Forced to Bloom, The Complete Series: (BBW Alpha Male Billionaire BDSM Romance)

by Alexis Adaire

  M… Every time I thought of him I felt a sensation in my core, a slight tingle. How long until he would let me meet him? It could be weeks, months even. Surely there was there some way I could find out more about him before then.

  I sat in front of my computer and pulled up Google. All I knew about M was his initial and that he was incredibly wealthy. I did a search for “Portland billionaires” and found several lists. I pulled up the most recent one, from the Portland Tribune’s website. Nike’s Phil Knight was atop the list of nine Oregon billionaires, followed by several others whose names I recognized: real estate mogul Brandon Richardson, media magnate Ryan Dorrance, and hedge fund king Samuel Creel. The only one of the bunch who had a name beginning with the letter “M” was Marianne Zucker, heiress to her father’s lumber fortune.

  I looked at pictures of all the men, trying in vain to magically divine which, if any, was my new dom. Richardson and Dorrance were both handsome bachelors, as was former Portland Trailblazer owner Crispin Rashka. I grew frustrated when it occurred to me that M might not even live in Portland. He could be from Seattle or Silicon Valley and just have a house here for business reasons. Or maybe he didn’t even have a residence here at all and just stayed in hotels when he was in town. In fact, he’d never actually said he wasn’t married.

  The whole situation was disheartening. Maybe I could hire a detective to dig into this, but if M found out he would probably terminate the relationship. I supposed my best bet would be just to wait until he was ready to come out to me. After all, it had only been a few weeks since I replied to his ad. As difficult as it was, I decided to just be patient.

  Pink Floyd’s “Money” snapped me out of my thoughts and I quickly checked my phone. The text from M read:

  It’s a gorgeous day. Come to my office at noon again. And don’t forget your wig and sunglasses.

  I quickly showered and slipped on my jeans and a T-shirt, then drove towards downtown in a heady mix of excitement, anticipation and fear.

  5

  I arrived at the office suite to again find Whitney at the reception desk. I walked in disguised in the blonde wig, but she recognized me right away.

  I smiled as I entered. “Double overtime again?”

  “Even better,” Whitney said, returning the smile. “M asked me to come in for an hour and made it worth my while.”

  I hadn’t noticed before how pretty she was, probably because I’d been scared to death every time I’d seen her. Whitney’s medium-length auburn hair and bright blue eyes gave her a wholesome look, and she had that dancer’s body to go with it: thin waist, great legs, nice little butt and high, firm breasts. Why wasn’t M interested in this innocent-looking hottie as his sub?

  She let me in to M’s office and shut the door behind me. I noticed another clothing box on the desk, this one from Bondeson, one of the more exclusive boutiques in the city. I was practically drooling, but refrained from opening it until I was told to.

  “M?” He didn’t answer, and the computer’s screen was dark.

  I sat in the chair, smoothing the front of my T-shirt and wondering if I should have dressed better. M hadn’t said anything about what to wear.

  Suddenly the laptop’s screen flickered and I was looking at the woman in the MAX car again, her breast once more exposed for all to see. As I waited to hear M’s voice, I studied the other people in the image. There was a woman who appeared to be with her husband, a disapproving look on her face and a sheepish one on his as they both looked away from the offending breast. A man in an University of Oregon Ducks jersey stared unflinchingly at the displayed boob, likely realizing that chances such as that one don’t come along every day. I counted fifteen people in the car with the woman, and the photographer would make sixteen. There may have been more out of the frame of the picture. One man in particular jumped out at me; he was wearing a suit and tie and sunglasses, and something about him looked vaguely familiar. I leaned in closer to inspect the photo.

  “Good morning, Rachel.”

  I jumped backwards, laughing at my foolishness. “Good morning,” I said.

  “Did you notice the box?” M asked. How could I not have noticed? There was nothing else in the room except the desk with the laptop and the box, plus the chair in which I was sitting.

  “I did. Would you like me to open it?”

