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A BDSM, Billionaire, Erotic Romance
Part Four of the
‘Bought by the Billionaire’ Series
Author: Simone Leigh
Part Four
The Master’s Desires
I am lying on a bed, blindfolded and with my arms stretched wide above my head, chained to the bedposts.
I am wearing very little—a silky black camisole, stockings with black lacy tops, and a matching thong, which, right now, is doing little except act as a partial barrier to my flooding pussy.
My legs are spread, and kneeling between them I think, although I cannot be sure because I cannot see or even move very well, is Richard Haswell, billionaire owner of one of the largest corporations in the country, perhaps the world. My Master.
Two weeks ago, I didn’t have anything. I was an almost penniless student doing dead-end work to make ends meet. Now, I have an amazing job, am receiving top-class training so that I will one day be qualified and independent in my own right, am showered with beautiful clothes, wined and dined, and taken to amazing places. And for all this, all I have to do is give my Master whatever he wants, whenever he wants it.
I think he is still clothed. I feel the smooth fabric of his tight cut black jeans rubbing against my open thighs, his erection pressed against my stomach.
His lips are suckling on my left nipple; his tongue is manipulating and kneading it, sending electric currents of desire shockingly down through my stomach, hips, and aching cunt.
He switches to the other nipple, and forcing my legs farther apart with his knees, he arranges me to his satisfaction. His hot breath on the sensitive skin of my breasts is making me flush and sweat. I feel his tongue trail along my cleavage, licking me dry. My breath is rapid and shallow, and as his tongue rides back to a nipple, he bites, not hard, but enough to startle me and I half gasp, half yelp at the almost pain of his nip.
“No noise, Elizabeth,” he says. “This time, I want you silent.” Then he bites the other nipple. Arching my back and shuddering, I try to obediently be silent through my panting.
One hand slides across my breast, pinching the nipple and then tweaking and teasing until I know that it is a solid, erect bud, crinkling rose against my Celtic pale skin.
My other nipple gets the same treatment, and I writhe under him, my hips beginning to judder with the need to have him inside me. So far, he has touched only my breasts, belly, and neck, not yet venturing near my streaming pussy and swollen clit.
“What do you want, Elizabeth?” he asks in his deep, rich voice.
What does he expect me to say? I want him to plant his mouth over my slit and suck me dry. I want him to fuck me until I can’t stand. But all I can do is moan incoherently.
*****
Earlier that day, having been sent to his office with some documents for his attention, he waves me to a seat. “Sit down, Elizabeth. I just wanted a brief chat. Bear with me, I won’t be but a moment.”
Quickly, he scans the documents, then signing one, he passes the file back to me. “Thanks. Give those back to Mack, and tell him I’d like to see the two-year forecasts as well.”
I make a quick note of this. Mack, Micale Kane, manager of the procurement section, is my immediate supervisor for the moment, while I spend a couple of weeks in procurement. As part of my internship program with the company, I learn what each department does, how it works, and where it fits in the scheme of things.
I don’t care for the man. His smile always seems fake to me, and while he hasn’t tried to make a move on me, there is something about him that always makes me want to wash my hands after I’ve been talking to him.
Of course, I have said none of this to Richard. I am the new kid on the block, and even with our special arrangement, I am sure that it would not be well-received if I started mouthing off about people who have been here for years.
“So, how’s the training going?”
Pulling back my attention to where it belongs, I reply, “Great. It’s so interesting. Being able to link up what they teach us at college with how a company actually works in practice ...”
“And the college? Your studies?”
“Oh, it’s all fine now. HR got me onto a day release program, with three days a week here and two in college. I can cover all the bases this way—get to grips with the things I need to learn, both on paper and for real.”
He nods in satisfaction. “Good. And you are getting to grips with things? Where are you now, for example? Procurement is it?”
I nod. “Yes, I’m working my way through. I haven’t got my head around all of it yet, but I’ll get there.”
“Something’s giving you problems? What is it?”
I am reluctant to ask him a lot of questions. This is, after all, Richard Haswell. Billionaire tycoons have better things to do than answer questions from half-cocked trainees.
“C’mon,” he says. “Out with it.” He glances at the clock. “I have fifteen minutes before my next meeting, so ask.”
“Err, well, I am learning my way around the procurement process and trying to tie up in my head where the paperwork fits in with the computer system ...”
