Bought By The Billionaire

Chapter 12: Bought By The Billionaire - Chapter Twelve

My Master 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!” NôvelDrama.Org holds text © rights.

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.

“Mast... Mr Haswell. Is something wrong? Have I … have I done something wrong?”