  “Yes, it’s for you,” M said. “But take off your shirt and your bra first.”

  I was no longer hesitating when M commanded me to strip. I quickly removed my T-shirt, then my bra, and pulled the long blonde hair of the wig back so he could get a good look at my breasts. It excited me greatly to know he was somewhere else in the city, staring at my nakedness. Finally, I reached for the box and opened it. Inside was a black blouse and a bra. I picked up the blouse and inspected it. It was lovely, long-sleeved with buttons up the front. It was also sheer except for the black collar, cuffs, and strip up the middle with the buttons and buttonholes on it. The bra was so beautiful it took my breath away. It was made by Carine Gilson, whose name I recognized from a fashion blog I read and who I knew made extravagantly expensive lingerie. I was looking at an indigo silk charmeuse demi-cup bra with lace overlays.

  “Try it on,” M instructed.

  I did as told. The silk felt decadent and luxurious against my skin as my breasts filled the cups. I fastened the clasp behind me and wished I had a mirror. The garment made me feel so elegant, positively graceful. “Now the blouse,” M said. I slipped into it and admired myself. The sunlight streaming in through the windows rendered the blouse transparent, my lovely new bra visible to anyone who might be looking. Surely M wasn’t going to send me out in public like this.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “It’s absolutely lovely,” I said. “A bit risque, though, don’t you think?”

  “I do,” M replied. “That’s the entire point.”

  “I wish I could see your face as you look at it,” I said wistfully.

  M laughed. “Nice try, my dear. You’ll have to earn my trust before that can happen.”

  How much trust did I have to earn? I was already doing anything he told me to.

  “What am I going to do for you today, M?” I asked, my smirk belying the fact that I was concerned about what his answer would be.

  “I want you to take the waterfront walk to the Saturday Market. Once there, turn around and walk back to your car, then drive home. Be sure to bring your phone with you.”

  Well, that answered my question. He did indeed want me to walk around in public wearing this, in the middle of the day in a crowded area, no less. I looked down and saw the gorgeous bra.

  “What about the buttons?” I asked, holding my breath.

  “You may leave the blouse buttoned.”

  Whew. I supposed it wouldn’t be too horrible. I’d seen women dress like this in public before. It’s provocative but I wasn’t exactly naked.

  “Go now, Rachel.”

  Recognizing the tone in his voice that indicated M thought I was dawdling, I stood and left the room with my old shirt and bra in my purse. I said goodbye as I passed Whitney’s desk and her mouth fell slightly open when she saw what I was wearing.

  “You look amazing,” she said.

  “Thanks,” I replied, “but I’ve been told to walk along the waterfront like this.”

  “M?” Whitney asked.

  I nodded. She nodded in return. I guessed she’d seen this sort of thing before while working there and made another mental note to squeeze some information out of her next time I was there.

  “You’ll be fine,” she assured me. “Really, it looks lovely on you.”

  On that note, I smiled and walked to the elevator. The security guard downstairs did a double take when I walked past. The sunshine warmed my upper body right through the blouse as I made my way to the nearby waterfront walk along the Willamette River. On a day like today I knew it would be busy, and sure enough there were many people out cycling, strolling, and walking thei
r dogs. I pulled the wig’s long blonde hair in the front so it partially covered my breasts and tried to look straight ahead as I walked toward the Saturday Market. Still, I couldn’t help but notice the people looking at me. The glances from the women were admiring, though, as opposed to irritated or even worse, disgusted, so I felt a little better and tried to enjoy my walk.

  About a dozen blocks later, I arrived at the Saturday Market. Despite the name, it’s open on Sundays as well, and there were throngs going from booth to booth, looking at the crafts on display. Just as I got there, “Money” sounded on my phone.

  Go into the restroom to your left, near the street.

  I glanced to my left and saw a gleaming silver public toilet. Then I looked around to see if I could find a man holding a phone and looking at me. The problem was that several men were staring at me. I quickly made my way to the restroom. Luckily it wasn’t occupied and I slipped inside.