“And?”
“Well, I can’t figure it out. It is just so complicated with all the different projects you have going on, and in so many different places, so I decided to just pick one project, as a kind of working example, and follow the paper trail.”
Nodding his head, he says, “Good idea. So?”
“Well, I picked the Hanover Mall project you’ve got going on over at the other side of the city. And I just can’t get it to work in my head when I try to fit the pieces together. I keep coming back in a loop and finding myself at the same place again. It is like the same things are being charged twice or even more than twice. I don’t get it at all.”
I shrug. “Certainly, that can’t be it and I’m probably missing something really obvious ...” My voice trails off. I feel nervous that I’m making a fool of myself in front of this man who has given me the opportunity of a lifetime.
He nods thoughtfully, pursing his lips. “As you say, you are probably missing something. Print me off a copy of what you’ve got and bring it over tonight. I’ll take a look at it for you. Meanwhile ...” he looks at me meaningfully, “... speaking of tonight—seven o’clock?”
I cast my eyes down “Yes, Sir.”
He sucks in his cheeks, smiling. “Elizabeth, don’t do that here. I can’t attend meetings with a raging hard-on.”
Lost for words, I bob a curtsey. “Yes, Mr Haswell.” And I go about my business.
*****
Later that evening, I am sure he does have a raging hard-on. While I can’t see it, I can feel it pressing against my thighs as he leans into me.
“What do you want, Elizabeth? This won’t go any further until you ask me for it.”
I hear a buzz, then feel a sharp pain in one nipple, then the other, as he clamps vibes to my small, firm buttons.
This is too much, and I struggle against the chains, trying to escape the electric arousal spiking through me. My pussy gushes and I moan, trying to thrash both against and into the sensation.
“What do you want, Elizabeth? Tell me. You have to tell me.”
“I want ... I want ...”
“Yes?”
“Oh, God! I want you inside me. Please. I want you inside me.”
“That’s better. And then?”
I am half-crazy with lust. I can barely think straight. “I want you to fuck me. Please, just fuck me.”
“That’s good, Elizabeth. And how do you want to be fucked?”
I am not sure how to answer and hesitate, my panting growing ragged.
“How do you want to be fucked, Elizabeth? Tongue? Fingers? Or do I get myself balls-deep inside you, and pin your pretty brains to your skull?”
The image this question conjures up is too much, and I moan again. It is about the only thing I can do, bound and blindfolded.
“Enough noise, Elizabeth. If you can’t ask nicely for what you want, I think I’ll shut you up.” His fingers prise my mouth open, forcing something inside and then tying around at the back of my head. A ball of some kind? It is soft and rubbery against my tongue, but my mouth is held open against it. I am effectively gagged, and now my helpless moans are muffled.
“You look good like that, Elizabeth, with your mouth held open. I might have to think about what else I might put in there. But for now, a little more stimulation, I think,” he says.
After a moment, I again feel a sharp pain in first one nipple and then the other. I try to yelp, but cannot. Then, my already sensitive nipples start to vibrate, gently at first. I am just beginning to handle this exquisite sensation when the vibe increases violently. I convulse, my hips bucking, my urgent cries blocked by my gag. I try to speak, but cannot.
“Too late now, Elizabeth. You had your chance to speak.”
He lifts my left leg by the knee, passing something under it. A rope? A belt? A cuff? Blinded as I am, I cannot tell. Then he does the same with my right knee. Abruptly, I find both legs being spread, parted at the knees, lifting me from the hip and displaying my throbbing pussy. For a moment, my weight is suspended quite painfully as my knees are pulled back and towards my face, but then he pushes something under my hips, a pillow or cushion supporting me and the pain subsides.
I lie, almost crucified on the bed, blindfolded, gagged, arms chained, and legs bent almost doubled back on themselves, with my pussy splayed.
“Not quite wide enough, I think,” comes my Master’s voice. And the ropes pull my knees farther apart. He adjusts the cushion under my hips, forcing my back to arch, pushing my hips higher, and my dripping pussy is now even more exposed. “That’s better, Elizabeth. Now I can see you properly.”
I am so ready for him. Frantic with arousal, crazy with lust, I just want him to plunge his cock inside me and pound away at my core.
