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

Love You. And in a while, I’m going to make love to you. But right now, I need to fuck you.” His creamy voice is thick with lust, and

want him inside me, right now, with a feral passion I would not have credited before

of silk, satin and lace, blinded in my strange white world, I can see nothing of what he is doing. I cannot smell the hot scent of

consummate this in the marriage bed, but right now, I have a raging hard-on and a deep need to fuck my wife ‘til she bleats.” As he rummages through layers and depths of skirts and petticoats, pushing them all up and over me, he finally achieves his destination. I feel the coolth of air, now free to move around my

change from green. But the evidence tells me

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

garment, unlacing first one side and then the other. Firm,

Leaning into me, still clothed, he 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

we? Get you coloured up. A nice

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 inside me, he withdraws, fingertips trailing silver fire over

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

as I can from my prone 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 for his penetration

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 stubble of his chin…. the

against my sex, warm breath wafting

of lust and longing. I echo

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