by Jamie Knight
After several halls and five flights of stairs, Tobias assured me that it would be worth it. He was quite right. The final destination of our sojourn was a penthouse room, literally on the roof of the building with a panoramic ocean view. Before I was even aware of it, I was right up against the guard rail looking out over the view.
“Careful,” Tobias said, placing a hand gently on the small of my back.
“It’s beautiful,” I said in a sort of glory endured fugue state.
“And why I bought the place,” Tobias added.
You might not have been able to literally buy happiness, but some of the things you could buy with enough money could endure happiness, which was almost the same thing.
“Would you like to go inside?” he asked, wrapping his arms around my waist and gently kissing me on the cheek. I could already feel his hardening cock pressing up against my ass.
“Yes, please,” I said, referring to his cock as much as his clearly rhetorical question.
Scooping me up into his arms like he had done so many times, though with a bit more effort that time, my newlywed husband carried me into the penthouse to finalize and sanctify our union by fucking me silly.
One of the advantages to the dress we finally chose was that it was exceedingly easy to get off. Long and mostly sleeveless, it was mostly a matter of lowering the straps until the dressed cascaded down around my ankles. I neglected to wear underwear with the silky number, so a hop and a skip later and I was completely naked atop the southern French resort.
Stepping close, Tobias ran his hand down my body, from my neck to my pussy, gently cupping the latter, making me gasp. Literally holding me by the pussy, Tobias managed to get undressed one handed. His black boxer shorts fell to the floor. His hard cock spring out towards me like a cobra in a basket.
Unable to resist any longer, I got on my knees, taking his cock deep into my mouth. My eyes locked on his as I slowly and lovingly swallowed his cock, continuing until my lips brushed his pelvis. Easing back to a more comfortable depth, I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock and sucked his perfect cock at a regular rhythm, working his thick, sweet cum into my mouth. His load came in an absolute flood. A long moan of release escaped him.
“Your turn,” he said with a long smile.
Hauling me up into his arms once aging, this time with me flat against him, my legs wrapped around his legs, Tobias carried me over to the bed, the two of us kissing as we moved across the lovely marble floor which had been surprisingly comfortable under my knees.
Getting me onto the bed, Tobias ran his hands down my legs, taking each of my feet into his hands. Through a miracle of strength and co-ordination, he massaged both my feet in tandem, making me moan in joy, nearly melting into the high fiber European sheets.
Working me up to a near frenzy, Tobias went in for the knockout punch, dropping his head between my thighs. He lapped perfectly at my aching pussy, almost making me scream in pleasure. Introducing his fingers into the situation, he worked my pussy as he licked my clit, bringing me to a wracking orgasm.
Doing my best to rally, it was nearly twenty minutes before I could get to my feet. I hobbled to my suitcase to put my cunning plan into motion.
“What are you doin’, Pumpkin?”
“I have another present for you,” I said as I returned to the bed.
“Right now?” He asked.
“Trust me, it’s on theme.”
I watched with great anticipation as he untied the ribbon and top the lid from the box. His eyes lighting up as he saw what was inside.
“Is that what I think it is?”
“Probably,” I said, unable to imagine what else he might think it was.
“Are you sure?” He asked.
“Definitely. How do you want me?”
“On your side,” he said.
I shifted onto my side. Tobias gently bent my legs at the knees, opening things up down there a lot more. Returning to the box of gifts, Tobias popped the lid on the little bottle of high-quality water-based lubricant, putting a generous portion onto the butt plug that was also housed in the box.
Returning the bottle of lube to the box, he gently pulled open my ass with one hand while touching the tip of the butt plug to my tight, virgin asshole, easing it up in there, until the base brushed gently against my ass cheeks.
“Deep breaths, Pumpkin,” Tobias said, caressing my pussy to help me relax.
I followed his advice and before too long, I could actually feel my asshole starting to stretch. As soon as I was ready, Tobias eased the butt plug out, leaving my asshole stretched and ready.
Applying more of the lube to both his cock and my asshole, Tobias pressed the head of his cock into the opening. The very touch made me moan. Getting his cock in to half length, Tobias eased to a stop, leading me in slow breathing exercises like a particularly erotic yoga lesson.
When I was ready, he started to rock his hips, working his cock in and out of me by increments as I gladly gave him my anal virginity. Leaning down to kiss the back of my neck, which he had already worked out that I really liked, he picked things up a bit. Easing into a regular rhythm.
“You okay, Pumpkin?”
“Fuck yes!” I screamed emphatically.
It had hurt a bit at the beginning when he was first pushing in. His cock was even bigger than the butt plug. But that soon subsided, and I was left with the most intense pleasure as he fucked my asshole.
Tobias took my hand and squeezed it gently as I came hard. His load blasting inside me in the same moment. It was the strongest orgasm I had ever had in my life and I was very much looking forward to having many, many more.
“This feels amazing, husband,” I told him, as we cuddled up together in the large bed.
“Good, wife. I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” I told him, excited for the rest of our future together as husband, wife and parents.
THE END
Who Wants to Lock Down a Billionaire?
