Bought By The Billionaire - BDSM 18 novel Chapter 51

The egg shudders, fades, then surges again, drawing a gasp from me, then dies. Surges again and fades. With each cycle I find myself arching and straining, something incoherent gurgling in my throat.

It's more than mortal flesh can stand.

Is it possible to die of pleasure overload?

Straining and heaving uselessly against my restraints, my bawls turn to wails, then to howls. Then as a hot, wet, mouth plants over my entrance once more, into screams. I think he's tongue-fucking me. It's hard to tell as one sensation after another merges into a single great wash of sensation

Sheer sensory overload wipes out everything else. Pleasure. Pain. It's all the same.

Moving into meltdown, I shriek.

The mouth lifts from my pussy…

“That's good Elizabeth. That's very good.”

... then glides the length of my vulva, sucking, licking and plucking as it goes. The tongue probes at the root over my clit, winding circles around the small shaft. But in the same moment, one hand pinches at the teeth on a nipple, the other at the claw gripping a pussy lip. Agony caresses my cunt. Pleasure stabs into my core.

Inside, I’m throbbing. The throb intensifies, blooming like some fire-flower, spreading scalding petals over belly and loin and thigh. Taut in my restraints and in the grip of the escalating pleasure, I quake and shake and…

The tongue withdraws…

The egg stops...

It all stops.

… but the throbbing inside still grows, spiralling wider, out of control.

Glacial cold swipes over my thighs and belly, then splashes over my vulva. Gasping out my shock, I lie still.

“I haven’t given you permission to Come, Elizabeth.”

Still is a relative term, my every muscle is taut as a violin string, my head buzzing from the wine, my smoking core jumping and twitching, tripping the light fantastic without… actually… making… it… to… the… finish.

How long will he keep me here?

Should I safeword?

If I do, he might not let me come at all.

“Too good to ignore,” says my Master. Once more, the egg spasms and shudders and judders its way through cycle after repeating cycle. The mouth settles over my clit, sucking gently, but at the same time, a finger quests over my body, flicking and squeezing at the teeth biting into tender flesh.

My climax billows again, the inner tension building and…

… is still-born as the iced wash defuses it mid-journey.

“Master…”

“I’m enjoying myself.”

The egg starts up again and the whole tormenting-frenzied cycle repeats…

And again…

And again…

Each time, my Master takes me through a fevered dance, brings me to the edge of climax, then stalls.

It's driving me crazy.

How to persuade him to…

Suffer a little more obviously?

Ramping up the energy, I let my shrieks rise by half an octave. Then another half…

The torturing mouth and tongue break away and the blindfold flips back. My Master sits upright, watching me, eyes narrowed. Casually, he fingers inside me. “Bad enough to start acting classes, then?”

No fooling him…

My cheeks burn. “Sorry, Master.”

The soft skin crinkles and tightens under my fingers. The flow in my mouth increases, a steady trickle of musky pre-cum over my tongue. This gift from my Master sets my mouth salivating, but jaws wide flung, his shaft huge now, I can’t swallow. Instead, pre-cum and saliva together leak from the corner of my mouth.

In my hand, my Master’s balls are tight now, hot and swollen, transmitting a growing tension from his groin. Slapping his free hand on my shoulder, he steadies himself, his breathing becoming fast and harsh.

Eyes shut tight, with a grunt, he shoots. Hot cream coats my tongue and the back of my mouth. Scarlet-faced, teeth bared, he fires another salvo, and another before, with a gasp, he tugs himself free.

Supporting his erection with one hand, his weight sags onto my shoulder with the other. His head droops to rest on mine.

Then, looping his hands under my arms, he scoops me up, dumps me onto the bed and rolls down to lie beside me. Kissing my cheek, he pulls me into his arms.

*****

In the slipper bath, my hair piled up, pinned up away from the water, I stretch out, full length. One hand overhanging the rim of the bath, cradling a glass, I wallow in warm water and foam. Perfumed steam curls around me, fogging mirrors and settling, dew-like, on the bath edge tiles and the battalion of bottles they accommodate.

“Think there's room for two in there?”

I jolt, then laugh. “Sorry, Master. I didn’t hear you come in. And yes, I think that’s just what they had in mind when they designed this bath.”

He strolls across to stand over me. “I came in quietly. I wanted to watch my beautiful wife for a few moments.” He glances down. “Any left in the bottle?”

“The last inch or so, I think. Why don’t you pour yourself a glass, then join me?” I hold out a hand. “Be with me.”

His whole face softens, fine lines radiating from the corners of his eyes. Stooping, he brushes his lips over mine, then straightening up, slips off his robe.

*****

Facing each other from the scooped ends of the bath, and with a fresh bottle trickling condensation, we lounge together, sipping wine pale as the first primrose.

“So, why did they call you away, Master? What were they arguing about? The mayor and the police commissioner?”

He winces, then sips at his glass. “The mayor, Vandervoort, wants more police on the streets.”

I puzzle over that one. “Wouldn’t the police commissioner want that too? More boots on sidewalks must be good for everyone, surely?”

“Yes, he would. As I've mentioned, Will Stanton is a man of great common sense. He believes strongly in, among other things, community policing.”