Instead, I feel the lightest of touches. Fingers part my pussy lips, stretching them wide. His face is so close to me. I feel his warm breath over my swollen and pulsating labia, then his tongue curls around them, over and around, continuing on to my pussy where he pushes in, licking me inside. The pressure of his face against me tells me he is licking as deep as he is able, probing with the tip and tasting my juices. His whole mouth fastens around me, and he starts chewing at me, his tongue working me all the time as I heave and struggle and squeal against my bonds, the gag, and the exquisite pleasure and pain of it all. I try to scream against the ball gag in my mouth, but it fights against me, and only muffled cries escape.
Then he withdraws, leaving me shaking and shuddering, hips jerking and bucking against my ties. My pussy is hot, drenched, engorged, and I am desperate to have him inside me.
He removes the gag. “Anything to say, Elizabeth?” he asks. “Any requests yet? You know you have to ask first.”
My mouth is dry from the gag, and my jaw is aching from being held open, so I have trouble speaking. “Inside me. Please, Master, inside me.”
“That’s better, Elizabeth. You are learning nicely. I’ll take your training a little further after today.”
I barely have time to wonder what he means by this when he slips something inside me. Sliding easily against my slick pussy lips, he inserts something, which for a moment, simply sits inside me. Then it also starts to vibrate to a pulsing rhythm. An egg?
I convulse again, but still, I am pinned.
“Calm down, Elizabeth. We’ve barely started.” He probes with a finger inside me, pushing the vibe in deeper, pressing it in as far as it will go. “Now, Elizabeth, I want to hear you yelp for me.” He turns the power up, and this time, the part-moan, part-howl that comes from me is loud and long. Mercilessly, he wraps his mouth around my clit, sucking hard at my swollen bud. I struggle and wriggle, trying to escape the sensation overload, but at the same time, glorying in it.
The combination of vibration on my nipples, pulsing from within, and his mouth clamped over me, is tormenting and pleasuring me and is irresistible.
From within, an orgasm swells and rises, building to the peak, and then in an uncontrollable surge, takes me. My Master works my clit with his tongue, drinking me as I gush, one hand on my flat belly, massaging my inner muscles against the egg. I scream against the unbearable, sweet, bitter, pleasure, and pain that overwhelms me completely.
“Stop! Stop! Oh, God, please stop!”
Instantly, he takes his mouth away; he inserts his hand and flicks the egg out of me, pulling the clamps off my nipples. The blindfold is ripped from my face, and in the shimmer of the candlelight, I see my Master, shirtless and undoing his straining belt. Unbuttoning his jeans, his erection bulges from the fabric, standing upright as he releases it, rigid against him.
He climbs onto the bed, settling between my knees, the tip of his penis kissing my pussy lips, still twitching in the aftershock of my orgasm. As he touches me, my inner muscles convulse again at the thought of this thick shaft penetrating me.
“Watch me, Elizabeth,” he says and obediently, I look up into his face.
“No,” he says. “There.” His eyes point down to where his massive cock is brushing my entrance. “Watch me, Elizabeth. Watch me fucking your cunt.”
I drop my gaze, and he leans in, pushing slowly inside me. An inch. Two inches. Four inches. His thick shaft, wide against my pussy, stretching me open, penetrates slowly and I tremble.
He breathes deeply and says, “That’s good, Elizabeth. That’s really good. Keep watching.”
Briefly, my eyes flick up to his.
“Down! Remember what you’re looking at.”
His own hips quiver, and then with a gasp, he plunges the rest of the way inside me, his balls banging against me. Almost instantly, my climax starts to gather again, and I moan and then yell as he pounds inside me to a slow rhythm. Deliberately, he times each stroke, and I watch as he thrusts his cock deep into my core, my pussy welcoming him as he bangs into me hard.
Again and again, I watch as he sheathes himself in me, thrusting in deep as far as he can go against my inner walls. I gasp and quake, but bound as I am, all I can do is shake, quiver, and scream. I fling my head back, wanting to scream up to the ceiling, but he grabs the back of my head. With his fingers twisting through my long red hair, he pulls me forward. “Watch, I said!” he says fiercely. “I want you to watch me fucking you.”
I look as his cock fucks my slick pussy. Then, with a deep intake of breath, he shudders against me, pumping his load into me, and grasping onto the ropes restraining my knees as he climaxes inside me.