Copyright © 2020 Jamie Knight Romance.
All rights reserved.
Jamie Knight –
Your Dirty Little Secret Romance Author
Chapter One - Morgan
I was debating whether to break out a pink of ice cream or take a bubble bath when my best friend Morgan plopped down beside me. I’d always loved this relaxing part of the evening, in which I could have fun for an hour or two now that the responsibilities of single motherhood were done for the day, before I fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion.
“Have you heard about this show called Who Wants to Lock Down with a Billionaire?” Astrid asked, pulling up the site on her laptop.
We had made a large meatloaf dinner, working together to threaten the plot of the evil oven trying to throw us off, and then put my daughter to bed, which was another team effort. I hadn’t known if she was going to head home or join me where I’d lazily collapsed on the surprisingly comfortable couch in my tiny living room. It really was amazing what you could find on the curb side if you were willing to look for it.
Astrid didn’t live with Freya and me, but she might as well have. She was constantly over and often spent the night.
“Yeah, I think so,” I said, as a timid answer to her question about the show.
All these reality TV shows sounded alike to me, and it was hard to keep track of them. But this one was new and was being done virtual style, due to the pandemic, so that was a unique twist that made it stand out a bit more from the others.
“It’s really wild!” Astrid continued. “There’s like this super rich guy and women apply to go with him to this luxury compound he has set up for a two-week lockdown! The only catch is that they have to agree in advance that if they win, they’ll be his ‘pet,’ like a sex slave or whatever, and he’s really into the whole dominance thing. Like spanking and stuff!”
I tried to keep myself from giggling at the way she was phrasing things. Astrid had been raised Dutch Orthodox and was a bit sheltered. S
he didn’t really know what sex was until her late teens and didn’t lose her virginity until college.
I had shown her some amateur porn just to give her a clear idea of what might happen. She nearly fainted. For her, anal sex was the height of taboo kink. There were some ways in which I envied her innocence.
The idea behind the show wasn’t the worst one I’d ever heard, for this sort of thing. Reality TV had always carried a slight varnish of sleaze, going all the way back to the first seasons of Lost and Big Brother.
Sex and betrayal were major themes of the shows and a big part of the attraction. They were Shakespearian tragedies without the writing or performances, something the tabloids, then and now, did their very best to run with.
The more devastating the news, the better. After a while they just dropped the pretense and innuendo all together and came out with shows like Naked Attraction, which is basically what it sounds like.
“So, this is like a luxury lockdown with a billionaire, but I guess the play on words is that you also lock down his heart, by being his choice of the one girl he chooses to quarantine with, out of the many who apply,” Astrid continued.
“Hmmm,” I thought, shrugging. “I guess even billionaires have needs to be fulfilled during the quarantine that they have to find special ways of going about.”
“Yeah,” she said, laughing. “The rest of us just have to fight over toilet paper at Walmart for days on end in order to have our basic needs met.”
In a lot of ways, Who Wants to Lock Down a Billionaire? seemed a lot tamer than most reality shows on network TV. Especially in the post social-media age. Which made sense, I guess, since the name of the show was a tongue-in-cheek throwback to the innocent and pure game show.
Sure, the winner was supposed to do whatever the billionaire wanted while on their luxury lockdown, but that just added to the fun. It seemed almost like a game of double dare.
The star billionaire Adam Leary’s well-publicized proclivities were all reported in age appropriate language, so you never quite got the full picture, leaving the reader to decide whether the handsome self-made man liked a bit of spanking or left his lovers with black eyes.
It was, of course, impossible to know for sure. Who really knows even their closest friends truly?
But there was something about him. Something in his eyes that made me think it was the former. I knew he was a Dom, at least to hear the rumor mill tell it, but I couldn’t really imagine him harming anyone. I had seen brutality. I knew the look and he just didn’t have it.
The contestant that night was an unspeakably hot redhead with skin like milk and freckles in all the right places. Her breasts were also to be admired, perfectly shaped and just the right size.
Adam seemed interested. He engaged her and made her giggle, though I suspected he was like that with everyone. It could have just been an act.
One didn’t get to be a billionaire without learning to schmooze, unless they were born into it. Even then schmoozing was probably a required course at private school along with which spoon to use and how to tie a cardigan around your neck.
Not that Adam struck me as particularly pretentious. He was always well put together, but in a style probably best described as beautiful simplicity. Boots, jeans and t-shirts were worn in such a way as to look like they belonged at an opera house. His jeans were perfectly pressed and always unruffled; his black t-shirt looked like it was designed to perfectly fit his beefy frame and his boots, Doc Martens from what I could tell, were always polished to a mirror glow.
Of course, when you had as much money as he did, no one was going to argue with what you chose to wear, now were they?
“You should go on this show!” Astrid gushed, nearly squealing with excitement.
“What? No I mean I couldn’t, I-”
“C’mon, it’ll be fun! You're super hot; I’m sure he’ll like you.”
I wished I shared her confidence. I had certainly been what one might describe as “hot” when I was younger, but I wasn’t so sure anymore. Rick walking out on me when he found out I was pregnant was quite a shock and really shook my confidence.
