re here. In my office. You’re on your knees begging me for help.” I cross my legs and pick an imaginary piece of lint off my Italian cotton, hand-made trousers. I love wielding this kind of power over supposedly important people. They play the big shot on TV. But the truth of the matter is, it’s men like me who run this country. Without us, they’d be nothing. They’re just too ashamed to admit it. That is, until it’s election time and they think they’re about to lose. “But, what’s in it for me?”
The governor pulls at his collar. His face is an unhealthy purple. He looks like a moldy old beetroot that’s been sitting at the bottom of the basket for about two weeks too long.
He’s not used to people talking to him like this.
He’s used to being the big swinging dick in the room. But soon he’ll be sucking off hobos in public bathrooms if he’s not careful. The voters are out to get him and it’s going to take a hell of a lot to change their minds.
“What is it you want, Mason?” He opens his arms wide and looks around my large, meticulously designed office. He’s trying to play it cool. Trying to act relaxed. But, he’s a horrible poker player. He isn’t kidding anyone. Especially me. No wonder the public hates him. He’s useless, and he’s useless and pretending he’s not.
His eyes land on the Picasso hanging above my desk. A hundred and fifty million dollars worth of genius. It should be in a museum. But then I wouldn’t get to look at it and jack off and think about all the people I crushed to have this item in my possession.
“You already have everything,” he says.
I stand up and smile. There’s a large map hanging on the wall to my left. It wasn’t there this morning. I had it especially fitted for this meeting. I walk over to it. I trace my fingers along a thin red line that roughly splits the map in two. It’s a property line. My property line. “I own a piece of land on the edge of this state. It’s roughly two million acres. I’ve been trying to get planning permission to build on it for years.” I turn to my victim and sit down facing him. The armchair is soft and antique and it’s probably worth as much as an ordinary person's house. I sit on the edge. Leaning forward. I want him to look me in the eyes as I fuck him. I want to watch as the color drains from his face and he knows he’s mine. “I want that planning permission, Bernard. And I want it now.”
“B-b-but… it can’t be done!” He squawks. “You know that! I mean, I would if I could. But my hands are tied. They really are.”
I sit for a moment and consider what to say.
I knew he’d refuse me. Just like I know he’ll give in once I apply a little more pressure.
“It saddens me to hear that.”
I stand up and walk to my window. The view is fantastic. Thirty-fourth floor. I can see the business district and the suburbs and I can see the wide-open fields and the trees and the wooded area that surrounds us. The sky is a magnificent blue. White and grey clouds streak across it like they’re on their way to a dance. A huge flock of birds sails through the air. Moving as one. Diving and darting on the current like a magnificent beast from an ancient dream.
“I could donate a couple of hundred million dollars to your campaign. Run it through a handful of different super PACs. Nobody would ever know where it came from. We could run ads about how you really do care about the everyday people of this great state. How all the bad things they’ve heard are just malicious lies made up by jealous adversaries, hell-bent on gaining power for their own, wicked ways. Heck, we could probably paint you out to be some kind of saint. A martyr. A man who would give his life for the betterment of his people.
“Give me a week, and they won’t even remember the record-breaking unemployment. The homelessness. They won’t remember how you’ve been taking bribes from half a dozen multinationals. How you’ve been sleeping with a Chinese spy. Feeding her information about our military plans and our foreign agenda in Africa. How you even allowed her to video you in the act.” I turn around and pick up a large brown envelope from my desk. I throw it onto his lap. It’s heavy. Really heavy. Like one of those old-school dictionaries that could double as a weapon. But, it’s not the weight of the envelope that has the governor looking like he’s about to collapse onto the floor and never wake up. It’s what in it that’s troubling him.
“H-h-h-how did you g-g-g-get these?”
There’s sweat trickling down his face. This is the part I love. The part I live for. The part that keeps me up at night, my cock hard. My fist clenching around my length as I pump out stream after stream of delicious white victory come.
“Does it matter?” I walk back around the desk. I look down at him like I’m a school teacher and he’s a naughty schoolboy who’s been caught watching the girls in the sports changing rooms. “What matters is–”
“Nooooooooooo!”
A blood-curdling scream emanates from behind my office doors.
It ruins my flow.
I look at the thick, mahogany doors and wonder what in the heck is going on out there. My staff knows not to let anything disturb me. Especially when I’m in the middle of a deal.
This development project. It could make me the richest man in America. Heck, it could make me the richest man on the planet.
I turn back to the Governor. “What really matters, is–”
Again, a loud thump sounds from my reception area. I hear people yelling. Crying.
It’s probably one of those environmental nut jobs. Covering herself in red paint. Filming herself on TikTok so the whole world knows how much she cares.
“What really matters,” I try again. Hopefully, security will have turned up by now. They’ll be leading whoever disturbed me back down the stairs in handcuffs. On their way to the local jail. With a bit of luck, they’ll end up as someone's prison bitch by the end of the day, “is that I get these houses built. I don’t care how you do it. All I care is that it gets done. And as for the–”
“Please!”
