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.”

Old Romantic

now, I need to fuck you.” His creamy voice

with a feral passion I would not have credited

blinded in my strange white world, I can see

hard-on and a deep need to fuck my wife ‘til she bleats.” As he rummages through layers and

change from green. But the evidence tells me that we don’t

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

laces of the flimsy garment, unlacing first one side and then the other. Firm, warm hands run over my now naked derriere, squeezing and cupping, pulling the

I bite my lip against the tease of pressure against my warming core, longing

get the blood flowing, shall we? Get you coloured up.

promise of what is to come. As soon as I lean

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

position. Stretching my legs wide, I open myself as far as I am able, jittery with anticipation, longing for the touch of my lover’s tongue,

and kneel. Instead, he slides slowly down my body, pressing against me as 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, the slight roughened

mouth against my sex, warm breath

a rumble of lust and longing. I echo the sound,

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