Bought By The Billionaire

Chapter 37: Bought By The Billionaire - Chapter Thirty-Seven

My Master steps over the threshold, carrying me in his arms. My huge white meringue of a dress catches on the handle, and he struggles through the door with me and it together. I giggle, as he makes complex manoeuvres trying to get himself, me and the dress all through the door together.

“Welcome home, Mrs Haswell,” he says.

Smiling, running his hand over the bodice of my wedding-gown, his deep blue eyes are almost glowing. “You look beautiful in this dress, Elizabeth. But on the whole, I think I want to get you out of it.”

Sucking my lips in anticipation, “Yes, um, I think you’re going to have to help me.” The dress is boned, buttoned, laced and cinched in tight.

He looks the dress over from all sides. “Er, yes, I see what you mean. Not so much a dress as a construction. How did you get into it?”

“Francis helped. She did up all the buttons at the back. And the laces.”

He starts at the back, pulling at laces, trying to loosen the bodice. After several unsuccessful minutes, during which I become more and more giggly, he begins to lose patience.

“Think I’m going to need oxy-acetylene kit to get through these.” he mutters, then “Oh to hell with this! Bend over woman. Let your husband at you.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Find out what you ‘something blue’ is.”

an Old Romantic aren’t

His creamy voice is thick with lust, and my own desire is rising to match. This is my husband. I love him passionately. And now we are

with a feral passion

and lace, blinded in my strange white world, I can see nothing of what he is doing. I cannot smell the hot scent of his arousal, but I hear him quite clearly, an affectionate whisper through the

through layers and depths of skirts and petticoats, pushing them all up and

“Makes a change from green. But the evidence tells me that we don’t need them.”

the thought of my Master, my husband, ‘fucking me ‘til I bleat.’ I can feel the ‘evidence’, the growing damp patch on the crotch that invites my Master

the other. Firm, warm hands run over

grinds himself against me so I can feel the bulge of his swelling erection through formal dress trousers. As I bite my lip against the tease of pressure against my warming core, longing for more, my Master’s fingers wander inwards, parting the lips of my pussy, stroking and teasing. Under my silken tent, shrouded in a cloud of white, I start to moan. He slaps and smacks at my cheeks, sending a silvery thrill running

coloured up. A nice red ass. That’s what

finger-fucks me briefly. Again, it is a tease, a promise of what is to come. As soon as I lean back into his hand, to take him

taste like?” His words flutter through me. “Do I shackle you there, or will you behave and spread yourself as

myself as far as I am able, jittery with anticipation, longing for the

he does so. The rough fabric of his trousers, his belt, the buttons of his formal shirt, all rub past my pussy and bud as he descends. The knot of his tie,

against my sex, warm breath wafting over my tender, trembling

pleasure, wholly sensual, a rumble of lust and longing. I echo the sound, sighing my shuddering pleasure at the lapping tongue, which

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