Bought By The Billionaire

My Master stands again and, holding the flogger by the cords, pushes the handle up inside me. “My juicy Elizabeth… Who would have thought you could be such a glutton for punishment?” Once more supporting me by the waist, he pumps inside me with the flogger handle, hard and rough, but it is slick with my surging juices and slides easily in and out.

Half delirious in tormented bliss, I squall and scream as I writhe in my Master’s grasp, the handle pounding inside me all the while. It is too much, too much and I can take no more.

“Redhead!” I yell. “Redhead. Redhead.”

He stops instantly, withdrawing the handle. Unclamping my nipples, he reaches up to uncuff my hands. My weight released, I stagger against the spreader bar hobbling my ankles, but he catches me and lifting me bodily, dumps me roughly on the bed.

With barely a pause in his stride, he grabs first one hand, fettering the wrist to the cuffs attached to the bed head, then the other, stretching my arms wide. Quickly he removes the spreader bar, shoves a pillow under my hips, and strips off his jeans.

Naked, his erection pulses huge, red and throbbing, erect against his taut stomach. “’Redhead,’ he says, “only counts for whips and flails. Now I’m going to finish you off properly. You’re going to be fucked so hard it pins your brains to the wall.”

Still quivering from the effect of the flail, inside and out, I lie bonelessly as he raises me by the hips, lifting my legs and rolling me back on myself, feet skywards. Spreading me wide at the knees, he gives himself a close-in view of my buttocks and my red and engorged pussy.

Grabbing me by the hair, he tugs my face forward. “Now watch,” he says roughly. “That’s it, eyes wide open. You want to be fucked? Let’s see.” And again he plunges the handle of the flail inside me, all the while pulling my face forward by my hair so that I can watch the red and black leather relentlessly pumping in and out of my cunt. Gasping and moaning in time with the movement, I am helpless with pent-up lust and the desire to cum.

From his briefcase my Master produces an egg, which he switches to full power; then parting my lips wide, pushes it home inside me with two fingers. As the vibe pulses its erotic beat through my core, I buck helplessly against it, but he slaps my butt hard. “None of that,” he says. “You’re staying exactly where you are.”

Again from the briefcase he extracts two soft silk cords. Tying them first around my knees, then around the post of the headboard, he has me trussed tight and unable to move.

legs rolled up and open, my knees and cunt splayed. Inside me, the egg continues its relentless work on my inner muscles. I am

I’m really going to make you scream. I wanted you good and sensitive before giving you permission to cum, and perhaps then

for him. Sliding a finger briefly inside, he withdraws it,

I writhe uselessly against the bonds at wrist and knee. The egg inside, and

some level, I know I am screaming ecstatically. Everything else stops as my world becomes the massive, brain-bending orgasm that is taking me. My Master is merciless, steadily working me with his tongue, teeth and lips, pulling me into him. Through my rapturous haze,

moment, I can

drawing me out for another unbearable instant, before withdrawing

the tip. Kneeling between my legs,

his eyes tight shut, his face contorted almost into a grimace as he hammers his rhythm inside me. His breath is laboured and sweat pours

see his eyes open in surprise, meeting mine, as he realises what is happening. The grimace transforms into a smile like sunshine, before vanishing into the surge as orgasm takes him. My climax peaks with his, and I scream again in tune with his groans as he

still splayed knees onto my belly and breasts, his head resting against

trussed as I am, so I

taking his weight on his arms, then leans forward to kiss me, not passionately now, but softly, barely brushing my lips with his, caressing my face with his

me from the cuffs, he says, “Let’s enjoy the rest of it now. Champagne,

“Yes, Master.”

the bed, we nibble the sandwiches and clink glasses. “Master,” I say, thinking of the crop and paddle. “We didn’t use all of your