Bought By The Billionaire - BDSM 18 novel Chapter 57

Returning his attention to my blouse sliding fingers into the cuffs, again my Master tugs. Again, stitching briefly resists, then shreds. Working his way up the sleeve, he rips filmy fabric into tatters, until the corpse of my blouse too, is cast aside, leaving me only in bra and panties…

They won’t put up much of a fight…

Does he want me to act scared?

Or just turned on…

My Master stands back, admiring his handiwork. My arms extended upward, my waist, already good, is drawn in further, my belly flattened. His eyes linger over my uplifted breasts…

There goes my bra…

I expect him to rip it apart, but instead, lips quirking, he simply unclasps it at the back, then unhooks the shoulder straps from the cups, and the whole thing falls away unharmed, leaving me in only my panties.

They don’t get such generous treatment. Wrapping fingers into the sides, with barely perceptible effort, he tears sheer silk asunder, first at the left, then the right. Then, dangling the tattered scrap of fabric by my face... “They were no good for you anyway. Sopping…” … and what remains joins the rag heap, leaving me naked.

My lungs heave.

So do his. Close again, he looms. “I’m going to eat you alive, then fuck you to within an inch of your life.”

Stooping, he latches his mouth onto a breast. The nipple is still tender after the last attention it received, a little swollen from where jewelled claws bit in. I hiss, partly from pain, partly from the arousal stabbing down to my core. My Master pauses, straightening up again, his eye assessing. Pinching my chin between thumb and forefinger, he stares me in the face. “Still sore after you modelled my gift?”

“Not too much, Master. It just caught me by surprise.”

He examines a nipple, circling a fingertip around bruised flesh. “Need a day or two to recover there?”

“I think so, Master.”

“Fair enough.” He circles again. “Elizabeth, you must always tell me if I hurt you. Really hurt you.”

“I know, Master. And if that happened, I would. But most of the time, even if it hurts, it’s in a good way.”

Stooping, he angles his face, mouth open, to mine. Warm flesh, scented of mint, aftershave and a wild masculinity, presses to my lips. “I know.” Then, reaching for his belt, eyes creasing… “… Nonetheless, don’t forget what I just said.”

“Still…” Kicking off his shoes, he flashes a smile, white and wicked. “… there’s plenty more of you to work on.”

Unbuckling, unzipping, he drops his pants then, stepping out of them, moves close again. Encircling me with his arms, he plants a hand under each ass cheek, squeezing hard, cupping and kneading. A matching pressure presses to the front of me; his shaft rearing up and hardening, prodding against my belly.

Releasing one side of my ass, he delves between my legs... “And how are we progressing down there…?” He cocks his head, his gaze going distant as he explores. “Yes, quite nicely.” Withdrawing the hand, slick and shiny, he pushes fingers at my lips, swiping me with my own slick juices. “Clean me up. Tell me what I’m going to taste.”

I suck and lap, the flavour tart and briny. “You’re going to taste me, Master.”

“Too right.” Face-to-face with me, seizing my shoulders, he spins us together through one-eighty, reaching up as he does so to swivel the bar with me until the bed is behind him.

“Up you come. Legs wide.” With a heave under my knees, he hoists my legs up and forward.

Briefly, all my weight drops onto my wrists, squeezing my ribs and huffing out my breath. But almost immediately my feet are resting on the mattress, either side of my Master. “That will do nicely,” he comments.

His shaft, hard and hot, presses against my widespread sex, but as he settles, he shifts my position. His position. The head of his erection moored at my entrance. His arms lock around my ribs supporting my weight.

“Ask nicely,” he whispers.

“Please, Master.”

“Please, what?”

“Please get inside me. I want you inside me.”

“You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, I want you to fuck me. Please, Master. Fuck me. Fuck me hard.”

“Well, I’m not going to. Not yet. I want to enjoy you properly first.”

His erection twitching against his stomach, he sits. Perched on the edge of the mattress, between my knees, he slides palms between and under my thighs, opening me.

Dangling at the wrists, half-suspended, half-supported, there’s little I can do. My legs are splayed for my Master’s convenience and pleasure. Against the cooler air, my exposed sex streams hot. I smell of sweat and arousal and my own flowing juices.

He shuffles down a little until he’s face-level with the vee of my thighs, nuzzling in, his mouth open over my mound, gnawing gently, his teeth tugging and scraping gently at soft flesh and my copper-red curls…

I groan…

“Master?”

His voice muffled... “Elizabeth?”

“That first time we met, in your shower, you shaved me. Would you prefer me that way?”

He lifts away, his chin shiny. “Definitely. You have beautiful hair, but I prefer it on your head. Your loins would be better smooth. A much superior… um… culinary… experience.”

“I’ll wax then.”

“I’d appreciate that. Now, be quiet. I’m busy.”

His mouth is around me again, heated and wet. Inside, I’m fluid, melting for him, longing to be filled.

Control?

My thighs are shuddering with strain. My arms sagging. “Master, I don’t think I can support myself much longer.

“No? That would be a shame. When I was just about to do this.”

His mouth opens over my clit, the tongue probing the root, flicking the tip, fluttering and flirting and flitting around the shaft…

Fingers plunge inside me, pistoning then reaching, up toward my belly, my g-spot, rubbing, massaging, scraping…

I scream…

… and spasm into orgasm.

Hips bucking, without meaning to, I find myself driving myself up from my feet, pushing my pelvis into my Master’s face. Locking arms around my thighs, he plants himself against me, pressing in, tongue-fucking deep into my erupting core…

Pulsing and gushing, I howl and wail and…

I’m still Coming as he breaks away, stands and, recovering his grip on my thighs, in a single, smooth movement, plunges deep into me.

There’s no testing. No hesitation. He simply spears me. Reams me. Rams into me with a power that plumbs my depths and wrenches the air from my lungs.

Hooking my legs around him, ankles locking tight, I clamp him to me as, once more, he slams home. The stroke drags another scream from me. A scream of pain and protest and pleasure.

I’m out of climax now, but I’m still here for the ride. My wrists shriek against the grip of the cuffs, my arms against the repeated impact as he pistons into me. But, blood fizzing, every thrust drags another cry from me. Every stroke, a yell of triumph and sheer glory.

Eyes squeezed closed, my heart pummels my ribs. Voice and breath fight for control of my throat. Sweat trickles down my neck between my breasts. Honey glazes my thighs and his.

Briefly, my eyes flicker open. My Master too, scarlet-faced, teeth bared, streams sweat, down forehead, face, and chest. His breath rasps. But he doesn’t let up, hips pitching and rocking as he fathoms me. Every stroke rams all the way home…

His forehead dropping against my own, his arms lock around me tight enough that his heartbeat bangs through his ribcage and into mine...

With a growl, he presses home, grinding in…

Then with a gasp and a shudder and a great blow of air, he presses his cheek against mine. “Elizabeth?”

“I’m fine, Master. It might not be very subtle, but sometimes there’s no substitute for a good hard fuck.”

He cracks out laughing. “Ain’t that the truth.” Locking one arm around my waist, with the other he reaches up to the bar, snapping it free. “Perhaps we should get back in that tub.”

*****