  I hadn’t even had time for my nerves to settle when another text from M showed up.

  Excellent. Now remove the bra and leave it in the bathroom. Walk back to the car without it.

  No.

  I couldn’t do this.

  It was too much, I’d be too exposed. And almost as terrible, I’d have to leave this beautiful piece of lingerie behind for someone else to find. In retrospect, I suppose that thought should have told me how far I’d evolved with M, how brave I was becoming. The thought of losing my gorgeous new bra was bothering me nearly as much as the idea of walking half-naked back to my car. I texted M back.

  But I love this bra.

  A second passed as I held my breath.

  Do not argue, Rachel.

  Another message quickly followed.

  Do it now or you’ll have to leave the blouse as well.

  Then a third text.

  Yes, I’m absolutely serious.

  I knew I could have simply refused and walked back to my car. Hell, I still had my other shirt in my purse. But I also knew that M was still passing judgement on me, gauging my willingness to submit to his demands. Not wanting to disappoint him, I texted back.

  OK

  Now I was committed to actually doing this, to walking out in public with my breasts displayed. I reached behind and unclasped the bra, unbuttoned a few buttons on the blouse, then reached up through the sleeves and slid the straps down over my shoulders. After rebuttoning the blouse, I looked at my reflection in the restroom’s streaked mirror and saw my nipples plainly visible behind the sheer fabric of the blouse. Still holding the bra, I ran my fingers over that exquisite silk and the intricate lacework, then hung it carefully from the paper towel dispenser. It was doubtful that a 38DD woman with great taste in underthings would find it, but I had no choice. I again looked in the mirror, pulling my blonde wig hair forward so that it mostly covered my breasts. It was still obvious I wasn’t wearing a bra, but at least my nipples were mostly concealed.

  My heart was beating like a drum as I opened the door. The first person I saw upon stepping out was a man waiting outside. His eyes immediately dropped to my chest and remained there as I walked past him. Most of the men who saw me as I walked away from the restroom stared as well, and the women ogled me blatantly, too. It was a very strange feeling, and as scared as I was I did feel kind of sexy. I also felt very… well, exposed.

  I’d covered about half the distance between the Saturday Market and my car when I heard M’s ringtone. Afraid to look, I had to force myself.

  No cheating. Pull your hair back.

  He was here, somewhere. M could see me well enough to know I was using my hair to cover myself. I quickly surveyed the area. Several men in my vicinity were looking right at me, so there was no way to know if one of them was him. I hesitated, knowing the brightly shining midday sun rendered the sheer black material of my blouse nearly transparent.

  But M was my dom. As his sub, I was required to do as he said. I pulled my hair back behind me and took a quick glance at my chest. Sure enough, it was almost like I wasn’t wearing a top at all.

  I began to walk briskly to my car. Not too briskly, as that would attract even more attention. Now the men were really staring, all of them it seemed. Nobody was accustomed to seeing a woman with her tits on display like this. Another text from M arrived.

  Shouldn’t have cheated. Stop someone and ask a question.

  Shit. I only had three blocks left. I stopped the first person I saw walking towards me, a middle-aged man.

  “Excuse me, could you tell me where Madison Street is?” I asked, my heart pounding in my conspicuously uncovered chest.

  The man stuttered out an answer, his eyes politely on mine. He was visibly nervous, though, more so than I was. Only when I thanked him for his assistance did I see his eyes drop to my breasts. Nearby I noticed a younger man quickly pull out his phone and take a picture.

  I was a block away from my car and praying that M didn’t text with another order. He didn’t, and I finally reached my parking spot. As I fished the keys from my purse, four young guys approached — late teens or early twenties, I’d guess.

  “Holy shit! Look at that chick’s tits!”

  I ignored them and pushed the button to unlock my door.

  “Hey, baby, you want some dick?”

  My heart in my throat, I dropped my keys while trying to open the door. As I hurried to retrieve them I looked up to see one of the guys holding his crotch. Suddenly I heard a very deep voice from behind me.