I had tried my best to get my figure back after having Freya but I really wasn’t sure it had worked. Truth be told, Astrid as the first person to tell me I was hot in about five years. On the upside, I had no reason to doubt her intentions. She was nothing if not honest and direct.
“There’s a ton of prize money in it,” she coaxed me, and I thought about how much it could help out my situation, and Freya’s too, of course.
“Do you really think they would want me?” I asked hesitantly.
“Sure, put in an application. I’ll bet you a turkey dinner that you at least get on the show, if not chosen to go with him on the luxury lockdown.”
“Fresh or frozen?”
“I’m serious!” Astrid objected, pelting me good with a cushion.
“My own cushion turned against me in anger! Oh, the humanity!”
“Come here,” Astrid said, squeezing me tight.
“You’re forgiven, oh traitor of mine.”
“Good. At least think about what I said, yeah? It could be really fun! The prize money for lasting the whole time is a million dollars! We both know you need the money.”
“Yeah. I’ll think about it,” I said.
I did think about it. I almost went mad thinking about it. I got so horny I could barely sleep. My mind was full of images of me bent over Adam’s knee, his strong, sure hand landing expertly on my bare ass again and again, before turning me over and having me suck on what I assumed to be a truly magnificent cock. I mean, his hands were big, so it only stood to reason. Or so I had been led to believe.
I was just desperate enough to try fingering myself when my alarm went off. The universe was no doubt laughing at its own hilarious joke. It was not quite as funny as the platypus or the minuscule length of the average human life but still, this trick was in the top twenty classics, at least.
Ignoring the fire raging down below, I got Ingrid ready for the day and did my best to prepare myself for another day of honest toil. Sadly, the pay didn’t rise along with the hours. I worked on a contract. What else was I to expect?
“Coming!” I called, in response to Astrid’s knock on my bedroom door.
Just not in the way I wish I was! I thought.
“Where is the little munchkin?” I asked her, once I was up.
“Oz, last time I checked.”
“ I’ll get her,” I said, already on my way to the living room where Freya amused herself with one of the more bizarre episodes of The Muppet Show.
“Holy smoke!” shouted Statler and Waldorf as I turned off the set, in response to Fozzie’s inquiry about what the villagers said when the church burned down.
“Oooly thmoke!” Freya parroted, clapping her little hands.
“Bit young for Black Metal, isn’t she?” Astrid queried, feigning concern.
“Hilarious. You’re a regular Jay Lame-o.”
“Wow, you are old.”
“I’m twenty-seven!”
“Still, yikes. What’s next? Five minutes on 8-tracks and airplane food?”
“Here, have a baby,” I said, foisting Freya upon her.
“Just what I’ve always wanted!” Astrid enthused, wiping away a phantom tear.
Freya applauded her approval.
“At least someone thinks you’re funny.”
“I do appeal to a younger demographic,” Astrid confirmed, taking Freya to her playroom.
My “office” set up wasn’t much, but it was enough to do what I needed. Usually I worked as a researcher for academics and sometimes in the business sector. Researching books and articles, I got paid for writing reports in which I summarized my findings.
The pay was great, but jobs could be a bit inconsistent. After the outbreak it dried up almost completely. Maybe one or two contracts a month. Even at $30 dollars an hour, they usually only needed six to eight hours each and so the overall pay
just wasn’t enough to get by on.
So, I did the unthinkable. Like an artist doing greeting cards or an actress modelling for burlesque photos, I started doing market research. It was really just a fancy name for consumer surveys.
It didn’t pay nearly as well, but I was to the point where I could do over fifty per day, which kept our heads above water. The rent-controlled apartment I’d inherited from my grandmother helped immensely.
It was worse than usual today, though. Most of the surveys I clicked on were dead ends. The preliminary questions determined that I wasn’t qualified to take the survey because I didn’t represent the right demographic, or some such rot.
This made me angry. I could understand if the survey was about men’s protective sporting wear or some other very specific niche, but who didn’t like coffee and power tools? Okay, a lot of people, but that shouldn’t be enough to preclude me from counting in the stats. A lot of the time, I realized I was a very rare case of someone crying internally, ‘I just want to be a number!’
Finally, after much disappointing and shameless lying as I tried to give the answers I thought they wanted, I was finally let through the gates and into the promised land of paid level surveys. After twenty thrilling minutes of multiple-choice questions about frozen vegetables for a whopping total of thirteen dollars, I was about to pack it in.
When I went out into the kitchen area of the apartment, the wine filled the glass in a delightful way. So scrumptious looking was the beverage that I gave into temptation, nearly emptying the glass in one go. Replenishing the level, I went back to the office before it was too late.
The submission page was still up, complete with the paltry sum being transferred into my bank account. Faced with a similar day tomorrow and many more besides, I did what I knew I wanted to do underneath all my layers of self-doubt and inhibitions.
The page was easy to find. The producers of course made sure to maximize the search engine optimization. Some people likely ended up with it on their list when looking for something else, like its classic namesake Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? or a list of living billionaires.