For a moment, he remains still, his chest heaving and his skin glistening with sweat. Finally pulling himself upright, he looks me in the eyes and grins. As he unbuckles the cuffs from my knees, he says, “You’re quite a woman, Elizabeth.” With both hands, he sweeps his sweaty hair back over his head. Then he looks at me. “Have you eaten?”
“Er, no. With you asking me to come a bit earlier, I didn’t ...”
“Would you like to go out to dinner?”
Would I? On the arm of this amazing man? “I’d love to, but I’ve nothing to wear. I can’t go out in public wearing what I arrived in.” I’m sure the taxi driver had my number, or at least X-ray vision, when I wore just a long coat over my undies.
He waves that off. “Yes, you do. Look in there,” he says, pointing at one of the wardrobes. “I have prepared for this eventuality and you will find plenty to choose from in there. Pick something ... demure, but accessible.”
I begin to see where this is going. “What kind of place are we going to?”
He thinks for a minute. “Courtney’s, I think. The management there know me and the staff are well paid to be discreet about their diners.” He waves me towards the wardrobe. “Pick out your clothes. I’m going for a shower.”
I know of Courtney’s. It is well-known as a hangout for celebrities, from rock stars to politicians, actors to newspaper tycoons—public faces who value a bit of privacy from time to time. It also has a reputation for being stupendously expensive.
My Master leaves me, like a kid in a candy store, investigating the wardrobe, working my way through beautiful fabrics, expensive designer labels and gorgeous fuck me dresses.
All the clothes are beautiful, stylish, and well-chosen, with a good mix of themes and styles, but as I work my way through them, it dawns on me what the common themes are. Firstly, they are all just my size—how does he do that? And secondly, every one of them, in some way, is easy access. The lovely garments might be demure on the surface, but every one of them has some form of flap, wrap, slit, lace, or button that would allow an experienced hand an easy way in.
I pick out a cocktail dress with a tightly fitted bodice, but a loose, flaring skirt. The filmy fabric swirls as I lift it up to admire before I lay it carefully on the bed, and head off to shower myself.
Showered, made up, and dressed, I go through to the lounge, to find Richa—my Master—sitting; he is dressed and well-groomed and is looking through the file I brought. He glances up and then looks up again as he registers that I am dressed. He tilts his head admiringly. “Ready?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“I think so too. You look beautiful, Elizabeth, but of course, you always do. Shall we go?” He stands, puts the file on the table, and offers me his arm.
*****
I walk into the restaurant on the arm of Richard Haswell. It is beautiful, with elaborate chandeliers and polished woodwork, and there is even a pianist playing softly in the background. The meal is to die for, perfectly cooked and exquisitely served.
My Master seems distracted. After seeing the clothes in the wardrobe, I had thought that perhaps he would want to make some kind of play in the car on the way here. Instead, whilst he slipped his hand inside the skirt, resting it on my inner thigh, he did not speak, he just simply looked out the window until, pulling up outside the restaurant, Ross, the driver, asked, “You want me to wait, Mr Haswell?”
“Yes, please, Ross. I’ll call you when we’re ready to leave.”
Sitting at the table, with the wonderful food and wine being served, and a low murmur of conversation around us, he is silent. I had expected that since he has brought me out to dinner that he might want to talk.
I wonder if I have upset him somehow.
“Mr Haswell. Is something wrong? Have I ... have I done something wrong?”
He almost jerks back to reality and smiles at me. “No, not at all, Elizabeth. I just have a lot to think about right now. I’m sorry. It’s not very gracious of me to sit in silence. And also, here ...” he takes my hand before continuing, “... here, in this place, in this setting, it is ‘Richard.’”
Relief washes over me. “I was beginning to worry that I had upset you, Richard.”
He leans close and kisses me on the forehead, cupping my face in his hands. “No, I am simply distracted. Please, do enjoy your meal. Is your fish good?”
“Yes, very.” In fact, the fish is divine, with tender white flakes in a buttery sauce, piquant with capers and lemon, and served with tiny, bite-size vegetables, crisp and fresh, that taste as though they were still on the plant five minutes ago. The restaurant deserves its reputation and is a world away from the takeout pizza I was living on only a short time ago.
Later, Ross drives the car to my apartment to drop me off.