  “You morons wanna get your asses kicked?”

  I didn’t look up, fumbling until I found the ignition slot and jammed the key in, firing up the engine and throwing it into drive as I squealed away, leaving the four little juvenile delinquents behind. I glanced in my rearview mirror to see a huge black man standing on the sidewalk watching me drive away.

  I drove for a few blocks, my pulse racing, then I pulled over and grabbed my phone, quickly firing off a text to M.

  I did it. You owe me.

  As I continued driving, that weird sense of accomplishment or pride again began to come over me. All I had done was wear something daring — extremely daring in this case — so I could only attribute the feeling to having pleased my dom, or perhaps to having pushed my way past boundaries I didn’t realize I had. A text from M came in.

  I owe you nothing. You must learn your place.

  What? Wasn’t he proud of me for having done what he ordered me to? Dammit, I should’ve used a smiley face after that text. He thought I was giving him attitude. I had disappointed M. Another text came.

  Your punishment: Remove your blouse now. Under no circumstances are you to put it back on until you reach your parking garage.

  I pulled over to the curb. He wants me to drive home topless? Another text came in.

  Don’t think, Rachel. Just obey.

  I set the phone down and began to take off the blouse. An elderly man walked by on the sidewalk, grocery bags in each arm. The motion in the car must have caught his attention and he looked over just as I was pulling the sleeves off and tossing the blouse on the passenger seat. He stopped, then smiled and waved as best he could with his hands full. He was so adorable, and I wondered how long it had been since he’d seen a young woman half naked. I smiled and waved back, then he ambled along on his way.

  I considered pulling the wig’s hair over my breasts again, but didn’t want to anger M even more. I took a quick selfie and sent it to him before resuming the trip home. As much as possible, I stayed on major roads and tried to keep in lanes where nobody would be pulling up on my immediate left, and at intersections I sunk down in the seat. Those techniques seemed to work, as I don’t think a single soul was aware of my half-naked driving in the middle of the day. Still, it was all I could do to not pull that blonde hair in front to cover me at least a little.

  A few blocks from my house, I stopped for a red light. A car pulled up on my right, but it was occupied by two women who were chatting away and never looked over. Suddenly I noticed a young hipster with a
beard and two arms full of tattoos walking in the crosswalk just a few feet from me. When he got in front of my car, he looked directly at me, his eyes wide open. Time stopped for a moment as he grinned and stared at my naked breasts, and for some reason I made no effort to cover them. The light changed and I honked at him. He hurried to the sidewalk, still staring as I drove off.

  I realized I was more excited than embarrassed at what had just taken place. I was definitely not the same woman I had been just a few short weeks earlier.

  6

  I pulled into my parking garage and quickly put the blouse back on, then rummaged in my back seat for a hoodie I kept there. I wasn’t about to walk up to my apartment like that. As I walked down the hallway to my apartment, I slipped off the wig and stuffed it into my bag — just as Todd from next door appeared around the corner. He stopped me to ask what I’d been doing “this fine Sunday afternoon.” Although the hoodie was now covering me, I was hyper-aware of my nipples rubbing against the sheer blouse as I replied. I politely told Todd I was in hurry, then quickly made my way into the safety of my apartment.

  No sooner had I locked the door behind me than I heard the Mazzy Star song that signaled a phone call from M.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said immediately.

  “Do you have any regrets about what just happened?” M asked.

  I thought for a second. “Yes,” I said. “I regret that I disappointed you. I wasn’t thinking clearly; that walk was pretty difficult for me.” I paused for a second, then added, “And I regret that I had to leave that beautiful bra behind.” It may have sounded like I was joking, but I definitely was not.

  “Take off your clothes. All of it,” M ordered.

  I stripped, hoping he wasn’t going to send me outside like this as punishment.

  “Okay, I’m naked,” I said.

  “Do you have a vibrator?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Go get it. Then lie on your bed,” M demanded, his voice stern.