Bought By The Billionaire

The deal with the Thornton’s goes well. My Master is pleased. Signed, sealed and delivered, a copy of the contract papers lands on my desk. “I want you to be familiar with them, Elizabeth.” says my Master. “You were instrumental in making the deal work. I want you involved with its progress. Take the time to know the details, the legal ins and outs.”

Fair enough. I settle to read my way through a book’s worth of small print, and quickly decide that ‘legalese’ is heavy reading. However, the gist of the agreement is simple enough. The Haswell Corporation and the Thorntons are setting up a holding company to act as a legal envelope for a huge redevelopment in a run-down part of the City. The project is huge, involving the building or renovation of a vast acreage to provide luxury apartments, affordable housing and all the facilities and amenities needed for a properly functioning community; shops, offices, a park, rail and subway……. The budget runs into eye-watering amounts of money.

Glancing through the list of shareholders I see, as expected, Richard Haswell 51%, Alexander Thornton, 25%, Jaye Thornton, 10%, followed by a long list of minor shareholders whose names I do not recognise but believe to be perhaps engineers, designers or architects working for share rather than fee. I notice that Francis has 1%. Coming to the end of the list, I sit bolt upright.

‘Elizabeth Kimberley 2%’

*****

I didn’t say before, Elizabeth, but nice bed. Good choice.” says my Master approvingly, as he pushes me down over the foot of the bed, bending me forward, face down, arms outstretched. He shackles me with the handcuffs to the bedposts, then pushes my feet apart with his. Another pair of cuffs snaps around my left ankle, and then my right, spreading my legs further.

The bed is of wrought iron, metal bars at foot and head, handily available as anchors for ropes, scarves or chains. I chose it carefully for my apartment, for its beauty, and for utility in the games my Master and I enjoy.

He reaches around and below me, working away at the laces of my bodice, gradually teasing the garment apart, allowing my breasts to hang free, enfolded in the curtain of my long red hair. Pinching gently at a nipple, he rolls it between finger and thumb and I wince, but at the same time, a thrill running down through me, connecting with my pussy, nerves jumping at both ends. I begin to flush and bite my lip.

“Nice and gently tonight I think, Elizabeth. You took enough punishment last time.”

I have to agree. Exhilarating as it was at the time, I still have the red marks of the riding crop decorating my rear end. My Master traces their outline with his fingers, then trails down and in, caressing my folds, already moist with anticipation.

He strokes my thighs, outside, then working in, making me squirm with pleasure. He makes no attempt to prevent my movement, but since I am spreadeagled anyway, it makes little difference.

is rising with arousal, face and pussy blushing, belly and breasts

me, on the pussy. His tongue passes over me, so lightly, almost not there. The effect is electrifying. “And you taste wonderful

making me stretch and arch for more,

my shoulders, my back, and down past my waist, curving over the length of my spine, the dimples in the small of my back. Hands linger over the line of waist into hip, stomach to thighs. Fingers wind through my red curls, briefly gliding over my erect clit

slips between my pussy lips, gliding like

for a prolonged caress; for my Master to work me, to fuck me. Instead, artist that he is, he paints a portrait of growing arousal over my whole body. Every touch is fleeting; barely

“Please, Master……”

“Not yet.”

“Please….”

And his exquisite

closer to him, to draw him into me. I want him to taste me, to drink from me,

my every nerve-ending continues. He strokes the back of my knees, the tender skin inside my arms and my thighs. Leaning over me, he nibbles gently at my ears and neck. Hands stroke the curve of my pendulous breasts, supporting their heaviness in cupped palms. Fingers tease at my nipples, now crinkling hard, tinted rose against my pale skin. As he leans over me, I can feel his erection through his jeans, pressed against my back and I long to have him inside me, filling

I need

“No.”

“Please, Master. Please.”

I clamp convulsively around it, only to find it withdrawn. Then two fingers enter, my pussy throbbing reflexively around them. Again, they are withdrawn. A hand slides below me, and between, teasing at my clit, and I gasp

need to cum,

Oh God! “Master, please…”

jeans, peeling off his shirt, shaft erect against his flat abdomen. He is so beautiful. Lean, yet broad-shouldered, biceps, strap-like under his skin and a fine line of dark hair tracing down from his belly to his groin. His deep blue eyes are intense with

either side of my hips, he positions himself between my manacled ankles, testing me. The tip of his erection kisses against my dripping pussy, pressing so lightly, making my inner muscles jump and spasm against him, then slowly he sheathes himself, gently, so gently, inside me. Not thrusting, not moving, simply