Richard almost growls when he sees where we are. “I don’t like you living here, Elizabeth. It’s not safe. I can understand why you lived here ... in your previous life ... you couldn’t afford any better then, but it’s different now. Why haven’t you moved somewhere else?”
“Oh, I will. I have somewhere picked out, in fact. But I’m waiting for my first paycheck to come through. Then, trust me,” I laugh. “I’ll be out of here. They won’t see me for dust.”
“Of course, yes. That’s good. Good night, Elizabeth.” He kisses me as I step out of the car.
As I turn the key in the lock, I look back. The car is still there and Ross and Richard are both looking at me. “Waiting for something?” I call.
Ross replies, “Always do, Beth.” He tosses his head, pointing to the rear seats. “He’s made it clear that if I don’t stay long enough to see you in, he’ll have my ass.”
I chuckle. It’s nice to know that someone will take the trouble to watch out for me. “That’s great. Good night, Ross. Good night, Richard.”
*****
In my dingy apartment, my good mood evaporates into a feeling of let-down. Why? I’ve had a wonderful evening, have been wined and dined, had sex that left me wanting to scrape the top of my head off the ceiling. Why do I suddenly feel blue? The food, so delicious, sits heavily inside me.
In my bed, I admit to myself that I’m lonely for him. I would like to be curled up in his bed with his arms around me as I drift off to sleep.
But that is not the deal we have. This is not a relationship. I am not his girlfriend or even a fuck buddy. I am an employee, simply one with some very good terms written into the agreement we made. I will have all the good things in life, including the training and education I need, to one day be rich and independent in my own right. For that, I service my Master, billionaire Richard Haswell.
I cannot complain. It is the chance of a lifetime. Nonetheless, I wish for more.
I cannot sleep, finding myself thinking of my Master, of his face as he commands me with deep, deep blue eyes gazing at my breasts, my sex. I think of the obvious pleasure he takes in bringing me to crashing orgasms, of his beautiful body, lean and tanned in those linen shirts and tight black jeans that he prefers to wear.
He fucks me to a spectacular orgasm every time, but I am beginning to wish that he might, just once, make love to me.
Love. The forbidden word. It is not in the contract. Oh, God. Don’t let me fall in love with him.
Almost instinctively, my hands drift south, and I sigh deeply as I open my legs, raising my knees, and parting my thighs to allow my fingers entry.
Simply opening myself is so erotic. I think of his eyes on me, watching closely as he commands me to spread myself open, stretch my pussy lips open to his inspection, to pleasure myself, to bring myself to climax, to fuck myself so that he can watch and enjoy, and to take me when he wishes, his fingers probing my juicy core, or his tongue licking long, slow strokes up through my glistening folds, delving deep or lightly, barely brushing skin.
I think of his eyes, dark in the glimmering candlelight, intense with desire, brilliant in lust, looking at me as he instructs me in his wishes. I am to have no secrets. He must see it all.
And I respond and obey, my arousal rising sweet and hot from within, under the power he has over me.
My fingers slide through my red curls, just re-growing after my Master shaved me that first day he discovered me illicitly using his shower. I chuckle as I remember my reaction—hands tied above my head to his shower fitting, naked to his eyes, as he produced the razor and foam. He shaved me then tongued me to a quivering orgasm, before bending me over the basin and fucking me, balls-deep inside me, to his own climax.
He hasn’t done anything like that since then, and with my fingers slipping past to my nub, I wonder if he would like me to wax. Does he want my pussy smooth and naked for him, so that he can see my slit, there for him, glistening with moisture as juices trickle down my thighs?
Does he prefer it now, sleek red hairs peeping through? Or perhaps he wants them to grow so that he can shave me again? My pussy juices are flowing at the thought of his mouth around me, sucking me. A flash of heat stabs up through my sex, and I feel my flow starting again, my slit swelling and my breath quickening.
I work my clit, rubbing and circling, slipping back the hood to reach the sensitive bud within. As I flick it, I think of his tongue encircling, probing with the tip, exploring my pink folds, lapping slowly at my pussy juices, tasting me as he slides fingers inside me and probes me within.
My heart begins to pound, and I wish that I had one of the vibes he uses on me so expertly. I want to feel something inside me, so with one hand still plying my swelling nub, the o
